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Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager.
*** Since Yahoo has taken down their groups pretty much, I was thinking of creating a group for the story on Facebook. Would there be any interest in that? Let me know.... Thanks!
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Seven months later Tim and Brett returned to Janesville after their lengthened motorhome excursion across the country and stops in Canada and Mexico.
They both felt as they had in those bygone days when they were seniors in high school. The trip was a second honeymoon for them, and the motorhome was cram packed with souvenirs of their trip and gifts for their friends at home.
The only annoying part of the trip happened when they were on the ocean for a month in Baja California Sur in Mexico. Both of them were deeply tanned, their faces unshaven and scruffy, hair sun-bleached, and happy to pass the days looking for all the world like a pair of penniless beach bums. They vowed to buy some waterfront land there once they got home and have a place built. Both of them said that were it not for all of their ties in Janesville they'd spend the rest of their lives on the Mexican Pacific coast.
Somehow, Tim and Brett had no idea how, Brett was tracked down on the beach in Mexico by a couple of Republican Party hacks appearing out of nowhere looking mightily out of place in dark suits and ties and asking him for an hour of his time of which they spent the entirety by badgering him that he should stand as a candidate for President of the United States at the next primary season. At first, they demanded to talk to Brett alone and were quite obviously put off when Brett declined by saying that anything they had to say to him they could say in front of his husband.
After listening to them, Brett gave them his answer.
"Look guys, when I signed off as Governor of Wisconsin I told the people of Wisconsin flat out that being their Governor for eight years was the extent of my involvement in politics. Forever. I said I was a citizen politician and that's what I was. It's all I ever was. And I won't break my word to them. It means too much to me. If I broke that promise I'd be just like any other slimy politician. I did my job and I'm not giving any encores.
"I have zero – in fact less than zero - interest in being the President. Why would I want to do THAT?!? Locked up 24/7 in the White House like some kind of a prisoner? Douche bag Senators and Congressmen who I couldn't trust farther than I can piss to deal with every day? And none of `em know jack shit except how to be oily and get reelected? Waste-of-time meetings with freeloaders and two-bit dictators from other countries who I couldn't give two fucks less about them or their countries? The fucking press? You guys are out of your minds...
"Out. Of. Your. Minds.
"Huh-uh. I got no more to give. I'd rather die. My answer isn't no, it's HELL NO! And just how the frick did you track me down here to this beach in the middle of nowhere in Mexico in the first place anyway? I'm a private citizen for Christ's sake! You had no right to do that! This royally pisses me off and you can tell that in so many words to whoever the hell it is that you work for... Fuck this shit..."
"It may change your mind," one of the hacks said, "if you knew that we, um, we have certain information regarding certain financial arrangements that were set up between the United States Government and your administration when you were Governor having to do with federal payments to the State of Wisconsin that were not disclosed to the State Legislature as you knew, or should have known, that you were required to do."
Tim merely looked on, observing that Brett was growing more incandescent by the second.
"Really..." Brett said sarcastically. "Why don't you just tell me all about what you know then..."
The hack went on to recount the payments made to the State of Wisconsin by the federal government in exchange for the State's cooperation with British and American intelligence.
"That all you got?" Brett spat. "Those payments were line-itemed in the revenue section of all the applicable budgets as being temporary federal transfer payments, which is exactly what they were, and the legislature voted on those budgets. You think I should have read the budgets to them like some kind of a bedtime story? Held their hands? Given them milk and cookies, too? It was all there in black and white for all of them to see... Nice try... Oh, and I better not find out that you guys aren't authorized to be privy to that information. I'm sure you can figure out what I meant by that..."
"Well we um... We..."
"Tell ya what," Brett interrupted. "You got my answer and that's it. I said hell no and it's hell no. Thanks for your time. And your interest. I'm flattered. Really. I might agree to help out in Wisconsin a little bit, a very little bit, but let me just say that if you or whoever it is that you work for gets any bright ideas, I'd think twice. I anticipated something like this."
"What about your husband here? What's he think?"
"What his husband thinks," Tim spoke up, shrugging his shoulders and pursing his lips, "is that I don't have anything to add to what Brett just told you..."
"Welp," the one Hack said to his companion, "Doesn't look like we're gonna get what he came here for... At least not today."
"Nope. I guess we should go. And Governor? I'd expect you'll be hearing from others..."
"That's fine," Brett said. "But I won't be calling anyone. Put it this way, guys: when the phone doesn't ring you'll know it's me... I'll play nice around Wisconsin a time or two just to make everybody happy but my name is not up for candidature. And I'll only help out if I approve of the candidate. If I don't approve, then I'll remain silent. That's the best I can do."
