Perfect Freedom (79 page)

Lance's first plan was for flight. Start running and catch up with Andy. He had made love to a virgin. It was unlikely that Luisa was already pregnant. He could get out before he had done any real harm. He could catch a midday bus to the capital and maybe find an evening flight for Washington. His luggage? He didn't remember what was in it. Andy had taken care of all that. It couldn't be anything he needed.

He caught a glimpse of Luisa as she crossed the terrace to the kitchen, back from her night with her family, naked to the waist, trusting him and content. He read through Andy's letter again, unreasonably hurt by its legal precision. It confirmed what he had known instinctively—in losing Scot he would also lose Andy. Life would separate them. He was, after all, Scot's brother-in-law, part of her family, married to her younger sister, Carol. He was also the only intimate friend Lance had ever had, the only person he could say everything to.

They had loved each other from the evening they'd first met a year ago, a few months after Lance had dedicated his life to Scot. Andy was just starting his legal career as a clerk in a Washington law firm. Scot mentioned one day that he was coming to stay with her for a few days on his firm's business. Seeing that this involved Scot's moving her child in with her so that Andy could have the boy's room, Lance suggested that the visitor could stay with him. He was living in a little furnished apartment within a few minutes' walk of Scot's place. He had a spare bed and was delighted to be able to offer it; it was the first occasion that made him feel as if he and Scot were part of a family.

When they met at Scot's for dinner with several other people, Lance was astonished by Andy's youth. This boy couldn't be a trained lawyer with a responsible job, let alone a husband and father. He looked as if he were barely out of school. After a few minutes' talk, Lance realized that the youthful impression was due to the boyishness of his features and that his unobtrusive good looks were the mature image of what might have been great beauty a few years ago. He forgot his looks as he fell under the spell of his sweetness and warmth. He had never known anybody so at ease with himself and completely lacking in self-consciousness. He joined in the general conversation quietly and intelligently but Lance felt that he directed his winning smile and his clear humorous eyes at him with special affection. He said he was glad his being here wouldn't upset Scot's household and thanked Lance for the bed. Lance couldn't remember being drawn to anybody so powerfully and yet so comfortably; he felt as if neither of them had to make any effort to become fast friends.

The small gathering was composed of people who had jobs to do in the morning and broke up early. Kisses were exchanged. Andy and Scot. Scot and Lance. Andy picked up a small suitcase in the entry and Lance led him around the corner. Lance's “apartment” was in fact one room with a token division, consisting mostly of molding, to suggest a sleeping alcove. There was room for two beds, a closet, a chest of drawers. The rest of the room contained a table and chairs for eating, a desk, a sofa. It was slowly filling with books as Lance tried to define his future. There was a bath and a closet–kitchenette. Lance kept it spotlessly clean; he was proud of having learned to do housework. It suddenly became very small with Andy in it.

They joked about it as they moved around trying not to bump into each other. Having spent the evening establishing close ties of easy friendship, they became shyly aware of their bodies. Lance wished they had reached the point of being able to touch each other easily. He didn't see how there could be any sort of sexual problem between them.

He noted attractions that he must have already registered subconsciously. His blondish brown hair was thick and looked as if it would be softly furry to the touch. There was a gloss on his skin, a velvety sheen that Lance couldn't explain but that delighted his eye. When he removed his jacket, his slim, well-proportioned body was visible beneath his shirt. Lance wondered if all his skin had the sheen of velvet.

He helped him hang up a few things and then moved off to the other end of the room to let him finish undressing. He glanced at him when he pulled off his shirt and saw a hairless chest that looked like any young man's chest that hadn't been subjected to rigorous athletic training. Nice smooth shoulders surmounting the masculine V of torso that ended in narrow hips. Nothing seductive, but strongly appealing.

