I was still thinking about Greg when the lights dimmed and the curtain went up.

I was watching Alvin Ailey and what Greg had said still stuck in my head.

"You're straight."

As I said to him earlier, "What the hell does that mean?"

I tried to put it out of my head and enjoy the show.

Fourth row center. Pretty fine seats.

At dinner last night, Morgan said he had an extra ticket and asked if I wanted to go with him.

The two of us had worked out our problems during dinner.

It seems he'd been on the phone the morning of our blow-up talking to some guy about a grant. I guess the guy was straight out of the Jesse Helms school of art appreciation. "It's not obscene, is it? There aren't a bunch of naked men dancing around spending tax payers money is there?" And so on.

He spent two hours on the phone with the guy.

But he agreed his behavior was no excuse for what he did and that it wouldn't happen again. I agreed. It wouldn't.

As much as I hate Artistic directors, I kind of like this one. We both grew up in rough neighborhoods. Me in New York, him in Pittsburgh. We both had our share of run-ins with the local tough guys-- the ones that try to impress their fellow pea-brains by beating the shit out of the local "Tinkerbell." You only had one punch to drop the guy, so you knocked him back-- hard

I learned my take down punch playing basketball with my brother; Morgan learned his playing hockey.

*****

After the show we went out for a cup of coffee.

"Great show," Morgan said, stirring the cream into his coffee. "I love Ailey's themes, don't you?"

"I've never really liked watching dance. I just love to dance. To let myself be enveloped by the music. To be in the zone."

We spent the rest of the night talking.

As Bogey in Casablanca said, "This looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship."