The Blue Hour

by Richard Teleky

  “He was never around much,” I said too defensively. I’d begun to regret ignoring Guy. I saw some of my own youthful confusion in him, along with his eagerness to please.

  “He loved the mall. He’d worked there, remember?” She crushed her cigarette stub in a red glass ash tray, and it glowed. “When he got out of the army. Ten years ago. No, more.”

  “What did he do?” I wished I’d known more about Guy’s stint in the army. He’d been overseas in Germany, and just missed being deployed in the Kosovo war; he must have learned something about himself.

  “He was a floorwalker at the mall. He couldn’t adjust to civilian life, he couldn’t hold down a job. So his mother got him one there.”

  “Like those retired guys…”

  “Exactly. It’s not a job for a young man, keeping an eye out for shoplifters. But I guess there’s no stress.”

  “After the army, probably not. Wasn’t he bored?”

  “He didn’t seem to mind, and everyone liked him. That’s when we got to know each other. Some days we’d have coffee if no one was around. He just couldn’t decide what to do with himself, and that’s not a crime.” She looked at me accusingly.

  “I didn’t say it was.”

  “You people at the college…”

  “Sheila, let’s not talk about ‘you people.’ It’s hard enough to make any sense of what happened to Guy.”

  If I expected Sheila to back down it would be a long wait. I took another mouthful of flat beer, she flicked her lighter a couple of times, and then asked, “You think there’s something suspicious about his accident?”

  “I didn’t at first. But old people fall, and sick people, not healthy young men. And now that I’ve been down in his basement a few times, I can’t understand it.”

  “What do Nick and Hedy say?”

  “They don’t have any answers.”

  “I hope you noticed I used their names,” she added.

  I had to laugh.

  “Guy was an only child, and you know what that’s like,” she said. “You and me and Guy, we understand. Everybody thinks we’re spoiled, that we got all the attention, all the goodies, but there’s such a thing as too much attention. And when your parents get old, you have all the responsibility. You looked after your parents, you know what I’m talking about.”

  “You can say that again. But there are advantages too.”

  “I love my mother but sometimes I can’t breathe.”

  “Guy loved his parents, I’m sure of it.”

  “I could tell you things,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Things,” she repeated.

  “Don’t be coy, Sheila.”

  “You really want to hear? Just don’t blame me, I’ve warned you.”

  “I’m not blaming anyone.”

  “Okay, then. For starters, Guy was molested.”

  “You’re sure of that? I’ve never heard about it. How do you know?”

  “He told me himself – that’s how. It’s one reason he’s been seeing a shrink.” She paused for a moment. “And his shrink told him to stop concealing it.”

  “It’s terrible, I had no idea. Who was it?” I nearly looked away. “When did it happen?”

  “You’re not gonna like it.” She sat back in her chair. Though her tone of voice suggested caution, she had a self-satisfied look.

  “C’mon, Sheila, don’t tease.”

  “Your buddy. Nick. His father.”

  It was like she’d tossed a hand grenade to me. “That’s impossible!”

  “I don’t think so. Not according to Guy.” She paused again, for effect. “Nope, not at all.”

  “You must have it wrong. I can’t believe it.”

  “Well, Guy’s shrink did. And he wanted Guy to keep a memory journal. You didn’t find one, did you?”

  “Nothing like that. A lot of papers on his desk, but no journal.”

  “I don’t know if he’d started one, but we talked about it. I thought it was a good idea.”

  “When was this supposed to have happened?”

  “Years ago. Guy was twelve or so and Nick took him on a camping trip. They’d never gone on one before – it was very exciting – and the first night it turned out they had only one sleeping bag. They’d forgotten the second one at home.”

  “What does that prove? This is crazy.”

  “See, I warned you. You want details?”

  “Just tell me, okay?”

