A Charm of Finches

by Suanne Laqueur

  To tell the truth, he might’ve been loving him a little.

  “Got any other questions?” Jav said. “Want to come downstairs and see how the other half lives?”

  “No, thanks, I just ate,” Kurt said.

  “Stav, you coming down to party?”

  “Only if I can be the little spoon,” she said.

  “I call middle,” Jav said.

  “Hey,” Stef said. “I don’t ride bitch on the cuddle train.”

  Eyes rolling, Kurt stormed out, leaving the trio exchanging dismayed looks.

  “Was it something we said?” Stav asked.

  “Did you really sleep with Kurt’s best friend?” Stav asked later.

  “Kurt doesn’t have friends,” Stef said.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Jav said.

  “Slut.” Stav stretched it into two syllables.

  Colts were playing the Falcons in the Georgia Dome. The three friends sprawled on Stef’s couch, slowly demolishing the last of Lilia’s apple pie, passing the aluminum plate down and back.

  “God, we are just torturing Roman,” Stav said. “Look at his face.”

  “I see the humans have pie,” Jav said. “I also enjoy pie.”

  “Ugh, I’m never eating again,” Stef said, tossing the empty plate on the coffee table.

  “You’ll be hungry in an hour,” Jav said.

  “Y tu mamá también.”

  “God, your accent sucks.”

  “You guys really are awful cute,” Stav said, knitting at the other end of the couch. Because that was how they partied here on Cushman Row.

  “How’d your mothers meet?” Jav asked.

  At the random question, Stef and Stav exchanged a look, either deciding if Jav was worthy of the answer, or deciding who would answer.

  “Rory did a study at NYU about wartime rape,” Stav said. “She interviewed my mother. They became good friends. Mom eventually became Rory’s research assistant. Then her personal assistant. Then they fell in love. And here we are.”

  “I see,” Jav said, his chin rising once and falling again. “Lilia was raped? At Auschwitz?”

  “After liberation. By Russian soldiers.”

  Jav’s eyes widened. “I thought they only raped German women.”

  “They pretty much raped anyone they fucking felt like,” Stef said.

  “Including women at Auschwitz,” Stav said.

  Jav blinked a few times. “Jewish women were raped by their own liberators?”

  Stav’s head rose and fell several times.

  “The Red Army went certifiably, batshit crazy,” Stef said. “It’s one of the worst scourges of systemic rape in history. Two million German women and those are just the documented cases.”

  “At least one hundred thousand in Berlin alone. Ages eight to eighty.” Stav glanced up from her knitting. “I grew up hearing the statistics so bear with me if I casually spew numbers.”

  “Jesus,” Jav said. “Is that why you work at Exodus Project?”

  Stav’s head bobbled side to side. “Partly.” Another glance exchanged with Stef. “But also because I think something happened to my father in the camps.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “During the study, my mom interviewed quite a few male Europeans as well,” Stef said. “It’s much less documented, for obvious reasons. But men were raped. I don’t mean only gay men who were rounded up into camps. There were SS officers and Jewish kapos who abused young boys.”

  “Young conscripts in the Russian Army,” Stav said. “Sixteen-year-old boys raped by a superior officer starving for sex. Then all those boys turned loose and sex-starved on the enemy’s women.”

  “Build the culture,” Stef said.

  Jav tugged at his hair. “So you think it happened to Micah?”

  “He’s never outright said so. My mother’s hinted at it. When she was being interviewed for Rory’s studies, she met so many other women who were sharing their experiences. She became part of this strong, bonded community of female survivors, but she said to me once, ‘Many of us speak for men who will never tell their stories. Your father saw things he will take to his grave.’”

  “He ever say anything to you?” Jav asked Stef.

  Corners of his mouth turned down, Stef simply shook his head.

  “Jav, you keep any of that good rum here?” Stav asked, getting up.

  “Lower cabinet next to the fridge.”

  She poured them each a shot of Appleton Estate, and Stef turned the TV volume down.

  “Has Lilia ever talked to you about being gay?” he asked Stav.

