All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language, please exit now.
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"BRIARWOOD"
Copyright Ritchris, 2005
aka "Whence Cometh My Help"
Copyright Ritchris, 2002
Revised Version
A dramatic saga
by
Ritch Christopher
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BOOK FOUR
"FAR FROM THE CROWD"
Chapter Thirty-eight
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"I trusted him; believed in him.
I saw the love of my life in him.
It seemed so right.
How could I be so wrong?"
by Walter Marks
from "Golden Rainbow"
Copyright 1967
With Alex's leaving the crisis center, Jeff had decided to make one more attempt to lure Johnny back to Briarwood. Johnny had promised to return and start a life with Jeff in a couple of weeks after he arranged for someone else to take over his project, but duty apparently meant more to Johnny than love. Jeff couldn't understand. He thought Johnny was the soul mate he'd been searching for, but, after a week when Johnny hadn't called, Jeff's disappointment had turned into a deep hurt. Jeff hoped that Johnny would find Alex's position at the center enticing enough to want to come back. He, nervously, dialed Johnny long-distance, trying to formulate the offer to Johnny without making it sound like a desperate plea.
"Hello?" Johnny answered the phone.
"Johnny?...Jeff."
There was a moment of hesitation filled with anxiety at Johnny heard the sound of Jeff's voice. Only a couple of weeks ago, they had talked of love... Johnny's moving to Briarwood and starting a whole new life. But after only a couple of days on his return home, Johnny became deeply involved with his unfinished work and all thoughts of Jeff and the "move" were placed on the back burner and after another week, these same thoughts had all but disappeared...at least for Johnny, but not for Jeff.
"How's it goin'?" was the least imposed question Jeff could ask for starters.
"Not bad." Johnny replied in a "friendly" way. "I had a lot to do when I got back."
"I figured as much, I kept telling myself that when I didn't hear from you."
"Oh, yeah...I...uh...I'm sorry about that. I kept meaning to call, but I didn't know what to say...you know, we had made some pretty important decisions in the heat of the moment. We...well...we were kinda getting hot and heavy in making a rash judgment...being rapped up in sex and all."
"It wasn't just the sex that I was looking forward to..." Jeff said, trying to hide his hurt. "We said a lot of things about being together...making a commitment to live together...about being soul mates...about our future..."
"I know..." Johnny reluctantly replied.
"Well, can I ask...if it's all off...you know...the plans we made and all?"
"I don't know, Jeff. When I left I felt one way but when I got home and got back to my work and duties, I suddenly felt the importance of the things and the people I would be leaving behind here if I moved to Briarwood."
"I think you'd find there are people who need you just as much here as there. I can think of one in particular."
"I realize that."
"Then all our talk about being in love...you...uh...didn't mean them?"
"I suppose I did."
"...But you don't now."
"I can't be certain. Jeff, being with you...making the decision to move...starting a new life...It was just sorta like being caught up in a whirlwind...It just sounded too good...too perfect."
"What's wrong with perfection?"
"I've never known perfection before...it was more than I could cope with after I got home and began to rationalize our situation."
"I hesitate to tell you the real reason I called you...well, one of the reasons anyway."
"Let's hear it."
"I don't think it would make a difference when I've just listened to your change of attitude."
"Look, Jeff, the last thing I want to do is to hurt you...because in the long run, I'm hurting myself as well. I know that seems contradictory but maybe it would help if you did tell me why you called."
"It's Alex." Jeff said.
"What's the matter? Is something wrong? Did something happen to him?"
"Nothing bad. To use one of my dad's favorite cliches...'True love found Andy Hardy', only Andy's name is spelled 'A-L-E-X'."
"Whaddya mean? I don't understand."
"Alex suddenly realized how much he loved Ted...and well, Ted got this job in L.A. and wanted to move there and start a life with Alex there. Alex decided that was the right thing to do, so he resigned from the center and told Dad, Father Cliff and 'Uncle' Roger he was moving to California."
"I'm happy for him," Johnny replied, "but is that a reason to call me and tell me about his happiness."
"Well, sorta...you see, Alex's job is very important. The crisis center was his baby. He...well, he started it and a lot of callers look up to him for guidance and support, not to mention the staff. He's leaving some pretty big shoes to fill...and well, I talked it over with Dad, Father Cliff and 'Uncle' Roger, and the four of us agreed that you were the person who could handle the job and the responsibilities that go with it."
"You mean you want me to take over superivising the whole crisis center?"
"Yep, that's about the size of it."
"This wouldn't be a maneuver to get me to come live with you."
"I won't lie. I would be a bonus with the package...that is if you want me."
"Jeff, you make it sound all so simple."
"It could be."
"For you maybe..."
"But not for you...?"
"There are certain factors...things that would stand in the way of our relationship. Things that you couldn't help, even if you could or wanted to...and if I really loved you as I want, it would be unfair...especially if it involved you making sacrifices that you SHOULDN'T have to make to appease my wanton pettiness."
"What kind of sacrifices, Johnny? You know that I love you...I really do. I'd do anything for you. What sacrifices are you talking about?"
"Aw shit, Jeff, I can't even bring myself to mention them."
"We're talking over a phone with miles separating the two of us. You or I could hang up at any time...and if they involved our future together, I have the right to know what they are...even if we never see each other again, I'd still like to know what came between us."
"You're so damned pragmatic. For one thing, I could never refuse you anything."
