Fred Wemyss

Herman Capelmeister did not want to hear what his son was telling him. The freckled face, colorless eyes and uncombed hair, dirty blond, he wanted very much to see. He was pleased at the voice. The words were clear. Clarity worked, of course. Herman Capelmeister had to interrupt, and now. "What in God's name does 'there for me' mean?"

Nepomuk looked relaxed. He smiled without really seeming amused, as if he were thirty instead of thirteen. "A peasant expression, father, I know." He leaned forward. "I talk to her on the phone at one in the morning."

"You know, the Preppy Murderer started out like you," said Herman Capelmeister.

"Do tell." Nepomuk took a cigarette from his sleeve.

"Neat trick," said Cantaloupe. "He doesn't light them, Herman."

"I know," said Herman Capelmeister. "I'll even point it out to the wait staff, if they get aroused."

Nepomuk, the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, said, "I fit in with females. That makes me an A-list faggot in this town."

"Never call yourself a faggot in front of your father, Neep."

"What I stress," said Herman Capelmeister, "Is this: These silly girls have persuaded you not that you're gay, but that you need to tell them everything you plan to do in that direction."

"They're just friends," said Cantaloupe.

"Pajama party gals. Thirteen year-old girls acting like middle-aged divorcees."

"Well, he lives with a middle-aged divorcee."

"One is enough," said Herman Capelmeister.

"He needs friends his own age."

"He doesn't need the future staff of 'W' micro-managing his adolescence."

"He's gay, Herman. He can't turn to the boys for support."

"Support. What the fuck is support at thirteen? He's supposed to be having a masturbation complex at this point, not a week-long marathon of Truth-or-Dare in the Penthouse apartment of some latch-key Barbie-doll with a copy of VOGUE."

"You workin' for Conde Nast, Dad?"

"Shut up. This isn't about you."

"What?"

"It's about your life. Your mother and I are planning it."

The busboy walked slowly toward the table. He poured water from a sweating picher.

"More bread," said Cantaloupe.

"Bread," said the busboy.

"God," said Nepomuk. "What Third World country are you running, Mom?"

"The whole United States is the Third World to your mother, Nepomuk," said Herman Capelmeister.

"Your father got crabs in Tijuana once," said Cantaloupe.

"Should have got 'em in Vegas, father," said Nepomuk. "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."

"Well, his crotch dropped them off in New Canaan."

"And the rest of me shook this one off in Manhattan," said Herman Capelmeister, pointing at Cantaloupe. "Maybe the gaggle of teen fag-hags is better for you than staying home with Mother. You don't need delousing after jumping on couches with them."

"My sentiments exactly," said Cantaloupe. "He needs to get away from me. Why won't you let him stay on Shelter Island?"

"Because I don't want to BE on Shelter Island."

"You're staying there, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I want to get over to the Pines a couple of times."

"Take him with you."

"I will NOT leave him alone weeks at a time on Shelter Island, dear!"

"Then stay on Shelter Island."

"Balls to Shelter Island!"

"Balls in the Pines."

"Bread," said the busboy, putting a wicker basket of hot bread on the table.

"Butter," said Nepomuk.

"At least he eats," said Herman Capelmeister. "The anorexics haven't talked him out of a good steak yet."

"What song is this?" said Cantaloupe.

"'Come Fly With Me,'" said Herman Capelmeister.

"Where?" said Cantaloupe.

"It's 'Fly Me To the Moon,'" said Nepomuk.

"'Fly me to Rangoon!'" sang Cantaloupe.

Herman Capelmeister said, "Oh! I heard him sing 'The Road to Mandalay' once."

"Sinatra?"

"Yes. It was ludicrous. 'On the road to Manda-lay-eeeee, where the flying fishes play.' Jesus! Kipling wouldn't have known whether to shit or go blind."

"I like Rufus Wainwright," said Nepomuk.

"Loved his 'Gap' ad," said Herman Capelmeister. "I'd fuck him."

"Da-aad!"

"Nepomuk, are you surprised?" said Cantaloupe.

"He's much more than a 'Gap' ad."

"Well, the Calvin Klein ads weren't much more than Marky Mark and his funky bunch."

