Fic - Hair - The First Move - 1/3
Fandom: Hair
Pairings: Claude/Berger, Berger/Sheila, Claude/Jeanie, Claude/Lily
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~23,000
Disclaimer: 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.
Summary: Claude’s never known exactly what he wants, but he’s pretty sure he wants Berger.
The First Move
Claude meets Jeanie a few months after he drops out of school. He’s sitting in Central Park meditating. Trying to meditate. Mostly he’s waiting until his classes are over so he can go home without his mother getting suspicious. It’s almost summer. A few more weeks and he’ll have made it an entire semester without his folks catching on. By next fall Claude will have a new plan worked out and no one will need to know that he gave up on a future that he never really wanted to begin with.
So Claude waits and plans it all out. In a year he’ll be in England. An entirely new person. He isn’t sure how he’ll get there yet, but when he arrives he’ll disappear and Flushing will never hear from him again. He’ll start over. He’ll do everything he’s ever wanted to do. He’ll really be someone. Or no one, if it turns out that’s what he wants.
And that’s when she spots him. His eyes are closed, so when she says, “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he starts and she laughs.
“What?” Claude asks and clears his throat.
“You feel it, don’t you?” she says, “Free from your body? Like you’re floating above yourself. Everything seems so - Oh, I interrupted you. I’m sorry.”
He stares at her, taking her in. She’s a tiny girl, dwarfed by her flowing dress, her blonde hair falling in sharp curves over her shoulders. Her hair is like the mane of a lion, but other than the hair she doesn’t seem much like a lion at all.
“I’m Jeanie,” the girl says.
She kneels beside him and takes his hand in both of hers. She smells sweet, like summer grass and the joint she finished smoking shortly before she found him. Her cheeks are pink and she waits for his name with dark eyes.
“Claude,” Claude says, then coughs. When he opens his mouth again it’s with his best imitation of all the accents he’s ever heard in the movies. Later he’ll tell himself that he meant it as practice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He doesn’t think she’ll believe him. He’s sure she’ll see right through him, but she grins wide and says, “You’re English!”
She sets her forehead on his shoulder and Claude turns just a little so that his nose rests against the curls of her hair.
Things moved quickly from there. Claude spends the afternoon telling Jeanie about Manchester, even though Claude has no idea what Manchester is actually like. Turns out Jeanie doesn’t seem to know either. He tells her he’s trying to get home, that all he needs is a ticket and he’ll leave New York behind for good. She frowns and they argue about the city, about its draw.
“It’s like gravity,” Jeanie insists. “You can’t fight gravity, Claude.”
Eventually, late in the afternoon, Claude lets the accent begin to slip from his voice. He likes Jeanie. He likes talking with her, holding her, arguing. He wants to keep talking with Jeanie and for that to happen, the charade has to end.
When he tells her, she stares at him for a solid minute before she looks down and smiles and says, “You’re an actor, huh?”
“No,” Claude says. “Sorry.”
And then, because he can’t resist the downward curve of her mouth, he kisses her.
**
They’re together for three days before she begs him to meet her by the Great Lawn at ten so that she can introduce him to her friends. Claude stands on the path with his shoes in his hand and his toes in the grass and wonders how Jeanie will ever find him in the dark. The park is quiet. A couple walks by with two dogs, their voices hushed. Claude hears laughter across the lawn. He doesn’t wear a watch, but he asked a man the time as he got off the train. It must be close to ten by now. He taps two fingers against his bare wrist, counts the seconds as he waits.
“Hey, man.” A voice says from directly behind him. Claude didn’t hear anyone approach and he jumps at the sudden interruption. A hand slides across Claude’s shoulders before coming to rest lightly on his right. “You got any change? A dollar, maybe?”
Claude turns quickly and takes a step back. The guy’s hand falls from his arm and he holds both up, open palms. His hair is a dark brown mass of curls and Claude can tell even in the dim light from the streetlamps that the bare skin of his chest is tanned. He notices Claude taking him in and he waits patiently for Claude to meet his eyes again. When Claude does, the guy smiles, a flash of white teeth in the dark.
Claude looks away quickly, pats the pockets of his jeans and then says, “No, sorry.”
The guy shrugs, doesn’t press. He smiles at Claude again and then turns, disappears across the lawn in the direction of the laughter. Claude stares into the dark after him. He has some money in his back pocket, just enough to get him home to Flushing. He wonders if he’d had extra if he would have offered it up. He sees that flash of white teeth again and he thinks that maybe he would have.
When Jeanie appears behind him a moment later, her arms wrapping around him from behind, Claude starts a second time.
“You’re always lost in your head,” Jeanie says and kisses his right shoulder, right where the guy had rested his hand. “It makes you so easy to surprise.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d find me,” Claude says.
“You’re exactly where I asked you to be,” Jeanie points out. “I could have found you with my eyes closed.”
She takes his empty hand and kisses his palm, smiles as she pulls him across the lawn in the same direction as the guy asking for change. She finally stops in the middle of a group of lounging kids that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the lawns of the campus where Claude is still pretending that he’s enrolled in class.
“So this is everyone,” Jeanie says with a shrug. She hugs his arm and raises her voice a little and says, “Everyone, this is Claude.”
Jeanie has a lot of friends. There are at least twenty people in the group, maybe more. Some of them nod in Claude’s direction. There’s a scattered chorus of ‘hello’s and ‘hey man’s. Claude feels awkward, waves. And then he notices the guy from the other side of the lawn. He’s lying on his side in the grass, his head in the lap of the most beautiful black woman Claude’s ever seen. She nods when she sees Claude watching.
The guy shifts, kisses the woman, stands. He’s by Claude’s side in a moment, his face close. Claude wants to look away, but doesn’t.
“Who’s he?” the guy asks, reaches out to pull at a piece of Claude’s hair. They’re nearly the same height. Claude might be an inch taller. He thinks he must be just a bit taller because the guy straightens his posture trying to compensate.
“This is Berger,” Jeanie says.
“Oh,” Claude says. “Hey.” He holds out a hand for Berger to shake. Berger laughs and slings an arm around Claude’s shoulders instead, dislodging Jeanie from Claude’s arm. Claude’s shoes fall to the ground as he’s pulled in for a hug.
“Where’d you find him?” Berger asks.
“I’m on holiday,” Claude says, the words muffled a little against Berger’s shoulder. Berger releases him, his eyebrows raised at the accent.
“Holiday,” Berger repeats, mimicking Claude’s pronunciation. Claude can tell by the way his eyes shine that Berger doesn’t buy the accent for a second, even before Berger turns to wink at Jeanie. “Well, come on, man. You just found the best tour guide in the city.”
Berger drags him away from Jeanie, pulls him around the group, stopping at individual gatherings to introduce Claude as his new friend, just arrived from England. Claude’s face burns with embarrassment, but he has to play along now, keeps the accent as he’s introduced to Woof and Crissy, Lancaster, Angela, Dionne. Claude won’t remember anyone’s name. He’s concentrating on the accent, keeps it up the entire time. He knows that Berger is doing this to him on purpose, testing him, but he refuses to give in.
When all of the introductions have been made, Berger pulls Claude aside. Claude looks back, searches the group for Jeanie and finds her talking to the cute redhead, Crissy. Jeanie grins and nods, waves him away, excited to see he’s making friends. Berger pulls a joint from his back pocket and lights it, passes it to Claude.
“Thanks,” Claude says.
Berger nods, quiet as he watches Claude bring the joint to his lips. When Claude returns it, Berger’s fingers brush against his and Claude pulls his hand back quickly, turns away.
Berger clears his throat and says, “Where are you from? Your folks from London or something?”
Claude laughs and shakes his head, happy to end the game. “Flushing,” he says.
“Flushing,” Berger repeats. “Really? I could have sworn you were from London.”
“Okay, okay,” Claude says.
Berger nods and smiles. Claude stares at the way Berger’s mouth curves into it, at the way Berger’s fingers pull at the fringe on his vest with the hand not holding the joint. It reminds Claude of the hours he used to spend sitting in a classroom with James, of the way that James would tap the eraser of his pencil on the desk when he didn’t know what to say.
Berger is quiet and now Claude is the one who doesn’t know what to say. He clears his throat and tries. “You remind me of this guy I knew.”
“Yeah?” Berger asks, looking up. “We could be twins? Separated at birth, maybe?”
“No,” Claude says. “No, James was nothing like you.”
“What?” Berger says and then laughs. Claude laughs too.
Berger takes a long drag from the joint. He coughs once and then says, “That was the worst accent I’ve ever heard, you know.”
“It’s not that bad,” Claude defends.
“Jeanie believed it, didn’t she?”
Claude shrugs.
“Yeah, she did. You charmed her until she let you right in under her skirt.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Claude protests. He’d dropped the accent as soon as he realized Jeanie was someone he actually wanted to know, still hours before they first slept together.
“Bummer,” Berger says. His fingers reach out now to touch the fabric at the edge of Claude’s shirt. They pull a little, exposing the skin above Claude’s belt. Claude pushes Berger’s hand away and pulls his shirt back down. Jeanie’s hair might look like the mane of a lion, but it’s Berger that’s circling, testing boundaries, setting them. Berger’s eyes meet Claude’s again. They stand there for a minute, just watching each other, until finally it’s Berger who looks away.
**
From the time Claude Bukowski was born, Claude’s parents had his life planned for him. They let him spend the first part of it blissfully free, unaware of any plans as a world of possibility opened up around him. Right up until his tenth birthday when his parents took him to Coney Island. That was the day Claude decided that when he grew up he was going to join the circus.
His parents laughed and his father ruffled his hair and told Claude that he would never have to join any circuses. His father had it all worked out. When Claude grew up he’d have a job by his father’s side at his father’s dental practice. They’d work together until Claude’s father was ready to retire and then the practice would be all Claude’s.
“Wow, Thank you,” Claude said, because he was ten years old and that seemed like the thing to do.
He spent the next three years dreaming about trapeze artists and lion tamers.
**
Claude shoves the text books that he hasn’t opened in weeks into his bag, kisses his mother’s cheek, and steps out onto the front steps to find Berger leaning against the gate.
Berger smiles at him and Claude stares until Berger eventually says, “What’s up?”
“What are you doing here?” Claude asks. He looks back toward the door to see if his parents are watching. His mother was washing dishes and he doesn’t see her at the window now. He nearly trips on the steps as he rushes toward Berger and then stops short, not sure why any of this should be that big a deal. Still, when Berger reaches out to touch his arm, Claude finds himself glancing back at the windows a second time.
It’s silly. If his mother happens to come outside now, he could just tell her that Berger is a friend from school. He’s talked about people he’s met at school before. His parents met James, though Claude can tell they never liked him. Berger’s presence won’t give him away.
“How did you know where I live?” Claude asks again.
Berger shrugs. “Asked Jeanie. I’ve never been to Flushing.”
“You took the train all the way out here?”
“Sure,” Berger says.
“Why?”
Berger looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “Because I’ve never been to Flushing.”
“Okay, then,” Claude starts, kind of lost as to where they should go from here. “I guess I should show you around.”
“Let’s go,” Berger agrees. He slaps a hand against Claude’s back and guides Claude down the sidewalk of his own neighborhood like Berger already owns the place. Old Man Clive is on his front porch and Berger waves to him. Clive scowls, but nods. Old Man Clive usually ignores Claude altogether.
Claude has a hard time coming up with places in his neighborhood that Berger might find interesting. He shows Berger the grocery store he worked at after he graduated from high school. They walk by Margaret Thompson’s house, Claude’s mother’s best friend who used to sing Claude to sleep on the nights his parents needed a sitter. Claude doesn’t mention that, thinks it might sound lame. Instead, he shows Berger the corner where some kid he hardly knew punched him in the stomach for looking at a girl he hadn’t actually looked at. Finally they end up in front of the movie theater that Claude’s been going to for as long as he can remember.
“You ever sneak in?” Berger asks.
Claude just laughs, then leads him around the corner to a side entrance. Employees use the side entrance to take breaks and the door is usually locked, but Lily Stevens told Claude all about her ex-boyfriend who used to work weekends at the theater and Claude knows that the spare key is hidden beneath the loose wooden slat of a crate to the right of the door. Berger seems impressed when Claude presents the key.
