Where The Boys Are (8 page)

Read Where The Boys Are Online

Authors: William J. Mann

BOOK: Where The Boys Are
5.64Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
But neither Anthony nor I make any attempt to say good-bye. We walk leisurely, shoulder to shoulder, Anthony every once in a while catching snowflakes on his tongue. It makes me laugh.
Odd how Lloyd’s name hasn’t come up all day. After all, Anthony saw us together last night. What will I tell him if he asks? What
are
Lloyd and I to each other, anyway? Yesterday I would’ve given one answer; today I’m not sure. The last few months had seemed to suggest we were heading back together, but what about now? Has his news really changed so much for us? There was nothing in his words to suggest that he wanted to end our reconnection. In fact, he’d seemed to want it to continue. He said he wanted me to be a part of this with him. But it’s as if a barrier had just been erected in the road and I can’t go any further. It took me a while to open up and trust and spend time with Lloyd again. I wasn’t keen on being hurt once more.
You see, for all the radical theorizing I’d learned practically at Javitz’s knee, I have to admit there’s always been a part of me that has wanted
exactly
what I said I didn’t: that joint checking account, that Saturday night safety blanket, that cozy presumption that the person across the breakfast table from me will still be there when I turn seventy. Never had I found that with Lloyd: oh, the
trappings
of it, maybe, the illusion. But Lloyd had always chafed against too much commitment, too much domestic permanence.
Until Eva, that is. He can buy a house with Eva, but never with me.
Why should I trust that it’s any different now? I try to imagine what it would be like. I’d schlepp myself down to Provincetown and help build their home together, and then Lloyd would turn to me someday and say, “Well, you know, I can’t really commit to you.” I’d walk in and find him with Drake—the guy he’d originally left me for—or somebody else, who he’d eventually leave, too, just as he had left Drake and me. What guarantees do I have that the past won’t merely repeat itself?
“There are no guarantees in life, darling,” Javitz always said. I laugh as I walk down Ninth Avenue, and Anthony looks over at me curiously. I’ve actually parroted the same words to Henry, many times, with the same weary inflection Javitz used to use, whenever Henry has started fretting about finding love and a husband. “No guarantees,” I tell him, “just the eternal hope that what you’re looking for is just around the corner.”
Hope
. Despite everything, it’s still there, inside me. I can’t deny that I still hope somehow, some way, Lloyd and I will be back together, finishing what we started. I just can’t give up on him. I might be fearful, I might be wary, but I can’t give up. Not yet. The memories of our life together have never receded as far as I might pretend. The thought of holding Lloyd in the breathing position, in my arms, in our bed late at night, safe from everything, together—that image is never very far from my consciousness. Sure, I’ve moved on; I have a life of my own now. But I’m drawn back, as ever. Drawn back to what Lloyd and I had, what we shared.
So I’ll go down to Provincetown. I’ll see the house. I’ll meet Eva and give it a chance—
“Jeff?”
I look over at Anthony. I realize I’ve been lost in my own thoughts, and that Anthony has asked me a question.
“I’m sorry. I was ...”
“In another world.” Anthony smiles. We’ve stopped at the corner of Ninth and Fourteenth. “I was asking you if you always use a condom.”
I laugh at the starkness of the question. “Well, yes,” I tell him. I’d slipped one on both times I’d fucked him. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, you’re the first guy I’ve been with who has.”
I stare at him. “You mean, you’ve been going bareback for the last six months?”
He nods. “I guess that’s being kind of risky, huh?”
“More than kind of.” I sigh. How much should I say? I’ve just met this guy. We’re about ready to part ways forever. I can’t start pontificating to him. Besides, the issue is too complex.
“Look, Anthony,” I say after a few moments’ thought. “Just be informed, okay? You’ve just come out, you’re learning your way. Do yourself a favor and get some HIV material and read up. Don’t just bareback because some guy says it’s okay.” I hesitate. “And you might want to get tested.”
He looks at me strangely. “That’s the most anyone has ever said to me on the subject. Thanks, Jeff.” He reaches over and kisses me on the cheek.
I blush a little. “Just take care of yourself.”
“I wish you didn’t have to go back to Boston.”
I look at my watch. Okay. So here it is. The place where we say good-bye. “I’m supposed to meet Henry at Grand Central at six o’clock,” I tell him.
Anthony frowns. “That’s too bad, tonight being Saturday and all.”
“Yeah, I know but—well, I promised my nephew I’d take him to the movies tomorrow. He’s in Connecticut. He’s five.”
Anthony’s frown turns into a smile. “You
are
a good guy,” he says.
