Letter Found in a Desk - 2. Chapter 2 - Vic

Vic tried the phone number for Silent-P Lou on Uncle Martin’s note. It was no longer in service.

He hesitated only a moment before deciding to drive to the address below the phone number. Heavy clouds hung low in the sky, and a cold October wind blew yellow leaves along the sidewalk. Vic parked and then walked to the address. It was an old, somewhat dilapidated apartment building. By the front door was an intercom with a button for each unit. Some had names by them, some didn’t. Looking through them, Vic saw the name Loup Kennedy and pressed the button.

A voice answered, “Who is it?”

“I’m looking for Lou Kennedy? Lou who knew Martin Sheffield?”

“Martin Sheffield? Come in.” The front door buzzed open.

Vic walked up to the apartment and knocked. The door opened. The man inside stared at Vic in open-mouthed astonishment.

Vic ventured uncertainly, “Lou?”

The man whispered, “Marty?” He pulled Vic into the apartment and wrapped him in the tightest of hugs, pressing his nose into the nape of Vic’s neck and inhaling deeply. “Marty! QT! I thought I’d never see you again! You have no idea how much I--”

Vic began to disentangle himself. “I’m not Marty.”

Loup froze for a moment, then released Vic and held him at arm’s length. “Oh! I am so sorry! Of course you’re not Marty. Marty would be old now. Please forgive me.”

“I’m his great-nephew Vic. I found your address when I was cleaning out his desk.”

“Cleaning out? Is he—”

“He’s in a nursing home.”

“Oh. Uh – how is he?”

“Well, he has Parkinson’s. He’s in better shape than some of the other residents, worse shape than others.”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do. At this point, though, I can’t really—” Loup sighed. “So, your name is Vic.”

“Yeah.”

Loup stared at him, still with a look of surprise. “You look a lot like him.”

“So I’ve been told.”

A ghost of a smile materialized on Loup’s face. “You even smell like him.”

“Now that’s something no one has ever mentioned.”

“Oh, you do. You definitely do.”

“Not a bad smell, I hope.”

“No. Not bad at all. Where are my manners? Please take a seat in the living room. The red chair is the most comfortable. Can I get you something to drink? Cold? Hot? Soda? Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee would be great. Black, please.”

“As it happens, I have some made.” Loup brought out two steaming mugs and handed one to Vic. “There you go. Wow. This is – I mean, after all this time – I think I need to sit down, too.”

Vic sipped his coffee. “This is good. I like it strong, too.”

Loup smiled weakly.

“So. Silent-P Lou. Now I understand. The silent P is at the end. Loup Kennedy. Good old Irish family?”

Loup chuckled. “Actually, Italian. One of those dumb Ellis Island stories. My grandfather’s name was Canidi. The clerk heard that and thought he was saying Kennedy. And so our new family spelling was born. I have a friend whose family is Polish, last name Mikroski, M-I-K-R-O-S-K-I, but the immigration clerk spelled it McCroskey, capital M little C, capital C etcetera, as if they were from Scotland.”

“So your grandfather immigrated through Ellis Island?”

“1905.”

“But how could that be your grandfather? Was he having children in his seventies?”

Loup set down his mug. “Did I say grandfather? I meant great-grandfather. And he was very young at the time. Now, what brings you here? How did you know where to find me?”

“I found a note Uncle Martin wrote in 1980. And here you are, still living in the same place after all this time.”

“I’m very set in my ways.”

“How old were you when you met him?”

“Oh, extremely young. You know, when emotions get very intense very quickly.”

“But it’s been over forty years. How can you be the same man he knew?”

“Does that seem so unlikely?”

“You’re too young.”

Loup laughed. “How old do you think I look?”

“I don’t know. Maybe about thirty-five?”

Loup raised an eyebrow. “Flatterer.”

“But, you can’t be – over sixty?”

Loup looked down at his hands as he rubbed his knees. “Do you know anything about me?”

“Only what I know from his note. Would you like to see it?”

Loup’s eyes darted up to Vic’s. “Yes, please, if I may.”

Vic reached inside his backpack, pulled out Martin’s note, and handed it to Loup. He looked around the room as Loup read it. There was a strange assortment of old and new furniture and pictures. Some of the older things looked like they should be in a museum. On top of a roll-top desk sat a framed photograph, snapshot-sized. It looked like Uncle Martin, very young. Was it Uncle Martin?

Loup finished reading. His hands trembled as he gave the note back. “Thank you.” He sighed. “That brings it all back full force. Looks like he wrote it after our first night together.”

“So I gathered. I didn’t know if he saw you again.”

Loup covered his eyes with one hand. “We dated for several months. Then he broke it off. I probably pushed him too hard. I backed off so he could have some time to think, and months turned into years, and then AIDS happened and he dove into service organizations, and… we never got back together. I saw him one last time, and he made it clear it would never work. I’m no angel. I’ve been with plenty of men, before and since. But I always thought of him as the one who got away.” Loup folded his hands and raised his head. His eyes had a haunted look.

Vic gazed into his coffee. “So do you really have some sort of medical condition?”

Loup’s laugh was a tiny, dismissive snort. “I don’t expect you to believe me about that.”

