Fate and More

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I was standing there alone, at my father's funeral and strangely enough surrounded by hundreds of people. The sky was blue and the sun gave a golden glow to our surroundings. Hundreds of bouquets of flowers hid the coffin. Everybody respected the silence while Jack, my father's best friend, made a little speech and bidding my father farewell. I was supposed to do that, but my emotions got the best of me and when I had to stand up to say a few words, a knot in my throat prevented me to say anything. I was expected to be sad, but I was not. I preferred to feel joy to have had my father for a little over 35 years in my life. He didn't leave me any bad memory. When I thought about him, the words joy, love, instruction, friend, education, laughs, smiles and many more came to my mind. He was my best friend after all.

He was known as Albert Statham III, son of Albert Statham II and Jennifer Willis, known to me as Granddad Al and Grandma Jen. I was just called after him with a IV behind my name, but everybody called me Junior. My father was my hero and my mentor. All I knew, except what I learned at school (and that was not that much), was coming from him. He had such a patient way to explain things in a joyful and playful manner, that it was impossible to forget it. When I had a problem with something in school, he always took the time to explain it to me over and over till it was burned in my head. Doing homework was almost a pleasure with him because I knew I would learn more from him than what my homework was supposed to do. But he taught me a lot more than just school subjects. The most important lesson he taught me was to respect others, without exception and without restrictions. In his eyes, respect was the most beautiful value someone could have. It was not only respect for people, but also for what they did or what they had. Even memories had to be respected, he said, because they were the tools that made people who they were. He taught me that respect was the key to real happiness and peace.

My mother died when she was in labor delivering me. I never knew her personally, but my father made sure I knew her. There were a lot of pictures around the house, showing her in all kind of occasions, always with a bright smile and perfectly adapted clothing to the occasion. My father always talked about her as if she was just out of the house running some errands. He told me that she loved me so much and never complained when I was kicking her during the pregnancy. He told me how she had a contagious laugh and always was optimistic. He made me understand how much they had loved each other and that I was the result of that love. When he told me, for the first time, to look in my heart and I would see her, I didn't understand him. I was too young to know what it meant. He took the time to explain it to me, as usual. I idealized my mother as being the perfect woman with no flaws at all. Even though with age I realized she must have had some negative things as well, as to have a balance in character and personality, I didn't want to see them or know them. In any case, my father never mentioned any.

I heard the story of their encounter from Grandma Jen. She knew how to captivate my interest in what she was telling me, being it a fairy tale or real life events. My parents had met, like most of them in that time, at University. My father was studying to get his Master degree in marketing and administration, while my mother was going to be a doctor in medicine. They met at a ball (yes, in those times there were balls) and after the first dance, none of both danced with anybody else. It was love at first sight indeed. Unknown to them, their parents were friends and both families were happy to see the growing love that would result in a huge and wonderful wedding. They married when my father graduated and they received the Victorian house we were still living in, as a wedding present from the parents from both sides. The house was located on the corner of the main street of our small country town. It was beautiful, inside and out. A total refurbishment had made it efficient and practical, but it was my mother's touch inside that made it a home. My mother had a very fine taste in decorating and the house was welcoming anyone, from the first step they set into the house. The many flowers and plants in the front and backyard were Grandma July's, my mother's mother, work and was the envy of many neighbors.

My mother still had two years more at the University, doing internships at the local hospital. When my mother got her official degree, she was rewarded with the good news of pregnancy. Once again both families were happy with the news and the pregnancy was a nine-months period without the slightest problem. A thousand plans were forged. One of the rooms at the house was transformed into a nursery with a lot of toys and hundreds of Teddy bears. When she was about to deliver, she went to the hospital and everything went fine till an unforeseen and inexplicable major hemorrhage occurred that the doctors couldn't stop. She died there and then and they had to perform a caesarean to get me out alive.

