Object of Desire (29 page)

“S
o what makes you think you're in love with him?”

Randall was playing devil's advocate in the way only he could do. We were in my Jeep, Hassan in the back, heading over to the tram that would take us two and a half miles up the sheer cliffs of Chino Canyon. Kelly was meeting us there. I wanted him to meet my friends.

“Because I think about him all the time,” I said. “Believe me, I've tried to forget him, but it's impossible. He's just so special. He makes me laugh. And he reminds me of myself at that age.”

“And what does Frank think about you being in love with someone else?” Hassan asked from the backseat.

I sighed. “I haven't used those exact words with Frank. I've only begun admitting them to myself in the last couple of days.”

The night I'd left Kelly's apartment after our sexual encounter, I had never wanted to see him again. Truthfully, in that moment, I'd wanted nothing more than to push him out of my mind. My fascination with him had become a terrible burden, and I hadn't realized just how heavy it was until that moment. He had disappointed me, shattered my fantasy, and now I wanted to shake off my burden. I wanted to be free of him.

I hadn't told Frank I was out with Kelly that night, but when I came home, I revealed all. Or almost all. “He's a cokehead,” I said, cruelly. I wanted to be cruel in that moment.

“Well, you don't want to get mixed up in that again,” Frank said.

“Definitely not,” I said. “And sex with him was just a big waste of time. No intimacy. He barely let me kiss him.”

Frank sighed, sitting with a cup of tea on the deck under the stars. “He seems wounded. Very guarded. He's not going to let you in, because he doesn't want to get hurt.”

I was in no mood just then for sympathy. “Well, it's certainly not worth it for me to spend any more energy on him.”

Frank smiled. “I wasn't aware that you were spending that much energy on him.”

“Well, I wasn't, really.” For a second time, I had just lied to Frank. “I guess I just wanted to get him into bed, and now I have, and it was a big bust.”

“Are you sure that's all you wanted from him? To get him into bed?”

I couldn't lie again. Instead, I evaded answering. “All I know is, it's over,” I said.

“Well, clearly, Danny, you really like the boy.”

That was all I needed to hear. I did indeed really like the boy, and hearing Frank say it, recognize it, affirm it, made it all too real once again. My anger and disappointment dissipated. Suddenly I wanted to hurry back across town to be with him, to give it another try, to take him in my arms and erase whatever hurt had caused him to fear intimacy. I wanted to change his life. I wanted to
save
him. I wanted to take him apart and rebuild him from scratch.

Of course, I couldn't continue the conversation with Frank, not now, not with the way I was suddenly thinking. So I took off my clothes and dove into the pool. We didn't speak of Kelly again.

But I dreamed about him all night long.

And in the morning, I felt desperate. My stomach hurt; my eyes teared up. At my computer, I couldn't work. I wanted to take a drug to counteract the pheromones or whatever chemicals the brain releases when one falls in love. I could feel them coursing through my body, and I was helpless against their power. I knew the outcome could only be misery and discontent. The situation was hopeless. I wanted him still—it was a physical ache—but I argued to myself that if I couldn't hold him, if I couldn't kiss him, what good would it be? I truly wished for a magic drug that would allow me to forget him. Whoever could invent such a product would make millions. I would have paid any amount to get my hands on it.

All day long I tried to push Kelly out of my mind. I'd alternate between anger and tears. But then I couldn't stand it anymore. My will shattered, and I texted him.
HEY HOW R U
? As if nothing had happened.

For more than an hour, I waited for a response, my phone at my elbow. Finally, the blessed chirp of an incoming text message.
GOOD
.
WHATS UP
?

I immediately texted back.
DINNER THIS WEEK
? He replied,
GREAT
, and all my despair evaporated. I would see him again.
I would see him again!

