Faggots (43 page)

“Oh, Fred, I was going to go home. But I’m crazed. I can’t go home. I’m just being pulled along. This is my home.”

Fred holds Mikie close, then Mikie breaks away and twirls and throws up his arms to wave at bodies swinging, yes actually swinging, out and back, over and out, like monkeys, from the rafters, those old beams, out and over the crowd, the dancing hordes reaching up to grab their feet.

“Oh, Fred, is it not a transcendent evening!” Mikie yells. “The quintessential Fire Island experience! Everything is in balance! My dancing has at last found a new center of gravity! I am dancing with my own true self! At last! I have never danced like this in my life! I have turned myself on at last! I love you, Fred!”

“I love you, Mikie.”

“God must be trying to tell us something, Fred. There are too many of us. We must not be bugs. And Fred, look! I have a new crystal for our Rolex. I can see the time again!”

“That’s nice, Mikie.”

And Mikie rushes off to dance. Please Fred, don’t let me love another Mikie. Or another Dinky. “Josie!”

Fred rushes to Josie’s side. He is standing on the cavern’s mirrored edge. He wears a New York Yankee’s uniform. His balded head now shows a shadow. Is it five o’clock already? He’s crying.

“Oh, Fred! So much energy! So much!”

Fred now holds this dear friend close, too.

“Oh, Fred. Summer after summer. Another repetition of a repetition. Weekends without number. All the same thing. Starting up all over again. Do I have the courage to leave it? Go somewhere? Go to where? To do what? So much energy. So much. Why leave it? Why stay? So much. Toward what end?”

But then he suddenly smiles at Fred, mumbles: “I’m sorry. Excuse me. Don’t know what came over me. I’m fine,” and extricates himself from Fred’s concern, and rushes back into the pack to pull his Dom Dom, who’s a New York Giant, away from another body, reclaim him for his own, at least for now, at least for now, and start to dance.

Fred watches Anthony standing on the dance floor’s edge alone. Anthony is unhappy. Anthony has seen his lover, Sprinkle, his kissless lover, Sprinkle, whom Fred has found so wanting, home from Mom in North Dakota, dancing in a tight circle of handsome young men, his own age, he hadn’t even called to say “hello, I’m back,” what kind of lover is that?, all these young men now kissing each other and feeling each other, naked bodies and hands into crotches and what kind of lover is that? Anthony then sees his best friend, Fred, standing on the other side alone. Over heads and bodies and years, the two friends smile at each other and walk to meet by the door.

“You OK, Tante?”

“As well as can be expected,” Fred replies. “How about you?”

“The same.”

“That good?” they both joke simultaneously, as they smile and hug. “Where’s Dinky?” Anthony asks.

“I think he’s lost out here. Where’s Wyatt?” Fred asks.

“I think the same.”

Anthony looks out at the crowd. He looks at Sprinkle. He looks around for Wyatt. “One of these days I’ll find somebody. And I’ll teach him to sing all Dick Powell’s songs. And all about Ruby and Fred and Ginger and days of long ago. I’m tired. I’ll see you tomorrow. And come Tuesday, Tante Fred, your Anthony launches another Winston Man unto this world.”

Fred watches Anthony plow his way through bodies on his way out. Then he feels a tap on his shoulder. Dinky stands there beside him, adjusting Fred’s Harvard sweat shirt. Fred blinks. How can Dinky be standing? In one piece? Not cleft unto twain? As was Fred.

“You OK?” Fred asks.

“Sure. Why shouldn’t I be?” Dinky answers, still adjusting. “Your outfit still isn’t right.”

“No, it isn’t right,” Fred agrees.

Dinky follows Fred’s eyes after Anthony. “He’s a nice man, a Hot Man,” Dinky says. “But he’s given up. He’s admitted defeat. Why do you always get so upset and run away? What I did doesn’t mean anything.”

Why don’t you say it, Fred? Yes, it does. To me. It’s the deeds that talk and count. Action is character, old F. Scott said. Yes, it does. To me. But what’s the point, Dinky? What’s the point?

Dinky takes Fred’s hand and pulls him out of The Palace and across its deck and down its stairs, like crossing the moat and back to life, and they start running, Fred wondering how Dinky can run, Fred wondering how Fred can run, down a boardwalk, past little bungalows, “Love’s New Sweet Song,” “Love Is Here On Bay,” “Over the Rainbow,” then down another boardwalk, and back to Aeon and Ike Bulb’s.

But they don’t go inside. They go around to the back. A back that Fred hadn’t seen. He blinks his eyes. He’s in the most beautiful garden, Fairyland. Here, among some sand and scrub pines, nestles, is growing, a huge symphony of flowers and planters and weeping tubs of willows and man-made stars of light and cupolas and gazebos and cozy swings for two and tiny benches for intimate picnics and breezy lanterns swinging out to say Hello.

