Rank

by Richard Compson Sater

  I remember his deep voice rumbling underneath, elemental, as we sang the old hymns. I’d never heard him sing out with his rich bass. I don’t know why I was so surprised to discover that he was quite tuneful. Such ability is hardly rare. I can do as much myself, but for a general, it seemed curious, even startling. Perhaps it was just because he sang loudly and confidently, which many Catholics refuse to do.

  I remember the general’s firm, no-nonsense handshake at the moment of the Mass when we shared a peaceful sign among ourselves. My mother kissed me on the forehead as she has done forever, and then, to my surprise, she kissed the general’s forehead, too. Her gesture of familiarity struck me as telling in a way she could never have imagined, because she would not have greeted a stranger or even a casual friend in such a manner. Only family. Others behind and in front shook our hands too, welcoming me home, and even the monsignor came down to greet us and thank us for our military service. I appreciated the sincerity of his gesture.

  After Mass, my father insisted we stay for coffee and doughnuts in the church hall. Usually my parents skipped the fellowship stuff, but I guess I couldn’t blame them for wanting to prolong the moment of glory.

  “Brace yourself,” I told the general.

  “You watch,” he said. “I can take care of myself.”

  Of course he could. But I watched him anyway, a little jealous of the attention he attracted, since I felt mostly edged out. He had enough experience with community events where he was required to do little more than act general-like, making friendly small talk while balancing a cup and a plate of snacks. Still, I introduced him all around, and he remained gracious. When it was all over and we were on our way back home, he seemed extremely pleased with himself.

  “Congratulations,” I said. “Everyone at All Saints is now convinced that you run the U.S. Air Force single-handedly, with minimal assistance from your trusty sidekick, the Boy Lieutenant. For years to come, the congregation will retell the story of the day the general came to Mass, and you will pass into legend like all saints do.”

  He grinned, and my parents laughed, too.

  “Well. Maybe not all,” he said. “Suppose we say some saints and call it square. You reckon my soul will be saved?”

  “On the strength of one Mass and two cups of coffee? It might take a little more than that. Sir,” I concluded, insinuating.

  “Careful, Stoplight. You’re being insubordinate.”

  “So court-martial me. Sir.”

  “I’ll figure out some kind of penalty.”

  Once we arrived home again, my parents changed from their Sunday morning clothes into attire more suitable for the remainder of a restful day.

  We hung back in the kitchen. “I hope I didn’t steal your thunder today,” the general said, contrite.

  He had, but I didn’t mind. “It’s all right. Thanks for going. Mom and Dad won’t say so, but it meant a lot to them. They’re proud to show me off in my uniform,” I said, “and I don’t mind indulging them. It’s as good for the soul as gospel now and then, I think.”

  I wondered, idly amused, about the future. If the general and I beat the odds and stayed together, we would surely have other occasions to attend Mass with my parents. Had they thought about that when they’d taken us to church this morning? I wonder if they weren’t unconsciously beginning to treat him as a son-in-law already.

  God bless them. They are fine people, as resilient as the morning come and just as hopeful.

  “You know,” I said, “you’re making the most inconvenient good impression on them.”

  “Am I?”

  “You know you are, Traveler. I’ve never seen anything so shamelessly calculated. Even the dogs like you. As if you’re staking some kind of claim.”

  “Am I?”

  Maybe we both wanted a future together after all. I wondered if he might at last be ready to talk about it, but after an uncertain moment, he chose to skate around the subject once again. “Damn,” he growled. “Did I ever tell you how sexy you look in blue?”

  He pulled me to him and coupled his mouth to mine, and then he pulled back. He looked at me in his arms, and I suspect he realized what had just occurred to me, too. He’d never expressed his feelings for me when we were both in uniform, as if he’d made some conscious effort to separate us from the Air Force and the uniform that marked it. But this time, deliberately, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against himself, tightly, as if he would squeeze the life from me. Perhaps he truly was staking a claim.

