How Long Has This Been Going On (14 page)

"A dress and some makeup," Larken went on, "and there is this... this new invention. Right there before you, someone we never met before. You know, Frank, I think the Kid does that so well because all gay people learn to be actors almost from birth. Because we have to pretend to be like everyone else even while we
know
that we're different. We ape them, you know? Perform a version of them and everything."

Frank grunted.

And, frankly, Frank's not much of an actor. Because on moving day he and Larken pulled up to Elaine's in a little rented van. Elaine's husband was gone, and she gave them coffee, and then Lois drove up. So Frank met everybody, and he took charge of the whole thing, getting very inventive about filling the van precisely, to take advantage of the space and fit everything in. So Elaine was transported and she unpacked and became Lois's roommate and everything was peachy keen.

But while Frank and Elaine were dollying her bureau inside, Lois went up to Larken and said, "I ought to cuff you up and down the avenue."

"Huh?"

"That boy friend of yours is a cop."

Larken blinked at her.

"Don't
do
that to me, boy!" Lois told him. "You got a cop in tow, you give a body warning!"

"Lois, I'm sorry. It never occurred to me to... How did you know?"

"How did I
know
? With those eyes rolling around all over hell like he's checking the house for clues? And that tight little air of morality he's got on, like he knows what trash everyone really is but he's too tired to chew you off just now. You tell me, what's that but a cop?"

Larken couldn't help laughing. "Gee," he said, "it's that obvious?"

"It's that obvious."

"Funny," said Larken. "The first time I met him, he sure fooled me."

Frank's in his car, driving to Larken's, and he is in one great mood, okay? Because he is
out
of Vice and
into
Homicide. That fucking Chief and his "we need men like you" crap! I marched into that office, and I was polite and smart and crisp. Pure Academy style, right? Like some rookie so fresh that the Kodaks his father took of his graduation are still on the line drying. I told the Chief, straight out, that I can't see any future in this particular type of work, and if I can't transfer into another division I'm reluctantly going to have to resign from the force.

Not that he cares, the son of a bitch. But he knows my father would drag himself into it, and he knows about my mother, too. We've got enough travail without him adding to it, okay? So he gave me no grief.

Frank liked that phrase in this context so much that he said it aloud: "He gave me no grief." And if he had given grief, Frank would have resigned right there, right then. That's how he felt about it.

Homicide! Now, that's a section of law enforcement that a man can fit into. That's police work, law and order,
prevention.
Catching killers is keeping the dog off the quicksand.

You know what's funny? Until Frank met Larken, he had no one who would understand how wonderful this news was. Okay, Lieutenant Peterson gave him a fine, true, man's handshake on it at the station. And Frank's father will be glad because Frank is glad. But only Larken is going to know how much it means to Frank not to have to do harm to his own kind any more. Hell, that Griffith Park cruising is just... It's the only way those guys have of finding a friend.

Because, look, if you asked me where Larken fit into my life, I'd say, He's my real good friend. I wouldn't say I'm crazy about him or I love him. That's for a man and woman. This is different. It's a new kind of best friends.

Larken wasn't there, so Frank let himself into the apartment with his key; almost immediately, the doorbell rang.

"Hi," says this beachboy. "I'm Todd. I saw you pulling in and I hoped I could cut some sweet-and-hot stuff off you."

"You could what?"

"Borrow some honey? Because I've been on the run all day and my pantry is, like, decimated?"

Frank was looking at him.

"I need it for my banana-carob shake," said Todd.

"Oh. Yeah, help yourself," said Frank, stepping aside to let him in.

Real big boy we have here. Barefoot in swimming trunks. Incredible stomach muscles. Frank watched him as he carefully measured the honey into a metal cup he'd brought along.

"Larken doesn't mind," said Todd, concentrating on the operation. "I'm always running out of stuff, but he knows if he was in trouble I'd dash right over here."

"Where do you... I mean, what kind of... How did you get that size?"

"Oh, me? In the gym, mostly. A little biking, of course, and my surf laps. But I have pretty good genetics in the first place." Finished, Todd put the honey away. "Then there's my cals and isos."

