by Greg Lilly
“Aunt Eleanor,” Ruby called as we walked in. “Look who is here to see you.”
She turned and smiled. “My little Derek, come here.”
I leaned over to hug her. She seemed so fragile and small, a far cry from what I remembered from childhood when she would chase me across the backyard being the “tickle monster.” Mother and Valerie would sit on the back porch and laugh as I would turn on Grandma and run after her. “Grandma, I’m glad to see you.”
“Little Derek,” she patted my hand and winked at Ruby, “he’s as big as Papa was, but he’s still our baby.”
“Yes ma’am,” Ruby agreed, settling into a rattan couch; a potted banana tree’s leaf hovered above her head.
I sat next to Grandma at the table because she still held my hand. “How are you feeling?” I asked.
She pushed the newspaper out of the way and looked into my eyes. “I remember the spring this house was built; Papa designed it himself.” She stopped for a moment, lost in her memories. “Erwin and Edward helped build it while Ernestine and I took care of our baby brother Earl.” She smiled a faint smile down at the table, then looked at me again. “You remind me so much of Earl. He moved to New York; you know he went to work for William Henry Belk as a buyer. I don’t hear from him as much as I used to.”
I couldn’t remember if Great-Uncle Earl was still alive and didn’t want to ask Ruby in front of Grandma, in case he wasn’t.
Ruby added, “I remember Daddy talking about building this house. Derek, he met Mama that summer.”
“Oh, yes,” Grandma fired up, “Erwin was oldest and handsomest; Edward always tried to outdo him. Guess being the second boy is tough. Edwina acts just like her daddy.” She patted my knee. “Erwin and Rebecca would sneak off to Latta Park and kiss on the bench that used to be behind some pine trees.” She looked at Ruby with great concern. “Are there still pines in Latta?”
“I think there’s a few,” Ruby answered respectfully.
“Well, anyway, that was around the time of the war. Camp Greene was over on the west side.” She looked at me and winked. “Many a young Charlotte girl was courted by a pilot trainee from the camp.”
“Grandma,” I acted shocked. “Did you date a pilot?”
“Lord no, I was way too young. I couldn’t have been more than six or seven.”
Ruby brought her back on track. “What about Daddy and Mama courting in Latta Park?”
“Oh, yes. Erwin must have been fifteen and smitten with Rebecca. She walked by every day while this house was being built to see him. In the late evening, he would go to her house to sit on the swing or walk to the park or ride on the trolley.” She thought fora moment. “Do you know the trolley is running again?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.
“Us kids loved riding the trolley downtown with Papa and Mama. They took us to our first movie at the Academy-seems like it was about the Confederates and Yankees, and about the Klan saving a family from the Negroes.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe I heard her right. “The first movie Great-Grandpa Ernest took you to was Birth of a Nation?” I had seen clips of the historic film in a class I’d taken in San Francisco; technically, a groundbreaking film because of the director’s innovations, but the subject matter was pure anti-black propaganda. “Birth of a Nation,” I repeated, not believing my great-grandfather would have taken his children to it.
“Scared the you-know-what out of me,” she giggled. “I was sure a black man would grab me before we got back home, but Papa assured me that his friends-”
“Aunt Eleanor,” Ruby interrupted. “Did you know that Mark and Kathleen have asked Derek to come to their house for dinner tonight? Derek and Mark always got along so well when they were younger. I’m glad they’re still friends.” She took a breath and continued, “And Derek will be here for a few days. He’s been such a help to me. He mowed the lawn. We’re going to replant the-” She turned to look back toward the door. “Oh, hi, Gladys.”
Every muscle in my body tensed at the sight of my mother; I stood up quickly, ready for a fight.
Her eyes took in the three of us in quick jerky movements. “Mother, what nonsense have you been boring Derek and Ruby with?”
“Just talking about Papa and this house. What nonsense should I bore them with?” Grandma shot back, “I can always talk about you-that should bore them. Leave us alone, Valerie.”
