Family album Page 0,87

… just looking at him, Paul was already sure, but was Lionel? And then suddenly, as they stood there in the parking lot, Paul knew he had to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. Maybe he'd even ask him eventually. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they could be friends. But he couldn't let him go … not yet … not now … not quite so soon.

“I know this sounds dumb. But would you like to come to my place for a drink?” He was almost embarrassed to say the words, but Lionel's eyes grew wide with delight.

“I'd love it.” Maybe he did know … Paul was going crazy trying to figure it out, and there was no way to guess.

“I live in Malibu. You want to follow me again, or leave your car here? I could drive you back afterwards.”

“Wouldn't that be a lot of trouble?” Malibu was an hour from there.

“No, not at all. I never go to bed very early. And I may not go to bed tonight at all. We shoot at four A.M. tomorrow, and I work better on calls like that without going to bed.”

“Will my car be safe?” They looked around, and decided that it would. The hamburger place was open all night, so people would come and go, and no one would dare break into it with people around. And that decided, Lionel slid into the passenger seat of Paul's Porsche and instantly felt that he had died and gone to heaven. It was like being lifted into another world, sitting on the smooth black leather seats, the dashboard looked like the panel of a plane and with a shift of gears they took off, and Paul turned the stereo on as the music of Roger Miller singing “King of the Road” filled their ears. It was almost a sensual experience getting to Malibu. Paul was dying for a joint, but he didn't want to smoke dope in front of the boy, and he was a little bit afraid of what he might do if he did, so he refrained, and they talked from time to time on the brief drive, listened to the music as they flew along, and by the time they reached the house on the beach, Lionel was totally relaxed with his new friend.

Paul put his key in the lock, and let them in, and the house just continued the same mood. There was a full ocean view with soft lights, a sunken living room filled with couches and soft cushions, huge plants and recessed lights that highlighted a few pieces of art Paul loved. There was a handsome bar, a wall of books, and a stereo that seemed to fill the whole world with soft music as Lionel sat down and looked around. Paul threw his leather jacket on the couch, poured them each a glass of white wine, and came to sit down with him.

“Well,” he smiled, “you like?” He had to admit, he was proud of it. For a poor boy from Buffalo, he had come a long, long way, and he was happy here.

“My God … it's so beautiful….”

“It is, isn't it?” He didn't disagree. They could look out at the beach, the sea. The whole world seemed to lie at their feet, and when they finished their wine, Paul suggested a walk. He loved to walk on the beach late at night, and it was only eleven o'clock. He kicked off his shoes, and Lionel did the same, and they walked out onto the smooth white sand, and Lionel thought he had never been as happy as this. He felt something he had never felt before, and he felt it each time he looked at this man. And it was confusing to him. He fell silent after a while, and on their way back, Paul stopped and sat down on the sand. He looked out at the ocean, and then at Lionel and suddenly the words just came. “You're confused, aren't you, Li?” He had heard his mother call him that and wondered if he'd mind the familiarity, but he didn't seem to object, and he nodded his head, almost relieved to admit what he felt to this man who was becoming his friend.

“Yes …” He wanted to be honest with him, maybe then he'd understand what he felt himself. He felt both very old and very young. “I am.”

“I used to feel like that too. Before I came out here

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