'I thought maybe I could just not… be that way.'
She said gently, 'Your friend Robin, who can't get away from home, and doesn't even have you to talk to anymore-do you think that means he's not gay now?'
'It doesn't matter what I am, if you run away. You are not… a prisoner.'
'No,' she said, and her smile melted into the Gioconda's. 'Unless we both agree that, for a little while, I am.'
'There are things I won't do. I've seen… a lot of stuff. I saw Whisper Who Dares. And whatever I am, I'm not that.'
'Do you think I didn't- Whisper? Do you think I could have believed that}'
He felt suddenly very small.
'And I know there are things you won't do,' she said. 'You won't ever do anything that makes me feel bad about myself, or about you. I trust you on that. Because trust me on this: you won't get the chance to say 'That'll never happen again'.'
He nodded slowly.
'We got some kind of a deal, lover?'
'Deal,' he said, and pulled her against himself for, oh, who cared how long.
Finally she said, 'So do you want to get up and start the day? Your scraggly red beard is, I gotta say, pretty scratchy.'
He rubbed his chin. 'Yuck.' He let her help him stand up. 'I'll get cleaned up. And all of a sudden I'm really hungry.' 'I'm not surprised. What would you like?' 'Uh… some eggs over very, very easy. And coffee.' When Doc got out of the bathroom Ginny was standing beside the service tray. Her face was taut. Without a word, she held out a copy of the Centurion, folded to Lucius's column.
THE CONTRARIAN FLOW
by Lucius Birdsong
It has been a while now that I have been writing this here colyum (as some of you choose to call it) and there is a question that many of you have asked, one way and another, and one way and another I have not ever answered it.
The question is not what you would call a stumper. It is Why do you call that column of yours what you call it? And since this may well be the last time I write it and you read it, things being what they are and all, your correspondent would like to finally let the thing out of whatever the thing is in.
You see, there are all these other questions. The ones you didn't ask.
You never asked why I have not taken you sculling down the old blood stream in a little paper boat, and pointed out the heaps of skulls that shoal its banks, nor the vacant eyes of those who troll it, nor the pale viscid nature of the so-called life it supports.
And you never wanted to know why children come here as if drawn by that cheeky chequy chappie with the woodwind wail; you don't know that story, because in the commercial version the children arc a warrior and a wizard and a bard and a thief and a fledgling dragon, and they not only defeat the entrepreneur but get a bag of gold to boot; you never asked win the onl ones to leave this place can never, age regardless, again be called children.
And corollary to that, no letter has ever arrived from the World beyond inquiring of your correspondent why the only children left out there are the damaged, the crippled, the already too lost to find their way, who are now confronted with the unspeakable possibility that they may be the children of fortune after all.
Indeed you never demanded why I have told you of this and that but never the other thing, of the rainbow but not the pot of gold, the dance but not the steps, the singer but not the song.
In this great city, we are supposed to have made a river run against itself. Now, while the water does indeed counter the tendency of the Continental Divide, no such thing happened, nor has it ever happened. What we did, at great trouble and expense, was adjust the river's circumstances: to lay down a red carpet strewn with rose petals and good intentions, and hope the stream would choose to go our way. We didn't command the river, because one cannot tell water where to go, and if the attempt is made the torrent will take a revenge that is even more awful for being without passion.
Your faithful reporter has tried to coax a trickle in a thirsty land, but he knows better than to strike the rock.
I am leaving you now, for an uncertain while, and hope to get just a peek at the place I shall not be going.
Doc dressed, kissed Ginny, and drove to the club. Pavel took his coat. Stagger Lee was in the lobby as well.
'Sorry I'm so late.'
'Almost the late,' Stagger said. 'Next time-' He shook his head. 'Excuse me. I've got to get the show going.'
Patrise was at his table with the regulars; everything seemed normal, except that Shaker was on the bar and Ginny was nowhere in sight. Neither was Lucius.
'Glad to see you, Doc,' Shaker said, setting a dark beer down in front of him. 'I'm sure they'll be glad to have you over at the table. Unless you'd rather sit here? Show's about to start.'
What kind of question was that? Doc wondered. He went to Patrise's table. Patrise and Carmen stood. She hugged him, Patrise gestured toward an empty chair. McCain sat quite still. Then Carmen sat back down. The lights dimmed.
Doc said to Carmen, 'Aren't you-'
'Not tonight. Sssh.'
The spotlight hit the stage. Stagger's voice came over the speakers, spoke a name Doc didn't recognize.
It was Fay that came onstage. She was wearing a pearl-gray suit with long trousers and a low neckline. Doc swallowed, wiped his damp hands on a napkin.
She sang. With words: clear, intelligible, certain words.
The evening descends The radios on A voice in the air And solitudes gone But who have you got on That favorite spot on The dial
The next voice you hear
Whatever its source
Will be coming through clear
No static of course
Lets close the request lines
Since all of our best times
Are gone
She had a good voice, a very good voice, sweet and warm. Doc felt a warmth on his hand. Carmen was holding it. She was watching the woman on stage, and smiling.
The next voice you hear Will take you right back To flutter and wow
'l'hat our broadcasts lack
Its strange how the cold hands Warm up to the old bands Once more
'Alvah wrote it for me,' Carmen whispered. 'But I never could sing it. Nor ever can, now.'
A wonderful voice. But it was just a song, after all.
We now leave the air Here's station ID We bid you good night With hopes that she'll be Forever the right choice Whoevers the next voice
… You hear
The patrons applauded. Someone called for an encore, but Fay had already vanished through the curtains; she did not reappear. The room was rather quiet after that, and table by table began to clear out.
Mr. Patrise said, 'You'll have to excuse me, Hallow. It's been a long day.' He stood up. 'Coming, Lincoln?'
'Yeah,' McCain said, but he just sat there staring at Doc.
Doc said, 'Have you seen Lucius, Line?'
