His father was right. James was a constant source of humiliation, as much for Philip as for his family. Philip was too good for him. He deserved better. All James did was drag Philip down with his lies and silly dreams.
Too many lies and too many secrets. Philip’s life was an open book—everything out in plain sight with nothing to hide. He’d never been anything but good to James, which made lying to him that much worse.
By the time James reached the apartment, his mind was made up. He went straight to his desk and retrieved a pen and notepaper. He wrote two words, folded the page in half, and left it on the desk where Philip would see it.
He opened the bottom desk drawer and reached into the back for the Colt .25 hidden beneath a photo album he didn’t dare open now. Pictures of his time with Philip might cloud his judgment. He knew what he had to do.
James walked around the apartment, the gun in his hand, calm now. Relaxed, even. He’d made the decision to take his life before, but this time was different. He had no choice. Knowing there was no other way made carrying out his plan a little easier.
He ran his hands over the navy corduroy robe Philip had hung on the bathroom door. James touched Philip’s still-wet toothbrush and sniffed the bottle of Aramis cologne. He smoothed wrinkles from the antique comforter atop the bed they shared. A Stonehenge of picture frames holding photographs of the two of them and Philip’s family circled the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was the same in every room. Philip was everywhere—even the extra bedroom they kept fully furnished so the landlord wouldn’t suspect they were more than roommates. He couldn’t do what he had to do where they lived.
He slipped the pistol into his pocket and left the apartment. The aroma of roasting turkey, cinnamon, and stale cigarette smoke filled the long, narrow hallway. Instead of going left for the stairs and the exit to the street below, he went right. His mind made up, he strode past half a dozen doors to the end of the hall.
James leaned back, pulled the gun from his pocket, and slid down the wall. Seated on the floor, he curled his finger around the trigger and put the barrel into his mouth.
He’d never disappoint Philip again.
Chapter Three
PHILIP GLANCED at his watch and wondered where the time had gone. After dropping off all but the radio for James at the shelter, he’d popped into the toy department at the Sears & Roebuck store to see about last-minute gifts for Thad. Checking out took longer than he’d expected, but he didn’t want to be rude to the helpful clerk. The glares of the shoppers who waited behind him hadn’t dampened his holiday spirit.
As snow crunched beneath his black rubbers, Philip contemplated what awaited him at home. James was… excitable. No matter how his father had responded, his lover’s reaction would be extreme. If the old man had written James a check, he’d be dancing on the ceiling. If not, well…. If not, then Philip would do what he could to cheer him up.
From the day they’d met, Philip had been driven by a desire to guide and protect this rare and beautiful gift to the human race. How someone could cast such an exquisite creature into the streets baffled him. The boy’s father committing such a heinous and disloyal act infuriated him. Philip had been only nine when his own dad had died. He had few memories of him, but those he had were wonderful—so much so he wasn’t sure which were real and which were only figments of his imagination.
In addition to his dancing ability, James possessed a superlative gift for embellishment and a knack for making ordinary events sound either much better or worse than they were. Although entertaining at parties, living with the drama was sometimes a challenge. Tomorrow would either be the absolute best Christmas James had ever had… or the worst. If only Philip could influence the outcome. Knowing it all came down to James’s father—a man not known for doing the right thing—made Philip uneasy.
Streets that were overflowing with traffic and last-minute shoppers earlier were now almost deserted. Progress was slow thanks to packed snow on the sidewalks. Whether James was jubilant or sorrowful, Philip didn’t want him to be alone on Christmas Eve any longer than he had to be. Solitude and James didn’t mix well.
When Philip got to the apartment, he’d listen to what James had to say about the meeting with his father. He suspected he already knew, but he pushed that thought from his mind, hoping he hadn’t nurtured it into being. Think positive.
Step by careful step, he made his way down Twenty-First Street toward G Street. He winced as the scream of a siren from a passing ambulance filled his head. More sirens wailed in the distance. The hair on his neck prickled. Though he hadn’t been to Mass since second grade and had never considered himself a religious man, he crossed himself and said a quick prayer for the unfortunate victim’s family and friends as the sirens converged at a location a few blocks ahead of him.
