After a startled moment, the bartender rested his arm on the bar and laughed and shook his head. “That’s a good one. That sure is a good one.” He heaved himself up and went off to get the drinks. Charlie didn’t know where to look. His face was burning more fiercely than ever. The bartender returned with the drinks and leaned across the bar confidentially to Peter. “I slipped a little extra in yours, sonny.” He laughed and shook his head again. “You brute. That sure is a good one.” He went off down the bar.
“Don’t you ever get into trouble?” Charlie demanded in a muted voice.
“Why should I?” He laughed and lifted his glass to Charlie and drank.
Charlie took a thirsty gulp and began to feel less conspicuous.
“What are you doing now?” he asked.
“The street. I guess that’s about as close to it as you could come. It’s a very high-class street, though.”
“Don’t talk such nonsense.”
Peter looked at him with clear, untroubled eyes. “It’s not nonsense, champ. I don’t take money, if that’s what you mean. People give me things. I sell them when I have to. Watches. I could open a goddamn watch shop. It turns out I’m a perfect thirty-nine. I guess you are too. It’s amazing how many peoples’ clothes I can wear. What more does a kid want?”
“Plenty. How long do you think you can keep this up?”
“That’s no problem. There’s a war on. I won’t be around much longer. Maybe the Army will make a man of me. Or maybe I’ll make the Army.” He giggled.
“Stop talking like that. It’s disgusting.”
“Oh darling—hey, who do you think you’re talking to?” A grimace of pain crossed his face, and then he leaned over his drink and launched into a rapid, mumbled, semicoherent little monologue. “Now, now, now. We’ve been through all that. Enough. Enough of this. Come on. Up. Up, Pete. Up. That’ll do. You see? You can do it if you put your mind to it. There. Now. One, two, three, and—” He took a deep breath and straightened. “Sorry. Where were we? Oh, yes. Nowhere. Hell, champ, I’m just having fun, sort of. The talk is part of the act. Pay no attention.”
“I don’t like it. Why do you have to have an act?”
“Why do—? Oh, come on, that’s not fair. Leave your little sister be. Tell me things. What’ve you been doing?”
A battle was raging within Charlie. He was shocked and repelled, drawn, held. He felt as if he had been touched by magic. He would have welcomed resentment, bitterness, recriminations. Sunny sweetness flowed out to him like a healing balm. Was this what it had been like all those months they had been together? A memory of happiness came to him as if from some former existence, known but not quite his own. His sex stirred even as he rejected him with contempt. So they had had a great time together in bed; that might happen with anybody. He was forgetting everything that really counted. Peter was nothing but a silly fairy. His stomach churned at the thought of him handling, being handled by, other men. He knew he ought to go, but he gestured to the barman for another round. “This one’s on me.”
“Come on. Tell me things.”
“Oh, well, getting married’s taken a hell of a lot of time. Everybody wants to celebrate. Hattie has an awful lot of family.”
“She’s fine?”
“Sure, great.”
“And what about all the little Charlies?”
“She doesn’t want any for a long time. Her career and all.”
“Is anything happening in the theater for you?”
“Not yet. We’re working on a possibility now. There might be something in it for both of us. It’s not much of a play, but I might have one of the leads.”
“Hey, wonderful. We’ve got Sapphire all set. It’s your turn now. I was glad Meyer Rapper’s play flopped.”
“Yeah. Virtue rewarded.”
“I really ought to leave in a few minutes, dammit. I don’t want to miss Sapphire. Now that we’ve finally run into each other, it’ll probably happen every five minutes. This is a crazy town.”
Charlie suddenly knew that he couldn’t leave him now. It was finished, there was no question about that, but he had to catch a glimpse of his world, he had to see him with his friends simply to reassure himself that he was well out of it. The sweetness that radiated from him was a trick of personality, hiding God knows what sickness and corruption. Peter had obviously surrendered to the worst in himself, yet Charlie felt in him an inviolable purity, manifested even in his making no move to touch him. Even here at the bar, he had kept his legs carefully to himself. It made Charlie feel lonely. “Listen, did you mean it about taking me to this party?”
