Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/35

 Suddenly, the hands retreated and from the dark pits, blood-shot eyes beamed at him like monstrous huge-eyed fish. The man rocked back, laughing with surprise. Gaylord stared, attracted and repelled at the same time. Then the man's shoulders were snatched up and replaced by another and in the soft light the new shoulders looked broad and strong. Someone was freeing him from this horrible ordeal. Immediately he thought of Blake. Blake had come to his rescue. God, how wonderful he was … how nice of him … he didn't want to run if Blake had come to help.

"Come on, Max. You drunken bastard." No, the outline of shoulders wasn't Blake. Blake hadn't come to his rescue after all. The strange voice continued. "Can't you see this kid ain't a dame?" it laughed. "You old son-of-a-bitch." Gaylord heard a loud slap. "I didn't know you were so damn drunk you couldn't tell the difference between a skirt and a pair of pants."

"The hell she ain't," Max coughed, bending down and studying Gaylord's face. He stood swaying like a pendulum from an old grandfather's clock and his breath came rapidly and sickeningly. "You're too damn pretty to be a boy, sonny," he hiccoughed loudly. "Yeah, too damned pretty … ya sure fooled me …" He reached down and pinched the pale cheek. "Ever fooled the boys before, sonny? Ya sure look like a broad … a damn good-looker too …"

His face colored and his cheeks burned. "I've never fooled …" Gaylord sputtered but was interrupted by Max.

"I'll tell ya what, sonny," he broke in with a gurgle. "Come on out to the car with me and I'll fix ya up. You'd like a drink, wouldn't you … sonny? Damn … ya'a cute little fag!" He grinned, went on. "Got some good whiskey … best money can buy … let's get out of this damn joint … come on, let's go out to my car … I wanta show ya … a …" he tried for Gaylord's cheek again he lost his balance and with a loud "Whoops!" fell into the frightened boy's lap, his hand going between Gaylord's legs.

Gaylord drew back, holding a scream in his throat. "Leave me alone … I don't like whiskey … please leave me alone," he cried. His hands were as numb as his paralyzed legs but he managed to shove away the demanding hands grabbing his legs.

"God, how awful," thought Gaylord. "What can I do? Soon 25