Your turn
by Beth Stiller
[ fiction - july 03 ]
"How could we ever trust each other?" she asked, post-coital, having just trusted him with her body and more.
"Deep," he responded, hand over heart. Sliding the lacy lingerie strap down, he patted his furry chest, inviting her to rest her head.
Neither of them should have been in that hot room, overhead fan spinning, safe from the tiny canyon flies which buzzed against the screens. Will and Leah lay salted in each other's pleasure, preserving their own thoughts, made as steady as seawater. Everyday at 3:21 pm the wind changed direction. Sumac, buckwheat, sage, satin and lace rustled. Cool air from the ocean was drawn through the steep canyon toward the hot inland valley. Seawater remains a nice even temperature. It is the land that is fickle, hot and cold. The new breeze dried their skin. "Shall we turn off the fan?"
Its blades slowed to a stop. They listened to the river far below, sanding rocks smooth, splashing over falls, slicing the canyon ever deeper. A hawk overhead was on the hunt. The little cabin perched high on the canyon wall was a nest they had robbed. Splintery redwood stilts dug into decomposed granite. Guilt came and went. Will was simply irresistible to Leah, the salt water that kept the rest of her life balanced. "We each have a price, don't we, Will?" Will needed to be more than accepted. Leah adored him for who he is. She could not resist being understood by him. It wasn't really the sex.
They each had a good home full of people, history, potential and love. Annoying canyon flies outside in the sunlight caught Will's eye. "There is nothing those flies like more then sticky sex." He brushed off the orange satin. Orange was his color this month.
"At least they don't bite." Leah snuggled her nude body into his.
Guilt twisted his stomach. "Bugs don't bite in California. Well except for children. They bite children." His mind wandered to the broken screen in his son Riley's room. One night last spring when it was wet with rain, Riley said, "Look Papi, I can make diamonds." The delighted boy drew his finger across the wet screen. Droplets connected and glowed like diamonds against city streetlights. "Oops," the boy's finger poked right through. Riley giggled and poked it through again and again. His face took on a naughty glow. Will would stop at the hardware store on the way home and pick up a new screen. He felt useful. His stomach relaxed. He removed scented sprigs of sage snagged in Leah's thick dark hair, rubbed them between his fingers and passed them under her nose.
"Mm" she moaned.
Though freeway close, the cabin was overgrown. Sylvia came once a week to dust off the cobwebs and freshen the sheets. Sylvia is the only one who knew.
"Whose turn is it?" he asked. There was a price to pay for their pleasure; a game they played. Leah hummed one of those old Beatles songs, "The love you take is equal to the love you make."
Will and Leah made up their own rules. First, meeting was a secret. Neither could tell anyone about the cabin, the game or each other for 20 years. The fee to visit the cabin was a good deed or a truth told. It was Will's turn.
His open-air jeep's high tires hugged the canyon wall and bounced down into a hot overpopulated valley. He felt good. Many would judge him otherwise. Will was slightly overweight. His wavy light hair, mixed lately with gray, flailed in the wind. Will likes the outdoors, though no one would call him rugged, or effeminate, or handsome. Will is ordinary. He was generally well liked. How would he earn the 'fee' for the next visit? The jeep descended into Metropolitan Los Angeles, a city of single-family dwellings.
He pulled into his driveway. The screen door slammed behind him. The kitchen was filled with the scent of garlic, lemon and cilantro, no bugs.
"Can you believe it?" Daphne, Will's wife, said, greeting Will, as she cut up a chicken. He propped Riley's new window screen against the preheating oven and, already hungry, gave her a kiss. Daphne's green eyes sparkled. She held up greasy hands wanting to stroke his wild buckwheat colored hair and nibble on his ear but she didn't.
"Believe what?" he went to the fridge for a beer.
"You smell of chaparral, Will. Did you take that poor old Jeep off-road again?"
His head stayed in the fridge.
"...believe that gays can now marry," she continued, "what a waste."
