Gotta Dance with the One Who Brung Ya - sex, scandals and sweethearts

by Jon McDonald

  “Petey! How’s tricks?” Marla asked.

  “Not bad. But hey, have I got a surprise for you.”

  “Yeah, really? Tell me.”

  Well, I’ve discovered a couple of new planets way way out there - well me and my team, anyway. And guess what.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What?”

  “They’re going to let me name them. And I was thinking of you.”

  “No, you’re not going to name a planet Marla, are you? That’s way too pedestrian.”

  “Not exactly. I was thinking more along the lines of Cockadoodle and Mr. Smarty. Wha’d ya think?”

  There was a long pause at Marla’s end of the line, then, “Damn.”

  The Cure

  “So what can I do for you today, Luther?”

  Luther was really nervous. He had been pondering this for several weeks and had decided that today would indeed be the day to speak out. “I think…I think…well maybe… I like men,” he replied in a soft voice, bracing himself for the certain lecture on perversion, psychosis, and hell and damnation. It had taken him three sessions before he could finally come out with this simple statement to his therapist.

  There was a thoughtful pause. “Okay. So why are you here then? Is there a problem with that?

  Luther was shocked by this accepting response, he felt he had to speak out, “You bet there is. Hell, I mean…I wanna be straight.” This was 1955 after all – what was the alternative?

  “Okay then, so how are you going to go about accomplishing that?”

  Luther had to pause at that. What was it? A month? Two? Was that all the time it was? He remembered it so clearly. Fern Lindkoff had actually accosted him in the stairwell back stage as he was leaving the men’s dressing room. She had pushed up against him as he scrambled to escape her clutches, but she succeeded in forcing him into a corner and declared how much she was in love with him - and how could he not know what she felt for him? It was the closing night of a three day run of a university production of Suddenly Last Summer. Luther had played Dr. John to Fern’s Catherine – pretty hot stuff for a couple of sophomores. And they had played it to the hilt. Not to mention that there is always a lot of camaraderie built up amongst the members of any cast that sweat through rehearsals and the nerves of a first night together. And there are always a lot of warm fuzzy feelings after the process ends and the show closes. Cast parties are notoriously maudlin.

  Luther had had a good working relationship with Fern and they had joked and teased and worked hard on their parts together. But what was all this? He had no idea she felt this way? And what did he feel about her? Well he was flattered, that was one thing. She was sultry and much admired by a lot of the male cast and crew. She had a breathy over ripe quality, though, that smacked a little too much of a Marilyn Monroe wanna-be. This was right after the movie, Seven Year Itch, came out, and a lot of the tight sweatered co-eds were turning their heads towards the whistling boys, pouting, and saying, “What? Who me?” But to be honest, Luther was also feeling a great deal of panic right at this moment.

  In his relationship with women Luther pictured himself as an unassailable gentleman. His intentions were pure. His relationships with women were noble. In other words he was scared shitless of women, and especially of anything that might even remotely smack of sex in any form.

  “Oh Luther, say something,” Fern pleaded, pressing her moist lips against his. Of course a response was not possible as her fervent kissing impeded any reply. However, it did give Luther a moment to consider his options. Maybe this was exactly what he was looking for - an opportunity, with a not unattractive female, to break out of his increasingly uncomfortable shell. Maybe she would be just the one to set him free from his, as yet unidentified, fears.

  Luther finally untangled himself from her advances and spoke up, “Yes, yes, Fern, I want this as much as you do. By all means let’s date.”

  This was, perhaps, not exactly the passionate response she was hoping for, but it would suffice for now. She backed away, and holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes they headed off to the cast party, Luther’s heart racing with he knew not what emotions.

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  Luther and Fern dated – safely. Movies, study groups, dinners at the student union cafeteria, walks through the campus. Yawn. They even exchanged pens as a sign of their romance, although Luther had to surrender his very expensive Mont Blanc given to him by his grandmother as a graduation gift from high school. Fern offered up her Bic.

