The Price Of Dick (26 page)

“
Without you, he’s not much of anything.” Alex reached down and put the leash back on Dali so we could start the walk back to our cars. The dog’s whole body wagged. “You gave him substance to a life that didn’t have any. He’s a figment of his own imagination. People who pretend to be something they’re not are no different than a child playing dress-up in front of the mirror. You just gave him the mirror and the things to play-act with. Underneath that, there really is no one. A man who uses people to make money, or get what he wants. He leaves a trail of broken hearts and lives behind him. That’s a lot of bodies to be standing on when you’re looking for a friend. There’ll come a time when he needs someone and because of what he’s done to so many people, no one will be there for him.”

“
I felt sorry for him because of his family,” I said, remembering how it all began.

“
That’s how they work you. They’re no different than the Ted Bundys or the Boston Stranglers that know how to charm their way through your door. Their story is their stock and trade. The hustle is their real occupation. And he’s hustled you by making you think he runs this show called your life.”

A cool breeze blew off the lake and tossed his dark hair over his eyes. He brushed it back and the
jewel sparkled for me again.

“
He wants you to lose sight of your own value,” Alex looked off to the blue water at the clouds that blew over it. "You change people with your work J.J. Your pictures were some of the very first ones I ever saw of guys kissing each other when I was growing up. You showed me, a kid who thought that I wasn’t natural because I discovered I liked boys, that I was not all alone. That love did exist for people like me. Your work changed my life. I kept it on my computer just to reassure myself when I had doubts. And I’m just one person your work has touched. There are so many others out there you don’t even know about who have seen your work, and learned that it's okay to be gay. That it's natural to want to kiss the boy you love. That we
can
love. Your work helped me to come out. It’s helped others to come out.”

He was making me misty-eyed again.
I’d never dreamt that my work had a value deeper than what I intended, or an effect as strong as the one he was describing. It was an empowering thing to hear.

“
It’s you that he’s afraid of. You have the power of your gifts. Your images and your ability to write. Do you know why?” His eyes were on me again along with that heart-melting smile. “Because you change things in this world for the better with what you do. He destroys everything in his path with what he does. Even a friendship he should value more than anything.”

This angelic young man had a gift himself. For all the darkness that had been in me
, he shone a light for me to find my way out.

“
All you need to do is turn your point of view back to what’s important.” Alex pointed at me. "You. The work you do.” The sun hit him again in that way that made him seem like his skin had the light inside it. “I think you’re a genius, a pioneer. I think you’re fearless. I think you have a voice that gave all of us a voice at the same time. That’s a lot of power, all inside you.”

I blushed. I
’d never heard anyone speak of my work—or me—like that before. I thanked him.

“
What you have to understand is that he’s trying to make you think you can’t win a battle against him. But the truth is, everything that he wants and needs, is on your side of that line in the sand. Let him play his games. Ignore them. When he brings his bad mojo into the house, close your door. If he tries to bring war with words, be silent. He can’t fight a wall. If this is a game he plays with these women, let him bring it to a close like he has all the other ones. You don’t have to be a participant.”

It would take a
while for me to absorb everything he was saying, but the one outstanding thing I knew, was that in those moments, he gave me back some things I hadn’t had for a long time. One was direction.

“
What else have you wanted to do that was important to you?” He had stopped at his car and opened the door so Dali could jump in and lay down on the seat. He leaned against the fender, looking at me serenely. “Where do you want to go with your life now?”

For the first time in
as long as I could remember I spoke about something that had no connections to my problems. I talked of my dream to write an epic gay romance. Something along the lines of the standard classic romances with sweeping vistas against an historical backdrop. A story that restored or gave hope. A coming of age novel for teenagers who wanted to believe that their love and longings had a place in the world. I’d thought of it often, just didn’t know if I had it in me to undertake so large a task.

He was more than supportive. He
’d already determined that this would be
my
next project.
His
next project was to get me back into shape; make me stronger, happier through good health. We were both insomniacs. He agreed to not charge me a fee if I was willing to meet him at midnight for an hour-long walk; the beginning of my fitness routine. He could be my sounding board on my new novel,
The Memory of You
. He had a solution for how I could get back to work on the shoots as well, despite Dick’s intrusion with Dolores’s weekend stays.

“
Bring in some of the guys that worked with him in the past. The ones he had a real good time with. I’m sure they’d have a lot to say to his new girlfriend if he insists on bringing her there.” There was an arch of an eyebrow.

I laughed out loud. It was so simple a solution.

I dreamt of Alex that night. I dreamt of him like young gay boys dream of dream lovers and Princes and Happily Ever Afters. It was a shame he’d already found a Prince of his own. I was jealous.

Dick
’s combativeness was like playing a fucking game of chess. The back and forth war of nerves, jostling for positions of superiority. He wasn’t happy when I pushed Dolores and him from their weekend roost at the condo so I could continue my shoots. He thought he could stare me down, use a terse, authoritative tone telling me she’d still be coming over; there was nothing I could do to stop it. He’d hung a curtain over the upstairs balcony that looked down into the great room so she could walk naked back and forth from his bedroom to the bathroom without being in view downstairs. It was all about him and his precious girlfriend. I was incidental to the house. I let him go on about how there was nothing that could stop the inevitability of their love—that I'd just have to deal with it. He misinterpreted my starting to schedule shoots to try and rid the condo of their presence as my personal jealousy issue. He thought I was in love with him, always had been. His ego could have won a Science Fiction prize for existing in an alternate reality. The only thing missing from his dissection of my emotional state was the swell of cheesy music.

