These Curious Pleasures

by Sloane Britain

  "That remains to be seen." I tried to make that come out with a diabolical undertone but it fell flat.

  "I like lots of things. You know, cultural things," Betty Jean ranted on. "But there are so few girls who really appreciate the finer things in life. You're different. I can tell. Do you like music?"

  "Yes."

  "I mean classical music."

  "Yes, I like classical music. Some of it anyway."

  "But I mean real longhair music. Like The Student Prince," Betty Jean said.

  That did it. I told Betty Jean that I didn't go for eggheads and left.

  Someone was sitting on the stool I had occupied. I stood next to her, digging her in the mirror. She wasn't bad. Not bad at all.

  "Alone?" she asked me.

  "I was."

  "That's bad. That's real bad. I think we should do something about that situation. My name's Dinah."

  I introduced myself, giving the name of Jean. Dinah asked if she could buy me a drink. I accepted. Things were looking up.

  "What do you do?" she asked me.

  "I work in a book store," I said.

  She gave me a long searching look. "Crap," she said succinctly. "You don't look like the type."

  "What's the type?"

  "What you don't look like. What do you really do?"

  I told her the truth, omitting names.

  "You don't belong there. You shouldn't work at all. I can see you sitting at home taking care of the house for some real nice butch," she said.

  I roared with laughter. She couldn't have been more off base.

  "Don't laugh, baby," Dinah said. "I've met girls like you before. They just haven't met the right woman, that's why they're aggressive. What you need is a real butch to take care of you. Not one of those phonies you meet down the Village who are one thing today and another tomorrow. I don't go for that. I'm butch all the way and I always will be."

  I didn't know what to say. What did she expect, congratulations or condolences?

  "Now take you, baby," Dinah continued. "If you were my woman I'd have you dressed in nice little dresses all the time. Not those slacks like you're wearing now. They just don't suit you, baby. That's my bit."

  "I like to wear slacks."

  "You'll get over that, baby. You just need a good butch," she said.

  I took out a cigarette and started to light it. Dinah snatched the lighter out of my hand and lit my cigarette for me.

  "What are you trying to do, baby? Castrate me?" she asked.

  I had had it. I told Dinah I had to go see a man about an anxiety syndrome and left.

  I wanted to go home alone like I wanted to chop off my left toe. But staying in that playground for the feeble-minded was worse.

  Luckily, by the time I got home I was tired enough to go right to sleep.

  * * *

  Now that the production end of the pilot was finished, I went back to drawing doodles. When the phones weren't ringing I didn't have much to do. That was bad because I kept moping over Allison. Sometimes I would think of Allison and Marilyn's face would appear before my mind's eye.

  Allison and I agreed not to see each other until she was ready to go all the way. That is, Allison said that she felt it would be better if we didn't see each other and I went along with it because I had no other choice. Allison assured me that her room-mate, who was going to be in town for a week, was taking good care of her. It was sweet of her to tell me.

  I tried to stay home nights and write but it was no good. Every night I ended up at the Harbor. I didn't pick up anyone. Just cruised and drank until one or two in the morning and then went home to bed.

  Sylvan Miller called at least once a day. He kept asking me to go out with him but I made up excuses for each time. Finally I agreed to meet him for dinner one night just so I'd have something different to do. He was going to pick me up after work.

  Pat Donnelly came in the office, crying. Happy wasn't in and from what I could gather from Pat's tearful story he hadn't been where he promised to be either. Pat had been waiting for him to come to her apartment since early morning.

  Judy and I knew where Happy was but we couldn't tell Pat. He was at Toots Shor's having cocktails with Bibi Johnson. She was his latest. Bibi Johnson had been a successful nightclub/singer before she was in an automobile accident. It had taken her five years to get to the point where she was ready to perform again and the great man was going to get her jobs. Not as her agent but as her friend. No commission that way. Not in cash anyway.

  Judy took Pat into her office. I went into Happy's office and shut the door so I wouldn't be heard. I called Happy at Toots'.

