Object of Desire. William J. Mann

      

OBJECT OF DESIRE

      Books by William J. Mann

      Novels

      THE MEN FROM THE BOYS

      THE BIOGRAPH GIRL

      WHERE THE BOYS ARE

      ALL AMERICAN BOY

      MEN WHO LOVE MEN

      OBJECT OF DESIRE

      Nonfiction

      WISECRACKER: The Life and Times of William Haines

      BEHIND THE SCREEN: How Gays and Lesbians Shaped Hollywood, 1910–1969

      EDGE OF MIDNIGHT: The Life of John Schlesinger

      KATE: The Woman Who Was Hepburn

      OBJECT OF DESIRE

      WILLIAM J. MANN

      KENSINGTON BOOKS

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      For Tim

      Contents

      PALM SPRINGS, CALIFORNIA

      EAST HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT

      PALM SPRINGS, CALIFORNIA

      WEST HOLLYWOOD

      PALM SPRINGS

      EAST HARTFORD

      PALM SPRINGS

      WEST HOLLYWOOD

      EAST HARTFORD

      PALM SPRINGS

      EAST HARTFORD

      WEST HOLLYWOOD

      PALM SPRINGS

      EAST HARTFORD

      PALM SPRINGS

      EAST HARTFORD

      PALM SPRINGS

      EAST HARTFORD

      WEST HOLLYWOOD

      PALM SPRINGS

      EAST HARTFORD

      PALM SPRINGS

      WEST HOLLYWOOD

      PALM SPRINGS

      EAST HARTFORD

      PALM SPRINGS

      EAST HARTFORD

      PALM SPRINGS

      WEST HOLLYWOOD

      EAST HARTFORD

      EAST HARTFORD

      EAST HARTFORD

      PALM SPRINGS

      EAST HARTFORD

      PALM SPRINGS

      PALM SPRINGS, CALIFORNIA

      The first time I saw him, he was nothing more than a face and a pair of hands. Not once did his eyes meet mine. Even as he took my order, his chin was already lifting to greet the man behind me. The first time I saw him, he did not see me.

      It was a green night. The mountains were gray and the sand blowing in from the desert was yellow, but the night itself was so green, it was almost emerald. A mirage, I knew. A trick of the setting sun. On a green night, nothing was what it seemed.

      “Do you know who he is?” I asked my friend Randall, my eyes fixed on the bartender.

      “Who?”

      “Him.”

      Randall shook his head. “Never seen him before.”

      “He’s beautiful.”

      “You think?”

      With much reluctance did I turn my eyes away to focus on my friend. A green cast was coloring his face as the last slanting rays of the sun reflected against the mountains. Night was rushing in to fill up every corner of the bar’s outdoor deck, and the busboys were busy lighting the lanterns that hung over our heads. Little flames leapt and hopped as if they were living, breathing creatures, and I was reminded, yet again, of the night my sister disappeared twenty-seven years before, the night when everything in my world changed, the night I came to understand that I would never grow up to be the man I had expected to be.

      “He is beautiful, Randall,” I said, with conviction. “Absolutely beautiful.”

      “Danny,” my friend replied, “I did not come out with you tonight to moon over beautiful bartenders.” He glowered at me, his face pinched and unhappy, as if he’d just bitten into a lemon.

      I gave him a small smile. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you want to talk about Ike. Go ahead. I’m listening.”

      He looked aghast. “I do not want to talk about Ike.”

      “Okay, then, let’s not talk about him.”

      Randall huffed. “Why would I drive all the way out here to the desert if I wanted to ruin your birthday by talking about Ike?”

      I managed a small smile. “It wouldn’t ruin my birthday, Randall.”

      He pouted. “Of course, it would. It ruined my entire life.” He raised his martini to me. “Happy birthday, Danny.”

      I raised mine to him. “Thank you, Randall.”

      My birthday. Ever since my teens, the day had felt awkward and peculiar, even inappropriate, fraught with memories tattered and terrible but sometimes freakishly funny as well. After the age of fourteen—the age I turned on the day my sister disappeared—all birthday parties ceased in my house. I never blamed my parents for it. I never thought it unfair. Not until I was twenty did I have another birthday party—given to me, in fact, by Randall, soon after I’d arrived in California. It felt odd, all that singing and merrymaking, not to mention the sex that went on after the party. I felt as if I was being unfaithful—not to my sister, not to my parents, but to me, to the boy I’d left behind in Connecticut. The boy who had done everything he could but still had ultimately failed.

      “Talk to me,” I said to Randall. “Talk to me about Ike.”

      He frowned. “It’s your birthday, Danny. We’re out to have fun tonight. It’s not often you and I get a chance to go out on our own. Usually, there’s Frank with us and—”

      “And Ike,” I finished.

      “And Ike.” Randall let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Oh, alack and alas. Our happy little foursome is no more.”

      We were never a happy little foursome, but I didn’t say that to Randall. Neither Frank nor I had ever cared all that much for Ike. I didn’t say that, either. What I did do was glance back at the bar. I couldn’t see the bartender anymore. It was too dark now. Besides, too many men had crowded around his station.

      “Did I tell you he wants to take the dog?” Randall asked.

      I returned my eyes to Randall’s face. “You never liked that dog.”

      “Still, we got it together. I paid for its shots.”

      “Now you’re being petty, Randall.”

      “Well, what’s wrong with being petty? He’s the one who fell in love with someone else. Someone younger, someone more attractive. Now that’s being petty.”

      No, not petty. Cruel. Heartless. Inconvenient. Honest. All those things, maybe, but not petty. Yet none of it did I say to Randall.

      Instead, I looked again for the bartender and spotted his face emerging for a moment from the crowd. “How can you say he’s not beautiful?” I asked despite myself.

      Randall snorted. “Please. They’re a dime a dozen, those