Dear Readers:
I want to thank all of you who have encouraged me thus far, and I hope that you continue to find some enjoyment in the story. There are many issues in the male psyche that a work of prose touches upon. Each issue is only used as a tool to further the progression of the story, and is only for entertainment purposes.
As always, I want to remind you that even though Dave and Greg are not practicing safety in their sexual escapades, remember you must. We're dealing with some serious stuff out there, and if, God forbid, the world will lose some of its brightness and glitter without you.
This part is for all you guys and gals who are too young to be reading this material. LEAVE NOW! (Yeah, like what am I going to do if you don't)? If you find this subject objectionable, LEAVE NOW! And remember, this story is a creation of my overworked imagination and belongs to me. If you'd like to reproduce this in any form, please contact the author (me) for permission.
Also, any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is a compliment and should be taken as such.
Thank you, Jay
As always, this author craves feedback. Criticism only makes me a better writer. Please respond to Jaylovenj@comcast.net. I look forward to hearing from you.
Four Become Two: Chapter 26
"Hey, Scott. What are you doing here?" I ask, as I come into the lounge, having just arrived home from work.
"Hey, Dave. I don't really know. Your better half called me, telling me he needed the jet fully fueled and ready to go at 5:30 p.m. when you got home. He's upstairs now getting dressed."
"So, may I ask where he's going? I didn't know he had a trip planned."
"I wished I knew," he responded.
"What do you mean, 'you wished you knew'? Don't you have to file a flight plan?"
"I was told..."
"He was told that he would be given instructions on the plane so that some nosy person wouldn't be able to spoil my surprise," Greg says, coming into the room.
"Hi, babe," I say, giving him a kiss as he slips into my arms. "So, what is this all about?"
"We are taking a weekend. The kids are over at Mom's, and I gave the staff the weekend off, sans Scott here. But he is good until we need him for the return."
"Can I ask where we're going?"
"Didn't Scott just tell you that he would be given instructions on the plane. As for you, you'll find out when we land."
"How will I know what to pack?"
"Done! Now, if you're ready.Scott, you haven't been drinking, have you?"
"Only club soda."
Greg grabs the handle of the rolling luggage he had packed, and we proceed out the door. "I'm surprised you're not bitching and moaning," Greg teases.
"Why would I?"
"Because you don't have control. I'm really proud of you. You have really changed since Dr. Diggs."
"I have found I don't really need to have complete control. It's nice to just sit back, and let someone (you) take the lead."
Scott pulls the golf cart we had taken from the house over to the parking lot near where the Gulfstream was parked.
Soon, the engines are revving, and we are taxing to the end of the runway, making the wide turn at its end so that we can take off. I hear Scott talking to the Controllers at BWI.
"Just a second," he says. "Greg? I need the coordinates," he says.
"Oops, sorry!" Greg yells as he goes to the front of the plane. I notice he closes the door as he returns.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"
"Nope! Just sit back and relax."
Very soon, we were airborne. Once the plane leveled, Greg reached over and unbuckled my seatbelt, pulling me to my feet, and re-depositing me on the leather sofa.
"Here, lay back," he says, putting my feet up and removing my shoes.
"What?" I ask.
"Would you like a drink?"
"No, thanks babe, I just want to relax a bit. It was a rough day."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Well, I finally got in touch with Shelia's PO. I couldn't get a definite answer on our intention to bring her to Maryland for a visit."
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"I really think it would be best. We can fly her in, and basically keep her ignorant of our location."
"That makes sense," he says. "What else?"
"We wee having some scheduling problems with the new ship, Tropical Paradise. They wanted to delay launch by one month, but I wouldn't hear of it. I spoke with Dad, and he contacted the other members of the Board. Anyway, when we suggested delaying final payment for a month, they soon changed their tune."
"What was their problem?"
"Publicity! They wanted to use the ship in a publicity campaign."
"But wouldn't the extra advertisement be beneficial?"
"Yeah, anytime you get your name out there for free is money saved, but we are on a deadline for our premiere sail. It is going to coincide with the opening of the island.
That feels good," I moan, as Greg has removed my shoes, and is now massaging my feet. "Bermuda?" I said as we exit the plane. The sun is just beginning to head towards the horizon, casting that orange glow into the sky, and a big luminous light across the water.
"Welcome to Hamilton. You are going to have two days and three nights of fun if I have to take all of your little toys away. No cell phones, no Palms, no conference anything, no telexes, no nothing. Whatever crisis happens, Dad, Jeff and Rich can handle it. Do I make my self clear? Beside, it's going to be fun."
"Just how will we occupy our time?" I tease.
"I'm sure we'll think of something."
"Okay, you two cut it out. Go get a room!" Scott says, coming off the plane, giving our bag to the skycap. "Greg, are you sure you have enough clothing? This feels mighty light." He breaks out into a big toothy grin.
"I think I might have over packed."
We walk through the executive terminal to see a man with a sign bearing my name.
"I see our chariot awaits!" Greg coos. I am astonished to see a horse-drawn carriage waiting for us.
"Well, gentlemen, you have a wonderful time. I'll be back Monday morning?" he asks, looking towards Greg.
"About two," Greg directs. "As a matter of fact, why don't you come a little early and have lunch with us?"
"I'd like that," Scott says. "See you then." He turns and heads back towards the jet as Greg hustles me towards the carriage. We settle into the plush, red leather seats, and soon begin to wend our way through the streets.
Greg snuggles up to me, placing his head on my shoulder as we are transported along. "This is so beautiful," I say to him. "You are beautiful."