“Mother, I’m Gladys,” she corrected.
“I know.” Grandma seemed to be getting tired.
Ruby pushed herself out of the chair and grabbed my hand. “We should be leaving.” She pulled me toward the door. “Goodbye, Aunt Eleanor. Bye, Gladys.”
I wanted to stay and hear Grandma zing the Bitch again, but Ruby insisted on our leaving. I hugged Grandma and said, “I’ll see you later. I love you.”
She squeezed my hand and smiled.
I walked past Gladys without speaking.
I DROVE DOWNTOWN to Mark’s condo in the TransAmerica building on Church Street. The building took up an entire city block; offices and restaurants faced Tryon Street, and the residential part lined Church Street. The building encircled a courtyard of fountains and sculptures. Even at eight o’clock on a Monday night, people still lingered in this space. I found Mark’s condo on the top floor; a shimmering green marble hall echoed my footsteps as I approached the door. Sweat broke out on my upper lip, and I wiped it away before ringing the bell.
“Hey, Derek.” Mark shook my hand with a firm grip and slapped me on the shoulder in the tradition of straight male bonding.
I wasn’t sure what kind of home I had expected, but this one overwhelmed me. The columned foyer continued the marble flooring and led to a living area that soared two stories; floor-to-ceiling windows framed a view of the Charlotte skyline and Crowder’s Mountain in the far distance with the last of the crimson sunset flowing on the horizon. Huge leather couches, a mahogany armoire, and flat-panel television on the wall caught my attention before I saw her. Kathleen stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. My God, I thought, it’s the Junior Leaguer from Hell-heels, little black dress, gray pearls, and a silver Neiman Marcus-logo apron.
Mark guided me toward her. “Derek, this is Kathleen.”
She extended her right hand, fingers drooping a little; I didn’t know if I should shake it or kiss it. I reached out and held her delicate hand with both of mine, no shaking. “It’s so nice to meet you, Kathleen. I wondered what kind of woman could tame this tiger.”
She giggled, “Oh, Mark’s a dear.”
I giggled back, “Yes, he is.”
She smiled.
I smiled.
Mark smiled.
“So,” I began, “I see by the apron you’ve been cooking. You really didn’t need to go to all that trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” Kathleen hugged Mark’s arm. “We love working in the kitchen.”
“You mean cooking?” I asked.
“Yes, exactly.” She rubbed Mark’s stomach. “Mark is getting so fat; he’s losing all definition in his abs.”
Mark pulled away from her. “I’ll get drinks.”
Fat? Mark appeared in prime shape to me. I scrutinized Kathleen; her black hair hung to her shoulders in sleek perfection; pale emerald eyes stared from beneath a long canopy of lashes; her thin face held no lines; her plunging neckline revealed her breastbone-no cleavage, her tits seemed no more than nipples. Her champagne-flute figure complemented their stylish penthouse decor.
“Mark looks like he’s holding up well. How long have you been in Charlotte?” I asked her.
“Since college. We met at Duke. I’m from Charlottesville, Virginia. You know, where the University of Virginia is?”
“What made you choose Duke over UVA?” I asked, but didn’t really care.
“My mother was a Delta Zeta at Duke when she met my father; I wanted to continue the tradition.” She reached for a boiling pot on the stove, lifting her right leg as
she leaned in. “Hope you like spaghetti, it’s my specialty.”
“Sounds wonderful,” I lied.
Mark sat the wine glasses on the coffee table. “Come have a seat; Kathleen will be a little while.”
“Yes,” she insisted, “you boys relax. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”
Damn, why this walking, talking mannequin? I took a gulp of the wine before sitting down across from Mark.
“It’s a Chianti. We bought a case when we went to Tuscany two years ago.” He waited for me to say something.
“Nice,” I took a sip this time, “very dry.”
“Derek, how long do you intend to stay?” Mark asked.
“Not long.” I took another sip of wine. “I just wanted to spend some time with Ruby.”