  Pressing into me, the hardware on his shirt might have left a permanent imprint on my chest, but it would have been nothing like the permanent mark he’d already made in my heart. And when his mouth instinctively found mine, I knew he was as hungry as I was. If not here and now in this kitchen on a fall Sunday morning in the house where I grew up, then somewhere and soon, he would be called to settle his account. An answer would be demanded of him. Such an appetite as his was not without consequence.

  Neither of us heard my parents come back into the kitchen until my father groaned, “Oh, not again.”

  “Boys!” my mother said, stern.

  Guilty, we separated.

  “Y’all need to make a little more noise,” the general said. “Well, get your eyes full.” We’d never kissed for an audience, but even if modesty should have dictated otherwise, I forgot everything but the man connected to me.

  When we separated, I felt my face flush, but he wore defiance instead, underneath a triumphant grin, as if he’d won some victory. And though my mother and father tried to appear disapproving, I couldn’t quite buy it this time. My father shook his head, resigned, muttering under his breath. Faced with the awkward grace of our courting, my mother could only giggle. I wondered if Dad could ever have behaved the same way.

  She shooed us out of the kitchen so she and my father could attend to breakfast.

  The general and I escaped to the backyard for a walk with Clement and Sixtus. We have plenty of trees and a couple of acres to wander. And wander we did, but we weren’t exploring the grounds once we were out of sight of the house, under the sun and the wide blue sky. And maybe the dogs raised a fuss and maybe not. Quite possibly, we wouldn’t have heard bombs dropping.

  *

  Before noon, we loaded our suitcases into the car. We had plenty of time to reach the airport, return the rental, and get to our gate. We’d probably sit for an hour, but the general never complained. I had long since adapted myself to that habit, at least, and always carried a paperback book with me, as he did himself, for such occasions.

  My father scowled. “I expect you to do right by our son,” he told the general. “But I’ll kick your ass across three states if I find out from Harris that you’re behaving like a prick.”

  I was mortified, and the general was suitably embarrassed, too, but he said, “You’ve got a deal, Bruce. I couldn’t ask for more than that.”

  My mother gave him a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. “Seamus, we look forward to your next visit.”

  Solemnly, the general shook hands with each of them and, in the process, handed each of them one of his embossed brass coins, colorfully imprinted with our Sixth Air Force emblem. Mystified, they examined these tokens carefully.

  “Wow,” I said. “You’re lucky. He doesn’t give those away too often.”

  “It’s lovely,” my mother said, “but what is it?”

  “It’s the general’s coin,” I said. “His personal souvenir as the commander of Sixth Air Force. See? It has our patch on one side and the one-star flag on the other, and it says ‘commander’ underneath.”

  “What’s it for?” my dad said.

  “Excellence, usually,” I said. “Going above and beyond the call of duty. It’s kind of a good-luck charm.”

  My mother shook her head. “What did we do to deserve this honor?”

  “You welcomed me into your family,” the general said. “That’s enough. But you’re willing to share Harris with me, too. Th
at’s a meritorious achievement that deserves more than a coin, but it’s all I’ve got right now. Call it my marker, gratefully given, for a debt I can never repay.”

  I felt myself blush. Imagine someone talking that way about me. My parents didn’t know what to say.

  After a quick farewell pat for the dogs, who always seem sorrowful when anyone departs, we climbed into the car. I headed down the driveway with a couple of honks of the horn and a wave out the window.

  We drove most of the route in comfortable silence. Only when we got closer to the city did we start talking.

  “Now you’ve met my folks,” I said.

  “They’re fine people. I’m grateful for their hospitality.”

  “I hope you’ll get a chance to visit with them again soon.”

  “I intend to.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For how things went.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Maybe we didn’t file a flight plan before we took off, but we arrived at our intended destination.”

  “We did?”

  He grinned. “Why do you think I wanted to come home with you, Harris?”

  “You mean—?”

