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i got your letter. and i read what it said.
and i blushed with recognition at every word you said.
and you are my best friend. and i have always known you.
i came to your house. and i looked around.
and i felt the real rain falling down.
and you are my best friend. and i have always known you.
- "02-75" The Mountain Goats
***
James woke with a start, drenched in sweat and panting. For a moment he could still feel the touches everywhere on his skin, but the feeling faded away as the edges of a dream always do. He exhaled a steadying breath through pursed lips, aware of his heart hammering away in his chest. He took another breath and willed his body to calm. The breeze from the cracked window ghosted cool air over his overheated skin and he shivered. With a groan he pried himself out of bed to shut the window.
James glanced at his pale, scruffy reflection in the mirror and bent his head to splash water on his face. When he closed his eyes the sensations overwhelmed him again. Held firm in strong arms. Broad shoulders matching his. The pressure and weight of the embrace. Hands roaming over his back, searching. Tucking his face against the crook of a warm neck. The scratch of day-old stubble against his cheek and the anonymous man’s breath on his face.
He splashed another handful of cold water on his face and shook himself. As he clicked off the light James wondered what it said about him that his subconscious had given up on sex dreams and was now supplying him with intense hugging dreams instead.
***
James, as he’s tried to convince Jeremy on numerous occasions, can’t bear to touch people. It’s not because he doesn’t want to; God knows he does. Even though it’s overwhelming to the point of being uncomfortable and it makes him feel absolutely peeled open and vulnerable, like all his guts are laid out for everyone to see, he still craves it.
But he can’t touch people-- or at any rate can’t let them touch him-- because people have agendas and he doesn’t trust them.
Everyone wants something. Jeremy usually wants to get one over on him, to make him jump and see him squirm. Andy wants to provoke some reaction from him that will make good television. The fans want his attention, his time, a piece of him. Richard, he thinks, want to “help” him help himself.
He never knows what it is they want until it’s too late, and so he can never let his guard down. Agendas, schemes, plans—everyone has them. He can see the clockworks moving behind their eyes. He’s aware that keeping people at a distance is a defense mechanism he’s developed, and maybe not a particularly healthy one, but it is effective.
From his first playground interactions James was aware that he wasn’t like the other children. He’s never been able to read social cues like everyone else, never been able to anticipate what someone is thinking or what he should say next. He seems to go into every situation at a disadvantage.
But he can organize his spanners and set the bezels on watches right and he can mind his own space. Little by little he can exert his will to establish some peace in his world. His physical boundaries are one thing he can limit to make sure that it’s that much harder for people to get what they want from him.
But Ben is different.
***
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” James mumbled as he eased the door shut behind him and he snuck into the production meeting. He shook his hair down to hide his face and slid behind the tightly packed chairs, mumbling more apologies.
He felt his face growing hot behind the curtain of his hair and gritted his teeth, praying Andy would just keep going. James considered lateness to be one of the greatest sins of a person (along with loudness and untidiness); he was almost always early. But, he hadn’t been able to find Fusker that particular morning when it was time to go and for some reason he’d been clenched with irrational fear that something had happened and unable to leave until he laid eyes on the cat.
It’s only a stupid cat, after all, he’d berated himself. Probably just found a new source of tuna. Probably curled up in some old lady’s lap, not thinking about me. Other thoughts ran side by side with his rational ones, Did a dog get him? Is he lost? He had his collar on. If someone had hit him surely they’d have had the decency to call. He’d combed the neighbor’s hedges until he found the little traitor, asleep on a door mat half way down the street, and carried him home.
James drug a chair up to the table and wedged it in between Jeremy and a sandy haired man he didn’t recognize. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, bumping the man’s elbow as he squeezed himself in.
“It’s fine,” the man whispered, offering his hand. “I’m Ben.”
“James. Nice to meet you,” he returned the handshake and focused on staring down the patch of table in front of him; someone (probably Jeremy) had scratched ‘penis’ into it.
“He doesn’t know who you are,” Jeremy’s voice rumbled over his head in what he probably imagined was a whisper. To James he said, “This is our new Stig.”
“Oh,” James turned his head to look at Ben from under the curtain of his hair. “Okay, well. Very nice, then. Congratulations.”
Ben colored slightly and smiled, showing a sliver of teeth. “Thanks,” he mumbled, looking genuinely pleased at the fumbling acknowledgement and rolling his lip over to bite at it. James felt his brain slip a gear and found himself staring, smiling, at Ben unable to come up with anything else to say. They were interrupted by Andy loudly clearing his throat.
“You three. If you don’t mind, we are trying to get some things accomplished here,” he said sternly. James brain abruptly snapped back into life and he jerked his head around to stare at the graffiti on the table again, red faced. Where did that come from? He wondered.
New Stig had been around for a few months, but James had only seen him from across the track and hiding in corners in the portakabin, always with the full kit and helmet on. He was sure that at some point he’d learned his name, but remembered only that it wasn’t one he recognized. Another relatively unknown, underrated driver.
James snuck a glance at Ben after Andy had started droning on again and eyes had turned away from them. Ben’s face was blank, carefully focused on Andy. He cocked his head to the side slightly and chewed the end of his biro, seeming to focus in on something, then dropped his eyes to scribble on the packet of papers in front of him.
