The summer between, p.27
The Summer Between, page 27
“Yes, but carefully. Cover your head with my shower cap. But please, eat first.”
“I don’t want to eat when I’m smelling like this.”
“Okay,” she said, throwing up her hands in surrender.
“Thanks, Lia—”
“Honey? How do you know for sure? This could be a phase.”
“It’s how I feel, Mom. This is me.”
Drawing in her breath, she pressed on, adding, “You had girlfriends, Elena. Well, have you slept with—have you been with a male?”
“Don’t ask stuff you don’t wanna know.”
“When you were a little boy … no one touched you, did they? You can tell me, Andy.”
“Nooooooooo, Mom, nothing like that,” I said. In my mind, I saw the faces of Ollie, Damon, Ben, and Wyatt flash before me. And finally, douchebag Wally.
“Maybe I should have stayed with your father. Then this would never have happened,” she said, pulling gently at her hair.
“Mom … can we talk about this later, please?”
“Yes, later. Later will be better,” she nodded, realizing she was in too deep. She paused. “Are you sure you don’t want more than a muffin?”
“Just a muffin, Lia.” I smiled at her priorities.
“It’s okay to experiment, I guess, but please don’t decide now. You’re only eighteen. One day you’ll get married and have children. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you,” she said, crying anew into her balled fists.
I wrapped myself around her trembling body. I had never seen her so weak, not since her mastectomy, or I imagine the years after that shit father left us. She caved into my arms.
“You’re a man, but you’ll always be my little Andy,” she wailed.
That was my cue to escape to the bathroom. I undressed and stepped carefully into the rushing shower water, putting on her cap to protect my head.
As the water pelted my body, I kept hearing Lia’s chant, “No. No. No,” as it reverberated in my head. Out of nowhere, a wail surged up into my throat and escaped. Like some twisted rebirth, it willed me to breathe. No more lies. The water would cleanse me of any remaining guilt.
It was time to be Andy. Just Andy.
Chapter 30
Elena picked up on the first ring. Of course, she just started talking.
“Rocco and I went to Bucks County. His friends have a dinner theater. Guys and Dolls was so much fun. New Hope is charming and a little homo. You’d like it.”
“Never heard of Bucks County. So you moved? I had no idea,” I lied.
“I know that you know I moved, Mr. Man.”
“And you’re living with Rocco, not Maya. I can’t believe I found out from Luba.”
“Maya’s landlord is a fucking asshole,” she said, ignoring my guilt trip. “But Rocco’s apartment is freaking spectacular.”
“Yeah, well—”
“Wait, Andy, your voice sounds weird. You okay?”
“Well … I’m fine, but a bit medicated.”
“What the fu—?”
“I was in a car accident last night. A few bruises, sore ribs, and a mild concussion. But the Blue Whale is history.”
“Holy shit, Andy. Want me to come over?”
I heard Rocco gasp in the background.
In a hushed tone, slowed by the painkillers, I told Elena the entire story.
Monday, Elena stopped by with a bouquet of yellow long-stem roses and roast beef subs. Mid-chew, she spouted, “Andy, give Lia time. She’s way cooler than most parents and loves you like crazy. We all make mistakes.”
“I expected more of her—”
“She’ll come through. Hey, I gotta tell you—you look like shit! Like a beat-up Raggedy Andy,” she said, laughing and choking.
I gave Elena a look and she shut up. As we shared a gigantic chocolate chip cookie, she changed the subject. She described living with Rocco. She meant to cheer me up, but it pissed me off. Yeah, I was jealous that she had a new homo.
“And we’re throwing a party late September. You can bring your artsy-fartsy NYU friends!”
“Sounds like a plan,” I mumbled. “Hey, what happened with your Puerto Rican squeeze, Manny?”
“San Juan, visiting cousins. I’m on hold until he gets back. Manny’s wild about me.”
“You deserve a good guy.”
“Shit, gotta go. I’m meeting Rocco at Bloomingdale’s. He thinks a fuchsia bedspread is perfect for my room.”
