Mardi Gras Trilogy Part Three     Part Three of the trilogy to
celebrate the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. The events described
herein are real. Dedicated to the friends I have lost and who aren't here
to see the parade this year.
 
 Rated PG
 
 At The Zoo - The Drag Races
 
 Something tells me it's all happening at the zoo
 I do believe it, 
 I do believe it's true        At The Zoo - Simon and Garfunkel
 
 
 On the third weekend the prospect of the day's events filled Fraser with
reluctant pleasure. The trepidation of the two previous weekends was gone.
After all, what was there to be scared of? Even if he was at the drag
races. Races, Ray had told him, which had nothing to do with cars. 
 
 The final event in the Gay Pride calendar was the Drag Races, held in the
grounds of the Chicago Zoo. The Chicago Zoo very generously donated their
premises and a percentage of the days takings. It was a full day event
made up of a number of spectator sports, drag shows, comedy routines and a
range of assorted games that Fraser did not understand. There were even
special kids events, which initially surprised him. He recalled that at
Fair Day many couples had brought their children and now it warmed him
that they were included in the days festivities. As he glanced around the
crowd he realised that he could have been at any family event on any
weekend at the zoo.
 
 The zoo steadily filled with people and Fraser noted that amongst the
mixed crowd of people sitting with he and Ray on the grass was a large
percentage of men wearing dresses. The men who weren't wearing dresses
wore all manner of garb from tiny lycra shorts to leather trousers to
plain old jeans and t-shirts. Just like him.
 
 He glanced down at the faded blue jeans and golden yellow t-shirt he wore
realising that he was, in fact, no different from the other men gathered
in the picnic area of the zoo on a warm, sunny Sunday morning. Why then
did he ever feel discomfort? Was he not comfortable with his own
sexuality? He pondered that question as he cast his gaze around the seated
crowd, finally coming to rest on his companion.
 
 Beside him, Ray seemed in his element, engaged in a lively debate about
something with a woman they had just met who was decorated with the most
amazing array of tattoos he had ever seen. Dressed in his usual low-slung
jeans and a t-shirt, Ray, too, seemed just like everyone else in the crowd
- totally comfortable and at home. He didn't even notice when his t-shirt
rode up over his midsection, exposing a great slice of his smooth, firm
stomach.
 
 Ray's t-shirt, and the symbol it bore, was a source of much speculation
for Fraser. When Ray had picked him up that morning, he had been surprised
to see his friend dressed in the snug-fitting t-shirt given to him at Gay
Pride Fair Day. Now, watching him amongst these people, it confirmed what
Fraser had begun to suspect for the past two weeks. And he was suddenly
ashamed of his discomfort.
 
 It all made sense. Ray's choice to wear the bi-pride shirt, the fact that
so many people at these events knew him, his obvious ease in this
environment and finally, the intimate embrace he had been in with the
Native American man at the Fair. Did that make him any different? Did it
lessen the friendship they had developed? No. If anything, it heightened
the respect Fraser felt for Ray and he was now deeply ashamed of his
actions.
 
 "So what do you think, Fraser?" Ray asked, interrupting the other man's
reverie.
 
 "About what, Ray?"
 
 Ray rolled his eyes in a 'weren't you listening?' motion. "Jazz here," he
indicated the woman with whom he had been talking, "says that Mulder and
Scully are doing it." He took a breath and waved his hand at Jazz. "But I
say Mulder's doing his boss."
 
 "Who are Mulder and Scully?" Fraser asked, unfamiliar with the people and
what they might be 'doing'.
 
 The woman named Jazz exploded in laughter and slapped Fraser's thigh.
"Shit, man, don't you have a TV?"
 
 "No, I don't," he replied, still clueless. He looked imploringly at Ray,
but before an answer was forthcoming a voice erupted from the stage area
in front of them.
 
 "Hi boys and girls," a camp male voice greeted the crowd on the grass.
"Thanks for coming out," he paused for effect and was rewarded with a
titter through the crowd, "so early on a Sunday morning. We've got a load
of fun things for you today. We've got some beautiful girls to sing for
you with Pan Am's Space Waitress show later today. We've got face painting
and donkey rides for the kids and for the adults there's the sack race,
the handbag toss, the wet jock and wet t-shirt competitions and of course,
the drag race and loads of other stuff. I hope you'll all enter as many
events as possible. The registration tent is to the left of the stage and
there's food over to the right, in the food section as well as several
fund raising stalls scattered around the park. Remember all money raised
is for AIDS research, so please dig deep, but most of all," he paused
again before shouting, "don't forget to have a gay old time!"
 
