Ben Soul
was in a small kiosk-like area attached to the restaurant on the left. To the right the pool area and a hot tub filled the center. A building at the inner edge of the pool area advertised various beers in neon. A row of doors stretched from the restaurant around the left side, across the back, and up the right side of the square the resort formed. Dickon opened the door of the office and went in. Ben followed him.
A tall man, with a mane of white hair that started in the middle of his head and drifted a third of the way down his back beckoned to them. Ben thought he looked like a wizard in a fantasy movie, except that he was dressed in scuffed jeans and a worn flannel shirt. The shirt was open at the throat half way to the man’s navel. Frosted chest hair peeped through the unbuttoned opening.
The man peered at Dickon. “Well, boy,” he roared, as though they were a half mile away from him, “it’s about time old Harry’s black eyes saw your green ones. Where have you been keeping yourself? Down on the coast, in that dead little village of yours?”
“Something like that, Harry,” Dickon said. “I’ve been busy enough. Haven’t been much of anywhere or seen much of anyone for some months.”
“Not around here, that’s for sure. You keeping well? Fall in love yet? Tell old Harry.”
“Harry, meet Ben. Ben, meet Harry.”
Harry grabbed Ben’s hand in both of his. The frail and knobby fingers crushed Ben’s stubbier hand. Ben’s joints re-arranged their calcium under the pressure. Ben winced.
“I’ve got some love potion number nine,” Harry roared. Ben wondered if Harry were deaf. “Condoms in every room, too.”
“Thanks,” Ben said, not knowing what else to say. He retrieved his hand from Harry, put it a little behind him at his side, and let it tremble with pain.
“We need a room for tonight,” Dickon said.’
“We’ve got one,” Harry said. “Not much going on until Halloween. Be full of bears and cubs this year.” He took down a key. “I’ll give you number twenty-three. It’s upstairs, away from the bar and the pool. Not too many folks around. Some locals come in to get drunk. They can get noisy, sometimes.” Harry grinned at Ben. “Have a good tryst, my friend.” Harry waved them out. Dickon led Ben toward the back.
“I hope Butter’s going to be all right,” Ben said. He felt guilty for abandoning her, even though Emma and Notta had promised to look in on her several times, and take her for walks along the beach. Ben hadn’t been away from Butter overnight before, except when the vet had spayed her.
The room was rustic. It was clean, but the furniture showed a lot of wear, and the spread on the bed had seen a lot of use. The sheets were fresh, though, when Ben turned the blankets down, and nothing smelled moldy, stale, or unwashed.
Dickon came up behind Ben and put his arms around him. He leaned his head on Ben’s shoulder, his long face a contrast to Ben’s round one. He murmured in Ben’s ear, “Sweet nothings.” Ben giggled, and collapsed on the bed, with Dickon on top of him.
“Only two condoms?” Ben remarked. His fall had brought him down with a view of the nightstand.
“We’ll run to town and buy dozens more,” Dickon said and squeezed Ben’s waist. He got up suddenly. Ben rolled over and looked at the serious green eyes.
“We should talk,” Dickon said, his voice strained as though he was strangling. “We’ve been careful so far,” Dickon went on. He cleared his throat. “I need to ask, what is your HIV status?”
“Negative,” Ben said. “And yours is?”
“Negative,” Dickon said. “I think.”
“You think?”
“I haven’t been tested for a couple of years. I’ve had one encounter in that time, with protection, but I’m not absolutely sure.”
“I haven’t been with anybody but Len since before we knew about the plague.”
“I should get tested,” Dickon said, “before we do anything bareback. Just to be sure.”
“I’ll get tested with you. That’s the best way to do it. It’s like the breeders, getting married. They have to pass tests before they can get a license.” Ben batted his brown eyes flirtatiously at Dickon “Meanwhile, we’ve got two condoms to start with.”
“Slut,” Dickon said, and grinned. “We can drive up to Las Tumbas tomorrow, if you want, before we go home. I know a clinic there. Fully confidential and all.”
“It’s a date,” Ben said. “Now, shall we get some lunch, or shall we play around?”
“Lunch, I think,” Dickon said. “Remember my asking you to have dinner at a Thai restaurant, the Thai Hwan Awn?”
“Yes. You touted the food as fiery and sweet all at once.”
