Page 185 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 155

his plate. “My boys recognize each other instantly. A hustler always knows
another hustler. Like a fag can always spot another fag.”
“I’m not talking about like recognizing like,” Ryan said. “I’m talking
about penetrating fraternities where you don’t belong.”
“You mean you,” Solly said, “and the muscle crowd. You know what
movie you are? You’re Planet of the Apes.”
“I’m not a B movie,” Ryan said. “I’m a major motion picture. I’ve shot
footage. I’m making a documentary. As a non-blond, I’ve penetrated as far
into blondness as a non-blond can go. I’ve seen the way blonds look at each
other on the street. Blonds acknowledge their fraternity even more subtly
than bodybuilders acknowledge theirs. As much as you’ve penetrated the
outlaw circle of hustlers, I’ve been researching big blond bodybuilders. I
work out with them. I’m getting bigger.”
Ryan raised his arm the way Kick would have and made a muscle.
Solly laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. You are. You only want big arms and shoulders,” Solly said, “so
you can carry your cross. You only workout so you’ll look terrific crucified.
Noble. Godlike.”
“Come off it.” Ryan was amused.
“Beyond Kick,” Solly said, “beyond all of it, that’s the single, central
image hanging in the back of your head. I know you, Ryan. You have
visions of redemption.”
“Stop accusing me of Catholicism. It’s not fair.”
“You have visions of a magnificently anguished muscle god whose
suffering is for you, who will come down from the cross, or down from the
posing platform, rising again, just like Kick’s lil-ol’-South’ll-rahse agin, to
be with you, resurrected along with him, saved, triumphant, ascending to
high heaven held in his big strong arms.”
“Right. Sure,” Ryan said. “That’s me all over.”
“It is you all over,” Solly said. “You’ve mixed yourself and Kick and
that nice Jewish boy Jesus all up in some weird, physical, sexual...”
“Don’t forget drug-ridden.”
“...pseudo-spiritual idealism.”
“Attack me, but not Kick,” Ryan said. “What happens between us
alone at night when we’re conjuring together is hyper-real Energy.”
“For somebody so smart...” Solly sipped his beer. “There is no savior.
There is no safety. Your conjuring is garden-variety Castro lust.” He sliced
across his sauerbraten. “No. I stand corrected. It’s not garden variety, but
it is lust. High-toned lust. Blinding lust. Dangerous lust.” He waved the

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