I had looked forward to spending Thanksgiving at Barry's. I started early, lobbying the same group of friend sthat had made Labor Day there so special that we should all get together and share our fellowship. At first, Richard and Allen gave luke-warm responses, but eventually they both said they would be there.
So, let me tell you what I think the set-up for Shakespearean farce was, then I'll describe the tragic part involving the little girl. But don't think the story ends there. To get the full picture, you really have to understand what happened after Thanksgiving, and that's a story for a later entry.
Here is what I think was going on. I am interested in Richard. We had had a pleasant shower together over Labor Day weekend and I hoped we might do something like that again. Unbeknownst to me, Richard was feeling a growing attraction to Allen. Allen had always had a fondness for Barry, hoping at one point to move in with him as a lover. And to round the picture out, Barry has expressed an interest in me.
To be perfectly honest, I like all these men and would not mind spending the night with any of them, though in fact I have only done so with Barry.
So there you have your basic Shakespearean set-up. Oh, but I forgot to mention Milton. Milton is Barry's ex. He used to live with Barry, first in the same house, later in a cottage on the grounds. But Labor Day was supposed to be Milton's last hurrah. He was moving out to live in Pacific Grove.
So imagine my surprise when the first person I meet as I enter Barry's house is Milton. He's in the kitchen, preparing sweet potatoes--apparently with his current sweet patootie, Jay. Source of confusion #1: What is Milton doing here? At whose invitation or acquiescence? The relationship between Barry and him is so bitter and dysfunctional that it is unpleasant to be anywhere that's occupied by both of them at the same time. Already this was shaping up to be less of a holiday of friends and more of the kind of tensions I expect when spending holidays with families.
Source of confusion #2: What is the sweet patootie's name? Milton introduces him a "Jay," but he introduces himself to everyone as "Robert." Curious.
However, I have to admire Milton's taste in guys. Robert (if that is his name) could be Steve Kelso's good-looking brother.
Barry is not there to greet me when I arrive, but eventually he emerges from wherever he hides himself when guests are coming and we embrace. "Who's the guy with Milton?" I ask.
"Oh, just a friend," says Barry.
"Boyfriend?" I ask.
"I don't think so," says Barry.
Hmmm, says I to myself.
This is on Wednesday evening. I arrived the day before Thanksgiving because I wanted to make the bread for the feast itself, and to do that I needed to start early in the morning. I felt I would enjoy that more if I started the morning at Barry's, rather than with an hour-and-a-half car drive.
Barry and I spent the night together, but we were both very tired and did little in bed. The next morning, however, we were more frisky. Unfortunately, just as we were getting started, Milton knocked on the door and opened it before Barry could answer. "You're wanted on the phone," he said, and left, leaving the door ajar. Barry gave me a look that expressed regrets and got up. "We'll take up tonight, though, okay?" he said as he put on his bathrobe.
I said I looked forward to it.
Richard and Allen arrived, closely timed but in separate cars. Soon so did Tom with complete service for sixteen and umpteen other useful items for a party. Barry's tenant, who took over occupancy of Milton's cottage, was also there . Well, no, not quite. The boyfriend of the tenant who took over Milton's cottage was there. Turns out the actual tenant was unable to attend the Thanksgiving feast because his mother had suddently taken ill and was in the hospital. He had to leave almost at once, before the boyfriend could be notified, so the boyfriend was now abandoned here, with us, perfect strangers. Although he was worried about his absent boyfriend and the boyfriend's mother, he still participated cheerfully in the preparations.
Not so Milton. Milton cannot seem to accomplish anything without cursing a blue streak. When the power goes out in the kitchen, he starts berating Barry. "Get the goddamned power back on. It wouldn't keep cutting out if you'd turn off the goddamned stereo. Can you get up off your goddamned ass and fix the damned thing?" And so on.
My task in the preparations is baking the bread. I make pepper-herb bread and saffron bread, both Thanksgiving favorites of mine. Robert helps me with the stove, which occasionally shuts off because of the goddamned power problem.
When everything is cooking away, Robert and I have some time outdoors to chat. He describes his relationship with his ex-wife, which is not good. She is apparently a fundamentalist Christian and has custody of the four children, two girls and two boys. The second girl, a six-year-old, is Robert's favorite. "We bonded," he says. "Just shortly after she was born, I broke my ankle, so I had to stay home. I got to walk around with her in my arms. We bonded. She's my buddy."
