I feel blue, because of Alan. The few times that I’ve seen him lately, he has been gloomy. I try to cheer him up and I succeed for a while, but then the gloom comes in as dependably as the tide. He never mentions Walter, or tells me what is bothering him. He says that the reason he hasn’t been seeing me as much, is because he is working so hard to finish his dissertation and getting ready to move to Amherst, about the middle of August. He has not repeated his request that I go with him.

Sometimes, I feel that it’s my fault, but I know that Alan is responsible for his own gloom, just like it’s my responsibility to deal with my blues. The only one, who can really make me feel better, is me.

With that in mind, I look at the beautiful summer sky and head down to the harbor. There is a lot of activity on a Saturday morning. With school out, lots of kids are around. Some of them I recognize from when I attended school. Since I never hung around with them even then, we really don’t know each other well. So the most I get is a nod.

I walk about and then go out to the pier, but I don’t pay much attention. My mind is wandering, too, but in another place. I think that I hear someone speaking to me. Then I hear it again.

“Hey!” the voice says. “Do you want to go out?”

I turn and look, practically under my nose, there is a man standing in a small motor boat getting ready to push off. I know who he is, because he’s the father of a kid, who was a classmate, and I used to see the two of them together. His son is a jock, a three letter man, football, hockey, baseball. Mr. Nash is by himself, today.

There is nothing particularly unusual about such an invitation. It’s a friendly town, specially among the locals in the summertime. Since I have nothing better to do, I say, “Sure.”

I thought we were going for a ride in the little motor boat, but Mr. Nash pulls up to the stern of a large power boat and climbs up the ladder. He tells me to follow him, which I do. “Go up to the bow and pull on the line to bring the boat to the mooring,” he tells me. He follows, bringing the tether of the motor boat.

When I get to the marker float, he disconnects the line and ties up the tether. That way the little boat is there when you return and want to get back to the pier. I don’t know much about boating, but I know that much. My folks don’t have a boat and I don’t know many people who do, so I haven’t had much experience.

This isn’t the biggest boat in the harbor, but it is big. It’s about thirty-five feet long. There is a narrow deck and then another wider one sunk down about three feet, except in the bow area it isn’t sunken and isn’t narrow either. From the lower deck there is a short flight of steps leading up to a little room, where the instruments and the wheel are. There is a second narrow stairway going down to a little door.

Mr. Nash is in the wheel room and has started the engine. I go back to the sunken deck in the stern, because I don’t want to fall into the water. There are built in seats or benches with plastic covered cushions along three sides of this area. I sit down and watch as he backs the boat out and then moves it forward though a line of other boats that are still tied up. Then Mr. Nash calls for me to join him.

He stands at the wheel, moving the big boat through a maze of channels formed by the other craft. They are almost like streets, smaller side streets and larger main streets. I wonder that there is any space clear, there are so many other sail boats, power boats and yachts. Then I realize that all of them are blown by the same wind, so they are all out from their moorings in the same direction. If the anchors are laid out in a pattern and the lines to the boats are all about the same length, then the same pattern of channels will always be there, although its exact location may change.

Now there is other traffic in these lanes, and we are moving very slowly. There are various types of boats going out and a few coming in. Finally, we are clear of the crowded area. Mr. Nash asks, “Would you like to take the wheel?”

I notice that is isn’t made of wood and doesn’t have spokes and little protruding handles. It is like a car’s steering wheel except that it is mounted straight up and down and is a bit smaller. I get up and take Mr. Nash’s place. He stands right behind me. “Steer a little bit more to port,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

“To the left. Port is left and starboard is right,” he tells me. Now he knows how little I know about boats. “You can remember it by remembering that port and left have the same number of letters,” he continues. “Do you see that farthest point of land?”

“Yes.”

“And an island to the left?”

“Yes.”

Head for the middle of the channel between them.” He puts his hands on mine and turns the wheel a little. “Keep the bow pointed right there.” He takes his hands off mine, but places them on my shoulders. “Power up a little.”

“What?”

“Increase the speed of the engines. Those two levers to your right, move them both forward about an inch. Do it slowly and evenly. But notice that they are not set equally now. The two engines should not be run at exactly the same speed because it makes a vibration.”

I do it right, I guess. “There are two engines?” I ask him.

“Yes, that’s why there are two levers,” he tells me. I must seem like a real dummy. Mr. Nash puts his hands on mine and corrects the steering again, then they return to my shoulders.

