Jason paused in his routine to embrace the arms twisted across his chest. He had always felt smaller than Christopher, wanted to be smaller. But now, sitting down, he pressed his head back, his thick salt-and-pepper waves leaning on Chris’s midriff, and stretched to his full emotional height. “I won’t be disappointed. I just want them to love you, because I do.”
Christopher rocked him in an affectionate hug and then broke away. He came back from the kitchen with two beers and held an ice-cold glass against Jason’s bare back before setting it down on the desk for him. Jason bit off some of the head. Licking his foamy mustache, he spun around on his chair, his feet lifting off the floor. “Whee, I’m a free man, a free man who has finally grown up,” he sang.
Christopher laughed out loud. “What a great caption!”
“For what?”
“For the picture.”
“What picture?”
“The one of you I’m going to take right now with my phone…you, personifying maturity, with the milky mustache, legs in the air, whirling in a chair.”
Sabrina ran to Christopher and from where she sat in the secure shadow between his legs, she howled at Jason.
“See?” Chris said. “You’re even scaring the hell out of her.”
“C’mere, girl, it’s okay. C’mon.” Jason stopped the chair and slapped his thighs. She made a running leap into his lap, licking his face and crying with relief that he was still the same master.
“Seriously, when are you going to tell them?” Chris asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t planned it out that carefully yet. I think I have to play it by ear. I want to wait until we get there, though, so I can do it in person. Maybe introduce you to them, let you charm them first.”
“Jase, your parents are old. You’re going out to your sister’s alone when they first arrive. That’s when you should break it to them gently. When it’s just a few family. Then, by the time Labor Day rolls around, it won’t be such a shock. They’ll have a little while to get used to the idea.”
“Nah. They’ll be nervous from the plane trip. They have to get organized and unpacked, and all my sisters’ kids will be coming over to visit them. They haven’t even seen their first great-grandchild yet. It will be too hectic. I figured by the time we have the party, they’ll be relaxed. And with the excitement of seeing everyone, and opening their presents, and the barbecue, they wouldn’t dare cause a scene. Especially in front of company.”
“There will be other people there too, besides family, won’t there? I mean, I’m not going to be the only outsider, am I?”
“Knowing my sister, she probably invited the world. After all, it’s not every day you can celebrate your parents’ sixty-second anniversary.”
“Jason, at their age, it just might be better to talk to them privately. I mean, I’d go with you when you first go out to see them. I could wait in another room or something until you tell them. Give them a chance to adjust before throwing it in their faces.”
“Hey, what’s going on here? You’re the one who always thought I was being dishonest by not telling them. You’re the one who has urged me for the past four years—ever since we’ve been together—to tell my family. Convinced me that I’m my own person, and they’ll accept me, whoever I am. Whatever I am. Now…now that I finally feel comfortable about it—no, not comfortable—anxious to bare my soul, to share this with my mother and father, now you’re the one who’s hesitating. Christopher Barrett, you’re a big talker.”
“Uh-uh. It’s just that you’re so optimistic about how they’re going to accept me as your lover, for Chrissake, and I don’t think it’s going to be so easy. They might be so horrified…Jesus, Jason, just think what it’ll do to them, finding out that their son, who for fifty-four years they thought they knew, is gay! They might go crazy. Or have a heart attack!”
“C’mon. This is the twenty-first century, not the Dark Ages. They’re pretty with-it people.”
“I hope so. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of ruining the big Labor Day weekend for everybody, not to mention the anniversary celebration.”
“Yeah? Are you sure that’s it?”
Chris spun around on his way to the kitchen for another beer. “What’dya mean?”
“Maybe you’re afraid of bringing it all back.”
“Bringing what back?”
“Your own hurt.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t that what happened with your folks?” Jason asked gently. “Isn’t that why you never see them, why you practically never hear from them? Why you never talk about them?”
“Come on, where’d you get that idea?”
