The Good Life (8 page)

“That chap we just spoke to, that's Jack of the famous Jack and Charlie. That's what everybody called this place when it was a speakeasy.” Billy spoke to somebody at a big table that they passed without stopping. “That's Marlene Dietrich.”

Perry almost fell over his feet trying to look back, and then they were led into a smaller room and seated. Billy ordered drinks the minute they were handed big menus.

“You know Marlene Dietrich?” Perry asked.

“Quite well. She's not an intimate. As a matter of fact, I was with her and some friends in Harlem several nights ago. When she feels like it, she can be a charmer. She'd feel like it with you. She has a healthy curiosity about chaps' britches. Don't worry. You'll meet everybody sooner or later.”

Perry ran his eyes over the prices printed on the menu. It looked as if the two of them could run up a bill of over ten dollars without even trying. He saw some desserts alone for more than two dollars.

He loved the way Billy had introduced him at the door — he felt as if his name had been inscribed on an honor roll of the elite — but it didn't seem likely that they'd be seeing him around a lot even with an allowance of fifty dollars a week. May be he could bring somebody on his own some time just to show that he knew his way around. Nothing more had been said about the allowance, so it was easy to believe that he'd invented it.

Billy ordered more drinks before anything was said about eating. When the waiter finally came for their dinner order, Perry followed his host's lead. He heard the waiter saying something about Mr. Kriendler's suggestions, but he was too fascinated being here to pay much attention to the food.

Billy kept nodding toward people and saying names he didn't know. The few he'd heard of — Tallulah Bankhead, Noël Coward, Moss Hart — he matched with faces he wasn't sure were theirs. People looked different in real life than in photographs. He didn't care. They were here all around him. He was part of the real New York at last.

The mention of Moss Hart made him wonder how Rodney was doing. He'd like to tell him and Matt what was happening to him.

Billy told him that the wine he'd ordered was for him. “I hope you like it. I usually stick to brandy and soda in New York. I never know if what I order will turn out to be what I expect. I do without until I get back to France, except in private houses.”

Perry thought the food was marvelous, but he'd have been happy with a hamburger. When they'd eaten and Billy had ordered another drink while Perry finished his bottle of wine, they discussed possible after-dinner destinations.

“El Morocco is hardly suitable for two men,” Billy said. “I don't really like the Stork. Too collegiate. Why don't we try the Blue Angel? They usually have good performers, and while men together aren't quite the rule, they're hardly the exception. New York is still very prudish about such things.”

Billy paid by check, so Perry wasn't sure of the exact amount, but he knew it was somewhere around twenty-five dollars. He was stunned by the money people could spend.

Perry tried not to stare at people as they went out. They took another taxi and returned to the East Side.

They went to a bar, where Billy shook hands with a tall, stooped melancholy-looking man with an accent. “Perry, this is the owner, Herbert Jacoby. Herbert, Perry Langham, a very special friend.”

“I can still see, Billy,” the owner said dolefully. “Very special indeed.” He held Perry's arm gently. “You haven't been here before. I hope you will come many times again. If you are ever told that we are full, ask for me. There will always be a table for you.”

He directed them to a door beyond the bar, and they went through a long, dimly lit room filled with little tables and chairs, with a small stage at the end. A waiter came for their order after the owner had squeezed them into a table with his hand between Perry's shoulder blades. There was nothing prudish about Herbert.

“Would champagne suit you?” Billy asked. “Herbert won't let them give us anything too dreadful. Prohibition dies hard.”

“I'm not much of a judge.” Perry was suddenly riding a euphoric high. He wasn't sure he would survive champagne, but he was already known in two elegant places and had been promised special treatment. Herbert wouldn't forget him. With a little encouragement, he might even offer him free drinks. He had made it. He was in. The hand on his back had told him that even if Billy failed him, he belonged.

When they got home, Perry felt as if he had a hole in his memory. He wasn't quite sure what had happened at the Blue Angel. He remembered Herbert's announcing acts from the stage and that people had performed. He remembered enjoying them, but he didn't know what they had done. Leaving was a blank, as was their getting home, but here they were, with the door closed safely behind them. He could walk straight without bumping into the wall, but he felt it advisable to go slow. He went with Billy into the downstairs living room.