"Nor I, you."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
"Let's hear one or two of them...these sacrifices...By the way, how many are there?"
"Several, but only two major ones."
"Let me hear just ONE of the major ones and let's see how I can handle it."
"All right, dammit! Here goes...I don't know how much your 'Uncle Roger' gave you when he was doling out gifts from his fortune. I don't want to know. I don't have to know...but I presume it was zillions. I got about two hundred bucks in the bank."
"You need money. You wanna loan or something?" Jeff quickly asked.
"See? That's what I'm talking about. If we were together, I'd feel like the pauper living with the prince."
"Jesus Christ, Johnny! Six months ago, I was getting a weekly allowance from my dad. I wasn't poor, but I wasn't rich either! How the fuck did I know that 'Uncle' Roger was going to make me the richest kid in America? I didn't ask for it. I didn't expect it...and if it was all gone tomorrow, I wouldn't give a shit! I don't intend to use it on me. 'Uncle' Roger gave it so I could continue the work he's begun, as well as Father Cliff's ministry and God's! Hell, I don't even own a car. I still ride my bike to the church. My dad's a lawyer. What would you say or do if I had him to draw up a will for me and I left YOU all the money. A car could hit me on my bike and then suddenly the next day, you'd have all that in YOUR bank account. What would you say then to the next guy you fall in love with? Would he feel the same as you? Not worthy? Not rich enough? Not equal? Shit! Think about it, Johnny!!!"
"I know, I know. My reasoning doesn't make sense...but the fact remains, there is still all that fortune coming in between us."
"I could solve that problem, too!" Jeff added. "Look, if it's you and me...the two of us...a couple! I'd want Father Cliff to marry us and in this state there's such a thing as community property, even between two significant others. Half of everything I have would be yours...and in like manner, half of everything you have would be mine!"
"You mean half of everything I DON'T have, don't you?"
"You have something that you just proved that money can't buy...no matter how much I have...and only YOU can give it to me since it's not for sale."
"What's that?"
"Your love, dumbass! That's what I want more than anything else in the world...to be with you...for the rest of our lives...together...to hold you at night and make love to you and you making love to me...something I've never known before."
"I'm not sure my love is worth millions."
"I am!!!" Jeff all but screamed. "Johnny, you must have hundreds of things in the world you'd like to do. Things that money CAN buy. Think of all the kids we could help...the lonely gays and lesbians who need our support. Uncle Roger wouldn't care if I spent every dime on the gay population. He is gay and proud of it."
There was a long pause as Johnny tried to think of another futile excuse, but couldn't. He knew that he was no match for "the great debater". Everyone had told him that Jeff could win any argument, no matter how great or small, before he'd met him to take on the right-wingers at the school debate.
"You're not saying anything..." Jeff said.
"I know."
"No more arguments about the money?"
"Not for now," Johnny replied, giving in.
"OK! Now what's the next major sacrifice?"
"That's one I'd rather not go into right now."
"Why not? If this phone conversation is the end or the beginning of our relationship...might as well say it now. There might not be a 'next time'."
Another pause...but longer.
"Jeff, you're forcing me to say things I don't want to say. Things I thought I'd NEVER say."
"You...you're in love with someone else?"
"No, it's nothing like that. Believe me. There's no one in my life but you."
"Whew! That's a relief!"
"Jeff, it's just that you have your heart and soul set on being a priest."
"You knew that before we met face to face! SO??"
"I'm not so sure that I'm a true believer. I don't know if your God exists...and I don't want to spend a minute or a lifetime with you trying to convince me. 'God' or at least, your God would always be there...in the middle of 'us'. I've thought about it since I've been home. How could you get on your knees at night and pray to God in your nightly prayers and then after you say, 'Amen'...stay on your knees to suck the cock of your pagan lover?"
This time the pause came from Jeff, who was never at a loss for a retort. Johnny was immediately sorry he had revealed the main problem standing between them, but it DID exist, and fair or cruel, it had to be discussed some time. Johnny was just sorry that Jeff had insisted that NOW was the time. It wasn't! There would never be a right time. Not now! Not ever! Trying to think with Jeff's pragmatism, he'd probably just ruined whatever future the two of them could have had.
Finally, Jeff spoke.
"Johnny, do you like broccoli?"
"What?"
"Broccoli!"
"God, no!"
"A year or two ago, none of my family did...that includes mine and 'Uncle' Roger's and Father Cliff's families. Troy was almost at death's door when he moved in to Father Cliff's. His t-cell count was almost at ground zero and his viral load was ascending upward out of the universe and then Father Cliff started feeding him broccoli three meals a day. When Jay moved in, he made every concoction every dreamed of, using broccoli as a base. The same thing happened when Kyle came along...and Father Cliff, my dad, 'Uncle' Roger and Ryan started poking broccoli down him the same way."
"Jeff, what has broccoli got to do with God and your becoming a priest?"
"Everyone hated broccoli. No one had faith in the power of the green monster...only Father Cliff."
"So?"
"When you were here a couple of weeks ago, did Troy or Kyle look sick to you?"
"Well, no."
"They're the pictures of health! Both of them! Their t-cell counts and viral loads are way in the normal level."
"What's your point?"
"Not too long ago, I didn't believe in God. I hated him for taking my mom away from me. Then I met Father Cliff and started going to his church. I watched him as he fed his flock."
"Broccoli?"
