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The Apollo of Hérouxville (5)

“And who is the man you want, Ray?” Apollo asked.

The boy’s eyes clenched shut even tighter. “I can see him too, but… I don’t know. Even more vaguely than You.”

“Wise,” Apollo replied. “It leaves your options open. But know this, Raymond whose friends call him Ray: whoever that man is, he’ll be the one you can look at and say You’re hot without even thinking about it. He may not even understand why you’re saying it. But he’ll be hot because you’ll know. And when you say it, I promise it’ll be the last time you say it to anyone. Consider it my gift.”

“Okay, that all sounded just a bit too romantic. But hey, coming from the god of poetry and music, yeah, I’ll accept it.“

“Perhaps next time I should send Eros to have this chat with you? Although, given your t-shirt, you’d probably enjoy meeting Ares far more.”

The boy laughed. “Maybe so. Is he hot?”

Apollo smiled. “If you think he is. I could bring down the entire family, if you wanted. Zeus, Hera, the whole clan.”

“That’d make for quite the night in here, wouldn’t it. All these seriously gorgeous gods and goddesses: I’ve seen the pictures. I know what you guys look like. Nothing but great pecs and chiseled abs and perfect teeth... and that's just the guys.”

“Good genes,” Apollo smiled.

“And it’d be something for everyone. Pluto over there with the Goth kids. Venus and Athena driving the lesbians wild. Hell, for that matter, Mercury out there on the dance floor showing them how it’s done with his little winged feet. No one would ever get a hook-up in this place again; after you guys, they’d all be disappointments. All that perfect beauty, you’d spoil us forever… which is all the more reason why you should go.”

“You’re sure?”

The boy thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Perfect Beauty — that’s not for someone like me; it’s not what I want. You’re too grand, too flashy for my little fifth-floor walk-up. You’d scare the neighbour’s cat, and I don’t think you’d enjoy take-out Chinese on the fire escape.”

“Flashy? I’ve been called many things in my time, but never flashy. Still, it wouldn’t have to be like that, you know. I can show you Paradise. Think of it: every day, for the rest of your life, would be absolute perfection. Every night too, for that matter.”

“If every day was like that, how would I know if it was perfection or not? No,” the boy replied determinedly. “That’d be your paradise. Not mine.”

“Is yours so different, Ray?”

“I don’t want to walk into a relationship with a god. I want to find him along the way.”

“I see... Last chance.”

The boy shrugged.

 “As you wish. When you open your eyes, Apollo will be gone…”

The boy’s eyes cautiously fluttered open. Maybe it was the air or the light... he didnt know what, but — something had changed.

“And I think it’s time for me to pay my tab and leave as well,” said the man from Hérouxville. “I have to get home and work on my next project. The Universal Vegetable!”

“The what?” the boy grinned.

“No more will the world have to deal with the needless and useless classification of lettuce and corn and radish. One vegetable for all!”

The boy’s grin eased into a smile. “You are so hot.”

“Dear Raymond. I hope for your sake that you had to think about that when you said it… at least for a moment or two,” the man smiled in return.

“I’m not going to have to deal with Bradley again tonight, am I?”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I think you stand a far better chance with the cute blond, so if you will excuse me, I will no longer cramp your style. Adieu, Raymond whose friends call him Ray.”

“You know, you never did tell me your name.”

The man took the boy’s hand and clasped it firmly within his own. “Paul.” With a wink, he disappeared.

The boy sat on his stool and studied the wet rings left by his beer. What an insane night. Maybe it’s time to go home, he thought. He took one last drink from the bottle when a hand gently tapped on his shoulder. He swiveled around.

It was the cute blond, smiling at him. “Votre ami… your friend… il m’a dit que…”

From a distance, one wouldn't have noticed a thing, no difference in the air or the light: just two ordinary young men, standing close, inexplicably smiling at each other. After a moment’s glance, the watcher, already bored, might turn away... but in that same moment, Ray saw that, up close, the blond wasn't just cute. He was... stunning. Reeling from the jolt, Ray felt a small piece of himself suddenly break loose, daring to travel the short yet frightening distance across some deep and indefinable chasm, to reside forever within the gentle smile of the young man before him. As if to give it easier access and return it with one of his own, the blond took Ray's hand and smiled even wider.