Grandma Jen told me that for the first months my father was completely devastated. He closed himself up in the house and left me to the care of her and Grandma July. My grandparents at both sides let him mourn his beloved wife. He almost didn't leave the house, wandering from one room to the other, crying all the tears he had in his body. He didn't even take care of himself, eating badly and shower maybe once a week. He hadn't changed clothes at all, wearing the same trousers and the same shirt for weeks in a row. He didn't answer the door or the phone. After three months, my Grandma Jen gave him a serious lecture about his responsibilities as a man and as a father. It seemed that she used some very hard and harsh words to wake him up of his depressed state of mind. When he didn't react immediately she did the only thing that was hurting her more than him: she gave him two serious slaps in his face. In those times there was no question of physical abuse when a mother gave a slap to her son and even less when her son was twenty-five years of age. Those two slaps woke my father!

The very next day he took his life back in his hands, listening to his mother and being the responsible person I have always known him to be. His father, my Granddad Al, was the owner of a car dealership and employed him according to his degree and knowledge. My Granddad made him work hard, very hard indeed, as to make him think about anything except his loss, but allowing him the necessary time to take care for me. In the beginning he took me in my baby cot to work. Not everybody was allowed to do so, but he was the boss' son after all. My father worked in all the departments of the dealership (except mechanics and bodywork) and learned how a dealership was functioning in all its aspects. Once I was old enough to go to kindergarten (at the age of three) Granddad took my father directly under his wing and taught him how to run the place properly, including the commercial aspects. Granddad showed him all the tricks to discover how good or how bad a trade-in car was. He taught him how to convince people to buy a new car and soon enough my father made his way to vice- president of the dealership. With his knowledge of marketing and accountancy, he started to suggest things that were better for the company. Granddad Al always listened to him and if the idea was good, he would let my father install whatever was necessary to make it work. If the idea was bad, Granddad always took time to explain why the idea was not valid. That made my father think even more deeply and find alternative ways to make his original idea work.

By the time I was six, my father was almost completely in charge of the dealership. Granddad thought it was time to leave the reins to the younger generation. As the relationship between them was good, my father did everything he could to live up to my Granddad's expectations and was successful with it. Nonetheless, Granddad kept a close eye on the business, but did it without interfering his son's decisions. When my father decided to computerize the complete system they had been using for over three decades, Granddad was a bit skeptical. In those times computers were fairly new and that scared Granddad a bit, but he allowed it to happen. My father got a customized software program to have everything centralized. Even though there were some problems at the start and some much needed changes in the program, the decision had been a good one. My father had a better view on all departments and the accountant was more than happy with the automated procedures. The straight result of it all was that the running of the dealership got a lot smoother and certainly more efficient. A year after installing the computers, the profits showed a ten percent increase.

Even though my father had a lot of working hours to perform, he was there, every day, when I came out of school. He would always ask me how my day was and I was too young to return the question. I would tell him the new things I learned and he would always add his personal touch in those things, making sure that whatever I learned would stick in my memory. When we got home, he would prepare a hot chocolate and some bites to eat, but not that much to cut off my appetite for supper. I would then take out my books and do my homework at the kitchen table while he prepared our meal.

For as far as I remember, my father always treated me like an adult. He never laughed at me when I asked a stupid question but from time to time he would have a smile when I gave a stupid answer. When that happened, he always took the time to sit down and ask me how I came up with the wrong answer and then explaining me why it was wrong and forcing me to think to come up with the right one. He did that till the day he died. I can't be grateful enough for all these small lessons, which were common good sense and general knowledge that was not taught in school.

By the time I was fourteen, I entered puberty. Strange things happened to my body (at least that was what I thought). My father had always taught me to be open when I had a problem. Whatever it was, he never got angry. That made it all the easier for me to talk to him about whatever it was. The explanations he gave me about puberty, growing up and sexual activities were as clear as water. He explained it in a very simple and accurate way. He talked to me about masturbation, fellatio, coitus and so on. He made it all so natural that it was easy for me to understand. He also mentioned homosexuality and other different ways to build up a life style. I remember quite clearly how he told me that I had to make my life like I wanted and that whatever decision I would make was ok with him, as long as I was happy. He taught me to collect all the information I needed before making up my mind, whatever field it was I had to make a decision for.

