him enough scope to be foolhardy. They went off into the house. Bruce wanted to show David some of the artifacts he had collected.
Becky and I went into a far corner of the patio, sat together on a stone bench near a small, persistent fountain.
"You were very naughty Travis, really."
"What did I do?"
"Ah! Such innocence. It was a lovely little party and then you made poor Bruce so awfully uncomfortable and nervous. He was terribly upset by that whole Rockland affair. Actually, it's the last thing he wants to have mentioned."
"And you know all about it?"
"He talks over his problems with me. He asks my advice. He's not a bad sort, you know.
Sometimes he is quite foolish and impulsive and he encounters... problems that are typical of the world he lives in. I think that because I never condemn him, we've been able to become friends."
"Such good friends you brought him a little gift."
"A gift?"
"One husky, sunburned young archeologist."
"Of course, ducks! We are frightfully nasty degenerates who go about handing our discards to our chums. And I imagine that quite puts you off, doesn't it?"
"I don't know enough about it. Or about you."
"Me? I am just a wicked old woman with a ravenous appetite for strong young men. They are generally sweet and touching and grateful. But this chap was... out of focus somehow. He fancies himself as some sort of overwhelming stud. But he has that talent for little bits of brutality that betrays him for what he really is. I had begun to suspect him, and then he told me a horrid little story about beating up homosexuals and taking their money when he was at school. Such chaps are usually hiding their own tendencies from themselves. I had decided to cut him loose because he is really dull. He has no sense of fun. But I had described him to Bruce, and Bruce said that were I to bring him around, he could quickly tell me if my suspicion was correct. After ten minutes Bruce knew and let me know. So... it might be rather nice for Bruce after such a fiasco with that Rockland person. Bruce is quite lonely this year. The chap who used to stay with him drowned last year in the surf at Acapulco when they were down visiting friends. It was a terrible shock to Bruce. Do I sound as if I were pleading for forgiveness and understanding? Hardly!
After all, I did not exactly bash him upon the head and gift wrap him and put him on the doorstep did I?"
"What did happen with Rockland?"
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"My dear, you are very, very nice. But, my word, you are tiresome at times! Here we are, quite alone, both of us with that marvelous knowledge that we would be awfully, awfully good in bed together, and all you seem to want from me is a long tiresome story-far too long to tell here. I know you respond to me. We're becoming quite deliciously aware of each other. Shouldn't you be trying to bundle me off into my lonely bed instead of leaving the advances to me? I am quite sick of the young, young men. They are in endless supply, and unlike poor David, they are terribly sweet and earnest and dear. But too sweet. Like endless desserts. They cloy. But one accepts, because the mature ones with any style and presence are usually married. And I have a rule about that. It is too much like theft."
"But what about my wife and five kids?"
"You lie, sir! A woman leaves her mark, her scent, her shape upon what is hers, whether it is her furs, her underthings, or her man. You are not married, and I doubt you ever have been. Though I was once, several centuries ago."
"Here I come again, tiresome as ever. How do I find out about Rockland?"
"Why, I should imagine that you would have to sit down with Bruce and have him tell you, dearie."
"Correction. How do I find out about Rockland from you?"
"Let me see now. You are asking me to betray a confidence. That means that I would have to have some good reason for breaking faith. I should have to know exactly why you wish to know all this, and understand your motives. And, of course, I