The Lost Language of Cranes by David Leavitt Read Free Book Online Page B

pulsating rings of green and yellow encircling the pupils.
    A minute passed without a word, and still they stared. Every now and then Philip let out a snort of breath, almost a laugh, and his smile widened a little, and Eliot smiled too and let out a thin stream of smoke.
    "So what do you do?" Philip asked finally, mostly because there was no one else there to interrupt, no Sally, no dinner bell.
    "I'm sort of self-employed," Eliot said.
    "Doing what?"
    "Oh, I write copy for ad agencies and publishers. And draw. I'm working on a book cover now. A jack-of-all-trades, I guess you could say."
    "That's great," Philip said. He's rich, he thought enviously, but then, because he was trying to fall in love with Eliot, he changed his mind. Freedom, he thought. Integrity.
    "You must like the freedom," Philip said. "It must be great not to be stuck in the nine-to-five grind."
    "I love it," Eliot said. "And anyway, I doubt I'd be able to live any other way. I don't like planning things more than a few days ahead if I can help it. It's just not a comfortable way of being for me."
    "You know," Philip said, suddenly remembering Sally's game plan, "my mother was your father's copy editor. Or, I mean, your stepfather. Or—I'm sorry, I'm not sure what to call him."
    "Really!" Eliot said. "She copy edited Derek's books? Which ones?"
    A new panic replaced the old one. He didn't know. "I'm not sure, exactly—" he said. "The ones that Motherwell published."
    "That's fantastic," Eliot said.
    "You think so?" Philip said. He sputtered out a little laugh. "I thought it was a pretty neat coincidence myself. Of course, theynever met. Though Mom always wanted to meet him. She loved his books. I did too."
    "Yes, they're great. Derek's a remarkable person, a real character. You'd like him."
    Something in the way Eliot said "You'd like him" alarmed Philip. He wondered if perhaps he was all wrong, if Eliot was going to shake his hand and say, "We should have lunch sometime."
    Then Sally was between them, flashing a tight smile. For the first time they observed the party. People stood around in nervous little groups. "You two sit across from each other," Sally said, ushering them to the table, then arranged the other guests according to some elaborate plan of her own invention.
    The dinner was long. Philip hardly had a chance to talk to Eliot, who was caught up in a conversation about the legitimacy or fraudulence of certain East Village performance artists. Every now and then someone at the table would make a half-hearted effort at nostalgia but always ended up slipping back into the inevitable refrain: "I'll quit if I don't get a raise by next month"; "It's an illegal sublet, so unless the landlord finds out, I'll be fine."
    Everyone drank to excess. At some point in the wine-and boredom-induced haze of the meal, Philip made his grand gesture of the foot, only to be topped by Eliot's grander gesture. It astonished him—that quick response, that firm clutch of Eliot's calves. Eliot did not look at him, did not break the stride of his sentence. It was as if such things happened to him at dinner parties all the time.
    Dessert was David's Cookies and Häagen-Dazs. Still they did not talk. Philip wondered if his posture gave anything away. Cautiously his foot explored, wiggled as it could, and finally felt warm flesh under the pants leg. He was thrilled. Could anyone see?
    Then Sally got up, and everyone followed her to have coffee in the living room. Eliot let go of Philip's foot, looking at him for the first time during the meal. They walked into the living room separately. "I know another party we could go to," Eliot said.
    "Yes," Philip said.
    The other party was at a club in Chelsea. They went by cab. In the cab they did not touch, though their legs brushed. A long line was forming outside the doors of the club, but Eliot had a special invitation. The bouncer ceremoniously ushered them past a velvet rope, and a woman nearby shouted in a hoarse voice,