Where the Boys Are

by William J. Mann

  Oh, and have you noticed? None of us is twisted tonight. Nobody’s rolling. Now, don’t draw too many conclusions from that. It’s not like we’ve sworn off drugs or that we’re turning into moralistic prigs—I mean, there’s nothing like one little bump of X to occasionally break the ice—but tonight, we all decided we wanted to play sober. Sure, the fact that we have to get up early in the morning has something to do with it, but we all agreed that this time we wanted to enter the new year with a clear and conscious mind.

  “You do know what tonight is, don’t you?” Shane is suddenly whispering in my ear. “I mean besides the real start of the new millennium.”

  “No, what?” I ask, blinking my eyes as I look over at him.

  He pouts. “Well, if you don’t remember …”

  I look over at Jeff and wink. He winks back, letting me know he’s arranged for everything. We’ve reached the center of town now, walking up the red carpet to the Crown & Anchor. Suddenly an overhead spotlight swings down, catching Shane in its glare.

  “What the …?” Shane gasps.

  Two hunky barechested boys in leopard-print sarongs brave the cold to hurry down the carpet toward Shane, each bearing a dozen red roses. They kiss him and fuss over him before thrusting the roses into his hands and hurrying back inside.

  “Happy anniversary,” I tell Shane.

  “You did remember,” he says.

  Okay, so I know some of you may be skeptical. You’re thinking it will never work between Shane and me. You’re thinking that a guy so into how he looks (me) would never date a guy who doesn’t give a shit (Shane). While I’ll admit I haven’t given up hope that I’ll get Shane to the gym, I’ll tell you this much: one more thing I learned this year is that it’s what’s inside that counts. One more soggy old cliche, I suppose, but it’s true nonetheless.

  Look, I’ve been searching for years for a husband who would be devoted, constant, insightful—one who would make me laugh and, yes, make my dick hard. On every point, Shane qualifies. So I’m giving it a shot. Wish us luck, okay? If it works out between us, it gives hope to every guy out there, every guy who was once like me, standing on the sidelines, letting the world pass him by. No more of that. Henry Weiner’s living his life.

  I kiss Shane in the spotlight. Big and sloppy, the roses wedged between us.

  That’s when I hear the shouting.

  “Perverts!” I hear. “Abominations!”

  Lloyd

  Jeff and I turn quickly. Across the street, watching Henry and Shane kiss, two guys and a girl stand shouting. They’re late teens, maybe early twenties, and obviously drunk.

  Jeff reacts. If I wasn’t holding his hand, he’d have been across the street and at their throats. “This is our space, you fuckheads!” he yells. “Get your sorry asses out of here!”

  “Jeff, don’t,” I plead. “It will only make things worse—”

  One of the guys is defiant. He takes a few steps toward Jeff. “The Bible says homos are an abomination!”

  Jeff breaks free of my grip and gets right up in his face. “Abomination! My, my, such a big word for such a little boy.” He stabs the guy’s chest with his finger. “But your grammar’s wrong, junior. ‘Homos’ is plural, ‘abomination’ is singular. Your sentence doesn’t make sense, and neither does your Bible.”

  “Faggot,” the guy snarls.

  I see Jeff’s hand pull back to slug him. I’m immediately behind him, restraining him. The guy’s friends are pulling him back, too. “Go on,” I tell them. “Get out of here. What’s the point in starting fights in the street?”

  They see the wisdom of my words as a group of gay men gathers, lining the street, asking what’s going on.

  “Nothing,” I assure them as the three punks hurry off down the street.

  Henry and Shane flank Jeff. “You okay?” Henry asks.

  “My Sir Galahad!” Shane gushes, kissing Jeff on the cheek.

  I look at him. “Cat, you didn’t need to mirror their behavior.”

  He sighs. “I know. It was dumb. It was just totally instinctive.”

  “Well, you got me hard,” Shane says.

  “You go ahead, you two,” Jeff says. “I just want to calm down out here a minute.”

  “You sure?” Henry asks.

