This is a continuation of the movie Philadelphia, in which Antonio makes a start at a new life after Andrew Beckett.

Where Nothing Can Go Wrong

Come to think of it, I never would have met Miguel if it hadn't been for Andrew Beckett, so that's yet another thing I have to be grateful to him for. Andy and I met while we were at law school together; I was at a party one night and inadvertently walked up on a fight he and his lover were having. Ron took one look at me and stomped off, and I spent the rest of the night apologizing to Andy. He good-naturedly assured me that it was okay, but that I could make it up to him by giving him a ride home. He told me the next morning, in bed, that I had probably done them both a favor.

It's weird: Andy and I had lots of things in common and the sparks flew between us on that one night - but we never slept together again. We remained steadfast friends, however, until he died.

I first met Miguel shortly before he and Andy moved in together. Even though Andy and I were practically the same age, I had become something of a 'big brother' to him when he had gay-related problems. One day, he told me he'd just met a guy who was a few years younger than him, and that he'd fallen head-over-heels in love with him. When he finally got up enough courage to ask him out, Miguel told him that he wasn't interested in a one-night stand or even a fling: he was looking for someone he could spend the rest of his life with. I couldn't believe my ears: Andy Beckett, whose motto was 'No Commitment' was seriously talking about settling down.

Andy was never the type of man to do things by halves. Once he made up his mind, that was it - there was no looking back. He and Miguel gave a party where they announced, in the presence of all of us who cared about them, that they were together. Then they left on a 'honeymoon' to Spain, so Andy could see the land where Miguel was born. It wasn't like the tacky gay weddings that have come into vogue in the past few years. It wasn't much like a straight wedding either; rather, it was a public celebration of the love and commitment they intended to share for the rest of their lives.

All that happened a long time before Andy got sick. I'm grateful for the happy years they had, before all the suffering started. Andy worried about Miguel because he thought Miguel worried about him too much. Andy told me once that, considering all his years of promiscuity, he deserved the curse of AIDS, but that Miguel didn't. Andy's lover hadn't slept around before they met and he was completely faithful afterwards, something that Andy couldn't claim. But Miguel never complained; he spent day after day, week after week, month after month, taking care of Andy. And loving him.

I went to their house as soon as I heard the news. Miguel had succeeded in coercing the doctors into allowing Andy to go home to die, surrounded by his books, his art and his loved ones.

I didn't get a chance to *really* have a conversation with Miguel until a couple of days after the memorial service. I was executor of Andy's will and went by their house to tell Miguel I had had it delivered to the probate office earlier that day.

"Is there anything I need to do?"

"No. Andy took care of everything. He wanted me to do this so you wouldn't have to."

"I know. Andrew said you were the best tax attorney in Philadelphia--"

I grimaced. "Yes, well, probate law isn't my specialty, but it's a pretty simple will. He left some money to his family and some to his favorite charities. But most of the settlement is going to you. He wanted to make sure you were taken care of. Like you took care of him..."

I saw the pain in Miguel's face as he rose and walked over to the window. He stood there, with his arms wrapped around himself, staring out at... what?

I walked over and stood just behind him. "This is Paul. You don't have to be brave for me. I miss him too."

Gently, I placed my hands on his upper arms. I could feel him trembling through the thickness of his sweater. His head was down, leaning against the windowpane. He didn't speak and the tears flowed silently down his face. I moved my hands until they were wrapped around him as well, holding his hands.

Those were the first tears I shed for my friend, Andrew, and his beloved, Miguel. As I stood there, holding him, trying to comfort him, my mind formed a silent prayer to a God I wasn't sure I believed in any more: 'Help me help Miguel'.

Before I left the house that day, I managed to convince Miguel to have dinner with me later in the week. "Don't lock yourself away, my friend. You need to get out."

"I know. But this is the only place where I can *feel* him." He looked around at all the furnishings, most of them Andy's.

"I understand, Miguel. But Andy wouldn't want you to hide from the world."

Miguel shook his head. "That's not what I'm doing--"

"Isn't it?" Miguel stopped shaking his head and looked at me. I saw fear in his eyes. "Prove it. Come to dinner with me."

"When?"

"You choose."

"Okay. I'll call you in a couple of days."

"Promise?"

He smiled slightly. "Yes. I promise."

*****

Miguel and I had dinner the following Thursday at a small Chinese restaurant near their house. He looked a little more rested than the last time I saw him; I noticed he wasn't wearing Andy's ring on his left hand anymore, but I didn't mention it. "I'm going back to work on Monday."

I was mildly surprised. "So soon? Do you think you're ready?"

