“Well, don’t suffer too much. I have swim camp, but I’ll have my cell nearby.”
“Well, you’d better not find some hunk at camp to replace me, woman.” I couldn’t resist the distraction of going back to our boyfriend/girlfriend joke.
“Why, Jake Hardy, you know I’d never fall for a fish when I can have a tall, lithe, hunky man like you.
“You just keep your eyes closed when those guys swim near, you hear?”
“Eyes closed? Maybe I should get their phone numbers for you, huh?” More raindrops on tin roof. “So anything new at the Grayson?”
“Well, I haven’t been out of the apartment yet, but I saw something different in the lobby.”
“What? Cher without her entourage?”
“Good one, Mal.” I laughed. “No, there was a whole gaggle of gay guys in the lobby.”
“High heels? Lipstick and purple eyeshadow? Limp wrists?” Mal jumps on the discrimination bandwagon so fast—even when I mean nothing negative. I think it’s just in her nature to take up for everyone.
“No, no, no… nothing like that.”
“Well, you and I both know, Jake, that most of the time you can’t tell a gay just by looking. I’m surprised at you, of all people, judging a book by its cover and all.”
“Mal, it’s not that, so jump down off your high horse. You know me. You know I know that—”
“Okay—so how did you know they were gay? Because I know your gaydar is supremely lacking.” The smile was back in her voice, but that was a dig. She’s good with those.
I ignored it. I don’t need or want gaydar. “These guys were all carrying little rainbow flags.”
“Oh. The plot thickens.”
“From the brief moment I observed them, they didn’t look any different from most Grayson guests. There is an unwritten dress code here, you know.”
“Business attire with an occasional designer sporting outfit or hauteur evening wear. I know.”
“Right. But these guys were different from most of the Grayson regular crowd—you know, the stuffy, ‘look down their noses I’m richer than you’ people. They were totally in a party mood. They were waving those flags and greeting each other like long lost friends. Two were even kissing each other!”
“Oh my! Men kissing. This little scandal could bring down the entire Grayson empire.” I could picture her looking down at me with squinched, disapproving eyes.
“Stop it, Mal. I’m not condemning them. I’m just saying, you know?” Then I mumbled, “And it kinda turned me on.”
“What? Speak up, gay boy. I thought I heard you say that you got turned on by two guys kissing. Watch yourself. I’m a sweet, innocent thang. Ah cain’t be hearin’ such unseemly talk.”
I laughed at her. Nothing got by Mal. I could have used sign language and she would have seen it through the phone lines. And I shouldn’t have said it if I didn’t want her to hear it. I guess I did want her to hear me. It got lonely in that closet. Thank God Mal was around.
“Maybe you’ll get some while you’re there. High time you came roarin’ outta the closet.” My heart started thumping out of sheer terror. “Dammit!” Mal shouted. I instinctively slipped my phone a bit away from my ear, then put it back. “Coach is whistling for swim practice to begin, and I’m not even changed. He’s going to have my ass on a platter. Love ya, bye.”
And the phone went dead.
I sat a moment, staring at my phone, Mal’s number on the screen. The best day of my life was the day I met her. It was during those dark days when I was seeing the therapist. Mal, believe it or not, was one of her patients—or clients as the doc liked to call us—too. Mal’s folks had just moved her to Houston, and they decided she could benefit from talking to someone about it. She didn’t need therapy, which I knew the minute I met her. That girl was a lot more together than I was.
The doc didn’t like her clients meeting each other in the waiting room, but it was sometimes unavoidable. Like the day I met Mal. I got there early because I was forced to ride the bus that day. Well, in those days, there was no such thing as a smile in my vocabulary. I went in, startled a bit seeing someone else there waiting, but I ducked my head and sat across the room.
I didn’t want to be bothered. And I knew that our shrink didn’t want me bothering her.
“What’s the deal with you?” I heard. “I’m here because I’m hopelessly bonkers over having to move to this godforsaken city. So my parents think.”
I sat, not saying a word, staring down at the floor.
