Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/307

Rh It was a little after one. He had been sitting up in bed, reading a morning paper. He had fallen asleep and had not extinguished the night light.

Kewpie, returning from a stag entertainment where he had been selling post cards, saw the glint of light beneath the door. He listened. He heard no voices. He knocked. The door was open. He entered. Ken awoke.

In the shadows of the room beyond the circle of lamplight, Ken saw the ashen hair and the beak-like nose of Kewpie.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Hello, Ken," Kewpie said. "I see you got rid of your fair tormentor. Who is the twist?"

"Lemme sleep," Ken pleaded.

"She's softened you. You're meat fit for grinding. Anyone could see that."

Ken smiled. "Same old Kewpie. How's uncle?"

"Dobrinu is going to rent Madison Square Garden for his next art exhibition. Figures to pack 'em in. I've missed you."

Ken sat up.

"So's Verne missed you. And Feathers. Verne says you must choose between flute and lute. I was down there the other evening. Willie insists he always knew you were bisex. I said tri-sex. Isn't cutie a lesbo?"

"I don't know."

"The way she chased Verne one night was a card. He and Feathers were coming up the hall, camping a little. She was on her way to your room. She spots 'em, stops 'em and says; 'Take your crochet needles and your powder puff out into the wide open spaces, pansies. I'm living with Ken Gracey now and I'm no nance … If you look closely