Where the Boys Are

by William J. Mann

  I take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed that way.”

  Lloyd takes my hands again. “I do believe that Javitz is with us on this, Jeff. He loved this town. We could put down roots here—”

  “But we’re not doing this, Lloyd. You and Eva are. Remember that.”

  He sighs. “Jeff, I can see you here, as a part of this. I can see you here, writing again.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I break free once more of his grip and walk across the room. “And what am I writing?”

  “Anything, Jeff. I want you to write again. You say you worry about me. Well, I worry about you. It’s been two years since you’ve had an article published.”

  “I don’t need to worry about that anymore,” I tell him. “Javitz made sure of that.”

  “Javitz didn’t leave you that money so that you’d stop writing. He’d be crushed by that. Jeff, what happened to your dreams of writing a novel? Or a screenplay?”

  My back stiffens. “Lloyd, I did not come down here to talk about my writing career.” Or lack thereof. Suddenly, I want to go outside, get back into the cold air.

  Lloyd stands in front of me. “Jeff, since Javitz died we’ve both been adrift. Neither of us has been able to get a handle on our dreams. I’m trying to do that here. Maybe you don’t understand, but I don’t understand you, either. These people you hang with. These circuit parties. The drugs.”

  “Don’t start, Lloyd.” I sigh impatiently.

  “I know you said you only did one hit of Ecstasy on New Year’s. I believe you. But one hit can lead to two. And you don’t want to go back to being—”

  “Lloyd, X is not crystal. It’s not fucking GHB.”

  “There are studies that show Ecstasy can be lethal, Jeff.”

  I’m flabbergasted. “How did we get on this? I didn’t come down to be lectured about drugs.”

  “I don’t mean to lecture. But the circuit isn’t healthy, Jeff—”

  “Don’t go there, Lloyd. You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re reacting to what the media writes about the circuit. Just try coming with me some time and see for yourself.”

  Lloyd places his hands on my shoulders. “Jeff, I know you’ve got a good head. But how long has it been since you’ve seen our old friends? Melissa and Rose? Wendy and Chanel?”

  I scoff. “All of them consumed with playing mommy to a series of Chinese babies. I’m sorry, I just got tired of sitting around going goo-goo all the time.”

  “Jeff, it’s not just that—”

  “Okay.” Once more I pull myself free of Lloyd and move to a new spot across the room. “So I admit that since Javitz’s death I’ve found some new friends. Maybe I had to. Maybe it was the only way for me. You grieved your way, Lloyd. You lived here among all of Javitz’s old cronies. You spent your time in quiet contemplation with the universe. Well, your way has never been mine, Lloyd, and I’m not going to apologize for my way.”

  Impulsively I suddenly swirl around like a crazy Julie Andrews on top of a mountain. “Life is too fucking short not to dance,” I say, louder than I intended. “Do you remember who said that, Lloyd? It was Javitz. Javitz would be dancing if he were alive. But he’s gone, Jeff! He’s gone and we’re still here and I’m going to fucking dance!”

  Lloyd covers his mouth as if he’s just realized something.

  “What?” I ask. “What is it?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s funny, that’s all.”

  “What is?” I’m suspicious, defensive.

  He smiles. “That’s the first time you’ve ever really talked about your grief, and how you’ve handled it.”

  I just sigh.

  Lloyd approaches me again. “It’s a good thing, Jeff. Nobody talks about grief anymore. It’s as if because of these new drugs, because so many people are living, we’re all supposed to be over it, done with our grieving.”

  I hold firm. I will not cry. Not here, not now.

  “It’s like AIDS never happened,” Lloyd is saying. “Or that it was something a long, long time ago, and now it’s time to be moving on. It’s like we’re not supposed to bring it up anymore.”

  I struggle to find my voice. “If you speak it,” I say hoarsely, “it might come back.”

  “But it’s never left,” Lloyd says.

