My Worst Date

by David Leddick

  Glenn Elliott said nothing and I said nothing on the whole visit except things like, “Let’s go here” and “Look at this.” Above the cascade he said, “I’ve never seen a house like this, have you?” I said, “I’ve been to this one quite a few times. And I’ve seen similar places in France. But not really like this. This is like the palaces in Italy.”

  “Do you find it sexy?” he said.

  “Sexy, how? Do I want to crawl up on one of those beds and get down? Yes. Definitely.”

  Glenn turned to me from looking out over the gardens. “That’s exactly what I mean. Don’t you get the feeling that there’s been a lot of fooling around in this place? It kind of hangs in the air. It’s like it was built for fooling around.”

  “It could have been,” I told him. “When it was built you could only get here by boat. There weren’t any roads. It was a real hideaway. If you got here and didn’t feel like fooling around I guess you had to swim out.”

  “And leave your luggage behind,” Glenn said, and laughed, as though he was thinking of someone upstairs trying to decide if they should abandon their new shoes or let some old fart have a go.

  We went back down the stairs beside the cascades and passed one of the grottos. I said, “Someone told me they used to have wild parties here and there were naked boys in the grottoes.”

  “I’d like to have a naked boy in the grotto right now,” Glenn said and dragged me in. He pulled down my shorts. Elastic waistband, of course. I felt behind me. He was very hard in his pants. He’s pretty amazing. From neutral to full speed faster than a Ferrari. He had his hand in my underpants.

  “Think of the naked boys, Glenn,” I said. “It’s pretty cold and wet in here. Besides, I don’t want to get arrested.”

  “I love to fuck you, Hugo,” he mumbled into my neck.

  “You love to fuck a lot of people,” I said. He stopped. Tucked me back into my underpants and pulled up my shorts. Like a parent dressing an awkward child.

  “That’s true,” he said over his shoulder as he walked through the garden ahead of me. “That’s true, but it doesn’t take anything away from you, Hugo.”

  “It doesn’t make me feel very special.” We were already talking about Ken without even bringing his name up. I knew we weren’t talking about Mom, except maybe I was speaking for her as well as myself.

  He turned around and it was the first time I had seen the cool Glenn Elliott look angry. “Give me a break, Hugo. Who could feel more special than you? So beautiful, so smart. I’ve seen those guys at the Bomber Club. They’d give ten years of their lives just to get a crack at you. What’s that navy expression, ‘They’d eat a yard of your shit just to get to your ass.’ You are too special, Hugo. You’re so special and I’m so lucky to be fucking you there’s nowhere to go from here but down.”

  Myrtle-Fred had been right. “So you decided to start down all by yourself,” I said. He looked at me admiringly. We were walking up the jungle incline now.

  “You’re really something, Hugo. Hard to believe you’re only seventeen. I’d like to punch you right in the eye. But instead I’m going to take you home and punch you right in the pants. Come on.”

  I didn’t put up a fuss. This was where the whole afternoon had been heading anyway.

  When we got to his apartment he pushed me down on the bed and undressed me very slowly and carefully. When I lifted my hips so he could pull off my shorts he said, “Don’t. I want to do this myself.” While I lay there he slowly and methodically undressed himself and hung his clothes carefully in the closet. His erection stood straight out from his body. It was like a drawing of what a perfect penis should be.

  He pulled a condom from his drawer and unrolled it on himself and then straddled me and put one on me. A tube of KY and a towel were under his pillows. Always ready for an emergency fuck, this guy. He pulled a pillow under me and slipped his fingers and some KY between my cheeks. Slowly, firmly, steadily he pushed himself in. He lowered those perfect pectorals onto my chest and just before his mouth closed over mine he said, “I do love to fuck you, Hugo.”

  Isn’t that love?

  miami by night

  Miami in the middle of the night is a world all its own. Empty and windy. I can remember when we first came here and we were staying in a hotel. I would wake in the night and hear the wind. I still do. And I would have to get up, Hugo asleep in the other bed, and look out at Miami. Miami Beach. At our hotel you could see down onto the front porch of the hotel next door. This was back when all the old people were here. One night I saw this old lady sitting on her chair at the end of the porch, looking out over the ocean. The streetlight, the palms moving the way they do in the wind, over and back, over and back. I wonder, all in black and white in the starlights, what she thought, the old lady on the porch? Was she lonely? Did she feel sad, all alone in the high winds in the night, all the other old people all snuggled up in their beds upstairs, smelling of musty sheets and apple cores?

  Was she sitting there thinking, “And it’s come to this, it’s come to this?” Or maybe she still felt young inside. As young as ever. And she loved being there in the high wind, looking out at the ships anchored at sea, waiting for dawn to enter port. No person, no car, no sound on Ocean Drive, except that endless rustling of the palm trees, the tick and tack of the wind moving things. What things? And she would still be ready for romance to come along and whirl her away on one of those freighters. Or maybe, just being there, still alive in a world of romance and excitement and night magic. Maybe that was her fun. Maybe that was why she was up in the night, buttoned up in her sweater, her hair tugging in the night wind. I hope so. I hope I will be, too.

  eavesdropping

  The roller hockey game was kind of a bust. The Tampa Titans sort of cleaned up on the Miami Hammerheads. They’re only a few years older than I am, those guys. And sort of nice guys. You can tell that at the breaks their coaches are telling them to rough it up more so it’s more like ice hockey. What can they get paid? Zilch. But it’s exciting all the same when they get that little puck into the net. Macha and Fred wanted to go hang out at the Marlin but I had them drop me off home.

