Dancing on Mt. St. Helens

Chapter One

Dancing on Mt. St. Helens

Friday nights in Graz are lively, especially in October. half of the single world is out to find a partner. And on this late October weekend in the last year of the miserable decade of the Eighties, the city was unusually hectic. The annual arts festival, post avant garde of course, was in full swing, and the local people were eager to have the privilege of hob-nobbbing with the famous, and near-celebrities.

The theme of this year's festival was 'Chaos and Order, and seemingly, the locals took it to heart. In the University Quarter of the Old Town, Oscar was busy checking his appearance in his mirror. Slightly balding at 42, he decided that keeping his remaining hair cut very short and his moustache trimmed but full made him look--yes--hot. Winking at his image with his small green eyes, he made his last preparations for the evening. His postition as the Graz Chapter of the HAA (homosexual advancement agenda) demanded that he look authoritaative, and he'd had to head a meeting before turning his attention to the more pleasant things to be found at the Café Werner later. But before the meeting, he wanted to scout out tonight's atmosphere in the City Park.

'I think it will have to be the leather coat tonight,' he thought. 'Oh yes.' Opening a small wooden lacquered box, his fingers poised over an assortment of pills. 'And a few dolls to tide me over till the party really begins,' he murmered. Leaving his recently modernized, impeccably furnished appartment, he pulled up the collar of his brown leather coat, and sauntered down the street toward the City Park. A light fog had risen since sun-down, which cheered Oskar immensely. fog always made the hunt for contact more atmospheric. He increased his pace, hurrying to this night's adventures.

*********************

Two streets away from Oskar's appartment, Heinrich was in an apprehensive mood. All afternoon, Helga had been showing signs that she was in one of her quarterly romantic moods. He sighed, knowing wat was expected of him and didn't relish it in the least.. The problem was that she was so useful to him otherwise that he felt a sense of obligation to her, as she practically ran his perfume and cosmetic shop single-handedly. It wasn't as if she pushed him for affection all the time. But as they were working in the cramped rustic kitchen, watched over by absurd baroque cupids,, she had taken every opportunity to make body contact. She was wearing a patterned Hermés scarf over a deep blue Jill Sander dress that drew attention to her eyes.

Heinrich went into the bathroom and sighed again. Surveying himself in the mirror, the thought 'You'd think now that I've turned fully grey, she'd give up.' he ran his hand through his full beard. 'I suppose I'll have to let her spend the night with me.' As always, he worried about being able to perform, but suddenly thought of Harry.

Harry was a 20 year old blonde mechanic from a nearby town north of Graz, whom he had 'discovered' in the park the week before. He had been stunned by the boys's athletic figure and uncomplicated, giving disposition. Heinrich found himself becoming aroused. Relieved, he went back into the kitchen. Helga was at the stove. "Dinner is almost ready," she said. Embracing her from behind and thrusting his pelvis against her buttocks, he whispered, "Can't it wait?" helga quickly turned off the gas burners and relaxed into his arms.

A quarter of an hour later, watched over by baroque cupids above the circular bed in the bedroom, they lay apart, clothes strewn everywhere, pre-occupied with their own thoughts.
'If only he'd be in the mood more often.' 'If only she'd finally decide to be just your run-of-the-mill fag hag:'

Turning onto his side, he regarded Helga, and smiled. "Hey, let's check out the Theater Café tonight and see what is happening. That new American dancer is still in town. Who knows, you might find a chance of getting into his pants."

"Ok," she said, "that might be fun." But we could try the Café Werner beforehand. Unless you want to continue after dinner," she added hopefully.

"Let's go out," he said firmly, secretly hoping to run into Harry.

"Just as long as we don't run into Werner," she said. "I have been hearing some strange rumours about that clique of his lately." Heinrich grinned.

"Ha, you're just jealous because he hasn't invited you to one of Hannes' parties yet." He'd heard a lot about them from his best friend Werner all right, and the details really were not to his taste. But the sudden mental picture of Helga being taken by a succession of men aroused him again. Surprising her with the spontaneity of renewed passion, he rolled over and took her again. One half hour later, they finally got dressed and went back into the kitchen.

