The Quirk (35 page)

“Are you just moving in?” The youth had caught up with him and was at his side.

“No. I’ve lived here for months.”

“I haven’t seen you before. My room’s right down there. Can I look at yours? I’d like to see if they’re all the same.”

Rod stopped in front of his door and put the key in the lock. “Listen. Why don’t you bugger off? I’m busy.”

“Well. You don’t have to be rude about it.”

Rod shut the door in his face. He didn’t look at the room. He didn’t want to stay in it but could think of nowhere else to go. The wine had added weight to his exhaustion. He dropped the bag and fell onto the bed. He didn’t think he could sleep even though it would help him get through the afternoon. He closed his eyes. Within seconds he was drifting off into unconsciousness.

He awoke in darkness and didn’t know where he was. He felt as if he were facing a disaster so appalling that everything in him cringed from it. It took a moment to find his way around in his mind, and he realized that he felt like this simply because he hadn’t yet heard from Patrice. He was being idiotic. The night before seemed like a dream. Poor Patrice had had the rotten luck to have to spend a miserable night in a station and get through a long train trip alone. That was all there was to it. He sat up and found a light by the bed and switched it on and looked at his watch. It was nearly 5 o’clock. The hell with François. He’d go and wait for Patrice at home. Only an hour or so more.

He found soap and a comb in the bag and tidied himself up at the washbasin. He needed a shave, but that would help pass some time when he got home where the water was really hot. He put on his coat and put his razor in a pocket and left. He must have been slightly drunk to have taken the room, but because he had to pay for tonight, he’d leave the bag for appearance’s sake until tomorrow.

He was keyed up with anticipation at the end of the short walk. He could have guessed wrong. Patrice might be there. He took the stairs two at a time and fumbled with the key in his haste to get the door open. He flung it wide and saw his message lying on the floor. His spirits sagged, but he hastily reminded himself that he hadn’t really expected him until 6 o’clock or 6:30. He shed his coat and turned on all the lights and began to feel happy at being home. He realized how grubby he felt after God knows how long in the same clothes and went to the bathroom and stripped.

He shaved while he ran a bath and emerged after half an hour in the kitchen feeling like a new man. He put on fresh slacks and a clean shirt and an old jacket. They would spend the evening at home. Patrice would probably stop along the way to pick up something for dinner. That was something he hadn’t thought of that might delay him. He poured himself a stiff
pastis
and drank it slowly while he fiddled about in his work area. The canvas on the easel began to absorb him, and he studied it in detail. His hands itched for tubes of paint and brushes. Before he knew it, it was after 6:30. Nothing to worry about. He poured himself another stiff drink and returned to the fascinating canvas.

It was almost 7:30 when he forced himself to face the possibility that Patrice might not return that evening. His heart was fluttering uncomfortably, and he poured himself another drink with hands that had developed a slight tremor. He thought of the unhappy afternoon he had spent back at the beginning when his boy hadn’t kept their lunch date. Was he pulling some trick like that now, testing him in some way? Impossible. He hadn’t been his boy then. There was nothing to test now. What else? He thought of the scene on the street last night as François had described it. The car pulling to the curb. If he’d been forced to go somewhere to be questioned, he would have quickly convinced his questioners that he didn’t know anything. To imagine even that much stretched credulity. Movie stuff. Pure fantasy. If anybody tried to force him to do anything, he would shout the skies down. If he had a gun stuck in his ribs? See it as a movie scenario. What then? A gun in the ribs. A ride in the car. Questions. He knew nothing. He had nothing on him anybody would want. End of scenario.

He poured himself another drink–his fourth? fifth?–and saw that his hands were steady. Nothing like a drink to calm things down. A doubt he didn’t even know was in him began to move into the forefront of his mind. You could never be sure with queers. It was so easy to give in to temptation. Patrice might have picked up with somebody he found attractive. If he discovered he had a long wait for his train, it would be almost difficult to blame him if he agreed to go to a hotel. If the somebody had a big cock, one thing could lead to another–time forgotten, postponed partings, missed trains. He felt his muscles beginning to tighten with anger. He’d beat the shit out of Patrice if it turned out to be something like that. It was the only reasonable explanation.

