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, 2003
Revised Version
A dramatic saga
by
Ritch Christopher
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BOOK SEVEN
"I WILL LIFT UP MINE EYES"
Chapter-Sixty-nine
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"As the days go by, I keep thinking, 'When does it end? Where's the day I'll have started forgetting?' But I just go on Thinking and sweating And cursing and crying And turning and reaching And waking and dying And no, Not a day goes by, Not a blessed day But you're still somewhere part of my life And you won't go away.
And I have to say If you do, I'll die, Dying day after day Till the days go by."
"Not A Day Goes By"
from "Merrily We Roll Along"
music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim
copyright 1981.
Troy was busy replacing all the light bulbs in the kitchen appliances. The light in the freezer had blown the night before and since all the appliances had been bought at the same time, it was inevitable that as soon as one burned out, it was time for the others to follow. Jay was at the sink washing the pots and pans he'd dirtied making his new concoction for dinner, made with cubed chicken and pork, melon, cantaloupe, raspberries, mayonnaise, and assorted spices.
"So, the Episcopalians voted in their bishop, after all," Jay said.
"Mm hmm," Troy replied.
"Jesus! What was all the fuss about?" Jay continued. "You'd think he was some kind of monster or leper. When I think of all the openly gay, Episcopalian, Anglican, Roman Catholic, Greek-Orthodox priests there are in the world...ninety-nine percent of them have never molested nor given a parishioner some wild disease. I mean the flock is fed communion in their mouths by the naked hand of their shepherd. What are gays supposed to do...leave their homes and form a new metropolis like Jeff and Johnny have in Mackintosh?"
"When I first came out," Troy said, "if you were gay and religious and wanted to worship, you had one or two choices...the Unitarian Church or the Church of England. The older members were more accepting then than they are now. The protesters don't seem to realize that if they kicked out all their gay members, the church would be practically empty. I think I told you that, when I used to go to Smoking Mary's on 46th Street in New York, I'd be willing to bet that the congregation was ninety percent gay."
"It's just one more way that the Reich-wingers are trying to invoke their puritanical beliefs into society."
"'Reich-wingers'? I like that."
"That's what I call the present administration in Washington."
"Ah, nah, Jay! You're not comparing our leader to the German dictator, are you?" Troy mused.
"Oh, no, I call him RoboPrez. He only says and does what he's programmed to say or do by the real force that's trying to control the country."
"Careful, remember that all the houses are being observed by satellites and bugged by electronic devices," Troy joked.
"Good, then they can see this!" Jay snapped as he raised his middle finger and flipped off all four walls.
"Oh, Lord, you're just dying to be someone's bitch when the F.B.I. comes to haul you away to prison."
"Well, you'd better do something, too. I'm not going alone." Jay said, clanging a pot into the dish rack.
"Jay, what do you think about all the guys who were allegedly molested when they were kids, coming forward now to sue the Roman Catholics for millions of dollars?"
"Money grubbing sons-of-bitches, all of them. I can't imagine a fifteen year old kid NOT enjoying a free 'bj'. The ones who are putting up the most squawking probably raced home from school, changed their clothes and rushed to the church to get another one. Now, twenty or thirty years later, when their wives are no longer going down on them, they get horny and blame the church for showing them that men can give better head than women. They probably haven't been satisfied since. Of course, it's a cool way to deny your homosexual instincts by saying they're super straight and getting an easy million bucks to boot."
"You got it all figured out, don't you?"
"Sweetheart, if I had known I could get blown in the back of a church when I was a kid, I'd've gone to mass seven days a week," Jay chided.
Troy laughed out loud and said, "hey, have you seen Jeff or Johnny since they got into town?"
"No, Cliff said they went to Cole directly from the airport."
"God, I hope everything goes well with the adoptions."
"I think it will. I can't remember Walter Clayton losing any battle in court since I met him almost ten years ago."
"Twin boys, huh?"
"Yep."
"Jay, what would you have done if Roger had offered them to us?"
"Probably gone into post-partum depression."
"It's funny, but somehow I knew that's what you'd say."
"Well, since they're already born, it would be too late to go get fitted with maternity clothes."
"I don't believe they make them for men."
"I think I saw some on QVC, the Queer Variety Channel, or the Homo Shopping Network, early one morning around three AM."
"Seriously, do you think you and I will ever adopt?"
"When I grow up, maybe. Right now, I'm still enjoying being 'Peter Pan'."
"You'll be eighty years old before you ever grow up, and by that time you'll be senile, going through your second childhood."
"Then I have something to look forward to, don't I?"
"And what about me? I'm already grown up."
"Troy, you're serious about adopting a kid, aren't you?"
"The thought crosses my mind from time to time. I mean, we have all that fortune and wealth that Roger gave us. We AREN'T spending any of it, and neither of us has a family or friends to leave it to. The Briarwood boys are all well off. There's no reason to leave it to them."
"You're looking for an heir?"
"I suppose."
"I'll give it some serious thought. God knows you'd make a wonderful daddy...and of course, I'd make a fantastic and loving..."
"Mother," they said together.
"Well, you WOULD, Jay. You nursed me back to health when my HIV was positive."
"And when we're old, I can still be your nurse and change your diapers."
"Seriously, will you think about it?"
"Troy, I've never denied you anything, nor ever will. The only thing I've ever denied you was the right to die when you were so ill. Maybe I was being selfish, thinking about myself and of being alone. The thought of living without you was scarier than the thought of your dying."
"Jay, even without Roger's money, we both have so much."
"I know that I do. I have you...I don't know if you can say the same thing about me."
"Quit stroking me and begging for a compliment. You know damned well that I love you more than anything in this world or the next."
"I just wanted to hear you say it out loud," Jay said with tears in his eyes. "Of course we can adopt."
"I heard Roger say that there are quite a few kids at Cole who have the virus and no one to adopt or take care of them."
"You'd be willing to take a sick kid?"
"Think of them, Jay, they have NO one. Imagine what a little love could do for them..."
"God! Pablum and broccoli! I've never made that, but I suppose I could. How many kids would you want to adopt?"
"I don't know...four, five, six."
"We'd have to get a place of our own. It wouldn't be fair to impose on Cliff and Roger with our 'off-spring'."
"That's no problem. I know we'd miss living here, but Jeff, Johnny, Alex, and Ted made their 'break' and moved to another city and another state."
"I wouldn't want to do that...move to another city or state. I love Briarwood too much to leave it."
