Where The Boys Are (53 page)

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Authors: William J. Mann

BOOK: Where The Boys Are
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I level my eyes at him. “If you have anything in your palm or up your sleeve, buddy boy, I’m sticking you ass-first on top of the tree in place of the star.”
Shane grins broadly. “No more gimmicks from me, Jeffy-poo. Cross my heart.” He holds out his hands to show he’s clean. “Ah, the hell with a handshake.” He wraps his long arms around me. It’s a real hug. I hug him back.
“You see what I was saying about the Christmas spirit, Henry?” Lloyd says as they come out of the kitchen. “You never know what miracles it may bring about.”
They’ve made some hot cider spiked with rum. Shane lifts a glass to propose a toast. “God bless us, everyone!” he says. “Except Miss Izzy, who I still haven’t forgiven for Halloween.”
All in all, it’s a very good night.
New Year’s Eve, Provincetown
Henry
“E
verybody had it wrong last New Year’s,” I’m insisting. “That wasn’t the
real
start to the twenty-first century.
This
year is.”
Jeff’s zipping up his leather jacket to just under his chin. He gives me one of his looks, all eyes and attitude. “Okay, Henry, and the significance of that little factoid
is
... ?”
Shane pats my shoulder. “Henry just likes to keep the record straight.” He snorts. “So to speak.”
“I suspect,” Lloyd says, pulling on his gloves, “that Henry actually has a point he wants to make here.”
“Thank you,”
I say, folding my arms over my chest. “The point seems obvious to me. We all thought we were starting new lives last year, just in time for the new millennium. Such perfect synchronicity—or so we thought. Then we went and fucked everything up.”
I look around the room at the three of them. Nobody disagrees. How could they?
“But
this
is the new millennium! Starting
tonight!
We can start
all over
and do things better this time. Think about it, you guys. How many second chances do we get in life?”
There are nods all around. I feel pretty pleased with myself. Henry Weiner puts it all in perspective yet again.
I button up my coat and wrap a scarf around my neck. It’s cold outside. One by one we head out into the icy wind that’s whipping in from the bay. Of course, we could be in Miami tonight—Shane had originally bought tickets and everything—but I’ve got a feeling that traipsing around the country isn’t going to be as easy as it once was. I’ve got some new responsibilities now, starting with a full house of guests at Nirvana, which means we have to get up very early to cook our special New Year’s breakfast for everybody. “Just until midnight,” Lloyd told us all. “That’s as late as we’re staying out.”
Yes, you guessed it: I’m working with Lloyd now. Nirvana general manager and resident sex worker. That second part isn’t official, of course, but I’ve already begun planning a series of sacred-sex workshops that Lloyd will advertise on Nirvana’s Web site. I’m flying out to San Francisco next week to go through the training seminars; I’m thinking also of getting my license as a massage therapist. It’s a whole new life, a whole new career—one that I’m
good
at, one that I love—so much different from sitting in my cubicle shuffling papers.
Of course, my parents freaked when I told them I’d quit my job, but I’m not living my life for them. Not anymore. The only person I’m living my life for now is
me.
Maybe the money won’t be as good, but I’ve learned over this past year that it’s not what you get in life that makes you happy, it’s what you
give.
I know that sounds hokey, a tired old bromide, but it’s true. I think most people, if asked to make a choice between being happy or being rich, would choose happy.
And maybe—just maybe—I can have both. The happy
and
the rich. We’ll see. Hank just set up a brand-new Web site, and in one week it’s gotten almost a thousand hits.
A thousand!
So things look good. Check in with me in a couple of months. I’ll let you know.
Oh, and have you noticed? None of us is twisted tonight. Nobody’s rolling. Now, don’t draw too many conclusions from that. It’s not like we’ve sworn off drugs or that we’re turning into moralistic prigs—I mean, there’s nothing like one little bump of X to occasionally break the ice—but tonight, we all decided we wanted to play sober. Sure, the fact that we have to get up early in the morning has something to do with it, but we all agreed that this time we wanted to enter the new year with a clear and conscious mind.
