GWM - 6. Chapter 6 of 18

Carl

After Eric, Harry took a break. He just hung out with friends he hadn’t really seen for several months. He visited family. He even had a vacation coming but didn’t know where to go.
“Come to London with me,” Gordon suggested.
Harry laughed. “We’d only end up in bars.”
Two months earlier, Gordon had gone to Sydney, on business. He’d left messages for Harry from every gay bar he could find. Bragging.
But Harry needed to clear his mind. He was almost afraid to touch another man and wouldn’t even consider talking about sleeping with Gordon.
“Come on. Show me what you’ve learned,” Gordon would coax.
“You’d like it too much.”
“Why is that a problem?”
Harry thought he might just introduce Eric to Gordon. Maybe they’d chase each other around the bed so much they’d turn to butter. Instead, Gordon ran an ad for him.
“You need to check your mailbox,” Gordon said.
“Why?”
“You never know what’s straggled in.”
So Harry went and sorted through his mail. And Norm seemed enough like the kind of low-key guy he was ready to meet. True, his note had been printed from a computer, which wasn’t exactly personal. Even the signature was printed. But it was a very nice note, simply put. When Harry answered, he purposely included his phone number.
Actually, Norm’s name was “Carl,” but Harry didn’t learn that till later.
Carl called the following night. Harry was surprised how quickly his letter had been delivered. Carl had a strong, light voice, a friendly laugh, and he spoke as well as he wrote.
He was a divorce lawyer, newly divorced himself after a short marriage. He lived with an old collie in a house he’d designed in the rural hills northwest of Waldron. None of his friends knew he was gay.
“They don’t even suspect,” he said. “They all keep setting me up for dates.”
“Did your wife know?”
Carl laughed. “That wasn’t our problem. Susan hated living here. Not in the house -- she loved that. But the area. She kept wanting to move.”
“Where to?”
“The city.”
“Which one?”
“Any.”
Carl laughed again.
“Couldn’t you?” Harry asked. It didn’t seem hard.
“I’m a small-town boy. I...” He started to say something, then stopped.
Harry didn’t push. Instead, he offered, “Sounds like you miss her.”
“Sometimes,” Carl said quickly. “I miss talking with her.”
“And she really didn’t know?”
Carl seemed offended. “Let go of that. Really. It wasn’t important.”
Harry apologized. “I’m told I romanticize marriage. Never having been married. I think it’s a complete sharing.”
Carl found that very funny. “Maybe for some people. But I’ve always been more private than that. Maybe from secretly wanting guys.”
Harry said nothing this time.
“Why’d I get married then?” Carl went on. “I never meant to. Figured I’d just go to bars, till no one wanted to date me anymore. Then I met Susan.”
“What did you like about her?”
“Like? Hell -- love!”
“Love,” Harry corrected.
“Sounds like you’ve never been there.”
“That’s not true,” Harry insisted. Though he wasn’t about to explain.
“Then you’ve never been in love,” Carl said. “If you can see the difference.”
“Is one closer to lust?” Harry was fooling around.
“No way!” Carl was defiant. “If it weren’t for cities, I’d be with Susan right now.”
Harry didn’t really believe this, so he gently changed the subject. “Which bars?” he asked. “I don’t know any of the local ones.”
That stopped Carl. “None here,” he admitted. “I’d wouldn’t risk that.”
“Are there many?”
Carl seem surprised. “You’ve never been to them?”
Harry laughed. “That’s not how I meet guys. I don’t drink much, and I like to talk. Why go somewhere I have to shout over the music?”
“I know what you mean,” Carl told him. “Still, that’s what I do. I drive to Albany, pick up a guy, then have him follow me home.”
“That’s a two-hour drive. Why not use a motel?”
“Puts it on paper.”
“Pay in cash.”
“You’ve still gotta give a name. And it’s technically illegal to make one up.”
Harry thought this overly cautious, but then he remembered Carl was a lawyer.
