Xylophone (19 page)

one-eighty on the proposed “Clarinet Polka” duet.

About five or six weeks ago, shortly after his

dinner date with Jonah, he’d once again played

past the past.

Bob had alternately voiced his appreciation

and asked if Dare could handle it. As it turned out,

Dare handled the duet just fine, thanks in large part

to Bob’s goofy but effective encouragements.

“See?” Bob had said during their first

practice session, after he’d played the Mickey

Mouse Club theme song on his glockenspiel. “It’s

a happy sound.
Happy
. You gotta keep that in

mind, reorientate your attitude. The glock should

make you think of marching bands and Disneyland

and pretty dancing fairies. And before you fly into

a snit, I mean storybook fairies. Unless it makes

you happier to think of the other kind. Which is

okay by me, as long as it keeps your sunny side

up.”

“I’m happy just learning a new song,”
Dare

had answered, which was true. The more his

confidence in his playing grew, the more he

welcomed challenges. “And seeing
you
happy.”

Which was also true.

“Well, then it looks like we’re a couple of

goddamned happy Barneys,” Bob had said. “Now

let’s concentrate on learning this son-of-a-bitchin’

song so we don’t get booed off the stage into Sad

Land.”

Now, as Dare slipped into his coat, satisfied

he had the new duet down pat, Carver called out,

“Hey, good luck. And have a good time.”

“Thanks, bro.” When was the last time he’d

called Carver bro? Damn, his effervescence was

getting out of hand.

“Say hi to Jonah for me.”

“Will do.” Dare turned, his hand resting on

the door latch. “Just don’t try to get in his pants, or

I’ll paint dots on your eggs and hang them from

your rearview mirror.”

“You and what chorus line?”

Laughing, Dare swung out the door, clarinet

and music in hand, comb and breath freshener in

pocket. Should he have grabbed some condoms?

No, of course not. He was past the point of

preparing for one-offs. He and Jonah didn’t need

to couple on the sly in cramped, skeezy spaces—

although Dare allowed it might be fun. Buoyant

with the thought of just about everything—the

holiday time he’d be spending with his parents and

Jonah, the new phase of his relationship with

Carver, the cleanness of snow and the romance of

weddings and the prospect of seeing Bob Lempke

bounce while he tickled Lucille—Dare climbed

into his aging car and motored toward GG’s

reception.

He had somewhat mixed feelings about it.

Considering how busy he and Jonah were going to

be, this wouldn’t be much of a date for them. But

hell, the band’s appearance would make happy

Barneys out of a whole lot of people. Ultimately,

that was what mattered.

And the fact he and Jonah would be sleeping

together tonight.

Besides, Dare would still get to ogle his

sweetie, who’d be gussied up and thoroughly

buttlicious in his new $200 charcoal wool

trousers. As far as Dare was concerned, Jonah

could wear a pink yin-yang T-shirt with sparkles

as long as his pants hugged his ass just right.

Dare had finally taken the plunge, so to speak,

with the most tender passion he’d ever exercised.

Now he worshiped that gorgeous and oh-so-

responsive part of Jonah’s anatomy more than

ever.

He mentally ran through the Doodles’

playlist. Bob had decided to switch things up a bit

for GG’s reception. He insisted on opening with

the “Wedding March,” then swinging into the

“Beer Barrel,” then going straight to the new duet

so Dare wouldn’t have time to fret about it.

Dare appreciated the consideration, but he

wasn’t fretting. If anything, he was looking

forward to showing off in front of his boyfriend.

His boyfriend.

He never thought he could love a word so

much, take such pride or find such comfort in it.

On his way from the parking lot to the hall,

Dare noticed he actually had a bounce in his step.

He chuckled to himself.

The day’s only unpleasant surprise came

when Bob handed out red ties in the dressing

room. Dare could hardly believe it, but the band

actually had something of a dressing room this

time. Hal and GG had managed to score a small

but classy hotel ballroom for the reception.

Dare grimaced as he lifted the thing, which

Bob had unceremoniously thrown over his

shoulder. “You’re kidding me. I thought we were

supposed to look classy today.”

“Ain’t nothin’
un
classy about a tie, little

boy.”

“It’s my fault,” Ernie said. “We coulda got

away with red carnation boutonnieres, except for

flowers make me sneeze. And it coulda got

crushed by my neck strap.”

“But why do we have to wear red
anything
?”

Dare asked. He’d enjoyed having that shirt button

undone.

“We can’t look like waiters at a wake, for

chrissakes,” Bob said petulantly. “It’s the holiday

season.”

“Actually,” Max told Dare, “he started

jonesing for color the minute he saw himself in the

mirror.”

“What do you expect?” Junior chimed in.

“Bob’s a po—”

“Gentleman of Polish heritage,” Max cut in,

before Junior had a chance to offend Dare’s

twenty-first-century sensibilities.

“And you’re all full of shit.” Bob had never

put much stock in the art of repartee. At least his

mood changed, eyes gleaming with reverence, as

soon as he lifted Lucille out of her case.

Smiling at the familiar scene, Dare wondered

if Rose, Bob’s wife, ever got jealous.

“Hey, you madmen ready to rock ’n’ roll?”

