Heteroflexibility

by Mary Beth Daniels

“You know these men?” Bradford asked.

  “We’re bosom buddies,” Marvin said. “The doll was showing me her pictures.”

  Bradford accepted a glass from the bartender, who was taking in Bradford’s chest beneath the tailored jacket and pink shirt—gaydar ping—it’s working! Bradford stared at the liquid as he swirled it around. “They come out well?”

  “She’s brilliant!” Marvin answered. “A total smash!”

  That guy. You had to love him. “They came out all right.”

  Bradford nodded, now staring at the carved wood of the bar, as if I was painful to look at.

  “Oh, doll, is this the gay boy toy?” Marvin whispered loudly.

  “Shh!” Oh, God, I had to get away. No, I had to get us both away. Marvin had the discretion of an exhibitionist at a nudist colony.

  I slammed the laptop shut, lunging at Bradford. “We have to talk, NOW!” I grasped his arm so hard and so fast that his wine sloshed on his fingers.

  “Relax there, honey,” Marvin said. “You’ve had a mix-up—”

  “Come on!” I said, almost shouting now, trying to haul Bradford away, but he resisted.

  “You okay, Zest?”

  Marvin stood up. “Girl, let the man finish his drink!”

  I grabbed Bradford’s wine and downed it. “All done. Let’s go!”

  Bradford shook his head. I knew he was confused, but I didn’t care. We had to GO.

  Marvin took two steps forward, and I dragged Bradford across the room. “Bye, Marvin, bye, Gary! Have a great honeymoon.”

  Marvin stood in the middle of bar. “Doll! You’ve got it all wrong!”

  I made a slashing movement so he would shut up as we headed for the door.

  He put his hands together in a T shape. Time out? I shook my head, glad Bradford wasn’t looking back. Marvin turned to the side, made a humping motion, then gave me a slashing symbol. What? Don’t have sex? Of course I wouldn’t have sex with him.

  We entered the lobby, momentarily stopped by a line near the check in counter. I stole one last glance. Marvin had grabbed Gary, now pumping air sex behind him, and both of them made slashing motions, shaking their heads for no.

  Good grief, I was NOT going to have sex with Bradford. Why were they acting this way?

  We pushed our way through the lobby. I was about to head to the room when Bradford suddenly stopped. “Sit on this bench,” he ordered. “And tell me what the hell is going on.”

  I had to think fast. “Marvin and Gary were…” God I had no idea. “I wanted to get you alone.” I plopped down on the cushion. Geez, what a thing to say. I might as well throw myself on his body. Then he could laugh. Just get it over with.

  He sat next to me. “The fight bothered me too. I’d like to apologize.”

  This was unexpected. “No need. I’m sorry I was nosy.”

  “I shouldn’t have been so sensitive.”

  I stifled a laugh. “I like you sensitive.”

  “No, it was just—”

  “I know,” I said. “I should have let it go.”

  He took my hand and my heart foolishly fluttered. Die, stupid hope, die, I told it, but it beat relentlessly just the same,

  “How about I make it up to you over dinner?” he asked. “I know a great place just a few blocks down.”

  I squeezed his hand back, his fingers warm. “No bad memories?”

  “No memories there at all.” He smiled, making my pulse jump yet another notch. Oh, how I hated this. And loved it.

  “I don’t know. You seem like a shady character.”

  He stood up and whirled in a quick circle, holding his jacket open. “Nothing up my sleeve.” He paused, hands on his chest. “And no muscled manhood like you got to photograph today. I’m on the scrawny side.”

  Bradford, insecure. Was he nuts?

  He pointed to my laptop. “I’m sure the ones of Horatio were something worth gawking at.”

  Jealous, even? “He’s not exactly my type, since I require my boys to be willing to go on the box.”

  Bradford threw his head back with a full-on laugh. “Look who’s mastered the lingo.”

  “It’s called language immersion. How can I help it? Today I learned about gaffs and transgendering and telling if someone is gay by how they look at people.”

  “Sounds like good stuff. You’ll be fitting right in soon.”

  “I don’t think I’ll take up calling anybody a homo, though, like they do.”

  He leaned against the wall. “They’d let you get away with it. It’s like queer. It’s lost its stigma.”

  “Makes sense to own the words that are used against you.” I flashed with an image of the jerk at the piano bar, saying, “Are you one of those pretty boys who likes it up the ass?” I winced.

  “It does.” He pointed at the laptop. “So can I see some?”

  I flipped open the lid and powered it back up. The screen flashed to right where I had left it, with the image of Horatio, undressed. I quickly flipped to another one.

  “These are really good.” He pointed to the image of Haverty in the trash can. “That one is just fantastic.”

  “The video clip of this has been all over the news.”

  I clicked away, revealing a message on screen. “Images uploaded.”

  “You getting these out there?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. Apparently I got the only still shots during the chaos. Video footage is running on three stations.” I maximized a few web sites to show him. “I uploaded them all.”

  He straightened. “You’re going to be famous!”

  Hardly. “Well, I’ll probably be the most illegally downloaded photographer for, oh, five minutes.” At least with the watermark, they’d be impossible to reproduce.

