Page 24 of Everything We Thought Was True
Frank’s voice broke across the silence. “Sorry, hon. I’m just so tired tonight. Not really feeling up to it.”
It was as if he’d slapped her. She felt stung. His words hung in the darkness of their room. Teresa grew still then slowly untangled her arms from her husband’s body. She wiggled back over to her side of the bed and turned away so that she was facing the wall. They lay in silence for a minute, the weight of everything that was unspoken sharing space between them.
Then he spoke again. “Next weekend, I don’t have to work a long shift at Drifters. I won’t be so beat.”
She felt like she no longer existed. She heard herself whisper, “Don’t make any promises you can’t keep, Frank.” They both knew she was talking about a lot more than making love.
She couldn’t voice what was really going on in her head—thoughts that felt foreign, unimaginable.Can it really be? Could my husband, the man I created two children with, be a homosexual?Teresa wasn’t ready to know the truth. She wasn’t sure she could handle it. They were playing a charade, and herpart was to pretend she was the clueless wife, busy with their children and her life, and didn't notice all the symptoms set before her. She preferred to ignore the signs, on the theory that what wasn’t named didn’t exist. If she didn't say her suspicions out loud or acknowledge them, it could be like this wasn't really happening. As long as they kept up appearances, there was no need to scratch below the surface.
Teresa felt a nagging pain in her chest. Tears slipped out as she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but her intuition was strong and almost never failed her. She had to face the fact that this could be real. And if it was, she had to brace herself. Once out in the open, some things could not be unknown. Teresa knew in her gut that they would not only change her life but would hurt for a lifetime as well.
Chapter Twelve
FRANK - GREENWICH VILLAGE, NY
1975
“Come on, Frank—stop gawking,” Henry teased.
Frank moved away from the doorway, where he’d been trying to peek inside and get a view of the club and its inhabitants. He hurried to catch up to Henry, who was a few steps ahead of him.
“I wasn’t gawking,” Frank said. “I wanted to see what time they close in case the other club sucks and we want to go back there.”
Henry threaded his arm around Frank’s waist, pulling him close as they walked along Christopher Street. “It will not suck. I spoke to Mark, and he said this isthegay club in the Village. They have a new DJ who’s supposed to be great. You can dance that little butt off.”
He squeezed Frank’s butt. Frank lurched forward and laughed. Then he glanced around to see if they were alone on the street. He knew he was being paranoid. The chances of someone outside the gay community seeing him and Henry here were slim. This was their turf, a place they felt safe to be themselves. Fortunately, the cops had backed off on raiding gay clubs in the Village since the Stonewall rebellion six years earlier. And while Frank didn’t dare join the extremely public gay pride parades that started the year after Stonewall, he felt comfortable going to a gay club with Henry about once amonth when they could slip away from their regular lives and responsibilities.
As much as Frank relished their time together, he was also nervous about what that meant for his marriage. It was becoming tough to balance his desire to be with his family with his desire to be with Henry—and truly be himself. He continued to do things for Teresa he’d always done in the past—fixing things around the apartment, keeping her car running safely, and other domestic responsibilities. And he tried to spend time with the kids but noticed it was mostly Anthony he wound up bringing with him to the boat on weekends, leaving Lena to be with her mother. Lena didn’t seem attached to him. He wondered if that was typical of little girls her age. Maybe he was creating a chasm between him and Lena by being away from home so often and not taking her with him when he made time for the kids.
“Here we are,” Henry announced, opening the door for Frank.
It was dark inside, and Frank’s eyes took a moment to adjust. Once they did, he saw bodies in motion on the dance floor—hips swaying, arms flailing, heads thrown back—and wide smiles. All men. Men in suits, jeans, and shorts and even one or two shirtless, their bare torsos glistening with sweat. He glanced over at the bar. Men had their arms draped over each other’s shoulders, laughing and drinking. One gave another a lingering kiss on the lips. Frank’s heart skipped a beat. It still took his breath away to see gay men acting so carefree with each other in public. He couldn’t believe it.
Frank heard the first notes of a new song he loved, “You Sexy Thing.” He started tapping his foot to the beat.
Henry leaned over and whispered in his ear, his breath tickling Frank’s cheek. “Let’s go, you sexy thing. Show me your moves.”
He took Frank’s hand and led him onto the dance floor. Frank glanced around, smiling, but felt self-conscious. Whenever theywent out like this, it took him time to warm up, not to the dancing but to being fully out with Henry.
Henry snapped his fingers to the music, a satisfied grin on his face. Frank loosened up, moving his hips to the beat, circling Henry and dancing more freely. Henry hooked his arms around Frank’s neck, pulling him close and kissing him full on the lips, his tongue darting inside Frank’s mouth. A surge charged through Frank’s body. There had been many stolen kisses between them over the two years of their affair, but to do this out in the open was still a foreign concept, one that thrilled and terrified him.
Henry seemed so much more at ease with all of this than Frank did. He didn’t just act bolder when they were out—he was more relaxed with their entire affair. With being gay. With lying to their wives. Henry came and went as he pleased and said Joanie hardly ever questioned him about where he was. Their life differed from Frank and Teresa’s. They were better off, their kids were older, and Joanie was involved in lots of community activities, which kept her schedule booked up. Henry and Joanie didn’t really seem married in the traditional sense. It was more of an arrangement.
Frank thought of his own marriage to Teresa.Is it really that different?Sure, she questioned him, but she mostly accepted his pathetic excuses. And although they still had sex, it was infrequent and lackluster. His relationship with Teresa felt distant, like they were now on opposite sides, still orbiting each other but not truly a part of each other’s worlds.
Henry understood him like no one else could. He saw who Frank was at his core. And that was freeing. Frank confided in Henry about so many things—his goals for his career, what it was like to grow up hiding his true nature, falling for Teresa, his guilt over what he was doing to Anthony and Lena. Henry listened and offered advice and a supportive place to land. Henry told Frank all abouthis past and the other men. Frank found himself jealous of those who’d come before him, even though he knew he didn’t have a right to be.
He felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice and was about to hoist himself over. On one side stood his family, a safe life. On the other side stood his ability to claim his true self. Which was the truth? Which was a lie? The lines were getting harder for Frank to decipher.
Chapter Thirteen
FRANK - NEW ROCHELLE, NY
1975
Frank was an early riser, often leaving Teresa in bed, sleeping. He liked to get ready in the bathroom before anyone else needed it, get dressed, and then have time to relax before he had to leave for work or the boat club. And to sip his tea. He might be Italian, but he was a tea lover. He knew how uncommon that was. Most Italians drank espresso or maybe a cappuccino or macchiato. He preferred Lipton. Very unassuming. Very American.
His favorite mug was a translucent glass one with a smoky charcoal tint the kids had brought him home from McDonald’s. Characters from the fast-food chain were etched into the glass. It had a sturdy handle, was the perfect size, and allowed him to see inside, which he liked. He dunked his anisette biscotti into his tea and loved watching the pieces float around after they’d become soft and broken apart. This comforted him. He had enough mystery in his life. He didn’t need his daily tea to be one of them.
