by Brad Graber
Rita straightened her back. “I know what everyone thinks. I was the one who did it to him. It was my fault. Of course it’s always the mother’s fault,” she sniffed.
“Did you ever think maybe he was born that way?”
Rita laughed indignantly. “Born that way? No one is born that way. I’ve never met a homosexual baby.”
“Well, maybe you did,” El said as she sipped her coffee, “but just didn’t know it. Clearly, it happened.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Rita warned. “I want nothing more to do with him,” she said, though El thought she spotted a glimmer of remorse. “I’ve wasted enough time thinking about your brother.”
“Then why not read a book or go to a support group? You’re not the only one in the world with a gay child.”
“I don’t see why you’re defending him.” Rita offered a withering glance. “I’m still your mother. You should be taking my side in this.”
El shook her head. “What?”
“You heard me,” Rita said indignantly. “You should be on my side.”
“What side?” El asked, growing increasingly agitated. “There is no side.”
“Yes, there is. There is my side. And if you want to stay in my good graces, I’d suggest that you remember that.”
El reached for a corn muffin. “I swear to God. Sometimes you make no sense.”
“I don’t want to talk about it any further,” Rita warned. “As far as I’m concerned, the subject is closed.”
El shook her head. It was sad. Terribly sad for Richard to have such a mother, and sad for El, too. She now knew that there were limits to her mother’s love. It had proven very conditional in her brother’s case.
◆
Lil’s voice boomed across the phone line. “Harry Aldon, I don’t see why you can’t come over tonight for dinner.”
Harry paced in his office. “Lil, I just can’t,” Harry pleaded. “I’m struggling with the end of the novel and I can’t be interrupted. And why do you insist on using my last name when you’re pissed?”
Beetle lay nearby in his dog bed, fast asleep.
“But you have to eat, Harry.”
Harry closed his eyes. What had once been a welcome respite from his work was becoming an annoying interruption. He’d tried to meet Lil halfway, but despite his best intentions, he was unable to continue to perform sexually. He didn’t wish to hurt her, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to reveal that he was conflicted sexually. Embarrassment turned to annoyance. “Lil,” he quickly unloaded. “I can’t help it if you’re lonely, but I told you at the very start that if you needed a lot of attention, I was the wrong guy. Lil, my work comes first. It always has. And I can’t be pressured into doing what you want. I’m already too old and set in my ways to accommodate you. I’m sorry if that’s a problem, but you’ve been warned.”
There was silence on the line. Beetle shifted positions. Harry peeked out the window. The morning sun was intensely bright. Another Phoenix day with unrelenting cheer.
“Now, I have to go,” Harry said lacking any force behind the words. “Lil? Lil? Are you still there?”
He could hear breathing.
“I’m hanging up now!” he said, shouting into the receiver. “This is the sound of me hanging up.” He placed the receiver in the cradle. “Damn woman,” he muttered, his thoughts now all clouded by Lil’s demands. “Gosh, she’s smothering me,” he told Beetle as he settled at his desk. Chapter Ten lay before him. Nine chapters done and the tenth still blank. “Damn,” he said again as he slid back into the chair. “I have to be free to write. I can’t be screwing around with Lil.”
You mean you shouldn’t be screwing around with Lil.
Harry smiled. I wondered when you’d show up.
Harry, Harry, Harry . . . don’t you know that I’m never far away?
“That’s comforting,” Harry said, his voice ringing with sarcasm.
She’s ruining your concentration.
Yes, Harry admitted. I must have been nuts to let her in.
Or lonely, Harry. Maybe just lonely.
“But what am I going to do?” Harry asked as he ran his hand through his hair. Beetle sat up in his bed and tilted his head. Harry waved a hand and Beetle settled back down. It’s not like she’s evil. She’s a good person. I like her company. And now, I’m hurting her.
Ah, the problems of reluctant bisexuals.
Don’t make fun. I don’t want to be involved. I can barely handle Beetle.
