The Quirk (9 page)

“I understand that. I would too.
Tu es amoureux de ton boulot.
”

“In love with my work? I suppose I am.”

While they finished the bottle of wine, Rod asked Patrice questions about his life but seemed refreshingly indifferent to talking about himself. He learned that Patrice was an orphan (another one), that he had been brought up in the country by his grandmother until he was 15 and he had been sent to a family friend in Paris. Rod got the impression that there was money in the background, although nothing specific was said. He was a little older than Rod had guessed, almost 22. He had apparently been actively homosexual since adolescence and referred to it with detachment as a fact of no particular significance.

When Rod had finished his last glass of wine, he lay back and smiled lazily. “I’m sleepy. I don’t know about you, but I’m not much of a night owl. If you’re not ready for bed, I’ll go home.”

“Please. This is home. You almost know that, don’t you?”

“Maybe. Almost. It’s funny. I wouldn’t dream of it with anybody else. You’re awfully easy to be with.”

“The short dark stranger. I told you.”

They looked at each other and laughed. They both stood. Patrice let the way down the corridor. He lit lamps and showed him where their clothes would be kept, and in a moment Rod was out of his. He didn’t want to be a tease, but if two guys lived together, it was natural that they should see each other naked. It would be a bore to think about covering himself up all the time. Patrice straightened from turning back the covers and glanced at him as if he already took his nakedness for granted.

“I never wear pajamas,” Rod explained. “Is that all right?”

“Yes. Very. I don’t understand why people get dressed to go to bed. Do you expect me to wear them?”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll go do some washing up. OK?”

He turned away, and Patrice had his first chance to take a long look at his back as he left the room. It was as beautiful as the rest of him–broad shoulders tapering to a supple waist and small tight buttocks. The long legs gave the whole body a spring of power. He didn’t know whether it was possible to live with happiness. He had never experienced anything like it, and his body felt uncomfortably stretched in the effort to contain it. He wanted to do all sorts of insane things that Rod would hate–cling to him, scream with laughter, fall to his knees in front of him. At least he had proved to himself that he retained some sanity by not appearing for their lunch appointment. A test of willpower. What would become of his willpower if it turned out that he had found everything he had always longed for–father, brother, friend–everything except a lover? If he could do without that, he would have escaped Gérard.

“Please, God, let him stay,” he prayed to nobody in particular as he undressed quickly and wrapped himself in his robe. In a few minutes Rod returned still casually, blindingly naked. He went to the foot of the bed.

“Which side is mine?”

“There. Where you were the other night. My turn for the bathroom.” He hurried out, not trusting himself to watch Rod get into bed voluntarily.

Rod stretched out in the clean bed and pulled the covers up with a sigh. Everything was marvelously clean here after the squalid hotel. It was a nutty setup. Nothing like it could have happened at home, but this was Paris, thank God. He’d been taught not to leap into anything without carefully considering the pros and cons, but the hell with it. He’s be crazy not to stay. The hotel was cheap, but the saving would quickly add up to another month of freedom. And another month. And another. He had put up the proper resistance to the offer. You mustn’t be obligated to people. That sort of nonsense. Patrice was indifferent to such conventions. If he established his usual routine right from the start, it would be almost like having his own place. He might even put a daybed in the living room if sleeping together proved uncomfortable. Patrice thought he was important and wanted to do what he could for him. It was nutty but wonderful. An occasional girl. No difficulty about that. No need to tell anybody. Mail could still go to the hotel. Eat in. Less money on restaurants.

He was beginning to drift into sleep when he heard footsteps. He opened heavy eyelids and smiled up at Patrice as he came around the other side of the bed. He brought a sweet smell with him. He was still wearing his dressing gown when he turned out the light. He heard movement and the fall of cloth, and then the mattress assumed a new shape as his host worked his way down under the covers.

“Sleepy?” Patrice asked in the dark.

“Yeah. I haven’t even thanked you. You’re a sweetheart Tomorrow I’ll spend all day telling you how wonderful you are.”

“Good. I will like that very much.”

“Good night, monkey.”

Patrice said nothing, incapable of being the one to close off communication for the night. He lay still, finding is less difficult that he had feared to keep his distance, lulled by the deep peaceful comfort of Rod’s presence into a state of spiritual felicity more moving than any sexual experience he had known. He had always sensed that there must be more to life than physical license. Feeling as if all the world’s happiness was contained in this room, he drifted off into peaceful sleep.

He was awakened by what registered in his subconscious as a big bang. Another explosion in the street. Quite close. Simultaneously, he realized that he was holding an erection. He moved his hand along its length with dreaming delight and found it so thrilling that it brought him fully awake. He remembered whose it was and snatched his hand away. He lay transfixed, listening to Rod’s regular breathing until he dared edge himself over as far as he could go on his side without falling out of the wide bed. If he did anything when he was unconscious to drive Rod away, he would kill himself.

When he awoke again he knew it was day and felt Rod stirring beside him. His happiness was still stretching all of his body. “Are you awake?” he murmured without opening his eyes.

“Mmm. Here I am again. I have to go pee.”

“I suppose that it’s time to get up,” Rod said. Patrice’s eyes flew open as Rod threw the covers off and stood up, making no attempt to hide himself. Their eyes met, and Rod glanced down and laughed. “I wish it wouldn’t keep doing this. I guess I need a girl much more than I want one.”

He strode off, and Patrice scrambled for his robe and bundled himself up. If he had to face a sight like that every morning, it wouldn’t be long before he began to question all his lofty resolutions. Gérard’s training had left him with a feeling of obligation toward satisfying male lust.

When Rod vacated the kitchen Patrice prepared his usual café-au-lait for both of them. Rod joined him wearing shirt and slacks.

