Chapter 10
When Rick heard the doorknob turn, he put down the book he was reading, turned toward the door, and felt the creeping guilty memories starting up in his body.
Paul came into the house and, without so much as glancing at Rick, walked into the kitchen. Rising, Rick followed him. He sat down at the kitchen table and quietly watched Paul warm a pot of coffee on the stove. His movements were slow, deliberate.
"Maggie get off all right?" Rick asked.
Paul did not answer.
Rick traced the flowered pattern of the tablecloth with his finger, feeling all at once a strange, confused mood. But another emotion stirred him also-an oddly exciting one caused by the tension of the morning. Looking at Paul, he knew the man felt irritable, impatient, angry. He didn't much blame him. But he was determined to let him know it was not entirely his fault.
"Look, Paul. About this morning-what happened was, well, it wasn't like it looked." He saw the line of Paul's jaw tighten. "It really was innocent."
"Innocent!" Paul raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"To tell the truth I was asleep. She was in bed with me when I woke up."
"I don't want to talk about it," Paul snapped.
"But we have to. You seem to be seething with anger."
Paul whirled about. "Do you know how young my sister is?"
The question caught Rick off balance, and its implication brought a flush starting at his throat and climbing to his cheeks.
"Seventeen! That's how young. I think you had one hell of a nerve!"
Rick was startled by the bitterness in Paul's voice. "She-she begged me to-"
"Shut up!" Paul cut in.
There was a long silence, then Rick said, "You ought not to have slapped her like that, Paul."
"I'll do what I like with my own sister!"
Rick saw Paul's shoulders sag. He knew at once Paul was sorry he'd hit Maggie, but he also saw something else in the face, something he could not define. It disturbed him.
"When I saw the both of you in bed I saw red. I-"
"I understand, Paul. All I can say is I'm sorry." Rick felt awkward. He knew there was nothing he could do or say to ease Paul's misery. He shouldn't have touched the girl; he knew that then, he knew it now. Yet he didn't completely understand Paul's fury. Maggie certainly had had affairs before; it wasn't like she was a virgin. Or didn't Paul know this? God, he wasn't the first guy Maggie gave it out to.
He watched Paul pour the coffee. Behind the man's heavy sun-bleached brows, a storm was gaining momentum. "What are you trying for, Rick-the Fuck Oscar?"
"Don't be stupid, Paul."
"My own sister," Paul muttered.
"Paul. She's seventeen, sure, but she'd had other affairs. I wasn't the first guy!" Rick regretted having said this, for it brought an expression of confusion and defiance to Paul's face.
"You had to do it, didn't you?" Paul whispered.
By that one remark and the way Paul looked at him, Rick realized it wasn't his sister Paul was concerned about, it was him. Paul was jealous. Instead of annoyance, surprisingly enough, Rick felt pleased. A bland unrevealing smile appeared on his lips as his mind took in the situation. Paul really did love him. He'd been proving his love all along. He had thought it were Maggie Paul was possessive of, but it was not, it was him. He stared at Paul, his expression turning kind and understanding. It dawned on him for the first time in his life that someone really cared for him. Fate had taken a strange way to convince him-but here it was. He leaned back in his chair, frowning faintly as his thoughts rambled on. He now realized why he'd fought Paul all the way. He was afraid to face facts. But now he knew why he'd wanted so desperately to make love to Maggie. It was because she was Paul's sister. That proved something. The revelation startled him. He was in love with Paul. The very thing he wanted so very much, to be in love and to be loved in return, had finally happened. In his mind he'd known it all along, but he had fought it, rejected it, because he did not truly consider himself homosexual. Homosexual love left him cold; it just wasn't his cup of tea. Partake, sure-experiment with the same sex, but love? Hell, that meant embracing the Third Sex-where would that lead to? But suddenly it was becoming increasingly clear to him. It did not matter if he swung with a female or a male; that was not important. Love was important. Sex had nothing to do with it. And so he had fought Paul and had made himself miserable because of his puritanical beliefs. Where before, nothing mattered, he now suddenly felt a part of someone's life. He wanted something, life wasn't a complete waste for him after all. He'd taken Paul for granted, living with him, yet not really knowing him. Now he wanted to know this man standing before him, wanted a more rewarding relationship, wanted to lavish affection on him. But more, he needed Paul. Paul was strong, protective, certain, loyal. He did need these things, desperately. Nobody had given this to him before. This was something money could not buy.
