Everybody Loves You by Ethan Mordden

Author:Ethan Mordden
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250128263
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

The Right Boy for Cosgrove

“Look, I’m telling you,” Dennis Savage is telling me, “Cosgrove has simply got to be farmed out. I’m sorry, but someone’s got to take him out of here. I can’t have this … this apprentice sweetheart underfoot all the time.”

Not to mention on the end of your cock, I thought; but I said nothing, for Dennis Savage’s moment of weakness was to be our secret, his and mine. No one must know of his adultery—better, no one must know of adultery, no matter whose or why, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Not even Carlo, who would forgive Hitler an act of sensual self-enhancement if his partner was hot enough. Not even Little Kiwi—especially not Little Kiwi—the victim of the adultery but also the person responsible for it, as the one who brought the young man known as Cosgrove into our circle.

In the event, Little Kiwi agreed that Cosgrove ought to find a place of his own. “He’s been living in our socks, almost,” Little Kiwi observed.

“He likes it here,” said Carlo, biting into a Granny Smith apple, his latest food discovery. (He likes to sample the stuff in your fridge, and sometimes it changes his life. One dinnertime Dennis Savage and Little Kiwi came out, amid a great deal of hushings and fa la, with a chocolate soufflé for dessert; but Carlo said, “Can I have one of those tart green apples that Bud buys?” and Dennis Savage was ready for the straitjacket.) “That cute little Cosgrove,” Carlo concluded, “has a hateful family and no other home but this.”

“That’s just it,” said Dennis Savage. “We have to get him one. He needs a place to move to. His parents have virtually thrown him out. He doesn’t have a job. But he’s marketable, let’s face it. All we have to do is find him a good home.”

There was a pause as we faced it. I felt Dennis Savage looking at me, then Little Kiwi looking along, and at length Carlo joined them. All three were grinning. A home for Cosgrove.

“Nothing doing, you bum Samaritans,” I cried. “What is this, the Fresh Air Fund?”

“He could be very agreeable, running your errands,” said Dennis Savage.

“I’m not taking your refuse.”

“He loves your Victrola,” Little Kiwi urged.

“That’s his problem.”

“He’s a beautiful little honeystuff,” said Carlo, and we other three looked away in bemusement, the usual condition when you pal around with Carlo. “One solid paddling every morning, and he’d—”

“I don’t want a roommate,” I said, with intense conviction.

“All right,” said Dennis Savage, “all right,” waving a soothing hand. “All right, but he’s got to go. He has to … find someone to live with.” He shrugged. “My nuclear family is big enough as it is.”

He was looking out the window, but his feelings swept the room, and for the tiniest moment something very crucial and abstract became almost intelligible; I couldn’t grasp what the something was. It moved so quickly that you’d have missed it if you blinked.

Little Kiwi missed it. “Just when I taught Cosgrove,” he sighed, “how to make Baked Beans à la Whorehouse.

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