The Inheritance Read online

  Eric Yeah, babe. I’ve been telling you that for weeks now.

  Toby I mean as an actor. Or at least as this character. It’s kind of perfect, when you think about it.

  Eric How do you mean?

  Toby Well, Adam’s this spoiled little rich kid.

  Eric Adam isn’t spoiled.

  Toby I just mean he and Elan have had similar upbringings.

  Eric They’re very different people, Toby.

  Toby What do you know? Elan is my character.

  Eric And Adam’s my friend.

  Toby He’s my friend, too.

  Eric So be nicer to him.

  Toby I may be giving him his first professional job, for Chrissake. How much nicer can I be? Let’s just hope he doesn’t fuck it up.

  8. Eric and Adam

  Adam When did you know Toby was the man you wanted to marry?

  Eric Well, I think if I was honest, I’d say it was the night I first met him. The following seven years was basically due diligence. But remember: when Toby and I met – and certainly when we were growing up – marriage wasn’t an option for us. I just knew he was someone I could spend my life with. Are you thinking about proposing to someone?

  Adam No. I’m just curious about your relationship. Who proposed to who?

  Morgan Eric proposed to Toby.

  Adam Did you get down on one knee?

  Eric Well … I was kind of on both knees at the time.

  Adam Are you and Toby going to have children?

  Eric I think we will. We talk about adopting. I’d love to have children. I’ve always dreamed of it.

  Morgan Have you? How remarkable.

  Eric But … well, Toby had a difficult childhood. I don’t even know the whole story. He moved to New York when he was seventeen.

  Adam I thought he was raised in New York.

  Eric That’s a complicated history.

  Morgan Toby’s parents died when he was young.

  Adam I didn’t know that.

  Eric I only really know the contours of Toby’s story. He doesn’t talk about his past – not even to me.

  Adam Does that bother you?

  Eric It used to. But Toby has let me know him in ways he won’t let others. I’ve learned to understand what love looks like to him.

  Adam What does love look like to you?

  Eric Taking care of Toby, I guess. Because no one ever has.

  Adam Do you and Toby still have sex?

  Morgan Yes, they do.

  Eric I mean … not as much as we used to, but … we do okay.

  Adam Do you … ever have sex with other people?

  Eric Let’s just say there’s a difference between monogamy and monotony.

  Adam Would you and Toby ever … want to have sex with me?

  Eric Oh.

  Adam I’m sorry.

  Eric No. No, don’t be sorry. That is a very flattering and tempting offer.

  Adam You don’t / have to –

  Eric No, truly. You’re very attractive. And under different circumstances I would be all over that. Or under that, whichever you prefer.

  But here’s why I think it might not be a good idea: if you were to get the job in Toby’s play, I think you don’t want that energy between you as you work. And if you don’t get that job … well, maybe this friendship is about something different. In other words: let’s not go and fuck up a good thing.

  Adam Yes. Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry.

  Eric Do not apologize.

  Adam I don’t really know what I’m doing.

  Eric You seem to be doing just fine.

  Adam Could I … keep talking to you? Like, could I sometimes … come to you for direction? Advice? For wisdom?

  Eric looks at Morgan, waiting for an answer before realizing this is being asked of him.

  Eric You want wisdom … from me?

  Adam Yes. Very much.

  Eric Oh. Well.

  Morgan How about a little perspective instead?

  Eric For whatever that’s worth.

  Adam Yes. Perspective. I’d love that. Thank you, Eric.

  Morgan Eric had never been solicited both for sex and for wisdom in the same conversation. For all of his life, he’d been someone’s son, younger brother, or student. There had always been someone in front of him to look up to. It had never occurred to him that eventually there’d be someone behind him, looking up to him.

  Eric Adam’s request made Eric feel valued – perhaps even important – in a way he had never felt before.

  Young Man 3 I’m sorry – can I ask another question? Earlier you said Eric wasn’t special. Do you really think that’s true?

