2. Going Home #2
“Why he chose to sell the newspaper, we can’t know.
It’s possible he was punishing you for passing as a man, or going against his wishes, or refusing to get married.
” An reached for the crystal wine decanter and refilled their glasses.
“But the letter you burned was his reaction to finding out you wrote the articles his newspaper was so proud to have printed first. When you told him you were Dennis Tines,” he smiled with mirth, “a brilliant nom de plume, by the way, although I have had inspirations for a dozen more. I even created a few calling cards to try them out, but I digress…” He giggled and looked across the table at Jim. “What was I saying, darling?”
It charmed Clem to hear An use the endearment. How lucky they were to have found each other, making her think of Poppy and Joy.
“You were talking about Tom’s overblown reaction to Clem’s news that she was his star contributor,” Jim offered with a tolerant smile.
“Yes, there’s that, and then finding out his only child lied to him on top of that.” An cocked his head to one side. “But is that enough to justify the full blown fury Clem describes?” His eyebrows creased. “It doesn’t sound like Tom, the man we had to dinner, but then we didn’t live with him.”
“It wasn’t like him,” agreed Clem. “Belittlement and dismissal were his usual response to anything I achieved.” She blew another smoke ring, watching it rise rather than looking anyone in the eye.
“I honestly believed he’d finally admit I could do something, and do it well.
I never expected him to accuse me of plagiarism, fictionalizing my story, he even suggested I hired someone to write the entire thing using the name I gave him. ”
Jim shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.
A reaction to his deteriorating health, maybe?
That might have been his ‘last straw’.” He nodded.
“I’ve had clients who were rational until the final stages of a long illness, who then codify their wills at the last moment to cut off those closest to them. ”
“Maybe,” said Clem, unconvinced.
An said, “I think it was something else.” He looked Clem over. “You look just like your father but in the bloom of youth, stronger, healthier, and cuter.”
“Cuter? I never thought of Dad as cute.”
“Because he wasn’t. Whatever physical charms he had in his youth were exchanged for the body he earned sitting on his duff for thirty years.” An shrugged. “You are a younger, more attractive version of Tom, and…” he paused, “you write better than he did.”
“Oh, now, that’s not true.” said Clem, shaking her head. “I wish it were.”
Jim glanced from An to Clem. “No, he’s got a point.
Tom was convinced he’d discovered the next great American author, he mentioned how thrilled he was when Tines sent a second article and hoped the young writer would continue to submit.
” Jim frowned. “After years of disparaging your skill, you literally made him pay for it.”
Clem’s head was spinning with new thoughts.
“Tom Dennison was rigorously honest with himself, and would have had to admit to himself, if no one else, that he was wrong about your skill and talent, and always had been.” An put a hand on Clem’s arm until she looked at him. “He envied who you’d become.”
“He wanted me to be just like my mother.”
“He may have wanted that,” said Jim with a warm smile, “but you took after your father and turned out to be a better ‘man’ than he was.”
As their manservant entered the dining room carrying a tray laden with coffee and peach cobbler, both steaming, An was telling them, “I remember Tom saying something about the future for Dennis Tines, now what was it?”
“If I may, sir,” answered Charles, “Mr. Dennison said, ‘What I wouldn’t give to be Dennis Tines, just starting out, full of talent, with a taste for adventure. And the lucky son of a bitch also struck gold.’” While pouring coffee, he met Clem’s eye. “A comment I now find ironic.”
An gazed at the tall, older man with clear affection. “Charles, would you mind if I told Mr. Dennison what you shared with me the other day?”
Charles’ eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Uh, well, if you think it’s important.” He hurried from the room, tossing over his shoulder, “He was a nice boy.”
Jim reached across the table and slapped An’s hand. “What are you doing to that poor man?”
“It’s not a secret,” said An with a grin. “He told Clem a month ago he’s also homosexual, although not a practicing one.”
“It takes practice?” teased Jim.
Now An slapped Jim’s hand. “I stand corrected; an unattached one. Behave, Daddy.”
“Daddy?” Clem looked from one to the other.
“A legal technicality,” explained Jim. “An is my adopted son and legal ward. When my brother’s greedy children started making comments about inheriting childless bachelor Uncle Jimmy’s entire estate, I needed a way to protect An. Now he carries my name, and is my sole legal heir.”