“You mean you’d come?” Peter’s face lighted up.
“What the hell. Hattie will kill me, but I want to see Sapphire too.”
A doubt crept into Peter’s eyes. “It’d be wonderful but—Well, I don’t know who all’s going to be there, but there’ll probably be plenty of other faggots. You’ve never been to that kind of party. If you think I’m bad, wait’ll you see some of the others. You sure you won’t mind?”
“I’ll try not to. Who knows? Maybe I’ll let my hair down too, for once.”
“You?” Peter laughed, but there was pain again in the set of his mouth and behind his eyes.
Charlie went off to find a telephone and returned in a few minutes. “She’s wild. I’d forgotten we were having dinner with her parents.”
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth for once. I’ve told her all about us.”
“You have? Golly. You know, it’s amazing. I used to sit around wondering what you were doing, who you were seeing. Now somebody else is waiting, and I’m out on the town with you. We’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Well, here we go.” They looked into each other’s eyes, and Charlie looked hastily away.
They took an uptown double-decker bus on Fifth Avenue and climbed to the top. Crowded together on the narrow seat, there was no way of not touching. Even though they were insulated from each other by heavy coats, Charlie found their proximity deeply troubling as they swayed and Bruced themselves against each other with the lurching of the bus. He could see in his mind’s eye every muscle working in the known, loved body. He wouldn’t stay at the party long; just long enough to say hello to Sapphire. Even if there were an opportunity for a private moment with Peter, he wouldn’t take advantage of it. He would definitely keep his promise to Hattie to meet her at her parents’ house by eight-thirty.
They walked up a brightly lighted, crowded, derelict Harlem street, Peter’s coat swinging rakishly from his shoulders.
“I’ve never been up here before,” Charlie said, feeling foreign and ill at ease among the milling black faces.
“I’ve been a few times. There’s something about it. There’re some crazy places.”
“Who did you say is giving the party?”
“Hughie Hayes.”
“He’s a Negro?”
“Hughie Hayes? Come on, you dope. The piano player. He’s just opened a place in the Village. He was in Paris for years.”
“You’re making me feel like a hick. I don’t get around in your colorful circles.”
Peter was watching the street numbers. He turned in at a great crumbling pile of blackened masonry. They found themselves in an ill-lighted, malodorous lobby, with cracked and peeling walls. As they mounted sagging stairs, the smell became overpowering.
“What does he live in a dump like this for?” Charlie asked. “You sure you got the address right?”
“I’ve seen some pretty bad places up here. I guess it’s hard to find anything decent.” They mounted two flights and turned down a high, wide, dark corridor.
“God, it stinks. I don’t think I can stand it.”
“Maybe it’s better inside.”
“You know this guy well?”
“No, I’ve just seen him a couple of times at his club.”
They came to a door at the end of the corridor, and Peter pushed a button. The soun
d of music came to them faintly. In a moment, the door swung open heavily, the music swelled, and Peter was greeted by a slender, attractive, youngish brown man. He made an impression of great elegance.
“Well, here’s my angel baby.” He drew Peter in, and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “How’s my baby?” For a moment, his eyes were only for Peter, and then the latter drew back and with obvious embarrassment managed to introduce Charlie.
“He knows Sapphire too. I thought it’d be all right to bring him.”
Charlie held himself stiffly, rigid with rage, but Hughie Hayes made no attempt to kiss him. “You can bring all your friends, baby. Especially if they’re young and handsome. She’s here. Throw your things anywhere and come on in.” There were remnants of the South in his speech, overlaid by Paris and London.
He ushered them into a large, immaculate, ornately furnished room filled with people, for the most part seated. They seemed to be conversing seriously; there was none of the high-pitched chatter and laughter Charlie was accustomed to on this sort of occasion. He breathed deeply and realized the smell had been overcome. The gathering was mixed, black and white, men and women, with men in the majority. In the center of one small group was Sapphire, looking very much as she had in C. B.’s kitchen—small and round-faced and shy. She beamed when she saw Peter.
“Hello, Petey honey. I’m glad you came. Why Mr. Charlie! What a nice surprise. Your Granny told me you’re married and all. Congratulations.” She rose as Hughie led Peter away.
“I’m the one who ought to be doing the congratulating. We’ve all been talking about Sapphire. You’re a big success.”
“Well, I can sing, even if your Granny didn’t believe me.” She put her hand over her mouth and giggled. “She is a one, your Granny. She came to my opening, and she sailed into my dressing room and took me in her arms. Right in front of everybody. Lawdy.”
“She says you were wonderful. I’ve got to come see you.”
“You do that. You ought to come with Petey. That’s one lovely boy. He just dotes on you, Mr. Charlie. Of course, he has his ways that some folks don’t understand, but I don’t know. I say, if it’s love, the Lord won’t mind. There’s enough hate in the world. Now you’re married, he’s a pretty lonely boy.”
Charlie was blushing furiously. He had no taste for intimacy with Sapphire; the company made him sufficiently self-conscious. He had come persuaded that he had no racial feelings. Theory was no aid to practice. There was something about these whites and blacks sitting around together that made his skin crawl. The kiss had seared his mind. He heard himself laugh pointlessly. “Oh well, he’ll be getting married himself one day soon.” He was appalled by the idiocy of the remark. “I’d better get myself a drink.”
“Now, you let me get you one, Mr. Charlie.”
“No, you stay here. I’ll be right back.” He escaped and looked around for a bar. He saw Peter sitting on a bench at the piano with Hughie Hayes. Lonely? He’d take anything wearing pants. He spotted a table with bottles on it and made for it. He was pouring himself a stiff whiskey when a strikingly handsome, dark, white youth sauntered up to him.
“Hi. I’m Whit Bailey. You came with the Growler, didn’t you?”
Charlie took a long swallow. His eyes automatically assessed the youth: hands, crotch, mouth. Damned attractive. Once upon a time, he would have been ready and willing, but that phase was finished now, done with, almost forgotten. “Did I?” he asked lowering his glass.
“Sure. I saw you come in together.”
“You mean Peter Martin?”
“Yeah. The Growler. You mean, you haven’t had it?”
“Yes, I’ve had it.”
“Well, then.”
“I don’t get it. Why do you call him the Growler?”
“Well, everybody does. Don’t you get around? When he growls, you know you’re all set. Didn’t he growl at you?”
“Yes, as a matter fact, he did.”
“He’s sensational, isn’t he? I bet you’re pretty sensational yourself. You look sort of like him.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“How about going some place after this?”
“Such as?”
“Well, we can go to my place or yours. Whichever you prefer.”
“Not my place. I have a wife.”
Confusion clouded Whit Bailey’s face. “Oh.” A light dawned in his eyes. “Good lord. Is your name Charlie? Holy mackerel. You mean I’ve hit the jackpot? Well, how about it? We’re wasting our time here. Let’s go to my place.”
Charlie considered throwing his drink in his face and decided against it. He glanced in Peter’s direction just in time to catch his eye on him. Peter turned hastily back to Hughie. Good. Let him sweat this one out. He smiled encouragingly at Whit Bailey. “What makes you think I’d dump the Growler?”
“He never does it more than once with anyone, does he? Oh yes, of course. You’re Charlie. I’m a bit confused.”
“Don’t be. Just carry on from where you left off. Persuade me. I might dump all sorts of people for you.”
“You’re dangerous, aren’t you? It’s exciting. Look at me. I’m beginning to get the shakes.”
Peter turned hastily back to Hughie. He had known it was going to be all wrong from the moment Hughie kissed him. But what could he do? Slap him in the face? A kiss didn’t mean anything. And now Whit. Whit was one of the few of his ex-lovers he remembered. A beauty. He had broken his once-only rule a couple of times—had lived with one guy a week, with another for three—but he had made a particular point of his rule with Whit simply because he had wanted so badly to break it. If he had been enormously attracted to Whit, why wouldn’t Charlie be too? They were practically the same person. Bringing him here had been a gamble; he had known that, but he had thought there was little to lose. He knew better now. Charlie with Hattie was bearable. Charlie with another boy would really finish him off. Maybe it was just as well. The hour he had spent with Charlie had pretty much finished him off anyway, every minute of it telling him how much he had lost.