"Good day then, Governor, and thank you for your time."
Brett rolled his eyes.
"I'm gonna get with Brad when we get back. If they wanna get to me they'll hafta go through him first. Brad'll drive `em nuts if he puts on his hick act like he did when I ran for Governor the first time. Christ, he kept the press away from me!"
Tim laughed. "Brad can drive anyone up the wall when he wants to."
Over breakfast the morning after their return to Janesville Tim looked at Brett.
"I suppose I better go see Wymo now. I read his damn journal while we were on the road, and I told him that I would and that I'd see him about that when we got back."
"Still not gonna tell me what's in it, are ya..."
"I will. After I talk to him."
"You're an honorable friend, husband... Ya gonna do it today?"
"I guess I'll call him up and tell him I'm comin' over..."
"I just texted Brad telling him to come over and plan to spend the night."
"You'll always have that thing for Brad, won'tcha..."
"And you'll always have that thing for Wymo..."
Tim winked.
"Well, spend the night at the Alamo and see what's what..."
"I'm glad I married you, husband..."
"So am I. And when you asked me, you thought I was gonna say no... You did! I never would have said no."
"OK, well lemme give Wymo a call here..."
Ten minutes later Tim returned. "OK, I'm headin' on over to the Alamo..."
"See you whenever," Brett said squeezing Tim's crotch and smiling.
Tim kissed Brett.
Tim went to the bedroom, packed himself a gym bag with clean clothing, toiletries, a jock strap, some toys, a few other accoutrements, and he stopped to retrieve his copy of Sean's journal. He headed toward the door. "OK, I'm out!"
At the Alamo, Brad had made a complete night's worth of his signature drinks with instructions for Sean as to how to serve them. In exchange, Sean sent Brad off with some of his best hors d'oeuvres and four of his best-rolled joints, the ones that were nice, fat, and arrow-straight from one end to the other. The ones he called "Canons." Unlike others, Sean didn't use a cut at one end. His Canons were solid weed all the way down in order to ensure that they yielded a delectable roach. Ever considerate, in the kit with the four Canons, Sean included a ten-inch angled hemostat for use as a roach clip.
When Tim arrived at the Alamo he was surprised to see Brad still there, but if he had to admit it he was relieved to see him making ready to leave.
"Goin' somewhere, Brad?" Tim asked with a hoping half-smile.
"Um, yeah... It's fine, Tim. You and Sean need some time alone. I know that... I get it... You've needed it for a while, no? And besides, I'd like to see Brett," Brad smiled with a wink.
"Alrighty then..." Tim said, nodding, and slapping Brad on the back.
Entering the Alamo, Sean greeted him dressed like it was old times in a pair of Spalding athletic coaching shorts, one of his signature too-large t-shirts, sporting Adidas Rom's on his feet, and his hair long like it was when they were kids. Wizard appeared meowing at Tim when he saw him, then curling himself around Tim's ankles, purring loudly. Tim reached down to scratch the cat while gazing up at his old friend. He could have sworn Sean didn't look a day over thirty or thirty-five years old, and with the same smart-ass smirk he had back then, too. Tim felt his heart skip a beat.
"Hey, Dix! Let's go for a ride... I wanna show you my latest project down the car museum..."
Tim thought to himself, `That's really not the reason why I'm here but oh well...' So he answered, "Sure, Wymo! Whatcha got?"
"Tell ya when we see it..."
"Yeah, man, and we're taking my latest creation down there. I got a just finished one in the garage here. Anyway, let's go. I rolled a joint for us, too..." Sean headed toward the garage door pausing to throw a sardine from the refrigerator into Wizard's dish.
Tim shrugged and just followed along.
In the Alamo garage Tim was greeted by the clean, uncluttered lines of a 1982 Chevrolet Malibu coupe finished in a deep red paint.
"Dark Claret. Factory paint color," Sean said. "Like it? Everything's factory spec on the body and interior but it's all been redone."
"It's gorgeous!" Tim said answering honestly as he truly thought it was with its stock Chevrolet rally wheels and white vinyl interior with bucket seats and console. "What's it got in it for power?"
"That's what makes this car so rare. It was built with the Oldsmobile 350 diesel V8. There's almost none of those engines still in existence. Extremely rare these days. But this engine's been totally rebuilt and modernized. The only thing original to the engine is the block. We even figured out how to put a small twin-scroll turbo on it. Factory it had 105 horsepower and it was slower than fuck but with everything we did to it, we dyno'd it now at 310 horsepower, and 500 pound-feet of torque. We chucked the old GM transmission and got hold of a six-speed manual out of an old Corvette that we rebuilt and put in. She drives like a dream. AND we're getting 60 miles to the gallon on the highway with it. Anyway, let's go!"
