“Matt, you stay out of the goddamn bathroom! We’re not dressed!” D.J. hollered, his head flung to the side in annoyance.
“But I just saw you downstairs at the bar—oops, uh, never mind. Sorry to butt in—ha, forgive the pun. Whatever you’re doing, go ahead and, um, finish. Uh, I’ll wait for you two outside on the verandah. Gotta talk to you both. Bring your drinks. You’ll need them.”
They heard the French door slam shut, Matt’s brotherly reassurance that he’d left their bedroom. In an eruption of chuckles, I gently pushed my husband off of me.
“We’ll have to continue our talk later, darling. Let’s get ready.” I closed off communication by stripping off my slip, which was bunched up around my waist, and jumping back into the shower. My disarrayed hair held up by one hand, my mind churned again with the urgency of preparation.
Christmas dinner was an important tradition for the McKay family, a formal affair planned by the matriarch, Liz, as if it were a White House State Dinner. Liz had hired a catering service from Austin, having given the regular kitchen help the night off, and a professional photographer to capture the annual family portrait. Suit and tie and cocktail dress were the very least informal of the attire expected.
A frantic fifteen minutes later, I joined D.J. and Matt on the verandah, wearing what I hoped would please both my husband and his fastidious mother. The emerald-green, velvet gown had a sweetheart-cut bodice which draped gently around my waist and hips, all the way down to the floor. Since Jamie’s birth, I had gained twenty pounds which D.J. insisted I needed. Then during the postpartum depression, I’d lost most of them but, after more than two months of taking antidepressants, my appetite had returned and I’d gained back ten. The gown fit me divinely, I thought, and the fake emerald-and-ruby jeweled barrette at the crown of my upswept side locks was the added glittery touch to the ensemble. A diamond tennis-bracelet and stud earrings—and, of course, the rings D.J. had given me and which I always wore—were all the jewelry I thought necessary.
The two brothers, respective drinks in hand, turned as one. Matt whistled appreciatively and D.J.’s eyes widened and roved over me from head to toe.
“Lovely, Eva.” Matt, now sprouting a dark mustache and looking handsome in a charcoal grey, pinstripe suit, held up his drink in a gallant salute.
“Sings like an angel,” D.J. gushed, “Looks like an angel— She’s MY angel, anyway.” D.J. bussed my cheek, giving me a look of silent gratitude, then, his face crinkling in concern, ran a forefinger up and down her bare arm. “You’re not cold, Evie?”
With a swing of my arm, she produced a matching velvet, bolero-style jacket, which D.J. helped me into.
“Thank you, kind sir.”
Then the three of us clicked glasses. Careful not to spill the martini in my hand on my gown, I’d already decided to wear it to the premiere party of Houston’s production of La Traviata in one month…Again, I was reprising my signature role of Violetta and D.J. would be in town this time to see it. My excitement was already building, for I’d longed to sing that role with D.J. in the audience, for HIS appreciation and pleasure.
“So tell us, what’s the big news, bro?” D.J. asked, slugging down half the scotch in one toss of his head.
Ever since they’d arrived at noon that day, I noted, D.J. had been sedating himself with drink. I wondered: Was it the strain of being with a father he knew was dying and beyond the hope of medical science? Was it a result of the talk he’d had with his father and brothers that afternoon?
I had news, also, the kind that had perched in the back of my mind like a fluttery, little bird, waiting its turn to spring forth and chirp away.
Matt looked at both of us, each in turn, his handsome face so like his youngest brother’s in contour and coloring. The verandah’s carriage lamps at each of the eight French doors along the guest wing of the mansion cast enough light on whoever stood in the covered porch way that even insects were drawn. Amid the hum of insects, the croaking of frogs and burring of cicadas, the soft strains of music below stemming from the large family room, and the distant lowing of cattle, D.J. and I had to draw in close to Matt to hear him.
“Well, spit it out! Better be good news, though. I can’t take any more bad news.” D.J. said.
I threw a sidelong glance at my husband, wondering how he’d take MY news. Yearning to tell him for three days now, I was waiting for just the right moment. Actually, on the floor of our bathroom, post coitus, might’ve been just the time. But then Matt interrupted.
