CHAPTER FOUR #2
Silver Fox looked down at his monster hog. “It’s big, I wouldn’t call it huge. It’s not bigger than a fist. You’ve never been fisted?”
“No, I’ve never been fisted,” Carver said, sounding to his ears exactly like his mother. “That’s fucking barbaric.”
“It feels good. I’ve been fisted several times.”
“I don’t want to be fisted!”
Silver Fox shrugged. “Look, if you don’t want to fuck, that’s fine, but I expect to come.”
“I’ll do something for you.” Carver imagined giving that thing a blowjob; all he could picture was himself slobbering on a cob of corn. His own erection was starting to wane. “I’ll jerk you off.”
Silver Fox sighed. “You know, you’re sitting here wasting my time when there’s plenty of size queens around here who would love to get some of this. I only have this hotel room for a few days while my wife’s out of town.”
Carver blinked at him, his blurry vision clearing. “Are you a local?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“No. Well, my parents are. I’m in town for my cousin’s wedding.”
Silver Fox froze like his blood had gone cold. Carver watched him, suddenly alert.
“Uh,” Silver Fox said. “You’re not… there’s no way you’re one of Doug Novack’s kids, right?”
Now Carver’s blood went cold. “No, I am, why?”
“Oh, shit,” Silver Fox said. His expression curdled with disgust, and he stepped back into the bathroom, tossing the condoms onto the counter. “Oh, Christ. You need to get dressed and get out of here.”
Carver sat up. The silver fox put the robe back on, then came over and gathered Carver’s clothes from the floor, flinging them at him.
“What the fuck?” Carver exclaimed.
“Your dad’s a friend of mine,” Silver Fox said, pointedly averting his eyes from Carver’s naked body. “We play golf together. Please just get out of here.”
Carver became suddenly and completely furious. He slid to the edge of the bed and yanked his briefs back on, then his pants. “Seriously? I can’t even fuck in this fucking town?”
“Lower your voice, son,” Silver Fox commanded.
“Don’t call me son, Jesus Christ, you had your fingers in me sixty seconds ago.”
“Please stop talking.”
“I hope every time you look my dad in the eye, for the rest of your life, you think about that.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he spluttered.
“I don’t know!” Carver shouted, whipping his shirt on and doing up the buttons haphazardly. “I keep fucking waiting for someone to tell me!”
Silver Fox scoffed out a laugh. “Alright, now I know which one you are. You’re the basket case who works in private equity, the one who’s never home.”
Carver’s heart throbbed with sudden grief. “That’s me, motherfucker,” he said. He got to his feet and stumbled around in search of his loafers. “Tell your wife hello from the Novacks.”
“Look, we’re agreed that no one is finding out about this, correct?”
“Yes,” Carver scoffed. “First of all, I don’t even know your fucking name. What am I going to do, point you out and scream that you touched me? You’re not coming to the wedding or something, are you?”
He assumed the answer was no, but then he turned to see Silver Fox had a stricken look on his face.
“Jesus!” Carver said.
“My daughter’s friends with your cousin,” Silver Fox said. “Just, if you see me there, please play it off.”
“Yes! Oh my God, shut up.” Carver felt his pockets to make sure everything was there. “You are such a pathetic closeted old queen.”
Silver Fox glared at Carver as he ushered him out the door. “Pathetic closeted young queen,” he snapped, then slammed it on him.
Carver let out a sound of frustration and smacked the door in retaliation, then headed for the elevator with the meat of his palm stinging.
When he got back, Carver sat in the driveway for a few minutes before going into the house.
He rang the doorbell, but no one answered, so he tried the knob and found it unlocked.
The golden retriever greeted him, looking excited, and Carver stroked his sweet soft head for a moment before going down the hall toward the sound of female voices in the kitchen.
For the life of him he could not remember this dog’s name.
He found Conway, Nora and his aunt Josie in the kitchen, looking flustered and sounding like they were frustrated not with each other but with some external situation.
“Hi,” Carver said, sidling into the kitchen. “What’s up, did the weather forecast change?” Fantastic, he sounded completely normal. Hell yeah.
They all looked at him, and Nora blew out a sigh. “No, but Letty and Sana were supposed to have their rehearsal dinner tonight at Mill Tavern, and they just called to tell us that a pipe burst in the kitchen and they have to shut down for the whole weekend.”
“Your mom generously offered to host it here instead, but we’re going to have to get some catering,” Josie said, pushing her bangs out of her eyes.
Like Nora, her natural hair color was a graying dishwater blonde, but she opted to dye hers a chestnut brown instead of bleaching it.
