Monkey Suits

by Jim Provenzano

  Woken by the noise, Ed stood in the doorway to the loft, his robe barely wrapped around his body. He watched the two play a moment, then grinned.

  “Is this a new morning exercise, recreating our favorite scenes from Women in Love?”

  27 Trish Fuller sat at her antique Scandinavian writing desk while talking on her three-line touch-tone telephone. The desk was a gift from the American Ambassador to Sweden, whom she had dated at Brown before meeting Winston.

  Her assistant, Margaret, was busy working on planning stages for the AIDS benefit that was set for June at the Met. Although over two months away, the colors for the flower arrangements had been decided and Trish had instructed Margaret to try and get the florists to lower their price for thirty centerpiece bouquets down a few thousand dollars. It was a benefit, after all.

  She talked on the phone with Monica Goldman, the wife of the bond trading CEO who was working with her on the benefit. The two had planned to have the author Drew Van Sully give the keynote address, but his health had deteriorated. The author, whose award-winning novel Thicker Than Water, his non-fiction struggle with AIDS framed around a hejira to Cairo, had reached the best-seller list. But Mr. Van Sully would probably not attend, having been hospitalized with pneumonia for the second time.

  “Monica dear, we have to consider other options,” Trish said into the phone. “The poor man could be ... gone by then. Even if he’s not, you know how they get. It’s called dementia ... Yes ... God knows enough of our friends practically have that and they’re not even sick ... Well, we could get the mayor to make the speech ... Of course, he can’t know we didn’t consider him first. That would be a major faux pas ... Do you want to call his assistant? ... Terrific ... Tell him he can only bring one guest ... No, not that woman. God, I hope he doesn’t bring her. It would be scandalous ... Oh, I suppose he’ll need to bring his goons ... Well, if he keeps them out of sight ... Yes ... Do you have the number? ... Terrific. Alright ... I’ll see you at lunch on Tuesday ... Terrific ... Tah.”

  She hung up the phone and wrote three thank you letters for dinners from the previous week. After wrapping up the last details before four o’clock, she made a call to a California private line.

  “Nan? This is Trish. Hullo, dear. How are you? Oh, yes the Armani looked fabulous on the news ... Yes, I’m so sorry you can’t come to our little party at the Met ... No, I understand completely ... You’ll be in town the week after? ... Well, we’d love to see you ... Why don’t you come to dinner? ... Oh, just a few friends, you know Caroline and Ken, Marcella and Donald and Winnie and me. How’s that sound? ... Oh, terrific ... Oh, yes, no problem, we’ll let your security people do their thing whenever they need ... Oh, I understand, Nan ... Yes, it’s been so difficult ... Why, of course ... Well, Winnie wants to have Ron do another interview just as soon as he can ... Well, we let the boys do their thing their way, don’t we? ... Yes, I know, I heard you had to get a new hairdresser. How is he? ... Terrific. I’ll have to call him when I’m on the coast ... .Yes ... Alright ... Well, you just have Cynthia call Margaret about the details ... Certainly ... Terrific ... Love you, dear ... Keep it up ... Bye.”

  What a coup. She hung up the phone, her face practically cracking with a grin. She lit another cigarette, only to realize she already had one burning in the ashtray.

  “Mar-gret!” she called out to her secretary, who rushed in with a pad and pencil.

  “Yes, Trish?”

  “Call Fabulous. We’ve got a little dinner party after the benefit. Tell Fenton if he wants to get in Suzy and Liz’s columns he better come up with something new for Ron and Nancy.”

  “Oh.” Margaret’s eyes bugged a bit, then glowed. “Oh, yes. I’ll get right on it.”

  That night at dinner, she waited until coffee was served before she brought up the subject of the benefit. The Edwardian table seated ten, but the two sat at one end, Winston at the head, with Trish at his left.

  “Win?”

  “Yes, love?” Winston set his coffee down and dug a spoon into his mousse.

  “About the benefit ...”

  “Yes, how’s that coming?”

  “Terrific. Just fine. Ron and Nancy won’t be in town until afterward. But we’re thinking of asking the mayor to speak.”

