Aqua Follies

by Liv Rancourt

  ***

  “Pass me the reefer.” Skip kicked lazily at the coffee table in the center of the room. He lay sprawled across the couch, shirtless to cope with the late-evening heat hangover. The room was too small for all the ratty furniture Lou owned, and almost all of it was draped with floral fabric or covered with knickknacks. Staying with Lou was like visiting the grandmother Skip had never met.

  The phone rang. From his spot sitting cross-legged on the floor, Lou mock-glared at Skip. “Answer it.”

  “Aw, baby, it’s your phone.” Skip let his head loll back against the bony ridge at the top of the couch. “You answer it.” He grinned, pretty sure Lou wouldn’t refuse him. “And hand me the reefer on your way by.”

  Lou made a disgusted noise and rocked onto his hands and knees, then struggled to his feet. He still wore the dress shirt required by his job at Bartell’s Drugstore, but it flopped open, revealing the tight T-shirt underneath. The trim muscles across his chest flexed and rippled, stronger than would be expected for a man who often wore a dress. The familiar curve of his cheek and his wide, soft mouth tripped an old habit, an old desire in Skip, which threw him into a red-hot rage.

  Because the idea of kissing any man, even one as familiar as Lou, brought him straight back to Russell.

  And reminders of Russell hurt so bad, his heart, his mind, his soul shut down.

  He stuck out his hand. “Gimme.”

  Lou handed him a marijuana cigarette on his way to the kitchen. The phone rang again, and Skip struck a match, inhaling deep enough to trigger a cough. He fought it, doubled over, forcing the smoke to stay in his lungs, to deaden his brain. He only smoked marijuana when he couldn’t drum up any hope and needed to stop his mind from thinking.

  The last time he’d done this was the day he left his mother at the sanatorium. This time he did it to deaden the shame.

  He took another, more moderate hit, using the rush to ignore Lou’s end of the terse conversation. Skip had his eyes shut when the phone handle rattled back onto its base.

  “Who’s calling here at this time of night?” Skip didn’t really care, but Lou came over and stood in front of him, lips pursed like he had something important to say.

  “It was Demetrio.”

  “Demetrio? What’d the old fairy want?”

  “Russell went by the tavern tonight.”

  Skip scratched his belly, stoned enough to hear the name without losing his mind. “I’m hungry. You got any food in this place?”

  Lou crossed his arms and thrust out a hip. “You know the answer, Skippy. Now listen. This is important.”

  “Do you still have that box of Ritz crackers?”

  “I don’t know.” His tone was sharp with exasperation.

  Skip shoved himself off the couch, a broken spring scratching at his thigh, and brushed past Lou on his way to the kitchen. “I think they’re in the cupboard.”

  “Lawrence.” Real anger replaced irritation.

  “What?” Skip leaned through the door, a red Ritz box in his hand. “I’m going to get some butter to go with these.” He ducked into the kitchen. If he kept his mind on the search for butter, he wouldn’t wonder why Russell had gone to the tavern and why Demetrio had felt compelled to call them.

  Lou still stood in the middle of the living room when Skip carried out a bowl of Ritz crackers and the butter dish. He set the food on the table and rounded on Lou. “So are you just going to stand there and sulk?”

  His friend’s pretty mouth twisted, and he glared at Skip. “Stop being a dope.”

  “What?” he asked through a mouthful of crackers and butter.

  “Your boyfriend went by the tavern tonight and told Demetrio he wanted to find you a lawyer.”

  Skip carefully picked up the knife and made a project out of buttering another cracker. “So?”

  “He hired Jack Dodson. You’re supposed to call his office tomorrow.”

  Surprise loosened Skip’s hold, and the knife clattered against the glass butter dish. “It’s a waste of money.” He propped himself with his fists on the table. “Won’t do any good. The cops live to throw fairies in jail.”

  Lou raised his palms. “Maybe. Maybe not. I hear Dodson does good work.”

