Chapter 5 -- Halloween

(unedited)

 

            The one thing that Betty Bagby Jackson had salvaged from her marriage to Will was the Winnebago.  Because it was so big, she often left it parked in front of Battey House, where parking was no problem, rather than Gordon Street where the combination of parking for the synagogue across from her garden gate and parking for a dozen townhouse residences kept the street full.  Around town, Betty drove the ’65 Volkswagen that had belonged to Patty.  One of Will’s clever workings of a divorce settlement had included giving Betty Patty’s old car.  He had, of course, purchased a new Oldsmobile for Patty.

            But today Betty drove the Winnebago.  David had called to suggest a picnic.  He invited Jules, whom he wanted to get to know, Eddie, Charlotte, and Susan.  Eddie and Charlotte both made excuses.  Betty had invited Lee Johnson, who had prior plans, and, on a whim, Crystal, a drag queen she had met at Pinkie’s.  Skip also joined the party when everyone converged at Battey House.  The Winnebago had an ample refrigerator which they stuffed with beer and snacks.  Susan supplied a family-sized tub of fried chicken she had picked up on the way over.

            Crystal was the last one to arrive.  She lived on Maus Paus Avenue in a restored 1920s house.  She walked over.  She didn’t always dress as a female, especially in the daytime.  Ironically, she looked more feminine dressed as a male.  But for the picnic, she had done herself up.  She had on her best blond wig.  She wore a flowered miniskirt and long yellow stockings.  She wore sensible off-white women’s sandals and just enough makeup and lipstick.  A silk scarf around her neck covered an Adam’s apple that people probably wouldn’t have noticed.  Crystal was young and feminine enough to pass as a woman, provided one didn’t look too closely.  Crystal was thin, looking quite a bit like Twiggy.

            “Oh, I hope y’all didn’t have to wait too long on me,” Crystal said, seeing the gathering on the brick steps of Battey.

            “Not at all,” David reassured her.  “None of us have been here more than ten minutes.”

            “Well, Betty,” Crystal sang, “this is some big vehicle you’ve got here.  You ain’t really going to drive it yourself, are you, honey?”

            “Yes I am,” Betty retorted.  “I’ve driven it all over everywhere.  Up and down the Blue ridge Parkway and all the way to New Orleans.”

            “When did you go to Nawlins?” Crystal asked, excited.  She introduced herself to Susan, whom she had not met before.

            “My friend Connie Solloway and I drove there for the Jazz Festival last year.”  Connie was the daughter of Betty’s closest friend, Ellen, who had died of cancer 3 years before Betty’s divorce.  Since her death, Betty’s friendship with Connie had grown thick, especially when Connie went through her own divorce.  The two helped liberate one another.

            “What did you think of it?” Susan asked.

            “Loved it.  Loved it all.  The jazz, Bourbon Street.  And all that rich food.”  Betty’s mouth watered.  “And next year I’ll have David as an excuse to visit again.”

            “Hello Jules,” Crystal said, seeing him for the first time.  “I haven’t seen you in years.”

            Jules recognized Crystal as a boyhood classmate from high school.  He had seen her perform once at the Basement but had not recognized her then.

            “It has been a while.  You know, I was in the Navy three years.”

            “You were a sailor?” Crystal exclaimed.  “I’ll bet you were good at it too…”

            The six climbed into the Winnebago and Betty took the wheel.  She cursed her way down busy Victory Drive.  She relaxed as the road to Tybee opened out over the marshes.

            “Why did you join the Navy?” David asked Jules as they sat across from each other at the Winnebago breakfast table.

            “It was join or be drafted.  I figured the Navy would keep me out of Vietnam itself, even if I were sent off-coast there.  As it turned out, I was sent to San Francisco, which I fell in love with.”

            “I came close to being drafted,” David recounted.  “I got student deferrals.  After I graduated I went to Fort Jackson for a physical exam and passed it.  I also had a psychiatrist prepare a statement that I’m homosexual, which I gave to someone who looked like Col. Sanders at the end of my exam.  I thought he might ostracize me in front of all the other potential draftees, but he just remarked that my eyesight was horrible, anyway.”

