Heart's Desire

by Laura Pedersen

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  THE DOORBELL RINGS AND BERNARD ANNOUNCES, “FASTEN YOUR seat belts, it’s going to be a bumpy night.” He adopts the same sniping tone used by Bette Davis when she originally made the pronouncement about a cocktail party heading for disaster in the movie All About Eve.

  Gil and Doris are the first to arrive and I can’t help but wonder if it feels strange for Gil to have to ring the doorbell at a house where he lived for so long and came and went as he pleased. Bernard pumps Gil’s hand as if he’s genuinely glad to see him, and I believe that he is from the way they both grin at each other. Gil is neatly dressed in a Rugby shirt and chinos, while Doris is in one of her bright floral-print numbers, and is apparently a member in good standing of what Bernard calls The Cluster Bomb School of Accessorizing. I’ve never seen so many big white plastic beads in one place, at least not since that surprise hailstorm last summer. And then there’s a saucer-sized pink porcelain flower brooch perched above her left breast that matches the flowers on her dress. When she walks toward me she smells more floral than she looks, if that’s possible.

  However, Bernard crows over Doris’s appearance. “What a lovely dress! Did you make that yourself?” Only he’s so gushing with his charm that she seemingly interprets this as a huge compliment.

  “Heavens, no, Aunt Sally was the seamstress in the family,” replies Doris.

  Bernard glances again at the ensemble. “Well, it’s best to be comfortable, I always say.”

  “But I do belong to a quilting group,” enthuses Doris, once again apparently unaware of Bernard’s backhanded put-down.

  “Quilting!” Bernard is practically manic now. “Well, you must tell us all about it. Mother in particular is fascinated by handiwork.” He graciously steers Doris through to Olivia, who when it comes to fabric is probably best known for her remark If you can’t dry it, then don’t buy it.

  Bernard turns back to Gil. “I’m so glad that you could come.” They stand and stare at each other somewhat awkwardly. “You . . . you’ve lost some weight.”

  “Yes . . . well, thanks for inviting us,” replies Gil. He glances into the living room and then the dining room. “You’ve redone the place. It’s looks terrific.”

  “Do you think so?” Bernard pretends that he’s not convinced it turned out at all well. “I don’t feel that it’s quite come together. For instance, the ivory satin trim on the taupe curtains, and also the placement of the new sofa.”

  But of course Bernard secretly knows that everything looks splendid, and he special-ordered that trim all the way from France. In fact, an interior design magazine is scheduled to come and photograph the downstairs for a story on Victorian houses in the Midwest. And the rooms look particularly lovely this evening, with the tall floating candles and floral arrangements Bernard has tastefully placed throughout. So he’s essentially fishing for compliments, as usual.

  “No, I really like the lighter colors,” exclaims Gil. “It makes the rooms look so much larger.”

  “I suppose it was time for a change,” says Bernard, and it’s impossible to tell if he means boyfriends or else sofas and window treatments.

  “And that magnificent finish on the piano really stands out now,” says Gil.

  I tend to think this is more because Bernard has placed a fabulous arrangement of red gladiolas atop the piano, knowing that Gil would be sure to look there—perhaps longingly? I must give Bernard credit, since he did tell Gil to take the piano, being the only one who plays, and it had originally been intended as a gift from Bernard anyway. In fact, Bernard told me that the first few weeks after Gil left, he couldn’t even bear to look at the Chickering upright and almost sold it.

  Gil continues to glance around as if he’s searching for clues to a crime and then exclaims as if he’s suddenly been hit with the solution, “There’s—there’s no more chintz!”

  “That’s right,” Bernard says as if he’s kicked a two-hundred-dollar-a-day cocaine habit. “I’ve gone cold turkey. Chintz is chintzy!”

  Just then Rocky darts into the living room and leaps into the arms of his old friend, which makes everybody laugh.

  “You wouldn’t believe what he’s been up to,” says Bernard.

