# Maybe—Tomorrow/Chapter 5

​CHAPTER 5
SUBCONSCIOUSLY HE PUSHED THE waves deeper in his hair, remembering Blake's strong arms. He murmured the name and even though it sounded warm and friendly, there came with it a feeling of extreme helplessness and fear. He gripped the wide wooden desk and pulled himself up. What about those three who had molested him. His emotions were like boiling water, changing every second. He moved slowly. Here, in this crowded school, he felt himself at the mercy of the treacherous limbs of youths whose rugged countenances he faced every day and whose eyes seemed to tower above him. He shivered, knowing the only way to find escape from their insulting words was for him to either die or move away from Cotton. But he knew he would not do either of these. He would remain there, and the slapping and words would continue. It was really true and the only thing for him to do was endure it.
The morning ordeal had left him exhausted, and now at the door, he turned and listened to the wind. It was a silent sound and if the shrubbery outside had not stirred, there would have been no evidence of its presence. He shivered again, but it was not the warm air that made him do so; it was the recollection that Blake had kissed him. It had been a dangerous thing to do and if anyone had seen them, they would certainly ridicule him. He wondered briefly why they seemed to delight in teasing him. He had never done anything to Stud or the rest, yet Stud would be the first to expose him.
He pressed his hands around the school's bronze door knob and looked down. Its color reminded him of Blake. His fingers gathered themselves into small fists and he pressed his hands against the knob. If only it could be Blake in his grasp. He glanced at the pane in the ​door as if it might reveal the handsome face but only his own sad eyes were caught in its blurred coldness.
Gaylord's legs ached. He left the door ajar and turned down the long corridor. It was filled with yelling and hurrying students. Their arms were burdened with books, but in their faces were no signs of pain. He kept close as possible to the wall, walking around the legs, backs, hips and arms, avoiding them rushing here and there. His feeling of frustration was intensified by the general atmosphere of the hall. Everything about it was oppressive. Years of walking down them; his whole life had been jailed in one of its blackboarded rooms; sitting for centuries behind uncomfortable marred and varnished desks; naked boys; frowning teachers and stupid geometry problems; smart aleck boys who laughed and whistled at tight sweaters filled with protruding breasts; cocked gay caps over short wiry hair. It all rolled through his memory, nailed there. He hated the whole combination and still longed to be a part of it. To walk and talk with the same sureness and naturalness they possessed.
He was aware of the friendliness around him and when someone asked, "How'd you get out so quick, Gay," it made him feel good. Several others spoke and it helped him so much. Perhaps they did like him. Perhaps it was he … his fault …
Suddenly, without any warning, his body was filled with a violent blast of fright, so enormous that every nerve in him became rigid and trembled with it, forcing him down and down. As if his eyes were moving of their own accord, rushing ahead of his body, he could see himself being caught up and hurled to the floor under its pressure. He flinched his eyes expecting the hand on his shoulder to tighten, to suddenly strike with a heavy slap, but it remained soft and small.
"Hello, Gaylord." The voice was melodious and feminine. The girl looked and looked at him, into and through him, before she went on. Then she smiled and said, "I didn't mean to scare you, Gaylord." The smile grew on her face. Her hand left his shoulder.
Something pounded back into Gaylord. He could feel it in his throat. It was difficult for him to speak, but when he did the words came out in a relieved sigh. "Oh … Lois Sue," he said, and then his face reddened. For some reason he always blushed when he shouldn't … for no reason at all … for some reason? Sure, he knew why. ​He had looked away from the girl in his confusion, but now looked back squarely into her face. Looked at the lips which had uttered the name, Adonis.
One day he had overheard her saying, "I think Gaylord's an Adonis" to a group of girls he had passed in the hall. It had only been a whisper, but he had heard every word. He had gone directly to a dictionary, could hardly wait until the large book had told him the meaning of the new word. He had never heard it used before. Adona'i … Adonic … pertaining to Adonis. There it was at last—Adonis … a youth beloved by Aphrodite or Venus for his beauty. From that day on her unadorned face had become beautiful to him. Not because of the features, but for the beauty of her mind.