They spend the afternoon draped across the seats in the back of the theater, laughing at the screen, at each other. Afterward, out on the sidewalk, Claude catches himself staring at Berger, at the easy way that Berger’s expression lights up when he smiles, at the bands of leather Berger wraps around his wrist. Claude has never felt like he’s fit in anywhere, but Berger seems like he’s at home everywhere. Berger makes the world fit him. Claude doesn’t know Berger, not really, but he wants to know him. Claude thinks that maybe they’re on their way to being great friends. It’s been a long time since Claude had a really good friend.
Berger catches him staring, but Claude doesn’t look away. He opens his mouth to say something good, something that means something.
“You have nice teeth,” he blurts instead.
Berger looks confused for a moment and then he grins, purposely showing off his nice teeth. Claude shakes his head and rolls his eyes, pushes at Berger’s shoulder. Berger grabs at Claude’s arm in response, wraps a hand around Claude’s wrist and squeezes a little as they head to the bus stop. He releases Claude after a moment, but doesn’t step away and every once in a while their arms brush. When Claude shifts, walking a little further away from Berger, Berger follows. Claude doesn’t say anything, but the next time Berger’s arm brushes against his, Claude smiles.
**
Claude was sixteen when he stopped trying in school. He wanted to get out of high school, so he didn’t give up completely. He just did exactly as much as he needed to do to get by. He was quiet about it at first, just stopped studying as hard for exams, stopped paying attention in class. It was a while before his parents noticed, and even longer before they saw it as part of a bigger problem.
“So you’re just going to be a bum,” his father concluded, two months before Claude was to graduate. “And what will happen to the practice, huh? It’s the family business, Claude.”
“I don’t care about teeth,” Claude said, his mouth set in a stubborn line.
A dentist. It sounded okay at ten years old. At ten, Claude still thought his father was the center of the world. But by eighteen, Claude’s father’s office had stopped seeming like a wonderful place and had started to become a prison, just waiting for Claude Bukowski’s arrival.
“Take a year off then,” his mother had offered. “Work, find yourself, and then go to school. You can be a lawyer. You can work for Uncle Marty if you think your father’s got it so bad.”
“I don’t want to be a lawyer, Mother,” Claude said.
“He wants to be a bum,” his father repeated. “Look at him. A bum.”
Claude turned to leave, tired of this argument, tired of his parents not understanding him, not understanding anyone but themselves.
“Where are you going?” his mother asked. She reached for his arm and he shook her off.
“I’m joining the circus,” Claude said as he stormed out onto the sidewalk. As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, Claude took a deep breath, letting the cool spring air fill his lungs. He could smell summer in it, the scent of promised heat and promised freedom.
“Hey,” a voice said, and Claude turned to see his neighbor, Lily Stevens, sitting on the stoop.
“Hey, Lily,” Claude sighed. He’d known Lily since they were kids. They weren’t really friends, stopped spending time together around the same time Claude’s father took the training wheels off his bicycle.
“Fight?” Lily asked. Claude remembers she was holding a cigarette between her fingers and she brought it to her lips then, inhaled, coughed.
“Yeah,” Claude said. He shrugged and moved to sit beside her on the stoop. “You know how it is. Parents. My dad thinks that because he gets to pull teeth while sitting in a chair now instead of standing, it means that I should be thrilled to do it too.”
“My mother wants me to marry my second cousin,” Lily said.
“Really?”
“No,” Lily said. “I just felt like I was suffocating in there.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“So you’re joining a circus, huh?”
Claude laughed. “Maybe!”
They sat there for a while, enjoying being young and together with a long summer looming on the horizon. Old Man Clive hobbled out of his home across the street, setting a small bag of trash on the curb. His wrinkled face stared at Claude and Lily for a moment before he pushed his hat down on his head and turned to start the journey back to his door. Lily finished her cigarette and then she touched her fingers to Claude’s shoulder. When he turned to look at her, she kissed him.
**
“I missed you,” Jeanie says when he catches up with her near Bethesda Fountain.
Claude laughs and takes her hand when she reaches for him. “You just saw me.”
Jeanie shrugs. It’s only been a few hours since he left her at her girlfriend’s apartment, riding the empty subway back to Flushing in the early hours of the morning. She reaches for his other hand and intertwines their fingers as she leans in to kiss him. Her body is warm pressed against his and he slides his hands from hers, leans forward into her kiss, cupping her flushed cheeks in his palms. Jeanie’s arms slide around his waist. Her kisses are sweet and soft, kisses that Claude wouldn’t mind soaking in all afternoon.
“Claude!” Berger shouts from beneath the terrace. His voice echoes against the walls, disturbing the tourists eating lunch above.
Jeanie makes a noise into their kiss, a response to Berger’s shout even though Berger would never be able to hear it from that distance. She kisses Claude again and then releases him just as Berger bounds up to them, grabbing Claude by the arm and swinging him around.
“Claude, let’s go,” Berger says. He’s jumpy and excited as he reaches out to squeeze Jeanie’s shoulder in greeting. She smiles at him and rubs her hand across his back.
“Where are we going?” Claude asks.
There is always somewhere. Swimming in the pond, or the lake, shouting obscenities over the side of the Brooklyn Bridge. They spend entire days exploring abandoned apartment buildings and factories.
One afternoon Berger grabs Claude’s bag from his shoulder. Claude lets it slide off of his arm and watches as Berger checks the contents.
“Books?” Berger says, confused. “You’ve got this bag with you all the time. It’s just books.”
Claude shrugs and pulls at the strap. Berger doesn’t release the bag.
“I was - my parents think I’m in school.”
“Really?”
Claude pulls harder at the bag and Berger releases it, dropping so it swings on the strap and knocks hard against Claude’s knee.
“Well, I mean, I was. I was taking classes at Queensborough,” Claude explains. “I dropped out. I just haven’t exactly gotten around to - The semester is almost over and, I don’t know. It’s not really good dinner conversation, I guess.”
“Man,” Berger says. He sets a hand on Claude’s back and tilts his head up toward the sky. “I should drop out.”
Claude slings the bag back over his shoulder, the weight of the books familiar against his hip. “You’re in college?”
“Nah,” Berger says, smiles. “High school.”
Claude laughs. “You’re kidding.”
Berger turns his face from the sky, looks at Claude instead. He shrugs.
”How old are you?”
Berger shrugs again. “I took a few years off.”
“And you went back?” Claude asks. He thought about dropping out of high school a lot when he was still there. He never once thinks about going back.
“I guess,” Berger says. “Hey, whatever, man. It was Sheila’s idea.”
“Sheila?” Claude repeats. Berger starts walking and Claude falls back into step beside him. “She your girlfriend?”
“You don’t -,” Berger starts, confused, then nods his head in realization. “You haven’t met Sheila yet. Claude, you’re going to love Sheila.”
They spend the next few days sneaking into movies and convincing tourists to buy them dinners. Sometimes they spend all afternoon just lying in the grass of the park. Sometimes Jeanie comes with them, sometimes Woof is there, and Crissy and Dionne and Hud. Sometimes it’s just Claude and Berger, not even talking, lying there quietly and moving only to pass the joint between them.
It’s not long before it happens. Claude and Jeanie begin to drift.
He still likes Jeanie a lot. It isn’t that. Sometimes they sleep together, sleep wrapped in each other, and the sex is great, but even then they both feel it. They’re drifting. Claude comes into Manhattan and spends his time with Berger and Woof and Hud, but doesn’t see Jeanie at all. She stops telling him that she missed him, though her kisses are just as sweet, her hands are just as warm. Soon Claude realizes that he’s spent more time with Berger than he ever did with Jeanie, that he knows Berger better than he knows Jeanie.
And then Berger introduces him to Sheila.
**
Berger was so right.
Sheila is a goddess, a genius, amazing. He’s never met anyone quite like Sheila. He’s never met anyone with that much determination, that much capacity for love or that much conviction that every tomorrow can be better than every today. Claude thinks that if everyone was more like Sheila, maybe every tomorrow would be better.
The only problem is that if everyone was more like Sheila, there couldn’t be anyone like Berger. Without Berger, Claude never would have met Sheila. He would have continued to go through life aimless, wanting England this minute, New York the next, helpless to change or do anything. Sheila is a gift and when Claude looks at them his heart fills and he has to stop himself from kissing Berger in thanks.
He watches Berger kiss Sheila, watches the way she folds against him, and his whole body aches with it. He thinks he should be jealous of what they have, but all he feels is a vague yearning to wrap himself around them both, never let them go.
He doesn’t do it. Instead he just watches, doesn’t close his eyes until Berger’s large hands find their way to Sheila’s backside, pulling her closer in a sudden move that has Sheila gasping into his mouth right before she starts to laugh.
If the world was full of Sheila’s, every tomorrow would be better, but they’d lose all the Berger’s. The world needs people like Berger. Claude’s definitely never met anyone anything at all like him. Berger doesn’t worry if tomorrow will be better than today. He never worries about tomorrow at all.
Claude’s only known her a few days, less than a full week, but he thinks he’s in love with her. He’s never been in love before, not really, but he’s pretty sure he’s in love with Sheila. He can feel it when he looks at her. He can feel it when he watches Berger with her, the warmth flooding his skin, prickling at his arms. He can pick her voice out from across a crowd. He falls asleep with the sound of their laughter in his ears.
“I know, you know,” Berger says and then laughs at himself, at the repetition of the words.
“What do I know you know?” Claude says so now Berger is laughing at him a little too.
Berger reaches out, his hand wraps around the back of Claude’s neck. Claude shivers a little at the touch. Berger’s palm is cool against his skin as Claude leans in to hear Berger’s big secret revealed.
“I know you love her,” Berger says.
Claude’s breath catches in his throat and he wonders what comes next. He thinks this might be the end of all of it, of him and Berger, of feeling like he finally belongs to something. He wants to deny it, but Berger is smart, Berger will know if he’s lying just as Berger knew right away that Claude Bukowski wasn’t from Manchester.
“How do you know?” Claude says finally.
Berger shrugs, smiles. “I know you.”
Claude stands there, waits for Berger to say something more. When he doesn’t, Claude says, “I’d never - you know I wouldn’t -“
He stops when Berger screws up his face and waves his hands in front of Claude.
“Hey, hey. Calm down, man,” Berger says. “It’s cool, all right?”
Claude isn’t really sure what that means, but Berger doesn’t seem upset, isn’t going to push Claude away. And it was never like Claude was going to try anything anyway. It’s better that it isn’t some weird thing between them. Berger’s become Claude’s best friend.
“All right,” Claude agrees.
Berger grabs Claude’s arm then, pulls him into a hug. Claude holds Berger tight and closes his eyes when he feels Berger’s mouth press against his shoulder. For that moment, that twenty seconds, he thought he’d lost them, and until those few seconds he didn’t know how much that might really matter. Berger feels warm now and Claude feels that warmth flood his gut and prickle along his arms as he wraps them tighter around Berger’s back.
**
Berger makes a game of it. Claude thinks he probably should have expected it. He knows Berger by now, knows that Berger will make light of anything if given the chance. Claude thought this would be different. Something that they let disappear, didn’t talk about, brushed under a rug and left there to collect dust.
“You should see her in bed,” Berger says instead, his hand cupped around his mouth as he whispers it loud and dramatic.
“Who?” Claude asks. If he’d been paying attention to Berger he would have known, wouldn’t have asked, but Berger knew that Claude was talking to Crissy, knew that he wasn’t listening to her either, was watching Sheila sit on a nearby bench reading a book and laughing with Dionne.
Berger grabs Claude’s arm and pulls him away from Crissy. Crissy protests, but doesn’t follow.
“Sheila,” Berger says. He’s holding Claude’s arm and he leans in close to Claude’s ear as he says her name, each syllable carefully articulated, low, so that Claude can feel the word in his throat.
“What?” Claude asks, and the word catches, sounds high and thin.
“You should see her in bed,” Berger repeats.
“Berger, I don’t -“ Claude starts, but stops short when Berger reaches up and covers Claude’s mouth with his hand.
“Naked,” Berger says. “And there’s - Claude. The sex -”
“Stop,” Claude tries to say, but the words are muffled against Berger’s palm.
“She’d probably let you,” Berger adds. “She likes you. I’d let you.”