We stand together like that all the way out to the channel between the island and the point. He asks me what grade I’m in and I tell him that I’m not in school. Then he asks how old I am. He says that he thought I was younger than that. “You’re my son’s age,” he says. “Do you know him?”

“We were in the same grade, but we didn’t have any classes together.”

“Did you drop out?”

“Yes.”

“Were you failing?”

“No, I got C’s , mostly.”

“Were you suspended?”

“No, I just left.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t like being in school. It was too boring, I wasn’t happy there.”

“What about your future?”

“I’m sure I’ll get along OK.”

“How? Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Something will turn up.”

“You can’t get ahead that way. It’s very difficult without even a high school diploma.”

“Which way is ahead?”

“To make money, get married, have a family, buy a house.”

“I’m more concerned with having a good time.”

“But a good time takes money. You’re having a good time now aren’t you?”

“Sure.”

“The boat costs money.”

“Yes, but here I am and I don’t have any.”

Mr. Nash laughs, doesn’t say anything for a minute, and then responds, “But you can’t always depend on other people.”

I say, “If I find that I need school, I’ll go back.”

“I hope you do, son.”

Mr. Nash takes the wheel back and we travel around the island and head back to the harbor. Then he hands the wheel over to me. On the return trip his hands, instead of remaining on my shoulders or on my hands, roam around, on my upper arms, my waist, my sides. At first, they are just placed, then removed and placed on another spot.

On another day, I might have done subtle little things to encourage him, like stepping back a bit and bumping my butt into his basket. But today, not feeling my usual self and not being pleased with Mr. Nash’s conversation about school, I just stand there and play stupid. Which is what he is thinking anyway. Anyway, it is fun to let someone try to seduce me for a change.

Besides, I don’t find Mr. Nash to be all that appealing, not that he’s bad looking. He is about six feet tall, has a sturdy build, curly light brown hair mixed with gray, gray eyes set wide apart in a square craggy face. He looks much like his son, David, except that David is three inches shorter, thirty pounds lighter, has blue eyes and smoother features.

I prefer men rather than boys, but with other guys I have felt a kind of equality, even with Murray when I was so young. He was the adult and I the child, but he was not superior and I inferior. Come to think of it, our relationship is still that way, except that now I’m an older kid. With Mr. Nash, however, I sense an assumed authority that I don’t like. It is not heavy-handed, so that I feel resentment; but it’s there like a mild annoyance. Unless it comes from me, somehow. After all, he’s done nothing but be kind, giving me the boat ride and I certainly don’t mind a little feel, which is what he is doing right now.

He is sliding his hands over me, very slowly, and giving little squeezes, like a light massage. They move from the back of my neck to my waist, from front to back. At the same time, he is talking away, pointing out the landmarks that we can see, the names of the islands, points of land, and buildings large enough to stand out. I just stand there, saying nothing, doing nothing.

We arrive back at the entrance to the harbor, and Mr. Nash takes the wheel to bring us through to the mooring. He sends me out to the bow with a hook to snag the mooring line. On the way in to the pier in the little boat, he asks me if I had a good time. I tell him that I did and thank him for the trip. On parting, Mr. Nash says that he’d be glad to take me out again sometime.

*****

I wish that I could tell Alan about my adventure on the big power boat. I can’t discuss these things with him, because I think that it would only make him unhappy. Why I spend time with Alan, I don’t know. He is so gloomy, and kind of dull even when he’s not sad. He isn’t vary attractive, being so ordinary. But I think that he cares for me. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he cares for me too much. I’ve never had a problem like that before.

Alan asks me to go to a concert with him to listen to high brow music. Actually, I like classical music, so I go and have a good time. But I think that it is too much money to spend just to hear a few pieces. For the same amount you could buy two albums and play them over and over. And, if you want to, you can cough, or go to the bathroom, or eat, or read something at the same time. Of course, I don’t have a stereo system, or even a radio, so that doesn't apply to me. I really should get a radio. Mr. Nash is right about money being useful. But I don’t spend a lot of time in my apartment. I’m out a lot and have plenty of other things to do.

A couple of weeks later, I run into Mr. Nash again. I’m watching this Ivy League guy, preparing to launch his sail boat. He is really handsome, and I am talking to him, but he is not talking to me. He could really use some help, and I offer, but he says that he can manage. I sense someone behind me and turn to look. It is Mr. Nash.