When I reached the age of sixteen, I realized I was gay. Most of my friends were looking with lusty eyes when the girls came by, but I didn't. I admired the male body in all its forms although I had a preference for the muscled body of men older than me. I had had doubts about it for a few months, but once I was sure I went to see him and we talked about it, as easy as that. He asked if I was sure about it and I said yes. He explained the position of the outside world towards homosexuality. He never discussed my conviction. He just showed me the pros and the cons of coming out to friends and co-students. I was not effeminate at all. I participated in all kind of sports and my personality made it easy to be surrounded by a lot of friends. My father insisted that I'd be who I was, but that I was not obliged to advertise my sexual orientation. He thought that if people had the guts to ask me, I could answer them honestly, but if they didn't ask anything, there was no reason to tell the whole world who I was going to bed with. One thing he insisted on was that if anybody bullied me, I had to tell him straight away and that, together, we would take care of the problem. He explained to me that bullying was a lack of respect and that it was not acceptable. He told me to never get involved in fights about it, and certainly not coming to hands. If I did that, he said, I was lowering myself to my opponent's level and that my self-respect didn't allow that. I was never bullied. The reason was that I followed his wise advice!

When I finished high school my father asked what I wanted to do. He was a little taken back with my answer. I had lived my whole life surrounded by cars. I just loved them and was interested in their design and technology. When I told him I wanted to become a car designer, he agreed but warned me that only the very best could become real car designers. Nonetheless, he took the necessary information and found a few well-famed colleges where I could learn the necessary skills to develop my ambition to become a car designer. I was good at designing and drawing and had a whole lot of sketches to prove it. My father thought it would be good for me to have an engineer's degree and explained the pros and the cons as he had done his entire life. He quoted, I don't remember whom, who said "Do a job you like and you will never work in your life again".

I got my engineer's degree in car building and designing. I was so proud of it, but my father was even prouder. He wanted to give me a present for my title. I could chose between an extended travel and a brand new car, but I had another idea. I knew that he kept my mother's last car in the basement of the dealership. That car had not moved in over twenty years. I guessed it would have some rust and that the engine would need more than just servicing. As a gift I asked him if I could restore Mum's car. He had one tear rolling down his cheek when I mentioned it. It brought back some memories, but he accepted. I asked him if I could do it in the workshop of the dealership and so have some field experience. He smiled and agreed.

The complete restoration of Mum's car took me over six months, working every single day from eight in the morning till five in the afternoon. The car was dismantled completely and restored to its original state. My father helped me as much as he could, but I also got help from the mechanics in the workshop as well as an older guy from bodywork who still knew the older ways of doing things. The experience was tremendous. I learned how to take rust away and if it left a hole, how to repair it. I learned how to prepare the car for painting. With the help of the mechanics, I took the engine completely apart and cleaned every piece, noting down where it came from and what if was used for. A few pieces were so much deteriorated that we had to find new ones. Not easy for a car of over twenty years old! I even learned to use a sewing machine to have the upholstery restored. The older guy, who was helping me from time to time, showed me how to apply layer after layer of paint so that the car would look like brand new.

Finally, the car was finished and as my father was away for a meeting, we rearranged the showroom and had the car exposed. When my father came back from his meeting he looked at the car and got emotional. He hugged me like he had done hundreds of times in the past, but I felt his love in that hug. He was so proud of what I had achieved. It felt like my mother would come through the door at any moment, sit in the car and drive away. The guy from the technical and maintenance service had redirected the spotlights and the car was shinning like no other. The chromes were so polished that you could see yourself in them. That car was not for a showroom my father said, but for a museum, but we all knew the car would stay in the showroom forever.

The night after we'd put the car in the showroom, my father wanted to show his gratitude for such a fine job and invited me to a nice restaurant to celebrate. We had a Champagne dinner, meaning that we drank only Champagne: Champagne as aperitif, Champagne with the first course, with the second course and finally with the desert. And it was not just Champagne. It was nothing less than a Krug Cristal. The food was fine and exquisite. It was when we had received our coffees that my father asked how my love life was.

• Nobody so far Dad, I told him. I want to find the appropriate person to love, respect and trust. He hasn't come by yet. But let me return the question Dad. What about your love life?

He had a sheepish smile on his face. We had never had any secrets for each other.

• Well, I have no one in my life either. The love I had for your mother was so special, that I am sure there is nobody out there that can live up to what I would expect. It is almost twenty-five years now since she left us. All this time my love for her has not diminished the slightest way. Trying to find someone would give me the sensation that I am unfaithful to her. I know, I know, it is stupid to think like that, but at my age I won't change anymore. And besides, you are in my life and I love you more than I can say. You are the pride and the joy that your mother wanted to give me. She is giving it to me, but not the way that I thought. She put you in my life and that has been the most wonderful gift I ever received from anyone at any time.