"Did I frighten you?" she asked again.
"Oh, no … just made me jump," he said looking into the soft gray eyes. "I was thinking of something." He noticed the stout leather strap across her small shoulder. She looked at him without saying anything and the steady, loving eyes embarrassed him. He smiled at her and said, "I loved that last poem of yours in the Bulldog, Lois Sue." (The Bulldog was their school paper.)
"Did you really, Gaylord?" She flushed a faint pink. He sounds as though he means it, she thought. He really liked it … he's beautiful … kind … he's Adonis reincarnated.
"I certainly did," he went on. He took her hand but did not hold it. "Someday you'll be famous and then I can say: 'Sure, I know her. I went to school with Lois Sue Reid.'"
It puzzled him how such a sweet and musical sound could come from between two short braids of hair. He looked at their bright ribbons, and at the worshipping eyes. They embarrassed him and yet he did not resent them.
"Incidentally, I've started another one." She felt the eyes of her God of ancient mythology upon her and loved the moment. Her thin lips parted, showing tips of pearl white teeth.
He watched the excitement in her eyes. "Another one?" he asked, changing the weight of his body from one foot to the other. "Why, I think that's wonderful. Have you written very much?"
"I've only one line. I wasn't going to tell anyone until it was finished, but …" she hesitated … "would you like to hear it?"
​"I'd love to hear it, Lois Sue. That is if you want me to."
He waited patiently. He was so tired and wanted to be away but he could tell she was pleased, even if she didn't say so, even if she did tell him not to say anything until it was published, she was pleased.
From the leather-strapped case she took out a paper, and read:
"Why are you so silent, sitting there So far away in dreams … And yet …"
His eyes lingered on her and then moved slightly. Had she written these words for him, was she asking him this question?
He told her he liked it very much. Standing there with her, he remembered the time a baseball had hit him in the mouth. He had been watching the game and seeing the ball coming toward him, had tried to catch it. Quickly and suddenly, the light had spilled over the rim of the world, the sun drowned in a dense smoke, and the pain he had felt was intensified with tongues of flame.
"Catch it in your hand, not your mouth, Sissy," Joan Sears had yelled at him. Joan Sears, in tight blue jeans, had yelled those words at him. Joan Sears with short, tangled hair. Jo, they called her now.
He had gotten up, his face heavy with pain, and now, with this momentary irritation on his mind, he recalled a scene from his childhood and this girl who used to be called Joan.
She was the first girl he had seen naked. He saw again the clump of mesquite trees, bordered by high sinie weeds and grass, they used to play under. The narrow path ending under twisted branches of lace-like trees was all so clear again. He recalled the sentence "Let's play Tarzan. I'll be Tarzan and you be the girl I fight for, huh, Gay?"
As if carried back to the scene on the very air of the hall, he recalled her tearing off the percale dress, remembered the blue forget-me-nots dotting the fabric. He had gazed at her nude body in amazement after she had discarded the pink under-pants, and scampered up the tree's low hanging branches naked. There was nothing there … had something happened to her?
"Girls are different from boys," she had answered his question. "Put on my dress and I'll save you from the monkeys." Innocently ​she had rolled her head from side to side, and a monkey chant came from her small, moving lips.
"I didn't know girls were different from boys," he had answered. He disrobed and put on the dress.
"I did," she had grinned. "Look, I bet you can't turn yours this way … see?" She had come beside him. "My brother put his inside me once … right in here."
"Gosh … didn't it hurt?"
"Naw …" She reached over and pulled up the dress. Gaylord didn't mind. "You wanta?" she asked. "Yours is bigger than Tim's."
"I don't think so … let's play."
