Mary Ann in Autumn (10 page)

Chapter 14
Dwelling on Things

“
Watch it!” yelped Michael, “that guy is totally shitfaced!”

Ben winced, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “I see him.”

“Didn’t look like it.”

“Michael—”

“Okay. Fine. He was staggering into the street, that’s all. You could barely see him in the dark.”

“I saw him.”

“I was trying to be helpful.”

“It doesn’t help when you do that. Believe me.”

Michael maintained a moody silence as they passed Dolores Park on their way down 18th Street to the Mission. When he spoke again, his hand was on Ben’s thigh.

“Is it backseat driving when you’re both in the front seat?”

Ben smiled but said nothing. In the five years they’d been a couple, he’d always been the one to drive when they traveled together. They both preferred it that way, since Michael was a dangerously nervous driver, though that hadn’t stopped him from being “helpful” to the point of obnoxiousness. Ben let it go most of the time, since he knew it had far less to do with control issues than with Michael’s morbid preoccupations.

Tonight they were on their way to see their friends Mark and Ray at their flat on Fair Oaks Street. Mark was sixty; Ray was eighty-two. The difference in their ages was almost the same as Ben and Michael’s, making the older couple both an intergenerational role model and, for better or worse, a possible bellwether of things to come.

Ray had Alzheimer’s these days (“a fairly mild form,” as Mark had gamely put it), which rendered him foggy but jolly, a nicer person by far than his former ornery self. It was Mark, poor guy, who’d been shafted in the bargain. The lupine young man in drawstring pants, whom Ray had fallen for one balmy night at Short Mountain, had been forced, after thirty years of contented man-on-man love, to open their relationship to another person.

This made for some interesting dinner parties.

“G
ENTLEMEN, GENTLEMEN
,” R
AY CROONED FROM
the top of the stairs, as soon as he had buzzed them in. “Did you find a place to park?”

“No problem,” yelled Ben, peering up that alpine slope at the lower half of Ray’s skinny legs. It amazed Ben that the old man could still negotiate this climb, though it was saddening to have such demonstrable proof that Ray’s body had outlasted his mind. He was wearing sneakers tonight, Ben noticed—fluorescent green ones, polka-dotted with peace signs—which an outsider might have taken as another sign of dementia. Ben saw them as an echo of Ray’s Radical Faerie days, and therefore found them reassuring.

“Cool shoes,” he said.

“Who? Me?”

“Who else?” He kissed Ray’s parchment cheek, joining him on the landing. “Don’t let my husband see them. He’ll want some.”

Ray seized Ben’s hand and held on to it. “Where
is
he?”

“Down here with the Sherpas.” Michael was halfway down the stairs, exaggerating his breathlessness as he held tight to the iron banister. It was the game he always played, a pose to make Ray feel younger and stronger. Ben loved him for it.

“C’mon,” said Ray, beckoning Michael with a skinny arm. “There’s hot buttered rum at the summit.”

They followed Ray into what Ben always thought of as the great room, a long, warmly lit space on which this couple had left their vaguely hippiefied mark since the early eighties. There was nothing special about the flat, decoratively speaking—Bohemia by way of Pottery Barn—but Ben loved the sheer
archaeology
of the place, the history buried under magnets on the refrigerator door. These guys had lived a life here, and it showed.

Ray hollered into the kitchen for Mark, who appeared seconds later carrying a tray of mismatched ceramic mugs. “What is it, you cuntface?”

The old man hooted with laughter. Ben shot a glance at Michael and saw that he had been every bit as jolted by the greeting as Ben himself.

“It’s from
The Sound of Music
,” Mark explained, holding the tray out to his guests. “You know the scene where—”

“I was going to do that,” Ray said, interrupting.

“Do what?”

“Bring out the rum.”

“That’s sweet, my darling, but it’s hot. Not to mention buttered.” Mark shot a knowing look at Ben and Michael. Ben could remember a time, only a few years earlier, when Ray could be entrusted with a tray of cocktails without danger of losing a drop.

No longer, apparently.

Michael took one of the mugs. “I don’t get it. What’s from
The Sound of Music
?”

Ray grinned impishly. “The Mother Superior says it to . . . whatshername . . . the star.”

“Julie Andrews,” Michael offered.

“ ‘What is it, you cuntface?’ ” This time it was Ray who said it, giggling.

Ben was still lost. “Is this in a drag version or something?”