            “I’m planning to join the Air Force Reserve,” Skip announced.  “I have a deferment for now, but I’m going to skip my junior year in college and join.”

            “Shit.”  Betty expressed her disapproval.  “You’d be a lot smarter to stay in school til this war is over.”

            “Even being a student isn’t safe,” Susan chimed in.  “Look at Kent State.”

            When they arrived at the beach, politics had given way to talk of art and theater.  Jules suggested they have their picnic on the ruins of Fort Screven at the northern end of the beach.  He directed Betty toward his favorite spot.

            “It looks like an ancient Greek theater or like the place Socrates carried on dialogues,” David said as they climbed onto the boulders and walls of the fort.  A series of stone steps took them from a bluff down the beach.  A sort of semi-circular amphitheater was formed by the ruins.

            “When was this built?” Susan asked.

            “Around the Spanish-American War, I think,” said Skip.

            Betty had brought a large tablecloth from the Winnebago and spread it atop a concrete slab as a makeshift table.  All six sat around the picnic and ate.  It was a warm mid-October day.  No one else was in sight.  After the meal, the group took walks in pairs.  Betty and Crystal returned to the Winnebago.  Susan and Skip took off for a hike south to the more popular beach.  Jules and David walked toward the mouth of the Savannah River and the Tybee Lighthouse.

            “I want to know about that wig of yours,” Betty said as Crystal sat at the table inside the Winnebago.  Both lit cigarettes, and Betty made coffee on the small stove.

            “What do you want to know?” Crystal asked, somewhat defensively.

            “Where you got it, what it cost,” Betty said.  “I hate this hair.”  She pulled at her black hair.  “I want to cut this short and buy a wig I can just throw on when I need it.”

            “You must come to my salon, honey,” Crystal suggested.  “I could do wonders with your hair.”

            Betty looked in the mirror on the closet door behind Crystal.  Her dark hair had produced a silver streak that everyone praised.

            “Do you think I should color it?”

            “Well, Betty.”  Crystal took a deep breath.  “The streak is gorgeous.  But you still look like a distinguished matron.  Is that the look you’re after?”

            “Hell, no.”

            “Then color it.  I’d say color it red.  Red is perfect for your complexion.”

            “Color it and buy a wig, too?” Betty asked.

            “Just come to my salon.  Here’s my card.”  Crystal handed Betty an embossed business card from her purse.

            “What makeup do you use?” Crystal asked.

            They talked of makeup tips as Betty poured Crystal a cup of perked coffee.  “And what is that delicious fragrance you wear?” Crystal asked.

            “Shalimar,” Betty said.

            “I thought I recognized it,” Crystal said.

            Betty looked Crystal in the eye.  “I can’t believe you’re a man.  I keep forgetting.”

            “I’m a transvestite, Betty.  That is not a man.”

            “You remind me of Ellen Solloway.  It’s just downright strange,” Betty said.  “You have the same expressions.  She was the best friend I ever had.

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            Jules and David climbed the steps of the Tybee Lighthouse.  From the top they could see most of Tybee Island, the Atlantic, and the gaping mouth of the Savannah River.  Freighters and shrimp boats vied for the waterways.  To the west, Fort Pulaskie exposed its shell-pocked wall.  “I’ve never been up here before,” David said.  “I’ve lived here all my life, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen this view.”

            “Fabulous, isn’t it?” Jules said.

            “Tell me about San Francisco.”

            “You have to see it for yourself,” Jules answered.  “San Francisco is a state of mind.  It is a step into the future, and the people who live there are advanced beyond most others.”

            “In what way?” David asked, dubious.

            “More loving and tolerant.  People on the electric buses are reading books.  There is a sense of love, believe it or not, that fills the city.”

            “Is everyone there a hippie?”

            “Not at all.  There are plenty of hippies in Haight-Ashbury.  But they are just the most visible group.  The businessmen downtown are just so wonderful.  I think it’s the cool Pacific breezes and the flowered hills.  It is like Atlantis.”

