Jackie boarded the PSA jet with minutes to spare. The plane was not crowded and he took a window seat, sliding his briefcase underneath.
A minute later an attractive blond entered the plane also, starting down the aisle. Jackie gave the newcomer an admiring once over. He was in his mid-twenties and the possessor of the babyish type prettiness that helped one to look young for a few years and then, sometimes it seemed almost overnight, began treacherously adding to one’s years instead. In his teens, his soft, fleshy body, not so much plump as the type described as “cuddly,” and his cute round face had no doubt given him a beauty not possessed by his more gangly contemporaries. He had passed his peak and in a few years the soft curves would turn to fat. At thirty he would be unattractive. For the moment, however, there was enough left of the youthful cherub to make him appealing.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked, pausing near Jackie.
“Not at all,” Jackie assured him. Fortunately, he added silently. There was nothing like an attractive companion to make a trip more pleasant.
The blond fastened his belt as the plane prepared to take off. They roared down the runway and were soon climbing upward, the California coast and the ocean dividing the scenery between them.
“You from San Francisco?” his companion asked when they were at last able to undo the seat belts.
“No, New York,” Jackie answered, sticking to his assumed role. “I’m Jackie Garden.”
“Bruce,” his new friend introduced himself. “Bruce Hamilton.”
They ordered cocktails from the stewardess. Jackie welcomed the opportunity to talk. In the first place he was always grateful for the company of an attractive male. After all, he might have spare time while in San Francisco. In the second place it was a good opportunity to spread the word of his arrival, hopefully so that it would reach the right ears. If B.U.T.C.H. was operating out of San Francisco and looking for rich, vulnerable people to blackmail, the details he was providing to his companion should be of interest to them.
“Tell me,” Bruce asked at one point, in a low voice, “are you gay?”
Jackie started as though embarrassed and frightened by the remark and glanced nervously around, but there was no one close enough to hear. “I don’t think I want to discuss that here,” he whispered. “It’s a dangerous question for one in my position.”
“Don’t tell me you work for the government or something?” Bruce asked him, surprised and a little amused by the tone of secrecy.
“No, nothing like that. But mother…well, you have no idea to what lengths she would go to avoid scandal. That’s why I’m here, you see. I don’t dare, well, let my hair down back home. So once or twice a year I get out of town and have a little fun. But even so I have to be very careful.”
“Seems to me like a lonely way to live,” Bruce decided. “I can’t imagine how you’d manage to have any fun.”
Jackie shrugged and sighed sadly. “If I’m lucky, I meet some nice young man and spend my time with him. I’m afraid I wasn’t lucky enough to meet anyone is Los Angeles.”
“Where are you staying in San Francisco?”
“At the Essex,” Jackie said. He wondered briefly if he had a nibble. Bruce, however, did not seem eager to take advantage of any opportunities the conversation afforded.
“Maybe we can get together for a drink while you’re in town,” Bruce suggested in the offhand way that suggested they would probably not see one another again.
* * * *
The flight was not a long one. Less than an hour after takeoff they were landing in San Francisco. “Can I give you a lift anywhere?” Bruce offered.
Jackie was tempted, for personal reasons. He would like to have cultivated a brief friendship with the curvy blond, but it seemed unlikely that Bruce would be any help to his work and that was his first consideration.
“No thanks, I’ll just hop into a cab,” he answered. “But I’ll look forward to that call.”
He found a cab and was driven into town to the expensive and long established Essex House, just right for the conservative sort of visitor.
He had some time yet before dinner. After dinner he would have to start making himself discreetly conspicuous. If C.A.M.P. had planted their rumors successfully, there were already whispers around town about the fabulously wealthy gentleman who was visiting. With luck he would not have to work too hard to make contact. The interested parties would do that for him.
He had time before dinner to see a little of the city, one of his favorite places. The air was brisk, the city alive with activity. The colorful cable cars, clanging and clattering, made their way laboriously up Powell Street, straining themselves as they climbed the steep hills. There was a vague scent of the ocean everywhere. Smartly dressed women and groups of sailors elbowed one another on the sidewalks.
Jackie allowed himself to ramble for an hour, drinking in the sights and sounds of the city. Then, glancing at his watch, he hailed a cab and gave the address of one of the more discreet restaurants in the city that catered to the gay set.
He ate alone although he was aware that he attracted a certain amount of attention. The mere arrival of a stranger in these places was always of some interest, particularly a nice-looking one whose clothes and demeanor suggested money and breeding. To his disappointment, however, there was no direct attempt to establish contact.
He left the restaurant and went on to the next place on his list, a rather smart lounge with soft lighting and deep carpet on the floor. The evening crowds were already beginning to gather. Hopefully he would do better here. Although neither of them gave any sign of recognition to one another, the bartender was an agent of C.A.M.P., primarily working to provide information. By now he would have let discreet hints drop to the regular patrons about Jackie’s visit.
He seemed doomed to disappointment here, as well. He was cruised several times, but nothing appeared to be of any real significance. Jackie started a second drink and was on the verge of deciding to move on to the next bar when a familiar voice greeted him from over his shoulder.
“Well, I see you’re out looking for a little fun,” Bruce said.
Jackie turned around, pleased to be remembered. “Looking,” he agreed. “But not succeeding.”
“Well, no wonder, you pick the stuffiest places,” Bruce kidded him. “I rarely come here myself. It’s usually dull.”
“What brings you here tonight?” Jackie asked, genuinely pleased. If the rest of the evening proved as unsuccessful as the first part of it had done, he might do well to work on the blond after all.
