He sighed. “I’m too old for this.”
I pushed the general up against a store window so we could see ourselves reflected, side by side, in the glass. He dropped his head as if he were afraid of what he’d find staring back at him, but I put my fingers under his chin and raised it.
“No,” I said. “Traveler, look at us. Together. Side by side. Quit trying to be a superhero. You’re no use to me unless you’re life-size. That skinny old mustached guy in the window is everything I want, all in one place, and I shouldn’t have to apologize every time I tell him so. If he’s too stubborn to believe what I’m saying, that’s his problem.” I addressed the summary of my complaint to his face, not his reflection. “I’m tired of having to repeat myself! You cross-examine me as if you think I’m lying to you. If your word is your bond, why won’t you give me that same courtesy?”
He scowled, cross. I was crosser, however.
“Traveler, I have nothing else to offer. If it’s not enough for you, then I’ll find someone else.”
He shot back. “I guess you can pick up a skinny old mustached guy like me anywhere.”
I’d begun to suspect he would never learn, and I was ready to scream, curse, throw china plates at his head. “You bet. A dime a dozen. On every corner of every street in every town, so why should you kid yourself there’s anything special about you?” But he continued staring at the pair of us in the window as if we were strangers, and I finally backed away, discouraged. “You really are a goddamned fool,” I said. “At least we can agree on that.”
Unexpectedly, he laughed, sincere and hearty.
“I’m not kidding, Traveler. Don’t you dare make this into a joke, you sorry son of a bitch.” Like a pressure cooker on a hot stove, I hissed at his reflection, as if it might somehow be more reasonable than the human version. “Understand this, you selfish prick. Falling in love wasn’t my idea. Remember? You started it back in January when you stood in front of my desk and asked me to come and work for you. And now it’s too late to change my mind. I’m not playing hard to get. All you have to do is ask.”
He faced me again, his mustache galloping and his eyes bright and moist. As I continued sputtering at him, he quietly but firmly placed a hand over my mouth. “Whoa, Cowboy,” he said, gentle. I’m sure he hadn’t expected such vehemence. “Quiet down,” he said. “Quiet down, now.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I’m asking,” he said. “You hear?”
“I hear. And I’m accepting.”
He nodded. “Let’s go. We’ve still got some ground to cover.”
And not just to reach the hotel, still a half mile or more away. “Have we resolved anything?” I said, utterly downcast.
“I’m yours if you want me,” he said. “If that’s anything.”
“It is,” I said. “The same goes for me.”
We started walking, closer together, and a block later, he draped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him until self-consciousness won out. To cover his awkwardness, he stopped under a streetlamp and filled and lit his pipe, relieved.
“Traveler? What did you tell the guy back there, after he asked about your impressive hypnotic powers?”
He chuckled. “I told him to go fuck himself, since it was obvious no one else was interested.”
That was more like it. We continued our walk to our hotel as he puffed contentedly, and the silence was peaceful and comfortable again. When we got to the entrance, I waited with him as he took a final drag from the pipe and knocked the ashes into the gutter. The clock in the lobby chimed eleven as we passed.
We said little to each other once we arrived at the room. I felt suddenly shy, as if we’d never been alone together before, and he seemed to feel the same. We busied ourselves with packing, though we would have plenty of time to take care of such things in the morning. Our rescheduled flight didn’t take off until nearly three in the afternoon.
The romance that had begun our stay in this room with such possibility and promise, however, had evaporated. I cursed inwardly for thinking a visit to the bar would be a worthwhile field trip. The walk home and my off-the-cuff rant hadn’t fully cleared the air, but I could do little to change the outcome.
Sometimes I am surprised at what and how and where I continue to learn. The general mentored me all the time, whether he knew it or not. I learned simply by watching how he reacted in public and in private. When a man trains himself his entire adult life to be discreet about a part of himself he secretly believes is shameful, would it not take the same lifetime to unlearn it, not merely to whitewash the stain but bleach it out entirely? The general had a long way to go. I wondered if he truly wanted to get there, if I—we—were enough incentive for him to set out on the journey. We desperately needed to hash out these things together. I got nowhere with them in my head.
I had time to brood, as he chose to shower alone. I had raised the issues, but no actual discussion had ensued, only agreement that such talk was needed. No appointment had been set. When he finished in the bathroom, I took my turn and took my time and was not surprised when I emerged to find him already under the covers of the bed we hadn’t used earlier, the clean sheets drawn to his neck as he pretended sleep. After weighing the options, I climbed into the empty bed and turned off the lamp.
After a couple of hours, I was awakened from fitful sleep by a lanky, naked figure climbing into bed with me, muttering under his breath about being a goddamned old fool until I gave him something else to do with his mouth. He’d come over to my side, defecting from the fort of his own construction on his own high ground. What compromise was hammered out and what it cost by way of concession I could hardly guess, but he seemed to have made his choice, too.
We would have to solve our equation, and the answer would have to include him and me inside the same parentheses. If he needed more time, I would give him time. If he would not be rushed, I would not insist on speed, but I would demand progress. On that unresolved chord, I drifted into sleep, folded against him, feeling warm, safe, absurdly confident.
