(by Edward Zeusgany, copyright 2000, all rights reserved)

Apprehension was what Prof. Heston felt at the prospect of their traveling to New York City to spend Thanksgiving with Parmly’s Uncle Frederick, his real uncle. Parmly had called Frederick, to let him know that he was now living at the Inn. Later, when Frederick Billings made the invitation, Parmly told him that he would like to come and to bring a companion. Uncle Frederick had asked if it were a college chum, who would be accompanying him. Parmly replied that he had met his companion at the college, but that he was not a student. Since his Uncle did not press, Parmly had not offered further information. The arrangements had been made.

Prof. Heston suggested to Parmly, that it might have been better to have done more to prepare his Uncle, in order not to shock him. Sometimes it is best to spring things on people, Parmly responded. For example, if he had asked Prof. Heston if he wanted to go, he, Parmly, would have had to spend days talking him into it. Prof. Heston saw the logic in this immediately. He had been offered no choice and had accepted the plan. Of course, theoretically, he could have refused.

Parmly explained that his Uncle already knew about his being gay. He had told him several years, ago. Uncle Frederick had revealed that he, himself, was bisexual; and had had numerous boy friends as well as mistresses. That was his pattern, so he told Parmly. He would keep a woman and see his male lovers on the side.

Years before, he had met his obligation to marry, but his wife had died young. Because her possessiveness had made his life unsatisfactory, he was not willing to risk the loss of any more years. He refused to submit to family pressures to commit matrimony again.

His Uncle had been concerned, when Parmly told him that he preferred older men. One cannot justify desire, Parmly had contended. Uncle Frederick had agreed, but said that an older man might feel that he should be dominant and could try to control Parmly in ways that could be contrary to Parmly’s interests. In Europe, Parmly had found this to be generally true, among the upper-class people he had met.

Parmly was confident, that his Uncle Frederick would come to see that his Uncle Andrew was not that sort of person. Given the opportunity to spend time together, his two Uncles would become friends, he said. And that would please him, because he wanted his family to be united, as much as possible. He did tell Prof. Heston that he should expect that they would be given separate bedrooms, but that he would come to Prof. Heston’s room each night.

It was nervous energy, on the night before they left for the City, that inspired Prof. Heston’s love making. Unconsciously, the Professor might have been fearful that this could be their last night together and this determined him to make it memorable. It was only in bed, that Parmly acted like a sixteen-year-old. He giggled uncontrollably as Prof. Heston tickled his testicles with finger tips, while simultaneously licking the side of his neck. Later, Parmly lay on top of him, their open mouths locked together and Prof. Heston vigorously massaging the boy’s rump.

The limousine picked them up at one o’clock. Parmly had decided to take it all the way to New York, because it would not be any faster to fly. They would have had to arrive early at the airport, check baggage, and then need a second car to get to his Uncle’s condominium. It would mean spending time waiting around; whereas, by taking the car all the way, they could read or work without interruption.

They arrived at Uncle Frederick’s building, facing Central Park, at 5:30. They were met, not by Frederick Billings, but by a friend, who gave Uncle’s apology, explaining that he had been called away, but would soon return. They were offered drinks and were settled in the sitting room. Prof. Heston had bourbon on the rocks; Parmly, white wine.

The friend, Todd Winslow, a man of about forty years, tall, slender, elegantly dressed, asked it their trip were pleasant and proceeded to other items of small talk. Would they like to know what was currently being performed in the City, he asked. Parmly replied that he expected his Uncle had plans all made, and that he wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. “Well, I don’t know very much about what his plans are,” Todd said. He refreshed their drinks.

The phone rang, and Todd went to answer. He returned in about five minutes to say that it had been Parmly’s Uncle calling and he would be back within a half hour. He had said he was sorry not have been there before now. A friend had a crisis of some sort and had needed him, but he would be right along.

Todd asked Prof. Heston what he thought of the current fashions. He responded that he probably did not know what they were. This appeared to have been a good answer, because Todd commenced a lengthy address on the subject. This relieved Prof. Heston of trying to sustain a conversation that he considered inane. Parmly, however, seemed to be quite absorbed by it. The lecture was interrupted by the arrival of Parmly’s Uncle.

He was beaming as he hugged Parmly, and warmly cordial as he shook hands with Prof. Heston. Then he thanked Todd profusely for taking up the duties of host on short notice. He asked Todd, if martinis were available. Todd said that he had waited for him, but he would make a batch now, and that Frederick should relax with his guests.

