Authors: William J. Mann

Where The Boys Are (54 page)

BOOK: Where The Boys Are

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Jeff

Eva’s heading this way. She gestures to me. I lift my eyebrows. She mouths the words: “I have something for you.”

I follow her off to a spot out near the pool so we can talk. “What’s going on?” I ask, looking around for Lloyd, but I can’t spot him.

Eva hands me a small sealed envelope. My name is written on the front. I recognize the handwriting.

“Where—how . . . ?” I stutter.

Eva’s looking up at me. “He sent it to me in a Christmas card. He asked that I give it to you tonight. He was insistent that you get it on New Year’s Eve.”

I stare down at it, then move my eyes over to her. “Where is he?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Jeff. I’m being honest with you. The postmark was from Texas. But he said he was moving on.”

“And you haven’t asked?”

“No,” she tells me. “If he chooses to tell me where he is, that’s up to him.”

I study her. “You gave him money, didn’t you? That’s how he can afford to travel.”

“He needs to be able to find himself,” she says softly.

I make a little laugh in disbelief. “And you’ve asked for nothing in return? He’s just free to—to
go?”

Eva’s eyes find mine. They’re not the eyes I remember. Lloyd’s told me she’s been doing work, that she’s trying to change, and I haven’t entirely trusted it. But maybe I should. These eyes are very different from the ones I remember.

“Anthony has a chance to remake himself, to start over,” she says.

“And you want to help him to do that.”

She nods. “Don’t you see? It’s what I always tried to do, but was never successful. I don’t know what Anthony’s running from, but I know he’s tired of running. I saw myself in Anthony. I saw someone who wanted to recreate his life, to begin again. It’s what inspired me to look at myself.” She pauses. “I want Anthony to succeed where I failed.”

I study her some more. She’s being sincere. I’m certain of it. Finally, I look into her eyes and see truth reflected back to me. I’ve been the one person she’s never been able to fool, and it’s
honesty
that I see at long last in her eyes and hear in her words.

“Maybe,” I tell her, “maybe you haven’t failed at that.”

She gives me a small, hopeful smile. “We’ll see,” she says.

I embrace her. “Thank you for this,” I tell her.

“Happy New Year, Jeff.”

Then she’s gone.

I open the note. I stand with it under a dim light, being jostled by guys too twisted to notice as they head into the men’s room. I pay them no mind. The note is simple:

Jeff,

One year ago tonight I met you, and my life changed. I want you to know how much the past year meant to me. How much you meant, and all you gave to me. You will always be family to me.

No, more than family.

With love,
Anthony

I look up into the crowd on the dance floor.

No, more than family.

More than the way family is defined by straights.

You can’t describe it because there aren’t words. You don’t set limitations, because you’re always surpassing them. You don’t let others tell you how you’re supposed to be. You’re true to yourself and nobody else. You’re just who you are.

“We’re just who we are,” I whisper, looking into the crowd.

I think of those idiots out on the street, calling us abominations. What do they know about us? What do any of those who look in from the outside know about our hearts and our minds and our souls?

We’re good people. The music is mixing into a song about loving one another. Isn’t that what all the songs are about? Love: finding new love, getting over love. Love, love, love. Too often have we believed the old lie that says we’re bad, we’re perverted, we’re abominations. But those who spread the lie don’t know. They don’t know how we love, how we hurt, how we live.

I look out into the sea of sweaty men in front of me and I think of those gay men who recoil from this, from
any
embrace of our subculture—the ones who don’t like femmy guys or show-tune queens, who turn up their noses at leathermen or circuit parties or Bette Davis imitations or anything that’s simply “too gay.” They carp over all that’s bad, while acknowledging little of what’s good. I think of the critics, forever standing on the outside, forever observing, never participating, never a part of anything. I think of how strenuously they object to being part of the gay tribe—
any
gay tribe—and I remember how desperately Anthony wanted the very thing they reject: to be
a part of us
.

I wish that I could paint a more complete picture of Anthony for you. All those disparate pieces, all those intriguing snippets of his life: that home in Hartford, that basketball hoop, the girlfriends and the football team, the years in prison, the thoughts he must have had late at night staring at the ceiling of his cell, the yearning that led him to me. I wonder how often people come into our lives who impact us greatly and yet remain unknown to us.

Henry’s right: I want to be fully present, fully revealed, to the people in my life. But Anthony will have to remain an unfinished person. I’m sorry about that. I can do no more now than let him go.

“Jeff!”

I turn. It’s Eliot and Oscar, and behind them come Billy and Adam. The extended family.

Anthony once called them cousins.

There are hugs all around, and Eliot holds me out by the shoulders to look at me. “Girl, it has been a long time!” he gushes. “Where have you
been?”

