I walked into the dining-room where Mum sat with Berry, who wore a floral chemise and huge red bubble-toed platforms, her hair pulled back by a red Alice band. She handed me a present wrapped in red crêpe paper. Inside was a little enamelled bluebird on a silver chain. ‘It’s grouse, thanks.’
‘Let me put it on you.’ Mum smiled as Berry undid the clasp and put it around my neck. ‘Very cute.’
Dad dropped us off at the main entrance and we walked through the gardens to the lower quadrangle and the Montague Theatre. Outside was a group of guys from my class, none of whom seemed to have girls with them. There’s no way I could have come to the dance without a girlfriend. I walked past holding hands with Berry. Then I noticed that John was among the group. He doesn’t have a date. He should be able to get one. I guess he’s too shy. I wonder what he thinks of Berry?
In the theatre the chairs had been stacked against one wall to clear the parquet floor for dancing. On stage was an earnest schoolboy band called Crimson Lake. We tried to dance to their attempt at ‘Horror Movie’. I noticed Derge Camilleri, a small Maltese guy from my class, looking at me and Berry, giving me the thumbs-up. I started to wonder what people thought of us. The more I thought they were looking, the better I danced. Rhys, a very good-looking boy dressed much more formally than the rest of us, was holding hands with a beautiful girl with a blond dolly haircut wearing a handkerchief dress. He led her over to us. He looks really good dressed like that. And I’ve never noticed his skin before, so brown against those green eyes. ‘Frances, this is Tim and …’
‘Berry. This is Rhys.’
‘Nice to meet you, Berry.’ I could smell Brut mixed with sweat. I never realised he was so … I dunno, attractive. Girls must think he’s a real spunk. ‘What do you think of the dance?’
‘What’s the bet the next song is “Stairway To Heaven”?’
He laughed. Frances was playing with an earring. ‘I think it’s very pleasant.’
‘If only the boys weren’t such pigs,’ Berry said.
Rhys laughed again. ‘Not all of us!’ He has such a cute smile. Frances grabbed Rhys’s hand, saying, ‘I want some fresh air.’ She dragged him up the stairs and into the quadrangle.
Berry grinned. ‘She thinks I’m trying to crack onto him.’
‘He is very good-looking.’
‘Do you think so? We have the same taste in men.’
I thought I was going to blush. I grabbed her hand. ‘Let’s go outside, I can’t stand this music any longer.’
We climbed the stairs out into the night air and walked along the verandah with our arms around each other’s waist. Suddenly Berry dragged me into a dark corner. She leant against the wall and stood like a siren tempting me. She took my head in her hands and put her lips on mine. I put a hand gently on her breast and she opened her mouth. She tastes sweet: strawberry lipstick. Our tongues played with each other. C’mon hard-on, where are you? Enjoy. Doesn’t this feelgood? Nothing’s happening. Wonder if she can tell. Pretend she’s Rhys. She doesn’t smell like Rhys. A small stirring. Yes, c’mon. I rubbed my crutch against her. Yes c’mon. Rhys. It’s not happening. Gotta stop. ‘I need to go to the toilet.’
We hardly spoke in the car on the way home. Dad must have thought we’d had a fight. We didn’t talk much before going to bed. ‘Thanks for tonight,’ she said as we parted.
‘That’s okay.’
She looked stunned. ‘Is that all?’ She went to bed, obviously disappointed.
We talked little over breakfast. Her eyes were bleary. Fuck, has she been crying? It’s because of me. She’s getting too involved. Too intense.
In the car on the way to the station we held hands. I felt a lump in my throat.
A few days later Berry rang. ‘Is everything okay?’
I hesitated. ‘Perhaps we should call it off.’
‘Have I done something wrong?’ No, I told her. Silence. ‘You don’t like me?’ I said I liked her a lot. ‘Please think about it and write to me. Okay?’ She sounded like she was going to cry. ‘Promise?’ I hung up feeling really bad.
That night I dreamt I told her I was gay and we had a punch-up. She stood on the verandah at school yelling that I was a poofter. I made love to her and she laughed at me.