And so we had dinner, and again he made me laugh, and again he drew some pictures of people at the other tables. And again we did some coke, rushing off to the bathroom in repeated intervals, with a little plastic Baggie in our pockets and a pen cap in our hands, using it as a scoop to deliver the delectable white powder to our nostrils. Beaming and giggling, I'd return to the table, a kid again, running around as I had in my twenties in West Hollywood. And I loved Kelly for making me feel this way.

We didn't speak of the sex until I took him home. When I went to kiss him good-bye, he pulled back and said, “No. We can't. Not after the other night.”

“Forget about that. We can do better.”

“No,” he said, getting out of the car. “We can't go there anymore.”

“Why not? What are you so scared of?”

“I'm not scared!” he shouted, defensive.

“Who hurt you? Who made you so afraid?”

“I'm not afraid!”

“Then why won't you try again with me?”

“Because I don't want to ruin a good thing,” he said, staring at me through the open window. “After the other night, I didn't think I'd ever hear from you again. I'm so glad you texted me. Let's not ruin things.”

I would not beg. “Fine,” I said, starting the ignition.

“Don't be mad,” he said.

“I'm not mad,” I told him, but I didn't say good-bye, just drove off.

Yet even before I got home, he had texted me.
IM JUST NOT READY
4
IT
.
PLEASE DONT HATE ME
.

I COULD NEVER HATE U
, I texted back, my heart melting like ice cream, dripping down inside me, all over my lungs and my guts.

And so we made a plan for today, to ride the tram to the top of the mountain. I wanted Randall to meet Kelly. I wanted someone to understand how special he was to me. And I wanted to admit to someone, to speak the words out loud, that I was in love.

We parked the Jeep and took the shuttle up to the tram station. As we stepped off, I spotted Kelly waiting outside. I was deliriously, disproportionately happy to see him. I practically ran to him, Randall and Hassan following more slowly behind.

I made introductions. Kelly pretended he remembered them from the Parker. We hurried inside to buy our tickets, then stood in line to wait for the next tram.

“What would we do,” Kelly asked, his eyes as wide as a kid's, “if one of the cables broke and we were left hanging there, suspended over the canyon, for hours? What if they said the only way we could survive, to keep the last remaining cable from snapping, was to throw some weight overboard? We'd have to toss the fattest people off the tram, or else
all
of us would plummet into the canyon and die. What would we do?”

Hassan looked at him, his heavy brows knitting together. “What a strange, cruel question to ask.”

Kelly laughed. I was used to his offbeat questions, his quirky scenarios, his outrageous what-ifs. But Hassan and Randall didn't quite know what to make of him.

“I'd jump,” I offered, “and take my chances.”

“That's more than ten thousand feet,” Kelly replied. “Look, it says so right here.” He waved a brochure about the tram in my face. “This is so cool. I've never gone up the mountain before. This is excellent.” His dimples were deep as he smiled. I was glad I'd suggested doing this, since it seemed to make him so happy.

When the tram arrived, Kelly pushed through a knot of kids so he could be first in line. “He is quite the impatient one,” Hassan said in my ear as we followed along.

Kelly was far enough ahead not to hear us. “Tell me something,” I said to Hassan. “When you look at him, what do you see? If you were to take his picture, what would you be photographing?”

“A blur,” Hassan said, without hesitation.

We were crowding onto the tram. Kelly was waving us over to one side, against the window. “I didn't want to get stuck in the middle,” he said. “I wanted to be right up front so I could have a great view.” His nose was literally pressed against the glass. “The tram turns, you know, so you get three-hundred-sixty-degree views.”

“Yes, I know,” I told him.

Frank and I had taken the tram many times. Back when we first started coming out to Palm Springs, we often made the trip to the top of the mountain so we could hike the trails. As always, our goal was to spot a bighorn sheep. But sightings of the famous creatures with their gorgeous curved horns so prized by hunters were rare. The sheep, dwindling in number, stayed mostly far from the trails. The Crow Indians had believed the bighorns possessed supernatural powers, and if you spotted them, they could grant wisdom and strength to worthy men. Yet in all that time, we never saw a single bighorn—though we did run into mule deer and rattlesnakes, and we watched red-tailed hawks arc across the blue sky.