And now she had become Jo and looked unhappy in a dress. She looked so much better in slacks. Why couldn't they have exchanged sex? Why? She stood out among a group of girls as much as he felt he did with a bunch of boys.
What a difference between Jo Sears and this gentle girl by his side. His gaze left Lois Sue, swept over the chattering, laughing students passing down the hall. He and Lois Sue moved on, but unlike the others they did not laugh with a wild abandoned air. Remembering her poem he told her again the lines were lovely and asked what she was going to call it.
"I don't know," she answered. "I won't know until it's finished. I can't seem to find a title until after my poems are finished."
"I guess you're right … guess a title comes afterwards …"
"Well, sometimes right in the middle of the night I think of one … I got one from a dream one time …"
"Which one was that?"
"The Mount."
"Oh, I remember that one … I liked it."
"Here's my room." She put out her free hand and he caught it. "It's been nice talking, Gay … and … thanks for the words of encouragement … they help me a lot … bye … Gay."
"Bye, Lois Sue … I meant every word … bye."
"Bye."
The students did not merely move along the school sidewalks, they swarmed. It was a river of bare feet, a rumble of skates, a rustle ​and swish of girls' skirts, greetings tossed back over a shoulder in passing. The cries of the younger students echoed thinly from the opened school door.
Gaylord saw her coming toward him. Alone. Older than the other girls, more sureness in her stride and in the way she carried a large purse. Her hair, blowing just a little, looked pretty and her hips swung in unison with her shapely legs. Faintly embarrassed, he looked at the girl with intense concentration. His gaze rested on a vulgar feature of her dress. It had a low-cut neckline, deliberately pinned back to show the crease between her breasts.
"Well, hello good-looking. Long time no see," she said. "Where've you been keeping yourself?"
He blushed, said, "Hello, Thelma," and gave a quick glance around. Had anyone heard her remark? She was always calling him that in public. He wished she wouldn't be so brazen. He didn't like the sweet perfume she wore. It surrounded him and worked down in his nostrils.
Several boys whistled on passing. Gaylord waited, on the alert for some smart crack, some ugly gesture, but none came from them.
Thelma leaned toward him and looked him straight in the eyes. "Why haven't you been to see me? I've missed you, good-looking."
"I've been pretty busy studying," Gaylord said and glanced significantly at her.
"Too busy for love?" she said in a very level voice. She laughed and patted his cheek. "You shouldn't let yourself get that busy."
The coolness of her voice and the self-assurance of her attitude startled Gaylord. With that same look eight months ago she had said: "Hop in, Gay. I'll take you home in my new car."
Eight months ago? Or was it nine … ten? Or had it really happened. Yes, he realized it had really happened. That he and this girl had been inextricably involved. He had been overawed and chilled by her forwardness. Had been scared and repulsed when she had placed his hands over the large swells of both her breasts. Had shuddered from forced kisses that might keep his teeth from chattering. He had thought of Blake when her hand massaged the increasing hardness and she had said something about Blake. He remembered that, even though it had been repulsive … she had said something ​about Blake … something about the things he liked. Well, if Blake liked and did those things … he could too … he would not be a sissy this time.
Again he could feel her body meeting his … this soft body that had reached up to his … again he could feel it under his rigid legs, the warmth of her breath on his neck … and then the frightening climax.
"Oh, honey, you're what I needed," she had whispered, and he had let her draw his body to hers. "That's wonderful, darling … oh … so wonderful … kiss me."
The act had been consummated. He had experienced the moment he had dreaded … the moment we all look forward to in secret, whatever we may feel about it. Had felt as if his insides were exploding, as if everything within him had suddenly been removed. To him it was ugly, terrifying, although, he had heard differently. There were no words for it, and even if Blake did such things, he swore this had been the first and last time for him.
When she had let him out in front of his house his body had felt dulled and leaden, and his arms and legs thrashed uselessly to keep it up. He kept thinking of diseases … newborn babies. And on his bed he had cried himself to sleep.
