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that
was a word he didn’t use every day, yessiree Bob. “The book
is better, but when our mutual friend first gave it to me, I said
to myself, who the fuck could get through such big
motherfucker.“
    Thomas roared.
    “Why are you laughing?” Philip asked, and then
pouted. “You’re not one of these snobby assholes who find me
amusing because I’m trying to explore a . . . a brave new
world.”
    “Brave New World?” Thomas said, his voice golden,
exuding great satisfaction in the thought. “No. I have just never
heard Moby Dick referred to as a Mother-fucker.”
    “Well, that’s okay then. Let me tell you something.
You’ll understand, I’m sure. My friend Sprakie doesn’t, but what
does he know?”
    “What do most people know about the Great White
Whale.”
    Philip was stunned. It was wonderful to hear the h’s scraped in Thomas’ voice, The Great ‘Hwhite
‘Hwhale. He saw a flashing on the corner of the monitor. It was the Porn Nazi.

    Monitor 1 says: “The Flaxen One’s break is almost
over. Meanwhile visit Max and Guy Wickie the Wicked Wiggler.”

    Let them all go. Kurt is probably counting Tdye’s
gold and will let me sail away here.
    “You were saying,” Thomas said. “I interrupted you.
I do that and I am sorry for it. Let me apologize, but I will never
apologize for it again, because it will happen many times, I am
sure.”
    Philip smiled. Many times. That wasn’t soft
commitment, was it?
    “Since I’ve been reading Moby Dick, it’s transformed
me. The words are like . . . paintings — much better than the
DVD.”
    “You know that Melville was gay?”
    Philip was silent.
    “You know Melville?” Thomas asked. “The motherfucker
who wrote the book.”
    “Are you making fun of me? Of course, I know who
Melville is.”
    “Was, and I am not making fun of you. I am enjoying
the exuberance of your youth. It is infectious.”
    “That’s nice,” Philip said, breaking into his
broadest smile, which released that glimpse into his soul — a much
finer display than his sultry strip tease.
    “Have you ever seen a whale?” Thomas asked.
    “Like in the flesh?”
    “No. Like in an aquarium?”
    “In books only,” Philip said. “Have you?”
    “Yes. At sea.”
    “That’s wonderful. I would love to see that. Where
can you do that?”
    “At Sea!” Thomas said, giggling. “Actually, at
Provincetown. They have whale-watching excursions.”
    “At P’Town. I’ve never been. I’d love to go. They
say the boyz are hot there; and it’s wonderfully gay.”
    “And now another reason. Plus, they have some great
new plays performed there. Have you been to the theater?”
    “Drags and such,” Philip said. He had been to the
big Drag-queen show at Splash and he even traveled to New
Hope for Santa Saturday and the Leather Daddy Auction.
    “Ah! I would like to be with you when you saw your
first live theatrical performance.”
    “You would?”
    “I would!” Thomas said. “But you know, you never
asked me the question you wanted to ask me and that was ten breaks
ago — almost a full watch from the yardarm.”
    Yardarm. Yes, he knew that term now. He
sighed. “Well, here goes nothing.” He was about to ask the spooky
question, the one that only newbies asked. “How old are you?”
    “Forty-eight.”
    “That’s not that old,” Philip blurted.
    “Who said it was?”
    “No one.” Well, he had, in all but the
word.
    “I mean, I have friends who are still alive at
fifty-four,” Thomas countered.
    “Oh I didn’t mean . . .”
    “Not to worry. I know you are a tad younger than
me.”
    “A tad? When you were my age, I wasn’t even born
yet.”
    “Now it’s my turn. Bitch!”
    “And are you like old and wrinkly; walk with a gimp
and have a hunchback?”
    “Actually,” Thomas said, “I am wheel chair bound and
lost a testicle in Vietnam.”
    Philip flinched, then remembered he was still on
display. “I’m sorry.”
    Thomas roared.
    “You bitch!” Philip said. “How