Floridian nights, p.24
Floridian Nights, page 24
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re what?”
“Not sure. Y’know, we’re not even…involved. And Mom and Dad don’t seem to approve.”
“What’s their beef?”
“The age difference, I guess.”
“He looked of age to me.”
“He is. But Mom didn’t think so.”
“Look, put him on.”
“Say what?”
“I said put him on.”
He leaned out the door of his parents’ bedroom to find Rick chatting amiably with the both of them. “Kid, my sister wants to speak with you.”
The younger man looked at Gary in surprise, then sauntered over and took the receiver from him. “I told you not to call me ‘kid,’ Gare,” he said, all too audibly; then he started conversing with Laura and closed the door behind him.
“Got a temper on him, doesn’t he?” his father commented.
Gary chose not to take it as a negative remark, saying agreeably, “Yeah, he does.”
“But he tries so hard to please.”
Now assuming hostility, Gary turned on his mother and said in a quiet but fierce voice, “And what the hell’s the matter with that?”
“Gary, you don’t use that kind of tone with your mother.”
“What the hell’s the matter with you both?”
His father moved toward him, actually suggesting physical menace. “Gary!” he said sharply.
“What?”
“You’ve been here for a month now. You’ve been well for more than two weeks, and we haven’t said a word–”
At that point, his father was interrupted by the sound of Rick’s hearty laughter from the other room, which unnerved Gary. “Fine,” he said tightly. “I see. We’ll go to a motel, then.”
“Oh, son, that’s not necessary,” his mother said, her voice reflecting real hurt.
“What the hell has happened to you?” his father demanded. “You never used to be this way.”
Why was he fighting with these two people who had once again sacrificed so much for him? “I don’t know,” he said suddenly. “You’re right, I didn’t.”
“Well, you’d better think about it,” his mother said, still sounding shaken.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I seem to get extra crazy on the subject of him.” He gestured toward their bedroom.
“Well then, you’d better think about what that means.”
Abruptly the subject of their talk poked his head into the kitchen area. “Laura wants to talk to you again, Gary.”
He welcomed the chance to escape the tension in the kitchen. “Yeah?” he said, changing places with Rick.
“Yeah?” Laura shot back. “Whaddaya mean, yeah? What’s going on down there? You fighting with them?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Well, drop it, big brother. Count your blessings. You’ve got a real gem there. You have all the luck.”
“Laura, I thought I made it clear. We’re just friends.”
“Don’t let him get away.”
Now he focused his exasperation on his sister. “You meet him for ten seconds in a restaurant and talk to him for a minute or two on the phone and you know all about his character.”
“Sure. Women are better at that than men. You better not stay down there too much longer, Gary. You’re beginning to sound like an old crank yourself.”
“Thank you.”
“Besides,” she added, her voice softening, “I miss having you closer by. You’re not really gonna stay there, are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, shit or get off the pot, brother.”
“You’re so elegant, sister. Do you talk this way to Gil?”
Her tone changed again. “When we talk at all.”
Now his tone changed, too. “Tell me more.”
“Let’s discuss it when you get back.” That, they both knew, ensured that he would be back, soon.
•
His parents had a Monopoly set, and the four of them played what turned out to be a very long game on the dining room table. An impasse in the action was finally resolved when his parents cut a deal between themselves, which soon put his mother into bankruptcy and his father on the road to victory.
“No fair,” Gary accused them. “Collusion.”
“Becker used to make deals all the time,” Mr. Gaines pointed out.
“Do Minnesota rules allow deals?” Gary asked Rick.
“No, they don’t.”
“Yeah, that Becker,” Gary’s father continued, “he was a good Monopoly player. He’d wheel and deal all over the place. He was smart.”
“He was lucky,” Gary said in irritation. He was smart, actually, but Gary was concerned that Rick was being made to feel dumb.
“Oh, Gary!” his mother said suddenly, “I’ve got the pictures from last Christmas. I don’t think you’ve ever seen them.”
“Mom, I’ve been here a month. Why do you bring it up now?”
“I don’t know. I guess it was the playing Monopoly and all.”
“I’d like to see them,” Rick volunteered.
“You don’t mind?”
“No, I like seeing other people’s pictures.”
Out came the photographs; the pictures from last Christmas became an excuse for a flood of older ones. Gary watched Rick poring through them with interest, and figured that his own childhood pictures would inevitably be trotted out next. Instead, his mother seemed to keep bringing out more and more pictures of Gary and Becker. He was surprised how many photos of Georgia Peach his parents had.
“There’s you and Becker on the beach at Sarasota.”
“And that’s him clowning around with the basketball hoop in New Swiss. He could be so funny.”
“Here’s that stray dog he picked up. Do you remember that day, Gary? He said he was going to take it with you back to New York. You two had such a fight about that.”
“Here we all are at the Browns game. Look at how young Glen is.”
“And he’s actually smiling.”
“I think that was because Becker had gotten him that hat. He was good with the kids.”
