The Front Runner by Patrica Nell Warren

Author:Patrica Nell Warren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay, love story, romance, novel

TWELVE

EARLY in April, Billy took a good two-week rest. It would be the last rest he’d get till after the Olympics —if he made the team. I cut him down to a couple miles’ gentle running every day, and encouraged him to eat a lot and gain a few pounds.

This rest would be the cornerstone of his Olympic buildup. By the Trials in mid-July, he would be sharp enough to make the team. The six weeks following the Trials would have him peaking by the Games. Billy could stay at a peak for about four weeks, racing flat out every three or four days, so I was hoping that, after Montreal, we could fly to Europe for some post-Olympic meets.

By now, I had more or less taught Billy how to rest. He muttered a little, but did his daily two miles obediently.

We both quailed at the thought of the summer ahead. If he made the team, officially he would not be my runner any more, till after the Games. He would be taken away to the Olympic training camp. From mid-July till after the Games, we would be seeing little of each other.

We were still in our impasse about how to live. I saw our lives being frittered away, day by day.

One weekend during that April rest, we managed to have one of our few times alone together. My memories of that weekend are powerful and poignant, and not totally happy.

Steve Goodnight had a house out on Fire Island. Not in one of the famous little gay communities, as one would expect, like Cherry Grove. He had settled in Ocean Ridge, a little town farther east along the shore. “I couldn’t ever get any writing done in the Grove,” he had told me. “People drop in. Sexual distractions. The hell with it.”

That weekend he invited Billy and me, Jacques and Vince, and John and Delphine out to the house. He and a strange new friend of his met us on the dock in Patchogue on Friday evening, and we took the last ferry across to the island. This early in the season we were the only people on it.

We sat on the upper deck, letting the cool wind blow our hair, watching the sun set over the Great South Bay.

“I haven’t been out here since my hustling days,” I said.

“You’re not missing much,” said Steve. “It’s getting to be like Coney Island.”

Billy was smiling at me. “I’ll bet you’ve been to some parties out here.”

I grinned. “I’ve seen some things, all right.” I put my arm across Billy’s shoulders, since our group was alone on the deck.

It was always good to see Steve. He hadn’t changed much, though he was forty-three now. His straight brown hair was thinning rapidly, and his good English face looked a little worn. He was working on a new novel and also on some gay pornography because, he said, he needed money.

The ferry docked. We loaded the suitcases and the boxes of groceries and the

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