  Melik enters next and it’s obvious that Bernard gave him some instructions about dressing. He’s drop-dead gorgeous in a blue jersey shirt with a gray silk sport jacket and black jeans. Actually, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Bernard hadn’t put together the outfit himself, just to be on the safe side.

  Once the group is assembled in the living room with drinks in hand, Olivia acts as naturally as if Gil comes to the house with his fiancée every night of the year, and the three chat easily, as if he never left. Ottavio bubbles over with enthusiasm as he does at all social occasions, and runs around smiling and filling glasses with wine and champagne.

  Craig arrives last, since after making sure the fish were thriving and the lights around the pond finally worked, he’d gone home to shower and change. Gil shakes Craig’s hand and then introduces him to Doris, who is starting to lose track of how everyone is related. This isn’t hard to do, since none of us are related aside from Olivia and Bernard.

  We finally enter the dining room and sit down at the table, where the flickering glow of lilac-colored candles and a stunning centerpiece of pale purple hydrangeas the size of pompoms make everything appear dramatic yet elegant.

  “This is absolute perfection,” exclaims Gil.

  Bernard waves his hands as if it’s completely effortless, practically an accident, and doesn’t mention that he went to three different florists before finding exactly the right color flowers to match the napkins and place mats.

  Dinner is delicious and so it’s impossible to tell that Bernard had concocted it as more of a hex than a meal. Everyone raves about the food, and the chef finds fault, as he always does, by saying that one dish isn’t hot enough and the vegetables didn’t turn out as planned. But of course Bernard doesn’t really mean any of it. His complaints are intended to set off another round of more forceful compliments.

  “I was afraid the Bordeaux would be too woody.” Bernard directs this comment to Gil, the resident wine connoisseur, at least when he was in residence.

  “Just right,” exclaims Gil. He holds up his glass and examines it thoughtfully. “Intense color with elegant layering. Powerful concentration, nice integrity, and a good grip.”

  “Absolutely divine,” Doris agrees with him.

  “Excellenza!” says Ottavio, and raises his glass at Bernard before taking another sip.

  “Very nice,” says Craig. “It tastes delicious with this wonderfully spicy pasta.”

  I don’t tell him that we’re eating whore pasta.

  Melik just smiles and nods. It’s obvious he doesn’t know anything about wine and I admire him for not pretending.

  “And Gil, thank you for that lovely bottle of wine you brought,” says Olivia, always the polite hostess. “It’s so sweet of you to remember how Ottavio loves wine from northern Italy.”

  “Veneto!” adds Ottavio. “Besta wine.”

  “It’s a 1998 Valpolicella from Dal Forno,” says Gil. “I think you’ll enjoy how dense and satiny it is, yet at the same time well defined and penetrating. When it comes to Ottavio, the more complex the wine, the better, right?” He chuckles and then takes another large swallow of wine.

  One glass of wine usually lasts Gil for the evening, yet I notice he’s already on his third, not that I’m counting.

  “The wine I brought is in the kitchen,” Gil continues enthusiastically. “And if you really enjoy it, then you can order more direct from the vineyard by using the Web site.”

  “And how’s your chocolate Yoo-hoo, Hallie?” asks Bernard, not wanting to leave me out.

  “It has a lovely bouquet,” I say with the air of a critic. “And a pleasant finish—lengthy yet delicate.”

  As soon we finish the main course, Bernard finally drops the bomb and announces that he’
s adopting a baby girl from China. “It could happen any day now.”

  “Really?” says Gil. And after only a beat he continues, “Congratulations to the father-to-be!” Gil raises his wine goblet to toast the occasion and we all clink glasses.

  I’d filled Gil in on this piece of information beforehand; however he makes a good job of acting surprised, just as I’d coached him to do. And once again Craig can’t help but look well pleased that his efforts with his father paid off. Though we most certainly avoid going into that drama in front of the guests. It only upsets Bernard to be reminded that the adoption had been canceled and then reinstated.

  Taking out a picture of a baby who appears to be about nine months old, Bernard passes it around the table. I look at him quizzically and wonder just how many Rommel figurines have gone out the shop door and into the private collection of Mrs. Farley to secure such a photo.

