Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/282

 of figures; mistakes to be demolished. He loved them because he was demolishing mistakes made by others. He did not think of it as work; he thought of it as tearing apart a normal world.

He quickly became known and liked by his co-workers. They found him witty, a good sport and very free with his money. They liked to kid him about the many girls he was always seen with. Every new show that opened he was there with a different one. And he took the ribbing good-naturedly.

Gene Limbeaux was no fool. To go to shows with feminine men was taboo. Instead of them, he took lesbians, not the masculine looking ones, but those that looked and dressed like lovely debutantes.

He loved to read. Not only cheap novels but Voltaire, the Bible and Shakespeare. He read everything so that he could demolish the things in his path; to discover power, weakness and have ease when he was around people. Wanting it, he managed to find the secret of being liked among a crowd, and he found that by words he was a man among men. There was nothing frilly or feminine in his actions at work, but now, in the soft colored walls that protected him, he was himself. He could relax. He had played his part all day at the office. Now he could swish about, scream out in a high voice if he wanted to. He was no longer an actor of actions and words in a normal scene. Gene Limbeaux was no longer a normal man.

"My God," he screamed as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. "Miss Limbeaux, you're a big mess … Old auntie Gene is what the faggots will be calling you before too long if they haven't started it already. Why do we have to grow old … why?"

Getting out a jar of face cream, he was about to pat it over his face when the doorbell rang. This was followed by a voice, "Gene … it's me … Paul. May I come in?"

"Sure … Just a minute," Gene yelled. He put the cold cream away and grabbed a robe. He shook the floor as he ran across it, reached the door and opened it. "My God, Paul … What's happened to you … honey, you look awful."

Paul's eyes were dark and circled; the corners of his mouth drooped the same way his broad shoulders did. His clothes looked soiled and he needed a shave. "I just had an awful night … it's good to see you Gene." 272