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Now That You re Out The Challenges and Joys of Living
as a Gay Man 1st Edition Martin Kantor M.D. Digital
Instant Download
Author(s): Martin Kantor M.D.
ISBN(s): 9780313387517, 0313387516
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 1.09 MB
Year: 2011
Language: english
Now That You're Out
This page intentionally left blank
Now That You're Out
The Challenges and Joys
of Living as a Gay Man

Martin Kantor, MD
Copyright 2011 by Martin Kantor, MD
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a
review, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kantor, Martin.
Now that you’re out : the challenges and joys of living as a gay man / Martin Kantor.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978–0–313–38751–7 (hard copy : alk. paper) — ISBN 978–0–313–38752–4 (ebook)
1. Gay men. 2. Gay men—Psychology. 3. Male homosexuality. I. Title.
HQ76.K347 2011
306.760 62—dc22 2011001697
ISBN: 978–0–313–38751–7
EISBN: 978–0–313–38752–4
15 14 13 12 11 1 2 3 4 5
This book is also available on the World Wide Web as an eBook.
Visit www.abc-clio.com for details.
Praeger
An Imprint of ABC-CLIO, LLC
ABC-CLIO, LLC
130 Cremona Drive, P.O. Box 1911
Santa Barbara, California 93116-1911
This book is printed on acid-free paper
Manufactured in the United States of America
For Michael
This page intentionally left blank
Contents

Introduction ix

PART I: GAY LIFE

ONE: Coming Out 3

TWO: Lifestyle 17
THREE: Relationships 31
FOUR: Sex and Sexuality 58
FIVE: The Paraphilias 83
SIX: Identity/Disorders of Identity 102
SEVEN: Midlife and Beyond: Aging and Ageism 108
EIGHT: You and Your Parents 117

PART II: OVERCOMING EMOTIONAL PROBLEMS

NINE: Emotional Disorder in Gay Men 127

TEN: Substance Abuse 145
ELEVEN: Shame, Guilt, and Low Self-Esteem 151
TWELVE: Suicide 167
viii Contents

PART III: THERAPY

THIRTEEN: Getting Professional Help 187

Appendix: Origins 209
Notes 215
Index 219
Introduction

From day one, some gay men feel entirely comfortable with their being
gay and with entering into the gay subculture. But others contact me, a
psychiatrist, full of tears and recriminations, either because they are
unhappy about being gay or because they are unhappy about being gay
in a certain way. They are in conflict about coming out or having difficulty
with their relationships—trying to find someone special without success
or, having found him, attempting to get over his having rejected or
dumped them. They say that they are afraid of their youth passing and
middle age approaching. They feel unable to handle their parents who,
on the one hand, criticize and reject them and say they never want to see
them again and, on the other hand, try to take over their lives and repair
them, although nothing about their lives is even remotely broken. The
bottom line is almost always the same: they see gay life as an enigma
and feel that they need help in sorting things about it out, solving its
problems, and resolving its paradoxes; anticipating and dealing with its
numerous surprises; and avoiding its predictable complications. And,
without this help, they just might throw up their hands and go into retreat,
the only way they feel they can avoid the endless pain of what they believe
to be the irresolvable uncertainty of getting stuck in personal conflict and
being mired in cultural limbo.
Some, turning to peers, parents, educators, and the media for enlighten-
ment, find satisfactory illumination. Others tell me that no matter who
they consult, the information they get is unreliable and that the advice
they are given as to how best to live their lives is questionable. They say
x Introduction

that getting only unsatisfactory answers to sincere questions leaves them

with a distorted view of gay life—from friends who lead them astray by
repeating entrenched myths, the media that throw them off by viewing
them not as individuals but as members of a giant impersonal collective
with uniform preferences and problems, and therapists who offer up one-
size-fits-all advice that applies more in theory than in practice and suggest
solutions to problems that seem to be meant more for someone else than
for them personally.
As a result, they constantly feel guilty about being gay; form friendships
and relationships that go nowhere, dissolve, or otherwise end up tragi-
cally; have difficulty making informed decisions about whether to stay
single or get married; if married, vacillate about staying faithful to one
special partner or having an open relationship/cheating; can’t decide if
they should or should not adopt children; suffer unnecessarily from avoid-
able biomedical complications of gay sex; and continuously experience
potentially treatable problems with sexual desire and performance—two
in particular: erectile dysfunction and an inability to achieve timely
orgasm due to ejaculation that is either way too premature or significantly
and seriously retarded.
My goal is to fill the gaps by providing you as a gay man with a resource
manual and a survival guide that frankly and fully takes you into realms
and domains of being gay and its culture in a way rarely previously
explored and almost never written about with such unflinching candor.
With this in mind, I address three audiences: gay men just starting out
and feeling mystified or confused by what they are finding; more experi-
enced gay men who feel that their lives are nevertheless still missing
something and that what they need is help tuning in, tuning up, and
turning things around; and parents of gay men, who predictably get drawn
into the process at some level and often, just as predictably, mishandle
things, creating anxiety all around and unnecessary pain for everyone
concerned—mostly for their sons but ultimately as much for themselves
as for them.
My method involves passing on information I have obtained and things
I have learned from several sources: the many (sometimes desperate) let-
ters I have received from gay men seeking help; therapy interviews/case
vignettes of gay men I have seen as patients in my practice; material
gleaned from informal contacts/interviews with gay men around town
who speak to me, often in an unguarded fashion, as both therapist and
friend; and my personal self-observations and experiences as a gay man
who has been around for a long time, certainly getting older and, it is
hoped, at least a little bit wiser.
 Introduction xi

Here are some of the letters I received from gay men asking me for
advice. Bart wrote to me,

What I want more than anything else is to find a guy I can cuddle
with at night, laugh and cry with through the good times and bad,
and know that he loves me more than anything.
I’m a 22-year-old college student who has only been out of the
closet for one year (as of today). I bought your book, My Guy, Thurs-
day night and read it in less than two days. I found it to be very useful
and informative. But still, I can’t figure out what my problem is, but it’s
obvious to me that I have one.
Since I’ve come out, I’ve dated five guys. Each one seemed to be
great guys . . . until after we fooled around, when they decided that
they wanted to be “just friends.” There aren’t many gay guys in the area
where I live, as I’m from a very conservative, rural place, and I feel
trapped there. But at the same time, why haven’t I been able to find
a DECENT guy here? Instead, I’ve resorted to meeting guys online,
and many of the guys have lived much too far away to actually meet
them. As a consequence, I end up liking them, but they can’t handle
the distance, or just lose interest and stop talking to me.
I have no problem with my physical appearance. I don’t mean to
toot my own horn, but I AM attractive. Still, I can’t find a guy. And I
keep having this voice in my head (who I sometimes think is God) tell-
ing me that I’m never going to be happy in this life and that I’m going
to end up alone, which is my biggest fear.
I definitely want a merger relationship, as I’ve experienced firsthand
the type of relationship where the partners aren’t faithful to each other
(and I didn’t like it).
I don’t know what to do. I’m sure you’re busy, but if you could take
the time to respond, I would greatly appreciate it. Thank you for at
least reading this.
Sincerely,
Bart

Richard wrote to me,

Maybe you can help me with this. I am recently dating a guy I met
on the Internet, he is adorable and I really like him. He’s kind of busy
cause of his work and I can see he is interested in me, but I’m not
xii Introduction

quite sure. My friends all tell me like, “Don’t text him, don’t call him, let him
do that.” In short, they say that I should play hard to get. But I worry that
that might make me hard to want. So I feel that it won’t hurt if I just send
like a Hi babyboy!!! text, right? If he doesn’t answer me back then I leave
it there. He also ended a relationship like two months ago, that’s what
he told me, and that the guy’s being pushy was the reason. I really like this
guy, I’ve never been in a relationship like it in 2 years and I’m freaking out
cause I don’t wanna lose him. I am 26 and he is 27, I know there are more
guys out there, but what do you recommend me plz.

Here are some case vignettes from my practice:

Mark, a depressed patient, said to me that he had just come out as a

20-year-old man, but though he affirmed his identity as a gay man,
he still felt anxious, depressed, and suicidal because he feared that
his gay life, like all gay life, would end as tragically as it began.
He came to me looking for insights into himself and knowledge of the
gay life to guide him both directly and indirectly—the latter by helping
him master inner conflicts that overwhelmed him. He wanted to sort things
out even if that meant discovering some painful truths about himself.
He hoped to stop buying into all the myths out there about gay men
and quit yielding to peer distortions that were diverting him from know-
ing what kind of life was truly facing him and causing him to make unin-
formed decisions that might permanently affect him negatively in the
years to come. He believed that the gay community in his town was
wrong for him because no one in it took his—or any other—relation-
ships seriously, and instead everyone violated his boundaries by trying
to make out with all the handsome men he found for himself.
He feared that if he listened too hard to misguided friends he would
become a stereotype, as he put it “a satire on himself,” and so would
never find peace and serenity with someone he loved and who loved
him. He would instead be fated to go through one hopeless relation-
ship after another, routinely fail at them all, and in the end be old
and lonely—after all the men he truly loved cheated on him, then
dumped him for someone younger and better looking.
He wanted to find a man he could love, honor, cherish, and even,
when indicated (and in Mark’s case it often was), obey. But he feared
that because that wouldn’t happen he was doomed to go through life
by himself, live in a gay ghetto that his family would never visit, spend
every night of his life in the bars so that he didn’t get enough sleep to
 Introduction xiii

be able to do his work effectively the next morning, and get hung up
on drugs and sickened by some serious medical disease, only to then
go prematurely, and not without guilt and regret that he wasn’t
straight, to his grave, as, after having been excommunicated by his
church, he passed on convinced that during life he had hurt not only
himself but also his parents who wanted the grandchildren he could
never give them. In other words, as he put it, it was as if a bumper
sticker he always used to see around applied to him exactly: the one
that said something like, “Life sucks, and then you die.”

Matt, another depressed patient, said that he came to me hoping to get

some answers to the hard questions about gay life. He wanted to learn
not only about coming, but also about being, out; that is, after you
come out, what next? For example, when it came to his relationships,
he wanted to know, “How aggressive should I be when I really like
someone?” and “Exactly how long should I give a relationship to work
before deciding it’s futile, giving up, and getting out while the getting is
still good?” He wanted to know, “How can I develop a sound working
permanent relationship that fully expresses my sexuality and satisfies
my sexual needs without stifling my partner in those same areas?”
and “Can I expect monogamy with fidelity, though all gay men cheat?”
He complained that every one of his friendships was transient and that
his new marriage was going poorly because no matter what he did he
couldn’t seem to please, really appease, his guy—a man who was con-
stantly picking on him—emphasizing his flaws without simultaneously
acknowledging his virtues and putting him in one double bind after
another, for example, telling him to go to the gym to firm up his body,
only to then complain that because he was always working out, he
was never home. Also, he was often depressed because he feared that
his gay-unfriendly boss would find out that he was gay; because he felt
that his being gay was killing his parents; and because although he
was only in his twenties, he was already a victim of ageism on the part
of some other gay men in his community who were treating him like a
has-been. Too, he was convinced that he would never be able to get
along with his family who was giving him a hard time about not getting
married and having the grandchildren they so wanted. And he was sad-
dened by thoughts about his getting nowhere at work because he
feared that he would be unable to mesh his gay life with his profes-
sional life without unduly sacrificing one for the other. But to date all
xiv Introduction

he got was advice from friends with their own axes to grind who to boot
were unduly swayed by popular trend and political correctness. Also,
he had read much of the literature written to help gay men with their
deep personal concerns—only to find it didn’t satisfy him because it
was full of superficialities and because everything he read was too nar-
rowly focused on already well-covered topics now become issues that,
though standard, were not particularly meaningful for him, such as the
removal of homosexuality from the American Psychological Associa-
tion’s list of mental disorders, the triumph of Stonewall, the virtues of
gay activism, the advantages of gay pride, and the benefits of coming
cleanly, boldly, forcibly, and honestly out.