And here she was again, standing beside him with the same expression. She was asking him to repeat what had happened. She looked at him and he felt naked and ashamed. He wanted to break into the current of legs and arms—to run, as fast as he could, away from this person who degraded the act of birth. But he stayed on and listened to her say:
"You're getting better looking, honey … been having any fun?" She looked between his legs, at his eyes, and down again.
"Not much," he answered.
"I'm saving our little hideout. Whataya doing tonight?"
"I've got a date tonight, Thelma."
He felt a wave of disgust spreading through him. Now she was causing him to lie … and what for? Why didn't he just tell her he didn't want to go. But how could he with her looking at him? Her gaze seemed to go deep inside him. It was the look of a conquering female over a beaten male.
​"I thought you didn't have dates any more."
"Well … er … I don't too often … but it just happens I have one tonight … maybe some other night?"
"I'm beginning to believe you don't like me," she pouted. "You're always busy when I call, too … I'm going to stop asking you. You don't like me, do you, handsome?"
"I do too, Thelma, but I'm …" Now why did he say that?
"I know, you've got a date."
"I wish I didn't."
"Okay, baby." She patted Gaylord's check again, the fingers running over his neck. "Some other time and don't forget to call me. I'm not going to call you any more. I've done my share, so from now on it's up to you."
"I won't."
"By the way," she said, "have you seen that little dried up history teacher? I'm supposed to pick him up."
"No I haven't … he's probably still inside."
"He's not as good as you, handsome … the old fart …" She winked. "I'd rather have you."
He wished she'd leave. He had never felt so exposed. He gritted his teeth and wished he had the nerve to tell her to go to hell. That she didn't even deserve the history teacher …
"He should be out shortly."
"I won't wait for him if you want to go for a little ride. My car's here." Gaylord's lips tightened and she went on. "I've got all afternoon just for you. All night if you want it."
Gaylord stood his ground firmly. "I'm sorry, Thelma," he got out. "I can't this afternoon."
Joy Clay moved with the jostling, friendly students, never once returning to her serious self. She was alive, open and friendly. Without waiting for any word or gesture from anyone, she grinned and waved at those she knew. Walked and answered talk without the slightest effort. She felt good and it showed in her pretty face.
"Where's Bob, Joy?" someone asked.
"How should I know," she laughed back.
She met a friend and they continued to walk together. ​Suddenly, she turned to the girl and asked. "Isn't that Thelma White over there?"
They both looked.
"Sure is," the girl answered. "Well, whataya know … she's back in school after all these years … wonder what she expects to learn … who's that she's trying to proposition now?"
"I can't see his face … if he'd turn around …"
"Looks like Bob. 'Bout his height … no, it isn't Bob."
"I don't think she's having any luck with him, whoever it is."
"Joy, isn't that Gay?"
"Gay? Gaylord Le Claire?"
"Looks like him."
"It couldn't be."
"Like hell it isn't …" Gaylord had turned and his face was plain to them now. "It sure is."
"Why is she talking to Gay … He's too sweet a boy to mess around with her type." Joy felt as if she should be embarrassed for him.
"He is sweet … too shy for me though. Still, the last time he took me home in his new car he was kind of cute. He is good-looking. Bet in a couple of years he'll really come out. I think his mother's spoiled him. He's sure got a good-looking dad. I could go for Clayton Le Claire. He seems much younger than he is. He's not too old is he?"
Joy wasn't interested in Clayton Le Claire, but she had suddenly become very interested in Gaylord.
"I don't know how old Mr. Le Claire is, but I do know I'm not going to let Gaylord go out with that person he's talking to."
"Maybe he's been out with her before."
"Do you really think so?"
"Still water runs deep, they say." She grinned. "Maybe he isn't as shy as I think he is, huh, Joy?"
"Maybe not."
"The next time Gay takes me home, I think I'll do a little investigating."
