Fic - Hair - Fall at the Center of Anywhere - 1/2
Pairing: Claude/Berger/Sheila, a little bit of Berger/Dionne
Rating: R
Word Count: ~12,500
Disclaimer: Not affiliated with the show or the production in any way. Just a fan. Don’t mean any harm, not making any money, etc.
Notes: Fic is based around the musical, not the movie.
Fall at the Center of Anywhere
He finds Claude sprawled across Sheila’s bed, staring at the ceiling with his sneakers on.
“Hey, man,” Berger says as he takes a step into the room. “Thought you were going home.”
Claude grunts and reaches out a hand toward Berger. Berger takes another step forward so that Claude’s fingers touch his left knee, finding their way through a tear in Berger’s jeans to rest on his skin.
“Door was unlocked,” Claude notes.
Berger shrugs. He thinks he’s probably lost Sheila’s key. She’s been gone for a week now, doing her thing in D.C., saving the world, and she won’t be home for a few more days. Weeks, maybe. She told Berger and he’d tried to listen, but he can’t remember now. She won’t be happy to find out that her door’s been left unlocked, but Berger has only returned to the apartment to find someone already inside twice since Sheila left, and both times it was just Claude.
Sheila has a roommate, Debbie, but she hasn’t been home in days. Berger keeps expecting her to turn up. He’ll stumble back to the apartment to find that Debbie’s been home and he’s locked out. She won’t let him in. Still, he’s starting to think Debbie’s never coming back. That’s fine with him.
“I finally chased Debbie away,” Berger says. He doesn’t care. He’s not even sure why he says it out loud.
Now it’s Claude’s turn to shrug. Berger can feel the movement from Claude’s shoulders all the way down his arm to the fingers still touching the bare skin of Berger’s knee.
“Debbie hates the world,” Claude says.
Not the whole world. Berger can tell that Debbie likes Claude just fine.
“Maybe she’s never coming back,” Berger says. “You can have her room. Get out of Queens.” He’s never been able to figure out if Queens is worse than Hoboken, but the way Claude talks, it’s got to be close.
“Maybe she got lost,” Claude suggests, laughs a little at himself. His hand inches its way further into the tear in Berger’s pants, his fingers slide around the back of Berger’s knee. Berger laughs and lets Claude pull so that his knee buckles and he collapses onto the bed dramatically, laughing harder when Claude gasps as Berger lands hard on his chest.
Claude is high, high as a kite. Berger can tell by the way Claude is smiling at him, by the way that Claude doesn’t even notice that his hand is now twisted in Berger’s jeans at an uncomfortable angle.
“When is Sheila coming home?” Claude asks then, and Berger’s smile slips for a second before he recovers. Maybe Claude isn’t as high as Berger had hoped.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe she got lost. I don’t care.” He reaches down and untangles Claude’s hand from his jeans, his fingers sliding between Claude’s so their hands are intertwined. Berger rolls and twists so that he’s no longer lying across Claude, their bodies parallel instead.
Claude looks at their joined hands and then reaches up to brush Berger’s hair out of his face.
”I care,” he says.
Berger thinks about saying something cruel, something biting, something completely expected from him, but then Claude leans in and kisses him and Berger holds the words back. Something’s happening. Claude isn’t just high and horny. It’s something else.
“What?” Berger asks, pulling away from the kiss. Suddenly he does wish Sheila was there. Claude talks to Sheila. “What’s up?” Berger asks again.
“Nothing,” Claude mumbles, leans in to kiss Berger once more. He reaches out to pull Berger close, pulling at Berger’s hip until it’s pressed down against his own.
“Claude,” Berger says and knocks Claude’s hand away from his ass. “Claudio.”
Claude is insistent, his hand instantly returning to grip at Berger through denim, to pull him even closer so that Claude can thrust up against him, moaning with the friction of their clothed contact. It’s exactly what Berger was hoping for when he walked in to find Claude sprawled out and waiting. Berger closes his eyes for a moment. This is exactly what Berger wants.
“Come on,” Claude says, his mouth finding Berger’s again, his kiss hard. “I didn’t come here to talk. Tomorrow, Berger. I can tell you all about it tomorrow. Come on.”
It’s probably a lie, but Berger doesn’t care. This is exactly what he wants at this moment. Claude, high and horny. Berger’s all time favorite combination.
He pushes Claude back down onto the bed, straddles him and rocks against Claude’s crotch. He leans in and covers Claude’s mouth with his own just as Claude begins to murmur a breathless “thank you.”
Always so polite. Berger is positive that as hard as Claude tries, he’ll always retain just a little bit of that polite mamma’s boy that was so apparent when they’d first met and that Claude has worked so hard to erase.
Berger cups a palm over Claude’s dick and Claude moans and pushes up into Berger’s hand. Claude’s mother would probably have a heart attack if she walked in on this. Berger met Claude’s mother once. He knows for a fact that Mrs. Bukowski would not approve of his plans for her son.
Berger smiles and unbuttons Claude’s jeans.
**
They spend the afternoon lounging around Bethesda Fountain and talking to a couple from Kansas. It’s their first time in New York and Claude hugs them, kisses their cheeks. Berger laughs as the couple blushes and twitters about how surprised they are to find such friendly people in New York City. He suggests to Sally Kansas that she find them later, that they’ll have fun. Sally stutters and clings to her husband’s arm. To his credit, the husband doesn’t get pissed, just declines the offer for Sally and then let’s Claude hug him again.
Later they find Woof and walk toward the village. Claude rides on Woof’s back for several blocks while Berger tags along behind, his fingers twisted in the belt loops at the back of Claude’s jeans. They raid Sheila’s kitchen, make pasta that’s overcooked and sticky.
It’s after midnight when they start to crash, the three of them sprawled across Sheila’s couch. Berger tells them about the man who showed up in Washington Square Park two days ago. He looks like he’s seen the world, seen it all - or at least New York - and Berger is fascinated. Woof goes on about a girl he met near Times Square. He doesn’t know her name or where she’s from, but she had freckles across her nose and hair that was shiny and black and Woof talks in sonnets until he trails off into silence.
“I love you guys,” Woof says, eventually, and Berger laughs and slides his arm around Woof, his fingers creeping along Claude’s shoulder. Claude covers Berger’s hand with his own, then reaches across Woof to grip Berger’s leg.
Berger thinks that he understands Claude Bukowski pretty well. They’ve known each other a little over a year; they met through Jeannie. Berger has known Woof longer. Sheila, too, but it doesn’t matter. Berger knows Claude.
He knows Claude well enough that he’s not that surprised when Claude grips his thigh and says, “Where do you think we’ll be? Ten years from now.” It’s a pretty typical Claude question.
“I’m going to be an astronaut,” Woof mumbles, lifts a limp arm to wave it up toward the ceiling in a sort of flight path. His eyes are closed and he smiles. Claude leans in and kisses Woof’s cheek.
“Where do you think we’ll be?” Claude asks again, waiting patiently for Berger’s answer.
Berger shrugs and stretches his fingers to tickle Claude’s neck. He knows where Claude will probably be. Settled down in the suburbs somewhere. Some day Claude will become his parents and he’ll probably hope and pray every night that his children never meet anyone like George Berger.
Berger himself, he doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the future.
“I’ll be that man on the corner of the park,” Berger says.
“I’m serious,” Claude presses. Berger’s serious too.
“I’ll travel the world,” Berger elaborates. “I’ll be high in every place that’s worth living. You can come with me. We’ll stay high and then we’ll come home. Right here. You and me, Sheila and Woof and Jeannie. All of us. Just like this.”
When Claude doesn’t say anything, Berger goes on.
“I’m going to be that man on the corner of the park,” Berger says again. “I’m going to be New York.”
“Yeah,” Claude agrees and reaches up to take Berger’s hand again, squeezes it a little too hard. “Maybe.”
“Where do you think we’ll be?” Berger asks even though he doesn’t really want to know Claude’s answer.
Woof snores once between them.
Claude turns his head to look down at Berger’s hand in his and says, “My draft notice came in the mail.”
If Claude wasn’t holding on so tightly Berger might have dropped his hand. Instead he smiles and shrugs again and says “Welcome to the club, buddy.”
**
It isn’t the end of the world. It isn’t even a surprise. Hell, half the tribe received their notices and almost all of them are still here, still living their lives, still dancing. Claude can still dance.
He catches Claude staring at his card, turning the small piece of paper in the palm of his hand. It’s a full minute before Claude notices that he has an audience. He smiles at Berger and shoves the folded paper into his pocket.
“Hey,” Claude says. He’s all curled in on himself, hunched a little, his legs folded in front of him. Berger hooks the top of his foot beneath Claude’s knee and nudges until Claude unfolds his legs so that Berger can kneel between them. He holds Claude’s face in his hands and then kisses Claude’s forehead, kisses Claude’s mouth. He plans to leave it at that, but Claude isn’t having it. He grabs Berger’s shoulders and holds him there, his mouth insistent against Berger’s as though kissing Claude is something Berger really needs to be convinced of. Berger smiles against Claude’s lips and laughs when Claude’s hand reaches for the front of his jeans.
“Arrested for public indecency’s a fun way to avoid the draft,” Berger says, his hand over Claude’s.
Claude pulls away then, only his hand remaining in contact with the front of Berger’s jeans, and that only because Berger is holding him there. Claude seems to think for a moment and then he smiles at Berger again, grins, and his hand starts moving, teasing.
“Let’s go,” Claude says, his voice low. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Where are we going?” Berger asks, faking suspicion. Getting to wherever Claude wants to go right now is definitely going to be worthwhile for Berger.
“I don’t know,” Claude says. “Somewhere. Sheila’s, maybe. Anywhere. I don’t care.” His hand is still moving, stroking, and Berger closes his eyes and lets Claude kiss him again.
This isn’t how it usually is. They do their own thing most of the time. They kiss and they flirt and every once in a while the kissing and the flirting leads to sex. It’s no different than what they have with the rest of the tribe. Mostly.
Berger isn’t complaining. Berger would be insane to complain, but three nights of Claude initiating sex with him, and while Sheila is out of town so there is no chance she’ll be joining in. Three nights and Berger’s never been that smart, but he isn’t a complete idiot either. He knows that the draft already has Claude all kinds of messed up.
They have sex on the floor of Sheila’s tiny living room and afterward they lay there breathing heavily and sharing a joint.
“We never do this enough,” Claude says. Berger just nods. “We should be doing this more often.”
“Sheila will be home soon,” Berger assures him.
“This isn’t about Sheila,” Claude says.
“Everything is about Sheila,” Berger counters.
Claude sits up and glares down at Berger, still sprawled naked across the hard floor.
“She loves you,” Claude accuses.
“And you love her,” Berger finishes for him.
“And you,” Claude says.