As he looked up he turned his head suddenly, catching James staring. James looked away quickly and then back, bracing himself for an accusation: a questioning look or a loaded smile. Instead, Ben gave him a little nod and turned back to Andy. James stared in surprise for a good two seconds longer than was allowable before dragging himself back around.
James imagined he could count the total number of words he’d heard this man speak on his fingers, despite that he wanted nothing more than to see him smile again. Ben didn’t strike him as the kind of man who wasted smiles on keeping up pretenses, but when he’d smiled it was genuine and his eyes were clear. No machinations, just gentle, honest amusement.
James kept his mind as orderly as his spanners. Somewhere at the back he carefully labeled a new folder ’Things About Ben’.
1. He’s The Stig
2. He’s guileless
James thought that the latter is the greatest virtue of a person. He closed the folder and put it away in its place, for later.
***
Fusker yowled and circled through James legs expectantly, as if he really thought that James had forgotten he needed to be fed this time of the afternoon. James nudged him away with his foot and tried to hurry. His heart was racing and his mind raced even faster.
He didn’t forget. James never forgot anything. But it had been a shitty, shitty day at the track and it had poured down rain, and Andy had yelled at him and he just had to get the garage cleaned before he could do anything else.
His mind leapt from one event to the next, replaying the day with slight distortions. Jeremy was running his mouth off and the alarm on the camera kept beeping and the mics kept squealing, but all the colors were turned up too bright and everything sounded more real and sharp than it had in real life, and it all kept coming back to the garage. The garage. He pushed up the sleeves of his sports coat, still on from work, and picked up a spanner.
Fucker nipped at his leg impatiently. James cursed and tried to hurry but his hands were shaking and he fumbled with the rag as he wiped off each tool and put it away. Sweat drops rolled into his eyes despite the cool storm air in the garage and he blinked them away.
“First wipe down the tools and put them away,” he muttered to himself. “Biggest things first, then smallest. Better do all the ones that were already in the chest, just in case. Put the tool rag away on its shelf and get the other rag, the one for tables.” They’re labeled just in case he ever got them mixed up. “Wipe down every work table, starting with the cleanest one. Sweep the floor with the big broom, then go over all the tight corners with the little one.”
Water from the downpour was seeping under the garage door and coming dangerously close to touching the wheels of one of his bikes. For some reason James was having a hard time making himself look at the crawling puddle. Fusker meowed loudly and went in for another nip. James kicked out without thinking, sending the little cat stumbling back.
“Fuck,” he said, before he’d even pulled his leg back. “Fusker…” the cat hissed at him and made a run for the kitchen, tail held high. “I’m sorry!” he called after him, as if it mattered. It was a cat, for god sakes. He couldn’t understand him.
A crack of thunder smashed against the garage door and rattled the panels. James jumped and heard the heaving, panicky breaths he was taking turn into a sob before he’d known it was coming. With tears blurring his eyes he folded the rag carefully and set it on a clean bench.
He made it into perfectly even thirds, even though he could feel he was falling apart. Even though he wanted to scream and shout, kick things and break something. He did it because he had to, and then he propped his hands on the table and dropped his head, and let the tears come. He tried not to think about how he’d have to redo most of the garage again, so it would be right. He tried not to think about anything.
***
On days he was at Dunsfold, between obligations, James sat on the smaller sofa in the break room of the portakabin and worked the Daily Mail crossword. He started with 1 Across and went through all the clues sequentially, reading each one before filling any in. When he finished he went back to 1 Across and began to write. It was one of those little routines that anchored his day, an island of consistency amidst the chaos.
James strongly preferred to fill the grid from the upper left to the lower right, so much so that if he happened to know one of the higher-numbered answers off the bat he would wait to write it in until he’d gotten close to filling in the rest of the grid. He always worked with the same pen and he only wrote down an answer when he was absolutely positive about it so he wouldn’t make a mistake.
The day after they’d been introduced Ben came into the break room and just as he was settling down to start on 1 Across.
“May I sit there?” he gestured at the end of the sofa. James shrugged. Hammond and Jeremy harassed him about his crossword habits; it was a ritual he preferred to keep to himself. He braced himself for a comment, tried to imagine what he would say. He’d had such high hopes that he was going to like this new Stig.
Ben sat himself on the end of the sofa with a cup of tea and a book and settled into the worn cushions. For the first few minutes James kept sneaking glances at Ben, kept expecting him to say something. Every time he looked up Ben was buried in his book, casually turning the pages.
What’s he thinking about? James wondered, thoroughly distracted. Ben chewed on his thumb nail, eyes never leaving the page. Any minute now he’s going to say, “So where’re you from?” or “Who’s the lady in your life, James?” and I’m going to have to try and answer. James waited for the obligatory small talk to come, staring into the middle distance somewhere across the room and keeping Ben under surveillance from the corner of his eye.
James glanced at the clock: 10:35. He hadn’t solved any clues in over twenty minutes. This was going to put him off his goal of finishing by 11:00. Ben, apparently unaware of James’ discomfort took his hand away from him mouth to turn the page then immediately went back to working at a hangnail.