Claude pushes Berger’s hand away and shakes his head. “Come on. We’re friends,” he says.
“I know,” Berger agrees, confused.
Claude doesn’t know what else to say. He walks away instead, or tries to. Berger follows.
“Leave me alone,” Claude tries.
“Claude,” Berger reaches for him, grabs Claude’s arm, his palm sliding down from Claude’s elbow to grip Claude’s hand in his. “I -“ Berger pauses and Claude waits, becomes impatient, rolls his eyes.
“What?”
Berger opens his mouth to continue, but then Sheila is there, wrapping her arms around Claude and squeezing him around the middle.
“Claude,” Sheila says. It sounds so different falling from her lips, lighter, not at all the same as when Berger said it just moments earlier. “You are just the people I was looking for.”
She releases her grip on Claude, moving to Berger, standing on her toes to kiss his mouth. Claude watches them, reaches out to touch the ends of her strawberry gold hair.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” Berger asks, holding her to him and kissing the tip of her nose.
“I need help distributing fliers for the protest next week,” Sheila says. She turns to look at Claude over her shoulder. “I thought if you just planned to lie around here all day anyway - “
Berger sucks in his breath and carefully removes her arms from around his waist.
“I can’t,” he says.
“Why not?” Sheila asks. She’s smiling and she reaches out to hook her fingers with Berger’s.
“Because I’m busy today,” Berger says. He swings his hand in hers once and then shakes her fingers from his, takes a step back.
“Busy doing what? Berger -“
“Sheila,” Berger mimics.
Sheila laughs. It’s not a genuine laugh, more a mocking chuckle, as she pushes at Berger’s arm. “Just give me a hand with this. Please.”
“Claude can give you a hand,” Berger offers.
There it is, the reason Berger’s pushing Sheila away. He comes around now to stand behind Claude. Claude frowns and folds his arms across his chest, only to be wrapped in Berger from behind. Berger covers Claude’s hands with his own as he says, “Claude would give you both hands. Claude would give you -”
“I can help,” Claude says, cutting Berger off. He’s about to struggle, angry with Berger, angry at the way he can slip innuendo into anything. It’s not what he says, it’s the way he says it. He says it as though Claude’s already standing here undressing Sheila with those hands. He opens his mouth, about to argue, about to push Berger away, but Sheila is watching him now and when he looks at her, she smiles.
“You really wouldn’t mind?” Sheila asks.
Berger’s hips bump against Claude and Claude clears his throat and shakes his head.
“I want to help,” he agrees.
“Oh, groovy. Thank you, Claude. You’re the best.” Sheila’s grinning now. She’s reaching for his arm, pulling him away from Berger. Berger lets go.
“I’m not the best,” Claude counters. Berger laughs.
“I’ve made stacks of them,” she explains. “They’re at my place. We can stop by there, pick them up and then head over to the campus.
Berger hangs back, waves them off. After a few steps, Sheila pauses and says, “I’ll catch up, okay?”
She turns back to Berger. Claude wants to wait, figures she’ll probably just say goodbye. At first it seems that way, but it isn’t long before the conversation visibly turns heated. Berger’s still smiling, but then he shrugs, holds up his hands in surrender. Claude can’t hear their words, doesn’t know what it’s about. He assumes that Berger has said something stupid, that Sheila is upset that Berger refused to help her. He hopes that she can’t see through Berger as well as he can. He hopes that she can’t tell that the entire day is part of Berger’s big plan to torture Claude.
Sheila is fuming by the time she returns to Claude. She doesn’t say anything, just slides her hand around Claude’s. Claude fingers press against the back of Sheila’s hand and he lets her pull him until they are free of the park.
**
Sheila simmers the entire ride downtown, but by the time they reach her apartment to pick up the fliers, she’s showing signs of cooling off.
Eventually Claude can’t hold it back any longer, has to ask.
“Are you okay, Sheila?”
“Yeah,” Sheila says. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just Berger, you know? Sometimes I can’t take him.”
“Yeah,” Claude agrees.
“He’s unpredictable, irresponsible, immature,” Sheila starts.
“But you - I mean, you’re in love with him, right?” Claude asks. He immediately feels like he’s prying and he’s surprised how much he wants her to say yes, surprised that he isn’t actually asking the question for himself.
“He drives me crazy,” Sheila says. “He’s so frustrating. But he’s beautiful and passionate. He tries to hide it, but his heart is enormous. He’s so in the moment. Every moment.” She closes her eyes and smiles as she thinks about Berger. All bad feelings from earlier in the day dry up, disappearing with her words.
“I’m completely crazy about him,” Sheila concludes. Her eyebrows raise with the words, like they still surprise her.
Claude watches her, the glow of her cheeks and the curve of her mouth. He wants to kiss her like this, forget about the fliers and the war. He wants to kiss her.
He remembers the conversation he had with Berger, remembers how Berger brushed off his promise to stay away from Sheila. He wonders how Berger would react if he kissed Sheila now.
Sheila opens her eyes, her expression soft and inviting as she looks at Claude. He could kiss her now. He could taste the lips he’s watched Berger taste, feel how her mouth feels against Berger’s. His hand will cradle her cheek the same way that he’s seen Berger’s so many times.
“You get it, right?” Sheila says. “Berger. You’re crazy about him too.”
Claude looks away, embarrassed at his own thoughts. Berger’s his friend, could be the best friend he’s ever had, and here’s Claude Bukowski, fantasizing about kissing his best friend’s girlfriend.
“Yeah,” Claude says. “Yeah. I get it.”
They spend a few hours distributing Sheila’s fliers around the campus and then they take a break, settling on a bench. They share a sandwich and Sheila tells Claude about all of her plans. Claude listens, asks questions and promises that he’ll be there for every rally, every protest. When Sheila stops talking, Claude looks up from his sandwich to find her smiling at him.
“What?” Claude asks. He wipes at his mouth, convinced that he must have mustard on his cheek.
“Don’t worry, you’re fine,” Sheila says, ducking her head. “It’s just - this is nice. Thank you for helping me out today.”
Claude shrugs, isn’t sure what to say, goes with “If I’m going to pretend to be in college I might as well spend some time on a college campus, right?”
Sheila thinks about this for a moment and then says, “Why did you drop out?”
Claude shrugs again. “It’s just not what I want right now.”
“What do you want?”
“I guess I’m still trying to figure that out.”
Late in the afternoon they walk hand in hand to Sheila’s apartment. When they arrive at the top of the stairs, Sheila leans in on her tip-toes to kiss Claude’s cheek. Her fingers brush across his face and then she turns and tries the knob. The door is unlocked and Claude follows Sheila inside to find Berger and Woof sprawled on Sheila’s couch. Berger has his legs draped across Woof’s lap and he throws his arms up in greeting when he sees them enter.
“Sheila, baby,” Berger exclaims.
“And Claude, baby,” Woof adds, waving to Claude.
“Claude, baby,” Berger repeats agreeably.
Sheila crosses the room and takes one of Berger’s outstretched hands, their fingers intertwined.
“Hey, baby,” she says, then leans in to kiss him. It looks like she intends for the kiss to be quick, but Berger has other plans, his hand coming down to hold her against him as his tongue slides into her mouth.
Claude shifts and wishes he could make himself turn away, wishes he could be more like Woof, sitting seemingly oblivious on Sheila’s old couch, tapping his fingers against Berger’s leg in a lazy rhythm. Claude can’t look away, can’t not stare at the special way that they fit together. He can feel their kiss in his gut, wonders if this is what it would have felt like if he’d kissed Sheila himself.
“You still taste like you,” Berger says, when eventually Sheila pulls back and smiles down at him.
“What are you talking about?” Sheila laughs. She slaps him lightly on the cheek before she disappears into her bedroom.
Berger swings his legs out of Woof’s lap and stands. He takes a hold of Claude’s shoulders and when he starts to lean in, Claude thinks for a moment that Berger is going to kiss him. He closes his eyes and puts his hands up to Berger’s chest, ready to push away. He thinks about Berger and Sheila’s kiss and he feels his chest flutter with it, the beauty of it. Berger shifts at the last moment and Claude feels the press of Berger’s lips against his cheek, the same one that Sheila had pressed her lips to moments before.
“Oh,” Claude can’t help but say as he opens his eyes. Berger laughs and pushes at Claude’s arm before he’s gone too, the bedroom door shutting behind them.
Claude collapses onto the couch beside Woof. He still has a stack of fliers in his hand and he tosses them to the floor at Woof’s feet.
Woof shifts so that he’s facing Claude. He’s doesn’t say anything, just watches Claude, expectant, until finally Claude gives in and says, “What?”
“Tell me what happened,” Woof requests, taking one of Claude’s hands and wrapping it in both of his own.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been talking about it all day,” Woof clarifies. “You and Sheila. Sheila and you. Claude, what happened?”
“It wasn’t - nothing,” Claude says. He thinks about their kiss, Berger and Sheila, about the shape of their mouths meeting, and he feels flushed and confused. “Nothing happened.”
Woof’s thumb rubs against the side of Claude’s hand. He frowns as though he’s disappointed in Claude.
“Why not?” Woof asks.
Claude shrugs.
Woof releases Claude’s hand, reaches out and presses two fingers to Claude’s cheek. He holds them there for a second or two before he pulls his hand away, presses the fingers momentarily to his own lips, then reaches out to touch them to Claude’s. Claude isn’t sure what Woof is doing, but he kisses the tips of Woof’s fingers before he reaches up and removes Woof’s hand from his mouth, folds his fingers around Woof’s again.
There’s laughter on the other side of the bedroom door and Claude shakes his head and tries to ignore it.
“It wasn’t anything,” Claude says. “Berger was just kidding around.”
**
“Where do you want to go?” Berger asks him
Claude never has an answer. He lets Berger decide where they go, doesn’t care if they never leave these steps by the lake again. Berger doesn’t seem to have any ideas anyway. He pulls Claude’s bag across the step and into his lap. He opens it, slides out a text book.
“Biology,” Berger says, holds up the book.
Claude nods, the gesture half hearted and lazy.
Berger opens it and reads a few sentences on cell division aloud in a haughty upper crust accent of some sort. Claude laughs and tries to push the cover of the book shut on Berger’s hand. Berger pulls the book away and clears his throat, ready to read more.
“I wasn’t even taking biology,” Claude cuts in. “I was enrolled in all these english and history and art classes. My father thinks - I don’t know what he thinks. He thinks I’m taking biology. He thinks I’ll go on, eventually, I don’t know. He thinks I’m going to be a dentist.”
“Guess you’re not going to be a dentist?”
“No,” Claude laughs. “God, no.”
“Good,” Berger says. “I hate dentists.”
Claude reaches for the book again. Berger had paused in the middle of turning a page, his fingers still gripping the paper. As Claude pulls the book from Berger’s lap, the page rips off in Berger’s hand.
Berger looks surprised and then laughs, holds it up to show Claude.
“Definitely not going to be a dentist now,” Berger says.
Claude plucks the paper from Berger’s hand, then stares at it for a moment, words and cells blending together, an entire page of things that Claude doesn’t ever care to learn. He opens his hand and the breeze picks up the page, pulling it from Claude’s palm. It turns once in the air before falling onto the surface of the lake. Claude takes the book in his hands, grabbing several pages and pulling so that they rip out at once.
“Shit,” Berger says, laughing as he watches Claude throw the pages into the lake after the first.
Berger grabs the book back from Claude and tosses the entire thing into the water. They watch as it sinks.
“I needed that book,” Claude says when the book is gone from view. He tries hard to keep a straight face as he frowns over at Berger.
Berger is still laughing, open mouthed rocking laughter that Claude has always found infectious.
Claude cracks a smile just as Berger manages to stop long enough to say, “I’ll get it back for you then.”
And then before Claude can stop him, Berger throws himself off the steps and into the lake up to his waist. The water isn’t deep, but the steps are covered in algae and Berger slips and slides in all the way, his head disappearing beneath the surface for several seconds before he’s back, tossing the sopping book onto the edge by Claude’s feet.
“Jesus,” Claude says as Berger clambers out of the lake, dripping on Claude as Claude tries to slide out of the way. “You’re fucking insane, you know?”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Before Claude can escape he’s wrapped up in wet Berger. He clings to the steps, but Berger’s got better leverage and it’s only a matter of seconds before Claude is in the lake too, his ass hitting hard against the edge of a step as Berger dunks him under and holds him there for a few seconds. Claude comes up, coughing and laughing and pushing at Berger’s legs.
