Winning is Everything (8 page)

Gary rang the doorbell.

11 

Tall gin and tonic in hand, Hamilton Forsyth opened the door. “Hey, Sarge. You made it!”

“… was in the neighborhood,” Gary mumbled. “Thought I’d …”

“Glad to have you,” said Ham as he shook Gary’s hand. “Come on in. Get yourself a drink.”

Hamilton left to tend to some other guests, and Gary stepped into the apartment and found twenty-seven young men having cocktails. He scanned the room quickly and recognized most of the guests from the morning or afternoon shifts. He thought of turning around and leaving, but by the time he got to the bar, he’d gotten a chance to glance at most of the party.

Kip was not at the party, and Gary was confused by his disappointment about it.

“How’d
you
get here?” said a voice behind him.

Gary turned to find Henry from the Product Salon. “Hi!” he said casually, praying he was being taken for someone else.

“How ‘bout this turnout, huh?” drawled Henry.

“I never realized there were so many …
gentlemen
at the Ford Pavilion,” said Gary.

“And these were just the ones who showed up!” added Henry. “Imagine all those who couldn’t make it or those who didn’t hear about it, or, most pitiful of all, those who were afraid to come ‘cause they’re still living in the closet.”

“Yup,” said Gary, hoping to sound fairly noncommittal.

“I’d like to know just who did the hiring for our pavilion,” said Henry. “Fellow must be the world’s great closet case. Every third guy is a friend of Dorothy’s.”

“Whose?” Gary asked.

“Dorothy. Don’t you know anything? It’s a password for a member of the club. You just join the scene or something?”

“I’m not sure I belong to any scene,” said Gary, trying not to protest too fiercely.

“Then what are you doing
here,
honey?” asked Henry.

“Having drinks with friends,” said Gary.

“Brother!” said Henry. “Have you got a long way to go.”

In a flash, Gary suddenly had a vision of everyone at the pavilion buzzing about Ham’s gay party, naming everyone who had been there. Gary wanted to die. Or at least disappear.

“And what a surprise to see
you
here,” Henry was saying. “I had no idea …”

“That’s okay,” said Gary. “I had no idea either. Still don’t…. But won’t people think differently about us for this?”

“For what?”

“For coming here. Won’t people feel differently when they find out …”

“Find out?” Henry was puzzled. “How’s anyone gonna find out?”

“People talk,” said Gary. “Word gets around …”

“Hey, buster,” Henry confided to Gary, “don’t you know the code of the hills?”

“The what?”

“It’s a silent pact between fruitcakes all over the world. Lots of guys here still leading double lives. So you respect that, see? You don’t talk about the guests you saw here, you don’t even tell people
you
were here, see?”

Not only did Gary see, but he was suddenly feeling a whole lot better about being here. He walked up to the bartender hired for the occasion and asked for a stiff gin and tonic.

Gary took his drink to the other side of the living room. All right, he told himself, you came here to observe.
Observe!

Gentlemen stood about the room, clustered into groups of two, three, and four. They were all talking pleasantly and to Gary it looked just like any other party except there were no women present.

“How you doing?” asked a voice behind him. Gary turned around and saw a tall, nice-looking fellow. “Dan Williams,” the man said, introducing himself.

“Gary Sergeant. You don’t work at the fair.”

“No. I’m a friend of Ham’s. Went to Rutgers together.”

There was something so pleasant and straight about this fellow, Gary was immediately put at ease. He was so obviously heterosexual, in fact, Gary was relieved to find someone else at the party, besides himself, who wasn’t a friend of Dorothy’s.

Dan and Gary talked for half an hour. In time, other guests joined their little circle, and the conversation shifted from film to theater to politics, and Gary was impressed at how very interesting and educated everyone was.

An hour later, when Gary went to the bar for another drink, Dan stopped him and asked, “Hey, when this is over, would you like to come to my place for a drink?”

Gary’s first instinct was to say, sure, yes, he’d love to; but there was something in the way Dan had posed the question that made Gary suddenly uncomfortable. It suddenly dawned upon him that perhaps Dan was queer even if he seemed perfectly straight.

Flustered and confused, Gary knew he had to get out of that apartment, and fast. Dan’s invitation was tantamount to a come-on.

“Sure, that’d be great …” Gary heard some other person in his head accept the offer.

Are you crazy?
Gary fought with himself as he continued his pilgrimage toward the bar. He thrust his empty glass at the bartender and said, “I’ll have another gin and tonic, please. In fact … make it a double.”

Gary took a big swallow as soon as the bartender handed him the drink. What exactly, he wondered, was he doing? He downed his drink, turned to the bartender, and ordered another.

After that, things got pretty cloudy. By the time the party started breaking up, Gary started breaking down. Dan walked up to him and said, “Ready to go?” Gary raised still another drink into the air and with a goofy grin said, “Ready to go!”

Gary and Dan said good-bye to Ham and the few remaining guests and left the apartment. Gary was too far gone to remember the ride down in the elevator. Nor did he recall the ride crosstown in the taxi. He didn’t remember the walk up the four flights of stairs to Dan’s one-bedroom apartment on West Seventy-sixth Street, and he certainly didn’t recall having still another gin and tonic in the air-conditioned comfort of Dan’s living room.

