CHAPTER 3

David returned from the crematorium bearing what was left of their latest John Doe. It had been a day of quiet desperation (not unlike other days) but with less conversation and noisier handling of embalming materials.

David entered into the basement to find Nathaniel hunched over a gurney.

"I thought I was fixing Mrs. Cole's nose," David said to the back of his father's head. While waiting for an answer, he placed the box of cremains on the shelf. He turned to his father who was still silent. "Huh?"

After a moment, Nathaniel looked up.

"Was that a question?"

"An explanation wouldn't hurt."

After a moment, Nathaniel looked up.

"Was that a question?"

"An explanation wouldn't hurt."

"I'm doing it," Nathaniel said and resumed pressing flesh-colored putty into a flesh wound.

"And were you going to tell me?"

"I didn't realize I had to answer to you," was his father's terse reply.

David sat down at the next gurney and, rolling up his sleeves, began to wash the body of 86-year-old Dr. Harold Simpson. "I'm getting better at doing noses," he said in his own defense.

"Congratulations," Nathaniel said. He rose, and pulling off his gloves, walked over to a cupboard feet from David, rifling among the boxes overhead.

"Looking for something?" David asked without looking up.

Nathaniel didn't reply. With each second that passed in his unsuccessful search, his shuffling became noisier and more careless.

"The flexible collodian is still in the boxes. We never unloaded them last night."

With his search over, Nathaniel walked over to the back wall, ripping a box open and taking out a bottle. He sat back down and, crouching over Mrs. Cole, resumed his nasal reconstruction.

David watched on with a simmering frustration. "So this is how it's going to be from now on?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Nathaniel replied.

"You're mad at me," David answered.

"I'm not mad," Nathaniel replied.

"Well, you sure do seem mad," David said. "No eye contact. No conversation. Slamming equipment around."

Nathaniel sat up and stared David in the eye. "What do you want me to say, David?"

David shrunk back, defensive. "I don't want you to say anything."

"Good," Nathaniel replied, and returned to his work.

"But I don't understand why you can't respect my decisions."

Nathaniel took out a brush, dabbing Mrs. Coles face with sealant. "How am I 'disrespecting' your decisions?"

"You know what you're doing," David spat. "Don't act like it's all in my mind."

Nathaniel snorted a chuckle. "David, contrary to popular belief, all I want is for my children to be happy. You, Claire, Nate… all of you. That's all I want. And when you all make decisions that make things hard on yourselves—as you seem hell bent on doing—I'm disappointed."

"Disappointed?" David repeated. "You weren't marrying Jennifer. I was."

"Were you?" Nathaniel said. "You jerked that girl around for five years, and then what? Decided she doesn't put enough cream in her beef stroganoff?"

"I woke up one morning and realized that I wasn't in love with her. And it wasn't fair to her or me to—"

"Save it, David," Nathaniel interjected. "I got it. Flowers and rainbows and puppy dog tails."

"Don't patronize me," David said, seething.

Nathaniel sat up. "Patronize you?" he repeating smugly, before leaning on edge of the gurney, gesturing with his brush. "Let me tell you a story, son. When I married your mother, she was a Celtic goddess: flawless ivory skin, flaming red hair that danced around her bare shoulders, glistening emerald eyes. She was so shy and innocent she barely talked at all; just laughed at all my corny jokes. Now," he chuckled, "her hair has faded, her skin sags, and her infectious giggle has turned into shrill nagging."

"Don't bring Mom into—"

"But you know what David?" Nathaniel interrupted. "I'm no picnic either. Balding, always working, cornier than ever. A real son of bitch to be around, when I'm here at all. And guess what? If I had the chance to do it all over again, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Because nobody's promised you a soul mate, David. If you find somebody in life that gives you a little love and that can stand you, you've won the lottery." He went back to his work.

David was trembling. "Well that's the difference between you and me, Dad," he spat. "I want more out of life than making snide remarks at my wife over dinner, smoking a little pot when no one's looking and wiping shit out of the assholes of dead bodies all my life. I want some truth, some meaning to my existence."