James fiddled with his biro and watched the dust motes settle. If he isn’t going to say something… what is he going to do? They always do something. They tap their legs or crack their knuckles or… something. He carefully raised his eyes to survey Ben more directly. He honestly looked absorbed in his book. Ben chuckled very softly, under his breath, and James jumped, afraid he’d been caught out. Ben’s cheek dimpled as he smiled and his eyes flickered over the page, laughing quietly again a few seconds later at something he read.
Wary but satisfied, James drew his gaze to his newspaper and tried to bring his mind back to the job of solving clues. Ben, for his part, slid deeper into the cushions at his end of the couch and proceeded not to speak to James for the next hour and a half.
It was brilliant.
It was one of the things that made Ben such a good Stig, James realized. Because he was the sort of bloke who tended to be quiet most of the time. He didn’t speak unless he actually had something to say and he didn’t have any need to fill silences. He was quite willing to let himself fade into the background.
James couldn’t remember ever feeling more at ease with anyone except Fusker.
Mentally James edited his file about Ben to add:
3. He’s comfortable with himself
Later, when he knew him better, James envied Ben his ability to be comfortable being himself, no matter who was around or what was going on. It seemed like no matter how mad things got, Ben was still the same. Not trying to impress anyone, just an open book.
James felt like he was too many people. There was the one he pretended to be at work, and the one he actually was at work (one aloof and unflustered, the other always on the defensive and nervous). Then there was the man he was at home when he was venting (barely in control of himself, furiously trying to work out his demons, almost more wild animal than man) and the one he was when things were going well (relaxed-- for once—listening to classical music with Fusker purring nearby.)
It was exhausting, being all of them, but more than that it left James feeling like no one actually knew him at all.
***
Ben passed James a cup of tea – made just the way he liked it- as he returned to sit on his end of the sofa. He picked his book up from the armrest, pressing the pages open, and blew distractedly across the top of his steaming cup, searching for where he’d left off.
James watched his lips purse and the way his eyes wandered over the words on the page, aware that he shouldn’t be staring, but equally aware that Ben wouldn’t mind. He couldn’t remember how they’d gotten into this routine-- passing down time together in the break room, James doing the crossword and Ben reading. Whenever one of them needed to stretch he’d make two cups of tea and they’d sip it and chat, if they were anything to say.
James realized he had drifted into thought still staring when Ben put his book down and glanced thoughtfully out the window.
“Tell me something, James,” he said, turning toward James and tilting his head the way he did when he was really thinking.
“Yes?” Four letter word for lofty, James' mind buzzed along in the background.
“You say ‘no’ a lot,” he was studying James now, chewing his lip.
James loved how Ben could just out and say something like that, with no context or preface. How even though he’d never asked James where he grew up or if he had any pets, never did the whole ‘get to know you’ song and dance he could get right to the point, like that was the most natural thing in the world.
Normally when someone asked him a direct question James had the feeling he was going to give a wrong answer. That was the feeling that sent him into a defensive spiral. But Ben wasn’t like anyone else James had ever met and he didn’t ask questions like anyone else, either.
“In what context?” James considered, meeting Ben’s eyes.
“All of them,” he clarified, a rare smile breaking through. “Why?” James shrugged. He wasn’t really sure. He just did. It was easier. Ben waited for a few minutes and then went on, “It just seems like you go through life with the handbrake on, you know? Like you’ve got your heels dug in. But then, I’ve noticed a lot of times you end up doing the thing that you said you wouldn’t do, anyway. And you usually don’t seem to upset about it.”
With the handbrake on. Well, that’s a nice way to put it, James thought. He tried to remember why he did that –he certainly knew that he did. He tried to remember when he started, but it was too far back.
“I suppose ‘no’ is my safe word,” James chewed his lip. Ben waited for his response, face a calm mask. “Life just moves a little too fast. I need more time than most people to think things through and get used to an idea. And I think it’s easier to get people to accept ‘no’ than ‘wait.’ At this point I think they’ve come to expect it from me.”
Ben nodded, question answered, and went back to staring out the window.
Tall, James mind provided. He filled it in on the puzzle and they lapsed back into comfortable silence.
His straightforward nature was another of the things that made Ben a good Stig. When he had a question to ask he asked it, outright. And when he had something to do he just went and did it, job done. No whinging, no screaming, no running about with his hair on fire like sodding Jezza.
It also makes him a good friend, James thought. And when did we become friends? he wondered to himself, smiling.
James added to his mental list:
5. He’s efficient
***
Monday. Voiceovers at the BBC offices in London. Voiceover days were weird because they were all there, working, but not working together. Sometimes they didn’t see each other at all, but then sometimes they spent hours huddled over their desks sending spit balls flying and bickering, waiting for something to be fixed so they could get on with it.
It had been one of the latter kinds of Mondays. Jeremy had gotten bored (and if Jeremy is normally annoying then when he’s bored he’s insufferable) and begun harassing James for sport. It had started with little touches: not nearly subtle enough to be accidental but just infrequent enough to keep James from really losing his temper. It had ended with Jeremy chasing him around the offices. Cornering him, tackling him, and sitting on him, pressing his face down into the dirty carpet.
“Get off, Jezza!” James panted and struggled to dislodge Jeremy, who easily countered his attempts. Despite being a worthless oaf he was quite a bit heavier and taller than James and easily kept him down.