“You love that Sheila loves me,” Berger concludes.
Claude sighs. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know?”
Berger smiles. He does know. He’s also pretty sure he’s right. When Berger thinks of Claude in ten years at home in the suburbs, it’s Sheila greeting him at the door after work and it’s Sheila’s eyes that smile back from Claude’s children’s faces. Berger closes his own eyes and really hopes that it’s the fucking drugs that have him acting like this. It better be the fucking drugs. It might be time for some new fucking drugs.
Berger reaches for the crumpled pile of clothes and pulls the folded paper from the pocket of Claude’s jeans. He holds it up.
“We’re burning this,” he announces.
“Yeah, of course,” Claude agrees, trying to grab the card from Berger’s hand as Berger waves it out of reach. “Stop.”
“You need to get high, Claude,” Berger says and passes him the joint instead of the paper. Claude takes it, momentarily appeased.
Berger stares at the paper and thinks about tearing it up. Instead he hands that to Claude as well.
Claude takes the card and crumples it a little in his hand. “You’re in love with everything and nothing all at once,” he says.
It doesn’t make any sense and Berger laughs. A smile cracks the side of Claude’s mouth and then they’re laughing together and Claude is pushing the draft card out of sight.
**
Claude disappears for three days. Berger assumes that he’s in Queens. He thinks about going out there and then thinks how pathetic and lame that would look. That and the subway ride to Flushing takes forty five minutes, at least. He spends his nights with Dionne instead.
“You’re quiet, baby,” Dionne points out, watching as Berger pulls his jeans back up over his hips. She reaches out and traces a finger down Berger’s naked back. “Usually you never shut up.”
Berger grunts and Dionne just nods like that’s exactly her point.
She runs a hand through his hair, her fingers becoming tangled and pulling a little. Berger leans down and kisses her stomach, then her left breast.
“Maybe he’s found a new girl,” Dionne suggests. Berger hates that he’s that easy to read.
“Who?” he asks, anyway.
Dionne just shrugs and says, “He’ll be back.”
Berger snorts.
“What?” Dionne asks. “You’re jealous?”
Berger snorts again. “No.”
She leans in and kisses him, her hands guiding his to her breast. When he begins kissing back, pushing her back onto the bed, she laughs and pulls away.
“You’re jealous,” Dionne laughs. “Look at you.”
“I’m not fucking jealous of some girl in Flushing,” Berger says. He tries to kiss Dionne again, kisses her throat as his hand slides down her stomach. She doesn’t stop giggling.
“What if it’s some boy?” Dionne asks.
“It’s not some boy,” Berger says. “Wouldn’t matter if it was.”
“What does matter to you?” Dionne asks.
And maybe it’s the recent orgasm, or the drugs, or the fact that Sheila is gone and Claude has disappeared, but Berger tells her. He tells her about Sheila and about Claude and about the house in the suburbs. He kisses her breasts and tells her about how much Claude wants Sheila, he tells her about Sheila’s children with Claude’s eyes. They’re beautiful and golden.
Dionne laughs. “That’s completely crazy,” she says. “You’re fucking nuts, you know that?”
“Fuck you,” Berger snaps. He should never have said anything, but Dionne is wrapped around him and his head is filled with sex and Claude and Sheila.
“Claude was sleeping with Crissy all last week. You didn’t care about that at all. What about Sheila and that Billy? Sheila and all those NYU boys, so much smarter and older than you. Come on, Berger, baby. You don’t care about any of this.”
“Of course I don’t care,” Berger agrees.
“So just let them have one another and get it over with already. You’re making it worse,” Dionne concludes.
“They can do whatever they want with each other,” Berger insists. “I’m not stopping them.” They can do whatever they want with each other and Berger can do whatever he wants without them. He doesn’t need them any more than they need him. He has Lily and Woof and Angela. He has Dionne. The entire tribe. It’s not like he can’t replace them when they leave him. What he has with Claude isn’t any different than what he has with Dionne. Not really. He can replace them.
**
“I’ve been around,” Claude shrugs when he finally reappears.
“Around where?” Berger asks. He stopped keeping an eye out for Claude two days ago. Still, he spent all morning in Penn Station because he knows Claude likes to watch people come and go. He must have missed Claude coming though, because he left the station alone and by the time he finds Hud and Crissy draped across a fountain in Riverside Park, Claude is with them.
“Just around,” Claude snaps and reaches out to grab Crissy’s arm. Claude pulls her in and kisses the side of her mouth and her eyes crinkle when she smiles. Dionne is full of shit. Berger isn’t jealous at all.
**
It’s a gorgeous day and everything is groovy. Claude’s here and Woof and Jeannie and Hud. The clouds are white and puffy and the sun sparkles on the reservoir. The air smells like dying leaves. It’s Saturday and the park is full of people absorbing the good karma of good weather and Berger feels lucky to be surrounded by them. Berger never wants to leave.
Sheila is on her way home, either tomorrow or the next day. Berger can feel her getting closer, a happy buzz under his skin. He crawls over to where Claude’s standing, his head thrown back, hands extended over his head. Berger wraps his arms around Claude’s waist, presses his mouth to the small strip of skin exposed at Claude’s hip. Claude’s hand falls to rest on Berger’s shoulder. They stay there like that, swaying in the breeze, until eventually Berger releases his grip and falls back into the grass. Claude laughs at him, folds his knees until he’s in the grass too. Jeannie’s there and Claude turns to kiss her pregnant belly, rests his face against her, waiting to feel that spark of life inside her. Claude’s buzzing too, Berger can tell.
It’s all back to normal, Claude and Berger. They flirt and they kiss and they haven’t had sex since before Claude holed himself up in Queens for three days. Life will go on and they’ll avoid the draft and stay high and sleep outside and be the city. Sheila's coming home and everything is back to normal.
**
“Claudio,” Berger says. It’s been dark for hours now, the gorgeous day falling into a gorgeous night, and people are beginning to pair up, head home. “Let’s get going.”
Claude shakes his head. “I can’t. Not tonight.”
“Just tell her you’ll see her tomorrow night,” Berger insists, assuming that Claude has made plans with Crissy or Suzanne or someone. Probably not Jeannie, who has been watching Claude all afternoon. Berger’s been watching Claude all afternoon.
“It’s not that,” Claude says. “I’m just going home.” Jeannie asks him a question then and Claude turns his attention away from Berger.
“Why?” Berger asks even though he knows that Claude isn’t listening. He reaches out and hooks a finger under Claude’s belt, tries to pull him closer. Claude isn’t paying attention to him at all anymore, is talking to Jeannie about something that Berger doesn’t care about. Some author. A book. Claude comes easily when Berger pulls, continues talking while Berger wraps himself around Claude’s body and presses his face to Claude’s warm neck. Claude reaches up, a hand in Berger’s hair. Jeannie clears her throat and Berger thinks he’s won.
“Sheila coming home soon, Berger?” Jeannie asks him.
“Two days,” Claude says immediately, before Berger even has time to remove his nose from Claude’s neck so that he can glare at Jeannie.
“Not that Claude’s counting,” Berger adds dryly, his mouth close to Claude’s ear. They’ve been buzzing all day, but the sun is gone and the park is quiet and Berger misses Claude already. Claude feels tight, strung up. Claude needs to get laid and Berger’s pretty convinced that he should be the one doing the laying.
Jeannie’s watching them. She doesn’t seem that thrilled by Claude’s too quick response either, which gives Berger a little satisfaction. Berger likes Jeannie, he does. He just wishes that Jeannie liked Claude a little less. Hell, Berger wishes that he liked Claude a little less.
“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Claude says then, releasing himself from Berger’s grip.
“Wait,” Berger says. He’s not giving in that easily. “I’ll walk with you.”
“Berger,” Jeannie starts at the same time that Claude says “We aren’t going in the same direction.”
Berger ignores Jeannie and follows Claude as Claude retreats down a path that leads east out of the park.
“Wait,” Berger says, picking up his pace.
“I have to go home,” Claude says again, but he stops and waits for Berger to catch up. He doesn’t look at Berger, stares down the path instead, and adds, “I have an appointment tomorrow.”
Berger doesn’t ask what kind, can guess the answer from the look on the visible half of Claude’s down-turned face.
“It’s nothing,” Claude elaborates anyway. “It’s just a physical exam. I might not even pass it.”
Berger can feel his eyes narrow. “Come home with me.”
“I’ll see you afterward.”
“Claude.” Berger is not above begging. He sets a hand on Claude’s shoulder, squeezes just a little.
Claude shakes his head and takes a step back so that Berger’s arm falls to his side.
“I’ll come find you after,” Claude insists. He looks past Berger. Berger turns and sees Jeannie coming to stand with them. When he turns back, Claude is walking away again.
“Don’t you think he knows what will happen?” Jeannie asks him, watching Berger watch Claude walk away. “You’ll move on and you’ll forget about him. Claude knows you, Berger. He loves you. That’s why he’ll never have sex with you.”
Berger is only half listening to her so it takes a moment for the words to register. He turns to stare down at Jeannie. “What?”
“He’s never going to sleep with you,” Jeannie says. She always seemed so observant to Berger, she always seemed like she saw everything, knew everything.
Berger laughs. He watches Claude disappear around a bend in the path and then turns to head back toward the group, pausing to wait for Jeannie to follow.
“He’s never going to sleep with you again either,” Berger says.
Jeannie rubs her round belly. Berger swears she’s bigger than she was just yesterday. “Yeah,” she agrees, and Berger feels a twinge of guilt.
“He got his draft notice,” he tells her, reaches out to press a hand against her stomach. In a way, it’s a peace offering.
Jeannie nods. “Poor Claude,” she says and turns away from Berger.
**
He gets kicked out of school nine days after Claude’s draft notice is delivered. It isn’t like he ever really goes anyway. There are more important things. Schools aren’t going to go anywhere.
It’s the first time he’s actually bothered to go in a month and he’s sitting in a chemistry class and Claude is off somewhere with the doctors, poking at him, prodding, deciding if he has enough physical defects to give him a free pass. Berger knows what the doctors will see. There’s nothing physically wrong with Claude and atomic numbers have never seemed more pointless.
He spends the rest of the day in the park, smoking with Woof. It’s nearly dark before Claude finally shows up.
“I don’t want to go,” Claude says. “I don’t want to die.”
He says it to Berger, and Berger wants to hug him, steal the draft card from his back pocket where he knows Claude has it stashed, rip it up, burn it, then head to Port Authority and out of the city now. Right now. Instead he holds Claude at arm’s length and says “You’ll go.”
Claude shakes his head, but Berger thinks he can see the truth in Claude’s eyes, and he keeps going, can’t stop, talks on and on about all the things Claude will do in Vietnam, all the things that they never wanted to be a part of.
