In Memory of Angel Clare (12 page)

Jack was the first of his circle to come to New York City, hoping to find an outlet for his love of literature as an editorial assistant at Doubleday. His mother lived only a few hours away in Trenton, but he felt painfully alone his first year in the city. He was overjoyed when Clarence telephoned to say he was moving to New York. Jack promptly told him he could live in his apartment until he found his own place. He had not seen Clare in their year since college, but he had heard the gentle hints from Ben and the rumors from others. He was excited by the prospect of confessing his own sexuality to Clarence.

When they met in Penn Station, Clarence
embraced
Jack. It was 1973 and for two men to embrace in public seemed a bold, beautiful gesture to Jack. They went straight back to Jack’s apartment, picking up a six-pack on the way. By the time they finished the beer, they had told each other everything, from the guys they were ashamed of having fallen in love with in college, to their first awkward encounters, to Jack’s pathological shyness in bars, which left him horny and full of longing even now when he lived in Greenwich Village.

It was Clarence who suggested they try it with each other.

Jack had considered the possibility only from a distance. But for the long, deep minute while they stood apart beside the bed and undressed, Jack believed this was why he was overjoyed to see Clarence again, that this was what their friendship had been about all along.

But it wasn’t. Now, remembering his foolish depression and annoyance while he worked to make Clarence finish, Jack knew for certain he had
not
been in love with Clarence. If he had, he would have enjoyed the work and felt very close to him. Instead, it had felt impersonal and messy.

Afterward, Clarence understood perfectly what Jack was feeling, apologized and offered to sleep on the sofa. The next day they pretended nothing had happened and talked about movies and books, just as they had in Charlottesville. They didn’t try it again until a couple of weeks later when Clarence took Jack to the GAA dance at the firehouse—in two weeks Clarence knew more about the gay scene in New York than Jack had learned in a year. They came home drunk and horny, and this time, Jack was the one who proposed it. Clarence tried to make Jack do things Jack wouldn’t do; both were very apologetic and embarrassed afterward. Was there a third time? Jack couldn’t remember. What he did remember was his relief the nights Clarence went home with somebody and Jack had his apartment and bed all to himself. Nevertheless, when Clarence found his own place and moved out, Jack missed the regular presence of another person in his apartment. It was around then he adopted his first cat, Bathsheba.

Sex and friendship. Jack couldn’t decide if the sexual possibility—or obligation—intensified friendships between gay men or simply got in the way. There was no sexual edge in his friendship with Laurie, which might be why they sometimes took each other for granted. And Michael? What kind of sexual memories did he have of Clarence? They had probably had sex so many times the specifics were obliterated, and Michael seemed like one of those people who replace memory with stock phrases and generalizations.

Jack was standing in the door to his bedroom, feeling there was something else he should be remembering now. Then he remembered. He telephoned Laurie.

She wasn’t home, so he left the message on her machine: “Jack-o here. Michael came by and I tried to make a start on things, but botched it. No harm done, I think, although I spoiled the cover story about you needing his room. Details at seven. Or whenever you get in. Bye.”

Why did they coddle and fret over Michael like this? It was ridiculous. The boy was overly sensitive yet oblivious to the point of invulnerability.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Jack found himself rereading what was in his typewriter. He became interested again, undid the top of his trousers, and retyped the page, working in the sentence, “Requited love can make you stupid.” It was too good a line for the movie being reviewed, but he didn’t want to lose it.

L
AURIE PLAYED BACK JACK’S
message on the answering machine and groaned. She had seen Michael’s overnight bag in his room when she came in, and Jack’s message was yet another reminder of what they had to do. She wished Jack had succeeded and solved the whole business without them. At least he tried. Hoping Carla would get home before Michael did, Laurie sat at her desk in her alcove and began to sort out the reports and fact sheets from her briefcase before she changed back into her real clothes. The front door clicked open and shut. There were delicately heavy heel-toe footsteps down the hall, and Laurie’s heart sank. The footsteps paused outside their bedroom door, resumed again, and disappeared in the living room carpet. Laurie swung around in her revolving chair to receive him.