“Thai cuisine. Anyway, it should be open. It’s about two blocks from here. We can stop at a drugstore on the way back.” Dickon held out his hand to Ben. Ben admired the long fingers of the hand, and grasped it. Dickon pulled him up into a kiss, and let him go.
“I love you, Ben Dover Soul,” he said, “but confess I love my stomach, too. Right now, it’s empty and I’d better fill it. Your turn, maybe, later.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Ben said. He picked up the keys and led Dickon out.
In the Spirits
The Thai Hwan Awn cafe was not open, neither was the drugstore. Dickon and Ben returned to the Lost Resort. It boasted an outdoor hamburger and hot dog counter, The Bare Buns, back of the bar away from the swimming pool. The fry cook made their burgers to order, offered them a choice between chips and fries, and directed them to the bar for their beverage.
Over their beer and burgers, they chatted about inconsequentials and commented softly on the flesh passing in various scanty swimsuits. Ben relaxed tension he hadn’t realized he had. When they had finished their beers and burgers, and reviewed all the man-flesh on display, Ben said, “Well, we could find out where to get an extra condom or two.”
“Let’s ask Harry at the desk,” Dickon said. They went to the office. Dickon put his arm around his waist. Ben stiffened in discomfort, even here in the safety of the ghetto. He was ill at ease with public displays of affection. He and Len had always been circumspect in their demonstrative behavior. Ben willed his body to relax into Dickon’s half-embrace.
Harry Kerry was not in the office when they got to it, but they didn’t need his advice. A large punchbowl stood on a pedestal just inside the door. It was full of condoms. “Free condoms to keep you plague-free. Take what you need” a sign on the side said. Dickon took out a small handful. “What we don’t use,” he said, “we’ll leave on the dresser for the next guests.”
“Okay,” Ben said, wondering how much sex Dickon had in mind. Ben fought to keep himself open in mind and spirit, lest his orifices clamp shut. Dickon dropped the condoms into his hip pocket. They made a telltale bulge in his jeans. Ben again reminded himself where he was. The obvious lump in Dickon’s pocket would shock no one here.
“Let’s get another beer or two,” Dickon said. “I’d like to relax a little more. I don’t often have a chance to get a little tipsy in a safe place.”
“Well,” Ben began to temporize, and thought better of it, “does this mean I’m the designated walker?”
“I think we can both stumble to our room, if we’re careful not to overdo our imbibing.” Two other patrons had taken barstools at the far right end of the bar. They were each engrossed in a video game in front of them, and didn’t look up when Dickon and Ben came in. The bartender was about forty and still trim. Crow’s feet around his eyes marked his age. Ben and Dickon ordered another beer each, and Dickon paid for the drinks. Ben looked at the television sets, four of them, one in each corner of the room. The sound was muted. A CD deck played show tunes disguised as elevator music. Each television had captions running across the bottom of the screen.
One set displayed the news. Dickon and Ben watched the day’s tally of dead and wounded in Iraq crawl across the screen under the solemn face of the newscaster. Dickon sipped at
his beer. Ben felt tears in the corner of his eyes. He had begun avoiding the news; there was so much sadness in it.
Dickon ordered up a second round for each of them. The news show had turned to the sporting events, which no one in the bar cared to notice. The other three sets showed the Discovery Channel, a news magazine, and a football game. None of these shows interested the bar patrons, either. Ben felt the beer rising to his head. His tolerance for alcohol was less than he remembered from his days with Len. After a third round, which Ben bought, he said to Dickon, slurring his words, “I think I need to stop drinking for now. My head’s spinning. Do you want any more?”
“Maybe later,” Dickon said. “Let’s go to the room, and lie down. See you later,” he commented to the bartender.
They were not to get away so quickly, however. Harry Kerry came in just then. “Dickon!” he roared. Ben decided Harry needed a hearing aid. “Let me buy you and your man a drink. Something with some teeth in it. A double rye and soda for everyone, on the house, Max,” he said to the bartender. Max obliged. Ben tried to protest, but Harry couldn’t hear him.
Dickon shrugged, and smiled ruefully at Ben. “Please?” Dickon said silently. Ben nodded, took his rye and soda, and followed Dickon and Harry to one of the small tables at the back of the room. Harry began reminiscing about the old days in the City, remembering wild orgies and extravagant