I rolled my eyes, but she ignored it.
“I wish you were well enough to come along,” she said, kissing the unbandaged part of my brow. “The roses will open up in a day. Feel better!”
And I was left alone with shitty feelings about every single thing in my life, none worse than disappointing Lia’s dreams for my future. The pain of coming out, and in such a fucked-up way, kept me in a funk for days.
Aware of my misery, Lia rallied and nimbly acted like I hadn’t dropped the bombshell. She baked an apple crumb cake. She hummed while changing my bandages. But over chicken pot pies on Thursday night, she reopened the discussion.
“Andy, maybe talking to a priest would help?”
“Insane. We’re not very Catholic! You didn’t even want me to go to Catholic school.”
“How about Uncle Carl?”
“Too judgmental.”
“What about a shrink?” Lia added.
“Why don’t you stop trying to fix me,” I said in a firm voice.
She looked at me in shock. In a quieter voice, she said, “Mitch plans to visit Labor Day weekend. He’s very grounded. I’d like you both to meet.”
“Yes, I want to meet Mitch. But seriously, maybe talking to a therapist is something you should do.”
“Why?”
“So you can learn to accept me. I’m still the same son I was last week, Mom.”
Chapter 31
I looked at the business card. What did I have to lose? I dialed.
“Hello, this is Jack Brooks.”
“Hi, this is Andy Pollock. Is this a good time to—”
“Andy! What a lovely surprise! Just reading the script for a new commercial. A national breath mint campaign. Big bucks. Anyway, how are you?”
“I’m well, thanks, aside from a car accident last weekend.”
“What the hell?”
“I’m a bit banged up but nothing serious.”
“Andy, I’m sorry. Damn. I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Anyway, that’s not why I’m calling. I want to thank you for Amagansett. We should get together for dinner,” I said.
“Dinner, yes, of course!”
“Maybe that Iguana place you took Ben and me to.”
“You bet. You know, I haven’t talked to Ben in a couple of weeks.”
“Neither have I,” I said, getting to the heart of the matter.
“I heard you two aren’t seeing each other. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I said.
“Well, that could change once you’re in the city. Ben cares about you.”
“He told you that?”
“I have to admit, Andy, I’ve had a crush on you myself.”
My heart jumped into my throat.
“So, if Ben’s not in the picture … I’m only kidding,” he said, laughing. I didn’t need any more complications in my fucked-up life, so I ignored his crack.
“I need your advice.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you think two men can have a solid relationship?”
“Absolutely. Look at Perry and me.”
I imagined their messed-up relationship and I almost felt like hanging up.
“I have many gay friends in long-term relationships. There are three types of men, I figure. Nesters like shacking up. Players like playing the field. Then there’s predators—like that sick motherfucker who raped you.”
“How do you tell the difference?”
“Keep your eyes open. Sow your wild oats; then pick a longtime lover. Listen to your gay uncle,” Jack said, chuckling.
“Thanks,” I said, puzzled by his playful tone. Then I recalled it was cocktail time.
“When does your Columbia campaign launch? I’m here to help you propel that career forward,” he said.
“Early September, I think. Anyhow, I just called to say howdy.”
“I’m glad you did. Hey—give Ben a call. Break the ice. That nephew of mine can be difficult. But he’s worth it.”
Chapter 32
I picked up the ringing phone, hoping it was Ben. I hadn’t called him yet, like Jack advised.
“Andy … guess who’s back from Spain?
My stomach tightened, but I forced myself to sound upbeat.
“Ollie? What a surprise. When did you get in?”
“Saturday.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling pissed off that he had taken his time. But then, why the hell should I care?
“I have a meeting at school this morning, and since I’ll be in Maple, I thought I’d stop after. Around two o’clock?”
I was dubious about inviting him over. After all, too many people had told me how he took advantage of me. But Ollie was a mentor, I told myself. An adult. Maybe he could help me figure out the Ben stuff. Shed some light on how to deal with Lia.
So I told him to come over.
