Authors: K.Z. Snow
nobody talked about those kinds of things back
then.”
“Hell no. Private matters were private
matters. And kids never tattled about what went on
behind closed doors. First, ’cause they were a lot
more naïve than they are today. Second, ’cause
they were taught to be quiet and respect their
elders. But society’s been busted wide open since
then. Nowadays there’s T & A in every damn
movie, and you can’t turn around without hearing
about another Father Gropy or some celebrity
scandal or men wanting to marry—” Bob’s throat
seemed to snap shut as the sides of his face went
magenta.
“Men,” Dare supplied. “I wish you wouldn’t
worry about saying the wrong thing in front of me.”
“So, uh….”
“Yes,” Dare said. “I am.” He drank some
beer to soothe his nerves. “Does it matter?”
Making a great show of pondering this, Bob
pulled down the corners of his mouth, carving
gullies into his jowls. “Not as long as you keep
playing as good as you do. And don’t drop your
pants on stage.”
“Bob, the only reason I’d drop my pants is
because I hate the damned things, not because I
want to flash a bunch of senior citizens.”
Although his face still bore clown colors,
Bob came close to smiling. He pursed his lips and
held it in. “Don’t wanna make us feel bad by
comparison, huh?”
Dare laughed.
Finally, Bob gave in to his grin.
“Thanks,” Dare said. “You’re a good man.”
“Eh.” Bob dismissively waved a hand. “So,
um… are you and JoJo Day, like…?” Once again
at a loss for words, he made some indecipherable
movements: rocked his head, waggled a hand from
side to side.
“Are those secret signs?”
“Come on, you know what I mean. GG’s been
a friend of ours for years. She’s always been sure
JoJo is, you know….”
Dare made a rolling motion with his hand,
trying to get Bob to say it.
“I don’t wanna offend you.”
“Just say ‘gay’. It won’t offend me. Just like
‘grumpy old fart’ doesn’t offend
you
.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Bob said grumpily.
“You might want to stay away from the three
Fs, though.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The words
fruit
,
fairy
, and
fag
. Don’t use
those and we’ll be fine.”
Bob huffed. “Well anyway, Mr.
Gay
Man,
GG thinks her grandson kind of has a crush on you.
Even with your
horrrrrible
”—rolling up his eyes,
Bob warbled the word—“red pants in the ‘on’
position.”
“I’m aware of that,” Dare said softly, getting
serious. The reminder, especially in this context,
made his stomach wormy.
“Hm.” Bob’s whole face puckered with
indecision. “So, d’ya like him?”
Dare could tell his Fearless Leader wasn’t
too keen on pursuing this topic. So why was he
doing it? “Yeah, I like him.” He narrowed his
eyes. “What’re you getting at?”
“That maybe you should quit farting around.”
“What?”
Bob let out a dramatic, vocalized sigh. “It’d
make GG happy if you felt the same way about
JoJo.”
“Really? Why?”
“Damned if I know,” Bob snapped.
Apparently he could only take so much homo talk
and heartthrob talk before his crankiness kicked in.
He battled the attitude with more beer. “Listen,
Dare, I think you’re a decent kid. You’re
dependable, you’re a fine musician, and the other
guys like you. I can’t ask for more than that. JoJo’s
a decent kid too. Not many twenty-somethings,
knuckleheads that most of ’em are, would be taking
their grandmas out dancing every week and
keeping an even disposition.”
“And…?” The old man was obviously
burbling his way toward some fountain of advice.
“I know you two got a lot in common. I know
JoJo went through the same kind of shit you did. So
what I’m saying is….” Groaning, Bob pulled a
hand over the slicked-back, graying hair that
barely covered the pink dome of his head. “Christ,
I can’t believe I’m talking about this.” He dropped
his shank of an arm back to the picnic table.
“Maybe you should give him a chance. As more
than a friend. Not that I know my ear from my
elbow when it comes to your kind of thing, but I do
have a wife, and I suppose romance is romance,
regardless.” He finished his beer and got up. “You
can’t ring the bell if you don’t swing the hammer.”
Dare had never been the recipient of folksy
wisdom. In a screwy way, he was moved by it. He
swiveled on the bench as Bob trundled away.
“Thanks for the advice, Granddad.”
Bob kept walking. “Eat my socks.”
Chapter Eleven
WHY the hell can’t I leave well enough alone?
Dare kept shooting the question at himself as he
made the short drive northeast toward Wind Lake.
Specifically, toward the address he’d found in the
phone book.
He’d gone directly home from the Birches,
where Junior and Ernie gladly finished the pitcher
of beer he’d brought inside. He’d brushed his teeth
and showered and thrown on some clean clothes.
I’m trying to ring the bell.
That’s
why I’m
doing this.
Okay, so he’d been right. Jonah was queer.
Which meant he’d always
been
queer. Which
meant he hadn’t instantaneously developed a gay-
on because he’d seen some dude slithering around
with his ass in the air—although the hormonally-
charged atmosphere of the Sugar Bowl might have
contributed to Jonah’s surge of awakened hunger.
Dare
figured
that
mostly,
though,
their
acquaintance had stirred the psycho-emotional silt
Clayton Wallace had deposited on Jonah’s libido.
He’d finally begun to see more clearly what he
wanted and realize it wasn’t the worst thing in the
world.
