The Man With the Alabaster Heart (3 page)

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Mrs. Grosbeck seemed more than a little surprised when she opened the door and saw me standing on her front stoop. Maybe it was the fact that I'd worn cream-colored pants, a white polo shirt, and white leather shoes with white socks. Hey, it never hurt to try to make a good impression. Or maybe it was just the fact that I had the audacity to show up the day after my boyfriend and I had made such a grand exit.

"Hello," I said with a wide smile. "Is the Grinch home?"

She blinked at me. "That's a Christmas reference, Charles," she said.

"I'm sorry. How about the Mad Hatter?" If what I suspected was true, Great Uncle Sherman was closer to the White Queen, but she was a kindly, benevolent character. The Red Queen was a better fit personality wise, but I thought it had probably been over a half-century since the color red was a part of Sherman's wardrobe.

Milton's mother shook her head. "This is not a good idea," she said.

"Well, I'm fresh out of any other bad ones, which means this is the only one I've got. So is he here?"

She sighed, but she stepped away from the door to let me in. I dutifully took off my white shoes, thinking that it would be a shame Great Uncle Sherman wouldn't get the full impact of my white on white outfit. Which led to a question I've always wanted to ask.

"What is it with all the white, anyway?" I said.

Mrs. Grosbeck blinked at me again. It made me wonder if anyone had ever asked the question.

"It makes it easy to see when things are dirty, Charles. Other colors hide the dirt, but it always shows up on white."

I frowned, considering. "But doesn't that mean you're always cleaning? I mean, things do get dirty. Eventually."

"Not if you're vigilant."

Huh.

If I didn't know better, I might think Milton's mother had issues with people of color. But she had no problems with Roy, Mildred's beer-drinking husband, whose skin was the color of coffee without the cream. And then there was Dory. Milton's older half-sister had a deep olive complexion, black hair, and dark brown eyes. I had a feeling the Ex-Husband Not To Be Mentioned wasn't exactly an albino.

Today Great Uncle Sherman wasn't in the ultra-white living room, but sitting in the den, watching a daytime soap opera. His little goatee still reminded me of Colonel Sanders, but his faded blue eyes spoiled the impression of a lovable old man who'd take his secret fried chicken recipe with him to the grave.

"What are you doing here?" He looked over my shoulder. "And where's your 'boyfriend'?"

"Good day to you, too," I said. "Mind if I join you?"

He turned back to the TV. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Well, that's good, because I have a few things I'd like to say to you."

He grunted. "Go ahead. I've heard it all."

"Oh. You mean words like that name you called Milton yesterday? Well, I've heard them, too. In fact, I bet I've heard some words you've never even thought of."

"I just bet you have."

"Ah. That was supposed to hurt, I'm guessing. It doesn't because I'm not related to you. My 'boyfriend' is, though, and while he could most likely live out the rest of his life without you in it, I'm pretty sure he'd have a happier life if the rest of his family was."

The old man grunted again. "We're all still here. It's his choice."

"Them or me, then," I said.

He didn't say anything, but he really didn't have to. I was still just an annoying specimen he'd rather toss out than add to his collection.

"Did you really expect him to leave me just because you don't approve of who he is?" I asked.

"He's a member of this family, and this family has never--"

"Had a gay person in it and never will," I finished for him. "Except I don't think that's quite right, is it?"

I wasn't sure if I was anywhere in the ball park when I said it, but from the kitchen I heard a little gasp from Milton's mother. The old man must have heard it too because he glanced in her direction, then turned his gaze back to the soap opera.

"Wow," I said. "I'm actually right. We have our own little soap opera going on right here. Want to know what I think?"

Great Uncle Sherman ignored me. Well, what the hell. I was either going to crack his cold, alabaster heart, or he was going to throw me out on my ear, in which case I'd be no worse off than I already was. Neither would Milton. I had to give it a shot.

"I think the word you really don't like is 'closet' because that's where you've been trapped for the last sixty or so years. Am I right? Could be your own parents were to blame, or maybe you're just angry because you missed out on all that free love in the sixties because it came too late for you. Parents in the fifties were all about
Leave It To Beaver
and the perfect family where even mom and dad didn't sleep in the same bed. Liberace was flamboyant, not gay. Junior was expected to grow up and get married and have two point four perfect, straight little children. Any of this hitting home?"

