Read Online William F. Buckley Jr. by Brothers No More - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brothers No More
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him between his legs, smiling sleepily, moistening her lips with her tongue. On the fourth floor she led him to a door which she opened with her own key. Inside was a narrow corridor, a middle-aged woman seated at one corner of it reading a paperback under the light. At her left was a refrigerator and next to it, in what had been a bookcase, assorted liquors.
“What you having tonight, lover boy? You can leave your kit over there.” Lena pointed to a closet behind the woman.
Henry said he would settle for a beer, though he felt frustratedby the delay. This he assumed was a part of what he knew to designate as foreplay. But not of the kind he had ever envisioned; his idea of foreplay wasn’t something you did in a corridor getting drinks from an old lady.
The woman put down her book, opened the refrigerator and took out two bottles of beer. She poured a rum and Coca-Cola for Lena. “Two dollars,” she said, opening the cash box. Henry heard a woman’s laughter and a man’s voice saying something, but he did not make out the words. Lena motioned Henry to follow her. She led him to a small room with a large bed. She took the beer from his hand, put her own glass down on the night table, slid open Henry’s fly, kissed him ardently on the lips, and whispered, “That will be twenty dollars, lover boy, cash up front. Put it there,” she pointed to the night table, “and I’ll be right with you, handsome.” She disappeared into a bathroom.
As suddenly as the switch had turned on, another now took hold of him, and his reaction was instantaneous.
He yanked a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and dropped it on the bed. He zipped his pants shut, opened the door quietly, walked down the hall, picked up his bag and walked quickly down the stairway to the street. He felt a pang in his groin, but his head was composed, and the hot air tasted summer-sweet.
Seven
T HE PASSENGER LINER wasn’t much but the send-off was out of sight terrific, as Caroline’s officious friend and classmate Harriet put it. It was just the right time of day for that kind of thing, Danny thought, and Caroline agreed: late afternoon, so that when the sun actually fell, you were snaking out of New York Harbor, traveling to Europe! The
S.S. Continental
was a hastily rebuilt merchant ship designed to help cope with the overflow of Americans who wanted to travel to Europe in the summer of 1949. She was slow, the recreational facilities were limited and the food brought back memories of wartime belt tightening. But she was inexpensive, clean, entirely adequate for Henry and Caroline. The prospect of seeing Europe was the one silver lining in the death of their mother, a death that caused funds to materializethat they did not know existed. Cam Beckett, the trustee, told them at Christmas that their trust could handle a modest trip to Europe, and a few weeks later sent them each a check for one thousand dollars.
The stateroom Danny and Henry shared was a few square inches larger than the room Caroline shared with a stranger, a quite striking, entirely poised redhead who was instantly invited to join the Yale party, did so, and eventually told somebody who asked that her name was Lucy. When the sixth consecutive Yale classmate arrived, Danny said to Henry, Hey, let’s call this thing off! It was beginning to look like the famous Marx Brothers stateroom sequence.
Caroline agreed and everyone followed her up to the lounge, which had only the disadvantage that the guests had to pay for their own drinks instead of using up Danny’s and Henry’s private supply in the stateroom. There were two hundred passengers and at least four hundred well-wishers, a piano player plunking away absolutely outside anyone’s range of hearing except the waiter, who kept cleaning the piano player’s cigarette tray. The stentorian loudspeakers eventually convinced those who were going ashore that there probably wasn’t in fact any alternative to going ashore, unless they
“What you having tonight, lover boy? You can leave your kit over there.” Lena pointed to a closet behind the woman.
Henry said he would settle for a beer, though he felt frustratedby the delay. This he assumed was a part of what he knew to designate as foreplay. But not of the kind he had ever envisioned; his idea of foreplay wasn’t something you did in a corridor getting drinks from an old lady.
The woman put down her book, opened the refrigerator and took out two bottles of beer. She poured a rum and Coca-Cola for Lena. “Two dollars,” she said, opening the cash box. Henry heard a woman’s laughter and a man’s voice saying something, but he did not make out the words. Lena motioned Henry to follow her. She led him to a small room with a large bed. She took the beer from his hand, put her own glass down on the night table, slid open Henry’s fly, kissed him ardently on the lips, and whispered, “That will be twenty dollars, lover boy, cash up front. Put it there,” she pointed to the night table, “and I’ll be right with you, handsome.” She disappeared into a bathroom.
As suddenly as the switch had turned on, another now took hold of him, and his reaction was instantaneous.
He yanked a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and dropped it on the bed. He zipped his pants shut, opened the door quietly, walked down the hall, picked up his bag and walked quickly down the stairway to the street. He felt a pang in his groin, but his head was composed, and the hot air tasted summer-sweet.
Seven
T HE PASSENGER LINER wasn’t much but the send-off was out of sight terrific, as Caroline’s officious friend and classmate Harriet put it. It was just the right time of day for that kind of thing, Danny thought, and Caroline agreed: late afternoon, so that when the sun actually fell, you were snaking out of New York Harbor, traveling to Europe! The
S.S. Continental
was a hastily rebuilt merchant ship designed to help cope with the overflow of Americans who wanted to travel to Europe in the summer of 1949. She was slow, the recreational facilities were limited and the food brought back memories of wartime belt tightening. But she was inexpensive, clean, entirely adequate for Henry and Caroline. The prospect of seeing Europe was the one silver lining in the death of their mother, a death that caused funds to materializethat they did not know existed. Cam Beckett, the trustee, told them at Christmas that their trust could handle a modest trip to Europe, and a few weeks later sent them each a check for one thousand dollars.
The stateroom Danny and Henry shared was a few square inches larger than the room Caroline shared with a stranger, a quite striking, entirely poised redhead who was instantly invited to join the Yale party, did so, and eventually told somebody who asked that her name was Lucy. When the sixth consecutive Yale classmate arrived, Danny said to Henry, Hey, let’s call this thing off! It was beginning to look like the famous Marx Brothers stateroom sequence.
Caroline agreed and everyone followed her up to the lounge, which had only the disadvantage that the guests had to pay for their own drinks instead of using up Danny’s and Henry’s private supply in the stateroom. There were two hundred passengers and at least four hundred well-wishers, a piano player plunking away absolutely outside anyone’s range of hearing except the waiter, who kept cleaning the piano player’s cigarette tray. The stentorian loudspeakers eventually convinced those who were going ashore that there probably wasn’t in fact any alternative to going ashore, unless they
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