“It’s in the movie,” said Mark. “Julie doesn’t want to be a nun anymore and tells the Mother Superior she just can’t face it anymore, so the Mother Superior says, ‘What is it you cahnt face?’ You know . . . with a broad European
a
. Hence . . .”

“ ‘What is it, you cuntface?’ ” Ray crowed the line one more time before pressing his fingers to his mouth. “Hope Arlene didn’t hear. She hates that kinda talk.”

Ben’s eyes darted nervously toward Michael, who, in turn, glanced at Mark, who connected with them both in a cat’s cradle of wordless mortification.

“Shall we get comfortable?” said Mark.

“Arlene should be down soon,” said Ray. “She’s putting her face on.”

Mark sighed and took Michael’s arm, leading the way to the sofa.

Ben sidled up next to Ray, placing his hand on the small of Ray’s back as he did his level best to shift the focus. “I hear you guys went out to Cavallo Point last week.”

“Mmm.”

“What did you think of the new restaurant?”

“It used to be a military base, you know.”

“I did . . . yes. Did you like it?”

Ray eased himself into a big armchair upholstered in paisley wool. “I thought it was completely stark and charmless, to tell you the truth. And way too expensive.”

“I agree with you completely.”

“Arlene adored it, though. She’s always been partial to fancy places.”

Arlene had once been Ray’s wife. They had divorced several months before the life-changing Faerie Gathering where he met Mark. Arlene had stayed in Fort Wayne for a few more years before moving to South Dakota with a widower she’d met on a bus tour of the Holy Land. After that, by mutual consent, Ray and Arlene lost touch. Ray, in fact, hadn’t learned of Arlene’s death until eight months after her funeral, when a former neighbor from Fort Wayne was visiting San Francisco. Mark, who was almost forty by then and had never even met Arlene, had confessed, shamefully, to a certain relief. With Arlene gone, the slate would finally be clean; Ray would be his and his alone.

Or so he’d thought. Arlene had come back with a vengeance after Ray came down with Alzheimer’s. It wasn’t that his failing mind had resurrected the strained decade he’d spent with Arlene; it had simply imported her into his life. Anything Ray had shared with Mark inevitably became a fond, fuzzy memory of life with Arlene. She was gobbling up Mark’s marriage like a fungus—even recent events like Cavallo Point, where, if Ben recalled correctly, the two men had celebrated their thirtieth anniversary.

After dinner, while Michael and Ray were having coffee in the great room, Ben helped Mark with the dishes.

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

Mark nodded grimly. “Last week he told the cleaning lady that him and Arlene had just gone to the nude beach in Sitges.”

“Ouch.”

“It wasn’t like he ever loved her. He didn’t even
like
her that much. He barely talked about her at all for thirty years.”

Ben towel-dried a plate and handed it to Mark. “Do you ever correct him?”

“They tell you not to. They say it just confuses them and makes them feel bad.” He put the plate on the shelf above the sink. “I really hate that dead bitch.”

Ben smiled faintly.

“At least he still remembers me,” said Mark. “I shouldn’t complain.”

“Go ahead. You’re entitled.”

“No . . . really . . . we still have the moment. That’s all anybody has. And he’s always a lot of fun.”

As if on cue, Ray bellowed from the great room: “Arlene! We need a fill-her-up out here. You still there, Arlene?”

Mark sighed and grabbed the carafe off the coffee maker.

“Hate her,” he muttered, as he leaned into the swinging door.

O
N THE WAY HOME, NEITHER
of them said anything for a long time. Michael was the first to break the silence: “I would never mistake you for anybody else.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I mean it. I might be a cranky old fool some day, but I’ll never forget who you are. Or what we’ve done together.”

Ben took Michael’s hand and kissed the back of it. “We don’t come with that kind of warranty.”

“Well,
I
do. Just take me to Pinyon City or . . . make me something vegan . . . or flop your balls in my face. I’ll remember.”

Ben chuckled. “He spooked you?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Me, too. A little.”

“You know, they say that marijuana actually helps prevent Alzheimer’s.”

“Who said that? Woody Harrelson?”

Michael mugged at him.

“Speaking of Pinyon City,” said Ben, “why don’t we head up there in a few days? Are you locked into anything work-wise?”

“Not that I can think of. Is there snow on the way or something?”

“Yep. You think Mary Ann would like to hang with you while I go boarding?”

“I dunno. She’s having the surgery next week.”

