Chapter Text
For all its teeming masses, looming towers and endless, buzzing, sparking action, it’s easy to be lonely in New York.
Julius Eaton knows it all too well as he wanders through the Village. He’s looking for something to do, someone to see (someone to do?) as he turns each street corner, lost in himself. Lost in thought... thoughts about his loneliness. He has no lack of people in his life, but no one for what he needs.
He has friends, coworkers. He even has a wife—and theirs is not a traditional marriage, but they are confidants, allies. They look out for each other. He was so lucky to find her the way he did, in the same shadows where he lives, in the arms of her own secret lover. He knew her from work already, of course, but that was when he truly met her—and when he could reach out the next day, asking her to dinner as he slipped her his secret code (a napkin with their bar’s logo). They had to do what they could, those of them that lived in the shadows. Even the light of recognition had to be faint, lest you get things wrong, lest even the eyes you seek be the wrong ones, the prying ones. The ones that rip away the curtain covering you, expose you to the full, harsh light.
He cares for Kay, loves her in some kind of way. But not the right kind. That’s what he needs in his life. Not just someone to come home to, but someone to hold at night. Someone to make him feel alive, like even this shadow-life was worth it.
Yet even in the bars, in the homophile organizations, it’s difficult. They don’t want to deal with the wife. They don’t want much commitment, period—whether out of fear or personal preference. They are fine with those things, but don’t work in some other way: not his type, the sex is bad, there's nothing to talk about when they’re together. More than anything, Julius wants someone to be his partner in all ways: sexual, romantic, but also intellectual. Someone to chat with, to toss around ideas, who truly understands him and appreciates him on every level. Someone just as fascinating to him in turn. A friend once told him that marriage was the greatest adventure of all. And while he wouldn’t be able to call it a marriage, Julius knows that’s the kind of love he wants.
Deep in thought, he nearly collides with another man as he turns onto Bleecker Street.
“I’m sorry,” he hears in a surprisingly soft, high-pitched voice. The other person isn’t a man at all, despite the sharp-looking suit.
As they face each other, Julius finds himself staring. It’s not just a normal men’s suit she’s wearing, this woman, her face bare but silky, soft, with long hair tucked indelicately into a bun beneath her hat. No, the suit is shaped exactly to her body. It hugs her hips and her breasts in that perfect Goldilocks grip—not too tightly, not too loosely. Julius has no interest in what lies beneath, but he can appreciate good design.
The woman laughs. “I don’t think I’m really your type, sir—”
Oh, dear. “No, you’re not. It’s not that,” he quickly bursts out. “I mean—I just—where did you get your suit? It’s such fine work.”
She gives him a searching look. “Surely, you have no trouble finding a good tailor.”
“I’m not looking for myself.” He’s not lying; Kay has long complained about wanting to be able to buy suits that actually fit her, to wear when they go out in their shadows. “I…I have a friend.”
And honestly, Julius is curious about the kind of tailor who makes suits for women. But he can’t say that; he’d sound like a cop.
Goodness, I think I do already. “A friend” could mean all sorts of things, couldn’t it? Isn’t it just the sort of paltry excuse the police would use?
His frantic thoughts must show on his face, though; the woman heaves a sigh before she continues. “Just walk a little further down this way, and you’ll find him.” She points down Bleecker Street in the direction she came from, where Julius had planned to go.
“Really?”
“Really. It was nice to meet you, Mr.—“
“E.”
“Mr. E.” She nods. “Miss L. I guess I’ll see you around the Village sometime.”
“Sure.” And then he feels a jerk, like Herb shaking him awake after falling asleep at his desk, as a thought hits him.
Kay is going through a lonely slump, too. Maybe he could introduce her to this Miss L.?
But when Julius turns, the woman is gone.
-
There are five different tailor shops in this section of Bleecker Street. Maybe “Miss L.” did suspect Julius for police after all.
He folds against the wall. I guess I’ll just have to try them all.
Two of them are closed. Already? he wonders, as he pulls out his watch. Hmm, it’s later than I thought, actually. I guess it isn’t that strange to be closed by 3.