  My shower was blocked up so I was taking a shower in the guest bathroom. That’s how I heard Mom talking to Glenn Elliott on the front porch. If I’d been in my own bathroom I would never have heard them. I was just drying off when I heard them coming up the walk. Glenn was saying, “I hate to talk about love and being in love and what love means and all that stuff.”

  Mom said, “All men do, but you brought it up.”

  “I was just asking how you know when you are in love,” Glenn said.

  I dropped my towel and just stood there. What’s this, what’s this, I thought? You’re always hearing about how you shouldn’t eavesdrop and you never hear anything good, but I felt no guilt. This definitely concerned me and I wasn’t about to scuttle back to my room feeling all good about myself. This I definitely wanted to hear.

  They must have sat down on the porch because I could still hear them. Mom was probably sneaking a cigarette, the butt of which I would find in the flowerpot when I watered. It was our little thing, her sneaking a cigarette from time to time. I’m always keeping up the pressure so it won’t get out of hand.

  Mom said, “If you don’t know if you’re in love with someone or not, you are not in love with them. Real love is that brief period when you would follow them to the ends of the earth. When you would crawl through the Sahara on your hands and knees for them. And there would be plenty of things about them you don’t like, but whatever that connection is, you can’t not be there for them. I suppose it’s like a crash course in how you love your child. I would throw myself in front a train for Hugo. And I suppose he would do the same for me. But that’s something that builds up over a long period of time, and he is the flesh of my flesh. When you fall in love with someone it’s pretty much the same thing but it crashes over you all at once.”

  Glenn Elliott interrupted her. “But that�
��s kid stuff, Iris. That’s puppy love you’re talking about.”

  She said, “Well, yeah, but don’t you think puppy love is love? Anything less than that is just kind of watered-down, talked-yourself-into-it kind of emotions, don’t you think? Have you ever been just crazy in love like that, Glenn?”

  I was very interested to hear his reply.

  “I think I might be in love with you, Iris.”

  Mom answered. “You can’t be, Glenn. Or you wouldn’t think you might be. I’m nice. I’m not ugly. I think you’re very interesting. Maybe we could be in love with each other someday. But I don’t think either of us has to be in love to be enjoying our lives, so we both get along fine without it. Because if I was in love with you, Glenn, you would certainly know it.”

  “Do you think it can happen with someone you’ve known for a while?”

  “Oh, yeah. It can drop from the skies at any time. But I don’t think it slowly creeps up over you like rust. Why I’m telling you all this, Glenn, is not that I’m such an expert. But because if things go wrong later, and they always do, you know why you got mixed up in all this mess. I know so many people who are being emotionally wrestled to death, or are in a really ugly divorce, or just being abused generally. And they were never even in love with the other person. Doesn’t make sense, does it? Here you are, having your life ruined by somebody you never even cared for very much. How can you think of yourself as anything but a real asshole?”

  “Hummmm, hummmmm, hmmmm.” Glenn sounded kind of stunned. Of course you could hear Mom all the way down to Arthur Godfrey Boulevard. That last “asshole” really rang out.

  “What about companionship?” Glenn asked.

  “Hire a housekeeper,” Mom said. “You really want someone around so you’re not alone? Hire somebody. They’ll fix meals, do the shopping, keep the place clean. And when you can’t stand them, you fire them. If you’ve got somebody around for companionship you’re probably not going to like the sex anyway.”

  “So if you never fall in love you should stay single,” Glenn said in a kind of sulky voice.

  “Why not? If nobody ever got married or had children unless they were really in love, don’t you think it would clean up a lot of the mess around here?”

  “Miami?”

  “Life.”

  “But then so many people would be alone.”

  “Is that such a terrible thing? I remember the first time I was lying in bed all alone and feeling sorry for myself and I said, Wake up, Iris. Wake up. How often have you been in bed with someone who was making you feel bad? Unconfident, unloved, or constantly having to hustle to deserve to be loved. Or being cheated on. And I thought, this is definitely better than any of those real-life situations. I was just trying to con myself into remembering romantic situations that, in fact, hardly ever existed. No. If I can’t go first class I don’t want to go at all. And it’s me, if I’m being honest, who knows what first class is.”

  “No accommodations. Is that it?”

  “Oh, I could accommodate a lot. I can handle a missing limb. Or someone who’s not brilliant. Or not a great moneymaker. Those things are not a problem. I might very well fall in love with someone in one of those categories. What I don’t want to do is fall in love with someone I don’t really know. Someone I’ve given a personality to, and later I find out they’re someone completely different. And I’m fucked, in more ways than one. Life goes on, Glenn. Life goes on. I don’t want to waste any time giving really heavy emotion to someone who doesn’t get it. Doesn’t appreciate it. Doesn’t even know what it is I’m feeling. Doesn’t that make sense?”