“I get it. Your mom told you never to talk to strangers, and this little Dallas gal is certainly strange, idn’t she now?” She laughed.
Again, I ignored her.
“Look, apparently the crazy loon before me is suddenly on suicide watch because the doctor has left me out here with nothin’ to do. It’s not like her to leave me hanging, so she must have her reasons. So here I sit, and you walk in, looking sadder than a puppy who cain’t find the mealtime teat. I’m just tryin’ to pass the time by makin’ a little friendly conversation. I ain’t gonna bite ya.”
She would not shut up. Before she could say any more, the office door opened, and she was ushered in. I was glad to see her go. But as I waited for my own appointment, I started smiling. That girl was something else.
The next time I had to go there, I purposely got there early. And there she was.
This time she came armed with extra ammunition because she opened her act with a joke. I don’t even remember the joke, but I remember she made me laugh. And she’s been making me laugh ever since.
God knows I’ve needed some laughs over the last four years, especially after I figured out the gay thing. Mal doesn’t approve of my denial one bit, but she loves me, so she puts up with it, lashing out when I get to be too much to take. And I love her, so I put up with it. Even now when she got all pissy over my telling about the kiss.
I put the phone on the table next to me, then leaned back and shut my eyes. I’d been up since five. My plane left at eight, and Mom insisted she get me to the airport two hours early. I’ve tried to tell her the airport is dead at 6:00 a.m., but she just swears that if Homeland Security says to be there two hours early, then two hours early is a mandate.
The sun felt good on my face as I tried to doze off. My mind wandered back to the lobby. And the two guys kissing. Damn. In full daylight. In a public place. What were they thinking? I should have put on my best Grayson smile and politely asked them to refrain from such. Yeah, that’s what I should have done. But what if my stiffy bloomed on the way over? Crap.
Or maybe I should have strode right over to them, letting it bloom, just stood there. Not cool, and besides I would probably get arrested for sexual harassment. But sometimes I just wanted to break out and do something. Express myself. Live the cards that life dealt me.
I fell asleep and dreamed. About those guys. I awoke to a whistling sound and a growing hard-on. At first I thought I’d dreamed about Mal’s swim coach. I shook my head. No, he wouldn’t be in a two-men-kissing dream. The whistling got louder. The sound was from below, the shrill, piercing sound of hundreds of whistles coming all the way from the street.
I leaped up and leaned over the balcony. I couldn’t figure out much because there were so many ants down there.
I rushed into the apartment, ran to my bedroom, ripped open my duffel bag, and grabbed my binoculars, which I always bring to Philly. You never know what you want to see from that high up.
Over the balcony once again, I focused in on the commotion.
Thousands of people. A sea of waving rainbow flags. Marching up Market Street. Blowing their whistles and making noise.
Chapter 3
“DID YOU see it, Jake-O?”
I had nodded off once again, watching TV, when Dad’s voice jolted me to attention. He was channel surfing excitedly.
I sat up, stretched, and yawned, then said, “See what?”
“The march. Downstairs. On the street. Wasn’t it gr
eat?” The sounds of whistles came from the TV, but before I could focus on the picture, Dad switched it off.
“Oh, that.” I yawned again. “Yeah, I saw it. What you looking for on TV, Dad?” I rubbed my eyes.
“Just the march. But I can catch it on the five o’clock news in my office. It’s too important for them not to cover it again today.”
He was most definitely hiding something from me. He even fidgeted as he put the remote back on the coffee table.
“Important?” I did my best casual uncaring. “I thought it was just a bunch of noise. I never heard so many whistles in all my life.” I tossed that off, hoping to draw him out if I made the march sound like it was nothing, nothing at all.
But his unflappable composure was back. It’s a hotel manager thing… never let them see you sweat.
He grinned. “So it was loud even up twenty stories, huh?”
“Unbelievable. Shrill. Then I looked over the railing. When I saw what was happening, I went to get my binocs.”
A “deer in the headlights” look came on his face. Was I going to see him sweat after all? He walked to the fridge, retrieved a beer, and popped the top. He took a big swig as he settled onto one of the bar stools. He took forever to swallow.