 Surprised by the mix of events listed, Fraser leaned over and spoke to
Ray. "Well, Ray, it seems there are lots of interesting events. Will you
be taking part?"
 
 A mischievous gleam lit Ray's eyes. "Yeah, I think I will." He turned to
Jazz and she nodded. "Back in a minute, Fraser."
 
 Fraser watched as the two new friends skipped off in the direction of the
registration tent. Suddenly alone, he was sorry that he had not been
permitted to bring Diefenbaker. He didn't know how long they would be
gone, so he decided to take a look around some of the stalls there. Rising
from his place on the grass, he wandered towards a row of stalls like the
one he and Ray had set up on Fair Day, nodding greetings to several people
as he passed.
 
 There were a wide variety of items for sale. He stopped in front of a
leather goods stall, admiring a range of belts hanging from a rack. 
 
 "Very fine work, Sir," he told the proprietor, a man he was now able to
recognise as a 'bear'.
 
 "Looking for something in particular?"
 
 "No, just browsing," he said, turning slightly to inspect a range of
items laid out on a table. He picked up a small brown wallet and turned it
over in his hands. The price was reasonable. It was small and masculine
and suited to the small American notes he was now forced to carry. "I'll
take this," he said to the man. "There's no need to wrap it." He removed
his stetson, pulled a note from the inside and handed it over.
 
 "I'll just get your change."
 
 While he waited for his change, Fraser slipped the wallet into his pocket
and inspected some of the other items for sale. There were caps, vests,
bags and some small items he couldn't identify - black leather strips
covered in small silver studs with the ends clipped together to form a
ring. He thought they looked like dog collars, but were way too small for
a wrist, much less a neck.
 
 The proprietor of the stand handed over his change. "You interested?" he
asked. "I can do a good price on a matched pair - one for you, one for
your SO."
 
 "Pair?" he asked, wondering what on earth the man meant. 
 
 "Yeah," the big man said, grinning. "The ultimate accessory for couples
in the 90's - matching cock rings."
 
 Fraser blushed a furious red and dashed away suddenly. Terrified and
embarrassed by the implications of what the man told him, he kept his head
down, avoiding the eyes of the people around him. Still looking at the
ground, he bumped into a woman, almost knocking her to the ground.
 
 "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, reaching to steady the woman in front of
him. 
 
 The woman ran a hand through her severe haircut and fixed him with a
stony glare. "Don't call me ma'am," she growled and tucked a smaller woman
with a similarly severe haircut under her arm before stalking away.
 
 "Oh dear," Fraser muttered softly, shaking his head in confusion. 
 
 Deciding it was probably time to find Ray, he headed towards the
registration tent he had seen them disappear into earlier. A voice to his
left stopped him.
 
 "Constable Fraser! Ben!"
 
 From behind a table laden with piles of t-shirts in all colours and
sizes, the man he had met at Fair Day and the Mall waved at him. Smiling,
he made his way through the crowd to the t-shirt stall.
 
 "Hello, Tom," he greeted the handsome blonde man as he drew near. 
 
 "I'm so glad you could make it, Ben. Is Ray with you?"
 
 "Yes. I believe he's registering for some of the games later. I was just
on my way to find him."
 
 "Perhaps you'd like to buy a t-shirt on your way?" Tom hinted, grinning
cheerfully as he indicated the piles of shirts in front of him. "The money
is for a good cause."
 
 Fraser inspected the shirts. The bore all manner of symbols: rainbow
flags, pink triangles, red ribbons, lambdas, the now familiar blue and
pink triangles of bi-pride and a number of other flags and symbols he did
not recognise.
 
 "Well, Tom, I am happy to contribute to this worthwhile cause, but I
don't think these shirts are my style ..." he trailed off, embarrassed
again.
 
 Tom nodded his understanding. "I have something that might be more to
your taste." He moved to the far end of the table and lifted a shirt from
atop a small pile. Unfolding it he held it up for Fraser's inspection. It
bore the legend, 'Straight But Not Narrow'.
 
