As the taxi headed east through the park, Luc watched the sunset as it was reflected on the multitudinous, gleaming window panes which dazzled vertically and horizontally across the facades of the old brick buildings lining Fifth Avenue. He imagined how good it would feel if right now it were Matthew sitting next to him sharing the gorgeous, last flames of the day.
Coming out of the park, the taxi turned north on Fifth and stopped in front of a luxury apartment building in the eighties. Lucas helped Florence out and paid the driver.
The moon was new in the crepuscular sky. The trees were vibrant with young leaves. The air was uncommonly fresh.
Wouldn't you love to live here? Florence said taking a deep breath and responding to the evening's embrace with a shudder of her body.
What's the matter with West End Avenue? Lucas said
Don't you think it's time we moved on to the next plateau, Luc?
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Lucas looked out over Fifth Avenue from the penthouse terrace. The great stone bulk of the Metropolitan Museum was to his left. Central Park's blackening green in the twilight stretched out ahead of him. He felt the gentle, luxurious breeze which only comes to the rich. He wondered if Matthew was grieving somewhere now, over their break-up, looking at the same moon he saw and thinking of him.
He wondered how Matthew would feel if he called him up and said I wanted to see you again. The thought frightened him.
He could feel Matthew's breath on his nipples, and then the tip of his tongue touching them, and then the little knife-bites his teeth made. He could feel Matthew slowly caressing the dark cleft between his muscular cheeks. He could see Matthew standing lean and muscular and masculine at the edge of the pool, hairless and tan and beautiful in his little black bikini, unaware of all the eyes focused on him.
You aren't here, lover, Florence said, poking him surreptitiously in the ribs. Where are you?
I'm right here, Lucas said.
Well then, act it, she said through smiling teeth, like a ventriloquist. I need these people.
Florence, you look ravishing.
It was a tall red-haired woman rushing towards her with open arms.
And then pointing at Lucas, she cried admiringly, Is he yours?
Florence introduced her as Babette. She wore a tight shimmering green mini-dress, red fishnet stockings and stiletto heeled open-toed black vinyl sandals, which allowed her gold-lacquered toenails to show.
Babette, this is Lucas, my husband.
Hello, Lucas. My dear, if you ever want to trade him in, let me know first.
A waiter approached them with a tray of champagne glasses. They each took one.
Seriously, only for a moment, Babette said, holding the champagne flute as you do when you are going to propose a toast: To the new head of the media graphics section!
Florence smiled.
Thanks, she said.
They drank to her promotion. Babette embraced her and kissed her on both cheeks.
And to her husband, too! she added.
To Lucas, she toasted, and she embraced him and kissed him on the lips not the cheeks.
Lucas let himself be kissed but did not reciprocate.
Hey, Babette, winked, I won't bite.
But I might, Lucas said with a wink of the eye and a light snap of his teeth.
Any time, Babette said. But right now why don't you get us some canapes like a good boy. I have to talk shop for a moment with your beautiful wife.
Ladies, Lucas said, with a slight bow, and withdrew.
Once out of their range, he shook his head and felt like a fool.
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The bar tender was a good-looking kid with sky blue eyes, dark wavy hair, strong white teeth. He wore a little white jacket with a gold button, a maroon bow tie, tight black trousers, and a maroon cummerbund. As he mixed a martini, Lucas asked him what he did during the day.
MBA student at Columbia. Hoped to work in Washington. Wanted to become head of the Office of Management and Budget one day.
He handed Luc the drink.
Here you are, sir.
Good luck, Lucas said, toasting him.
Thank you, sir, the young man said, without the slightest doubt that he deserved it.
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You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette? a handsome young man, informally dressed in faded jeans and a cowboy shirt with several of the top buttons unbuttoned asked him as Lucas stood staring at a Matisse that hung over the fireplace in the library.
I've been trying to quit, Lucas smiled, excusing himself. Three weeks ago I could have obliged you.
Shaky? the young man said, stretching out his hand and imitating the shakes.
Not as bad as I'd expected, Lucas said.
The young man nodded. I once quit for three months.
I've had other things I've given up to focus my cravings on.
How fortunate! said the young man.
Very, Lucas agreed ironically.
It's real you know, the young man said, pointing to the painting.
The Matisse.
It's real.
It looks it.
I live here, the young man said.
Lucas said nothing.
With my parents. I go to Princeton.
