Prayers for the Dying (Pam of Babylon Book Four)
Read Prayers for the Dying (Pam of Babylon Book Four) Online
Authors: Suzanne Jenkins
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Copyright © 2012 Suzanne Jenkins
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1-4681-4209-7
ISBN-13: 9781468142099
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62110-820-7
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Contents
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Nobody can hurt me without my permission.
Mohandas Gandhi
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A
shton Hageman was sitting on the steps of the New York Public Library waiting for his lover to arrive. He had the Home Style section of the Sunday
Times
resting on his knees, but it was a prop. Certain that something important in his life was about to come to an end, the paper was a convenient screen to hide behind if too much thinking led to tears.
I deserve better than this
, he thought. Young and in love, Ashton had allowed himself to be at Jack’s beck and call since they were boys, when Jack discovered his friend would do anything for him. Jack didn’t set out to manipulate him; it just happened. And when he found that he had power over Ashton, he couldn’t help himself. He would control Ashton until he died.
At precisely the time expected, Jack came into view in his larger-than-life way. Exquisitely dressed, Jack drew attention wherever he went. It was ridiculous really, him strolling down Fifth Avenue, a suit jacket thrown over a shoulder, but Jack pulled it off like he was playing a part in a 1940’s Broadway play. Ash, his heart rate picking up exponentially, watched while people stood aside for the handsome and debonair Jack Smith. He sauntered down the street, his smile visible all the way to the steps of the library. The old-fashioned words used to describe a man dressed to perfection were appropriate. Natty, dapper, suave, and elegant; gorgeous Jack knew it about himself, and played it for all it was worth. He walked like a model on a runway with broad shoulders held still, one hand in his pocket, and the other holding on to that jacket. Women reacted as he got closer, becoming giddy and animated. Ashton had to smile as he watched the fuss in spite of what he knew was about to take place in his life. Jack finally made eye contact and turned to dash up the steps. He held out his hand and pulled Ashton to his feet. This was 1980 New York; gay men, especially one about to get married to a woman, did not publicly embrace Midtown.
“Were you waiting long?” Jack asked as the two men descended to the sidewalk. “Thanks for meeting on such short notice.” Ashton wasn’t as tall as Jack and he fought the urge to look up at him, tears too close to the surface for eye-to-eye contact.
“You’ve definitely got my curiosity going. And you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” Ashton asked as they continued walking down Fifth.
“Do you want to get something to drink? I’m thirsty,” Jack said. “Don’t be scared. Our life isn’t going to change that much.”
There,
Ash thought,
he’s admitted it.
“Let’s get some lunch and we can talk, okay?” Jack looked sidelong at his companion. Ashton was clearly struggling to maintain control, breathing deeply, sighing out loud. Arms touching, Jack could feel the tension in Ashton’s body as they walked along together. “Let’s go to Faye’s. We can have some privacy in there.” Ashton nodded.
“How long do you have?” He looked up at Jack. “I mean, is this just lunch?”
Jack nodded. “Just lunch, but just for today, okay? I have to meet with my mother at two,” Jack said, the intention clear. They were going to start planning Jack’s wedding.
Biting his lip to keep an audible sob from escaping, he thought,
how had it come to this?
He thought Jack would have at least tried to live a dual life. If any choosing was to be done, it would be in Ash’s favor.
Wouldn’t it?
Not get married. Not abandon him. “Oh God, I don’t know if I am going to survive,” Ash admitted. In a rare public gesture, Jack put his arm around his shoulders, an innocent movement providing something intimate Ash needed. They got to the restaurant and Jack took his arm away, opening the door and holding it for him to walk through, not bothering to look around to see if they were observed going in. Faye’s was one place in town where they could be together.
“You’ll be fine,” Jack responded shortly. “I’m not leaving the city, for Christ’s sake.” Ash didn’t add,
You might as well be.
“What we have is not going to change that much, Ash,” Jack said. He grabbed menus and led the way to their own table in back of the dark room. The booths were hard and uncomfortable, but the backs were high, giving them some privacy. They slid in across from each other.
“I won’t be fine. And it will change. Really Jack, you are being a little naïve,” Ashton said. “For one thing, you won’t be able to sleep over anymore.” He put his head down on his crossed arms and silently began crying. Jack grabbed his hand.
“Ash, try to pull it together,” Jack pleaded. He hated seeing his friend so sad. But he had to get married. He wanted a wife and children, a home of his own, a family. He wanted a normal life. Jack took Ash’s hand and kissed the fingertips, and then the palm. “I love you, but you knew it would be this way. Come on, Ashton,” he said, losing patience. Jack hated drama in spite of being the author of much of it. “Man up!” He laughed a light chuckle, just loud enough for their benefit. But it didn’t work.
“No, I don’t want to,” Ashton complained. “We’ve been in love since we were twelve. Why would I think it would ever come to this? Leaving me to get married to a woman. I think I might throw up.”
