by Warren Adler
Jenny had seen them in the hallway on weekends. Barry Stern, Teddy's father, was a chunky man in his early forties, balding, with the beginnings of a paunch and jowls and a serious, self-absorbed expression, as if his mind were perpetually occupied with weighty thoughts. When she passed him in the hallway while he waited for the elevator, she would always nod and smile pleasantly and offer the time-honored platitudes about the weather.
"On the chilly side for May," she would say as she headed for the front door.
"A bit," he would grunt indifferently, as if the statement had interrupted his far more important contemplations. His wife was only slightly more forthcoming and looked harassed and sickly with a sallow complexion and a glazed expression. There was a dark puffiness under her eyes as if she were on the verge of exhaustion.
Jenny had first seen Teddy Stern with his parents one Sunday as the three of them emerged from the elevator just as she was entering her apartment. She had smiled politely, and they'd all nodded and moved past her to the entrance of the building.
She'd observed him again one late afternoon through her front window. She guessed he was about fifteen or sixteen years old, a lanky, handsome boy, still at the awkward age. He had jet black hair and a sallow complexion like his mother's and wore blue pants and a gray sweater that had some kind of insignia sewed on to it, and she'd speculated that he probably went to some private school. Instead of coming in the front door, he had walked the few steps down to the entrance of the ground-floor apartment. There he'd fished in his pocket for a few moments, then let himself in with a key.
It seemed rather odd, since he lived on the third floor. She knew from the nameplates on the front door that the two gentlemen who lived there were named Jerry O'Hara and Robert Schwartz. She had met one of them, although she wasn't sure which one. He was a handsome blond man in his mid-thirties who had rung her apartment buzzer one late afternoon looking for his cat.
"I'm so sorry to bother you," he had said, smiling, showing even white teeth. "I seemed to have misplaced Peter."
"Peter?"
"My cat," he said.
She had seen a tabby sitting on the branch of the sycamore directly across from her apartment window, assuming it was merely an alley cat that had wandered about all night and was taking a morning respite. She hadn't thought about it much until that moment.
"A tabby?" she asked.
"You saw him?"
"Not today," she added quickly when she saw his sudden eagerness.
"Every time the maid comes this happens," the man said, shaking his head. "Hates cats. Something very ... very unfeeling about people who hate cats, don't you think?"
She knew Larry hated cats, but only because he was allergic to them. It was not the kind of information to pass along to a cat lover.
"I haven't thought about it much," Jenny said. "Growing up, I had dogs, standard poodles.... "She remembered that she had begun to reminisce, but he had interrupted her.
"I must get on with the search," he said, hurrying away through the little lobby and out the door.
But when she saw Teddy enter their apartment with a key, she noted that there seemed to be a furtive air about him, as if he were doing something illegal or forbidden. Admittedly she became mildly curious, especially when it appeared to happen with some regularity.
Bearing in mind Larry's caveat about not getting involved, she forced herself to put it out of her mind, not mentioning it to Larry. Yet it was Larry who brought it back to her attention.
He had come in from his Sunday morning regular tennis game, which by then had become a kind of ritual. She always had a wonderful breakfast feast ready for him when he returned, mimosas, mushroom-and-cheese omelet, homemade muffins and jam.
Larry usually showered at the tennis club and came home in a jogging outfit. But on this particular Sunday he had showered at home and come to the table in his wine-colored terry-cloth Polo robe. As always, they chatted about his game. He loved to recount his tennis prowess, cataloging various killer shots that he had made to overwhelm his opponents. Larry liked to win. When he didn't, he returned deeply depressed and was often irritable for hours after.
On this particular Sunday he had lost and was in a foul mood. Married nearly three months by then, she knew these moods and had learned that the best way to ride them out was to ignore them and proceed with any conversation as if his mood were placid and content.
"It was meeting those two fags that threw me off my game," he said sourly, picking at his omelet.
