Object of Desire

by William J. Mann

  I made no comment. I sat down on the floor, at Kelly’s feet, and opened the photo album. “Let’s see,” I said. “Those pictures should be in here.”

  Kelly moved forward so he could look over my shoulder. Frank slid over on the couch so he could get a look himself. I was busy flipping pages.

  “Here,” I said, tapping the page. “That’s me.”

  Kelly leaned in.

  Under the Mylar plastic cover, a skinny blond kid stood on a box, his yellow thong stuffed with tens and twenties. And all of a sudden, I missed that kid terribly. I missed his energy and his freedom, the way he stayed up until four in the morning and slept in past noon. I missed the way he could swing his hips up on his box and excite an entire room of men. I missed the sex with strangers. I even missed the drugs.

  “Hot,” was Kelly’s verdict.

  “Yeah, he was, wasn’t he?” Frank echoed.

  “Was,” I said, staring at the photo. “The operative word.”

  “Oh, come on now, Danny,” Frank said.

  I flipped the page. “And here,” I said, “is Randall and me at Disneyland.”

  It was from the same time period. Randall and I were grinning stupidly as we posed with Snow White in front of the entrance to Tomorrowland. I was wearing a tight little Bundeswehr tank top, and my hair was spiked up eighties style. Maybe that was the look Frank had been trying for tonight. I’d feel terribly sad if that was the case. His hair gel had troubled me all through dinner.

  “Hey,” Kelly asked, leaning in. “That’s the guy from the pic in your office, isn’t it? The one you worked over on the computer?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s cool that you’re still friends.”

  I could feel his breath on my neck as he looked over my shoulder. My skin tingled with his electricity. Every once in a while, his knees brushed against my shoulders. I was getting a hard-on and shifted my legs to make it less obvious.

  I continued flipping pages.

  “Hey,” Kelly said. “Was that you, Frank?”

  “Where?”

  Kelly reached down over my shoulder to point, his arm grazing my chest. I got a whiff of his cologne. In my pants, my dick got harder.

  “Yes,” Frank said, laughing. “That’s me. A little more hair back then.”

  “You were good-looking,” Kelly said.

  “As Danny would say, were is the operative word,” Frank noted.

  I responded perfunctorily. “And as you would say, ‘Come now, Frank.’”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Kelly said. “You’re still very good-looking.”

  I realized he hadn’t said that about me.

  “Do you remember that night, Danny?” Frank was asking, indicating the photo.

  I gazed down at it. There we were, holding up glasses of champagne, staring into the camera. Frank had set the camera on an empty box and pushed the timer, hurrying around to huddle with me on the floor. Pixie had sat between us. We’d raised our glasses, and the camera had flashed. A moment preserved for posterity.

  “Of course, I do,” I said, still not looking around at him. “It was the night we moved in together for the first time.”

  “Yeah,” Frank said, and I could hear his smile in his voice. “It was a great apartment. We had a little view out of the bathroom window. You could see down onto Santa Monica Boulevard if you craned your neck.” He laughed.

  “Where was it?” Kelly asked.

  “Holloway,” Frank said. I recognized the tone in his voice. It was his nostalgic voice, the one he always got when we looked at old photos. I could predict what he’d say next, and I was right. “That first night, Danny wanted to make dinner. Said it wouldn’t be a home until he’d made dinner for the first time for us. Well, neither of us is a cook, but he had his grandmother’s recipe for baked macaroni and cheese. Well, he whipped it up and put it in the oven and—”

  “And the baking dish shattered, and the fucking cheese went everywhere,” I finished, cutting him off. “You do love to tell that story, don’t you, Frank?”

  “We’ve laughed about it for years.”

  I snorted. “Maybe you have.” I turned around to look over my left shoulder. That way I could make eye contact with Kelly while avoiding Frank. “Apparently, the baking dish wasn’t Pyrex. How would I know? I was just a kid.”

  “The smoke was everywhere,” Frank continued. “The smoke alarms all went off. We were scraping cheese out of that oven for weeks.”

