Harlan's Race

fit.”
    With an explosive breath of relief, he slid into my arms and hugged me hard. He felt like home — his smell, the feel of his skin. For a long, long time we embraced in that sea of light. From the stiff way he felt, he hadn’t made love in a while. I wanted to give up the old control, let this new mature being haul me down like a wolf, let him open up my guts and feed on me.
    His bed was king-size, sheltered in a corner, far from the windows. For a moment, we both remembered that glass shattering over us. Then we forgot it as the candles burned low. Huge shadows leaped around us as we moved almost like running, fighting to live, muffling our groans against each other. A bluish dizzy glow spread across my vision, around our two surging pelvises. Then we both exploded with one voice and a hot blue star of ecstasy. I was the one fainting this time, falling into that blue light.
    In the quiet aftermath of that renewed trust, we lay side by side, listening to the santa ana’s roaring and lashing in the palms outside. I had a rose, and was caressing him with it. He stretched his muscles luxuriously under the touch of those velvet petals.
    “I’m going to tell you something,” he said.
    “Uh oh. Dark secrets of the past.”
    “Before the Games, Billy told me if anything happened to him, he wanted me to stick with you.”
    This didn’t surprise me. For the first time, I didn’t feel angry or sad that he’d brought Billy up. For the first time, we could both broach certain subjects without any angry passions.
    “You were in love with Billy,” I said.
    “I still am. And you’ve got a thing for our snake-eater, huh.”
    I nodded.
    “But Billy’s blown, and Chino’s too hurt. And you and me ... we belong together like a pair of track shoes.”
    He gave me that earnest young wolf look, head cocked a little. Vince would let me be free to have that one deep place in my heart for Chino. I could finally heal the pain of my own possessiveness.
    “This place will be too small for the two of us,” I said. Vince rolled on his stomach, half onto me, and took the rose away from me. “I suppose you’ll hate living in West Hollywood. That’d be like you.”
    “Maybe we should look for a place in Silver Lake.”
    “I’ve got a better idea,” he said, holding the flower to my nose. “The other unit on this floor is for rent. It’s just like mine. Four hundred a month.”
    The rose was teasing my belly now.
    “Your place, my place,” he murmured. “We can slam the door when we have fights. Humongous Irish-Italian fights, with the neighbors calling the police. Hmm?”
    He drifted to sleep with his head on my chest, rose wilting in his hand.
    A wild, fierce, new truculence now drove my life. We had to win at the Memorial. We couldn’t fail. Harry and Chino let us have a week’s honeymoon, then pushed to start our planning. So the four of us rode around West Hollywood for an hour in Chino’s Land Rover.
    “Okay, gentlemen,” said Harry. “Here’s the deal.”
    Harry would be in command, with Russell as advisor. No one else could know — not Paul and Darryl, not even John Sive. While we’d operate in civilian clothes, we would maintain discipline and security. All preparations would be camouflaged, so Vince and I looked like two jocks getting ready for a local race.
    “What about money?” I asked.
    “This time, Russell is laying the green on,” Harry said. “We shall not want.”
    That same week I had a strong urge to call Marian. It was time for her and Joe and me to mend fences. So I got my dog, and drove up Pacific Coast Highway to Matador Beach, about 10 minutes from her house, and called from a phone booth. Her voice sounded terrible.
    “What’s up?” I asked her.
    “Joe had another stroke. He’s in Century Hospital. I just came home from there and I was just... going out to do... something. I cabled Sara in Ghana, but haven’t heard yet. She’s probably in-country in a village somewhere. I...”
    Her words were racing, voice shaky.
    “Marian,” I said, “we should see each other.”
    “My thoughts, exactly. Where are you?”
    When the white Mercedes turned off the Coast Highway, her familiar figure was at the wheel. What bird was she? Maybe a wild swan, strong enough to break a man’s arm with her wing. She had struck at me, her own, out of fear for her students, also her own. Hands in windbreaker pockets, I waited quietly by the old truck. My hair and Jess’ ears stirred in