Page 417 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 387

six-egg omelet.”
“I don’t eat on Castro anymore.”
“Why not?”
Ryan lied. “Because of AIDS.” The plague was his excuse to avoid all
the places they had once hung out, places where guys continually asked
him, “Where’s Kick?”
“You can’t catch AIDS eating in a gay restaurant,” Kick said. “You’re
going to live forever.” He threw his muscular arm around Ryan’s shoul-
der.” Come on,” he said.
“Only if I drive,” Ryan said.
“Okay, coach. If you insist.”
After supper at Without Reservation, they walked back to Ryan’s
Rabbit, breaking through the wave of men who turned to gawk at Kick.
Ryan had parked on Castro in front of Donuts & Things, three cars up
from 18th Street.
He climbed in behind the wheel.
Kick settled his big blond turbo body into the economy passenger
seat.
A white van, double-parked, blocked their exit. Ryan did not turn the
key in the ignition. Maybe I’ll win. Maybe I’ll lose. Maybe I’m cryin’ the
blues. Ready or not, here comes mama! He made it short and sweet. “Let’s
drive up to Bar Nada.”
Kick winced.
“I want you to drive up to the country with me.”
“No.” Kick’s face looked pale in the cold light flooding the car from
the donut shop. Kick knew, as Ryan was discovering, that his muscular
blond power in leading their relationship had been all along a simple gift
from Ryan.
“Why not?” Ryan saw in Kick’s face that Kick knew the jig was up.
The whole film of three years with Kick raced fast-forward through his
head. I shouldn’t be doing this. Ryan was like a man drowning. He could
hardly breathe in the humid car.
“I’m tired of impossible demands,” Kick said.
“Impossible demands? I’ve never asked you for anything for myself.
You said I could have anything. And now I’m asking for it. I want you to
drive up to Bar Nada with me.”
“What do you really want?”
“I want...”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want us to be the way we were. I want to be loved back.”

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