The guy Carl had just quit seeing was also a lawyer. “Well, a law student,” Carl explained. “He’s fifteen years younger than I am.”
As he went on, Carl repeatedly called him “the kid,” and admitted they’d been sleeping together for eight months. “Weekends, anyway. I fucked him three nights a week – Friday, Saturday, and Sunday -- but he still fiercely held to the idea we were both straight.”
“Tough,” Harry said.
“Nah, the stuff of fantasies.”
And they laughed together.
“What happened?” Harry eventually asked.
“I got dumped. The kid was really tearing himself up about seeing me, and I wasn’t particularly sympathetic. I mean, when I was married, I was straight. But when I’m sucking dicks, I don’t pretend otherwise.”
Carl seemed very sure of himself, which attracted Harry. “Can we meet?” he asked.
“Sure. Tuesday? Dinner?” Carl answered easily.
“Great.”
They chose a restaurant near Smith. Harry had never been there before, but Carl said they’d be comfortable.
It was a high end college bar: dark wood, deep colors, old sports pictures and athletic equipment. And lots of kids, all noisily focused on themselves.
When Harry arrived, Carl was in a high-backed booth. He wore a fine grey suit which matched his curly hair, a pale blue shirt which intensified the color of his eyes, and a tie pulled down from his open collar.
When Carl stood to shake Harry’s hand, Carl’s head barely reached Harry’s chin. But it didn’t matter. The guy had a wonderful smile.
They talked, awkwardly at first, despite the fact they’d spoken comfortably on the phone. Carl only relaxed when Harry asked why he’d answered the ad. “I might’ve been someone you knew. Someone who didn’t know you were gay.”
Carl shrugged. “It’s time I stopped being so paranoid.”
“Has something changed?”
“Nah,” he said. “But for too long, I think I’ve been fooling myself.”
“How?”
Carl smiled again. “Ease up,” he requested. “We just met.”
Harry laughed. “Sorry. I was raised in one of those cities you hate. Chicago. We were taught to ask questions.”
“Chicago, huh? And you never wanted to build skyscrapers?”
Harry shook his head. “Early on. The more I studied, the more I realized I could earn a living without being Frank Lloyd Wright.”
“Did that disappoint you?”
“No. It let me relax.”
“I’m more ambitious,” Carl said, laughing. “I want to be famous.”
“For divorce law?”
“For something I can’t tell you about yet,” he answered. Carl seemed to like being mysterious, and he suddenly shifted to another topic. “Could you really live with a guy?” he asked. “Full time?”
Harry didn’t have to think. “Easy.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Oh, lots of reasons. I mean, my neighbors must know about me by now. About my interest in guys. I live on ten acres, but they must see men coming by all the time. And I don’t even mind my friends knowing, though they’ll give me all kinds of crap for keeping it secret. But much as I want to... at least, I think I do... I just couldn’t live openly with a guy.”
“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Harry asked. Carl just studied his food in response. “I mean, if someone’s really your friend... If neighbors are more than just people who live close by... If friends honestly know who you are, they’ll accept you.”
“As long as I don’t kill someone?” Carl joked.
Harry laughed. “It’s a long way from sleeping with guys to murder.”
Carl laughed, too, but on some level, he didn’t agree, and Harry wondered again at his caution. Throughout dinner, it shaped their conversation.
Their long conversation: They’d met at six, and when Harry next looked at his watch, it was after eleven.
“We should go,” he suggested. “And we better tip well.”
“Nah, I’m in here every day. Sometimes, I bring my laptop and work.” Still, Carl tipped well.
In the parking lot, they shook hands. Carl laughed at that, but he shook hands anyway. Then he laughed again. “What’s funny?” Harry asked.
Carl smiled. “Something else I can’t tell you.”
“We’ve just spent five hours talking,” Harry said, smiling back. “What can’t you say?”