  My phone buzzed. “Maybe I’m famous already!” I glanced at the screen. Cade. My good mood evaporated. “Actually, it’s my husband.”

  He stepped back. “Should I go?”

  “I don’t think I can take it.”

  “You need someone to hold your hand?”

  I glanced at his perfectly manicured fingers. “I might.”

  “Then let’s do it.” He took my free hand. “Together.”

  I could scarcely breathe as I answered the line. “You’re pretty brave, calling.”

  Cade didn’t respond.

  “Is this a prank call?”

  Bradford squeezed my hand.

  Cade finally spoke. “Zest. I—I just can’t seem to find Fern.”

  “She’s here.”

  “She is?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where’s here?”

  “California.”

  “California?”

  “I’m shooting a wedding. She tried to bust it up, actually.”

  “She what?”

  “But she failed.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Of course he didn’t. “Let’s start at the beginning. I know you’ve been banging Fern.”

  “But I—”

  “Ugh. Don’t insult me.”

  ‘I don’t mean to—”

  “If you want to learn anything more, you have to apologize.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I gripped the phone harder. “You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for!”

  “But I am sorry.”

  “Not accepted.” Another squeeze. I glanced up at Bradford. Uggh. He was going to think I was some horrid thing. “Did you need something from me other than the whereabouts of your lover?”

  “I need to find her. I’ll grovel. I’ll do anything.”

  “Good grief, you’ve got it bad.”

  Silence.

  I sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Cade. She’s here in San Diego. I last saw her at the protest.”

  “A protest? Did she get hurt?”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t see her after she stormed out. She got lost in the chaos.”

  “Chaos? Was there tear gas?”

  “Cade! Good grief!
” I tried to be angry, but my voice broke. He’d never been this concerned about me, ever. What was it, beauty made her worthy of concern?

  Bradford waved a hand to get my attention. “You okay?”

  I shook my head no. But I would not freaking cry. Not today.

  Bradford tugged the phone from my hand. “Monsieur? Monsieur Cade?”

  The fake French accent burst me right out of the blues. “Bradford…”

  “Monsieur Cade, this is French Ligation Capital Bradford Le Plume. I have bissaness with your ex-wife. Good day!” He snapped the phone closed.

  “All done!” he said. “Feeling better now that you got that out of the way?”

  “That was the most out of character thing I have ever seen you do.”

  “Not all knights use their swords.”

  Ah, geez. Wasn’t that the truth. Time to give in. I leaned into him and rested my perfect straight hair on his shoulder. “Thank you, Bradford,” I whispered. I could pretend, just for a moment, that he cared and had done all that to protect me.

  He lifted my chin up, a silver screen moment. The man gazes into her eyes, limpid pools of desire. He inches toward her, lips aching to touch hers…

  I swallowed. If only this were a different life. If only it were possible. I pulled away. Fantasy over. “I think you said you were buying me dinner.”

  He closed the laptop and led me to the door. “I believe I did. Let’s put this away and see what fine grub this city has to offer.”

  Chapter 31: Moon River. Sans Nikki’s Moon.

  “I should NOT have had that last shrimp,” I said, smoothing my skirt as it pooched over my belly on our way out of the restaurant. I’d changed into girl clothes to match Bradford’s stylish sweater and dinner jacket a little better. “But what a great place.”

  “We can walk it off if you like.” Bradford held the door for me. “If it’s not too cold for you.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “We’re just a block from the beach.”

  “It will be nice to go when I’m not lugging equipment. Or worrying about what Nikki is up to.”

  “Precisely.”

  I longed, with a fierce ache, to be able to hold his hand as we approached the shoreline. The moon was just a tiny sliver in the sky, but the fires in the drum barrels every so often made it possible to walk without stumbling.

  I decided I had a mission. I would hold hands with this man, one way or another, before the night was out.

  Just as friends, of course. But I needed it. I needed the contact, the warmth. Him.

  “So give me a history,” I said.

  “Of the world? Of California? Of marine biology?”

  “Gay rights.”

  “Really?”

  “You know it, right?”

  “I’m fairly knowledgeable, yes.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything that hasn’t been on Ellen.”

  “That might be quite a lot.”

  “I know Sarah Palin is against it. I know Massachusetts recognizes gay marriage. And Canada. And…that may be about it.”

  “How far back do you want to go?”

  “Roman baths.”

  He laughed. “That’s pretty far. But certainly there have been gays as long as there have been people to draw pictures about it.”

  “Sweet. Gay cave porn.”

  His chuckling continued. Oh, I loved making him smile. Okay, mom, if your snarky sense of humor led to this, then yeah, maybe it was worth it. I smoothed my hair self-consciously.

  “Getting used to it?”

  “It’s a little strange yet.”

  “It looks amazing.”

  “Of course it does. I’m your masterpiece!”

  He nodded and turned away, staring out across the gray waves. “So you ever heard of Harvey Milk?”

  “Nope.”

  “He was the first openly gay elected official, in San Francisco. A city commissioner. Big champion of gay rights.”

  “Must have been important, if we know the name of a city commissioner.”

  “He was assassinated. Him and the mayor.”