And so it went, until Mrs. Gaines suddenly turned to Rick, as if they’d just remembered he was still there, and said, “You promised us you were going to sing for us.”
Rick’s mood had changed perceptibly. He looked dubiously about him and said, “Do you have a piano or anything?”
“I’m afraid we don’t.”
“I dunno, Mrs. Gaines. I got up real early today, and it’s pretty late right now. Maybe we should wait until tomorrow. My voice might sound a little better if I’ve had some rest.”
“Of course. We’ll save it for tomorrow, then.”
Quite deliberately, Gary reached over and put his hand on Rick’s shoulder. It gave the kid a start. “Why don’t you get ready for bed first?” he pressed. “I’ll be in in a little while.”
“Okay,” he replied, shaking off Gary’s hand. “G’night, Mr. and Mrs. Gaines. Thanks for your hospitality.”
After he’d shuffled off and they’d put away the game and Gary’s mother had also retired, his father turned to him and said, “He’s certainly a nice enough kid.”
“That’s never been a question. I could tell that when I first met him. Never been the problem.”
“He’s no Becker, of course.”
“Should he have to be?”
“I guess only you can answer that.”
“Dad, what would you do if Mom died suddenly?”
His father, who Gary knew to be devoted to his mother, was singularly unfazed by the question. “You’ve seen how it is down here. I’ve got a little saved up, and I’ve got my health. I’d have women all over me.”
“Plus, you’re not such a bad-looking old geezer.”
“Respect your elders,” his father said affectionately, adding in a good-natured mutter, “I reckon not.” There was a brief silence, then he said, “It would be harder for your mother, if it’s the other way around. A man down here doesn’t have to be alone if he’s at all presentable. But a lot of fine women go lonely.”
“You’re presuming that everyone’s heterosexual, Dad.”
Mr. Gaines arched his eyebrows, pondered that. “Yes, I am,” he said without apology. He looked over at his son. “He’s as much a boy as a man. You sure you want to go through that?”
“How many times do I have to tell you both, I’m not sure of anything?”
“Hmm. He engineer this whole ‘Phoebe’ business himself?”
“With the help of a friend. Against considerable odds, I might add.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“So it is.” Gary rose. “Time to turn in. Good night, Dad.”
•
He slipped into the darkened kids’ room and into his own bed before he noticed Rick’s breathing. Rather, he noticed what it wasn’t: the regular, labored breathing of sleep. “Are you awake?” he asked.
There was a long pause before a far-away whisper: “Yeah.”
Something about the tone worried Gary. “You okay, kid?”
Another pause, and then, “You think I’m an asshole, don’t you, Gare?”
“No!…I mean, we’re all assholes from time to time. I am, too.”
“And today was one of those times for me.”
“Come again?”
“Only an asshole would do what I did. Breezing in here and thinking I could take Becker’s place just like that.”
“You didn’t really think that, did you?”
This time Gary got no response at all. He lay there contemplating his options, thinking about the evening. It had been Becker this and Becker that. The kid was thoroughly intimidated. Gary himself had once felt un-athletic, un-handsome, even un-smart next to the golden boy who was his lover.
He threw off the covers and moved over to Rick’s bed. Sitting on the edge of it, he could tell in the semi-darkness that the kid, like him, was in t-shirt and shorts; also that he was turned away from Gary. He gently laid his hand on Rick’s bare arm. “I think what you did was wonderful, Rick. I don’t think you’re an asshole at all.” He felt the kid clasp his hand in his own. “In fact, I think you’re wonderful.”
Rick squeezed Gary’s hand harder but remained with his back turned. “But I’m not Becker,” he said quietly.
How like his father’s words. “No, you’re not Becker. You’re you. I loved Becker for who he was.” He was deep into dangerous territory, but he plunged ahead. “And if I’m gonna love Rick, I’ll love him for who he is.”
The eternal promise of “maybe later.” Rick continued to hold tight to Gary’s hand, but now turned so that he lay on his back, looking up at him. “I love you, Gary. Right here and now.”
It was really too dark to read his face. Gary tried to focus and couldn’t, couldn’t do anything, and abruptly was sick of three long years of couldn’t-do-anything. He heard himself say, “I love you too, Rick. Honest I do.”
They clinched then, both sighing at the contact. Rick lifted the sheet slightly and, in the same deft motion, pulled off his t-shirt. As he hurried out of his own clothes, Gary marveled at how pale and smooth the kid’s skin looked in the moonlight; it was incredibly sexy. Slipping under the covers and feeling the contact of their skin all along their bodies, he thought, my God, I’ve died and gone to heaven. There was a supple texture to Rick that was fantastic, and distinctly different from Becker, even when Becker had been his age.
They kissed each other hungrily; there was absolutely no coyness about either of them now. Their bodies rubbed frantically, rhythmically, sensuously against each other: the wonders of safe sex. Frottage, the sexperts called this; “retarded,” Martin had once pronounced it, when Gary had made the mistake of confiding that sometimes he and Becker preferred it to other things. How times had changed. Now it was the height of fashion.
