Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/217

 Wagner's music … then Chopin. He played beautifully and seemed to live the music. He closed his eyes as did some of the others … Nothing but the strains of Chopin could be heard in the room.

Paul drew Gaylord closer to him and pressed his arm firmly around his waist. Gaylord didn't think it would be polite to separate himself from him, so he remained still. He didn't want to hurt his feelings … He hardly knew what to do … But he didn't mind … The music was so lovely … so loving …

Gene sat dreaming of the past on the arm of a chair, stroking the blond-headed Jerry. Others squatted on the large red pillows, their hands stealing over the nearest figure, feeling, groping in the candle-lighted room, searching for hidden secrets, treasures …

Gaylord didn't look into the face so close to his but he felt the warm breath on his neck. He knew without looking that it was Paul's breath. It was as if they were obeying unspoken orders. Now there was nothing to do except the one thing that was in both their minds. He felt a stiffness within him when his lips almost met the other's; a little shudder when a strange hand began to run up his leg under his trousers. He didn't want Paul to kiss him … but what could he do …?

A loud knock on the door broke the silent spell the music had brought to the noisy room. Paul sat up and Claude stopped playing and walked over and sat at Gaylord's feet again.

Another knock.

"Gene, the door," someone said.

"Come on in, dear," the shrill cry of Gene came from the dark corner. "I'm busy with a guest," he shouted, still fingering the blond-haired boy; the other hand on the boy's lap.

The blond boy cried, "Gene, you're running up a bill … got some money?"

"Commercial … money … everybody wants money …" he laughed. Then shouted again, "Come on in … the door's not locked.

An elderly man came in accompanied by a youth. Said, "You're a helluva hostess, Gene."

"Mary … get you … When did you ever come to the door for me?"

"Never …"