“You know, Eva is so nice,” Shane’s saying. “We were talking and she told me her husband had been gay. She just opened right up and told me that.”
“Yeah, she told me, too,” Henry says. “She started sharing about how he had died of AIDS. She even started to cry a little. Jeff, you never told us all that.”
I just shrug.
“Well, look what she gave me,” Shane says. From his pocket, he pulls out a rhinestone-covered cock ring. I’m not kidding you. A rhinestone-covered cock ring. “She said it was Steven’s! Can you believe it? I just met this lady and she gives me her husband’s cock ring!”
They all laugh. Except me, who can manage only a tight little grin.
“I really want to get out of here,” I whisper again to Anthony.
“Jeff, we’ve got to wait a little bit. We just got here.”
Henry’s leaning in to me, having overheard my words. “Eva is really nice, Jeff. You ought to give her more of a chance.”
“Oh, she is awesome,” Shane adds. “I love huh!”
A tall black man in Prada has climbed up onto the coffee table and is trying to get everyone’s attention. “People, please! I’d like to propose a toast.”
Folks quiet down. “To Lloyd and Eva.” The guy waves his glass of wine over the crowd like a priest wielding an incense burner at Mass. “To Nirvana.” He lifts his glass.
Who the fuck is he? I don’t even know Lloyd’s friends anymore.
“To having the courage to follow your dreams and make them come true,” the guy says, completing his toast.
“Hear, hear!” several people call out as everyone raises their glasses to Lloyd and Eva. They smile. They clink glasses. They kiss. Everyone applauds.
“Kind of like a wedding reception, huh, Jeff?”
It’s Brent breathing in my ear.
Lloyd
The party is winding down. The sun’s dropping lower in the sky and many of the guests have already departed. Ty has brought out Eva’s wedding album, much to her giggles and halfhearted protestations. She sits on the couch beside Ira, our first night guest, who’s by now pretty plastered. I watch him carefully, not wanting to have to clean up after him if he gets sick. Eva has her wedding album on her lap, and Ira’s leaning in eagerly to see each photo. He’s a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and barely any chin. He keeps gushing over how handsome Steven is. Eva’s clearly delighted.
I begin to surreptitiously clear off plates from the tables, hoping the remaining guests might get the clue and hit the road. I’m tired, and I still haven’t had any time alone with Jeff. Something went down between him and Chanel; I don’t know exactly what, but Chanel and Wendy left in a hurry. Jeff hasn’t moved much since he got here, standing off in the corner talking with Henry and Anthony, seeming to keep as far away as he can from old friends like Melissa, Rose, and Naomi.
“May I help you with these?”
I look over at a pair of hands stacking plates beside me. I move my eyes up and there’s Drake.
“Oh. Thanks. You can just put them in the kitchen.”
Drake winks at me. “I’d like to make a reservation for Memorial Day weekend,” he says, adding a couple more plates to the stack and grabbing the stem of a wineglass with his forefinger.
“Actually,” I tell him, “I think we’re already booked.”
“Ah. Good for you. Business is booming.” He follows me into the kitchen and sets the plates on the counter. “Actually, I’d make a reservation for any night you have available. Just to get the chance to see you again.”
He tries to kiss me. I pull back.
“I don’t want to go there, Drake,” I say. “I hope you understand.”
He looks puzzled. “I’d heard that you and Jeff had reconciled, but then I’d also heard that it was off again. Still the same old dance, huh?”
I feel defensive. “Don’t comment on something you know nothing about.”
Drake holds up his hands. “Hey. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I apologize.”
“It’s okay.” I sigh. “Look, I appreciate your coming today.”
He leans up against the sink and folds his arms against his chest. “So there’s no chance, huh? No chance you’d have dinner with me?”
I hesitate, not sure how to respond. Jeff’s always said Drake is the kind of guy who grew up always getting what he wanted—prep schools, trust funds, the right connections to get the best jobs—and he’s right. It’s one of the reasons nothing could ever have worked between Drake and me. His interest in me stems from the fact that I said no. I’m one of the few things in life Drake hasn’t gotten when he wanted it.
