After the first moment of surprise, Christopher considered the situation fairly calmly. It was clear that Caskey had given this party before leaving for Baja California, since the mess must be at least several days old. It was very unlike him to go away without tidying things up, but Christopher could understand why he had done so; he had expected to return before Christopher. . . . Well, he must have changed his plans, that was all. No doubt he was enjoying himself and had decided to stay on.
But Peggy was horrified. Since she equated dirt and disorder with Evil, she shuddered at the sight before her. It must have appeared to her as a physical manifestation of what was spiritually rotten in the Caskey–Christopher relationship––like the transformation of Dorian Gray’s picture. “Let’s get away from here, darling,” she said urgently and in a hushed voice, “you can come and stay with us––for as long as you like.” Christopher thanked her, but said, no, he’d be all right.
“But you can’t stay here!” she cried in dismay. It took him a long time to convince her that he was in earnest. After she had gone, he called Jo and Ben Masselink, telling them what had happened. They came over at once and the three of them soon got everything cleaned up, laughing and joking as they did so. Jo and Ben’s complete, affectionate acceptance of Caskey, along with all his exploits and outrages, made Peggy’s puritanism look sick and silly. Henceforth, Christopher began to regard Jo and Ben as intimate friends in whom he could confide and with whom he felt at home. As for Peggy, this trip to New Mexico had finally convinced him that he couldn’t ¾ 1950 ¾
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afford to be intimate with her. At least, not as long as he was living in any kind of homosexual relationship. She would always try to undermine it and make Christopher feel guilty. She couldn’t help herself––she was a compulsive ball cutter.
Next day, when Christopher went to pick up the mail which the post office had held for him while he was away, he found a letter from Caskey. It was written from the Santa Ana jail.
This, as well as I can remember, is what had happened to him: On August 11, approximately, Caskey had given the party of
which Christopher and the Masselinks had had to clear up the
remains and had then set off alone and drunk, fairly late in the evening, to drive down to San Diego or wherever it was that the others were waiting for him. At San Clemente, he had stopped at a filling station, where they had filled his car with gas, accepted his money, let him go on his way again without any protest or warning––and then called the police, giving his number and telling them to watch out for a very drunk driver. San Clemente, in those days, was a notorious traffic trap; the community needed all the fines it could collect. The judge who tried Caskey offered him the option of a fine.
When Caskey refused this, the judge turned nasty and sentenced him to three months.
When Christopher saw Caskey in jail on August 26––the next
permitted visiting day––and heard the details of the case, he wanted to hire a lawyer at once. Even now, he said, Caskey could almost certainly get himself released, with the aid of some discreet bribery. But Caskey wouldn’t hear of it, saying that he refused to let Christopher throw his money away on such crooks. He was so vehement about this that Christopher finally gave way. By then, it had become obvious that Caskey actually wanted to stay in jail and serve out his sentence. His Catholic conscience imposed this penance, to some extent; he felt that it was time for him to be punished for his drunkenness. Also, he wanted to keep away from Christopher for a while, knowing that Christopher’s martyred forbearance would make him feel more guilty, as well as hostile. Also, he was quite enjoying being in jail; the life brought out his good-humored toughness, which Christopher always greatly admired. He could hold his own among his fellow prisoners, amusing them by drawing sex pictures and telling them sex stories, while making it clear that he wouldn’t let himself be pushed around.
When a prisoner had accused a weak timid youth of being queer, Caskey had told him sassily, “Well, honey, it takes one to know one,”
and had nearly got into a serious fight.
Christopher and Caskey parted affectionately. Christopher promised 258
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to come down and visit him every Saturday (which he faithfully did, until Caskey was released). Then he drove over to have tea with Chris Wood in Laguna. Though Christopher didn’t admit this to any of his friends, he felt a great deal of relief. The Caskey problem was shelved for at least two months––assuming that Caskey would get time off for good behavior. And Christopher didn’t have to feel guilty; he had done what he could. So, since this was his birthday, he decided to celebrate the rest of it with Mike Leopold. They had supper and spent the night together, very happily, and Christopher gave him one of the red flowers he had brought back from the Del Monte Ranch.
And now began a social, sexy period, during which Christopher enjoyed himself a good deal and I suppose got on with his novel. He also at last finished work on Patanjali’s yoga aphorisms (October 5).
And he started writing a review of Antonina Vallentin’s H. G. Wells, Prophet of Our Day for Tomorrow.
In addition to Mike Leopold, he had several sex partners, old and new––Russ Zeininger, Don Coombs, Peter Darms, Brad Saunders,
Keith Carstairs,[*] Barry Taxman, Bertrand Cambus,[†] Donald Pell,[‡]
Mitchell Streeter.[§]
Brad Saunders had reappeared in the Canyon. I think he had been in Korea. Christopher found him more interesting than before––
partly because he had written some quite talented, self-revealing poems;1 partly because he had become altogether more attractive.
1 The Self-Sufficient Seagull
There was a wounded bird,
Who, like an awkward aeroplane,
Flew with one gear down.
It was a smooth-feathered seagull,
Swimming in slow circles,
Limping when aground.
He was no fishing frolicker,
Screeched not nobly
Reached no mate.
He made no cackling congress
At the prancing place, just
Sat in state,
Or swooped softly,
Quietly, along the leeshore––
Lonely.
[* Not his real name.] [† Not his real name.] [‡ Not his real name.] [§ Not his real name.]
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It seemed natural that the two of them should start going to bed together and they both enjoyed it greatly. As Brad once remarked in the middle of a sex act, “It’s a hell of a lot nicer doing this when you really like the guy!” But Brad’s true love was Jim Charlton. This love affair developed later, after Jim had returned from Arizona, and it lasted a long time. Brad was very serious about it, and Jim was flattered that Brad kept suggesting they should set up housekeeping together. Jim had no intention of doing so, of course, though he admired Brad and was fond of him; they both belonged to the
fraternity of crazy pilots and had much in common temperamentally.
Brad was far crazier than Jim had ever been, however.
Keith Carstairs was just a very nice boy with a very sexy body. He and Christopher met from time to time and always made love. There was no drama about it. Keith and Christopher weren’t at all involved emotionally; Keith had a steady boyfriend he saw on weekends.
They made love because they liked each other and were compatible.
It was a contact sport; good wholesome exercise. I still remember Christopher holding Keith in his arms and thinking, “How can anybody call this unnatural––it’s the most natural thing in the world!”
Mitchell Streeter and Bertrand Cambus were both one-night
stands, but for different reasons––Streeter wasn’t interested in repeating, Bertrand would have been interested but his visit to Los Angeles was over. Streeter had the kind of physique you see in magazines; not heavily muscled but almost perfect. He displayed it when he first came to the house wearing nothing but his swimming trunks. (I forget who he came with and why.) Christopher was