In Chapter 1, “Coming Out,” I discuss disclosure, its pros and cons, and
its dos and don’ts. In recognition that much of the literature to date has
documented the virtues of disclosure, I focus on problem solving related
to coming out, emphasizing not the considerable benefits of disclosure
but rather ways to resolve the conflicts that sometimes make coming out
difficult—so that if you have problems in this respect, you can, by solving
them, more fully accept yourself without regrets and avoid the backsliding
that can occur due to the inevitable fallout that follows opening up—not
only to others but also to yourself.
In Chapter 2, “Lifestyle,” I define how I use the term, then focus on
ways to become an A-gay while avoiding being a Z-gay—the latter a
man who wastes the opportunity of youth to end up tragically old and
before his time. Z-gays want life in the mainstream but end up on the
fringes. They want to live in a suburban paradise but wind up in a confin-
ing ghetto/slum. They seek monogamy but settle for polygamy. They
hope to have a satisfactory career but compromise that by sacrificing their
work for their gay life. They want to adopt children, but after fighting for
the right, they have difficulty with the reality.
In Chapter 3, “Relationships,” I put forth my belief that any gay man—
rich or poor, handsome or ordinary looking, tall or short, brilliant or of
average intellect—has the potential to have a permanent partner if he
wants one, and if he doesn’t get one, it is not because of what he looks like
or how much money he has but because of what he does or (mostly)
doesn’t do. Napoleon notwithstanding, anatomy is only a part of a gay
man’s destiny. Emotional conflicts determine a lot, for it’s these that make
gay life hardest when, for example, they cause you to distance yourself
from all potential partners and lovers, then spin your fears (“I am afraid
of commitment”) into preferences (“I prefer to be alone, who needs
people?”). So, I first ask you to decide whether you want to be single or
 Introduction xv

married and then, if marriage is your choice, help you break through the
commonest barriers to finding your Mr. Right—ranging from holding
yourself back due to problematic narcissism that too loudly proclaims “I
am too good for him,” to equally problematic Ice Princess remoteness
associated with a perfectionistic inability to compromise that can lead
you to have a compulsively cool response to an in fact innately very hot
suitor.
A coolly perfectionistic gay man, still alone at the age of 60, wrote to me,

I don’t believe in being in a rush to find a relationship. I need to

explore the possibilities for many more months before I commit. All
the men I have already met are doing the same thing, so why not
me? I am thinking a lot about what kind of man I want, but haven’t
yet decided on one. I only want someone like me: a nice man, per-
sonable, not manicky, clean, generous, and tall, as well as deep, intel-
lectual, creative and without silly mannerisms like a goofy smirk when
something really isn’t funny (annoying!), and a need to always have
dinner be on me, even when it isn’t any more than just a pizza.

Then once you have found him and haven’t let him go, I help you
decide what kind of relationship you want, particularly focusing on your
need to make a decision between one that is open and one that is closed.
Then I assist you in pursuing your goal productively—by directing all
your attention and efforts to it, facts in hand, and with a brush that paints
such emotional impediments as a masochistic need for failure and/or a
fear of commitment and success, entirely out of the picture.
In Chapter 4, “Sex and Sexuality,” I help you learn what you may need
to know about such sexual matters as bisexuality, sexual compulsivity,
gender identity disorder, and transsexualism. For example, I believe that
sexual compulsivity is often a posttraumatic adult state where old unre-
solved issues around early abuse, particularly sexual abuse and personal
rejection, get repeated in a futile attempt to attain cloture, leaving you
with a life not selected by you, by your “ego,” but for you, by your deep-
est, most primitive impulses, your most horrific fears, and your most det-
rimental self-abusive needs.
In Chapter 5, “The Paraphilias,” I attempt to distinguish “normal” from
(what used to be called) “perverted” so that if you are in fact guilty about
doing okay things, you can better accept yourself without shame. But if
you are not okay but troubled and feel—or should feel—that you need
xvi Introduction

treatment, I help you seek and get the therapy you need and to do so with-
out hesitation and both guilt and shame free.
In Chapter 6, “Identity/Disorders of Identity,” I try to help you as a gay
man discover who you really are, determine if that is what you truly want
to be, and then either self-affirm as necessary or, when indicated, change
yourself around to become something else. After defining “gay identity,”
I discus “identity crises” and “identity disorder” in gay men and offer sug-
gestions as to how to firm up and develop a strong, resolute sexual, gen-
der, and nonsexual identity (terms I go on to define)—avoiding the
extremes of excessive paralytic idealism on the one hand (where you only
accept becoming something you wish to but can’t possibly be) and harm-
ful self-destructive pessimism on the other hand (where you only accept
becoming anything but you so that you instead turn into a compendium
of defenses against yourself.)
In Chapter 7, “Midlife and Beyond: Aging and Ageism,” I help you
cope and deal with getting older. Coping and dealing with getting older
starts with avoiding misspending your youth in a way that devastates your
later life. It also involves anticipating and dealing with ageism, such as
that ageism that Michael, my partner, still a young man by most standards,
encountered when recently he knocked on the door of our downstairs
neighbors—two gay men—to ask them to turn the music down, only to
hear someone inside looking out through the peephole say, “I don’t know
exactly who it is at the door other than it’s just some old coot making a lot
more noise than we are.” I offer suggestions on how to avoid feeling that
you as an older gay man are somehow on a lower rung of the personal,
sexual, and occupational hierarchy just because of your age so that you
become convinced that no one wants someone like you around—because
your brain has gone soft and your body turned to flab.
In Chapter 8, “You and Your Parents,” I discuss dealing with problem-
atic, unsupportive parents. I believe that you should develop and foster a
good relationship with your parents no matter how difficult they are, even
if they are that too-typical Mom and Dad ashamed of your being gay,
responding in a terroristic fashion when you disclose, especially when
you open up about some of the details of the gay life that you choose to
live. I believe that success here means losing some parent–child battles
in order to win the parent–child war, even overlooking a lot to avoid
letting petty resentments take over and drive you apart from people who
likely do love you—even more than, at least for now, you think they do.
In Chapter 9, “Emotional Disorder in Gay Men,” I discuss that typical
tendency to confound DSM-IV emotional problems with “normal, character-
istic, gay behavior,” then dismiss troublesome neuroses as typical gay stuff.
 Introduction xvii

Confounding “emotional disorder in troubled gay men” with “all gay men
are emotionally troubled” seriously falsifies the picture of what being gay
is all about—by stereotyping every gay man as quirky/peculiar/troubled,
thus failing to set apart the individual gay man who is in fact having emo-
tional difficulties from the gay man who is fine, thus helping the former
obtain a personal diagnosis and get proper, individualized treatment.
In Chapter 10, “Substance Abuse,” I discuss problems with alcohol
and drugs as they are commonly found in gay men. Many gay men are
drinking too heavily and abusing substances, but they don’t recognize that
they have a problem. And even those who do recognize it generally fail to
appreciate its severity and thus its full present and future implications.
In Chapter 11, “Shame, Guilt, and Low Self-Esteem,” I go into a basic
cause of much emotional disorder in gay men. I offer you a program to help
you lessen the self-hatred and self-disdain you might just possibly experi-
ence inside yourself and in your gay life. For example, while these days
homophobia has gone underground and become more subtle, it is still suffi-
ciently widespread and problematic to create much sadness and self-
questioning for you. Responding to it not with anger but with guilt can but
further catalyze the homophobia by intensifying homophobic negativity
toward gays. For most straights, buying into the bad things gays think and
say about themselves, line up with gays’ own negative self-views. Then,
coming to agree with such of their negative self-assessments as “I am a
second-class citizen,” they find what they need to condemn them as sinful
and bad individuals.
In Chapter 12, “Suicide,” I discuss a very serious problem in gay men:
suicidality, which in gay men, as in anyone else, may or may not exist in
intimate association with emotional disorder. In this chapter, I note that
many gay men not only contemplate suicide but also act out feeling suici-
dal either indirectly, by becoming guiltily self-destructive, or directly, by
making an actual suicidal attempt. In the first instance, they might harm
themselves through deliberately contracting a disease or destroying their
physical health, say, through substance abuse. In the second instance, they
might take pills, hang themselves, or jump off a bridge. This is a prevent-
able/treatable problem but only if it is accepted as such, not dismissed as
an inevitable complication of being gay and so the wages of (as a homo-
phobe might say and a depressed gay man might think) “that particular
sin.” This chapter helps you recognize your own suicidal tendencies early
on and deal with them by getting at their cause, particularly three: bully-
ing, personal rejections that make for crushing abandonments, and the
loneliness that sometimes plagues even those gay men surrounded by
good friends and ensconced with a loving partner.
xviii Introduction

In Chapter 13, “Getting Professional Help,” I help you determine if you

need to seek professional intervention. I go into the various forms of
therapy available to you. Some gay men enter therapy to go straight, but
there are few (if any) pros, only cons, here. I also guide you in seeking
therapists who are helpful while avoiding those who are potentially harm-
ful, such as those who are unknowledgeable, sadistic, or both. (As Kort
says, even lesbian or gay therapists comfortable with being gay themselves
can harbor negative thoughts about gay culture1 to the point of influencing
you negatively or actually ruining your life personally and professionally.)
Should you need therapy, I recommend an affirmative-eclectic form of
treatment where a positively inclined therapist employing psychody-
namic, interpersonal, cognitive, and supportive interventions embedded
in a welcoming, inspirational context offers you an accepting supportive
holding environment as he or she also goes back in time to your early
years to reawaken past sleeping problems and bring them back into the
open and into alignment with your present. Now you can live in the here
and now, not in some unwelcome, unwanted past, one that continually
hovers over you like a specter, ordering you about, taking over your life
completely just before scaring you half to death.
If you are without a therapist and choose to continue that way, this
chapter can help you develop a self-help approach to changing. You can
read into it specific tools to put at your fingertips to help you cope in
troubled times; determine and achieve true, valued goals; and find your
own way to ultimate peace and happiness—through developing a self in
harmony both within and between you and those who share—or soon will
be sharing—your life with you.
Finally, the appendix, “Origins,” presents FYI material that is both edu-
cational and potentially therapeutic. I outline some of the many psycho-
logical and biological theories advanced to date as to the causes of
homosexuality. It is hoped that after you read this, you will firmly and
finally recognize at least one thing for certain: that homosexuality is not
a choice, and because no one fully understands how men get to be gay,
people who have your best interests at heart should stop pointing fingers
at you for voluntarily going down some drain and instead retroflex those
fingers at themselves for even thinking that you are up to something of
which they disapprove and of which you should be anything less than
completely, thoroughly proud.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My sincere thanks to Dr. R. A. M., for her considerable help with this
text.
PART I
Gay Life
This page intentionally left blank
ONE
Coming Out

This chapter attempts to separate the myths from the facts surrounding
coming out. I go into the dos and the don’ts, as well as the pros and the cons,
of disclosure. One of my goals is to challenge some of the unscientific and
potentially harmful advice out there, in particular, those one-size-fits-all
suggestions that fail to take into account the considerable differences
among gay men, instead lumping them all into one stereotypical collective
into which you, as a given individual, may very well not even begin to fit.
For some gay men, coming out is no more difficult than breathing out.
Such men eagerly seek to disclose, doing so both unhesitatingly and effec-
tively. From the start, they just accept who and what they are and wouldn’t
have it any other way. For them, disclosure doesn’t create anxiety or guilt.
And if—or when—they encounter parental and social disapproval, they
respond not with regrets but by ignoring the negativity: facing it down
or enhancing pride by ratcheting up defiance.
For other gay men, coming out is sufficiently difficult that they need
help both in recognizing and understanding who they are and in making
decisions about disclosing that exactly to others. These men, often guilty
and ashamed of being gay, anticipate—and likely receive—antigay back-
lash from parents, friends, educators, and their church. As a result, their
openness and honesty restores their integrity less than it increases the
damage—diminishing their self-acceptance and respect and shattering
rather than enhancing their inner sense of peace. Having equated disclo-
sure with exposure, they wind up feeling not stronger than before but
more vulnerable than usual.
4 Now That You're Out

DEFINITIONS
The process of disclosure differs among gay men, for each gay man has
unique personal needs and individual passions. In addition, each gay man
has to deal with his own input from family and friends who most definitely
have needs and passions of their own. It follows that advice about disclo-
sure that is right for some gay men is wrong for others. An approach to
disclosure that works for gay men who are natively open and voluble works
less well for gay men who are natively shy and untalkative. What can be
good for the hypomanic can be bad for the avoidant; secretiveness is a
relief, not a burden, for gays with paranoid tendencies, and for those
wracked by guilt about being gay, disclosure often does not decrease but
rather, at least temporarily, increases stress by activating shame. For those
in whom the disclosure process itself feeds off serious emotional disorder,
coming out can be less a valid affirmation and self-fulfillment than an
expression of emotional conflict—as when a hypomanic gay man reveals
too much about himself and to the wrong people, a sadomasochistic gay
man uses the coming-out process to give his parents grief by disclosing in
a spiteful rather than in an empathic way, or a narcissistic gay man comes
out even though his partner, reminding him that he is not only coming out
himself but also outing a reluctant companion, asks him to stay in. Too
often overlooked is that coming out is not a one-way process but an inter-
personal event, and that involves—or should involve—delicate interactive
negotiations, making it less the “me” happening that so often experts in
the field and the reporting media portray than the “us” affair that is so often
deemphasized or entirely overlooked. Most importantly, coming out, too
often portrayed as a simple one-time event, is really a protracted ongoing
process. Though I still call it “coming out,” I really mean “becoming
out.” That’s a better term because it encompasses the important things
that occur both before and after the moment of truth: leading up to it and
including what happens next.
The “becoming-out” process often has some or all of the following
phases, any one or several of which can be truncated or skipped entirely:
Phase 1. Subliminal awareness: You suspect that something about you
is special, different, and even unique, but you don’t know exactly what,
perhaps because you don’t yet know what “gay” is exactly.
Phase 2. Contemplation with ambivalence about coming out to yourself:
You determine you are gay, wonder if that pleases more than it displeases
you, and consider avowing or disavowing your identity as a gay man.
Should you fully acknowledge being gay and then go on to fulfill your
destiny by sincerely accepting yourself as good, or should you continue
 Coming Out 5

to harbor thoughts of being a shameful, weak, defective individual—

someone who hurts himself and his parents by being that way and violates
society’s expectations of what a real man should be?
Phase 3. Contemplation with ambivalence about coming out to others:
You hear that full disclosure to others is optimal for members of your
(minority) group, but as you think about disclosing publicly you weigh
the advantages of being frank and forthcoming against the advantages of
keeping your being gay to yourself along the lines of, “If you don’t ask,
I won’t tell,” and, sometimes, “I won’t even tell should you ask.”