"Then we could buy a house or build a big one. God knows we can afford it."
"Troy, I know you too well. You're not thinking of adopting four or five HIV kids, you want to build an orphanage or a home for dozens of them!"
"I won't deny that the thought crossed my mind."
"Jesus Christ, Troy! I'm not living in a group home!"
"You don't have to, we could buy a big lot of property, build quarters for the children, hire a 24/7 staff and our house could be adjacent to them. You know, like separate bedrooms, only in different shelters."
"My God, get me a Xanax! I'm coming down with the vapors!"
"You're my lovable clown, and I wouldn't have you any other way."
"I suddenly feel like Myrna Loy in "Cheaper By The Dozen."
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Dinner at the Malone household was more solemn than usual. A tinge of fear had set in with Lee as he wondered if he should really go see Dr. Gonzalez, but then again, Lee had promised Buddy that he would. Because Lee's father, Bill, was so anti-doctors, none of them were covered with health insurance. Bill's reasoning was that if one of them got sick, if it was a minor ailment, it would soon go away, and if it was something more serious, prayer was the answer, not hospitals and fee-grabbing physicians. The last time that Reverend Bill had gone into the Rexall Pharmacy, he was going to buy a bottle of Tylenol, only the price was almost eleven dollars. So he decided if he spent that much on an aspirin substitute, it would surely make his headache worse.
Lee had no idea what a visit to the doctor would cost. He also knew that there was no chance in Hades that he could ask his father for the money. He would learn on the following day, by making a phone call to Dr. Gonzalez's secretary, that a one-time visit could cost anywhere from thirty to fifty dollars, which to Lee might as well been a thousand dollars.
As Lee sat silently at the dinner table, his father asked, "Lee, is something wrong?"
"No, sir."
"You're awfully quiet this evening. Did something happen at school that you want to tell me about?"
"No, no, everything at school is fine. I got an 'A' on my English essay."
"That's very good," Bill said. "What did you write about?"
"The love poems of Lord Byron," Lee replied.
"Good heavens! Wasn't he that queer?"
"I don't..." is all that Lee could say before his father interrupted.
"Is Mona Ridgeway still your English teacher?"
"Yes sir."
"Then I need to have a talk with her. There are plenty of other poets you could write about, but not that queer. Mona needs someone to straighten her out if she's encouraging things like that in her classroom."
"Please, Dad, it wasn't Miss Ridgeway's fault. I chose Lord Byron to be my subject. She didn't have anything to do with it. She didn't know until I turned my essay in last week."
"Then why in the ram's world, did you choose such a man to write about? What's wrong with David and Solomon. They wrote poetry in the Bible."
"I don't know," once again, Lee tried to explain without incriminating himself. "I just like to read Lord Byron's poems."
"And stop calling him 'Lord'. There's only one Lord that's mentioned in this house and that's your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Call him 'Mister' Byron, if you need to speak about him. Is that understood?"
Defeated, Lee replied, "Yes sir."
"If you're not going to eat, take your plate into the kitchen and go to bed. I'll be in your room to pray with you before you go to sleep."
There was really no reason for Jake to get involved in this family matter between his brother and father. He was glad that he wasn't getting his father's wrath this time, as he usually did about coming in late after ball practice. He knew Lee well enough to know that something serious was on his brother's mind. It had nothing to do with the English essay. Jake surmised that Lee was frightened about something. He hoped that Lee would trust him enough to tell him everything, especially since the two of them had grown closer since the jerkoff session between them.
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Jeff and Johnny planned to stay with Jeff's father, Walter, and Daddy Dave, but Ryan and Kyle had invited the two guests from Mackintosh to have dinner with them. Jeff accepted the invitation gladly, because there were many answers that Kyle and Ryan could provide, such as how to rear two adopted boys. "Little" Pete was already in the second grade at Briarwood Elementary and Danny was in kindergarten. By all indications, Kyle and Ryan had adjusted to fatherhood extremely well. Their two sibling adoptees were ages four and two when they first got them, not like "Little" Cliff and "Little" Roger who were less than a month old. But still, Ryan and Kyle had to cook baby formulas and change diapers and visit the pediatrician when necessary.
Upon seeing the new babies in the cribs at Cole, both Jeff and Johnny felt as if the world had just been laid at their feet in the form of two healthy toddlers, infants who were soon to become members of the Kane-Clayton household. Daddy Walt and Daddy Dave were beside themselves with glee. Walt had known that both his sons, Jeff and Alex, were gay and had given up hope that either of them would supply him with grandchildren to carry on the Clayton legacy. But now, everything was different; Walt was going to have two grandsons. He had counted "Little" Pete and Danny as his grandchildren since Kyle and Ryan still lived within the confines of his home, but now his own son was about to have two children. This was special. It was as if Jeff and Johnny had had the children themselves to carry out the family bloodline. Walt had called the hospital to speak with Jeff and was told that Jeff and Johnny had left to go to dinner. This gave Walt the chance to hurry to the hospital and get his first glimpse of the newest Briarwood boys. Walt phoned Dave to meet him at Cole.
When the two of them arrived at the nursery, Walt and Dave looked through the glass as two nurses brought the babies to see their new grandpas. Neither Walt nor Dave could say a word as they peered at the two beautiful babies Instead, the two of them remained silent as they each teared up. Dave put his arm around Walt's waist and drew him tightly close to him.
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Cliff was aware that Jeff and Johnny were in Briarwood and was anxious to see both of them. Cliff was in his study at St. Genesius, preparing next Sunday's sermon, or "message" as he preferred to call it. He was troubled and concerned about the "gay Bishop" problem in the Episcopal Church, but at the same time, he was grateful that his denomination had adopted more liberal views concerning homosexuality, both in the parishioners and in the priest, bishops, and hierarchy. He decided not to make that the text of his new lesson; rather, he wanted to familiarize his flock with the Muslim religion, both the similarities and the differences to Christianity. This would be difficult to convey in a twenty minute Sunday morning message, but he would touch on the biggest ones and let the members do their homework. He could give them a study outline.
According to recent surveys, young people were staying away from religion by droves. Somehow a new wave of interest in the church must be sought. Cliff remembered the problems he had encountered in his own faith when he was in seminary. He'd almost lost his religious beliefs by the confusion of which sect of religion is "right"? The Muslim faith far outnumbered the Christian, as did Judaism, Buddhism and Mohammedism. Just as the Christians believed that Jesus Christ was the Messiah, the Jews were waiting for their own Messiah. The Buddhists believed in Buddha, as the Mohammedans and Muslims believed in Mohammed as being the true prophet. Since no sect could convince the others of its belief, a person seeking solace in religion accepted one religion through faith that his was the best, true, and right choice.
