Where The Boys Are (39 page)

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Authors: William J. Mann

BOOK: Where The Boys Are
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“I’ve never known anyone who died of
anything
before,” I manage to say, the tears coming again, dripping down off my face. I feel ridiculous.
“It’s so strange to me,” Lloyd says, his voice low and thoughtful, “how there’s a whole new crop of gay men today who can say the same thing.” He reaches over, wiping the tears from my face tenderly with the back of his hand. “I guess the few years between us are enough to make that true. Jeff and I know so many people who have died. Our lives are littered with the corpses of dead people. They’ve become part of the landscape for us. They’re part of the way we see the world.”
I face him imploringly. “How do you go on when somebody you know is no longer here? Somebody who was so alive and now they’re just gone? You can’t finish the conversations you were having. You can’t do anything.”
He shakes his head. “There’s no answer to that, Henry. You just go on.”
“I guess I just never
got
death before. How
final
it is. I mean, of course, I knew that. But to
feel
it . . .” I shudder. “The only other person I ever knew who died was my grandfather, and I was eleven. We weren’t all that close, but I remember thinking he was just away, that he’d come back. I think in some ways I convinced myself he wasn’t really dead. But I’m not eleven anymore. I can’t think like that now.” My voice chokes up. “I used to dread seeing Brent’s name appear on my caller ID. Now I’d give anything for it to show up again.”
Lloyd is looking out at the waves. “One way to go on, Henry, is to see death as not being final, as not being the end.”
I frown. “Lloyd, I know you believe that, but I’m just not sure about it. We Jews are kind of vague on the idea of an afterlife, you know. I
want
to believe that life goes on, but I just don’t know....”
“Javitz once said that it’s the embrace of ambiguity that finally sets us free.” He smiles over at me. “Accepting that we can never know anything for certain. That it’s not about knowing, but
feeling
.”
I like that. That much I can accept, take in. We sit there watching the waves inch inexorably closer as the tide rises. Clara’s getting braver, allowing her front paws to get wet. Overhead, the great dome of bright-blue sky is broken only occasionally by the flight of a gull.
“It’s so peaceful here,” I say. “I wish Brent had known about this part of Ptown.”
“Maybe he does. Maybe that’s why you and Clara came down.”
I smile over at him. “How did you get to be so smart? Was it Javitz who taught you?”
“Javitz taught me a lot,” Lloyd says.
“You had an amazing friendship. I envy you.”
“That we did.”
“What was that like? You know, Jeff has never talked to me much about Javitz.”
“Never?”
I shake my head. “Not in any detail. He’ll just go quiet when his name comes up, and I can see him thinking, but he won’t talk about him.”
Lloyd sighs. “It’s been hard for Jeff. It’s been hard for all of us who loved him, who took care of him at the end. You see, Javitz had always taken care of us, and then, when he got sick, it was us taking care of
him
. Feeding him. Cleaning him. Just sitting there and being with him.”
“You were with him when he died.”
Lloyd nods. “The greatest gift of my life.”
“It’s so awesome. That you did all that.”
Lloyd smiles. “It wasn’t just me. I have this image in my mind of Jeff sitting there, combing Javitz’s hair, singing to him. ‘Good morning, heartache.’ Billie Holliday. It was Javitz’s favorite.” Lloyd laughs. “And believe me, while Jeff has many talents, singing is
not
one of them.”
It’s a very different image than I’ve ever had of Jeff. Sitting there, combing somebody’s hair, singing to them . . .
“Why has Jeff never talked about Javitz to me?” I ask Lloyd.
He pauses. “Jeff carries some guilt. He wasn’t there the night Javitz died.” He looks at me gently, then reaches over and touches my face. “You’re part of the guilt he feels, too, Henry. You see, Javitz taught us the meaning of friendship. What you do for friends.
Real
friends. How to be there—really
be there
for each other. And I think Jeff feels he’s failed you, Henry.”
I just look at him.
“Your distance hurts him,” Lloyd tells me.
I’m torn, as ever, when it comes to Jeff. I want to melt, to feel compassion. But my back stiffens, my defenses go up. Yes, yes
indeed
, Jeff has failed me. All the times I was there for him, but our friendship remained a one-way street. I can’t imagine
that
was the kind of friendship Javitz had taught him about.
“If it
means
anything,” Lloyd says,
“I’d
like to be friends with you. I like you, Henry. I’m very glad we’ve had this chance to connect with each other.”
“If it
means
anything?” I repeat, smiling broadly over at him. “Lloyd, it means the world!” I hug him.