Bruce shrugged and gave him a coy grin. “Maybe it’s Fate,” he suggested. “Come on, why don’t you let me give you the tour? I can show you some of the really fun places.”
Jackie hesitated. His rule was always business before pleasure, but so far he hadn’t managed to do any business. And, he reminded himself, he might do even better in the “fun” places.”
“You’ve got yourself an escort,” he said, polishing off his drink. “But only if I can pick up the tab.”
“Don’t be silly,” Bruce said, but Jackie was adamant.
“I insist,” he said. He produced a twenty with a flourish that was not wasted on the others around them and put it on the bar. “For my drink,” he told the bartender. “And keep the change.”
* * * *
The evening went by quickly in a profusion of bars, drinks and music. Bruce proved a knowledgeable and charming guide and if Jackie seemed to be making no progress he was at least making his presence in the city known, and having a ball while he was at it.
Bruce introduced him to friends in each bar and Jackie made a point of flashing money, buying rounds of drinks for everyone and other such ruses.
“You’ve got yourself a real find there,” one of Bruce’s friends, a rather rough-looking piece of trade, commented at one point. “Better hang on to him.”
Although he pretended not to hear the remark, Jackie wondered if the friend, a ruthlessly handsome young man named Fred, might not be the contact he was seeking. He did not, however, have an opportunity to play up to Fred, as a few minutes later Bruce was ready to move on.
“Getting tired yet?” Bruce asked when they were outside on the sidewalk.
“Just getting warmed up,” Jackie insisted. “Where to next?”
Bruce rolled his eyes thoughtfully for a minute. “How about dancing our cares away?” he suggested.
“Sounds great,” Jackie agreed eagerly, “Know anyplace where we can?” Even in a city as liberal as San Francisco, it was still illegal for two men to dance together. There were inevitably clubs where that happened, but they were secretive and known only to insiders.
“Coming right up,” Bruce answered. “It’s just around the corner; we can walk to this one.”
Jackie wondered, as they approached the spot, if Bruce was maybe pulling his leg. There was no evidence of any sort of a bar, only a neighborhood theater that was already closed for the evening. Next door to it a flight of steep stairs went up to what, according to the sign outside, was a health club.
“This is the place,” Bruce informed him, indicating the stairs.
“I thought you said dancing,” Jackie said, although he followed Bruce upward. “If you want to wrestle why not go to my hotel?”
“You’ll see,” Bruce said back over his shoulder with a grin.
From the moment they entered the door upstairs it was obvious that Bruce had made no mistake. The health club sign was only a fake, for this was a gay bar and a rather lively one. They entered first into a crowded room filled with small tables and a bar where customers crowded together. Beyond that room were more tables grouped around a vast dance floor that was filled with young men dancing together.
“I’ll be damned,” Jackie said, staring about in amazement as they took a table. This was a new one on him and he had thought he knew the city well.
“It’s new,” Bruce explained when they had ordered drinks. “Only been here a few weeks. Would you like to dance?”
Jackie felt a pang of guilt. The music blaring over the speakers was the latest hit record of Dingo Stark. Remembering Stark, he could not help feeling depressed that he had made no more progress than he had. But he was here and it would not do to let his facade slip.
“Sure, I’d love to,” he said, forcing a smile to his lips again.
They moved together to the already crowded dance floor. Bruce began to move at once, twisting and writhing in time to the music.
“Do you do the Dog?” he asked Jackie.
“Of course,” Jackie assured him, and began to perform the dance in question. The Dog, in his opinion, was rather close to simulating the real thing. It had been banned, he knew, in many of the more conservative discotheques, particularly those catering to the teenage crowds. Its blatant gestures and movements, however, were those with which Jackie was quite familiar. His hips jerked back and forth in time to the heavy beat of Dingo’s song. Bruce bent and crouched and leaning over him Jackie went through all the same motions he would have used in bed. To a bystander, even one a few feet away, it could only have looked as though the two were making love.
“Hey, you’re a great dancer,” Bruce said admiringly.
“I studied under Villanova,” Jackie told him without conceit. He did not add that a shelf in his apartment displayed numerous dancing trophies he had won. There was virtually no dance that he had not mastered. He had once stepped in, unannounced, for the lead dancer in Swan Lake. It wasn’t only classical ballet, however, that he had mastered. He could do all the popular dances as well, from the Watusi to the Frog—and the Dog.
The record ended and they returned to their table where their drinks were waiting for them. “You know,” Bruce said, pulling his chair close, “when I met you on the plane, I figured you for the very dull type. But you’re great fun.”
“I can be even more entertaining,” Jackie told him suggestively. He took advantage of the dim lights to lay one hand on Bruce’s thick leg. There was no protest and he got a little bolder, inching his fingers upward. He reached the warm area of the thighs, tingling with excitement as his fingers crept up and up, finally finding their goal. Bruce was big and Jackie’s hand rubbed affectionately creating a familiar response.
“Hey, I won’t be able to walk out of here,” Bruce warned him. “Better wait until later.”
“I’m ready for you now,” Jackie told him hoarsely. It was nearly time for the bars to be closing so he would not be wasting his working hours by indulging in a little fun. “My hotel isn’t far.”
Bruce shook his head. “Hotels can be risky,” he said. “What’s wrong with my place?”
“Not a thing,” Jackie said. He left a ten on the table to pay for the drinks and a minute later they were on their way out of the bar, Bruce walking rather stiffly and holding his hand in front of his trousers to conceal the results of Jackie’s efforts.