“And you never told us you were a writer!” Adam says. “I saw your picture accompanying some article in some magazine, and I said, ‘I know him!’ I was so
proud!”

I laugh. Yes, I submitted an article to
The Advocate
, and yes, they published it: a short piece, part of something longer, something still growing, about finding one’s soul in the middle of three hundred gay men on a dance floor.

“So maybe you’ll write a book someday,” Oscar chimes in.

“Yeah. Maybe I will.”

“A gay book?” Eliot asks. “Like the great gay American novel?”

I shrug. “I can only hope. But yeah, it’ll be gay. I’ll definitely be a gay author.”

They all hoot, pulling me out onto the dance floor.

“I’ve missed you guys,” I say, falling into their embrace. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

I spot Lloyd and Henry and Shane, waving them over as we all move out to dance. “This is my partner,” I say, introducing them to Lloyd. They all coo over him, sizing him up and down appreciatively. “And you know my two very best friends in the world, Henry and Shane.”

Hugs and kisses, lots of hands on chests and grabbing of butts. So maybe the cousins have done a couple bumps of X. But for me at least, the love survives the chemicals. For the moment I feel total bliss. The music mixes into Amber’s “Above the Clouds,” and I get a little emotional.

“I just want you to know,” I say, surprised at how choked up I am, “how very happy I am being with all of you here tonight.” I look over at Henry and Shane and then back at Lloyd, taking his hand. “You are my family. If the past year has taught me anything, it’s that. And how important family is.”

Lloyd kisses me. “That’s very sweet, Cat.”

I look off into the crowd on the dance floor. I see Javitz dancing there. He’s never far away, thank God.

“Seriously,” I say. “I think sometimes we don’t appreciate just how much we all mean to each other.”

“True, true,” Shane agrees.

“And what friendship really means. And how much—”

“Jeff.” Henry’s suddenly in my face. “We all love you, too. But you’re forgetting one thing.”

I look at him.

Henry smiles. “No talking on the dance floor.”

Everybody laughs. Especially me. I throw my arms around Henry, then Shane, and finally Lloyd.
“We’re flying above the clouds,”
I sing out.

“So beautiful and clear,”
Lloyd sings back.

You see, this is my moment. Someday, when they look back and write about these times, I will be able to say that
I was here.
I danced every dance and knew the words to every song.

I wrap my arms around Lloyd.

I can see everything from here.

A READING GROUP GUIDE

WHERE THE BOYS ARE

WILLIAM J. MANN

ABOUT THIS GUIDE

The suggested questions are intended to enhance your group’s reading of William J. Mann’s
Where the Boys Are

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1.
Jeff, Lloyd, and Henry have all been out of the closet for several years, yet in many ways
Where the Boys Are
can still be discussed as a “coming out novel.” In what ways do these characters “come out,” and how do they compare to the coming out experience of Anthony?

2.
The idea of family figures highly in both this book and its predecessor
The Men From the Boys.
Describe the various family bonds that exist in the novel and their importance to the characters’ lives and development. How do they compare to what we know of the characters’ biological families?

3.
The novel references many events and trends in gay life, history, and culture. What are some of these, and how do the characters relate to them? What effect do these references to “real life” have on the story?

4.
Specifically, what is the role of AIDS in the novel? Can
Where the Boys Are
be described as an “AIDS novel”? What is the significance of grief in the lives of each of the characters?

5.
What relationships do Jeff, Lloyd, and Henry each have with gay culture? How important is gay culture to the various characters, and how might each of them define that culture? Describe the relationship of Jeff, Lloyd, and Henry to the larger culture, and where do they see gay culture fitting within that (if at all)?

6.
Each of the characters goes through a transformation in the course of the novel, sometimes several. Describe the transformations of each character and how the other characters may have helped or hindered such a change.

7.
Each of these characters also seem to be reacting to a form of prejudice or intolerance in the course of the novel. What specific prejudices confront Jeff, Lloyd, Henry, Shane, Brent, Anthony, and Eva, and what prejudices do they hold? Find specific examples in the text where intolerance of some kind affects the story.

8.
Some have said that, despite their obvious differences, Jeff and Lloyd are very similar characters. Do you agree? How do their relationships with Anthony and Eva, respectively, compare? Why does it take them so long to see the obvious about those two?

9.
What does
Where the Boys Are
have to say about self-image? What do the various characters think of themselves? Who has the highest self-esteem? The lowest? What do Jeff, Lloyd, Henry, Shane, Brent, Anthony, and Eva explore in terms of body image, personal identity, and social consciousness, and are these things related?

