The Boy Avengers (8 page)

JEFF, UNDERSTANDABLY, SAID HE DIDN'T WANT TO go to the athletic master's for sherry, even though he was, in this short time at Cornhill, aware of how unprecedented the invitation was. Also, he had become aware of the status of sodomy at Cornhill as an honor not lightly bestowed, that far from despising him for being the object of a rape, lower-formers regarded him with awe because he'd been able to impel the soccer gods to such action.

It would be false modesty for me to conceal that part of the new respect given Jeff was because he'd become my roommate. As grandson of the donor of the chapel I'd had a certain amount of respect
ex officio,
for money always respects more money; but gradually my peers had come to realize that I was a person capable of gaining power on his own. If honors were not piled on me (such as Christian Youth of the Year) it was because I didn't solicit them, didn't value them.

Jeff was surprised I didn't ask him to change his mind about going to the sherry bust", as these occasions were irreverently called by those not invited. But I had already decided I'd never impose my will on him, that only as co-equals would our relationship work. I intended to need him as much as he would need me, and I would try to keep these forces in balance. A relationship fails when these needs are
not
kept in balance.

I suppose there's no need both of us suffering, I said.

You don't want to go either?

Not really. But I recognize it as an opportunity to further our grand design, so I welcome it on that score. My lack of pleasure will make me more alert to the needs of our design.

I wish I could spy on it all somehow.

I was tempted to tell him I'd already discovered that
was
possible, but decided to keep it to myself for the time being. I suspect our five new friends will be relieved you don't come. Also Mr. Foster.

Why?

Guilt, I suppose. Your presence would be a graphic reminder of their guilt. If they can assuage it by having to be
decent
only to me, it'll be easy on them.

Is that a good thing?

In a way. They'll probably be eased into a false sense of security fasterwith only me to contend with.

It would be more difficult, then, if I came along?

We should both have to be more clever. It would require a greater acting job on your part than on mine. I have only the second-hand memory of what happened.

Would it make it a great deal more difficult for you if I
did
come along?

I could handle it.

I think I'll come. If it's all right with you, he added with a smile.

Yes.

I won't bore you with all the details of the sherry bust. Jeff's wardrobe left much to be desired. It was no more imaginative than mine. This was a distinct disadvantage since his appearance was to be one of our major weapons. I rushed him into Waterbury, to a shop my detective promised carried exquisite clothes. These exquisite clothes were kept out of sight in a special room, for they'd been purchased at wholesale by the proprietor for a former clerk he could now afford to keep unemployed (except sexually) in a discreet flat not far from the shop, and also for pretty boys kept privately by local rich men. Tom warned that the proprietor was so secretive about these clothes one had to be persuasive to get him to show them at all.

I was prepared to be firm, but as it turned out, the proprietor took one look at Jeff and led us directly to his special collection. And they
were
special. It suited our purposes exactly that the clothes were subtly magnificent and enhanced the wearer without being obvious. Jeff, who seemingly had never cared for clothes before in his life, saw immediately what the proper clothes could do. There was one particularly handsome suit, subtly elegant, that Jeff, in his new euphoria, insisted I try on. And its beauty seduced me into agreeing. It fitted perfectly. Actually, I have a figure that creates no fitting problems. But Jeff frowned. The proprietor, though this purchase would have enriched him, also frowned, and he said, It isn't
you.
For the first time in my life I understood this cliche
could
be apt.

The clothes Jeff bought were at first glance only what other boys in our form were wearing. But the slacks were of a soft material, a flannel that felt like cashmere. They fitted and clung to his buttocks so lovingly that I inadvertently suffered an erection and wasn't surprised to see that the proprietor did also. I think he had better continue wearing jockey shorts, he said half-seriously. If he were to have something else under those slacks he might have to fight off rapists.

Jeff gave a curious smile. I wondered whether this reminder made him uncomfortable, and decided it hadn't. Already he was so confident a full measure of retribution would be exacted that he no longer thought of the rape as a humiliation, but rather as a blow in a duel, a blow he had not been sufficiently accomplished to parry at the time.

We bought silk jersey jockey shorts for these slacks, and fine Egyptian cotton for regular use, both for Jeff and for myself. Regarding these latter, I discovered that though they seemed similar in cut to the common boxer shorts I'd been wearing, when I wore
these
I achieved an attractive fullness at the crotch that caused many a lower-former to do a double-take I found amusing.

The silk jersey shirt we got for Jeff seemed to enhance his physique. Even at fourteen his pectorals were well defined. The silk jersey clung to his chest in such a way as to accent this. And, curiously, the texture of the material, soft and fine though it seemed, tended to erect Jeff's prominent nipples and keep them that way.

Ah, said the shopkeeper when Jeff was fully dressed in what he planned to wear at the sherry bust. Unlike the headmaster's all-inclusive, unctuous
ah,
this gentleman said specifically that he looked good enough to eat. And he did. But of course I'd already decided I couldn't have my cake and eat it too.

Jack Foster had put a note in my mailbox asking us to come at a quarter to fivewhich we did. I'm glad you could come, he said to Jeff, meaning he hadn't expected him to and had hoped he wouldn't. Jeff managed a slight nudge to let me know he hadn't missed the implication.

I asked you to come early, my old tutor explained, so we could have half a glass of sherry together. I'm sure it won't happen to you, but I've had boys choke on their first glass. Would he have been surprised that in Florence I hadn't choked on my first glass of absinthe?

Not sherry as fine as this? said Jeff, observing the Harvey's Bristol Creme displayed on a silver tray.

Perhaps not, he said smugly.

