Page 215 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 185

in our own little closets.”
“Then we had to prove we could do anything we wanted sexually.”
“The only really good gay sex is public sex.”
“What’s that mean?” January asked.
“Do it in the street,” Solly gestured grandly, “and scare the horses.”
“There’s more,” Ryan said, “to homosexuality than fucking. There is,
and I believe this with all my heart, a code.”
“Something,” January said, “like the Code of the West?”
“That’s what he called it in the Manifesto, Miss January.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bluestein.”
Solly raised his Coke glass with his index finger pointing at January.
“Ryan didn’t bed down with nine thousand guys and not crawl out with-
out some kind of insight into human nature.”
“You’ve had nine thousand sex partners?” January’s jaw dropped.”
I didn’t cum with them all,” Ryan said.
Solly gulped.
“Nine thousand. Give or take a few,” Ryan said. “It’s only a lifetime
estimate.”
January looked shocked. “I thought I was a whore,” she said. “No
offense.”
“Steinbeck said,” Ryan deflected the conversation from himself,
“that with a three-day drunk and a night in a whorehouse he could write
anything.”
“How very literary,” January said. “You’ve used your sex experiences.
You think about them.”
“He obsesses,” Solly said. “He makes his living writing about them.
He makes his lovers sign releases. He makes me listen to him on the
phone.”
“Porno, ergo sum. I live it up to write it down,” Ryan said.
“I like that,” January said.
“It’s Kick’s.”
“I thought it was Descartes’,” Solly said.
“It’s cute,” she said.
“Ryan’s nothing if not cute,” Solly said.
An alarm rang in Ryan’s head. Kick had warned him that TV people
like January trivialized everything. He pulled her back on track. “What
we’re talking here is a new concept in male bonding.”
“That’s not cute,” Solly said.
“That’s grand,” she said.
“Don’t use the word grand,” Solly said. “Ryan hates the thought of

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