You must’ve graduated with top honors.”
“You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever known. I wanted to make it good for you if it’s the last time.”
“It better be or you’ll turn me queer for life. Come on. Show me where I can pull myself together.”
Patrice rose and took his arm and helped him to his feet. They went along a corridor that Rod didn’t remember to a living room that he did. Patrice conducted him to the end of it, past the toilet he also remembered to a kitchen with a tub in it. All the fixtures looked old but clean. Patrice want to a cupboard and brought him fresh towels. “There. It’s not the Ritz, but the water is usually quite hot. I’m sorry I don’t have a spare dressing gown for you.”
“I know who I want to be with.”
“Thanks. I like you, you know, in spite of–well, the unmentionable.” He chuckled and gave the shoulder a pat. “You’re such a little monkey.”
Patrice fled from his touch and, caught between idiotic tears and ecstatic laughter, returned to the bedroom and dressed quickly. He could do with some pulling together himself. He was close to insanity. To be in love with a boy who liked girls made it hopeless insanity but exciting. Rod might like girls, but he also liked sex, pure and simple. He might get used to a little monkey as a convenience when a girl wasn’t available. Meanwhile, he would keep his body hidden except under the covers–if he was lucky enough to get him to bed again. No small physical contacts. Let him do the touching.
He went to the bed and pulled the covers back to air them. The dreams that filled his mind were the most virulent aspect of his insanity. He thought of himself as being armed with cynicism, but irrepressible optimism kept coming to the surface. He believed in old-fashioned things like human decency (a legacy from his father?) although he hadn’t seen much of it. If love turned out to be a good thing, as some people believed it to be, then he could live for it and learn to do without sex. Insanity. How did he expect to fit Gérard into this romantic vision? Even if he broke all the rules and kept Rod a secret, he would be defying a destructive force that he had good reason to fear.
At the same moment he and Rod reentered the living room from opposite doors. Patrice was as jolted by his appearance as if he were seeing him for the first time. That he had shared the ecstasy of this superb young athlete, long hair combed, a towel hitched around his waist, lithe and virile, became a wild improbability. Despite an overnight growth of beard, Rod looked fresh and alert, his intent eyes giving him the look of maturity that he touchingly lost in his sleep. Patrice approached him but stayed out of reach.
“You wish to get dressed?” he asked in a businesslike way. “I hung everything up.”
Rod smiled at him with a small residue of reticence that he regretted. This clever-looking youth in a stylish suit delighted him. Once he forgot the rest, he would be able to treat him with the friendliness he felt. “I must’ve been an awful nuisance last night. I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll clear out and leave you in peace.”
“And when will you show me your work?”
“I’m afraid I talked an awful lot too. Did I say I’d show you my work? OK. I apparently didn’t let you get a word in edgewise. What do you do?”
“I manage a rather important antique shop. You might also call it a gallery.”
“So young?”
“My training has been a bit–special.”
Rod saw playful irony come dancing into his eyes. He felt his own smile broaden with uncomplicated pleasure. “I believe it. Your English is remarkable. This place …” He looked around at it, coveting it once more. The sky was gray, but the skylight pulled the day into the room. He had already decided where he would place his easel if it were his. “Marvelous space. The light makes me green with envy.”
“It is better for work than your hotel?” Patrice asked,
“You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever known. I wanted to make it good for you if it’s the last time.”
“It better be or you’ll turn me queer for life. Come on. Show me where I can pull myself together.”
Patrice rose and took his arm and helped him to his feet. They went along a corridor that Rod didn’t remember to a living room that he did. Patrice conducted him to the end of it, past the toilet he also remembered to a kitchen with a tub in it. All the fixtures looked old but clean. Patrice want to a cupboard and brought him fresh towels. “There. It’s not the Ritz, but the water is usually quite hot. I’m sorry I don’t have a spare dressing gown for you.”
“I know who I want to be with.”
“Thanks. I like you, you know, in spite of–well, the unmentionable.” He chuckled and gave the shoulder a pat. “You’re such a little monkey.”
Patrice fled from his touch and, caught between idiotic tears and ecstatic laughter, returned to the bedroom and dressed quickly. He could do with some pulling together himself. He was close to insanity. To be in love with a boy who liked girls made it hopeless insanity but exciting. Rod might like girls, but he also liked sex, pure and simple. He might get used to a little monkey as a convenience when a girl wasn’t available. Meanwhile, he would keep his body hidden except under the covers–if he was lucky enough to get him to bed again. No small physical contacts. Let him do the touching.
He went to the bed and pulled the covers back to air them. The dreams that filled his mind were the most virulent aspect of his insanity. He thought of himself as being armed with cynicism, but irrepressible optimism kept coming to the surface. He believed in old-fashioned things like human decency (a legacy from his father?) although he hadn’t seen much of it. If love turned out to be a good thing, as some people believed it to be, then he could live for it and learn to do without sex. Insanity. How did he expect to fit Gérard into this romantic vision? Even if he broke all the rules and kept Rod a secret, he would be defying a destructive force that he had good reason to fear.
At the same moment he and Rod reentered the living room from opposite doors. Patrice was as jolted by his appearance as if he were seeing him for the first time. That he had shared the ecstasy of this superb young athlete, long hair combed, a towel hitched around his waist, lithe and virile, became a wild improbability. Despite an overnight growth of beard, Rod looked fresh and alert, his intent eyes giving him the look of maturity that he touchingly lost in his sleep. Patrice approached him but stayed out of reach.
“You wish to get dressed?” he asked in a businesslike way. “I hung everything up.”
Rod smiled at him with a small residue of reticence that he regretted. This clever-looking youth in a stylish suit delighted him. Once he forgot the rest, he would be able to treat him with the friendliness he felt. “I must’ve been an awful nuisance last night. I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll clear out and leave you in peace.”
“And when will you show me your work?”
“I’m afraid I talked an awful lot too. Did I say I’d show you my work? OK. I apparently didn’t let you get a word in edgewise. What do you do?”
“I manage a rather important antique shop. You might also call it a gallery.”
“So young?”
“My training has been a bit–special.”
Rod saw playful irony come dancing into his eyes. He felt his own smile broaden with uncomplicated pleasure. “I believe it. Your English is remarkable. This place …” He looked around at it, coveting it once more. The sky was gray, but the skylight pulled the day into the room. He had already decided where he would place his easel if it were his. “Marvelous space. The light makes me green with envy.”
“It is better for work than your hotel?” Patrice asked,
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