The Lord Won't Mind (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (31 page)

Peter rose, swaying slightly on his feet. “It’s been quite an amazing evening. You’re a great guy, even if I don’t know what it’s all about.”

“I think I’ve explained it, but we can talk about it some more tomorrow. Come by when you’ve finished at the bank. I’ll be home all afternoon. If you’re at loose ends until Tim comes back, perhaps you’ll have dinner with me.”

“I’d love to. Only, what if I don’t want to—to do that nutty business again?”

“It’s entirely up to you, laddie. Don’t commit yourself, in any case. Something more exciting might turn up during the day. There
is
one more great favor you can do me if you care to. Give me back my dressing gown now.”

Peter smiled and peeled it off and handed it to him. The glasses cast off reflections as his head moved in a long scrutiny of his body. “One of the loveliest? Perhaps the loveliest. Perfect skin. You and Tim are going to be very beautiful together. You can go ahead and get dressed now.” Peter turned and started for the dressing room. “There’s no question that your bottom without any exception is the loveliest I’ve ever seen.”

Peter laughed. “No fair talking behind my back.”

HE stood in the middle of the living room and looked around him. It was furnished like the one below on a more modest scale, dark, opulent, with the curious hermetic atmosphere that made him feel totally cut off from the city outside. With Tim here, he would be enclosed in a rich, secret intimacy, the thought of which almost took his breath way. Rebellion stirred in him, mingling with the excitement he felt at the prospect. His life was being taken away from him. He thought of Charlie’s parting words last night. Face it: there was nothing more to hope for there. Think of the future. No more shabby transient rooms. No more chance, unpredictable encounters. No more watches to sell. That was a problem. He wasn’t sure he was ready for any of it. He was being pushed into Tim’s arms before he had really made a choice. He thought of smiling blue eyes, of the big lazy grin. No, he was pretty sure of that. That was still his. Stunned astonishment remained. None of it was real. None of it was happening to him. He shed his clothes around the room to take possession of it. Naked, he crossed the small entrance hall to the bedroom, which was largely filled with an enormous bed covered in antique brocade. The love nest, he thought with inner laughter. They’d never find each other in that great expanse of mattress. He went on into the luxurious bathroom, where he found a cabinet filled with useful things, all new and wrapped and bearing expensive labels; toothbrushes, soap, toothpaste, two very fancy-looking razors, shaving cream, cologne, the familiar lubricant. Very thoughtful. Perhaps it would all be gone when he woke up in the morning.

It wasn’t, nor was there time for his astonishment to pass. He went uptown to the room he had left two days before and packed his bags and paid the rest of the week he owed. This left him with very little cash. He reminded himself to sell something so that he could get in some provisions for tomorrow. He settled himself into his new quarters and spooned some baked beans directly from the can into his mouth and set off for the bank. There, an armed guard made a telephone call in response to his inquiry. He was ushered into a managerial office. There were a good many smiles and bows. If Mr. Martin would just take a seat. He was still unaccustomed to this adult form of address and had to suppress a giggle. There were forms to sign and checkbooks to choose. He was handed a deposit book.

He had fifty thousand dollars.

The book slipped out of his hands, and he had to retrieve it. He held it tight and stared at the zeroes, searching for blemishing decimal points. His voice broke into a squeak when he tried to speak.

“Look, there must be some mistake,” he finally managed.

The official chuckled. “I don’t think so, Mr. Martin. If we made mistakes with sums like that, we wouldn’t be in business very long, would we?”

He was out in the street and walking fast, occasionally breaking into a run, to his new Park Avenue address. He stormed into Walter’s study, to which a servant had directed him. Walter looked up from his desk.

“Now listen,” he said, breathing hard. “What is all this? Are you a nut or something?”

Walter beamed at him. “How charming you look. All glowing and wind-blown.”

“Come on, now. Do you have keepers or guardians or something? They’ll probably have me put in jail.”