"I'm tired of sitting around, doing nothing. I need to stay busy."

I admired his matter-of-fact attitude. "Andy said you were the best teacher he'd ever known..."

"I'm very lucky to have a job I love."

Our food arrived and we ate in virtual silence. I was trying to come up with an easy way of delivering some less-than-good news and decided on the direct approach. "Miguel, I spoke to a friend of mine at the probate judge's office. He said the will is probably going to be held up until the appeal is heard on Andy's lawsuit. I can make some calls, ask some questions, but I'm not sure it'll do any good."

Laying his chopsticks down, Miguel looked past me. "The law firm has managed to continue to torment him, haven't they?"

I cleared my throat. "Miguel, I don't want you to think I'm out of line but, how are you doing? Financially, I mean."

Miguel's dark eyes were now hooded. "I'm okay."

"Really?" He nodded, his jaw set. "I'm not trying to pry into your personal business but I know Andy's medical expenses were huge." Reaching forward, I placed a hand lightly on his arm. "You have rent, utilities, groceries... Have you thought about moving to someplace smaller? Less expensive?"

"No!" He wouldn't look at me. "It's our place -- *my* place!"

"I understand, Miguel." I paused for several seconds, gathering the courage to continue. "Have you considered getting a roommate? For the other bedroom, I mean."

Miguel opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

"Just to help with expenses, so you won't have to move."

"I don't think I'd be very good company, Paul. I prefer to spend my time alone. Who would want to live with me?"

"You'd be surprised. There are lots of people who'd love to find a place like yours. Me, for instance."

Miguel raised his head, his eyes meeting mine. "You?"

"Yes. I hate my apartment and I've always loved your place. I'd respect your privacy."

Miguel was silent for several seconds, before he spoke again. "I know you'd be a great roommate and I appreciate your kindness..."

"I'm not being kind - I'm being honest. If there's anything I can do--"

"I'll let you know."

*****

It was almost two months later when I received a call from Miguel, inviting me to dinner. I had been vigilant with my phone calls to him, but hadn't seen him since the night of our dinner at The Great Wall.

When I walked into the house, I wasn't surprised to see that not much had changed since I was there last. Miguel seemed relaxed, although he looked thinner than the last time I'd seen him, and more tired. "You're looking well." We walked arm-in-arm from the front door to the living room.

"Thanks. So are you."

The evening went by quickly. We engaged in small talk and gossip and laughed a lot. As we moved back to the living room for coffee and homemade cheesecake, Miguel cleared his throat. I was about to hear the reason I'd been invited here. "Are you still interested in moving in here?"

I was surprised. "Yes. I told you, I *love* this place."

His smile held a trace of relief. "So do I; I don't want to lose it."

"I won't let you lose it, Miguel. We'll keep it... together."

"Just a few rules." He spoke quickly, nervously. "We're roommates, and that's *all*. Understand?"

"Yes, I understand. Your virtue is safe with me."

Miguel's eyes flashed. "That's not what I mean and you know it! I just want us both to know what we're getting ourselves into, from the start."

I was sufficiently chastised, and I let it show in my face. "I didn't mean to make light of the situation, Miguel. I told you before: I'll respect your privacy."

"Good." He seemed relieved. "When can you start moving?"

"How about the weekend?"

*****

As I had expected, Miguel and I got on well. There were some days, even weeks, that we did little more than pass at the front door or in the kitchen. We tried to spend at least one day out of every weekend together, schedules permitting. Sometimes we spoke at length about Andy Beckett and sometimes we hardly mentioned him; most of the time Miguel was open and candid when I inquired as to his state of mind and sometimes he simply wouldn't discuss it. In short, he showed all the symptoms of putting a personal tragedy behind him and going on with his life.

There was only one aspect of his life that wasn't moving forward.

Miguel had become celibate.

This wouldn't have been so disturbing to me if I had never seen his true nature. During the times I spent with Andy and Miguel, I came to know a man who loved passionately and who thrived on physical contact. As I watched him now I could only imagine the toll his self-imposed exile from physical contact was having on him, emotionally as well as physically. I longed to be closer to him, to give him strength and comfort, but in a way that he would know was non-threatening.

But I couldn't do it, and at first I was puzzled; I didn't understand why. Then, one day, I finally figured it out: I couldn't treat Miguel Alvarez in a friendly, brotherly way because I was falling in love with him.

This terrified me, of course. I knew that, if Miguel ever learned how I truly felt, he'd toss me out of his house on my ass.

So I kept my feelings to myself. Better, I thought, to have the small part of Miguel I *did* have, rather than lose him forever.

