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need to know Flo. He is my oldest piece of
furniture. He does not like change, but he will come around.”
    Pregnant silence. A palate cleansing moment, which
on some occasions are fraught with nerves and a need to fill the
void with chatter. In this case, it was welcomed and lasted a full
three minutes. Finally, Thomas dashed it. “Well, what shall we do
next?” he asked.
    “You mentioned dinner. I’m famished.”
    “Dinner it shall be. I know just the place.”
    Philip smiled, and then winked. “And then you said
we could go to your place and discuss . . . Dick.”
    “You mean Melville’s Dick,” Thomas said. He laughed.
“I mean Moby’s.”
    “I like your laugh,” Philip said.
    “Well, you do make me laugh. You make my
heart feel so . . .”
    “Young?”
    “Young.” There we have it. They arrived at the issue
and Thomas was not ready for a serious discussion, so he cleaved to
the rigging and scraped up some old barnacles. “What is age anyway?
Just another number to live up to?”
    “Just a number,” Philip agreed, but his voice was as
tentative as Thomas’ thoughts. “No other meaning.”
    “Quite clinical. Even when we feel our age, it only
serves to make us restless. We still need to . . .”
    He closed his eyes. He saw the pages as if he had
read the book a dozen times, which he may have, and spoke:

    “ Whenever I find myself growing grim about the
mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever
I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and
bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; then, I account it
high time to get to sea as soon as I can.”

    “Loomings,” Philip said. “But Tee.” At this, Thomas
opened his eyes. “Can I call you Tee?
    Thomas smiled. “It is music from your lips.”
    “Come swim in the sea with me, Tee,” Philip said.
“Take a deep breath. What do you smell?”
    “Coffee.”
    “No. Do it again.”
    Thomas inhaled with the vigor of an old mariner on
the docks. He smelled the sea.
    “Salt in the air,” Philip said.
    “I do smell it.” The aroma was from a different
place than this old beatnik dive. Let me be a child again ,
he thought. He opened his eyes. “Lead on.”
    Philip grinned. “I take MasterCard, Visa, and
American Express.”
    “You make me laugh,” Thomas said. “Besides, I always
pay with cash.”
    Thomas stood, his hand out to catch Philip at the
balance like a country gentleman escorting the shallow country maid
from the cotillion floor. They would take a late supper like
civilized folk, and then see what lay beyond Christopher Street.
Thomas did sense something in Philip’s pulse. Before the evening
was out, one or the other would be compromised, turning idolater
and kissing the nose of the pagan god.

Chapter Six
Confidence
1
    “Which floor?” Philip asked.
    He scanned the array of buttons in the immaculate
white elevator. They were arrayed from L to 25 . He
hoped Thomas lived high up — a penthouse perhaps, with a good view
of the East River, although they were closer to Central Park.
    “Three,” Thomas said. “You look disappointed.”
    “No. Three is good.” He grinned, and then pressed
the button. The silver door shut.
    Philip was tired now. It was probably more the food
than anything else. Thomas had taken him to an intimate restaurant
overlooking Park Avenue — The Gujarati Rose — specialty,
Indian cuisine. Small and scarcely lit, the curry aromas had
intoxicated Philip, and although he avoided the super-hot Vindaloo , he managed the mild one, which was hot enough.
They ate in near silence, the waiter chattering in unintelligible
palaver about the dishes and that he hadn’t seen Thomas in many
weeks and something about the Dalai Lama. The food, spicy aromas
and the buzz of these ramblings lulled Philip into a state of
euphoria. In the dim candlelight, Thomas seemed more haven than
meal ticket.
    Now Philip was on the short rise to the third floor
of a spacious apartment house