Carl seemed to be studying the old brick building. A breeze picked up, and he buttoned his jacket. Finally, he said, “I just wondered if we were sexually compatible.”
Harry laughed at the formality, then said, “You won’t find out tonight.”
Carl grinned. “I know that. It’s why I could safely ask.”
“Not that I’ve never been that dumb,” Harry admitted. He absolutely knew he shouldn’t have said that, and his answer just hung in the air.
“You won’t again?” Carl asked carefully.
Harry smiled. “Come on, you already know I want to see you again. Leave it at that.”
Carl nodded.
“This weekend?” Harry went on. “For a movie?”
“How about tomorrow?”
Carl said it lightly, and Harry considered. “Sure. That’d be fine.”
“It’ll be tomorrow in twenty minutes,” Carl zapped.
Harry studied Carl. The early grey hair. The unlined skin. That smile. They wouldn’t mean anything if he didn’t like the guy so much. “When I was a kid,” he began slowly, “I had a game my friends wouldn’t play. It was called ‘Cabbie: The Game With Rules That Are Meant To Be Broken.’”
“Kids need rules.”
Harry was silent.
Carl glanced toward the street. He scanned the empty parking lot. Then he quickly kissed Harry, barely touching his lips before backing away.
Harry laughed.
“You live far?” Carl asked.
Harry said nothing.
“Gotta be closer than my house.”
Again, nothing.
“What would change your mind?”
Harry really didn’t know. He wanted to be with Carl, but he also knew to wait. And he was tired.
“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Carl went on, playfully echoing Harry from before.
Harry just stared. He could only think of Eric. But Carl was thinking of something more serious.
“Hey, I get myself checked every month,” Carl insisted. “I’m fine. I can show you my papers.”
Harry laughed. Then he relaxed and let Carl follow him home.
In the apartment, they quickly undressed. Carl was naked first and immediately rolled his tongue down Harry’s chest.
“Where’d you learn that?” Harry asked.
“I just made it up.”
“No way. It’s far too practiced.”
They laughed and soon were on the bedroom floor. “There are more comfortable places,” Harry offered.
“I like a good rug.”
Eventually, Harry lured Carl onto the bed. Carl grabbed a bed post in each hand and stretched his toes to the mattress corners. “Tie me up?” he suggested.
“You’re joking.”
“What do you think?”
Harry laughed. “I think a guy who won’t risk using motels ain’t gonna get himself tied to a stranger’s bed.”
“You got that right,” Carl said. And he pulled Harry back to the floor.
They explored each other, kissing. Carl was a kid. He loved Harry’s belly and kept stroking it with the inside of his wrist.
“What?” Harry asked.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s skin.”
“You’re shy.”
Carl’s own skin was childishly pink, the light hair on his chest nearly blond. He tickled easily, the merest touch sparking his grin. “My sisters used to hold me down till I wet my pants.”
“These are clean sheets.”
“I’ve got more control now.”
But Harry soon had him giggling.
“Stop it! Damn it! Stop!” Carl begged.
Harry wouldn’t. He could live on Carl’s smile.
“Stop it!”
“You don’t have one filling in your teeth,” Harry marveled. Laughing, Carl had opened his mouth wide.
“Stop it!”
Harry finally did.
“My whole family has perfect teeth,” Carl admitted. “Dentists hate us.”
“Not one cavity?”
“Never.”
“I’m jealous.”
Carl looked in Harry’s mouth. “Mighty metal.”
“Some filled twice.”
Carl laughed. “I love you anyway.” He kissed Harry, deeply. “Love your cock, too.”
“It’s...”
“...only skin. I know.”
Harry tickled him.
“Stop!”
“I can’t. You’re having too much fun.”
“Stop!”
“No way.”
“Stop! I’ll piss on your bed.”
“I’ll make you drive home naked.”
“Who said I’m leaving?”
And they spent several hours laughing. And when they came, Carl still had his grin.
