A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (25 page)

“That’s so cold!” Henry said, taken aback. “Surely, there’s a nicer way to end things.”

“I’d think for a girl who’s poor the money would be better than just a fond goodbye,” Louis countered. “Anyway, I’m not going to worry about that now. I’ve promised to meet her again next week. Really, Henry, you should come next time. You don’t have to have
sex
with anyone, you know, but you’d have a good time, I’ll bet.”

“Maybe.” Henry shrugged. “I’ll see how I feel about it next week.” He knew full well he wouldn’t want to go, but there was no point in discussing it
now
. Louis would just want to argue and try to convince him.

While they were at Louis’ house, Freddie telephoned and so all of them went downtown to meet him and Wendell with their slaves at the arcade. The four boys with their slaves passed the afternoon most congenially, all the others full of admiration for Louis and his conquest.

“I don’t think any of the rest of us got so far with a girl,” Freddie told Henry, “but I’m pretty sure some of the slaves did. Those slave girls are wild! I found Tommy sitting between two girls, taking turns kissing one and then the other. He says that’s as far as it went, but I’m not sure I believe him.”

Henry glanced over to where Martin and Tom lingered over the Mutoscopes. Martin was bent over the machine, looking into the viewer, and Tom was leaning over, talking in his ear. Martin turned to look up at him and laughed, their faces very, very close. Henry felt a pang of jealousy, bitter and jagged.

“Wendell met a nice girl,” Freddie said. “Tell him, Wendell. Tell him about Betsy.”

Wendell did. Betsy, unlike Miss O’Malley, was a good girl and had not allowed Wendell any liberties, and Wendell seemed perfectly fine with that. She was pretty and seemed very clean, in Wendell’s estimation, and had left early so she could be well-rested for church. He planned to see her again and seemed to be looking forward to a rather sedate courtship, content to let things move at a slow pace.

“I’m not like Louis,” Wendell confided. “A girl like Miss O’Malley would
scare
me.”

“Me, too,” Henry admitted. “I’m perfectly willing to wait a few years before I start messing with women.” He would happily go the rest of his life without any involvement with girls, of course, though there was nothing to be gained by telling any of his friends that. Better to be thought a late bloomer than to hint at the truth. Perhaps he should try to meet some demure, church-going girl who wouldn’t allow him to kiss her and would be content to simply dance. However, he felt quite sure that Louis wouldn’t let him settle for a girl like that. Louis would want Henry to have some fast piece like Miss O’Malley, some girl who’d be bold and forward and eager for his cock.

Afterward, they all rode the omnibus home. Louis and Peter left them at the Blackwell gate and Henry congratulated Louis again.

“I’m happy for you,” Henry said, “and a little bit proud, too. Good for you!” He clapped Louis on the back and Louis beamed.

Martin also found laundry waiting for him upon their return, and Henry lazed on the bed—boots off—while Martin did his work.

“So, Martin, tell me what your friends had to say about the dance hall. Did they have a good time?”

“Tom certainly did!” Martin laughed. “The others as well, of course, but I think Tom most of all.”

“He was kissing two girls at once, Freddie said.” This did not sound good at all to Henry, but if he mentally replaced the girls with boys it had more appeal.

“Tom is so very good-looking,” Martin explained, in case Henry hadn’t noticed. “He had his pick of the ladies, and then he picked so many of them!”

“Does Freddie always let Tom do what he wants? Kissing girls and all that?”

“Tom has a great deal of leeway. He and Mr. Caldwell have a relationship that suits them very well. Very different than ours, but just as happy.”

But back to the dance and the dance hall. “So Ralph went, too, and obviously Peter did, as well. Did they dance, or did they just neck with girls?” And before Martin could answer he added, “And why are slave girls so wild?”

“Everyone danced. There was a good band, and they had a lovely time.” Martin seemed a little dreamy imagining this.

“Should I have taken you so you could dance?” Henry asked. “I know you love dancing, too.”

“I don’t want to dance with a girl, though.” Martin shook his head, ridding himself of the idea. “But as to the slave girls, I’m sure they’re so ‘wild’ because they
can
be. After all, none of them can become mothers, just as none of us boys will ever father children. The girls are all sterilized before they’re sold, same as us boys. Sex is so much fun, and I’ve been assured that girls do like it every bit as well as boys do. Of course I don’t know
personally
, but I imagine it’s very intoxicating to be in a place like a dance hall, everyone excited and full of life and interested in one another. Also, there’s drinking, and that makes people uninhibited.”

“Does it bother you that you can’t have children?”

Martin looked as though it did, but he said, “No. When you have children, those will be my children, too.”

“You like kids,” Henry said. “You’ll probably be a better father than me.”

Martin laughed. “I think you’ll be a good father when the time comes. That’s so many years from now. Of course, you’ll need a wife first!”

Henry didn’t like to think of his future wife, but it did remind him of Louis and his Miss O’Malley. “What do you think of Louis and this girl, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does it seem like a good idea for him to be involved with her? She might be trouble, after all.”

Martin looked uncomfortable. “Well, it’s not really my place—”

“I
asked
you,” Henry insisted. “Don’t act like a
slave
, Martin; act like a
person
.”

Martin glared at him, just for a moment, and then his expression returned to normal, attentive and interested. Henry did see this, and liked it, liked the glimpse of Martin’s real feelings, even if it did show that Martin perhaps found him a little irritating.

“I do think Mr. Briggs is taking advantage of this girl, if it’s all right to say so.”

“So do I, Martin!” Henry hurried to assure him. “He’s
completely
taking advantage of her! He’s never going to court her for real. He’s just using her for sex.”

“She must really like him. He seems very ungenerous toward her, but she’s still willing to have sex with him—and she’s a
free
girl! It’s very reckless of her, I must say!”