I decided to make Betty Crocker fudge brownies and serve them with coffee. A very adult afternoon snack.
He was forty minutes late, and the brownies had cooled off. I was not happy when I opened the door. He was so distracted by my bandage that he didn’t see my pissed-off frown.
“Whoa, what the fuck happened to your head?” Ollie asked.
“Car wreck. Come in, and I’ll shoot you the details.”
“You look good otherwise. Here,” Ollie said, handing me a package wrapped in tattered red tissue bound by a ribbon of natural fibers. “It’s from Toledo, a hill town outside of Madrid. I saw it and thought of you.”
I thought about hugging him but decided to pat him on the back instead. Ollie looked different; his pasty skin was darkened by the sun. His acne scars were less pronounced. There was a yellowish-amber tone to his hair, which he had cut short. He was wearing a buff-colored pullover and linen drawstring pants. He looked better than he did before he left for the summer, I had to admit.
I unwrapped the gift. It was a handmade leather-bound sketchbook with an oxblood red cover.
“Hope you like it,” Ollie said with a fidgety tone.
“I love it. So classy. Follow me.”
“Sure.”
“And no, we’re not fooling around.”
Ollie made a pouting sound, and I couldn’t tell if he was joking. I told myself I shouldn’t care. I brought him to my easel.
“It’s a belated birthday present. It’s close to completion. Careful, it’s wet.”
“Fried eggs. I love fried eggs,” he said, sounding like an idiot.
“I’ve been working on it since May.”
“I’ll hang it above the brown-checkered chair in my living room. One day it will be worth a fortune,” he said.
Truth be told, the painting wasn’t intended for Ollie. I wasn’t exactly sure why I made the on-the-spot decision to present it to him.
“Let’s go downstairs. I made brownies. They’ve cooled off.”
He lunged when we got downstairs and grabbed a square, shoving it into his mouth.
“Okay, spill. How did the concussion happen?”
I described the club, the motel, and the crash. I didn’t go into details about Wally, but maybe I should have, to rub his nose in it.
Ollie’s eyes grew wide, and his mouth dropped open, exposing the paste of his undigested brownie. A pig. And when I explained how I came out to Lia, he was shocked into silence. Briefly.
“You didn’t tell Lia about me? About us?” Ollie suddenly asked with alarm, spitting brownie crumbs at me.
Fucker only cares about himself. He didn’t ask if I told Elena that we slept together, and I felt no obligation to tell him that I had.
Once he realized my story was over, Ollie had no other questions about my mental state. Typical. Instead, he leaped into his own story. He boasted about his triumphs in Madrid, sexual connections with guys and girls. Mostly guys.
By the end of his sexual travelogue, he had gobbled down three more brownies.
“Given I was one of the few blonds in Madrid—I had my pick of the litter!”
“Hmmmm,” I said, letting a sneer slip into my tone. “Man, you certainly caught on fast. You told me you were pretty inexperienced in the guy department.”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged, reaching for another brownie. “One summer abroad, and look what happens.”
“Well, thank you for saving me from having a bad first experience, that’s all,” I said, surprised by my bitchy tenor.
Not recognizing the dig, Ollie just yammered on until I interrupted him.
“I’ve got a lot to figure out. NYU is coming up. I’m gonna be a small fish about to swim in a big pond.”
“Hey, kid—you’re cool. I’ve seen you in action. You’re a strong swimmer. Lighten up, Andy. Have fun. Sleep around, experiment.”
“Huh?”
“The worst that could happen is getting the clap or syphilis. That’s what clinics are for. A shot of penicillin, and it’s gone.”
“Gee, thanks. I should fuck my way through freshman year?”
“I didn’t say that. But yeah, sure. Hey—I’m having a few friends over tomorrow night. I think you should come.”
“Mrs. Stein, MacMillan, the others?”
“No, no, no. Well, one is a teacher in Newark. A few people I met before Spain, and two visited me in Madrid. At six o’clock. Wine and cheese. There’s one guy in particular I think you might like.”