  The lousy bastard told me to hold Pat there for an hour and then he'd come and pick her up. It didn't bother him a bit that Bibi probably expected him to have dinner with her.

  Sylvan was waiting for me in the lobby when I finished.

  "How about going down the Village for dinner?" he suggested. "I know a good Italian restaurant down there that isn't too expensive."

  "Fine," I said. This would be a switch. Going down the Village with a man.

  I let Sylvan think that it was the first time I had ever been to the restaurant. Actually, the walls of the place could have told him quite a story. I had been there with girls about fifteen times. Different girls each time.

  We talked about the television industry through dinner. After the waitress had brought the coffee Sylvan leaned back in his chair and unbuttoned his jacket.

  "O.k., enough of this noise," he said. "Let's get down to reality."

  "You mean real real?" I asked, smiling. I was liking Sylvan Miller more each moment.

  "Yeah, like gutty, like of the earth, like we will speak now of blood and sweat and tears and that which is contained in what we will henceforth refer to as the heart," Sylvan said.

  "Must we? What ever happened to the tradition of people discussing roses?"

  "That went out with the gazebo. Died a horrible death the day they invented prophylactics," Sylvan whispered mournfully.

  "Ah, the gazebo. I remember when I was young and trifled away the sweet never to return days of my youth in romantic dalliance in a gazebo."

  "Really? Who was she?"

  That one brought me up short. "Who was who?" I asked brightly.

  "The girl you frittered away your long lost youth with. Who was she?" Sylvan asked.

  I looked down at the table top for a long moment but when I looked up he was still there. "How did you know?"

  "I've read a lot of books." Sylvan leaned forward and took my hand in his. "It's all right. It doesn't make any difference to me."

  "Takes one to know one?"

  "You've got the picture, Sloane."

  I relaxed. It was almost funny. Here I had been stalling him off because I thought he was trying to make me and he couldn't be less interested. "I'm glad, Sylvan. I didn't mean that to sound like an insult. You're an attractive, intelligent man but it just wouldn't have worked if you were interested in me romantically. I need a buddy, Sylvan. I'm glad you came along."

  "Who is she? When a girl says she needs a buddy, she's in love and something's not going right."

  I told him all about Allison. When I finished Sylvan had a rueful smile on his face.

  "I had a similar experience myself. Two of the waitresses in my mother's restaurant got hold of me when I was fourteen. I won't go into the details but if anything made me what I am today, that did. I haven't been able to stand the thought of touching a woman's body since."

  "I couldn't agree with you less," I said.

  "That's why we can be friends." Sylvan leaned back in his chair and laughed. "Happy Broadman would have a fit if he knew. He told me some very interesting fantasies he had about you one day when he was up in the cutting room. He says that he's just waiting for the day when you leave the office so he can start operating."

  "Over my dead body. Even if I went for men, I wouldn't have anything to do with Happy. Any woman who goes for him is asking for a bro
ken heart."

  "I know," Sylvan said. "I think he hates women unconsciously. For him making love to a woman is an act of hostility. He wouldn't treat them the way he does if he really liked them."

  We went for a walk in Washington Square Park after dinner. There was the usual line-up of young men sitting on the railing waiting to be picked up.

  "Smorgasbord," Sylvan said, looking at them.

  "Want to make contact?" I asked him.

  "I could use a little. Would you mind going home alone?"

  "God no. I've done it enough times before for less worthy reasons," I assured him.

  We agreed to go to the showing of the Ferguson pilot the next night together and I left. I felt good. I had a friend. It had been a long time since I had had a close relationship with anyone who wasn't my lover.

  * * *

  Sylvan and I were among the last ones to arrive at the sound studio. I saw Allison sitting in the back of the auditorium. She was sitting next to Chris Salem. There was an empty seat next to her which I knew was for Amy Ferguson.

  We sat down in the front of the auditorium with the Broadman office staff. Happy beamed at Sylvan and me like a benevolent but insinuating father.