I suppressed a smile, for Jeff had predicted he would trot out Harvey's to impress us, though I had said he'd never be that corny, that he'd mingled in society enough so that whatever sherry he served would be decantedto let its taste alone advertise its quality. Jeff rubbed it in further by picking up the bottle and pretending to study the label. Whether deliberately or not (I suspect it was deliberate) he turned his back and even I caught my breath at the sight of his perfect buttocks caressed by the velvet-like fabric of the new slacks. Jack's genitals were on display again, and I noted a definite swelling as his eye caught Jeff's buttocks. I was feeling somewhat erected myself.

But I digress. I hadn't any doubt that Jack had asked us early to test our attitudes, so that he could correctly cue his confederates when they arrived. I know he was taken aback at Jeff's elegance and ease. Perhaps he'd been expecting a tearful, ravaged virgin. Fortunately the sexual animal in him rose sufficiently to quell any misgivings this unease might have caused. This was good because we wanted our enemies lulled into a false sense of security.

I could imagine a second reason for his wanting us to come early. It was his naive hope that the small extra amount of sherry we ingested would lower our defenses, dispose us more favorably towards The Five.

When The Five arrived, they searched his face for a clue as to how they should conduct themselves. They didn't get it. They were looking gratifyingly uncertain as they came into the room, and their glances, darting from me to Jeff, sought the cues their mentor had been unable to deliver.

Jeff remained impassive, with a Mona-Lisa smile on his beautiful face: (I am certain he'd practiced it.) I nodded solemnly to each in turn.

This is quite an honor, said Jamie Crawford, the traditionalist.

I'm glad you think so, I said.

I mean, being invited here, he said with a slight frown.

We're glad to see you, said Tony Applegate, fearful their leader was putting his foot into it already.

Yes, said Jeff enigmatically.

And so it went.

Is this
really
Bristol Cream? Corkie Jennings asked as we began sipping our sherry.

What did you
think
it was? Jack snapped.

I mean ... Corkie was unable to go on.

Unlike Jack, who seemed to have a quick eye for young male beauty, The Five took their time in recognizing Jeff's new radiance. I could sense their growing awe as it struck them how beautiful and special was this creature they had abused. I should mention in passing that Jamie Crawford and Jack Foster seemed hypnotically fascinated by Jeff's prominent nipples. They seemed unable to keep their eyes off them, were constantly wetting their lips.

We talked of school matters. They made every effort to talk of intellectual things, taking their guidance from the supposedly intellectual Lloyd Waterman. Jeff and I resisted every temptation to puncture their pretensions and didn't even make private fun of them, as we had with Foster's absurd pride in his brand of sherry.

When the sherry was consumed, when it was nearly time to go to dinner, Jamie Crawford made his move. Will you shake hands? he asked Jeff quietly.

There was a heart-stopping moment of silence from Jeff before his hearty, manly, Of course. So he shook hands with all five, a curious smile on his face as he shook hands with Corkie, who hadn't, after all, raped him.

I wasn't to be left out. Jamie succeeded in surprising even me. Will you sit with us at dinner?

My surprise showed on my face. I could see by the look on his face that this idea was new to Jack Foster. He hadn't been consulted. But the others had, and nodded solemnly to reinforce the invitation.

As I have mentioned, we were quickly victims of tradition at Cornhill, none of which was more honored for obscure reasons I have never been able to fathom than that the forms
never
sat together at meals. Foster's violation in inviting us for sherry was a private one. Now our enemies proposed a far larger violation, a public one. I glanced quickly at Jeff and saw a flicker of bewilderment on his face. But I quickly recovered. It's splendid of you to ask, I said, but it would be better if we ate with our form as usual.

Did I see a flicker of relief on Jamie's face? The look of relief on Foster's face was painfully obvious.

So, supposedly, we were all bosom pals now, though Jamie and the others of The Five were sensible enough to realize that Jeff, because of his beauty, and I, because of my intellect, were sufficiently superior to them that we'd never be their intimates.

By now I had told Jeff about Tom Little. He was anxious to meet him. I will confess I was anxious for Tom to see Jeff, for his reaction would be, for me, a further measure of the man.

Now that he had a guaranteed income, Tom had moved into a loft building in the warehouse district, and in a surprisingly short time had made it livable. When we called on him at his new studio the look on his face as he saw Jeffwearing what he'd worn at the sherry bustwas all that I'd hoped. He had discounted my descriptions of Jeff, imagined him a personable lad magnified through a lover's eyes, but it was clear from his expression that Jeff was as unique in his experience as he had been in mine.

Tom showed us a small bedroom, spartan but comfortable and attractive, with a double bed. It's exactly what I'd have chosen for myself, I said admiringly. A broad grin appeared on his face.

That's good. Because it's
your
room, yours and Jeff's. I thought since you were paying the rent you ought to have a
pied-a-terre.

I like the idea, I said.

Jeff took note of the double bed. You won't mind sleeping in the same bed with me?

I smiled to see Tom looking heavenward. Not really, I said.

We were talking about sexual orientation last time, Tom reminded me. Well, I think I suddenly know mine.

In this one case, perhaps, I said generously. One swallow doesn't make a summer.

I
think
I know mine, Jeff said, indicating he knew exactly what we were talking about, but I may need some guidance.

In spite of what happened to you? Tom asked.

That had nothing to do with sex.

You're right, I said. I could see it was a perception Tom hadn't realized before either.

What do you require? Tom asked him.

Someone to show me things.

I wish it could be me, but I wouldn't be the right person at all. I need guidance myself.