THIS STORY IS TOTALLY FICTITIOUS. IT CONTAINS DESCRIPTIVE SEX BETWEEN MEN. IF THIS IS OFFENSIVE TO YOU GO ELSE WHERE. IF IT IS ILLEGAL FOR YOU TO BE READING IT, YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE TO BEGIN WITH, SO JUST GO AWAY. OTHERWISE ENJOY IT. JWS
DINING ALONE (PART 6)
DON'S TALE
by J.W.SMITH
My two foremen were in the outer office setting up work schedules when I arrived early Monday morning. They took one look at me a grinned. Jim, the older one said he was glad to see I was back among the living. I was glad, too. I went into my office and started working on the plans for the pavilion. I could hear the crews arriving in their individual trucks. Soon they were all in the outer office getting their instructions and drinking coffee. A young fellow that works as a roofer, seeing me though the window, tapped on my door and came into my office.
"Hey Don, I saw you at Grover's Friday night with that old white headed fag.
Business deal? He has a job for us?"
I swiveled around in my chair and glared at him.
" Fag? Where do you get off calling anyone a fag, Bob? Everyone knows you'd drop your pants for anyone willing to blow you."
"Hell, getting a blowjob from another man doesn't make me queer."
"Doesn't it?"
"Everyone knows that."
"Do they?"
"Are you calling me a fag, Don?"
"Are you one? I hear tell it takes one to know one." I couldn't help but taunt him.
"Gee man, there's no reason for you to get mad. I just came in here to be friendly." He buckled and I lit into him.
"No, you came in here to belittle another person. That's not cool. And, Bob, if I hear of you using that word or any word that means the same, in reference to another person, be he a friend of mine or not, you will be looking for another job. Do you read me?"
"Gee, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm sorry."
"Good. Now get to work."
I guess that kind of thing comes from working side by side with one's employees, too much familiarity. It's a damn shame. I like working with the men. And I like doing manual labor, especially when its one of my own projects, born out of my imagination.
Dad had handpicked the two crews that I had on my payroll. They were all good steady men. None of them drank or used drugs. Most of them were family men. And except for Bob they all had been with us/me for several years.
There's always seems to be a bad seed in ever apple. Bob was turning out to be mine. I went out to speak with my two foremen about him. They both agreed that he was a good roofer, but he had a little mean streak. He enjoyed belittling others to make himself look better. Usually it didn't work.
I went back to my drafting table. I tapped my pencil on my forehead as I mulled over the conversation with Bob. Damn, that confrontation had been a great way to put the world in perspective after a wonderful weekend. But I soon discovered it was only the beginning. My phone rang.
It was my old friend Tom Watson. He was a lawyer in Chino, over on the other side of the valley. I hadn't heard from him for a few months, but that was how our friendship was. We'd been friends since childhood. When he went away to college and I stayed home and went to UC Pomona, we lost contact, but picked up our friendship when he returned.
Now he was married with a couple of kids, so we kind of moved in different spheres. Plus the woman he married was a born again christian. She was one of those do-gooders that create their own beliefs and pin them on Jesus, stiff, self-righteous, unforgiving hypocrites who always have the noses in every one else's lives. And, over the last few years I had observed that her ways were becoming his.
"Hey, Tom, haven't heard from you in a while. How's everything?"
"Great, Julie's expecting again. And the other three are growing like weeds."
"Good to hear it." That was his whole sphere, the wife and kids.
"How are you doing? Have you found that lucky gal yet?" he asked.
"No, I guess I'm just a confirmed bachelor."
"Well, that 's what I'm calling about."
"What? You found her for me?"
"Be serious, Don. One of our church members saw you having dinner with that notorious queer novelist that lives over on Harvard by the colleges. I can't understand how they can let him teach there. You know he has a bad reputation, with all his gay rights and gay agenda. Is he a client? Are you doing work for him? Surely it wasn't a social thing, was it?"
"What's with the queer bit, Tom? I thought you were an educated man. Where are you coming from with these questions?"
"I just heard this and I'm worried."
"Why, because others know that you know me? Afraid someone will think you're a homo just because I had dinner with a gay man?"
"That's what happened. My minister asked me if I am a friend of yours. Then he told me one of our church members had seen you with that---man."
"And you told him what?"
"Well--- I admitted knowing you. That's all."
"You lied to him. Didn't you? Because you are not my friend, Tom, you don't even know me."
"What do you mean? We grew up together. We were best friends in school."
"Yeah, but we grew up and apart." I paused to gather my thoughts. Tom was silent on the other end. "OK, Tom, you can tell your preacher it's no body's business but mine why I was dining with Mr. Williams. And if Joe Williams is a homosexual, it not your preacher's concern anyway, nor is it any business of yours or your church members.
And tell him that gays should have equal rights. And there is no such thing as a gay agenda. That's something made up by you holier-than-thou-ers. You got enough guts to tell him that?"
"You don't have to get preachy. I was just worried about your reputation."
"I don't really believe that. It's your own reputation you should be worrying about. You used to think for yourself. Obviously some sanctimonious slime ball is now doing it for you."
"Really! Don, you shouldn't call reverend Goodman names like that."
"You don't deny it. So I thought. So long, Tom. It was good to know you at one time." I hung up on him. I could see him still sputtering. The Devil sure works in mysterious ways, and God gets all the credit. Gee, I was beginning to sound like a gay activist. Maybe so, but you wouldn't catch me wearing a rainbow ribbon.
