Look Away Silence

by Edward C. Patterson

  “It’s a Sealy,” he said.

  I laughed. It was the first time a partner ever told me the brand of the mattress. I wondered whether we’d commit the most immoral and illegal act of all — tearing off the label and hiding it in the cellar.

  “It’s a good brand,” Matt said, sincerely protesting.

  “I know. I have no idea what brand mine is.”

  “You don’t?”

  “It’s a hand me down from Viv.”

  “Do you mean . . .”

  “Yesiree Bob. We had gay sex on a previously straight launching pad.”

  He tickled me. I loved that, and I am very ticklish. I rolled around on that Sealy until I flopped on the floor. He piled on top of me and, after I was lassoed and hog-tied (not really; I’m not into that), he popped the question.

  “I want you to meet my folks.”

  That put some starch in the rodeo.

  “When?”

  “New Years Day.”

  I wiggled out from under him.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “They’re quite tame and nice and generally cotton to the men I bring home.”

  “Well, Viv’s just as accommodating, but I didn’t see you jump for joy.”

  “Your mother’s quite a personality . . . in a nice way.”

  “You could say that again, but don’t you dare.”

  He looked crushed, as if I had drawn a line in our relationship, and perhaps I had. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to meet his parents. I was the one who wanted this relationship to bloom like the flowers in spring — wisteria, and all that. No. It was the timing. New Years Day came after New Years Eve. I was never in any condition on New Years Day to do more than vomit and mop, and to swap torrid tales with Viv over the Kleenex.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” I explained. “I want to meet your parents, but the timing is not . . .”

  “You mean, New Years Day.”

  “Well, yes.”

  He took me in his arms, a disarming thing to do. I felt his heart beating strong. I just wished that the equipment wasn’t listening.

  “Easily solved, Pumpkin. You’ll spend New Years Eve with us and meet them then. You can even stay over. They have a big house in Holmdel.”

  “Holmdel? House? New Years Eve? I always go to . . .”

  “You go drinking with the gay song birds all the time,” he said. “It doesn’t make it a different or even a special night. You can do that most any time.”

  I sighed. The thought of all my friends carousing and dancing and flirting, flashed before my eyes — a half-decade of debauchery wiggling through my synapse in a destructive tizzy. Sacrifice. However, I wouldn’t really be a free agent, and if Matt spent New Years Eve at home in Holmdel, I would be alone and prone to my own devices, which sad to say, was not that appetizing without Matt.

  “So,” I said, finally. “If I’m not in Holmdel on New Years Eve, I won’t see you.”

  He smiled — a man playing chess. Checkmate.

  2

  Russ was pissed when I told him I would not be spending New Years Eve in the Cavern. If I had told him that I was spending a passionate night with Matt instead, he wouldn’t have said boo. In fact, he might have bought a ticket to watch. However, when I told him I would be sitting in a cozy living room in Holmdel with the Kielers — the picture of the Cleaver family, he went ballistic.

  “You’re breaking a tradition,” he carped. “We’re like Lucy and Ethel on New Years Eve, despite whatever crap we’re dragging along stuck to our heels.”

  “I’m glad I’ll be missed.”

  “It’s not just me. Wait until Leslie and Ginger hears about this. And the Sparrows will want to know where they can fly over and peck your eyes out.”

  “Let them peck.”

  Russ had been leaning on my freshly polished counter and in his fury, I thought he’d crack the glass.

  “No man’s worth the sacrifice.”

  “Drama Queen.”

  He stuck his tongue out.

  “It’s not a tradition unless we do it for five years running, and from my calculations, it’s only been four.”

  “Well, this would have been five.”

  There was no settling the matter and I held my ground. I would have been willing to make a concession, to meet Russ for a drink, with Matt of course, a few hours before I met the family. However, since Russ threw a hissy fit, he was shit out of luck. He pouted and scuffled, and I was glad to see his back. Although I admit, I would have sorely liked to be in The Cavern rather than the suburban cave. The thought of meeting some guy’s family was terminal. Either they would love me and I would hate them, or they would be snooty Houstonians and I, a flat-ass ignorant Joisey shore fairy. Terminal.