And while he remembered none of these things, he most assuredly did remember throwing up all over Dan’s bathroom and he also remembered Dan hurriedly escorting him back down the stairs and stuffing him into a taxi.

12 

“I’m simply stunned!” Ron told Gary the following morning.

“Why’s that?” asked Gary.

“I heard you went to that all-boy party last night.”

“Who told you that?” Gary’s first reaction was defensive.

“Never mind who, buster. What gives? You been holding back on me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Gary stated vehemently as he wondered what the hell had happened to the “Code of the Hills.”

“Well, what were you doing there?”

“Who said I was there?”

“Does it matter? Tell me; were you there?”

“What’s the big deal?”

“It’s a big deal, Sarge, because I’ve been best friends for four years with someone who I thought I knew pretty well, and I’m sitting downstairs in the men’s locker room while two swisholas in the next alley are flying through last night’s guest list and mentioned your name. So will you please tell me? I won’t say a word. Were you there?”

“I was there,” said Gary to the floor.

“I can’t believe it! What were
you
doing there!”

“I was getting drunk!”

“And I hope that’s all.”

“Come on. Isn’t it obvious?” Gary quickly shifted excuses in his head and came out with, “When I accepted the invitation, I had no idea there would be no girls there.”

“Oh?”

“Oh! You know I’m not that way, don’t you?”

“Well, I mean, who knows anymore these days? You were a fine fraternity brother and you’re a terrific skier and your dad played second base for the Chicago Cubs and you’re not at all effeminate, but there’s often more to subversion than meets the eye.”

“Relax, will you? I’m a red-blooded, head-on, athletically gifted, piss-and-vinegar heterosexual American boy. Is that clear?”

“Kind of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you gotta clear your record.”

“What record?” Gary asked, raising his voice.

“Hey, kid, calm down. I’m here because I’m on your side. Get it? I’m talking about your credibility.”

“Who cares about my credibility?”

“I care, and so do you. So listen to me. What you do with your personal life is up to you, up to a point. After that, it becomes a reflection on moi. And anything having to do with the reputation of the Prince demands immediate attention.”

“I told you, I didn’t know the party was going to be for queers only.”

“Listen to me, buster. You forget to whom you’re speaking. Remember, I was the one you came crying to when you couldn’t get it up for Susan Tillman.”

“I did get it up!” Gary insisted. “I just couldn’t get it in. Not my fault she had a vault for a vagina!”

“Fine. Let’s not talk yesterday’s disaster. Let’s deal with the one at hand, okay?”

“Fine.”

“Okay. Here’s what you do. Uncle Ron thinks whatever are your personal preferences or your secret desires, forget ‘em; the important thing is for people around here to believe you shoot straight. What you got to do now is pick up your credibility.”

“And just how do I go about doing that, your Grace?”

“Easy. You start plunking one of the girls here in the pavilion.”

“Oh, sure. Shall I pick out a lucky winner from the droves lining up around the block?”

“Don’t be so unsure of yourself, kid.” Ron looked Gary up and down. “You’ve got a handsome face, you’re built like a baby tank, and you got a terrific personality. I tell you, if I weren’t such a screaming heterosexual, I could probably go for you myself!”

“How would you like a punch in the nose?”

“How would you like a date?”

“With whom?”

“Does it matter? You’re looking to get laid. That’s all. You don’t have to get married. You don’t have to fall in love. Hell, you don’t even have to like her.”

“Who’d you have in mind?”

“Got it all figured out. I’m fixing you up with Ellenor Robinson.”

“The overweight girl who works for Mr. Thomason? Forget it!”

“You gotta start somewhere, kid. And at least she’s got a gorgeous face.”

“But I hardly know her,” said Gary.

“Leave everything to me.”

“Sure,” Gary said sarcastically.

“I mean it. I’ll fix you up. You’ll have a great time. We just have to make sure everyone in the pavilion hears about it or sees you. We got to iron out your reputation, convince everyone you’re one stud.”

“Oh, brother …” Gary rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Don’t worry.” Ron patted Gary on the back. “Dr. Zinelli is on the case.”

Ellenor was at her desk typing some memos for Mr. Thomason when Ron bopped into her office. “Hey, woman!” he greeted cheerily. “How goes the show?”

Ellenor looked up from her typewriter. “How many R’s in ‘tomorrow’?” she asked.

“Seventeen,” said Ron, sliding a thigh onto the side of the desk, making himself comfortable.

Ellenor flipped the switch off on the IBM, folded her arms, and rested them across the carriage. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing.” Ron waved a long arm through the air. “Just thought I’d drop by, see what the rich people are doing.”

“We’re doing just fine, thank you,” said Ellenor, turning the machine back on.

Ron picked up a pencil and stuck the eraser into his ear. “What are you doing about dinner?”

“Why do you ask?” asked Ellenor, smart enough by now to be on her guard.