Frederick Billings was about seven years older than Prof. Heston, only a few inches taller, with hair that shaded from white in the front to black with gray streaks in the back. He reminded Prof. Heston of busts that he had seen of Roman Senators. He was nattily dressed in bright yellow pants; a yellow, red and black sash around his waist; and a white shirt, open at the neck.

After nephew and uncle inquired about the state of each others’ health, Uncle Frederick outlined the itinerary that he had in mind. Tonight, the four of them would go out to an informal little supper, so that they could chat among themselves. Tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day, they were invited to dinner at Lydia Prescott’s. It would be a small assemblage, a dozen people in all. The following night they were to go to the ballet with Todd and a group of friends, then dinner out, concluding with a late party at the home of yet another friend. Saturday, they would take Lydia to the theater and then host a buffet. There were no plans for Sunday. Perhaps just the three of them would have brunch somewhere, before Parmly and Prof. Heston returned to Amherst.

Being used to a slower pace. Prof. Heston was exhausted just thinking about all that activity. Todd returned with a pitcher of gin and vermouth and a fresh drink for Prof. Heston. Once the martini ritual was completed, Frederick turned his attention to Parmly’s peculiar friend and his guest.

“What do you teach, Dr. Heston? It is Doctor, isn’t it?”

“Doctor? Yes.” Prof. Heston grimaced. He had not thought about form of address, how he should be called by Parmly’s Uncle. “Please call me Andrew,” he managed, after an awkward pause.

Parmly smiled, correctly guessing the chain of thought that had led Prof. Heston to his choice. Later there would be no need to switch from ‘Bob.’

“Andrew, then,” Frederick amended.

“I used to teach research methods, but I’m retired now.”

“What sort of research did you teach about?”

“Educational research.”

“I didn’t know that Amherst College had a department of education.”

Parmly broke in. “Uncle Andrew taught at the University of Massachusetts.”

Frederick stared at Parmly, “Uncle Andrew?”

“That’s what I call him. It’s a pet name,” Parmly answered.

“I see,” Frederick said. He then turned the conversation back to Parmly’s activities. How he liked Amherst, his classes, his professors.

The discussion continued for quite a while. Then they were shown to their rooms and told they would be leaving for dinner in half an hour, at nine. Prof. Heston already felt somewhat woozy from the bourbon. He was glad for a chance to lie down on the bed for a few minutes.

At dinner, Frederick ordered a different wine with each course. He insisted on having everyone’s opinion of each bottle. None of them were familiar to Prof. Heston, who, when be bought wine, usually spent under six dollars at a liquor store, fifteen at a restaurant. Prof. Heston noticed that Parmly, after a few sips, would leave most of his. It was difficult for Prof. Heston to accommodate himself to such waste.

The little informal supper lasted two hours. It took a long while for the waiters to serve so many different things. Finally they were back at Frederick’s apartment, where he had a bottle of old port for them to try. Prof. Heston dearly wished to be able to go to bed, but Parmly seemed quite fresh. He said nothing, because he did not want to interfere with Parmly’s having a good time.

“Do you love Parmly?”

Prof. Heston heard the words directed to him from Frederick, but was taken by surprise. Through dinner and back at the apartment the discourse had been impersonal, covering a range of topics from politics to art, the economy to music. Frederick said this without apparent malice. His tone of voice had been neutral.

“More than I could say,” he replied, wistfully, quietly.

“Why?”

“Because he loves me. I need his love very much. Of course you know his other qualities, probably better than I do.”

“Is that all you need from him?”

“No, I need his companionship. I’ve been lonely,” Prof. Heston said. The sadness could be heard in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Frederick said.

“Well, that’s all over now,” Prof. Heston said, brightening. Even he could hear the alcohol induced slurring of his speech. “I think I’d better go to bed,” he said and rose to leave.

In his room, he quickly stripped off his clothes and tuned out the light. He was asleep in less than a minute. But he woke in a few hours, his head spinning, his stomach complaining. He realized that he was drunk, had been drunk for some time. He was alone. Had Parmly come to him, he wondered? Had Parmly been disgusted by his drunkenness, by his behavior earlier in the evening? He was afraid that he had made a fool of himself. Perhaps, Parmly would want nothing more to do with him. Sick, and ashamed of himself, he cried.

After Prof. Heston had left the room, Parmly said, “You got him drunk on purpose, didn’t you?”

“You did nothing to stop me,” Frederick responded.

“True enough. Why did you do it?”

“People often reveal themselves under the influence.”

“What did you find out?”

“Your Uncle Andrew seems to be a decent man, quite genuine.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“Only time can make me certain, but I’m not opposed to him.”