The thought of little Jeffy brightens my mood. My sister Ann Marie named her son after me, a tribute that moves me more with each passing year, watching the boy grow. I’m glad that Ann Marie decided not to marry the lout who’d fathered her son, and I’m thrilled to play substitute daddy as often as I can. We live two hours apart, but I get down to Connecticut every couple of weeks, taking Jeffy to the carnival or Mystic Aquarium or the
Pokemon
movie. This time Henry’s going along. Jeffy’s used to gay men. He’s a good kid.
“So I may be green,” Anthony’s saying, folding his arms across his chest, “but I know enough that I gotta ask. Is Henry your boyfriend?”
Once more I laugh. “No, no, no, he’s just my sister”—though even as the words are out of my mouth, I regret the “just.” I know that sisters often last a lot longer than boyfriends. “But the guy with the goatee last night,” I say. “Do you remember him?”
“Sure. The cute one with the nice green eyes you were slobbering over.”
I blush, just a little. “It was the X. Anyway, we’ve been together, off and on, for many years.”
Anthony nods. “So
he’s
your boyfriend.”
I stammer a little. “Right now I’m just not sure. We’re ...”
Anthony raises his eyebrows, waiting.
“We’re—well, it’s hard to describe—”
“Family,” Anthony interjects. “You’re family, but even more than the way family is usually defined by straights.”
I smile. He remembered my words. It actually sort of touches me. But he’s not done.
“You can’t describe it, because there aren’t words,” he’s saying. “You don’t set limitations on each other, because you’re always surpassing them. You don’t let others tell you how you’re supposed to be. You’re true to yourselves and nobody else. You’re just who you are.”
“
Whoa.”
I do a double-take. “Where did all
that
come from?”
Anthony shrugs. “Just something I picked up.”
“You are definitely
not
green,” I say, breaking into a broad grin. “Forgive me for thinking so.” I feel my dick stir again in my pants. Great abs,
and
a mind and heart, too. Who
is
this guy?
This could be dangerous
, I tell myself. The old familiar quiver roils my belly.
Oh, yes. Dangerous, indeed.
Meanwhile, Uptown
Henry
Q
uite frankly, I’m still staggered by the sex.
Who knew?
The Windex queen got me off not once, not twice, but
three times
—the last about nine
A.M.
, and only then did we fall asleep.
Even now, more than six hours later, I’m still a little shell-shocked, standing off to the side of the crowded store, watching Shane play with an enormous Slinky. A harried salesclerk finally asks him to put it down. Shane sticks his tongue out at him.
“You’re gonna get us kicked out of here,” I say, laughing.
“Believe me, I’ve been kicked out of a lot better than FAO Schwartz.” Shane makes a face, considering something. “As well as a lot
worse
.”
I look at my watch. “We still have a couple of hours before we have to meet Jeff.”
Shane holds aloft a bride doll and inspects under her skirts. “Just as I thought. Not anatomically correct.” He shifts his gaze over at me. “Are you sure Jeff’s not going to mind driving me back to Boston? It sure beats buying another Amtrak ticket.”
I take the doll from him and set it down. “Not if you don’t mind seeing
Toy Story 2
with his five-year-old nephew.”
Shane makes a queasy face. “I love kids. Especially with Swiss cheese and sauerkraut grilled on rye.”
“You crack me up, Shane.”
He moves in close. “I do more than
that
to you, baby.”
I blush. Yes, it’s true. Shane’s biceps have no peaks, his gut is slightly squishy, his face so unremarkable that even a police sketch artist would have trouble capturing it—and still the sex had been awesome.
Awesome!
But as much as I might want to pat myself on the back for finally finding bliss with an average-looking guy instead of the body-beautiful circuit boys I’ve lusted after for years, I can’t deny the
real
reason the sex with Shane was so good. It fed my own starving narcissism, a fact that both troubled and fascinated me. I mean, who
wouldn’t
get off on it? There I was—
me,
Henry Weiner—being asked to stand on a hotel bed naked so that a guy could adore me.
Literally.
Down on his knees, worshipping me, telling me how sublime I was, how radiant, how muscular, looking up at me as if I were the naked Christ on the Cross—an analogy that would give my Jewish mother an apoplectic fit if she knew I was thinking it. But the truth remains: it was simply the most awesome, most intense, most mind-boggling sex I’ve ever had.
And to top it off, Shane had even been willing to
pay
me! Even afterward, he’d taken out a crumpled hundred-dollar bill from his jeans pocket and waved it in front of my face, saying, “You sure?”
He was only joking
, I insist to myself, watching him now as he tries to open the pants of a GI Joe doll.
“So what do you want to do until we meet Jeff?” Shane’s asking. He’s given up trying to get a peek at the GI genitals. “Ride around in a cab so I can blow you in the backseat?”