  “They were curled up against each other, practically in each other’s arms, and Guy got a hard-on. You know what teenage boys are like, they walk around with permanent hard-ons. Then Nick said there was nothing wrong with it, that it was perfectly normal, and as he brushed against him Guy came right away, he didn’t know what was happening, it had never happened before. And next thing, he felt his father’s hard-on pressed against his side, and when he touched it, well, you can guess the rest. He was desperate to please his father, that’s all he wanted, Nick’s approval. It was pitch black in their tent, he couldn’t see a thing, and outside the woods were so still, he said, it felt like they were the last people on earth. He remembered not sleeping, just leaning against his father’s body to keep warm, certain in the morning Nick would be angry at him, though he didn’t know why. And that night always stayed with him, even when he tried to forget it.”

  “He said he was ashamed?”

  “No, not ashamed. It’s odd, but he said it was like they had one body, they weren’t separate people, yet at the same time he knew nothing would be the same again. He cried while he told me.”

  “And then?”

  “There’s not much more. But the trouble was, Guy trusted in his father, he adored him. Isn’t that enough? Nick told Guy not to talk about it again, it had to be their secret. But Guy didn’t understand why. He couldn’t imagine his father would do anything wrong. The next day they cut their camping short. Then on the way home Nick said what they did was okay the one time but that they mustn’t do it again, or even talk about it. Oh, and this part’s a killer: it might spoil Guy for marriage. That’s what he told his son. And Guy was shipped off to his grandmother for the rest of the summer.”

  “Does Hedy know?”

  “Guy never told her, but he wondered if she knew, if his parents had discussed it. But he was afraid to ask. He wanted to but Nick kept putting him off, because they weren’t supposed to talk about it. So he blamed himself.”

  “I suppose Nick was afraid of him, if any of this is true, but…”

  “He deserved it, the bastard. Then the newspapers started to fill up with stories about all those priests molesting boys, you know how it went on and on, and after a while Guy got the picture – his wonderful father had molested him.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense, Sheila. Usually things like that happen more than once.”

  “One time’s enough, don’t you think?”

  “If that’s really what happened, it almost sounds like a couple of kids fooling around, you know, two boys masturbating together…”

  “Only one of the boys was a grown man,” Sheila cut me off. “And his father.”

  “You’re sure this wasn’t a fantasy? Something his shrink suggested? There are books about repressed memory and false memory, it’s a dangerous thing.”

  “Well, have it your way. I believed Guy.”

  “He was having an affair,” I said, deciding to tell her about Neil Breuler.

  “I know that. He told me. That guy who rents from Theo.”

  “You’ve known all along?”

  “Sure. I didn’t realize you knew too.”

  “The police questioned him but nothing came of it. He might have been one of the last people to see Guy alive.”

  “Do your friends know about him?”

  They were ‘your friends’ again, but I wouldn’t object. “I don’t think so. Hedy said that Guy was interested in a woman at work, another dental technician. She wanted him to be happy.”

 
Sheila shook her head. “They’re idiots, truly. And don’t try to excuse Nick, don’t call it a mistake.”

  “I’d never say that. I can’t imagine what he was thinking. This is impossible.”

  “He wasn’t thinking, obviously.” Sheila nearly laughed. “To leave Guy hanging, as if nothing had happened, that was mean. Remember what it’s like to be twelve. Imagine how that felt. It’s no wonder he joined the army as soon as he could.”

  I thought of Neil’s story about the army officer who’d hit on Guy. “But he came back to his family.”

  “Where else would he go? Abused women return to their husbands, that’s not news. Guy’s all torn up inside. I mean he was. I still can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “How long have you known this?”

  “Months and months. He told me in February. On Valentine’s Day. I was supposed to see Brad that night but he never showed up, so when Guy called I invited him over, I was pretty upset and one thing led to another, we got talking, and when I asked about his therapy it all came out. I told him to confront his father but he wouldn’t hear of it, he blamed himself for everything. He even said that Nick had probably forgotten it. I’m only telling you now because Guy’s dead. He made me promise not to say a word.”

  “And there’s nothing we can do.”

  “That’s up to you.”

