Page 277 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 247

The leatherman, squealing an unearthly soprano, jumped down like a
falling Wallenda into the arms of the waiting men. Solly saw the cheering
mouths open in the middle of the red pie-faces, but he could not hear their
cries over the roar of the flames. The heat was getting to him. He suddenly
began to beat the envelope of negatives tucked into his back. The tip of
the envelope had caught fire. He could not swat it out. He felt the porch
begin to buckle under his feet. “Fuck it,” he said, and he climbed up on
the railing, and leapt out into the glowing red darkness with the negatives
flaming out of his jeans. He rocketed up and out, soaring like a roman
candle, for a moment feeling weightless, without gravity, feeling a joy in
life that surprised him, until gravity’s real revenge—what is, is—pulled
him down, faster and faster down, into the smoke-filled darkness.

* * *

“Needless to say, I missed the roof.” Solly sat up in his bed at San
Francisco General. “Under this turban, I have a concussion. But can you
tell? All I remember is I jumped and then I started flying, and then the
next thing I knew I was in the arms of a handsome young fireman with a
black moustache and coal-dark eyes. I’ll never forget the feel of his mouth
on mine. Now I know why they call it the ‘kiss of life.’ Call him up. Dial
nine-one-one. I may have a relapse. I may be in-love. Actually, I’ll be out
of here in a few days and I’m very philosophical. Somewhat in the manner
of the immortal words of one of my favorite philosophers, Miss Peggy Lee.
‘Is that all there is to a fire?’”

4

On the second day after the fire, Ryan walked through the front
door of San Francisco General Hospital. The Chronicle kept the story
on page one. The Barracks had burned to a shell. The fire had leveled all
the wooden flats around it, leaving a hundred people homeless. Rumors
of charred bodies left bound in chains charged through the City. “What
gays are to straights, S&M guys are to vanilla gays,” Solly had mused.
“Outcasts.”
In the hospital hall, Ryan heard a familiar voice.
“Ryan O’Hara!”
“If it isn’t Jack Woods.”
“Miss Scarlett!”
Ryan ignored the barb. They hugged. Ryan felt a coldness. Not like

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