Strings Attached (13 page)

Jonathan chuckled deep within his chest, stretched himself a hundred feet tall as he did so, then pulled himself down to meet his son’s eyes. “You
do
know how,” he said.

“But I’m
gay.
”

“Who you fall in love with has little to do with it; to be a man you must be three things: courageous, honest, and selfish.”

Jeremy cocked his head. “The first two I can see,” he agreed, nodding. “But to be selfish? How’ll that help me?”

“The three are inseparable,” he began, placing his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Courage is needed to be honest with yourself, and once you know your true nature, you must be courageous enough to be selfish about your needs. The happy man pursues that which he
needs,
but at the same time uses great caution while pursuing that which he
wants.
You’ll see that by doing this, you’ll be able to give unselfishly to others and to illuminate your life—as well as another’s—with love. Otherwise, you will only exist, chasing someone else’s dreams instead of your own. It is a paradox that some people never figure out. Do you understand?”

“I think so. But how does wishing on a star come into this?”

“I don’t know, Son, but it does. Maybe it has to do with God, or whatever made all of this, as well as the force that keeps you breathing when you’re asleep, or makes your heart speed up when you’re angry or excited or in love. It’s the spell that makes the trees turn their leaves orange and birds fly in a perfect V. It’s the force that created you when your mother and I made love eighteen years ago—we shared a moment in time, and now here you are. It’s the miracle of true friendship and laughter and empathy and the drive to improve yourself.” He curled his arm around his shoulder. “There are many forms of magic out there, Jeremy,” he whispered. “You don’t have to understand how it works so much as you need to honor it. Magic, like love, is a phenomenal tool. And it’s always there.”

At once, the star began pulsating brighter and brighter until it washed the landscape around them into a world devoid of shadow or dimension. A ringing like a thousand wineglasses rubbed by wet fingertips grew from a hum to a deafening symphony as the star exploded with blinding radiance.

“Magic, my son, magic. Close your eyes and make a wish.
Now!
”

His mind spun behind his eyelids. Which wishes should he pick? Was it more important that Tiffany stop drinking forever and his parents be together again, or for him to find true love, or that he embrace himself and dive into the passions that stirred him so deeply, or that he become a real man? He decided finally that they were all important, so he wished for them all—after all, Jonathan said he needed to be selfish. Then he opened his eyes and found his father, as well as the entire beach, and even the star itself, fading away.

“What do I do now?” he shouted, as Jonathan’s image dimmed, retreating genielike to the magic bottle that was his childhood memory.

“Believe in magic,” whispered the reply.

“Where will you be?”

“I’ll be watching.”

“But who’ll show me the way?”

“Mr. Blauefee. Arthur knows all about the magic.”

He lay blinking at the ceiling as it brightened with the sunrise. His father had a moment ago seemed so real to him, so real that his voice still echoed in his ears. Quickly, he tried remembering his father’s messages, but as he ran the dream through his conscious mind, the details began disintegrating like wet toilet paper.

He extricated himself from his twisted comforter and tottered toward the bathroom to pee. “Have courage, be honest and selfish, believe in magic.” He flipped on the light and lifted the toilet seat. “The Father’s Star,” he muttered, watching the stream of amber urine as it foamed the water inside the white bowl.

Jeremy, on his balcony, cocked a hip against the railing and looked out at the estate’s ancient oaks, their twisted silhouettes like clipped black construction paper against the tangerine sky and sea. He was worried: he only had an hour before Carlo was to pick him up, and he hadn’t pulled together a costume yet. And he’d looked for Arthur to help him since early this afternoon but discovered that the man was out running errands and wouldn’t be back until dinnertime, which was usually about a half hour ago.

With relief, he heard a car roll down the driveway.

Jeremy found him hefting bags of groceries into the kitchen.

“Arthur? I need your help with something. Please, please, please?”

The man appraised him. “I thought you were leaving at any minute for some sort of Halloween extravaganza.”