  Kelly was smiling. “Guess you had to send out for Chinese.”

  “That’s exactly what we did!” Frank clapped Kelly on the back. “Did he tell you this story already?”

  “No. I just know what I would have done.”

  I was ready to close the photo album, but now Kelly wanted to see more pictures of Pixie. I flipped a couple more pages ahead and found one.

  “She’s so cute,” Kelly said. “Who’s the other guy?”

  In the photo, I was holding Pixie. Flanking me were Frank and Gregory Montague.

  Frank paused a moment when he saw Gregory. “Oh, that’s an old friend of mine,” he said softly.

  “Frank’s one true love,” I said brightly, slamming the album shut.

  Behind me, I felt rather than saw the look Frank gave to Kelly. “He always says that,” he said, sounding a bit exasperated.

  I stood, handing the photo album to Kelly. “Have a look if you like,” I said. “Does anyone want more wine? I do.”

  “I’ll have a little,” Kelly said.

  “Not for me, thanks, Danny,” Frank said.

  When I came back in the room, carrying the bottle, I found that Kelly had indeed begun perusing the pages of the album again. He was showing a photo to Frank, who sat close to him now on the couch.

  “Is that the same guy?” he was asking.

  Frank nodded. “Yes. That’s Gregory.”

  “He looks sick.”

  Frank just continued to nod, staring down at the photo. “He was. That was taken a few weeks before he died.”

  I sat down on Kelly’s other side, refilling his glass. “Frank took care of Gregory in his last months,” I said. “He was always going up to his place on Mulholland Drive. Sometimes he wouldn’t be home for days. None of Gregory’s other friends could deal with it. Frank was the only one who remained devoted. He was a real angel to Gregory.”

  I hoped my words sounded sincere. I meant them to be.

  Kelly turned the page. “Who’s this with him?” he asked, pointing to a shirtless youth with stringy blond hair.

  “That’s Christopher, Gregory’s last boyfriend,” Frank told him, his voice still far away. He gave a little laugh. “Gregory always liked them young.”

  I laughed, too, but louder and more obviously. “You’re telling me. At least Christopher never knew what it was like to get discarded when he got too old.”

  Once the words were out, I realized they may have come across way too harsh. I regretted what I’d said, and tried to soften it.

  “But I think Christopher cared about Gregory, and I know he felt bad that he couldn’t handle Gregory’s illness. But he was so young, after all. What was he? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?” I took a sip of wine. “Christopher did try to make amends years later, when he got a job at Disney. I know when he hired me to do those images for Disneyland, it was a way of making it up to Gregory, or at least to Frank.”

  “Danny,” Frank said, “Christopher hired you because you do good work.”

  “Yeah.” I laughed. “Work he never would have seen without a call from you, asking him to look at my portfolio.”

  “Be that as it may,” Frank said.

  I took another sip of wine. I took it as kind of a consolation prize that something had finally come out of that horrible night with Gregory twenty years ago. At long last, Gregory Montague had helped me to get ahead—albeit indirectly, and several years after he was dead.

  We sat in silence. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mant
el. Kelly continued to quietly flip through the pages of the album. I think he’d decided that he’d asked enough questions for one night.

  I stood suddenly, almost spilling the glass of wine in my hand. “How about a dip in the pool?” I asked. “It’s a beautiful night.”

  “I think,” Frank said, standing himself, “that I am going to hit the hay. I’m exhausted from that run I took earlier. But you boys should go in.” He gave me a twinkle, as if to say, “It’s fine. Do what you like.”

  I’d arranged it perfectly. Like clockwork.

  There was an awkward hug between Frank and Kelly, and a kiss for me on my cheek. Then Frank headed down the hall to our room.

  “Shall we?” I asked Kelly.

  “I don’t have a bathing suit,” he said.

  I laughed. “Did you think I was going to wear one?”

