by Tom Lennon
“It’s not God’s way,” you’d shout from the coffin, and all the neighborhood tongues would stiffen with fright. “It’s not God’s way that anyone should feel the way I do!”
“I never told my parents myself, but you youngsters these days are a different lot.”
What’s he talking about now? Just smile and pretend you’re listening to him.
“Things were different then, but attitudes have changed since, thank God.”
“Yeah, they have.” Neil nodded vacantly.
A new video came on and Neil smiled when he saw Bono and B.B. King appear on the numerous screens. If only they knew the type of pubs they were frequenting.
The gutsy vocals, ripping guitars, and pounding drums filled the pub, much to the delight of the three young dancers. It was obviously a pub favorite.
When love comes to town, I’m gonna jump that train
When love comes to town, I’m gonna catch that flame
The barman gave Neil a friendly wink as he left the two pints down on the counter. Sugar Daddy took his bulging wallet from his tweed jacket, peeled a tenner from a bundle of notes, and paid the barman.
Pathetic attempt to impress, Neil thought as he thanked him. The guy in the tartan jeans was right, the pub was beginning to fill up. All arriving under cover of darkness. Neil told his elderly suitor that he was twenty and had just finished his second year of science at Trinity. Another two pints followed, and when Neil made a feeble attempt to pay, good old Sugar Daddy wouldn’t hear of it.
“I was a student myself once upon a time,” he said, patting Neil’s arm, signaling to him to put his money back in his pocket.
Just as well, Neil thought, he didn’t have enough to buy a round.
He was more relaxed now, he knew that Sugar Daddy was trying to get him drunk, and he was succeeding, but he didn’t feel threatened. The drink had lessened Sugar’s inhibitions, and every so often he would drape his arm around Neil’s shoulder, or touch his bare arm, and once when Neil said something witty, he leaned over, kissed his cheek, and told him he was great company.
The bristle of stubble reminded Neil of the bedtime kisses his dad used to give him as a kid. “Night now, Neiley Nook,” he would say, leaning across his bed and tucking him in. But what would his dad say if he saw him now? What would Gary and the others say? What would Mal and Tony say? Or Father Donno and the other priests in Rock? And Gary’s mum and the rest of the tongues on the road? There was such a thin line between respectability and disgrace, he reflected. But what the hell, he didn’t care now, he was enjoying himself, and Sugar Daddy wasn’t such a bad type.
The pub was definitely one of the most exciting and different places he had ever been in. It gave him a sense of freedom, a feeling that he could behave as he wanted to at last. Still, a part of him didn’t want to be there. What was he doing with this crowd of strangers? he asked himself. Bad and all as the rhyming couplets were, at least they were his friends. They were the people he had grown up with. Like it or not, they were his life. Maybe he should just get off with Yvonne Lawlor and forget about being gay. They could go to the movies together, he could bring her around to the house on Sunday afternoons, and then they could go to the beach with all the others. But not for the first time, his gaze was caught by one of the numerous photographs of scantily clad guys hanging on the pub walls, and he knew that Yvonne Lawlor would have to take a backseat for the time being.
When he looked around, Sugar Daddy was chatting to one of the many friends he had in the bar, all of whom had lingered in conversation long enough to get a good look at Neil. This is how girls feel when guys ogle them, Neil thought, meeting all the lecherous looks with his best glare of disdain. But his thoughts were interrupted when Sinead O’Connor came on the video screens, singing “Nothing Compares 2 U.”
“You obviously like this song, Gary,” Sugar Daddy said, smiling as Neil sang along quietly with the words.
Neil started to sing louder, much to Sugar Daddy’s amusement. When the song finished, he wished he had the nerve to put the video on again. But there was a crowd around the jukebox, and drunk as he was, he still felt shy in these new surroundings.
“Will you have one for the road?” Sugar Daddy asked, and Neil swayed, steadied himself, then shook his head, aware that his indifference was upsetting his admirer. It was stupid, he knew, but he felt guilty chatting to Sugar Daddy, as though he was being unfaithful to Ian. To lessen his guilt, he switched his glass into his left hand. He would be left-handed for the rest of the night, he decided and, like Jackie and Liam’s bangles, this would be the symbol of his unspoken love. If people knew, they would more than likely consider him a sad case, but they didn’t know the warmth he felt inside from this simple little gesture. He wondered what Ian would say if he knew.
