Page 32 of Rhymes with Metaphor

O ne of Reg’s thesis examiners recommended he submit his thesis to a small publisher he was connected with, but another examiner suggested that it would be better for his career to publish the poems separately in literary journals before collecting them in one volume.

“Can I help?” said Joel.

“As secretary or muse?”

“Both.”

“You don’t know one poetry journal from another, do you?” said Reg.

“I can learn if you teach me.”

Joel was infuriatingly organized. He laughed at Reg’s “submission tracking system” (five notebooks).

“That’s inefficient,” said Joel.

“No poem was ever lauded for being efficient .”

Joel was useless at deciding how to group the poems into batches or how to choose which journals to submit them to. But for the mindless formatting and submission processes, he was golden. Joel created an email address “just for your submissions.”

“I’ll check it twice a day from now on,” said Joel. “Is there anything else I can do for you now?”

“Yes,” said Reg. “Take your clothes off.”

––––––––

T he next morning while they were having another lie-in, Reg said, “I have to make myself sociable tonight. I’ve got this MFA end-of-semester thing to attend.”

“Can I come?”

“Do you want to?” said Reg. “It’ll be lots of pretentious, self-congratulatory literati types with their heads up their arses reading their own work.”

“Will you be reading?”

“That’s the idea,” said Reg, stroking little circles on Joel’s wrist.

“Which poems?”

Reg let his hand wander further south. “‘The Taming of the Faun’ and ‘Elements.’”

“I haven’t read ‘Elements.’ It wasn’t in your thesis.”

“That was the one I wrote all over you.”

“Oh, that one.”

“Yes, that one. I haven’t assembled it into a readable format yet. It only exists as photos.”

Reg found his camera, and he printed out the images and showed them to Joel.

Joel pored over them with great interest as Reg set them out on the unmade bed and arranged them in the order he wanted.

Then he had Joel sit at the end of the bed with his laptop on his lap and type the words, stopping periodically to break them into lines and stanzas.

“Lovely,” said Reg when he’d finished.

Reg read it aloud for practice. He looked at Joel. “Well?”

“I can hear where I came,” said Joel.

“So will everyone. Which leads us to a point.”

“Which is?” said Joel.

“If you come to this gathering with me, it’ll be obvious those poems are about you.

You’ll be outing yourself to everyone there.

It’s one thing to come out on paper in my thesis.

It’s quite another to come out in person.

Martin will be there—he’s in the program, so he has to be, and I expect he’ll be bringing Juliet. Are you sure you want to come tonight?”

“Yes. Do you want me to come?”

“Very much. I want to show you off to everyone. Put on your tangerine shirt, with nothing underneath.”

Joel did and left the top three buttons undone. Reg dressed Joel in the white linen trousers and boat shoes he’d bought him in England.

“I should shave,” said Joel.

“You look good with a bit of scruff,” said Reg.

“Good or older?”

Reg smiled. “Both. And I’ve bought you something special.” He found the suit he’d worn to his defence draped over a chair, felt around in its pockets, and produced a velvet box. Inside was an 18k gold stud, set with a ruby.

“For me?” Joel looked overcome.

“For you.”

Joel stood in front of the bathroom mirror and carefully removed the earring that was already there.

“That’s too plain for you,” said Reg.

“It’s titanium,” said Joel. “It promotes healing.”

Joel inspected the hole in his ear lobe and cleaned it thoroughly with gauze and a solution he squirted from an eyedropper before working the stud in. He flinched. “It’s bigger than my starter.” Joel appraised it in the mirror. “It looks like a drop of blood.”

Reg stood behind Joel and put his arms around him. “You look wild and fetching.”

Joel took Reg’s hand and guided it lower, leaning his head back against Reg.

They were half an hour late to the event and had to park in the farthest corner of the lot.

Reg glanced at Joel. “Nervous?”

“No. You?”

Reg laughed.

Lights blazed brightly outside the Old Mill Pub, and the air was warm, thick with humidity.

Inside, the place was packed. The readings had begun, and the amplified voice of one of Reg’s colleagues rose above the mutter of the audience.

Reg led the way in and looked around. The chair was sitting near the stage and caught his eye.

Her lips disappeared, as usual. After a quick sweep of the room, Reg spotted Martin at a table and wended his way through the crowd towards him.

