A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (2 page)

The same dangerous feelings that had gotten Henry into
trouble in the park were asserting themselves, making themselves known as he
lay sprawled next to his beloved, his body still hot and throbbing in the
aftermath of their lovemaking. The desire to have his affection recognized and
celebrated was overwhelming.

“I know what I did in the park was stupid,” Henry began. “I
went about it all wrong—”

“Henry—” Martin rolled up onto his side and looked Henry in
the face, his hand splayed over Henry’s heart. His expression suggested a
loving disagreement was on the horizon.

“No, listen, all right? I know it wasn’t smart, but…I want
to find another way. There might be a place, don’t you think? Not the park,
obviously
.
Maybe Reggie will help us when he gets back. I just want people to know how I
feel about you. I want people to understand.”

Martin frowned, his brow furrowed. “Why? Why does it matter
that other people know?”

“Because I love you so much—”

“But
I
know,” Martin said. “I know. Isn’t it enough
for us to know?”

The answer was ‘no,’ but it was obvious Henry wasn’t
supposed to say that.

“It’s not fair,” Henry tried. “It’s not fair that it’s
forbidden between men.”

Martin shrugged. “Lots of things aren’t fair, though,
Henry.” He gave Henry a little thump on the chest. “Actually, a great many
things are unfair in your favor, you know.”

“Like what?”

“Please.” Martin rolled his eyes. “You’re very rich when so
many people are poor. You’re very handsome when so many men are homely.” He
flopped down on his back, making vague gestures that implied the existence of
these unlucky people. He elbowed Henry and said, “
You’ve
got the most
devoted companion, when other boys have shiftless slaves who don’t love them at
all.”

Henry laughed and rolled over on top of him. “I’m the
luckiest,” he agreed.

His luck continued into Thursday, when Father cleared his
throat in the middle of the fish course and said, “Your mother and I have
discussed it at length, Henry, and we’ve decided you may attend your cousin’s
party on Saturday.” At these words, Mother looked very pleased with herself,
almost triumphant, and Henry surmised he had her to thank for this decision.

Henry was delighted but at pains to hide his pleasure.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that you’re allowing it.”

“You’ve had time to reflect on your behavior?” Father cocked
an eyebrow, fixing Henry with a sharp eye.

Henry felt a rush of heat rising from his collar under the
scrutiny. “Uh, yes, sir. Nothing like that will happen again, I promise.”

“I should certainly hope not,” Father said. “You understand,
Henry, that owning a companion is a privilege, and privileges can be revoked.”

Henry absorbed the import of this in a worried silence, eyes
fixed on his plate.

“Martin is still my property,” Father continued. “If you
intend to keep him, you’ll use what little common sense you have. I won’t stand
for any more nonsense from you, I promise you that.”

Henry could feel Father’s judgmental gaze on the side of his
reddened face, could tell that Father was waiting for him to speak. He said,
“Yes, sir,” in a little voice.

“Your reputation is paramount, Henry. You’ll do nothing to
sully it or I’ll see to it you regret it.”

“No, sir.”

“Privileges can be revoked,” Father repeated.

“I-I understand, sir.”

“
Really
, Hiram,” Mother said with a ladylike roll of
her eyes, her tone indicating she found Father’s scolding very tedious. “You’ll
affect his digestion with all these
ridiculous
threats.”

Father ignored Mother and gave Henry a long, measured look.
It was not at all clear if he was happy with what he saw; he gave a
noncommittal “Hmph,” and turned his attention to his plate and his paperwork,
effectively dismissing Henry and his mother both.

Later, their heads side-by-side on the pillow, Henry said,
“I’m worried about my father. It sounds like he’s practically looking for a
reason to take you away from me.”

Martin pressed his lips together and frowned. “Well, he
was
rather stern, but I don’t think he
wants
to separate us, Henry. We just
have to be circumspect, don’t you think? We can do that.”

Henry couldn’t help it; he yearned for acknowledgment. But
he didn’t share this, knowing full well that Martin would not agree.

“We can do that,” he said, and he mostly meant it.

On Friday night, lounging in bed, the taste of Martin at the
back of his tongue, Henry was feeling a little apprehensive about Jesse’s
birthday party on the morrow. He’d know his cousins, of course, but most of the
guests would be Lawton School boys, and he was cognizant of the fact that
people would be impressed by his name and have certain expectations of him,
none of which he would likely be able to meet. He wasn’t the sort of bold,
clever son people imagined a man like Hiram Blackwell would have. He wasn’t
just a disappointment to his father, but to those who admired his father, as
well.

Henry thought Martin was the kind of boy who’d make a good
son for Father, actually. Smart, industrious, blessed with both useful and
decorative talents. He was a much more impressive person than Henry by any
estimation. Henry thought Martin ought to want more for himself, and he was
prepared to give Martin all possible leeway when they were grown, but Martin
was unenthusiastic about Henry’s fantasies of emancipation and
self-determination.

Henry struggled to understand Martin’s disinterest in
freedom, trying to accept that it simply meant different things to them. For
Henry, there was power and romance in the idea of being free to choose, of
having that right, and he wanted this for Martin, but Martin wanted nothing to
do with it. Martin had been bred and raised for service, and he equated his
very existence with slavery; he was glad of it, and considered it a good thing.
He liked to point out that slavery had brought them together, and that they
never would have met if he’d been born free.