Sheila will be home soon. She’s a day later than they guessed, but Sheila will be home and she’ll talk some sense into Claude.
**
“Sheila,” Claude says. He sounds out of breath when he says her name and Berger rolls his eyes. Sheila grins and places the palm of her hand against Claude’s face, leans in to kiss his other cheek.
“Claude missed you,” Berger says.
He’s stating the obvious and Sheila smiles and says, “I missed you too.” She’s not looking at Claude when she says it. She’s looking at Berger. She always sees right through him.
And then Woof lets it slip that Berger dropped out of school and Sheila is questioning, backing him into a corner, and Claude’s eyes are agreeing with her - Claude is such a fucking hypocrite sometimes, and Berger can’t help it. He picks a fight because it’s familiar and because Claude’s going to Vietnam and Berger doesn’t know what to do to stop him. He picks a fight because Claude has been avoiding him for days and is hovering around him like nothing has been weird at all now that Sheila has returned and he knows he’s being an asshole, but he doesn’t know how to stop. He goes too far; he always goes too far.
He tears the shirt - a gift from Sheila. It’s hideous and yellow and he pulls even though he knows that she probably did put a lot of thought into it. Berger tears it in half and watches Sheila flinch as though he is tearing her heart. She’s been home for fifteen minutes and Berger’s already crossed the line. Sheila’s been home for twenty minutes and Claude has already swooped in, the way that Claude always does, to comfort and console.
Berger picks up the shirt and stares at Claude’s back, at Sheila’s face pressed into Claude’s neck, her arms around him. They fit together. He thinks about Dionne and watches Claude tighten his hold on Sheila, and then he steps back, decides that Dionne’s right and gives them some space.
“Where are you going?” Sheila asks, and when he turns she is staring at him over Claude’s broad shoulder.
“I’m going to sew it back together,” Berger says. He’s not great at sewing, but he knows how, he’s done it before, and he thinks he can salvage the shirt. He can do something with it. Line his vest, patch the holes in his jeans. Something. He’ll convince Crissy to help him.
Somehow he must have said the right thing. It doesn’t happen often, but once in a while he gets it right, and before he can react Sheila is wrapped around him. His nose is in her hair and he breathes her in and holds her tight. And then Claude’s there too, his arms around them both, and Berger’s kissing Sheila and he’s kissing Claude and he’s glad that Sheila is home.
**
The rest of the day is a blur, listening to Sheila bubble over with excitement as she recounts her adventures in the capital over and over again to anyone who will listen. Berger does his part by interrupting only rarely, content just to have Sheila wrapped around him again, content to have Claude’s eyes on him, content to have things back to the way they’ve always been. And then it’s dark and they’re on the subway, tangled up in each other and oblivious to the rest of the car. Claude laughs as he follows Sheila and Berger, bounding up the stairs to Sheila’s apartment, Berger clutching Sheila’s hand and dragging her behind him. Berger smiles, feels like it’s been months since he’s heard Claude really laugh. The apartment is unlocked and Sheila opens her mouth to question him but Berger sees it coming and swoops in to swallow her words in a kiss.
Debbie isn’t there. Debbie’s probably never coming back, and he pushes Sheila through the cluttered living room. Berger’s clothes are still strewn across the floor from his afternoon there with Claude a week ago. He pushes them through the living room and then they’re by the bed. He’s got his hands under Sheila’s shirt when he feels Claude’s fingers on his back. He turns away from Sheila’s kiss and his lips meet Claude’s, one hand leaving Sheila’s warm skin to wrap around Claude’s waist.
He’s turned on and he’s high and he loves them, he loves everyone, and he doesn’t care at all that Claude’s only here now because Sheila is home, that Claude only kisses Berger because Berger’s mouth kisses Sheila, because Berger’s hands are on her skin. None of that matters now. They’ll stay like this forever, the three of them, wrapped in each other, and he’ll never provoke another fight and Claude won’t disappear and someday Claude and Sheila will get married, and their children will call him Uncle Berger. And once the kids are in bed maybe, just maybe, it will be just like it is now. Claude and Sheila and Berger.
Claude is kissing Sheila now, tentatively, worried that Berger or Sheila will stop him at any time. They are so beautiful together and it hurts Berger a little to watch them.
He wonders briefly if this is how Claude feels. He wonders if either of them would feel anything without Sheila. If Sheila has always been central to their puzzle.
Berger does interrupt them then. He kisses Claude, then Sheila, and then he pulls Sheila’s shirt up and over her head. Claude hangs back and Berger and Sheila stumble toward the bed as Sheila fumbles with the front of Berger’s jeans, as she pushes them down to his knees. Berger is hard, has been for a while now, and Sheila smiles as she takes him in her hand, laughs when he thrusts into her palm.
He’s missed her. As much as he was upset by Claude’s preoccupation, as much as he pretends he doesn’t care, he really did miss her.
“I missed you, baby,” Berger says now, as he pushes Sheila’s jeans down past her hips.
“I thought Claude was the only one that missed me,” Sheila teases.
“Claude missed you enough for everyone,” Berger snorts and lets Sheila shove him down onto the bed, helps Sheila remove his shirt.
Claude is quiet, watching, perched on the arm of an old torn chair that Sheila and Berger found on a corner a few blocks away. Berger thinks about beckoning, pulling him into their embrace, turning their undivided attention on Claude. Claude, who might stay, might not, whose days may be numbered. But Sheila’s been gone, and Claude looks surprisingly content where he is, and Berger lets him stay.
He turns his full attention to Sheila instead. She’s ready for him and patiently waiting and when he slides in, she laughs just a little and wraps herself around him. Berger can feel Claude’s eyes on him as he kisses Sheila’s neck and thrusts inside her. He can feel Claude’s eyes on his back. He wonders if Sheila can feel it too, if Sheila’s heart is racing just a little faster, if she’s gripping him just a little tighter, meeting his thrusts more desperately than when Claude isn’t there, or if it’s the reunion that makes their coupling seem that much more intense. Berger stops kissing her neck, pulls back a little so that he can look at her face. Her eyes are open and she’s staring past him. She’s staring at Claude, and when she feels Berger’s eyes on her, she smiles. Berger kisses her smiling mouth and thrusts harder so she’s moaning against his lips, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He slides a hand down between their bodies and she closes her eyes and moans as his fingers push her closer to the edge. Her head falls back when she finds her release, her entire body tightening around him before she goes limp in his arms.
Berger pulls away, still hard, and turns toward Claude. Claude doesn’t need to be beckoned. He’s on the bed before Berger can even formulate the request. Claude’s hand strokes Berger as his mouth finds Berger’s in an urgent kiss, his free hand on Berger’s chest, then his shoulder, then his ass. It isn’t long before Berger is spilling over Claude’s hand with a groan. He recovers quickly, reaching for Claude. He yanks Claude’s shirt off and over his head, throwing it to the floor. Berger pushes Claude back onto the bed so that he’s nestled against Sheila, her arms snaking around to hold him close. She presses her lips to Claude’s temple and Claude smiles up at Berger.
Berger unbuttons Claude’s pants and begins pulling them down over Claude’s hips. He yanks until the jeans are down to Claude’s knees. Berger wastes little time then. He circles one hand around the base of Claude’s cock and then covers the tip with his mouth, sucking a little so that Claude’s breath catches and his hips lift up off the bed. Sheila is whispering something in Claude’s ear. Berger can’t hear what she is saying, but whatever it is, it has Claude’s hips jerking up off the bed once more. Berger imagines that Sheila is promising Claude all of the things that Claude has dreamt for months, that Claude is fantasizing about fucking Sheila right here, now. He closes his eyes and sees Sheila’s face, eyes shut tight and mouth open in ecstasy as Claude takes her. Berger moans a little around Claude, his fingers tighten their grip on Claude’s hip.
“Berger,” Claude says, and Berger is a little surprised that Claude remembers his name at all.
**
“Claude seems fine,” Sheila says, later, when Claude is still passed out in her bed. She leads Berger out of the bedroom and shuts the door so that they don’t disturb him. She’d woken Berger up with a shove to his shoulder, her other hand carefully combing fingers through Claude’s hair. Berger gets jolted out of his post-sex slumber while Claude gets pampered and left to snore on alone. Berger isn’t that surprised.
Berger, naked, throws himself onto the couch and says, “Of course he seems fine now. You come back and he gets laid. What’s not to seem fine about?”
“You know what I mean,” Sheila says. She’s wearing Claude’s shirt.
Berger shakes his head. “He’ll talk to you.”
“Not if there’s nothing to talk about,” she reasons.
Berger watches Sheila walk to the sink, watches the way Claude’s shirt barely covers her ass as she moves. She grabs a glass from the cupboard and the shirt rises up in the back, revealing a wonderful glimpse of her behind, a part of her that Berger really has missed. He tries to focus on Claude as he watches her inspect the glass to see how well Berger’s been washing dishes, and then fills it with water and turns to lean against the counter.
“You lost the key,” she says before Berger is able to predict the subject change.
Berger shrugs.
“Where’s Debbie?”
Berger shrugs again.
Sheila looks around and then mimics his shrug. “Doesn’t look like anything’s been stolen anyway.”
“He’s going to Vietnam,” Berger says, tries to get things back on track. It’s the first time he’s actually said it and it tastes disgusting and true in his mouth.
“You’re being drafted too,” Sheila points out, her face sympathetic. She gestures to an envelope on the counter.
“I’m not going,” Berger says. “I’ll burn it. I’ll move to Canada first. They won’t get me. I’d never go.”
”Neither would Claude.”
She smiles and sets down her glass of water, crosses the room to the couch where Berger is sprawled. He reaches for her and pulls and she comes willingly, straddling his body and leaning in to kiss his mouth. He clutches at Claude’s shirt and kisses her back.
“I’ll talk to him, baby,” Sheila agrees. “We’re going to have a Be-In. We started planning it this afternoon. Me and Jeannie. We’ll have a Be-In and we’ll burn the cards and we’ll dance and you’ll feel it. You’ll feel it, Banana. These bad vibrations will burn up with the cards and the smoke will clear and the air will smell like the future.”
Berger opens his mouth but Sheila’s quick, and she reaches in and covers it with her hand. Berger smiles against her palm and runs his tongue across it, so that Sheila ends up rolling her eyes and slapping him lightly.
He grabs her ass and pulls her closer so that he can nuzzle her breasts through the thin fabric of Claude’s shirt. The cloth smells like Claude, like Sheila, and Berger breathes in for a moment before sucking her right nipple into his mouth, wetting the fabric, licking at it. After a moment, he gives the left this same attention. Sheila moans quietly above him, her hips moving, and then she pushes him away, curls in to kiss his mouth.
“I’ll talk to Claude,” she promises. She moves to pull Claude’s shirt over her head and Berger reaches out a hand, stops her.