He rounded the corner onto G Street and saw that the uproar revolved around his apartment building. Anxiety about James hardened into a knot of tension that made breathing difficult. The icy sidewalk prevented him from running, but he picked up his pace as best he could and hurried to the building.
An ambulance and half a dozen police cars blocked the street. The red, amber, and blue flashing lights on the snow-covered evergreens reminded him of the flocked Christmas tree he’d seen at the shelter. Bystanders huddled together in small groups, talking amongst themselves.
As he passed the first group, he heard a woman say, “We were watching television when I heard a gunshot right outside our door.”
Another faceless voice reached his ear. “…took his own life, and here on Christmas Eve….”
Philip stopped on the sidewalk, three steps below the landing. A uniformed officer blocked the entrance to his apartment building. “Excuse me, sir. I live here. May I come in?”
The officer gave him a quick once-over and asked, “Which apartment?” Darkness and the flashing lights made it hard to see his face. A single bushy eyebrow extended almost from ear to ear beneath the visor of his hat. Philip wanted to ask if he’d ever heard of tweezers.
“I live in apartment 203 with my roommate.”
“Roommate?” The giant brow furrowed, the officer’s expression changing. Philip detected derision in his voice.
“Yes, my roommate, James Walker. Have you seen him?”
The bushy fringe arched as the officer’s lips curled into a sneer. “Yeah, I’ve seen him. He’s laying up in that hallway with a bullet in his head.”
Philip heard the words but couldn’t quite glean the meaning. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said your faggot boyfriend blew his brains out.”
Understanding struck Philip as the officer disappeared up the stairs. His knees buckled and the snow-covered sidewalk rushed toward him. The last thing he saw was the box containing the fire engine–red transistor radio he’d purchased for James tumbling down the sidewalk and into the street.
SOMEONE PULLED on Philip’s shoulder, tugging hard. He willed his body to cooperate and rolled onto his back. Ice slid from his eyebrows, down his cheeks, and into his ear. No wonder he was so cold.
A gloved hand touched Philip’s cheek. He heard a deep voice with a Southern drawl, sweet and slow like honey. “Sir, can you hear me?”
Philip rubbed his lashes with shaking fingers and opened his eyes. The flashing lights played across the man who knelt beside him. “Yes,” he answered.
“Are you all right?” The man brushed snow and ice from Philip’s coat.
Philip glimpsed the stranger’s profile in the flickering light. He moved his legs, shook his arms, and turned his head from side to side. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”
“Can you sit up?” The man offered his hand.
Philip grabbed it, and, with a lot of help, pulled himself into a sitting position. “Thank you, Mr.…?” He looked up and stopped shivering. His breath caught in his throat. The handsome man who’d come to his rescue belonged in the movies.
The stranger gathered up the last-minute gifts
scattered across the sidewalk and placed them in the tattered Sears & Roebuck shopping bag. “Beauregard Carter. Want to try standing up?”
Dazzling blue eyes peered back at Philip as his shivering resumed. He didn’t know when he’d ever been so cold. With less help than he’d needed before, Philip rose to his feet and trembled from the cold on quivering knees. “Philip P-P-P-Potter,” he barked out as his teeth rattled together. “I d-d-d-d-don’t know w-w-w-what h-h-h-happ—”
“Your faggot boyfriend blew his brains out.”
Pain poured over Philip like a wave of boiling water. “No!” He wailed, pressing his knuckles into his cheeks. Cold chills racked his body, and he would have hit the ground again had Mr. Carter not jumped to his rescue. Philip clutched Mr. Carter’s lapels, sobbing and shivering. “Why?” He repeated the word over and over as strong arms kept him from falling and steered him away from the curious spectators.
