Guilty Little Secret

by F M Land

  Dizzy rushed over to our condo and assessed the situation quickly. He called his mentor, Gabe Edgeworth, and made arrangements for me to be admitted to Bellevue Hospital. Then he called his security guard, and the three of them, Dizzy, Jade, and Martin, loaded me into Martin’s car, to take me to Bellevue. Dizzy also telephoned our parents, who relayed the news to Terry and Drew: Paul was in a coma.

  Within a half hour, I was in a hospital bed at Bellevue, an IV drip pushing fluids into my dehydrated body. Terry and Drew were the first to arrive. As if by predesign, Drew half-led, half-carried a distraught Jade out of my room while Terry went to work on me, caressing my face and arms, speaking softly into my ear. By the time Dad and Maman got there, Terry had roused me a bit from my unresponsive state.

  Satisfied that I was not about to die, Dad went off in search of Drew and Jade, to offer support to Jade, but mostly to find out what had happened to me. Maman stayed behind in my room with Dizzy, Gabe, and Terry. They didn’t talk much, just stood around watching Terry stroke my face over and over.

  Later that evening, Drew took Jade, Dad, and Maman back to his place to sleep, leaving Terry alone with me. Jade was reluctant to leave me. He stood in the doorway, half in and half out of the room, gazing at my face.

  “Go,” Terry told him softly. “You need to rest! You’ve been tending to him for days without sleeping yourself. Go take care of yourself now.”

  Jade began to sob then. Loud sobs, sounding so forlorn. Drew and Terry rushed to him. Nodding to Terry, Drew stepped back to let Terry comfort Jade. It was at that moment that all the hard feelings, all the antagonisms and petty jealousies, were forgiven between Terry and Jade. They looked at each other and understood that they both loved me. They both wanted me to stay alive.

  Terry smiled into Jade’s eyes as he reached up to throw his arms around Jade’s neck. “Thanks, Jade,” he murmured. “You saved our Paulie, you kept him alive. Thank you so much!”

  Drew reached out to rub Jade’s back. “You did a great job, Jade. You did everything you could for Paul.” He kissed the top of Jade’s head. “But now you need to get some sleep. Come and sleep in Paulie’s bedroom at our place. Come now.”

  Terry held me in his arms all night. He lay on the bed beside me and pulled me close. Near dawn, I began to move about in the bed, tugging at the catheter that was in my zizi.

  “What the fuck?” I muttered thickly, through my dry, cracked lips.

  “It’s okay, dear. Terry’s here with you.” Terry kissed my cheek.

  “Where am I?” I asked.

  “In the hospital. In Bellevue.”

  “What happened?”

  And Terry told me. Everything, including how terribly, terribly sorry he was. We both wept for a long time after that. We clung to each other, whispered apologies to each other. Then we laughed at each other. Then we slept. It was a deep, refreshing sleep. When Drew woke us up, we hugged each other, happy to be together, happy to be alive.

  After I was released from the hospital, Terry and I went alone to my parents’ house in Scotland for two weeks. It was Drew’s idea, actually. He insisted that we go away and work out our problems between us.

  “Paul cannot land in the hospital every time you two have a fight,” he told the two of us while I was still a patient at Bellevue. “You need to make up and start over.”

  Dad agreed, insisting that the two of us work on writing some music together. “You need to be thinking about getting enough tunes together for an album, Paulie.” He smiled and winked at Drew. “You two produce some good stuff between you. Go do it up!”

  So we had two weeks in Scotland. Our property was about 10 miles southwest of Edinburgh. It was a large rambling house, all on one floor, with a central open living area, trimmed with fieldstone and imported natural cherry wood. Six bedrooms flanked the central living space, three in each wing. My mother lived there as a very young girl, with her mother and brother, from right before until after the German occupation of France, from 1938 to 1945.

  The first few days we did nothing but lie around with each other. I wanted only to be in Terry’s arms. We spoke in whispers the first day, as if afraid someone was listening to us. Mostly we reaffirmed our love for each other. I never tired of our lovemaking.

