[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
stepped back quickly. Breathless, looking at the floor, I said, I want to watch
you take off your clothes.
May I carry your briefcase?
I looked at him. He was walking with short, clumsy steps, matching his
stride to mine, dodging pedestrians who dodged to avoid me.
When I m angry, he said, I like to thrust my hands into my pockets.
Jeremy, I said, and stopped for a moment. Leave me alone.
On a warm, late summer Friday evening, Castro Street was thriving, bus-
tling, busier than any block downtown at lunchtime. From cars lined up at
the stoplight men waved and yelled at other men on the sidewalk or crossing
the street, gaily honked their horns. Groups of two or three men chatted at
the entrances of shops, All American Boy, the hardware store, the Hallmark
franchise, The Obelisk, then split up, some going in, others continuing along
their way. A man in a black suit with an armload of purple iris hailed anoth-
er man, black leather trousers and boots, a white athletic shirt; they kissed
fondly and continued arm in arm. A youth at the bus stop whooped crazily
and dashed across the street and down Eighteenth. Disco music pounded
out the open doors of bars on the far side of the street, The Bear, Phoenix,
Elephant Walk, different tracks that merged into the soundtrack for a docu-
mentary A Day in the Life of the Gay Ghetto. I started walking again, crossed
Eighteenth, started up the incline past the bank.
Allen! Damn it, stop and listen to me!
Screw off, Jeremy.
I won t. He grabbed my shoulder. Allen, I can t.
I shook his hand off. Why not? Staring at his chest I said again, Why
not, Jeremy? You ve done it before. It felt as though I was shouting, my voice
and throat raw. You ve screwed me around from the beginning, Jeremy.
You tell im, bay-bee, someone said, one of the grinning men watching
us.
Don t let that big ol man give you no line.
L
Smack him with your briefcase, urged a third, laughing.
I
Then another said, Ah, no, man kiss and make up.
F
Glaring at them but not seeing them, I walked on. I knew Jeremy was still
E
beside me; I didn t care. Past Nineteenth, where the hill steepened, there
S
were no more crowds.
I m not good at this, Allen.
W
Causing scenes? I kept walking, one foot after another. I thought you
O
did pretty well.
R
K
78
You re the only man I ve slept with for five years, Allen, that s what I
meant, I m not good at dealing with other people.
Something in his voice made me believe him. Stopping, I saw how hard
I was breathing, the air rushing into my lungs and then out again before it
could do any good. Why in hell, I said, ragged on the edge of laughter or
tears, did you choose me to practice on?
I m not practicing.
Christ. One boyfriend who makes out with anything on two legs as long
as it isn t a woman and another who s a born-again virgin. I don t need
this. I raised my head and stared all around, at the neat houses climbing
the hill in staggered ranks on either side of the street, at the thin blue sky
overhead. I coughed harshly. It turned into a laugh. I sat on the step of the
nearest house. I do not need this. Jeremy
Don t ask me what I ve been doing for five years. Jeremy looked at his
feet, kicked at the sidewalk. Please. He sat down but left some space be-
tween us. I ll tell you but not yet, okay? I m not ready to tell you yet, Allen.
Who says I want to know? Who says I want to know you anymore?
We were silent, our breathing returning to normal. I said to myself: Mikey
should be glad , and laughed. I said to myself: Sean s easy . I said to my-
self: Stand up. Walk away. I said, Jeremy. Last Saturday you kicked me out
of the house without even a cup of coffee. After two hours of sleep I didn t
even know which bus to catch to go home. I walked halfway across the city.
And then you called me. Why?
I turned to look at him. He stared into the street. After a moment, still silent,
still not looking at me, he reached over and took my hand. Fifteen sheets of
paper, I couldn t draw your face. He turned his head. He was frowning. His
big painter s hand squeezed mine to the edge of pain. You were the only
Pasztory directory assistance had ever heard of.
SAFE AS HOUSES
San Francisco, California: September 1980
W
O
R
D
When the envelope appeared in my
S
in-box at Grace & Fenton I didn t recognize the handwriting there
was no return address but because it was handwritten I didn t
set it aside. Business correspondence would have been typed, and O
would have come in a standard envelope. The envelope was more
N
square than oblong, heavy personal stationery with a blue border
on the flap. ALLEN K PASZTORY, the envelope said, in spiky capitals, the
P
A s like deltas, the E three horizontal strokes with no upright, and the
A
Z crossed. An architect s hand, I thought, but I knew no architects.
P
None who might write me a letter. I slit open the envelope with my
paperknife. E
The large sheet of paper inside had been folded into quarters
R
around a small colored-pencil drawing. A single green apple sat on
a saucer, beside it a dark blue cup that matched the saucer. I recog-
nized Jeremy s coffee service and felt something I couldn t name, a
feeling that caused my skin to prickle and a flavor like weak tea to
settle for a moment on my tongue. The species of discretion or what-
ever it was that led Jeremy to mail his letter in care of my job upset
me more than that it was the first I had heard from him in two weeks.
He had not called me, I had not called him; I had told myself it was
over and a good thing too. Finding an apartment of my own was the
priority, I told myself. Time enough to score a boyfriend after that.
The way the paper was folded, both obverse and reverse were di-
vided into four rectangles; except for the one with the drawing, each
unit was filled with lines of neat capital letters, seven blocks of text
oriented in different directions. I could not find a salutation, a date, a
close nowhere to start or to end.
80
WHAT DOES THE K STAND FOR? I WROTE YOUR
NAME ON THE ENVELOPE & IT MADE ME SMILE, THE
PEN FELT VERY COMFORTABLE WITH YOUR NAME
AS IF THAT WAS ALL IT WANTED TO WRITE ALLEN
K PASZTORY ALLEN PASZTORY ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN
ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN
ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN
ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN
ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN
ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN
ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN
ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN ALLEN. MY MIDDLE
NAME IS DAVID. I NEVER USE IT.
SAFE AS HOUSES
81
I CAN T DRAW EXTERIORS OR LANDSCAPES
ANYMORE, I DON T KNOW WHY, ONLY
ARCHITECTURAL INTERIORS OR STILL LIFES OR
FIGURE STUDIES, & IF I LOOK AT SOMETHING
I CAN T SEE IT PROPERLY, NOT TO DRAW IT.
SOMETHING IS WRONG. THERE S SO MUCH WE
DON T KNOW ABOUT EACH OTHER. WHY IS IT
THAT I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT YOU? BECAUSE IT
IS CLEAR THAT I AM AFRAID TO LET YOU INTO MY
LIFE, TO LET YOU KNOW ANYTHING AT ALL ABOUT
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]