An Idol for Others (54 page)

He wondered what people were saying. His cherished heterosexual image was smashed beyond repair, of course, and he minded less than he had expected. Everybody would be buzzing from coast to coast by now. Have you heard? Walter Makin has gone completely gay. He wished the truth were known, if only for the kids’ sake. Even if they were both as gay as toads, which would raise hell with the law of averages, it wouldn’t be pleasant for them to hear that sort of gossip about their father. He hadn’t gone gay. He was in love with a fascinating friend. There was a difference. He wished all the gays here could make the distinction. He hated the eyes welcoming him as if to some charmed inner circle.

“Don’t you know any women?” Walter asked with a sharp edge he couldn’t suppress after they had been going about in public for more than a month. They were having an after-dinner bottle of wine in front of the fire.

“Sure. I have some good friends in the sort of literary university crowd. They’re mostly away by now. I’m a big literary gun out here, the biggest there is. We won’t have to get into that till fall, thank heavens. They’re not going to be happy about you. They might admit that their hero is a bit odd and he’s taking a long time to find the right girl, but an out-and-out faggot is going to upset them. John never mingled.” Tom chuckled. His hair was almost down to his shoulders. In the flickering firelight, he looked like a romantic frontier figure. “You getting tired of gay guys, darling?”

“Yes and no. Your real friends–Steve and Bill and Sidney and that bunch–I like them a lot.” Tom knew how to disarm him. It had never occurred to him that he might be a liability. The edge was gone from his voice. “I still find the big parties a bit peculiar.”

“I don’t usually go to them. It’s been fun showing you off, letting everybody know we’re together. I admit I’ve never been so popular. You’re a star, darling. Everybody wants to say they know Walter Makin. Why don’t you take over our social life? You must know lots of grand people around here.”

“No particular friends. People I’ve known with Clara. It’s not worth the bother to get in touch with them.”

“An out-and-out faggot might be awkward?”

“Two out-and-out faggots might be awkward. Do you think anybody can look at us without knowing we’re mad for each other?”

“It’s a problem. You’ll have to get used to being an outcast.”

“I don’t feel like an outcast except at the big fancy parties. I take it Mark doesn’t travel in your circles.”

“No, I haven’t seen him for a while. Do you want to try to find him?”

“No, I’ve been hoping we wouldn’t run into him. I don’t think I’d like to see him aging.”

“He has. The last time I saw him he’d gone completely gray. He looked a good ten years older than you. How about Jerry?”

“I’ve asked about him. People seem to know him. He works for Talbot, the decorator. He’s in Europe. They say he’ll be back in a few weeks. I’d like to see him.”

“I’m dying to meet him, naturally. Your son. Fantastic. Now that you’ve more or less settled in, what do you think, darling? I know it’s all different for you. Not very glamorous. No stars of stage or screen. Do you think you’re going to like it?”

Walter hesitated. They had been to some outrageous gay bars. They had seen some shows Walter found well-meaning, sometimes exuberant, but rarely professional. They had been to parties. He found the city–despite its vaunted cosmopolitanism, its exotic touches, the flamboyant drag prevalent in some of its streets, its sumptuously decorated houses and apartments–as pleasantly provincial as he remembered it. The atmosphere was casual and diffuse. He doubted if he could take it by storm, even with Tom’s play. He felt an enormous complacency that could easily be defeating to an innovator. It was a challenge. It was a relief to be challenged by a place rather than a person.

“To be perfectly frank, I’d be quite content on the moon as long as you were there. Well, maybe not the moon–all those funny suits and things. We couldn’t have much fun in those. But you get the general idea. I talked to David this afternoon. He says he and Flossy might come up for a weekend soon. George Cukor may be coming too. I’d like to see all of them. Maybe we could give a little dinner party if it wouldn’t be a bore for you to cook.” He had not yet adjusted to asking Tom for services he was accustomed to having performed by servants.

“You know I love cooking for you. You’d like some ladies to fill up the corners? I can dig up a couple. Millie. You’ll like her. We haven’t really started living a normal life yet. Your going to work will make a big difference. We’ll slowly get things sorted out.”

