The Glance - 6. Chapter 6

The Glance – rev. 6

Chuck woke in the darkness, his arms curled around John protectively. It had been quite an evening. John had finally fallen asleep in Chuck’s arms, exhausted after all those strong emotions, and now he slept soundly nestled up against Chuck’s chest, every now and then cuddling up closer yet. Chuck let his hand wander down John’s back, giving both himself and John the reassurance of closeness and touch. As they lay there in the darkness, Chuck realized just how much he had come to love this gently, witty, sensitive man. He felt for him, for the struggle which he had lived through and which he was still living through.

Chuck knew some of it from his own life, but not all of it. He knew what it was to discover you were gay, to realize that all the boys were looking at the girls while he was looking at them, to know the secret thrill – and terror – of the boys’ showers after gym class, and then to live with the pining after someone else and not knowing how to tell him. But his life hadn’t been like John’s. Eventually, he had told his parents, eventually he had come out to some of his friends in high school, and it hadn’t been that bad. He hadn’t come out to the whole school, after all, he and John were of an age, but some people had known. Going away to college had been liberating. There he could experiment, try “things” out, make sure the plumbing functioned and that his emotions were really turned towards guys. He had gone into clinical psych, not a field with a lot of fear about gays, and he had found himself comfortably ensconced in a field and place where he could pretty much be himself. He was comfortable with himself, and he didn’t really know how he had managed to get involved with a priest, with someone who was so torn. But he had, and, as he hugged John closer to him, he realized that he really loved John and didn’t want to let him go. Now what? How were they going to work this all out? He didn’t want to live in the closet. But it wasn’t up to him to force John out of his. He sighed, and then let himself relax as he focused on the most important truth he had learned that night – he loved John and would do just about anything to be with him. Slowly, he fell back asleep.

* * * *

John awoke to the smell of coffee, deep, dark, rich coffee; a smell that wafted through the house, teasing the nose and calling you up to wakefulness. He loved dark coffee; it drew him irresistibly to the kitchen. Chuck was fussing at the sink, his back to the doorway. John paused, just looking at him. What a wonderful man! Warm, loving, strong – John moved up silently behind him and put his arms around him.

“Good morning, wonderful. How are you?”

“Fine, but more to the point, how are you this morning?” Chuck twisted in John’s arms and put his own around John. They held each other tightly, enjoying the morning hug, the closeness and all that it implied.

“Much better, thank you; I really, really appreciate what you did last night. I don’t know what got into me, and I’m just really glad that you came over and were there with me.”

“Sweetheart, I love you. I was so worried when I came and found you on the floor. I hate how much pain you’ve been carrying with you.”

Chuck hugged him fiercely. He reached down and kissed John on the lips, a gentle kiss which deepened and grew more insistent. John opened to him and drew his tongue into his mouth, kissing back with a fierceness all of his own. They both began to grow and respond to the kissing, to the obvious love.

“If we don’t stop, your coffee is going to get cold … and I need coffee, too.” John said, huskily, his voice deep with need for Chuck.

“OK, spoilsport.”

Chuck drew away slightly, turned around again and began to prepare a cup of coffee for John. He pulled down a mug, filled it with rich, dark coffee, and put it off to the side. John let him go and reached over to the fridge, got out the cream and poured himself a dollop, stirring the coffee with the spoon Chuck had already set out for him. He took a sip and let the warmth spill down his throat and into his stomach, almost feeling the caffeine hit his system and begin to wake him up fully. Chuck put the cream back into the fridge and got his own cup. They moved into the family room and watched the sunrise, sitting comfortably on the couch, nestled up against each other. It was a surprisingly intimate moment, speaking of the new level of their relationship, one that they had not yet acknowledged to each other. John’s crisis had opened a new door for them, and they were walking through it -- together.

“Chuck, I want to talk about us for a moment, and then maybe look at what needs to happen next. Is that OK?” (John’s counseling training was beginning to show.)

Chuck looked at him, smiling to himself at the ‘professional’ tone of John’s question, “Sure, John. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m falling in love with you. I know it’s only been a few weeks, but I’m sure. And that changes a lot of things for me. I need to check things out with you as I begin thinking about the future.”

Chuck reached over and held John’s hand, “John, I’m falling in love with you, too. This last little while has been just great. I’m so happy at having met you and seeing where our relationship is going. It makes moving here all worthwhile.”

