The Edge of Grace

by Christa Allan

  She held out the next pair of boots for Julie to try. "Metrosexuals are men who spend time and money on their clothes. Get their hair styled, not cut. My boyfriend gets manicures with me, and he doesn't even care some of his friends think he's crazy. It sort of bothered me at first. But in a weird way, it's like Paul's pretty confident in himself as a man to not be embarrassed or ashamed that he cares about how he looks. He's a fine-looking guy, and if using moisturizer on his face helps him stay that way, what's wrong with that?"

  Yes, and who knew I'd get a gender education class at the shoe boutique?

  38

  After a volley of phone calls, Lurlene, Washington's assistant, and I finally made voice contact. I caused most of the confusion because I hadn't yet adjusted to the keypad sensitivity of my new cell phone. Invariably, I'd call people I never meant to call, a problem Facebook compounded because I didn't know when my phone synced to it, I'd end up with a list of numbers for friends of friends of friends. Some of the people I needed to talk to, I disconnected in my eagerness to answer quickly when I tapped the phone too many times. David continued to reassure me I'd make it over the learning curve.

  Washington insisted I needed to visit the venue before I met with him and his wife a few weeks later. Since I passed the place daily on the way home, I arranged an appointment the next day. I left David's house early, asked Julie if she'd hold on to Ben another hour, and drove up to find him waiting at a wrought iron arch flanked by tall gas light poles.

  I didn't see Lurlene. She was probably already inside sniffing for bombs or WiFi.

  "So glad you could meet me today, Caryn." He shook my hand, but his eyes soaked in the rest of me. Which, because I knew I'd be meeting Mr. Make My Skin Crawl, I packaged in khaki pants and a long-sleeved black tee. About as appealing to the eye as cardboard to the mouth.

  "Lurlene told me it was important," I flashed my all-purpose, one size fits all smile. "Is she inside? She mentioned she might be here." I wanted to meet the woman who tolerated The Ogler.

  He glanced at his watch, "She's probably boarding her plane about now. Gave her a week off to spend time with her momma in Dallas."

  See, Caryn, there is clean water underneath that oil slick." That's kind of you, Mr. Washington. I'm sure she appreciated that," I said as he extended his hand toward the courtyard and motioned for me to, of course, walk ahead of him.

  The building design was reminiscent of wrought iron balconied homes in the Vieux Carre. A wall built of old St. Joe bricks surrounded the courtyard entrance. The courtyard, a long rectangle, had a fountain in the middle, a few benches along the interior, and a garden on each end. Impressive and already a notch above the other places available.

  Washington rang the doorbell to the left of the leaded glass doors.

  "She better appreciate it. I told her she needed to take time off now because once the campaign started rolling, no more trips unless it's to the bathroom. I've already informed Big Lurlene if she wants to see her daughter, she can fly here."

  Guess there's more oil on that slick than I thought. "Well, so Lurlene is named after mother."

  He shook his head. "She sure is. I asked my sister why she passed on that name to her own daughter when she hated it growing up herself. She said it would make her strong like it did her. Me? I think it's keeping her single. Know what I mean?" He winked.

  I knew exactly what he meant, and I'm certain so did his niece. Maybe she tolerated him for the same reasons I did. Future payoff.

  "Lovely, isn't it?" The man who must have opened the doors, but who became invisible in the drama, waved us in." Welcome to Fontainebleau."

  Both doors opened, creating the exact effect intended—a gasp of surprise at the gleaming oak of the wide grand staircase that started with curved wood railings, then a landing, then split in each direction and rejoined on a balcony with iron railings cast with fleur-de-lis designs. The marble floor looked like a frozen lake of melted caramels swirled in white chocolate.

  "Thanks, Tommy, for meeting us today." Washington patted him on the shoulder.

  "Happy to help you, Mr. Washington," Tommy said, who appeared about the same age as David minus the broken nose and yellowy complexion. He wore a V-neck sweater the color of plums over a steel gray round necked T-shirt, faded black jeans and loafers. While I measured him with my new metrosexual yardstick, he and Washington exchanged "how's the family" pleasantries.