“You do know what tonight is, don’t you?” Shane is suddenly whispering in my ear. “I mean
besides
the real start of the new millennium.”
“No, what?” I ask, blinking my eyes as I look over at him.
He pouts. “Well, if you don’t remember . . .”
I look over at Jeff and wink. He winks back, letting me know he’s arranged for everything. We’ve reached the center of town now, walking up the red carpet to the Crown & Anchor. Suddenly an overhead spotlight swings down, catching Shane in its glare.
“What the . . . ?” Shane gasps.
Two hunky barechested boys in leopard-print sarongs brave the cold to hurry down the carpet toward Shane, each bearing a dozen red roses. They kiss him and fuss over him before thrusting the roses into his hands and hurrying back inside.
“Happy anniversary,” I tell Shane.
“You
did
remember,” he says.
Okay, so I know some of you may be skeptical. You’re thinking it will never work between Shane and me. You’re thinking that a guy so into how he looks (me) would never date a guy who doesn’t give a shit (Shane). While I’ll admit I haven’t given up hope that I’ll get Shane to the gym, I’ll tell you this much: one more thing I learned this year is that it’s what’s
inside
that counts. One more soggy old cliché, I suppose, but it’s true nonetheless.
Look, I’ve been searching for
years
for a husband who would be devoted, constant, insightful—one who would make me laugh and, yes, make my dick hard. On every point, Shane qualifies. So I’m giving it a shot. Wish us luck, okay? If it works out between us, it gives hope to every guy out there, every guy who was once like me, standing on the sidelines, letting the world pass him by. No more of that. Henry Weiner’s
living
his life.
I kiss Shane in the spotlight. Big and sloppy, the roses wedged between us.
That’s when I hear the shouting.
“Perverts!” I hear. “Abominations!”
Lloyd
Jeff and I turn quickly. Across the street, watching Henry and Shane kiss, two guys and a girl stand shouting. They’re late teens, maybe early twenties, and obviously drunk.
Jeff reacts. If I wasn’t holding his hand, he’d have been across the street and at their throats. “This is
our
space, you fuckheads!” he yells. “Get your sorry asses out of here!”
“Jeff, don’t,” I plead. “It will only make things worse—”
One of the guys is defiant. He takes a few steps toward Jeff. “The Bible says homos are an abomination!”
Jeff breaks free of my grip and gets right up in his face. “Abomination! My, my, such a big word for such a little boy.” He stabs the guy’s chest with his finger. “But your grammar’s wrong, junior. ‘Homos’ is plural, ‘abomination’ is singular. Your sentence doesn’t make sense, and neither does your Bible.”
“Faggot,” the guy snarls.
I see Jeff’s hand pull back to slug him. I’m immediately behind him, restraining him. The guy’s friends are pulling him back, too. “Go on,” I tell them. “Get out of here. What’s the point in starting fights in the street?”
They see the wisdom of my words as a group of gay men gathers, lining the street, asking what’s going on.
“Nothing,” I assure them as the three punks hurry off down the street.
Henry and Shane flank Jeff. “You okay?” Henry asks.
“My Sir Galahad!” Shane gushes, kissing Jeff on the cheek.
I look at him. “Cat, you didn’t need to mirror their behavior.”
He sighs. “I know. It was dumb. It was just totally instinctive.”
“Well, you got
me
hard,” Shane says.
“You go ahead, you two,” Jeff says. “I just want to calm down out here a minute.”
“You sure?” Henry asks.
Jeff nods, looking over at me. I know what’s going through his head. I know who he’s thinking about.
After Shane and Henry have gone into the bar, I put my arms around Jeff and look into his eyes. “There’s always somebody waiting to jump at us,” he says to me. “Always something there to hit us over the head.”
“Forget about them, Jeff.”
“Like I ever could.”
I look him deep in the eyes. “You need to stop blaming yourself about Anthony,” I tell him. “You did what you did.”
He looks up at the dark sky. Frost appears in the air as he speaks. “These idiots were just like he was,” he says. “That’s what he looked like, standing there harassing fags. He probably once used the same words.” He sighs, resting his forehead against mine. “How dare they come after us
here?
