At dusk, the lamps are lit and the whole lodge seems to twinkle among the surrounding woods. During the day, there isn’t much to do but lounge about or drive into town. But at night, that’s when the lodge truly comes alive. It has always catered to a certain type of men: men of a certain age, men desperate to escape the city, men who enjoy late nights drinking with strangers, who like to wander the darken rooms, who linger too long in the basement sauna, who leave their doors cracked open late at night. 

At least, that’s the way I remember it. The last time I was here was over twenty years ago, back when I was a new pretty face still learning how to hold my liquor. I came because I liked being far from home, because I had learned there were benefits to being the youngest in the room. Unfortunately, there is a danger in being a young man who seeks the attention of older men. One day, you grow up and they’ve grown even older. 

I arrived on a Friday night, much later than intended, and when I entered, all I could see was Oscar standing behind the registration desk with his signature smile. “Welcome,” he said. “Glad you made it – I was beginning to worry.”

I know it’s wrong, but my heart dropped in my chest. The Oscar I remember was a husky lumberjack of a man, burly with wild hair and a chisel in his chin. Now, he was an old man. His body had plumped up: a soft round face with a sagging neck and a gut that puffed out under his shirt. His hair, or what was left of it, had gone fully gray. This shouldn’t have bothered me. We must all be allowed to age; I certainly had as well. But what hurt most was that as he smiled and ran my credit card, he did not seem to recognize me. Around us, the lodge was quiet. 

“Am I the only person here this weekend?” I asked.

“We have a small group, but they went into town for dinner. Have you eaten?” I had. I had stopped along the way. “Well, in that case, breakfast is in the dining room and of course, we have cocktail hour every evening at five. Now, did you need a tour?”

“It’s been a while,” I said. “But I think I remember where everything is.”

For a moment, Oscar’s eye narrowed as he studied me. The wheels in head turned.

“We used to stay up late and drink whiskey together,” I said, motioning to the parlor. And then, I saw the spark in his eye and the slow grin of recognition. 

“It’s been a while. We should catch up,” he said. “But not tonight, I’m afraid. I promised Rob I’d come straight home once you checked in. But tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” I agreed and then he handed me my key.

My affair with Oscar began my very first trip down. Back then, I was an insomniac; I rarely went to sleep before two or three in the morning. When it was late enough, when all the other guests had retired, I would wander to the parlor, where there was always a lamp on. Oscar was usually there with his whiskey bottle, ready to offer me a nightcap, just a little something to help me sleep. We’d talk and drink until finally, we’d be rolling around on the plush rugs, sweaty and naked and trying not to make too much noise. And then, the next day, we’d sometimes chat and sometimes not, as if it the last night had not happened. 

I was in love with him, in the way young men fall innocently in love with those who show them a bit of affection. I used to daydream of him asking me to move into the lodge, that I would become a permanent fixture in his life. And then, the day would come when he was ready to retire, and he would gift his beautiful guesthouse to me. It was a childish fantasy. I knew that because I also knew that I was not his only lover. It was well known that Oscar slept with his guests and that while his husband, Rob, did not approve, he accepted it as well. This was the first of many lessons I learned there.

Now, twenty years later, the lodge is empty and dark at such an early hour. I spent that first night wandering the rooms, still unsure why I had come back. Perhaps because I was lonely, because it had been a long pandemic in which I felt my youth slipping away a little more each week until I felt like something entirely different. In the parlor, I helped myself to the left-over wine, hoping someone would eventually come in. An hour later, I was fuzzy headed and tired and ready for bed. Afterall, it was only night one; there was still an entire weekend ahead of me. 

The only other guests were a gaggle of four pot-bellied queens and they were my kind of people: loud and vulgar and not shy with strangers. We met at the breakfast table, eating our croissants and eggs with endless cups of coffee. Right from the start, they were telling their best stories, scenes from leather bars and threesomes gone bad, always stopping to say, “Oh, we’re scandalizing him!” I played along and gasped and we all laughed. I thought, maybe this was my group for the weekend. I had passed their test and could now be their friend. But when breakfast ended, they announced they were heading out for an early start at the wineries, twiddling their fingers at me as they left.

