The Peter & Charlie Trilogy

by Gordon Merrick

  Peter arrived ahead of time. He stood beside the entrance to a dingy medical appliance shop, two battered bags and a roll of carpet at his feet. At his right, the marquee of El Morocco stretched out to the curb, looking astonishingly shabby in the harsh afternoon light. Peter’s face was drawn and anxious. His wide eyes scanned every approaching pedestrian and flew from taxi to taxi as they roared toward him from Lexington Avenue. He kept looking at his watch and chewing the knuckle of his forefinger. He had been standing there for fourteen minutes when a taxi swerved in to the curb and stopped in front of him. He was so busy covering all approaches that it took him an instant to see Charlie climbing out of it. Their eyes met, they exchanged a smile, and then Charlie was busy extracting luggage from the cab and paying the driver. Peter didn’t know whether to shout, or to leap in the air, or to burst into tears. He was trembling violently all over. The taxi pulled away, leaving Charlie standing in a small island of luggage.

  “Hi. Will you help me with this junk?”

  Peter lurched toward him and grabbed the two biggest suitcases and dragged them across the sidewalk to his. Charlie followed with the rest. He dropped it all together and took out a key and opened the door beside the entrance to the truss shop. It was on a spring and they propped it open with a bag as they trundled everything into the hall. Charlie went past the staircase to the back of the hall and opened another door.

  “It’s back here,” he said. Peter grabbed luggage again and rushed it all back. Charlie helped and, when it was all in, closed the door behind them. Peter flung himself on him and crowded him back against the door and covered his face with kisses. He was still trembling from head to foot and uttered odd little noises. Charlie held him tight for a moment and then eased him away and chuckled. “Take it easy, baby. Somebody’s supposed to be here any minute to do something about the stove.”

  Peter took a grip on himself and let him go. The worst was perhaps over. “Never again,” he said. “I was just barely able to get through it. From now on, I’m not budging. You’re just as beautiful as ever. I didn’t imagine that.”

  Charlie put his hand on his shoulder and gave it a careless squeeze. “Come on. Don’t you want to see our nest?” They were standing in a narrow entrance hall. Ahead of them a door gave into what appeared to be a fairly spacious kitchen. He gave Peter’s shoulder a little push, and they entered a room to the right. Furniture was set aimlessly about in it, some of it still wrapped in brown paper. At one end were two windows that opened onto a tree in a littered yard. At the other end, there was an arched area that was big for an alcove but small for a room. It was very hot and smelled of fresh paint.

  “This is it,” Peter said wonderingly. “We’re going to live here. I mean, golly, this is life.”

  “We’ve got to decide where everything goes. I wanted to get it all ready for you, but the lease only started yesterday. The furniture’s just arrived.”

  Peter wasn’t interested in the furniture. “Tell me things,” he said. “What’s it been like for you?”

  “Oh, lord, I’ve missed you, but that’s all over. We’ve got work to do. Let’s get these windows open.”

  Peter moved obediently to a window. The sense of momentousness that he felt should belong to the occasion was definitely missing. His heart contracted. The barely suppressed fears crowded in on him from their precarious confinement. He lifted the heavy sash with numb fingers. Hot air stirred around him.

  “I’ve just come from C. B.,” Charlie said from the other window. “She expects us for dinner tonight. She’s dying to see you.”

  It was a bitter blow, but Peter wasn’t surprised. As much as he wanted to see C. B., he had been looking forward longingly to their first meal together in their own place. Naturally, C. B. took precedence. The realization of a dream could be postponed. He said nothing.

  “You have an appointment tomorrow with some man about a job,” Charlie went on. “I really start work tomorrow, too. I’ve been in a couple of times already. It’s going to be all right, I guess.”

  The glory was dimming minute by minute. They were together again, yet Charlie’s manner contained no hint of the momentous experiences they had shared. It couldn’t be like this. Charlie moved out into the middle of the small room. Peter couldn’t look at him.