  Then one evening as Luther brought Fern back to her dorm in his car she didn’t open the door immediately, even though he had told her he must get back to study for a horrific exam on Beowulf.

  Fern was more pouty than usual at their parting. She sat with her head drooped, and she was breathing heavily, and steaming up the car windows.

  “Are you getting out or what?” he asked with a certain urgency.

  She glared at him. “I don’t understand,” she finally spoke up.

  “You don’t understand what?” Luther responded, already having some idea what she might be getting at.

  “Don’t you love me?” she pleaded.

  “Well….yes.” Luther parried without a great deal of conviction, and definitely not wanting to get into this right now.

  “Then how come you never kiss me? How come we don’t make out? What, are you some kind of a pansy?”

  Woops. Now that was exactly what he did not want to hear or even contemplate. “Of course not. What an idea,” he answered, valiantly defending himself.

  Then the tears began to flow – recriminations, taunts, comparisons to a half dozen other ever more aggressive ex-boyfriends. But Luther did not take her hand, did not seize her in a spasm of torrid passion, did not even bother to stop her effusive complaints. Instead he sat with his hands folded, his head bowed, taking it all in and not protesting. Finally Fern seemed spent. She turned and looked at Luther, gathered up her bag, and as she opened the door to get out of the car she leaned over and said with a great deal of indignation, “I think I’ve made myself perfectly clear. I really see no further need for us to see each other, do you?” She waited for his protestation, but none came.

  “Then, can I have my Mont Blanc pen back, please?” Luther asked softly. Fern stared at him in stunned silence. “My grandmother gave it to me,” he added pleadingly.

  She reached into her bag, retrieved the pen, and threw it at him. “Fuck you, jerk-wad.” She got out, slammed the car door, and retreated to the cozy comfort of her dorm room where she could commiserate with her girlfriends over hot chocolate and Lebkuchen.

  That is when Luther decided he needed to seek some psychological counseling, and made an appointment the next morning at the student health clinic.

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  Luther had been assigned to a therapist named Nils Ellstrom, a Swedish psychology fellow at the university, volunteering some of his free time at the clinic. Luther had explained all about his predicament with Fern and how he felt he needed some counseling. And Luther was now considering the question Nils had just asked him about how he planned to accomplish this leap to into aggressive heterosexuality.

  “Well, that’s why I came here. For you to cure me,” Luther protested.

  “I see. Well, you know, Luther, it really doesn’t work that way. First, I see no problem with you liking guys. That’s just the way it is. There is a graduated continuum between heterosexuality and homosexuality. Most of us fall at the heterosexual end, but there are gradations all the way down to the exclusively homosexual end. Perhaps you fall somewhere in the middle. What I think is, you should explore all of your feelings and find out exactly where you are along this line.”

  “No, no. That’s not what I understand at all. Everyone says homosexuality is perverted and abnormal, and heterosexuality is what is normal. I want to be normal.” Luther felt he had made his point and stood his ground.

  “Okay, then, like I said before how do you propose to accomplish that?”<
br />
  Luther could see this guy was not going to just fix him. Nils kept putting the responsibility back on Luther. “Well then, I guess I’ll just go out there and try harder. Fern was probably not the right girl for me. I think the spark was only on her side. Think I kinda got caught up in her frantic enthusiasm.”

  “So have you got somebody else in mind?” Nils was being very accommodating.

  Luther thought perhaps an older, wiser woman might be just the right solution, and was thinking of Hilda, a Dutch graduate student he had met in the drama department, though her principal field of study was anthropology. She was dark and smoky. She spoke English with a rich velvety accent, reminiscent of a mysterious Marlene Dietrich. They had shared some good laughs, and a few intriguing discussions that wandered from the usual mundane topics he had had to endure from most of the younger students.

  “Oh yes, her name is Hilda,” Luther responded. “She’s much more mature and worldly. We’ve had some great conversations and I think she’s interested in me as well.”

  “Well, that sounds promising. What do you propose to do?”