  Well, they certainly could have been snooty given the size and whiteness of their two story split-level house, complete with picket fence, picture window and portico. However, they did have tasteful Christmas lights and a gorgeous plastic angel on their snowy lawn, so how bad could they be. Matt was excited, which pleased me. No man to my recollection had regarded me as a trophy wife, and if nothing else, I wouldn’t be ignored. I might even be the center of attraction, which would suit me fine. Still, as I huddled up the walk latched to Matt’s arm, bottle of Bruit dangling from my glove, I finally warmed up to the idea.

  The door opened before we climbed up on the portico. On the threshold stood a woman in a white flounced skirt and a simple red top. Her hair was lemony and done to a curl. Her smile was a beacon and I would have followed it anywhere. I realized where Matt had gotten his blue eyes.

  “Mama,” Matt said.

  He fell into her arms. She embraced him as if he were the prodigal son, of which he might well have been, but by the aromas wafting across that threshold, the fatted calf was in full roast.

  I nodded.

  “Mrs. Kieler.”

  She extended her hand and cocked her head.

  “You must be Martin. Welcome, Martin.”

  “Get in doors, mother,” came a husky voice. Mr. Kieler appeared. “It’s cold out there and we’re not cavorting on the porch. You must be Marty.”

  I went to correct him, but his formidable paw latched onto mine, and I didn’t have the heart. I hated being called Marty, but Mr. Kieler turned out to be one of only two people of my acquaintance that would ever call me that. No sense correcting him . . . not after all these years.

  The Kieler residence was smartly decorated for Christmas — holly, tree, a village, a manger and many angels. A fire roared in the chimneypiece and I can truly say I felt comfortable from the first moment I stepped foot over that threshold.

  After shedding our outer skins, I remember Matt and I settled on the couch. It faced the picture window, and before Louise and Sammy (the Kielers) sat beside us in their appointed chairs, Matt turned and kissed me. I thought that would send this staid couple out to the kitchen, but I spied their smiles — content at the act as if they equated it with their own experience. Now if this was Viv and her latest pick-up, I could well understand the thinking, but somehow the Kieler’s settled countenance ennobled Matt’s kiss.

  “Matt,” I chided. “Not in front of your parents.”

  “Shy one,” Sam Kieler chomped.

  “Hardly,” I said. “But it doesn’t seem the time and place.”

  “Where else would you suggest, Martin,” Louise said. “Oh Mary . . .”

  Matt was upstanding now as his sister swept into the room. She was a thinner version of her mother, only I detected a bit of the minx about her. She plopped on the couch beside Matt and he proceeded to tickle her, in much the same way he had tickled me.

  “Stop it, Newt,” she said.

  Newt?

  He didn’t stop, until she threatened him with a balled fist.

  “They’ll never grow up,” Louise said to me in an aside, only everyone could hear it.

  “Grow up?” Matt said. “The hell with that.”

  “No one can accuse these two cradle mates of
decorum,” Sammy said.

  This brought the siblings to a mock church stance, smiles leaking across to each other.

  “So who’s this one?” Mary said.

  “Martin,” I said.

  “Newt has a Martin,” she said. “Well, you’re good looking at least. He’d better hold you close or I’ll steal you away.”

  Martin gnashed his teeth and began his tickle again, but Mary flew off the couch, trotting off to . . . who knows where?

  “No, you don’t,” Matt shouted.

  He was in pursuit, leaving me alone with the parents — and I felt a gentle inquisition afoot.

  Silence prevailed. I just couldn’t stand it. I heard brother and sister laughing in the other room, but all I heard where I sat was . . . breathing. Finally, I smiled and said what came naturally.

  “Lovely place you have here, Mrs. Kieler . . . Mr. Kieler.”

  “Thank you, and it’s Louise.”

  “And Sammy.”

  “It’s not half the house we had in Houston, but we’ve tried to make it home.”