“I’m really busy, Drake,” I tell him. “Please understand.”
He nods, but he looks perturbed. “Oh, I do.” He smiles bitterly. “Better than you think.”
He turns to walk out of the kitchen when he nearly collides with Ty. “Well,” Ty says, looking from Drake to me. He seems a bit arch. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”
“I was just leaving,” Drake insists.
Ty sweeps his eyes across him. “Then allow me to escort you out,” he says flirtatiously, taking Drake’s arm in an apparent attempt to get back at me. Drake grins. Ty walks with him out into the parlor.
I laugh to myself. How do I get myself in these situations?
When I follow them, I see Drake hand Ty his phone number. Their eyes hold several seconds longer than necessary as they shake hands good-bye. Drake doesn’t even turn to look back at me before he heads out the door. I laugh again. So maybe his trip out here to Provincetown hasn’t been entirely in vain.
In the parlor, Shane’s sitting on the back of the couch, peering over Eva’s shoulder at the wedding album. “You are so right, Ira,” he’s saying. “Steven was a major hunk and a half.”
“He certainly was,” Eva agrees fondly.
I look down at the album. Are they just being kind? Steven looks like a zoned-out hippy. Given that they got married in 1970, I figure Steven probably was a zoned-out hippy. He’s got a big, bushy head of black hair, a beard, and for his wedding outfit he’s wearing a green poncho with a gold star in the center of his chest. Eva’s all in white lace, daisies woven through her long, free-flowing hair. Except for the fact that she keeps her hair tied up now and rarely exposes that much cleavage, she looks the same, her skin still as unlined as it was thirty years ago.
“Come on, Eva, enough people have left,” Shane suddenly urges. “You promised.”
“Promised what?” Ira asks.
She closes the wedding album. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says.
“Please?” Shane begs.
“Please what?” Ira repeats.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ty suddenly intones, jumping up onto a chair. “May I present to you Tira! The lady of the sideshows—who can tame more than lions!”
All at once Eva springs from the couch and leaps up on top of the coffee table. I’m taken aback by how agile she is.
Apparently that twisted ankle healed really fast.
She moves this way and that, becoming Mae West immediately, one hand on hip, the other pushing at her hair. “They call me Sister Honky Tonk,” she sings. The hips start swinging. “They call me Sister Honk Tonk …”
I watch in wonder. This little unhappy lady has learned to find herself in moments like these. I think of how hard she’s worked these past few weeks, how determined she is to make our venture a success. As I watch her swing her hips and sing to the cheers of the boys, I can’t help but love her. I want to laugh and cry at the same time.
Henry, Brent, Anthony, and Jeff have gathered closer to watch. The other three laugh and cheer, but I notice how Jeff holds back, his arms crossed over his chest, only the smallest smile fixed on his face. I sigh. I’d hoped he might melt a little toward Eva, seeing her do Mae West.
“Ah, but you were wonderful tonight,” Ty says, in character, feeding her lines.
“Oooohhh. I’m always wonderful at night.”
Laughter from the crowd.
“Yes, but tonight you were especially good,” Ty says.
“When I’m good, I’m very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.”
More laughter, hoots.
“If only I could trust you …”
She puts a hand behind her head. “Oh, you can. Hundreds have.”
“You go, girl!” Shane shouts.
The whole room erupts into cheers. She giggles, covering her mouth and stepping down off the coffee table. They keep hooting and hollering for her. She dissolves into laughter, sitting back down and burying her face in Ira’s chest. Shane lifts a shiny glass figurine of the Buddha from a side table and presents it to Eva like an Oscar. It’s one of the many we’ve filled the house with, and for a second I recall the little wooden Buddha we found, and wonder where it is. It was our good-luck omen, a gift from the house on our first night here. What has happened to it?
But who has time to think? Everybody’s on their feet, cheering. Henry places his pinkies in his mouth and whistles. I beam. My eyes catch Eva’s and we exchange a look. It’s good. Everything’s going to be okay.