“I think it’s just news, neither good nor bad. Some people might consider it bad. Some might not.”
“Can’t hear bad, not now. Not for awhile,” grumbled D.J., turning to me and smiled, planting a tender kiss on my temple.
When Matt hesitated, I jumped in. “Well, I have something to share,” I said, beaming at them both. “I learned a few days ago that I am indeed pregnant. D.J., we’re expecting our second child sometime in early August.”
“WOW!” was Matt’s outburst, followed immediately by hand pumping D.J.’s empty hand and a bearish hug which left me breathless.
“Congratulations! Maybe it’ll be another boy. Daddy’s so proud to busting over little Jamie, he can’t stand it.”
I melted into D.J.’s arms as he recovered from his surprise and enveloped me in a long, tight embrace. Tears sprang to my eyes as I realized this child would be our last…though I hadn’t yet informed D.J. of my decision. Tears of joy as well, as D.J. seemed genuinely ecstatic.
“Oh, baby, I—how? When? I mean, I’ve been gone so much this fall…”
Leaning back, cradled in his arms, I pursed my lip-sticked mouth, mocking indignation. “What, do you question the paternity of this child? Don’t you remember being home two months ago? Three weeks between Berlin and Amsterdam?”
“Oh hell, girl,” D.J. gushed happily, “God, I can’t believe it. So soon after—Are you sure it’s safe, Evie? You checked with the doctor…everything’s okay, right?”
He was worried about my postpartum depression, I knew, perhaps afraid it might come back now that my hormones were again undergoing another tumble. I wasn’t, though. I’d never felt so full of hope and excitement. Soon I’d be singing my favorite role, then have my last child. My renewed faith had given me additional strength and courage. My self-confidence spilled over. Frankly, I felt on top of the world.
“I did a home pregnancy test. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“I recall we made up for a lot of lost time during that break,” snorted D.J. cheerfully. “Would you like to announce it tonight at dinner? Or maybe later?”
I knew what was on his mind. The announcement of a second McKay child, possibly another boy, would please Big Jim to no end. Good grief, what would he do with TWO grandsons? He’d been making such a fuss over little Jamie since his birth seven months ago. Promising little Jamie the moon was Big Jim’s way, I thought, of ensuring HIS own masculine survival. HIS way of staving off mortality. It was understandable and all too human.
“I’ll leave it up to you…”
“It’ll warm the old man’s weary heart, Evie,” D.J. piped in, “and he needs it, poor old guy.” He wrapped his arms around me once more and squeezed tightly. “This is perfect…” he murmured softly into my hair, “…the perfect excuse. And I’ve got the perfect solution—”
“Save it for later, bro. I need to share my news,” Matt interjected, a little testily. His change of tone took them aback but then I remembered I’d stolen his thunder just a minute ago. Clearly, something was troubling Matt for he was never abrupt with any of us. Of all the brothers, he was the most patient, the kindest and most understanding.
D.J. and I loosened our embrace enough to stand side by side, still holding each other. We took up their drinks again, answering my husband’s questioning look with a quick, “Only one martini, I swear. If you stop drinking, too.”
“Okay, little mama. This is the last one.”
“Sorry, Matt, to cu
t in,” I offered, “what’s your news?”
“Not as thrilling as the news of another McKay baby but something I’ve been holding back for years. It’s eating a hole in my stomach, literally. I’ve got an ulcer, worrying about my family’s reaction. My doctor advised me to get it off my chest…in order to get well and feel better. You two are the ones I feel closest to…so I wanted you to be the first to know. It’s something I think you’ve suspected, Eva.”
“Suspected what?” D.J. was sounding a little irritated at Matt’s temporizing. Suddenly, I knew what was coming.
Uh oh. How in God’s good name were the McKay brothers going to react to…most of all, D.J., his closest brother? On top of everything else going on right now…
“I’m thirty-four and it’s time to come out of the goddamn closet. I’m gay, D.J. I’m coming clean tonight…and telling Big Jim. Mom’s known about it for years but has never told daddy. She thinks it’d kill him or send him off in such a rage that he’d kill me or disown me…whichever came first. I don’t think so. I’m hoping he’ll accept me for who I am…before he dies. And that, dear brother, may come soon enough.”
