An Idol for Others (53 page)

“I suppose you’ve forgotten that Claudette is expecting us at Cap Ferrat at the end of the month and that we’re due at Majorca for two weeks at Hal’s.”

“I hadn’t exactly forgotten. I just haven’t given it much thought. I’d better wire them polite little notes explaining that I’m involved in the most exciting project of my life. Shall I say you’re coming anyway?”

“I’ll decide that for myself. What are we supposed to call this? Desertion?”

“That should sound all right in divorce court, I suppose, if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll talk to the lawyers. You must be aware that I can probably block your money.”

“I can’t blame you if you decide to be unpleasant. It won’t make any difference. I’ve hit it lucky. Tom can afford to keep me.”

“He has a name, has he?”

“Sorry. Didn’t I say? Tom Jennings. Alice was supposed to order his books for me. If they’re there, you should read them. They’re marvelous.”

“I’m really not interested in the life and works of your catamite.”

His arm tightened on Tom’s shoulders. “Maybe we’d better not talk anymore now, Clara. You have every reason to be angry, but you must know why I did it like this. You haven’t forgotten Mark.”

Her sudden laughter lashed at him. “You’re really pathetic. A middle-aged man with a wife and grown sons running off to find romance with an almost middle-aged faggot. Yes, I know all about him. When it’s over, I suppose you think I’ll be dying to welcome you back.”

He was awaiting her familiar threat to find another man but realized that it was a bit late for that. A woman past 50 was more or less out of the running unless she was ready to settle for hustlers. He was touched by compassion for her and by a sadness that all the years added up to so little. “I think we’d better leave it for now. We’ll write. I’m ready to accept anything you decide.”

“Then I take it I needn’t expect you home for the summer at least.”

“I am home, Clara. That’s the point.” Tom lifted his head, and their eyes met. Walter spread his legs to make room for what was happening down there. “As a matter of fact, since the boys will be so near here, I think I’ll arrange for them to come see us at the end of the summer. I’d like Tom to meet them.”

“And seduce them?”

“Don’t go too far, Clara.”

“How can I? You don’t have any respect for yourself. You never have had. Whatever I do, I’ll see to it that you don’t ruin yourself utterly.”

“That’s fair warning. I know what to expect when you’re looking after my best interests. Let it go, for God’s sake. There’s absolutely nothing you can do about this. You’re dealing with two very determined men.” His sex lifted as he said it.

“We’ll see about that Good-bye, dearest.”

He heard the click of the broken connection. He dropped the instrument into its cradle and reached for Tom’s head and held his ears and met his parted lips. Tom withdrew from the long kiss and dropped his head to Walter’s upright sex. Walter lay back with a contented sigh and caressed the back of his neck. “There, Tommy. For our purposes, I guess I’m divorced. We can get married whenever you like.”

Tom paused in his play, and his lips moved against Walter’s flesh when he spoke. “I’m glad it’s settled, darling; but don’t let’s get married. We’ll go on breaking the law.” His mouth opened and moved voluptuously over the object of his worship.

The call seemed to bring them back into the world, as if they had been waiting for it to define reality. They began to integrate themselves into their surroundings in practical ways. Tom took Walter to his bank, and they arranged to have a joint account and have Walter’s money transferred to it. Tom had a telephone installed in his old room. They drove into the city and found a desk and went shopping for some essentials for Walter.

“I suppose I’m going to have to think about having a few suits made,” Walter said.

“Made? Do you have your clothes made for you?”

“Of course.”

“It’s awfully expensive, darling. There’re plenty of shops where you can get good things for a third the price.”

“Really? Things that would look all right?”

“That would look beautiful on you, darling. You’re not exactly deformed.”

“Well, we’ll see. Maybe I can arrange to have some of my things sent out from New York.”

He was displeased to be told where he could buy his clothes, and it took him most of the drive home to shake off a sense of oppression. When he realized he was sulking about clothes rather than Tom’s sensible concern about needless expenditures, he burst out laughing. “Really, I’m such an ass. Clothes, for God’s sake. I can wear yours. Ours. They’re ours, aren’t they?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve lost some weight. All that exercise in bed. I can even wear our shirts now.”

They came to a final decision about taking the house off the market. Tom began to call people and to receive calls in return, and he talked again about giving a party. He took Walter to his barber.