“No,” Jeremy huffed and shifted himself to a more relaxed position to catch his breath.
“Jezza…” James felt panic rising up and stopped struggling, focusing on keeping the rising fear away. It was just stupid Jeremy, after all. “Jezza, please, I’m serious.”
“No, it’s good for you.” He clamped his thighs around James’ arms so he couldn’t shift them and a bolt of sheer terror ran through James causing him to thrash fiercely. He tried to get his knees up under him to throw Jeremy off but only got carpet burns for his effort. He twisted his hands up at the wrist, clawing at one of Jeremy’s arms which had gotten too close and managed to rip off some hair.
“Shit,” Jeremy quickly moved the arm. Then he giggled, “Just accept it, May.”
James gritted his teeth and tried to breathe slowly to hold off the panic. It was being restrained that did it, being forcefully subdued. The panic was a rising black tide, coming up from his feet to consume him. As it got closer the rushing roar of it got louder and the strength of its pull overwhelmed him. More than anything else about it that James hated, he hated being overwhelmed, carried away and out of control. The panic got to somewhere up in his chest and James squeezed his eyes shut, panted into the carpet. He did not want this is happen in front of Jeremy.
With all the will he could muster James started methodically to shut himself down. He dialed his sense of touch way back, consciously pushing it away, further away, until the pressure of Jeremy pressing him down and the hard floor under him were distant. He shut out the light and the sounds of Jeremy still catching his breath. He’d learned to do this is upper school, when the kids had picked on him. If he couldn’t overcome his anxieties he could at least shut himself off till they passed.
Down deep in the fuzzy greyness James was safe, and Jeremy became just another playground bully. He could be any of them, it made no difference. It wasn’t a warm sort of greyness. It was dark and cold. It was a void. But it was better than the roaring panic, so he let himself fall down. James sighed into the carpet and let his brain check out. Stasis, he thought, and relaxed into the darkness.
***
“Wrong, you’re wrong. You just are!” Jeremy shouted in the hallway. James didn’t look up from his crossword but felt his brows crease into a scowl. Maybe they’ll just keep going, he prayed. James and Ben were in their usual Wednesday places on the sofa and had enjoyed a quiet morning until now. Of course it was too good to last.
The door flew open with a bang and all hell broke loose. Or at least that’s how James remembers it.
Jeremy and Richard were in the middle of an argument about something inane –how many cows Richard could jump with his motorbike if he were on the moon seemed to be the topic of the day—and Jeremy had resorted to holding up his side of the conversation by simply being louder than Richard.
Richard flopped down on the room’s one chair grinning madly, “Okay, yeah, but you’re forgetting about how the moon’s gravity would affect the cows,” he insisted. Jeremy rolled his eyes and caught himself just as he was about to sit on the larger sofa.
The larger sofa had met its over-due demise earlier in the week when they needed something to drop on a Morris Marina that wasn’t a piano. It hadn’t been fit to bring back indoors, its absence leaving a couch-shaped clean spot on the stained carpet.
Jeremy looked around the bare room and sighed. “We have got to get some new furniture for this place,” he stalked over to the smaller couch and stood expectantly in front of James. “Well? Shove over, you two. I’ve got to fit my big arse in the middle there.”
Ben glanced up at Jeremy and adjusted the set of his jaw, then looked over to James. Silently he scooted to the middle seat, leaving Jeremy the end by Richard.
“Well alright then, suit yourself,” Jeremy said and settled himself to resume the argument.
Several minutes later James hadn’t been able to fill in any new clues on the crossword, what with all the noise the other two were making, so he couldn’t feel anything by relief when Andy shouted out in the hallway looking for “those louts.”
Jeremy made a show of hoisting himself off the sofa, groaning about the quality of the furnishing and his geriatric knees. Hammond made some return jab about his old age and they were almost to the door when Jeremy stopped, Richard bumping into his back in full, slap-stick slow motion.
“Oi!” Jeremy said, “Why is that when one of us touches you it’s the end of the fucking world but when he does it it’s no big deal?” Jeremy jabbed a finger at Ben and James glanced over, realizing for the first time that in order to fit Jeremy on the couch he and Ben had had to sit quite snugly together. They hadn’t moved, and Ben pressed along his side from his knee to his shoulder. James became aware of the warmth seeping through his clothing, and for once he didn’t want to pull away.
“Must be because he’s not a git,” James said and shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “I’m allergic to them, you know.”
Jeremy snorted. “I’m on to you, May,” he said and, mercifully, left.
Ben, smiling smugly into his book, started to shift back toward his end of the couch and put some space between them.
James reached across to stop him with a hand on his arm. “Stay? I don’t normally—but…”
“Okay,” Ben settled back next to him, book already open and eyes scanning the page.
James chewed his biro and tried to get back into his crossword headspace.
“He is a git, you know,” Ben said suddenly.
James felt himself smile, natural and not fake for the first time that day. “Yeah, I know.”
7. He’s safe
***
The parachutist stunt had been one of the best days filming James had ever had, despite the tension in the air. James knew everyone else was feeling the same little jolt of panic as he did whenever they saw Ben without his helmet on. Everyone who knew, anyway.
