Where the Boys Are

by William J. Mann

  Lloyd laughs. “That part I haven’t figured out yet.”

  I laugh in return. “So what now? What do we do now? Our predicaments are so different and yet so uncannily similar, too.”

  Lloyd looks at me. “Tell me the truth. You do care about Anthony, don’t you?”

  I let my eyes wander off toward the water. “I care about him,” I admit.

  “And well you should.” He squeezes my hand. “You couldn’t boot him out of your life any more than I could boot Eva out of mine. We’ve woven them both pretty tightly into the fabric of our lives, and we owe it to them to handle this right.”

  I nod. “Do you think it’s still possible to work this out with her, get through all the bullshit, and run the guest house?”

  “Who knows? I’m going to have the heart-to-heart talk with Ty that he’s been wanting to have for months, and then I’m going to talk with Eva. It’s the only way.” He looks at me deliberately. “And I think you should also get as much information as you can about Anthony. Then sit him down and tell him what you know. I believe they’ll both respond well if we do it with compassion and respect.”

  I hold his hand to my lips. “But what about us?”

  He gives me a small smile. “We can’t know about us until we work through the rest of what’s going on in our lives.”

  “But maybe …” I hesitate, looking at him. “Maybe we can do it together.”

  He sighs, reaching his hand down to break the surface of the water. “Do you remember how Javitz’s ashes swirled in the tide?” he asks. “What a beautiful design they made?”

  “I remember.”

  We put our heads together.

  “Well,” I ask again. “Can we find a way to work through this together?”

  He looks at me with a sudden brightness. “Come with me to New York,” he says. “I’m going to call Ty and visit him once things settle down after the Fourth. Come with me. Maybe I’ll even go out dancing with you at the Roxy.”

  “All right,” I agree, emboldened by the idea. “So long as you come with me to Connecticut first. I have a few inquiries I want to make there myself about Anthony.”

  “It’s a plan,” he says. We both smile at each other, smiles that bubble up into sudden, giddy laughter. How good it feels to be with him again. How right.

  We sit there until the sun disappears behind the moors.

  The Next Night, The Crown & Anchor

  Henry

  It looks like poppers, but the label on the bottle in Brent’s hands reads BLUE NITRO.

  “Brent,” I say, my shoulders suddenly stiffening. “That’s GHB.”

  He scrunches up his face. “Don’t freak, Henry. Just consider it liquid Ecstasy.”

  I’m still rolling from the regular X, several bumps of which Brent and I have taken over the past twenty-four hours. I’ve never sustained such a party high for so long: Jeff always put the brakes on me much earlier than this. And there’s been none of the usual sustenance that Jeff always brings to circuit parties: the fruits and the water, the protein bars and carrot sticks.

  Yet being free of Jeff this weekend has meant I could do a lot of things I normally could not: prime among them (I’m still hoping) is meet somebody. As in potential husband. Brent’s convinced me that my cusp-of-thirty singlehood can be blamed, at least in part, on how preoccupied I’ve been with Jeff, and the fact that strangers always assume we’re a couple. Without Jeff in tow, maybe I can finally connect, finally meet Mr. Right. Hell, the way I’m feeling, I’ll even settle for Mr. Right Now.

  So I kept my distance from Jeff last night at the A House, a fact he noticed but did not comment upon. He was too consumed (as usual) in his own dramas: awkwardly dividing his time between Lloyd, standing at the bar, and Anthony, shirtless on the dance floor with the extended family of Billy and Oscar and Eliot. Of course, Shane tried to engage me, but I’m getting weary of Shane’s antics, too: last night he went around sticking “Hello Kitty” stickers on boys’ nipples. I mean, how long can anyone put up with this stuff?

  Okay, so maybe I’m being bitchy, but it’s how I felt. I just stuck as close as I could to Brent. We were really wasted, and I think Brent passed out at some point during the night. Mostly alcohol on top of the X, though he may have done some crystal. I made out with a dozen hotties on the dance floor and then headed to an after-hours party on Bradford Street, where I made out some more. But when I woke up today, around four in the afternoon, I was still alone. Tonight, I vowed, I wouldn’t get so twisted.

  Except now Brent’s raising the ante.