He brushed buckwheat flowers from the belly of his polo shirt. Tiny flowers fell to the tasteful wooden floor. Tuckernut, the dog, snapped as if they were insects and sniffed Will. "Good for them. Why shouldn't homosexuals marry?"
"It's not that. Honey, grab me the Worcestershire wuddja, it's behind the ketchup."
He pulled his head out of the fridge and handed her the cool bottle. "They just want to be accepted."
"Imagine that you are born gay," Daphne continued. "All your life you've struggled to express your sexuality in a natural open way." She spread the chicken's legs and sliced the bird up the middle. "You've lived through breaking the rules. You've learned that 'their' rules are not necessarily 'your' rules. You've learned to accept that it's okay to feel what you feel, do what you do." She handed him back the Worcestershire sauce.
He opened the bottle for her, "poor slobs," and passed it back. He thought of the new powder-blue negligee hanging in the cabin closet. He would wear it next time. If only he was simply homosexual. Being a male lesbian was so challenging.
"You've destroyed the old and reinvented the new, even if the price was living in pain, and alienating loved ones. You've finally 'come out'." She sat down exhausting herself, knife in hand.
He looked at the pieces of chicken feeling a twinge of fear. Daphne could be quite passionate when worked up, and sexy too. She didn't get worked up much these days. Domesticity is draining. Behind the knife, her bosom rose and fell with her breath. "You seem to be taking all this rather personally."
"So what! So, what if I'm not gay," she snapped.
"You're not?" he teased.
She ignored Will. "One step forward, three steps back. There is this group of people, gay people, who have personally suffered to redesign the world and then what happens?" She picks up the front page of the newspaper and shakes it at him.
The headline read, 'Gay Marriage Hawaii to Mainstream'. He opened his beer. "Daphne, it only seems fair they should have what we have."
"Oh, Will, the gays had a shot of deconstructing marriage and creating something more honest from the rubble. They had a taste of freedom, the ability to truly live out one's place in life." She grabbed his beer and took a swig.
"Born-again marriage-ists." He tried to be funny.
She glared at him. "Why bother trying anything new, why bother?" she mumbled on.
Will looked down at the canyon dirt clinging to his white running shoes. Daphne had carefully washed them yesterday, as she did every Tuesday. What's better then a million bucks, he wondered? Answer: two million bucks. Two fantastic women love me. What could be wrong? See, no one gets hurt, if you just follow the rules. He had had a good day. Will hummed, "the love you make is equal to the love you take." All in the giving, he thought to himself, All in the giving. From deep in his jean jacket pocket came an unfamiliar electronic alarm.
"What's that, Will?" Daphne asked, massaging herbs into chicken flesh. "Are you singing an old Beatle song? The walrus and John are dead! It's over. We're sliding backwards. Dead, dead, dead! I'm throwing those albums in the recycle bin."
"Yes, no, it's my cell phone." He dug it out of the pocket and opened it up. "A text message." Will lost his appetite.
{Text Message - Subject: Revolution is not dead! Message: We have a shot at taking it all apart. You and me we can make a revolution. They can't see us up there. We are free! I can. You can. We can. --Leah}
Leah was under the influence. He recalled a foreign language cassette he often listened to while commuting the freeways, "je peux, vous pouvez, nous pouvons." The danger of a passionate woman: now and again, they go a little crazy, a design flaw. Maybe God is a woman. If God were a male, he would have worked this detail out before launching the species. Will wished he were simply a homosexual. If only Leanne hadn't given in to him when he was 16, maybe he would have played with Bobby instead and the rest would have been history.
"Dinner!" Daphne announced. "Will, please go tell the children to wash their hands and come down for dinner."
"America is still at war," the radio blared, "...terrorists threaten truth and freedom. We must stay the course and root out evil at all costs." The president's voice freely played on the national radio news. "We shall attack any enemy threatening our freedom. We shall prevail." Will dragged the new bug screen upstairs. The text message alarm sounded again from the pocket of his jean jacket tossed over a kitchen chair. His grip tightened, holding on to his own usefulness, his ability to protect his family. His fingers nearly made holes in the new screen.