I saved my
knockout punch for after he beat his chest and stared down at me from the mound of his perceived victory like The Great Ape. I didn’t mind her staying, I said. If she didn’t mind seeing men carrying on with other men during a shoot. It was going to be wild. They were going to fuck and suck. It would be loud. It would be in every room. Just like old times. I’d already booked them; no turning back. They’d be staying over. If two of them I'd invited stayed, he’d be delighted to see his old friends. He could make the introductions.

That simple relay of information couldn
’t have had more effect if it had been delivered via cannonball, square to his chest. He went white. Then red. Then white again. The muscles of his jaw clenched so tightly they added another sharp angle to his face. His lips pinched into oblivion. Hatred radiated off him like heat from a furnace.

The ritual for his weekends, thereafter, would be him packing overnight bags to stay at her place. Exactly what I
'd asked for as a courtesy from the beginning. I began booking shoots for every weekend after that. Alex was a genius. I was back at it, and was feeling good again.

Dick
wasn’t just waging a war inside himself any longer. He was now at war with me. I’d deliberately pushed him away from his only source of sexual release with men. His contrived power plays using Dolores to make me see how much I needed him had all backfired. I was going forward with the shoots; imposing him totally upon her hospitality. This hadn’t been what he planned. Soon after this, his family and friends quit coming by the condo. I’m sure he thought he could no longer trust me to keep his secret from them. I had no clue what he’d said to them so they’d keep their distance.

We were
backing ourselves into opposing corners. I've always believed that no one goes into a battle with the idea of total annihilation as their intention. I reasoned that each faction engages because there’s a goal they’re trying to attain. Each hopes there will be a compromise—a semblance of peace that can be preserved through boundaries of respect and tolerance. That a moral dictate will prevail. However, when morality is of little concern to one of those factions, the door to a whole lot of nastiness can open.

Dick was out for one thing only. Himself. He had only one perspective: his own. He had a lot more nastiness to share. I had no clue how this could
possibly end well. We both had an equal stake in the battle, a common turf on which to survive together. I was, however, no longer a hapless victim of his abuse. That was a step in the right direction of rebuilding my own dignity. I was going on with my life, without a connection to his. He would just have to come to his senses and find a compromise.

I began my midnight walks with Alex each night. My new lease on life. We were having one of the most pleasant late springs I could remember. The weather, especially late at night when we started our walks, was energizing. Warm enough to work up a good sweat, but temperate enough to not overheat. We had the moon and stars and silent streets. The smells of the city would die down to give way to the natural scents of the woods. We walked fast. He didn’t set an easy pace. He had goals for me. He was going to make me adhere to them. I loved allowing him get a little ahead of me as we neared the street lamps so I could watch his ass in the neon-colored shorts he wore to be seen at night. When he perspired you could see every indentation in those perfect buns. The sheen on his exquisitely toned, hairless legs reminded me of polished statues in provocative, subdued museum light. I could lust from afar. He was safe. Practically engaged.

He made one rule for our walks
—well, other than me having to meet the physical goals he set for me. We could only talk about my photography or writing. Dick’s name was taboo. Dick had what Alex referred to as bad mojo. It meant a nasty vibe.
Wrong magic
.

We talked about the book I was going to write,
The Memory of You
. I’d had the story in my head forever, but the vastness and complexity of it always intimidated me. It wasn’t a small story, or a light story. It had a huge array of detailed characters that evolved along the timeline of the 1960s and 1970s. Alex was curious why I chose that era. I told him it had always seemed an obvious choice for me to write a story about love in changing times because the sixties had been the most revolutionary time of change in recent history. Music, fashion, culture, philosophy and politics all had undergone dramatic reformations during that era. It had been called the time of ‘Free Love,’ and it was the pivotal point in modern history when people first began to test the waters of being openly gay. The historical backdrop was ideal for a tale of two young boys discovering their love for each other. Plus, I had seen pictures of our fair city during those times. It was beautiful with its brick streets and old globe lampposts. To top it all off, it had all those wonderful classic cars I loved and collected as Hot Wheels growing up.

He wondered when I was going to begin writing
. I had talked about it enough but hadn’t even laid down the first sentence. I had everything but an opening, I told him. It was a sticking point.

We had made it to the new
Windport Mall that was the eight-mile marker from the house. We paused to sit at the modern fountain constructed at its entrance. We couldn’t quite figure out what the abstract sculptures rising from its center were supposed to be. He guessed birds. I saw something more obscene. We took off our shoes and socks, sat on the edge and dipped our feet into the cool water. There was a nice breeze through the open and empty darkened plaza. I liked the way it continually ruffled his hair, making him blink. He had a boyish quality in the night light.

He held his bangs from his eyes so he could look into mine.
“The story should start at the beginning. How someone learns or realizes they’re gay. How did it begin for you?”

I remembered it clearly as if I
’d flipped a page backward to the picture, bright and crisp as ever. Seventh grade, I’d glanced over to a classmates hand as he wrote in a notebook. When he caught me staring, when our eyes met and held, it was like I’d been clobbered by knowledge I hadn’t known was in me all along. Everything about that day was etched in my mind. It was one from which I could never go back. My attraction was undeniable and unstoppable. It was against everything my parents had tried to teach me. From that day onward, it was as much a part of me as my skin. I sat there staring into the lighted facets of water in the fountain, but all I could see was that day long ago. And that boy’s flawless hand and eyes.

Alex
’s voice was soft and awed at my side, “There’s the beginning of your story.”