Tim hopped in the passenger side.
"Oh No! You're driving, Dix! Sean smirked.
"Been years since I drove a stick..." Tim said.
"It's like fucking. You don't forget... Besides, it's really forgiving to drive because the engine has so much low-end torque and the clutch is pretty linear..."
"OK..."
Tim delighted in the drive once he got going. "Jesus, Wymo! This thing's like a fucking throwback!"
"Yeah, but she's sweet..."
At the museum, Sean took Tim into the back shop. Tim's eyes almost bugged out of his head.
"Wh... I mean... What is it?"
"It's a 1976 Buick Electra 225 Limited."
*https://youtu.be/2L-hJjMj_y0
"And it's a coupe," Sean continued, "which is rare enough, but it's also got the vinyl roof delete which is super rare. There were only nine made that year with the vinyl roof delete. I researched it and this in the only one known still surviving. I'm having it done as a birthday present for Brad. It's the predecessor in spirit to the car he's got now. Whadya think?"
"It's... Man... It's unreal. It's fucking HUGE!"
"Yup, this year and this model is the longest Buick that was ever made. The outside's done now, and the engine and chassis, too, so it's just the interior and we'll do that to stock."
Tim feasted his eyes on the 1970's American battlecruiser of a car. Black paint, black highlighted classic Buick road wheels and he could see that the interior would be black as well with acres of leather.
"Engine, or is it electric..." Tim asked.
"Engine. We kept the stock 455 V8 but just like with the diesel in the Malibu we completely rebuilt and modernized it. All the primitive old anti-pollution shit's been taken off, we had the heads milled to put the compression ratio at 10:1, had port fuel injection installed in the cylinder heads, increased the valve sizes, had aluminum pistons put in. She's cranking out 575 horsepower. Could be at least a hundred more but she's been tuned for low RPM efficiency not as a drag racer. These were good reliable engines the old Buick V8s were. And the mileage on the highway should be OK, but she doesn't burn gas anymore. It's biofuel. Should be about 40 highway for mileage minimum at least anyway. That's way more than double what it got when it was new. And we emissions tested it. It qualifies under current regs. The whole chassis under it is new, too, even put in an independent rear suspension, one of a kind. Under government regs we can drive it 5,000 miles a year before we get a fine. We might use it once, or twice a year around town here is all and we can bank the miles we don't use so maybe in a few years we could take it cross country. Anyway, you never told me what you think about her?"
"I find this difficult not to masturbate to," Tim said.
"I'll masturbate you later. Anyway, you think Brad's gonna like it?"
"Brad will love it. You put a lot of work into it and a lot of heart. He'll know that. I bet he'll cry..."
"Brad doesn't cry. Or at least I've never seen him cry. He never even cried about his parents' death when he's talked about it. He just keeps on keeping on... I lucked out with him..."
"Yes you did."
"Anyway, I reserved my table at the Country Club. We're gonna go have a late lunch. I took the liberty of ordering a special menu for us, too."
"What are we gonna have?"
"Well, we're starting off with a magnum of champagne, Dom Perignon 2006 and we'll be having oysters on the half shell à la Prosecco, the entree's gonna be scallops mostarda with steamed asparagus tips and parsley buttered new potatoes. Wine's gonna be Sauvignon Blanc, a Wohlmuth 2017, then for a palette cleanser radicchio salad with sweet onions sliced paper thin, cilantro, and a pear/white balsamic dressing. For dessert there's gonna be grapefruit gelato."
"Wow!" Tim said. "You thought of that?"
"I did..."
"I think I'd take about a gallon of that... But I gotta tell ya, Wymo, I read your journal and that's what I really need to talk to you about. And if I'm not wrong you want to talk about it too. Otherwise you wouldn't have given it to me to read, wouldja... And I wouldn't be planning to spend the night, would I..."
Sean looked dejectedly at the floor.
"Dix, I... I... It's... I mean... Fuck..."
Tim was shocked at seeing Sean lost for words. In all the years he's known Sean he'd rarely seen Sean act like that.
"Dix, you're right. We'll talk about it when we get back to the Alamo. I promise. I guess even now I try to skirt it and avoid it. But yeah, you're right... I have to unload this with you..."
"Sorry, man. I mean, I didn't mean to put you on the spot or anything..."
