Xylophone (6 page)

phrase
fucked up
had made Dare’s

eyebrows jump. Vulgar language didn’t jibe with

his image of Jonah.
Randomly promiscuous
had

been another attention grabber.

So much for assumptions.

“And since then?” Dare asked.

“Since then,” Jonah said dryly, “I’ve been

selling insurance and taking my grandmother out

dancing.”

In other words, he’d been steering clear of
all

sexual encounters. “Jonah, maybe you really

should see a professional. You’re in your twenties

now—”

“Twenty-four.”

“You’re twenty-four now, and some sicko

jagged you around at one of the most defining times

of your life. I’m not sure just talking about it to a

layperson is going to help.”

Silence.

“Jonah?”

“You’re probably right.”

Fuck
, Dare mouthed. The sound of Jonah’s

voice—not just defeated but resigned to defeat—

had gotten to him. Maybe more than that had been

getting to him. In spite of his initial determination

to distance himself from these memory swamps,

he’d weakened.

And now he crumbled. “We could still get

together, though. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

Much
.

Chapter Six

THE Polka Doodles had just wrapped up a quick

Saturday birthday gig, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m., at some

VFW or American Legion hall in one of

Milwaukee’s southwestern exurbs. Dare wasn’t

sure which one. Hales Corners, Franklin, and

Muskego all sort of ran together with no

discernible city limits. At least it seemed that way.

Besides, Dare’s ass was dragging, and when

his ass was dragging, it dulled his mind. He’d

worked last night at the Sugar Bowl. He had to

work again tonight. In between, he had yet another

obligation to fulfill—one that made him anxious

and preoccupied.

Jonah Day was going to meet him here. Then

they’d decide where to go for their first…

whatever the hell it was. A get-together that defied

definition, couldn’t be categorized as a date or

confab or meaningless lark.

Dare again scanned the parking lot as he slid

more equipment into Bob’s van. He’d quickly

become the designated humper for the Doodles, a

position he’d assumed without pressure from his

bandmates. It just stood to reason the youngest and

fittest man in the group should do the grunt work.

Bob trundled up behind him with the cased

glockenspiel. “Take it easy, Flash. You’ll rupture

something.” He leaned past Dare and craned his

thick neck, as much as he
could
crane it, to make

sure the equipment was arranged and stacked

properly. He was as fussy about loading the van as

he was about everything else.

Once Dare had tucked away the instrument to

Bob’s satisfaction, Bob sat on the edge of the

van’s floor. “What’s the rush? You gotta be

somewhere? I noticed you changed into your

civvies real quick.”

Assuming an air of indifference, Dare leaned

against the open door. “A friend is meeting me.

I’ve sort of been invited to….” Shit, he had no

idea how to explain this. Fact was, he hadn’t been

invited anywhere in particular.

Bob watched him expectantly. “Give a

private concert?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Dare’s face warmed. “Hardly.”

Flustered, he wondered how his bandmates

could embarrass him so easily without even trying.

Their teasing innuendos barely qualified as off-

color, much less smutty—merely the kinds of

things older married guys said to younger single

guys—yet they made Dare cringe.

How strange. He could perform bare-assed in

front of a hundred strangers, and bump and grind

into men’s faces, and let some of them lick his

sweaty chest or feel up his junk, and not have the

slightest self-conscious twinge. Maybe Bob, Max,

Ernie, and Junior made him painfully aware of his

double life.

“Okay, okay, I’ll butt out.” Bob turned and

putzed with something in the van.

“It’s no big deal. Really.”

As Ernie approached, carrying his banjo and

a couple of music stands, Jonah pulled up in his

shiny blue Ford Focus. Bob turned to look at the

new arrival.

“Hey, there’s JoJo! Wonder what
he’s
doing

here.”

Dare stepped away from the van. “He’s the

person I’ve been waiting for.”

“Hell, I didn’t know the two of you were

pals.” Bob waved as Jonah got out of his car. “I

saw you talking last week, but I figured….” His

grin wilted almost comically as he glanced from

Jonah to Dare and back to Jonah. “Oh.”

Oh shit.
Bob had made an inference. Maybe it

was inevitable. He had a slightly effeminate

clarinetist. He had a male fan who’d only been

seen in the company of his grandmother. The two

young men were roughly the same age.

One by one, the other guys in the band

appeared in the parking lot. They, too, called out

greetings to Jonah without using his full name.

Dare strolled away from the van and tried

like hell to keep his hips from swaying.

He couldn’t keep his mind from straying.

Dressed casually today, Jonah looked so fresh, so

clean. His expertly trimmed hair had the loveliest

glimmers of color: subtle, nutty, like the winking

farewell of fall as it ceded to winter. Jonah’s hair,

Dare decided, was the color of acorns.

“Hi,” Jonah said, his gaze cutting past Dare to

scope out the band members. Maybe he was

wondering about inferences too.

“JoJo?” Dare said archly.

Jonah rolled his eyes. “God, I hate it when

they call me that. Or JJ.”

“I think it’s kind of cute. The guys are

probably just making your name match GG’s.

Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, well, that’s all the more reason for me

to hate it. Sometimes I think these people see me as

a sissy little momma’s boy. Or grandma’s boy.”

Sure enough, Jonah was wondering what

conclusions the Polka Doodles were drawing.

“Does that bother you?”

“Wouldn’t it bother
you
?”