“Hi,” I say.

“I’m going to take the boat out, Bobby. Do you want to go?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go then,” he says and starts off toward the pier. I notice that the Ivy Leaguer is looking at me with what appears to be envy. I can’t figure that one out, but I wave to him and give him a big smile. I’d rather be going sailing with him. I don’t imagine that you can do much on a sail boat. It looks like there is too much to do, making it go. But afterwards, after a good sail, after you’ve become friends, back at his place, maybe you could have some fun. But he just frowns at me, so I don’t think that I’m going to get anything going in that direction.

With a few exceptions, this trip with Mr. Nash is a repeat of the previous one. We head north toward Beverly instead of south toward Nahant. On the way back, Mr. Nash’s hands roam below by belt. He touches me everywhere he can reach without bending over. He feels my hard on. I feel his, when he moves his body against mine.

I do nothing to encourage him, or to discourage him. He doesn’t talk about what he is doing to me. He tells me that I should come to his house to visit his son, because we are the same age, which is ridiculous because David and I have nothing in common. He talks about David a lot. About what an excellent student he is, what a superb athlete he is, how the girls think that he’s wonderful. He is very proud of his son. Surely he can see that David and I are not likely to become friends.

I am non-committal about visiting his house. I think he knows that I’m not going to do it, so he drops the idea. When we part at the pier, he says that I’m welcome to go out on his boat again. I tell him I would like to, that it is very nice of him to take me along. I feel more comfortable with him now. I don’t know whether he is being less lordly or I don’t notice it as much. It is hard to see someone as lofty when they have just had their hand in your crotch, even if you had your pants on at the time.

Murray tells me that Tom Nash probably does not expect that his son and I would become friends, but that going to visit David would give me a reason to be at his house, a reason that his wife might not question. He would make up something to persuade his son to put up with me. A pretext, Murray called it. I learn a lot of new words from Murray, from Alan, too, for that matter.

Murray says that the Ivy League guy might have had a previous relationship with Mr. Nash, or might want to be on friendly terms with him for business reasons, or both. Then he sees a kid, not of their class, walking off with the prize. I tell Murray, that I’m not sure Mr. Nash is such a prize, but Murray replies that the Ivy Leaguer probably thinks so.

It seems that Murray knows Mr. Nash from before he was rich or married. Also, Murray’s friends tell him about people in town and what’s going on. Murray has a lot of friends and from all parts of the community. He thinks that Mr. Nash is OK though, or, at least, no worse than most folks.

According to Walter some men prefer a passive partner. It could be that my inactivity, when I am with Mr. Nash is exactly what he wants. Walter says that they need to be in control. For the same reason, some men prefer someone, who isn’t too bright. A lot of this seems accurate to me, but I don’t think that it entirely explains Mr. Nash.

It’s Monday following my discussion with Walter, when I see Mr. Nash again. It is another beautiful summer morning and I am enjoying it by taking a walk along Humphrey Street. Mr. Nash pulls up in his big, black Lincoln, and zooms down the window. I go over to see what he wants and he asks me to get into the car.

He is dressed in a gray business suit, but he says that he is going out on his boat for the day and would I like to come. When I say that I would, he says that he needs to make a phone call first, and then he wants to stop and get some grinders and beer to take along. He asks me if I would like beer or would rather have soda. I say that a beer would be good.

Mr. Nash drives to a drug store that has a phone booth outside. I wait in the car while he makes his call. I notice his black leather, gold monogrammed briefcase lying on the back seat. When he returns to the car, he takes off his jacket and tie and puts them in the back. Then he opens his collar and rolls up his shirt sleeves.

We make the other stops and then get to the boat, the Kathleen. Mr. Nash has me follow him below deck, which I haven’t seen before. There is a small kitchen, that he calls a galley, and he puts the beer and sandwiches in a little refrigerator. Further forward and to the left there is a tiny room with two bunks. Mr. Nash opens a drawer below the lower bunk and takes out some clothes; shorts, a short sleeved shirt, deck shoes. Then he goes into an identical room opposite looking for something.

He calls me in and hands me a bathing suit. “This is David’s,” he says. “It shouldn’t be too bad a fit.” I guess that I am supposed to get into it. Mr. Nash goes back into the other room to change.

