Today People

by Barbara G. Tarn

  Sylvia sat down while he slumped on the single armchair, feeling exhausted. It was over. His stupid love story or relationship with a married man – whatever it had been. What was he left with? He knew John had bought the apartment under his son's name, which was why he had gladly obeyed Sylvia and not gone to the opening of the will – he knew what was in it anyway.

  But now she was here, probably to evict him on behalf of her son.

  "We read John's will," she said, staring at him. "This apartment is under Larry's name."

  "I know," he replied. "I was expecting a visit from my new landlord, in fact." Not you. I don't want to talk to you.

  "He doesn't need it now, and I told him I'd take care of the lodger," she retorted.

  Damn her. He could talk Larry into allowing him a few months to find a new place, but Sylvia looked ruthless.

  "Are you evicting me?" he asked.

  "You have until the end of the month." She looked around again, taking in the small house. "Where did you meet John?" Neutral but determined tone. Why did she want all the details?

  Chris sighed and laid his head back, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it.

  "I was twenty-three and a hustler," he said flatly. "He picked me up one night, fell in love and took me off the street. He put me here and took care of me for seven years. We have been very happy."

  Take that, Lady Ice, he thought. He never mentioned being happy with you.

  "I see," she said, observing the lovers' photos around the small living room. "But he never filed for divorce."

  You'd have ruined him, Chris thought, annoyed. Bitch.

  "It's all here," he said, rising and waving his hand around in dismissal. "Here we lived, here we screwed, here we loved each other. But it's over and I'll be gone at the end of the month. We won't meet again, and you had the last word."

  "I thought he cared for you, but he left nothing for you in his will," she said.

  Actually, he did. The apartment, and his own son. The son Sylvia would have kept away from John if he had filed for divorce.

  Chris knew how to read through the lines of John's will, as John had explained them to him when he had written it. Chris had a letter for Larry from John in the apartment, but wouldn't give it to Sylvia, as it was meant for Larry's eyes only.

  "I don't want anything from him," he replied bluntly. "I didn't stay with him for his money."

  He locked himself in the bathroom, hoping Sylvia would understand it was time she got out of his life.

  ***

  Sylvia slowly got up from the couch. What a wretched place, what a wretched story. She went to look closer at the photos: the lovers looked indeed very happy. She had never seen John smiling like that. Chris had longer hair in older pictures and he looked even better than now.

  She went to have a look at the small bedroom, barely containing a double bed and a two-door wardrobe. On the wall, near the bed, there was a puzzle of photos of John and Chris, all mixed, both in color and black and white. Sylvia knew that John's hobby was photography and she observed, admired and stunned, Chris's naked body, immortalized with love a few years earlier when the model still had shoulder-length hair and hippy looks. Many pictures had John's comment on them and it was weird reading his tiny handwriting: "You're gorgeous", "To my sweet Bed Boy", "I love you".

  It's true, Chris, you're gorgeous, Sylvia thought. Too gorgeous for men only. But being an ex-hustler, he could probably please women as well.

  Sylvia smiled triumphantly as he came out of the bathroom, his face still wet – he had been crying again?

  "I thought you'd be gone by now," he said, hostile.

  "Chris, I want to have sex with you," she said, looking him in the eyes.

  "What? No way!" He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the front door, frowning.

  "We both loved John, don't you think we have something in common?" she insisted.

  "No," he snapped.

  Sylvia found herself outside the small apartment, annoyed.

  I will have you, she thought, determined.

  ***

  Chris was startled to find Sylvia at his door. Again.

  "What do you want?" he asked, tired.

  "Can we talk?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes.

  He noticed the deep cleavage and light make-up. The forty-something had dressed up to seduce him. Or so she hoped.

  "No," he answered bluntly. "Sylvia, I screwed your husband, how can you expect me to have sex with you?"

  "You're a hustler, you said so yourself," she replied. "You want money?"