  “Look, I know you’re scared of crystal,” he says “so I didn’t bring that. I figured this would be better for you. Henry, now don’t make a face. G is not addictive. It’s actually good for you.”

  The night is warm, and we stand facing each other by the club’s pool, as all around us the crowd of shirtless hunks swells. There are so many hot guys here this weekend, and I’m determined to meet one of them before the night is over. That’s why I’m reluctant to go where Brent wants to take me. “I don’t know,” I say.

  Brent rolls his eyes. “Don’t be such a pet. I just need to get really twisted and forget all about Jorge. And you need to forget about Jeff. Don’t deny it, best buddy. I know he’s on your mind.”

  I just sigh.

  “G is perfectly safe if you know how much to take.” He unscrews the cap on the bottle. “You don’t have to do as much I do. Just start with half a capful and see how you feel.” He grins. “It’s really a wonder drug. Not only does it give you the most fucking awesome buzz you’ve ever had in your whole life, but it helps you develop lean muscle mass.” He laughs, patting his abs through his tight ribbed tank top as if presenting evidence.

  Still I hesitate.

  Brent leans in close. “You know how X releases your inhibitions and lets you approach anyone without any fear?” He rubs my cock through my jeans. “This is even better. You will be so smooth, man.”

  I sigh. Why do I need a drug to be smooth? Haven’t my clients thought I was pretty smooth all on my own? Haven’t I been the cocksure man of their dreams?

  Okay, here’s where it gets really weird. You ready? Let’s just say fate has its own timing, and nothing you can do will change that. While Lloyd may be the expert on fate and psychic phenomena, I can tell you this much: too often have I thought of someone and then had them show up for it to be merely a coincidence. Like right now: I’m thinking about my clients, and who do I see across the courtyard but Kenneth. You remember Kenneth, the guy who created a disco in his downtown apartment and paid me a grand to dance all night to Donna Summer. Kenneth is here at the Crown, shirtless, with his chest shaved and sunburned. He’s buzzed his head. He spots me and waves.

  “Eeew,” Brent says, looking as if he’s just sucked a lemon. “I hope that old troll doesn’t come over here. He’s so pathetic.”

  I look at Kenneth but don’t wave back. I’m not proud of the fact. He looks so lost standing there, so beside the point. My heart breaks for him. Even though he paid his cover and stands here among us, he still looks as if his nose is pressed up against the glass. He waves again, but I avert my eyes, pretend I don’t see him. I feel like such a shit.

  “So what do you say?” Brent’s demanding. “You going to try Miss Gina, or am I going dancing with her by myself?”

  The weirdness only continues. I’m still watching Kenneth, and I see that as he turns away from me, he’s looking at someone else. I follow his line of vision and observe he’s gazing longingly at a couple of guys who’ve just come in. Two hunky, perfect, shirtless guys. I realize all at once they’re Jeff and Anthony.

  And then, of course, my eyes meet Jeff’s.

  “Okay, fine,” I say, and quickly down the capful of liquid Brent is offering me.

  He’s looking around to make sure we aren’t being watched. I hand him back the cap and shudder.

  “What’s the matter, best friend?” Brent smirks. “Scared of a little salt water?”<
br />
  “No. I’m just afraid of getting caught.”

  Brent’s eyes spot Jeff now, too. “Well, well. Look who’s just sauntered in and is heading our way.” He quickly takes a much more substantial dose of the liquid, then stuffs the empty bottle into the pocket of his baggy jeans.

  “Just be cool, Henry,” he instructs.

  I feel nothing. I see Jeff and Anthony approach. We all make small talk, but for the life of me, I’m having trouble following exactly what we’re saying. Whether it’s the drug or just anxiety, I’m not sure. I just know that when we go our separate ways into the dance area, that fucking hypocrite Jeff O’Brien still hasn’t said “Happy birthday” to me.

  Jeff

  Henry’s acting weird, but he often acts weird, and lately he’s been even weirder. It hurts that we’re estranged, and confuses me, but I feel powerless to do anything about it. Let him hang out with that asshole Brent Whitehead if he wants. I have too much else on my mind right at the moment to think about it for long.

  “God, the place is packed,” Anthony observes as we push our way onto the dance floor. “Hey, look! There’s Rudy! And Eliot and Oscar! And Michael from L.A.! Hey, guys!”