  I let out a sudden, irrepressible wail of anguish. “That’s just it, Lloyd! That’s why coming here, to Provincetown, is so fucking hard. I see him everywhere! There’s not one place in this whole fucking town that doesn’t hold a memory. I used to love going to the breakwater, but I can’t anymore. Not even after all this time. Because I see him there. Maybe that comforts you, but it feels like hell to me. I don’t want to feel Javitz in the wind! I want to feel him sitting in his chair and smell his fucking cigarettes and hear that croaky laugh of his.”

  Damn it, I’ve started to cry. Too late to stop now.

  “I want to tell him how shitty I feel,” I say, crumbling, “and I want him to make it go away.” I can’t stop the damn tears. They’re like a goddamn broken faucet. “Only he could do that. You know that, Lloyd. Only him.”

  I sit down on the bed and put my hands over my face.

  Lloyd sits beside me and places his arm around my shoulders. “I do know, Jeff. I do.” He kisses my forehead.

  He does know. The only one who truly, truly does. None of my new friends knew Javitz. Maybe that’s why I find it easier being with them over the old.

  “You know what makes me crazy sometimes?” I whisper. “How Henry will come to me with stuff, the way I used to go to Javitz. Henry will come all confused and upset over some guy, or about something he read, or knotted up about something at work. And he’ll want my take on it. As if I have all the answers.”

  Lloyd strokes my hair.

  “But what’s even crazier is that I give him answers, Lloyd. I stand there against the bar and I talk, talk, talk. I tell him this is the way it is, and all these boys, they fucking listen to me, Lloyd. I’m a goddamn fraud, but I get away with it.” I make a bitter face. “Javitz must be laughing his ass off at me.”

  “Javitz isn’t laughing at you, Jeff. I’m sure he’s very proud.” Lloyd lifts my chin to look into my eyes. “But he wouldn’t want you to stop writing.”

  I look away. “It’s too hard. It’s just too hard. I just can’t seem to get fired up by anything. In a way, I suppose, I envy you, Lloyd. Getting pumped up about this place. You have something to dream about again.”

  He touches my face. “Will you share it with me, Jeff? This dream? Will you at least try?”

  I look at him. I look at his beautiful deepset green eyes and run my hand over the top of his close-cropped head. I smile. I remember the night we met, so long ago now. I remember how he took me back to his place and drew a bath for us, dotted with daisies. I remember how hard I fell in love with him, how the very thought of him filled up my entire self, sucked the air right out me. I’m about to say yes, yes, of course I’ll try—and although I can’t promise anything, it means the world to hear him ask. In that moment everything disappears: Javitz’s death, my disappointment over Lloyd not moving back to Boston, even the worries about that stranger back in my apartment. I’m about to tell Lloyd that I love him, that more than anything else in the world I want to be with him, but before I can utter a single word, I’m cut off suddenly by a voice from downstairs:

  “Yooooooooo-hoooooooooooooooo.”

  Lloyd

  God, I hate when she does that.

  “What is that?” Jeff asks, looking around for the source of the sound that echoes against the walls far more sharply than even the howling wind.

  “It’s just Eva,” I say.

  She’s downstairs somewhere. Damn her timing. Why did she have to come in just at that moment? Finally, Jeff was opening up a little and—

  “Yoooooo-hoooooo!”

  I bound to the top of the stairwell. “Eva! Please! Stop that! We’re here! Upstairs! We’re coming down.”
<
br />   I turn and smile resignedly over at Jeff. I regret having to cut off our conversation. “We’ll talk more later,” I tell him. “Okay?”

  He just shrugs.

  “I’ve brought some dishes over,” Eva’s calling up to us. “Wait’ll you see!”

  We find her in the kitchen lifting them out of a cardboard box. I notice she’s tracked snow across the tile floor.

  “Eva,” I ask, “should you be bringing stuff in yet? It’s not officially ours for another few weeks.”

  “Oh, I know, but Ernie said it was okay if I brought up a few things from New York.” She holds a plate up so we can see. There’s some kind of a crest in the center. “These have been in my family for generations. Made in Dresden. My father’s father brought them over in—”

  “Uh, Eva, this is—”

  Her eyes settle on Jeff. “Oh, my! Forgive me!” She sets the plate down and hurries over to embrace Jeff. “You must be Jeffrey,” she gushes. She squeezes him tight, wrapping her arms around his torso and resting her head under his chin. He looks over at me with some surprise. “I have been wanting to meet you for so long.”

