Lush Life

All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language, please exit now.

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LUSH LIFE

by

Ritch Christopher

Chapter Nine

"I'LL ONLY MISS HIM WHEN I THINK OF HIM"

"I'll only miss him, when I think of him

And I'll think of him all the time.

Likely I'll spend my days -

hearing his turn of phrase--

Things I found hard to praise,

right now, would seem sublime.

The truth is...

I'll only miss him, when some stranger laughs

'cause it's still his laugh my hearts hears.

Maybe in time - I guess,

the longing will grow the slightest

bit less

And there will be moments - yes -

when it disappears.

I'll bet I'll forget him completely -

in about a hundred years."

From the Broadway musical, "Skyscraper"

Music by Jimmy Van Heusen

Lyrics by Sammy Cahn

Copyright 1965

Fortunately for Dave's sake, when the Chicago police arrived at the bus to have him removed, arrested for public intoxication, or both, one of the officers noticed that Dave was very warm and was probably spiking a fever. So instead of hauling Dave to jail, an EMS squad was called. One of the medical attendants used an ear thermometer while another checked his pulse, blood pressure, and respiratory count. It was serious. Dave was near death. His temperature was 105.5 degrees; his BP was 90/40 which was odd considering he was breathing almost 35 bpm. They covered his face with an oxygen mask and inplanted an IV needle in his mid-arm vein and quickly put him on a gurney; next into an ambulance and they rushed him to the nearest emergency room.

A doctor in the ER ordered a CBC, CATscan, and a tox screen immediately. Dave's colon was hemorrhaging; he had sepsis in his urine and throughout his body. A nurse pumped a huge dose of antibiotics into his hip. Dave was unconscious but he was still able to move his head slightly from side to side and moan. It was nearly ten minutes into his examination that his post-op anal surgery was discovered. He was being cared for by two doctors, two RN's, an LPN and two nurses' aides. Dave was a goner for sure unless the antibiotics started taking effect ASAP.

Carefully, they rolled him onto his side to administer treatment to his anus and colon and soon his bleeding was stopped. His BP rose to 100/60 and the medical staff began to relax a bit. His respiration rate dropped to 25 bps.

"I think he's stabilizing, Doctor," one of the RN's said.

"Besides being one of the sickest patients we've seen all night, this guy is fucking drunk!" the doctor replied.

Another IV was inserted into Dave's other arm to combat the alcohol level in his system.

"I don't suppose he has any ID on him," someone said.

"The police found him on a Greyhound bus, but didn't take the time to see if he had any luggage. So we don't know who he is, where he's coming from, or where he was headed," said another RN.

"It's a good thing the paramedics got him here as fast as they did because there's no doubt where he was headed...the morgue," a doctor replied. "Chances are he has no insurance which means the hospital will have to eat the bill...just another drunk passing through..."

One of the LPN's suddenly observed, "Look! I think he's trying to open his eyes."

Dave had been so near death and was still so drunk to boot, he had difficulty focusing. His mouth was dry as a desert, causing his tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth. He couldn't have said a word if he'd wanted to. One of the aides looked at Dave's mouth and grabbed a lemon flavored swab and opened Dave's mouth and began applying it to Dave's tongue. Then she took a needleless syringe and squirted a teaspoon of water into his mouth.

Dave had no idea where he was but somehow he was grateful to the "waterboy", whoever the hell he was. Nothing had ever tasted as sweet to him as a spoonful of water flooding his arid tongue.

One of the nurses tried to communicate with the semi-conscious patient.

"SIR?"

It took every ounce of effort Dave had to attempt to turn his head toward the direction of the voice.

"SIR?" she repeated. "Sir, can you see my face?"

Dave was aware she was talking to him, but wasn't cognizant enough to know what she had said, thus, he couldn't reply.

"Sir? Can you tell me your name?"

Dave heard the word, 'name' and shut his eyes and tried to respond by moving his head side to side, slowly.

"Sir, are you in pain?"

Dave did his best to open and close his eyes twice in slow succession.

"Can you tell me where you hurt?"

Dave opened his mouth and tried to speak. All he could utter was, "Wah", as Helen Keller did at the end of "The Miracle Worker".

"I think he wants water," the aide said.

"Sir, would you like some water?"

Once again, Dave blinked his eyes twice with his best effort to communicate.

"Yes!" the aide said, "He wants more water."

