Chapter 5 #4
Instead of answering, Carver resumed playing with Frank’s chest hair. It was distracting, but Frank did his best to be rational. Which might have been more of that self-control crap that Carver was talking about, but somebody had to remain rooted in reality.
“Today… us… this was marvelous,” said Frank. “But surely you’re not suggesting that we could have more of it?”
“Surely I am.”
“But—”
“Would you want more, Frankie? Because I didn’t intend this as a one-off. I’m a greedy and spoiled bastard. I want it all.”
Frank wasn’t spoiled, but perhaps he was greedy. He wanted it all too. He also wanted his foot to miraculously heal, all his bad memories to fade like old photographs, and his work to be effortless.
“I can’t have what I want,” he said quietly.
Carver looked bewildered. “But you can. I’m offering it to you.”
Unable to continue this conversation lying down, Frank sat up, leaning back against the headboard and pulling the sheet over his lap like a nervous Victorian. Then he pointed out the most obvious issue. “We’re queer. How can it possibly work? For me, yes, but especially for you.”
“It can.” Carver huffed impatiently and, with a theatrical groan, sat beside Frank.
He didn’t bother with the sheet, however.
“Half of Hollywood is at least a little queer. Hudson, Romero, Novarro, Clift, Price, Gable, Laughton, Granger… and that’s just the boys.
There’s the girls in the sewing circle too, you know.
Not to mention all the writers, the directors, the musicians…
. Hell, look at Grant and Scott—they lived together for years. ”
While Frank wasn’t as immersed in the industry as Carver was, he’d heard his share of rumors.
That knowledge had predated his work at the studio, in fact.
When he was fifteen or so and desperately trying to tamp down his growing attraction to boys, he’d been leafing through magazines at the corner drug store when he came across an article about Cary Grant and Randolph Scott.
Photos showed the pair swimming together in their pool, feeding a fluffy white dog at the dinner table, relaxing with books in their living room, exercising in skimpy shorts.
Frank had been na?ve, but even he could see that these two handsome men were posing very much like a married couple. The idea had excited and terrified him.
Frank looked at Carver. “What would happen to your career if you openly admitted that you’re homosexual?”
“Some people know. There’s sort of a… secret club? It’s not that organized. But we know who we are, and there are places where we can be open about it.”
“I go to the Blue Fox sometimes.”
“Ah.” Carver nodded. “I’ve heard of it. Not many actors go there, but—”
“Industry people who are less visible, yes. Execs. Writers. Technicians. Animators.”
Carver took Frank’s hand, interlacing their fingers. “Our spaces tend to be more private, I guess. Parties at people’s homes.”
Frank could picture this. He’d heard a few stories at the Blue Fox, in fact, and although he hadn’t been envious—he was aware that he existed in a different social sphere than the glittering Hollywood stars—he’d been curious.
What would it be like to not have to worry about vice raids?
To spend even a few hours living as his true, complete self?
But even the people who went to those parties had to worry about gossip rags and rumors. Many of them got married in an attempt to fool the public.
“You still have to keep yourself a secret most of the time,” Frank pointed out.
For several moments, Carver was silent. When he did speak, he sounded uncharacteristically subdued. “Billy Haines is redecorating my living room.”
Because Frank didn’t understand the meaning of this non sequitur, he remained silent.
As he’d expected, Carver soon elaborated.
“Billy was a well-known actor. He even managed to transition from silents to talkies pretty well. And he loved another man. When the studio made him choose between his contract and his lover, Billy walked away. He and Jimmie have been decorating homes and selling furniture ever since. And they’re happy. ”
“Are you saying you’d be willing to give up your career?”
“I don’t know.”
It was an interesting answer, because while it was nowhere near a definitely yes, it also wasn’t a no way in hell. It implied a lot more uncertainty than Frank would have expected.
“Maybe I’m getting tired of being America’s Beau,” Carver finished.
But then Frank remembered something. “I read about Billy Haines and his partner once. Weren’t they nearly killed by the Ku Klux Klan?” He shuddered just thinking about it.
Carver squeezed his hand. “Yes. I didn’t say it’s always been easy for them.
