Page 351 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 321

up Street Attitude. He was slouching against storefronts like the people
his mother had warned him not “evah” to become.
Kick had gone Logan’s way. He had been seduced by Logan. He had
become a fool for love. He had fallen in-love. He had committed the very
sin he had warned Ryan never to commit. But where Ryan had fallen in-
love with what once had been a noble man, Kick had fallen in-love with
a gay muscle hustler and the consequences were as different as rising and
falling.
Ryan should have recognized Kick’s slip from the moment he fell. He
was an expert in deciphering when one thing meant two things. But Ryan
saw nothing, refused to see anything, blinded as he was by love; and what
he did see, he denied.
Kick with Logan was a very different man from Kick with Ryan.
In those two months, Kick threw himself into massive, split-routine
workouts. He was growing. His neck disappeared into his huge shoul-
ders. He telephoned Ryan to mail him checks to tide him over until his
trust fund was busted. Gossip abounded. Kick and Logan were an item.
The Castro-Folsom crowd’s society columnist, Mr. Marcus, who was
the envy of the Chronicle’s famous Herb Caen, squibbed almost weekly
about “those two outrageous muscle-hunks about town” in The Bay Area
Reporter. Logan introduced Kick to the freebasing cocaine crowd. He and
Ryan were not strangers to drugs, but this outrageously elite Double-A-
Group was something else. They were good-looking. They were rich. They
threw outrageous parties. They danced the night away. They were perfect
for Kick. They denied AIDS existed. The usual pair of muscle hustlers,
up from El Lay for Labor Day, joined their party, and boldly peddled
steroids, both pills and juice, to the hundreds of gay guys pumping their
pecs up at the gyms.
Rarely has a bodybuilder really ever admitted to taking steroids him-
self; but, when pressed, he always admits knowing someone who has.
“Steroids?” Kick said to anyone who asked. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Smile. Wink. Grin.
Fiat lux.
Dianabol became the most abused drug on Castro.
Ryan refused to hear anything about Kick’s new taste for the fast
crowd of hot men. He had never been able to get Kick to go anywhere but
to bed. But I believed what Kweenie and Teddy told me. Ryan would not
hear that, fueled by drugs, his muscle-beast had become a party animal.
“It’s only a lark,” Ryan said.
“Thou fool,” Kweenie said. She knew all about Kick. She protected

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
HOW TO LEGALLY QUOTE FROM THIS BOOK