"I had it coming, Dix... I promise, when we get back to the Alamo..."
"I'm holding you to that. Let's go eat!"
Sean and Tim dined on a fine lunch and afterwards decided that since there was ample time left in the day they'd get in nine holes of golf. As usual, despite his otherwise sterling athletic abilities Sean struggled to post a passable round and ended up with a 44. Tim on the other hand shot par, 36.
"Why does doing well at golf always elude me!" Sean exclaimed, exasperated.
"You can't not suck at everything," Tim deadpanned.
"Fuck you, Dix..."
"That's for later. We're gonna go back to the Alamo and we're gonna have a talk..."
And that they did.
At the Alamo's bar Tim led the conversation off.
"I uh... Well... Anyway, look... I wanna talk about this journal you gave me..."
Tim proceeded to get the journal out of his backpack and place it on the bar.
"And before I start in, can you give me another one of those Brad cocktails and a double shot of vodka..."
Sean obliged and rolled a joint.
"I just wantcha to know, Wymo, that I cried a time or two when I read this. I had no idea. It's not that no one told me how badly you were affected, maybe they didn't know, but I should have known, man. I'm a piss poor friend."
"You didn't know, Dix. So don't kick yourself. I hid it from everyone. I hid it from my boys by not being around when they needed me. But I hid it. You were in DC anyway. How were you supposed to know? Even your mom didn't pick up on it..."
"Well, I guess you got a point there... I mean for sure about my mom..."
"Maybe I'm just a good actor..."
"Maybe. But you had your breaking point."
"Yeah... That whole fucking year. I mean... First Coach died. I guess I was fine with that. I mean, well, I don't mean "fine" fine, but he was old and he never did recover from his stroke. I guess I'm surprised he lived as long as he did. What a great man, though. I mean, ya just think about all the life lessons he taught us..."
"I remember. My favorite one was `excellence chases perfection.' I used that line so many times over the years with young lawyers I mentored in the JAG corps..."
"Yeah, and nothing will ever top that year that we won it all, Dix. I'll carry that year with me to my grave. We hardly knew each other before the season started. We'd just met..."
"Yeah, but look where we are now, man... I didn't know what to expect out of you when we first met. You didn't give off any vibes... Good or bad... And then once practice started I was pretty sure you were gonna beat me out..."
"But I didn't, did I... And that's how it should have been... It was your Senior year."
"I guess so, but back to the matter at hand..."
"You're a vicious lawyer, Dix..."
"I've had a lot of practice... Anyway, after Coach dies then that Thanksgiving, or right after anyway, Ginny dies..."
"That one was major. I mean, she'd been out of it for a long time but I gotta tell ya, Dix, every once in a while, every so often, the old Ginny would come through. Just as razor sharp as ever with some piece of advice or an old story and then... Then she'd be back to trying to fit half a dozen trains of thought into one sentence and she'd get upset when she couldn't figure out how to finish it... A few times when I saw her she'd get mad and tell me, `You're nuthin' but a little shitass! Always have been, too! God damn you!' and she'd scowl like crazy and tell me I could just fuck off..."
"Glad I didn't hafta see that. I knew her from when I was just little, ya know... There's only ever gonna be one Ginny..."
"True, that, Dix. And I owe her everything that I am. Just everything. I knew it was the dementia talking. She never didn't recognize me, though..."
Tim shook his head.
"God bless her memory..." Tim said.
"Your dad gave her a helluva sendoff..."
"She was everything to him that she was to you, Wymo. Dad would have been a good lawyer anyway, but she really taught him the ropes. How you win without anyone knowing any better. How to deal with enemies and remain a gentleman... When and how to put the hammer down... That kind of shit... Plus, she had clout. Anyway, why don'tcha light up that joint... And pour yourself another drink..."
Sean filled his glass, lit up the joint and took a healthy hit. He reversed the joint putting the burning end into his mouth and beckoned Tim in for a shotgun.
Tim inhaled a massive, dense hit from Sean's shotgun. Sean offered Tim the joint and he returned the favor, Sean taking two hits then consuming a double shot of vodka at one fell swoop washed down by a healthy chug of Brad's cocktail.
"You ready to talk now, bro?" Tim asked.
Sean's head was spinning from the rapid intake of weed and alcohol, but he knew he'd have to be in a state like that to open up. And he knew that he had to open up now.
"Dix, man, I'm gonna tell it all now... I know I hafta and I knew I'd hafta be buzzed to do it... Fuck, man, I need another hit and another shot..."