Berger is still chuckling as he helps Claude out of the lake. Claude sits back on the edge, soaked.
A group of young girls are sitting on the edge of the fountain behind him. They’re giggling at their antics and Berger turns to wave and smile at them. When they giggle in response he bows before turning his attention back to Claude.
“Got your book back,” Berger says, sitting back down beside Claude.
Claude groans and leans back until he’s lying on the concrete, staring up at the clear afternoon sky. The sun hurts his eyes and he squints, turns toward Berger instead. Berger leans over Claude so that his hair hangs over his face, the dark strands dripping onto Claude’s skin. Berger’s blocking the sun for him, but Claude wipes at his face and pushes Berger away anyway.
“So what do you want to do?” Berger asks, back to square one.
Claude doesn’t care. Claude could sit here forever.
When Claude doesn’t answer, Berger asks again.
“Who do you want to do?”
“What?” Claude says, catching the change only after he’s already shrugged his response.
“Sheila,” Berger says, supplying and answer for Claude.
Claude turns to watch Berger in profile. Berger’s lying on his back, face toward the sky. He has a hand over his eyes. Claude isn’t sure he heard the question correctly, doesn’t really want to ask for clarification on the answer, but Berger doesn’t continue and eventually Claude gives in.
“What about her?” he asks.
Berger’s quiet for a little while longer and then he says, “You should have kissed her. She likes you, man.”
“I’m not going to kiss Sheila,” Claude sighs.
“You could kiss me,” Berger offers. “Then I’ll kiss her for you, tell you what it’s like.”
Claude sits up and turns so he’s looking down at Berger. Berger shields his eyes and smiles up at Claude, at his own joke. His lips pucker for a second, an invisible kiss aimed at Claude. Claude rolls his eyes, reaches out to push at Berger’s knee.
Berger kicks at him, a halfhearted gesture, and then Berger’s smile slides into a grin and he says, “Oh. Claudio. You’ve kissed someone before, right?”
Claude, surprised at Berger’s sudden silly attack on his manhood, laughs in Berger’s face before pushing himself up off the stairs. He grabs his bag and slings it onto his shoulder before walking away, leaving Berger soaked on the steps with a pile of wet biology.
**
“We aren’t married, you know,” Berger says a few days later, apparently unwilling to let this just drop.
“I know,” Claude says. He knows all about Berger and Dionne, Berger and everyone. He knows that sometimes Sheila doesn’t come home for a week and he’s never heard Berger ask her once where she’s been.
Berger doesn’t say anything more on the subject. He doesn’t have to. He’s found a better way to prove his point.
When Lily Stevens cornered Claude outside of his house one morning and begged him to take her with him, begged her to introduce him to the new group he’s been spending all of his time with, Claude had reluctantly agreed. He liked Lily a lot. They’d been together for over a year and when they broke up, they stayed kind of close. He understands her, gets that she’s just as lost as he is, gets that she feels just as trapped. So he brought her with him into the city, introduced her to Berger and Sheila, Jeanie, Crissy, Hud.
Now he thinks maybe it was a mistake, because now Claude has to spend the afternoon watching Berger hang all over the girl that was almost never going to be his fiancée. He thinks it shouldn’t bother him. He and Lily were never right for each other. They both knew that at the beginning. He’d fooled around with another girl while they were dating and he knew that Lily had fooled around too. They told each other these things and Claude had never been jealous, never been upset, because Claude never really loved Lily Stevens.
There’s really no reason for Claude to turn away in disgust when Berger kisses Lily, playful possessive kisses that have Lily mock struggling as she laughs into Berger’s mouth. Claude’s stomach aches while he watches them and he tries to distract himself. He thinks that if anything, this should prove that he’s right to try to get over Sheila. It couldn’t work. Berger would end up turning away from him in disgust, pushing him away. He curls around Jeanie with his nose in her hair and thinks about how that’s the last thing he’d ever want.
Jeanie’s been seeing a boy named Harvey and she tells Claude all about it as Claude watches Berger kiss Lily’s neck from around the fall of Jeanie’s hair.
“He’s so beautiful, Claude,” Jeanie says. “He gets everyone. He could meet you tomorrow and a minute later you’d feel like he’s known you forever. It’s so groovy. He’s talented and beautiful and he’s going to change the world.”
“Uh huh,” Claude says, watching Berger’s hands as they paw at Lily’s breasts, at Lily’s ass.
Jeanie isn’t stupid. She can tell that Claude is distracted. She sets her hand on his knee and turns, her nose bumping against his cheek. They laugh at their own clumsiness and then Jeanie follows the direction of Claude’s eyes and spots them.
“You and Lily used to be together,” Jeanie says.
“Yeah,” Claude agrees. “For a while.”
“You know, I bet if you asked Berger, told him that it upsets you, he’d back off.”
“It doesn’t upset me,” Claude says, the words rushing too fast.
“I just mean -“
“It’s just, you know. Sheila’s so -“ Claude starts before trailing off. Sheila doesn’t care about this. Claude doesn’t know why he should care.
“Claude?” Jeanie asks.
“Nevermind.” Claude kisses the top of Jeanie’s head as he stands.
He’s about to go when he hears Sheila laughing behind him. He turns, drawn to her voice. She’s talking with Dionne and Angela and when she sees Claude, she smiles. He goes to her, hugs her. He sighs into her hair and feels her kiss his shoulder and he finally starts to relax. But then Berger is there, pulling Claude away from Sheila, pulling him away from the group.
“What?” Claude asks. Sighs, really.
Berger is high, gone, and he shushes Claude, a finger pressed to Claude’s lips, and then he laughs.
“You and Sheila,” Berger says. “I can make it happen. Tonight.”
“I don’t -“ Claude starts, and then he actually listens to what Berger is saying. He pushes Berger’s finger away from his mouth and pulls Berger even farther from the group. “I don’t want to sleep with Sheila,” he hisses.
It’s not entirely the truth and the look that Berger gives him leaves no doubt that Berger isn’t buying it.
“Claude,” Berger says. “Sheila - it’s just love, man.“
“I don’t care,” Claude insists. “Why are you doing this? When are you gonna stop pushing?”
“It’s love,” Berger says again. His fingers dance over the front of Claude’s shirt before they disappear.
Claude watches Berger, watches as Berger smiles for just a second before the edges of his mouth fall back into a line as he waits for Claude’s response.
“Have you told her?” Claude asks then, horrified that he never thought that this was a possibility before. He sees it now, Berger and Sheila curled together on Sheila’s bed, laughing at Claude’s crush. He sees Berger suggesting these things to Sheila, envisions the way Sheila face would scrunch up as she laughs and pushes Berger away. Claude’s whole face feels hot. He doesn’t know what to do with his arms, crosses them over his chest.
“Did you tell her that I - you did. You told her.”
“What?” Berger says, confused.
“She knows,” Claude says again.
“No,” Berger says. He’s serious now and Claude watches his face, looks for signs that he might be lying, doesn’t find any. Berger is quiet for a solid minute, eyes large as he stares at Claude. He isn’t lying and Claude relaxes a little, breathes and thinks that maybe Berger’s finally going to let it go. Maybe Berger finally sees how awkward this is for him, how embarrassing. Maybe Berger will finally stop pushing and go back to just being Claude’s best friend.
“Claudio,” Berger says then, breaking the silence. “Claude, come home with us tonight, yeah?”
And that’s it. Claude has tried to move away from this, but Berger will keep pushing. Berger reaches for him, tries to hug him, and Claude snaps, tells Berger to fuck off and leave it alone. Berger laughs, but his face looks like Claude slapped him and he’s quiet the rest of the afternoon. Claude, still irritated, spends the day with Jeanie and Woof instead.
In the evening they lie together in the grass.
It’s been weeks since Claude thought about Manchester, but he thinks about it that evening. He even tells Woof about his plan of escape. Jeanie hums beside them, her fingers threaded between Claude’s.
“How’re you gonna get there?” Woof asks.
“I’ll hitch hike across the Atlantic,” Claude says, accent in full swing.
“You could swim,” Woof suggests.
“I’ll swim then,” Claude agrees.
“I’d come with you,” Woof says. “Except I can’t swim. I think I sink.”
Claude laughs.
“And I’m afraid of sharks.”
“I guess I’ll have to mail a postcard,” Claude says.
They’re quiet for a while, listening to Jeanie’s humming. The leaves above them dance with the soft sounds, like Jeanie’s choreographed them herself. Claude tries to figure out the song, but can’t. He’s close, almost has the next notes on the tip of his tongue when Woof says, “I’ll miss you.”
Claude leans his head on Woof’s shoulder. He talks of grand plans, but none of it ever feels real for him. He tells Woof he’ll swim across the Atlantic Ocean and Woof is already missing him now that he’s gone, but Claude can’t picture himself ever leaving this tiny patch of grass. He wishes he had a little more Woof in him. Claude thinks that Woof’s the kind of guy who can make things happen just by believing that they might. Fantastic things that no one else ever bothers to believe in. Not really.
“I’ll miss you too,” Claude says.
Woof turns and kisses him then, a simple press of lips. It’s nice, feeling like he belongs, feeling like he’s a part of this, and he reaches up to touch Woof’s face. Woof is beautiful and full of life and love and a special sort of energy that is so a part of him that Claude can’t even find the words to describe it.
When Woof turns away and Claude opens his eyes, it’s Berger that Claude sees looking back at him from where he sits beneath a nearby tree. Berger doesn’t look away when Claude catches his eye, just keeps watching, his mouth relaxed in a line that isn’t exactly a smile or a frown. After a moment Claude becomes unsure if Berger is really looking at him at all, if maybe he’s looking but not seeing, lost in his own world. He smiles at Berger and Berger looks down, picks at a tear in his jeans and doesn’t look up again. Eventually Claude shrugs and leans back, watches the leaves dance above his head and thinks about England.
**
He’s nearly asleep when he feels movement in the grass beside him. He expects it to be Woof, so he’s surprised when it’s Berger’s voice he hears close by his ear.
“You staying?” Berger asks, his voice quieter than Claude is used to.
Claude hums in agreement. Flushing feels a thousand miles away, as unreachable as Manchester ever was.
“Me too,” Berger says.
He expects Berger to keep talking, expects that the reason for Berger’s question must relate to some new scheme Berger has worked up, a grand plan to pass the night that Berger can’t pull off without implicating Claude. It’ll be ridiculous and amazing and it will be Berger’s apology. Claude waits, but he never gets to hear the plan. Berger kisses him instead.
Claude isn’t sure what to do at first. It isn’t that - he’s kissed Berger before, but it’s always been casual, a passing affection, a spontaneous burst of emotion over as soon as it started. This kiss isn’t that. This kiss isn’t something that disappears with a smile, a wave of a hand, equivalent to a hug or a pat on the back. Berger has been thinking about this kiss, planning it. Claude can feel it in the tentative slide of Berger’s lips, the way that Berger is careful that he’s only touching Claude with his mouth in case he’s made a mistake and Claude plans to push him away.
Knowing that Berger planned this when Berger goes extra lengths to plan nothing has Claude’s heart beating that much faster. When Berger’s tongue touches Claude’s lower lip, just for a moment, just to test, to taste, Claude feels the touch all the way to the tips of his fingers and down to the soles of his feet. His intake of breath is sharp and sudden and Berger almost manages to disappear before Claude can reach for him, pull him back.
It’s the assurance that Berger needs and his hand moves up to touch Claude’s cheek, just lightly, fingers not sure if they’re crossing a line. He kisses Claude again.
It doesn’t go any farther than that. Two short kisses and then Berger’s hand is gone, his mouth is gone. He rolls away, settling in the grass with his head against Claude’s chest, their bodies perpendicular. Claude’s fingers pull at Berger’s curls where they rest on his shirt. He wants to say something about it, ask what it means. It felt like an apology, but there was more there. Claude wants to know, but when he opens his mouth the words don’t come. He thinks talking about it might ruin it and he settles for pushing Berger’s hair back from his forehead with his hand instead. Berger closes his eyes and doesn’t open them again. Eventually Claude falls asleep there, comforted by the weight of Berger against him.