  “Do?”

  “You know, date? What kind of a date?”

  “Ah, yes…. A nice romantic dinner, I believe. I know a charming little Italian restaurant that is intimate and has great food.”

  “Sounds like a good start.”

  “And not too expensive,” Luther added wanting to end with a bit of levity. He was already feeling the pressure to perform for Nils.

  “Well, let me know how it all works out then. See you next week.”

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  “A date? Really? With me?” Hilda was surprised. She was thoughtful as she twirled a pencil in her fingers. Luther was afraid she might think he was too young for her.

  “I know this really great restaurant. Think you’ll really like it,” he added to sweeten the proposition.

  She looked up and smiled. “Sure, why not. When?”

  “I was thinking Saturday. You like Italian, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely. Sounds perfect.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.” Luther just knew this was going to be a great success. He would prove to Nils just how heterosexual he could be.

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  Luther pulled out the chair for Hilda. The restaurant was an Italian-American cliché. Red checked table cloths. The requisite Chianti bottle covered with months of dripping candle wax. Bread sticks protruding out of a too cute basket. A crape paper poppy in a green bud vase.

  “Isn’t it charming?” Luther whispered to Hilda as he slid the chair gracefully under her as she sat down.

  She looked up at him with a “you gotta be kidding me” look, but shook out her paper napkin and placed it on her lap. “Oh yes,” she responded politely.

  Luther sat opposite. He was very nervous as he knew this date totally counted. He was already mentally preparing his report for Nils. He reached out to take Hilda’s hand just as the waiter came over and offered them menus. Luther quickly picked up a bread stick to mask his previous intention. But he could not help but notice the very cute butt on the waiter, the bulge in the front of his trousers, and his dark searching eyes.

  “Ooo, the lasagna looks good. Want some antipasto first?” Luther asked, with exaggerated enthusiasm.

  The waiter lingered. “Would you like to order some wine, sir?”

  Luther looked at Hilda, who nodded in agreement. “What have you got?” she asked.

  “We have carafes of house red or white. And I am very proud to say we have a very excellent Chianti for just a little extra,” he added, pointing to the Chianti bottle in wicker wrap, dripping with candle wax.

  Hilda wrinkled her nose slightly, “Nothing else? Don’t you have any Pino Grigio?”

  “I’m sorry ma’am, but I have no idea what that is,” the poor waiter fumbled.

  Hilda sighed – she glanced at Luther, “The Chianti then?”

  Luther nodded to the waiter. “That will be fine. And two glasses please.”

  “Of course, signore.”

  Hilda gazed around the restaurant with its Mount Vesuvius and Pompeii murals, obviously painted by someone who was more accustomed to painting supermarket sale banners than lush Italian landscapes, “Have you ever been to Italy?” she asked.

  “I’ve not been abroad yet,” Luther apologized, feeling vastly inadequate, and nibbling on his breadstick in self-defense.

  “You would like it very much. The trattorias there are charming – fabulous food prepared by little old grandmothers – the whole family involved with the cooking and serving.” She paused. “Very different from what you find here in this country,” she said, looking around the restaurant with obvious distaste.

  Luther hesitated but leaned forward and whispered. “Would you rather go someplace else?”

  Hilda realized she was being much too honest. She was shocked at her obvious rudeness and what might be perceived as snobbery. “Not at all. I am sorry. You must think I am a very poor guest. The lasagna and antipasto sound marvelous.”

  The food was, however, lavishly mediocre. The antipasto was out of a jar. The lasagna was dry. The wine was just east of vinegar, and the tiramisu was from a package and still frozen in the center. But Hilda was the soul of graciousness. She even allowed Luther to hold her hands and graze into her eyes with great meaning, across the flickering candle just before it expired.

  As they were leaving the restaurant, the waiter came over and opened the door for Hilda. “Thank you for coming, signora.” He smiled and looked flirtatiously at Luther,” and said with extra meaning, “Signore, I hope I will see you again – very soon.” A dagger of desire pierced Luther’s gut and he looked back and smiled at the waiter as they left the restaurant.