The rest of the morning passed by in a slow steady fashion. I took a walk around the property, bundled in my coat. In November, the Shenandoah is cold with wind that cuts deeper than any knife. I moved to the basement sauna, sat naked with a towel draped over my lap. It was relaxing for about ten minutes, but quickly it lost its appeal. After that, there was nothing left to do but lounge in the hearth room, in front of that roaring fire, as I tried to read my book though I secretly wanted to dig a fork into my hand. I was so bored, I couldn’t stand it. Where were all the people? Even Oscar was nowhere to be seen.

The only other person left was Rob. He moved throughout the lodge like an apparition, serving the breakfast trays, refilling coffee urns, restocking this and cleaning that, always seen in the periphery, never making a noise. Occasionally, I would look up from my book and find him stoking the fire, and then, as if caught, he would scurry away.

When you fall in love with a married man, you develop a complicated relationship with his spouse. Ron was a quiet workhorse, younger than Oscar, with tattoo sleeves he kept hidden under his flannel shirts. Back in the old days, he was the object of everyone’s desire, but untouchable. He was aloof; he rarely mingled with the guests and when he did, it was always in passing. I used to spy on him. I would watch him tend the gardens or clean the rooms. There was some other-worldly quality about him that I could not grasp that made me want to be near him. 

But that was a long time ago.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. 

Only then did I realize I was staring. “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I was spacing out for a bit.”

He gave me a strange look, brow creased, and then shrugged as he walked away. 

I didn’t stay long after that. I took a drive out and visited the Luray Caverns and wandered among the stalagmites. Afterwards, I drove back to town. The day had turned dreary, dark clouds and cold winds; November is known for mood swings. Along the edge of the main street, there was a small brewpub. It was a lively place, full of people watching the game on the big screen. I sat up at the bar, ordered a sandwich and a flight as I played on my phone.

“Where you from?” the bartendress asked. I told her and she smiled. “Just visiting for the weekend?” I told her I was at the guesthouse and she nodded. “Oh, I just adore Oscar and Rob. Aren’t they the best?” And then, she turned to chat with her regulars. 

It was dark out by the time I returned. Happy hour was long over and the four queens were half-way through dinner, laughing in between bites of food. No sooner had I sat down, Rob placed a hearty plate in front of me. Still no sign of Oscar.

“Did you have a good day out,” one of them asked me. I told them about my trip to the caverns and they all nodded politely. By then, I was in awe of them: four friends who had probably known each other for decades and still had things to talk about. Once they finished, they said their farewells and I could hear them in the hearth room, opening bottles of wine and already telling stories.

I didn’t finish my meal. Instead, I went back to my room and took a shower. There was this slow building sickness in my gut, this dread of the long night ahead. I kept thinking, if I drove back right then and there, I could reach the city before it got too late. I could make it to the bars for a nightcap. Maybe, I would run into friends or find someone who wanted a little company. Before I knew it, my bag was packed.

Oscar stood behind the registration desk. “Leaving so soon?” he asked in a near offended tone. “We missed you at happy hour, you know.”

“Sorry about that,” I said. “I’ve been in a weird mood since I got there.”

“Well, you still got one night left. Would like some wine?”

I did. I wanted it so bad it hurt.

We sat in the parlor on the large ornate sofa. Oscar poured us each a glass and left the bottle out on the table. I smiled graciously as we clinked glasses. The next few moments passed in a comfortable silence; his smile made me feel shy.

“You used to come here in a group,” he finally said. “You all were trouble. Delightful trouble.” I shrugged. More silence. “Where are they now?”

“Oh, we’re scattered all over the place. I talk to them more online than I do in person.”

“Things change,” Oscar said. 

“Yes, they do.”

For a bit, I talked about my job, that killer of moods. I used to hate adult talk: work, politics, finances, the weather. Those were the conversations for boring people and yet, here we were. I drank my wine down in a large gulp. We used to talk about fun things, about life and art and sex and whatever I was currently obsessed with. I wanted to ask him if he remembered the things we used to do in this room, like the time he bent me over this very sofa and fucked me raw while daring me not to whimper.