Tim obliged figuring that the worst that could happen would be that Sean would just pass out drunk. If that happened Tim would just have another go with Sean later. But even if it had to be revisited Tim would not let Sean slip out of it. He'd come too far.
Plus, Tim needed to get this over with. While Sean might have been content to bury his sorrows inside of himself not realizing the cost to others, Tim didn't work that way.
Sean surprised Tim by snapping up. The alcohol and weed seemed to fortify him in this instance. Tim was not about to argue...
He knew when to let well enough alone.
"So, you read the journal..." Sean began.
"All of it," Tim answered matter-of-factly. "Several times in fact."
"OK, well, there was some stuff I left out..."
"It kinda read that way. I mean, you went over the deaths. Coach, Ginny, Andy... But I just felt in the end that it seemed a little bit too clinical. Too cut and dried. It didn't seem like it was all there... Didn't really feel like it was totally you..."
"Yeah. No. It wasn't all there..."
"Well, I'm here now and I'm gonna listen. And you're gonna tell me..."
"OK, take your clothes off then..."
"You want me to strip?"
"Yeah, and I'm gonna, too. I hafta be naked to talk about this."
Tim shrugged, removed his clothing, folded it and set it on the barstool next to him.
"I'll be right back," Sean said. "I'll get us a couple of towels to put on the barstools so our asses don't stick to `em."
Tim was growing a bit impatient.
When Sean returned Tim took a sip of his drink and a hot from the joint. He looked at Sean. "OK, spill it, Wymo..."
"Oh, and I turned the sauna on, too..." Sean said.
"WYMO!" Tim exclaimed. "For Christ's sake!"
"OK, Dix... Sorry, man... I promised I'd tell it all and I guess I'll start now..."
"Jesus! I mean, we're not getting any younger, man..."
"I need another drink..."
Sean filled their drinks, took a hit from the joint himself.
"Here goes..." Sean choked out.
"See, Dix, the starting point of what I left out was that I wasn't there when And died. I... I..."
"Deep breaths, bud," Tim said, reaching for Sean's hand.
"I WASN'T THERE!" Sean wailed. "I..."
"It's OK, Wymo. You're talkin' to me now... I'm just gonna listen..."
"OK... OK..." Sean heaved.
"OK, Dix. I wasn't there. They had to call me, and I was too far away... Jesus fucking Christ!"
Tears were streaming down Sean's face and his nose was running snot.
Sean's body shook, his breathing labored.
Tim wondered if he should start to worry about his friend's condition.
"I wasn't there because... Because..."
Tim looked at Sean with concerned eyes.
Sean waved Tim off letting him know that he was about to continue.
"See, I was in Chicago!"
"OK... Well... I mean... That doesn't tell me a real lot..." Tim said. "You were in Chicago. And... So..."
"I was with someone else..." Sean barely whispered. "I wasn't there when I should have been... I..."
"Steady as she goes," Tim said, walking around behind the bar and pulling Sean into a tender hug. "Steady as she goes..."
A few minutes later with Tim back on the other side of the bar Sean continued.
"See, Dix, And and me... And and me, well... See... We'd kinda started to grow apart in those last few years..."
Tim was by now extremely curious to know what he was about to hear.
"Sorry, Dix... I'll get on with this. It still just kills me, though... It's..."
"Tell me."
"Dunno really where to start... I guess once all the kids were here and stuff, and you know... And got going with the Civil Engineering with Saeth, and he even went back and got a Master's Degree.
"Me? I was too busy looking after all the Consortium shit. I was out of the country a lot. I was busy minding everyone's money when I should have been minding my life. It seemed like our interests just weren't the same anymore. And over that same time we, well, we were seeing other people... We just drifted apart... I... It just happened... And then when... I regret... I fucking regret it all so much..."
"I see..." Tim said scratching his balls instead of fondling his wattles as his father did.
"Dix, man, it wasn't like And `n' me didn't love each other anymore. We loved each other but it was like we really weren't together anymore... At least not like we were... It was like something that was in the past...
"Wow, man... I never knew any of that. I dunno what to say..."
"Nobody knew. For a few years we put on a front. I mean, we still loved each other but we pretty much weren't together. It just happened over the years. We were for the most part off with our other lovers... And... And..."
"I got all night, Wymo. You can tell me as fast or as slow as you want."
"Thanks, man... I mean, see it was like this..."
Meanwhile, at the old Ginny Miller house Brad was mixing drinks for Brett and himself.
"So," Brett said, "you read Sean's journal? I mean, that's why Tim's over at the Alamo tonight..."
"I did. Did you?"
