by William Poe
“You let me come back, Simon! Why?” Thad could barely speak through the lump forming in his throat.
“I never imagined you’d meet them, and it never occurred to me that Felipe would enter the picture. I thought it would be worse if you knew the whole story, and worse if you didn’t go back. That would have raised suspicion, and I was hoping they’d get their business done with Howard and then go back to Spain. You’re just one of the workers, so why would they notice you? I planned to tell you after they left.”
“We shouldn’t talk much longer, Simon. You were right to be concerned about what would happen if I simply failed to show up when Howie was expecting me. He would have contacted Don at the Spotlight to find out what was up with me—Howard remembers that I went there when the crew was having dinner at the Brown Derby. The way Howard is acting, he’d think I was the one planning to blackmail him, especially if I left now that his Spanish partners have arrived.”
“Did Felipe say anything about Emilio looking for ‘the American’ that he remembers?”
“Not really. But I nearly lost it when Felipe told me about having sex with Emilio and the American. I acted as though it didn’t interest me, and he didn’t say more about it.”
“I’m sorry, Thad, we weren’t together at the time.”
“I know what you were like back then, but Emilio? You and Felipe in bed with Emilio! Oh my God. The problem was keeping myself from laughing.”
“Not my proudest moment. Emilio had powerful drugs, and you have to admit, Felipe is hot.”
“Yeah, and if we weren’t together…well, we better not talk about that.”
“Yes, we better not. At least Felipe didn’t say anything about the American ripping off his bosses. Maybe it was a big deal to me but chump change in their minds. Maybe they just wrote it off as a business loss.”
“No idea,” Thad responded, recognizing Simon’s statement as wishful thinking. “Felipe’s going to star in the video they’re doing. I doubt he knows anything about the business dealings. He’s a pony in their stable.”
“Felipe wanted me to help him come to America.”
“I’ve only seen the company owners from a distance. David wears a dark suit that looks expensive. Emilio wears shorts and one of those cotton shirts with the pleats down the front. Then there’s David’s wife, Irene. Did I mention her before? That look of hers could shatter glass. Emilio laughs a lot when he tells Howard dirty jokes.”
“Don’t let Emilio cajole you into talking if he meets you, Thad. He uses charm to get information from people. David is all about the bottom line—making money. He signs the contracts. Irene manages the finances.”
“We better cut it short.”
“I know, Thad, but now it’s better that you know the whole story. The deal I made was to supply American films on a monthly basis. They planned to launder cash from their criminal activities by making it seem as though the money came from video licensing. Charlotte stole an advance they sent so I would have money to negotiate.”
“What kind of criminal activities?”
“All I know is what Felipe told me. He knew of drug trafficking and sales of pornography in countries where it’s illegal.”
“I’d sure like to find out what else Felipe knows.”
“Be careful, Thad. This could blow up if Emilio, David, or Irene find out that you’re my boyfriend. The money might seem suddenly important if they had a chance to even the score.”
“My knees are shaking. I hope I can steer clear of them until they leave.”
“Let me hear those sound effects you’re famous for.” Simon hoped to tease Thad out of his fears. He didn’t expect to laugh so much when Thad obliged. “Stop! I can’t take it.”
“Think of me tonight, Simon.”
“Already am.”
Thad kissed the receiver. Simon started to cry. Would the crimes of his past destroy everything he hoped to build? Whether through cosmic retribution or acts of human vengeance, was he facing damnation?
To whatever powers that be, he prayed, keep Thad safe.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thad called from pay phones, sneaking away from Howard Price’s ranch on the pretext of grocery shopping, leaving messages because he could only telephone during the day when Simon would be in one of his classes. Simon rushed to Sibley each day to run upstairs and check the answering machine, his heart beating fast when he saw the light flashing. He longed to hear Thad’s voice, even through a recording. One message threw him into a panic.
