King Perry (25 page)

With a slight exhale that he will never remember, it’s over. Perry’s going to win.

I bet someone will photograph us as proof they were in the city of gays. Boy, that would be cool, to know in a few years we will live in a shoebox under someone’s bed, maybe a scrapbook. Someone may see this photo years from now and say, “Remember the gays at the Golden Gate Bridge?”

I speak directly into his ear. “Those kings who displayed the great gift of vulnerability were the envy of all other kings. Every time those men made their hearts softer, they became the most powerful kings around. But when the King of Hope keeps his shades drawn, refusing to answer emails, the kingdom mourns. Why bother going out? What’s the point?”

Perry breathes slower, breathing me. I feel his chest rise against mine—one of the most intimate expressions of invisible trust, to trust someone with your very breath—and against all his better judgment, something changes. Perry resists the urge to quit this painful game of giving his heart.

I embrace him tighter, our loose hug gradually intensifying as I continue to vibrate sound right into him.

“One of the most missed kings when he became lost was the Forgiver King. Because to give your heart as Aabee did when he was eighteen, well, that was beautiful. But to forgive….”

I linger over the word.

“When you forgive, you give your heart to wonder and love after it has already been broken. Twice. Three times. More. This is a vulnerability prized above all others.”

His head sinks further.

A flock of waddling tourists surrounds us, quacking to each other, photographing the unbelievable girders before us. I wonder if Perry noticed I dressed him up with a duck’s bill?

“Some say the lack of forgiveness is what keeps the Lost Kings lost. If only that particular king could be found, he would help awaken his brothers by forgiving their memory, their flaws, their awful burdens. If the Forgiver King were to be restored, there might be hope for the world. Every man knows that he is their one true king. When he was lost, the kingdom was devastated.”

Perry waits for me to continue, but I stay quiet, letting the words bob around us.

He finally says, “Does this Forgiving King have a name?”

I think he intends to sound sarcastic, but the words come out all wrong, and instead sound half-interested.

“His name,” I say, kissing the space in front of his ear, hesitating a moment longer, “is lost. When a king becomes lost, few remember the actual name of the man, as if a curse affects the entire kingdom’s memories. So, everyone awaits the day when the Forgiver King comes strolling through the eastern gates at dawn, suddenly remembered.”

My lips touch below his jaw, a presence more than kiss. I rock Perry tenderly, and he responds, letting me sway us. He arches his back because when you forgive, the body says, “Thank God.”

He says, “I can’t believe I’m listening to this.”

I kiss him briefly on the lips, and without hesitation he kisses back.

I say, “Now you understand the importance of Aabee’s mission to help King Diego with the Turkish authorities. The Tourist King could jar free bleary memories, soften certainty about the known world, and introduce the quality of wonder. King Diego made the world seem new again.”

Perry looks at me uneasily and then leans in.

This kiss is deeper, with more passion, but it’s not lust. It’s something else, a commitment. This is the kiss he could not have given me yesterday on the pier, sealing his agreement to spend the weekend together. When we break, Perry’s eyes remain sad.

He says, “How much time did King Aabee waste in Turkey?”

“Two years.”

Perry nods. “King Aabee is a tool. He deserves to spend two years trying to get his client out of prison. And he’s a lawyer now? He’s got a cocksucking flute that sounds like mint, and now a law degree?”

“All kings are lawyers,” I say, trying to sound offended. “Lawyering is the highest profession among the Found Kings.” I frown at him and pull back. “Perhaps you do not understand the concept of lawyers.”

Perry’s eyes bounce away, right to the Golden Gate Bridge, and when they come back to me, I see grim curiosity. “Yeah, go for it. I’d like to hear this lawyer thing, seeing as how I’ll soon require the services of one.”

“Fairy tales always describe how a king’s power comes from mountainous piles of gold locked up in a dungeon. Guarded by a dragon, right? A Found King’s gold is mountainous indeed, but understanding that gold often requires lawyering.

