Fag Hag (Robert Rodi Essentials) (8 page)

“Calvin’s just like you, he never tells me anything.”

“So he probably never mentioned this Lloyd guy, either.”

“Not a word. You know your brother. What would you expect him to say? ‘Mother, I just bought some wonderfully destructive ordnance from my good friend, Lloyd the pistol merchant’? Not likely! If Calvin had his arms and legs amputated, I’d be the last to know about it. Even then I’d have to ask, ‘Darling, what happened to your limbs?’ And he’d treat me like I was intruding.”

Natalie sighed. “You don’t happen to know his number in Hawaii, do you?”

“I’m afraid not. Why do you want to go bothering him on his honeymoon?”

“I just want to get the scoop on this Lloyd guy.”

She brightened. “Are you interested in him?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Mom. He’s a lunatic. He sells guns!”

“So does Adnan Khashoggi. I wouldn’t mind if you married him.”

“Ick. You’re weird.”

“I have to go, honey. At any moment I expect the girls and—oh, did I tell you? We have a male member now, too!”

“No way!”

“Yes, Frederick Kelsey, who works with Doris Kuntz at her real-estate office.”

“Not wildly anonymous, is it, your anonymous group.”

“Apparently he spends all his commissions on jackets and shoes. Very flighty fellow; I think he might be—well, you know.”

“No. Tell me.”

“You know, a—a—” Silence.

“Gay, Mom? You mean gay?”

“Yes, that.”

“So what?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing, nothing. It’s just so hard for me to imagine. Men together, I mean. But Frederick is obviously no Clint Eastwood. You couldn’t ever imagine calling him ‘Fred.’ Terribly amusing, of course; keeps us all in stitches.”

“How nice.”

“Lives with his mother! Can you imagine?”

“No,”
said Natalie with too much oomph.

“Was that sarcasm again? It does you no credit. You’d think I’d reared you in New York or someplace awful. Do you get it from television? Everyone on television is so sarcastic these days. Oh, I really have to go, dear. And I’m so disappointed, I never got to scold you for snubbing the Bixbys.”

“Why on earth would I have paid any attention to the Bixbys? I don’t even know them.”

“It’s just that Hank likes you so very much, and—”

“Oh, Mom, get real!”

“Carolyn and Nathan are having difficulties right now, but if Hank started seeing you I’m sure they’d be united in their joy an—”

“Mom, you have to go!”

“You’re right. We’ll discuss this later. Goodbye, dear.”

“We will not. Goodbye, Mom.”

She turned off the phone and simmered. A whole week before Calvin returned from Hawaii! She couldn’t afford to wait till then.

P
ETER
’
S NEW OFFICE
was downtown. On Friday, the temp agency sent Natalie to the Loop for the day, to type Federal Express airbills at a public relations office that was doing a massive press-kid mailing. The work was maddeningly dull, so she arranged to meet dazzling Peter for lunch.

They went to Marshall Field’s all-you-can-eat Italian cafeteria. Natalie, feeling that losing three pounds had done her no good, threw her diet to the winds and had a heaping plate of pasta smothered in clam sauce.

Peter looked like hell. There were actually bags under his eyes, and his hair was limp. “Working nine to five is killing me,” he said. “My body clock is still on freelance time—up at ten, start work at three, dinner at nine, party till one, bed at two. I’m all screwed up.”

“You look it.” She sprinkled dried peppers and grated cheese over her cappellini.

He propped up his head with his hand. “I don’t know if I’m up to going out tonight. I actually feel nauseous. I’m not even hungry. I’m going to call Lloyd and cancel.”

She felt a little flurry of joy. “Oh, that’s too bad.”

“You think so? I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I like him fine,” she lied. “He’s just not like anyone I’ve ever met before.”

“I know what you mean. He’s one of a kind.”

She didn’t like the admiring way he’d said that. “Well, he’ll understand if you cancel.” She dug into the pasta; delicious.

“Oh, I know he will; he’s that way. It won’t be a problem. We’ll just go out tomorrow instead.”

She raised an eyebrow. Maybe this cancellation wasn’t the great boon she’d thought. All it amounted to was a postponement. Maybe there was a better way…

She reflected on the times she and Peter had gone out when he was overtired; he’d been cranky, quick-tempered, even rude. Once, after he’d been up two days straight finishing a job and then gone out with Natalie to celebrate its completion, he’d gotten so fed up with her gossip and prattle that he’d told her to shut the fuck up and she’d slapped him. That had led to their longest breach—an entire week of being angry with each other and not calling.