“Want me to stop now?” Harry joked. He had Carl stretched out in front of him, the same way he’d stretched out Eric though Carl’s head was at the bottom of the bed. He was on his back, eyes closed, smiling. It was a moment Harry always wanted to remember.
Though sex with Carl was different from sex with Eric. At first, Harry worried if he could even manage it. It had gotten so twisted. But Carl was friendlier, looser, far more fun. He and Harry toyed with each other and joked. Then they stayed close till they fell asleep. When Harry woke, Carl was dressing.
“It’s after four,” he said. “I’ve got an early day.”
“Stay, if you’d like.”
“Thanks. I’d love to. But Toby’ll destroy the house.”
Toby was the collie.
“Can you drive all right?” Harry asked.
“With my eyes closed.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
They laughed.
“I’ll call you tonight,” Carl promised. He kissed Harry. “I’ll be home by eight.”
Harry didn’t even bother watching Carl’s car leave the square. He went straight back to sleep.
The next evening, he worked later than expected and didn’t get home till ten. He figured Carl had called and decided not to leave a message. But there was no call the next night or the next. Harry would easily have called Carl, but he didn’t have the number. When a fourth night passed without them speaking, Harry wrote to Carl’s PO box.
His note was casual. He thanked Carl for dinner and said how much fun the evening had been, never getting too specific. He expected Carl would phone as an answer, but four days later, still nothing happened.
Harry considered: Maybe the guy was just a beautiful flake. Or maybe he’d only wanted to get Harry into bed. Or maybe he had really been hurt, driving too late on a country road. Any way he considered, Harry was stuck. There was nothing he could do. Still, when a week passed and he couldn’t stop thinking about Carl, he took another chance. He wrote again, saying a bit more than he’d intended. But he mailed the note anyway.
Two days later, a post card arrived. The photo was the Northampton town hall. The entire message: “Busy.”
Harry sent back a duplicate card. They were easy enough to find. His message: “Me, too.” And three days later a call came.
“I swear there’s a season for divorces,” Carl began.
“The same way there’s one for remodeling houses,” Harry said, laughing. “But that’s predictable.”
They only talked for five minutes. It seemed longer because Harry was relieved to hear Carl’s voice. And it was all easy. Though when Carl hung up, Harry realized he still didn’t have the guy’s number.
It took a week for the next call, which was interrupted. “Get right back to you,” Carl promised, and he did. Though before the phone clicked off, Harry heard another guy’s voice in the background.
“Yeah, the kid’s back,” Carl admitted, when they spoke again. “I didn’t expect it. I did nothing to encourage it. He just showed up.”
“A month ago,” Harry guessed.
“The night after we met.”
Carl said it lightly, but they both knew what it meant.
“You happy?” Harry asked.
“Well, you know...” And Carl laughed. Then: “He’s really hot. Sometimes I can’t believe my luck.”
Harry didn’t know what to say.
“We don’t talk much,” Carl went on. “I told Susan that sometimes I want to commit intellectual infidelity. Get on top of the kid, then get her on the phone.”
Harry knew Carl meant him to laugh, but he only said, “I thought she didn’t know about you.”
“I said it wasn’t important,” Carl replied. Not tense, but sharp.
Harry backed off. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize.”
“I...” And Harry stopped.
“What?” Carl asked.
“Nothing. It was good meeting you, that’s all. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Harry wanted to end it cleanly
“Hey, wait!” Carl insisted. “The kid has nothing to do with us. Let me work this through. It shouldn’t take long.”
Harry knew better than to pretend, but he also wanted to see Carl again. “Sure,” he allowed.
“Thanks.”
And they ended the call. But soon they were talking almost every night.
“I can’t get enough conversation,” Carl assured Harry. “The kid just sits there. Studying in his goddamned shorts.”
“Turn off the heat,” Harry joked. But Carl joked back, “I already cranked it up.”
The kid seemed to be living with Carl, full-time, which Harry actually found reassuring. “If he can live with one guy...” he told Gordon.