He's very upset that the wife, now living in Gilroy, has moved and won't tell him the new address or phone number or let him visit. He tells me how, when he left, she wouldn't even let him keep his dog. "And it was my dog, too," he says. Then, after he moved out, she had the dog put to sleep. "She had him killed," he says, "and then she turns right around and adopts two kittens. Two kittens! Can you imagine that?"
"She sounds like a very unhappy woman," I say.
"Yeah. You better believe it."
The dinner procedes cheerfully enough. After several attempts to get Barry involved in setting up the dining room, Tom and I take over and just do it: move the tables around, spread the tableclothes, set the tables. Somewhere in the course of the afternoon, the bread gets over-cooked and burned on top. Robert blames it on the power surges from turning the electicity on and off. I think it is simply my fault for not checking it more regularly.
Dinner is perfectly cheerful. There is wine, joking, and everyone compliments everyone else on their delicious preparations. The guys like my bread, and both loaves of the saffron bread disappear quickly. The sweet potatoes are excellent. Allen's relish is also excellent. I forget what Richard made (that's Richard, who's interested in Allen, not Robert, who may or may not be Milton's boyfriend, and may or may not be named Robert). Tenant's boyfriend has made pies, which we eagerly await following a respectful interlude of stuffing ouselves.
While lolling about after dinner while Tom and tenant's boyfriend do the dishes, Barry suggests we all head over to the hot tub. Milton and Robert decline, but Barry, Richard, Allen and I all hop in. Well, Richard, Allen, and I hop in. Barry disappears, as is his wont, and we stand around looking dumb-founded for a while. Then Richard and I grab some towels (we thought Barry had gone to fetch the towels, but twenty minutes later he was still nowhere to be found) and head for the tub.
Goody, I think. Time alone with Richard.
We spend some time enjoying the dark sky and the chill night. Allen soon joins us. Then tenant's boyfriend also enters the stew, followed soon by Tom. Tom immediately starts playing with my penis. Well, not especially and particularly my penis; just the penis of whoever is sitting next to him. Which happens to be me. It's what Tom does (that, and arrive with complete party supplies). I like Tom's enthusiasm for helping out, but I do not enjoy his physical attentions. I slide over in the tub.
Allen and Richard seem to be enjoying each other, however. Suddenly, Allen takes it into his head that a dip in the pool on this cool evening would be just the ticket. "I think it would certainly wake things up," he says, "if it doesn't kill you."
"I'm game if you are," says Richard.
I demur. "Everything I've got is about as awake as it's going to get tonight," I say.
Tom says, "Not with my heart."
After a bit more bravado and talk, they convince themselves it's the thing to do and head off for the pool.
About this time, Barry arrives and joins us in the tub. "Where are Richard and Allen?" he asks. In answer, we hear shrieks of delight or machismo coming from the pool area. There is much splashing around going on there. Barry takes an interest, and when we tell him it's Richard and Allen taking a dip, he declares that is a wonderful idea and off he goes to join them.
Leaving me, the tenent's boyfriend, and Tom alone in the tub. Tom inches over. I siddle away.
Milton and Robert (or is it Jay?) come out of the house, Milton trailing Robert who is walking in a kind of a stagger. I am not surprised at his gait since he and Milton have been drinking steadily since I first saw them the night before.
"Wanna join us?" tenent's boyfriend says.
Robert makes no reply.
"The tub's nice and hot," Tom says.
"No thanks," Milton says. "Jay just found out that his daughter is dead."
There is a stunned silence. Now we can all hear that Jay--Robert--is crying.
"That's terrible," one of us says. "What happened?"
"It was a car accident," Milton says. "He just found out on the phone."
Tom gets out of the tub immediately, dries himself quickly with a towel, and goes over to Jay. He puts his arms around him. Jay is now sobbing audibly. "She was my favorite," he says, "my buddy."
Barry returns from the pool and climbs into the tub. The silence and the scene on the patio have him confused. "What's going on?" he says.
"Jay--or Robert--just found out one of his daughters was killed in a car accident," I say. I feel kind of stupid saying it. I find it hard to believe.
"Oh, that's terrible," Barry says.
There's more stunned silence. I am beginning to feel embarrassed, though I don't know why. I wonder why Barry doesn't get out of the tub and go over to Jay. After all, Jay is his guest. Suddenly, it occurs to me that Barry is not going to comfort Jay. I get a little angry, though I can't say why. I decide I'm not going to ignore what's going on, no matter how painful or mortifying it is. I get out of the tub, quickly dry and dress as best I can, then go over to Jay and put my arms around him. Tom, in his eagerness to help, has gone over without dressing and is now quite cool to the touch. I bring a dry towel with me and drape it over him.