 The look that passed between the two men filled Fraser with something he
could not name. All he knew was that he had found acceptance in a place
where he had not expected it. He felt humbled and proud.
 
 "Thank you, Tom," he said in a voice low with emotion. "It's perfect."
 
 Tom tossed the shirt to Fraser, laughing as he did. "No charge, Ben. I
think you've earned it."
 
 He caught it in one hand. "Thank you, Tom. That's very generous of you. I
will be honoured to wear this."
 
 Tom blushed, slightly embarrassed by the other man's reaction. "Go find
your friend."
 
 Ben laughed and waved, then disappeared into the crowd in search of Ray.
Still clutching his new t-shirt in one hand he looked around, finally
spotting Ray and Jazz at a hotdog stall.
 
 Suddenly he stopped and looked at the shirt in his left hand. A smile
spread across his face as he made a hasty detour between two tents towards
the mens room. He disappeared inside and emerged a moment later wearing
his new t-shirt and carrying his old golden yellow one in his left hand.
He smoothed the fabric over his chest, dismissed his concerns about the
tightness of the garment then marched off to locate Ray once again.
 
 In amongst the crowd again, he looked around for his friend, but was
quickly waylaid by a pretty, young girl selling raffle tickets.
 
 "Dollar fifty each," she told him, "or four for five dollars."
 
 Remembering Tom's generosity with the t-shirt and noting that this raffle
was to raise money for the same research foundation, he reached into his
pocket and pulled out his new wallet.
 
 "Yes, of course." He pulled a ten-dollar bill and handed it to the girl.
"I'll take eight, please, miss."
 
 "Thanks. It's for a good cause." She took his money and handed him the
book of raffle tickets and a pen. "Just write your name and phone number
on these. It'll be drawn at four."
 
 Fraser took the tickets and pen in one hand and stared at the yellow
t-shirt he held in his other. Thinking quickly, he tucked it into his
right back pocket and looked around for something to rest on.
 
 "Here," the young girl said, offering her back.
 
 Fraser swallowed. She wore a tiny halter-top that left most of her back
exposed. She looked at him with impatient eyebrows, so he leaned forward
and rested the book on her back and began to write, trying desperately to
keep his blush under control. In a moment of generosity he hastily
scribbled Ray's name and cellphone number on the tickets and then stepped
back. Only then did he notice the tattoo on her shoulder blade: a small
pistol, a Glock if he was not mistaken, with the words 'Dead Men Don't
Rape' written underneath in perfect copperplate.
 
 When she spun around and took the tickets and pen from his hand, he was
unable to meet her eyes.
 
 "Thanks, Straight Boy," she said pointing at his t-shirt.
 
 He mumbled something inane in reply. Only after she disappeared into the
crowd did he realise he had not asked what the prize was. 
 
 This was how Ray found him, staring into the crowd in stunned silence.
 
 "Fraser!" Ray cried, slapping a hand onto his shoulder as he slid to a
halt in front of him. "What's wrong?"
 
 "I just saw ... that is ... a young woman ... Ray, she had the most
unusual tattoo."
 
 Before Ray could respond, Jazz appeared through the crowd waving them
towards her.
 
 "C'mon, it's nearly time for the sack race." She looked Fraser up and
down. "Love the shirt."
 
 Ray noticed it for the first time and grinned, nudging his friend
forward. "C'mon, Fraser, I entered you in this one."
 
 "You did what?"
 
 "I entered you, now go!" He pushed Fraser through the crowd ahead of him.

 
 Fraser took three steps before Ray's panicked voice stopped him. He poked
the yellow t-shirt tucked into his back pocket.
 
 "Have you been walking around like this?" he demanded, a faint smile
tugging at his lips.
 
 Fraser frowned. "Yes, Ray. Is something wrong?"
 
 Ray pulled the t-shirt from his pocket and shoved it at Fraser's chest.
"Do not put that in your right pocket."
 
 "Oh. I'll put it in the other side."
 
 "No. Do not tuck anything yellow into either pocket."
 
 Fraser frowned, not understanding at all.
 
 "Do the words 'golden shower' mean anything to you, Fraser?"
 
 Fraser frowned and shook his head.
 
 Ray rolled his eyes and pulled the shirt from his friend's hand. "Do
*not* put anything of any colour into any pocket, Fraser."
 
