I've Always Loved You, Mike

I've Always Loved You Chapter 12 Mike Cox Author: Eric McQueen (mcqueen.richarderic@gmail.com) Adult Readers, Sexual Situations, Sex

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By the time we got Mark to his room, the bourbon he drank so quickly was really affecting him. The courage he needed to tell us the truth had worked, but it hurt in the morning. The rapid intake of alcohol was really too quick for his body to process. His body was rushing to catch up. The rapid intake also resulted in a sharp and powerful drunk. It would also go away faster and leave an equally powerful hangover. Later. Mike and I both stripped him down to his underwear and tucked him in. Looking at Mark, I was familiar with his body, but now I just saw him. A warm feeling spread through me and grew. It was love, most definitely, but not a romantic form of love. There was sorrow and pity there; yes. He was a tortured soul that distanced himself from everyone for his own protection. He was afraid of the reactions he would get if people knew the truth about him. He never let anyone know the real Mark and never got close to anyone. Until me; by then he didn't know how. Those skills are learned, and edited he was ashamed of what had happened, taking all the responsibility; but he had been a child!! That was a common thing with most children. They take the blame when their parents are in trouble. I felt compassion for him. You will remember, I didn't know how to operate in the gay world at first. Mark was my first and only lover until Mike! Ben Stone, the housemate that replaced Mike wasn't a real affair. It was a jerk off session. Mark showed me the gay world! What I wanted in life didn't change. I didn't really change. Borislav, Mark's father had already begun to have an affair with him before his brother Deneil had even arrived. Mark had been eleven when his uncle got there. The sexual relationship with Borislav had been going on for over a year. Name one kid at eleven would be aware and mature enough to enter a sexual relationship with an adult! Sexual exploration perhaps, but usually with another kid to figure out how things worked. Mark said his father did it when he was drunk. He loved Mark's mother, he claimed. Perhaps the alcohol was to blind his father from seeing the difference between his dead wife and their son. It also gave his father the courage to do...what he did. I'm looking for the explanation, not looking for the excuse to offer. There is no excuse! Mark had been abused. The aftereffects had followed him all his life! He had been hurt very badly. Not physically, maybe; but mind and spirit had been severely scarred.

"Poor guy," Mike said sadly as we exited Mark's room. He said it so sincerely.

I smiled at Mike, "Thank you."

Mike looked at me puzzled, "You're thanking me? What for?"

Even drunk, Mark had been right. This house was beautiful, but there were a lot of steps. Gradual steps that would go up one or two levels on this sloping property. Almost never a lot of them in one place. He might have fallen and broken a bone. It could easily have been a neck. "Were you ever jealous of Mark?" I took Mike's hand and led him up slowly toward our room. "Most every person would be having the other person's ex anything around so much. You even said it to Mark out in the courtyard!"

Mike's face flushed as he looked away and smiled, "Well, yeah. At first, I was." He looked at me, "then I saw you. I knew he was important to you. Then I saw why, for your career. He is great at what he does." He stopped and looked directly at me. "There's you. You're a terrible liar and when you told me you loved me; that was the truth! I trust you. I love you, too."

I smiled at him, "I can just be damned good at lying." I raised the I have a point finger. "Dad always told me a thief, conman, and liar become so good at it you can't tell. Otherwise, they have to change jobs."

"You!? After all these years!? Name one you got away with," Mike challenged.

"I did with Susan," I said quietly.

Mike shook his head, "Not really. That was denial. When you discovered the truth, you ran." He saw I was going to explain again and opted for a whole hand to make his point and stopped me. "I understand and don't blame you. I did the same thing. It cost us nearly ten years. I ran into a loveless marriage. You ran from yourself. But we're here. Now, I love Mark, too!"

I grinned, "He isn't gay, you know?"

Mike frowned, "Because he's bisexual?"

"Nope," I bounced. "He's Human. He is a sexual being like all Humans are. The only one that's gay here is me." Okay, I enjoyed confusing people. Mike was a great target! "When is the Human Mating Season?" I asked.

Mike's eyes widened, "There is no such thing!"

I grinned as I narrowed an eye at Mike, "Are you sure?"

Mike looked flustered and threw his arms out, "I never heard of one. We mate whenever we damn well please!" He narrowed his eye at me, "Are you telling me there is?"

I shrugged, "I don't know." I chuckled. "And neither do any men with all those letters after their name. Doctors don't know, Biologists don't know...there are only theories! So, why are the majority of births from July to September? Not all, but most."

Mike thought a few moments, "It was a cold winter nine or ten months before?"

"That's one explanation," I grinned. "Dad worked with many inmates..." I began walking on to our room pulling Mike with me. "A lot of sex happening with long-term prisoners."

"But that's not love!"

"No," I nodded, "But with all of them? Sometimes...there are inmates that form strong emotional bonds with another inmate. Is it love?" I shrugged again. "Who can answer that? For protection and also simply to touch another human. Conjugal visits help, but not if you don't have someone to come visit. There are many men that claim to be straight but will have sex with men. Why?" I turned to Mike. "You functioned with women, Mark did with women, too. That felt okay to you..." I stopped him again as he was going to say something. He folded his arms over his chest and waited. "Real quickly, you did what you were created to do. Your mind and whole body are built for sex. You prefer one to the other. I get that, but I confess I get the urge to jerk off more in the early spring. Didn't you have the urge more at certain times of the year?"

