I went back to the kitchen and got the vodka bottle out of the freezer. One shot, two shots. I'd make it through the night. I knew I'd never hear from Herb. All I had to do was forget him. It wasn't easy.

Still, two nights later when the telephone rang, I assumed it was the usual telemarketer. My "Yeah" implied that I not only knew where the caller lived but that I planned to come over and beat him silly.

"Simon, hi. Simon, it's me, Herb."

I grunted.

"Put down the elephant stick, please," he said. "I called to thank you. I've got good news."

He'd gotten the part.

"I smiled them half to death."

They liked him. "They say they're going to rewrite to give my character a bigger role. Isn't that great?"

I said it was. Then came the kicker.

"Simon, now you really have to help me. I need to learn lots more. They're not going to start production for a month or so, and when they do, I want to be the best actor on the show. Will you help me? Please, Simon, I really need help, and you're so good at explaining things."

I pretended to hesitate. I pretended to myself that the kid was a pain and a waste of time, but the truth was I hadn't been able to forget him. What the hell. "OK, Herb, OK. When do we start? Where are you now?"

"Across the street." He paused. "Simon, the thing is … well, the old lady I told you about where I lived. Like, her son put her in some kind of home. She didn't want to go, but he wanted the apartment. He and his girl friend and her kid moved in, and they made me leave. I didn't have a lease or anything."

"So, have you got a place to stay?" Why did I ask? Why should I care?

"Simon, there's this guy, a student, and I heard he was looking for a roommate, but he's not at home so I don't know and I wondered…" his voiced trailed off. I wasn't about to make it easy for him. I waited. "Well, what I wondered was could I sleep at your place till I find him or something else? I don't need a bed. The floor's fine. I have a sleeping bag. And I'll try not to be any trouble. I'm sorry." Was that a choke in his voice? Real? An acting trick? "Simon, I don't know anyone else to ask."

I waited again. He's a kid, a straight kid. He's just using me. Like everybody else. "Come on up, Herb," I said. "You can have the spare room."

In the minute or two before he rang the bell, I wondered if I'd lost my mind. I hadn't let anyone in my life since I was 26 and Harry walked out on me - to get married, for shit's sake. That was six, nearly seven years ago. I've had my share of careful, casual sex since then - I'm no male model, but I'm fit and reasonably well hung and I've got staying power - but I do one-nighters, not pajama parties. And now I was about to have a roommate who was gorgeous and innocent and completely off-limits. I had to be crazy. I almost ran to open the door.

"Simon," Herb came in carrying only a bulging backpack and that smile I'd tipped him to. "Simon, you've saved my life again," he burbled. "I promise not to get in the way. You won't know I'm around, and I'll get another place just as soon as I can."

I put up my hand. "No problem, Herb. Mi casa… I'm glad to see you. And congratulations, it's great that you got the part. If I had some champagne, we'd celebrate."

"Oh, I don't drink. My parents would disown me. Besides, I should take you out. Your coaching did the trick."

"Your smile, I'd bet."

"Whatever. Simon," he suddenly took my arm. "Simon, can I hug you? I'm so happy, and I want to share it." He didn't wait for permission. He put his arms around my back and squeezed me to him. He was stronger than I'd thought. All those karate lessons, I guess.

"Hey," I said, not my usual, articulate self. "Hey, kid, Herb, let's not get too physical here. I'm not really into hugging."

"I'm not either. It's just that you're my best friend now. And everything is looking so good for me, and…"

("Suffering Jesus! Was he about to cry?")

"… and it's really all thanks to you. I just want you to know how I feel about you and everything you've done for me when you didn't have to do anything. And…"

("Those are tears. Now what do I do?")

"Herb, Herb," I patted him on the back. "I wouldn't have done it if I didn't like you. I like you, kid. I'm glad to help any way I can. Someday, I'll be able to say I knew Herb Regenwasser, the big star."

"Oh, yeah. That's another thing. I've got to change my name. The producers must know your rules, Simon. They said that Herbert is definitely not a gay name. So will you help me? Help me decide who to be."