  “Now then. Where shall we begin?” A bell rang and Charlie went out into the hall and pushed a button. Peter heard the door open.

  “Come about the stove,” a rough voice said. “Where’s the missus?”

  “There isn’t any missus,” Charlie said. “The stove’s in there.” Charlie came back into the room and they wandered about, fingering the furniture. There was an occasional bang from the kitchen. In a few minutes, the man appeared in the doorway.

  “She’s fixed. A couple of guys, huh? Well, it’s happening all over. Sweet.” He leered grotesquely and lumbered out.

  “The son of a—” Charlie exclaimed and strode into the hall and slammed the door. He reappeared looking indignant.

  Peter stood without moving, slackly, close to tears. That was all that had been needed to finish things off. “All right. You might as well tell me,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, that son of a bitch—”

  “I don’t care about him. I mean everything. I tried not to build it up in my mind. I couldn’t, really. It was so big to start with. What’s gone wrong?”

  “Gone wrong? What are you talking about? Oh, for God’s sake.” He laughed with a touch of exasperation. “Are you thinking of Eddie again? I’ve told you, it wasn’t anything like it is with us. We were all set before you left. It hasn’t changed.”

  “Hasn’t it? Do you really mean that?”

  “Oh, baby.” Charlie went to him and put his hand under his chin and kissed him on the mouth. “Darling baby. No, it hasn’t.”

  Peter took a long, gasping breath and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m a dope.” He threw his head back and laughed. “You see? That’s my hyena laugh. Isn’t it frightening?” He put his hands on Charlie’s crotch and held the sex and growled. “That’s what I wanted. What’ve I been waiting for? I was so bowled over seeing you that I didn’t know what I was doing. I guess all I could think about was piling into bed with you. It was sort of a shock discovering there wasn’t any bed to pile into.”

  Charlie put his hands over Peter’s and pressed them to him. “Wait till tonight, baby.” They smiled into each other’s eyes. A little thrill of anticipation ran down Peter’s spine. The sex was heavy in his hands.

  “Yes. Well, then, let’s get this place in operating order.” They threw off their jackets and ties. Peter laughed again for no particular reason. His spirits lifted, the strains and terrors of separation receded into the background of his memory. They pushed furniture around. It was all solid, some of it handsome, the rest serviceable.

  They placed Peter’s rug. As they went about their chores, they kissed frequently and put their hands on each other. Peter worked fast, hoping that there would be some time to spare at the end of the afternoon, but they were still at it past the hour when they should have been getting ready for C. B. They showered hurriedly, catching glimpses of each other’s bodies as they passed back and forth to the bathroom, but not daring to pause for fear of missing dinner entirely. They pulled on their clothes and permitted themselves a parting kiss. Peter took a final glance at the bed, now in place and ready, before they went out. It was getting cooler. They crossed over to Park Avenue and walked uptown in the glittering night. Peter was inclined to take Charlie’s arm at crossings, but Charlie shook him off.

  “We’ve got to be careful. You saw what happened this afternoon.”

  Peter couldn’t see that it made any difference in this anonymous city, but he complied. He felt blissfully alone with his love, eager to proclaim the joy they shared, but keyed up by the presence of people.

  They were admitted to C. B.’s apartment by an unknown Negro. After the impersonal opulence of the building, it was like st
epping into another age and another country. Here, all was old and burnished and delicate, creating an immediate atmosphere of grace and ease. C. B. was waiting for them in a large living room that looked as if it ought to give onto tree-shaded lawns. She flew to Peter and enveloped him in silks and lace as she embraced him extravagantly and kissed him. Diamonds scratched him. She held him at arm’s length and welcomed him ecstatically.

  “My darling. Darling Peter. At last. We’ve longed for you so. We’ve talked of nothing else for three weeks. You’ve captured both our hearts. How incomplete we’d have been if things hadn’t turned out this way.”

  Peter quite forgot his disappointment about dinner in the intoxicating warmth of her greeting. She pattered off to the bar cabinet, chatting all the while.