In Provincetown? They’ve got the whole goddamn
world
to come after us. This is
ou
r space.”
“Try to let it go, Jeff,” I tell him. “They’re not worth the trouble.”
He smiles. “What would I do without you?”
“Probably get your face broken by a couple of drunken straight boys.”
“Then you’d better stick around.”
“I promise.”
It’s easier than I thought, making promises like that. Letting go of my fear of commitment wasn’t the big effort I always thought it would be. Living with the fear was far more difficult. Do you have any idea how much work, how much energy, is needed to live with fear? I think Nirvana showed me that despite all my yakking about not wanting to “settle down,” I really did. I wanted to find a place to be grounded, to make room for others and for myself, to become the person I really am. And that’s not a person who defines himself by any fear.
“You okay to go inside now?” I ask Jeff.
He nods. We follow Shane and Henry into the club. It’s already packed. I see there’s some entertainment in progress, a drag queen dressed as Connie Francis commanding a little stage.
“Where the boys are,”
she lip syncs,
“someone waits for me . . . ”
The crowd of shirtless boys on the dance floor are applauding and whistling.
Ahead of us I spot two familar faces: Drake and Ty, arms linked around each other. From the look of their glistening skin, they’ve been dancing a while.
“Hey,” I call. “I didn’t know you were coming to town.”
Ty and I exchange quick kisses. I smile at Drake.
“It was completely last-minute,” Ty says. “I was planning on calling you.”
“Blame me,” Drake says. “I talked him into it.”
“We
did
call the guest house,” Ty adds, “but you were booked. I talked to some guy name Hank . . . ?”
I smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just good to see you, that’s all.” I notice their arms are still interlocked.
“Both
of you,” I add significantly.
We all smile. Jeff kisses each of them. I have to suppress a little grin, thinking of him and Drake together. Jeff notices and nudges me.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a top-hatted emcee is suddenly announcing from the stage, “for tonight’s final performance, we bring you a very special duet. Together for the first time anywhere: Mr. George Michael and Miss Mae West!”
I look over at Jeff. Could it be ... ?
Ty’s mouth drops open.
Onto the little stage saunters Eva, one arm akimbo, the other pushing at her hair. But she’s a different Mae this time: instead of the long, padded Victorian garb, she’s wearing a black leather miniskirt, red go-go boots, and a polka-dotted bikini top. Only the wig is the same, and the voice.
“Ohhhhhhh,” she purrs. “I want your
sex.”
Now from the other side of the stage bounds a very convincing George Michael, complete with sunglasses, stubble, leather jacket, guitar, and tight blue jeans. He swings his ass at the audience. I’m about to think,
Nice butt
, when I realize it’s Candi.
“
Yes, it would be nice,”
George sings to Mae,
“if I could touch your body . . .
”
Mae follows up with the next line:
“Not everybody
—
ohhhh
—
has a body like meeee. ”
She shakes her breasts at the audiences. The boys whoop. And so it goes.
Thankfully, it’s brief—the crowd is itching to get back to dancing—and George and Mae leave the stage amidst hoots and whistles.
I watch Eva blow a kiss to the crowd. How she loves the applause. We’re scheduled to talk tomorrow. Finally, I’ll know what she wants as a buy-out price. I’ll learn if I’m meant to continue here with Nirvana or find yet another path somewhere else. Henry’s convinced it’s all going to work out: “It’s
meant
to be, Lloyd; I can tell.”
But I’m not so sure. I spot Eva and Candi on the side of the dance floor, accepting well-wishes from their fans.
“Jeff, I’ll be right back,” I tell him. He nods.
Eva spots me as I approach. “You caught our little act,” she says.
“Yes,” I tell her. “You were terrific.” I look at Candi. “Both of you.”
Candi smiles. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”
“In fact,” I tell her, “you kind of turned me on.”
