William J. Mann

by Men Who Love Men (lit)

  “Yes, the singer is here,” I tell Ann Marie, nodding out toward the beach, where the waitress has begun to tune her guitar. “I think everybody’s here but the grooms.”

  I glance around at the gathering crowd. Over there, old friends Melissa and Rose are chatting with Jeff’s brother and his daughters. Closer to the water stand our buddies from our days on the circuit, Billy and Oscar and Elliot, as well as Elliot’s hunky new boyfriend Cesar. Elliot confided to me that he’s giving Cesar an engagement ring tonight. Seems everybody’s getting married.

  Except me. Yet I can honestly say that, standing here watching the guests arrive, everybody kissing each other and exclaiming over the glorious day, I feel quite content with my own single-hood. I think about Luke—Frank Hall or whatever his name is—sitting on the pier, all alone. I think about Gale, who was once Gayle, trying to find a new way to be in the world, not knowing whom he can trust. In so many ways, I’m no different than they are. But I have something they don’t.

  I have a family.

  “All right, everyone,” comes the voice of the officiator, Lloyd’s old friend Naomi. A tall, dark-haired woman, she wears a flowing flower-print muumuu and a wreath of daisies around her head. “Gather around me, please,” she says, waving to the guests to come together. “Our ceremony is about to begin.”

  That’s when I hear the car door behind me. I turn. Jeff and Lloyd have arrived, both of them looking magnificent in their tuxedos with red roses pinned to satin lapels. As they approach me, they’re holding hands and beaming.

  “What a day, huh?” I ask them.

  Jeff can’t contain his exhuberance. “It’s like a dream.”

  “Henry,” Lloyd says, reaching inside his jacket and withdrawing a small box, “you’ll have to bring these over when Naomi gives the signal.” I take the box from him. Opening its lid, I see two shining titanium rings inside.

  Jeff’s smile turns tight as I look over at him. “You’ll have to be our ring bearer as well as our best man,” he tells me, “since J. R. won’t do it.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  We turn. The boy must have been watching for his uncles to arrive. He’s left his grandmother’s side and now stands before us in his too-big suit, pulling at his shirt collar with his finger. “I’ll be your ring bearer,” he announces.

  Jeff’s face turns into a beacon of light. “J. R.—you mean it?”

  The kid nods.

  Jeff reaches down to embrace him. “J. R., thank you, so much!”

  Lloyd places his hand on the boy’s shoulders. “You have made us very, very happy.”

  I hand the ring box to J. R. “Guard these carefully, buddy,” I tell him.

  J. R. nods, accepting the box.

  Out on the beach, Shirl, the singer, begins her song.

  When I fall in love, it will be forever…

  I smile. Gale once said that those sentiments were worth singing about. Indeed they are, I think, walking behind Jeff and Lloyd onto the beach. Will it ever be me in their place? Will these people who have gathered here ever come to a ceremony for me?

  In a restless world like this is, love is ended before it’s begun…

  I look around. Jeff’s mother is crying. He stops as he passes her, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. I note that Ann Marie’s mascara is running as she sheds her own tears.

  And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too…

  I watch as Jeff and Lloyd take their place in front of Naomi, their hands still linked, their eyes only on each other.

  …is when I fall in love with you.

  Shirl finishes her song. Naomi steps forward.

  “We are here today,” she says, “to witness the joining together of two souls, Jeff and Lloyd.”

  The group murmurs appreciatively. Beyond, the surf crashes on the beach, and a gathering of gulls chitters loudly.

  My mind flashes back to a night in Boston, many years ago. It was during that period where Jeff and Lloyd were living apart, neither of them sure of what lay ahead for the two of them. Jeff was stretched out on his couch, staring at the ceiling. I knew he was scared, depressed, worried. I asked him if he could imagine a life without Lloyd.

  “Of course I can,” he replied. “Life would go on. I suppose I might even find someone else, someday. But there would always be a chunk missing, like one of those mosaics you see where a couple of tiles have fallen out. It’s still beautiful, but not complete.” I remember smiling then. The writer in Jeff was coming out. I appreciated the image.

  Yet today, the mosaic around us is complete. The sun, the waves, the sand, the people. I admit that I’m in my own world as Naomi speaks, offering her blessing on Jeff and Lloyd. There’s a poem from Rumi, a Native American prayer, a parable about the Buddha. I can tell Lloyd wrote most of the ceremony. It’s the spirit of the event I absorb more than any of the actual words. I’m kind of hovering above the ceremony, in fact, and I discover that, right beside me, is a man that I can’t quite see, a man whose face is unknown to me but whose presence is very, very familiar. With him beside me, I, too, feel complete.

  Jack, is that you?

  He doesn’t answer, but I feel quite certain it’s him. The man from my childhood bed, with whom I’d fall asleep every night during my teenage years. The man I’d named for a childhood hero, and who I believed so strongly I’d one day find.