  “Real estate in New Jersey is stiff,” Sammy said. “You get more house for the buck in Houston.”

  I smiled. The only thing I knew about real estate was my little four room flat and my slice of courtyard and patio furniture. I was cursing Matt under my breath for leaving me here alone. I thought of Russ and Ginger and Leslie and . . . well, the Cavern was probably filling up just about now — Kurt and Sam would be bellying up to the bar and Mother would be greeting the guests. Bruce Q would be preparing for the flight of the Zippilin, and Carlos would be queuing up the first disco beats — thumpa thumpa. Suddenly, Louise put he hand on my knee.

  “There’s no need to be nervous around us.”

  “No need,” Sammy echoed.

  “Our Matt has wonderful taste in men. Just be true to him if you’re settling in for a while. A week isn’t long, I know, but time somehow sings a soft song that stays the course.”

  “Stays the course,” Sammy said.

  I didn’t know what to say. It was so similar to Viv’s advice to Matt, although minus the ef words, that I was stunned.

  Suddenly, Matt returned, Mary hovering.

  “Newt caught me,” she said.

  “Matthew,” Louise said. “You’re neglecting your manners. You left Martin alone with the dragons.”

  “Dragons,” Sammy echoed.

  Louise stood, Sammy shadowing her every move. Echo and shadow.

  “I must finish the garnish for the lamb chops. I hope you like lamb, Martin.”

  I shook my head. I felt like I would be the lamb tonight. They retreated into the kitchen (along with Mary), probably to judge me in ways far beyond my deserving. Matt just sat there staring through the picture window.

  “Thanks for abandoning me,” I said. “Your parents are very nice . . . cordial and all that, but they’re . . . parents. You shouldn’t have left me alone with them so soon.”

  Matt didn’t answer. He just stared out the window.

  “And why does your sister call you Newt?”

  No answer. Suddenly, he turned to me and smiled the broadest grin I had ever seen on a man.

  “I love it when I’m home, especially now when I can see the snow through the window. Isn’t it pretty?”

  “You’re changing the subject. Haven’t you heard a word I said?”

  “Yes. I like my parents too, and they adore me. And when I was three years old I used to run around bare assed naked. Mary would cry out, Mama, he’s newt again, come see. He’s newt. The name stuck.”

  I brought my head to his forehead.

  “Newt. I’ve seen you Newt. I guess you don’t outgrow some habits.”

  He kissed me, and then turned my attention to the window. A cardinal had landed on the sill, and if ever there was a scene etched in my mind from that night, it was our reflections in that picture window, with the snowy lawn and the picket fence. I was home and the Cavern was a distant, distant thought.

  Chapter Nine

  Resolutions

  1

  Once every four years, all the Gay and Lesbian Choruses around the country came together for a week long celebration called the GALA Festival, and I meant to attend the next one, which was only a year and a half away — in July. I had my heart set on it. It would be in Denver — imagine that. One hundred and three hoohoo choruses assembled in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains. Fabulous. The New Jersey Gay Sparrows were already making plans. Now, the reason I mention this is that my New Years resolution was set in Formica — to cut back on my spending and save up for my passage and board to Denver. GALA here I come. So the last thing I needed was to break that resolution and decorate Matt Kieler’s apartment.

  I became a fixture at Matt’s. After three weeks, he gave me a key and I, like some girl playing house, a role I knew well, would arrive home from work, rush to his apartment, and then fuss over the stove before he arrived from work. I was a fair cook, and he never complained. He wouldn’t dare, although he was more interested in desert than anything I charred on those damned electric burners. No microwave ovens then.

