Page 202 - Some Dance to Remember

172 Jack Fritscher

“He doesn’t have to,” Ryan said.
Kick smiled his silent smile, a gentleman down to his perfect white
teeth.
“At least,” Evan-Eddie said to Kick, “when you lose your mind you’ve
got a great body to fall back on.”
“Thanks,” Kick said. His southern drawl was low and gracious.
“Oh, my dear,” Evan-Eddie said. “You have a nutcracking voice. So
many of you great big delicious bodybuilders open your mouths and out
fly six yards of lavender chiffon!”
“How would you like a mouthful of bloody Chicklets?” Ryan was
irritated. Gay wit was too often sleazy putdown rather than satiric send-
up. Dish queens filled him with distaste. They seemed part of a rude
conspiracy to hack virility from other men’s bodies, to destroy pure mas-
culine idealism. They bought latex goods shaped and molded to the heroic
size and quality of potent men and inserted them for their unreachable
fantasies.
Ryan repeated his offer in clearer terms. “How would you like your
teeth rearranged?”
Undaunted as a queen can be, Evan-Eddie flashed his caps and turned
to Kick. “What do you see in this bozo?” He pointed to Ryan.
“I’m very rich,” Ryan said. “I drive a fast car. I have a ten-inch dick.”
“And I have an eye,” Kick drawled, “for the proper stranger.”
“You won’t find anyone stranger than him.” Evan-Eddie was on
speed. “Let’s make a deal.” He poked at Kick’s pecs and biceps like Hansel
and Gretel’s hungry witch. “I have a hundred and eighty dollars on me.
Enough to rent a piece of meat like you for an hour. A buck a pound.”
“Who’s working security?” Ryan asked. “I told Robert Opel this gal-
lery needs security. Why aren’t Hell’s Angels working security?”
“Secure this.” Evan-Eddie tapped Kick’s crotch.
“That’s it,” Kick said. He extended his hand to fend off the insults.
“Back off. We’re nice guys. You’re maybe a nice guy. Let’s all take two
steps back.”
“And, doh-see-doh.” Evan-Eddie twirled in a circle.
“Come on, E-E.” Kweenie tugged at Evan-Eddie’s arm. “Let’s go.” She
looked at Kick. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Ignore him. His idea of exercise is
swimming laps through cheap cologne.”
“I’m not leaving,” Evan-Eddie said. “I’ve watched this prick-tease for
too long. All those afternoons, darling. Your languor! Standing in front
of Donuts & Things on Castro, holding court with the special few who
are hot enough for you, Let me tell you something for sure, darlings, for

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