*****

Summer came and went for Miguel and me; a definite chill in the air meant that fall had arrived. Miguel had slowly been accepting more and more social invitations, accompanied by me, most of the time. So it came as no surprise to me when he handed me a ticket at breakfast one morning.

"What's this?" Turning the paper over, I read the front of it:

Fourth Annual Halloween Charity Ball

Presented By

The Greater Philadelphia AIDS/HIV Council

"Are we going?"

Miguel nodded. "Don't you want to?"

I'm probably the *only* gay man in America who doesn't like to dress up in costume, but I didn't mention it; Miguel seemed genuinely excited about the party. "Sure. What'll we wear?"

The smirk on Miguel's face was almost devilish. "Let's surprise each other. We'll meet there, okay?"

I summoned up as much enthusiasm as I could. "Sounds like a plan."

*****

After consulting some of my creative friends, I decided to give up and go to a costume shop. Not realizing that all the decent costumes are reserved by Labor Day, I was at the mercy of what was left that would fit me.

On the night of the party, I dressed quickly and left to meet Miguel at nine.

As soon as I was inside the door, I saw him. He was standing with his back to me, chatting with some friends. They laughed when they saw me approaching, then Miguel turned to see what they were looking at. All the animation drained out of his face when he saw me.

"Nice costume." The sight of Miguel in Navy dress whites took my breath and made me laugh. I had on the very same outfit.

"Is this some kind of joke?" He motioned at what I was wearing.

"You mean, did I know we were dressing alike? No, it's a silly coincidence."

"Is it?" He turned and stalked toward the front door.

I caught up with him quickly and grabbed his arm, turning him around. "What's the matter, Miguel? It was your idea to come tonight."

He stared at me for several seconds before speaking. "You don't know what's wrong, do you?" I shook my head. "You weren't at this party last year, were you?" I looked at him in total confusion. "Andrew and I came dressed alike..." He made a circular motion with his hand, meant to encompass both our costumes.

"Oh, Miguel." My heart sank. "I admit I have no taste, but I'd never do anything so mean. I waited until last week and this was the only costume left in my size. Except for Scarlett O'Hara."

Miguel turned away so that I couldn't see his face. He said nothing.

"Miguel, I said I'm sorry... Don't be mad..."

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded funny. "I'm not mad. I'm just trying to picture you in a hoop skirt and parasol." He giggled.

I couldn't help joining in the laugh. Reaching out, I ruffled my companion's hair with my hand. "C'mon, sailor, I'll buy you a drink."

*****

Despite the rocky start, we were having a good time: at least *I* was and Miguel appeared to be enjoying himself as well. We didn't mingle much, preferring to sit at a table in the corner. Friends and acquaintances stopped by all evening to chat. Each of us was asked to dance numerous times; Miguel refused all invitations and I did the same.

I spotted Larry, arguably the biggest queen in Philadelphia, only after he'd spotted us and was on his way over. There was never any telling what he might say when he was drunk, which he undoubtedly was tonight.

"Well, look at the matching Good Humor men." His lewd gaze traveled from Miguel to me and back. "Which one of you has the banana popsicles?"

"Larry, we're not ice cream men - we're Naval officers."

Considering my comment, Larry chuckled. "Well, of course, you are. And you're *adorable* - both of you. You look like two fifths of the Village People."

I stood up. "Larry, you're my friend, so I hope you won't be offended when I ask you to shut up and go away!"

Larry glanced at me, then stared past me at Miguel, scrunching his flat little nose. "Don't you just love it when Paulie tries to act all butch? It makes me wish I'd slept with him before he settled down."

"Settled down? With whom?" Miguel's voice sounded quiet, dangerous.

"Well, with you, love." Larry moved past me to stand next to Miguel. "I must admit I wouldn't have believed it if I wasn't seeing it, right now, before my own eyes."

"Seeing what?!" Miguel's voice was losing its calm; out of the corner of his eye I saw him stand up.

"You and Paulie, of course. You're the talk of the party." Larry paused, probably for effect. "We've all been *so* worried about you, Miguel. We thought you'd *never* find anyone to replace poor Andy--" Pushing roughly past us, Miguel ran out a side door. "Oh, *dear*, what's wrong with him?" Larry fidgeted nervously. "Paulie, you'd better go and see about him."

I was beyond furious. Swallowing a threat for my idiotic friend, I took off after Miguel.

*****

Miguel had found an unlocked door to the outside and was sitting, cross-legged, on what looked like a loading dock. His elbows were on his knees and he hid his face in his hands.

I sat down beside him for a minute or so, hoping he'd say something to me, or even acknowledge my presence. He remained motionless. I leaned over until my mouth was very close to his left ear. "Miguel..."