Mike smirked as he lowered his arms, "Is it my turn now?"

I chuckled, "Sorry." I waved at him. "Go ahead."

Mike nodded, "Thank you." He lowered his shoulder and threw it into my midsection and lifted me off the floor to take me somewhere. He'd done it for years with tree logs and stumps; I was no problem. "I intend to do something very primal with you. Right now!"

I'm saying it again. Sex between us was always good. Often similar, but never quite the same. Always good, often very good and sometimes mind blowing!! That was what it was that night. Mind-blowing!! Surges in my mind kept urging me to put in more and it just grew! We would climax...well, he was the first to climax, but he didn't stop. A few minutes later I came, and we kept going! It was following my third orgasm I stopped as I panted in that post sexual afterglow and delicious fatigue. I was sure Mike had more than two, but...we were both sweating.

"I'm..." Mike began and said between pants, "not complaining..." he tried to regulate his breath. "but what just happened?"

I chuckled, "You did what you said you would." I rolled us over. "You got in touch and channeled your primal ancestors. You were kind of a caveman. Maybe even further back than the cave!!" I leaned in kissing him. "I really liked him." I kissed him again. "I love you, Mike."

"You mine," Mike said in a gruff impression of that caveman and smiled, "I'm yours. Not to break any spells, but you read your father's Diagnostic Book?"

"I did frequently," I admitted. "Dad didn't mind, but I began reading his patient files, too. All of Dad's patients were assigned case numbers and no proper names were used. Patient 14482, found guilty of the crime of whatever in a court of law by a jury of his peers, serving day 546 of his ten-year sentence, I will refer to as Tom H." I smiled as I remembered, "Dad was very thorough." I shrugged. "Dad would bring his work home. Before there was a me, Mom and Dad had a practice together and Mom knew enough about that medical discipline, and they talked. I grew up in it, so I sort of knew it, too. I knew what they were talking about and would comment back after a while."

"You seem to have a knack for it," Mike observed. "Did you ever consider going to school for it?"

"Dad hoped I would," I shook my head, "No. To be a doctor or even a practitioner requires a calling." I laughed lightly, "I find it fascinating, but lacked the desire for more. Music is my true calling. Medicine would take me away from music too long. I would read Dad's files, papers written by others as a change of pace. The diagnosis and treatments were very interesting, but how Dad got to the diagnosis was not."

"I don't know," Mike said. "You came up with what happened with Mark very quickly and put a label on it that makes sense."

"Yes," I grinned, "But whether it followed Freud, Pavlov, James, or any other psychoanalysis philosophies, I didn't care or want to know about. The behaviors and what Dad did for treatment was fascinating and have it work." I sighed. "What happened to Mark should not have happened. It was and still is a crime, that his father and uncle did. Mark was underage and couldn't have consented. It was almost a negative re-enforcement."

"How's that?" Mike asked.

"You heard Mark say it," I began, "His father, when sober hardly ever said anything and never touched him." I shrugged. "Parents who hug and kiss their children...it's almost a requirement. Touch with us as Humans promotes self-worth in a child and helps mental development." Again, I laughed. "It was kind of perverse pleasure in me to read about bizarre cases. One struck me as so sad was...one of a girl about thirteen who was severely neglected by the time the authorities found her, the brain hadn't grown and suffered from many deficits that she would never recover from. There was nothing wrong with her at birth. No mental or cognitive issues...touching and mental stimulation is so important in those years of childhood. Mark had that, from other people, not his father. Letting his father do what he did," I laughed bitterly. "Not that Mark had much of a choice, he got touch he craved from his father. The negative re-enforcement was by Mark to get what he craved. It almost seems like a thing passed down in the family. The fact that Borislav's brother did it, too, makes me wonder if Mark's grandfather did it to both of his sons. It's a learned behavior."

Mike's eyes just stared at me; seemingly in complete disbelief, "And you did this reading as a change of pace!?"

"Yes, it was very interesting!" I defended. "You didn't notice Dad's office at home was never changed or dusty?"

"I thought it was a memorial-like thing. Besides, you had a maid!" Mike protested.

"That came on Mondays and Thursdays," I nodded. "How many times have you seen me vacuum or dust? I will cook and arrange furniture, but basic housecleaning? You noticed my father's office looked used?"

Mike grinned, "I didn't notice that."

"The computer often was on the screen-saver, the chair in different places," I sort of suggested as Mike shook his head. I chuckled. "That's okay, you're a guy, so...I was interested in Dad's work, but obsessed with music and I've never been disappointed."

Mike gave a shrug and nod, "You'd make a good counselor. You give no judgement, and you listen. You do that now!"

We did go to sleep. The afterglow didn't go away too fast. Waking up, Mike and I showered and dressed to get something to eat. We entered the kitchen's dining area where Chet was up and devouring something on a skewer! He was liking whatever was on the skewer! It smelled like toasted bread, bacon, or sausage inside the bread. There were several skewers he had on his plate. On the skewers were what looked like rolled up bread that had meat rolled inside and the yellow of scrambled eggs. The rolled pieces of bread glistened with a coating of something that gave them a shiny glaze.

