Fisherman with him. David Janssen was one of the stars, and when I was introduced to him, I thought he was one of the most attractive men I had ever met. Mr Galella I found rather less appealing, and when he tried to kiss me at the end of the evening, he nearly induced an attack of vomiting. Fortunately that discouraged him from pressing his attentions further.
It was at the premiere party for Midnight Cowboy that my life changed for both the better and the worse. It was held at Wednesday’s, a trendy discotheque on East Eighty-Sixth Street. I was chatting to a group of friends when a stunninglyhandsome tall, blond hunk joined the group. He was introduced to me as Tucker Fredrickson, a name which meant nothing to me but was known to just about everyone else in the United States. He was the quarterback for the New York Giants, and one of America’s leading athletes. Never having read a sports page in my life, I was clueless about his celebrity: even when he mentioned what he did, I did not appreciate the significance of it. What I did appreciate, however, was the Nordic splendour of this ultimate specimen of masculinity, so when he asked me out the following evening, I said yes.
Tucker turned out to be a great guy. As well as devastatingly handsome, he was warm and friendly, elegant and intelligent, and very hospitable. At his apartment on Sixty-Fifth and First, he played host to a large circle of friends, many of whom were from the athletic and modelling worlds. Sadly, we were fated never to be anything but friends (one night of passion excluded, but more of that later). On that first date, Tucker took me to Swain’s, a nightclub above Kenny’s Steak House on East Fifty-First between Third and Lexington avenues. There, he introduced me to his best friend. Bill Swain was even bigger than Tucker and a dead ringer for Clark Kent. I was powerfully drawn to Bill, a line-backer for the New York Giants who operated the club in the off season. Twenty-eight years old, married and divorced twice, with raven-black hair and blue eyes which he hid behind thick black-rimmed glasses, he was not as handsome as Tucker, but he exuded sexual attractiveness. He had a taciturn manner and a droll sense of humour, and was almost as quiet and reserved as my father – of course, it did not take a psychiatrist to see the connection there. Undoubtedly, what I viewed as my father’s ‘rejection’ not only influenced my taste in men, but also cast a huge shadow over my life until he and I excised the black spot. But I would have found Bill attractive in any circumstances. Tucker immediately saw how well Bill and I were getting along, and, being the gentleman he was, he graciously stepped aside and let us get on with it.
In those days, every girl had a major dilemma: when should you go to bed with a man? The customs governing such behaviour were changing, so we were all in the dark. Some believed that you could be forthcoming on the first date without suffering the consequences; others disagreed. Although my own personal situation curtailed full intimacy, it did not prevent anything but, although I avoided the practices of Indian virgins, who went to the altar with only one orifice unexplored. I had concluded that the most sensible course of action was to let the guy wait a bit, but not so long that you lost him or frustrated yourself needlessly. So I declined Bill’s initial invitation to go to his place for ‘coffee’, though I did agree to have dinner with him the following evening.
Some time between walking into Swain’s and leaving with Bill later that following evening, I fell in love with him. This was not an unmitigated joy, but, if it caused me emotional turmoil – he was never in love with me, though he did like me and we got along well – it also introduced me to the splendours of passion. Bill had a body hewn out of rock. Not even Michelangelo could have carved a more perfect representation of the male form. From the tips of
It was at the premiere party for Midnight Cowboy that my life changed for both the better and the worse. It was held at Wednesday’s, a trendy discotheque on East Eighty-Sixth Street. I was chatting to a group of friends when a stunninglyhandsome tall, blond hunk joined the group. He was introduced to me as Tucker Fredrickson, a name which meant nothing to me but was known to just about everyone else in the United States. He was the quarterback for the New York Giants, and one of America’s leading athletes. Never having read a sports page in my life, I was clueless about his celebrity: even when he mentioned what he did, I did not appreciate the significance of it. What I did appreciate, however, was the Nordic splendour of this ultimate specimen of masculinity, so when he asked me out the following evening, I said yes.
Tucker turned out to be a great guy. As well as devastatingly handsome, he was warm and friendly, elegant and intelligent, and very hospitable. At his apartment on Sixty-Fifth and First, he played host to a large circle of friends, many of whom were from the athletic and modelling worlds. Sadly, we were fated never to be anything but friends (one night of passion excluded, but more of that later). On that first date, Tucker took me to Swain’s, a nightclub above Kenny’s Steak House on East Fifty-First between Third and Lexington avenues. There, he introduced me to his best friend. Bill Swain was even bigger than Tucker and a dead ringer for Clark Kent. I was powerfully drawn to Bill, a line-backer for the New York Giants who operated the club in the off season. Twenty-eight years old, married and divorced twice, with raven-black hair and blue eyes which he hid behind thick black-rimmed glasses, he was not as handsome as Tucker, but he exuded sexual attractiveness. He had a taciturn manner and a droll sense of humour, and was almost as quiet and reserved as my father – of course, it did not take a psychiatrist to see the connection there. Undoubtedly, what I viewed as my father’s ‘rejection’ not only influenced my taste in men, but also cast a huge shadow over my life until he and I excised the black spot. But I would have found Bill attractive in any circumstances. Tucker immediately saw how well Bill and I were getting along, and, being the gentleman he was, he graciously stepped aside and let us get on with it.
In those days, every girl had a major dilemma: when should you go to bed with a man? The customs governing such behaviour were changing, so we were all in the dark. Some believed that you could be forthcoming on the first date without suffering the consequences; others disagreed. Although my own personal situation curtailed full intimacy, it did not prevent anything but, although I avoided the practices of Indian virgins, who went to the altar with only one orifice unexplored. I had concluded that the most sensible course of action was to let the guy wait a bit, but not so long that you lost him or frustrated yourself needlessly. So I declined Bill’s initial invitation to go to his place for ‘coffee’, though I did agree to have dinner with him the following evening.
Some time between walking into Swain’s and leaving with Bill later that following evening, I fell in love with him. This was not an unmitigated joy, but, if it caused me emotional turmoil – he was never in love with me, though he did like me and we got along well – it also introduced me to the splendours of passion. Bill had a body hewn out of rock. Not even Michelangelo could have carved a more perfect representation of the male form. From the tips of
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