The spell was broken at precisely half past eleven when glaring bright lights were switched on to clear the pub. The anonymity of the dim lights was shattered and people shielded their eyes as they fled for the door.
“D’you want to go clubbing?” Sugar Daddy asked.
Neil hesitated, then he shook his head, deciding that he had taken enough chances for one night. “Nah, I better head home…Listen, thanks a lot for the drinks and all that,” he said, slightly taken aback by the plethora of wrinkles that lined the older man’s face. The harsh light did him no favors.
Sugar Daddy waved his thanks away. “I’ll run you home, my wheels are just outside,” he said, jangling his car keys on his index finger.
“Ah no, you’re going to Clontarf. I’ll get a taxi,” Neil lied, conscious of the slight slur in his speech.
“It’s no problem.”
Neil thought quickly. “I’ll tell you what, could you drop me to my cousin’s house in Blackrock?”
“I’ll drop you home, Gary. It’ll be my pleasure, believe me.”
“No, I’m a bit too buzzed to go home, I better stay with my cousin.”
Sugar Daddy laughed. “Whatever you like.”
True to form, Sugar Daddy drove a brand new BMW, and his tape rack was full of classical tapes, just like Neil’s dad’s collection. Despite strong temptation, Neil turned down the offer of a cup of coffee in Clontarf. But all the way home he kept thinking of the lure of that comfy little bachelor pad. Sugar obviously wasn’t a psycho, and he certainly wasn’t going to make unwanted demands. As the powerful car purred its way through the city, Neil had to struggle on several occasions to restrain himself from grabbing Sugar Daddy’s arm and telling him to go to Clontarf. Repulsive, maybe, but sex was sex. What harm was there in lying back on the bed, closing his eyes, and enjoying a slow, sensuous massage, all the time imagining that it was Ian’s fingers touching him. Sugar was silent, pretending to concentrate on the road in front of him, but Neil knew that he was just waiting for the horny command to do a U-turn.
However, Becky’s words of warning were still ringing in his ears. “Whatever you do, Neil, for God’s sake be careful. Promise me that,” she had pleaded, looking deep into his eyes. And nice and all as Uncle Sugar was, he was certainly no novice. Twice around the block at least, Neil guessed, sneaking a quick look at the aging profile. Sparse graying hair, sagging chin and jowls, leathery complexion, shiny black hairs sprouting from the bulbous nostrils, a little tuft of chest hair peeping out over the collar of his casual shirt, thin spindly legs lost inside his trendy, baggy trousers. Neil couldn’t help smiling to himself; for all the talks about AIDS at school, situations like this were never mentioned. After all what would a nice little Rock boy be doing with a man as old as his dad?
It dawned on him how much power he had over this middle-aged man; the poor fellow would have done anything for him. Ever willing to please, he wore his heart on his sleeve, awaiting the slightest whim from his new obsession. And Neil knew that he, of all people, should have been more sympathetic, but he also knew that any displays of sympathy were bound to be misconstrued by his lovelorn suitor. Instead he played the role he was well used to. The innocent t
hat he had played so often with so many would-be girlfriends over the years. The trick was never to let the conversation stray from the banal, keep cracking silly jokes, and never ever show even the slightest flicker of understanding as to what was really going on. It was flirtatious and cruel, he knew, but what else could he do?
“Here’s my number anyway.” Sugar did his best to sound casual as he handed Neil his business card. “If you ever feel like having a chat or anything.” They were parked on the quietest part of Cross Avenue, half a mile from Neil’s house.
Neil noticed that the poor fellow’s hands were trembling. “Yeah, definitely, I’ll give you a shout,” he tried to sound enthusiastic as he slipped the card into the pocket of his jacket.
“Which house is your cousin’s?”
“Ehh, it’s just over there.” Neil pointed vaguely toward a cluster of new houses.
“Lovely place to live.”
“Yeah…” Neil clicked the doorlock open. “I suppose I better go in before they all go to bed.”