Mel, one of my patients, was equally troubled both by hiding and fully
disclosing his being gay. At times, he felt the urge to come out boldly,
proudly, and unambivalently—without caring what others might think
or, if they thought ill of him, without worrying about how they might
act. At other times, he experienced the urge to stay in because he felt
ashamed of being gay, as if it were a bad thing to be, with likely nega-
tive consequences involving the doing of physical and emotional, per-
sonal and professional, harm to himself and his loved ones.
Ultimately, he decided to stay in after all, allowing excessive inappro-
priate guilt to take over and rule, as he rationalized his keeping being
gay a secret along the lines of “For me, coming out is a complete waste
of time, for it’s just gilding the lily, because people already know all
there is to know about me, and probably even more than I think,” and
“Out or in, there are more important things in this world to worry
about than telling people you are, or are not, gay.”

Phase 4. Coming out to others but doing so selectively rather than fully:
Many gay men decide to disclose/hide certain aspects of themselves but
not everything. If this is you, instead of actively spreading all of the word,
you answer only questions that are asked and/or merely drop hints and
clues that leave others suspecting but keep them guessing. How open you
are is highly dependent on your personality and external circumstances.
Some gay men are most comfortable coming out partially by seeking gay
relationships openly—but only out of town in places where presumably
nobody knows them. At home, they pass for celibates, or hermits, putting
on a show of sexual reticence or asexuality, often after telling the world
something untrue, for example, that they are divorced and, permanently
soured on marriage, never going to get married to another woman again.
Phase 5. Assimilation: In time, following initial disclosure, you change as
do external circumstances either on their own or because of your input. Now
as you more fully understand yourself and the subculture, you adapt and
6 Now That You're Out

progressively, it is hoped, develop an authentic guilt-free cohesive sense of

self that is synchronized within and with what goes on around you, leading
to even more self-authentication along with maximum generativity.

PROBLEM SOLVING
When you come out, come out in a focused, methodical way. Ensure as
positive a response to your coming out as possible by refining your pre-
sentation. Before you come out, prepare and rehearse what you are going
to say. Think through in advance how you are going to respond to any
negative reactions your disclosure might produce.
Have specific goals you intend to achieve and do that directly, effec-
tively, and efficiently by developing a narrative that tells others what
you want them to know exactly and in a nonconfrontational manner that
conveys more information than emotion and that enhances positive rela-
tionships rather than becoming a new basis for your distancing yourself
from loved ones or professional colleagues.
Never make your coming out the occasion for the expression of built-up
rage. This is not the time to hurt your parents by flaunting your being gay
in their faces with raw, antagonistic revelations, such as highly realistic,
lurid sexual images meant to shock and embarrass them. Avoid attempting
to isolate yourself via breaking away from them by devaluing them so that
you can dump them without guilt—to allow yourself to go your own way
thinking, “I am not a bad person for leaving them, for they deserve to
never see me again because of how they treated me up to this point.”
Don’t make your narrative a vehicle for expressing conflict or reducing/
resolving guilt, seeking love and approval from those who have previ-
ously withheld it, gaining absolution from those who have until now been
critical of you, masochistically invalidating yourself, or narcissistically
enhancing your self-image through displaying a personal image burnished
just for the occasion or created entirely out of falsehoods. This is not the
best time to make a political statement, such as one intended to affirm
your antiestablishment views and credentials. Carefully consider the
potential downsides of your coming out in inappropriate ways and places
just to function as a role model for others; for example, think twice about
emulating my patient, a teacher, who came out at school in order to have
his students “assist me in my research on homosexuality and to give them
courage to come out like me.”
Determine who you want to come out to first. Try to make that all-
important initial disclosure to people who will predictably be simpatico, not
to people who already revile you and you hope to convince to do otherwise.
 Coming Out 7

Be empathic, respecting others’ sensitivities just as you hope that they

will respect yours. Avoid being so socially autistic that you become
immune to the negative feedback that can result when you make other
people uncomfortable.
As you come out as a gay man, remind others, as you remind yourself,
that you see yourself—and need to be seen—from perspectives other than
just being gay. For you are not only a gay man but also a man with many
other characteristics who also happens to be a homosexual. Do not allow
affirming your gay identity to take over to the point that it has the untended
consequence of deaffirming other, just as important aspects of yourself.
Be practical, taking real-life considerations into account, particularly
the recognition that you live in a world where honesty should but doesn’t
always trump spin. Be especially cautious about coming out in situations
where significant potential or actual danger looms. There are times when
it may be better to dissimulate than to disclose, for ensuring your safety
to protect yourself can be as important as telling your truth to affirm your
principles. Too many gay men’s parents exile their sons when they dis-
cover they are gay, throwing them out of the house, even forcing them
to go when they are not yet old enough to live on their own, leaving them
no choice but to hit the streets and find a way to survive out in the cold.
Coming out is not mandatory in those cases where it puts you in danger.
And coming out always puts you in some danger. The question is, “How
much, and, if a lot, is it worth it?”
Always keep in mind that there is a close interconnection between dis-
closure and lifestyle. (The next chapter discusses my idiosyncratic use of
the term “lifestyle.”) A particular advantage of disclosure is that it solves
important lifestyle problems such as whether you and a partner should
take separate holidays to please your respective parents or live separately
to maintain so-called decorum for professional reasons—shopping sepa-
rately, attending the theater by yourself, and never letting your partner
deliver you to or pick you up from work.

Michael, my partner, used to deliver me to and pick me up from my

work at a very homophobic medical clinic. A few of the staff kept asking
me, “Who is that person?” I was going to lie and say he was my brother
or son, but instead, preferring integrity to reputation, I equivocated,
with unfavorable results due to others’ escalating curiosity-driven
homophobia. I often went to the opera with a man whose too-
stunning opera jacket was a dead giveaway. On several occasions by
chance my boss sat near us, making for a relationship changer between
me and him. That became immediately apparent at work the very next
8 Now That You're Out

morning after our first encounter, when he went so far as to make it

clear that from the time of this ill-fated nonoperatic recognition
scene/discovery, he had “lost respect for me” and would make certain
that as long as I worked for him, I would never be happy or get pro-
moted. (He told me this some few years before he discovered something
else: that his daughter was a lesbian.)

Do not come out just to please someone who wants you out. And never
unilaterally make coming-out decisions for another person: outing others
who may not yet feel ready to disclose, even though you do so innocently
as you, so caught up in the spirit of the moment, want everyone else out
like you—even those who are not yet ready. If you have a partner, always
consider that your coming is a joint endeavor because your coming out is
likely to affect him too.

A close friend and his wife, neither of whom I had come out to, invited
me over for dinner one evening and I asked if I could bring my new
partner whom I intended to present as “just an old friend.” I didn’t
want to go alone, my partner had nothing else planned, and I, at the
time somewhat narrow in my criteria for picking love objects, was
so infatuated with this man for his looks that I didn’t want to leave
him even for one Saturday night. When he said, grudgingly, “I’ll go
if the host is attractive,” I, excessively willing to do anything to satisfy
the one I adored and particularly eager to please him, showed him the
host’s picture on the jacket of a book the host had written and said,
“Yes, he is, very attractive, but let’s go and you can decide for your-
self.” I didn’t give this a second thought partly because I believed
that, like me, my partner was a faithful man who, much as the rest of
us, simply enjoyed being around attractive people. Certainly the far-
thest thing from my mind was pimping for a boyfriend I wanted all
for myself. But I should have known that lover boy, true to what I soon
began to see was his form, would, without my knowing it, out us both
by making a pass at the host. The host’s wife was surprised to discover
that I was gay and to boot thought I had put my lover up to seducing
her husband. So, becoming convinced that I wasn’t a good person,
she went on to convince her husband that I was the bad guy. Then both
dumped me, after years of our being the closest of friends (I had even
been best man at his wedding). This entire encounter was extremely
painful, yet through denial I managed to let myself think, “I guess
we have just grown apart.” The husband didn’t care about this pass,
for indeed he had once made a pass of his own at me. Rather, it was
 Coming Out 9

his wife who did all the protesting, leading the charge to throw me out
of their lives. Of course, she was working out a problem she had with
her husband—with me. She was healing their relationship by berating
me to avoid blaming him. I suffered immensely from this experience
because I wondered what I did wrong, figured what happened was
“just another outcome of my self-defeating behavior,” thought that
this was my comeuppance for being gay, and became convinced that
this incident was just another in a hurtful series of lifetime punishments
that properly were my due, to be meted out by all those other people in
my life eager to smoke me out of my hiding place, forcing me into the
broad daylight all the better to see, in order to condemn, me.

I recently received the following letter laying out my own similar senti-
ments exactly:

I became friends with a French professor I was assigned to collaborate

with on a course last semester. He, only a few years older than me,
lives alone and is very cryptic about his life. Claims he has been in
therapy for years. Well, just before Christmas, his dog died and he
plummeted into depression. I tried to be supportive by encouraging
him to come to some stupid university parties, and he did come to
oneÐthen he revealed to me that he is gay, but no one knows it, and
he would never come out because of his conservative administration
(he is non-tenure but has been there for 20 years). I cannot really
blame him for wanting to keep his job. He is a very sad soul, though.
And lonely. But I don't want to be the one encouraging him to make
the decision to come out, even though it may be for his own good.

Never out others to retaliate against them for something they might have
done or actually did do to you. Retaliative outing is seriously homophobic—
for it sends the message that since this particular disclosure is bound to be
embarrassing, by implication being gay is an embarrassment. And never out
others opportunistically—for your gain in the guise of helping them. A
patient’s sister did just that. She told her mother that her brother was gay to
turn the mother against him, hoping that the mother, who was buying herself
new car, would give her daughter the old one. The sister got the car. But the
mother changed her will to leave everything else to her son!
Do not routinely expect as much benefit from coming out as you hope and
may have been led to believe. Being out can do wonders but not everything.
It will likely help you develop a sense of inner peace through fostering a
cohesive (conflict-free) sense of self to reunite a self divided. It will likely
10 Now That You're Out

help you be stronger so that you can better cope with homophobia. But by
itself, it won’t fully solve all serious emotional problems that might plague
you. For example, it won’t fully correct a flawed core identity based on a
deep need for self-devaluation. And as discussed throughout this book, in
some ways it can even make things worse for you. The negative fallout from
disclosure is almost always anxiety provoking, at the very least. And
besides, too much inner peace has its own dark side. It can have a negative
homogenizing effect on your personality so that your lack of conflict makes
you blurry: more out but less interesting.
Anticipate that you might need to come out more than once.

Professionally, my being gay was definitely holding me back from

entering psychoanalytic training. So after years of being out, I decided
to go back in. Then, after five years of being celibate to please not
myself but my analyst, I came out again. Subsequent professional set-
backs turned me back in once more due to reviving my guilt about
being gay. Two incidents stand out in my mind: a professor refusing
me a staff position on his service because I was gay and a patient dis-
covering me in the supermarket with an obvious boyfriend and then
quitting therapy because he “didn’t want to be treated by a queer.”

Just as your parents should understand the son coming out to them, you,
in coming out, should understand the parents you are coming out to. No
doubt, though they are imperfect, they still tried to do a good job raising
you, even if they did, likely unwittingly, fail you in some important
respects—generally because their own parents were narrow-minded about
homosexuality due to generation-specific cultural norms that existed in
their time. So, try to put yourself in your parents’ place and see yourself
from their point of view—not only from your vantage point of “what are
my own joys and burdens?” but also from their vantage point of how
you might feel if you were them being confronted with something hard
to fully understand that they just want to go away. Let that understanding
guide what you say and how you behave. For example, view any undesir-
able response on their parts not necessarily as the product of their ill will
but as a possible sign of their imperfect humanity. Work with them, be
patient, and resolve any differences that come between you and them so
that instead of your coming out’s opening new wounds and salting them,
it closes up old wounds, healing them and avoiding making new ones.
A definite possibility exists that your disclosure will upset them as they
come to feel startled, surprised, and even shocked to hear the news and
then, like anyone caught off guard, react unpredictably and negatively.
 Coming Out 11

So, view your coming out to them (and to everyone else) not as an incident
but as a process, one requiring not only initial disclosure (with care) but
also follow-up with concern. Work things through until all concerned
digest and get comfortable with what just emerged and have the opportu-
nity to rethink and, when necessary, revise their initial reaction and
response. If you can, be forgiving of any harsh initial negativity on their
parts, hoping that they will come around in time to be more accepting
and tolerant. Then try to engineer just that actively. Affirm them as you
want them to affirm you and support them as you seek support from them.
If they seem upset or worried, find out what is bothering them and help
them deal with it. If they feel sadness, regret, depression, and even (some
legitimate) fears for your present and future safety and well-being, address
that problem, for example, by correcting any of their distortions of what
being gay means. Explore their fears in depth. For example, do they fear
that the rest of the family will shame, exile, and ostracize them? Can you
say something about that to relieve at least some of their anxiety?
This said, sometimes, as in the following case, a sanguine outcome
may not be forthcoming, and even time may not heal all the resultant
wounds.