"Will," Daphne shouted up the stairs, "there's that noise again, coming from your phone."
A good deed could dissipate the storm. He and Leah had worked it out long ago. There are rules, you know. It's simply a matter of deciphering them. Little by little, together the two of them began to figure things out. It is all in the giving. Now and again there are moments, crazy moments, that must be ridden out. Sometimes it got rough. Lie low. Give, be generous, "the love you make..."
Normally he knocked on his eldest son Brad's bedroom door. This evening, Will was so distracted that he barged in. "Your mother has dinner on the table. Go wash your hands and come on down." There was a scurry of activity under the bedspread with the red Ferrari motif; the guest bedspread with the yellow Lamborghini motif was tidy and still. "Brad?" his father asked, looking for the boy. The Ferrari bedspread suddenly froze. Will stayed the course." Dinner is on the table. Please go wash your hands and come downstairs." Several city flies buzzed about the room. Three alighted upon the red Ferrari bedspread. Will gently closed the door, picked up the screen, and carried it off to Riley's room. He couldn't have had less of an appetite.
His youngest son, Riley, now 11, was resting on his bed reading a book. "Hi, Papi."
"I bought a new screen for your window. Now the bugs won't bite you."
"Oh thank you. I love you, Papi."
"Are you hungry, Riley?"
"What time is it?"
"Six-thirty."
"Dinner time, I'll go wash my hands."
He was such a good boy.
When Will finally had the children assembled at the dinner table and added the folding chair from the hall closet setting it beside Brad for his friend Leslie. "Call me Les," the boy had told Will, looking him in the eye, one of which had a ring through the eyebrow, the left eyebrow. Will looked over to Brad. He blushed.
"Daphne, the boys are at the table" Daphne's chair was empty. They waited. "Papi, go get mom." Riley's voice was sane. Riley was still a long way from puberty. Will pushed the swinging door between the dining room and kitchen. He repeated in his head verb conjugations, je mange, tu manges, vous mangez, nous mangeons... The open door revealed blood everywhere. His breathing slowed, like a cleric locked into a cave, reserving oxygen. Perhaps he could even control his heartbeat, his hair loss. Daphne had Will's cell phone in one hand and the knife in the other. A slab of beef was draped across the tasteful center-island-chopping-block, much in vogue for the modern kitchen. At the sight of Will, she screamed, threw the cell phone into the hot open oven and began stabbing the slab of meat on the chopping block, over and over. The look in her eye wasn't far from that of Riley's when he had poked his little fingers through the bug screen. Putrid smoke rose from the melting cell phone. It set off the smoke alarm. The boys remained seated at the dinning room table, out of the fire. Brad sipped his coke and squeezed Les' hand under the table.
"Stop it! Stop that thing!" Daphne stabbed at the hunk of beef draped over the cutting block. She looked up and noticed Will. "There has to be some honesty around here! Something has to change."
Once upon a time he toyed with the idea of a sex change operation. "It is only the burglar alarm, Daph." What nutty thing had Leah texted? Had Daphne read it? "The boys should really lend a hand with the housework." The smoke alarm was connected to the burglar alarm.
"I have been robbed!" Daphne shrieked ripping holes in the meat. She turned to Will, knife in hand, caked with beef blood, hair all crazy. Actually he found her quite attractive. If only she would share his hobby he could give up Leah and the nest. But the rules, he might have to hang on to the rules he and Leah had created. If only Daphne understood him. He wanted to be known. Maybe now...
In a moment of clarity she asked, "Do old records go in the blue recycle bin or the black garbage bin. Isn't vinyl petroleum-based?"
Will hadn't seen her that sexy in years. So much domestic living had smoothed her like the river stones. Standing there with her eyes ablaze, bloody as a newborn, she was irresistible. He removed the knife from her hand, and gently very gently lifted her on to the soft bloody slab of meat. Unbuttoning her blouse he whispered, "there is one thing flies like better then sticky sex."
"Mm" she moaned.
