Free City of Night by John Rechy Page B

Pete said no, emphatically, reminding me we’re in the presence of “cool people” and I should play along. We sat at the table—just Pete and myself, facing each other. The man flutters in and out of the kitchen like a butterfly, returning, serving us lovingly, rearranging the silver, the glasses—standing back to see that they were Just Right. There was no place for him. He brought a chair and set it away from the table. He sat there, staring raptly as we ate. Completely unself-consciously Pete ate his food. I dropped my fork a couple of times, and the man rushed into the kitchen to get me a clean one. Finally we had finished, and the man places a cake before us, gives us a large portion. “And there’s ice cream!” he announced joyously. “Vanilla?” he asked. Pete said, “Chocolate.” I took vanilla. “All boys love cake and ice cream,” the man said knowingly, and by then I was enjoying it. I even ate more cake.
               “Now a nice rest,” the man said. His voice shook slightly, as when he asked us to get “Comfortable.” We went into the bedroom, where there were twin beds. Pete lay in one, I lay in the other. The man came in with a chair, which he stations between the two beds. “Now take a long rest,” he said. Pete is looking at me steadily, as if to remind me to play along; winks—then pretends to fall asleep immediately. He even snored a couple of times. I lay in bed, my eyes supposedly closed, but I was glancing at the man: He sat on the chair, his chin propped on his hands: staring fixedly from one to the other; occasionally his face would brighten up benevolently like a mother watching over her adored children....
               After about 15 minutes, he “woke” us, and we sat in the bedroom, on one bed, Pete and I, and played checkers, while the man watched us with the fascinated attention of a child enjoying a cartoon. Pete couldnt play checkers, and we sat there merely moving them back and forth.
               “We’ll have to go now, Mom,” Pete said finally. I looked at him startled. Had he called him “Mom”? Pete nods at me, indicating I must do the same. I couldnt bring myself to call him “Mom.” The old man looked at me with a hurt look.
               “Well have to go now, Mom,” Pete repeated. He gives me an exasperated look.
               “Oh, must you?” the man said. “Im so sorry you cant stay longer.” He removed the apron, rubbed his hands on it, folded it neatly, and he went into the kitchen. Pete follows, him. I can hear voices. Then Pete returns, hands me $5.00. “You fucked up, spote,” he told me, shaking his head. “You didnt call him Mom. Just five bucks. When hes real happy, he lays ten.” He shook his head regretfully. “But we can come again, and if youre cool we’ll score more. Why—didnya—call—him—Mom?”
               A week later, alone, I ran into the same man. This time he knew me and he came and talked to me. “Do you have a young friend whod like to come up and have dinner with us?” he asked me. “I havent seen Petey-boy here today,” he said, glancing around for him. “If you find another nice youngman, we’ll have a lovely dinner, and youll each be $10.00 richer.” “Ten?” I said. “Why, child,” he said somewhat indignantly, “I always give ten.” From my expression, he understood what had happened. “That Pete!” he said, and I thought he was going to stamp his foot. “Hes done it to me again. Why, I bet he only gave you five.” I felt embarrassed to admit I’d been taken, and I said, no, he’d given me ten. “Well, Im relieved!” the man said. “Hes done that before, you know—gives his young friend only five, and keeps fifteen. But what can I do? It embarrasses me so, when Ive first met a youngman, to give him the money. I dont really know what to do.” Then he smiles Tolerantly. “But Petey is a lovely youngman—only—only—” He frowns