Where the Boys Are

by William J. Mann

  “Size-sixteen!” I intone.

  “Ohhh, yes!”

  “Size—twenty!”

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” The man screams as if he’d been shot in the heart. He falls over onto his side, cum dribbling over his fist.

  He doesn’t move. For a moment I worry he’s had a heart attack, that he’s dead. What would I do? But then he opens his eyes and looks gratefully up at me.

  “Oh, thank you, sir,” Gilbert says, nearly in tears. “Thank you!”

  I smile. Ah, yes. One more satisfied customer.

  I love this job.

  Meanwhile, Back in the South End

  Jeff

  “He’s gotten even fatter since Christmas,” Lloyd says. “Jeff, this can’t be a good thing.”

  I just smile over at the sight of them, our twenty-seven-pound cat curled up in Lloyd’s lap on the couch. “You remember what the vet said,” I remind him. “‘Just let him live.’”

  Lloyd grimaces. “She said live, not explode.”

  Surprised to see Lloyd at my place? So am I. So is Mr. Tompkins. He immediately went for Lloyd’s lap, settling down and purring loudly, like the rattling motor of an old refrigerator. He’s missed him. Last fall, when Lloyd was coming by more frequently, Mr. Tompkins would always plop himself down in front of the door after he left, awaiting his return. He’d stay there for hours, despite my attempts to move him—which, at twenty-seven pounds, isn’t easy. Finally he’d give up, and for the past few months he’s been particularly surly. The only thing I can conclude is that he misses Lloyd something fierce.

  See, Mr. Tompkins isn’t known to be the friendliest cat, except to Lloyd and me. He was notoriously jealous of Javitz, leaping at him from countertops. Now far too obese for such sport, he settles for chomping down on Henry’s hand whenever he attempts to pet him, which isn’t often anymore, to say the least. To our friends, Mr. Tompkins is the Hellspawn, but we call him our baby; and now Baby is purring, fast asleep, in Daddy’s lap.

  “I want to get a cat for us in Provincetown,” Eva chirps, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, watching the reunion between Lloyd and Mr. Tompkins.

  Yes, she’s here, too. Which doesn’t surprise you, you say. Me, either. I’m trying to be pleasant, even accepting one of those choke holds from her that she calls hugs. But she’s such a little imp, like some annoying creature out of Sid & Marty Kroft. Every other word out of her mouth is “we.” We did this and we’re buying that and we have so much to do and we’re just having so much fun setting up our new life together as husband and wife.

  Okay, so maybe not that last one, but that’s what she means. It’s her way of reminding me that she’s in my place now, and I’d better not forget it. She’s stuck so close to Lloyd ever since they got here that she actually seems jealous of the cat.

  “No, Eva,” Lloyd is saying, shaking his head. “I’ve explained that to you. We can’t get a cat. Guests might be allergic.”

  She shrugs and looks over at me. “I keep forgetting about the guests.”

  Of course she does. Of course! She isn’t in this for some quaint little bed-and-breakfast experience. She’s in it to play house with Lloyd. Why can’t he see that?

  And why does it upset me so? I’ve accepted that it’s his choice, that the hopes and the dreams I allowed myself to embrace last fall just won’t be happening. Lloyd and I are over.

  Then he shows up at my door today—Valentine’s Day—with a bouquet of daisies. My favorite flowers. The card is simple and poignant: My love always, Lloyd.

  I had nothing to give him in return. But I admit I made something of a show kissing Lloyd in front of Eva. Maybe that was mean of me. She retreated into the kitchen, examining the photos and magnets on my refrigerator door.

  “I’d love to go to a circuit party with you all sometime,” she’s saying now, pointing back into the kitchen toward a picture of me and Zed, the leather guy I dated briefly last year. We’re at the Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco, the only time I’ve ever worn the harness Javitz left me. Now I’ve loaned it to Henry for those clients who want him in leather. “Would you take me to a circuit party, Jeff?” Eva’s asking. “They look like so much fun!”

  I have to smile. Eva at a circuit party. Now there’s an image.

  “Don’t encourage him,” Lloyd tells her. “I’ve already told Jeff he does too much partying.”

  “Many times,” I agree.

