by Greg Lilly
More cars traveled Poindexter, so I made sure I stayed on the sidewalk. One week, I thought, one week and all this shit has come down. Walterene’s funeral had been bad enough, but seeing Mark made being back harder than I expected-although Kathleen had turned out to be okay. How would she react if she knew?
My mind went back to those summers with Mark home from Duke. His sister Margaret was married and out of the house, so was Mike. Aunt Irene and Uncle Vernon never seemed to be at home, so Mark and I would sit on the back porch of Vernon ‘s Queens Road mansion and drink beer and smoke pot, and talk. We talked forever on those humid nights; he told me about college and how he wanted to travel around the world. The plan we made was that he would graduate and get a job somewhere in the Northwest, maybe Oregon. Then, he’d build a cabin in the woods-a Harris dream always included building something. As soon as I graduated from high school, I’d join him. There, we could be free from our parents and be together.
As I neared South Boulevard, I stopped to catch my breath. Hands on my hips, I walked and sucked air; sweat rolled down my face. Got to stop smoking so much. Looking back down the road I had just traveled, I decided to walk a little more, and then broke into a jog back toward Ruby’s house.
Oregon , shit. I laughed out loud at the thought. Mark was all talk back then; he still was. He’d fallen into line when his time came, just like everyone else.
The city skyline rose above the oaks and elms as I ran down Poindexter, and I wondered if he was in his office this morning. As soon as I pictured Mark working at his desk, Daniel’s image overtook my mind. I smiled. I’ll call him when I get hack.
My thighs ached, and my stomach cramped as I hit the distance when I knew the run was doing me good. Approaching Dorchester again, I decided to stay on Poindexter to extend the run. I liked the little brick houses and jade green yards of Walterene’s and Ruby’s neighbors. Azaleas bloomed thick and bright while tulips drooped their heavy heads; oaks stretched across the road to touch branches with elms; maples pushed their own bushy branches into the canopy as if they where missing out on what the bigger trees had going.
These oaks are massive. Mr. Sams’ oak. The thought almost tripped me. That poor man, hanged from that tree outside Ruby’s door. I tried to imagine Vernon and Mother, Walterene, Ruby, Edwina and Roscoe, and the various other cousins living in this town that Grandpa Ernest ruled from behind his desk. Did they lynch him?
I stopped running in front of a towering pin oak. Maybe the newspaper article had nothing to do with last night; maybe the scratchy-voiced man wasn’t a gay-basher, but knew that I knew about Mr. Sams. Had he said anything about Mr. Sams? No, but a killer wouldn’t reveal his motive to his victim, would he?
“I was there looking for information on him,” I explained to no one as I walked and caught my breath. “If they did have something to do with his murder, it couldn’t come out now, not with Vernon ‘s campaign in full force.” A woman jogged past me, and I smiled at her, but kept on talking to myself. “Who knows what I know?” I took a step for each name, “Ruby, for sure; Mother? Valerie? Mark? Vernon? No I haven’t mentioned this to any of them, unless Ruby has told them.”
I began to run again. The low rumble of a car approaching from behind caught my attention. Turning onto Sunset Road where there was no sidewalk, I stayed to the right. The car still followed me. Go ahead and pass me, dickhead. I jogged closer to the curb. Why is he following me? Not wanting to look back at him, paranoid thoughts clouded my mind. I looked for other people along the street. No one. I was alone on the street, and a strange car followed me. From the corner of my eye, I saw the dark car creep up beside me.
I looked for an escape.
“Excuse me,” a squeaky voice said.
Terror strangled me.
An elderly woman asked from the passenger side window of the Chevy sedan, “Can you tell me how to get to Park Road?”
Letting out the breath I had held, I almost laughed at myself. Squirrelly fear mocked my usual reason. After pointing them in the right direction and looking around to gauge how far I was from Ruby’s house, I turned and ran back.
“GET IN HERE,” Ruby scolded. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”
I went straight to the sink for a glass of water. After gulping it down, I asked, “Who knows about how Mr. Sams was killed?”
Ruby stopped dishing out eggs in mid-spoon. “Who said he was killed? People said it was suicide.”
“Walterene’s diary said it was a lynching.”
“She wrote that because she was mad when he got fired. Looking back now, I’m sure it was a suicide.” She shook her head as if to get rid of the memory. “Now, why are you thinking about a thing like that on this beautiful morning?”
“Who else knows about him?” I asked.
She sat my plate on the table and shooed me toward it. “Eat before it’s cold.”
“Who else?” I asked again.
“Well, everyone,” she sighed. “He was Papa Ernest’s gardener for years. We all grew up with him there.”
I considered it. “Who knows I know?”
Ruby leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee. “I mentioned it to Valerie and your mother.”
”When? When did Mother find out?”
“Wednesday night when you were at your young man’s house.” She winked at me. “Gladys called while Valerie was here. I told her you had a nice time at Mark and Kathleen’s house, and she asked what else you had been doing. I didn’t want to tell her about your young man, so I told her we had been talking about family.
