Frank sat at the red booth in his John Deere baseball cap, scent of cheeseburgers and fries wafting toward him, dishes clattering in the background. He strummed his fingers along the table, nervous and impatient for Tony, his dinner date. He scrunched the napkin beside his lukewarm decaf, the taste still bitter on his tongue, his neck stiff from an afternoon of sewing drapery. He eyed the parking lot then his watch. He’d give Tony five more minutes.
He peered up at the diner’s entrance and met another man’s dark eyes. Tony? Excitement rushed through him. His jaw tightened. Tony looked even better than his datehookup photo. Thick-necked, he had hands like a lumberjack and seemed like he could tie another man up with wanton abandon. He strode toward the booth, grinning, his face shadowed by his shave. He’d dressed in chocolate corduroys and the orange t-shirt he’d said he’d wear so they could better find each other in the vast sea of indistinct men.
Swallowing the lump, Frank rose as Tony reached him. “Tony?”
“You eat here at the Greasy Spoon often?” Tony reached out his heavy hand with a grin.
Frank caught the warm grip, feeling the squeeze. Tony would own him already. “Have a seat.” Frank gestured across the table.
Tony stashed himself behind the booth. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught in traffic. An accident on I-95.” He rolled his eyes
“No problem. Can I take off this ridiculous hat now?” Frank grasped the rim.
Tony laughed. “You look good in it. I love sexy farmers.”
Frank removed the green cap, placing it beside him on the seat. “Too bad I’m just an interior designer.” He rubbed his clammy palms against his Levi’s. He wasn’t expecting flattery.
“You look great. Much better than your photos.”
“Gee, thanks.” Frank raked his fingers through his dark brown waves, adjusting his compact form upon the cushion. Already, he could imagine Tony’s weight upon him. He longed to enact his favorite fantasies. Slave master overtaken by a lusty slave! Batman to the rescue! Still, he didn’t trust Tony yet, despite his charms. Trusting him so soon would be premature. The world was full of psychos and sadists. Warily, he eyed the swarthy Italian, scented of musk. Could Tony be the one?
A waitress approached, pink lipstick matching her uniform, floral scent haloing her. “More coffee?”
“Please.” Frank scooted his cup forward. “You want something?”
Tony peered up at the waitress. “Ice tea with lemon.” His eyes followed her figure as she hastened away, eyes that lingered.
“What do you do again?” Frank asked, wishing to regain Tony’s attention.
Seeming to return from private thoughts, Tony’s dark eyes met Frank’s blue. “I’m an attorney, for the state.”
“I remember now. You mentioned that at datehookup.” Frank squirmed in his seat. He could imagine Tony slamming him onto the bed, and he wanted that. “You enjoy what you do?”
“It’s a job.” Tony folded his thick fingers together. “I’m just a few years out of law school, too young for burnout. That’s what I keep telling myself.” He laughed, fashionably discontent, looking fresh as a ripe pumpkin in his orange shirt.
The waitress returned with Tony’s ice tea. He ripped the paper off the straw and stirred it through the ice, clinking the cubes and enhancing the condensation. He squeezed the lemon, splattering juice. He took a sip then peered up, serious but furtive. “I struggled with my sexuality for years and finally decided I’m bi. I can’t deny either side of me, and I want you to know that right from the start.”
“I was wondering.”
“I’ve been misunderstood my whole life. People assume if you aren’t completely straight, you’re completely gay. If I’m with a man, people think I’m gay—if a woman, straight. Nobody recognizes shades of gray.”
Frank nodded, alert, though a tremor of doubt washed through him. He’d never dated a bisexual before, only men as solidly gay as himself. He didn’t know what to expect.
“I’m just exiting a two-year relationship,” Tony said, his voice lowered. “Things were working out fine. We’d considered marriage. Then she had an abortion.”
Frank sighed, shaking his head. “Just like that?”
“She wanted to finish her M.B.A. I support women’s reproductive choices, but the way she so casually informed me without seeking my input first. . . It was very upsetting.”
Frank nodded. That Tony was bruised from a relationship gone awry bolstered his hopes. Tired of dating site communications that never progressed beyond the pen pal stage, he felt eager for a quick and cozy romance.
“Then guess what she did.”
Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. Tell me.”
Tony’s dark eyes penetrated. “She fucking laughed at me.”
“Oh geez!”
“I’d never seen a mouth open so wide. I could count every molar. After that, it was over.”
“Now you’re a free man again.” Frank grinned, luxuriating in the implications.
“Most of my things are out of her apartment. I just need my golf clubs and sofa. I’m tempted to just leave them there.” Tony took a sip of tea. “I just want you to know a little about my background. I can commit to one person, man or woman, and I don’t cheat once I’m committed. I don’t do open relationships. Too risky.”
Frank nodded, sensing it was his turn. “I haven’t dated much in the past few years. I was absorbed by my studies, family issues, then job hunting, but now that I’ve graduated and found work with a good agency, my schedule’s more open.”
