The Rainbow Conspiracy Page 2

  ‘So where did you stay?’

  ‘Oh, back in the sixties I couldn’t afford anywhere there on Macmillan Wharf. So I wandered along the seafront and found a guesthouse called Reveller’s Den and booked a room.’

  Clive remembered it was cheap and cheerful, clean and comfortable enough for the student he was then. A typical New England affair, built in wood, with a veranda that seemed to encircle the entire building. The owner, a beanpole of a man who answered to the name of Ned, showed him to a room that looked right on to the beach. Ned told him that he had missed the crowds and that after Labor Day there wasn’t much action of an evening. As things transpired however, Clive was to prove him quite wrong.

  Ned suggested he stop by for a drink when he’d finished unpacking and have a beer on the house. Clive travelled light in those days and so in no time at all found his way back to the front door, where there was a bar just next to the office. Ned made him feel most welcome, poured him a glass of lager, and introduced him to the three men sitting on bar stools. However, one of them, a handsome blond who’d made an immediate impression, unfortunately announced that his lunch break was over, and that he had to get back to work. Clive bought a round of drinks for the two men remaining, but the absentee soon became the main topic of conversation. Needless to say, the fellow on his lunch break was Dennis, Provincetown’s resident lifeguard, and he was on duty.

  ‘Shirley, that’s where I saw my first lifeguard in the flesh, and he was such a handsome blond hunk. The sort of Adonis you know exists but whom you never actually meet in real life. I just couldn’t take my eyes off him, even though I knew it was rude to stare. Anyway, he didn’t stay long and nor did I, since I soon realised it was well past my lunchtime.’

  Clive had only eaten a muffin with his morning coffee before boarding the Greyhound Bus to Provincetown, and was absolutely starving. So off he trotted into town, found a sandwich bar, and ordered a triple-decker and another beer. The weather was nice and warm, so he sat outside to enjoy the New England sunshine, while munching his way through his enormous sandwich.

  ‘I must have been feeling a bit tipsy after so much to drink, so rather than explore the bars Ned had told me about, I made my way back to Reveller’s Den and decided to take a nap.’

  ‘So Dennis was a blond?’ asked Shirley.

  ‘We all had such long hair in the sixties, and his framed his bright blue eyes and button nose, and hung down the back of his thick bull of a neck.’

  In all the years Shirley had known Clive, she’d never heard him be so animated about another man’s sex appeal. Whether by choice or accident, Clive had now settled into a celibate lifestyle and, like so many gay men of his generation, was far too cautious to engage in any casual brief encounter. The same could be said about Shirley, whose first and only husband had been killed in a car crash some years ago. At work, she had kept quite quiet about that side of her life and, apart from Clive, Shirley was never known to be seen on the arm of another man and it was clear to everyone at Spoke Associates that Miss Morris had no intention of getting hitched again. So, in a way, they had much in common. The Clive Spoke she knew rarely got involved and neither did she, for that matter. Her boss was also too professional to allow any of the fine specimens currently on his books to impinge on his emotional radar. Consequently, Clive’s new display of total frankness was giving her a good deal of vicarious pleasure, so she urged him on further.

  ‘And the bod?’

  ‘Your classic “V” shape. Muscular arms with broad, tanned shoulders tapering down to a tiny waist, and narrow hips that stood firmly on good strong legs.’

  ‘Not at all like your average lifeguard then,’ she chuckled.

  ‘In a place like “P”-Town, I suppose showing off the beauty of your maleness was an everyday occurrence in the daily routine of a lifeguard. I figured that anyone who worked out that much must have wanted to be admired and, for once in my life, I conquered my English lower-middle-class sense of guilt and simply enjoyed staring at him.’

  ‘Clive, you’re such a Brit!’

  ‘To us in the sixties, working out seemed rather ridiculous and besides, I was such a weed myself: barely five foot eight, with no muscle definition to speak of. Seeing Dennis look like that made me realise that I had to get myself into shape and do something about my skinny little self.’