The old man sat staring at the television, still as a statue.

"But you never found the right woman to have those two point four children because women didn't appeal to you. Maybe you tried being a hippy, but you didn't like the dirt. Or maybe all this fixation on white--" I gestured at my own shirt. "--is because it's the one thing in your life you could control. Keep the dirt off. Keep all those feelings under control. Just like you try to control your family, but I've got news for you. You can't. Milton might be a button down, bowtie wearing, pocket protector kind of guy, but he's my button down, bowtie wearing, pocket protector guy, and at least he can admit that he loves me. What the hell is wrong with that?"

I had to stop and catch my breath. Sherman was still staring in the direction of the television, but behind those thick-lensed glasses, his eyes weren't focused on the emotion playing out on screen. Had I actually made a little dent in his armor?

"Don't you have anything to say to me?" I asked.

The answer to my question didn't come from Great Uncle Sherman, but from Milton's mom.

"It's not his fault," she said.

I wasn't sure when she'd come in from the kitchen. I'd been too focused on the old man.

He turned toward her. "Gloria, don't," he said.

She looked absolutely miserable. I'd never seen her cry, and while she wasn't crying now, she looked like she could start at any moment. "We can't keep this a secret anymore. I've done that for thirty-five years, and look what it's done to my family."

"It hasn't done anything to this family," Sherman said. "If anything, it's made us strong." He turned his icy gaze at me. "You young people today. You think you should get whatever you want. Live how you want. With no thought of the consequences to anyone but yourselves." He snorted. "Life doesn't work that way."

I spread my hands wide. "Why not? Who does it hurt if Milton admits that he's gay? That he loves the man he lives with? Because you couldn't?"

That was it. I could see it in his eyes. He tried to stay angry at me, but he couldn't.

"Get out," he said. "I don't want to see you in this house ever again, not while I'm alive."

"I guess that's your answer to everything you don't like."

He turned his back on me. The conversation was over as far as he was concerned.

I glanced at Milton's mother. "You'd better leave," she said.

Milton's mother walked me to the door. "Mrs. Grosbeck..." I said when I got my shoes back on, but then I stopped. I'd wanted to make a last ditch appeal to her, but then I thought better of it. I didn't want to burn this bridge, too. "Look, I'm sorry. I wouldn't have come except for Milton."

She seemed surprised. "Did he ask you?"

"No. I just wanted to help."

She touched the side of my face, the first time she'd ever done that. "You're a good man. He's lucky to have you. I don't think I've ever told you that, but I feel that I should."

In case she never saw me again.

I took her hand and kissed the back of it, then I turned and left my boyfriend's mother's house. I hoped it wouldn't be for the last time.

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I wasn't looking forward to telling Milton that night how badly I'd screwed up, but I didn't want to keep it a secret either.

All afternoon I thought about various ways to bring up the subject. How do you tell your boyfriend that you just outed his great uncle to his mom? "Hi, honey, I think I got you disowned for life. How was your day?" didn't seem like the kindest way to do it. An expensive dinner out was also out of the question. I'd only broken up with my boyfriend's family; I didn't want him to think even for a moment that I was breaking up with him.

I settled on making lasagna. I'm not the world's greatest cook, but there are a few things I make well. Lasagna is one of them. I don't make it often, but when I do, Milton always has seconds.

Apparently I also only make it when things go badly.

"Oh, God, what happened?" Milton asked when he came through our front door.

I straightened up from checking on the lasagna in the oven. "What do you mean?"

Milton put his briefcase down and leaned on the counter that separated the entry way from the kitchen. "You're making lasagna. Who died?"

"Nobody." I smiled at him. "Why would you think that?"

"The last time you made lasagna, it was because you had to tell me that Mr. Childress from downstairs had died in his sleep."

True.

"And the time before that it was because our apartment building was going condo and you didn't think we'd be able to afford it."

True again.

"And the time before that--"

I held up my oven-mitted hand. "Okay, okay. Well, the good news is, nobody died."

"And?"

I took a deep breath. "And the not-so-good news is that I went to see your great uncle today."

Milton groaned and plopped down on a bar stool. "You didn't."

"I'm afraid I did."

"And?"

"Well... " I took off the oven mitt and reached for Milton's hand. It was a good sign that he let me hold it and even squeezed back. "I don't think I helped. I'm sorry."

