Sart stood up as well. He wondered if the mark above Richard’s ear was inordinately sensitive. Maybe he should not have touched it.

Richard’s sudden movement was enough to awaken Michael. Sleepy and dazed, he sat up despite Mura’s restraining arm. He saw Richard swaying by the bedside and glaring at Sart, who looked somewhat guilty.

“What’s the matter, Richie?” Michael asked with a slurred, gravelly voice.

Richard didn’t answer. Instead he wiped his hand over his head while continuing to glower at Sart.

“What happened, Sart?” Mura asked.

“I touched Richard’s blemish,” Sart explained. “The one above his ear. I’m sorry.”

“Michael, come here!” Richard snapped. He waved Michael away from the bed while walking unsteadily in the direction of the pool.

Michael got to his feet feeling giddy from the short snooze. He followed Richard. The two men staggered out of earshot. Michael could tell that Richard was major-league perturbed.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked in a whisper.

Richard wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was still glaring back at Sart.

“I think I figured out why all these guys don’t care if we make it with their women,” Richard whispered back.

“Why?” Michael asked.

“I think they’re all a bunch of queers.”

“Really?” Michael looked back at Sart. The possibility had crossed his mind at the gala when he’d seen so many men walking around arm in arm, but then he’d forgotten about it in the general excitement.

“Yeah, and I’ll tell you something else,” Richard said. “That little nerdy squirt over there has been rubbing my back and head. The whole time I thought it was the girl.”

Michael laughed despite Richard’s evident rancor.

“It’s not funny,” Richard snapped.

“I bet Mazzola would think it was funny,” Michael said.

“If you tell Mazzola, I’ll kill you,” Richard hissed.

“You and ten other people,” Michael scoffed. “But, in the meantime, what do you want to do?”

“I think we should show this little twerp what we think of his kind,” Richard said. “The guy had his hands all over me, for chrissake. I’m not about to let that pass without a reaction. I don’t think we should let any of these people get the wrong idea of our persuasion.”

“All right,” Michael said. “I’m with you. What do you have in mind?”

“First, get rid of the girl!” Richard said.

“Oh, no! Do we have to?” Michael questioned.

“Absolutely,” Richard said impatiently. “And ditch the long face. You can tell her to come back tomorrow. It’s important to teach this guy a lesson, and we don’t want an audience. She’d yell bloody murder and the next thing you’d know we would be dealing with a couple of those worker clones.”

“Okay,” Michael said. He took a breath to fortify himself and walked back to the bed.

“Is Richard all right?” Mura inquired.

“He’s fine,” Michael said. “But he’s tired. In fact, we’re both tired. Maybe exhausted is a better word. Plus we’re drunk, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“It hasn’t bothered me,” Mura said. “I’ve been enjoying myself.”

“I’m glad,” Michael said. “But now we’re wondering if we could put off any more palm pressing until tomorrow. What I mean is, maybe you should leave.”

“Certainly,” Mura said without hesitation. She immediately slid off the bed and began dressing. Sart did the same.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression,” Michael said. “I’d like to see you tomorrow.”

“I understand you are tired,” Mura said graciously. “Don’t worry. You are our guests, and I will return tomorrow if it is your wish.”

Sart cinched his braided rope around his waist and looked back at Richard, who’d not moved from where he was standing halfway to the pool’s edge.

“Sart,” Michael said, following the boy’s line of sight. “Why don’t you hang around? Richard wants to apologize for scaring you when he leaped off the bed.”

Sart looked at Mura. Mura shrugged. “It’s up to you, my friend.”

Sart looked back at Michael, who smiled and winked at him.

“If the guests wish me to stay, I will stay,” Sart said. He stepped back to the bed with a bit of swagger and sat down.

“That’s wonderful,” Michael said.

Mura finished dressing and went first to Michael and then to Richard to press her palm against each of theirs one last time. She told them both that they had given her great pleasure to be with them, and said she was eager to see them the following day. Before closing the door behind herself she bid them good night.

After the sound of the door closing drifted away, there was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Richard and Michael eyed Sart while Sart looked back and forth between the two men. Sart began to fidget. He stood up.

“Perhaps I should call for more drink,” Sart said, to make conversation.

Richard forced a smile and shook his head. Then he approached Sart with a gait that suggested he didn’t quite know where his feet were.

“How about more food?” Sart said.

Richard shook his head again. He was within an arm’s distance of the boy. Sart took a step back.

“Me and my buddy here have something important we want to say to you,” Richard told him.

“This is true,” Michael said. He walked equally as unsteadily around the end of the bed to join Richard, effectively boxing Sart in a corner between the bed and the wall.

“To put it bluntly, so there is no misunderstanding,” Richard continued, “we can’t stand queers like you.”

“In fact they make us a little crazy,” Michael said.

Sart’s eyes darted from one drunken, sneering face to the other.

“Perhaps it would be best if I go,” Sart said nervously.

“Not before we’re absolutely certain you know what we’re talking about,” Richard said.

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘queer,’ ” Sart admitted.

“Homo, gay, fag, fairy,” Richard said derisively. “The term doesn’t matter. The point is we don’t like guys who like men. And we have a sneaking suspicion you fall into that category.”

“Of course I like men,” Sart said. “I like all people.”

Richard looked at Michael then back at Sart. “We don’t like bisexuals either.”

Sart made a dash for the door, but he didn’t make it. Richard grabbed one arm while Michael grabbed a handful of hair.

Richard quickly got Sart’s other arm as well and with a triumphant laugh pinned both behind the boy. Sart struggled, but it was no use, especially with Michael still clutching a shock of his hair. Once the boy was immobilized, Michael punched him in the stomach, doubling him over.

Both divers let go of the boy and then laughed while they watched him take a few staggering steps. Sart was desperately trying to catch his breath. His face was purple.

“Okay, pansy,” Richard slurred. “Here’s one for putting your filthy paws on me.”

Richard lifted Sart’s face with his left hand and hit him with his right. It was not a jab but rather a wild, roundhouse uppercut behind which he put his entire weight. This second blow caught the boy full in the face, crushing his nose, sending him hurling backward off his feet, and inadvertently smashing his head against the sharp corner of the marble nightstand. Unfortunately the cold stone penetrated several inches into the back of the youngster’s skull.

Richard was initially unaware of the fatal consequences of his powerful punch. He was too preoccupied by the intense pain of his bruised knuckles. Wincing, he cradled his throbbing hand with his other and cursed loudly.

Michael watched in horror as Sart’s flaccid body came to a rest. Bits of brain tissue oozed from the ugly wound. Suddenly sober, Michael bent down over the stricken boy, who was making gurgling sounds.

“Richard!” Michael called out in a loud whisper. “We got a problem!”

Richard refused to respond. He was still in pain, pacing the room and shaking his hand in the air with his fingers widely spread.