The General and the Elephant Clock of Al-Jazari (3 page)

After the initial interviews,
Out
had changed their approach and sent a young army vet to do a joint interview. He came with a different perspective than John’s and Gabriel’s, having become an activist while on active duty. He’d paid for it by losing what John knew had been a very promising career. The interview with Brandon Cho had been extremely interesting. John appreciated the man’s intellect and subtle mind, and regretted the loss of his talent in the service of his country. He also recognized very clearly that the loss had been because the man had never had a role model. He didn’t know how gay men were supposed to behave in the army and how to find a reasonable balance between work and private life, the demands of service and the demands of the heart. His own internal compass had pointed him along his path, but he’d been out there alone, trying to find his way. If there was one argument John could agree with, it was that young men needed role models. And if that job was being put in John’s unwilling hands, he could not put it down. There were boys watching him.

He looked down at the magazine cover. Kim’s photograph was gorgeous. He had more raw talent than he knew what to do with. His own face, he was sorry to see, was quite recognizable, and the words on the cover were bright red, very attention-getting.

John walked back into the house and put the magazine down on Gabriel’s desk. He would have to go through the interview again, word by difficult word, and make sure there were no screw-ups between his last review and publication. But he really couldn’t face it quite yet. Maybe he’d go get a haircut.

John had been going to Bud’s for years, and late Monday afternoon was his usual time. It was an old barbershop, with big barbershop chairs that could be moved by Bud to get a good angle, and a tiny TV in the corner playing a ball game, and dusty, faded mirrors opposite a line of mismatched chairs along the wall.

Bud looked up from the neck he was shaving, nodded at John with his usual frown. He’d never smiled that John could remember. John thought his dentures probably made him feel uncomfortable, or maybe he was just a bad-tempered asshole. It could go either way and John didn’t know him well enough to guess. John took a chair and opened his tablet on his lap. He was working on an outline of an article for
Civil War Magazine
. People could not seem to get enough of Robert E. Lee.

He got up when Bud waved him over to a chair, but the man’s eyes were on the TV screen. “That’s been running for the last hour.”

John looked up at the TV. It was the local Albuquerque news, and the cover of
Out
was on the screen. Then they flipped to Gabriel being interviewed outside his office. The sound was down, though, so John couldn’t hear what he was saying. He looked pissed, though, and busy, his tie blowing in the wind and a briefcase in his hand. He must have been on his way to court or a client meeting. John closed his tablet and got in the chair, sat still when Bud wrapped tissue around his neck. “I didn’t know you were one of them.”

John looked up and met his eyes in the dusty old mirror. Bud stared back for a moment, and then dropped his eyes. John sat very still while the old man clipped around his ears and his neckline, dusted his collar, then he paid him his usual, with the usual tip, and walked out the door without speaking.

“I’m going to have to find a new place to get my hair cut,” he said, when he was out on the sidewalk, looking up into the candy-colored sky.

He called Gabriel’s cell. “You in your office? I thought I’d stop by and take you out to dinner.”

“We have something to celebrate?” He could hear the smile in Gabriel’s voice, the smile and the tension.

“Celebrate, commiserate, something like.”

“Sure, come on. I’ve got a few more minutes if you don’t mind waiting.”

“Of course.”

“I always tried not to keep the general waiting. I had my fuel ups and preflight checks perfectly timed so you could just walk out of trouble and into my bird and never even slow down.”

“I noticed,” John said.

John sat in the lobby when he arrived in Gabriel’s office downtown. There were offices for three lawyers and a circular desk for reception and admin in the middle of the floor. One law clerk was manning the desk. He was young, with a complicated hairstyle that John knew Kim would love, and a monochromatic outfit: gray tweed slacks, a charcoal-gray cashmere V-neck sweater over a white shirt and a charcoal-gray tie. When he came around the desk to bring some papers to one of the offices, John noticed he was wearing tennis shoes, also in tweedy charcoal gray.