The aide got a larger plastic syringe and filled it with 5 cc's of water and slowly released it into Dave's mouth, but he had difficulty swallowing and began to cough and choke. The RN quickly grabbed a tube to suction some of the excess water clogging his throat. Then, she pried his mouth open wide enough to swab the lemon moisture further on the back of his tongue and the opening of his esophagus. Dave gagged once more, but he was aware of the moistening, for which he was glad. He began to feel that he could almost talk.

"I..." Dave uttered.

"Go ahead, sir, tell us what you want us to hear."

"I...I...wah..."

"More water?"

Dave moved his head side to side.

"NO? You don't want water? What do you want?"

"I...wa..nt...t'...die."

"He wants to die," the aide said.

"Sir, you're not going to die," the doctor said, "but you came goddamned close."

"Puh...puh...leez...let...me...die." Dave said.

"Sir, do you suffer from any kind of mental disorder? Are you bipolar? Do you suffer from depression?" the RN asked, rapidly. "Do you take any kind of psychotropic medication?"

Dave didn't reply. The nurse had asked too many questions for his comprehension.

"Liz," the RN said to the other RN, "call the psych unit and have a consultant come to the ER. Based on what he just said, he could have some clinical depression disorder and might need some Elavil or something comparable."

"...no," Dave garbled. "I...I...my head...is...not...sick."

"Sir, can you at least tell me your name?"

"Uh...I...don't...know..."

"His vital statistics being so unbalanced might have induced amnesia," the younger doctor said.

"It's possible," the older doctor concurred.

"Sir," the Rn continued, "do you know where you are?"

"...uh...New York..."

"Is that where you live?"

"Yes."

"Well, he has SOME recall," the older doctor remarked.

"Dr. Marks, could you recognize what type of surgical procedure was performed in his anal area?" the RN, Ms. Calder asked.

"It appears to be some kind of restoration or reparation instead of exploratory or extraction of a tumor," Dr. Dennis Marks replied.

"Restoration?" Mrs. Banks, an LPN asked. "What could have caused him to have his rectum or lower colon repaired?"

"Off hand, I'd say he'd had some kind of accident which caused some object to forcibly intrude his anus...or he could have been the victim of a vicious rape."

"A rape victim?"

"I've seen worse cases than this on young men after their first day or two in prison. The...the entire prison population loves young men and sometimes gangbang a new good-looking young inmate. Of course, he doesn't have to be good looking. If the young man is heterosexual and never had experienced anal intercourse...the first time can be brutal if he was taken by force by many intruders."

"You think he was a prisoner?"

"It's possible. The clothes he was wearing when he arrived didn't fit him and were definitely not his. If you'll observe how well groomed his hair is--cut recently--and there's still a tinge of clear nail polish on is fingernails. There must be quite a story this young man is hiding. My theory is reinforced by his death wish."

"If he thinks he's in New York, that must be where he boarded the Greyhound bus originally," the younger doctor, Bob Fisher, concluded. "Perhaps he was running from someone, maybe the police...maybe he escaped some kind of incarceration where he was assaulted..."

"There are a dozen 'maybe's', but if he's not willing to talk, we may never know. I'm sure the Chicago police will want to run a fingerprint and a DNA check to see if he's on the lam from the law," Dr. Marks added. "In the meanwhile, we'll keep trying to keep his vitals at a normal level, combat his sepsis with antibiotics, and lower his fever."

"Doctor, should I call admitting and get him a room?"

"You know without hospital insurance verification, he won't be admitted to a room...just the same, he should be admitted to one of the wards that are assigned to street people. That's the best we can do until we get more information from him."

"Are...you...a doctor?" Dave asked Dennis Marks.

"Yes sir, I'm your doctor."

"Then, please, please, please let me die. I want to die! I HAVE to die."

"I'm sorry, but as long as you're under my care, that won't happen!"

"Then...you're...fired! I don't want you to be my doctor. I want a new one that'll let me die."

Dave's attending medical staff was amazed and how coherent he'd become. His was becoming more alert; his speech was in a steady flow now.

Nurse Calder made another attempt to get Dave to reveal something about his person. "Sir, it would help if we knew your name? Do you have any family you'd like us to contact and report to them that you're in the hospital?"

"No, there's no one. I have no family. They're all dead."

"And your name is...?"

"My name? My name is...my name is...'Wes'. Yeah, that's right. Wes."

"And your last name?"

"It's...I don't know. My God, I don't know my last name!" Dave had a hint of terror in his wobbly speech. "Good God, what happened to me? Why don't I know my name?"

