I nodded yes. “I’ll make it all short and sweet. I want you to come with me to see the Nutcracker on December 22nd. That’s nine days from today and three days before Christmas. Put it on your calendar.”
As I released him from my grasp, Jerry hastily typed the dates into his cell phone. “I don’t see a conflict. Yes, I’m quite sure I can go.”
“I’d hoped I might have a date to take along by then, but it’s been a month since I broke up with the fireman, and I haven’t had a serious nibble since. Nerds with a viola stuck under their chin apparently aren’t in such high demand. When I bought the tickets, I assumed you were still single. The last time I heard about you having a date, your mind fixated on it for five days.”
Jerry nodded. “Obsession. I think that’s another design flaw.”
I shook my head. “I don’t get it. We’re both attractive men. Reasonably so. We have secure jobs. Tenure’s not a guarantee anymore, but it’s almost as ironclad as you can get. We both have nice homes.”
Jerry shrugged. “Harvey told me that I was too fixated on my fermentation projects in the kitchen. He thought those were spooky. I think he was too focused on a new shiny object named Mike.”
Having accomplished my primary goal for the lunch hour, I leaned back in my chair and fiddled with the now tepid French fries on my plate. “What are you doing for Christmas break? Are you visiting your parents again on the holiday itself like last year?”
Jerry suddenly gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward. I saw excitement flash in his eyes behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “Did I forget to tell you? I’m going on a cruise. I fly to Fort Lauderdale from here, and the boat leaves on the 20th. I don’t get back until the day after Christmas. I have so many things to complete before then. It’s consumed all of my free time. I’m sorry I forgot to mention it.”
The dumbfounded expression on my face was surely one for the ages. In a slow, deliberate tone, I asked, “And what happens between those dates?”
Jerry said, “Aw, damn.” He looked down at the calendar on his cell phone, and then he held it up to show me. See, it only shows three days at once. My departure and return dates were off on either side of the screen when you instructed me to write this down. I’m sorry. I can’t go to the Nutcracker with you.”
I nodded and said, “Apparently, your brain has a whole series of design flaws. When are you due for a reboot?”
“Aww, don’t hate me for getting lucky. I couldn’t turn this down. Do you know who else will be on the cruise?”
“Considering you’ve never mentioned it before, no, I don’t think I know. Is it one of those gay things encouraging romance and all sorts of debauchery behind closed doors?”
“Don’t be rude, Desmond. It’s not a good look on you. Yes, it is a gay cruise, and Alan Stanhope will be there, too. I don’t expect you to know who he is as he doesn’t play the viola, string bass, or cello.”
I laughed softly. “Let me guess. Is Alan a biologist?”
“He specializes in bioluminescence—algae and other creatures that glow in the dark. The cruise ship will visit an island where we’re likely to see them up close. I’m excited about it.”
I asked, “Did you know there are cats that glow in the dark now? I think I read about them somewhere. I wondered if I could find one for Halloween.”
“Oh, you’re talking about genetic modifications. Bioluminescence comes from Mother Nature herself. It’s like the Northern Lights of the sea.”
The rest of our lunchtime conversation petered out from there. Jerry occasionally caused me irritation and even exasperation, but he was one of my best and most loyal friends. We arrived at the university the same year as part of a new crop of hotshot young faculty, and only a year ago, we both earned tenure in the same academic session.
As we left the coffee shop, I said, “One more lunch before break. Will you be here?”
“Unless the psychology department has another catastrophe in our building with escaped rats, yes, I’ll be here.”
I snickered to myself. I couldn’t help it. I remembered the stories of Agnes Rossner, the matriarch of the university’s psychology department, tearing down hallways with a broom in hand trying to dispose of a hapless rat let loose by careless undergraduates.
When I returned to my office, Claire, the university’s music department secretary, said, “I believe someone named Maeve left a message in your voicemail. I told her that you were at lunch and that she could call back later. She said that she couldn’t wait, so she left a message.”
I scratched my head as I reached for the doorknob to enter my office and repeated the name in my head, Maeve…Maeve.
Fortunately, for department business, we still used a standard inter-office telephone system. Each year I steadfastly resisted any technological changes. It worked fine for my entire time at the university. It wasn’t broken. There was no need to alter the system for no better reason than to have something new.
I listened to the voice speaking on the message. I remembered Maeve. I met her at a symphony open house. She was a prominent lesbian lawyer in the city. She was the kind of woman who was born to don armor and slay dragons. I wondered why she was calling. Unfortunately, I spent too much time trying to remember her identity and missed half of the content of her message.
Grinning to myself, I heard Jerry repeating the phrase design flaw in my head.
Maeve’s call was a courtesy message inviting me to the LGBTQ Community Center’s annual Holiday Extravaganza. For two years—shortly after arriving at the university—I served on the board of the organization. They did excellent work, but I’d drifted away from supporting the cause in any other way than sending an annual contribution check.
I remembered the process of driving up support. Maeve likely volunteered for a calling tree to publicize the event. Everything she said sounded standard to me until she mentioned something about a Bachelor Auction. I didn’t recall that type of shenanigan when I served on the board. I paused the message and ran it back to listen again.
