This Dog for Hire

come in frozen from that long walk in the snow. While he waited for the water to boil, he sat down to write me a check. I thanked him, slipped it into my wallet, and took out my notepad.
    He hadn’t said what sort of artist he was, and oddly, I thought, there was no clear sign in the studio area except that there were drawing boards and stools, three of them, rather than easels. The art hanging on the pale peach-colored walls was obviously done by many artists, and of those where I could see a signature, none were his.
    “Was Clifford close to his family?”
    “Well, his dad is dead. His mom lives in Maryland, in Frederick. That’s where Cliffie grew up. You should’ve heard his drawl when he did Barbara Fritchie.” He smiled to himself at the memory. “I never used to think of Maryland as the South, you know,” he said, “but Cliffie always said it was. He said it surely was.”
    I had no problem with that. To me, the South started below Canal Street.
    “His mother’s only been here once,” Dennis said. “It was a couple of years ago. Cliff de-gayed the loft and brought everything down here. So I wouldn’t say they were too close, no.”
    “Has she been here since his death?”
    “No, only his brother has. He called the next night to ask when I could let him in. He was very quiet, you know, polite, and apologetic about bothering me. It ended up that I left the keys at Haber’s for him because I wasn’t going to be home when he could come by.”
    “You never met him?”
    “No—never.”
    “And he didn’t have a key?”
    “I offered to make him a set, but he said not to bother, he’d just be there a short while and leave the keys back at Haber’s. He kept saying that I shouldn’t trouble myself. I said anything he wanted was fine with me, wouldn’t be any trouble. Shit, the man had just lost his only brother. I didn’t mind helping him out, but he said he didn’t want to take up any more of my time and that I’d been too kind already. I guess he just wanted to be alone.”
    “What about the service? Did he say anything about that?”
    “He said the service would probably be in Frederick because it was difficult for his mother to travel.”
    I made some notes, then noticed the silence.
    “The truth is, I don’t think they want to have any of us there. Peter didn’t say exactly when it would be, and he certainly didn’t ask if I’d come. As far as I know, he never even called Louis at all, not even to say he was sorry. Perhaps he was afraid if his mother met her son’s friends, she’d finally have to wake up and hear the Judy Garland records playing. Some people would rather five in denial than know what’s going on in their own family. Well, my dear, what would the neighbors say!”
    “But Peter knew about his brother, didn’t he?” “How could he not know? He’d have to be blind. Mothers and fathers, especially fathers, that’s different. I mean, you could show up for Thanksgiving dinner in drag and your parents could miss it. But not a brother. Even if they didn’t talk about it, he must have known.”
    “But you don’t know for sure? Clifford didn’t talk about Peter, like after he’d seen him? He never mentioned anything they talked about?”
    “No. But I didn’t find that unusual. I never talk about my family to my friends. Just having to see them is more than enough.”
    Tell me about it, I thought.
    “Families, oh, you know. I mean, they’re the ones who ought to be in the closet. They’re so embarrassing.”
    The kettle had been boiling for a while. He got up and went to the kitchen.
    “Dennis, had Peter come up from Frederick?” I asked when he returned with two mugs of tea.
    “No, he lives in Jersey,” he said, “the Garden State.” He rolled his eyes. “Fort Lee, I think. He’s a teacher, married, two kids, boys. You know, a normal life. That’s all I know. I mean, do your friends know your family?”
    I took a sip of tea.
    “Cliff used to meet Peter uptown, for dinner, once in a while, just the two of them. But not seeing your family too often isn’t so unusual. You don’t have to be gay to find family relationships stressful.”
    “This is true,” I said. “Dennis, can you give me addresses and phone numbers for Cliff’s family and friends?”
    “Cliff’s address book is upstairs, on his desk.”
    “And Louis, his lover? Where does he live, in the area.'
    “Mmmm, Louie. Louis Lane, believe it or not. He lives on West Fourth