The Duplex

by Lucky Stevens

  It was an interesting take, and to tell the truth, I wasn’t used to Cliff staying serious long enough to really analyze an issue this way.

  I found myself smiling, became aware of it, and stopped myself. “I wish things could have been different between us, Cliff.”

  Then it was Cliff who smiled. “You’re playing your song again.”

  It took me a second to realize what he meant. My wishing. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I guess I need to stop doing that.” My wishing was a bad habit. It was mental laziness. It was childish. A useless shortcut that went nowhere. My immediate thought was, I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time…wishing. There I went again.

  “My point is, Cliff, that you’re not who I thought you were.”

  “Well, who did you think I was?”

  “Someone who would always be there for me. Someone who wouldn’t let me down. And also, I suppose I envied you. I always loved how sure you were about everything. You had all the answers, all the time. You never didn’t know what to say.”

  “Well who could live up to that?”

  The right person, I guess. That’s what I wanted to say but I stopped myself. Maybe he had a point.

  “Look, I’m at fault, too,” I continued. “I felt like you would always take care of everything, so I didn’t have to think so much. So I did—stop thinking.”

  “Well, you always did think about things too much anyway.” Maybe he expected me to laugh, like old times. I noticed his smirk was back.

  We looked at each other for a while, like we were both waiting for the other to speak. I don’t think Cliff knew what to say, and I had said enough. And it was at that moment that I realized I needed to move on. I loved Cliff’s confidence, spirit, and wit but he lacked depth and trustworthiness. And character.

  I finally broke the silence. “You asked me earlier if I minded if you stayed awhile. Well, I have an answer. It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other.”

  He looked at me a moment, his lips pursed, like he was trying to decide if he believed me or not.

  Then he shrugged and peered at me out of the corner of his eye. It was a look that I think would have roped me back in just a few weeks ago. “Maybe I should just go,” he said, like it was his idea. I felt a certain ambivalence. Maybe numbness. I’d think it all over when he was gone.

  I told him to take care, and we shook hands. Then I watched him walk to the front door. That was that.

  Except it wasn’t. It was the slowest exit I’d ever seen. With his hand on the knob and his forehead against the door, I couldn’t help but notice a visible shake in Cliff’s shoulders.

  Without turning around, he said. “I can’t walk out that door.”

  I was dumbstruck as he crumbled right in front of me. Then he twisted around, still leaning against the door, as he slid to the floor, knees up. A wrung-out mop. “Oh, God, God,” he said. He buried his face against his arms, and his body began shuddering. He was sobbing and fighting it all the way.

  I felt like I was in a dream. I kept expecting this wretched soul to lift his head any moment only to reveal someone else. Anyone other than Cliff. The picture didn’t line up.

  But, of course, it was him.

  “I can’t walk out that door,” he repeated, barely able to speak. “Can’t keep running away.”

  I came over to him and just stood there. This was a new situation for me. He was still sobbing, and I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt him. I felt myself getting teary, and part of me wanted to hug him, but something held me back, so I just put my hand on his shoulder. But only for a moment.

  It took a few minutes, but he finally wound down. His head was still buried in his arms. It was if he had melted and what little I could see of him, he looked exhausted.

  “What do you mean you can’t keep running away?”

  He lifted his head and managed to look at me. “Suppose we just skip it?”

  “Oh, you mean keep running away?”

  “Yeah, yeah. That sounds pretty good.” He smiled.

  But I wasn’t smiling. It wasn’t cute anymore.

  Then he started to stand up. And I swear I don’t know why I did it, I really don’t, but I pushed him back down.

  “Oh, come on, Jerry. I’m only human. Give a guy a break. I flushed out the system, but I’m fine now.”

  He sighed and started to stand up again. And again, I shoved him back down. Don’t ask me why. I was just acting without giving it a lot of thought first, and it felt pretty good—even if it didn’t make much sense to me.

  I could see the anger in his eyes. “Why, you son of a bitch!” he yelled. Then he scrambled to get up again. I knew his fists would be flying if he made it to his feet, which is why I swept my leg under him before he could steady himself. It was the third time in a minute he had landed on his wallet. “Goddamn it, Jerry! What do you want from me?”

  “I don’t know!” Then I paused a moment. “I want you to stop wasting my time.”

  “I’m wasting your time?”

  “You never answered me, Cliff. What are you running away from?”

  “Why don’t you tell me.”

  “I’ll give it a shot. Yourself. You’re running away from yourself, Cliff.”

  “Isn’t everyone?”

  “Maybe. But not like you. You’re a pro.”

  “Well, what are you asking for if you know the answer?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I just figured it out myself.”

  “So now what?”

  “You stop running. Trust me, it doesn’t work.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

  “Jerry, what do you want from me?”

  “Honesty.”

  “Honesty? You just saw me crying like a baby a few minutes ago. What do you call that?”

  “A pretty good start.”

  “Why you smug little—”

  “Damn it, Cliff! This is not like riding a motorcycle in the desert 100 miles an hour or getting into a bar fight or camping in the middle of the forest by yourself. This is really scary. Being honest about yourself; opening up. Can you do it, Cliff? Do you have the guts to be honest?”

