Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/246

 "It's not simple to me, Bob."

"It isn't."

"No, it isn't."

Blake took his foot off the bench and lit another cigarette. Said, "What do you mean? Nothing wrong, is there, Gay?" His wide grin tightened, then relaxed, and smoke came from between his lips. He put his other foot on the bench.

"No …" said Gaylord. "There's nothing wrong. I just found out about …"

"About what?"

"About myself."

Blake's eyes were tender and his voice soft. "About yourself?"

"Yes." Gaylord looked at him, his eyes amorous and moistened.

"What else did you do?" shot back Blake with a quick smile.

"I think I know … why …"

"Shu … here come some fellows," he whispered. "Yeah," he said real loud, "that New Orleans is some hot town. Who knows, Gay, you might have screwed the same whore I did." He laughed and slapped Gaylord's shoulder.

"Hi, Bob … Gay," one of the boys said.

"Hi," they both answered together.

The boys looked back with a curious look. "Gaylord Le Claire screwing a whore? Ha; that was a laugh. Bob must be nuts. Why did he want to hang around that sissy for: still, Bob was like that; nice to everybody."

Gaylord had finished dressing. "I've got to go, Bob."

"Yeah, so do I … How about lunch? No … I can't … I've got to pick up Mother. How about tonight …? Can I come by?"

"You know you can."

"About seven-thirty?"

"Anytime. I'll be home," breathed Gaylord and he wished he could have added, "waiting for you."

"See you tonight then."

"Tonight …"

He left it suspended. He would know that the word meant an eternity. Blake patted his arm. 236