 "But I don't understand."
 
 Shifting his weight from foot to foot in agitation, Ray waved Fraser's
t-shirt around, trying to find a way to explain without embarrassing the
other man further.
 
 "Fraser, there's a thing called the Hanky Code." He held the t-shirt up.
"Different colours mean different ... things ..."
 
 "Things, Ray?"
 
 "Sexual things," Ray hissed, leaning close. "If you put something of a
certain colour in one pocket it means you like doing that 'thing' and if
it's in the other pocket it means you like having that 'thing' done to
you."
 
 Realisation began to creep into the Mountie's mind. "And yellow is one of
those 'things'?"
 
 "Yeah, Fraser," Ray growled. "Golden showers. Water sports. Get my
drift?"
 
 For the third time that day, Fraser blushed a deep hue and nodded,
finally beginning to understand what the other man told him.
 
 "Good. Now let's get going before we miss the sack race."
 
 Fraser nodded again and rushed off in the direction Jazz had gone. Ray
chuckled and looked at the t-shirt in his hand, then rolled it into a ball
and tossed it into a nearby trash can.
 
 At the starting line Jazz had already collected the sacks and waited for
the two men to join her and the other sack race entrants. She held a sack
to Ray as he approached and he took it wordlessly. 
 
 "Pan's on her way," Jazz told him. "She just went to the ladies." She
turned to Fraser. "You're with me." Without waiting for his reaction she
stepped into the sack and hobbled to the start with the other competitors.
 
 When he did not follow, she beckoned him with a toss of her head.
Confused by what was taking place around him, he frowned as he reached her
side.
 
 "But you only have one sack."
 
 "Yes, you're supposed to get in this one with me."
 
 His eyes widened and he glanced over his shoulder at Ray. Pan had joined
him and they were arguing softly about something.
 
 "With you?" 
 
 He noticed that all around him couples were doing exactly as Jazz had
said. To their right two drag queens in outrageous matching pink wigs drew
a sack over their matching pink dresses. To their left the young girl with
the dubious tattoo who had sold him the raffle tickets helped another girl
in leather shorts into her sack. In front them two shirtless muscle boys
laughed and rubbed suggestively against each other as they pulled their
sack over their hips. Behind them a large woman with a masculine haircut
positioned herself behind a small man wearing blush and mascara. Now
understood the glee in Ray's eyes when he had skipped off to register for
the day's events.
 
 Jazz pushed a lock of hair from her eyes and spoke. "Look," she said
loudly, but patiently. "Just cos I don't want to fuck you doesn't mean I
won't get in the sack with you." 
 
 Hopping up next to them in their own sack, Ray and Pan exploded in
laughter, guffawing like it was the funniest joke they had ever heard.
Jazz raised her eyebrows then held the sack out for Fraser to step into.
Fraser flushed with embarrassment once again.
 
 Suddenly determined to prove to Ray, to Pan, to Jazz and to anyone who
cared to take note that he was able to handle himself in any situation, he
lifted his chin, grit his teeth, held his breath and stepped into the sack
behind Jazz. By the time they were positioned on the starting line, Fraser
was in control, working out the best way for he and Jazz to coordinate
their moves.
 
 Fraser and Jazz crossed the finish line in second place, followed by the
big woman who had seemingly carried her smaller male companion. In first
place were two men in their forties, who coordinated their moves with an
ease that suggested they had been together for a long time. He saw their
easy companionship and teamwork and was suddenly envious, acutely aware of
his own loneliness. 
 
 Ray congratulated Fraser and Jazz, interspersing his compliments with
complaints to Pan about the damage her high heels had done to his instep.
Pan tossed her head, told Ray to go fuck himself and stalked off to do her
show. After thanking Fraser for his part in their place getting, Jazz took
off to 'check the talent', assuring the two men she would see them later.
 
 
 "Having a good time, Fraser?" Ray asked, as he led the other man away
from the crowd.
 
 Fraser pondered Ray's question for a second, testing the balance of
acceptance and embarrassment he had felt that day. The acceptance won. The
embarrassment was no worse than that which he felt on any given day in
Chicago. He said so.
 
 "That's good." Filled with affection for his friend, Ray draped an arm
across his shoulders. "Now why don't we go look at the polar bears and you
can tell me all you know about them." Fraser had shared a part of his
world and now he would return the favour.
 