Tony’s eyes were probing, secrets searching, wanting to know more. Frank averted his gaze. “I’ve struggled with my sexuality too. I had a poor relationship with my father. I liked dolls, and he was opposed to that, to boys with dolls.” Frank felt surprised at his own words. He’d never discussed the difficult details of his past before, but Tony put his at ease, helped him open up. “Anything thematically touching upon weapons or warfare was meant for boys. He wanted me to play with plastic pistols, toy knives, G.I. Joes. . .”
Tony laughed, stirring his tea. “I know the type. A good boy must learn to fight and kill!” His hand fisted.
Frank nodded. “I remember my little sister’s first dolly, an enthralling china doll with blue eyes and dark hair, like her. All ribbons and ringlets! I just wanted to hold her, to play with her hair.” Frank fingered his mug with shaky appendages. “My father—that bastard—devised an unspeakable punishment to deter my attraction to the doll.”
“Bastard!”
“He wanted me to be like the other boys. He wanted me to knee through litter-clumped community sand boxes with a metal dump truck, making little engine farting noises through my lips!”
Tony rolled his eyes, speechless at the ignominy.
“Mom was more understanding and bought me an art kit, but Dad just didn’t like sissies.”
“What exactly did he do to you?”
“It’s difficult to talk about.”
“You don’t have to say.”
“They bullied me in grade school,” Frank went on. “They called me ‘gay boy’ before I even knew what that meant. I think because of my eyes. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve got unusually long lashes. That’s another thing they used to say: Girl’s eyes!”
“I did notice, but it’s fine. You look great!”
“The feature looks better on my sister. She still reminds me of that doll.”
Tony shuffled in his seat. “I’d love to meet her. If she’s anything like you, we’d get along fine.”
“Good, because I can’t like men who don’t like my sister. What I mean to say is, I believe in male love, not woman-bashing, not without just cause.”
“I’m with you.”
“My sister’s my only family. My dad abandoned us then later died of a stroke, and my mother was murdered.”
“You’re joking!” Tony’s head jut forward, his eyes popping.
Frank shook his head. “She was a jewelry designer. She was working late one night on a necklace. A thief broke in, not suspecting anyone. He shot her. She must have touched one of those forbidden jewels that come with a curse.”
“Jesus Christ!” Tony rattled his cubes.
“The murder was hard on Sasha, my sister. Afterward, the world seemed like a dark and evil place. She wouldn’t leave the house. She refused to go to school. After I got custody, I had to enroll her in an online academy to finish her diploma. It was a big hassle. But she’s had counseling now for her agoraphobia, and she’s doing much better. She’ll go shopping or to the library.”
“Well that’s good.”
“She’s trying to figure out what to do with her life. She just means the world to me. She’s the dolly I could never have.”
“Gotcha.”
“I promised I’d drive her up to Maine this weekend to celebrate her nineteenth birthday. Maybe you could come too. I don’t think Sasha would mind.”
“Maine? I haven’t been up there in years, except vicariously. I’m a big Stephen King fan. What part?” Tony leaned forward, seeming deeply interested.
“I’m still struggling with a few legal issues related to the estate. Mom made good money but was also in debt. She left us a house in Winthrop. Within walking distance to the lake. An old, historical home, surrounded by woods, just a little haunted.” Frank laughed.
“I’d love to come.”
Frank peered down at his coffee mug, grinning. The only thing left to decide was how many packages of condoms to bring.
* * *
Frank rinsed the last pot and placed it to dry atop the other dishes. He hadn’t realized what he’d bargained for when he’d agreed to let Tony prepare for him and Sasha his grandmother’s “famous recipe” spaghetti and meatball dinner. One man cooks; the other does the dishes. He couldn’t ask Tony to do both. That would violate some universal, moral law. Still, it had taken Tony a clumsy long while to complete the meal. Meanwhile, he’d dirtied every pot and pan in the pantry, spilling parmesan cheese all over the table and floor, splattering grease down and across the stove, and nearly setting the house on fire with nothing but boiling water! Frank made a mental note to buy paper plates at the IGA the next day. He didn’t intend to spend the whole weekend in Winthrop cleaning up the kitchen.
He hung the damp towel over the cabinet doorknob then exited the room. His dress shirt was wet and sauce-stained, and he wanted to slip into something comfortable before joining Tony and Sasha in the den.
Passing down the hallway, Frank thought again of sex with Tony, and his lips curled. He’d been in love before, and the way he felt now was that same feeling. He wasn’t sure what role he’d play, but he’d brought a doom’s day scenario stock pile of condoms, not to mention his Bat Man suite.
