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In the Steps of Mister Proust
a novel by
Stanley E. Ely
GLB PUBLISHERS ® San Francisco
FIRST EDITION
Copyright © 2003 Stanley E. Ely
All rights reserved. Printed in the U.S.A.
No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or
electronic process, or in the form of an electronic recording, nor may it
be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, translated into another language,
or otherwise copied for public or private use, excepting brief passages quoted
for purposes of review, without the written permission of the publisher.
Published in the United States by
GLB Publishers P.O. Box 78212, San Francisco, CA 94107
www.GLBpubs.com
Cover Design by Arch Garland and GLB Publishers
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental
Library of Congress Cataloguing Control Number
2003115273
1-879194-47-3
First printing 2004
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Acknowledgments:
Friends shared with me
many excellent suggestions
in the writing of this book
. To them go my sincere thanks:
Margie Barab, Arch Garland, Phyllis Goldman,
David Keck, Doris Shapiro, Tom Wilkinson, and David Zesmer.
S. E. E.
DEDICATION
To the many who,
like me, stand in awe
and debt to Proust
My Grandmother…why did I love her?
I don't know.
She was my grandmother,
I was her grandson.
Marcel Proust A la Recherche du Temps Perdu
PART ONE
Chapter One
"It's pretty common," I said, scrambling to get buttoned
up. "What's the big deal?"
Andrea threw me a glare. "It may be common, but I'm not!"
"Well," I said, pulling my pants around so my hard-on
wouldn't be so obvious, "we're only talkin' about a blow job."
"Exactly. That is all it is, and you could get that from
a guy. For that you don't need a woman. You don't need me."
She was right. I turned so she wouldn't see me starting
to blush.
"Maybe that's what you really want, anyway, Josh," Andrea
hollered, turning red herself. "A blow job from a boy. If you weren't queer,
we'd be in bed by now—and not for a blow job."
"That's a little harsh."
She looked as if she was somewhere between crying and
yelling. "It's true."
"Okay, I'm sorry. I must have misled you."
Andrea lowered her voice and added in determination,
"If I didn't think you liked me, I wouldn't have invited you here. I'm not
hard up for dates."
No matter how I was pulling, the hard-on wouldn't disappear.
"I do like you. Look at my pants."
"You don't know what you like. Hang out on the
campus awhile, some guy'll pick you up and then you can find out about getting
a blow job from a boy."
I tried to defend myself. "There was a girl in
Pittsburgh," I said. "I met her a few years ago—at my friend Carl's
house. She liked to give blow jobs. That's all she liked to do. She didn't
find anything cheap with that."
"This isn't Pittsburgh, and I'm not her. She."
"Her."
"I think you're wrong." I grabbed my jacket and started
toward the door. "Okay, so I'm sorry you're pissed."
"You've got that skinny freshman look, very innocent,
even if it is fake, so you won't have any trouble getting what you want.
The second rate stuff you want."
"Well, okay, I'm sorry you're pissed."
"You already said that."
"Okay, well then, I'll see ya, Andrea. See ya tomorrow
in English class."
"Do me a favor, Josh, and sit on the other side of the
room."
I closed the door and slowly went down the two flights
of stairs of the Barnard dormitory. The security guard threw me a look as
if he knew that my visit hadn't been a success
. Here I am, brand new in New York–at Columbia, the school
I prayed to get into. And what happens? I meet up with a girl, try acting
cool and offer myself for a nice blow job. And get kicked out of her room.
Sort of get kicked out. Into the October night. How was I to know that she
didn't like that? In Baltimore, it seemed like every guy in every high school
all over the city got blow jobs every couple of days–from girls. It
never meant they were queer. Necessarily. If that could happen in Baltimore,
well, I was sure that once I got to New York, it would have to be twice,
maybe five times as good.
Columbia freshmen have to live in a building on campus,
so I managed to get a double room with my old school friend Richard Carlton.
Richard came with me from Baltimore for our first year of college. I wasn't
sure I wanted to be his roommate because he's messy like my older brother
Max, plus he's the one who ran off and left me to get maybe killed by some
older boys we were spying on one afternoon when I was fourteen–-guys
who were having a jerk-off session in a place back by the school's football
field. Guys who sometimes got blow jobs from girls, which didn't make them
queer. Those boys caught me spying and then made me give a blow job to one
of them. While Richard ran off scot free.
