Jeff grins, and I can tell he’s grateful for the opportunity to lighten his mood. “You sly dog, you,” he teases.
“Jeff—” My tongue seems tied. My thoughts and feelings are doing somersaults in my head, and I can’t seem to keep them straight. “He’s—I mean, what do you—I just don’t know what to think about Luke.”
Jeff leans forward on the couch to look at me. “What’s gotten your panties in such a twist, Henry?”
“Well, for one, he’s very angry with you, and that makes me a little worried.”
“At me? Why?”
“Because he thinks you were trying to discourage him in his writing. He thinks you view him as competition.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m really worried,” Jeff says sarcastically. “Henry, you should have read some of his stuff—”
I decide not to reveal that I already have. “Just think back to the conversation you had with him. Could you have possibly come across as too critical, too hard?”
Jeff shakes him head adamantly. “Not at all. I told him it needed work, but that he should keep going, that I thought he had talent somewhere inside him. It was very mild criticism.”
I sigh. “I think for someone like Luke, hearing that he has talent ‘somewhere inside him’ instead of being told that he is the next John Updike is always going to be translated into, ‘You suck.’”
“Well,” Jeff says, “his anger at me may stem from more than that.”
I look over at him. “What do you mean?”
He closes his eyes, then opens them again after a few moments. “After I gave him his criticism yesterday morning, Luke seemed pretty quiet, but he did say he appreciated my honesty. I thought that was that. So I came back here to the house, and I was at my computer when I heard somebody enter through the door behind me. And it’s Luke. Naked.”
“Naked? As in thong naked?”
“As in naked naked.” Jeff laughs. “He says he wants to ‘thank’ me for reading his manuscript, and since he couldn’t pay for such professional criticism, he wanted to find another way.”
I can feel my body going numb.
“Man, he looked very sexy standing there.” Jeff grins. “Like I have to tell you that, Henry. You’ve obviously been unable to resist him. The kid’s adorable.”
“And so you—”
“Turned him down.” Jeff smiles wanly. “I just couldn’t do it with him. Remember, Lloyd and I were off to plan our wedding later that day. I just couldn’t fuck this kid and then go off to talk about wedding vows.” He shakes his head, glancing toward the window. “I tell you, Henry, planning for this wedding has put me in such a different place. The weirdest thing is: it actually wasn’t all that difficult to turn Luke down.”
He laughs. I say nothing.
“Okay, so it was a little bit difficult,” Jeff continues, “especially when he turned around and showed me his ass. What a bubble butt. But in the end, I just said no, and sent him back across the way.”
The image of Luke showing Jeff his ass—the same ass I would fuck later that night—sears my brain.
“I’ve got to go,” I say, standing.
Jeff looks up at me strangely. “What’s the matter?”
I boil over. “You just don’t get it, Jeff. Do you mean to be insensitive, or are you just so insensitive that you don’t know when you’re being insensitive?”
“What?” Jeff stands to face me. The cat jumps off the couch. “Henry, what did I say?”
I snort. “Then I guess it’s the latter.”
Understanding seems to cross Jeff’s face, and his hand reaches out grip my forearm. He wants to keep me from leaving.
“Okay, okay, you’re right,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry if I was insensitive. But Luke coming on to me didn’t mean anything…”
“Oh, no, nothing at all. Except that, when he couldn’t get you, he turned to me as a consolation prize. Story of my fucking life!”
Jeff’s shaking his head. “That’s not the way it was, Henry.”
“That’s the way it always is!”
“Not this time. Luke had an ulterior motive going after me, Henry. If he couldn’t get me to champion his work on its own merits, he’d try to become my ‘mistress’ and maybe get me to help him because of that.” Jeff looks me straight in the eye. “But he came on to you, Henry, not because he wanted anything from you, but because he liked you.”
“It doesn’t wash, Jeff. It just doesn’t wash.”
He lets my arm go. There’s really nothing else that can be said.
“Just have Lloyd call me when he gets back, okay? I’d appreciate you not saying about Luke. I should be the one to tell him what happened with our employee.”
“I’m sorry, buddy,” Jeff says again as I head out.
I wave him away. “Just forget it. That’s what I’m going to try to do.”
I head back across the way. I can’t bear to see Luke right now. Knowing that he came on to Jeff earlier in the day makes me feel like sloppy seconds—and damn it, it hurts.
And now try telling me that wasn’t Jeff’s Speedo, you freaking perv!
I suspect he’s watching me from the window as I hop into my Jeep with the top down and tear out of the driveway. I’m not sure where I’m headed. I just cruise down Route 6, cranking up Pearl Jam as loud as my ears will permit. And at the moment, that’s very loud indeed.
