Read The Weekend: A Novel Online

Authors: Peter Cameron

Tags: #Gay & Lesbian, #Literature & Fiction, #Fiction, #Gay, #Romance, #Literary, #United States, #Gay Romance, #Genre Fiction, #Lgbt, #Gay Fiction, #Literary Fiction

The Weekend: A Novel (12 page)

BOOK: The Weekend: A Novel
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THE NEAREST SUPERMARKET WASN’T very super, but it had genuineness and intimacy, characteristics Laura appreciated. Even the shopping carts seemed from a different, better, era. Nina took one and entered the first aisle, which was produce.
“We’ll stop at the farm stand on the way home,” said Laura. “The produce here is pretty terrible.”
Nina was palming an anemic tomato. “Yes,” she said.
“But the meat is excellent,” said Laura. “Are you going to use the grill?”
“Yes,” said Nina. “We might as well.”
“Then we should get some charcoal.”
They turned the corner into the second aisle. Nina began to toss things in the cart that could, but Laura felt sure wouldn’t, be
used for dinner. She didn’t make an issue of it. She’d buy whatever Nina wanted.
“It’s nice to see you, finally,” she said.
“It’s too bad you’re going out to dinner,” said Nina.
“Yes,” said Laura. “If I’d known you were coming …”
“What?”
“I told you. I’d have asked for you to be invited. But I really doubted you’d come this weekend. After not showing up for six weekends, it seemed foolish to believe you would.”
“But you could have told them I might be coming, that there was a possibility.”
“Actually, I thought of it. But I don’t really think they’re the kind of people you’d like.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, they’re very earnest, and American.”
“What do you mean, they’re American? You’re American.”
“Technically, I am. But I didn’t mean nationalistically. I meant temperamentally.”
Nina was rooting through the freezer of ice cream, a large open well, encrusted with smoking ice. “You sound like such a snob,” she said.
“I never said I wasn’t,” said Laura. “Everyone’s a snob. It’s part of human nature.”
“But not a very nice part,” said Nina. She tossed a torpedo-shaped container of ice cream into the cart.
“I think you have a lot of gall cross-examining me about this,” said Laura. “I came all the way to New York to be near you this summer, but have you spent any time with me? No. So forgive me if I spend an evening in the company of strangers.”
“You didn’t come to New York to be near me,” Nina said, calmly. She continued down the aisle.
“Oh?” said Laura, aware that she was raising her voice. “Didn’t I? Then what did I come all this way for?”
“I don’t know,” said Nina. “To escape something. To get away from someone. But not to see me. Or maybe to see me, but not to be near me. Not to spend time with me.”
“You’re ridiculous,” said Laura. “That’s precisely what I came here for.”
“So now I’m here,” said Nina. “And you’re going out to dinner.”
“Yes,” said Laura. “I’m going out to dinner. For four hours. Imagine! Four hours. It’s criminal.”
Nina turned the cart around the corner and studied the tins of coffee. “Let’s not talk about this anymore,” she said. She took two tins—one caffeinated, one decaffeinated—off the shelf and put them in the cart. “I didn’t mean to get you all upset.”
“I’m not upset,” said Laura. “I just don’t understand the point of your coming up here if you’re just going to antagonize me.”
“I didn’t mean to be antagonistic,” said Nina. “I meant to be honest.”
“Well, spare me your honesty,” said Laura.
Nina looked at her mother. “Fine,” she said. “I will.”
TONY WAS SHAVING. A juice glass filled with white wine sat on the ledge of the bathroom sink, refracting the evening light. Lyle lay reading on the sofa.
“I might go back into the city tonight,” Tony said.
Lyle put down his book but did not answer.
“Not till late,” said Tony. “On the 9:45. If I go.”
“To see someone?” asked Lyle.
“No,” said Tony.
“Then can I come with you?”
“Don’t you want to stay here?”
“Yes,” said Lyle. “Of course I do. But not if you’re not.”
“Why not?” asked Tony.
“Why are you going back?” asked Lyle.
“I didn’t say I was. I said might.”
“Why might you go back?”
Tony pulled the razor along his throat. He shaved twice a day. He liked how it felt to shave: to scrape away a layer, to rejuvenate himself. He always felt younger after he shaved. “Actually,” he said, “to tell you the truth, I might see someone. It depends if he’s left a message.”
Lyle picked up his book and pretended to read for a moment, but he had lost his ability to follow the text from one line to the next. He could read across the line, but at the end it was like falling off a cliff. Without lowering the book, he said, “Why would you tell me that? That you might be going back to meet someone, when it isn’t even definite? Why would you do that?”