I woke up feeling it had all really happened. At school next day I was distracted, ashamed of leading her on, feeling that I did really like her but knowing we could never be boyfriend and girlfriend.
Finally I wrote to her to explain. After a pile of failed attempts came one that said what I needed to say.
Dear Berry,
I’ve wanted to tell you for ages but didn’t know how you would take it. I hope you can understand and not be too angry with me. I think I am gay. I’ve known it for some time, since I was about eleven. I’ve had a couple of crushes on guys at school. That is why I went into such a spakko mood at the dance after we got so close, because I think that you want something from me that I can’t give you. I want to say I’m really sorry about leading you on, but some of it was because I really do like you, only not like that. I hope we can still be friends.
The letter sat on my desk all night. I woke up thinking, Tear it up! Tear it up! I dreamt that I had torn it up but next morning it was still there. It burnt a hole in my chest as I ate my bowl of Special K.
On my way to the station I hesitated at the letter-box, imagining my letter sitting on top of the others. Then I let it drop. Can’t do anything about it now. It’s done.
When things got boring during French or science I would try to imagine where my letter was. It’s at the post office. It’s on the train to Maldon. Can’t do anything about it.
Mum and her friend from across the road were sitting in the living-room, chatting over a glass of wine. I was still in my school uniform, watching an episode of The Partridge Family when the phone rang. My heart jumped into my throat. Berry must have my letter by now. She’s probably so disgusted that she won’t ring.
‘Mary-Gert speaking … Hello Berry … Very well, thank you. I’ll get Tim for you.’
I suddenly felt I was going to throw up. ‘I’ll take it in your room.’ In ten seconds my life will be over.
‘I got your letter. It’s okay.’
‘It’s okay?’ My mind was flooded with questions. Did she suspect? Was it a total shock? What was it like opening the letter? But I didn’t think this was the time to ask them and we sat in silence for a moment.
‘I still want to be friends,’ she said at last. Does she know any gay people? Do I look gay? ‘I really want to see you.’
We agreed that I would visit her that weekend. I hung up the phone and sat there, numb. All at once I was hit by a wave of excruciating relief. Tears trickled down my face. I wasn’t crying or even whimpering, just shaking my head, my face wet with tears.
I climbed under the shower. Supertramp were on the radio singing ‘Dreamer’. I joyfully sang along as though it had always been my favourite song, my tears mingling with the running water. ‘You silly little dreamer, can you put your hands in your head? Oh no.’ Whenever I hear this song I’m going to remember this moment.
There had been little rain around Castlemaine for some time. All the grass was the colour of straw. I was getting restless as my stop approached, unable to concentrate on The Midwych Cuckoos.
I went to the dining-car, where a young man in a red waistcoat was cleaning up. ‘We’re closed.’ His eyes flashed green. ‘We get to Castlemaine in about ten minutes.’ His full red lips parted again. ‘I’m sorry.’
I fell instantly in love. I asked if I could sit there for a moment. He was beautiful, his curly brown hair moving about his broad shoulders. Every now and then he’d give me a little smile and lift his eyebrows.
The train slowed down as we approached the outskirts of Castlemaine. I slid off the stool at the counter. ‘It was nice to meet you.’
He looked surprised, then smiled. ‘It was nice to meet you too.’ Why did I say that? How embarrassing. I tried to wal
k away as though that’s what you always said to a waiter you’d met two minutes ago.
I spotted Berry on the platform in her denim coat and crocheted beanie. I alighted and we hugged. She asked how the train trip had been. I couldn’t say I had just seen the sexiest waiter in the dining-car.
We walked hand in hand along the main street of the town, looking in windows. We didn’t say much until I spotted a camp oven in the window of a tent shop. ‘Just my lucky day,’ I quipped.
It wasn’t much but it was enough for her to open the topic. ‘How long have you known?’
‘Two or three years. But I can remember having a crush on my cousin’s boyfriend when I was about eight years old.’
Walking through the town, and then in Berry’s bedroom with her Peanuts posters and her stuffed Snoopy, we talked about many things: Carole King’s Tapestry, Woody Allen’s movie Sleeper, and The Topic. ‘Do you think I look gay? Did you pick it?’
