Read Online I've a Feeling We're Not in Kansas Anymore by Ethan Mordden - Free Book Online
Authors: Ethan Mordden
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you can never go back to the minor leagues. Have you heard this?” He stroked himself fleetingly. “I’ve seen men weep as they lay before me, vulnerable and poetic, waiting for me to begin. They weep for joy. For a moment, one imagines that nothing else in the world is as important as cock. The wonder of it! But they don’t stay. They don’t take you in their arms and just hold on so quietly and happily. They don’t look at you, at any time of day, with those wild eyes one hears tell of. They don’t need you. Nor, I’m sorry to say, will wit or social grace avail you. No, there is only one way to hold a lover: by having a handsome face. You may have noticed that I do not. Not partly or nearly. Not possibly. And once one isn’t handsome, one never will be. Everyone talks about power, but everyone wants beauty. It’s sad, because you can acquire power but you can’t acquire beauty. Do you know why everyone wants beauty? Because beauty is the only thing in the world that isn’t a lie.”
He extended his arms, palms outward. “I am not offering myself to you, incidentally. I simply wish to show you, as generously as possible, a choice irony of contemporary urban life. Would you ever so mind going now?”
I got up. At the door he said, his eyes on the floor, “Somewhat needless to say, if you tell anyone about this…”
“I’m not afraid of you anymore.”
He looked up. “Were you ever?”
“All my life. Till about five minutes ago.”
He opened the door, then gently pulled me back as he thought of something. “Tell me, where is your brother now?”
“Here. He lives a few blocks from me, in fact.”
“What would happen if you said hello to him for me?”
“I haven’t spoken to Jim in years.”
He considered this. “You always had a very strange family. What was that littlest one’s name?”
“Tony. He bit your foot.”
Naked in the doorway, he watched me wait for the elevator. “That was all a long, long time ago,” he said. “You can forgive me now.”
“No, I can’t. And I never will.”
“Was I that awful to you?”
“It wasn’t just you.”
“Who else?”
I shook my head.
“It’s ancient history,” he urged. “An old story.”
“This story isn’t finished yet.”
“If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.”
I just looked at him and he shrugged and closed his door. So who did have the biggest boner in Hollywood? Harvey Jonas did, for all the good it did him; and it did him none; and that’s fine with me. You want hot truth? That scene was about the ruin promoted by childhood calamaties. About how something goes wrong in infancy and nothing feels right thereafter. About being haunted by nameless worries.
I promised not to expose the secrets of Harvey Jonas. But he owes me satisfaction: for my bicycle pump, for what happened at the swings, and mainly for some other matter that I’d rather not mention just now.
There is no crying anywhere in this story.
The Precarious Ontology of the Buddy System
Thinking back on the couples I have known, I note how many of them were unsuited for each other—Alex and Joe, for instance, or Mac and Nick. What is surprising about the gay fascination for the misalliance is how many odd couples actually seem rather made for each other, once they hook up. I marvel. When Dennis Savage, that very exponent of Stonewall-era sexual cosmopolitanism, picked up a youngster at standing room for The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, I took it as usual news, at best a passing headline: ALLURING VETERAN NABS NEW BOY IN TOWN . But this was the boy it took four dates to land, and when their spotty rendezvous schedule grew constant, then insistent, I stood by, amused and supportive. When I met the boy and found him very young, very silly, and very uneducated, I held my peace. And when I saw this archon of the Circuit, the notable (if fiercely flawed) Dennis Savage, become so involved with this boy that he began to lecture me on the evils of
He extended his arms, palms outward. “I am not offering myself to you, incidentally. I simply wish to show you, as generously as possible, a choice irony of contemporary urban life. Would you ever so mind going now?”
I got up. At the door he said, his eyes on the floor, “Somewhat needless to say, if you tell anyone about this…”
“I’m not afraid of you anymore.”
He looked up. “Were you ever?”
“All my life. Till about five minutes ago.”
He opened the door, then gently pulled me back as he thought of something. “Tell me, where is your brother now?”
“Here. He lives a few blocks from me, in fact.”
“What would happen if you said hello to him for me?”
“I haven’t spoken to Jim in years.”
He considered this. “You always had a very strange family. What was that littlest one’s name?”
“Tony. He bit your foot.”
Naked in the doorway, he watched me wait for the elevator. “That was all a long, long time ago,” he said. “You can forgive me now.”
“No, I can’t. And I never will.”
“Was I that awful to you?”
“It wasn’t just you.”
“Who else?”
I shook my head.
“It’s ancient history,” he urged. “An old story.”
“This story isn’t finished yet.”
“If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.”
I just looked at him and he shrugged and closed his door. So who did have the biggest boner in Hollywood? Harvey Jonas did, for all the good it did him; and it did him none; and that’s fine with me. You want hot truth? That scene was about the ruin promoted by childhood calamaties. About how something goes wrong in infancy and nothing feels right thereafter. About being haunted by nameless worries.
I promised not to expose the secrets of Harvey Jonas. But he owes me satisfaction: for my bicycle pump, for what happened at the swings, and mainly for some other matter that I’d rather not mention just now.
There is no crying anywhere in this story.
The Precarious Ontology of the Buddy System
Thinking back on the couples I have known, I note how many of them were unsuited for each other—Alex and Joe, for instance, or Mac and Nick. What is surprising about the gay fascination for the misalliance is how many odd couples actually seem rather made for each other, once they hook up. I marvel. When Dennis Savage, that very exponent of Stonewall-era sexual cosmopolitanism, picked up a youngster at standing room for The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, I took it as usual news, at best a passing headline: ALLURING VETERAN NABS NEW BOY IN TOWN . But this was the boy it took four dates to land, and when their spotty rendezvous schedule grew constant, then insistent, I stood by, amused and supportive. When I met the boy and found him very young, very silly, and very uneducated, I held my peace. And when I saw this archon of the Circuit, the notable (if fiercely flawed) Dennis Savage, become so involved with this boy that he began to lecture me on the evils of
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