“I’ve spent my life in the closet. I wasn’t denying being gay, I knew that early on, but I figured that I couldn’t be gay and be a priest, so I chose one over the other. I’ve spent half my life this way and I’m just not sure I want to continue like this.” John fell silent and Chuck waited. “Things have changed in the Church, perhaps not as fast as a lot of people would like and not as fast as I might like, but they’ve changed. This is a tough time for the Church and I hate it that I may be adding to that stress, but, I think it’s time to come out of the closet.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you …”

John interrupted, “Chuck, I’m sure. I want to live with you and we can’t do that if we are going to spend the time hiding. I don’t want to waste any more time. Life is just too short.”

“But, John, what about your career, your parish, everything else?”

“I don’t want to give up the Church either, but I’ve given nearly thirty years to her and I need to face up to things for myself, too.”

Chuck shook his head, “I’m not sure I understand. You’ve said a lot here – first, you said you love me, second, you began talking about living together, and third, you’re talking about maybe leaving the Church. That’s a lot of stuff! Can we slow down a bit?”

“I know,” John responded, laughing, “I’m going a mile a minute right now. OK. I love you and you’ve told me that you love me, too. Right?”

“Yes.”

“If we love each other, then the logical next step is to talk about being together. Maybe we’re going to move in together, maybe we’re going to get married, maybe we’ll break up. I don’t know what the future will hold, but I do know that I want to explore us going deeper and becoming more committed to each other. Do you?”

“Yes,” Chuck said firmly, “I do. I don’t know where things are going, either. But I do know that I want to explore more.” He smiled, “I guess I’m ready to settle down, and settling down with you sounds pretty good to me, too.”

“OK. My mind always jumps ahead, way ahead. That’s just the kind of person I am. If we’re going to explore things more deeply, then I need to think what might happen further down the road. And that means, what happens if we decide to move in together. I need to be thinking about that and planning for that possible future. Do you understand?”

“Yes. So where does that leave you, us?”

“I need to begin thinking this through. I don’t want the bishop to find out from someone else. I need to be the one to tell him. And, as pastoral and accepting as he has been to gay people in this diocese, I just don’t know what he will do with a gay priest, an openly gay priest. That’s one issue, and the next one is that I don’t know what my parish will do with an openly gay priest, especially one who lives with another man. No one has done that before in this diocese.”

“That’s a lot to begin thinking about,” Chuck put down his coffee cup, reached over and took John’s and put it down on the coffee table, too, “John, I’m more of a take things one day at a time person. I understand that you’re planning way into the future, but I’m still back here in the present. I still on ‘I love you.’” He leaned in and pulled John to him, and they kissed, slowly, joyfully, and then passionately. “Can we start with a celebration of that first step?”

They got up, left the coffee cups on the table to get cold by themselves, and walked back to the bedroom, and celebrated.

The phone rang insistently, breaking into his quiet morning. John looked at the called-ID, sighed, and picked up the phone.

“Good morning, Jeff. What can I do for you on this early, very early, day-off morning?”

“Hush up, boy! I knew you would be up. You’re just sitting there in your family room, looking out at your garden, drinking a good cup of coffee and stroking your cat. Don’t give me any grief! Anyway, I’ve found a
new restaurant and I want to do lunch. You’ll love it. Some Eastern European immigrant decided to open a restaurant featuring the food of his part of the world. It’s called ‘Vlad’s Den.’ Isn’t that delicious?”

John took the phone away from his ear and looked at it ruefully. Noises kept coming out of it, and he finally laughed and put it back to his ear.

“OK, when and where?”

“11:30, that way we can avoid the lunch rush, and I’ll pick you up. See you.”

John put the phone down, smiling to himself. Jeff was such a hoot – a queen if there ever was one, but somehow he seemed to get away with it. And he was fun, and John knew that he needed people like that in his life. He sighed, put the cat down, and got up. He’d better begin getting ready. He could putter around a bit before Jeff picked him up.

It seemed just a few minutes later that the front doorbell rang and then the door opened. “John, it’s me. Are you ready?” Jeff breezed in, petted the cat, gave John a quick hug and stood there, looking at him. “Well, go and put your shoes on. We need to go.” And Jeff whisked him out the door and into his car. Off they went.

“I think I’m being kidnapped. Should I call 9-1-1?”

“Oh, hush up. You’re going to love it. You’ve been too serious recently – again. You need some fun. So, how are you and the hunk doing?”

John smiled. “We’re doing good, Jeff, really, really good. I think I’m in love.”

Jeff stole a quick glance at him, and smiled. “You’ve got it bad, honey. And I am so glad for you. You deserve it. Now, tell me all, and I do mean all.”

John laughed. “I’m not telling you ‘all’ – there are some things which should remain private.”

“Ya, and that’s why we hear them in confession. There’s nothing you can tell me that I’ve not heard before. But it’s OK, I know you WASPs get uptight about stuff like that. Don’t tell me ‘all,’ but tell me everything else!”