  “She said she knew at a young age, but she thought something was wrong with her. A shameful secret. Then, of course, the war came and the entire world blew up and all notions of romance and sex stopped.” Stav stared across the living room, her knitting needles still. “I think my parents came out the other side of the war honestly not caring if anyone ever intimately touched them again. Know what I mean?”

  “But they found each other,” Jav said. “They married. Made a family. And here we are.”

  Stav smiled. “I think as they made their way across Europe and eventually to Palestine, they became best friends. Soldiers in their own army.”

  “Did Micah ever go back to Greece?”

  “No. When they got to Lilia’s town in Hungary, he saw how her family’s restaurant had been nationalized and given to someone else to own. Strange people were living in her childhood home and they slammed the door in her face. Before they were deported, Lilia’s father gave a little bag of diamonds and jewelry to a Christian family for safekeeping. He watched them bury it under a tree in their garden and mark it with a rock. The family looked Lilia in the eye and denied it ever happened, denied the bag ever existed.”

  “Jesus,” Jav said.

  “My father said at that moment, he had no desire to go back to Greece and find…whatever he might find. He and my mom wanted to get the hell out of Europe. They put their scraps together and thought they could make something good in a new place. I think they understood each other and each other’s ordeals. Each was the only person the other trusted. Their marriage wasn’t romantic or passionate but it was…valiant.”

  Jav pointed a finger. “I love that word. Valiant. Valiente is Spanish for brave. When I was young and had to do something tough, my dad would push me on my way and say, ‘Eres el mas valiente.’ Now I say it all the time to people.”

  “Is that what you’re telling me when I leave in the mornings?” Stef said.

  “Yeah,” Jav said, laughing. “I didn’t tell you what it meant?”

  “No. I thought it was like vaya con Dios or some other farewell. Or maybe, ‘I like your ass, can I wear it as a hat?’”

  “That I would say in English.”

  “Say it now,” Stef said. “Talk slow.”

  “Not in front of the children,” Stav said loudly. “God, you two just exude sex all the time.”

  “We do?”

  Stav gazed down the length of the couch as she scratched Roman’s ears. “Yeah. But it doesn’t suck to be around it.”

  “We need to find you a boyfriend,” Jav said.

  “I’ll settle for a fuck buddy. I haven’t been laid in so long, the other day I gave a box of tampons my phone number.”

  “Kurt’s single,” Stef said.

  He yelped and rolled away as Stav and Jav both grabbed pillows and smashed them on his head.

  Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Geno and Ben, along with pink-haired, multi-pierced Natasha Kaslov, took a subway to Grand Central and then boarded a Metro North train. Natasha got off at Port Chester, answering Ben’s invitation to come hang out with a vague, “We’ll see.” But she kissed Ben’s cheek before departing, and the new ring in her lower lip sparkled as she smiled at Geno.
<
br />   “Dude, it’s so on,” Ben said, craning his neck at the window.

  “You’ve been saying that since September.”

  Ben’s mother was an extremely short, extremely well-put-together woman who hugged both boys indiscriminately at the New Canaan station. She talked nonstop on the way to the house, where she showed Geno to the extra twin bed in Ben’s room, pointed out the bathroom and where the towels were. She declared her kitchen was his kitchen but under no circumstances were they to touch the pies. Exhausted by Thanksgiving preparations, she had pizza delivered for dinner and they ate off paper plates in front of the TV.

  Geno got no sleep that night. Ben’s twin beds had handsome black iron frames. The headboard loomed up over Geno like the grille of an oncoming train, its slim crossbars clanging through the remembered slide of metal cuffs. He’d dealt with the bed issue at school by dismantling the frame entirely and putting the mattress on the floor. Here, he was trapped. Moving to a couch required too much explanation. Moving to the floor only slightly less. Finally he knocked back an extra Ambien and slept with his head at the foot end, then laughed groggily the next morning and said he had no idea how he got turned around.

