I've a Feeling We're Not in Kansas Anymore (25 page)

“In the dead center of the Pines on a Friday afternoon?”

“So somewhere else.”

Roger laughed. “Tell me, do you catch as well as pitch?”

“I pitch to guys who are smaller and I catch from guys who are bigger. Except so far no one is.”

Roger looked out at the bay and bit a thumbnail. “Keeper, is this all on the level?”

“You know what side I’m on, man. But what I’m telling, I’m telling straight.”

“You want to shake hands? Man-to-man, solemn and honorable?”

“Hey,” said Keeper as they shook.

Roger rose. “I like the way your eyes crinkle, Keeper.”

“Come here,” growled Keeper, throwing his arms around Roger. They held each other for a long time; when they broke, two handsome men on the top deck of the ferry cheered. Roger blushed. Keeper looked on as if he’d never seen a blush before. He felt Roger’s cheek and said, “You’re a softie, man. You’ll never make it. You’ll have to give in. Let’s go.”

Roger retrieved the groceries. “‘It would cost you a groaning,’” he replied, “‘to take off mine edge.’”

“Ah yes, the Mousetrap Scene. Have you played Hamlet, then?”

Roger blinked at him.

“Besides having no chin,” Keeper explained, “I taught English at CCNY. And, now that the jig’s up, take a note of caution: ‘The play’s the thing.’”

“‘I’ll mark the play.’” More sobered than diverted, Roger left.

*   *   *

“And?” asked the leader, joining Keeper on the bench.

Keeper shook his head. “He will not give.”

“The harder the conquest, the surer the surrender.”

“He thinks,” said Keeper, biting off the words, “that he has something better.”

“Gently so.”

“Under that bon vivant facade is a smug little snob.”

The ferry slowly backed up, veered 120 degrees to starboard, and chugged northward toward the bay.

“When he’s done,” said Keeper, “I want him. No limits. Okay?”

“Yes, sweet Keeper.”

*   *   *

Even if he hadn’t seen the look of confusion on Little Roger’s face, Roger would have known that something was wrong; one needs a second or two to adjust to the added weight, to the different balance, to being who you are. Yet not till he set the groceries down did he realize who he wasn’t: the Viking had suddenly materialized, in running shorts and a cowboy hat. He put the hat on the counter next to the groceries.

Little Roger sat there.

“Roger asked me to drop by,” said the Viking.

“He’s … networking?”

“Not any more.”

It is hardest to play one thing.
Odin. Dva
.…

Little Roger got up. “Where is he? Now.”

The Viking shrugged.

“Are you staying here?” Little Roger asked. “Do you want something?”

The Viking smiled.

“The others will be here soon.”

The Viking said, “You look nice.”

“We haven’t met, have we?”

“We are meeting.”

The Viking moved first, but Little Roger stepped forward, too. He smoothed the Viking’s arms and sides as they kissed. There is no offstage. The Viking pulled down the boy’s swimsuit and heated him up party-style. Little Roger dug his hands into the Viking’s shorts and edged them down to his knees. The Viking stepped out of them, murmuring, “Yeah,” as he fondled the boy. “Yeah,” he urged. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Little Roger.

We play the roles as we are cast.

The Viking lifted the boy in his arms and carried him into Roger Ryder’s room. He knew where everything was, every prop and feeling; and the one thing that he played was treachery. His own, and others’. A great many others’. So it was not one thing. It was a rich act. Roger noticed, as he expected to, that the boy responded to the Viking with unaccustomed enthusiasm, all shyness put by. Whoever thought he was innocent? And whose improv was it? The leader’s.

Roger lay with the boy for a bit after he had had him, stroking his flanks as he purred on his stomach, his legs spread and his toes twitching for more. “What do you want me to tell Roger?” the Viking asked him.

The boy froze for a moment, then went limp again. “Don’t tell him anything.”

“If he asks, what then?”

“Lie.”

“Not for you.”

The Viking showered, donned his shorts, and stood in the doorway. Little Roger flipped over onto his back and kicked his legs together in the air. He seemed utterly content. “Where is your house?” he asked.

The Viking said nothing.

“Will I see you again?”

“No.”

The Viking left the cowboy hat on the counter.

*   *   *

Roger Ryder found the leader sitting on the bench where Keeper had been. “Now what?” Roger asked him, sitting down.

The leader patted Roger’s knee. “It hasn’t worked out, has it?”