Part 2/3
Pairings: Claude/Berger, Berger/Sheila, Claude/Jeanie, Claude/Lily
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~23,000
Disclaimer: 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.
Summary: Claude’s never known exactly what he wants, but he’s pretty sure he wants Berger.
The First Move
Claude meets Jeanie a few months after he drops out of school. He’s sitting in Central Park meditating. Trying to meditate. Mostly he’s waiting until his classes are over so he can go home without his mother getting suspicious. It’s almost summer. A few more weeks and he’ll have made it an entire semester without his folks catching on. By next fall Claude will have a new plan worked out and no one will need to know that he gave up on a future that he never really wanted to begin with.
So Claude waits and plans it all out. In a year he’ll be in England. An entirely new person. He isn’t sure how he’ll get there yet, but when he arrives he’ll disappear and Flushing will never hear from him again. He’ll start over. He’ll do everything he’s ever wanted to do. He’ll really be someone. Or no one, if it turns out that’s what he wants.
And that’s when she spots him. His eyes are closed, so when she says, “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he starts and she laughs.
“What?” Claude asks and clears his throat.
“You feel it, don’t you?” she says, “Free from your body? Like you’re floating above yourself. Everything seems so - Oh, I interrupted you. I’m sorry.”
He stares at her, taking her in. She’s a tiny girl, dwarfed by her flowing dress, her blonde hair falling in sharp curves over her shoulders. Her hair is like the mane of a lion, but other than the hair she doesn’t seem much like a lion at all.
“I’m Jeanie,” the girl says.
She kneels beside him and takes his hand in both of hers. She smells sweet, like summer grass and the joint she finished smoking shortly before she found him. Her cheeks are pink and she waits for his name with dark eyes.
“Claude,” Claude says, then coughs. When he opens his mouth again it’s with his best imitation of all the accents he’s ever heard in the movies. Later he’ll tell himself that he meant it as practice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He doesn’t think she’ll believe him. He’s sure she’ll see right through him, but she grins wide and says, “You’re English!”
She sets her forehead on his shoulder and Claude turns just a little so that his nose rests against the curls of her hair.
Things moved quickly from there. Claude spends the afternoon telling Jeanie about Manchester, even though Claude has no idea what Manchester is actually like. Turns out Jeanie doesn’t seem to know either. He tells her he’s trying to get home, that all he needs is a ticket and he’ll leave New York behind for good. She frowns and they argue about the city, about its draw.
“It’s like gravity,” Jeanie insists. “You can’t fight gravity, Claude.”
Eventually, late in the afternoon, Claude lets the accent begin to slip from his voice. He likes Jeanie. He likes talking with her, holding her, arguing. He wants to keep talking with Jeanie and for that to happen, the charade has to end.
When he tells her, she stares at him for a solid minute before she looks down and smiles and says, “You’re an actor, huh?”
“No,” Claude says. “Sorry.”
And then, because he can’t resist the downward curve of her mouth, he kisses her.
**
They’re together for three days before she begs him to meet her by the Great Lawn at ten so that she can introduce him to her friends. Claude stands on the path with his shoes in his hand and his toes in the grass and wonders how Jeanie will ever find him in the dark. The park is quiet. A couple walks by with two dogs, their voices hushed. Claude hears laughter across the lawn. He doesn’t wear a watch, but he asked a man the time as he got off the train. It must be close to ten by now. He taps two fingers against his bare wrist, counts the seconds as he waits.
“Hey, man.” A voice says from directly behind him. Claude didn’t hear anyone approach and he jumps at the sudden interruption. A hand slides across Claude’s shoulders before coming to rest lightly on his right. “You got any change? A dollar, maybe?”
Claude turns quickly and takes a step back. The guy’s hand falls from his arm and he holds both up, open palms. His hair is a dark brown mass of curls and Claude can tell even in the dim light from the streetlamps that the bare skin of his chest is tanned. He notices Claude taking him in and he waits patiently for Claude to meet his eyes again. When Claude does, the guy smiles, a flash of white teeth in the dark.
Claude looks away quickly, pats the pockets of his jeans and then says, “No, sorry.”
The guy shrugs, doesn’t press. He smiles at Claude again and then turns, disappears across the lawn in the direction of the laughter. Claude stares into the dark after him. He has some money in his back pocket, just enough to get him home to Flushing. He wonders if he’d had extra if he would have offered it up. He sees that flash of white teeth again and he thinks that maybe he would have.
When Jeanie appears behind him a moment later, her arms wrapping around him from behind, Claude starts a second time.
“You’re always lost in your head,” Jeanie says and kisses his right shoulder, right where the guy had rested his hand. “It makes you so easy to surprise.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d find me,” Claude says.
“You’re exactly where I asked you to be,” Jeanie points out. “I could have found you with my eyes closed.”
She takes his empty hand and kisses his palm, smiles as she pulls him across the lawn in the same direction as the guy asking for change. She finally stops in the middle of a group of lounging kids that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the lawns of the campus where Claude is still pretending that he’s enrolled in class.
“So this is everyone,” Jeanie says with a shrug. She hugs his arm and raises her voice a little and says, “Everyone, this is Claude.”
Jeanie has a lot of friends. There are at least twenty people in the group, maybe more. Some of them nod in Claude’s direction. There’s a scattered chorus of ‘hello’s and ‘hey man’s. Claude feels awkward, waves. And then he notices the guy from the other side of the lawn. He’s lying on his side in the grass, his head in the lap of the most beautiful black woman Claude’s ever seen. She nods when she sees Claude watching.
The guy shifts, kisses the woman, stands. He’s by Claude’s side in a moment, his face close. Claude wants to look away, but doesn’t.
“Who’s he?” the guy asks, reaches out to pull at a piece of Claude’s hair. They’re nearly the same height. Claude might be an inch taller. He thinks he must be just a bit taller because the guy straightens his posture trying to compensate.
“This is Berger,” Jeanie says.
“Oh,” Claude says. “Hey.” He holds out a hand for Berger to shake. Berger laughs and slings an arm around Claude’s shoulders instead, dislodging Jeanie from Claude’s arm. Claude’s shoes fall to the ground as he’s pulled in for a hug.
“Where’d you find him?” Berger asks.
“I’m on holiday,” Claude says, the words muffled a little against Berger’s shoulder. Berger releases him, his eyebrows raised at the accent.
“Holiday,” Berger repeats, mimicking Claude’s pronunciation. Claude can tell by the way his eyes shine that Berger doesn’t buy the accent for a second, even before Berger turns to wink at Jeanie. “Well, come on, man. You just found the best tour guide in the city.”
Berger drags him away from Jeanie, pulls him around the group, stopping at individual gatherings to introduce Claude as his new friend, just arrived from England. Claude’s face burns with embarrassment, but he has to play along now, keeps the accent as he’s introduced to Woof and Crissy, Lancaster, Angela, Dionne. Claude won’t remember anyone’s name. He’s concentrating on the accent, keeps it up the entire time. He knows that Berger is doing this to him on purpose, testing him, but he refuses to give in.
When all of the introductions have been made, Berger pulls Claude aside. Claude looks back, searches the group for Jeanie and finds her talking to the cute redhead, Crissy. Jeanie grins and nods, waves him away, excited to see he’s making friends. Berger pulls a joint from his back pocket and lights it, passes it to Claude.
“Thanks,” Claude says.
Berger nods, quiet as he watches Claude bring the joint to his lips. When Claude returns it, Berger’s fingers brush against his and Claude pulls his hand back quickly, turns away.
Berger clears his throat and says, “Where are you from? Your folks from London or something?”
Claude laughs and shakes his head, happy to end the game. “Flushing,” he says.
“Flushing,” Berger repeats. “Really? I could have sworn you were from London.”
“Okay, okay,” Claude says.
Berger nods and smiles. Claude stares at the way Berger’s mouth curves into it, at the way Berger’s fingers pull at the fringe on his vest with the hand not holding the joint. It reminds Claude of the hours he used to spend sitting in a classroom with James, of the way that James would tap the eraser of his pencil on the desk when he didn’t know what to say.
Berger is quiet and now Claude is the one who doesn’t know what to say. He clears his throat and tries. “You remind me of this guy I knew.”
“Yeah?” Berger asks, looking up. “We could be twins? Separated at birth, maybe?”
“No,” Claude says. “No, James was nothing like you.”
“What?” Berger says and then laughs. Claude laughs too.
Berger takes a long drag from the joint. He coughs once and then says, “That was the worst accent I’ve ever heard, you know.”
“It’s not that bad,” Claude defends.
“Jeanie believed it, didn’t she?”
Claude shrugs.
“Yeah, she did. You charmed her until she let you right in under her skirt.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Claude protests. He’d dropped the accent as soon as he realized Jeanie was someone he actually wanted to know, still hours before they first slept together.
“Bummer,” Berger says. His fingers reach out now to touch the fabric at the edge of Claude’s shirt. They pull a little, exposing the skin above Claude’s belt. Claude pushes Berger’s hand away and pulls his shirt back down. Jeanie’s hair might look like the mane of a lion, but it’s Berger that’s circling, testing boundaries, setting them. Berger’s eyes meet Claude’s again. They stand there for a minute, just watching each other, until finally it’s Berger who looks away.
**
From the time Claude Bukowski was born, Claude’s parents had his life planned for him. They let him spend the first part of it blissfully free, unaware of any plans as a world of possibility opened up around him. Right up until his tenth birthday when his parents took him to Coney Island. That was the day Claude decided that when he grew up he was going to join the circus.
His parents laughed and his father ruffled his hair and told Claude that he would never have to join any circuses. His father had it all worked out. When Claude grew up he’d have a job by his father’s side at his father’s dental practice. They’d work together until Claude’s father was ready to retire and then the practice would be all Claude’s.
“Wow, Thank you,” Claude said, because he was ten years old and that seemed like the thing to do.
He spent the next three years dreaming about trapeze artists and lion tamers.
**
Claude shoves the text books that he hasn’t opened in weeks into his bag, kisses his mother’s cheek, and steps out onto the front steps to find Berger leaning against the gate.
Berger smiles at him and Claude stares until Berger eventually says, “What’s up?”
“What are you doing here?” Claude asks. He looks back toward the door to see if his parents are watching. His mother was washing dishes and he doesn’t see her at the window now. He nearly trips on the steps as he rushes toward Berger and then stops short, not sure why any of this should be that big a deal. Still, when Berger reaches out to touch his arm, Claude finds himself glancing back at the windows a second time.
It’s silly. If his mother happens to come outside now, he could just tell her that Berger is a friend from school. He’s talked about people he’s met at school before. His parents met James, though Claude can tell they never liked him. Berger’s presence won’t give him away.
“How did you know where I live?” Claude asks again.
Berger shrugs. “Asked Jeanie. I’ve never been to Flushing.”
“You took the train all the way out here?”
“Sure,” Berger says.
“Why?”
Berger looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “Because I’ve never been to Flushing.”
“Okay, then,” Claude starts, kind of lost as to where they should go from here. “I guess I should show you around.”
“Let’s go,” Berger agrees. He slaps a hand against Claude’s back and guides Claude down the sidewalk of his own neighborhood like Berger already owns the place. Old Man Clive is on his front porch and Berger waves to him. Clive scowls, but nods. Old Man Clive usually ignores Claude altogether.
Claude has a hard time coming up with places in his neighborhood that Berger might find interesting. He shows Berger the grocery store he worked at after he graduated from high school. They walk by Margaret Thompson’s house, Claude’s mother’s best friend who used to sing Claude to sleep on the nights his parents needed a sitter. Claude doesn’t mention that, thinks it might sound lame. Instead, he shows Berger the corner where some kid he hardly knew punched him in the stomach for looking at a girl he hadn’t actually looked at. Finally they end up in front of the movie theater that Claude’s been going to for as long as he can remember.
“You ever sneak in?” Berger asks.
Claude just laughs, then leads him around the corner to a side entrance. Employees use the side entrance to take breaks and the door is usually locked, but Lily Stevens told Claude all about her ex-boyfriend who used to work weekends at the theater and Claude knows that the spare key is hidden beneath the loose wooden slat of a crate to the right of the door. Berger seems impressed when Claude presents the key.