“A king is as likely to dump his gold in the garbage as take too large a share, both equally done without malice. A king brother might say, ‘Let me make an observation about how your gold works and why it is trapped.’ Together, they free it. Sometimes it takes a lawyer to help you slay your dragons.”

Perry’s mood shifts again; he is relaxed but still surly. “That’s convenient for whatever plot twist you need.”

“Totally. I can whip out a courtroom trial at any second.”

He laughs and pulls me close to him again, close enough to kiss. And he wants to kiss. He’s still angry and confused, sure. But when forgiveness leads, the brain can’t quite figure out how to catch up.

Perry taps his head against mine. “If you’re talking about protecting gold, maybe all the kings are investment bankers.”

“Maybe.”

Oooh, I like it. Would that work?

He lifts his lips to mine. I am loved by this man.

“King Aabee argued passionately on Diego’s behalf, helping his jailers understand the mighty gold Diego offered while also repairing relationships with the local officials. The two kings returned to the kingdom one morning at dawn, arms around each other’s waists. All the Found Kings screamed in jubilation, for their one true king had returned.”

Perry’s smile remains guarded. “Who? King Aabee or the Tourist King?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Got it. No more questions, yer honor.”

He smiles, suddenly, a shy one. It’s one thing to forgive, and it’s another to show that forgiveness, to stroll with confidence through the blue castle.

“Wait.” I jump back and clap both hands to the top of my head. “What’s today? What’s today’s date?”

He crosses his arm and says, “Why?”

“Is today October 16?”

“Yeah.”

“October 16?” I say, louder than normal. “Are you sure?”

“You are not going to believe this!” I shake him by the shoulders, trying to force his excitement. “It’s King Diego’s birthday
today
. You’re sure it’s the sixteenth? Today?”

He regards me coolly and says, “I admire your dedication, Vin. It’s mentally ill, but still, impressive.”

I pound my fist into the air, then jab a couple fake karate moves. I do my win-the-daily-lottery dance. People are not thrilled about my over-the-top elation; no, they’re frightened. Okay, startled. Perry looks at me from behind his hands, concealing both his humiliation and the fact that he’s also trying not to laugh. He’s definitely still embarrassed. But he forgives. Once you start, it’s hard to stop.

I yell, “
You’re not going to believe this.
”

He wipes his eyes and glances again toward the bridge. “This time, I have decided not to be surprised.”

“You and I are in the perfect tourist spot to celebrate King Diego’s birthday.”

Perry says, “Uh huh. So what’s the dance? I assume it’s a funny dance.”

“No dancing.” I hand him the camera and speak into him. “We take pictures. Fifty pictures of us in front of the Golden Gate Bridge.”

Perry takes the camera, mugging slight aversion. He’ll do anything for the rest of our time together.

“There’s no vodka involved in this birthday celebration, is there? I see your expression says no. Didn’t think so. But I have two things.”

“Shoot. That was a camera pun by the way.”

He leans in to speak quieter. “First, we make sure it hasn’t knocked over the water dish or something. Make sure there’s enough air in the van.”

“Okay. Right away.”

“Second,” he says, pushing me away, “I’m only agreeing to be photographed in this hideous shirt in honor of King Diego’s birthday.”

“What? We look
great
.”

“No self-respecting gay man would wear tie-dye and a sun visor.”

“We are
studly
.”

“We are tools. What the hell is with that ‘Iowa is Buckeyes’ territory’ crap?”

“Hawkeyes.”

“Whatever.”

Perry raises the camera and snaps my photo.

I say, “That one doesn’t count.”

“Fine,” Perry says. “I’m going to need a picture of you for the restraining order I’m filing on Monday.”

As we stroll toward the van, I snicker a few times and he notices.

“It’s not funny, Vin.”

“C’mon, Perry. We stole a duck together. It’s pretty funny.”

He refuses to make eye contact, but I think it’s because he’s also smiling and doesn’t want me to see.

