CHAPTER 5

David was walking past Claire's room when he heard her hollering inside.

"Well you know what? You can go fuck yourself, Chester! What kind of creep-ass name is that anyway?"

David paused and knocked on the door.

"Claire?" he asked.

There was silence a moment and the door cracked open with Claire peeping from behind.

"What?" she said peeved.

"What's going on?" No answer. "Everything alright?"

"I just realized that I only have more parasites than I have friends," she walked off back into her room. David took the liberty of following her in. He found her collapsed, face-down, on the bed.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you smoke pot with people and you have all the friends in the world. But you need a ride and suddenly everyone's 'busy'."

"You… smoke pot with these people?" David asked.

Claire's face snapped towards David. "I said they smoke pot, David. God, I don't need an interrogation right now."

David sighed.

"Do you need a ride Claire?" David asked.

She buried her head back into her pillow, clearly frustrated. "I don't wanna bother you."

"You're not bothering me. Where do you need to go?"

"To the auto shop. I still have to replace that bulb and now the friggin' oil light is on."

"Why don't you just let Dad take it to the same shop we take all the other hearses? They'll fix it in, like, 20 minutes."

"Because, David, I am not some World War II-era housewife that can't do for herself because she's been conditioned to be helpless by societal gender roles."

David stood motionless.

"Point being," Claire explained, "I can fix it myself."

"Fine," David said. "I'll be down in the car." He left.

Five minutes went by and David started to wonder if she was even going to come, when he saw her walking down the steps. She jumped into the passenger seat.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"My pleasure," David replied, and pulled off. They rode in silence and David seemed perplexed as to what to do or say. He contemplated turning on the radio, but suspected his preference for smooth jazz might not agree with his passenger. He almost asked her to share what was going on in her life, but guessed the question would be met with similar irritation. As he mentally groped for some alternate course of action his thoughts drifted to Keith. Knowing they were going somewhere tomorrow made life… a little more bearable.

"Why are you so happy?" Claire suddenly asked. He turned to her briefly. She wasn't even being sarcastic; her face betrayed actual curiosity.

"Happy?" David asked.

"You're humming," she said.

This was news to David. "Really?"

"You didn't know?" she asked.

David shook his head.

Claire looked at him as if he had a neon petunia growing out of his forehead and then turned back towards the window.

"You're weird, David," Claire said finally.

David nodded in full agreement.

Keith had somehow wrangled David into going to the beach, an activity that David had vigorously avoided ever since it had dawned on him in the tenth grade that his complexion was about one shade darker than Casper the Friendly Ghost. Yet, here they were… standing in line... at a drink cart… on the beach.

"So, have you always live in LA?" David asked.

"No," Keith answered. "I'm from San Diego originally."

"You miss it?"

Keith looked at him. His eyes were hidden behind his mirrored shades, but somehow his eyes smiled anyway.

"No I don't actually," he said. "I've mad a life for myself here."

David nodded then turned to the vendor. "I'll take a Bud light," he said. Then he yelped.

"You… OK?" the vendor asked. David looked back fitfully at Keith who was calmly looking at the ale list. He turned back to the vendor.

"Yes," David said, and handed the man ten bucks.

"And you?" the vendor asked Keith.

"A Michelob," he said.

"Coming up," he said and took two beers out of his cooler. He opened them both with a bottle opener, and then handed them to Keith and David. They walked off.

"Nice ass grab back there," David said, trying to act irritated, but actually amused.

"Anytime," Keith replied, and took a sip from his beer.

David marveled at Keith's manner; he was so unperturbed by who he was: a gay cop, a gay black man, a gay Christian—and wondered how he could exist so gloriously untroubled in a world that David found so daunting… and scary. Who was he? Where had he come from?

"What's… your story?" David asked seemingly out of the blue. Keith turned to him. "How'd you come out?"

Keith sighed, as if deciding where to start.

David helped him out. "Your parents… they didn't mind?"

Keith snorted a laugh. "Not exactly. I guess it's been about eight years ago now… maybe more. I'd been gay for a while, but really was just having a lot of sex: girls, boys, whatever." He took off his baseball cap, then put in back on and cleared his throat, and David could see him reaching for the memory. "I started dating this guy, Dante. He was my first real boyfriend. And all of a sudden, being in the closet started feeling like something I couldn't do anymore. I went around to my folks' house and gave them the news." He dropped a dollar in the tip jar and began to walk.

"And then what? They were mad?"

"I thought my dad might murder me right then and there. My mom is more docile, but she wasn't exactly happy about it—and I never thought they would be. But, after the initial… violence of the situation— "

"Hold on," David interrupted. "It got physical?"