I blush again, certain that the handsome father and adolescent son looking at a train set next to us have heard every word. I grab ahold of Shane’s coat and pull him out of the store onto Fifth Avenue.
“What?”
Shane asks, mock-innocently. “Something I said?”
Outside, a Salvation Army volunteer cheerlessly rings her bell. Who still gives after Christmas is over? The sidewalk is thronged with people returning holiday gifts, their faces muffled in upturned collars and scarves. Suddenly, Shane takes my leather-gloved hand in his. Oh, boy. This is the awkward part. This is the part of tricking that Jeff calls “the hard truth of the light of day,” when you have to tell the guy it was fun but it’s over now. My first reaction is to pull my hand away, but I don’t want to hurt Shane’s feelings. He’s too nice a guy.
He squeezes my hand.
Oh, great
, I think.
What if he’s falling for me? What do I say? The truth? You didn’t make me hard, Shane. Your protestations of devotion did. You can’t base a relationship on narcissism. And that’s all it was, Shane. You feeding mine.
Right. As if I could say
that
without feeling like a total shit.
I can’t wait to talk about this with Jeff. Jeff would know how to handle things. He always does. No matter the experience, Jeff has already had it. “Stay away from two kinds of guys,” he’s counseled. “The ones who act like they’re in love with you the next morning and the ones who act like they don’t care in the slightest. They’re both exactly the same.” And, “Stay away from two kinds of drugs. Tina and Gina. They’re not at all the same, except that they’ll both destroy your life if you let them.”
Jeff is probably the smartest guy I’ve ever known. I’m not
that
much younger than him, but sometimes I feel a whole generation removed, as if crammed into Jeff’s head start of seven years is an entire lifetime of achievement and failure. The school of gay hard knocks.
“So are you guys going to the Blue Ball in Philly in three weeks?” Shane is swinging our hands between us, as if to show the entire avenue what he’s caught. “I can’t decide whether to go to that or to the Fireball in Chicago next month. Doing both seems a bit excessive. You know what I mean? I don’t want to be like those tired circuit queens who blow all their vacation time hopping from one party to the next.”
I smile with some amusement. “I think actually the next one we talked about was the Winter Party,” I tell him.
“But of
course
the Winter Party. You
can’t
skip Miami.”
I laugh. “That’s where I wanted to be
last
night. All our other friends were there. But Jeff and Lloyd had other ideas.”
“Jeff and Lloyd,” Shane repeats, as if trying out their names. Then suddenly, he breaks his grip with me. We’ve stopped in front of another dour Salvation Army bell-ringer. Shane’s fishing into his jeans for a handful of coins. I watch him as he tosses them into the pail. They make a clanging sound, and the volunteer gives him a small, tired smile.
Quickly I try to hide my hand so Shane can’t reclaim it. But he finds it without much effort and sticks it along with his into the deep pocket of his down parka.
“Anyway,” he says, “as you were saying ... ?”
I sigh. “I really wasn’t saying much of anything.”
“Yes, you were. About Jeff and Lloyd. So which one are you in love with?”
I balk, trying to stop our stride, but Shane won’t let me. “I’m not in love with
either
of them,” I insist. “They’re my
sisters.
Especially Jeff.”
“So it’s him,” Shane says, all superior-sounding.
I make a dismissive sound but am careful not to “doth protest too much” yet again. “Think whatever you choose to. But I’d never want to date Jeff.”
“Not wanting to date him is different from not being in love with him.”
I say nothing. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
“Don’t get pissy now, sweetheart.” Shane lets out a hoot. “It was just obvious last night. The way you looked at him. The way you seemed to know exactly what was going on for him.”
“We’re sisters,” I repeat.
“Have it your way, honey. Believe whatever you need to believe.”
This guy is really pushing it now. I am
not
going to admit to a near-stranger, even one with whom I’ve just had the best sex of my life, that sure, once, a long time ago, before I’d met him, I’d had a “star-crush” on Jeff. I would see him at Buzz or Avalon or After Tea in Provincetown, and yeah, I thought he was cute, charismatic. But look. I see the way Jeff is with tricks. In and out by the next morning, if that long. If I’d tricked with him way back when, we wouldn’t be friends today. I’m sure by now Jeff has already managed to untangle himself from Anthony, his phone number already conveniently “lost” on some sidewalk in Chelsea. The only man in the world for Jeff is Lloyd, no matter who else comes along.
“You’re thinking about him right now,” Shane says.
I huff, “I am not.”
“Look, I understand,” Shane says. “He’s a hottie. Some would say very hot. But you know what? I think you’re much hotter.