  “Little Hermione,” Bernard coos lovingly at the picture.

  “Hermione?” about four of us exclaim at once. And not in a good way, like we had about the chicken.

  “Absolutely not!” pronounces Olivia.

  “But it’s after Hermione Gingold, in Gigi,” says Bernard. “Mother, I’ve always been under the impression that you adored Hermione.”

  “I admired her as an actress,” replies Olivia. “And for saying that she’d tried everything in life except incest and folk dancing. But I’ve never been particularly enamored of the name Hermione, at least not for an American.”

  “If it’s a famous name you’re after, then why not go with War Emblem or Seabiscuit?” jokes Gil.

  Only Melik believes him to be serious. “Take it from me, high school in the United States is bad enough without having a weird name.”

  Bernard looks to me for support. But I tell him, “I’m with Melik. A kid named Hermione will die a lonely death on the playground after being hung upside down from the monkey bars until all her lunch money drops out of her pockets.”

  “Any other suggestions?” Bernard challenges us.

  “Maria,” suggests Ottavio. Leave it to Ottavio to propose that a single gay man raise an adopted Chinese daughter named after the Virgin Mother.

  Suddenly Gil puts his napkin to his face and begins to choke rather dramatically. “Bernard, I can’t stand it anymore,” he sputters. “I can’t live without you!”

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  ALL EYES TURN TO DORIS, WHO ODDLY ENOUGH APPEARS COMPLETELY composed and takes a sip of water as if she’s accustomed to her fiancé having a few glasses of wine and declaring his love for a man.

  Then our communal glance moves to Melik, who also seems totally comfortable with this development.

  Gil rushes around to Bernard’s side of the table and falls down on bended knee. “I’ve made a terrible mistake. Please say that you’ll take me back!”

  Bernard’s eyes well up and his right hand goes to his heart, while with the other he pulls Gil up so that they’re both standing. “Of course I will, Gil.” Passion flows through his voice like electricity through a ground wire.

  Both men hug and I feel as if I should applaud.

  “I smell something fishy,” says Olivia. “Which usually means that Hallie knows about it.” She looks to me for an explanation.

  Melik and Doris and Craig and I all burst out laughing.

  “That’s Gil’s sister, Kathleen,” I say, and point to “Doris.” “We just never met her because Gil wasn’t talking to anyone in his family until his brother recently died.” Then I nod toward Melik. “And he is no more Bernard’s boyfriend than I am. In fact, Melik has a girlfriend.”

  Bernard appears stunned. “Then, why all the—”

  “Hallie and I thought I’d have a better chance if we made it all very theatrical, you being the Queen of the High Scenes,” confesses Gil.

  “Mendacity, mendacity,” scolds Bernard as if he’s the essence of innocence.

  “Well, I for one am very pleased that you’re coming home, Gil,” Olivia states matter-of-factly. “Life hasn’t been the same here since you left.”

  “Oh, Kathleen!” exclaims Bernard. “With those mothball pearls and that floral-print dress, you really had me going!”

  “What do you mean?” Kathleen asks innocently, and glances down at her attire as if she’s been insulted.

  “Oh, nothing,” Bernard hastily covers. “They’re just so real-looking that I—I . . .”

  But Kathleen laughs to let him know he’s off the hook. “Gil put this outfit together,” she confesses, and shakes a wristful of the gaudy baubles at her brother. “Isn’t it just horrendous?”

  However, instead of being overcome with relief, Bernard suddenly turns a steely eye toward me. “Wait just a second, Hallie Palmer! How did you find out about Melik?” asks the prizefighter of deception.

  “First off, he referred to rugs as carpeting,” I say.

  Bernard performs one of his most dramatic double takes.

  “The plot thins!” interjects Gil.

  “And then Louise and I saw him at the movies in Timpany,” I continue. “Either he had his arm around his girlfriend, or else he was sitting next to an attractive young woman who needed comforting through a romantic comedy.”

