Tales of the City 04 - Babycakes

it.”
“I can tell you do.” His brow furrowed earnestly. “Would you mind awfully if I showed you something?”
“No,” Michael replied. “Of course not.”
Lord Roughton hesitated, then set down his teacup and unbuttoned his pajama top, holding it open. There were substantial gold tit rings in both his nipples.
“Aha,” said Michael, somewhat awkwardly.
“Folsom Street,” said Lord Roughton.
“No kidding.”
He gazed down at them like a proud sow regarding her piglets. “It took me three Scotches to work up the nerve. The man who did it was a shop assistant in that little emporium above the Ambush. Do you know it?”
“Sure. That’s Harrison Street, actually. Same thing.”
Lord Roughton let go of his lapels.
“Nice job,” Michael added, to be polite.
“I expect it’s frightfully old hat to you.” He buttoned the buttons.
“No … well, I’ve seen it before, but … I think it suits you.” The man was giving up Queen and Country to hang jewelry from his nipples; the very least you could do was admire it.
Lord Roughton thanked him with a nod. “The pajamas are a bit of a cop-out, I’m afraid. I don’t usually wear them.”
“I was with Mona when she bought them.”
“Really?”
Michael nodded. “At Harrods.”
“How extraordinary.” His jaw slackened for a moment, then went rigid again. “At any rate … I thought it best to keep the gold out of sight while there are houseguests.”
“You mean … there are others?”
“Possibly. Mummy and Daddy most certainly. And Mummy has a perfectly beastly way of bursting into one’s bedroom in the morning. Are you staying for a while, I hope?”
“Well … Mona and I haven’t actually …”
“Oh, you must stay. It’ll make the whole thing so much more of an adventure!”
What whole thing? “Well … thanks, but … my flight to San Francisco is day after tomorrow.”
Lord Roughton drew in breath. “So soon?”
“ ‘Fraid so.”
“I don’t blame you. If I could snap my fingers and be there …” His eyes wandered wistfully out the window.
Michael smiled at him. “Where will you stay when you get to San Francisco?”
“With friends,” said Lord Roughton. “Two sweet boys who live in Pine Street.” He poured more tea for Michael, then replenished his own cup. “One’s a bartender at the Arena. The other has a line of homoerotic greeting cards.”
“I think I know them,” grinned Michael.
“Really?”
“No. I meant … generically.”
Lord Roughton looked confused.
“I was just joking,” Michael said lamely.
“Ah.”
He seemed faintly hurt and put off. Michael berated himself; you should never make jokes about the Holy Land in the presence of a pilgrim.
“When did you decide to do this?” Michael asked finally.
The fervor returned to Lord Roughton’s eyes. “Would you like to know the exact moment?”
“Sure.”
“It was … just before Halloween, and I was at the Hot House. Do you know the Hot House?”
“Of course.”
“I was in the orgy room. Very late. I had smoked a little pipe of sinsemilla, and I was feeling glorious. There were two chaps next to me going down on each other, and another chap was going down on me, and I had my face in someone’s bum, and it was easily the most triumphant moment of my entire life.”
Michael smiled. “I think I can follow that.”
“I think you can too. Now … what do I hear in the midst of all this but … ‘Turn Away’!”
“The Bix Cross song?”
“Yes. Exactly. And where do you think it was recorded?”
“Where?”
“Two villages away from here. In Chipping Campden. There’s a studio in a converted barn.”
Michael nodded. “That’s … really interesting.”
“But you see … I was there. I was there when he cut the record. And that bloody song had followed me all the way across the world to that room full of gorgeous men. I almost cried. I did cry. It was such a simple moment, Michael. I just … gave up. That’s it, I said to myself. You’ve got me. I give up. It was such a relief.”
“Yeah,” said Michael.
“That doesn’t sound idiotic?”
“No. I remember the same moment.”
Lord Roughton smiled at him. “One learns a lot in orgy looms. Camaraderie. Patience. Humor. Being gentle and generous with strangers. It’s not at all the depravity it’s cracked up to be.” He cocked his head in thought. “Just a lot of frightened children being sweet to one another in the dark.”
Michael sipped his tea.
“Unfortunately,” said Lord Roughton,