D.J. had taken a step back and placed his highball glass on the railing. I noticed his hand was shaking. He looked at me, a big question in his eyes.
“Yes, D.J. I’ve suspected for years,” I confessed, “Ever since our graduation from UT. Remember, my sister, Vonnie, came to town and you took her out to some clubs one night. She said later you were spending more time staring at this guy at the bar than you were at her. And she was wearing her sexiest outfit. Vonnie is no slouch either…she had the biggest crush on you. She said you had to be gay to turn her down.”
Matt smiled wryly, “She’s a hot, sexy girl, that one. As pretty as you but in a different way. The guy at the bar that night—well, let’s say we hit it off for a coupla years. He took off for San Francisco over a year ago, got a job in an architectural firm. We broke it off but…lately we’ve been in touch.”
As D.J. was strangely silent, Matt turned to him in surly expectation. I did, too, curious at his reaction and dreading it all the same. I’d never spoken about my suspicions to my husband, sensing that anything short of a full admission from Matt would be met with either hostility or disbelief. The McKay men were proud of their tough Texan legacy, and Big Jim had always encouraged in his sons displays of rugged manliness. That D.J. was an opera singer had never set well with him, nor the fact that Matt had remained unmarried.
It now appeared that D.J. was operating on full disbelief mode.
“You’re joking, Matt. And it’s not funny. Are you two in on some stupid, silly joke? How can you be gay? In high school, you had more girlfriends than I did. In college—”
“Remember, D.J., I was at A and M and three years ahead of you. You had no idea what I was doing in college. In high school, it was just a sham. Y’know, to keep from being the butt of faggot jokes. I surrounded myself with girls just to keep the gossip down. I tried girls, I really did, but they didn’t take…”
“But you talked about girls all the time—”
“In front of the family, yeah. Especially in front of Dad. And Jim and John. What else could I do? It was part of the masquerade. It was expected of me.”
D.J. turned away at the railing and faced the outdoors, his fists clenched, shoulders hunched, a bundle of tension. Below him, the patio and pool area was lit by a few lamps on the brick staircase. His face in shadow, I couldn’t tell what his emotional state was, except that he was in a kind of shock. For my part, however, I stepped up to Matt and hugged him, throwing my arms around his neck in loving acceptance.
“Matt, I come from a family of pot growers, uneducated hillbilly-musicians and dirt-poor farmers. One of my uncles spent ten years in state prison for assault and attempted murder. My brother, Ricky, is still on probation for growing and selling illegal substances. It’s all I can do to keep my family out of financial hot water. My family is so across-the-tracks, we can’t see them. You think I care what your sexual orientation is?”
We both laughed as my sweet brother-in-law hugged me back heartily. Our arms still wrapped around each other, we spun around at the sound of crashing glass below.
D.J. had just thrown down his glass onto the patio bricks below and was now facing his brother, his head shaking, the expression on his face a mixture of anger, fear and sorrow. Equally stunned as I was, Matt stood rooted to the spot.
“Don’t you dare tell Dad, Matt. Not tonight, not ever. Let the poor man go to his grave with a few illusions left. Tell Jim and John if you must, but not Dad. Don’t do this to our daddy, not now. Not after all he’s been through. It’d kill him, Matt. I swear it, it’d kill him.”
With that, he strode from the verandah, furiously opened and shut the French doors behind him, so hard the glass rattled, and disappeared into the upstairs hallway. Embarrassed and worried, I tried to make amends.
“I’m so sorry, Matt. He’s been drinking…he’s taking his father’s death sentence very hard.”
“We all are, maybe D.J. most of all. He hasn’t seen much of Dad these past five or six years with all the traveling he’s been doing. I think he’s feeling guilty.”
I pondered Matt’s opinion. It certainly made sense.
“Perhaps so. He’s been performing so much in Europe just to build his international reputation. It’s what an opera singer must do if he wants a big career. D.J.’s been trying to prove to Big Jim that he’s a huge success, just like he promised him he’d be.” I sighed. “Like a trade-off. He’d be a famous opera singer if his father would accept the fact that his youngest son wouldn’t be a rancher.”