"Bloody meat and sticky sex." The pudgy city flies banged hopelessly against the window screens. He began to devour her.
Off in the distance there were sirens and a knock on the kitchen screen door. "Knock, knock, anybody home? Daaaa-ph-nee, are you alright?" Sharon the next-door neighbor asked through the screen. "I heard shouting." The wind changed direction and slammed the kitchen door in Sharon's face.
Sirens grew louder. The burglar alarm was connected to the police department. The doorbell rang. Little Riley got up from the table, keyed in the code to shut down the alarm and went to answer the front door.
"Sergeant Baxler here." Riley opened the front door. The other two boys waited politely at the dinning room table. "The precinct has notified us that your alarm sounded."
"Yes, sir." Riley looking up at the uniformed man, then down at his shiny shoes.
"Is everything okay in there, son?"
Riley, like his father, was very protective of the family. Even though the grown-ups are very odd, Riley would keep them safe.
"It was my fault, officer." Riley scratched his bug bites.
"Maybe I should just have a look around," the cop persisted.
"I set the alarm off, I didn't mean to, really. It's just..."
"You know, boy," the cop continued, "It is a very serious offence..."
"Yes, sir."
"After three violations we will have to serve your parents a citation..."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." Sounds were coming from the kitchen. Minute by minute the noise from the kitchen was getting louder, noise like he had heard from his mom and papi's bedroom when they locked the door. He hadn't heard that noise for a long time. Riley wished that the officer would go away.
"Don't let this happen again," The cop left.
Riley turned to the big boys waiting patiently at the dinning room table. "Phew, he's gone." Riley breathed out. "You guys were a lot of help," he said sarcastically.
"Wanna go grab a burger, pizza or something?" Les asked. "I have my dad's car."
Brad looked over at the door to the kitchen. "Mom and dad seem to be busy. Let's go."
"Hey, kid, wanna come along?" Les invited.
"Do you think my folks will be alright if I leave them?"
"Come on book-head, aren't you hungry? Dinner is not coming out of that kitchen."
"Nah, I'll just wait until the racket stops."
"Yo, Les man, chill. My little brother is cool."
"Suit yourself." Les put his arm around Brad and left.
Riley felt scared.
"You are a what?" Daphne asked post-coital.
Will made sure the knives were out of reach before he confessed. "I'm a male lesbian."
"Since when?" she nestled her head into his chest.
"Since always," he replied.
"With six sisters?"
"Seven...I used to borrow their clothes. And there's more."
"More?"
"I especially like wearing lingerie, women's lingerie, it's my hobby."
Daphne was perfectly still, staring somewhere through him. "So, you're not gay?"
"Right."
"Will, you wear lingerie?"
"Right."
"On you?"
"Right, on me, Daph."
"On me?"
"Why not."
"Why not."
"Your sisters never mentioned..."
"Trust."
Daphne lifted her head. She dug her elbow into the meat below them, rolled on to her side on the chopping block - blood caked in her hair and with a tender look in her eye asked, "Do you want one of those operations?"
"Nah, but you can call me Willamina." He was getting very excited and relived his best friend Daphne, now knew. "Would you like to know what I really want?"
Daphne's stomach tightened. She was rather brave, for a girl. "Tell me."
"I want to wear a white wedding dress and reaffirm our vows - a real wedding this time, the right way."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "How romantic, yet stylish."
Was she being sarcastic? "You wouldn't mind, Daphne?" Will sounded so vulnerable, such a sweet little girl. He was very afraid.
"I know a dressmaker, Willamina. ¡Viva Las Vegas!"
He picked her up and twirled her around the room.
"What do you say I wear something Victorian?"
They went upstairs to clean up.
Riley could hear them singing in the shower. His boy soprano voice sang along. They were home.
Daphne asked, "If you are a male lesbian, what does that make me?"
"Free, my love! Free!"
"Maybe we should keep those old Beatles albums after all."
According to the rules of the game, after so much truth telling, Will earned unlimited cabin access - but never returned.