They spend the afternoon draped across the seats in the back of the theater, laughing at the screen, at each other. Afterward, out on the sidewalk, Claude catches himself staring at Berger, at the easy way that Berger’s expression lights up when he smiles, at the bands of leather Berger wraps around his wrist. Claude has never felt like he’s fit in anywhere, but Berger seems like he’s at home everywhere. Berger makes the world fit him. Claude doesn’t know Berger, not really, but he wants to know him. Claude thinks that maybe they’re on their way to being great friends. It’s been a long time since Claude had a really good friend.
Berger catches him staring, but Claude doesn’t look away. He opens his mouth to say something good, something that means something.
“You have nice teeth,” he blurts instead.
Berger looks confused for a moment and then he grins, purposely showing off his nice teeth. Claude shakes his head and rolls his eyes, pushes at Berger’s shoulder. Berger grabs at Claude’s arm in response, wraps a hand around Claude’s wrist and squeezes a little as they head to the bus stop. He releases Claude after a moment, but doesn’t step away and every once in a while their arms brush. When Claude shifts, walking a little further away from Berger, Berger follows. Claude doesn’t say anything, but the next time Berger’s arm brushes against his, Claude smiles.
**
Claude was sixteen when he stopped trying in school. He wanted to get out of high school, so he didn’t give up completely. He just did exactly as much as he needed to do to get by. He was quiet about it at first, just stopped studying as hard for exams, stopped paying attention in class. It was a while before his parents noticed, and even longer before they saw it as part of a bigger problem.
“So you’re just going to be a bum,” his father concluded, two months before Claude was to graduate. “And what will happen to the practice, huh? It’s the family business, Claude.”
“I don’t care about teeth,” Claude said, his mouth set in a stubborn line.
A dentist. It sounded okay at ten years old. At ten, Claude still thought his father was the center of the world. But by eighteen, Claude’s father’s office had stopped seeming like a wonderful place and had started to become a prison, just waiting for Claude Bukowski’s arrival.
“Take a year off then,” his mother had offered. “Work, find yourself, and then go to school. You can be a lawyer. You can work for Uncle Marty if you think your father’s got it so bad.”
“I don’t want to be a lawyer, Mother,” Claude said.
“He wants to be a bum,” his father repeated. “Look at him. A bum.”
Claude turned to leave, tired of this argument, tired of his parents not understanding him, not understanding anyone but themselves.
“Where are you going?” his mother asked. She reached for his arm and he shook her off.
“I’m joining the circus,” Claude said as he stormed out onto the sidewalk. As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, Claude took a deep breath, letting the cool spring air fill his lungs. He could smell summer in it, the scent of promised heat and promised freedom.
“Hey,” a voice said, and Claude turned to see his neighbor, Lily Stevens, sitting on the stoop.
“Hey, Lily,” Claude sighed. He’d known Lily since they were kids. They weren’t really friends, stopped spending time together around the same time Claude’s father took the training wheels off his bicycle.
“Fight?” Lily asked. Claude remembers she was holding a cigarette between her fingers and she brought it to her lips then, inhaled, coughed.
“Yeah,” Claude said. He shrugged and moved to sit beside her on the stoop. “You know how it is. Parents. My dad thinks that because he gets to pull teeth while sitting in a chair now instead of standing, it means that I should be thrilled to do it too.”
“My mother wants me to marry my second cousin,” Lily said.
“Really?”
“No,” Lily said. “I just felt like I was suffocating in there.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“So you’re joining a circus, huh?”
Claude laughed. “Maybe!”
They sat there for a while, enjoying being young and together with a long summer looming on the horizon. Old Man Clive hobbled out of his home across the street, setting a small bag of trash on the curb. His wrinkled face stared at Claude and Lily for a moment before he pushed his hat down on his head and turned to start the journey back to his door. Lily finished her cigarette and then she touched her fingers to Claude’s shoulder. When he turned to look at her, she kissed him.
**
“I missed you,” Jeanie says when he catches up with her near Bethesda Fountain.
Claude laughs and takes her hand when she reaches for him. “You just saw me.”
Jeanie shrugs. It’s only been a few hours since he left her at her girlfriend’s apartment, riding the empty subway back to Flushing in the early hours of the morning. She reaches for his other hand and intertwines their fingers as she leans in to kiss him. Her body is warm pressed against his and he slides his hands from hers, leans forward into her kiss, cupping her flushed cheeks in his palms. Jeanie’s arms slide around his waist. Her kisses are sweet and soft, kisses that Claude wouldn’t mind soaking in all afternoon.
“Claude!” Berger shouts from beneath the terrace. His voice echoes against the walls, disturbing the tourists eating lunch above.
Jeanie makes a noise into their kiss, a response to Berger’s shout even though Berger would never be able to hear it from that distance. She kisses Claude again and then releases him just as Berger bounds up to them, grabbing Claude by the arm and swinging him around.
“Claude, let’s go,” Berger says. He’s jumpy and excited as he reaches out to squeeze Jeanie’s shoulder in greeting. She smiles at him and rubs her hand across his back.
“Where are we going?” Claude asks.
There is always somewhere. Swimming in the pond, or the lake, shouting obscenities over the side of the Brooklyn Bridge. They spend entire days exploring abandoned apartment buildings and factories.
One afternoon Berger grabs Claude’s bag from his shoulder. Claude lets it slide off of his arm and watches as Berger checks the contents.
“Books?” Berger says, confused. “You’ve got this bag with you all the time. It’s just books.”
Claude shrugs and pulls at the strap. Berger doesn’t release the bag.
“I was - my parents think I’m in school.”
“Really?”
Claude pulls harder at the bag and Berger releases it, dropping so it swings on the strap and knocks hard against Claude’s knee.
“Well, I mean, I was. I was taking classes at Queensborough,” Claude explains. “I dropped out. I just haven’t exactly gotten around to - The semester is almost over and, I don’t know. It’s not really good dinner conversation, I guess.”
“Man,” Berger says. He sets a hand on Claude’s back and tilts his head up toward the sky. “I should drop out.”
Claude slings the bag back over his shoulder, the weight of the books familiar against his hip. “You’re in college?”
“Nah,” Berger says, smiles. “High school.”
Claude laughs. “You’re kidding.”
Berger turns his face from the sky, looks at Claude instead. He shrugs.
”How old are you?”
Berger shrugs again. “I took a few years off.”
“And you went back?” Claude asks. He thought about dropping out of high school a lot when he was still there. He never once thinks about going back.
“I guess,” Berger says. “Hey, whatever, man. It was Sheila’s idea.”
“Sheila?” Claude repeats. Berger starts walking and Claude falls back into step beside him. “She your girlfriend?”
“You don’t -,” Berger starts, confused, then nods his head in realization. “You haven’t met Sheila yet. Claude, you’re going to love Sheila.”
They spend the next few days sneaking into movies and convincing tourists to buy them dinners. Sometimes they spend all afternoon just lying in the grass of the park. Sometimes Jeanie comes with them, sometimes Woof is there, and Crissy and Dionne and Hud. Sometimes it’s just Claude and Berger, not even talking, lying there quietly and moving only to pass the joint between them.
It’s not long before it happens. Claude and Jeanie begin to drift.
He still likes Jeanie a lot. It isn’t that. Sometimes they sleep together, sleep wrapped in each other, and the sex is great, but even then they both feel it. They’re drifting. Claude comes into Manhattan and spends his time with Berger and Woof and Hud, but doesn’t see Jeanie at all. She stops telling him that she missed him, though her kisses are just as sweet, her hands are just as warm. Soon Claude realizes that he’s spent more time with Berger than he ever did with Jeanie, that he knows Berger better than he knows Jeanie.
And then Berger introduces him to Sheila.
**
Berger was so right.
Sheila is a goddess, a genius, amazing. He’s never met anyone quite like Sheila. He’s never met anyone with that much determination, that much capacity for love or that much conviction that every tomorrow can be better than every today. Claude thinks that if everyone was more like Sheila, maybe every tomorrow would be better.
The only problem is that if everyone was more like Sheila, there couldn’t be anyone like Berger. Without Berger, Claude never would have met Sheila. He would have continued to go through life aimless, wanting England this minute, New York the next, helpless to change or do anything. Sheila is a gift and when Claude looks at them his heart fills and he has to stop himself from kissing Berger in thanks.
He watches Berger kiss Sheila, watches the way she folds against him, and his whole body aches with it. He thinks he should be jealous of what they have, but all he feels is a vague yearning to wrap himself around them both, never let them go.
He doesn’t do it. Instead he just watches, doesn’t close his eyes until Berger’s large hands find their way to Sheila’s backside, pulling her closer in a sudden move that has Sheila gasping into his mouth right before she starts to laugh.
If the world was full of Sheila’s, every tomorrow would be better, but they’d lose all the Berger’s. The world needs people like Berger. Claude’s definitely never met anyone anything at all like him. Berger doesn’t worry if tomorrow will be better than today. He never worries about tomorrow at all.
Claude’s only known her a few days, less than a full week, but he thinks he’s in love with her. He’s never been in love before, not really, but he’s pretty sure he’s in love with Sheila. He can feel it when he looks at her. He can feel it when he watches Berger with her, the warmth flooding his skin, prickling at his arms. He can pick her voice out from across a crowd. He falls asleep with the sound of their laughter in his ears.
“I know, you know,” Berger says and then laughs at himself, at the repetition of the words.
“What do I know you know?” Claude says so now Berger is laughing at him a little too.
Berger reaches out, his hand wraps around the back of Claude’s neck. Claude shivers a little at the touch. Berger’s palm is cool against his skin as Claude leans in to hear Berger’s big secret revealed.
“I know you love her,” Berger says.
Claude’s breath catches in his throat and he wonders what comes next. He thinks this might be the end of all of it, of him and Berger, of feeling like he finally belongs to something. He wants to deny it, but Berger is smart, Berger will know if he’s lying just as Berger knew right away that Claude Bukowski wasn’t from Manchester.
“How do you know?” Claude says finally.
Berger shrugs, smiles. “I know you.”
Claude stands there, waits for Berger to say something more. When he doesn’t, Claude says, “I’d never - you know I wouldn’t -“
He stops when Berger screws up his face and waves his hands in front of Claude.
“Hey, hey. Calm down, man,” Berger says. “It’s cool, all right?”
Claude isn’t really sure what that means, but Berger doesn’t seem upset, isn’t going to push Claude away. And it was never like Claude was going to try anything anyway. It’s better that it isn’t some weird thing between them. Berger’s become Claude’s best friend.
“All right,” Claude agrees.
Berger grabs Claude’s arm then, pulls him into a hug. Claude holds Berger tight and closes his eyes when he feels Berger’s mouth press against his shoulder. For that moment, that twenty seconds, he thought he’d lost them, and until those few seconds he didn’t know how much that might really matter. Berger feels warm now and Claude feels that warmth flood his gut and prickle along his arms as he wraps them tighter around Berger’s back.
**
Berger makes a game of it. Claude thinks he probably should have expected it. He knows Berger by now, knows that Berger will make light of anything if given the chance. Claude thought this would be different. Something that they let disappear, didn’t talk about, brushed under a rug and left there to collect dust.
“You should see her in bed,” Berger says instead, his hand cupped around his mouth as he whispers it loud and dramatic.
“Who?” Claude asks. If he’d been paying attention to Berger he would have known, wouldn’t have asked, but Berger knew that Claude was talking to Crissy, knew that he wasn’t listening to her either, was watching Sheila sit on a nearby bench reading a book and laughing with Dionne.
Berger grabs Claude’s arm and pulls him away from Crissy. Crissy protests, but doesn’t follow.
“Sheila,” Berger says. He’s holding Claude’s arm and he leans in close to Claude’s ear as he says her name, each syllable carefully articulated, low, so that Claude can feel the word in his throat.
“What?” Claude asks, and the word catches, sounds high and thin.
“You should see her in bed,” Berger repeats.
“Berger, I don’t -“ Claude starts, but stops short when Berger reaches up and covers Claude’s mouth with his hand.
“Naked,” Berger says. “And there’s - Claude. The sex -”
“Stop,” Claude tries to say, but the words are muffled against Berger’s palm.
“She’d probably let you,” Berger adds. “She likes you. I’d let you.”
Claude pushes Berger’s hand away and shakes his head. “Come on. We’re friends,” he says.