“Did you hear a big bang in the night?” Patrice asked, watching Rod’s expression closely to see if he betrayed any awareness of the inadvertent caress.

“No. Another one?” Rod asked innocently. “I think they’re trying to get me. You’re not afraid to offer me asylum?”

“I’ll risk it. It’s all settled, isn’t it? You will move here? You didn’t change your mind during the night?”

“I guess I needed to sleep on it to make it seem real. Last night it sounded sort of crazy. I mean our not knowing each other very well and all that. This morning it seems more reasonable. I guess sleeping with a guy makes a difference. It’s wonderful of you to have thought of it. It’s going to make all the difference in the world to the work.”

“That is the important part. Be sure to say you owe all your success to me when you’re famous.”

They had breakfast at the kitchen table and discussed details. To Rod’s inquiries about contributing to household expenses, Patrice was firmly negative. Having a friend to stay would cost nothing extra. He agreed to let Rod pay his share of any food or wine they had together. They planned the move. They would need a taxi for the big suitcase-trunk, but Rod thought they could carry all the rest.

They set to work in a cold drizzle that slowed them down because of having to wrap the canvases carefully. They were further delayed when Patrice tried to take a shortcut and found the narrow street blocked off. Men were working around a shattered shop front. A twisted and crumpled car lay on its side.

“The big bang last night,” Patrice said, “I knew it was close.”

“They’re getting closer all the tine,” Rod commented dryly.

It took all morning to move the painting materials and equipment. Patrice picked up delicatessen food for lunch–pâtés and salads–but Rod was so excited at having the easel in place that he could hardly sit down long enough to eat it. He had his current canvas already mounted on it, and he kept jumping up and circling it to see the effect of the improved light.

“It’s fantastic, monkey,” he exclaimed. “I can see. I can move. I can stand up straight. I’ll probably have to rework everything I’ve done here. I’m going into a whole new period. My Monkey Period.”

Patrice’s heart ached with pride and happiness. His dream was coming true. By evening Rod’s things would be everywhere. He was here. He was his. The past would soon be a discarded and forgotten secret. At least he hoped he could manage that part of it.

They spent the afternoon packing and carrying and unpacking. The splendor and variety of Rod’s wardrobe created a space problem, but Patrice rearranged his own things and crowded them together to give pride of place to Rod’s. Soon they had everything sorted out and hung up or put away. For the first time since he had been in Paris, Rod was completely unpacked. He rather regretted his own mess, but he felt wonderfully settled down. Was he being seduced back into his old ways? Surely the necessity of brushing his teeth in the kitchen sink was sufficient guarantee that he was making no compromises for luxury’s sake.

They had agreed to eat at home the first evening, and Patrice went to the kitchen to prepare the food he had bought earlier. Rod stripped and threw a dressing gown over his shoulders and followed him. He took a bath while Patrice prepared vegetables and meat. Rod’s careless display of his body continued to raise tantalizing question in Patrice’s mind about whether he was being overcautious. All the men and boys he had ever known expected nakedness to provoke sexual advances.

He set a small table at the end of the living room opposite the skylight while Rod lounged about in his dressing gown. “You must tell me if you want whiskey in the house,” Patrice said. “I have
pastis
if you like that.”

“Sure. I love it.”

“Good. We’ll have some.” He served them the watered-down, milky-looking aperitif, and they sat in front of the fireplace drinking.

“This is the life,” Rod said, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He had had a chance to look at the room in detail, and he liked it better than ever. The wooden floor sagged, the Oriental carpet was threadbare in patches, some of the upholstery was shabby, but everything in it was handsome. One of the pale gray walls was lined with books. There were four framed paintings on the other walls, semiabstract, interesting enough to confirm Patrice’s good judgment.

“We have done a big day’s work, I think,” Patrice said. “I hope you like what I have cooked. I don’t know what Americans eat.”

“You can stop thinking of me as a special case. I’m sure I’ll like everything you do. Nobody’s ever taken such good care of me.

“That’s what I’m here for. Let’s have another drink.”

He eventually served them artichokes with hollandaise sauce followed by veal cooked with mushrooms and cream. Rod found it better than any restaurant he knew. Patrice told him that his share of the day’s shopping came to a little more than 1,000 francs. If he could eat like this for a couple of dollars, he could stay forever. They discussed the future. Rod explained his financial situation. He had hoped the money he had would last at least six months. Now he was beginning to think he might stretch it to ten. He had an understanding with his New York gallery that he would be given another big show in the spring. If it went as well as the first one, he would be able to stay as long as he liked.

Patrice felt as if they were entering into a contract for life. He hadn’t been sure until now that he could think in terms of months rather than weeks. With a few economies of his own, he could surreptitiously shave a bit off Rod’s bills to extend his stay. He would be eternally grateful to Gérard for the apartment that made everything possible.

They washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen together and sipped wine and talked for another hour. They yawned simultaneously and laughed together.

“I don’t know how I got so much junk in that little room,” Rod said. “That was more exercise than I’ve had for months. You’re such a pretty little guy, but you worked harder than I did.”

“Would you like to go to bed? We have much to talk about, but we can talk there.”

“Fine. I wouldn’t mind stretching out.”

They took turns in what now became the bathroom. Rod was already settled back against the pillows when his roommate joined him. With his back turned, but without turning out the light as he’d done before, Patrice slipped off his robe and ducked quickly under the covers. He lay out with singing contentment beside his friend.

“I am thinking of ways we can save you money,” he said, resuming their conversation. “I can cook whenever you wish it. I will do your laundry when I do mine. I take my shirts out, but that’s for my job. I can cut your hair but not right away. It looks wonderful long. I will think of other things.” He paused and felt such deep peaceful understanding between them that he could no longer resist exploring its limits. “I wish I could make you happy in bed,” he said simply.