The Duplex

by Lucky Stevens

  Naturally, when we got to the car, it made the most sense for me to take the wheel.

  In the meantime, Cliff opened up the back door. “After you, Mrs. Lonigan,” he said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lonigan,” Dot said as she slid into the back seat, followed by Cliff.

  “Home, James,” said Cliff, affecting an air of royalty. “And don’t linger.”

  “My pleasure, Sir,” I said. “You understand I will be expecting the usual tip?”

  “My tip will be the same size as always. Large and satisfying. You’ve never complained before, and I’ll expect no such squawking tonight. Well, maybe the usual squawking, but that kind is usually accompanied with a grateful smile.”

  While Cliff went on, he moved closer to me from the backseat until he was talking in my ear and had his arms around my neck, feeding off of my reaction each time he added a new line to his patter. I chuckled, feeling the goosebumps run up and back on my arms. I’m not crazy about that kind of talk in front of others, but I decided not to say anything. A moment later his arm was gone.

  It was quiet after that for a moment until I looked in my rearview mirror and noticed Dot’s face. She looked shaken.

  “Dot, are you okay?” I said. And then I noticed a tear running down her cheek.

  She stared out the window. “Two teachers at my school were fired today.”

  I felt my stomach drop a little, and I exhaled. “Ahh, no. The two spinsters you told us about?”

  “Uh-huh. I don’t know what they’re going to do now. They’ve lost their credentials. Their careers are over. I don’t know how they’re going to get jobs anywhere now. And they don’t even have families. Well, obviously. And they’re in their forties, both of them.” Then she sighed deeply, shaking her head. “God…this is no way to go through life.”

  “How did they find out about them?” I asked.

  Dot wiped her cheek but continued to stare out the window. I thought of how I used to do that when I was a kid—stare out the car window, I mean. “They got sloppy. One little mistake is all it takes sometimes. The principal caught them late, after school, in the P.E. office together. There’s been rumors, gossip, for years. I don’t know how they could have taken the chance.”

  We were all quiet for a moment.

  I shook my head. This incident made me realize how lucky we were. “You know, I wish everyone, who was gay I mean, could have a duplex like ours. I mean—”

  “Jerry!” Her voice was sharp. I had never heard that tone from her before. “The duplex is not the answer to everything, you know.”

  “Yeah…yeah, I know,” I said. I was completely taken off guard.

  There was a short pause before I felt a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jerry. It’s not your fault what happened.”

  I reached back and put my hand on hers and continued driving home.

  The somber mood struck in the car after Dot mentioned the firing of the spinsters seemed to linger in the air, and we were all pretty quiet for most of the ride home. The one thing that Dot did add was how sad it was that people treat gay people like a joke, like two male teachers she overheard in the teachers’ lounge lamenting the fact that one of the spinsters was homosexual, saying, “What a waste of a perfectly nice body.”

  When we got back, the three of us entered the girls’ side and it seemed as if the evening, though still early, was pretty much over. It felt a little sad. Most of our outing had been fun, and here we were ending on a glum note. Dot even mentioned how much she missed Barbara and wished she was here.

  That seemed like the last sign, and I was all ready to say goodnight to Dot. Cliff seemed to be getting a second wind, and we had started making eyes at each other. I was picturing his naked body close to mine and could tell from his face that he was thinking the same thing.

  “What can I get you boys to drink?” Dot asked. “Cliff, could you turn on the hi-fi?”

  I guess we were staying a little longer.

  Cliff had a gin and tonic, Dot a martini, and I had a beer.

  “You always have beer,” said Cliff.

  I guess I did always have beer. I’m not sure why. Maybe mixed drinks seemed too sophisticated. I suppose that sounds like a put down, but something about a gin and tonic just doesn’t feel right to me. “All right then. Let me have a Miller High Life—the champagne of bottle beer.”

