Gay Place by Billy Lee Brammer Page A

mature.”
    Ellen looked at him puzzled. “Adult …?” she said.
    “I can’t be serious about a woman otherwise. I got to make love. It’s a dirty habit I picked up long time ago.”
    “It scares me,” Ellen said. “It really does. Always has.”
    “You’re thirty years old, El.”
    “Who says I’m thirty?”
    “You do. Two years ago when you told me you were twenty-eight. When I was tryin’ to lay you couple years ago.”
    “I’m not thirty yet,” Ellen Streeter said.
    “Twenty-nine, then,” Harris said, holding her close and speaking into her good-smelling blond hair. “How ’bout it? You can’t go through life this way. You’re missing out!”
    “You make it sound so pretty, it’s a real temptation,” Ellen said.
    Huggins wandered by, two girls on either arm. “We’re gonna run a Negro man next Governor’s race,” he was saying.
    Rinemiller continued to sit with Giffen. He puffed his cheeks and rubbed his eyes. “I could do it, George,” he said, breathing heavily. “I know I could. Earle and I could put on a great campaign.”
    “I know you could,” Giffen said, attempting to nod his head but succeeding in a mere lateral movement of the eyeballs.
    “I got friends all over,” Rinemiller said. “All over. All kinds. Not just liberals — fatcats, conservatives, too. Businessmen. Captains industry. Could put together real tough little co’lition. Unbeatable. I know this business, by God … I know politics if I know nothing else. And people like me, you know that? Like me right off. Make friends ev’where I go. Can’t esplain it — just a quality I have.”
    “That’s true ,” Giffen said. “There’s that quality …”
    Earle Fielding arrived, flanked by two bellboys carrying fresh ice and soda. Earle’s appearance seemed to give the party renewed vitality; people attempted to get hold of themselves, straightening mouths, tightening jaws, laughing a little. Earle moved across the room and handed over the car keys to Rinemiller.
    “We got it all figured, Earle,” Giffen said. “We gonna run you and Alfred for Governor and Lieutenant Governor next year.”
    “And a black man for Attorney General,” Huggins said.
    Earle smiled. Someone handed him a drink. He hoisted it as in a toast. “Throw the goddam rascals out!” he said.
    “Yeah!”
    “Yah!”
    Rinemiller excused himself and went into the bathroom. He stood over the toilet bowl and blotted at the perspiration that had flashed across his forehead. He thought about money, standing there weaving over the toilet bowl, wishing he had only half — a quarter even — of Earle’s. He decided, standing there, realizing that he was somehow, incredibly, not going to be sick, the future almost automatically suffused with limitless opportunity, that he really should work on Earle Fielding about their running together. If not next year, some year soon. Earle was a good and valuable friend and one hell of a fine politician. No one better. Too bad about Earle and Ouida, he thought.
    He turned and lurched out and lay down for a few minutes in one of the vacant bedrooms, holding his head. Presently, he turned over and reached for the telephone. He dialed the number, and on the third or fourth ring Ouida’s voice came on.
    The child, he thought. Oh Jesus I hope I didn’t wake that boy. Little Ole Earlie.
    “Ouida,” he began, “I hope to Jesus …”
    “What …?”
    “Ouida?”
    “Yes.”
    “How are you, honey?”
    “Fine … Who …”
    “You think I could come over see you? I need to talk.”
    “Who … Alfred? Is that you, Alfred?”
    “This Alfred, honey. You think I might cover over an’ visit?”
    “The two of you? You and Earle? You want to spend the night here?”
    “Yes … I mean no. You and mean … Me … Is what I me. Sit talk few minutes. You’n me. Always felt … Had a special feeling … That time we kissed … Remember? That time? Had feelin’ ’bout … Didn’t wake the boy, did