            “Come on.”  David was fascinated but not taken in.

            “As I said, you have to go there yourself.  For me it is the Holy Grail and I plan to move there one day.”

            “When you do, perhaps you’ll invite me to visit you.”

            “The invitation is already yours,” Jules said.

            As they descended the steps of the lighthouse, David asked about plans for the Halloween party.

            “I’m meeting with two brothers from India who are leasing a large house on Bolton Street.  Their names are Seth and Kris.  I think they are willing to have the party at their home if we provide all the refreshments and handle the invitations,” Jules said.  “Why don’t you come with me to their house?”

            “Let me show you my favorite secluded beach,” Jules said, leading David through a maze of ruins.  They stepped over weeds and brambles that covered the ground around what may have been storage rooms of Fort Screven.  They passed through a broken wall and climbed out on a large tabby boulder that stretched down a hill toward the beach.  A small stretch of beach reached from the concrete wall to another.  Protected from the breeze, the area was hot in the October sunshine.

            “I want to worship the sun, here,” Jules said, undressing.  “Do we have a half-hour or so to sunbathe?”

            “I’m sure everyone else will be fine,” David answered.  “Skip will probably walk with Susan to the Desoto Hotel, and Mom will have to talk to Crystal about.”

            “Your mother is amazing,” Jules said.  “My mother would run from a drag queen.  Or else try to get her to repent her sins.”

            Jules stripped completely, lying naked on a bath towel he had brought with him.  Embarrassed and attracted, David stripped to his underwear.  “You don’t think we’ll be arrested for indecent exposure, do you?”

            “I’ve sunbathed here a dozen times, even over the summer when there are lots of people around.  I’ve only been discovered once, and the couple who saw me just walked away.”

            David gathered his courage and removed his shorts.

            When the six regrouped at the Winnebago, they finished the picnic snacks, and Betty drove back to town.  She dropped Crystal off on Maus Paus Avenue.  All agreed to help out with the Halloween party.

            Jules was the driving force behind the party.  He organized the planning committee, which grew to include David, Eddie, Charlotte, Susan, and the two brothers from India, Seth and Kris.  It was Jules who assigned food orders.  And Jules arranged the decorations, tablecloths, artwork, flowers (lots of gladiolas), and statues of Buddha and Shiva.  A large portrait of  Meher Baba, whose temple Jules visited regularly in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, gazed benevolently from the mantle in the main living room.  “Don’t worry,” was his message.  “Be happy.”

            The house itself was Victorian.  It had two large living rooms separated by solid oak sliding doors.  This was perfect for the central party room, for a table of hors d’oevres, and for the music.  The rest of the house was a maze of back rooms.  There was a large curving front porch, where people could gather, smoke, and enjoy the mild autumn night.

            The neighborhood was a mixed one, consisting of a few restored Victorian houses and many slum houses, as yet uncared for.  For those with vision, the Victorian district from Gaston Street to Henry Street was a frontier of opportunity.

            The first guests arrived just after dark.  The committee was there in full costume.  Jules was Hamlet, complete with leotards and sword.  David had found a large, red and striped Mexican pancho and was dressed as Pancho Villa, complete with belts of bullets strapped over his chest.  Charlotte, setting out bowls of chips and nuts, was dressed in black with white lace trim as Goodie the pilgrim, and Susan, having found armor in the Armstrong Masquers’ storeroom, was Joan of Arc.  She had cut her hair brutally short for the occasion.

            “Red wine seems the appropriate drink of the night, don’t you think?” Joan of Arc said to Goodie, pouring a glass of Italian table wine.  “Like some?”

            “Yes,” answered Goodie.  “I need it.”

            Most of the guests arrived late.  A few brave black teenagers came on the porch to “trick or treat.”  Seth had thoughtfully brought a few bags of candy from which he distributed treats.  Seth was short, had blemished, dark skin, and a perpetual smile of self-confidence and kindness.  Kris, his brother, was taller, handsomer, and more philosophical.  He enjoyed explaining Hinduism to Jules or David, to whom Jules introduced him only a week before the party.  Both brothers moved to Savannah in the late 60s from New York.  The South fascinated them.  It also offered a warm climate.