  By the first weekend, we began to venture out of the house, riding bicycles into Edinburgh or taking my parents’ Mercedes into town for dinner or to a club. Mrs. MacGregor, the housekeeper who lived with her husband and unmarried son year round in the old cottage at the edge of our property, waited until we left the house before she entered to tidy things up for us. To avoid suspicion, we always left two beds rumpled and tossed dirty sheets into the washer for Mrs. MacGregor.

  We did write some music, too. The second week. I was a bit disappointed in the songs, actually. They were too slow, too romantic. Private little love songs. I asked Terry if he felt the same way.

  Shrugging, Terry responded, “I like the vocals.”

  “The lyrics are beat,” I told him.

  “Yeh, maybe.” His eyes searched mine. “You write better stuff by yourself. You know you do.”

  It was my turn to shrug. “We’ve composed some great music together, Ter. ‘Sky Full of Rain’ is a great tune. So is ‘Before You Go.’ Don’t give me your shit, man. We’re just not in the right head to produce tunes. No matter what Dad wants. If we can’t produce, we can’t do it!” I looked at Terry, my eyes blazing.

  Terry threw his arms around my neck and pulled my face down for a long kiss. “You’re right,” he replied when our kiss was finished. “We’re letting Davy put pressure on us to produce. Fuck it! Let’s enjoy ourselves. I haven’t kissed your beautiful dick for hours. Come here!”

  I laughed and gave my zizi a squeeze before offering it up to Terry. As Terry coaxed me into a state of taut excitement, it crossed my mind that there must be a tune in all this frenzy. Somewhere there was a song locked in all this suspended pleasure. I gasped, then lost the edge, lost it, right in Terry’s mouth.

  Later, I thought about my music again. I liked to write songs that Terry could sing, because I liked the sound of my falsetto backup on Terry’s lead. But, actually, all the guys in my band had great voices, Jeff and Jade, as well as Terry. I needed to compose more songs using all of our voices. Or just my own. I’d never written a song for myself to sing.

  The day before Terry was to leave to join Drew in Paris and I was to return to New York, we drifted from bedroom to bedroom, making love. By evening, we were too exhausted to do anything but doze in each other’s arms. We were too exhausted, even, to feel sorry for ourselves. We knew we had to go on living our lives as before. There was no talk of Terry leaving Drew.

  I, on the other hand, had decided during my vacation in Scotland that my relationship with Jade was over. And, when I studied Jade’s face as he stood at the airport, waiting for me with Dad and Maman, I knew that Jade had come to the same conclusion. There was a distance in his eyes, a reservation in his hug.

  “How was your vacation?” Dad wanted to know. “Write any music?” He didn’t waste any time getting to the real question on his mind.

  With a shake of my head and a kiss for my mother, I replied, “Nothing good.” Seeing the open disappointment in my father’s eyes, I added quickly, “But I have bits and pieces in my head that are going to develop into something hot.” I studied my father’s eyes. “I can feel it! I just need the right catalyst!”

  Dad looked from me to Jade meaningfully. “I guess old Terry isn’t the catalyst a boy like you needs. Hey, how is Ter?”

  I nodded. “Fine. Great.”

  “Did you two get along okay?”

  Glancing at Jade, I nodded again. “Yes, famously. I asked Ter to get me and Jade an apartment in Paris.”

  My dad looked at me expectantly, without speaking.

  “Yeh, I asked him to get me an apartment and a keyboard player.”

  Laughing appreciatively, Dad nodded his agreement.

  Life with Jade
was quite mellow after that. As Drew was in France with Terry, Jade turned his attention to community service and support groups. It seemed like every day and evening was filled with some meeting that Jade had to attend. A gay men’s consciousness raising group, a gay men’s chorus, a gay men’s support group, Gay Pride Organization Board (“G-POB,” Jade called it) meetings, Gay Hotline Committee meetings, Men’s Community Center meetings. Jade did them all. He gave me a Gay Pride button to wear, a plain white button with a pink triangle on it. I wore it because, emotionally, I could do nothing else to make Jade happy.

  In November, two weeks before Thanksgiving, I left with my parents for France. We flew to Paris, where we were met by Drew and Terry at the airport. As usual, Maman was in a hurry to get to Anjoie to see her elderly stepfather, Etienne. But, to mollify Drew, she and Dad agreed to stay in Paris with them for the weekend. I intended to occupy my new Parisian apartment as quickly as possible.