******************

Werner was standking stark naked in the bedroom of his home in the exclusive Rose Hill neighbourhood of Graz.

Set on a small mountain just outside the city centre, owning a house there was the ultimate status symbol among the wealthiest of Graz’ citizenry. Running his hands along his abdomen and sides, he was dismayed to discover a slight layer of fat had developed over the past few weeks. As usual, the numerous parties that began after the long hiatus of the summer vacations tended to take their toll. He also shouldn’t have indulged himself to the extent he did all those wonderful weeks on Mykonos either, he thought ruefully.

Tonight, everyone expected him to bring a major guest to Hannes’ party. True, his activity as gossip columnist for a local paper brought him into contact with very influential people; and they, in turn, were the true economic motor on which the city ran. But he felt slightly edgy. The more outsiders who were initiated into the ‘scene’ as they called it, the greater their chances of their being caught out in public became. And the ‘soul of the folk’, once brought to a boil in moral outrage wasn’t a pretty thing to behold, he thought. To make matters worse, Hannes had become odd of late. ‘Must be all the cocaine,’ he mused.

It hadn’t bothered him when their usual partner swapping parties had suddenly taken on a decided bisexual bent. That had amused him, especially observing the former straight.-laced who had suddenly decided that such things were chic, and felt they finally had reached the epitome of worldliness.

Werner practiced his smile in the mirror. Two dimpled lines appeared, and his dark eyes sparkled. It was a smile that literally charmed the pants off of many people, for which he was grateful. He had never cared about which sex he went to bed with. Casual sex with men pleased him because it was usually impersonal and soon over. Women were more complicated, he thought—all those emotional traps they tried to set. But in every case, the mainspring of Werner’s sexuality ran on the sadistic feeling of power over his partner, a pleasure resulting from the fact that they wanted him. He was of the opinion that an orifice is an orifice, and only enjoyed the material rewards such encounters brought him.

Shaking his head, he slipped into a pair of black Calvin Klein briefs and decided to wear his new Armani suit. It would soon be time to meet Hannes. Werner frowned. Hannes was beginning to go too far, he thought. Last week’s party had gotten rather ugly, and far too kinky for his taste. He considered slowly withdrawing from the clique, as he so often had over the past weeks. They were bound to get into serious trouble if things continued to escalate. Even Peter, their highly-placed friend in the federal police department wouldn’t be able to keep the lid on things if they continued to develop as they had to date.

Taking a last look at himself in the mirror, he left his house, got into his Citroen TX, and drove into the city. Hannes wanted to see him before the party at the Casino Bar. He supposed he would go on to the Café Werner, no relation, and the Theater Café later. With luck he would find the American dancer/performance artist who was currently turning everyone’s head. The local grapevine had reported that the guy swung both ways. Bringing him into the clique once would be safe enough, he thought. Smiling, he drove on.

*******

Peter sat in his bath tub and idly scratched his scrotum, frowning at the paunch rising out of the water to form a fleshy island. ‘Well, what can you expect at fifty-three,’ he asked himself, ‘the body of a twenty-year old?’ An inner voice suggested that cutting down on rich foods might help, but he answered it with an inner shrug. On the other hand, Hannes stall of ‘bunnies’ didn’t seem to mind and slept willingly with him. It was probably the added excitement of his position and the power he represented, he guessed. He enjoyed a privileged status in the scene—he looked after the interests of the clique, and they provided him with sex and high-life.

Of late, Hannes had been getting out of hand he thought, as he got out of the tub and began drying himself. Some of his subordinates at the station were beginning to gossip, and that boded no good. Yes, he decided, he was going to have some serious words with Hannes, and the sooner the better.