  Morgan I said Eric didn’t think he was special.

  Young Man 3 But how can he possibly think that? He seems pretty remarkable to me.

  Morgan You’ve just stumbled across a great secret that not even Eric knows. Eric Glass was wrong about himself in every imaginable way. Not only was he the bravest person he knew, he also possessed the ability to change the world to an extent far greater than Toby or any of the countless brilliant people with whom he surrounded himself. Eric Glass’s entire conception of himself was false. He simply didn’t know it yet.

  Eric How will he learn?

  Morgan Heartbreak.

  So: does Adam get the job?

  The Lads really want him to. All eyes on Toby.

  Toby Yeah, fuck it. Let’s give him the job.

  9. Eric, Toby and Adam

  Adam I can’t believe this is happening!

  Toby I can. You worked your ass off for this.

  Eric Congratulations, Adam.

  Adam I really want to do an amazing job for you, Toby. Toby You’d fucking better, kid.

  Adam I will, I promise. I’m going to be off-book from day one.

  Oh shit, this is real, isn’t it? I’m going to be playing this part.

  Morgan Toby led Adam out on to the terrace and before Eric could join them, the door closed, creating a separation between them. Eric watched on the other side of the plate glass window as Toby and Adam hugged and laughed and daydreamed together.

  End of Scene Four.

  SCENE FIVE

  Autumn, 2016.

  Young Man 7 Toby and Adam left for Chicago after

  Labor Day, leaving Eric by himself.

  Young Man 8 Eric almost instantly became lonely.

  Young Man 4 For the first time in years, his beloved home was quiet.

  Young Man 1 And then one morning, a chance encounter with an old friend upended not just his silence, but also his life.

  Young Man 4 The reunion occurred, of all places, on Eric’s elevator.

  1. Elevator

  Eric Walter?

  Walter Eric Glass?

  Eric My goodness, hello. Are you visiting someone in the building?

  Walter No, Henry and I are subletting for a few months while our new place is being renovated.

  Eric Stop. Toby and I live on the fifteenth floor.

  Walter Imagine that.

  The elevator dings as they arrive in the lobby.

  Eric Listen, Walter: I feel really bad about ghosting on you like I did last year.

  Walter ‘Ghosting’?

  Eric Falling off the face of the earth after … well, you know …

  Walter I told you to put that out of your mind.

  Eric Yes I know you did but … well, I wasn’t sure if you’d put it out of yours. And so I just … Well, I didn’t handle it well. And I’m sorry.

  Walter Apology accepted. Now / if you don’t mind –

  Eric I’d love to invite you and Henry over for dinner one night.

  Walter Henry’s in London through Thanksgiving.

  Eric Oh. Toby’s in Chicago. I guess we’re both on our own this autumn.

  Walter Yes, it seems we are.

  Young Man 2 A week later, Eric slipped a note under Walter’s door:

  Eric ‘Walter, if you’re up for it, I’d love to invite you over for dinner tomorrow. St
op by around seven if you’d like. Apartment 15A. Eric.’

  Young Man 3 The doorbell rang at seven sharp.

  2. Eric and Toby’s Apartment

  Eric Please, come in.

  Young Man 6 There was a frailty to Walter that was new.

  Young Man 2 What had once been a distant, inscrutable aspect was now positively spectral.

  Young Man 4 Eric instinctively put his hand on Walter’s back as if to steady him as he passed. The older man shrugged off the gesture without a word.

  Eric Eric could feel how thin Walter was, the bones of his vertebrae reaching out to meet Eric’s hand in that brief moment of connection.

  (To Walter.) You know, I think this is the first time you and I have ever been alone together.

  Walter That can’t be true.

  Eric I think it is. What if we discover that Henry and Toby are the interesting ones and that you and I actually have nothing to say to each other?

  Walter That’s what alcohol is for.

  Eric Would you like a glass of wine?

  Walter I’m fine, thank you. Your apartment is enormous.

