Key Lime Pie and Custard

Chapter 1-2

I decided I may as well get that part over with right away. “That won’t bother me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m gay.”

I think he blushed. “I was wondrin’ if the stud in your right ear means the same thing here it does back home. I reckon it does.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no. Some of me mates are, uh, like you.”

About that time, one of the women came over and grabbed him. “Oh, Graham, over here, dear. There’s someone who’s dying to meet you.” She tugged at his arm. He gave me a weak wave and allowed himself to be taken away.

“Some of me mates are like you”? Is that like the old saying, “Some of my best friends are Black”? Usually said by someone who had never even talked with an African-American. Young Graham might, when he got back home with his mates, bemoan the fact that the only other single guy on his tour in the States was pushing thirty and queer. And there were no “birds.”

Soon we were shepherded into a private dining room where we were asked to find seats. I thought about going back to my room, but two glasses of house merlot and a couple of shrimp don’t make dinner. Not having had anything to eat since breakfast, I was hungry.

I was relieved, I think, when Graham wound up sitting across the room. I was, of course, at a table of oldsters. The two women traveling together were Dorothy and Mamie, from Boston. Since the tables were for six, I spoiled the symmetry. The other couple at our table was Bert and Linda from Pittsburgh. They all began to question me. Where was I from? What did I do? Why was I on this trip? It turned out that Burt had worked for a Pittsburgh-based competitor of ours, though he had been in what was then called Personnel and now was called, he said sneeringly, Human Resources. Still, we were able to talk shop a little while Linda visited with Dorothy and Mamie. The two biddies were all atwitter about what a lovely boy Graham was. They said he was from Yorkshire. Then they took turns telling about their visit to York and the things they had seen and done there, arguing occasionally over details like an old married couple. Although I hoped to visit Scotland some day because the Thomsons were Scots, the closest I’d ever come to Yorkshire was the Yorkshire pudding my Grandma Spencer used to make at Christmas time to go with her roast of beef.

On the far side of the room, Graham was practically holding court, the two couples seated there obviously fawning on his every word. He was all smiles, apparently enjoying being the center of attention. It was about then that I decided I didn’t like the Brit very much. He was a sexy stud, but he was, from what I could see, a suck-up. And I doubted that he could be more than twenty. Too young to be really interesting.

After dinner I took a stroll, enjoying the mild air. It had cooled off since the afternoon, but by Cleveland standards it was still balmy. Lots of tourists were doing the same thing. The sidewalks were full of couples holding hands, some quiet, others chatting away. I walked south from the hotel toward the campus of Flagler College, where on this Friday evening there were lots of straight couples to be seen, talking, laughing, some groping each other. I thought how wonderful it must be to be that young. Then I chuckled. I was reminded of a line by Housman, “And now I’m two and twenty, and oh, ‘tis true, ‘tis true.” Graham had made me feel very old. Yet from the perspective of the rest of the people in our group, I was just a kid as well.

And what is a CPA doing quoting Housman, you ask? Okay, it was like this. In college I had wanted to major in art or music or something. I loved literature courses, too. I always had my nose stuck in one sort of book or another. But my dad would have none of it. He and Mom were paying the bills, and I was to major in something “useful,” something where I could make a decent living for myself and my family. Well, I had always been good at math, though I never enjoyed it much, so I majored in accounting. But I got even, more or less, when I explained to them why I wouldn’t have to worry about supporting a family. Now they were retired and in Scottsdale. When I decided to go someplace warm on my enforced vacation, the idea of going to the Southwest never entered the picture.

After my walk around the town, I went back to my room, stripped to my boxers—Sean made me quit wearing tighty-whities when we first got together—and turned on the radio. I couldn’t find a classical music station. There were lots of country music stations and rock stations. I also found one broadcasting from the campus of some college in Jacksonville that played nothing but songs from the fifties. When I wondered who’d listen to such stuff, I realized that half the population of Florida must have been young in the fifties. Anyway, I got out my iPhone, opened Spotify, and listened to Gilels playing the first Brahms piano concerto.