Grinning, he thought of last weeks’ party, and became aroused. Half of the most influential people in town had been there. They had been terribly high, but had had the good sense to consume their coke while he wasn’t looking. They had surely let their hair down. Bondage seemed to be their newest fad. He hadn’t though that it would excite him as much as it had. The memory of driving away at Renate suddenly came back to him, and he remembered how strikingly erotic the black leather cuffs looked against her pale skin. Normally, Leo claimed Renate for himself, but he’d been busy trying out Irmgard, whose initial cool façade had proven to hide the temperament of a wildcat.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the memory of how powerful he’d felt, he dressed and slowly headed to the Casino from his house in the centre of the Old Town. He was sure he would find Hannes there, tanking up prior to tonight’s party. .Crossing the Main Square, he shivered, trying to tell himself it was only because of the fog, which had become so heavy that he could barely make out the outline of the neo-baroque city hall twenty metres away. It had become almost like a mist. The cold penetrated his heavy overcoat. He hurried on, looking forward to the warmness of the Casino Bar.

******

‚Amazing,’ thought Ray repeatedly, as he cut into his roast goose. David was chatting away, catching him up on the doings of all his friends in America. Despite the rustic atmosphere of the Brandhof and the waitresses in dirndls, he felt as if he’d been teleported back home.

“Amazing,” he said aloud. “You remind me so much of Jack. You talk the same way, have the same mannerisms…. Unreal.”

David blushed. “He told me to look you up, so I thought, ‘why not?’ “

“Well again, I’m glad you did. Leave it to Jack to send me a proxy.” For the past two hours, Ray had forgotten Georg, his lover of ten years and the central part of his life. Being with Georg was always similar to an exploration of unmapped territory. The cultural differences between them often weren’t apparent on the surface, but there existed enough of them to keep Ray constantly guessing. The unexpected arrival of David was doing him good. Ray felt at home for the first time in a lopng while, and expected an evening of good conversation and a little silliness of the sort that wasn’t all to common in Graz’ gay circles.

“Too bad that Georg had to work,” David said.

“That’s the problem when you work in a hotel,” Ray groaned. “Free time is precious. He’ll probably be wondering what we’re up to. He doesn’t like it when I go out on the town, but every once in a while I just need a change of scene.”

David looked amused. “Do you cheat on him?”

Ray was shocked. “In this day and age? Come off it. Even the temptations are few and far between. And Paul’s death this Spring really slammed the lid on whatever stray ideas might have been running around in the back of my mind.”

David leaned forward. “That was so frightening with Paul. He…. He was so full of life, but then, as soon as he knew, it was as if his life had already stopped at that moment. All that was left was the shell of the man that wek knew.”

“Several people I knew just to say hello to have died here,” Ray said sadly. “They all reacted just about the same way…. Oh! Too bad I threw out that magazine.” David gave him an askew glance. “Something a guest forgot; forty pages of personal ads, with photos of genital shots, and so on…” David frowned. “You wouldn’t believe what seeming still goes on over here. People are into every variation you can imagine and some I hadn’t before. It’s as if they were dancing on Mount St. Helens.

David shook his head in disbelief and pushed his plate away. “So what’s on the agenda for tonight? Shall we tour the Graz gay scene?”

Ray laughed. “That will take all of twenty minutes or so. All we have is the park and one café.” David looked somewhat disappointed. “But then we’ll go to the Theater Café. It’s amazing, especially now, hen the festival is in full swing.” Standing and reaching for his coat, Ray said. "But first, the grand tour of the corso, vulgo City Park.” Secretly, he hoped for some unexpected dancing on Mount St. Helens.

************************

Otto glanced around his garconiere before leaving for his nightly rounds in the City Park, his brown eyes huge behind thick glasses his partially bald pate gleaming beneath the chandelier. The living-dining room was impeccably furnished, he thought: lots of solid antique mahogany furniture, and Persian carpets. No flimsy modern stuff for him, if you please. Stopping at a sideboard, he picked up a silver tray he had bought that afternoon at his favourite antique dealer’s in the Stempfergasse, making sure that the price tag was still prominently displayed.