There’d been no one else they trusted to drive the car, but it had become clear early on that Ben couldn’t see well enough with Stig’s helmet on to do the stunt. The obvious solution was to let him do the stunt as himself, Ben Collins – racing driver. To be honest, it seemed terribly foolish.
But, despite all the odds, the day went well and they didn’t reveal more than they meant too, and James got to spend time with Ben away from the dull lights of the portakabin.
A few months later the studio day came around and James felt that same tug of panic, watching on monitors at the back of the warehouse, as Ben stood casually unsuited amongst the crowd, hands in his pockets. It was worth it, though, for him to get his applause for once. Even if the audience didn’t really know who he was or why they ought to applaud him.
“This is my one chance,” Ben had said, pulling at the loose threads on the portakabin sofa. “To put my face on the show I work hard on… To let my mom see that I am doing something, not laying around the house all week like a lout.” He’d run his fingers roughly through his hair. “I’m nervous as hell, though. I think I’ll feel naked. I’m really camera shy, you know? That’s why I like that damn suit so much.” He’d swallowed dryly and James had just nodded, known he didn’t need to say anything.
When Jeremy introduced them to wild applause Ben grinned and shuffled his feet, going for a high five from Tim. Then, Jeremy gained silence only to ask for one more round of applause for “Ben and Tim” and James forgave him, mostly, for being such a pillock the rest of the time. The audience cheered and whistled obligingly and James could tell from Ben’s little grin that he was genuinely chuffed.
Ben look straight into the camera connected to the monitor James was watching and James’ heart froze for just a beat thinking Ben was looking at him but then he came back to himself. Of course he wasn’t.
Ben waved quickly and mouthed “hi mum” snapping his eyes back to Jeremy as soon as he’d done it. The whole moment lasted a second at most and it took James brain a few seconds to catch up; when it did his heart stutter stepped again. He’s just unbelievable, he thought. Ben was still smiling like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening and staring over at Jeremy like a life line.
James got the idea he’d had to work himself to look into the camera like that and now was glad to be done. James glanced around at the various APs and techies watching the monitors but none of them seemed to have noticed the moment. A little selfishly James was glad, wanting this all to himself.
10. He’s adorable genuine
Where did he come from? James wondered. How is it possible for someone to have made it to adulthood and still be that innocent? He’s completely without pretense. A little awestruck, James watched the monitor that stayed on Ben as Jeremy introduced the day’s guest. Ben was talking with Tim, looking utterly relieved and a little shaky. He was still grinning from ear to ear.
He’s just too perfect to be real.
Later, James would identify this as the moment he fell in love with him.
***
James dumped his box of Scalextric out on the floor of his living room, deciding to build a copy of Dunsfold. He deliberately mixed the pieces around so he’d have to sort through them for the ones he’d need. It would take him longer, keep his brain that much busier, and get him that much closer to daylight. James glanced at the clock, it was only nine but he already knew he wasn’t going to sleep tonight.
It was one of those nights when he could feel himself teetering on the edge. Things were niggling at the back of his mind, little voices wondering whether he was sure he turned the light off in the portakabin? Or if the spanners in his toolbox at the track might have gotten out of order? He silenced them by trying to mentally calculate the angle of the first curve.
As much as working around Jeremy and Richard exhausted him with having to keep up a front, there were also times like this one when it was a welcome distraction. He was about 50/50 at the moment whether he’d make it through the night with losing his battle with his anxieties and driving up to the track to try to convince the night guard to let him in.
He was so distracted not thinking about things that he actually jumped when his phone started to go. He glanced at the display confused. Who would possibly be calling him on a weeknight.
Ben.
“Hello, James. I’m not disturbing you, am I.”
“No, just, uh,” James coughed to clear his throat, eyes darting around the room. “Just got my Scalextric out.”
“You okay, mate? You sound a little off.”
James, for once, didn’t think before he answered. “Not really. Actually. No.” Silence from the other end of the line. James waited and resorted to counting to keep his mind occupied.
“You shouldn’t be alone, then…” he seemed to be thinking of what to do. James could picture Ben with his head turned just a little to the side, pulling his lower lip into his teeth. “I’d invite you out for a pint but, obviously, I can’t be seen out with you. Damn Stiggy and publicity and all that. People might put things together.”
“Don’t worry about it—“
“No, it’s important. Listen, why don’t you come round to mine? I’ve got a highly neglected DVD collection that we could crack in to.” James considered the possibility. He wasn’t really in any shape to be around people, but then again, this was Ben. And it would certainly keep his mind from spirally back into the same old grooves if he were away from here. “We can stay up all night drinking and watching mindless TV like university students,” Ben offered after James’ considering silence.
“Yeah, yeah okay. Thanks. I’ll be over there soon.”
He scooped all the Scalextric into the box and grabbed his keys.
***
“Gelatin garnish…” James mumbled to himself. He didn’t look up at the sound of the door but he followed the white shape of Ben in full Stig kit in his peripheral as he crossed the room and came to stand over James.
“James,” Ben said, James didn’t look up.
“Makes oneself heard,” James was in the five-letter words. He was doing the crossword by filling in all the shortest words first, not moving along to the four-letter words, for instance, until he’d finished all the threes. It was an especially rigorous treat he reserved for when his anxieties were acting up and he needed something that would keep his brain completely absorbed.
