whiskey from his father. The stench of garbage had been rank as they sat with a candle between them, passing the bottle back and forth. On the dented portable record player, Roy Orbison had been soaring with “Only the Lonely.” Johnno’s confession had come out with drunken weeping and wild threats of suicide.
“I’m nothing, and I’ll never be nothing else. Living like a bleeding pig.” He’d guzzled whiskey. “My old man stinking up the room and Mum whining and nagging and never doing nothing to make it change. My sister’s working the streets and my little brother’s been arrested twice this month.”
“It’s up to us to get out of it,” Brian said with boozy philosophy. With his eyes half closed he listened to Orbison. He wanted to sing like that, with that otherworldly melancholy. “We’ve got to make a difference for ourselves, Johnno. And we will.”
“Difference. I can’t make it any different. Not unless I kill myself. Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll just do it and be done with it.”
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Brian searched in their crumpled pack of Pall Malls and found one.
“I’m queer.” Johnno dropped his head on his folded arms and wept.
“Queer?” Brian paused with the match an inch from the tip of the cigarette. “Come on, Johnno. Don’t be daft.”
“I said I’m queer.” His voice rose as he lifted his tear-stained, desperate face to Brian. “I like boys. I’m a freaking, flaming fag.”
Though he was shaken, the drink was enough of a cushion to make him open-minded. “You sure?”
“Why the bloody hell would I say it if I wasn’t sure? The only reason I could make it with Alice Ridgeway was because I was thinking of her brother.”
Now that was disgusting, Brian thought, but kept his feelings to himself. They’d been friends for more than six years, had stood up for each other, lied for each other, had shared dreams and secrets. Brian struck another match, lit the cigarette, and pondered.
“Well, I suppose if you’re made that way, then you’re made that way. Nothing to slit your wrists over.”
“You’re not queer.”
“No.” He fervently hoped not—and vowed to spend the next few weeks proving it to himself with every girl he could charm into spreading her legs. No, he wasn’t queer, he assured himself. The sexual acrobatics he’d experienced with Jane Palmer should have been a good indication of his preferences. Thinking of her, he hardened and shifted his legs. It wasn’t the time to get horny, but to think of Johnno’s problem.
“Lots of people are queer,” he said. “Like literary people and artists and such. We’re musicians, so you could think of it as part of your creative soul.”
“That’s shit,” Johnno mumbled, but wiped his dripping nose.
“Maybe, but it’s better than slitting your wrists. I’d have to find a new partner.”
With a ghost of a smile, Johnno picked up the bottle again. “Are we still partners, then?”
“Sure.” Brian passed the cigarette. “As long as I don’t start making you hot and bothered.”
And that had been the end of it.
When Johnno took a lover, he took him discreetly, and never discussed it. His sexual preference was common knowledge within the band, but for his own privacy, and at Pete’s insistence,he cultivated an image of a heterosexual stud. For the most part, it amused him.
There were regrets, though he hated to acknowledge them. It came to him now, as he bounced Emma on his lap, that he would never have a child of his own.
And with frustration, he was forced to admit, as he watched Brian slip an arm around Bev, that the one man he truly loved would never be his lover.
Chapter Five
E MMA WAS DAZZLED by New York. After a late breakfast where Brian indulged her with strawberry jam and sugary pastries, she was left in Bev’s hands. It didn’t worry her, not this time. Her da was going to be on the telly that night, and he’d promised that she could go to
“I’m nothing, and I’ll never be nothing else. Living like a bleeding pig.” He’d guzzled whiskey. “My old man stinking up the room and Mum whining and nagging and never doing nothing to make it change. My sister’s working the streets and my little brother’s been arrested twice this month.”
“It’s up to us to get out of it,” Brian said with boozy philosophy. With his eyes half closed he listened to Orbison. He wanted to sing like that, with that otherworldly melancholy. “We’ve got to make a difference for ourselves, Johnno. And we will.”
“Difference. I can’t make it any different. Not unless I kill myself. Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll just do it and be done with it.”
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Brian searched in their crumpled pack of Pall Malls and found one.
“I’m queer.” Johnno dropped his head on his folded arms and wept.
“Queer?” Brian paused with the match an inch from the tip of the cigarette. “Come on, Johnno. Don’t be daft.”
“I said I’m queer.” His voice rose as he lifted his tear-stained, desperate face to Brian. “I like boys. I’m a freaking, flaming fag.”
Though he was shaken, the drink was enough of a cushion to make him open-minded. “You sure?”
“Why the bloody hell would I say it if I wasn’t sure? The only reason I could make it with Alice Ridgeway was because I was thinking of her brother.”
Now that was disgusting, Brian thought, but kept his feelings to himself. They’d been friends for more than six years, had stood up for each other, lied for each other, had shared dreams and secrets. Brian struck another match, lit the cigarette, and pondered.
“Well, I suppose if you’re made that way, then you’re made that way. Nothing to slit your wrists over.”
“You’re not queer.”
“No.” He fervently hoped not—and vowed to spend the next few weeks proving it to himself with every girl he could charm into spreading her legs. No, he wasn’t queer, he assured himself. The sexual acrobatics he’d experienced with Jane Palmer should have been a good indication of his preferences. Thinking of her, he hardened and shifted his legs. It wasn’t the time to get horny, but to think of Johnno’s problem.
“Lots of people are queer,” he said. “Like literary people and artists and such. We’re musicians, so you could think of it as part of your creative soul.”
“That’s shit,” Johnno mumbled, but wiped his dripping nose.
“Maybe, but it’s better than slitting your wrists. I’d have to find a new partner.”
With a ghost of a smile, Johnno picked up the bottle again. “Are we still partners, then?”
“Sure.” Brian passed the cigarette. “As long as I don’t start making you hot and bothered.”
And that had been the end of it.
When Johnno took a lover, he took him discreetly, and never discussed it. His sexual preference was common knowledge within the band, but for his own privacy, and at Pete’s insistence,he cultivated an image of a heterosexual stud. For the most part, it amused him.
There were regrets, though he hated to acknowledge them. It came to him now, as he bounced Emma on his lap, that he would never have a child of his own.
And with frustration, he was forced to admit, as he watched Brian slip an arm around Bev, that the one man he truly loved would never be his lover.
Chapter Five
E MMA WAS DAZZLED by New York. After a late breakfast where Brian indulged her with strawberry jam and sugary pastries, she was left in Bev’s hands. It didn’t worry her, not this time. Her da was going to be on the telly that night, and he’d promised that she could go to
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