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CHAPTER 9: Chapter Nine

-- CHAPTER NINE --


Steven awoke very late the next morning to a loud banging on his front door. Wearily, he pulled himself up from the floor where he had slept the entire night in rumpled clothes. Surprisingly, he felt more rested than he had in months.

"Alright, alright," he muttered to himself as the banging continued in short bursts.

Glancing through the door viewer, he saw Linda waiting impatiently on his doorstep. "Oh, great," he thought, running his fingers through uncombed hair, and unbolting the latch.

"Hi, come in," he said unenthusiastically as he opened the door.

"Hi sweetie. Brought you some lunch," she said, sweeping in with a rather large bakery box, "Just a little early lunch for such an industrious writer."

"Oh. Thanks," Steven muttered.

Linda turned to look at him as he closed the door behind her. "Sorry to say it, love, but you look like shit. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just fell asleep in here last night, that's all," Steven said, trying not to sound groggy.

Linda surveyed the room, noting the half-empty bottle on the floor.

"Sweetheart. Don't bullshit me," she said, setting the box down on a nearby table. "You're not the type to camp out in front of the telly with a bottle." She sighed heavily, looking around the room. "And you'd been doing so much better lately," she said dejectedly, "...until now..."

Steven rolled his eyes. Sometimes he thought she had a crystal ball.

"Hmm..." she muttered to herself as she continued to survey the room, adding up the evidence. Suddenly, with a slight gasp, she turned and looked directly at Steven. "You've seen him! You've seen him, haven't you?"

"No, Linda, Elvis hasn't been here," said Steven with a mixture of deadpan humor and resignation.

"Steven Carter, you know perfectly well who I mean!"

"Who?" Steven knew he might as well give up.

"John Dixon, that's who!" Linda said seriously.

"Lins, please," Steven sighed wearily, padding off toward the kitchen in sock feet and running another hand through his unkempt hair.

Linda grabbed up the box and started after him.

"Well?" she said, putting the box down on the kitchen table.

Steven, filling the coffee maker at the sink, didn't reply.

"Here, love, let me do that," she said, nudging him out of the way in a motherly fashion, and taking the coffee carafe from him.

Steven plopped down at the kitchen table wearily, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes, as Linda put on the coffee.

She turned to him again, wiping her hands. "Well?"

"Lins, please don't give me a lecture. I know how you feel about John."

"He actually had the nerve to come 'round here, did he?" she asked, her mouth open in utter disbelief.

"No, we ran into each other at Mark's store."

"Well! I thought for a minute I was going to have to hurt him."

"Lins, please don't get involved. I'm having a hard enough time as it is."

"And what does that mean?" Linda replied, adding a note of concern to her voice.

"I'd rather not discuss it. I know you have a problem with John."

"Problem? Problem??" Linda said with growing intensity. "Let's see, he breaks your heart, beats the shit out of you, disappears for twenty years, then shows back up on your doorstep --so to speak-- wanting a quick shag, no doubt. Now why would anyone have a PROBLEM with THAT?!!"

"He didn't want a quick shag," Steven said tiredly with a sigh.

"What did he want, then?"

"Maybe just to be mates. Maybe just to make peace, I don't know."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing really. We just talked a bit about old times."

"Humph. Old Times," smirked Linda as she got two cups from the cupboard and poured the coffee. "Like the time he left you for dead in the locker room? Or the time he left you standing alone in front of an auditorium full of people, pouring your heart out, and was too much the coward to speak up? Yeah, those were high old times, all right! Well worth remembering."

"It wasn't like that," Steven replied wearily, looking at the floor.

"Love, I just can't believe you're taking up for him."

"I'm not taking up for him, it's just---" Steven paused, wondering to himself. What exactly was it, anyway?

"I'm listening," Linda quipped, placing a cup of coffee on the table in front of Steven and sitting down across from him with a cup of her own. "You can explain it to me any time now."

Steven sighed. "Lins," he said slowly, looking down, fingering the warm cup, and taking his time in forming an answer. "Lins-- can you remember the first person you ever fell in love with? I don't mean lust, I mean... the very first one you ...really, fully, genuinely, honestly... LOVED?" Steven looked up directly into her eyes.

For once Linda was speechless.

"That's how it is," Steven continued softly, almost whispering. "I can't say that I'm not angry, but I can't deny that John is --was-- special to me, either."

"Sweetheart, you're scaring me," Linda replied. "I know I wanted you to get out and live a little, but John Dixon just isn't what I had in mind!"

"Don't worry. I'm not rushing into anything."

"Well, I should jolly well hope not!" Linda exclaimed. "Now, what's with the bottle in the front room? And sleeping in your clothes last night?"

"Just trying to sort things out a bit, that's all. I'll admit seeing John again was very confusing for me. It's opened up a lot of conflicting feelings that I thought I'd resolved long ago."

"Well, John Dixon better watch himself or I'll give HIM something to be conflicted about!" Linda declared. Then, slowly, she reached across the table and gently touched Steven's forehead with her fingers, brushing his hair slightly, "Do be careful, sweetie."

Steven nodded that he would.

"All right, c'mon, let's have lunch," she said, reaching for the bakery box. "I'm starving!"