Nathaniel winked. "Good luck."

David stood up and walked out.

Sean approached the church and found David standing outside off to the side, fiddling with his tie.

"Uh, David?" he started.

David looked up. "Hey Sean. You're here."

"Yeah. Why are you dressed like you're on your way to a funeral?" Sean asked.

David looked down at his dark suit, crisp shirt, paisley tie and wing tip shoes. "Because I usually am? Ninety percent of my clothes look pretty much like this."

"Yeah, well, bring it down a notch next time," Sean said, motioning to his own polo shirt/khaki pants combo. He nodded towards the door. "Going in?"

"Yeah," David said. "I just… need a moment."

"Nervous?"'

"It's just… well I've never been to a gay church before."

"It's not a gay church, David," Sean countered. "It's just a church. And there are gay people here."

David didn't look assuaged.

"This is an Episcopalian church," Sean argued. "Aren't you Episcopalian?"

"Yeah," David conceded.

"Good. Then let's go in."

They started towards the building when a large SUV screeched to a halt in a nearby parking space, and out came a large man in a fitted black shirt and pin-striped slacks. He pointed his clicker at the car as if to say "Fuck you, car. Now you're locked," and David watched—entranced—as the man sauntered across the parking lot and towards the church doors.

David leaned in close to Sean. "Who is that?" he asked.

"Keith," Sean answered. "Keith Thomas… or Keith Scott. I dunno. One of those last names that sounds like a first name."

"He comes much?"

"Yeah. Most Sundays. Why?"

David looked pensive. "Which team is he on?"

"Ours."

David nodded contently then turned to Sean, who was giving him an incredulous look. David was unswayed. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed that he's smoking hot."

Sean shrugged. "Yeah, but he's a jerk."

David rolled his eyes. "You're just saying that."

"No I'm not," Sean insisted. "Look at the way he struts as he walks, like he's on the red carpet at the Oscars. That big-ass SUV with those oversized tires just annoys me. And who wears muscle shirts to church? He's all ego."

"So he's confident and likes big cars. That doesn't make him a jerk."

"Charles!" Sean blurted.

"What?" David asked.

"Charles. His last name is Charles."

"I don't care. Still hot."

"Fine," Sean said. "Full disclosure? I still haven't forgiven him for arresting my cousin, like, a year ago just because—"

"He's a cop?" David said wistfully. It was Sean's turn to roll his eyes followed by an exasperated sigh. He pushed David towards the door.

"Let's just go inside, OK?"

Today was a beautiful day, even for LA. The air was filled with the coolest of breezes and the sky was awe-inspiringly blue (no clouds anywhere). Birds were singing, people were smiling, and… David wanted to be out in it. Today was a day for errands. His dad could work the body shop.

He was leaving the dry cleaners from picking up ten suits—ten—and heard a familiar cry.

"Paletas! Paletas!"

He dumped the suits in the back seat and jogged across the street to buy a popsicle from the Mexican ice cream cart.

"One dollar," the man said, and David handed him a buck before being greeted with a cold treat. The vendor was waddling off when David heard a less familiar cry.

"Hey you!"

He turned to see a man behind a table covered with… like pamphlets or something. A young woman with a lot of makeup and a shaved head was sitting next to him. There was a huge rainbow on the table cloth.

Oh.

"Yeah, you," the man answered to a question David hadn't asked. David looked around tentatively and walked towards the man. He was wearing a wife beater and teal short shorts, and peeped out at David from behind aviators and a LA Lakers trucker cap. David found his outfit incongruous.

"Um, hello," David said, taking another lick from his popsicle.

"Right," was the man's odd greeting. "We've gotta do something. We can't just let the social fascists define the world for us."

"Um… ok," David said.

"I'm not asking for any money," the man continued passionately. "I just want your pledge to support civil rights for everyone. Here," he handed him a pamphlet. David gave it a look.

"We're Human Too!—Insurance, marriage, adoption and other human experiences that gays are SOL," he read aloud. David chuckled. "Catchy."

"SOL stands for shit out of luck," the man explained, somewhat defeating the point of the acronym. "Read it and commit to not being afraid. That's all I ask."