"Oh," she exclaimed, not knowing what he was discussing.
"Talked my ear off. Somehow the others managed to avoid them by watching the ball game." Suddenly he pushed away the omelet with disgust. "It's cold, Jenny."
She rose, took the plate, and put it in the microwave.
"Talk about being neighborly. They had me trapped. All they could talk about was their damned cat. Peter this. Peter that. You know how these damned fags are. Everything trivial becomes so damned important."
"You mean the men who live downstairs?" Jenny asked, somewhat surprised. It hadn't occurred to her that there was more to it than their being roommates.
"Two fruits," Larry muttered. "I wouldn't even shower there. They finished their game the same time we did."
"I had no idea," Jenny exclaimed.
"I guess you wouldn't." Larry sighed, shaking his head as she put the warmed-up omelet in front of him and sat down beside him.
"We did have homosexuals in Bedford, Larry," Jenny responded. "I'm not that naive." But she apparently was and knew it. She hadn't even suspected.
"Right below us, Jenny," Larry said, pointing to the floor. "Performing unspeakable acts on each other. I admit to some lack of tolerance, especially when I imagine what they do in bed together. I hope AIDS isn't caused by proximity." He chuckled joylessly.
His remarks had triggered an odd, unwelcome sense of panic in Jenny as she summoned up the image of Teddy letting himself into their apartment with his own key.
"Maybe you're reading something into it that isn't there," she said hopefully. "They could be simply roommates. Such arrangements do exist."
"Trust me, Jenny. I can sniff them at fifty paces. We have quite a contingent in our business. Take my word for it. O'Hara and Schwartz are fags."
"One of them, I'm not sure which one, came up here a couple of weeks ago," she told him cautiously. "He was quite handsome and not obviously effeminate. All he wanted was to find his cat."
"Well, if the cat ever wanders up here, drown it. That's all they talk about." He finished the omelet, but without relish. "Micro-waving destroys the taste," he said.
"I only warmed it up in there," she said with some irritation. She could not get Teddy out of her mind. Apparently it affected her, because when she poured Larry another cup of coffee, her hand shook and she spilled some on his robe.
"Shit, Jenny. It stains."
"Sorry."
She went through the ritual of pouring salt on the spot, then soda water.
"Never mind. Bring it to the cleaners tomorrow." He looked up at her. "What is it with you today, Jenny? You seem upset about something."
He studied her face, and she turned away quickly, then stood up to remove the omelet plates. She had always prided herself on being a tolerant person, accepting all human beings at face value, whatever their race, religion, ideology, sexual preference, or anything else that made them "different."
In Bedford she had encountered prejudice of every stripe, and although she didn't preach or become militant at every sign of bigotry, she considered herself the kind of person who could "live and let live." It therefore annoyed her to feel this sense of menace concerning Teddy Stern.
She hadn't given much thought to homosexuality. She had heard rumors about some of her classmates in high school, but they had not been part of her circle and, therefore, had been out of her frame of reference. Like most people, she wasn't quite certain how people became homosexual, assuming that they had ei
ther been born with the tendency or had been conditioned to it by other homosexuals. This latter idea somehow became tied in her mind to Teddy Stern.
Why did he go into the ground-floor apartment? Did his parents know? Teenagers were impressionable, easily influenced. Had the two men designs on the boy? To tolerate gay people was one thing. It wasn't her mission to approve or disapprove of the life they had chosen or that had chosen them. But she could not bring herself to accept such a way of living as "normal." Which didn't mean they were bad people. She tried to beat away such speculation.
It was too weighty a subject, too confusing. Above all, it wasn't any of her business. Yet she could not rid herself of the troubling memory of seeing this teenage boy enter the apartment of two gay men with a key of his own. However she tried to dismiss the idea, it did have the connotation of seduction, of innocence corrupted.
"Couldn't be your period," Larry said, observing her. Her expression must have revealed her disturbing feelings.