But last spring Richard got into Columbia on early acceptance
before me 'cause he's so smart, about things like Calculus anyway, and my
mom and Mr. and Mrs. Carlton, his parents, decided that if he and I went
to New York together, we could watch out for each other, not that he was
so outstanding in watching out for me that day in Baltimore.
"I'd feel better if I knew Richard was there, too," Mom
said. Since Dad left home about four years ago and Mom hasn't had a husband
all this time, it seemed like I ought to do what she wanted and not give
her more grief. If she'd had her way, I might have even just stayed at home
and gone to Johns Hopkins like Max is. But I really wanted to come to Columbia
and wasn't worried about being safe even if I did get a plenty big lump in
my throat when it came time to say goodbye to Mom and Max and Ted, my little
brother, and Curly, our dog.
Anyway, if coming here meant rooming with Richard to
make Mom happy, well, so here we are. Richard and I are both eighteen though
he's a few months older than I am—my birthday was in March—and
I don't know what I am, but Richard is definitely gay, no fooling. We did
jerk off a lot together in Baltimore when we were kids, fourteen or fifteen,
I don't remember exactly, but everyone did it then and it didn't mean much.
That changed when he started wanting to be with me all the time. I found
excuses to be busy because I was busy writing and being on the track team,
and starting to try hooking up with girls, too.
If I wanted to come to New York to study to be a writer,
I think he wanted to come partly because he figured he could get plenty of
sex, which I don't seem to be getting, and nobody grown-up would be around
to look over his shoulder. I think he goes out and does get a lot from guys
around school and maybe downtown, too. He says he does, and I can believe
him. It doesn't seem to have taken him very long.
I was in a lousy mood when I left Andrea. I used to jerk
off all the time, and I figured maybe that wouldn't be so necessary as I
got older, but there hasn't been much change. Carl, my friend from Pittsburgh,
said that people our age are constantly juiced up. If anything, I may be
more horny than before.
I wish I knew someone else to connect with after I left
Andrea, but I didn't. Nobody seemed to be around, anyway. I headed to the
dorm. Richard was there studying, so I had to forget about being horny and
just settle on the Krispy Kreme donut I'd bought on the way.
"Where ya been?" he asked.
"At a girl's who's in my English class."
"Studying?" I sat down on the bed and put my head in
my hands. "If you wanna know, I went for a blow job."
"From your looks, you…"
"…didn't get one."
Richard put his glasses down on his desk, got up and
walked over to the window. He looked out south, the view we have of Columbia
fraternity houses. Richard's gotten better looking this past year, I thought.
I don't examine his dick when he's undressing, since I'd just as soon not
know about it. Most likely he doesn't have any trouble getting sucked, if
that's what he wants. He swung around and looked at me.
"Why don't you stop fooling yourself, Josh—looking
for blow jobs from girls? That's high school stuff."
"What you do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. You're as gay as I am, only you
won't face up to it."
"How do you know what I really am?" I hollered back.
"Are you my analyst?"
"I've known you since the third grade. I've been your
best friend, even if I did do something awhile ago that I shouldn't have."
"I believe I remember."
"Which you still haven't forgiven me for, even if I have
apologized a dozen times."
"So?"
"So, I know you, probably better than anyone else. Why
don't you stop teasing girls who want to get screwed when you just want to
get blown?"
I licked the last of the cream from the donut and hurled
the paper into the garbage. "That's what the girl said, Andrea. But maybe
she was just mad because she wanted to get screwed. I do screw them—
sometimes. I like it. Except you need to wear a condom. That's a major turn-off."
"I don't know, Josh. Sometimes it seems like you're still
more in high school than college. By the way, Gabe came over while you were
out."
"Yeah? What'd he want?"
"Just to hang out here awhile. He was being sex-iled
from his room."
"Sex-iled?"
"He's banished while his roommate's with a girl. Probably
having more luck than you had. Roommate leaves a sign on the door."
"Gabe, he's the best looking black guy around." Richard
grinned. "Black or white, the girls go for him. They love those nice white
teeth and the smart clothes. Gabe made a little joke about you."
"Yeah?" I said, getting nervous.
"Said he'll give you a little instruction in style. Like,
to forget all the oversized sweat shirt stuff. Get some khaki shirts, black
pants. To quote Gabe exactly, ‘Don't you know that kids come to Columbia
to look cool?'"