“Maybe she could use a change of scenery.”

“We could always ask,” said Michael.

There was still a light on in the cottage when they got home, so Michael went out to talk to Mary Ann. When he finally returned, well over half an hour later, Ben was already in bed with Roman, giving him his obligatory nightly belly rub.

“Watch out,” Ben warned. “He’s been farting.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Great.”

Ben gingerly shifted the dog to the end of the bed while Michael shed his clothes. “What did she say?”

“About what?”

“Pinyon City.”

Michael seemed distracted. “Oh . . . she’s up for it.”

“But?”

“Nothing. She wants to go.”

“So why did that take half an hour?”

Michael climbed into bed and snuggled into Ben’s side. “I had to hold her hand for a while. Somebody on Facebook mentioned somebody she used to date, and she was weirded out about it. It was no big deal.”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing, really. Just brought up his name.”

“Why would that weird her out?”

“She’s in a really dark place right now. Who can blame her? I think Pinyon City will do her a world of good. We can go to the hot springs, or maybe snowshoe across the meadow. Do we have a ski jacket she can wear?”

“Michael, who was this guy? What is it you’re not telling me?”

“She really hates talking about it, sweetie. I’m the only one she’s ever shared it with.”

“Fine. I won’t ask her about it. And I won’t tell her you told me.” He held up his hand, pointing to his wedding band. “Full disclosure.”

Michael took a while to compose his answer. “He was this creep . . . this pedophile who lived on the roof.”

“That she dated.” Ben gave him a heavy-lidded look.

“She didn’t know that when she dated him. He was just a shy guy who had a crush on her, and she felt sorry for him. They had dinner a few times, that’s all.”

“How did she find out, then?”

“Find out what?”

“That he was a pedophile.”

“Oh . . . she found kiddie porn in his room. Norman was in some of the pictures. He had one of those black bars over his eyes, but she could tell who it was. Plus, she recognized the little girl. They’d gone trick-or-treating together.”

Ben frowned. “
Who’d
gone trick-or-treating?”

“Mary Ann and Norman and this kid.”

“And she didn’t wonder what he was doing with this child?”

“He was supposedly babysitting for some friends in the East Bay.”

“Jesus. Did she call the police?”

“Of course. But he was gone by the time they showed up.”

“Gone from where?”

“Barbary Lane. He didn’t even leave his room key with Anna. He just left on Christmas Eve and never came back.”

“So he must’ve known that they knew about him, right?”

“Oh, yeah . . . I’m sure.”

For some reason, Michael didn’t sound entirely convinced about this, but Ben decided not to badger him about it further. “So when did this happen?”

“Thirty-two years ago. The first year Mary Ann was in town. You were barely on the planet at that point.”

Ben squeezed Michael’s arm in rebuke. “That doesn’t mean I’m not supposed to know about it.”

“I know you think she’s a drama queen,” said Michael, “but she’s had some actual drama.”

“Apparently,” said Ben.

Chapter 15
To Save Some Guy

W
ith the weekend came rain—or at least a drizzly mist—so Jake proposed they blow off the new science museum and stay home. Anna was chipper about it, insisting that all she needed on a day like this was to snuggle up in the new gazebo with a pot of Earl Grey tea and a box of ginger snaps. Jake would have much preferred the albino alligator and the living roof and the four-story rainforest, but he knew that Anna’s energy was lower than usual, so there was no point in braving the park in this shitty weather.

He dragged a space heater into the gazebo and rolled down the plastic curtains before settling Anna in her chair with her Hudson Bay blanket. He was glad to see that the gazebo wasn’t leaking, since he’d built it himself a few months earlier. Anna was making a methodical show of appreciation, surveying the space like an astronaut checking her capsule before a flight. “Perfect,” she said. “I couldn’t ask for more.”

Jake pulled up a chair next to her. “Warm enough?”

“Oh . . . dear . . . before I forget . . . a young man came by yesterday when you were at work.”

Jake felt tightening in his gut. “Oh, yeah?”

“His name was Snow, I believe.”

“Flake,” Jake muttered.

“What, dear?”

“His name was Jonah Flake, right?”

“Yes! That’s it.” She rapped her knuckles comically against the side of her head, so as to reprimand her brain for its silly mistake. “He thought he had the wrong place until I told him I was your roommate. I hope I didn’t frighten him.”

“Who cares?”

“What, dear?”