Chet looked at us happily, "Good morning!" He waved at Cindy. "She made us French Toast Kabobs!!" He bit one. "They're very good!"

"It has to be!" Mike said to his son, "You heard Tank yesterday! It's job security."

"You called him Tank yesterday," I grinned at Mike.

Mike nodded, "He is just made for that nickname!" Mike physically pointed, "He never objected." He looked as Tankiso came in the dinette area. "Do you mind my calling you Tank?"

"As long as it's something not profane," Tank began. "I'm good." Then he stopped looking at us seriously, "I'm sorry, but you aren't the original to start that name. There have been many others."

"A sure sign that you are loved," I said.

"That means," Mike said to Tankiso. "We'll be adding all you into the family soon. We like you now!" He shook his head, "By the end of the month, we'll adore you."

Tankiso grinned at that. "Then I will sleep even better tonight."

I raised a finger, "We had a pretty intense discussion last night...Mark, Mike and I..." I said quietly to Tankiso. "The courage he got from a bottle of bourbon...he'll need something for a powerful hangover."

Tankiso's face held compassion and held a genuine smile, "I trust he will be alright."

I nodded, "He's fine. There were some old injuries that needed talking about." I looked at Tankiso hopefully, "Perhaps you know of something...a concoction that works with hangovers?"

"I do!" Tankiso said happily. "I'll need to treat the dehydration first and give something for the pain and nausea. I'll get it." He turned and walked away.

It was another hour or so before Mark dragged shuffling feet in the dinette. We had told Chet what would happen and even a little about why, so he refrained from his normal cheery hello. He smiled a silent greeting and waved at Mark. The sharp, brilliant, and handsome lawyer hadn't gotten up yet. His hair was all over his head where he sleep-tossed it and left it uncombed. The shirt he wore last night was on, but mis-buttoned. His jeans were up and buttoned, but he had not zipped up. Nothing showed. The untucked shirt was loose. He looked...lost.

Tankiso placed three tall glasses on the counter and pointed at the first glass that looked like water and he said in almost a whisper, "This is Electrolytes, to rehydrate your body." He explained. "Drink this first." He touched the glass that looked like road-tar, black and thick. "This is strong coffee but has ibuprofen, aspirin and something to settle your stomach." He looked at Mark. "You need carbohydrates for breakfast," He looked at Cindy. "Are you serving potatoes for breakfast?"

Cindy nodded, "I can make him potato pancakes."

"Perfect," Tankiso said and pointed to the other glass, "Electrolytes again to finish up." He smiled at Mark now. "By the time you get halfway through this, the hangover should only be a memory."

Mark nodded but didn't speak yet. He opened his mouth and made a face telling us he didn't like that cottonmouth sour taste. Mike and I got Mark to sit on a stool by Chet. Mike did say something to Mark that brought a smile to Mark's face. "You're never alone." He rubbed Mark's back gently. "Never."

I put the first glass in Mark's hand, "Family sticks together."

True to his word, Mark was almost through the road-tar before he came back to himself. "You really mean that about family," he nodded and straightened his hair with his fingers. It wasn't a question. It was a realization of the truth and how that was affecting him.

I nodded having enjoyed the French Toast Kabobs and my cold latte. "Of course."

"And that includes me?" Mark asked for confirmation. "You think of me as family."

"It's natural," Mike shrugged as he narrowed an eye at me, "While I didn't get the benefits of reading my father's books on psychology, it makes sense."

I threw my napkin at Mike and growled lightly.

"We get alienated so easily from our natural families," Mike began. "There are many teenagers who get thrown out of their homes for many reasons. Only one has to do with sexuality, the others are drugs, alcohol, and abuse. We gravitate to other lost souls and form a family group." He shrugged. "I did."

"Safety in numbers," I said. "One person can and will be attacked, but if that one person has a pack behind them. That won't likely happen." I took Mark's hand. "We're joined at the heart. Love."

Mark was having emotions cross his face he was having to deal with. Some were foreign to him, but I knew he'd come around. "Thank you."

"It's more than just survival," I said. "It's support and giving a sense of belonging. Every Human needs that."

"The party is tonight!" Mark grinned. "So, what will we do until then?"

"After you shower and change," I said pointedly. "We can hit Rodeo Drive! Get some killer duds for tonight!"

"We've got clothes!" Mike protested.

I got up and walked past him, kissing as I passed, "We are going to a party to celebrate our coming together for a movie we're doing."

Mike looked at Mark, "What's the dress? It's not formal."

Mark shook his head, "Dressy casual."

"Dressy casual!?" Mike asked helplessly. "How do you dress up to be casual!?"

"Oy vey!" Chet said miserably.

I laughed as Mike's eyebrows rose and seemed to leave his face near literally in surprise. I grinned at Chet, "You just kvetched!"

"Yes," Chet smiled shyly. "Uncle Avi taught me. Did I do it right?" He smiled bigger. "Uncle Eli said to say it when I feel it. That was right?"

"No!" Mike said back in a gripe. "Your grandparents didn't get to hear you."

I laughed, "They will be going out of their minds if Chet ends up speaking Mexican and Kike in the same breath!"