  Jeff nods, looking over at me. I know what’s going through his head. I know who he’s thinking about.

  After Shane and Henry have gone into the bar, I put my arms around Jeff and look into his eyes. “There’s always somebody waiting to jump at us,” he says to me. “Always something there to hit us over the head.”

  “Forget about them, Jeff.”

  “Like I ever could.”

  I look him deep in the eyes. “You need to stop blaming yourself about Anthony,” I tell him. “You did what you did.”

  He looks up at the dark sky. Frost appears in the air as he speaks. “These idiots were just like he was,” he says. “That’s what he looked like, standing there harassing fags. He probably once used the same words.” He sighs, resting his forehead against mine. “How dare they come after us here? In Provincetown? They’ve got the whole goddamn world to come after us. This is our space.”

  “Try to let it go, Jeff,” I tell him. “They’re not worth the trouble.”

  He smiles. “What would I do without you?”

  “Probably get your face broken by a couple of drunken straight boys.”

  “Then you’d better stick around.”

  “I promise.”

  It’s easier than I thought, making promises like that. Letting go of my fear of commitment wasn’t the big effort I always thought it would be. Living with the fear was far more difficult. Do you have any idea how much work, how much energy, is needed to live with fear? I think Nirvana showed me that despite all my yakking about not wanting to “settle down,” I really did. I wanted to find a place to be grounded, to make room for others and for myself, to become the person I really am. And that’s not a person who defines himself by any fear.

  “You okay to go inside now?” I ask Jeff.

  He nods. We follow Shane and Henry into the club. It’s already packed. I see there’s some entertainment in progress, a drag queen dressed as Connie Francis commanding a little stage.

  “Where the boys are,” she lip syncs, “someone waits for me …” The crowd of shirtless boys on the dance floor are applauding and whistling.

  Ahead of us I spot two familar faces: Drake and Ty, arms linked around each other. From the look of their glistening skin, they’ve been dancing a while.

  “Hey,” I call. “I didn’t know you were coming to town.”

  Ty and I exchange quick kisses. I smile at Drake.

  “It was completely last-minute,” Ty says. “I was planning on calling you.”

  “Blame me,” Drake says. “I talked him into it.”

  “We did call the guest house,” Ty adds, “but you were booked. I talked to some guy name Hank …?”

  I smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just good to see you, that’s all.” I notice their arms are still interlocked. “Both of you,” I add significantly.

  We all smile. Jeff kisses each of them. I have to suppress a little grin, thinking of him and Drake together. Jeff notices and nudges me.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” a top-hatted emcee is suddenly announcing from the stage, “for tonight’s final performance, we bring you a very special duet. Together for the first time anywhere: Mr. George Michael and Miss Mae West!”

  I look over at Jeff. Could it be …?

  Ty’s mouth drops open.

  Onto the little stage saunters Eva, one arm akimbo, the other pushing at her hair. But she’s a different Mae this time: instead of the long, padded Victorian garb, she’s wearing a black leather miniskirt, red go-go boots, and a polka-dotted bikini top. Only the wig is the same, and the voice.

  “Ohhhhhhh,” she purrs. “I want your sex.”

  Now from the other side of the stage bounds a very convincing George Michae
l, complete with sunglasses, stubble, leather jacket, guitar, and tight blue jeans. He swings his ass at the audience. I’m about to think, Nice butt, when I realize it’s Candi.

  “Yes, it would be nice,” George sings to Mae, “if I could touch your body…”

  Mae follows up with the next line: “Not everybody—ohhhh—has a body like meeee.”

  She shakes her breasts at the audiences. The boys whoop. And so it goes.

  Thankfully, it’s brief—the crowd is itching to get back to dancing—and George and Mae leave the stage amidst hoots and whistles.

  I watch Eva blow a kiss to the crowd. How she loves the applause.

  We’re scheduled to talk tomorrow. Finally, I’ll know what she wants as a buy-out price. I’ll learn if I’m meant to continue here with Nirvana or find yet another path somewhere else. Henry’s convinced it’s all going to work out: “It’s meant to be, Lloyd; I can tell.”