That got us both emotional. No, we didn't cry or have a single tear, but our eyes were moist. It was undeniable that every time we spoke about my mother, our voices got softer and always had a special tone.

• The day your mother died, he continued, I promised myself to give all of my attention to you. There wouldn't be any interference from a third party. I accept comments only from your grandparents if there had to be any comment! But since Grandma Jen slapped me in the face some twenty-five years ago, she has never had any reason to make any comment. Granddad Al did a few comments, but it was never concerning you. He as well asked me how my love life was, but he insisted that I was wasting my life. I had the right to live and love. I told him I did thanks to you. Since then he never asked me again. What I mean Junior is that we all have choices to make in our lives. My choice was you and if I had to go back in time and could chose again, I would make exactly the same choice without a shadow of a doubt. You are the priority on my list and I am so glad I made that choice because you gave me only joy and pride.

I stood up from my chair and went around the table. I hugged my father with all of my heart. I just hoped he would feel my love through the hug.

The year I had my thirtieth birthday was a sad year. Granddad Al had a car accident and died before he reached the hospital. When Grandma Jen heard the news she had a fatal heart attack. They were buried on the same day, together in eternity. My father had a very rough time after that. He seemed to have lost his joy of life completely. He had been in harmony with his parents like I was to him. I tried to talk some sense in him, but to no avail. Whatever I told him, didn't reach nor his brain neither his heart. I remembered Grandma Jen slapping him, but I could bring myself to it, but one day I threatened him to do so! He looked at me with incredulous eyes, but it seemed to have pushed a switch in his head. Grandma's slaps had been effective, but my words had had a similar effect on him. The following day he got up, not really cheerful but ten times better than the day before.

In the following weeks he had his hands full with the heritage. Granddad Al had achieved so much in his life that it was difficult to sort everything out, but finally manage with the help of the family lawyer. Their mansion was far too big for my father or for me. We decided to sell it, after retrieving quite some personal items. We didn't even have to contact a real estate agent, as our lawyer wanted to buy it. My father and the lawyer agreed on a fair price and the paperwork was done before we even realized it.

My father gave me a nice amount of money for whatever I wanted to do. I went for a brand new computer and the newest software in car design. I was determined to design a new car that would be different to everything that was seen on the market. It would be a two-seater with very fluid lines. My inspiration came from a few Italian designers that had proven their skills and reached models that were sold before they even were built. I hated the square lines most of the prototypes were showing. I wanted curved lines with a high aerodynamic coefficient. I wanted to realize a car that would glide over the road, in almost total silence and providing a pleasure to drive that was unseen before. I went through all of my sketches and selected the five that were the most appealing to me. I transferred them to my computer and worked on it hours in a row. Softly curved mudguards were in front as more accentuated ones were covering the back wheels. The roof blended artistically with the rest of the bodywork and was of tinted glass. I designed innovative alloy wheels that were according to the fluid lines of the car itself. The interior was to be luxurious but with a minimalistic aspect. Carbon fiber and leather were the main materials used, as well inside as outside. It took me almost a year to finish the complete design and another six months for the engine and gearbox. The chassis didn't ask so much time as the software calculated what was needed according to engine and bodywork.

I learned to work with carbon fiber. It was not easy! Once I got the trick of how to work with it, the creation of the first pieces of the bodywork became smoother. Charles, the older guy from my father's body shop, was a great help. He had never worked with Carbon fiber, but he knew how to give the adequate curves to metal and was convinced that giving a curve was the same in all materials. Ok, we made some mistakes and had to throw some pieces to the rubbish, but for each piece we threw away, we had learned something new. Where he was an absolute ace, was when he started using sandpaper. He had an eye for little details that was a must in accomplishing perfect lines.

