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6. Celebrating
Christmas passed and the New Year rang in. 1988 was a year of promise; and the crowd at the Cave that evening was particularly rowdy and celebrative. Matt promised to come to the big crush, although he clearly did not like crushes of people; and Dean promised that after the New Year toast - hugs and kissed all around - they would leave. New Year's Day would be spent with Matt's parents.
The Cave was fully strobed. The blinking and flashing was as thick as the music was loud and reverberating. Just to say "hello" needed a shout. The bodies bounced. Just walking to the bar for a drink was a bouncing experience. Just to move was to wait on a line.
Russell was there with a new customer. Ginger and Leslie were there quite beyond sober and holding each other up by the sheer weight of body. Dean, who normally was polluted by this time, was relatively clear. Whether it was the press of tomorrow's activities or just the attentiveness that Matt gave him, Dean came through that New Year's crush lucid.
As the count down began to midnight, Matt held onto Dean's waist with a powerful grip as if he was carrying into the New Year the one thing from the old year he wanted to cherish. The hour struck. It was 1988. The disco version of Old Lang Syne blasted away as everyone sought everyone for a kiss and a hug and a feel; harboring no foul intention, just a loving gay expression of fondness and cheer.
"We're out of here," said Dean.
"No, sweetcakes," complained Ginger. "The night's young and we're not getting any younger either."
"No," said Dean. "I made a promise to my lambchop here that we'd stay only to the strike of twelve."
"We can stay longer if you want," said Matt.
"See," said Ginger. "He's not a poop!"
"No," said Dean. "We're out of here. If you see Russell in this crowd, give him a kiss from me."
Dean smiled at Matt then led him away through the crowd and out the door. On the street, the revels were still loud.
"My ears," said Matt. "I can't hear a thing. They're numb."
"My eyes," said Dean," they’re sore."
Matt took a deep breath.
"Fresh, clean cold air," he said. "I can't believe the year went so fast. And here we are - about to start a new one."
Dean watched him as he blew his hands to warm them.
"Where's your gloves?" said Dean.
"In my wallet," he said.
"No, I mean for your hands."
"I know," said Matt. "Hold my hands, sweetheart. Warm them up."
Dean rubbed Matt's hands and blew them; then kissed them.
"Is he still with you?" asked Dean.
"He'll never leave," said Matt. "But he's not demanding. I think he'd approve. But, you never need to worry about him. After all, I will always have him in my heart, but I'll have you in my soul."
"And I'll have you in my bed," said Dean.
They ran to the car and sped home to celebrate the evening in a more fitting fashion. It was a comfort and sleep that was rare to both; a rest profound and secure, safe in each other's arms, wrapped in each other’s thoughts and dreams. It was what one expects home to become when home becomes home.
Meeting the parents the next day was a nervous ordeal for Dean, mostly in the anticipation. The Kielers lived in a modern ranch home in nearby Lincroft, a community known for affluence and white picket fences. The Christmas lights and the holly were hung with precision. As Matt and Dean approached the door, it opened with Mrs. Kieler in the doorway.
"Hon," she said with open arms, "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. And you must be Dean. Come in. Come in. Welcome to our home."
Mrs. Kieler was as friendly and warm spirited as the Betty Crocker logo. Dean's anxieties immediately fell away.
"Gregory," said Mrs. Kieler, "Matthew's here with his friend Dean."
Mr. Kieler stood letting his newspaper fall. He was a tall man - a military man - and was balding. His grip was firm and definite.
"Happy New Year, Son," he said. "And welcome Dean. Do you want a drink? What will you have?"
Dean was mystified by this treatment. Indeed, his experiences with previous boyfriends were not that inspiring. Generally, there was a nervous silence, an invite for some chips, then some arguing in the kitchen where no one thought anyone could hear. This was all too effervescent. Then, there was "lambkins", Matt's sister Mary. She was two years younger than Matt and quite as pretty. Dean thought that if he were straight, he could go for the sister too. She was quite as cordial. Her bond to her brother was clear. They cuddled and giggled. Matt, who was always reserved, babbled on about this and that and whatever to Mary; while she did the same. It was evident to Dean the reason this family needed to be located in the same place. Far from Texas, they had a slice of the state right there in Lincroft.
"Dinner's ready," chirped Mrs. Kieler.
"Wait until you taste Vivienne's pot roast," said Mr. Kieler.
"Vivienne," said Dean. "Matt, you didn't mention that you mother's name was Vivienne."
"Well, I would have eventually," said Matt.
"What's the mystery?" asked Mrs. Kieler.
"Well, my mother' name is Vivian, also," said Dean. "Viv."
"Oh, that's queer," she said.
She then realized what she said and became flustered.