“OK, OK. But let’s save that for lunch.”

They arrived at the new restaurant, Vlad’s Den, parked and went in. A slight, swarthy man with a small mustache met them, welcomed them and sat them at a little table near the window. He gave them their menus and left them. A younger version without the mustache, lithe and well-muscled, brought them water, bread and butter.

“Gentlemen, may I introduce you to our menu? Most of our food is from Romania, with a few other Eastern European specialties thrown in. I’d be happy to answer questions.”

Jeff started, “We don’t know anything about Romanian food. I had some lovely little grilled sausages last time I was here. What are they called?”

“Mititei. They are garlic sausages that we roll by hand and then grill over an open fire in the back. They are a specialty of Romania, though you can find similar grilled sausages in other countries of the region. If you don’t really know Romanian cooking, may I suggest a few things?”

“Oh, yes. We love food, so just go ahead.”

“If you like fish, then I would start with icre, a homemade caviar-like fish appetizer and some sarmali, stuffed vine leaves served warm with sour cream. Then I would recommend the mititei, the grilled meat sausages, with mamaliga, the Romanian version of polenta, served warm with cheese, a small salad, and then a wonderful dessert with some tsuica, a home-made plum liquer. How does that sound?”

“Oh God, that sounds wonderful. We’re going to be stuffed absolutely full.”

“Oh no, sir, these are lunch portions. It may sound like a lot, but I’m sure you won’t be overstuffed.”

“Go for it. Does that sound good for you, John?”

“Hey, I’m just along for the ride. I’ll take anything, but, just to be difficult, is there something else you would suggest so we could taste a wider variety?”

“Certainly, sir. If we stay with the same appetizers to share between the two of you, then I could bring two small soups – a ciorba, the national sour soup, and a Romanian borscht, then a lamb dish. That would give
you a good introduction to Romanian cooking. Again, these are lunch size servings, so you shouldn’t be over-stuffed.”

“OK, why don’t we go with that, Jeff?”

“Sounds good to me.”

They both watched the waiter in his bun-hugging black pants as he walked away with their order. Then they turned to each other, a smile in their eyes as they looked at each other. Jeff giggled with delight.

“Yep, he’s cute. I bet he gets big orders and big tips.”

“No argument here. Jeff, can I tell you about something that happened to me?”

“Sure.”

“I had a kind of a break-down the other day.” Jeff reached over and put his hand on top of John’s, his face showing his concern. “I suddenly realized that I had spent the past few years of my life hiding who I was. I felt completely cut off from myself, and it just was too much. I can’t really go on like this.”

“Does this have anything to do with Chuck?”

“Yes and no. Certainly, he is the catalyst. I love him. I want to share a life with him. And I love being a priest. How do I put those two things together? That’s what got to me. I spent much of the day crying on the floor. Chuck came over and found me. He held me and comforted me and gave me the safe space to begin to pull myself together.” John paused, looking down at his hands for a few moments, then he looked up at Jeff. “Jeff, I can’t go on like this. Something has to change.”

Jeff breathed in quickly, looking at John with concern. “Are you thinking of resigning? What would you do?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? I don’t want to resign, but I can’t go on like this. I guess I need to see the bishop. But I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“Pretty scary, isn’t it? We don’t know what the bishop will do. But something has to give here. These are different times. He’s always been a pretty good friend to the gays and lesbians in the diocese. Of course, this is where the rubber meets the road, can he be supportive of gay clergy?”

“Yep.”

They sat there, each lost in his own thoughts as the waiter appeared quietly beside the table, and began to place the appetizer plates in front of them.

“Gentlemen, these are the stuffed vine leaves, and this is the home-made caviar. Here is some bread and crackers for you use with the icre, the caviar. And here are two small cups of the soups. Please enjoy.”

John and Jeff shelved their discussion for the moment, letting the food distract them from the difficult issues facing them. The each took a couple of the small, stuffed vine leaves and began eating.

“These are great! I love the brininess of the vine leaves with the warm, meaty interior; the sour cream kind of smoothes it all. This is really good. Now, let me try this caviar.” Jeff dipped a small piece of bread into the fish, “Oh, John, this is fabulous. It’s really fishy, and fresh, and light, and … I’ve never tasted anything like this.” He reached for more.

“Hey, leave some for me.” John quickly dipped his piece of bread into the fish, too. He chewed thoughtfully, “You’re right. It’s not at all salty, is it? I kind of expected that when he said ‘caviar’ but it’s very fresh tasting. I think there’s olive oil and lemon in this, too. What nice contrast between these two. I wonder what the soups are like.” He began to taste his ciorba. “You know, this is very different…very ‘vegetably’ with a kind of sour under-taste. I’ve never had anything like this before. How’s yours?”

