Strings Attached

by Nick Nolan

  “That…well, that’s unfortunately all true. Every bit of it. The Marines wouldn’t have him, but the FBI was happy to. After all, since their former chief, Mr. J. Edgar Hoover, was exposed as a homosexual transvestite, they had no choice but to revise their employment policies. No one wants the ugly finger of hypocrisy pointing their way, especially when it’s attached to your own hand.”

  “So what’s Arthur going to do now?” he asked meekly.

  “As long as Bill is a fugitive, he’ll stay here with us. It seems that he’s grown quite attached to you and is in no hurry to leave, so he’s requested to stay on. Besides, he says he’ll never be able to afford a house with an ocean view, and he’s begun dating some local fellow he met recently. A bartender named Nathan.”

  Jeremy nodded. “But why did Bill want to kill me? I never did anything to him, and I didn’t know anything about the embezzling or the drugs and all.”

  “From what Ari said, the instructions…” she choked down sudden tears, unexpectedly looking her age.

  He went to her, wrapped his arms around her, and squeezed. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “No,” she sniffled, eye to eye. “You need to know. Bill’s instructions to Ari were to ‘beat in the kid’s brains but not kill him,’ to render you a helpless ‘vegetable’ and to ‘make it look like a hate crime,’ because ‘no one would ask questions about some little queer who was too stupid to walk around by himself.’ That poor man, Ari, was beside himself. He didn’t want to do it, but Bill threatened him with exposure and loss of his livelihood. So, reluctantly, he called up an old debt from three drug addicts who owed him money. He’s a simple man, you know. And he loves that boy dearly.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes, then blew her nose with a honk.

  “But to answer your question,” she continued, “Bill wanted to guarantee that, unlike your father, you’d never be in the position to cast him from the family’s table. And he probably would have killed you too except that it would have looked too suspicious, especially after what he was planning to do to your mother.”

  “So you do think he did something to her?”

  “Of course. The coroner theorized that she most likely injected herself, had a few cocktails, then forgot she’d injected herself and repeated the dosage. They’d seen it happen a hundred times before. The only evidence we have of possible foul play is the alarm records show a ‘disarm’ and ‘arm’ had occurred late in the evening. But then again, it could’ve had something to do with a call to 911 Emergency that she herself made.”

  “And they didn’t come out?”

  “No, my dear, the call was made for the benefit of someone else. A supervisor called the guesthouse the day after she passed away. It was the Coast Guard following up on a rescue call she’d made, reporting a boat she’d seen that appeared to be in grave danger during the storm. They wanted her to know they’d sent a helicopter out immediately but had found nothing. And no distress call ever came over the radio from anywhere in our vicinity.”

  “Did they mention if she sounded drunk?”

  “I had the same thought, dear one, and so I asked. They played the tape for me over the telephone and I must admit she sounded quite lucid, and very insistent. I am convinced that she saw something out there, although it seemed to have vanished quite mysteriously.”

  “Aunt Katharine, do you think any of this would have ever happened if my mother and I had stayed in Fresno?”

  “It might have still, because Bill must have smelled that his time was running out—I’m not a very good actress, you know. And he has connections everywhere. You may have even been safer here in the long run. But we’ll never know for sure.”

  “Thanks for everything, Aunt Katharine.”

  “Oh, please don’t thank me. It was your mother and Arthur who saved your life. It is them—or at least Arthur—you should thank.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to go do. But first,” it was time for his last question, the grand finale “can you please tell me what you meant about my ‘situation’ and what it means for ‘all of us’?”

  Her back stiffened, and she sighed deeply. “My dear, have I ever steered you in the wrong direction?”

  “No, Aunt Katharine…no you haven’t.”

  “And I promise not to, ever. First let me tell you that I’ve always been a supporter of equal rights for everyone and have done more than my fair share of fundraising over the years in support of the gay and lesbian movement: AIDS, adoption and marriage rights, et cetera. I have been around many wonderful gay men during the course of my life, so what I am about to tell you comes from personal experience.” She paused.

  “Yes?”

  “You, my dear, are not a homosexual.”

  Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Aunt Katharine, how would you know?”

  A deep sigh escaped her. “Jeremy, I am about to tell you something I’ve never told another soul. And God forgive me for breaking my promise to your father for doing so now.”

  “I’m sure he would understand.”

  “Yes, I believe he would.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes he would. Jeremy, when your father was about your age, he had a friend, a special friend. His name was Jamie. They were very close. Too close, in fact.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. And you can imagine where I am going with this. I found them once, together. By accident, of course. Jonathan was quite traumatized by my discovery, as of course was I, and he agreed to participate in therapy so he might develop normally, which, of course, he did—and then some. In fact, he began dating your mother while still seeing the psychiatrist. And you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve contacted Dr. Slessinger—she was the one who helped Jonathan so much—and she is anxious to begin work with you.”

  “You’re not serious,” was all he could say.

  “Oh, I’m very serious, my dear. Being a homosexual may be fine when you’re young and handsome, but you’ll pay a dear price later in life. It’s…akin to taking out a mortgage you can’t afford, with a monstrous balloon payment at the end.” The smug look on her face told Jeremy that she was pleased with her little analogy.