He looked at me for a minute. I may have been wincing just a bit. "Did you make things worse?" he finally asked.

"Well," I said again. "I may have accused your great uncle of being in the closet."

Milton's mouth dropped open. "You think he's gay?"

I shrugged. "I thought it was a possibility. I mean, he's never been married, never even had a girlfriend as far as anyone in the family knows."

"You talked to my family about this?"

"Only Ted," I said. "And I never mentioned to him that I thought your great uncle was gay."

"Who
did
you mention it to?"

My stud muffin knows me well. "Your mother," I said.

He groaned and dropped his head on the counter. "Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse. Do I at least get to keep the family name?"

I stroked the back of his head with my free hand. "Listen, I think your mom knows more than she's telling. In fact, it sounded like she wanted to spill a thirty-five year old secret, but the old man wouldn't let her."

"A thirty-five year old secret," Milton muttered. He raised his head off the countertop and frowned at me. "That would make it a first marriage secret, back when she was married to Dory's dad."

"The marriage you can't talk about."

"Yeah."

"Did anybody? Ever talk about it?"

Milton shook his head. "Dory was only two when they split up. I don't think she really remembers him. Nobody does. Dory doesn't even have any pictures. Mother always said my dad was the only father us kids ever had."

The timer on the stove dinged. "You feel like eating?" I asked. "I could always just turn the oven off and we could eat later."

Milton straightened his shoulders. "I'm hungry. You don't make lasagna unless my life's been turned upside down, and I think this qualifies, so let's eat."

Sometimes, I don't think I deserve him.

My stud muffin helped make garlic bread and salad. We'd polished off half the lasagna when the front door buzzer sounded.

"You expecting anyone?" Milton asked.

I shook my head.

Milton got up and answered the buzzer. I'm not sure who was more surprised when his mother's voice sounded over the loudspeaker, asking us to buzz her in.

We did.

I offered Mrs. Grosbeck a plate of lasagna, but she declined. "It smells very good," she said, "but I try not to eat things with red sauce. It's too difficult to clean up."

Huh. "We also have garlic bread," I said.

"Perhaps later. Right now there are a few things I want to talk about with the both of you, and then I don't ever want them mentioned again. Can we agree to that?"

Milton cleared his throat. "It's difficult to agree to something when I don't know exactly what I'm agreeing to."

"Take it or leave it," she said.

I had to give my boyfriend credit. He actually thought it over before he agreed.

We were all still standing in our entry way. I couldn't remember the last time Milton's mother had been to our apartment. It probably wasn't anywhere close to clean enough by her standards, but it was comfortable, and it was our home. There was no reason we all had to linger by the front door.

"Why don't we all go sit in the living room," I said. "I can get us some coffee."

She actually smiled at me. "Thank you, but coffee won't be necessary. Although I would like to sit down."

She perched on the edge of our brown faux-leather chair, which I thought was very brave of her. It could have been hiding tons of unseen dirt. Milton and I sat down across from her on the couch. She clutched her purse with both hands, holding it on her lap like it might fly away if she put it down.

"Now that I'm here, I'm not sure where to start," she said.

Milton didn't say anything. I could tell by his expression that he was still too hurt by what had happened the day before to make anything easy for his mother.

"The beginning's always a good place," I said.

"Yes, there is that." She took a deep breath. "You may find this hard to believe, Milton, but I was once a very foolish young woman. Headstrong, and so sure I was right and everyone else in the world was wrong."

I didn't know about Milton, but I had no problem believing the headstrong part.

"Your great uncle, my uncle, he never planned on being saddled with me. Mildred, she had her friend's family to go live with, but they made it very clear they couldn't care for the two of us. They already had quite a large family. They were Catholic, you see, and..." She paused and seemed to gather herself. "None of that really matters. Your great uncle was very close to his sister--my mother--and I think her death devastated him. And there I was, a miniature reminder of what he'd lost. So he was never as close--as affectionate--as perhaps he could have been under other circumstances. All I knew was that this strict, odd man was now my only family. I tried very hard to make him love me, and when I couldn't, I found someone who was very different."

"A boyfriend?" I asked.

"My first husband," she said.

Next to me on the couch, Milton sat up a little straighter. "You've never talked about him."

