The Secret History

The waiter was heading towards us again.

'Look, here comes Twinkletoes,' said Bu

'What's in that, anyway?' I asked Bu

Bu

'Lots of stuff. Rum, cranberry juice, coconut milk, triple sec, peach brandy, creme de menthe, I don't know what all. Taste it, it's good.'

'No thanks.'

'C'mon.'

'That's okay.'

'C'mon.'

'No thank you, I don't want any,' I said.

'First time I ever had one of these was when I was in Jamaica, two summers ago,' said Bu

Ever been to Jamaica?'

'Not recently, no.'

'Probably you're used to palm trees and coconuts and all that sort of thing, in California and all.,' thought it was wonderful.

Bought a pink bathing suit with flowers on it and everything.

Tried to get Henry to come down there with me but he said there was no culture, which I don't think is true, they did have | some kind of a little museum or something.' 3 'You get along with Henry?'

'Oh, sure thing,' said Bu

'And you like him?'

'Certainly, certainly. He's a hard fellow to live with, though.

Hates noise, hates company, hates a mess. None of this bringing your date back to the room to listen to a couple Art Pepper records, if you know what I'm trying to get at.'

'I think he's sort of rude.'

Bu

'How many languages does he know?'

'I lost count. Seven or eight. He can read hieroglyphics.'

'Wow.'

Bu

'Where's he from?'

'Missouri.'

He said this in such a deadpan way I thought he was joking, and I laughed.

Bu

I shrugged, still laughing. Henry was so peculiar, it was hard to imagine him being from anyplace.

'Yep,' said Bu

Not that Henry will give you the slightest clue what his dad does.

Acts like he doesn't know and certainly doesn't care.'

'Have you been to his house?'

'Are you kidding? He's so secretive, you'd think it was the Manhattan Project or something. But I met his mother one time.

Kind of by accident. She stopped in Hampden to see him on her way to New York and I bumped into her wandering around downstairs in Monmouth asking people if they knew where his room was.'

'What was she like?'

'Pretty lady. Dark hair and blue eyes like Henry, mink coat, too much lipstick and stuff if you ask me. Awfully young. Henry's her only chick and she adores him.' He leaned forward and lowered his voice. 'Family's got money like you wouldn't believe. Millions and millions. Course it's about as new as it comes, but a buck's a buck, know what I mean?' He winked. 'By the way.

Meant to ask. How does your pop earn his filthy lucre?'

'Oil,' I said. It was partly true.

Bu

'Well, we have one,' I said modestly.

'But it's a good one?'

'So they tell me.'

'Boy,' said Bu

'It's been good to us,' I said.

'Geez.' Bu

I felt it necessary to change the subject, however awkwardly, as we were heading here towards treacherous waters. 'If Henry's from St Louis,' I said, 'how did he get to be so smart?'

This was an i

'Hit by a car?'

'I think that's what it was. Can't think what else it could've been. He doesn't like to talk about it.' He lowered his voice.

'Know the way he parts his hair, so it falls over the right eye?

That's because there's a scar there. Almost lost the eye, can't see out of it too good. And the stiff way he walks, sort of a limp. Not that it matters, he's strong as an ox. I don't know what he did, lift weights or what, but he certainly built himself back up again. A regular Teddy Roosevelt, overcoming obstacles and all. You got to admire him for it.' He brushed his hair back again and motioned to the waiter for another drink. 'I mean, you take somebody like Francis. You ask me, he's as smart as Henry. Society boy, tons of money. He's had it too easy, though. He's lazy. Likes to play.

Won't do a thing after school but drink like a fish and go to parties.

Now Henry.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Couldn't beat him away from Greek with a stick – Ah, thank you, there, sir,' he said to the waiter, who was holding out another of the coral-colored drinks at arm's length. 'You want another?'

'I'm fine.'

'Go ahead, old man. On me.'

'Another martini, I guess,' I said to the waiter, who had already turned away. He turned to glare at me.

Thanks,' I said weakly, looking away from his lingering, hateful smile until I was sure he had gone.

'You know, there's nothing I hate like I hate an officious fag,' said Bu

I've known men who run down homosexuality because they are uncomfortable with it, perhaps harbor inclinations in that area; and I've known men who run down homosexuality and mean it. At first I had placed Bu

The more I listened to Bu

Instead, there was the blithe unselfconciousness of some crotchety old Veteran of Foreign Wars – married for years, father of multitudes – who finds the topic infinitely repugnant and amusing.

'But your friend Francis?' I said.

I was being snide, I suppose, or maybe I just wanted to see how he would wriggle out of that one. Though Francis might or might not have been homosexual – and could just as easily have been a really dangerous type of ladies' man – he was certainly of that vulpine, well-dressed, unflappable sort who, to someone with Bu