Jeff
I can’t take it, all the cheering. I have to back away. I mean, am I really the only one who can see through her? See how pathetic her bids for attention really are? Why are all these gay men so eager to think she’s so special?
“Come on,” Henry’s saying, noticing my reticence. “Go congratulate her.”
“For what? Making a fool of herself?”
He scowls at me. “You are one mean queen, Jeff O’Brien. She didn’t make a fool of herself. She was funny. Give her a chance, Jeff. She seems like a terrific lady.”
I ignore him. I want to get out of here. I’ve made my appearance. I don’t care for a tour. This isn’t my house. It’s Lloyd’s and hers. Why do I care to see any more of it than I have?
Okay, you’re right. I’m being totally snarky. And I’m smart enough to know that even in my snarkiness I’m not being entirely honest. Eva’s little performance was funny, and these guys have every reason to think she’s just grand. I’m jealous. Plain and simple. I’m admitting it. What more do you want me to do?
“Jeff,” Henry says, melting a little and putting his arm around my shoulder. “Do you need to talk?”
“I’m fine, Henry.”
He sighs. “Jeff, there was a time I would have spent a lot of energy trying to get you to talk. But I’m not doing that anymore. If you want to talk, I’m here, but I’m not going to beg you to do so.”
I look at him. Doesn’t he realize he’s part of the problem? He’s pulled away, too, and lately there have been times I’ve felt as if I were all alone on a goddamn deserted island. “Henry,” I say, trying to hide some of the desperation I can feel building in my chest, “are you sure you won’t reconsider going to Palm Springs for the White Party with us? It’s a Jeffrey Sanker event, and you know Sanker’s events are awesome.”
“No, Jeff.” Henry won’t meet my eyes. “It conflicts with the Weekend of Hope. Don’t you want to stay for Boston’s own party?”
I frown. “And see the same old tired faces? Come on, Henry. You had a fabulous time last year.”
“You had the fabulous time, Jeff. Remember? You met that hot guy from Germany. I had to sleep out by the Wyndham pool because you guys took the room.”
“You told me you had a good time,” I protest.
“No, Jeff. I’m not going to Palm Springs.”
“I just miss you, buddy,” I say, suddenly unable to hide how vulnerable I feel. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s all that cheering for Eva. Maybe it’s being here in a house that Lloyd is sharing with someone else. “I just miss hanging out with you on the dance floor.”
Henry looks over at me. I can see he’s struggling with this, too.
I grip his hand. “Will you at least come to Wild and Wet in Montreal? Please?” Damn, I sound like I’m begging.
Henry sighs.
I give him a little smile. “I’m sure Shane’s bringing an awesome water gun.”
Henry laughs. “I’ll bet it’s an Uzi.” He smiles back at me. “I’ll think about it, Jeff.”
Lloyd approaches us. “So what did you think of Eva’s rendition of Mae West?”
Henry laughs. “She was awesome! Totally!”
I smile. “Your guests won’t need to go to the Crown and Anchor for drag shows this summer. They can just stay right here.”
“I still haven’t given you a tour, Jeff,” Lloyd says.
“Well, we’ve got to hurry. Our plane leaves in less than an hour.”
Lloyd gestures for me to follow. I say all the appropriate things about the new paint jobs, the new art, the new curtains, the new carpeting. I make no specific comment about Lloyd’s room, and Lloyd says nothing about me sitting at the desk, writing with a view of the bay. Neither of us acknowledges the big canopied bed or the photo of the two of us with Javitz from almost a decade ago, hanging prominently in the middle of the wall. All we exchange are pleasantries, as if I’m just one more visitor passing through.
And maybe I am. Ever since I’ve gotten here, I’ve felt distinctly unspecial. Just like anybody else, with no more claim to the place than Brent—or Drake—and even less than Ira, who at least is a paying guest. Eva embraced me once, in her usual effusive style, but then kept her distance, doing her thing, hanging on to Lloyd’s arm. And so long as Lloyd refuses to talk about it—about how that dynamic makes me feel—I can see no future in continuing anything with him. As we start back down the stairs, I tell myself it’s really over this time. I don’t even feel sad. Just numb. And restless. All I want to do is get on the plane with Anthony so we can go home and start packing for Palm Springs.