*
Optimism is easy in the morning. Daylight is a strong persuader, and yesterday seems farther away and less troublesome from a distance. I was awakened by the general’s cheerful whistling from the bathroom. The tune sounded vaguely familiar, and I lay in bed for a minute trying to place it, because the catchy, simplistic melody seemed so foreign coming from him. He repeated it several times before the words came back to me: Be my loverboy, be my lover. From the bar last night.
Before I arose, I could smell the coffee brewing. He had already poured a cup for me, still steaming, the cream already added. He continued to whistle the fragment of song, and I wondered if he could place it himself. When I poked my head around the door and said good morning, he reached out and pulled me into his embrace as if he’d been expecting me.
As we stood skin to skin, he rubbed his bristled face against my neck. I realized how much I loved this particularly masculine display of his affection. But still, I had a part to play in the game, too, and I pushed him away in simulated protest.
“You’ll wear me down to nothing with that sandpaper of yours, Traveler,” I said.
He laughed again. “I’d better scrape it off, then.” As I watched, he filled the sink with warm water, applying a generous mound of mentholated foam to his face and spreading it around. He raised his chin and eyed himself in the mirror, razor poised. Then he stopped and fixed his gaze to me. “Being a tourist again?”
“I like the view. You should sell postcards.”
He raised his eyebrows. “There you go again.”
“It’s sad. So many unlucky people will never get to observe your splendid naked self.”
He gave me a long look. “You mean that, don’t you?”
“Have you already forgotten what I told you last night?” I said.
“I have not,” he said. “As you rightfully pointed out to me, your word is your bond, and henceforth, I will respect your opinions even if I might privately disag
ree with them.”
“Thank you. So, I won’t have to tell you again?”
“Well,” he said, “don’t be hasty. You might remind me now and then for old time’s sake. I promise I won’t argue the point.”
Ah, vanity. “I don’t mind accommodating the sexiest man I’ve ever known, et cetera, et cetera,” I said.
He wrapped his arms around me and rubbed his bristled chin into my neck once again with full vigor, transferring most of his Barbasol to me in the process. It was my turn to laugh, and he tossed me a towel after he finally pulled away. He smeared lather over his chin again and applied the razor.
Who does not like to watch a man shave? It’s an art learned by trial and error. For a man with a heavy beard like his, it was not to be hurried. My watching amused him, but after one careful scrape, leaving a cleared inch-and-a-quarter wide patch like a snow shovel against a winter’s driveway, he set down the razor.
“What?” I said. He arched an eyebrow. “Give me a break, Traveler. I hardly ever get the chance to watch you shave.” He sighed and picked up the razor again, but his naked belly was too close, and I never could resist it. I stepped closer, reached and made contact. He stood patiently as I raked through his deep shag until my enthusiasm got the better of me, and he finally yelped. “Damn it, Lawnmower! That stuff is still attached.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“Are not,” he growled. “If you insist on staying, you’ll have to behave yourself. And keep your hands off me.”
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
He sighed again. “That’s two. Get away from me.”
But I couldn’t let go of mischief just yet. I squirted a generous mound of shaving cream into my hand and, without warning or permission, pressed it against his chest and began spreading it around, slowly. He cocked his head and scowled.
“You’re not getting near my belly with a razor,” he said.
“Shh,” I said. “You know I’d never do that. I just wanted to illustrate that shaving cream has other uses.” I massaged the cool, luxurious foam into his chest, and he discovered he liked the sensation. He pressed himself against my hands as they slid across the terrain, and I pressed back.
“I’ll have to shower again,” he said.
“Guess you will,” I said. In the meantime, though, he gamely continued shaving, carefully navigating the blade across his face, rinsing the razor in the sink, repeating. I worked my way down his front, lathering the rug. I paused to add yet another dollop of cream from the can and shifted my attention farther down. Only when my languid massage aroused him to the point that he sliced his cheek with the razor did he lose patience. He winced and sighed, beaten. As the blood trickled down the white foam, he ordered me out of his sight. “You’re trying to kill me. Now, git!”
Reluctantly, I got.
A couple of minutes later, I heard the water drain from the sink. I heard him turn on the shower and pull back the curtain and step inside, and a minute after that, I heard his voice, impatient over the rush and steam of the water. “What the hell are you waiting for, Burma Shave? An engraved invitation?”
I am embarrassed to admit we exhausted his entire can of shaving cream and wasted many gallons of water in the shower afterward. But what great fun we had.
He would wear evidence of the razor-edge cut for nearly a week, which only made him look more like a pirate. He needed no cutlass or eye patch, and his treasure chest was mine for the looting.
Chapter Twenty-three
The days blurred for me after the general and I returned from Ohio and threw ourselves back into work. The general had a NAF to run; I had a general to look after. At the office, we established a rhythm. I grew more efficient until I could frequently anticipate what he wanted even before he asked for it, and more than once, he’d simply shake his head and ask for the millionth time what he’d done to deserve me.
I wanted to give him a million more reasons to ask.