“Leave it on,” he says, his hands moving to grip her sides, thumbs rubbing her nipples through the damp cloth. Sheila closes her eyes and nods.
**
Sheila always keeps her word and Berger watches as Sheila leads Claude away from the group. He stops listening to Woof and Hud and turns to watch Sheila and Claude sitting on the edge of a rock, deep in conversation. Sheila holds both of Claude’s hands in hers and when Claude gets up to leave, Sheila reaches up to touch his face, guides him down for a soft kiss. And then Claude is gone, and Berger is up. He ignores Woof calling his name and is by Sheila’s side in an instant. He kisses her, wants to taste Claude on her lips. When she pulls away, he sits back, eyebrows raised, expectant.
“I already told you,” Sheila says. “I think you’re worried about nothing.”
“He said that?”
“Claude isn’t going to let them get him,” Sheila says. “He’ll be there. Tomorrow night.”
Berger wants to believe her. He does believe her and he lets her words sink in, ease him a little, but it only works for a moment. Sheila isn’t a liar, but Berger knows Claude. It’s Claude he’s not sure he believes, and when Sheila leaves with Jeannie and Dionne to begin their planning, Berger finds Claude and pulls him away from the others.
“What are we doing?” Claude asks.
“We’re sleeping under the stars tonight, Claudio,” Berger says, his hand still firmly enclosed around Claude’s as he pulls him into the trees.
“Sheila?” Claude asks.
“Sheila’s busy,” Berger says, simply. Claude can trick Sheila, but he can’t fool Berger. Sheila doesn’t believe for a second that Claude is seriously contemplating letting them ship him to Vietnam. She thinks that Berger’s not seeing clearly, that Berger’s lost in a paranoid haze of smoke and orgasms, that with each exhale he’s blowing things further out of proportion. She thinks that he doesn’t know Claude as well as he thinks he does. Berger wishes Sheila was right, really wants to believe that Sheila is right, wouldn’t mind the orgasms either. But he knows Claude better than anyone. Berger’s gut knows that Claude thinks he’s lost, that Claude thinks he was placed on this earth for a reason. Berger knows that Claude is too romantic to dismiss the idea of Vietnam before he’s at least contemplated what will happen if he goes. Claude needs a reason to stay.
They find a secluded grassy area and Berger pushes Claude down onto the grass, pulls the folded joints from his back pocket along with the sheet of paper. He hands them both to Claude and then lowers himself to the grass beside him.
“What’s this?” Claude asks, holding up the paper.
“I’m in the club now too,” Berger says. It took no time at all for the draft to find him once he quit school. He’d been expecting it, waiting for it.
Claude stares at the paper but doesn’t unfold it. “You shouldn’t have dropped out,” Claude says.
Berger shrugs. “You did. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Sheila was the only thing that ever kept him there that long to begin with.
“Berger,” Claude sighs. He passes the joints, neatly folded in a handkerchief, back to Berger. He continues to stare at the paper until Berger reaches over and plucks it from his fingers before tossing it aside. Maybe it will get lost. Maybe the wind will pick up and they won’t be able to find it in the morning. It’ll end up in the lake or picked up by some tourist and tossed into a waste bin. Pigeons will find it and use it to build a nest. Some kid will turn in into spit balls to throw at his sister. It doesn’t matter to Berger, as long as it’s gone.
“I’m burning it tomorrow night,” Berger says.
“Yeah,” Claude agrees. “Me too.”
“Sheila and Dionne have the entire thing planned out,” Berger notes and Claude smiles. Sheila and Dionne always try to plan everything out and nothing ever goes according to their plans. It’s not the way life works and it’s not the way it should be, and they know it and they try to plan it anyway. Berger doesn’t make plans, just does whatever he wants whenever he wants to do it. Life works better that way. That way life always goes according to plan.
Claude settles down until he’s lying on his back, his arms folded behind his head. “There are no stars tonight,” Claude says.
“I see them,” Berger shrugs. He turns to look at Claude. Claude is frowning, staring up at the night sky. Berger stares too. There are probably plenty of stars over Vietnam. The sky must be loaded with them. As soon as he thinks it he knows that Claude is thinking it too.
“What?” Berger asks. He wants to force Claude to say it. He wants to shake Claude, force him to lie to him, to tell Berger that he’d never dream of leaving them, leaving him. “What is it?”
Claude sits up, then turns to look at Berger. “Nothing,” he says.
“Got a lot of nothin’ on your mind lately,” Berger notes. He lights a joint and passes it to Claude. His hand, once free of the joint, curls around the inside of Claude’s thigh. It’s all too heavy, the sky, the piece of paper discarded somewhere behind him, Claude’s silence. It’s too heavy and Berger takes the joint back from Claude, drags on it long and hard, and then lies back in the grass again, pulling Claude down with him.
Claude falls back, his arm thrown out so that it flops across Berger’s chest. He sighs, smiles when Berger lifts his arm to nip a little at his skin like it’s an ear of corn.
They’re quiet for a while, staring at the sky, letting the pot work its magic. Eventually Claude rolls onto his side and kisses Berger’s neck, his hand sliding up into Berger’s hair. Berger closes his eyes and blows a line of smoke straight up into the night.
“I could stay here forever,” Claude says.
Berger wishes he would.
**
The Be-in doesn’t go exactly as Sheila planned. They never do. It starts off well. It’s fun, and Berger is surrounded by people he loves, people he believes in, and he burns his card and he can feel it’s grip releasing him, like a small explosion right in his chest and he grabs Sheila and spins her around and kisses her. She laughs and holds on to him as tight as she can.
And then there’s Claude. Dancing right there with him, cheering as Woof drops his card into the fire, spinning until he falls into the grass laughing. He holds Berger’s hand and he shouts with the others and they dance and Berger almost believes that Claude will go through with it, almost believes that he’s been worrying for nothing, but Berger knows Claude better than that. Claude pulls away at the last second, frozen there in front of the drum. The flames light up his face and he turns, his eyes meet Berger’s. Berger wants to look away, but doesn’t.
It’s shortly after that that the police arrive.
**
“Claude,” Berger says, catching up with him once most of the group has dispersed, going separate ways in the confusion. He lost Sheila somewhere, paused only long enough to grab his clothes and run after Claude. He figured Claude was halfway back to Queens, that Berger would never be able to find him, and so he’s surprised when he catches up with Claude a short distance east of the Sheep Meadow.
“Claude,” he says again when Claude doesn’t stop. He can hear sirens behind them. He reaches out to stop Claude, feels like he’s always reaching out to stop Claude, but this time Claude turns and pushes. Berger doesn’t expect it, stumbles back off the path. He hardly has time to regain his balance before Claude is pressing against him again, pushing Berger into the shadows until Berger feels his back hit a tree, and then Claude’s mouth is pressed to his in a kiss so hard and sudden that their teeth knock together.
Claude’s hands are everywhere, pulling at Berger, then pushing, clutching at Berger’s exposed skin, fingertips pressing so hard that Berger imagines the white marks on his arm from the pressure, feels his skin flushing back to pink as Claude’s hands move on. Claude’s fingers are branding him, marks that will last forever, tattoos all over Berger’s bare skin.
Berger doesn’t care if they get caught. One night in jail is worth this.
He can hear the commotion back on the lawn, but Claude is pulling his shirt over his head, Claude is biting his shoulder and unbuttoning the jeans that Berger had thrown back on as he’d run off into the dark. Claude pulls Berger farther into the trees, pushes the jeans down low on Berger’s hips, just far enough for Claude to reach exactly what he wants.
“Berger -” Claude starts, but Berger’s done trying to talk. His mouth finds Claude’s again. His hands pull at Claude’s shirt. He’s nearly naked and Claude’s wearing way too many clothes. Claude’s always wearing way too many fucking clothes. He wrestles the shirt up and over Claude’s head, drops it to the grass with his own. Claude’s skin is hot, alive, here, and he presses his face to Claude’s collar bone, kisses the spot right beneath his adam’s apple, wraps his arms around Claude’s naked back and holds on.
Claude kisses his forehead, his hair, and then he’s untangling Berger’s arms from around him, pushing Berger away just far enough so that Claude can have his turn. He kisses Berger’s neck, his chest, the crease where his shoulder meets his arm. He kisses the inside of Berger’s elbow, his stomach just above his naval, and then Claude is on his knees, Berger’s hands tangled in his hair. Claude’s hands grip Berger’s hips, holding him close in case he tries to pull away. It’s not really necessary. Berger can’t see himself ever pulling away from Claude.
It’s then, in the park with Claude’s mouth around him, that Berger realizes that he can fix this. That the doomsday scenario won’t help Claude. Claude’s looking for reason, for purpose. Claude just needs a good enough reason to stay. Berger will find that reason. He’ll be that reason if that’s what it takes.
He does pull away from Claude then, but only for a moment, only long enough to drop to his knees, long enough to cradle Claude’s face in his hands, to lean in and taste himself on Claude’s tongue. Claude’s hands drift down between Berger’s legs, resuming where Berger interrupted. Claude’s eyes are closed and Berger’s thumbs caress circles into the tanned skin of Claude’s cheeks. He moans when Claude’s tongue slides across the roof of his mouth, as it tangles with Berger’s and makes promises that Berger will force Claude to keep. Berger’s hand slides down Claude’s warm neck, then along the curve to grip Claude’s shoulder.
Berger hears a noise on the path and Claude’s breathing comes a little faster, Claude’s hand speeds up. Berger wants to stay, definitely doesn’t want to stop Claude from doing what he’s doing. There’s a sense of urgency now, Claude seems determined to finish this, determined to get Berger off even though Claude himself hasn’t had a chance to get out of his own pants.
Berger concentrates on Claude, on Claude’s fingers, on Claude’s face, on his mouth. He’s high and before that he’d been drinking and he thinks it might be too much, it all might be too much. He thrusts into Claude’s hand and the park is bright, white and awake and beautiful. Berger moans and collapses against Claude, tries to catch is breath, his face pressed to Claude’s warm chest.
When he lifts his head it’s the middle of the night again and Claude is reaching for his shirt. He uses it to wipe off his stomach and then rolls it into a ball, tucks it under his arm. He kisses Berger, slow, uncomplicated kisses, and then he pulls away and says, “Have you ever wanted to just disappear?”
“We can disappear,” Berger offers. They can leave New York. They can go as far as their feet will carry them. They’ll live in the woods in Canada, Alaska, somewhere in between. They’ll hunt deer and sleep naked in front of a fire and bathe in a stream or a lake. Anything. It doesn’t matter. They’ll disappear.
“Yeah,” Claude agrees. “Maybe.” He shrugs at Berger and one side of his mouth turns up in a smile. Berger smiles back, leans against the tree and closes his eyes. When he opens them again Claude is gone.