“Wow,” Ray said quietly, in a voice that amazed even himself. “You are so hot.”

The blond gave him a curious — yet dazzling — grin. “Quoi?”

“Hi. I’m Ray.”

“Hi. Moi je suis — …”

“RAYMOND!” Bradley suddenly shouted from the dance floor, even as he dragged an embarrassed Theo behind him. “You will forgive me, won’t you, for just leaving you like that? Theo and I have had a little talk — haven't we, darling? — and we've decided that we really should… And who is this adorable young man?”

The blond looked at Ray, then at Bradley. “Je m’appelle François.”

“Well, bienvenue, François. Ah, Raymond, I have no choice but to approve. I am pained to see such inevitable happiness, but I approve. Heartily. But where is your friend? I must see him!”

“The man who was just here? Paul?”

“Paul? Is that his name? I simply must speak with him! I have to thank him! Where is he?”

“He just left.”

“If we hurry, we might catch him!” Bradley grabbed up Theo’s hand again and disappeared into the dark. “OH PAUL! OH PAUL!!!”

François looked at Ray quizzically. “Apollon est ici?”

“Non,” Ray smiled as he pulled François closer. “Il est passé.”

The Apollo of Hérouxville (4)

“Do you have any idea,” Theo continued, “what it is like living with someone as impossible as you?”

The Head gave him a sneer, then turned to the boy. “Ray, let me ask you something. When you said I was hot, did you do it because you think I am? Or to make fun of me?”

The boy snapped a nervous glance at the man from Hérouxville, who returned it with a quick nod. “Because you are.”

“There!” the Head cried triumphantly. “You see?”

“Bradley — “ Theo started, then stopped, frustrated. “Well, Raymond, I hope you like bony knees…”

The man from Hérouxville jumped in before the boy could say anything: “Bony knees? How arch!”

“The snoring — oh dear god, the snoring. Will your little friend there like the way you snore? Go on, ask him.”

“He snores? Perfect! As it turns out, Ray here is an insomniac who’s afraid of being alone in the dark.”

“I’m not an — “

“Fine,” Theo snarled. “This is all just too much. You think he’s all that hot? He’s yours. Take him. I give him to you freely. Bradley, enjoy your little mythic fantasy. For myself, I’m staying in a world where the concept of ugliness actually means something.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and stormed out of the bar.

“I feel…” the Head began, “I feel like a monstrous weight has been taken off me. What… joy. Oh Raymond, how can I ever thank you for that! I must… I must ask everyone to come meet you! Now! Don’t move! I’ll bring them all to you!” With a happy little laugh, he happily skipped off into the darkness.

The boy shook his head in disbelief. “Would you mind telling me just what the heck happened here?”

The man laughed. “My. Such a night for your first time in a gay bar. I don’t think there’s anything more I can teach you, my boy.”

“But I’m not an insomniac!”

The man nodded. “He knows that already.”

“Sure, but does his husband?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

“This is all… wrong, all of it. I don’t want this guy! And he doesn’t want me — “

“No, he doesn’t. He wants his Theodore, just as Theo wants him. Right now, they see that. I daresay right now they’re looking for each other.”

“After what Theo said?”

“Even after what Theo said. It is what people in love do: they say spiteful, hurtful, very human things to each other, and then they apologize. And then they try to work it out. And these two, they will do this together because that’s who they are and what they need.”

“And where does that put — “

“You? By doing absolutely nothing, my dear little Ray, you have become nothing less than a god to Bradley.– and possibly even to Theodore as well. You healed the sick and raised the dead. Beyond that? I wouldn’t expect much: one does not approach, let alone touch, a god.”

“You’re as crazy as they are.”

“Quite possibly.”

“What is it with these stupid answers?” The boy slammed his fists on the unforgiving countertop. “This is all your fault! I came in here tonight, looking for just someone to, you know, talk to — and I wind up in all this… conceptual drama. Because of you and your stupid secret!”

“Ray — “

“Now I’ll never know if I’m telling some guy he’s hot just because he is or because I want him to be! It’s like… like… your damn Apollo. Big hot stud, right? Every gay man’s ideal, no matter what it might be! One size fits all! Yeah, well, some Perfect Beauty. I can’t touch him! He doesn’t exist! And even if He did, I don't think I'd want to touch him! Given the choice between him and… and that cute blond number standing over there, tell me why I should even bother with your Apollo.”

