About four months later, Thursday, 11:47 a.m.
We had arrived in Provincetown the day before. When Jean was officially fired by her oncologist after no traces of cancer could be detected, Irene and I felt we needed to celebrate. Jean was okay with whatever we decided, she said, so long as it didn’t involve her cooking or doing any dishes. After much back and forth, I remembered one of the partners at Claude’s firm owned a bungalow in P-Town with a guesthouse on the property. I called Lee, who called Claude, and a couple of days later the plan was set.
As it turned out, Claude was unable to join us, as he was working a big case at the time. Lee and I were staying in the main house with Claude’s colleague and his husband while Jean and Irene camped in the guesthouse. The best part was that the dogs were invited too.
For our first Provincetown brunch, the four of us—eight if you counted Peggy Lee, Mama Cass, Windsor, and Mamie—had decided on Bubala’s by the Bay on Commercial Street. Irene swore by the lobster rolls, but Lee and I were more interested in the scenery. From our table on the front porch, we could see all the boys arriving on the ferry and going to their various lodgings.
Our tattooed waiter arrived with our drink orders, mimosas all around except for Irene, who opted for straight champagne. “At my age, I worry less about hangovers and more about heartburn,” she said.
Before anyone could drink, I raised my glass, forcing everyone to follow suit. “A toast to Jean Muldoon,” I said. “She’s a great lady, a mean gin rummy player, and she just kicked cancer’s ass.”
“And the new hair looks fabulous,” Lee added. After cancer, Jean had decided to stop dyeing her hair, and it was pure white. Very striking.
“To Jean,” I said, raising my mimosa just a little higher.
“To Jean!” everyone repeated, and there was much clinking of glasses and sipping of cocktails.
And then, behind us, we heard a squeal. “Oh, look! How precious!”
I looked over my shoulder, and two tall men in shorts were headed straight toward us, each rolling an enormous suitcase behind him. I didn’t recognize these guys and shot an inquisitive look to Lee who shrugged, also completely baffled.
Of course, they weren’t approaching us but making a beeline for our dogs, who were tethered to the table with their leashes.
“Aren’t you adorable?” they cooed. The bearded one was scratching the top of Windsor’s head while the scruffy one with the horn-rimmed glasses was giving Mamie a scratch behind her ears. Cass and Peggy were safely ensconced in their little stroller and were frankly happy about it.
“Pardon us,” the scruffy one said when he finally looked up. “We left our dogs at home for the week and were just talking about how much we already miss them. Is this a cockapoo?”
I nodded.
“What’s her name?” the scruffy one asked.
“Mamie,” I said.
“You named your dog after Auntie Mame? Shut up.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m that gay.”
At that, he started to sing. Cradling Mamie’s head in his hands, he crooned a quiet little uptempo number about needing a widdle Chwistmas. If Mamie minded, she didn’t show it.
As the scruffy one serenaded Mamie, Irene turned to the bearded one. “And this is Windsor. He’s ours.”
“He’s very handsome,” the bearded one answered.
“Peggy Lee and Mama Cass are in there,” I said, motioning toward the doggie stroller. The scruffy one looked up and made an oh-how-cute face, but his hands didn’t leave Mamie’s head.
“What kinds of dogs do you boys have?” Lee asked.
“I have a Yorkie. His name is Rock Hudson,” said the bearded one, “and he just adopted a labradoodle. Zaza.”
“Well,” I said, “she is what she is.”
“Exactly!” said the scruffy one, turning to his bearded friend. “See? He gets it.”
“Wait,” said Lee, pointing to the bearded one. “You’ve got a dog, and he has another dog. You’re not together? I mean, together together.”
“No,” they said in unison.
“I’m married, but not to him,” said the bearded one.
“Really!” said Lee, pointing a finger at me. “I’m married but not to him too.”
“We’re best friends from college,” said the scruffy one. “This one got married and moved to Chicago and left me in Washington all alone.”
“You’re from Washington?” shouted Lee and Irene together. Absolutely shameless.
“Washington State or DC?” I asked.
“DC,” he said.
“And you’re single?” Lee asked.
The scruffy one nodded. “Where are you from?”
“He’s from Washington, DC!” Lee said, now pointing at me. “And he’s single.”
Honestly, Lee’s desire to be a matchmaker was sweet, but even Dolly Levi was subtler in her approach. I turned to Jean and Irene for moral support, but their faces didn’t register empathy. Instead, they seemed to mirror Lee’s mania. It was clear the only way to save myself from humiliation at their hands was to take the reins myself.
I turned to the scruffy one and extended my hand. “I’m Charlie.”
“Everett,” the scruffy one said, shaking it. “And this is Tanner.”
“Well, this is Lee,” I said. “And Jean and Irene.”
“We’re his lesbian mothers,” Jean said, taking Tanner’s hand.
Tanner shook Lee’s hand next, and then Irene. All the while Everett’s hand remained in mine. I’ll admit, I didn’t hate it.
“How long are you boys in town?” Irene asked.
“Just through Tuesday,” Tanner said. “You?”
“We head back on Wednesday,” I said. “So maybe we’ll run into you again while we’re here.”
Everett finally took his hand back. “I hope so,” he said. “You’ll be at the Tea Dance later?”
“Yes!” Lee said.
“We were planning on it, yeah,” I said.
I looked up at Everett’s face. His black hair complemented his horn-rimmed glasses. Noticing my gaze, he smiled. His teeth were very white and slightly crooked, and each cheek sported an adorable dimple. It occurred to me to flirt with him. I thought I should probably smile back, and realized immediately I was smiling already.
Face-to-face with a cute single man I’d very much like to kiss later that evening, my automatic response was to retreat into my shell, like one of the leatherback turtles swimming all around us in the Cape Cod Bay. What if he didn’t like me? What if he found me physically repulsive? What if he was a lousy kisser like Bunny, or a habitual liar like Freddie, or a gambling addict, or severely incontinent? What if he broke my heart eventually? These questions swirled around my head, each representing one of the million ways this as-yet-unhatched romance could go horribly, humiliatingly wrong.
But I suddenly didn’t care. I barely knew Everett, but I wanted to get to know him better. Sure, he might break my heart, but there was also the chance that knowing him, even for a short time, might be wonderful. There were no guarantees. On the off chance he might want to get to know me too, I decided to poke my head out of my shell and take a look around.
“Tea Dance can get pretty crowded,” I said, handing Everett my phone. “Put your number in there, and I’ll text you when we get there.”
Everett didn’t seem to hesitate as he recorded his digits in my phone. Tanner poked his arm playfully, but he seemed to take no notice. He handed the phone back to me and gave me another toothy grin.
I sent a text message to the number he’d provided me. This is Charlie, I typed, and hit Send.
“Okay, now you’ve got mine too,” I said. “See you tonight.”
“Yeah,” Everett said. “Yeah, great.”
Tanner and Everett each grabbed their suitcases and pulled them away from us.
“You work fast,” I could hear Tanner say as they spirited away.
“Shut up,” Everett said.
As I turned back to my little family, I saw nothing but wide eyes and open mouths.
“Who are you,” Irene asked, “and what have you done with Charlie Vernon?”
I smiled and shrugged. “What can I tell you?” I said, scratching Mamie’s head. “It’s good to have a wingman.”
I raised a champagne glass, prompting my friends to do the same. As we clinked and drank, I caressed Mamie’s neck with my other hand. She looked up at me, panting. Her big brown eyes shone with love.
“There’s a good girl,” I said.