  Anthony rushes forward to embrace the extended family. I hang back to scan the crowd for Lloyd. I don’t spot him. He told me he’d consider coming out tonight, although two nights in a row is hardly his style. Maybe it’s just as well if he doesn’t come, I think. Last night was certainly awkward, trying to juggle my time between him and Anthony.

  “Jeff! Over here, Jeff!” Anthony is calling, frantically motioning me over. I do the round of kisses and hugs and quickly fall into the rhythm of the dance. The boys are already rolling, licking and pawing Anthony. I haven’t had my first bump yet, and I’m not sure I want to. Not if there’s a chance Lloyd might show up.

  “What’s up, Jeff?” Eliot asks. “You seem distant.” He puts his arms around me, kisses me on the lips.

  “I’m just—looking for someone.”

  “Who, baby?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s probably not coming.”

  “You going to Hotlanta? We’re talking about getting a block of rooms.”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t decided.”

  “Anthony said he wants to go.”

  “Well, let him. We don’t have to do everything together.”

  Eliot scrunches up his face at me. “You are being quite the pet, sister. You need to talk about anything?”

  I look into his eyes. Eliot is a good guy. This time he brought us all little stick-on plastic gemstones, and he’s been spelling out friends’ names with them on their backs. But he knows nothing about me. Not really. How could I talk to him?

  I give him a kiss and tell him I need some air. I let them dance. Why spoil their time? I slip out onto the back deck, and what do you know? I run smack into Lloyd.

  “I had a feeling you were somewhere nearby,” I tell him.

  Lloyd smirks. “It’s just that way between us, isn’t it?”

  We kiss gently, taking each other’s hand and walking over by the pool.

  “You know,” I say, hesitant to broach the subject, “but I should probably tell you something.”

  He looks at me oddly. “What’s that?”

  I brace myself. “I tricked with Drake in Florida.”

  Lloyd stops walking and looks over at me. I knew he might be angry, but I had to tell him. Drake might say something, and well, we’re trying to make a go of at least being honest with each other.

  “Well?” I ask.

  Suddenly he cracks up. Bends over and holds his knees laughing.

  I feel suitably chastised for considering it such a momentous revelation. I laugh too. “You know, we each spent the entire time talking about you.”

  He can barely contain his mirth. “Glad to know I wasn’t forgotten.”

  Suddenly we’re distracted by a commotion behind us. Applause. Some hooting and hollering. I can make out a flash of feathers and flowers above the heads of the crowd. A small smile creeps across Lloyd’s face. “Must be the Hat Sisters making their arrival.”

  I assume he’s right: every summer the crowd can count on Boston’s most famous drag queens making an appearance.

  But then I narrow my eyes and look closer. “That’s not the Hat Sisters,” I say.

  Lloyd looks, too. “No, it’s not. It’s …”

  Shane—in an outrageous flower bonnet and skintight leopard-print dress, big balloon bazooms bouncing in front of him. There’s another drag queen behind him, much shorter, in a velvet dress and feathered hat, with the most amazing hourglass figure.

  No, not a drag queen …

  “Eva!” I gasp.

  “What the fuck?” Lloyd can barely speak.

  She spots us and blows a kiss.

  “I can’t believe it,” Lloyd says, shaking his head. A crowd has gathered around them, making ribald comments and snapping photographs.

  I make a wry face. “Gay boys just love her, don’t they?”

  Lloyd’s jaw is still open.

  “They think she’s a man under all that padding,” I tell him.

  “Yes. Precisely.” He sighs. “Just what she wants them to think.”

  Eva waltzes onto the dance floor, surrounded by her entourage.

  Henry

  It seems to me that the music is louder than I’ve ever heard it before. It’s awesome. Just awesome! It’s like the volume has been turned all the way up on the TV set of life. The TV set of life! That’s so funny! I crack up laughing to myself.

  Brent’s laughing, too. Man, I’m having such a kick-ass time with him this weekend. Better than any time I’ve ever had with Jeff. I feel suddenly wild and free, giddy and high. Brent’s ordering us vodkas and tonic and I’m so happy I kiss the back of his neck.

  “To love,” I say, accepting the drink and holding it aloft as a toast. “To finding the love of our lives!”

