City of Night (Rechy, John)

by John Rechy

  “—the Third.”

  “—the Third. He’d move in with Esmeralda if Esmeralda would have the papers on the house made out in both Lance’s and Esmeralda’s names. The next day, Esmeralda was with her attorneys, and Lance moved in. Then Esmeralda tries to make out—and Lance says nothing doing, He promised to move in, and he did. But Touch him, no.... The old man was a case, I mean Ive never seen anyone so nervous. And she says to Lance he can have Anything. All right, says Lance, he wants the house in his name only. It was a magnificent house, babe: Lance still has it: all gorgeous modem furniture, original paintings (all the way from New York—drapes like in the Movies—everything! ... So the old man calls her attorneys again, she has the house put in Lance’s name—And Then Guess What?”

  Jamey gulps his drink in anticipation. “Youll never believe it!”

  “We were all there—Jamey was there—all the kids from the set. Lance gave this party, to celebrate his new house, and Esmeralda is there hobbling around on her cane, following Lance, smiling, nodding—thinking at last shes made it. Welll It was real late, and Lance goes to Esmeralda Drake the Third, and says to her—”

  “He really said this, we all heard it.”

  “—and says to her: ‘Get out of my house. I dont want to see you here again!”

  “And the old man looked like a ghost—”

  “Yes, like he was going to die right there, and Lance saying : ‘I mean it, I mean it, get the hell out, youve bugged me long enough, get out.’ And he shoves Esmeralda Drake through the door right in front of our startled eyes.... Well, you know, Lance is a big fellow. And he had no trouble. The old man almost stumbled on her cane. Well, it was about four oclock in the morning—”

  “It was later—dont you remember someone had just said lets watch the dawn?”

  “Yes, youre right. We were so tanked, remember?”

  “Yes, and remember how Ronnie slapped you when you tried to make his boyfriend?”

  “Ronnie slapped me? I slapped Ronnie!”

  “Thats not what I saw,” sang Jamey.

  “How would you know, Miss Mess? You were trying to make everyone; they couldnt drag you out of the toilet.... Now shut your hole and let me go on.... So, babe,” Chick says, turning his back on Jamey, “Lance shoves the old man out, and about seven oclock the poor old bastard (well, yes, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him)—the poor old bastard comes beating on the door with her cane—Lance had locked the door, and Lance yells at her, ‘Get away from me, you lecherous old man!’”

  “No. He called her a dirty old man.”

  “All right, all right—it’s just a polite way of saying the same thing. And dont talk so damn loud, everyone’s looking.”

  “And whats wrong with That?” says Jamey, striking a pose.

  Chick went on: “And the old man is beating on the door. Then Lance went to the telephone and calls the police and says, ‘Theres a man trying to break into my house, I want him arrested!’ And the old man keeps beating on the door with her cane and shouting, ‘Let me in, let me in!’ ”

  3

  The legend of Lance O’Hara was running through the bars —rather, the echoes of the legend. Incidents are being remembered, motivations supplied; and some, who had envied and Desired, now are obviously pleased: Who cared, for Now, if each new day another “great beauty” stormed their world? What mattered to them, for their momentary justification was that the “beauty” of their time, the one who had relegated them brutally to the background (and who, importantly, from the very beginning, had announced himself as one of them), must soon relinquish his throne....

  In Lance’s life—as I was to hear it from the whisperers—in Lance’s life (which, measured by the conquests that equal Success in that world, had been a meteoric, blazing ascent), there had been one very significant incident which in that tight-knit world was now being recalled with vindictive delight. The trap was being set, and this incident was chosen to mark the beginning of the downfall. Although it had happened many years before, during the time of Lance’s unquestioned reign, it was the point which the whisperers chose to focus on.

  In Hollywood, Randy is a well-known figure—a still-goodlooking, masculine homosexual who, the whisperers have it, pushes narcotics. His thicklashed lids are always about to close, when he reveals his eyes from behind the familiar dark glasses. Once, he had played the drifting scene—the wanderer into the world of the active homosexual, all the more desired because he did not yet belong to that world—then. Because that was Yesterday. Now, in his 30s, he had crossed the line. And Randy, in the expression of the whisperers, Had Been Had. He had shifted roles. He was now a hungry searcher. Nightly youll find him, high or almost high, in one of the queer bars. Whereas once he had drifted into the lives—and masturbatory dreams—of others, now others drift in and out of his life. Randy had long acknowledged the hunger: His life was the cramming of night experiences. In recognizing this, Randy had acknowledged his fate and now hurled himself willingly into it.