“But he’s an adult, not a child. How can you adopt an adult as a son?”
“An is almost a dozen years younger than I, and we met when I was twenty-eight. He looked even younger, and with only his word for his age, we convinced the judge he was only thirteen.”
“Which makes me three years younger, legally.” He fanned his face, pretending an innocence long lost. “I’m only twenty-nine,” An laughed, “while you’re forty-four. You robbed the cradle, old man.”
Jim looked at him and quirked his lip. “Don’t make me spank you, baby,” he warned with a light in his eye. “What is it Charles shared with you that requires Clem knowing he’s an unattached homosexual?”
“What?” An shook his head. “Oh yes, that. We were doing the laundry and chatting about our trip to Vienna last year.”
“Vienna.” Clem nodded, impressed. “Do you travel often?”
“Whenever we get the chance. Last year we explored Austria for two weeks.” He turned to Jim. “Remember das Ritter da Nacht, the night club for homosexuals?”
Jim laughed. “Knight of the Night? How could I forget.” He turned to Clem.
“It was a private establishment, a club for men in higher society to mix and mingle outside of the regular venues. Very discreet, a high class place where everyone wore fine evening wear, except for some exceptionally pretty young men who wore…” He shrugged, his expression amused.
“Very little,” supplied An with glee. “Finding places like it is one reason we travel so much, and we always offer to take Charles with us.” He looked at Clem.
“I’m a romantic at heart, and keep hoping Charles will find his special someone at one.
” He gazed at Jim, eyes twinkling. “That’s how we met, at a similar place in Spain. ”
Clem suspected An might have been one of the ‘exceptionally pretty young men’, still very handsome in his early thirties.
“Anyway, we were hanging clothes on the line, and Charles said you reminded him of Gerhardt, the boy he spent several nights with, especially his attractive face and tight ass. He thinks Clem would be very popular at Ritter da Nacht.”
“Uh,” Clem said, not sure how to interpret that.
“He means it as a compliment.” Jim grinned. “He’s saying you’re a striking young man, who is sexually attractive.”
“But to men? Jim, I spent my whole life avoiding the attention of men.”
“He speaks of a different type of man, interested in handsome men.”
An laughed. “He said you’re a cute, sexy youngster, and I agree. I’m sure you look just as yummy to women, but honey, what happens when you convince one into your bed and all your secrets are revealed?”
“Some would be pleasantly surprised.” Clem laughed, but rubbed the back of her neck.
“For the first few years I did without. Then, when the Journal sent me a hundred dollar bill for my first article, I treated myself to Lady Jane’s Parlor of Tonsorial Delights, passing on the shave, getting a much needed haircut, and enjoying the company of two lovely women. ” She smiled, remembering.
“The first few visits I only watched them with each other. But they were skilled and passionate; soon I wanted to get involved, so I shared my secret with them. Joy and Poppy are my only lovers, but I pay for their attention and discretion.” She sighed, looking at the happy couple who put the lie to her next words.
“That’s about all someone like me can hope for, right? ”
She went back to her father’s house that night, a flock of new ideas flying around in her head. Unwinding her linen binding, she took her first deep breath all day. She let it out, then took another, cleansing one.
She undid her trousers and johnson underwear. Removing them, she stood examining her angular, muscled body in the glass. It amused and disturbed her that Charles found her sexually attractive.
She wasn’t good looking, she’d never been good-looking.
When she lived as a woman, she was plain Jane Clementine, now she was Homely Homer Clem.
She stared at her reflection and shook her head.
Did she look like a homosexual man? She started comparing how she dressed to the three men at the Burdock house and decided she needed a tailor to loosen the seat in her trousers.
On her last day in Boston, packed and ready to leave, Clem finally visited her parents’ graves in the cemetery.
A new granite headstone stood tall and proud over the mounded earth of her father’s while beside it, well-tended green grass still surrounded her mother’s monument.
She read her own name as she laid roses by both.
Clementine Lorelei Dennison Beloved Wife & Mother
Born: September 3, 1804
Died: May 1, 1825
No one else was present at the cemetery early on a Tuesday morning.
Clem removed her shoes and socks to walk barefoot on the manicured lawn, something she’d dreamed of doing many times.
Cool blades of grass teased her toes on the same spot where she’d been forced to stand every Sunday for fifteen years beside her grieving father, tickling her into dancing.