Strings Attached (10 page)

He emerged from the shower dripping wet footprints on the carpet in his bedroom as an insistent buzzer sounded, followed by his aunt’s teeny electronic voice. “Jeremy, dear, there’s a young gentleman waiting for you downstairs in the foyer.”

He clutched a towel in front of his nakedness as he leapt to answer. “I’ll be there in a second,” he yelled while stabbing the button with his finger. He checked the clock on the nightstand. Carlo was early.

He pulled on a T-shirt, some shorts, and socks, grabbed his book bag, then bounded down the flying staircase to where his classmate sat looking around nervously on a gilded settee, his tattered backpack on the marble floor beside his well-worn tennis shoes. At Jeremy’s descent, Carlo’s face blossomed into a grin.

“Hey, Carlo. Thanks for coming over,” he announced, his wet hair falling into his eyes as he jumped onto the floor from the third step up. He reckoned that he might be starting to look the part of the carefree rich kid, and the thought made him woozy.

“Hi, Jeremy. What a great house you have. It’s really beautiful.” His voice was softer and more feminine than he’d remembered at school, and he had dragged out the words “really beautiful.” So Coby had been right after all. He hoped no one else in the house, especially his aunt, had overheard his new friend’s telling delivery.

“Thanks. I’m still pretty much getting used to it myself; half the time I’m not sure which room is which.”

“Yeah, well I don’t really have that problem at my house,” he laughed, grabbing his backpack and standing. “By the way, my sister Carmen says hi. She wanted a report on how your hair looks, and I told her it’s
fab.
So, where can we study?”

“Uh, anywhere, I guess.” He paused, not wanting to suggest his bedroom. “We can use the conservatory.”

The boys made their way through the labyrinth of sumptuous rooms while Carlo gave the rundown on Jeremy’s stable of teachers, as well as the various groups and cliques on campus and their rank within the school’s pecking order.

At last they came to their destination. Jeremy threw open the twin glass doors and motioned toward one of the wicker armchairs. Carlo fell into the chaise instead. “What a wild room this is!” the boy exclaimed, his head swiveling as he surveyed the exotic vegetation, the baronial chandelier, and the mossy, trickling fountain. “It’s right out of a horror movie. God, if I had a place like this to go to, I’d never leave it.” His eyes twinkled. “When can I move in?”

“Maybe when I move out, which might be sooner than I thought,” he replied sourly, surprised at his own disclosure.

“What do you mean?” Carlo’s dark eyebrows knitted fiercely together. “You just moved here.”

“It’s nothing for sure yet. I’ll let you in on the details some other time.” He shook his head. “So…I guess we should start at the beginning of the test material.”

“Oh. Just a sec, let me find my notes. By the way, I can’t believe Ms. Lessner is making you take this test on your second day.” He unzipped his pack and pulled out a bulging green notebook, then pawed rapidly through the stack of pages. “Here it is: biomes.”

Jeremy fished for a pencil. “Biomes.”

For the next couple of hours, Carlo read and Jeremy listened intently while scribbling facts and terminology, until his hand was nearly cramped into a claw.

“That’s it?” Jeremy asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yep, but now you’ve gotta memorize everything.” He yawned, flexing his swollen biceps back over his head, his shirt riding up to expose a strip of lean brown abdomen. “If you wanted, I could stay for a while more and test you.”

“Let’s take a break first,” he suggested, avoiding Carlo’s stare. “So…what can you tell me about Ellie and Reed?”

“Oh, they’re crazy and gorgeous, and they’re my best girlfriends. I’ll tell you anything you want to know…but first let’s talk about you.” He kicked off his shoes and tucked his legs up under himself.

“There’s not much to know.”

“That’s not what my sister said.” He grinned salaciously, cocking an eyebrow. “But why don’t you tell me why you’re here? I’d rather it come from your mouth than hers.”

“My mom had to go into the hospital for a while, so I came here to finish high school. That’s it.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” His manner softened, the bravado extinguished. “I guess she must be pretty sick. She doesn’t have cancer, does she?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” He shook his head thinking that cancer would probably be easier to deal with.