"Your father's delving into pre-history, dear. You know he used to say gays should have their behind's tattooed?"

"I was a NAZI," said Herman Capelmeister.

"He voted for Reagan twice."

"Oh, barf!"

"Bush once. The first Bush."

"Bush 41," said Herman Capelmeister. "The fightin' 41st, as Colbert would say. Better Know a Dipshit!"

"And then you voted for Clinton the second time," said Cantaloupe. "When you began to agree with my politics, you began sleeping with men."

"And you know where Neep was conceived?" said Herman Capelmeister. "On the road to Tom Delay."

"On the road to Men-to-lay!" said Cantaloupe.

"Shhh..." said Nepomuk.

"What are you shushing me for?" said Cantaloupe.

"Yes, Nepomuk. Are you, perhaps, urging discretion on us?" said Herman Capelmeister.

"Ursula's parents are here."

"Ooooh," said Herman Capelmeister and Cantaloupe at the same time.

"You just be quiet," said Nepomuk.

"The boy's straight," said Herman Capelmeister.

"No, I'm not!" said Nepomuk.

"No, he's not," said Cantaloupe.

"No gay boy pretends to be gay at thirteen," said Herman Capelmeister.

"That's because I'm not pretending," said Nepomuk.

"My primary concern, from thirteen to fifteen, was to not be detected as gay," said Herman Capelmeister.

"And it was your primary concern at thirty!" said Cantaloupe.

"Why is Nepomuk concerned about what we say in front of a girl's parents?"

"He wants the respect of his friends."

"Balls!"

The waiter came and poured wine for Herman Capelmeister.

"Another Scotch for me!" said Cantaloupe as the waiter began to turn away.

"You're going to these pajama parties to have sex with Ursula."

"Oh, I can't BELIEVE you!" said Nepomuk.

"They'll hear!" Cantaloupe said.

"Do kids have sex any more?" said Herman Capelmeister. He took two gulps of wine. "What do you do, play MONOPOLY?"

An elderly couple in a corner looked over. "Parchesi," one of them said.

"I can't watch Nepomuk's every step," said Cantaloupe.

"You've got custody."

"I'm letting you have him this summer."

"I'm going to the Pines!"

"Then take him to the Pines!"

"He can't go to the fucking Pines!"

"Why not? You can."

"He'll become one of them!"

"One of who, Herman?"

"One of you, Dad?"

"Don't call me a faggot!"

"What?"

"He didn't call you a faggot, Herman."

"You're staying in the city this summer."

"Okay. Did I object?"

"Herman, I want to be alone this summer."

"You can't."

"I can."

"Who's going to take care of Nepomuk?"

"London Broil?" said the waiter.

"Nepomuk! Nepomuk!" Ursula's mother waved.

"Please, please, don't say anything embarrassing," said Nepomuk.

A woman in a yellow dress walked up to the table. "Mr. and Mrs. Capelmeister?" she said.

"Yes and no," said Cantaloupe.

"I'm Venitia Holland. Ursula's mother."

Herman Capelmeister shook her hand and then took a sip of wine.

"We finally meet," said Cantaloupe.

"Nepomuk may not have mentioned this, but Ursula and Jerry and I would love to have him at Rangeley this summer."

"Well, yes," said Herman Capelmeister, "As a matter of fact, he did."

"I--" said Cantaloupe. "Well. Yes, yes, he did mention something."

"You're inviting me?" said Nepomuk.

"I take that as a yes," said Venitia Holland. "If it's all right with Herman and Cantaloupe, of course."

Herman Capelmeister and Cantaloupe looked at each other.

"Swordfish," said the waiter.

"Scotch," said the busboy.

Herman Capelmeister said, "Check."

"Bottom's up, boys," Cantaloupe said.

"You know, I might stay up there after the summer," said Nepomuk. "Oh," shouted Nepomuk, who hadn't noticed Mrs. Holland had gone back to her table. "Tell Ursula I said 'Yes.'"

"You might stay there year 'round?" said Cantaloupe.

"Yes, well, there's a boarding school nearby."

"Spoken like a Capelmeister," said Herman Capelmeister. He drained his glass.

Cantaloupe downed her Scotch.

"Ursula's pregnant," said Nepomuk.