The crowd didn’t seem to notice. Their attention was focused on the apartment building’s entrance, watching as police came and went. Philip stepped away from Mr. Carter, pulling a white silk handkerchief from an inside coat pocket. Cold impeded his speech. “I’m so sorry” came out as a strangled moan. “Thank you for helping me, I’m forever in your debt, and don’t let me keep you any longer” remained mere thoughts. Philip stared at the ground, fingering the handkerchief along the edge where his sister had embroidered his name in black thread.
“I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Potter, until I know you’re okay and have somewhere to go.” He grasped Philip’s arm. “You really don’t need to be alone right now.”
Responding to the gentle pressure pulling him forward, Philip fell into step behind Mr. Carter, the folded handkerchief slipping from his hand.
“Come with me. My apartment is a block away. Is there someone you can call to come and get you?”
It took Philip a minute to realize he’d been asked a question, and another to respond. He was shivering so much his teeth rattled. The answer came to mind right away, but it was frozen in his head and couldn’t get out. Philip came to a stop to focus on answering the question. “M-M-M-Mary.”
“Good,” Mr. Carter said, grabbing Philip’s elbow. “You can call her from my place and warm up while you wait.”
Philip heard the words but had no sense of their meaning. He focused on lifting one foot and then the other, placing each back on the icy ground with care to keep from falling. Whether they walked a block or many miles, Philip couldn’t say. He placed his faith in the hand that led him through the silent night.
Chapter Four
DANIEL BRADBURY set down the pen he’d been writing with for most of the day. Terrence, Lanny, and David lounged on an orange vinyl sofa, snacking on treats from the many baskets well-wishers and area service organizations had dropped off, watching Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol on the console television. He didn’t know where the other boys had gone—probably checking out churches to see if they could score presents or holiday treats. He’d been too engrossed in his journal to notice when they left.
He looked past the trio sitting on the couch, through the big picture window to the street outside. The snow didn’t appear to be falling as fast and furious as had been the case for most the day. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought the flakes that swirled beneath the streetlight had fallen earlier and now rode the wind in search of a final resting place.
How long had he been sitting there, anyway? He closed the notebook, stood, and stretched. Long enough to work up an appetite. Daniel stowed the notebook in his satchel and ambled over to a picnic table overflowing with baskets of every size and description. He picked up an orange, a can of Vienna sausages, a chocolate bar, and a sleeve of saltine crackers, then headed back behind the desk to the small dorm. Daniel tossed his satchel on the first of the eight beds that filled the windowless room, its cinder block walls painted beige. His was the closest to the door and farthest from the bathroom. He’d had no say in the matter. As the newest resident, he slept in the bed nobody else wanted. He chased bites of Vienna sausage with saltines and marveled at how much his life had changed.
Two short months ago, everything had been fine—perfectly normal. Sure, like any teenager, he’d butted heads with his parents now and then about a missed curfew, bad grades, or a messy bedroom. The usual stuff—nothing major. He’d never imagined them turning on him like they had that horrible afternoon after they’d searched his room.
Mortified, he’d sat in stunned silence as his mother and father presented him with the damning evidence. A few tattered pornographic magazines, a shoebox with pictures of shirtless movie stars, and a made-up story in his journal were all the proof they needed. Minutes later he’d been tried, found guilty of the crime of homosexuality, evicted, disowned, and sentenced to eternity in hell with no chance for parole.
Rather than the flames he’d expected, hell had been a cold, hungry place that reeked of garbage, unwashed bodies, and old urine. Minutes seemed like hours, and hope was something dim and misty from a long-ago dream.
He had no idea how long he’d wandered the streets before he’d run into Terrence. Long enough to appreciate how much better off he was here than on the streets, even with all the grief he’d gotten the first few days when the other boys hadn’t yet accepted him and made fun of him for being so naïve. Daniel didn’t know where he’d be if Terrence hadn’t taken him under his wing and shown him the ropes.
Terrence Bottom went to the same high school as he did and sat next to him in English class. Aside from his amazing hair—thick, blond, and naturally curly—Daniel hadn’t known much about his dramatic classmate until Terrence found Daniel digging through a dumpster for something to eat. Terrence’s fearlessness impressed Daniel the most. Nothing scared him. Daniel had seen guys twice Terrence’s size back away in fear as a buddy of theirs rolled around on the ground clutching his nuts.