“I’m supposed to, but I need a costume, and I don’t have anything to make one out of.” He grimaced. “Do you have anything I could borrow? Just for tonight?”

Arthur sighed and placed the bags on the counter. “You help me put these away, and we can talk about it.”

With their task completed, they hastened to Arthur’s quarters, where the man threw open his closet doors. “Hmmm…Halloween costumes.” He scratched his chin. “I haven’t gone to any parties in quite a while, so they must be…way back…here.” He dug his hand deep into the end of the racks and pushed hard. “Shoot. Nothing’s here anymore.” He shook his head. “I’d forgotten I gave just about everything away. Sorry, old buddy.”

He saw the boy droop.

“Oh! Hold on there.” He reached all the way to the left side and lifted a bulky object forward into the light, something carefully preserved in black plastic. “I knew I’d kept this for a reason. It’ll be close to your size.” He laid it on his bed and pulled the heavy zipper open.

Jeremy looked: it was a military officer’s uniform in blackish-blue wool with red piping, brass buttons, and gold stripes. He saw that a double bar, inlaid with multicolored squares, was pinned above the left breast pocket, and a spotless white belt had been buckled across the midsection, as if the soldier wearing it had simply evaporated.

“Wow. Where’d you get that?” He pictured the expression on Reed’s face as he entered wearing it.

“I was in the Marines. First Lieutenant,” he declared.

“You?” Jeremy blinked.

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked sharply.

“No, of course not. I mean, you totally look like a Marine. It’s just that I thought…”

“You thought they didn’t let faggots in,” Arthur said flatly.

Arthur too?
“No. Actually, I didn’t even know you were…gay. No one told me.”

“I figured your aunt warned you right off,” he explained, “seeing as she instructed me, in some very well-chosen words, of course, to keep a healthy distance from you. ‘Our nephew Jeremy is terribly vulnerable, you see.’” He mimicked the clip of her patrician speech perfectly. “‘We trust you implicitly, but we also believe it wouldn’t be wise to inadvertently influence his developing personality,’ or something along those lines.”

“That sounds like her,” Jeremy giggled. “But when I sounded surprised you were a lieutenant, what I meant was, What are you doing working for them here? You’re not old enough to be retired, are you?”

“Technically I am, but that’s not the point, and thank you.” He sighed. “Jeremy, do you remember when I said I was married in every sense of the word, except legally? And that my spouse passed away?”

“Yeah. On my first day here.” He connected some dots in his head. “He didn’t die of AIDS, did he?”

“No, thank God. We were both…are both, I mean…I’m fine.” He paced to the opposite side of the room and sat on his desk, his hands grasping the edge. “I was stationed in Germany when my partner, his name was Danny, was killed in the attacks on the World Trade Center. He was a civil rights attorney who worked in Tower One. After the attacks, when I didn’t hear from him, I requested an emergency furlough to New York, but they were only allowing personnel to leave who had immediate family that’d been affected. I was out of my head, hoping for a miracle that he was unconscious in some hospital somewhere, so I finally broke down and told my commanding officer that he was my lover and I had to find him.” Arthur looked down. “He’d been missing for nearly two weeks before they found his body, or what was left of him. And I thought the military would respect my grief, that they would honor the tragedy.” He shook his head. “Instead, just as the country went to war, I was discharged. So I came back here to Ballena Beach where I grew up.”

“Jesus, Arthur. I can’t even picture what that must of been like.”

“Thankfully, Jeremy, few people can. But similarly, I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through all these years, either.” He gave him a smile. “At least I have some really happy memories, and that keeps the bitterness away. I’ve just learned to be thankful for the time Danny and I had together.” He nodded. “And you know, old buddy, we both have something pretty special in common.”

“What’s that?”

“We’ve both lost the man we loved most on this earth under tragic circumstances. And that makes us both very strong, very special people.” He held out the uniform. “Go try it on. You probably have only a few minutes before your friend comes, so you might as well use my bathroom to change. I promise not to peek.”