  ‘So Dennis is responsible for your regular visits to the gym?’

  ‘Absolutely, and I have to thank him for the Mr Muscles you now see standing here before you.’

  ‘You’re a caution!’ giggled Shirley.

  ‘Oh, you may laugh, but working out did improve my chances on a Saturday night back in London, in the good old days of the Huntsman. That basement Soho club was a really popular meeting place for us gays after the law changed in ‘67, and it provided me with a regular supply of admirers, I can tell you.’

  They both burst into uncontrollable laughter. Then Clive sat upright and what had appeared to be laughter evolved into what Shirley took to be a coughing fit, until she realised that actually he was quietly sobbing. Shirley simply took Clive’s cup out of his hands, stood behind him and put her arms around his shoulders, comforting him as best she could.

  ‘I think you need a Scotch and I need the loo,’ she said, and briefly bade leave of him.

  It struck Clive how deeply he regretted having lost touch with his ‘Columbus boys’ and the rift that he had largely engineered. He had been devastated by the death of his mother two years previously, but suddenly discovering that the man who had played such an important part in his emotional development had died of AIDS made him realise that he had lost a dear old friend and that his own life could now also be in the balance.

  Shirley interrupted his reverie, and as they embraced Clive volunteered: ‘Listen, Shirl, I think I’ll head home.’

  ‘Do you want me to call you a cab?’

  ‘No, I need to walk for a bit. I’ll pick one up in Saint Martin’s Lane.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go to Joe’s for a bite?’

  ‘Now, Mummy dearest, I’ll have some soup when I get in … then it’s early to bed for me. I’ll be fine, really; I just need to clear my head a little and think things through before the morning. This awful news has really knocked the stuffing out of me.’

  Then, almost out of the door, Clive turned back, blew Shirley a kiss and whispered: ‘Don’t worry. I’ll call you from the airport.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  PROVINCETOWN REMINISCENCE

  Clive left his office in Cecil Court, and as he turned into Saint Martin’s Lane he hailed a taxi and was back home in Ladbroke Terrace in no time at all. The shock of losing his ex had affected him badly and, try as he might, he just couldn’t drop off to sleep. Memories of his first encounter with Dennis in Provincetown kept going round and round in his head and so he decided to get out of bed and fix himself a cup of cocoa. As he sat nursing his hot drink, his mind went racing back to the summer of ‘68. What a time he’d had on that first visit to the United States, when he had found the country in such turmoil.

  He had gone out West on the pretext of visiting relatives, but in Chicago he’d got involved in a big student rally. Thousands of young Americans had converged on the Windy City, determined to disrupt the important Democratic Convention which the city was hosting. At the time, the war in Vietnam was polarising so many U.S citizens, and the youth of America had galvanised itself and come in their thousands to protest against the war and hold a demonstration there.

  President Lyndon B. Johnson had become so besieged by the anti-war movement, he had encouraged the CIA to launch Operation Chaos, a domestic surveillance scheme devised to investigate any expected protest meeting and enable city police to receive several days’ advance training from the US government’s Clandestine Services Division, which equipped them to deal with rallying protestors. The emergence of the Black Panthers and the upset caused by the two Kennedy assassinations had contributed to the breakdown the
sense of idealism that had existed in the States during the early sixties. Then, to cap it all, there was the murder of Martin Luther King Jr., which had led to rioting in many American cities, adding racial unrest to the general mood of disenchantment.

  But back in Ladbroke Terrace, it was his memories of Provincetown that held his attention, and he soon pictured himself back in his room at Reveller’s Den. He remembered that from his open window there was an excellent view of the sea in two directions and, as he looked along the beach that day, he found it almost deserted, and the cool sea breeze on his cheeks helped sober him up a little. The details of his first afternoon came back to him so vividly, he felt he could actually see the chair on stilts where Dennis was perched on lifeguard duty. It was an easily recognisable landmark, and with the surrounding flags flapping vigorously and the sea getting a lot rougher, it occurred to Clive that Dennis should be keeping a watchful eye just in case any of the last few remaining bathers got into difficulty. However, Clive did notice that although on duty, it didn’t prevent said fellow from being deep in conversation with one of the guys Clive had met in Ned’s bar at lunchtime: a well-built, good-looking man, about thirty, with a rather charming smile.