Ben ripped open the Velcro closure of one glove and bit the fingers in his teeth to tug it off one-handed. He splayed his bare hand on James’ chest, feeling his racing heart. James looked down at the thin fingers against his shirt.
Things had been different between them ever since that night with the Scalextric, when he’d gone over to Ben’s to wait for the sunrise. They’d sat on the couch and watched old movies and definitely not talked about it, but there’d been the implicit admission that James had some issues and Ben hadn’t flinched in the face of them. Ever since then, James had found himself wanting to sit a little closer to Ben, drawing nearer to that comforting, solid presence.
“James,” Ben said again, gently. He cracked the helmet’s visor just enough so his voice wasn’t muffled. Carefully he took the biro and newspaper from James’ fingers and clasped James’ hands between his own. James’ fingers ran over and over the stitching on Ben’s remaining glove compulsively.
“Come to my place after work,” Ben said, soothing James’ restless movements.
“I—I can’t. I have to go home. There are things I have to do… Have to do at home,” James stuttered. He licked his dry lips. He’d have to get his head back in the game soon, it was almost time to start filming again and that meant talking without sounding like a mental.
“Then I’m coming back to yours,” Ben said with finality and dropped down beside him on the couch. “Fantastic guest today,” Ben placed James’ near hand on his knee and covered it with his. “Nice bloke, have you ever met him before?” He rambled on not waiting for an answer, carefully talking James down from the his high, anxious place, “Thought he was going to kill us both the first time he took that second to last corner with me still in the car…”
Ben followed James home. James briefly entertained thoughts of trying to ditch him, then laughed out loud at the absurdity of Captain Slow trying to out-drive The Stig. It had been a while since James had had a full blown crush, (which, he was pretty sure, was what this amounted to) not never, but a long while. He had forgotten how the pleasant butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling was countered with equal parts terror and nausea.
They’d known each other for a couple years, on and off, what with filming schedules and one thing and another. Somehow what had seemed at the time to be isolated moments, things that James could break down and analyze, had added up to something more. Mentally he pulled down the file, by now dog-eared and creased, labeled Things About Ben.
1. He’s The Stig
2. He’s guileless
3. He’s comfortable with himself
4. He’s fearless
5. He’s efficient
6. He’s thorough
7. He’s safe
8. He thinks in motoring metaphors
9. He’s well-read
10. He’s genuine
It was a concise list of Ben’s personality, yet it didn’t come close to capturing him the way it should have. Ben defied James’ efforts to dissect and quantify; it was a characteristic which James found both terrifying and alluring. James glanced in his rearview and saw Ben’s face, calm behind his sunglasses, as he followed James through the traffic.
By the time they arrived the butterflies had been replaced by a heavy, twisting tension in his gut. He unlocked the door to let them in and left his shoes by the mat. He noticed that Ben followed his lead without prompting, leaving his coat on the hook and toeing off his shoes.
Ben trailed James into the kitchen where James stopped. James chewed on his lip and glanced around the room, not quite able to let himself go to his comforting organization rituals if someone else was here to see him, even if that person was Ben-- maybe especially if it was Ben.
He looked at the window over the sink, the dishes in the drying rack, Ben’s white socked feet on the linoleum. It was a standoff between his desire to make order and his desire to not be observed. Finally, Ben broke the silence.
“What do you need to do, James?”
“I just need to go straighten some things up in my office.” He tried to say it casually, like it was just something on his to-do list. Something he’d rather do now but he could leave till later if he wanted to. That was often how he rationalized it to himself in his head. He winced as he heard it out loud, realized how hollow it sounded.
“Okay, go put your regular clothes on first,” Ben said. James stared at Ben’s toes, too embarrassed to look up. His socks didn’t quite match. “Find a t-shirt or something. I’m going to make us some dinner.”
James sloped off to his bedroom to do as Ben had suggested. Behind him he heard Ben curse and Fusker meow. “Ouch! Yes, alright. I’ll feed you, too. Little demon,” Ben said. “Fuck that hurt. Okay, now where’s the cat food…”
The savory smells floating up the hall of cooked meat, olive oil and garlic slowly grew from faint whiffs to a fog so heavy James could almost taste it. He noticed every once in a while that it had grown stronger when he looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, meticulously polishing and re-organizing the box of Scalextric he’d put away messily weeks before.
Fusker came in to wind around his knees and James looked up to notice the sun had set. There was a whiff of something meaty about the cat and Fusker was doing his full-on, motor-boat idle purr. Smart man, James thought. The way to a cat’s heart is always through his stomach. “So I suppose he’s your new best friend, then?” James asked rhetorically, scratching Fusker’s ears the way he liked best.
“Pretty much,” Ben said. James looked up with a start. He was leaned in the doorway, a kitchen towel tucked casually in one pocket and a dusting of flour on his shirt. “Come on,” he said stepping forward and offering James a hand up. “Take a break and let’s eat something.”
James couldn’t really think of an argument so he took the hand and got to his feet, knees and back protesting at the hours spent folded up in one position. Ben pulled him up and suddenly they were standing almost nose to nose. James noticed a smear of flour on Ben’s cheek and wiped it away quickly with his thumb.