David nodded. That sounded… doable. Empowering even. These people—teal shorts, bald heads and all—were his people. And his people had work to do.

David smiled. "Sure, I can do that," he said.

The man responded with a yelp and began to ring a bell. "Alright!" He and the girl high fived.

David turned to leave, but paused. "Um," he began. He had a nagging question. "How did you… how did you know I was gay?"

The man peered forward quizzically. "You're gay?"

So he … hadn't. "You said 'we' and 'us'. Like you were including me."

"I say that to everyone," he shrugged. "You know, gay doesn't look like anything." He went back to rifling through his paraphernalia.

"Right," David said, and with that, walked back to his car.

This was the third Sunday in a row David had accompanied Sean to church, and he was starting to feel the tacit pressure to make a decision about the future of his church allegiance. His mother, for her part, was growing less and less tolerant of his church adultery and was strongly advocating a return to his home congregation.

Sean and David rose and made their way down the aisle. The service was good, taken out of the book of Job. We suffer; it's not God's fault; God rewards faithfulness. All in all a good message.

What he caught of it anyway. There was a six foot one distraction on the far left that was impeding his spiritual nourishment.

He filed out with Sean as the pastor waited to shake their hands at the door. Somehow she had learned his name.

"Glad to have you with us again, David," she said warmly as he exited. "Will you be formally joining as a member?"

"Um, I'm not sure yet. It's something I've been considering. I've enjoyed my time here thus far." Thus far?

"Very nice," she said nodding. "If you don't mind my asking, what is your home church?"

"St. Bartholomew's," he answered. She nodded.

"Fine place. I believe Sean worshipped there as a child," she said. Sean nodded in agreement. "Well, member or no member, you're welcome to come to the picnic Deacon Curtis is hosting. Will you be attending?"

"Ummm…" David hesitated, shooting Sean a quick glance. He wasn't exactly ready to join the singles ministry. "Maybe," he answered noncommittally. "We'll see."

"Very well then," she conceded, before nodding to David and then to his companion. "Take care, David… Sean."

The two men nodded and made their way to the car.

"I'm not going to that picnic," David announced.

"Why not?" Sean asked.

"I don't know anybody."

"Um, that's the point of a meet and greet."

"I have a funeral tomorrow I have to prep for."

"Don't you always?" Sean retorted. David leveled an annoyed look. "Well…" Sean said, laying the bait, "Keith is going to be there."

David slowed a little as he walked, and Sean couldn't help but see him warming to the idea. He looked at Sean with the predicted look of obligatory resignation.

"Fine. I'll follow you there," he muttered. Sean beamed as they headed to the car.

David drove for several minutes, following Sean's impossibly slow driving that betrayed the fact that he spent most days dotting around in a glorified go-cart. When they finally stopped, David wondered at the complete lack of cars or activity outside of the place. Besides, it was small… too small to host a congregation-sized gathering. He jumped out, surveying the grounds with some curiosity.

"This is my house," he answered to the question written on David's face. "I'm just going to run in and change really quickly."

David's face sunk, and his shirt and slacks were suddenly burning his skin. "And what about me? I look like… "

"You look like you always look," Sean answered. The comment was less than welcome.

"Well, just make it quick," David said, "We're already late."

"OK," Sean said sarcastically as he jogged to the door, "I'll be right out Daddy."

David jumped back into the car. As he waited, he thought about the afternoon he was facing. After three weeks of regarding Keith with the distant admiration of a celebrity crush, he would actually be meeting him. Maybe spending time with him. Maybe…

Maybe what? Becoming his boyfriend? The notion was absurd. There was no way Keith was single, and if there were any chance in the universe that he was, there was an even slimmer chance that he—hunky Adonis cop—would give David—pale, puny undertaker—the time of day.

It was at least 20 minutes before Sean came back out. His hair looked suspiciously wet. He jumped in shotgun with David.

"So… I'm driving?" David asked.

"The parking will probably be bad," Sean explained. David started the ignition.

"Did you take a shower?" he asked.