Maeve said, “Find yourself a great date at our fifth annual Bachelor and Bachelorette Auction. You never know, you might find that special forever someone. He’s out there. It happened two years ago, and wedding bells followed last summer.”
I sighed. Even the Community Center was succumbing to the pressures of a world too consumed with frivolity. It was difficult to place blame without considering the contemporary context. The world’s reality was more and more frightening every day.
After a quick check of my calendar, I marked down the Holiday Extravaganza and made a note to call Maeve back the next morning to make sure tickets were still available.
I buzzed Claire at the desk, “Is there anything else I should know? I hurried past your desk to check this message.”
“Oh, yes, there was one other important message. That visiting pianist playing with the symphony is stopping by. She’s the one with the red pumps with a gold heel. She said she wanted to personally deliver discs with film of her performances that professors can show to the students in their Music Department courses.”
I sighed. “She isn’t the least bit a diva is she?”
“I decline to answer that question, Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“Good choice. I would plead the fifth, too.”
3
Vincent
My sister, Ciel, appeared confused as I stared at her expression on the video chat screen. She said, “I do think you look great, little brother, but this isn’t a striptease, right? I thought you said it’s a bachelor auction.”
I flexed one more time and said, “Oh, never mind. I guess you don’t get it. Whenever I appear at a place where crowds of gay men gather, I need to make sure everything is in place through all the layers down to bare nakedness. I have to make sure that I prepare myself for all the possibilities.”
“Like a strip search to check your hidden weapon?” She raised an eyebrow and twisted one side of her mouth into a doubt
ing expression. “And here I thought you were going to ask for my opinion of how you fill out a smart, well-tailored suit.”
“That’s next.”
I watched Ciel raise a hand. She said, “Why don’t you call me back when you get to that point. I’m all for enjoying the sight of naked men, but frankly, I’ve seen most all of what you’ve got to show since you were a baby. I’m working on dinner here. Give me that call in a few minutes.”
My big sister was right. It was unnecessary to spend so much time terrified that a hair might be out of place on my head or a blemish might show on my right pec. I’d already spent an hour on my close-cut dark beard and mustache trimming hair by hair with surgical precision.
The date with the winning bidder was unlikely to happen immediately after the dinner and presentation. It would be planned for some time in the future. I was betting on after New Year’s Day. Still, if I had an opportunity to get close to Sal Whetstone, I wanted to know that I was ready for the playing out of his most wicked fantasies.
I rummaged through my underwear drawer trying to decide on the perfect color for the occasion. It wasn’t only about who might see it. I read an article a short time back that insisted that the color of a person’s underwear could impact their mood. As I rummaged through the drawer, I tried to remember the key findings. I stared at two prospects. I didn’t know whether lemon yellow or sky blue produced a better state of mind.
As I started to pull out the blue, I slapped myself upside the head. Christmas! It was a holiday event. I turned to the closet for my special box of holiday attire. My clingy pair of boxer briefs with strategically located, “Ho! Ho! Ho’s!” was the choice for the evening.
I growled when my orange tabby Chester decided that the moment I pulled on my black wool suit pants was the best time for him to show his affection. He rubbed against my calves and left behind a trail of orange hair.
Reaching down, I lifted Chester from the floor and said, “Sorry, buddy. You’re banished to the kitchen until I’m ready to leave. I love you, too, but black pants and orange hair are an unfortunate combination.”
Cufflinks or not cufflinks? I decided to go all the way for the evening. I was a business owner, and I was prominent in the city’s health and sports-related establishment. Ciel gave me an adorable pair of cufflinks for Christmas two years ago. They jeweler shaped them like barbells, and the “weights” at either end were burnished and cut black onyx.
Ciel called me back before I had the chance to call her. When she appeared again on the screen, she said, “I’m so sorry. I was a little rude before. I wanted to make sure you weren’t too upset. Oh, look at you: everything but the jacket and tie.
I grinned and held up my wrists. “These will make me think of you. My big sister will be with me all night long.”
“Oh, how sweet. I’m so glad you like those and get good use out of them. When I found them, they screamed, ‘Vincent!’”
“Let me grab the jacket and tie. I do want your honest opinion. I don’t have many other options if something is wrong, but I can do my best and try to make adjustments.”
While I dashed back to the bedroom, I heard Ciel ask, “Have you eaten dinner? I know how you can get when there’s something important on its way. You forget about the basic things—like food.”
I reappeared with the black bowtie secured at my neck and the jacket buttoned with one button around the middle. It was slightly tighter than I remembered, but I’d slacked off recently a few times in my workouts. The fit of the jacket was a good reminder to apply my sadistic talents to me.
Ciel exclaimed, “Perfect! I’d bid on you even if you are my brother.”
I grinned ear to ear. I was happy to take compliments like that when I could get them.
Ciel said, “Oh, I have one more idea. It might be the last little touch that will put you above all the other hot bachelors there tonight.”
I scratched my head. “What would that be?” I looked down at my shoes. They were expensive and perfectly shined. The suit was name brand. I said, “I don’t see it.”
“Remember that Santa hat that Grandpa used to wear when he played Santa? I thought you got it after he passed away.”
