The Peter & Charlie Trilogy

by Gordon Merrick

  As the others continued to discuss every aspect of the trip, he began to feel that they were really going and he studied the boat with awakened eyes, looking along the deck, cluttered with unfamiliar gear, and up the tall mast with its heavy rigging. An inkling of how completely the boat would contain them and set them apart from the world crossed his consciousness. He wished that he and Charlie were going off alone, just the two of them, away from everything and everybody.

  “Well, it all sounds really great,” Charlie said with enthusiasm after they had had several more drinks. He looked at Peter and smiled, really smiled at him deep into his eyes as he hadn’t smiled since the day before at Porquerolles. “What do you say, Pete?”

  Peter burst out laughing with gratitude and happiness. “I say let’s get going. I don’t see how we ever thought of turning it down.”

  “It’s definitely understood, isn’t it, that eight weeks is absolutely maximum for us?” Charlie addressed the Kingsleys.

  “Absolutely,” Jack agreed. “You say you don’t mind flying back if we decide to stay on and winter there. The same applies if we get held up for any reason and we just can’t get you back here on time. Right?”

  “Right.” They all got to their feet as they drained their glasses. Peter eagerly agreed to come back in the morning and start learning his way around and helping out in any way he could. The Kingsleys accompanied them to the stern and stood at the top of the gangplank and waved them ashore.

  “I don’t believe they’re queer, no matter what people say,” Martha said when they were out of earshot.

  Jack laughed. “Women can’t ever believe any guy is queer. They can’t stand the idea of a cock getting away from them.”

  Martha frowned as she wandered back to the cockpit and poured herself another drink. “Don’t be crude. No, Peter may have had a schoolboy crush on Charlie once upon a time. They’re obviously devoted to each other. It’s probably just as simple as that. People have such foul imaginations.”

  “Are you intending to find out?” Jack asked as he took the bottle from her and poured himself another drink.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just watch your step. That’s what I mean. A small boat is no place for hanky-panky. I thought we decided we wanted them with us because they’re queer.”

  “Don’t be silly. We wanted them with us because we like them.”

  “I see. Well, they’re queer, all right. I can assure you of that. So I don’t think we need really worry about any repetitions of the troubled past.”

  “Oh, Jack,” Martha said wearily. She took several long swallows of her drink. “It’s a bit odd your being so insistent about it. How can you be sure of a thing like that? Perhaps you’re intending to find out.”

  Jack laughed. “I think I’d have more success than you. Unfortunately, we have no secrets from each other so it’s hardly worth wasting an innuendo. However, a blow-job is a blow-job. If either of them offered to oblige, I wouldn’t necessarily turn them down. Especially Peter. He’s the tastiest trick I’ve ever seen in my life. Those eyes. He’d bring out the queer in any man.”

  “He’s very sweet.” She drained her glass.

  “You prefer Charlie, of course. I know your type. He’s hung. That’s certainly obvious. Well, you might as well drown your dreams in drink. We’ve had the sense to pick two nice faggots who’re nuts about each other. Let’s leave it at that. We’re going to have a nice quiet trip.” He held the bottle over her glass and poured out a generous measure.

  Preparations for departure kept Peter and Charlie very busy for the next few days. When he was with the Kingsleys, Charlie felt wholly alive and keen for adventure. Alone with Peter, he was still aware at times of a deadness in himself. He didn’t know what it was. Something was gone, something was broken. Whether it was something that time would restore, repair, heal, he couldn’t tell, but it filled him with curiosity. Life was taking on more interest than it had had for a long time. When his curiosity flagged, he fell into long moments of deep depression from which he felt nothing could rouse him. Peter could, with his sweetness, his bright vitality, his evident determination to pretend that nothing was wrong. Charlie would find himself laughing with the same delight he had always felt with him. Still, he was looking forward to being on the boat where he felt he would be able to arrive at a cool assessment of the future.

  Peter immediately became Jack’s preferred and adept helper. He learned much more quickly and competently than Charlie about the workings of the motor. He was able to shinny up the mast to fix a block that had got jammed. Charlie had always liked being with him in a healthy, outdoor atmosphere, playing tennis with him, swimming, playing an occasional Saturday afternoon game of touch football with neighbors. It seemed to mitigate the onus of the forbidden bond that held them. He was pleased that Jack and Peter got along so well together.

  Jack’s preparations converted what at first had seemed a casual cruise into a serious and complex undertaking. Charlie’s experience had been confined to off-shore racing with an occasional brief cruise along the New England coast. He was fascinated by the navigational equipment that he didn’t know how to use. He was amazed at all the facilities available to yachtsmen, the detailed charts with their depth markings, the Mediterranean pilot book with its careful descriptions of the lights and shelter and holding ground of every port they planned to visit. He found it extraordinary that the governments of the world permitted yachtsmen to buy duty-free liquor and fuel and cigarettes. If he could believe his eyes, a bottle of the best Scotch would cost one dollar and five cents on board.

