by John Inman
“What’s a Clio award?”
“Never mind.”
I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and saw a grin splitting my face from ear to ear. Cory’s enthusiasm was contagious, at least to me. Beth seemed to be immune. I wasn’t sure why, but she was also being a real bitch.
“You did great, Cory,” I said, dividing my attention equally between him and the road ahead, hoping I wouldn’t wrap us around a light pole. I already had one mismatched fender on my car. I didn’t need another one. “You should be proud of yourself. When Bonneville played the scenes back for us on the monitor, you looked so handsome. Did you see yourself? You were a knockout. You’re a natural, Cory, you really are.”
He hung his chin over the back of the seat and laid his hand on my shoulder. “No, no, no, you’re just saying that.” Then he hung his chin a little farther over the back of the seat and wrapped his arm around my neck, cuddling me even as I drove. “Do you really think so? I did okay? You really think I did okay?”
I laughed, enjoying the feel of Cory’s furry forearm against my Adam’s apple. Beth merely moaned.
Cory seemed to finally accept my compliment as fact. “I did do okay, didn’t I? Acting is a breeze. Heck, all we did was eat. Everybody knows how to do that.”
It was true. There were no spoken lines in the commercial. The three of us had merely sat at the best table in the restaurant and consumed free steaks while the paying customers looked down their snooty noses at us because of all the klieg lights and commotion interrupting their own three-hundred-dollar dinners.
“Yes,” I said in my best professorial tone of voice. “Today was a breeze. Heck, like you said, all we did was eat. We even got paid for doing it. Unfortunately, the next time you get an acting gig, you might have to dress up like an armadillo and quote Shakespeare. It’s a humiliating profession, but that’s show biz, kid. Get used to it.”
“Humiliating or not, I think I like it,” he said. His eyes bored into mine through the rearview mirror. He hooked his other arm around Beth’s neck and scooped us all together in a big bear hug, bonking our three heads together like coconuts.
I managed to chuckle, even while I was strangling in my seat belt. “Oh, you liked it, all right,” I laughed. “You liked it a lot. You gobbled it up with a spoon. What a ham!”
Beth coughed up a chuckle herself before gasping for breath and working her way free of Cory’s hug.
I did no such thing. I was enjoying the hell out of having Cory’s arm draped around my neck. Feeling the heat of his breath against my ear. The weight of his hand atop my shoulder. And most of all, the reflection of his happy face still staring solely at me through the rearview mirror.
He wiggled farther over the back of the seat and burrowed his chin into my shoulder. “I think we should do another commercial, guys. When’s the next audition?”
Beth twisted her head around and gave him a withering frown. “Acting isn’t exactly a full-time job, Cory. We’ll be lucky if we ever shoot another commercial. Other stuff pops up now and then, though. The trick is to be ready for it when it comes. Now that you’ve got eating on cue down pat, maybe you should start tap and voice lessons, elocution, acting classes, learning to live with disappointment.”
“Do you guys do all that?” he asked, eyes wide in awe.
Beth snorted. “The disappointment part is free, but as for everything else? Yeah, when we can afford it.”
“Which is never,” I added with a snort of my own. “Right now tap lessons are stretching our budget. We’ll probably have to give that up soon. Besides, Bonnie isn’t exactly Bob Fosse.”
“Who’s that?”
“Never mind,” Beth snapped.
Cory stared at his sister for a minute before saying what I wanted to say but didn’t have the nerve. “You look like that time I got more jelly beans than you in my Easter basket when we were nine. Remember that? It’s your time of the month, isn’t it, sis? That’s why you’re being all grumpy-faced and mean.”
I waited for World War III to start, but I guess siblings can get away with saying stuff like that. If those words had come out of my mouth, I’d be lying in a hospital somewhere, legs propped up in stirrups, having rectal surgery to extract an economy-sized jar of Midol from my ass. And maybe a shoe.
In all fairness, Beth had the most miserable periods of anybody in the world. At least she always told me she did.