10.
Why do Jeff and Lloyd have such a hard time reestablishing their relationship? Is it only because of the machinations of Eva and Anthony? On what core values is their relationship based? Is their “non-traditional” approach a help or a hindrance to intimacy?

11.
What is the role of Javitz in the novel? Although he is dead, can he be discussed as a character in ways similar to how those who are physically present are discussed?

12.
What role does the circuit play in the novel? Is the author using it to comment on any themes of the novel? What might these be?

13.
Forgiveness is another important motif in
Where the Boys Are.
Who forgives who ? For what? Who has the most trouble forgiving? What does the story tell us about the nature of forgiveness?

14.
Describe the relationships between each of the characters, including those who seem to have the least connection, like Lloyd and Brent, Henry and Eva, Anthony and Shane. What would they have thought of each other? How might the characters reflect one another?

15.
What happens on New Year’s Day 2001, the day after the novel ends? What is the future for Jeff and Lloyd, for Jeff and Henry, for Lloyd and Henry, for Henry and Shane, for Anthony, for Eva? Use your imagination but also ground your answers based on evidence found in the novel.

An interview with author William J. Mann

by Tim Miller

William J. Mann never thought he’d pen a sequel to his 1997 best-selling first novel,
The Men From the Boys.
“I don’t like sequels,” he says from his home in Provincetown, at the end of Cape Cod. “I like leaving things ambiguous. Who remembers that TV movie sequel to
Gone With the Wind
? I sure don’t. I like wondering if Scarlett ever got Rhett back. I don’t want to know.”

But a sequel he has penned all the same.
Where the Boys Are
is the aptly titled follow-up to
The Men From the Boys
. You don’t need to have read the original to understand the new book, but it might help make the experience even more vivid. And if his mail is any indication, there aren’t many who haven’t read the original. Bombarded for years with requests from readers to tell the next chapter in the lives of Jeff and Lloyd and their friends, he finally gave in. “I’ve written three books since, but
The Men From the Boys
is still the one I get letters and e-mails about, at least a couple a month,” Mann says. “And so many of the letters ask, ‘Where are they now? What would they be doing today?’ I thought [writing a sequel] was a good opportunity to explore some realities of contemporary gay life using characters we already knew.”

Wearing his other hat as a journalist-historian, Mann has been acclaimed for his research into the Hollywood film industry. Last year, Salon called his
Behind the Screen
“the book of the moment” for its insightful look inside the studio system. His Lambda-award winning
Wisecracker,
the story of gay actor William Haines, has been optioned for a film;
Edge of Midnight
, his biography of legendary film director John Schlesinger, has just been published; and he’s currently working on a study of Katharine Hepburn.

But among gay readers, Mann is perhaps best known as a trenchant chronicler of contemporary queer life. In this new book, just as he did with
The Men From the Boys
, Mann cuts a fascinating slice of gay-male America, with Provincetown a major setting once more.
Where the Boys Are
is a fast-paced mix of sex, love, grief, fear, friendship, drugs, dancing, and camp—the stew of gay life in the twenty-first century. This time there are three narrators: Jeff O’Brien, the protagonist from
The Men From the Boys;
his on-again, off-again lover Lloyd Griffith; and a new character, Henry Weiner, a former 98-pound weakling turned hunky muscle-boy escort. Using the gay party circuit as backdrop, Mann mines is territory for moments of keen observation on the state of gay culture, circa right now.

Perhaps that is what has made Mann’s fiction so successful. Few writers offer such a compelling, accurate lens on what is happening today—an ability Mann credits to his training as a journalist. “I’m out there,” he says. “I’m on the scene. I’m not locked up in some ivory tower just observing from afar. I love gay life and gay culture, and I’m so tired of reading all the self-castigations of it. You can’t pick up a gay magazine or newspaper and not read some article from some gay right winger saying we’re too this or too that, and then turn the page and read some lefty’s diatribe that we’re not enough this or that.”

So you don’t find any deficiencies in gay culture?

Of course there are deficiencies; there are deficiencies in any culture. My point in the book, though, is to stop all the caterwauling once in a while and actually celebrate what we’ve got going on. There’s a lot of joy and fun and affirming qualities to gay life. That’s why I used the circuit as a backdrop, because it’s all about celebration and revelry.

Isn’t it kind of hard to talk about celebration and revelry right now, with the unrest in Iraq and Afghanistan and the threat of terrorism around the world?

Actually I think there’s no better time to talk about such things. The powers that be are vested in keeping us scared and on edge. There was talk that the White Party in Palm Springs ought to be canceled last year, just as there was talk that the Oscars ceremony should be postponed like the Emmys were. I think in both cases it would have been a mistake not to go ahead. We need to remember there’s still joy in the world. Bush and his henchmen don’t want us to relax and have a good time. If we do, we’ll start realizing they’re all a bunch of frauds.