He drained his glass and filled it again. This one would fix him up so that he wouldn’t care if Patrice never came home. Let him have his big cock. Cheap. Sordid. Patrice wasn’t like that, but even the best of them couldn’t seem to get enough of it. The thought of Patrice in some lousy hotel made Rod sick. The drink settled his stomach. He went a bit unsteadily to the bottle for a refill. He wasn’t going to hang around all night. Go out and have some fun. He could let himself spend a little money for once. Maybe find a girl. No, he had a girl. Go find the old crowd in the rue de Buci. He was hungry.

He put his fortune in the brown jar on the kitchen shelf where Patrice kept their spare cash. He took a couple of thousand francs of Germaine’s money out of it. There were signs everywhere of his having been here, so there was no need to leave a note. He didn’t know when he’d be back. To make sure he was insulated against shock, he had one more drink and wrapped a scarf around his neck and put on his coat and went out.

He found Massiet, Pichet, and Lambert at the restaurant without their various female attachments. The first two had just finished dinner and were going on somewhere together. Lambert, the gentlest, dreamiest member of the group, had just sat down, and Rod ate with him. He drank a bottle of wine by himself and ordered a second to share with Lambert. He was drunk but pleasantly so.

“You doing anything this evening?” he asked his friend in French as they were getting to the bottom of the second bottle.

“I’ve been invited to a party. I think I’ll go.”

“Oh. I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said pointedly, in the mood to tag along with anybody who offered companionship.

“I’d suggest you come too, but I don’t think you’d like it. There’ll be only boys.”

“Oh. No, I don’t think much of that idea. I mean, if that’s what you like–I just didn’t realize you were–”

Lambert smiled vaguely. “No, I’m not like that, although I’ve often thought it would be much more convenient if I were. I have friends who are. I used to go their parties because the poor dears were very careless with their valuables. I used to pick up odds and ends that helped pay for food. Now that I work quite a lot, I go for the free drinks. They know I don’t wish to be molested.”

Rod liked his easygoing attitude. He liked his admitting that he was a thief. “Well, if it’s like that, maybe I’ll go with you. I mean, if it’s all right for you to take me.”

“It will be very much all right with the other guests, although bitterly disappointing for them if the word spreads that you too don’t want to be molested. They always manage to keep quite calm with me, but you’ll be the big star of the evening. You’ve never been to this kind of party?”

“No, never.”

“Then you may find it very strange. It took me many times before I got used to it. Of course, you can leave if it upsets you.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” With Lambert to run interference for him, Rod doubted if he’d have much trouble rejecting advances. His friend wore a rag-bag assortment of sweaters and scarves, baggy tweeds and shiny flannels that appeared to cover a minimal body. He had a neat little beard that followed the line of his jaw, and his hair stuck out all over his head with no discernible attempt at design. Rod had been to plenty of stag parties; one roomful of men couldn’t be much different from another. It might be something funny to tell Patrice if the little bastard ever turned up. He might even be able to make Patrice jealous. He certainly deserved to be.

“We can walk,” Lambert said when they were out in the street. “It’s not that far from here.”

They weaved their way through many narrow intersecting streets, heading in the general direction of the river as far as Rod could tell, though he quickly lost track of where they were. He had to make an effort to avoid lurching, but he managed to navigate well enough. Eventually they entered an old building and climbed bare wooden stairs. Lambert led the way to a door and pushed a bell. The door opened to a gust of male voices. He found himself in a small entrance hall, his coat was taken from him, and he was introduced to a well-tailored middle-aged man who greeted Lambert with friendly carelessness and reserved a speculative scrutiny for Rod.

“I haven’t brought you a recruit,” Lambert explained. “He’s another impostor like myself.”