"Wes, the Chicago police found you passed out on a Greyhound bus. Do you have any idea where you were going or where you came from?" Dennis asked.

"Chicago?" Dave asked totally confused. "Looks like I'm not the only one who's mixed up. I'm not in Chicago. I'm in New York."

"Wes, you're in a county hospital in Chicago...you know, Illinois?"

"I know where the fuck Chicago is! I'm just saying I'm not in Chicago. You're all a bunch of fuckin' crazies!"

"Sir, you're getting exciting and you need to remain calm. You don't want to start bleeding again," Nurse Calder said.

"Why not? Afraid I'll die...when that's all I want to do?"

"Nurse," Dennis said to RN Calder, "give Wes one cc of Haldol just to hold his vitals steady."

Dave wanted to rant and rave but he felt helpless and couldn't stop whatever his captors wanted to do with him. He was given the shot and soon drifted back to sleep. Perhaps when he awoke again, he would be more susceptible to their treatment of him.

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Scott slept late and awoke feeling better than he had since his scandal in Boston broke. He had forgotten how much he used to like being around Clay. In their teen years together, Clay had been more daring and adventurous than he. Clay was always the aggressor when it came to deciding when to have sex and even though Scott was never completely sure that Clay's mom and dad knew what he and Clay were doing privately in Clay's bedroom, Clay never tried to hide it from his parents. If the parents knew...they knew and it didn't bother them. If they didn't know or even suspect, Clay remained the same around them.

Whereas, if Scott's parents had any idea their son was engaging in homosexual activities with the boy next door, they would have shipped Scott off to the nearest anti-gay rehab center.

Scott mulled these thoughts over in his mind as he lay in bed watching Clay stirring a mixture in a large bowl in the kitchen. Scott was sure Clay was preparing something healthy for his breakfast and Scott smiled at his former best friend and now, his doctor. Another thought came to Scott: if he HAD to have a gay fling, why couldn't it have been with someone his and Clay's age. There would have been less repercussion if word got out. But with a kid, his student, how stupid could he have been? Clay looked up from his cooking and noticed Scott looking at him.

"Good morning, Bozo!" Clay said. "Sleep well?"

"Heavenly," Scott replied, "but why shouldn't I? For years I dreamt of falling asleep in a man's arms...and it finally came to pass."

"You...uh, never spent a whole night with your student?...You know...?"

"He and I were lucky if we ever spent more than one hour together...and there weren't many of those."

"I don't remember asking at the restaurant last night, but--were you in love with him?"

"Not really..."

"Then, why..."

"Why did I do it?"

"Well, yes..."

"I've asked myself that same question a thousand times during the past few weeks. Sure, I'd seen other men...men my age or older that I was attracted to, but I never made a move. I didn't know how...and I guess I was too scared."

"But you weren't scared to have sex with your student? Why him?"

"I guess because I had the upper hand. I was his mentor; his superior! I suppose I expected him to do as I wished, not give him a chance to object. If he had been someone my age...a peer or a fellow teacher, my...my effrontery would have disappeared. I wouldn't have been brave enough."

"What about your wife, Scott? Were you still having sex with her?"

"Actually, not for months...maybe even a year. We didn't quarrel or anything. I'm sure she'd have been a willing partner if my sex drive wanted to manifest itself...only thing is...I HAD no sex drive...not toward her anyway...not toward ANY female. Wanna hear something crazy?"

"Sure."

"I...I used to hide a Penthouse magazine behind the tank of our toilet...you know, just to get off when I felt my balls aching."

"Lots of my male patients tell me they do the same thing."

"Yeah, but even the Penthouse didn't do it for me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I'd look at page after page of naked women in sexy poses; their legs spread apart so far you could see right up into their cunts. I'd try to visualize getting hard and plowing into one of them...and as soon as I got that far, I'd lose my hard on."

"So you didn't get off?"

"Oh, yeah, but only after I began fantasizing about what you and I used to do, years ago. THAT got me excited every time. Sometimes, I'd cum so hard it would shoot clear across the bathroom. Once I even hit the bathroom door and that was nearly eight feet away from the toilet where I was sitting."

"Do you think it was me...or the fact you desired a man and I was the only one you'd ever..."

"You WERE the only one. I had no other fantasies to replace you. That's why it was so unreal to go to bed with you last night, naked, and have you hold me! God damn! I still can't believe it!"

"Scott, when you get physically and emotionally settled, you're going to find there are many men...many like me who will hold you just as I did."

"I wish to fuck I could believe you."

"Like I told you last night...it took over ten years to find someone like Dave to hold me."