"Kike?" Chet repeated confused. "What's that?"

I nodded, "I love Eli and Avi, but kike is a silly word, a racial slur for people who are Jewish. Every group of people have them. Chinks for Chinese, Japs for Japanese, the worst is nigger for black people..." I saw Chet's eyes widen at that word. Being raised in the South and even as protected as they wanted to be with Chet. He knew that was a "bad" word, but not applicable to him.

"The word spik or dago for us, Chet." Mike said sadly. "We're Latino."

"Faggot for your dads and me," Mark nodded. "Or just fags and queers."

"Why?" Chet asked not understanding.

"So, a group of people can make themselves feel better by letting others know we aren't one of them and can never be one of them no matter how hard we try," I answered. "A long history with words breeds resentment, is meant to humiliate keep us in our place, which is below them."

"This is a lesson you will learn, but..." Mike said. "Your grandparents are those people that use those words to feel better about themselves."

Chet frowned, "But the words didn't hurt me."

"That's because you didn't give them the power over you," Mark said sighing and finished his road-tar. He then finished off the remainder of his potato pancake. He drank some of the last glass of Electrolyte-water.

"So," Mike growled. "What's the dress code for this party?"

Rodeo Drive. Overpriced and over the top location for over-the-top fashion known all over the world! Well, almost. There are people that are not that excited by shopping. Thank god for the internet. I was one of those people that didn't get excited. Mike didn't like it either, but Mark knew the designers. Not necessarily the fashion, but the level of impression the designer would have. Armani suits for court made an impression. So did Dolce and Gabbana, and Boss. He wore dark suits with sharp contrasting colors to give him a powerful presence or darker colors to give him an almost menacing presentation. Mark knew how to dress for any occasion. Again, with caps and sunglasses on, until we entered stores. A gentleman takes his hat off inside and the sunglasses made it difficult to look around, but this was Rodeo Drive! Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and Bel-Air were right here!! There were rich and famous people everywhere! Unlike Charleston or even Fort Worth, around here a star was always around. The famous here had learned to hide it better and I was new to this. The usual frequenters here were also seasoned not to overreact. It would be conceited to assume everyone knew me. Besides, there was enough security around to stop anyone from being overwhelmed. And those were the ones you could see.

Chet followed Mark as Mark perused the many displays. Mike and I followed behind and I noticed Chet was looking around, doing lazy circles as he took it all in. Unlike department stores in malls where the pathways were crammed with clothing racks stuffed with clothes. These displays allowed room to view and see what was there with no problem. I saw Mike stop and look at some "jeans." They weren't Levi's or even Calvin Klein's! Mike found the price tag and grunted and tossed it out of his hand. "Are we changing for these people?"

"If by changing," I took his hand, "Are we changing who we are? No." I chuckled. "You need to feel comfortable." I smiled at Mike. "You're comfortable with who you are. No one can make you feel bad."

Mike looked away, snickered and nodded, "And here we go again. Another wisdom tidbit from Dad's desk."

"Well, it's true!" I poked him gently on the chest each of the following syllables, "No one makes you feel anything!" I grinned, "I want everyone that sees us and become insanely jealous, though. The most handsome man anyone's ever seen belongs to me. I'm proud of you in whatever you wear."

I could still make him blush and I wasn't disappointed. "Thank you." He chuckled and kissed me. I remark about it often, but that was because it was so rare! We kissed in a store that was open, had customers and no one had a problem with it! That was so...freeing!

"Hello, Mr. Richards," a well-dressed handsome man in his late twenties greeted us. The tag on shirt told me he was an employee of the store that read "D'Ren." Blond and tanned he was the typical Southern California boy. He glanced at Mike and bowed quickly. "Mr. Calhoun...welcome. If I can assist you, I will be happy to. If you want to look by yourself, you're welcome to do that, too."

He recognized us, so knew who we were. Did they work on salary and commission? Probably. There wasn't the pressure to sell. He was very handsome, but it seemed to be for professional reasons. This wasn't his normal presentation.

Mike smiled, "We're with some people..." He glanced around the store. "Did you see where a red-haired boy about so high..." he held his hand up to himself, "and a man in his late thirties went?"

The store clerk nodded in a direction, "I believe they went that way toward our collections for boys."

That made sense, "Thanks, D'Ren!" I smiled and pointed to his name tag. "Did I say that right? It's an unusual name."

D'Ren nodded with a little embarrassment. "I wanted to become an actor. The actor's name is often changed to go the Screen Actors Guild. I changed my name ahead of time."

"Sure," I said. "We've been invited to a party. It's for those doing a movie..."

D'Ren grinned more, "I knew they were filming it soon." His voice was getting a little excited about that. "They're filming here?" He pointed at the floor. "I mean at the studios."

I nodded, "I'm not really sure about all of it, but yes."

D'Ren did a bounce and wayward nod, "Don will be so thrilled!"

"Don?" I smiled at D'Ren.

"My boyfriend," D'Ren chuckled. "He's an aspiring actor and has been in a few shows as walk-ins." He bounced again. "He wants to be a leading man someday."

Mike shook his head, "We are everywhere!"

I jabbed Mike in the side lightly, "In an area of the United States known for accepting us more?" I pointed out, "In a high-end clothing store? This surprises you?" I stuck my hand out to D'Ren. "We're having trouble with the dressy casual thing."