Quite often, Cliff would role play with Roger. When Cliff had seen on the network news where a few good-intentioned Christians had gone to Iraq just before the Iraqi conflict to teach the Muslims the way of Jesus and God as they saw Him to be. Cliff would imagine he was a Muslim and how he would feel if a western religion tried to invoke its beliefs on him. He tried to keep his mind focused on his reaction, and soon, as a 'Muslim', he became angry. He argued back and forth with ideas but came to no conclusion. He was grateful that the phone rang to interrupt the religious quandary in his head.
"Hello?" Cliff answered.
"Hi, sweetheart," said the soothing voice of Roger.
"God, I'm glad you called."
"Problems?"
"Only with myself. I was raging a battle in my head. Right now, I feel as if my cerebrum has been wounded and my cerebellum has permanent scars."
"Do you need a doctor?"
"Only if he looks like George Clooney as he used to on 'ER'. I've heard he's very sexy in bed."
"I only hope you never find that out personally."
"Aw, I'm like Angela Lansbury in 'Sweeney Todd' when she sang, 'have a little priest!' That suits my taste buds better.
"Have Jeff and Johnny been to the hospital yet?"
"They just left to go over to Kyle and Ryan's."
"Well, don't keep me in suspense, Mr. Cole---do they want the twins or not?"
"By the looks I observed on Jeff and Johnny's faces, it would take an act of Congress to keep them from adopting the little ones."
"That's wonderful news, Rog. Do Walter and David know about their decision?"
"Oh, yes, the two grandpas are at the hospital now, pecking on the nursery glass, trying to get the twins to notice them. It's kind of difficult to see who is the younger, the twins or the grandpas. The twins are fine, health-wise, and as soon as Walter clears the adoption papers with the DCW, I don't see why they can't go live in Mackintosh."
"You don't foresee any problem with Jeff and Johnny's being gay?"
"Not when the head of DCW is gay himself, and wanting Walter to draw up a proposal seeking funds for he agency."
"You see, Mr. Cole, God does work miracles, even in this day and age."
"I knew that when we started living together."
"Oh, where did you iconic skepticism go all of a sudden?"
"You should know. Hey, have you heard from Mike and Tom?"
"I did, just last night. Let's say I heard from Tom and I HEARD Mike."
"What?"
"Tom called from some club in the French Quarter to say that they were going on through Texas and he'd call me from the Grand Canyon, once they got to Arizona.
"Why did you say that you 'heard' Mike?"
"Mike was singing with the band. I could hear him in the background above Tom's voice."
"They sound as if they're having a great time. They both deserve it!"
"Roger, if Jeff or Johnny come by later tonight, would you invite them to dinner tomorrow night? I want to see both of them."
"Oh, they're coming to see you, all right. I heard them talking about you baptizing the twins."
"Oh? Have they picked out names already?"
"Not only have they picked out names for the twins, Walter has already entered the names on the birth certificates, but for some strange reason none of them will tell me about the names."
"Maybe Johnny and Jeff want to surprise us."
"OK. I could use a good surprise."
"I'll give you a surprise when we go to bed tonight, if you need one."
"That'll be a good ending of a good day. What time are you coming home?"
"Around six, I suppose."
"Fine, Jay has some new dish he wants to try out on us."
"Another one?! Where does he get all his recipes?"
"You've been living with Jay for over ten years now, you should know that everything he concocts comes out of his broccoli book that he wrote. When was the last time you saw a cookbook in first place on the New York Times non-fiction bestsellers?"
"I don't know, but I'm grateful for the royalties he donated to the "Kids With HIV" fund here at Cole...plus the year's supply of fresh broccoli. I gotta go, hon. See you tonight."
"I love you."
"And I love you, too, Father."
Cliff put down the phone and sighed with glee about the adoption. Just then, Blair, Cliff's secretary, entered his office.
"Father, Mr. Champion is here to see you?"
"Doug Champion?"
"Yes sir."
"Show him in, please, Blair."
Blair exited long enough to retrieve Doug and let him into Cliff's office.
Douglas Champion was a long-time member of St. Genesius. He and his wife, Louise, never missed a Sunday mass as long as Cliff could remember. Louise had had a long bout with breast cancer. The disease finally metastasized into her liver and colon and Louise had died over a year ago, leaving Doug alone. They had no children. Doug was not handsome, but neither was he unattractive. He looked fairly fit for a fifty-five year old man. His salt-and-pepper hair was thinning and his stomach had no paunch. His sight was still 20/20, not requiring glasses. His personality was quiet and demure. Doug was well educated with a Master's degree in Literature from Columbia University. He was responsible for the new Briarwood Library being built through his and Louise's fund-raising projects. Doug was a writer and had had at least eight best selling books, usually romantic novels, from which he derived a rather large female following. His books contained titillating sex but were never pornographic. Husbands of Doug's readers were always glad when he published a new book. Somehow, with the wives' interests in the romantic novels, everyone's sex life was reactivated and everyone concerned was glad. So even though Doug had no children, his books had helped propagate the world.
"Come in, Doug, and please sit down?" Cliff said, in a friendly manner, extending his hand to shake Doug's.
"Hello, Father, I hope I'm not intruding. I know I should have called for an appointment, but I stopped by the church to light a candle for Louise, and decided to take a chance at trying to see you for a couple of minutes."
"Doug, please don't ever hesitate if you want to see me. My door is always open to you," Cliff assured.
"I suppose what I have to say could or rather should be said to you in the confessional, but I was afraid if I said my little speech there, you would wonder and want to hear the whole story. I knew you wouldn't have time for that, especially since the confessional line is so long."
"Is there something wrong, Doug? Do you want to tell me about it now?"
"Please be honest with me. Do you have the time right now?"
"The rest of my afternoon is yours if you want it to be."
"What I have to say won't take long, but I'm afraid the explanation will take much longer."
"Don't bother about the time. Relax, get your breath, and tell me anything or everything, beginning wherever you want to start."
Doug sighed and looked down at the floor.
"Father, you remember Louise's brother, Charles? He came to Louise's funeral."
"Yes, I met him at the funeral home and later spoke with him after Louise's service."
