“It’s a good brand,” Matt said, sincerely
protesting.
“I know. I have no idea what brand mine is.”
“You don’t?”
“It’s a hand me down from Viv.”
“Do you mean . . .”
“Yesiree Bob. We had gay sex on a previously
straight launching pad.”
He tickled me. I loved that, and I am very ticklish.
I rolled around on that Sealy until I flopped on the floor. He
piled on top of me and, after I was lassoed and hog-tied (not
really; I’m not into that), he popped the question.
“I want you to meet my folks.”
That put some starch in the rodeo.
“When?”
“New Years Day.”
I wiggled out from under him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “They’re quite tame
and nice and generally cotton to the men I bring home.”
“Well, Viv’s just as accommodating, but I didn’t see
you jump for joy.”
“Your mother’s quite a personality . . . in a nice
way.”
“You could say that again, but don’t you dare.”
He looked crushed, as if I had drawn a line in our
relationship, and perhaps I had. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to
meet his parents. I was the one who wanted this relationship to
bloom like the flowers in spring — wisteria, and all that. No. It
was the timing. New Years Day came after New Years Eve. I was never
in any condition on New Years Day to do more than vomit and mop,
and to swap torrid tales with Viv over the Kleenex.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I explained. “I want to meet
your parents, but the timing is not . . .”
“You mean, New Years Day.”
“Well, yes.”
He took me in his arms, a disarming thing to do. I
felt his heart beating strong. I just wished that the equipment
wasn’t listening.
“Easily solved, Pumpkin. You’ll spend New Years Eve
with us and meet them then. You can even stay over. They have a big
house in Holmdel.”
“Holmdel? House? New Years Eve? I always go to . .
.”
“You go drinking with the gay song birds all the
time,” he said. “It doesn’t make it a different or even a special
night. You can do that most any time.”
I sighed. The thought of all my friends carousing
and dancing and flirting, flashed before my eyes — a half-decade of
debauchery wiggling through my synapse in a destructive tizzy.
Sacrifice. However, I wouldn’t really be a free agent, and if Matt
spent New Years Eve at home in Holmdel, I would be alone and prone
to my own devices, which sad to say, was not that appetizing
without Matt.
“So,” I said, finally. “If I’m not in Holmdel on New
Years Eve, I won’t see you.”
He smiled — a man playing chess.
Checkmate
.
Russ was pissed when I told him I would not be
spending New Years Eve in
the Cavern
. If I had told him that
I was spending a passionate night with Matt instead, he wouldn’t
have said
boo
. In fact, he might have bought a ticket to
watch. However, when I told him I would be sitting in a cozy living
room in Holmdel with the Kielers — the picture of the Cleaver
family, he went ballistic.
“You’re breaking a tradition,” he carped. “We’re
like Lucy and Ethel on New Years Eve, despite whatever crap we’re
dragging along stuck to our heels.”
“I’m glad I’ll be missed.”
“It’s not just me. Wait until Leslie and Ginger
hears about this. And the Sparrows will want to know where they can
fly over and peck your eyes out.”
“Let them peck.”
Russ had been leaning on my freshly polished counter
and in his fury, I thought he’d crack the glass.
“No man’s worth the sacrifice.”
“Drama Queen.”
He stuck his tongue out.
“It’s not a tradition unless we do it for five years
running, and from my calculations, it’s only been four.”
“Well, this would have been five.”
There was no settling the matter and I held my
ground. I would have been willing to make a concession, to meet
Russ for a drink, with Matt of course, a few hours before I met the
family. However, since Russ threw a hissy fit, he was shit out of
luck. He pouted and scuffled, and I was glad to see his back.
Although I admit, I would have sorely liked to be in
The
Cavern
rather than the suburban
cave.
The thought of
meeting some guy’s family was terminal. Either they would love me
and I would hate them, or they would be snooty Houstonians and I, a
flat-ass ignorant Joisey shore fairy.
Terminal
.
Well, they certainly could have been snooty given
the size and whiteness of their two story split-level house,
complete with picket fence, picture window and portico. However,
they did have tasteful Christmas lights and a gorgeous plastic
angel on their snowy lawn, so how bad could they be. Matt was
excited, which pleased me. No man to my recollection had regarded
me as a trophy wife, and if nothing else, I wouldn’t be ignored. I
might even be the center of attraction, which would suit me fine.