  And now he’s here.

  Not in physical form. Not yet. But if I’m real, he’s real. I once called him Mr. Right, or the One—but that’s reductive. That describes him only from my perspective. He’s so much more than that. He’s full of life and contradictions, flaws as well as virtues, and he will not be enough, on his own, to meet every single one of my needs. Nor will I meet all of his. But he will make me complete, just as I complete him.

  “And now,” Naomi is saying, “a word from our best man.”

  I look up. I’m on. I clear my throat, and turn to face the gathered crowd.

  For a moment I can’t speak. I have no idea what I should say. Then the words find their way.

  “When Lloyd and Jeff asked me to say something,” I tell the crowd, “I was at a loss. ‘Give a good speech!’ they instructed.” I laugh. “Talk about pressure.”

  The crowd laughs in return.

  “I tried writing down a few things. I’d get two or three sentences down, then crumble up the paper. It all sounded too earnest, too trite. Jeff would probably say earnest and trite describes me to a T”—more laughter from the crowd—“but I just couldn’t subject you all to that. Besides, I wanted to say something that no one else would say.”

  I look at my two friends.

  “So I decided to wing it. I decided I wouldn’t write anything, that when the time came, I’d just speak from the heart. I decided I would just tell you what I was thinking at the moment, how I felt standing here as your best man. And how I feel right now is…inspired.”

  Overhead a very loud gull sweeps through the sky, as if punctuating my words. We all look up briefly at it, then I begin to speak once more.

  “I am inspired by you, Jeff and Lloyd,” I tell them. “I haven’t always understood your relationship. I have often envied you it. But you have taught me something very special about men who love men. You have taught me that there is no way to contain that love. It spills out, big enough to encompass everyone here. Certainly you have included me in your love, and for that I am grateful. I am a different person for having known you, for having been loved by you, for having loved you.”

  “Here, here,” someone calls out from the crowd.

  “You give us hope,” I continue. “You give us hope that the kind of love you have found with each other—and cultivated so beautifully—might be possible for us. Might, in fact, be possible for everyone. You have taught me so much about love and commitment. Each time I think I have the answer, you challenge me to think again. Indeed, you inspire us all to defy definition, to upend our expectations. You challenge us to live creatively, mind
fully, and most of all, authentically. Thank you for that.”

  I realize I’ve made them both cry. I can’t help but smile.

  “Earnest enough for you?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Jeff says, tears in his eyes. “But definitely not trite.”

  Everyone laughs.

  Naomi is opening her arms to the crowd. “May we now take a moment to summon to our hearts those who are not here today,” Naomi says. “Jeff’s father and Lloyd’s father.”

  The crowd falls silent, bowing their heads. I look over at the mothers of the groom. Mrs. Griffith is holding her chin high, her eyes staring off at the water, a solemn memory of her husband surely coming to her mind. Mrs. O’Brien, by contrast, is smiling—the first smile I’ve seen on her all week. Her lips move in a silent greeting to the beloved husband who now fills her vision. Jeff and Lloyd have their mothers in their sight, and no doubt their fathers in their hearts.

  “And also,” Naomi intones, “let us remember our wonderful friend, David Javitz, who you know is looking down on these two right now and saying, ‘What the hell took you so long?’”

  Laughter once again from the crowd.

  Naomi looks over at J. R. “The rings?”

  The boy steps forward. His small hand is trembling as he hands the box to her. She smiles, taking the box and opening it for Jeff and Lloyd. The two rings sparkle in the sunlight.

  Lloyd takes the first ring and slips it onto Jeff’s finger. “With this ring,” he says, “I thee wed.” He steps back and looks at the man he loves. “With you, Jeff, I have found home. This is the great promise of life. That we find our soulmate, that we come together and find our sense of wholeness. Thank you for making me whole. Thank you for loving me. To you, I pledge my love and my life.”

  Jeff takes the second ring from the box and slips it on Lloyd’s finger. “With this ring,” he echoes, “I thee wed.” He smiles, his eyes sparkling in the sun. “When I was a little boy,” he tells Lloyd, “I used to talk to you. I knew you were out there waiting for me. I didn’t know your name, I wasn’t sure exactly how you’d look, but I knew you were there. Thank you for making me complete. Thank you for loving me. To you, I pledge my love and my life.”

  They stand there their hands clasped between them.

  “And now,” Naomi says, raising her arms, “with the authority vested in me by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts—”

  Cheers ring out.

  “—and by God,” Naomi continues, “I now pronounce you legally and spiritually married.”

  Such a simple, yet radically profound statement. I shed my own tears of joy for my friends.

  I’m the first one they embrace after their own kiss. “I love you, buddy,” Jeff says.

  “And I love you,” I tell this man who changed my life.

  “You are a great gift,” Lloyd says as he wraps his arms around me. “I love you with all my soul.”

  And finally, I realize, that’s exactly what I’ve always wanted from him.