Realizing what he’d done too late he glared at his traitorous hand in shock. He heard a muffled laugh and looked up into Ben’s smiling face. To his surprise, James found himself smiling, too.
“It smells amazing,” James said, breaking the moment. “I had no idea you could cook."
“I’ve been a bachelor for over a decade,” Ben chuckled, turning toward the kitchen. “I have had to learn to feed myself.”
James followed him down the hall, noticing the flex of the muscles in his back under his t-shirt and the patch of skin that was revealed on one hip with every step. He’d taken his belt off and his jeans sat low slung on his hips and shuffled on the carpet, partially covering his sock feet.
“I’ve been a bachelor for twice that long and all of can cook is eggs and toast,” James lamented.
“That’s a travesty. I’ll have to teach you,” Ben said going to the cabinet for plates. “But first, we eat.” He served them both plates of chops and vegetables while James got the wine and they settled at the kitchen table.
“I’d like that,” James said several minutes later around an excellently seasoned bite of chop.
“Mmm?” Ben hummed.
“If you taught me to cook,” James caught Ben’s eye, “I think I’d like that.”
“So would I,” Ben smiled genuinely and speared a potato.
Several minutes passed with the clink of forks and the purrs of Fusker, crunching kibble in the corner. Gradually, James’ good cheer began to wane and his unease at Ben’s silence grew. The bite of chop in his mouth became as dry as straw and only seemed to grow the more he chewed. He swallowed hard and got most of it down, following it with a gulp of wine. He tried a potato but it tasted like sand. He set his fork down.
“What? You don’t like it?” Ben asked.
“Aren’t you going to try to fix me?” James asked, eyes downcast.
Ben sighed and propped his elbows on the table, focusing his full attention on James. “I wouldn’t presume to know where to begin.”
“But you agree there’s something wrong with me?” James said in a small voice.
“Only if it’s bothering you…” Ben seemed to struggle for words. He frowned, “You’re brilliant, you know. I mean, just like you are. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever known.”
“I know,” James said with surprising bitterness. “I mean, everybody says that,” he amended quickly. “But what does it buy me? What good does it do me to be smart if I can’t manage to live like a normal person? To think like a normal person?” Ben’s brow creased and he said nothing. “I mean… do you understand what I mean?”
“I think so… It’s like when you have a car with too many torques. It doesn’t matter how much power the engine has unless you can put it down on the road,” Ben gestured revving motions with his hands. “It doesn’t do you any good to just spin your wheels.”
“Exactly,” James nodded and tapped the table. “That’s it exactly.”
“Do you want to be fixed?” Ben asked after the silence had stretched on too long.
“Maybe,” James sighed. “I mean, I do, but then also I’m afraid to. I’m afraid of change.”
“Tell you what, if you decide you’re ready, someday, I’ll help you find someone who knows how to help you,” he reached across the table and took James’ hand. “But to answer your question, no, I’m not going to try to fix you. I quite like you just the way you are.”
James raised his eyes to meet Ben’s and matched his easy smile.
Yeah, James thought. Yeah, I can do this.
***
The heavy bass of something modern and techno reverberated through the walls of the house and up through the legs of James’ chair. It vibrated in his chest pleasantly and when he exhaled he felt his breath stuttering along with the crude beat. There was no way this music had come from Jeremy’s collection.
James followed ripples that the throbbing rhythm made in his beer, watching the crowd in Jeremy’s living room with dulled interest. Most of Top Gear’s camera crew was in there in various stages of drunkenness, dancing to the too-loud music. The sound guys were out in the back yard doing inadvisable things with fire and James could hear Jeremy bellowing from the kitchen, telling one of his favorite stories.
James rolled his beer between his fingers and let the chaos wash over him, safely cocooned in a dim corner of the empty dining room. He never drank much at these things—too many people, too many variables, too many things that could go wrong --but it was nice to be here, all the same.
Ben appeared from the direction of the back yard, smelling of smoke and dropped into the chair beside James with a laugh dying on his lips. His hair was standing up, like he’d run his hands through it, and his face was already flushed from the alcohol.
“James,” he slurred and grinned widely.
“Did those guys set the house on fire yet?”
“Not yet, but they’re working on it,” Ben sighed contentedly and shifted so he leaned one shoulder against James’. They sat in silence, watching the dancing in the next room.
“Man, I’ve really missed this,” Ben said wistfully after several minutes.
“Mmm? Missed what?” James asked.
“This, hanging out. With mates in a big group, you know.” He glanced over and James like he’d expected him to make the connection already. “It’s not like I can go out to the pub with you guys when a series wraps, you know? Can’t let the public see Ben Collins hanging around with the Top Gear crew.” He sighed again wearily.
James let his mind tick over this in his methodical way. He’d known, of course, that Ben couldn’t go out with them, but somehow he’d never quite connected that to Ben not being able to go out. He pulled up a memory of Ben getting into his car at the end of a series, already pulling his balaclava on as he got ready to leave to track, while the rest of them were joking loudly and yelling across the car park, arranging their plans to meet that night. The image hit him like a brick, settling heavily with a sour feeling in his stomach.
“I—I never realized,” he began. Ben waved one hand dismissively.