Still, as I huddled up the walk latched to Matt’s arm, bottle of
Bruit
dangling from my glove, I finally warmed up to the
idea.
The door opened before we climbed up on the portico.
On the threshold stood a woman in a white flounced skirt and a
simple red top. Her hair was lemony and done to a curl. Her smile
was a beacon and I would have followed it anywhere. I realized
where Matt had gotten his blue eyes.
“Mama,” Matt said.
He fell into her arms. She embraced him as if he
were the prodigal son, of which he might well have been, but by the
aromas wafting across that threshold, the fatted calf was in full
roast.
I nodded.
“Mrs. Kieler.”
She extended her hand and cocked her head.
“You must be Martin. Welcome, Martin.”
“Get in doors, mother,” came a husky voice. Mr.
Kieler appeared. “It’s cold out there and we’re not cavorting on
the porch. You must be Marty.”
I went to correct him, but his formidable paw
latched onto mine, and I didn’t have the heart. I hated being
called Marty, but Mr. Kieler turned out to be one of only two
people of my acquaintance that would ever call me that. No sense
correcting him . . . not after all these years.
The Kieler residence was smartly decorated for
Christmas — holly, tree, a village, a manger and many angels. A
fire roared in the chimneypiece and I can truly say I felt
comfortable from the first moment I stepped foot over that
threshold.
After shedding our outer skins, I remember Matt and
I settled on the couch. It faced the picture window, and before
Louise and Sammy (the Kielers) sat beside us in their appointed
chairs, Matt turned and kissed me. I thought that would send this
staid couple out to the kitchen, but I spied their smiles — content
at the act as if they equated it with their own experience. Now if
this was Viv and her latest pick-up, I could well understand the
thinking, but somehow the Kieler’s settled countenance ennobled
Matt’s kiss.
“Matt,” I chided. “Not in front of your
parents.”
“Shy one,” Sam Kieler chomped.
“Hardly,” I said. “But it doesn’t seem the time and
place.”
“Where else would you suggest, Martin,” Louise said.
“Oh Mary . . .”
Matt was upstanding now as his sister swept into the
room. She was a thinner version of her mother, only I detected a
bit of the minx about her. She plopped on the couch beside Matt and
he proceeded to tickle her, in much the same way he had tickled
me.
“Stop it, Newt,” she said.
Newt?
He didn’t stop, until she threatened him with a
balled fist.
“They’ll never grow up,” Louise said to me in an
aside, only everyone could hear it.
“Grow up?” Matt said. “The hell with that.”
“No one can accuse these two cradle mates of
decorum,” Sammy said.
This brought the siblings to a mock church stance,
smiles leaking across to each other.
“So who’s this one?” Mary said.
“Martin,” I said.
“Newt has a Martin,” she said. “Well, you’re good
looking at least. He’d better hold you close or I’ll steal you
away.”
Martin gnashed his teeth and began his tickle again,
but Mary flew off the couch, trotting off to . . .
who knows
where?
“No, you don’t,” Matt shouted.
He was in pursuit, leaving me alone with the parents
— and I felt a gentle inquisition afoot.
Silence prevailed. I just couldn’t stand it. I heard
brother and sister laughing in the other room, but all I heard
where I sat was . . . breathing. Finally, I smiled and said what
came naturally.
“Lovely place you have here, Mrs. Kieler . . . Mr.
Kieler.”
“Thank you, and it’s Louise.”
“And Sammy.”
“It’s not half the house we had in Houston, but
we’ve tried to make it home.”
“Real estate in New Jersey is stiff,” Sammy said.
“You get more house for the buck in Houston.”
I smiled. The only thing I knew about real estate
was my little four room flat and my slice of courtyard and patio
furniture. I was cursing Matt under my breath for leaving me here
alone. I thought of Russ and Ginger and Leslie and . . . well,
the Cavern
was probably filling up just about now — Kurt and
Sam would be bellying up to the bar and Mother would be greeting
the guests. Bruce Q would be preparing for the flight of the
Zippilin
, and Carlos would be queuing up the first disco
beats —
thumpa thumpa.
Suddenly, Louise put he hand on my
knee.
“There’s no need to be nervous around us.”
“No need,” Sammy echoed.