If she could convince him to go out with Lloyd tonight, despite his obviously exhausted condition, maybe the same thing would happen. Lloyd would go on and on about ethics and government and whatever else in his pushy, holier-than-thou manner, and Peter would get fed up and walk out on him. It was certainly worth a try.

She wiped her mouth on the paper napkin, and said, “I’m so glad he’s the understanding type. So many people these days just can’t deal with disappointment. I mean, think of it: how many men do you know who, if they were looking forward to a date all week, psyching themselves up for it and planning for it and just getting all excited, only to have it canceled on them at the last minute—how many could manage to be understanding about it? Damn few, by my experience. Lloyd must be a prince.”

Peter twirled his linguini with his fork and scowled. “Y’know, he probably
has
been looking forward to it all week.”

“He’ll get over it,” she said, her mouth half full with a new forkful. “It’s only a postponement till tomorrow. You need your sleep.”

“We wouldn’t have to stay out late. I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t let him down. I mean, I’m just tired, not dead.”

She looked at him sternly. “Peter Leland, you have no idea how to take care of yourself.”

He shrugged. “Guess not. Well, hell. I’ll just go. If I start to flag, I’ll tell him we have to make it an early night, that’s all.”

She sighed. “Well, I suppose.”

She finished her pasta and went back to the buffet for seconds. When she returned, Peter was staring into space.

“Honey? You there?” she said teasingly, resuming her seat.

He looked at her dully. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Just
really
tired, that’s all.”

“You do look like death warmed over,” she said, digging into her food.

“Okay,”
he snarled; “you don’t have to keep harping on how bad I look!”

She was thrilled by his irritation; with any luck, he’d tear Lloyd to pieces this evening.

Natalie slept well that night; she dreamed giddy dreams of Lloyd offending the barely conscious Peter and of the tremendous bust-up that must follow. Lloyd didn’t stand a chance. He wasn’t beautiful enough, or stylish enough, or witty enough to have any hold over Peter after a scene like that. She woke up feeling silly that she’d ever let him get under her skin.

By nine o’clock Peter hadn’t called, so she took an enormous risk and called him first. The phone rang eleven times and she debated hanging up, but then he answered. “Good morning,” he said, his voice drowsy but unmistakably cheerful.

“Hi, honey, it’s me,” she said, furiously trying to interpret his mood. “I was so worried about you being out last night in that exhausted state. Just wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m great,” he said, and offered nothing more.

“Oh,” she said, momentarily stumped. “You stayed in, then, like a good lad?”

“Not really. When Lloyd got here, I explained that I was really dragging my heels, and he understood. So we just went to Ann Sather for a quick dinner and then I came home and went to bed.”

“I,” not “we.” Natalie grinned in triumph. “Doesn’t sound like much of a date,” she said. “Why did you send him home? Was he horrible to you?”

“Well, actually, I did invite him up. I mean, I was too tired for sex but I thought we might cuddle, at least. And then, in the morning, who knows? But he turned me down. I think he’s really old-fashioned. He seemed kind of shocked that I’d suggest it on the first date.”

Natalie was a little apprehensive now. “So he’s a prude, too?”

“I guess. I thought it was kind of sweet, to tell the truth.”

Lloyd Hood, the gun monger—
sweet?
She was having trouble with that one. “Well, I’m sorry it wasn’t starry-eyed romance and skyrockets,” she said desperately. “But they can’t all be. Someone else will come along, never fear.”

He laughed. “Don’t be silly. I like Lloyd a lot. Over dinner, he really got my adrenaline flowing. We had this great discussion about corruption in big business. I asked him how he could support a free market when corporations in this country are destroying it with their criminal greed, you know? And he starts in with this theory he has that that’s all because companies are
allowed
to incorporate—that if he had his way, corporations would not exist. Like, a company is just what it says, a company of individuals running a business, and responsible for it. But a corporation is just what it says, too: a single entity, and, in the eyes of the law, the equivalent of an individual like you or me. Which it shouldn’t be. Lloyd says corporations encourage corruption because, if you commit a crime on the job, it’s really the corporation committing the crime, not you; you’re hiding behind this legal identity that doesn’t really exist, this monolithic corporation that takes the rap for you—and can afford to. Lloyd says every man should be responsible for his own actions, and that corporations allow them not to be.”