In the bedroom he removed his shirt, glancing at his reflection in the dresser mirror: smooth chest and wiry muscles over snug jeans. He hoped Tony meant it when he said he looked good. He considered his self-esteem a B, not reaching the upper echelons of confidence. Tony’s eyes had popped when he’d first seen Sasha, and that caused Frank a measure of concern. Sasha was pretty, but he wouldn’t stoop to using her like a dick magnet. He wanted men to like him for him, and, at the end of the day, he preferred to keep Sasha for himself, his dolly. He didn’t want her to fall and love and abandon him. How sad that would be! Like losing a cat! All the way to Winthrop, she and Tony had bantered in the backseat as he’d sped them down the highway. From the rear view mirror, he’d watched her sissy punch him with the front of her fist as he teased and flattered. Tony was wily; Frank chuckled. He cast the memory aside, picturing instead a naked Tony sprawled out on the bed. That moment would soon be his!
Frank hoisted a light, blue sweater over his upper half then left the room. He passed down the hallway, scented of cedar, and neared the den, the hum of the TV streaming from beneath the closed door. He tried the handle.
Locked.
Frank stepped back, bewildered. He couldn’t recall a lock being on the door. Then he remembered. His mother had been converting the den into a fourth bedroom. But why would they lock the door, shut him out like that? He raised his knuckles to knock then thought better of it. Muted voices were blending in with the Man vs. Food rerun. Sasha was laughing. Then Tony joined in. Frank pressed his ear to the door, but the wood wasn’t helpful.
He paced back the hallway, jaws tight, hands fisted. He felt annoyed and wasn’t sure why. He’d insisted that Tony and Sasha must get along. Still. . .
Frank slipped out the front door into the chorus of crickets. He stood with arms akimbo, brooding. The cool night air was beckoning him to an evasive peace, the late spring breeze casting over with swirling fog. In the distance the glint of the full moon shone upon the lake. Somewhere, a dog was barking.
Frank snuck around to the back of the house, just outside the den. The old blinds were buckled, leaving a chink through which he could peer in. He placed his eye to the opening.
Tony had let down the futon like a bed, and he and Sasha were nestled upon the red mattress. Tony had removed his shoes and tie, wearing only his loosely-buttoned white shirt and charcoal slacks. Sasha was wearing her favorite t-shirt, with LOVE in pink and purple bubble letters. Frank had never seen his sister so close to a man. She was smiling at him. He was holding her. He was playing with her hair.
Frank forced himself deeper into the lilacs, desperate for a better view. He heart raced with dread. He wanted to deny what he saw, but he couldn’t. He wanted not to care, but he did. He felt like he was sinking into some black hole, his darkest nightmare overtaking him. There they were, like Adam and Eve, conspirators, in cahoots, forcing him to play an unwelcome role, like Eden’s serpent. They had completely excluded him. A vestigial trace of a beautiful love story he was no longer a part of, he felt used, abandoned, unattached, alone.
“No!” Frank reeled away from the window, staggering backward. He ran across the dewy grass into the dubious fog till he stood in the center of the yard, reality, a thousand razors tearing him apart.
“No!” Frank punched the fog with his fists. He would not, could not, accept it. It was his house. He had invited Tony. He was in control. He wouldn’t lose them both and end up alone.
Nobody recognizes shades of gray. Tony’s words thundered through his consciousness. Tony was right. Like the rest, Frank had misunderstood him, not taking seriously enough Frank’s conflicted desires.
“Yes!” Frank rasped in the deepening dusk, striving for the right perspective. They were both his now. At first he had owned only one dolly, but now he owned two. The grand puppet-master, he had placed them together on that bed, like Barbie and Ken. That bastard wouldn’t win!
No. It wasn’t going to work. That sinking feeling entered him. He bent over, hands to his knees, meditating. He squinted his eyes shut, forcing out the tiny beads of moisture.
* * *
Frank stood behind the door of the den, noting how the wood didn’t quite match the others in the hallway. It didn’t belong there, an awkward barrier, a poor remodeling choice. He was the interior designer, not his mother. Though his sister owned the property as much as he, in the legal sense, he considered the dollhouse exclusively his. The ax felt heavy in his hand, but the idea of his prerogative permeated his tremulous body. He wouldn’t tolerate two dolls laughing at him behind his back. He’d garnish the respect he deserved. He’d give them one last chance.
He tried the door knob. Frozen.
He had no choice.
He swung the ax up over his head then hurled it down, embedding it into the cheap laminate with crackling splinters.
Sasha screamed from behind the door.
“What the hell?” Tony’s voice sounded.
Frank chose the butt end of the ax. He smashed it down onto the knob till its components spilled out like innards from an empty hole. Sasha screamed again.
Frank kicked the wood. The door tore off its hinges, crashing to the floor.
Frank stood in the open doorway, ax in hand.
Disbelief glimmered in Sasha’s eyes. “Frank?”
“What the hell are you doing?” Tony’s visage was flooded with alarm.
Through the Batman mask, they lay on the futon together, clutching each other, the Star Wars blue ray, Frank’s birthday gift to Sasha, casting them into strange and shifting colors. Frank flapped his dark cape, feeling adept in his black boots. He relaxed his grip upon the ax till it rested on the floor. “Save any pop corn for me?”