She laughs. “Now, that’s the ultimate compliment to any drag king.” She looks at me kindly. Maybe she understands a little better now, I think. She’s the one who motivated Eva into seeking therapy, after all. I can only imagine what they’ve been through together, what triggered Candi’s insistence that Eva seek help; but maybe, now that they’ve been together a while, she understands my experience a little better. “Thank you, Lloyd,” Candi says. “I appreciate the compliment.”
We exchange smiles. Candi heads over through the crowd to fetch their coats, leaving Eva and me together. There’s a moment of awkwardness. We look at each other and smile uncomfortably. “Not staying till midnight?” I ask.
“No,” Eva says. “We have friends coming by.”
I feel a little wistful, and I think she does, too. How far apart we’ve grown in the space of one year. How different, how separate are our lives.
“Eva,” I tell her, “I want you to know that I’m glad—I’m proud of you—that you’re doing the hard work that you are. Maybe at some point we can find a way to be friends again.”
I see her eyes glisten. “Thank you, Lloyd. And I hope you know that I want only the best for you in the new year. No matter what happens between us, I want you to know that.”
I stiffen.
No matter what happens?
Is she preparing me for what she has to tell me tomorrow?
Somehow, I think, she senses my apprehension. “Lloyd,” she says all at once, “I want you to have Nirvana.”
“Yes,” I say. “I appreciate that. I guess I’m just wondering about the terms. . . .”
“Those
are
the terms, Lloyd,” she says simply.
I blink. I’m not sure what she means.
She smiles. “Do you remember once how you said that life is about balance? That it’s not always about what a thing is worth on paper? About not being attached?”
I’m still wary, not following her.
“I’m trying to find balance, to make things right, in so many areas of my life.” She looks at me. “That’s why I want you to have Nirvana. No terms. Just have it.”
I’m stunned. “You mean, without any payment . . . ?”
“Oh, you’ve already paid, many times over.” She laughs. “I guess there does need to be some exchange of money. They usually quitclaim things for a dollar, don’t they?”
“A—
dollar
. . . ?”
“I think that’s how it’s done.”
I look at her. “Eva, I’m not sure I can accept such a—a gift—”
“Please. Don’t see it as a gift. See it for what it is. Something that I
need
to do.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Listen to me, Lloyd. This is the only way I know to set things right. Let’s not make a big deal about this to anybody. Let’s just do it.” She smiles sadly. “Yes, I do hope someday we can find a way of being friends again. But I still have a lot of work to do. I’m no saint, Lloyd. I wish I could say this comes from the sheer goodness of my heart, that I’m a new woman, totally free of all my issues, perfectly realized, completely cured. But that’s not the case. A part of me wants to cling on to Nirvana, cling on to you, kick and scream and cry and make life miserable—because that’s how I’ve always done things. I’m trying to find a way of breaking that pattern. This is a way to do that.” She sighs. “I’m not making any of these decisions easily. But each time I make them, they do become less difficult.”
I’m still staggered. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. We’ll talk tomorrow, make it all official.”
So that’s it. That’s the end of our story together. I wish I could tell you more. I wish I could tell you what’s really going on inside Eva’s head—what prompted such impressive generosity, what kind of work she’s doing—but I can’t.
And I realize, standing here, that I’ll
never
know more than I know right now. We came into each other’s lives, our paths crossed, we served as catalysts for change for each other, but now it’s over. I’ll never know the source of Eva’s pain, whether the abuse I suspect was real, or if there was something else, something I can never know. I’ll never understand all her motivations, all the reasons she did what she did, what was true and what was false. That’s the way it is with most people who come into our lives, isn’t it? We only ever learn so much. In the end, I’m left only with what she’s taught me; I only know what I’ve learned. I only know that this past year with her has been perhaps the most important of my life. The little Buddha is hardly her only gift to me.
Candi’s returned with their coats. Impulsively I hug her, and then Eva as well. “Happy New Year,” I tell both of them.
“You too, Lloyd.” She pauses, withdrawing something from the pocket of her coat. “Oh, Candi, will you wait just a minute? I have to deliver this.”
I watch her. She shoulders her way out onto the dance floor toward Jeff.

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