The Lord Won't Mind (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (30 page)

“There you are, laddie. For a moment, I thought some lucky devil had spirited you away. You hit it off with Tim?”

“Golly, did we ever.”

“I’m so glad. It’s a shame he had to go off just now, but he’ll be back in no time. Anticipation sometimes adds a touch of zest.” His shining thick-rimmed glasses and his genial smile gave him an air of benevolence. The cheerful banality of everything he said was benevolent too, like blessings recited from a book. All his movements were firm and precise, which lent him authority, the aura of a man who knew what he wanted and would probably get it. Peter thought of what Tim had said about him and felt agreeably like part of the family.

“Is that dinner invitation still on? I want to hear all about Tim.”

“I thought you two would have something for each other. I’m delighted you discovered it so quickly.”

Peter laughed with happy release. “I’ll say. I think I’m going to be out of circulation for a while. I’d better go speak to Hughie.”

“He’s right over there.” Walter nodded and smiled. Peter crossed the room.

Hughie smiled at him secretly when he saw him. “Find something big, chéri?”

“Big, all right.”

“That’s good, chéri. That’ll make it possible for me to hate you a little bit. Not very much. Just enough to make it easier.”

Peter put his hand on his shoulder and rocked him gently. He held out the change from the taxi. “Here’s your money. You’re a great guy, Hughie.”

“You too, chéri. Put that chicken feed away. You going to stay for dinner with His Highness? That’s good, too. He’s a nice man, Walter.”

Peter looked him in the eye. “Thanks for last night.”

Hughie laughed with a flash of white teeth. “Oooeee. You white boy.”

The party broke up slowly. Peter was the object of much furtive ribaldry when it was learned that he was staying on. There were references to a massage machine, which Peter assumed had something to do with a joke he hadn’t heard. He went through a few self-conscious moments when he was finally alone with his host. Now was the time for a hand to be placed insinuatingly on arm or shoulder, even an attempt at a kiss. Nothing of the sort occurred. Walter made no attempt to close in on him.

“I’m delighted you stayed. An unexpected pleasure.” He beamed benevolently. “Will you stick to wine, or would you like something stronger before dinner?” He went to a table and pressed a bell.

“Maybe a whiskey to settle everything. I guess I’m getting a bit drunk.”

Walter smiled approvingly. “Enjoy yourself. I do like to see people enjoying themselves.” A manservant entered and fixed a whiskey for Peter and began clearing away glasses and bottles. Peter felt as if he were hermetically sealed into a world of silent opulence that had no connection with the city as he knew it.

“Have you noticed the Soutine over the fireplace?” Walter asked. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Is that who it is? I wasn’t sure. It’s a beauty. Everything you have is fabulous.”

“I’m so glad you appreciate them. Collecting means a great deal to me. There’s a lot more scattered about. I’ll show you all of it, later, or some other day. Daylight is really more satisfactory. Come look at this Cezanne. That’s the prize of the lot.”

They moved about the room together, their attention fixed on the paintings. Walter took no advantage of the many opportunities he had to put his hands on Peter.

They had dinner in a dining room dominated by a gorgeous Blue Period Picasso that Peter had often seen reproduced. The meal was excellent, served with excellent wines, and Peter particularly enjoyed it because he was able to turn the conversation to Tim. He learned that he had been a brilliant law student, that he had had several unhappy love affairs, that except for Walter’s place, he avoided the “gay rounds,” as Walter called it.

They moved for coffee to a small study, where they were greeted by a half dozen sunny Bonnards. Peter swirled his brandy in a great balloon of a glass and sighed. He had reached the point where he couldn’t concentrate on anything for very long. His thoughts ran into each other, but he was pervaded by a sense of glowing well-being. Better drunk than high on marijuana. Not so crazy.

“This is the greatest evening I’ve had in a long time,” he said. “You’re a lucky guy.”

“Well, yes, I guess I am. When I meet a charming person like you and am able to give them pleasure, I feel it very strongly. It doesn’t happen very often. Let me give you another spot of brandy.”

