They discussed the question at length before dinner. Later in the evening, Charlie suggested, apropos of nothing in particular, “Let’s all go to the movies tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Peter reminded him dutifully.
“You’ll surely want to go to the dance,” C. B. pointed out.
“Not necessarily. It gets to be a bore if you go every week. Let’s the three of us have a party.”
It was a triumphant moment for Peter. Saturday was no longer to be feared.
INSPIRED by the success of the portrait, Charlie decided to go on with his sketching. He started by taking his sketchbook with him whenever they went out, but working conditions weren’t always satisfactory.
“I’m going to do you the way I really want you,” he said to Peter one afternoon in the room. “All of you, naked.”
“Hey, feelthy pictures,” Peter exclaimed.
“Go on. Take your clothes off.” Peter complied and stood before him expectantly. “Oh God, I better get going quickly or I’ll never get anything done. Go on. Just walk around naturally. Yeah, like that. Good. Hold it.”
He was quickly absorbed. He had Peter wander about, and when he struck an attitude that pleased him, he called “Hold it” and went to work again. He discovered a new excitement in the aesthetic exploration of Peter’s body. It looked freshly formed, offering small unexpected angularities. The golden head was set on a long, strong neck. The shoulders were wide without being top-heavy. The muscles of the chest were sharply defined planes. The line from shoulder to narrow hip flowed smoothly, richly completed by the full curve of buttocks. The sex in repose, only faintly blurred by golden hair, was gentle and discreet, a soft vertical stroke with a suggestion of neat, closely packed spheres nestled behind it. The legs were long and straight with slightly knobby knees that delighted Charlie’s drawing hand. The hands and feet were solid, finely articulated accents to the extremities. He drew him from every angle—standing, sitting, sprawled out on the bed. Through his intent eyes and his busy hand, he absorbed the body into the emotive core of his being. It was so totally satisfying aesthetically that he was unaware of the risk he was exposing himself to.
“Come here,” he commanded. “I want to do you with a hard-on.”
Peter went to him, and Charlie lowered his head and shaped the buttocks with his hands. The sex sprang up eagerly, long and slim and very straight, before he could take it in his mouth.
“Yes. Can you keep it that way for a while, baby?”
“Ha. The trick is not letting it be that way all the time. You looking at me like that. How about me? A month ago I was creeping around clutching at towels. You’re turning me into an exhibitionist.” He struck a pose. “Go on, do me like this. Only add a little, will you? So it looks more like you.”
“What a dope. It wouldn’t be nearly as pretty if it were any bigger. There’s such a thing as proportion. I just want to get you the way you are.”
When he had explored the graphic possibilities of the erect sex, he called Peter to him and completed the play with his mouth. Peter’s quick orgasms had given his mouth a mastery it had never had before; he received the leaping essence hungrily, possessively, claiming it as his own.
“You keep breaking my law about not coming without you,” Peter said ruefully.
“An artist’s privilege.”
Together they studied the results of the afternoon’s work.
“I’m certainly pretty sexy,” Peter said. “No wonder you’re mad about me. But God, darling, you’re so damn good. It’s incredible. I still can’t understand why you haven’t been doing anything with it.”
“I don’t know. C. B.’s right. It’s a pretty grim life.” Charlie shrugged off the acute pleasure Peter’s appreciation gave him. “When I’ve really got you down, I’ll do some more finished things.”
“Listen,” Peter broke out excitedly. “Can’t you do one of yourself? Like that. You’ve got to. I’ve got to have one.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought of it. The mirror in the bathroom is probably long enough. I don’t see how I could work and have a hard-on at the same time, if that’s what you mean. The two don’t go together.”
“I could help with that.”
Charlie laughed. “Come on. Let’s see.” They went into the bathroom. Charie studied the light and the mirror and tried a few tentative poses. “I might manage it. There’s just room. Yes, I could trick it.” He stood experimentally with his left hand on his hip, the right lifted to an imaginary easel. “I can make this hand look as if it’s resting on something. OK, I’ll try it tomorrow.”
