Becoming Andy Hunsinger Page 7

  A children’s golf clinic was discussed, and then replacement of the lifeguard stand at the club’s swimming pool. I shook my head. The tension I’d felt earlier soon gave way to boredom. Why would anyone voluntarily serve on this board?

  My thoughts wandered.

  Three days hence, on Saturday morning, I would take the Law School Admissions Test. For the past few months, I had spent an hour each night, poring over a thick preparation manual I bought used at the campus bookstore. The test, it seemed, did not gauge intelligence as much as aptitude for learning the law. The test even included a section devoted to learning a “nonsense language.” I had taken a practice exam, and I’d performed pretty well, but how would things go when I took the actual test?

  My decision to seek a law degree hadn’t been an easy one to make. This would mean three more years of school, three more years of subsistence-level existence, three more years of cockroaches in McPeak’s drafty apartment, three more years working as a caddy at Capital City, and three years of studying like I never had before.

  Biff Schultz’s older brother, Rex, was a third-year law student at University of Miami, and Biff had told me, “The first year, they worked him to death. He had no social life, spent all his time with his nose in books. In each class, his entire grade rode on a final exam. It’s a ball-buster course of study.”

  And what about the fact I was gay? Would The Florida Bar grant me a license to practice law if they learned of this? If I became a lawyer, could I attract clients if I lived as an openly gay man?

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Ben Longstreet said, “our next agenda item involves continued employment of Andrew Hunsinger as a Capital City caddy. Mr. McRae, I believe, has a motion he wishes to make?”

  “I do,” McCrae said in a scratchy tenor.

  My scalp prickled. I straightened my spine and flexed my fingers.

  “Here we go,” Bucky whispered.

  “Mr. Chairman,” McRae said, “I move for Andrew Hunsinger’s immediate dismissal from his caddying job at Capital City. It’s come to my attention Mr. Hunsinger recently participated in a civil demonstration -- a protest if you will -- against Anita Bryant’s ‘Save our Children’ campaign.”

  Bert Ready made a face. “What’s she saving our children from?”

  Tom Bannister cleared his throat and spoke. “Mrs. Bryant spoke as a guest at First Baptist when she visited Tallahassee. She doesn’t want our young people recruited by the homosexual community.”

  Ready shook his head. “Recruited for what?”

  Bannister lowered his chin, but he kept his gaze fixed on Bert Ready. “For a deviant lifestyle, sir.”

  Kate Bonner knitted her eyebrows. Then she raised a hand. “I don’t understand what this has to do with Mr. Hunsinger’s job at Capital City.”

  Bannister turned to Kate Bonner. “He appeared on TV during this protest against Mrs. Bryant; he admitted to a reporter he is homosexual.”

  Dr. Katzenbach spoke with a lilt in his voice. “What’s that got to do with the price of tea in China?”

  “Karl,” Kelly McCrae said, “he’s a self-proclaimed Sodomite. His continued employment reflects poorly on Capital City’s reputation, and I --”

  Bucky jumped to his feet; he pointed a finger at McCrae. “Just a minute here. I’ve known Andy all his life, I --”

  Longstreet seized a gavel; he banged it on the desk top before him, until the room grew quiet. “Let’s have order here, folks. Everyone who wants to speak on this issue may do so, but we’ll do so one at a time. Is that clear?”

  No one responded.

  Longstreet looked at Bucky.

  “You wish to address the board on this issue, Mr. Buchholtz?”

  “I do.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Bucky strode to the lectern. Then he turned and looked at me. “Stand up, Andy. Let these folks see what a handsome young man you are.”

  My eyes grew warm as I rose. I looked each board member in the face. Then I sat down.

  Bucky turned back, to face the dais. “Like I said, I’ve known Andy all his life; his dad and I piloted bombers over Germany during World War Two. There’s no finer family in Pensacola than the Hunsingers, I can tell you that. Andy’s about to graduate from FSU. He’s a bright boy, and a damned fine caddy to boot.”

  “Mr. Buchholtz,” McRae said, “I’m told certain club members have refused Mr. Hunsinger’s services because he’s homosexual.”

  Bucky nodded. “A few have -- it’s true -- and that’s their choice. But should they dictate who we hire or fire? In my opinion, no.”