"Charles is a widower, the same as I. He lost his wife nearly five years ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Doug. I didn't know."
"Charles is a year older than I...fifty six. Through the years that Louise and I had together, I'd really never got to know Charles very well, I'm sorry to say."
"The night after the funeral, the night before he returned home to New Jersey, we had a long and honest talk. He did his best to comfort me, and I tried to return the favor, since he had lost his sister, too. He told me about his life since Carolyn, his wife, had died. He drank excessively the first two years after her death. He retired from his job and sat home to mourn every day and every night. Then one morning, so he said, he quit drinking...cold turkey and hasn't had a drink since. He almost shied away from attending Louise's funeral for fear that the depression would make him begin to drink once more."
"That DOES happen some times," Cliff said, "but not always."
"We talked further and he happened to notice the new computer Louise had bought me for my last birthday. He looked at it and told me that he had bought a new computer to give him a hobby and help him make it through his lonely nights. He IS, or WAS, very lonely, Cliff."
"He and his wife had no children?"
"The same as Louise and I. But getting back to my story, he asked if I ever chatted on the Instant Messenger service. I told him, quite frankly, 'no'. I used the email a lot to answer readers' comments, but I had never chatted, so to speak. Then, he sat down at my PC, and showed me how easy it was to operate an 'IM'. That's when we exchanged computer addresses and promised to talk to one another on the 'IM' as often as possible...to become an Internet support system for each other."
"And did you?" Cliff asked.
"He went home and it was almost a week before I heard from him. One night I was trying to sketch an outline for a new novel's plot, when suddenly, the "IM" popped up and read, 'Hey, Doug, it's me, Charles, are you online now?'. I clicked it on and Charles and I had our first chat."
"What a great idea for both of you!" Cliff said.
"We chatted for nearly two hours that first night. We chatted three or four times that first week after he left. And then our chats became more frequent, and the nights that we didn't chat, I felt lonelier and missed him very much. So I told him about missing him and we pledged to talk EVERY night, if only for a minute or two."
"And did you?"
"At first it was five or ten minute conversations, then the minutes became hours and soon our nightly chats became two or three times a day. I became a computer addict. Every time I sat down to write my novel, I would go to the IM just to see if he was there."
"Doug, that seems like good therapy. I'm glad you found someone to talk with, even though he's several hundred miles away."
Doug took another deep breath and slowly exhaled. "Now comes the tough part, Father."
"Oh, did something happen to Charles?"
"Oh no, not exactly, something happened to me...well, the both of us, I guess."
"What do you mean, Doug?"
"One night, about three months ago, Charles asked me a very strange but personal question. He asked if I had masturbated since Louise's death. I was shocked at first that he would be so impertinent. Then I surprised myself with my answer. I told him honestly, 'no', I hadn't.. I really hadn't, Father, not once! Sex had dwindled between Louise and me after she was diagnosed. I truthfully had not thought about sex one time. I guess maybe I didn't need it. Maybe I had been releasing my frustrations by transferring it to my characters, I suppose."
"I've read all your books, Doug, your characters are very real and quite sexy, too, if you don't mind my saying so."
"After I told Charles that I was all but celibate, he told me, much to my surprise, that he masturbated every night, some times twice. I'd never had much of a sex drive before or after I'd married Louise. To me, masturbation was child's play...something that you put away in the toy box after your marriage. I...I don't know who said what next, but Charles told me about how it relieved his tension and momentary loneliness and suggested that I try it. I almost became angry at Charles and I shut down my computer, disturbed at his proffer. For the next two nights, I didn't sign on my PC. I decided to ignore Charles and his childish ideations. The following night, I began to miss my nightly chats and--please don't think poorly of me, but I masturbated when I went to bed. I hadn't experienced an orgasm in years and had forgotten how tremendous it feels. Then I felt ashamed...not because I had masturbated but because I had made such a big deal of it with Charles and was willing to lose his friendship and support as a result of my infantile immaturity."
Doug stopped his narrative for a moment and asked, "Father, may I have a glass of water?"
"Sure, Doug," Cliff replied. "Would you rather have a drink?"
"I would love one. I think I need one."
"What would you like? Scotch, brandy, vodka?"
"Vodka, please. Do you have ice?"
"Of course."
Doug was amazed when Cliff opened the lower wood panels on the far side of Cliff's desk. A complete bar rolled out.
"My God," Doug said.
"Don't be shocked. I keep this stocked for very special occasions."
"You mean for such parishioners as I, who come in to see you with a world of woes?"
Cliff laughed, "That, too!"
"Do you have vermouth?"
"You want a martini?"
"If it's not too much trouble."
"One olive or two?"
"One, please."
Cliff made two vodka martinis while Doug sat quietly, trying to form his thoughts to broach the remainder of his topic. Cliff returned to his desk and handed one of the drinks to Doug.
"Thanks, Father."
"Maybe this will relax you a little...help you to complete your story."
The two of them sipped the drinks. Doug cleared his throat before continuing.
"So, did you contact Charles again?", Cliff asked.
"The next night. We chatted about an hour before I began apologizing to him. He treated my disdain rather politely. We chatted some more...about nothing in particular...the weather and its effect on the lawns of Briarwood and West Orange, New Jersey. It's been rather arid there, so he told me. But then, out of the blue, he brought up the discussion of masturbation once again...and finally suggested that we...God, this is embarrassing, Father."
"Please, go on, Doug."
"Well, he suggested that he and I...well, both of us masturbate online. Again, I let my prudish side get the best of me. I mean, after all, both of us are in our mid-fifties. We're both heterosexual, both widowers, and the idea of describing our actions while typing seemed ridiculous. I tried my best to changed the subject, but he was very persuasive...TOO persuasive, and so, we did it. This is highly gross, but I have to admit that we climaxed at the same time."
"You had never heard of cyber-sex?"
"I'd never even thought to write about it, much less involve myself in it, especially with another man...and my wife's brother to boot!"
"So when you finished, what was the demeanor between the two of you?"
"His first remark, which he typed was, "wasn't that wonderful?" I admitted to myself that I had found it erotically stimulating, but wasn't sure whether to reveal my judgment on the act at which I had participated. I think I replied, 'Yes, I suppose so.'. Shortly thereafter, we both signed off. Memories of my Internet tryst haunted me the rest of the night, hours after I retired and went to bed. Charles was right, it had been wonderful. Thinking of him, I became sexually aroused thinking about Charles and our 'dirty deed' and I got myself 'off' thinking about our earlier actions. No harm was done. No one would ever know except Charles and me...and for that reason, I had no guilt. Maybe by some standards what we had done was wrong, but I purged those thoughts from my psyche."