“It’ll be sensational, except that you probably won’t be able to get it all on one sheet.”
THE attempt was postponed by the arrival of the material from Columbia. Everything else was momentarily forgotten. They were amazed at how cheap it all seemed. They pored over the catalogue, working out a possible program of courses.
“You know, a lot of it sounds damn interesting,” Peter said. “I might just go ahead and do it, if it doesn’t take up too much time away from you.”
They discussed at anxious length how the project should be presented to C. B. Peter would undertake explaining it to her as if it were entirely his own idea. Sharing the apartment appeared to be the stumbling block.
“Once I’ve told her all about it, can’t you just offer to let me live with you?” Peter asked reasonably.
Faced with the hard fact of it at last, Charlie knew that that was precisely what he couldn’t do. Ever since his brother had developed a scientific bent and had grown up serious and rather humorless, all C. B.’s passion for shaping personalities had been largely concentrated on him, elevating him to the position of prince consort, the rare spirit who could truly share her exquisite visions of life. She was glad for him to be friendly with Peter, but she would account it as a kindness, a condescension. It would be making too much of Peter to suggest that they should live together; it would have to come about as a happy accident. Even as he recognized this, he was aware of a suspicion, buried deep within himself, that he was a fraud. He really didn’t feel as clever, as original, as infallible in his judgment of literature and art as C. B. maintained he was. His sex was tangible evidence of his superiority in one field. His art might have provided the prop on which his character could have developed, but C. B. maintained that a gentleman should be a dilettante, savoring the best of all that the world had to offer. There was only C. B.; he needed to see himself constantly reflected in her approving eyes to preserve intact the insecure structure she had created. Even with Peter, he was constantly on guard not to be found out.
“I really don’t see why you shouldn’t just come and move in,” he said after a moment’s pause to give the appearance of reflection. “It’s so much simpler that way.”
Peter’s expression clouded. He didn’t want to leave any loose ends. “Well, if you think so. God knows, I don’t want to do anything that would put C. B. against me. She can be very helpful with my family. They think she’s Mrs. God. Even my father is impressed by her.”
“Well then, let’s concentrate on the Columbia part of it. The rest will just work out naturally.”
When they were dressed for the evening, Peter went to Charlie and put both hands on the back of his neck and gripped it hard. “If you’ll just tell me it’ll be all right no matter what she says, I won’t be so scared.”
Charlie pulled him close. “It’ll be all right, baby.” He kissed him lightly on the lips and they went out, their arms around each other.
Peter waited until they had started dinner before he plunged in. “I need your advice, C. B. I’ve been talking to Charlie, and he says you can tell me what I should do. You know I can’t stand the idea of West Point.”
“I’ve thought about it so much and wanted to talk to you about it, but I haven’t been able to see my way clear. You, an Army officer. Such a waste. Your father is mad.”
Peter hurried on, offering
Columbia for her consideration.
“Columbia? I can’t see that that would be much better. It draws its students from all the slums of New York.”
“Yes, but it’s rated very high scholastically. Isn’t that true, Charlie?”
Charlie had withdrawn from the conversation and was concentrating on his food. He shrugged without looking at either of them. “Yes, sure. Quite a few fellows at Princeton were going on to Columbia for graduate work.”
Peter shot him a grateful look that was wasted on him and continued to elaborate, mentioning getting a job, going to night courses.
“I see you really have been thinking,” C. B. said when he paused. “You make me feel as if I’ve been rather defeatist about it. I would so love to take you on. Princeton is the obvious solution. You deserve the best. Shouldn’t we start there and see if we could work out some scheme to foil your father?”
“Oh, no,” Peter blurted out. He hurried on. “Well, you know yourself, Dad would never allow it. But if I’m on my own, if I’m not asking anything from him, there’s nothing much he can say. I’m much older than I ought to be already, to be starting college. A couple of more years can’t make any difference.”