He takes my face in his hands. “Henry, I believe Brent’s in a better place. But that doesn’t make the tragedy of his death any less. Particularly not for those of us left behind, who still have lives to live, heartaches to heal. If you ever need to talk, please know that I’m here.”
I look at him. Sitting there, profiled against the blue sky, Lloyd seems a revelation to me. How have I never managed to realize what a deep person he is? Or, for that matter, how very, very
handsome?
“I was such a fool,” I say, all at once, not even aware of the words until I hear them myself.
Lloyd’s brows pull together. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been doing everything but facing up to what was really bothering me.”
Lloyd smiles, as if he’s been waiting for that little insight. “And what was that, Henry?” he asks, looking into my eyes. “What was really bothering you?”
I laugh a little. “Now that you ask, of course, I’m not quite sure.”
He runs a hand through my hair. It feels awesome to have him touch me. My whole body tingles. “Why did you start escorting?” he asks.
I shrug. “Because it gave me one hell of a frigging ego boost.”
“A boost you apparently
needed
.”
“Yeah, I guess I did. And it was fun for a while. Even
hot
. But . . . then it started to change.”
“How so?” Lloyd asks.
“Well, in retrospect, I think the reason I really got into the escorting wasn’t so much the boost to my ego. That faded out pretty fast. What made it so—so fulfilling—was meeting these guys. Feeling a part of their lives. Connected to them, in a way. Making them happy. Seeing their secret dreams and fantasies come true. I felt like I was really giving them something.”
“You were.” Lloyd smiles. “Yourself.”
“Yeah.” I laugh, struck by the simplicity of it all. “I guess I was.”
“That kind of thrill is far more lasting than any ego boost,” Lloyd explains. “So what happened to change that? Why did you stop escorting?”
I shake my head. “Because . . . well, I had some bad experiences. People who hired me not for
me
, but for the
act.
Not for the fantasy, not for any kind of connection, but for the
mechanics
of sex. Blow jobs. Hand jobs. You know. ‘Fuck me in this position hard.’” I whistle over to Clara, who’s running off too far down the beach. She comes racing back to me. It makes me happy to watch her. “I guess escorting just started to make me feel so
empty.
”
Lloyd nods. “Maybe because your clients had taught you something. Something about what you wanted
yourself
, in our
own
life. Your wanted your own fantasy fulfilled.”
I grin over at him. “You must have made one very excellent psychologist.”
He laughs. “I think most people can understand what this is all about, Henry. You said it yourself. It’s about connection.”
“Connection,” I echo.
“Javitz used to say that life is only about connection,” Lloyd says. “It’s about people loving each other, learning from each other, helping each other. That’s all.” He laughs. “There was a time when I truly thought what I wanted most in this life was to become a contemplative monk living in some ashram. But I know now I couldn’t live without the connection to other people. It’s what keeps me going.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “I think that’s the problem for me right now. I feel disconnected. Especially from sex. I feel so disconnected from sex.”
“I can understand.” Lloyd suddenly smiles, as if an idea occurs to him. “You know what you would enjoy, Henry? Have you ever heard of a sacred-sex workshop? There are all sorts of these things, held all over the country, where gay men get in touch with the sacred erotic. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
I do. Brent used to make sport of such workshops, claiming they were just a bunch of horny, desperate guys who got together and called sex “sacred” because it was the only way they could actually
get
any.
Which
, I’m suddenly certain, is a crock of shit.
“I’ve heard of them,” I tell Lloyd. “And yes, I think a sacred-sex workshop might be exactly what I need.”
He smiles. “There’s actually a workshop being held here in Provincetown on Halloween weekend. I know the organizer. I can probably get us both in. Do you want to go?”
“Yes!” I say passionately. “Yes, I do!”
“Well, you’re sure an easy one to convince,” Lloyd says, laughing, just as Clara comes bounding up on both of us, knocking us over backward into the sand.
The Next Evening, Nirvana
Lloyd
I
t’s hard saying good-bye. I can see why Jeff loves Henry: he’s thoughtful, introspective, kind. I watch him walk down the front steps, turning twice to wave good-bye.
Please
,
God
, I pray.
Don’t let him test positive
.
I close my eyes. It’s an old prayer, one uttered too many times in my life, about too many, and not one always granted. I watch Henry unlock the door to his Jeep, lifting the dog crate that contains Clara and settling it gently onto the passenger seat.
Let him be okay, God. Please.