  Washington's hand on my back interrupted my assessment.

  "Caryn, this is Tommy Arceneaux, owner of The Fontainebleau. Tommy, meet Caryn, the little lady I told you about."

  I swallowed my irritation at his introduction, looked Tommy in the eye, and hoped my firm handshake conveyed the rest.

  As Tommy toured us through the facility, the story of the two men meeting as members of the same Mardi Gras parade organization unfolded.

  "Last year was Tommy's first year riding. Had to teach the new dog old tricks." Washington slapped him on the back. Tommy flinched as if a stranger just bumped into him. "My man, here, is throwing out those long pearly white beads to just anybody in the crowd." He shook his head, a lot like Julie did when she saw me using a hand-held can opener. "So, I showed him how it's done. Picked out one of those girls riding their boyfriend's shoulders. Pointed at her, held out the beads, then made my move." Washington pretended to hold up the hem of his shirt and pull it almost over his face. "When I do that, they know what to show me. I see a pair, they get a pair." He laughed.

  Tommy smiled weakly as he ushered us into his office. He arranged two chairs in front of his desk, and then sat down after Washington and I did.

  "Yep," said the would-be representative of the people. "I told Tommy that's the beauty of those masks. You get to play, and don't have to pay. My son's going to be riding this year. He can't wait to see all the sights."

  What kept me bolted to the chair was the thought of how profitable this contract would be. And the vision of wrapping a pair of those beads around Washington's neck. Unless I misread the distance in Tommy's demeanor, we hitched ourselves to the same coattails.

  I called Julie and told her I was on my way home, but I felt like I needed a shower to rid myself of the slime.

  "The politician was politically incorrect again? Delicious irony in that."

  "I'm avoiding all food references. I already feel sick."

  "It's interesting how God connected our moral sensibilities to our stomachs . . . Tell you what, go home, and call me when you get there. You probably do need a shower. I'll walk Ben home. I could use a change of scenery."

  I didn't argue.

  An hour later, a freshly showered version of myself thanked Julie for delivering Ben. I told her I'd call later with the details.

  I ate turkey chili while Ben reviewed his school day for me. The highlights were the A on his spelling test, the B on his state capital test, and the chicken strips for lunch.

  "Am I ever going to see Uncle David again?" He broke his chocolate chip cookie in half and dipped one end into his milk.

  I handed him a napkin to wipe the trickle of white making its way to his chin. "Of course. I'm working on that, I promise."

  "Can we go this weekend?" This dunk wasn't so successful. Half the piece fell back into the glass. "Guess it stayed in there too long." He ate what was left, held up his glass and peered into it. "I can still drink this, huh?"

  "Sure, but this weekend we already have plans." I explained Saturday had to be my cooking day, but he could be my assistant if he wanted to. After his pouty shrug, I told him about my conversation with Zoe. When I mentioned the boys wanted to hang out with him, he grinned broadly.

  "They remembered me? That's cool." He drank his milk, but he needed a spoon to finish the soupy mix at the bottom of the glass.

  "One more surprise." I handed him the bag hanging on the laundry room door. "This is from Mr. Max. Uncle David's friend who you met in the hospital." Calling Max David's "friend" would have to do for now. I rationalized calling Max a
nd David friends wasn't misleading. They were friends, first.

  "Did he get me a phone too?" He sounded doubtful, but hopeful.

  "No. But I still don't think you'll be disappointed."

  He reached in the bag. "Look! It's a Spiderman game for my Wii! Wow. Can I call him and thank him?"

  "Why don't you write him a note? I know he would really appreciate that because it's easier to keep than a phone call."

  I thought a "but" was about to slip out of his open mouth, Instead, he paused, scratched his head, and said, "I'll do that. Can I play first?"

  Usually I insisted the thank-you came before permission to play. This time, I went for the road more travelled. "Sure, as long as I have it for tomorrow."

  "Thanks, Mom." Ben kissed me on the cheek and off he went.