"Well," said Mr. Kieler cutting the meat, "Vivienne would never shorten her name to Viv. It would make sense, honey, less to say."
"Not to offend," said Mrs. Kieler. "I'm a bit old fashion when it comes to names. Correct me Matthew if I'm wrong."
"I think her teeth would fall out if she ever called me Matt," he said.
"Or me Mare," said Mary.
"Or Greg?"
"Oh I'm getting self-conscience here," she said. "Whatever will Dean think?"
There was a pause, because that's when they all looked at Dean to see whatever Dean thought. He twitched a little, smiled then looked at the pot roast.
"Well, Mrs. Kieler," he said, "You can be sure of one thing. My mother would never cook a pot roast."
"Why no wonder the boy’s as thin as a rail," she said.
With the ice broken, the meal went apace, The roast was devoured, with grace and elegance. Wine was sipped after toasting. Potatoes and gravy, corn and carrots were all gently laid to rest on palettes most appreciative. Matt and Dean retired to the living room with Mary, while Vivienne and Gregory cleared the table after declining Dean's generous offer to help.
"What a sweet gesture," said Mrs. Kieler. "But no. You're a guest. Go sit with Matthew and Mary."
"I could have died," said Mary bouncing on the sofa, "when she said 'queer.' She gets so flustered when she slips."
"Slips?" said Dean.
"What Mary means," said Matt.
"Wait, I'll tell you what Mary means," she said. "Mother dear is very conscious of appearances and all that crap. Father plays along. This was a perfect presentation today, except for the 'queer' slip."
"We just don't talk about it," said Matt. "I mean, Danny came around at times. And when Danny . . . well, Mom and Dad were the best. But we just don't say anything about my preferences."
"They accept it?" said Dean.
Mary and Matt looked at each other.
"We're not sure," said Mary. "I think Mom prayed a lot that Matt would bring home a Dina instead of a Dean. And Dad? Who knows?"
"So, what am I to them here? A new Danny?"
"Probably," said Matt, "But let's not speculate any more about it. Here they come."
"So, Dean," said Mrs. Kieler, "I'm glad you liked the pot roast. Gregory, you may be excused."
"I watch the game," said Mr. Kieler, "now that my duties are over. Do you like . . ?"
Dean winced.
"Just like my boy there," he said. "Doesn't know football from hockey."
"Hockey," said Matt. "Is that the one that’s played on ice; or is that baseball?"
They all laughed. Mr. Kieler hurried away. Mrs. Kieler sat.
"So, what does your father do for a living?"
"Mother," said Matt.
"What?"
"Dean's father is . . ."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I should think before I . . "
"That's OK," said Dean. "My father was a bum!"
Mrs. Kieler looked puzzled and even a bit hurt.
"Dean, whatever he was in life, he's dead. Never . . . "
"I really didn't see him much," said Dean. "He was a gambler and died pretty far away from us. He left me and Viv - my mother."
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Don't be, We're not. You need to know this about me. I'm pretty frank. I guess it's my Brooklyn upbringing. I've also been alone quite a bit. But I have a good, steady job in retail at the Mall. My mother works as a manicurist . . ."
"You should see her nails, mother," said Matt.
"You've met her, Matthew?"
"Yes, I've met Dean's . . . Viv."
"Well," said Mrs. Kieler, "It looks like you've been hiding Dean from me. How long have you been friends?"
"A month now," said Dean. "We met . . ."
"We bumped into each other at the Mall," said Matt quickly. " I think you knew Gary?"
"Yes," said Dean, "Gary. Through a friend of a friend."
"I like Gary," said Mrs. Kieler.
Mary was stifling her laughter throughout this exchange.
"Well," said Mrs. Kieler, "Enough of introductions. Will we see you again Dean?"
"Yes you will, " said Dean emphatically.
Mrs. Kieler winced a little, but then smiled broadly.
"I should get your father a beer," she said.
"Since when do you fetch," said Mary.
"It's a holiday," she said. "It's once a year."
She went off into the kitchen. Dean was a bit stressed now.
"Who the fuck's Gary?" he said.
"My boss at Axum," said Matt. "I'm sorry, but if she thought you were a pick-up . . ."
"But I was a pick-up," said Dean.
"You don't understand," said Mary. "If proper introductions have been made, the meeting and the 'friendship' is appropriate. Casual meetings are short lived."
"It would make it better for me," said Matt.
Dean was not happy with the lie, but he was coaxed into letting it ride. After all, Matt survived Viv. Vivienne was easier to take. They did not stay much longer. There was dessert - pie - apple, of course - and another glass of wine. Matt and Dean were escorted to the door, with many well wishes and 'come again, y'all' - and thus ended the beginning of 1988.