shared a bed. But that was just as friends, David told himself; it wasn’t changed by finding out that Leon was gay.
Leon leaned toward him, arguing, ‘If you came out at Princeton, you had to be only gay, nothing else. You couldn’t also be a jock or a preppy or whatever. I knew so many people who regretted coming out. It closed all the doors. That’s not what you go to Princeton for, to close down your options! I knew more people who just didn’t come out. It was a different planet!’
David was reduced to nodding, staring at Leon, trying to take it in, trying to achieve a feeling of empathy just by holding Leon’s eye, by not flinching. Again he pleaded, only half-realizing he was doing it. ‘And afterwards, in New York? Why didn’t you trust me?’
Leon batted it away with a gesture of the hand. ‘It would have changed everything, David. You were the one certain thing in my life—in those days, the rest was constantly shifting and shaking. Think of the times we had, great times.’ He looked at David for a long moment without saying anything, and David knew it was an important look, and he tried to read it.
‘Well, Christ, I wanted you to know,’ Leon said, and he started to say something more, but then he changed his mind.
In exasperation, sorrow even, David raised his voice. ‘I feel completely confused. I don’t know what to think. I just can’t believe what you are telling me. It changes everything, even now, Leon!’
‘Well.’ Leon was thin-lipped. ‘So I was right.’ He tossed his head and looked at his watch.
David felt the strangest mixture of guilt and dread. There was a pain that he could sense down so deep in Leon that it was almost unfathomable, and it was covered over with some hardness that was harder than all Leon’s muscles, like there was a slug of lead buried somewhere in his torso, grown over with tendon and scar tissue and effort, or a vein of iron ore that David could mine only with the vicious violence of a pickax on Leon’s flesh. David didn’t want to get at that pain; it frightened him. But he could sense it there. He knew it was his pain somehow, too, not just Leon’s. He ran his hands over his hair, barely touching it, thumbs rigid, extended.
By way of a peace offering he said, ‘So what about Lewis? What’s he like?’
There was a long pause. Then Leon accepted it.
‘Lewis is a honey.’ And Leon grinned the grin, splitting his face with light. ‘That really describes him, I swear to God. I have no hesitation in bragging. He’s wise and he’s subtle. He gets things that people never get, nuances. And he’s patient, too, like someone who isn’t worried about getting his share. Or—as if he’s already been served, and he’s just enjoying it.’
‘So how old is he? A hundred?’
‘No. Younger than us—thirty-eight.’
‘And?’
‘And what? You want details?’
‘I always gave you girl details. Try me. Teach me, for Christ’s sake!’ David smiled, raising both hands in expostulation.
‘Well, wait till you meet him. You’ll see. He’s gorgeous to look at, sexy—skinny but pretty strong. Not as tall as me, but then who is? Great legs and—’ Leon paused, a flush spread suddenly over his grin, and then he said, ‘He wears glasses, big brown eyes. And—you notice his cheekbones, or the way it’s sort of hollowed out underneath them, and his lips. He’s got amazing big lips, beautiful.’
Leon looked sly, reflective.
David leaned closer, lifting his chin.
Leon said, ‘And he’s black.’
‘Okay,’ said David very slowly, blankly. ‘Whatever.’
Then they both burst out laughing again, and they went on laughing for a long time, pushing their chairs back from the table, rubbing their faces. The restaurant was empty. David was exhausted. He could hardly react to anything anymore. He was feeling completely silly, as though he’d been rolling on the floor, tickled hard.
‘Is black the only thing I need to know about him?’
‘He’s a doctor—psychiatrist. Harvard Med School. He’ll be over here sometime. You’ll meet him.’
Downstairs was deserted. Not all the lights were working in the lobby outside the elevator and there were dark pockets of night and shadow all around as they pushed through the heavy glass doors into the cobbled yard. Trash was blowing around on the breezes from the river; graffiti seemed to have appeared on the walls while they were upstairs. David felt as though bums might like to sleep here, might be urinating nearby, warm in their grime, muttering. But there was no one in the humid night.
Where was the street, he wondered? And the traffic? Everything seemed still, sequestered. He couldn’t remember how they had entered the yard, through which archway. He reached for his cell phone half-consciously, then remembered he hadn’t brought it. He was picturing a taxi, but not very clearly.
Leon threw an arm across his shoulders and said, ‘The bike’s over here,’ pulling him toward the gate.
‘Yeah,’ said David, remembering their flash arrival, their slipstream ride through the lazy, honking conga line of traffic, red brakelight upon warm red brakelight inviting them to ease past. He had liked the feel of it, tipping and diving through the flow of cars, like ballroom dancers on a crowded floor. But he was reeling now, loopy with drink, and so he automatically tightened his attitude. It was a habit for self-preservation.
‘Okay, I’m wasted,’ he said to Leon. ‘Help me find a taxi.’
Leon laughed. ‘You’ll be okay. I won’t let you fall off.’
‘What if you fall off?’
‘That’d be a bummer for both of us,’ Leon said, ‘so I won’t.’ He zipped his jacket crisply and heaved the bike off its stand. ‘I’ll get you home, safe and sound, Dave. Trust me. But you’re going to get fucking cold, so you’d better hug tight.’ Then he threw one huge leg over the bike and leaned forward, starting it with a rushing explosion and playing through the gears.
David stood by, shivering. This is not like the ride we had before, he was thinking. This is completely different.
‘Come on!’ Leon commanded. ‘It’s going to rain!’
So, tentatively, David got on the bike. He sat up very straight and felt around behind him for something to hold on to. Leon started to creep the bike forward with his feet down on the pavement, and David swung stiffly from side to side, a dead weight, his neck rigid, his throat muscles aching. He gripped the seat cushion between his thighs.
Leon stopped and turned around, his huge black jacket squeaking, his elbows knocking into David’s ribs, and shouted above the engine.
‘Put your ass on the seat, man, it’s not going to rape you and neither am I!’
It struck David to the core; he couldn’t even pretend to laugh, he was so ashamed.
‘If you’re drunk,’ Leon said, ‘just give in. I can ride much better if you hold on to me. Shut your eyes; who the hell is going to see you at this time of night?’
‘No way I’m shutting my eyes,’ David said, and now he chuckled. ‘I’ll lose it completely. I’m okay.’
He put his arms around Leon’s waist, tentatively. Then he tightened his grip just a little, and snugged up behind Leon’s bum. It felt fine; it felt comfortable. Jokily, he laid his cheek against Leon’s back, just for an instant, pretending to adopt a lover’s posture, partly out of clownish daring, partly out of humility, and partly out of love. Then he sat up, still holding on. ‘Go for it.’
Leon was already away, slowly at first through the yellow glow of night-time Lambeth. David loved everything about it. He knew it was the simplest pleasure imaginable, the thrill of movement, wind on the face, no helmet, no burdens. The little turns were almost like skating, he