to myself, no more gay weddings! But whenever they ask me, I say yes. I always say yes!” he shrieked, his actions seemingly inexplicable even to himself. He turned to the older man. “Why do you let me, Freddy? Why do you always let me say yes?”
Freddy’s eyes twinkled, as though he found his partner’s antics infinitely amusing. “But you wouldn’t say yes if you didn’t want to, Derek. I know you. You just wouldn’t do it!”
Bill turned to Dan and said, sotto voce, “My god! He’s daring. I can’t believe he wore the diamonds!”
Dan turned to take in the garish necklace. “Are they real?”
Bill nodded. “You’re staring at half a million dollars.”
The hilarity seemed to be spreading as all around them people began to say giddy things that seemed to imply their attendance was largely a matter of whim. “I can’t believe I’m even here,” said a matronly woman in furs, without stopping to explain why she found it hard to believe in her physical proximity at that moment.
The man with the headset went by, his face set to concern. “Please board the ship everybody. The ship is sailing in ten minutes. We need everyone on board.”
Freddy seemed to find this particularly amusing and broke into giggles. It was only when a blast went off from the boat that the crowd relented, turning in their fabulous finery of furs and diamonds and high-heels like a strange species boarding an ark.
Bill caught Dan’s eye. “Shall we?”
Dan nodded and felt Bill clutch his arm. For a moment, he thought of Ted’s insinuations at breakfast. Then he dismissed them, filled with a sudden glow at being Bill’s chosen partner in a very public ceremony.
“You look terrific,” Dan said.
Bill had transformed by putting on a tuxedo. What had seemed dowdy in street clothes had taken on a regal tone. He had broader shoulders and suddenly the paunch was gone. The prince replacing the frog.
“Thank you, kind sir. You’re pretty damn hot yourself.”
On board, Bill excused himself to perform his obligations as best man. “Thom needs me,” he said, giving Dan a kiss before going off to attend his duties.
Dan looked around. On one side of the room was the same fashionable crowd he might see at Woody’s on a Saturday night. Well-dressed, attractive, they included an assemblage of real estate agents whose trendy clothes, pricey haircuts, and bone-white smiles proclaimed them one step away from being famous, and who seemed to be enjoying the lifestyle as though they already were. Off in another corner, Dan recognized a couple of design-show hosts noted for their popular lifestyle series. One had a face and the other a body, Donny said. If you found a third with a brain and put them together, they might almost make a whole person. Dan wondered if the stories about their sex lives were true. Where could they possibly have found the time?
On the opposite side of the room huddled the straights, the divide between the two groups unimpeachable except for one attractive man in a camel-hair coat who seemed to be observing it all with detached amusement. His expression, coupled with his position between both worlds, defied any effort to place him within a geo-sexual context.
The women were either severe or deferential. Many had never been lookers but they had the money and nerve to dress as though they were, with pushed up bosoms and low cut fronts. They made it clear they traded in social status and husbands almost interchangeably, leaving the financial concerns to the men. Of the men, the younger ones invariably wore flashy ties and smart suits, while the older ones seemed largely the type who drank whiskey and soda and bought out competitors with a nod of the head.
Occasionally, an oblivious heterosexual male would find himself chatting with someone on the other side, only to realize that an all-male gathering here meant something quite different than at the club. Inevitably, he’d try to make a good show of it, chat a little longer before disengaging himself to rejoin his own side with a nervous backward glance and a forced laugh, so his friends and associates would know he’d been mistaken and was now coming back to the fold. No matter how tolerant and open-minded you were, in a male dominated world where win-or-lose was written over everything, winners still didn’t associate with queers.
Dan was unsure where he’d stand should he be forced to choose. Perhaps with the ambiguous presence in camel-hair in the middle of the room. A large, sweaty man came up and saved him the bother of having to decide.
“What school did you go to?” the man asked, wiping his brow with a napkin.
“Sudbury High.”
“Sudbury what?” the man exclaimed with a shocked look. “Is that a private school?”
“No,” Dan said.
“I thought everybody here went to a private school!” He eyed Dan as though he might be an impostor. “Did you have a choice?”
Dan shook his head. “No.”
The man looked around, sucked the ice at the bottom of his glass and said, “Neither did I. I never went to private school.” He made it sound like the greatest loss he’d ever had to endure.
“We’re probably better off for it,” Dan said.
“Oh, no!” the man exclaimed. “Don’t fool yourself.” He whirled abruptly and extended an arm that took in the entire room. “These are the people who run our country — or who will be running our country in a few years. Look at them.” Dan obliged the man by turning to look at the crowd. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
Dan wasn’t sure what he found so amazing. “Politicians are anything but amazing when you get down to it….”
“I’m not talking about politics!” the man exclaimed. “I’m talking about who really runs things — the entrepreneurs, the business class. This is it, gathered in this room.” He shook his head. “Just imagine! If this boat sank, the country would lose half of its ruling elite.”
“Do you think they’d be missed?” Dan said.
The man thought about this. “Maybe not,” he conceded.
A band started up in another room. An assured voice crooned a line from a forties tune. Trevor caught Dan’s eye and came over. Dan introduced him to the other man, who said a few words before leaving to join the ranks on the far side of the room.
“I guess he thought I was straight,” Dan said with a bemused grin. “How’s it going? The social register keeping you busy?”
Trevor laughed. “You know, there are some things that are a given in life. I know, for instance, that I’ll never be half as rich as most of the people in this room, just as I know I could never dedicate myself to the kind of work that would make me that wealthy. And just as I also know,” he glanced toward the room where the music came from, “that I will never like Michael Bublé.”
“You’re not a jazz fan?”
“Au contraire,” Trevor said. “I am a jazz fan. But let’s not slag the local talent — it’s beneath us. Besides,” he took a good look around, “there are far more deserving targets right here in the room. Look at these people. Most of them have suits instead of personalities.”
Bill