"Well, I'm not going to wait that long … I'm going to do a little right now. He's not going to get messed up with her if I can stop it, and I think I can." She winked at her friend. "Watch me."
​"Good luck, girl."
"I'll see you. Bye."
"Bye."
She walked toward Gaylord thinking, Gaylord Le Claire, don't you dare go out with Thelma … I think too much of you to let you get involved with her type. She was almost to him now.
You've grown, she thought, looking at him. I didn't realize you were so darn good-looking … and I don't believe you're interested in talking to Thelma … I hope you know what she is … the whole town knows. She was almost at his side now. He had not seen her. The breeze rippled against her skirt, and she cut down her pace. Walking slowly with short, mincing little steps.
Gaylord saw her. His face flushed, and his black hair glistened in the sunshine. He noted with acute distaste that she had spied Thelma. He followed Joy's gaze and noted for the first time that there were yellow sweat rings at the armpits of Thelma's dress. She looked, he thought, like what she was … a cheap person.
"Hello, Gay," Joy said cheerfully, directly. It didn't bother her, that directness. Somehow she felt he was glad to see her.
"Hi, Joy," he answered. A strange half-smile coming and going on his face.
"Have you seen Bob?" she asked in a glowing soprano. "I must have missed him." She looked at Thelma. "Hello," she said. Her voice sharp and cold.
"Hello," Thelma returned in the same tone. She sized Joy up from every angle. From her ankles to her small, pointed breasts. "You've gained a little weight, haven't you?"
"No, I haven't," Joy snapped back. She turned to Gaylord. "Have you seen Bob, Gay?"
"No … I haven't, Joy. Was he supposed to meet you?"
"Having male trouble?" Thelma snickered.
"No … not especially, are you?"
"I haven't seen him," Gaylord said quickly. He looked from one to the other, his young face frowning and troubled. They sure hate one another, he thought. I don't blame Joy though … I hate her too. I wish she would leave.
"I never have male trouble … I have trouble keeping them ​away from me …" She turned toward Gaylord. "Honey, I've got to run along. Don't forget … call me." She grinned at Joy. "Bye … be careful of Gay … he's a hot number." She looked back at Gaylord and patted his cheek. "Aren't you, handsome?"
Gaylord was speechless. Stood there statuelike watching her swing her purse, watched her as she almost glided down the sidewalk.
"She's a character, isn't she?" Joy grinned, wrinkling her cute little nose. Her eyes sparkled like the opal ring she wore.
"She sure is … I hope you don't think …"
"I don't think anything of her or what she says."
"She sure looks older than eighteen, doesn't she?" Gaylord tried to make conversation.
"She looks thirty."
"She used to be pretty. She's still pretty but …"
"Pretty?"
"Well, sort of …"
"I don't think so," she challenged. "I think she's awful and cheap looking. She wears too much paint and that gawdy purse looks like it's big enough to carry supplies in it, and she probably does. And that dress … pinned down with those cheap imitation diamond pins."
"I guess you're right."
"I certainly am."
And it came to Gaylord that he was in a bad spot. Because of Thelma he was afraid of what Joy would think of him. He took out his handkerchief, and dabbed clumsily at his nose. His fair face was so filled with concern that he looked funny. Joy suddenly found that she had said too much. She was afraid that now she was going to laugh. But then she remembered that she used to play with Gaylord as a child, that she had loved this boy who was now a stranger, that she had liked playing with him very much—and after that she didn't feel like laughing.
"Thelma's the type that men like and women hate," she said.
"I don't like her."
She took his arm and they started walking. "I'm glad you don't, Gay … she's not for you."
​The focus of Gaylord's mind widened beyond Thelma White now and took in the campus of the school. It was a place of bare earth, noise, and thuglike strangers. Half a dozen boys were clanking at the rusty flag pole with rocks. Other boys were walking past, mumbling under perspiring foreheads. One boy in track shorts ran past. Another followed. All around were patches of boys and girls, patches of reds and greens, patches of tans and blues, patches of various colors. A tangle of snaky hoses, woven in black and green, lay across the sidewalk. An enormously fat, husky young man, almost tripped over it and a four-letter word filled the air around them.