"I didn't want to put on a different cologne on top of the cologne I wore to church," Sean explained.

David internally shook his head as they pulled off.

"So how far away is this thing?" David asked.

"From here?" Sean said, mentally working out the distance, "About 20 minutes, maybe thirty depending if there's any traffic."

"What?" David blurted, aghast. "I thought it started at 2."

"It… did," Sean confirmed, clearly baffled by David's alarm.

"At this point, if we get there by 3:00 it'll be a miracle," he replied.

"So?"

"So? We're late."

"David," Sean replied somewhat defensive, but more amused, "This isn't high school. You won't get written up."

David's annoyance was unabated. Sean chuckled to himself. "Gosh David, I forgot how uptight you were."

Saying nothing, David pulled off.

They arrived in time to avoid David's dreaded 3:00 forecast, although just barely. In his haste, it took him a full minute to fully comprehend the grandiosity of his surroundings. He didn't know what this deacon did for a living, but it clearly earned him a check with a lot of zeros.

"Where are we?" David said, as they followed a marked path to the backyard, backgrounds, backestate.

"Los Feliz," Sean said. "You remember Ian." David shrugged with absolutely no recognition. He was also distracted by the in-ground pool somehow imbedded in the side of a hill that was lined with hedges that were manicured to resemble the iconic statues on Easter Island. Sean continued. "He's a producer of some kind. I think he's out of the country, but he hosts these things sometimes… mostly to score points with the Deacon Board I think. I don't know if he's actually attended one yet."

As they drew closer, David eyed the attendees. There were about 25 people gathered… and none of them were Keith.

"We missed him," David whispered dejectedly.

"Who? Keith?" Sean asked. David answered with a look of annoyance. "How do you know?"

"He's not here!"

"He's not here… yet."

David shook his head. "Thanks to our tardiness, he probably came, showed face, and left. And we missed him."

"Take a look around you," Sean instructed. David did. "We are the church nerds. All the cool kids aren't even on their way yet." David was oddly comforted by that statement. Being the nerd in the scenario felt familiar. "Here," Sean said, reaching for a drink on a nearby cart. He handed it to David. "Liquid courage. It does a body good."

David took the tumbler from his hand and took a sip. "This isn't alcoholic," he said.

"Hmm," Sean said with some consternation. "I guess this is a church function and all. Well," he said, placing a hand on David's shoulder, "you're going to have to buck up on your own." He nodded towards a buffet table some distance away. "Meanwhile, I'm going to go check out the hors d'ourves."

David took a seat on a nearby bench and tried to relax by taking in the beauty of the hills. Around 3:15, people starting pouring in—people he had certainly never seen at church. Another 45 minutes, maybe an hour, passed as David exchanged courteous nods and the occasional salutation with passerby—coupled with the occasional stop in from Sean—and was considering leaving when all of sudden he saw him…

Keith.

Apparently Sean did too, and he seemed to materialize out of thin air.

"Go talk to him," he urged. David however, was too awestruck by the other man's confident demeanor as he watched him stride over to an assembled group chatting by the chocolate fountain.

"Let's leave," he said with more certainty than he had ever felt in his life.

"Not before you talk to Keith," Sean said. He took David by the arm and tugged the recalcitrant admirer across the lawn until they were a stone's throw from the chattering assembly. "Now go!" Sean declared.

David looked at him with bewilderment. "And say what? 'Excuse me for interrupting, but even though you don't have the foggiest idea who I am, I want you to know that I've been watching you for weeks and might be in love with your biceps?"

"Good… humor," Sean said encouragingly. David turned to leave.

"Wait!" Sean commanded, grabbing his arm. "Look, he's moving off by himself."

David tried to be heartened by this development, but… wasn't.

"Follow my lead," Sean said. He walked towards Keith. David—emotionally compromised—followed him.

"Hey Keith," he chirped. Keith nodded amiably, followed by a deep breath, as if to gather his thoughts.

"Hi… Sean," he answered. He dashed a glance at David. "How've you been?"

"Good, good," Sean answered. "You?"