“He’s a Mormon. He’s trying to save me.”

“How interesting.”

“Correction: he’s trying to save some guy I haven’t even
become
yet.”

Anna studied him for a moment, blinking her bleary blue eyes. “He thinks you’re gay, you mean? A gay man?”

Jake grunted in the affirmative.

“Well . . . isn’t that sort of encouraging?”

“C’mon. If he wants to fix a gay man, what the hell’s he gonna think about a trans man? I haven’t got time for that kind of shit.”

“Was this the boy from the floating island?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well, he seems to like you. He said to tell you he was sorry.”

Jake said nothing; there was nothing to say.

“He looked like he meant it. He looked bereft, in fact.”

He shouldn’t have snapped at her, but he did. “Anna, did you hear what I said? He’s trying to save me.”

Taking her time about it, Anna tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Or trying to be saved. Most of us are doing one or the other.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have no idea, and you won’t either unless you call him back.”

It was typical of Anna to toss out something mysterious like that, then run away before she was forced to explain herself.

Jake folded his arms with a sigh. “Would you like your cocoa now, Your Majesty?”

Anna ignored the question. “You know, dear, I know exactly how that feels.”

“How what feels?”

“To know who you are inside when other people don’t.”

Of course
he knew that she knew that, but he didn’t feel like a pep talk right now, even from his tran mother. He didn’t feel like anything. He felt dead inside, a total nonbeing whose feelings didn’t matter one way or another.

“The thing is,” Anna went on, “you can’t stay open to love if you’re always afraid of being hurt.”

“I wasn’t looking for love. He’s not even gay. I thought we could be friends.”

“Then how can you know if that’s possible if you don’t—”

“What? Come out to a Mormon? A guy who came here to stop gay marriage? He even calls himself a missionary!”

“Then you should be one, too.”

“That’s not me, Anna. I’m a private person.”

Anna rearranged her long, pale fingers in her lap. “I used to think the same thing about myself. But I was only postponing the chance to be loved as myself.”

“C’mon. He would freak out.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Probably, then. But this is about
you
, dear. You would be claiming who you are, whatever happens. There’s something to be said for that. Believe me.”

The rain was coming down harder now, clattering like a handful of gravel against the roof of the gazebo. Rather than argue with Anna, Jake made a dash for the kitchen, where he microwaved two mugs of tea and shook half a dozen ginger snaps into a wooden salad bowl. When he returned, he discovered that Notch had taken refuge in Anna’s lap.

“Poor old girl,” said Anna, stroking the little cat’s raggedy black fur. “The rain caught her off guard.”

“I wondered where she was,” said Jake. He set the bowl down on Anna’s flat-topped ceramic elephant, then handed her a mug of tea. She sipped it wordlessly, solemnly, gazing into the distance, letting the silence speak for itself.

“I get what you’re saying,” Jake said at last.

“But?”

He shrugged. “It’ll be easier to do when I’m finished.”

She nodded slowly. “The surgery.”

“Yeah.”

“You still want it, then?”

“Oh, yeah.” The issue, of course, was not whether Jake wanted the surgery but whether he could ever afford it. The nest egg he’d brought with him from Tulsa had been spent on his double mastectomy, and he’d been scrambling ever since just to keep his head above water financially. Michael paid him as well as he could, but—almost overnight, it seemed—the recession had turned gardeners into a disposable luxury.

“You know,” said Anna, “there have been people who regret having the change. Whatever direction they’re heading. I’m sure they told you that at your meetings.”

“Did
you
regret it?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not for a minute.”

“Okay, then.”

“I’m not you, dear.”

Jake shrugged. “Close enough.”

Anna smiled, taking Jake’s hand in hers and nestling it in her lap where he could feel the warmth of Notch’s percolating body. “I had a daughter once,” she told him. “It agreed with me tremendously. I think I could use a son.”

Jake retracted his hand. “You might have to wait a little.”

She shook her head. “No time for that, dear.”

“Maybe not but—”

“I’m paying for it, Jake, and that’s that. I don’t want an argument. I’ve spoken to Selina and Marguerite and they’re making all the arrangements.”

Jake’s face reddened with embarrassment. “It’s a lot more expensive than you think. I don’t even have health insurance.”

“Hush,” she said. “I’m about to shuffle off this mortal coil. The money might as well do somebody some good.”

Jake didn’t get the “mortal coil” part, but he caught her drift just the same.