The Metropolis Case_ A Novel - Matthew Gallaway [50]
“Your wife?”
“Merde.” Gérard scowled but managed to shift his hand up onto Lucien’s thigh. “We’re happy on most days if we don’t kill each other.”
Lucien felt his throat become parched as he understood that Gérard was making a proposition very much along the lines of the one made to him by Cathérine Deville, except somewhat less explicit, which was only to be expected given that he was married—un vrai mec—with thick fingers and a crooked nose that made him look like he had spent a few years as a prizefighter. Not that Lucien was completely shocked, given how often he had wondered what drove men together, and whether he might possess the same impulse. Aware that the time for prevarication was over, he grabbed Gérard’s hand and pulled it up to his crotch. “Is this what you want?”
Gérard leaned close to him, so that Lucien could smell a mix of sweat and grease. His voice was like gravel. “That, my friend, is for you to tell me.”
Lucien could only nod, but he did not flinch as Gérard leaned over and deftly went to work. Though Lucien could barely breathe, his mind raced with questions: why did the rough nankeen of Gérard’s shirt, which he gripped with one hand, and the stubble of his cheek, which he caressed with the other, please him so much more than Cathérine’s softer cottons and silks? Did this mean that he preferred men in general, or was there another woman with whom he might be better matched? Would he ever get married or have children? Fortunately, before he could dwell for very long on any of this, he remembered Cathérine’s direction and gave himself to the rushing waters and raging fires, which for a few seconds sent him spinning disembodied across the night.
Then it was done, and with no time to spare they both rushed to their spots behind the gears. Lucien glanced at Gérard, who did not meet his eye as he concentrated on the task at hand, and this disappointed him. Perhaps, Lucien reconsidered, Gérard had not been so much better than Cathérine, and he had only been tricked by his desire into thinking so at the time. He wondered if it might be best going forward to push aside his desire if the second he satisfied it, he would be left with an even worse condition of disillusionment.
At the intermission they sat down to bread and cheese. “Cat got your tongue?” Gérard asked as they sat in an uncomfortable silence.
“No,” Lucien lied, for he was in fact at a loss for words. “I just don’t understand—”
Gérard laughed. “You just had your first time with a man.” He shrugged as he broke off a piece of baguette.
“It just seems strange to go from such extreme desire to”—he paused for a second—“well, what are we?”
“You mean us? We’re not Romeo and Juliet, if that’s what you mean, but we can be friends …”
Lucien failed to appreciate the humor in this. “Would you do it again? With me?”
“Yeah, sure.” Gérard shrugged. “Not this second, though.”
Lucien felt a twinge of disappointment, for despite his earlier admonitions, he felt something more for Gérard, which had already been reignited during this short conversation. He continued in a more cavalier tone. “So do you still sleep with women?”
“I am married,” Gérard said, a little harshly, but his expression became more reflective as he turned toward Lucien. “But not really, no.”
“You sound melancholy,” Lucien observed.
“That’s the way life is—it excites you for a little while and then it pulls the rug out from under your feet.”
“But—” Lucien began to ask, then stopped, as it occurred to him that the answers he wanted from Gérard were ones that neither this man nor anyone else could ever provide. He felt more alone than he could remember and, as he considered this, could not prevent a few tears from escaping his eyes.
Gérard put an arm around his shoulder. “You’ll be okay—you just need to live a little.