William J. Mann

by Men Who Love Men (lit)

  I hold my hand up to stop him. “I know.” I make sure the new houseboy, whatever his name, is safely down the stairs and out of earshot. “Does Jeff know what happened with you and Luke?”

  Lloyd nods. “Of course. I told him.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  He sighs. Suddenly I see the heaviness in his eyes, the slump of his shoulders. “He didn’t need to say anything. I saw the hurt quite plain. He told me he wanted a few days to think.” He closes his eyes. “I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Holy fuck,” I say, sitting down hard in a chair.

  Lloyd sits opposite me. “I don’t understand it fully. I mean, we have an open relationship. We both, from time to time, have outside connections…”

  “This is hardly outside, Lloyd,” I say, anger starting to tighten my throat again. “This was right here in the guesthouse.”

  Lloyd stands up, agitated. “I know! It was wrong! It was stupid and inappropriate!” He paces over to the desk then turns and walks back toward me. “But I don’t get Jeff’s reaction. It’s far more intense than I would have expected.”

  I stand up and face him. “And you have no clue why?”

  “If you have some idea,” he says to me, “I’d like to hear it.”

  “For a bright man, you can be incredible dense,” I say, stunned that I can use such a word to describe Lloyd Griffith, my hero, my inspiration. “In less than two weeks you’re going to be getting married. You can’t appreciate how hearing about you and Luke made Jeff feel?”

  “I didn’t realize it would be so…”

  “Come on, Lloyd. Jeff has been wanting to make your wedding really, really special, and so he’s been refraining from any—what did you call them?—‘outside connections.’ It hasn’t been easy for him. He turned down Luke himself!”

  Lloyd looks at me with interest. It’s clear he didn’t know that little detail.

  “It’s true,” I say. “Luke came on to him. But Jeff said no. Can you believe it? Jeff O’Brien! Mr. I-Can’t-Help-Myself-Around-Cute-Boys. He turned him down! I have to tell you, I have gained a whole new measure of respect for Jeff because of this attitude.”

  “I didn’t know he was feeling that way,” Lloyd says, his hand on his forehead. “He never shared this with me.”

  “He didn’t want to say anything to you. He didn’t want you to feel pressured to act the same.”

  Lloyd gives me a dry little laugh. “Then if that’s the case, then isn’t he being a little hypocritical to walk out?”

  “Since when has Jeff ever been rational when it came to affairs of the heart?” I sigh. “Still, hypocritical or not, he’s hurt.” I look at Lloyd intently. “Where is he, any idea?”

  “I suspect he’s in Boston. Maybe with Melissa and Rose. I’ve been trying to honor his privacy and not call around looking for him. I know he’s been talking with Ann Marie, because I got word from her that he’s okay—but she hasn’t shared where he is.”

  “Oh, man.” I run my hands through my new faux-hawk, and realize Lloyd hasn’t said a word about it. I suppose there hasn’t been a moment for any small talk. “What does this mean for the wedding? It’s not far off.”

  Lloyd looks suddenly as if he might cry. “I don’t know. We were supposed to be making final plans with the caterer today…” He covers his face with his hands. “I just wish he’d come back so we could talk.”

  My heart breaks. Suddenly making sure Lloyd and Jeff’s wedding happens is the most important priority of my life.

  I put my arm around my friend’s shoulders. “Jeff will be back,” I say. “I’ll find him and bring him back if I have to. Your wedding must happen! You guys must say ‘I do.’”

  Lloyd removes his hands to look at me, offering me a small smile. “You’ve become rather the determined advocate, I must say.”

  I look him deep in the eyes. “You can’t let this slip away from you. You’ve got to make sure this wedding takes place.”

  His gaze moves off into the middle of the room, staring at nothing. “Maybe,” Lloyd says, “I succumbed to Luke because I wasn’t ready to settle down into marriage.”

  I take a step back. “What?”

  “You know me, Henry,” Lloyd says, looking at me, speaking dully. “I’m a freebird. And marriage…Maybe I’m not ready. Maybe…” His voice cracks a little. “Maybe I don’t want the commitment that marriage brings.”

  “Oh, fuck,” I say. “Lloyd, this is not how you feel!”

  He looks at me sharply. “How do you know I feel?”

  “Because I do! I know you guys love each other and you want to spend the rest of your lives together! You want to stand up in front of the world and announce that you have each found the One—”

  “Henry,” Lloyd says, “I suspect your sudden enthusiasm to see us married is more about you than it is about us.”

  I say nothing.

  “Listen,” Lloyd says. “I just need some time to think. Jeff needs his space, I need mine.” He gestures toward the front desk. “Now that you’re back, will you take over? We’ve got a guest coming in around eight. I just need to go home and be alone for a while and think.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I can watch the desk. But Lloyd…”

  He holds up his hand. “No more arguing the case for marriage. Jeff’s reaction—well, it’s given me pause. Maybe in fact he’s not ready to settle down either.”