  Bannister cleared his throat. “I, for one, would not employ Mr. Hunsinger.”

  “Yeah, Tom,” Bert Ready said, “but you don’t play golf.”

  Bannister lowered his gaze; he didn’t say anything.

  “My grandson’s thirteen,” McRae said; “he plays golf here twice a week. I don’t think he should be exposed --”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Kelly,” Kate Bonner said, shaking her head. “Do you really think Andy wants to ‘recruit’ your grandson?”

  Longstreet banged his gavel again.

  Dr. Hardemann raised a hand. “Mr. Chairman?”

  “Yes, Doctor?”

  “Perhaps Andy would like to address the board? I’m interested to hear what he has to say.”

  All seven board members turned their gazes to me.

  “Mr. Hunsinger?” Ben Longstreet said.

  Go on, have some balls. Do it.

  My knees crackled when I left my seat. My voice broke like a teenager’s when I spoke.

  “I have a few things to say,” I told Longstreet.

  “Then come forward,” Longstreet said.

  Bucky sat down, and then I took his place at the lectern. My hand shook when I pulled my notes from my pants pocket. I chewed my lower lip while looking the notes over. The room was as quiet as an empty church. My heart thumped so hard I heard my pulse inside my head. I looked into Ben Longstreet’s eyes, and then I spoke.

  “I’m Andy Hunsinger, the same Andy Hunsinger I was before the Anita Bryant demonstration. I haven’t changed. I was gay before; I’m still gay now. I caddied well before, I caddy well now. The only thing that’s changed is that now you, and everyone else in Tallahassee, knows exactly who I am. I’m not hiding a thing from anyone.”

  I shifted my gaze to Katzenbach.

  “My parents taught me honesty is important. And they taught me you can never be happy unless you are true to yourself. That’s all I’m doing: being myself. I’m not a child molester; I’m not interesting in having sex with a kid. But I don’t like girls; I’m not attracted to them, never have been. That’s just me, and I’m never going to change.”

  I kept on. I spoke of the AGA and our office in the student union. I talked about how I wanted to become a lawyer, and how I’d take the LSAT Saturday morning. I told the board I’d earned at three-point-seven GPA at FSU. I would graduate with honors in June, I said.

  I swung my gaze to Bannister.

  “I’m not a ‘deviant’, sir. I’m a human being who seeks love and companionship from another man. Does that make me unfit for employment by Capital City? I don’t think so.”

  Bannister lowered his gaze.

  I looked at Kelly McRae.

  “I know certain Capital City members no longer want me to caddy for them. I also know, from personal experience, these same people are intolerant of anyone who’s not exactly like them. They represent the worst of this club, in my opinion.”

  Finally, I turned my gaze to Bert Ready.

  “I’m not ashamed of who I am. I’m proud I have the courage to be myself. And I’m proud of the work I’ve done at Capital City. I hope to continue caddying here while I attend law school. I hope you’ll let me.”

  I picked up my notes, and then I returned to my seat.

  Bucky patted my shoulder.

  “Good job, Andy. I’m proud of you.”

  Ben Longstreet looked right and left. “I wish
to speak to the issue before us. It seems to me Mr. Hunsinger’s a good caddy and a fine young man, as well. His private life, in my view, is his business, not this board’s nor this club’s. I’m concerned with Mr. Hunsinger’s performance when he works here, not what he does on his own time, and in the privacy of his home.”

  Kelly McRae responded.

  “Ben, he forfeited his right to privacy by discussing his private life on the streets of our city.”

  Longstreet looked at McRae and raised his eyebrows.

  “How so, Kelly? By answering a reporter’s question honestly? Would you have preferred he lied?”

  McRae lowered his gaze and did not respond.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Longstreet said, “these are changing times. You heard what Mr. Hunsinger said: the university has officially recognized this student organization he belongs to. And I daresay most members of this board have befriended one or two homosexuals, be they men or women; I know I have.”

  Longstreet kept on.

  “I know Kelly and Tom believe the motion before us deserves to pass, but I disagree. I think their view is plain wrong.”

  “I call the question,” Katzenbach said.