  Lloyd nuzzles his face down into Mr. Tompkins’s fur. Eva takes the opportunity to lean in close to me. “May I talk with you a minute, Jeff?” she whispers. “About something?”

  I nod, a little wary. She takes my arm and leads me into the kitchen, away from Lloyd’s ears. She looks up at me with those big, earnest eyes.

  “I need some advice,” she says.

  “Advice? What kind of advice?”

  She sighs. “Last week, Lloyd had a cold. I made him some broth and bought some sinus medicine, but nothing seemed to perk him up. Tell me. What did you do when he was sick? Is there some special food, some particular remedy he prefers?”

  I just look at her.

  “I feel rather silly asking,” she continues. “Kind of like the new wife asking the ex.”

  She laughs. I don’t.

  “I was never a wife,” I tell her.

  Her eyes level with mine. “I just want to take seriously my responsibilities to him. After all, this is quite a commitment we’ve made to each other.”

  Has she no clue? Is she being catty or is she really so ingenuous?

  “Look, Eva, I can tell you this much. When Lloyd’s sick, he prefers to be left alone.”

  She smiles. “Come, now, Jeff. I’ve heard how you and Javitz would sit up all night with him, changing the wet cloth on his head, tucking in the blankets around his legs.”

  “Oh, he likes family around,” I say, fully aware of just how nasty that comes across. And I intend it to be nasty. I admit it. I just can’t abide the phoniness anymore. She dislikes me as much as I dislike her. She knows that I see through her, and she’s trying to win me over with her fakey warmth and talk of circuit parties. Yet she can’t resist her own little digs about joint checking accounts and making commitments.

  I move past her back into the living room. I don’t know if she’s upset, and at the moment I don’t care. I just sit down beside Lloyd on the couch.

  “He’s missed me,” Lloyd says, putting his face down near Mr. Tompkins’s. Anyone else would lose half a cheek, but our baby just licks Lloyd’s ear.

  I smile. “Henry won’t sit with his back to him.”

  “That’s probably smart,” Lloyd says. “You bad boy, you.” He tickles Mr. Tompkins’s belly. The cat purrs even louder. “How’s he taken to your houseguest? What’s his name again? Andrew?”

  “Anthony,” I correct him. “He … well, he’s grudgingly gotten used to Anthony.”

  Truth is, Mr. Tompkins loathes Anthony. Anthony’s offense was to usurp the throne: the couch. Every chance he gets, Mr. Tompkins makes a nest on top of Anthony’s backpack, leaving it covered with cat hair. Yet Anthony never complains. Repeatedly he’s tried to win the cat over, bringing home salmon-flavored treats and catnip toys. But while Mr. Tompkins is only too glad to wolf down the treats, he still tries to take a chunk out of Anthony’s hand as he feeds him.

  Eva’s come out of the kitchen. I look over at her. “Don’t you want to pet Mr. Tompkins?” I ask, unable to resist.

  Her smile tightens. “Maybe later.” She looks over at Lloyd. “Don’t forget, we need to stop at Pottery Barn for new bath mats for our upstairs bathroom.”

  Oh, she’s good. I have to give her that. She’s good.

  “You know, Eva,” Lloyd says, “you might want to check that place on Clarendon Street, the one I was telling you about.” He looks at her as if he’s trying to remind her of something. “Lots of nice things there for the house.”

  “Oh, yes.” She smiles. “But I don’t know Boston. I’ll wait for you. I’m a
fraid I’d get lost.”

  But Lloyd’s insistent. “Just walk up through Union Park, cross Tremont, hang a right, and a take a left on Clarendon. Easy as pie.”

  She flushes. “Oh, I just get so confused with directions.…”

  I realize what he’s doing. He’s trying to tell her to get lost. He wants to spend some time alone with me. On Valentine’s Day. My heart melts.

  But just then, the door opens. It’s Anthony. Coming home, after being out all night again on one of his weekly disappearances.

  And he’s carrying his own bouquet of flowers.

  There are moments of such sublime awkwardness that they become almost magical. This is one of them. Here we are, Lloyd and I, trying to get rid of Eva, when in walks Anthony. And the flowers in his hand are wrapped in pink Valentine’s paper with lots of hearts. Eva doesn’t know who the fuck this guy is, while Lloyd knows fully well—and all I want to do is slip under the rug.