Jonah. Framed by the dressing room door,

looking pretty as a picture. Dare’s mouth

immediately stretched into a lunatic smile. Okay,

so maybe Jonah was as pretty as a well-groomed

wire-haired terrier, not a sophisticated model or

circuit-party boy, but damned if his eyes weren’t

alight and his face wasn’t aglow and his goin’-to-

a-wedding clothes didn’t follow the lines of his

body like Dare’s fingers did every time they were

alone together.

Both of them instantly caught each other’s

gaze. Jonah’s grin softened.

“No, we ain’t ready to rock and roll,” Bob

said haughtily. “We don’t play pagan music.” His

beady eyes shifted slyly. “But we
are
ready to

polka
!” he shouted, rolling his head back and

throwing his arms into the air.

“Don’t use it up before you get on stage,”

Max drolly advised.

Dare and Jonah laughed while Junior and

Ernie shook their heads in resignation.

After a parting glance at Dare, one laden with

promise, Jonah left the room and the Doodles soon

followed.

Aside from the smell of food making his

stomach growl, Dare cruised through the first set,

“Clarinet Polka” included, without a hitch. A

number of guests even cheered the performance,

and Jonah was one of them. He and Dare beamed

at each other through the forest of silvery branches

and curling strings of white lights that lent an air of

enchantment

to

the

ballroom.

Apparently

determined to make his approval known, Jonah

raised his hands to clap over his head after he’d

cut loose with a whistle.

Dare hadn’t allowed his eyes to seek out

Jonah while he was playing. The man had become

a major distraction for him. Put Jonah in a pair of

exquisitely tailored pants, and his power to fuck

with Dare’s concentration reached unprecedented

heights.

During the band’s first break, Jonah was busy

visiting with the guests, particularly his Uncle

Rusty. Dare had met him the day before. He was an

easygoing building contractor with a dry sense of

humor and a live-and-let-live attitude. Other

people bustled to and from the buffet table and bar.

Dare slipped back into the dressing room,

where someone—probably the Doodles’ wives,

who were all in attendance—had set up trays of

food for the band. Nice. No standing in the buffet

line. Dare filled a plate with dips—spinach,

artichoke, guacamole—along with sourdough

bread chunks and whole-grain crackers. He loved

dips.

Bob watched him with a slight smirk.

“Wha?” Dare said, food garbling the

question.

“You know, it’s kinda cute.”

Dare frowned, clueless, and kept chewing.

He swallowed, lifted one of the napkins with

which he’d blanketed the front of his clothing, and

wiped his mouth. “Am I supposed to know what

you’re talking about?”

“You and JoJo. I never thought I’d say this,

but it’s really kinda cute the way you act around

each other. Makes my heart go pitty-pat.”

“Quit slinging shit. Don’t you have a ham

sandwich to attack or something?”

Bob just kept smirking.

Soon they were back in the spotlight, doing

what they did best. Next to ribbing each other.

Bob had bumped the “Fascination Waltz” to

this, the second set. Although by now Dare could

play it with his eyes closed, he didn’t want to risk

Bob’s wrath. Good thing, too, or he would’ve

missed an extraordinary event that coincided with

the first few notes of the song.

With measured steps, Jonah approached the

stage and looked up at Dare. He smiled in a way

Dare hadn’t seen before—with an affection so

deep, and so mingled with admiration, Dare’s

playing stuttered. Then Jonah bent forward in a

courtly bow. When he straightened, he extended a

hand. Equally bewitched and bewildered, Dare

lowered the clarinet from his mouth. Through his

peripheral vision, he saw Bob moving. Not

bouncing, not strolling around like a puffed-up

concertina player in some cheesy bistro, but

scowling and emphatically motioning with his

head.

Suddenly, Dare could just about hear Bob’s

voice:
Are you blind, dense, or just plain rude?

Get down there! He’s asking you to dance!

Without giving a second thought to the other

guests’ reactions—because, hell, this was GG’s

reception, and she certainly wouldn’t mind—Dare

got down there. Bob kept playing “Fascination” as

his clarinetist stepped into Jonah Day’s arms, as

they smiled into each other’s glistening eyes.

“You still owe me, you know,” Jonah said

into Dare’s ear.

“I know.” They never did get to dance on

their first official date, except horizontally. But

when Dare thought about owing Jonah, other things

came to mind. Much more important things.
Yes, I

owe you. Do I ever.

So they waltzed, heads resting together and

bodies close. It felt so natural, Dare couldn’t be

bothered thinking about anything else. Like how the

guests might react. At one point he caught a

glimpse of GG grinning, her hands clasped to her

ruffled bodice. It was a blazing affirmation… and

for a moment it made Dare feel like a storybook

prince. Then he realized he and Jonah didn’t

require affirmation. From anybody.

He let his eyelids lower, shutting everything

out but his partner and the music. Jonah led

beautifully, no crooked seams in his steps. The two

of them seemed to float as one around the dance

floor.

What was it GG had told them just last week?

“Caring is the greatest healer.
But
”
—and here

she’d raised a crooked, cautionary forefinger

—
“only if it’s patient and knows its limitations.

Give yourselves time, and don’t be ashamed to

look beyond each other for help.”

Her message had been clear enough, probably

because Dare and Jonah had already discussed this

truth. Neither one of them could singlehandedly

undo the damage that had been done to the other.

Neither could make all the fractures knit and