  Winston withdrew the spoon from his mouth, set it down and swallowed. “Oh.”

  “Why the look?” she goaded him.

  “Because, love, whenever you’re thinking of doing something that usually means you’ve already done it.”

  “Now, that’s not true, completely.” They grinned slightly at each other. “I know you and he have had your disagreements, but I was just hoping you’d be able to set them aside this one night.”

  “He’s going to have to sit at our table, I take it?”

  “Of course. The guest of honor should be at the host’s table.”

  “Just don’t put him within speaking distance of me. That paunchy old queen gets on my nerves.”

  “I know, dear, but if you just ...”

  “Once he starts in about his pet projects and one person asks him a thing about all those corrupt employees, he gets into such a tirade. Has no manners. He is completely inept at making any dinner conversation that isn’t about himself.”

  “I know dear, but just give it a long-term vision. Ron and Nancy will be in only weeks after that. It’ll all be fine. You always tell me to do the same.”

  Winston sipped his coffee, then glanced across the table at his wife. The years had certainly taken their toll on both of them. At least they stayed together. She tolerated so much, so many indiscretions.

  “Fine. I’ll be a good boy.”

  “Oh, dear, thank you so much.” She took a large scoop of mousse. Perhaps that would be the dessert for the benefit.

  Winston drained his coffee. He had to finish his editorial for the next week’s issue. “At least a loudmouth mayor is better than a diseased author.”

  Trish cringed. “Winston!”

  28 Lee crowded next to Cal to comb his hair for the third time.

  “You look tired,” he told Cal, who stood naked at the sink, shaving.

  “Well, so do you.” Cal replied as they bumped hips.

  “I’m talking about all that pot,” Lee said.

  “You smoke it with me.”

  “Not all the time. Not when I work.”

  “It helps me when I edit tapes. Helps me create. Everybody liked what I did what the protest footage.”

  ‘Everybody’ included some of the hunky activists at the screening. Lee found himself among like-minded fellows with very similar tastes in gorgeous cameramen. He’d barely had time to talk with Cal that night, and stuttered through a response when one of the hunks asked if he and Cal were boyfriends.

  “You and Cocteau, Cocoa Man.” Lee relinquished the sink and stood at the toilet to pee.

  “Well, you drink coffee all the time.”

  “Everybody does that.”

  “So what are you gonna do, throw a ‘Just Say No’ shopping bag over my head ’til I quit?” Lee laughed at him. He reached down and grabbed Cal’s ass. It felt good in his loose jeans, like a surprise package.

  “Y’know what Marcos said after work that night we met at the Waldorf?”

  “Wha?” Cal mumbled while he brushed his teeth.

  “He said you looked too skinny. I said, ‘You can’t see anything in a tux anyway, except a pretty face and a good frame.’ He called you skinny anyway. Then he said, ’You know that means it’s hangin’ low.’”

  Cal laughed. Toothpaste spilled from his mouth. “Hangin’ low?” He spat out foam.

  “Yeah. Later he asked me if it was true.”

  “And you said?”

  “Well, Marcos is rarely wrong about men.”

  “So, what did you say?” Cal wiped his face on a towel.

  “I told him he should count my blessings.”

  Cal turned to Lee and gave him a toothpaste-fresh kiss.

  “The way the
se PATH trains are, we’ll be late for the party. C’mon,” he said as he yanked on Lee’s dick. His last stream sprayed over the toilet.

  “Hey! Save that stuff for later!”

  Billy Heath’s birthday celebration was a simple enough affair. Despite his declarative NO GIFTS on his copied invite, a pile of cards and wrapped boxes sat on his dresser. People chatted amicably, mostly handsome cater waiters. Some dished those who’d slept with others, a few more shared dirt from private parties.

  In Billy’s kitchen, a few giggled and peered at a taped-up clipping from the latest Evening Hours page of the New York Times. Between large Bill Cunningham photos of Susan Gutfreund and Mick Flick dancing at the Pierre, and another of Carol Wasserman holding a drink aloft while she grinned with the Ambassador to France, a third smaller photo from a Tiffany’s Save Venice benefit featured, far in the background, a trio of young black-tied men standing at attention. A red-penned arrow pointed to Billy’s blurred image, captured for posterity in the paper of record.