He considered that extremely important. His tricks were thus confronted with the fact that he was a man of means and taste. He took a last look into the bedroom and shrugged.. It was Spartan, the bed narrow. By the time he got his partners in there, they weren’t interested in décor anyway. A shelf of books held the latest in intellectual literature, but they were only for the occasional snob, who thought they could form a mental picture of him by checking on what he read. Far more useful was the stack of comic books in the end table behind the head of his bed. They often induced his paid companions to remain longer. Otto hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to one of them this evening. The arts festival always brought in new blood, and that, he thought was the only good thing about it. Locking the door behind him, he strolled over to the Eslizabethstrasse, admiring all the old aristocratic residences from the turn of the century, then headed for the park, dimly lit in the fog.

***************

Wolfgang and Irmgard were getting ready for their usual evening rounds after a light dinner of tofu and other vegetarian delights. As art critic for the light-weight but popular local newspaper, the arts festival always brought Wolfgang the most satisfying work of the year. The architecture symposium, which was Wolfgang’s favourite even, would take place the following week. Meanwhile there were several vernisages to attend. They finished dressing silently, carefully attending to their clothing, intent of giving the appearance of being an inseparable couple. Their wardrobe consisted exclusively of dark greys and blak, varied only by an occasional startlingly white blouse or shirt. Their friends had ironically nicknamed them ‘Form and Function’,

Wolfgang finished his ritual with a critical look in the bedroom mirror and eyed Irmgard’s reflection behind him warily. He always sensed that this was also the most dangerous season in the year, as far as their relationship was concerned. He’d formed Irmgard into the stylish person he’d had in his mind’s eye when he first met her, and knew that the drawback of his work was that it brought them into contact with attractive men who were more intelligent and wealthier than he was. Wolfgang knew his limits very well, and felt them very keenly.

Werner came to mind, and the rumours which had been circulating at work of late.

“We’ll be going to the Theater Café after the vernisage,” he said in a matter of fact tone.

Irmgard smiled. “Oh good! That’s always fun at this time of year.”

Off-handedly he added, “Irmi, if Werner’s there, do try to avoid him, all right? I’ve been hearing some unsettling rumours about him and his friends lately.”

Irmgard’s smile wavered. “If you say so. What are they saying?” ‘As if I didn’t know,’ she thought.

Wolfgang remained reserved. “Seems he’s been staging some pretty wild parties lately, and that there are rumours he is using drugs, but so far, there’s been only speculation. Just try not to get too close to him and his crowd,” he added.

Irmgard smiled at him palely. “Don’t worry,” she said. And as they left to begin their night’s rounds, she thought, ‘too late’, then resolved, not for the first time, to finally have less to do with them. As long as Leo agreed….

*******************

Mischa had spent over half an hour in front of the mirror, trying on various leather accouturements, but tonight, nothing seemed to please him. At thirty three, he was still slim and lithe. He ran his hands through his chestnut, trim beard, his pale blue eyes blinking rapidly every now and then. He knew he should get fit for glasses, but was too vain to actually do so.

Mischa settled for a vest over a thin tee shirt, chaps over faded jeans, his favourite studded wrist band, and engineer boots. The festival was the only time of year when he had justified chances of finding a younger man who was into his brand of sex, and who would bend to his will. He spent the rest of the year travelling to those various meccas where his tastes were catered to; Munich, Hamburg, Amsterdam and New York. But often enough, his chosen partner of the evening would turn the tables on him and he’d end up bending to their will, which frustrated him. He still came across as soft, despite everything he did from giving that impression. Even the beard hadn’t really helped.

Shaking himself out of his depressed mood, he gave himself a last check in the mirror, left his apartment, and headed for the park. He didn’t have much hope of scoring there in the way he preferred. If there were any chance of connecting tonight it would be at the Theatre Café later, he supposed. The park would be full of types like crazy Otto with his price tags all over his apartment, church-mouse types, or those who only arrived very late, and who were married or inhibited, like the perennial Heinrich. The occasional newcomer was no challenge, and he shuddered to think about people like ‘Blanche’, who would toss her head away from one in disdain in passing or worse, the May Queen….

