Read Online When the Stars Come Out by Rob Byrnes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rob Byrnes
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was once again feeling stir crazy and in need of fresh air, so he slipped out and took a brief walk around the neighborhood.
It was another pleasant day, and the walk was doing him a world
of good. As he wandered the quiet brownstone-lined blocks, Noah
pondered Tricia’s words. Was he really closing himself off from human contact? Had the dissolution of his relationship with Harry
really led him to a self-imposed solitude? Or worse, had he always walled himself off like that? Was he destined to be a loner—and to be lonely—for the rest of his life?
Then again, what did Tricia really know about his life? Both she
and his father had made an effort to not get involved. It was one thing to know Noah was gay; quite another to know his partners, let alone his feelings about them. That could open themselves to all
kinds of unpleasant possibilities. They might even have to envision him naked, in the arms of another man.
It was, Noah assumed, easier for Tricia—not a blood relative, at
that—to drunkenly try to coax him into contact. It was quite an-
other to cross the invisible line the family had placed in their
relationships—the one that could not be crossed, because, like the edges of the flat earth in an early map, here be dragons.
Although he was breathing fresh air and clearing his head,
Noah was not taking in the scenery; not until he approached the
Whitney Museum on Madison Avenue and someone caught his
eye.
Was that . . . ?
It was. It was the stranger from Bar 51, getting into a cab in front of the museum. Noah quickened his pace, hoping to catch up with
the cab as it waited at the curb for a break in traffic.
Don’t be too obvious , he told himself. Walk quickly, but don’t run .
The cab began to pull away, and Noah—despite his best inten-
tions—broke into a slow trot, drawing even with the vehicle mo-
ments before the driver punched the accelerator and sent it off
into the northbound traffic. He looked through the rear passenger
window . . . and there sat the stranger, looking back. A smile—of
recognition?—crossed his lips as the cab angled into the left-hand lanes. Noah slowed his pace and watched it turn left at Seventy-ninth Street, a full two blocks away by the time he saw it disappear.
As he walked home, Noah tried to convince himself it was fate.
W H E N T H E S T A R S C O M E O U T
57
When that didn’t work, he tried to convince himself it was just coincidence. That was slightly more plausible—even in a huge city
like New York, people ran into each other by chance—but he still
felt there was something more to it. Two sightings in less than 24
hours, in two different parts of the city . . .
For perhaps the first time ever, Noah wished he possessed a spir-
itual streak, because as implausible as fate seemed to him, he had reached the point where he needed to believe. In something . . .
anything . . .
On an impulse, he hailed a cab, telling the driver to take him to
Fifty-first and Ninth.
Bar 51 was crowded that early evening, its overflowing crowd
pushing out onto the small porch where the smokers congregated.
As Noah entered, the Four Stooges—anchoring their perch on the
porch—greeted him with brief hellos and inquiries after Tricia.
Noah felt slight regret that, up to that point, his father’s mother was a more popular figure in a gay bar than he was.
Inside, the stranger was nowhere to be seen. Noah felt himself
growing anxious as he scanned the room, hoping that he’d spot
him somewhere in the crowd, hidden behind other patrons. But,
no . . . Bar 51 was not that big of a place, and after four passes between the front door and the bathrooms at the rear of the bar, it
was clear that he wasn’t there.
But just in case he was en route—delayed in traffic, or what-
ever—Noah decided to stay for a drink. He made a mental note to
give the stranger twenty minutes. Any more than that, he told him-
self, would just mean Noah was being
It was another pleasant day, and the walk was doing him a world
of good. As he wandered the quiet brownstone-lined blocks, Noah
pondered Tricia’s words. Was he really closing himself off from human contact? Had the dissolution of his relationship with Harry
really led him to a self-imposed solitude? Or worse, had he always walled himself off like that? Was he destined to be a loner—and to be lonely—for the rest of his life?
Then again, what did Tricia really know about his life? Both she
and his father had made an effort to not get involved. It was one thing to know Noah was gay; quite another to know his partners, let alone his feelings about them. That could open themselves to all
kinds of unpleasant possibilities. They might even have to envision him naked, in the arms of another man.
It was, Noah assumed, easier for Tricia—not a blood relative, at
that—to drunkenly try to coax him into contact. It was quite an-
other to cross the invisible line the family had placed in their
relationships—the one that could not be crossed, because, like the edges of the flat earth in an early map, here be dragons.
Although he was breathing fresh air and clearing his head,
Noah was not taking in the scenery; not until he approached the
Whitney Museum on Madison Avenue and someone caught his
eye.
Was that . . . ?
It was. It was the stranger from Bar 51, getting into a cab in front of the museum. Noah quickened his pace, hoping to catch up with
the cab as it waited at the curb for a break in traffic.
Don’t be too obvious , he told himself. Walk quickly, but don’t run .
The cab began to pull away, and Noah—despite his best inten-
tions—broke into a slow trot, drawing even with the vehicle mo-
ments before the driver punched the accelerator and sent it off
into the northbound traffic. He looked through the rear passenger
window . . . and there sat the stranger, looking back. A smile—of
recognition?—crossed his lips as the cab angled into the left-hand lanes. Noah slowed his pace and watched it turn left at Seventy-ninth Street, a full two blocks away by the time he saw it disappear.
As he walked home, Noah tried to convince himself it was fate.
W H E N T H E S T A R S C O M E O U T
57
When that didn’t work, he tried to convince himself it was just coincidence. That was slightly more plausible—even in a huge city
like New York, people ran into each other by chance—but he still
felt there was something more to it. Two sightings in less than 24
hours, in two different parts of the city . . .
For perhaps the first time ever, Noah wished he possessed a spir-
itual streak, because as implausible as fate seemed to him, he had reached the point where he needed to believe. In something . . .
anything . . .
On an impulse, he hailed a cab, telling the driver to take him to
Fifty-first and Ninth.
Bar 51 was crowded that early evening, its overflowing crowd
pushing out onto the small porch where the smokers congregated.
As Noah entered, the Four Stooges—anchoring their perch on the
porch—greeted him with brief hellos and inquiries after Tricia.
Noah felt slight regret that, up to that point, his father’s mother was a more popular figure in a gay bar than he was.
Inside, the stranger was nowhere to be seen. Noah felt himself
growing anxious as he scanned the room, hoping that he’d spot
him somewhere in the crowd, hidden behind other patrons. But,
no . . . Bar 51 was not that big of a place, and after four passes between the front door and the bathrooms at the rear of the bar, it
was clear that he wasn’t there.
But just in case he was en route—delayed in traffic, or what-
ever—Noah decided to stay for a drink. He made a mental note to
give the stranger twenty minutes. Any more than that, he told him-
self, would just mean Noah was being
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