Jeremy closed the door and shucked his jeans and sweatshirt, then slipped on the funky, high-waisted pants and buttoned the complicated jacket over his T-shirt. When he finished, he lifted his head and gazed into the medicine cabinet’s mirror, startled by the dazzling young officer staring back at him. He turned from side to side. The coat was a bit loose through the chest and arms, but he figured he could manage for an evening.

“Does it fit?” asked a muffled voice behind the door.

“I guess.”

“Then get out here.”

A bashful Jeremy opened the door.

Arthur grinned. “You do it justice. I should hope I ever looked that good.”

“So don’t I need some kind of hat?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

“I was saving the best for last.” Arthur presented, from behind his back, a white lieutenant’s cap with a black patent-leather brim. Gently, he placed it on the boy’s head, as if this were his coronation. “The brim always goes two fingers over your nose, like this.” He tugged the visor down so it covered Jeremy’s eyebrows and shielded his eyes, making him look both mysterious and somewhat unrecognizable.

A distant horn honked.

“Your carriage awaits. Now run upstairs and put on those new black shoes I bought for you; mine’ll be too big. And don’t forget to wear dark socks.”

“OK!” He sprinted for the stairs.

“Just don’t spill anything on it that our dry cleaner can’t get out,” Arthur warned. “And I want to hear all the details tomorrow at breakfast.”

Jeremy disappeared. The horn sounded again. He reappeared barefoot and grinning as he ran down the stairs, with shoes and socks dangling from his hands.

“And call me if you need a ride home. And don’t get into a car with anyone who’s been drinking!”

“Don’t worry, Mom!” Jeremy yelled back, slamming the door behind him.

“I prefer Fairy Godmother,” Arthur muttered, then turned his attention to the baskets of laundry on the floor of his room, waiting to be folded. He smiled, seeing much of it was the boy’s.

Carlo sat in his sister’s Tahoe, drumming the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel while adjusting the draped white sheet that covered half his bare torso with the other. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, then adjusted the tiara he’d constructed with a hot-glue gun and oak leaves, then spray-painted gold. The costume had been a risk, he knew, but he was determined to make a statement.

His gaze switched at once from the mirror to follow Jeremy as he trotted across the driveway toward him, opened the passenger door, and heaved himself up into the seat. He then slipped on a sock as he pulled on his seat belt.

“Hello, Sailor. Where’d you get that?” he asked.

“Don’t ask, because I can’t tell you. It’s a long story. And speaking of, what are you supposed to be?”

“Alexander the Great,” he replied proudly. “He’s sort of the patron saint of my people.”

“I didn’t realize the Mexicans of Ballena Beach prayed to him.”

“Very funny. What I mean is that he was a proud gay man, and he’s considered the greatest military figure of all time. His lover’s name was Hephaestion, a.k.a. philalexandros, or ‘best friend’ of Alexander—which meant they were screwing each other.” He slipped the transmission into drive and rumbled down the long driveway. “That, and they wore rainbow tunics.”

They made a right out of the open gates and sped toward Pacific Coast Highway. “I hope we don’t get there too early. Ellie’s parties don’t usually get started until after ten.”

“Really?” Jeremy replied, wondering how he’d look walking into a room full of jocks with a gay guy dressed like Cupid.

They drove in silence.

“So what’s with you? Aren’t you looking forward to this?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just have lots on my mind.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have a blast, especially with your new look.” They stopped at the highway, and then Carlo gunned the engine and turned south toward Santa Monica. “You do look really good, Jeremy. I mean it. You’ll be the hottest guy there.”

“Thanks, Carlo. You look really…good too.”

“Gosh, do you mean it?” They both laughed.

They zigzagged south for another ten minutes, then the Tahoe turned right and slowed. “And here we are,” Carlo announced, wheeling the vehicle into a line of waiting cars.

“Valet parking?” Jeremy asked.

“What else would you expect from Ellie?”

