“So you just wrote me out?”
“Jeff, if you recall, our last day together in Provincetown was not all that pleasant.”
“Yes, but I never thought you'd just turn around and leave me. Walk out of my life. I thought we could work something out. I was coming back to Boston. I thought we'd be together here. I thought we could continue our relationship.”
He smirks. “Whatâdid you think we'd get
married?”
My words back at me again. Funny how one's own words can wound far more sharply than anything someone else might say on his own.
“You made me care about you,” I say, my voice thick.
Eduardo's silent.
“And I still do. I have not forgotten one moment we spent together. I think of you every day, Eduardo. And I don't care if I sound like Joan Fontaine or anybody else. I
do
think about you, and I do miss you, and I wish we could find some way to be together.”
“I'm seeing Tommy,” he says, looking away from me.
“I'm well aware of that. But can we be friends at least? I haven't been having a very easy time of things lately....”
His eyes dart back to me, and now the anger is there full force. “Of
course.
I should have known. Same as it ever was. I'm supposed to come back into your life now that you need me. It's still on your terms. You're unhappy, so you want me to make you happy. Sorry, Jeff, things are on
my
terms now.” He sets his jaw. “I hope you and Lloyd work things out. I've got to go.”
“Eduardoâ”
“No, really. I've got to go.”
He walks away, his hair caught by a light breeze, his jaw set just as it was the last time he walked away from me. I'm not angry with him for walking. Part of me understands. Part of me even admires him for doing so. That fire, that spunk, that vitality, that
life.
That's what I loved him for.
And how beautiful he looks, how radiantly young and beautiful. But meâall I feel is tired, tremendously tired, just as spring breaks out in the sky overhead.
Provincetown, September 1994
We're not sure what kind of accent he has, but it's beautiful, whatever it is.
Â
“It's Greek,” Javitz says finally.
“Are you sure?” Lloyd asks.
Javitz raises that damn eyebrow. “You are talking to a man who has PLATO-7 as a license plate.”
I turn to Chanel. “Who is he?”
She shrugs. “Never seen him before.”
“It's your party,” I say. “Find out!”
Chanel has rented a condo here in Provincetown for the Labor Day weekend. We're out on the deck overlooking the dunes. Originally, the plan had been for her and Wendy to rent the place. But Chanel and Wendy are history now. Two weeks ago, Chanel packed her bags and moved out, despite Wendy's tears and pleas for a second chance. “I can wait on the baby,” Wendy had cried, but Chanel was done with it. “It'll just come up again in another month or so,” she said simply, and walked out.
“You can't just
leave
her,” I argued, but Chanel and I had only just patched things up between ourselves after the unpleasantness across the breakfast table last month. I couldn't push too hard. But I
did
try. “You
love
each other,” I told her. “How can you just walk away?”
“We've become different people,” she said, and that was that. Chanel can become very hard when she wants to. To other people, but also to herself. She would not permit herself to feel any pain or regret upon leaving. Now, she's throwing a big Labor Day party, inviting in everyone she knows and some she doesn't. She's had one too many bottles of beer, smoked just a bit too much pot. She'd like us to think that Wendy is the furthest thing from her mind.
“I think he's a friend of my friend Mary Alice,” Chanel says about the beautiful boy with the accent, but then she giggles. “I'm not sure why I think that. Want me to ask him?”
“No,” I say quickly. In her state, she's bound to say anything. I've never allowed anyone to play matchmaker for me. If I like a guy, I'll approach him. Or make him approach me.
Except I can't seem to do anything with this one. At first I think it's because Lloyd and Eduardo are both here. It just wouldn't be cool for me to start hitting on somebody else when
both
of them came to the party with me. But I think it's more than that. He is beyond beautiful; he is sublime. I would go so far as to say he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen, but I know it would sound like so much hyperbole if I articulated it. Lloyd would say, “Oh, come on, Cat,” and Javitz would roll his eyes and say, “This week,” and Eduardo would just store it away in his head to dwell upon and feel terrible about later.
