Never Too Late To Explore - 18. In The Limelight

Sitting out of the range of the video camera, Andy wiped away several beads of sweat with the back of his hand. It was a brilliantly sunny Tuesday afternoon.

His boss, Claire, noticed. “OK. We'll take a break.” She turned the camera off and smiled at the other man sat in front of it. “You're doing well, Eric. Keep it up.”

With affection, Andy watched his friend get up; he looked uncomfortable still – hair combed and wearing his best clothes.

Eric also mopped his forehead with a hankie. “Thought I was going to melt in front of you.”

“Sorry.” Claire was seemingly unaffected by the temperature. “The office can get very warm in the summer. I'm used to it.” She turned to Andy. “You got the refreshments?”

“Yeah.”

While he produced an insulated cool-bag from the shadiest part of the room, Claire opened another window in the hope of summoning up a breeze. On the way back, he noticed Eric undoing the buttons on his cardigan. That told him the heat must be bad; the older man seemed to wear the same clothes whatever the weather. Maybe they'd better combine the Pride trip with a quick search of some charity shops for summer-weight clothing.

Eric's hanky was doing its work again. “You could do with blinds or some such.”

“Yes.” Claire sighed in exasperation. “And a functional fridge would have its uses as well.”

Andy opened up the bag from home and produced a handful of cans. “These are cool enough.” He offered them to the other two.

Eric inspected the cans closely. “Hnh. I never have the spare cash to spend on these, even if I wanted to. Tap water's fine; or ale, if it's a special occasion.”

Andy exchanged a glance with his boss over Eric's head – they both smirked.

“Call it a treat.”

“Which one do you recommend?”

“Err…” He martialled some thoughts. “They're all fizzy…”

“Thought so.” Eric's mouth pursed slightly. “They'll make me burp.”

Claire bit her lip. Andy looked away quickly and stayed focussed on the job of being a drinks waiter. Catching her eye at that point would lead to an outbreak of sniggers; hardly fair on the older man.

“These two are fruit flavoured.” He held them out. “The others are colas, with or without real sugar.”

Eric took an orange-coloured can. Claire's hand immediately reached out for the 'full fat' cola, as she described it. While opening his own drink, Eric's struggles with the metal tab caught his eye. The other man was having trouble getting the tab to flip up.

“OK?” He heard a swear word. “It's a knack. Here, let me show you.”

The offending can was thrust under his nose. Putting the other drink down, he used Eric's as a demonstration model, showing him how to open it up. He heard a sniff.

“It's alright for them with young fingers. Mine won't bend that far.”

“Good point.”

Eric stared dubiously at the liquid before giving it an experimental slurp. The taste must've been bearable; soon all three of them were drinking deep.

Claire balanced herself against one of the tables. “That's better. OK… what's still left to do?”

The other two looked at each other and shrugged. Andy grabbed the prompt sheet and rapidly moved his finger downwards, mentally noting anything outstanding.

“Ehm…” He checked again. “We've not spent much time on the less successful aspects.”

Eric frowned. “I still don't understand why you need to ask those questions. Isn't this film meant to promote the charity?”

Claire answered. “Yes, but we also want to paint a realistic picture of our operations. We're not omnipotent; things go wrong; sometimes pairings don't work out how we'd like them to. How about when you and Andy first started out?”

Andy flushed pink.

“And there's still a number of things outstanding from the Social Services point of view, isn't there?”

Eric snorted. “I've given up hoping for that damned bath seat.”

It was Andy's time to sigh. “The last time I spoke to them, they'd moved the goalposts. You now have to be substantially more physically impaired than Eric is to receive one.”

“Budget cuts?” Claire was fiddling with the camera.

“More… restricting demand, I reckon.”

“Same thing.” She shook her head. “It's happening everywhere. … Anyway, shall we get on?”

Eric took a swig from his can, spluttered, then resumed his seat.

An hour later, they called it a wrap.

Claire strode up to Eric who was still seated, and offered her hand. “Thank you, Eric. I appreciate your time and effort very much. Hopefully you'll not be the only one to undergo the ordeal by camera.”

He gave her hand a cursory shake, then stood up, evidently trying to get some of the stiffness out of his bones.

Andy approached. “Did you enjoy that?” The look he got in return only made him smirk. “You genuinely did well – should make for a good film.”

“Well, this Hollywood star needs the loo.” Eric reached for his stick and headed off towards the basic facilities.