  “All right,” Bernard confesses. “Melik was . . . shall we say, a decoy. He works at the auction house in Youngstown. But it was just a little fibula.” He downplays the charges against him. And he takes care not to mention whatever was in it for Melik—most likely some nice commissions or else deeply discounted goods.

  “God love you for a liar!” Gil quotes Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire.

  “You’ll never be any good at bluffing,” I say.

  Bernard finally comes clean. “When you told me about Herb’s wife making him jealous by finding someone else, well, I became inspired to at least try it.”

  Olivia just shakes her head at Bernard as if she can’t believe anyone would go to such lengths to revive a relationship. “You had me fooled,” she admits. “Since when did you get a master’s degree in reverse psychology?” Then Olivia turns her attention back to Gil. “But what about you? I thought this life had become too confining or existential or something to that effect.”

  “What was I thinking?” he says.

  We all laugh because whenever Gil used to come home from a training program exasperated by some of the idiots he worked with, he would insist that he was going to develop a TV game show called “What Were You Thinking!” A person who had just done something incredibly stupid would have to sit in front of a studio audience and retell the story and at the end the audience would all scream out, “What were you thinking!” And then they’d push voting buttons, which would either drop the person through a trapdoor in the floor, meaning they were too stupid to live in society, or else a hundred thousand dollars would pour down from the ceiling and the contestant would have a chance to try to rectify his or her own idiocy.

  “Hallie noticed that I hadn’t unpacked and didn’t go out of my way to have Doris sleep over, so she posed the question ‘What if Bernard would have you back?’ ” explains Gil. “When I first reunited with my family I immediately fell back into the trap of trying to be who I thought they wanted me to be. Doris called after the funeral, we had lunch, and . . . I don’t know, it just seemed like . . . no one had told her that I was gay . . . she was clearly very interested . . . at least in getting married and having children. Only I was the one who was making it into an either-or choice, because my family was finally willing to accept me as I am. And when Hallie told me that Bernard might still be open to reconciling, and about the adoption, I knew that it would be so right for us to be together and start a family.”

  Bernard still seems slightly miffed that his scheme was uncovered. “ I of course heard Melik say ‘carpeting’; however, I didn’t think that you noticed. But then I suppose you can’t con a con.”

  “Former con, if you don’t mind,” I correct him.

  “Who taught her everything she know
s?” Gil sings from one of Bernard’s favorite songs in the musical Funny Girl. “You taught her everything she knows.” He has a beautiful voice and I realize how long it’s been since we’ve enjoyed Gil’s singing and piano playing.

  And I guess Olivia does too. “The Roses of Picardy!” Olivia gaily clasps her hands together. “Gil, won’t you please sing it?”

  We all take our coffee into the living room and I pass the coconut “goblin” cookies. Gil arranges himself at the piano and touches the keys lightly as if to make sure they’re in the same spots where he left them. He tries a few chords and then begins a song that sounds old-fashioned, at least in so much as a person can actually understand all the words.

  When Gil approaches the last verse, he nods to his sister, Kathleen, and she goes over to the piano and sits next to him. And with the flowers and candles, it looks exactly like one of those English costume dramas where the ladies are required to entertain after dinner. As they sing the last verse together Olivia takes Ottavio’s hand in hers and wipes away a tear.

  And the roses will die with the summertime,

  And our hearts may be far apart,

  But there’s one rose that dies not in Picardy!

  ’Tis the rose that I keep in my heart!

  I feel an arm go around my waist and assume it’s Bernard, or more likely Rocky wanting to dance, but it turns out to be Craig. My heart is suddenly in my throat and when I look down, his beautifully modeled hand is so full of humanity that I’m tempted to take it in mine. However, when I look up he’s beaming at Gil and Kathleen and starting to slowly sway to their lovely song. One glance at the moist eyes around the room makes it clear that everyone is feeling warm, friendly, and sentimental, the way they do on Christmas Eve while singing “Silent Night.” Thus it’s safe to say that Craig would have put his arm around whoever was standing next to him at this moment, including Rocky. It just happens to be me.