Henry wanted Martin to be free to choose, and to choose him,
and for this choice to be untrammeled by the baggage of slavery, but there
really was no way to have that. Even if Henry were allowed to emancipate Martin
this very day, it wouldn’t erase Martin’s Ganymede upbringing, and it wouldn’t
get rid of his tattoo. Henry just wanted to be assured, somehow, that if Martin
were a free man, he’d fall just as deeply in love with Henry. He wanted to know
that if Martin were free, he’d still overlook Henry’s dull-wittedness and
laziness and poor vocabulary and focus on the sex, the part Henry knew he was
getting right.

Should it ever come about, freedom would be a difficult
adjustment for both of them, though, not just Martin. In freeing Martin, Henry
would be taking a terrible risk. If Martin were free, he might see fit to take
other lovers, and Henry wouldn’t be in any position to order him not to do so.
Henry would have to work very hard to keep Martin interested, to compel him to
stay close, and to secure his love. Henry would have the advantage of being
able to shower him with gifts, but somehow he didn’t think Martin would be
swayed by gifts.

Long after Martin had fallen asleep, Henry kept himself
awake imagining an emancipated Martin who was free to fall into bed with Tom,
thinking of how that might look and how much he wanted to see it, and seethed
with jealousy over a scenario that was no less a torment despite being entirely
his own creation.

Shortly after receiving the party invitation two weeks ago,
Martin had spoken with Jesse’s Russ on Henry’s behalf about what sort of gift
Jesse might like, and the two of them had settled on a good-sized easel and an
array of professional-quality brushes, as Jesse wanted to become more serious
about cultivating his artistic talents. Thinking of Jesse’s drawing of
Elizabeth, Henry had agreed this would be a good gift and the order was placed,
everything to be wrapped at the shop and delivered the morning of the party.

Martin had seemed especially pleased to be allowed to make
such arrangements; he had come to Henry with great expectations of managing
social engagements, but of course Henry’s life wasn’t terrifically social, and
his friends were not in the habit of issuing formal invitations or giving one
another gifts in any case. Henry had enjoyed seeing Martin energized by this
planning and had wished there might be more opportunities for him to use his
administrative talents.

On Saturday morning, Henry dressed in his blue plaid with
the paisley waistcoat—it made a bold statement, he felt—and went downstairs for
a big breakfast. Mother came in while he was eating, necessitating that Martin
get up from the table and abandon his coffee.

“It’s your cousin’s party today, isn’t it, darling?” She
turned in her chair and took the teacup that Pearl handed to her, mouthing a
‘thank you.’

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, you look very handsome. You remind me of Reggie in
that way, being so stylish.”

Henry wouldn’t necessarily appreciate being compared to
Reggie in
all
ways, but in this particular area he found the comparison
flattering. “Thank you, Mother.”

“Jesse will be 18 now, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It seems like he was a baby just yesterday,” she said
wistfully. “And now he’ll be off to college in the fall.”

“He’s not going far,” Henry pointed out. “He got into Cooper
Union, after all.”

“Regardless, he’ll want to move into his own rooms
somewhere,” Mother said. “Virginia is terribly worried about him living on his
own. She thinks him quite impulsive—do you see him that way, darling?”

“Uh…” Henry did not know how to answer this. He did indeed
think Jesse was impulsive, yet he’d hardly condemn him for it.

“He’s very artistic,” Mother continued. “Artistic people
often create drama, I suppose. Reggie was certainly that way.”

“I didn’t know Uncle Reggie was an artist,” Henry said,
surprised. Reggie talked about the artistic world, to be sure, but had never
given any indication that he made art himself.

“Oh, not in that way, darling. He doesn’t draw or paint or
any of that. It’s more his whole approach to life that I find so artistic. He
is
very good with colors, though, making things go together. I think you have some
of that talent yourself.”

Henry suspected that what his mother was sensing was
Reggie’s and his shared queer sensibility, but certainly wasn’t about to
suggest this.

“Do you ever think about your older brother and sister?”
Mother asked, taking Henry by surprise.

“N-no, ma’am.” Most of the time, Henry forgot they’d even
existed.

“Hiram Junior would have been the same age as your cousin
Bette,” Mother remarked, “and Alicia would have been a little older than Jesse.”
She sipped her tea and then sat looking down into the cup. “You’ll have to
forgive me, darling. Birthdays tend to make me a bit melancholy. I’m trying to
do better, but it’s proving rather difficult.”

“Well, of course…” Henry offered awkwardly. He wanted to
bolt from the room  but did not think he could do this in good conscience.

“Did we ever have a party for you, darling, when you were
small? I just can’t remember.”

“I had cake with Nurse upstairs when I was little,” Henry
told her.

“But after that? After we brought you downstairs, did you
ever have a party?” He could tell by the way Mother asked that she wanted the
answer to be yes.

Henry wouldn’t lie. “N-no. No parties. You weren’t feeling
well—”

“Ugh. How terrible for you!” Mother frowned and shuddered,
seeming disgusted. “You poor child. Well, I want to change that,” she said.
“Have a good time at your cousin’s party today and maybe your Martin—” here,
she glanced up above Henry’s head “—can make note of what is particularly
enjoyable about it, and we can try to recreate that atmosphere in a party for
you. You
would
like a birthday party, wouldn’t you, darling?”