“He has had a difficult time recently. He is psychologically vulnerable. I want you to be careful with him.”

“He may have a drinking problem, you know.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps it can’t be dealt with.”

“A chance I’m willing to take.”

“Is he right about your loving him?”

“More than he knows.”

“I hope it works, for your sake.”

“So do I.”

“Do you think that you can do something about those awful clothes he wears?”

“I don’t want to ask him to make too many adjustments all at once.”

“Don’t put it off too long. You’re going to be seen in public with him, you know.”

Later, Parmly looked in on Uncle Andrew. He decided not to wake him, thinking that sleep was most needed at that moment, nor did he wish to remain there and risk disturbing him. Parmly retired to his own room, where he got into pajamas, slippers, and a robe. Then he went to his Uncle’s study to read.

Uncle Andrew woke at about 10:30 the next morning, but he did not feel like getting up. He had a slight headache and a troubled stomach, a sour taste in his mouth. Parmly entered a half hour later. Uncle Andrew rolled over and buried his face in the pillows.

“Not feeling well?” Parmly asked.

“Not too well,” came the muffled reply.

“Want company?”

“If you can stand to be with me.”

“Of course I can,” Parmly said. He got undressed and crawled in beside Uncle Andrew. He massaged the back of Uncle Andrew’s neck. “My Uncle got you drunk on purpose.”

“To show you what a fool I am?” Uncle Andrew hypothesized.

“No. He thought that you would reveal an interest in my money.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. We’re a somewhat different breed from what you’re used to. But you will get used to us.”

“I doubt it. And, I am a fool.”

“Who isn’t? Your strength, and mine, is to know it. My special strength is not to mind being a fool. Soon, you wont mind either.”

“You have such faith.”

“I do.”

“Well, I do feel a little better.”

“Because of our talk?”

“No, because of the neck rub.”

“That’s better. That’s my Uncle Andrew speaking.”

A muffled, rather weak laugh could be heard seeping from around the pillows.

Parmly had brunch brought in. They were not due to leave for Lydia Prescott’s until five, so there was plenty of time to recuperate. As did all the bedrooms, Uncle Andrew’s had a private bath. Prof. Heston spent a long time getting ready. He brushed his teeth and then had another lie down. He shaved and rested again, and so on, until he was dressed and ready to go by 4:30. Parmly stayed with him for most of this time, talking or reading his newspapers and books. For some inexplicable reason they liked being together, even in silence and doing different things. Then it was time to go.

To say that the Prescott townhouse was lavish would be an understatement. She might be Frederick Billing’s mistress, but she was not a kept woman. Lydia kept herself and kept herself well. The furnishings were continental antiques, mainly French. This contrasted sharply with Frederick Billing’s place, looking as it did like an exclusive men’s club, lots of leather and dark wood, of the best quality and about twenty years old.

The Billings party was the first to arrive. Uncle Andrew was presented to Lydia Prescott as Prof. Heston.

“Lydia,” Lydia said, extending her hand, her arm straight out from the shoulder.

“Andrew,” replied Prof. Heston, taking her hand lightly in his.

“When I heard that Parmly’s companion was a professor, I persuaded some of my academic friends to join us for dinner,” she advised.

“How nice,” Prof. Heston commented, without conviction. A waiter appeared and took their orders for drinks. Prof. Heston declined.

“Oh, you must have an aperitif,” Lydia insisted.

“You wouldn’t have any cranberry juice, would you Lydia?” Frederick broke in.

“Not you too, Frederick!”

“No, I’ll have a martini, but I think that Andrew might prefer not to have alcohol before dinner,” Frederick responded.

“Mineral water with a bit of lime would be fine,” Andrew inserted, never before having tasted the stuff. Parmly smiled with satisfaction. His Uncle Andrew could cope. Frederick followed Lydia out of the room.

Drinks and canapés arrived as did the other guests. There was a professor of botany form Columbia and his wife; a professor of sociology from N.Y.U. and her husband; two young women professors from Hunter College, one in economics and the other a professor of German, the Dean of the College of Health Sciences from C.C.N.Y. and his wife, and the Provost of Brooklyn College and his wife, herself a professor of architecture at the New York School of Design.

At the table, under the two crystal chandeliers, they were seated, male, female, male, female and not with the person they came with. To Andrew’s left was the professor of sociology, to his right the professor of economics, the Provost from Brooklyn was directly across from him. The first course was oysters Rockefeller and, of course, a white wine. Prof. Heston found the oysters to be very delicious, he took only one sip of the wine. His seating companions, all of whom apparently knew each other, were talking about core curricula and requirements in the social sciences.