  “How? If I said anything Nick would only deny it. And it would destroy Hedy.”

  “So Nick wins.” She tipped out the last cigarette from its package.

  “But his son’s dead. That’s a terrible punishment.”

  “It’s not bad enough,” Sheila said. “Not by a long shot.”

  14

  Thursday, May 24

  Quid nunc? as they say. What now? Aristotle would have probably thrown up his hands.

  A week had passed since Sheila’s bombshell. I hadn’t heard from Nick or Hedy, and if they didn’t want to talk to me, I would respect their wishes. Anyway, I didn’t want to talk to them just yet. They were bereft, and I had no idea what I might say.

  Glad to be busy at work, I’d just gotten back to my office from a budget meeting when the telephone rang. Of all people it was Daphne Eliades, who wanted to meet for lunch. She was in town for the Memorial Day weekend, staying with an old friend, not her brother. That fact alone should have warned me. She chose the local inn, which has a captive audience in this one-hotel town. Some sprucing-up was overdue but that didn’t stop its regulars.

  We met in the inn’s lobby, a short walk from the library, and cheek kissed. “Theo used to like lunching here,” I said, without adding, “When he was still willing to leave the house.”

  As we crossed the restaurant, I spotted Claire Warren holding court at a table for six. She caught my eye and waved.

  “Are you still enjoying life in Bay Village?” I asked Daphne, before picking up a menu that promised “traditional Midwest cooking” like quesadillas.

  Daphne ignored her menu. “I don’t know where to begin.” She had dressed for a special occasion in a silky black shirtwaist printed with small white geometric designs, and as usual wore a lot of gold. “This is in confidence. You promise? It’s about Theo. I’m very worried.”

  So she’d also been alarmed by his prolonged moodiness.

  “Ever since Neil moved in, Theo’s not been himself. We always spend Greek Easter together, it’s the highpoint of the Orthodox year. All the holy week services…”

  “Yes, he invited me once.”

  “Then you know it’s not always the same date as your Easter.”

  “I don’t celebrate holidays any more.”

  “It’s our tradition.” She stopped for a moment, took a drink of water, and then continued. “Last month I expected Theo to come. I’ve found a lovely church and even joined Philoptohos, that’s the Hellenic Ladies’ Society. Anyway, he wasn’t sick…”

  “I can’t get him to go for a pizza, Bay Village must seem too far. And he hates highway driving, day or night.”

  She opened her menu, glanced down at it, frowned, and reached for her purse.

  “What’s wrong, Daphne?”

  She unclasped the purse, took out a tube of lipstick and spread a thin layer of glossy pink over her mouth. Without a mirror, she touched the edge of her lips, where the upper one met the lower, with her right index finger, smudging the lipstick. “It’s like this,” she said, starting over. “Theo’s supposed to move near me, you know that. What you don’t know – what he doesn’t know – is that I’m getting married.”

  “That’s great, though you don’t look very happy about it.”

  She frowned once more. “But I am, I am. He’s a wonderful man, I’d like you to meet him. It’s just complicated.” She looked down at her purse again, as if she couldn’t find a way to continue.

  The word complicated is usually an excuse for behaving badly. “We should order,” I suggested. “I have to be back at work in an hour.”

  “Oh, yes, sorry.”

  I motioned to a waitress. “Why haven’t you told Theo?”

  “He pretends everything’s fine, but it isn’t. I’ve looked out for him as long as I can remember. Fortunately my husband never minded. If we’d had children it might have been different.”

  “I’m sure Theo appreciated it.”

  “I did my best to make him happy. When I had dinner guests, Theo was always invited. I suggested movies and…” She paused, looking about the dining room. “He’s my only family.”

  “That’s what he says about you.”

  “Things will be different now. My fiancé, Stavro – I met him at church – he’s more old-fashioned. He was born in Crete. He’s a wonderful guy, a widower, and I’m lucky. But he spends half the year in Florida. In Tarpon Springs. There’s a large Greek community and Stavro has a house with several acres. He’s had it for ten years, since his wife died…”

  “That sounds very nice. The house, I mean.”