“Well, if you’re really the Loup my uncle knew – try me. Start by telling me how old you are.”

Loup stilled, looking at Vic appraisingly. “I’m eighty-two. Again, I don’t expect you to believe me.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, it’s a side effect. Those of us who have this syndrome, or whatever you want to call it, age very slowly. And we live a long time.”

“How long?”

“The oldest one of us I know is a hundred and fifty-five.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“If you find it easier to question my mental health, or to think I’m bullshitting you for some reason, that’s your prerogative.”

“But how could you and Uncle Martin have ever had a real relationship if he was going to age and you weren’t?”

“He didn’t have to age.”

“What do you mean?”

“He could have been like me. I told you, he had the genes, just not turned on. I could tell by the way he smelled.”

“But how could they be turned on?”

“It can happen with an intense experience. Ever heard of miracle cures that accompany a religious experience? Or people who wake up from an accident speaking a foreign language, or suddenly able to do complex math in their heads? Human beings are so much more than they think they are.”

“But what kind of experience could have changed his gene expression?”

“Sex. Sex of a particular kind.”

“So, mind-blowing sex. Literally.”

Loup took Vic’s empty coffee mug from him, then reached back to hold Vic’s hand and stroke the knuckles with his thumb. “If I were fucking someone and we reached orgasm as the same time, and if, at that same moment, I bit down hard enough, right here—” His other hand touched the back of Vic’s neck where it began sloping down to the shoulder. “That could do it.”

Vic shivered. “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

Loup sighed. “You don’t have to.” He let go of Vic’s hand, stood, walked to the window, and stared out. “I guess Marty’s note sounded pretty crazy to you.”

“I didn’t know what to think. I read it and then I wanted to know what happened. You say he just thought a relationship with you wouldn’t work?”

“Yes. I wanted him to move in with me. He could have been one of us, with long life and very slow aging. Turns out that’s exactly what he didn’t want. He was very devoted to the service organizations he worked for. He was working as hard as he could for guys who looked like old men when they were in their twenties or thirties, and dying in a few years. That’s how it was in the horrible first years of the epidemic. He didn’t want to become too unlike them. He was afraid of becoming so different from them that he would lose his compassion, lose the feeling that they were all in this together. He was a very, very good man.”

“You make him sound like a saint.”

Loup turned back to face Vic. “It’s easy to idealize someone you’ve lost. And I was in love with him. He’s the only man who ever stayed with me through my down cycle. He dog-sat me twice.”

“So, that’s a real thing? Once a month you turn into an animal?”

“Don’t be silly. I don’t turn into an animal. I just have extreme mood swings with some unusual physical effects. They never fazed him.”

“How do you manage to hold down a job if you have to be out several days every month?”

“I’m an electrician. I set my own schedule.” Loup sighed. “Marty never judged me, even when he thought I was crazy. How could I not fall for such a man?”

Vic shrugged his shoulders. “Do you have any regrets about it?”

“Of course I do. Regret is part of life. People who say they have no regrets are lying or deluded. But you don’t die of regret. You have to keep living.” Loup sat again, looking at Vic intently. “So how did you end up cleaning out his place?”

“Oh, I’m not working right at the moment, and no one else had the time.”

“And you don’t have anyone in your life who objects to you spending so much time on it?”

“Nope, no one.”

“No wife and two point five children, no girlfriend?”

Vic smiled and shook his head. “I’m gay.”

Loup reached out and idly traced circles with his finger on Vic’s knee. “So, no husband and two point five children?”

“No, and no boyfriend.”

Loup thought for a moment. “Would I be able to visit Marty, do you think?”

“He has pretty bad dementia. He might not recognize you. And visiting privileges are restricted to family.”

Loup withdrew his hand. “Oh. Damn. I would have liked to see him, even if he didn’t--”

Vic touched Loup’s arm. “You could go with me.”

“Really? You would be willing to do that?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you. That would mean a lot to me. When do you think we could go?”

“I’ll give you my phone number and we can talk about it.”

Loup stood, got a pen and notepad, and sat again. “Okay, shoot.”

“You don’t have a smartphone?”

“No, I’m too old to learn new technology.”

Vic told Loup his phone number. Then he stood and said, “I’d better go. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

Loup also stood. “Come back any time. Please. I’m glad you decided to come to see me. May I – can I get a hug?”

“As long as you know I’m not Martin.”

“Yes, I know. I can tell the difference now.”

They hugged. Both seemed reluctant to let go. At last, pulling back a bit, Loup looked into Vic’s eyes and said, “Thank you.” But they continued to stare at each other. Vic closed the distance between them and kissed Loup. Loup responded enthusiastically, then broke off.

He rested his forehead against Vic’s. “You’re going to give an old man ideas.”

“But you’re only thirty-five, right?”

Loup grinned. “Right.”

“Maybe we can see Uncle Martin next week. Call me.”

“You can count on it. Let me give you my card.” Loup pulled a card from his wallet and gave it to Vic.

They said their farewells. Outside, Vic saw that the wind had driven the clouds away. The day had turned sunny and cold. Feeling as if he were coming back into the present after travelling back in time, Vic walked into the noise of the city with a bounce in his step.