Doug sipped his drink again. Cliff's expression was pleasant, understanding, but stoic because he knew how difficult it was for Doug to reveal such secrets. Cliff had counseled many teens whose father or mother had walked in the bathroom at the wrong time, catching them with their innermost secret.
Doug continued, "So, the next day, I thought about Charles the entire day. I wanted to turn on my PC, but was almost afraid. Later that night around ten-thirty, I logged on. The "IM" came on, almost instantly. Charles typed his first message, and my heart sank, as if I were going to ask my first date to my first prom. I was scared, shy, but at the same time, almost giddy when I replied to him. After a minute or two, I relaxed and I was waiting to see if he wanted a repeat performance. God knows, I didn't want to instigate it. Soon, he asked if I was agreeable for more Internet sex. I became so nervous, I could hardly write, 'yes', But I did...and we did...the night and the next...and the next...twice!"
Cliff was relieved to discover the core of Doug's problem. He was grateful that it wasn't any more serious than that. Cliff didn't interject with a comment...only if Doug required one.
"Father Cliff, I know this whole thing must sound inane or mundane to you, but I had no one else to talk with."
"Are you still talking nightly with Charles?"
"And daily...and we're still 'doing it' every chance we get and suddenly when I drove by the church today, I stopped and said a prayer for Louise and began to think what an old fool I had become, playing childish games, like some sexual computer game."
"Doug, Doug, Doug, what you and Charles are engaging in, is quite normal and natural. There's nothing at all childish about it."
"But that's not all, Father. I even told Charles that I was in love with him. How's that for being stupid?"
"Did he say he was in love with you, as well?"
"...Yes," Doug replied, reluctantly.
"What's wrong with two people expressing love for one another, online on the Internet or in person?"
"Father, do you think I've turned gay?"
"No, Doug, no one ever 'turns gay'."
"Then how do you explain the feelings I have for another man?"
"You want me to cite scripture to you? The Bible is full of men loving each other."
"But they didn't masturbate with each other!"
"Who knows? Just because old King James didn't have his scribes include it in the expurgated version of his bible, that doesn't mean it never happened."
"There's MORE, Father."
"So?"
"About three weeks ago, we stopped communicating on the IM when Charles called me on the phone. NOW, we've been having phone sex."
"That makes it more personal, I suppose," Cliff said.
"This doesn't shock you?"
"No, Doug, I somehow find it tender and dear."
"Well, wait until I tell you the rest. Charles wants to fly down from New Jersey and have real sex with me."
"And you're afraid of that, aren't you, Doug?"
"Afraid and disgusted! How could I let this go this far and have it come to this? I don't want to hurt Charles by refusing to see him and I don't want to lose his camaraderie. I look forward to our talks."
"As long as it's not in person?"
"Well, yes," Doug replied with exasperation. "I really came by for your advice...tell me what I should do."
"Suppose he dropped by, unexpectedly to spend the night or longer?"
"I've asked myself that. I almost wish that he would, instead of making it such a formal invitation. Thinking about it makes me jittery."
"And if he did, would you go to bed with him?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Perhaps I would."
"Do you think you would feel guilt or remorse?"
"I'm not sure, Father, but he wants an answer when he calls me tonight. I don't know what to say to him."
"And you'd like me to make that decision for you?"
"Frankly, yes, Father."
"Doug, you're one of my favorite, most attentive parishioners, so I know that you know that I'm gay as well as Roger Cole is my longtime companion. Whatever my answer to you is, I want it to be unbiased and the best thing for you without making you suffer emotionally or mentally."
"Yes, I know you're both gay. Neither of you have ever tried to hide it from anyone, and for that, I admire you even more."
"Is this what Charles wants? I presume that he is heterosexual, as well?"
"One-hundred percent hetero, until we began our shenanigans."
"And Charles sees no harm in it?"
"No, apparently not."
"Do you trust him?"
"I think I do."
"Then my suggestion to you is to invite him down and have a long one-on-one conversation and discuss your feelings out in the open where you both can see each other's eyes and expressions. AND, if you're both agreeable, take it step by step as far as you both want to go and see where it leads. You've heard, I'm sure, that in a time of battle, there are no 'straight' feelings in a foxhole. When two lonely people need each other for strength, comfort, support, or love, there can be nothing wrong with it if both parties feel the same way."
"Then you say it's all right?"
"Doug, you didn't come here for my approval, did you?"
"Yes. Yes, I did."
"Our church sanctions love between any two individuals regardless of gender. So, if you're asking for disapproval, you won't get it from me."
"Father, I know that this is asking a bit much of you, but IF he comes down, would you have dinner with us the night he arrives?"
"You're asking me as a friend or a referee?" Cliff joked casually.
"Both, I guess."
"Then, of course I'll come. I'll even bring Roger if you want."
"I'd like that. I really mean it."
"Do you feel better about the decision you have to make?"
"Completely!"
"Then Roger and I will look forward to your invitation."
Whether it was the martini or Cliff's words, Doug relaxed. His eyes brightened. He was glad he had had the conversation with Cliff.
"Thank you, Father Cliff. I'll see you at mass Sunday."
"You're welcome, Doug. I'd feel it wasn't Sunday if I didn't see you on the sixth row at mass. Good luck, Doug, and God bless you."
Doug shook Cliff's hand and Cliff drew Doug near him to give him a hug. All seemed well between the two of them as Doug left the office. Cliff sat at his desk and was pleased the way everything had turned out...so far.
<><><><><><><><>
Buddy McLain had to drive his car west on State Highway 285 from Ft. Stockton to Pecos in order to go east on Interstate 20 which led into Dallas. His car, a 1992 Chevrolet Cavalier, which had belonged to his mother, lacked maintenance and care. Buddy had no interests in the mechanism of a car. He knew how to fill up the tank with gasoline, check the oil dipstick, and how to clean the windshield. That was the extent of his automobile knowledge. He had been totally unaware of the pressure gauge while his car was overheating on the hot highway. Just outside of Fort Worth, the car began to steam and lose power. Buddy looked for the nearest exit ramp and coasted as far as he could. Fortunately for him, the ramp was all downhill and he made it safely to the off-road where he could pull over to the side and be out of the way of the exiting traffic from the Interstate. He did the logical thing as he opened up the hood. He didn't know why he was doing it, but that's what everyone in the movies and on TV did whenever they encountered car trouble of any kind. A person might have a flat tire, but he still would raise the hood of the car for no apparent reason.
