I MISSED EMMA: her chain smoking, coffee drinking, sarcastic attitude. On East Boulevard sat a small shop called the Paper Skyscraper that sold cards, books, knickknacks of all sorts-things gay men and bored housewives love. I stopped in to get a card to send Emma; usually I would have e-mailed her, but Ruby didn't have a computer. Odd, how surprised I was when she asked, "What's e-mail?"
Scanning the racks of cards, I found the perfect one for Emma: a black and white art photo of a muscled and oiled naked man lying on the hood of a '57 Corvette, his arms back over his head, and one knee lifted just enough to cover the goods from the camera's prying eye.
"Nice," a deep male voice said over my shoulder.
Startled, I turned to see deep brown eyes shaded by thick brows staring at me as if he knew what I had been thinking as I looked at the erotic image on the card. A thick mustache covered his upper lip, but allowed his grin to stretch across his face ending in accenting dimples. He had to be mid-thirties, judging from the slight lines that gathered around his eyes. I had been cruised by the best of them in San Francisco, but I was caught off guard here; pulling my thoughts together, I said, "Yes, the card is for my roommate in San Francisco. She loves stuff like this." Now,, he knows I'm from San Francisco and I have a female roommate, I thought, that should be enough to clue him in.
"Hi, my name is Daniel." He shook my hand and kept steady eye contact.
Not Dan or Danny, but Daniel. He's gay. I smiled, "I'm Derek."
"You in town long?" he asked. His brown curly close-cropped hair had hints of gray.
"Several days. You live here in Charlotte?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I live about three blocks from here."
Okay, the next logical step in a pick-up was for him to ask me over to his place. My palms sweated. I didn't want sex; I was just flirting. Can't a guy flirt these days without a sexual panther jumping me and dragging me off to his lair?
Maybe he saw the panic in my eyes, because he then said, "Derek, it was nice to meet you." He turned and walked away.
What? What went wrong? I was ready to turn him down, but he didn't ask. Yeah, well, okay, I just want to see him find someone better than rue. I looked around the store. I'm the sexiest guy in here. Maybe he was straight?
With my ego bandaged, I took the card to the register. A pretty Greek girl took my money and thanked me. The bright sunlight blinded me as I walked outside; I turned my head and saw Daniel coming out of the door of an adjacent store.
"Hello again, Derek."
"Oh, hi." Icicles hung on my words. No one robs me of the chance to turn them down without good reason.
"I thought I might have a beer, would you join me?" Daniel was rather handsome and polite.
"Well, maybe one." I threw the card in the car and walked with Daniel to a restaurant a block away. As we strode down the sidewalk, I glanced at his khakis and short-sleeve white shirt and how he had rolled the sleeves to show his biceps. Kind of a gay uniform, I thought, but he wears it well.
We settled into a dark booth and ordered a pitcher of beer. The scent of hamburgers grilling and cheese melting helped relax me. The waitress seemed to know Daniel, so I didn't worry about my safety. I could remember more than one friend who got the shit beat out of him by leaving a public place with a stranger.
"Do you have family or friends in Charlotte?" Daniel asked as his chocolate eyes scanned me.
The waitress delivered the pitcher of a local brew, and Daniel poured it into icy mugs. His forearms flexed as he sat the beer in front of me.
"Family," I said. Leaning back in the booth, I placed both hands around the cold glass. "I grew up here, but this is the first time in years that I've been back."
"You grew up here?" Daniel asked. "It's rare to find a native here." He smiled showing his dimples. "I'm a native Charlottean too, where did you go to high school? Of course, it was probably years after I graduated." He sipped his beer and pulled out a cigarette.
Great. I sighed with relief now that I could light up a cigarette too. After lighting his, he reached across the table, offering the lit match to me. I looked into his eyes, took his hand and led it to the tip of my cigarette, inhaled, and then blew out the match with my exhale-something I'd seen in a movie, very sexy.
His dimples appeared again as he smiled. "So?"
So? What? Did I miss something? Did he ask if I wanted to go out? To his place? My mind scrambled for the question and the right answer.
"So, what high school?" he asked again.
"Oh," I tried to compose myself, " Myers Park. You?"
" West Meck."
"My sister Valerie went there, busing and the seventies and all that. My parents wanted us to go to the public schools. Mostly my dad's idea; he said it would make us learn to deal with all kinds of people."
"That's a liberal view. Most affluent families today send their kids to private schools."
"Affluent? Why do you say that?"
"Just the way you talk, the way you move, all signs of good breeding." He was a charmer.
"Mother wanted us in private, but somehow Dad won that one. We all did well in public school. Valerie was a cheerleader, Tim was quarterback."
