“Then why won’t you answer the question?” the small boy asked logically.
“Melvin!” Halfway down the aisle a man leaned out of his seat to call the boy. “Stop bothering the gentleman. Come back here and sit down!”
“Why don’t you do that, Melvin?” I encouraged him.
“Why do you assume he’s bothering the man?” the woman seated beside the man who’d called Melvin wanted to know. “You always assume he’s doing something wrong without knowing the facts. Why can’t you just leave Melvin alone and let him develop his potential without trying to frustrate him every time he moves?”
“You are a queer, aren’t you, mister?” Melvin’s tone was soothing. “It’s all right. You can tell me.” More people were turning around to stare at us now. I could see them waiting for my answer.
“Cut it out!” I hissed at him. “Of course I’m not a queer!” I added, in a loud voice meant to satisfy any doubts the increasingly fascinated audience might have. Unfortunately my voice cracked shrilly, and they looked far from convinced.
I looked hopefully at Melvin’s parents. A young man seated across the aisle from them fluttered his eyelids at me seductively.
“He’s creating a scene,” Melvin’s father told Melvin’s mother. “See what all this permissiveness leads to!”
“That’s why I send him to a progressive private school,” Melvin’s mother told Melvin’s father smugly. “Just because of your ridiculous attitude!”
“But he’s bothering that man!”
“He’s only being friendly. He’s just asking him a question. How else is he going to enlarge his life experience if he doesn’t ask questions?”
“Kinsey says fifty percent of American males have homosexual experience,” Melvin informed me. “So why bother hiding it?”
“Why don’t you go pick on somebody else?” I pleaded desperately. “Why me?”
“Because I guessed you were a homosexual.”
“Why do you say that?” All those eyes staring at me!
“You’ve got an overprotective mother. I was watching you with her. Sociologists have found that an overwhelming percentage of homosexuals have overprotective mothers.”
“Melvin.” I took his arm in my hand and squeezed hard. “If you don’t go away and leave me alone, I’m going to –“
“Get your hands off that little boy, you lousy pervert!”
I looked up to find a mile of muscle hovering over me. The face on top of it was contorted into a snarl. The fist being raised was the size of a large salami.
“Now, wait a minute—” I dropped Melvin’s arm quickly. “You don’t really understand the situation.”
“The hell I don’t! I been pushing a hack in Manhattan for twenty years and I know a queer making a pass at a kid when I see it. Even when I’m on vacation for the first time in twenty years, I know it. And you know what I’m going to do to you, mac?”
Behind him the stewardess was fluttering futilely. Somebody had taken the fizz out of the Rheingold.
“Please, gentlemen . . .” The smile was still pasted over her fluoride-white teeth, but her eyes were turning glassy over it.
“I’m gonna give you just what you deserve!” The cab driver started moving in on me.
“Such a nice nap I had.” Mama chose that moment to open her eyes. “I was dreaming that already I was in the sunshine on the beach just across from Collins Avenue.
“It’s a shame to have to wake up. What’s the matter, Steven? You look nervous. You’re airsick, maybe?”
“If he’s nervous, it’s because I’m about to punch him in the nose, lady,” the belligerent cab driver informed her.
“Over my dead body you’ll hit my son!” Mama flung herself over me, successfully interposing her right shoulder between my nose and his fist. “And if you’re not leaving when I count three, believe me, you’re catching it from me!” She waved her pocketbook at him threateningly.
“All right, lady, I’m going.” Intimidated, the cab driver held up his hands.
“And take Melvin with you,” I suggested. But he didn’t.
“That’s the trouble with the world today,” Melvin sighed. “People draw the line when it comes to really getting involved. It’s because basically they’re apathetic.”
“Excuse me.” The man seated across the aisle from us, a well-dressed, youngish man with Spanish-Indian features, stood beside my seat and indicated that he wanted to get something down from the luggage rack over my head. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you.”
“It’s all right,” I muttered, still keeping a wary eye on Melvin.
“Go away, little boy!” Mama commanded.
I was surprised, although knowing Mama I shouldn’t have been, when Melvin actually did back off a few paces. The Spanish-Indian gentleman removed a large pistol from the luggage rack. “Your pardon.” He held the muzzle to my head. “Tell the pilot to fly directly to Havana,” he instructed the stewardess. “If he tries to set down in Miami or anyplace else except Havana, I’m going to kill this passenger. Go tell him that.”
“Go ahead and kill him!” my cab driver yelled bravely.
“Serve the lousy queer right!” There was a murmur of agreement from the other passengers.
“I never wanted to be a gold star mother.” Mama was frightened, but she stuck her chin out bravely.
“I don’t know.” The stewardess looked at me, and then back at the man with the gun doubtfully. “If the pilot asked me, I think I’d have to say this gentleman is expendable.”
“Then tell him I’ll kill this little boy unless he changes course.” The muzzle of the gun moved from my head to Melvin’s temple.
“Do you have an abnormally small penis?” Melvin asked the man as the stewardess moved forward to the cockpit.
“Quite the contrary.” The man’s composure was admirable. “Why do you ask?”
“Psychological studies show that men with abnormally small sex organs tend to overcompensate with large guns,” Melvin told him. “Since that’s a large gun you’re holding to my head, I wondered.”
“That man’s pointing a gun at our Melvin!” Down the aisle Melvin’s mother was pummeling Melvin’s father, trying to prod him to action. “Do something!” she insisted .
“Why should I interfere? You were concerned with Melvin enlarging his life experience. Well, this should enlarge it all right!”
“Twenty years I wait to get to Miami,” the cab driver groaned, “and now this! And they told me the hotel wouldn’t hold my reservations past four o’clock. It’s all your fault, you lousy queer!” he snarled at me as an illogical afterthought.
“You leave my boy alone, you big bully!” Mama told him.
“Henry!” Behind me Marilyn’s voice was thick with panic. “We won’t get to Puerto Rico in time for me in have-—”
“There won’t be any delays!” Henry interrupted her bitterly. “You were so sure! If you hadn’t waited until the last minute-—-”
“Spilt milk!” Marilyn started to cry. “It’s no use blaming me, Henry! You’ve got to do something! You’ve got to make them turn around so we can make our connection at Miami!”
“The man has a gun, Marilyn! It’s loaded!”
“So am I!” she reminded him.
“Ohmigod!” Henry had a sudden thought.
“What?”
“Do you suppose they release a list of the passengers when something like this happens? What if George and Joyce should see we’re on the same plane?”
“Oh, Henry!” Marilyn wailed. “And then on top of it I turn up pregnant! Oh, Henry!”
“I think I’m going to faint!” The pretty young man sitting across the aisle from Melvin’s parents turned very pale and the two dabs of rouge on his cheeks stood out like fever spots. The stewardess rushed to calm him. “Don’t touch me!” His voice grew very shrill. “I can't stand to have a female touch me!”