When a gay man came out to his mother, all she could think of was to
respond with, “He is in some sort of trouble,” then rewrite her entire
will to leave her son everything. His father, however, first went into
denial, convincing himself that his son was going through a phase that
would soon be over. When his denial subsided, he moved on to con-
demn his son as a “reprobate in a family known, since they came to
this country many years ago, for its propriety, decency and respect-
ability.” He then said that his son was clearly trying to hurt him, then
sent him off to military school to reform as well as to get away from
the new boyfriend that the father thought was making the son gay.
Then the father demanded the son go for reparative therapy—and
found him a therapist who guaranteed he could turn him straight.
The mother responded the way she did because she was a kindly
woman who loved her son unconditionally. The father responded
the way he did because he was a depressed man who needed to finger
point and affix blame onto others as his way to deal with his own gen-
eralized self-blame; a controlling man who saw his son’s being gay
as defiance, the father having expected everyone in his family to be
like him and do what he wanted them to do; an erotophobic man
who felt negatively about anything sexual, not only homosexuality;
a scrupulously religious man belonging to a sect that disapproved
12 Now That You're Out

of homosexuality; a chronic worrier who couldn’t stop brooding about

his son’s having unsafe sex and falling in with bad companions; and a
lonely man who feared that his son would go off and abandon him,
hanging around with his gay buddies, leaving Dad behind at home,
alone, and with a wife he no longer found particularly interesting.
The son, while appreciating the mother’s support, made no attempt to
understand where his father was coming from. Instead, he spent all his
energy acting out against the father. He became a contrarian to tell his
father, “This isn’t your life, it’s mine, and I’ll live it the way I want.”
He also expressed defiance by going beyond becoming openly to becom-
ing wildly gay—to the point of becoming deliberately outrageous. In
response, his father, defying the mother who now more than ever hoped
to heal the divisiveness, cracked down on his son even more by con-
stantly monitoring him and holding back money unless he did his bid-
ding. That, of course, could only enhance the son’s rebelliousness and
increase his defiance. It took months of family therapy to avoid a com-
plete rift with Dad, but even then there was no full healing reconciliation.

ADVICE TO PARENTS
Parents being come out to have a responsibility to help their sons navi-
gate a situation that can be as difficult for him as it is for them. For,
as Denizet-Lewis says, There is a link “between family acceptance or
rejection of gay children and their mental health in early adulthood. . . .
teenagers in ‘rejecting families’ were significantly more likely to have
attempted suicide, used drugs and engaged in unprotected sex than those
who were raised in accepting families.”1 As will be evident throughout
this book, my own parents’ negative attitudes about my being gay left
me at odds not only with my homosexuality but also with my forever
questioning how much they really loved me. (Relationships with parents
is discussed in more detail in Chapter 8.)
You as a parent being come out to also have a responsibility to yourself.
You as a parent should always freely ask your son relevant questions with-
out unduly fearing that you will necessarily say the wrong thing and pro-
voke a negative response. Ask for any information you need so that you
can respond rationally after considering all the facts. Especially avoid
problematic responses that are displacements onto his being gay from other
matters entirely—such as issues of parental control or those arising out of a
breakthrough of your own pathological erotophobia. Deal forthrightly and
head-on primarily—or only—with the actual issue at hand. Ask yourself,
“What is my son trying to tell me? What can I learn from him about what
 Coming Out 13

being gay means and how it affects us and him?” Then ask him, “Is there
anything that I can do for you, any help you might need that I can give you?”
Avoid trivializing his disclosure by going into denial about it and say-
ing, “That’s okay,” feigning disinterest and lack of surprise, then preoccu-
pying yourself with other things, implying or saying, “So what else is
new? I always knew you were gay. You aren’t telling me anything special.
Now let’s move on to something more interesting and relevant.” Never
trivialize your son’s being gay as just a phase he is going through as you
ask him to “check back with me in a month, or in a year, or whenever
you are over this temporary insanity.”
Always avoid a passive-aggressive response consisting of falling into a
perplexed silence as your roundabout way to express disapproval. Equally
unacceptably passive-aggressive is self-blaming with hostile implications,
along the lines of “I am so sorry for having made you this way; I know it’s
my fault; what can I do to make things up to you?” Not much better is
attacking him along similar lines in the guise of excessive altruism (“I’ll
do anything you want me to do to help you with your problem”) associ-
ated with patently transparent, cloying, excessive caring and concern
along the lines of “I am not mad, only worried about your future if you
continue in this fashion, for as everyone knows, gays are an unhappy lot
who can only look forward to a life of drugging, disease, and endless lone-
liness, and I want to spare you that.”

A patient’s parents sublimated their anger and disdain toward their

son as unconvincing pity and concern so that “You enrage me for being
this way; you are ruining our family” became “I am so sorry for you; I
wish I could do something to relieve you of your pain and heal your
wounds. Can we pray in church together, and can I pay for a caring
therapist who can change you back to normal and fix what is wrong
with you, or (suddenly finding the needed funds) send you off to medical
school (far from home and your new boyfriend) because “our only wish
is to make you happy and see you successful professionally.”

Do not criticize/blame your son’s boyfriend for making your son gay.
Too many parents, instead of being happy that their son has found some-
one to love, displace their anger and disappointment about his being gay
onto the person he has found, along the lines of “you are my son’s ruin-
ation.” You don’t want to alienate him from his partner, and you certainly
don’t want to alienate him from yourself.
Of course, never become openly angry, judgmentally moralistic, and
controlling along the lines of “do what I want you to do, or else.” Never
14 Now That You're Out

say anything remotely like, “You are ruining our lives, look at what you
are doing to us. You disgust us; we can’t believe we had a son like that,
someone who would do such dreadful things.”

The man my parents caught me with in flagrante (see below) became

my partner for a few years. I followed him to New Mexico, where he
had taken a residency in surgery. Because I had no money of my
own, I asked my father for a check to tide me over. But for me to cash
the check, my partner had to cosign it. He did, and my father saw this
man’s name on the back of the check, knew that I hadn’t gone quite as
straight as he had hoped, and flew into a rage at me for seeing this
man again, screaming, “I paid for a therapist to get you over this;
now where did all of that get me? You will have to go back into treat-
ment, or you are out of my life and for the rest of it. And in any event,
except for your medical care, no more money for you, ever.”

Never, never retaliate by withholding love from your son. At first,

Michael’s mother made it clear that she wanted me to let her son alone
and go away. I was banished from the household. I remember having to
sit on a park bench on a cold fall day for an hour finishing a badly ending
Stephen King novel while Michael, himself reluctantly, went to meet his
parents alone because they didn’t want me around. Only later, but not
until she was on her deathbed, when it was far too late to do much good,
did his mother confess that while initially she didn’t like me at all, after-
ward I had mostly won her heart.
Never expect your son to treat himself like a pariah you are ashamed of as
you ask him to banish and exile himself from the family and all your friends
so that he doesn’t ruin you socially should others find out. Thus, “Don’t
bring your boyfriend home ever, and certainly not for Christmas dinner.”

My parents, I, and Michael always ate at the same restaurant every

Sunday. My parents, mysteriously, always wanted to eat dinner around
lunchtime, and I couldn’t figure out why—until I discovered that their
best friends also ate dinner at the same restaurant on the same days
but at the regular dinnertime, which was two hours after we left. So,
my parents were whisking me out of there early so that their friends
wouldn’t see me with my partner! As a result, not only did I come to
resent them, but I lost contact with their friends, whom I liked a great
deal but was fated to never see again.
A patient’s parents responded to his telling them that he was gay
first by becoming more loving to his straight sisters and brothers
 Coming Out 15

and then by changing their will. They said, “We are going to leave
our entire estate to our grandchildren because they need to have a
big wedding and you don’t, and also we want your niece to inherit
the land in North Carolina so that she can have a place to raise a
big family and horses.” They then started calculatedly responding
to him as if he were a person of little value, not worthy of their time
or attention. They also encouraged the rest of the family to ostracize
him. To accomplish their end, they made up negative things he sup-
posedly said about them, then passed these on as accurate reporting.
Until recently, he never knew why his family’s friends, his extended
family, and their friends didn’t want to have anything to do with
him. He always imagined it was because he disappointed them in
some way. It never occurred to him that it was because he was a good
person and gay, and his parents were bad people though straight.

Parents should never out their sons by tricking them into revealing
themselves against their will. When my parents did that to me, they did
permanent harm not only to me but also to our relationship:

I was happy being gay, but my parents wanted me, their only son, to
be straight: a doctor with a large general practice and an even larger
standard family. (True, I was also that typical adolescent more likely
to hide my thoughts than to discuss important matters with Mom and
Dad.) Ultimately saying that “they had to know,” they set up an
elaborate ruse. Telling me they were going away on vacation, they
dressed up in travel clothes, packed their bags, and kissed me and
my new boyfriend good-bye. Only they went to a neighbor’s apartment
whose windows faced my bedroom. Here they waited until I pulled the
shades, at which time they came roaring back to catch me in flagrante.
Now they berated me for being a “homosexualist” and forced me into
therapy—to take a cure that they, not I, felt was needed.

In summary, this chapter focuses less on the considerable benefits of

coming out than on solving disclosure-related problems such as those that
exist in a real world that requires you to balance the relief and benefits you
obtain from disclosure with the predictable wages of prejudice and dis-
crimination on the part of those you disclose to. So much depends on
you—on who you are and your circumstances. Opening up can ultimately
bring peace into your life, and almost any gay man can cite the relief and
pleasure associated with disclosure. But too many gay men report
unpleasantness as the result.
16 Now That You're Out

As one of my patients said,

In the main, my revealing that I was gay put me on top overall. I felt
freer, more honest, and no longer had to waste time alternating
between depressive self-hatred and abandonment of my authentic self
and projection of self-criticism to the point of becoming paranoid—
evasive, secretive, and isolated, as “I hate myself” became “everyone
hates me.” Lying took work and sapped energy best reserved for
more practical, more creative, and more highly generative matters.
Also, it followed that many people became more accepting of me, just
because I as a gay man became more accepting of myself. But disclo-
sure by itself didn’t solve all of my problems, and it even created
some others for me. My family responded by becoming remote,
actually almost disowning me. All my cousins dumped me after one
of their wives outed me to the whole family. One cousin and her hus-
band even used the occasion of my father’s funeral to demonstrate
her disapproval: by staring me down in silence, not responding at
all when I asked her to tell me if anything was wrong.

Clearly, after most gay men come out, they still have some work to do.
After coming out, you will still have to work on your relationship with
your family, resolving misunderstandings between you and them, and oth-
erwise developing a valid, personalized, doable game plan based on the
immediate and ongoing responses of all concerned. Failing this, at a later
date, your joy may turn to anguish, and you very well might want—or
have—to go back in again.
TWO
Lifestyle

In this chapter, I discuss the different “lifestyles” (styles of living) avail-

able to you as a gay man and offer some suggestions about determining
which will be the most healthy, rewarding, enjoyable, stable, and creative
for you.
Kort, believing the term “lifestyle” to be misleading, even derogatory,
argues against using that term because being gay is not a choice; being
gay constitutes not living a lifestyle but having a life.1 I agree that the
term “lifestyle” should not be used to refer to being gay per se. But I see
it as acceptable to use the term “lifestyle” to refer to one of the many
different patterns of gay living—not “being gay” per se but being gay in
a certain way.
In this chapter, I do not favor or push one lifestyle over another. Rather,
I attempt to raise your consciousness about the many lifestyles extant so
that you can determine for yourself what is right for you without overlook-
ing any options—knowledgeably, carefully, and comfortably selecting the
wonderful life you want instead of settling for some life you don’t really
desire because you don’t know better or feel that that is what you should
have or all you can get. I also urge you to make the right lifestyle choices
as early as possible when there is still time to make changes should you,
giving things some thought, come to feel less authentic, happy, fulfilled,
stable, altruistic, loving, and accomplished than you can potentially be.
Many of my patients as gay men just starting out or as gay men well into
the life and the subculture had doubts and fears about what comes next
that weighed on their minds unnecessarily. So ask yourself this: Have
18 Now That You're Out

you, as a result of distortions of what is to be, become overly pessimistic

about what lies ahead? If so, is this because you bought in to negative
stereotypes about what being gay involves and drew conclusions about
what is to come based on shaky evidence formed from misperceptions
about how all gay men live, created not from the reality of what gay life
is actually like but from a few anecdotal studies of the lives of atypical
gay men on the fringe? Do you as a result of comparing gay to straight life
feel that being gay will not be different or better but worse? Do you imag-
ine yourself as always being miserable; constantly alone because you have
been unable to find true, lasting love; and forever condemned to live in
some underground place soaked with drugs and alcohol, wandering the
drafty cruising spots in the middle of the night, regularly getting dumped
by those you would love, winding up divorced from those you marry,
either having a nonexistent sex life or indulging in one that is a study in
excess—your personal world in a shambles because you are devoted less
to fulfilling yourself than to making an impression on others and your
professional life going nowhere if, which you believe to be unlikely, you
are employed at anything meaningful or at all? Do you worry that being
gay will be fun for a while but not after what happens next when,
paraphrasing Shakespeare and a once popular bumper sticker combined,
tomorrow after tomorrow, having run in its frantic pace from night
to night, all sound and fury, signifying nothing, you get old, and then you die?
Are you like my friend Frank?