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  “Well how did it go?” Donatella asked, as Hilda came into their apartment. Donatella came over with a snifter of good cognac, handing it to Hilda, and giving her a wet kiss on the cheek.

  Hilda sighed, removed her coat, and snuggled up on the sofa next to Donatella. “The food was dreadful, but he’s such a sweetheart – I just couldn’t refuse him the date. He is so earnest and tries so hard to please, and he just stared at me with those big moony, cow eyes, trying way too hard to spark an impossible romance. But he is such a nancy boy. He has no idea…or well, maybe he does. I saw the look he gave the flirty waiter as we left. I just hope he gets it together soon.”

  “Well, sweetie, you did your good deed for the year. Let’s just hope you don’t feel like rescuing any more lost puppies.” Donatella scrunched up closer to Hilda and laid her head on Hilda’s shoulder.

  “Somebody is a little jealous,” Hilda teased in a sing-song fashion. “Huh? Huh?” She poked Donatella in the ribs in an attempt to tickle her.

  “Well, maybe just a little,” Donatella giggled.

  “You have nothing to worry about.”

  “I know.”

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  “She’s simply marvelous,” Luther gushed.

  “So it went well?” Nils made a few notes.

  “I’ll say.”

  “Did it lead to any sexual activity, like you’d hoped?”

  Luther fidgeted. “Not yet, but I’m sure it will – real soon.”

  “I see. Tell me, did she seem receptive to you?”

  “Oh yes, she could hardly keep her hands off me.”

  “That’s nice. Did you kiss?”

  Again Luther felt he was lacking somewhat in Nils’s expectations. “I felt it was too soon. I didn’t want to rush her.”

  “But yet you said she could hardly keep her hands off you.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not quite that simple….”

  “And how’s that?”

  “She’s a real lady and….”

  “Real ladies don’t kiss?”

  “Well….”

  “Could it be that maybe you don’t kiss real ladies?” Luther couldn’t think of anything to say to that. “Are you going to see her a
gain? Have you set up a second date?” Nils pressed on.

  “No, I’ve left several messages, but so far she’s not returned any of my calls.”

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  Gregory was a new graduate student in the drama department looking to land an MFA in theatre design. He had graduated from Columbia and had not yet made many new friends in the drama department. He was on the main stage of the theatre, contemplating his set drawings for the upcoming production of The Mikado. He was singing, “A wandering minstrel I, a thing of shreds and patches….”

  Luther was taking a shortcut through the theatre from his Restoration comedy seminar to his geology class. Every English major has to accrue at least some science credits. His head was down, and he was preoccupied with reviewing the chapter on igneous rocks that he had only skimmed previously. He prayed there would not be a pop quiz today.

  “Hey there, pretty boy,” Gregory called out to Luther from across the stage.

  Luther looked up, flustered, and blushing like a sunset. Gregory, was wearing a bib denim overall and no shirt. He had a hammer in the strap at his side. He was also wearing a big smile. He had dark shaggy hair that fell over his forehead and which he had to keep brushing aside. His smiling eyes were such a light blue they were almost invisible from a distance.

  “What’s the big hurry? Could you help a fella lift this ladder?”

  It was like Luther had been punched in the stomach. He’d never seen such beauty in a man before. “I…I got a class. Really gotta go, or I’ll be late.”

  “Not a problem. You take care. Maybe I’ll catch you again sometime.”

  “I could come back after class if you still need help.”

  “Yeah, why don’t you do that? I’m Gregory by the way.” He gave a sly smile, a chuckle, and a wave.

  “I’m Luther,” he called out, rushing off to class, afraid to even look back, though he could feel Gregory’s eyes on him until he left the stage.

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  “Can’t stand the student union food, can you?” Gregory asked as he and Luther charged across the quad in the first snowfall of the season.

  “Guess it’s all right. Never thought that much about it,” Luther answered.