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7. Relaxing
When Provincetown became the gay resort town for the East Coast is not recorded, as it evolved slowly from the middle of the century to its end. That artists and actors dwelled in her coves and dunes is well documented. That some of these were homosexuals is without a doubt. But anyone who sees her beauty and feels her breezes can tell you that Provincetown instilled liberation within the soul that only those who need emancipation can fully appreciate.
Leslie and Ginger had long kept an old Victorian house on a hill overlooking Commercial Street. They were far enough up the hill to be shielded from the tourists; and West enough to get sand in their shoes. They could calmly sit on their porch and see the colorful rooves of houses, shops and restaurants, yet be far enough away to make it all a post card scene. The rainbow flags flapped in the wind.
There was the tall Pilgrims tower in the distance, reminiscent of Florence; and the blue and sometimes angry green sea yielding a different renaissance. Without a doubt, Ginger's garden of roses and wild things - an English Garden she called it - managed itself, yielding many bushels of color to Leslie's clip and cut. Hiding in the garden was the cats. They were not Leslie and Ginger's cats. They were the island cats - communal Lesbian property. Like their owners, they roamed wide and free with a sense of true ownership. These cats were such a hallmark of the place, Russell christened the house on the hill, "Pussy Haven," a name that Leslie and Ginger loved. They had it placed on invitations and letterhead. In fact, when Dean and Matt tramped up the walkway that first summer, they were greeted by sign - "You are in Pussy Haven - So behave."
"Deano," shouted Leslie from the porch. "The sun tea is ready. Ginger, they're here."
Ginger appeared on the porch waving madly and jumping up and down.
"Oh, I'm so glad you came," she said. "Your room is ready."
Dear Leslie and Ginger - as warm and inviting as rose thorns in summer. They were so giving, yet so loose in their expanse of feeling. The summer sun cheered the garden and the guests. But, to Matt and Dean this was home for a good part of the summer now. This first outing was special, and stayed in memory for years to come.
Russell was with them as well. He did not come every summer, but he tried whenever he was free of entanglements and in need of new spice. He was charming in his own way; but, was indeed a bit resentful that he was left on his own a bit more now that Matt and Dean were a couple.
"Le Grand Tour," announced Ginger leading her party of hu hu’s down the hill street to the main drag. She pointed to this and that as they marched in swishy order behind her, Leslie taking up the rear.
"That way to the Coast Guard Station," she trumpeted.
They passed the "Barbie" Garden, a full outdoor diorama of Barbie and Ken in various resort modes. It was unique to Provincetown that every gay man's heart could be so visually presented.
"This little Restaurant is a favorite with the girls," said Leslie passing a little luncheonette that would absolutely not suit Dean or Matt. The Boat Slip Hotel however would. It was there that the daily T-Dance took place. Each day at 4 pm, from one end of town to the other the men gathered with the least amount of attire possible to muster energy in dance and ritualistic baiting. It was the gay version of "hoe-down" but much more colorful and provocative. Throughout the years that Matt and Dean visited Provincetown, the T-Dance was rarely missed; although they held on to one another to avoid the possibility of loosing each other in the maelstrom. Only when they mutually agreed to a third-party entrant into their inner sanctum could something luscious and in green-shorts be taken home.
They reached the main entry to town, flanked on the right by the Pink Swallow and the left by the White Swan. From this point to the town hall were all antique shops, restaurants, disco bars, tattoo parlors, leather shops, sex-toy arenas, trinkatoriums, sea-shell havens, clothing boutiques, glass works, and fast food. There was an endless outlet for spending on the world of artistry and crapola, running that gamut with ease and pleasure. Commercial Street was always lined with tourists and summer residents. There was a parade of men and womyn holding hands, showing their freedom here - a freedom lost a scant five miles up the Cape. There were plenty of tourists who "gawked at the faggots and dykes" in much the same that tourist used to in Greenwich Village until that golden settlement turned the tide through pride and passion.
One could tour the historic Town Hall, or get tickets for the latest play, the drama tradition in this place being germinal to the American Theatre. You could watch whales, eat lobster and corn, climb the Pilgrims Tower or just sit in the square and listen to Mariachi bands and watch men. Over the years, Matt and Dean did all this; and other stuff.