Frank worried that in gay life the only two things that counted were
looks and money, and he had neither. He was convinced that because
he could never make a great living or look as good as some of his bud-
dies, he was therefore fated to go through life ignored, alone, and lonely.
I had to convince him that anatomy, like wealth, were only a part
of his destiny. As I noted, while it was true that in the gay subculture
(as in any subculture) good-looking, well-endowed, rich people have
some advantages over those not so blessed, most gay men aren’t into
looks and money as much as the mythology suggests. To prove my
point, I invited him down to take a quick look around my town. That
convinced him that emotional appeal counted for as much as or more
than physical appeal and financial wherewithal. As he concluded, at
last agreeing with me, most gay men, including himself, have all they
need to succeed, be happy, and have a rewarding, joyful, healthy life,
no matter if they are mainstream or untraditional/fringe, what they
look like or how much money they have—as long as they are warm,
accepting individuals who don’t distance themselves from others
 Lifestyle 19

because of pervasive relational anxiety on the one hand or the influ-

ence of constant pressure exerted by compulsive sexuality on the
other.

YOUR CHOICES
Out, In, or Somewhere in Between
Those who choose to come out may or may not choose to come out all the
way. There are various interim stages in becoming out: shades of gray
between being completely in (black) and entirely out (white). A common—
and satisfactory—compromise involves being out discretely while still
holding back selectively, keeping some aspects of your life to yourself yet
remaining fully proud—though less than completely open about what you
are and short of being completely truthful about what exactly you do.

The Barroom, the Backroom, or the Bedroom

Hanging out and getting your kicks in today’s subculture is different
from hanging out and getting your kicks in yesterday’s so that the old
rules, like “bars are the best, and perhaps the only, places to meet people,”
no longer apply, but the new rules, like “Internet dating is superior to bar
cruising,” don’t always work. There is no ideal place to meet Mr. Right, so
the choice of where to go to find sex/love is up to you, should be based on
individual need and unique personality, and ought to evolve based on
what you subsequently learn and come to experience. I met Michael in
my living room through an introduction from someone I first met in a
bar. But a close friend complained that he never had my luck, for all the
men he met in bars were “losers,” just like the following:

I and John, the man I met a few weeks ago at Los Lobos, seemed to hit
it off. And then he called me, talked for two hours, and said he hoped
to see me around at the gay dance some time. No asking me for a date.
Then a week went by, and he called back, and we made plans to
meet and sit with each other at a dance tonight. He showed up, one
hour late (so I had to pay for my own entry, of course), said we were
just friends and could dance with others, then proceeded to get him-
self a drink from the bar and not ask me if I wanted anything. We
did dance with each other for a while, which was nice, for he is a
wonderful dancer and very sexy when he dances. I think I was feeling
something, an illusion, that was not there or reciprocated on his part.
20 Now That You're Out

When we decided to leave, he let me walk all alone across the parking lot
to my car without even asking to accompany me, and he didn’t even try to
kiss or hug me good-bye, just said we can karaoke sing together sometime.
What a turnoff. I guess he was not interested at all, yet when he sat
next to me he would occasionally take my hand in his. A very hard
read. I think I am hoping so much that I overlook reality, as I shouldn’t.

Chapter 3 deals specifically with solving problems associated with meet-

ing Mr. Right.

The City, the Ghetto, or the Suburbs

With people today much more accepting of gays and gay life than they
used to be, gays are no longer marginalized into the ghettos they once fled
to, there to exchange the discomforts of mainstream living for the comforts
of being with their own kind. There are still towns, such as a few I’ve lived
in, where homophobia reigns, making for unpleasant or dangerous condi-
tions. But with most straight castle walls coming down, today you can
become anyone’s neighbor and friend. Today you no longer have to choose
to go where you fit; you can fit where you choose to go. Many gay men
select what they consider to be an ideal compromise: they go to live in funky
towns where gays are known as gay and are able to live comfortably side by
side with straights who like them just the way they are, the gays pushing
their own baby carriages down Main Street, where, though few of the towns-
people bat an eyelash, almost none of them bother batting an eye.

Single or Married
Today at least the idea of gay marriage is all the rage, but even if you
choose gay marriage, you still have to choose between a partner for a life-
time and a lifetime of partnering—between monogamy and polygamy,
between having a faithful marriage that epitomizes “gay family values”
and one where infidelity rules with cheating going on. Yours is effectively
a choice between sexual freedom/variety and its renunciation for the
greater good through constancy. Throughout this book, I make my case
for monogamous marriage unapologetically while recognizing that
because not every gay man has exactly the same personality structure,
needs, preferences, and opportunity, monogamous marriage is right for
many gay men but not for all. However, always distinguish a desire for
independence from a fear of closeness, never choosing polygamy not
because that pleases you but because selecting monogamy scares you.
 Lifestyle 21

Your Gender Identity

The choice of a gender identity is strictly yours. In simplistic terms, you
should choose your gender identity depending on what makes you most
comfortable. Are you more comfortable on the runway or at the raceway?
This is an important choice because it determines a very significant aspect
of your lifestyle: where you go to look for companionship and sex.
For example, your gender identity usually helps determine which bars you
frequent, if any. Will it be “The Underground”? or “Boots and Saddle”?
or “Rawhide” or “The Manhole”? or “The Anvil”? or “Lickety Split” or
“Paradise”? or “The Blue Parrot” or “The Coq D’Or”? or “Swell”? or even
“all of the above just depending on my mood of the moment”? Go where the
men you like and identify with happen to be, not to a place you don’t like
because it’s where you ought to be, that is, for moral reasons and/or because
your inner reformer taking over wants you to make/remake some place over
into what you believe it should be (“I’ll give this place some class,” or “let’s
go there to give those elegant queens the surprise of their life”).

Your Profession
I believe that the happiest, most successful gay men are those who get
their wildness out of their system early, have an epiphany sooner rather
than later, and, avoiding the extremes of all work and no play (or the other
way around), settle down to a quiet married monogamous existence and
integrate that with a stable generative career. Growing up without unduly
prolonging their adolescence, they attend one Black Party where the
entertainment consists of doing onstage circumcisions, then let that grow
old fast and way before they do.
Too many people assume that all gays are sexaholic. Too few recognize
that many gays are also—or instead—workaholic. Especially if this is
you, be very careful to choose your exact profession wisely after deciding
between doing what you love and loving what you can do. For not all pro-
fessions are equally accepting of gay men. It’s still true today: gay anes-
thesiologists require fewer survival skills than gay surgeons. To a great
extent, your choice of profession will be determined by and in turn deter-
mine your desired degree of disclosure. So, as always, choose to do not
only what you love but also what will love you back.

