from its own light but from the flickering lights of the many candles.
It was all beautiful to Gaylord. He had a confused impression of flowing silks, glittering jewels, scepters, and other symbols of royalty; of exquisite flowers lavishly adorning the table-tops of fine porcelain. Then, as he stood hesitantly, Gene said again, "Sit down you two … get comfy … take your clothes off if you want to … what do you want to drink? Your mother's got scotch … gin or bourbon."
"We've been drinking bourbon, Gene," said Paul.
They sat on the divan.
"Water or coke?" Gene asked.
"Both with coke," replied Paul.
It was only a few minutes until he was back in the room carrying three ruby tumblers.
"Here you are … One for you, Paul … Gay … and one for the old madam … Phew …" He sat on a chair. "I'm pooped. Came home from work and had to clean the apartment."
"You've got a beautiful place," Gaylord said.
"Like it?" Gene was slumped on one of the pillows, breathing heavily. "It's a mess, but thanks for saying so anyway. I worked until quite late, then came home and cleaned up this whore's nest. That black bitch, Gertie, promised me she'd clean this afternoon. Didn't show up though. Just like a damn nigger." He caught his breath. "So honey, your mother's been working like mad ever since she came home from the office."
"You've some lovely antiques," grinned Gaylord, admiring a French table.
"Just a pile of junk."
"Now, Gene, you know you love every piece in here," spoke up Paul.
"Guess I do at that." Then he burst out. "Love every piece I've had in here too."
Gene and Paul laughed. Gaylord didn't understand but he followed suit. Thank God he felt a little better than he did in the club … He was afraid he was going to be sick but the night air and the walk had done miracles.
"Where in the hell have you been, Paul? Haven't seen you for weeks."