  I guess it just was bound to be one of those nights. Every time I figured the evening was going in one direction, things turned around. From a somber cloud hanging over us when we first got home, to the present moment, we seemed to be digging in for the night. The drinks were flowing, and the next thing we all knew, we were laughing our heads off, dancing, talking, and getting more and more bombed.

  “Hey boys, should we order in Chinese?” Dot asked.

  “I’d love to, but I don’t speak Chinese,” I said, and the three of us roared with laughter. Cliff actually slid off the couch, doubled over. I’d never seen him laugh that hard. I’m sure the alcohol didn’t hurt any.

  About forty minutes later, the Chinese food arrived. Dot went to the kitchen to get some plates. I paid the delivery man, and Cliff offered to make the next round of drinks for Dot and himself. I stuck to beer.

  “Did I ever tell you two that my old man was a bartender?” Cliff began while mixing the drinks. “Construction on the side but bartender by trade. He made the best sidecar in all of Michigan. His secret was he’d pumice lemon rinds until they were liquified, which he’d mix in with the lemon juice. What a bastard he was. He actually resented mixing drinks. A bartender who resented mixing drinks. Can you believe it? He thought anything other than a straight shot was for sissies. Sometimes when a guy would order a mixed drink Dad would say, “Would you like a side of nancy boy with that?” Then, when the guy would ask what he meant by the crack, Dad’d bring him a mirror.”

  By now we were all sitting on the floor around the coffee table eating our Chinese food.

  I noticed that Cliff had stopped talking for a moment. He was just staring off into the distance, and I saw a slight shaking of his head back and forth before he started up again. “Yep, a mirror in one hand and the other one doubled up in case the guy wanted to make something of Dad’s insult, which he was happy to oblige either way.” Then he downed the rest of his drink. “My old man. Oh, well.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Didn’t you once tell me that I should just tell my parents already that I’m gay?”

  “Yeah. I think I did tell you that.”

  “You did. Which seems to imply that you’ve told your parents.”

  Cliff shrugged and gave me a what about it? face.

  “Wait a minute. You told that guy? The bartender who thinks drinking gin with some, uh, ice in it or, or tonic makes you a pansy? You told him that you were gay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Jerry, sometimes you just have to face life head on. It’s just the way it is.”

  “Well, what did he say when you told him?”

  “Not a thing. He just beat the hell out of me.”

  Dot and I just looked at him.

  “So what?” he continued. “Yeah, I took a beating, so what? Life marches on, baby.”

  I shook my head. “I just don’t see what the point of telling him was. I mean, how could telling someone like him—no offense—ever have led to any kind of happy ending?”

  “You know what your problem is, kid? You’re always asking yourself if you’re happy. And, uh, if your decisions will lead to happiness. That’s no way to go through life. Always taking your pulse. Facts are facts. It is what it is.”

  I looked at Cliff. Then I looked at my bottle of beer.

  Cliff continued. “You know, I think a guy can ask himself if he’s happy so much that he makes himself unhappy.”

  “Are you happy?”
I asked.

  Cliff lit a cigarette. “No, I’m not happy.”

  I was a little stunned by his answer. “You seem happy.”

  Cliff laughed. “Jerry, no one’s happy.”

  “What do you mean? You’re smiling. And you were laughing pretty hard at my joke not too long ago.”

  “Yeah, for ten seconds. You said something funny. You think if a guy’s suicidal, and someone tells him a joke and he laughs for ten seconds, he’s no longer unhappy and is not going to kill himself anymore?”

  Then Dot stood up. “Hey, does anyone want to dance?”

  Cliff and I kind of half-shrugged, and then we both, at the same time, like we rehearsed it, said, “Why not?” and stood up.

  For a split second, I think we were both wondering who Dot wanted to dance with. But it didn’t matter because the next thing you knew, Cliff and I kind of bumped chests and were dancing together.

  Dot looked a little surprised but used the opportunity to have another drink. It was one of those couple of times during the night where I felt like my brain was almost outside of my body, where all at once I became extremely aware of my own existence. And things were fuzzy alright. We had drunk a lot. All of us. We were good and stewed.

