The Quirk (46 page)

“I was terrified at first when you looked at me like that,” the prince said, “but I’m not anymore. The menace is gone, if it was ever there. I do believe you approve of me.”

Rod laughed at the understatement. “I’ll say. I told you–you’re too perfect for art, but we’ll see. I’m trying to say something. I don’t know how to thank you for–for so many things. I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life.” He ran his hand over the thick golden hair and tangled his fingers in it and held his head, still hungry to possess all of him. “You’ve taken me on a sort of trip of–of recovery, convalescence, of
discovery.
I feel as if there were about ten times more of me than there was before, ten times more to cope with. You’ve let me carry on about myself. You’ve been patient. You haven’t laughed at me. You’ve been as perfect as you look. That’s why it’s difficult to thank you.”

“I don’t think we need to start thanking each other, darling. I have no problems. I’m having a glorious time with somebody I adore. I
am
in love with you, much more than I realized or thought possible. If it had happened five years ago, we
would
have a problem. As it is, I’m as happy as a lark because I see no reason why it shouldn’t go on forever. Not necessarily like this, but everything else. Knowing you. Knowing Nicole. Bless you, my dearest darling.”

They hugged each other. Rod gave the big behind a loving little slap, and they broke apart. He was on edge as he got out his drawing materials. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this, but for the first time since his collapse, he felt able to risk a try. Progress. The prince moved with almost blinding radiance into the light in the center of the work area.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked.

Rod chuckled nervously. “Just stand there and look gorgeous. It won’t require any effort.” He looked, trying to find form and structure beneath the surface splendor. His hand began to move hesitantly, waiting to feel the current that flowed from his eyes when he was working well. It wasn’t there. He was looking at his subject with the eye of a lover, not an artist So be it. He would draw a beautiful man that he wanted. He began to work more confidently. By the third try, something was coming through, his eye functioning more accurately. He could do good work without the intense concentrated effort of his whole being that Patrice had expected of him. He began again. A bell rang. He ignored the sound as a tiresome distraction until he remembered that he had a telephone and muttered “Damn” as he put down his pad.

“Just a second. Stay there,” he said as he started across the room. He picked up the phone and said “Hello.”

“Hi there. Cotton. Just wanted to check in. How goes it?”

All his nerves were immediately in an excruciating tangle. “Pretty good,” he snapped. If Mather had news that could destroy his life, he would surely get it out quickly. Each passing second calmed him. “How’s the kid?” he managed with only normal concern.

“OK. The doctors are talking about an operation, but they’re not sure he’s up to it. They’re going to let it ride for another day or two.”

“I hope to God they’re as good as you say they are.”

“Don’t worry about that. How’s the prince? Everything going smoothly? No violence? Don’t forget you’ve been–”

“Goddamn you,” he blurted through clenched teeth. He thought of the things he had said to the prince on the phone, and his cheeks were burning. “You said you were going to leave me in peace.”

“So long as it’s peace, I’m all for it. I don’t want you to do anything that’ll throw you off balance again. I thought the prince was–”

“I don’t care what you thought, damn you. Leave me alone.” He slammed down the phone and seized the wire and ripped it from the wall. He was seething with outrage and terror. His knees began to tremble. He couldn’t take it–the spying, the tapped telephone (everything taped for posterity?), not being able to have a friend here without everybody knowing. Doctors? An operation? Was Mather trying to drive him crazy again? Why should he wait around for the kid to–Police. Jail. His stomach seemed to turn to water. All the carefully assembled fragments were about to fall apart. He wasn’t going to go to jail for a kid he’d never really seen. He hadn’t been born tough enough to survive it. He doubled over and tore at his hair and pounded his head with his fists. He felt the prince’s arms around him. He straightened and flung himself against his friend and was held in a strong embrace. He was trembling all over. His breath came in gasps. Get out, his mind dinned at him. Go home. Get out. Home was safety. Outwit Mather. Leave everything and walk out. Go to the airport and go. No one could touch him at home. Get out.

The strong arms around him and his mind’s premise of escape calmed him. At least there was no more telephone. He kissed the prince’s shoulder and shook his head and lifted it. “I’m sorry, darling. Thank you. I’m all right.”

“Are you sure, darling?” They held each other’s faces and looked intently into each other’s eyes. “You frightened me. What is it?”

“Don’t ask me to go into it now. I’ll tell you later. Actually, it has less to do with me than you’d think from the way I’m acting. Let’s knock off the art class. I need a drink. There’s plenty of brandy left. I put everything in the kitchen. Would you get me something, darling? My dearest darling, as you so rightly put it.”

The prince drew his mouth to his and kissed it softly and left him. Rod didn’t see him go. Monkey? He didn’t say it aloud although he still felt Patrice’s presence around him everywhere. He didn’t want to be caught talking to himself. He walked slowly to the chair beside the fireplace where his boy always sat and looked down at it. Patrice wouldn’t want him to go through any more of this. He was quitting. He had probably lost his single-minded determination to triumph in his uncompromising vocation; he had discovered so much more of himself that required satisfaction. He would go back to a job, but he would regain control of his life. Patrice’s encouragement had been a goad driving him to excel himself always, confining him to the impossible. The impossible had seemed possible with Patrice; it never would again. They had lived through their heroic period together. Even Patrice had failed. His passionate attachment to an ideal that had found expression in his undivided love for a stray American painter must have shattered and died that afternoon at Thillier’s. Perhaps he had wanted to die with it. He had failed, as everyone who set his sights too high was bound to fail. With a little shrinking of his heart that brought tears to his eyes, Rod told himself that he must never let himself be driven to extremes. Come to terms with the possible. Get out. Never again lose his control over events.