  “Is Hugo home?” Glenn asked. I split from the bathroom on my tippy toes and fell on my bed. Mom called in the front door, “Hugo?” I yelled back. “Yes, Mom. Are you all right?”

  “I’m great. Have you been listening to us?”

  “Who’s us?”

  “Glenn and me.”

  I lied. “I’m in my bedroom. You’d have to have been talking pretty loudly for me to hear you.”

  Mom was on the stairs now. “We were. At least I was.”

  She was at the door looking pretty in her white dress with the green trim. I asked her, “Were you swearing?”

  “Only a little.”

  “That’s good. I hate to hear you swearing.”

  She said, “What are you reading?”

  “The Age of Innocence.” I held it up.

  “I’m going to say good night to Glenn.”

  “Say good night for me.”

  She went downstairs and I heard Glenn’s car pull away. She was wandering around downstairs. Putting some cats out. Bringing some cats in. I never really got the program. The girl cats stayed in, the boy cats stayed out, I think.

  I turned out the light and lay there, waiting for some great thoughts to come to me. What I was kind of thinking about is what people want from other people. It seems to me that there are two kinds. The kind of people who play with other people. Other people are just there for you to sleep with and take out to dinner and take care of you. Cook meals. Make beds. Like Mom just said. If you want that kind of person in your life you should just get a housekeeper.

  And some people want somebody to really do things with. Somebody they can take care of, who will take care of them, too. Sort of like your own child. Each person being the parent and the child for the other person.

  And both men and women are like that. All those guys who are out cruising chicks in bars and trying to get laid all the time, and not particularly interested in who they’re laying, they are exactly like those gay guys who hang out in gay bars and are always trying to score. So there isn’t really any great difference between heterosexuality and homosexuality with people like that. They ought to create a new division called ono-sexual or something like that. People who just want to get laid and really don’t want the other person to bother them by having any personality.

  And then there are people like Mom and me, and I suppose Macha. And actually I think Fred is like that, too. Who want some give and take and want to really be interested in that other person and who are very sexually attracted to them at the same time. And I guess that’s love. As we know it today.

  And that makes me wonder about Glenn. He’s kind of hanging there between ono-sexuality and this other thing. But when you’re good-looking, ono-sexuality is just so much easier. Except I wouldn’t want to be running around trying out this guy’s prick and then some other guy’s. Except maybe out of kindness. But then, good-looking men don’t really need kindness.

  Mom called up the stairs. “Hugo, are you asleep?” I called back, “Not now, Mom.”

  “Just wanted to tell you I love you,” she said.

  “Not as much as I love you,” I called back, just to bug her. She came running up the stairs and hit me a good one in the behind. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just kidding, Mom,” I said. “Just kidding.”

  butterfly world

  We were driving on I-95 heading towards Butterfly World. Glenn was driving. I had read in the Herald about a Saturday morning seminar that taught you what plants to put in your garden to encourage butterflies to congregate there. Glenn isn’t all that interested in butterflies, but Hugo will like them.

  After our talk the other night I had been thinking. About Glenn. Looking at his profile I said as much. “Glenn, I’ve been thinking about you.”

  “What have you been reading?” he asked me.

  “The usual. No. This hasn’t been prompted by reading Cosmopolitan. Maybe by seeing The Piano. No, it’s this. I want to be in love with you. So much in love I tear at the sheets just thinking about you. I don’t like this business of kind of holding part of myself back in case you dump me so I don’t feel bad. We’ve been seeing each other for about nine months. We’re sleeping together and that’s great, but it’s not like we’re sleeping with ‘each other,’ you know what I mean? We’re sleeping with somebody, but is it really us? Am I making myself clear?”
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  “I don’t really think about these things, you know.”

  “That’s why I’m telling you.” I said. “To make things clear. I’m half in love with you. It’s not too late to get out. And I don’t like it. If I don’t take a stand, this whole thing could kind of drift along indefinitely. Until my looks are really shot. And then inevitably someone younger will step in and look good to you and you won’t really break it off with me, you’ll let me find out and then I’ll be really unhappy and I’ll break it off and you’ll be guilty of nothing. It’s sort of like two lionesses tussling over a water buffalo carcass.”

  “Nice image.” Glenn said.

  “No, really. You guys are all alike. You’re too nice to break a woman’s heart, but you can hang in there forever until she breaks it all by herself on your refusal to make a decision. That’s why I’m taking the bull by the horns. I don’t think there’s another woman on the horizon yet, and I want to speak up. I mean, here I am, someone heading towards forty on their last bombing run and I’m willing to risk it. I want to be crazy about you. I want to be nuts about you. I want to cry. I want to fall down and pull at the draperies. So win or lose, if you go or if you stay, I know something happened.”

  We were passing the Atlantic Beach Motel, really sleazy, smack on I-95. Glenn pulled into it. I said nothing. I could see his pants full as he got out of the car. He pushed down at himself to get his crotch in order as he went into the office. He came back with a key and as I got out of the car he went into a ground floor room almost directly in front of the car.