The man smiled sternly. “Now you ask too much, my little friend. Whether he exists or not, he’s still the Perfect Beauty.”

“You’d better explain that one to me, because that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

“Close your eyes.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it, Ray. Do it so you can see Apollo. So He can tell you Himself. That’s what you want, right?”

“… Yeah.”

“Then do it…. All right, Ray. Tell me what you see.”

His eyes firmly shut, the boy shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t. It’s… it’s like trying to tell someone what colour sunshine is, what music smells like. I can see Him, but…”

“Keep your eyes closed. Talk to Him. Not me.”

“And what would I say to Him — You? You’re a god. I’m just… me. I have a pretty simple life, and it’s enough. Every day, when I get off work, I walk up five flights to my apartment. There’s a neighbour’s cat usually waiting outside my door, and we sit on the carpet in the hall and we talk about our day. Then I give her some tuna and pet her a bit and she leaves. I make some dinner and, if it’s a nice night out, I eat it out on the fire escape. It’s not much of a life, but it’s mine. What possible place could someone like You find in something like that?”

The man smiled. “Maybe none, because you don’t need an Apollo.”

“Well, if I ever find a Perfect Beauty, it won’t be because his head is one-seventh of his height and the width of his shoulders inspired the Golden Mean. Do me a favour, Apollo: take your perfection and go away. Please. Just go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Let me find a hot man on my own terms.”

“You realize, Ray, that once Apollo leaves you, He will not come back.”

His eyes still shut, the boy grinned, “Yes, He will, but in the man I want.”

(to be continued)

The Apollo of Hérouxville (3)

“Besides,” the man continued, “think of all the advantages, all the possibilities. This isn’t something you use just to get laid, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Of course, Ray! Say it to the butcher, and he’ll give you a cut of that truly fine rib roast he keeps in the back for himself. Say it to the professor, and he’ll give you a diploma. Say it to the owner of the club, as you just did, and you’re guaranteed free drinks for life.”

“That guy — the one just here? — He owns this place?”

The man nodded.

“But surely he didn’t believe me!”

“Of course he did — if only for a tiny fraction of an instant… because he already believes it himself. He just wants to hear someone else say it. That’s all any of them really want: to hear someone tell them that they’re hot, that they’re desirable, that someone else sees them the way they see themselves. All these odd couples we see on the society web pages? Gorgeous women with men who could be their trollish grandfathers? Those ladies have it figured out: all they had to do was look at their men and say those two little words, and doors opened like the petals of a field of wildflowers at first sunlight.”

“YOO-HOO!” The two looked up to see the Head, practically skipping across the floor. “You’re still here!” he added breathlessly. “I was so hoping you would be! I have so many people I want you to — what is your name, child?”

“Raymond,” the boy replied, “but my friends call me Ray.”

“Raymond…” the Head echoed, savouring every syllable. “What a perfectly charming name! Well, Raymond whose friends call him Ray, I have just tons of people I want you to meet. You must come with me, right now, immediatement.”

The bartender looked up and quietly rolled his eyes.

“Ellie, you naughty girl, I saw that!” The Head rolled up to the bar.  “How long have you been working here?”

The bartender shrugged. “Three years, off and on.”

“Hmm. And in all that time, dear Ellie, have you ever once thought of me as… hot?”

“Boss, get real.”

“I see. You know, Ellie, much as I am loathe to say it, you’re no centerfold yourself, are you.”

“Nope. And I know it.”

“And so, knowing that, do you consider yourself then an authority on what is and is not male beauty?”

“Boss, all I have to do is look around this bar and see it. And, sorry to say it, but you aint it. It’s a harsh reality, but it’s true.”

The Head was thoughtful for a moment. “I see. Well, fine. You’re fired.”

“What?!?”

“You’re fired. Given the choice between your reality and Ray’s… well, I’m afraid I prefer his. Pack your things. Go.”

“But boss — !”

“Leave!”

The bartender glared at the boy, then, slamming down his towel, strode to the front of the bar, then stood practically nose to nose with the Head. “You know, you do this all the time. Some little piece of ass comes along and says all the right things, and suddenly you’re like a finalist at the Miss Gay America Pageant.”

“Are you quite finished?”