  Had she used the same one with his father?

  “Aunt Katharine,” he began, trying not to scream at her, “did you ever think that maybe the reason my dad got my mom pregnant in the first place was to prove to you that he was finally a ‘real man,’ thanks to you and that doctor? And that this would finally explain why he threw everything away on this girl who was so beneath him, as you love to say?”

  Her face first registered shock, then regret. “I must admit…I’d never thought of it that way…you may be right. But regardless, that was then, and this is now. You have too brilliant a future waiting for you. This…situation will ruin everything!”

  “What’s it going to ruin, Aunt Katharine? The way I see it, your trying to change my father is what ruined everything!”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, and the color drained from her face. “Don’t you ever say that to me again, young man! I gave your father the best of everything, including guidance! And speaking of, have you considered nothing that I’ve taught you over the past months? Have you thought about how this will affect your standing at college? And beyond that, your ability to have children, and to socialize with polite society? And what about earning the respect of our board of directors and stockholders and employees? What about diseases, for God’s sake, and the fact that there are scores of men out there who will take a baseball bat—or worse—to your head? Have you not considered any of these things? Or has your teenage lust for these twisted boys obliterated your judgment entirely?”

  Her words stung him, but he summoned his courage and went to her. “I love you, Aunt Katharine, more than anyone in my life.” He took her hand and gave her a kind smile. “But you’re going to have to listen to me when I say this, and I want you to think about what I am about to tell you and not say anything until you’ve really, really thought abou
t it.”

  “Of course I’ll listen. Say what you must.”

  “I’m not my father, and I’ll never live the life you wanted for him.”

  She snatched her hand away. “And what is that condescending statement supposed to mean?” she snapped. “How dare you imply that I haven’t thought this through, or that I don’t know there’s a difference between you two! You must think me some addle-brained old crone!”

  It was frightening seeing her so angry at him. But he needed to get through this, to try to make her understand. If he couldn’t, he would not stay here—it was that simple; the rest of his life was at stake. “Aunt Katharine, of course you know that we’re not the same person.” He shook his head. “But I don’t think your heart knows it yet. There’s a difference.”

  He took her hand again and squeezed it, but she didn’t squeeze back. She just looked at him, and Jeremy felt like she was seeing him for the first time. A hundred arguments began formulating in her head, and she opened her mouth to respond but felt the truth in his words and snapped her mouth shut. Her free hand picked nervously at her skirt. She looked away, then looked back at him. He was still staring at her. He squeezed her hand again and leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

  And then her mouth moved as if she were talking, but at first no words came, and Jeremy thought, Is she having a stroke? And when, at last, the words did come, they were meek and hoarse, as if underneath her polish and manners and education and propriety, her soul was finally, after all these years, finding its voice.

  “I…I could not survive losing you,” she managed at last, and Jeremy saw tears spill down her cheeks. “My grief…you have no idea…” And Jeremy caught her as she began to sob.

  And sob she did. He managed to hold her up just long enough to guide her to the sofa, where she collapsed into his arms like a little girl.

  “You’ll never lose me,” he told her gently. “You’re my family. You’re more to me than my own mother was.”

  “Everyone leaves me,” she whispered. “Everyone has left me.”

  “But I never will.” He caressed her arm and then the side of her face.

  She turned to him, and he realized that the mask she had carved for herself was gone. And in its place he saw her real face and how it was branded by anguish, loss, and betrayal, and the sadness that comes from living for so long without love. “Give me some time, dear one,” she whispered at last. “You must do whatever you must.” Their eyes held, and Jeremy saw the submission in hers, and how she seemed to be telling him that from this point forward, he would be the one in charge.

  She was finished.

  “Will you please help me to my room?” she said at last. “I need to rest.”

  He reached out his hands, and she took them.

  Arthur was folding a basket of laundry downstairs behind the kitchen. His face split into a grin at the sight of the young man shuffling toward him.

  “So how ya doin, old buddy?” he asked cheerfully, lining up the dark socks on the ironing board to see which made pairs.

  “I’m OK, I guess…”

  “Good. Are you hungry? I’ll fix you something.”

  “No, but thanks anyhow. Actually, I came to thank you. For saving my life.”

  Arthur looked away shyly. “So she told you.”

  “Yep. You sure had me fooled.”

  “Nothing I did was trying to fool you. I just left out a few details. And don’t thank me for doing my job.”

  “You did more than your job, Arthur. Way more.” He gave him a grateful smile. “Listen, I know we only have a few hours before the memorial, so I wanted to hurry and give you this before it starts. Remember how we were supposed to celebrate Christmas when Aunt Katharine got back?” He held out a brightly wrapped box. “Consider this a belated present.”

  “Jeremy, you shouldn’t have gotten me anything.” He took the package and hefted it, appraising its unusual heaviness. “When did you have the time?”

  “Oh, I’ve had this for years,” he said, beaming. “In fact, I made it in school when I was seven or eight. Open it.”

  Arthur removed the snugly tied ribbon carefully, then picked open the tightly taped seams to reveal a battered old shoebox. He lifted off the lid.

