A Free Choice (Ganymede Quartet Book 4.5) (3 page)

“Why do they even care?” Henry asked.

Mr. Briggs shrugged. “People like to know their friends’ business.”

“Lots of our friends don’t have girls, though.”

Mr. Briggs shook his head. “But it’s different for you. You’re the best-looking and you have the most money of anyone. You really could have any girl you wanted, so it’s odd you don’t have one.”

“It
is
true that my father doesn’t want me to get involved with girls, though,” Henry pointed out. “Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

Mr. Briggs frowned. “Maybe you should act more like you think he’s being unfair or something, instead of just going along with it so willingly.” He considered this a moment longer. “I don’t know. It’s probably better if you don’t make up a story that requires a lot of acting.”

Henry laughed at this. “I’m not very good at telling lies.”

Now Mr. Briggs laughed. “Well, you did keep an awfully big secret for
years
, so maybe you’re a better liar than you think.”

They were quiet a few seconds, and then Mr. Briggs said, “Say, did you ever notice? There aren’t any nice words for…for what you are.”

Henry blushed and shrugged. “I think queer is probably the best. Or, wait—” He turned to look at Martin. “Martin, you used a word one time…hobo-something…?”

Martin sat up straight, pleased to be allowed to share knowledge. “Oh,
homo
sexual, Sir. It means loving someone who’s the same as you. It’s a psychology term—we learned it at Ganymede. The opposite is heterosexual, like Mr. Briggs.”

“That, then,” Henry said. “We’re homosexual, Martin and I both.”

“Well, okay,” Mr. Briggs said. “I’ll think of it that way, I guess. I didn’t like having only insulting words to use in regard to you two.”

“I’m pleased you’re being so thoughtful,” Henry said, seeming touched and very genuine. “You know, I really didn’t expect you to come around at all.”

Mr. Briggs shrugged. “Like I said in the letter, James turning out to be so terrible has made me reconsider a lot of things. He’s definitely not a good person. Him having such a low opinion of queers—
homosexuals
, rather—makes them seem practically admirable to me, honestly. Anything James hates is probably not bad at all.” He paused, pensive. “You know, if I’d ignored James, I’d still have Bridget.”

“Well, yes.” Henry seemed reluctant to admit this.

“I’m not blaming you, Henry, but you should have told me what you really thought when I asked you about breaking it off with her. It would have been all right to tell me I was making a mistake.”

“I-I wasn’t sure you’d listen, I guess.”

“You’re like a brother, Henry. A
good
brother. Your opinion matters to me.”

This obviously made Henry happy. “I guess I should have known you’d care what I thought.”

Mr. Briggs snorted and rolled his eyes. “You’ve been my best friend almost my whole life, Henry.
Of course
I care what you think!” He leaned over and punched Henry’s shoulder, and Henry winced, though he smiled.

“Why don’t we play poker?” Mr. Briggs suggested. “Peter, get the cards and chips, will you?”

“Certainly, Sir.” Peter got to his feet and went to collect them.

Four hands in, Mr. Briggs and Peter each had one win and Martin had two. Henry frowned at his cards, his brow furrowed. Martin found it endearing how badly Henry played poker, and yet he was always willing to play. Henry simply liked the camaraderie and was never really upset when he invariably lost. Martin, who loved to win, found this admirable; it was a bit unattractive to be too intent on besting one’s friends.

Mr. Briggs discarded three cards and drew three more. “So, tell me, Henry, where were you when you missed school? And why did you cut Martin’s hair, anyway? It was pretty.”

Henry reddened and sighed, eyes on his hand. “I know. I should have left it alone.” He discarded four cards. “We were going to leave the city,” he explained.

“Why?” Mr. Briggs seemed baffled that anyone would want to do such a thing.

“I wanted…” Henry seemed at a loss for words. “I wanted a new life. With Martin. So we ran away.”

“How far did you get?”

“Well, I didn’t have a very good plan,” he admitted. “I just wanted to go somewhere I thought we’d be safe.”

“Safe from
what
?” Mr. Briggs scoffed.

“Really, Louis?” Henry was affronted. “You were going to tell everyone that I was queer.
Or else
. Remember?”

Mr. Briggs’ face reddened and he fidgeted with his cards. “I wasn’t ever going to tell,” he muttered.

“Well, I thought you
had
. I thought you told Philip.”

Mr. Briggs looked confused. “Henry, why would I tell
Philip
anything?” He shook his head and rearranged his cards again. “I don’t like Philip any more than you do.”