  “Is that really him?” someone asked as they sipped drinks and munched on chips.

  The party bubbled with chatter and occasional bursts of laughter until Billy played a dance tape made especially for him by Marcos. The small living room was quickly cleared of furniture and almost everybody danced.

  When Lee and Cal arrived, half a dozen guys stood around the food table munching hungrily. Billy greeted them cheerfully and took their coats to his room, setting them atop a growing pile on his bed.

  “What have you brought?” he looked at the plastic tub curiously. “Oh, a lovely salad. So healthy. Put it on the table, dears. It’ll be gone in a minute.”

  “Looks like things are underway,” Lee said loudly over the booming dance music. He removed his glasses to wipe off the fog caused by the humid warmth of the apartment.

  “Yes, yes! Oh, you must be Calvin!” Billy extended his small hand in front of Lee, forcing him to back up.

  “Hi,” Cal shook hands.

  “You better put a chain on this one,” Billy smiled catlike to Lee. “Somebody might steal him and take him home for dessert.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Lee assured him.

  “Oh, your best may not be good enough for this crowd,” Billy glanced around in suspicion. Already several men were looking in their direction, eyeing Cal. “Man eaters, all of them.”

  “I’ll be very careful,” Cal put his arm protectively around Lee’s shoulder.

  “Have to be, these days,” Billy stated. “Now get yourselves a beer from the tub, or whatever you desire.” He scooted off to greet another pair of arriving guests.

  “That’s quite a creature,” Cal murmured into Lee’s ear.

  “Yes, he’s seen it all,” Lee said. He was about to ask Cal to get him a beer when Cal’s name was called out over the party noise.

  A tall, incredibly handsome man with silver, tiger-like eyes and a wide grin embraced Cal. The two obviously knew each other well.

  Lee waited to be introduced.

  He wasn’t.

  The large man swept Cal away. Cal turned around a second, nodding a silent, “See ya,” before disappearing down the hall. Lee turned away, determined to have a good time, despite his thought that the chain would have been a good idea.

  “Do you want to go with me or not?” Ed called to Brian from the shower.

  “Sure, babe!” Brian lied.

  “You know, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to!” Ed yelled.

  “I want to!” he yelled back, stirring an overdone pot of soup. The thick mixture had boiled over onto the white enamel stove top. Brian poured it into two bowls.

  “It’s okay if you don’t,” Ed turned off the shower water.

  Between the kitchen doorway and the open bathroom door, Brain saw Ed, naked and wet, grabbing for a towel. He looked like an Olympic swimmer, his wide lats and smooth body dripping wet. “I want to.” He approached Ed, taking the towel from him. He scrubbed his body dry, dabbing at his legs and groin. Ed’s skin blushed pink.

  “I know you don’t exactly believe in the teachings, but if you read more of–”

  “Look,” Brian interrupted. “My family only went to church on Christmas Eve and Easter to show off our clothes. We weren’t even WASPy. We were WASes.”

  Ed giggled.

  “Church was just an extension of the country club.” He knelt down on the bathroom tile and rubbed Ed’s legs, his penis dangling precariously close to Brian’s face.

  “I know, but I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

  “Or you just don’t want to be too far away from me for a night.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “You know I always come home to you.”

  “I know. You still wanna go to Billy’s party after?”

  “Maybe.” Brian dropped the towel to the floor. Ed stood over him, his cock growing, his hair damp, the air in the bathroom misty. Brian dropped his eyes to Ed’s crotch.

  “We’ll be late.”

  “Aren’t you hungry? I just burnt dinner.”

  After inhaling sage and listening to three tearful coming out experiences, Brian was itching to leave the Healing Circle. As the meeting drew to a close, members of the group hugged and chatted, wiped their eyes of tears, and held hands.

  “Hey babe.” Brian pulled Ed away from the others as they milled about in the dim candlelight. “Wanna go to Billy’s now?”

