News on Frances Connelly, by David Massengill

“I just saw Frances,” Mrs. Nathan said as Alex deposited his suitcase in the trunk of the car. She kissed her son on the cheek. “Her flight must have landed right before yours. Some man picked her up in his jeep. Are she and Doug still…?”

Alex wiped the sweat from his temple and stared out at the brown California hills beyond the airport. “I haven’t talked to Doug in a while,” he said somberly.

“Alex Nathan! Look at you!”

Alex froze in his seat for a moment, then opened the driver’s side door all the way. “Hey, Kelly. What’re you up to?”

Kelly Liston slid her sunglasses over her forehead and indicated the “Taco To Go-Go” sign above the parking lot. “You caught me,” she said. She crossed her arms over her flat stomach made bare by a low-cut sports top. “I should be eating tofu. Do I seem fatter than I did four years ago?”

Alex shook his head and offered a nervous smile.

“You look like you’ve grown into a man, Alex Nathan.”

Alex put a foot on the pavement, but remained in the car. “So, um, you talk to Frances yet? My mom saw her at the airport.”

“I didn’t know she was back from Yale. Did Paula pick her up?”

“My mom said she was with some guy,” Alex said. “Maybe it was her brother.”

“He’s super cute, Paula!” Kelly squealed into her cell phone. She brushed a few faded confetti stars off the page of the yearbook and scrutinized Alex’s senior photo. “Cuter than he was in high school.”

She left her bedroom and padded down the hall to the kitchen, where her mother and the maid were preparing hors d’oeuvres. “I didn’t really notice him back then, either. Look where being a cheerleader snob got me: single and still in my mom’s house.” She picked a mushroom turnover from a hot tray.

Ms. Liston held up a warning finger for her daughter.

“The only thing is his hair’s too short,” Kelly went on. “Like really short, Paula. I heard he spent a year in Italy. Maybe it’s a European thing.” She snatched another turnover, this time receiving a glare from the maid. “By the way, Alex saw Frances at the airport with some guy. Mmm-hmm. No, not Doug Sterling. Someone else. Alex thought it was her older brother, but he moved to New York to teach college.” Kelly gave a naughty grin as she chewed the turnover.

Ms. Liston stopped stirring the spinach dip and watched her daughter.

“Totally,” Kelly said. “I’d get bored, too. Frances has been dating Doug since like 10th grade.”

“How are the boys?” Ms. Liston asked. “My Kelly always said your Orton was so handsome.”

“Orton and Doug are still boys,” Ellen Sterling said. She set Ms. Liston’s empty coffee cup on the patio table, and faced the basketball court at the bottom of the sloping lawn. “This yard needs kids.” She wrapped her sweater around her as if it were October rather than June. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get to be a grandma.”

“You will. Set the intention. It’s amazing how powerful an intention can be,” Ms. Liston said.

Ellen smiled weakly. “Listen to me — the old lady wheezing for pity. I just worry about those two. Orton’s in San Francisco, unmarried and approaching 30. George offered him a job with the company, but he said he’s not interested in gasoline.”

“What does he do?”

Ellen paused before answering, “Oh, odd jobs. Nothing too stable. And Doug’s still living with us. We tried to get him to go back to junior college, but he doesn’t seem to be able to focus.”

Ms. Liston nodded solemnly. “Maybe you should give him a little push toward marrying. I’m going to start with Kelly so I can get her out of the house. Maybe Doug will become more serious with that Frances Connelly now that she’s back in town.”

“Frances is back?” Ellen’s eyes were round with excitement.

Ellen answered the phone in the middle of the first ring. “Sterling residence,” she sang. “Oh.” Her voice flattened. “Hi, Alex. You’re done with school? Congratulations.” She returned to arranging her carnations. “So I guess you’ll be staying in Oregon? Ah. You’re here for the summer. Yes, he’s here.”

Doug hit the “pause” button on the DVD player’s remote control when his mother handed him the phone. “Hey, guy,” he said. “I’m OK. Not a lot — Clairmont never evolves. Sorry I didn’t call you back. I was in school, and lately I’ve kind of been seeing what’s next, you know? Let’s meet up tonight. Yeah, we could —”

“Answer if the line beeps,” his mother said, placing a vase under the kitchen sink faucet. “It might be Frances.”