Frank stared at him.

"Calisthenics and isometrics. You can spend just so many hours in the gym, and there's all that time at home. You got to put it to work. You know, I can press a hundred pounds while standing still, say, talking on the phone.
Equivalently,
I mean. I can iso a hundred pounds, is what I'm saying here, man."

Frank wasn't listening; Frank was looking. This is what they mean by "dumb blond." Now I get it. Stupid is sexy because you figure anything that empty has nothing to hold it back in bed. No mind to ask himself, Am I good at this?

You're beautiful, Frank wanted to tell him. You are a fucking big-built beautiful man. He couldn't utter that any more than he could bring himself to hunker down, sucking, on Todd's nipples, though he felt an insidiously newborn desire to. You don't just come out, Frank thought. You actually become gay by degrees. It's like school.

"Tell Larken thanks," said Todd, moving out. "See you in the sun."

"Right," said Frank. "The sun."

Todd,
he's thinking. Todd is a Greek demigod who lives next door and comes over periodically to borrow things. Larken has mentioned him. Todd,
right.
Todd is nearby and something to see.

Keyed up with the news about his assignment to Homicide, Frank paced the apartment. He was so eager for Larken's return that he couldn't even turn on the radio. But listen. When Larken came in at last, loaded up with grocery bags and suddenly smiling at the sight of Frank, all Frank could say was "Who's Todd?"

"The gay surfer? Next door?"

"Well, he...
Todd
is gay, too?"

"Didn't I tell you that every gay man like me has a gorgeous gay neighbor like Todd who comes and goes like the good fairy in
Pinocchio
and drives everybody crazy?"

"How do you know he's gay?"

"How do I
know?"
Unpacking groceries, Larken had the curious habit of putting anything anywhere—rice in the fridge, grapefruit in the pantry—and only eventually correcting the assignments. Talk about driving you crazy. "How could Todd not be gay?"

"How like
what,
if you'd kindly?"

"That body, for starters. Joes just don't look like that."

"There are plenty of—"

"And they're all gay," said Larken, his left hand on a box of Corn Flakes, his right hand opening the fridge.

"No, Larky, in the pantry."

"Oh, of course. With the Shredded Wheat. Anyway, no heterosexual has tits like Todd's." "Anyone can—"

"No, Frank, these have been worked on. You know, the way they stick out like that? Women don't do that to their boy friends. Guys do it. You see nipples like Todd's, you say, That man is a lively gay flyboy just like you and me. Listen, though, I want to tell you about the Meeting today."

Frank smiled, because he would wait for the right moment and hit Larken with the news and stun him.

"You want a beer?" Larken asked.

"Hit me."

Larken cut his beer open, then tossed Frank the church key. Frank grabbed a beer in his left and caught the church key in his right.

"What a guy," said Larken.

They settled on the couch, Frank's arm around Larken's shoulders, Larken playing with Frank's free hand.

"Now, here's the thing," Larken went on. "Tonight we tried group therapy, where each of us had to face the others and find out what they held against him, like his personal qualities and everything. Naturally, everybody jumped on Paul, because he's so pushy and whiny and—"

"What did they say about you?"

"Nothing. They like me. Why? What would you have said?"

"Just that you're sort of a slob."

There's a moment or two, then Larken, with this funny look on his face, goes, "Huh?"

"Well, you are, right?"

"A... sort of a..."

"You leave your stuff all over the place, don't you? Clothes on the floor and towels thrown around the bathroom any old way. Soap lying right in the sink. Well, don't look surprised, because—look, I'm just being honest with you."

Frank reaching for Larken, and Larken, bewildered, pulling away.

"Hey, what did I do?" says Frank. "I'm sorry, okay? I thought I could be straight with you about things like that. Look, we practically live together now. I'm over here so much my father thinks I'm shacking up with some... Jesus, Lark, don't
cry
on me!"

"I know I'm not tidy. It doesn't bother me, and you never said anything, so I—"

"Aw, shit it to hell, Larken. Crying over a little—"

"It's just when you call me a slob right out like that... A blunt thing like that..." "It's just words, so don't cry, now. Larken. Don't cry."