I dozed off during the second movement, waking up part-way through the third. When the piece ended, I did my bathroom chores and collapsed into bed. More tired than I expected to be, I went to sleep and didn’t wake up until my travel alarm went off at seven.

The free breakfast was more lavish than I would have expected, and I noticed many of the people there were ones I recognized from the previous evening. Mamie and Dorothy smiled and waved at me as I was helping myself to orange juice and danish. I waved back.

I think they wanted me to join them, but I sat alone, looking around the room as I did. From time to time I got a nasty glare from a couple of my fellow breakfasters, because, I suppose, they had spotted the earring. I’d lived with that sort of thing for years, so I just ignored them. I thought maybe the next day I’d get in their faces by replacing the stud with a silver hoop.

It was a full day. First off we were taken to see a big old fort, the Castillo de San Marcos, which had been built in the late 17th Century by the Spanish. It had changed hands several times over the years. Now there was some scaffolding on parts of it because it was being restored. It was a very impressive place to me, and I enjoyed hearing about its history. It seemed to me that Jim, our tour leader, rushed us off too quickly to see the oldest house in America. That site had been occupied since the early 17th Century, and the present house dates from the early 18th Century. Some of the couples just stood outside and chatted while the rest of us were inside looking around and listening to the docent explain about the evidences to be found there of Spanish and British occupation of the area before it became part of the US.

Once we were all done, we were put on little “trains” and given a tour around the rest of the city. The driver indicated points of interest so that in our free time after lunch we could go wherever we liked. As I said, we were on our own for lunch and dinner.

In the old town of St. Augustine there’s a street that’s closed to vehicular traffic. Its buildings are used now for lots of shops. Some of them were tourist traps, but others were full of local arts and crafts. I spent a good part of the afternoon just moseying around and shopping. As I stepped out of a dark store into the warmth and light of the Florida sun, I realized I was enjoying myself. And I felt relaxed, more than I’d been since Sean and I split. Thinking about that made me tense up again, so I took a couple of deep breaths and went into another shop.

By the time I was ready to eat supper, all the little restaurants in the old town area were full to overflowing with tourists, most of them oldsters. I decided to forego quaint and go back to the hotel. The restaurant there, too, was pretty busy, but I was able to make a reservation for later. I went up to the room and had a shower. After milling about with the crowds, I felt the urge to wash. I don’t know whether it was being naked or not, but once again I thought of Graham as I stood under the refreshing jets of water. I hadn’t seen him all afternoon. I supposed he was still schmoozing with the oldies.

For dinner I had a couple of glasses of chardonnay, a salad, and wonderful crab cakes served with grilled veggies on the side. After all that walking I decided to have dessert. I’d heard about real Florida key lime pie, so I chose that. Even though the dinner had been delicious, the pie was disappointing, a narrow wedge of almost tasteless filling in a graham cracker crust. I smiled, almost chuckling aloud. Here in the land of crackers I’d met a guy named Graham. I wondered if he was as insipid as the pie.

* * * *

It was pretty late by the time I finished dinner, maybe around nine. Feeling full, I decided to walk a while before going back to my room. Fatigue hit me sooner than I expected, so I decided to return to the hotel. As I was crossing a street, I saw two guys my age standing in the doorway of a closed shop. They were kissing. One had his hands on the other’s hips while his friend was rubbing his chest. The sense of pleasure I’d experienced that afternoon had vanished. I don’t think I’d ever felt more alone.

I returned to the hotel, hoping maybe I could find an old movie or something to watch on the television. As I went down the hall to my room, I heard voices behind me. It was the two biddies and Graham. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, not that I cared. I slipped the key card into the slot on the door and opened it. As I did, I turned to see what was going on with the ladies and the kid. Dorothy and Mamie were by that time walking down the hall, and Graham was going into his room.

I stood there for a moment watching him. He was cute, no doubt about it. Great ass. Great face. But I didn’t think I really wanted to get to know him. He was too young, too willing to play up to the old folk. Besides, he’d certainly kept his distance from me.