The folk dances were held in a hall near UCLA. Jonathan had learned all kinds of dancing as part of his training as an actor. He danced with real flair, feet crossing each other, arms outstretched. He danced, his arms around Ira's shoulders. There were bands of muscle from shoulder to shoulder, across the back of Ira's neck. Ira asked Jonathan if he had ever been to Israel.
'No,' said Jonathan. 'I wish, but I've never really been abroad. My folks live in Canada, so if I have any money, I always end up spending it to go and see them.'
'Funny. You don't look Canadian,' said Ira. Jonathan did not understand.
'What do Canadians look like?' asked Jonathan.
Ira looked about him in mock secrecy. 'They don't know it,' he said, 'but they look Jewish.'
Jonathan was taken aback. Ira touched any area of tension with a joke, to relieve it. Jonathan began to sense a powerful personality in Ira. somewhat obscured by youth and inexperience. There was an imbalance of personal power between them. If they had both been the same age, the imbalance would have destroyed the friendship.
But it was easy for a twenty-eight-year-old actor to appear somewhat exotic to a sturdily conventional undergraduate. Jonathan got Ira into one of his plays for free. The play was a joky rewrite of stories from the Old Testament. The author had written it for children. When she couldn't get it produced, she added a few satiric references and pretended that it had always been for adults. She sat in the tiny audience every night and laughed long and hard at the same jokes, her own jokes.
Jonathan played Adam. Adam made his entrance holding a bath towel around his middle. The serpent was played by a dotty lady wearing a huge red bow tie. Her tongue flickered beautifully. Ira got to meet them all afterward. His cheeks were bright red, his smile wide, his eyes gleaming. He was impressed. That did not stop him from insulting the author.
'Oh, that was you laughing at all the jokes!' Ira exclaimed. 'You really sounded like you thought they were funny!' Then he said, still smiling, 'You should be an actress.' Her smile went thin and tense before she moved on to someone else.
Going home in the car afterward, Ira said, 'Hey, you know, that was a really good play.' Jonathan wasn't sure to what degree he was being sarcastic. Neither was Ira.
Ira invited him to the sauna that was meant only for teaching staff. They pretended to be staff and sat in the tiny box, naked under towels. They had seen each other naked, and they sat, knees touching, the air thick with some kind of tension. Ira kept wiping his face and shifting and avoiding Jonathan's eyes. It was Jonathan's turn, now, to be innocent.
Then Ira invited him to his synagogue in West Hollywood. He looked awfully solemn as he asked Jonathan, his arms folded. Jonathan began to tease him. 'No engraved invitation?' Jonathan asked. And Ira scowled with confusion.
Ira was still tense and anxious as they arrived. He sat stiffly on the bench, his cheeks puffed out, not looking at Jonathan, and Jonathan very slowly realized that all the couples were of the same sex. He began to take in what some of the notices on the wall were saying.
It was a gay synagogue. Beefy, thick-necked Ira was gay. This was the only way he could think of to tell Jonathan.
Outside, in the dark, after the service, Ira stopped and turned around. 'So,' he said. 'Now you know.' His eyes had been looking at the ground. Now they looked up at Jonathan, waiting for an answer.
'Yup,' was all that Jonathan said. Jonathan was touched when Ira began to look worried. Jonathan found it endearing. Jonathan prolonged the suspense.
Ira's arms made a sudden convulsive movement, the involuntary shrug. 'My parents keep asking why I don't go to their synagogue in Burbank,' he said.
'I guess they do,' said Jonathan.
Ira suddenly smiled, but his lips were turned inward, taut, and he very lightly hit Jonathan on the shoulder. 'Well?' he demanded.
'Well what?' Jonathan made himself look innocent.
'What do you think!' bellowed Ira.
'I think it's very nice that you're so religious,' replied Jonathan.
'What else?'
'Are you asking about my religious beliefs?'
'I'm asking about you,' said Ira, grinning, aggressive, voice low.
Jonathan decided it was time to be serious. He found it was difficult for him to talk straightforwardly. 'I'm… I'm kind of hazy about all of that,' he said.
'Hazy. What does that mean?'
'It means I don't know. Either way.' Jonathan made an embarrassed wiggle with his hand. 'I guess I'm waiting.' He sighed. 'Waiting to be persuaded.'
There was a blankness in his sexuality. In a society that valued sexual athleticism, he felt himself at a disadvantage. He had a putative girlfriend, and they saw each other once a weekend for a cuddle and a cultural event. She was a well-known performance artist. She swallowed canned peaches whole while gargling the theme song from Dr. Zhivago. She looked like a librarian, which was perhaps one of the reasons people laughed. She was serious.
'Do you realize,' she had said once, to Jonathan, 'that there are more artists living in Los Angeles now than did in all the rest of history?'
Jonathan didn't. 'It might depend on what you call an artist,' he answered her.
What the girl made of their affair, Jonathan did not know. It was part of the blankness. Maybe she was waiting