  He seemed unsure but followed me outside, anyway. In one hand I carried my glass of wine; in the other, the bottle. Setting them down on a table on the deck, I refilled my glass and indicated Kelly should give me his. We clinked a nonverbal toast. From the cabana I produced towels, then pulled off my shirt. I thought I looked pretty good. I tightened my abs just to be sure.

  I was feeling cocky. Stripping out of my pants, I executed a perfect dive into the water, slicing the surface with hardly a splash. When I came up, I shook my hair, water spraying all around me, the faint aroma of chlorine in my nose. Kelly was still removing his sweater, then slowly unbuckling his belt. He was unbelievably beautiful. Not as tight and lean as I’d expected; there was a little bit of extra flesh around the middle. But when he pulled down his pants, I saw one monster of a cock, thick and uncut. He seemed embarrassed to be naked. He gripped the aluminum handrails of the ladder and climbed down into the pool, with more than a little self-consciousness.

  “Hey,” I called over to him. “What do you call cows with a sense of humor?”

  He moved toward me through the water. “You know, Danny, I probably should apologize for the other night.”

  I was treading water with my feet. “Apologize? Why?”

  “All those jokes and stuff.” He gave me a weak smile. “I was pretty manic.”

  “You were fine. I had fun.”

  “I did, too.” He looked up at the moon. “But I was nervous to meet you. So I did a line of coke before going to the restaurant.”

  “You did?” I didn’t quite know what to say. “Why were you nervous to meet me?”

  “Because you’re so…you know. Successful.”

  I laughed. The irony was too much. I’d thought I’d been the one who’d been anxious before dinner, that I’d been the one who’d been nervous about meeting him.

  “Kelly,” I said, “I hope you realize now there was no need to be nervous.”

  The moonlight reflected in those big black eyes. “I don’t get asked out to dinner by guys like you very often.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “You’re fucking gorgeous. You’re a bartender. You must get hit on all the time.”

  “I don’t know if I’m all that attractive, but sure, I get hit on.” He moved closer to me. I was now leaning against the side of the pool, my arms stretched out on either side. “But that was the thing. You didn’t hit on me. You said you wanted to see my drawings.”

  I smiled a little.

  “You’re out of my league,” he said to me.

  I could barely reply. “You’ve got to be joking,” I finally said.

  “No, I’m not. I look around at you and your house and Frank and the life you guys have, and I think, ‘Will I ever have that?’ I just can’t imagine it. I’m going to be twenty-seven next year. Twenty-seven! And I still don’t have a clue as to what I’m doing with my life, or where I want it to go.”

  “Twenty-seven is nothing,” I said. “You’ve got plenty of time.”

  “Yeah, keep saying that and I’ll be fucking thirty!” His voice was louder now. “I mean, it’s so frustrating! I get a job, and then I get fired. I start to save money, and then I get laid off. I mean, I was supposed to be Jacqueline Fucking Onassis! And here I am, still bartending at dives in the desert, with nothing to show for myself. Nothing.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  “Why do you think I didn’t want you to come to my apartment? Because it’s a pit. A studio with a mattress. I don’t have any furniture. I’m twenty-fucking-six and nothing to show for it!”

  His face was a mask of despair. I touched his cheek. “You’ve got plenty of time, baby.”

  “No. Not plenty of time.”

  “Sure you do.”

  His eyes were wild. “When did you meet Frank?”

  I hesitated. “Twenty-one.”

  “Right. And by my age, you had a whole life going for you. Don’t tell me you didn’t. I saw it in those pictures. You were younger than I was, and you had Frank and a real home and even a dog!”

  “Yes,” I said, “but, Kelly, it was a long, long time before I figured out I wasn’t going to make it as an actor. It took me until I was in my thirties to wake up and decide to do something else. This art stuff is still relatively new.”

  He was floating away from me. “So what?” he called over his shoulder. “You had a life. You had Frank. I wonder if I’ll ever have that. If I’ll ever fall in love and have somebody in my life. I envy what you guys have. I can see it. Not only in the pictures, but in the way you talk to each other. I can see all the history between you. There’s a real commitment there.”