"Michael Cox and Larry Hausman are the producers," D'Ren said, "Marty Cummings is the writer, but probably at Mr. Cox's home in Beverly Hills. You need help finding what to wear?"

"There you are!" Mark said behind me as he approached with Chet. "We turn around and you're gone!"

Mike shook his head, "No," he pointed at Mark. "We haven't moved, you two ran off; leaving us."

"We were talking with D'Ren," I motioned to D'Ren. "Is the party at Mike Cox's house?"

Mark's eyes widened in surprise, "Michael Cox's house."

I introduced Mark and Chet to D'Ren and looked at D'Ren, "What do you recommend, D'Ren?"

D'Ren made some great recommendations. It was cooler at night now, even in Southern California. Long sleeves with light jackets. Polo-like, but long sleeves nice jeans and you have to admit, these denim pants looked like jeans...and they were! The material was thicker, but softer and felt better than any blue jeans I ever put on. No Wrangler, Lee, or Levi felt this good. They had the perfect fit feel immediately; unlike those other jeans that took a while to get that fit. The three others with me looked great with that dressy, yet casual look. I was given denim that was black as coal and a shirt...apparently red was now associated with me. The shirt was long sleeves and red. Not fire engine red like my tuxedo, but darker red, what D'Ren called Crimson. Whatever. He gave me a coat like a windbreaker that was both. My right half and sleeve were that shade of Crimson...exactly the same shade as the shirt as they made by the same designer and to be worn together. The left arm was black and...it looked to me like a black split-rail fence where the red side was being pulled up creating a slight curve up. Trust me it looked good. Unique. D'Ren earned his commission that day. We weren't given a receipt, that would be emailed to us. Mark insisted he get one, too.

"For when we do taxes," Mark explained. "These can be written off as job related expenses. The Expense Account was used." He smiled said to Mike. "My offices do my clients' taxes."

"Calculating in my head it was more than the down payment for my new truck!" Mike groaned.

Mark smirked, "It's an investment."

With Mike listening, I asked D'Ren's number and had Mark promise to call them when the call for extras and walk-ins went out. If nothing else, they could just stand there and look good! D'Ren had shown me Don's picture. Another great looking actor wannabe.

We were driven to Michael Cox's home by Inga. A supermodel was our chauffeur!?

"Okay," Mike said as she held a door open for us. "You look like you should be on the cover of Vogue or one of those fancy magazines for women's clothing and fashion. Why are you driving a limo for us?"

She smiled a little coy and she shook her head, "I was on the cover of Vogue, Elle, Cosmopolitan, and many others." She smiled at Mike and me. "I've been up and down runways for most designers." She leaned closer and said softer, "ten years ago."

"When you were twelve!?" Mike balked. "You can't tell me you're too old now!"

"Thirteen, actually," Inga corrected, "I still receive calls now, but I can't model forever."

"So, you drive a limo for someone?" Mike asked as he tried to understand. "The pay can't be what... "

"No, no," Inga laughed at that, "It's my limo." She shrugged. "I now have a fleet of seven limousines I lease out to whoever can hire one. I'm trying to get some acting gigs." She shrugged, "I'm trying out all my options."

I grinned and nodded at her, "Good for you!!" I leaned closer to Mike. She could hear me with no problem, "Beauty, brains, and ambition." I pointed at her. "A dangerous combination."

Mark smiled at her, and I saw some of the other Mark come out as he turned his charm on, "Dangerous and deadly. I'll have to watch you."

We slid in the back. I looked at Mark and I admit, I was worried. Yes, I hoped he would meet someone. As in date maybe? And I hoped it would be a guy, but...silly, isn't it? He had sex with women and men. That one attempt wasn't any of my business, but he had a track record. They were both over twenty-one (though Inga's coming of age was long after Mark's), and even if he succeeded, Inga was a very smart person and probably would figure Mark out, if she hadn't already. Modeling at thirteen? I'm sure she dealt with horny guys frequently.

"Will there be kids at this party?" Chet asked from his seat in the side.

Mark gave a shrugging nod, "There are some with this movie that have children. Mike Cox has two, but I don't know how old they are."

I nodded and raised a finger, "But if not..." I began, "or even if there are other kids, if you want to...we go back." I looked at Chet and then looked sternly at Mark. "Understand?" Mark was going to protest, but I stopped him. "You be an eight-year-old boy at a party with a bunch of grownups, carrying on conversations you may, or may not understand. Now, factor in nothing to do into the mix!" I took Mike's hand. "We won't force him to do that. He says go; we go." My peripheral vision could see Mike's smile grow as I said that. I said again, firmer and in a way that wasn't about to argue about it. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, understood," Mark agreed, but grudgingly. He glanced over and looked at Chet, "I don't know. There could be lots to do there. So much, you won't want to leave!" He looked at Mike and me putting that million-dollar smile on his face. "When I told Mike Cox..." he looked at my Mike, "either we go to last names, but two Mikes?"

"And two named Calhoun," I waved at Chet.