Sometimes, during the winter, Frank and I would go up on the tram so we could see some snow. Being an East Coast boy, I missed snow. I had fond memories of tobogganing with Becky down the small hill behind our house, into Flo Armstrong's yard next door. In the beginning, Frank and I would go cross-country skiing at the top of the mountain. Our cheeks would be hard and cold, our hearts pumping fast, our breathing deep and clear. But it had been years now, maybe even a decade, since we'd done that.

The tram began to rise, and the canyon floor dropped away from us. Very quickly we were very high up, and I noticed Kelly take a step backward away from the glass.

“Amazing view, huh?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. But I noticed him take another step back.

“Hey,” I said, “those kids are getting in front of you. Thought you wanted the up-close view.”

“They're kids. They should have the view.”

I realized he was getting scared. I smiled.

“What did you say about the cables breaking?” I teased.

His face was white. “Stop it.” He turned away, facing the inside of the tram, no longer looking out.

As the tram passed each of its supporting posts, it rocked, sending a collective shriek from the passengers each time. Even Hassan, so unflappable, let out a small yelp. I was prepared for it, so I didn't make a sound. I kept my eyes on Kelly. The jolt had left him trembling.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

“Do you think,” he asked, equally as quiet, “we could
walk
back down?”

I shook my head. “That's more than two miles of sheer cliff.”

“Fuck,” he whispered and closed his eyes.

I reached over and put my arm around him. The tram was filled with straight couples and their chattering kids, but I didn't care. I pulled Kelly in tightly toward me. “It's gonna be fine, baby. Don't worry. I've ridden this thing dozens of—”

The tram rocked harshly again, and I reached out to steady myself. Kelly gripped me so tightly, I felt his fingernails through my sweater.

“How long is this fucking ride?” he asked, near tears.

“We're almost at the top,” I assured him.

When we docked, Kelly was the first one off. I noticed Randall and Hassan exchange small smiles, and I glared at them not to say anything.

Once we were on the trail, Kelly was calm again. He had his guidebook, and was telling us the best routes to take. I allowed him to lead the way, even though I'd been up there so many times, I could have led us around with my eyes closed. But I knew that the best way to see a familiar place was to take someone who'd never been there before and experience it again through his eyes. Already I was thinking of places I could take Kelly and see afresh. Joshua Tree. Big Sur. Disneyland.

He was up ahead, walking with Hassan. Randall was huffing along at my side.

“So what do you think of him?” I asked.

“He's very attractive.”

“Well, yes, obviously. But what do you think of him as a person?”

Randall shrugged. “Hard to say. All I've shared with him is one tram ride, and he was too terrified to say much then.”

“But, come on. You can see how sweet he is. He's like a big kid. Look how eager he is.”

Up ahead Kelly was pointing up into the trees, pausing to stoop down and examine rocks. He turned around to us at that point and shouted, “The book says there's a clearing up here where we can see the whole valley. Maybe we can see our houses!”

“See what I mean?” I said to Randall.

“Danny,” he said to me, “I'm a little worried about you.”

I stopped walking and looked at him. “What?”

“I'm worried about you,” he said again. “You're head over heels for this kid.”

“And what's the problem with that?”

Randall looked at me as if I were crazy. “The problem has a name.
Frank.
”

I laughed and started walking again. “Why is Frank a problem? We have an open relationship.”

“Danny, this kid isn't just a trick. He's not what's-his-name from Sherman Oaks.”

“I know he's not just a trick. I love him. And I can't pretend I don't.”

“Bully for you. But what does that mean for Frank?”

I scoffed. “It doesn't have to mean anything. Frank doesn't mind when I pursue relationships on my own. In fact, he hasn't really participated with Ollie and me in a while, and the other night, with Kelly, he just said go ahead and do what we wanted on our own. He was fine with it.”

“And you think he'll have the same blasé kind of reaction when he hears you say you're in love with another man?”