But that was back in the thirties, and Billy and Jimmie are still around, still together.
Look, it’s not fucking fair that living and loving are so much harder for us than for heterosexuals.
But I don’t think that means we should give up. We deserve happiness, Frank.”
People didn’t always get what they deserved; Carver ought to know that by now.
And he ought to realize that he’d never be able to have a long-term relationship with another man unless both of them made significant compromises.
With their jobs, yes, and likely with their friends and family members.
Always careful of the words they used, of the way they interacted in public.
“I’m sorry,” Carver said after a while.
Frank looked at him, confused. “For what?”
“We’ve had a really nice day, and now I’ve ruined it by pushing for things you maybe don’t want. I’m aware that we barely know each other. I’m aware that only a fool believes in love at first sight.” He smiled slightly. “But I am a fool. Anyway, do you want me to leave now?”
“No. And you haven’t ruined anything.” Frank didn’t add his own views on love at first sight because he wasn’t sure what those views were.
And anyway, from his perspective, it wasn’t really first sight.
He’d been admiring Carver on the silver screen for years.
It had simply turned out that the real man was far more enchanting than the celluloid one.
Carver gave a satisfied sigh and scooted down until he was fully reclined again—and pressed against Frank’s body. “Good. Then I propose a nap, followed by a romp here in bed, followed by dinner. Because two fellows can go out for a meal without causing a scandal, you know.”
“I accept your proposal.”
In practice, they ended up making some amendments.
For one, they skipped the nap and went directly to the romp, which proved even more satisfying than the first one.
And then, instead of bothering with a restaurant—or even bothering to put on clothing—they had a lovely, silly time in the kitchen together.
The resulting meal, cobbled together out of bits and pieces, wouldn’t win any Michelin stars and would have appalled Frank’s grandmother, who’d insisted on proper nutrition even in the depths of the Depression when her finances were very tight.
But it was the best dinner that Frank had ever eaten.
Afterward, Frank spent time drawing Carver again. Mostly in poses that would have gotten Frank kicked out of art school.
And then finally, Carver spent the night. The only time that Frank had ever slept with another man was when he was crammed together with other GIs during the war, and this was nothing like those experiences. Frank slept better than he had in years.
But when morning came, it brought cloudy skies and the requirement of facing reality.
They had breakfast and coffee, and then Carver took his time showering and getting dressed in yesterday’s clothes.
He seemed pensive, and they didn’t talk as much as they had the previous day.
There was no discomfort between them, however.
“I have to go,” Carver said at last. “I have a meeting this afternoon. Who calls meetings during the week of Christmas?”
“I’m already late to work. I have a meeting too. Oh, don’t forget your orange juice pitcher.”
“Keep it. But could I have a couple of the drawings you made yesterday?”
Pleased, Frank nodded before rifling through the substantial stack and choosing a few favorites. “Here you go.”
Carver took them carefully, as if they were valuable.
Then he paused near the door. “It’s Christmas on Thursday.
I know you were invited to spend it with your friends in Palm Springs, and I’m supposed to attend Clouzot’s holiday party in Paris.
But… we could spend the holiday together instead.
We could fly out to Catalina, or head down to Acapulco or Puerto Vallarta. ”
Frank wanted that so badly that it physically hurt. However, he shook his head. “Enjoy Paris,” he said gently. “I’m going to stay home.”
“Spend the holiday alone?” Carver’s gaze was searching.
“I’ve got Carver and Reed. We’ll have a grand old time.”
Although Carver looked unhappy, he bit his lip and didn’t argue. He reached up to run his thumb along Frank’s cheek. “Remember what I said about self-control? It’s admirable. But too much of it is dangerous. It…. Did you spend much time with Bouncing Betties during the war?”
Frank suppressed a shudder at the memory of the German S-mines, diabolical anti-personnel devices. “I disarmed more than I care to think about.”
“I don’t know that I’d have the nerve for that. Anyway, if you wrap yourself up too tightly and something comes along and gives just enough pressure in just the right place….”
“Boom,” Frank finished for him.
“Don’t be a Bouncing Betty, Frank.” Carver gave him one last kiss, tender and bittersweet, and then he was gone.