"No," Keith said, amending his words. "Violent like… vicious and..." He trailed off. "It was a rough time. But, when I came out and told them the truth, about how I was going to live my life and how I wasn't willing to compromise myself for anybody, they had to accept that." He took a long swig from his beer, as if to punctuate the point.

David watched the man in front of him—he made being gay look easy. Like a viable option and not like a genetic disability, a sexual curse or a life sentence of self-loathing and guilt.

"You don't ever," David said after a moment. "You don't ever wonder what it would be like to be…" He pointed to a man on the beach lying on a towel next a girl. They were positioned in a way as to just stare at each other. "You don't ever wish you were them?"

"No," Keith said flatly. "Why would I?"

David tried to find the words to explain himself without sounding weird. "You don't ever wish you were just… normal?"

Keith stopped walking and looked at David like he'd sounded weird. "What the hell is 'normal', David?"

"I dunno."

Keith resumed walking, and after a beat, David jogged up next to him. He thought he might have made Keith mad, and placed a hand on his back. Keith paused, turning around. He watched David, looking him up and down, and David didn't know what to make of this turn of events. Keith finally took off his glasses and leaned in, planting David with a long, reckless kiss. David—at once electrified and mortified—froze.

"That's normal," he said.

David touched his lips. Nothing about that had felt normal. But, he felt like maybe it could, one day. He wanted it to be.

"You're right," David said.

"Damn straight I'm right," Keith replied. "But a lot of people don't understand that." He smiled a little. "You're lucky to have the parents you do."

The words stung as they hit David's ears. Keith, however, didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah," David echoed blankly. "Lucky."

Keith looked around. "Where are the johns out here?"

David nodded back towards the boardwalk. "I think they are over there. Near the pier."

"Then I'll be right back," Keith said and sauntered off.

"I'll be right here," David called behind him. Wholly unprepared for a beach trip, he tentatively settled down into the sand. It had been so long since he done anything like this. He didn't know when his life and turned into a never ending carousel of funerals, churches and graveyards, with the occasional guilt-motivated dinner and movie with Jennifer. But it had been that way for so long that… he scarcely could remember living any other way.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, taking a moment to soak in the afternoon sun. When he looked back up, he was staring at his dad's friend/colleague, Dick Nettles, from Nettle's Crematorium. He had, on his arm, his latest sampling of arm candy.

"Hi there," Dick blurted. "One beer ain't enough anymore?"

David looked down at Keith's bottle in his left hand and then at his own. "I'm with someone."

Ned surveyed the area in an assholish display of doubt. "Where is she?"

She?

"Using the toilet," David answered.

"Ah," he said, apparently contented with that answer. "Well, I like a bitch that can swig with boys." He elbowed his "bitch," and then leaned forward. "Trust me, David. Whoever she is… she's a keeper."

"Thanks for the tip," David moaned.

"Right," Ned said. "Where are my manners?" he declared. Oh the irony. "This is David." She giggled and waved. "David… this is Candy."

"Honestly?" David remarked. This guy's cliché's had clichés.

"Of course not," he said. "Real name's Cindy."

David sighed.

"I'll tell my dad I saw you," he hinted, in an attempt to signal the end of the conversation. Ned did not take the hint.

"Yeah, this beach ain't half bad. Not as crowded as some of the others."

"Nope," David said.

"I didn't want to come out here at first because they said this is where all the fags hang out." He shuddered. "Went to one last week." He turned to Cindy/Candy. "Where'd we go?"

She shrugged.

"Anyway, went to one last week—two dudes making out like it was Gay Day at the San Francisco Disneyland. Disgusting. Me and her got the hell out of there." He shook his head. "It's like they're taking over. I mean I don't have anything against 'em but, geez." He shrugged. "Haven't seen any here, though." Then he kicked David in the shin. "'Cept for you." He busted out in laughter, and Candy/Cindy heartily joined in.

"And what is that supposed to mean, Ned?" David said.

"It means I'm just busting your balls. God, David. Still haven't found that sense of humor yet, have you?"

David just wanted this moment to be over. He threw back his head in exasperation, only to see the upside-down figure of Keith walking towards them. He promptly stood up.

"Yeah, so have fun," he said. He started walking away.

"Yeah. And tell your old man not to be a stranger," Ned yelled.

"Yep," David replied and continued to walk off. With that, Ned—thoroughly distracted by Candy/Cindy—walked off.

Disaster averted.

David approached Keith with some urgency.

"I saw you looking at my ass earlier," Keith joked as he drew closer.

"I was not," David said, sharper than he meant to.

"You OK?" Keith asked.