“She wanted to know what I had said about the family. She’s so odd about that. But I told her we talked about Walterene and Mr. Sams giving her the stuffed elephant. Gladys got all huffy about me telling you anything, so I hung up on her.” Ruby smiled.
If Mother knew, then Vernon knew. Would he have someone try to scare me away? How much did Mark know?
Chapter Twelve
“I’M GLAD YOU called.” Mark shook my hand as we walked into his office. “I ordered lunch. It should be here in a few minutes.” The room we entered reminded me of old-money San Francisco. The walls were paneled in mahogany and trimmed with brass. Small gold tiles with the Harris Construction big H logo were embedded in the conference table. Persian rugs covered the marble floor, and the scent of leather from the couch and chairs mingled with Mark’s spicy cologne.
I took a deep breath; memories of us surged in my brain. “Nice “view,” I commented as I walked to the wall of glass to the left of his desk. The sky’s cyan blue contrasted with the brown-rose stone and aqua windows of Wachovia’s jukebox-shaped building; clumped behind that arched structure stood its brother tower of the same stone and glass but crowned with slanted clear glass panels that created prisms of sea blue and emerald green in the sunlight. In front of me and beyond the bank, Duke Energy’s squat tan concrete and Ericsson Stadium’s silver and deep blue underscored the distant airport and its swarming 737s.
Mark placed his hand on my shoulder from behind me. I shuddered. His hand rubbed the back of my head. “Your hair is so short.”
“Yeah,” I said turning to look at him, but he kept his hand there. “I wanted to-”
Pulling me closer, he kissed me. My mind exploded with confusion, desire, anger, and pleasure. I didn’t pull away.
He stepped back. “I’ve been thinking-”
“What the hell was that?”
“Hold on,” he smiled. “Seeing you again has brought up old feelings.”
“Feelings?” I couldn’t think. “What about-What about Kathleen? What about your future? What about the family?”
“Whoa, Derek. I just kissed you. I missed that; in fact, I’ve wanted to do it since I first saw you.” He sat down on the couch with one arm draped across the back.
Choosing the chair across from him, I asked, “Are you saying you’re gay now?”
“Just because a man kisses another man doesn’t mean he’s gay.”
I lau
ghed out loud. “It’s a damn good indication.”
“I’m open, fluid, maybe,” he smiled, “in my attractions.”
“Why are you telling me this? What’s changed?” I hadn’t decided if I should be happy or pissed off by his display.
“I just didn’t want you to think we were over.” Mark sat forward on the couch. “We can still get together like old times, if you want.”
“Have you developed multiple personalities? What is this shit? Just two days ago in your father’s campaign office, you were as straight as he is.”
Mark bit his lower lip. “That’s professional, political; this is me.”
“And Kathleen and your reaction to the newspaper article?” Daniel flooded my mind.
“Again, I have parts of my life that are separate.”
“Have you been having other,” I searched for the right word to use, “relationships behind Kathleen’s back? That can be dangerous to the ‘other parts’ of your life.”
“Honestly? No. The risk has been too much, but you know me; you know how it is, and what’s at stake.”
I finally got it. “So, I’m your whore. The safe lay who knows to keep it a secret.”
Marks face flushed. “No, that’s not it.”
“I know a fuck-buddy proposition when I hear it. No, Mark, that’s not what I want. I’m a person who wants respect and love, not something hidden in the shadows that is never mentioned because of shame.” I stood up and walked back to the window. Even after what he had proposed, I knew it would be difficult to tell him about Daniel. “Besides, I met someone here in Charlotte; someone I like a lot.”
He came to me. “Who? Damn, you just got here a week ago.” There wasn’t anger in his voice; he was almost acting like a friend.
“A guy named Daniel. He works for the Observ-” I stopped myself, but it was too late.
“That reporter? The one who wrote the story?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t mean for it-”
“Derek, what the hell are you thinking?” He plopped back down on the couch.
Before I could answer, the secretary knocked on the door and brought in a tray of food. “Lunch,” she announced. In a half curtsy, she gently laid the tray on the conference table and placed the plates and drinks.
Mark and I were silent in her presence.
She finished her preparation and smiled. “Will there be anything else, Mark?”
“No, thanks, Becky.” He walked to the table and sat down.
Becky closed the door behind her.
“Come, eat,” Mark commanded.
“Daniel didn’t mean to stir up trouble for me,” I started. The plates of grilled chicken pasta and glasses of sweet iced tea looked enticing-new Charlotte meets old Charlotte, sweet tea served with everything.
“Forget Daniel Kaperonis for a minute,” he said. “I hear you had a little trouble at the Observer building last night.”
I froze. What? How did he know? Could he be the one? Composing myself as he stared at me, I knew he waited for me to admit or deny it. “Yes I did. In fact, I find it interesting that you know. Was it one of your goons?”
“Goons?” he laughed. “No, I don’t have goons.”
I drank some tea. “Having my life threatened and being assaulted isn’t something I find funny.”
“I’m sorry, but the story I heard was that you got locked in the basement by accident, and someone turned off the lights, then you ran into a bookcase and panicked.” He grinned like it was all some big joke.
