you when we finally get down below, do you?”
Cockeye asked, “Who the hell is this guy Mephistopheles? He sounds like Greek to me.”
I laughed.
“He's a hell of a Greek, all right. He's the guy with the horns and the pitchfork, down below.”
Cockeye bent down and pointing to his backside said, “If I ever meet him, he can kiss my tauchess.”
Cockeye spied the reclining chairs, hopped over on one foot and sat down. He jumped up in the air with a stream of startled curses. “Goddamn son of a bitch.”
“Better get used to it. You remember what old Safety-Pins Mons said, that we'll all wind up in the hot seat?” Maxie laughed.
Cockeye hopped around on one foot and rubbed his backside. “She can drop dead, that bitch,” he said.
An attendant came into the room with cool white sheets, laid them over the wooden reclining chairs, and we stretched out on them. We felt comfortable and relaxed.
In a short while the sweat poured off us in continuous trickles. It was a fiery heat. Cockeye slapped his thigh. “How do you guys like your meat, rare or well done?”
Patsy eyed him speculatively.
“You look too lean and tough to eat, Cockeye boy.”
Maxie walked over to the thermometer hanging on the wall and exclaimed, “Jeez, the temperature is 177 degrees.”
People in the room were nudging and whispering to one another. Evidently they knew we were hoodlum celebrities. We were growing accustomed to that sort of attention. We nodded to them in friendly fashion. Maxie had an attendant bring cold beer for everyone in the place. They called out their respectful thanks from all sides of the room.
Two good looking young men came over to thank us, simpering like embarrassed school girls. One of them lisped.
“We heard tho much about you boyth, Mithter Maxth. We came over to thank you perthonally for the beer,” he said.
The other one held his sheet with one hand on his hip and brushed his long bleached hair back with the other with a typical feminine gesture.
“We wanted to see if you men were as handsome without clothes as with them,” he said.
“Are we?” Max asked, amused.
“You men thertainly are and what beautiful manhood. Good-neth!”
I growled through the side of my mouth. “That's enough, girls. Scram. Take a powder.”
The two young men hurriedly adjusted their sheets tightly around their bodies. “Come away, these boys are too rough, Fwankie,” the lisper called to the other.
Frankie waved as they scampered away. “Bye, bye, you sweet darlings.”
Cockeye spit in disgust.
“Goddamn those peter-eaters. We ought to smack them around. Maybe that would cure them.”
“It would be silly to smack them around. That won't cure them,” I said.
“Yep, they're to be pitied, that's right, Noodles,” Max agreed.
I nodded and said, “Yeh, I guess their sex habits are beyond their control.”
Patsy asked, “What really makes a fairy a fairy?”
“Mostly environment,” I replied.
“What do you mean by that?” Cockeye asked.
“Well—” I thought a moment how best to explain it to Cockeye. “Take us, for example. Our environment, the way we were brought up, or the way we brought ourselves up, we all had us a good piece with Peggy, Fanny and a few others.”
We all laughed at my recollections.
I continued. “We are the opposite of fairies. We, too, are funny in a sense. We are the other extreme. Maybe we developed an overabundance of male hormones. That's why we're tough and hard-boiled. Like I said before, it is believed the causes of homosexuality are mostly environmental. In some cases a congenital element may be present.”
“Say that in English,” Cockeye grumbled.
Maxie laughingly volunteered the interpretation. “It means some of them were born that way in their mother's belly.”
“Hey, Noodles,” Cockeye called, “how come you know all the answers? Was you born that way?”
“Well, as long as you asked me, I'll tell you, Cockeye boy,” I began facetiously.
Cockeye asked, “Who the hell is this guy Mephistopheles? He sounds like Greek to me.”
I laughed.
“He's a hell of a Greek, all right. He's the guy with the horns and the pitchfork, down below.”
Cockeye bent down and pointing to his backside said, “If I ever meet him, he can kiss my tauchess.”
Cockeye spied the reclining chairs, hopped over on one foot and sat down. He jumped up in the air with a stream of startled curses. “Goddamn son of a bitch.”
“Better get used to it. You remember what old Safety-Pins Mons said, that we'll all wind up in the hot seat?” Maxie laughed.
Cockeye hopped around on one foot and rubbed his backside. “She can drop dead, that bitch,” he said.
An attendant came into the room with cool white sheets, laid them over the wooden reclining chairs, and we stretched out on them. We felt comfortable and relaxed.
In a short while the sweat poured off us in continuous trickles. It was a fiery heat. Cockeye slapped his thigh. “How do you guys like your meat, rare or well done?”
Patsy eyed him speculatively.
“You look too lean and tough to eat, Cockeye boy.”
Maxie walked over to the thermometer hanging on the wall and exclaimed, “Jeez, the temperature is 177 degrees.”
People in the room were nudging and whispering to one another. Evidently they knew we were hoodlum celebrities. We were growing accustomed to that sort of attention. We nodded to them in friendly fashion. Maxie had an attendant bring cold beer for everyone in the place. They called out their respectful thanks from all sides of the room.
Two good looking young men came over to thank us, simpering like embarrassed school girls. One of them lisped.
“We heard tho much about you boyth, Mithter Maxth. We came over to thank you perthonally for the beer,” he said.
The other one held his sheet with one hand on his hip and brushed his long bleached hair back with the other with a typical feminine gesture.
“We wanted to see if you men were as handsome without clothes as with them,” he said.
“Are we?” Max asked, amused.
“You men thertainly are and what beautiful manhood. Good-neth!”
I growled through the side of my mouth. “That's enough, girls. Scram. Take a powder.”
The two young men hurriedly adjusted their sheets tightly around their bodies. “Come away, these boys are too rough, Fwankie,” the lisper called to the other.
Frankie waved as they scampered away. “Bye, bye, you sweet darlings.”
Cockeye spit in disgust.
“Goddamn those peter-eaters. We ought to smack them around. Maybe that would cure them.”
“It would be silly to smack them around. That won't cure them,” I said.
“Yep, they're to be pitied, that's right, Noodles,” Max agreed.
I nodded and said, “Yeh, I guess their sex habits are beyond their control.”
Patsy asked, “What really makes a fairy a fairy?”
“Mostly environment,” I replied.
“What do you mean by that?” Cockeye asked.
“Well—” I thought a moment how best to explain it to Cockeye. “Take us, for example. Our environment, the way we were brought up, or the way we brought ourselves up, we all had us a good piece with Peggy, Fanny and a few others.”
We all laughed at my recollections.
I continued. “We are the opposite of fairies. We, too, are funny in a sense. We are the other extreme. Maybe we developed an overabundance of male hormones. That's why we're tough and hard-boiled. Like I said before, it is believed the causes of homosexuality are mostly environmental. In some cases a congenital element may be present.”
“Say that in English,” Cockeye grumbled.
Maxie laughingly volunteered the interpretation. “It means some of them were born that way in their mother's belly.”
“Hey, Noodles,” Cockeye called, “how come you know all the answers? Was you born that way?”
“Well, as long as you asked me, I'll tell you, Cockeye boy,” I began facetiously.
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