  I cleared the table and carried everything to the sink. I turned on the faucet, waited for the water to almost burn my fingers. Haven't talked to you in a while, Harrison. But then I see you everyday in the face of our son. And now I have to figure out how I'm going to tell him about his Uncle David. I wanted to drag my pillow in the closet and sleep on the floor just so I didn't feel so lost in the space that constantly surrounds me.

  39

  I forgot how much I loved this place," I told Gavin as I looked around at the various portraits of Mona Lisa covering the walls of the restaurant named after her. Tucked away on the quiet side of Royal Street, Mona Lisa's unapologetic funky, dim lighting no matter what time of day, and generous portions of hearty Italian meals contributed to its popularity.

  "When was the last time you were here?" Gavin lowered his menu long enough to make eye contact.

  "Six years ago? Maybe longer. A couple of months after Harrison died, three of my friends thought a girls' night out would be entertaining. We're all fancied up walking down Bourbon Street and so totally out of our element. Every barely dressed and over-served young person who passed us—some didn't even pass us, they were just passed out—one or more of us would say, 'If that was my son or daughter . . .' like we were authorities on the subject of teens gone bad. All of us had kids under the age of five. What did we know? We were looking for a place to eat, and I had been here a few times with David, so we landed here."

  I quickly ducked behind my own menu when I felt puddles forming in my eyes and that same irrational sadness I experienced like when I was pregnant. Mourning over Ross and Rachel's breakup on Friends or crying when I couldn't find the dryer sheets. Instead of being a funny, fond memory, it became pathetic and sad because it reminded me of how long it had been since I found myself in the company of adults —Cyndi Lauper's right—sometimes girls just want to have fun.

  The waiter came, and I composed myself long enough to order the spinach lasagna. Gavin ordered the Mardi Gras linguine with shrimp and sausage. As he took our menus, the waiter said, "Thanks, Gavin, have it out for you soon."

  "You must eat here on a regular basis," I said.

  "Once, maybe twice a week. Usually for lunch when I meet clients."

  Awkward. Under other circumstances when I met people I'd ask if they were married or had children. No way was I going to bake that political potato. I didn't know how he knew David and Max, so I started there.

  "I met Max after a friend told me about his clothing shop. A few weeks later, I saw Max at church, and he introduced me to David. We see each other at Bible study and a group of us hang out at Ray and Linda's during football season. They had a boy two days before the Super Bowl. Poor baby didn't get any sleep that day."

  "Harrison and David used to tell me Ben's schedule should rotate around LSU and Saints games. I won't tell you what I told them because I said it, I'm sure, after one of those nights when Ben woke up every two hours."

  Gavin's cell phone vibrated on the table. He checked the number. "A call I can make later."

  I assumed Ray and Linda were straight, but maybe not. Beyond that, the church thing confused me.

  "You'll probably laugh, but I didn't know gay Christians were possible. I didn't know Jews for Jesus were either."

  He raised his eyebrows and the hint of a smile appeared.

  "Maybe not laugh. But you grinned. But, seriously, I went online and found out there are over 350 links for gay Christian websites. That shocked me."

  "Careful, hot plate." The waiter set the two plates in front of us and asked if we needed anything else.

  "No. We're good. Thanks, Drew."

  I stabbed my lasagna with my fork a few times when I saw Gavin bow his head for a minute before he started twirling his pasta. Well, there you go, Caryn. That's one small thing you could have been teaching your son.

  While the lasagna cooled, I started n my salad.

  "Since you go to church, I guess you think of yourself as a gay Christian, right?"

  Gavin starting choking. Or coughing. I wasn't sure which. He held his napkin to his mouth until the hacking subsided, then drank some water.

  "You okay? Something go down the wrong way?" I looked around for Drew just in case Gavin had another spasm, but I didn't see him.

  "No. Everything's okay. Your question surprised me. But the answer is 'no'."

  "You're not a gay Christian? I guess I shouldn't have assumed—"

  He laughed and shook his head. "No. You shouldn't have assumed. But what you assumed was that I was gay. I'm a Christian, but I'm not gay."