"Clay, please don't get angry with me, but have you reasoned with yourself? Have you considered that Dave might not come back?"

"As long as no one has told me differently...as long as no one has called to say he's dead...I won't give up hope."

"What'll you do in the meantime?"

"I have my new job which starts next Monday. There are hundreds of places I haven't seen in New York yet. Now that I have you here, I'm going to do all that I can to persuade you to stay as long as you can so I can get you to rejoin the human race once again."

"I...uh...know I told you I WOULD stay...but now I'm not so sure..."

"Why, for God's sake?"

"Maybe I'm afraid to stay."

"What do you mean, Scott?"

"What...what if...what if my feelings for you grow stronger? What if...?"

"I won't let that happen, Scott. Love is a two way street. It take two to form a love relationship. I love you as a friend...my oldest and maybe my best friend. I want you to stay. I want to make you get well..."

"But what if my emotions...my feelings for you get carried away?"

"I'll do to you what I always do when I'm examining a male patient and I see him getting an erection. I haul off and give it a good thump with my finger and it goes down immediately."

"Does that happen a lot with male patients?"

"Quite a few."

"And you never get the urge to go any further with them?"

"No, because I'm always aware of the situation. I'm their doctor. I'm there to treat them, not have sex with them."

"Can I ask you something without your breaking confidentiality?"

"Try me..."

"Are any of them straight?"

"Most of them."

"But why...?"

"Why do men --STRAIGHT men--get erections around other men?"

"Well, yes."

"Ten men out of ten will respond sexually to another man, another woman, even an animal if the situation is right. There's not a man in the world who doesn't want to take a peek at another man's penis while standing side by side at a urinal. Because we, as humans, hide our private parts with clothing, there's always a curiosity about wondering what the other person's penis looks like. Is it shorter or longer than mine? Do I have the biggest? Am I king of the jungle? Is he or is he not circumcised? How does he have sex with or without a foreskin? If he does have a foreskin and you don't, you wonder what would it feel like if I pushed it back? These thoughts go through every guy's mind...gay or straight. If you were naked in a dark room and someone went down on you, could you tell if it was a man or a woman?"

"Probably not..."

"Ah ha! You WOULD!"

"How?"

"Because a man knows more about what oral sex should feel like than a woman ever could...not even a highly paid prostitute!"

"I never thought about that."

"I don't want you to reveal what you and your student did, but I remember way back when you and I used to give each other bj's, it wasn't so much the thrill of having your organ in my mouth, I wanted to show you I could pleasure you better than anyone. Giving head is a challenge. You don't want to appear to be inexperienced. You do everything you know which feels good to you and hope your partner gets the same sensation you'd get."

"You know, now that I think about it...you're right. With my student, sure I enjoyed what he did to me, but at the same time, I wanted to make it better for him."

"Homo ad hominem, Horatio?"

"Exactly."

"I don't mean to sound like a chauvinist, but many men like to cheat on their wives with other men. It's less committal. The third party doesn't become romantically attached as often in a male-slash-female affair. There's less hurt if the relationship goes awry."

"Unless, as in my case, the wife finds out...she gets hurt and we both suffer the consequences as I'm doing now. Why are you bringing all this up?"

"To get you off the subject of falling in love with me."

"Oh. But do you think there could ever...we could...?"

"I don't want to talk about that, Scott. I'm more concerned with your health. Now, I'm making a batch of whole wheat pancakes..."

"Yes, doctor..." Scott said, giving up his topic of conversation.

"Now come on and get dressed. I want to show you around the city and maybe visit a few places I've never seen."

"Clay?"

"Yes?"

"I...I'll stay, but it's going to be difficult for me."

"Do you think it best if we don't sleep together tonight or in the future?"

"No, at least let me have some joy, even if it's only one-sided on my part."

As Clay was leaving Scott to return to the kitchen, the phone rang. Every time Clay heard a ring, his heart stopped beating for a moment, hoping the call would be from Dave or someone with some information about him. He took a deep breath before answering.

"Hello?"

"Clay?"

"Dr. Ed?"

"Yes. I'm pleased that you recognized my voice."

"Thank you."

"Clay, the reason I'm calling is two-fold. First, I had a call from my old friend at St. Bart's and he told me you'd accepted his offer to work there."

"Yes, sir, I think I'm going to like it."

"That's good, son. If there's anything you need..."

"As a matter of fact, there is, Dr. Ed."

"What is it, Clay?"