  "No, I want you out of my life, that's all," he answered, banging his door closed in her face.

  She'd had John for years and now she wanted him? That woman was crazy. Or spoiled and used to have everything she wanted. And she was rich, so she could buy anything and anyone.

  Not me, he thought, furious, going back to his dirty dishes.

  Still, she could mean trouble. He should move away, disappear, if he wanted to be left alone. He glanced at the small apartment with a sigh. He only had to cut that tie a little earlier than expected. But he had nowhere to go, no family to go back to.

  He tiptoed to the front door. She was still outside, he could hear her high heels pacing the corridor up and down.

  He slumped in the armchair where he used to wait for John. It was time to change his life again, but he didn't know where to start. He was too old for the streets. He still had a great body and lots of experience, but it felt like betraying John's memory – John had done so much to take him off the streets, that going back was unthinkable.

  He hid his face in his hands, desperate. He should move, find a solution, get away. He thought about Brian. Maybe they could help each other.

  Sylvia knocked again. "Chris, let me in!"

  "Get lost!" he shouted. "Leave me alone!"

  Eventually he heard her high-heeled shoes walk away down the corridor. He waited another five minutes, then got up on his feet and checked that she was gone. He grabbed his key and went two floors down, to an apartment much similar to his at the other end of the long corridor of anonymous doors.

  Brian opened the door and smiled at him.

  Chris hesitated. "Am I disturbing you?"

  "No, come in. Sorry I didn't come to the funeral."

  "It wasn't necessary that you came and at least the widow hasn't seen you," Chris grumbled.

  Brian's apartment was as spartan as his, and Chris slumped on the couch.

  Brian sat next to him, puzzled. "The widow?" he asked. "Chris, are you all right?"

  "No!" he exploded angrily. "That bitch of John's wife is obsessed with me! She wants to have sex with me, can you believe it? That woman is crazy, I'm not surprised John fell in love with me!"

  "Fuck!" Brian said, incredulous. "And have you seen his children?"

  "Yes." Chris sighed, calming down. "Larry is blond like you, and cute. Wendy is all her mother."

  "Do you think John was blond before being bald?"

  "I don't know. He was a photographer, but didn't like to be photographed. And his past remains an exclusive of the Bitch."

  "Yeah, we can only have the crumbs," Brian said with a sour smile. He was the lover of a married man with children too, so he knew exactly what Chris meant.

  "Listen..." Chris hesitated. "Would it be a problem if I moved here? I can't stay in my apartment, the Bitch is after me and she's keeping Larry away. He's the real owner, but she won't let him see the place until I'm out of it."

  "No problem," Brian shrugged. "I think Robert has found a younger toy anyway. But as long as he pays my rent... although I don't know how long this will last. Maybe he has gone back to his wife, who knows."

  "Do you think we should go back on the streets? Call some photographers or do some more porn? I'll probably need help with that, I'm not really in the mood for sex."

  "I can call a couple of people. Robert isn't as generous as John was, so I kept a few doors open. I'm afraid we're too old
for the streets. The new boys are very aggressive. But we'll find a way."

  "Thank you," Chris said, grateful. He wasn't as optimistic as Brian – what could two ex-hustlers do? – but at least with Brian he could find the strength to keep going instead of wanting to cut his wrists every minute of his waking life.

  ***

  Larry was very curious to see his father's legacy. When his mother told him the lodger was gone, he requested the keys. She insisted on taking him there the first time, because she thought the apartment needed some work and new furniture.

  "Who lived here?" he asked, looking around with genuine curiosity. She had made it sound as if it was in total disrepair and it wasn't. Cheap furniture, but who cared?

  "Some bloke who worked for your father," she shrugged. "He went back to his hometown." She checked the empty wardrobe in the bedroom as if to make sure everything was gone. "I think we need to have it painted," she added pointing at a wall that had shades and pin holes as if something had been hung there for years, probably a composite of pictures.