He was sitting beside Juliet, who was wearing a sleeveless white dress, her blonde hair sleek and shining.

Martin’s arm was resting confidently around Juliet’s shoulders.

Martin waved when he saw Reg, and Reg claimed one of the empty seats at their table.

“You’re looking uncharacteristically cheerful,” said Martin. “When did you get back?”

“Oh, you know,” said Reg vaguely. “Just now.”

“You missed my defence,” said Martin.

“Did I? How was it?”

“Exceptional. I aced it, of course.”

Joel walked up to their table. Martin did a double take. Then a triple take.

“Joel?” said Juliet.

“Juliet,” said Joel with a trace of a smile, playing it cool.

Juliet got up and embraced Joel, then stepped back to take another look at him. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Joel settled into a chair between her and Reg. Juliet stroked Joel’s hair, running her hand through it, and Reg felt an unexpected pang of jealousy.

“I’ve never seen your hair this long,” said Juliet.

“Suits him, the little heathen,” said Reg.

Juliet kept staring at Joel. “I can’t believe how different you look. Is—is that an earring?”

“Do you like it?” said Joel.

“I hope the piercing gun was autoclaved,” said Juliet. “Uncle Bob got hepatitis from a piercing.”

Joel rolled his eyes.

“And where’s dad’s watch?” said Juliet.

Joel looked uneasy. “I left it at home.”

“Why? You never take that watch off.”

Joel shrugged nonchalantly, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“When do you defend, Reg?” said Martin. “You’re cutting it fine, aren’t you? Semester’s over tomorrow.”

“Done and dusted,” said Reg.

“Ah,” said Martin. “Got permission to defend remotely, did you?”

“Erm...no?” said Reg.

“But you said you just got back.”

“Who wants drinks?” Reg got up. “My round.”

“Scotch, please, Reg,” said Joel.

“That’s alcohol, Joel,” said Juliet.

“Coffee, then,” said Joel.

“You don’t drink coffee,” said Juliet.

“He does now,” said Reg. “Juliet?”

“White wine spritzer, thanks.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Martin. He followed Reg to the bar. Once they were out of earshot, he said, “You’ve corrupted New Bug!”

“With his blessing.”

“He’s got a fucking earring!”

“It suits him,” said Reg casually. “I’ve introduced him to civilized society. He’s taken to it rather well.”

They brought the drinks back to the table and handed them out. Joel tried his.

“How is it?” said Reg.

“Appalling,” said Joel.

“My god, you’ve rubbed off on him, Reg,” said Martin.

Reg and Joel looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Joel, your room is being sublet until September first,” said Juliet. “Where are you living until school starts?”

“With me,” said Reg. “I have a spare room, and I’m happy for him to stay.”

“Spare room?” said Martin. “That’s your office. There’s no bed. I can’t count the number of times I stayed over at yours and had to sleep on your sofa.”

“I’ve bought a bed.”

“Oh, so you’d buy a bed for Joel but not for me?” said Martin.

“Needs must. Joel needs a bed. You already have one.”

“He’ll only be there a week,” said Martin. “You could have bought him an air mattress.”

“Joel is welcome to stay with me for as long as he likes,” said Reg. “I’m charging well below the market rent.”

“It makes sense if it’s cheaper, and you live closer to school,” said Juliet. “Bill’s happy to take Joel’s room for the next year.”

“That’s sorted, then,” said Reg.

There had been a break in the program while they were talking, and now the chair spoke into the microphone, though in Reg’s experience, she didn’t need any technological help to project her voice. She was the only person he had ever met who could scream in a whisper.

The chair was looking at Reg as she spoke. “And now, the last reading for tonight—our wayward graduate, Reginald Fieldfare.”

Faint cheers sounded from a group that Reg used to drink with.

The chair continued, “...who made himself scarce this past semester and whose thesis, against all expectations, has been nominated for Most Outstanding Thesis in this year’s MFA Creative Writing Program and the Terry Umstoud Award for Poetry.”

There followed more applause and hooting from Reg’s drinking friends.

“Jesus, Reg,” said Martin. “You kept that quiet.”

“Well, what can one say?” Reg gathered his printed-out poems and stood.