  The grogginess lasted most of the day. Luckily Ben was just as tired. The boys lazed around, decompressing, until Wednesday night, when they drove over to South Salem.

  “My buddy Jason’s back from California,” Ben said. “He graduated two years ahead of me and went straight out to Hollywood to make a movie. Now he’s got some part in a Broadway musical opening up this summer. He’s the closest thing to a celebrity I know personally. And an amazing cook.”

  Natasha said she’d come hang out and Ben was so excited, he could barely keep his clothes on. He kept checking his phone and checking his appearance in every reflective surface.

  “Jesus, Marino, get a grip,” Jason Dahl said from the stove. His clean-cut look was probably trademarked. Sandy blond with bright blue eyes. Scrupulously groomed facial hair. Trim and perfect in track pants and a black T-shirt, he stood barefoot at the stove, sautéing mushrooms, rolling and tossing them in the pan without the aid of a spoon.

  “All in the wrist,” Ben said.

  Another guy in the kitchen, Seth, rolled his eyes. “Dude, I swear if you don’t get laid in the next hour, I’m gonna fuck you myself.”

  The doorbell rang and Ben took off, his vacated stool spinning in his wake.

  “Want another beer, Mo?” Seth asked.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Babe, you want one?”

  “Yeah,” Jason said, grinding the pepper mill over the pan.

  Seth cracked open a Blue Moon. Instead of handing it over, he moved up behind Jason and held the bottle in mouth’s range. Jason took a swig, winking at Seth over the bottle. Steam from the frying pan floated between them. As Seth chuckled and took a drink, his eyes found Geno’s staring gaze and his brows went up. Geno looked down at his phone, heart pounding heavy in his stomach as he wondered, for the first time in a while, how Chris Mudry was doing.

  Natasha had new blue and purple streaks in her hair. She accepted a beer, hopped up to sit on a counter top and wrapped the male majority attention around her like a stole. “This is like having a harem,” she said. “Four hot studs and yours truly. Come here, guys. Selfie.”

  “I’ll take it,” Geno said, holding out a hand for her phone.

  “Geno’s Amish,” Natasha said, slinging arms around the boys. “You can’t take his picture.”

  “For real?” Seth said.

  “No,” Geno and Ben said together. Jason broke out of the pose, cursing as the pasta water boiled over. Seth went to help him while Ben stayed ensconced between Natasha’s knees.

  Realizing he was the fifth wheel, Geno shivered. Loneliness put a cold, heavy arm around his shoulders. He bucked it off, determined to have a good time. He had zero to be depressed about. Good company, good food and inclusion. What the hell else did he want?

  As they sat around eating big bowls of Jason’s pasta, Geno’s mouth moved in conversation and his chest released laughter at the right times. All the while he watched Ben caress Natasha’s arm or back, or twirl a lock of her hair around his finger. Her normally aloof manner toward him softened and she fed him from her plate. Across the table, Seth and Jason had their chairs close together. Every so often they’d lock eyes or smile like they had a secret.

  Was Chris with someone tonight? Or was he back home pretending to be something he wasn’t?

  Geno moved the last strands of spaghetti around the bottom of his bowl and wondered how it was possible you could crave physical affection even as the thought of it terrified you. His eyes found Seth’s fingertips scratching circles between Jason’s shoulder blades and he wanted to run crying from the house. He stared at Ben’s hand buried in Natasha’s cotton candy tresses and he wanted, wanted, wanted…

  This is how my life is going to be. Included but excluded. An extra at the table and the one missing from the group photo.

  “You okay, Mo?” Natasha asked. Through eating, she now sat tucked in the circle of Ben’s arms, practically in his lap. “You look tired.”

  Geno blinked and found a smile. “I’m good.” He got up and started collecting plates.

  “You don’t have to do that, man,” Jason said.

  “Sit,” Geno said. “You cooked. I will slave.”

  “Hey, that’s my line,” Seth said.

  Amidst laughter, Jason sat back, relaxed and handsome under the drape of Seth’s arm, his terrier in his lap.