“Back so soon from Connecticut?” she said as he came around the corner.

Michael stopped, then took another step forward. He looked as peculiar as ever to Laurie. Boyish and tall, he seemed ashamed of his body and tried to keep his movements very small, almost prissy. He wasn’t effeminate, so the effect was just odd, like a basketball player whose body has been possessed by the spirit of somebody’s maiden aunt. If Laurie had a body like that, she’d enjoy flinging it around.

He seemed more solemnly serious than he had been two days ago, when he’d been solemnly overjoyed to see Laurie and Carla. But in his hand he held a floppy paper cone full of white flowers. “Here,” he said, holding them out to Laurie. “I thought you and Carla might like some carnations.”

Laurie took them, suspiciously pulled back the paper, and looked, wondering why. “How thoughtful,” she said. Michael was usually so thoughtless, she wondered exactly what Jack had told him. She should have called him as soon as she heard his message. “So? Did you have a nice time with Ben and Danny? Did you get to read your letters?” She found it difficult to think clearly with a clutch of flowers in her hand and looked for a place to put them. The flowers were dripping, and her desk was covered with annual reports. She lobbed the bouquet into a nearby chair.

Michael watched the flowers hit the chair. “The letters were okay. Ben and Danny fought the whole time I was there. I don’t understand why Ben stays with Danny.”

“Love is strange,” Laurie said automatically. In fact, she thought Danny was the best thing about Ben. That Ben stuck by someone who constantly pricked his pride and pretentions proved he wasn’t completely swallowed up in self-importance. Laurie even liked their method of staying together by forever breaking up. It seemed such a dramatic relationship, almost existential.

Michael continued to stand in front of her, apparently waiting for something.

She wanted him to leave so she could call Jack. “When did you get back?”

“Around noon.”

“That was a quick visit. What’ve you been doing since you got back?”

“Walking around. Dropped by Jack’s for a bit.” He seemed to watch her to see how much she knew.

“Jack have anything to say?” It was like digging a story out of the ten-year-olds Laurie used to teach.

“Nothing much. He was working. I dropped by just to watch Clarence’s movie.”

“Oh.” Laurie hated that movie and thought even Jack took it too seriously. “Well then. I guess that gave you a lot to talk about.”

“Nothing interesting.” Michael was rocking a foot inside his left shoe, ready to leave but still not taking his eyes off her.

“Good then. Welcome back, Michael. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to finish here. You probably still have some unpacking to do.” She had to talk to Jack. He could be either devastatingly blunt about things or so subtly tactful not even his best friends understood what he was getting at. Laurie suspected he had been too subtle with Michael, and she needed to find out exactly what he had said.

“Unpack? Yes. If you say so.” Michael began to turn around.

The front door opened and closed again. “Pooty! I need you!” Carla sang.

“In here!” Laurie shouted. She smiled at Michael, expecting him to leave, but he only stepped aside and stood there, waiting again now that Carla was home.

The whole apartment rattled as Carla ran jokingly through the living room, hollering “Home!” as she swung around the corner and—stopped dead at the sight of Michael. She straightened up from her pounce position. “Michael,” she said crisply. “You’re back.”

“He brought us flowers,” said Laurie, pointing out the bundle on the chair. “What kind did you say they are?”

“Carnations,” said Michael.

“Why thank you, Michael. That was very thoughtful.” Carla glanced at the flowers, then at Laurie, then Michael. “Oh, but it’s good to be home to my haven,” she sang as she bent over Laurie and hugged her. “Have you mentioned it yet?” she whispered at Laurie’s ear.

“Uh uh.” Laurie saw Michael watch their affection with his usual veiled skepticism. She turned away to kiss Carla on the neck. “Jack tried but must not have gotten through,” she whispered.

“Ah.” Carla stood up very straight, keeping one hand on Laurie’s shoulder. “Say,”—she drew a deep breath, ready to get down to work—“would anybody like some tea? Michael? Come into the kitchen and have some Raspberry Patch tea with us.” Carla was determined to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“I have some things I need to take care of first,” Laurie said, wanting Carla to wait long enough for her to get Jack’s version.