Henry thought about this. “Well, then, what were you…?” He stopped and sighed. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. I was wrong.” He also gave some attention to his cards. “But I did think you’d told Philip, and I thought it was just a matter of hours before my father found out, and I was scared.”

“Of your dad?” Mr. Briggs seemed to find this slightly ludicrous. “Your dad spoils you, Henry.”

Henry blinked. “He does?”

Mr. Briggs laughed and indicated Martin with a jerk of his chin. “Exhibit A.”

Henry shook his head, refusing the idea. “No he doesn’t. Anyway, I was afraid my father would take Martin away from me and sell him, or punish him, or both.”

Peter snorted at this, and then looked guilty when Mr. Briggs and Henry both gave him expectant, questioning looks.

“What’s so funny?” Mr. Briggs asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

Peter flushed an uncomfortable red. “It’s nothing bad, Sir. It’s just…you see, all the slaves in the neighborhood know how well the Blackwells treat their people. It just seems unlikely that Mr. Blackwell would ever punish a slave. It’s not really funny, Sirs, I’m sorry. I was inappropriate.”

Henry frowned, but he said, “Well, you’re right. My father wouldn’t punish anyone. Martin wasn’t in any trouble at all.” He was quiet a moment while the others discarded and drew cards. “I overreacted, I guess.”

“Where did you go? Where was this safe place you ran off to?”

“Do you remember that whorehouse booklet you showed me? James had it?” Henry drew his new cards and scowled at them.

“Sure, back at the beginning of school.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but there was a whorehouse listed there that had ‘men dressed as women’ down on 14
^th
Street. I figured that would be the right sort of neighborhood.”

Mr. Briggs laughed. “You ran away to a
whorehouse
!”

Henry frowned. “Not the actual whorehouse, just the neighborhood.” Henry never folded, and despite his obvious unhappiness with his cards, he met Mr. Briggs’ bet.

“Where on 14
^th
?”

“Just a few blocks from Union Square.”

Mr. Briggs seemed amused by this. “I could have walked over from the arcade and met up with you,” he remarked.

Henry shook his head, smiling. “You wouldn’t have liked it.”

“But you did.” Mr. Briggs was not asking a question.

Henry nodded. “It was exciting, and it felt safe. Welcoming. There were people like me everywhere. I felt at home.”

Peter discarded and drew cards and placed his bet. It was Martin’s turn.

Mr. Briggs asked, “Will you go back?”

“Maybe.” Henry looked up and met Martin’s eyes, his mouth turned up in a tentative smile. “If Martin will go with me.”

Martin froze, deeply uncomfortable, with everyone looking at him. “Oh, well, Sir, I…” His voice trailed off as his mind frantically whirred. He discarded haphazardly, drew one too many cards.

He’d told Henry they could talk about it, but he wasn’t prepared to talk about it here, now, in Mr. Briggs’ room. He did hope to find a way to do as Henry wanted. Even though he’d been preoccupied and worried during their adventure, he had definitely enjoyed some aspects of their foray into the homosexual subculture. It had been quite pleasant to drink at the Venetian Bar. He’d liked dancing as real partners, not just practice. And he’d been thrilled to finally make love to Henry, doing everything he wanted. They didn’t need to go downtown for the sex, of course, but perhaps there was a way to be discreet and still dance? He wanted to make Henry happy, but he didn’t want to anger Mr. Blackwell in the process. There was so much to consider, and he didn’t have a ready answer.

“You don’t have to decide now,” Henry hurried to say. “We can talk about it later.”

Mr. Briggs scowled with a hint of disdain. “What’s to talk about?
You
decide, don’t you? He’s still your slave.”

Henry narrowed his eyes, mouth pressed tight. “No,” he said firmly. “I don’t just decide things for him. Not anymore. That’s how I got into trouble in the first place.”

Relieved, Martin bet, even though his cards were worthless; Peter won the hand.

“Were you going to stay there?” Mr. Briggs asked as he dealt. “Just hanging around Union Square for the rest of your life?”

“Of course not.” Henry fanned out his cards and frowned at them. “I was planning on going to New Orleans.”

“Huh.” Mr. Briggs thought about this. “Maybe someday we’ll all go.”

“Martin wants to see Carnival,” Henry said. “I guess I do, too.”

Mr. Briggs scrutinized Martin until he became uncomfortable, feeling very conscious of his movements and trying to keep his expression neutral. Mr. Briggs turned abruptly to Henry.