“It’s the most beautiful garden I’ve ever seen.”

“Ike let me make it for him.”

There is even a big soft Indian blanket all laid out. Has Dinky come to get him? Or was he looking for just a someone, anyone, else? Is Dinky now back in reality, or was he still Desnobarbed out there where Fred, anyone, could not reach him or touch him? Has he got Laverne and All Others out of his system and is he now ready for my dare of Love?

What am I doing?

For Dinky has pulled Fred down to blanket level and now once more is commencing a playing with the Lemish cock. In and under the hunter-green-satin Champion boxer shorts goes that Adams hand. And up and under the hunger-green Champion boxer shorts goes that Lemish cock.

What am I doing?

I’m falling for the bait again. My fantasies are overdriving into No Control again. Put on the brakes, Lemish. Screech this tin dinky to a halt.

Fred removes Dinky’s hand. Echoing’s of Lester’s “You are Unwanted, I reject you through and through.”

Dinky lies back on the blanket, then to sleep. Echoings of Lester’s “You are Unwanted, I reject you through and through.”

Fred leans back, too, and lies down beside that Dinky, and closes his eyes, and sees that Dinky standing over him. Dangling his long black leather belt upon Fred’s stomach. What’s a little dangling long black leather belt? Fred sees Feffer. Fred sees Abe. Fred sees Lester. He waits for it to happen. Whomp. Whomp. Whomp. No, it doesn’t turn me on. Whomp. Whomp. Whomp. Yes, it hurts. The whomps turn into thumps. The thump-whomps turn into splats and the splats turn into slashes and the slashes turn into beatings and the beatings turn into…tears. Yes, Fred Lemish is finally crying. As the last piece of his puzzle falls finally in his face…

His arms still feel the empty warmth of Abe and Lester. He takes the sleeping Dinky in his arms. They’re still empty.

…I’ve been looking, seeking, demanding, the love of Lester all my life. As if…as if…as if a dinky Lester’s love would make me whole and everything all right. As if wrestling Lester’s love from Dinky’s stone would make everything all right. Lester would have loved me. I chose another Lester and tried to make him love me. So I could be lovable.

But Algonqua’s “Love” would send a strong man under. Her “Love” would bury any man alive.

What a double-edged fence.

No wonder it’s been so hard for me to have just the one thing I’ve wanted the most. Love.

And no wonder I’ve never had it.

I wanted a fantasy and that’s what I got. If I’d chosen a real person, I would have had to face up to a real relationship. Too scary. Too full of Mom and Pop.

But that’s exactly what I chose.

What a double-edged fence.

The smoke screens now are clearing.

A guy who wanted to love too much chose to fall in love with someone who didn’t want to love at all.

Yes, that says something about The Wanter—and His World.

OK, Lemish. Your journey now begins. Your work is now cut out for you. Your hard work. From this moment not one other opinion matters but your own. There will always be enemies. Time to stop being your own.

So long, Dinky. Good-bye. You’re just not right for me. I want some pleasure and joy from my feeling. I must have the strength and courage not to let you or this scene dictate my emotions. It’s hard to say good-bye to you. But I must have the strength and courage to say No.

At this point tears turn to anger. Anger finally arrives. How dare we have treated ourselves and each other so badly? Anger. For love unrealized. For settling for so little. For humiliation and its pleasure. For foolishness revealed. For having loved half a person. And therefore having hoped only half fully. For being putty. For cowardice and being Lester’s sissy. For selfishness. For playing the petty game of dangler and danglee. For life still undefined. For lies. To self and others. For the lack of courage to be faithful. To self and love. You and Me, Dinky. We’ve been both the same. I fell in love with a role player, not a role model, and I’ve been just the same. It was my fault.

And anger for having to give you up. For being forced to do just what I blame every faggot for so doing. But loving you is just a bad example. My fantasies run wild, just like yours.

Fred lets his Dinky go.

He stands up, feeling tall and strong beneath these stars and moon. And the anger and the tears now join to strike his stomach. They bloat him so that the skin around his waist, his once “love handles,” which Y exercises had taken away, now appear once more.

He’s ready to explode!

On Dinky?

Well, perhaps that would be too cruel. Symbolically, perhaps. So let’s send Fred Lemish to void in the bushes. For these are Dinky’s, too. His garden of delights. His weeping tub of willows. His vines. His annuals still bulbing. In this his special world. On these bushes Fred now shits.

Good-bye old shit. I don’t know who’s shitting on whom. But I do know we’ve got to stop and change. One of these days we must stop shitting on each other. And go out into the world and try to live with a bit of pride. Whether they want us or not. But thanks. I’ve learned a lot from you. You had to go through me before I could come out the other end. You taught me things I needed to know: Try to stop being naïve. Try to grow up. Try to make a commitment to adulthood. Yes, you were my dress rehearsal for the real thing.