  Eric Oh, yes. How long have you and Henry been together?

  Walter Oh. Over thirty-six years.

  Eric That’s amazing.

  Walter There isn’t all that much to it, really. Just a succession of dinners.

  Eric I wish I knew Henry better.

  Walter I’m not sure that’s possible. Even after thirty-six years I don’t feel I completely know him.

  Eric I feel the same way about Toby. Oh! Toby and I are getting married next year.

  Walter Really? Congratulations.

  Eric Thank you.

  Walter I’ve always had the impression that you and Toby were ill-matched.

  Eric Oh.

  Walter That came out wrong.

  Eric There’s a right way to say that?

  Walter I’m sure there is.

  Yes: opposites attract.

  Eric Ah.

  Walter Some relationships thrive on tension.

  Eric I wouldn’t say we were always in tension.

  Walter Opposition maybe.

  Eric I think we get along just fine.

  Walter You know, I think I will have some wine after all.

  Eric pours two glasses of wine.

  How big is your apartment?

  Eric Three bedrooms, two baths. All the other units in the building have been divided and subdivided over the years, turned into condos. This is the only rental unit left in the building.

  Walter You rent this apartment?

  Eric God yes, I couldn’t afford to own this. It’s rent controlled. I only pay five hundred and seventy-five dollars a month for all of this.

  Young Man 2 What?!

  Young Man 8 Fuck you.

  Young Man 4 I mean, Jesus!

  Eric My father took his first steps right over there. My mother was sitting in that very chair you’re in when my father proposed to her. I don’t think I’ve spent a Thanksgiving or a Passover anywhere else.

  Walter I envy you that.

  Eric Don’t. Our Seders are endless.

  Walter No, I mean the connection to your family’s history through your family’s home. To live in the same place your father was raised – that’s pretty remarkable,

  Eric. It must inform so much of your life.

  Eric grows quiet.

  Walter Did I say something wrong?

  Eric The truth is I’m probably going to be evicted at the end of the year.

  Walter Oh. I’m sorry.

  Eric The lease is ironclad. If my grandmother isn’t in residence for more than a year, they can call the whole thing off.

  Walter Where does she live now?

  Eric In that urn on the mantel just behind you.

  I mean, technically she’s still in residence but I don’t think they see it that way.

  My parents are fighting it, but … things aren’t looking good. If I look on the bright side, I think it might be exciting to start a new chapter in my life. But it won’t be this place and it won’t have this history. But at least I’ll have Toby.

  I decided to befriend you and Henry because I thought: ‘That’s going to be me and Toby someday. I’d better study how they did it.’

  Walter Yes, I suspected as much. The truth is I’m bad at new relationships. Henry travels so much. We’re always in a new city, and never long enough to put down roots. We’ve never been in one place for too very long over the years.

  Eric That must be hard.

  Walter Part of the bargain.

  Eric You think of your relationship as a ‘bargain’? I’m sorry. That was rude. Don’t answer that.

  Walter Every relationship in Henry’s life is a kind of bargain. That is who he is.

  Eric And who are you?

  Walter Me?

  I’m the man who fell in love with Henry Wilcox.

  Henry was born in Ohio, in the late 1950s. He was a star of track and field. First in his class and president of the student body association. As American as an Aaron Copland symphony. He married Patricia Fitzgerald while still in college. Two sons arrived soon after and Henry was on his way to a life of success and diligence and robust Episcopalianism. And if strapping, ascendant young men with bright futures and beautiful families had secret desires and shameful urges, they hid them from the world, from themselves. Henry worked hard, kept his head down and his hands to himself. Eventually his hard work led him out of the Midwest and into the heart of American business as well as the heart of American temptation: New York City. The Wilcox family arrived on July 3, 1981. The same summer that I arrived.