  Clive reflected that in those days he’d been rather timid and so, after taking a quick shower and attempting to conquer that Englishman’s self-consciousness of his, he finally decided to pluck up the courage and take a closer look at the two men. He soon packed a canvas bag, left through the door that led directly out onto the veranda and, skipping down the wooden staircase adjacent, he jumped onto the pure white sand that stretched down to the sea. Turning south along the beach, he headed towards the lookout post but walked along the water’s edge, in order to maintain a safe distance and avoid giving the impression that he was interested in joining the two men he’d just spied.

  As they came into sharper focus, Clive could see that the taller of the two appeared to be grinning and shuffling sand from one foot to the other, while the lifeguard, now down from his perch, had begun to swing his left arm backwards into ever-increasing circles, keeping his right hand firmly attached to one leg of that high chair of his. His arm-swinging grew more and more energetic until it suddenly propelled his body up into the air, culminating in a graceful descent, which climaxed in an acrobatic finale of deep knee squats. Clive’s vivid imagination led him to believe that the athletic display had been intended for his benefit alone, such was his continued captive rapture. It certainly could not have been idle conversation that held the other man’s attention, any more than it was that tall chair holding Clive’s.

  Even though he was back in his bedroom in Ladbroke Terrace, that great Spoke visual memory enabled him to relive his afternoon in Provincetown, and he felt as though he was fast-forwarding a film. In it, he could see himself keeping close to the waves breaking along the beach, and finally pitching his site on a raised dry sandy mound a fair distance away from the lookout post. He emptied the contents of his bag onto the towel he’d spread out and stripped down to his red and white swimming trunks. The ritual of smothering his puny body in suntan oil over, he collapsed onto his knees, turned onto one side and faced directly into the sun, benefiting from the last of the day’s rays, which most people believe gives the best tan. To read or not to read, that was his dilemma, and he finally cast his copy of Last Exit to Brooklyn to one side and sat up again. It was then he noticed that his two men had split up and the darker of the two was walking away along the beach in the opposite direction.

  Then the lifeguard suddenly threw himself down from his chair, broke into a fast run and made straight for the sea, his great thighs cutting through the waves, and galloping over them before hurling himself headlong into the ocean. At first, Clive had thought the lifeguard’s sudden action heralded the likelihood of a swimmer in distress. Then, through his binoculars, he could see that was indeed not the case and, with his aided field of vision, he began to focus on the powerful overarm action of the chap who had captured his admiration. He could see that Dennis was now racing far out to sea, and had become a mere speck on the horizon in no time at all. As a result of all this excitement, Clive felt he needed to cool himself down, and although not really at home in the sea and consequently not a strong swimmer, he nonetheless decided he would take a dip. The water was warm and inviting and after splashing around for a token five minutes, he dried off, felt refreshed and was able to return to his Last Exit.

  He soon realised the sun had shifted and so had to alter his position in order to acquire the maximum benefit of its dying rays. It was then he noticed his lifeguard coming along the beach in his direction, now wearing a faded pair of denims, a white T-shirt, and had a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. Because the chap sported a pair of reflector sunglasses, Clive found it difficult to determine whether he’d been spotted or not; however, as Dennis approached he gave a friendly wave, and Clive’s reciprocal wave back encouraged the lifeguard to change direction and make straight for him. To this day, Clive had never forgotten the exchange that followed.

  ‘Hi! How are ya?’ the lifeguard asked.

  ‘I’m very well, thank you.’ Clive replied. ‘It’s just lovely here.’

  ‘So you really are English.’

  ‘Yes, from London. Where are you from?’