It’s funny, my praying. I don’t believe in the old God, the one you pray to for things to happen—or not—or to ask favors. I believe in a God, a higher power, a collective soul of consciousness, for whom there are reasons for everything. If Henry tests positive, then there is some greater purpose it can serve, some unknown path to enlightenment. Even Javitz came to see his HIV as an ironic gift, as a means by which he could transform. But still, in this moment, the God I’m praying to is indeed my old Lutheran god, the one my father taught me about in his Sunday sermons, a God of not only compassion but
retribution
. A God who was both merciful and angry, for whom divine intervention remained possible. It’s to that God I find myself praying now, imploring Him to please, please not let Henry test positive.
I shut the front door after he’s driven off. I can still smell him on my clothes. I’d kissed him as he got ready to leave: just reached over and kissed him, full on the mouth, after he’d said something that particularly touched me. It was about finding himself, his deepest truth, holding a frightened little man in a motel room one afternoon. He didn’t use those words, but that’s what he meant. His words moved me, and I’d just reached over as we sat there on the couch, and kissed him. He seemed surprised at first, but kissed me back. Afterward we laughed. It had been a lovely, spontaneous kiss.
I’m filled with him right now: his scent, his words, the memory of our talks. If I close my eyes I can see him clearly. Henry is a revelation. I’ve always liked him but never really knew him. It’s odd, really, this feeling of connection: our worldviews, our experiences, are so different. Henry’s like so many young gay men today who’ve never lost anyone, who often don’t even know anyone who is HIV-positive. How different from just a decade ago. Who his age could have said the same thing then? Jeff and I have lost so many, even beyond Javitz: old friends like Paul and Roger and of course Tommy, our friend from our ACT UP days. Tommy’s death had been especially hard, coming so soon after Javitz’s. There had been issues between Jeff and Tommy, but at Tommy’s memorial service Jeff had cried even harder than he had for Javitz.
“I guess,” Henry had said just before he left, “I understand why it’s so difficult for Jeff to talk about it. It’s like coming through a war.”
“A war where the truce is merely a mirage, a ploy of the enemy.” I knew I sounded like Javitz, but there it was, right on the front page of
Bay Windows
:
YOUNG GAY MEN SPREADING HIV IN ALARMING NUMBERS
. Not having known the initial devastation, lulled into complacency by the new drugs, people Henry’s age and younger are repeating all of our old mistakes. Because everyone looks so healthy, no one is forced into talking about the truth of AIDS. The fear is gone. Maybe reintroducing a little fear wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
“Be careful,” I pleaded with Henry. “Please be careful.”
He smiled at me. “Lloyd,” he asked, seeming to think of something, “would you be interested in coming with me to the Russian River next week?”
I looked at him strangely.
He laughed. “I know it’s last-minute, but I’ve been totally dreading going. See, Shane bought us tickets a long time ago and I promised—but if you came, we could balance out some of the mindless party stuff with talks like these.”
I was dumbfounded. “Henry, are you asking
me
to go to a
circuit party?”
“This one’s different. I promise. It’s outside. The Russian River is beautiful—”
“I know. I love Guerneville. I love all of Northern California. Maybe we could spend a few days in San Francisco—”
Henry’s face lit up. “So you’ll come?”
“If I can still get a ticket.” A trip would definitely do me good. I haven’t had a vacation since we opened Nirvana. And a week away from Eva would give us both some time off from each other.
I climb the stairs to my room planning to call a travel agent. Maybe I’ll even take Henry up to the Harbin hot springs. Suddenly I’m excited about something for the first time in weeks. I’m glad the last of our guests have left, and none are due in for a few days. I need to stop thinking, to just turn off my brain for a while.
But I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about Henry.
Worrying
about him, actually. The world Jeff introduced him to can’t offer him the insight or solace he seeks. It’s a place of denial, a place where the wounded run for refuge. Oh, who can blame them for dancing their asses off? But it’s just running away from the inevitable. Brent didn’t die from the virus that lurked in his bloodstream, but from his refusal to face it, to integrate it, to take power over it—and
from
it.
I let out a long sigh and open the door to my room. I switch on the light.
Eva’s standing there, glaring at me.
“What . . . ?” I sputter. “What are you doing in here?”
I’d left the door unlocked only for the few minutes that it took to walk Henry downstairs and see him off. And here she is, standing in the center of my room, holding something in her hands.
She blushes. “I’m sorry, Lloyd. I was leaving you a gift.”
“A gift?”
She holds out a framed photograph. The two of us standing in the snow outside Nirvana. The day of our closing. “Happy sixth-month anniversary,” she says.
My heart is still thudding in my ears from the start she gave me. “You could have given it to me downstairs. I don’t like anyone in my room.”
I notice her visibly stiffen. “You had
Henry
in here all day,” she says.