A man in a red vest jogged up to them and opened Carlo’s door, then handed him a white ticket. “How’s it goin’?” Jeremy said to the other valet, a guy barely older than himself.

“Just great,” came the sarcastic answer.

“Come on, Major McHandsome.” Carlo bounced from the car, then headed toward the house while Jeremy followed, looking up at the unusual structure. The house looked like one big block of cement with its almost completely blank façade, except for a huge tongue of walkway suspended drawbridge-style that connected the luminous glass entry to the street, and two teeny windows that glowed red, like suspicious eyes watching their entrance. Dance music thumped louder as they approached.

They entered.

Eyes darted in their direction.

“Thank God! Finally, some good-looking men!” Ellie exclaimed from across the room. Her platinum hair had been dyed black for the evening and was pulled tight into a bun at the back of her head. Her eyebrows were painted in high, dark arches, her lips a luscious plum. She wore a tight black turtleneck and tighter black Capris, and on her feet, perfect silk flats. Her hand held a martini glass, empty but for a bright red cherry.

“Oh my God, Maria Callas!” Carlo exclaimed, gently taking her hand and pressing it to his lips.

“An excellent deduction, Caesar, excellent. I had no idea you were an opera aficionado.”

“Actually, I’m Alexander the Great.”

“Yes, of course.” She waved her cigarette holder dismissively. “And what have we here, an officer or a gentleman?” Ellie batted her long false eyelashes.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“You’re ever so welcome. Come and get yourselves stuffed and tipsy. We’ve got
everything,
and
everybody’s
here. But don’t stray too far; I’m expecting Coby to show up anytime with that beast, and I’m gathering a small group to point and laugh at whatever she’s wearing. In the meantime, Carlo, would you show the Commander around while I freshen my Manhattan?”

“As you wish, Miss Callas.”

She sauntered away.

“I’m starved,” Carlo announced. “Let’s see what she’s got.”

The boys wove their way through the horde toward the buffet table, where Carlo filled his plate with sushi while Jeremy assembled a heap of nachos.

“Oh my God, this is sooo good!” Carlo exclaimed, after shoving some smoked eel in his mouth.

“Yuck. How can you even put stuff like that in your mouth?” Jeremy scrunched up his nose.

“A tacky guy would make a nasty joke right now, but not Alexander the Great.” He yanked Jeremy’s hand. “Come on, Nacho Man, let’s see who’s here. I’ll give you the dirt.”

He led Jeremy out to a deck that stretched out over the sand. From there, they watched the party through the windows. “See that girl over there, the one dressed as Jewel?” Carlo pointed to a girl wearing ill-fitting bell-bottoms and a sloppy gauze blouse. “She’s the biggest slut at Ballena High. Been with the entire football team.”

“Jealous?”

“You catch on fast. And see that dude over there with all that Abercrombie shit on? He’s an escort—
a professional boyfriend
—and he goes both ways. But during normal business hours, he folds sweaters at the Gap. Can you believe his clueless parents don’t even question where he gets the money for his tacky yellow Corvette?”

“Juicy,” Jeremy replied flatly, suspecting Carlo was trying to bring them back to their conversation of the other night. He changed the subject. “So what’s the story about that one guy, Ellie’s ex-boyfriend?”

“Oh, you mean Coby?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Why are you suddenly interested in him?”

“I made the swim team. I heard he’s the best, my biggest competition.”

“Oh. Well, you should know right off that he’s one screwed-up dude.”

“Really? He seems OK to me; I thought he was pretty cool.”

“Pretty, yes. Cool, no. Unless you like
game boys.
”

“Huh?”

“It’s a loooong story. But if you want to know the dirt on Coby
for competitive purposes,
no one knows as much as Ellie. Ask her. She’ll set you straight. Pun intended.”

“I
am
straight, thanks.”

“Of course. I’d forgotten. Girl, I need a drink. You want something?”

“Yeah. Coke.”

“You’ll have to ask Avery for that; he’s the one over there dressed like a rapper. How
tired.
”