  Jeff tentatively pats her on the back. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Eva.”

  She pulls back enough to look up at him. “Do you like the place? It matters to me, Jeff, that you feel at home here.”

  “Thanks,” he says, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden intimacy.

  I sense Jeff’s discomfort. Eva’s intensity is one of the reasons I love her, but Jeff is, after all, a born-and-raised Connecticut Yankee, and Yankees don’t usually go for all that touchy-feely stuff, especially not at first meeting. I try to draw her away from him. “What do you think about eventually cutting out another window here, Eva?” I ask, moving across the kitchen.

  Eva does let go, but she takes Jeff by the hand and leads him over to where I stand. “I think it’s a splendid idea,” she says. “Oh, yes. Just fill the house with light.”

  “My idea exactly,” I agree.

  Eva looks up at Jeff. “It’s uncanny how Lloyd and I think alike,” she tells him. “We’re always finding little moments like that.”

  I see Jeff’s eyes flicker away.

  She drops his hand and returns to unpacking her plates. “I’m hopeful you and I might find some time to take a walk, Jeff. Just the two of us. To get to know each other.”

  I watch as Jeff smiles noncommittally.

  Eva keeps chattering. “I’d love to cook both of you a big meal tonight. A celebration!”

  She’s trying hard to win him over. Too hard, probably. “Eva, you know my kitchen is so small,” I offer. “Why don’t we just get pizza from George’s?”

  She pouts. “But look what I was able to do for breakfast.” She smiles over at Jeff. “I made Belgian waffles with fresh fruit this morning. They’re Lloyd’s favorite.”

  Jeff smiles back tightly. “I know.”

  She holds a plate against her bosom. It’s that unconscious gesture of hiding her breasts I’ve noticed before. “You know, Jeff, my husband was gay,” she announces. “I don’t know if Lloyd told you. He was gay and he died of AIDS.”

  Jeff blinks a couple of times in response. I put my hands in front of my face.

  “Yes, he was,” Eva continues. “He taught me all about gay culture.” She smiles to herself, remembering something, then returns to placing the dishes in the cupboard. She’s talking fast, almost giddily. “Oh, my goodness, how many times we listened to Judy at Carnegie Hall. And watched All About Eve. That was Steven’s favorite. And a favorite of yours and Lloyd’s and Javitz’s, right?”

  Jeff looks over at me, then back at Eva. “One of them,” he says.

  “Oh, my, how Steven loved that movie. I do, too. I can see all the gay parallels. They’re so obvious. Why doesn’t everyone see them?”

  Way too hard, I think.

  “Do you know we watched All About Eve the night Steven died? Of course, he was clear-minded right to the end. Not like Javitz. Gosh, how cruel a fate was that? Javitz, so brilliant. To end up with dementia.” She shudders.

  Jeff turns and looks at me again. He seems incredulous. I just manage a helpless little grin.

  “You know what?” Eva says suddenly, holding another plate against her bosom. “I feel him here.”

  “Javitz?” I ask.

  “Actually, both of them. Javitz and Steven.” She shivers. “They’re together. Maybe they’re even lovers in that other world. Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful!

  I notice a nasty little grin cross Jeff’s lips. I brace myself.

  “I think I see them, too,” he tells her. “They’re standing right there, in fact—behind you.”

  Eva lets out a little gasp, dropping the plate she’s holding. It falls to the floor with a shattering crash.

  “Oh, dear!” she cries.

  Both Jeff and I are quickly down on our knees picking up the pieces. Nose-to-nose, our eyes meet and I shake my head at him.

  “I’m awfully sorry,” Jeff says as he hands her three small slivers of ceramic. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She smiles uncomfortably.

  “I know these plates mean a lot to you,” I say, dropping a few shards into the trash. I look over at Jeff. I hope he’s satisfied with himself.

  “No, please. It was just a plate.” She sighs. “It’s just a thing. An object. Right, Lloyd?”