Doug put his palm over the receiver. “Frances is home?”

Ellen looked up from the vase, which was now overflowing. “Haven’t you seen her yet?”

“I hardly recognize this place any more.” Alex glanced around his former bedroom. He thumbed through a dusty stack of comic books sitting on his empty bookshelf.

“So you an official fag now?” Doug asked from the edge of the bed. He pulled off one sneaker, then started untying the other.

Alex sat on his desk. “Is that what you’ve been telling people?”

Doug pulled up his T-shirt until it slid past his furry bellybutton. “Look: no abs. Remember how in high school you used to be able to see them no matter how I was sitting?”

Alex’s eyes rested on the recently vacuumed carpet. “Yeah, well, I guess you can’t be a jock forever.”

“I wasn’t just a jock.” Doug swung the pillow at him. “I was Clairmont High’s best forward. You should’ve played basketball.”

“Everyone said I shot like a spaz.”

“You’ve got to get the ball through the hoop somehow.” Doug straightened his spine and demonstrated as he spoke. “You shoot with one arm, and as you send the ball off your fingertips you flip your wrist down so it adds spin.” His wrist went limp. “‘San Francisco-style’, Coach Jackson called it.” He finished removing his shirt. “You know about ‘San Francisco-style’, don’t you, Alex?”

Alex looked outside the window at the Jacuzzi, where his parents sat reading the day’s papers. “I’m leaving for Mexico on Monday,” he told Doug. “There’s a trail that winds all the way down the coast of Baja. It takes two weeks to hike. I thought you might want to come with me.”

Doug patted the area of bed next to him. When Alex sat beside him, Doug picked up Alex’s hand and placed it over the hardness in his shorts. “Why’d you think that?” he asked.

Alex squeezed more amicably than sexually. “The trip would be pretty gritty. We’d be sleeping in a tent and eating dried food, and we’d only get to shower every couple of days. But we’d be waking up next to the ocean each morning. Maybe if I fall in love with Mexico I’ll just stay down there. There are worse places you could spend your life, don’t you think?”

Doug lifted the elastic band of his briefs and guided Alex’s hand inside. “Monday’s so soon. I should really spend some time with Frances. My mom said she’s back in Clairmont. Things have been kind of… different between us.”

“Fine.” Alex began to pull his hand out of Doug’s underwear, until Doug grabbed his wrist.

“I didn’t say no.”

With his free hand, Alex drew the window blind.

Alex’s mother cracked open his bedroom door. “Sweets…?”

The room was dark except for the bedside lamp, which illuminated Alex lying on his stomach, reading a novel. He turned to his mother. “You going to bed?”

“No. Are you?” she asked with surprise.

“Soon.”

Mrs. Nathan straightened the stack of comic books. “Doug left already?”

“He’s meeting his dad for racquetball tomorrow morning.”

“Busy man,” Mrs. Nathan joked. “I remember how late you two used to stay out during your senior year. Sometimes 2, too often 3. Your father and I would worry you’d never come home to us.”

“Yeah, well, that was in high school.”

“Are any of your other classmates around? It’s Saturday. Maybe someone’s throwing a party.”

Alex flipped the page of his book. “There’s no one I want to see.”

“I think Doug’s handsome with the stubble. What’s he doing?”

“Still seeing Frances.”

“Does he have a job since he dropped out of school?”

“He’s not sure where he wants to work.”

Mrs. Nathan kneeled to return a stray sock to Alex’s suitcase. “I’m proud of you for graduating. It’s sad how many Clairmont kids are floundering these days.”

“Floundering? I hate how Clairmont people are always judging.”

“Oh, sweets, I’m sorry. I know how much you adore Doug.”

“I don’t think Doug’s a god, Mom. I just think you should respect that he’s still figuring stuff out.”

Bea Wisely flagged the BMW even though it was already pulling over.

Her grandson, Kip, was in the driver’s seat, while his sister, Stacey, sat in back with Kelly Liston. The two girls were divided by a slew of shopping bags. Bea Wisely didn’t touch the door handle. She folded her arms and kept them that way until Kip unbuckled his seat belt and left the car to open the door for her.

“That’s a gentleman,” she thanked her grandson. “Ladies…” she offered the car’s other occupants. When Kip got in, she declared, “I must look horrid. My grandchildren pick me up at the hair salon without even complimenting my new color. It’s called Gold Frost.”