  Skip dropped his head, hunching over the table. “Doesn’t matter.” He looked up, the bleakness of his situation ruining the mellow mood from the drugs. “No way I’m getting out of this without jail or a big fine.”

  With a heavy sigh, Lou crossed the room, putting his hands on Skip’s shoulders. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do.” Skip arched back into the other man’s touch. “I don’t have a choice. At least if I’m down in San Francisco, I’ll be able to earn some real chips with my horn.”

  Lou ran his hands over Skip’s bare belly. “You can’t leave, Lawrence.”

  “Got to, Lou. I already lost my job.” Skip covered Lou’s hands with his own. “The musician’s union hears about this, and I’ll probably get the boot.” He twisted around so he could press a kiss to Lou’s forehead. “I can’t even teach kiddie lessons. What mother’s going to leave a child with a convicted pervert?”

  “Now stop it.” Lou knocked his forehead against Skip’s back. “Call Jack Dodson tomorrow, before you make a decision. You can always stay here, or maybe we can get a place together.”

  Lou would never leave his grandmotherly heaven, but arguing with him wasn’t worth the fight. “Sure.” Skip slid out of Lou’s grasp and reached for another cracker. “Gimme the reefer.”

  Might as well stay stoned. As soon as tomorrow’s visiting hours ended, he was on the road for San Francisco.

  Chapter 20

  Thursday morning, Russell spent his nervous energy on a long run. For most of it, the sky was the fragile blue of a robin’s egg, and the sun was heating the air fast enough to make him glad he got his run in early.

  Of course, once he’d showered and dressed, he had nothing to do. Nothing except sit in Skip’s apartment, staring at the door, willing Skip to open it.

  The telephone rang a few times, but Russell was unsure which party line ring was meant for Skip. He filled the time by copying the lawyers’ names out of the phone book and composing letters of inquiry.

  In a kitchen drawer, he found a city map and a bus schedule, and sat at the tiny table, trying to figure out how to get to the sanatorium. He couldn’t get on the train without seeing Skip one more time. There were words he needed to say.

  Gray shadows of defeat clogged his throat and made it hard to swallow. Visiting hours started at two p.m. Until the bus came, he had nothing to do but wait.

  Midmorning, the room’s ponderous quiet was disrupted by footsteps and a knock at the door. Russell rose quickly, hope rising even faster. But Skip wouldn’t knock.

  He hesitated. How would he explain his presence?

  Another knock, louder and more insistent. “Russell Haunreiter, I know you’re in there. Open the damned door.”

  “Susie?” She was the very last person he expected to see. He jerked the door open.

  “I knew you’d be here.” Susie’s crisp white sundress all but glowed in the dim light, and her green eyes sparked. “Skip called Ryker with some kind of crazy story about getting arrested and said he’d run out on you.”

  “Yes, about that, um...”

  She pulled off her gloves. A flat-brimmed straw hat sat at an angle on her dark curls. “And then he said something about leaving for California.” She took off her hat and set it and the gloves on the table. Russell was glad he’d thought to put up the Murphy bed so he wouldn’t be caught in an awkward situation.

  “So I just figured we’d better stop him.” She smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world.

  Russell took a moment to organize his thinking. “I expect he’ll want to see his mother before he goes.”

  “That’s what he told Ryker, so we came to get you.”

  Her fresh, breezy confidence fairly took his breath away. He was still trying to und
erstand how she’d leapt so many steps ahead of him when she placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “Shut your mouth, Russ, you look like a fish.”

  Her giggle forced a smile out of him. “His mother’s at a sanatorium, you know.”

  “Mm-hmm. Firland. Ryker’s waiting for us in the car right now.”

  “But how did you know I’d be here?” The question burst out of him, and he was scared to hear the answer. At the club on Monday night, he’d had the sense Susie knew what Skip meant to him. He didn’t know what he’d do if she guessed right. “Because you’re a good guy, Russell Haunreiter. You wouldn’t run out on a friend.”

  She patted his cheek once and dropped her hand, a shot of sadness dimming her glow for an instant. “Didja ever meet Uncle Bill?”