 Fraser nodded and the two men happily wandered off towards the animals.
 
 Later, when the two men had toured all of the arctic animal exhibits and
Fraser had told Ray all he knew and Ray had listened without complaint,
they headed back to join the throng of people gathered around for the next
event. 
 
 It was the handbag toss.
 
 
 "Time to choose your weapon," Ray told Fraser as he led him towards a
table surrounded by people.
 
 "Ray, you know I'm not licensed to carry a weapon in Chicago."
 
 Ray rolled his eyes and nudged the other man towards the growing crowd.
"Not that sort of weapon, Fraser. This is the handbag toss. You pick a
purse from that pile over there." 
 
 Ray indicated the table and both men looked up in time to see a large
overweight drag queen wrest a large pink clutch purse from the hands of a
fine boned Hispanic man.
 
 "Oh, I see." Straightening, he cocked his head to one side and began to
consider the logistics of the game he seemed to have been entered in. "So
I select a purse and then compete with other ... people .. to see who can
toss it the furthest?"
 
 Ray grinned and slapped him on the back. "Now you're getting the hang of
it."
 
 Fraser puffed with pride. "In Tuktoyaktuk I was an accomplished discus
thrower, although we often had to substitute other ... items ... for the
discus."
 
 "This game was made for you, then."
 
 Fraser nodded and strode proudly across the grass to select his purse.
 
 "Excuse me ma'am." Fraser tipped his hat and moved into place at the
table next to a drag queen wearing a wig made of tinsel.
 
 "No you don't, honey," she said, slapping his wrist as he reached out to
select a purse from the pile on the table. "That beaded purse has my name
on it." She snatched a small beaded bag and held it against her chest.
 
 "Of course." He smiled and reached for a large lime green leather clutch
purse with a heavy diamante snap. "I was actually reaching for this one."
He tucked it under his arm and looked up at her, towering over him on high
heels.
 
 The woman looked him up and down, assessing him in one glance. "Not with
that hat you don't." She pressed the beaded bag into his hands. "You have
this. It goes better with your outfit."
 
 Running his tongue over his lips, Fraser frowned and took the purse from
the woman. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken, ma'am, but I understood the object
of this particular game was to throw your purse as far as possible. If
that is, in fact, the case neither you nor I will win with this small
bag." 
 
 Placing the beaded bag back on the table, he selected an old 50's style
leather purse with a heavy brass catch. Swinging it by its hard leather
strap he offered it to the drag queen.
 
 "This is a good choice. It's weighty, feel for yourself."
 
 The woman took the bad, holding it between two fingers, testing the
weight as he suggested, frowning dubiously at him.
 
 "Now if you swing it by the strap like this - may I?"
 
 The woman handed the bag back to him and he demonstrated the tossing
method.
 
 "Now whilst I can't guarantee you'll win, I can promise you that you will
have a better chance with this than with your first choice."
 
 Fawning slightly, the woman took the bag from him. "Thank you, handsome.
If I win, I'll make sure I come thank you."
 
 "That's not necessary. It's my pleasure."
 
 He collected his lime green clutch purse and joined the competitors
queue. Applying the same concentration he would use when hunting caribou,
Fraser tested the weight of his purse and waited for his turn.
 
 When his turn came, he stepped proudly up to the start line. A voice
called to him and he turned, startled, his lime green clutch purse held
firmly in front of his chest. In the crowd, Jazz held a small camera,
hastily snapping off a shot as he turned.
 
 It didn't put him off. He came second. The woman he had helped with her
purse choice was the winner and as promised, she came looking to thank
him. Ray dragged him off to prepare for the next contest before the big
woman could plant a wet, red lipstick kiss on him.
 
 "So, Fraser, the next contest is one you may not want to take part in."
 
 Still flushed with pride at his two second places, he puffed his chest
out. "Why ever not, Ray? I'm enjoying myself."
 
 "Ah, look, Fraser, you know ... I don't know."
 
 "Ray, trust me, I'm a Mountie. I can handle myself in any situation." He
turned in the direction of the registration tent. "Let's go."
 
 Ray shook his head and followed. "Whatever you say, buddy."
 
 Striding confidently up to the stall, Fraser told the man there that he
would like to enter the next event. 
 
