The Trouble With Eden - Lawrence Block [102]
“I’m not really all that good.”
“If you’re terrible I’ll put cotton in my ears. What say?”
They drank martinis and played for each other; talked about music and women. The pianist—his name was Buddy—said he didn’t go with women much more. He’d been divorced, he said, and was still over it Bert said he wasn’t sure how he felt about women himself. He seemed to need them, but more and more they left him feeling empty.
“I know what you mean, man. They don’t do you any good, but try doing without ’em. Dig?”
“Dig.”
“And they always want something from you.”
“That’s the truth.”
“But just try going without. Hey, will you look at me? And that’s just from talking about it.”
He looked where Buddy was pointing, saw the bulge in the man’s pants. He wanted to avert his eyes but somehow couldn’t.
“How about you, Bert? The topic of conversation having the same effect on you?”
A large hairless hand dropped casually upon Bert’s groin. The fingers moved, handling him, and something within his head vibrated like a tuning fork. His mouth was dry. A pulse worked in his throat. And he felt him self growing, stiffening, in response to the ministrations of that hand.
“Yeah, I can see you’re in the same kind of mood I am,” Buddy was saying, his voice different now. “You must be feeling kinda cramped in those pants. I know I am.”
Buddy got to his feet, began to undress. Bert began to remove his own clothes. The whole thing had a dreamlike quality to it. He felt utterly bereft of will; he could only play out his part, could not affect the outcome in any way. He disrobed, and Buddy reached for him, positioned him on the couch, knelt beside him and went down on him.
Girls had done this. Not often, and never this well, but they had done this to him from time to time. It had been nothing like this. Nothing had been like this, nothing in his lifetime. He thought God, God, and then thought stopped and he gave himself over entirely to sensation.
After, still in a dream, still without thought, he knelt before Buddy and took the man’s penis into his mouth.
As he did so a feeling of contentment filled him. He could not identify the feeling, and he realized afterward that it was because he had never been contented before.
Fresh drinks afterward, and cigarettes, and for a long time he sat wordless at the piano, playing songs he had played often before. For a long time he played and Buddy listened and neither of them spoke.
After awhile he said, “I guess you figured on this all along, huh? Back at the bar?”
“I thought we both figured on it, Bert.”
“No. I never … hell. I hate to sound like an idiot. It’s just that I’m finding out something about myself, and it’s taking time getting used to it. You thought I was queer right off, huh?”
“Gay’s a better word for it. Yeah, I thought so. Maybe I just wanted you to be or maybe I sensed something that was there. I wouldn’t have pitched you if I didn’t think it was what you were looking for. You’re crazy to waste the summer hopping suitcases. Can you use a fakebook?”
“I don’t need one. If I know a melody I can play anything.”
“Do you realize you’re ahead of sixty percent of the guys working this kind of gig? I’m serious. It doesn’t seem like an accomplishment to you because it comes naturally, it’s something you can do. There’s a club a few blocks from the joint I’m at, the guy’s looking to replace a guy who quit on him a few days ago. You don’t think you’re good enough but you’re better than the guy you’d be following. You won’t get rich but it’s a better way to spend the summer than what you’re doing.”
“I don’t know. I get my room and board and all.”
“Well, you could stay here, Bert.”
“Oh, I see.”
“No, you don’t see. You see strings attached and there aren’t any. All I’ll be doing is taking you to the club and telling the prick who owns it to listen to you, and I don’t want anything in return for that. You can buy me a drink because