33

“TOO BAD IT’S not a more beautiful day,” Rolf said. His elbows were on the table, and a forearm as long as a child’s leg teetered toward the sweeping windows. He was radiant in a silky shirt and unseasonable white jeans. Blotches of sunlight raced across the carpet of the Delegates Dining Room and out onto the dingy East River, fading and brightening the whole time, as if an imp were playing with the dimmer switch. The water took on a faint brownish hue when the sun appeared. Then all faded to black and gray again, and the thronging platelets of ice in the river continued to shift without really flowing anywhere.

Rolf’s companions for lunch weren’t bothering with the view, yet they had a hard time looking at each other. Rolf scanned the room contentedly. “It’s impressive, though, isn’t it?”

“I’m impressed,” Flossy smiled. He was enjoying Rolf’s almost impenetrable niceness. The din of cultured accents and unknown languages sounded oddly uniform. Despite an effort at national dress here and there, the UN functionaries all looked like iterations of the same polite person. Not unlike the collectible dolls in the gift shop. Darius was achingly silent. He discarded the nervous jokes that appeared in his thoughts. Next to him, Barry Paul was equally silent. Flossy continued to his new acquaintance, “The actual delegates—do they ever eat here?”

“Not often. Parfois, quand même,” Rolf said, in case Flossy was disparaging the place. “It’s mostly the view. And the architecture. Though the building’s in terrible shape. Partly the US arrears.”

“I always forget about that,” Flossy said. To him sluggish bill-paying was a normal business practice.

“We don’t. It’s most of our budget. And really not a huge amount. It’s just a stupid xenophobic statement. Not that I’m some huge Wilsonian queen. But with the billions you spend, I mean, really, who cares?”

Rolf’s fluent and campy queen was more strongly accented than usual. Quveen. Darius felt an old, closeted reflex to glance at Barry when Rolf came out with it. Barry looked reserved but serene. “The country’s rotten,” Darius grumped.

“Well, I hope we pay up soon, so you can stay in New York.” Imitating Rolf’s politeness, Flossy sounded almost flirtatious.

“These jobs aren’t permanent. It’s for the resume. That’s the way of things,” Rolf said without a smile. He admitted, “It’s funny about your ambitions. I used to be incredibly political. Even ambitious for a while after I was at the Beaux Arts. But that seemed to fade. Then the other day, I realized all I wanted was a job and money, a lot of money. It’s sort of disappointing.”

“Don’t say that!” Flossy laughed. “That’s my dream.”

“Money? You’re probably just starting your career. The U.N. is almost like student life, and student life is different. Maybe if I looked for a real job, it would reenergize me. Who knows? The truth is, I would like to stay in New York.”

Under Rolf’s relaxed gaze, Flossy looked away. Catching sight of Barry, he snickered, “Whenever I look at you, now, Barry, I have to laugh. The whole time we drove in, I was laughing.”

Barry seemed to be in on the joke and smiled pleasantly.

“He looks normal to me,” Rolf said.

“Right, but we’re twins,” Flossy began.

Darius gave Barry a careful once over for the first time since sitting down. Tentatively, he guessed, “Is this about what your mother said on Long Island!”

“Exactly,” Flossy said. He turned to ask Rolf, “You see why?”
“Because of the necklaces?”

“Ah,” Rolf said vaguely

“Right,” Flossy went on. “He’s brown and I’m blue. It looks a little matchy-matchy. My mom was so cute. Because of us, she thinks all boys wear puka beads now. She also thinks it’s gender-bending. Which it may be in my case, but not yours, Barry,” he said.

Barry shrugged.

“You do look a bit alike,” Darius said.

“He made me change twice,” Barry said.

“I did,” Flossy admitted. “At first we were both wearing almost exactly this shirt.” He plucked at his blue button-down. “We couldn’t possibly go around looking like that. Like a boy band. So I told him to change into something completely different. But the first time he comes out, he’s wearing practically the same shirt again, maybe half a shade lighter.”

“I don’t have a lot of dress clothes,” Barry said.

“Anyway, yellow looks good on you. You’re tanned,” Flossy said.

Darius didn’t think it was the subject of fashion, but he decided Flossy seemed gay this time. Meeting Rolf had energized the young businessman. Darius stole a glance at Barry.

With exquisite politeness, Rolf tried engaging the straight outlier. “Barry? Darius said you went out West after school. Are you thinking of staying here now?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t really have a plan. I just came to help out my mom because my father is sick.” Rolf made a murmur of compassion to which Barry returned a shrug. “Cancer. It is what it is.”