The situation was simple. Here were two people, two men, one older, one younger-two men in love with each other, two men who needed each other, two men who sexually fulfilled one another. This was something one did not take for granted.
Rick looked at Paul. Alone with the man, he knew he had to mollify Paul's apparent injured feelings. He would never have even considered doing this before, but now it was different. Now he cared for Paul. He would tell Paul what he wanted to hear. He shifted his weight in the chair, then sank into its depths. How does one say-I love you? Three little words-three important words-three simple words-yet he could not say them, the words were like lye on his tongue.
He stood up slowly. He felt a weakness in his legs, a dryness in his throat, the blood pumping heavily through his body; it was an instinctive reaction to the feelings surging through him, of emotions that were alien to him "Paul," he whispered. "Look at me."
Paul turned from the window and met Rick's eyes.
Rick cleared his throat. "I want you to believe what I'm about to tell you." He shrugged his shoulders, trying to find the right words. The truth, he told himself, tell the truth.
"Yes," Paul said, "go on."
"It's difficult for me. See, Paul, I'm not an emotional person." He laughed a hollow sound. "No. That's a lie. I am emotional, but I've curbed my feelings all of my life. I-did you know I couldn't touch anybody because I thought people found me distasteful? Couldn't touch anybody. I guess that comes from neglect as a kid. I-I still can't touch, can't show affection. Even hugging is hard for me. I touch people in bed, that's the only place. I've just realized this. I-what I'm trying to tell you is that, with your sister-well, I tried to bring myself closer to you by making love to your sister."
Rick saw the startled look on Paul's face, could hear the thick quiet of the room.
"It's true. I know that now. As ridiculous as it sounds, as unbelievable, I was loving you-as a man-through your sister. I-I was trying to reach out to you the only way I knew how, through Maggie." He felt his face turn scarlet. Revealing, soul-opening moments like this were rare, it threw him, embarrassing him. He felt awkward, stupid, tongue-tied, and he felt close to tears. He didn't wait for Paul's further reaction. Instead, he quickly left the room.
When Rick had gone, Paul sat down at the table and put his head in his arms. Rick's presence, in fact his very smell-that special hair tonic he wore, the smell of his sneakers, the freshly laundered sweat shirt-seemed to fill the kitchen; the boy's very words still seemed to echo in the room, as palpable as the summer heat. Or was the heat in his own cheeks because he was ashamed of himself and a little angry? He'd reacted violently this morning. It tore into him seeing Rick with his sister. Yet, at the same time, it had thrilled him. He had watched for a long time-too long for an angry brother.
It was strange. He didn't know just how to react. His confusion was understandable, having just returned from spending the night with Rick's mother. Imagine how Rick would have reacted? Who was the greater sinner?
He had been bound for an entire evening with Susan in a complicity of shame. The thought stung deeply into him. What right had he to become angry? What right did he have slapping his sister, yelling and accusing Rick of molesting his sister?
He raised his head and turned to look out the window. He could see the long stretch of ocean before him. The dirty, gray-colored sea gulls were like brush marks against the blue and white background of sky-an oil come to life. The view seemed to bring him back to reality, forcing him to face the truth. The view always had that effect on him, and he was grateful for it.
What Rick had confessed was blessedly true. He understood perfectly because he, too, had experienced a special closeness with Rick through the boy's mother. He couldn't quite understand it, but it was there. Oh, it was mad! The whole scene was ridiculous. What was happening? Why had he gone to Los Angeles? He shook his head, not wanting to think about Susan. His heart thumped heavily in his chest. Rick had come so close to professing his love. Why had Rick waited so long? He felt a stab of compassion as he thought of the boy, remembering his pitiful confession about not being able to touch people, not being able to show emotion. It had tom into his heart when Rick had confessed this. How the boy needed to love and be loved.
Paul felt a tightening in his chest. Had he ruined something between himself and Rick because of his own greed? How would Rick react to the news when Paul told him he'd visited his mother? Worse, how would he take it should he ever find out he'd had an affair with Susan? Man, he had really created a problem for himself. It wasn't as if the one affair with Susan was it. Susan didn't work that way. Besides, he wanted to use Susan. She could make a whole rich life for him if he handled her right-yet-he was in love with Rick. He had to choose-love or security!
Every time he thought about it his stomach muscles tightened into knots. His head began to ache when he thought of Susan's last words: "See you in Laguna. Time I paid my son a little visit." And she was arriving this evening-and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it!