  I watch him head out the door. I want to scream after him: Don’t give up! Nothing is too difficult that it can’t be worked out! Don’t you realize how important this is? Don’t give up!

  But I say nothing more. Lloyd’s right. My sudden enthusiasm for their wedding does indeed have more to do with me than it does with them. I had come to see their marriage as an ideal—something to which I might aspire. Jeff and Lloyd offered—even with all their idiosyncrasies—inspiration. But now, if their union crumbles, what hope does that leave me?

  Alone. That’s where it leaves me.

  I begin going through the mail that has piled up while I’ve been gone. But my mind can’t seem to focus. I can’t believe how heartbroken I feel about what’s happened between my friends. And all because of that little conniving Luke…

  I hear a door creak. I look up.

  The new houseboy has come up from the basement. We make eye contact.

  “Are you Henry?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Lloyd told me you were the manager.” He extends his hand. “I’m David.”

  Yes, you are, I think, shaking his hand. Michelangelo’s David. The boy is exquisite. Those black curls. Olive skin. Big brown eyes. Pug nose. Full, red, pouting lips. He could be a Caravaggio painting brought to life.

  And…is he looking at me?

  Are his eyes twinkling?

  Oh, no. I will not go there again.

  I immediately look back down at my paperwork. “Good to meet you, David,” I say. “Has Lloyd showed you all the basics?”

  “I think so,” he tells me.

  “Excellent. Then I won’t need to repeat anything.” I resist the temptation to look back at him. If I do, I fear, all is lost. “Have a good night, David.”

  I sense him standing there, waiting for me to look at him again, but I keep my eyes on the desk. It’s rude, I know, but at the moment I can’t do anything else.

  Eventually David disappears back down into the basement, and I breathe a sigh of relief. But my heart is still so heavy that I know I won’t be able to sleep tonight.

  I pick up my phone and start punching in numbers.

  I’ve got to find Jeff. Their wedding has to take place!

  And yes, not only for them.

  For me.

  20

  COMMERCIAL STREET

  I’m back on my bike—actually, a new bike—for the first time since the accident. I’m a little shaky for the first couple of blocks, but then I start once again gliding easily and confidently. I
t helps that there are far fewer people on the street now, fewer irate soccer moms to run down.

  I have no specific destination. I just needed to take a bike ride and clear my head. I didn’t sleep well. My heart aches whenever I think about Jeff and Lloyd. I left a zillion messages for Jeff with every friend I could think of, in case he had turned up there. Ann Marie was coy, not wanting to divulge where Jeff was, or even whether she knew for sure. On his cell phone voice mail, I left three long messages, the gist being the same in all of them: “Don’t give up. You guys love each other. Anything—and I mean anything—can be worked out.”

  Is that why I keep looking from side to side as I cruise down the street? Am I hoping I’ll run into Luke? Maybe. Maybe I really do believe that anything—anything—can be worked out.

  But instead of Luke, I run into two other players in my supporting cast on the steps of Spiritus.

  Martin and Gale.

  They’re sitting on one of the benches. On either side stand a couple of early twentysomething boys. I notice one of them is wearing a shirt like mine, except he’s passed a white belt through the loops of his jeans. I like the look, so I make a mental note to pick up one just like it.

  I approach. I’m very curious to know the connection between Martin and Gale. I hadn’t been aware that they knew each other. “Hey,” I say.

  Martin, no surprise, speaks first. “Well, hello, Henry. How are you?”

  “I’m great,” I tell him, standing in front of the bench. With my new clothes and new hair, I feel oddly confident. Even a touch cocky.

  “Good to hear it,” Martin says. “Do you know Gale?”

  “Oh, yes,” Gale says, nodding at me, holding his emotion in check. “We’ve made each other’s acquaintance.”

  I smile. “How you doing, Gale?”

  “Enjoying this lovely day,” he tells me. “Who knows how many more we have left now that summer is over?”

  “And these are,” Martin says, gesturing to the group of boys standing around the bench. “I’m sorry, boys, I’ve forgotten all your names.”

  “I’m Justin,” says one. “And this is Kyle, and Zach, and Troy.”

  I shake hands with each of them in turn.

  “They’re from Albany,” Martin tells me. “We all just met. I happened upon them when I stopped by for a cup of coffee, and we got to chatting about what to see and do in Provincetown.” His eyes twinkle. “But just as they were about to wander off and leave me alone, this exquisite young man came by and sat down.” He nods over at Gale. “That seems to have made them decide to stay a bit longer.”

  A couple of the twinks from Albany giggle. I notice all eyes are glued to Gale, who just smirks as he sits there in his tank top and formfitting jeans.

  “Is this your first time to P-town?” I ask the boys, not to any one of them in particular but instead to the entire group. After all, they seem to be one monolithic creature, with eyes moving in unison and names that are instantly interchangeable.