"I'm fine," she responded, forcing a smile. "Besides, I'm not due for another two weeks."
"I know."
There was, she decided, a limit to his thoroughness, but she didn't confront him with that. He got up from the table, wandered into the living room, and began to read The New York Times, leaving her to her own thoughts. There was no point in dwelling on Teddy Stern's dilemma, she finally told herself. Good sense must prevail. She remembered what her father once told her: Never worry about the things you can't do anything about.
To get Teddy out of her mind, she deliberately made certain that she was not near the window at the approximate time she knew that Teddy entered the ground-floor apartment. Then one afternoon, when she was in the midst of sewing together a bedspread for their four-poster bed, she heard the familiar buzz of the intercom. Although she had become wary of answering it in the middle of the day, depending on her mood, she decided that perhaps she was becoming too reclusive and that Larry's constant barrage of foreboding was becoming too suffocating. She responded to the buzz.
"I'm Teddy Stern, apartment five upstairs. I lost my keys. Could you let me in, please?" His voice was young and appealing, and all sense of defensiveness disappeared.
"Of course."
She rang the buzzer and heard the door open. It seemed appropriate for her to open her apartment door and greet the boy.
"I really appreciate this," Teddy said, nervously pressing the elevator button. She could hear the grinding mechanism as the elevator lumbered downward.
"Isn't that what neighbors are for?"
"Yes, Mrs. Burns," Teddy said politely.
Up close, he looked just this side of puberty, with a thin fuzz of black mustache on his upper lip that barely set off his complexion. His eyes were a limpid dark brown with long black lashes, which was his most striking feature. A shock of curly hair fell over his forehead. A prominent Adam's apple bobbed in his thin neck as he spoke. Slender and already taller than Jenny, he carried a much abused carryall over one shoulder.
"It's not much fun losing your keys," she said.
"It was dumb."
She realized suddenly that she was staring at him. Worse, she knew she was inspecting him for any signs of femininity or any telltale characteristics that might be interpreted as homosexual. The idea of it was appalling and embarrassing.
The elevator came and Teddy opened the metal gate and peered at her from inside the cab.
"My dad thinks I'm absentminded," he said. He closed the metal gate but still did not press the button.
"I guess you have the key to the apartment," Jenny said. It was a question in the form of a statement. He peered at her from behind the metal latticework of the gate.
"Actually, no. I was going to sit on the stairs and do my homework," Teddy said. He was, she realized, neither a boy nor a man, but that hybrid that occurred just before a boy began to shave. An image of her high school days intruded, and she remembered how swiftly the change took place. One moment the boys were more interested in their own company, and the next they were trying to play with the girls' breasts. The memory triggered a more ominous image.
"That's silly. You'll be far more comfortable in my apartment." She wanted to add that she would be happy to give him milk and cookies, realizing instantly that he would probably resent the offer.
He seemed to be mulling over her invitation. Finally he shrugged and reopened the elevator gate.
"You wouldn't disturb me. I'm just doing some sewing."
He followed her into the apartment, inspecting it as he entered.
"I was just making myself a cup of tea," Jenny lied. "Can I get you a cup?"
"Great," he said.
"Sit anywhere you're comfortable," Jenny said, flourishing her hand toward the living room. He sat stiffly on one of the upholstered chairs, pulled out a book from his carryall, and began to read.
She went into the kitchen and put the kettle up to boil, peeking into the living room occasionally. She noted that Teddy did more staring into space than reading.
When the water was at a boil, she poured hot water over tea bags, put the two cups on a tray along with brownies, and brought them into the living room. She put the tray on the cocktail table in front of the couch.
"Mind if I take a break with you?" Jenny asked, sitting on the couch opposite the chair on which Teddy sat. Not waiting for an answer, she patted the pillow next to where she was seated, and the boy rose and sat down beside her.
"I can't believe I lost them," Teddy said.
"I'm sure they'll turn up,"
"Typical, I suppose," Teddy said, a frown creasing his smooth brow. "My dad thinks I'm a screw-up anyhow."