They exchanged a few words about the bathroom and Andy went to it, wearing shorts and carrying belongings. Lance undressed and put on a dressing gown. Andy returned wearing immaculately white pajamas, shining with cleanliness, the velvet sheen of his skin having somehow acquired dusky undertones. Was Andy a Negro? It was a subject he avoided in Scot's world except when important issues were involved; he had learned that a tone of voice or a careless word could cause appalling misunderstandings. Scot's ex-husband was white. He had assumed that Carol's husband might be white, too.

He looked at his mouth for the first time. He had been so moved by the sweetness of his smile that he hadn't been able to see the lips that formed it. They were full but not particularly negroid, all tender curves, sensitive and expressive, from which sensuality hadn't been excluded. He saw the ambiguous beauty he must have possessed a few years earlier. It was almost gone but glimpses could still be caught by a watchful eye.

They smiled at each other as Lance went in his turn to the bathroom. Getting ready for bed, he felt the powerful tug of attraction drawing him back to the main room. For some reason, he was sure that Andy felt it too. Their response to each other was deeper and more unguarded than was usual between two guys.

To Lance, the feeling was as simple and steadying as the person who inspired it. He had loved him all evening. He needed him. Scot kept him strung up to a high pitch of endeavor, striving to prove himself to her, constantly searching for something in himself that he could feel was good enough for her. But until Scot was truly his physically as well as emotionally, he needed somebody he could relax with, to whom he could acknowledge his failures and weaknesses. He shoved his hands into his dressing gown pockets and returned to his guest.

He was in bed under the covers, propped on a pillow. Lance perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you going to be comfortable enough?” he asked.

“It's perfect. I'm not going to be in the way?”

“You know you're not. I love having you here.”

“I'm glad. I think I'm going to be in the city quite a lot in the next few months. We should work out how I can pay my share. It would be like having a place of my own. I'd even let you stay.”

“That's decent of you. I don't know. Scot says I don't know how to be poor. Maybe taking money from you would be good for my soul. Do friends usually pay when they stay with each other?”

“Sure. They share. It makes them closer friends.”

“I'm all in favor of that.”

Lance moved a hand to his shoulder to seal the agreement. Andy curled a hand around his wrist. The small physical contact was as satisfying to Lance as putting their arms around each other. They looked into each other's eyes and had no need for words. Andy edged over and pushed back the covers and Lance slid in beside him, discarding his dressing gown as he did so. His hands were lover's hands as he helped Andy out of his pajamas. They lay with their bodies pressed to each other and their mouths joined. Their lips declared their peaceful need of each other while their bodies flowed gently into each other. Holding Andy was like a plunge into cool spring water, fresh and pure and exhilarating. It seemed to Lance the ultimate lovemaking, requiring no further expression of desire.

They moved against each other slowly, their tongues leading them to consummation. They locked together briefly and had orgasms against each other's bellies. They laughed softly as their lips parted.

“Well, well, well,” Andy said.

“That's what I was thinking.” They laughed again. “Stay still. I'll try to get up without making a mess.” Lance disengaged himself carefully, sprang up, and hurried to the bathroom. He washed quickly, feeling no strain or self-consciousness about what had happened, only amazement that Andy had wanted it so much, and returned with washcloth and towel, as happy and relaxed as if he'd known Andy all his life. He crouched beside the bed while his new friend mopped himself up and dried himself.

Andy looked at Lance with his melting smile. “We're very juicy guys,” he said. “I love you, man.”

“Oh, man, I love you, too.” Lance pulled the covers over him and leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Get a good sleep,” he said.

“Thanks. You too, you hear? We'll get a chance to talk tomorrow.”

They got up together, got ready for the day and had coffee together without exchanging a glance, a word, a gesture that acknowledged the physical bond that had sprung up between them. They laughed together and looked into each other's eyes with unguarded loving appreciation and acceptance of each other without its encroaching on their lives outside the room.

Proceeding with his self-imposed reading program during the day, Lance's thoughts wandered occasionally to Andy. Perhaps what they had done was extraordinary but it seemed wonderfully natural to him. He was glad of last year's experiences for having prepared him for it. Experience must have made it possible for Andy to take it for granted too. He couldn't imagine any problems with Andy, so it was hardly worth worrying about. It didn't make any sense to think of him in connection with the other two. Andy hadn't made even a tentative move to do any of the things Lance might have expected.