Your Religion
You can scrupulously follow none, some, or all of the precepts of a reli-
gion. You can fully embrace the cloth or the blacklist or go from one to
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
‘Has she ever told you what took her husband away after their
marriage?’
‘No, on that point she has been as silent as the grave. She told me
once that he had been to Buenos Ayres, called away on business. I
have never been able to extort anything more out of her.’
‘It must have been a curious kind of business which called a man
away from his newly-wedded wife,’ said Edward.
Celia nodded significantly, and looked at the fire. She loved Laura
well, but she loved scandal better.
Edward gave a short, impatient sigh, and turned his head fretfully
upon the cushion which maternal hands had worked in softest wool.
That movement, expressive of disgust with life in general, did not
escape the sharp eyes of his sister.
‘Ted, dear, I’m afraid you have not left off being unhappy about
Laura,’ she murmured, sympathetically.
‘I am only unhappy about her when I think she is married to a
scoundrel.’
‘Oh, Ted, how can you say such a thing?’
‘Celia, a man who can give no account of seven years of his life must
be a scoundrel,’ Edward Clare said decisively. ‘Say nothing to alarm
Laura, I beg you. I am talking to you to-day as if you were a man,
and to be trusted. Wait and watch. Wait and watch, as I shall.’
‘Edward, how you frighten me! You make me feel as if we were
living in one of those villages at the foot of Vesuvius, with a fiery
mountain getting itself ready to explode and destroy us.’
‘There will be an explosion some day, Celia, depend upon it; an
explosion that will blow up the Manor House as surely as Kirk o’ Field
was blown up the night Darnley was slain.’
He said no more, though Celia did not willingly let the subject drop.
Indeed, he was inclined to be angry with himself for having said so
much, though he had not given his sister his confidence without a
motive. He wanted to know all that could be known about John
Treverton, and Celia was in a position to learn much that he could
not discover for himself.
‘I really thought you were beginning to like Mr. Treverton,’ the girl
said, presently. ‘You and he seem to get on so well together.’
‘I am civil to him for Laura’s sake. I would be guilty of a worse
hypocrisy if I thought it would serve her interests.’
Edward sighed, and gave his head another angry jerk upon the
cushion. He wanted to do John Treverton deadly harm; and yet he
knew that the worst he could do to his rival would bring about no
good result to himself. There was nothing to be gained by it. The
injury would be irrevocable, deadly; a blight upon name and fortune
—perchance the gallows—a shame so deep that a loving wife would
scarcely survive the blow. All this was in Edward Clare’s mind as a
not impossible revenge. And unhappily there was no smaller revenge
possible. He felt himself possessed of a deadly power; but of no
power to wound without slaying. He was like the cobra, whose
poisonous fangs are provided with an ingenious mechanism which
keeps them in reserve until the creature wants to use them. Two
hinged teeth lie back against the roof of the snake’s mouth. When
he attacks his victim the hinge moves, the fangs descend, the poison
gland is pressed, and the deadly poison runs down a groove in the
tooth, and drops into the puncture prepared to receive it. Lop off the
wounded limb ere the shadow on the dial has marked the passage
of twenty seconds, or the venom will have done its work. Medicine
has yet to discover the antidote that can save the life of the victim.
 CHAPTER XXIV.
‘AND PURPLE LIGHT SHONE OVER ALL.’
Christmas was at hand, the first Christmas in Laura’s married life,
and to her happy fancy it seemed the most wonderful season that
had ever been marked on the calendar of the ages. How could she
and John Treverton be thankful enough for the blessings Providence
had given them? How could they do enough to make other people
happy? About a fortnight before the sacred festival she carried Celia
off to Beechampton in the pony carriage, to buy a tremendous stock
of blankets and flannel petticoats for the old women, and
comfortable homespun coats for the rheumatic old men.
‘Have you any idea as to the amount you are spending, Laura?’
asked the practical Celia.
‘No, dear; but I have one fixed idea, and that is that no one near
Hazlehurst shall be cold and wretched this Christmas, if I can help it.’
‘I’m afraid you are encouraging pauperism,’ said Celia.
‘No, Celia; I am waging war against rheumatism.’
‘I hope you don’t expect gratitude.’
‘I only expect the blankets to keep out Jack Frost. And now for the
grocer’s.’
She shook the reins gaily, and drove on to the chief grocer of
Beechampton, in whose plate-glass windows a pair of tall Japanese
jars announced the superior character of the trade transacted inside.
Here Mrs. Treverton ordered a hundred parcels of plums, currants,
sugar, spice, and candied peel, each parcel containing an ample
supply for a family Christmas pudding. The shopman rejoiced as he
booked the order, and was eloquent in his praise of ‘our new fruit.’
From the grocer’s they drove to the confectioner’s, and there Laura
ordered such a supply of plum cake and buns, muffins and tea
cakes, all to be delivered at the Manor House on Christmas Eve, that
Celia began to be seriously alarmed for her friend’s sanity.
‘What can you want with all that indigestible rubbish?’ she
exclaimed. ‘Are you going to open a pastrycook’s shop?’
‘No, dear. These things are for my juvenile party.’
‘A juvenile party—already! I can’t understand your motive, unless it
is to get your hand in for the future. Who are you going to have? All
Lady Parker’s nursery, of course—and Lady Barker’s grandchildren,
and Mrs. Pendarvis’s seven boys, the Briggses, and the Dropmores,
and the Seymours. You’ll want dissolving views, and a conjuror; and
you might have tableaux vivants, as you don’t seem to care how
much money you waste. People expect so much at juvenile parties
now-a-days.’
‘I think my guests will be quite happy without tableaux vivants, or
even a conjuror.’
‘I doubt it. Those little Barkers are intensely old for their age.’
‘The little Barkers are not coming to my party.’
‘And the Pendarvis boys give themselves as many airs as
undergraduates after their first term.’
‘But I have not invited the Pendarvis boys.’
‘Then what children, in goodness’ name, are to eat all those cakes?’
cried Celia.
‘My party is for the children of the cottagers. All your father’s infant
school will be there.’
‘Then all I can say is, I hope you have arranged for the ventilation of
your rooms; for if you expect me to spend Christmas Eve in an
atmosphere at all resembling that of our infant schoolroom you are
reckoning without your host.’
‘I am not reckoning without a knowledge of Celia Clare’s good
nature. I shall expect you to help me with all your heart and soul.
Even your brother might do something for us. He could give us a
comic reading—“Mrs. Brown at the play,” or something of that kind.’
‘Picture to yourself Algernon Swinburne reading “Mrs. Brown” to a
herd of charity children,’ exclaimed Celia, laughingly. ‘I assure you
my brother Edward thinks himself quite as important a person as Mr.
Swinburne. Would you have him lay aside his magnum opus to study
“Mrs. Brown at the play”?’
‘I am sure he won’t mind helping us,’ said Laura. ‘I shall have a
Christmas tree loaded with gifts, a good many of them useful ones. I
shall hire a magic lantern from London; and for the rest we can have
all the old-fashioned games—Blind Man’s Buff, Oranges and Lemons,
Thread my Needle—all the noisiest, wildest romps we can think of. I
am going to have the servants’ hall cleared out and decorated for
the occasion; so there will be no fear of any of the dear old furniture
coming to grief.’
‘If poor old Mr. Treverton could come to life again, and see such
goings on!’ ejaculated Celia.
‘I am sure he would be glad to know that his wealth was employed
in making other people happy. Think of all those poor little children,
Celia, who hardly know the meaning of the word pleasure, as rich
people understand it.’
‘All the happier for them,’ said Celia, philosophically. ‘The pleasures
of the rich are dreadfully hollow; as sickly-sweet and crumbly as a
meringue from an inferior pastry-cook, with the cream gone sour
inside. Well, Laura, you are a good soul, and I will do my very best
to help you through your juvenile muddle. I wonder if fourteen
thousand a year would make me benevolent. I’m afraid my expenses
would increase at such a rate that I should have no margin for
charity.’
Before Christmas Eve came a shadow had fallen upon Laura’s life,
which made complete happiness impossible, even for one who was
bent upon giving joy to others. John Treverton fell ill of a low fever.
He was not dangerously ill. Mr. Morton, the local doctor, who had
attended Jasper Treverton for twenty years, and who was a general
practitioner of skill and experience, made very light of the malady.
The patient had got a chill riding a tired horse a long way home
through the rain, after his last hunt, and the chill had resulted in
slightly feverish symptoms, and Mr. Treverton was a little below par.
That was all. The only remedies wanted were rest and good nursing,
and for a man in John Treverton’s position both were easy.
‘Ought I to put off my children’s party?’ Laura asked, anxiously, the
day before Christmas Eve. ‘I should be very sorry to disappoint the
poor little things, but,’ here her voice faltered, ‘if I thought John was
going to be worse——’
‘My dear Mrs. Treverton, he is not going to be worse; in fact, he is
rapidly mending. Didn’t I tell you the pulse was stronger this
morning? He will be well in a few days, I hope; but I shall keep him
in his room to the end of the week, and I shall not allow him to take
part in any Christmas festivities. As for your children’s party, if you
can prevent the noise of it reaching him, there is no reason in the
world why it should be postponed.’
‘The servants’ hall is quite on the other side of the house,’ said
Laura. ‘I don’t think the noise can possibly reach the next room.’
This conversation between Mrs. Treverton and the doctor had taken
place in John Treverton’s study—the panelled room adjoining his
bedroom—the room in which he and Laura had first met.
‘Then that’s all you need care about,’ replied Mr. Morton.
Laura had been her husband’s only nurse throughout his illness. She
had sat with him all day, and watched him through the night, taking
snatches of slumber at intervals on the comfortable old sofa at the
foot of the big old-fashioned four-post bed. In vain had John
Treverton urged the danger of injury to her own health from the
fatigue involved in this tender care of him. She told him she had
never felt better or stronger, and never enjoyed more refreshing
sleep than on the roomy old sofa.
They had been happy together, even in this time of anxiety. It was
Laura’s delight to read aloud to the invalid, to write his letters, to
pour out his medicine, to minister to all the trivial wants of an illness
that caused at its most only a sense of languor and helplessness.
Her only regret with regard to the children’s party was that for this
one evening she must be for the most part absent from the sick
room. Instead of reading aloud to her husband, she must give her
mind to ‘Blind Man’s Buff,’ and all her energies to ‘Thread my Needle.’
The winter twilight came gently down, bringing a light snow shower
with it, and at four o’clock Laura was seated at the little Chippendale
table by her husband’s bed, drinking tea with him for the first time
since the beginning of his illness. He had been sitting up for a few
hours in the middle of the day, and was now lying outside the bed,
wrapped warmly in his long fur-bordered dressing-gown.
He was intensely interested in the children’s party, and asked Laura
all about her arrangements for entertaining her guests.
‘I should think the great point was to give them enough to eat,’ he
said, meditatively. ‘The nearest approach to perfect happiness I ever
beheld is a child eating something it considers nice. For the moment
the mind of that infant is in a state of complete beatitude. It lives in
the present, and the present only. Its little life is rounded into the
narrow circle of NOW. Slowly, thoughtfully, it smacks its lips, and
gloats upon the savour it loves. Hardly an earthquake would disturb
it from that deep and tranquil delight. With the last mouthful, its
gladness departs, and the child learns that earthly pleasure is
fleeting. Let your children stuff themselves all the evening and stuff
their pockets before they go home, Laura, and they will realise the
perfection of bliss.’
‘And to-morrow the poor little creatures would be ill and miserable.
No, Jack, they shall enjoy themselves a little more rationally than
you propose; and every one of them shall have something to take
back to the person they love best at home, so that even a child’s
idea of enjoyment shall not be utterly selfish. But I shall be so sorry
to be away from you all the evening Jack.’
‘And I shall be still more sorry to lose you, love. I shall try to sleep
away the hours of your absence. Could you not give me a good dose
of chloral now, Laura?’
‘Not for the world, dear. I have a horror of opiates, except in
extreme cases. I shall contrive to be with you for an odd half hour or
two in the course of the evening. Celia is to be my lieutenant.’
‘Then I hope you will let her do a good deal of your work, and that I
shall see the sweet face I love, very often. Who is coming, besides
the children?’
‘Only Mr. Sampson and his sister, and Edward Clare. Edward is going
to read an Ingoldsby legend. I suggested “Mrs. Brown at the play;”
but he would not hear of her. I am afraid the children won’t
understand Ingoldsby.’
‘You and Celia must start all the laughter.’
‘I don’t think I could laugh while you are a prisoner here.’
‘It has been a very short imprisonment and your sweet society has
made it very happy.’
 CHAPTER XXV.
THE CHILDREN’S PARTY.
The servants’ hall was one of the finest rooms in the Manor House.
It was at the back of the house, remote from all the reception
rooms, and had been part of a much older building than the Carolian
mansion to which it now belonged. It was lighted by two square
latticed windows with stone mullions, looking into the stable yard.
There was also a door opening directly into the same stable yard,
and offering a convenient approach for the wandering tribes of
tramps, hawkers, and gipsies, who boldly defied the canine
guardians of the yard, knowing that the stoutest mastiff that ever
thundered forth his abhorrence of rags and beggary is only
formidable within the circle described by the length of his chain.
On this Christmas Eve the servants’ hall looked as cheerful a room as
one could choose for a night’s revelry. Huge logs flamed and
crackled in the wide old fireplace, and shone and sparkled on the
whitewashed wall, which was glorified with garlands of holly and ivy,
and lighted with numerous candles in tin sconces made for the
occasion by the village blacksmith. Two long tables on trestles were
spread with such a meal as a rustic child might see in some happy
dream, but could scarcely hope to behold in sober reality. Such
mountains of plum cake, such mighty piles of buns, such stacks of
buttered toast, such crystal jars of ruby jam and amber marmalade!
The guests had been invited for the hour of six, and, as the clock
struck, they all came trooping in, with shining faces, and cheeks and
noses cherry red, after their run through the lightly falling snow. It
was not often that snow fell in this western world, and a snowstorm
at Christmas was considered altogether pleasant and seasonable, an
event for the children to rejoice at.
Laura was ready to receive her young visitors, supported by Mr.
Sampson and his sister, Celia Clare, and all the servants. Edward had
promised to drop in later. He had no objection to distinguish himself
by a comic reading, but he had no idea of sharing all the fatigue of
the entertainment. Mr. and Mrs. Clare were to come in the course of
the evening to see their small parishioners enjoying themselves.
The tea party was a great success. Celia worked nobly. While Mrs.
Treverton and Miss Sampson poured out the tea, this vivacious
damsel flew hither and thither with plates of cake, spread
innumerable slices of bread and jam, tied the strings of a score of
pinafores, filled every plate the instant it was empty, and provided at
every turn for the pleasure of the revellers, who sat in a happy
silence—stolid, emotionless, stuffing automatically.
‘You’d hardly think they were enjoying themselves intensely, would
you?’ whispered Celia, coming to Laura for a fresh supply of tea, ‘but
I know they are, because they all breathe so hard. If this was a
gathering of the county families, you might think it a failure; but
silence in this case means ecstasy.’
At the stroke of seven the tables were being cleared, while Celia, in
wild spirits, ran about after the smiling housemaids, crying, ‘more
light, ye knaves, and turn the tables up.’ Then came a merry hour at
‘Blind Man’s Buff’ and ‘Thread my Needle,’ and the silent tea party
grew clamorous as a flight of rooks at sunset. At eight Mr. and Mrs.
Clare arrived, followed a little later by Edward, who sauntered in
with a somewhat languid air, as if he had not quite made up his
mind that he ought to be there.
He came straight to Laura, who had just returned from a stolen half-
hour by her husband’s bedside.
‘What an uproar!’ he said. ‘I’ve come to keep my promise; but do
you really think these little animals will care for the “Jackdaw of
Rheims”?’
‘I think they will be glad to sit still for a little while after their romp,
and I’ve no doubt they’ll laugh at the “Jackdaw.” It’s very good of
you to come.’
‘Is it? If you knew how I detest infant school children you might say
so, but if you knew how I——’ He left the sentence unfinished. ‘How
is Treverton?’ he asked.
‘Much better. Mr. Morton says he will be well in a day or two.’
‘I passed a curious-looking fellow in the road just outside your gates,
a regular London Bohemian; a man whose very walk recalled the
most disreputable quarters of that extraordinary city. I have no idea
who the fellow is; but I’ll swear he’s a Londoner, a swindler, and an
adventurer; and I have a lurking idea that I have seen him before.’
‘Indeed! Was it that which attracted your notice?’
‘No, it was the man’s style and manner altogether. He was loitering
near the gate, as if with some intention; possibly not the most
honourable. You’ve heard perhaps of a kind of robbery known as the
portico dodge?’
‘No. I am not learned in such distinctions.’
‘It is a common crime now-a-days. A country house with a portico is
a fine field for the display of genius in burglary. One of the gang
scales the portico after dusk, most likely at the family dinner-hour,
gets from the roof of the portico through a convenient window, and
then quietly admits his accomplices. In all such robberies there is
generally one member of the gang, the cleverest and best educated,
who has no active part in the crime. He does all the intellectual
work, schemes and directs the whole business; but though the
police know him and would give their eyes to catch him tripping, he
never tumbles into their trap. The fellow I saw at your gates to-night
seemed to me just this sort of man.’
Laura looked very serious, as if she were alarmed at the idea of
robbery.
‘Was this man young or old?’ she asked thoughtfully.
‘Neither. He is middle-aged, perhaps even elderly, but certainly not
old. He is as straight as a dart, spare but broad-shouldered, and with
something of a military air.’
‘What made you fancy he had some evil design upon this house?’
asked Laura, her face clouded with anxious thought.
‘I did not like the way in which he loitered by the gate. He seemed
to be looking for some one or something, watching his opportunity. I
don’t want to scare you, Laura. I only want to put you on your
guard, so that you may have all the doors and shutters looked after
with extra care to-night. After all, the man may be perfectly
harmless—some seedy acquaintance of your husband, perhaps. A
man cannot live in the world of London without that kind of burr
sticking to his coat.’
‘You do not flatter my husband by such a supposition,’ said Laura,
with an offended look.
‘My dear Laura, do you think a man can live his life without making
acquaintance he would not care to exhibit in the glare of noonday?
You know the old adage about poverty and strange bedfellows. I
hope there is no treason in reminding you that Mr. Treverton was not
always rich.’
‘No. I am not ashamed of his having been poor; but it would shame
me if I thought he had any acquaintance in his poverty whom he
would blush to own now he is rich. Will you begin your reading? The
children are ready.’
The infants, flushed and towzled by their sports, had been ranged
on benches by the joint efforts of Tom Sampson, his sister, and Celia
Clare, and were now being regaled with cake and negus. Celia had
placed a small table, with a pair of candles and a glass of water, at
the end of the room, for the accommodation of the reader.
‘Silence!’ commanded Mr. Sampson, as Edward walked to his place,
gave a little preparatory cough, and opened his book. ‘Silence for
“The Jackdaw of Rheims.”’
 ‘The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal’s chair!
Bishop, and abbot, and prior were there;
Many a monk and many a friar,
Many a knight and many a squire,’