            “How did Jules convince you to host the party?” Charlotte asked Seth.

            “It was quite easy,” Seth explained.  “He said, ‘Would you like to help me host a Halloween party?’”

            Charlotte laughed.  “The direct approach.  Do you celebrate Halloween in India?”

            “You forget,” Seth answered,” or perhaps you did not know…we are not from India.  We are from New York.”

            “I thought David said you were from Madras.”

            “We were born there, certainly.  But as small children we came with our parents to live in America.  As children we learned of Halloween and all other American holidays.”

            “But you are Hindu, aren’t you?” Charlotte persisted.

            “Indeed we are.  And Hindus also believe in ghosts.”  Seth smiled, as if admitting a conspiracy.

            “We think the house has ghosts,” Kris said, walking up to the table.  “We have heard strange noises after midnight and seen glimmers of light in the hallways.”

            Charlotte wondered if they were joking or making fun of her.  “People underestimate the powers of the occult,” she said.

            At that moment, Eddie appeared at the door.  He wore a long, flowing black cape and two fangs.  “I am here to drink your blood,” he said, eying Susan first.

            Jules put Ravi Shankar on the record player as more guests arrived.  “Do you think we have enough food and wine?” he asked David.

            “Plenty.  And there are several six-packs of beer in the refrigerator.  People are bringing stuff too.”  David, like Charlotte, was drinking red wine.  Jules continued to drink Jasmine tea.

            “I love your decorations,” Betty Bagby said to Seth on entering the house.  “Who is that over the mantel?”

            “That is Baba-ji.  He is a master that Jules admires.  Most of the decorations belong not to us, but to Jules.  But tell me, please, who are you dressed as?”

            “Sarah,” Betty answered, as if it were obvious.  “But being from India, I guess you wouldn’t know.  She is a Bible woman – Old Testament.”

            “I see,” Seth said, politely.

            Betty was followed by a Buddhist nun from Korea.  Going by the name Su Nim, which was the equivalent of “nun,” she wore a gray robe and broad brim felt hat.  She was not in costume but had to explain to everyone she met that she was, indeed, a Buddhist.  “My Engliss verwy bad,” she would say, apologetically.  Then she would ask each person for an explanation of who they were, seldom understanding the answer.

            By ten, the house was full.  David was enthralled by the variety of people.  There were Canadians, many Oriental people, a few blacks, including Langston from Armstrong and a new cellist from the Savannah symphony, and countless Savannians he had never seen before.  “Where do all these people live?” he asked Eddie.

            “Savannah is becoming a regular Mecca,” Eddie answered.  He was watching a long-haired blond dressed as a gypsy woman.  “Do you know who she is?”

            “I think she’s an Armstrong student,” David speculated.

            Dr. Landry arrived late.  He had almost not come at all, rather disliking costume parties.  But he longed to see David.  “Confucius, I take it,” Langston said as Landry entered the drawing room.

            “No.  Confucius was fat.  I’m Lao Tzu.”  Landry wore a fake Fu-Man-Chu moustache attached to his own real moustache, a silk robe, and he carried a rice paper scroll.  “How long have you been here?” he asked Langston.

            “An hour or so.  Some lovely young men here.”  Langston nodded in the direction of a scantily clad Roman gladiator.

            Landry smiled, “But are these slaves for sale?”

            “I’m sure they have their price, and it’s probably way too high?” Langston replied.

            Landry made his way to the bar.  Disappointed at finding no scotch, he poured himself a glass of Chardonnay.  He had to admit that the party was more interesting than he had anticipated.  There were certainly plenty of new faces – and bodies – to see.  David, however, was nowhere in sight.