  But I’m not so sure. I spot Eva and Candi on the side of the dance floor, accepting well-wishes from their fans.

  “Jeff, I’ll be right back,” I tell him. He nods.

  Eva spots me as I approach. “You caught our little act,” she says.

  “Yes,” I tell her. “You were terrific.” I look at Candi. “Both of you.”

  Candi smiles. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

  “In fact,” I tell her, “you kind of turned me on.”

  She laughs. “Now, that’s the ultimate compliment to any drag king.” She looks at me kindly. Maybe she understands a little better now, I think. She’s the one who motivated Eva into seeking therapy, after all. I can only imagine what they’ve been through together, what triggered Candi’s insistence that Eva seek help; but maybe, now that they’ve been together a while, she understands my experience a little better. “Thank you, Lloyd,” Candi says. “I appreciate the compliment.”

  We exchange smiles. Candi heads over through the crowd to fetch their coats, leaving Eva and me together. There’s a moment of awkwardness. We look at each other and smile uncomfortably. “Not staying till midnight?” I ask.

  “No,” Eva says. “We have friends coming by.”

  I feel a little wistful, and I think she does, too. How far apart we’ve grown in the space of one year. How different, how separate are our lives.

  “Eva,” I tell her, “I want you to know that I’m glad—I’m proud of you—that you’re doing the hard work that you are. Maybe at some point we can find a way to be friends again.”

  I see her eyes glisten. “Thank you, Lloyd. And I hope you know that I want only the best for you in the new year. No matter what happens between us, I want you to know that.”

  I stiffen. No matter what happens? Is she preparing me for what she has to tell me tomorrow?

  Somehow, I think, she senses my apprehension. “Lloyd,” she says all at once, “I want you to have Nirvana.”

  “Yes,” I say. “I appreciate that. I guess I’m just wondering about the terms.…”

  “Those are the terms, Lloyd,” she says simply.

  I blink. I’m not sure what she means.

  She smiles. “Do you remember once how you said that life is about balance? That it’s not always about what a thing is worth on paper? About not being attached?”

  I’m still wary, not following her.

  “I’m trying to find balance, to make things right, in so many areas of my life.” She looks at me. “That’s why I want you to have Nirvana. No terms. Just have it.”

  I’m stunned. “You mean, without any payment …?”

  “Oh, you’ve already paid, many times over.” She laughs. “I guess there does need to be some exchange of money. They usually quitclaim things for a dollar, don’t they?”

  “A—dollar …?”

  “I think that’s how it’s done.”

  I look at her. “Eva, I’m not sure I can accept such a—a gift—”

  “Please. Don’t see it as a gift. See it for what it is. Something that I need to do.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Listen to me, Lloyd. This is the only way I know to set things right. Let’s not make a big deal about this to anybody. Let’s just do it.” She smiles sadly. “Yes, I do hope someday we can find a way of being friends again. But I still have a lot of work to do. I’m no saint, Lloyd. I wish I could say this comes from the sheer goodness of my heart, that I’m a new woman, totally free of all my issues, perfectly realized, completely cured. But that’s not the case. A part of me wants to cling on to Nirvana, cling on to you, kick and scream and cry and make life miserable—because that’s how I’ve always done things. I’m trying to find a way of breaking that pattern. This is a way to do that.” She sighs. “I’m not making any of these decisions easily. But each time I make them, they do become less difficult.”

  I’m still staggered. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then don’t say anything. We’ll talk tomorrow, make it all official.”

  So that’s it. That’s the end of our story together. I wish I could tell you more. I wish I could tell you what’s really going on inside Eva’s head—what prompted such impressive generosity, what kind of work she’s doing—but I can’t.

