Page 184 - Some Dance to Remember

154 Jack Fritscher

“I bought two TV dinners in case we decided not to go out.”
“You’re busted. Get your jacket.”
They walked slowly through the heat of the Tenderloin evening. Solly
refused to walk farther than the corner. He stopped in front of a Hofbrau.
“I want to eat here.”
“Third Reich fast food? Bunker burgers? The Eva Braun fish sand-
wich? If we eat here, in half an hour, we’ll be hungry for power. Whoever
heard of a Jew liking German food?”
“German Jews,” Solly said.
“Oy and vay!”
“You’ll like it,” Solly said. “All fascists like it.”
“I’m no fascist.”
“Reread your Muscular Manifesto.”
They sat in a booth by the door where Solly could watch the street.
The plastic Bierstube’s appeal was its location around the corner from the
Saint Anne’s Apartment Tower. Solly knew, whenever he left his pent-
house, everything he owned was in danger. His phone rang frequently
with no one at the other end of the line. He was always on guard.
“My boys check me out to see if I’m home. If I’m home, they can bor-
row money. If I’m not, they can burgle me. Actually, Tiger pointed out the
other day that I’m much more a part of their side. I was delivering him a
lecture on criminals, and he pointed out that I am one.”
“What’s one little arrest for pornography? You’re an erotic artist whose
work is misunderstood.”
The waitress took their order.
“My police record says pornographer. I am not Saint Genet nor was
I meant to be, but I do understand how the world perceives and defines
me. I’ve always been an outlaw. All artists by their vision are outlaws. All
faggots are outlaws. But only an arrest can make you a criminal.”
“You always wanted to be bad.”
“I’m succeeding. I figure I’m in a downward spiral toward some great
crime. Did you know that sixty percent of all American males are arrested
at some time in their lives? That’s one of Solly Blue’s little known facts. The
toughest of them all come down here to the Tenderloin. There’s probably
more guns in this neighborhood than the whole rest of the City.”
Their beer arrived.
“A toast to the toughies,” Ryan said. He tried to change Solly’s mood.
He talked of Bar Nada and the City Victorian. He talked of Kick. “I’ve
gathered evidence of the secret signals men use to acknowledge each other.”
“Like gaydar—except straight?” Solly picked at the food steaming on

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