Claire laughed. “He can be a bit of a grump sometimes, can't he?”

Andy frowned. “Yes, sometimes. If your life was like the one he's led, I think you'd be less than filled with sunshine.”

“Very true. … I think there's material for at least two shorts there. The local paper's already expressed interest. They might host an excerpt on their website.”

Andy looked up from sorting out the cool-bag. “You won't get Eric to do anything for the media. He's been adamant about that since the beginning.”

“Yeah, he said when we first met. That's fine.” Claire started to dismantle the equipment. “He does realise there'll be publicity though? Whether he agrees to it or not.”

“Yeah, but I don't think he has much concept of a social media frenzy; even a localised one.”

“'Frenzy'?”

Andy grimaced. “People get excited about the weirdest things. Discovering that one of the long-standing inhabitants in the locality is a gay man, may or may not fulfil that criterion.”

“Hopefully that's not an aspect in which the local rag'll be interested.” She stopped for a moment. “In fact, I'll make damn sure the report focusses on the charity, not Eric.”

He kept his misgivings to himself. The object of the campaign was to get people to watch the videos. If they did so, the subject was there, out in the open. Eric didn't shy away from it; admitting to his queer identity was such a large part of what had happened since they met.

Eric reappeared. “So, is that it?”

“Yep.” Andy waited for a nod from Claire before continuing. “Claire needs to edit all the material, then, I imagine, you'll get to see the finished product.”

“I can hardly wait.”

He grinned at his friend's dry humour. “Come on, let's get you home. I imagine you're gasping for a cup of tea.”

Eric blinked. “A cup? I could drink the pot dry.”

On the Friday evening at the start of their Pride weekend away, Andy finished unpacking both their bags and looked for somewhere to stash them. Once space for a double bed was subtracted from the cramped back bedroom, there was little capacity for anything else. A small chest of drawers and a single bedside cabinet with a lamp was the extent of the additional furnishings.

Adam came back from the one and only bathroom. He surveyed the room. “Just as well we're not going to be doing anything other than sleeping and eating here.”

“Don't be mean.” He managed to squeeze the two soft-skinned cases into the gap between the dresser and the door. “Ritchie's only owned the place for six months. With his level of organisation, we're lucky not to be falling over unemptied boxes. Anyway, he's saving us a pot of money and it'll be good to catch up.”

“Hmm.”

Andy knew his fiancé wasn't a great fan of his old friend.

“It is good of him to put us up.” Adam sat on the edge of the mattress. “I dread to think how much a city centre hotel would fleece us for.”

They both eyed the tired décor.

“What Ritchie earns as an account manager can't leave him with much after the mortgage.” Andy turned to look out of the rear-facing window.

A group of boisterous south Asian youngsters were playing cricket of sorts in the next-door garden. The aroma from someone cooking a strongly scented curry wafted in through the opened window. He spent a moment studying the outline of the local mosque, visible a couple of streets away.

Adam joined him. “Not the safest area for a flamboyant gay man to live in?”

He shrugged. “I guess Ritchie thought about that before he bought the place.”

They were interrupted by a shout up the stairs. “Food's ready if you are!”

“Wow, that was delicious, Ritchie.” Andy scooped up the last of the pomegranate seeds which had formed the garnish on the evening's dish.

“Don't sound so surprised, darlings.” His friend's moue of petulance was only partly in jest.

“No, really.” Adam regarded his empty plate. “We've never tasted Persian-influenced cooking before. Though I never saw any actual rose petals, their taste – scent? – was everywhere.”

Ritchie got up to clear the plates; his lithe form made squeezing round the table easier than it should have been. The kitchen felt no more generously proportioned than their bedroom.

“We're spoilt round here. Within a fifteen-minute stroll, I can shop Polish, Roumanian, Punjabi, Sudanese, and Iranian.”

Andy snorted. “Bloody hell – we've the local butcher and the one and only supermarket.”

“But plenty of other compensations.” Adam raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged his agreement.

Their host returned with a plate of sticky Indian sweets and a pot of chai. “These are halwa: semolina, condensed milk, and variously flavoured with figs, almonds, pistachios, and raisins.”

The other two men stared at the display for a moment before diving in. Conversation ceased; for the next couple of minutes only murmurs of appreciation were heard.

Finally, Andy resurfaced, licking his fingers. “Don't you find it tricky living in this neighbourhood?”