"Mike Cox for certain," Mark nodded quickly, "I told Mike Cox we were coming, and I included Chet in the virtual RSVP." He leaned toward Chet, "They all want your PopE very badly. He'll do everything possible to make your PopE happy. That includes Your Dad and you. If your happy, your PopE is happy, right?" Chet grinned and nodded. Mark waved at Chet, "There, you see? I'm sure it will be fine." He looked at me. "I was told Cam Chan and Jay Gallagher will be there tonight. They are excited to have you do this movie." He looked at us and didn't see much of a reaction. "The Sound Department with ADR? Christine Bergen is with the Music Department, she's a lawyer and keeps things legal. She will probably be there."

I nodded, but Mike was frowning again, "They are using Eric's music and he consented to using his music in the movie." He looked at me. "Ray Boltz gave permission to use his song..."

"Yes," I nodded. "But there will be music from other groups and maybe original music for the movie." Mark nodded at what I said. "She's there to make sure the songs are original and remain that way."

"And protecting your music so that no alternation is done to the score for the movie," Mark grudged a nod again. "Which they contracted not to do without your written consent."

"And you're doing all this in four to five weeks!?" Mike asked with his left eye narrowing.

Mark nodded, "That's the goal."

"I'll be busy," I chuckled as Mike moved back an inch to change his perception of me to understand better. I don't know if that worked.

It was good Inga was driving. We could have driven, but she had driven in this area before and knew the best route. Las Vegas was up all night, Manhattan never sleeps, and neither did Los Angeles. There were people out everywhere! It was Saturday night and dates, clowning with friends, and I knew some less than honest people were in the mix. Crime was happening, too, but most were out just enjoying the evening. The terrain of Los Angeles varied. The flat land and valleys were heavily populated, so there were many houses and businesses. There were more mountainous areas, too. They were old, old mountains hundreds of millions of years ago and this is what remained of them. Imagine what the Alps will look like in a hundred million years. Hey, there was once one continent and we drifted apart. The Alps were new, the shaded mountains here had worn away with time and now people lived in what remained of the peaks to see a view and catch a cool breeze. Wait and see, then get back to me. I'll wait.

Inga pulled up to a driveway with a walled in yard. There was a short stone wall and tall spikes that rose up from there much taller than a man. The spikes didn't block the view of the house and it was a big one. Mansion? I don't know. A mansion is a house, but normally has rooms for the people that lived there to simply enjoy like game rooms with pool tables, music rooms with pianos, libraries, even media rooms for watching movies. One thing I was sure of, the price was a lot higher! We'd see how well Mike Cox was doing when we went in. I recognized the style. It was very popular on the West Coast. I would be told it was Historic Spanish Revival. White sided walls covered with stucco and shingles that were those rounded clay brick. It was brightly lit and there was a tune coming out of the house as we pulled up the drive to the front entrance. There were valets! Really! There were no cars sitting in front of the house, but you could hear voices as well as the tune, but both were too faint to make out.

As the two back doors opened by the valets I looked at Inga, "Are you leaving now?"

Inga shook her head, "Oh, no! You might need to leave for some reason." She smiled. "No, Mr. Cox has another parking area in the back near his garage, but don't worry about me. I have my laptop and tablet. I can do work, read, or even nap!" She looked at Mark, "You still have the number." She said to confirm.

Mark nodded, "I do."

"Just call or text me," she said. "I'll come around."

Yes, I was jealous, but protective of Mark. He was older than me, but I was looking out for him like a parent or sibling. My thought about Mark having her number, I hoped he used it for just business. Then I thought, how did I know they would even connect. Even if they did, they were adults! Who did I think I was!? Someone that cared a whole Hell of a lot about Mark!! That's who! I said before, Inga was very smart and probably not wanting to go that complicated road. Why was I even pondering it? It wasn't my business. They might even hit it off well. What did I know?

There was a garden courtyard in the front, and we went through the open doors to the recessed front door. The music was a light jazz. Many voices added to the ambiance. A tall man about six feet looked at us and smiled. This is where the beautiful people lived! I saw a man, thin and trim. He had light brown hair that mixed with dark brown hairs, cut above his collar and swept back over his ears and combed back over his head in a waving arch. No gray anywhere. He was hard to judge age wise. His skin had no lines at all. Botox? Was he fighting what most men did when it came to the aging process? He could be in his fifties but holding on to thirty! He looked good! His eyes had no crow's feet. His handsome face muscles had weakened and weren't moving that much. I was no doctor, and I didn't know anything for sure. I didn't know what he looked like before. "The other star has arrived!" He stuck out his hand to me, "It's an honor to have you here, Mr. Richards. Thank you for coming. I'm Mike Cox." He reached for Mike's hand, "Mike Calhoun, it's a pleasure to have you, too." His gaze went to Mark, "We've spoken on the phone and even did some video-calls. It's nice to meet you in person." The man looked at Chet, who's back was against both Mike's and my stomachs. "That would make you Chet, right?" Mike Cox stuck his hand out to Chet. "Love the hair!" He took Chet's hand and opened the door wider, "Welcome! Come in, I'll introduce you to everyone."