She knit her brow. “That’s what you talked about? On a
date?”

“I thought it was fascinating. I really perked up. Wasn’t until we walked outside and the night air hit me that I felt tired again.”

She sighed. “Peter, you amaze me. I think of a good first date, it’s dinner at Charlie Trotter’s with a bottle of Dom Perignon and lots of thinly veiled sexual come-ons for conversation. You go to Ann Sather, for heaven’s sake, and talk legalese with this guy, and then don’t even go to bed with him. And you’re all happy about it!” She laughed, wanting him to recognize the ridiculousness of it.

He didn’t speak right away. Then, his voice low, he said, “I don’t know, hon. There’s something about him. When I’m with him—it was this way at the wedding, too—I feel like I’m in some kind of better world where things matter more than they normally do. Where everything’s in this kind of terrific, stark relief. It’s kind of an adventure. It’s exciting. And as for sexual come-ons, let me tell you from firsthand experience, ideas are an aphrodisiac. Probably because Lloyd is so passionate about them, I started to get really turned on by talking to him. Sexually turned on, I mean. In spite of how tired I was, I was really bummed when we went our separate ways after it was all over. He’s got me hot and bothered, kid. Really hot and bothered.” He took a deep breath. “I mean, like no one before.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said through gritted teeth. “I hope it’s not some kind of weird phase you’re going through, I hope this is the real thing at last.” That ought to scare him, she thought.

“I don’t even want to conjecture about that,” he said flatly.

“Well, you’ve never hesitated to say you were in love before.”

“I don’t think I even knew what love was before.”

Her heart almost exploded. “And you do now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you just—”

“I think I’m beginning to understand, that’s all. There are deeper currents than I’ve tapped before. More levels. I feel like a novice at this. All the relationships I’ve had—and, boy, you know how many that is—and this is the first time I feel like I’ve really, y’know,
connected
with someone at that basic level, call it the soul, whatever. I’m just a little out of my depth right now.”

“You certainly are,” she said, anger and frustration stinging her face. “Honey, I want you to be careful. We’re talking about a guy who’s anti-government and pro-guns. It sounds scary. Like you’re dating a John Bircher or something.”

“But it’s not like that at all, I’ve told you. He believes in the same things I do—equality, justice, improving the lives of the poor, rights for gays and women and everybody, the right to privacy, all that stuff. You can’t label this guy. Every opinion he’s got surprises me, yet makes sense when you consider his context. It’s a little magical being with him. He’s like an intellectual wizard.”

In spite of all this, Natalie still couldn’t bring herself to accept that Lloyd was a real threat, the greatest ever; the bottom line was, Lloyd wasn’t beautiful. She decided to bring that into play. “Well, the brain-power must make up for him not being so hot to look at, huh?”

There was a long pause. “Natalie, what are you talking about? He’s adorable! Just because he’s balding, that doesn’t mean he’s ugly.”

She scratched her cheek; a nervous gesture. It was as if she’d forgotten how to speak. She had nothing to say.

“God, look at the time,” he said. “I’ve been in bed eleven hours. Better get up or inertia’ll keep me here all day. Care to join me for breakfast?”

“Sure,” she said. She wasn’t keen on it, but thought if she declined he might call Lloyd.

“Melrose okay? Half an hour?”

“See you there.”

“We can go to Unabridged Books afterwards. I want to look up some stuff Lloyd recommended I read.”

A
T BREAKFAST
,
IN
a restaurant full of the most stunning gay men in the city, Peter managed to keep his eyes focused on her; it was her dream come true, except that he kept talking about another man.

“Lloyd liked the wedding, but he hated the religious aspect. He says in Roman times marriage was a civil contract, and doesn’t it make more sense to do it that way today?” “Lloyd says the Kennedy administration bears the brunt of the blame for perpetuating Vietnam, but Kennedy gets off lightly ‘cause he was killed before the shit hit the fan.” “Lloyd says modern art is a scam and modern artists are charlatans, and that the main reason it keeps barreling on it because it caters to ‘a specialized market of dupes,’ as he calls it.” Lloyd says, Lloyd says, Lloyd says.