“It’s gorgeous, Grammy,” Stacey offered.

“I saw Mrs. Nathan inside,” Bea Wisely commented. “She’ll be hosting the House Tour dessert party this year.” She adjusted the compact mirror above until her gaze met Stacey’s. “She said her son — Alex, a classmate of yours—never received an invitation to your wedding.”

“Why would I invite Alex Nathan?” Stacey asked.

“Because he’s totally yummy,” Kelly said. “I ran into him the other day.”

“Is he still gay?” Kip said. He clicked on the radio, suddenly filling the car with a pop song.

Bea Wisely immediately turned off the music. “How can you say such nonsense?”

Kelly and Stacey stayed silent.

“I’m not the only one who’s thought it,” Kip excused himself. “Jack Olsen said he saw Alex giving Doug Sterling a blow —”

“Drive, Kip!” Bea Wisely covered her ears with her gloved hands.

Kip turned the key, and she lowered her arms.

“It was underneath the bleachers. Summer after graduation,” Kip added.

Stacey joined the attack on her brother. “Just so you know, Doug and Frances Connelly have been in love since high school. Now those are people I’ve invited to my wedding.”

“Did Frances call you?” Kelly asked.

Stacey shook her head disappointedly.

“Alex said she was all over some random guy at the airport.”

Bea Wisely looked in the compact mirror. Just below the Gold Frost, her crinkled brow betrayed concern. “I attended that girl’s debutante ball. I’ve always wanted her future to turn out well.”

“I’m so grateful you invited me over, Bea,” Carol Stefano said while carefully tearing apart her croissant. “When was the last time we saw each other? The crab feed at the country club?”

“Could be. Speaking of which, I know you and Gary go boating with the Sterlings. Ellen told me you’ve the best-looking vessel from here to Sausalito.”

Carol’s eyes smiled gratefully as she sipped her tea.

Bea Wisely didn’t touch her own cup. “Maybe during your next excursion Ellen will tell you about Doug’s engagement to Frances Connelly.”

“Bea Wisely said what?” Ellen Sterling lowered herself on the nearest divan. She gasped. “But Carol, this explains it: Doug hasn’t said anything about Frances because he wants to surprise me. This is wonderful! I’m going to hug the two of them until they break. I always knew Doug would marry before Orton.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Ellen said when her son snuck past the living room.

“I’m only going to see Alex,” Doug told her.

She flipped the page of her address book and penned another name on a list. “Sure you are. Tell Alex hello.”

Doug looked at her quizzically. “Tomorrow I might be going on a trip for a few weeks,” he said.

Ellen’s pen paused halfway through a name. “Oh?”

“I’m thinking about going to Mexico with Alex.”

His mother put down her pad and address book. “If you elope, Doug Sterling, I’ll disown you.”

“What?” he asked, his face burning.

“Doug, you can stop faking. I know you and Frances are getting married.” She smiled. “I can’t think of better news.”

“Where’d you get this idea?”

“Carol Stefano told me.” She moved from the armchair to the window, where she peered out at the large homes speckling the hill. “I would have liked to know about my son’s engagement before the rest of Clairmont, but I’m just happy it’s happening. How would you feel about having the reception here at the house? If we cleared the veranda we could fit —”

“Frances and I aren’t getting married. I haven’t even talked to her since she got home. I left a message, but she hasn’t called.”

She turned from the window to inspect her son’s face. “So… You’re not…?”

“No,” Doug stressed. “I mean… not now, at least.”

Ellen nodded stiffly and retrieved her things from the chair. Before she entered the kitchen she crumpled up her list and threw it on the dining room table. “Run down to Mexico then. Waste your life just like Orton has. Why should I care if my sons are permanent bachelors? I’ll be dead soon enough anyway.”

“Doug, I feel like a wet sponge.”

Doug forged up the muddy path ahead of Alex, pushing branches out of his way. “Is that your way of saying you want me to squeeze you? I thought you gays were more blunt about sex.”

Alex stopped. “How about this for bluntness?: I want us to go back to my house. I don’t understand why we’re wandering around the creek in the rain.”

“You will,” Doug said. “Just a few more steps.”

When they reached the circle of weeds Doug patted Alex on the back. “Remember this place?”