In all our years together, Harry, you never strayed with a woman. A man? Yes.
Harry remembered.
“I don’t know what I want,” he sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m attracted to both sexes.”
Is there a preference?
I think it depends more on the person than the genitals.
Harry, you shouldn’t be alone. You were a wonderful partner. You took care of me, loved me, and put up with my family when things got tough. You deserved better, Harry. You did.
“I remember it all,” Harry softly said. And I’d do it again. I loved you, Richard. I truly loved you.
◆
Rikki was grateful Rita had changed her mind about letting her go to Ohio for the Christmas holiday, but unfortunately, Barbra didn’t seem quite as eager to have her friend trail along. There had been a change in Barbra’s attitude. They no longer ate lunch together. It had been less of a falling out than a falling apart. One day, Barbra was simply not where Rikki expected to see her. Instead, she’d joined another table of girls on the other side of the cafeteria. Rikki took it in stride. There was nothing she could do if Barney preferred her company to Barbra’s. She certainly didn’t think that was her fault.
“What happened to your friend?” Barney asked, a glint in his eyes as he pulled up a chair across from her. His brown lunch bag had a grease stain on the bottom.
“What are you eating?” Rikki asked as she pushed a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich aside. “Sludge?”
Barney laughed. “I guess my tuna sandwich leaked. It must have too much mayo.”
Rikki made a face. “That’s disgusting.”
“Do you want me to move?” Barney asked, a serious expression on his face. “You know, I can,” he said as he started to stand.
“No, don’t,” she gushed and started to giggle.
He was partly standing up, looking about. “I see an empty seat across the way.”
“No,” she said emphatically, eyes wide open, head nodding for him to sit. “Don’t be so silly.”
“But you’ll have to look at my disgusting lunch . . .” He was now standing up.
“Oh, Barney.” Her face lit up in a huge smile. “Have my peanut butter.” And she slid her sandwich over to him as he slipped back down into the chair. In seconds it was half-eaten.
Over the few weeks that they’d been together, she’d discovered Barney’s playful side. From the serious boy who said few words, he’d morphed into a sweet chatterbox. Always talking to her about the future.
“And one day,” he admitted, “I want to be an actor. Maybe even a movie star.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, he blushed crimson.
“Wow,” Rikki had answered, proud that he’d confided in her.
“Why not?” he said, as if she’d questioned his choice. “I have the looks—don’t you think?”
She only had to nod once.
“All you have to do is recite lines and look good.” His dream rushed forth as if it could no longer be contained. “I know it’s not a traditional kind of career. But I think I can do it,” he said with surprising confidence.
She wondered if such a career was even possible. The best she’d hoped for was grade school teacher.
“That’s an amazing profession,” he’d told her. “You should be proud to be a teacher. Kids need someone to look up to. Someone who cares about them.”
That’s true, she’d thought. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel sad. She was certa
in that Barney’s good looks doomed any future they might have together. She had to be honest with herself. Barney was much better looking than she was. The dimples . . . the angular jaw and cheekbones. Eventually, he’d realize that and turn his attention to other girls. Prettier girls. With shapelier figures, brighter smiles, and better hair. It was inevitable, she supposed. And yet, that very thought tugged at her heart.
He finished her sandwich, motioning to his to ask if she wanted it. When she declined, he unwrapped the tuna fish and ate it with gusto as Rikki looked on.
“So, when are you leaving for Ohio?” he said between bites, offering her his open bag of Fritos.
She took a corn chip. “There’s no school on the Friday before Christmas so we’re leaving that afternoon . . . the 23rd. The plan is for Barbra’s dad to drop us off at Penn Station to catch the 3:40 train.”
“Sounds like fun,” Barney said, wiping tuna fish from his lips with a napkin.
Rikki caught the far-off look in his eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he answered, his voice sullen.
“Come on, out with it,” she said as she reached for the Fritos, extracting two more chips and popping them in her mouth.