began Edward.
A loud peal of the front-door bell startled him. He stopped for a
moment, and looked at Laura, who was sitting with the Vicar and his
wife in a little group near the fireplace at the other end of the room.
At the sound of the bell she looked up quickly, and, with an agitated
air, kept her eyes fixed on the door, as if she expected some one to
enter.
He had no excuse for leaving off reading, curious as he felt about
that bell, and Laura’s evident concern. He went on mechanically, full
of wondering speculations as to what was going on in the entrance
hall, hating the open-mouthed and open-eyed infants who were
hanging on his words; while Celia, seated at the end of the front
row, started all the laughter and applause.
‘Where did I meet that man?’ he asked himself over and over again
while he read on.
The answer flashed upon him in the middle of a sentence.
‘It is the man I saw with Chicot in Drury Lane; the man I talked to in
the public-house.’
The door opened, and the slow and portly Trimmer came in, and
softly made his way to the place where his mistress was seated. He
whispered to her, and then she whispered to Mrs. Clare—doubtless
an apology for leaving her—and anon followed Trimmer out of the
room.
‘What can that man—if it is that man who rang the bell—want with
her?’ wondered Edward, so deeply moved that he could scarcely go
on reading. ‘Is the secret going to be told to-night? Are the cards
going to be taken out of my hands?’
 CHAPTER XXVI.
A DISINTERESTED PARENT.
‘A person has called to see you, ma’am. He begs to apologise for
coming so late, but he has travelled a long way, and will be very
thankful if you can see him.’
This is what the butler had whispered in Mrs. Treverton’s ear,
handing her at the same time a card on which there was a name
written—
‘Colonel Mansfield.’
At sight of this name Laura rose, whispered her excuse to Mrs. Clare,
and glided quietly from the room.
‘Where have you left this gentleman?’ she asked the butler.
‘I left him in the hall, ma’am. I did not feel sure you would see him.’
‘He is related to my family,’ said Laura, faltering a little; ‘I cannot
refuse to see him.’
This brief conversation occurred in the corridor leading from the
servants’ hall to the front of the house. A tall man, wrapped in a
loose, rough great-coat, was standing just inside the hall door, while
Trimmer’s subordinate, a rustic youth in a dark-brown livery, stood at
ease near the fireplace, evidently placed there to protect the
mansion from any evil designs on the part of the unknown intruder.
Laura went to the stranger and gave him her hand, without a word.
She was very pale, and it was evident the visitor was as unwelcome
as he was unexpected.
‘You had better come to my study,’ she said. ‘There is a good fire
there. Trimmer, take candles to the study and some wine.’
‘I’d rather have brandy,’ said the stranger. ‘I am chilled to the bone.
An eight hours’ journey in a cattle truck is enough to freeze the
youngest blood. For a man of my age, and with chronic neuralgia, it
means martyrdom.’
‘I am very sorry,’ murmured Laura, with a look in which compassion
struggled against disgust. ‘Come this way. We can talk quietly in my
room.’
She went upstairs, the stranger following close at her heels, to the
gallery out of which John Treverton’s study, which was also her own
favourite sitting-room, opened. It was the room where she and her
husband had met for the first time, two years ago, on just such a
night as this. It adjoined the bedroom where John Treverton was
now lying. She had no desire that he should be a witness to her
interview with this visitor of to-night; but she had a sense of
protection in the knowledge that her husband would be within call.
Hitherto, on the rare occasions when she had been constrained to
meet this man, she had confronted him alone, defenceless; and she
had never felt her loneliness so keenly as at those times.
‘I ought to have told John the whole truth,’ she said to herself; ‘but
how could I—how could I bear to acknowledge——’
She glanced backward, with a suppressed shudder, at the man
following her. They were at the door of the study by this time. She
opened it, and he went in after her and shut the door behind him.
A fire was burning cheerily on the pretty, bright-looking hearth,
antique in its quaint ornamentation, modern in the artistic beauty of
its painted tiles and low brass fender. There were candles on the
mantelpiece and on the table, where an old-fashioned spirit bottle
on a silver tray cheered the soul of the wayfarer. He filled a glass of
brandy and drained it without a word.
He gave a deep sigh of contentment or relief as he set down the
glass.
‘That’s a little bit better,’ he said, and then he threw off his overcoat
and scarf, and planted himself with his back to the fire, and the face
which he turned to the light was the face of Mr. Desrolles.
The man had aged within the last six months. Every line in his face
had deepened. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes haggard and
bloodshot. The sands of life run fast for a man whose chief
nourishment is brandy.
‘Well,’ he exclaimed, in a hard, husky voice. ‘You do not welcome me
very warmly, my child.’
‘I did not expect you.’
‘The surprise should be all the pleasanter. Picture to yourself, now,
our meeting as it would be represented in a novel or a stage play.
You would throw your arms wide apart, shriek, and rush to my
breast. Do you remember Julia in the “Hunchback”? With what a yell
of rapture she flings herself into Master Walter’s arms!’
‘Do you remember what Master Walter had been to Julia?’ asked
Laura, looking steadily into the haggard eyes, which shifted their
gaze as she looked.
‘Real life is flat and tame compared with a stage play,’ said Desrolles.
‘For my part I am heartily sick of it.’
‘I am sorry to see you looking so ill.’
‘I am a perambulating bundle of aches. There is not a muscle in my
body that has not its particular pain.’
‘Can you find no relief for this complaint? Are there not baths in
Germany that might cure you?’
‘I understand,’ interrupted Desrolles. ‘You would be glad to get me
out of the way.’
‘I should be glad to lessen your suffering. When I last wrote to you I
sent you a much larger remittance than I had ever done before, and
I told you that I should allow you six hundred a year, to be paid
quarterly. I thought that would be enough for all your requirements.
I am grieved to hear that you have been obliged to ride in a third-
class carriage in cold weather.’
‘I have been unlucky,’ answered Desrolles. ‘I have been at Boulogne;
a pleasant place, but peopled with knaves. I fell among thieves, and
got cleaned out. You must give me fifty or a hundred to-night, and
you must not deduct it from your next quarterly payment. You are
now a lady of fortune, and could afford to do three times as much as
you are doing for me. Why did you not tell me you were married?
Pretty treatment that from a daughter!’
‘Father,’ exclaimed Laura, looking at him with the same calm gaze
which his shifting eyes had refused to meet just now, ‘do you want
me to tell you the truth?’
‘Of course. Whatever else do you suppose I want?’
‘Even if it seems hard and cruel, as the truth often is?’
‘Speak away, girl. My poor old bones have been too long battered
about in this world for hard words to break them.’
‘How can you ask me for a daughter’s dutiful love?’ asked Laura, in
low, earnest tones. ‘How can you expect it from me? What of a
father’s affection or a father’s care have you ever given to me? What
do I know of your life except fraud and mystery? Have you ever
approached me except in secret, and as an applicant for money?’
‘It’s a true bill,’ ejaculated Desrolles, with a laugh that ended in a
groan.
‘When I was a little motherless child you gave me to the one true
friend of your youth. He took me as his adopted daughter, leaving
you dying, as he supposed. Years passed, and you let him believe
you dead. For ten years you made no sign. Your daughter, your only
child, was being reared in a stranger’s house, and you did not
trouble yourself to make one inquiry about her welfare.’
‘Not directly. How do you know what measures I may have taken to
get information indirectly, without compromising your future? It was
for your advantage that I kept myself dark, Laura; it was for your
sake that I let my old friend believe me dead. As his adopted
daughter your prosperity was assured. What would your life have
been with me? To save you I lent myself to a lie.’
‘I am sorry for it,’ said Laura coldly. ‘In my mind all lies are hateful. I
cannot conceive that good can ever come of them.’
‘In this case good has come of my innocent deception. You are
mistress of a fine estate, wife of a husband whom, as I hear, you
love.’
‘With all my heart and soul.’
‘Is it too much to ask for a ray of your sunshine—a little benefit from
your large wealth?’
‘I will do anything in reason,’ answered Laura, ‘but not even for my
own father—had you been all that a father should be to his child—
would I suffer Jasper Treverton’s wealth to be turned to evil uses.
You told me that you stood alone in the world, with no one
dependent on you. Surely six hundred a year is an income that
should enable you to live in comfort and respectability?’
‘It will, when I have got myself clear of past liabilities. Remember
that until six months ago the help you gave me amounted only to a
hundred a year, except when I appealed to you, under the pressure
of circumstances, for an extra trifle. A hundred a year in London, to
a man in bad health, hardly served to keep the wolf from the door. I
had debts to pay. I have been unfortunate in a speculation that
promised well.’
‘In future you will have no occasion to speculate.’
‘True,’ said Desrolles, with a sigh, as he filled himself another glass
of brandy.
Laura watched him with a face full of pain. Was this a father she
could acknowledge to the husband she loved? Only with deepest
shame could she confess her close kindred with a creature so sunk
in degradation.
Desrolles drank the brandy at a gulp, and then flung himself into the
chair by the hearth.
‘And pray how long have you been married?’ he asked.
Laura’s face crimsoned at the question. It was just the one inquiry
calculated to give her acutest pain; for it recalled all that was painful
in the circumstances of her marriage.
‘We were married on the last day of last year,’ she said.
‘You have been a year married, and I only learn the fact to-night
from the village gossips at the inn where I stopped to eat a crust of
bread and cheese on my way here!’
‘You might have seen the announcement in the Times.’
‘I might, but did not. Well, I suppose I surrendered a father’s rights
when I gave my child to another man’s keeping; but it seems hard.’
‘Why pain yourself and me with useless reproaches? I am prepared
to do all that duty can dictate. I am deeply anxious that your future
life should be comfortable and respected. Tell me where you intend
to live, and how I can best assure your happiness.’
‘Happiness!’ cried Desrolles, with a derisive shrug. ‘I have never
known that since I was five-and-twenty. Where am I going to live,
do you ask? Who knows? Not I, you may be sure. I am a wanderer
by habit and inclination. Do you think I am going to shut myself in a
speculative builder’s brick and mortar box—a semi-detached villa in
Camden Town or Islington—and live the monotonous life of a
respectable annuitant? That kind of vegetation may suit a retired
tradesman, who has spent three-fourths of his life behind the same
counter. It would be living death to a man with a mind—a man who
has travelled and lived among his fellow-men. No, my dear; you
must not attempt to limit my movements by the inch-measure of
middle-class respectability. Give me my pittance unfettered by
conditions of any kind. Let me receive it quarterly from your London
agent, and, since you repudiate my claim to your affection, I pledge
myself never again to trouble you with my presence after to-night.’
‘I do not ask that,’ said Laura thoughtfully. ‘It is only right that we
should see each other sometimes. By the deception which you
practised upon my benefactor, you have made it impossible that I
should ever own you as my father before the world. Everybody in
Hazlehurst believes that my father died when Jasper Treverton
adopted me. But to my husband, at least, I can own the truth: I
have shrunk from doing so hitherto, but to-night, while we have
been sitting here, I have been thinking that I have acted weakly and
foolishly. John Treverton will respect your secret for my sake, and he
ought to know it.’
‘Stop,’ cried Desrolles, starting to his feet, and speaking in a louder
tone than he had used hitherto. ‘I forbid you to breathe a word of
me or my business to your husband. When I revealed myself to you
I pledged you to secrecy. I insist——’
He stopped and stood facing the doorway between the two rooms,
staring aghast, horror-stricken, as if he had seen a ghost.
‘Great heaven!’ he exclaimed, ‘what brings you here?’
John Treverton stood in the open doorway, a tall, dark figure, in a
long velvet dressing-gown. Laura flew to his side.
‘Dearest, why did you get up?’ she cried. ‘How imprudent of you!’
‘I heard a voice raised as if threateningly. What has brought this
man here—with you?’
‘He is the relation about whom you once questioned me, John,’
Laura answered, falteringly. ‘You have not forgotten?’
‘This man related to you?’ cried Treverton. ‘This man?’
‘Yes. You know each other?’
‘We have met before,’ answered Treverton, who had never taken his
eyes from the other man’s face. ‘We last met under very painful
circumstances. It is a surprise to find a relation of yours in Mr.——’
‘Mansfield,’ interrupted Desrolles. ‘I have changed the name of
Malcolm for Mansfield—a name in my mother’s family—for Laura’s
sake. It might be disadvantageous for her to own kindred with a
man whom the world has played football with for the last ten years.’
Desrolles had grown ashy pale since the entrance of Laura’s
husband, and the hand with which he poured out his third glass of
brandy shook like a leaf.
‘Highly considerate on your part, Mr. Mansfield,’ replied John
Treverton. ‘May I ask for what reason you have favoured my wife
with this late visit?’
‘The usual motive that brings a poor relation to a rich man’s house. I
want money, and Laura can afford to give it. Why beat about the
bush?’
‘Why indeed! Plain dealing will be best in this case. I think, as it is a
simple matter of business, you had better let me arrange it with you.
Laura, will you leave your kinsman’s claims for me to settle? You
may trust me to take a liberal view of his position.’
‘I will trust you, dearest, now and always,’ answered his wife, giving
him her hand, and then she went to Desrolles, and offered him the
same frank hand, looking at him with tender earnestness. ‘Good
night,’ she said, ‘and good-bye. I beg you to trust my husband, as I
trust him. Believe me, it will be the best for all of us. He will be as
ready to recognise your claim as I am, if you will only confide in him.
If I have trusted him with my life, cannot you trust him with your
secret?’
‘Good night,’ said Desrolles curtly. ‘I haven’t got over my
astonishment yet.’
‘At what?’
‘At finding you married.’
‘Good night,’ she said again, on the threshold of the door, and then