But the circuit party scene carries with it some negative connotations ...

Yes, and I think that’s part of the pattern we see in American society. Gay culture isn’t immune to the idea that we constantly need to find scapegoats, somebody to demonize, something to fear. So much ink has been spilled lambasting circuit parties for their supposed drug use and unsafe sex. Sure, lots of guys who go to circuit parties have a problem with drugs, and someone with an addictive personality or low self-esteem can be overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of something like the White Party. But that’s not a problem with the scene itself. Any slice of life you want to choose will have its problems. What I was interested to write about was the experience of brotherhood the circuit gives to the characters in the novel. The book uses the circuit as a backdrop; it’s not a book about the circuit.

But Jeff is using his circuit partying as an escape, isn’t he? He’s still caught up in his grief over the loss of his mentor and the breakup of his relationship with Lloyd. So he says he retreats to the dancee floor to forget his troubles.

What’s that old song? “I take my problems to the dance floor . . .” Well, that’s my point exactly. The scene doesn’t have the problem; Jeff does. Sure, he uses his clubbing and partying to avoid dealing with what’s really going on. He even had a bit of a drug problem that he’s pretty much kicked by the start of the novel. But what happens is that the sense of community he finds on the circuit becomes the most powerful influence for him.

One of the things Jeff is dealing with—or, more precisely, not dealing with—is his lingering grief over the AIDS death of his mentor David Javitz. Tell me about that.

You know, I actually had someone say to me, ‘Don’t you think an AIDS storyline is a bit dated? It’s 2003.’ It’s the same mentality that said the AIDS character in ‘The Hours’ was a distraction. There’s this view out there that the crisis is over, or at least manageable, so mentioning it is passé, a real downer. You never see anything AIDS on
Will and Grace
, for example. But the truth is that even if our friends aren’t dying on a daily basis, many are still struggling. And for me, the most ongoing issue I still face regarding AIDS is my grief. You never hear it talked about, how we’re still grieving. We lost hundreds of thousands of people and we’re supposed to be over that already?

I imagine writing about Javitz’s death was difficult, as I know he was in many ways based on your own real-life mentor, activist Victor D’Lugin.

Yeah, it was hard, but also cathartic. I never thought I’d write about it. As I said, I like ambiguities in fiction and in film, and I liked the idea that maybe Javitz, unlike Victor, had managed to survive somehow. I think it was real important that he not die in
The Men From the Boys
, that he was left alive. It was a time when we needed some hope. But Javitz’s death is what really transforms both Jeff and Lloyd in the new novel, and in some ways it helps transform Henry, too, who didn’t even know him.

Why switch to three narrators in this book?
The Men From the Boys
had only Jeff and it was first-person; now it’s third-person.

I’m telling a bigger, broader story here. And there’s also a lot more plot. I wanted a wider angle to work with because each of the characters is individually dealing with issues that fascinate me. Self-esteem, loss, grief, anger, searching, love. And it was a wonderful challenge as a writer to move into the soul and mind of characters like Lloyd, who had been merely reactors to Jeff in the first book.

You mention the plot, which is essentially three different narratives that weave through each other and then ultimately connect. Seems very cinematic.

Well, given that I write about movies in my other, nonfiction writing career, maybe that’s inevitable. I do think cinematically when I’m writing. Like I’ll start a new chapter with a line of dialogue, envisioning it as the start of a movie scene. I think readers are adapted to reading that way, too. Movies and television have so influenced the way we read and write and, again, I’m not only seeing the negatives to that. I think it has often helped writers be very crisp and precise and vibrant. I get so bored by books that rarely move outside of the protagonist’s mind, where all the action is interior. I’m pulling my hair out, saying, ‘Somebody ring the doorbell, please! Make this person get out of his head and go do something!’ Much of
The Men From the Boys
took place inside Jeff’s head. When you look at that book, not a lot happens. But with this new one, there’s a lot going on.

That’s for sure. A kind of murder mystery, a mysterious fag hag, all of Henry’s serio-comic adventures as an escort . . . In some ways, this book, for all your confrontations with grief and soul-searching, is very light-hearted. More so than your other works of fiction.

Yes, and that probably reflects where I’m at in my own life right now: I’m enjoying myself. And I do believe that we can get so caught up in misery that we forget to have a good time. Ever since September 11, it’s been seen as callous or insensitive—and certainly unpatriotic—to have too much fun. Remember all that talk about the death of irony? That’s so ridiculous. Like all the people who died would want us to lose what makes us the most human.

Tim Miller is a solo performer and the author of the books
Shirts & Skin
and
Body Blows
.