"Good," he said. The conversation stalled.

"Um, this," Sean said, motioning to David. "Is my friend David. We went to the same church as kids."

Keith extended his hand. "I'm Keith."

"David," David said, redundantly, and mentally kicked himself.

"Keith is a cop," Sean explained. David smiled and nodded his approval, just managing to remain standing on his weakened knees.

"How's your cousin?" Keith asked Sean. Sean tensed up a little.

"Fine," he answered briskly. His face seemed to radiate "no thanks to you."

"Do you like it?" David suddenly asked. Sean and Keith looked at him. "Being a cop?" he clarified.

Keith nodded reflectively. "I do, actually. I get a real feeling of accomplishment helping keep LA safe."

"Great… work… you," David stammered. He felt faint. Keith pulled out his phone and glanced at it (smiling absently) before returning it to his pocket. Then he took a sip of his drink.

"What do you do?" he finally asked.

The dreaded question had come so soon. David contemplated lying. Dog trainer, casting director, history professor, even street sweeper all sounded like preferable professions to body embalmer. David looked at Sean and back at Keith. "I'm a funeral director," he said with a flourish, hoping to mask his uneasiness.

"Ah," Keith replied, unfazed. "Where?"

David cleared his throat. "At Fisher and Sons. I'm the son. Great-grandson actually. Fourth generation."

Keith nodded. "I attended a funeral there once."

"No you didn't," David blurted, and a second later was mortified. His mouth was functioning on auto-pilot.

"Excuse me?" Keith said.

"I would have remembered you," David said, clumsily emphasizing his mental decline. Sean looked at him like he had grown a third eye.

"You don't get many cops that come through?" Keith guessed.

"Tons and tons," David answered, adding to the confusion.

"Then… why would you have remembered me?" Keith asked—the only rational inquiry that could follow such a non-sequitur.

Because you're the most regal, gorgeous, vocationally-appealing and patently unforgettable man I've ever met?, David thought.

"Um, it's that, I, uh… I have a good memory."

Silence.

Sean placed a bracing hand on David's shoulder. "David's not my boyfriend," he declared, and walked off. David made a mental note to murder Sean as soon as they got back to the car. But first, he would have to escape. He was visualizing himself flying down the freeway when Keith suddenly spoke.

"Have you ever seen these before?" he asked, miraculously indicating that he desired to continue the conversation. David took a deep breath, fighting with every ounce of his body to maintain composure. He looked at the black ball in question.

"No, I can't say that I have," he answered.

"It's what's passing at shiitake these days," he said disgusted. "It tastes like shit."

"Shiitake?" David asked.

"That's what it's labeled as," he said and pointed to the card. "It's not though. Maybe a little."

He tossed the ball in a nearby trash bin.

"Why is everything labeled?" David asked. He hadn't noticed before.

"A form of condescension," Keith said. "Because otherwise we wouldn't know how expensive everything is."

David noticed placards that read Caviar d'aubergine, Alaskan crab bisque, Brandade de morue—and that was just the food. The wines seem to snarl French epithets at anyone who approached.

"Don't get me wrong. I love fine dining," Keith explained after a while, "but I don't like the pretentiousness that goes with it. Especially when it's crap masquerading as gourmet." David listened attentively. "This is a church function. Why the games?"

"Believe it or not," David said, "I see that in my line or work all the time."

"Yeah?" Keith implored.

David nodded. "When people die, their survivors sometimes get into… competitions of who loved the deceased more. They compete with material displays of affection. I've seen repasts that were more elaborate than wedding receptions."

"You would think that death would put people in a reflective mood," Keith said, then shook his head. "I guess it just brings out the jerks they already were."

David thought on that a moment. "I don't know. Sometimes it's not that… black and white."

Keith looked surprised. "How is that?"

"I mean, I totally agree that a funeral is the wrong time to be ostentatious. But, death is a finality that a lot of people find difficult to accept. The pageantry of the service sometimes helps balm the pain. Misguided, sure, but when we humans struggle to make sense of our grief, we sometimes land somewhere beside the point."