Hardly a block away from the house, he suddenly felt the need to use the WC and made it back to his apartment just in time. His brow creased as he voided. “What did I eat wrong this time?” he asked himself aloud, then made a mental note to remove everything out of the refrigerator the next day and toss it all out. Something had definitely spoiled. It was the second time that week he’d gotten the runs. When he finished, he cleaned himself fastidiously, then hurried off to the park to make up for the time he had lost, putting his problem out of his mind.

***************

Leo seethed with rage. Meg was just as angry and looked ready to resort to violence. “If you’re going out, then I’m damned if I’m going to sit here in your golden cage and bore myself to death waiting for you to come home.” I’ve had enough.”

In her defiance, Meg was more beautiful than ever, Leo thought. Her English features positively glowed, and Leo suddenly had misgivings. He hadn’t been fair to her of late, true. On the other hand….

She regarded him with open distaste. “ I am going out tonight, Leo,” she said icily. “I will be at the Casino for a while. Then I might go on to the Theatre Café.” She gathered her Canadian lynx coat, slipped into it with an elegant shrug, and headed for the door.

Leo stopped her momentarily. “Meg!” She turned and looked with him in exasperation. “You let yourself get involved with any man tonight, and you’re history! Do you understand me?’’

Meg smiled with contempt. “I’ve been history for over a year now, Leo. Did you really expect me to believe that your lack of libido was due to all those hours ‘working overtime’? And aren’t you aware that anyone who counts for anything in this town is buzzing with gossip about your great friend Hannes’ parties of late? You ought to be more careful, Leo. Good night.” She was out the door before he could recover from his surprise.

Feeling his adrenaline rise, he turned and slammed his fist onto a light-weight pine table next to the sofa so heavily that the surface cracked. Then came a feeling of depression and fright.

‘Someone’s been talking. What else was to be expected in this burg?’ he thought. He’d seen it coming, of course. And he was intelligent enough to know that he should have dropped out of that circle long ago. But Hannes had a knack of easily keeping one involved, for one thing.

He had worked out a system where they had switched the weekend orgies to the private second homes of several people which were not used regularly, and to avoid suspicions among the neighbours. Hannes had used his apartment in town fairly frequently, however. His stately Old Town apartment made him nervous. He always felt observed there. Hannes was the host again tonight, but at his second home on Rose Hill.

Yes, he had been postponing a break, but only because of Renate. Delightful, beautiful Renate, who was so very young and thoroughly spoiled that she would do virtually anything for a few expenses and trinkets.

He’d tried to stem his attraction to her with rational internal arguments. After all, everyone had had her. Last week, he had even tried to loosen the emotional hold she had on him by giving her over to Peter while he had taken his pleasure with Irmgard. And yet, to his knowledge, he was the only person of the clique whom she saw on a regular basis outside of the orgies. That fact alone was reason enough to have kept him coming back. And the fact that she was willing to perform any sexual variation he could think up was the dot on the I, so to speak. She submitted to his every whim, unlike his wife Meg, and that made him feel every inch the powerful man he was.

Blinking, he turned to the door. Meg. His meg had finally rebelled against his will. She was his possession, and he had treated her to every luxury a woman could dream of. What had gotten into her? Here she was, out on the town, possibly making a cuckold of him in public!

Leo’s fists balled again at the thought. He’d show her, he thought. By the time he was finished, she’d know what a position of power and wealth in this city really meant. He went into the bathroom, and pulled out a plastic bag with 15 oz of cocaine from behind some large bottles, cut some and inhaled two lines from his shaving mirror. His outrage subsided, and a new calm took over his nervous system; an icy one. He was the most successful businessman in Graz, a leading member of a cartel which prevented outsiders from coming in and under-cutting the prices they set. ‘I’ll show them all,’ he thought angrily. ‘But first, I’ll show Meg.’ His thoughts racing, he left and drove toward the centre and the Casino Bar.