“Sit down, laddie. Cool off.” He sat back and looked at Peter and shook briefly with silent laughter. “It’s worth it just to see you looking the way you do. Now
you
listen, laddie. It may seem an extravagant gesture, but I think you’ll find that people who are used to handling money are more practical than those who aren’t. I thought very carefully before deciding on the amount. Look at it from your point of view, which is what I did. Wisely invested, it could bring you about fifty dollars a week. That’s a good deal more, I agree, than you could hope to earn for some time to come, but hardly enough to kill your incentive if and when you decide what you want to do. It’s certainly enough to take care of you if you want to leave. As long as you’re living upstairs rent free and perhaps allowing me to provide some of your food and drink, you should be extremely comfortable. If, instead of capital, I’d offered you fifty dollars a week, I’d’ve been inviting a poke in the nose. It’s as simple as that. The money means nothing to me. I often pay a great deal more for one of my pictures.”

Peter noted the possessive pronoun and his classification among Walter’s collection. “What am I supposed to
do
for it?’” he demanded.

“Nothing you don’t want to do. You can be very sure of that. It would perhaps be easier to understand if I said I’d fallen in love with you, but I’m reticent about certain things and people mean so many different things when they say that. Let me put it this way. If I had a son, I’d want him to be you. If I had a lover in the usual sense, I’d want him to be you. I want you to be part of my life, as Tim is in a lesser way. I want to think of you upstairs having an important affair. I want you to come and go, I want you to have meals with me when you have nothing better to do, I want to talk to you about my pictures, I want to look at you. If from time to time you care to indulge my—whims, I’d be very happy, but that isn’t essential. I may as well tell you I’ll have others. I’m sometimes attracted to boys who will do it for money. I suppose I strike you as odd, but I’ve never enjoyed the struggling and grappling of making love. I’m a purely visual person. I’ve never liked the look of my own body and prefer not to expose it. There are bound to be awkward moments in the act of love. I wouldn’t even want to watch you and Tim performing it, beautiful though you may be together. So much for that part of it. I want you to be free to live with me in the way I suggest.”

“But what if I decide to clear out?”

“Exactly. That’s really the point of what I’m saying. I found out very early that the more you want to hold people the more they want to be free. So I decided to do things my way. It once brought me eight years of great happiness. That’s not a bad return on an investment. You now have money to lead whatever life you choose. I won’t give you any more. If you spend it all next week, it will simply mean that you’re not the person I think you are, and I will have made a rather expensive mistake. I don’t often make mistakes about people. I’ve only felt what I feel about you twice before in my life, and I was right both times. You completely enchant me. I do hope you’ll give me the pleasure of watching you live.”

“Wow.” Peter took a deep breath and swallowed to clear the lump in his throat. “You’ve got to admit it’s pretty overwhelming. I’ve got to have time to think. I want to talk to Tim about it.”

“That’s very sweet. You value friendship. You’re a very good person. I wouldn’t do what I’ve done if you weren’t.”

“You certainly have a way of leaving a guy speechless. I haven’t even thanked you.”

“I think we can let time take care of that.”

They agreed to spend the evening together, and Peter returned to what he was beginning to think of as his own apartment and selected a watch he thought would bring a good price and went out and sold it. He bought provisions and returned to the apartment and burrowed through his clothes and brought out the heavy cardboard folder in which he kept Charlie’s drawing. His throat ached as he held it. If escape was within his reach, this was the point of departure. He mustn’t go on treasuring these things as the promise of a return to the ecstatic happiness in which they had been created. Face it: the past was a dream ended. One of the drawings he could never part with; the other was simply a prized possession that he could offer for another’s enjoyment.

He sat with the folder in front of him for a long time trying to think his way through the situation. No matter how persuasive Walter might be, he had to be sure that he wasn’t selling himself in some way. Even such a simple act as giving him a drawing he would like might have unpleasant implications. The pose was provocative. Would he be using his body to tantalize him, to exploit his peculiar tastes? No, he had no interest in exploiting him. He hadn’t accepted the money yet. He wouldn’t feel it was his until he had talked to Tim. He didn’t even know what his feelings for Tim were, but he knew he felt something for the first time in months. It was there within him, glowing, stirring him to life, stretching his nerves with anticipation. If it was going to lead to something, it would have to start with everything clear between them. Just don’t build it up in your mind, his inner voice warned. He felt very young and inexperienced. Silly little faggot, he told himself. You’re in pretty deep. Make sure you don’t do anything that’ll louse up your life.