“Why did you cut his hair, anyway?”

Henry flushed, frowning. “It was stupid. I wanted him to pass for free, so I made him get it cut and wear a collar and tie.”

Quizzical, Mr. Briggs said, “Well, that did work, though, didn’t it? What was so stupid about it?”

Henry shook his head. “But he didn’t want to do it. I told him I wanted him to behave like he was free, and then I forced all kinds of decisions on him. I didn’t treat him like a free person at all.”

Mr. Briggs thought on this, then turned to Martin. “Your long hair was very nice,” he said, “but short suits you, as well.”

“Oh!” Martin had not expected a compliment from Mr. Briggs! “Thank you, Sir.”

Mr. Briggs shifted so that his body was angled toward Martin and he leaned closer. “So, you’re the same as Henry? You don’t like girls?”

“I don’t
dis
like girls, Sir, but I’m not interested in them romantically.” Martin didn’t desire girls, but he wasn’t nearly so averse to their bodies as Henry; Henry was quite nearly repulsed by the idea of sex with women, which Martin considered a bit ridiculous and unduly finicky.

“Huh.” Mr. Briggs considered this. “It’s hard for me to imagine not being interested in girls,” he admitted, “but I guess I’ve always known that companions are all at least part fairy. You have to be, don’t you?”

“Well, it does help, Sir,” Peter put in. “I’ve got my Franny now, but I’ve always enjoyed other boys.” He shrugged and tossed his pennies into the pot. “You never know. You might have been the same, Sir, if you’d grown up surrounded by boys.”

Mr. Briggs shuddered and shot Peter a sharp look. “No, I definitely
wouldn’t
have been.”

Peter snickered and smirked at his cards.

“I like girls,” Mr. Briggs grumbled, shuffling his cards around in his hand. “I always have. Henry knows.”

“Even when we were little,” Henry agreed.

They played a few more hands, Mr. Briggs gossiping idly about various of their friends, and then he turned to Henry and said, “I’m sorry—it’s just hard for me to understand. Not that Martin isn’t great and all, but…you’re really in love with him?
In love
?”

Henry blushed bashfully, a shy smile playing around his lips. He laughed and admitted, “I’ve never said it in front of anyone else before…” He darted a glance at Martin, and held his gaze as he said, “Yes, I am. I’m really in love with him.”

The rush of euphoria that coursed through Martin’s body left him breathless. He wanted nothing more than to crawl through the card game to Henry and kiss him senseless, and with the way Henry was looking at him, he was quite sure Henry would want him to do it.

Mr. Briggs was looking back and forth between their faces, seeming dismayed. “Oh, no. Not
here
,” he cautioned, shaking his head vigorously. “Don’t you dare be getting all lovey-dovey.”

Henry laughed. “We’re just looking at each other.”

Mr. Briggs was red-faced. “I know exactly what a look like that means, though.” He screwed up his face in distaste. “It’s too personal. I don’t want to think about it.”

“Well, now you know how I felt,” Henry said. “With you telling me all the gory details about Miss O’Malley.”

Mr. Briggs seemed willing to reluctantly concede this point. “Look, I know it’s not
that
different than what any of us might do with our slaves, but it seems different because you’re
in love
.”

“No, it
is
different,” Henry said, sounding proud of himself, proud of
them
. “What I have with Martin is special.”

Mr. Briggs seemed willing to accept this. “Maybe so.” It was his turn to deal and he shuffled, then turned to Martin to cut the cards.

There was the muffled thud of the front door closing, and the sounds of feet upon the stairs, and piping voices all trying to talk over one another: all the little Briggses returning home. Alice’s voice rose above the rest:
Robbie, I hate you!
and Robbie cackled triumphantly in response.

“The invading army,” Mr. Briggs said as the noise passed up to the third floor. As if suddenly realizing something, Mr. Briggs sat bolt upright. “Henry.”

“Yes?”

“I…uh, I’ve changed my mind about something.” He began dealing out the cards.

“What’s that?”

He kept his eyes down as he said, “I don’t think you should marry my sister.”

Henry burst out laughing. “That’s what I’ve been telling you all along, Louis!”

“Well, now I understand why, and I think you’re right. Alice will just have to marry someone else.”

“She’ll lose interest in me anyway,” Henry said with confidence. “She’s just a little kid, after all. She’ll find someone else she likes long before she needs to pick a husband.”