“Can I read them?” said Joel.

“What?” said Reg.

“I’d like to read them. Am I allowed?”

“ I won’t stop you,” said Reg.

Joel followed him to the podium.

Reg stepped up and arranged his printed sheets in front of him.

The lights were trained on the stage, so he could barely see the audience.

“Thank you for that introduction. It is a great fortune for a poet to find his muse, and even better to find one as agreeable and passionate as mine.” Reg looked at Joel. “My poems will be read by him.”

Reg allowed himself to touch Joel’s shoulder reassuringly as Joel stepped up to the podium. He was struck by how calm Joel seemed in front of the audience.

Joel read “The Taming of the Faun,” sounding as though he were its author, not just its inspiration.

Joel had a lovely, deep, and resonant voice, but inhabiting Reg’s words, he sounded ethereal and mesmerizing.

He was an absolute natural, inserting pauses of the perfect length, emphasizing words gently when needed and forcefully when the situation called.

The background muttering of the crowd died to silence, sustained while Joel followed with “Elements.”

Good fucking grief.

Reg had never felt so proud of him.

Joel finished, and the room filled with applause. Joel and Reg exchanged a private smile.

“Sounded like you enjoyed that just as much the second time around,” said Reg.

“I did,” said Joel.

They made their way back to their table and took their seats, Joel moving his chair closer to Reg’s.

Martin mouthed Corrupted at Reg.

Reg caressed Joel’s back. Martin stared at Reg’s hand, but Reg didn’t stop.

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, students from Reg’s program came over to congratulate him and ask him where he’d been hiding himself all semester and to tell Joel how much they’d enjoyed his performance.

One, a slight man in a shabby chic suit, came to their table, nodded at Martin, then addressed Joel, “Vic Finnegan. Hi.”

“Hello,” said Joel.

“I need a narrator for my audiobook, and you’ve got the perfect voice for it. Are you available? I’ll pay you.”

“What would I have to do?” said Joel.

“You read the book in a recording studio,” said Vic.

“We’ll have to discuss this in more detail and get back to you,” said Reg. “Do you have a card?”

“What are you?” said Vic. “His manager?”

“Yes. Card?”

Vic gave Reg his card, and Reg glanced at it and put it in his pocket. The man left.

“You manage me, do you?” said Joel with a mischievous smile.

“I do now,” said Reg. “I don’t want my babe in the woods at the mercy of wolves.”

“It’s not a scam,” said Martin. “Vic was the golden boy of my program. He landed an agent last semester. I’ve read his book. It’s brilliant. That’s a huge opportunity, Joel.”

“That sounds interesting, Joel,” said Juliet. “But you don’t want it to interfere with your studies. School starts next week, remember.”

Joel looked uncomfortable.

“We should make our way,” said Reg.

“But, Joel, I’ve hardly seen you,” said Juliet.

“You’re seeing me now,” said Joel.

“We haven’t had a chance to catch up,” said Juliet. “Let’s have lunch.”

Afterwards, as Reg and Joel were walking in the dark to Reg’s car, Reg said, “You didn’t tell her you’ve dropped out.”

“It’s not the right time.”

“I’m not surprised you were scouted for that audiobook. You could bottle your voice and sell it at a premium. It’s liquid caviar. You read my poems so beautifully.”

“I was there when you wrote them. I felt your voice coming out of me.”

“What you must do before you agree to anything is to find out the going rate for this audiobook thing,” said Reg. “Don’t accept the first amount he offers. Negotiate.”

“I don’t know anything about contracts,” said Joel.

“I’ll call my lawyer and see if he can recommend someone who specializes in those sorts of contracts. We don’t want anyone taking advantage of you.”

“No one except you,” said Joel.

“I haven’t—have I?”

“I wish you would.” Joel tugged the front of Reg’s jacket and brought Reg’s face down to him. “Kiss?” Joel whispered, and Joel’s mouth was like a goldfish bowl of warm water, open and welcoming in a lively world of its own, tongue flicking like a finned tail.

Reg pressed Joel against the car with his body, and the kiss went on and on.

Joel broke the kiss with a soft moan. “I want to come.”

“Come, then,” said Reg.

Someone cleared their throat nearby. Reg looked over his shoulder to see Martin standing a few feet away.