“My ex-barber,” he amended. “I’m going to let my hair grow. Would you like it long?”

“Sure. I’d love to see a cascade of blond hair on the pillow beside me. It’s picking up lovely coppery tones in the sun.”

Tom finished the revisions of the play with Walter’s enthusiastic approval. “It was your idea, and you were right, darling,” Tom said in response to praise. “The fact that the changes practically made themselves proves that this is the way it should’ve been. You don’t think it’s too shocking?”

“It’s not shocking at all. It’s tremendously moving. That doesn’t mean it won’t shock the pants off a lot of people.”

Tom returned to his novel. Walter bought screening material and paint and lumber and a few tools Tom didn’t have and amused himself by transforming the kitchen and dining area. Tom expressed delight, but Walter had a feeling that he wasn’t much interested. He sensed an increasing withdrawal in him. Love flowed from him unstintingly, but it was confined to their more intimate hours. During the day Walter began to notice that he was frequently vague and unresponsive. It filled him with dread. Perhaps he couldn’t expect them to maintain indefinitely the high pitch of the first days, but should it pass so soon? He had gambled everything on Tom and had happily abandoned himself to love. It was even more wonderful than he had imagined. What would become of him if he lost it? He was only beginning to realize how totally dependent he had become on his lover.

“Is anything wrong, Tommy?” he asked one day at lunch.

“Wrong?” he replied. “How could there be?”

“I don’t know. You’re different. You act as if I weren’t here most of the time.”

“Oh, no, darling.” He looked stricken. “How awful for you to feel that way. What do you mean?”

“Just that. You don’t talk to me anymore.”

“Don’t I? Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I was thinking about the work.”

“Do you always think about the work?”

“I guess I do. I don’t know. It feels so wonderful knowing you’re here that I’m working better than ever.”

“Are you, baby? That’s marvelous.” He laughed suddenly, realizing that work affected him the same way. It had never occurred to him that anything could be so absorbing as putting on a play. “Love must be making me stupid. I was afraid you were getting bored with me.”

“Don’t say that. Please, darling. I’d never work again if I thought it was spoiling anything for us.”

“It’s not I should’ve recognized the symptoms. How strange to be jealous. It’s something I’ve never wanted to be.”

“Please be jealous, darling. I love it. It’s something new about you. I feel as if there were a great wall of happiness around me, and for the first time in my life there’s nothing to interfere with my writing what I want to write. I suppose we’ll have our bad times like everybody else, but so far I can’t imagine it.” He couldn’t. He had worried about Walter’s being bored. When they had set off on their wild dash across the country, he had been prepared, if all went well and they found they wanted to stay together, to shut up the house and turn around and go back. San Francisco. New York. It didn’t matter. For Walter to want to do his play, and do it here, was an unexpected bonus and gave them a chance to settle down; but they could have worked things out without that. The one thing he couldn’t do was let anybody interfere with his work, but until Walter got started he could cut his work time to a minimum. He took Walter’s hand and looked searchingly into his face. “The way you look at me–as if I were the most fascinating person in the world. If you ever stop, I’ll shoot myself. Work’s been turning me into a dull dog. Help me pace myself, darling. If I get carried away, I have to do it all over again anyway. Let’s give that party.”

“Fine, but there’s something else I’d like even better. I’d like to go for a sail with you.”

Tom looked away. “Sure, one of these days. It takes a lot of time to get the boat ready, and she’s such a dinky little thing. You’ll probably think it’s a lot of fuss about nothing.”

A rebuff. There was no mistaking it. His reserve about the boat had nothing to do with his work. Something to do with this life with John? Walter found it almost unbearable for there to be anything about him he didn’t know and understand, but if his evasiveness about the boat was the greatest wound love was going to inflict on him, he hadn’t much to complain about. “Any day,” he said casually. “Who’re we going to invite to the party?”

Tom gave his party, and Walter met a dozen of his best friends and their mates, all male. They were newspapermen and decorators and painters and actors and an airline pilot. It was Walter’s first public appearance as a homosexual, and his pleasure in finding social recognition for his relationship with Tom almost counterbalanced his discomfort.