Lloyd looks at me. “When am I going to see you again?”
I sigh. “What for, Lloyd? Why are we pretending things are still happening between us?”
We stop in the middle of the stairs. Lloyd takes my hands. “I love you, Jeff.”
I sigh. “It’s not about that and you know it.”
Eva’s suddenly in front of us, trying to help Ira walk. “He needs to go upstairs and lie down,” she says.
“I’ll be okay,” the drunken guest insists. “Just make everything stop spinning.”
Lloyd and I take him from her, gripping him under the arms. We help him up the stairs and into his room and ease him down onto the bed. Eva places a cold damp cloth across his brow. “You just rest a while,” she whispers.
We close Ira’s door behind them. “Poor man,” Eva says.
“An innkeeper provides many services, I guess,” I observe.
Eva smiles. “From now on, no more free wine for the guests.” We all laugh without much conviction. She looks up at me. “Are you leaving, Jeff?”
I nod.
“Well, don’t be a stranger,” she says, heading back down the stairs. I notice I don’t get a hug good-bye. “Feel free to visit us anytime,” she calls back over her shoulder. “You’re always welcome here.”
Lloyd looks at me. “Please, Jeff, don’t go yet,” he says. “I just want to say good night to some folks who are leaving. Please let’s talk more before you go.”
I promise nothing. I follow him down the stairs and watch him disappear into the parlor.
“Get our coats,” I whisper to Anthony. “We’ve got to get a cab and get to the airport.”
Henry sees us planning to escape and tries to stop us. “Wait, Jeff. I can give you guys a ride back to Boston. I drove down with Shane and Brent. We’ll be leaving shortly.”
“No, I want to go now,” I tell him. I don’t want to say good-bye to Lloyd. Not again. I can’t bear it. Anthony hands me my leather jacket and I slip it on. He buttons up his pea coat.
“You can’t just leave,” Henry admonishes me.
“Watch us,” I say as Anthony and I quietly slip out the door.
Lloyd
It’s late. I sit alone on the couch, listening to the grandf
ather clock tick loudly from the other room. Both Eva and Ty went up to bed over an hour ago, with Ty giving me the eye as if to say, My door will be unlocked. But I’m not in any mood for that tonight. I sit and watch the fire go down, bit by bit, until all that remains are a few smoldering cinders.
Why are we pretending things are still happening between us?
I’ve tried, but no matter what I do, I can’t get Jeff’s words out of my mind. He left without even saying good-bye, and I feel certain he won’t call, either. Is it really over, then? Is this it?
No—I just can’t give up. Not yet. I can’t believe our karma’s been exhausted, our story fully told.
Memories dance through my head. A warm spring day, out on the back deck of our old apartment in the South End of Boston, grilling tofu dogs on our tiny barbecue, then eating them together, one of us at either end, nibbling toward the middle and ending with a kiss. How silly we were. How young and giddy and in love.
I love you, Jeff.
It’s not about that and you know it.
Then what is it about? If we love each other, why is it all so hard?
I start to stand up, then notice Eva’s wedding album on the coffee table.
Something makes me flip open the front cover and look down at the inscription.
Steven and Eva
April 15, 1970
I stare at it for several seconds before realizing what’s wrong.
She said they were married on Valentine’s Day. That’s why she was so emotional that day she ran out of the car ….
Why would she lie about something like that?
I put out the fire and shut off the last of the lights. I grip the banister and make my way up the stairs. I need to sleep, put thoughts of Jeff out of my mind, at least for now. Morning will come early, and I’ll have three guests waiting for Belgian waffles and poached eggs—though I doubt poor old Ira will want much to eat.
I should probably check on him. He may have gotten sick, or fallen out of bed. As I approach his door, I can hear sounds, low and guttural, that at first I take for retching. I steel myself and place my hand on the doorknob, ready to turn it and walk inside.
Where the Boys Are Page 23