He hopes that the slightly earlier closing time indicates they’re even less likely to cater to…well, to their kind of clientele. Either way, it narrows his search.
He’s about to turn toward shop #3 when he feels a hand on his arm.
“I believe you dropped this.”
It’s a man’s voice, this time—a rich, musical one. Julius spins around to find his speaker is about his height, and wearing his own bespoke brown checkered suit. He looks to be approaching middle age, and has a full head of reddish-brown hair, and—and here he almost lets in a breath— strikingly blue eyes.
Last summer, Julius and Kay took a trip to Chicago, and the man's eyes remind him of Lake Michigan—of that impossible point where the infinite waters meet the infinite sky. He could wreck his ship in these waters, far more inviting than those of the frigid lake.
The man is handsome. And he’s holding out a napkin—with the same logo that Julius used to let Kay know that he was like her. That he wasn’t interested in taking her out to dinner for the usual reason single men ask single women to dinner.
That he’s a homosexual.
It’s from The Promenade, a secret underground bar that is frequented only by their kind, and now this man—a man in the Village, who likely knows—is handing it to Julius.
He panics.
“N-n-no,” he stutters. “I think you’re mistaken. Someone else must have dropped it… You’ve mistaken me for someone else.” Julius smiles weakly.
The man’s own grin widens. It goes from friendly to devious in a fraction of a second. This must be what a turtle sees right before it dies, he thinks, from being devoured by a crocodile.
“I saw it fall right out of your pocket.”
Julius doesn’t say anything. He just stares at it in the other man’s hand.
The man laughs. He laughs. “You seem very upset, my dear. Over a mere slip of paper!”
He pauses, while Julius struggles not to let his mind latch on the endearment.
“Hmm… perhaps you could use a cigarette to calm your nerves?”
Julius nods, stupidly, head empty of anything except the fear of being found out. What if he’s arrested? What if Kay has to come bail him out of jail? What if he goes to trial, and his boss finds out? What if he’s deported, and he has to answer to his parents back in England? What if…
He hears the flame sparking to life, and looks up to find the man raising the match to his mouth. Where there are two cigarettes. Two.
He can’t believe what he’s seeing as the man pulls one out and lifts it to Julius’ own lips, with a soft, knowing smile.
Julius feels some of his nerves seep away, like air hissing out of a tire, as he lifts his fingers to take the cigarette from the other man. As he does, their fingertips brush, ever so briefly.
Julius saw this in a movie once. A romance. Paul Henreid did the same thing, lit both cigarettes in his mouth and gave one to Bette Davis. Julius can picture it clearly in his mind, how handsome Henreid was and how chivalrous the gesture. He remembers thinking how he was supposed to want to do that himself, for a girl—but he found himself imagining another man doing it for him, big, masculine hands pressing the cigarette to him.
Well, here he is. And now he finds that…
He finds that he doesn’t want to get his hopes too far up. He's less nervous than before, but he tries to retain some of the tire pressure. The man could just be doing this to be nice, or to get him to let down his guard.
It's not certain that he's one of us.
“So you seemed to be looking for a tailor.”
“Hmm?” Julius looks up at the man again.
“You were looking in the windows of all the tailor shops.”
Julius lifts the cigarette to his lips again, smiles around it. “Yes…yes, I guess I was.”
“Well aren’t you in luck.” The man blew out some smoke. “I was just coming back from my lunch break, and I don't have any appointments for another hour. I suppose I could squeeze you in.”
“No, no, it’s not—“
“And I could use some enjoyable company.”
Julius lifts his eyes again as he exhales.
There is something mysterious and guarded about this man, yet he's hidden it deep, at the bottom of the lake. Julius can barely make it out, etched into the corners of his smile. And yet… the rest of him, the sum of him, is so kind, so warm. He’s smiling again, broadly, but it’s genuine. It welcomes him in. It doesn’t have that alligator quality to it anymore.
Though if he did want to eat me, Julius thinks to himself, I’m not sure I’d say no.
He finds he wants to follow him. So he does.
“Lead the way, Mister…”
“Gardner. But you can just call me Eli.”
“Eli.” Julius likes the shape of his syllables on his tongue. “Alright.”