The suit is too big, but I tie the drawstring and it works OK. I know that one of Mr. Nash’s swim suits would be even bigger. I think that this must be stage three in Mr. Nash’s plan, if he has a plan. It is such a nice day, that I decide to go shirtless and barefoot. Then, I go topside.

Once outside the harbor, I take the wheel as usual. Mr. Nash says that we are going north to Glaucester. He has his hands on my bare skin. This time he talks about me.

“You have a nice tan.”

“Your skin is soft and smooth.”

“You smell like the sun.” He lowers his head and sniffs the side of my neck.

I say, “I’m supposed to be concentrating on steering and looking out for other boats.”

“That’s right. And you keep right on going that. I’ll keep an eye out too.”

He puts his hands on my arms near the wrists and slides them over my arms and then down my sides. His arms encircle my middle, he steps up close and hugs me firmly, he kisses my neck at the spot where he sniffed it. He licks the spot with his tongue. He opens his mouth and sucks it. I squirm and giggle. He stops.

His hands drop to my waist. He finds the knot of the draw string and undoes it. He spreads the waist band and lets it go. David’s bathing suit falls to the floor. Mr. Nash steps back. He moves to the right and stands there for a couple of minutes, looking at me.

“Might not someone see us?” I ask.

“There is no one close enough. Look around.”

There isn’t another boat within 500 yards of us. “But someone could come up.”

“We’d see them first. There is a special privacy on the water, because of that.”

Maybe that’s one of the reasons that people like boats so much, I think to myself.

I have to keep my hands on the wheel, my eyes on the water ahead and the land to the port side. I have to concentrate hard to maintain my attention on these simple tasks. Mr. Nash comes back to me and touches my body all over.

As we approach Glaucester harbor, Mr. Nash takes the wheel and I pull the bathing suit back up and re-tie it. We tie the boat up at a pier and have our lunch on the stern deck. Then Mr. Nash tells me to bring my empty beer can and the paper trash with me to the galley where there is a trash can. He opens the little door for me and I notice that he locks it after us.

In the galley, a tall narrow drawer that pulls out is lined with a garbage bag. It is amazing how everything is put away, stowed, on a boat. Everywhere I look, I see built in cabinets that I didn’t even notice at first. Mr. Nash interrupts my gawking by putting a hand on my shoulder and saying, “Come on.”

He leads me into the little room where I had put on David’s bathing suit. He turns me to face him, puts his arms around me, and pulls me against him. He places one hand on the back of my head and kisses me on the lips, opening my mouth with his tongue. The he pushes me back to arms length. Again, he unties the knot in the drawstring.

The bottom bunk is a little narrower than a regular twin bed and there is not a lot of head room either. Mr. Nash manages though. After a while, I hear and feel that familiar rhythmic slap, slap, slap of belly on buttocks that indicates that he is near climax. Then the rhythm becomes irregular. I tighten my sphincter and move my rump up and down to pull the cum out of him. He gasps and makes other noises that are hard to describe.

Mr. Nash is an excellent lover, very attentive. He seems to really want to please me, not just get his rocks off. Afterward, we are lying on the bunk. I’m on my back against the wall, bulkhead, my knees drawn up. He is on his side leaning on his elbow and facing me. He stokes me with his right hand. Then he fingers the crack in my bottom. The fingers work in and one finds and massages my little hole.

“Is it a little sensitive now?” he asks.

“A little,” I lie, but I remember when it would have been.

“Uncomfortable?”

“No.” This is the truth.

The finger massages more firmly. He inserts it a little, to the first joint. I am still wet from the lubricant and his juice. He moves the finger in and out and side to side. My penis starts to react, to lengthen, even though he jerked me off a few minutes ago. The finger slides in further. Then he pulls it out and plays with my balls with just the one finger. He circles them over and over, then on the divide, back and forth. When I am fully erect, he masturbates me again.

“You’re a nice boy, Bobby. I like you.”

“I like you, too, Mr. Nash.”

“When we’re alone, you can call me Will.”

“Will?”

“My middle name is Willard.”

“Is that what your wife calls you?”

“No. No one calls me by that name anymore.”

“Someone did?”

“I’ll tell you sometime.”

“I’ve got to go to the toilet.”

“It’s the door at the bow end.”

What a tiny cubicle this is. I am sitting on the throne and if I lean a little, either to the left or right, I touch the wall. I could rest my left arm on the little sink. One step in front of me is a tiny stall shower. I have a lot of gas. I often have a lot of gas after getting screwed. This is when my poop hole can smart a bit. But being fucked again would feel fine. It’s very strange, I don’t understand it.