“I’m going to miss you, that’s all.”
The look in his eyes bore a hole through her heart. At that moment, she felt closer to him than anyone she’d ever known. And though she was certain that she loved him, she was afraid that he was going to hurt her. That his infatuation with whatever they had was transient, impermanent.
“I’ll miss you, too,” she said, placing a hand on his. “I will.”
“And what about Barbra?” he asked, looking across the way in the direction where Barbra was seated. “Is she even talking to you?”
“We’re still friends,” Rikki assured him. “I know she wants me to go.”
“So she’s staying away at lunch because of me?”
Rikki was uncertain how to answer. “She’ll come around. By the time I get on the train, she’ll have forgotten all about whatever is bugging her. Barbra and I will always be friends. Always.”
◆
“Harry, I’m coming out there,” Edward said, concern in his voice as he peered into the Microsoft Live Meeting screen, causing Harry to laugh. “I know something must be wrong. In all the years we’ve worked together, you’ve never been this unfocused. Are you sick?”
Harry made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing is wrong. I’ve just hit a speed bump. I need time.”
Edward offered a suspicious look. “Would it help if we talked through the challenges facing your protagonist?”
Harry thought about it for a moment. Would Edward be able to be impartial? This new book was so very different. And though they’d known each other for twenty years, could Edward really understand? After all, they’d slept together a few times, mostly when Harry had been in New York on business. In the beginning, Harry had even wondered if Edward might be his next long-term partner, but the timing never seemed right between them. When they had met, Edward, younger by some fifteen years, was just getting settled into New York City after moving from Saint Louis. And Harry, who had spent years in the city, had to leave.
“It’s the bisexual thing,” Harry admitted. “I’m kind of stuck on that.”
“Oh God, no,” Edward intoned, a hand on his forehead. “You’re going to totally alienate your audience, Harry. No one believes in bisexuals. Not as the protagonist in a murder mystery. Give the ladies what they want—a strong, virile male figure.”
“Someone must,” Harry insisted. “Otherwise they wouldn’t have that B in LGBT.”
Edward shook his head. “But those people are not your target audience,” he said most emphatically. “They don’t read.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Harry argued as he slumped backward into his chair. “And exactly who is my target audience?” He knew full well what Edward was about to say.
“Women. Lots of straight women. Thirty-five and older. Fifty-year-olds are the sweet spot. They buy and read books. They’re the reason you’re a money-maker, Harry. You know we don’t continue to carry authors who don’t make money. And if you want to keep us happy, Harry, you’ll do what I ask.”
Harry arched his brows. “I don’t know. Next you’re going to insist that my book has one of those erotic covers. Half-naked men. Jesus. Maybe if you added a few male nudes, we could sell even more books.”
“Don’t be crass,” Edward answered. “Leave the porn to the amateurs. You create art.”
Harry sighed. “Well, I can’t help it. I have to write about what interests me. What I want to read. What’s wrong with that?”
“Okay,” Edward said. “Do what you must, but in the end,” and he leaned forward and into the screen, “make him straight.”
Harry bit his lip. “I’ll think about it.”
◆
Rikki had been told to report to her guidance counselor, Mrs. Cole, only to find Mr. Rosenfeld sitting in one of the two chairs in front of Mrs. Cole’s desk.
All students were required to meet with their guidance counselors during the school year. Rikki had already met that obligation, though she hadn’t really seen any good reason to do so. Mrs. Cole, who was approaching retirement, had always seemed rushed and overwhelmed. The pinched indentations on her nose were deep, even though her eyeglasses mostly hung about her neck from a gold chain. Her gray hair, in a loose bun off-center atop her head, made Rikki wonder if Mrs. Cole needed to hold her head at a certain angle to keep the bun upright.
Mr. Rosenfeld smiled. “And how is my favorite writer doing today?” he asked.
“Fine,” she answered, unclear why Mr. Rosenfeld was joining her for the appointment.