"Nope. Tim said he'd tell me about it when he had a chance to talk to Sean. I know he read it when we were gone. I know he read it several times. I think he even made notes in it..."
"I'd tell you all about it, Brett, but I'm gonna leave that for Tim to do."
"I can respect that. Hey, guess what?"
"No idea..."
"When we were in Mexico these two Republican goons tracked us down and tried to get me to run for President."
"You mean like of the United States?"
"Yeah. I was like no way..."
"You didn't even want to finish your second term as Governor for Christ's sake!"
"Well, anyway, I did finish it thanks to your advice, and I guess I'm glad I did. I didn't leave before I'd finished the job. But I might want your help keeping guys like that out of my hair..."
"I c'n do `at maybe..." Brad said in his old hick speech pattern.
"Yeah, and that's how I want you to talk to them, too. Drive them nuts like you did with all those Madison reporters..."
"Oh, trust me, I will... You did your bit being Governor. I couldn't see you throwing your life away being the President. Then you'd want me to be your press guy and I'd have to decline..."
"Exactly. Anyway, pour me a drink and I'll fire up one of those doobs you brought. And take your clothes off..."
"Thought you'd never ask..." Brad grinned. "Anyway, Sean didn't put quite everything in that journal..."
"Did he tell you that?"
"He didn't have to. This is just between you and me, but I watched Sean for years. I knew his every move. And Andy, too. I knew pretty much what the real deal was at the time. I'm banking on Sean telling Tim the WHOLE story..."
"The WHOLE story?" Brett asked, eyes wide.
"Yeah, the whole story. It actually makes Sean look better than he thinks. Too bad he didn't see it that way, and in some ways still doesn't..."
"You're really not gonna tell me anything, are ya..."
"Nope. Now don't bogart that joint. And you take your clothes off, too."
"Damn you!" Brett laughed.
"You think Tim `n' Sean have their clothes off?"
"Of course they do. They've always needed each other that way. They'd make a horrible couple, but they do make excellent friends and lovers... They're part of each other..."
"I know that," Brad said. "And I would never step on that. Sean's my husband, not my property. My job was to save him, not to own him."
"It looks like you succeeded."
"No magic there... He needed a strong hand to snap him out of it. For a long time I didn't know if I could do it, but then I decided I had to. I promised Andy..."
"Wait! I'm kinda getting a different vibe here, but you promised Andy?"
"Yeah. I never said that to anyone else but Sean before but right before he died Andy made me promise to look out for Sean..."
"Did Sean know that."
"He didn't at the time but that's all I'm gonna say..."
"Jesus Christ, Brad! You are so fucking close-mouthed!"
"Yup. That's my value to you, Governor."
"OK, I get it... And you can be exasperating, too..."
"Shut up and pour us another drink."
At the Alamo, Sean continued with Tim.
"Andy never told me how sick he was."
"What?"
"No, he didn't. You see, it wasn't the leukemia that killed him. It was pancreatic cancer."
"What?!?"
"Yeah, he never told me that he had it. So I didn't know. See, like I said, by the time I got to the hospital Andy was dead. I was in shock. I don't remember a lot of it, I mean that day, but I do remember talking to the doctor and I asked him how the leukemia could have killed him so quick."
"OK, and..."
"The doctor told me it was pancreatic cancer and asked me why I asked him about leukemia. I didn't know about any pancreatic cancer! Andy didn't fucking tell me!"
"Wow..."
"And then the doctor said that Andy left a letter for me. A fucking letter! I was... I don't know what I was!" Sean gasped as he broke down again.
"But at least you found out, Wymo. I mean at least you know that there's nothing that could have been done..."
"I want you to read the letter Andy left me..."
"Um... OK, I guess..."
"I gotta go get it. I'll be right back..."
Sean came back with an envelope and handed it to Tim.
"I keep this in the safe in a box with other mementos..."
"Go get the box," Tim said.
"What?"
"Bring the whole fuckin' box. I wanna see it."
Sean nodded his head. He padded back to the safe and brought back a medium-size box.
"Here!" he said to Tim. "But read the letter first..."
Tim obliged, removing a folded sheet from a legal-size envelope.
The paper contained Andy's letter to Sean. Tim unfolded it and began to read.
The handwriting seemed small and crabbed, not Andy's usual clean, well-defined, masculine hand.
"Sean-o,
"If you're reading this it means that I'm gone and I didn't get to tell you all this face to face.
"If that happened, I'm sorry. I really wanted to. More than anything, I wanted to.
"I know the past few years haven't been our closest. It wasn't either one of our faults. Sometimes I guess, that's how it works out. Or at least it did for us.