Part 2
Rating: R
Word Count: ~12,500
Disclaimer: Not affiliated with the show or the production in any way. Just a fan. Don’t mean any harm, not making any money, etc.
Notes: Fic is based around the musical, not the movie.
Fall at the Center of Anywhere
He finds Claude sprawled across Sheila’s bed, staring at the ceiling with his sneakers on.
“Hey, man,” Berger says as he takes a step into the room. “Thought you were going home.”
Claude grunts and reaches out a hand toward Berger. Berger takes another step forward so that Claude’s fingers touch his left knee, finding their way through a tear in Berger’s jeans to rest on his skin.
“Door was unlocked,” Claude notes.
Berger shrugs. He thinks he’s probably lost Sheila’s key. She’s been gone for a week now, doing her thing in D.C., saving the world, and she won’t be home for a few more days. Weeks, maybe. She told Berger and he’d tried to listen, but he can’t remember now. She won’t be happy to find out that her door’s been left unlocked, but Berger has only returned to the apartment to find someone already inside twice since Sheila left, and both times it was just Claude.
Sheila has a roommate, Debbie, but she hasn’t been home in days. Berger keeps expecting her to turn up. He’ll stumble back to the apartment to find that Debbie’s been home and he’s locked out. She won’t let him in. Still, he’s starting to think Debbie’s never coming back. That’s fine with him.
“I finally chased Debbie away,” Berger says. He doesn’t care. He’s not even sure why he says it out loud.
Now it’s Claude’s turn to shrug. Berger can feel the movement from Claude’s shoulders all the way down his arm to the fingers still touching the bare skin of Berger’s knee.
“Debbie hates the world,” Claude says.
Not the whole world. Berger can tell that Debbie likes Claude just fine.
“Maybe she’s never coming back,” Berger says. “You can have her room. Get out of Queens.” He’s never been able to figure out if Queens is worse than Hoboken, but the way Claude talks, it’s got to be close.
“Maybe she got lost,” Claude suggests, laughs a little at himself. His hand inches its way further into the tear in Berger’s pants, his fingers slide around the back of Berger’s knee. Berger laughs and lets Claude pull so that his knee buckles and he collapses onto the bed dramatically, laughing harder when Claude gasps as Berger lands hard on his chest.
Claude is high, high as a kite. Berger can tell by the way Claude is smiling at him, by the way that Claude doesn’t even notice that his hand is now twisted in Berger’s jeans at an uncomfortable angle.
“When is Sheila coming home?” Claude asks then, and Berger’s smile slips for a second before he recovers. Maybe Claude isn’t as high as Berger had hoped.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe she got lost. I don’t care.” He reaches down and untangles Claude’s hand from his jeans, his fingers sliding between Claude’s so their hands are intertwined. Berger rolls and twists so that he’s no longer lying across Claude, their bodies parallel instead.
Claude looks at their joined hands and then reaches up to brush Berger’s hair out of his face.
”I care,” he says.
Berger thinks about saying something cruel, something biting, something completely expected from him, but then Claude leans in and kisses him and Berger holds the words back. Something’s happening. Claude isn’t just high and horny. It’s something else.
“What?” Berger asks, pulling away from the kiss. Suddenly he does wish Sheila was there. Claude talks to Sheila. “What’s up?” Berger asks again.
“Nothing,” Claude mumbles, leans in to kiss Berger once more. He reaches out to pull Berger close, pulling at Berger’s hip until it’s pressed down against his own.
“Claude,” Berger says and knocks Claude’s hand away from his ass. “Claudio.”
Claude is insistent, his hand instantly returning to grip at Berger through denim, to pull him even closer so that Claude can thrust up against him, moaning with the friction of their clothed contact. It’s exactly what Berger was hoping for when he walked in to find Claude sprawled out and waiting. Berger closes his eyes for a moment. This is exactly what Berger wants.
“Come on,” Claude says, his mouth finding Berger’s again, his kiss hard. “I didn’t come here to talk. Tomorrow, Berger. I can tell you all about it tomorrow. Come on.”
It’s probably a lie, but Berger doesn’t care. This is exactly what he wants at this moment. Claude, high and horny. Berger’s all time favorite combination.
He pushes Claude back down onto the bed, straddles him and rocks against Claude’s crotch. He leans in and covers Claude’s mouth with his own just as Claude begins to murmur a breathless “thank you.”
Always so polite. Berger is positive that as hard as Claude tries, he’ll always retain just a little bit of that polite mamma’s boy that was so apparent when they’d first met and that Claude has worked so hard to erase.
Berger cups a palm over Claude’s dick and Claude moans and pushes up into Berger’s hand. Claude’s mother would probably have a heart attack if she walked in on this. Berger met Claude’s mother once. He knows for a fact that Mrs. Bukowski would not approve of his plans for her son.
Berger smiles and unbuttons Claude’s jeans.
**
They spend the afternoon lounging around Bethesda Fountain and talking to a couple from Kansas. It’s their first time in New York and Claude hugs them, kisses their cheeks. Berger laughs as the couple blushes and twitters about how surprised they are to find such friendly people in New York City. He suggests to Sally Kansas that she find them later, that they’ll have fun. Sally stutters and clings to her husband’s arm. To his credit, the husband doesn’t get pissed, just declines the offer for Sally and then let’s Claude hug him again.
Later they find Woof and walk toward the village. Claude rides on Woof’s back for several blocks while Berger tags along behind, his fingers twisted in the belt loops at the back of Claude’s jeans. They raid Sheila’s kitchen, make pasta that’s overcooked and sticky.
It’s after midnight when they start to crash, the three of them sprawled across Sheila’s couch. Berger tells them about the man who showed up in Washington Square Park two days ago. He looks like he’s seen the world, seen it all - or at least New York - and Berger is fascinated. Woof goes on about a girl he met near Times Square. He doesn’t know her name or where she’s from, but she had freckles across her nose and hair that was shiny and black and Woof talks in sonnets until he trails off into silence.
“I love you guys,” Woof says, eventually, and Berger laughs and slides his arm around Woof, his fingers creeping along Claude’s shoulder. Claude covers Berger’s hand with his own, then reaches across Woof to grip Berger’s leg.
Berger thinks that he understands Claude Bukowski pretty well. They’ve known each other a little over a year; they met through Jeannie. Berger has known Woof longer. Sheila, too, but it doesn’t matter. Berger knows Claude.
He knows Claude well enough that he’s not that surprised when Claude grips his thigh and says, “Where do you think we’ll be? Ten years from now.” It’s a pretty typical Claude question.
“I’m going to be an astronaut,” Woof mumbles, lifts a limp arm to wave it up toward the ceiling in a sort of flight path. His eyes are closed and he smiles. Claude leans in and kisses Woof’s cheek.
“Where do you think we’ll be?” Claude asks again, waiting patiently for Berger’s answer.
Berger shrugs and stretches his fingers to tickle Claude’s neck. He knows where Claude will probably be. Settled down in the suburbs somewhere. Some day Claude will become his parents and he’ll probably hope and pray every night that his children never meet anyone like George Berger.
Berger himself, he doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the future.
“I’ll be that man on the corner of the park,” Berger says.
“I’m serious,” Claude presses. Berger’s serious too.
“I’ll travel the world,” Berger elaborates. “I’ll be high in every place that’s worth living. You can come with me. We’ll stay high and then we’ll come home. Right here. You and me, Sheila and Woof and Jeannie. All of us. Just like this.”
When Claude doesn’t say anything, Berger goes on.
“I’m going to be that man on the corner of the park,” Berger says again. “I’m going to be New York.”
“Yeah,” Claude agrees and reaches up to take Berger’s hand again, squeezes it a little too hard. “Maybe.”
“Where do you think we’ll be?” Berger asks even though he doesn’t really want to know Claude’s answer.
Woof snores once between them.
Claude turns his head to look down at Berger’s hand in his and says, “My draft notice came in the mail.”
If Claude wasn’t holding on so tightly Berger might have dropped his hand. Instead he smiles and shrugs again and says “Welcome to the club, buddy.”
**
It isn’t the end of the world. It isn’t even a surprise. Hell, half the tribe received their notices and almost all of them are still here, still living their lives, still dancing. Claude can still dance.
He catches Claude staring at his card, turning the small piece of paper in the palm of his hand. It’s a full minute before Claude notices that he has an audience. He smiles at Berger and shoves the folded paper into his pocket.
“Hey,” Claude says. He’s all curled in on himself, hunched a little, his legs folded in front of him. Berger hooks the top of his foot beneath Claude’s knee and nudges until Claude unfolds his legs so that Berger can kneel between them. He holds Claude’s face in his hands and then kisses Claude’s forehead, kisses Claude’s mouth. He plans to leave it at that, but Claude isn’t having it. He grabs Berger’s shoulders and holds him there, his mouth insistent against Berger’s as though kissing Claude is something Berger really needs to be convinced of. Berger smiles against Claude’s lips and laughs when Claude’s hand reaches for the front of his jeans.
“Arrested for public indecency’s a fun way to avoid the draft,” Berger says, his hand over Claude’s.
Claude pulls away then, only his hand remaining in contact with the front of Berger’s jeans, and that only because Berger is holding him there. Claude seems to think for a moment and then he smiles at Berger again, grins, and his hand starts moving, teasing.
“Let’s go,” Claude says, his voice low. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Where are we going?” Berger asks, faking suspicion. Getting to wherever Claude wants to go right now is definitely going to be worthwhile for Berger.
“I don’t know,” Claude says. “Somewhere. Sheila’s, maybe. Anywhere. I don’t care.” His hand is still moving, stroking, and Berger closes his eyes and lets Claude kiss him again.
This isn’t how it usually is. They do their own thing most of the time. They kiss and they flirt and every once in a while the kissing and the flirting leads to sex. It’s no different than what they have with the rest of the tribe. Mostly.
Berger isn’t complaining. Berger would be insane to complain, but three nights of Claude initiating sex with him, and while Sheila is out of town so there is no chance she’ll be joining in. Three nights and Berger’s never been that smart, but he isn’t a complete idiot either. He knows that the draft already has Claude all kinds of messed up.
They have sex on the floor of Sheila’s tiny living room and afterward they lay there breathing heavily and sharing a joint.
“We never do this enough,” Claude says. Berger just nods. “We should be doing this more often.”
“Sheila will be home soon,” Berger assures him.
“This isn’t about Sheila,” Claude says.
“Everything is about Sheila,” Berger counters.
Claude sits up and glares down at Berger, still sprawled naked across the hard floor.
“She loves you,” Claude accuses.
“And you love her,” Berger finishes for him.
“And you,” Claude says.
“You love that Sheila loves me,” Berger concludes.