Alex studied the clearing briefly. “There used to be grass here,” he said. “The stump’s gone.”

“The grass is just grown,” Doug said, “and the stump’s still here.” He walked to the center of the circle and bent over a mound. “See?” Doug said. “Recognize your own writing? Just like a girl’s.”

Alex squatted and touched the wide stump being splattered by rain. He ran his index finger across a few of the carved words that covered its surface. He read out loud, Alex + Doug = best friends from 7th grade until the end of everything. He looked up at Doug. “What’s ‘everything?’”

Doug shrugged. “I guess we knew when we were 13.”

“Yeah,” Alex laughed. “Hey, thanks for showing me this.”

Doug stared at the stump blankly and said, “You never know how long things will be around. You might as well take advantage of them when you can.”

“Now we walk home?” Alex asked. He started to rise until Doug put a hand on his shoulder.

When Alex saw Doug remove the condom from his pocket he said, “I thought you never wanted to do that…”

Doug reached for his jeans. “Did it hurt?” he asked as he yanked his pants on.

Alex lay on his side, staring sleepily at a damp patch of daisies. “Not really. I bet in Mexico it’ll feel even better.”

Doug buttoned his shirt. “I wanted to talk to you about the trip. I’m not going.”

“Because of Frances? She and I came home on the same day and you haven’t seen her once.”

“I’m going to… tonight.”

Alex grabbed his shirt before Doug could hand it to him.

“Alex, I’m 22. I’ve got to start being an adult. I’m not going to turn out like Orton, living in a studio apartment and bouncing from one bartending gig to the next. Frances and I… everyone’s always said we’d end up together.”

“You don’t even have a job,” Alex said, facing away from Doug while he stepped into his shorts.

“I’m going to start working for my dad. We talked about it at racquetball.”

Alex didn’t speak. He forced his feet into his already laced-up shoes.

“What do you want me to do? Be your boyfriend or something? I’m not a fag, Alex. My parents would disown me if I were. My mom said so today.”

Alex hurried into the woods without looking at his friend.

“That’s not the trail we took,” Doug called out. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

Mrs. Nathan waited at the bottom of the staircase, wiping her hands on her apron. “Kip Wisely stopped by today,” she said when Alex came down to the foyer. “He dropped off your invitation to Stacey’s wedding next weekend.”

“You know I’ll be in Mexico,” Alex said. He retrieved his jacket from the closet.

“But it was a friendly gesture, don’t you think?”

“I’m not interested in those people,” Alex said. “I don’t understand why I can’t come home without the rest of Clairmont getting involved.” Alex placed his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be back late tonight. I’ll wake you before I leave in the morning.”

“Where you off to?”

“Out with some friends.”

“Really? Who?”

Alex opened the door. “How bad do you need to know?”

Mrs. Nathan smiled nervously. “Doug’s mom phoned.”

“How come?”

Mrs. Nathan looked down at her apron, then up at her son. “She said you were pressuring Doug to go to Mexico.”

“Tell her not to worry. Doug’s staying here… with Frances.” Alex stepped out on the porch. “He’ll be here for the rest of his fucking life.”

“Alex, I didn’t believe her.” But when Mrs. Nathan finished speaking her son had already reached the car.

As the BART train entered the tunnel beneath the Bay, the windows went black, and Alex sat staring at his reflection.

He looked down at his damp palm. What are you so scared of? That somebody will see you?

He took BART so there would be no chance of anyone identifying his parents’ car in the Castro. He’d only been to the neighborhood — “Cocksucker Central,” Doug called it — once before. But that time he didn’t step inside any bars. He saw enough leather chaps and heard enough womanish voices to assure him that other than a single, insignificant desire, he didn’t have anything in common with these people. So he left after venturing up just three city blocks.

He’d been braver in Florence. When he’d started a conversation with that flirtatious construction worker in the alley near his dormitory, he knew he could have gone anywhere and done anything with him, but he declined the man’s invitation to a warm flat and a bottle of wine because he knew he’d never be able to tell Doug about it.

The train stopped at the first downtown station, and people boarded.

When Alex looked up from his palm he faced Frances Connelly, who looked back at him from a few seats away with eyes as startled as his. She sat beside Orton Sterling, who seemed more amused than surprised.