  “No, I’m feeling really rested. I just wanna go home. You go ahead, though.”

  “But ...”

  “No, look. We have to realize our differences, even day to day. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you or I want you to go mess around with somebody else. I need to talk about boring herbal stuff and things like that. It just means we’re spending the evening apart. Okay?”

  Brian looked curiously into Ed’s eyes. He felt like a panther, pacing about in a cage, despite the fact that the door was wide open.

  “Okay.”

  They kissed. Brian glanced back at Ed before hopping down the stairs of the Chelsea loft. Ed was already chatting with a bearded man in a tie-dye shirt and harem pants.

  He walked no more than three blocks toward Billy’s apartment when he saw a familiar face that made him want to turn around. But it was too late. They’d made eye contact.

  “Hey, how ya doin?” the familiar face said. It was the other escort Brian had met at Tony’s, still wearing jeans and boots, still sporting a closely cropped haircut.

  “Uh, good, how are you?”

  “Good, good. Listen, I’m kind of late for a ...”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Good to see ya.”

  “Yeah, take care.”

  “Right.” And he was gone.

  Brian sighed and walked on, wondering what face from the past would pop up around the next corner. Meeting a fellow ex-escort wasn’t half as bad as pretending to ignore an old trick or client in a bar or restaurant. Like strangers in an elevator, civil inattention was mutually agreed upon with ease. It was those milliseconds of eye contact before the abrupt turning away that made his stomach turn and his fists clench.

  Billy tried to keep his eye on the party while he talked with Lee, who was rambling a bit after two beers. His glasses slid from his nose.

  “It’s so different now,” Lee slurred.

  “How is it different?”

  Lee paused a moment, looking over the crowd of flirting partying young men and a few women.

  “It used to be I saw the world and the people in it were just the moving parts of the scenery, things to grab, use, to take, to ... to fill up my time. But now I see these heads and I think, what’s in there? What’s under that beautiful head of hair or those deep blue eyes? Just because a guy’s outgoing or gets a lot of dates. I mean, what’re we doing for ourselves, for others? There’s all these other things going on in our heads, entire movies running. When you meet someone and talk and look at each other, it comes together sometimes, like, y’know, these circu
lar pie charts in math?”

  “Un-hunh.” Billy nodded, glancing back at the room full of people. Someone had set a dripping bottle of beer on one of his new speakers. A guy with a cigarette was gesturing a bit too close to his unframed Dark Victory movie poster.

  “Where they overlap each other,” Lee continued. “That’s where the divisible numbers are, where the blue and red come together and make purple.”

  Billy’s attention returned to Lee. “Now you’re talking art!” They giggled. Billy patted his shoulder. “Are you in love?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oohh.”

  “But you know what I mean. It’s not finding someone you can admire or worship. It’s getting a balance, trusting someone to lose yourself in, and when you’re laying on him or under him and you’re close enough to count eyelashes, you can lose yourself, because you’re holding on. You take each other there, where all the numbers divide. It’s a special power, not like the power we envy.”

  “Like that possessed by those we serve?”

  “Right.”

  “It’s too bad it doesn’t happen more often.” Billy led Lee through the apartment to the kitchen. Kevin Rook and Carissa Morgan were huddled together, leaning against the counter, discussing something private.

  Billy leaned to Lee. “Ya wanna get stoned?”

  Before he could answer, Brian wheeled around the kitchen doorway and hugged Lee.

  “Hey!”

  “You finally made it!” Billy said before leaving the kitchen. Kevin and Carissa moved out to the hall.

  “Yeah, left the husband at the guru’s place.” Brian took Lee’s beer and swigged from the bottle. He looked at Lee, and nodded his head back toward the hallway, where Cal and his friend were talking. Brian’s Bennington sweatshirt echoed the fresh college look he convincingly sported. “So,” he leered. “Are you and that guy an item?”

  “Maybe,” Lee said. “What do you care?”

  “Aw, c’mon. I’m just interested in your well-being. I know you’ve been quite the monk these past few months. Have you ever done a threeway?”

  “Are you keeping my score card?”

  “Offering a menu. Is he nice?”