Winning is Everything (21 page)

45 

Kip found his way backstage and stepped inside. It was pandemonium, with dancers running everywhere, technicians moving scenery, wardrobe people collecting costumes.

“I’m here to see Adrienne Kent,” Kip told the old man sitting on a high stool near the door.

“She expecting you?”

“Of course,” said Kip.

“They’re changing now,” said the old-timer. “Be down in a few minutes. Wait over there.” He pointed to a spot that was pretty much out of the way.

Ten minutes later, Adrienne came down the stairs.

“You were terrific,” said Kip, leaning over and kissing her cheek.

“Hardly,” said Adrienne quietly.

“No,” Kip insisted. “You were. Honest. Elegant and graceful, you moved beautifully. I loved it.”

“I’ve got to get better,” said Adrienne.

“You will,” said Kip. “You will.”

Adrienne leaned forward and returned Kip’s kiss. “You’re sweet. Let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”

“Starving?” asked Kip. “I thought dancers never ate!”

“Never
before
a performance. But afterward … watch out!”

The newcomer to the scene, Gary looked around the bar. No one seemed to be paying attention to him, and he began to relax. He ordered a beer and was just finishing it when someone behind him said, “Gary! Hi!”

Gary felt a shiver shoot down his back as he turned to see who had called his name.

“What’s up?” asked Neil Miller, one of the gymnasts Gary knew from the Y.

“Hi, Neil,” said Gary, embarrassed.

“What are you doing here?” asked Neil.

What
am
I doing here? Gary repeated the question inside his head. “I’m … uh, I sure wish to shit I the hell knew.”

“One of those, huh?” said Neil. “Well, this is one of my hangouts.”

“Really?” said Gary, trying to think of something to say. “I was just walking around, stopped in at the nearest bar, that kind of thing.”

“Really?” said Neil. “Most guys tell me they’re doing a sociology paper on the scene and stopped in simply to
observe.”

“Funny,” said Gary. “I
did
stop in to observe.”

“Right,” said Neil. “You and all the other closet cases.”

“You don’t believe me,” said Gary.

“Who cares what I believe?” said Neil. “Important thing is, do
you
believe you?”

Gary looked at Neil, then looked at himself in one of the wall-length mirrors and shook his head. “No,” he said. “I guess I don’t believe me either.”

“Atta boy!” said Neil. “Being honest with yourself is a first step down the long road to finding yourself.”

“I guess I’m a little confused,” said Gary.

“Who isn’t?” asked Neil. “Hey, listen. I’ve been out since I was eighteen. I’ve had it easier than most. And still, I’m as confused as those days in my early teens when I first started buying muscle magazines on corner newsstands.”

“Really?”

“Believe me, it’s not easy growing up into something society tells you is sinful and wrong, while you know it’s the only expression that brings you pleasure.”

“I think I see what you mean,” said Gary.

“You’re new to this, aren’t you?” asked Neil.

“Completely,” said Gary. “That’s no cover-up. I honestly am.”

“Fine,” said Neil. “Guzzle down that bottle, let me buy you another, we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” said Gary, bringing the Bud to his lips. “I definitely need to talk!”

“That looks heavenly!” said Adrienne, crushing the last of her cigarette as the platter of rare chopped beef, cottage cheese, and tomato slices was put down before her.

She and Kip were seated at O’Neal’s Balloon, across the street from Lincoln Center.

Adrienne stabbed her meat with a fork, took a big bite, and asked, “You know what dancers think about when they’re not dancing?”

“Shin splints?” asked Kip, biting into his hamburger.

“Food,” said Adrienne. “It’s practically a full-time obsession.”

“But you’re all so thin,” said Kip.

“Of course,” said Adrienne. “All day long it’s yogurt and club soda. Then, after a performance, when we’ve really worked up a minor fat attack, all we get is lean meat and salad.”

“And to think I figured you for a cheap date.” Kip smiled. “Sounds like the way I used to train before a wrestling match.”

“Come on, Kip.” Adrienne bit into one of her tomatoes. “You’re not comparing what we do to athletics.”

“Sure I am,” said Kip. “Gymnastics, to be more precise. I couldn’t get over how many things you were doing tonight that are also used in gymnastics.”

“You are cute,” said Adrienne, turning her attention to her plate.

Afterward she let Kip walk her to her Upper West Side apartment.

“Thanks for taking me home,” she said.

“You’re not going to ask me in, are you?”

“How’d you know?” asked Adrienne.

“I could tell by the way you’re blocking the entranceway. Graceful, but very much like a halfback.”

Adrienne laughed. “Thanks for the meal, Kip.”

“How ‘bout I come in and we talk, just for, say, ten minutes?”

“I’d love to,” said Adrienne, searching through her tiny purse for her door key. “But I have my first class at eight o’clock. If I’m not well rested, I’ll never get through it.”

“Yeah?” said Kip. “Well, if I don’t get a real kiss from you before leaving, I’ll never even make it to the elevator.”

“A kiss?” asked Adrienne. “That’s easy.”

She put both her arms around Kip’s neck, and leaning forward, brought her lips to his. He put his arms around her as if he’d never let

“Mmmmmmmmm!” said Adrienne when at last they parted. “That tasted even better than the chopped beef.”

“How ‘bout we make that a fast five-minute visit?” asked Kip. “Just so we can have another kiss on the other side of your door?”

“It’s tempting,” said Adrienne. “But I’d better say no. If that first kiss is any indication, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to let you go home after five minutes. We’d better take a rain check.”

“When?” asked Kip.

“Next week?”