“Well, Mister Harris, your sources are wrong. My life was threatened. A man called Ruby’s yesterday and told me to get out of town, and that faggots weren’t welcome here. Now, in my book, you are part of the faggot family too, so don’t act so smug.”
The grin left his face.
“Then last night, when the lights went out, I heard the same voice telling me he was going to kill me. How would you like to be in pitch black and have someone come up behind you, saying that?”
He dropped his fork on his plate as if shocked. “Are you sure someone was actually there?”
“Mark, he tackled me to the ground; I barely got away. I’ve got the bruises to prove it. That asshole put the security guard in the hospital.”
He sat back and shook his head. “I can’t believe it. I’m sorry, that’s not what I heard; I thought it was your imagination going wild. Just you being a drama queen.”
“Drama queen? Where the hell did you hear that term?”
“I watch television. I know how gay men talk.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “You are too much.” My mind clicked back on the subject. “How did you hear about last night?”
” Charlotte ‘s a small town at heart. I hear a lot of things.” He picked at his pasta, thought a moment, and then asked, “Who do you think it was?”
“You tell me. You seem to know quite a lot. Back to my question: Was it one of your goons?” I watched his face for the truth.
He didn’t falter. “No. I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”
“What about Vernon?”
“Dad? No way. You couldn’t do anything to hurt Dad’s campaign. The gay issue is a non-issue.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed him on that. “But, what about Mr. Sams?” I watched him again for signs of recognition.
“Who?” he asked, obviously oblivious.
“Our great-grandfather’s gardener. He was lynched?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I found some of Walterene’s old diaries…” The words flowed out: Mr. Sams’ death, Vernon ‘s possible involvement, and the research I had attempted in the basement of the Observer building. A dam had burst. Relief washed over me now that I didn’t have to keep everything to myself.
He rubbed his forehead and pushed his plate away from him. “That’s insane. Dad would never do anything like that, and I can’t believe Papa Ernest would either.”
“I would like to think that, but I can’t get by his bigotry-”
“Derek, you’re talking murder; worse, you are talking a lynching of a black man, I can’t-”
A hurried knock at the door interrupted him. Becky came rushing in. “Sorry, but it’s Allen Harding again. Gary ‘s on his way up to talk to you.”
“Thanks, Becky. Show Gary in as soon as he gets here.” Mark went to his desk and dug through papers. Becky cleaned up lunch.
“I guess I better go.” I helped Becky with the plates.
“Sorry, Derek, but Allen Harding is a pain in my ass. He’s threatening to sue the company for firing him; he claims we cut corners on codes and paid off building inspectors. If we don’t settle, he says he’ll go to the city, county and state inspectors to report us.”
As Becky closed the door behind her, I walked over to his desk. “Did you?”
“Hell no, but this type of publicity would be far worse than a gay nephew for Dad’s campaign. Those diaries of Walterene’s were written when she was just a girl; who knows what really happened? It isn’t possible that things happened that way.” He stopped his search through papers and pulled me close to him. “Derek,” he whispered, “what we talked about today goes no farther than here. I admit I’m jealous of you seeing someone, but I’m not willing to make the sacrifices to get to where you are with your life.”
”Mark, don’t worry. You’re always safe to talk to me about anything-” I hugged him hard.
Becky’s crisp knock on the door brought in Gary from the legal department. I excused myself and walked down the hall to the elevator.
Our history, our lives bound us like brothers; he needed someone to be himself with. I had loved him once, and I had to admit I still had strong feelings. His split personality confused me, but one side would eventually win the conflict, and I was betting desire trumped duty.
BEFORE I LEFT the building, I decided to drop in on Tim. Searching the electronic directory, I found “Tim Mason, vice-president.” Impressive for a
big dickhead like my brother, I thought.
Tim’s office was considerably smaller than Mark’s and on a lower floor. He had no secretary, so I knocked on his open door.
“Squirt,” he yelled from behind his desk, “get your butt in here.”
“Hey, Tim. I thought I might just drop in to say ‘hello.’” I held out my hand to shake his.
“What’s up with the handshake?” He grabbed me in a bear hug. “Come sit down and visit.” He dropped back down in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. “It’s Friday afternoon, and the weekend’s calling my name.”
“You sure are in a good mood,” I commented. On his wall hung his fraternity paddle and an autographed photograph of Charlotte ‘s good ol’ boy radio team, John Boy and Billy.
“Fridays mean I get out of this hellhole for a couple of days; you bet your ass I’m in a good mood.” He grinned and shot a rubber band across the desk at me.
“You don’t like working here?” I shot the rubber band back at him.
“It’s a job, and I get paid well, but Vernon doesn’t let me do much with the commercial side-that’s where the big deals are. That’s reserved for Mike, Mark, and Gerald.”
“Gerald?” I asked. “How does Margaret’s husband get better assignments than you?”
“Son-in-laws outrank nephews.”
I almost repeated Daniel’s rumor about Gerald running around on Margaret, but decided better of it. “What about that development you’re doing out past Ballantyne?”
He straightened up in his chair and smiled. “You remembered that? Shit, Laura doesn’t even remember my projects.”