Buddy stood by his unusable automobile while the 106 degree sun bore down on his bare head. He had finished drinking the last drop of Aquafina bottled water he had bought at a convenience store just beyond the outskirts of Ft. Stockton. His plan was to go to the hospital in Dallas to receive whatever treatment was available to him. Therefore, all the clothes he brought were in one small suitcase, consisting of only two changes of clothes, some underwear, socks, and two pairs of pajamas. He'd locked up his house, not knowing if he would ever return or not.
The longer he waited for some good Samaritan to stop and help him with his auto dilemma, the sicker he became from the heat and humidity. His head was spinning and he felt faint. What he feared most actually happened as he collapsed on the side of the road in front of his car. Five cars passed by, not bothering to stop to check on the fallen traveler. Finally, the sixth car DID stop and two women pulled their car over to the side and rushed to see what they could do for the injured warrior. It was a Mexican woman and her teenaged daughter. Neither of them spoke English well, but since Buddy was passed out, their lack of the English language didn't seem to matter. The daughter stood on the side of the road trying to wave down a passing automobile to ask for assistance, but no one stopped. People were leery about assisting Mexicans for fear that they might be illegal aliens, and if they were stopped by the highway patrol, the driver could be arrested for assisting or smuggling illegal aliens into the United States.
Seeing that her daughter's attempt to receive aid from passing cars was coming to naught, the mother decided that the best thing to do would be to drive the victim to the nearest hospital as soon as possible. Luckily, there was a yellow and black road sign a couple of blocks down the street indicating a hospital nearby. The mother grabbed Buddy's upper body under his arms while the daughter hoisted his feet, and the two of them dragged Buddy to the back seat of their car. It took less than five minutes to reach the hospital where the mother ran into the emergency room and screamed, "¡La ayuda! ¡La ayuda!". A Mexican orderly heard her cry and followed her back to her car, which she had double-parked, just outside of the emergency room door. He brought a gurney with him and the three of them transferred Buddy from the backseat to the rolling table.
For some unknown reason, the mother and daughter left as soon as they saw the ER staff beginning to revive the mysterious stranger whom they had stopped to assist. Maybe they WERE illegal aliens, maybe not, but they had no intention of staying at the hospital and running the risk of being questioned by the local police.
It took nearly an hour for the staff to bring Buddy around to a conscious level. They gave him two IV's for dehydration. Buddy felt nauseous when awoke. He was disoriented times three. He had no memory of where he was or how he had gotten there. He assumed he was in a hospital somewhere when he summarized his surroundings. A nurse gave him a carton of orange juice while another nurse came in toting a clip board to get a medical history from him.
She asked his name and if had ever had fainting spells before, to which he promptly declared 'no'. She asked if he had any current ailments or conditions. He hesitated while he thought, "Don't ask...don't tell". He wasn't sure whether he should reveal Dr. Gonzalez's diagnosis or not. but since his condition was life-threatening to care-givers, they had to take extra precaution to protect themselves from the fatal virus.
The nurse raised both eyebrows when Buddy told her, "I have AIDS, complicated by Kaposi's sarcoma."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"That's what Dr. Gonzalez told me in Ft. Stockton."
"I appreciate your being so candid. The rest of the staff should be aware of your illness for their own safety."
"That's fine," Buddy said, "it's for their safety. I fully understand."
"May I ask where you were headed when your car became inoperable?"
"I was going to Dallas to the huge AIDS facility which they have there."
"I understand that your car is parked on the side of the road near the Interstate exit."
"I guess. I don't remember how I got here."
"You might have to be admitted here for a few days until you're well enough to continue your journey."
"I don't mind," Buddy replied.
"You DO have health or hospital insurance, don't you?"
"Well,...no."
"You have cash to cover your stay and treatment here?"
"Not exactly."
"Medicare or Medicaid?"
"Well...no."
"Then how do you plan to pay the hospital here for you treatment and your stay here?"
"Very frankly, I don't know. I have no financial resources."
"In that case," the nurse replied, folding up the notes on her clipboard, "I'm afraid we'll have to discharge you."
"Pardon?"
"We are a private facility. We don't cater to indigents or people who have no insurance to cover their medicine or treatment. I have no choice in the matter, you'll have to leave as soon as you feel steady enough to do so."
A combination of many emotions went through Buddy's mind and body...shock...anger...hurt...embarrassment...all rolled into one as he rose up from the examining table and grabbed his clothes. He had a little over a hundred dollars in his pants pocket, but he'd rather be kicked out of the hospital by a security guard than to let anyone know that he had some money. He knew that his ER bill would be way over the amount of all the money he had in the world.
He dressed quickly and quietly went through the exit doors, hoping no one would notice him. He stood in the hospital parking lot, not knowing where to go or what he should do next. His car was still stranded somewhere on an exit ramp off the Interstate highway. He didn't know how to fix it, nor did he have the money for someone to look at it. The car, at this moment, seemed like a lost cause. He was scared and depressed on many levels.
A blue Ford Ranger pickup truck swung around to the entrance of the ER where Buddy was standing. There were three guys, around 19 or 20 years old in the cab. The youngest and best looking stuck his head out of the passenger side window and yelled at Buddy.
"Hey! You need a ride somewhere?"
Buddy was pleasantly surprised that someone or someone(s) would come to his rescue.
"I sure do!" Buddy replied to them.
"Well, hop in, we can seat four in this seat. It'll be a bit crowded but its better than standing on the side of the street with no transportation at all."
"Thanks," Buddy said.
The youngest of the three jumped out to let Buddy sit between him and the middle passenger, a bit on the chubby side but not as cute as the one who had offered him a ride.
"I'm Jerry," the youngest guy said, "and that's Eddie sitting next to you, Skip is the driver."
"Hi, guys, I'm Buddy."
"Nice to meet you," all of them said back and forth.
"Were you guys in the emergency room?" Buddy asked.
"I was," Eddie said, "they just came along to make fun of me."
"How's that?" Buddy asked.