 The man looked him up and down, smiling his appreciation. "Sure thing."
From a box under the table he grabbed a thin white t-shirt and handed it
to him.
 
 Fraser took the shirt and looked at it quizzically. Beside him, Ray
laughed.
 
 "Wet t-shirt contest, man, I tried to tell you."
 
 A wave of panic washed over him. He glanced at the man in the
registration stall, then back at Ray, weighing his options. He had told
Ray he could handle any situation and now his words would be put to the
test. He took a deep breath.
 
 "Right," he said. "Lead the way, Ray."
 
 Ray led him off to the judging area. He won.
 
 
 The day continued in the same manner. In between events, Ray and Fraser
looked around the zoo, chatted to new friends, ate a little, sat on the
grass enjoying the sun. Both men had an enjoyable time, each pleased to be
in the company of the other. From time to time Jazz would join them, but
mostly they were alone, learning more about each other.
 
 When it was time for the final event of the day, the Drag Race, the two
men found a place on the grass amongst the growing crowd and waited for it
to begin.
 
 "You're gonna love this, Fraser," Ray told him. "It's the best event
today."
 
 A track had been laid out in a large figure eight beginning at the foot
of the stage, heading across the grassed area past a large cage of birds,
continuing in a loop around the reptile enclosure, back past the other
side of the bird cage and finally returning to the foot of the stage.
 
 Eight drag queens had entered and waited on the starting line. Pan Am was
among them, dressed in a tight fitting gold lame gown and matching gold
stilettos. Fraser wondered how she could walk, much less run, in such a
tight garment.
 
 The crowd tittered with excitement as the entrants readied themselves.
Some checked their makeup and hair in small mirrors, some straightened and
smoothed their frocks and others, like Pan, dropped to the ground in a
sprinters crouch.
 
 When the starting gun went off, Pan hauled her gown up over hose clad
knees and took off. She got as far as the birdcage before she had to stop
and adjust her wig. Whilst she did, a competitor dressed tastefully in a
tailored lilac suit with matching shoes, bag and hat, strolled casually
by.
 
 "It's so unlady like to run," she told Pan.
 
 Gesturing with one hand, Pan showed her exactly how unlady-like she was
prepared to be and took off once again, this time at a much slower pace.
She was quickly overtaken by a woman in apricot chiffon and matching flat
slippers then by another wearing a fluffy white wedding gown, complete
with veil.
 
 Fraser and Ray cheered, Ray calling out encouragement to Pan. Around
them, the crowd yelled and screamed, each calling out for their friends to
win.
 
 Rounding the reptile enclosure several of the competitors stopped to
reapply lipstick and touch up makeup. A competitor dressed in a Playboy
bunny outfit stopped to straighten the seam of her stockings. The woman in
the lilac suit strolled calmly by them all.
 
 In the audience, near Ray and Fraser, a group of people chanted loudly in
unison to the woman in lilac. She waved at them.
 
 By the final leg, Pan was running second. In the lead was a woman in a
classic little black dress and matching suede pumps, who dashed all hopes
of winning by stopping suddenly, screaming at a run in her pantyhose.
Before she could enjoy approaching victory, a woman in a fluorescent
orange vinyl dress with matching wig overtook Pan. But fate was with Pan,
because the orange woman was stopped suddenly when the spike heels of her
orange vinyl thigh high boots sank firmly into the grass.
 
 For a moment Pan was in the lead until her shoes, too, sank in the grass.
The Playboy bunny was caught the same way. The woman in the wedding gown
sank too, dropping to the ground bellowing about a sprained ankle. The
woman in apricot chiffon stopped to help her.
 
 "Oh, Ray, should we help?" Fraser began to rise, but Ray hauled him back
down.
 
 "It's all an act, they're not really hurt. Part of the show."
 
 The woman in lilac strolled by the pile of women on the grass, tossing
them a haughty look as she did. Near Fraser and Ray, her friends went wild
with enthusiasm, screaming out to her, encouraging her to win.
 
 "Oh, Ray, Pan needs help."
 
 "She's fine."
 
 Frustrated by Ray's nonchalance, Fraser frowned as he watched Pan
struggle to her feet only to sink in the grass again. The woman in lilac
approached the finish line. He could take it no more. Fraser shot to his
feet.
 
 "Pan!" he bellowed his voice cutting across the rumble of the crowd.
"Take off your shoes."
 
