The Fancy Dancer

were interacting in curious ways. Andy seemed to sense the intellectual tension between Doric and me—I wondered if Doric had told him about our sublimated affair long ago. Doric and Vidal kept looking at each other with a combination of muted respect and hostility. Doric was amused at Vidal, and Vidal was amused at Andy, and had now told me that he wasn’t his type.
    When we’d finished, we went downstairs. It was past eleven, but not many people were in the disco because it was Sunday night. The turning globe lights flashed on the glass mosaic walls, and the shrieks of the soul singers split the air. But the dance floor was half empty—just a few male couples, and one lonely pair of lesbians.
    Vidal was looking so hungrily at the dancers that it was obvious he wanted to get out there and dance. I knew he was now safely out of the dope-and-drinking stage, but he was building up toward a spree. Too much church, too much priestly lover, too much talk about the natural law and moral teachings.
    But Vidal pulled himself away from the bright lights.
    We went out to Doric’s car. It was raining, and the neon lights flared on the wet street. I felt like I was dreaming with my eyes open.
    Vidal brushed his arm against mine. “Tonight you and I get to spend the whole night in the same bed,” he said in a low voice.
    “Imagine that,” I said numbly.
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    But back at the professor’s house, when Vidal tried to make love to me, I just couldn’t get in the mood.
    Vidal was mad.
    “Not again,” he said.
    I sat numbly.
    “Every time we get a whole night together, you pull this trick on me,” he said. “Maybe you want me to get lost, huh?”
    I took another Valium.
    If it had been Vidal’s own house, he would have slept on the sofa. But he couldn’t, so he went to sleep on the very edge of the other side of the bed, with his back to me.
    As I drifted into that golden haze, it occurred to me that I had still been in Cottonwood at nine o’clock that morning. This day had been the longest day of my life.
    The decision was there in front of me. I would probably have to leave the ministry.
    73
    The next morning was Monday.
    Doric dropped me at Regis College. I registered for the conference in a daze. Vidal had still been sleeping when I left the professor’s house, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t be there when I came back that eve-ning.
    All morning long, there was the auditorium full of clergy and lay people, and the podium with the little lamp on it, and the speakers, and the discussions of how Catholics would regroup to fight the abortion law, but I sat slumped in my seat not paying much attention. The depression of the fight weighed on me, and the vision of that living crucifix still blotted out everything else.
    At noon, Doric met me on the steps. In the clattering college cafeteria, we took our trays of mashed potatoes and spun-vegetable-protein meatloaf, and sat in a comer by one of the big windows, away from everyone else.
    “You look pretty grim,” said Doric.
    “I think I’m going to leave the priesthood,” I blurted.
    Doric’s logical mind ground into action.
    “You can’t leave the priesthood,” he said. “You can leave off practicing your ministry. But the priesthood you take to the grave with you.”
    It was like old times back in the seminary. Arguing with Doric was hard.
    “I know that,” I said. “But I can’t go on trying to have my cake and eat it too.”
    Doric chuckled.
    “What’s so funny?” I asked.
    “You just made an awful pun. You always used to do that.”
    “Doric, how did you get. . . where you are? I mean, you seem to be in a fairly peaceful state of conscience.”
    Doric was attacking his fake potatoes and meat as if he was still determined to put on twenty pounds.
    “I knew I was gay when I was thirteen years old,” he said. “I’d never heard the word, but I knew what
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    was.
    “Everybody I’ve talked to so far has known it that early,” I said. “Except me.”
    “You knew,” said Doric. “You just stuck your head in the sand. With me, it was one of my conscious intelligent cold-blooded decisions. I deliberately decided that I was going to ignore my feelings. I already wanted to be a priest, so I told myself: Doric, you’re going to lead a pure life, so the fact that you like other guys won’t matter at all.” He smiled. “I was sure that God would understand, as long as I controlled it.”
    I made an effort to eat the meat, but it