            Landry did see David’s brother Skip.  Dressed as Hercules in a makeshift toga and spectacular Greek sandals that laced up to his calf (these had been provided by Jules), he was talking with Ester Gordon.  Ester was Bill Gordon’s younger and shorter sister.  Someone had called her the dwarf deb, Landry remembered, an unkind but accurate description.  Ester was 4 ft., 8 in., and had caused an unpleasant shuffling among escorts when she came out as a debutante in 1968.  Ester had the beak of a Hapsburg and came from a family almost as pedigreed.  Dressed as a witch, she was truly horrific.

            “You mustn’t go in the military,” Ester screeched at Skip.  Her voice was higher than that of Lee Johnson, who entered the party dressed as Cher.  “I can’t even picture you as a soldier.  It’s ridiculous,” she continued.

            “I really don’t have any choice.  I’d just be drafted.  Besides, I don’t have a job.  I need the money.”

            “Work for your daddy,” Ester argued.

            “I have been.  But he’s impossible to work for -- he never listens to anything I tell him.”

            “Skip, you are just too stubborn for your good,” Ester lectured.

            Lee Johnson walked up to Landry.  “Well how are you?” he cackled.  Landry knew at once that Lee was drunk.

            “Fine.  I hear that you and Connor Lawrence are seeing each other now,” Landry said.

            “Oh, do you?” Lee sang out, tossing his wig.  “Well yes, I suppose we are ‘seeing each other,’ as you put it.”

            “You must know how much I admire his paintings.”  Landry tried to be civil if not pleasant.

            “I like his big dick, myself,” Lee replied.  “Excuse me while I fix myself a drink.”

            As the night wore on, the music became louder.  Ravi Shankar yielded to the new Elton John album, which yielded to Abbey Road, which yielded to Cream and more acid rock.  To raise the dead, someone played Hendrix and Janis Joplin.  David added Jefferson Airplane, while Eddie put on Led Zeppelin.  Landry loved “Ramblin’ On” in spite of himself.

            “So where have you been?” he asked David when the latter appeared beside the stereo system.

            “I was in one of the bedrooms sampling the opium hash,” David replied.  “Would you like some?”

            Landry started to make a disapproving remark but checked himself.  Perhaps it was he who needed a change of attitude.  Why not smoke opium?  “No, I think the party and the wine are enough for now,” he said.

            “It’s more hash than opium,” David said, as if the fact made it o.k. to smoke.  “It gives everything a dream-like quality.  People seem to be moving in slow – or slower – motion.  But it’s not heavy or frightening if you know what I mean.”

            “Yes, I do,” Landry replied.  Then he laughed.  “I’m sure Pancho Villa smoked a little marijuana or took a peyote button or two in his life.

            Landry noticed that quite a few people were drifting in and out of the back rooms.  Toni Hess, forgetting her role as Rhett Butler, was anything but a man.  Her baggy pants did not hide her sexy figure.  Toni had full hips, full breasts, and a slender waist.  But Toni’s face was severe, more like Medea or even the face of Liberty than that of a young lady from Georgia.  Toni was also completely stoned.  Repeatedly she bent over to pick up knots she saw swirling in the hard pine floor.

            “She must have had quite a taste of your opium hash,” Landry said to David as they watched her.

            “I think she’s on acid,” David said.

            “Eddie Wilson.  I’m a senior at Armstrong.”

            “Sharon, also at Armstrong.  Glad to meet you,” the gypsy replied.  The two stood on the front porch.  The night was cool and fresh after the smoky interior of the house.  “You aren’t going bite me, are you?” the gypsy asked.

            Eddie looked at her incredulously.  He would love to bite her.  “Oh – right.  Dracula.”  He remembered his costume and laughed.  Have you eaten any of the garlic dip in there?” he asked.

            “Yes, it’s delicious.”

            “Then you are safe … for now,” Eddie teased.

