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your dignity intact.”
    “My dignity is still intact,” muttered Rory.
    26 Z. A. Maxfield
    “Alas, thanks to Peter, you know that mine is not.”
    “How do you figure that?”
    “How much did you hear?”
    “Enough to know I’m not the first man you’ve ever written on.”
    “Well.” Yamane grimaced and continued walking away. “Then I guess you know I…have relationships with men.”
    Rory caught Yamane’s hand to stop him. “That ship kind of sailed when you put your tongue in my mouth, Ran-sensei.” Rory raised his eyebrows.
    Yamane blanched. “Can we go get a drink somewhere? Do you mind missing the movie?”
    Rory thought about that. “I only came here to find you,” he admitted carefully. He tried not to flinch under Yamane’s searching gaze.
    “I thought you would be halfway home by now,” said Yamane as they left the theater together.
    “You mentioned that. Should I leave?” asked Rory, kicking another abandoned cigarette butt aside. “Man, I hate it when people use the street as an ashtray.” Yamane took out his pretty gold lighter and cigarettes. “May I smoke?”
    “No.”
    “I see.” Yamane stopped. “Then how about we make a trade? Every time I want to smoke, you stop me by kissing me.”
    Rory almost tripped. “Uh --”
    Snick. Yamane lit his cigarette. “Problem solved.”
    “Just don’t drop your nasty butt in the street.” Yamane just stared implacably. They stood watching the traffic on Pine Avenue. He finished his cigarette in silence, carefully putting it out in a planter before throwing it in a trash can. They entered the hotel lobby together and found the Lobby Bar, which exuded an airport lounge ambience.
    “This isn’t very attractive,” Yamane said, looking at his watch. “Are you very tired?”
    “I haven’t slept much,” Rory admitted. “I drove a long way.”
    “What would you like to drink?”
    “Whatever you’re having,” answered Rory with a smile.
    Yamane went to the bar and said something to the bartender. A moment later, he motioned Rory over. “He’d like to see your ID.” Rory produced his wallet and got his drink, which turned out to be bourbon. As they were carrying them back to the table, he said, “At home, all you have to do is prove you can hold a paper cup.”
    Drawn Together
    27
    “I’ve never been to New Orleans,” said Yamane. “Perhaps someday I’ll visit you there.” They set their drinks on the table.
    “Oh, I can see my grandmother now.” Rory threw his hands in the air, waved them around, and said in an agitated falsetto, “Oh, Claude! Oh, Claude! Rory has done brought home a Japanese man! Somebody get me the salts.” Yamane looked away. “I can see where that might be a problem.” Rory briefly touched Yamane’s hand. “Nevertheless, I would be delighted.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes. I can show you all the best places.” His eyes clouded with sadness. “The ones that are still standing. Po’ boys, pirates, and luscious white-trash junk food like you’ve never imagined.”
    Yamane considered him. “What can I be,” he asked lightly, “now that I can’t be your sacred maiden?”
    Rory thought about that for a long time while the warmth of the bourbon permeated his heart and spread to his fingertips. He clinked his ice around a little in his glass. “Perhaps you’re still my sacred maiden.”
    “Seriously,” said Yamane. He toyed with his own drink. “Now, what does that mean, I wonder?”
    Rory yawned surreptitiously. “When you find out, I sincerely hope I will be the first person you inform.”
    Rory watched as Yamane walked to the bartender and -- somehow -- retrieved the entire bottle of bourbon from him. He came back to the table and put on his coat before picking up his messenger bag.
    “Bring your drink,” he told Rory.
    They walked together to the elevators, pressing the button for the third floor. If anyone thought it odd that they carried their drinks and an entire bottle of bourbon, no one