I thought that what I tried to do with Andrea was being
cool, but I guess I was wrong. Two lectures from other Columbia freshmen,
after one from a Barnard sophomore, were finishing me off for the evening.
I went in the bathroom that we share with Gabe and his roommate and poured
water all over my face to try to relieve the pain, even though the geography
was off.
"You haven't been through the shit I've gone through,"
I said, coming back and settling down again on my bed. "You don't have a
dad who did something crazy like running off with another man. You don't
have a brother that almost got killed when he was knocked off his bike. You
can't say that doesn't count!"
"Sure, it does. But all that was four years ago! How
long you gonna mope about it? Max is in college and okay now, anyhow. And
what your dad is doing shouldn't be bothering you."
"It still seems weird."
"It's his life. Everyone has moved on except you."
"I have moved on. At least I'm looking for sex somewhere
other than in front of a mirror…sometimes."
"You're looking for it with people who don't want what
you want."
"I need to forget about all this, Richard, so turn down
the light, will you? I'm goin' to sleep. Even if homework isn't all done."
"All right." I got out of my clothes except for my shorts,
and it wasn't hard to see some sticky spots on the shorts. I jumped fast
under the cover, didn't even bother to go back to brush my teeth like I've
done every night forever before going to sleep.
"Forgot to tell you that your dad called while
you were out."
I sat up again in bed. "My dad? Why?"
"He's coming to New York and he wants to meet
you for dinner. Day after tomorrow."
Somehow that didn't sound like good news. "Why's he comin'?"
"He didn't say. Just that he needed to talk to you. He
didn't sound too good. I mean, his voice sounded shaky."
"Yeah?" My voice started to sound shaky, too.
"He said he'd call you when he got here—for you
to be sure not to make other plans for Tuesday night."
"Okay."
"Josh, listen, before you go to sleep…like what
we were just talking about. This is college—you know, on our own—no
mother asking if you've done your homework. You're my pal, and I love you
whichever way you are…but I think, well, it's different now, time you
stop kidding yourself."
"And I think you're looking for converts. I thought that
when my dad turned gay and was being so nice to me."
"That he was trying to make you turn out like him?"
"Yeah."
"Were you right?"
"I'm not sure. He said he was just trying to keep the
family together, sort of, after Max's accident."
"Then you were wrong."
"Maybe. I'm not really sure."
"Maybe you're wrong now. It's possible that I'm just
trying to get you to be honest. I'm not hiding anything from you."
"You've had an easier time, Richard. You're gettin' what
you want."
"Maybe 'cause I know what I want."
"You sound preachy, Richard. You and Gabe both. Go to
sleep. I mean, I'm going to sleep. I need to forget this."
"But think about what I said, okay?"
"All right."
"And I'm coming over to give you a kiss… because
you're my friend."
"You don't need to do that."
"I want to—just because you're my friend and we're
watchin' out for each other. That's all."
Richard came over, leaned down and gave me a kiss on
the cheek and a hug.
"Okay, thanks," I said. "Good night." I turned toward
the wall and pretended to be asleep, but I wasn't.
High school, Richard said. Maybe he's wrong that I want
to hold on to high school. If it had been that good, I wouldn't have held
my breath till I got accepted here. I was glad to get finished with high
school and forget about Dad's confessing to the affair he was having with
Hugh, the man in his office. That knocked me flat, 'cause it looked as if
he was doing it to hurt me. And he kept saying that Max and Ted and I were
still his sons like we always were, and it didn't affect the way he loved
us, but I thought if he loved us the same he wouldn't be doing that. If that
had happened in Richard's family, maybe it'd be easier for him to understand
how shitty I felt.
That very same week Max got knocked off his bike onto
the street and needed surgery and for awhile we didn't even know if he'd
live or not. All we could do was pray that he would recover—that's what
Mom said to do, and I did. But it made a guy question why God would allow
something like that to happen to a good person, even if there is a God at
all.
I moved closer to the wall. Well, I thought, maybe Richard
had a point after all. Maybe I would like to go back to high school, where
I know the teachers and lots of kids and could give my mom company while
she doesn't have a husband and she wouldn't have to worry if I was safe in
New York or not. I could hang out with Max and Ted and Curly and Martha,
our housekeeper, and Dad once in a while.
But no, I don't want to do that. I'm here, and lucky
to be here, and I guess I'd better start to move on. |
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