  “May I cut in?” asked Dot, tapping me on the shoulder.

  “Come on, Dot, why don’t you ask someone who’s straight,” I said, not letting go of Cliff. I was aware that I was slurring my words, and I didn’t care.

  “Well, Cliff is bisexual, or so he always says.” I noticed she was slurring her words as well.

  “I’m like Mickey Mantle,” Cliff said, grinning.

  “Mickey Mantle’s gay?” I said, stepping back in disbelief.

  “No, you goof, I mean I swing my bat from both sides of the plate.”

  “Jerry, be a dear and let me dance with my husband.”

  I guess Cliff and I were moving too slowly because Dot followed it up with, “Or I’ll dance with Jerry. Oh, it doesn’t matter. I just feel like dancing, and I love this song.”

  Young at Heart by Frank Sinatra had just come on, and I handed Cliff over to Dot. “Have him home by midnight,” I added as I slumped down on the couch.

  After a few moments, I heard a sound that I couldn’t quite make out. It was Dot. She was sniffling, and her face was moist. When we made eye contact, she smiled. It was genuine, but boy, it looked like she was trying hard, working her way up to something.

  Then she said to Cliff, “Those kids at the bowling alley were cute, huh?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. They were dancing so close they couldn’t see each other’s faces.

  “You know what I realized tonight? I-I want to have a baby. I really do.”

  “I’d rather have a Corvette.”

  “Cliff, I’m serious.”

  “So am I. Corvettes don’t keep you up at night.”

  “Unless you’re behind on the payments,” I called over.

  Cliff laughed, which made me laugh.

  “Cliff,” she said, not letting go.

  “Uh-huh,” he said.

  “What’s your favorite part of a woman’s body?”

  “I’ve always been drawn to the spleen. I’m a big spleen man from way back. And-uh, like most men, I’m a sucker for a woman with a good pancreas.”

  Ask a smart-aleck homosexual a dumb question…

  Cliff looked like he wanted to come over to me, but Dot pulled him closer. And they continued to dance. Maybe I should go over there and cut in, I thought. But I stopped myself when I saw what Dot was doing next. Reaching behind her, she was unzipping her dress. And a moment later it fell to the floor. Then Cliff and I both watched her as she slid out of her slip.

  I couldn’t stop looking as my eyes meandered back and forth from skin to the curving, silky flashes of her brassiere, her stockings, garter belt and panties. It was something to see. Wow!

  And I…was…gay. No doubt about it. Only a gay man would describe what I was seeing as aesthetically pleasing. Because if I had to put it into words, that’s what I was thinking. If she didn’t make me want to whistle like one of those lovesick wolves in those cartoons with his heart literally beating out of his chest, I can’t imagine anyone of her sex making me want to. The ocean is beautiful, sunsets are beautiful, and Dot is beautiful. Facts. Objective, unemotional facts. The end.

  “What are you thinking, Cliff?” she asked.

  I looked over at him, wondering what must have been registering in his mind right then. His eyes looked a little wider than usual, but besides that, he looked pretty much the way he always does, relaxed and calm.

  “I’m thinking puberty was very good to you, my dear,” answered Cliff.

  She smiled. Then she moved closer to him and draped her wrists over his shoulders, staring into his eyes. “How long have we been married now, darling? Don’t you think it’s about time we talked about having a baby?”

  “Well, you’re certainly dressed for it.”

  I felt my heart revving. I was shocked. This is the last thing I ever thought I’d be witnessing in our situation. But it was happening. And a part of me perversely wanted to see what Cliff would do.

  “You’re not,” she said, starting to fidget with the top button of Cliff’s shirt.

  Cliff stepped back. “Hey, come on now, kid. What would the imaginary priest, who never performed our fake wedding, say?”

  “What do I care what he would say? To hell with him!”

  “To hell with who?” asked Cliff.

