In Search of Love and Beauty Read Free

the place where Leo was staying at the time.
    This was the town house of one of his rich lady admirers. Mark was let in by the butler—whom he recognized at once as someone he had met, though he couldn’t remember where. On inquiry, the young man discreetly reminded him, and they both smiled in remembrance and Mark said cordially, “Well, how are you?” and they reminisced a bit as they went upstairs. Mark was ushered into Leo’s bedroom, which appeared to be the principal bedroom in the house. It was a very feminine room and must have belonged to the mistress of the house who had respectfully vacated it for Leo.
    He lay—sprawled—in the four-poster amid floral sheets and under pastel curtains looped from the corkscrew poles. He looked like a stranded whale—Leo was huge by this time, bloated with food and the good humor engendered by his success. Mark walked around the room, admiring the paintings and the art objects; he even peeped into the bathroom, which had a chaise perçée and a basket piled with little soaps in the shape of fruits. Then he came and perched on the side of Leo’s bed. “Well,” he said, “but you’re comfortable here, I’m glad to see.” And he propped another fat, floral pillow behind his back, to make him more so.
    But Leo looked ill-pleased; he made a face to show something was missing from his life.
    â€œIt’s so tasteful,” Mark urged.
    â€œTcha,” Leo said. He added, “It smells of the five Ps.” The mere reference to a dirty joke put him in a better humor. He slapped Mark’s thigh and said, “You and I are the same: we don’t like women.”
    â€œI thought you liked them too much,” Mark said, smiling blandly the way he always did when Leo referred to Mark’s own predilection.
    â€œI need them,” Leo said, “but I can’t stand them. Can’t bear them. They make me positively, physically sick.” He thrust back the flowered sheets, and now he was like an exasperated whale flailing about among the bedclothes; but when he managed to disentangle himself from them and get out of bed, he tottered a bit, for the legs on which he supported his weight were feeble, an old man’s legs. Mark solicitously helped him sit down again on the edge of the bed.
    â€œCan’t stand them, can’t bear them,” Leo muttered, holding his head between his hands. “I must have a place of my own.”
    â€œExactly what I was thinking,” Mark said.
    It was in fact the purpose of his visit. He explained that, after attending Leo’s lectures and workshops, he had come to the conclusion that Leo’s work had reached a stage where he needed a communal center. In order to be brought to their full potential, his followers had to live together, work together, be together, under Leo’s guidance, for twenty-four hours a day. For this, of course, they needed a house; a big house; and Mark, having studied Leo’s needs, knew just the place.
    Mark enjoyed arranging for the purchase of the Victorian house in the Hudson Valley; and then establishing Leo and his community in it. Leo, it turned out, was very timidwhen it came to taking such a large practical step; he was especially timid about risking his bit of capital—as Louise said, he had always been a miser—and Mark had to coax it out of him. Mark himself was very bold; this was his first property deal, and he managed it with ease and pleasure. In order to have his own stake in the property, he took various loans from his mother and grandmother and juggled them along with contributions from Leo’s followers and with Leo’s own money. He also undertook the necessary remodeling of the house. It was as solid as a fortress, with massive outer walls and crenellated parapets; the inside walls and the ceilings were covered with a carapace of oak paneling. Within this sturdy shell Mark installed a new