Mike Cox led us down the entrance hall with arched ceilings that looked like stone. It was brightly lit. In what I assume was a grand living room. The walls and ceiling here were white, color was added by furniture. The large, gently curved couch swept the big room was also white, but it had pillows of Crimson, there were plush chairs that were Crimson. Red and white was the theme but done with a Spanish flare. There were maybe two dozen here and there was room for everyone. A fireplace where a fire was going merrily. It looked good. The extra heat wasn't necessary. There were no logs used. It was gas. That was why the white fireplace looked so clean. Ambiance. His guests stood around in loose groups of two, three, and even a clump by the grand piano. The feel of the room was happy. These people worked together and knew each other and got along.

"Hi, guys!" I heard a cheerful voice greet us. Looking where the sound came from, I saw Tom and Heather standing together, but in a clump of five. Heather didn't shout but smiled and waved. They both looked exceptionally good. He wore a light blue turtleneck shirt, but it wasn't a sweater. Tom was over six feet and the almost form fitting shirt didn't hide his well molded chest. I did not look good in turtlenecks; I didn't have the neck for them. The thinner material on the ruggedly handsome man. The bangs hung roguishly over his forehead. Yes, he would be the fantasy in many dreams, both female and male. Heather was gorgeous! Her dark auburn hair was gathered to one side and cascaded down to her left shoulder. In her gold-colored blouse and in black pants; she was elegant. The women we met...I almost considered she wasn't Heather. She looked like the supermodel she was. The scenes where she combined those looks and kicked the bad guys' ass came in my thoughts. I know, Hollywood showed her leaving those bad guys laid out in pools of blood she was unscathed! A quick touch to be sure her hair was in place, no one would know she did what she did. Women liked her as she proved women could fight as well as a man and looked stunning doing it. Men and women had fantasies of her or even be her.

"Were we late?" I hissed a whisper to Mark. "I am never late!"

"The invitation is on the computer," Mark whispered back. "It said to be here at 8:30. It's..." he glanced at his watch, "8:27. You're on time."

The time was unusual. Most parties start at the top of the hour, not halfway through. Was it on purpose? Heather and Tom came over and did as I prefer, no handshakes but hugs.

"I asked both you and Tom to come last," Mike Cox answered my question. "I wanted everyone to meet the two newest stars for this upcoming epic film." He looked at me and Tom, "And these people are the ones to make it happen. Combined with your music, Eric. It will be"

"Just remember," I smiled. "I've never done this, so use simple and small words."

They were all laughing at that. I knew no one did this alone. I didn't do any show alone, I had Mark and Della to keep me focused. The people at the venue I was to perform and the support staff to keep it together. In the beginning in the nightclubs, I dealt with owners and managers. Occasionally, there were the drunks and overzealous fans. I dealt with them until the bouncer helped me. This movie was going to be bigger and out of my comfort zone. Like stage fright, I was sure it would fade as I did it. No one was drunk now at Mike Cox's party yet, they just got here. I think.

We went with Chet to a game room. It had many arcade games along the wall and there were four other children. Three boys and a girl. Two of the boys were playing an arcade game. The other boy was looking through titles for the video player. The girl was sitting on a couch, looking at a movie that played. She looked about ten and was dressed in casual dress and dark leggings that disappeared under her skirt. She was a pretty little girl with long, straight reddish-brown hair that fell past her shoulder. Mike Cox introduced the boys and last... "And this is Michelle, my daughter."

There was a woman there to keep them safe and entertained. Or stop any bloodshed between the boys. Two were brothers, so you never know.

Chet's interest was clear, and he walked over to Michelle and began talking to her. He wasn't shy. For some children, the two years difference could hinder a budding friendship. Chet didn't know that. He had Michelle smiling at something Chet said, so I relaxed. I don't know about Mike, as he looked at his son a bit wary. Had Chet ever had a girlfriend?

"He likes older women," I said quietly to Mike. "He will be a heartbreaker when he grows up, but I'll be there to help you muddle through it."

Mike smirked and gave me a look, "Dating." He said worried, "Teen years and rebellion. I can't wait."

I touched his hand and he looked at me. "He's a smart young man and will be guided by a very good man and given values. By you." Mike started to say something, "You are his father and will always be the one person he will listen to. You set a good example of what it is to be a man. You, not me."

We watched Chet talk to Michelle who wasn't bothered and seemed to like what Chet was saying.

Mike shrugged, "It is that Cuban Latino blood. He can't help it." He grinned.

Back at the party, which had an elegant feel to it. Those that gathered here, women weren't wearing evening gowns, and no man were wearing tuxedos, but Mike Cox's guests were gathered just talking. Most had a glass in their hands with various drinks. The light, soft jazz didn't overpower any conversation happening by the fireplace, there was a piano playing the jazz, or sitting comfortably on the curving sofa. Mike Cox had that made for him. It was sort of a piece of art.

We met with some that were going to make this movie possible. Together with Tom and Heather, we met the sound engineer and his assistant. Then I met Marti Cummings who wrote the story and the two that wrote the screenplay. Diana Sullivan was a small woman, just a few inches over five feet. The tall thin man named Frank Williams. Frank was the other writer for the screenplay and Frank Reyes was the only male.

Marti was in her mid-forties. She had a nice shirt on over black slacks. I could easily see her busy at a computer as she wrote all night in a dark room. She was a published author of several popular books. Romance Novels. Two gay characters. One with a lesbian couple and the other couple were male. The deep connections with these characters and the writing was very good.