  ‘Columbus … Ohio.’ And without prompting, he threw his towel down onto the sand, right up against Clive and sprawled out, clearly enjoying soaking up the last of the warm September sunshine. ‘You know, I’ve never been to London.’

  ‘And I’m ashamed to say, I don’t know exactly where in the USA Columbus is. I mean, geographically speaking.’

  ‘Oh, it’s due south of Detroit, about seven hundred miles or so. I’m only here lifeguarding during my summer vacation.’

  ‘So you’re a teacher?’

  ‘Close! I’m studying to be an elementary school teacher … You’re probably thinking I’m too old to be a college student, but I only quit the military last year.’

  In fact, other thoughts were occupying Clive’s mind, while at the same time he fought hard not to brush up against Dennis’s powerful shoulder.

  ‘In England we call that primary school. We have an excellent approach called the Montessori method, which I know a little bit about,’ added Clive, in an attempt to keep his mind focused on educational issues.

  ‘Oh yeah! I’ve heard about that system. You know, we may speak the same language, but we sure as hell don’t use the same terminology … I suppose I always wanted to teach, but for personal reasons I decided to join the marines and then went ahead and signed up for six years. Crazy, I know, but it seemed right at the time. Anyway, that’s enough about me. What do you do?’

  ‘I’m still at university too. I don’t really know what I’m going to do when I leave. I’ve still got one more year to go. Sometimes I think I’d like to be an actor, but doesn’t everybody? If I had the talent, I suppose I’d try to get into RADA – the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.’

  ‘You Brits with your royal this and that,’ Dennis smiled.

  ‘Look here, I’m very proud of our royal family!’ Clive responded with what he hoped came across as mock indignation. He didn’t want to spoil their first meeting by having an argument; it would have been terrible to have fallen out over the Queen.

  Fortunately, Dennis didn’t seem to want to be drawn into a political discussion either. ‘Say, what’s your name again? Oh yes, of course, it’s Clive.’

  ‘Yes, Clive Spoke. And you’re Dennis, I remember.’

  ‘That’s right, Dennis Montrose,’ he said rather formally and they both shook hands.

  Then, looking up and down the beach, he observed, ‘It gets pretty quiet out here now after Labor Day. In fact, I finish my duties the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘I suppose there can’t be too many stragglers left to save right now,’ Clive agreed jokingly and changed his position in an attempt to avoid contact with that well-formed torso, which had brushed up against him.

 
; ‘I plan staying out here till my money runs out. I need a vacation too, y’know, and school doesn’t start up again until October tenth. How long are you staying for?’

  ‘A couple of weeks I think. This is my first day.’ And Clive put his T-shirt back on.

  ‘Once the sun goes down, it does begin to get a little chilly. I suppose it’s time to make a move.’ And with that, Dennis sprang to his feet.

  ‘Yes, it is getting a bit nippy … actually, I saw you earlier on in the bar at Reveller’s Den. That’s where I’m staying, by the way.’ And then Clive plucked up the courage to ask: ‘Would you like to come back for a drink?’

  ‘Sure.’ Dennis’s reply came back without hesitation.

  As they walked along the beach, Clive tried to steer the conversation towards the many differences that exist between the British and American educational systems. The temperature had dropped quite a bit, and a shiver went through his body, which Dennis was quick to pick up on.

  ‘Now, you should take a hot shower as soon as we get there. In fact, I wouldn’t mind one myself.’

  Clive remembered thinking that he couldn’t get over how easy it had been to get his new acquaintance back to his room. At the time, he admitted that he was also entertaining other thoughts about his new friend, such as getting him under that hot shower and then into bed.

  However, he also recalled that the cold seemed to have taken over his senses and by the time they finally reached their destination and climbed the stairs up to the veranda, he was actually shivering.

  ‘Yes, I do feel rather cold.’

  ‘That’s only natural. In the daytime, your body temperature builds up a good deal, and that’s why you now feel the cold more keenly. In future you should remember to pack a sweater. Now, just get straight under the hot water. Go on – and that’s an order!’