Walter was gradually getting to work, although he still felt a curious lack of energy. It was perhaps a lethargy of love, of wanting to let himself drift at Tom’s side. He had discovered that Artie Solvering, who had worked for him several years earlier, was the director of one of the city’s theater groups; and he began to have regular meetings with him to feel out the ground. He looked at properties that might be suitable for what he had in mind. He didn’t necessarily want a theater; but a large space that he could turn into a sort of theater he was formulating in his mind. He found a girl in Tiburon who would come in for a couple of hours in the morning for secretarial work. He had some stationery printed and bought a typewriter and a tape recorder, and business began to fill more and more of his day. He had been in touch with Alice almost since his arrival–about the shows running in New York, about money; about sending some clothes; later about Clara, who was in Europe; and about the kids, who were at the ranch. Now he began to have almost daily telephone conversations with her about his San Francisco plans.

One afternoon, when an appointment in the city ended sooner than he had expected, he drove all the way home for a few needed minutes with Tom before he would have to drive back again for a meeting with Artie. He called Tom as he entered the house and received no answer. He went through the terrace and looked around. He was about to go back inside when he was suddenly rooted to the spot. He stared down at the jetty, stunned. The boat was gone.

As he recovered from his initial astonishment, he began to concoct a melodramatic scenario in which Tom was the courier of a Bay Area dope gang, dashing about in his little boat to pick up and deliver the contraband. When this nonsense failed to amuse him, his thoughts turned more serious. Did Tom have waterborne assignations with a boyfriend? Or did he simply like to go sailing alone? The more Walter thought about it, the less he liked it. Tom had said being gay was like being a secret agent. Was the total, open, loving relationship Walter thought they were achieving based on some sort of deception? He had been determined not to be demanding. For once, he had been prepared to dedicate himself wholly to another person’s happiness. Did Tom have needs and interests he knew nothing about? It was all so new to him. He had never understood permanent homosexual matings or how they could possibly work. Had Tom deceived him in allowing him to believe that their passionate devotion would be enough? How did his going off alone in his boat,
if
he were alone, fit in with everything being theirs? If he went for secret sails, what other secrets might he have?

He told himself that he was getting overwrought–as usual, where Tom was concerned. Tom had had a sudden impulse to go for a sail. He would hear all about it this evening.

This thought helped him through the meeting with Artie and kept him from breaking all the speed limits on the way home. As he neared the house, he was suddenly appalled by the magnitude of the crisis that might be facing him. If Tom lied, could anything be salvaged? He believed in him to the roots of his being. He had to believe that he was as straight and true and dependable as he knew him to be, or everything he had done was idiocy.

Tom welcomed him with his usual loving warmth, but within minutes Walter knew, with a numbing dread close to horror, that he wasn’t going to say anything about the boat. Walter tried a few cautiously leading questions (“How was your afternoon? All as usual?”), but Tom slid around them with admirable dexterity. He didn’t actually lie. Walter wanted to believe that it was a vast misunderstanding. Perhaps he’d been out only briefly and didn’t think it worth mentioning. Perhaps he’d forgotten. By the time they had fixed themselves drinks, he wanted to come right out with it but realized that it was too late. It would look as if he’d been testing him, trying to catch him in a lie.

Walter took him to bed before dinner and made love to him with a passion verging on violence. Tom had to be his. This being, this mind, this adoring body was all that he cared about in life. He didn’t know how it had happened; but he knew now more than ever that it was true. Tom hadn’t lied. There was some simple explanation. He would let it go for a while, and when an opportune moment came, he would ask him point-blank if he ever went out in the boat. Reason warned that, meanwhile, he should be more watchful, more cautious, more guarded in the unthinking confidence he felt in being with him, but he knew that reason wouldn’t prevail. He couldn’t be cautious when he melted with love at the sight of him. He couldn’t be guarded with the storm of passion that shook him when he held him. He took him violently and listened to his shouts of adoration. Tom was his as surely as he was Tom’s.

Work went on apace. He wrote to his list of backers outlining his plans and received quick replies with enough promises of support so that he could proceed. He decided to give Tom’s play a straight, professional production and go with his other plans when he found the material he was looking for. He gave the play to Artie, who was stunned by it and was eager to help cast it locally. He entered into negotiations with one of the city’s commercial theaters for a month’s booking in late October. He would start rehearsals in mid September and keep the production on the Coast until the end of the year and send it to New York in January. All this suited Tom, who expected to finish the first draft of his novel by the end of the summer.

