After introductions, Terry said, “You should have let me know you were coming. We already had plans with the girls for tonight.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Langer said.
“We’ll get out of your way,” Mr. Langer offered. “We can take in a show tonight and see you tomorrow, Terry.”
But Terry explained things. Bernie and Roberta-he didn’t call her Bobbie-would be having dinner with another couple. But he and Rhoda could beg out and have dinner with Terry’s parents. Then the four of them could spend a few hours together until nine or ten, at which time Terry and Rhoda would have to join a party some friends of theirs were having.
“At least we’ll have some time together,” he said. “And you’ll get a chance to know Rhoda. She’s been wanting to meet you.”
The Langers were delighted-they did enjoy meeting Terry’s friends, Mrs. Langer explained. And Terry’s plan was satisfactory all around. It gave Bernie a chance to get out from under in a hurry, hustling Bobbie off to a phony dinner date. And, with the mock party serving as an out around nine or ten, it kept the evening from dragging on too long.
Things went smoothly enough. Bernie brought out a bottle of bourbon and the six of them sat nursing drinks until five-thirty. Then Bernie and Bobbie made their excuses and got out of there. Terry called a good East Side restaurant and reserved a table for four. The Langers went back to their hotel to dress for dinner, and Terry poured Rhoda a fresh drink and collapsed into a chair.
“It’s such a trial,” he said. “Just dropping in to surprise me! You would think they’d know better.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“Well, you’re a sweetheart,” he told her. “They’ll have a good time in New York now, and they won’t suspect anything. And they’ll go home sure that I’m living the ideal bachelor life, and starting to get a little bit serious about you. They’ll ask about in their letters, of course. I’ll let our mythical romance bubble along for a few months and then write a sad letter saying that you went and married someone else. Then I’ll pretend to nurse a broken heart for awhile before it’s time to find some other girl to front for me.”
There was a brittle quality to his voice, that special sort of forced cheerfulness one heard so often at gay bars and gay parties. She studied him. He was about thirty, she knew, a moderately successful furniture designer. Bernie was a commercial photographer. She thought of the special lie the boys lived and wondered how long they could carry it off.
“Any time I can return the favor-”
“What?” She hadn’t been listening.
“Any time your parents or relatives make the Grand Tour I’ll be glad to return the favor. That’s all.”
“Oh,” she said, “No, my parents are dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It happened a long time ago,” she said. There was an awkward pause. “So don’t worry about returning the favor. I’ll settle for another drink.”
Dinner was a relaxed affair at a very good and very expensive French restaurant on East Sixty-second Street. They had cocktails first, wine with the meals, and cordials with their coffee. The food was excellent and the service crisply professional, and the Langers turned out to be surprisingly good company. She had been afraid that the conversation would be stilted and awkward, but it worked out better than she had expected.
“I couldn’t stand living in New York,” Mr. Langer said. “I’d put on twenty pounds a year with food like this.”
“But you do anyway, Dad.”
“Wise guy.” Mr. Langer grinned. “Just watch your own self in a couple of years. But you’re in good shape, Terry. Do you work out at a gym?”
“Sometimes.”
“I used to, years ago. It’s a good habit to stay in.”
They wound up drinking coffee again at Terry’s apartment. Around eight-thirty, Mr. Langer led Terry into the kitchen. “Private men’s talk,” he explained-and Rhoda sat alone on the couch. Mrs. Langer smiled oddly, then crossed the room and sat next to her. Here it comes, Rhoda thought. How serious is it between you two? And isn’t Terry a fine young man? But Mrs. Langer said, “It’s sweet of you to do this for him, Rhoda.”
She stared.
“Terry doesn’t know that I know. And Fred doesn’t know anything about it, and I’m glad, because it would hurt him horribly. His son, you see. But I know about Terry.”
“I-”
“I’ve known for years.” The woman lowered her eyes. “I’ve wanted to talk to him now and then. It’s hard not to want to. He’s my son and I love him, of course. But he wouldn’t want me to know. It would bother him, and so I’ve never let him find out.” She nibbled her lower lip. “Of course I’d love to believe that you and Terry are lovers- but I’m afraid I know better. He’s with that boy Bernie, of course. Thank you for being such a good friend to Terry.”
She did not know what to say.
“And I suppose you-”
“Yes.”
“You and Roberta?”
She felt her face reddening. “Yes.”
“It’s very strange,” Mrs. Langer said. “I think my generation is a very awkward one. If we understood a little more, or even a little less, things might be simpler. We seem to know and understand just enough to be utterly confused. The awkward age, which is what we used to say about teen-agers. You won’t tell Terry about this, will you?”
“No.”
“I hope you won’t. I suppose I shouldn’t have said anything at all, but I felt that I wanted to. You’re a very sweet girl. If only-”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The Langers did not stay long after that. When they left Terry offered to see her home.
“I can manage,” she said.
“Really, I don’t mind.”
“I can get home alone. But thanks.”
She called Bobbie, told her she was on her way. Then she went downstairs and walked to Broadway and took the subway home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
New Year’s Eve.
The touch-off party was at their apartment, just a handful of couples dropping by for a first drink or three to start the evening rolling. Peg and Lucia, Grace and Allie, Jan and Megan, Roz Merrimac and some nameless fragile blonde. There was a big party set for an apartment two gay boys were sharing over on Barrow Street, and they were just fitting in an opening get-together before they headed over there.
Rhoda played hostess. She mixed drinks while Bobbie sat in a corner and sulked. There was a lot of talk, a lot of laughter. Allie had just gotten back from Baltimore and she was giving a play-by-play of her reunion with her parents. They were very upset over the fact that she had not managed to get married yet, and were at the same time quite concerned that she was ruining her health in New York. Her mother thought she was leading an immoral life. “You mustn’t let men go too far with you,” she had told the girl. “If you lead them on too far, they’ll never marry you. But you can’t be cold, either, then they won’t be interested,” Allie imitated her mother’s voice. She had a talent for mimicry and everyone laughed.
Rhoda didn’t laugh. Neither did Bobbie. Rhoda went on being the perfect hostess. Bobbie went on sulking,