Gabriel came out of his office escorting an elderly Mexican woman. She had a flowered scarf over her head and a shopping bag full of papers. She had a long-suffering look on her face, something ancient and unmovable. John had the feeling she had brought every page out of the shopping bag for Gabriel to examine during their meeting. He shook hands with her and handed the woman over to the young guy at the desk. Gabriel held up two fingers, and John nodded, went back to his tablet. When he looked back up, the boy behind the desk was studying Gabriel’s long legs and curvy butt as he stood next to his desk. John stared at him until the boy looked up suddenly, flushing, and his face reminded John of a puppy caught making a small mess on the rug.
Well, well, well.
Gabriel brought a file out to the desk, handed it over with a smile. No wonder the kid was half in love already. Gabriel didn’t smile at everyone like that. John kept his eyes on the boy until he found an excuse to leave the desk and disappear into an office. John thought he would probably hide out until they were out of the building.

“Uh, oh. What’s up? The general looks like he’s doing some calculations.”

This was Gabriel’s code to tell him he looked pissed off, his eyes changing from calm grey to stainless steel. “Nothing. I was just watching your young pup in there stare at your ass. What is he, twenty? Nineteen?”

“I think twenty-six,” Gabriel said, looking down at him with a grin. “He’s a decent clerk, fairly organized, can be charming, and he speaks Spanish.”

“He’s got a serious crush on you.”

“Yes, well, and who can blame him?” Gabriel was laughing now as he took John’s hand and ran it over his flat belly. “But I think you scared him off for good. He probably won’t even take my messages now, for fear General Mitchel will be watching him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Grey. Greyson Pennington something or other. The seventh, I think. Very old school.”

“Give me a break,” John said, and Gabriel laughed. John put his arm around Gabriel’s waist, pulled him close. “I saw you on TV when I was in the barber shop.”

“Oh, shit.” Gabriel stopped on the street, and they stood together for a moment. “Was it bad?”

John shook his head. “I don’t know. The sound was turned down. But I don’t think Bud wants our kind in his barber shop.”

“That fuckhead. He does a half-assed job, anyway. Want me to go kick his scrawny ass?”

“That won’t be the worst of it. Lots of people that we thought… liked us will turn out to not like us so much anymore. Just par for the course. I’m more concerned about Juan.”

“I had to give the tutor an apology and the rest of his contract, to the tune of six hundred bucks, and listen to his semi-hysterical assurances that he was not, in fact, a faggot.”

“What’s Juan going to do if the kids at school get hold of the magazine?”

Gabriel’s chin was sticking out about a mile. “He’s gonna have to stand up and take it like a man. This is absolutely not an excuse I will tolerate for his unacceptable behavior. And if he doesn’t know that already, he’s about to find it out.”

John gave him a little squeeze around the waist, rubbed his hand up and down Gabriel’s back. They had been soothing each other quite a bit lately. “You up for Paul’s?”

“You driving? Maybe I’ll have a martini.”

Paul’s Monterey Inn was an Albuquerque legend among the crowd that liked a decent steak. John slid into the half-round booth and looked around him with a sigh of contentment. “Now look at this place. Why can’t I explain decorating to Kim?”

Paul’s was paneled in knotty pine and had semi-circular high-backed banquettes upholstered in dark avocado green or brown vinyl with bronze studs. The light fixtures were small and tended toward amber glass and black wrought iron. It was dark and quiet and private. Paul’s had been redecorated last around 1976. It was John and Gabriel’s favorite restaurant.

“The couch is okay. I mean, it is sort of white-looking, but it’s comfortable.” Gabriel called the waitress over to the table. “Can you get me a martini?”

“What kind?” The waitress also looked like she’d been at Paul’s since 1976.

Gabriel stared at her. “The usual.”

She gave him a sigh and a hard look, but turned toward the bar. John heard her say, “one martini, two straws.” She had the gravel of 40 years of Marlboros in her voice.

Gabriel looked at John. “What did I just order? What’s the usual?”

“The James Bond classic, I suppose. Olives, vodka, and vermouth. Maybe gin, I’m not sure. I’ve also seen martinis with small pickled onions.”

“We’ll see when it gets here.”

“What made you decide to drink a martini?”

Gabriel put his arm around John, pulled him close in the booth. “Part of my self-improvement plan. I’m going to try one new thing every day. I have an assignment for you.”

“Really? What’s that?” John asked.

“I want you to sit on the new couch.”