  After three days, they had developed into a well-meshed team and the boat was ready to sail. There was no authorized dealer in duty-free stores at St. Tropez, so Jack planned to put in at Antibes before really getting under way. There were people in Cannes that Peter felt he ought to see on business. As a consequence, they were to make this first short stage of the trip independently the next day, Charlie and Peter by car, the Kingsleys alone on the boat. They would regroup in Antibes the day after.

  “Be sure to bring lots of sweaters,” Jack said as they were having a farewell drink.

  “Really? Why?” Peter asked.

  “It can get chilly at night. I suppose you don’t have any wetweather gear. It doesn’t matter. We can share out what we’ve got on board.”

  “Jack will never get over crossing the Atlantic,” Martha said, smiling at Charlie.

  Charlie smiled in return. “Who can blame him? I don’t think I’d want to try it.”

  “Really?” Martha looked at him with the pleasure of discovering an unexpected ally. “Jack thought I was an awful coward for not going with him.”

  They made elaborate farewells that would have been appropriate to a permanent separation; a special tie of comradeship had grown up between them in these few days. Martha kissed Charlie and Peter on both cheeks in the French fashion, a sweet and sexless embrace. They shook hands and patted each other and exchanged assurances that they’d meet in Antibes day after tomorrow.

  Leaving the boat, Charlie and Peter encountered Guy de Sainval. He greeted them with elegant cordiality.

  “I’ve been looking for you two everywhere. What have you been up to? I’ve called you more times than I care to admit. If you turn into recluses, there will be no point in my staying here.”

  They told him about their imminent voyage on Cassandra.

  “That’s the American couple? But how can you? They have no crew. I rather enjoy the yachting life myself, but only with an army of divine stewards at my beck and call. How brave and Spartan of you. And you’re leaving so soon? How lucky I found you. Madeleine is having a party for me tonight. I was determined to have you.”

  Charlie and Peter glanced at each other and made simultaneous sounds of polite refusal.

  “But you must. It’s in honor of Harry leaving me again. I think this makes the eighth time. He’ll be back, but we must celebrate while we can. Everybody you know w
ill be there. We will make it a farewell party for you. I’ve even invited some very disreputable young men to make sure Jeannot would come. He’s gone quite mad. I hear he arranged an absolutely spell-binding orgy last night.” Guy looked at Peter. “Only a few days ago the mere mention of your name would have brought him running. I think fidelity is your exclusivity.”

  “I’m sorry, Guy,” Charlie cut in hastily. “We just haven’t time for parties. We’re getting away first thing in the morning.”

  “But this is impossible.” Guy put his hand on Charlie’s arm. “You were to be my campaign for the summer. The bouillabaisse was only the preliminary to an absolutely dazzling series of maneuvers. Why should Jeannot be the only one to benefit from your divine visitation?” He flashed them a wicked smile. “Oh, yes, I’m afraid Jeannot and la petite soeur Anne have been talking. It cheered me up enormously. The thought of having both of you, since that’s apparently the form your fidelity takes, made me quite giddy.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear,” Charlie said coolly, managing a slight smile and revealing nothing of the anger that shook him.

  Guy lifted a silencing hand to him. “Oh, but I want to. Some of the details about you—too delectable, though they didn’t come as a complete surprise. Tomorrow morning? I shall have my bags packed. I don’t think Greece sounds like my sort of country, but there must be some place where the pastures are greener—or the men more like you two.”

  “I hope you find it. We’ve got to run along.” Charlie held out his hand and Guy shook it. “Thanks again for the other day. Au revoir.”

  “Au revoir. You may well say it. We’ll meet again. I’m sure of it.”

  Charlie had pulled his hand away and started on to the car before Peter could complete his farewells. He hurried after, cursing Guy and filled with dismay. They got into the car in silence.

  “Jesus.” Charlie muttered before starting it. “Pleased with yourself?”

  “Sure. I feel like shooting myself again. I’m sorry. Thank God, you’re getting us away from here.”

  Charlie was thinking the same thing. What he had done with the French boy had been vile, but he couldn’t exonerate Peter from creating the situation that had incited him. Thank God for the boat. Once on board he would find every means to test the strength of the bonds that held him. If he found a weakness anywhere, he would break free once and for all.

  Their departure for Cannes the next morning was silent and furtive; they were like criminals fleeing the scene of the crime. Once away and on the road, their spirits lifted. They both felt the past slipping away behind them. Charlie dropped a hand from the wheel and took one of Peter’s. “God, we’re out of it,” he said. “I never want to get involved with a bunch of queers again.”

  “Me too, darling. I’m going to have to start practicing not calling you that.”

  “My baby. I’ll be thinking it even if I can’t say it.” They squeezed each other’s hands.

  They found their way down to the squalid little port of Antibes at noon the next day, after arranging to store their car and three suitcases of excess clothing. Cassandra looked much bigger amid a scattering of fishing boats. Their reunion with the Kingsleys was as excessive as their parting. They felt like the only four people on earth. Charlie and Peter eased their suitcases down the steep companionway that rose from the galley. Now that the boat had become home, they both looked around them as if they had never seen it before, taking possession of it. The galley was quite roomy, compactly fitted, and the same area contained a chart desk where Jack’s navigational equipment was stored. From there, they entered the saloon cabin, which was fitted out like a living room. Bright covers and cushions turned the bunks they would use into divans. There were bookshelves, and curtains at the portholes, and brass lamps and a table fixed in the middle, which folded out into a dining table. Forward was the head, with a deep closet opposite. Beyond that was the fo’c’sle cabin for Jack and Martha.