 Pan's heavily mascared eyes swung his way and she frowned in confusion.
 
 He lifted one foot, pointing to his own shoes. "Your shoes, take them
off."
 
 Finally comprehending, Pan unstrapped the gold sandals and rose steadily
on stockinged feet. With her shoes clutched in one hand, she hauled her
dress up with the other and set off for the finish line with renewed
enthusiasm. 
 
 Shocked but pleased by his friend's behaviour, Ray jumped up beside
Fraser and called out words of encouragement to Pan. When she crossed the
finish line in first place, nudging aside the woman in lilac, Ray hugged
Fraser.
 
 "Well, that was ... invigorating." Fraser cheeks were flushed with
excitement.
 
 Ray smiled at his friend, warmed by what they had shared. Patting his
friend's shoulder he said, "C'mon, let me buy you something to eat."
 
 "We must go and congratulate Pan first."
 
 Ray nodded and followed his friend to where the winners had gathered.
After hugs all round from Pan and Jazz who appeared briefly, then
disappeared, the two men went in search of food.
 
 
 With a meal of sushi and miso soup purchased from the last of the food
stalls Fraser and Ray found a table and bench seats away from the crowd.
They ate silently, each man content to enjoy the companionship. It had
been a good day.
 
 "You know what this is about for me, don't you, Fraser?" Ray said after a
while, gesturing towards the thinning crowd and the remaining stalls.
 
 Fraser nodded. "At the Fair Day - I saw you - with a man."
 
 Ray smiled and nodded, his gaze fixed on his food. "Danny. Danny
Eaglesmith." He lifted his eyes and looked at his friend. "He was ... the
first guy... you know..."
 
 Fraser nodded again.
 
 Ray gazed out across the zoo park, watching as stall holders packed their
goods away while other people stood around in small groups laughing their
farewells in the summer evening air.
 
 "We met at a group thing when I was 17, one of those meetings where you
can go if you're a bit confused." He scrubbed a hand through his hair and
continued. "I was confused. I had these ... feelings." His eyes misted
over and his voice grew soft. "And there was Stella. There was always
Stella."
 
 Fraser nodded again. He knew first hand his friend's feelings for his
former wife.
 
 "Anyway, I met Danny and we ... well I guess you could say we fell in
love. But then this thing with Stella got in the way ... and I went back
to her." He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head, staring
into the grass. "I must've hurt Danny, but he never said. He just let me
go. Then a month later I came back. Then I went again. It went on like
that for two years. He let me come when I needed to come and go when I
needed to go."
 
 "He must have loved you a great deal."
 
 Ray tilted his head and regarded his friend with warm eyes. "Yeah, he
did."
 
 "Stella?"
 
 "She never knew. No one knew. It was like I had two lives."
 
 "And now?"
 
 Ray rubbed both hands over his face and then flung out his arms,
stretching until his joints popped.
 
 "And now? Jeez, that's a tough one. But at least now I'm smart enough to
know it's all over with Stella."
 
 "And Danny?"
 
 Ray shook his head. "Nah. He met someone - Greg - they were together for
seven years. Greg died last year, you know."
 
 Fraser nodded again. He had witnessed Ray's generous donations to AIDS
research.
 
 "Have you decided .... " Fraser blushed. "I mean ..."
 
 Ray laughed gently. "You mean am I gay or straight?"
 
 Fraser blushed again and shrugged.
 
 Ray laughed again and gestured to his bi-pride t-shirt. "Who knows
Fraser, I might fall in love with a guy, I might fall in love with a
woman. Does it matter?"
 
 Fraser shrugged and smiled at his friend. "No, Ray. It doesn't matter."
 
 The two men held each other's gaze until the moment passed.
 
 "What about you, Fraser?"
 
 Fraser stared at his hands and his voice took on a faraway quality.
"There was a woman once ...."
 
 Ray grinned cheekily. "Only a woman?"
 
 Fraser looked up and met his friend's laughing eyes. "Only a woman," he
confirmed.
 
 Ray laughed and reached across the table, gripping his friend's hand.
"Like you said, Fraser. It doesn't matter."
 
 "As long as it's about love and respect."
 
 Ray nodded his agreement. "As long as it's about love and respect."
 
 
 Comments welcome at mullum@tig.com.au