Much
.”
I laugh. “Okay, Shane, you don’t have to still make with the flattery. You already got me into bed.”
He looks down at me, knitting his brows. “I’m serious, Henry. You’ve got a much sexier look. Jeff looks like any tired old circuit boy. But there’s an
edge
to you, Henry. One minute you look like an angel, the next a devil. It’s very appealing.”
I can feel myself blushing. “Whatever.”
“And Jeff probably subtly encourages you to keep thinking of yourself as inferior to him. Guys like him need guys like you. They need acolytes. Disciples. But baby, you could outshine him if you just stepped out from his shadow.”
I pull my hand free from Shane’s pocket. “Look, Shane. Jeff’s my best friend. You’ve got it wrong. He’s
always
encouraging me. If not for Jeff, I’d still be like ...” I struggle with the words.
“Me?
Go ahead, Henry. Say it. You’d still be like me.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
We walk the last block in silence, our hands scrunched down into our own pockets. Shane’s wrong about Jeff. Okay, sometimes Jeff can be a little selfish, like when he’ll leave me only moments after we’ve arrived at some club, to dance with some new hot guy, and then never showing up again all night. But he’s always encouraging me to meet somebody, too, telling me I look good, building my ego.
Isn’t he?
Yes, he is—at least, he used to be. I try to remember the last compliment Jeff paid me. I can’t. Instead, all I can remember is his comment last night: “
You?
He wants to pay
you?”
I don’t like it when I start feeling this way. Brent says the only reason I haven’t found a boyfriend yet is because of Jeff. I’ve dated a few guys, but nothing has lasted longer than a couple of months. Sometimes it seems pretty bizarre. I mean, here I am, constantly surrounded by hot guys and finally having achieved a hot body myself, and still I end up going home alone. There are times I wonder about the whole scene. Why do I traipse along with Jeff to the White Party and Hotlanta and the Russian River, only to never find a guy? Everybody assumes circuit parties are these hothouses of wild nonstop sex, but actually
hooking up
with somebody, I’ve discovered, is rare. If not for the groping on the dance floor, there wouldn’t be very much physical contact at all. Everyone’s either too tired, too wasted, or too scared of rejection to pair off.
Except Jeff, of course. Jeff always seems to bring some hottie back to the hotel room, leaving me to sit reading
Tales of the City
in the lobby until they’re through—which sometimes means the next morning. But one makes sacrifices for sisters.
Even if—okay, I admit it—one sister usually does most of the sacrificing.
We’ve reached Grand Central. My heart suddenly softens toward Shane. “Let’s go in and wait for them,” I say. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Okeydokey,” Shane agrees. We push through the doors, letting the warmth envelop us. We head toward one of the kiosks, where I buy two coffees. Shane thanks me. Suddenly, I feel it’s the least I can do.
We drink our coffees sitting on the floor, our backs against the wall facing the central clock, where Jeff and I have plans to rendezvous. We watch silently as humanity crisscrosses in front of us, a thousand voices transformed into a buzzy chorus that echoes up into the vast dome of the station. Faces indistinguishable from each other, yet endlessly fascinating to watch. Why is that? Why do we never tire of watching people we don’t know? I become transfixed by the crowds that rush back and forth.
Finally, I turn my face slightly toward my new friend. “Shane, I need to be honest with you,” I say quietly.
“Why?” Shane replies, equally as soft. “You’ve only just met me. Can’t we keep the fantasy going for just a little bit longer?”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell him.
Shane smiles, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. “You’ve let my adoration go to your head, Henry. You presume way too much power.” He lets out a long sigh.
“I just thought I should—”
“Let me down easy?” Shane keeps his eyes closed. “Look, Henry. I’m not in love with you. I’m not hoping for a romance when we get back to Boston. You filled a fantasy for me. That’s it.”
He opens his eyes but keeps them looking up at the dome. “I had another fantasy once. It was to have sex thirty thousand feet in the air in the lavatory of a jumbo jet. I fulfilled that one last year courtesy of American Airlines on the way back from the White Party in Palm Springs. I didn’t fall in love with the flight attendant who sucked me off. I didn’t ask him to move in with me. It was a fantasy fulfilled. That’s all.”
I’m quiet. “I see,” I say at last. “Well, if that’s all it was ...”

Other books

Stone Cold by Andrew Lane
Indigo Vamporium by Poppet[vampire]
Life in the No-Dating Zone by Patricia B. Tighe
The Turtle Run by Marie Evelyn
Big City Girl by Charles Williams
Falling Star by Olivia Brynn
Shane by Vanessa Devereaux
Amish Undercover by Samantha Price