  This was going to be everybody's first chance to see the completed pilot. There were two hundred people there, all friends of people connected with the pilot. The showing was for the purpose of recording the audience's laughter on the film. Getting a laugh track, it's called. It was good insurance to invite friends only, we'd all laugh like crazy.

  Amy Ferguson gave a brief speech before the showing. She looked gorgeous in a rose coloured dress and a full length mink coat. Only those of us in the front rows could see the wrinkles under her heavy make-up.

  Amy Ferguson gave us a brief sketch of the history of the script. She told us that Chris Salem had told her about a dream she had one night and that's where the idea for the series had come from. Then she thanked all the people who had worked on the production end of the pilot and her fellow actors. She looked straight at Allison while she was expressing her gratitude. Amy made a few half-humorous pleas for good humor from the audience and then sat down.

  The film came on. It was a beautiful job. No wonder they had run $15,000 over budget. They had scenic effects in it that you usually see only in Hollywood movies. It was really funny, too. Even I couldn't help laughing out loud. The audience was convulsed. They'd get a terrific laugh track.

  After the film was over, while we were waiting for the aisles to clear so we could get out, Sylvan whispered in my ear, "They've got a flop on their hands."

  "What do you mean? The audience loved it."

  "Sure," he said, "they would. I'm not saying that it's not a good film. It's one of the best I've ever seen. But the sponsors won't go for it. It's too sophisticated. They want mass audience appeal. People out in the sticks won't get it."

  We had to stop talking because someone might hear us. Theatre people are the most suspicious in the world. If anyone heard us discussing the possibility that the pilot was no good they'd think we were putting a hex on it.

  Allison was waiting in the lobby when we got there. She came running over. I just had time to whisper to Sylvan, "Enter the Blessed Damozel," before she reached us.

  "I have to go to a party at Amy's but I'll be home by eleven," Allison said breathlessly. "I'll call you. You'll be home, won't you?"

  I decided to play it to the hilt. I looked up at Sylvan as if he were the one who made the decisions. He got his cue.

  "Miss Britain and I are going out for a while," he said sternly. "I hadn't planned to make it an early evening but I'll bring you home before eleven, Sloane, if there's something you'd rather do."

  "No need to change our plans, darling," I said. "I can talk to Allison tomorrow. By the way, have you two met?" I introduced them. Sylvan and I left after making vague comments about Allison's bringing along a friend sometime so that we could all go out together.

  The reaction didn't set in until we were in the cab heading toward my apartment. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time but now I wasn't so sure. Maybe Allison would think I was having an affair with Sylvan and didn't want her any longer. Maybe I had been too cold toward her.

  Sylvan came up to the apartment with me. I sat on the couch and he lay with his head in my lap. It was nice to be able to do that with a man and not have him get the wrong idea. I told him my fears about Allison.

  "Don't worry, darling... Christ, I hate that word. Everybody uses it and it's lost all meaning for them. I try to keep from using it myself but it slips out."

  "Occupational hazard," I said.

  "Yeah. Well anyway, as I was saying, I think that bit tonight will work like a charm. Allison was jealous. It was written all over her. That's good. She needs something to chew on. You've been too good to her. I know what happened to her that night was no picnic but she'll continue to wallow in self-pity about it if you let her. This way, she's got a real threat to deal with. She's got to think about something that's happening right this minute instead of licking old wounds. I think she'll snap out of it now."

  "I hope you're right, Sylvan."

  "I know I'm right," he said. "Want to bet she'll call at eleven on the chance that you might be home and continue calling all night if she has to until she gets you?"

  "Think she will?" I asked.

  "I'll take odds on it. And if you're the smart cookie I think you are, you won't answer the phone. Not until she's called a few times. Let her wait and worry. It'll be good for her soul." He got up. "I want a drink. Do you have anything here or should I go down and buy a bottle?"

  I had half a bottle of rum. Sylvan thought he should get some more as insurance against running out.