But he is. The most beautiful man. He's not that much taller than I am, but his body is one of those born to perfection. This is not a man who has spent much time in the gym. Every curve, every line of his body is precise and graceful. His shoulders are broad, his torso a classic V, but without the bulk and rigidity that afflicts body builders. To his arms there is an easy flow of muscle and sinew, biceps gently appearing as he bends his elbow to raise his beer to his lips. His hair is so black it almost glistens with blue highlights in the sun. His eyes are dark brown, his skin a vibrant olive. Skin as fine as silk, as naturally smooth as a baby's ass.
“He's dark enough to be Greek,” I observe.
“Now the question is,” Eduardo says, big grin, “is he Greek active or Greek passive?”
He's ribbing us. Such terms are “too seventies” for him.
“What
ever role he wants to play,” I say, “would be fine with me.”
“Why don't you go up and say hello?” Lloyd offers. “Don't let me stop you.”
Eduardo reaches his neck up to see over the crowd, checking out the man. “He's cute, but he's not all that cute.”
Javitz sighs. “Remember what I told you at lunch,” he says to Eduardo, who backs down and frowns.
“What?” I ask. “What did you tell him at lunch?”
“Never you mind.”
“I don't know what you've done to him, Eduardo,” Lloyd says, grinning. “I've never seen Jeff so hesitant to approach his prey before.”
Eduardo feigns disinterest. “He can do whatever he wants.”
“I know,” Lloyd says. “How about if you and I take off and leave him to his Greek god?”
“Sounds good to me,” Eduardo says.
Would they really? The thought of Lloyd and Eduardo tricking is a curious one. It either would be a complete turn-on or would absolutely unravel me. Regardless, I'm not in the mood to find out. “I'm not interested in tricking today,” I snap.
Chanel takes a hit off her bong and passes it around. Javitz takes it, and so does Lloyd. Eduardo seems to consider, then shakes his head. “Maybe you should have some, Jeff,” he says. “Maybe it'd give you the courage to approach Apollo over there.”
“More like Adonis,” I say, sighing ridiculously.
“Hey.” Lloyd nudges me. “He's coming over.”
My mouth goes dry. I want to raise my beer to my mouth but I know my hand would shake if I did so. The man positions himself not a yard from me, in direct eye contact, leaning against a table. Javitz and Lloyd each grin and walk away. Eduardo looks at me and then starts to follow them.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Where you going?”
“I don't want to be in your way.”
“Excuse me,” the man says, beside me.
I turn to him. I don't say a word. I don't know if Eduardo is still there or not.
“Do you have a light?” the Greek god asks.
His voice is like seasoned honey. His eyes, his face, everything, moves in a rhythm I've never encountered before. I have not felt this way since seventh grade, since Richie Rostocki came up to me and asked me if I wanted to be his partner in the relay races.
Me?
You want
me?
“No,” I say.
My voice is heavy. I say nothing else. We stand there, not speaking. I do not look at him. Finally he turns to another man, a man who
does
have a light, and they begin to speak closely, cheeks pressed together to hear above the music.
I walk over to the deck railing and join the others. They, of course, have witnessed the entire exchange. “What has come over you?” Lloyd asks.
“IâI don't know. I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything.”
“Finally met your match, huh?” Eduardo asks, and there's that nasty edge to his voice again.
Javitz is looking at me, befuddled. “I've never seen you this way. In more than a decade, I've never seen you this way.”
“I don't remember ever
being
this way,” I say, almost as if coming out of a trance. “It's just that he's so beautiful....”
“No, it's not him, darling,” Javitz says.
“His name is Philip,” Chanel says, coming up behind us. “I think that's what Mary Alice said. He is Greek. He's going to school in Boston. He's studying graphic design.”
“Really?” Eduardo says, perking up. “Maybe
I
should go talk to him.”
“Looks like he's already found someone,” Lloyd says. “Looks like they're leaving.”
