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he had managed Florian Townsend for many years and
they were friends. It might have been difficult to divine friendship from the current action, but this was only one
event in many scores. Thomas knew that Florian would not relent
until he made his point — what’s a man like Tee doing with a
girl like Philip? Thomas knew if it got to that point, Philip
would probably drift out the door and home to wherever home
was.
    Flo didn’t fight the notion of a private talk, but
Thomas was not inveigling to invite Mr. Townsend back to the table.
He was about to eject him — with explanation, but ejecting him he
would. He walked him to the large glass doors with the heavy brass
handles. There he stopped and rounded on his friend.
    “I understand your need to conclude business at all
hours of the night, Flo, but you have never had a sense of
propriety.”
    “I know what you’re doing. It’s that Internet
business still.”
    “It may have been, but give me a break, Flo. I have
just met Philip, and I think I would like to know him better.”
    Flo bit his bottom lip. “Taking notes is one thing.
This is another.”
    “I do not follow.”
    “Christ, Tee. You’re twice his age . . . or more. Is
he jail bait?”
    “No.”
    “How do you know? Have you asked him for
identification?”
    “You are being an ass. He strips on a pay site and
he needs to be eighteen or older to do that. It is the law.”
    Flo pouted. “I guess it’s your business, but if you
ask me . . .”
    “I did not ask you. Nor would I.”
    Flo trembled. “I thought I knew you better than
that.”
    Thomas sighed. Flo had softened now into some
dreary, wistful pose, like a pouty girl — an ungainly, ugly, pouty
girl, but an imploded female nonetheless.
    “Flo, this is not about us, you know. The old days
are gone. We are friends. You are the best agent I have ever had,
but if you cannot let it go, I will need to reevaluate . . .”
    “No,” Flo said, raising his hand, halting Thomas’
train of logic. It was clear that Florian did not want that train
to leave the station. He never did, and Thomas knew it. It was a
wreck waiting to happen. Flo sighed.
    “Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.”
    “You sound like a fucking bongo.”
    “You said fucking . You must mean
business.”
    “I do. I shall see you tomorrow. Stop by the flat.
Not too early, now.”
    “I just hate to see you get hurt,” Flo said.
    “I am a big boy.”
    Flo’s head drooped. Thomas patted his back, opened
the door, holding it until Flo slinked through and away.
3
    Thomas turned back to the table. The Imperial
Coffee Mug had thinned out. It wasn’t the hour, but a lull in
the ceremonials. He paused, watching the young man who fidgeted
before the great window. A pang bit Thomas to the core. It was a
cross between guilt and desire. Florian was right. This was not an
age appropriate coupling. Beyond that, Philip was curious and
precocious, but nothing like the college lads that Thomas liked to
date. Philip might be sucking on Melville’s misplaced teat at the
moment, but what next — Shakespeare? Rabalais? Who am I
fooling? Thomas thought. However, this thought was trumped by
the matter at hand — the sheer beauty of the boy. He felt a bit
like Aschenbach in Death in Venice, watching Tadzio running
naked on the strand. What had that gotten Aschenbach? A passel full
of plague and a gondola ride with the grim reaper.
    No . This was different. Philip could
be trained up, and if not, Thomas would turn idolater and kiss the
nose of the pagan god. He decided . He strutted to the table
watching his own reflection in the window as it blotted Philip’s
out.
    “I hope I didn’t cause any trouble,” Philip said.
“You know, you asked about Sprakie and me. I never asked you if you
were with someone.”
    Thomas sat and pondered this question. Good
question , but pointed. “Do you mean Flo and I? No. I cannot see
that.”
    “Somehow, I think he might. See it, I mean.”
    Perceptive lad .
    “No. You