Claude sighs. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know?”
Berger smiles. He does know. He’s also pretty sure he’s right. When Berger thinks of Claude in ten years at home in the suburbs, it’s Sheila greeting him at the door after work and it’s Sheila’s eyes that smile back from Claude’s children’s faces. Berger closes his own eyes and really hopes that it’s the fucking drugs that have him acting like this. It better be the fucking drugs. It might be time for some new fucking drugs.
Berger reaches for the crumpled pile of clothes and pulls the folded paper from the pocket of Claude’s jeans. He holds it up.
“We’re burning this,” he announces.
“Yeah, of course,” Claude agrees, trying to grab the card from Berger’s hand as Berger waves it out of reach. “Stop.”
“You need to get high, Claude,” Berger says and passes him the joint instead of the paper. Claude takes it, momentarily appeased.
Berger stares at the paper and thinks about tearing it up. Instead he hands that to Claude as well.
Claude takes the card and crumples it a little in his hand. “You’re in love with everything and nothing all at once,” he says.
It doesn’t make any sense and Berger laughs. A smile cracks the side of Claude’s mouth and then they’re laughing together and Claude is pushing the draft card out of sight.
**
Claude disappears for three days. Berger assumes that he’s in Queens. He thinks about going out there and then thinks how pathetic and lame that would look. That and the subway ride to Flushing takes forty five minutes, at least. He spends his nights with Dionne instead.
“You’re quiet, baby,” Dionne points out, watching as Berger pulls his jeans back up over his hips. She reaches out and traces a finger down Berger’s naked back. “Usually you never shut up.”
Berger grunts and Dionne just nods like that’s exactly her point.
She runs a hand through his hair, her fingers becoming tangled and pulling a little. Berger leans down and kisses her stomach, then her left breast.
“Maybe he’s found a new girl,” Dionne suggests. Berger hates that he’s that easy to read.
“Who?” he asks, anyway.
Dionne just shrugs and says, “He’ll be back.”
Berger snorts.
“What?” Dionne asks. “You’re jealous?”
Berger snorts again. “No.”
She leans in and kisses him, her hands guiding his to her breast. When he begins kissing back, pushing her back onto the bed, she laughs and pulls away.
“You’re jealous,” Dionne laughs. “Look at you.”
“I’m not fucking jealous of some girl in Flushing,” Berger says. He tries to kiss Dionne again, kisses her throat as his hand slides down her stomach. She doesn’t stop giggling.
“What if it’s some boy?” Dionne asks.
“It’s not some boy,” Berger says. “Wouldn’t matter if it was.”
“What does matter to you?” Dionne asks.
And maybe it’s the recent orgasm, or the drugs, or the fact that Sheila is gone and Claude has disappeared, but Berger tells her. He tells her about Sheila and about Claude and about the house in the suburbs. He kisses her breasts and tells her about how much Claude wants Sheila, he tells her about Sheila’s children with Claude’s eyes. They’re beautiful and golden.
Dionne laughs. “That’s completely crazy,” she says. “You’re fucking nuts, you know that?”
“Fuck you,” Berger snaps. He should never have said anything, but Dionne is wrapped around him and his head is filled with sex and Claude and Sheila.
“Claude was sleeping with Crissy all last week. You didn’t care about that at all. What about Sheila and that Billy? Sheila and all those NYU boys, so much smarter and older than you. Come on, Berger, baby. You don’t care about any of this.”
“Of course I don’t care,” Berger agrees.
“So just let them have one another and get it over with already. You’re making it worse,” Dionne concludes.
“They can do whatever they want with each other,” Berger insists. “I’m not stopping them.” They can do whatever they want with each other and Berger can do whatever he wants without them. He doesn’t need them any more than they need him. He has Lily and Woof and Angela. He has Dionne. The entire tribe. It’s not like he can’t replace them when they leave him. What he has with Claude isn’t any different than what he has with Dionne. Not really. He can replace them.
**
“I’ve been around,” Claude shrugs when he finally reappears.
“Around where?” Berger asks. He stopped keeping an eye out for Claude two days ago. Still, he spent all morning in Penn Station because he knows Claude likes to watch people come and go. He must have missed Claude coming though, because he left the station alone and by the time he finds Hud and Crissy draped across a fountain in Riverside Park, Claude is with them.
“Just around,” Claude snaps and reaches out to grab Crissy’s arm. Claude pulls her in and kisses the side of her mouth and her eyes crinkle when she smiles. Dionne is full of shit. Berger isn’t jealous at all.
**
It’s a gorgeous day and everything is groovy. Claude’s here and Woof and Jeannie and Hud. The clouds are white and puffy and the sun sparkles on the reservoir. The air smells like dying leaves. It’s Saturday and the park is full of people absorbing the good karma of good weather and Berger feels lucky to be surrounded by them. Berger never wants to leave.
Sheila is on her way home, either tomorrow or the next day. Berger can feel her getting closer, a happy buzz under his skin. He crawls over to where Claude’s standing, his head thrown back, hands extended over his head. Berger wraps his arms around Claude’s waist, presses his mouth to the small strip of skin exposed at Claude’s hip. Claude’s hand falls to rest on Berger’s shoulder. They stay there like that, swaying in the breeze, until eventually Berger releases his grip and falls back into the grass. Claude laughs at him, folds his knees until he’s in the grass too. Jeannie’s there and Claude turns to kiss her pregnant belly, rests his face against her, waiting to feel that spark of life inside her. Claude’s buzzing too, Berger can tell.
It’s all back to normal, Claude and Berger. They flirt and they kiss and they haven’t had sex since before Claude holed himself up in Queens for three days. Life will go on and they’ll avoid the draft and stay high and sleep outside and be the city. Sheila's coming home and everything is back to normal.
**
“Claudio,” Berger says. It’s been dark for hours now, the gorgeous day falling into a gorgeous night, and people are beginning to pair up, head home. “Let’s get going.”
Claude shakes his head. “I can’t. Not tonight.”
“Just tell her you’ll see her tomorrow night,” Berger insists, assuming that Claude has made plans with Crissy or Suzanne or someone. Probably not Jeannie, who has been watching Claude all afternoon. Berger’s been watching Claude all afternoon.
“It’s not that,” Claude says. “I’m just going home.” Jeannie asks him a question then and Claude turns his attention away from Berger.
“Why?” Berger asks even though he knows that Claude isn’t listening. He reaches out and hooks a finger under Claude’s belt, tries to pull him closer. Claude isn’t paying attention to him at all anymore, is talking to Jeannie about something that Berger doesn’t care about. Some author. A book. Claude comes easily when Berger pulls, continues talking while Berger wraps himself around Claude’s body and presses his face to Claude’s warm neck. Claude reaches up, a hand in Berger’s hair. Jeannie clears her throat and Berger thinks he’s won.
“Sheila coming home soon, Berger?” Jeannie asks him.
“Two days,” Claude says immediately, before Berger even has time to remove his nose from Claude’s neck so that he can glare at Jeannie.
“Not that Claude’s counting,” Berger adds dryly, his mouth close to Claude’s ear. They’ve been buzzing all day, but the sun is gone and the park is quiet and Berger misses Claude already. Claude feels tight, strung up. Claude needs to get laid and Berger’s pretty convinced that he should be the one doing the laying.
Jeannie’s watching them. She doesn’t seem that thrilled by Claude’s too quick response either, which gives Berger a little satisfaction. Berger likes Jeannie, he does. He just wishes that Jeannie liked Claude a little less. Hell, Berger wishes that he liked Claude a little less.
“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Claude says then, releasing himself from Berger’s grip.
“Wait,” Berger says. He’s not giving in that easily. “I’ll walk with you.”
“Berger,” Jeannie starts at the same time that Claude says “We aren’t going in the same direction.”
Berger ignores Jeannie and follows Claude as Claude retreats down a path that leads east out of the park.
“Wait,” Berger says, picking up his pace.
“I have to go home,” Claude says again, but he stops and waits for Berger to catch up. He doesn’t look at Berger, stares down the path instead, and adds, “I have an appointment tomorrow.”
Berger doesn’t ask what kind, can guess the answer from the look on the visible half of Claude’s down-turned face.
“It’s nothing,” Claude elaborates anyway. “It’s just a physical exam. I might not even pass it.”
Berger can feel his eyes narrow. “Come home with me.”
“I’ll see you afterward.”
“Claude.” Berger is not above begging. He sets a hand on Claude’s shoulder, squeezes just a little.
Claude shakes his head and takes a step back so that Berger’s arm falls to his side.
“I’ll come find you after,” Claude insists. He looks past Berger. Berger turns and sees Jeannie coming to stand with them. When he turns back, Claude is walking away again.
“Don’t you think he knows what will happen?” Jeannie asks him, watching Berger watch Claude walk away. “You’ll move on and you’ll forget about him. Claude knows you, Berger. He loves you. That’s why he’ll never have sex with you.”
Berger is only half listening to her so it takes a moment for the words to register. He turns to stare down at Jeannie. “What?”
“He’s never going to sleep with you,” Jeannie says. She always seemed so observant to Berger, she always seemed like she saw everything, knew everything.
Berger laughs. He watches Claude disappear around a bend in the path and then turns to head back toward the group, pausing to wait for Jeannie to follow.
“He’s never going to sleep with you again either,” Berger says.
Jeannie rubs her round belly. Berger swears she’s bigger than she was just yesterday. “Yeah,” she agrees, and Berger feels a twinge of guilt.
“He got his draft notice,” he tells her, reaches out to press a hand against her stomach. In a way, it’s a peace offering.
Jeannie nods. “Poor Claude,” she says and turns away from Berger.
**
He gets kicked out of school nine days after Claude’s draft notice is delivered. It isn’t like he ever really goes anyway. There are more important things. Schools aren’t going to go anywhere.
It’s the first time he’s actually bothered to go in a month and he’s sitting in a chemistry class and Claude is off somewhere with the doctors, poking at him, prodding, deciding if he has enough physical defects to give him a free pass. Berger knows what the doctors will see. There’s nothing physically wrong with Claude and atomic numbers have never seemed more pointless.
He spends the rest of the day in the park, smoking with Woof. It’s nearly dark before Claude finally shows up.
“I don’t want to go,” Claude says. “I don’t want to die.”
He says it to Berger, and Berger wants to hug him, steal the draft card from his back pocket where he knows Claude has it stashed, rip it up, burn it, then head to Port Authority and out of the city now. Right now. Instead he holds Claude at arm’s length and says “You’ll go.”
Claude shakes his head, but Berger thinks he can see the truth in Claude’s eyes, and he keeps going, can’t stop, talks on and on about all the things Claude will do in Vietnam, all the things that they never wanted to be a part of.
Sheila will be home soon. She’s a day later than they guessed, but Sheila will be home and she’ll talk some sense into Claude.