“That’s my business.”
Her face twists in desperation. “It’s mine, too! I live here! This is our home!” She starts to cry. “You’ve been pushing me away because you’re seeing Henry now. Isn’t that right?”
I feel my cheeks flush in anger. “I’m not seeing Henry.”
“Oh, Lloyd! Why have you turned on me?”
I sigh, dropping my hands to my side. “I haven’t turned on you, Eva. I’ve simply told you I think you need to be in therapy to work on your own issues. It’s the only way I can see us moving forward together. And I think it would be much healthier if we each had our own sets of friends, our own lives.”
“That’s not how this was supposed to be!”
“Oh? And how did you
think
it was supposed to be, Eva?”
“I thought . . . I thought . . . we would be
together,”
she says in a little voice.
I feel exasperated. “Is that why you locked me in my room, Eva? To keep me with you, and away from Jeff?”
“I
didn’t
, Lloyd. I
swear.”
I lower my face close to hers. “Then how about all those E-mails, Eva? All those E-mails Jeff sent me that I never got?”
She looks up at me with sudden terror in her eyes. I know I need to be careful here, that confrontation might not be the best approach. But it’s time—long past time, in fact—that she be held accountable for these things. Maybe it’s the shock she needs that will finally get her to look at her behavior.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out, Eva?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and level. “Until I began using my laptop, I read all my E-mail on the main computer downstairs, the one you log on to every morning before I get up. It must have kept you busy, constantly checking for and deleting all of Jeff’s E-mails.”
“Stop!” she shouts, putting her hands to her ears, dropping the photo to the floor. The glass shatters. She makes a sound, shaking her hands in tiny fists.
“No,” I tell her forcefully. “No more scenes!” I rest my hands on her shoulders. “I know that deep down inside you there’s a decent, strong woman, and that’s who I’m talking to right now. I can overlook a lot, but not dishonesty. Admit to me what you did and we’ll find a way to work this out.”
“No!” she cries, breaking free from my grip.
“Eva, you’ve got to stop trying to turn me into Steven. Steven was a gay man, just like me—with a life of his
own
just like me! You can’t make me into what you hoped Steven would be!”
“Stop talking about him!”
“Why? Because you’re afraid I’ll tell you what I know? That your anniversary wasn’t on Valentine’s Day—that Valentine’s Day was Steven’s and Ty’s anniversary? That Steven and Ty were lovers, and that he would have left you if he hadn’t gotten sick?”
She slaps me across the face. I take a step backward in shock.
Her face is white. Her look is one I’ve never seen before. A mixture of rage, hatred, fear, and desperation. It terrifies me.
“I’d like the ring back, please,” she says in a low, hard voice. “You’ve never cared enough to wear it.”
I study her. It’s as if she’d just drunk a potion and turned into something else. No more tears. Now her face is contorted, her mouth full of fangs. I just stand there looking at her.
“My ring!” she shouts.
I open my drawer and retrieve it, handing it to her. She takes it and looks down at it in her hand.
“This should go to someone who cares,” she says, pushing it down into her pocket savagely.
“Eva, if you don’t think I’ve
cared
, then you’re wrong—”
She cuts me off. “Oh, you think you know me so
well,”
she growls in a voice alien to my ears. Low and full of contempt. “You think you know so
much.”
I watch her. She moves toward me, her hands held out like claws at her side.
“Well, you don’t know
anything,”
she spits. Her eyes grow large as they glare up at me. “Anything!”
“Eva,” I say, trying to calm her.
She screeches suddenly like a banshee. She’s in my face, her hands just inches from my skin, her nails ready to scratch my eyes out. Then she pulls back, shaking her head, the tears flying.
“You think you know me, but you don’t, not at all,” she sobs. “Oh, but you’ll
learn
, Lloyd. You’ll find out what I’m
really
like.”
She rushes from my room, slamming the door behind her. I quickly lock it, thankful that the key is in my pocket.
Was that a threat? For the first time, I feel fear in this house. Fear of her, of what she might do. Of what she might be capable of doing. I’m bigger, stronger, but there was such rage in her face. She had hit me, and came close to doing so again. What had she meant, that I’ll find out what she’s
really
like?
I’ve got to get a grip here. It’s my fear, my utter disappointment, the shattering of all my dreams. I stoop down to pick up the shards of glass from the photograph. I feel trapped here in my room. A feeling of despair washes over me, and I start to cry, looking down at our smiling faces. How much hope we’d had then. How had we gotten to this place?
I cry harder. For a man who believes in a purpose for everything in life, in this moment I can’t see anything that makes sense.

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