We were sitting on stools at the Rod and Reel Club, the seedy outdoor bar where we’d first met, some months before. A club remix of a Barbra Streisand song was playing in the background, and a few men gyrated athletically on the dance floor. The tables around us were littered with empty glasses and beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays. “So am I gonna get lucky with you?”
I thought then of Mike, and how much I wanted him there with me at that moment. I wanted to be able to kiss him at the bar, hold his butt while we danced, let everyone in the Rod and Reel Club know that he was my boyfriend.
And that meant that I couldn’t have sex with Gunter, even though he was hot and sexy and I knew we’d have fun. I had to follow my heart, and my heart had latched onto a closeted firefighter with a dark mustache and dancing eyes.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Gunter said, smiling. He finished the last of his Primo, draining the bottle. “You’re in love. With that fireman.” He turned to look at me. “There’s a difference between sex and love, you know. You can have sex without love, but you shouldn’t have love without sex.” He put his arm around me. “And I love you, man.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing, and Gunter looked a little offended. “If you’re going to talk like a bad beer commercial you’ve got to expect me to laugh,” I said. “Come on. Let’s start walking.” I had parked my truck back at my building before we started drinking. My legs were rubbery but I managed to keep my balance as we walked down Kuhio Avenue under the stars. Gunter leaned into me a little more than he probably had to, but I didn’t mind. It felt good.
We stopped at my apartment building. “You want me to walk on with you for a while?” I asked.
“If you’re not going to take me upstairs, rip my clothes off and make passionate love to me, then who needs you?” Gunter asked. “Gimme a kiss, at least.”
We leaned up against my truck and kissed, his tongue searching around in my mouth, finding mine, the two of them doing an intricate little dance. Then he started sucking on my upper lip, and reached down to my crotch to grope me. Of course I had a hard-on; I’m only human. But I pulled away. “Hey, you got any more of those glow-in-the-dark condoms?”
“You want to try one out with me?”
“Well, not with you.”
“Jesus. What a tease you are.” He pulled a couple of the foil packs out of his pocket and handed them to me. “I’m going to be thinking of you,” he called, as I started climbing the steps.
“Think of this.” I pulled down my pants and mooned him, and he laughed.
“You bet I will,” he said, as he staggered off into the night.
THIEVES AND MONEYLENDERS
When I woke up Sunday morning I was feeling pretty rocky. My head hurt, and the healing burns on my back itched, and I felt profoundly lonely. I wanted to see Mike Riccardi again, even if only to discover that we’d had a great one-night stand that wasn’t going anywhere. I just wanted to know. I was also sorry I had been so strong with him the night before-I should have just arranged to meet him after my club-hopping with Gunter was over. If he’d have agreed.
I couldn’t concentrate on the morning Advertiser, and I couldn’t go surfing. I’d gone through all the paperwork at the office the day before, so I had no reason to go there, and it was still too early to go the hospital. I prowled around my studio apartment killing time until I was to meet Kitty for church, throwing away junk mail, washing the dishes in the sink, even making my bed.
When I reached the Church of Adam and Eve, I realized that my father owned the strip shopping center on Waialae Avenue where it was located, sandwiched among a dry cleaner, video rental store, real estate agency, and a funky beauty salon called Puerto Peinado, its interior walls painted with lavish tropical murals. The salon was owned by Robertico Robles, a gay man who was my sister-in-law Tatiana’s best friend, and I knew my father cut him a deal on the rent. I wondered if Liliha had called in the same favor for the church.
I met Kitty outside the storefront chapel. She’d swapped her typical college-kid T-shirt and sweats for a blue and white sundress and matching sandals. A gold cross on a chain hung around her neck.
“You ready for this?” I asked. “Because you can back out if you want. No problem.”
“I’m in.” She smiled demurely. “Aren’t you going to open the door for me, honey?”
The room was simple, twenty rows of folding chairs facing a pair of lecterns at the far end. Inside, about fifty people milled around talking to each other or sat, reading their Bibles. It was a lot less impressive than the mass gathering I’d attended a month before, but I figured this was the core congregation.
I looked nervously around for Liliha and Lui, but didn’t see them. I’d worn my clear owl-rimmed glasses, a short-sleeved striped shirt and chinos. Usually when I dressed for an undercover operation I aimed to look like a moke, a Hawaiian criminal. I had a false gold tooth, torn t-shirts and tattered shorts. I had always been able to pass; I hoped I could do the same at the church.
Behind the lecterns were a couple of folding screens; I assumed that the ministers used that area to prepare before the service. Both side walls held a collection of posters made by children, with a variety of sayings on them. Some held Bible verses, while others quoted phrases like “The love between a man and a woman is the most sacred thing on Earth.”
We went inside and slipped into seats next to a mother, father and two small children. I sat to Kitty’s right. The mother sat next to Kitty, with the little girl’s head resting on her lap, blonde hair splayed against the sunburst pattern of the woman’s skirt. Kitty smiled at them.
“I’m Fran,” the woman said. “I’d shake hands but I’m afraid to wake up Caitlin.”
Kitty introduced herself. We’d decided to use our real names; it would be easier, and frankly, every fourth or fifth guy in Hawai’i is named Kimo. Kitty started talking and giggling with Fran in low whispers until the minister and his wife came out from behind the screens and the room hushed. “Welcome, friends,” the minister said. We stood so he could lead us in an opening hymn.
That’s when I recognized him. The sweaty guy. The same round face and dark hair, the same chunky build.
But could I be sure? I hadn’t gotten that good a look at him at the party. Maybe I had just looked at that flyer too many times. Then I looked at his wife, and she looked familiar, too, though in a more generic way. She was slim, dark-haired like her husband, with the attenuated look of a career woman who goes to work in running shoes, swapping them for heels in the elevator.
But there hadn’t been a woman with the guy at the party. How could I have seen her?
The minister said, “And now a prayer for all our misguided brethren. For the criminals, and thieves, the moneylenders and alcoholics, the homosexuals and their perverted ilk. For all of these, Lord, we pray that you will shine your light to show them the true path. And continue to shine your light upon us, Lord, that we may see your path as well, and follow it to our everlasting reward.”
It was a little creepy, the way he linked homosexuals to thieves and moneylenders. I wondered if there were any bankers in the audience, and if they felt as uncomfortable as I did. “Today my wife is going to read to us from Genesis,” the minister continued.
She stepped forward to her own lectern. She wore a white blouse buttoned up to the neck and a straight, black skirt. I guessed her view of religion didn’t allow bright colors.
“We begin with Chapter 19, verse 24. ‘Then the Lord caused to rain upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven; and He overthrew those cities, and all the Plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground.’”
I looked at the paper program we’d found on the seats. The couple at the front were only lay ministers; they were clear about that. Their names were Jeff and Sheila White.