Of course, we had appearances to keep up. The general still howled at me like a pack of coyotes and kept me jumping. His acting could have netted him an Academy Award. Linda often mentioned privately she thought the general was too hard on me. To my surprise, several members of the NAF staff echoed her concern and even thanked me for ensuring that the general remained fully mission-capable in spite of the maintenance required. They continued to worry I would be replaced any day, as my predecessors had been.
I played along.
The time we had to ourselves was burnished gold. An afternoon at the county historical museum. A night at the carnival when it came to town, riding the Tilt-a-Whirl and sharing cotton candy, my marksmanship skills winning him a stuffed bear of his own at the rifle shoot on the midway. Falling asleep on my living-room couch with his head in my lap watching an antique Gary Cooper western on television. Browsing secondhand record stores for rare jazz albums. Playing Scrabble until four in the morning. A disastrous attempt to replicate his mother’s buttermilk doughnut recipe. My surprisingly successful efforts, under his instruction, to learn the foxtrot and the cha-cha, and his promise to teach me every dance he knew.
I lived for such times. But we were no closer to hammering out a solution to our predicament. I kept pushing it to the back of my mind. A question unasked can never be answered “no.”
*
The general’s flight had arrived a few minutes early. He’d returned from yet another conference, one I couldn’t attend because of various other duties. I had dropped him off at the airport on his way out and had come to fetch him upon his return, though the hour was late and he could just as easily have gotten a taxi.
Impatient, he waited near the baggage claim, in his blues, just the shirt and tie, no jacket against the November chill. His suitcase and carry-on bag rested at his feet, the stem of his unlit pipe secure in his teeth and his fingers wrapped around the belly of my bear. From the admiring glances of passersby, I knew he cut quite a figure. Just as I knew he didn’t care what people might have thought about the bear.
When he caught sight of me, he grinned, like sun cracking open the purple sky at morning. I wasn’t in uniform, as we were after hours, so I greeted him with a masculine, businesslike hug. I felt his surprise, but I also felt him snake and spark when we touched.
“How was the conference, Traveler?”
“Useless,” he said. “Great God, I missed having coffee with you in the morning. This thing”—and he shook the bear at me—“isn’t worth a damn anymore. I can’t even get a good night’s sleep without you.”
On the way home in the car, I kept my right hand on the car’s gearshift and he kept his left hand clasped on top of mine. I could tell he wanted to talk, and I kept quiet as he selected his plan of attack and chose his words.
“I had my first argument about you,” he said finally.
This surprised me. “You did? With whom?”
“Friend of mine. A casual friend. Maybe not even that. A fellow officer. You don’t know him,” he said. “When we happened to be TDY together, we got in the habit of hooking up for a little…uh…discreet extracurricular activity, if you know what I mean.”
I did, and immediately a pang of jealousy shot through me. I kept my voice as calm as I could manage. “Do you see him often?” I certainly wanted to know how many times in the past they’d hooked up for a little of that discreet activity.
“A couple of times a year at conferences and so on,” he said.
“Another general?”
He nodded. “A two-star. I passed on his invite this time, and he had to know why. Of course, I didn’t go into specifics. He assumed you’re another officer and junior to me. I wouldn’t give him any more details, but he was mighty curious. He also said you’d never know if I picked up a little action on the side.”
“Well, he’s right about that,” I said. Anger crept inside my voice. “I wouldn’t find out unless you told me. Or unless I caught you.”
“Simmer down, Boilerplate. You won’t,” he said. “I told him no, a
nd that’s that. He was pretty steamed.”
“Could he cause you any trouble?” I said.
“I doubt it. He’d be in a worse fix because he’s married for the second or third time with a couple of kids still at home, besides being senior to me.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Eight, ten years. But we didn’t…get involved until after my divorce.”
I bit back the jealousy as best I could, but I wanted to know everything about my presumed rival. What did the general find attractive about him? Was he handsome? Slender or stout? Furry or smooth? Was he well-hung? Did he render services to the general he’d been hesitant to ask of me? And who propositioned the other first?
Who were the other members in this little secret society, and what competition did they offer?
I took a deep breath. “So tell me about this general. What’s his name?”
The general stepped cautiously into this minefield. “What difference does it make? I told you before—”
“Yes. I know. You told me you’re not the only general in the ‘club.’ But that’s an abstraction. Not a specific general at a specific conference asking you to share his bed. What kind of things did you like to do with him?”
I’d never asked such a question. His talents in the bedroom suggested more practice than he may have liked to admit, but he’d always been particularly close-mouthed about where he’d learned his lessons. I suspect it was not from library books or instructional videos.
He let go of my hand and shifted in his seat.
“Harris, look. You know I’ve had other partners. You’ve had other partners, too. I suspect you’ve got more experience than I do. But let’s not compare notes. I don’t want to know where you picked up that experience or who with,” he said. “I guess I want to think that I’m the first one…well, that this is like the first time—”
I felt his frustration as he quit speaking. I felt the same, and maybe I’d asked about the other general just to get that assurance, that what Traveler and I had was different, as if we had both started from scratch.
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