"Oh, the three of us was eatin' at this diner off'n the Interstate and we all took a notion to go to the bathroom at the same time. We made a mad dash to the restroom and I got to the stall first...there was only one. I ran inside and tried to slam the door before they got to it first, and somehow, while I was pullin' on the metal door, the two of them was slammin' it shut at the same time and I got my finger caught. Damned near cut it plumb off. It broke my middle finger anyway." Eddie showed Buddy his metal cast, bandaged with gauze and tape. "That's my fuckin' finger."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, when a girl's on the rag and you don't want to get your dick all bloody, you finger fuck her! My middle finger reaches inside her the deepest," Eddie explained.
"The thing of it is," Jerry interrupted. "Most girls would rather have Eddie finger fuck them than use his dick. His finger's much longer."
With that remark, Eddie and Skip broke into loud chiding laughter.
"The nurse was taping my finger about the time you came in the hospital. I was in the cubicle next to you. We was only separated by the hangin' white sheet between us."
Buddy shuddered briefly with fear, wondering how much he had told the nurse. Were all three of them in the area next to him or was Eddie alone?
"I heard that nurse givin' you a hard time about your insurance," Eddie said.
"They can be ornery sons-of-bitches when it comes to money," Skip added.
What Buddy feared had happened. They all three had heard him. They must have been in the area with Eddie.
"So, Buddy, where do you want us to take you?" Skip asked.
"It doesn't matter," Buddy replied, "I was trying to get to Dallas, but my car died and I'm afraid it's hopeless to try and get it fixed."
"Hell, Dallas ain't far from Fort Worth. The two city limits practically touch each other. The three of us go to Dallas all the time. They have these strip joints there where these girls are bare-ass naked. They'll give you a lap dance without a stitch on, for fifty bucks," Skip said, then added, "You guys feel like taking Buddy here to Dallas?"
"Sure, I don't mind," Jerry said.
"What about you, Eddie?"
"Shit, I can't fuck Maria with my left middle finger. She's too used to the right hand."
"You mean, you're used to HER right hand, dontcha?" Skip kidded.
"Get fucked, will you?" Eddie yelled at Skip.
"I had the same thing in mind, Eddie Boy! There ain't nothin' like Dallas poontang!"
"Then shut up and let's go!" Eddie said.
"You wanna go by the way of the Interstate or do you want to take the shortcut?"
"The shortcut, asshole," Jerry said to Skip.
"Then, shortcut it is!" Skip said as he started down a two lane state highway. The lights of Fort Worth behind them and the brighter lights of Dallas in front of them soon disappeared as they went farther down this mysterious road.
"Hey, isn't Dallas THAT way?" Buddy asked, pointing north.
"Yeah, but this road goes south for about five miles before it heads back up north again."
"Doesn't this seem longer going this way? You said it was a shortcut."
"It is, Buddy Boy," Skip said. "Just relax, look out the window at the night scenery. See if you can spot a cactus!"
"I didn't know cacti grew this far east," Buddy said, beginning to worry.
"That's 'cause people always drive the Interstate and never get to see what's on the back roads. It's a lot prettier in daylight."
There was nothing but darkness ahead of them as the truck made its way southward. Skip drove another ten miles and pulled the truck over to the side of the narrow road.
"Boys," Skip said, "pardon me, but the driver has to piss. I can't hold it until we get to Dallas. I'll pee in my jeans by then."
"I gotta piss, too," Eddie said.
"Let's ALL go piss!" Jerry added.
The four of them piled out of the cab and walked in the sand. It was a desert. There WERE cacti there glimmering in the moonlight. They stood about three feet apart as they unzipped their pants and began relieving themselves.
"GOD! That feels good. I could piss a barrel full!" Skip exclaimed. Then he looked at Jerry and said, "Hey, Jerry Boy, we still got some beer in the cooler back there in the bed of the truck.
"There's still ten or twelve cans, I believe," Jerry replied.
"Then go get us some, asshole," Skip ordered. "Hey Buddy Boy! You wanna beer?"
"I really don't drink beer," Buddy answered.
"'Don't drink beer'? And you call yourself a Texan?" Skip exclaimed. "What are you? Some kind of a jerkwad faggot?"
Once again, Buddy was angered and embarrassed. How much HAD they heard him say to the nurse about his condition?"
"No, I just don't like the taste of it. It's bitter." Buddy tried to explain.
"Bitter? Shit! I bet you are a faggot!" Eddie joined Skip's chiding.
"Would you rather drink some of my piss?" Skip said with a slight snarl. "All the girls tell me I have the sweetest tastin' piss in Fort Worth. Get on your knees, faggot, and I'll see if I can't muster you up about a quart of hot piss."
"Guys, please," Buddy began to beg. "I don't know if you all are joking or what, but I'm not going to get on my knees and become a part of your joke."
Skip became assertive by saying, "Did you hear that, guys? Buddy says he doesn't want to get on his knees. That's not very hospitable when we're giving you a free ride to Dallas! Buddy Boy, I don't think you have a choice! I SAID GET ON YOUR KNEES, COCKSUCKER!!"
Eddie was standing behind Buddy and he kicked him in the back of his knees causing his legs to buckle and landing on his knees.
"That's better! That's the Texas way of doin' things."
Buddy hadn't noticed Skip pulling out his penis until Skip turned and hit Buddy's nose with his erect organ.
"How's that, Buddy Boy?" Skip asked. "One huge Texas-size cock! Are you ready for a nice warm drink of piss?"
Buddy couldn't believe it when Skip actually starting urinating in his face. It was only a few seconds later that he felt a stream of hot urine hitting the back of his neck and running down his spine underneath his shirt. Buddy realized he was in trouble. He had to think fast. Buddy looked at the ground to avoid the golden shower and saw a strip of metal, about five inches in length. He quickly grabbed it and saw that it had a sharp end. He took it with his right hand and sliced a deep cut into his left palm. Bright red blood spewed from his hand like a geyser as he flashed it toward Skip.
"What the...?" Skip started to say.
"All right, back up! ALL OF YOU!! BACK UP, I SAID!!! You know what this is? It's my blood filled with the AIDS virus. IF ANY OF YOU COME ANY CLOSER, I'LL GET IT ALL OVER YOU AND THEN YOU'LL ALL BE INFECTED!"
It was true. All three of the guys had heard Buddy say that he had AIDS when Buddy told the nurse. They knew he wasn't kidding. They were not really sure how one got AIDS, but they were all looking at death in Buddy's bleeding hand.