"You're just a big softy," he teases.
We soon pull before a cottage on a little rise overlooking a beautiful beach. "Welcome to Cambridge Beach," the driver says. At that moment, a man appears before us.
"Mr.. Jefferson?" he asks, looking towards us.
"I guess that's me," Greg answers.
"I am Daniel. Welcome to Cambridge Beach. Everything is as you requested. If you will just sign here," he asks, indicating a form that he had with him. Greg gives the man his credit card, and signs the voucher. At that moment, a bellman arrives, and takes the bag that Greg had packed from the back of the carriage.
We follow him inside the bungalow. It is beautifully furnished. There are two rooms. The main room contains the living area, with two couches covered in a bright green chintz material offering comfortable seating. There is a wet bar, a home entertainment theatre, and a fireplace done in emerald green marble.
Through rear opening French doors is a private terrace overlooking the harbor, complete with plush lounging chaises and seating, as well as a in-ground spa.
We climb five steps to the master bedroom that is dominated by the king-sized bed in rich fabrics with emerald silk sheets. White fluid sheers cover all the windows, giving the rooms that light and airy feeling. Again, there are double-hung French doors that leads to a wooden patio outside.
"This is beautiful, Greg," I say as he tips the bellman.
"I'm glad you like it. Would you care for a drink before dinner?" he asks, popping the cork on a bottle of champagne that was chilling near one of the sofas. "It should be here in about thirty minutes."
I sit on the nearest sofa as Greg hands me a glass of the sparkling liquid. "Dave, for years I wandered aimlessly through life. Then one beautiful day, I went to a dinner, and I met you. Since that moment, my life became a new venture.
I knew the moment that I met you that we were destined to be together. Try as I might, I could not get you, or the thought of you, out of my system. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.
This weekend is about you. Not only is it an opportunity for us to reconnect, and for you to get some much deserved rest, I want to show you how grateful I am that you are a part of my life.
I went from being a lonely man to a man with a beautiful family who has a giving, wonderful mate and two adorable children.
I am so happy, and you are the reason for my happiness.
So I offer this toast to you: my love, my life, my everything." He clinks his glass to mine. I bring him into my arms, meeting his lips with mine as I take his glass from him and put it on the table. I can feel Greg fold into me, and I allow my wandering hands to travel over his body.
A soft knock on the door interrupts us. "I'll be right back," Greg says.
Opening the door, he finds the same young man who had retrieved our luggage, and another, more distinguished gentleman.
"Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Carter, and I will be your server this evening."
Upon Carter's instructions, the young man sets the table on the patio, and we walk through the doors to a romantic setting.
A candlelit table dressed in sparkling white linen adorned with gleaming white china, Waterford crystal, and shining silver.
"To stimulate your palate this evening, our chef has chosen a special menu for you. For your pleasure, Galantine of Cedar smoked corn fed chicken, caramelized wine sap apple, crape compote & Micro arugla served with a Cloudy Bay Chardonnay, 2000."
The food was absolutely delicious. Greg and I both commented on what a delightful treat this was. Course, after delightful course arrived at our table until finally Carter announced the main course: a Poached aged Angus tenderloin wrapper with thyme farce, seared tournedos of beef accompanied with a cep rague, crisp potato rostti & port wine reduction, all served with a Rosemont Balmoral Shiraz 1999.
Greg and I were in gastronomic heaven.
"And for dessert, gentlemen," Carter said as the waiter again removed our servings, "Tian of caramelized clementines with grand mariner Chantilly cream and spiced orange caramel sauce, and with this, we'll serve a lovely wine, a Chateau la Chatreuse 1998."
And it was a delight. "Carter, who is the chef?"
"That would be Graham Singer. He prepared this wonderful feast for you this evening Sir." "Well, please convey our compliments. The meal was absolutely delightful," Greg says. He signs the check, leaving a healthy tip for our waiter and server.
"I will be your personal butler while you stay, sirs. Is there anything I can do for you before I take my leave?"
"No, thank you Carter."
"We're going for a walk along the beach," Greg announces, as he takes me by the hand.
"Very good! I'll unpack for you and prepare your room. There is a footpath right off the terrace that leads to the beach. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen," he says with a bow as we head in the direction indicated.
"This is wonderful," I say to Greg as we make our way to the beach. The sun has just set upon the horizon, and a dark, peaceful calm surrounds us. The waves are gently lapping against the shore, and we sit on the soft sand to take off our shoes and socks.
Once barefoot, we continue to walk along, in small, intimate conversation, and in silence, just enjoying the presence of each other, and this rare opportunity to be together.
"It's been so long since it's just been the two of us," Greg says. I turn, taking him in my arms.
"Yes, it has. We need to do this more often. I'm so glad that you thought of this."
"I want to make mad, passionate love to you." He presses his body tight against mine, his body finding the niches to fit against me.
"Umm, you feel so good. I love holding you in my arms."
"I love you." I press my lips to his, receiving the gentlest of kisses.
"Why don't we go back to the bungalow? I feel a little." fake yawn, "tired?"
The cold rain continued to fall as the yellow cab pulled up along the sidewalk on West 14th Street. The lone figure emerged from the cab and walked up to the door, and stepped inside.
A familiar face became recognizable as the person surveyed the interior. Shelia walked over to where the person was seated.
"Annette," she stated calmly, settling into the booth opposite her friend. "You look well."
"I am well, Shelia, at least I will be. I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Ronald."
"Reynolds," Shelia finishes, as she gazes at the man sliding into the booth next to Annette.