Page 464 - Some Dance to Remember

434 Jack Fritscher

“What you’re looking for is...,” I had to say it. “You wanted something
from your father.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. I wanted him to fuck me.”
“You wanted him to say it was okay you were gay.”
“I’m not gay! Gays live on drugs and Castro and die of AIDS!”
“But your father died...”
“He left me!”
“He never said what you wanted to hear.”
“No one leaves me! No one!”
“You have no control over that,” I said.
“Control? Control? Over what? Death? Charley-Pop and Thom and
Solly?”
“Such anxiety. Such rage. You’re acting very gay.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He folded the contract.
“Anxiety. Anger. At Death. It’s the latest rage on Castro.”
“And well it should be.” He waved the contract. “If you don’t sign this,
I’ll walk down the road and have the neighbors witness it.”
“You always saw Kick as the golden reincarnation of your father. He
was the jock your father was and you never were. You told me yourself he
was the son your father never had. You fucked him hoping to become him,
hoping to become the son your father always wanted.”
“I don’t have to listen to this five-cent analysis. What kind of man
doesn’t want to become his fantasy?”
“You put impossible demands on him. When Charley-Pop died, you
wanted Kick to be your father, but he only wanted to be your lover. Then
you tried to discipline him like he was your child. No wonder the man left
when you threw him out into the rain with no jacket and no keys. What
do you expect of people?”
“Fidelity. Not betrayal.” He started for the steps leading down from
the deck. “Not betrayal like I’m getting from you.”
“God! Sometimes you’re nothing more than a bitchy, petulant, old
queen! Sometimes you really are Miss Scarlett O’Hara!”
Ryan was furious. “Don’t you call me that! You fucking old closet
case! You only hang on to all of us because you’re afraid to come out!
You’re no professor of culture, popular or unpopular! Those who can, do!
Those who can’t, teach! You’re worse than a faggot! You’re a maggot! You
feed on us!”
“I don’t want us to fight.”
“We’re not fighting.” Ryan walked toward me. “We’re discussing
something.”

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