When Daniel said he thought kicking a guy in the balls wasn’t fighting fair, Terrence had laughed. “Honey,” he’d said, “there aren’t any referees. If it comes to blows, fighting fair is the last thing you need to worry about.” Remarkable and unexpected words coming from a waif Daniel would have to describe as downright girly.
Despite his feminine attributes, before running into him at the shelter, Daniel had no idea Terrence—or any guy, for that matter—liked guys too. Nor had Daniel known Terrence had run away from home more than a year earlier. Now they knew everything about each other and were working on a book, combining Daniel’s writing ability with Terrence’s photography skills.
After lights-out every night, Terrence slipped into his bed. Daniel had a huge crush on Terrence, but he was afraid to read too much into their intimate encounters. Terrence was just lonely and needed to be hugged. They’d fool around and fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Okay, maybe his feelings for Terrence were more than a crush. After all, he’d given Daniel a reason to believe in himself again and rescued him from starvation and hypothermia. He didn’t know what the future held, but Terrence would forever be his first kiss and the one who’d introduced him to the pleasures of the flesh.
He thought about the irony. When his parents had read his fantasy about running away to Paris with the most handsome man in the world, they’d assumed he wrote from experience and demanded to know who’d taught him those shameful things. Now he’d tried them all with Terrence, and a few more he suspected they didn’t know about.
Daniel stashed his satchel under his bed and pulled his navy peacoat from the footlocker he shared with Terrence. He slipped his brand-new baby-blue transistor radio into his pocket and headed for the exit.
Terrence jumped from the sofa and met him at the door. “Hey, sexy. Where you going?”
“Out for a walk,” Daniel replied, noticing how Terrence kept glancing back at the television. “I’ve hardly moved all day.”
“Want me to come with you?” His eyes were glued to the television as he waited for Daniel to answer.
&nb
sp; Though he wanted Terrence to join him, his inability to tear himself away from the television made clear his desire to watch the Christmas special. “No, stay here with Mr. Magoo and the guys. I won’t be gone long. I want to get out in the snow so I can write about it.”
“Okay.” Terrence kissed him on the lips and met his gaze. “Be careful out there,” he added, kissing him again before rejoining Lanny and David on the sofa. “See you when you get back.”
Daniel wanted to drag him outside to roll around together in the snow—maybe even build a snowman. But Terrence’s actions, if not his words, had made his wishes clear. The snow wasn’t going away any time soon. Tomorrow they’d find a good hill and something to use for a sled.
Except for the sound of snow blowing across ice, the street was silent. Deserted. His gloved hands and the blustery weather kept him from lighting his cigarette until he ducked into the payphone booth on the corner. Then he pulled his coat collar up around his neck, tuned the radio to his favorite station, and headed in the direction of the bus terminal, humming along as the Beatles sang “Yellow Submarine” into his right ear.
The chill wind stung his cheeks and ears, but it didn’t penetrate his coat. He enjoyed having the street to himself. The fresh blanket of snow reflected the moonlight, making the night lighter than usual. He wondered if his mother had baked cookies to leave for Santa while his father read The Night Before Christmas to his baby sister. He appreciated his little blue radio more, knowing it would likely be his only gift this year.
He let the tears fall as he walked the deserted streets. There was no one to see him cry. No boys to make fun of him for being such a pussy. Nobody to know how much he missed his sister, his mom—even his dad. His parents didn’t understand. He didn’t blame them. He didn’t really understand it either. Liking guys wasn’t something he chose. Who would? The consequences were too severe. What all-American boy would pick a lifestyle so universally scorned? No, the cost exceeded the benefits far too much for any choice to be involved. He paid the price because he couldn’t help who he was, any more than his parents could help who they were. He wiped a tear from his cheek with his gloved fist and took a big drag from his cigarette.
No Good Deed Page 2