("My love," I thought. "You could 'live with me and be my love and we will some new pleasures prove…''')

I snapped myself out of it and showed him the spare room and the bathroom and found sheets, towels and extra keys to the building and the apartment. I told him I'd had a long day, which was true, and that I was too tired to make much sense, which was only partly true. The truth was I wasn't making sense to myself, and I was afraid of betraying my confusion and the yearning - not just desire - I was feeling. I said good night and promised that we'd talk seriously in the morning.

I was up, as usual, by seven, but the only sign of Herb was a note on the kitchen table. "Simon, thanks. I got a good sleep, but it's milking time. See you tonight." He'd signed it "Farm Boy," and I immediately decided that should be his stage name: Farmer, maybe Tom with an aitch, Thom. Thom Farmer - simple, wholesome, all-American, but memorable because of the extra letter and just a little ambiguous.

Herb liked the suggestion when he came in that evening with the rest of his belongings, but he improved on it. Thommy Farmer, "because even though I'm 22, I'm a kid. That's what you call me, isn't it?" he asked. We were having supper - his treat - at a little Vietnamese place I like, and I was learning all about Herb - his favorite subject - from Herb. The youngest of three children and the only boy, he was raised by strict, hard-working, church-going, sugar-beet farmers. He showed me a picture of his over-weight, weather-worn parents: Grant Wood crossed with John Waters. "The thing is, I always knew I was different from them. I love them, and I'd never hurt them, but I just had this feeling all along that I didn't belong in that life."

"You can use that. In your role, I mean," I said to him. "It's what gays feel, too, when they're young and trying to sort things out. We know we don't fit, not in the family, not in school, not in the community. The strain of having that kind of secret can be awful, and some kids crack. Some kill themselves because they haven't got anybody to help them through it."

Herb looked shocked. "I'd never do that. I can't even imagine being afraid to live. Not when you're young and anything can happen."

"Can you imagine being so ashamed of something you've done or something you are that you want to disappear? Disappear forever?"

"Like running away?"

"No, because you can always come back or be found if you run away. I mean being so afraid of what your family and your friends will think of you that you decide it's better to be dead than to be around when they find out the truth."

Herb put down his fork. His face contorted. Tears came to his eyes. I thought I'd overdone it, but he owed his anguish to a chili in his beef with basil. I tried to get him to drink some of my beer, but he waved it away. ("I'll never get him drunk," I thought. "Which means I'll never get him in the sack.") It was some time before he could speak.

"Well, it matters a lot what people think of you," he whispered at last. "I understand that. But what matters most is what you think of yourself. That's the way I think. I mean, as long as you don't hurt anybody else, why can't you be happy being whatever you are as far as sex is concerned? Sex isn't that big a deal after all."

It was my turn to choke, but not on the food. An incredibly handsome, apparently healthy young man telling me that sex was no big deal. Then the light dawned. "Herb…" I started to ask.

"Thommy. Remember? I'm Thommy now."

"Yeah, sorry. Thommy, tell me. Are you a virgin?"

He blushed deeply. It made him even more luscious. "It depends," he finally answered, "it depends on what you mean by virgin."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. And then I laughed some more. The boy just stared at me, confused at first, then upset, then angry. He put his napkin on the table and started to get up. I grabbed him by the wrist. "Don't…" I wheezed. "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. I promise, kiddo. It's just…" I snorted and gasped. "It's just… you sounded like Bill Clinton. It depends on what you mean…" I sat up straight and tried to be serious. "Forget about sex, then. Have you ever been in love?"

He blushed again but not so fiercely. "Sort of, I guess," he answered. "In college, there was a girl in the theater group. We went out a lot. We… we did things. We fooled around, but not all the way, you know. She was a Christian, too. We believe the body is the temple of God."

I made a supreme effort and kept a straight face. ("Yes, yes," I was thinking. "And I'd like to worship in your temple.") But I didn't say that. What I said was probably worse. "You know what your problem is Thommy? You need to get laid."