“He can live with ten. Dump him – now.”
“I haven’t even seen him enough for that to happen. We’ve only met once.”
“But you slept with him...”
“That has happened before,” Harry said, grinning.
“So you felt sorry for him, too.”
Harry just laughed. Sometimes, there was no getting around Gordon.
“Go home with me tonight,” Gordon suggested. “Make it up to me.”
Harry considered that for a moment. Then because Gordon clearly expected to be rejected, Harry said, “Sure.”
And it was fun sleeping with Gordon’s arms wrapped tightly around him. And he showed Gordon a couple things Eric had taught him. But it was even better when Carl called the next night.
Still, Harry and Carl never talked for long. “Gotta go now,” Carl said. “Sorry.”
During one conversation, Carl admitted his name wasn’t “Norm.”
“Why do you use it then?” Harry asked.
“Oh, come on. You’re the one who said that you could’ve been anyone. That I didn’t know who you really were.”
“But why ‘Norm?’” All sorts of Freudian crap lurked.
“It’s such an awful name,” Carl told him. “No one ever thinks it’s phony.”
“So you’ve used it before?”
“Oh, yeah.”
And Harry imagined a long line of guys Carl had met in bars .
After another discussion, this one about music, Carl admitted he was a singer. That was his big secret. He’d recently made a CD.
“It’s what I’m proudest of,” he said. “Not just the singing, the whole damn thing. I organized it. Built a small studio in my barn. You’d be amazed by the planning.”
“I’d love to hear it.”
“Really?”
“Honest.”
Two days later, a package arrived.
“This completely blows my cover,” the note said. The CD had Carl’s full name and his picture on it. Harry listened eagerly, then didn’t know what to do. Carl’s voice was thin, his songs uninteresting. Everything Harry loved about Carl didn’t come through. In the cover photo, even his smile seemed forced.
Harry listened again. Carl was bright enough to catch a lie, so Harry found moments he liked, found ways to praise them honestly, then called Carl to thank him. By this time, he had Carl’s phone number.
Carl was easily pleased and quickly strayed to stories about the recording sessions.
“You ever been in a studio?”
Harry hadn’t.
“It’s Wonderland,” Carl said. “All the toys you’ve ever wanted.” He went on like that for an hour. It was the longest conversation they’d had in weeks. Near the end, he suggested they meet again for dinner. Harry knew “the kid” was still living with Carl, but he ignored that.
They chose the same restaurant. The food was fine and the conversation spontaneous. As with the first time, they talked for hours. But well before the evening was over, Harry knew Carl had lost serious interest.
“How’s the kid?” Harry asked, casually. It wasn’t even a test.
“Naked, as usual,” Carl replied. And they laughed.
“Things seem to be working out then.”
Carl looked straight at him. “We’re fuck buddies. Nothing more.”
But Harry didn’t believe it.
After dinner, Carl suggested they go to Harry’s apartment. Harry really wanted to touch Carl again. He wanted to see him grinning, naked. But he said, “No.”
“He’s nothing,” Carl repeated.
Harry was silent.
“I mean it.”
In the parking lot, Carl offered his hand. Instead, Harry hugged him.
“No fair,” Carl joked. “You’re bigger than I am.”
Harry hung on. We have so much in common, he wanted to say.
“You all right?” Carl finally asked.
“Fine,” Harry said. “Just saying ‘goodnight.’”
“‘Goodbye’ is more like it.”
“Yeah, well...”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah. Well. Me, too.”
And Carl kissed Harry. He didn’t seem to care if anyone saw them, and it wasn’t quick. Harry wasn’t sure what it meant, but he didn’t ask. It could have been another ploy.
He let Carl go. Driving off, Carl grinned and waved.
The next night, Harry really wanted to talk with Carl. All week, the feeling got worse. But every time he thought to call, he pictured the kid.
Fuck buddies. There seemed no point.