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Show Acting Alone Page 254 thing to which they've been wedded since babyhood they refer to in the most intimate of languages: baby-talk. Many violinists call their instruments vile-in, pouting softly. And, of course, jazz lingo is rich in oral-erotic baby terms: t-bone, berry, and so on. His little French/Irish A-plus Shannon notwithstanding, Sam considered this Colleague X to be the closest thing in the world he had to a fiancee - even though still, after several semesters, he could hardly ever bring himself to grunt much more than a brusque, self-defensive "Howzitgoin" as he passed the tall poetess in the hall. Today, however, he managed to grunt out a complete question. "I don't know where Dr. Abraham is, Sam," said Colleague X. "What happened to your nose?" » Colleague Y, on the other hand, was a male homosexual, and his blood ran as thick with purple emotion as the Amazon River runs with tapioca stroibles. He always took care to have at least one all-night cry per month with everybody in the department who was susceptible to that sort of thing, and everybody loved him for it. He'd do dusk-till-dawners even with Sam, filling the giant he-man in on what it's like, this life of inversion - glory holes in his dark past, and so on. Sam liked the guy, and always felt guilty about making Paul Lynde voices and sissyboy cracks when the sun was up and the straight world was goose-stepping on all sides looking for a dupe. Sam couldn't help himself sometimes - because he was jealous of the smooth painless happy way that Colleague Y got along with women. Shannon used to love to gossip with him and make funny mouth-noises with him when she came to the office for a required "student/teacher |