  Geno loaded the dishwasher and ran soapy water into the sink, angry at the world and himself. Hating the two couples. Hating another sleepless night he’d no doubt spend, his head at the foot end of a twin bed and his back pressed tight to the wall. Hating the Thanksgiving meal he’d have to sit through the next day as the odd one out. Hating himself for feeling this way. Analisa would say it wasn’t kind. She only wanted him to be kind.

  You bitch and cry you have nowhere to go, then you bitch and cry when you get there.

  He wiped off his hands and sat at the table again. Jason and Seth on one side, Natasha and Ben on the other

  He smiled. He talked. He laughed.

  Caught between the desire and the fear of being left alone.

  “Dude,” Jav said. “I think I’ve officially arrived as an author.”

  “What?”

  “I got a dick pic.”

  “Look out, coming in hot.” Stef hopped over the back of the couch and hustled to the desk to peer over Jav’s shoulder.

  From: DDJones0485@hotmail.com

  To: Javierlandes@gmail.com

  Subject: You

  Say the word and your going to be in heaven.

  All this for you. Anytime. Anyplace. Anywhere.

  A photo of a blond man was attached. Naked save for a pair of gym socks. Sculpted to within an inch of his life and hefting a ten-inch wonder schlong in the palm of one hand.

  “Damn,” Stef said. “What do you think?”

  “He used your instead of you’re.”

  “Fatal error. How about the visual?”

  Jav crossed his arms and leaned back, his head touching Stef’s ribs. “What’s with the socks?”

  “Ugly feet, maybe?”

  “I don’t know. Leaving socks on suggests a fear of commitment. Plus I don’t like porn that breaks the fourth wall.”

  “What?”

  “The way he’s looking at the camera. It’s arrogant as hell. Don’t look at me, dude. I’m a voyeur, not a participant.”

  The doorbell rang. “Delivery,” Stav shouted from outside. “Are you decent?”

  Jav, extremely indecent, hot-tailed it to the bedroom while Stef got the door.

  “What do you think of men who wear socks in bed?” he asked.

  “To sleep?” Stav said, handi
ng over a paper bag with two bagel sandwiches.

  “To fuck.”

  “God, no. Who fucks with their socks on?”

  “No socks,” Jav yelled from the bedroom. “If you’re getting naked, then commit.”

  “Stay for breakfast?” Stef said.

  “No, I’m taking the moms to brunch. Hi, cookie, you didn’t have to dress for me.” Stav tilted her head up for Jav’s kiss on her cheek.

  “How do you feel about porn that breaks the fourth wall?” he asked.

  “You mean when they’re looking right at the camera? Hate it.” Stav shuddered. “Enjoy breakfast, guys.”

  “I love her,” Jav said, unwrapping his bagel. “She calls me cookie.”

  “She’s good people,” Stef said, closing the door. “Her husband was a world-class prick, though.”

  Jav’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?” he asked around a mouthful.

  “He was a construction manager, worked a huge renovation project at Long Island University, another at C.W. Post. Plus he ran an industrial cleaning company on the side. Long story short, in the midst of this three-ring circus, Robert embezzled a few million dollars. A large portion of which he spent on his…” Stef raised two fingers in the air. “Second wife.”

  Jav turned his head until only one eye was showing. “While he was married to Stav?”

  Stef nodded. “Which actually turned out to be fortunate. Stav didn’t know what was going on and never received or benefitted from the stolen funds. But Wife Number Two did, and it made her liable. I think she served four or six months. Bobby’s still in Sing-Sing.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I guess better heartbroken than heartbroken and in jail. Actually, no, forget it, it was shitty all around.”

  “I can’t imagine…” Both Jav’s voice and eyes trailed away. Stef quietly finished his sandwich. The rest of the story wasn’t his to tell. Not the physical and emotional abuse. Not the baby Stavroula lost in the bagel shop’s kitchen. Not the hole in the dough room’s wall Micah made with Robert’s head. Not the year it took for Stav’s smile to come back or the tiny grave in Baron Hirsch cemetery she visited once a year.