He shifted, so that his back was to me.

I couldn't give up. "Miguel, we need to talk--"

He moved his hands so he could speak. "I think they're all talking enough for both of us--"

"You don't honestly pay any attention to anything 'Lavender Larry' says, do you?"

"He's the worst gossip I know, but he never makes anything up. If he says everyone is talking about us, it's because they are."

"But they're only talking because they care about you; they want you to be happy."

"I *was* happy!"

"With Andy, I know." I was still talking to his back. "Don't you think it's time you allowed yourself to be happy again?"

Miguel half-turned; I could see the profile of his face. "I-I'm happy. I keep busy with my work. We-I go out..."

"But you're *still* alone. You're a wonderful, warm, beautiful person, Miguel; you have so much to give someone--"

"I could never love anyone the way I loved Andrew. And I won't destroy my memories of him with someone else." He stopped looking at me and hung his head.

I moved over so that I was in front of him again. "No one expects you to love someone else the same way you loved Andy. That's the beauty and the mystery of love: it's different every time you try it."

As I continued to stare at my companion, he closed his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded distant. "I still think about him. Every day. Every night -- in my dreams, he's still alive... and we're together. I remember how I felt when he left me. I can't leave him..."

By now, Miguel was crying; tears were flowing, unheeded, down his face. I longed to reach out and wipe his tears away, kiss them away, but I dared not. "Miguel, I'm going to tell you something I promised I wouldn't tell you. Something Andy told me about a month before he died."

Miguel looked up at me, his face wet and his hair disheveled. I'd gotten his attention and he was listening. "He told me what he thought you'd do after he was gone. He told me that you'd do what needed to be done, that you'd put on a brave face, and that you'd shrivel up inside and die. If you were allowed to."

"And you were supposed to prevent this?"

I nodded. "Andy made me promise I'd look after you and see to it that you took care of yourself. He said I was the only friend he had that he could trust not to make a pass at you."

"What?!"

"I didn't understand it either. At first. Then he explained that you weren't like any other gay man he'd ever met. You didn't sleep around. He was afraid you'd get eaten alive by all the sharks if someone didn't watch out for you."

"So he gave that task to you."

I nodded. "And he made me promise I'd never tell you what he told me. He knew how much you valued your privacy."

"And all these months: the talks, the dinners, moving in with me... You were simply following Andrew's instructions?"

"That's how it started, yes, but that's not how it is now. Somewhere along the way, I went beyond my promise to my friend, Andy. And I fell in love with my friend, Miguel."

Gasping, Miguel started to move away from me again, but I grabbed him by the shoulders, preventing him from turning away. "How do I know Andrew didn't tell you to say that as well?"

I leaned forward until our faces were almost touching. "I can only tell you the truth and ask you to believe me. I didn't *mean* to fall in love with you... I certainly didn't *plan* on it happening... So if everyone in there," I nodded toward the door, "is talking about us, it's because they can see what you can't, Miguel. What you won't. They can see it in my face every time I look at you..." It was taking all my self-control to stop myself from putting my arms around him or...

Miguel's face had the look of a deer caught in car headlights. "So, what do we do now?"

"You mean, what would I *like* to do?" I smiled menacingly. "Well, for starters, I'd like to take you home, lock you in your bedroom and make love to you for about forty-eight hours." I laughed at the look of terror on his face. "Hey, I'm being honest," I shrugged. "But don't worry, I'm not into non-consensual sex. I want you, that's true - but only when you're ready... if you ever will be. Right now, I'd settle for a dance." I stood up and started trying to pull Miguel to his feet.

But he resisted.

"I can't go back in there, Paul. I can't face those people."

"Maybe you don't have to." Cocking my head sideways, I put a hand behind my ear. "Can't you hear the music?" I bowed theatrically. "May I have this dance?"

I took encouragement from the fact that Miguel hadn't run. He stood up slowly. Taking a step forward, I put my arms loosely around his waist and was gratified when he put his hands on my shoulders. A slow song was playing and we moved together tentatively. Being a couple of inches taller, I leaned forward, nuzzling my face in his soft brown curls.

"Heaven is a place... where nothing can go wrong..." Miguel's beautiful voice was full of emotion as he sang along with the song. He looked up at me and I felt myself melting into his mocha gaze. "Andrew and I danced to this same song last year..."

He stopped moving. "I can't do this, Paul."

"Yes, you can."

The harder he struggled, the harder I held him. Giving up, he collapsed into my arms. "You don't understand what it's like to lose someone like Andrew! You'll *never* understand!"