Jay can't stop sobbing. He's saying over and over how she was his buddy, his special friend. Then he tells us the details. He had called his mother to wish her a happy Thanksgiving, and she told him the news. His wife had been drinking and the little girl was the only other person in the car. They were broadsided. His wife escaped injury. But their daughter died.
"She didn't even have her in a seat belt. She didn't put her seat belt on. She should have made her wear the seat belt."
"Is there anything we can do?" I asked.
"No," said Milton.
I hadn't asked him, but thought it impolite to press the point on Jay. Allen and Richard returned from the pool and went to the tub. Barry apparently filled them in on what was going on. Richard came over almost at once.
"I have kids, too," he said. "I know how hard it must be to lose one."
I was beginning to feel uneasy. Jay has three other kids. They must be going through hell now, with their sister taken from them so suddenly. I wonder if there's any way Jay can get ahold of them, to reassure them.
I bring this up with Milton. "No," he says, "she's moved and hasn't told Jay the address or phone number."
Again, I think there must be something more we can do, perhaps contact the Gilroy police. But I say nothing.
"Is there anything we can do?" someone else asks Jay.
"Just . . . "
He hesitates.
"Just get me a shot of brandy or something. Just something."
Milton goes off to get it.
By now, Barry and Allen have joined us. We are all standing, holding on to each other like some kind of life raft.
"I can't go see them tonight," he says. "I can't drive there."
We all silently agree to that. He's had too much to drink already and he's in no state emotionally to be on the road even if he hadn't.
Milton comes back with the drink. He also suggests that maybe a valium would help. Jay declines at first, then says, "Maybe later, to help me sleep. Oh, God, I haven't told my father!" And he starts crying anew. "How am I going to tell my father?"
Eventually we all settle down. Jay asks if we could have a little memorial service for his daughter, right there, that night. We all agree, feeling it is something we can do. "Later," he says, "not right now."
He decides he would like some cigarettes. Tom, the only one of us who hasn't been drinking, offers to drive him to a nearby service station to get some. They leave, and we stand around talking about the tragedy.
"I've got kids," says Richard, "and I know how it would affect me."
"But why isn't he trying to get ahold of them?" I ask.
"You can't tell how someone is going to react to something like this," says Allen.
There's a long silence.
"How about some pie?" asks Richard.
Surprisingly, incongruously, even sheepishly, we all admit we'd like to have some. The tenant's boyfriend goes up to the cottage to bring them down and the rest of us head for the kitchen to whip up the cream and reset the table for dessert. When Tom and Jay get back, we're all ready.
And, amazingly enough, we all sit down and eat pie. While we pass around a Bible and a book of blessings to select an appropriate passage for the impromptu memorial. Allen, who has some practice as a minister and therapist, is elected to read. It's a short poem with four verses, symbolic, we think, of Jay's four children. And it speaks of "her eyes are now the starts, the wind her breath," and other images of some loved person now incorporated into the world, the sky, the universe.
After dessert, we all gather at one end of the pool with the prayer book and four candles, which the tenant's boyfriend lights, one with each verse. We look up into the starry sky.
"I miss you, buddy," says Jay. "And I'm not going to hate your mother. She did wrong. She should have taken care of you. But I'm not going to hate her. She's probably suffering just like I am. I miss you."
And then he leans over and blows out one of the candles. It sends chills up my spine.
"Wow," says the tenant's boyfriend. "Suddenly, those candles mean something else entirely."
"Look!" says Richard, pointing up. We all look up. "Three clouds, and a fourth one, moving away in another direction."
I look, but don't see what he's describing.
The moon rises slowly and the ceremony breaks up. Jay takes the Valium and washes it down with some Scotch. On the way back to the house, I tell him I think what he said about his ex-wife was very brave.
I looked around. I couldn't find anybody. Barry's main house is ranch style, but rambling. There's a living room (where Milton and Jay were camped out), large kitchen, dining room, den, office (that doubles as a guest room; I've spent a few nights there myself), master bedroom, second bathroom, laundry room, then a back bedroom and another room that could be another bedroom or second office.
As I looked down the hall from the livingroom, the only lights on were in the far back bedroom. I headed off in that direction.
When I got there, I found everyone except Barry piled onto the huge king-sized bed. There was Richard, Allen, Tom, and tenant's boyfriend. Everyone looked exhausted. I felt exhausted, and, since there was plenty of room on this huge mattress, I joined them.