“Yeah, Dad’s not an easy guy to please, any way you look at it. It’s always been an issue for D.J. Pleasing the old man, getting his attention. His love. His admiration. Me, too, I suppose. The same with Jim and John, all of us tugging on the great man’s coattails, trying to win his attention and approval.” Matt shook his head. “I just can’t do it, anymore, Eva. I’ve got to be my own man. I’m thinking of quitting McKay Incorporated and going out to San Francisco. Get a job with a law firm out there. Pete called me and wants to get back together. I’m very much tempted.”
I slipped my hand into Matt’s. “Whatever you decide to do, we’re behind you. D.J., too, once he sorts it all out. I think he’s hurt most of all that you didn’t confide in him. You’re his closest brother…one of his dearest friends.”
Matt brought my hand up to his face and planted a brotherly kiss on my knuckles.
“I know. There were many times I wanted to, was on the verge of telling him…I don’t know why I didn’t. My brothers and I spent so many years being his role model in sports, in school, chasing the opposite sex. I guess I didn’t want to let him down. Y’know, destroy that image. Do you agree with D.J., that I shouldn’t tell Big Jim?”
I considered seriously his question before replying, summoning all my womanly intuition and wisdom. Thirty-one years of age was not exactly an age that reflected a world of experience or bore the Wisdom of Solomon. Nevertheless, I’d made a few big mistakes in my short life, all of which I was less than proud to admit, all of which had taught me a thing or two. Also, my father’s death had taught me something about human nature.
“I hope my children never learn about all MY flaws, just as I know my father withheld from us some of the terrible things he did in Vietnam and the wild things he and Mother did. I didn’t want to know every detail, y’know, because I was forging my own path. I think they were shocked to learn they’d produced a conservative, studious, career-oriented child. Actually, two. Vonnie’s like me in many ways.”
I took a step away from Matt, our hands still linked. My explanation wasn’t coming out as I intended. I sighed in frustration.
“What I’m trying to say, Matt, is I can see D.J.’s point of view. Is it really worth it to witness your father’s shock and pain when he’s so ill and depressed? See how much he’s changed physically. He’s shrunken
and thin even though his spirit is still strong. D.J. says they haven’t told him that the cancer’s spread but deep down, Big Jim knows the chemo isn’t working. D.J. thinks it’s a matter of weeks now, maybe a month at the most. Do you really want to strip him of maybe his last illusions about his family?”
“If you put it THAT way, I don’t know,” Matt groused, his look guarded but showing a little hurt.
“Matt, darling,” I said softly, reaching up to touch his troubled face, feeling compassion for his dilemma. “I don’t mean to hurt you in any way. I think it’s about illusions versus the truth.”
“You mean, the UGLY truth, don’t you, Eva?” His testy retort was edged with bitterness.
“Ugly to some people, perhaps. Not to me, Matt, but I’m not the only one here who matters. Let me put it another way…” I drew him into the bedroom, then out into the upstairs hallway. I lowered my voice, too, so only he could hear. “My career is all about illusions. I put on makeup and wigs and costumes and become a courtesan, a princess, a gypsy, a peasant girl, a dying Bohemian. D.J. transforms himself from a rancher’s son into whatever he’s singing that night—a Chinese prince, the devil, an aristocrat, a Moor, a callous Navy officer. The audience is captured by the magic we offer, not just through the music but the whole effect, the illusions of the stage. Everyone is transported to another world, if only for a few hours.”
We stood at the landing, unwilling quite yet to join the family gathering below. Music and voices drifted upward. Matt had a very important decision to make and only he could make it.
“People need that,” I continued, “that escape from the real world every now and then. It helps them cope with the disappointments of reality. I think what your father needs NOW—though maybe not what YOU need emotionally—is peace of mind. And the illusions of a happy family that he loves dearly and is being forced to leave behind. Much too soon.”
Matt’s head was hanging, his eyes prowling the carpet. For what seemed to be a full minute, he gazed at the floor unseeingly, cocooned in his own bundle of pain and frustration. When he finally raised his head and looked up at me, his eyes were wet with tears. Taking a swipe at his eyes, he steered me toward the stairs.
Born to Sing, no. 1 Page 20