“Oh, shit, look.” Jason took his finger out of his mouth, dripping with blood.
“What happened?”
“You were right. I got a paper cut.”
“Lemme see.” Christopher walked toward him. He cleared his throat and blinked to stop the stinging in his eyes.
Jason stuck his finger out and as Chris came close to examine it, Jason held his arms out to him. Christopher gasped and then fell against him, sobbing.
Chapter 88
Louise speared her salad with a plastic fork and shoved a straw through the lid on her diet soda.
She glanced at her calendar, still open to Friday and the list of calls she hadn’t been able to complete. A strand of soggy lettuce clung to her chin as she ripped off the Friday page, folded it in half, and tacked it to her bulletin board where the telephone numbers could nag her.
She couldn’t believe it was the second week of August already—summer was almost over. Although she certainly wouldn’t think so with the sidewalks steaming from the humidity, and the office freezing from the air conditioning, the grinding of its antiquated machinery grating on both her ears and her nerves.
No, she wouldn’t believe it, unless she looked at this season’s wardrobe…the tan insoles of her sandals now black from where her feet had stuck to them and the straps raw where the leather had worn—and her two white T-shirts graying, with loose threads at the neck showing where the fine ribbing was starting to split.
Summer might not be officially over for a few weeks yet but, as a state of mind, it was done. The first liberation of short sleeves and bare toes…of waking up when it was light and coming out of the subway at the end of day, thinking it still was day…of scrawny little trees and ivy blossoming over their metal bars…of beaches and barbecues, parks and picnics…of strangers who’d never seen each other stepping onto the street and discovering neighbors…of the country coming to the city…of freedom…and love—all of it was done.
Louise threw away the remnants of her lunch, blotted the oil on her chin, wiped the desk with the same napkin, and moved her pile of folders back to the center. As she went through the top case file, she suddenly felt the sadness of an ending. She hoped it was the ending only of summer.
Chapter 89
The crosstown bus jerked to a stop, and even though Rosa leaned against the back door with all her weight, she couldn’t open it. “Getting off! Getting off!” she yelled to the driver frantically. A teenage boy reached over her shoulders and touched the yellow strips to unlock the automatic doors. “Grazie,” she muttered as she stepped off the bus. She walked back to the corner to get the downtown bus, with the transfer almost shredded in her fist. She wouldn’t have needed it if she had one of those cards to pay the fare. But she’d never figure out how to use it anyway. Just as easy to get a roll of quarters every time she went to the bank.
She had used the slow, fourteen-block ride to 72nd Street to practice the phone call she was going to make to the Transit Authority about the awful doors on the busses and having to be Arnold Schwarzen-somebody to open them. Now, still rehearsing her complaint—her lips moved in silent dialogue—she walked right past Jason’s shop. When she realized she had missed it, she backtracked and finally burst into the store, breathlessly calling, “Allo, allo?”
Suzanne looked up f
rom sorting the morning’s delivery of developed pictures. Before she had a chance to even look confused, Sabrina came to the doorway of the back room, her head tilted, her right ear poking straight up. She stood, poised in anticipation, like a marcher waiting for the drum roll to start the parade. “Ah, there’s the little girl; there she is.” A big smile was in Rosa’s voice. The dog bounded around the far counter and frantically hopped across the floor, her front legs jumping together, her hind legs together.
Rosa bent as far down as she could, her arms out, delighted at the ecstatic yelps. “Come on, you silly bunny, come on to Mama,” she urged her. She caught her on her last long spring and held her tight.
Jason strode out, hugging his upper arms in paternal pleasure. “God, somebody would think you were killing her,” he laughed.
“If this is the noise she make when she happy, can you imagine if she sad?” Rosa rocked the little Yorkie, who weighed even less than Princess, against her cushioned chest and kissed her. Each smacking of Rosa’s lips on her face pulled a shrill whine of unbearable pleasure from Sabrina.