  And I realize, standing here, that I’ll never know more than I know right now. We came into each other’s lives, our paths crossed, we served as catalysts for change for each other, but now it’s over. I’ll never know the source of Eva’s pain, whether the abuse I suspect was real, or if there was something else, something I can never know. I’ll never understand all her motivations, all the reasons she did what she did, what was true and what was false. That’s the way it is with most people who come into our lives, isn’t it? We only ever learn so much. In the end, I’m left only with what she’s taught me; I only know what I’ve learned. I only know that this past year with her has been perhaps the most important of my life. The little Buddha is hardly her only gift to me.

  Candi’s returned with their coats. Impulsively I hug her, and then Eva as well. “Happy New Year,” I tell both of them.

  “You too, Lloyd.” She pauses, withdrawing something from the pocket of her coat. “Oh, Candi, will you wait just a minute? I have to deliver this.”

  I watch her. She shoulders her way out onto the dance floor toward Jeff.

  Jeff

  Eva’s heading this way. She gestures to me. I lift my eyebrows. She mouths the words: “I have something for you.”

  I follow her off to a spot out near the pool so we can talk. “What’s going on?” I ask, looking around for Lloyd, but I can’t spot him.

  Eva hands me a small sealed envelope. My name is written on the front. I recognize the handwriting.

  “Where—how …?” I stutter.

  Eva’s looking up at me. “He sent it to me in a Christmas card. He asked that I give it to you tonight. He was insistent that you get it on New Year’s Eve.”

  I stare down at it, then move my eyes over to her. “Where is he?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Jeff. I’m being honest with you. The postmark was from Texas. But he said he was moving on.”

  “And you haven’t asked?”

  “No,” she tells me. “If he chooses to tell me where he is, that’s up to him.”

  I study her. “You gave him money, didn’t you? That’s how he can afford to travel.”

  “He needs to be able to find himself,” she says softly.

  I make a little laugh in disbelief. “And you’ve asked for nothing in return? He’s just free to—to go?”

  Eva’s eyes find mine. They’re not the eyes I remember. Lloyd’s told me she’s been doing work, that she’s trying to change, and I haven’t entirely trusted it. But maybe I should. These eyes are very different from the ones I remember.

  “Anthony has a chance to remake himself, to start over,” she says.

  “And you want to help him to do that.”

  She nods. “Don’t you see? It’s what I always tried to do, but was never suc
cessful. I don’t know what Anthony’s running from, but I know he’s tired of running. I saw myself in Anthony. I saw someone who wanted to recreate his life, to begin again. It’s what inspired me to look at myself.” She pauses. “I want Anthony to succeed where I failed.”

  I study her some more. She’s being sincere. I’m certain of it. Finally, I look into her eyes and see truth reflected back to me. I’ve been the one person she’s never been able to fool, and it’s honesty that I see at long last in her eyes and hear in her words.

  “Maybe,” I tell her, “maybe you haven’t failed at that.”

  She gives me a small, hopeful smile. “We’ll see,” she says.

  I embrace her. “Thank you for this,” I tell her.

  “Happy New Year, Jeff.”

  Then she’s gone.

  I open the note. I stand with it under a dim light, being jostled by guys too twisted to notice as they head into the men’s room. I pay them no mind. The note is simple:

  Jeff

  One year ago tonight I met you, and my life changed. I want you to know how much the past year meant to me. How much you meant, and all you gave to me. You will always be family to me.

  No, more than family.

  With love,

  Anthony

  I look up into the crowd on the dance floor.

  No, more than family.

  More than the way family is defined by straights.

  You can’t describe it because there aren’t words. You don’t set limitations, because you’re always surpassing them. You don’t let others tell you how you’re supposed to be. You’re true to yourself and nobody else. You’re just who you are.

  “We’re just who we are,” I whisper, looking into the crowd.

  I think of those idiots out on the street, calling us abominations. What do they know about us? What do any of those who look in from the outside know about our hearts and our minds and our souls?

  We’re good people. The music is mixing into a song about loving one another. Isn’t that what all the songs are about? Love: finding new love, getting over love. Love, love, love. Too often have we believed the old lie that says we’re bad, we’re perverted, we’re abominations. But those who spread the lie don’t know. They don’t know how we love, how we hurt, how we live.