“Our Matt has wonderful taste in men. Just be true
to him if you’re settling in for a while. A week isn’t long, I
know, but time somehow sings a soft song that stays the
course.”
“Stays the course,” Sammy said.
I didn’t know what to say. It was so similar to
Viv’s advice to Matt, although minus the
ef
words, that I
was stunned.
Suddenly, Matt returned, Mary hovering.
“Newt caught me,” she said.
“Matthew,” Louise said. “You’re neglecting your
manners. You left Martin alone with the dragons.”
“Dragons,” Sammy echoed.
Louise stood, Sammy shadowing her every move.
Echo and shadow
.
“I must finish the garnish for the lamb chops. I
hope you like lamb, Martin.”
I shook my head. I felt like I would be the lamb
tonight. They retreated into the kitchen (along with Mary),
probably to judge me in ways far beyond my deserving. Matt just sat
there staring through the picture window.
“Thanks for abandoning me,” I said. “Your parents
are very nice . . . cordial and all that, but they’re . . .
parents. You shouldn’t have left me alone with them so soon.”
Matt didn’t answer. He just stared out the
window.
“And why does your sister call you Newt?”
No answer. Suddenly, he turned to me and smiled the
broadest grin I had ever seen on a man.
“I love it when I’m home, especially now when I can
see the snow through the window. Isn’t it pretty?”
“You’re changing the subject. Haven’t you heard a
word I said?”
“Yes. I like my parents too, and they adore me. And
when I was three years old I used to run around bare assed naked.
Mary would cry out,
Mama, he’s newt again, come see. He’s
newt.
The name stuck.”
I brought my head to his forehead.
“Newt. I’ve seen you Newt. I guess you don’t outgrow
some habits.”
He kissed me, and then turned my attention to the
window. A cardinal had landed on the sill, and if ever there was a
scene etched in my mind from that night, it was our reflections in
that picture window, with the snowy lawn and the picket fence. I
was home and
the Cavern
was a distant, distant thought.
Once every four years, all the Gay and Lesbian
Choruses around the country came together for a week long
celebration called the GALA Festival, and I meant to attend the
next one, which was only a year and a half away — in July. I had my
heart set on it. It would be in Denver — imagine that. One hundred
and three
hoohoo
choruses assembled in the shadow of the
Rocky Mountains. Fabulous. The New Jersey Gay Sparrows were already
making plans. Now, the reason I mention this is that my New Years
resolution was set in Formica — to cut back on my spending and save
up for my passage and board to Denver. GALA here I come. So the
last thing I needed was to break that resolution and decorate Matt
Kieler’s apartment.
I became a fixture at Matt’s. After three weeks, he
gave me a key and I, like some girl playing house, a role I knew
well, would arrive home from work, rush to his apartment, and then
fuss over the stove before he arrived from work. I was a fair cook,
and he never complained. He wouldn’t dare, although he was more
interested in desert than anything I charred on those damned
electric burners. No microwave ovens then.
The first order of business was to hang a few
pictures. I thought movie posters would do the trick. There was a
place in the mall that stocked them and did a nice framing job.
Fortunately, after the first one — a stunning Wizard of Oz,
complete with Margaret Hamilton and Toto, Matt gave me his credit
card. Now if he did that with Russell, he’d be in a world of hurt.
Russ would run the gamut of the mall and have the thing maxed out
before the end of the week. However, I acted with restraint. I even
asked Matt for a dollar range to do the job. He shrugged and said
that I would know. I guess that meant that when he got the bill, if
his hat hit the ceiling I would get a sense of where I stood. It
actually only took four more posters to cover the living room
walls. So much warmer — and I replaced that bucket of roses with a
bowl of wax fruit and wooden candelabras — white. It was the
kitchen after all. I couldn’t do much with the bedroom. Every time
I looked at the mass of cables and plugs, I imagined that some
space alien had made its home under the carpeting. As for the
walls, two mirrors did fine and were both on sale in A&S’s
clearance basement. When Matt came home that night, I was all a
twitter at the bargain. He appreciated it. However, I remember that
it was that night that he asked for the card back. Not unkindly or
reproachfully, but simply,
you’ve done me proud here. It’s homey
now. A place to live in. I’ll need my card back tomorrow.
He
said no more, and I slipped the card back into his wallet while he
slept that night.