**************************

Martin lay sprawled on his double bed, apathetically letting Andreas have his way with him. Andi wasn’t an unpleasant man, he thought, but his insatiable sex drive often irritated him. He sighed as Andreas found one of his extra-sensitive spots, and went to work on it orally. He was glad that he was still able to respond to him after having gotten what he wanted.

Martin thought back to the day he’d met Andreas. He’d been working in the porter’s loge of the local county hospital, and Andi had inquired as to the whereabouts of a friend he had wanted to visit. Martin realised from the way he’d looked at him, that he had made an impression on him, but he was unaware of the turn his life was about to take. He’d thought that Andreas was about the same age he was, twenty-six, but later learned that he was ten years older. He’d looked hot in clothes with a vague military cut, had black frizzy hair, piercing blue eyes and a tight, muscular body. Andreas worked out regularly at a fitness centre he later learned, and he’d convinced Martin to join too, which had benefited him over the past two years.

Andi had waited outside for him until he had gotten off his shift, and had accompanied him on the long walk into town, charming him with witty chat. He’d been wined and dined, and before he properly realised what had happened to him, he was in Andi’s bed, being lovingly serviced, just as he was now.

Although he normally preferred women, Martin had learned early that giving himself to men often brought material advantages, and as long as he hadn’t had to actively reciprocate, he’d found it immaterial when it came to the question of who was on the giving end. But as Andreas had had the misfortune to fall in love with him, Martin knew he had found a gold mine, and his ticket out of the drab routine that his job at the hospital had become.

Martin had played him along, even reciprocating superficially here and there, so as not to ruin his chances. He had worked a second job as a disc-jockey for a wile at the Go-In, a disco Hannes had owned. That job had brought the extra pleasure of a succession of nubile young girls into his life. He had slept with them gladly, then passed them on to the thrill-seeking members of the upper-class brats who had frequented the disco. It had taken time and preparation for him to getting around to voicing what he had really wanted, and then he had been diplomatic enough so that Andi had thought it was his own idea.

Thus Martin had become the proud owner of ‘The Bunny Bar’, a chic little night club in the Bermuda Triangle of Graz. Andreas had co-signed a loan for him to help furnish it, and had steered his wide circle of friends there in the beginning in order to ensure that the undertaking would be a success. And t had worked like a dream. So typical of Graz, he thought. The only way to anywhere was not be too picky about your choice of whom you sleep with.

Martin smiled. Feeling himself ready to climax, he closed his eyes, and ran his hand through Andreas’ long wiry hair. ‘If only he wouldn’t dye it so obviously,’ he thought. He nearly laughed, letting his feelings free reign. In his mind’s eye, he summoned up visions of what he might do when he met with Hannes’ clique that evening. His excitement rose as he considered the possibilities that could promote his career to even more dizzying heights.. Andreas and Martin climaxed simultaneously, although for completely different reasons.

************

Renate was getting dressed for the evening in her grandparent’s home in the suburb of Andritz. It was a quiet neighbourhood of two-storied, cottage-like houses, each with a garden and an orchard in the back lots. She glanced out of the bedroom window and frowned at the first wisps of fog coming up. ‘It will be much thicker in town,’ she thought. ‘I’d better wear something wrmer. Not that I’ll be wearing it long.’ She giggled, a typical teenager’s laugh.

Crossing over to her wardrobe, she opened both doors and considered. It was full of expensive dresses. She decided on a violet one from Jill Sander. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she smiled, then nodded solemnly. At seventeen, she had the stature and figure of a woman in her mid-twenties. She’d gotten her hair done that afternoon, and was skilful enough with make-up so that she looked old enough to enter any bar or night-spot the clique decided to frequent without raising any suspicions on the proprietor’s part. Only the casino was off limits to her, as it was mandatory to present one’s passport when buying a ticket. Yes, she’d spent Leo’s last gift to good effect, she decided. The new dress was revealing without being vulgar. Leo would be pleased with her.