  I was walking into the Pirate’s Den one night with Randy when a lisper gushes: “Randy-dear! You just missed Lance.” Randy didn’t answer. He moved hurriedly to the back of the bar. “Still not talking to him?” the lisper called after him. “Well, youre too much. Cant forget Laguna Beach, can you, sweetheart?”

  Randy and I sat at a table, near the jukebox—its bright colors splashing courageously into the dark bar. Suddenly Randy said bitterly: “That fuckin Lancel Why doesnt he go away and stay away, or die—anything; just so I wont hear about him any more, wont know hes even around.” He removes the sunglasses, squints at the people at the bar, puts the glasses on disgustedly. “Same fuckin faces, night after night. Man, if I pin the scene with you, you can still get out before it’s too late. And I dont give a damn how cool you think you are, youll get Caught and get Caught royal. Shit, man, I wasnt queer when I came on this scene. Sure, I’d make it with the fruits, take whatever I could from them—but I wouldnt put out.... Then I met that fucker Lance.... But I got one big satisfaction: If that son of a bitch had stuck with me at Laguna, he wouldntve got into that mess. Thats what that silly nellyass queen was coming on about when we came in.”

  In a world as ingrown as that of the bars, it is not rare for two people who have just met to pour out the intimate details of their lives; and Randy says: “See, man, I was going with Lance—more or less going with him, thats about the only way you can describe it with Lance. And we used to go out to Laguna Beach that summer. Well, man, someone told him something about this Esmeralda Drake—this old auntie whod kept him. Someone told him Esmeralda Drake had just had a heart attack or some other fuckin thing; got taken to the hospital. Well, hell, Lance never gave a damn about that poor old bastard—be took that auntie for every cent, then he threw him out of the house he’d given him. Well, we were on the beach with Chick and them, and Lance had a great tan—always in the sun—but when he hears about how Esmeralda Drake just had a stroke, he turned yellow, like he was painted or something, and he says, ‘Ive got to go to him right away.’ I said what the fuck’s the matter with you? that poor old sonofabitch doesnt want to see you, after what you did to him. Man, Lance locked that bastard out, called the cops that he was breaking in. Anyway, Lance says: ‘Youre right, he wouldnt want to see me.’ And thats when it started—tike suddenly it wasnt Lance any more. He began cruising up and down the beach like some hung-up fairy that hasnt had any dick in months. He went in swimming, splashing around, showing off. He’d never done that—he didnt have to show off. He was so greatlooking, man, everyone came to him; he didnt have to say a word. He could be in a bar, alone—not talk to anyone, just glance at who he wanted and sit there and wait, and you couldnt take a bet in that bar that in five minutes he wouldnt have the cat he was after. But, Christ, that day, at Laguna, hes talking to everyone, rushing into the bar by the beach, drinking. And Lance didnt drink, man—thats the truth. I said, ‘What the hell’s wrong, you wanna get drunk?’ He says, ‘Yes, I wanna get drun
k.’ I said, ‘Why?’ ‘To celebrate,’ he says—he actually said that: To celebrate! And, man, all this cruising is bugging me. Like I say, I hadnt been strictly gay then, but Lance is a charmer—he was bringing me out fast —wowee! ... Now there I was with him, and that motherfucker is cruising up a steaming storm. Well, it got real late, the sun was going down, and it got cold, and we went into the bar—that queer bar on the beach. And Lance is still drinking. I tried to get him to come back to the hotel. But he wouldnt, he kept saying, ‘The celebration isn’t over!’—and, yeah, he keeps saying something about his new life is starting.... Then these two wise-ass marines walk into the bar—they werent queer, they were straight; just pinning the queer scene for kicks. And Lance says, ‘I want those two.’ Well, hell, I told him get the fuck away from me. And Im watching him coming on with those two wise-asses. Finally I split, didnt even go back to the hotel. I went back to Hollywood,. And the next day I read how this actor (you know how the L.A. papers play things up: if a guy’s in the movies, they call him a moviestar -well, Lance never was that tough in the flix, but the papers played it up like he was—and it must have been some bitching gay editor anyway)—so the papers say how this moviestar nearly got killed out in Laguna, bow he jumped off a cliff, broke both his arms. It didnt give the details, but it was clear what happened, man. You didnt have to be there to know. Lance is coming on with those two, and those two straight studs like: ugh-uh, no-sir, much-later, not-having-any. And this is putting Lance on—hes got this high opinion of himself—and he says he’ll drive them to the base, starts to put the make on them—in the car (which wasnt like him, then—I have to say)—and they still: not-having-any. So Lance says get the hell out of the car. And they come on mean with him —like clip the fuckin fairy. And Lance gets out of the car-he was drunk, anyway—and those two try to roll him. But he was broke—I know because I’d been with him—and they throw him over the cliff—like some common, helpless queer getting rolled.... Well, shit, I know you hear other stories-how they tried to make him, and he fell over by accident. Bull-shit! What I told you is The Truth. And I know it, because I know that sonofabitch.... Anyway, I havent said a fuckin word to Lance since that night, and thats been years, and I dont even wanna see the bastard.... And, man, like I say, I still havent pinned what the scene is strictly with you—but ! I wanna warn you: Thats one cat to keep away from—that fuckin Lance O’Hara.....”