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit early to make up your mind? You’re only fourteen.’
‘I don’t have feelings about girls, but the guys at school … All the time. That guy Rhys you met at the dance …’
‘He had his girlfriend with him.’
‘So did I.’ This hurt her. She was hugging her Snoopy doll and turned him to look at her. ‘There’s also this guy, John. I don’t know, it sounds so dumb, but he’s different. He’s really quiet and gentle and has beautiful eyes, dark brown with these eyelashes. He’s captain of the Under Sixteen football team.’
‘You never know. Maybe it’s because you’re at an all-boys school? Have you ever had sex?’ I nodded, too embarrassed to go into detail. ‘With a girl?’
‘No.’
‘Then how do you know?’
‘I know.’
She was annoyed. She put Snoopy down, sorted out the things on her desk, and finally sat back on the bed and took my hand. It was okay. I had passed the test.
The rest of the day we were two friends who shared a secret. I felt a special kind of bond with her, the kind that I hoped one day I would share with a boy. When it came time to catch the train back to Melbourne we parted good friends.
We kept in touch by letter until Berry got a job playing Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz at a Melbourne shopping centre during the Christmas holidays.
We were sitting on a jungle gym in the park near her sister’s house. I told her I was sad that I couldn’t be her boyfriend and she snapped. ‘I’m sick of this. Why do you have to make such an issue of it? There’s more to you than being gay, but it’s all you ever talk about.’
‘You’re the only person I can talk to.’
‘What’s there to talk about? You say you’re gay, I’ve said that’s okay. What’s the big deal?’
‘I’ve been hiding all this stuff for years. I’m sorry that you’re copping it all but I don’t know who else to talk to.’
Obviously her frustration was deeper than this. One afternoon when I was hanging around the show the Scarecrow took me aside. ‘Berry says you think you might be gay. Don’t you think it’s a little early to make that decision? You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. No need to close off your options.’
The more he said, the more I was convinced that he was wrong. He’d sown some doubts, but all I had to do was think about Damien, Rhys, John and my head full of boys to know what was true.
Geoff
The local cinema, where Soylent Green was showing, had a handwritten advertisement seeking a junior usher for the Christmas holidays. The owner, Mr Ward, had only one question: could I start on Monday morning?
Next day I stood letting in the small audience for the eleven o’clock session, mainly kids without parents. Jaffas started flying, then milkshake containers. A fat kid jumped over two rows of seats and started to chase his victim. ‘Hey you lot, settle down or you won’t be seeing the movie,’ yelled Geoff the projectionist. There was a big ‘whooa’ from the stirrers.
‘Isn’t that sweet? Normally they’d just stab you.’ Geoff was standing next to me, his hands behind his back, bouncing from foot to foot. He was a young, heavily built guy with surfie-blond hair, wearing a striped T-shirt and white flares. ‘How are you, cutie – settling in?’ Did he just call me cutie? I was taken aback. Is he gay or is he just being silly?
‘Why don’t you pop up to the projection-room when the film starts? Unless you want to see Benji again.’ He smiled, then turned and headed up the stairs. I thought what a nice body he had – broad shoulders, nice hard bum. He turned, caught me looking at him and winked. Why did I do that? Oh no, he’ll think I’m interested. I felt a thrilling cocktail of fear and excitement.
The upstairs foyer was dark but I could find my way by the ultraviolet light of the large fish tank. I opened the projection-room door to find a small ladder. Geoff called down to me over the clatter of the projector and I clambered up into a warmly lit room.
As he was showing me how the projector worked he noticed the bluebird round my neck. I said a friend had given it to me.
‘And what’s your friend’s name?’
‘Berry.’
‘Barry? So you are camp?’
‘Yes, I am, but her name is Berry. She was my girlfriend. Why did you think I was camp? Do I look it?’
‘Probably not to the rest of the world but I can pick it. Takes one to know one. Was Berry a cover to keep the guys at school off the scent?’
‘No, I really liked her. But I told her I was gay.’
Suddenly the door at the bottom of the ladder flung open and Shirley the ticket seller shrieked my name. ‘Mr. Ward’s looking for you. You’d better get your bum down here.’