"NO! DEEDS! Good deeds! Works he believed in as a disciple of God. I saw people who had nothing to live for, suddenly having a purpose in life. I saw couples falling in love all over again...both gay and straight. I saw people finding a way to help one another...driven by love and a newly found meaning. I didn't know what was happening. I just knew whatever it was...Father Cliff had it and he was changing the world. The church grew so much we had to add additional services on Sunday and throughout the week. 'Uncle' Roger even had to build additional wings onto St. Genesius'. Whether the God that I rejected existed or not, didn't matter, because Father Cliff was doing 'God's work' and suddenly EVERYTHING mattered to me. If it was God that was doing this...then I had to believe in him too...and like the broccoli that I hated so, God had a new meaning to me. I wanted to perform the same life miracles that Father Cliff was. Truthfully, maybe I still don't believe...but I don't disbelieve either. Father Cliff uses God and his religion to further his ministry. You'd be amazed at how many gays feel 'accepted' today with a reason to live their lives as they want."
Jeff stopped to see if Johnny had a verbal response to his lecture. Johnny remained silent while Jeff continued.
"Johnny, I'm not saying you have to believe. No one in their right mind can force anyone to believe in anything he doesn't want to...but you know, after I saw what broccoli did for Troy and Kyle...I began to see what Father Cliff's God was doing for the people around me."
Once again, Jeff paused.
Still nothing from Johnny.
"You don't have ANYTHING to say?" Jeff asked.
A shorter pause.
"You'll never get me to like broccoli." Johnny said, quietly.
"Jay can disguise it so much, you'd think you were eating bubblegum ice cream."
"Yeah, so I could blow bubbles out my ass?"
Dead silence. Then they both broke out in laughter at the same time.
"Goddammit!" Johnny said through his chuckling, "How could I NOT love you?"
"That's what I've been asking myself ever since you left." Jeff chided.
"When's Alex leaving?"
"Saturday, I think."
"How soon do you want me there?"
"Fifteen minutes...give or take a few."
"I have so much to do." Johnny said.
"I know...and the sooner you get here the sooner you can begin."
"I meant HERE."
"Oh."
"I'll be there Sunday night and I'll assume Alex's job on Monday."
"You really mean it?"
"Of course, little 'Mr. Webster'. How the fuck could I refuse you?"
"You can live here with me...or we can build us a house...or a castle with a moat if you like!"
"Oh, no. We're not going to splurge and waste money. We can put it toward some ideas I have for the gay and lesbian population."
"Whatever you say...sir!...Only could you arrive early, early Sunday?"
"Why?"
"So we won't stay up all night fucking! You'll have to get some sleep before you go to work."
"There'll be plenty of time for sleep AND fucking."
"Hey! I didn't tell you about your salary."
"I used to working for minimum wage or less."
"See, you're a disciple and didn't even know it."
"Now, don't start that religious shit on me...yet!"
"I swear to God...I mean, I swear to YOU, I won't! I won't sleep a wink until you get here."
"Want me to call you every night for phone sex?"
"Yeah! You know I've never really done that."
"Wanna try?"
"Sure."
"OK...tell me what you're wearing..."
Tears of joy filled Jeff's eyes as he began describing his blue jeans, t-shirt, and old dirty sneakers.
"Bonsoir, mon Pere Chris. Bienvenue a l'succulence avec des plaisirs," welcomed the Maitre'D.
"Bonsoir, Gaston," Chris replied, "et merci."
"Votre table cela attendant vous," said Gaston, showing them to a secluded corner table of the restaurant.
Once seated, Ed looked at Chris and said, "Your accent is perfect, Chris. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were from southern France."
"How about northeast Jersey?"."
"You're from Jersey? But you said you came from Atlanta."
"When you live alone as much as I, you develop hobbies. In my CD collection is an entire section of Berlitz Conversational languages. In my spare time at home, I studied French, Spanish, I gave up on German, and can say about two dozen phrases in Russian. Four years of Latin in college let me see that nearly all languages are derived from Latin roots."
"It's one thing to learn a language, but mastering the inflection and the rhythm... That's quite an accomplishment."
"I'm only an amateur, but I do have a good musical ear although I don't sing or play an instrument."
"You're never too old to learn."
"I...I..uh...have one slight confession to make to you. Speaking of French, I did go to the library and read about you in several French medical journals. Of course, I wasn't familiar with all the French adjectives that were written, praising your work in AIDS research."
"You...you were checking up on me?"
"No, it was a quiet demure way of finding out more about you without confronting you with a lot of stupid questions."
"I don't know whether I should be flattered or intimidated, not knowing what you read about me."
"I read one article written by a young Parisian doctor with whom you had worked."
"Do you mind my asking who wrote it?" Ed asked, semi-blushing.
"A Doctor Jean LaSalle."
"Oh...'La petit disciple', I used to call him. I'm afraid he made up a fan club of one."
"From his article, I say you had a club des admirateurs 'beaucoup'. Do you mind if I ask if he was gay?"
"He was. I used to be amused by his advances. Sometimes, in weak moments, I almost gave in once or twice."
"But you didn't?"
"No, the attraction and the temptation were there, but as I told you earlier, I've never indulged in male sex. That was my brother, Roy's, predilection. My preference, when I could find the time, was always of the female persuasion."
Just then, Emile, their waiter, came up to the table.
"Bonsoir, messieurs, voudrait commander des cocktails?"
"How about it, Ed, would you like a drink?"
"I said I wanted to have two stiff drinks."
"What's your poison?" Chris asked.
