501

“That was very intense.”  Cody’s head was snuggled into Luigi’s shoulder.

Luigi wondered for a moment that he had become the strong one in their relationship.  Him.  An effeminate queen.  Cody was Mr Macho.  Mr Muscles.  Mr Straight-Acting.  By rights it should have been his head snug on Cody’s shoulder, him protected by Cody.  Not the other way round.  But Dio! he would protect him.  They would find the killer and deal with him.  A thousand years of Calabrian peasant ancestors showed in his tight mouth and hard eyes.

“What?” asked Cody, startled. 

“What what?”

“You tensed up.”

“I was thinking …” his phone rang.  “…hang on a tick.”

It was Colin, the policeman from Mt Macedon.

Luigi felt absurdly, shy, as if the other man could see down the phone line and see them both lying on the sofa in the aftermath of sex, covered with sweat and cum and lube, arm-in-arm, sated with love-making.

“Oh, hi!”

“I’m on my way into the city.”

Ridiculously, Luigi felt that he didn’t want him now.  “Oh, good!” he said with fake enthusiasm.

“Is it a bad time?  I have to do this in my off-time.”

“Oh!  No!  This is perfect.”

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441

Luigi woke first.  Cody was lying facing away from him.  Carefully, so as not to wake the other man, he slipped out from under the covers.  As he lifted them off Cody’s body he caught sight of the small square of flesh cut from the other man’s buttocks.  His heart ached inside him.  It was clear and visible evidence of how much Cody had suffered.  Luigi had understood—he had thought that he understood—what Cody had gone through.  But understanding another’s pain always involves the imagination.  We have to somehow get inside the other person’s head.  For the first time, seeing the physical evidence of the horrors Cody had endured, he really grasped just how horrible it must have been.

Luigi only realised he was weeping when he felt the tickle of tears on his cheek.  And it came to him all at once that he might fail; that Cody was too damaged in his heart and soul to recover, to love again properly, to ever again be happy. 

Fuck that!  he thought, suddenly furious.  He would do his fucking best.  And he would use Keith and Jason as well.  Cody would be surrounded with love.  He, Luigi d’Alardino, would fight. And he would win.  He thought then of his grandmother and knew she would also be an ally.  He was not alone.  And Cody wasn’t alone either.

He went through nude into the kitchen and put on the kettle.  Tea. And food.  They always helped.

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426

Cody drifted into la petite mort, which is what the French call that sleep after orgasm.  The little death.  Luigi held him in his arms, his eyes wet, gratitude in his heart.  He didn’t know who to thank.  Certainly not God.  God had made him what he was, had made him suffer the pain of being an effeminate gay, of being beaten up, of being despised and disliked.   Or maybe that was just the Christian God, always angry and judgmental.    Richard had believed in The Goddess, a loving Mother to the world, not nearly so cross and jealous and disapproving.  Luigi knew la nonna believed in Her too.  Or at least, she never prayed to Jesus or God but to Mary and the female saints.  Once she had said to Luigi that Jesus was too busy to care about the problems women faced.  But Mary cared because She was a woman.  She understood women’s hardships and their lives.  Maybe The Goddess Mother of the world was Mary and maybe something quite other, but Luigi didn’t care.  As superstitious as his Calabrian forefathers, he knew gratitude was necessary, or your luck could turn.  So he thanked The Goddess and promised that he would look after Cody.  And, as an afterthought, Keith and Jason too.    Gently, so as not to wake the sleeping Cody, he kissed the blond curls on the top of his head and settled in to wait until Cody woke up.

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386

Cody’s look was so humble and filled with gratitude that Jason was embarrassed.  How lucky I’ve been, he thought.  How privileged my life has been!  He wondered whether he could consider having his mother ‘lucky’.  He was—mostly—sure she loved him.  Well, she was quite fond of him, he knew that.  But she was so obsessed with silly things.  Once he might too have been fussed about the things she thought important.  But losing Brent—having Brent!—had taught him different.  All the stuff which made her so happy or unhappy, it didn’t matter.  What mattered was right here in this town, this house, these people.  His grandam, Eleanor, Lou, and Keith, even though Keith was with Esmé tonight.  This city which had accepted and embraced him from the first day he’d arrived in her. 

His heart too full to speak, he stripped down to his trunks and slipped under the bedclothes.

“Aren’t you going to brush your teeth?” asked Luigi, mocking.

“Not if you aren’t.  But you’re welcome to use my toothbrush!”

“Ugh!  You might have a deadly disease!”

“Prolly have, you plonker.  Something vile.  Scrofulosity.  Your teeth will drop out.  Or your eyes will swell and pop.  No, I know!  You’ll be touched by the ugly stick!  No longer the beautiful Luigi DiPietro, just plain, fat, hideous LuLu.”

“What happened to all that guff about the Shady Acres Retirement home?”

“Oh, the ugly stick’ll only get you if you brush your teeth with my toothbrush.”

“Then I won’t!” retorted Luigi, firmly.

“Wise man!  Oh fount of wisdom and insight, joy of joys, heart of my heart’s delight …”

“Shut up, you idiot.”

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384

From Guys Cuddling

“Hey!”  said Jason.  “You OK?”

Cody couldn’t speak.  He could only nod.

“Don’t cry, dude,” urged Luigi, cupping Cody’s head with his hands.

Cody shook his head and sniffed.

Luigi kissed him on his forehead and then on his lips.  “It’ll be OK, I know that.”

Cody nodded.  He knew.  He smiled through his tears.

“That’s the ticket!” said Jason.  He hugged Cody and pressed his forehead against the other man’s.  “You’ve got us, now.  We’ll see you right.”

Cody nodded again.  He knew.  Inside him burned a flame of joy, of acceptance, of love.  Still the tears trickled down his cheeks.  Luigi lifted his own t-shirt and wiped Cody’s face.  Cody looked down at the firm line of Luigi’s stomach, at his Apollo’s belt, and felt love swell inside his heart at the sheer beauty, inner and outer, of this man who still loved him, despite all he had done.

“Thank you,” he whispered, filled with gratitude.  “Thank you.”

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Majorca Flats -- 356

After, Jason lay with his head on Keith's chest.

“How straight are you, Key?�?

“Haven't we just shown that?�?

“Well, before Brent, I had girlfriends. And it was good. But not as good as it was with him. With him—with you and Lou—it feels right. I mean, I s'pose I could have got married and stuff. And been faithful to my wife. But this feels … like it was meant to be.�?

Keith tangled his fingers in Jason's hair. “Yeah. I know what ya meyn. If hadn't had to live on the streyt, then maybe … but, ya knaow, I can't imagine a life without you or Lou. Or Tom.�?

“So did you become gay? If you hadn't had to … �?

“ …. whore? … �?

“... I wasn't going to say that.�?

“But it's true. I'm not ashamed of it. There are much worse thengs.�? Keith was silent for a few breaths. “Selfishness. Cruelty. Lies. But to get back to gayness and such, Oi dunno, to bey honest. Oi reckon … fuck, Jace, Oi dunno. Oi reckon that with the roight person at the roight time I would've found out anyway.�?

“Yeah?�?

“Oi think lots and lots a' blaokes are … not gay … but capable of lovin' another blaoke. But they never foind out. And when they feyl attracted to a blaoke they think it's jus' friendship. And it is. And it's more that friendship too.�?

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