“And would you live at the university?” C. B. asked.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t afford that. I’ve got to find the job first and then find a room somewhere that’s convenient.” His heart ached as he said it.
“That’s probably just as well, considering the sort you’d be thrown in with,” C. B. said. “Fancy your having thought it through so far. I don’t like the idea of a squalid little room somewhere. But the rest, how very exciting. You do delight me. Nobody can say I put you up to this. Well, we must plan. What do you intend to do if your father actually forbids it?”
“I don’t see what people can do when they forbid something. I mean, he can’t take me by the neck and shove me through the gates at West Point. He can cut me off without a penny, but I’m ready for that.”
“I can see I’ve been nurturing a rebel in my bosom.” She sparkled with mischief. “You’re absolutely splendid. I suppose you’ve talked all this over with Charlie.”
“Well, only a little. All the stuff from Columbia just came this morning. We’ve been going over it this afternoon.”
“And all this time, I’ve been thinking of it as a lost cause. Of course, one thing springs to mind. I’m not one to meddle, but would you consider sharing the apartment with Charlie or would that be inconvenient? It’s tiny, but men seem to manage. Needless to say, it’s entirely Charlie’s decision.”
Peter choked and was seized by a tremendous fit of coughing. Charlie shifted violently in his chair and almost knocked over his glass of iced tea. He didn’t dare look at Peter for fear he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face. He looked at the wall and when he was sure he had himself in hand he looked at C. B. She was looking anxiously at Peter.
“Are you all right, my darling?” she asked. He nodded. His face was scarlet.
“I guess it’s a possibility,” Charlie said judiciously. “Well, sure. I guess it’s all right with me. If Peter doesn’t mind sleeping on that sofa thing that turns into a bed.”
“How very good of you. I must say I’d feel better about this whole scheme if you could look after him. You’ve become such good friends.” She turned to Peter. “What do you think, my dear?”
He roared with laughter. Tears glistened in his eyes. “I don’t mind anything,” he said when he could speak. “It’d be wonderful.”
Charlie caught his eyes in a neutral stare, warning him not to overdo it. C. B. beamed at both of them.
“How delightful. You make me feel as if I’d contributed in a small way, though I’m sure you’d have thought of it for yourselves once you began to really examine the possibilities.”
“Then you mean it’s all right?” Peter demanded breathlessly. “You approve of the whole idea?”
“Approve? It’s far from perfect, but I see what you mean. The General could make it rather disagreeable for you if it were obvious that you were getting help. I’m inclined to think of it as making the best of an unfortunate situation. At least it’s a start. We’ll see what it leads to. Next year, you’ll be twenty-one and then perhaps I’ll step in. You’re not the first person to have to work for his education. I suppose some people would even say it’s good for. you, although I’ve never believed in putting obstacles in the way of the young. I should have taken charge of you long ago, but I wasn’t allowed to see as much of you as I wanted.”
“Dad probably thought you’d spoil me.”
“And so I should have. If one doesn’t spoil the young, who is one to spoil?” They all laughed.
“I’ll write tomorrow and resign my appointment,” Peter said, seeming to age visibly as his happy confusion passed and he faced realities. “I’d better write Mother so she can sort of break it to Dad. He’ll probably have a firing squad waiting for me when I get home.”
“I’ll write to her too,” C. B. promised. “I know she’ll understand, but she’ll have to cope with the General. Poor thing. She’s used to it.”
“You’re so wonderful, C. B.,” Peter declared with conviction. “I didn’t believe you’d be actually against it, but it’s so wonderful to know that you think it makes some sense.”
“I’m inclined to think there’s a great deal of sense in that lovely head, my darling. You can depend on me to help out whenever you need it. I must admit, I’ve always rather looked forward to seeing the General meet his Waterloo.”
