Out of the Night

Chapter 1-2

* * * *

That afternoon, Doug worked for an hour or so on his computer, read for a while, eventually nodding off. He awoke with a start.

“s**t, I’ve got to get changed and pick up Hallie.”

He rushed to the bedroom, got out his electric razor and shaved again, and splashed water on his face. He put on a blue oxford cloth button-down, khakis, and cordovan tassel loafers. Although it was ninety-two degrees outside, he felt more dressed up in a long-sleeved shirt. Besides, in over-air-conditioned places like movie theaters and restaurants, he was perfectly comfortable in long sleeves.

Doug had first met Hallie at St. John’s, the Episcopal church where they were both members. Hallie was on the vestry. Both she and Doug were lay readers/Eucharistic servers. They soon discovered they were both also involved with the Henry Ridenour Gardens, Doug as a volunteer and Hallie as a member of the board and volunteer as well.

Hallie was a divorcée a few years younger than Doug. She came from old money. She now lived in an old, wealthy, gated community, Davenport Hills, in a house her grandparents had originally built as a winter retreat. She’d inherited it from her parents, and after her divorce she’d moved in. The divorce had just been finalized when Doug had moved to Lake Polk four years earlier. A year later, when the two of them became friends, she was still hurting. Doug had been, he hoped, a good listener. They’d become close, in their own way. Doug thought it was perfectly possible to have a real friendship with a woman. He just hoped she never wanted to move it along to anything s****l.

When he stopped at the gate, the guard said, “Good evening, Dr. Curtis. Ms. Hall is expecting you.”

The Hall house was invisible from the road because of a thicket of pines and oaks. It was large, but not ostentatious, resembling a bungalow that, like Topsy, “just growed.” By the time he’d turned the car around, Hallie was halfway down the steps.

She had two grown sons, both of them married, and she went to see them often. She had been everywhere, done everything. In comparison, Doug felt provincial and unsophisticated. But they’d hit it off well from the time they first met. Now they often went to plays, movies, concerts, or restaurants together. In a purely platonic way, Doug was very fond of her.

Despite women’s lib, Doug was true to his upbringing. He started to get out of the car to open the door for her.

“Doug, darling, I love you for wanting to, but I’m quite capable of opening this door for myself.”

As she buckled herself in, she said, “I’ve been looking forward to this evening. The paper made the exhibit at the museum sound fascinating. And as long as I’ve been around this area, I’ve never been to Hank’s Bar and Grill.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I’m curious about the exhibit, too. But I’m surprised that you haven’t been to Hank’s. It’s in the middle of downtown Parkerville.”

“Don’t know how I have managed to miss it.”

During the forty-five minute drive into Parkerville, they chatted about Hallie’s recent trip north to visit relatives, church matters, the Gardens, and local gossip, including the appointment of a new Lake Polk city manager.

Doug had first seen Parkerville’s Imperial Museum of Art four years earlier, not long after he’d moved to Lake Polk. It was brand new at the time, an impressive two-story, very modern facility. There was a nicely-landscaped sculpture garden off the lobby, which had a glass wall so that one could admire the garden and its waterfall from inside. At that time, however, Doug’s impression was that it was a nice building with nothing much inside. Since then, they had acquired a small but impressive permanent collection. The gallery spaces for visiting exhibits were carefully planned, versatile, and well lighted.

The exhibit Doug and Hallie had come to see was…interesting, that catch-all word people use when they can’t think of anything better. The artist was a faculty member at a prestigious college in Maine. Some of his works, abstracts with vivid, mostly primary colors, were done in acrylic on large, loose, unframed canvases, perhaps four by six feet. The background was generally white or cream, and, since there was a lot of background, the brilliant colors stood out. In addition to the large canvases, there were a dozen or so smaller framed monoprints. These, too, were fascinating. They were generally abstracts in muted grays, pinks, lavenders, and blues. What was most interesting, however, was that the monoprints had a sparkle, as if they had been sprinkled liberally with ground glass. Doug and Hallie examined each work carefully, finding lots to talk about in each.

“Do you suppose,” Hallie asked, “that he did these on sandpaper?”

“Well, artists who work with pastels often use sandpaper. Maybe that’s what he did here, even though the medium isn’t pastel.”

“I’ll be right back,” Hallie said. She went to the desk in the lobby to ask if there were a brochure about the exhibit. There was, but it only gave a bio of the artist and listed the works with titles, sizes, and, of course, prices, leaving them no wiser than before about the paper used for the monoprints.

After spending an hour on the special exhibit, they revisited the museum’s excellent pre-Columbian gallery before thanking the volunteer who was staffing the gift shop, putting some bills in the contribution box, and going to the car.