She felt a sudden nervousness as she speculated on how the evening would go. Earlier that afternoon at school, she’d been full of bravado while gossiping with her best friends about their personal experiences. Her friends had slept with ten men each so far, and had made many silly mistakes. She’d felt far more superior and worldly-wise, and had shocked them when she had honestly said that Leo was her 50^th.

It had begun so harmlessly, really. She had been at the Go-In disco one evening two years ago. It had been the first time she’d been allowed to go out alone. Martin, the disc-jockey, had paid her a great deal of attention, making her feel like a grown-up for the first time in her life. She had fallen a little in love with him, she thought. Everyone in his clique had taken little white pills. Martin had explained that they were all busy, influential people during the day, and that the pills were basically harmless. The only helped keep everyone going until the wee hours; that was all,, he said. She’d taken one, curious.

She had danced until one a.m. and was feeling so good by that time, she resorted to the sort of lie that she would often use over the next two years. She had called her grandparents to tell them she would be spending the night at her friend Babsi’s house in the centre, as the last tram had already left and she didn’t want to pay for a taxi home. They believed everything she told them. Her mother might have posed a problem, but she was working night-shifts at the hospital, and didn’t have the energy to pay much attention to Renate during the day.

She had stayed until closing, and Martin had invited her to his apartment after closing time at four a.m. He shared it with his friend Andreas, whom she also found attractive. Martin had seduced her easily, and the pill she had taken had lowered her inhibitions to such and extent that she had enjoyed herself. Their lovemaking had lasted a long time. She had fallen into a deep sleep at 7 a.m. and had woken up alone at 3 p.m. Calling Martin’s name she was surprised to see him emerging naked from Andreas’ room. They made a late breakfast of smoked salmon on toas. She then told him she would have to get home, before there would be trouble, or questions asked. Martin had kissed her good-bye, and had given her a gold-plated necklace as a memento of their night together.

In the weeks that had followed, Martin never took her home with him again, although he always was very attentive toward her. He had introduced her to regular guests at the Go-In, people with names that were familiar to her from the gossip columns of the two local newspapers. It was a dizzying experience for her. And she learned the rules of their codex very quickly. At times, she felt like a plate of canapés being passed around at a banquet, but the men she met were all especially generous, and provided her with money and expensive gifts that even her mother couldn’t afford, as hard as she worked.

Then Hannes had begun giving his outrageous parties a year ago, and had invited her. She had gone with misgivings at first, as his reckless attitude had made her very uneasy. But there she had come to realise that she could obtain much more if she chose her partners according to social standing and wealth. She’d done well, she thought. She had learned to keep her mouth shut when the conversation was over her head, and had become very skilled, sexually. The pills had helped reduce her inhibitions to nil, and she found the sex enjoyable.

Last week, however, the scene had taken on such a bizarre form that it had frightened her a little. Up until then, she had felt powerful, as every man she knew was practically begging her for her favours. Last week, Leo had made her feel powerless, giving her over to Peter as he had and that hadn’t suited her at all. She toyed with the idea of changing partners, and had a good idea of whom she wanted next. He was a lot older than Leo, but that was beside the point. She’d make her first move tonight, she thought. Unless, of course, she would turn the tables on Leo? Now there was an idea….

Renate went downstairs to the living room, where her grandparents were watching the evening new, and kissed them good-by. She told them not to wait up for her, that she would spend the night at Babsi’s house. Then she walked to the tram stop. And as the moderator spoke in know-it-all tones about the latest developments in East Germany, her grandfather suddenly said proudly, “She’s a good girl.” Her grandmother beamed, still watching the tv screen. “Yes,” she said contentedly. “Yes, she certainly is.”

**************

Harry cursed as he drove into the first wisps of fog on the A9 approaching Graz. He hated the autumn weather here. Slowing down, he peered cautiously ahead. This would change his plans. Disliking the drive back to Leoben in this weather, he’d have to find a partner to spend the night with, something he rearely did otherwise.