**
“Sheila,” Claude says. He sounds out of breath when he says her name and Berger rolls his eyes. Sheila grins and places the palm of her hand against Claude’s face, leans in to kiss his other cheek.
“Claude missed you,” Berger says.
He’s stating the obvious and Sheila smiles and says, “I missed you too.” She’s not looking at Claude when she says it. She’s looking at Berger. She always sees right through him.
And then Woof lets it slip that Berger dropped out of school and Sheila is questioning, backing him into a corner, and Claude’s eyes are agreeing with her - Claude is such a fucking hypocrite sometimes, and Berger can’t help it. He picks a fight because it’s familiar and because Claude’s going to Vietnam and Berger doesn’t know what to do to stop him. He picks a fight because Claude has been avoiding him for days and is hovering around him like nothing has been weird at all now that Sheila has returned and he knows he’s being an asshole, but he doesn’t know how to stop. He goes too far; he always goes too far.
He tears the shirt - a gift from Sheila. It’s hideous and yellow and he pulls even though he knows that she probably did put a lot of thought into it. Berger tears it in half and watches Sheila flinch as though he is tearing her heart. She’s been home for fifteen minutes and Berger’s already crossed the line. Sheila’s been home for twenty minutes and Claude has already swooped in, the way that Claude always does, to comfort and console.
Berger picks up the shirt and stares at Claude’s back, at Sheila’s face pressed into Claude’s neck, her arms around him. They fit together. He thinks about Dionne and watches Claude tighten his hold on Sheila, and then he steps back, decides that Dionne’s right and gives them some space.
“Where are you going?” Sheila asks, and when he turns she is staring at him over Claude’s broad shoulder.
“I’m going to sew it back together,” Berger says. He’s not great at sewing, but he knows how, he’s done it before, and he thinks he can salvage the shirt. He can do something with it. Line his vest, patch the holes in his jeans. Something. He’ll convince Crissy to help him.
Somehow he must have said the right thing. It doesn’t happen often, but once in a while he gets it right, and before he can react Sheila is wrapped around him. His nose is in her hair and he breathes her in and holds her tight. And then Claude’s there too, his arms around them both, and Berger’s kissing Sheila and he’s kissing Claude and he’s glad that Sheila is home.
**
The rest of the day is a blur, listening to Sheila bubble over with excitement as she recounts her adventures in the capital over and over again to anyone who will listen. Berger does his part by interrupting only rarely, content just to have Sheila wrapped around him again, content to have Claude’s eyes on him, content to have things back to the way they’ve always been. And then it’s dark and they’re on the subway, tangled up in each other and oblivious to the rest of the car. Claude laughs as he follows Sheila and Berger, bounding up the stairs to Sheila’s apartment, Berger clutching Sheila’s hand and dragging her behind him. Berger smiles, feels like it’s been months since he’s heard Claude really laugh. The apartment is unlocked and Sheila opens her mouth to question him but Berger sees it coming and swoops in to swallow her words in a kiss.
Debbie isn’t there. Debbie’s probably never coming back, and he pushes Sheila through the cluttered living room. Berger’s clothes are still strewn across the floor from his afternoon there with Claude a week ago. He pushes them through the living room and then they’re by the bed. He’s got his hands under Sheila’s shirt when he feels Claude’s fingers on his back. He turns away from Sheila’s kiss and his lips meet Claude’s, one hand leaving Sheila’s warm skin to wrap around Claude’s waist.
He’s turned on and he’s high and he loves them, he loves everyone, and he doesn’t care at all that Claude’s only here now because Sheila is home, that Claude only kisses Berger because Berger’s mouth kisses Sheila, because Berger’s hands are on her skin. None of that matters now. They’ll stay like this forever, the three of them, wrapped in each other, and he’ll never provoke another fight and Claude won’t disappear and someday Claude and Sheila will get married, and their children will call him Uncle Berger. And once the kids are in bed maybe, just maybe, it will be just like it is now. Claude and Sheila and Berger.
Claude is kissing Sheila now, tentatively, worried that Berger or Sheila will stop him at any time. They are so beautiful together and it hurts Berger a little to watch them.
He wonders briefly if this is how Claude feels. He wonders if either of them would feel anything without Sheila. If Sheila has always been central to their puzzle.
Berger does interrupt them then. He kisses Claude, then Sheila, and then he pulls Sheila’s shirt up and over her head. Claude hangs back and Berger and Sheila stumble toward the bed as Sheila fumbles with the front of Berger’s jeans, as she pushes them down to his knees. Berger is hard, has been for a while now, and Sheila smiles as she takes him in her hand, laughs when he thrusts into her palm.
He’s missed her. As much as he was upset by Claude’s preoccupation, as much as he pretends he doesn’t care, he really did miss her.
“I missed you, baby,” Berger says now, as he pushes Sheila’s jeans down past her hips.
“I thought Claude was the only one that missed me,” Sheila teases.
“Claude missed you enough for everyone,” Berger snorts and lets Sheila shove him down onto the bed, helps Sheila remove his shirt.
Claude is quiet, watching, perched on the arm of an old torn chair that Sheila and Berger found on a corner a few blocks away. Berger thinks about beckoning, pulling him into their embrace, turning their undivided attention on Claude. Claude, who might stay, might not, whose days may be numbered. But Sheila’s been gone, and Claude looks surprisingly content where he is, and Berger lets him stay.
He turns his full attention to Sheila instead. She’s ready for him and patiently waiting and when he slides in, she laughs just a little and wraps herself around him. Berger can feel Claude’s eyes on him as he kisses Sheila’s neck and thrusts inside her. He can feel Claude’s eyes on his back. He wonders if Sheila can feel it too, if Sheila’s heart is racing just a little faster, if she’s gripping him just a little tighter, meeting his thrusts more desperately than when Claude isn’t there, or if it’s the reunion that makes their coupling seem that much more intense. Berger stops kissing her neck, pulls back a little so that he can look at her face. Her eyes are open and she’s staring past him. She’s staring at Claude, and when she feels Berger’s eyes on her, she smiles. Berger kisses her smiling mouth and thrusts harder so she’s moaning against his lips, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He slides a hand down between their bodies and she closes her eyes and moans as his fingers push her closer to the edge. Her head falls back when she finds her release, her entire body tightening around him before she goes limp in his arms.
Berger pulls away, still hard, and turns toward Claude. Claude doesn’t need to be beckoned. He’s on the bed before Berger can even formulate the request. Claude’s hand strokes Berger as his mouth finds Berger’s in an urgent kiss, his free hand on Berger’s chest, then his shoulder, then his ass. It isn’t long before Berger is spilling over Claude’s hand with a groan. He recovers quickly, reaching for Claude. He yanks Claude’s shirt off and over his head, throwing it to the floor. Berger pushes Claude back onto the bed so that he’s nestled against Sheila, her arms snaking around to hold him close. She presses her lips to Claude’s temple and Claude smiles up at Berger.
Berger unbuttons Claude’s pants and begins pulling them down over Claude’s hips. He yanks until the jeans are down to Claude’s knees. Berger wastes little time then. He circles one hand around the base of Claude’s cock and then covers the tip with his mouth, sucking a little so that Claude’s breath catches and his hips lift up off the bed. Sheila is whispering something in Claude’s ear. Berger can’t hear what she is saying, but whatever it is, it has Claude’s hips jerking up off the bed once more. Berger imagines that Sheila is promising Claude all of the things that Claude has dreamt for months, that Claude is fantasizing about fucking Sheila right here, now. He closes his eyes and sees Sheila’s face, eyes shut tight and mouth open in ecstasy as Claude takes her. Berger moans a little around Claude, his fingers tighten their grip on Claude’s hip.
“Berger,” Claude says, and Berger is a little surprised that Claude remembers his name at all.
**
“Claude seems fine,” Sheila says, later, when Claude is still passed out in her bed. She leads Berger out of the bedroom and shuts the door so that they don’t disturb him. She’d woken Berger up with a shove to his shoulder, her other hand carefully combing fingers through Claude’s hair. Berger gets jolted out of his post-sex slumber while Claude gets pampered and left to snore on alone. Berger isn’t that surprised.
Berger, naked, throws himself onto the couch and says, “Of course he seems fine now. You come back and he gets laid. What’s not to seem fine about?”
“You know what I mean,” Sheila says. She’s wearing Claude’s shirt.
Berger shakes his head. “He’ll talk to you.”
“Not if there’s nothing to talk about,” she reasons.
Berger watches Sheila walk to the sink, watches the way Claude’s shirt barely covers her ass as she moves. She grabs a glass from the cupboard and the shirt rises up in the back, revealing a wonderful glimpse of her behind, a part of her that Berger really has missed. He tries to focus on Claude as he watches her inspect the glass to see how well Berger’s been washing dishes, and then fills it with water and turns to lean against the counter.
“You lost the key,” she says before Berger is able to predict the subject change.
Berger shrugs.
“Where’s Debbie?”
Berger shrugs again.
Sheila looks around and then mimics his shrug. “Doesn’t look like anything’s been stolen anyway.”
“He’s going to Vietnam,” Berger says, tries to get things back on track. It’s the first time he’s actually said it and it tastes disgusting and true in his mouth.
“You’re being drafted too,” Sheila points out, her face sympathetic. She gestures to an envelope on the counter.
“I’m not going,” Berger says. “I’ll burn it. I’ll move to Canada first. They won’t get me. I’d never go.”
”Neither would Claude.”
She smiles and sets down her glass of water, crosses the room to the couch where Berger is sprawled. He reaches for her and pulls and she comes willingly, straddling his body and leaning in to kiss his mouth. He clutches at Claude’s shirt and kisses her back.
“I’ll talk to him, baby,” Sheila agrees. “We’re going to have a Be-In. We started planning it this afternoon. Me and Jeannie. We’ll have a Be-In and we’ll burn the cards and we’ll dance and you’ll feel it. You’ll feel it, Banana. These bad vibrations will burn up with the cards and the smoke will clear and the air will smell like the future.”
Berger opens his mouth but Sheila’s quick, and she reaches in and covers it with her hand. Berger smiles against her palm and runs his tongue across it, so that Sheila ends up rolling her eyes and slapping him lightly.
He grabs her ass and pulls her closer so that he can nuzzle her breasts through the thin fabric of Claude’s shirt. The cloth smells like Claude, like Sheila, and Berger breathes in for a moment before sucking her right nipple into his mouth, wetting the fabric, licking at it. After a moment, he gives the left this same attention. Sheila moans quietly above him, her hips moving, and then she pushes him away, curls in to kiss his mouth.
“I’ll talk to Claude,” she promises. She moves to pull Claude’s shirt over her head and Berger reaches out a hand, stops her.