  "I can paint it with my friends this summer," he replied. "And then I'll think about refurnishing."

  He came back to the apartment alone. He needed to make up his mind about it without his mother's suggestions. The kitchen looked fine, but he might buy a new couch. The armchair was comfortable, he could see himself sitting there with his laptop.

  The bed was bigger than his and he imagined coming here with someone instead of having a quickie in the car. He opened the bed-table drawer and saw a white envelope with his name on it. Puzzled, he picked it up. It was sealed, so he opened it. A letter and a picture – the picture showed his father and the handsome stranger from the funeral, both smiling happily at the camera.

  Puzzled, Larry glanced at the long letter and recognized his father's handwriting. He lay down to read it, smiling and frowning as he proceeded. His father started the letter introducing the person who was supposed to give him the envelope – Chris.

  Larry eagerly read about his father's love story and the hope he'd let Chris stay in the apartment until he felt ready to move on. Except Chris was already gone, evicted by his own mother. Larry grunted, but was glad Chris had left the letter for him.

  I'd have shared it with him forever, dad! he thought, disappointed. Where could he find Chris now?

  He stared at the picture and sighed. One more reason not to touch the apartment, in case he could bring back Chris to where he belonged. Unless Chris had already forgotten, that is. But Larry doubted it – unless Chris was a very good actor who had headed for Hollywood after the funeral performance.

  ***

  Chris was tired and fed up with his silly, useless life. He missed John and kept looking for him even in Brian's apartment. Heck, he was missing John even seated on that park bench in a mild spring day!

  A male voice calling his name startled him and brought him back to reality.

  "You're Chris, aren't you?" The young man insisted, staring at him. "Except for the haircut you haven't changed much since high school. I never thought they'd convince you to cut your hair one day!"

  "Mike?" he asked, hesitantly, fishing for a name to match the face from the past. His former classmate hadn't changed much either.

  "Yeah, that's me!" The other grinned. "How are you doing, pal?"

  Chris smiled against his will. It really did sound like Mike talking. How many years since high school? Chris had never been good at maths anyway.

  "I'm fine," he answered. "And you?"

  "I'm great!" Mike's cheerfulness was contagious. "We opened a pub with Debby, you remember her, don't you? And now we're doing just fine. What do you do?"

  "I... uh... I'm looking for a job..." He could keep entertaining older men who called Brian's apartment when they wanted company, but his mind wasn't into it and his body struggled to comply to their demands. He had been faithful to John for so long, that being promiscuous again felt totally wrong.

  "Wonderful, we were just thinking to hire some people! You know, Debby can't take care of her family and our pub, so we were thinking of keeping her as cook and hire a couple of waiters, as we can now afford them."

  "I have an unemployed friend if you want." Chris's hope soared. A job for him and Brian, being able to leave the condo and start a new life. He vaguely remembered Debby, but even in high school girls rarely caught his eye.

  "Debby will be delighted." Mike beamed. "You know, she had a crush on you in high school. So did I."

  "What?" he asked, confused.

  "Just kidding," Mike said quickly. "How about you start tonight with your friend? I'll give you the address."

  ***

  Chris pushed the pub's door open, trying to hide his excitement at his first real job. Brian followed him, serene. Mike was already behind the counter and smiled at them.

  "Hello, guys," he said putting down the glass he was cleaning to greet them. "Debby!"

  Debby came out of the kitchen. Chris remembered her as a brunette, so she must have highlighted her hair. She was more or less as he remembered her and they hugged each other feeling fifteen years younger. He introduced Brian, wondering if his handsome friend had high school mates somewhere – but he had to admit he didn't know much about Brian. Hustlers lived in the present and never discussed the past.

  Mike showed them the place and explained what they needed. Brian went to help Debby in the kitchen while Chris and Mike readied the main room as the opening hours were fast approaching.

  "Now that you're with us, we could make shifts and open at lunch time," Mike said.

  "You haven't tried us, we have no experience," Chris objected.