“Such a weird expression,” Darius noted. “What does that mean? It is what it is. Everybody’s started using it. Where’d it come from? It always reminds me of Iago—I am not what I am.”

Barry gave Darius a remote, admiring smile, probably about the Shakespeare quotation. Darius felt the admiration was so undeserved he frowned.

“But do you have a—say, a career plan?” Rolf wondered.

“Jesus!” Darius stopped him. “You sound so American. I thought you guys were better than us. You’re asking about career plans?”

Barry made it clear he wasn’t bothered. “I’m sort of the gardener for his family.” He nodded at Flossy. He added, “Which I’m really liking.” The others gazed at him expectantly. It didn’t occur to them not to wait for more. Barry finally continued with a smile. “And I’m getting into financial crime. According to Preston—his dad.”

Flossy buried his face in a palm. “That’s so fucked up. None of us had any idea.”

Barry quickly reassured Darius, “It’s not that serious. You remember Dean?” Darius shook his head, No. “He was a friend of mine, too. And he’s down there at Flossy’s parents’ house. It turns out he was into some kind of insurance scam, and he tried to get me involved. But Preston figured it all out. It was some low-life friend that got Dean involved. And it was big talk more than anything. Dean’s an OK guy.”

Flossy raised his eyebrows skeptically. “I think it’s more serious than you’re making it sound. Dean may just get a slap on the wrist, but people remember that stuff. Now every time he tries to do business with anybody in the area, anybody who knows, that’s the first thing they’ll think about. His reputation is kind of ruined.” Flossy explained to Rolf, “This person we’re talking about is a total bro. One of those guys with a big hot shot attitude.”

“Hot shot!” Barry said dismissively. “More like nervous.”

Flossy shrugged.

“I hope it doesn’t go too badly for Dean,” Barry said. “His girlfriend already dumped him. He wanted to marry her.”

“Ouf,” Rolf said. He was reverent about relationships.

“Uch!” Darius said. He disliked them.

“Darius is phobic about commitments,” Rolf noted possessively. He planted one hand on the table between them. It looked gargantuan, even threatening, emerging from its too short cuff. Though it wasn’t very close to him, Darius felt crowded by it. The sun pinkened the still hand wanly in passing.

Darius told Barry, “This has been old home week for me. Or month. Besides you, I also saw David Caperini a little while back. And—” he almost mentioned Jane. “You remember, he was the weird, nervous guy my parents got to teach me French.”

“Ah, yeah,” Barry said, smiling at the memory.

“He’s still a cipher, maybe a tiny bit bitter now. He got married for two minutes. Which I can’t fathom. I always thought he was semi-gay. And I think I heard there was some baby involved. He was too young for that.”

“That’s what happened to me,” Rolf said.

“Your parents got married too young?” Flossy asked.

“No, me.”

“You weren’t married!” Darius asserted.

“Darius, I’m sure I told you,” Rolf said brusquely. He was embarrassed to realize that, despite the radical American openness he aspired to, he’d left this item out of his resume. “It was a very brief thing. A mariage blanc. She was from Turkey, and she’d come to Paris to the Beaux Arts. She needed EU papers. That’s the whole story. A few months. Then we divorced. She lives in California now.”

“Rolf!” Darius exclaimed. He didn’t know why this information delighted him. “You have secrets!”

“My parents were furious. They were worried about money.”

“A whole secret life,” Darius said. “But was it—I mean—amicable? Do you see her?”

“Of course, it was friendly. It wasn’t real. And no, we’re not in touch. It was just for papers. Even so, we were too young.”

Flossy had to wonder, “That’s so different from me! I don’t think I could ever do that. Even to help out a friend. Besides being gay.”

“I’m just as gay. And that doesn’t matter. We can get married now,” Rolf trumped him. “In fact, I wonder if I don’t romanticize the domestic life in a way. Because my parents were diplomats and had to move around so much when I was growing up. On the other hand, my parents are the ones who have the—antiquated dynastic ideas. When my brother got married two years ago, the girl had to sign a prenuptial agreement.”

“A morganatic marriage? Because of the title?” Darius pressed with pleasure. Naturally, he’d told everyone that Rolf was a count in the course of phone calls setting up this lunch.

“No. Because of money.” Rolf gave Darius a stare like a poke. “Strictly speaking, there is no title. Legally, in Germany, it’s just part of your name. Like Mr. Count.”

Flossy started laughing. “Mr. Count! Oh, so the woman becomes Mrs. Count, not Countess whatever. That’s too bad. I mean, obviously, it’s right, but—”

“That’s the theory anyway,” Rolf said. “The priest still calls my father Excellency, which isn’t even the right term. We just roll our eyes.”