  “I’ve made a special reunion drink for us. We have so much to talk about. You have an appointment with Bryan Wilcox tomorrow. He’s the head of the firm and doesn’t generally interview applicants for messenger boy, but he’s very much interested in you. Poor darling. It doesn’t sound very glamorous, but it’s a start. At least you’ll have a little place of your own to go home to, and Charlie to discover New York with. You’ve seen the place. It’s absurdly small, but you’ll be happy together. Whenever I begin to worry about you, I remind myself that anything is better than West Point. Don’t you look smart in city clothes! And you haven’t lost any of that glorious summer tan. I want you to come here whenever you’re at a loose end. You’ll meet interesting and attractive people. When you have your job settled, we’ll see if you need a little extra pocket money. I think we’ll have a splendid winter. Well, here’s to all of us, my darling, my dearest. I am so fortunate to have you both.”

  The evening passed with swift gaiety. When they were once more in the street, Peter’s feet were ready to race for home.

  “Let’s stop somewhere and have a drink,” Charlie suggested, sounding very adult to Peter.

  “Oh, OK. Do you think they’ll serve me?”

  “Of course. You look as old as me, and I haven’t had any trouble for over a year.”

  They crossed back to Lexington and went into the first bar they came to. Peter ordered a beer, Charlie a whiskey. Despite Peter’s hunger for them to be alone, the small occasion confirmed them as inhabitants of the city. They could walk into a bar, the night was theirs to dispose of as they wished, they were their own masters.

  “She’s amazing,” Peter said, thinking over the evening. “You know, the things she says, you’d swear sometimes she knows all about us.”

  Charlie’s eyes flashed to him. “Don’t ever think that.” He enunciated each word with emphasis.

  “Oh, I know. If she really knew, she probably wouldn’t be so open about it. Still, I love it. It makes you feel as if she’s on our side.”

  “Time to go home,” Charlie said as he finished his whiskey.

  Peter laughed softly and struck his forehead with his fist. “I just can’t believe it. Time to go home. Just you and me. It’s absolutely incredible.”

  Charlie started to pay, but Peter intervened. “Please. Let me. I’ve never bought you a drink. I’ve never bought you anything. I’m going to get rich and buy you thousand of things.” He paid, feeling very adult in his turn, and they went on their way.

  When they reached the truss shop, Peter moved ahead. He had his own set of keys, and he pulled them out proudly. “You did it the first time. It’s my turn now.”

  He unlocked the outer door and stood back to let Charlie pass and then ran ahead and unlocked their own door. “Isn’t that something,” he said as he closed the door behind them. They switched on lamps, and the room sprang up around them. It looked settled and comfortable and snug. Peter moved in close beside Charlie and put his arm around his waist and hugged him. “It’s beautiful. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this. Aren’t you sort of stunned?”

  Charlie laughed. “A bit, I guess. And yet it seems so natural, somehow. I keep thinking what it would’ve been like if I’d been doing all this alone. I don’t see how I ever could’ve thought of it.”

  Peter hugged him again and turned shining eyes to his. “That’s nice. Of course, it’s different for me. It’s all just happening out of the blue. I feel sort of as if I were just being born.”

  “You make a fine bouncing baby.”

  They laughed, and Peter moved around to face him and held him close and kissed his mouth, astonished by the taste of whiskey. Charlie put his hands in his hair and pushed him away. “For God’s sake, let’s get out of these clothes.”

  They flung clothes from themselves and Charlie ran to the bathroom and returned with towels and the tube of lubricant.

  “Oh, oh, oh, oh,” Peter murmured, his eyes fixed on Charlie’s swaying sex. Then they were in bed, tangled with each other, their mouths open to each other, their hands searching avidly for the loved, remembered places. When the first urgency had passed, Charlie slid down over Peter’s body and took his sex in his mouth and welcomed it. Then he lifted himself to his knees between Peter’s legs and sat back on his heels. They smiled softly at each other. Peter’s lips moved in some unknown prayer or song of praise.