            The wine, the hash, and the agreeable mix of people produced a euphoria that permeated most of the crowd.  The euphoria floated with the smoke of tobacco and marijuana, coursing through the rooms, gathering above the Victorian lamps or around chandeliers and drifting out of the wide open door to the shaded front porch.  Canadians said they found Seth fascinating.  Su Nim complained of the smoke, saying it gave her a headache, but she mellowed into an acceptance of the situation.  She often perched herself in the swinging rocker on the porch and chatted amiably with the variety of guests who repeatedly asked who she was dressed as.  “I am Buddhist monk,” she always giggled, her short legs swinging the rocker.  Many thought she was tipsy on the wine, though she only drank tea.

            “We should go,” Charlotte said to Susan, shortly after midnight.  Charlotte enjoyed the party in the abstract, but she had wanted to spend some of the evening with David.  So far, she had hardly seen him, much less communicated with him.  His interests were clearly elsewhere.

            Susan was also disappointed and tired.  They had spent the afternoon helping prepare.  “Don’t we have to stay and help clean up later?”

            “We can call tomorrow and offer to help them,” Charlotte replied.  “The party will probably go on all night.”

            Susan wondered why Charlotte sounded so irritable.  She wondered why she felt irritable, herself.  Eddie had hardly spoken to her, she realized and asked herself if she missed the attention.

            “Yes, let’s do leave.  I think I’m getting a headache from too much wine.”

            As Goodie the Pilgrim departed with Joan of Arc, they passed Jim Bowie.  Or so everyone called the 6’4” man who arrived very late, dressed in a suede fringe hat and wearing a long dagger – a Bowie knife.  He had steel-toed lizard-skin boots and his shoulder-length hair was black and straight.  He marched into the house as if he were returning home from a long adventure.

            “Have you seen Betty Bagby?” he asked a startled Seth at the door.

            “Yes, I have,” Seth said, gathering himself.  “I am Seth Ramamurti.  This is my home.”

            “Pleased to meet ya, Seth.  My name is Carlos.  Betty Bagby invited me to this here party.  And if you don’t mind, I think that’s her right there.”  Carlos stomped across the room and joined Betty, who was chatting with Ester the witch.

            “Carlos, I am so glad you made it,” Betty gushed.  “I’ve had mucho wine, so you’ll excuse me.”

            “Are you in costume?” Ester asked, craning her neck to see the impressive newcomer.

            “Costume?  Hell no.  Nobody told me it was a costume party.”

            “You fit right in.”  Betty smacked her lips.  “Get yourself a beer.”

            When Carlos found his way to the kitchen, Betty said to Ester, “He works with me at the bookstore.  Isn’t he a doll?”

            “Betty, you are crazy,” Ester screeched.  “He’s anything but a doll.  He’s the Jolly Green Giant.”

            Even as most people were straggling home from the party, others arrived.  Bill Gordon arrived with a new issue of Albion in hand to show Landry.  Connor Lawrence and Jane arrived, without costume.  “We had a big business dinner to attend,” Connor explained to Jules.  “You know, paintings to show, and all that.”

            “He seems melancholy tonight,” David said to Landry.

            “I’ll see if I can cheer him up.  I want another small painting.”  Landry headed over to greet Connor.

            Lee Johnson watched Connor enter, then purposely avoided him, moving to talk with Betty, Ester, and Carlos.  He knew he would say something nasty to Jane if he didn’t avoid them.

            “She looks like Golda Meir meets Georgia O’Keefe,” said Ester as Betty explained who Jane was.

            “Only she has the charisma of a bagel,” Lee replied.

            “Don’t be rude, Lee,” Betty admonished.

            “Rude?  You just keep that bitch away from me, that’s all,” Lee replied.  “He can fuck that rag doll all he wants.  But he better not come knocking on my door at 4 am, again.”

            “You’d let him in and you know it,” Betty taunted.

            “And I bet you’d suck that big dick too.”

            “Hell no, I wouldn’t.  No way!”  Betty yelled so loud that Jane looked around, saw her, and waved.

            Our guests are getting quite drunk,” Kris said to Seth and Jules.  “Do you think it is safe for them to drive home?”

            “We could suggest that those who feel intoxicated stay over here,” Seth suggested.  “We have plenty of room, if not beds.”