"My old chum who I grew up with in Florida is visiting me here in New York and it seems...he has the virus."

"Oh, my lord, I'm sorry to hear that, Clay."

"He was only diagnosed a couple of weeks ago and I've offered to be his doctor if he'll stay and let me treat him. I wanted to Fedex you a CBC sample of his blood for someone in the lab at Cole to check his viral load and see what would be the best meds for him."

"I'll see to that myself. Send it down today. Why don't you go take him to St. Bart's and have them pack it there and ship it to me ASAP?"

"I was hoping you'd say that. I know you have many experimental drugs at Cole that just might arrest his virus in the bud."

"I've seen it happen hundreds of times. So don't you or your friend worry. Let me do what I can and I'll supply you with the meds myself."

"You're a good friend, Dr. Ed."

"Maybe you won't think that when I tell you my other reason for calling you..."

"Sir?"

"Clay, your 'Dave' called me here at Cole."

"You're kidding! Where is he?" Clay got extremely excited.

"That's the problem, Clay. He didn't say where he was and wouldn't tell me when I asked."

"Then why did he call for chrissakes?"

"He was trying to reach you here. I told him...and maybe I shouldn't have...that you were in New York and staying at his apartment."

"I'm glad you did! Now he knows where and how to reach me."

"Clay...Dave told me to give you a message."

"What? I'm dying to hear..."

"Clay, he said he didn't want to see you anymore and for you not to try to find him!"

Clay's body froze as if someone had poured ice water down his back.

"Did he say why?"

"No...when I asked, he hung up."

"Oh, my God, NO!"

"I'm sorry, son. I hope you won't be angry with me, but he called a few days ago. I...I've put off calling you for fear of how you'd react. I wish I knew more. When I heard you were going to work at St. Bart's, I thought you'd be stable enough to hear what I had to say."

"I...I don't know what to think! Why would he leave me that message?"

"I wish I could answer that, son. I...I didn't know if you'd want to stay in New York after I told you...I wanted to tell you that if you should decide, now, in the near or distant future, you want to come back to practice here, you have a job anytime you want it."

"Thanks, Dr. Ed, but I don't think I COULD leave now. Just knowing he's alive gives me hope. I...I'm sure he'll want to come back here where all his belongings are. I want to be here when he does."

"I...I thought that would be your decision. I'm glad to know you have a place to live and a job to go to in the meantime."

"He...he didn't call again?"

"No, son. I only talked to him once."

Clay was silent as he let Ed's words sink in.

"Clay, are you all right?"

"Huh...yeah, yeah, Dr. Ed, I'm OK."

"You know if he calls Cole again, I'll call you immediately."

"Thank you."

"Now you've got to be strong until you...until you hear from Dave, yourself. I suggest you take your friend down to St. Bart's and we'll start to work, getting him better."

"I will, Dr. Ed, as soon as he has breakfast. You'll get the sample sometime this afternoon."

"I'll be expecting it."

"Thanks, Dr. Ed."

"You're welcome, Clay...I'm sorry."

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye, son."

Clay couldn't have felt more depressed if he'd heard that his mother had died. Somewhere...Dave was out there, running away from him. Clay was convinced now that Dave was ashamed and that was the reason he didn't want to see him. Clay worried that Dave might not be all right physically since he'd left the St. Vincent's AMA. Clay stood in the living room with the phone still in his hand, unable to move. He was petrified with fear and anxiety.

"Clay?" Scott said, coming into the living room. "Clay? What's wrong?"

"I...I feel as if my world just came to an end," Clay replied in a stoic monotone voice.

"My God, what's happened?" Scott asked, rushing to Clay to put his arms around him.

"I can't talk about it now," Clay said, holding back tears.

"Was it bad news about Dave? Your mom? Who, for crying out loud?"

"Scott, I said not now!" Clay said firmly. "Now, please let me finish your breakfast, then I want you to shower, shave, put on some warm but casual clothes. We have to go to St. Bart's to have your blood drawn and sent to Cole."

"This morning?"

"There's no sense in putting it off."

"Clay, please! Can't you give me a hint of what you just heard over the phone?"

"I...I promise to tell you later this afternoon when I've had time to figure out what I'm gonna do?"

"Does it concern my staying here?"

"Oh, no! You've said you would stay here and let me help you... and for the time being, you're what comes first!"

"I wish I DID come first in your life."

"Please, Scott! Let's don't start that conversation all over. Tell you what! You go clean up and I'll have your breakfast ready by the time you get through in the bathroom. Deal?"