Emilio had stayed behind at Howard’s ranch after David and Irene returned to Spain. Thad informed Simon that Howard had stopped using cocaine to focus on the new production, that Howard wasn’t asking as many questions as before now that his paranoia had subsided. Simon began to imagine worrisome scenarios, suspicious that Emilio remained in California for a reason other than oversight of the new video production: to look for him!
The mansion creaked throughout the night, a living presence defending itself against, in Simon’s mind, hoodlums from Little Rock who were ransacking the place in search of valuables. The act of painting saved Simon from anxiety until he was faced with shadows as he would walk from the barn, across the field, to the mansion’s back door. Sometimes he locked himself in his bedroom and read a Steinbeck novel, part of a cache in the same closet where Vivian kept her romances.
Sensing something amiss in Simon’s life and assuming the problem to be loneliness, Arthur insisted they meet at Discovery, known for having the best dance floor in the state, an assessment confirmed by the crowds that came from all over central Arkansas, expansive crowds encompassing high-fashion investment bankers along with farm boys in tight-fitting jeans, kickass boots, and wide-brimmed cowboy hats. When Simon scanned the clientele on their first outing, he wondered how many of the young men had sneaked away from their farm on the down low, escaping country homes for queer adventure in the big city of Little Rock. Older men congregated at the bar, their marital status revealed by the light patch of skin on their ring fingers, their intent manifest in the ogling of the farm boys, whose furtive glances signaled the beginning of negotiations.
Arthur stayed close to Simon, keeping a watchful eye, aware of Simon’s dedication to Thad but also having witnessed that when Blaine showed interest in Simon, it was hard for him to admit he wasn’t tempted. And now some of the farm boys were eyeing Simon with beckoning, half-closed eyes, flexing muscles, and aw-shucks cuteness that made them irresistible, their attentions becoming more of a risk with each beer Simon consumed.
“You know who I saw in here the other day?” Arthur asked conspiratorially. “You’ll never guess.”
“Who?”
“Kevin Bacon.”
“Really? He’s gay?”
“I hear he knows people in town, and Discovery is the best place to go out dancing. Still, to be seen at a gay club—and what a hottie! If he isn’t gay, he should be.”
“A lot of men have missed their calling,” Simon joked. “It’s fun to see famous people, whatever the context—that’s something I enjoyed about life in Hollywood.”
“Tell me who you saw,” Arthur implored, hoping for some name-dropping and perhaps a juicy tidbit.
Simon started to tell Arthur about seeing Steve Martin at a video store and Lily Tomlin at a photography studio, but the sound system overwhelmed his voice. Simon and Arthur had grabbed their beers and roamed the perimeter of the dance floor before heading back to the bar when Simon spotted Blaine leaning against the bar in a James Dean pose, sipping a sunset from a tall glass as he studied the dancers as they gyrated beneath the strobe lights and silver disco spheres.
“Didn’t you say Blaine tended to be aloof?” Simon shouted into Arthur’s ear.
“I’ve never seen him here before,” Arthur tried to respond, but Simon was unable to catch his words over the noise. Arthur led Simon to a quieter area away from the speakers and repeated himself.
“I’m dying to know Blaine’s story. He mus
t have a boyfriend—he’s too gorgeous.”
Arthur shrugged. “No one seems to know.”
As they spoke, a man approached Blaine for a dance, an invitation dismissed with a wave of the hand, after which Blaine turned to the bartender and ordered a fresh drink. Simon excused himself from Arthur, who he knew would remain close to overhear the conversation, and set his beer beside Blaine’s glass. Blaine eventually glanced his way.
“Hello again. Remember me, from design class?”
Blaine’s face lit up in recognition. “Certainly, you introduced yourself. Simon, right?”
“Are you here alone?” Simon pressed.
Blaine offered a diffident smile. “Yes, I’m alone.”
“You turned down an offer to dance, so I won’t be so bold—but I do like to dance.” Simon took Blaine by the hand as if to lead him onto the floor.