"Look out, Skinny," Joy giggled. "And watch your language."
He grinned back and ran on. Gaylord sighed like a horse having a saddle taken off. "I thought sure he was going to fall," he said to Joy.
Joy squeezed his arm, and regarded Gaylord with amused eyes. "So did I. Maybe it would have knocked some of that fat off if he had. I'm glad I'm not fat. I'd sure hate to be like Skinny. J just can't understand why some people let themselves go. Nobody wants to go out with a fat man or girl."
Gaylord did not know what to answer. It seemed that Joy wanted to say something but could not find a way to begin.
"I wouldn't want a date with a fatso."
"I wouldn't either," said Gaylord.
"No use to get fat."
A picture flashed across Gaylord's mind: the kitchen of his grandmother which he had visited so often. His grandmother was fat, wore a shapeless printed dress, and had straight black hair. She was old, shapeless, but so wonderful. He remembered a picture of her as a girl … Yes, age did bring on changes.
"My grandmother sure was fat," put in Gaylord.
"So was mine, but that's different. No use to be that way when you're as young as Skinny or Velma. Velma could be very attractive."
"She's very nice."
"I like Velma. I feel sorry for her. Nobody ever asks her for a date." She grinned. "I should talk, shouldn't I. Bob's stood me up too. Guess I'll have to go home alone."
Gaylord glanced at his watch. Ten after four. He felt obliged to ​ask her if he could take her home. "Ill take you home," he said.
"Oh … swell, Gay … I'd like that." She giggled happily. "I haven't ever ridden in your new car, do you realize that, Gaylord Le Claire?"
Gaylord realized that she spoke truly. She had not been a companion for a long time. It had all changed with the years. She had even changed. She was now a grown woman and he found himself wondering how many times Blake had done the act with her, the sickening act, that had happened between himself and Thelma.
Robert Blake came forward with all the assurance of a welcome hero. The freshness of his face and the breeziness of his bearing, in no way suggested that he had kissed a boy and liked it.
"Hey, you," he growled, tapping Joy lightly on the neck. "Why didn't you wait for me?" He grinned quickly at Gaylord. "Hi, fellow. How's it going?"
The three walked together, and out of the corner of his eyes, Gaylord watched Blake. Saw the nippled chest, imprinted on the white sweatshirt, the dark hair, soft lips; looked at the big hand that held Joy's, at the other swinging with a careless grace in time to the slow steps of the big shoes. He admired the back of Blake's head. Blake was a man's man all right and yet he was kind and gentle. Every once in a while the muscles in his arms tightened and looked powerful under the deep bronze skin. Did those arms really embrace him? Did those lips, those gentle lips, really kiss his? Had all this really happened or was it only another dream. Whatever it had been, either a dream or reality, it was completely desirable. It would probably never happen again, but it had happened once. Happened this morning … or was it years ago? No, he was certain it would never happen again. Joy was lucky to have such a lover … lucky to be able to kiss and be held by those strong arms … and he wished it possible to exchange his place for hers.
"Hi, Bob," a group of girls chimed on passing.
"Hi," grinned Blake.
"Ladies' man," said Joy, poking him in the ribs.
"Lucky gal," Blake grinned. "Isn't she lucky, Gay," he began, "to have a good-looking fellow like me to run around with? I don't see ​what I see in this puss of hers. Kinda cute though … if she only had a nose."
"Huh," put in Joy, wrinkling up her small nose. "Gay likes my nose, don't you, Gay?"
Gaylord couldn't muster up any such false cheer. The three had never walked together before and he wasn't at ease. He never was though. It was nothing new.
"Don't you agree with her, Gay?" grinned Blake.
