The Front Runner

knew how I must be hurting.
    "No," said Betsy. "It just happened that way. The first time they tried to inseminate me, he would have been a Virgo, but it didn't take. The next month it did, and that would have made him a Libra. But then he was born three weeks premature, so that made him a Virgo." Her eyes were fixed on the baby, and she patted his diapered rear end.
    I was beginning to realize that this was going to be a painful Thanksgiving. Vince's willingness to talk about Billy was going to pick all the scabs off the wounds.
    John was dandling the baby now, his face alight. He was definitely the dotty grandfather.
    He had asked for something to make him forget about sex, and he got it. Billy's death had shoved him into an angry, celibate and activist old age. He had moved to New York and started a law firm with three other gay lawyers. Barton, Cohen, Manolson & Sive was taking only discrimination cases against gay men and women, and John told me that the complaints were flooding in, the way they had from straight women after the women's lib movement began. John seemed bent on singlehandedly winning enforcement of the Supreme Court decision in American life. A poignant sign of his commitment was that he stopped tinting his hair—it was now streaked silvery and natural.
    Just looking at John, that night, made me think of Billy.
    "Well, what can I offer you guys to drink?" I said, getting up.
    "Scotch on the rocks," said Vince. He was lighting a cigarette, drawing on it hungrily, inhaling deeply.
    I brought the drinks, and some 7-Up for myself. Betsy was just finishing peeling potatoes, and she took off her apron and came in with a glass of white wine. We sat talking about the things that mattered, and invariably the conversation touched on Billy.
    For instance, Delphine's name was mentioned, and everyone fell silent a moment with pain. Finally Vince said softly, "Sleeping pills . . . just like a real woman."
    John sighed heavily. "Poor Delphine. I never knew whether he was putting on, or psychotic. I couldn't have lived with him."
    "He didn't kill himself because of that," said Vince. "He did it because of Billy. He was wild about him."
    My hand tightened on my bottle of 7-Up.
    A little later, Vince said, "Steve still in California?"
    "Yes," I said, "or I would have had him up here tonight."
    Vince laughed a little. "I still can't believe they're filming Rape. If they'd come around to me with that script two years ago, I would have said yes."
    "You would have made a helluva virgin," I said, trying hard to fall back into our old-time teasing.
    "Billy could have played that role, though," said Vince.
    My hand was about to break the 7-Up bottle.
    John tried to rescue me. "Steve still hasn't laid the Angel yet, you know. But he's getting there."
    "Oh yeah?" said Vince, not really diverted from the subject of Billy.
    "The kid doesn't talk," said John, "but he will now let Steve hold his hand and kiss him. Steve has him on methadone now, and he's hoping to get him off the habit entirely. The Angel is growing up too, and he's indecently beautiful."
    "Billy was indecently beautiful," said Vince. He was already a little smashed.
    The baby was wiggling in Betsy's lap with amazing strength. "That kid's going to be a sprinter," said Vince. "You sure you know about coaching sprinters, Harlan?"
    I picked up the baby and jounced him on my knee hobby-horse until he smiled and gurgled. "Well, I wouldn't object if he turned out to be an athlete," I
    said. "What I want most for him is to be free. Free to choose how he wants to live, and free to do it no matter what."
    Vince was gazing sadly at the fire, one foot up on the brass fender, the smoke from his cigarette rising pale in the rosy light. "Do you ever hear from Jacques?" he said.
    "Did you know he got married?" I asked.
    "No." Vince turned pained eyes to me, then looked back at the fire.
    "He's teaching biology at Illinois. He's got a grant to do field research on wild birds. He married a student of his, a girl named Eileen Meriwether, and she's helping him with his work. She seems like a nice enough girl. They're expecting their first child."
    "So he's finally happy," said Vince, with a soft tone of bitterness.
    "He seems peaceful. He's running again, you know."
    Vince seemed suddenly depressed. "Well, I guess that was predictable. Track?"
    "No. Long distance, road races. I think he likes to lose himself in those big fields. He's doing very well, just turned in a new