  In the car, I threw my arms around Terry’s neck and pulled him close. I whispered my litany of “I missed you, I love you, I want you” into Terry’s ear, hugging him even closer. “Feel how hard I am.”

  Ever so cleverly, Terry moved his hand from the top of my thigh to a position close to my zizi. With the back of his hand, he pressed heavily against my stiffened zizi, causing me to sigh involuntarily.

  I watched as Drew and Dad, both seated in the front, exchanged a look.

  “God, he’s such an overgrown baby,” Dad muttered to Drew in French. Then he turned to gaze at me, smiling into my eyes.

  Shrugging, I nuzzled Terry’s shoulder. “What can I tell you?” I asked, my mouth pressed against Terry’s neck. “I missed my Terry.”

  Terry and I dashed to my new apartment as soon as we could get away. It was in the trendy section of the dixieme arrondisement, near Canal St-Martin, across the city from Drew’s house in the staid bon chic bon genre 16eme arrondisement. I whistled my approval when I saw it. It was a third floor flat, bright, with lots of windows and three bedrooms. “One for Jade, one for Jeff, and one for us,” Terry told me.

  My mind latched on to the “one for us.” “Our bedroom,” I murmured when Terry led me there. I looked around the room, at the king size brass bed and the cherry armoire and dresser. “Was this place furnished?” I sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “I furnished it,” Terry told me as he stepped between my knees. “Do you like it?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you love me?”

  “Mmm. Yes.” I nodded even more vigorously.

  “How much? Tell me how much!”

  “I’ve been celibate for weeks,” I told him solemnly.

  Laughing, Terry grabbed my fly. “Let your Terry take care of you!”

  At dinner, Dad inquired about the apartment. When I assured him that it met my approval, my father nodded and asked, “Well, Terry, what about that keyboard player?”

  Drew and Maman looked confused, but Terry and I laughed.

  “Oh, well, they’re not as easy to come by as apartments,” Terry answered. Then he explained to Drew and Maman about my request for an apartment and a keyboard player.

  Nodding, Drew looked thoughtful for a moment. “Speaking of keyboard players, we need to call Daniel Vitreille tonight. See how he’s doing since Victor’s death.”

  Everyone around the table looked downcast at that. Victor Santerre had been a close friend of Drew and Maman for nearly thirty years before he died of lung cancer the previous spring. He had lived with a younger musician, Daniel Vittreille, for over two decades.

  Daniel, it turned out when he drove over later that evening, was doing well. He was lonely but kept himself busy sorting through his and Victor’s old stuff. He brought over a small box of photographs for Drew and Maman, who exclaimed over the fading photos of Blaise Morgon with Drew, Daniel, Maman, and Victor.

  Although I’d heard a lot about Daniel and Victor over the years, I had never met Daniel. When introduced to Daniel, I experienced a sort of déjà-fait. Daniel reminded me of everyone that I loved. He was a little like Terry, a little like Drew, a little like Dad, a little like Maman, a little like Jade, even a little like Dizzy. I sat across the room from him, observing him intently.

  “Are you familiar with my music?” he asked me quite suddenly, in French.

  I nodded, answering in English, “Of course! My friend, Jade, is a big fan of yours!”

  Daniel laughed and looked around the room. “So, where is this friend, Jade?” he inquired, in heavily accented English. “Is this Jade a woman?”

  “No, no! He’s a guy. A very gorgeous guy!”

  “Aieee! And you didn’t bring him with you?” Daniel laughed again.

  Later, around ten or so, Daniel suggested that we all go out. He knew a club where we could walk on stage and jam with the band.

  “Why not?” Dad replied, smiling at Daniel and then at me. Dad was always open for ways to promote me and my music.

  The club, Le Meridien, was really crowded, even for a Friday night, but Daniel got us in the stage door. When Daniel walked onstage with Drew and Terry, the audience went wild. And, when Dad and Maman joined them later in the set, the walls nearly shook with the applause. The band took a break after that, but Daniel and his American friends continued to jam. Dad called me onstage, introduced me as his son, and handed me a bass guitar, while he switched to a 6-string. With Drew on drums, Terry on congas, Dad and Maman on guitars, and Daniel on keyboards, I led them through a series of Santerre, Posso, and Terry Walters tunes.