I teach at N.Y.U.
Really!
Shakespeare.
I'm doing my senior thesis on Melville.
Moby Dick?
Clarel.
Dear, dear, Lucas said. I didn't think anybody read that.
No one does. That's why I am. Are you gay?
That's a rather abrupt transition.
I am, the young man said. If you were gay I'd ask you to stay the night with me.
That's very kind of you, Lucas said, finishing his drink, but I'm afraid my wife would object.
No harm in trying, the young man said.
No, Lucas said. Certainly not. No harm.
Ronnie, you are hogging Lucas, Babette said, appearing out of nowhere. Taking Lucas by the arm, she whispered, there are so many people I want you to meet.
You must excuse Ronnie, she added. He's at that awkward age when he's still trying to figure out who he is.
He can't be, Lucas said, looking from one to the other.
My son? Yes, of course. He can be. He is. Aren't you, darling? she said as she pulled the young man to her and kissed him on the temple.
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i have to see you, Lucas e-mailed Matthew later that night.
just when i'm getting myself back together, Matthew responded in the morning. where were you when i needed you?
please don't hold it against me, Lucas wrote back immediately. we all make mistakes.
but I'd rather not make another one, Matthew replied.
it won't be a mistake if you see me. i promise.
prove it, Matthew retorted.
i can't if you won't see me, Lucas answered.
come on, matthew, Lucas wrote when his last message stayed unanswered.
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Harry cradled Matthew in his arms.
What's the matter? he asked.
It isn't like me.
It's ok.
No, it isn't. I'm sorry.
It really is okay. I mean I like getting it on with you, Matt, but when something is on your mind, it can take up a lot of space.
Luc's been sending me e-mails.
So?
He wants to see me.
And?
I don't think I should.
But you want to.
I don't know what I want.
No?
Well, I don't want to be...I don't know what. It isn't just that I don't want to be hurt. I felt like I was in a dungeon whenever he got distant. I wanted him like a prisoner wants space to move around in and sunlight and air and to return to the moment before he did the thing that got him locked up. I don't want that to happen again. I don't want to feel that way. I've had enough pain and punishment.
Harry held him silently.
But^Å
But?
But I know I'm going to see him.
I'll be here, Harry said.
Is that what love is? Matthew said.
What? Harry asked.
The question might have referred to his devotion. But he knew it didn't.
Is love doing what you don't want to do because you have to?
Is it that for you?
I'm afraid it is.
Afraid?
Afraid. Yes. I'm afraid.
Why afraid?
Because it does not seem very healthy. Because I want it so much I know I can't want it.
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You're shivering, Luc whispered, putting his hand over Matthew's wrist.
Yes, Matthew said. You noticed.
Matthew.
Not here, Matthew said. I don't mind if we leave at intermission. I'm not sure I can take Daphnis and Chloe right now, anyhow.
They took a corner table in the quiet room at Crazy Benny's.
I don't want to go through everything again, Matthew said, catching himself beginning to cry.
Everything?
Having you, loving you, losing you, wanting you until it drives me crazy and just being left by myself to suffer whenever you become unavailable.
I'm sorry, Lucas said clasping Matthew's hand.
What good does that do?
A lot of good if you'll let it.
I don't know, Luc.
But I want you, Matthew.
But you're married, Luc.
That doesn't have to get in the way.
Yes it does. You know it does because sometimes you start to feel dirty and secret, and when your wife is cranky and irritable you know it's your fault because even if you are acting like everything is perfectly ok and you're a hundred per cent present, you know some place you're not there, some place, something is not in alignment and then everything gets outta whack and you're the cause of it. Oh, Luc, you know that! So how can you give yourself to me? Even if you want to? Cause every time you do, you know you're fucking something else up.
Matthew began to laugh, or to cry. It was hard to tell which.
Luc pressed his hand tighter and moved from his side of the table opposite him to sit beside Matthew. He pulled him near and pressed him to himself and kissed his tears.
This is ridiculous, Matthew said. It's so undignified.
No, it's not, Luc said.
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It was a secret, Lucas said. I wanted to keep it a secret, especially from myself.
Lucas gazed into Matthew's eyes. Matthew held on to the ribbed sides of Luc's naked, arched torso, which rose above him as if it were growing out of him.
Together they were a blazing, pulsing current of electricity. A feeling of joy illimitable played in them like the throbbing coda of an eternal symphony.
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