Carla thought she was just procrastinating. “You can do them later. What we need now is some nice Raspberry Patch tea and some serious conversation. All of us.”

Michael was blinking at both of them, but he did not look like he suspected anything. His hands hung complacently at his side, and his lips were closed in their natural pout. He took one last glance at his flowers on the chair, lifted his head, and calmly followed Carla toward the kitchen.

Laurie stood up and went too, deciding Carla was right to go ahead with this, no matter what Jack had said. She put the tea kettle on while Carla sat with Michael at the table.

Carla opened her fingers and ran them through her short hair. “Did you have a nice time in Connecticut?” she asked.

“It was all right.” Michael sat perfectly still with his hands beneath the table.

“Good.” Carla ran her hand through her hair again, then stopped herself by clasping her hands together on top of the table. She was having trouble straddling her natural self and the calm, objective persona she used with patients. “Well. We’ve been talking about you while you were gone. Laurie and me. And, well, basically… we just wanted to know what your plans for the future were, Michael.”

“You mean, ‘What do I want to be when I grow up?’” he said, almost smiling.

Carla faked a laugh. “Well, there is that. You should be thinking about some kind of job or vocation. But I was thinking more in terms of your living arrangements. How much longer you intended to stay with us.”

Michael shifted in his chair but showed no alarm or hurt.

“We wanted to know because we have this friend moving to New York who—”

Laurie cut her off with, “I think we can be honest with Michael.” Jack had made it clear they couldn’t use their white lie, not even as a way of broaching the subject.

“Ah?” Carla looked across the room at Laurie. “Yes, well, our friend’s visit was only the occasion for bringing up something we should have talked about a long time ago, Michael. Before you went to Europe.”

“I don’t give you enough privacy,” Michael said. Or asked, the tone of his voice being so flat it was hard to tell.

Laurie and Carla looked at each other, startled he understood so quickly.

Carla cleared her throat. “Yes and no, Michael. It’s a big apartment and all that, and the three of us get along pretty well, I think. Still—We were wondering if you’d given any thought to finding a place of your own.”

Michael made no response, showed no response. Thoughts seemed to turn in his head, but they expressed themselves in nothing more than a single blink.

The tea kettle suddenly whistled and Laurie jumped. She recovered, picked up the kettle and poured the hot water into the teapot, pleased to have something to do.

“You mentioned our privacy,” said Carla. “There’s your privacy to consider, too. I’m sure there’s tons of things you want to do but can’t, having two old women constantly underfoot. And it can’t be any picnic for you always being ‘odd man out,’ as it were.” She tried another fake laugh.

Laurie was surprised her professional, competent mate handled this as awkwardly as she would have herself. But a good therapist works with questions and the other person’s willingness to talk, and Michael seemed complacently unwilling today.

Then he suddenly said, “I understand perfectly.”

“You do?” said Carla.

“I’ve let this go on a whole year. I should have understood sooner.” He sounded formal and artificial, but Michael always sounded a little artificial.

“We know you had other things on your mind, Michael, and we respected that,” Carla assured him. “We didn’t bring it up sooner because we respected what you were going through. And the fact that this was your place before it was ours. Also, it’s so little bother having you around, there was no
need
to bring it up. So we just let it go on of its own inertia. Which isn’t good, Michael. For any of us. You need your own place. A place where you can be yourself.”

Michael looked around at the kitchen cupboards and walls. Sadly? Indifferently? He gave it all a mild frown, then nodded to himself. “When would you like me out of here?”

“Don’t say it like that, Michael. It’s not like we’re throwing you out. No, you should take your time and find a place you feel comfortable with.” But that sounded too close to the procrastination and inertia of the past year. “Maybe by the end of October? That’s when our friend’s coming. If you’re not able to move in to your new place by then, Jack said you could live with him for a few weeks, if worse came to worst.”

Michael only blinked at that idea. “That won’t be necessary.”

Carla was visibly uncomfortable with her reversion to “the friend.” “And here’s our Raspberry Patch tea!” she chirped.