"Deal."

Reluctantly, Scott went into the bathroom to begin his clean-up. Clay stayed in the living room. He had yet to hang up the phone. Quickly, he dialed his mother in Florida, once Scott was out of ear's reach. Elizabeth Haskins answered the phone on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Clay?"

"Yes, Mom, it's me."

"How lovely it is to hear you so early in the morning. Are you all right?"

"Yes...and no."

"Sounds like you have some bad news, listening to the tone of your voice. That's something a mother never forgets...how to assess a situation by the inflection of her child's voice. So tell me what's wrong, Clay?"

Trying to be brave and hold back tears, Clay related his entire conversation he'd had with Ed. Elizabeth didn't interrupt until Clay had finished.

"And that's the whole story up 'til now, Mom. I know it must seem childish for a grown man, a doctor at that, to ask his mother to tell him what he should do."

"Clay, you don't have to apologize for calling. As a matter of fact, I'm flattered and proud that you thought of me. It reinforces my belief that you know I'm always here for you no matter how large or small the problem is."

"God, Mom, I know it's that he's ashamed to face me after what he's gone through."

"I think you might be right, Clay. So what are your plans?"

"I don't have any immediate plans..WAIT, that's not true! You'll never believe it, but Scott spent the night here with me last night."

"That was quick."

"Tell me about it! I was more surprised than you. He and I had planned on doing a little sight-seeing today before Dr. Ed called."

"I think that's a wonderful idea, son. Did...did Scott go into detail of what's wrong with him?"

"Yes, but I don't think it's anything I can't solve...or rather he and I can't solve together."

"So he's going to be staying with you for a few days?"

"A few."

"I'm glad, Clay. I'm glad you're not going to be alone. After all, you and Scott were best friends at one time. Your dad and I always thought you'd make Scott a permanent member of our family sooner or later."

"Mom...you're embarrassing me..."

"Well, I don't have to say it out loud, but you know what I meant."

"Yes, Mom, I know only too well what you meant, but the main reason I called, I wanted to ask Daddy Rob if he might float me another loan?"

"Clay, you know he won't! Not as a loan! He'll give you anything you ask for, but don't expect him to let you pay him back ever. You're his stepson, but the only 'son' he'll ever have unless you count the new Great Dane he brought home yesterday. Clay, his name is Eric and he's as large as a small pony and eats like a horse...sorry, I got off the subject. How..how much money do you need?"

"I don't know. I was thinking maybe I'd hire a private detective and have him look for Dave independently from the NYPD."

"Clay, look! Suppose your detective finds Dave. Do you think he's going to be ready to face you?"

"I...hope so."

"Clay, Dave is going through the worst period in his life...so bad he can't even tell you about it--you, the one he loves. Now try to see his problem through Dave's eyes and not yours."

"OK."

"What I'm trying to say, Clay, is that Dave will come back to you only when HE feels ready...not when you are. I...I'm not trying to talk you out of hiring a detective, the money is no object and you know it. It's just that you can't force Dave to come back...Am I making any sense to you?"

"Yes, Mom...I think you make a great deal of sense. You're right. I'm being selfish with what I want for Dave...not what HE wants."

"Now you're sounding like a man...AND a doctor, both of whom I'm very proud to call 'son'."

"You...you always seem to know the right things to say to me."

"That comes with the qualification of being a parent. You'll see, you'll be one yourself some day."

"I wish I could be as certain as you."

"You better be. I'm not leaving this world until I have a two-legged grandson...one that doesn't bark and wag its tail!"

"Woof!" Clay said meekly, but smiling.

"Now go out and have a wonderful day with Scott. Who knows? His problems might be worse than yours. He might need YOU to cheer HIM up."

"Score number two! You're right again."

"Call me tonight, Clay, and if you still want the money. I'll go online and it'll be in your account in a matter of minutes."

"I love you."

"I'm glad you remember that I'll always love you."

"Goodbye...give Daddy Rob a hug and a kiss and pat all the dogs for me."

"Good lord, that'll take half a day."

"Bye." Clay hung up the phone this time and smiled, feeling better even though his situation hadn't changed since Ed called him.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! I forgot about Scott's breakfast!"

Clay hurried into the kitchen and heated the griddle and onto it he poured eight heaping spoonsful of pancake batter. Luckily, he'd bought some soy link sausages for himself and put six of them in a skillet while he made a pot of decaf coffee.