At a pause in this discussion, the Provost directed a question to Prof. Heston. “And what do you teach, Professor?”

“I’m retired and please call me Andrew.” Prof. Heston had hoped to convey by tone of voice that he did not wish to relive his academic career for them.

“What did you teach, then?” the Provost persisted.

“Yes, we’d really like to know,” the sociologist chimed in.

Prof. Heston could think of no way to avoid the subject without seeming rude, so he answered as briefly as he could and in a manner so flat that they ought not to want to continue along this line, but they did. No matter what he said, they claimed not to understand and to want further description, more details. This continued through the next several courses. They asked about his research and appeared to be even more confused by what he said about that.

It was all very frustrating for Prof. Heston. Their comments and questions began to contain subtle barbs, ambiguous remarks that could be taken as snide or not, and the odd adjectives that constitute the polished urbane depreciation of an enemy that is practiced by sophisticated academics. Predictably, they wanted to know why a distinguished scholar would want to retire early.

Prof. Heston tried to bury himself in eating the excellent food. He had half of the glass of wine that came with the second course, two-thirds of that accompanying the next. Whenever he attempted to get one of his inquisitors to talk about him or herself, one of the others would interrupt to get the attack refocused upon him. They were relentless.

Prof. Heston understood the principles of this sort of warfare. It had been used on him often enough. But he had not learned to reciprocate, the usual defense, to inflict the same sort of wounds using the same weapons. He felt that while this practice had a veneer of rationality, it was, at bottom, as mindless as fisticuffs. One’s opponents were, quite intentionally, not thinking about the content of what you were saying to them. It was no more a reasoning together than a formal debate is for the participants. So, he ignored the viciousness of the underlying content and tried to respond simply and truthful to the surface questions. This only made them more certain of their negative opinion of him. A conviction, he sensed, that had been formed prior to their having met him. He was, in their minds, not even a worthy opponent, quite naïve, bordering on stupid.

Finally, having had enough of all this, Prof. Heston excused himself and went to a bathroom, where he remained. A few minutes later, Parmly was at the door. Prof. Heston let him in.

“You’re not feeling well?” Parmly asked.

“No,” Prof. Heston lied. He didn’t want to explain what had been happening. He didn’t want to have to admit to Parmly that he couldn’t think of how to handle the situation any other way. He assumed that Parmly would have had no experience with verbal assassination. Students are seldom treated in this manner, and certainly not one as talented as Parmly.

“Is your stomach upset?”

“I only had two glasses of wine, but I think that it somehow reactivated the excesses of yesterday.”

“That’s too bad. You seemed to be having a lively conversation.”

“Lively, yes.”

“Were you enjoying it?”

“I’m afraid not. I retired to get away from that sort of thing.”

“Unfortunate. Specially since Lydia planned it for your benefit.”

“Yes, I’m sure she arranged it,” Prof. Heston said.

“Do you think that you will be able to return to the table?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’ll speak with the butler. I’m sure that there’s a room where you can rest.”

In due course, Parmly returned and they were shown to a guest bedroom. When Uncle Andrew was comfortable, Parmly went back to the dining room. Lydia inquired after Prof. Heston and Parmly said that he was indisposed. Lydia said that she was sorry. Parmly noticed that the Provost seemed to be smiling about something.

After dinner, when they had retired to the drawing room for coffee and liquors, Frederick approached Parmly. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Are you?” Parmly replied

“I tried to call it off, but it was too late.”

“It was?”

“Yes. I spoke to her before dinner, but Lydia said that she had asked them to do her a favor and give Andrew a hard time. They came on short notice. She couldn’t turn around and tell them not to, she said.”

Parmly’s change of expression spoke for him. “You didn’t know,” Frederick said.

“No.”

“I thought he had told you.”

“He didn’t. I think that we had better go back to Amherst tonight.”

“Please don’t. I’m truly sorry. I thought I could stop it from happening. Nothing like this will happen again, I assure you.”

“You’ve set up other traps for my companion?”

“They will all be taken apart.”

“They? All?”

“Please, Parmly, my intentions were honorable. I only meant to protect you. It was unimaginable to me that an older man, so much older, might be suitable. And I can’t say that I’m convinced, now. I’m only reasonably certain that he means you no harm.”

“I thought we had agreed that I don’t need protection.”

“You needed help with that character at college, Biff what’s-his-name.”

“But I asked for the help. That’s entirely different. I’ve fended off all sorts of leaches since I was six, here and in Europe.”