  I'd never blanch vegetables again without thinking of myself in that moment. I felt like I'd just been scalded in boiling water.

  "I feel like an idiot." I buried my face in my hands. I looked up when I heard Gavin laugh.

  "If you could see your face . . . too bad I couldn't have captured that for Max and David," he said.

  "Well, ditto, for you. I thought you were having a heart attack or I'd have to do a Heimlich maneuver, which by the way and for future reference, I'm not expert in, so the outcome might have been iffy."

  "Caryn, I understand why you might have connected the dots and ended up in Oz. That's why I represent hate crime victims. We judge people by externals, make assumptions about them. For some people, it ends tragically."

  "I'm embarrassed to admit that until those six young men all committed suicide in the same month after being bullied because they were gay, crimes against gays weren't on my radar. But now it's David, and that changes everything."

  "I know, and that's why I think you can be the person to help David see how important this is . . . not just to him, but to others who are victimized. Probably 75 percent of all hate crimes go unreported, and men are the targets more than women. I've heard some people say the percentage of crimes against people because of sexual orientation is miniscule compared to the national averages of people murdered." He tapped his spoon on the table, and looked off for a minute. "What are they saying? Those lives don't matter? Too few people were murdered for us to pay attention to them, their families . . . ?"

  "David can be stubborn, but do you think he's trying to protect me or me and Ben by not coming out about this? Or is he protecting Max and himself?"

  "Not Max. He doesn't need protection. He's about as out as out can be. Every organization he's active in is to support the gay community or to build a bridge to the straight community. As for David, telling you the truth was as difficult for him as admitting it to his fiancée. Maybe more. Now that he's done that, and you're reaching out to him, I don't think he cares who else knows."

  "So, that leaves me and Ben. Well, my father, but I know he wouldn't want David to not right a wrong because of him. And, I wouldn't either, really. But I'd be lying if I told you I don't worry about Ben getting teased at school. Or people not hiring me because they'd be one degree of separation from being in contact with a gay person. I've already heard someone in my book club say she won't let her children anywhere near her uncle because 'he's gay and might have AIDS'."

  "Then I guess that's what it comes down to. Supporting David means you might have to 'come out' too. I wouldn't be pushing so hard if I felt David did
n't have a chance to win. He can identify the attackers, at least one or two of them, since they met at the door at some point."

  I ate a bite of lasagna without bothering to compare it to my own. Not having to buy it, cook it, or clean after it could make the ordinary taste great. And this was miles past ordinary. What Gavin talked about would require miles past ordinary for me too. I didn't know if I was ready for the trip.

  "Caryn, I didn't expect you to decide this today. Pray about it . . . wait, what did I say? You had half an eye roll going on there."

  "Pray about it? That doesn't seem to work well for me. College, my husband, now this. But the really funny part is, David is the one who kept telling me to not give up on God. That God hadn't given up on me. He invited me to his church or at least the one he and Lori used to attend. I even went a few times."

  "I missed the funny part," Gavin said, buttered a heel of French bread.

  "The gay man God condemns leads the straight person into church? I can even see God's sense of humor in that one."

  "Not all churches and not all Christians think God condemns gay people. You already know that if you've spent any time on the Gay Christian Network. I may be overstepping a boundary here, but I don't think David would want you to use his being gay as a reason to stay away. It hasn't kept him out of church." He relocated a shrimp to the other side of his plate and then looked up again. "I apologize if I sounded critical, especially after you opened up to share what you did. Here's another funny part. I wonder if we well-meaning Christians sometimes keep out of church the very people we want to see in there." He shrugged. "I just want to do the right thing for David. For me, that means I pray. For you, however you think through these kinds of decisions, I just want you to be sure."

  An odd thought formed in the back of my brain: this store is open for browsing. It's so wrong to think this when you're engaged in this serious discussion about your brother. For just a moment, I realized I didn't have to look at this intense and attractive man with my nose pressed against the glass like I did when I gazed at diamonds in Tiffany's. He was available, and I was okay with shopping.