  “Yep,” says one of them—Zach, I think. But none of them look at me for very long. Their gaze remains trained on Gale.

  And why not? He’s gorgeous. No wonder he had such a hold on me. Those round biceps and muscled thighs. That smooth skin and eternally youthful face.

  Suddenly I’m jealous. Not so much that Gale might take one of these boys home with him—or that one of them might get him—but because none of them seem to notice me. Even in my new clothes and my fashionable new hair, I feel invisible. I hate the feeling. But I hate even worse that I’m trying to compete. Instead of just sitting back and observing the situation, as Martin seems to be doing, I’m positioning myself shoulder-to-shoulder with these boys, ten years younger than I am.

  “So,” I say to the boy nearest me. “What’s Albany like?”

  “It’s good,” he says blandly. “You ever been?”

  “Twice. When I was a kid. I grew up in West Springfield, so it was only a couple of hours—”

  He’s ignoring me. Even before the words are out of my mouth he turns and whispers something to the boy next to him. They smile to each other. They seem to be looking at my shirt. Or is it my hair?

  Fuck. Are they laughing at me?

  “So,” says another of the boys as he leans in toward Gale. “Do you work here?”

  “Odd jobs,” Gale tells him, clearly adoring the attention but determined to play hard to get. He’s fully aware that just by sitting there doing nothing, he’s stimulating all sorts of pheromones in these four youngsters. “Thankfully Martin here has found me some work to do.”

  I look over at Martin. He nods. “I hired Gale to help me do some carpentry jobs in town,” he tells me. “He’s very skilled with a hammer.”

  “I bet he has lots of skills,” one of the Albany boys quips.

  “That he does,” Martin agrees, and I notice that he and Gale exchange a small smile.

  Fuck. Have they hooked up? Has Gale gone with—Martin?

  If my preoccupation with Luke these last few days has pushed Gale off the center stage of my mind, suddenly I’m focused once more on my dark muscled friend. Why is it that we want someone even more when we see others wanting him?

  Yet I realize as I stand here in my trendy new clothes that no one except Martin has initiated conversation with me. The Albany boys continue to pepper Gale with inane attempts to start a dialogue, while my presence is utterly irrelevant to any of them, except maybe Martin.

  Hey! I want to shout. Do you know once upon a time guys paid good money just to touch my abs? Do you know I once made two thousand dollars a week just for taking off my clothes?

  “Henry.”

  I look down. Martin is talking to me. Of all of them, he’s the only one aware that another human being stands in front of them.

  “Have you been out of town?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you around.”

  “Yeah,” I tell him, resentfully withdrawing my attention from Gale, even if temporarily. “I went to see my parents for a few days.”

  “Ah, being the good son.”

  “Well, I’m not sure my mother would agree. She was already asking when I was coming back, and complaining when I said I wasn’t sure.”

  “You’re a good son regardless,” Martin tells me. “I can just tell.”

  My attention is drawn back to Gale, who has suddenly stood, stretching, showing off his small, lean body. The boys almost all fall down on top of one other.

  “Gotta pee,” Gale announces, and turns to walk inside the pizza shop. I suspect he did it partly just to show off his butt to these boys.

  “You know,” I say, not caring how obvious it appears, “so do I.”

  I follow Gale inside, where a line has formed outside the one restroom.

  “So you’ve been good?” I ask Gale as I come up behind him.

  “Just fine,” he replies. He makes a point, again, of not asking me.

  “Gale,” I say, “I’d like to give us another shot.”

  Even as I say the words, I’m wishing I could take them back. Do I really want to dive into that morass again? Gale’s not for me, not with all his rules and expectations. And I still haven’t even figured out how I feel about Luke. But I can’t deny that seeing Gale out there, the way those boys were all over him, has reignited my interest.

  “Really?” Gale turns around to face me. “Okay, Henry. Come by tomorrow night. Say six o’clock?”

  “Okay.” Part of me wants to say no, forget it, I don’t really mean it. But part of me is thrilled, too. “Okay, tomorrow at six o’clock.”

  The restroom is now free, so Gale heads in. I resist an urge to follow him, to attempt a little make-out session in the bathroom. Gale’s pee shy, I remember. He’d no doubt bar the door.

  Since I don’t really have to pee, I head back outside, where Martin is now bidding good-bye to Justin-Kyle-Zach-Troy.

  “Heading home?” I ask him.

  He nods. “Enough goofing off. I’m building some cabinets for a customer.”

/>   “Hang on, I’ll walk with you,” I tell him. But first I turn to the boys. “Tell Gale I’ll see him tomorrow night,” I say, in a deliberately provocative voice. They don’t respond.

  “A date?” Martin asks me as we walk off down the street.

  “Maybe. Kinda sorta.” I laugh. “With Gale, it’s never all that clear.”

  “I see.”