  “It is. But he usually goes there from the beginning of December to the end of April.”

  “Theo could visit. Theoretically, at least.”

  She smiled for the first time.

  “You can’t live your life for your brother.”

  Her smile disappeared. “My late husband said that. Not often, but he would have agreed. And he liked him, I know he did.”

  “Maybe Stavro will, too. You need to talk to Theo.”

  I expected Daphne to bring up Neil again but she never mentioned him, and we finished our lunch while I tried not to look at my watch. Perhaps she was satisfied.

  Back at the library I telephoned Sheila, not expecting to find her at home, only to leave a message. Could we meet later? I offered to bring some Chinese take-out. Instead, she told me to drop by around nine, she had gardening to do. “After supper’s the only time I have for my own garden,” she added.

  Sheila had no reason to make up stories about Guy and Nick. I’d gone over our last conversation so many times it now buzzed around in my head with the persistence of early summer flies. My questions weren’t about disbelief, yet disbelief lingered, and egotism too: how could I have missed Guy’s dilemma? Perhaps I’d never gotten close to him because I sensed that any interest shown in Guy might make Hedy and Nick uncomfortable.

  Once more I parked in Sheila’s driveway, but she wasn’t in sight so I looked about. Her house was on the wrong side of South Main, down past the police department. Unlike Guy’s rental, it had been built before 1900. One of the older homes around, the two-storey wooden affair was painted gray, with white gingerbread recalling the previous century. A rap on the front door brought her from the back of the house. “You’re late,” she said. “Watch it, don’t let the cats out.”

  “It’s only ten after,” I said, carefully opening the door.

  Last year Sheila had taken in two black strays, given them names and struggled to tame them. She now fed a family of feral cats that lived on her block, claiming half a dozen regulars.

  “I put on some cof
fee,” she replied, as I entered the living room. Both cats fled to their hiding places. “Happy’s the friendly one,” she said.

  While Sheila and Hedy were drawn to antiques they could not afford, Sheila became attached to her best finds. “I’m keeping them as old-age insurance,” she’d explained more than once. Anything Victorian caught their attention, though Hedy coveted the less ornate objects. More antique dolls filled a glass case in Sheila’s dining room, which may be why she ate in the kitchen: you wanted to get away from all the beady glass eyes in those porcelain heads.

  The kitchen had a retro look, like something preserved from a fifties’ sitcom, or set up to resemble one. As soon as we sat at the table, Sheila lit a cigarette and said, “Well?”

  “I keep wondering if Hedy knew about Guy.”

  “She probably didn’t want to.”

  “Her son’s suffering and she doesn’t notice, it’s hard to believe.”

  “Foul things, I smoke too much.” Sheila watched the cigarette burn between her fingers.

  “Do you really think he was telling you the truth?”

  “How can I know? But why would he lie? I figured you’d start to defend them…”

  “That’s not fair, Sheila. I’m not defending anyone. But it seems odd, that’s all. You’d think Nick would have tried it again. A ‘repeat offender’ – isn’t that the term? Guy might not have told you everything. He could’ve been testing you, to see how you’d react. Or maybe he’d blocked out…”

  “Kids are abused all the time. It’s probably happening to someone around the corner right now. When I was fourteen I used to babysit for this la-di-da professor, and when he’d drive me home he’d put his hand on the back of my neck, just so.” She caressed the spot with her left hand. “And he’d ask if I was tired. I knew what the bastard had in mind when he looked down at my boobs, he was working up the nerve to try something. Finally I told his dumb wife that I was too busy to sit for them. Believe me, women know what men think about.”

  “Not all men.”

  “Bullshit. When I told my mother about it she remembered how a family friend had touched her breasts when she was twelve, they were at an amusement park, on the Ferris wheel, for God’s sake . He had a daughter the same age as Mother but that didn’t stop him from copping a feel. I’ll bet Guy thought no one would believe him.”