"And I won't again. I have no desire to now, but Charles here has made some assumptions about your great uncle that I think need to be cleared up, once and for all. He doesn't know that I'm here, doesn't know what I plan to tell you, and I would appreciate it if you never mention it to him. He's a prideful man, and he's in the last years of his life. His pride is what he has left and I won't have anyone take that away from him. That's why I agreed that he could come live with me."

"I thought... " Milton turned to me. "We thought he was imposing on you, that he hadn't given you a choice."

Mrs. Grosbeck smiled at her son. "Of course I let everyone think that. As I said, he's prideful. I'm alone most of the time. You children all have your own lives. I'm well off, and your great uncle is not. He took as good care of me as he knew how when I had no one else. It's the least I can do."

I was seeing a whole new side of Milton's mother, and judging by my boyfriend's expression, so was he. I liked what I saw. I only hoped it wasn't the last time either one of us would see it.

"What does your first husband have to do with what I said this afternoon?" I asked.

"Because my first husband was gay," Milton's mother said. "Not Sherman."

Well, I hadn't seen that coming.

"I didn't know it at the time, of course," she said. "He was colorful and attentive, and he loved music and poetry, art and dance, and all the things your great uncle didn't. Did you know we didn't have a television in the house when I was growing up? No stereo? There I was, a senior in high school, and I had no common ground with most of the kids I went to school with. I had to babysit at other houses to listen to music or watch television. And here was this man who took me to movies, took me out dancing. It was 1974, and I fell in love."

Mrs. Grosbeck's expression had become almost dreamy while she talked. I didn't think I'd ever seen her look younger. Or happier.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Well, he asked me to marry him, and I said yes. Only when we went to tell my uncle and I thought he'd be happy for me, he got a strange expression on his face, and he said no. He forbid me to ever see that man again, but he wouldn't tell me why. I told him I was eighteen and could do whatever I wished, and what I wished to do was get married. So I did. I thought my uncle would come around eventually. Instead, he brought me proof that he'd been right all along."

She glanced down at her hands which were now digging furrows in her purse. I could see her make a conscious effort to relax.

"If you don't want to tell us what happened, mother, you don't have to," Milton said.

"No, I need to say this. You need to understand, both of you." She took another deep breath. "Dory was just a baby then, a beautiful little girl, so like her father. He'd told me he wanted to have children right away, did I want that, too? Of course, I did. I still missed Mildred, and I think I believed children of my own would fill that little missing piece of my life. I think he was trying to prove something to himself, too. That he could be a husband and a father. Only he couldn't, and your great uncle brought me the pictures to prove it."

"He was cheating on you," I said.

"Yes. More than once, and all with older men."

I'd seen it before, of course. Both Milton and I had been hit on at Casanova's by married men who couldn't or wouldn't admit to themselves who they really were.

"Older men," Milton said, frowning. "You don't think he ever... with Great Uncle Sherman?"

His mother shook her head. "If that happened, your great uncle never spoke of it. He insisted that we divorce, and I was too devastated to argue. I went back to live in his house, and that's where I stayed until I met your father, Milton. This time when I told my uncle I wanted to marry, he gave us his blessing."

Milton leaned back in the couch. "Now it all makes sense," he said. "Why he was no adamant that no gays have ever been a part of our family."

"But he's got to realize that's just one man," I said. "He can't actually paint us all with the same brush, can he? You don't." Considering all she'd just told us, it was a wonder she didn't.

"He's gotten more stubborn the older he gets," she said. "I'll keep working on him, but you have to give him time. I'm sorry, Milton. I should have said something to him about you years ago, but I never thought it would come to this."

She stood up then. We got up off the couch, and Milton walked over to her and hugged her. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him hug his mother.

"I want to be a part of the family, mother," he said. "But I'm not going to give up my life to do it. I'm not going to break up with Chuck."

"Of course you're not," she said. "Just give it time."

"That's right," I said. "He's an old man. How long has he got, anyway?"

Mother and son both looked at me like I was nuts. I smiled at them to let them know I was only joking, and they both laughed.

At least I knew I was good for two things. Killer lasagna, and making a fool of myself to lighten the mood.

Oh, and I almost forgot.

I was really good at one more thing--being the misbehaving, must-be-punished-right-now cabin boy.

But I didn't think we should tell Milton's mother that.