Blaine hesitated for a moment, “Okay, I’ll dance. But…”
Simon expected Blaine to warn him that he couldn’t dance but didn’t give him a chance to say anything as he led the way. Blaine released Simon’s hand and, with the elegance of a member of the three Graces, glided to a spot under a stationary overhead light. As he began his moves, Blaine’s slacks swayed in counterpoint to feet that touched the ground only briefly before setting off on another round of soaring lifts and turns. A circle of onlookers formed as Simon stepped back to admire a performance that challenged the song lyrics blaring through the sound system: “U Can’t Touch This.”
A different person from the reticent Blaine of moments ago greeted Simon at the end of the spectacle, innocently asking, “Did you like that?”
“Are you kidding? That was amazing. You should have said something.”
“I tried to,” Blaine reminded.
Arthur held up a mug in salute.
“That was fun,” Blaine confessed. “I should come out more often…and I should start earlier in the evening. I’m afraid I have to be going.”
“See you in class, then.” Simon felt it would be presumptuous to ask why Blaine needed to leave. “I’m just happy to have discovered more about the mysterious Blaine Mathis.”
Blaine smiled a sweet smile and took Simon’s hand in a grip both firm and gentle before heading through the crush of people toward the exit.
Arthur had shifted his interest to a young man, someone he had dated on and off. Simon bade him adieu and left. As soon as he opened the door to the Pontiac, Simon felt a touch on his shoulder.
“Simon?” came a familiar voice.
“Dean!” Simon exclaimed with a nod of recognition. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
“I saw you leaving the club and rushed out to say hello before you drove away. What a crowd they’ve got tonight, huh? I’ve tried calling, but always I get the machine. Vivian doesn’t even answer.”
“I should have let you know. It’s just that with school and Thad being in California and all…Vivian had a stroke. Connie and I had to place her in a convalescent home.”
“Oh, Simon,” Dean said sympathetically. He’d forged a bond with Vivian during the worrisome time when Simon first arrived from California, and he understood how much Vivian’s support had meant to Simon’s recovery. “This has to be hard for you. I’d like to visit her.”
“I’m sure Vivian would like that.”
“Is she able to speak? Did the stroke affect her voice?”
“It’s possible to make out her words, but you have to pay attention. The stroke made it harder for her to remember things in the short term. She’ll remember while you’re talking, but the next day she’ll ask why you haven’t come by. She’s in a semiprivate room at Bobwhite Convalescent Center.”
“I know the place. When I was a priest, I visited aging parishioners there.”
“Catholics in Sibley? Who knew.”
“Ah, who knew there were atheists.”
“Touché. But I never use that word to define myself.”
“Atheist is as good a term as any to describe…”
“Dean, you’re a great guy, but I need to get going.”
“I didn’t mean anything.”
“Don’t worry. I’m just tired. I have a lot on my mind.”
“It has to be difficult for you. You said that Thad is in California?”
“He went back to LA to work. We need the money.”
“You’ll have to tell me about it one of these days. Maybe we can have lunch at the student union. Just thinking—Cicero must miss Vivian terribly. Do you take him to see her?”
“I’ve thought about it, but it might make his pining even worse.”
“Sure you don’t want to come back inside for a nightcap?”
“I better go. The reason I came here already happened.”
Dean smiled. “That doesn’t sound rational.”
“Yeah, I know. But somehow tonight felt meaningful.”
“I can’t let you go without hearing what happened for you to talk this way.”
“A guy.”
“Isn’t it always.”
“At a different time in my life, I’d pursue him as a boyfriend.”
“Anyone I know?”
“He’s a student, perhaps a bit younger than me. We’re in the same design class.”
“Curiosity is killing me. What’s his name?”
“Blaine Mathis.”
“The Blaine Mathis?”
“He definitely is the looker. Tall, curly brown hair, slim, elegant, walks with such grace it seems he barely touches the ground.”
“You don’t seem to know who he is.”
“Am I supposed to?”
“Blaine dances ballet.”
“Really? That would explain how he took over the dance floor. Everyone stopped to watch him.”