He leaned forward. "Mason? Valerie and Tim Mason? Your brother and sister?"
"Yeah, you know them?"
"Tim is two years older than me. I remember playing football with him."
Shit, he knows the family. "Yeah, I'm the little gay brother no one talks about."
Daniel eased back into the booth and shook his head. "Damn, it must be tough with your uncle Vernon saying the things he does about gays."
"What? Remember, I haven't been in town long; what's he saying?"
"We have a committee trying to defeat him." He sat forward, gripping the handle of his beer mug. "He's spouting the usual crap about gays and lesbians converting children, tempting straight people, being the downfall of the family, and how religion can change sexual orientation. He's tried to block tax money from going to AIDS charities."
"Damn." I scratched my head, trying to help the disturbing information sink in.
"He led a protest of a play with a gay character, and has had books removed from the school libraries." Daniel rubbed his hairy forearms and sank back into the booth. "And to think he has a gay nephew."
Hearing this made my stomach churn. I took a gulp of beer hoping it would settle the acid climbing up my throat. "You know, in a way, it doesn't surprise me. The family is fucked up."
"How so?" Daniel ordered us another pitcher of beer.
"To begin with, Harris is my great-grandfather's name. Grandma Eleanor married a cousin named Harris, distant cousin they claim, but looking at Vernon, I'm not so sure. Vernon and Mother are double Harris blood. In fact, the Harris name is so important to them, we all have it. Tim is Timothy Ernest Harris Mason; I'm Derek Montgomery Harris Mason; Valerie is Valerie Amanda Harris Mason. It's a mess filling out my name on a form.
"Anyway," I continued, "when I realized I was gay, they shipped me off to college, I guess to protect the Harris name, so it wouldn't be stained with scandal."
"Being gay isn't scandalous, at least not these days. It took me years to come out. I was always scared someone would see me going into a bar, or worse yet, meeting someone in a bar I knew." Daniel chuckled.
"Yeah, that does seem odd to me. Especially after living in San Francisco all these years; if you aren't gay there, that's the scandal."
"Hey," his eyes sparked, "would you be willing to talk to the media about how this campaign affects you? The gay nephew of the conservative candidate, you know, refuting his points on gays and lesbians, that's the majority of his platform. Without it, he doesn't have any real platform."
I liked the idea, embarrass Vernon and Gladys and make them squirm. Gladys always tried to hide me, but what about embarrassment for Valerie and Ruby? "Maybe… But I don't live here, this isn't my election."
"You're still a story. Vernon Harris has a gay nephew that he disowned. We could show the voters how wrong that is."
"No, can't do it. I don't plan on staying here much longer."
Daniel cast his gaze down to the table and twisted the edges of his beer soaked napkin. "I really enjoyed talking to you; it's not everyday I meet someone like you: handsome, interesting, fun. I was hoping to see you again."
I sift through all of San Francisco for a guy like this, and then find him in a town I can't wait to get out of. My damn luck. "If you give me your number, I'll call you later. Maybe we can go out to dinner tomorrow."
He wrote his name and number on a matchbook; I slipped it in my pocket. Maybe I'll stay a few more days. Charlotte might not be as boring as I thought.
RUBY STACKED BOXES to one side, clearing a path through the attic. "I feel bad moving Walterene's things up here so soon."
"It's best to do it while you have help," I followed her across the dark dusty space, ''and besides, it will help to stay busy. I can organize things up here; why don't you go downstairs and decide what can be stored away?"
She turned and went back to the stairs. "I just hate rummaging through her stuff. Not in the ground three days, and we're burying her life in boxes."
"We're preserving her memories," I corrected. Then I thought about how generous Walterene had been. "Oh, and Ruby, why don't you make a pile of clothes to donate?"
Ruby climbed down the rickety pull-down stairs, muttering to herself. I knew she wasn't crazy about packing up Walterene's clothes, but my experience with death in San Francisco was that there were enough reminders without seeing the deceased's clothes every time a closet or a drawer was opened. I started going through boxes and writing the contents on the side, and arranged some scattered books on shelves built between the studs of the gable. Then I saw a box stuffed with notebooks and girls' diaries, the type with little locks securing the contents from nosy brothers. This could be interesting, I thought. "My Diary" was imprinted on the front of a pink one and under that, in carefully blocked print, the name: Walterene Ethel Simmons-1946. I felt a little guilty opening it, but this was Walterene as a little girl; I felt she wouldn't have minded.
January 26 Dearest Diary,
Uncle Earl wrote from New York. He says I should come visit to see a play called Carousel. Blackie died. He was a good dog. Pa said he will go to heaven and keep a dead soldier company. Edith's father died in the war, maybe Blackie will be with him. Ruby said she saw Sam naked taking his bath. She said it was funny. I wish I had a brother.