she came back to tell her husband not to fatigue or excite himself. ‘I
can only give you a quarter of an hour,’ she said to Desrolles. ‘Pray
remember that my husband is an invalid, and ought to be in bed.’
‘Go to your school children, dearest,’ said Treverton, smiling at her
anxiety. ‘I shall be careful.’
The door closed behind Laura, and the two men—fellow-lodgers a
year ago in Cibber Street—stood face to face with each other.
‘So you are John Treverton?’ said Desrolles, wiping his lips with that
tremulous hand of his, and looking with a hungry eye at the half-
empty decanter, looking anywhere rather than straight into the eyes
of his fellow-man.
‘And you claim relationship with my wife?’
‘Nearer, perhaps, than you would care to hear; so near that I have
some right to know how you, Jack Chicot, came to be her husband—
how it was that you married her a year ago, at which period the
lovely and accomplished Madame Chicot, whom I had the honour to
know, was still living? Either that charming woman was not your
wife, or your marriage with Laura Malcolm is invalid.’
‘Laura is my wife, and her marriage as valid as law can make it,’
answered John Treverton. ‘That is enough for you to know. And now
be good enough to explain your degree of kindred with Mrs.
Treverton. You say your real name is Malcolm. What was your
relationship with Laura’s father?’
‘Laura urged me to trust you with my secret,’ muttered Desrolles,
throwing himself into his former seat by the fire, and speaking like a
man who is calculating the chances of a certain line of policy. ‘Why
should I not be frank with you, Jack—Treverton? How much handier
the old name comes! Had you been the punctilious piece of
respectability I expected to meet in the heir of my old friend Jasper
Treverton, I might have shrank from telling you a secret that hardly
redounds to my credit, from the churchgoer and ratepayer’s point of
view. But to you—Jack—the artist and Bohemian, the man who has
tumbled on every platform and acted in every show at the world’s
fair—to you I may confide my secret without a blush. Come, fill me
another glass, like a good fellow; my hand shakes as if I had the
scrivener’s palsy. You know the history of Jasper Treverton’s adopted
daughter?’
‘I have heard it, naturally.’
‘You have heard how Treverton, who had quarrelled with his friend
Stephen Malcolm about a foolish love affair, was summoned many
years after to that friend’s sick bed—found him dying, as every one
supposed—then and there adopted Malcolm’s only child, and carried
her off with him, leaving a fifty-pound note to comfort his old
friend’s last moments and pay the undertaker?’
‘Yes, I have heard all this.’
‘But not what follows. When a doctor gives a patient up for dead, he
is sometimes on the high road to recovery. Stephen Malcolm
contrived to cheat the doctor. Perhaps it was the comfort provided
by that fifty-pound note, perhaps it was the knowledge that his only
child’s future was provided for,—anyhow, it seemed as if a burden
had been lifted from the sick man’s shoulders, for from the time
Jasper Treverton left him he mended, got a new lease of life, and
went out into the world again—a lonely wayfarer, happy in the
knowledge that his daughter’s fate was no longer allied with his, that
whatever evil might befall him her lines were set in pleasant places.’
‘Do you mean to tell me that Stephen Malcolm recovered—lived for
years—and allowed his daughter to suppose herself an orphan, and
his friend to believe him dead?’
‘To tell the truth would have been to hazard his daughter’s good
fortune. As an orphan, and the adopted child of a rich bachelor, her
lot was secure. What would it have been if she had been flung back
upon her actual father, to share his precarious existence? I
considered this, and took the unselfish view of the question. I might
have claimed my daughter back; I might have sponged on Jasper. I
did neither—I went my solitary way, along the stony highway of life,
uncheered, unloved.’
‘You!’ cried John Treverton. ‘You!’
‘Yes. In me you behold the wreck of Stephen Malcolm.’
‘You Laura’s father! Great heaven! Why, you have not a feature, not
a look in common with her! Her father! This is indeed a revelation.’
‘Your astonishment is not flattering to me. My child resembles her
mother, who was one of the loveliest women I ever saw. Yet I can
assure you, Mr. Treverton, that at your age, Stephen Malcolm had
some pretension to good looks.’
‘I am not disputing that, man. You may have been as handsome as
Adonis; but my Laura’s father should have at least something of her
look and air; a smile, a glance, a turn of the head, a something that
would reveal the mystic link between parent and child. Does she
know this? Does she recognise you as her father?’
‘She does, poor child. It is at her wish I have revealed myself to you.’
‘How long has she known?’
‘It is a little more than five years since I told her. I had just returned
from the Continent, where I had spent seven years of my life in self-
imposed exile. Suddenly I was seized with the outcast’s yearning to
tread his native soil again, and look upon the scenes of youth once
more before death closes his eyes for ever. I came back—could not
resist the impulse that drew me to my daughter—put myself one day
in her pathway, and told her my story. From that time I have seen
her at intervals.’
‘And have received money from her,’ put in John Treverton.
‘She is rich and I am poor. She has helped me to live.’
‘You might have lived upon the money she gave you a little more
reputably than you were living in Cibber Street, when we were
fellow-lodgers.’
‘What were my vices in Cibber Street? My life was inoffensive.’
‘Late hours and the brandy bottle—the ruin of body and soul.’
‘I have a chronic malady which makes brandy a necessity for me.’
‘Would it not be more exact to say that brandy is your chronic
malady? Well, Mr. Mansfield, I shall make a proposition to you in the
character of your son-in-law.’
‘I have a few words to say to you before you make it. I have told
you my secret, which all the world may know, and welcome. I have
committed no crime in allowing my old friend to suppose me dead. I
have only sacrificed my own interests to the advantage of my
daughter; but you, Mr. Treverton, have your secret, and one which I
think you would hardly like to lay bare to the world in which you are
now such an important personage. The master of Hazlehurst Manor
would scarcely care to be identified with Jack Chicot, the caricaturist,
and husband—at least by common repute—of the dancer whose
name used to adorn all the walls of London.’
‘No,’ said Treverton, ‘that is a dark page in my life which I would
willingly tear out of the book; but I have always known the
probability of my finding myself identified with the past, sooner or
later. This world of ours is monstrous big when a man tries to make
a figure in it; but it’s very small when he wants to hide himself from
his fellow-men. I have told my wife all I can tell her without stripping
the veil from that past life of mine. To reveal more would be to make
her unhappy. You can have no motive for telling her more than I
have told her. I can rely on your honour in this matter?’
‘You can,’ answered Desrolles, looking at him curiously; ‘but I shall
expect you to treat me handsomely—as a son-in-law, whose wealth
has come to him through his marriage, should treat his wife’s father.’
‘What would you call handsome treatment?’ asked Treverton.
‘I’ll tell you. My daughter, who has a woman’s petty notions about
money, has offered me six hundred a year. I want a thousand.’
‘Do you?’ asked Treverton, with half-concealed contempt. ‘Well, live
a respectable life, and neither your daughter nor I will grudge you a
thousand a year.’
‘I shall live the life of a gentleman. Not in England. My daughter
wants to get me out of the country. She said as much just now; or,
at any rate, what she did say implied as much. A continental life
would suit my humour, and perhaps mend my health. Annuitants are
long-lived.’
‘Not when they drink a bottle of brandy a day.’
‘In a milder climate I may diminish the quantity. Give me a hundred
in ready money to begin with, and I’ll go back to London by the first
train to-morrow morning, and start for Paris at night. I ask for no
father’s place at your Christmas table. I don’t want you to kill the
fatted calf for me.’
‘I understand,’ said Treverton, with an involuntary sneer, ‘you only
want money. You shall have it.’
He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and unlocked a despatch
box, in which he was in the habit of keeping money received from
his steward before he sent it off to the bank. There was a little over
a hundred pounds in the box, in notes and gold. John Treverton
counted a hundred; the crisp notes, the bright gold, lay in a
tempting heap on the table before him, but he kept his hand upon
the money for a minute or two, while he sat looking at it with a
meditative countenance.
‘By the way, Mr. —— Mansfield,’ he began after that thoughtful
silence, ‘when, after a lapse of so many years, you presented
yourself to your daughter, what credentials did you bring with you?’
‘Credentials?’
‘Yes. In other words, how did you prove your identity? You had
parted with her when she was a child of six years old. Did her
memory recall your features when she met you as a girl of
seventeen, or did she take your word for the fact that you were the
father she had believed to be in his grave?’
‘She remembered me when I recalled myself to her. At first her
memory was naturally vague. She had a dim recollection of my face,
but no certainty as to when and where she had last seen it, until I
recalled to her the circumstances of her childhood, the last days we
spent together before my serious illness, her mother, the baby
brother that died when she was three years old. John Treverton, you
libel nature if you suppose that a daughter’s instinct can fail her
when a father appeals to it. Had material proofs been wanted to
convince my child that her father stood before her, I had those
proofs, and I showed them to her—old letters, the certificate of her
birth, her mother’s picture. The portrait I gave to Laura. I have the
documents about me to-night. I have never parted with them.’
He produced a bloated pocket-book, the leather worn greasy with
long usage, the silk lining frayed and ragged, and from this
receptacle brought forth half-a-dozen papers, yellow with age.
One was the certificate of Laura Malcolm’s birth. The other five were
letters addressed to Stephen Malcolm, Esq., Ivy Cottage, Chiswick.
One of these, the latest in date, was from Jasper Treverton.
‘I am deeply grieved to hear of your serious illness, my poor friend,’
he wrote; ‘your letter followed me to Germany, where I have been
spending the autumn at one of the famous mineral baths. I started
for England immediately, and landed here half-an-hour ago. I shall
come on as fast as rail and cabs can bring me, and indeed hope to
be with you before you get this letter.
‘Yours in all friendship,
‘Jasper Treverton.
‘The Ship Hotel, Dover,
‘October 15th, 185—.’
The other letters were from friends of the past, like Jasper. One had
enclosed aid in the shape of a post-office order. The rest were
sympathetic and regretful refusals to assist a broken-down
acquaintance. The writers offered their impecunious friend every
good wish, and benevolently commended him to Providence. In
every case the respectability and the respectful tone of Stephen
Malcolm’s correspondents went far to testify to the fact that he had
once been a gentleman. There was a deep descent from the position
of the man to whom these letters were written to the status of Mr.
Desrolles, the second-floor lodger in Cibber Street.
So far as they went his credentials were undeniable. Laura had
recognised him as her father. What justification could John Treverton
find for repudiating his claim? For the money the man demanded he
cared not a jot; but it pained him unspeakably to accept this
dissipated waif, soaked in alcohol, as the father of the woman he
loved.
‘There is your hundred pounds, Mr. Mansfield,’ he said, ‘and since
you have taught the little world of Hazlehurst to consider my wife an
orphan, the less you show yourself here the better for all of us.
Villages are given to scandal. If you were to be seen at this house,
people would want to know who you are and all about you.’
‘I told you I should start for Paris to-morrow night,’ answered
Desrolles, strapping his pocket-book, which was now distended to its
uttermost with notes and gold. ‘I shan’t change my mind. I’m fond
of Paris and Parisian ways, and know my way about that glorious city
almost as well as you, though I never married a French wife.’
John Treverton sat silent, with his thoughtful gaze bent on the fire,
apparently unconscious of the other man’s sneer.
‘Ta ta, Jack. Any message for your old friends in the Quartier Latin?
No? Ah, I suppose the Squire of Hazlehurst has turned his back on
the companions of Jack Chicot; just as King Harry the Fifth threw off
the joyous comrades of the Prince of Wales. The desertion broke
poor old Falstaff’s heart; but that’s a detail. Good night, Jack.’
Laura re-entered the room at this moment, and drew back startled
at hearing her father address her husband with such friendly
familiarity.
‘I have told Mr. Treverton everything, my dear,’ said Desrolles.
‘I am so glad of that,’ answered Laura, and then she laid her hand
upon the old man’s shoulder, with more affection than she had ever
yet shown him, and said, with grave gentleness, ‘Try to lead a good
life, my dear father, and let us hear from you sometimes, and let us
think of each other kindly, though Fate has separated us.’
‘A good life,’ he muttered, turning his bloodshot eyes upon her for a
moment with a look that thrilled her with a sudden horror. ‘The
money should have come sooner, my girl. I’ve travelled too far on
the wrong road. There, good-bye, my dear. Don’t trouble yourself
about an old scapegrace like me. Jack, send me my money quarterly
to that address,’—he threw down a dingy-looking card—‘and I’ll
never worry you again. You can blot me out of your mind, if you like;
and you need never fear that my tongue will say an evil word of you,
go where I may.’
‘I will trust you for that,’ answered John Treverton, holding out his
hand.
Desrolles either did not see the gesture, or did not care to take the
hand. He snatched up his greasy-looking hat and hurried from the
room.
‘Dearest, do you think any worse of me now you know that man is
my father?’ asked Laura, when the door had closed upon Desrolles,
and the bell had been rung to warn Trimmer of the guest’s
departure.
‘Do I think any worse of a pearl because it comes out of an oyster?’
said her husband, smiling at her. ‘Dear love, if the parish workhouse
were peopled with your relations, not one of them more reputable
than Mr. Mansfield, my love and reverence for you would not be
lessened by a tittle.’
‘You don’t believe in hereditary genius, then. You don’t think that we
derive our characters mainly from our fathers and mothers?’
‘If I did I should believe that your mother was an angel, and that
you inherited her disposition.’
‘My poor father,’ said Laura, with something between a sigh and a
shudder. ‘He was once a gentleman.’
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