The construction of the chassis was given out in subcontracting. I had printed out the design the software had given me. The subcontractor was surprised when he saw it. He asked a lot of question as to what the engine and gearbox was concerned, but as well the weight of the bodywork and the size of the wheels. When he had all the information he indicated a few things that should be changed. I wanted to know why. I was fortunate enough that the man was willing to give me the indications. He even introduced my design in his computer and had it revised by his software. On the screen appeared the few minor details in red color that the man had told me. It made me start to doubt on the quality of the software I had bought. I restarted all my calculations from scratch. Everything was ok except the few minor details the chassis man had indicated. I gave him the ok to build it.

Once the chassis was delivered we started to assemble. More than once we were faced with problems to fit everything. One thing was sure: safety was not something where we would "compromise". I wanted to have a fast and powerful car, silent and luxurious, but above all safe. I wanted to avoid an excess of electronics so that we could control the car by ourselves and not depend on computers that could fail. The biggest challenge was the sound insulation, but thanks to new materials and technology, we could reduce the noise to a soft whispery sound. I rented out a private circuit to test the car and I was a nervous wreck when the test pilot ignited the engine. The only one who didn't doubt a second about the results was my father. He smiled all the time and he assured me everything would be absolutely perfect. After several days of tests in all kind of circumstances, the test pilot gave his ok. That was when I asked my father to drive the car and give me his opinion.

He was on cloud nine after a few laps. He said the car was absolutely perfect, nice to look at and he appreciated the almost perfect silence when driving. In short: he wanted one for him.

• How much does it costs? He asked me.

I was a bit perplexed because I hadn't calculated the price of a hand-made car and prototype.

• You know, he said, if this car is presented to the specialized press, it would have a whole bunch of potential buyers. The car is beautiful but it gets even better once you drive it. It drives smooth and gives a total feel of security. It holds the road at any speed. It is a winner for a selected public, if the price is correct. If you want we can go over all the invoices and the time you spent designing and building it. It's only then that you can calculate a correct price.

We gathered all the figures my father had asked for. He started his study and made a prevision of the real cost of the car in case we built ten, twenty, fifty and one hundred cars. It was in any case an expensive car and reserved to a selected public only as he had said. He was convinced the investment was worth it, knowing the automobile world. He also suggested that we could reduce the costs by buying existing engines and gearboxes. It was not a bad idea, but then again the car wouldn't be as exclusive as it was now. His idea however was to propose the car with a choice of engines. He was going to make a new calculation and see what figures he would get.

That night, when I went to bed, my father was still at his computer making huge calculations of production, commercialization and possible profits. In the morning, when I came down the stairs, I saw the light in his office was still on. I wondered if he had fallen asleep while working and as I entered his office, he was indeed with his head in his keyboard. I went to kiss him good morning but noticed his skin was colder than usual. It downed on me that he didn't move at all. I felt there was something terribly wrong and called the emergency number without waiting. When the paramedics arrived, they could only tell me he had passed away.

I was standing there alone, at my father's funeral and strangely enough surrounded by hundreds of people. The sky was blue and the sun gave a golden glow to our surroundings. Hundreds of bouquets of flowers hid the coffin. Everybody respected the silence while Jack, my father's best friend, made a little speech and bidding my father farewell. I was supposed to do that, but my emotions got the best of me and when I had to stand up to say a few words, a knot in my throat prevented me to say anything. I was expected to be sad, but I was not. I preferred to feel joy to have had my father for a little over 35 years in my life. He didn't leave me any bad memory. When I thought about him, the words joy, love, instruction, friend, education, laughs, smiles and many more came to my mind. He was my best friend after all.

I was my father's only heir. Everything he ever owned or achieved was now mine. A few days after the funeral and the reading of his will, I sat in his office where he had passed away. My father's secretary had collected all the cards form the bouquets of flowers. My task was to send a note to all those people and thanking them for paying their last respects to him. The funerary had suggested leaving it up to them, but I had politely declined. I wanted to thank them all individually and personally: a huge task seeing the pile of cards in front of me. I read them one by one. At the end I decided I would make two piles: one where I would send a personal note and another pile who would receive a printed and less personal thanks.

