they would. Dogs , on the other hand, will jump up onto the bed, tongues wagging, saliva dripping, as if they want to make it a three-way.”
“Dogs are loyal,” I protest. “Dogs are devoted. Dogs are loving. Dogs are fun.”
“Dogs are wet,” Luke says. “Dogs are loud. Dogs remind me of needy fag hags who’ll do anything to keep their gay boys happy. Or some co-dependent boyfriend who doesn’t even let us go to the bathroom alone.”
Jeff gets a big kick out of that. Luke sure knows how to score points.
“It’s so wrong how cat-hating is accepted in this culture,” Luke says.
“My point in the interview exactly ,” Jeff says. But he no longer seems unnerved by how much Luke remembers about it.
“In cartoons, dogs are always the heroes and cats are the villains. The whole point of a Sylvester cartoon was to watch Tweety Bird drop an anvil on the poor cat’s head. And everybody on TV had a dog—from the Waltons to the Bradys to the girls on The Facts of Life . But only witches had cats.”
“To me,” Jeff says, “cats should be the gay men’s pet of choice. No dirty clean-up. No running home in the middle of tea dance to take it out for a leak. Cats are what we as gay men aspire to be. Cool. Slightly mysterious, completely autonomous, perfectly groomed.”
“So why hasn’t it happened?” I ask.
“It’s obvious, Henry,” Luke tells me. “A cat would never, ever, consent to being put on a leash.”
Jeff loves it. He drops an arm around my shoulder and leans in as if to share a secret. “You see, buddy, cats are tops, and most gay men are loath to advertise their bottomness walking down the street. With a dog, they can pretend to be master. But just let some faggot try to saddle up a cat and take him out for a trot. He’ll quickly learn you can’t use a cat to get the double takes or the chance to score.”
“I can’t wait to meet your cat,” Luke says. “Where was he yesterday?”
“Mr. Tompkins is an old guy. He likes to hide out. Come on over, and I’ll introduce you—”
“Excuse me,” I interrupt. “But Luke has work to do.”
“Oops,” Luke says. “Of course.” He smiles at me. “So will you show me where the laundry is?”
I let out a sigh. “Yeah. Come on. Follow me.” I turn to Jeff as I start to walk away. “By the way, your sister wants you to do something with J. R. today. Maybe take him out on the boat. The kid seems depressed.”
Jeff shrugs. “I just saw him and suggested we go jetskiing. But he said he just wanted to listen to his new CD. On a beautiful day like today!” He makes a face. “Kids. Who can figure them out?”
I head up the path toward the house after another kid I can’t quite figure out. Inside, I yank open the cellar door and pull the string for the overhead light. I gesture to Luke to follow me down into the musty darkness. Lloyd wants to remodel the basement into a game room, but that’s still another year or two down the road in his business plan.
“Okay,” I’m telling Luke as we reach the bottom, “I’ve already tossed some of the sheets down here. All the rooms are going to need fresh linens and towels for—”
I feel a hand grab my crotch.
“Henry,” Luke purrs, his lips at my ear.
I pull forcefully away. “I meant what I said, Luke,” I tell him. “No more of that.”
“No one will know,” he says, his eyes burning in the near-darkness.
“Do you want this job, Luke?” I draw close to him, meeting his eyes directly. “Or do you want to fuck it up? If you fuck it up, you’ve lost your best chance to stay close to Jeff.”
He backs off.
“Just as I thought. You wouldn’t want to screw anything up between you and Jeff.” I pause, rubbing my chin as I observe him. “What I’m not sure is, do you just want him because you find him hot, or is there more? Is it even just hero worship? Or do you think he can turn you into the next literary wunderkind?”
Luke says nothing,
“Dogs are loyal,” I protest. “Dogs are devoted. Dogs are loving. Dogs are fun.”
“Dogs are wet,” Luke says. “Dogs are loud. Dogs remind me of needy fag hags who’ll do anything to keep their gay boys happy. Or some co-dependent boyfriend who doesn’t even let us go to the bathroom alone.”
Jeff gets a big kick out of that. Luke sure knows how to score points.
“It’s so wrong how cat-hating is accepted in this culture,” Luke says.
“My point in the interview exactly ,” Jeff says. But he no longer seems unnerved by how much Luke remembers about it.
“In cartoons, dogs are always the heroes and cats are the villains. The whole point of a Sylvester cartoon was to watch Tweety Bird drop an anvil on the poor cat’s head. And everybody on TV had a dog—from the Waltons to the Bradys to the girls on The Facts of Life . But only witches had cats.”
“To me,” Jeff says, “cats should be the gay men’s pet of choice. No dirty clean-up. No running home in the middle of tea dance to take it out for a leak. Cats are what we as gay men aspire to be. Cool. Slightly mysterious, completely autonomous, perfectly groomed.”
“So why hasn’t it happened?” I ask.
“It’s obvious, Henry,” Luke tells me. “A cat would never, ever, consent to being put on a leash.”
Jeff loves it. He drops an arm around my shoulder and leans in as if to share a secret. “You see, buddy, cats are tops, and most gay men are loath to advertise their bottomness walking down the street. With a dog, they can pretend to be master. But just let some faggot try to saddle up a cat and take him out for a trot. He’ll quickly learn you can’t use a cat to get the double takes or the chance to score.”
“I can’t wait to meet your cat,” Luke says. “Where was he yesterday?”
“Mr. Tompkins is an old guy. He likes to hide out. Come on over, and I’ll introduce you—”
“Excuse me,” I interrupt. “But Luke has work to do.”
“Oops,” Luke says. “Of course.” He smiles at me. “So will you show me where the laundry is?”
I let out a sigh. “Yeah. Come on. Follow me.” I turn to Jeff as I start to walk away. “By the way, your sister wants you to do something with J. R. today. Maybe take him out on the boat. The kid seems depressed.”
Jeff shrugs. “I just saw him and suggested we go jetskiing. But he said he just wanted to listen to his new CD. On a beautiful day like today!” He makes a face. “Kids. Who can figure them out?”
I head up the path toward the house after another kid I can’t quite figure out. Inside, I yank open the cellar door and pull the string for the overhead light. I gesture to Luke to follow me down into the musty darkness. Lloyd wants to remodel the basement into a game room, but that’s still another year or two down the road in his business plan.
“Okay,” I’m telling Luke as we reach the bottom, “I’ve already tossed some of the sheets down here. All the rooms are going to need fresh linens and towels for—”
I feel a hand grab my crotch.
“Henry,” Luke purrs, his lips at my ear.
I pull forcefully away. “I meant what I said, Luke,” I tell him. “No more of that.”
“No one will know,” he says, his eyes burning in the near-darkness.
“Do you want this job, Luke?” I draw close to him, meeting his eyes directly. “Or do you want to fuck it up? If you fuck it up, you’ve lost your best chance to stay close to Jeff.”
He backs off.
“Just as I thought. You wouldn’t want to screw anything up between you and Jeff.” I pause, rubbing my chin as I observe him. “What I’m not sure is, do you just want him because you find him hot, or is there more? Is it even just hero worship? Or do you think he can turn you into the next literary wunderkind?”
Luke says nothing,
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