The bartender sputtered, then spat on the floor. “Yes.” — then slammed his way through the crowd.

The Head watchfully followed him. “Well, so much for that. So… Raymond, how would you like to be a bartender here? I seem to have a position open.”

The boy started hopelessly at the Head. “I never wanted – I’m not a — “

An angry voice suddenly rocketed from the far end of the club. “SO WHERE’S THIS BITCH THAT’S TRYING TO STEAL MY HUSBAND!”

The Head looked up, then sighed. “Oh dear. That’s my husband Theodore. Lovely fellow… but between you and me, his shadow is nowhere near as lovely as mine.”

The source of the angry voice strode across the room: tall, well-dressed, and — to the boy’s inexperienced eye — very good-looking in a decidedly furious way. “BRADLEY! HAVE YOU GONE COMPLETELY INSANE?”

“Ah, Theo, my love. May I present — “

“No, you may not! And as for you: get the hell out of this bar. Now.”

“He will not get the hell out, Theo. He will be staying. He will be taking Ellie’s place behind bar.”

“Really. Our best bartender. And you’re tossing him over for this little piece of trash? Why on earth — “

“Because Raymond says I’m hot.”

“… You are not serious.”

“I am indeed. This morning, I was a mound of blubber, scarcely able to squeeze into my car…”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I saw this morning as well.”

“Tonight, thanks to this lovely child, I am Atlas. And I do believe I prefer his view.”

“Atlas!” Theodore laughed.

“Actually, maybe not…” the boy said quietly.

“Ah, Bradley! You see? Even he cant keep to the lie — “

“No, I was thinking more of something else. Not the Atlas,” the boy continued. “The Apollo of Hérouxville.”

“The what?” Theodore asked incredulously.

The Head suddenly, viciously spun at Theodore. “You know, I’ve had just about enough of you! You have only one purpose in my life, and that is to make me feel good. That’s it! Raymond here knows the score: tell a man what he wants to hear. That’s all you should be doing. Want to know why, my dear Theo? Because when you say it to me, I. Feel. Happy. This young man makes. Me. Feel. Happy. And as such, I see him as one of the hottest men in this room.”

Theo brutally laughed. “Him? You really are insane, my dear.”

The man from Hérouxville raised a cautious hand. “If I may interrupt…”

'

Theo threw his hands in the air. “And who is this crazy person?”

The man continued. “Bradley — if I may be so informal, sir — Bradley here has posed the perfect question: what makes a man happy?”

 

Timidly, the boy whispered. “I think — “

“No one cares what you think, bitch!”

The Head spun in fury. “I will not have you insult little Raymond like that!”

“This little… hustler is insulting me!”

“Keep talking, Theodore. Now I’m seeing the real you, and it is Not. Pretty.”

The man from Hérouxville gently interrupted once more. “Gentlemen, if I may. The issue isn’t so much what is hot and what is not, but seeing each man’s beauty, his desirability, his hotness in itself. You just have to know how to look at it. The tall and thin: how they almost hang from the sky. The short and weighty: how they cling to the earth.”

Theodore smirked in none too mild derision. “Please, start singing: Everyone is beautiful! In their own way!”

The man raised a cautious finger. “Ah, but you see, they are. Just because you, good sir, can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not so. Look at the people working in this very room. Him, for example.”

Theo and the Head followed his extended finger, pointing at a non-descript young man in barely clean whites as he wandered the room, picking up abandoned glassware and depositing them in a large plastic tub. “Tony?” Theo asked in shocked surprise. “Okay. What about him? He’s probably the plainest-looking person we know. That’s why we hired him, if you recall, Bradley.”

“Ah, but you’re not looking…!” the man continued. “Watch.”

“He’s picking up a beer bottle. Oh yeah, very hot.”

“It’s not what he’s doing,” the man said in gentle admonishment. “It’s how he does it. See how the muscles slide under his skin as he picks up that beer bottle? The gentle, almost loving way he sets in along side the others so it doesn’t break?”

The Head sighed. “I never saw that before. It’s… poetry.”

“It’s nonsense, that’s what it is! Bradley, listen to me. You are not hot. You are ugly as sin.”

“Be quiet!”

“I will not be quiet! Someone needs to soak your ponderous head in very cold water to shake some sense back into you! You are ugly, Bradley! Deal with it and move the hell on!”