On the following Monday morning I received a call from Jessie, my father's secretary. She insisted that I had to do to the dealership because quite a lot of important decisions had to be made. I hadn't realized it yet, but I was now in charge of the dealership! My father had been the only owner after Granddad Al passed away and now I was owner and CEO of the company that was in our family for three generations. I was suddenly converted in a businessman and not a car designer any more. I had to face the daily operations and decisions. Even though my father had taught me a lot, I didn't feel really prepared for the job. I was an engineer and had very few knowledge about running a business. But I had no choice! Too many people depended on me. The clients expected to be treated equally as before my father died. Our personnel needed to be paid at the end of the month. The sales team had to go on selling cars to provide an income to the company. And all of that suddenly rested on my shoulders, on my responsibility.

I searched for a fast way to acquire the necessary knowledge. I had to find a course that would teach me the basic ropes of business management. It wouldn't be the same as if my father would have taught me, but once again, I had no choice. Jack, my father's best friend who made the little speech at his funeral, came in to help. He was owner of a car dealership as well and that's how he met my father. He imagined the problems I was facing and was kind enough to teach me a few things. I missed my father's way of explaining things and teaching me, but I was a quick learner.

The prototype I had built was put in the show room next to my mother's car. I wanted to give it a name but had trouble with that. I wanted to call it Albert, but I found the curves of the car too feminine and decided finally to call it "Alberta I". Alberta attracted a lot of attention and interest. I was surprised to find a picture of the car in a specialized magazine. I had not seen any reporter and the magazine didn't even ask for my permission to publish the article. Most of the information was false anyway. I contacted the family lawyer and asked him to do the necessary to demand the magazine. He had to be more than efficient as the very next morning I received a call from the head editor of the magazine. He apologized profusely and assured me his reporter pretended to have interviewed the designer of the car.

• He hasn't interviewed me, I told him, and I am the designer and builder of the car. It will be best you contact my lawyer because up till now I am determined to sue you and your magazine. The published information is false from the first to the last letter. The only thing that is true is the picture.

Kyle Atkinson, the chief editor, went on apologizing and finally asked if there was a possibility to meet. I told him to contact my lawyer and hung up, but immediately dialed my lawyer's number. Once he had picked up the phone I explained him the situation and asked for his advice. He didn't see any problem to meet Kyle Atkinson and even suggested to be present at the meeting. The least that would be required would be a public apology in the magazine. My lawyer told me he had to hang up as the editor was calling him on the other line.

I couldn't believe the magazine had published an article without even verify the reporter's data. The magazine had quite a good reputation in normal circumstances. People, who bought that magazine, believed every word that was written in it. Some of them even took their articles as references! I didn't doubt that our lawyer was going to obtain what we wanted.

I received a new call from him, confirming the appointment for that same afternoon at four. At a quarter to four my lawyer entered my office. He said that he thought that everything was settled, but wanted a written and signed confirmation from the editor. At four sharp, Jessie announced the arrival of Mr. Atkinson and his people. His people? I looked quizzically to my lawyer who had a smile on his face. He went to the door and let him in, but asked "his people" to wait outside.

Kyle Atkinson was probably the most gorgeous man I had ever laid eyes on. I don't have to be shy about my physics, but Kyle was absolutely stunning. It was obvious he worked out and his suit fitted him like a glove. He had to be my age, height and weight. He had short black hair and a fashionable two days stubble on a square chin. He had sparkling light blue eyes that looked straight in mine when talking. A genuine smile adorned his face and showed a perfect set of teeth. I could only imagine the rest of his body and I was daydreaming about undressing him. His handshake was firm and when our hands touched, there was a little sparkle of electricity flowing over. After the introductions, my lawyer started to explain the consequences of the publication and what we were requiring. Kyle immediately agreed to the terms and conditions my lawyer had written down. He took out his pen and signed the document without hesitation.

• I would like to do something more to compensate, Kyle said. I brought some people of my crew to make the appropriate pictures of the car and a trustworthy reporter to lead an interview, which I will overlook at all times. For your information, the reporter who wrote the first article has been fired on the spot and will probably never write another article again, at last not in this state. We already reserved a six-page space in our next number, with a due apology for the first article. If you want, I will leave it to you gentlemen to write the apology so that it is exactly what you expect.