  They all gathered in the saloon amid luggage. Martha had drinks ready. It was very hot. The Kingsleys reported on their trip of the day before, which had been uneventful.

  “We got all the stores on this morning,” Jack announced. “What I’m planning is to pull out of here about sunset after an early supper. That should get us to Corsica sometime in the morning. About noon, maybe. I don’t like to put into strange harbors at night. The run should take us about sixteen hours, depending on the wind.”

  He had drawn up a schedule of watches, which he now produced. Peter was to be on from eight to midnight, Charlie from midnight to four, Jack the bleak hours from four to eight in the morning. Charlie saw the sense of it. He would be around to keep an eye out when Peter, the least experienced of them, took over in the early part of the night. When Peter relieved Jack at eight, Martha would be there to lend a hand if need be.

  “Unless we find a better arrangement, we can stick to these hours for the whole trip,” Jack said, his weathered, rugged features bent over the sheet of paper. “During the day, it doesn’t matter so much, so long as Charlie and I get our sleep. In theory, we three will spell each other at four-hour intervals. I haven’t given Martha a regular watch because she’ll be doing the cooking, and I’ll expect her to help out whenever she’s needed during the day. Is that OK with everybody?”

  “It’s pretty soft for us,” Peter said to Martha.

  “He apparently thinks we need our beauty sleep. I’m not complaining.”

  “I think it’s fine,” Charlie said to their captain. “It’s damn decent of you to take the worst bit.”

  “The dawn watch? I love it. Our whole way of living is going to change now, anyway. You’ll see. No more of those stylish ninethirty dinners you’ve been going to.”

  “Thank God,” Charlie said.

  “You want to come look at the charts?” Jack and Charlie rose and moved toward the galley-chart room.

  “I’ll get our stuff stowed away,” Peter said as they left. He turned to Martha. “Show me where to put everything.”

  Charlie and Jack leaned over the chart showing Corsica and part of the French coast around Antibes, while Jack did something fascinating with what looked like two rulers fastened together by swiveled bars. He moved them, snapping together and parting, across the chart to the printed face of a compass. “All this is old stuff to you, naturally. That’s our course.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said, reluctant to admit his ignorance. He had never used a chart.

  Jack twirled a pair of dividers that moved like a man on stilts across the chart from Antibes to the northern tip of Corsica. “Sixteen hours, if we’re lucky. We do five, six, seven knots with decent winds. It takes a gale to move us any faster. I hope we don’t have too many of those. Have you ever used a mileage log?”

  “No,” Charlie said. He didn’t even know what Jack was talking about.

  Jack indicated a tubular object with a little propeller at the end of it hanging over his desk. A long cord was attached to it, coiled up neatly, at the other end of which was a clocklike instrument with a little window with numerals in it that obviously clicked around, like a speedometer. Jack tapped the face with a finger. “Always make a note of the mileage reading and the time and the new compass reading whenever you change course. I mean, if the wind shifts or anything. That way, I’ll be able to plot our course pretty accurately. Excuse me if I’m telling you stuff you know.”

  “No, I’ve always sailed by dead reckoning. Time, compass and this thing. I should be able to manage that.” He felt physically comfortable with Jack. If their shoulders touched, it was because they were crowded for space and they had to touch. After the past weeks, it was a relief to feel nothing equivocal in the movements of another man’s body.

  “I’ll explain it to Peter, too,” Jack said, “but he’ll probably be explaining it to me before I get through. It’s amazing how quick that guy is around a boat.”

  “He’s quick, all right. I think he’s going to love it.”

  They re
turned to the saloon and Martha left them to prepare lunch. Peter was emptying a suitcase into a locker above one of the bunks.

  “I’m just shoving everything in together,” he announced cheerfully.

  Martha served them a lunch of salad and cold meats and fruit. Peter and Charlie ate with the care of weight-watchers, the Kingsleys with less restraint.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” Jack said. “We agreed to divide the food-and-wine bill by four. You’re cheating yourselves.”

  “It’s the price we pay for being able to go on wearing our old clothes,” Peter said. “You’re obviously one of those people who can eat all they want and never put on a pound.”

  “He’s infuriating,” Martha said, looking at Charlie. “I’m always planning to get rid of five pounds, but he sets such a bad example. Don’t let him undermine you. You both have such beautiful figures.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Charlie said with a smile. “If I say the same about you, it’ll sound as if I’m just being polite. But it’s true. You’ve got the kind of body I like to draw. Really marvelous.” He said it sincerely but impersonally, and she accepted it in the same spirit with a flattered smile that wasn’t in the least flirtatious.

  They sat about and chatted for some time after lunch. Peter volunteered to help Martha clean up the dishes. Eventually, Jack went off to clear papers with the port authorities. Martha went forward to her cabin and closed the door. Peter and Charlie smiled at each other and gave a quick glance around and exchanged a brief kiss.