“It’s the job. But tonight,” he stood unsteadily and smiled, making a grand gesture with the hand not holding his drink. “Tonight’s my night. Tonight Stiggy doesn’t matter,” he announced happily as he wandered away again, this time toward the dancing camera crew.
James watched him go and meld himself in amongst them, casually leaning against whoever came closest and moving to the music.
James dug up Ben’s file from the back of his brain:
11. He’s lonely
James eyes refocused and he searched for Ben amongst the moving crowd. He found him dancing chest to chest with one of the younger camera men and Ben’s eyes stared straight back at him, not looking away.
***
Ben wasn’t one to play games. He said what he meant and he meant what he said, so James never had to wonder where he was at with him. Still, it was a bit of a surprise when Ben pressed his lean body up behind James' in the corner of Jeremy’s living room, one hand going to James' hip and the other wrapping around his chest, bottle of beer hanging loosely from his fingers.
He pressed his obvious hardness against James’ arse and puffed a wet breath against his neck. “I’d quite like to go to bed with you,” he said in James’ ear, voice rough and warm from the alcohol.
Yep. No games. No circling around the bush: there was certainly no misinterpreting that.
James stiffened reflexively. Ben chuckled softly and rubbed his face against James’ shoulder, clutching his arm tighter around James’ chest to steady himself. They stood like that for what was probably only a few seconds, but for James it seemed time had actually stopped. Finally, Ben spoke again.
“James,” and James could hear the grin in his voice, “It’s alright to say ‘wait’ to me.”
“Wait,” James said immediately. Ben loosened his arms enough to let James turn around and face him. He was flushed red from the beer and from arousal, James was sure. James relaxed at the sight of his familiar face. He put one hand over Ben’s hand on his hip and brushed his fingers. “Really ‘wait.’ Not ‘no’. Not at all. Just ‘wait.’”
Ben nodded and squeezed his hip lightly, and then he was gone into the crowd.
James let out a huge breath and looked around. He needed to find a place to think. Alone.
At a party this well attended it wasn’t easy to find a place where one wouldn’t be disturbed. James shut himself in Jeremy’s ensuite and settled into the (empty) over-large tub. He thought, and he drank, and he thought some more. The drinking helped.
It was an hour or so and several beers later before James was able to think about touching Ben or kissing him without feeling panic beginning to creep up and press on his chest. He rested his head on the lip of the tub, long legs flopping out the other end, and closed his eyes, picturing them touching.
He was yanked from his, ahem, visualization exercise when something banged into the bathroom door, causing him to jump and knock an empty bottle of beer into the tub with a crash.
“Shit,” he said at the exact moment as Jeremy crashed through the door and stumbled, careening to the opposite wall.
“—how to fuck to open a fucking door fucking—“ Jeremy stopped short, propping himself up on the sink and watching James in the mirror. “May. What’re you doin’ in my tub?” he slurred.
“Just getting out,” James said. His legs didn’t seem to quite understand the plan, as they refused to help him wrench himself up and out of the bath. He flopped over the edge and onto the floor in an undignified heap, scattering beer bottles.
“Right, good.” Jeremy turned himself around so he could lean back on the sink basin and watch James go.
“I’ll just crash at your tonight, okay, Jezza?” James got to his feet unsteadily and headed for the door.
“Mmmm, yeah. Right.” Jeremy said, distracted by staring at the bath. “…Does look comfortable,” James heard him say as he made his way out. Looking back he saw Jeremy sliding on his belly over the wall of the tub.
Most people had either gone home or passed out, so it wasn’t too hard to find Ben on the living room sofa, looking much more sober than the last time James had seen him.
“James,” he said when James sat down hard beside him. “Been thinking?”
“I have.” James looked Ben over and tried to reconcile the real, living, breathing person with the man he’d been imagining while he was in the bath. It made his heart speed up, but it didn’t make him want to hit the brakes. “I want to—“ he caught himself. This was a weird thing to ask. But then, this was Ben. Ben was safe. “Can I just touch your hair?” He licked his lips nervously, aware of how that request must sound. “It just, it looks so soft and I really want to. I just—“
Ben was already leaning over, smiling, picking up one of James’ hands and pressing his head against it. It was as soft and downy fine as James had imagined. He dug his fingers in, working down to the scalp and let the hair fall back through his fingers.
“Can I touch yours?” Ben asked.
James nodded and when Ben’s fingers tentatively carded though his overlong hair he let his eyes fall shut to just feel. This isn’t how normal people do things, James thought. But Ben had said that he didn’t care if James was normal, that he liked him the way he was, and he’d proved it already. The nagging voice in James head, swamped by beer and emotion, fell silent at last.
“Ben?” James whispered, eyes tight shut, “Would you kiss me?”
Later they slept together in Jeremy’s spare room. Just slept.
James liked to sleep in his clothes when he was at someone else’s house; Ben had stripped his own shirt off and said ‘okay.’ I’m not like other people, but then neither is he, James thought, his eyes getting heavy and thoughts muddled. Maybe we can do this. This could work. Behind him Ben shifted in his sleep and snuffled, tightening his arm across James’ chest, rustling his shirt. Yeah, we can do this, James last thoughts before he succumbed to sleep. Reason number one, He’s The Stig.