“How can Bradley ever expect to see himself as hot,” the man said quietly, “when he lives in an environment that constantly finds him ugly?”

“Environment!” the Head shouted. “Of course! I understand!”

“Oh please,” Theo replied dismissively, “what could you possibly understand now?”

The Head stared at him. “From the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep, I am constantly reminded that I’m ugly. And not just by you. All I have to do is look around the condo and see a thousand things that remind me of it. You leave a shirt hanging on a doorknob, and that tells me I’m fat. The paintings that you chose for every room, the decorative photographs, the floral centerpieces, every single damn thing fairly screams at me, Bradley, you’re ugly! The countless mirrors… oh, let’s not forget those, shall we? And your little Italian marble statuette of the David that you keep on the nightstand – well, tonight, my love, it, the paintings, the mirrors, even your shirts, all of it goes in the trash!”

“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

The Head turned to the man from Hérouxville. “Do you know what this monster bought last month for our dining room? Louis XV Directoire chairs. I can hardly squeeze into them! Well, no more. Tonight, they go to Goodwill, with my blessing!”

Theodore gasped. “Goodwill? Do you have any idea how expensive — “

“I paid for them, so yes, I think I have some idea! Ray, tell me, what kind of chairs do you have?”

The boy stammered. “Mine? Nothing special. A… uh… a couch. A recliner.”

“A recliner!” the Head sighed. “We have fifty thousand dollars’ worth of silver on our dining room table. What’s on yours?”

“A small bowl. I keep marbles in it. Red ones, usually.”

“Red marbles! I think right now I would kill for a bowl of red marbles. They could take all of the silver and chuck it into the river, and I would never miss a single fork.”

“Take one piece of that silver,” Theodore hissed, “and I am so out of here.”

“Suit yourself, my love.”

“You just don’t get it, do you, Bradley! I made you what you are right now! People look at you and then they look at me and then they say, Wow, that guy must have something going on to have a stud like that!”

“Theo, my dear, before you continue this well-trod path, let me just ask something. When you say I’m ugly, is it because I am ugly? Or because you find me so?”

“Because you are!”

“I see. Continue.”

The Apollo of Hérouxville (2)

The boy shook his head. “I still…”

The man sat on his stool. “I should have known better. Okay, forget it.”

“Wait! You don’t…. I really want to learn this!”

“Ray, you don’t need to dress it up with a lot of words and gestures. Keep your hands to yourself and just say it. You have to trust me on this: it works. On anyone. On everyone, even the most… Like, okay, that guy over there. The one now pointedly headed in our direction. Try it on him and see what happens.”

“Him? But he’s — !“

The man nodded. “Yes, he is. Do it any way. It’ll be good practice. If you can tell him he’s hot — no matter how unconvincing it might sound — you can tell anyone. So do it.”

“But — “ Anything else the boy might have said were suddenly cut off: ‘ELLIE! MY DEAR, DEAR ELLIE! A DRINK, IF YOU PLEASE!” A head, supported by and swaddled within numerous layers of untended rolls of flesh, swiveled and beaded its sights on the boy. “And may I ask what you’re looking at?”

The boy swallowed. “You. You’re… you’re hot.”

The Head’s eyes blossomed in surprise, then the Mouth ripped open in a braying laugh. “Hot? Me? Child, whatever drugs you’re taking, I want some… immediately! Hot… indeed. You are either blind or else very, very blind.” The Mouth brayed even more loudly.

“You… are.”

“Oh, of course! Darling, I bet you say that to all the boys.”

“No! I swear, this is the first time in my life that I’ve —.”

“First time today, I’m quite sure! Here, let me take that beer bottle and set it a safe distance away, because even now you display all the signs of alcohol-induced dementia.” A flabby Hand wrenched the bottle from the boy’s grasp and set it on the bar with a determined thud, even as the Eyes spun back on him. “Now listen to me, young man. I don’t know who put you up to this cruel trick, but I am far, far, far from amused. Do we make ourselves clear?”

“… I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are. And we will speak no more of it. ELLIE, MY DRINK, PLEASE!” There was a long, uncomfortable pause as the bartender silently poured. Then the Head turned ever so slightly towards the boy. “So what, pray tell, possessed you to make that absurd statement?”