"I'd … I think Joy's lucky …"
"Gay," Joy cried, "don't you agree with this conceited beast!"
"I was going to say …"
Blake interrupted, "Now don't flatter her. She's hard enough to get along with as it is."
Gaylord's eyes darted from one to the other. The words seemed to rise up at him with a sound of trumpets: You'd like to flatter Bob, wouldn't you, Gaylord?
He was relieved when a group of girls called Joy.
"You two wait here," she said. "I won't be long … you can both take me home." She hurried across the brown grass. Under a tree, about thirty yards away, a group of girls was waiting, and when Joy reached them there developed an exciting chatter.
"Wonder what they're talking about," grinned Blake. "Gals can talk more and say less."
Gaylord's gaze turned to the girls. Looked out over the brown shell of ground, webbed with strewn paper, filled with the sound of feet shuffling and departing. Faces gushed endlessly before him in tides. They had been waiting for this appointed time. Another day of school was over. They had won, and were free to have fun now. They were the most fortunate beings who ever lived. They had come out of the building happy. All smiles. Each one had a name, wore clothing, and each one was born with the same as himself.
He looked at Blake, repeating to himself with a curiously deep emotion, "But me … I'm minus something … I don't know what it is, but I am."
"Damn," Blake grinned. "I sure need a shave."
Gaylord watched Blake run a hand over the short, dark bristles. ​He grinned and his entire face wore an indefinite cunning smile fixed upon it like a mask.
At first Gaylord thought the smile was from the mouth, full-lipped, big, bronze red. But on looking up directly into the eyes, half closed under tranquil lids, he saw that they did not smile at all. The smile really came from the eyes. He watched the arm muscles expand, and in a voice low-pitched, said, "Not too much."
"I've got to shave every day … sure gets tiresome."
"Sure does … I guess it does … I don't have to shave every day."
"What do you do to your face, Gay? It's so smooth and clean looking. I wash the hell out of mine and I still get blackheads …"
"I don't do anything … do you eat lots of candy?"
"Sure do. Does that make blackheads?"
"Someone told me it did … I'm not sure."
A horn blew, followed by a loud young cry. "Carolyn, if you're going with me you'd better hurry up. I've got to get home."
"Don't get drunk with power, Junior. Just because daddy let you drive the car today is no sign you can't wait for me. Remember I'm driving it tomorrow. You'll get home in time for dinner."
"That reminds me … I've got to get home too … I wish Joy would come on," said Gaylord looking at his watch.
"I do too …" Blake answered.
"Sure was hot today, wasn't it?"
"Sure was … I did a little track and got sweaty as the devil. I was on my way to take a shower when I—"
"Bob, I sure thank you for doing …"
"Forget it … I ought to have my head examined for even bringing it up … forget it, Gay." He patted Gaylord's shoulder. "Say," he said in a fresh tone. "Are you doing anything tonight?"
"No … nothing that …"
"Let's go to Egan."
"Tonight?"
"Yea … we can go to a show or just take a ride." He poked out his lips in a grinning scowl. "It's about time we got to know each other, don't you think so?"
"I think so."
​"So do I. I'll pick you up at seven. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Maybe a little earlier."
"I'll be ready … Bob." He tried to copy the grin.
"I like you, Gay … sorry it's taken so long for this to happen."
Gaylord heard footsteps and Joy's tones, but her steps and voice were far away.
Suddenly he had achieved a world. The long-dreamed victory was his. He had gazed and desired this but had almost relinquished the thought of it ever coming true. Perhaps now he could recapture something which had been so void from the beginning, which had made him lie awake nights wondering if words with music and ecstasy would ever be heard. He visualized only one thing; that Blake, perceiving at once his feelings, would go with him to a place remote from the crowd, where he would repeat what had happened in the shower … where he would gather him in bronze arms and be his impetuous lover. And in the clarity of that moment he experienced his first real pang of love, as though here on the deserted earth he was seeing Blake for the first time.