I’m not going to get fucked a second time. When I get back, Mr. Nash, Will, is all dressed. He gives me a hug and a kiss and a feel on the bottom and tells me to put the bathing suit on. It is time to make the return trip. On the way back he tells me that he want to see me again and asks for my phone number. He writes it down on a slip of paper in his wallet. He also wants to know more about me, so I tell him about where I live and where my folks are and all that sort of stuff.

He wants to know how I spend my time, so I mention my work at Ned’s and for Murray and the odd jobs that I do, and the places I like to hang out. I don’t tell him about any of my other men friends. I’ve learned my lesson with Alan. Sometimes, it is not a good policy to tell all. If Mr. Nash and I really become close, my other friends will come up naturally in conversation.

*****

A few days later, when I get home in the evening, Murray calls me. A package has arrived for me. It was left with one of the neighbors and Murray has it upstairs. It turns out to be an AM/FM stereo radio. The package was addressed to me, care of Murray I. Adams. Who would have sent it, I wonder.

The next night, Mr. Nash calls. He wants to know if I got the radio. When we were on his boat, I must’ve told him that I had been wanting one. I tell him that I did, and thank him. I feel uneasy about it, though. Anyway, we make a date for next Tuesday afternoon. What we’re going to do is to be a surprise, he says, but I should wear my best clothes. I tell him that I don’t know if I have any best clothes, but he says just to do what I can.

I brought the radio downstairs to my apartment and put it on the table that Demitri made for me. I realized why I feel strange about Mr. Nash’s gift. Demitri made the table himself. It is about three feet wide and a little more than that, long. It is made of pine and is very simple. It has square, slender, tapered legs and a plain box skirt. There isn’t any carving or turning and it has a natural finish. Demitri said that it is in the “Hepwhite” style. The two chairs are called ladder backs, because the backs look like ladders.

He brought the table and chairs over himself, to give them to me. Mr. Nash had the radio sent and did not even include a card, so that I would know who it was from. Also, we had sex and then, boom, there’s the radio, like it was a payment rather than a gift out of friendship. But I don’t know what is going on in Mr. Nash’s mind. Maybe this is just the way he does things. Maybe I’m just not used to people with lots of money.

Maybe my reaction has more to do with me. I’m not sure that I like Mr. Nash all that much. I like the fooling around and the boat rides, but do I like Mr. Nash? If I don’t, maybe that’s why I feel funny about the gift. I wonder if I would feel that way if I really liked him? I doubt it. But I do like having the radio, even so.

It will be nice to have the radio playing classical music when I have Alan over. He will be leaving for Amherst soon, and I want to have him come to my place for dinner, before he goes. I call him up and we set a date about two weeks off. We also make plans to go to the movies before then.

*****

I ask Murray what I should wear on my mystery adventure with Mr. Nash. He agrees with me that I have no best clothes. I choose the things with the least obvious wear.

When Mr. Nash picks me up, he asks if it is OK to bring me back in the morning. I say, “Sure, no problem.” Then we take Route 1A, north through Salem and Beverly. On the outskirts of Beverly, we stop at a store called Applewoods.

Mr. Nash says that he wants to get me a better outfit. He introduces me to one of the salespersons as his nephew. “My sister neglects his clothes terribly,” he says to the clerk. Apparently they know Mr. Nash here, because they address him by name.

I get shoes, socks, slacks, and a shirt. I wear the new things out of the store, my best, old clothes in a store bag. Now I look like a preppie, except for my hair which is too long and ragged. I don’t like to spend money on haircuts, and I don’t know anyone yet, who knows how to give them.

We continue up route 1A. The road goes mainly through country except to the town of Ipswich. It was cloudy when we started, but now the sun has come out. It is hot and humid outside, but cool in the Lincoln. Then we come to Newburyport, which is much bigger than Ipswich, but smaller than Beverly.

Sure enough, the first thing we do is go to a barber shop. Mr. Nash gets a haircut, too, although I don’t think that he needs one. Then we proceed downtown. Mr. Nash tells me that we are going to check into a hotel, that he will register me as his son. He says that I should call him Dad, while we are in Newburyport.

“Are you going to call me David?” I ask him.

“No. A person can have more than one son. I’ll call you Bobby, like I always do.”

“No one knows you here?”