I reached over and patted her leg. “When we get home, you should go to bed and try to get some sleep. Maybe you’ll feel better tomorrow. Cory and I will keep the celebrating to a minimum so we won’t disturb you. Okay?”
She leaned across the front seat and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Mal.” To Cory, whose chin was still in my shoulder, she said, “I’m sorry, big brother. You did great tonight. You really did. You’re also snuggling up to a gay man here. I hope you know that.”
I watched Cory’s face in the mirror as he said simply, “Of course I know. I also know he’s my best friend. So what’s your point?”
Beth stared back at him. Was that surprise I saw on her face? I know it was surprise on mine. I wasn’t only bolstered by the words Cory spoke, but also by the vehemence with which he spoke them. I wasn’t sure, but I thought my heart might have even swelled up a little bit when he did.
Beth’s heart must have swelled up a bit too. She tweaked her brother’s nose and gave him a gentle smile. “I know. He’s my best friend too.”
At that, Cory released me and sat back in the seat. We drove the rest of the way home in silence. But Cory’s eyes were still on me in the rearview mirror.
I tried to act like I didn’t notice.
IN THE apartment, Beth begged off any further socializing and told us we could celebrate all we wanted—she was going to bed. Suspecting Cory wasn’t in the mood to be quiet since his face was flushed with excitement and he was dancing around while digging beers out of the fridge, Beth stuffed some Kleenex in her ears and said her good-nights, leaving us to our own devices. Rosemary followed Beth into her bedroom. I guess she wasn’t in the mood to party either.
Cory and I took turns heading to our own bedroom to don comfortable clothes. I came out wearing a baggy pair of Bermuda shorts and a button-up, short-sleeve shirt. Cory returned in cargo shorts and his Battle of the Bulge T-shirt. He looked so sexy I had to physically drag my eyes away from his muscular legs.
“Let’s sit outside,” Cory said, already sipping at his beer. Not waiting for my response, he grabbed a fistful of my shirt and tugged me toward the balcony. I followed happily along, sucked into his slipstream. I flipped on the balcony light as he pulled me through the door. The light bulb gave a teeny flash, then died with a pop.
“Screw it,” Cory said. “We’ll sit in the dark.”
No argument here.
I plopped my ass down in one of our rickety patio chairs, and Cory commandeered the other one, pulling it right up next to mine before dropping into it. We were dimly illuminated by the kitchen light inside the apartment. I took a precious moment to close my eyes and enjoy the breeze lifting my hair. The night air was warm and smelled like rain. The stars and moon were lost in clouds. I wondered if a storm was moving in.
Cory held out his beer and offered a toast. “To California,” he said. “No, wait! To friends. No. I know. To friends who act!”
I grinned and clinked his bottle with mine. “To friends who act.” We drank. As we settled back in our chairs, I saw Cory lay his head back as if enjoying the feel of the breeze as I was. His wavy hair, which had been so perfectly combed all evening, now reasserted its authority and flopped around all over his head. Just the way I liked it.
Trying not to be too obvious about it, I studied him sitting there in the shadows. He looked so handsome, so happy. I closed my eyes to better remember the night before when he stood naked at the side of my bed. How I wished now I had reached out to him then. Pulled him down onto the bed. Covered his body with mine. Tasted him. Drunk from hi
m as he trembled and gasped and exploded in orgasm beneath me.
I gave an inward shudder. Holy crap, I had to stop thinking stuff like that. When I opened my eyes, Cory was staring at me. He wore a sleepy smile, as if only pleasant thoughts were foraging through his head tonight. Not sure what to say, I sipped at my beer, so he did the same. I noticed suddenly that his bare foot was against mine. Again, I closed my eyes for a brief moment, savoring the feel of even that small part of him touching me.
He must have known what I was thinking. “I can move it if you want,” he said softly.
“No,” I said. “It’s okay.”
