Page 295 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 265

than pumping iron. Ryan was game. No matter how long. No matter the
cost. He figured he had much to learn from Kick’s coaching. His carefree
southern sensuality was the strongest arm-wrestle Ryan had ever found to
beat his own urban existential angst. He and Kick had never had a single
crossword. He wanted to keep it that way at all costs. His relationship with
Teddy had been stormy enough to be charted by the National Weather
Service.
Kick leaned in across the white tablecloth and took Ryan’s fingers and
wrist in both his big hands.
“I love you,” Ryan said.
Kick beamed him a smile. Instantly, always, no matter how short or
long separated, they had a way of immediately regaining their intimacy.
“What’s the book?” Kick asked.
“Nothing, actually. Agee. A Death in the Family.” He had thought of
giving it to Kick who had seemed to survive the Death of his father with
hardly a mention.
“You’re incorrigible. Sounds like a downer.”
“I haven’t read it.” Ryan prevaricated. “I only bought it as a prop.
You know. A single person sitting alone in a restaurant at a table for two.
Strangers react differently if you carry a book. The way everyone treats me
different when I’m with you.”
Kick drew his warm hand casually, quickly, discreetly over Ryan’s.
“Oh how you do me,” Ryan said.
Kick handed Ryan a small package. “Open it.”
“Here?” Ryan said. The young woman with the family next to them
ate with one eye on her entree and one eye on Kick.
“At least peek,” Kick said.
Ryan carefully opened the package. Folded inside, were the spe-
cially tailored brown nylon posing trunks Kick had worn in the Mr. San
Francisco.
“I want,” Kick said, “to give a very special man something more than
my company.”
Your company’s all I want.
Ryan lifted the tiny box to his face and sniffed the musty sweat and
olive oil. Kick’s posing trunks were the next thing to his nakedness. All
of that victorious night’s contest came back to Ryan. Kick had posed
with passion. He had displayed a grand manliness. His face had radiated
a celebratory, voracious love of life. In the intense light of the posing
platform, he had been more than Mr. San Francisco. He had been Ra,
God of the Sun.

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
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