The Spinner of Tales by Richard Hall

Author:Richard Hall [Hall, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, classical piano, gay men, murder, New York
Publisher: ReQueered Tales
Published: 2023-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

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Lust, almost forgotten, tip-toed into my dreams that afternoon. As I sank into the bed at El Convento, I felt vague sexual stirrings which burst into full flower once I was asleep. It was like greeting old friends, friends I hadn’t seen in months, whom I had missed. Gorgeous male bodies, thick with muscles, coming to a vital point between marvelous legs, grappling with me, consuming, devouring me. An enrichment that I needed desperately. When I woke up, exhausted and elated, I finished off the dream. I had been warned by several friends, and by my readings, that the libido is one of the first casualties in the AIDS wars, but I hadn’t believed it when I heard it. How could that powerful force disappear? What would be left? But it was true.

I lay for a long time, gathering my forces, until around four I struggled up and into the shower.

I rested some more until hunger roused me. It was six. I might be able to tolerate an omelette and a flan. I knew where to go – El Jinete on Recinto Sur. Inside its dark, tiled interior I could imagine myself in a little bistro in Madrid.

I made my way slowly through the old town, past perfectly restored townhouses. I was headed toward the docks. I caught sight of radio towers and superstructures. In port were the Carla C, the Sun Princess, the Amerikanis – sea-going cities. No wonder my hotel was half-empty. The tourists floated in on these giant pleasure domes, visited the town for an afternoon of shopping, an evening of boozing, then departed at midnight.

I heard shrill voices behind me. A small troupe of girls, colegianas, in plaid skirts and yellow middy blouses, shepherded by a small, dark nun. They were headed for the ferry terminal. I watched them disappear, then turned. The sign, El Barrilito, just caught my eyes. I had wandered close to Tupi Rivera’s club.

I hesitated, wondering what to do, when a blue van passed me, heading toward the club. The lettering on the side panel barely formed itself into meaning: Casa Cristal. I watched it make a right, proceeding past the club. These streets had no name.

I started walking up, away from the docks, toward the club. I made the same right turn that the van had, but there was no sign of it. I was in front of the entrance to El Barrilito – heavy wooden doors with brass fixtures, now locked. The next instant I heard a heavy car door slam. It seemed to come from behind the club. An alleyway, cobblestoned, skirted the side of the building. It was just wide enough for the van.

I walked slowly, keeping to the inner, building side. I didn’t want any surprises. If only it were a little later, a little darker.

There was a brick archway notched into the side of the building. I stepped into it for a moment to catch my breath. Then I proceeded.

At the back of the club I saw a parking area and loading dock.

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