“I hate that fucking couch. I can’t believe Kim…. My Navy Federal Visa has a balance of over eight thousand dollars.”

“He knows you’re upset. We all know you’re upset.”

John shook his head. “I gave him the card. I mean, it’s not like I don’t know exactly who he is. I’ll get over it.”

“Why don’t you try it out? Sit on it. I actually thought it was pretty comfortable.”

“We’ll see.”

Gabriel grinned at him, but he dropped it, waited for his martini.

The drink arrived with a small plastic sword propped along the edge, holding two stuffed olives. Gabriel took a sip, passed it to John. John handed the little sword to Gabriel. The martini was brisk, cold and bright. He set down the glass. “It’s gin, not vodka.”

Gabriel ate one of the little olives and took another sip. “It’s not bad.”

John ate the second olive, took another mouthful. “It’s good,” he agreed. “Not like tequila, though.”

“I bet this thing gives you a wicked headache, you overindulge.” He waved the waitress back over. “Two New York strips, medium rare, two baked potatoes with butter, two salads.”

“Thousand Island, right?”

Gabriel nodded. John wasn’t sure Paul’s had another dressing. The salad was a wedge of iceberg lettuce with Thousand Island on the side.

Gabriel drained the drink, then turned to John. “So, the magazine hit the stands today? Did you look at it?”

John shook his head. “I left it on your desk at home. How did they find you so quickly?”

“Grey came back from lunch with a copy, but it wouldn’t have taken much to find me. I suspect it was somebody in the office. The cameras were outside just as I stepped out of the door to go to court. Nobody else knew my schedule. But that’s not what we should be worried about.”

John studied his face. “What, you don’t think there’ll be reporters at the house, do you? I mean, this is just a flash in the pan. It must be a slow news night.”

“I gave Kim a heads-up when you called me, just so he wouldn’t leave Billy there alone.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re upset,” Gabriel said. “Why? About Bud? The guy’s a dickhead.”

“Not about Bud, not exactly. It’s just he gave me this look, then he hesitated just a moment before he started, like he really didn’t want to touch me. There was so little there, nothing I could grab on to, but I felt it, like he’d screamed some nasty word at me across a playground. I don’t get why I’m upset. I mean, we’re not living in Uganda, for crying out loud. So how come I let this little mosquito bite annoy me?”

“Everyone, even you, looks in a mirror occasionally and wonders what other people see. And the little insults do matter. Just because they’re subtle and quiet doesn’t mean they aren’t real. They’re one end of a long line, and it only takes a few little steps to move on down that line. You’re sensitive to it, and you notice, because that’s what you do. That’s why you’re so good at your work. You are the master of the subtle tell.”

“I need to figure out how to put that skill to use in the real world.”

“You aren’t happy writing?”

“I am. Just a little bored, to tell you the truth. Not that I’m wishing for war, understand, but doesn’t anyone need some conflict resolution?” John leaned his head back, closed his eyes. Gabriel reached for his thigh under the table, and John felt himself smiling. “This is what I’m going to remember on the day I die,” he said. “Right before I close my eyes, I’m going to remember this, the way your hand feels, the heat of your leg against mine, the smell of the skin on the back of your neck, like burnt sugar.” Gabriel looked surprised, and John smiled at him. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to describe it, the way your skin smells just there.” He ran his fingers around the back of Gabriel’s neck, just under the hairline. “If I can remember this, right before the end, I’ll die happy. Isn’t that the best we can hope for?”

He heard Gabriel catch his breath, then he leaned over and kissed John on the side of his mouth, a gentle touch, warm and sweet. “Let’s make that a long, long time from now, okay?”

John opened his eyes, reached up for Gabriel’s face, ran his fingers along the angle of his jaw. “Okay.”

Two iceberg salads slid across the table. Their waitress was back. “Want another martini?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No, one was fine, thanks. It was good.”

“You two look like
reposado
boys to me. A nice aged tequila, some lime juice, cane sugar….”

Gabriel looked at John. “We could get a cab home. It’s been a rough day.”

John nodded at the woman. “Thank you. No ice, okay?”

“Do I look like the sort of person who would put ice in decent tequila?”