“Leave it on,” he says, his hands moving to grip her sides, thumbs rubbing her nipples through the damp cloth. Sheila closes her eyes and nods.
**
Sheila always keeps her word and Berger watches as Sheila leads Claude away from the group. He stops listening to Woof and Hud and turns to watch Sheila and Claude sitting on the edge of a rock, deep in conversation. Sheila holds both of Claude’s hands in hers and when Claude gets up to leave, Sheila reaches up to touch his face, guides him down for a soft kiss. And then Claude is gone, and Berger is up. He ignores Woof calling his name and is by Sheila’s side in an instant. He kisses her, wants to taste Claude on her lips. When she pulls away, he sits back, eyebrows raised, expectant.
“I already told you,” Sheila says. “I think you’re worried about nothing.”
“He said that?”
“Claude isn’t going to let them get him,” Sheila says. “He’ll be there. Tomorrow night.”
Berger wants to believe her. He does believe her and he lets her words sink in, ease him a little, but it only works for a moment. Sheila isn’t a liar, but Berger knows Claude. It’s Claude he’s not sure he believes, and when Sheila leaves with Jeannie and Dionne to begin their planning, Berger finds Claude and pulls him away from the others.
“What are we doing?” Claude asks.
“We’re sleeping under the stars tonight, Claudio,” Berger says, his hand still firmly enclosed around Claude’s as he pulls him into the trees.
“Sheila?” Claude asks.
“Sheila’s busy,” Berger says, simply. Claude can trick Sheila, but he can’t fool Berger. Sheila doesn’t believe for a second that Claude is seriously contemplating letting them ship him to Vietnam. She thinks that Berger’s not seeing clearly, that Berger’s lost in a paranoid haze of smoke and orgasms, that with each exhale he’s blowing things further out of proportion. She thinks that he doesn’t know Claude as well as he thinks he does. Berger wishes Sheila was right, really wants to believe that Sheila is right, wouldn’t mind the orgasms either. But he knows Claude better than anyone. Berger’s gut knows that Claude thinks he’s lost, that Claude thinks he was placed on this earth for a reason. Berger knows that Claude is too romantic to dismiss the idea of Vietnam before he’s at least contemplated what will happen if he goes. Claude needs a reason to stay.
They find a secluded grassy area and Berger pushes Claude down onto the grass, pulls the folded joints from his back pocket along with the sheet of paper. He hands them both to Claude and then lowers himself to the grass beside him.
“What’s this?” Claude asks, holding up the paper.
“I’m in the club now too,” Berger says. It took no time at all for the draft to find him once he quit school. He’d been expecting it, waiting for it.
Claude stares at the paper but doesn’t unfold it. “You shouldn’t have dropped out,” Claude says.
Berger shrugs. “You did. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Sheila was the only thing that ever kept him there that long to begin with.
“Berger,” Claude sighs. He passes the joints, neatly folded in a handkerchief, back to Berger. He continues to stare at the paper until Berger reaches over and plucks it from his fingers before tossing it aside. Maybe it will get lost. Maybe the wind will pick up and they won’t be able to find it in the morning. It’ll end up in the lake or picked up by some tourist and tossed into a waste bin. Pigeons will find it and use it to build a nest. Some kid will turn in into spit balls to throw at his sister. It doesn’t matter to Berger, as long as it’s gone.
“I’m burning it tomorrow night,” Berger says.
“Yeah,” Claude agrees. “Me too.”
“Sheila and Dionne have the entire thing planned out,” Berger notes and Claude smiles. Sheila and Dionne always try to plan everything out and nothing ever goes according to their plans. It’s not the way life works and it’s not the way it should be, and they know it and they try to plan it anyway. Berger doesn’t make plans, just does whatever he wants whenever he wants to do it. Life works better that way. That way life always goes according to plan.
Claude settles down until he’s lying on his back, his arms folded behind his head. “There are no stars tonight,” Claude says.
“I see them,” Berger shrugs. He turns to look at Claude. Claude is frowning, staring up at the night sky. Berger stares too. There are probably plenty of stars over Vietnam. The sky must be loaded with them. As soon as he thinks it he knows that Claude is thinking it too.
“What?” Berger asks. He wants to force Claude to say it. He wants to shake Claude, force him to lie to him, to tell Berger that he’d never dream of leaving them, leaving him. “What is it?”
Claude sits up, then turns to look at Berger. “Nothing,” he says.
“Got a lot of nothin’ on your mind lately,” Berger notes. He lights a joint and passes it to Claude. His hand, once free of the joint, curls around the inside of Claude’s thigh. It’s all too heavy, the sky, the piece of paper discarded somewhere behind him, Claude’s silence. It’s too heavy and Berger takes the joint back from Claude, drags on it long and hard, and then lies back in the grass again, pulling Claude down with him.
Claude falls back, his arm thrown out so that it flops across Berger’s chest. He sighs, smiles when Berger lifts his arm to nip a little at his skin like it’s an ear of corn.
They’re quiet for a while, staring at the sky, letting the pot work its magic. Eventually Claude rolls onto his side and kisses Berger’s neck, his hand sliding up into Berger’s hair. Berger closes his eyes and blows a line of smoke straight up into the night.
“I could stay here forever,” Claude says.
Berger wishes he would.
**
The Be-in doesn’t go exactly as Sheila planned. They never do. It starts off well. It’s fun, and Berger is surrounded by people he loves, people he believes in, and he burns his card and he can feel it’s grip releasing him, like a small explosion right in his chest and he grabs Sheila and spins her around and kisses her. She laughs and holds on to him as tight as she can.
And then there’s Claude. Dancing right there with him, cheering as Woof drops his card into the fire, spinning until he falls into the grass laughing. He holds Berger’s hand and he shouts with the others and they dance and Berger almost believes that Claude will go through with it, almost believes that he’s been worrying for nothing, but Berger knows Claude better than that. Claude pulls away at the last second, frozen there in front of the drum. The flames light up his face and he turns, his eyes meet Berger’s. Berger wants to look away, but doesn’t.
It’s shortly after that that the police arrive.
**
“Claude,” Berger says, catching up with him once most of the group has dispersed, going separate ways in the confusion. He lost Sheila somewhere, paused only long enough to grab his clothes and run after Claude. He figured Claude was halfway back to Queens, that Berger would never be able to find him, and so he’s surprised when he catches up with Claude a short distance east of the Sheep Meadow.
“Claude,” he says again when Claude doesn’t stop. He can hear sirens behind them. He reaches out to stop Claude, feels like he’s always reaching out to stop Claude, but this time Claude turns and pushes. Berger doesn’t expect it, stumbles back off the path. He hardly has time to regain his balance before Claude is pressing against him again, pushing Berger into the shadows until Berger feels his back hit a tree, and then Claude’s mouth is pressed to his in a kiss so hard and sudden that their teeth knock together.
Claude’s hands are everywhere, pulling at Berger, then pushing, clutching at Berger’s exposed skin, fingertips pressing so hard that Berger imagines the white marks on his arm from the pressure, feels his skin flushing back to pink as Claude’s hands move on. Claude’s fingers are branding him, marks that will last forever, tattoos all over Berger’s bare skin.
Berger doesn’t care if they get caught. One night in jail is worth this.
He can hear the commotion back on the lawn, but Claude is pulling his shirt over his head, Claude is biting his shoulder and unbuttoning the jeans that Berger had thrown back on as he’d run off into the dark. Claude pulls Berger farther into the trees, pushes the jeans down low on Berger’s hips, just far enough for Claude to reach exactly what he wants.
“Berger -” Claude starts, but Berger’s done trying to talk. His mouth finds Claude’s again. His hands pull at Claude’s shirt. He’s nearly naked and Claude’s wearing way too many clothes. Claude’s always wearing way too many fucking clothes. He wrestles the shirt up and over Claude’s head, drops it to the grass with his own. Claude’s skin is hot, alive, here, and he presses his face to Claude’s collar bone, kisses the spot right beneath his adam’s apple, wraps his arms around Claude’s naked back and holds on.
Claude kisses his forehead, his hair, and then he’s untangling Berger’s arms from around him, pushing Berger away just far enough so that Claude can have his turn. He kisses Berger’s neck, his chest, the crease where his shoulder meets his arm. He kisses the inside of Berger’s elbow, his stomach just above his naval, and then Claude is on his knees, Berger’s hands tangled in his hair. Claude’s hands grip Berger’s hips, holding him close in case he tries to pull away. It’s not really necessary. Berger can’t see himself ever pulling away from Claude.
It’s then, in the park with Claude’s mouth around him, that Berger realizes that he can fix this. That the doomsday scenario won’t help Claude. Claude’s looking for reason, for purpose. Claude just needs a good enough reason to stay. Berger will find that reason. He’ll be that reason if that’s what it takes.
He does pull away from Claude then, but only for a moment, only long enough to drop to his knees, long enough to cradle Claude’s face in his hands, to lean in and taste himself on Claude’s tongue. Claude’s hands drift down between Berger’s legs, resuming where Berger interrupted. Claude’s eyes are closed and Berger’s thumbs caress circles into the tanned skin of Claude’s cheeks. He moans when Claude’s tongue slides across the roof of his mouth, as it tangles with Berger’s and makes promises that Berger will force Claude to keep. Berger’s hand slides down Claude’s warm neck, then along the curve to grip Claude’s shoulder.
Berger hears a noise on the path and Claude’s breathing comes a little faster, Claude’s hand speeds up. Berger wants to stay, definitely doesn’t want to stop Claude from doing what he’s doing. There’s a sense of urgency now, Claude seems determined to finish this, determined to get Berger off even though Claude himself hasn’t had a chance to get out of his own pants.
Berger concentrates on Claude, on Claude’s fingers, on Claude’s face, on his mouth. He’s high and before that he’d been drinking and he thinks it might be too much, it all might be too much. He thrusts into Claude’s hand and the park is bright, white and awake and beautiful. Berger moans and collapses against Claude, tries to catch is breath, his face pressed to Claude’s warm chest.
When he lifts his head it’s the middle of the night again and Claude is reaching for his shirt. He uses it to wipe off his stomach and then rolls it into a ball, tucks it under his arm. He kisses Berger, slow, uncomplicated kisses, and then he pulls away and says, “Have you ever wanted to just disappear?”
“We can disappear,” Berger offers. They can leave New York. They can go as far as their feet will carry them. They’ll live in the woods in Canada, Alaska, somewhere in between. They’ll hunt deer and sleep naked in front of a fire and bathe in a stream or a lake. Anything. It doesn’t matter. They’ll disappear.
“Yeah,” Claude agrees. “Maybe.” He shrugs at Berger and one side of his mouth turns up in a smile. Berger smiles back, leans against the tree and closes his eyes. When he opens them again Claude is gone.
Part 2