  "You're smart, I know you'll do wonders. Your friend is gorgeous, has he ever considered modeling?"

  "Yeah, we did that too," Chris sighed. They had both posed for adult magazines when they were twenty, then their married pimps had discovered them. The last time Chris had been photographed in the nude had been by John at the beginning of their relationship. And it had been different from any previous photo session.

  "Are you two together?" Mike asked.

  Chris stared at him, a little surprised. So Mike was gay? And he hadn't ended up on the streets, selling his body to old or married men?

  "No," he answered at last. "We're friends. We used to work together." He'd rather not say when or where, though. "We live in the same ugly condo of tiny apartments and look after each other."

  "I have a big house," Mike said. "Remember my parents'? It's all mine now, lots of space for a single man..."

  ***

  Brian considered himself cute but dumb. Too often he had been used for his good looks and received next to nothing in return. But he trusted Chris. They came from the same place and had done the same things for a number of years, therefore Chris wouldn't use him like others had done.

  He was happy to follow Chris to the pub and start working with Mike and Debby, and even happier to move into Mike's family-sized house after about a month. He was glad to cut all ties and start from scratch.

  He enjoyed working at the pub. Debby was nice and Mike's admiring stares didn't leave him unmoved. Mike was younger than any of his previous lovers, he had given him a new house, and a new room all for himself, therefore he wasn't sure about his feelings – was it gratitude or something else?

  Mike's house reminded him of the house where he had grown up, before his father kicked him out for coming out of the closet. It was like deleting the years on the streets, the photographers who wanted to screw him, the occasional porn movies he had done, and the old perverts who used him as a sex-toy. Mike was the first "clean" young man dealing with him and he wasn't sure how to react. He was a little ashamed of himself and his past, but at the same time he was happy at the thought of having a normal boyfriend for the first time in his life.

  Because they never discussed the past, Brian didn't dare asking Chris about his history with Mike. But then he saw Chris was still mourning John after four months and decided he should sm
ile back at Mike after all.

  "You and Chris don't talk much," Mike said one morning at breakfast. Chris had gone out and they were alone in the house.

  "What do you mean?" Brian asked, puzzled.

  "None of you like to talk about yourselves," Mike smiled. "Now, I might know something about Chris, but you..." He shook his head with a tsk.

  "What do you want to know?" Brian was glad to get into that discussion.

  "How old are you?"

  "Thirty-one."

  "How long have you known Chris?"

  "About ten years."

  "Ever been together?"

  "No."

  "Funny, I thought you were his ex."

  "I thought you were his ex," Brian grinned. "No, we're only trouble-mates," he added. It was time to try the house owner. If Mike accepted his past, Brian could be a new man.

  He told Mike about the abandoned building he had shared with Chris and the other hustlers, the misadventures they had with depraved or violent customers. A couple of boys had been killed, some had gone home. One had overdosed.

  "Chris was crazy for him," he added. "He almost killed himself in a motorcycle accident. As if he wanted to join his unfortunate friend. But he survived, and then John came along."

  He told Mike about John, and Robert.

  "Bastards," Mike grumbled, disgusted. "Lead a double life with you and keep their wives."

  "Don't tell Chris," Brian said. "He was very much in love. He still misses John."

  "And you?" Mike asked.

  "I don't fall in love," he shrugged. "I know everybody wants me because I'm good-looking."

  "Not only good-looking." Mike stared at him, serious. "You're an angel, so quiet and serene... In spite of the street life, you're cleaner than many people I know."

  "Really?" He was surprised.

  "Yes, really. You know, in high school I had a crush on Chris, but I never told him. When I met him again I hoped... then I met you..."

  His fingers brushed Brian's clean-shaven cheek.

  "I don't want you to think you owe me for the room, though," he added, retrieving his hand and lowering his eyes. "If you like me, fine, if not, we're still friends. I can go cruising in Castro at anytime and won't come back alone."