I couldn't do anything else as to accept what he was suggesting. My lawyer said to Kyle that he would have the written apology by morning in his e-mail inbox and then left us to do the interview and the pictures. The pictures came first and we all went to the showroom. I was asked to pose next to the Alberta I, but as naturally as possible. I didn't know how much pictures they took, but it was quite a lot. I was photographed in front of the car, behind it, on the side of it, standing, squatting and sitting in it. It took the photographer almost an hour before he said he had what he needed. Kyle had supervised it all and looked at the digital screen of the camera to assure they had what it took to illustrate the interview. The photographer left after that and we went back to my office for the interview. The reporter was genuinely interested in the story of Alberta I, but also in mine. After a two-hours long conversation he said he had what was needed and asked if I wanted to read the article before publishing. I agreed to that. He then left, but Kyle lingered on. On a more personal level he congratulated me for Alberta I. He even said he was falling in love... with the car.

When I drove home that night, Kyle's face couldn't get out of my sight. Jeez, he was gorgeous, but that was not all. He seemed ... genuine! In those few hours I had been able to discover he was intelligent, bright and very pleasant. He acted really natural and with extremely good manners. Even his deep voice had seduced me. I wondered what was happening to me. I had never been swept off my feet like that. If my father had been alive, he would certainly have asked me if I was falling for that guy and I would have had to say yes. I had briefly fallen in love before in my life, but this was different. It was more. It was as if I knew that my life would undergo a total change.

I didn't remember how I had arrived home. I had been on autopilot from the dealership to my house. I didn't remember if I had stopped for traffic lights or not. I didn't even remember if there was any traffic at all and once I was inside the house, I couldn't even remember if I had left my car on the driveway or put it in the garage. There was only one thing that I was sure of: I wanted to see Kyle again and rather sooner than later. I went up to my bedroom and undressed, something I always did when arriving home. I pulled on some running shorts and sneakers and didn't bother with a T-shirt, as the weather was warm. I pulled an elastic band on my arm and fixed my iPhone in it together with the house key. My usual tour was about an hour run. This time I ran about half an hour more. My body was covered with sweat and was shinning in the setting sun. The whole time I had been dreaming that Kyle was running next to me. When I reached home after this serious run, I went to the bathroom and showered far longer than usual, because I had to relieve myself from the sexual tension I had allowed to build up. Millions of spermatozoids were desperately looking for an ovule, but there was none. I wanted to send a text to Kyle, but I didn't have his number. Even if I had, I realized it was a stupid idea. Kyle was probably married and with kids. It was as if the word "straight" was written all over his face and body. When I switched off the nightstand lamp, I fell asleep quite fast due to the exhausting run I had done. My dreams however, were haunted with Kyle's image.

A few days later I received an e-mail with the text that would accompany the pictures of Alberta I and me. In attachment I found the pictures that had been selected for the publication. Even if I say so myself, they were stunning. I responded to the e-mail giving my agreement for publishing. The week after that I received various copies of the magazine. The picture on the front page was that of me standing next to the Alberta I and the headline said: "A new star is born". I wasn't expecting that but it was nice nonetheless. On the first page inside there was the public apology that my lawyer had written. The pages two till seven were fully dedicated to the interview and the pictures. I couldn't have asked for more! The magazine, and I guessed Kyle, had done a wonderful job. I asked Jessie to get Kyle on the phone as to keep a professional approach. I thanked him profusely for the good job and apologized for the rather harsh tone I had used on out first phone call. Kyle said to forget about that and that he was glad I was happy with the publication.

• Happy? I asked. I am more than happy. I had never dreamed to have such an extended article about my work. Actually I have to thank you. This article could be the start of something new for me and change my life. And to thank you properly it is my pleasure to invite you and your wife for a nice dinner at the place of your choice.

• I am not married, Kyle answered, but I will gladly accept the invitation. As for the choice of restaurant I think "Le Mirage" would be the perfect place. What do you think?

• I think it is a splendid idea. We just have to agree on a day and an hour. Would Friday night around seven be ok for you? That is if they have availability.

• For me it is perfect. Just give me a call or send me an SMS to confirm.

I made the reservation at "Le Mirage" and confirmed it to Kyle. The fact he had said he was not married was welcome news for me. My hopes were again as high as the highest mountain. It was not that he confirmed he was gay, but good-looking like he was and not married gave me a suspicion that maybe he was. I sure had to be careful, remembering what my father had said to me in a far past. My father was buried, but he was so alive in my memory thanks to all the lessons he had taught me!

To be continued É

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