He was waiting for me in the foyer, his voice bouncing off the pebble-crete floor like a whisper in a cathedral. ‘Your job is to sit inside when the public is in there. If there’s a disturbance or, God help us, a fire, you have to be there. That’s what you’re paid for.’ Great. Benji over and over, twice a day for four weeks.
The following day I stood guard at my post. Suddenly Geoff was there again. ‘What have you done to your top lip?’ I had cut myself shaving. He chuckled. ‘How old are you?’
‘Fifteen.’
‘You don’t need to shave. You’re only a baby. I’ve got a doughnut for you up in the projection-room.’ I told him about Mr Ward’s lecture. ‘He’s probably just jealous. Wants to keep you all for himself.’ He saw I was shocked. ‘Joke. See you upstairs.’
Eating my doughnut in the little room, I asked Geoff how old he was. ‘How old do you think?’ I thought he’d be twenty-three at most. He was thirty.
‘You don’t look it.’
‘Thanks, pet. Being gay keeps you young and attractive.’
The room became a kind of secret school where I could ask all the embarrassing questions I’d been squashing for years, where I learnt what being gay could mean.
‘Does anal sex hurt?’
‘If you don’t know how to do it properly. Being in love can help. But anyway, not all gay guys do it.’
He told me about saunas where men went to have sex with strangers. He shocked me with the story of his last boyfriend, Graeme, who was out skateboarding late at night and got pulled over by two policemen. One was a ‘real honey’, more interested in frisking Graeme than anything else. They got off together in the back of the paddy wagon while the other cop kept watch.
He told me that some camp guys had one-night stands and some had long relationships. He knew of one that had been going for eleven years.
I felt totally safe with Geoff. He never made fun of my questions and he never tried to feel me up or make a pass at me. But somehow I did get his address.
I had told Mum and Dad I was going out to photograph railway stations for an art project, but I had other things in mind.
I was outside a large Victorian house surrounded by an overgrown garden. I opened the front door onto a dark corridor smelling of cabbage and garlic. I stood there in my duffle coat, holding my camera. I patted my hair to
make sure it wasn’t sticking up, braced myself and knocked on the door to Geoff’s flat. I thought I heard a noise inside, but no one came to the door. I’ve come all this way and now he’s not home. He should be, it’s Sunday morning. I knocked again.
‘Who is it?’ The voice was groggy.
‘It’s me, Tim.’ I could hear more noises. Perhaps he’s with someone. Bleary-eyed he ushered me in, wearing only a pair of board shorts. He pulled on a T-shirt and ran his fingers through his hair. The flat was one room with a double bed. A bay window held a kitchenette. He put the kettle on as I explained that I was out taking photos for a project. ‘I was in the area and you said to drop in some time.’
He offered me a cigarette. ‘I’ll give you a tour of my mansion while we wait for old mother to boil.’ Some unfinished cabinets ran around the walls. ‘My pride and joy. I’m making them myself. That’s my bed, don’t look too close or you might get a fright. This is my altar to Marilyn.’ A large poster was surrounded by pictures cut from magazines. Below this stood a brass vase with a single plastic rose and a small ceramic candle-holder that was Marilyn as the Statue of Liberty.
‘Can I hug you?’ Geoff asked apprehensively.
I croaked out a timid yes. He put our cigarettes in an ashtray near the bed, then wrapped his large arms around me. We hugged a long gentle hug. He smelt of cigarettes, aftershave and sweat. Is this what it’s like? Is this what I want? Why am I doing this? Does he think I’m trying to crack onto him? He kissed me on the forehead.
The kettle boiled and Geoff let go of me, suggesting that I take off my duffle coat. I hung it over a kitchen chair as he made tea. He brought two cups to the bed. ‘Sit here.’ He patted the spot beside him.
‘It’s okay, I’ll stand.’ What do I look like? I must look like such a dickhead. But if I sit down he’ll think I’m easy. I sat down. Geoff rubbed my knee. My God, it’s just like in the movies. He took my cup of tea from me, placed both mugs on the floor and lay back. His hand was rubbing my back. ‘It’s all right. I don’t bite.’
Holding the Man Page 5