Silence settled over us, interrupted only by the rustle of the tall palm tree that stood alongside the building. The fronds creaked in the wind high above our heads. It should have been an uncomfortable silence we found ourselves in, but it wasn’t. It was a silence that had been a long time coming. A silence we had both been waiting to fill, I think. It must have been. We seemed to fit inside it so well.
Cory’s big toe flexed and came down over my little one. He left it there.
I snuck a peek in his direction and saw a dimple in his cheek. He was smiling. He seemed to be working himself up to saying something, so I clammed up and let him get to it in his own sweet time. It didn’t take long.
“I saw your picture, you know.” His voice was as rustley as the palm fronds groaning in the wind. As dry as tinder. “Beth posted the photo on her Facebook page.”
Not knowing what else to say, I asked, “Which picture was that?”
Cory’s big toe moved again. My pinky toe still lay captured beneath it, which was fine with me. He took another sip of beer. “It was the one with you guys on the beach. You were wearing baggy swimming trunks. You were laughing. You had just crawled out of the surf, and the trunks were really drooping off your hips. It looked like you were about to lose them.”
“I remember that day. I almost did lose them.”
“Beth told me how nice you were.”
“Did she?”
“Yeah. But it was the picture that….” His words trailed away, and he gazed out over the railing at the streetlights shimmering along the boulevard. It looked like fog was moving in. Maybe a storm really was on the way.
“It was the picture that what, Cory? What were you gonna say?”
He finally turned to me. His face was solemn in the shadows, his smile gone. “I-I studied that picture all last summer.”
“What do you mean?”
“It… it was that picture that made me—oh God, this isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”
Trying to ignore the pounding of my heart, I reached out and laid my hand on his arm. “Tell me. Please. I want to understand. I want to hear you say what it is you’ve been trying to say for days.”
“You noticed?”
“Yeah, Cory. I noticed.”
He squeezed his eyes shut as if he couldn’t bear to look at me anymore. “Last night, Malcolm, I-I almost….”
I slid my fingers through the hair on his arm. When they bumped across the bone of his wrist, Cory turned his hand over and folded his own long fingers over mine, holding them in place. His eyes were still closed. My beer sat forgotten in my hand, as did his. Somewhere above our heads, in the rafters, finches cooed, settling in for the night.
“Thank you for that,” I said on a whisper. “For coming to me last night. I’ve thought about it all day.”
“No, I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I said. “Tell me about the picture. What was it you wanted to tell me about the picture?”
He leaned over the opposite side of his chair and set his beer on the floor. With that out of the way, he pushed himself to his feet and stepped up to the railing to gaze into the night. He remained there for less than a couple of seconds, and then he turned and walked up to stand directly in front of me—so close, the hair on his legs brushed my knees.
He stared down at me, his face solemn again. His eyes were wide, his dimples nowhere to be seen. I felt small beneath him. Small and right where I wanted to be, happily tucked into his shadow as he stood there towering above me. So close.
“It was the picture that made me come out here,” he said, his voice hushed. “I wanted to meet you. I wanted to… to spend time with you.”
I set my own bottle aside and leaned forward in my chair. Gazing up into Cory’s face, I laid my hands to his hips, holding him there, half-afraid he would run away. Or half-afraid he wouldn’t. His crotch was so close I could feel the heat of him on my face, but I tried to be a gentleman. I focused on his eyes instead.
After clearing my throat, I spoke softly so Beth couldn’t hear us through her bedroom window. “Cory, I think I know why you didn’t want the same things Susan wanted. I think maybe it was hard for you to face some truths about yourself that you’ve been trying to ignore for a while. Tell me if I’m wrong.”
“N-no. You’re not wrong.”
My hands were still on his hips. He laid his hands over them now and inched a little closer. He was so close, I could see a line of bare skin between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his shorts. I could see the bristle of hair there as it disappeared beneath his waistband. The sight of it was too erotic for me to bear. I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead to his stomach, then looked up at him again. He released one of my hands and brushed his fingers through my hair, pushing it out of my eyes. As if the feel of my hair surprised him, he drew a tiny intake of breath.
