“I see I’ve found the right crowd,” Wesadded.
Frances winked. “It’s just fine for us to have dirty minds. I read an article in theGuardianthat said sex is a key part in our lives after sixty-five, so I’m nearlythere.”
“She’s right,” Tony said. “There was another from theGuardianabout how it’s better in youreighties.”
“Why do you suppose theGuardianis so curious about what we do in the bedroom?” Wesqueried.
Gabe cringed, shaking his head in clear disapproval. “I can just imagine a thirtysomething perv reporter, sitting around at their desk all day, obsessed with the sex lives of a bunch of sixty-plus-year-olds.”
Wes got a kick out of these guys, forsure.
“Stick with us,” Frances told Wes. “You’ll get a few laughs with these clowns, and then we’ll give you the dirt on folkstoo.”
She offered up her wisdom about various residents present, and while she was caught up in a story, Art interjected, “Here comes ourfavorite.”
Frances turned all the way around, and Wes tried to see, of everyone present, whom Art was talkingabout.
“Wes, Kenneth Moore sitting down at your three o’clock.” The way Art whispered it, one would have thought Kenneth was a lot closer, but as Wes turned farther, he caught a man glaring at him from a few tables over, three rows back from them. He had a head of black hair that Wes was certain had been dyed along with his eyebrows, and he wore a polo that fit him snug. His expression was full of irritation and judgment as he pulled his attention back to hisgroup.
“What’s got his goat?” Wesasked.
“I like to think he’s got a little crush on Art,” Frances teased, which made Tony and Gabe chuckle to one another. “Lord forbid you and Art sit any closer. He won’t make a big show out of it, but he’ll let it be known to his friends where he stands on thesubject.”
“As you can imagine,” Art said, “he doesn’t have too much trouble finding friends who agree with his ignorant points of view. The whole crew is like that: Jasmine, Clarke, Baxter, andChelsea.”
“A shame. Kenneth used to be an okay guy, I always thought,” Wessaid.
“You were friends with him?” Gabe asked, his bushy brows pullingtogether.
“Somewhat. Not terribly much, but he was friendly enough and hated his parents, a self-righteous, pious couple he rebelled against for the longest time. Clearly the pendulum swung back the otherway.”
“Ignorance has a strong magnetic pull to it, apparently,” Frances added. “Sorry you knew the guy. We have mostly friendly residents, but that squad of ignorant assholes gravitated to one another, and we all tolerate them slightly better than they tolerateus.”
Art glanced over once more. “I know word’s already reached around this place about our newqueer. No offense,Wes.”
“Nonetaken.”
“Yeah, I heard them chatting about you before Art got here tonight,” Francessaid.
“I heard them too,” Gabe insisted, as though he didn’t want to be accused of not having been in on thegossip.
“What are they saying?” Wes asked, rife withcuriosity.
Gabe scrunched his face up. “Not sure you need toknow.”
“Oh, come on,” Frances said. “We can’t set that up and then not follow through. Wes, he was just saying how he knew the Lord spent a long time punishing you for yourtransgressions.”
Wes looked back over at Kenneth, who was setting up his bingo cards. He could imagine what Kenneth heard about his downward spiral, about all the pain and heartache he’d experienced since coming out. And it reflected his own ingrained fears, which only annoyed him further. No matter what he may have deserved, he could never have believed any God would have punished his innocent wife and kid for his own perceived sins. Nor could he abide any doctrine that tried to tell him that the foundation of who he was at his core was something wicked. Although, who was Kenneth Moore to judgehim?
“Sad to hear he’s become such a miserable son of a bitch, I guess,” Wes said, trying to make light of it, but he noticed sorrow in Art’s expression, as though he was disappointed that Wes had to hear about this perception of him, certainly because Art knew the details of what Kenneth Moore was referringto.
The sound of white noise preceded a shrill cry from the malfunctioning stereos placed on either side of the room, and was followed by groans from theattendees.
“Okay, okay,” Tony said, sliding his glasses back up the bridge of hisnose.
“Sorry about the technical difficulties,” the hostsaid.
Wes turned to see a redheaded woman in gray slacks, a bright-green vest, and a light-orange bow tie. It was a bold look, but as she began what was clearly a comedy act, he realized that the look was part of hershow.
As she presented the numbers between jokes and banter, Wes watched as Art, Frances, Gabe, Tony, and the rest of the room eased right into the experience. He could see why Art had recommended heattend.
The night wore on, and the laughter intensified, particularly after they grabbed refreshments during a brief intermission. He even noticed Joseph Duvall. They didn’t chat or try to catch up, but Wes offered a polite wave, and Joseph forced a smirk. He’d need to sit down and chat with him at some point, catch up the way he and Art had. But already worn out from all the excitement that evening, he figured that could wait. Instead, he tried to quiet his mind and appreciate the lively, playful atmosphere bingo nightcreated.
There was something special about Heathrow Estates, something he couldn’t have picked up on in any brochure, pamphlet, or video. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he let himself relax into the experience and prepare for this new chapter of hislife.