He sighed, wishing he’d finally find a permanent partner. He thought back to his first such trip into Graz three years before. Two of his co-workers at the shop had been joking about selling their services to the gays who hung around in the city park of Graz. They had said it was an easy way of supplementing their meagre salary while they were still apprenticed, and had maintained they knew several guys who did that. Supposedly , one of them had been so successful that he had been able to buy a used car. Although his co-workers had never gotten around to trying that themselves, Harry had become curious.

On his first trip into Graz, he’d been successful, and had taken a decent amount of money back home with him. And in the months that followed, Harry found he had become popular. After a while, however, something about demanding money began to bother him. He enjoyed sex too much, and during the short time he was with a partner, felt protected, and…loved. After a few months, he withdrew from the trade section of the city park and stopped asking for money altogether. He had felt better because, whoever he then chose was the result of mutual attraction.

Within a short time, he was surprised to find himself returning home with more money than he had been receiving before. His men actually pressed it upon him, saying that being so young and a the beginning of his career, they were certain he could use it. At times he worried whether it was the same thing as before, but he did believe there was a sort of moral difference.

Glancing in his rear-view mirror, he cursed his good looks. A few times of late, he’d felt more than just a mutual sexual attraction. But some men found him so handsome that they couldn’t believe that he could care for anyone less attractive than himself, and would back away. It was frustrating. Risking another glance, he wondered what people saw in him that was so remarkable. He found his features regular; he had a strong chin, his eyes were a normal blue-not too large not too small. His nose was straight and he had wide and high cheekbones. “Regular”, he thought, pushing the shock of blonde hair out of his forehead. Shrugging, he returned his concentration to the foggy highway.

Suddenly he remembered a nurse he had met two years ago. Roy? Ray? Yes, Ray. Ray hadn’t been classically good looking, but was an interesting and very sexy man. He had almost let himself get involved, but the trouble was that Ray had a steady lover and he’d been interested in three-way action. He’d decided he wanted someone all to himself, although one night he had actually decided to give it a try and had asked for him at the hospital. Unfortunately, or luckily, Ray had gone home an hour before. Harry hadn’t known Ray’s address.

The porter had given him a knowing look which had also made him feel uneasy. Now there had been a looker, he thought. A foreigner, tall, thick wavy black hair and smouldering dark eyes. He’d later seen him working as disc-jockey at the old Go-In. He was glad they had closed that disco. He had always felt uneasy there.

More recently there had been Heinrich, but there was a problem with him, too. That Helga woman was always mooning around his apartment, and he expected that they didn’t just play canasta when they were alone.

Harry sighed. Why was it so difficult to find someone all to himself, he wondered. ‘And now AIDS,’ he thought, patting his coat pocket to be sure he’d remembered the condoms. He drove down the Elisabethstrasse and parked at the edge of the park. The fog was thick, and the gas-lit lanterns gave off round spheres of dim light on the sidewalk. Letting his thoughts go into neutral, he got out of his car. “Here goes,” he said softly and slowly entered the park, plinching against the sudden piercing cold of the fog.

************************

Hannes was watching a video of last week’s party in his apartment, already high on ‘Koks’, as his friends called it, and laughing at the action on the screen. ‘Little do they know,’ he chuckled, thinking how absurd most people look during coitus.

Tonight would be a new high point in his career as marionette master, as he liked to think of himself. He has big plans, all right. Watching Peter getting it on with Renate in restraints began to affect him, and he turned off the video. He’d show them all eventually, he thought. And he would put good old Peter in his place once and for all. He would show them just what a young and bright man from a little town like Leoben was capable of. He snorted with contempt. Big-deal Grazer. They knew nothing. Hand hadn’t he snowed them! He laughed at the double-entendre. His rise had been fast and constant. And now he had them and would show them a few new tricks , for sure.

Going into the foyer, he gave himself a cursory glance in the mirror while putting on his Burberry coat. He was momentarily upset with the slight bloated look in his face, but put it out of his mind. Locking the door behind him, he left for the Casino Bar, just a few steps across the river from his apartment. The cold fog cut like a knife into his forehead. Determinedly, he strode quickly across the main bridge. “I’ll show them all!” he thought grimly.