They inhaled their brandy, which made Peter’s head reel, while Walter told stories about how he had acquired various items in his collection. “I have some rather extraordinary things in the bedroom,” he said eventually. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate them. Let’s take the brandy.”

“Well, I—”

“Oh, of course. I see what you’re thinking. I assure you I have no intention of touching you.”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

“I have a very good idea of what it must be like for somebody with your looks, being mauled constantly. It must get very tiresome. I don’t like that sort of thing at all. Shall we go?”

“Yes. Sure.” He was still a bit dubious, but he reminded himself of Tim’s reassurances. He rose with some difficulty, but once on his feet, he felt fine. Walter took the bottle and led the way down a long corridor to a big, darkly elegant bedroom. He flicked a switch. One whole wall was covered with drawings of male nudes, all of them museum pieces.

“Golly,” Peter gasped.

“They’re very fine, aren’t they? Take your time.”

Peter wandered along them. Walter made an occasional comment when he lingered in front of one. He imagined Charlie’s drawings hanging here and found that they stood up surprisingly well under the comparison. He turned back to his host.

“Wonderful.” He laughed, at ease now that Walter had offered further evidence of his good intentions. “Quite a crowd to sleep with.”

“I would so love to see you naked beside them. The three-dimensional model, so to speak, and the artists’ idealizations.”

“I’m much skinnier than these guys. I’m more like him.” He pointed to a delicate Donatello.

“Charming. I do wish you’d show me.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Of course not. I’m not going to lay a finger on you, you know.”

Peter had had enough to drink so that the idea of taking his clothes off seemed rather a lark. He thought of Tim’s words. Walter had been very nice. If that was the way he got his kicks, what difference did it make? He shrugged and laughed. “OK, if you really want me to.”

“How delightful. Go in there. You’ll find hangers and everything.” He indicated a door that Peter discovered led to a spacious dressing room. When he had stripped and hung his clothes up, he stretched and ran his hand over his chest and stomach. Nakedness had become his natural state; he felt no self-consciousness. He returned and found Walter stretched out on the bed wearing a dressing gown. His eyes were immediately riveted to a small hand massage machine on the table beside him. He didn’t know what it was all about, but his only thought was to get out. He wondered how he could do it without making a scene.

Walter’s level, unemphatic voice was soothing. “How lovely. It’s just what I had hoped for. The purity of the body’s line when there’s no hair is incredible. You’re one of the loveliest boys I’ve ever seen. Come stand over there.” He indicated a place at the foot of the bed. Peter approached warily. “Yes. You move beautifully. You can’t imagine what a pleasure it is to watch you. Wouldn’t you like to do yourself?”

“Do myself?”

“Think of somebody you like very much and jerk yourself off. It would give me great pleasure.”

Peter stared and blushed and burst into uncomfortable laughter. “I thought I’d done just about everything, but this is the nuttiest—I couldn’t possibly.”

“I’m sure you could.” Walter’s voice was unruffled. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. Think only of your own pleasure. Pretend I’m not here. Imagine you’re at home alone and wishing very badly for somebody.” Walter’s voice was smooth and hypnotic.

Peter’s hand went to his sex in an almost protective gesture. “But I can’t—”

“Of course you can. You’re embarrassed to let your hand do the natural thing. Don’t be. Think of the pleasure you can give yourself. Caress it the way you would if you were alone. There, you see? It must feel very pleasant. Just relax completely with yourself.”

Peter’s eyes had closed. He drifted in an alcoholic mist. He thought of Tim as he slowly stroked himself erect. He heard the click of a switch, and an angry little buzz filled the room. The voice droned on above it.