“To prepare you,” said Tony. “So I don’t just run off.” He held his razor beneath the faucet. A trail of blood spiraled, turning less and less red, down the drain. “Last time I left without telling you, you were angry.”
“Yes,” said Lyle. “I was. And I am now.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tony. “Anyway, he probably won’t call. I think I’m too old for him.”
“I don’t understand you,” said Lyle. “Why would you want to leave here, in the middle of the most beautiful weekend, to go back to the city to have sex with a relative stranger?”
Tony patted his shaved face with a towel, and took a sip of the wine. “We’ve talked about this,” he said. “I don’t know why I want what I want.” He came and sat beside Lyle on the sofa. “Don’t be angry,” he said. “You know it’s just … . You know it doesn’t matter to me.”
“But it matters to me,” said Lyle.
“I’m sorry about that,” said Tony. “Truly, I am. You know I am.” He offered Lyle the wine.
Lyle declined by shaking his head. “You should get dressed,” he said. “We should go downstairs. And you’re bleeding,” he said. “Beneath your chin.”
“Shit,” Tony said. He got up and looked in the mirror, then held a piece of toilet paper against his chin. He stood looking out the window. He watched Marian walk about the lawn, lighting citronella candles. She wore a white dress and was barefoot. “I won’t go,” he said. “I’m sorry. I won’t even call the machine.”
“Go if you want,” said Lyle. “Don’t do me any favors.”
Tony turned away from the window. Lyle appeared to be reading. “I don’t do this to hurt you,” he said.
“I know,” said Lyle. “But it does. You do.”
“Sometimes … I mean, we’ve talked about this, Lyle. We have. I thought we had an understanding. I want to enjoy my life while I still can. And I enjoy, sometimes, having sex with other men. I’m not ashamed of it and I don’t think I should be. It’s about my body, and theirs. It isn’t about my mind or how I feel for you. You said you understood.”
“I do,” said Lyle. “I just don’t want to hear about it. That’s all.”
“But then you get angry if I disappear, or if I’m dishonest. You can’t have it both ways.”
Lyle thought: I don’t want it both ways. I don’t want it at all. After a moment he said, “How’s your chin?”
Tony removed the paper and looked in the mirror. “It’s stopped,” he said. “I think it’s fine.”
ROBERT SHOWERED—AS WELL as he could in the bathtub—and dressed for dinner. He left Lyle shaving in the bathroom and walked down the hall. He opened the door to the back staircase, and heard Marian’s voice.
“What do you think of him?” she was saying.
“He seems nice,” said John. “Young.”
“I don’t like him,” said Marian.
“Why not?”
“He’s … there’s something prickly about him.”
“Well, it must be awkward for him. Coming here, and us being so close to Lyle. And having been so close to Tony.”
“I understand that. I mean apart from that. There’s just something about—I hate young people who are judgmental. Who observe
you and judge you and think they know better. He’s like that, I can tell.”
“But you’re judging him.”
“Well, of course. I mean, everyone judges everybody. You can’t help but form impressions. But you can be—well, tactful. I don’t think he’s very tactful.”
“He seems tactful enough to me.”
“It’s not tact, then. I don’t know what it is. I just sense it.”
“Well, it’s nice to see Lyle with someone again.”
“He’s all wrong for Lyle. It won’t last.”
“Of course it won’t last. That’s why you should be nice to him. It’s just something Lyle’s going through.”
“It makes me miss Tony so much.”
“We all miss Tony. Do you mean for this to boil?”
“Is it boiling? No. Turn it down.”
Robert closed the door. He looked at the framed prints of ornamental fowl hanging on the wall. He read their names to himself: White-faced Black Spanish, Brown-breasted Red Game, Black Frizzled Fowl. After a while Lyle came up and embraced him from behind. When Robert did not respond, Lyle asked, “What’s the matter?”
Robert turned around and looked at Lyle. His hair was wet and slicked to his head. His shaved face was smooth and colored from the sun. “What’s the matter?” Lyle repeated.
“Do you like me?” Robert asked.
“I adore you,” said Lyle. “I thought I’d just illustrated that fact most convincingly.” He nodded toward the yellow room, and then leaned forward and kissed Robert. “Of course I like you,” he said. “What kind of question is that? I far more than like you.” He opened the door, and they went downstairs, together, to dinner.
THE MASTER BEDROOM SUITE in Laura’s house was quite luxurious. The bathroom was large and had its own balcony. Laura lay in the aquamarine-colored tub, smoking a cigarette, looking out the open glass doors at trees and sky. She could hear the murmuring voices of Nina and Anders from below. After a while she opened the drain and felt the water fall around her body, the last of it sucking itself into a whirlpool beneath her toes. She got out of the tub and patted herself with a towel, combed her damp hair back from her face, anointed herself with perfume and powder, put on her robe, and walked into the bedroom. She looked out the window. Anders and Nina were in the pool. Anders had his back up against the coping and Nina was straddling him, with one hand on the flagstones at either side of his head.