I feel a churning in the pit of my stomach, as if I've lost the winning lottery ticket and tonight's drawing was for $20 million. “He came
over.
He asked me for a
light.
Did that mean he was interested?”
Javitz blinks. “I thought
you
were the expert on tricking.”
“I guess not anymore. I mean, he was
so
â”
“Oh, cut it out,” Eduardo says.
Lloyd laughs. “Bet you didn't know Jeff had all these human frailties, did ya?”
“Everyone's a little insecure,” Eduardo says.
Except maybe for that Greek god, I think, but I don't say it.
“You're right, Eduardo,” Javitz says. “Everyone here, all those boys you see in the bars and on the steps of Spiritus, are scared as shit. Especially the ones with pecs the size of grapefruits.” Javitz lights up, inhaling deeply. “They look in the mirror and nothing's good enough. No matter
how
big they get.” He blows the smoke out of his mouth long and lazy, like a jaded dragon.
“Javitz, are you talking about Mitch again?” Lloyd asks.
“Whooo?”
His face bears down on Lloyd. They laugh.
Finally, I do, too.
But Eduardo is stone-faced. “What's the matter with you?” I ask.
“Are you sufficiently recovered now?” he comes back at me.
I get it. He's pissed. I'm only supposed to have eyes for him. And Lloyd, of course. He doesn't dare suggest I shouldn't have eyes for Lloyd. But that's it, he reasons. I've already got two. What do I need more for? Get your hand out of the cookie jar, Jeffy. You've already had two.
It's beginning to bug me. I just look away from him. He knows I get it; he knows I'm pissed. That, of course, just gets him more pissed. Maybe it's good that the summer is ending, that Eduardo will be back in school soon, that we won't have all this time to spend together.
He and Lloyd have gotten along very well this weekend. Except every now and then Lloyd looks up at me with his intense green eyes, looks at me as if trying to find something in my face that he had forgotten. Might it be that he's looking for whatever it is that Eduardo sees there? Or are those eyes of his merely looking to connect? I try to smile when I see his eyes, try to return their gaze. But I cannot discern what kind of look this is, which makes me uneasy. I've always known the look in Lloyd's eyes.
“Actually, maybe his name wasn't Philip,” Chanel says now. “Maybe it was Peter. Or Paul. Do any of those sound Greek to you?”
We ignore her. She's in her own, zoned-out world. Lloyd and Eduardo are talking in the corner. Ernie bounds in, big smiles, hugs and kisses. He and Javitz slip off to the kitchen. I'm left with Chanel, who's trying to remember just what Mary Alice told her about the departed Greek god.
“It doesn't matter,” I tell her.
She looks up at me with glassy eyes. “Jeff, I'm truly sorry about last month.”
“Don't worry about it. It's a touchy subject. I can understand why people get upset. I was upset myself.”
“No, I shouldn't have taken my shit out on you.” She sways back and forth a little. I know this self-analysis can only be a result of the pot. “I've always done that. Ever since I was a little girl and something would get me angry and I'd blame someone else.”
“Like the maid?” I josh. I love teasing her about her privileged upbringing.
“You know, the thought of not having you in my life ...” She chokes up. “Last night I had a dream Javitz died. I woke up crying so hard. I don't want to lose you guys.”
I smile. “We're not going anywhere.”
She rests her head on my shoulder. “I miss Wendy,” she whispers.
“Chanel, I told youâ”
She looks up at me. “Yes. Yes, you did.” Some of the glaze seems to have left her eyes. “But I didn't tell you the rest of my dream.”
“What was that?”
“That Javitz died, and you and Lloyd broke up. I don't know which part I was crying harder about.” She smirks. “So pay attention to your own advice, buster.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Eduardo is a darling. I love him. But I'm sensing a little distance between you and Lloyd.”
“You sense wrong,” I assure her.
“Really? Because I don't want you and LloydâI mean, our little group couldn't take another breakup.”