  Like so many before me, I arrived in New York a refugee from a home that had grown hostile to my presence. I was aware from an early age that I made people uncomfortable. I was moony and effeminate. But small towns have the peculiar habit of tolerating their feathery, delicate boys – provided they are born to wealthy and (needless to say) white families. But once I reached puberty, my parents sent me to ministers, to psychiatrists, to fitness instructors even. Every walk through town felt dangerous, every school day possessed the potential for violence. I would steal my mother’s sleeping pills, hoarding them, planning my suicide. I would stare at them nightly, holding them in my hands, telling myself they were the pathway out of my pain, that they would heal me more effectively than any psychiatrist, that they were more powerful than prayer. I stared and stared at them until one night, perilously close to swallowing them, I was struck by the realization that I didn’t want to change, and that what I hated was not my nature, but rather my circumstances. And so I left … to seek not my fame and certainly not my fortune, but rather – and rather simply – my dignity.

  The only place I knew to go was New York. I had read about the events of June 1969. It was the only place in the world I knew to look for young men like me.

  Imagine me at nineteen years old in the middle of Times Square in 1981 – 120 pounds and skin so pale it was practically translucent, my mother’s old Samsonite suitcase in my hands, asking strangers for directions to the Stonewall Inn.

  Eventually I was given directions by a very friendly pimp.

  I rode the subway downtown, gripping my suitcase so tightly that blisters formed on my hands. I made my way to the fabled Stonewall Inn only to discover that it has become … a Chinese restaurant.

  You can imagine my disappointment.

  But I was very hungry. And I’d never eaten Chinese food before. So I stayed and I ordered dinner. I think the owner must have seen in me a fellow stranger in a foreign land because he brought me far more than I ordered as well as several beers. I sat there in Mr Shun’s Dim Sum Emporium and I knew that I had made the right decision.

  Henry, meanwhile, is not so certain. He’s twenty-four and already the father of two young boys, earning more money in a month than most men twice his age make in a year. He owns a four-bedroom house in White Plains and he commutes daily to his office downtown. There’s Henry, knockin
g back after-work martinis with his colleagues. There’s Henry in the steam room at the East Side Club. There’s Henry on the 11:30 train headed home to his family. There’s Henry in the shower, remorseful and penitent, attempting to expunge his great secret from his skin. There’s Henry sliding into bed at one in the morning next to a wife who understands more than she lets on.

  We meet on a rooftop overlooking Christopher Street. Henry’s rented an apartment in the Village while his family spends its summer on Cape Cod. I notice him first and am thunderstruck by the sight of him. Honey chestnut hair worn slightly long as was the style of the day. Welldeveloped chest threatening the integrity of the polo shirt he’s wearing. I move into his line of sight and wait to be noticed. It doesn’t take long. We chat for as long as we can stand to, then head back to his apartment and his bed.

  Henry was the first, the only man I ever loved. No, that’s a blatant lie and shame on me for telling it. Henry Wilcox was the only man I ever needed to be loved by. It was in Henry’s gaze, from his kisses and through his touch that I finally glimpsed my own worth. I fell hard into Henry’s handsomeness, his intelligence, his potential – no, not his potential … his certainty.

  I was never meant to be Henry’s life partner. I was the person he was dancing with when the music stopped. By that point, whispers of disease had graduated to rumors. Rumors became stories. And stories became fact. Henry had arrived at the party just in time for it to end.

  For five years, Henry and I clung to one other for safety, for comfort, as the city burned around us. By the summer of 1987, we had had enough of funerals and hospital visits and the sight of once vital men laid to waste. We looked for a house as far from civilization as we could find. We finally stumbled across a rambling old farmhouse on an aimless country road, three hours north of here, built in the late eighteenth century. It’s set off from the road so you have the illusion of being alone in the world. And in front of the house, my favorite thing on the property: an enormous cherry tree that has been there since the time George Washington was out terrorizing them. It puts on the most astonishing show twice a year. In the autumn, it burns deep orange and red leaves, as if the tree were on fire. And in the spring, vibrant blushing flowers which eventually fall ever so gently to the ground in a kind of aerial ballet.