  He went to the liquor store and returned in a few minutes with the rum and a dozen bottles of Coke.

  I had the glasses and ice and the lime all ready.

  "Lime juice is for amateurs," he said. "I like my Cuba Libres made with lemon juice."

  I had a bottle of condensed lemon juice in the refrigerator. We made the drinks with that. They were good. Tarter than usual.

  We were on our second drink when the phone rang. Sylvan looked at his watch. "10:35, she must be anxious."

  "Maybe I ought to answer it. Maybe it's not Allison," I said.

  "Is there anyone who would be likely to call you that you really want to talk to besides Allison?" he asked. "If you answer that phone you're running the risk of blowing our whole scheme. If it's not Allison, whoever it is can call you tomorrow."

  The phone stopped ringing. "How come you're such a schemer? I asked. I thought that was a woman's bit."

  "Not where I play marbles it isn't. Gay boys play games with each other all the time. Especially the real feminine ones, the screaming queens. They've thought of tricks that would outdo a hustler."

  "Must make life pretty hectic."

  "You don't know the half of it," Sylvan said bitterly. "Sometimes I envy you girls. There's no permanency with the boys. One couple in a thousand stays together for longer than a couple of months. Most of them are just interested in one night stands. At least girls sometimes settle down together."

  "You sound like you want to go straight. That's the only way to find real security," I reminded him.

  "Doll, I'm like that guy in the gag. You know, the one about the two faggots who walk into a bar and see a beautiful looking woman sitting at the bar. One of the queens turns to the other and says, 'When I see a gorgeous woman like that I sometimes wish I were a lesbian.' I'm like that. I can't imagine myself not being gay."

  The phone rang again. I jumped.

  "Take it easy, Sloane. It's going to be doing that a lot tonight. What you need is another drink."

  He made us both doubles while I sat clenching my hands in my lap. Mercifully, the ringing stopped by the time he came back with the drinks.

  "I don't know if I can hold out much longer."

  "You've got to. Last night you told me you were ready
to go through hell fire for the girl and tonight you won't even exert the small effort necessary to keep from answering the phone."

  "You're right," I reluctantly agreed. "It's driving me batty but I'll do it. I don't think I'd be able to if you weren't here."

  "I'll stay all night if you'd like."

  I hesitated for a moment. Sylvan wasn't particularly feminine in his appearance. Could he be lying to me? I doubted it. He had a womanly personality... if there is such a thing.

  "I'd be grateful if you did," I said.

  "Can the gratitude crap. We're in this together. It's all for one and one for all. We're riding the same horse and it's going to come in first."

  "We came over on the boat together. We scrub each other's back. We're dishes in the same sink."

  "We're riding the same orbit. Jesus, I hate that television talk. Bunch of overgrown Scoutmasters giving each other pep talks," he said.

  The telephone rang again. And again and again. Every half hour. We made a game of counting the number of rings. By 12:30 Allison was letting it ring fifteen times before hanging up.

  We killed my half bottle of rum and started on the one Sylvan had bought. After the first drink from the new bottle I knew I had had it. One more and I'd be on the floor.

  Sylvan was showing the effects of the liquor too. With each drink he got more feminine. About 12:00 he had started lisping and now he was fluttering his eyelashes at me.

  I suggested that we call it a night.

  "O.k. Answer the phone when Allison calls at one so she won't keep us up all night and then we'll turn in," he suggested.

  I waited for the one o'clock call in a mellow alcoholic haze. When the phone rang Sylvan had to nudge me to remind me that this time I was supposed to answer it.

  "Sloane?" Allison's voice was tinged with anxiety. "I called you at eleven but you weren't in. I thought I'd try you again before turning in for the night."

  The little liar. She didn't know that I knew that she had been calling all night. It was a pathetic attempt to save face.

  "How was Amy's party?" I asked her.

  "Dull. All the same people there. Are you all right? You sound high."

  "Zonked is the word. I'm loaded to the gills. Did you know I have gills? Little scaly ones."