“No one who does, will know or remember, that I only have one son.”

“So, here, I should call you Dad; Will, when we’re alone, and Mr. Nash the rest of the time.”

“Right.”

“What if I forget and make a mistake?”

“You wont. I have confidence in you.” He reaches over and pats my leg.

We have a nice time, and I don’t make any mistakes. Newburyport is a lot like my home town. Spread out when you enter the town limits and older and crowded together as you approach the harbor. It has a lot more stores, though. Of course, Newburyport is the biggest town in this area and where I live is one of the smallest in its area. People from the smaller towns come to Newburyport to shop and do business. Mr. Nash, Will, Dad, tells me all this.

We stay in a very grand, very small hotel. It is wood, painted white with a large porch, and tall windows that go almost from the ceiling to the floors. We go to a maritime museum, take a long walk through the town, then we have dinner in the hotel dining room. During dinner, Mr. Nash, Dad, sometimes calls me son, rather than Bobby. I realize that he treats me like a son a lot of the time, choosing my clothes, taking me for a haircut.

By the time we get back to town, I realize that I like Mr. Nash, Will, Dad, better than I thought I did. Now that I have some idea what is going on, I don’t think of his behavior as being so imperious, just paternal. I wonder if he would be as possessive as Alan, if he knew that I was seeing other guys.

The following night, Alan and I go to the movies. I wear my best old clothes, because I want to save the others for special occasions. We have a really great time. The movie is a comedy and very funny, after that we go for pizza, then back to Alan’s place. He is happy and doesn’t ask me questions that get us into areas that upset him. He says that my haircut looks good.

It seems that Alan’s professors accepted his dissertation with only one little change, that he has already done. He will graduate at the end of the month. They will mail his diploma to him, since he doesn’t want to attend a ceremony and will already be in Amherst. For the second morning in a row, I have to use somebody else’s toothbrush.

*****

I am really looking forward to having Alan be my first dinner guest. I do a lot of planning, with Mary’s help. I do a lot of shopping. Demitri helps, during his lunch break, by driving me to the stores. In Mary’s kitchen, I cook chicken cacciatore and bake a very light lemon cake with lemon frosting. Also, I get all the salad vegetables ready. Mary arrives home from teaching and makes espresso which she puts in a thermos for me, except for some that we drink. She tastes my cacciatore and says that it is better than her Aunt Antonia’s. I ask her if her Aunt was a great cook. She says that Antonia’s food was awful, so it’s a good thing that mine is better. Hilarious.

When Demitri gets through work he drives me back home and helps me carry everything in. I have already borrowed dishes and tableware from Murray. I borrowed a pair of candlesticks, too. Demitri says that the table looks very nice. He gives me a big kiss and says for me to have a good time.

For the pasta, I put a pot of water on the hot plate on the low setting, so that it wont take forever to boil when Alan arrives. Then I take a shower and put on my preppie outfit. I am very pleased with myself for having gotten all this done. I wouldn’t want to do it again anytime soon, though. I open the wine so it can breathe. I assemble the salad and check everything for the forth time. I light the candles. The basement fades away and only the table and chairs and the edges of the bed and bureau remain visible.

*****

The dinner is a disaster. Alan asks where I got the radio. He asks where I got the clothes. He wants to know where the table and chairs came from. He asks how I cooked all this stuff. Where did I get the hot plate and the little refrigerator? With each question his tone becomes more accusing.

I get annoyed. I tell Alan everything about my relationship with Demitri and Mary and the kids. He believes the Demitri part, but not the Mary part, until I give him details from our conversations. Alan is amazed and aghast. Then he gets up and says that he doesn’t feel like having any dessert and that he can’t stay.

I get angry. “You prick!” I yell at him. “You only think about yourself! I went to a lot of trouble to do this and instead of being a little grateful all you can do is sulk because I have other friends besides you!” Alan looks at me shocked and turns to go. “God damned, selfish, son of a bitch!” I yell at him as he ascends the cellar steps.

I look around. I’d break the dishes, if they were mine. The telephone rings. It is Murray. He wants to know if I’m all right. I say that I am not and he comes down. I tell him all about it. He says, “Come on, let’s clean up.” I tell him that I don’t want to, but he insists. It will give me something to do, he says.

Later, in bed, I alternate between crying and cursing. I feel humiliated. I don’t imagine I’ll be seeing Alan again, after what I said to him. I don’t imagine that I’d want to.