  He nodded. “I had every intention of telling them about us. How could we spend three days together and not talk about it?”

  After all that. “I hate you, Traveler.”

  “Liar,” he said, still grinning.

  “How did you know everything would work out all right?”

  “I’m a general,” he said. That cinched it. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  As we neared the exit that would put us on the bypass to Interstate 70 toward Dayton, he told me to keep going straight into Columbus instead.

  “Why?”

  “Just drive,” he said. “I’ll tell you when to turn off.”

  “I know this area pretty well, Traveler, and if we don’t take the bypass, we’ll have to go through downtown, and you never know what that’s going to be like, even on a weekend. We don’t have too much extra time to get to the airport as it is, and we have to return the car first.”

  He pressed a gentle hand over my mouth and grinned. All right, then. I would humor him. A few miles farther, we were close to downtown, and he pointed out an exit. I took it. He directed me to turn left at the next traffic light. I did. Not long after that, he directed me to turn into the parking lot of an upscale hotel.

  “What’s the idea?”

  “We have a reservation,” he said.

  “We do?”

  “We do. One night. I wish we could stay for two or three,” he said. “I swapped our flight this evening for tomorrow afternoon instead. I made the arrangements by phone yesterday. See? I don’t need a sitter all the time. Your folks are wonderful people,” he said, “but we need some one-on-one time with no audience. Barking dogs included.”

  He got out of the car and waited by the trunk expectantly as I released the catch. He removed his bag and was heading for the door when he realized I was still sitting in the front seat, too surprised to move. He came back to the car and leaned down to my open window, his face level with mine. “Hey, Shirttail. You coming?” he said. Then he realized his double entendre and grinned. “You will be soon. I guarantee it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  We managed to keep our composure through the lobby and to the desk. The general gave his name, and the clerk looked it up on the computer. “A single with two double beds,” he said. “You’re on the twelfth floor. Nice view from the balcony.”

  The general and I filled out the registration forms, and he passed over a credit card to pay for the room. The clerk gave each of us a key and told us that checkout was at noon the next day. We thanked him and headed across the lobby toward the elevator.

  “Why two beds instead of one?” I said, once we were inside the elevator and gliding upward to our floor.

  He wagged his eyebrows. “Two places to play.”

  We set down our suitcases inside the room. It was furnished with a pair of easy chairs, a reading lamp, a coffee table with the daily newspaper folded on it, a large flat-screen television, and a coffee bar in addition to the beds. A sliding glass door led to a balcony with a pleasant view of the city skyline as promised. I wasn’t surprised the general had sprung for the best, and I was pleased he’d done it all by himself.

  The general hooked the “do not disturb” sign on the door, slid the deadbolt into place, and hooked the security chain. He drew the drapes across the window and the door to the balcony, letting in just enough afternoon sun around the edges to put the room in comfortable half-light, more than enough to see the glint in his eyes as he faced me, his mustache set on “charge.” He started unbuttoning his shirt.

  “You waiting for an engraved invitation?” he said.

  Nothing so formal. We didn’t even pull back the spread before tumbling into the bed like dice rolling lucky seven. The three days spent with my parents might have been the longest foreplay we’d ever managed. We were fully primed and ready, with no two- or four-legged interference or interruption. Our swords drawn, we had nothing but the most pleasurable dueling left to do, and the rest of the day for it. We settled into our en garde with a lusty abandon that would have made any swashbuckler proud.

  *

  Early in the evening, we showered and dressed and shared a quiet dinner in the restaurant at the hotel. As we walked back to our room, I had an inspiration. “Let’s go out tonight.”

  “Where?”

  “A bar I know. It’s not too far from here.” He hesitated. “Come on, Traveler. When was the last time you went to a gay bar?”

  “That’s easy. Never.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Of course not.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “I think I do.”

  I conceded. “All right. Maybe you do, but humor me this once. I went to school in this city, and I want to visit my old stomping ground for a nostalgia trip. Okay?”