"Yeah, I'm… I'm just ready to go," David said. He took off past him. Keith followed.

The phone rang. David answered.

"Fisher and Son's Funeral Home. David Fisher speaking. How may I help you?"

"This is Nate."

Silence.

"Good morning to you too," Nate snarked.

David rolled his eyes. "Good morning, Nate. Did you need something?"

"Let me talk to Dad."

"He's not here," David lied. And he wasn't sure why.

Nate sighed.

"Then can you ask him to pick me up from the airport for Thanksgiving? I'll be coming in Wednesday night at 8:16 into LAX. Flight number… well, can you have him call me?"

"I can," David replied demurely.

"Good," Nate said. Then he didn't hang up.

"So how've you been?" he asked. David always marveled at how sincere Nate sounded when he bothered to show any interest in them. It always left David looking like an asshole.

He sighed. "I'm fine." He softened some. "Thanks for asking."

"And Jennifer?" Nate added.

"Fine… I guess." David answered. He thought everyone that mattered already knew. He'd forgotten about Nate.

"You… guess?"

"We… aren't together anymore," David answered.

There was a moment of silence. "Aw man," Nate replied, and David would have sworn he almost actually sounded wounded. "I'mreally sorry to hear that Dave."

"Yeah; it was for the best."

"Breakups suck," Nate continued. This conversation needed to be over.

"I'll let Dad know you called," David said, and hung up.

Nathaniel came into the office just as David was inputting the last of the information for the Perez funeral.

"There's someone waiting for you in the foyer."

David rose. "Got a name?" he asked as he hurried past his father and towards the front of the house. Nathaniel didn't move.

"No, but he's a cop."

David stopped.

"Have any idea who he might be?" his father asked.

David shook his head faintly. "No idea," he said. Nathaniel nodded and left for the basement. David was relieved.

When he got to the foyer, he saw Keith standing there, reading one of their pamphlets. He didn't notice David standing there. David cleared his throat to signal his presence.

"David," Keith said.

"Keith," David replied.

"How… are you?" Keith asked.

"Good," David replied. "You?"

"Good," Keith echoed. He took a sweeping glance around. "Pretty impressive place you got here."

"Thank you," David said.

He gestured with a pamphlet. "How's business."

David nodded. "People keep dying."

"And you keep dressing them up." Keith said, followed by a nervous laugh. David's uneasiness was transferring to him. "Or embalming them."

"Right," David nodded. He pointed towards the front door and then walked out. Keith followed him.

"Did you need anything?" David asked. "Other than the flyer?"

"I was in the area and thought I'd stop by," Keith explained.

David smiled a little. "That was… nice."

Keith's smile grew wider. He inched a little closer. "And there was a certain white boy I wanted to invite to lunch."

David felt something swell in him, but he pushed it down. Even so, he could feel some of it spilling into the corners in his mouth.

"Sorry. Up to my gills," David said.

"That's OK," Keith said. "Are we still on for tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, yeah," David said. Keith grew closer.

"Good," he purred. "Because, there's something… I want to show you."

David could feel himself grinning now.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really," Keith said. They were face to face now and Keith looped a finger in David's belt buckle. "And I don't think it can wait much longer." He looked at David tellingly and then inching closer, leaned in for a—

David backed away. Keith's face registered some displeasure.

"I'm working," David offered as an explanation.

"So am I," Keith countered.

"Yeah, but you know, it's a funeral home. People get really touchy about decorum and everything." There was silence. "You understand right?" David pleaded. Keith didn't seem to.

Just then the door flew open. It was Nathaniel. The three men looked at each other expectantly.

"Hello," Nathaniel finally said, nodding towards Keith. "Hope everything's alright officer."

"Everything is," David interjected. "Fine."

"Good," Nathaniel said. His eyes lingered a moment on Keith before turning to David. "Son, Mrs. Perez in on the phone for you. Says she needs to change the day of the funeral. Maybe Saturday."

David seemed agitated by that news. "I don't know what time she can change it to. We are overbooked as it is. Right?"

"I dunno David; we might be able to work it in."

David was seething agitation. "That's what you always say, and then another Saturday turns into a body parade." He sighed. "Just, give me one second."

Nathaniel nodded at Keith, then went back inside.

"I take it that's your dad," Keith said. His tone indicated that he hadn't missed the fact that David hadn't introduced them.

David diverted his eyes. "Yeah."

"And it looks like you're busy," Keith added.

"Yeah," David said.

"Then... I'll be going." He turned and headed for the steps.

"See you tomorrow?" David called after him.

Keith turned around. "I'll see you tomorrow," he replied and left.

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