She hadn't expected such swift intimacy, and knowing what she knew, it made her both uncomfortable and expectant. Strangers on a train, she thought. Perhaps he wants to reach out.
"Sometimes fathers need a bit of growing up," she said, biting into a brownie, feeling compelled to ally herself with the boy. His brown eyes seemed to indicate a deep, troubling vulnerability, as if he were carrying a heavy secret too weighty for his years.
"He's got his own problems these days." Teddy sighed.
"Does he?"
The boy shrugged, and she could hear warning bells go off in her mind. But before she could build up any defenses to deflect further intimacy, he was blurting out family events that were better left unsaid.
"Mom's not well, and the recession has really hurt Pop's real estate business."
"That's too bad," Jenny said.
"They really can't afford to send me to private school anymore," the boy said. "And here I am getting rotten marks." Teddy had been looking into his teacup. Suddenly he raised his eyes and his gaze met hers. "We may even get evicted from this place."
"Evicted?"
"Thrown out," Teddy said, sighing.
"How awful," Jenny said.
"Pretty hairy."
"If that happens, what will you do?" Jenny asked.
"I'm not sure. I don't even like to think about it. Mom pushes herself to go to work. Doctor says she got a bad heart and shouldn't be working. But we need the bread. Dad's trying to hook up with another real estate company, but business stinks everywhere. I feel guilty even going to private school. Dad says that no matter what, beg, borrow, or steal, they won't take me out of private school. Which I think is stupid. But what the hell do I have to say?"
It was an entirely unexpected litany, and she regretted having put herself into the awkward position of having to listen to it. At that moment she sensed the correctness of Larry's warning. Worse, she felt so terrible for the boy, for whom this burden was so unfair. This, along with the other.
"Things have a way of getting better," she said stupidly. When in doubt, try optimism, she assured herself. Besides, there was absolutely nothing more than lip service that she could offer the boy.
"You got a nice place here," Teddy said, looking around. "What do you do?"
"I guess you'd say I'm a housewife. I know it's kind
of an old-fashioned thing to do. But frankly I prefer it."
"I mean what kind of work do you do?"
"I just told you," she said. "I keep house for my husband. I'm a homemaker."
"Mom says you stay home a lot. I thought maybe you were sick or something."
"Before I got married I was an assistant in a doctor's office." It annoyed her that she felt compelled to say "assistant" rather than "nurse." She felt herself growing impatient with the conversation, and as if to call it to a halt, she upended her cup and swallowed the last bit of tea. But Teddy's curiosity seemed boundless.
"Is your husband a lawyer?"
"No." She hesitated for a moment, watching the boy's face, hearing the echo of Larry's admonition. "He's a vice-president of an advertising agency." She deliberately held back on offering him any more specifics. But he was relentless.
"Bet he makes a lot of money," Teddy said.
"I have no complaints," she offered, standing up. He still hadn't finished his tea and hadn't touched the brownies.
"If they move," Teddy said with an intonation as if it were an announcement, "I may not go."
"Won't go?" She had been heading toward the kitchen with her cup in hand. Now she stopped dead in her tracks and studied the boy, who had averted his eyes, looking into his teacup. She was suddenly frightened, as if she had crossed some forbidden boundary.
"I'd stay right here with Bob and Jerry," Teddy said firmly.
"Bob and Jerry?"
The question was purely rhetorical. She knew whom he meant. Far too much revelation for one day, she rebuked herself, a part of her wanting to send the boy packing. But this other part was yearning with curiosity. She braced herself for what might be coming next, yet she made no effort to flee to the kitchen.
"Right below us," he said, looking toward the floor. "And Peter. That's their cat." He paused and smiled thinly, shaking his head. She did not offer a response, feeling increasingly uncomfortable, still standing above him, caught on the what-happens-next aspect of his revelation, expecting him to confess his—