“What a great pity. He’s the handsomest man here.”

“I thought that would be the case. You’ll all have to be content to just look at him. You somehow manage to be satisfied simply by my picturesque presence.”

They moved on into a large handsomely appointed room that was not overly crowded with males of all ages–some very young, a few old, most somewhere in between, the assemblage giving the impression of having taken great care with appearances. He and Lambert were sloppy enough to warn everybody off. He was aware of lulls in the conversations around the room as groups here and there registered his arrival. Eyes were turned to him. Although they all stayed where they were, he felt in the room an almost physical movement toward him.

Before he had time to be disconcerted by it, the beautiful prince appeared before him. They shared an instant of mute astonishment, and then Rod could feel the delight in his smile responding to the sweet modesty of the prince’s.

“It’s really you. I couldn’t believe my eyes,” the prince exclaimed.

“I can’t believe mine. How marvelous. I’ve been hearing so much about you. I was looking forward to seeing you again.”

They shook hands, and Rod touched the other’s shoulder. Their eyes met from equal heights, and a surge of exhilaration lifted his spirits. This dubious occasion was going to be fun after all. For some reason, perhaps because he knew Nicole, the prince seemed like an old friend.

“Speaking of eyes, yours are extraordinary. Just as I remembered,” the prince said in his lightly mocking manner. “Shivers run up and down my spine. I’ve dreamed of you without a moment’s letup for almost a week. Quite exhausting. Don’t let’s say another word until I get you a drink. What do you want?”

“Anything that’s going. Whatever it is, be a pal and make it a strong one, will you? I’ve started a drunk.”

“A whiskey should do it. Don’t move. Above all, don’t talk to any strange men.”

The prince moved off through the crowd. Rod saw that his pale gray suit was beautifully molded to a powerful body. His memory was of a willowy youth. His eye had slipped up there. A boy approached and tried to start a conversation. Rod answered briefly, paying no attention. When the prince came back, he wouldn’t be bothered by the others.

His beautiful friend emerged from the crowd holding two glasses. Rod looked at the arch of brow, the wide gentle blue eyes, the exquisite modeling of nose and cheeks and jaw, the full but delicate curve of lips, and he gave his head an incredulous little shake. The clear rosy skin and golden hair were bonuses no one deserved.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, taking the drink that was offered him without looking at it, turning his back on the unknown boy. “I’ve never seen such perfection.”

“You don’t flatter by halves, do you? You’re outrageously sexy with your clothes sort of thrown on you like that. It didn’t show so much in your impeccable dinner jacket. I hoped knowing about Nicole would cool my passion, but I’m afraid it’s a lost cause. I talked to her today. She said you were away for the weekend. You’re both supposed to have dinner with me on Thursday, subject to your approval.”

“Wonderful. Listen, about the weekend. You haven’t seen me tonight. I got back late, and what with one thing and another, I decided to wait until tomorrow to call her and tell her I stayed away an extra day. That’s why I’m here. I was at loose ends. A friend brought me.” Their eyes met, and the prince smiled with understanding.

“I wasn’t absolutely speechless with astonishment at finding you here,” the prince said. “Little birds have been twittering.”

“Pay no attention to birds. People have been twittering about you. Everybody says you’re adorable. I wanted to find out for myself.”

“If I can be adorable for anybody, I can certainly be adorable for you. Come over here where I can concentrate on it.” He held Rod’s arm and led him toward an armchair against some bookshelves in a deserted corner. Rod saw they would be conspicuously isolated from the party and went willingly. He could relax.

“Does anybody call you Marie?” he asked as they moved to the chair.

The prince uttered youthful laughter. “Some have tried but haven’t been encouraged. You’ve been reading my card. That’s promising.”

“I’m not going to call you Beauty. That’s as silly as Marie. I might as well call you Phil. I can’t think of a name that suits you less. See? I know your card by heart. I even know your address. I almost dropped in the other day when I was in the neighborhood.”