“It’s my roommate, Gary …”

“What about him?” Ellenor leaned back on her chair.

“He’s been so depressed lately, I thought maybe if we all had dinner together …”

“Depressed about what?”

“Terrible news. He called home last night, to Avignon, learned that his family’s grape crop has failed.”

“Oh?”

“Not only that; his grandmother has to go back for another operation. Poor woman’s been in a wheelchair thirteen years.”

“How awful,” said Ellenor, genuinely sympathetic.

“Please … I’ve just begun. His favorite dog got shot in a hunting accident.”

“No!”

“Yes. And his father says if the European stock market doesn’t improve, they may have to sell one of the vineyards.”

“What vineyards?”

“Family vineyards, of course,” said Ron, now biting into the eraser on the end of the pencil. “Surely you knew Gary’s family are second cousins to the Hapsburgs.”

Ellenor closed one eye and focused more clearly on Ron. Something was screwy. “Hapsburgs?” she asked suspiciously.

“Sure. Gary was raised in America. Divorced parents. International scandal. He’s from royalty, though. I thought you knew.”

“No,” said Ellenor pretending to yawn. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s all true, though. I think he’s the fifth Earl Viscount of Liechtenstein, something like that. He and the queen mother are like that!” Ron thrust two cemented fingers at Ellenor.

“I don’t believe it,” said Ellenor.

“Believe what you like.” Ron shrugged. “He doesn’t like to talk about it… always thinks if people know his background, they’re going to want to be his pal for other reasons besides friendship.”

“Why’s that?”

“Come on …” said Ron, pointing the pencil at Ellenor. “You must know all about it. You’ve got the files here.”

“The files have nothing in them regarding family history.”

“Well”—Ron leaned in to tell Ellenor in confidence—”Sergeant’s mother is one of the heirs to the Fiat fortune. An Agnelli. His family sent him over here to work for Ford to find out what the competition is doing. Get it?”

Ellenor got none of it. “Of course,” she told Ron, playing along until she found out just what this particular four-flushing was all about.

“So what do you say? Five o’clock today at the Thailand Pavilion okay? You, me, and the count; I mean Gary.”

“What about Kip?” asked Ellenor. “He coming too?”

“I haven’t invited Kip, Miss Dizzy. Kip is a thick-necked jock who knows from little more than strangleholds, and probably hasn’t even heard of Thai cuisine.”

“He’s got a Phi Beta Kappa key,” said Ellenor defensively.

Ron snapped his fingers in dismissal. “You know of any doors ever opened by a Phi Beta Kappa key? I’m offering you dinner with royalty, and all you can think about is some ridiculous puppy crush. Don’t be so fixated. Give Gary a chance.”

“You sure Gary isn’t American?” asked Ellenor. “I’ve only spoken with him a couple of times, but he sure sounded Midwestern as apple pie to me.”

“It’s amazing what a few years of summer school at Hahvaad will do for a person’s accent, isn’t it?”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Ellenor wanted to know.

Ron got up off the desk. “You coming to dinner or not? Plenty of other charming and attractive women waltzing around the pavilion. Bet you some of them wouldn’t mind spending some time cheering up a homesick viscount from one of Europe’s oldest reigning families.”

“Why me?” asked Ellenor.

“Why not?” said Ron. “We’re friends, no? He’s my roommate. Uncle Ron knows what people would be good for each other. I’m just trying to put a smile into his dreary days. But you don’t want to go, you don’t want to go. So what if his grandmother dies. Forget it.”

Ellenor gave in to Ron’s shenanigans. “Okay, count me in with the count. I’ll join you for dinner.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“Besides, you’ve piqued my interest. It’ll be fun dining with royalty.”

“You bet. We’ll have cayenne-pepper chicken, strange condiments, and mango ice cream. Very exotic.”

“Sounds fine. By the way, who’s picking up the check?”

“Hey …” Ron tapped the desk with his finger. “We’re talking about royalty. We’re talking about fortunes as old as Spain. We’re talking about going Dutch treat.”

“I might’ve guessed.” Ellenor grinned. She knew that he knew she knew he was full of shit. But, hell, cayenne chicken sounded good, and she knew he had something else up his sleeve and was curious to learn just what it was. “You’d better get out of here now,” she said. “I’ve got to finish these memos and get to the ladies’ room for some drastic surgery before four o’clock. I’m having dinner with a prince!”

“No, darling. Try to get it straight.
I’m
the prince. He’s a viscount. And he doesn’t want anyone to know. He’s making believe he’s a rube from Cleveland so he can spy around the pavilion. He doesn’t want his cover blown. Promise you won’t let on that you know. Go on … promise!”

Ellenor tossed her hands into the air. “I don’t know who’s crazier,” she said. “You for selling me this line. Or me for buying it.”

Ron snapped the pencil in two. “See you in Thailand at five. And whatever you do, don’t call Gary ‘your Highness’; makes him self-conscious.” Ron walked out of the office and hurried back to the VIP area, tickled to have set things so well in motion, and Ellenor went back to typing her memos, convinced Ron was the best candidate she’d yet met for a frontal lobotomy.