The duck is fine.

Perry calls him Mr. Quackers, so now he has a name.

Twelve

T
HINGS
are on track. This is good.

But it’s not an accident that I keep seeing Billy and hearing that name. It’s because I told Perry that secret of mine, that’s how this started. You damn kings gotta give me some room to breathe. I mean, I know sometimes my own shit comes up when I work with another man’s deepest betrayals, but distract me with Billy shit next week when I am lonely for Perry. Hit me with this then. I’ll be miserable anyway.

In front of the blue gift store, he says, “We’re going in here.”

This is a statement, not a question, and I snap to attention. The smile on his face seems friendly, but I catch a hardness in his eyes. He’s letting me know that I will now submit to him. He submitted to me in all things, beyond what is reasonable, and he will continue to do so. But he wants to know if I myself can surrender. We’re in a “gentlemen’s rules” moment to see what happens if he puts his foot down on this one unimportant thing.

He says, “I’m buying each of us a snow globe of San Francisco. Since we’re tourists, right? My latest theory is that you work for an animals’ rights activist smuggling ring. You’re not a garage mechanic, I bet. You don’t even talk like a garage mechanic.”

“You’d be surprised how often I hear that. I don’t know what everyone thinks we’re supposed to talk like. Monosyllabic, I guess. But go ahead and ask me a question about cars.”

“What’s a carburetor?”

“1886.”

Perry frowns.

“Carburetor patent date, filed by Karl Benz, later of Mercedes Benz. He’s got an interesting life story. Invented the carburetor and also wrote a little poetry on the side. Or did you want to talk about where and how our friend, the gentle carburetor, works on foreign or domestic cars, at least in those older models that still require aerated gasoline?”

“So, you’re really a mechanic?”

“Yes.”

“You’re on vacation from Minnesota?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re leaving town tomorrow, and I’m not getting chopped up in a box somewhere?”

“Yes on leaving town, and gross. Don’t say shit like that. It’s very vivid inside me, Perry.”

“Yeah, I figured that out.”

Perry watches me carefully for a moment before saying, “Are you going to let me buy us both a snow globe of San Francisco?”

“Yes.”

Perry nods and opens the blue and gold door.

Inside, I fret about timing because we’re still on a schedule, and I hope this side purchase doesn’t take terribly long. But I must relax because this is one of those open parts of the day, and we can always skip the next part, I guess. Hate to miss out on pineapple, but whatever. Mice and men, Vin. Mice and men. I could talk about King Aabee’s California life over dinner instead. Clock on the wall confirms I have scheduled another hour and a half for us to be here. Good lord, plenty of time.

Relaaaaaaaaaax. Stay in the moment.

Perry seems intent on browsing only snow globes. He picks up the two biggest ones, and I follow him to the counter. He hands me mine while they box up the first one. Damn, it’s heavy.

San Francisco has been taken hostage and encased in thick glass. The city includes a mini-Transamerica building, a few little distinctive buildings from the skyline, and a couple of painted ladies: the famous seven sisters. An imitation Golden Gate looms behind everything, the approximate size of a single bolt taken from the real thing. And there’s Alcatraz, watching over San Francisco’s shoulder. I shake it and watch the impossible snow resettle itself. I do believe that the snow globe will go down in history as humanity’s greatest invention. Cheesy as these things are, we somehow managed to capture the quality of wonder.

“Let me buy them, Perry.”

He turns to me with a snarky grin. “
You
paid for our lodgings last night
and
breakfast in the Tenderloin this morning, Vin. Really, you must allow
me
.”

We snicker.

I say, “It’s beautiful. Thank—”

“No, no,” he says, pointedly. “Thank
you.
”

His smile turns into laughter.

We stroll toward the plaza clutching our plastic bags with our boxed balls, oversized purses almost, and I dig this even better, the two of us navigating the photo-taking expedition dragging these two bowling balls everywhere.