There was a beach on the opposite side of the harbor town. Here there were high dunes and grasses. There was also vigilance to prevent or at least minimize activity in the dunes from those of the species who could not keep their flies zipped up and their pleasure under wraps. There was always Volleyball being played by golden boyz with sweat warping down their muscular frames. Lots of sun oil was rubbed; and periodically, a youth of Grecian beauty would walk down the strand causing dozens of heads to bob up from their books and sun reflectors, like cranes following a juicy bug for its next meal.
Over the years, Matt and Dean danced at the clubs - The Atlantic House, the Dungeon, the Clipper, the Collegiate, the Crown and Anchor - and a host of new and old ones that appeared and disappeared as time, fad and fire would fate. They had a few arguments at these clubs. Matt did not like dark, crowded places; and Dean tried to minimize this to Russell's great displeasure. But on one occasion, Matt went out for air and was cruised by a young twinkie. Although he did not accept the offer, he was rather flattered by the attention and made no bones about it. Dean was furious and did not speak to him for two full days. But, then, when all was well, there was of course, great make-up sex. By then, Matt and Dean had been together for six years. They were without a doubt married in the eyes of the species.
"And there," said Ginger pointing to a little alleyway, "Is the best thing you could possible do. Biking and Kites!!"
And Biking they did. Dean and Matt loved to arise early and take advantage of the town's biking regulation which virtual turned the place over to cycling traffic before 9 am. Dean loved the West End, where you could bike and then walk about. Here there were the Paparazzi homes - quiet gardens covered with wild roses and eclectic sculpture. A picnic lunch together was a favorite activity. Leslie and Ginger would pack up a basket of hardboiled eggs, sun tea (of course), lamb sandwiches or maybe crab roll-ups, some home made potato chips and a red-checkered tablecloth. With that as armament, Dean and Matt would bike to the West End, to a favorite little spot they loved. Here, they would feed each other in the early days, on grapes or cherries - and as the years passed, when they managed to eat on their own, they could still enjoy the sparkle in each other's eye as the sun tea arose to the well known lip.
During their first week ever at Provincetown, Matt and Dean bought a kite in the colossal kite shop. The East End had a small beach near the Coast Guard Station. Here was a wind to lift the great "Bird" they mounted to the sky. Each year they would buy a kite and sail it on the West End, but nothing ever compared to that first year, when they held that soaring eagle together, falling on the dunes and rolling in the high grasses. It was here that they decided to live together, in Dean's apartment. It was here that they decided on decorating schemes. It was on these dunes that money issues were discussed, job crisis was thrashed about, Russell-problems were managed and all manner of respect and space between married couples was negotiated. They had indeed built lives apart and now were building one together - a toothbrush, a kit, a chair, a bank-account - all grew in the course of time. Even the need to be apart. Even the once a week sex syndrome when it ineviteably set in. All came naturally here on the dunes with the kites.
"Dinner," cried Leslie. "Bring some chairs."
Dinner was set out on the porch where the view was most auspicious. It was a simple fare but worthwhile, dispelling the myth that Lesbians can't cook. There were hamburgers, special ones filled with home made breadcrumbs and Vidalia onion; and the rolls were "from scratch." Corn on the Cob came fresh from the market, cobbed corn being the staple of the town, along with lobster tails. There was a crispy salad with nasturtium flowers; and a large bottle of Chianti.
"Welcome to Pussy Haven dear boyz," said Leslie raising her glass. "I hope that this will be the first of many summers you can join us on our hill overlooking the sea."
"To you guys," said Dean.
"I for one," said Matt, "I for one am overwhelmed by this place. It's so warm and relaxing. It's like . . ."
"It's like us," said Matt.
"Relaxing my ass," said Russell. "You can relax anywhere. This is a hot town for hot men."
He took a deep breath.
"Smell it," he said. "The air is filled with men. And I'm not sleeping alone tonight!"
"Well, that's for sure hell," said Matt kissing Dean.
"There's nothing like family," said Leslie. "Here we are on my wife's porch over seeing her garden and our cats. You aren't our friends. You're our family, seated for the best Thanksgiving imaginable. Eat up!"
They polished off the wine and hamburgers with ease. Then, as if arranged by the management, the sun set. It was a show that few can forget over the darkening sea. The golden yellow would turn to harvest - the flame of the sun blazing her final glory. Then, the embers of orange would darken as the sky turned violet, then red - red as blood poured from the wounds of the world into fiery sea.
For ten years, Dean and Matt spent their summer vacations with Leslie and Ginger on the high hill overlooking this spectacle. Although their moods were as changeable as any couple under the sun, their souls were always soothed to remember this first sunset, the one that blessed their union with God's own benediction.