What kind of car would he drive anyway? Something expensive to be sure. A BMW? Mercedes? Lexus? Something even more exotic? Would he go for a new or maybe a vintage car to match the midcentury vibe of Palm Springs?
Jasper stepped back and away from the curb when he at last saw Rob. He lingered there in the relatively cool shadows, not sure if he could do it, if he could actually go through the visit as though this were a normal thing for him. He had a strong urge to simply turn and run back into the terminal, to lose himself among the vacationing throngs. Maybe he could check in again and head straight back to Chicago where he belonged. He wasn’t up to this!
Yet he stood only a few paces away from where he’d originally stood. Rob was back in the long line of cars picking up people, but he was unmistakable, driving what had to an antique, but perfectly preserved, vehicle. The car was a little two-seater, a shade somewhere between maroon and red, with chrome accents. The top, of course, was down. Even from where he stood, he could see Rob’s silver hair and the fine planes of his face, partially hidden by a pair of Ray Bans.
He looked like a movie star. He looked like he so, so belonged here.
And Jasper so, so didn’t.
But you’re here now, so just make the best of things, for God’s sake!He’d survived his first plane trip. He’d traveled a couple thousand miles. The plans were all in place. There was no turning back.Relax! Try and have a little fun!
And his man washere. In a glorious convertible. And he was coming closer.
Jesus! Get ahold of yourself. Jasper stepped forward, back to the curb’s edge. He felt as though his toes were at the end of a cliff. He glanced down at his bag, and his face went supernova—not from the sun, but from shame. It was patched with duct tape, for Christ’s sake!
It all happened too fast. Suddenly, there Rob was, pulling up and smiling as though he’d just stepped off a movie screen.
Jasper returned the smile, squinting a bit into the sun.
Rob hopped out of the car to help him put his bag in the trunk. The sight of him took Jasper’s breath away. He was taller than Jasper remembered, broader-shouldered. His hair was an almost shimmering silver; Jasper wondered if it had once been black. Unlike the clean-shaven face Jasper had seen when he’d first met him, he now sported a goatee, silver with flecks of black. His ruddy skin was dotted with stubble that Jasper could imagine rubbing against his own clean-shaven face, the delightful sandpaper scratch.
He wore a pair of khaki shorts, a simple white cotton tank top, and leather flip-flops. Palm Springs casual, Jasper guessed. The watch on his wrist, though, looked like a Rolex.
Should I hug him? Shake hands?Jasper had yet to speak.
Rob settled things for him, grabbing him and pulling him tightly into his arms. He whispered, “I’m so glad you’re here.” Then he moved around the back of the car to hop in the driver’s seat.
Jasper got in the passenger side. Still, his mind was a total blank.
Rob revved the engine a little as he put the car in gear, and they sped off. In no time they were on Tahquitz, heading toward a huge mountain range. Tall, spindly palms lined the center of the road. The mountain rose up, huge, so close it seemed they’d run into it.
I’m really here in Southern California.
Jasper put on his sunglasses, trying to pretend this was all nothing special when in fact he felt like an extra in a movie. Finally, when he could get his tongue, lips, and teeth working together well enough to form words, he asked, “So what’s the car?”
“It’s my baby,” Rob said, patting the leather steering wheel. “It’s a 1961 Maserati 3500 Spyder. Cool, huh?”
“Restore it yourself?” Jasper asked.
“Ha! I wouldn’t trust myself to change the oil. No, I have a guy out in Yucca Valley who’s obviously not only a stickler for details but a true artist. Right? What do you drive?”
Jasper didn’t answer, but simply stared out the window at some statuary of Mexican workers in the middle of the road. How could he say that the L was what he drove?
“I THOUGHTyou might like to go for a swim before dinner,” Rob said as he set two brightly colored beach towels on the bench by the sliding glass doors. “A swimsuit is, of course, optional. But do what makes you the most comfortable. If you forgot yours, just check the outside bath adjacent to the deep end of the pool. It has an assortment of Speedos and board shorts and everything in between in just about any size, color, and pattern you can imagine. But if you prefer au naturel, go for it. No one can see you.” He winked because in the air hung the knowledge that “no one” didnotinclude Rob. “Except me. And I make no promises not to peek.”
Alone now, after a tour of the house, Jasper sat on the bed of the guest room Rob had said was his for the long weekend. Jasper felt a mixture of relief and disappointment at learning that he wasnotexpected to stay in Rob’s room, in his massive California king-size bed with its soaring reclaimed-wood headboard.
But the man was a gentleman, right? He’d made it clear long before Jasper boarded the plane to come out here that he had no expectations—that this trip was simply a way for two people to get to know each other. Whether the outcome of that further, in-person knowing was a dalliance, a friendship, or something longer and more significant was up to fate, to their hearts’ reaction to the other.
No pressure.
And yet Jasper, sitting here on his own bed in a room that had sliding glass doors onto a patio with a sparkling turquoise kidney-shaped pool, felt a little rejected. He guessed his feelings were rooted in clichéd expectations that an older man and a younger man holed up in a house alone together was the perfect setup for the decrepit lech to try to get his hands on the unspoiled, fresh-as-a-spring-peach younger man’s flesh.
But it wasn’t like that. Not at all. For one thing, Jasper’s flesh could just possibly be even more “spoiled” (in a manner of speaking) than Rob’s. Jasper had been around the block a time or two. He was no Mary Poppins, as Lacy might have said, a wicked grin lighting up her features. “Honey, if you showed everything that had been stuck into you, you’d look like a porcupine!” Jasper shook his head. Her sharp tongue, strangely enough, was one of the many reasons he’d adored her.
Jasper flopped back on the bed, lying on his side so he could gaze out through the sliding glass doors. The pool did look tempting, sparkles dancing on its aqua waters like diamonds. The whole view was like something stolen from a postcard, but taken circa 1965 or so.
Rob’s house was not as big as Jasper had expected, but it was almost eerily midcentury modern, right down to the last detail. The furnishing, draperies, wood paneling, shag carpeting—they were all like something Rob had bought from various sets on the TV showMad Men. Even the kitchen, all white and outfitted with turquoise appliances that Rob assured him were vintage inspired and not vintage, looked pulled from a time machine.