I didn't tell Joe and Frank about the conversation. I saw no need to help spread such evil. I suppose in my diatribe I should have told Tom I was gay too, but that would have made more fuel for him and his gossip spreading pietistic church members. I put it out of my mind and went back to the plans for the pavilion.
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One of the wonderful things about living today is digital phones and call forwarding. As work progressed on the pavilion I found myself spending more and more evenings and nights with Joe and Frank. Anyone calling me got their calls forwarded and never knew I wasn't home alone.
By June the pavilion was nearing completion. They started planning a big party to celebrate. Our California weather was perfect for an evening around the fire pit. The new outdoors kitchen worked perfectly for the barbeque Frank had planned. The hot tub didn't get used until late in the evening after all our straight friends had left. A couple of intimate close friends stayed to help clean up, and we all ended up taking a soak.
They offered to let me move into the guest bedroom back in April. I had been leaving more and more clothes and personal things there, but I never slept in that room.
My nights were spent in their giant bed. As the weeks and months passed, they convinced me that my place was living with them. In late August I rented my house to a young couple and moved completely in with them.
We had an intimate little gathering of our closest friends. We declared our love to one another. The three of us vowed never to leave either of the other two out. We were now a threesome.
I made no open declarations to the rest of the world. I changed the emergency numbers on the door of my office and my P.O. address. I had my telephone service moved to the Harvard Street address. And I sent out change of address notices to all the people who mattered in my life. If they put one and two together, and came up with three, and could accept it, that was wonderful, if not, that was their problem.
I did have a long conversation with my mother. She was a widow now. Her husband Clayton had died a few months after my dad. When I told her I am gay, she laughed.
"Donny, my dear son. Your mother's not as dumb as you would have her be."
She leaned toward me. "You know I love you. It broke my heart to let you go live with your dad. I knew even then that you're gay. You never had a serious girlfriend. It was always Tommy this, Tommy that all the way through high school. Do you ever see him anymore?"
"Yeah, he called a while back. He's become a born again holy roller."
"Nooo, not Tommy. He was more intelligent than that, I thought."
"We were wrong. It was his wife's influence, I guess."
"My my, Donald never did like that boy. Anyway, back to you." She flicked her hand, as if to say 'We're rid of him.' "Mom, did you really love Clayton?"
"Of course I did. Not in the same way I loved Donald. But I did love him and he loved me."
"And Dad?"
"Oh yes. I loved Donald. From that first day in grade school, I loved him. And in his way he always loved me. I knew, when I married him that John was the true center of his life. I thought I could wean him away from John." She paused in thought. "He was best man at our wedding. He was your godfather, too, you know." She paused again.
He never did resent me trying to take Donald away from him. I suppose he was totally secure in his love. If it made Donald happy then he was happy, too." She reflected for a moment. "I really feared that Donald was going to join John when he was killed. I never saw anyone take a death so hard. A part of him seemed to die that day. It was fortunate that you were living with him. I don't think he would have stayed with us otherwise.
Your dad and I were always close friends. It was me he came to, when you seduced him."
I turned red and ducked my head.
"I'm not telling you that to embarrass you, son. I can't say I approved, but I think I understood. Your father was an honorable man. He worshipped you. I know he was always tormented being you lover. But he couldn't deny you anything. Not even himself.
I think loving you, as he had John, was good for him. It brought him back to life." She stared off into infinity as she thought.
"Why haven't we had talks like this before? I never realized there are such depths to you. You have amazed me, Mom. So what is your take on my living with two men as my lovers?"
She thought for a minute and then said, "I would like to meet them before I give you my opinion. Tell me about them."
"Well, Joe Williams is a well known published writer and Gay rights activist. And Frank Dillon is president of a big finance company in L.A."
"That's a strange combination of careers. I read "November's Hunger" several years ago. It was heart wrenching. I was crying every other page."
"Have you read "Dragon's Lair"? It is mostly autobiographical."
"I haven't."
"In it Joe tells how he met Frank. A real two penny opera."
"Tell me."
"Joe was in a head on collision downtown L.A. He was thrown through the windshield. He had a bad concussion. Frank witnessed the accident. He rushed to Joe lying in the middle of the street. Joe looked at him and asked his name and then asked him to promise not to leave him. Joe then blacked out. Frank kept his promise and was at his bedside for six months while Joe was in a coma. He has a steel plate in the top of his head. When Joe woke up the first thing he saw was Frank smiling at him. They've been together ever since."
"And you are stepping into a affair with these two men. Is that wise, Donny? I mean they've been in a longtime relationship. They are married to each other. Where do you fit in? I don't understand."
"Well, Mom, the affair is over. We courted, if you would, for nearly a year. I am in a relationship with them. We had an intimate little ceremony with our friends. We each declared our love for one another and promised to love and respect and to never leave one another out. We have gone through all the legal paper work, wills, right of attorney"
"My God." She whispered. "When I was in college I read a lot of science fiction.
Heinlein was my favorite. In several of his books he wrote of different kinds of future marriages. I thought he had a vivid imagination. And here I am witness to one of them.
I'm seeing the future."
"Does it scare you?"
"No, it fascinates me. It will take great maturity from all three of you to make this work, you know."
"I know. And it scares me."
That was just before Thanksgiving. When I told them about the conversation Frank immediately invited her for Thanksgiving Dinner. When she met them, she fell in love with them, too.
I think the most wonderful thing about this whole affair is that our Joe will never have to eat alone again when Frank's company has its Christmas party.