“I know,” Berger agrees, confused.
Claude doesn’t know what else to say. He walks away instead, or tries to. Berger follows.
“Leave me alone,” Claude tries.
“Claude,” Berger reaches for him, grabs Claude’s arm, his palm sliding down from Claude’s elbow to grip Claude’s hand in his. “I -“ Berger pauses and Claude waits, becomes impatient, rolls his eyes.
“What?”
Berger opens his mouth to continue, but then Sheila is there, wrapping her arms around Claude and squeezing him around the middle.
“Claude,” Sheila says. It sounds so different falling from her lips, lighter, not at all the same as when Berger said it just moments earlier. “You are just the people I was looking for.”
She releases her grip on Claude, moving to Berger, standing on her toes to kiss his mouth. Claude watches them, reaches out to touch the ends of her strawberry gold hair.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” Berger asks, holding her to him and kissing the tip of her nose.
“I need help distributing fliers for the protest next week,” Sheila says. She turns to look at Claude over her shoulder. “I thought if you just planned to lie around here all day anyway - “
Berger sucks in his breath and carefully removes her arms from around his waist.
“I can’t,” he says.
“Why not?” Sheila asks. She’s smiling and she reaches out to hook her fingers with Berger’s.
“Because I’m busy today,” Berger says. He swings his hand in hers once and then shakes her fingers from his, takes a step back.
“Busy doing what? Berger -“
“Sheila,” Berger mimics.
Sheila laughs. It’s not a genuine laugh, more a mocking chuckle, as she pushes at Berger’s arm. “Just give me a hand with this. Please.”
“Claude can give you a hand,” Berger offers.
There it is, the reason Berger’s pushing Sheila away. He comes around now to stand behind Claude. Claude frowns and folds his arms across his chest, only to be wrapped in Berger from behind. Berger covers Claude’s hands with his own as he says, “Claude would give you both hands. Claude would give you -”
“I can help,” Claude says, cutting Berger off. He’s about to struggle, angry with Berger, angry at the way he can slip innuendo into anything. It’s not what he says, it’s the way he says it. He says it as though Claude’s already standing here undressing Sheila with those hands. He opens his mouth, about to argue, about to push Berger away, but Sheila is watching him now and when he looks at her, she smiles.
“You really wouldn’t mind?” Sheila asks.
Berger’s hips bump against Claude and Claude clears his throat and shakes his head.
“I want to help,” he agrees.
“Oh, groovy. Thank you, Claude. You’re the best.” Sheila’s grinning now. She’s reaching for his arm, pulling him away from Berger. Berger lets go.
“I’m not the best,” Claude counters. Berger laughs.
“I’ve made stacks of them,” she explains. “They’re at my place. We can stop by there, pick them up and then head over to the campus.
Berger hangs back, waves them off. After a few steps, Sheila pauses and says, “I’ll catch up, okay?”
She turns back to Berger. Claude wants to wait, figures she’ll probably just say goodbye. At first it seems that way, but it isn’t long before the conversation visibly turns heated. Berger’s still smiling, but then he shrugs, holds up his hands in surrender. Claude can’t hear their words, doesn’t know what it’s about. He assumes that Berger has said something stupid, that Sheila is upset that Berger refused to help her. He hopes that she can’t see through Berger as well as he can. He hopes that she can’t tell that the entire day is part of Berger’s big plan to torture Claude.
Sheila is fuming by the time she returns to Claude. She doesn’t say anything, just slides her hand around Claude’s. Claude fingers press against the back of Sheila’s hand and he lets her pull him until they are free of the park.
**
Sheila simmers the entire ride downtown, but by the time they reach her apartment to pick up the fliers, she’s showing signs of cooling off.
Eventually Claude can’t hold it back any longer, has to ask.
“Are you okay, Sheila?”
“Yeah,” Sheila says. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just Berger, you know? Sometimes I can’t take him.”
“Yeah,” Claude agrees.
“He’s unpredictable, irresponsible, immature,” Sheila starts.
“But you - I mean, you’re in love with him, right?” Claude asks. He immediately feels like he’s prying and he’s surprised how much he wants her to say yes, surprised that he isn’t actually asking the question for himself.
“He drives me crazy,” Sheila says. “He’s so frustrating. But he’s beautiful and passionate. He tries to hide it, but his heart is enormous. He’s so in the moment. Every moment.” She closes her eyes and smiles as she thinks about Berger. All bad feelings from earlier in the day dry up, disappearing with her words.
“I’m completely crazy about him,” Sheila concludes. Her eyebrows raise with the words, like they still surprise her.
Claude watches her, the glow of her cheeks and the curve of her mouth. He wants to kiss her like this, forget about the fliers and the war. He wants to kiss her.
He remembers the conversation he had with Berger, remembers how Berger brushed off his promise to stay away from Sheila. He wonders how Berger would react if he kissed Sheila now.
Sheila opens her eyes, her expression soft and inviting as she looks at Claude. He could kiss her now. He could taste the lips he’s watched Berger taste, feel how her mouth feels against Berger’s. His hand will cradle her cheek the same way that he’s seen Berger’s so many times.
“You get it, right?” Sheila says. “Berger. You’re crazy about him too.”
Claude looks away, embarrassed at his own thoughts. Berger’s his friend, could be the best friend he’s ever had, and here’s Claude Bukowski, fantasizing about kissing his best friend’s girlfriend.
“Yeah,” Claude says. “Yeah. I get it.”
They spend a few hours distributing Sheila’s fliers around the campus and then they take a break, settling on a bench. They share a sandwich and Sheila tells Claude about all of her plans. Claude listens, asks questions and promises that he’ll be there for every rally, every protest. When Sheila stops talking, Claude looks up from his sandwich to find her smiling at him.
“What?” Claude asks. He wipes at his mouth, convinced that he must have mustard on his cheek.
“Don’t worry, you’re fine,” Sheila says, ducking her head. “It’s just - this is nice. Thank you for helping me out today.”
Claude shrugs, isn’t sure what to say, goes with “If I’m going to pretend to be in college I might as well spend some time on a college campus, right?”
Sheila thinks about this for a moment and then says, “Why did you drop out?”
Claude shrugs again. “It’s just not what I want right now.”
“What do you want?”
“I guess I’m still trying to figure that out.”
Late in the afternoon they walk hand in hand to Sheila’s apartment. When they arrive at the top of the stairs, Sheila leans in on her tip-toes to kiss Claude’s cheek. Her fingers brush across his face and then she turns and tries the knob. The door is unlocked and Claude follows Sheila inside to find Berger and Woof sprawled on Sheila’s couch. Berger has his legs draped across Woof’s lap and he throws his arms up in greeting when he sees them enter.
“Sheila, baby,” Berger exclaims.
“And Claude, baby,” Woof adds, waving to Claude.
“Claude, baby,” Berger repeats agreeably.
Sheila crosses the room and takes one of Berger’s outstretched hands, their fingers intertwined.
“Hey, baby,” she says, then leans in to kiss him. It looks like she intends for the kiss to be quick, but Berger has other plans, his hand coming down to hold her against him as his tongue slides into her mouth.
Claude shifts and wishes he could make himself turn away, wishes he could be more like Woof, sitting seemingly oblivious on Sheila’s old couch, tapping his fingers against Berger’s leg in a lazy rhythm. Claude can’t look away, can’t not stare at the special way that they fit together. He can feel their kiss in his gut, wonders if this is what it would have felt like if he’d kissed Sheila himself.
“You still taste like you,” Berger says, when eventually Sheila pulls back and smiles down at him.
“What are you talking about?” Sheila laughs. She slaps him lightly on the cheek before she disappears into her bedroom.
Berger swings his legs out of Woof’s lap and stands. He takes a hold of Claude’s shoulders and when he starts to lean in, Claude thinks for a moment that Berger is going to kiss him. He closes his eyes and puts his hands up to Berger’s chest, ready to push away. He thinks about Berger and Sheila’s kiss and he feels his chest flutter with it, the beauty of it. Berger shifts at the last moment and Claude feels the press of Berger’s lips against his cheek, the same one that Sheila had pressed her lips to moments before.
“Oh,” Claude can’t help but say as he opens his eyes. Berger laughs and pushes at Claude’s arm before he’s gone too, the bedroom door shutting behind them.
Claude collapses onto the couch beside Woof. He still has a stack of fliers in his hand and he tosses them to the floor at Woof’s feet.
Woof shifts so that he’s facing Claude. He’s doesn’t say anything, just watches Claude, expectant, until finally Claude gives in and says, “What?”
“Tell me what happened,” Woof requests, taking one of Claude’s hands and wrapping it in both of his own.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been talking about it all day,” Woof clarifies. “You and Sheila. Sheila and you. Claude, what happened?”
“It wasn’t - nothing,” Claude says. He thinks about their kiss, Berger and Sheila, about the shape of their mouths meeting, and he feels flushed and confused. “Nothing happened.”
Woof’s thumb rubs against the side of Claude’s hand. He frowns as though he’s disappointed in Claude.
“Why not?” Woof asks.
Claude shrugs.
Woof releases Claude’s hand, reaches out and presses two fingers to Claude’s cheek. He holds them there for a second or two before he pulls his hand away, presses the fingers momentarily to his own lips, then reaches out to touch them to Claude’s. Claude isn’t sure what Woof is doing, but he kisses the tips of Woof’s fingers before he reaches up and removes Woof’s hand from his mouth, folds his fingers around Woof’s again.
There’s laughter on the other side of the bedroom door and Claude shakes his head and tries to ignore it.
“It wasn’t anything,” Claude says. “Berger was just kidding around.”
**
“Where do you want to go?” Berger asks him
Claude never has an answer. He lets Berger decide where they go, doesn’t care if they never leave these steps by the lake again. Berger doesn’t seem to have any ideas anyway. He pulls Claude’s bag across the step and into his lap. He opens it, slides out a text book.
“Biology,” Berger says, holds up the book.
Claude nods, the gesture half hearted and lazy.
Berger opens it and reads a few sentences on cell division aloud in a haughty upper crust accent of some sort. Claude laughs and tries to push the cover of the book shut on Berger’s hand. Berger pulls the book away and clears his throat, ready to read more.
“I wasn’t even taking biology,” Claude cuts in. “I was enrolled in all these english and history and art classes. My father thinks - I don’t know what he thinks. He thinks I’m taking biology. He thinks I’ll go on, eventually, I don’t know. He thinks I’m going to be a dentist.”
“Guess you’re not going to be a dentist?”
“No,” Claude laughs. “God, no.”
“Good,” Berger says. “I hate dentists.”
Claude reaches for the book again. Berger had paused in the middle of turning a page, his fingers still gripping the paper. As Claude pulls the book from Berger’s lap, the page rips off in Berger’s hand.
Berger looks surprised and then laughs, holds it up to show Claude.
“Definitely not going to be a dentist now,” Berger says.
Claude plucks the paper from Berger’s hand, then stares at it for a moment, words and cells blending together, an entire page of things that Claude doesn’t ever care to learn. He opens his hand and the breeze picks up the page, pulling it from Claude’s palm. It turns once in the air before falling onto the surface of the lake. Claude takes the book in his hands, grabbing several pages and pulling so that they rip out at once.
“Shit,” Berger says, laughing as he watches Claude throw the pages into the lake after the first.
Berger grabs the book back from Claude and tosses the entire thing into the water. They watch as it sinks.
“I needed that book,” Claude says when the book is gone from view. He tries hard to keep a straight face as he frowns over at Berger.
Berger is still laughing, open mouthed rocking laughter that Claude has always found infectious.
Claude cracks a smile just as Berger manages to stop long enough to say, “I’ll get it back for you then.”
And then before Claude can stop him, Berger throws himself off the steps and into the lake up to his waist. The water isn’t deep, but the steps are covered in algae and Berger slips and slides in all the way, his head disappearing beneath the surface for several seconds before he’s back, tossing the sopping book onto the edge by Claude’s feet.
“Jesus,” Claude says as Berger clambers out of the lake, dripping on Claude as Claude tries to slide out of the way. “You’re fucking insane, you know?”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Before Claude can escape he’s wrapped up in wet Berger. He clings to the steps, but Berger’s got better leverage and it’s only a matter of seconds before Claude is in the lake too, his ass hitting hard against the edge of a step as Berger dunks him under and holds him there for a few seconds. Claude comes up, coughing and laughing and pushing at Berger’s legs.