  “Uh, hi,” Anthony says, noticing the company.

  “Anthony,” I say quickly, “you remember Lloyd? New Year’s Eve?”

  “We never officially met,” Lloyd says, extending his hand to Anthony.

  I jump up off the couch and snatch the flowers from Anthony without acknowledging them. I set them down on the coffee table. “Oh, well, then, Lloyd, this is Anthony. Anthony, this is Lloyd.”

  The two shake hands. “I notice Mr. Tompkins is pretty content there,” Anthony observes.

  “Yeah. Well, he misses me.” I notice just the slightest defensive tone in Lloyd’s voice.

  “And this is Eva,” I say, finishing the introductions.

  “Nice to meet you,” Anthony says. His big mitt completely swallows her tiny hand.

  “And it is a delight to meet you,” she gushes in that same syrupy tone I know so well. “Jeff has spoken so warmly about you.”

  No, I haven’t. I totally haven’t. Lloyd asked me how it was, living with Anthony, and I said, “He’s no bother.” That’s it. He’s no bother. That’s warm? This woman is too fucking much.

  Anthony blushes a little, looking over at me. “I brought you something,” he says.

  I look down at the flowers on the coffee table. Mr. Tompkins has jumped off Lloyd’s lap and is now munching on the sunflower heads that hang off the side. “Hey!” I scold, whisking up the bouquet and rushing it to the kitchen. “Thanks,” I call back to Anthony.

  I know he expected a kiss, but I just can’t. Not in front of Lloyd. Actually, more to the point, not in front of Eva. I don’t want to give her the impression that I’ve moved on, that I’ve found someone new, that Lloyd is all hers.

  But haven’t I? No, I tell myself as I fill a vase with water, I guess I haven’t. I snip the ends off the sunflowers with a pair of scissors. Okay, so maybe I’ve tried to convince myself that I have moved on. And yes, I do care about Anthony, but seeing Lloyd again has only made me wonder if Henry is right: if those feelings for Anthony exist simply because Lloyd has seemed unavailable.

  I set the flowers in the vase, placing them on top of the refrigerator so Mr. Tompkins can’t get them. He’s far too fat to jump that high.

  Then I notice the card. It has fallen out and landed on the floor. I stoop down, pick it up and debate whether to open it. Lloyd’s just a few yards away in the living room. My curiosity wins out. To Jeff, the card reads. With thanks for taking me in. Happy V Day. Love, Anthony. This time my heart melts for him.

  Jeff O’Brien, you are one fucked-up fool.

  I walk back out to the living room. I can tell, very little conversation has transpired in my absence. “Mr. Tompkins would eat the drapes if I didn’t watch him,” I crack, using the cat to relieve the tension. Everyone laughs.

  “I know!” Eva announces, her eyes twinkling with an idea. “Maybe Anthony would show me where this place is on Clarendon Street.”

  “What place?” he asks.

  “Fresh Eggs,” Lloyd tells him. “She’s afraid she’ll get lost.”

  “I’d be glad to.” Anthony smiles. “I’ve just learned my way around Boston myself.”

  “Oh, would you?” She beams. “How kind. And this way we’ll have a chance to get to know each other a little better. I have a feeling we’re going to be very good friends.”

  I look at Anthony. He’s still wearing the same clothes from the night before. His hair is matted down. He’s unshaven, grimy. What’s the matter? I’m thinking. Your trick not have a shower?

  But I don’t really think that Anthony leaves here once a week to spend the night with some trick. In the beginning he had disappeared on Wednesdays, then Thursdays, and now it’s Sunday that he takes off, only to return back, on cue, some time late Monday afternoon. He leaves early in the morning for work and then doesn’t come back until the next day. It’s gotten so that I don’t even ask anymore and he doesn’t even tell me. It just happens.

  I watch him leave with Eva, my emotions roiling. I hate when I get this way. So hostile to Eva, so petty with Anthony. I took over at Lloyd. It’s as if he can read my thoughts.

  “Come sit by me?” It’s a question, not a command. I oblige. I sit down next to Lloyd again with a long sigh, dropping my head onto my chest.

  “It was nice that he brought you flowers,” Lloyd says.

  “Whatever.” I squint up at him. “Has she tried to get into your pants yet?”