It all makes perfect sense. Jeff’s story explains Luke’s seething anger at him. He was rejected by his idol not once but twice, and I just blundered into the middle of it. Yet again, Henry Weiner proves his stupidity by allowing himself to think, even if just for a night, that Luke—that anyone—might really like him. I am such a fool. Such a big old idiotic—
My cell rings. A local P-town number I don’t recognize.
“Hello!” I shout.
“Henry?”
The wind and the music combine to make hearing difficult.
“Who’s this?” I ask. “Speak up!”
“Henry, it’s Evan.”
“Evan?”
“Yeah, you remember, the other night you—”
“Yeah, I remember. Hold on.”
I glance quickly in the rearview mirror to see if anyone’s behind me. No one is, so I swerve over to the side of the road and ram the Jeep into park. I switch off Pearl Jam.
“Henry, you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“So how the hell are you, dude?”
“I’m just ducky, dude, how are you?”
My voice is hard, but Evan laughs. “I’m just great,” he says. “Listen, Curt and I were hoping you could join us for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Dinner?” I’m feeling belligerent. “And then maybe a dip in the hot tub?”
I hear Evan chuckle. “That could be arranged.”
“I’m sure it could. I’m sure it’s often arranged.”
Evan laughs again, but I can tell he’s starting to become wary of me. “So can you come?”
“Oh, yes, I can come, although I gave no evidence of it the other night.”
It takes Evan a few seconds to get the joke, and then he doesn’t seem to find it all that funny. “It’s hard getting a straight answer out of you, Henry.”
“Maybe that’s because I’m not straight. Instead, I’m gay, a big flaming homo—trapped in a culture that prizes sexual romps and game-playing more than anything real and lasting.”
Evan doesn’t respond.
“How many others are you inviting, Evan?” I ask. “Is it one for you and one for Curt, or will this be an all-out orgy?”
Evan’s voice is tight. “We were just inviting you.”
“Why would you want to see me again?” I ask. “Has there been a little bed death since tying the knot during that fabulous ceremony on the Maui volcano? Is that what it is? Curt just doesn’t get you hot and bothered anymore, so you need to bring in outsiders to spice things up?”
“Henry,” Evan says, “if you don’t want to co
me to dinner, all you have to do is say no, thank you.”
Suddenly I feel like a shit. Evan doesn’t deserve this.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, the air rushing out of my puffed-up chest like a balloon. “Really, I am. I was totally out of line.”
“I’ll say.”
“I’ve just had a really bad day so far.”
“Sorry to hear it.” He doesn’t sound sincere. Who can blame him? I just bit his head off for extending me a dinner invitation.
“Look,” I say, “it’s just that I really liked you, Evan. I allowed myself to imagine maybe there might be something more between us.”
“Oh,” he says. “I see.”
“But it was my fault. I made some presumptions, but they were wrong.”
Somehow I can tell he’s smiling. “I’m sorry we never got to take our walk on the beach.”
“You know what? You can’t say that to me.”
“Why not? Henry, we really liked you.”
I fall silent.
“I should have explained to you more clearly that Curt and I were lovers,” Evan says. “I should have explained to you that we’re not just players, that we really like getting to know the people we have sex with.”
“But see, here’s the deal,” I tell him. “I’m looking for more than just sex…”
“So are we.” Evan pauses. “In fact, we’ve been talking about the possibility of developing an ongoing relationship with someone.”
“A three-way relationship, you mean?”
“Yeah. I know it’s crazy to be talking about this right now. We hardly know each other. But I just want you to know, Henry, that we’re not just looking for sex.”
For a brief moment, sitting here on the side of the road, I almost tell Evan sure—I’d love to come to dinner. I’d love to consider everything you—and Curt—might have to offer. And it’s not just the memory of Evan’s hot body that’s making me feel this way. Even more, it’s the memory of how much he loved Provincetown, how in tune he seemed to be with my own sensibility. He came so close to fitting my dream of Mr. Right—
Except for one thing.
He has a husband already.
“I just can’t,” I say finally. “Thanks for the invitation. But I can’t allow my heart to get ripped out from the inside of my rib cage.”
“Henry, we wouldn’t do anything to hurt you—”
I laugh. “Of course you wouldn’t. It would me. I know how to hurt myself very well on my own.”
“It doesn’t have to be about getting hurt.”
“Look,” I tell him. “I’m sure you’re great guys. But I think I’m going to become a monk. It’s the only safe path for me.”
Evan laughs. “If you do, you’d be the sexiest monk out there. I’d hate to think of a hottie like you being taken out of circulation.”
I smile. “I appreciate you saying that.”
“It’s true.”
Is it? I just don’t know anymore. I flip the rearview mirror down so I can stare up into my reflection. I look tired. I look old. Yet Evan just called me a hottie. Which is true?