  Inside was a red clay paperweight that had been molded by a child’s careful hands. On it was the inscription: TO THE BEST DAD IN THE WORLD. HAPPY FATHER’S DAY! LOVE JEREMY T. Arthur saw that its chipping piecrust edge still held evidence of Jeremy’s tiny fingerprints.

  “I love it,” Arthur whispered, his eyes brimming. “I love it, and I don’t deserve this, but I’ll accept it anyway and I’ll treasure it forever.” He turned the object over delicately in his hands like a coveted award. “But I don’t understand why you made this; wasn’t he already gone by then?”

  “All the other kids were making one in class, and I was too ashamed not to make one too—I didn’t want anyone to know I didn’t have a dad. Then for some reason, my mom kept it all these years in that old shoebox, the one I keep on the top shelf of my closet. To tell you the truth, I’d forgotten all about it until I opened the box finally yesterday.”

  He placed the object carefully on the dryer, then threw his arms tightly around the boy, who returned his gesture with equal might.

  “Hey,” Jeremy soothed as they held each other. “Didn’t you tell me that crying’s illegal on Christmas?”

  It was a pitifully small group that had gathered at the gazebo overlooking the ocean on this dazzling January afternoon. They had offered to fly Mrs. Jackson down for the occasion, but she had declined based on her suspicion of airplanes. Instead, she opted to have Tiffany’s name recognized at the coming Sunday’s service at her own church; Jeremy, in turn, had promised to drive up and visit during the summer. And so it was only Katharine, Arthur, Carmen, Carlo, Ellie, Reed, and finally Jeremy, bravely holding his mother’s ashes in what looked like an upscale coffee can. He had refused Katharine’s offer to have a minister officiate, remembering how his mother hated church people almost as much as she hated God, or so she said. He suggested instead that he perform the service himself, considering no one knew her as well as he had. Besides, he needed to get some things off his chest. Publicly.

  The sun had begun the long descent from its peak, laying down a platinum path that stretched from the shoreline, across the water, and out to the edge of the earth. Over the heads of the little group, a swarm of seagulls hovered, perhaps remembering the days when Tiffany used to bring out bags of bread from the kitchen to throw at them; not because she cared for the aggressive birds, but rather because they roosted in the rafters of the finely crafted gazebo, and peppered Katharine’s lovely wicker chairs and Persian rugs with their runny white excrement.

  “Jeremy,” Reed whispered, touching his elbow lightly. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “Don’t worry about me, but thanks anyway,” he replied. “I’m more worried about Carmen. Today is her first day away from the hospital.” All the heads within earshot turned to look at her. She waved at them shyly.

  Ellie peered over her sunglasses at him. “I’m afraid to ask, but what’s the latest on Darius?”

  “The doctors say it’s too soon to tell how fully he’ll recover,” he answered, “but aside from the huge bandage around his head, he’s looking pretty good. I was over there last night, and he was feeding himself already. And he’s getting plenty of attention from the nurses—all of them, if you know what I mean.”

  Heads nodded solemnly.

  “They say he might not ever play football again,” Carlo told them. “But Carmen says he couldn’t care less about that. He just wants to go to UCLA.”

  “Well, he won’t have to worry about not having the football scholarship for tuition,” Jeremy stated. “My aunt will make sure that he goes wherever he wants.”

  “Jeremy, dear,” Katharine interrupted, immaculate in black Chanel. “The gulls are beginning to make their presence known.” She pointed to a gray smear o
n Arthur’s lieutenant’s jacket that dripped from shoulder to medals. “Might we begin?”

  He cleared his throat officiously. “Thank you all for coming,” he began “even though only a few of you even knew my mother. But if you know me, you know my history, and she’s a big part of both.

  “My mother was an unusual woman,” he continued, his voice resonant and clear. “She had her own ideas about the world and what part she wanted, or didn’t want, to play in it. Her biggest fault seemed to be her willingness to always take the easy way out. This she did often, and all kinds of disasters happened because of it.

  “But in spite of her faults, what will stay with me for the rest of my life is the conversation we had a week ago on the beach just below us, right down there.” He pointed, and everyone turned. “She told me that she came back here to warn me, because she knew that I was in danger. If she hadn’t, I might be dead, and she would be the one holding this can of ashes.” He held the silver object up briefly, then set it on the ledge behind him. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, he noticed a white schooner below in full sail pulling dangerously close to the waves cresting for the beach.

  Something about the boat caught his attention, so he squinted directly into the afternoon sun to read the words painted in bold script on the stern. They read:

  KAY + RON’S FERRY TAIL

  On deck, he spotted the athletic figures of a young man and woman in swimming attire who waved their arms happily at the group high above the beach. They must think it’s a wedding, Jeremy figured sourly. He raised his hand to wave back politely and inadvertently knocked the can off the wooden ledge.

  “Shit!” he exclaimed as it tumbled end over end down the rugged cliffside toward the rocks below.

  The group rushed to the edge in time to witness the lid break loose and the remains of Tiffany Tyler spin away on a gust of wind.

  “Good thing it’s offshore today,” Arthur noted.