This made Henry think. “Do you think that free people and slaves…
mingle
at this dance hall? Free boys with slave girls, free girls with slave boys, that kind of thing?” It was taboo, of course, and punishable besides, but a very titillating idea.

Martin blushed, surprising Henry, and he leaned forward, eager for what Martin would say. “They
do
! Not openly, of course, but they do.” Even though it was just the two of them in Henry’s room, the door locked, Martin leaned in and in a hoarse whisper said, “Tom wasn’t just kissing
slave
girls!”

Henry was shocked and delighted. He reared back in surprise. “No!”

“Yes, I promise, that’s what he told me, and I don’t think he would tell me a lie.”

“I didn’t think he was lying,” Henry assured him. “I would think all sorts of people would line up to kiss Tom, actually.”

Martin laughed and gave Henry a sidelong look. “Would you, Henry? Would you get in line?”

Was he a little jealous? Henry would like it if he was. “What if I would?” he asked. “What would you do if I did?”

Martin put down Henry’s folded socks and crossed to the bed, pouncing on top of Henry and holding his wrists at his sides. “I wouldn’t
let
you get in line. I’d overpower you.” He kissed Henry and bit his lip. “I’d claim you and drag you off. I’d scare Tom away.” He let Henry’s wrists go and Henry embraced him. They rolled around on the bed and undressed in stages, playing that Martin was someone
else’s
slave that Henry met in a dance hall.

“Does that ever happen?” Henry asked, breathless and half-undressed. “Does a master ever fall for someone else’s slave?” He imagined what would have happened if Adam Pettibone had taken Martin at auction, how he’d have had to look at Martin in the yard at lunch knowing he’d never be able to touch him, and the notion was terribly romantic and sad,
so
sad.

Martin was also breathing hard, his lips slick with spit and his eyes glazed. He sat up and said, “I-I don’t know. I’m sure it
does
happen. Maybe a master meets a slave at a swap and there’s a spark…I don’t know. Do you really want to talk about it
now
?”

As he lay in bed with Martin that night, Henry lamented that he didn’t have some cousin or childhood friend he could claim as a sweetheart. He knew so few girls! His only female cousin was four years older, and Louis’ older sister Susannah was two years older and engaged to be married besides. In any case, claiming a romance with Susannah certainly wouldn’t fool Louis, and Louis was the main person Henry wanted to fool. He supposed he could make up a completely imaginary girl, but felt quite sure he wasn’t clever or quick enough to get away with such subterfuge. Martin would be, of course, but it would hardly be practical to have Martin answer all of his friends’ questions about his made-up sweetheart. No, it was better to stick to being a late bloomer, though at his age and with his increasingly adult appearance, that was becoming a little ridiculous, too.

Martin lifted his head groggily from Henry’s chest. “Henry,” he said. “Go to sleep.”

“Did I wake you?”

“You’re thinking too hard,” Martin complained. “It makes you tense up.” He gave Henry’s chest a little thump, as if to soften it.

Sighing, Henry made a concentrated effort to relax and pulled Martin close. He would figure something out. He thought that if he could hold out long enough, then maybe Louis would be willing to accept a girl like Wendell’s Betsy for Henry, a
nice
girl. Henry thought he was very capable of enjoying time with a girl if he could be confident that she didn’t want anything physical from him, no kissing or caressing. Maybe Martin would have a plan; he should ask for Martin’s help.

He rubbed his cheek on Martin’s hair and fell asleep and dreamed that he was standing in a long line, and when he finally got to the head of it, Tom was there kissing two girls. When Tom saw Henry, he waved one of the girls off and invited Henry to join in. Henry hesitated, but then the remaining girl shook her tawny hair back from her face, and it was Martin’s face, it was Martin smiling and beckoning, and he went willingly into their arms.

At mid-month, Henry and Martin took a Saturday morning ride in the park, as had become their habit. It was very cold, horses and riders both breathing out clouds of steam, and Martin’s cheeks were attractively pink. Henry thought him so very handsome, sitting up slim and straight on Partita’s back, that it made him shy to look at him. As they rode, Henry was on the lookout for someplace within the park where he might share some level of intimacy with Martin, a kiss at the very least. The bare winter trees offered little cover for illicit activities of any sort; he would have to wait until spring to see which likely places were most secluded.

Henry felt a little guilty for not including Cora this week, but he wanted the option to really ride, to gallop his fine horse, and he couldn’t do that if he was charged with the care of a child on a pokey pony. Martin, he thought, would have been willing to bring her anyway. Martin made a good brother, a better one than Henry. He imagined Martin had been beloved by all the little boys at Ganymede, and thought that there were probably boys who missed him still.

“Look, Sir, a cardinal!” Martin pointed with one slim black-gloved finger. “Do you see it, Sir? There in the bushes?”

Henry did see it, a flash of vivid color against a background of grey and brown, dried leaves and bare branches. “I see it.”

“It makes me think of your Halloween costume, Sir, from when you were small. I wish I could have seen you in it.” Martin sounded so wistful, so much like he really regretted never having had the opportunity to see Henry in his little red bird costume, and Henry was almost overwhelmed by the reciprocal affection he felt for him.

The bird flitted ahead, a bright little beacon.

Henry was besotted, infatuated, enthralled. He had never known anyone like Martin before, and he couldn’t imagine there was any other like him in all the world. He was a little nervous about the strength of his feelings, and his suspicion that he might be falling in love was seeming more and more like a conviction. He wished he could know if Martin felt anything remotely similar, but there was no way to ask him without giving his own feelings away. They belonged to one another, certainly, and Henry was glad of it, but that was sexual possessiveness and not necessarily love.

It could be love, though. It might mean that.

“Oh, there’s his mate, Sir, do you see?” Martin was pointing again.