  We’ve had discussions about this. I’ve told her that I thought she was sometimes too attached to things, to material possessions. Eva grew up rich and sheltered, accustomed to the fineries of her class. I know Jeff’s deep distrust of the rich; I’m hoping it won’t prejudice him against her.

  He does seem genuinely remorseful for his mischief. “Now you’ll always be one plate short at dinner.” He frowns. “I am sorry.”

  “No, don’t be,” Eva insists. “It’s the first lesson of this house. Don’t be attached.” She looks to me for affirmation. I give it to her with a smile.

  “Lloyd has taught me so much,” Eva says fondly, looking over at Jeff. “I am so thrilled to be embarking on this journey. And I’m sure there will be many more lessons to learn.”

  She walks quickly across the kitchen floor to embrace me, just as she did Jeff earlier—tightly, with her head tucked underneath my chin. I see Jeff look away.

  Jeff

  It’s probably a good thing it’s Lloyd describing that scene for you, because—as over the top as I’m sure she comes across—I’d probably have done a whole hell of a lot worse. Because she is over the top—of Mount Everest. Oh, my God, that doesn’t even begin to describe her. Over the top, off this planet—I mean certifiably loony. But shrewd! I can see that right off. She knows exactly what she’s up against, dealing with me, and she’s got her game plan all mapped out.

  She wants to show me that she’s Lloyd’s partner now, not me.

  So I agree to take the walk with her, after reluctantly posing for a quick photo in the snow in front of the house. “Say, ‘If you please, pass the cheese!’” Eva instructs as she snaps a picture of Lloyd and me.

  What a wacko.

  “I’m going on ahead to return the key to the realtor,” Lloyd says.

  “Run along,” Eva says, taking my arm. “Jeffrey and I are going to get to know each other.” We walk out along the beach as the snow continues to fall.

  “I was born in Connecticut just like you, Jeff,” she tells me.

  “Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “Whereabouts?”

  “Greenwich.”

  I smirk. Greenwich is not the same Connecticut I was born in. Greenwich is the Gold Coast. I was born in a little factory town outside Hartford.

  “My father worked for the government,” she tells me. “He was always traveling all over the world. I wanted nothing more than to be with him always, but our time together was always so brief. Were you close to your father, Jeff?”

  I’m presuming Lloyd told her my father died a few years ago, and that I regret never having the chance to
be fully authentic with him while he was still alive. That’s what she wants me to say: she wants me to start disclosing the way she’s been doing. Just spew out all our emotions and secrets and fears. But I’m being stubborn.

  “I knew my father as well as possible,” I say, ending the discussion. Or at least trying to.

  “My father was devoted to me,” she rambles on. “He would always bring me a doll from every country he visited. We would sleep in the same bed when he was home, until the time I was twelve. Do you think that improper, Jeff?”

  I don’t have any idea how I should respond. I just look at her.

  She keeps talking. “Some people thought it was wrong. But my father was the kindest, gentlest …” She stops talking and looks out at the water. The snow is raising a cloud of mist over the beach. “I still miss him. Just like I still miss Steven. I don’t think we ever stop missing those we’ve lost.” She looks up at me with her big round eyes. “Is it hard for you, Jeff? Being here, in Provincetown, remembering Javitz?”

  Her casual references to Javitz are beginning to bug me. She didn’t know him. Okay, so maybe she can relate to his death since her husband also died of AIDS, but she knows nothing about Javitz’s life. She knows nothing about his queer politics, his campy sense of humor, his delightfully twisted love of sex. She knows nothing of his suspicion of heteros. Javitz would’ve thought she was whacked.

  “I’m fine, Eva.” I look over at her. “If I seem distant, it’s just because I’m cold.”

  She smiles. “Then maybe we can pop into a café. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

  Okay, so you’re probably seeing her as really sweet, and me as a real prick. But this is her strategy. Win me over with kindness. Then it’s off with my head. Then she can have Lloyd all to herself. You think I’m being too hard on her? You just watch. I’m onto her little game.

  We take a table near the window in Fat Jack’s. Her feet don’t even reach the floor. She reminds me of a Munchkin. Or the Bride of Chucky.