  “Give me the stuff,” Charlie said. Peter did so and started to roll over onto his stomach. Charlie stopped him with a hand on his thigh. “No,” he said. He applied the lubricant to them both.

  “What are we going to do?” Peter asked, his eyes adoring and puzzled.

  “I’ve been thinking about you.” Charlie pulled him toward him and lifted his legs and put them over his shoulders. He guided his sex with his hand and entered him. He slowly worked the hips closer to him. When they were completely coupled, he bent over and took Peter’s sex in his mouth.

  “Oh my God,” Peter moaned. He flung his arms out and clawed the sheet with his fingers. He lifted his hands and covered his eyes. He reached out and put his hands on Charlie’s face and felt for his sex where it entered Charlie’s mouth. “Oh my God. Oh my GOD,” he shouted, as his body thrashed about in the grip of orgasm. Charlie waited until he had received it and then he straightened and threw back his head and in an instant reached his own climax with a joyful cry. He toppled over onto Peter’s willing body.

  They lay, one on top of the other, breathing heavily, still loosely linked. Peter bore with rapture the whole warm abandoned weight of his love, his own body lifting to melt into Charlie’s. He felt consumed, absorbed, penetrated, possessed beyond the possibility of his own identity’s survival. It was an oblivion he had sought and dreamed of. When he was finally able to speak, he said, “You make the bad times so wonderful. I could’ve stayed away from you for six months for that. Well, not really. Nothing can make up for even one day without you, but you get the general idea.”

  “You said you wanted it. I was pretty sure it would work. It probably wouldn’t with most people. It’s because your beautiful cock is just the right size.”

  “I never really cared before, but now—thank God. Thank God for every inch of it.”

  THE next day, Peter was given a job. He became a runner in Wall Street, but he was placed under the protective eye of the head of the firm and there was talk of advancement as his studies progressed. His hours were short because of his classes at Columbia, and his pay was proportionately short, too. Peter didn’t mind; he hadn’t the slightest idea what money was for. He had time in the afternoon to shop, clean the apartment, and get dinner started before Charlie came home. Peter kept careful accounts and scrupulously paid his share. He loved keeping house for Charlie. It was understood that the rent was Charlie’s responsibility. Sometimes, when they were feeling particularly grownup, they had a drink before dinner, but neither of them very much wanted it. Then there were the long glorious evenings.

  It was quickly established that Sunday was more or less reserved for C. B. They slept late and made love luxuriously all through the midday, but by late afternoon they were handsomely dressed and ready. She conducted a sort of salon in the big living room, which evoked
generations of moneyed permanence rather than the smart, showy instability of the city. She presided, a shade too grandly to promote casual informality, too intelligently to permit boredom, over selected gatherings of young professional men, with an occasional female attachment. The drinks were neither notably good nor plentiful, but the young men came, handsome and well-dressed, publishers, journalists, an exceptionally favored actor, a Congressman’s executive assistant, sometimes the Congressman himself and his wife, some out of a sense of sharing in a more gracious past, more out of real devotion and sometimes gratitude to C. B. There were never more than six or eight at a time, so good talk was the rule. Peter found these occasions rather awesome and confining and didn’t shine. He and Charlie usually stayed on for dinner, but this was never taken for granted. Invitations were duly issued in advance. They both dropped in on her at odd moments during the week when she could be irresistibly playful and winning. This was the way Peter preferred her. Charlie lent himself wholeheartedly to the Sunday ritual.

  It was very nearly the married life that Peter had looked forward to, but there were flies in the ointment. Charlie announced one evening that he had been obliged to accept a dinner invitation from one of his superiors for the next day.

  “It seems it’s a great honor when they invite you. It’s more or less part of the job to go. It’s their way of grooming you for promotion. I think that’s what they call it.”

  “That’s great. It’s important for you.”

  “Not really. I’m not going to be there indefinitely. In another week or so, when we’re finally settled and you’ve started night school, I’m going to start calling people about the theater.”