Ritchie grimaced. “Being of mixed heritage makes me less conspicuous, I suppose.”

Not for the first time, he admired the other man's smooth, caramel-coloured skin and deep brown eyes.

Ritchie ran his eyes over the room. “Not the largest kitchen ever, but I wanted a place of my own. On what I earn, I can't afford to be that choosy when it comes to buying property.”

Andy felt some guilt at the relatively charmed life he and Adam led.

“The neighbours are friendly enough. My work clothes are so boring…” He looked down in mock horror at the conventional shirt and trousers he wore. “Fortunately I don't have to wear the wretched corporate uniform.” His continued horror was expressed by his hands this time.

Andy's sympathetic grin soon faded as the other man continued.

“In the summer, I can't even risk wearing my cabaret or clubbing gear inside in case someone spots me. And as for coming home with another guy? Fat chance.”

Adam took a sip from his tea. “What was wrong with the house share?”

Ritchie rolled his eyes. “You mean, what was right with the house share, darling.”

“Oh…”

Hands demonstrated disbelief this time. “One by one, my fellow queers abandoned the place until I was left co-habiting with a bunch of students. Eugh! I put up with the noise and the parties, but the state of the kitchen made me want to vomit.”

Andy recalled his own time as a student. “Yeah, I can well believe that. … So, no significant other yet?”

“Me, sweetie?” Ritchie's staged affront made him snigger. “No; dating apps are my best friends. Of course, any hook-ups take place away from here.” His sigh sounded real.

Andy wondered how sensible it was to buy in such an inner-city area. Maybe he intended to sell the house on in a few years?

“Anyway…” Ritchie pushed his seat back. “What's your news?”

He decided to start with the basics – his friend barely retained anything he sent in the way of status updates or email. “Adam and I are getting married in the autumn.”

“Ooh!” The other man brightened. “Now, I have friends who'd accuse you of selling out; of being depressingly hetero-normative. Me – I love a wedding, as long as it's not my own.”

Finishing with a hand over his mouth made Andy snort. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Adam frowning slightly.

“Live and let live, I say. We'll have our wedding; they may continue with whatever domestic arrangements suit them.”

Andy dived in before a serious discussion hijacked their evening. “Don't worry, Ritchie. An invitation'll be heading your way in due course. Now, what else?” He took a gulp of the rapidly-cooling tea. “We've both developed a relationship with an older gay man; someone I met through my volunteering.”

Almost every visible part of Ritchie's body radiated astonishment. “Darlings! I never thought I'd see either of you with a Daddy. Is he a bear with muscles, a big cock, and gorgeous silvery hair in all the right places? The mere thought is enough to give me goosebumps all over.”

A loud exhale of barely-concealed exasperation from Adam had no effect on the flow of words.

“God, you're so lucky. What's he like?” Ritchie leant across the table in his eagerness. “Have you fucked around with him yet? Tell me all.”

“Ritchie!” Andy's squawk finally brought a halt to the torrent. “For fuck's sake!”

Their host sat opposite with his mouth open.

“Jesus.” His face felt hot. “We're talking about a client of mine. OK? He's a lonely, older guy who's only recently taken his first steps into the world as a gay man.”

“It's a great fantasy though.” Ritchie mimed running one hand through imaginary hair – his own dark would-be afro was buzz cut close to his scalp – while the other smoothed out his clothes. “I'd be so up for it. Wouldn't you?”

“No.” He and Adam replied as one.

The resulting hiatus in the conversation ended when Adam changed the subject. “What's the significance of the guy who's leading the parade tomorrow?”

“You don't know?”

Their chat moved off into somewhat calmer waters until Ritchie left to attend one of his clubs. Andy and Adam took the opportunity to retire early in the expectation of an exhausting, fun couple of days.

They strolled from the train station to their preferred viewing spot on New Street: Ritchie, they left in bed, sleeping off the night before. With a billing on the Cabaret Stage for the afternoon, he'd already decided to give the parade a miss.

Adam adjusted first the backpack containing their few street clothes, then his sunglasses; the latter's habit of travelling down his nose drove him mad.

“OK?” Andy's hand squeezed his.

“Yeah, fine.” He leant in to reply, followed by a kiss, there, out in public.

The noise levels were already pretty high: people excited, happy, determined to have a great time. Most sported the rainbow in some guise or another; alternatively, they wore other colours important to them.

He closed in again. “How many guys were getting themselves ready in the station toilets?”

