Snow

“Jack, we can’t do this anymore. Michael saw us the other night in the bar.”

“What’s the big deal? So he saw us in a gay bar. If he was there, he’s obviously gay, too.”

“Jack you don’t know what this means. You don’t understand what it’s like on Wall Street. You couldn’t possibly understand. We’re both up for a promotion; he could ruin my career if anyone finds out about me...about us.”

“Fuck, Jack. No one can know that I’m gay. The guys, they’ll. They’ll fucking crucify me, that’s what.”

“But, Jack, I love—”

Nicky interrupts him once more.

“No, Jack, no. This is it. It’s over. You and me. We’re done. You hear me?”

Nicky’s voice intensifies. He pushes Jack up against the wall. He kisses his forehead then slams his hand against the brick wall behind him, just inches from Jack’s face.

Jack shudders.

“You mean you’re just going to throw this all away? Because you’re fucking scared? You sound like a goddamn coward, Nicky.”

“I don’t have a goddamn choice, Jack. Stop acting like I do. I need you to go. To leave. Get out of here. And never come back. Never speak of this. You hear me?”

“I wish it didn’t have to come to this. But I don’t have another choice. Go on get.”

Nicky’s breath reeks of whisky, whisky that Jack poured for him.

Jack’s eyes fill with tears, as he stands, speechless.

The cold wind whips through the towering buildings on Battery Street.

Nicky walks away in the night, his feet imprinting the freshly fallen snow with his tracks.

...

Jack and Nicky had met just one year earlier. It was 1968. Nicky was a broker on the stock market; Jack, a bartender in Greenwich Village. Nicky was several years older than Jack.

Nicky and Jack met one night after Nicky was off of work. He and Nicky immediately caught eyes as Nicky ordered his second whiskey on the rocks and struck up conversation with Jack at the bar.

Jack had been with men before, but Jack was Nicky’s first. Nicky found relief from long days on Wall Street in the comfort and respite of Jack’s clandestine bar in the Village. It was a safe place for gays of all ages. The occasional police raid would disturb their peace, but all in all it was safe.

When Nicky stepped into that bar, he was transported from his world. Freed to be himself. No one gave a damn about who he was or what he did for a living. Nicky’d forget about the insanity and pressure of his work when he was with Jack. There was an innocence to their love; their starkly different realities, set aside.

That first night that Jack and Nicky went home together the snow fell. They walked out of the bar just after 4am, hand in hand to snowflakes dancing in the street. Six inches of pristine untouched perfection in the streets, covering up the dirt of New York City streets. At 4 a.m. in the village, Nicky and Jack were free to be together. Nothing else mattered.

It was when the sun rose and Nicky took the subway towards Wall Street that things changed. Nicky didn’t speak of Jack. He pretended with the boys at work to be seeing a woman as they bantered back and forth about their various conquests with women.

Michael was his colleague and they were both in the running for a promotion. One word about this at work could devastate his chances. Nicky was terrified after that night. The piercing look Michael gave him during their morning meeting shook him.

His head spun in circles as he thought of a way to salvage his career. One word out of Frank and he’d be ruined.

Jack had to go. That was certain.

...

One night Jack got off late from work. It was nearly 5 a.m. by the time he finished at the bar. His clients had bought him shots and he reeked of whiskey. Snowflakes fell once more. This time, with vigor. There was nearly a foot outside.

Jack got home one night to find a little black notebook and an envelope sitting on his bed.

He opened up the little black notebook. Inside, he found letters of love from Nikki, his beloved no more. According to its entries, it was exactly one year since they had met.

Jack opened the envelope. A check for $20,000 in his name—far more than he’d ever earn in tips at the bar.

Jack let the check fall to the floor as he began to rifle through the pages of love written from Nicky. As the pages turned, he found a note written every time they’d been together for the previous 365 days. Nicky had written down a record of every date, every encounter, every exchange of love, every passionate moment they’d exchanged.

Their first snowy encounter, remembered perfectly within the pages of that little black notebook.

Jack poured himself another glass of whiskey and fought back tears as he flipped through the pages.

At the back of the notebook, Nicky had written a letter to Jack that read:

I’m sorry that it came to this.

I worried it inevitably would.

Take this money and get that house in the Catskills you’d always dreamed of. I hope you find a nice boy that can meet you there.

I will always love you.

I know this isn’t fair, but so it goes on Wall Street.

Take care, Jack, my darling.

I have no other choice.

...

Jack went to take a walk to clear his mind. The snow in the street danced once more. But this time, Jack walked alone. His footprints left heavy impressions in the snow. A quiet hush fell over his East Village streets as Jack walked and walked with no aim in mind winding throughout the streets. Morning was coming and the sun visible on the horizon.

He carried the little black notebook in a pocket on his chest, close to his beating heart. He thought about the check at home. He’d give it back if it meant he could have Nicky back, but he knew Nicky had meant what he said. Jack clung tightly to his little black notebook, his only memory of Nicky.

Nicky made the trade of his life the very next day, the $20,000 lost but a blip in his financial radar.

Jack would go on to sleep with any willing patron of the bar. Whiskey and sex, the cure for any young gay's broken heart.