Then he spoke slowly, measured. “Did you see me down there?”
“You? Why would you be down there?”
“Well, I was with some of the hotel guests,” he said quickly. A little too quickly. He took another gulp of the beer. Again, the long swallowing ritual. “So what did you think?”
“Think? I think it was a bunch of gay guys makin’ a lot of noise.” I tossed off the gay word, giving it no importance. After that hard-on earlier, there was no way I was going to give my dad any reason whatsoever to think his He-Man son was gay.
“Not only guys. There were women too.”
“I didn’t see any women. But then again, most gay women look like men, anyway.” I saw Mal in my brain, flipping me off for being so stereotypical. I try not to say stuff like that, partly because I know it’s not true and partly because I know it’s not nice. But it just slipped out.
“Jacob. Such a thing to say.”
Being stupid, I tried to make him laugh. “There was this joke that was going around school. Two lesbians….”
“Jacob Elias, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Lighten up, Dad.” It was just a joke. And comedians on TV say things all the time about people who are different. The black comics tell black jokes. George Lopez makes cracks about Mexicans. Funny is funny. But he didn’t see it that way. And I knew he wouldn’t. I think I was trying to sound homophobic just to nail my closet door a little tighter. He’d never think someone as homophobic as me could be gay himself.
“The Grayson has a lot of gay clientele, both men and women. I can’t have my son telling demeaning jokes about them.” True. But that reaction sounded like something more than company policy, no matter how much a Grayson minion Dad was. Did he have gay friends now? Was that what this was all about? Had I hit upon that secret he was keeping?
“Daaad! I’m not in the lobby making fun of fags. It’s just a joke. It’s funny.” The minute that word “fags” came out of my mouth, I knew I’d stepped in it. He would not approve. And really, since I was labeling myself with a horrible, horrible name—and Mal would jump right on me for that—I felt I was about to get put through the ringer.
His face screwed into a frown as he upended the beer can and downed the rest of its contents, suddenly plunging the apartment into a silence as quiet as a tomb. I had deliberately used a totally offensive word, and Dad was not happy. Not a bit. Should I just keep my trap clapped, or should I goad him further, hoping to figure out just what is going on with him? Maybe it was a bad decision, but I chose the latter.
“So what’s the deal, Dad?” I was not buying his responsible hotel manager act one bit. Maybe I could get him to open up that box he’d been keeping his secrets in. He took a big gulp of breath as he set the can down on the counter, and then he slowly expelled the air. His body utterly deflated. His head drooped. What in the wicked wide world was going on with him? Making him spill his guts would be my project for those two weeks.
“What’s so great about that march down there?”
“Great?” He looked up at me, a look that showed he had temporarily forgotten what he’d said not two minutes before, but there was something more—something that looked like defeat.
“You came in here and said, ‘Wasn’t it great?’”
“Oh yeah….” He paused, seemingly searching for words. “Yeah… yeah… the march….” Then his face lit up like he had just made a major resolution. “So many people marching for freedom.”
“Freedom? Daaad! I rolled my eyes while stretching the word out to infinity. “This is America. We’re all free here. Live and let live, you know? They’re free to do anything they want as long as I don’t—”
I started to say have to join in. I stopped myself for a millisecond and quickly thought. I finished the sentence with “have to watch.” I was painting myself as quite the homophobe, but doing so would keep him from ever figuring out his son was one of them, I hoped. God, I wanted to think my dad wouldn’t be upset his son is gay, but I didn’t know. And that not knowing scared me.
He sighed. “You don’t understand, son. There are a lot of freedoms that are denied to the people you saw down there, Jake. In a lot of states, you can be fired just because you’re gay, you can be denied an apartment, you can be turned away as a potential parent. That’s huge. And it all needs to stop. That’s what those people marched for.”