"Johnny Walker Blue...over the rocks." Ed replied.
"Very good." Chris sounded impressed. "Le monsieur aura Johnny Walker Bleu, sur les roches et j'aurai l'eau minerale avec une torsion de chaux, Emile."
"No strong drink for you?"
"No, mineral water is fine. I don't want to be accused of becoming a member of your fan club with an inebriated intellect."
"Oh, stop it!" Ed joked. "I'm not that homophobic. Remember, ninety percent of my work is with gays."
"Vous inquieteriez-vous pour commander des d'oeuvres de hors?" Emile asked.
"Avez-vous ces petites bouffees de crabe bourres avec escargots?" Ed asked Emile, in his best French.
"Oui, monsieur."
"How about it, Chris?"
"Crab puffs stuffed with escargot sounds great." Chris replied. "Faites-lui deux commandes, Emile."
"Tres bon, monsieur, merci." Emile said, taking the order and scurrying back to the bar and kitchen, respectively.
"I feel as if I should call the hospital and check on some of my patients."
"If I may be so bold...not tonight...you've had enough stress for one day. Your staff is perfectly capable and in control for your 'night off'".
"I know, it's just that..."
"I know, too. Cliff and I feel that St. Genesius' can't operate or survive without us....even for one evening, but Roger taught me to rely on the staff."
"That's something I have to learn."
"You will, if you want to subsist in a stressful post. You be your own 'doctor' and take your advice. I want you here for a long, long time."
"That's my intention."
"Good."
"Chris, I feel we're, oh so close, to finding the cure AND the preventative vaccine."
"I know you're right. That's why I wanted you here when it's discovered."
"It's not a matter of money, although it would help. I sometimes get angrily amused when I see how much the government spends on defense against weapons of mass destruction when this virus has the capability of wiping out the entire world's population."
"It's that serious?"
"Worse. I hear the news media reporting on how many lives would be lost if a mid-eastern country were to send an atomic missile aimed at one of its political adversaries...and yet, one good case of AIDS could wipe out billions in a short period of time in a country the size of India or China. I recently saw on TV news that in Africa a child dies from starvation every three seconds. Their immune systems are so weak they can't combat a skinned knee or a sniffle much less HIV or AIDS."
"How about over here?"
"Did you ever see a movie called, 'Kids'?"
"Yes, a couple of years ago.
"Then you know that the little boy, in one night, infected everyone at the party...just by the chain of sexual partners. Every kid in the room left there carrying the virus to go back to high school and in a week or less than a month's time, the entire high school had the possibility of becoming HIV-positive. Boys lose all reason at the first urge from an erection. Unprotected sex is rampant among teenagers. I saw on '20/20'...this one girl saying, 'Oh, we don't have sex...not really...the girls just perform oral sex on their boyfriends. It's not like we're having intercourse or anything like that.' So they go around giving blow-jobs with blind faith in the idea that they are having safe sex when they are just as endangered as if they had fucked without a condom."
Emile was back quicker than foudre with the drinks and menus. Cliff picked up his mineral water to toast Ed.
"Here's to a long successful stay at the Cole Institute!"
"May our work fulfill its promises!" Ed added.
The two of them busily scanned the menus...Ed choosing cuit morue, et petit pois, and Chris, the more traditional rosbif, pommes de terre roties, et blanchi brocolis.
"This is a nice place. I think I'm going to like Briarwood."
"If you ever get the time to see any of it!" Chris said, jokingly. "I'm almost as bad as you, I've seen very little of Briarwood myself."
"Maybe the two of us can get Jeff to give us a tour. I'm sure he knows more about different places in Briarwood than most adults."
"From what I've seen of Jeff, he knows more about EVERYTHING than most adults."
They ate, enjoying the food, the conversation and each other's company. Perhaps it was the wine; the pleasantness of the surroundings or the alluring charisma of Chris, but Ed was relaxed. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so at ease. Not even the woes of the hospital were on his shoulders at this moment. Ed was glad he had accepted Chris' dinner invitation. Maybe there would be more nights like this in the future. He certainly hoped so.
"I must confess one more thing, Ed."
"Oh? I thought it was I who was supposed to confess to you."
"Under different circumstances, but I'm afraid our employers are trying to form a bond between us."
"How so?"
"If you haven't received a call from Roger, you will first thing in the morning. I should leave it to him, but he and Cliff want to invite you to dinner at their home this weekend...and 'I' have been chosen to be your dinner partner."
Ed laughed and then he became almost brazen and daring when he asked, "Have you dated anyone here in Briarwood since you arrived?"
"Only once."
"Just once?"
"Yes."
"Anything prospective?"
"Not at the moment...or at least, I don't think so."
"Too bad," Ed said. "You need someone and some lucky someone needs you."
"Oh, I'm not lonely. Like you, I have my work and I'm surrounded by all of Roger and Cliff's as well as Walter's boys."
"Have I met them all?"
"You know Troy and Jay. They live with Cliff and Roger, and then Kyle and Ryan live with Walter and David with Walt's real sons, Jeff, Alex and Alex's lover, Ted. You didn't meet them but you saw Rob and Timmy in New York in 'Green Dolphin Street'. There ARE two others who don't actually live with Walter or Roger and Cliff, but they are like family anyway...Jeremy and Matt."
"Do you feel as if you've become one of the 'boys'?"
"How can I keep but...? Once Cliff and Roger allow you to come into their lives, they just naturally, 'adopt' you."