“Nothing! I don’t really look at anything in specific! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! I just thought — “

“You thought I was hot. And you just said it, just blurting it out for all the world to hear.” The Eyes studied him intently. “Boys like you don’t make statements like that. Not unless they want something.” An eyebrow rolled to the ceiling. “You’re not a hustler, are you?”

“No!”

The Head nodded. “No, I thought not. You are simply not hustler material, and I do speak from some experience. So what pray tell prompted it? My puffy, bloodshot eyes? The pointillist array of liver spots that cascade across my arms? The generous swath of my midsection? Do please feel free to stop me at any time.”

The boy squirmed. “I don’t – it’s just that I don’t look at details, just... the overall… impression,” he finished weakly.

The Head smirked. “The overall impression. Child, I have heard some awkward and lamentable backtracks in my day, but that one, young sir… You might as well say that my shadow…” the Head laughed.

“And why shouldn’t it be your shadow?” the boy said nervously. “After all, what’s a shadow but… an… overall impression?”

“You are quite insane,” the Head replied as it swiveled to look at the wall behind, then stopped in sudden surprise. “Well, I suppose, all things considered, it is a rather remarkable shadow.”

“It is!” the boy said, almost desperately. “It’s a very… imposing shadow. One with… strength! And… power!... and, well, you can see for yourself, right?”

The Body now turned, this way, then that as the Head studied its effect. “Well, perhaps. In the right light, it is a rather imposing shadow, isn’t it.”

“Yes! It is!”

“Indeed. I hadn’t noticed. It has its own graceful line, doesn’t it. It’s almost reminiscent of…”

“The Atlas of Eratosthenes!”

The Head turned in amusement. “The what?”

“The statue of Atlas, supporting the weight of the world! It’s… this famous statue I saw once… that you… look like…”

The Head returned its gaze to its shadow. “Really? I know the piece, of course. Please, who doesn’t? And I suppose that…” The Body raised its arms in a series of contortions, supporting an invisible worldly weight. “Do you really think — ? Atlas? Me? Perhaps… perhaps you might be right. ELLIE! Give this charming boy a drink for me! Sadly, I must return to my husband, whose knowledge of the interplay of light and shadow and form simply pales by comparison. Adieu, you adorable child!” With a sweep, the Head took one final studied glance at the wall, then picked up its drink and rolled away.

The man watched until it was safe, then gave the boy a smile. “Well, it’s a start.”

The boy shuddered. “Not much of one. I felt better talking to your lighter.”

“Practice, my boy. Practice.”

“Maybe next time I could practice with a barstool.”

“You were rewarded for your efforts, weren’t you?”

“… I suppose.”

“The more you do it, the easier it becomes. Here — try it on me.”

“You?” the boy stammered.

“Is that so difficult?”

“No! No, that’s not what I — I mean… you’re hot!”

The man eased his head to one side with a slight smile. “Oh really? How?”

“Your… your silhouette! It’s like the Atlas of — “

The man cut him off with a gentle laugh. “Ray, stop. This whole well-known-statue reference thing is fine and quite charming, perhaps even ingenious, but is that the only classical work you know?”

“The Venus de Milo. But I don’t think it would — “

“No, it wouldn’t. All right, we need to expand your repertory here a bit. Use… Michaelangelo’s Dying Slave. Rodin’s Thinker. Or — even better — the Apollo of Hérouxville.”

“The what?”

“The Apollo of Hérouxville. It’s perfect. It doesn’t exist.”

“So… what does it look like? Or, you know, what would it look like?”

“Anything you want.” The man thought for a moment, then laughed. “A little like me, I suppose. I was born in Hérouxville. It’s a little town in the Mékinac region of Québec.”

“Mékinac? But they say that the men from there aren’t really worth looking at. How is it that you’re so hot?”

The man blushed ever so slightly. “Well, my father was a pretty handsome guy, and I — oh, Ray. Bravo. That was good. Well played, my young friend.”

“I’m not playing anything. After all, you taught me the secret. It wouldn’t work on you, would it?”

The man smiled. “There. You understand.”