“I think we should take a nightcap upstairs,” Billy said. “Upstairs.”

Perry noticed that the precision of Billy's movements had blurred, and although his speech remained clipped, he had developed a trick of repeating random words. While preparing the drinks, Billy's hand would remain poised over a glass for a long time before he dropped an ice cube into it.

Billy wandered over to Perry and held out a glass in his general direction. Perry took it hastily. Billy looked at him intently for a moment as if he were preparing an important declaration.

“You know how to hold your liquor,” he said. “Liquor. It's one of the first requisites of a gentleman.”

“I'm learning from you, Billy.”

“I've enjoyed the evening immensely. Immensely. But I confess, I'm ready to lie down. Shall we go up?”

They made a slow ascent of the stairs, Perry having remembered to retrieve his little bag of toilet articles from the hall table. They went into the bedroom, and Billy closed the door behind them. The bedcovers had been opened and turned back on both sides.

“Do you mind sharing the bed tonight?”

“I want to. I like having someone to sleep with.”

“You're charming. I'll have Laszlo fix up the other room tomorrow for you when you want it.” He stood in the middle of the room and took a swallow of his drink.

“Shall I brush my teeth?” Perry suggested. “I won't be a minute.”

“An admirable idea. Idea. I take rather a long time.”

Perry dropped his jacket and tie on the end of the bed and went to the bathroom. There were a few bottles on a glass shelf above the washbasin, and he looked at them as he brushed his teeth. One was marked 4711, another FLORIS WATER. He opened them when he was finished with his teeth. They smelled like a very elusive perfume. He didn't know men used perfume, but Billy evidently did. Perry hoped he didn't have B.O. He unbuttoned his shirt and sniffed his armpits. They seemed okay.

He found Billy standing where he had left him. His glass was almost empty. “You can hang your things up in there,” Billy said, indicating a closet. “You'll find a row of dressing gowns. Take any one that pleases you. If you need dressing gowns, you'd better add them to your list. You should have some nice ones for when we're staying in hotels.”

“Pajamas too,” Perry said.

“Of course. Anything you need.”

“You'll May be even make me
look
like a gentleman when you finish with me, Billy,” he said with a grin.

He pulled off his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes and socks. Then he stood and stripped, feeling his cock begin to show off its liberation. He ran an encouraging hand over it as he folded his trousers over a hanger, satisfied that it wasn't looking like a shrinking violet, and faced Billy with a carefree smile. “These are the basic elements you have to work with.”

“With a body like that, one is inclined to leave it as it is. You know, if I may offer a suggestion, I think you should get some of those new Jockey things people are wearing. A big basket, as it's called, is always a pleasant sight but usually leaves something to the imagination. In your case, it's quite explicitly anatomical.”

Perry laughed. “You mean, you can see my cock?”

“In startling detail.”

“You're a spoilsport, Billy, but May be you're right.” He went to Billy as he drained his glass and took it from him. “Do you want another?”

“Thank you, you enchanting boy. I think not. I've had enough. Enough. It's been such a pleasure watching you all evening and now to see you like this.” He held Perry's cock while it gathered force, gave it a squeeze, and released it. “Go to bed. I may be half an hour. I do look forward to seeing you in my bed.”

Perry took his glass, and Billy withdrew to the bathroom. Perry finished hanging his clothes up and picked out a dressing gown and laid it over the foot of the bed. He wondered if Billy was going to be as undemanding sexually as he had been this evening. He had no objections if Billy wanted to leave it up to him.

He stretched out in bed and looked at the ceiling. If he was still here when he woke up, he might begin to believe it. He'd been to “21.” That was real. He was going to Europe. If he was allowed to buy all the clothes Billy had promised him, that might turn out to be real too. After that, he would probably be ready to revise his ideas about reality.

It might seem real to sleep with a rich man who liked to be whipped and wanted to keep him to the tune of fifty bucks a week and the right to use his charge accounts. He was too drunk to question it tonight. Thoughts kept slipping away and turning into pure fantasy — except May be they weren't. He was sleepy.