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “My mom died of cancer last year, right about this same time. It was horrible—the surgeries, the chemo, the tests. She’d be in the hospital for a while, then get out, and things would get back to normal, then a month or so later she’d be in so much pain she couldn’t get out of bed again.” He turned away, almost talking to himself. “I still jump every time the phone rings. But I guess I’m doing OK now and so is Carmen, but my dad’ll never be the same.”

“Oh, man. I’m sorry,” was what he said, when actually he was relieved to learn of another’s tragedy. That another boy his age had tasted a slice of the same miserable pie he’d eaten all his life gave him hope that his isolation might be ending. He felt like dancing. “Yeah, let’s take a walk down by the cliff,” he suggested brightly. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some air.”

They left the conservatory and strolled shoulder to shoulder along the pathway that connected the west wing to the gazebo. A gentle breeze swirled around them, and the thunder of waves filled the air. Neither spoke.

“I’ve always loved being by the ocean,” Carlo said finally. “I don’t care if it’s sunny or foggy, summer or winter.”

“Yeah, me too. It would be nice even to just walk around here sometime by myself and get things straight in my head. But I haven’t had time yet.”

“Maybe you should take that walk with someone who could listen; I think it really helps when something’s bugging you.”

“My problems are so boring. I’d have to force someone to listen to me.”

“You wouldn’t have to force me,” Carlo offered. “As long as we could take turns boring each other.”

“Thanks, but I’m kind of used to going through everything by myself.”

“I know how you feel. It’s like…when you figure out you’re gay and you think you’re the only one in the world. It took me nearly two years before I could tell anyone. Of course, Carmen knew before I even said anything. She’s got the best gaydar in the world. Maybe because she works in a salon,” he laughed. “She could even tell about you right off.”

“About me what?” Jeremy asked defensively.

“About you being gay?”

“But I’m not.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat and shifted his stance, stuffing down his disappointment. “Jesus, Jeremy, I’m sorry. I just thought…”

“It’s OK. You and your sister aren’t the first to think so.”

“That’s good, I
guess.
”

“Let me ask you something, but I want you to tell me the truth.”

“I’ll try.”

“So what is it about me…that makes people think I’m gay?”

Carlo sighed. How could he restate the obvious? “It’s probably a combination of things.” He nodded. “But don’t take that to say that you lisp and swish and say ‘fabulous’ all the time.”

“But neither do you.”

“I can, believe me, but only when I want to
girl
it up.” He giggled and then crossed his arms across his chest. “For one thing, you’re a really…cute guy, but in a quiet way. Most straight boys as good-looking as you are totally gross, strutting around talking about ‘pussy’ and ‘titties.’ You also dress well. I mean, what straight guy wears those shoes you had on today with khakis to high school? And from what I can tell, you have a nice bod; your lats show through that Mormon-looking shirt you had on earlier,” he laughed. “And, of course, you have the most excellent haircut.”

“Is that all?” Jeremy was relieved that most of the exterior items on the list were either Arthur’s or his aunt’s doing, and most were exchangeable. And he figured he didn’t mind the observations about his body.

“That’s just about everything. The rest is too hard to explain.”

There was more?
He gathered his courage. “Could you try?”

The boys leaned against the stone balustrade overlooking the shadowy beach below, their nearly touching elbows like flipping magnets, attracting then repelling.

“OK, but don’t hate me,” Carlo warned. “But you know how you can tell where someone is looking when they talk to you?”

Jeremy nodded.

“It’s like when a straight guy talks to you, he might make eye contact, then he looks away totally like he’s trying to find something he wants to stare at, and you’re not it. But a gay guy locks eyes with you, then looks away, only to check out your nose, or your neck or ears or mouth or hair. And that’s how I know…when I think a guy is gay like me. It’s like both of us have eyes that are hungry, and the other dude is an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“And you’re saying I do that?”

“Well, I thought you did.”

“So then a girl like Carmen probably gets the same thing from most guys.”

“And she didn’t get it from you.”

“Maybe she just wasn’t my type,” he suggested.

“You’re right, Jeremy. I guess she wasn’t.” He smiled. “But anyway, I’ve gotta go. It’s late.”

They began the long walk back to the conservatory. “Thanks for coming over and helping me out. And…thanks for being honest.”

“No prob.”