  My commitment to Frank was definitely not what I wanted to be talking about at that particular moment. I started to say something to get us back on track—the track that led out to the casita. But Kelly took a deep breath and, lifting his shoulders and pushing himself forward, slipped headfirst under the water to swim across the length of the pool. I watched his body move under the surface, transfixed. When he emerged at the other end, his body, strong and solid, glistened in the moonlight. He stretched his arms out at his sides, the eagle tattoo above his shoulders spreading its wings in unison. If he’d asked me a question at the moment, I would have been unable to answer. I was too overcome.

  “Laughing stock,” he said, turning to face me.

  I stared at him across the pool, not understanding

  He smiled. “Cows with a sense of humor.”

  “Damn,” I managed to say. “You just can’t be stumped, can you?”

  “Nope.”

  Our eyes held.

  Then I copied his swim. Dropping down under the water, I swam close to the bottom of the pool until I saw his feet. Rising past his legs and his cock and his stomach, I emerged from the water directly in front of him. We stood nose to nose.

  “You are so incredibly beautiful,” I said, shaking water from my hair.

  He said nothing, so I kissed him.

  He was like stone.

  I pulled back. He was looking at me.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “Can’t what?”

  “Frank is inside.”

  I smiled. “It’s okay. Frank is cool about this. We have one of those marriages you so admire. With all that freedom and individuality.”

  He lifted his eyebrows.

  “It’s why we’ve lasted so long,” I explained. “We give each other freedom. We play together and we play separately. It’s cool. I wouldn’t have kissed you if it needed to be a secret.”

  “I still can’t,” he said.

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I just feel odd about it. I mean, he’s right inside. Only a few yards away.”

  “We can go to the casita,” I said.

  “No,” he said. “I can’t. Not after all those pictures.”

  “It’s not an issue—”

  “No,” he said sharply, moving aside and hoisting himself out of the pool.

  I followed. “Hey, look. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s totally cool,” he said. His wet feet slapped against the concrete. We both left trails of water as we he
aded for the towels hanging on the chairs. Kelly was quick to cover his nakedness.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that…I’m very attracted to you. More than to anyone in a very long time.”

  He was discreetly drying himself off. “I’m flattered. You’re a great guy.”

  “And I want to help you.”

  His eyes flickered over to me.

  “Hey,” I said. “I know what it’s like. To leave home, to head someplace and try to make something of yourself. There were lots of times I was just as frustrated as you are right now. And you’re right. I was lucky. I had Frank to believe in me.” I drew closer to him. “Maybe you just need someone to believe in you.”

  He was silent.

  “Can I kiss you good night?” I asked.

  He nodded. I kissed him. This time, to my great satisfaction, he kissed me back a little.

  Then he got dressed. He must have thanked me a dozen times for dinner. I walked him out to his car, an old Mercedes C-Class model, probably 1995 or so. Its white exterior was a little rusted, and the backseat was loaded with bags and magazines. I imagined at one time it was a beautiful car. I wondered how he’d gotten it. My guess was Donovan Hunt. So Kelly hadn’t rated a brand-new car.

  We hugged; he thanked me again; then he drove off. I went back inside. I was filled up with the thought and the scent of him. I couldn’t go to bed just yet, slide in next to Frank and listen to him snore. So I headed into my office and sat down at my desk, staring at the photos on my wall.

  But instead of any of my own images, I was drawn to the tiny little frame off to my right. Lifting it from its hook, I brought it close to my face. I knew who those people were. I’d memorized them long ago. From person to person, I moved my finger. David and Honora Horgan, white haired and shriveled, my great-great-grandparents from Ballyhooley, County Cork, Ireland. Daniel Horgan, buttoned up and somber faced, my great-grandfather and namesake. His wife, Emily, and their daughter, Adele, who became Nana to me.

  Finally, there was my grandfather, Sebastian Fortunato, the first Eye-talian to crash the Horgan family, and in Nana’s arms, my father, in a bundle of white lace.

  And someday I was supposed to take another picture of Dad and Mom and Nana and me and Joey…