So when did my workaholic dad develop a social consciousness? Then it dawned on me. Mom must have been talking to him. If she was against it, he would be for it. They may have struck a truce over the years, but the tension was still there, underlying everything, waiting to break its cage. The only thing they could agree on was me. And that was about my schooling, my basketball, my girlfriend. Nothing that really mattered, that said either one of them really knew me. That’s not fair. They both worshipped me. They would do anything for me, but if they knew I was gay….
They didn’t know. I heard coming-out stories where parents say, “I always knew.” But that wasn’t the case for me. Mom was going apeshit over this transgender-rights thing, and she wasn’t happy about the gay-rights part of the package. I think she could have looked past the anti-gay-rights part of HERO, if the bathroom thing wasn’t the major issue that folks were ranting about. She really can be a tolerant person about most people’s rights. So maybe, just maybe, she would have been okay if the naysayers hadn’t stirred the pot, screaming that letting trans people into the bathroom they were comfortable in would just lead to men dressing as women to diddle little girls. Mom, easily influenced by her church, jumped right on that bandwagon, and of course, gay rights was a part of it all. Then, like I said, SCOTUS handed down their marriage ruling. Mom was adamant that gay marriage was wrong, that it destroyed lives, ruined children. So, no doubt, she’d spouted all that to Dad. Strange subject for their regular phone calls that are supposed to be about me, but you get Mom going and she can’t stop.
So Grayson Hotels have a clearly stated nondiscrimination policy, a gay rights march passes right by the hotel, and Dad, as the manager, thrusts himself right into the middle of it, knowing his ex-wife would be furious. No wonder he thought it was great.
But I realized I was so over this march thing. We’d beat this dead horse enough. I changed the subject.
“So what are we going to do for the next two weeks?”
A humongous smile lit Dad’s face as he came over and sat down next to me.
“What do you say to a road trip, Jake-O?”
“Road trip? You don’t own a car.” What in hell was he talking about? He couldn’t break away from his job for thirty minutes and he was talking road trip. Car, Dad, trip. No.
“I’m renting one. A nice roomy SUV.”
“SUV?” That set
me off. And made me momentarily set aside the weird thought of my dad driving us out of Philly and into the unknown. “What about going green? You may not be worried about global warming, but I am.”
“Okay, okay… I’ll change the reservation to something greener.”
“Great.” Okay. That was settled. Now to tackle the big issue. “Where are we taking this road trip to?” I asked, expecting a day trip to Amish country or some such nonsense rather than one of those several-day, Dad-son-bonding spiritual journeys. A few carefree hours with him, then I could get to my real vacation. The pool.
“Halifax, Nova Scotia.”
My jaw dropped. I was pretty sure there were no Amish there. And it would certainly not be a day trip.
“What, pray tell, is in Halifax?” I asked, as if I didn’t already know.
“The burial place of over a hundred victims of the Titanic. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know. But I wanted to hear you say it. You’re dragging me God knows how many mind-numbing miles to see graves?” So much for laying around the pool.
“It’s not just graves, Jake-O. There’s a lot of Titanic history in Halifax. Plus it’s a beautiful place, Nova Scotia is. This is a chance for us to see something new and different. It’s a lot better than you cooped up in this apartment during your vacation. I thought it would be fun, spending time alone with your old dad.” He laid it on thick.
I was planning on getting my tan on, but I could see the man’s mind was made up. He almost won me over. Then I came to my senses. Road trip with Dad? Uh-uh. No way. I’d venture to say no self-respecting sixteen-year-old boy would want to traipse off to Nova Scotia to look at graves with his dad. I needed info so I could plan my next move to maybe nix this trip. “And how long is this expedition going to take us?”
“Eight days.” Eight days with Le-ho and Red. They might not be there, but all that time in Titanic madness would be like life in a stateroom with those two. Le-ho, Red, Dad, and me. Wow. I could hear SeaLion already in the background, only I was thinking, My heart will go off. I get how much he loves his Titanic, but that’s him, not me. I wanted to spend my sunny Philly days stretched out on a pool chair, drinking tall, cool drinks, the sun beating down, warming my body and my soul.
Titanic Summer Page 3