Marsh went to the wall beside his bed and pressed something. A section of the wall slid away to disclose a fully stocked bar. He seized a bottle of bourbon and filled a water glass. He downed half its contents without lowering his head.
It wasn’t only Johnny who never suspected. You didn’t, Ellery — no one did. I was ludicrously careful. I never cruised anyone connected with the college, even the ones I knew would be approachable. All my pickups were made far off campus, like the first one, mostly in downtown Boston. My great fear was that I’d be found out. I suffered more than I can describe... from the agony of alienation... the effort to disguise my real wants... the need, the craving, to be in the life.
Oh, God, Marsh said, you can’t imagine what it’s like, the nervous tension, the inner turmoil, the loneliness — particularly the loneliness when I was putting on my act in the straight world. And the persistent overdrinking — it’s a wonder I didn’t become an alcoholic, but I suppose my fear of self-betrayal acted as a brake... I never considered for a moment going to a psychiatrist... I know I should have adjusted, as other people have; accepted what I was. But I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. For every hour of peace — why do I call it peace? it was merely a truce — I fought an eternity of all-out war.
When my mother died and I came into the family fortune, I was even worse off. I now had the independence and the means to widen the area of my secret life, but the dangers of discovery were also multiplied, therefore the fears and shames and guilts. Also, no matter how much I engaged in the life, I felt incomplete — what someone has termed “unfulfilled and unfulfillable.” It’s like compulsive eating, or any other symptom of something wrong... the disgust I felt cruising for a trick, the demeaning deals with hustlers, the sordid hanging around public washrooms in hotels, railroad stations, airport terminals, bus depots, angling for a pickup... a marine, a drunken sailor, offering money for an hour in some cheap hotel... and the greatest dread of all, that while I was cruising at a gay bar or beach or in some park — wherever people in the life congregated — someone I knew in the straight world would run into me and spread the word... most hideous thought of all, some reporter who’d recognize me... Do you know what the first commandment in the gay life is? “Thou shalt not be found out.” You’ve got to understand that. I mustn’t be found out. I could bear almost anything but exposure... I said a reporter would be the worst. That’s not true. The worst would be a detective from the Vice Squad, playing the role of pickup...
Marsh’s delivery, which had begun in halting fashion, began to pick up smoothness and speed, like a partially clogged drain that had cleared. The purge of confession reddened and convulsed his face; his fists flailed away almost joyously at the pain of cleansing himself.
Forgive me for going into such detail, he said, and downed the rest of his drink. I’ll get right to what you want to hear. He set the glass down on the bar quietly and turned to face them.
From the moment Johnny and I flew to that art auction in London, I had the exciting feeling that he’d suddenly guessed my secret. It wasn’t for any reason I could put my finger on. Now that I have some perspective on it, it was an illusion brought on by the intensity of my desire for him. I talked myself into believing that all these years, while I’d been hiding what I was from him, Johnny had been hiding from me that he was secretly in the life, too.
It sounds absurd to me now, when I say it; there was really no basis for it. But, so powerful was the need, that’s what I convinced myself of. I convinced myself that Johnny was giving me suggestive looks... inviting me to make advances... cruising me to come to his bedroom that weekend in Wrightsville after everyone else was asleep so that we could make love.
From the start of the weekend I felt a kind of crisis in identity that turned physiological with great rapidity. It sapped my usual control. That Friday night, when Audrey, Marcia, and Alice came downstairs all dressed up, something happened to me. Audrey’s stunning evening gown with the sequins, Marcia’s silly “fun” wig, Alice’s elbow-length gloves... all of a sudden I was madly attracted to them. I had to have them... put them on... parade around in them. If we’d been in the city I could have used one of my own drag outfits, but we were in that damned backwoods town... And there was my beloved Johnny — the unsatisfied passion of my life — practically in my arms... signaling to me, as I thought, giving me the come-on...
I slept hardly a wink that night.
By Saturday morning I was beyond reason or caution. While the women were out of the house or downstairs somewhere, I stole the gown, the wig, the gloves from their bedrooms.
I hid the gown and the gloves under the mattress of my bed, and the wig in the bottom of my wastebasket under a camouflage of crumpled tissues.
Marsh seemed scarcely conscious of them now, and the Queens settled themselves with great caution for the next few crucial minutes.
By late Saturday night I had no defenses left. My will power was gone. All I could think of was Johnny and how much I wanted him. I don’t know how I got through that endless evening, Johnny’s dreary spiel to those three. It was especially bad after he went to bed. I thought the women would never go up to their rooms. Finally, the last one did.
You have to realize I’d had a great deal to drink. I’d tried to hold the drinking down, but it had got to me. Maybe it was because of the excitement building up.
Marsh began striding again. Hands clasped, at one time wringing, another knuckle-cracking. Head lowered; rushing toward his denouement like a lemming.
I waited till I thought everyone must be asleep. Then I got the gown and gloves out from under my mattress, and the wig from the wastebasket. I opened the secret pocket in my two-suiter bag — I’d had it specially made — and took out the supply of makeup I keep handy there — a liquid powder base, rouge, face and body powder, false eyelashes, lipstick, mascara. The works. And I... changed.
His voice faltered before the last word. After he uttered it he was silent for so long that the Queens disciplined their breathing. Finally, he shook himself like a dog.
It wasn’t a bad fit — you know how big they are, with Johnny’s yen for women twice his size. Though I had to pass up shoes. Their shoes wouldn’t have gone on my feet, and of course I couldn’t put on my men’s shoes, I’d have looked ridiculous...
Marsh paused again, and Ellery thought how bright Einstein had been to insist on relativity. Marsh said he would have looked ridiculous in men’s shoes. True, but how did he think he looked in a woman’s dress? For the first time, as a result of Marsh’s comment, Ellery truly saw him as not the Marlboro man but the transvestite.
I opened my door and listened. Marsh said it liturgically, as if he were in communion with some deep, ineffable force. The house was so still it sang — you know how they are sometimes in the middle of the night. I can remember my throat, how there was a gong pounding at the base of it. It was almost pleasant. I could even see pretty well; there was a good night-light burning in the upper hall.
Nobody I could see.
Nothing.
I felt wonderful.
So alive.