Alec

by William di Canzio

Meantime, can you come to a concert with me next Friday?” The concert with Morgan was the first public event the lovers attended together. Alec reveled in being out and about with his two favorite people on earth. He wedged himself between them and took each one’s arm. He led them in a game of sidling along the streets to keep their link unbroken. The autumn dusk redeemed the city’s ugliness, spangling the air with uncountable points of light: gaslight and incandescence, streetlamps, signs, windows, headlamps of cabs and trolleys. And the people! Here were thousands of young folks, away from their deadening jobs, as eager for fun as Alec, on their way to a meal or a dance or a show. As for Maurice, nothing made him happier than seeing Alec happy. That was his nature as lover. He had been to this concert hall before, on a date with one of his sister’s schoolmates, fairly recently (though before he knew Alec, so it seemed long in the past). He remembered he’d heard Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique Symphony. The music was special to him because of Clive. The night they’d first met at Cambridge, Clive was looking for a piano version of the symphony in another student’s rooms. When he found it, they went back to Clive’s to listen to the second movement together. That marked the beginning of their friendship. The student who owned the music would also become important to Maurice’s education: endlessly talkative, brashly queer Octavian Risley took delight in provoking those he believed h...