Berger is still chuckling as he helps Claude out of the lake. Claude sits back on the edge, soaked.
A group of young girls are sitting on the edge of the fountain behind him. They’re giggling at their antics and Berger turns to wave and smile at them. When they giggle in response he bows before turning his attention back to Claude.
“Got your book back,” Berger says, sitting back down beside Claude.
Claude groans and leans back until he’s lying on the concrete, staring up at the clear afternoon sky. The sun hurts his eyes and he squints, turns toward Berger instead. Berger leans over Claude so that his hair hangs over his face, the dark strands dripping onto Claude’s skin. Berger’s blocking the sun for him, but Claude wipes at his face and pushes Berger away anyway.
“So what do you want to do?” Berger asks, back to square one.
Claude doesn’t care. Claude could sit here forever.
When Claude doesn’t answer, Berger asks again.
“Who do you want to do?”
“What?” Claude says, catching the change only after he’s already shrugged his response.
“Sheila,” Berger says, supplying and answer for Claude.
Claude turns to watch Berger in profile. Berger’s lying on his back, face toward the sky. He has a hand over his eyes. Claude isn’t sure he heard the question correctly, doesn’t really want to ask for clarification on the answer, but Berger doesn’t continue and eventually Claude gives in.
“What about her?” he asks.
Berger’s quiet for a little while longer and then he says, “You should have kissed her. She likes you, man.”
“I’m not going to kiss Sheila,” Claude sighs.
“You could kiss me,” Berger offers. “Then I’ll kiss her for you, tell you what it’s like.”
Claude sits up and turns so he’s looking down at Berger. Berger shields his eyes and smiles up at Claude, at his own joke. His lips pucker for a second, an invisible kiss aimed at Claude. Claude rolls his eyes, reaches out to push at Berger’s knee.
Berger kicks at him, a halfhearted gesture, and then Berger’s smile slides into a grin and he says, “Oh. Claudio. You’ve kissed someone before, right?”
Claude, surprised at Berger’s sudden silly attack on his manhood, laughs in Berger’s face before pushing himself up off the stairs. He grabs his bag and slings it onto his shoulder before walking away, leaving Berger soaked on the steps with a pile of wet biology.
**
“We aren’t married, you know,” Berger says a few days later, apparently unwilling to let this just drop.
“I know,” Claude says. He knows all about Berger and Dionne, Berger and everyone. He knows that sometimes Sheila doesn’t come home for a week and he’s never heard Berger ask her once where she’s been.
Berger doesn’t say anything more on the subject. He doesn’t have to. He’s found a better way to prove his point.
When Lily Stevens cornered Claude outside of his house one morning and begged him to take her with him, begged her to introduce him to the new group he’s been spending all of his time with, Claude had reluctantly agreed. He liked Lily a lot. They’d been together for over a year and when they broke up, they stayed kind of close. He understands her, gets that she’s just as lost as he is, gets that she feels just as trapped. So he brought her with him into the city, introduced her to Berger and Sheila, Jeanie, Crissy, Hud.
Now he thinks maybe it was a mistake, because now Claude has to spend the afternoon watching Berger hang all over the girl that was almost never going to be his fiancée. He thinks it shouldn’t bother him. He and Lily were never right for each other. They both knew that at the beginning. He’d fooled around with another girl while they were dating and he knew that Lily had fooled around too. They told each other these things and Claude had never been jealous, never been upset, because Claude never really loved Lily Stevens.
There’s really no reason for Claude to turn away in disgust when Berger kisses Lily, playful possessive kisses that have Lily mock struggling as she laughs into Berger’s mouth. Claude’s stomach aches while he watches them and he tries to distract himself. He thinks that if anything, this should prove that he’s right to try to get over Sheila. It couldn’t work. Berger would end up turning away from him in disgust, pushing him away. He curls around Jeanie with his nose in her hair and thinks about how that’s the last thing he’d ever want.
Jeanie’s been seeing a boy named Harvey and she tells Claude all about it as Claude watches Berger kiss Lily’s neck from around the fall of Jeanie’s hair.
“He’s so beautiful, Claude,” Jeanie says. “He gets everyone. He could meet you tomorrow and a minute later you’d feel like he’s known you forever. It’s so groovy. He’s talented and beautiful and he’s going to change the world.”
“Uh huh,” Claude says, watching Berger’s hands as they paw at Lily’s breasts, at Lily’s ass.
Jeanie isn’t stupid. She can tell that Claude is distracted. She sets her hand on his knee and turns, her nose bumping against his cheek. They laugh at their own clumsiness and then Jeanie follows the direction of Claude’s eyes and spots them.
“You and Lily used to be together,” Jeanie says.
“Yeah,” Claude agrees. “For a while.”
“You know, I bet if you asked Berger, told him that it upsets you, he’d back off.”
“It doesn’t upset me,” Claude says, the words rushing too fast.
“I just mean -“
“It’s just, you know. Sheila’s so -“ Claude starts before trailing off. Sheila doesn’t care about this. Claude doesn’t know why he should care.
“Claude?” Jeanie asks.
“Nevermind.” Claude kisses the top of Jeanie’s head as he stands.
He’s about to go when he hears Sheila laughing behind him. He turns, drawn to her voice. She’s talking with Dionne and Angela and when she sees Claude, she smiles. He goes to her, hugs her. He sighs into her hair and feels her kiss his shoulder and he finally starts to relax. But then Berger is there, pulling Claude away from Sheila, pulling him away from the group.
“What?” Claude asks. Sighs, really.
Berger is high, gone, and he shushes Claude, a finger pressed to Claude’s lips, and then he laughs.
“You and Sheila,” Berger says. “I can make it happen. Tonight.”
“I don’t -“ Claude starts, and then he actually listens to what Berger is saying. He pushes Berger’s finger away from his mouth and pulls Berger even farther from the group. “I don’t want to sleep with Sheila,” he hisses.
It’s not entirely the truth and the look that Berger gives him leaves no doubt that Berger isn’t buying it.
“Claude,” Berger says. “Sheila - it’s just love, man.“
“I don’t care,” Claude insists. “Why are you doing this? When are you gonna stop pushing?”
“It’s love,” Berger says again. His fingers dance over the front of Claude’s shirt before they disappear.
Claude watches Berger, watches as Berger smiles for just a second before the edges of his mouth fall back into a line as he waits for Claude’s response.
“Have you told her?” Claude asks then, horrified that he never thought that this was a possibility before. He sees it now, Berger and Sheila curled together on Sheila’s bed, laughing at Claude’s crush. He sees Berger suggesting these things to Sheila, envisions the way Sheila face would scrunch up as she laughs and pushes Berger away. Claude’s whole face feels hot. He doesn’t know what to do with his arms, crosses them over his chest.
“Did you tell her that I - you did. You told her.”
“What?” Berger says, confused.
“She knows,” Claude says again.
“No,” Berger says. He’s serious now and Claude watches his face, looks for signs that he might be lying, doesn’t find any. Berger is quiet for a solid minute, eyes large as he stares at Claude. He isn’t lying and Claude relaxes a little, breathes and thinks that maybe Berger’s finally going to let it go. Maybe Berger finally sees how awkward this is for him, how embarrassing. Maybe Berger will finally stop pushing and go back to just being Claude’s best friend.
“Claudio,” Berger says then, breaking the silence. “Claude, come home with us tonight, yeah?”
And that’s it. Claude has tried to move away from this, but Berger will keep pushing. Berger reaches for him, tries to hug him, and Claude snaps, tells Berger to fuck off and leave it alone. Berger laughs, but his face looks like Claude slapped him and he’s quiet the rest of the afternoon. Claude, still irritated, spends the day with Jeanie and Woof instead.
In the evening they lie together in the grass.
It’s been weeks since Claude thought about Manchester, but he thinks about it that evening. He even tells Woof about his plan of escape. Jeanie hums beside them, her fingers threaded between Claude’s.
“How’re you gonna get there?” Woof asks.
“I’ll hitch hike across the Atlantic,” Claude says, accent in full swing.
“You could swim,” Woof suggests.
“I’ll swim then,” Claude agrees.
“I’d come with you,” Woof says. “Except I can’t swim. I think I sink.”
Claude laughs.
“And I’m afraid of sharks.”
“I guess I’ll have to mail a postcard,” Claude says.
They’re quiet for a while, listening to Jeanie’s humming. The leaves above them dance with the soft sounds, like Jeanie’s choreographed them herself. Claude tries to figure out the song, but can’t. He’s close, almost has the next notes on the tip of his tongue when Woof says, “I’ll miss you.”
Claude leans his head on Woof’s shoulder. He talks of grand plans, but none of it ever feels real for him. He tells Woof he’ll swim across the Atlantic Ocean and Woof is already missing him now that he’s gone, but Claude can’t picture himself ever leaving this tiny patch of grass. He wishes he had a little more Woof in him. Claude thinks that Woof’s the kind of guy who can make things happen just by believing that they might. Fantastic things that no one else ever bothers to believe in. Not really.
“I’ll miss you too,” Claude says.
Woof turns and kisses him then, a simple press of lips. It’s nice, feeling like he belongs, feeling like he’s a part of this, and he reaches up to touch Woof’s face. Woof is beautiful and full of life and love and a special sort of energy that is so a part of him that Claude can’t even find the words to describe it.
When Woof turns away and Claude opens his eyes, it’s Berger that Claude sees looking back at him from where he sits beneath a nearby tree. Berger doesn’t look away when Claude catches his eye, just keeps watching, his mouth relaxed in a line that isn’t exactly a smile or a frown. After a moment Claude becomes unsure if Berger is really looking at him at all, if maybe he’s looking but not seeing, lost in his own world. He smiles at Berger and Berger looks down, picks at a tear in his jeans and doesn’t look up again. Eventually Claude shrugs and leans back, watches the leaves dance above his head and thinks about England.
**
He’s nearly asleep when he feels movement in the grass beside him. He expects it to be Woof, so he’s surprised when it’s Berger’s voice he hears close by his ear.
“You staying?” Berger asks, his voice quieter than Claude is used to.
Claude hums in agreement. Flushing feels a thousand miles away, as unreachable as Manchester ever was.
“Me too,” Berger says.
He expects Berger to keep talking, expects that the reason for Berger’s question must relate to some new scheme Berger has worked up, a grand plan to pass the night that Berger can’t pull off without implicating Claude. It’ll be ridiculous and amazing and it will be Berger’s apology. Claude waits, but he never gets to hear the plan. Berger kisses him instead.
Claude isn’t sure what to do at first. It isn’t that - he’s kissed Berger before, but it’s always been casual, a passing affection, a spontaneous burst of emotion over as soon as it started. This kiss isn’t that. This kiss isn’t something that disappears with a smile, a wave of a hand, equivalent to a hug or a pat on the back. Berger has been thinking about this kiss, planning it. Claude can feel it in the tentative slide of Berger’s lips, the way that Berger is careful that he’s only touching Claude with his mouth in case he’s made a mistake and Claude plans to push him away.
Knowing that Berger planned this when Berger goes extra lengths to plan nothing has Claude’s heart beating that much faster. When Berger’s tongue touches Claude’s lower lip, just for a moment, just to test, to taste, Claude feels the touch all the way to the tips of his fingers and down to the soles of his feet. His intake of breath is sharp and sudden and Berger almost manages to disappear before Claude can reach for him, pull him back.
It’s the assurance that Berger needs and his hand moves up to touch Claude’s cheek, just lightly, fingers not sure if they’re crossing a line. He kisses Claude again.
It doesn’t go any farther than that. Two short kisses and then Berger’s hand is gone, his mouth is gone. He rolls away, settling in the grass with his head against Claude’s chest, their bodies perpendicular. Claude’s fingers pull at Berger’s curls where they rest on his shirt. He wants to say something about it, ask what it means. It felt like an apology, but there was more there. Claude wants to know, but when he opens his mouth the words don’t come. He thinks talking about it might ruin it and he settles for pushing Berger’s hair back from his forehead with his hand instead. Berger closes his eyes and doesn’t open them again. Eventually Claude falls asleep there, comforted by the weight of Berger against him.
Part 2/3