So thanks, Dinky. And thank you, Feffer. Thank you, Abe and Lester. Thank you, two clairvoyants, four astrologers, one palmist, and a couple of crystal balls. And thank you, Messrs. Cult, Nerdley, Fallinger & Dridge. And thank you, Algonqua, for the courage to go out and try yet once again.

And thank you, Fred.

Yes, it’s time to get angry, not at The World and Them, but with Fred Lemish.

Yes, we were the quintessential faggots, Dinky. One cock teaser and one doormat. Afraid of love. Using our bodies as barter instead of our brains as heart.

Dinky stirred and opened his eyes. He asked: “What time is it? George is coming. Have to meet George.” And then he slept again. Back to sleep again.

Yes, so long, Dinky. What did that fine old gentleman, Eric Hoffer, say? Anger’s a prelude to courage? It takes courage not to be a faggot just like all the others. And as that other fine old gentleman, Sam Johnson, said: Courage is the greatest virtue, because without it there can be no others.

Hey, I’m starting to be a great virtue.

All those disparaging, pejorative Reasons! Well, I’ve worked them through. The unexamined life is unlivable, old Socrates said. Well, I’ve examined. Now I must fight hard not to let them bring me down and back to thingdom. And what if none of them is the right one? Or there might be others. Yes, I’ve examined. Now it’s time to just
be.
Just like I have brown eyes. I’m here. I’m not gay. I’m not a fairy. I’m not a fruit. I’m not queer. A little crazy maybe. And I’m not a faggot. I’m a Homosexual Man. I’m Me. Pretty Classy.

A cleaner and wiser Fred Lemish now re-enters his Champion boxer shorts and leaves his Dinky Adams. In his garden. His beautiful magical garden.

He walks down the length of Aeon. And out of The Grove. And back along the ocean’s edge. The sun is coming up. Blessing the new day. Fellows are everywhere. Still. Once again. Arm in arm. Arms around shoulders and waists. Everyone smiling. The dancing’s over for this night. Haven’t we shared a night of nights! A night of fellowship. We have danced and partied and drugged and Meat Racked and we have survived no sleep. Together. Together. Yes, we have braved and passaged all these rites together. Though we may not know each other’s names nor will we necessarily speak when next we meet.

The beach is filled with all my friends. All dressed in white. A huge white billowing tent awaits us. Someone is giving a Dawn Party. A Welcome the New Day Party. Strawberries and white wine and chocolate-chip cookies. All my friends. All sitting on the sand. Arms around each other. Touching. Holding. But not too close. Please no hassles or involvements. Sharing this moment. No one speaking.

Yes, all my friends are here. It’s hard to leave you. All this beauty. Such narcotic beauty. Yes, it’s hard to leave.

What I want is better though!

No. Just different. I’m going to have enough trouble changing myself. Can’t change everyone else too. Can’t change those who don’t want to change. I want to change. I must change myself. Be my own Mom and Pop. Allow myself the something better Lester never did. Be strong enough for Me. I feel better…

They all sit around in circles, on the white sand, the ocean at low tide, the laps thus gentle and far away.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

There are hundreds, thousands, passing the message of love from body to body, touching neighbor’s hand, then lips gently kissing, softly as those distant lapping waves, under disappearing stars and moon, and the rising sun, thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of handsome men, sitting cross-legged on the sands, celebrating this morning and this summer’s love.

Fred is here, and so is Mikie and Tarsh and Bo Peep and Josie and Dom Dom and Frigger and Fallow and Gatsby and Bella and Blaze and Sanford and his snake and Laguna beauties and Dick and Dora Dull and Bruce Sex-toys and B.L.T. and Irving and Hans and Timmy and Charlie and Ike Bulb and Alex and Tidgy Schmidge and Tony and Olive and Dennis and Laverne and Robbie Swindon and Morry and Hubie and Jefferson and Montoya and Lork and Carlty and Yo-Yo and Dawsie and Pusher and Tom-Tom and Maxine again Maxine and Feffer and Yootha Truth and Miss Rolla and Vladek and Cully and Midnight Cowboy and Lovely Lee and Garfield and Wilder and Harold and Anthony and Wyatt and Boo Boo and an Older Gent and R. Allan and Billy Boner, and the ghosts of palest Paulie and Patty and his Juanito and remember Winnie Heinz?, and Leather Louie, Lance Heather, Adriana,
S.S. BERLINERS
all, The Gnome, Derry, Floyd, Sprinkle, Tad, Kristos Rosenkavalier, Canadian Leon, Pinky and his cymbalettes…and and and the group keeps growing, friends, and new friends, joining every moment…