  He sighed. “All right, Shotglass. We’ll go. But I don’t think I have anything suitable to wear.”

  “How about your blues? That would generate significant interest among the clientele, I imagine.”

  “Ha,” he said. “I’d rather stay here with you instead. Clothing is optional, and you can call me ‘sir’ a few more times.”

  I stood firm. I didn’t know when we might get another opportunity to visit such a bar. It was reasonably close by, and it would be good to get out of the hotel for a while. We could take a taxi so we wouldn’t have to worry about parking. We’d stay long enough to have one drink and then return to the hotel. Besides, we couldn’t make up for weeks of frustrated intimacy in one day.

  As I counted off my reasons, he groaned and covered his ears. “Enough. I surrender.”

  We settled for casual attire, khaki trousers and sport shirts, understated and suggestive of nothing particularly queer. Though we might be slightly out of place in the bar, we would attract no attention elsewhere, and he declared himself satisfied.

  It was just half past eight.

  “A little early, but not too early,” I said. “Come on. I promise to behave myself, at least until we’re inside the bar.”

  I grabbed him around the neck and brought his mouth to mine. When we separated, he sighed. “Let’s get this thing over with,” he said. We grabbed our jackets and headed downstairs.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  We caught a taxi outside the hotel, and I directed the driver to let us out about two blocks from the bar. I knew the general would be self-conscious, so I wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. As we walked toward the entrance, he glanced around nervously. “Are you sure about this?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “We’re not violating any law. We’re both adults. We’re just going into a bar to have a beer.” He still seemed reluctant, but I pushed him from behind. “Go in. I know you’re curious.”

  We stepped inside, o
ur eyes adjusting to the dim lights as we stood in the doorway. I’d counted on a small crowd, partly because we were early and partly because Sunday nights usually attracted fewer customers. Nonetheless, perhaps two dozen men were inside, and I was aware all eyes turned our way as soon as we entered. Though this wasn’t unusual, I also knew the general wouldn’t be aware of such a thing. He took the scrutiny personally, and I could feel his hackles rise, like a backyard dog challenged by a trespasser.

  “Easy, Traveler,” I said. I took his hand and led him to a seat at the bar, a large square island surrounded with high stools. We took off our jackets and made ourselves comfortable.

  The bartender, standing inside the square, came over to us as we sat down. “What’ll it be, guys?” Noncommittal. He didn’t care. We were two more customers.

  “A beer, I guess,” the general said. “Whatever you’ve got on tap.”

  “The same for me, please,” I said.

  “Gotta see some ID first, pal.”

  I was amused but the general was mortified as I handed over my driver’s license. Satisfied, the bartender pulled two icy mugs from a cooler, drew the beer, and set the glasses in front of us. Optimistic, I asked him to start a tab, and he left us alone.

  “See?” I said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  The general didn’t answer. He gulped half of his glass of beer, still anxious, still self-conscious, brooding a little.

  “Now everyone thinks I’m some kind of chicken hawk,” he grumbled. “As if I’d bring a minor into a bar.”

  I sighed. “Look, Traveler, it’s just a precaution. It didn’t mean anything. The bartender is required to ask for ID.”

  “He didn’t ask me,” he said, dark.

  “I’d say there’s no doubt that you’re over twenty-one. What of it?”

  He hid his mustache in the mug and concentrated on the contents.

  I looked around the place. Little had changed since my college days, though the place did seem smaller and perhaps a little more weary than I recalled. The unassuming interior was dimly lit, with a couple of pool tables and a jukebox. On Fridays and Saturdays, the bar offered a DJ, and they had a small space for dancing if anyone felt like doing so, but on other nights, a jukebox provided the soundtrack for whatever casual cruising took place. The same neon signs on the walls advertised various brands of beer. A large television behind the bar aired a baseball game with the sound off. Nothing would seem particularly gay to an outsider.