  “Now, don’t go getting any ideas about goading me into anything. I’ve had enough, and I’m getting off of this merry-go-round.”

  I put my hands out in front of me. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You don’t get to keep changing your mind, walking in and out. Now why’d you come back, and what are you running away from now?”

  He scoffed and flashed a half-smile. “Listen, pal, you can put up a few roadblocks but understand that I’m getting up whenever I want to.”

  “Yeah. So far you’re doing great.”

  This comment seemed to put him at his limit. He started to stand up, and I put my hand on his shoulder, ready to shove him back down. But this time he was ready for me. In a single motion, he grabbed my wrist with one hand as he propelled himself upward. Then he pulled his other arm back like he was going to slug me in the face. He paused for a split second and instead rammed his palm into my chest and shoved me backward. Then catching me by the shirt collar, he turned me around and pushed me against the door where he had just been sitting. I had forgotten how strong he was, and I was taken off guard, but I managed to hold on and make myself into dead weight as we both slid to the floor. He had the advantage, but I leaned toward him nonetheless and talked right into his face.

  “Sit down and answer my question. Do you have the guts to be honest? Do you have the guts?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Well, if you ever want to be free, you better get some.”

  A split second after that, I was being tossed aside like an old chewing gum wrapper. Then he turned toward the door and opened it. But he didn’t walk out. He just stood there before he finally slammed it shut. Still inside.
With his back toward me he put his head down and sighed. Then he started talking.

  “I’m a homosexual.”

  He paused and took a deep long breath.

  “Not bisexual. Homosexual. I think I’d rather be dead than to tell my parents. Hell, I would almost rather be dead than to admit that to you right now. Admitting it—saying the words—is almost as bad as being one. I haven’t seen my folks for ten years. There’s no chance they would understand. Did I ever tell you I was almost married? I never loved her. I tried to convince myself that I did, but I didn’t. I hit the road a week before our wedding. I felt like a real heel for that. I just couldn’t go through with it. She got pregnant at one point but lost the baby. Oh God, it scared the hell out of me. She kept talking about babies and how happy we were going to be. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I think about it almost every day. You know, it’s strange to have the whole world expecting you to do certain things, and you just can’t do them. And you wonder why not. Why can’t I when everyone else can? I don’t know. But goddamn it, I tried. I really tried. But this thing I have, this fucking thing. It’s destroyed my life. I bet you didn’t know I’m a Marine. You know why I picked the Marines, don’t you? They’re the toughest guys out there. Ahh, but it didn’t help me. I was kicked out in ’51. Discharged. Class II homosexual. Yep, it’s official. Good old Uncle Sam has officially declared me to be a homosexual. So, I guess there’s no getting out of it now. You can’t fight City Hall. I was discovered in the shower shining up some Private’s rifle, if you get my meaning. And nothing in the world can fix it. Not being the life of the party. Not distractions. Nothing. You know, I’ve come to realize that I really don’t like much of anything. I’m just living moment to moment, fighting boredom. What does it all mean? I’m always in a hurry. Like maybe the next thing will lead to happiness. Rush, rush, rush. I’m always rushing to find new kicks. And then I find them, and before you know it, they’re old. I rushed through school; I couldn’t wait to get out. I rushed into the Marines. I rushed to get married. I rushed to get a job. I rushed to meet new people after I met you. When you left, I was like a kid with a new toy. I rushed out of town. Rushed to parties. I rushed to old bars, new bars, rushed to cruise Pershing Square. I rushed to have everything. Everything at once. And you know how much happiness it all brought me? A lot. A hell of a lot. But only for tiny little chunks at a time. With long stretches of crap in between. Oh boy, I sure wish I was better at being happy. Anyway, we’re all going to die one day. Does it really matter that much?...Oh, Jesus. All this complaining. I can’t stand listening to myself anymore. I guess the mustard’s off the hot dog, huh?”

  He never looked at me once.

  After Cliff was done, he said he needed a drink.

  “I can’t believe I told you all that without any booze,” he said as we made our way to the kitchen. He ran his fingers along the wall as we walked. And staring at the imaginary tracks he made, he said, “Well, I’ll tell you, you’re never going to see me do that again. I’ll tell you that. Never.”

  He grabbed a bottle and two glasses. When he noticed I hadn’t touched the drink he’d poured me, he said, “Say, aren’t you having any?”

  “No, it’s too early for me. And the rest of the world.”

  So, he sat there, drinking whiskey at 11:30 in the morning. I guess he needed it. I understood. It’s not easy to spill your guts the way he had, and I was proud of him.

  After his first drink, Cliff turned to me and said, “Let me ask you, Jerry, how did you know I was ready to crack?”

  “I didn’t know. I don’t know anything, Cliff.”

  “Yeah? You seem a lot wiser these days.”

  “I’m just making it up as I go along.”

  I noticed he still wasn’t looking at me. He was taking his confession pretty hard. The Lone Ranger had taken off his mask, and even if no one else cared, he sure did.