Scott came out of the bathroom, clean and completely dressed. He walked into the kitchen like a probing ant with his antennae held high to detect Clay's mood. Scott's curiosity concerning Clay's phone call was cause for alarm and suspicion. He was certain that Clay had heard something bad about Dave but he was afraid to pry more than he already had.

"Hmm, smells good!" Scott said, casually. "What? REAL sausage? With pork?"

"Don't get excited, it's fake...soybeans..."

"Yuck!"

"In a couple of days, you won't be able to tell soy from the real meat."

"Do you know if they make soybean penises?" Scott joked. "I...might have to settle for the substitute if I meet some handsome New Yorker."

"Don't try one unless you read the label on the side," Clay retorted with amusement.

Scott didn't know Clay had called his mother, but was pleased to find that something had elevated Clay's demeanor.

"What's our first stop after St. Bart's?" Scott asked.

"That's up to you. It's your tour and my chance to act as guide."

"My mother used to talk about 'the little church around the corner'. Is that far?"

"No, it's on E. 29th. We can take a cab or a subway."

"Subway...let me have the full treatment."

"Your choice sorta surprised me. Out of everything there is to see in the Big Apple, why there?"

"I...I'm afraid I didn't leave my mother in Plantation on the best of terms. I want to buy her a gift. She heard the boys' choir there on some PBS broadcast and has talked about it ever since. I want to see if the choir has cut any CD's."

"Sounds like a good apology gift...wise choice!"

After they had eaten and piled the dishes in the sink, Clay took Scott to St. Bart's, had his blood drawn, had the hospital pack it in ice, and shipped it immediately to Cole in Briarwood. Then, it was on to the 'little church' where indeed, they found several CD's by the boys' choir where Scott bought one of each and asked the gift shop lady if she would mail them to Florida.

Even though the day had started off badly for Clay, the remainder of the morning and afternoon was spent having fun with his old buddy. Rather than taking a chance on missing a familiar sight, Clay bought two tickets on the Grayline tour of New York which visited all the hot tourist spots...from the Empire State Building all the way down to the Statue of Liberty. They stopped for lunch at a corner hot dog stand and Clay gave in and let Scott eat two franks with sauerkraut and mustard...as Clay didn't believe that New York hot dogs contained real meat anyway...mostly just cereal and grain fillers, like real dog food, the kind that comes in a can.

They returned to the apartment around six in the evening and Clay picked out a health food restaurant for dinner. While they were eating, Scott kept wondering if they would go to the Rustic Inn before going home to retire. If truth be known, Clay had not missed going to the Inn a single night since he'd moved to New York.

After the meal, at nine o'clock, Scott asked, "Where to now?", anticipating Clay's answer.

"Wanna go catch the ten o'clock show at Radio City Music Hall?"

Scott was not only pleasantly surprised with Clay's suggestion, he was almost stunned. "YEAH! I'd really like that."

So Clay hailed a cab and off the two of them went to the movies. They were in luck for the theatre was showing a sneak preview of the new George Clooney/Brad Pitt movie. The flick was terrific and they enjoyed it immensely. The day and evening in each other's company seemed like old times for old friends. Neither of them had 'chummed' around with anyone for years and they had a great time.

After the movie, Scott, once again, waited for the other shoe to drop, knowing full well that their next stop would be at the Rustic Inn.

"Wanna go listen to some jazz?" Clay asked.

'Uh oh...here it comes,' Scott thought. "You mean go to the Rustic Inn?"

"No! Let's go to Birdland and listen to some REAL jazz. Whaddya say?"

"I'd love it!"

Scott was even more puzzled by Clay's attitude change and his new nightly agenda.

They went to Birdland where there was a two-drink minimum. Clay ordered two scotches for himself and two ginger ales for Scott. It was after 2:00 AM when they got back to the apartment. Each took his turn going to the bathroom. Scott surveyed Dave's CD collection once again and loaded the CD carousel with six CD's...enough to last until daybreak and then some. Scott's musical selections included no solo saxophone recordings. He was surprised to find that Dave had several Johnny Mathis early records and put "Heavenly" and "Open Fire, Two Guitars" among his choices. Mathis was always good to listen to while lying in bed. Also, he picked, "Julie Is Her Name", Julie London's greatest which included "Cry Me A River", but Scott hoped the song wouldn't created a lonely feeling for Dave, who was still in a happy mood; plus "The Many Sides of Tony Bennett" which featured one of Scott's favorite songs, "Spring In Manhattan", and finally, one of Clay's dad's favorites, "Blossom Dearie".