  “I saw you talking to Randy the other night at the Pirate’s Den,” says Chick to me. I ran into him at the Green bar. “Babe, let me warn you about Randy, hes one of the most dangerous people to know in Hollywood. The cops watch him all the time. Everyone knows he pushes—and takes the stuff himself. Hes always high—and he was probably trying to get you to push with him. Well! Hes trash! He uses marijuana—and worse!—to make his tricks—hes that low—at least I buy them Food.... And by the way, have you eaten yet? ...” He was maneuvering me toward the corner. On our way there, he catches sight of Jamey standing by the bar. This time Jamey is dressed like a motorcyclist, and this time he looks like a slightly masculine female motorcyclist, but not as rough. “Oh, my God!” says Chick, covering his face in pretended horror. “Isnt she a sick girl?—the bitch. I dont even talk to her any more. Shes evil.... Anyway, I was telling you to keep away from that Randy—For Your Own Good—no matter what he promises you; hes a liar. I know this cute kid he told he was going to take to Las Vegas and spend all kinds of fabulous sums on him (which he hasnt got)—and thats how he made the kid—and then he gives him a phony phone number, after he’d already made him.... Do vou have my phone number babe? ... Now listen to me, baby; listen to your mother—shes older and wiser, shes been around much longer than you have, and she knows what shes saying: That Randy’ll get you to push for him; hes ruined more fine trade that way, and then all theyre interested in is that dirty marijuana and everything, which makes it very difficult on we girls who havent got any—I mean, not that I’d ever resort to such vulgar tricks—because, like I always say, whatever I do in Bed doesnt harm anyone, but those narcotics—well! ... Besides, hes been spreading all kinds of stories about Lance, since that time at Laguna Beach, and you know, whatever thev say about Lance, I love the guy—always have, always will. Hes done some pretty horrible things in his life, Im the first to admit that. Still, theres something about Lance that makes him Special.... Anyhow, it was Randy who started that story about how these marines tried to roll Lance at Laguna Beach (actually, when it happened, they were out toward Malibu)—and how they threw him over the cliff, and lemme tell you thats a beachy—I mean, bitchy —lie. No one ever even tried to roll Lance—no one could even think of it! He had too much Dignity, baby—he was like a King, and you knew it. But Randy goes around talking all kinds of dirt—like that those marines were straight,. Babe, let your mother tell vou: Thev were as queer as I am. And they put the make on Lance—whod been drinking anyway, and Lance hardly ever drinks. Well, something happened on the beach that day, someone whod just come in from Hollywood told Lance how Esmeralda Drake the Third was dying or something, and Lance started drinking. It surprised everyone -Lance never gave a damn, and like I say he never drinks—but maybe he was just expecting he could get more money from the poor old bastard before she’d die—or maybe it was something else—who knows?—and Esmeralda didnt die, then —tough someone told me the other day she got run over by this car crossing Hollywood Boulevard, and all I can say is: If shes still cruising the Boulevard, at her age, well, baby, she couldnt expect otherwise.... Well, when Lance heard about Esmeralda in the hospital, he tries to leave—and all we kids talked him out of it. Lance was great fun to be with, he would make a party. So Lance stays, but hes getting drunk. And these two marines at the bar start insisting they want to make it with him. Well, babe, I dont blame them: Lance was Famous from here to New York!—he’d been Pierce Flint’s lover, and he had affairs with Bruce Storm and Kipp Rugged—all those big Movie Stars. So, anyway, Lance keeps saying no to those two marines, he wouldn’t stoop that low—and they were common. But, remember, he was drunk—high! high! High! ... Hi, Teddy! (Isnt that funny?—Teddy thought I was saying ‘Hi’ to him.) ... Anyhow, I kept saying, ‘Dont go, Lance, youve been drinking.’ But he wouldnt listen to me. So they went off together, all three—and Lance was just trying to get rid of them without a public scene, I can tell you—because Lance never showed any Interest in them, he never showed any Interest in anyone, really—or he never used to,” he adds wistfully, then quickly: “Not that I believe all those rumors about him. Of course, Randy got real bitchy about that, and he started spreading stories like how he was straight until Lance brought him out—and, babe, that Randy was born sitting in the mensroom with the door open, thats how straight he ever was! ... Not that I blame him being annoyed at Lance; he was with him at Laguna—after all! ... Anyway, from what I know—and I know it like it happened to me—those marines start putting the make on Lance—in the car!!—and, babe, drunk or sober, Lance doesnt go for that common stuff, he puts them off. They tried to force him to stay—and thats when Lance jumped out of the car, and they chased him—drunk themselves and hot after him and I dont blame them -and Lance didn’t know he was on a cliff, and he jumped. An accident. Thats all it was. He broke his arm. And, babe, those evil jealous faggots went wild spreading stories. But everyone knew they werent true. Lance propositioning anyone ! Thats Ridiculous! Ive known him for years—better than anyone else—and Lance just doesnt proposition anyone. Well, anyway,” he sighed sadly, “he didnt then—but I wouldnt know Now. Everyone changes so.... Look at me.” (Sigh....) “You want? to go? to eat, babe? ...”