“I did, but I still don’t see…”
“Wear it when you’re on stage. It’s an added little festive touch. I think it’s got magic in it just like Frosty’s top hat.”
I tilted my head to the right for a moment, and then I said, “Okay, Ciel, I’ll trust you on this. I’ll say goodbye for now, and I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Yep, I’d like to know if I have a new brother-in-law on the way before he shows up unannounced for Easter dinner.”
I blew a kiss as my signature goodbye and watched Ciel’s smiling face fade from the screen. I knew right where the Santa hat lived. It wasn’t part of my Christmas apparel collection. I’d put together a tidy box of family treasures and kept it on a shelf in the upper right corner of my bedroom closet.
Admittedly, the Santa hat was a little dusty, but it fits perfectly on my head. I ran my lint roller over it three times and then checked myself in the mirror. A lump formed in my throat and a warm sensation spread through my chest.
If I’d colored my beard and mustache gray, I’d see Grandpa staring right back at me. He was a state bodybuilding champion and the finest man I’ve ever known. In his later years, after his hair turned white, he was the best Santa Claus in the city, maybe even the state. I stared into the mirror, grabbed my belly, and shouted, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!”
I had a long way to go to match Grandpa’s Christmas jolly, but it was something to consider in my later years. Glancing at my watch, I noticed that I was running close on time. My phone rang. It was Maeve calling.
I heard a lot of commotion in the background. “Vincent, the lineup of the bachelors starts in ten minutes. Are you doing this? I’m counting on you. It could mean free counseling for at least ten more kids in the community with the cash from the winning bid for you.”
“Aww, shit, I read the time wrong. I’m heading out the door. I’ll be there in ten, Maeve, suave and sharp. You can count on me!”
4
Desmond
I leaned over the table to speak with a skinny, freckle-faced young man with ginger hair. I tried to search my memory of recent students quickly so I wouldn’t embarrass myself by forgetting a name. The tag on his lapel helped me out. It read, “Justin.”
“Justin, it looks like I need your help. My name is Desmond Hollingsworth, and I don’t see my name tag here on the table. The name is Desmond—D-e-s-m…”
“Let me check here, Sir. We have a master list of all the purchased tickets.” He pulled out a folder from beneath the table and began to pore over multiple pages of printed out names.
I tried not to be too impatient. While Justin painstakingly read line by line, I glanced around. The corner of the convention center with Ballroom 6A was decked out in everything silver, gold, Christmasy, and sparkly. In a word, it was gaudy—a gay winter wonderland. I brushed my hands down my suit jacket and told myself, “Relax…it’s a party. Be happy. Be merry.”
Justin shook his head. I spied the plugs in his earlobes and tried to avoid staring, but one looked distinctly larger than the other. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hollingsworth. You’re not anywhere on the list. If you step back around the corner, they are selling door tickets. I’m confident they’ll have a few left.”
A few other men nearby heard his comment, and they turned to gape at me. My face began to flush pink. Leaning across the table close to Justin’s freckled face, I asked, “Is Maeve here yet? Do you know her? I personally purchased my ticket from her yesterday. She must have a record of it.”
Justin’s mouth opened wide. “Ooh! A late registrant. You wouldn’t be on my list then. Yes, we’ll try to find Maeve. I know she sold a few last minute tickets. Please stand over here to the side of the table so I can check on the next guests.”
I stood to the side of the table and t
apped my foot trying to look inconspicuous. It was impossible. I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other hearing my late mother’s admonition, “Desmond, don’t fidget! Stand still!”
A small pack of three men approached me. The tall one with broad linebacker shoulders asked, “Are you a sample model for the bachelor auction? You’re kind of cute. I like the jet black hair, matching glasses and your Roman nose.” Before I could stop his invasive activity, he swept his index finger down the bridge of my nose. I sneezed.
The stranger turned to his companions. “He’s handsome, don’t you think? Maybe I should bid on him, and we can take him home tonight.”
There were worse fates I could imagine than being the subject of hedonistic explorations by three younger men celebrating the holidays. I blushed again. “Thank you, but no. I’m waiting a moment to sort out a mixup with my ticket. I hope you enjoy yourself.”
“Aww, and I would have bid a cool $50 on you. Good luck, then.”
His friend to the right pointed at the next table and said, “There’s the wine. I really need a drink.”
I needed a drink, too, to calm my already frayed nerves. Unfortunately, I had to wait for Maeve like the unruly student told to stand in the corner. I supposed it was a just punishment for purchasing a ticket so late. All I needed was a dunce cap to complete my shame.
I heard a small commotion near the entrance, and I soon saw the reason why. I’d recognize Sal Whetstone anywhere. He was the handsome man hawking sausages on TV and the primary benefactor for the Whetstone Memorial Gym at the university. His muscular body poured into a snug fitting suit peered out from a frame at the entrance to the gym as inspiration for those of us who were less genetically fortunate.
Tales about Sal’s failed relationships were legendary in the dark corners of underground gay gossip in the city. Rumors persisted about him kicking lovers out into the snow for poor performance. If they couldn’t please him fully, he showed them the door without even calling for a ride.
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