  At this point I walked over to them and tried to talk to Dot who ignored me. Her eyes were glued to Cliff, and she was saying something, moving closer to him.

  “Look, why don’t you dance with Jerry for a while. I prefer to lead,” said Cliff.

  Her tone softened, becoming almost a whispering plea. “Don’t you boys understand? I want a baby.”

  “Not like this, Dot. It wouldn’t be fair for a child to grow up in this situation. It wouldn’t be right,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. She still wasn’t looking at me, and I wasn’t even sure if she heard me. I thought about our kiss at The Farmers Market.

  Then the softness in her turned. And her whisper became an angry hiss. “You’re always saying you’re bisexual, Cliff. Bullshit. You’re not bisexual. You’re just a liar. You’re just a lying sack of—”

  The ring was sharp and startling. It was the phone, and we all stopped. I tried to focus, and again I felt my heart thumping away. It seemed as though our conversation had wavered between lucidity and sapping intoxication, and that sudden burst of the telephone’s ring had thrown us into a different venue: the real world and a sense that we had been caught. At something.

  I was aware enough to know that I should be the one to answer the phone since we were technically on the Ripley side of the duplex.

  “Hello?” I said. “…Oh, hi…yes…absolutely. Here, it’s for you.” I handed the phone to Dot.

  “Hello?...Oh, hi, sweetheart.” The moment Dot began to speak, I could hear it in her voice that her throat was closing up. Then came the tears. One by one they rolled down her cheeks. No sooner would one hit her chin than the next one would spill over her bottom lid ready to make its way down the same path. A few times during the conversation, Dot would squeeze her eyelids together, forcing the tears to escape even faster.

  “No, I’m fine…yes, really…no, I’m not crying.” She bit her lip and shivered. “We’ve just had a lot to drink.” As she talked, another part of her brain seemed to remember how she was dressed, as she skillfully put first her slip and then her dress back on, maneuvering the telephone receiver effectively so as not to disrupt her conversation.

  “Well, it wouldn’t be the same going to bed without hearing your voice, either.”

  I began to feel like an intruder, listening to a private conversation. Cliff had take
n the opportunity to make some more drinks, while I sat on the couch, feeling like an eavesdropper.

  As I watched Dot—though trying not to be too overt—I realized that she really was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I stared at her. I wondered what it was in me. Why wasn’t I attracted to her? I should be attracted to her. I thought about how much sense heterosexuality made. And how little sense homosexuality made. After all, Dot and I could make a baby. We could help raise the next generation, continue the species. Contribute to society in that way. There’s a certain amount of sense to that.

  Cliff came back to the couch, a brandy in one hand and a beer in the other, for me. Dot was laughing, still on the phone.

  I thought again about the question from the other day: “Do you ever feel like something is missing?” I think the answer for me is yes. And I wondered if that applied to all people, not just homosexuals.

  Right around the time Dot was zipping up the back of her dress, her conversation was winding down. “Oh, okay, fine,” Dot said. She held up the receiver in the air. “Goodnight, boys!” we heard Barbara say faintly, straining to be heard.

  “Cheers!” yelled Cliff, as I said goodnight. When I leaned in closer to be heard, I noticed that Dot’s zipper was not all the way up. I walked over to her.

  “I love you, too,” Dot said into the phone. We made eye contact as she said it, and I couldn’t help noticing that the tears had begun to flow again. I walked around her, zipping up her dress for her, and as I did, I heard the receiver hit the cradle and that’s when I felt myself being almost…seized. Dot was clinging to me like a frightened child. She was breathing hard in my ear like she wanted to say something. I felt her shaking. I was about to tell her it was okay when she began whispering in my ear. The tone had a frantic, yet controlled feel. And very breathy.

  “Oh, Jerry! Please forgive me. I am so sorry about tonight. So, so sorry.” She inhaled and exhaled heavily and began weeping in my ear. I embraced her harder, feeling myself begin to well up, a heavy lump in my throat. “I think I would die if you couldn’t forgive me,” she whispered.