            Jules gazed around the room.  “Almost everyone now lives downtown.  They won’t have far to go.  And the streets are deserted this late at night.”

            “Still, I think I shall make the offer of our home to those who wish to stay over,” Kris said.  “And then I myself shall say goodnight.”

            Kris’ offer to stay, of course, became a cue for several of the guests to leave.  Ester insisted that Skip take her home before having another beer.  “You don’t want to spend the night in the Savannah jail, do you?” she coaxed.  Battey House was only two miles away, but the police often stopped late drivers crossing Victory Drive.  Ester lived on 52^nd Street, only a few blocks from Battey.

            Betty Bagby offered Lee Johnson a ride home.  He had walked over from his apartment a half mile away.  Betty’s apartment on Gordon Street was even nearer.

            The late arrivals were more reluctant to leave.  Landry had met Carlos and was engaged in a lively conversation with him.  Eddie had not even noticed that Charlotte and Susan had left.  He was still enthralled with the gypsy, sharing stories of their families, of high school, and anything he could think of to create the illusion that they were meant for each other.  But eventually Sharon claimed it was late and that she, too, must depart.  She agreed to meet Eddie for lunch one day and gave him her phone number.  She laughed as she left, as if she never expected to see him again.

            David wandered out on the porch.  The crickets pulsed in the cool night air.  A single bird sang out a high-pitched song.  “A nightingale.”  David said out loud.  Landry followed, standing by the railing as David swung in the hanging porch rocker as Su Nim had done hours earlier.  “Haven’t seen much of you lately,” Landry sighed  “We’ve missed you in the Yeats class.”

            “I’ve missed being there,” David said, his voice sad.  “With work at Carnegie and my conflict with people at the Main Library, I haven’t had or felt like doing anything.  I think I’m going to be transferred.”  David and Landry rehashed David’s struggle to preserve the integrity of the Carnegie collection.  “And I like taking the weeded books to the jail.  It really makes some of the inmates happy to get some books each month.  I don’t know what will happen to that.”

            “In any event, I’ve missed you,” Landry said, wondering if he were being too frank.

            “Thanks,” David replied.  “Maybe we can have dinner together next week.”

            Landry smoked a cigarette as David rocked.  He wanted to say something more intimate.  David seemed unhappy and Landry wanted to give comfort.

            Others stumbled out onto the porch, some to leave and say goodbye, others just to enjoy the cool night air.  Fog was developing as the temperature fell.  Carlos appeared and saddled up to Landry.  “Have you met Betty’s son David?” Landry asked him.

            “You’re her boy?” Carlos said to David.

            “Yes.  David Jackson.”  He stood and shook the giant’s large, calloused hand.  “Mom’s told me about you.”

            “I help them load and unload books, among other things,” Carlos said.

            “She’s very fond of you,” David said.  He left Carlos and Landry alone on the porch.

            By three, the party was over.  Eddie meandered from room to room, pinching out candles with his bare fingers.  A few drunk guests dozed on sofas or chairs or floors.  Seth and Kris’ large, colorful, Indian pillows made them comfortable.  Seth surveyed the house, beginning to clean up.  His brother had already gone to bed.  “All in all, there is very little mess,” he said to Jules, who was also gathering cups and glasses.  “Just leave it.  We can finish tomorrow.”

            Jules smiled.  Seth was always kind and generous.  “We’ll just finish picking up a few plates.  It won’t take long,” he replied.

            David, glad for something to do, helped with the remaining trash.  Eddie made a small effort to put a few things away, then fell on one of the love seats unoccupied because it was too short to lie on.  He balled his tall body into a fetal attempt to fit and rest his head.  He actually fell asleep in minutes.

            “The party was a big success,” David said to Jules, as they carried stacks of plates and dishes to the kitchen.  “I’m glad you invited me.”

            “It was your friends who made it a success,” Jules said.  “I adore your mother.  And her Buddhist Monk friend was fabulous.  And Carlos.  What a stud.”

            David remembered Carlos and Landry on the porch.  He wondered if they had gone home together.  “Mom has become liberated since the divorce.”