“Come in, come in,” Mrs. Cole called as Rikki stood in the doorway. “Please take a seat and close the door.”
Rikki did as she was told, though she had an overwhelming desire to excuse herself and run off to the bathroom.
“I’ve got great news for you,” Mr. Rosenfeld said as she settled in. He patted the arm of the chair where she sat, his voice tight with excitement. Rikki thought she might need to cover her ears. “You did it. You won third place.”
“Really?” was all Rikki could manage to get out.
“This is such terrific news,” Mr. Rosenfeld gushed. “Do you know that in all my years of teaching, you’re the first student who has placed in the competition?”
Rikki didn’t know what to say.
“Now the prize is $500—which is okay—but the scholarship is $1,500 per year, with stipulations that you maintain a 3.0 grade-point average.”
Rikki shook her head as she took it all in.
“Now we’re going to have to get your mother to come in and accept the check.”
Mrs. Cole loudly cleared her throat, signaling Mr. Rosenfeld to stop.
“Oh God,” he said, apologetically. “In all the excitement I forgot.”
Rikki shrugged. She was used to people forgetting.
“Well, your grandmother will have to come by,” Mrs. Cole said, holding the check in her hand.
“Why not just give it to her?” Mr. Rosenfeld suggested. “She’s a good girl. What harm can come to it?”
Mrs. Cole crinkled her nose. “Five hundred dollars is a lot of money. I’m not about to give this child a $500 check. That’d be irresponsible.”
Mr. Rosenfeld sighed. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Besides,” Mrs. Cole said, “an adult needs to sign for the receipt of the check.”
Rikki had a thought.
“Mr. Rosenfeld, why don’t you sign for it, and then I can take it home.”
“I don’t think so.” Mr. Rosenfeld said, smiling. “But how about if, instead, I go home with you today, meet your grandmother, and get her signature?”
Rikki wondered how Rita would respond. She’d been so angry lately. They’d barely spoken a word to each other.
“I think that�
��s fine,” Mrs. Cole agreed. “The quicker the money gets into the proper hands, the better.”
“Then we’re all set,” Mr. Rosenfeld said, as Mrs. Cole handed him the check. “Rikki, I’ll meet you after your last class.”
◆
“That’s a very strange man,” Rita said, once the door closed and Mr. Rosenfeld had left. “I’ve never seen such bright colors. A red bow tie, black shirt and purple corduroys. I almost expected him to be wearing an orange wig and a bright red nose.”
Rikki held the check in her hand.
“He teaches English?” Rita asked as she opened the refrigerator and peeked inside.
“Yes,” Rikki answered.
“Thank goodness it’s not sex education.” Rita placed a head of iceberg lettuce on the counter. “God only knows what he’d be teaching.”
Rikki folded the check and slipped it into her pocket. There’d be time enough for depositing the check into her bank account tomorrow.
As Rita unwrapped the plastic from the lettuce, she changed the subject. “Maybe you should give me that check. You don’t want to lose it.” She slammed the core of the head against the counter, then twisted it loose.
“I won’t,” Rikki answered, patting her pocket. “It’s safe with me.”
“I hope so,” she said, obviously questioning her own judgment. “So,” she continued as she sliced up a cucumber to go along with the lettuce in the bowl. “Are all the English teachers fruity like that?”
Rikki tried to ignore her. “I guess,” she answered, hoping to end the conversation.
“Are there a lot of other teachers who are queer?”
“Rita,” she admonished. “Do you mean is he gay? I don’t know if he’s gay.”
“My dear,” Rita said with confidence. “Trust me. He is.”
Rikki couldn’t care less whether Mr. Rosenfeld was gay. It seemed odd that Barbra and Rita shared something in common. Rikki had caught the negative implications, the judgments, but it had not affected her one way or another. She thought it was no one’s business.
“So what?” she said to Rita defiantly, exhibiting a rebellious nature reserved exclusively for the older woman. “Who cares?”
