by F M Land
Dizzy came into the bedroom with his tie. “Do you feel better now?”
“No.”
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t give you this tie until your stomach is happier.”
“Fuck, Diz, give me the goddamned tie!” I took the tie and studied it. It was nearly identical to mine, maybe a deeper shade of brown. “You doctors and your ties,” I chuckled.
“Let me help you again,” Dizzy said.
Drew stood up. “Consider my offer, Paulie. Sometimes the best choice is the hardest one to make. Good choices require courage.” He gazed intently into my eyes, causing me to flinch. Then he left Dizzy and me alone.
Shortly after that, before I had a chance to even think about Drew’s offer, Ken’s family arrived. I flew down the stairs when the doorbell rang. Dad flung open the door, and the Sullivans trooped in. The first man to enter was a tall, clean shaven man, about Ken’s height. Dad shook his hand. “You must be one of Ken’s brothers,” he remarked.
The clean shaven man laughed loudly. “I am Ken!”
Ken! I stepped forward to study my lover more closely. It was Ken! Without his beard and mustache, he looked ten years younger. And breathtakingly gorgeous. My eyes blazing, I snatched Ken’s hand and pulled him into the cloak room. I slammed the door shut behind us.
In that tiny room, barely larger than a walk-in closet, we embraced. I could feel my blood pounding in my ears. I nuzzled Ken’s neck, inhaling his perfumed odor. Then I stepped back to gaze at Ken’s nude face again.
“You are gorgeous!” I told Ken. “I can’t believe how incredibly lucky I am! All I want to do right this moment is ---” My hands groped for the buckle on Ken’s belt.
“No, no, no!” Ken pushed my hands away, laughing. “Sure you don’t want to back out while there’s still time?”
I was sure. I told Ken so. “I love you,” I replied. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Ken nodded. His smile looked so naked on his hairless face. It made me want to kiss him. I did, again and again.
“Shit!” Ken exclaimed, after several deep kisses. “Look what you’ve done now!” He tugged at the obvious lump in the crotch of his pants. Then he saw I had one to match, and he laughed.
And I laughed. And I was happy, so happy, that I was with Ken, that Ken wanted to share his life with me.
We joined the others then. Lots of guests had arrived while we were in the cloak room. I was shocked to find the living room so full of people. Angela came running up to us excitedly, lugging a basket of rose petals. I kissed her, picked her up and carried her in my arms as Ken and I milled around together, chatting with friends and relatives. But, mostly, I was in a daze, floating on a glorious cloud of intense euphoria.
At the minister’s direction, our guests gathered around two chairs set facing each other. Ken and I took those two chairs, and the others sat in chairs arranged in concentric circles around my and Ken’s seats. Angela insisted on standing between Ken’s knees. She blew kisses at me as we waited for the ceremony to begin. I blew kisses back to her, and Ken.
The minister rang a bell, its sweet sound ushering in a moment of silence. I thought, at that moment, that I would never forget the sound of that bell. The sound that marked the beginning of my new life. I smiled into Ken’s eyes.
Directly behind Ken, several rows back, sat Drew and Terry. I moved my eyes, just a hair, to look at Terry, who sat with a handkerchief covering the lower part of his face so that only his eyes were visible. I gazed into those eyes, those beloved green eyes with the golden flecks. My smile faltered.
Letter
XXX W.10thStreet
New York, NY 10011
October 29, 1991
Raymond XXXXX,Literary Agency
XXX E. 43rd Street
New York, NY 10017
Ray,
Dizzy Koster here. I want to thank you for taking me to that fantastic French bistro for dinner last night. I am often surprised by the quality of these unheralded neighborhood restaurants. The cuisine was quite authentic, and I look forward to taking my parents there sometime soon.
As promised, I am sending you the manuscript that I have written, entitled Guilty Little Secret. It was a difficult book to write, for many reasons. I had to really work to get into my brother’s head. I tried to make his voice come through, mimicking his habit of repeating words and phrases, his dramatic pauses. I am sure some of my word choices sound more like those of a physician than Paul, who never finished high school. I expect the narrative will need some editing. It was also hard to write about myself in the third person, through the lens of another observer. I hope it worked.
To write this book, I interviewed a lot of people, to get their perceptions. I spent a lot of time rehashing all this with my brother, which was easy to do because he lived with me the last few weeks of his life and talked nonstop about the demons that were tormenting him. I interviewed Terry Walters, Drew Carelli, my parents, Jade Balec, Jeff Levin, and Daniel Vitreille. I even interviewed my cousin, Robbie Fremont, and Ziggy Ziegfried to get their impressions of Paul. They all read drafts of this manuscript and gave me tons of suggestions for edits.
I began writing this book at the suggestion of my mentor, Dr. Gabe Edgeworth, to help me figure out my role in all this. I ended up writing for a general audience to, as Jade Balec likes to say, raise consciousness. Not consciousness about being gay, but consciousness about mental illness, about how even a psychiatrist like myself can overlook warning signs in someone you love so much and think you know so well. My brother Paul was an amazing person, so talented, so beautiful, but so, so fragile. He saw the best in everyone but himself. I curse my own demons, which distracted me in the final days of his life, causing me to miss important signs that I should have seen. In many ways, I blame myself for his death. I was so self-absorbed, so much into hiding my own shit. I’m sure Paul watched me struggle and thought, “Hell, if Dizzy can’t keep his shit together, what hope is there for me?”
If you are interested, I am working on another book, about my life, my demons. I know there is a market for books by and about the children of celebrities. People want a glimpse into our lives, perhaps to make themselves feel better about their own lives. I’ll be happy to share that manuscript with you when I finish it. In the meantime, please read Guilty Little Secret and let me know if you think it’s publishable. I want people to understand my brother Paul. I want them to understand him and love him like I do.
Sincerely,
Robert B. Koster, M.D.