(to be continued)

The Apollo of Hérouxville (1)

(One of France's more extraordinary playwrights is Jean Giraudoux, author of such works as The Madwoman of Chaillot, Ondine, and The Enchanted. What follows is an adaptation of one of his one-acts, The Apollo of Bellac, reconstituted a bit so that we learn how Doc and Ray first met and what brought these two seemingly incompatible people together. I hope you enjoy it.)

“So. Your first time?”

The kid looked up. “Huh?”

The older man grinned. “Your first time in a gay bar?”

“Oh! Uh, not.… well, yeah.”

The older man gently swirled the ice in his drink. “Not surprised. You have that… innocent look about you. That can work, you know, depending on what you’re into.”

The kid smiled. “I don’t know what I’m into.”

“We can correct that, if you like.”

“I don’t think I… I’m sorry. I don’t mean to — “

“Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot. Don’t act all indulgent, okay? You’re not my type,” the older man added with a wink. “Got that?”

The boy smiled, a little more easily now. 

“Good. Glad we got that worked out. What’s your name?”

The boy extended his hand. “Raymond. Well, my friends call me Ray. I’m… Ray.”

The man shook it. “Ray it is then.”

“… And yours?”

The man waved him off. “In due time, Ray. In due time. So, what’re you looking for tonight?”

The boy shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“A date?”

“I don’t… well, I’m not…”

“A pick up?”

“No! I mean…”

The man looked at him, mock aghast. “Ray, you’re not… a virgin, are you?”

“No!”

“Well, that was emphatic enough.” The man signaled the bartender. “Ellie? Another? And one for my friend here… Okay, Ray, so we’ve established that you’re looking for companionship… of some form or another. How’s it all going for you thus far?”

The boy laughed nervously. “Not very well.”

“I see. Well. Wanna know the secret?”

“A secret?”

“Not just any old secret. The secret. The secret to getting laid. The one that guarantees getting a man in your bed. No matter who he is. No matter how good looking he might be… or not, if that’s what you’re into. I make no judgment calls here on that point. But this is all immaterial to the subject at hand. You want to know the secret?”

“The secret.”

The man lifted his newly-refreshed drink in toast. “The secret, my little friend. It can get you anything from twenty minutes in the alleyway to twenty years of wedded bliss. All up to you.”

“Sure. Who wouldnt want to know that?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Has it worked for you?”

“… Ray. Honestly.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Of course you did. And you’re wise to be suspicious. A gift like this, one with such enormous power… it shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

“Power.”

“Don’t smirk at me, young man. Did no one tell you to respect your elders?”

“Yes… sir.”

The man nodded. “Better. So. You want to know the secret?”

“Sure.”

The man leaned closer and whispered. “Tell him he’s hot.” He settled back on his chair with a knowing smile.

“Huh? That’s it?”

“All you need to say, trust me. And not in that phony, breathy Paris Hilton kind of way. Just say it, straight out.”

The boy looked at him, hoping his dismissiveness didn’t show. “All I have to do is tell some guy he’s hot, and that’s it.”

“Exactly.”

“He’ll be all over me. I just tell him what a great dresser he is, how well built he is — “

“His clothes and his gym membership are irrelevant. All you have to do is tell him he’s hot. That’s it.”

“Just blurt it out, just like that.”

The man nodded.

“I couldn’t… I’ve never… I can’t just walk up to some guy and say that.”

“Why not?”

“Well… what if he isn’t?”

The man laughed. “I gather you wouldn’t be saying it to him then, would you?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

The man smiled. “I know. But I still get the impression that you still need some practice with the concept. Am I right?... Yes, I thought as much. “

“But what if he doesn’t believe me?”

“He will. Trust me. He will because every man secretly thinks he is.”

“And all I have to do is tell him so.”

“Yup.”

“Even the gorgeous ones?”

“Even the gorgeous ones. Actually, the gorgeous ones need it the most. They live in absolute fear that it might not be true, so they need to the constant repetition to assure them that it might — might, you understand — might be true.”

“C’mon,” the boy laughed. “It can’t be that easy.”

The man looked about the room, then pointed. “See that guy over there? The one with the Superman t-shirt?”

The kid nodded.

“Shouldn’t be wearing it, should he.”

“… Probably not.”

“And yet he is — because, deep inside, in a place he alone goes, he wishes he really were Superman. Muscular, handsome, tight in all the right places. And because he wishes he were, part of him believes he is. And those two little words — “ 

“You’re. Hot.”

