RON'S ZIRCON

Harry Otis

There stood Ron in his favorite and most characteristic pose, his left knee slightly bent, his right hand flattened against his chest the better to show the large zircon ring on his little finger. Shyly he glanced at the customers entering and leaving Schwabs Pharmacy on Sunset Boulevard. Such a busy place! He'd never seen anything like it in London. Now he could understand why Gary had talked so much about it and his reason for keeping an apartment nearby. That Gary didn't give him his address was understandable. They knew each other such a short time. They met in a cinema. Ron asked him if he cared to come to his flat and have a spot of tea. Gary squeezed his hand and said, “Great.” However, in his flat when he asked him if he preferred his pleasure before or after the tea, Gary gave him and odd look and said the tea itself would be sufficient. Ron couldn't get him out of his mind, and now that he was in Hollywood he hoped they would meet and know each other better.

A square jawed six footer in an adhesive black leather jacket and trousers, his eyes glued to the zircon, approached Ron.

"Some search light you got there," he said half smiling.

Ron beamed. "O, thank you. Everyone thinks its a real diamond but it isn't." Leather Jacket, silent, continued staring at the zircon.

Ron twisted uncomfortably. "What makes my eyes smart so much?" "Hollywood gas. There's a lot of it.'

"Petrol, did you say?"

"I didn't. I said gas."

Embarrassed, Ron dropped his eyes.

"You looking for a guy to shack up with?" Leather Jacket asked.

"Shack up with? I don't understand."

"Forget it." His eyes on a knitted sport shirt hugging a wispish blond langerously leaning against a building, Leather Jacket strode toward him.

Ron's wrist watch said eight, dinner time. Yet there were no men in dinner jackets, starched shirts and black ties to be seen anywhere. Californians undoubtedly dine later. This was Ron's first evening in California. He checked in at the Knickerbocker Hotel in Hollywood then taxied to Schwabs: a horribly expensive ride he wouldn't repeat again. As he was wondering where he could get a tasty dinner at a reasonable price Jorge, a personable young Mexican came over to him. He put his right hand on his hip and raised his thick black eyebrows. "A diamond, no less. Aren't you the elegant one? How do you do it?"