“Oh, and one more thing before I forget. I need directions to the Halloween party on Saturday at Ellie’s.” He dropped her name as if they were old friends.

“I thought you didn’t have a license.”

“I don’t yet.”

“Then why don’t I pick you up at eight on Saturday? That is if you don’t mind people seeing you come with me. Everyone knows I like boys and people might talk.”

Jeremy hesitated. “So I figured by that comment in class about you always being
willing.
”

“So you caught that. You’re quick.”

“Thanks. Anyway, I’d like to go with you to Ellie’s,” he lied, figuring he could back out if he needed to. “Why should I care what people think because I show up with someone who’s gay?” he laughed. “I know who I really am, and that’s all that matters.”

“Yep,” Carlo replied, zipping closed his backpack. “That’s what matters. By the way, will you be honest with me if I ask you something?”

They stopped walking, and Jeremy nodded.

“If you
were
gay, would you be interested in someone like me?”

Their eyes locked in spite of the darkness, and Jeremy took a step backward, as if pulling against an invisible bungee cord. “I really can’t say,” he stated, his mind racing. “It’d be like you asking if I…liked cheesecake even though you knew I hated desserts.”

“Oh, well, thanks.” He threw his backpack over his shoulder. “I get the picture, in spite of the shitty analogy.” He turned and marched back toward the villa with Jeremy in tow. “But you forget one thing, Jeremy Tyler,” he called over his shoulder as they neared the door. “Nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee.”

Arthur smiled benignly while scrutinizing Jeremy’s face for some hint of what had happened. He could tell the boy was upset, but beyond that, he was as unreadable as a Chinese newspaper.

“So where do you want to eat your dinner?”

“Upstairs. I’ve got to study some more.” He clutched his book bag to his chest like a shield and marched out of the kitchen without looking back.

“Jeremy?”

“What?” His voice cracked.

“I forgot to tell you earlier. Your uncle wants to see you in his office right away.”

He paused. “What about?”
Am I moving back to Fresno?

“I’ve no idea. But he asked where you were over an hour ago, and I told him I’d send you along right after your session was over. Just take that hallway on the left to the end,” he pointed, “then the long stairwell all the way down until you come to a door with his name on it. Knock, then wait.”

He followed Arthur’s directions down the staircase, then padded along the carpeted hallway toward the cluster of rooms from which his uncle commanded the family’s various corporations. His arms blossomed into goose bumps as a stream of frigid air blew past him. There was no echo of waves inside these tomblike corridors, no sounds but his breath.

The door at the end of the hall held a gold plaque with
BILL MORTSON
engraved in a stately font. He knocked softly.

“It’s open, Jeremy,” came the pleasant voice from somewhere.

He placed his hand on the icy doorknob and twisted. The door glided open.

The light in the chamber was eerie, emanating from the blinking computers as well as a fire that had nearly burned itself out in the elegant fireplace on the far wall. The rest of the office was fenced with dark floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crowded with crumbling books and paperback manuals, bronze statuary and framed credentials, degrees and awards. And on the floor was something Jeremy had seen only in movies: a flattened polar bear’s body with the roaring head attached, as if the creature had been run over by a steam roller that stopped just in time to be too late.

Bill hunched in an oxblood leather chair behind a castle-size desk, his glasses reflecting like mirrors the green light from the triple monitors in front of him, while his fingers tapped between a trio of keyboards and mouses. “Just a moment, my boy.” His hands slid to each mouse, clicked twice, and the glowing screens extinguished one by one. “Have a seat over there, son.” He motioned to the pair of leather armchairs on either side of the fireplace.

The boy nodded, then seated himself in the chair farthest away. His uncle finally rose, grasping the edge of the desk to steady himself.

“Would you care for anything to drink, a soda, or a beer, perhaps?” he offered, teetering over to a refrigerator disguised to look like another bookshelf.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink,” he replied, trying not to sound ungracious.

“Probably better that way.” His uncle smiled, then stepped carefully, as if his shoes were a size too small, to the empty wing chair opposite Jeremy. Then with a grunt, he fell into the chair. “I know that we haven’t had much time to get to know each other yet, as I’ve been busy with a new software we’re developing.”