That was where they changed out of their street clothes and applied the body paint.

Andy smirked. “More than a few; it was getting crowded. Several guys gave you the eye.”

“Yeah? I thought they'd be for you, semi-naked as you are.” Adam stole yet another look at his fiancé's tanned, decorated upper body.

Andy laughed. “Says the man who's 'wearing' an unfastened, sleeveless mesh top.”

“Yeah; clothing.”

They exchanged grins. He thought Andy looked so hot. His cycle shorts suddenly felt that much tighter around the groin.

Pulling Andy closer, he whispered in his ear. “I could take you here. Now, with everyone around.”

The other man flushed. “Down, tiger. Those shorts don't hide much.”

They reached their spot – just where the parade had to turn the corner onto New Street.

“Maybe a quickie later?” He nibbled on an earlobe.

“Hmm… someone's keen. Let's see.”

After giggles and a kiss or two, both men got their phones out to wile away the remaining time.

Hot, exhilarated, and hoarse from the shouting and cheering, Andy stood and watched the last of the parade moving slowly away towards the city's gay quarter. “Wow.”

His partner looked more pensive, looking over the departing crowd.

“Wasn't that fabulous?”

Adam focussed on him. “Sorry. Yeah… I was thinking how brave the guy who led must be to continue with the 'No Outsiders' programme.”

Reality seeped in once more. Andy sighed. A teaching programme meant to encourage inclusivity and positivity amongst primary-aged school children had run into organised, vocal, bitter opposition.

Adam cast another sweeping glance at the milling crowd. “And those people who walked alongside him. Fuck; what must it be like to come out to a Muslim family?”

Andy wrapped an arm round him and kissed his cheek.

His fiancé was fired up. “This is Birmingham, for fuck's sake. How many black and brown faces do you see in the crowd? Or on the floats?”

He knew the answer. “Not enough.” Feeling somewhat deflated, Andy tried to get the party mood back. “Come on. The queue for pre-paid wristbands'll be round the block if we don't get a move on. You won't want Ritchie to have a fit if we don't turn up for his session.”

Adam offered him a kiss. “Sorry. You know me. Pride is about protest and looking at ourselves as much a party. Anyway, how will he know?”

“Oh, he'll find out.”Andy held out a hand. “Wasn't there mention of a quickie?” He raised an eyebrow. “We can't do it here.”

“Coming, coming.”

Later they wandered around the stalls, warm samosas in one hand, maintaining their loving connection with the other. It was the usual mixture of health information, campaigning groups, promos, and stuff for sale. Their amble, really another way of killing time until Ritchie's gig, changed when Andy noticed one particular stall.

He changed direction abruptly, half-dragging Adam along behind, much to the amusement of others in the area.

Adam objected. “Hey! What's so important?”

“This.”

They stopped in front of the stall.

Andy could hardly control his excitement. “Look!” He brandished a handout. “'Ageing better', a specialist LGBT service for the over-50s. Wow.” He spent a short while reading.

One of the volunteers behind the stall, a woman in her sixties, approached them. “It's a new service; we're more facilitators for any groups that want to operate from our premises than running things ourselves.”

“But aimed at older queer individuals?”

“Yes. Older members of our community are more likely to suffer loneliness than if they were straight.”

Adam joined him, gently stroking his lower back. “It's the first time we've seen anything like this.”

“It would be so good for Eric.” Andy couldn't keep the regret out of his voice.

The woman cocked her head. “It's open to everyone.”

Adam sighed. “Unfortunately, the person we have in mind lives in rural Herefordshire.”

“I suppose you might consider running something more small scale in that area? Look…” She moved away for a moment. “Here's our contact details. I'm sure our network enabler would be happy to speak further.”

Andy eyed the brochure again. “Where's the money come from?”

“Initially, the Lottery. Now, Birmingham LGBT Centre and the city council.”

He smiled sadly. “Thanks. Great to see it's here.”

They moved away.

Adam checked his phone. “Shit. We're gonna have to run.”

They did.

The two men got back to their host's place late; exhausted, buzzed, and danced-out, they still remembered to change back into their street clothes at the station and were careful to remain a safe distance from each other as they walked home.

Once in their room, Adam pinned the other man against the door with a kiss. Coming up for air, he voiced a complaint. “I remember someone offering me a quickie, after I asked so nicely. Didn't materialise though, did it?”

Andy smirked and shook his head.

“Now a good time?”

“I believe it is.”