He made a great effort to look deep into my eyes. I looked into his. They were his nighttime eyes now; the hurt there was that of a wounded animal, almost tearful and brightly moist and desperate for a life that was fast leaving him.

“I love your people,” he declared again. Then he paused and continued to look directly at me. And then he held out both his arms. “Dennis,” he said, “Dennis, Dennis, Dennis. Oh come to me.”

I looked at him, not quite in amazement. I had been expecting it all along, but I was disgusted by his lack of finesse or tact.

“You’re such a beautiful man, Dennis. You’re all so beautiful. Oh, God! You’re so beautiful!”

I got up from the chair and began to walk about the room and away from him. “Now look,” I said, with all the manhood in my voice I could muster. “I understand your position but you’ve got to see mine. I’m straight. I can’t do what Rudy does.”

“Come to me,” he said again, his arms still raised in a Christly pose.

“You have to go,” I said decisively.

“Please, Dennis, oh please, please, don’t leave me alone.”

“Finish your coffee and just cut it out.”

He mixed his coffee, which was now cold and undrinkable, and kept his eyes moving over my face, my legs, my body, all the while he was stirring. He drank it in gulps, glancing up at me as if I were holding a gun on him or had some great reward to be given as soon as the coffee was finished. It was a terrible power to have; and having it weakened me, made me want to give him reasons for not doing the thing he wanted. I hated Rudy Smith for having this power, I hated him for using it the way he had; and I hated and pitied Alfred, both at the same time, for forcing me to fall victim to his own inability to cope with himself and for forcing an invasion of his dignity onto me.

“Isn’t there some bar you could go to?” I asked.

“No. The vice squad men all know me and I’d have to pay them money.”

“Would it help if we just talked some—about your poems?”

He had that dying look again. “Please, Dennis, oh please help me!” he moaned, again with his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Alfred. I really am,” I said.