“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just….”
I waited patiently for him to finish his thought. When it came, I was surprised to see it accompanied by a smile. One of his lazy ones. The kind that barely made the dimples appear.
“I’m sorry, Malcolm. It’s just… that was the first time I ever touched your hair. It-it’s so soft.”
“Tell me what it is you want to say, Cory. Just say the words once. Admit the truth to yourself, if not to me. It will make the rest of your life so much easier. I promise. We all have to face that moment of truth, you know. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Say the words. Do it for yourself.”
His one hand still covered mine at his hip. The other still lay in my hair, his fingertips lingering atop my scalp. His shirtfront was against my chin now as I sat there still looking up at him. Once again I could smell the fabric softener he used.
“You know, don’t you?” he asked, his fingers still moving in my hair.
I nodded. “I think I do.”
“Beth will die,” he said.
“No, she won’t.”
“She won’t understand. Neither will you.”
“I understand already.”
“I had to leave that little town, Malcolm. I had to get away.”
“Of course, you did. Stop stalling, Cory. Say the words. Be true to yourself for the very first time in your life. Just tell me. Tell me what you want to say.”
He stiffened, but immediately he relaxed again.
“I’m gay,” he said. The words were so soft as to be barely audible over the sloughing of the breeze, the stirring of the night around us, the finches in the rafters. “I am. I’m gay. I can’t lie to myself about it anymore.”
“Cory, I’m glad you—”
He pressed a finger to my lips. “There’s more,” he said.
I blinked, staring up at him. His finger slid across my lips as he gazed down at me. I could feel the heat of him radiating out like an electric furnace. His clean scent filled my head, his leg hair scraped against my knees, and his stomach rose and fell against my chin as he breathed. The faint murmur of his galloping heart pounded inches from my face. I thrilled at the way his fingers captured mine at his hip, holding them there against him. The crisp, solid line of his hipbone.
“Say it,” I said quietly. “Tell me the rest.”
Even the finches in the rafters stilled as if awaiting an answer. I held my breath until the words finally came. The
y were the last words I expected to hear, and the first words I had heard in my life that I knew I would never ever, ever, forget.
The hand that rested in my hair slid around to the back of my head, cupping me there. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of me, resting his forearms on my bare thighs, his hands to my sides. Once there, our faces were at the same level, his eyes centered solely on mine. I laid my hands to the sides of his neck, feeling his heat, feeling his pulse. And for the first time, I truly felt a part of him. A part of the man and a part of this monumental moment in his life, which he had opted to share with me alone.
“Please don’t think bad things about me,” he said, his voice trembling as if only now, at this late point in the evening, stage fright had finally set in. “Please don’t think I’m entirely innocent either. I’ve… I’ve had men do things to me. I’ve done stuff to them too. Not anal or anything. Just, you know, stuff. I’ve let them use me. Not often. But a few times. And I’ve used them. But that’s not how I want it to be anymore, Malcolm. I don’t want to be hiding. I don’t want to be cowering in the shadows. Lurking. I don’t want to have to drive miles and miles from where I live to do those things. And I don’t want to share these feelings I have with strangers anymore. I want it all to be different.”
I brushed a fingertip over his ear. He was so tall and strong, such a presence, and his ear was so fragile. So soft. Delicate. When it came time for me to speak, I could barely corral my own voice. I was as nervous as he was. “Then how do you want it to be, Cory? Tell me what you’re trying to say.”
I heard him swallow hard, but neither his eyes nor his hands left me for a moment.
“I want to face up to who I am, and I want to do everything a man like me does. I don’t want to be ashamed anymore. I don’t want to be afraid of what people will think. I don’t want to live a lie. But most of all, I… I only want to do these things with the man I’ve been dreaming about.”
“The man you’ve been dreaming about—”
“It’s you, Malcolm. I want to do all those things with you. I want to discover who I truly am in your arms. Nobody else’s. Just yours.”