“I’m sure they did. Blaine is quite the prima donna. Come to think of it, I’ve not read about any performances lately. I don’t get to the ballet as much as I used to, but I always read reviews.”
Simon’s curiosity about Blaine grew even stronger.
“You won’t you come back inside?” Dean asked again.
“I would, but it’s a long drive to Sibley at this time of night, and, well, I had a few beers, which I’m not accustomed to these days.”
“I’m glad I ran into you. Call if you need someone to talk to.”
“I will, Dean. Thanks.”
Dean would leave the club with a date, another in a line of unsatisfying encounters. Dean often told Simon how fortunate he was to have Thad, that finding someone special had been his hope after leaving the priesthood.
Simon knew he must be on guard if he pursued a friendship with Blaine, even as visions of the radiant Blaine pranced across his thoughts during the drive to Sibley. Blaine’s beguiling, winsome smile mocked Simon, a smile like those of the pretty boys, self-possessed and unattainable, who frequented the bars in West Hollywood, boys who got Simon to buy them a drink and then flitted away to entice one from someone else. Blaine was the type of person Simon had wanted to find among those West Hollywood men. Then he met Thad, beautiful as well as interested in him, someone who stood out against the backdrop of hard-core hustlers at the Spotlight. If not for cocaine, they would have had an easy relationship—or so Simon fantasized. Simon wished Thad was at the mansion waiting for him. He dreaded spending another night alone.
After letting Cicero run around the fenced-in yard at the back porch while he tended to Ferdinand, Simon settled in the parlor and tried to read a Gore Vidal novel about Lincoln that he’d recently purchased at the university bookstore, believing the great author’s captivating prose and vivid imagery would distract him from the gnawing loneliness. Visions of Blaine Mathis on the dance floor stole Vidal’s narrative.
Go to Hollywood and be with Thad—now, tonight! So spoke an urgent voice as memories of the better times in Hollywood played like a movie in Simon’s mind, interrupted by the scratching of wisteria that brushed against the window. Was that Ernie at the door? How many times Simon had f
antasized about his boyhood friend and himself growing up together and becoming partners for life, only to feel the scorch of despair as they learned to hate being gay, Ernie surrendering to heroin for solace, Simon intoxicating himself with the denial afforded by faith, accepting a charismatic figure who demanded sexual abstinence as a condition of discipleship. Not until Simon had learned to forgive himself and sustain his relationship with Thad was he able to forgive Ernie and allow his boyhood friend to rest in peace. Simon grieved that Ernie had never found love.
Simon went across the street to the family cemetery. The tall grass and knotted vines had begun to consume the older stones, and markers bearing etched letters that had once identified those buried beneath were now weathered and unreadable. Simon promised himself that the next day he would stake Ferdinand in the cemetery to deal with nature’s unruliness; the goat is a satanic symbol, Simon considered, as he stood before the angel atop Aunt Opal’s grave, the distant clanging bell around the goat’s neck haunting the cemetery even then.
“Enough!” Simon screamed.
Powell apparitions followed him through the rusted gate as he darted across the barren road and rushed toward the mansion. Under Simon’s feet, unstable planks on the porch wobbled, the victims of termite attacks, as he approached the entrance and noticed something stuck in the doorjamb—an envelope, the yellow hue of a telegram. Simon’s first thought was that Vivian had died, but the idea made no sense, Bobwhite’s staff would have left a message on the answering machine.
“Simon, if you get this, call me right away. Don from the Spotlight.”
How did Don have the address of the mansion? Terror gripped Simon as possibilities ran through his mind. Emilio had stayed at Howards…did he learn Thad’s identity? Was Thad in trouble? Emotions welled in Simon’s heart that made him fear what Don might have to tell him. Hands shaking, he tore the paper to shreds as if doing so would allay his fears. All night, Simon heard footsteps on the stairs, and a car that would typically slow down for a curve within the next block now seemed ready to turn into the driveway, shut off the lights, and release a hitman onto the property.