“Oh, stop it,” Jack said, picking up the menu. “If you want to spend our lunch together whining, go ahead. It is what it is. I want a normal life. Somehow, I just can’t picture you pushing a baby carriage, or carrying a kid around on your back.” He started reading the menu. They had been regulars at Faye’s since high school, and it hadn’t changed that much. “What do you want to eat?”
“Turkey on rye. Are you going to tell Miss Fabulous about me?” Ashton provoked.
Jack put the menu down and looked at his face carefully, like he was checking him out for an acne medication commercial, the sort of look Jack gave that withered Ashton’s self-confidence. “No. And neither are you. She isn’t what you think she is, Ashton. Pam is lovely, gracious, and kind. You will meet her soon, I promise. Even if you were cruel to her, she wouldn’t get it anyway, so don’t even try. She’s made of different stuff than you or I,” Jack explained. “Besides, I might have to kill you if you ever hurt her.” Jack let go of his hand and picked up the menu again.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be the one hurting her,” Ashton said. “Get me a Tab, too. I have to go the bathroom. He slid out of the booth. The bathroom was near the rear of the restaurant, and Ashton let a few sobs out, knocking before he let himself in.
I’m such an ass
, he thought.
I’ve wasted all of these years thinking Jack would make the decision that he wouldn’t be able to live without me
. He looked in the mirror at his puffy eyes and swollen lips.
Great. Just the look to drop a man to his knees.
He washed his face and hands.
Enough
, he thought. He would make it an act of will to be pleasant and charming, just what Jack liked about him. And later, if he was lucky, he would take Jack to bed and do things to him that only a man could do.
Jack and Ashton had been best friends since second grade, since Ashton came to the mansion on a bet with other little friends to see if Jack really lived there. He’d struggled to open the iron gate leading to the front steps when the massive front door had opened and frail Jack, his eyes glassy and his face tear-stained, came dashing through. He didn’t waste any time hiding his fear from Ashton.
“Hurry up! My dad’s coming after me.” Jack grabbed his hand, not caring or unaware that it might seem odd for two little boys to be running down the sidewalk, holding hands. But Jack was going to get out of there as fast as he could and Ashton had to come, too. They ran for blocks on Central Park West without looking back, and in a few minutes they were at the park. Ashton had to work at keeping up with Jack. They came to a rock formation and began to climb it, slipping on the way up, but finally getting to the top. They had a good view of Columbus from the top, and there was no sign of Harold Smith. It would be out of character of him to chase his son in daylight; although after sunset was another matter. Jack was safe for the time being.
“What’d you do?” Ashton asked. Jack was still sniffing, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
“Nothing. I didn’t do anything.” Fresh sobbing, and then the little boy pulled himself together.
Stop sniveling,
as his father would say. Ashton saw what looked like blood and poop on the back of Jack’s left leg. He smelled bad, too. It frightened Ashton enough not to say anything.
Maybe Jack’s dad beat him until he cut him open,
he thought. “I
haf’ ta
go to the bathroom,” Jack said. They slid down the rock formation and walked toward the public restrooms in the Ramble. Later, as an adult, Jack would make generous donations to the maintenance of the park restrooms, remembering the many times he took refuge there. “Wait here,” he instructed Ashton. When he came out a few minutes later, he’d cleaned off his legs and washed his face and hands. Ashton was more fearful than curious.
“Do you want to go to my house?” Ashton asked. “It’s on the other side of the park.”
Jack nodded. Yes. He wasn’t ready to go home yet and face his mother’s questions and possibly to have to see his father. Once he escaped, he was safe. His father wouldn’t attempt another attack if Jack’s screams had alerted the staff. No one in the house had the courage to call the police. Ashton’s gentle mother and cozy apartment would be the haven Jack needed. If Francine Hageman ever suspected Jack was being abused, she never intervened.
The two seven-year-old boys walked across Central Park to the Upper East Side. Until his brother Bill was born the next year, Ashton’s house would be Jack’s home away from home. But once Bill came along, Jack had to stick around to protect him.
Ashton had asked only once what was happening to Jack. “Does your dad beat you up?” Ashton, who’d never had so much as a pat on his behind, couldn’t fathom his quiet father raising a hand to anything, let alone to the flesh of his son. Looking over at Ashton’s closed bedroom door, Jack had whispered, “He rapes me.” Ashton had no idea what that meant, but he thought it might have something to do with dirty words. Jack knew what it was because he’d heard his mother screaming one night—yodeling was more like it—and he’d run to their room and peeked through the key hole. Harold was doing basically the same thing to his mother that he did to his son.
“Stop raping me!” Bernice screamed, fighting her husband off. Jack went back to his room, frightened, sobbing, but from that moment on decided to fight his father. The only problem was that Harold’s ardor increased with resistance and it took Jack another attack to realize that his parents were playing a game. Instead, he became adept at barricading his room, or yelling so the servants could hear which would further enrage his father. After Bill was born, Jack had the baby to worry about as well, so he offered himself up as the sacrificial lamb. When he left home after college, the only leverage he had to keep his brother safe was the threat of exposure. He’d tell whoever would listen if Harold didn’t leave Billy alone.