Pleased with his choices of musical fare, Scott went into the bedroom, only to find Clay already undressed and lying in bed with one arm propped behind his head.

"Make some good selections?" Clay asked.

"Yeah, a bunch of oldies we used to listen to with your dad."

Scott took off his clothes...ALL of them and joined Clay in bed. The two of them listened to Johnny Mathis, both lying flat on their backs looking at the dark ceiling, reminiscing on their younger days and on happier times. Although nothing drastic had changed, Dave was still missing from Clay's life and Scott still was HIV positive, but something was different tonight. Clay had promised to tell Scott about his early morning phone call, but neither of them had brought up the matter all day or evening. Scott didn't want to break Clay's mood by bring up the subject now.

"Scott, when we were kids and used to listen to this recording, did you have any idea that Johnny Mathis was gay?"

"No, I didn't know anyone who was gay. I thought what we did...well, it wasn't gay, but I, stupidly, thought we were the only two guys in the world that were doing it. I thought we had discovered it ourselves."

"God, it was great to be young and naive. I miss that," Clay said.

"We...we could pretend we're fifteen again," Scott replied, quietly.

"You think so?"

"Sure. Wanna try?"

"Did you finish reading 'A Tale of Two Cities' for Mrs. Broyles yet?" Scoot mused.

Playing along, Scott added, "Hell, no! I barely got through 'Beowulf'."

Clay laughed, "God, I'd forgotten about him."

"I never did. He almost made me fail English."

"Hey, do you remember Tommy Walters who stayed home a week from school because he thought he had cancer of the penis after he'd had his first wet dream?"

They both laughed out loud. "He first thought he had leukemia because the blood on his shorts was white and milky." Scott added.

"Jesus! I wonder if he ever found out the truth?"

"Probably not, if you remember, his mother took him to a shrink because she thought he was playing with himself...and the Church of God thought that was a sin."

"Poor old Tommy," Clay sighed, turning his head to look at Scott laying beside him. "Well, are you gonna sleep over there all night or do you want to cuddle like we used to?"

Scott took the cue and moved closer toward Clay.

"Clay, I...I want to correct something you said last night."

"What was it?"

"You said that we never kissed while we were fooling around...and I plainly remembered we kissed twice. I never forgot either kiss the whole time I was at college."

"I guess you're right. I wonder how I could've forgotten those two kisses?"

"I don't know...but I didn't!"

They lay quietly for a couple of minutes when Clay whispered, "Wanna make it three?"

"What?"

"Wanna try a third kiss?"

"You mean now?"

"I don't mean next week."

"Are you serious? I mean what about...?"

Scott didn't get to finish saying, 'Dave' because Clay leaned over and covered Scott's lips with his own. Scott couldn't believe what was happening, but he sure as hell wasn't going to break the mood by asking a dumb question. He sighed and received Clay's kiss. The moment was like a thousands dreams coming true for Scott and he turned to put his arms around his old boyfriend.

The kiss wasn't resolved by their having sex. They held each other, listening to the quiet music until they both fell asleep. The CD player was playing as two guitars strummed quietly and Johnny Mathis continued,

"Do you love me as I love you?

Are you my life-to-be,

My dream come true?

Or will this dream of mine

Fade out of sight

Like the moon growing dim

On the rim of a hill

In the chill still of the night?"

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A thousand miles away in a men's ward of a Chicago hospital, the effect of Haldol was wearing away on Dave. He was awake and looked about at a large number of fellow patients who were sharing this huge room with him. Most of them appeared to be quite ill with various IV bags running from the poles to their arms. He remembered being in the emergency room earlier and recalled one of the nurses mentioning that he was in Chicago. How the fuck did he get here? Where were his clothes? His suitcase? What had happened to the four hundred bucks he had in his pants pocket? Had that sailor, Neal, rolled him and stole God's money after he (Dave) had finished off both half pints of whiskey? Neal? That little lying son-of-a-bitch! Now without God's money, where would Dave go? How long would he be in this fucking hellhole?

What could Clay be doing in New York? What must Clay think? Could Dave ever be able to face Clay again...after being raped and used as a jail bitch? God, if he only had a plan to commit suicide!

Dave was frightened and more lonely than ever before in his life. He DID miss Clay and he DID love him...but that was all gone. Dave wanted to keep running away from reality as far as he could. He began to cry and through his tears he uttered, "Oh, Clay...I'm sorry! I love you..."

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(To be continued in "Lush Life" chapter ten. This story will conclude with chapter twelve.)