  “Maybe once.”

  Her smile got soft, and she fiddled with her gloves. “He and his friend Edwin come over for Christmas dinner every year, but you know what?” She kept going without giving him a chance to answer. “My mother’s the only one who’ll invite them both. No one else in the family wants men like them around.”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “That night we went to hear the boys jam, back when we first got here, you and Skip were up at the piano. He said something, and you smiled at him, and I knew.”

  “Oh, Susie. I’m so sorry.” She looked bright and brittle and proud, and Russell wanted nothing more than to wrap her in a hug. “I never meant...”

  “I believe you.” With a brisk shake of her head, she took his hand. “You would never have deliberately hurt me, Russell. I know that.”

  Neither of them had intended to hurt the other. She wanted a different life from the one Russell offered, and in the end, he wanted something other than what she could give. Russell let that knowledge sit, and for once, he spoke from the heart, without trying to persuade or argue or debate. “Thank you.”

  Her smile sparkled. “Let’s go get your man.”

  Blushing, he pocketed his wallet and keys. Susie put on her hat and gloves and, laughing, led him to the car.

  ***

  In the lot in front of the sanatorium, Skip parked his car near a rhododendron that bloomed purple in the springtime, one of the only sources of color besides brown and green. This late in the year, the gray buildings stood stark and lonely. The rest of the city was weighed down with summer lushness, but not here.

  Miss Jones sat in her usual spot behind the front desk, her hair a perfect helmet of curls, the swoops and angles of her lips making a promise Skip would never want to keep. He had to wait for the family of a new patient to check in before he could go through, hearing without listening to the lecture given to all families.

  Miss Jones told them not to make noise.

  She told them their patient must rest.

  She told them even with the new, modern medicines, their patient might die.

  Skip forced himself not to hear the last part, instead staring at the harsh squares of sunlight on the glossy wood floor. He had to keep control of himself. He might be queer, but he wouldn’t bawl like a baby, no matter what.

  Finally, she waved him through. He would have jogged the whole way to his mother’s room, but the nurses would scold, so he kept himself to a brisk walk. His mom was propped on pillows in bed, a porcelain doll with bisque skin and painted cheeks, so fragile a loud noise might shatter her. Her hair was pulled into a side ponytail and tied off with a ribbon trailing along her throat. He grasped her hand, gathering every ounce of nerve to get through the next few minutes.

  “You need a haircut, Skippy,” Mom whispered.

  He brushed his bangs back from his face. “I’ve been busy.”

  In those three words, Skip telegraphed his distress. He hadn’t meant to, had planned to be cool and calm, but his mother’s brows drew together and she raised herself on her elbows. “What’s wrong?”

  “Mom, I...” Skip ran his palm over his forehead, picking and choosing from a dwindling supply of ideas. “I had some trouble.”

  “What?” She packed one word with worry and anger and fear, hitting him deep with the strength of her emotions.

  He inhaled, exhaled, scrambling for the courage to say what needed to be said. “I got picked up by the cops...you know...and lost my job.”

  She nodded, showing him she did know. She’d worked down in the square with the fruits and the addicts, with the colored people and the GIs, where everyone was just trying to make a buck to keep a roof over their head and some food in their belly. Skip wasn’t an addict, so there was only one thing he could have been arrested for.

  “Well, you’ll have to find a new job.” She sounded brittle, as if it took all her reserves to keep from giving in to panic.

  Skip couldn’t help her. “Not with that on my record.”

  She eased back against her pillows, lashes fluttering. She didn’t cry any easier than he did, but she was close now. A child’s laughter floated through the big open window, as if the universe itself thought there was a joke Skip couldn’t see.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” He pressed his lips together and stared at the ceiling until he could keep going without getting choked up. “I guess I’ll go down to San Francisco.”

  She looked so stricken, he had to stop again.

  “Jimmy Stevens has a band down there,” he said when he had a handle on himself. “He wants me to be his first chair.”

  “No.” A dry whisper, papery, like the pages of an old book blown by the breeze.