"I'm going to say the most important thing first. You are and you always have been the love of my life. I wouldn't trade one second or minute or hour or day that we had.
"I tried to tell you about the cancer but I couldn't. I didn't even know about it until just a couple weeks ago. They tested me and said there was nothing they could do and I was too far gone. They said it was odd that I didn't outwardly show obvious symptoms. You wouldn't have noticed. No one did.
"I know now that I should have told you. I hope you will forgive me.
"I'm sorry, Sean-o. Sorry to you and the boys. I wish I could have changed it.
"I made a last-minute change to my will, nothing that will affect anyone much. I hope you understand.
"I love you more than you will ever know and when I get to the other side I'll be waiting there for you. I'll wait forever if I have to.
"I love you,
"Andy."
"Wow..." Tim said. "I mean, I never... I never thought..."
"No, I didn't either... And I wasn't there for him to tell me. But he still loved me... I... That letter will always burn... It will always make me feel like a piece of shit..."
"That's not how he meant it."
"I know that in my heart, but it still burns. It burns so bad..."
"What was the change he made to his will?"
"He added his, I mean I dunno even what to call him, his boyfriend, lover, whatever he was, to the will and left him ten million..."
"You ever meet the guy?"
"No, never... All I know is that his name was Rob, or at least that's what I think it was, and he lived in Milwaukee, or in Whitefish Bay I think..."
"Christ, if he lives in Whitefish Bay he prolly doesn't need any money..."
"There were some people who came to the funeral that I didn't know. He coulda been one of them but I guess I'll never know... It didn't bother me if And left him something. I was seeing someone, too. That's why I was in Chicago. But I let that go once it all hit me... I was a shit that way, too..."
"Gimme the box. I wanna look through it."
Sean handed over the box. Tim opened it and took out a sheaf of photos and papers.
Tim started looking through them, pausing when he came to a particular photo. He put the photo on the bar. In the photo were two little boys, perhaps no more than seven or eight years old. It was a summer day, the boys were dressed only in shorts, they were playing in a sandbox with Tonka trucks. Both were laughing with wide smiles.
"What's this photo tell ya, Wymo?"
Sean picked up the photo and looked longingly. His lower lip quivered but he couldn't put it down.
"I know what Andy meant to you, Wymo. Whether toward the end you were still husbands in name only or not, I know what he meant to you. And reading that letter of his I know what you meant to him. He literally loved you until the day he died."
Sean started bawling.
"It's OK, bud. It's always gonna hurt for a long time. There's no way it couldn't. But you two loved each other until the end. A lot of folks never have that chance. And even though it took a while, you got to love again. And I can tell you love Brad."
Sean blew his nose and nodded. "Yeah, I do love Brad... He took a chance on me. And you wanna know something? I think it was Andy's doing..."
"So, Andy's still looking out for you. He said it himself in his letter. He's waiting for you. He said he'd wait forever if he had to. He will. You know he will, too..."
"Yeah..." Sean said appearing to have regained some of his composure. "You're right."
"I'm your best friend. It's my job to be right. Wanna go for a drive?"
"Sure... You drive, though."
"I'd planned to..."
"Wanna take the Chevy?"
"If you want to. Put some of those drinks in a thermos and bring a joint..."
"I'll grab a couple of Solo cups, too..."
Tim drove to Riverside golf course. He walked Sean to the precise tree of the first date he had with Brett.
"Let's siddown and you pour us a couple drinks. I'll fire up the doob," Tim said.
Sean and Tim sat down in front of the tree for a long while, savoring the scenery and saying nothing.
"I'm lucky," Sean said.
"How do you mean?"
"I was lucky to have Andy. Lucky to have my boys. And my grandkids. And I'm lucky to have you, Dix."
"Yes, you are lucky to have me."
"Make love to me."
Tim obliged and in the waning twilight made skillful and gentle love to his old friend. So much so that Sean produced two healthy loads of cum. One on his own chest and the second one on Tim's face as he changed positions and rode Tim's fat cock. Tim eagerly ate Sean's cum.
"I love you, man..." Tim said.
"I love you, too... You ever think... I mean... You ever think that... Maybe..."
"It never woulda worked, Wymo. We're too much alike. We're too competitive. We both know too much. I'm gonna love you like this and there's really no `what if...'"
"You're right. Besides Brett swept you off your feet that day at the mall..."
"He did. Right from the start he drew something out of me without even trying."
"You two didn't waste any time getting married, either..."
"I knew he was the one, Wymo."
"Yeah, and I knew And was the one, too... And I fuckin' pissed it away..."
