Authors: Mark Richard Zubro
Rust On the Razor (12 page)
I arrived unlynched at the clearing in front of the house. I opened the door and found Scott's mom and Shannon doing dishes in the kitchen. Mrs. Carpenter heard me, turned, grabbed a dish towel, wiped her hands, and came toward me, smiling shyly. “I'm glad you came with Scott. Can I get you something? Make you a sandwich? Get you a drink of lemonade?”
She was maybe five feet four, with gray hair that saw a beauty parlor at least once a week. She had on a dark brown housedress, the style Edith Bunker always wore. Deep wrinkles grooved her face from nostrils to chin. She would have looked formidable frowning, but she always seemed to be trying to smile.
Shannon had yet to turn and face me. She kept wiping dishes and putting them away in appropriate cabinets. Mrs. Carpenter didn't seem to notice. She said, “I need to bring my husband a few personal things. If you want anything, let me know. Scott showed you everything when he brought you here earlier?”
“Yes, Mrs. Carpenter.”
“I ask because you can't be sure with kids, no matter how old they get. They do seem to forget some of the most basic things. You have fresh towels?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“If you'll excuse me ⦠I'm afraid my children are right. I'm going to have to get some rest.” She leaned heavily on a dining-room chair for a moment.
I moved closer to her and held out my hand. “Can I help?” I asked.
She shook her head, seemed to stretch every muscle, then nodded. “I'm old,” she said. She left the kitchen and disappeared through a door on the far side of the living room.
I turned back to Shannon, who was now looking at me. She slapped a plate onto the dish drainer. It cracked in half.
She was about five-nine, with a slender, muscular frame and blond hair slightly darker than Scott's. He had told me she'd been a runner in college. Her body had athletic grace. She wore baggy sweat pants and a shapeless top. She faced me and spoke in a whisper. “You dare stay in this house? You dare defile my parents' home?”
I stepped back. I said, “Everybody keeps telling me that people in the South will never confront you directly. That they'll say things behind your back, but they'd never insult you to your face. They'd never be that rude. I must have missed something. Maybe I'm in the wrong South.”
“Rude! I was born in this house. Every one of us has good memories, wholesome memories, of growing up here.”
“Your mother invited me.”
“She doesn't dare defy Scott. He's the oldest boy, so he gets special treatment. If we had our way, you wouldn't be here.”
“âWe' who?”
“Hiram, Nathan, and me.”
“But not Mary.”
“Ha! Mary's so sweet. Just like Scottâshe likes everybody.
But she's not here to protect you.”
But she's not here to protect you.”
“I wasn't aware I needed protecting. Is this some kind of threat?”
“I hope you get arrested for killing the sheriff. If I could find a way, I'd help implicate you so you'd get thrown in jail. Then we'd get Scott back.”
“Why is it so difficult for so many in this family to accept the fact that Scott is gay, that he is very happy and has a good life?”
“Yes, he has a good life. He's rich, and you just live off him.”
This was a delicate subject between Scott and me. He was not famous when we met, and, in fact, avoided telling me what he did for three months. At first he said he was a part-time manager of an exercise club, which was accurate. The imminent arrival of the baseball season was the impetus for him to tell me the truth. I think he feared I'd call the media and announce our relationship. No matter how open they are now or claim to have been, every gay person has been in some kind of closet. It might be anything from a slight hesitation about telling a new acquaintance that they're gay to attempting to keep their orientation totally hidden. So even though I didn't like it, I understood. Of course, now he'd called the media himself.
As to the issue of money: Over the years, I'd done numerous things to keep my independence. Many times he'd told me I could quit my job as a teacher, but I never did. I enjoy it too much, and I would never want to live off him. I rebuilt my house a while back after it burned to the ground, but I used the insurance money and my own savings. Yes, he gives me presents that are extravagant beyond my wildest imaginings as a kid, and yes, living in his penthouse on top of a building along Lake Shore Drive in Chicago is fabulous, but I didn't fall in love with him for
his money, nor do I stay with him for it. I love him.
his money, nor do I stay with him for it. I love him.
I said, “You and the rest of your family have benefited from his wealth directly and indirectly. From his fame, for sure. It must have been incredible growing up as his sister.”
“He may have been famous, but I carved my own niche as an athlete. I won some state championships, too. Of course, it was only girl stuff, so I didn't get the recognition. It was always Scott, Scott, Scott. And my hero brother turns out to be a pervert, and he brings that sin into this house.”
I wasn't used to fighting with in-laws. My first big tiff had been an hour or so before with Hiram, who did little more than growl at me. Shannon at least spoke to me. I wasn't sure if this was better or not.
“Can we sit down?” I said. “Please.”
She remained standing with the dish towel pulled taut between her fists. “Just say what you have to say.”
“Look,” I said. “I don't expect cheers and parades, and I'm sorry you don't like me, but I love your brother more than anything else on this earth. I would do anything for him. Make any sacrifice for him. He is more precious than anything in the world to me. I'll help him through this time with his father, and he and I will leave. I wish I was more welcome, but that doesn't seem possible. If we can't begin trying to be friends, can we at least agree to be civil while I'm here to help Scott?”
Her eyes were those of a zealot in the face of the infidel. She turned her back on me. I gave up. I had more problems than whether my in-laws liked me or not.
Upstairs, I brushed my teeth, took off everything but my underwear, and crawled between the sheets.
I tossed and turned for some time while the glow of the full moon entered through a window facing east. I fell
asleep wondering if you could see motes of dust in moonlight streaming through a window the same way you could in sunbeams.
asleep wondering if you could see motes of dust in moonlight streaming through a window the same way you could in sunbeams.
When I awoke, it was daylight. Scott lay on top of the other bed. He was in his briefs and lying on his stomach. I stared at the white ceiling, afraid to move much for fear of waking him, although he usually slept very soundly. I hadn't heard him come in, which testified to my own state of exhaustion. Nature's needs eventually caused me to slip on some jeans and hurry to the bathroom. I reentered the room and closed the door softly.
“It's okay, I'm awake,” he said. He turned over on his side and propped his chin on his hand.
I sat on the side of his bed.
“How's your dad?”
“Slept peacefully through the night. Mama and Shannon are there. I got here about six. What time is it?”
I looked at my watch. “Nearly ten.”
He eased his head back down. “I'd like to sleep for a week.”
I patted his arm. “How's your muscle strain?”
“Practically haven't noticed it.” He grinned. “You might want to massage it now.”
I looked around the room. “Here? Now?”
“Very definitely now.”
I glanced at the front of his shorts. “Looks like you're in the mood for more than a massage.”
“I know it's goofy, but sitting with my dad, I'd think about a lot of past stuff, but I'd also think about holding you and being with you and doing stuff with you, and ⦔ He blushed.
“And what?”
“I've always wanted to make it with a guy in my own bed in my old room at home.”
“This does seem to be that venue. What if somebody's in the house and hears us?”
“I told you, they left. If Nathan's here, he's outside working.”
“He could stop in.”
“We'll be quiet. He won't be jealous anyway.” He let the fingers of his right hand slowly caress the tips of the fingers on my left hand. He stroked each finger from tip to base, moved to my palm and then slowly onto my wrist.
I remember taking one of my boyfriends in high school back to my house when I knew nobody would be home. We never made it to my room, but had a wild time in the rec room in the basement. Doing it on the couch in my parents' house was one of the hottest sexual moments of my youth.
Most often our lovemaking is slow and sensuous, and this time Scott seemed ready to let each caress take an eternity. I lay back and let his hands rove over my body, and eventually I did the same to him.
When his hand began exploring the front of my pants, I pulled him to me. I swung my legs round, put one arm under his head, my hand on his hip and pulled him close. I held his strong, muscular body tightly. The agonizingly gentle caresses were replaced with mad, passionate kisses and fierce embraces.
A long while later he breathed deeply, his mouth next to my right ear, and whispered, “That was unbelievable.”
“I'd be content to lie here like this with you for several centuries.” I held him tightly. I felt his breathing slow and his muscles relax. I let my hands gently rove over his back in slow circles. I enjoyed the feel of the weight of his body on mine. I felt warm and safe and protected.
Someone knocked at the door. Scott jumped to his feet.
We both pulled on pants. Scott opened the door. It was Nathan.
We both pulled on pants. Scott opened the door. It was Nathan.
“Didn't know if you were here,” he said.
“We're here,” Scott said. “Any news from the hospital?”
“No.” I thought I caught Nathan trying to look further into the room. Was he the sex police, or interested?
“We'll be down in a few minutes,” Scott said.
We showered, dressed, and met in the kitchen. We had orange juice. Nathan was nowhere to be seen.
“We can eat in town,” Scott said.
“I can fill you in on all the details from yesterday. There wasn't much time at the hospital.”
I phoned the library and set up a meeting with Violet for early in the afternoon. After a call to the hospital, we strode out into the humidity.
“All this damp, you'd think it would pour rain,” I said.
“Supposed to. Tropical depression that's been developing over the Gulf of Mexico is moving in this afternoon.”
“We aren't going to have to evacuate or something like that?”
“A tropical depression is not a hurricane.”
“I knew that.”
“Mostly in June storms start over the Gulf of Mexico and don't get that strong. Not like hurricanes later on in the summer. We're not that near to the coast, so mostly we just get lots of rain. Farmers could use it.”
Out front was a pearl-gray BMW.
“Where'd this come from?”
“Am I fabulously rich?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Therefore phone calls can be made and deliveries can occur, even in Brinard.”
“I'm suitably impressed.”
Other than what I considered essential for a carâfour
wheels and the ability to goâthis one also had blessed air-conditioning.
wheels and the ability to goâthis one also had blessed air-conditioning.
I was curious about Nathan's trying to see into the bedroom, so I asked. “Nathan seemed kind of interested in what we were doing,” I said.
“Nah, he's straight.”
“Well, you hear about all these incestuous southern-gothic sexual escapades between brothers and brothers, or brothers and sisters, and what all.”
“You have got to stop being so prejudiced. I never touched any of my brothers or sisters. They never put a move on me. That's all overblown bull. I watched a few animals screw out in the barn when I was four or five. Wasn't exciting then and I ignored it the rest of the time I was growing up. As for Nathan, I accidentally walked in on him when he was more than making out with a girl in the barn.”
“Just thought I'd ask.”
“He's got his own place a couple miles down the road. Got a wife and four kids. He kind of runs both farms now and hires help during the busy seasons. Daddy does what he can when he's in the mood.”
I told him everything that had happened the night before. Scott was furious at Hiram and Shannon. I thought about not telling him what they'd said, balancing the feeling of tattling with the fact that Scott was an adult. He could deal with the information any way he saw fit. My general policy was that withholding information was childish and stupid.
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