  “I can make good money,” Skip said, jamming some hope into his words even though he felt none. “I’ll make enough to come visit every month. I promise.”

  “Oh, Skippy.” Mom turned away, the small movement cutting him deep. “You can’t leave me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

  He had to leave. He was sorry. There was nothing else to say. He bent down and kissed her cheek, tasted the salt of her tears.

  The very thought of her crying weakened his resolve. The evidence shattered him.

  “No.” Her voice firmed. “You’re upset, and you should be, but you’ve got friends in this town, Lawrence, people who will help you out. You’ve got that young man...”

  She was right, and he knew it. Lou would help, and Demetrio, and hell, Russell had hired him a damned lawyer. He straightened, rubbing his eyes with his hands so she wouldn’t see him crying too.

  “Don’t be hasty, baby boy. Give it a month and see what happens before you take off.” As if that proclamation stole all her energy, she faded into the bed.

  Baby boy? She hadn’t called him that in years. He bowed his head. A month would mean leaving in the middle of September. He’d still get down there in plenty of time to pick up holiday work. For just a second, he weighed the odds. Things would be slowing down here once summer ended, but they wouldn’t be much busier in San Francisco, and here at least he knew people. The quiet side of him, the side he rarely listened to, asked whether he was leaving because of work or because he was ashamed to have been caught out for being queer.

  Good question.

  “All right. I’ll give it a month, but if I can’t make my rent, I’m really going to have to find work someplace else.”

  Instead of answering, his mother gave him an exhausted smile. He stayed with her until she fell asleep.

  Ten minutes later, he jogged down the front steps of the sanatorium. Someone leaned against the back of his Buick. His pace slowed. A broad-shouldered man, his navy crewneck tucked into khakis pressed in knife pleats down the front. Dark hair cut close to his scalp.

  Chin tilted as if daring Skip to take a swing.

  With a stern glare, Russell Haunreiter crossed his arms.

  Chapter 21

  Russell bit his tongue to keep from saying anything stupid. Skip came hurtling down the steps of the sanatorium faster than a football halfback. Or fast as a man would run if he’d just said good-bye to his mother and needed to leave before he chickened out.

  Skip pulled up short, laughing. He ran a pal
m over his unshaven cheek. “What do you want?”

  “To keep you from doing something dumb.” Russell flared his shoulders, adding physical intimidation to the few verbal arguments he’d organized.

  Skip shook his head with a wry smile. They mirrored each other, stances wide, chins jutting. The parking lot was empty of other visitors, set far enough from the main road to give them privacy.

  Russell drew in a deep breath. He didn’t have much to offer, but he had to try. “You don’t need to leave, you know.”

  “You’re right.”

  Russell barely heard him, ready to beg Skip to listen to what Jack Dodson had to say. “Because Ryker and Susie are going to buy a house with a basement, and they say you can live with them.”

  Skip squinted as if Russell was spouting nonsense. “Okay.”

  “And if Jack Dodson can get the charges dropped, you might not even owe a fine.” The words tumbled out, and Russell could only hope Skip was hearing between the lines.

  “Russell.” Skip took a step toward him, his hand held out though they didn’t touch. “I said okay. You’re right. I’m not leaving.”

  Now it was Russell’s turn to squint. “What?”

  “I promised Mom I’d stay for at least another month.” He crossed his arms, the growing assurance in his smile lightening Russell’s heart.

  “Another month,” Russell echoed. The other man’s capitulation left him flapping like an empty sail.

  “I am surprised to see you, though.” Skip came around to Russell’s side and leaned against the Buick’s rear bumper. “Thank you for retaining Mr. Dodson on my behalf.”

  Russell settled against the car, basking in the warmth of Skip’s skin and the spicy smell of his pomade. “I couldn’t leave without telling you...”

  “Telling me what?”

  Uncertainty nailed Russell hard. Could he really say this? “That I was...that I am in love with you.”

  Skip bowed his head and pressed a fist against his mouth. Russell took it as permission to continue.