  Brent seems to go serious all of a sudden. He leans in close to me. “What would you say, Henry, if I told you I’d already found the love of my life?”

  I can’t keep from laughing. “I’d say you were fucked,” I tell him, cracking up. “How many boyfriends have you had, Brent? Each one you called the love of your life.”

  I realize I’m shouting, partly because the music is so loud, partly because I just feel like I need to shout. If I talk too quietly, I can’t tell what I’m saying.

  Brent’s looking at me strangely. “You didn’t know Theo, did you, Henry?”

  “Who’s Theo?”

  “Theo was my lover.” Brent leans back against the bar, smiling grandly now. I think he’s slurring his words a little, but I might be wrong. It’s hard to tell. “He was my great love. The kind of love you want to find, Henry. And I’ve already had it. So there.”

  “No way, Brent. You said you had never found true love.” I’m still shouting, but Brent seems not to notice. I try to lower my voice but find I can’t. “That’s what you said.”

  “I never said that, Henry. I had true love with Theo.”

  “So what happened to him?” I yell, laughing again, finding all of this ridiculously amusing.

  “He died.” Brent looks at me with eyes that suddenly frighten me. He shouts now, too. “He died seven years ago, Henry! He died of AIDS!”

  I just laugh stupidly.

  “No one that I meet lives up to Theo,” Brent yells into my face. “No one!”

  “So why didn’t you ever tell anyone about him?”

  He sneers, as if it’s a stupid question. “Because nobody talks about it anymore.” I realize he’s no longer shouting. I watch as he turns back to order another drink. A voice way down deep inside tells me that I should stop him, that he’s had enough—that we’ve both had enough—but I don’t. Maybe if he gets drunker we’ll start laughing again. I don’t want to talk about this. I want so much just to laugh.

  The DJ is mixing in “Glorious” by Andreas Johnson. What an awesome song. Brent’s ba
ck, and to my great relief, he’s smiling. He throws his arms into the air, spilling his drink.

  “Gloooooorrrious!” we sing out, dissolving into laughter. We stumble onto the dance floor.

  “Henry! Brent!”

  I turn. It’s Eva, dressed as Mae West. And Shane. In drag!

  “You guys look fabulous!” I scream, leaping onto each of them in turn, kissing both on the mouth.

  “You are fucked up,” Shane says, waving his finger at me.

  It’s quite possibly the funniest thing Shane has ever done. The way his finger moves back and forth. Like he’s a cartoon character on a television screen. That’s what it feels like: like I’m watching this whole scene, not living it. It’s just so funny. I can’t stop laughing at his little finger moving back and forth. I leap up at Shane again and hug him close.

  Brent pulls off his tank top and immediately begins tearing at mine. I turn from Shane and suddenly find myself liplocked with Brent. I run my hands up Brent’s sides and into his pits and over his biceps. I’m hard instantly.

  “Gay men sure know how to have a good time!” Eva calls out, clapping her hands.

  I let Brent go. I look over at Eva. How happy she looks. What a fucking awesome lady she is. Jeff’s so fucking unfair to her. I pull her close and kiss her.

  She responds eagerly, tongue first.

  Lloyd

  “You want to go back in and dance a while?” Jeff asks.

  I touch his face. God, it feels so good to be with him again. “Yeah, okay,” I say. “So long as we steer clear of Mae West and Sheena, the leopard queen.”

  Jeff laughs. We walk back inside holding hands. I wonder how Jeff will feel if Anthony sees us. He sure doesn’t seem to be worrying about it.

  But it isn’t Anthony we run into. It’s Henry, liplocked with Eva. I pull away automatically, but Henry’s on us in a second. “Come on!” he shouts. “Dance with us!”

  “He’s manic,” I observe.

  “He is majorly fucked up,” Jeff says.

  I peer over at him. “Ecstasy?”

  Jeff shakes his head slowly. “That doesn’t look like X to me.”

  Eva’s approached us. I marvel at her cavalier ability to pretend there’s nothing wrong between us. This is a woman who has been methodically trashing Jeff’s E-mails to me for weeks. This is a woman who deliberately locked me in my room. This goes far beyond any adjustment disorder, any grief reaction. This woman is certifiably personality disordered. I just need to find out how far.