Andy came back unexpectedly in the middle of the afternoon. They greeted each other as old friends, not lovers. No physical contact was made. Andy joined him at the table, where his books and notes were spread out. Andy handled the books, glancing at them, and they talked about them and about Andy's day. He looked tired, like a lawyer and a husband, not beautiful but good-looking in a not particularly striking way, like thousands who passed unnoticed in the streets, with regular features and a mouth that was seductive only when it smiled. Lance knew the feel of the furry blondish hair and the velvety skin and the body under the subdued businessman's suit and he loved him. A silence fell between them while they looked deep into each other's eyes.

“Shall we talk about last night?” Andy asked.

“I've been thinking about it.”

“Good. Do you want to start or shall I? Let me. I'm a reformed homosexual. When I was a teenager, I thought I might go that way. I wasn't very active but it happened often enough for it to begin to look like a pattern. There were girls but they didn't cure me of my fantasies about boys. It scared me. I don't have anything against it but most people do. It doesn't make life any easier. When I fell in love with Carol, the problem just went away. I didn't make a secret of my lurid past. I told her about my fantasy dream-boy—a beautiful blond with a perfect body and big cock. I met him for the first time last night but it didn't scare me. I wanted you in bed with me, of course, but I wasn't going wild for it the way I would've once upon a time. Why did it happen so easily? I'm nobody's dream-boy.”

Lance looked into unguarded, humorously loving eyes. “I love you. I did all evening. When we got back here, I felt something happening between us and it seemed natural to get into bed with you. I knew we both felt the same way.”

“Did we? That's what I'd like to know.” He reached across the table and held Lance's hand. “The homosexual in me didn't go away. It's just not a problem anymore, not even with you. Last night was a big test. Was it for you?”

“Not that I know of. You mean, do I have a lurid past? It's happened twice.”

“At school?”

“Nothing at school. Nothing in the navy, but I was never really
in
the navy, shut up with guys for long stretches at a time. It happened about a year ago. I wanted to find out what it was like more than I wanted the guys, if that makes any sense. They weren't much more than names and bodies. I'm not even sure I like the sex. There was something sort of compulsive about it. What does that make me?”

Andy's enchanting smile wreathed his face. “A crazy mixed-up kid like the rest of us. I must say, I used to think the sex was sensational. That's what's changed about me but I wasn't absolutely sure until last night. I'm glad we didn't want to do much of anything. I don't want to relapse. The guys I fell for mostly took me. You know, fucked me. I didn't get a chance to become a dedicated cocksucker. It doesn't show anymore but I was a very pretty kid.”

“It shows. I'll bet you were much more than pretty. You're damned good-looking now.”

“We better not start telling each other what we think of our looks. I might embarrass you.” Their hands stroked each other and Andy's smile faded as his eyes grew intently searching. “Let's just say that we love each other.”

“That'll do. It's an extension of what I feel for Scot. You make me feel much more part of the family than she'll let me be yet. Being in bed with you made all the difference. Someday, she'll let me make love to her and we'll be all set. I don't know how homosexual I am, but holding your hand could easily give me a hard-on.”

The smile returned like a light being turned on. “Same here, if I can mention mine in the same breath. Yours is a major event. Let's hold hands a lot and play with each other like kids. That can't do anybody any harm.”

“It's a deal. Are you a Negro? That sounds as idiotic as this whole business about race. You're you. You're Andy. I love you more than any guy I've ever known. That's all that counts. Are you?”

Andy laughed. “Of course. I thought you knew. My father is as black as the ace of spades. My mother and I look alike. I can pass when there's some reason to—like at school, for instance. I work for a Negro legal firm, one of the few in the country. I'm useful when there's business with whites. My boy's a throwback.” His smile filled his face with pride. “He's a beautiful little pickaninny. I guess you and Scot have talked about that possibility.”