  The first order of business was to hang a few pictures. I thought movie posters would do the trick. There was a place in the mall that stocked them and did a nice framing job. Fortunately, after the first one — a stunning Wizard of Oz, complete with Margaret Hamilton and Toto, Matt gave me his credit card. Now if he did that with Russell, he’d be in a world of hurt. Russ would run the gamut of the mall and have the thing maxed out before the end of the week. However, I acted with restraint. I even asked Matt for a dollar range to do the job. He shrugged and said that I would know. I guess that meant that when he got the bill, if his hat hit the ceiling I would get a sense of where I stood. It actually only took four more posters to cover the living room walls. So much warmer — and I replaced that bucket of roses with a bowl of wax fruit and wooden candelabras — white. It was the kitchen after all. I couldn’t do much with the bedroom. Every time I looked at the mass of cables and plugs, I imagined that some space alien had made its home under the carpeting. As for the walls, two mirrors did fine and were both on sale in A&S’s clearance basement. When Matt came home that night, I was all a twitter at the bargain. He appreciated it. However, I remember that it was that night that he asked for the card back. Not unkindly or reproachfully, but simply, you’ve done me proud here. It’s homey now. A place to live in. I’ll need my card back tomorrow. He said no more, and I slipped the card back into his wallet while he slept that night.

  It’s strange to think on those early days. I wasn’t sure whether I was delusional or just plain naïve. They don’t know ya and don’t wanna know ya, kept echoing in my jaded young soul. However, Viv never had formed a close relationship, not even with that wraith who was my father. Instead, my mind vibrated a new mantra. God, please let this one be the one. Matt seemed to be so. We never analyzed the situation. There was no extended conversation about fidelity or where’s this thing going or what’s the next step. I just sort of . . . moved in and after two months, I was spending more time in Matt’s place than in mine, despite the draw of the vacuum broom.

  At work, I would muse over the counter, Matt’s image lingering even when Russ stopped by to bust my chops. Are you still with that cowboy? The gang in The Cavern misses you. Don’t forget we have our first rehearsal next week or are you completely going gaga? I wouldn’t miss the rehearsal. Singing was as much in my blood as Matt was. As for The Cavern . . . I did miss that, but fully expected to get back there . . . soon. For the most part, I had ignored Russ’ queenie jealousy, because that’s what it was. He never had anything as staid as a boyfriend.

  I had never counted the minutes ‘til closing before. I always liked to linger over the shirt counters and even brush by and visit with the linens, but now I was out of the mall like a bat. Some evenings I stopped off at my place for some clean clothes and the mail, but I needed to get to Matt’s to exercise my key privilege. A key. Imagine that. Some guy
had given me his key. And then, he would be there. Not the cowboy with the tight jeans and leather jacket, but the blue-eyed computer geek with the five o’clock shadow and the three piece suit and a different tie every day, and never that ugly purple tie. Although that was mine, I brought it over and hung it among the normal ones. I had suggested that he wear it occasionally to break the ice over the water cooler. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, he would say, managing his vest and the double-breasted suit. I knew that suit. Many mornings I helped him dress, and finish him off with a knotted tie, a gentle slide and a kiss. Always be my pumpkin, he'd say. His pumpkin . . . he’d say that . . . he would.

  Excuse me. Just a minute.

  Yes, that’s what he called me . . . his pumpkin.

  2

  I’m back.

  Things were settling in, I’d say. However, our lives still needed the old oxygen. Matt needed his family — every Sunday for dinner; and his work, which he brought home more nights than not. There were days I cursed both the Kielers and Axum Labs. Both took a slice of Matt away from me, but I guess that was just a measure of our progress. I didn’t go to the family dinners with him — at least not every Sunday. He never fought me on this, but there was always an invitation from mother Kieler and regret from sister Mary. I would have liked to get to know Mary better. As for Axum Labs, that was an invasion of the bedroom, where the monster equipment huddled in the corner — a conspiracy, as it spied on us all night. Often I sat alone in the living room watching StarTrek reruns or Jeopardy while Matt pounded on the keyboard. I thought to take up knitting. I know if I were in my apartment, I would be sorting the kitchen drawers, but there was no help for it. When I complained, Matt just shrugged and said, it’s work and it’ll pay for another one of those pretty posters. I also knew that Matt needed time to himself. Sometimes I heard him gently weeping and I knew that memories of Luis hovered. I was not about to intrude on those. The fastest way for the new wife to become the new nag was to try to compete with or expunge the old wife. What was a girl to do?