“You’ve been active that long?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I surrender.” Frederick said. “I hoist the white flag. It wont happen again, you have my word.”

Frederick left Parmly at that point. After speaking with Lydia, he went into her bedroom to make some phone calls, fearing that if he put off defusing his bombs, he might forget and they would go off unintentionally. Lydia, however, was not satisfied with Frederick’s change of tune. She had spoken with her academics and received their appraisal of Prof. Heston. He was, in their opinion, a weak character in a weak field. Very few professors of education, in their view, were worth much, and this particular one seemed to them, to be entirely without merit. The man had nothing to say, they said. They assured her that a scholar of ability would not have sat there and meekly taken their abuse, only to run off, feigning illness.

She decided to give Parmly the benefit of these insights and, with this intention, went over to him. He had been talking with some of the spouses, who had formed their own protective enclave. But now he was alone, standing near the fireplace seemingly engrossed in private thoughts.

“I think you should hear what the Provost of Brooklyn college and the others think of your professor,” she said, launching directly into her topic.

“Perhaps, they would like to hear what I think of them,” Parmly responded, calmly.

“Surely you would not insult my guests.” Lydia smiled, signaling that no malice was intended.

“Why not? Is insulting your guests your exclusive preserve?” Parmly rendered a smile that was the exact copy of his host’s.

“He’s not of our class, dear,” Lydia waxed motherly. “He wont fit in. He’ll be unhappy. Do you want that for him?”

“I don’t fit in either.”

“But you could. You could so easily, like Frederick does, like so many do. It’s your duty. You’re an only child. You must marry and have children and take your place in society.”

“I’m going to take my place in that society, however small, that suits me.”

“You wont like it.”

“We’ll see.”

Lydia gave up, for the moment. She would wait for another time, she said to herself. Few men, in her experience, could hold out indefinitely under the continuous pressure of a determined woman. If she repeated her efforts often enough, she would prevail.

When Parmly next spoke to his Uncle Frederick, shortly before leaving Lydia Prescott’s, he told Frederick that they would stay through to Saturday morning, but would leave then, a day early. “But you’ll miss the theater party with Lydia,” Frederick complained.

“Exactly,” Parmly responded.

“What, exactly, prompted this decision?”

“I’ve had a conversation with the recalcitrant Lydia.”

“She’ll be offended.”

“I and my Uncle Andrew are already offended.”

“It would embarrass … me.”

“I have no such wish, We’ll leave tonight.”

“No, no, my dear. Blood’s thicker than—whatever it is between her and me.”

“Appearances,” Parmly offered.

“You shouldn’t decry appearances, Parmly.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t, but I do, somewhat. Not altogether though. It is the incrementalism of the generations, I suspect.”

“Must you remind me of my age?” Frederick complained, pretending to pout and conclude the discussion on a light note.

It was youth that was on display at the ballet the following evening. Mostly old people sat passively in the dark intently watching the young, dancing in the light. The evening was not much better than the previous two, in Prof. Heston’s opinion. Frederick’s friends were solicitous, in an oily way. They treated him as one would a person of frail health and diminished capacity, who might break at any moment from an inadvertent slight or the least physical contact. Parmly got him aside at intermission.

“Do you see why I don’t want to live with these people?” he asked his Uncle Andrew.

“Are you sure that you don’t? It’s unsuitable for me, but this is your birthright.”

“What a terrible thing to say,” Parmly exclaimed in jest. Any exclamation from Parmly had to be in jest, because if he were entirely serious, his voice would be so modulated as to contain no emotional content. Only the words themselves would convey his meaning, specially so if he were angry.

The following morning, upon parting, Prof. Heston said to Frederick Billings, “I hope that you will come to Amherst to visit us in the near future. Perhaps you would be willing to stay at my home, although I’m afraid I could not hope to match your hospitality.” Parmly understood that his Uncle Andrew could not bring himself to treat anyone as badly as he had been treated, it would be beneath him.

What seemed to Frederick and Lydia and their friends as weakness was the strength to bear abuse and not return it, regardless that they would think Prof. Heston to be all the more the fool. This was part of the reason that Parmly loved him. He was willing for them to view him as inferior, even though his was the more noble character, Parmly thought.

On the contrary, however, Prof. Heston did view Lydia, Frederick and the others as superior to himself. Each of them was more learned or more attractive or more cultured or more fashionable than he. But neither he did not want to emulate them. He wanted to be himself. He would accept rejection if need be, although he did not want to wallow in it. He would rather avoid people, who did not care for him as he was. But now there was Parmly. He would, at least sometimes, have to associate with such folks.