Free What Binds Us by Larry Benjamin Page B

me. Colin stood beside his mother’s chair, dancing attendance on her like a lovestruck suitor. He leaned down. Heads together, they shared a whisper, then burst into laughter.
    Mrs. Whyte looked up suddenly and seeing us, put down her cup and clapped like a girl. “There they are,” she cried. “The sun, the earth and the moon.”
    ***
    On the hottest day of the summer, Matthew suggested we go into New York. Dondi heartily seconded the motion.
    “But it’s so hot,” I objected.
    “The car’s air-conditioned.”
    “Awwww, c’mon,” Dondi said. I felt the brothers were conspiring against me.
    The air-conditioner failed before we got off the island. “Oh, great! ‘The car’s air-conditioned,’” I mimicked.
    “We’ll get it fixed in New York,” Matthew said, unfazed.
    We dropped the car off at a garage and walked through Greenwich Village, the gayest of ghettos in 1979, where we promptly lost Dondi. We looked for him for a while then gave up.
    “Where would you like to go?” Matthew asked me.
    “Anywhere to get out of this heat.”
    We went to a movie, which was short and terrible, the air conditioning fitful.
    “What do you want to do now?” he asked me as we stood on the burning pavement.
    “Take a bath.”
    He regarded me quizzically, one black eyebrow raised.
    “I’m hot,” I said, trying not to sound petulant.
    “A bath,” he mused. Then he shrugged and hailed a cab with typical New York aplomb. “The Saint Regis,” he told the driver when we’d tumbled into the sedan’s coolness.
    “I’d like a suite with two baths,” he told the hotel’s clerk.
    We waited in the bar while our suite was readied. When we went upstairs, a bottle of champagne stood in a footed silver bucket in each of the two bathrooms.
    “I believe you wanted a bath,” Matthew said. He popped the cork on a bottle and we toasted before he retreated to his own bathroom.
    Feeling slightly ridiculous, I ran the tub full of water and bubbles and stripped off my clothes. After two glasses of champagne, I stopped feeling silly.
    Three quarters of an hour later, he called out, “How’re you doing in there?”
    “Fine,” I answered. Then, “Hey, I’m out of champagne.”
    “Just a minute.” I heard water splashing and then he was padding into my bathroom, naked except for a towel held discreetly around his waist. He waved a champagne bottle in the air. “Room service!” He filled my glass, brought the bottle to his mouth and upended it. “I’d better order another.” He reached for the elaborate gold-plated phone. Looking around, he said, “Hey, your bathroom is much nicer than mine.”
    “Well, why don’t you stay? Hop in.”
    His eyes narrowed, darkened and his face got serious for a moment then relaxed. “I just may,” he teased.
    I felt myself slipping under water.
    “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
    I awoke abruptly and pushed myself up. A wave rose and crashed over the edge of the tub. Matthew stood fully dressed, smiling down at me. “You passed out. Too much champagne, I guess.”
    “It was the heat,” I said with affected dignity.
    “Yeah. Uh-huh.”
    “It was! Haven’t you ever heard of heat prostration?”
    “Whatever,” he said with feigned haughtiness. “At any rate, it’s getting late. We should be getting back.”
    “What about the car?”
    “It’s fixed. So you won’t have to faint from the heat again,” he added, amusement like a wink in his voice. “The garage delivered it. It’s downstairs.”
    He left me to dress in privacy.
    By the time we got back, it was going on evening though it was still light. As we drove through the gates, I stared in amazement at the scene before me. Aurora had been turned into a fairground. There were striped tents and a merry-go-round. A Ferris wheel cartwheeled through the air. Jugglers and a clown or two strolled around. A man dressed like Uncle Sam on stilts winked at me. There was a fortuneteller and a crowd of people—mostly neighbors from