Frank is holding Larken, rubbing his cheek against Larken's shoulder and back and neck. Frank starts saying "Don't cry" over and over as if they were magic words, or poetry, or some kind of caress for the third hand. Frank says, "You didn't cry when you got arrested."

"Later I did. When I got home."

"Stop crying and I'll take you out someplace."

Larken's head bobbed up. "Could we go to the movies?"

"Two guys on a date? It looks funny."

"Frank—"

"We've been around the block a hundred times on that one, right?"

"We can't go to the movies and you won't go to the theatre. What are we supposed to do for recreation? You won't even go to Jill's with me."

"That fag parlor?"

"Boy, you're really loaded with words tonight."

"I offered to take you to the ball game how many times? If you won't try that, why should I go to
your
places?"

"Wouldn't it be great," said Larken, getting up to wash his face, "if there were someplace we could go dancing?"

"What, together?"

Larken in the bathroom. "No," he called out. "You'd go one night and I'd go the next night." Toweling, he reappeared. "Of
course
together. Isn't that what dancing's for?"

"Yeah, when it's boy-girl."

"Frank, Frank, Frank." Larken sat back on the couch. "You bought every line they handed you. Everything in you resists what you are. Everything, do you realize that? Who says two men shouldn't dance together?"

"Everybody."

"That's my point. You were taught to be like everybody, and everybody says it, so you say it, too. It's not a decision you came to, after thinking the matter over. There's no thought in it. You just accepted it like... like a commandment. So think about it now, just for itself. Who would be harmed if two men who like each other were to get up on a dance floor, hold each other, and—"

"I got my transfer today. I'm out of Vice and over to Homicide. I'll never have to arrest another gay man for cruising as long as I live."

Larken froze. Well, not quite
froze.
But he was very still and staring at Frank.

"Congratulate me, right?" Frank said.

"Is it true?
Gee.
And look at you, so smug."

Well Frank might be: for his job had been the stone in their wine, so ruinous a topic that they had been afraid to speak of it to each other.

"Frank!" Larken cried. "You are such a
hero
to me now!"

"Well, come on..."

"How did you do it?"

"I just... I insisted. I
made
them."

"Boy, you did good. You'll be writ up in the book."

"What book?"

"That's what our teachers used to tell us when we did good."

"One thing," said Frank. "Don't cry when I'm around, okay? It really hurt me to see that."

Larken turned away. "Oh, I wouldn't normally have wet my sockets like that. It's just... Well, I got fired again today, and I knew you'd bark at me."

"Why would I—"

"Well, they're such dinky little jobs, and I can't even hold them."

"Why'd they fire you?"

"Same as last time. I keep getting the orders mixed up. Like, is it two waters and an anchovy for Table Three or three Cobb Salads and two napkins for Table Sixteen? Besides, who knows which Table is Three and Sixteen and everything?"

"Fired."

"Fired. But look. We're on the verge of something, us two. Aren't we? I mean, true, I did cry, but I promise I won't any more, and now you're out of Vice—which I really, really hated; and I'm glad I can finally say that—and, all right, we can't go dancing, but we'll figure something out. I'll try to be neat if it matters to you. I really will. Because you and I are going to make history."

"For what?"

"As the first gay couple that becomes famous and lives forever."

"That's funny," said Frank. "Because we haven't even figured out the sex yet."

"I got you to like kissing, didn't I?"

"You got me to do it. I don't know if I—"

"It's like olives—you'll get there. Now, if I could only lure you into letting me switch—"

"Forget it, buddy. No rear-entry on this baby."

"Well," said Larken, "we'll have to work on that."

Frank was all ready with Oh no, we won't, but he caught Larken's quiet mood, and was silent. He sensed Larken saying, I love you—conveying the words, really, as Larken wouldn't have verbalized the thought out of respect for Frank's reticence—and Frank did his best to transmit a comparable report back to Larken.

"They'll put us in the indexes," said Larken, "in History, Homosexual, See under Gay Life in Postwar America. Maybe they'll print a photo of us. We should take some, in any case."