  I stopped walking. “Oh my God. A hate crime?”

  “By another commissioner.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “The trial was even worse. The police sympathized. The jury believed he was temporarily insane. He got off serving only five years.”

  “He killed two people and served five years?”

  Bradford laid his fingers lightly on my arm and moved us forward again. “He did.”

  “That’s just wrong!”

  “It was a very sore point in the city, and the state, for a long time. But it became one of those moments that changed things.”

  I hoped he would keep his hand on my elbow, but he let go. Operation hand hold was failing. But I could keep him talking. “California keeps changing its mind. Gay marriage was legal, then it wasn’t. Now it is, but next week it might not be again.”

  “The religious right is a powerful force. The Mormons got involved in this one. They paid for all those commercials.”

  “But they aren’t even here!”

  Bradford shrugged. “There’s plenty of people who think that other states will follow California if gay marriage is allowed to stand.”

  “Who started this amendment? Who put it up for a vote?”

  “An organization called Protect Marriage got the signatures needed to put it on the ballot. It harkens back to the days of Anita Bryant, who first started a group called Save Our Children in the ‘70s.”

  I knew that name. “Wasn’t she a singer?”

  “She used her popularity for the cause, but it ultimately cost her career.”

  “Good.”

  “Yeah, there isn’t a lot of love for Anita in the community. Hate crimes flourished in the wake of all that vitriol.”

  I sighed. “I just don’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “What is there to hate? So two guys get it on. So what.”

  “Religion. Children. Survival of the human race.”

  I kicked at the sand. My strappy shoes were already caked with it. “I think we’re overpopulating the world already.”

  “The gay community crosses over with a lot of already unusual populations—artists, activists, people who say what they think, act the way they want.”

  “Most everybody I’ve met are just normal people.”

  “Yes, but the more colorful ones get the attention. People just aren’t comfortable.”

  “I’m comfortable.”

  “How comfortable were you a week ago?”

  The first meeting with Jenna and Mary. A lifetime ago. “Got me there.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just saying, you’ve changed in these few days.”

  “I have. A little.”

  “Would you have taken up the cause last Saturday compared to this one?”

  “No. It wouldn’t have applied to me.”

  “And yet today you’re uploading dozens of photos with the purpose of raising awareness on Prop 8.”

  “Okay. I’ve really changed.”

  “And what about your dad? Did he ever think about gay issues?”

  “Not likely.”

  “But now he will.”

  “He’ll back anything I do.”

  “So you’ve changed one other person. This is how social progress happens.”

  We approached another burning drum, several people sitting beside it. The same beautiful boy from the night before played his guitar, his face burnished in the orange glow. My heart slid a little toward my stomach. I had gotten Bradford’s attention, and now I would lose it again.

  The boy sang a different tune this time, but equally melancholy. My eyes started to burn when I recognized it. When a man loves a woman.

  This man didn’t love any women. My nose started to run. I was going to cry.

  Hell no. Hello, snark. I wanted to kick the guitar suddenly, throw sand in the boy’s eyes. Elim
inate the competition.

  Of course, Bradford wouldn’t want me if I was the last girl on earth. I was still a girl.

  I made myself stop. The nastiness was going to ruin the moment. I had a mission, and I needed to focus. I led us straight to the singer and halted.

  Bradford waited, his head tilted in curiosity, eyes never straying once to the boy. He wasn’t looking! I felt empowered, and I took his hand. Success! “You can dance, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, I can’t. So you’ll have to take charge.”

  “You did pretty well at Rainbow.” He pulled me closer to him, his arm reaching around my waist.

  “You calling me out on a lie? You think I’m a secret ballroom queen?”

  He smiled at me. We were almost the same height, so his mouth was ever so close. The humiliating moment in the bathroom tried to force itself forward, but I shoved it back.

  “I wouldn’t dare call you a liar,” he said.

  “Please tell me I don’t have to lead.”

  “You don’t have to lead.”

  The guitar player clearly appreciated having extra fans, singing louder, with more expression.

  We circled slowly, not going very far, our shoes dragging in the sand. I could feel every imprint of every button on his jacket, the stitch of the pockets, the bulge of his…cell phone.

  The boy kept singing although we edged away, toward the waves, the roar starting to overtake the guitar, the air smelling of sea salt and wet weeds. I didn’t want him to pull away, for this part of the night to end, but my traitorous body shivered in the chill.

  “We should get you back.” He let go of my hand and steered us toward the streets. “The nights get pretty cold here.”

  Yes, yes, they do.

  ***

  He walked me down the hall, as familiar now as home. “It’s our last night here,” I said without thinking.

  “It is.” He took my key card to open the door, such an old-fashioned gesture that it was hard to imagine that he was really a very modern, ultra metro, fashionable gay man on the front edge of social change.

  I didn’t want the evening to end, the trip to end. “We still have the game tomorrow, though.”

  He slid the card through the lock. “That should be a good time.”

  “And the plane ride back.”

  He tilted his head quizzically at me. I was gushing, I knew, embarrassing myself. Getting sentimental. But I might not even seem him again after tomorrow. Tonight was definitely the last time I’d get him alone.