“Married and divorced. God, and when we met, I thought you were immature—” Darius produced a stagey cough of laughter. “Sorry, I mean, more, innocent. You’ve always seemed innocent to me!”

Rolf grinned, insulted but not displeased.

After this uncharacteristic teasing, Darius went quiet. His mind was clouded by a lady-like inwardness. He gazed at his plate. He shifted an uneaten orange Tandoori rubble with his knife. At the buffet, a woman in a sari rang the lid of a steel chafing dish closed. “You get married, and I get raped. You know, that makes sense,” he said brightly.

Rolf’s expression went black. His chin rose, his lips compressed and he gazed out the windows. A mass of cloud, gray on gray, sped, unbudging, over Queens like a flat on rollers. The others were naturally stunned, but Rolf had heard this before. He hated the bizarre, airy tone Darius invariably used when he mentioned rape.

Barry and Flossy both looked down as if dust had gotten into their eyes. Barry asked, “Are you for real, buddy?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” Darius said too assertively. “It was a date rape drug situation. A long time ago and I really have no memory. Not that I should make light—”

“Shut up, Darius,” Rolf said. His mouth formed a tighter seam. He caught the others’ eyes. He shook his head at the outlandishness of his friend. No matter how often Darius insisted, he couldn’t possibly be as blasé about this as he pretended.

After lunch Rolf offered to show Flossy the U.N. building. Without any particular goal in mind Darius and Barry walked west along Forty-Fifth Street together. They felt a sort of duty as old friends to talk privately, though neither knew what to say at first. Because it was blustery, they kept half-looking to stop in a diner or Starbucks. Sizing up various places as they walked created awkward interruptions in the conversation.

First off, clumsy and delicate, Barry went back to the lunchtime revelation. Darius snapped, “Of course, it’s true. Why would I make up something like that? It’s actually Rolf who annoys me. He wants me to be all mournful. Why do I have to act like that?” His better nature rolled in like a wave. “Listen, Rolf is lovely. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just—I’m much more worried about my father now. Like you are, too, right?”

“Ah. Yeah,” Barry agreed. “Flossy told me what’s going on with Oliver. But also, right. Both of us.”

Darius could hardly believe Barry’s gentleness was failing to have the effect he wanted. His old friend’s personality was showing strange gaps, like thoughts or qualities politely withheld. This wasn’t exactly the Barry he remembered, and it might be a new person entirely. Darius himself felt too revealed. And in his case, there was no doubt about it. He was unpleasantly different from the boy he used to be. “Freezing,” he muttered unhappily. “Honestly, that one looks a little—roach-infested to me. Sad, but I almost need a plasticky chain place to make me comfortable.” After a considering pause, they continued walking/searching. Darius said, “You seem a lot more—grounded. More than I am anyway. I mean, you look good.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

“I guess problem fathers aren’t making us—uh—lose our looks or anything,” Darius finished the sentence almost at random and looked dissatisfied with how it came out. He laughed suddenly. “I remember I used to stare in the mirror as a kid and think, Jesus, I’ve been alive for so long and I’m still so young!” Darius waited for a response. None came. “Then my face turned into Bloody Mary after a while. Of course.”

As in the old days, Barry was pleased with his friend’s slight insensitivity.

“Have you met anyone?” Darius asked. “I know Rolf kind of gives the impression we’re—but it’s not at all clear between us, really.”

“I was seeing somebody out West. She dumped me. Right before I came back.”

Darius said, “I can tell you’re lying. Somehow you dumped her. Don’t hide your infinitesimal ruthlessness from me. You’re already so decent you make me want to kill myself. You always have.”

“Shut up.” Barry grinned. He didn’t mind Darius catching him in a self-deprecating lie. “Kill yourself!” he repeated in a whisper, savoring the old familiar extravagance. He gestured at another restaurant in front of which they were automatically slowing. “I’m OK with this one. I think it’s fast food, though.”

“You’re right. We can do better.” They kept walking.

“No, I want to get on with my life,” Barry said. “But I’m not in any rush to shack up with somebody. I don’t have any outsider stake in the ideal relationship—the way gay people do. Not you maybe, but—I don’t want to just stumble into something. That would make me feel—I wouldn’t like it. I’m happy enough at Preston’s for now. The whole family is pretty cool.”

“How’s it been seeing your dad?”

“Harder seeing my mom.” Barry smiled.

“But you two always got along in a weird way.”

“Yeah.”

“Everything I’m saying sounds harsh. Or snarky. I don’t know why. I’m usually all—” Darius made a wide-eyed, comically sweet face. “That’s how I used to be, right?”

“Not really,” Barry said.