  Lloyd seems to blanch a little, but ignores the question. “I wish you would come see the house. It’s coming along really nice. We plan to be open by next month. I hope you’ll at least come for the opening party.”

  Mr. Tompkins has wormed his way between Lloyd and me. He settles his front half over Lloyd’s left thigh and his back over my right.

  I sigh again. “Lloyd, I thought it was clear when I came down last time. I can’t put myself in a place where I’m going to get hurt once more. I’m not going to get my hopes up only to find you can’t make a commitment.” I pause. “At least with me. You had no problem making a commitment with Eva.”

  “I miss you, Jeff,” he says simply.

  I make a sound of annoyance. “You can’t just come knocking at my door like this.” I look at him. “Especially not with her in tow.”

  “Why don’t you like her, Jeff?”

  I laugh. “It’s not about liking or disliking. She’s obviously threatened by me and tries to neutralize me any chance she gets.”

  Lloyd huffs. “Well, maybe you’re feeling threatened, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t react so strongly.”

  I look at him. “Don’t. Don’t start playing Dr. Freud with me. You know I hate that.” He sighs, resting his head on the back of the couch. “Besides, what’s to feel threatened about? You have your life; I have mine.”

  “I guess you do.” Now it’s Lloyd’s turn to sound a little piqued. “Who’d have thought some guy you met on New Year’s Eve would still be here?”

  I shrug. “I’m surprised myself.”

  Lloyd scoffs. “I have never in my life known you to put up with someone in your space. It took you two years to get used to me. What’s changed, Jeff? Why do you let him stay?”

  I don’t know the answer. Part of it may be that I’m not writing, so I don’t feel the need for privacy the way I used to.” Back in the days when I toiled over my computer banging out freelance articles in our second bedroom, I’d needed silence to hear the muse sing. Now it doesn’t matter when Anthony turns on MTV first thing in the morning. I just flop down next to him on the couch and we watch that cute gay kid and his military boyfriend on The Real World.

  “There’s just something about Anthony,” I say. “Something that intrigues me.”

  “Well, he’s very attractive,” Lloyd says, sighing, as if that were the reason.

  “No. I mean, yes, he is, but that’s not what intrigues me.” I pause. “Maybe it’s because I’ve gotten kind of hooked on finding out more about him. He’s like an assignment, in a way. Who is he? What’s his story? Where’s he from?”

  Lloyd looks at me
dumbfounded. “You mean you still don’t know?”

  I shake my head. “No. Just a few clues here and there.”

  “Jeff, he could be an ax-murderer,” Lloyd says.

  “Yeah, he could be. But I bet it’s something more interesting than that.” I lean in close to Lloyd. It feels good to be this near him, even with all the issues between us. “He’s a mystery. Once a week he goes out and doesn’t come back until the next day.”

  “Have you asked him about it?”

  “At first. But I didn’t want to seem like I was prying. He’s paying rent now—just a token, really, but he buys his own food. So he doesn’t have to report in to me.” I run my hand through my hair. “Early on, all he’d say is that he’d gone to see a friend. Now he says nothing at all, and I don’t pursue it. But as far as I know, he has no friends in Boston other than me and Henry and a few of the other guys. And he’s not seeing them.”

  Lloyd makes a face. “Sure he’s not sleeping with Brent? It would be just like Brent to want to keep that a secret.”

  “I thought of that, but I don’t think so. Anthony can see through Brent. He’s told me so.”

  Lloyd strokes the back of Mr. Tompkins’s head. “So what else makes him mysterious?”

  “He never talks about his past. No relationships. No jobs. No family. He’s admitted to coming from a suburb of Chicago, and once he said his father was an asshole. Another time he said something about not doing well in high-school algebra. But that’s it. That’s about all I know.”

  I don’t tell him about the laminated photograph of Robert Riley. I just can’t. I still feel guilty about going into Anthony’s wallet. I’ve been wanting to dig further, maybe try to find where the photograph came from, but something stops me. I just can’t do it.

  Lloyd looks at me with concern. “Do you think he’s hiding something?”

  I sigh. “Hiding, running away, covering up—I don’t know. Something.”

  Lloyd takes my hand in his. “Jeff, if you’re living with him, having any kind of relationship with him, you should know all you can about him.”

  “Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “And are we following our own advice?”