I flipped through the pages looking for something more interesting. She was probably ten or eleven then. I thumbed through some of the other diaries-ones from her teenage years. I came across handwriting that seemed urgent and feverish; the first words on the page confirmed it:
They killed him, no questions, no trial, nothing. Mr. Sams had always been so nice to us all. Gladys lied. I know she did. She was mad because Ruby and I teased her. But to claim that! How could she?
I went to the tree where they hanged him, made Ruby come with me. About a mile off Park Road in the woods, an oak tree with high limbs still had the rope swinging in the breeze. I prayed for Mr. Sams.
I heard them go after him, of course I didn't realize what was going on last night, but I remember hearing the cars drive off and the hoots and yells from the men. I know he was with them, probably leading the way. I hate him. I hate Gladys. I hate them all. If it wasn't for Ruby, I'd go crazy. Mr. Sams-the only good and decent thing in my life, and they kill him.
Bet they took Vernon with them. Time to teach him to hate and kill people. Tomorrow, watch them hide their cloaks and hoods and join the rest of us in church. MR. SAMS WAS A GOOD MAN!!!
Murder. I couldn't believe it. I climbed down the stairs, and found Ruby sitting on the bed folding clothes.
"What happened to Mr. Sams?" I asked, holding the book out to her.
"That's Walterene's. Give me that." She snatched it out of my hand. "You shouldn't have read that. It's private."
"But someone hanged Mr. Sams, isn't that true?"
"Yes, but that was a long time ago." She held the diary close to her.
"It was the Klan, wasn't it? Was Vernon part of it?" I had to know. If he was, I had to stop himfrom being elected.
"What? No, no Harris ever did anything like that," she defended.
I knew she didn't want to talk about it, so I let it go. "I just saw that one page about Mr. Sams being killed and Walterene mentioned that they might have taken Vernon with them that night."
Ruby started to cry.
Easing down on the bed next to her, I tried to comfort her. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"Mr. Sams did yard work for Grandpa at the house on Dilworth Road. He had worked there as long as I could remember. When us grandkids came around he would tell us stories of old plantations and ghosts." She sniffed back the tears. "As we got older, he still treated us like children, patting us on the bottoms as he said good-bye. Gladys took it the wrong way and told Grandpa Ernest. He fired him on the spot. After more than thirty years, he was fired. The next day, someone found him hanging from a tree. He took his own life. In fact…" She stood and led me through the house and out the side door. She pointed to a towering oak next to the driveway. "That tree, Mr. Sams died on that tree."
"You make it sound like suicide. Do you think he killed himself for losing his job?"
"Thirty years is a long time to work for one family, and then to be fired. I always thought he took his own life. Walterene swore it was a lynching." She still stared into the soaring oak.
"But," I had to ask, "why this tree?"
"Oh, the house wasn't here then. A few houses had been built around, but Sedgefield Road had just been paved and houses were being built. That next spring, the foundation was laid for this house. Walterene and I were so afraid the tree would be cut down during the building, but it survived. She swore that she would live in this house one day, and years later she and I bought it because it had Mr. Sams' tree."
"That's a little morbid, Ruby. Wanting to live in a house where a lynch-"
She gave me a sharp look.
"Or a suicide," I added quickly, "happened. Why?"
Using the handrails, she guided herself down to sit on the brick step. "It was to honor his memory, the last place he was alive; no matter what those last moments were, they were still his."
I sat down next to her and held her hand. The branches of the oak reached across the driveway just a few feet above the tops of our cars. A few hanging baskets swayed in the breeze from the lower limbs, macramé hemp cradling lacy ferns. I imagined Mr. Sams, instead of the fern, swinging back and forth from a knotted rope.
"You know," she inhaled a deep breath, "this was the place where Walterene had her last moments. It will be where I have mine, too."
I couldn't relate to being so tied to a place. In all the world, one small plot of land and house that held her past and future so tight that she believed it would be the spot where she would draw her last breath. We sat there in silence.
THE NEXT MORNING, I woke to the soothing smell of brewing coffee. From the bathroom, I heard the doorbell ring. Who the hell comes by at seven o'clock in the morning? I thought. Maybe Valerie on her way to work. I shook it twice, tucked it back in my boxers, and flushed. Coming into the kitchen, I overheard Ruby trying to calm Mark's angry voice.
He spotted me and shoved the newspaper in my face. "What the fuck is this?" he demanded.
"Mark!" Ruby scolded.
I dropped to the couch. A bold headline read:
Vernon Harris Scorns Gay Nephew