When it was time to join Walter, he withdrew the drawing of himself from the folder without looking at the other and went downstairs. Walter was waiting for him in the living room with drinks set out.

“I want to give you something,” he said without any preliminaries. “I think you’ll like it, but I don’t want you to get me wrong. You’ll see what I mean when you look at it.” He handed over the drawing.

Walter studied it for several minutes in silence. “Extraordinary,” he said finally. “It’s very lovely. Quite aside from subject, it’s beautiful. Beautiful work.”

“That’s what I hoped you’d think. I didn’t want you to get the idea that I went around handing out pictures of myself with a hard-on. I mean, well, it’s a picture, not a proposition.”

“Of course, laddie. I understand the point you’re trying to make. I’m very proud you’re willing to let me have it. It means a great deal. But tell me about it. Who did it?”

“Charlie.” He paused, waiting for the pain to cut into him. He thought of Tim and assured himself stubbornly that he would no longer be alone and found he could go on without wanting to burst into tears. He went on at length, telling the story of his life, which was simply the story of Charlie.

“You’re still very much in love with him, aren’t you, laddie?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I always will be, but I don’t see what good it’ll do me. Tim did something to me. We just looked at each other, and it happened. That’s why I’m so excited about it. Except that they’re both sort of blond, he’s not at all like Charlie, so it can’t be transference or whatever you call it. I’ve sometimes thought I’m a sex fiend, but Tim makes me realize I’m not really. I’m going out of my mind wanting to go to bed with him, but it’s more than that. I don’t know how many guys I’ve done it with in the last few months, but I’ve never really wanted any of them more than once. It’s not like that with Tim. I guess I must be in love with him, or at least beginning to be.”

“You’re full of love, laddie. Tim will be very lucky if you offer him some part of it. I’m sorry your friend isn’t going on with his art. He has a great talent. I’ll have it framed. It’s good enough to hang with the others, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind if Tim doesn’t. You’d better ask him. I honestly don’t know anything about anything for the moment. I won’t until tomorrow night.”

They had an excellent meal and a pleasant evening with the pictures. When Peter went back to his place, he hid the drawing of Charlie away. He still didn’t trust himself to look at it. Maybe he would with Tim some day.

The next day was simply feverish waiting. He drowsed in bed as late as he could. He spent a long time in the bathroom, grooming himself. He went out and bought food and wine and flowers. The flowers took up quite a lot of time. He fussed about in the kitchen, making sure that everything was in order for dinner. It was time at last to call. His voice trembled when he pronounced Tim’s name to the girl who answered the phone. Then Tim was on the line sounding astonishingly familiar.

“Is that you? Thank God. This is getting out of control. Where can I meet you?”

His voice trembled again as he replied, “I’m in Walter’s small apartment. You know the one.”

“You are? I’ll be damned. That’s fine. I’ll be there by six.”

“Is it all right?”

“Is what all right? It was all wrong being away.”

“I’ll say. I meant about the apartment.”

“It’s perfect. It’s been empty for I don’t know how long. Listen, if I go on talking, something’s going to give. I’m going to hang up now.” He did.

Peter sat staring at the phone thinking of all the things he wished he had said. He hoped he hadn’t sounded cold. Tim had managed to say so much in a few words. Getting out of control. All wrong being away. Something’s going to give. He lay back in the chair and laughed. Tim had it bad, too. Exciting and wonderful. He hadn’t made it all up in his mind. He sprang up and tore off his clothes and took another shower. He considered not dressing but decided it would look tartish if he was sitting around all ready to go to bed. Tim would be dressed. He should be, too. He gave dressing his careful attention, choosing things he thought he looked his best in. He got out ice and bottles. He adjusted the flowers. He tried to keep his mind a blank. After an eternity of silence, the bell rang. He rushed to the door and flung it open. For an instant, his eyes were bathed in blue, then Tim was inside. He put down a small suitcase and flung off his hat and coat all in one movement and took Peter in his arms. He moaned as their mouths met. They kissed for a long moment. Their heads parted, and they leaned a little away from each other, their arms crooked, holding each other by the elbows, their hips thrust forward and touching, swaying slightly as their erect sexes played with each other through layers of cloth.