“I had my growth spurt early,” Bram quickly says.
Thankfully, Lily says that she too grew early. “They say people who have a growth spurt when they’re very young stop growing after that. It’s the ones who grow late who grow the tallest. Maud, you’ll tower over us all when you’re done.”
“Yeah” is all Maud says. Her eyes swirl with questions. She’s getting closer to the answer. I can hear it in her labored breathing. But each time she thinks she understands us, she descends back into the unknown.
Bram. London. New Year’s Eve. 1981. January 1. 1982.
This is what Lily made us for the last day of the year: A sharp black blazer with dramatic shoulder pads for Maud. Like the one Grace Jones wears on the cover of her last album. The blazer almost reaches Maud’s knees. She wears no trousers. Just combat boots. An asymmetric vinyl jacket with matching pants for me. Buttons that come down diagonally. Starting at the left shoulder and ending at the right hip. A simple black suit adorned with a cape that flows down to his shoes for Oliver. A constellation of musical notes on the cape. A gold lamé dress with wings for herself. Lily is a disco angel tonight. Every guest seems to be wearing something Lily made for them. Archie in his top hat. Azalea in the sky-blue Grecian dress. Poppy in the crushed velvet jumpsuit. Blossom in the custom sari. We count down to the new year together. Ten on down to a boisterous chant of...
“HAPPY NEW YEAR.”
1982. A year that once felt like a distant future. Now here.
We all give each other hugs and kisses. I whisper in Oliver’s ear after I kiss him. “Don’t forget my promise. This will be the worst year of all time.” He laughs. He’s more high-spirited than he was earlier. Maybe it’s the haircut. Or the community. Oliver’salways been at his best when he’s surrounded by the camaraderie of a group. In the dorms at Harvard. In our living area in London. I wish I were enough for him. That he was enough for himself.
Everyone leaves our house after midnight. Archie is the last to say goodbye. He looks over at me and Oliver before leaving. “I’m going to Heaven, if you boys care to join.”
Lily kisses Archie’s cheek. “Archiekins, you most certainly are going to hell. Heaven would be far too dull for you.”
Archie laughs. “I’m referring to the nightclub. I would invite the ladies too, but the club prefers its clientele male.”
Maud shakes her head. “Pearl leteveryonein. Black, white, gay, lesbian. The Blitz, though not my scene, was the same, yeah? Is this where our community is headed? Clubs for cute white boys only. No one else allowed.”
“I certainly hope not.” Archie glances at Maud apologetically.
Maud shrugs. “Go. Have fun. I don’t love a dance floor full of sweaty men huffing poppers anyway.”
I turn to Oliver. “Should we go? I’ve never been to Heaven.”
“And you never will.” He raises an eyebrow. Only I understand what he’s really saying. That I’ll never die. And heaven would be an unlikely destination for me even if I did die. “You two go. I’m tired.”
I don’t want to go without him. I think of the one thing that might convince him to come. “I hear the sound system is something extraordinary.”
Archie steps forward. “It’s true. It’s not like the Blitz where you can talk over the music. At Heaven, the music feels like it’sinside you.”
Lily laughs. “Why do you have to make it sound so dirty, Archie?”
Now we all laugh. Then I turn to Oliver again. “Come on. Firstday of the worst year of our lives. Let’s begin by finding out what it feels like to have music inside us.”
Oliver shrugs. “Sure, let’s see.” A brief pause. “But I always have music inside me. Maybe that’s the problem.”
We stand in line. Inch our way toward the arches beneath Charing Cross station. Toward the entrance of the club. The boys in line seem to vibrate. Excited for the night ahead. Perhaps a little nervous too. Standing in line does that to people. Fills them with the anticipatory thrill and dread of what’s to come. Could be the best night of your life. Could be the worst.
A large limousine pulls up down the street.
The leather queen in front of us turns his attention to the opulent vehicle. “Looks like Freddie Mercury is here.”
His friend turns to see the limo. “We wish. It’s probably Jeremy Thorpe. Come to prey on some poor young lads.”
“Derek Jarman?” the leather queen wonders aloud.
“Jarman wouldn’t arrive in such a narcissistic and ostentatious way.” That’s Archie, inserting himself into the conversation. Archie and the two men discuss Jarman’s filmJubilee. We all saw it together not long ago. The film is a nightmare vision of the London we’ve called home. Punk violence. Police revenge. Petrol bombs.
Oliver and I move a little closer to the front of the line. Archie continues to chat with his new friends. They’ve moved on to another topic of discussion now. TheMommie Dearestmovie starring Faye Dunaway. They reenact scenes as they wait their turn to get in.
Oliver pulls me close. His eyes are on the limo. “Look.” I turn to see the windows of the limousine are dark. Whoever is inside can see out. We can’t see in. The back window slowly descends. Abouthalfway. Revealing a man’s hat and a wrinkled pair of eyes. “He’s looking right at us.”
The window ascends again. Not fully closed. Still enough of a sliver for me to see the old eyes. “I’m sure he’s looking at everyone. Wondering if he wants to come in.”