With the eagerness of his youth, Rick climaxed all over Gary first; but he wasn’t selfish, and he continued sliding against Gary, now with extra lubricant in addition to their sweat, in an apparent determination to make Gary come. Gary obliged within a matter of seconds, grabbing Rick at his climax and making noises he hadn’t made since Becker’s death. It was a good thing his parents’ bedroom was clear the other side of the house.
“I love you.” Rick seemed unable to stop himself from saying it. Gary chose to respond by kissing him slowly, repeatedly, and, well, lovingly. But the first actual words he said to Rick were,
“We should clean up.”
“Not just yet, okay? I like sticking together.”
Gary, more fastidious, didn’t, particularly, usually. But in this case he let Rick have his way. “So, do you still consider yourself technically a virgin in the state of New York?”
“Of course not. Why would I?”
“We’re in Florida.”
“But we’re both New Yorkers.”
“And we didn’t go all the way, as they say.”
“Sure we did. Safe sex is sex–”
“I guess. It sure felt like it–”
“–you old fart.”
“Respect your elders.”
Rick responded by running his hand up and down the length of Gary’s now-hypersensitive body. “Respectful enough?” He grinned and added, “It was worth the wait.” They kissed again.
“Losing your New York virginity, or do you just mean with me?”
“Same thing.” Which answered Gary’s not-so-implicit question.
They lay together quietly for a few moments or so, spent and – though Gary was reluctant to admit it, even to himself – happy. Then Rick said, “Gare?”
“Yes, babe?”
Rick propped himself up on his elbow, as he had the first night at Gary’s apartment. With a small frown he said, “I’m not sure I like you calling me babe any better than kid. I like you calling me something, but – I dunno. Babe’s a long way from Georgia Peach.”
You better believe it, thought Gary, but this time he restrained himself from actually saying something hurtful. “They’re both nicknames for famous baseball players,” he offered mildly.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” There was obviously no frame of reference, and Gary realized he was slightly annoyed. After all, Ruth and Cobb were well before his time, too. Did everyone under twenty-five think that history started with Watergate or something? “I really think we better get up now and clean off.” Trouble was, what had dried on their skin now made their contact, and especially their coming apart, remind Gary of tacky paint.
“You little devil,” Gary said.
“I don’t like that any better than babe.”
•
Back in their room, after they had (very quietly) cleaned up, they faced a couple of new dilemmas. The first became clear when Rick, understandably, announced, “I wanna sleep with you.”
“I wanna sleep with you, too. But you’ve gotta admit it isn’t very comfortable for two people in one of these twin beds.”
“What about that room you were in?”
Gary’s hesitation was noticeable. “I wanna sleep with you tonight, kid,” he repeated, “I really do. I hope you understand that. But I’d really rather not have Mom and Dad finding out we’re sleeping together by walking into that room and seeing us.”
“You mean you told them we were just friends?”
“Well, we were. At that point.”
“We slept together before.”
“Don’t get cute.” He couldn’t resist. “Even though ya are.”
“Don’t patronize me, Gary.”
“I am not patronizing you,” Gary shot back in a sudden flash of fury. “That happens to be something that Becker used to say to me. When the hell are you gonna get over your touchiness? If ever?”
He could see, in their room illuminated only by light from outside, that Rick, chastened, hung his head slightly. “Becker, huh? I guess I really blew that.”
“I guess you did.”
“You and Becker used that bedroom, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I don’t want to use it now. Like you said, we’ve slept together before – and we did it on a bed Becker and I slept on.”
“We didn’t ‘do it’. ”
“You are so goddamned argumentative!”
“All right,” Rick sighed. “We’ll sleep apart.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to sleep apart.”
“Now who’s argumentative?”
“Look. We can close the door to this room. My parents would expect, and respect, that; they wouldn’t barge in on us here. We can push the beds together, and we can set the alarm so we can push them back apart–”
“If you’re gonna go to the trouble of setting the alarm, why can’t we sleep in the other room and make up that bed–”
“No!”
Rick threw his arms up in disgust. “Do what you want,” he snapped. “I’m tired, and I’m going to bed.” He grandly flopped himself down. Though Gary couldn’t make out his expression in the semi-darkness, he could tell there was something incomplete about the gesture. He waited, and Rick’s voice, sheepish, came out of the dark. “Uh – Gare?”
“What?”
“These sheets. They’re all – uhh…”
Gary probably should have been upset, but his first impulse, which he went with, was to laugh. “I thought you said you were being careful.”
“Whose to say it’s mine?” Rick retorted, laughing as well. “What are we gonna do?”
“What can we do? We’ll have to wash and dry the sheets before my mother sees them.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“I’m tired, Gare!”
“All right,” Gary said, still snickering, “Lemme think about this. We’ll throw them in the washer now, and I’ll set the alarm so I can get up early enough to stick them in the dryer and dry them before they get up.”
“So like, when?”
“Four-thirty, I guess.”
“Ugh! You get up.”