“And see if we can round up enough chairs. It’s like, twenty people. ”
“Your sister’s going to decorate,” Nora said, reaching up to stroke Conway’s hair. Conway smiled reflexively.
“Good,” Carver said. “She’s good at that stuff.”
“She is. She has a feminine touch.”
“An artist’s touch, even,” Josie said, making eye contact with Carver.
“Same thing,” Nora said. “An eye for beauty.”
Conway said in a soft voice that she should be on her way to the florist, then slipped out of the room almost without disturbing the air currents. She was a master at disappearing from a situation.
Nora drummed her fingers on the island and scrutinized Carver.
“Actually, you can do us a favor too,” she said.
“I’m sending your dad to the wine store, but I’m worried he won’t come back with enough options.
You know he doesn’t really drink. You’re quite good at buying wine, could you go with him? ”
Carver exhaled. “Just the two of us?”
“Yes, I think two people should be enough to handle a trip to the wine store, honey.”
“Uhh… yeah. Okay. He hasn’t left yet?”
“No, he’s upstairs getting changed.”
Carver nodded and headed upstairs himself, traipsing to the end of the hall in sock feet until he reached the foreboding double doors that led to his parents’ cavernous master suite. He hesitated for a moment, then knocked and called, “Dad?”
“Yeah,” Doug grunted from somewhere inside.
“I’m gonna come with you to the wine store.”
After a beat of silence, Doug said, “Does your mother not think I can buy wine by myself?”
“I think she’s just trying to get me out from underfoot while they set things up here,” Carver said diplomatically.
“Okay, fine. Meet me downstairs in five.”
“Okay.”
Carver went back down the hall to his bedroom so he could make sure he didn’t look as disheveled and grimy as he felt. Inside, he found Lillian lounging on the bed, looking at her phone.
“Hey,” he said, shutting the door and leaning against it.
“Hey,” Lillian said, not looking up. “How was the workout?”
“Good, good. Uh, I’m gonna go to the wine store with my dad to pick stuff up for tonight.”
Lillian took a moment to respond. He could tell she was scrolling Twitter. “Tonight?” she finally said.
“Yeah, did you hear about the change in plans? Mill Tavern flooded, they’re gonna have to host the rehearsal dinner here instead.”
“Oh,” Lillian said, shrugging. “Okay.”
“I think this is a frustrating turn of events for those concerned,” Carver clarified.
“Right, right,” Lillian said. Sounding more sympathetic, she intoned: “Damn, that sucks.”
“There you go.”
Lillian gave him a thumbs up.
“How’s Anvira going?” Carver said. “Any news from Bernardo?”
“Lloyd is in negotiations,” Lillian said, still looking at her phone. “I think they’re close to a decision.”
“Good,” Carver said, bringing one hand to the other so he could fiddle with his wedding band, which had lately been a little loose.
Lillian glanced at him and said, “You look kind of weird, are you good?”
His heart pulsed. “Weird?”
“Your eyes are big and you smell like fear.”
“Babe, we’ve talked about this.”
She rolled her eyes. “You smell like flop sweat, sorry.”
“Well, I’m fine.” Carver went to the dresser that he had unpacked their luggage into that morning and retrieved a fresh shirt.
“I’ve been wondering something,” she said, as he buttoned it up.
“Shoot,” he said.
“Did you and this Scott guy hook up in high school, or something?”
Carver wheeled around in utter gut-jerking horror. Lillian looked innocently up at him from the bed, lounging in a slant of afternoon sun, her aristocratic face in calm repose.
“Why would you ask me that?” he said.
“Because you’ve been a little strange around him,” she said. “You tense up when he talks to you. I’m just curious.” She grinned. “I know we don’t really discuss it, but it’s not like I don’t know you like boys.”
“Honey,” Carver spluttered, his heart jackhammering.
“Ugh, don’t be weird about it, Carver. I don’t care who you fucked a billion years ago here in Golf World. I just thought it was funny, considering how differently you two have clearly turned out.”
Carver leaned against the dresser, speechless.
“Actually, it’s kind of hot to imagine you kissing,” she continued without a care in the world. “With a shave and a haircut he’d be pretty good-looking, don’t you think?”
“No!”
“Aww,” Lillian said, looking back at her phone. “Whatever, fine. But we haven’t had a threesome in forever. When was the last time? With that French woman on that trip to Gstaad?”
Carver did not bother to point out that 1) this “trip to Gstaad” was their honeymoon and 2) calling it a “threesome” was a stretch, as it had mostly involved Lillian and the woman having slobbery makeouts and giggling to each other in French while Carver laid nearby, seasick and impotent from extreme drunkenness.
The French woman, he remembered, kept calling him ‘Cleaver’.