Somewhere in the background came another round of laughter from the old queens. “They seem like a fun group,” I said.

“They’re tedious. A little snobby for my tastes, but sure, they’re fun.”

And then, we fell into our old ways, talking deeply about our lives, the people we used to know, how we managed over the pandemic. Eventually, Oscar retrieved the bottle of Laphroaig from the bar, uncapped it and poured me a healthy dose in a tumbler.

“Like old times,” he said.

“But where’s your glass?”

He had barely touched his wine. “Oh, I can’t do hard liquor anymore.”

I was drinking for two and soon, the room took on a hazy texture. It made me bold, bold enough to as if people still roamed the halls at night, if they still left their doors cracked open. He shrugged. Who were the other guests he used to sleep with? He laughed and listed off a roster. I wanted all the gory details; I wanted him to talk sexy to me. “Have another drink,” I told him as I refilled my own.

“Really, I can’t.”

“But you should,” I said. I leaned in closer and let my hand rest on his thigh, my fingers arched like spider legs, ready to creep up to the crotch of his jeans. But he shifted and brushed my hand away.

Strange how a single moment can sober one up. I was suddenly sitting straight and alert, hands folded neatly in my lap. “I’m sorry,” I muttered. I said it again to make sure he heard it.

“No, it’s not you.” Oscar was still smiling, a placid kind smile. He still looked like nothing ever bothered him. “Prostate cancer,” he said. “Got no nerves left. Even if the heart is willing, I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

I didn’t know what to say after that. I just sat there dumbly even as he continued talking, as he mentioned the years of treatments and surgeries, all in the same casual manner one might talk about what they ate for breakfast. There was no sadness, no shame in his voice. But I felt it. All I could think was how old he looked, how fragile. My poor, old, damaged lover.

We were interrupted by a gentle tapping. Rob stood in the doorway. “It’s getting late,” he said and quickly walked away.

Oscar gave me a grim roll of the eyes. “The nurse has spoken.” He slowly rose from his seat. “I’m gonna head home for some beauty rest. Help yourself to more if you like and don’t worry about the glasses. We’ll clean up in the morning.” 

I should have hugged him or walked him out, or at least said something encouraging. But I didn’t. I just said “goodnight” and sat there like an idiot.

“Rob will be here for a little while longer in case you need anything,” he said and then shuffled out of the room. 

I should have gone back to my room, but I didn’t. Instead, I kept drinking. Not heavily, not recklessly, but one more tumbler, just enough to get back to that mellow state of inebriation. The rest of the lodge had gone quiet and I could sense the light of the various rooms snuffing out. I refilled my glass as my mind began to wander. I began to revisit that long list of older men I slept with when I was younger. Where were they now? What did they look like? Were they happy? How many of them were still alive?

I was drifting off when I felt a firm grip on my shoulder.

“Hey, I think you’re ready for bed.” It was Rob, in a voice that was surprisingly soft and as soothing as a lullaby.

“I’m sorry,” I slurred. “I was daydreaming.” When I rose, the room began to spin and I might have fallen over if Rob hadn’t been there to catch me.

“Steady now,” he said.

His face was so close to mine and for the first time, I could see him clearly. How bold and handsome he was, how behind that stoic façade, there was a tenderness to him. His eyes were kind and tempered and I let him cradle me until I found my footing.

“I’m so embarrassed,” I said.

“Don’t be. Let’s get you to your room.”

We moved slowly up the grand staircase, down the long hall where he opened my door with his skeleton key. In the dark, he helped me kick off my shoes and undress enough to climb into bed.

“Please don’t go,” I said. I did not lie down, but sat up, tugging at his hand, ignoring the disgruntled look on his face. And yet, he obediently sat next to me. For a moment, I felt like a boy again, timidly trying to figure out what I was allowed to do with my hands. I leaned into him, let my head fall against his shoulder. I could feel his body tense and then relax as he put an arm around to keep me steady.

This was the moment I began to cry. I felt it coming on like a gentle wave until I just surrendered to it. I couldn’t stop, no matter how hard I tried, until my body sank like deadweight and Rob pulled me in, cradling my head to his chest.

“It’s ok,” Rob said. “It’ll be ok.”

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