"Wasn't your fault... Wasn't anyone's fault."
"I always prided myself on making the best decisions. The most informed decisions. On keeping it real. Common sense and all that... And then in the end I blew it. I wasn't there for him... The one thing that mattered more than anything else and I fucking blew it..."
"You know that's not true so cut the crap. He didn't tell you. And he said himself he didn't have any real outward symptoms so how were you gonna know anyway? Besides there's that letter he left you. That said it all, man... You beat yourself up for all those years when you didn't have to. And you shouldn't have. If you made a dumb decision THAT was the dumb decision... To blame yourself... And then to check out..."
"I said I'd been a shitty friend..."
"Not what I meant. I meant checking out for your boys. But before you go and get all morose and shit I ain't picking on ya. They turned out OK in the end. And I know you know that you have Brad to thank for that. Well, Brad and Kathleen... The boys were always over at J.R. and Kathleen's a lot because of their cousins but because Kath gave them all informal grief counseling. Trust me, they understood a lot more about what you were going through than you might think."
"How... How do you know any of that? You weren't even around!"
"No, no I wasn't. But that doesn't mean I didn't have people here in town who knew what was going on..."
"You spied on me?"
"Of course not! The argument defeats itself because had I known the true extent of your dysfunctionality I'd have been back here in a heartbeat. But I wasn't. Or I could have had Brett do some investigation for me because he was here and I was in D.C. But I didn't. Spying on you, my ass! I only had an idea that you were mourning. The rest of it I never knew... That's another reason Ginny put you in charge and not me: I was too dumb to figure it out."
At that Sean half-laughed the laugh that a sad person laughs when told something funny but they wish they didn't have to laugh.
"Fuck you, Dix! You made me laugh!"
"I'm so sorry for lifting the mood here a little bit," Tim deadpanned.
"Anyway, do you think you understand it all now?"
"Not sure. Is there anything else that I haven't been told?"
"You're a hard customer, Mr. Dickson!"
"Keep talking that way and you'll see how hard," Tim said as he lazily stroked his dick.
"Let's get back. The sauna's on," Sean said.
"My dick always gets real long and semi-hard in a sauna..."
"I'll admire it for a while then before I suck it then... You've always had a great cock, Dix..."
"And you always cum like a horse," Tim said in return. "I want you to cum on my face again."
"That's the problem with facials," Sean said. "Eventually you run out of other people's cum..."
At that, Tim groaned. "Let's get back to the Alamo..."
Brett hissed while on all fours in the barb out the farm east of Janesville. It was Brad's idea to go there as he was hot to have sex with Brett. There had always been something about Brett to Brad. Ever since the first time they met. Maybe it was the calm demeanor, or Brett's cerebral quality, or his lack of side, or his unalloyed physical beauty. No matter what he did, Brett seemed at ease with himself. Brad didn't know, though, about the short nerdy dude who was ignored by almost all of his classmates until he grew eight inches and became a star player on a championship football team.
In the same way, Brett craved Brad's long lean body. Brad's lovemaking had both an urgency to it and an elegance that was unique. Brett begged Brad to fuck him harder. Brad obliged. His touch was so light that Brett felt nothing other than Brad's cock impaling him faster and deeper.
"Cum in me!" Brett demanded. "Fucking paint me!"
Brad abruptly pulled his dick out. "Fuckin' sit on it, Brett! I'm really fuckin' close but if I paint your insides, you're painting my face! Fuckin' sit on it!"
Brett complied quickly switching positions, grabbing Brad's throbbing cock and jamming it up his ass. Brad pumped himself into Brett while Brett rode Brad up and down like an old Frigidaire Multimatic washer.
"I'm close!" Brad panted. "Oh God! I'm gonna cum!" and with that Brad's cock spasmed into Brett's intestines. Brett felt each shot of Brad's cock.
"Fuck!" Brett grunted. He felt himself losing control. He shot his cum in six thick creamy spurts on Brad's chest and chin. "Fuck! Brad! Oh fuck..."
Brad was overtaken by the clean but strong smell of Brett's loads and how it hung in the air so much so that he shot a second load into Brett's ass.
On the way back to the Alamo Sean turned to Tim. "When we get back to the house there's something else I wanna talk about..."
"There's MORE you left out?"
"No, not that. I toldja everything. Finally..."
"Then what is it?"
"I've been thinking on this for a while. And I think it's time to dissolve the Consortium."
"WHAT?!?"
"I'll explain it all when we're back at the Alamo."
"This I gotta hear," Tim said, shaking his head.
END CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX