Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/292

 certain Gaylord had gone from his life as fast as he had come into it. Why should he assume that Gaylord would come back; after all, it had only been a pick-up and he had had many of those. They never came back and when they did it was only for one thing … It could only end the same way as before. Someday, one of them would get tired, one of them would want new fields to conquer; this love begun, would soon end.

Paul looked up at the tall white hotel and when his eyes focused on what he thought was the room in which he had spent the night with Gaylord, an idea occurred to him. He would stay in it again. Tonight, in that room, he could relive a wonderful moment in his life. It wouldn't be the same, no, but it might help clear his muddled mind. The room was dark and a dark room meant vacant; most times it did. Yes, it would feel good to sleep on the same bed again and relive that night. It would be restful tonight.

He moved away from the restaurant, crossed the street, and mounted the hotel steps. He looked around. No one was watching him although, there were many people about. He was conscious of his wet clothes and tried to free his skin from the sticky shirt. He took out his comb, ran it through his hair, and moved again toward the revolving doors, informing himself that he was doing the right thing; knowing that above him he might perhaps find solitude and comfort. He murmured the name "Gaylord" and even the thought of the couple he had bumped against, which had been on his mind, was forgotten. So were the names of past lovers and friends.

On entering the lobby, Paul made his way over the carpeted floor. He spoke to several bell-boys, busy with bags and bundles. He grinned at the porter, busy cleaning over-run ashtrays. He noticed the crowd, busy getting reservations and checking out. They never stayed in one place long; they were always coming and going; like his life, nothing was permanent. He crossed, walking between and around the milling figures, to a desk marked "Sightseeing Tours."

"Paul," the man behind the desk cried. "How good to see you." They shook hands. "Kinda wet, aren't you, kid?"

"Hi, Grover. You'd be wet too," Paul grinned. "Don't you know it's raining outside?"

"Is it?" Grover pulled out a chair, smiled, and looked in Paul's 282