The sun had sunk behind the trees but there seemed to be a lot of light left outside, although everything that had been vividly colored at noon was now slurred toward gray or brown. Some birds Laura couldn’t identify were noisily flying from the top of the house to the trees and back again, as if unsure of where they wanted to spend the night. She thought of the fields below her villa, and the ravens that rose up from them at this time of day, cawing off into the woods. Wherever you went in the world, there were some things that remained constant: the way the sun sank, and evening bloomed; the way birds flirted with dusk.
Below her, Nina and Anders were kissing. Long kisses. No: one kiss that went on and on, reinventing itself.
She turned away from the window. Her clothes were laid out on the bed: a black skirt, a white silk blouse. She dressed and then stood in front of the mirror, brushed her hair again, put on her jewelry. She stood for another moment, assembled, observing herself in the mirror, the dim room fading around her, her reflection fading a little more quickly. She felt hollow, and stunned. She had hoped the bath would consolidate, or reinvigorate, her spirit, but it had not. She would have to fake it.
She went down to the kitchen and put a candle, a bottle of wine, and three glasses on a tray, and carried them out to the pool. Anders was swimming laps, thrashing through the water; Nina was pouring charcoal into the hibachi.
“I thought it was time for an aperitif,” said Laura. She put the tray down on the table, lit the candle, and began to uncork the wine.
“Don’t you have to leave?” asked Nina.
“Not for a few minutes,” said Laura. “I’m Italian. I’m supposed to be late.” She waited for Nina to contradict her, but she did not. Laura poured wine into one glass and then lifted another, held it out toward Nina. “Yes?” she said.
“Please,” said Nina.
Laura filled the second glass. She handed it to Nina. “I hope that little thing works,” she said, nodding toward the hibachi.
“It should,” said Nina.
Anders was swimming more and more slowly. The two women sipped their wine and watched him. “He seems very nice,” Laura said. “Anders.” She nodded at his submerged form, as if there were many Anders lurking about.
“Yes,” said Nina. “He is.” After a moment she added, “He’s married.” She said this without expression, and Laura was unsure if it was meant to corroborate or contradict his niceness.
“It’s been my experience that the nicest men are always married,” said Laura.
“Yes,” said Nina, “but you never let that stop you.”
“No,” said Laura. “Not if it didn’t stop them. Is his wife in the Netherlands?”
“No,” said Nina. “Santa Monica.”
“Well, that’s just as far away.”
“It’s not really a matter of distance,” said Nina.
“No,” said Laura. “I suppose not.” She was determined to ignore Nina’s grudge, but she wondered how long Nina would hold it. Holding grudges makes you ugly, she almost said, but then thought better, for in Nina’s case it certainly wasn’t true.
Nina lit a match and held it to the newspaper she had bedded beneath the charcoal. She stepped back and watched it burn. Anders pulled himself out of the pool. He stood panting and dripping on the flagstones. His bathing suit was slicked tight to his skin, articulating his penis. He noticed them both looking at it and tugged at the material.
Laura put her empty glass of wine down on the table. “Well,
I’d better be on my way,” she said. “I hope you two have a nice dinner. I shouldn’t be home so awfully late.”
“Take your time,” said Nina.
“Have a nice evening,” said Anders.
“Damn,” said Nina. The fire had gone out but the charcoal hadn’t lit. “Do you have any lighter fluid?” she asked.
“No,” said Laura.
“I’ll do it,” said Anders.
Laura stood there. She felt she shouldn’t leave until the barbecue was properly functioning. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
Nina looked up at her from where she knelt beside the hibachi. “No,” she said. “Go.”
As Laura walked around the house toward the driveway, she heard Nina laugh. She’s laughing at me, Laura thought. This made her feel so sad she stopped walking. She decided not to go to dinner. She’d stay with Nina and Anders. If it meant that much to Nina, which obviously it did, it was the right thing to do. In fact, it was rather sweet of Nina to be so upset. She’d call Marian Kerr and say she felt sick. Or her car wouldn’t start. Something. She turned around and walked toward the pool. Anders and Nina were standing on the lawn, kissing. Anders had taken his bathing suit off. Nina had removed her shirt. Their discarded clothes lay in a little heap on the grass. They had relit the hibachi with more newspaper and Laura watched the flames attack the air. Bits of spark-embroidered newspaper flew up into the dark.
BOOK: The Weekend: A Novel
5.69Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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