“Nice to see you here, Ms.…”
“Bassetti. Rosa Bassetti. Just Rosa.”
“Rosa, right! What brings you to this side of town?”
“You. I mean, you store. I come for a camera.”
“Ah, you must be getting a visit from the grandchildren or something.”
“Uh-uh. Don’t have any.” Rosa looked out of the sides of her eyes, exaggerating the need for secrecy.
“Tell you what,” Jason said, humoring her. “Got some time?”
She nodded.
“Come in the back. I have a hot plate with a kettle. We’ll sit down and have a cup o’ tea, and you can tell me all about it.”
“Good.” Rosa followed Jason behind the counter to the back room. “It will give me a chance to rest. Wait ’til you hear about my bus ride over here.” She nuzzled Sabrina. “What a nice surprise she’s here with you. You always bring her to work with you?”
“No,” Jason answered. Caught up in the conspiratorial mood, he held his finger to his mouth and pointed his eyebrows to Suzanne. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it when we sit.”
Chapter 90
“There are more than three hundred breeds of dog. They come in a wide assortment, from a record two-pound Chihuahua to a three-hundred-pound Mastiff.
“Their occupations range from shepherding farm animals to rescuing victims, to guiding the blind, to fighting wars, to aiding the deaf, to detecting drugs and weapons, to assisting the handicapped, to protecting property, to accepting the mentally handicapped. All in the service of their human owners. All without pay.
“Of the eighty million lucky dogs in this country who have good homes”—Laurie paused a moment and then typed the rest of the sentence in caps—“ABOUT TWO MILLION OF THEM ARE STOLEN EVERY YEAR.”
Chapter 91
Lenny stood with one foot off the curb, trying to hail a cab. He wondered if Jessica’s call was some kind of ploy to get him to come over. No, it would be pretty stupid, since he’d find out as soon as he got there if it wasn’t true. If it was, then it would be the final irony. Just when Clifford was becoming more normal, enjoying his boyhood, he’d get kidnapped.
He pulled back his arm as a truck nearly hit him as it tried to make the intersection before the light changed. No, the irony would be that just when Lenny was beginning to enjoy a son, he’d lose him. Like his wife.
Lenny Marcus was one of those men whose coarse black whiskers start bristling on his cheeks and throat by noon. He knew it made him look unkempt, so he always kept an electric razor in his briefcase and tried to mow his face before going to lunch. A shave was the last thing he’d have time for today, what with Jessica’s phone call, having to break his appointment with a client, and cleaning up his desk since he didn’t know how long he’d be gone. With the humidity at 88 percent, the sweat trickled down from his scalp, cutting wet swatches through the dark fuzz and leaving white creases across his neck. His straight hair parted in greasy clumps and hung above the scowl of frustration at not being able to find a taxi. He looked angry and sloppy.
And nervous. Another nut case walking around the streets. People moved out of his way as he hurried across 57th Street, resigned to taking the Third Avenue bus, fumbling in his pocket for his MetroCard as he went.
He hadn’t taken his house keys to the office with him, so when he got to the apartment, he had to ring the bell. Dr. Michelle Kravitz opened the door. “Hi,” she said quietly, standing sideways so he could pass.
“Hi,” he mumbled back, furious.
“She’s in the bedroom. On the phone.”
I’ll just be calm, he thought, willing the pulse in his neck to slow. So what if she called her first? So what if he was an outsider? If that was what Jessica wanted, that’s what he’d be—a rational, objective outsider who wasn’t so emotionally involved that he couldn’t sort things out. He stood his briefcase on the floor, threw his suit jacket over the back of the couch, and was about to go to the bedroom when Jessica came out.
“Oh, Lenny,” she came to him, obviously relieved to see him. Without thinking, he put his arms out. She came into them spontaneously, curling her body to be enfolded. He held her for a while, patting her back and relishing the comfort of their touching.
He broke the embrace, pushing her away so he could look at her. “Okay, tell me.”