  Then it’s J. R. they embrace.

  “Thank you for being our ring bearer,” Jeff says emotionally, holding the boy close to him.

  “Uncle Jeff,” J. R. says, fighting tears. “I promise I’ll try to be gay, too.”

  We all look down at the boy. “What?” Jeff asks. “J. R., what do you mean you’ll try to be gay?”

  His little face is torn with anguish. “I know you want me to be happy like this, too,” he says. “I know you want me to get married to a man someday, to be gay like everybody else, and I promise I’ll try.”

  Suddenly I understand the boy’s dilemma all these weeks. He sees all of us celebrating who we are, talking about the joys and opportunities of being gay—and he’s felt left out, especially with his budding feelings for little Lynette Silva. I stoop down alongside Jeff and Lloyd to look into J. R.’s eyes.

  “Buddy,” Jeff is saying, “I don’t want you to be gay if that’s not what you are.”

  Lloyd puts his hand on the side of J. R.’s face. “And neither do I. We just want you to be you, the real you.”

  “But it’s like Uncle Henry said,” J. R. replies. “Men who love men are special.”

  I smile. “That we are, buddy. But not all men who love men are gay.”

  Jeff cups the boy’s chin in his hand. “We love you, and you love us,” he tells his nephew. “That’s all that matters. Like Henry said, there’s no way to contain that. Everybody gets some. Gay, straight, man, woman. Hey, we love your mom, don’t we? And she’s not gay. And she’s not a man.”

  “Well, honorary on both counts,” Ann Marie says, hovering above us, privy to this whole little conversation.

  “Is that what you’ve been struggling with, J. R.?” Jeff asks. “Were you worried I’d love you less if you didn’t turn out to be gay?”

  The boy shrugs, then nods, falling into his uncle’s arms.

  “Dude.” Jeff holds the boy close. “If you like babes, that is so okay with me.”

  “He already has a babe,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah?” Jeff asks. J. R. nods. “What’s her name?”

  “Lynette,” the boy says. “And she’s hot.”

  “You go call her,” Lloyd says. “See if her parents will let her come to the reception.”

  “Really?” J. R. asks, his eyes lighting up.

  “Really,” Lloyd replies.

  “Excellent!” J. R. rushes off, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

  Ann Marie makes a face. “I think nine years old is a little young to have a babe,” she says.

  “He’s my nephew,” Jeff says, standing up. “He can’t help his sexual magnetism.”

  “Hey, Mr. Magnetism,” I say. “I noticed the creak in your joints as you stood up. Need a hand back to the car?”

  Jeff looks from me over to Lloyd. “Can you divorce a best man?”

  Lloyd shakes his head. “I think we’re stuck with him.”

  “Let’s go,” I say, grinning. With one arm around Jeff and one arm around Lloyd, I walk with them back to the car.

  23

  MARTIN’S PLACE

  “Well,” he says, “I didn’t expect to see you tonight, what with the wedding and all.”

  “Do you mind?” I ask.

  “Come on in,” Martin says.

  Back at the guesthouse, Jeff and Lloyd’s reception is winding down. Most of the guests have left, the cake has been eaten, and last I saw, Jeff was falling asleep on the couch, his head in Lloyd’s lap. I decided to go for a walk, to watch the sun set over the trees. This is why I live here after all. The beauty exists to be savored at any moment.

  Somehow, I ended up at Martin’s apartment. Walking inside, I see he was right about the view. An amazing perspective of Provincetown harbor greets me from his living room. Enough after glow remains to dapple the water with light, as a couple of boats rock lazily nearby, secured by their anchors. From Long Point, the lighthouse sounds its low, resonant horn every few minutes. A more peaceful setting I couldn’t imagine.

  But suddenly the tranquility is shattered by the frantic yapping of a dog.

  “Peggy!” Martin claps his hands. “No need to go spastic. This is Henry.”

  I look down at my feet. Martin has gotten a pug.

  “When did you—?” I stoop down to nuzzle the dog’s face. “Oh, man, she’s adorable!”

  Martin stands over us beaming. “I got her a couple of days ago. As much as I like being on my own, a little company is always nice.”

  I’m close to tears as I let Peggy lick my hand. “I had a pug once,” I tell Martin.

  “Really? What happened?”

  I sigh, looking into the dog’s apoplectic eyes. “I had a boyfriend who made me give her away.” I stand. “It was another life. I can’t imagine that ever happening again.”

  “Good man, Henry.” Martin smiles over at me. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Oh, I’ve had plenty of champagne, thanks.”

  “Coffee then?”


  I nod. “That would be lovely.”

  He sets about brewing a pot. “So to what do I owe this unannounced visit? Had enough of the wedding festivities?”

  “It’s been a wonderful, beautiful day,” I tell him, gazing out once again over the water. The little furball named Peggy trots into the living room, following me. “I just decided I needed to take a walk.”