"And I'm the man to do it," a skin-head in tight, faded jeans, a black-leather jacket, multiple gold hoops in both ears, slapped me on the shoulder, pulled a chair up to our table and sat down. "Super Queer to the rescue," he put his hand out to Thommy. "Simon can talk the talk, but he's getting a little long in the tooth and, let's say, slow on the uptake."

"Go away, Eldon," I said. "Far away. We're having a serious conversation. Unless you've been talking to your proctologist, you wouldn't know what a serious conversation is. Thommy is an actor. He's asked me for advice about a role. And he's straight. Not your type. Don't you have a therapy group you should be at? Assholes Anonymous or something?"

"Top or bottom?" Eldon ignored me and turned to Thommy.

"I'm sorry," the kid said. "I don't…"

"Your role, dude. I'm the direct type. Is Simon coaching you to fuck or get fucked? It's sort of a major career decision."

"Oh, no," Thommy was flustered. "It's not like that all. Simon helped me get a part in a sit-com, and since the character is gay, I asked him to explain some things to me. About what it's like…"

"It's been so long, he's forgotten what it's like. Simon's all shriveled up. He called the police two years ago to report that his prick was missing, and his ass has more cobwebs than a haunted house."

Thommy was beaming. "He's the kind you told me about, isn't he Simon? Quick, confident. Fights back with his mouth. Do it some more, please," he leaned toward Eldon. "You're good. Are you a writer?"

"He's a parking-lot attendant, kiddo," I said angrily. "He deals stolen hubcaps on the side. He's a loser. Pay the bill and let's go home."

"Together?" If Eldon hadn't shaved off his eyebrows, they would have risen. "You two live together?"

"Just for a few days." Thommy explained his housing situation, my generosity and, again, my guidance to the mysteries of the gay personality.

Eldon turned serious. "Look, actor boy, I apologize. I thought Simon the Sour was just trying to put the moves on you and that I could save you from a fate worse than death. But if he's brainwashing you, that's even worse. There are a million different ways to be gay. Simon only knows one. He knows how to be bitter, how to be a wiseass, how to turn people off. But he doesn't know how to love, how to give himself. Lots of gays do. I hope you find one."

Eldon pushed his chair back, swiveled out of it and disappeared. Herb got the check and paid it. We left, but out on the street, he stopped me. "It's all right, Simon," he said. "It doesn't matter if you're not a loving person. You've given a lot to me, and I like you the way you are."

"Thanks, Herb," I mumbled. He didn't correct me. "I should explain about Eldon."

"No, you don't have to," the kid said. "Except tell me where he's from. He has your accent."

"I have an accent?" I was not amused.

"Yeah, sure. Midwest, flat, something like mine. It's very hard to lose."

"Thank you, Henry Higgins. Okay, Eldon and I talk alike because we grew up together for a while. He's my step-brother. His mother married my father. And we've never liked one another."

"Does he really park cars?"

"No, he does something in advertising. All I know is he has a fancy salary and a sad little boy friend I think he beats up."

Herb didn't speak for the rest of our short walk home, but in my kitchen, getting himself a glass of water, he shut off the faucet and turned to me. "Simon, you asked me about my love life, so I hope I can ask you. Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

"You heard Eldon."

"But I don't believe him. I don't believe you want to go through life alone."

"Everybody goes through life alone, Herb."

"Thommy. Please, Simon. After all, you named me." He smiled. As usual, I felt my defenses crumbling. "I know you think that most people are alone most of the time. You said that when we first talked."

"I didn't realize you were taking it all in."

"I'm a good student, Simon. But to learn, I have to ask questions. Are gays more alone than other people? Are you alone because you're gay? Is it so hard to find another man to be with, really be with?"

"It's hard, but it's not impossible. What's impossible for me is to keep a lover. I had one. I lost him. And, Thommy, I'm sorry, but I don't want to talk about it. It still hurts. Good night." I left him in the kitchen and went to my room, undressed, got into bed and tried to sleep. I didn't do very well.