Page 125 - Sweet Embraceable You: Coffee-House Stories

The Barber of 18th and Castro 113

looked directly from the helmet into the camera and directly out of
the page into Robert’s face. The face-guard on the helmet covered
his mouth. No New Testament word of mercy could spring from
those Old Testament lips that Robert knew were set, mean and hard
and without mercy. He looked directly out at Robert. He was erect
and Robert knew he faced the powerful, inevitable Face of God.
“I must,” he said to Floyd, “have this.” He rose out of the barber
chair. “Ask any amount, anything. Only let me buy this from you.”
Floyd thought to press the trade for sex, but the young man
seemed too volatile. Besides, a quick flash of looking down the
barrel of a handgun made him think better of it. “That one you
can have,” he said.
“I can’t just take it. I learned my lesson about that the hard way.”
“Then trade me something, anything,” Floyd said. “I won’t
take your money.” He stared into Robert’s ecstatic wild eyes and
suddenly, more than he wanted him, he wanted him gone.
“I don’t have anything,” Robert said.
Floyd laughed nervously at him. “Everybody’s got something.”
Robert mentally searched his car. He had his clothes. He had
the loaded handgun. “Nothing,” he said.
In the room, he seemed volatile.
In the mirrors, he looked vulnerable.
Floyd, fighting his rising lust, chided himself for being a cau-
tious old fool. He threw risk against the wind. The boy was right.
Danger was aphrodisiac. He put his hand on Robert’s knee and
slowly smoothed his palm up the inside of his thigh.
“Not that!” Robert watched the hand slowly advance up his
leg like a giant spider. “Not that!” Robert said.
Floyd’s heart jumped with a rush of adrenaline. “Then what?”
Floyd stood straight up. “You said I could have anything for the
picture.”
“Not that. Not here. Not now. Not you.”
“See what I told you about your car and my pianos?” Floyd

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