Simple Sagebrush #1

Airport hotel bars are my favorite. Always new people, almost always lonely or with someone they don't wish to be seen with, and invariably easy.

"Theodore? Teddy? Damn, it's been years! What the hell are you doing here?"

I'd been doing this for years. It started out as a perfectly legitimate academic pursuit- my gender communication professor telling us that women will let you go longer than men will when there is a "mistaken identity situation." It sounded logical, but I wanted to test it out. My first few attempts were clumsy, tipsy, and wholly unacceptable - I didn't even believe I really knew the person I "thought" these people were.

"So what have you been up to? Still working for the guy who can't zip up his fly?"

It took practice, but I eventually discovered the secret was to let it flow - don't force the conversation. Oh, sure, every night I created a shell of a person in my mind- a few specific details sketched in, a general outline of what I wanted them to become, but in the end I let my partner color in all the fine gradients of personality.

"How about Chris? Still together?"

It was actually surprisingly easy to draw someone in. Especially if they were alone, it was a simple matter of giving them a character to play. Ninety percent of the time, they would enjoy the fiction as much as I did.

***

I hate these places. Always dark, always with bad music, and always watery drinks. Airport hotel bars, put simply, suck. However, I couldn't stand the prospect of sitting on the hard bed, watching piped-in porn for yet another night. So, here I sat, another lonely business traveler, sitting on a worn-down barstool, drinking a disgustingly light "double" cranberry / vodka.

The meeting tomorrow would be easy. The account had already been sealed- I was just the grease man getting signatures and depositing checks. It wasn't a bad job. I got to travel across the country, spend a day or two here and there, with a week in some of the larger cities. I was hardly ever home. The only people that ever noticed THAT were the next-door neighbors who would be "courteous" and quiet down their sex for those seven or eight days a month. I wish they wouldn't.

"Theodore? Teddy? Damn, it's been years! What the hell are you doing here?"

Teddy? Who the hell was Teddy? I'd never even known a "Teddy" except for my bear that had fallen apart decades ago. There was this rather enthusiastic guy sitting next to me, though, shaking my hand and obviously NOT noticing the look of utter and complete confusion on my face. I considered muttering something to the effect that I had no idea who Teddy was and he should get out of my face. At the same time, something in his handshake and hand on my back made me think twice. How long had it been since I I had felt anything but an executive's "I'm in charge and don't question that" handshake? I took a long pull off my drink, trying to construct a way to tell him that I'm not Teddy while still quietly begging for him to not leave.

"So what have you been up to? Still working for the guy who can't zip up his fly?"

I almost choked. This was inexplicably funny, maybe because just the day before some junior exec went through an entire four-hour meeting without realizing that his bright-orange chili-pepper printed boxer briefs were being shown off for all their glory. I had no idea who this guy next to me was, but he'd succeeded in getting more of a reaction from me than I had felt in a long while. Why not, I figured. Who is it going to hurt, we will never see each other again.

"How about Chris? Still together?"

"Uh, no, actually... she left me for the gardener."

He chuckled at this. Said something about how he had always expected the girl to do something like that, and he was sorry I had to go through that. Offered to buy me another drink to toast her "compost happiness". That had sounded outlandish to even me, like the kind of thing that you'd see in a sitcom, but he had bought it, hook, line, and sinker. This odd feeling came over me... I realized I could say almost anything I wanted. Whoever Teddy was would probably be incredibly confused if they actually ran into each other ever again, but for the time being, I was Teddy, and I could tell the story of Teddy's life. Why not try?

"I'm actually here just for tonight- seeing a franchise owner before I go over to China for a month. The execs over there are getting way too ambitious with the investments."

I had no idea what I was talking about, but here he was, nodding like this made perfect sense.

"And no girls... I actually came out about five years ago."

What the hell did I just say? I've NEVER been attracted to guys. I'm the kind of guy that doesn't even use conditioner. But I kept babbling, telling stories of working my way up to a VP position, of nights in dance clubs and bars and theaters, of being an art collector and still going to a movie every other week with some random ex. In a lot of ways, the life I would never live. Never really wanted to live.

***

I was pretty drunk by this point. A good three doubles in, but this is usually when the story got interesting. Being drunk made them feel more comfortable, more like I wouldn't remember the person they were pretending to be.

"I'm actually here just for tonight- seeing a franchise owner before I go over to China for a month. The execs over there are getting way too ambitious with the investments."

Ahh, the sure sign of someone desperate to escape. The ones that put themselves out like that were the best- they created outlandish stories that they were sure I wouldn't believe. They figured if I believed stuff like that, they would believe anything. So I smiled, nodded, and took a drink while keeping my eyes on him, waiting for him to continue.

"And no girls... I actually came out about five years ago."

OK, this may or may not be true. Half the time, they told me they were gay and meant it. The other half of the time, it was because that was exactly what they weren't and would never be. The way this guy had taken a few extra moments when I first put my hand on his back made me think it was the first. It wouldn't be the first time I'd gotten an offer to spend the night... usually I didn't take them up on the offer. Undressing always presented a difficult challenge, but it had happened in the past.

Talk, though, always came first. About everything this fictional person had wanted and needed and was doing and thought and felt. It was creating a shared story. The kind of story that was pure, complete, and utter fiction. Yet more real than any of us, because that person was also entirely honest. There was nothing holding them back. That's why I did this. I like talking to people that have no reason at all to lie... and if that meant I had to create characters, all the better.

Tomorrow, very early morning, I would go back to my room, unstrap the microphone wires from my body, and transpose this new character into yet another story, book, essay... I would wonder if tonight's unintentional actor would feel deja vu when they read what I wrote. I didn't really care, because for a few moments, there had been a shared story. I had given them the gift of escape, and they had given me the gift of one more truly honest character.