He woke up slowly, remembering where he was. Billy was beside him wearing pajamas. He opened his eyes cautiously and saw him propped up on the pillows, reading a book. The room was full of daylight. Billy was combed and fresh and distinguished-looking.

“What time is it?” Perry asked lazily, slurring his words.

“About 11:30, I should think. Good morning, my dear boy.”

“Good morning, lord and master. I went to sleep before you came to bed last night.”

“I imagine you did. I was sleepy too. You're adorable when you're sleeping. You look about fifteen. Angelic.”

“Not very.” Perry reached for Billy's hand as he turned a page and pulled it under the covers and put it on his morning erection.

“Ravishing, but I'm very fragile in the morning. I'm looking forward to it later.” Billy stroked it for a moment and held it upright when Perry hitched himself onto his back but then returned his hand to his book.

“What're you reading?”

“The Grapes of Wrath
. It's new.”

“Oh, sure. I've seen a lot about it recently. It sounds like the story of my life.” He pushed the covers back and sprang out of bed, parading his erection to Billy's side of the bed. “I'll brush my teeth,” he said, stopping in front of him.

“You're remarkable, Perry. I hope I see it like that often. You're almost too exciting to wake up with. Go brush your teeth.”

Perry did so and then combed his hair. When he returned, Billy put his book down.

“You'd better get under the covers again,” Billy said. “I've rung for breakfast.”

“Why did you let me sleep so late?” Perry asked. “Have you been waiting for breakfast?”

“I was in no hurry. I enjoyed watching you sleep beside me.”

“Do you have breakfast up here?”

“Why, yes.” He gave Perry a slightly puzzled glance. “In bed. Isn't that what you like?”

“I do from now on. I never have.”

“Perhaps it's a European habit. I'd forgotten. I thought we might go to the Oak Room for lunch. Would you like that?”

“I've heard of it. I told you, Billy, I'll just trot along at your heels.”

There was a knock on the door, and Laszlo entered carrying a big tray. He said good morning as he set it down on a table near the bed and turned to Billy.

Perry pulled up the covers around him, embarrassed at being found in bed naked with Billy. He remembered Laszlo from his first visit but hadn't paid much attention to him then. He saw now that he was quite young and very attractive in a way Perry would have called aristocratic. He had fine features and long, poetic hair. He looked like a count or a prince in a novel. He was wearing a black jacket and gray slacks and stood looking at Billy as if awaiting orders.

“This is Mr. Langham, Laszlo. He's coming to live with us. He's going to Europe with me to help me recover from your treachery.”

“I'm sure you won't miss me, sir.” He turned to Perry, and their eyes met. They exchanged a look of understanding before Laszlo retreated behind his professional rectitude. “Shall I serve, sir?” he asked Billy.

“Yes, and you can get the other room ready. I think Mr. Langham will move in this evening.”

“Excellent, sir.” Laszlo took two tabletops out of the closet. He held one over Billy and did something that snapped four short legs out from the bottom. He placed the table across Billy's lap.

Perry pulled himself up higher against the pillows, baring his chest. He was no longer embarrassed. Billy picked up his book again. Perry shifted his hips to get comfortable as the table was snapped open over him. His eyes met Laszlo's again, and they exchanged a secret smile.

The manservant served them breakfast — fruit juice, bacon and eggs, buttered toast, little pots of jam, and coffee.

“You didn't have a bag with you, Mr. Langham?” he asked. He had a pronounced but charming accent.

“Just some toilet things in the bathroom.”

“Shall I put them in the other bathroom?” He looked at Perry knowingly, conveying a message. “Mr. Vernon is inclined to monopolize this one in the morning.”

“That would be fine. Thanks.” Their eyes met with understanding, and Laszlo left. Perry wanted him as an ally. Laszlo might eventually tell Perry things that he should know about Billy. Meanwhile, Perry found he liked Laszlo and recognized in his calm, controlled demeanor a core of honesty and sanity that he hoped he'd be able to count on as his crazy relationship with Billy developed.