“D’you want me to wait till you check?” Sugar’s eyes flickered with faint hope.
“No, no, it’s all right. They’re still up, the light’s on.” Neil hoped that his voice didn’t sound too panicky. “Thanks again for—” Neil flinched when he saw the older man leaning across to kiss his cheek. “Jesus, not here,” he said in an urgent whisper. Alarm bells clanged in Neil’s head. Sugar was looking deep into his eyes.
“You’re beautiful, Gary, d’you know that?” he whispered, his voice tinged with desperation.
Neil grimaced. He had seen this coming.
“I mean that…and I really enjoyed meeting you,” Sugar added, his voice now pained with the hopelessness of the heartbroken.
Neil met his stare and thought that he could be honest with this guy. This wasn’t Yvonne or one of the girls in Hollies; this was a guy who knew about him. But what could he say? Sorry, I like you and all that, but unfortunately you remind me of my old man. There was no easy way, he decided; he had to keep up the innocent act.
“I enjoyed meeting you too.”
“Do call me.”
“I will,” Neil promised, climbing out of the car.
“I’ve got some good videos you might be interested in seeing.”
Neil grinned and gave one last Yvonne-style, wriggly finger wave before he closed the door. He stood on the pavement and waited for Sugar to drive off before he crossed the road and started his trek home.
What a sad case, he thought. What would he do if he ended up like that himself? Not a chance; he had his family, and anyway he’d probably end up marrying Becky. And they’d have two kids just like Danny and Annie. His step lightened. A thick carpet of pink and white cherry blossom petals lay on the pavement, cushioning his footsteps, giving the impression that he was walking on snow.
He smiled to himself as he remembered how he had inadvertently discovered where the gay bar was. It was after a rugby match in Castleknock and Dan, his brother-in-law, was driving him and two of his teammates home.
“Don’t ever go into that place there by mistake, lads,” Dan had said, laughing as he pointed at the drab-looking pub.
“Why not?” one of the lads in the backseat inquired innocently.
“It’s one of them funny pubs,” Dan had said in an effeminate voice, flapping his wrist limply. Neil had felt his face burning as he joined the others in forced laughter. Neil “Judas” Byrne.
The full moon peeped out from behind a cloud, pouring its eerie, silver light down upon the leafy neighborhood. So many times, he had taken this roundabout route home in the hope of a chance meeting, but so far, one fleeting glimpse through the frosted-glass front door was his only reward.
A dim light glowed upstairs. Maybe it was his beloved’s bedroom, Neil thought, stopping at the gate and concentrating. He would communicate by telepathy. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Shut up, heart, you’ll waken the entire neighborhood. Right, if you’re there, Ian, give me a sign. Climb out of your bed, walk over to the window, open those curtains, and give us one of your angelic smiles. I wrote two poems for you last week. They’re tucked away in the bottom of my sock drawer.
Car headlights suddenly swept around the corner, causing Neil’s heart to flutter. The return of Sugar Daddy. Back for one last desperate attempt to win his heart. Neil quickly donned his baseball cap, dug his hands into his pockets, lowered his head, and strolled on. As the big car roared past him, the man and woman in it turned their heads to inspect him. Aging rhyming couplets on Neighborhood Watch, Neil thought, watching the car round the corner and speed off into the night. Hah. He laughed inwardly. That’s what lay ahead for Gary and Trish and all the other couples. Beady eyes glued to the blinds of their semi-D, on constant lookout for strangers stalking their neighborhood. He sneaked a parting glance at Ian’s house and clenched his fist in silent jubilation. The bedroom light had been switched off. At last, a sign. The telepathy had worked. They were definitely destined for each other.
His own house was in darkness when he eventually got home after one o’clock. Neil tucked into a couple of toasted cheese sandwiches, laced with mayonnaise. Then he gulped down the remainder of the milk and left the empty bottle back in the fridge, even though he had given his mum his solemn promise never to do this again. On his way to the TV room, he could already feel the first niggling traces of a hangover. Or maybe, he thought, it was the early signs of a brain hemorrhage.
