Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/216

 much at home … I love to come here." He took a drink from the glass he held and sat on one of the pillows close to Gaylord's feet.

Gaylord stared idly at him. He looked at Gene but preferred the scene below. Looking at Claude seemed to put him closer to life than looking at Gene. He looked at Paul who was talking to Cleo and then back again below.

"Gene's got a nice place here."

"He sure has … do you live here?"

"Here?"

"I mean New Orleans."

"No … I live in Texas … Paul brought me here."

"Oh … I'm glad he did."

"I am too … I don't know anyone here in New Orleans."

"You do now."

"Gay." It was Paul. "How's your drink?"

"Half full … I don't think I'd better drink any more."

"I'll take care of you … have fun." Paul pressed himself closely against him. "What have you been doing, Claude?"

"Nothing," Claude answered. "Same old one and two."

Several more men entered the room and then some more until the room was quite filled with shrill voices; heavy scented perfumes; long fingernails; painted faces; plucked eyebrows; swishing hips, and cigarette smoke, hanging between the laughing, chattering, drinking, moving figures.

"Claude, how about playing the piano, huh?" asked Paul.

"Do you play?" questioned Gaylord. He looked down at the youth on the red pillow at his feet. Looked down into a pair of eyes that were staring back.

"A little," Claude said, still gazing into Gaylord's eyes, his hand gently caressing Gaylord's ankle. "Would you like for me to play?" he asked, his fingers digging deep into the soft skin.

"I'd love to hear you play."

"Your wish is my command." He didn't even look at Paul but kept his gaze on Gaylord. "What do you like?"

"Anything."

Claude arose and went to the piano; he ran his long fingers over the ivory keys. The room suddenly became quiet. He began to play 206