Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/39

 There was a moment's hesitation. Then, with a deep sigh, he walked upstairs to his room, and switched on the light. He stood there just gazing, wondering why he had ever left it.

His Hollywood bed stood modern and elegant on the carpet. It said plainly, and the bleached mahogany cabinets at its side repeated it: "I was custom-made." He looked at the tall lamps gracing the cabinets with the same air. They depicted nudes of opposite sex, seated on an open rock from which flowed growing ivy, and were made of crudely sculptured clay. Their shades were in the modern vein, covered with raw silk. Flanking the lamps were several books, a stud box and a piggy bank, a present from his favorite aunt.

Most boys didn't care whether or not there were draperies at their bedroom windows. Gaylord did. First there was gossamer-thin celanese that hung like gathered mist next to the Venetian blinds. Over that, hanging in deep folds at each side, hammered satin, woven in grey and chartreuse zig-zag lines, touched the carpet. A wide cornice duplicating the material of the draperies and bedspread framed this expensive display of fabric.

From this, his gaze fell on an etching of two wrestlers, their naked bodies tied in a sweating knot, masterfully done and framed in an antique mirror. It dominated the wall over his desk and was his pride and joy.

Gaylord's solitary thoughts left the room, gnawed at another bone. Why was I mistaken for a girl, he asked himself. Is my hair too long or did I have too much powder on? Just why did he think I was a girl?

Questions with no answers dominated him as he unbuttoned his shirt and threw it over a chair.

With a sudden flash of intuition, he went into his bathroom, turned on the light and looked at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. He hadn't changed. He was handsome but he certainly didn't look like a girl. He ran a hand over his face and leaned over to peer at it. His eyes narrowed on his cheek. It was faintly bruised and a red mark discolored the fair skin. His teeth clamped and he uttered a sigh of disgust. He noticed his hair, curls going in every direction. Taking a comb he ran it through the shiny blackness wondering again if perhaps it wasn't a little too long. He noticed his eyelashes. They were 29