  Daniel could really crank on the boards. I caught his eye midway through the set and smiled at him. In response, Daniel gazed back at me with a mind-numbing intensity. It seemed to me that all the blood in my head had drained into my zizi.

  “Let’s take a walk,” I suggested to him as soon as we got backstage, making sure at the same time that I was out of Terry’s earshot.

  We got as far as Daniel’s car in the heavily guarded parking lot before we started making out. He pulled me into the backseat and closed the door. Everything between us seemed understood. I wanted him, he wanted me. We kissed until I was consumed with desire.

  “I have an apartment a few blocks from here,” I told him. “Let me take you there.”

  “Later,” Daniel replied.

  “Later.”

  And later, when Terry slipped into the men’s room, I remarked that I wanted to spend the night in my new apartment. Taking my cue, Daniel offered to drive me there. Within minutes, we were on the thick carpet in the front room of my new place, tearing at each other.

  And, later still, exhausted and thoroughly wasted, we dozed there, on the floor in the front room, in each other’s arms. Daniel thanked me, kissed me, and told me that he’d been impotent since Victor’s death, that he’d been reluctant to cruise the clubs because of his fear that he couldn’t perform. I assured him that he’d performed just right.

  “Aren’t you afraid of AIDS?” I asked him, watching his eyes.

  Daniel shrugged. “I’ve never had to worry about it. You know, Victor and I were together for a long time. Now that he’s gone --” He shrugged again. “I don’t know. Maybe I want to die, too.”

  In a weird sort of way, I understood what he was saying. But I changed the subject, because talking about death gave me the creeps, and I told Daniel about Jade. About my relationship with Jade, past and present. About how hip Jade was. About Jade’s preoccupation with getting AIDS.

  We slept after that. We slept until Terry came barging in on us, early the next morning. Still naked, we were asleep on the floor. No

  blankets, no pillows. Nothing to hide my guilt and shame as I met Terry’s surprised eyes.

  Daniel was very casual about the whole deal. He sat up slowly, stretched, and reached for his cigarettes. He offered one to me, which I accepted eagerly to avoid Terry’s stare. I sucked on the cigarette as Daniel held a lit match for both of us to puff on. Glancing at Terry, he remarked, “Ah, but you are here so early, eh?”


  Terry nodded, then flung himself down on the couch, his eyes fixed on my face. “It kind of brings me back about twenty years, you know what I mean, Danny?”

  Chuckling, Daniel threw his arm around my shoulder and hugged me to himself. “Ah, but this one is more experienced than his father, eh?”

  I was stunned. I tried to imagine what they were alluding to. Did Dad have an affair with this Frenchman? I asked them.

  The two older men exchanged amused looks.

  “He doesn’t know?” Daniel murmured.

  “He does. He’s just playing dumb.” Terry studied my face intently. “Come on, Paulie, you’ve heard us tease Davy about this!”

  Then I remembered. So this was Danny Vee. I’d heard all about Danny Vee, about how he’d seduced a very drunk Davy Koster. I hadn’t connected Dad’s Danny Vee with Jade’s Daniel Vitreille. Danny Vee was Dad’s first and only (as far as I knew) homosexual lover. And now I had been seduced by him, too.

  Daniel got dressed and left soon after that, refusing breakfast but promising to call later to make plans to get together again. Self-consciously, knowing that Terry was staring at my back, I kissed Daniel good-by at the door. When Daniel left, I turned to face Terry, wishing more than anything that I wasn’t naked.

  I quickly gathered up my clothes, again to avoid Terry’s eyes.

  “Go take a shower,” Terry told me softly, “before you dress.”

  It was something that Terry would have said to me when I was ten. And Terry said it with the same gentleness that he used when I was a child. I felt childish indeed. I couldn’t even look Terry in the eye as I left the room.

  When I got out of the shower, Terry was gone. I called his name a few times and scouted around the apartment, but it was clear that he’d left. Feeling hungry, I went out on the street to a café on the corner to grab a quick breakfast of coffee and pastry. Then I stopped by the grocer’s a few blocks down to buy food for the pantry.