Silence fell between us. I listened to Kathleen’s high heels clicking across the kitchen tile.
“Dad’s running for Senate.” Mark smiled.
“I heard that. Democrat or Republican? Oh, dumb question, Uncle Vernon was always a big Jesse Helms supporter. So, who is he scaring the public with to get into office: welfare mothers, liberal democrats, social security fraud, released prisoners, gays?”
His look told me that “gay” had never been said in his palace. “His platform is to reform the tax system.”
I took another swig of wine, and my head swirled like the wine settling back in the glass. “Great platform-a millionaire wanting to cut taxes. So, who’s he going to cut funding from?” I counted on my fingers, “Welfare, education, the arts, AIDS research…”
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk politics. Tell me about California.” He filled up my glass again.
“I live in the Castro district with my roommate, Emma. Strictly platonic, if you know what I mean. She’s a model.” I leaned in and whispered, “Frankly, she’s anorexic and just a couple pounds heavier than Kathleen.”
“Kathleen’s an athlete,” Mark defended. “She runs marathons.”
“Really?” I knew my sarcasm was out of control. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was seeing him in this perfect little life. Maybe I just hated everyone. “She cooks spaghetti and runs marathons, quite a woman. You did well.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” I knew he’d reached his limit. “Kathleen is my wife; you show her some respect.” His face flushed.
“Sorry.” I meant it. “I didn’t expect everything to be so perfect in your life. I’m working hard to make ends meet and so are all my friends back home, then I come here and everybody is rich and living the good life. And then, there’s our history. I’m a little bitter about the past.”
“A little bitter?” He laughed.
I had to smile, too. “Does it show?”
“Only when you open your mouth.” He sat back and asked, “Do you think we are all without worries? Work is hell with the family feuding over every little decision; we can’t get anything done. Dad’s running for Senate, and reporters watch our every move and monitor everything we say.”
“But,” I had to ask, “how’s your life?”
“Honestly? Confusing.”
I waited for more, but he didn’t continue. Kathleen walked up behind him and announced dinner was ready.
We dined on a pretty good spaghetti sauce and drank more wine. Mark relaxed, and Kathleen laughed at my jokes. We drank more wine. She kicked off her shoes, he loosened his tie, and I drank more wine. By the end of the evening, I genuinely didn’t hate Kathleen. Or maybe it was just the wine.
Chapter Five
I MISSED EMMA: her chain smoking, coffee drinking, sarcastic attitude. On East Boulevard sat a small shop called the Paper Skyscraper that sold cards, books, knickknacks of all sorts-things gay men and bored housewives love. I stopped in to get a card to send Emma; usually I would have emailed her, but Ruby didn’t have a computer. Odd, how surprised I was when she asked, “What’s e-mail?”
Scanning the racks of cards, I found the perfect one for Emma: a black and white art photo of a muscled and oiled naked man lying on the hood of a ‘57 Corvette, his arms back over his head, and one knee lifted just enough to cover the goods from the camera’s prying eye.
“Nice,” a deep male voice said over my shoulder.
Startled, I turned to see deep brown eyes shaded by thick brows staring at me as if he knew what I had been thinking as I looked at the erotic image on the card. A thick mustache covered his upper lip, but allowed his grin to stretch across his face ending in accenting dimples. He had to be mid-thirties, judging from the slight lines that gathered around his eyes. I had been cruised by the best of them in San Francisco, but I was caught off guard here; pulling my thoughts together, I said, “Yes, the card is for my roommate in San Francisco. She loves stuff like this.” Now,, he knows I’m from San Francisco and I have a female roommate, I thought, that should be enough to clue him in.
“Hi, my name is Daniel.” He shook my hand and kept steady eye contact.
Not Dan or Danny, but Daniel. He’s gay. I smiled, “I’m Derek.”
“You in town long?” he asked. His brown curly close-cropped hair had hints of gray.
“Several days. You live here in Charlotte?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I live about three blocks from here.”