She wasn’t crying, but she looked so sad. Lines of defeat corrugated her forehead and fanned out from her eyes. “He’s just…gone. The Center called. They wanted to know if I picked him up.”
“You did bring him this morning?”
“Of course. We got there at 8:30. Then I went to the dentist—I had a 9:30 appointment—and did a few errands. I had just gotten home when they called.”
“When? What time?”
“Right before I called you—11:15, 11:30.”
“Did they call as soon as they noticed Clifford was gone? Or did they try finding him first?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
Lenny shrugged. “I don’t know. But maybe it would help to know if he disappeared at 8:45 or 11:00—how much time he had to get away.”
“Get away?” Jessica’s voice became shrill. “What are you talking about? Somebody must have taken him.”
“Where’s Kola?”
“What?”
“The dog? Where is she? She didn’t come out when I rang. Don’t tell me she’s gone too?”
Jessica’s mouth dropped open, and she turned to run through the apartment, frantically calling out, “Kola, here girl. Come on, Kola” as she peered into rooms and looked under the beds, in back of doors, and behind the shower curtain.
When Dr. Kravitz’s eyes met Lenny’s, they both recognized the truth and accepted a truce in the hostility between them.
“Oh, my God, I never realized.” Jessica clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Let’s just sit down and try to figure out how many places he’d be able to get to by himself, okay?” Dr. Kravitz suggested.
“She’s right, Jess,” Lenny agreed. “We have to just be logical.”
Jessica shook her head. “Call 911. Call the police. They have to start looking for Clifford and Kola right away.”
“Before we do that,” Dr. Kravitz said calmly, “let’s work on our list of places so we can give them proper information. And figure out how Clifford got Kola with him.”
“Oh, shut up, Michelle,” Jessica snapped. “I don’t want to hear about the proper information. This is my son you’re talking about. Our son. Not an experiment. His life could be in danger, and you want to sit and make a list? Tell her, Lenny.”
Lenny pulled Jessica to the couch and put his arm around her shoulder, rocking with her. “It’s okay, Jess. Dr. Kravitz is right. We have to be as systematic and thorough as we can be. Otherwise, the police won’t be able to help us. Come on, honey; snap out of it,” Lenny Marcus said with gentle authority.<
br />
He went to the intercom, called the lobby, and spoke with the doorman. He walked back to Jessica and Michelle with a grim expression. “The doorman unlocked the apartment door for Clifford because he said he forgot something. Then he left with Kola.”
Chapter 92
“I’m going to send you all the papers to fill out for the Housing Authority,” Louise said. “And if you need help with any questions, just call me, and we’ll go over them on the phone.”
“Ah, but I wish you would come here,” Yolanda responded. “I’d love to make dinner for you. I make a mean paella.”
“Yolanda, I just can’t. I’ve been so busy, you wouldn’t believe.”
“But it’s been so long since you were here. And the kids would love to see you. Especially Elena. She’s always asking when you’re gonna come visit, when she can call you.”
Louise winced. “I know, I know. Listen, it’s just that…that I’ve been involved in all sorts of things, and I haven’t had a second. Personal things. In a few weeks, I’ll definitely make a date with you. But we don’t want to hold up the application. It would be silly. The waiting list is so long, the sooner you get on it, the sooner they might find something for you.”
Yolanda’s voice betrayed her disappointment. “When you think that will be? When I’m old and gray?”
“Not that long. Five years. Three, if you’re lucky.”
“Ay!”
“It won’t be so bad. Look, five years will come and go anyway. This way, you’ll have something to look forward to. And, who knows? They already broke the ground for a new project going up in the Bronx. It could even be ready by the time you’re at the top of the list. Just think: you might even be the first person to live in it—a brand-new kitchen and bathroom, clean hallways, fresh paint…and best of all, at least three bedrooms.”
“You really think so?”
“Yes.”
Connections Page 20