Marti short black hair had a few gray that ran through it. She was a little overweight, the word that came to mind was pudgy. While not unattractive, she wasn't beautiful.

"So, you two are going to bring Daniel and Cory to life," Marti said looking at Tom and me. She nodded, "I can see it."

The tall thin man named Frank Sullivan. Williams was one of the writers for the screenplay and Frank was the only male.

Frank had to be six feet and five inches, but he was just thin. He looked emaciated. I didn't think Frank was sick. His skin tone was good. But his thin frame just looked abnormal. He wrote some of the screenplay. He was about thirty and he had dark brown hair that he had it stand up the quarter of an inch of length. He also had a closely cut dark brown beard that was nodding, "They do! I can see it, too!"

The other woman next to elbowed him gently was named Dana. "Of course, you do," Dana Thomson said. She straight blonde hair that had it short and looked evenly cut just above her collar. "By the time we were asked to do the screenplay, we knew who was doing the part."

"Sure," Frank said waving both hands at me, "Yeah, but I could see him as the character and doing the part. He is Daniel!"

"I'm embarrassed to say I didn't read the book," I smiled at Tom. "I got the story from the script sent to me. I think the story is good, too."

Marti smiled, "You do a show every two weeks in different cities and countries! I don't know about any preparation is needed for a show and you do all your music yourself!? When do you sleep?" She looked at Tom, "You are not any better. I've seen what actors have to do for hour long shows with the explosions and bullets flying. You are in high demand. Thank you for agreeing to do this part."

"The story has a good message to give," Tom said. "In spite of all our differences the people, all of us are simply people. Everyone. And no race is better than any other. We're all members of the Human Race."

Marti's face got serious and a little sad, "Parts of the story...are true. It's from my nephew's journal."

"But your book has a happy ending," I said. "Brokeback Mountain was just sad."

"I wanted to show that pompous ass my sister married this rich man and had children with what the ending could have been," Marti shook her head as she still felt the loss. "Brian was a beautiful soul, handsome, and had a good life before him." Then she got angry, "The thing is, my brother-in-law didn't care if someone was gay or straight. He was embarrassed the community knew his namesake was gay."

"He was embarrassed!?" Mike blurted raising his hand toward Marti. "Why? Because he was gay? You just said he didn't care."

Marti frowned, "My brother-in-law saw all gays as sissies, drag queens, and putting on dresses. The idea that Brian had anal sex was the biggest problem."

My eyes widened in surprise, "What business does your brother-in-law have with who and how Brian had sex with what power or not! By what Authority?"

Mark asked, "Was he one of those sissies or queens?"

Marti shook her head, "Not at all. He was all boy when he was growing up. He was the Quarterback on his high school varsity team. When he was in college he made good grades. He was smart, but his father demanded perfection from his children. He only saw the embarrassment. He threatened to take Brian out of the will and cut him off unless he stopped being gay."

"How was Brian going to do that!?" I asked, "If he was gay; he was gay! He couldn't change that. Those conversion camps are all scams. His brain was hardwired to be what he was to be as a child. In utero too. That's why you talk to the baby before it's born or play music."

"This was the eighties when this happened and AIDS was frightening enough then," Marti explained. "Brian said he was careful. He didn't want to get any infection from sex." She sighed, "He found someone that loved him. Brian loved him. Brian was asked to come with him, and they could make a life together. Brian didn't answer but promised to give him an answer. Why Brian told his father I don't know..."

"I think I do," I said quietly. "Every child seeks approval from their parents. Fathers and sons do it the most. He hoped he could explain it better and his father would accept him. He was going to make a life with someone important to him."

"His father was furious!" Marti said. "They got into the worst fight they ever had. My brother-in-law had some bruises and swelling on his face. Brian told him he didn't care about the family money. He had a good job there and he lived in the same town. My brother-in-law cutting Brian off wasn't enough. If they lived in the same town it would embarrass him. The town would see them kiss or holding hands and wished Brian were dead."

"No," Tom gasped, "He didn't."

"Email and the Worldwide Web was new, but Brian had all that," Marti was shedding a tear at the memory. She didn't bother to wipe them away. "In a rage Brian wrote a suicide letter to his father, but sent copies to the police, some groups like PFLAG, the newspaper and television stations. In that letter he apologized to his father and then went on to tell exactly what his father was embarrassed about, some of it in very graphic detail and he was granting his father's wish. He shot himself. He wasn't depressed. He was mad and tired of the fights."

"He was teaching his father a lesson," I said again softly.

Now Marti nodded wiping her face, "Yes he did. Brian Senior was a wreck after that and never recovered. Everyone in the town knew his son had killed himself because of him." She brightened and smiled at Tom, "The character you're playing is really Brian. But this time he's going to say yes and do it in spite of his father's objections. They move in together and start a happy life together."

"What about your sister?" Mark asked.

Marti again shook her head, "If she had been there, she could have been the one to calm my brother-in-law and keep him in check. She died just before Brian's eleventh birthday."

"Damn," Tom said softly.

"Yes," Marti agreed. "Damn." She then chuckled, "I'm showing the world what should have happened. People everywhere need to see them as people and leave them alone."

"We wholeheartedly agree," Mike growled.