Hank’s Bar and Grill was a popular, unpretentious restaurant on a busy corner in downtown Parkerville. There’s a city-owned parking building directly behind it, however, so finding a space for Doug’s car wasn’t a problem. The restaurant was busy even though it was early, but they were seated immediately. The two of them had developed a system for keeping waitpersons from bothering them too much while they talked. They ordered an appetizer whether they really wanted one or not. On this occasion, they ordered deep-fried calamari. Doing so bought them some time to nibble and work on their drinks. And the calamari was delicious. Later their server brought them a second round of drinks and took their orders for the main course. Both selected grilled mahi-mahi, with black beans and rice plus a salad, since the restaurant featured New Orleans style food.

At one point, Hallie mentioned she’d recently heard from an old friend who lived in New York City.

“Margi’s single, you know. She was saying that she has several men friends who are gay.”

Doug took a long pull of his sherry, suddenly tense. What was coming? Would he have to pretend, to say things he didn’t believe? This was one of the things about his life that made him restless, irritable. He knew if he ever came out in the conservative little town he’d chosen to live in, things would never be the same. He would probably lose his friends, become a pariah, perhaps even have to move away. He was very comfortable in most respects. He found his work at the church and the Gardens fulfilling. It galled him that he couldn’t live openly as a gay man, but he didn’t have the guts to do it. He’d invested too much time and effort into finding a place in this community, which in other respects he really liked.

“Anyway, Doug, dear, Margi said that for a woman in her position, having gay men friends was perfect. They make charming companions, but you don’t have to worry about entangling alliances and things like that.”

“Mmmm,” Doug said, taking a bite of calamari and another sip of sherry. Here was his chance to come out to someone he really liked. But Doug had learned discretion over the years. Why risk a good thing? He needed Hallie not only for cover but also because he really enjoyed her friendship. He knew, moreover, she had so much money that she might properly be suspicious of any man who showed an interest in her.

“What’s wrong, Doug?” Hallie asked. “Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

“No, of course not. But there’s something I want to say to you, and I’m thinking how to put it.”

“Oh, darlin’, just say it! You know you can tell me anything.”

Doug took a deep breath. “Okay. I want you to understand me here. Please don’t think I’m telling you that I’m gay.”

She started to say something, but didn’t when Doug held up his hand.

“I’m NOT telling you I’m gay. But there’s no reason why you and I can’t have that kind of relationship. I love you. I truly enjoy your company. I love our outings together. But at this point in my life, I have no interest in what your friend calls entangling alliances. I hope that clarifies things for you and makes you comfortable. I’d hate for you to misunderstand.”

“Dougie, I understand completely. Pretty much, I had assumed that all along, but it’s nice to have an understanding, isn’t it?” She patted his hand and changed the subject.

“When do you read next?” she asked.

“Tomorrow at eight. Cal Jones is doing the psalm and I’ve got the lessons.”

“I just love to hear you read. You do it with such clarity and feeling.”

“Aren’t you sweet? You need to remember, though, that I spent my career reading literary texts to people, so I’ve had lots of practice.”

“You surely aren’t sight reading those Bible passages, though, are you?”

“Come on! You know I’m not. Just like you when it’s your turn, I go to the church early in the week and find out what the readings are. Then I go home and practice them.”

“Well, it shows. You never stumble.”

Doug nodded. “Thanks. As I’m sure you’ll agree, the point is not to do anything to call attention to one’s self, to keep the focus on the meaning of the liturgy.”

Later, at her house, Doug got out of the car and walked with her to the door.

“I’ve really enjoyed the evening. I haven’t been to the county museum often, and Hank’s is a neat place.”

She offered her cheek, which Doug duly kissed.

“See you bright and early at church,” she said.

“Well, early, if not bright. Good night, Hallie.”

“Good night, dear.”

As he drove home, Doug was feeling guilty. He hadn’t lied to Hallie back there in the restaurant, but he hadn’t been totally honest with her, either. Life would be so much easier if he could be honest with his friends about who and what he was. But then, would they still be his friends? His position at St. John’s and at the Gardens would certainly be jeopardized if he came out. This was, after all, a very small town in conservative, rural, central Florida, a town where everyone knew everyone else, or at least, as some of the snobs would say, “Everyone who counted.”

* * * *

That same evening, in a booth at a pub in Lake Polk sat Mary, Blair, Sam, and Sam’s date. Three of them were having beers. Blair had a Coke.

“Sure you won’t have a beer with us?” Sam asked Blair.

“No, thanks. You know soccer starts soon, and I’m supposed to be in training.”

“Your coach will never know. Besides, soccer practice hasn’t even started yet.”

“I know. To tell the truth, I’ve never had much of a taste for it.”

“Man! You have tried it, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, so get off my case, Rogers. I just don’t want any, okay?”

“Leave Blair alone. He doesn’t need to drink if he doesn’t want to,” said Sam’s date.

Putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender, Sam said, “Okay, Okay! I was just trying to be sociable. So, Mercier, what’s with this guy you’ve been workin’ for this summer?”

“He’s a nice guy. Used to be a prof up north somewhere.”