"Quite a group. No wonder you're not lonely."
"They're all fine boys. Alex is leaving for California this weekend with his lifelong lover, Ted. A new kid, who is Jeff's latest object of affection, Johnny, will be assuming Alex's duties at the clinic beginning Monday. I'm not certain, but probably Johnny will become the newest occupant at Walter's residence."
"And this newest guy in your life, what does he do, if I may be so bold to ask."
"Oh, I've only been out with him once. It's nothing serious because of various complications on his part."
"You mean he's married?"
"No. He's straight."
"I do see a complication, then."
"I really don't eye him as a sexual object of desire, but I do enjoy his companionship."
"Well, that's a good start."
"You asked what he does. He's a doctor...and a very good one."
"Then, with your power of persuasion, why doesn't he work at the hospital?"
"He does."
"Oh? Should I ask who, or would that be breaking confidentiality. You know, your being a priest and all..."
"I think you know him, but not as well as I do."
Ed took a long slow sip of wine, letting his eyes probe deeply into Chris's emerald eyes. When the goblet was lowered from his lips, it uncovered a warm smile.
"I wondered if I was in danger of a seduction tonight," Ed said with a friendly grin. "I'm not just a scientist, I also have a doctorate in psychology."
"You, uh, think I was seducing you?" Chris said with a slight chuckle.
"I'm the ONE date you were talking about...and tonight was the night?"
"Well, let's just say it's the nearest thing I've had to a date since I arrived. I hope you didn't think my over-friendliness was an overture to any other kind of proceedings. Hell, ever since I was a kid, I always made it a rule not to kiss on the first date and I've stood by it all my life."
"Are you saying this to assure me that I'm safe tonight...but to be leery for the second date or the third?"
"I apologize if I misrepresented this evening. Believe me, not as a priest, but as a man and a friend. I have no intention of any kind that might imperil our relationship. We both have too much at stake, too much work to do, too many worlds to conquer to become personally involved...more than on a strictly friendly basis."
"I agree," Ed said, "but tell me...did the thought of alluring me cross your mind?"
"Not the way you're thinking. You are the first person to make me realize how much I DO need a friend. I have Cliff and Roger, Walter, and the 'boys'...but at the end of the day, I go home alone, read, listen to my CD's. I know I could call either Cliff or Roger at any hour of the day and night and pour out my soul, but I think it's unfair to them to become a burden when I was actually hired to help them. Sometimes I wish I could go into the confessional and exchange seats with my parishioners and let them listen to me."
"Careful...you're showing your human side. I'm afraid I'm in the same condition. I, like you, am a leader with hundreds looking up to me for the right answer...the appropriate thing to say, usually on the spur of the moment," Ed said, taking another drink of wine before he continued. "Days like today, when I lose two patients...patients that I cared about... breaking my rule and getting too close to them... I want them ALL to get well. I wish I had the power of your Jesus. I want to just lay my hand on them and heal them instantly. I wish I could empty every bed in the hospital, with the patients walking out well and happy...not going down the hall with a sheet draped over their heads or their bodies zipped up in air-tight bags. I go home alone at night and want to scream. I feel the need to cry, but I won't. I just get more determined that tomorrow I won't lose one patient, let alone, two...or more. OK, so I'm like you in more ways than one. I need someone to talk to, too...just to vent and prepare myself for the patients, the problems, and the tasks still before me."
There was a long pause as Chris let Ed's soliloquy settle. Chris didn't feel quite so alone after listening to his own words coming out of this new friend's mouth. Chris had a sinking feeling because Ed was not gay. He suddenly wanted to embrace him and comfort him, but, at the same time, receive the comfort he could find in Ed's arms.
"Tell me, Ed, do you like Mahler?"
There was a surprised look on Ed's face.
"Yes, I do." he smiled pleasantly, "Especially the Fourth, Fifth, and Seventh symphonies. Why?"
"The Seventh and the Ninth are my favorites. I was just wondering, since you know you're safe on our first date, would you like to go back to my house and sit in the den and listen to a couple of CD's? We don't even have to talk. My bar is fully stocked with most any kind of wine or liquor you can think of. Have a nightcap or, hell, I don't care, coffee, soda pop, milk...you name it! I would just like to share a quiet moment with you."
"I know that you need that...and, yes, I guess I do, too. Sure, let's go." Ed said, signaling Emile for the check.
"Huh uh, my treat--- you're on salary." Chris said.
They skipped dessert, even though both would liked to have tasted the French pastries, but this was a work night and both shouldn't stay out too late, especially considering the length of Mahler's symphonies. They drove back to Chris' newly made-over manse. Chris invited Ed into the den where Roger had installed a complete surround sound CD stereo for Chris with shelves brimming with CD's and DVD's.
The two of them settled on the couch as Chris fiddled with some kind of remote gadget which called up Mahler's works without having to search for a CD. It was like a TIVO for music...somehow Chris just typed the name of the artist or composer and whatever you wanted to listen to instantly popped up. The strong dominant tones of Mahler's Fifth grabbed their attention from the opening bars. Ed and Chris sat about three feet apart on a soft leather couch which was trimmed in brown velvet. Chris had poured them small snifters of Martell L'Or, a very fine brandy, again, which had been supplied by Roger's generosity.