Invitations followed, a handful that soon swelled to a torrent, and the oddness for Walter of living in a world without women slowly wore off, although he couldn’t get used to being kissed as a matter of course by his hosts. He supposed that this was the sort of thing Tom had in mind when he complained that Walter wouldn’t let himself feel really gay.

With summer upon them and the likelihood that his production plans would soon be taking him into the city frequently, they decided Walter would have to have a car of his own. Tom was responsible for their choosing a practical little compact rather than the Jaguar Walter had his eye on. He also insisted on paying for it. “Let me handle the money, darling. You’re not used to thinking about it.”

Walter came close to losing his temper. “Unless I’m mistaken, I’ve just had something like $20,000 paid into our account. Is there any reason why I can’t spend my money the way I want?”

“Our money, darling.”

“Sorry. Our money,” Walter corrected himself impatiently. He hadn’t adjusted yet to a communal approach to money. His financial affairs had always been managed for him by Clara or the office, but he had known that the money was his. “I can’t go around in a mini whatsis–or whatever you’ve picked out for me. People will think I’ve gone broke.”

“No, they won’t, darling. They’ll think you’re keeping me and that Clara’s bleeding you white. Or maybe they’ll think you’re too smart to get stuck in traffic in a flashy car.”

Walter looked at him and prepared to attack. He was standing in front of the fireplace in tight shirt and jeans, lean, tan, rangy. His cowboy, impervious to citified tantrums. Walter’s anger collapsed. “All right. Have it your way. But don’t blame me if somebody runs into me and I get carted away in a tangle of tin.”

“If I thought you’d let somebody run into you, I wouldn’t let you have any car.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t Frankly, I hate the idea. I’ll probably go gray worrying about you. You’re used to being driven.”

“What a sweetheart you are.”

“Your money yet,” Tom growled.

“Oh, shit, Tommy. I said I was sorry. Come here. Please.” Tom moved slowly to the sofa and sat on the edge of it beside him. “I meant
our
money. You know that. Of course it’s ours.”

“Yes, ours. Everything is ours. It goes without saying. That’s why I haven’t even bothered to tell you I’m having the house put into both our names. You’ll have to sign some papers.”

It took Walter a moment to be able to speak. “Tommy. Tommy, darling. You shouldn’t do that.”

“Why? Because you don’t want to be bothered with it in case you decide to clear out? Don’t worry. You can …” His voice broke, and he toppled over into Walter’s lap and flung his arms around him and buried his face against his stomach. His shoulders shook, and then he was quiet. They hugged each other. Tears welled up in Walter’s eyes. “Mad as a hatter,” Tom said thickly against his stomach. “He was dragged away screaming ‘I love you.’ My love. My life. You. Us. Ours. Not our fucking money. Our heavenly life. We’ll never have enough of it. You’re not going to clear out, are you?”

“No, Tommy. Never.”

“Never?’ He edged himself around until he was lying out flat on his back with his head on Walter’s lap. He lifted his arms and let his hands toy lightly with Walter’s face. He looked up with shining tear-streaked eyes. “You’ve been crying too. What a sissy. Why are we so damned pleased with each other? I know you’re just a guy in a body like everybody else–well, almost. Aside from the fact that nobody’s ever had a face like yours or such a beautiful body or has been so sweet and bright and funny, there’s nothing very special about you. I guess it’s just because you adore me. I like that. Adore me, darling. Worship me as much as I worship you. And please drive that silly little car carefully.”

Adjustments. Walter was only beginning to discover the many adjustments that love required. He wasn’t used to thinking about somebody constantly to the exclusion of all other thoughts, of wondering what he was doing, what he was thinking every minute of the day. So far, Tom had shown no sign of being attracted to anyone else; but that didn’t make Walter less jealous. He was obviously attractive to others, and Walter was always slightly on edge at the gay gatherings when a young man attached himself to them. He had lost his social touch. He was too intent on hearing what Tom was saying, gauging his reactions, intervening if he seemed to be enjoying himself too much, to be able to make easy contact with others. When Tom’s eyes strayed below a belt, which they frequently did, Walter was always quick with a question to divert his attention. He felt an ache of deprivation when a chore took him out on his own and was always in a hurry to get home. He was completely content and relaxed only when they were alone together, preferably touching each other. He wasn’t aware that he was suffering some of the agonies of love that experience had taught him to avoid.