I’ve tried, goddamnit, he silently addressed the rebellious spirit that struggled to retain contact with the beloved presence. His birth had unfitted him to be anything more than a dilettante. A rich boy couldn’t learn how to be a poor boy. He turned from the chair and took a few quick strides into the room and veered off toward the prince as he emerged from the kitchen carrying two glasses. They met near the easel, and the prince handed him a glass. They put their arms around each other. They stood with their bodies brushing against each other.

“I put water with it. Is that all right?” Do you want to lie down?”

“Not here. I’d rather you didn’t leave me for quite so long for the time being. Will you help me, darling? I promise there’s no danger involved, even though it may sound sort of weird. I’ve decided to go back to New York as soon as possible. In the next couple of days. People may try to stop me. I’m being watched. It makes it difficult to get anything done.”

“How exciting, darling. Are you a spy?” The tranquil beauty of the prince’s face was undisturbed.

Rod edged closer to him. “Insanely enough, I think somebody wants me to be. Don’t worry. I’m not going to play. I want to get my pictures home. There’s been an offer for this place. You and Nicole can help me get it all squared away. I should maybe just go and let her follow when everything’s organized. You said you wanted to go to the States. Why don’t you come too?”

The prince lit up with a boyish excitement Rod hadn’t seen in him before. The joyous innocence of it made his beauty almost unbearable. “What a heavenly idea. I will.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course.” They both laughed rather breathlessly. Their hands strayed eagerly over each other. “Will you teach me how to behave like a nice normal American?”

“If you promise to seduce me every now and then. There’s nothing un-American about that. You can be my best man at your wife’s wedding. That should make it official.” They laughed some more. This was what life would be like when he got back where he belonged. Fun with Nicole. Fun with his friends. The freedom he had thought he was finding here but which only money, after all, could buy. Yet there was something here, a strangely coherent but elusive view of life that had shattered the rigid moral precepts he had grown up with. Right and wrong, good and bad, normal and abnormal–they all seemed to melt into each other and overlap in people’s lives here. It had troubled him deeply at times, but it didn’t seem to do anybody harm. There was freedom in it, something he wanted to take with him while he went on trying to get everything straight in his mind. He would never get anything straight until he freed himself from Mather. He gripped a caressing hand. “I want to get out of here. We don’t have to worry about anything today. I’ll get down to business tomorrow. I’ll let Nicole know I’m with you. I mean, I hope that’s where I’ll be. Will you take me home with you?”

“Oh, darling, will I ever.” They drained their glasses and got rid of them on the nearest table, freeing their hands for their bodies’ pleasure. “If you’re being followed, you couldn’t have found a better accomplice. Circumstances have obliged me to find ways of getting in and out of my building that nobody would believe. We’ll fool them. I have some lovely toys to show you. We’ve eaten off each other’s tummies. I might find something that’ll lead us to wilder flights of fancy. I know. I have a golden suit–solid gold, if you please–more like trappings really, bits and pieces that fit on me here and there like a ceremonial elephant. An outrageous codpiece and a scandalous bit that goes down my behind. Seductive is hardly the word for it I’ll put it all on and see if you can get me out of it.”

“That’s the idea. Games for depraved children. A treasure hunt, and I get all the prizes. Except that I have the impression that you want me. I’ll be interested to see how you get this into a codpiece. Let’s go.” Rod glanced around him and suddenly felt as if all the strains of the last months were gathering and intensifying in him until they seemed as confining and tangible as shackles. The strain of trying to be what he and Patrice had wanted him to be. He turned abruptly from the prince’s caressing hands. “Let’s go,” he repeated in an altered voice, harsh and peremptory. “I never want to see this place again.”

A final communication was received in the obscure office outside Washington:

BIRD HAS FLOWN. PLAN 2 NOW OPERATIVE. WATCH MARITAL DEVELOPMENTS. WEDDING PLANNED WITH NICOLE LUSSIGNY-FORBAIN, ALIAS DE LA VENDRAYE. MARRIED. NOT DIVORCED. BIGAMY WILL PROVIDE CONVENIENT CONTROL. ALSO BOYS. APPLY CAREFULLY AS INDICATED. SEE MY 748. A NEAT PACKAGE. MAKE THE MOST OF IT. COTTON.

About the Author

Gordon Merrick (1916–1988) was an actor, television writer, and journalist. Merrick was one of the first authors to write about gay themes for a mass audience. He wrote fourteen books, including the beloved Peter & Charlie Trilogy.
The Lord Won’t Mind
spent four months on the
New York Times
bestseller list in 1970. Merrick’s posthumously published novel
The Good Life
, coauthored with his partner, Charles G. Hulse, was a bestseller as well. Merrick died in Sri Lanka.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1978 by Charles G. Hulse, Estate of Gordon Merrick

Cover design by Drew Padrutt

ISBN: 978-1-4976-6633-7

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com