Hughie ran his hands over the keyboard and worked his way into a blues. “Still carrying the torch, aren’t you, baby?”
“You know about it?”
“I guess everybody in town knows about the Growler. Any chance of me hearing that famous growl? Je t’aime, tu sais.”
“I don’t know, Hughie. It just happens. I’m not in much of a growling mood tonight.”
“Why don’t you go break it up, baby?”
“No use. And I guess you’d better stop calling me baby.”
“Oh. Sorry. Anything you say, sweetheart.”
“I want to talk to Sapphire before she leaves.”
“Stick around, will you, ducks? The squares will be leaving soon, and then we’ll have a ball. The club’s closed tonight. I’ve got a mess of food in the kitchen. We’re ready for a siege.”
Peter went and talked to Sapphire, keeping his back turned to the bar table. He talked to the famous blues singer he hadn’t seen when he came in. He talked to the famous expatriate white novelist, who had been cast up on his native shores by the war. Charlie was suddenly at his side.
“I’m getting out of here. You were right. I can’t take it.” His face was rigid with fury.
“Anything wrong, champ?”
“Wrong? No. I see what you really are, that’s all.”
Peter looked at his feet. “Yeah. Well, I guess that’s the way it is, darling. See you around.” He turned away and crossed the room to a window and stood looking out. He talked to himself under his breath while silent tears slid down his face. When he was able to turn back to the party he saw that Whit Bailey was still there. A good many others had left. The decrease in numbers made the room noisier. Everybody seemed to be laughing. Hughie was letting loose at the piano. Peter went and stood beside him. Hughie looked up and smiled.
“Toujours cafardeux, ducks? Why don’t you have a drink?”
“I’ve had a couple. I don’t
drink much. I’m fine.”
Whit joined them. “That’s a charming friend you have, Charlie Whoever. He was making a big play for me, and then all of a sudden he called me a dirty little faggot and walked out. What in God’s name does he think he is?”
“He wants to be straight. Did he really make a play for you?”
“That’s what I thought it was. I guess he was just leading me on. He didn’t have to try very hard. He reminded me of you.” Whit lifted a cigarette between thumb and forefinger and, holding his lips apart, inhaled deeply.
“What are you doing that for?”
Whit held his breath a moment before answering. “It’s a reefer. Marijuana. Haven’t you ever smoked it?”
“No, what’s it do to you?”
“Makes you feel great. Sexy, too. Want to try it? Come on.”
Peter followed him over to a group surrounding an ugly, very black little monkey of a man who was sitting on the floor. “Hey Freddy, you got another one of these things for the Growler?” Whit asked.
“I got one all marked and set aside for the Growler.” He handed up a cigarette. “Just take it nice ’n’ easy.”
Peter took it, and Whit gave him a light. “Are you supposed to hold it the way you did?”
“Yeah. Pull it way in and hold it as long as you can.”
Peter experimented. Aside from a slight giddiness from inhaling so much air, he felt nothing. He grew bolder, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. He had heard only vaguely of marijuana and wondered if it would be habit-forming. A bit late to worry about that.
Whit was watching him closely. He giggled as Peter held his breath. “If it makes you feel sexy, you know who’s waiting for you.”
Peter exhaled. “I don’t feel anything yet.”
“You will. Boy, it’s really getting to me now.” He giggled again.
Peter lifted his hand for another puff. It seemed to take a very long time for the cigarette to reach his mouth. He finally took a puff. The room swayed slightly and then receded. “That’s funny,” he said when he had exhaled. He lifted his free hand and found that he was stroking the back of Whit’s head. “You know something? You’re one of the prettiest guys I’ve ever known.” His voice didn’t sound like his own. He hadn’t even intended to speak. He laughed. He went on laughing. He felt as if he had been laughing forever. Eventually he took another puff of the cigarette. The room seemed very big, the people in it all crowded together on top of him. Everybody was laughing. His hand wasn’t on Whit’s neck. It was on Hughie’s shoulder. Hughie stood in front of him smiling.
The Peter & Charlie Trilogy Page 21