“At lunch I hope we didn’t make you feel like not having some stupid New York career made you inadequate. And can you believe you were the only straight guy? That’s not fair.”

“No.” Barry laughed, then pondered. “I guess I don’t want to be only a lawn care guy forever. My mom would probably kill me.”

Darius couldn’t feel his own wild nerves, but he started to rave. “You should become my imam. I’d follow you anywhere. I’d blow myself up for you.” Barry waited for this burst of eccentricity to fade. Darius finished, “Sorry.” He looked around them. “This block is dead.”

Barry suggested a pizza shop, but Darius didn’t want to stand at a high top talking in front of bicycle messengers and lawyers on the run.

They spoke up at the same time. Each had remembered something he needed to talk about. Darius went first. “There was this odd story I heard. Not even a story. Actually, that guy Flossy mentioned it when I was in the Hamptons with him. I guess he heard about it from his family? I don’t know. They said you had sex with a teacher when you were a kid.”

Barry kept his gaze on the sidewalk and tried repressing a smile, not an amused one. More like a grimace.

“Wow,” Darius said. “That explains why she always disliked me so much. That’s—I’m assuming. It totally pulls the rug out. I really liked her. I was always convinced she liked me, too. Until—until Paris, I guess. I must’ve thought I was irresistible. You know, I saw her recently. I thought she might have some ideas about Oliver. I told you it’s been like old home week. We weren’t—I’m sorry. Have you seen her at all? You know she’s in the city, right?”

Barry eyed Darius. “Yeah. No, I haven’t seen her. I thought maybe I’d try at some point.”

“I can give you her phone number,” Darius began. His upbeat helpfulness came to a hard stop. After a long time, he tried, “That must’ve been—well, I don’t have any idea. Weird?”

“Yeah. It was a little sick. A lot of pressure not to tell anybody. That fucks with you. Of course, at the time I thought I was totally into it—”

“Uch,” Darius said helplessly.

“It wasn’t about looks at all. Even though—”

“Looks? Oh, cause she was old? But nobody ever knew? Who figured it out? Did you ever tell anyone?”

Uncomfortable, Barry made a face. He didn’t feel like answering a barrage of questions. Darius saw this at once and held back. When Barry finally spoke, he changed the subject. “It sounds like shit, the stuff you’ve been dealing with with Oliver.”

Darius felt Barry’s hand come to ghostly rest on his shoulder blade. Involuntarily he pulled his shoulder forward, breaking contact. At once laughter erupted from deep in his chest. “Ha! My God!” In the cold air, his innermost breath steamed out like smoke. “Did you just see that? Like I couldn’t stand being touched by you. That’s like Oliver, actually.”

Barry’s mouth twitched. Mutual self-consciousness was an irritating distraction. Both he and Darius were wondering whether Darius shying like that, like a little bird, wasn’t really a flash of old jealousy over Jane Brzostovsky. Barry decided it couldn’t be.

Darius was about to say that it probably was—a swirl of memory and love—and turn it into another stark, confessional joke—I used to love you—but he didn’t. His good behavior acted as a chill between them. Without saying it aloud, they both decided to skip the coffee shop. They turned and headed back toward the garage where Flossy had left his car. The wind blew their hair in the opposite direction.

Darius interrupted a last attempt of Barry’s to say something, “There wasn’t any place decent around here anyway. We can sit down and talk another time if you want.” This sounded a little—omniscient narrator.

“Actually,” Barry persevered. “I have something for you.”

A silly excitement sparked in Darius. It burned out at once when Barry took the smudged something from his pocket.

“I completely forgot,” Barry said. “I’m usually pretty good about things, but this was so long ago. And it was really a crazy time for me.” Barry squeezed a pad of folded bills in his fist.

“You’re giving me money?”

“No. It’s yours. I borrowed it—I remembered the other day.”

“But I don’t remember. I don’t even remember how much it was. No.”

“This is five hundred. Four-ninety, actually. It was probably a lot more.”

“This was for the abortion? Barry, no. It’s old and—just, no.”

“Let me do it, Dare. I took this out for you. Come on. It makes me feel good. I don’t want to owe you.”

The bills didn’t look like they could have come from any machine. The soiled dollar green made them look organic in Barry’s pale gardener’s fist. “No,” Darius said almost stridently. “No.” He took a step back and held his hands up so they couldn’t possibly touch the money. He tried to make this pantomime good-humored, but he wasn’t feeling it at all. Just the opposite. He was embarrassed, angry.

Barry played at being good-humored, as well. Held out slightly, his fist wavered like a pet hoping to nuzzle. He didn’t appear pleased by the refusal.