“When?”

“How’s Tuesday?”

“Tuesday’s too late,” said Kip. “How’s Monday?”

“Monday sounds fine. I’m off and don’t have a class again until ten Tuesday morning.”

“Terrific.”

“Why don’t we meet at the Blue Owl at half-past six? We can spend the whole evening together.”

Adrienne turned the key in her door, but before she could walk in, Kip placed his arms around her neck and again brought his face down to meet hers. At first Adrienne tried pulling away, but Kip’s emotional magnet was simply too strong, and the sensuality of his kiss was something she couldn’t just dismiss.

“I spent the entire day dreaming about that kiss,” Kip finally whispered. “This was a very special night….”

Adrienne closed the door behind her. She would have to be careful. Kip could turn out to be quite a distraction, a genuine problem.

She was, after all, twenty years old. She had her career to think of.

46 

“Come in,” said Neil as he opened the door to his Upper East Side sixteenth-floor apartment. “Make yourself at home. I’ll hang up these coats and get a couple of beers.”

Gary walked hesitantly into the living room. Neil was a designer, all right. All the signs were there. Fresh flowers, indirect lighting, minimal modular furniture. Everything planned, all of it cold.

Gary sat down on a modular sectional he presumed must be the sofa, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Just what was he
doing
in this guy’s apartment? Why had he agreed to come back here? “It’ll be quieter and we can talk” is how Neil had put it.

Experience everything!
Gary reminded himself of his life’s credo.
No!
This can only lead to trouble. There’s only one reason this guy asked you back to his place, and you can damn well bet it wasn’t to talk. Just have that one quick beer, thank him, and get up and get the hell home. You’ve got a goddamn physical in the morning.

“Here we go!” said Neil, walking in with a bottle of beer and a chilled mug in each hand.

Neil had taken off not just his heavy winter parka, but his sweater and his flannel shirt as well. As he walked over to Gary in tight yellow T-shirt and jeans, Gary was reminded of what a well-proportioned and muscular body his friend had. Gary also remembered that Neil had been one of those guys with whom he’d exchanged looks of appraisal while getting dressed in the locker room of the Y.

“That was quite a workout George put us through the other night, wasn’t it?” asked Neil.

Gary agreed. “That work on the rings was really tough. I’ve still got a knot in the back of my neck from it.”

“You must be tense,” said Neil. “Come here. I’ll massage it out for you.”

“No!” said Gary, tensing up. “No, thanks. It’s no big deal.”

“Will you relax?” asked Neil. “I’m a great massager. It’s the one thing you need before heading down to Whitehall Street tomorrow morning, believe me.”

What the hell, Gary figured. Believe him.

Neil brought both his hands to the back of Gary’s neck and began kneading the muscles. “Hey, you
are
tight. This calls for one of Dr. Miller’s extra-special get-’em-to-relax massages. Take off your shirt.”

Gary stiffened. “Naw”—he tried to be polite—”I’ll just stay dressed.”

“Relax, will you?” said Neil. “I’m not about to attack you. It’s not as if we don’t see each other’s bodies three times a week in class, is it?”

True, Gary figured as he removed his sweater and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Now, lie down on your stomach,” said Neil. “On the floor, please. We want to align your back muscles with something firm.”

Gary did as he was told and stretched out on the dark brown carpet.

Neil knelt down over him and began to work out the knot in the back of Gary’s neck, and as it turned out, the designer had been right: the massage
was
just what Gary had needed.

“You’re not a big guy,” said Neil. “But you sure are tight.”

“Thanks,” said Gary, adding: “I think—”

Neil slapped Gary across the flat of his back and stood up. “I gotta get something. We’re almost finished.”

Neil left the living room and returned moments later with a towel and a plastic bottle of baby oil. Kneeling down once again beside Gary, he said, “Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”

Gary bolted up. “Now, wait a min—”

“Relax,” said Neil, gently forcing Gary back down by his shoulder. “Will you just calm down? For Christ’s sake, don’t you know virgins are my specialty!”

Indeed they must have been. Neil not only got Gary to lie down once again, he also got him eventually to take off his pants, and the two of them proceeded to have what Gary hadn’t had in years, not since he was a pubescent kid of thirteen: a rather small and private circle jerk.

Neil was right. It didn’t hurt a bit.

An hour later, while Gary was sitting in the taxi on his way back to his apartment, he reviewed the evening and decided it was no big deal. So he’d gone home with a kid he knew from the gym. So he’d agreed to have a massage. Big deal—his neck had been sore, hadn’t it? And the massage had certainly relieved him of some tension, hadn’t it? Sure. And so he’d gotten engaged in some casual session of mutual masturbation. Big deal. He and his friends had done that on numerous occasions when they were in junior high.

Most surprising of all, Gary realized, was that instead of the expected pangs of guilt and self-hatred, all he came away from the incident with was a warm feeling of comfort and pleasure.
Experience everything!
Gary told himself.

The taxi pulled up to Gary’s building and he took his wallet out of his hip pocket. He handed the driver a few dollars and suddenly knew his life could never again be the same.

The next morning, near the end of his physical, when he was being interviewed by an Army psychiatrist, Gary kept thinking of his experience with Neil.

Like a dam bursting, he suddenly found himself confessing the whole evening’s mischief to the kindly gray-haired man in khaki seated behind the desk. When he finished, the doctor told him to get dressed.

The psychiatrist was sorry to have to be the one to break the bad news, but the United States Army was not looking for Gary’s type of man.

“In fact,” the doctor said, pointing to the door, “you can go home now.”