They both, being tired from a tedious day's work and filled with fine French food, leaned their heads back on the sofa to sip their brandy and drink in the music. Ed was so relaxed and at peace with the world, he closed his eyes. Chris couldn't tell if Ed had fallen into a light sleep or was just unwinding. At one point, Chris innocently reached over to touch Ed's hand, resting on the couch cushion that was separating them.
Ed wasn't asleep and was fully aware when he felt Chris' touch. He didn't flinch or withdraw; instead he took Chris' hand and held it gently like a 12-year-old boy might with his girlfriend at the movies on their first date. As the symphonic strains of Mahler built to a mounting climax, Chris felt Ed squeezing his hand, ever so gently at first, then a bit harder as the music swelled. Slowly, Chris rolled his head over to get a glance of his 'Doctor Kildare'. When he opened his eyes, he was amazed that Ed's eyes were already completely open and locked into a gaze at Chris.
Chris didn't know what Ed's 'look' meant. He remembered telling Roger over the phone how nervous he was about going out with Ed. Had he gone too far by the light touch? Had he angered Ed, who in spite of having a tremendous caseload of gay patients, might be the slightest bit homophobic where his personal life was concerned? Chris was even more astonished as Ed drew his face nearer to Chris'. Their noses and lips were approximately six inches apart.
"You said you don't kiss on the first date..." Ed whispered.
"That's right, I don't." Chris replied, matching Ed's soft volume and tone.
"That's a pity," Ed added, "because I do."
Ed continued his facial approach until his lips were lightly touching Chris'.
"I know what you're thinking, Chris...but don't..."Ed said softly, "I don't know why I did that just now. It just happened. But, I'm glad it did."
"I, too." Chris replied as he sat there waiting for Ed's next move...if there should be one.
Timmy and Rob were dead tired after a Wednesday matinee and evening's performance of 'Green Dolphin Street'. The night time audience had been extremely enthusiastic. begging for more curtain calls than usual.
Broadway was back! After the '9/11' tragedy, many Broadway shows couldn't meet their nut and had had to close. Only those with a considerable amount of advance sale at the box office had managed to survive. Most of the Broadway kids credited Rosie O'Donnell for saving Broadway. She had presented numbers from every running and forthcoming musicals on her TV show, plus special interviews with the stars and casts of straight dramas or comedies.
But now it looked as if every show that had survived had succeeded and everything was coming up roses again, thanks to Rosie.
Neither Timmy nor Rob had brought an umbrella to the theater, so Rob stayed inside the stage door to protect that valuable golden voice from the inclement weather, while Timmy tried his damndest to flag down a cab.
Traffic was jam-packed on the wet streets trying to go north around Columbus Circle. On a good night, they could be at their apartment on West 75th between Columbus and Amsterdam in five or six minutes after leaving the theater. As they approached their street, somewhere between 73rd and 74th, Timmy noticed an extremely abundant amount of cars, sirens, and flashing red and blue lights coming from the direction of their apartment building.
"What the fuck...?" Rob exclaimed.
They paid the cab driver off at 74th and Columbus and walked the rest of the way home in a torrential downpour. Their clothing was soaked...but they soon forgot about that when they saw the hullabaloo and all the policemen directly in front of their building. Something bad had happened and since they both were friends with everyone in the old brownstone edifice, they knew some friend of theirs was involved in something serious...but who?...which one?
They were almost struck by an unmarked police car containing two detectives. pulling up. They jumped out of the car and hurriedly ran up the stairs, just allowing Timmy and Rob a quick glance at the two officers, especially at the younger of the two who was drop-dead fucking gorgeous for a detective. Ten to one, the younger dick wasn't married and didn't take showers with the boys at the squad. Timmy and Rob could sense he was a member of their sexual persuasion just from a brief glimpse.
The older of the two plainclothesmen hated going out on a night like this. He had cursed all the way from the 20th Precinct
"Fucking rain! "Clear and cool tonight" That had been the weather report on Channel Seven at six. If the asshole weatherman would look out the window more often and less at his charts and dials...shit! All television weather forecasts were the same...L.A., Chicago, New York, especially New York. Murder and rain seemed to have some unwritten correlation. Maybe gloomy weather depressed the victim, making him more vulnerable. Or perhaps slick streets and wet nights brought out the worst in perps."
He'd barely had time to check in for night report and have his first cup of coffee before he and his partner had been summoned to investigate a possible homicide on West 75th Street between Columbus and Amsterdam. Possible homicide? The victim's throat was cut and his body mutilated. It didn't sound much like a myocardial infarction. This was the second call like this one he'd had to answer in the past month, and they were just two blocks apart.
John Larkin was the rookie and his partner, Ray Heffron, was the old pro. Ray'd been on homicide at the 20th precinct for nearly eleven years. He was one who had "seen it all" or at least he said he had until he'd seen the first body, the one on West 77th. Policemen, especially detectives, are supposed to have cast-iron stomachs. You're taught at the Academy to hold your breath and blot out offensive orders such as puke, week-old shit, decayed bodies and the like. But when Ray and John walked into the cordoned-off apartment, John took one look and ran to the sink and lost his doughnuts. The victim, Stan something-or-other, was lying naked on his bed, blood all over his sheets. His throat had been sliced across both carotids, but that wasn't the worst part...someone must have been very pissed at Stan because his dick and balls had been cut off. The scrotum had been sliced in half and one testicle had been placed in each of the victim's hands with the fingers forced to clutch them in each pre-rigor-mortised fist, but his penis was not visible. Larkin assumed that the assailant must have poked it down Stan's throat at first, but when the coroner arrived and made his prelim; Stan's shaft was still among the missing. Ray decided to search the apartment before calling in an A.P.B. for the missing organ. The fucking thing was nowhere to be seen. Either the killer had flushed it or he'd taken it with him as a souvenir.