Jonah was twenty-four. He was on the mend
from a trauma. Sooner than later, his true nature
was bound to emerge. Dare just happened to be the
man he felt closest to when the emergence was
underway. Therefore, Dare had become the target
of Jonah’s wobbly, foal-legged lust.
Or maybe Jonah wasn’t really gay but was
more confused than ever. What was that
phenomenon called? Transference? So maybe
Dare was like a mallard being followed around by
a hatchling chicken that thinks the duck is its
mother.
Or something like that.
Dare did a split-second eye roll at his
theorizing.
“Admit it. You don’t know
what
the fuck to
think,” he muttered as he glanced at the Garmin.
The immediate question remained: Why
couldn’t he just let it go, let them both get on with
their lives? They’d muddled through up to now.
This indefinable relationship they’d gotten into
was only complicating matters that sure as hell
didn’t need further complications.
Nevertheless, Dare turned where the GPS
instructed him to turn, the road where Jonah lived.
He must’ve bought or rented one of the older
cottages that lined the southern and western shores
of the lake and, once upon a time, served as
summer homes. Dare was willing to bet anything
GG lived in one of those places too.
A song rolled through his mind, clear as the
lines on the map. “
And oh, the glorious feeling,
just to know somehow you are near!”
The feeling wasn’t exactly glorious, but Dare
had to admit it fell somewhere between a visit to
the dentist and a date with a Calvin Klein
underwear model.
Heart pattering, he eased into the driveway of
a cozy-looking place, a faux-log-construction
ranch, on a pretty, tree-shaded lot. It was across
the road from the lake, not on the lake. Aside from
that and the usual diminutive size of the properties
around here, it looked inviting.
The front door opened. There stood Jonah,
watching him. Dare didn’t have one of those
won’t-wake-the-baby electric vehicles. He’d
announced his arrival simply by pulling into the
driveway.
“You need a new muffler,” Jonah said,
raising his voice just enough to carry across the
lawn.
“No kidding. That’s why I had to give up cat
burgling.” Dare tried not to trip out of his six-year-
old Chevy Malibu. “Nice place. How big is it?”
“About fifteen hundred square feet.”
“Can I get a tour?” Dare smelled the pine
trees in the yard, the crisping leaves of the
hardwoods, the recently mown grass. “Or are you
busy?”
“Nope. Just got out of the tub.”
Now why did that revelation seem important
to Dare’s dick, which pulsed at the sound of those
words, and at the sight of Jonah’s messy damp hair
and bright green eyes and faded-denim-clad legs?
“You really fuckin’ turn me on, Dare.”
Okay, there was one reason.
The response of Dare’s dick was a fleeting
reaction. He felt too addled to dwell on it.
“So come on in if you want,” Jonah told him.
He didn’t seem warm, didn’t seem cold. He
seemed studiously neutral.
Dare crossed the lawn toward the stoop. “I
need to talk,” he said, the words just erupting from
him. He realized the statement wasn’t merely a
ruse.
Since Bob had brought up that duet, he’d felt
like fresh shit—a neurotic whiner who’d let his
past impinge on his present to the point where he
couldn’t meet his responsibilities. He’d let Bob
down, one of the nicest people he knew, by
essentially saying
fuck that
to the old guy’s simple
dream.
The idea of that duet excited Bob. Like an
optimistic kid, he’d seen something on the Internet
that inspired him, made him want to reach beyond
the norms of his life. And he’d put his faith in Dare
to help him do it.
Faith
. Dare didn’t take that word lightly. Bob
had put his ebullient, unquestioning faith in his
irrelevantly gay clarinetist, who’d then proceeded
to chuck it right back at him.
“AND what made it worse,” Dare said as he sat
on Jonah’s plump tan couch, “was that Bob never
pressed the issue. He deferred to my stupid fucking
hang-up about xylophones. And when I outed
myself, he didn’t give me a single ounce of flak
about that either.”
“You never mentioned the xylophone to me,”
Jonah said.
“I guess not. We never got that far.”
They sat beside each other, not much space
between them. Dare had slid down, his ass near
the edge of the cushion, his legs stretched out
beneath a large coffee table of sleek, dark wood.
Jonah was angled to face him, left leg bent on the
couch and left arm resting on its back.
“Do you feel like going there?” he asked.
Dare shrugged. He wasn’t sure where he felt
like going. To bed with Jonah, maybe, who
smelled so enticing, who smelled like an
aromatherapy candle burning low within a pair of
freshly laundered jeans. Just the nearness of him
both relaxed and revitalized Dare.
A good dream. That’s what it was. Jonah
smelled like a good dream. The issue of their
mutual attraction had either become irrelevant in
the course of the day or had become relevant in a
whole new way.
“I didn’t know GG had a fiancé,” Dare said,
buying time.
Jonah nodded. His eyes were beautiful in the
fading light—the green deeper, richer; the lashes
seemingly longer on his partially lowered lids.
“Hal is a great guy. You’ll probably be playing at
their wedding reception. With the band, I mean.”
“You think so?”
“I’m willing to bet on it.”
Dare faced forward. Longing twined through
him, a cluster of fibers he had difficulty sorting
out. They were different hues of the same primary
color, tinctured by many people, countless images
and events.
“I want to do right,” he murmured. “I want to
be proud of myself. And happy with my life.”
The fingers of Jonah’s outstretched hand
whispered over his hair.
Chapter Twelve
Dare
1999