  4

  The Chorus chooses sides, the Fates prepare to cast their lots: And when It happens—if It happens—will they allow Lance a graceful fall? Or will he topple from the heights on the debris of crushed egos? ...

  The Chorus waits for news from The Cliff.

  Jamey was bursting with excitement at the Leopard bar. “I just saw Lance!” he announced to a large
group. Tonight he is wearing beachcomber clothes. “And let me tell you!—hes stinking drunk!”

  “Not Lance,” someone protests.

  “Lance O’Hara—I just saw him. He looks like hes been drinking all day. Hes a mess!”

  “Ive never seen Lance drunk,” said another.

  “Except that time at Laguna Beach,” someone remembers.

  “Hes been drunk all his life—with himself.”

  “Well!” said Jamey, “Hes worse than all that. He almost collapsed at the Pirate’s Den, and they wouldnt even serve him a drink. They had to bounce him out! But thats not the best: He started fighting with Eddy—that cute bartender—and you know Eddy’s not too big and Lance is, and finally the three bartenders had to push him out, and Lance yelling—guess what he was yelling? Well! He says hes looking for someone ! Isnt that: Too Delicious?”

  “Did he say who he was looking for?” someone asked eagerly.

  “Yessssss....”

  “Who?”

  “Who?”

  “Who!”

  Jamey looked smug for a silent moment, like a messenger bringing the news of a battle won. As if spitting out poison, he blurts: “Dean!”

  “Dean!”

  “That little tramp?”

  “Everyone’s had him.”

  “He’s a thief.”

  “Is that the guy that clipped Eddy?”

  “Hes just a kid—”

  “Honey, hes a Mess.”

  “I’d be ashamed to be seen talking to him!”

  “And Lance

  O’Hara was looking for him?”

  “Thats what I told you, isnt it?” snapped Jamey, and the buzzing continued. Delectably aware of the excitement he’d created, Jamey slithers away, pretends surprise at seeing me nearby, and confides to me: “Ive got to talk to you, babe. I saw you the other night with Chick, and Ive got to warn you about that mad fruit—For Your Own Good. Shes vicious. Let me tell you what she did to this cute kid I know. She promised to take him to Las Vegas, spend all kinds of money on him if he’d let her make him—and then she gives the kid a phony phone number—...”