Page 296 - Some Dance to Remember

266 Jack Fritscher

A photograph exists from that night. An essential photograph. Ryan,
through his telephoto lens, had his eye focused precisely on Kick. Kick’s
eye in the photo pierces directly into Ryan’s lens. They both had clicked at
precisely the same instant. Ryan had submitted the black-and-white shot,
blown up poster size, to a Financial District commercial art exhibit. He
had won the same first place for his intense shot as Kick had won for his
muscle. Ryan had refused to sell the picture. He intended it for use on the
cover of Universal Appeal.
“I hope you’ll add my trunks to your collection of fetish items,” Kick
said. “Never forget you’re my coach, Ry. You’re my trainer. You’re my
main man. You’re the one who keeps my machinery oiled. What you and
I have is special and not like what we have with anyone else.” Kick winked.
“Trust me. We’ve both got to do what we’ve both got to do.”
Ryan wanted to hug him, because Kick seemed to know the reassur-
ance he needed without asking for it.
“Sometimes I get all tangled up in my underwear,” Ryan said. “I trust
you. I know you.” He meant that he understood that they were not losing
time together. Each needed some alone-time as much as they needed time
with other men.
Kick was not always with Logan. “More often than not,” he said, “I’m
up at Bar Nada alone. Most guys think I’m just a body. They think I can
make them happy. Logan’s that way sometimes. I have to teach him stuff
you’ve always known.”
“Then I don’t have to sue him for alienation of affection?”
“Haven’t we always tested ourselves against our best and then reached
for something more besides?”
Ryan leaned in across the table. “I know,” he said. “I’m not losing you.
I’m not losing track of you. You’re losing nothing of me.”
“I know what we’re doing in the long and short run.”
“Whatever pace happens between us is okay.” Ryan, saying the lyrics
from “The Love Theme” from Superman, spit in the wind. “When you
need someone to fly to, here I am.”
“I’ve flown to you tonight,” Kick said. “I want us to be alone. I want
to air and vent some of our special physical stuff tonight.”
The waiter brought Kick coffee and refilled Ryan’s cup. Staring at
Kick, he ran it over. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Kick ordered half a broiled chicken with the skin removed. Ryan ate
chicken paprika, but he could hardly swallow. Kick was perfect. What had
he done to deserve such a man? Somewhere in his youth or childhood he
must have done something good.

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