I said yes. Frankly, I needed to meet new people—so I could dump losers like Ollie.
Chapter 33
Wednesday morning, Lia was in a strange mood. When I mentioned I’d be at a wine and cheese party at Ollie’s, she fired a barrage of questions, asking whether Ollie knew about my sexuality.
“Yes, I talked to Ollie back in May before he left for Spain, around the same time I told Elena.”
Sorry, Ollie.
“So he knows, too. Did he suggest therapy?”
“He was very helpful and said nothing about therapy.”
“Ollie’s like a father figure to you, isn’t he?” Lia asked.
“Ollie’s a teacher friend, Mom.”
“Then he should have shared what you told him. I’m your mother.”
“I told him in confidence.”
“One more question. Was Elena devastated when you told her?”
“Mom, Elena has been extremely supportive.”
“Jesus. Everyone in the world knew except me? Why was I the last to hear?”
“I thought you couldn’t handle it,” I said.
“I did tell Mitch,” she said defiantly, daring me to object. “I needed support. I may talk to Ruth for encouragement. Can I tell Ruth?”
“I don’t care if Ruth knows.”
“But Andy, do me a favor,” she added. “Refrain from telling others your secret?”
I scowled. Lia’s scolding left me feeling dirty. When the phone rang, I brushed by her to get it, making sure she knew the conversation was over.
“Road trip!” Elena sang into the receiver. “I’m picking you up Sunday morning.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“It’s a big surprise.”
I hoped that Rocco would be out of town.
____
Over salami sandwiches on Wonder Bread, Gram handed me the keys to her Cutlass sedan, warning me to be extra careful. I promised I’d have the car back to her by nine p.m., ten at the latest.
After lunch, I drove to Maple Liquor and Spirits for a cheap bottle of Chablis. Then a haircut. Around five o’clock, I defied doctor’s orders and ran five sweaty miles. After a shower, I tried on five or six shirts before settling on a long-sleeve blue, green, and yellow Alexander Julian dress shirt. I tucked the shirt into a starched pair of khakis and decided to debut the burgundy Bass penny loafers Lia bought me for college.
After gassing up the car, I turned onto Ollie’s street to find three cars in front of the cottage. The moment I switched off the ignition, a sweat broke out. I grabbed the Chablis and knocked loudly on the front door to break through the laughter inside.
“Andy, you made it! We’re already drunk,” Ollie said, dressed in a loose Hawaiian shirt and cut-off shorts.
“Andy is here!” Ollie turned and called out. Then he made introductions. The bald lanky man with a Tom Selleck mustache in cream-colored slacks was Eric, the owner of a jewelry store in West Orange.
Tom was an English teacher from Newark. He looked as grey as Uncle Jack, but muscular like the celebrity exercise guy, Jack LaLanne. Tom shook my hand like a politician, insisting I needed a cocktail.
Howard wore tight faded jeans and a peach V-neck T-shirt with a gold chain to complement his handsome olive skin. Howard lived in the city.
There was no doubt in my mind each fellow was homosexual. Especially the way they sized me up. I took a seat in the centrally arranged club chair as if holding court. Ollie handed me a piña colada.
“Crackers? Cheese?” I teased.
“We ran out of both an hour ago,” he chuckled.
Ollie sat next to Howard on the sectional. Then Howard caressed Ollie’s leg. I wondered if I had been invited to a gay orgy. Just then, the doorbell rang.
“That’s Scotty,” Ollie said, and hustled toward the door. “Someone put on the new Manhattan Transfer album,” he shouted.
A man out of a fairy tale walked in. Scotty was masculine and preppy with a messy crop of copper-colored hair. He wore a tan suit with a loosened tie. Sheepishly, he bowed his head to the group and jogged to the bathroom.
“That blur was Scotty Bibb, everyone,” Ollie joked.
Scotty returned to the living room and found a spot on the carpet beside my chair. He smiled widely at me as Ollie handed him a piña colada.
“I knew you two would hit it off,” Ollie beamed.