“There’s so much of it. A regular homewrecker. I would never have guessed. Take your hand away for just a moment. Yes. Superb. With all that, I should think you’d use both hands. Haven’t you tried that? I think you’d enjoy it. Yes, like that. When you come, don’t worry about where it goes. Just think of pleasing yourself. Are you thinking of Tim? He has a splendid body, you know. I imagine you’ve guessed. Not at all like yours. Big and sturdy and muscular, Michelangelo, with marvelous, curly, golden hair, almost as golden as your pubic hair. As for the principal instrument, I know you’ll be delighted with that. It’s not quite as long as yours, but much thicker, very powerful. The plough boy, I used to call him. That’s what it makes you think of. Strong and solid and hard, plowing and sowing. Yes. Ah, yes.”

Peter uttered a brief cry as he achieved his orgasm. His hips worked; he spilled himself across the bed. His knees buckled and almost gave way. He heard a grunt, and the buzz stopped with a click.

“Here, laddie. Use this.” He opened his eyes and saw a towel being offered him. He took it and wiped himself in silence. He looked around him without looking at Walter and saw a wastebasket and went and dropped the towel in it. He stood with his back to the bed.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Of course you should have. You surely enjoyed it, and it gave me enormous pleasure. It was very beautiful.”

“I’m sort of mixed up. Tim said anything I did with you was all right.”

“I’m sure he did. He knew I wouldn’t touch you.”

“I’ll have to think about it. I must be drunker than I thought.”

“Do you mind wearing one of my dressing gowns? I like to see a young man wandering around in a dressing gown.” Walter brought him a dressing gown, and Peter took it and put it on. “Have some more brandy. I’d like to have a talk with you.”

Peter took the brandy. Walter waved him to a chair. He sat, and Walter pushed up a chair for himself. Peter felt not so much ashamed as oddly shy at having performed such an intimate act before a witness. Accustomed to being honest with himself, he knew that he had briefly enjoyed it, in a way; it was the way that bothered him. It was a show-off sort of thing that went against his nature. He didn’t want Tim to know about it, but he knew he would have to tell him.

“You must know by now that you’re a very fascinating and a very beautiful person,” Walter said. “I’m very much taken with you. Very much, indeed. More than I have been by anybody for many years. Are you satisfied with where you’re living?”

For a moment, Peter couldn’t remember in which of a succession of shabby rooms he had left his bags. “Oh, yes. Sure. It’s fine.”

“I ask because I keep another apartment in this building. It’s quite small, but I’m pleased with the way it’s furnished. It’s free. If you can use it, I’d like very much for you to have it.”

Peter was finally able to look at him. The glasses glinted at him. The smile was benevolently undemanding. He looked authoritative and very nice. “Listen, Walter. I don’t think you understand. I’m probably about to get involved in a pretty important affair with Tim.”

“I very much hope you are. He needs you. All the more reason why you should have a nice place where you can be together. It won’t always be convenient for him to have you at his place. A certain amount of independence is very important if you want these things to last.”

“I have an idea I will. As long as Tim does.” It was all so new to him. If Tim would want him to have a decent place of his own, Walter’s offer was not to be brushed aside. “What if I do take the place? What would Tim think?”

“I’m sure he’d be very pleased. Do you have a bank account?”

Peter laughed. “What for?”

“There’s a branch of Chase just around the corner. I’ll open an account for you tomorrow. You might stop by in the afternoon and give them your signature and so forth.”

“What am I supposed to do with it? You know I don’t have a job, don’t you?”

“Neither do I, but we both need money.”

Peter threw his head back and roared. “You’re a very funny man. But come on, be serious. I don’t take money.”

“Of course you don’t. If you did, I’d give you a ten dollar bill and say goodnight. You let me handle this.”

“I guess I’m getting drunker by the minute. None of it’s making any sense.”

“I’m sure it will tomorrow.” He rose and went to a handsome desk and pushed about in a drawer. He returned with a set of keys and handed them to Peter. “Eight-C. You’re probably tired. Do you want a bite to eat? Well, then, why don’t you go up and take a look at the place? You can spend the night if you want and move in tomorrow. Everything’s there. If you need anything, there’s a house phone that connects with me here. I can always send up Laszlo. I can’t tell you what a delightful day this has been for me.”