The man nodded. “Those two little words make the rest of him believe, if only for a moment, that he is Superman.”

“But he’s not.”

“He isn’t? Why not?”

“… Well, just look at him.”

“And?”

The boy laughed. “Superman doesn’t look like that!”

The man nodded. “But his secret identity might.”

“Okay… but I’ve never… I don’t know how to — “

The man sighed. "All right, let's start on something non-threatening. Here." He held up a cheap plastic lighter. “Try it with this. Just tell it it’s hot.”

The kid giggled. “But it is.”

“Not till you turn it on.” He held the lighter out to the kid. “Come on. Do it.”

The boy giggled once more. “This is ridiculous…. Fine.” He took the lighter and studied it for a moment. “Just talk to it, right?” The man nodded. “Okay… well, hello there. Aren’t you just the hottest thing going. So smooth, so… long and round.” The kid moved his fingers up and down the lighter. “Oh yeah, I bet a hot stud like you likes that, huh. I — “ His fingers fumbled, and the lighter seemed to jump from his hand, then dropped to the floor.

The man frowned as he picked it up. “You’re making it too complicated. Think simple, Ray.” He lifted it to eye level. “All you have to do is press that one little button — you’re hot.” With a click!, the lighter blazed with a sudden joyful radiance. The man looked at the boy through the flame. “See? It’s that easy.”

(to be continued)

Newest T-shirt Design

Yes, we seem to be cranking them out these days. But dont you think something like this will endear you to that really special TSA agent who's been giving you the eye?

Now available at the Doc and Raider Store.

Trans Day of Remembrance

Happy Thanksgiving!

A week early, but it still gives me time to figure out a solution to the quandry posed herein.

An experiment

I'm putting together a collection of the single-panels as an eBook for the Kindle, which means transfering them from colour to black and white. Since the K doesnt deal well with too much grey scale, I thought it might be interesting to see how the boys look when converted to line. As it turns out, not too bad, although I can see even here that there'll be some clean up involved. Nevertheless, something to look forward to in 2012.

Now if I can just figure out the iPad's OCF system, the boys will be there in full colour. One step at a time, I guess.

Full Body Scans!

The Cel Phone! (9)

The Cel Phone! (8)

The Cel Phone! (7)

Two New Items in the Store!

For the tempermental cook you love so much, an apron that expresses it all:

And for the romantic driver in your life, a bumper sticker that shows how much you care:

Both available now (and dirt cheap!) at the Doc and Raider Really Classy Boutique!

The Cel Phone! (6)

NOW OPEN!

Yes, we're cleaning up the dust and putting out the stuff -- the DOC AND RAIDER REALLY CLASSY BOUTIQUE is now open!

What's there, you ask? Nothing less than the most FABULOUS t-shirts, mousepads, gym bags, and sweatshirts on the planet, all featuring images of your two favourite (well, okay, hopefully they're your favourite) guys in gay comicdom. Want to strike a personal note? There's a few specialty designs for my Canadian buds, or those into sports that are close up and personal... and the infamous Julliard Wrestling tee!

Detailed images of all products are available, and you'll also get a gander at our models Paolo, Sven, and Frederick... ::sigh::

We're still getting settled in, so if there's something you're looking for that you cant find, you let me know, okay? And FOR TODAY ONLY (at least, if I understand all this properly), all t-shirts are five bucks off the retail price! But that's today only, until midnight. (If for some reason that doesnt show up, by all means, let me know so I can fix it; as I said, I'm still figuring out CafePress's set-up.)

So drop by and say hello -- we're at this click right here.

The Cel Phone! (5)

The Cel Phone! (4)

The Cel Phone! (3)

Single Panels 30!

Remembrance Day 2010

The Cel Phone! (2)

The Cel Phone! (1)

For those not up on their Québec profanity, "tabarnac" is much the equivalent of f***, but without the sexual connotation. Still, not exactly something one says in polite public. :-)

Something warm...

... on a chilly night in North Carolina.

It's Just a Jump to the Right!

Out for a walk...

Nothing since Wednesday? I should be ashamed of myself...

Single Panels 29!

TO THE VICTOR...

Well, I suppose in this case it depends on how you define "victor"...

Brand New Day!

Little Raider in Slumberland 10

Off to some new nonsense tomorrow!