Not until the train started did Frances murmur something to Orton and then come down the aisle to where Alex was sitting. She plopped herself in the seat across from his. “So now it’s out,” she said.

“What’s out?” Alex asked, discreetly wiping his palm on his pant leg.

Frances looked slightly irritated. “That I’m seeing Orton.”

“You are?”

Frances removed her beret and brushed her fingers through her curling auburn hair. Alex recalled how in high school that hair had always been straight.

“I’m not the only one to blame,” Frances said. She watched the lights flicker past in the dark tunnel outside the train. “I mean, sure, I feel guilty. How can I not think I’m the shitty girlfriend when I’m kissing my boyfriend’s brother? But I’ve decided I’m going to stop thinking that. I’m a grown-up. I can choose who I want to be with. I don’t think Doug really wants to be with me anyway.” She stared into Alex’s eyes searchingly. “So he hasn’t said anything about me?”

Alex hesitated before responding, “I think he really likes you.”

The train began to slow. Orton shifted in his seat.

Frances kept her eyes on Alex. “Doug didn’t even come to my graduation. He sent a card.”

Alex didn’t say anything. The train rolled into the station.

“I think he’s changing,” Frances said.

“Frances,” Orton called.

She didn’t react. “I think we’re all changing, even if some of us don’t want to.”

Alex felt his palm moisten once again, expecting Frances to finally ask where he was going. He grasped for responses: I’ve got a cousin who lives in Pacific Heights. A college friend wanted to hit a bar in the Mission. My —

“Bye, Alex.” Without asking a single personal question, Frances clasped his hand. “You can tell Doug you saw me. With Orton. I don’t care anymore.”

Doug stared up into Frances’s bedroom window, which was open a crack. Her dream catcher rotated in a breeze. Doug checked his watch. “Frances,” he whispered loudly, shooting a cautious glance at her parents’ bedroom window. “Frances, are you pissed?” His voice was now a low whine. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you at school. Frances, if we’re going to stay serious we need to at least talk.”

The headlights lit his entire body before he could run from the front yard. He turned around slowly, using his hand to shade his eyes until the headlights blinked off.

Mrs. Connelly came out of the passenger side door. “Doug, I’m so relieved it’s you,” she said. “We thought you were a burglar. You can’t trust those automatic lighting systems. They go out and the whole world knows you’re on vacation.”

Mr. Connelly rose from the car and pumped Doug’s hand. “You working yet?”

Doug shook his head. “Not yet, sir.”

“Swell. Then you’re not too tired to help a couple geezers schlep their bags inside. We were at Joyce’s sister’s beach house in La Jolla.”

“What are you doing here?” Mrs. Connelly asked while Doug lifted her two floral suitcases out of the trunk.

“I stopped by to see Frances,” Doug said.

“Strange,” Mrs. Connelly voiced. “Frances doesn’t fly in until tomorrow night. We offered to pick her up, but she insisted she’d have her friend Paula bring her home.” She stopped on the brick walkway when Doug did. “What’s wrong? Are my bags too heavy?”

Careful not to meet anyone’s eyes, Alex budged through the throngs of men until he reached the bar. He sat on a stool and ordered a pint of beer. As a bearded man ogled him in the mirror behind the bar, Alex focused on the spout filling his glass.

The bartender, a fifty-something muscular fellow with etches at the corners of his friendly eyes, topped off the glass and handed it to Alex. “You look as blue as you do beautiful,” he told him.

Alex half smiled and sipped his beer.

“Whatsa matter?” the bartender asked.

“Nothing,” Alex lied. The TV above the bar played a video in which a line of buff, bronzed men in football gear stood with their hands against a set of lockers, while a guy obviously meant to be their coach smacked his clipboard against each one’s rear. Alex was amazed this place was just a 20-minute drive from his parents’ house in Clairmont.

“Adorable,” the bartender persisted, “tell Mr. Good Ears here why you look so glum.”

Alex thought about retreating from the bar, but instead he took a gulp from his glass and heard himself confess, “I fell in love with my best friend.” Speaking those words was like extracting an object lodged between his ribs.

The bartender wiped off the countertop, and his eyes followed the crowd’s movements. “That happens,” he said.

Alex also looked at the crowd, most of whom he barely registered. But there were a few whose enchanting eyes or lopsided smile kept drawing Alex’s attention. Yeah, he thought, I guess that can happen.