  “Anyway, I guess you just needed to see how it would be after saying certain things out loud,” I added.

  “Yeah well, I wish this all made me feel better at least. But it doesn’t.”

  “Your trouble, Cliff, is that you worry too much.”

  This, of course, is something he always accused me of. He shot me a quick glance and a chuckle that seemed to be an admission of the irony at play here.

  “Give it some time. Maybe it will help,” I added.

  “Yeah and maybe it won’t. Once this stuff’s out, it can’t be put back in the bottle. Now I’ll have a whole different stamp.”

  He took another slug of rye before going on.

  “The fact is, I’m not who you think I am anymore, and I’m not who I want to be. The whole thing’s pretty tough to take. I just don’t know if I can live with that label, homosexual. I’m not a homosexual. I’m the guy who says to homosexuals, ‘Snap out of it. Knock it off. What’s the matter with you?’ I don’t know, maybe Dot had the right idea.”

  “You mean marriage? You tried going down that path already, remember?”

  “Well, that doesn’t leave me with much choice, does it? I either go through life with this homo label, and I’m unhappy, or I deny that label, and I’m unhappy.”

  As for me, my head was spinning a little. One minute I think this guy’s out of my life, and I’m just getting used to that, and the next he’s back. I knew this was tough on Cliff, and I wanted to support him. But the truth is, at that moment, I wasn’t even sure who he was.

  I looked at him, studying his face.

  After a moment, he said, “Well, I’ll tell you one thing I refuse to do and that’s wallow. In self-pity, or anything else. Especially with an audience. That’s no way to live.”

  To top off my confusion, I was the one who had pushed him into coming clean in the first place, for better or worse. But I really didn’t know if I could trust him. He’d already hurt me once, after all. I just didn’t know.

  When Monday morning came around, and I was getting ready for work, Cliff just lay there, in bed, staring at the ceiling. He would be calling in sick today, he told me. He seemed down.

  The last thing Cliff said to me before I headed off to work was, “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t take me back. Hell, I wouldn’t take me back.” He said it with a deep and honest regret. Coming from someone else, I might think it was a plea for pity. But not with Cliff. His words had no trace of guile. When he said it, he was still laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were glazed over with tears just ready to spill over. I stood there a moment, thinking. I imagined he couldn’t bear the idea of blinking, knowing that when he did, his tears would be released and sent streaming down the sides of his face.

  I looked away, breaking eye contact for him, feeling as though I was somehow invading his privacy. I also didn’t know how to respond. It seemed like anything I said at that moment would come across like I was stuck on myself. Finally, I simply told him that things have a way of working out in the long run. Then I left for work.

  Later that day I was just about to go to lunch when I got a call at my desk.

  “Mr. Ripley, your wife is on line two.”

  “My wife? Oh, oh! Send her through, please. Thank you, Martha.”

  “Jerry, hi.”

  “Barbara, I thought I told you never to call me at the office.”

  I was joking, but she sounded serious.

  “Jerry, I am a little concerned about Cliff.”

  This changed my mood right away, and I asked her why.

  “We ran into each other in the backyard yesterday just as he was pulling up in his car. I seemed to take him off guard, like he was embarrassed and didn’t want to talk. He tried to play it off, but he told me that he felt a little down. It seemed like more than a ‘little’ to me. He also said something about feeling trapped. Then he tried to joke around, but his heart was not in it.”

  She told me that she hated to int
erfere. It was just that she knew that Cliff and I had been having trouble lately and she was concerned since he seemed so out of sorts. She had called his office earlier, and they had told her that he wasn’t in today. After that she called the house a few times. When there was no answer, she called me. I told her that he had been feeling down lately, and then it occurred to me to ask her about his pulling up in the car since I didn’t even know he had gone out yesterday. She told me that he was returning from the hardware store.

  This made me nervous. “Do you know what he bought?”

  “No, I really was not paying much a—wait a minute. Oh, my God. Wait a minute. I think he may have had some rope with him, Jerry.”

  I turned white. “I’ll meet you at the house,” I said and hung up.

  As I drove down Olympic, I spotted Barbara’s Plymouth, and we drove next to each other for a while. That is until I was cut off. I felt frantic when she made the light at Western, and I didn’t. So, I decided to make a quick right and a U-turn and head down to Pico. This must have helped because we both pulled up to the duplex at about the same time and raced up the driveways, me on the boys’ side and she on the girls’ side. I exited first and remembered that I only had the key to girls’ side so I ran over to the back door with Barbara right behind me.

  As we entered the house, the first thing I noticed was music blaring from the other side of the duplex. We both called out Cliff’s name and ran over to the closet, wondering what we would find on the other side. The music was louder now. I grabbed the knob and rushed inside but had to stop immediately as I ran into a ladder. As I struggled to maintain my balance, Barbara ran right into me, and the two of us stumbled to the floor of the closet. Then I looked up, unprepared for what I was about to see. In the darkness, dangling above me were Cliff’s legs hanging down. I heard Barbara gasp as she clutched onto me. I felt the blood drain from my face as a horrible cold shiver enveloped my whole body.