Dare huffed out a dismissive laugh. “Hell,

I’m used to it.”

Now Jonah studied
him
curiously. “You don’t

come across that way.”

“What, you mean nelly?”

“Whatever,” Jonah mumbled.

“You just haven’t seen me at my finest. I’ve

elevated male-femme to an art form. At my

primetime job, that is.” Dare couldn’t seem to put

on the brakes. Why was he bragging about Pepper

Jack? Why was he on the verge of shoving his alter

ego into Jonah’s clean-shaven, pink-cheeked face?

Fucking stop, man. This is getting sick. It’s

like you’re testing him.

So maybe I am. Maybe he’ll leave me alone

if I push it far enough, if I can make him fail the

test.

Jonah, who wouldn’t look at him, seemed to

be having second (or third or fourth) thoughts

about this meeting.

Now Dare flipped inexplicably from not

wanting it to wanting it—maybe. He cleared this

throat, chucked away the male-femme talk. He’d

committed to this. He had to follow through. “So

where should we go?”

Briefly, Jonah looked torn between reluctance

and relief. “How about Whitnall Park, the

botanical gardens? It isn’t far.”

“Good idea. I’d like to be outdoors for a

while.” Dare was about to head for his car but

turned back again. “You sure the gardens are open

at this time of year?”

“’Til the middle of the month. So we’re good.

Oh, admission is five bucks. You okay with that?”

Dare grinned. “Hey, I just played a major gig

with Bouncin’ Bob’s Polka Doodles. I could buy a

bus ticket to Waukesha if I wanted to.”

Jonah laughed. It was the first time Dare had

seen him laugh. Inexplicably, it made Dare feel

good.

For better or worse, they were back on their

uncertain track.

AFTER a quick stop for soft drinks, they drove the

relatively short distance to the park. Dare led the

way. He didn’t want to be distracted by the sight of

his companion, even the none-too-clear image of

Jonah’s head above the driver’s seat. Although

Dare tried to keep his mind blank, behind its white

screen a chaos of thoughts collided:
Jonah’s

really fucking cute, he seems so different today

but not entirely, what the hell are we going to

talk about, will we be uncomfortable ’cause this

is a pretty unnatural situation, do I smell okay?

They’d no sooner parked and exited their

vehicles than Dare could tell Jonah wanted to ask

a question. He’d slipped on a pair of sunglasses—

the day was cool and bright—but Dare could still

see the dip in his forehead.

Jonah held the question in. After paying

admission, they strolled through the annual garden

and down the shrub mall to the rock garden, which

Jonah said was his favorite section. Dare got the

impression he came here a lot, maybe with GG, but

Dare didn’t voice that assumption. Not after

Jonah’s outburst about people perceiving him as a

“sissy little grandma’s boy.” Instead, they talked

about innocuous things, stuck to subjects that

people getting to know each other might cover.

Nothing too personal, nothing upsetting. Like their

time in college, and how it hadn’t opened any

doors to the future for either of them. (Jonah had an

Associate degree in marketing; Dare had no degree

at all.) Jonah’s job, which he’d taken out of

desperation. Dare’s somewhat interesting family.

After sitting for a bit, they resumed their

stroll, crossing the long wooden walkway over the

bog garden into the rose garden.

“So,” Jonah said in a strenuously offhanded

way, “I gather you’re not exactly straight.” He bent

over to sniff a salmon-pink rose that shaded to

creamy yellow toward its interior.

Dare eyed his ass. “I’m not even vaguely

straight.”

Again, no reaction. Jonah simply lifted his

head, and he and Dare continued walking.

Their silence didn’t last long.

“Before, when we were back at the hall,”

Jonah said, his face downturned, “were you saying

you’re, like, a cross dresser? Or a drag queen?”

“Nope. That’s not what I was saying. I’m

neither.”

“Trans?”

“No. I’m just a dancer who wears kind of

unusual costumes. It’s my primary source of

income.” Dare’s voice had lost the glinting edge it

had when he’d first broached the subject. His

perverse impulse to goad Jonah had died. The guy

was curious, that was all, and it was

understandable. The most exotic things in Jonah

Day’s world were tastelessly-dressed polka

bands. He’d certainly never crossed paths with a

gender-fluid performer.

They took a seat on one of two slatted wood

benches that flanked an enormous tree. Jonah took

off his sunglasses and hung them from the collar of

his shirt. The mild-mannered insurance agent

hadn’t yet responded to Dare’s revelation.

Once they were settled, he did.

“Are you a
good
dancer?”

The question took Dare by surprise. Or rather

the choice of adjective did. When he glanced at

Jonah, saw the slight, teasing smile on his face, he

also smiled. Broadly. “I haven’t been fired yet.”

“So you must be doing something right.”

They were looking into each other’s eyes.

Dare’s were blue, and he vaguely wondered if

Jonah found them as pretty as he found Jonah’s.

“Must be.” He was tempted to add,
But I

doubt it has much to do with my dancing
. Dare’s

gaze broke away, faltering over flowerbeds and

visitors. “Kind of funny,” he said, “how we both

like to dance. I even took classes in ballet and

acrobatics. Which I guess means I more than like

it.” His eyes stalled in a spill of shade beneath a

brilliant sugar maple, where a teenaged girl sat

within the bowl of her boyfriend’s legs. She

leaned comfortably against his chest, her head

turned to his ear. “Strange….”

“Why’s that?” Jonah’s voice sounded more