The first report of tonight's murder had come from David Carrington, the roommate of Gene Cyphers, the latest victim. As soon as the dispatcher mentioned David gagging on the phone,, trying to describe what he'd found in Gene's hands and Ray looked at Larkin.
"Is this another like the one on 75th? This is a possible serial killer." Ray was more prepared physically and psychologically this time. He didn't vomit at the sight of Gene's mutilation. In spite of his earlier sickness when he first found Gene, David was in no way a wimp. He was gay, but not obviously fey. As soon as Larkin entered the apartment, his eyes locked into David's...the "knowing" look that two guys of the same sexual persuasion always exchange. Larkin was gay, too, but his partner didn't know. Larkin had somehow managed to use the "don't ask, don't tell" policy of the Department to full advantage.
David relaxed as best he could, when he realized that one of the officers investigating the murder probably would understand the situation.
Gene's body looked no worse than Stan's had...similar in every aspect the same M.O. used, right down to the incision the killer had made when removing the private parts of both victims. What kind of insane freak would do such a thing? The coroner's report stated that Stan had not recently had sex prior to the crime. No, it had all the makings of a hate crime, not a crime of passion. But why had Gene, or Stan, let the perpetrator in? There was no evidence of a forced entry in either of the apartments. Either they both knew the murderer personally, or the killer had a slick way of conning his way in.
"Look like the same handiwork to you?" Ray asked.
"Identical." his buddy concurred.
"You get what info you can from the roommate, while I call the station for a photographer." Ray added.
"Sure thing," he replied. David had sat down in a big easy chair facing the opposite side of the room, so that Gene's body was not in plain sight. He looked shaken and stunned as he stared down at the carpeted floor. Larkin took out his pad and pen as he approached.
"Gotta cigarette?", David asked, glancing up at the tall detective beside him.
"Yeah". Larkin still smoked in spite of all the warnings posted on the station's walls. Hell, he didn't drink or resort to drugs, illegal or prescribed, which is what most of his coworkers used in order to come to work every day or night in preparation for what their shift might deliver to them. He pulled out a pack of Marlboro lights and offered David one. Obviously avoiding the scene behind him, he took a long draw on the cigarette. As he exhaled the puff of smoke, it brought out a flow of tears with it. He'd held his grief as long as he could. It was time to release his pent-up feelings and let them go. His burst of tears even surprised him as he instantly tried to recover from embarrassment.
"I'm sorry," he managed to say.
"Go ahead," Larkin said sympathetically, "you'll feel better."
"I hate to cry," he replied.
"Why? I wish more people did," the wry detective said. "People that keep their emotions hidden inside them usually wind up crazy. Here, take my handkerchief." He reached in his back hip pocket and handed him a crumpled white square of cotton. He'd carried a handkerchief at his mother's insistence from the time he was in grammar school. It was a habit he'd always kept.
Whether it was known by the cops standing guard at the entrance of the building that they were Broadway celebrities, somehow, Timmy and Rob had managed to talk their way into their building where they stopped long enough to check in on what had happened at Gene's, their next door neighbor. That's when they spotted David, smoking a cigarette with the dreamboat dick. They entered the apartment and it was Timmy who first saw Gene's body. The shock was too much for him. He fainted straightway.
"Who let him in here?" grumbled Ray.
"Sorry, sir," Rob replied, but he and I live in the apartment next door."
"You know the guy lying there on the bed?"
"Yessir, it's Gene, our neighbor," Rob replied, anxiously trying to revive Timmy.
"Would you be willing to come up to the precinct with David, here and answer some questions?"
"Yessir, but at the moment, I want to make sure that MY roommate is OK," said Rob as he saw Timmy regaining consciousness.
"Jesus! What happened?" Timmy managed to say, very breathily.
"You fainted, babe. Just don't look toward the bedroom again."
"What?...Oh, my God, was that Gene lying on the bed?"
"I'm afraid so."
"He's dead, isn't he? Murdered?"
"Yes, but the police are here and everything is under control."
"Who did it? Who killed him?" Timmy said, restoring his mental and physical faculties after his faint.
"I don't think they know. They are investigating what happened."
Rob and Timmy looked at David, finishing his cigarette with the hunky cop in the rain-soaked wet brown suit.
"David, what happened?" Rob asked.
"I don't have a clue, Rob. Gene was fine when I left to go to the Safeway to buy some groceries. I should've been back sooner but I waited around a half hour for the rain to let up. I finally gave up and put everything back on the shelves because I figured the paper bags would give out if I tried to bring them home in that downpour. When I walked in, both the TV and CD player were playing full blast and I walked into the bedroom and, well, you saw what I saw. My first instinct was to run, fearing that whoever had done this to Gene might still be hiding somewhere in the apartment. Like a goddamned fool, I picked up one of those Incan statues for protection and looked around and found out that whoever it was had left. So, I quickly called 911 and the police and paramedics were here in just a few minutes. Very frankly, that's all I know."
"Were you two...that is, were you and Gene lovers?" Larkin asked, pointedly.
"No, just acquaintances and roommates...nothing more." David replied.
"Did Gene have a lover or steady boyfriend?"
