Page 252 - Some Dance to Remember

222 Jack Fritscher

stroked Kick up to the edge of cuming. Ryan readied himself, stroking
faster, his face looking up lovingly at his crucified Savior. He could feel the
power rising in the crucified’s body. Then suddenly, the white clotted rain
shot like saving grace from Kick’s lordly rod. Ryan’s mouth opened hun-
grily. In his own hand, his own flesh throbbed to a simultaneous climax.
“Oh, my God,” he said. “Oh, my beautiful God.”

8

“What you gay boys,” Solly said on the phone, “won’t do to have fun.”

9

Ryan was spending the weekend after the Fourth of July in the coun-
try. Kick had flown back to Birmingham. His own father had suddenly
died. Solly made a crack about gay boys and karma.
“What do you mean gay boys?” Ryan said. He had been dozing, pass-
ing in and out of consciousness, watching the veils of ocean fog pass across
the moon. He had asked Kick, because Annie Laurie had once asked
Charley-Pop the same thing, to look to the moon. “I’ll look at the moon,”
he had said, “and I’ll be seeing you.”
“You can just listen.” Solly’s voice sounded soothing on the phone.
Ryan clicked on his recorder. “I’m too stoned to remember anything
you say.”
“I’m up here in this lovely penthouse apartment. The moon is beauti-
ful over the whole City. There are two fires burning in the Mission. There’s
smoke and flames. This is the side of the City that burns. Tiger brought
me two new Quaaludes. I took one an hour ago. It’s quite wonderful. It’s
Lemmon. It’s remarkable. I think, by the way, that I’ve decided to try
heroin. You’ll think bad of me for that. But life is what it is. I know that.
Everything is what it is. If it kills me, then if that’s all there is, I’ll keep on
dancing. Miss Peggy Lee is the only philosopher I know.
“Actually, the videotapes I’ve been shooting are better than ever. I
always understate my ads for them in my brochures. I must read you a
letter that came with my latest orders. ‘Your tapes are better than you
describe them.’ Nobody does what I am doing. Maybe you’re right. Maybe
I am an artist. Nobody’s touching this part of America. Can I take credit
for discovering that straight street hustlers are exhibition artists? Opel and
I and maybe just me.
“Six years in this risky business. Running it all on the up and up

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