  “Very well,” Ben Longstreet said. “All in favor of Mr. McRae’s motion?”

  McRae and Bannister raised their hands, but no one else did.

  I kept my job at Capital City.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I took the Law School Admissions Test in Ruby Diamond Auditorium, on the FSU campus, along with two hundred other aspirants. I filled in little circles with a number two lead pencil while proctors roamed the hall, making sure no one cheated.

  Chewing my pencil’s eraser, I glanced here and there. Was I as smart as the kids around me? Was I nuts, thinking I could become a lawyer? Was I capable of arguing cases in court? And would people even hire an openly gay lawyer?

  Concentrate, Andy.

  Concentrate.

  ***

  In late March, about eleven on a Thursday evening, a violent storm swept through Tallahassee, disrupting electrical service in our neighborhood. Rain drummed my windows, lightning flashed, and thunder shook the four-plex. Wind howled in the live oaks and pines. I didn’t own a flashlight or even candles, so I sat in darkness on my sofa, listening to the storm roil.

  Downstairs, Fergal’s piano tinkled. He played a halting version of a tune I didn’t recognize. He started, then stopped, then started again. The herky-jerky music sounded weird, but offered some measure of relief from the storm’s howling. I peeked into the stairwell. Fergal’s door was ajar; a caramel glow emanated from his apartment, it cast a faint rhombus of light onto the stairwell floor. After fumbling my way into my kitchen in darkness, I seized two beers from my fridge. Then I descended the stairs to Fergal’s, clutching the railing while treads beneath me squeaked.

  Fergal sat at his upright piano with his back to the doorway. He wore only blue jeans; he was shirtless and barefooted and his marmalade hair reflected light from a brass candelabrum atop the piano. When I knocked, he started so violently I thought he might jump out of his skin. His voice cracked like a teenager’s when he spoke.

  “It’s crazy outside, isn’t it?”

  Nodding, I held up the beers. “Care for one?”

  We sat side-by-side on Fergal’s battered sofa. I’d never been inside his apartment. The layout was identical to mine, but he’d furnished his place differently. A stuffed kangaroo head with huge glass eyes hung on one wall, looking spooky in the candlelight. A bookcase constructed with planks and concrete blocks held texts, framed photographs, and stacks of sheet music weighted down with glittering geodes. A footlocker served as a coffee table, and a wicker rocker with a cushioned seat occupied one corner. A dinette with two chairs stood against a wall by the kitchen. The candelabrum on the piano held only one candle, and its flame barely moved in the stillness of the room.

  Temperatures in Tallahassee varied widely in March. On any given Monday, your breath might steam while you crossed campus under overcast skies. The cold and dampness passed right through your clothes and chilled your bones, and you needed an electric blanket to keep warm when you went to bed at night. But by Friday, perhaps, the sun would shine on the magnolia blossoms at Park Avenue. Mockingbirds would sing, dew would glisten on Landis Green, and a light flannel shirt was all one needed to be comfortable.

  Now, although a storm raged beyond Fergal’s windows, I felt reasonably warm in a T-shirt and jeans. I placed my bare feet on his footlocker, crossed my ankles. Then I sipped from my beer while listening to rain sheet off our building’s eaves.

  “Does it often storm like this here?” Fergal asked me.

  I nodded.

  “At this time of year, you have cold air from Georgia clashing with warm air from down south. We get a few of these every spring, but this one’s... especially bad.”

  Outside, lightning flashed again, illuminating our front yard like a high noon sun. Limbs on trees thrashed about like frenzied participants in a tribal dance. Thunder rumbled; it sounded like someone had dropped a bomb on Franklin Street. Our building shook and the windows rattled. In the kitchen, drinking glasses chattered and a drawer full of silverware hummed like a swarm of bees. The air was so charged with electricity the hairs on the backs of my forearms stood up.

  “Jesus Christ,” Fergal cried. “Do you think we’re safe?”

  Color had drained from Fergal’s face. His eyes bugged, his breath whistled in his nose, and beads of sweat appeared on his upper lip. He trembled like a scared little boy.

  “We’ll be fine,” I said

  After putting down his beer, Fergal rearranged himself on the sofa. He clasped his arms in his hands and rocked back and forth. Candlelight reflected in his eyes..

  “I don’t like lightning or thunder,” he said; “they scare the hell out of me. I tried playing music just now -- to calm myself -- but I’m so frightened my fingers won’t work properly.”

  “It’s only a storm, Fergal.”

  He drew a breath, let it out. “I’m sorry if I’m acting like a pussy. It’s just...”

  “What?”

  Fergal’s gaze met mine. “Want to hear a story?”

  I said sure.

  “My granny, on my mum’s side, lives in Cairns, in northeast Queensland. Heard of it?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s a town on the Coral Sea, near the Great Barrier Reef. They’ll sometimes get violent weather up there -- as bad as this, or worse.”

  I sipped from my beer and didn’t say anything.

  “When I was little, we visited my granny for a week, my parents and I. This was during July, which is winter holiday time for schools in Melbourne. Granny’s house was old, and I slept in an attic bedroom by myself; I think I was eight.”

  Fergal moistened his lips.

  “One night, after I’d gone to bed, the adults decided they’d stroll to a pub a few blocks away, to drink a pint or two. They left me alone, but I didn’t even know they’d gone; I was fast asleep, you see.”

  After Fergal drank from his beer, he continued.

  “A storm came up, quite suddenly, a bad one with lots of thunder and lightning and high winds. It woke me up. The house shook and rain pounded on the roof, right over my head. I screamed for my mum and dad, but they weren’t there.”

  Fergal grimaced.

  “I felt so scared I crapped in my PJs; it was awful.”

  “Look,” I said, “I’ve lived around this kind of weather all my life. As long as you’re indoors, you’re safe.”

  He looked at me with an expression that said he didn’t quite believe me.

  “It’s true,” I said. “This building’s made of brick; it’s not going to fall apart. And the roof is sound. You have nothing to worry about.”

  Another lightning bolt flashed. We both glanced out Fergal’s front windows, just in time to see a limb snap off a live oak. The limb fell into the four-plex’s yard; it crushed a row of galvanized metal trash
cans, making a sound like a car crash. Fergal leapt to his feet, his eyes grew as big as silver dollars. After darting across the room, he crawled under his dining table and covered his head with his arms

  “Jesus Christ, Andy. The world’s coming to an end.”

  Do something before he hyperventilates.

  “Fergal?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Come out from underneath the table. Come sit by me again.”

  Fergal didn’t budge.

  “Come on, it’ll be okay.”

  Fergal knees crackled when he rose. After shuffling back to the sofa, he plopped down beside me. I wrapped my arm about his shoulders and pulled him to me, so his cheek lay against my shoulder. He shook so hard the springs in the sofa creaked.

  “We’ll ride this out together,” I said. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  “What if Gina saw me like this? She’d think --”

  “Gina would understand. Storms scare some people, just like snakes or plane flights. You can’t help it.”

  Lightning flashed anew, and another thunder clap shook the four-plex. Fergal rubbed his knees together, and then a shiver ran through him.

  “It’s late and I’m tired,” he said. “Will you do something for me?”

  “What’s that?”

  Fergal’s gaze turned to mine. “Spend the night with me?”

  Huh?

  Fergal’s request caught me completely off guard, and I couldn’t help myself, between my legs I felt a stiffening. I looked into Fergal’s frightened face, trying to decide what I should say.

  Careful, Andy. E-a-s-y...

  “Are you sure you want me to do that?” I asked.

  Fergal nodded. “I know it sounds a bit strange, but I’m afraid to be alone right now. I won’t sleep a wink all night if you leave.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll stay if you’d like.”

  Fergal locked his front door. He seized the candelabrum, led me into his bedroom. There wasn’t much in there: a double bed covered by a Navajo blanket, a bureau, a ladder back chair, and a closet with bi-fold doors, just like mine. A poster of Jimmy Hendrix was taped to one wall. I draped my jeans and shirt over the back of the chair while Fergal stowed his jeans in his closet. After we’d both visited the bathroom, Fergal blew out the candle, and then we crawled into his bed, a tight fit for two fully-grown guys. We both lay on our backs. Fergal’s hip, shoulder, and knee touched mine, and our leg hairs commingled. Lightning flashed, and then thunder rumbled.