Keith didn't answer, just looked at David wordlessly. David feared his uninvited brand of armchair psychology had run contrary to Keith's belief system. Why couldn't he just smile and flirt like normal people?

"Funeral director, huh?" Keith said after some deliberation.

"Yeah," David said. "I know. Repulsive, creepy, scary… among other things I've heard."

"I don't think it's creepy," Keith said. "I mean, maybe a little. But it's a great service you all provide."

David lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's something like being a cop. At the time when everyone else is running away, we run towards the problem. Try to fix it up, make it right." David couldn't help but smile a little. "We're public servants."

"I guess we are."

Keith surveyed the food before him. "I'm starving," he said. David found that easy to believe. "I want food food."

David saw an opportunity. "What cuisine do you like?"

"Mediterranean… North African. Couscous, red meat, olives." He gave the hors d'ourves another contemptuous look.

"Really, because I know a great Mediterranean place about 15 minutes from here. They have some of the best tabouli I've ever had."

Keith sighed with some regret. "I'd love to go and try it out, but I have this… thing later."

"Of course," David replied. "Maybe some other time."

"Yeah," Keith said, and for the first time since they had been talking, he smiled. "Um, let me get your number," he said taking out his phone, "and maybe if I have a free day…"

David's heart soared. "Yeah, absolutely."

He was halfway through reciting his digits when Keith looked up suddenly, as if something had caught his eye. David turned around to see what it was, but didn't see anything. "Excuse me," Keith said and walked determinedly towards a man standing at the gate. The two men barely greeted each other before launching into conversation. David watched with intrigue at how the men talked closely. The discussion seemed, in turns, to be serious and light: they'd lean in close with somber faces only to burst out laughing a second later. Minutes went by with them in spirited conversation when the other man tugged once on Keith's arm and began to leave through the gate. Keith made a passing glance over his shoulder, before jogging after the other man and disappearing too.

Who is he?, David wondered. His curiosity got the better of him. He found Sean, who was chatting with a friend of his.

"Seth," he said, unapologetically interrupting their conversation. "Did you see who Keith was just talking to?"

Seth took a perfunctory glance around. "Naw, I haven't seen Keith since I left you guys talking." He said the last part with a furtive tone.

David was unsatisfied. "He just walked off with some guy… maybe a friend of his?" David suggested. His agitation, however, was unmistakable.

"What'd the guy look like?" Sean's friend asked. David answered with some reluctance.

"Black man, thirties maybe. Kind of bulked up, but not as much as Keith," he searched for more descriptors, but was at a loss. "I dunno. I'm not good at describing people."

"Did he have on silver boots?" Sean's friend asked.

David traced his memory, and the silver boots suddenly materialized in his mind. "Yeah, he did, come to think of it."

Seth's friend nodded. "Yeah, that's his partner."

David mentally choked. Partner?

"How do you know?" he heard himself asking.

"Because," Seth's friend explained, "they've been together for years." He said it so casually, not realizing the damage the news was doing to David. The two men resumed talking. "Yeah, so anyway, I'm not saying Kobe doesn't have raw talent, but he needs refinement. He's out there hopping around the court like a rabbit on crystal meth."

David could hear the two men talking, and may have even appeared to be listening… but mostly he was struck by a wave of disappointment. Why had he even come to this picnic to begin with?

He grabbed Sean's arm, "I'm ready to go," he announced.

"Woah, I still—"

"I need to go now," David insisted. Sean looked around.

"If you can just wait half an hour, Johnny still has my—"

"I can't," David said, almost pleading. "I'm leaving."

Seth nodded sympathetically. "Go," he said. "I'll catch a ride."

David nodded and—exhaling for the first time in minutes—turned to leave.

He wound through the—now throngs of —people, and with each step the gate seemed farther and farther away. He jogged down the block to where he was parked, and after climbing into the car and locking the doors, he felt a calm come over him. He was so glad be out of there.

He also felt a little teary. He resisted the urge to break down right there, and batted away a tear as he pulled off.

Feedback: Your reviews, concrit and general thoughts are the fuel to my fire. Thanks in advance.