“Well, I loved the appetizers. The borscht is good, too. It’s not as unusual as your soup sounds. Can I taste?” He dipped his spoon into the ciorba without waiting for a response. “Ooo, that’s good. Here, you taste this one.”

John leaned over and tasted the borscht. “This is good, too. Gee, do you think the rest of the meal will be like this?” They quickly finished up their soups and the appetizers. As if by magic, the young waiter appeared at the table with their next course.

“Gentlemen, these are the mititei, here is the lamb dish, and this bowl is the mamaliga. I’ve taken the liberty of serving you ‘family style,’ that will help with the sampling and shared tasting.” He grinned at the two of them, obviously having noticed their swapping tastes back and forth. “I hope you enjoyed the appetizers and soups.”

“They were great!” Jeff responded enthusiastically, clearly flirting with their solicitous young waiter, who grinned back, obviously flirting from his end, too. “I loved the fish caviar. That’s completely different from anything I’ve ever tasted before. It’s a little like the Greek taramasalata and a little like Russian caviar, but different.”

“That’s right, sir. They are all related dishes. The difference is that the Romanian version, icre, is made from fresh fish roe rather than salted fish roe. Both the Greek and Russian versions are made with salted fish roe. Obviously, the Romanian dish is seasonal, but we do enjoy it when we can get it.”

“Well, I agree with my friend,” said John, “It’s really great. I love fish and I could eat that on a regular basis.”

“I hope you enjoy these dishes, too. Is there anything else I can get you gentlemen?”

John quickly answered, seeing what was flashing through Jeff’s mind, “No, thank you, we’ll just enjoy these.” He glared at his friend who was struggling not to break out into laughter. As he looked up, he noticed that the waiter was obviously smiling, too. He seemed to have caught the unintentional double-entendre as well. Or was it unintentional? The two of them began to eat up enthusiastically as the waiter left to go back to his other tables. They shared from each other’s plates, and dug into the mamaliga.

“This is really corn meal mush, isn’t it?” asked John.

“Sure tastes like it. It’s like polenta, or a little like grits. I like the cheese that’s mixed into it. I quite like it. You?”

“Well, it’s OK, but I wouldn’t drive across town for this. The lamb and the little meat sausages, on the other hand, are well worth the drive. They sure like garlic, don’t they?” They enthusiastically ate their way through the rest of their main course, enjoying the small salads that their waiter brought them afterwards, too. As they began to push back from the table, the waiter appeared as if by magic with their desserts. He brought coffee and their after-dinner drink, the tsuica, the Romanian plum brandy. The scrumptious chocolate cakes disappeared, both men almost licking their plates clean. They slowly sipped the coffee and brandy, savoring the way they finished the meal. Unnoticed, the waiter had managed to leave the bill tucked into a corner of the table.

“That,” said John “was superb. It was completely new to me, and I loved it. Thanks, Jeff.”

“You’re welcome. I thought you might enjoy this. I sure did. Now, tell me more about what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t know. It’s just that I’m tired. I’m tired of hiding, of pretending, of ‘passing.’ We’re supposed to be speaking of truth, and here I am living a lie with everyone. Where’s my integrity in all this?”

The question hung in the silence, which stretched on and on.

“John, you know that this is a turning point, don’t you? If you go ahead and speak to the bishop, what’s the next step? Are you going to tell the parish, too?”

“Maybe, probably, I don’t know. Certainly, they’re going to find out. Someone will call home and Chuck will answer, or someone will notice that we’re often together and jump to a conclusion – the right one in this case. I don’t want to have to keep censoring myself, of pretending. The parish would be thrilled if I was getting married to a woman. Some of them would be disappointed, but that’s because they already had plans for me. And others would be planning the celebration. But because it’s a guy, I have to hide. I can’t hold his hand, I can’t give him a kiss, I can’t … well, you know. I’m just tired of it all.”

“John, you know I’m here. You know I’m your friend and have always been supportive. Hell, you know I understand from the bottom of my heart. I’m just a bit jealous because I’m not in the same boat.” John quickly reached over and held Jeff’s hand, noticing the moisture in his eyes. “I’m happy for you. But, I want you to wait a bit, to think this over carefully. This is a big decision. Let’s look at your options and your future, and figure out how to do this right. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, I’ll wait. I still have to talk with Chuck about all this, too.”

John looked across the table at his friend, appreciating the support, and wondering what was going through his mind at this point. What was he thinking? He’d always been creative and quirky. What was going on?