I'd like to say that our time at Harvard was as idyllic as our four years at St. Phillip's. But it wasn't. We had grown beyond the experimenting teens at a boarding school into young men hurtling toward adulthood, careers, and .... what?
I still desperately loved Teddy. And we still had ecstatic sex in our shared room. But somehow it wasn't the same. Our lives were much busier and Teddy rediscovered friends from Country Day who had gone to Andover, Exeter, St. Paul's and a half dozen other exclusive prep schools. I think he was torn between making new friends, renewing friendships and keeping me in the loop. Plus we had radically different classes. I was heading for English literature and writing; Teddy was discovering his passion for history, politics, government and law. I had no idea where that came from until one of his old friends informed me that he actually came from a political dynasty -- and was expected to continue that dynasty when he graduated.
I was floored! So I did a little research and asked a few pointed questions and discovered it was true. Teddy the extraordinary extrovert was being groomed for political life. He had never even mentioned it in all of our four years, in spite of our long, intimate relationship. In fact, Max had never said anything about it, either, nor had Teddy's ice-queen mother.
So why the mystery? I've tried to figure it out most of my life and still haven't been able to sort out the dichotomy of Teddy as a sexual being and career politician.
We still had sex. Harvard in the era of "free love" was a wonderful place to meet and hook up with incredibly sexy men/boys. We had our share of private times in our rooms together and a few times with one or two others -- mostly when they were all stoned. I never did smoke pot; I tried twice and simply didn't like what it did to me.
A couple of the guys got into heavier stuff, acid, LSD, and harder drugs, and I told Teddy in no uncertain terms that I wanted no part of that. I'm not sure how much Teddy experimented because he always went somewhere else to do it. At least he respected my limits in our room, but he was away more often than I wanted. Some nights he'd come slinking in very late, get undressed, and collapse into bed without saying a word. Plus he was drinking a lot more than I thought was good for him.
His grades didn't seem to suffer, and although he'd never been an academic star, he seemed to excel in some of the political science classes. I was a better student than I'd been at St. Phillip's, acing every class I took and excelling in Renaissance literature and in writing. By the beginning of my junior year I was editing the Harvard paper, an underground magazine, a literary magazine, and had even had a few pieces published in the New Yorker and other magazines.
The summer of our freshman year we had gone to Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean, knocking around without a plan or purpose and fucking everywhere we could. I thought it would go on forever.
But we grew apart. We remained friends but were less intimate until by the winter of sophomore year all sex stopped entirely. I was miserable, lonely, incredibly horny and frustrated, so I immersed myself in my writing. I'd have frantic, solitary jerk off sessions that emptied my balls but left me feeling empty. It was mechanical, a physical necessity, but nothing more. I've never been more hollow as a person.
Oddly, I didn't seek solace elsewhere with other men -- and there were plenty to find. It was a hormone-enraged place. But I loved Teddy and didn't want to have sex just to get off. I needed a relationship -- which still existed -- but it was unfulfilled.
Our schedules continued to pry us apart day and night. Teddy fell into the political crowd and spent long hours debating foreign policy, world events, the War, the protests, domestic policy and anything else that could be scrutinized or discussed. It bored me to tears.
I fell in with the literary crowd, getting off on the Mystical poets, trying poetry, and moving inexorably toward journalism. I still loved Teddy, but it wasn't the same.
Sometime in February, Teddy dragged me along to a dance at Wellesley, still an all-girls school as Harvard was all boys. That night would change everything.
I didn't dance, wasn't comfortable around women, and had no desire to mix with a bunch of people I didn't know very well. The group was mainly Teddy's political student friends and I suppose inviting me was his way to reach out and keep me in the loop as we drifted further apart.
That was the night he met Margaret. Beautiful, blue-eyed, slim, intelligent Margaret. He saw her across the dance floor and stood transfixed. He nudged me and asked, "Oh my God, who is that?"
I strained to see and had no idea who he was looking at, scanning the crowd for some hot guys.
"No, dope!" he whispered. "Over there." He pointed to a group of girls near the entrance. "Her."
At that moment, she turned toward us and her face lit up with a wonderful smile, then she lowered her eyes and went back to her friends, laughing.
I turned to say something to Teddy but we was already gone, moving around the dancers toward her. I couldn't believe it. Teddy and a girl? What was that all about?
I'll spare writing the details -- for me they are too painful, even all these years later. They became inseparable. I saw even less of him and he stayed away longer, sometimes all weekend, leaving Friday after classes and coming back late Sundays, smelling of her. He'd strip off his clothes, reeking of recent hetereo sex, and jump in the shower, then sit around naked, playing with his cock and balls while he read in bed. I was in agony.
He never shared details, never boasted, never threw the new relationship in my face. I was somewhat curious but also appalled that he could switch sides so quickly. I respected his privacy about his time with Margaret but died inside when he was gone and I knew he was with her.
Our plans to prowl the West Coast that summer were derailed in late April when Teddy announced he was going to the coast of Maine to be near Margaret. We had planned to do San Francisco, the Russian River Valley, a few choice resorts, then Palm Springs and Las Vegas on the way back. Teddy explained that he couldn't stay with her in Maine but he had convinced his father to rent a house along the coast near Kennebunkport so he was within driving distance. Apparently I wasn't invited. If he had punched me in the stomach I couldn't have been more devastated. Where would I go, what would I do without Teddy?
Of course, I met Margaret a few times and she was pleasant and polite toward me, assuming I was little more than Teddy's hapless roommate. She, too, was a political science major and came from an old Philadelphia family with strong political connections. They were a perfect match: handsome and beautiful, intelligent and sincere, extroverted and well-connected, and both wealthy and secure, whatever they decided to do.
She apparently had no idea that Teddy and I had been passionate lovers for years. He never said a word about his duplicity or sudden change of allegiances and I was too angry and hurt to bring it up. I retreated into my literary shell and sublimated my anger in my work, producing some strikingly good writing and harsh, incisive reporting as a freelance writer.
In mid-May I called Chad at Princeton and wondered if he'd like company in Montana for at least a few weeks. He almost leapt through the phone and suggested we meet in New York City to make plans. I took the train from Boston to Penn Station on Memorial Day weekend and we spent a wonderful three days together, holing up in some dingy hotel, but spending most of our waking hours in museums and galleries, seeing plays, and eating at wonderful restaurants.
That first night I told Chad about what was happening with Teddy, how everything had changed, and how miserable I was. To say he was comforting would be an understatement. I don't think I had cried since I released all of my grief in Teddy's arms after my mother died. Chad held me and rocked me as I recounted all of the hurt, confusion and hollowness I felt, then he made wonderful, tender love with me that lasted hours.
We agreed to meet up at the Montana ranch on the first of July.