            “To say the least,” Jules replied.

            David smiled.  Jules was both funny and sexy in his Hamlet leotards and cape.

            “Would you like to come back to my place?”

            “No,” Jules said.”  “My place is closer.”  He took David softly in his hands and kissed him.

            Saying goodnight to Seth, who had stopped cleaning and was ready to lock up the house, they returned to Jules’ apartment a few blocks away.  They walked through Whitefield Square, with its new gazebo.  Stopping briefly in the park to enjoy the quiet and the chill, David recited Shakespeare.  “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day…”

            When they reached Jules’ apartment, Jules reminded David that his roommate was asleep in her bedroom.  They tiptoed to Jules’ room, undressed in the dark, and eagerly embraced.

            For David, uncomplicated, mutually desired gay sex was a new experience.  Jules’ body was smooth, his skin and hair soft to touch, his lips full and delicious.  Jules was aroused at once and his eagerness made David recoil.  Jules’ hands caressed and explored.  Every touch was erotic, bringing an explosion of feeling in David.  They were at a feast, David thought, and he had been starving.  He filled his senses with Jules; he knew satisfaction that he hoped never again to be without.

            Jules also experienced something new.  He had enjoyed tricks when he was in the Navy.  Like David, he had slept with women, and he had taken pleasure in one-night stands.  This contact was a deeper penetration.  Jules felt David’s genuine ecstasy.  David’s joy gave Jules exhilaration.  Their spirits intermingled with their bodies, and when they reached simultaneous orgasm, Jules saw shooting stars.

            Both lay embraced, listening to each other’s racing hearts.  “We are kindred spirits,” Jules whispered.

            In the morning, shortly before noon, they heard a knock on the door.

            “Jules?”  The knob turned and the door eased open.

            “Good morning, Rebeca,” Jules said.  “Come in and meet David.”

            “We are cooking eggs, grits, and biscuits,” Rebeca said, invitingly.  “We just wanted to offer the love birds some food.”

            “Hi Rebeca,” David said, sheepishly.

            “Are you cooking any bacon?” Jules asked.

            “Demanding, aren’t we,” Rebeca mocked.  “Yes, we have bacon.  And there is plenty of food for all of us.”

            Rebeca closed the door, and Jules rose to go to the bathroom.  He returned wearing a silk robe and carrying one extra for David.

            “Hungry?” Jules asked.

            David smiled.  “After the feast we had last night, it seems immoral to eat more.”

            “But you’ll force yourself…” Jules said.

            “You are a nonstop banquet,” David replied.

            “Yes, I am.”

            “Coffee or hot chocolate?” Rebeca offered.  “This is my boyfriend, Conrad.”

            Conrad was sitting at the breakfast table, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper.  He half rose to shake their hands.

            “Rebeca has told me all about you,” Jules said.  “You are an architect?”

            “Yes,” Conrad replied.  “Only I’m more of a building engineer at the moment.  Not much creative work, yet.”

            Conrad was 30 and had only recently finished a Master’s in Architecture from Georgia Tech.  He had joined a Savannah firm as a junior partner.

            The four filled themselves with the ample breakfast Rebeca cooked.  Jules helped her with preparing toast, biscuits, and bacon.  David enjoyed the ease with which they talked and shared stories.  Neither Conrad nor Rebeca showed even a trace of displeasure at the fact that Jules and David had just emerged from homosexual lovemaking all night.  No more displeasure than Jules and David felt at their having enjoyed a night of straight lovemaking.  This open tolerance was another new experience.

            “What are you doing the rest of today?” David asked Jules.

            “I have to drop in awhile at the Antique’s Shop and meet with Arthur Jones.”

            “The shop on Liberty Street.”

            “Right.  I could walk you home on the way.”

            “Only I left my car on Bolton Street.”  David wondered if his Thunderbird had survived the night unvandalized.  “We can drive to my place and I’ll walk you to your shop.”  From there, David thought to himself, I could walk over to Gaston Street.

 ________