Standing by the truck, Jerry had seen and heard everything that had transpired between his two friends and the stranger. He didn't want to get too close to Buddy, but he had to rescue Skip and Eddie. Beside the truck were some rocks. Jerry picked up a boulder about six inches in diameter and slowly walked toward Buddy's back. Jerry held the rock head-high and slung it forward hitting Buddy in the back of the head. Buddy fell forward on his face. The force of the blow had rendered him into a semi-conscious state. Once he was down, all three of the boys started kicking Buddy in the ribs, the head, the groin, and stomping Buddy's back. They kept up this beating until Buddy's body was totally lifeless. He was dead.
"Shit!" Jerry screamed. "I think we killed him!"
"Good!" Skip exclaimed. "That's just one less faggot my taxes won't have to support with all them AIDS drugs!"
"What are we gonna do with his body...bury it?" Eddie asked his friends.
"Fuck, no! We'll just drag it over there behind that sagebrush. That's about fifty feet from the road. No one will ever find it but the buzzards. Grab his feet...and for God's sake, watch out for that blood!" Skip commanded. "Can you imagine the gall of that cocksucker? He was trying to kill us with that sick blood!" Skip gave Buddy's body another kick.
The three of them tugged on Buddy until they reached the 'resting' place they had picked out for him. Jerry took some dried sagebrush and covered the corpse. Once they were satisfied that Buddy couldn't be seen from the road, they headed back to the truck.
"Where to now, boys?" Skip asked.
"Dallas, asshole, I wanna lap dance and suck on some titties!" Eddie yelled with glee.
"And I want a shaved wet pussy grinding against my dick! So let's hurry!"
They screamed a loud "YAHOO!" as they drove in the opposite direction to get on the Interstate and head toward Big D.
<><><><><><><>
Mike was still awestruck by all the sights he had seen in the Big Easy.
"How do you pronounce the name of that restaurant again? An Tony's?" Mike asked Tom.
"Antoine's. AN TWANS! It's French," Tom replied.
"They sure have good food there," Mike exclaimed.
"Surely," Tom said, correcting Mike's grammar.
"Huh?"
"They 'surely' have good food there," Tom said.
"I know it. That's what I just said."
"Forget it, you knucklehead. You've still got a lot to learn."
"You're still my mentor, aren't you?"
"Not any more. I stopped being your mentor when we decided to get married."
"Where to next, Teach?"
"Dallas!"
"'You're from Big D? My, oh yes..." Mike sang at the top of his lungs as the two of them drove to the Texas border."
<><><><><><>
In Fort Stockton, Lee and Jake were getting ready to go to bed. Their father had retired an hour earlier.
"Lee?"
"Yes."
"I'm real sorry that Dad came down on you the way he did."
"Like you, I should be used to it now. I've heard him screaming at you the same way and I was so embarrassed and angry I wanted to hit him."
"I've thought about hitting him some times, but I was always afraid that, with Daddy's connection with God, I'd surely go to hell if I hit him."
"Jake?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"You mean do I want us to fool around with each other?"
"No, something else."
"What?"
"Do you have some money saved up?"
"I have my grass mowin' money hid away."
"How much to you have?"
"About a hundred and forty dollars. Why?"
"I...I'd like to borrow about a hundred, if you'd let me."
"What for?"
"Jake, please keep this to yourself, and by all means, don't breathe a word to Daddy about it."
"What?"
"I have to go see a doctor without Daddy's knowing about it."
"What's wrong? Are you sick?"
"I don't know, but I gotta find out."
<><><><><><><><><>
The phone at the Cole estate was ringing when Roger entered the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. His immediate thought was, 'Now what?' Instead he answered it in an unusually cheerful tone.
"Hello?"
"Roger?"
"Yes?"
"What's the weather like to go skiing in the Alps in December?"
"Chris?"
"Yes!"
"Was that a joke or were you really asking me?"
"I'm really asking you!"
"I've never been there in December, but I'm sure there's snow twelve months of the year somewhere in the Alps! Don't tell me you're going!"
"Roger, Ed's and my talk went better than expected. Although he didn't tell me about his condition, his instincts are very much like yours and Cliff's. He knows that I know without my saying it."
"And he agreed on the trip?"
"I asked him if there were any dreams he'd never taken the time to fulfill and he replied, 'two'. One was to ski down the Alps. preferably a teeny one and he'd always wanted to make love in a gondola in Venice."
"And you said 'yes' of course?"
"Only after he asked about MY dreams. I told him I had three, one more than he."
"What were they?"
"I've always wanted to see Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower, see where the gladiators fought in the Coliseum, and visit Mt. Olympus."
"That sounds exciting and glorious. I might just chloroform Cliff and both of us go with you. Of course he'd never dream of anyone besides himself celebrating eleven o'clock mass at St. Genesius. We'd have to fly to Austria and leave on Saturday for him to perform the mass...then back to Italy until the following Saturday. Come to think of it, I'd be so lost in jet lag, I'd have to go to a sanatorium to reorient myself to person, place, time, and situation."
"I think Ed's actually excited about going."
"You don't think the skiing might be dangerous?"
"Not if he stays as fit mentally and physically as he was in the bedroom last night."
"Chris, I can't tell you how good that makes me feel. You WILL do as I asked and call Walter to make all the arrangements, won't you?"
"Roger, you know I'll be indebted to you for the rest of my life."
"But you should know that I and the rest of the world will be indebted to Ed forever."
"Thanks, I hope he knows that!"
"He IS coming to work today isn't he?"
"Yeah, he told me about wanting to take some time off and he had already spoken to you about it."
"We'll leave it at that. What we know...we know and he's not to know you know what he and I know. Dear God, that sounded just like something Jay would say."
"Roger, what can I say to Cliff about quitting or going away?"
"I'm confidant that Cliff will say, 'if I need help, the Lord will provide...whether the Lord will or not doesn't matter to Cliff as long as he thinks it."
"You know, I got to thinking later last night, if and when something DOES happen to Ed, I'm gonna need to find a place to work."
"Pardon the expression, but like hell you will! Cliff always assumed that Jeff would take his place at St. Genesius some day...and now since Jeff has his own church and special followers, Cliff would only want you to replace him if and when the time arises."
"I hope he never leaves, but...it's nice knowing that Cliff feels that way about me."
"Cliff loves you, Chris, just as I do...and don't forget it. You're not too old to be a Briarwood Boy yourself."
"There's nothing I would rather be..."
"All I have left to say, is 'start packing' before the snow melts and the floods the canals!"
<><><><><><><><><><>
(To be continued "Briarwood" BOOK SEVEN--chapter-seventy.)