has wooed me before.”
“Abe! Why didn’t you tell me? That’s very exciting! I knew I could count on you. He’s the most important man in movies. But maybe it’s not such a good idea. I hear he’s a faggot.”
“This then must help us. He will help his own kind. Go, and I will meet you tomorrow as per our explorer’s itinerary. Now I am tired and must go to Bloomingdale’s.”
“Abe, use your own toilet.”
“It’s just around the corner.”
“Abe…”
“Ephra keeps a clean house. I don’t mind. It is part of our rules. I can use the walk.”
“Abe, you never even noticed that the Bloomingdale’s john is full of humpy faggots, in denim and boots, carrying their shopping bags filled with doilies and candles and towels from the White Sale. Does Ephra know that you pee in such company?”
“Take your feet from the furniture. Ephra cherishes her chairs and her sofa.”
Fred, so good at instant proclamation, removed his feet from their position of comfort, stood up, walked straight to Abe, and launched: “You think I joke, Abe, but today it’s no longer necessary to go out of your own home to pee! Abe, today it’s even considered healthy to wank off. Yes, Abe, healthy! Did you know that your thing will no longer fall off, even if you do it every day, even if you shoot your gism into a sanitized toilet? I know you don’t believe me, but soon the Magazine Section of The New York Times will write about it, and these things will be sanctioned once and for all as healthy indoor sports, practiced by Hank Aaron and Dave DeBusschere.”
“My little grandson loves Dave DeBusschere,” Abe said, thinking of Wyatt (where did they find these names?), Stephen’s boy. “This news would destroy him.”
“Abe, I love you very much, but what makes you think he isn’t wanking off right this minute? Along with his classmates. In unison. A cappella.”
“Fred, bite your tongue!”
“No, Abe. I want somebody else to bite it. Somebody gorgeous, successful, brilliant, and male. And that’s what our movie must be all about. The Quest for Love. A thirty-eight-year-old faggot decides he must find a lover before he’s thirty-nine. He’s lonely—and isn’t this the human condition, so timely, so touching?, we must remember that all great stories reflect the human condition—and he wants a mate. This is the story of his Quest. The inborn, natural, lusting Quest of Man for His Mate.”
“But why must they both be fegalim?”
“I could hardly make one of them a dyke. Abe, it’s time to write with the pen of truth. I am a thirty-nine-year-old faggot who must find true love by forty. Abe, beloved, this is my life! I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t use the toilet! Ephra has blue poison in the bowl.”
“I know Ephra has blue poison in the bowl! What have we been talking about all afternoon? I meant out. Abe, don’t you hear the call of freedom?”
“No. In all of this, where? I have certainly been looking!”
“You can’t even piss in your own toilet! What are you going to do?”
“I told you. Go to Bloomingdale’s.”
“Abe…Abe…”
“Don’t say my name like that! Abe is a happy name. It is Hebrew for ‘exalted father.’ My namesake was the father of many nations and the founder of my people and the friend of God.”
“All the more reason to be a modern trailblazer.”
“He was also the model of perfect submission to God’s will, even in the severest trials, including to the sacrifice of his own son.”
“That one I could never understand. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll commence our tour.”
“The alphabet begins with Abe. And Abe Bronstein is a maker of happy cakes and cookies—though personally I would not touch them, such an aftertaste, my brother now uses cheap quality lard—and of happy motion pictures. Go. Go. I shall meet you per our plans. Seventy-two places you told me you can go to have sex?”
“Abe, New York is becoming Boys’ Town. You don’t know how many
“Abe! Why didn’t you tell me? That’s very exciting! I knew I could count on you. He’s the most important man in movies. But maybe it’s not such a good idea. I hear he’s a faggot.”
“This then must help us. He will help his own kind. Go, and I will meet you tomorrow as per our explorer’s itinerary. Now I am tired and must go to Bloomingdale’s.”
“Abe, use your own toilet.”
“It’s just around the corner.”
“Abe…”
“Ephra keeps a clean house. I don’t mind. It is part of our rules. I can use the walk.”
“Abe, you never even noticed that the Bloomingdale’s john is full of humpy faggots, in denim and boots, carrying their shopping bags filled with doilies and candles and towels from the White Sale. Does Ephra know that you pee in such company?”
“Take your feet from the furniture. Ephra cherishes her chairs and her sofa.”
Fred, so good at instant proclamation, removed his feet from their position of comfort, stood up, walked straight to Abe, and launched: “You think I joke, Abe, but today it’s no longer necessary to go out of your own home to pee! Abe, today it’s even considered healthy to wank off. Yes, Abe, healthy! Did you know that your thing will no longer fall off, even if you do it every day, even if you shoot your gism into a sanitized toilet? I know you don’t believe me, but soon the Magazine Section of The New York Times will write about it, and these things will be sanctioned once and for all as healthy indoor sports, practiced by Hank Aaron and Dave DeBusschere.”
“My little grandson loves Dave DeBusschere,” Abe said, thinking of Wyatt (where did they find these names?), Stephen’s boy. “This news would destroy him.”
“Abe, I love you very much, but what makes you think he isn’t wanking off right this minute? Along with his classmates. In unison. A cappella.”
“Fred, bite your tongue!”
“No, Abe. I want somebody else to bite it. Somebody gorgeous, successful, brilliant, and male. And that’s what our movie must be all about. The Quest for Love. A thirty-eight-year-old faggot decides he must find a lover before he’s thirty-nine. He’s lonely—and isn’t this the human condition, so timely, so touching?, we must remember that all great stories reflect the human condition—and he wants a mate. This is the story of his Quest. The inborn, natural, lusting Quest of Man for His Mate.”
“But why must they both be fegalim?”
“I could hardly make one of them a dyke. Abe, it’s time to write with the pen of truth. I am a thirty-nine-year-old faggot who must find true love by forty. Abe, beloved, this is my life! I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t use the toilet! Ephra has blue poison in the bowl.”
“I know Ephra has blue poison in the bowl! What have we been talking about all afternoon? I meant out. Abe, don’t you hear the call of freedom?”
“No. In all of this, where? I have certainly been looking!”
“You can’t even piss in your own toilet! What are you going to do?”
“I told you. Go to Bloomingdale’s.”
“Abe…Abe…”
“Don’t say my name like that! Abe is a happy name. It is Hebrew for ‘exalted father.’ My namesake was the father of many nations and the founder of my people and the friend of God.”
“All the more reason to be a modern trailblazer.”
“He was also the model of perfect submission to God’s will, even in the severest trials, including to the sacrifice of his own son.”
“That one I could never understand. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll commence our tour.”
“The alphabet begins with Abe. And Abe Bronstein is a maker of happy cakes and cookies—though personally I would not touch them, such an aftertaste, my brother now uses cheap quality lard—and of happy motion pictures. Go. Go. I shall meet you per our plans. Seventy-two places you told me you can go to have sex?”
“Abe, New York is becoming Boys’ Town. You don’t know how many
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