Okay, the next logical step in a pick-up was for him to ask me over to his place. My palms sweated. I didn’t want sex; I was just flirting. Can’t a guy flirt these days without a sexual panther jumping me and dragging me off to his lair?
Maybe he saw the panic in my eyes, because he then said, “Derek, it was nice to meet you.” He turned and walked away.
What? What went wrong? I was ready to turn him down, but he didn’t ask. Yeah, well, okay, I just want to see him find someone better than rue. I looked around the store. I’m the sexiest guy in here. Maybe he was straight?
With my ego bandaged, I took the card to the register. A pretty Greek girl took my money and thanked me. The bright sunlight blinded me as I walked outside; I turned my head and saw Daniel coming out of the door of an adjacent store.
“Hello again, Derek.”
“Oh, hi.” Icicles hung on my words. No one robs me of the chance to turn them down without good reason.
“I thought I might have a beer, would you join me?” Daniel was rather handsome and polite.
“Well, maybe one.” I threw the card in the car and walked with Daniel to a restaurant a block away. As we strode down the sidewalk, I glanced at his khakis and short-sleeve white shirt and how he had rolled the sleeves to show his biceps. Kind of a gay uniform, I thought, but he wears it well.
We settled into a dark booth and ordered a pitcher of beer. The scent of hamburgers grilling and cheese melting helped relax me. The waitress seemed to know Daniel, so I didn’t worry about my safety. I could remember more than one friend who got the shit beat out of him by leaving a public place with a stranger.
“Do you have family or friends in Charlotte?” Daniel asked as his chocolate eyes scanned me.
The waitress delivered the pitcher of a local brew, and Daniel poured it into icy mugs. His forearms flexed as he sat the beer in front of me.
“Family,” I said. Leaning back in the booth, I placed both hands around the cold glass. “I grew up here, but this is the first time in years that I’ve been back.”
“You grew up here?” Daniel asked. “It’s rare to find a native here.” He smiled showing his dimples. “I’m a native Charlottean too, where did you go to high school? Of course, it was probably years after I graduated.” He sipped his beer and pulled out a cigarette.
Great. I sighed with relief now that I could light up a cigarette too. After lighting his, he reached across the table, offering the lit match to me. I looked into his eyes, took his hand and led it to the tip of my cigarette, inhaled, and then blew out the match with my exhale-something I’d seen in a movie, very sexy.
His dimples appeared again as he smiled. “So?”
So? What? Did I miss something? Did he ask if I wanted to go out? To his place? My
mind scrambled for the question and the right answer.
“So, what high school?” he asked again.
“Oh,” I tried to compose myself, ” Myers Park. You?”
” West Meck.”
“My sister Valerie went there, busing and the seventies and all that. My parents wanted us to go to the public schools. Mostly my dad’s idea; he said it would make us learn to deal with all kinds of people.”
“That’s a liberal view. Most affluent families today send their kids to private schools.”
“Affluent? Why do you say that?”
“Just the way you talk, the way you move, all signs of good breeding.” He was a charmer.
“Mother wanted us in private, but somehow Dad won that one. We all did well in public school. Valerie was a cheerleader, Tim was quarterback.”
He leaned forward. “Mason? Valerie and Tim Mason? Your brother and sister?”
“Yeah, you know them?”
“Tim is two years older than me. I remember playing football with him.”
Shit, he knows the family. “Yeah, I’m the little gay brother no one talks about.”
Daniel eased back into the booth and shook his head. “Damn, it must be tough with your uncle Vernon saying the things he does about gays.”
“What? Remember, I haven’t been in town long; what’s he saying?”
“We have a committee trying to defeat him.” He sat forward, gripping the handle of his beer mug. “He’s spouting the usual crap about gays and lesbians converting children, tempting straight people, being the downfall of the family, and how religion can change sexual orientation. He’s tried to block tax money from going to AIDS charities.”
“Damn.” I scratched my head, trying to help the disturbing information sink in.