"Not at the present. He hadn't seen anyone on a regular basis for the three months I've lived with him."
"How about you two?" Ray inquired of Timmy and Rob. "Do you know of any steady boyfriends, say in the past six months?"
"No," Timmy answered.
"Not that I know of," Rob added.
"Why don't you go lie down in your apartment while your friend and David come with me to headquarters? I can question you tomorrow." Ray directed his question to the still weak Timmy.
"That's fine," Timmy said, "Thanks, detective."
"Do you mind if I go with him to check out our apartment before we leave?" Rob asked Ray.
"No, that'll be fine. I'll let a uniform cop go with you to look at all the nooks and crannies to make sure there's no one hiding in your apartment."
"That'll be great." Rob replied. "I'll be back in a flash, but I WOULD like to change into some dry clothes and get my raincoat and umbrella."
"Make it fast!" Ray snarled. "Fuckin' faggots!" Ray thought to himself, "They've always got to dress up for every occasion. Just what do queers wear to a preliminary interrogation?"
Rob and the chosen police officer helped Timmy down the hall to their apartment. Rob used his key to unlock the door and reach in to turn on the light switch. The policeman drew his gun from his holster and entered the apartment alone, Timmy and Rob followed a few steps behind, pointing out the various rooms and potential hiding places. Except for the three of them, the apartment was empty...no unexpected or uninvited guests or assailants.
When Timmy and Rob felt secure that they were out of harm's way. Rob went to his closet and picked out a pair of jeans, a black pullover turtle neck shirt, dry socks, underwear, and shoes. After he had changed into dry clothes, he went one final time to the closet to get his MacIntosh and umbrella.
"You're sure you're gonna be all right?" Rob asked Timmy.
"I'm fine...just a bit woozy. I'm gonna put on the door chain and dead bolt as soon as you leave. I think if I soak in a tub of hot water while you're gone, I'll feel much better."
The cop spoke up, "Hey, listen, the investigation is going to go on for at least a couple more hours next door, so if you hear anything or feel like you're in some kind of danger, just stick your head out the door and call for help. Very frankly, I don't think you have anything to worry about with half the squad of the 20th just a few feet away!" The policeman sounded confident in his assurance that Timmy would be safe.
Rob wasn't ashamed to kiss Timmy goodbye with the officer standing there. Timmy gave Rob one final hug and Rob left with the cop. Rob lingered outside his door until he heard Timmy latch the locks and chain on the door.
In the meantime, David had found the strength to change into dry clothes and he and Rob went down the stairs accompanied by Larkin and Ray to the Twentieth Precinct. By now, it was past midnight.
The CSI canvassed Gene's apartment, looking for any kind of clues, taking photos and fingerprints for the next two hours. Then, they and the whole police entourage left after the SVU had done their investigating and Gene's body had been picked up by the coroner detail. None of them even thought to stop and check on Timmy. Rob and David hadn't returned yet, and Timmy had no idea he was alone on the second floor.
Timmy had taken a long hot bath; he made himself a stiff drink of straight Scotch, and began to make a light meal for himself and Rob...David, too, once they had returned if he cared to join them.
It was 4:00AM and Timmy was still alone. Around 4:00 AM, Timmy heard a knock at his door. He went to look through the door's peephole and saw an attractive blonde woman, approximately 35 years old.
Timmy unlocked the door, leaving the door chain attached, and opened the door just wide enough to speak to the late visitor.
"Yes, may I help you?" Timmy asked, nervously.
"My name is Dorothy Cyphers, Gene's aunt. His father was my brother. I, uh, got this call from the police saying something had happened to Gene. I live in Yonkers and made it here as quickly as I could. There's no one at Gene's, just this yellow tape across the door, saying, 'Crime Scene. Do not enter.'" Dorothy said in a shaky voice. I was wondering if you could tell me what happened."
"You mean the police and everyone have already left?" Timmy asked.
"Apparently so. There's no sign of anyone next door."
"That's weird," Timmy said, in half fear.
"I was wondering if you could let me use your phone and maybe you could fill me in on some of the details as to what happened to Gene."
Timmy hesitated for a moment, weighing the situation. Had the police not told Gene's aunt about his death? Was it up to him to be the bearer of bad tidings? If she knew nothing, she would obviously be distraught and this kind of news was not the kind of thing to relate through a chained, cracked door. After all, she was a woman and would probably need to sit down or receive some kind of comfort. There couldn't possibly be any danger by letting her in. Convincing himself that it was the proper thing to do, Timmy unlatched the chain and let the perplexed aunt in.
"I've just made a pot of fresh coffee, it you'd like a cup to warm yourself up." Timmy said, being the gracious host.
"That would be lovely." Dorothy replied.
"Please take a seat in the living room while I go fix a tray."
"Thank you. Do you mind giving me a clue to all this mystery concerning my nephew?"
"Let me get the coffee and we can have a nice long talk." Timmy said, exiting into the kitchen.
While he was gone, Dorothy planted herself in the huge leather chair that Rob had bought. She opened her purse to get a handful of Kleenex. Her purse contained more tissue than was normally carried. Only she knew that it was stuffed in the top of her pocketbook to conceal a rather large shiny object. She sat there with her eyes roaming around the living room, eyeing various photos of Tim with a bunch of young men and one older man wearing a clerical collar. She smiled slightly as she sat there waiting for Timmy's return.
(To be continued in "Briarwood" BOOK FOUR-chapter-thirty-nine).