Harlan's Race

Bets?”
    ‘You can’t tell?” she parried.
    “Lucky woman.”
    “I waited for years for this. Passed up women who didn’t feel right. Sometimes I almost gave up hope.”
    Silence.
    ‘Wish I could say you look lucky,” she said. “But you look sad. Still carrying a torch for Vince?”
    “Oh no ... that’s over.”
    “Where’s Vince’s head at?”
    “Calmed down. No more gay Panther. He even gave back Billy’s shoe.”
    Betsy was dubious. “Really?”
    “He’s settling into a serious career. Films, like he always wanted to do. You should get in touch with him. He asked about you.”
    She looked doubtful. “Vince is like a pit bull... he doesn’t let go once he takes hold. I’ll keep my distance a while longer.”
    “How are you doing with Falcon... really?” I asked.
    Between the lines was my real question. How do two lesbians raise a son? And how would two gay men raise a daughter?
    “Okay... I guess.” She shrugged. “He’s a wild child, as you can see. The day-care center wants him put on Ritalin, but I won’t. Much as it grates on our feminist sensibilities, we keep men in his world. Universal men. Now and then, we find one. There aren’t many around. One male babysitter
    — a couple of students of mine — a couple of faculty friends. Gawd, I’ll never forget how Falcon hurt Marla’s feelings one day. A faculty guy came to visit, and Marla and Falcon were playing with a ball in the back yard. And Falcon told her to go in the house. He wanted to play with him.”
    Anxiety made me push it now.
    “When Falcon’s older, if things ever quiet down,” I said, “let him come visit me.”
    She looked at me sharply. ‘We’ll see. The decision is half Marla’s.”
    Her meaning was clear — the answer to my question, between the lines. She still honored my deep emotional tie to this child. But she was saying, Marla is as much his mother as you are his father.
    Just then, Marla shouted, “Betsy! Harlan! Look!”
    Betsy’s lover was pointing at the sky.
    From the ponds, a white spiral of geese was lazily winding into the heavens. The air was humming with sound.
    “Aw-right!” Betsy shouted. “They’re on their way!”
    The three of us ran into the refuge, along a narrow road between two ponds. Betsy kept a tight hold on Falcon. Now the ecstatic clamor filled the sky—voices of migrating birds, thousands of them. The snow geese circled upwards in that slow-turning spiral, till they were at maybe a thousand feet altitude. Then they began stringing into Vs, heading north into an arctic springtime with a single mind.
    “Where are the geese going?” Chino asked.
    “Canada, I guess,” said Betsy.
    She had her arm around Marla’s waist, and kissed her gently on the cheek.
    Soon the ponds were empty — nothing left but floating white feathers, and a few ducks.
    When Chino stopped the Land Rover in front of the United terminal at L.A. airport, he shoved a small leather case in my overnight bag. “My bug detector,” he said. ‘You haven’t been in the beach house for a while... better do a good sweep.”
    “Thanks.”
    Our eyes met for the good-bye. ‘You going to make it?” I asked.
    “With a friend like you, I will.”
    That magnetic tension pulled us ever stronger, and we gave each other a long hug. Our unshaven cheeks grated together. Then he felt like he was edging away from me. I didn’t want to leave him. And I felt aroused. He’s so crazy he’s sane, and you’ll fall for him, Steve’s voice said in my memory.
    ‘You want to tell me something,” I said against his hair. “Maybe. If things go FUBAR.”
    “When you decide to talk, I’ll listen.”
    ‘Yeah, maybe you would.”
    “When you decide, come see me on the Beach.”
    The car behind us honked.
    “Goddam faggots,” the driver behind us yelled. “Move it!”
    On the flight back to New York, I fought with myself about it. The passion with Vince was over, and good riddance. But were my best friend and I heading for something? I felt like an alcoholic asking himself if he could have a drink. Maybe it was time to get another bodyguard, so Chino and I could have this thing. The feeling had been building like lightning — time for a jarring flash to jump between the two clouds. But Chino still seemed edgy. Was it some lingering racial or ethnic thing that I was still too insensitive to see? And why did we need caresses? We were so close already — closer than sex, closer than love. Making love with Chino