They cut down their social activities to people they both really liked. Walter kept Jerry in mind and called him at home one Saturday morning when he thought he would be back. He recognized his voice immediately. “Hello, sonny. I hoped you’d be back.”

“I don’t believe it. It can’t be. Is it really you, sweetie? You sound so clear. Where are you?”

Walter told him, including the circumstances of his being there. Jerry exclaimed appropriately. There was something old-fashioned about his light, mannered voice, like a ’20s debutante–or like Fay. “My word. You’ve finally fallen. How heavenly. You were such a divine lover. I never believed Clara was the whole story. I’m going to be madly jealous. I’ve always heard he’s an utter dish. You must be the talk of the town.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. When do you want to come see us? How about lunch in a little while?” It was one of the things he was getting used to–that you could invite people on the spur of the moment instead of a month in advance.

“Oh, damn, sweetie. I have a lunch. Later?”

“Sure. We’ll be here. Come for a swim and stay for dinner. Are you unattached?”

“Yes. Too sad. You met that adorable boy I was with, didn’t you? That broke up a couple of years ago. Shattering. Still, it lasted for five years. I never dreamed I could be faithful for so long. Well, in my fashion. It was every bit as good as you said it would be. I’m still hoping for the right man to come along. What a shame it can’t be you. Is 3:30 too soon? We have so much to talk about.”

“That’s fine. I’m looking forward to seeing you, sonny.”

The prospect of seeing his son again, of introducing him to his lover, of meeting on the equal footing of shared and acknowledged sexual inclinations excited him and loosed a nice warm flow of love in him. He told Tom as soon as he came out of his study for lunch.

Tom’s face lightened up. “How wonderful. I’m going to meet your son. I feel already as if he were a little bit mine. He’s 30 now?”

“Yeah. A bit old to be yours, but still. His manner’s rather silly, but I think he’s a good kid.”

The last few days had been unusually hot. Both Walter and Tom had been having plunges in the icy water of the bay just to stay cool. They decided to stay up on the terrace so that they would hear Jerry when he arrived. Walter carried out their usual light picnic lunch, and they ate in the shade.

“There’s something very sexy about meeting your son,” Tom said. “I must be jealous. Once you’ve been to bed with your son, I guess you’d go on wanting to. It’s not like a passing affair.”

“I don’t think we need to worry about that.” Walter looked at Tom’s lanky body and fine, intelligent face. His pale hair was getting long all over and lay on his shoulders in back. At times in bed, with a long lock falling over an eye, he looked startlingly feminine, but generally, as now, it gave him an adorably shaggy, boyish look. “He’ll undoubtedly fall for you. Watch out.”

“You always think that about everybody, darling. It’s very sweet of you, but a letdown when they all fall for you instead.”

They went to bed for half an hour. When they got up, they put on their trunks. “I’ll go on down so you can have a minute alone with him,” Tom said. They kissed, and Tom left him. Walter straightened up here and there around the house, looking forward to the impending visit, amused at the thought that Jerry was largely responsible for his being here.

He heard a car in the drive and opened the door to the house just as Jerry reached it. He closed it behind him and kissed him lightly on the mouth, immediately drawn to him again with that odd mix of feelings both erotic and paternal. For the brief moment that he held him, he could feel Jerry’s trying to turn it into a close embrace, offering himself. He held him at arm’s length and laughed, shaking his head. “None of that, youngster.”

“You can’t blame a guy for trying. You’re still the best. It’s true even after 12 hectic years. And now you’ve finally found out what it’s all about. How can I resist?”

He had changed little in the five years since they had last seen each other, except that Jerry’s hair was even longer than Tom’s. It fell in rich chestnut waves around his shoulders. He was tanned and healthy-looking, dressed in expensive casual clothes, with several chains around his neck. There were bracelets on his wrists, and he carried a shoulder bag. A few years ago Walter would have assumed that he was wearing some sort of fancy dress. Now he simply looked with-it. He had become an attractive young man, characterless but agreeable. He communicated a will to please that was disarming. “You brought your trunks? Good. Put them on in there.” He indicated the office bedroom. “Let’s go on down. Tom’s waiting for us.”