If he was trying to make me lose my temper, he was coming dangerously close to succeeding. Grabbing his hair, I jerked his head back so I could see his face. "Is that what all this is about? Do you think you're the only person who's ever lost someone? Well, do you?!" I was yelling now; Miguel tried, once again, to escape from my grasp.

This time I let him go and started to walk away. I made it almost to the door when he spoke. "What do you mean?"

Turning, I saw him leaning against the dirty brick wall, staring at me. "Don't think you're going to make me talk about it, Miguel. I won't allow you to feel sorry for me."

"Oh, I see: it's okay for you to feel sorry for me, but not the other way around, right?" He moved over to stand in front of me again. "What happened, Paul? What was his name?"

"Grant." The word escaped before I realized it. I took a deep breath then continued. "We met the summer after I graduated from law school; he'd just gotten his MBA. He was so much smarter than me, he had a great sense of humor, he was generous, kind - a really *nice* guy. He was gorgeous *and* fantastic in bed. He was the only man I'd ever pictured myself growing old with..."

I found myself rambling on about someone whose name I hadn't spoken in years. Miguel was holding me, my head pillowed in his arms. "We were together for three years - the three best years of my life. Then he was gone." I looked down into Miguel's beautiful face, knowing I could tell him anything, *wanting* to tell him. "We were at the grand opening of a new bar one night, in a neighborhood we didn't know very well. Grant wasn't feeling well, but the bar belonged to some friends, and he insisted we go for a little while. I left him at the front door, while I got the car. I drove up just in time to see them run away - there were three of them... He never had a chance."

Now it was my turn to weep; I had no control over the tears that flowed down my face. Miguel was there, holding me, whispering nonsensical words of comfort, telling me it was okay, that he understood.

And I knew that he, of all people, *did* understand.

How long we stood there, wrapped around each other, I do not know. When there were no more tears for either of us, we pulled back. I had a slight feeling of awkwardness now - we both knew the deepest, darkest secrets about each other and I wasn't sure what was going to happen next.

Miguel's face was unreadable and he said nothing. I suddenly wanted to run away and pretend this night had never happened. But I couldn't just leave without a word. Wiping my face on my already-dirty coat sleeve, I said, "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. I'll see you at home."

Once again, I was to the door when Miguel spoke. "Paul?"

I answered without turning around. "Yes?"

"We never finished our dance." I felt his hands on my shoulders, turning me around. I nodded silently, holding out my arms.

"Not here, Paul. You can't hear the music very well out here." Nodding in the direction of the door, he motioned for me to go in.

I guess we were quite a sight out there on the dance floor: our lily-white uniforms were covered with dirt from the loading dock, and I don't even remember where our hats and gloves were. We were probably the only ones in the room who were ignorant of our appearance. The song was a little faster than the previous one, but we still moved together slowly.

Miguel's head was on my shoulder and he was speaking to my shirt collar. "I have a favor to ask of you, Paul."

"Anything." I meant it.

"I don't want either of us to be alone - lonely - anymore. But this is going to take time. You may run out of patience with me--"

I pulled my head back and Miguel looked up at me. "You may lose patience with *me*--"

Miguel smiled. "Ah, but you forget - I have so much more patience than you do."

I considered this thoughtfully. "You're right. I've never considered patience to be among my few virtues..." This brought a chuckle from my partner. "But, if you're my reward, I might be tempted to try and reform. Do you want to give it a try?"

"Yes." It was as simple as that; in one word, a pledge. And a promise.

All at once, Miguel's hands were on the sides of my head, tangling in my hair and pulling me forward. My mouth found his, soft and warm, as I'd imagined it would be. His tongue parted my lips and darted inside, moving against my teeth; he sucked my tongue into his mouth and then set upon it with his teeth, nipping at it playfully. I could feel his strong, lithe body pressing against mine and I wrapped my arms around him as tightly as I could. Closing my eyes, I breathed in the scent of him as our bodies writhed together. I wanted this moment, this kiss, to last forever. We were totally absorbed in each other - if there were others in the room, we weren't aware of them; if there was anyone else in the world, we were oblivious...

By this time, we were both breathing heavily. I felt, rather than heard, a moan as we pulled apart and tried to catch our breath. With his tongue, Miguel licked his way across my face and sucked on my earlobe. "Let's go home, Paul."

I looked down at his face, which seemed to be shining. This was a face I wanted to spend the rest of my life admiring. I would never tire of looking at it. I brushed my lips lightly against his and felt our bodies tremble. "Yes. Let's go." Wrapped in each other's arms, we walked out of the hall and into the rest of our lives... together.