“Well,” Evan’s saying, “if tomorrow night doesn’t work, then would you at least keep our number on your phone? And call us if you’re ever inclined to do so?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I can do that.”
“Hope your day gets better, Henry. I really do.”
I sit there for a long time after hanging up the phone, just staring down the road ahead of me. To think that I was so desperate for a boyfriend that for a moment there I was actually considering dating a married couple…
Lots of guys have successful three-way relationships.
Shane’s voice.
And he’s right: lots of guys do. So is it possible that I turned Evan down too soon?
Maybe, in fact, I ought to heed Shane’s point: I rejected Evan and Curt out of my own fear-based idiosyncrasies. Maybe I could, in fact, have a wonderfully fulfilling relationship with the two of them. Some multi-partner relationships seem to work out just great. For so long I’ve lamented not having a boyfriend. Now I’d get two for the price of one.
I laugh a little to myself. Is this really me, Henry Weiner, thinking this way?
All of a sudden I’m worried that some cop is going to come up behind me flashing his lights, so I start the Jeep again and pull a wide U-turn in the middle of Route 6. I’m heading back toward Provincetown. But the call from Evan has certainly gotten me thinking.
The joy of being gay, Jeff and Lloyd have taught me, is that we can create relationships however we choose, that we don’t need to fit proscribed patterns. We can build families based on what matters to us, on whatever our own individual tastes and needs might be. Monogamy too restricting? Toss it out! One lover too limiting? Get two! Or three!
Jeff and Lloyd have certainly lived that way at times. There have been other lovers for both of them, even while the two of them have been together. They’ve always made room for change, for experimentation, for challenge. And look at them today. All that nonconformity didn’t make them weaker. In fact, it made them strong enough and committed enough to want to get married.
So why am I still playing Cinderella, believing that the only way to find my Prince Charming is to go the ball and get him to notice me above all the other girls?
Rounding the hill in Truro, I observe the panorama of Provincetown that lies ahead: the narrow arc of sand that cuts through the bright turquoise water, the row of storybook cottages on one side, the rolling dunes on the other, the exclamation point of the Monument completing the picture at the far west. This is my home. For better or for worse, this is where I’ve cast my lot, and this is where I’ve got to find my heart.
Oh, I could move. I could quit my job and go back to Boston, where the pool of potential mates is a thousand times larger. But so is the potential for heartbreak. I realize, as I drive back into town, that no matter where I go, my questions and turmoil will follow. This is about me: it’s not about where I live, or who I see, or what kind of games other people are playing. All that matters is what I allow to matter.
And here, everything matters. No one passes through Provincetown. Here, there is purpose. Even without a plan, I remind myself, there is purpose.
Still, I hesitate going back to the guesthouse. I still don’t know how I feel about Luke. Maybe Jeff’s right. Maybe Luke did turn to me on the rebound, but he wouldn’t have done so if he didn’t like me in the first place. Why shouldn’t I believe that? He’s a scared kid, after all, and he felt rejected by someone he admired. I’ve been in his shoes many times. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge him.
Passing Clem and Ursie’s restaurant on Shank Painter Road, I resist the urge to stop for a frozen custard cone—that is, until I spot Ann Marie and J. R. out front. I quickly swing the Jeep into the parking lot.
“Hey!” Ann Marie sings out, seeming thrilled to see me.
“Hey you two,” I say, hopping out of the Jeep and taking note of their cones. “I was being so good in passing by here until I saw you guys. What flavors did you get?”
“I have a swirl,” Ann Marie says. “J. R. got chocolate.”
“It’s the best, huh, buddy?” I ask the boy.
He just shrugs as he licks his cone.
I look over at Ann Marie. She shakes her head as if to say she and Lloyd were unable to get through to him.
“Did you guys take the boat out?” I ask.
“No,” Ann Marie tells me. “J. R. just wanted to come home.”
I look down at J. R., who’s intent on his cone.
“Can I have a lick?” I ask.
He just frowns, avoiding eye contact.
I stoop down in front of him. “Can I just have one lick so I don’t have to buy a whole one for myself? Pretty please?”
He finally eyes me. “That would be gross.”
“Come on,” I say, teasing him, my tongue hanging out. “Let me lick.”
I’m like a big old dog tr
ying to lap his cone out of his hands. I succeed in getting a small hint of a smile. “Uncle Henry!” J. R. says, holding his cone over his head. “Get away!”
“Lick, lick, lick!” I cry, pretending to jump.
And the kid’s frozen custard promptly falls from his cone onto the dusty asphalt.
“Fuck!” J. R. shouts. “Now look what you did!”
Men Who Love Men Page 28