Peter rocked with laughter. “You’re absolutely wonderful.”
They spent a cheerful evening discussing the courses Peter would take, the sort of job he might find. Charlie was careful to stay more or less out of it, imagining the circumstances if Peter had been simply Peter, C. B.’s latest acquisition, and acting accordingly. When C. B. finally released them, Peter raced to the top of the stairs and waited for him. He seized him and pummeled his back.
“Oh, darling. Oh, darling,” he exclaimed in a whisper. “It’s fantastic. I couldn’t believe my ears. You’re right. She’s really wonderful. And you were so funny just sitting there as if it didn’t really matter to you.”
“I told you it would be all right.”
“Yes, you did.” He dropped his hands to Charlie’s crotch and gathered up the sex and did his animal growl. “I’m never going to worry about anything again. We’re together. It’s fate. There’s nothing anybody can do about it.”
Charlie took him by the scruff of the neck and led him into the room and closed the door. “There. We can talk. I’m sorry I had to put on that act. I thought it was better that way. You know how happy I am too, don’t you?”
“Of course, darling. I just couldn’t hide it as well as you did. Darling, darling, darling, dearest. There. Those are some of the words I didn’t say all evening. Do you really have a sofa that turns into a bed?”
Charlie laughed. “Sure. I had it at Princeton. I’ve sent all my stuff from Princeton to New York.”
“What about your real bed?”
“It’s big enough for us,” he said, smiling into Peter’s anxious eyes.
“Thank goodness. You made it sound so convincing that I thought I really was going to have to sleep on the sofa. It was the one thing that worried me. I wish we could take this bed with us. I’ll never forget it. It’s the best bed ever.”
Charlie laughed and reached out to him and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Let’s avail ourselves of its hospitality.”
THE eternity of summer had suddenly shrunk to barely a month, which still seemed eternity enough. Neither of them could imagine an end to the golden days and the enthralling nights.
Charlie would have forgotten about the self-portrait, but Peter insisted on it. It required some intricate timing and they laughed a lot while he was doing it, but he managed a drawing in which all the elements were pulled together and balanced by the imposing sex. Charlie knew it wasn’t as good as the things he w
as doing of Peter, but Peter was enraptured by it.
“On paper, it really doesn’t look possible. Only, I know it’s true. Can you mount it somehow so it won’t get damaged? I can hardly frame it and hang it on the wall.”
Charlie made a cardboard cover for it and Peter hid it away among the discarded clothes in his locked suitcase. Charlie was equally careful with the growing pile of his studies of Peter. He chose as his hiding place the bottom of a drawer filled with mothballs and some of his old winter clothes.
By chance, he went to the drawer one morning to see if one of the sketches he had done the day before was as good as he thought it was. He pulled it open and started to reach in and remained with his hands arrested before him, paralyzed. One end of the sheaf of drawings were exposed. He knew he couldn’t have left them that way; he was always careful to cover them completely. His scalp tightened and his mouth went dry and his hands felt numb. Somebody had been looking at them.
He managed to force his body to function once more and reached in and pulled them out. Here was incontrovertible evidence of his passion for Peter expressed in anatomical detail. His heart began to race and there was a roaring in his ears. His mind began to hammer at him that it couldn’t have been C. B. She couldn’t have looked at them. C. B. had too much respect for his privacy. It was the sort of thing that might happen at home; his mother was always looming up silently in his room, hovering over him, opening his letters by mistake. Not C. B. Never C. B. But if somebody had seen them and described them to her, the disaster was just as complete. What if Rosie—what would a simple woman like Rosie make of them? His mind was trained to react quickly in perilous circumstances, and it immediately began to fabricate a story that would cover him. He began to fill in details, discarding some, substituting others. It was reasonable. It would stand up to interrogation. He invented dialogue for Rosie and tested his story against it. He had taken all contingencies into account.
The Peter & Charlie Trilogy Page 9