Plonking himself down into an armchair, he flicked through all the late night channels. “Damn all on,” he muttered, letting his eyes drift to the rugby team photos hanging on the wall. Junior and Senior Cup winning teams with Neil standing at the back, on the extreme left, in both photos. Away from the glare of the limelight. They took pride of place over all the other family photos, including his parents’ wedding photo and the photos of his nephew and niece. Then he glanced at the video collection and Sugar’s deliberate little hook started to play on his mind. “I’ve some good videos you might be interested in seeing,” that was what he had said. Neil had pretended not to hear, considering it a bit pathetic. But Sugar knew what he was doing; he had more than likely planted this same seed with thousands of other young fellows, Neil reflected, knowing that few could resist the lure of that visual excitement.
Neil stood up and slipped one of the many family holiday videos into the video player. It was taken on a sun-soaked Donegal beach, where they used to rent a holiday home for three weeks every summer. Neil smiled as he recalled his dad’s futile attempts to get his offspring to perform for the camera. Holding on to his director’s cap (it always seemed to be windy), his face ruddy as he roared his instructions. “Where is Kate? Stop messing! I said walk, not run! Don’t look at the camera!”
The picture came on the screen. “Neil Byrne at five years of age, struggling against the Atlantic Ocean,” his dad’s wry commentary announced. Neil grinned when he saw himself as a five-year-old, squatting at the water’s edge in his swimming togs, happily building a sand castle. All of a sudden a freak wave broke over him and drenched him. Little Neil stood up, dripping wet, and started to bawl with shock. Then the picture jumped as his dad retreated from his youngest son, who had automatically run toward him for comfort. Paul and Joe were in the background, bony-ribbed nine- and eleven-year-olds dancing hysterical jigs of joy, cheering as their little brother decided to change direction, and his fast little legs ran toward their mum instead. She wrapped a big towel around him, snuggling him close to her while she shouted to her husband to turn the video off. Jackie, sitting alongside their mum, kept playing with her doll, ignoring the consternation all around her.
It was a family classic and the tape had gone patchy from being overplayed. Every aunt and uncle who came into the house had to see it. “Wait’ll your children see it,” his dad would say to Neil, chuckling heartily. And Neil would wave him off with a grin, wondering whether, if he ever had a son, he would know as little about him as his own dad. He pressed the fast-forward button
and watched his speeded-up family whizzing around the beach, performing their part for the camera. He pressed the play button on a happier shot of himself, dribbling a football, with his two older brothers making exaggerated dives in the sand, pretending that they couldn’t get the ball off him. His mum was cheering him on. Neiley Nook, the baby of the family, kicked the ball into the goal with mounds of sand as goalposts. Grinning, he raised his two skinny arms in celebration and turned to face the camera. Neil pressed the freeze-frame button. That happy, carefree child was him. What if they could see their little boy now? What if they knew then what that little boy would want to do with that little body when he got bigger? Maybe it would’ve been better if the big wave had drowned him, then his memory would have been crystallized in all those innocent snapshots that adorned the mantelpiece.
Neil began to feel drowsy. Through the half-sleep, another holiday memory from the same summer forged its way into his thoughts.
“Daddy! Neil’s fallen into the water!” Kate roared.
The five-year-old Neil splashed and floundered. He had slipped off the pier in Portsalon. Paul and Joe were fishing at the end of the short pier, Kate and Jackie were listening to a guy playing the guitar, and his mum and dad were sunbathing on the pier wall.
“Swim, Neil! Swim!” came Kate’s shrill cry.
His dad plunged into the crystal-clear water and wrapped his arms around the drowning boy. He swam to the pier steps, and Neil thought he was going to suffocate from the hug he gave him. There were tears in his dad’s eyes as he held his bristly jaw against Neil’s face and whispered that he could never do without his Mister Happy. And all the way back to their holiday cottage, Neil was allowed to sit on his lap and hold the steering wheel.
“Neil.”
“Hmmm.” His mum shook him again. “Neil, wake up, there’s someone on the phone for you.”
Neil opened his eyes blearily. “Who?” he muttered sleepily.
“I don’t know…Some man,” his mum replied, picking his clothes up off the floor. Neil tensed. The events of the previous night came flooding back. Then he relaxed. It was more than likely another rugby club Alicadoo asking him to sign with their club for the forthcoming season.