“Are you going to let me off?”

“Keeper yearns to date you. Will it be tonight?”

“Listen.”

“Bad news at your soap, though. I hear you’ll be dropped from the saga presently. ‘Indefinite leave,’ they call it. How did your little friend like the Viking?”

“So you did that.”

“I gave you the outfit, no more. What was done, you did. You look so sad. Will you weep?”

Roger shook his head.

“Lucky, with all the boats pulling in. We wouldn’t want to be the subject of satirical remarks. Do you surrender? At last, young fellow? Your time’s nearly up, anyway.”

Roger shook his head.

The leader tenderly scratched Roger’s hair. “What am I going to do with you?”

Roger looked at the leader for a long moment. “How can you do this?” he said at last.

“You mustn’t be manfully pathetic. Anything but that—one look and I crumble.” The leader laughed his nasty noise. “I’ve taken everything from you. You have no work and no love. What more must I do, tear down your apartment building and revoke your plastic?”

“You cheated me.”

“You cheated me, young fellow.”

“I won’t work for you. I’d rather die.”

“Your mind is locked on this point?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing will sway you? No consideration of fame or beauty?”

“Worthless.”

“Is it now?” The leader sighed profoundly “Keeper will be so irritated. I expect I’ll have to send Georgie to the bus station to find another runaway orphan for him. But so be it. You’re too sensitive for our kind of fun. Go. Take another of your reflective walks along the beach. No doubt the whole thing will pass like a mad fancy.”

Roger stared at the leader. “Are you … letting me off?”

“Let’s say that I’m dismissing you. Now go.”

Roger ran till he reached the edge of the sea, to wade into it, splashing like a dope and feeling himself emotionally for the sense of reprieve. No one had taken anything from him, in fact; he was back where he had started, a mere summer older with plenty to do. He walked west, watching the sun burn red and the clouds catch it till the sky streaked fire. He would continue to worry more than he hoped, but that was true of most of the people he knew. The ones with great apartments were bored; the ones with great jobs were lonely; the ones with great lovers were penniless. No one has everything. If you could take true satisfaction in any one thing of your choice, what should it be?

Curious shapes drew Roger up away from the water to an amazing monster of a sand castle, a city of tunnels and turrets. Roger looked in wonder. How was such a thing sculpted? With molds and dainty instruments, perhaps, from some antique seaside toy box? It was Eldorado, Xanadu. Who had put in so much time on such a doomed project?

Away up on a patio someone was waving. Roger looked around; he was alone. He waved back, and the figure signaled him to come over.

I don’t know anyone in this part of the beach, Roger thought. As he drew near, he saw a man in cut-off jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and dark glasses.

“I saw you looking at the castle,” the stranger told Roger. “It’s like a dream. Come close. Yes. Look.” The stranger aimed Roger at the sea. “The water overpowers the dream city, and it sinks down, and is obliterated.”

“Who built it, do you know?”

“Your smile is trembling.” The stranger pulled off his sweatshirt, and Roger caught a glimpse of the man’s tattoo as he reached for him. Roger struggled as the first wave swept upon the castle.

“Not yet,” Roger cried.

“You won’t feel a thing,” said Jocko.

By Ethan Mordden

N
ONFICTION

Better Foot Forward: The Story of America’s Musical Theatre

Opera in the Twentieth Century

That Jazz!: An Idiosyncratic Social History of the American Twenties

A Guide to Orchestral Music

The Splendid Art of Opera: A Concise History

The American Theatre

The Hollywood Musical

Movie Star: A Look at the Women Who Made Hollywood

Broadway Babies: The People Who Made the American Musical

Demented: The World of the Opera Diva

Opera Anecdotes

A Guide to Opera Recordings

The Hollywood Studios

The Fireside Companion to the Theatre

Medium Cool: The Movies of the 1960s

Rodgers & Hammerstein

F
ICTION

I’ve a Feeling We’re Not in Kansas Anymore

One Last Waltz

Buddies

Everybody Loves You

How Long Has This Been Going On?

F
ACETIAE

Smarts: The Cultural I.Q. Test

Pooh’s Workout Book

Some of these stories have appeared in somewhat different form in
Christopher Street
magazine.

I’VE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE
. Copyright © 1983, 1984, and 1985 by Ethan Mordden. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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First published by St. Martin’s Press

eISBN 9781250086426

First eBook edition: April 2015