Read Online The Weekend: A Novel by Peter Cameron - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter Cameron
Tags: United States, Fiction, Literary, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Gay, Gay & Lesbian, gay romance, Genre Fiction, Literary Fiction, Lgbt, Gay Fiction
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blouson.
“Is he supposed to be a pirate?” asked Robert.
“No.” Marian laughed. “He’s supposed to be Lysander, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. We used to have a party every year on Midsummer night. People had to come as characters and we’d read the play outside. Lyle was always a very grudging participant. It’s funny how some people who are inherently theatrical clam up when they have an opportunity to really act. I don’t understand it.”
Next to the photograph of Lyle as Lysander was a photograph of Lyle and another man standing in a desert beside a camel. A few pyramids interrupted the vacant horizon. The camel had moved its head, creating a blur, but the two men were standing still, looking straight at the camera, at Robert and Marian.
“Is that Tony?” asked Robert.
“Yes,” said Marian. “They went to Egypt in—I guess it was ’87. Lyle was trying to grow his hair long then. It looks terrible.”
“Yes,” said Robert.
Marian looked at him, as if he should not have agreed. She turned away from the photographs and said, “You can use this
bathroom here.” Robert looked in the room. It was larger than a normal bathroom. A claw-footed tub stood in the middle of the floor and there was an overstuffed sofa against one wall. “It hasn’t got a shower, but it has one of those hand things,” Marian said. “I hope it won’t be a nuisance.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Robert.
“Watch your step here,” said Marian, as she walked down two steps and opened a door at the end of the hall. The yellow room was small, with various sloping roofs and two dormer windows. The walls were painted a beautiful shade of yellow: soft yet bright, the color of real butter. The curtains and the spreads on the two beds were of the same material: pink and white peonies exploding across a pale yellow background. The windows were open, but the old-fashioned brown paper shades were drawn and sucked tight against the screens. Marian raised one and opened the window wider.
“It’s hot in here now,” she said, “but it cools off in the afternoon. I promise.”
“What a nice room,” said Robert.
“Oh,” said Marian, “I’m glad you like it.”
They stood there, in the warm yellow light. It was the first moment they shared that wasn’t tinged with anxiety. Neither of them could think of how to preserve or extend it, so they said nothing. Marian clapped her hands softly together in a gesture that might have seemed odd but didn’t, and said, “Well, then. I’ll leave you to settle in. I’d better go check on Roland, and see about lunch.”
“Thank you,” said Robert.
Marian turned at the door. She nodded, then smiled. “You’re welcome,” she said.
Since they were only staying overnight there was very little settling in to do. Robert put his bag down and stood in the room for a moment, then went into the bathroom and washed his face. He knew he should go downstairs and join Marian, or Lyle and John, whom he could see out the window, standing on the lawn, aimlessly swinging croquet mallets, but he felt a little paralyzed. Who is Lyle? he wondered. It was strange to see someone you have only known alone begin interacting with other people, for that somebody known to you disappears and is replaced by a different, more complex, person. You watch him revolve in this new company, revealing new facets, and there is nothing you can do but hope you like these other sides as much as you like the side that seemed whole when it faced only you.
8
BY MIDDAY THE HEAT had extended itself even into the shade. The air seemed embalmed. Marian had planned to have lunch outside, but they decided it was cooler to eat indoors, at the large, slate-topped table in the kitchen, with the fan on and the blinds all drawn.
“So you’re a painter, John tells me?” Marian asked Robert, when the platters of pasta and chicken salad had been passed around.
“Well, that’s what I’m doing now,” Robert
“Is he supposed to be a pirate?” asked Robert.
“No.” Marian laughed. “He’s supposed to be Lysander, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. We used to have a party every year on Midsummer night. People had to come as characters and we’d read the play outside. Lyle was always a very grudging participant. It’s funny how some people who are inherently theatrical clam up when they have an opportunity to really act. I don’t understand it.”
Next to the photograph of Lyle as Lysander was a photograph of Lyle and another man standing in a desert beside a camel. A few pyramids interrupted the vacant horizon. The camel had moved its head, creating a blur, but the two men were standing still, looking straight at the camera, at Robert and Marian.
“Is that Tony?” asked Robert.
“Yes,” said Marian. “They went to Egypt in—I guess it was ’87. Lyle was trying to grow his hair long then. It looks terrible.”
“Yes,” said Robert.
Marian looked at him, as if he should not have agreed. She turned away from the photographs and said, “You can use this
bathroom here.” Robert looked in the room. It was larger than a normal bathroom. A claw-footed tub stood in the middle of the floor and there was an overstuffed sofa against one wall. “It hasn’t got a shower, but it has one of those hand things,” Marian said. “I hope it won’t be a nuisance.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Robert.
“Watch your step here,” said Marian, as she walked down two steps and opened a door at the end of the hall. The yellow room was small, with various sloping roofs and two dormer windows. The walls were painted a beautiful shade of yellow: soft yet bright, the color of real butter. The curtains and the spreads on the two beds were of the same material: pink and white peonies exploding across a pale yellow background. The windows were open, but the old-fashioned brown paper shades were drawn and sucked tight against the screens. Marian raised one and opened the window wider.
“It’s hot in here now,” she said, “but it cools off in the afternoon. I promise.”
“What a nice room,” said Robert.
“Oh,” said Marian, “I’m glad you like it.”
They stood there, in the warm yellow light. It was the first moment they shared that wasn’t tinged with anxiety. Neither of them could think of how to preserve or extend it, so they said nothing. Marian clapped her hands softly together in a gesture that might have seemed odd but didn’t, and said, “Well, then. I’ll leave you to settle in. I’d better go check on Roland, and see about lunch.”
“Thank you,” said Robert.
Marian turned at the door. She nodded, then smiled. “You’re welcome,” she said.
Since they were only staying overnight there was very little settling in to do. Robert put his bag down and stood in the room for a moment, then went into the bathroom and washed his face. He knew he should go downstairs and join Marian, or Lyle and John, whom he could see out the window, standing on the lawn, aimlessly swinging croquet mallets, but he felt a little paralyzed. Who is Lyle? he wondered. It was strange to see someone you have only known alone begin interacting with other people, for that somebody known to you disappears and is replaced by a different, more complex, person. You watch him revolve in this new company, revealing new facets, and there is nothing you can do but hope you like these other sides as much as you like the side that seemed whole when it faced only you.
8
BY MIDDAY THE HEAT had extended itself even into the shade. The air seemed embalmed. Marian had planned to have lunch outside, but they decided it was cooler to eat indoors, at the large, slate-topped table in the kitchen, with the fan on and the blinds all drawn.
“So you’re a painter, John tells me?” Marian asked Robert, when the platters of pasta and chicken salad had been passed around.
“Well, that’s what I’m doing now,” Robert
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