spare, "no one says Howdy."
"Very sophisticated. Got it. Tuxedos and movie stars."
"We get a few."
"I shouldn't be so flip. It's very nice of you to help me out."
"Spare's a little flat, too," said Lois, testing it. "You'd better get this into the shop before long."
"Lois."
After a moment. "Yeah?"
"What's it like at..."
"Thriller Jill's."
"Yes."
"Dandy. It's on the Other Side, in case you're wondering. And so am I."
Elaine was thinking.
"Yep," said Lois, working away with the wrench. "The Other Side is where I live."
"Where is Thriller Jill's?" "West end of Hollywood. Just off the Boulevard, between Davis and La Forma."
"Is Jill a thriller, in fact?"
"Jill... Jill's a satisfier. I'm a thriller."
Elaine was thinking.
Lois got up. She said, "I'm the deepest thriller this side of the Valley," and held out her hand. Elaine took it, smirking as one might at a school-child's prank. The two women shared a long look of the eyes, auditioning feelings, attitudes. Men want a shape; women want an idea.
"You should come down sometime and see the show," Lois told Elaine, as they broke. "We've got Jo-Jo there, our emcee, and a real sweet-voiced kid named Johnny. Bar discount for all unaccompanied females."
"Half off my Pink Lady?"
"Everything off and we'll go all the way."
"My. Something tells me I oughtn't bring my husband."
"Oughtn't," Lois echoed, shoving the flat into the trunk. "Right."
"Thriller Jill's."
"That's the place." Lois looked at Elaine, long and true. "I'll tell you this, and I'm telling it honest. I'd like to see you there. Any night of the week, it's always me. Lois Rybacher. Any night. Thriller Jill's."
"The west end of Hollywood."
They shook hands.
"Thank you again," said Elaine, now feeling truly helpless: helpless to express her gratitude, and interest. "I really mean it!" she called out.
"I know you do," Lois replied as she got into her car.
Well, that was... that was very odd, Elaine is thinking.
Wasn't it?
Larken, driving to Griffith Park, kept thinking of him as That Guy on the Bench. It had become a mission now, something Larken had to complete in order to retain his self-respect. He would find that guy if it took the rest of the year, and collar him, and make him say either I don't like your face so get lost or I do like you so I'm taking you home.
I should be good at cruising, Larken told himself. I do enough of it. I should know how to let down in a very gentle way the guys I don't care about, and how to make a quick connection with the guys I do. I should; and I don't. Somehow it always gets confused. Or it starts out fine and then...
I've got to get better at this.
Larken was prepared to sit on That Bench for two or three hours, waiting for That Guy. Sometimes you have to. But That Guy was there when Larken came up the path.
Larken smiled and quickened his pace and sat down and told Frank, "Just listen to me. I'm twenty-three years old and a nice guy. I've got a good sense of humor and I'm considerate of other people and I'm very lonely. I came here from Salt Lake City almost two years ago, and I'm all by myself. I've met people, but it never gets past that first night. You know, how you exchange phone numbers because you had a really fine time and they did, too? All this enthusiasm, and this great hug at the door. Then you call him a few days later and he doesn't know who you are."
Larken paused, searching Frank's face for directions. There was nothing there—nothing, at least, that Larken could read.
"It's Friday night," Larken went on, "and I'm supposed to have my whole life before me. But I'm losing hope, and that's putting it honest."
Some moments passed, as the two men looked at each other, then Frank put his hand on Larken's shoulder, just touching him. Feeling suddenly welcomed, Larken leaned his head against Frank, and Frank, startled, leaped to his feet.
"What did you have to do that for?" Frank shouted.
Larken was speechless.
"That isn't..." Frank began,
"Very sophisticated. Got it. Tuxedos and movie stars."
"We get a few."
"I shouldn't be so flip. It's very nice of you to help me out."
"Spare's a little flat, too," said Lois, testing it. "You'd better get this into the shop before long."
"Lois."
After a moment. "Yeah?"
"What's it like at..."
"Thriller Jill's."
"Yes."
"Dandy. It's on the Other Side, in case you're wondering. And so am I."
Elaine was thinking.
"Yep," said Lois, working away with the wrench. "The Other Side is where I live."
"Where is Thriller Jill's?" "West end of Hollywood. Just off the Boulevard, between Davis and La Forma."
"Is Jill a thriller, in fact?"
"Jill... Jill's a satisfier. I'm a thriller."
Elaine was thinking.
Lois got up. She said, "I'm the deepest thriller this side of the Valley," and held out her hand. Elaine took it, smirking as one might at a school-child's prank. The two women shared a long look of the eyes, auditioning feelings, attitudes. Men want a shape; women want an idea.
"You should come down sometime and see the show," Lois told Elaine, as they broke. "We've got Jo-Jo there, our emcee, and a real sweet-voiced kid named Johnny. Bar discount for all unaccompanied females."
"Half off my Pink Lady?"
"Everything off and we'll go all the way."
"My. Something tells me I oughtn't bring my husband."
"Oughtn't," Lois echoed, shoving the flat into the trunk. "Right."
"Thriller Jill's."
"That's the place." Lois looked at Elaine, long and true. "I'll tell you this, and I'm telling it honest. I'd like to see you there. Any night of the week, it's always me. Lois Rybacher. Any night. Thriller Jill's."
"The west end of Hollywood."
They shook hands.
"Thank you again," said Elaine, now feeling truly helpless: helpless to express her gratitude, and interest. "I really mean it!" she called out.
"I know you do," Lois replied as she got into her car.
Well, that was... that was very odd, Elaine is thinking.
Wasn't it?
Larken, driving to Griffith Park, kept thinking of him as That Guy on the Bench. It had become a mission now, something Larken had to complete in order to retain his self-respect. He would find that guy if it took the rest of the year, and collar him, and make him say either I don't like your face so get lost or I do like you so I'm taking you home.
I should be good at cruising, Larken told himself. I do enough of it. I should know how to let down in a very gentle way the guys I don't care about, and how to make a quick connection with the guys I do. I should; and I don't. Somehow it always gets confused. Or it starts out fine and then...
I've got to get better at this.
Larken was prepared to sit on That Bench for two or three hours, waiting for That Guy. Sometimes you have to. But That Guy was there when Larken came up the path.
Larken smiled and quickened his pace and sat down and told Frank, "Just listen to me. I'm twenty-three years old and a nice guy. I've got a good sense of humor and I'm considerate of other people and I'm very lonely. I came here from Salt Lake City almost two years ago, and I'm all by myself. I've met people, but it never gets past that first night. You know, how you exchange phone numbers because you had a really fine time and they did, too? All this enthusiasm, and this great hug at the door. Then you call him a few days later and he doesn't know who you are."
Larken paused, searching Frank's face for directions. There was nothing there—nothing, at least, that Larken could read.
"It's Friday night," Larken went on, "and I'm supposed to have my whole life before me. But I'm losing hope, and that's putting it honest."
Some moments passed, as the two men looked at each other, then Frank put his hand on Larken's shoulder, just touching him. Feeling suddenly welcomed, Larken leaned his head against Frank, and Frank, startled, leaped to his feet.
"What did you have to do that for?" Frank shouted.
Larken was speechless.
"That isn't..." Frank began,
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