Richard was stroking Allen's head, and Allen was curled up next to him. Tom and tenant's boyfriend were in a sort of loose embrace. I fit in between the two couples. I sighed, and closed my eyes.
After a few moments, Barry came in (from wherever he had been). "Does anyone want to use the hot tub?" he asked.
Somehow, this struck me as even more incongruous than Ricahrd's request for pie a few hours earlier. But Tom expressed an interest, and the two of them left.
Richards attentions towards Allen grew more amorous. Soon, they were both partially undressed. I had ended up on one side of them and tenant's boyfriend was on the other. We were all now engaged in what I would call erotic relaxation: stroking, petting, light kissing, and hugging.
Tom returned. "The hot tub is too hot," he said. "I see it's getting kind of hot here, too." Since he already had his clothes off, he joined right in. He and tenant's boyfriend were soon thoroughly engaged. I was getting more attached to Richard and Allen. Richard was goig down on Allen, which surprised me. I didn't think Allen would allow Richard that kind of intimacy. It was turning me on considerably to watch it.
Suddenly, Barry arrived. What he had been doing since both he and Tom quit the tub is anybody's guess. But now he was in the back bedroom.
"Oh," he said. "Well, I'm going to bed." Then he stood there for a moment.
"If you want to go to bed, you'll have to take the bedspread off. Here, let me do it."
And suddenly he was literally pulling the bedspread out from under us, removing the throw pillows, and turning down the sheets. Of course, this completely disrupted what was going on. We all had to get up off the bed and stand around while Barry tore through the bedclothes like a tornado, getting the bed "ready."
We just stood there, watching him.
When he was finished, we all sat down on the bed again. But of course, the mood had been broken. I was wondering if perhaps Barry had felt left out of the group. As he sat cross-legged on the bed opposite Allen, I lay down behind him and put my arm around him. He and Allen were looking into each other's eyes. Richard seemed perplexed. Then Barry and Allen said something to each other I did not catch. They both got up and left the room.
Tom and tenant's boyfriend found their rhythm again quickly. Nonverbally, they encouraged me to join them, and I encouraged Richard. For a while, the four of us lay completely nude and entangled. But after a few minutes, Richard sat up in the bed. Then he got out of the bed and went over to his clothes. Without saying anything, he put them on and left the room.
I still did not know where Barry and Allen had gone. I did not know where Richard was going. It was getting late, and I was planning on spending the night in Barry's master bedroom. I had left all my toiletries in there, and I was really feeling the urge to brush my teeth.
I was clearly falling out of whatever mood of erotic comfort the five of us had managed to create temporarily. I excused myself from the bed and went looking for the missing people, Barry especially.
They were nowhere to be found. I counted the cars in the driveway. One was missing. Which one? Had Allen left? Had Richard? Had they left together? I checked the other rooms: there was no one in the den, or the little office, or the larger office. Jay was snoring in the livingroom. Milton was awake, but hadn't seen anyone. There was no one outside on the patio.
It was all too mysterious and I was way too tired. The door to Barry's room was closed. Was he in there? With someone? And if with someone, whom? And how was I to get my toothbrush?
After several awkward moments, I figured, 'Oh, what the hell. Barry knows my stuff is in there and knows we planned on spending the night together. Even if there's something going on, I'll just say I came for my toothbrush.'
I entered the room. It was quite dark. I headed for the bed, thinking I would find Barry. I found someone, but it was not Barry. It was Allen.
Barry and Allen were together. Again. And I was on the outside. Again.
I stuck my fingers in Allen's face.
"Mppfft!" said Allen.
"Lou?" said Barry.
"Oh, sorry," I said. "I've come to get my toothbrush."
I got it and got out.
Back in the back bedroom, tenant's boyfriend was getting dressed. He had to get up early and wanted to sleep in the cottage by the pool--his boyfriend's place, after all. Tom and I said good night to him, then I said good night to Tom and crawled into the opposite side of the bed from where he lay.
"I'll have to get up early, too," Tom said.
"That's okay," I said. "You won't wake me. After tonight, I don't think anything could wake me."
Tom chuckled, then rolled over and turned out the light. He was snoring in minutes.
My mind was racing but had nowhere to go. I finally gave up and fell into a fitful, intermittent sleep. Nevertheless, I was fast asleep when Tom left in the morning.
I woke to a lovely sunrise. I was alone in the largest bed in the house. Funny. This is exactly what I had predicted would happen early yesterday afternoon when the guest were just arriving. Sometimes, I just don't listen to myself.