Disclaimer: The Briarwood and Mackintosh characters were borrowed with the permission of their creator, Ritch Christopher. His work is copyrighted under Nifty and may not be used without his express permission. The rest of the characters are exclusively mine and may not be used without my written permission. Nor may this work be archived elsewhere. This story is a sequel to `Nicholas Story', posted earlier this year. Please note that Miguel's conversations with his mother are in Spanish but writing such and translating into English would have detracted from the story. Also, no sex in this story - it's about commitment to friendships. Comments, if you have any, should be sent to quasito_cat@hotmail.com
Arthur's Legacy
M.C. Gordon
Nicholas Beswick sighed and rubbed his eyes. It was late; he was sleepy; and he still hadn't finished the paper he had to turn in to his English professor tomorrow. Today, he corrected his mind as he looked at the time in the corner of his laptop.
"Dude," a voice said as a hand on his right shoulder shook him awake, "the paper isn't due until tomorrow afternoon. Get some sleep and finish it after your Latin class."
Nicholas didn't object as his paper was saved and the laptop shut down. He allowed himself to be led to bed and tucked in. "Thanks, Mike," he mumbled to his roommate before sleep took control.
. . .
"He's going to live at home until he graduates," Ben Freeman had told his partner of many years, a recurring subject of disagreement between them as their son prepared for college.
"Is not," Ray Beswisk responded. "You can't mother-hen him until he's old enough to draw Social Security. If he wants to live on campus, that's all she wrote."
Nicholas hated to hear his fathers argue and know that he was the cause. His simple statement that he thought he'd like to experience dorm life had started a heated argument between them. That they seldom differed over his future was even more upsetting, complicated by the fact that there was no gentle voice of reason to calm either of them. Barbara Beswick had gone to join her husband in peaceful sleep two weeks after Nicholas graduated from high school.
For the first time in eighteen years he raised his voice to the men who had loved and raised him. "Stop it, both of you!" he shouted. "I can't stand to hear you fight with each other!"
With tears in his eyes he turned to Ben. "Please, Dad," he said quietly when he had their attention, "let me try it for one semester. I promise that if my grades aren't good or I give you any reason to think I'm doing anything I shouldn't, I'll come back home until I finish college. I promise."
Ben thought for a moment and finally said, "It sounds like a reasonable compromise, Nicholas. Very well, you may spend at least your first semester in the dorm. But if Ray and I hear that you've done any..."
Ray interrupted his lover before he could say another word. " `Kay then. That's settled. Who wants to go to Luigi's for pizza?"
. . .
In spite of having slept very little the night before, Nicholas was awake early. Aware that Mike was still snoring quietly Nicholas put a pot of water on the hotplate. His face broke into a warm smile as he remembered unpacking and finding several packets of his favorite hot cocoa mix tucked inside his suitcase.
Mike had been doing his own unpacking at the time and had given him a questioning look when he broke into outright laughter at the note Ray had included.
`Aunt Maggie sent these for you. She doesn't want you resorting to smashed M&M's in hot water so call her when you start to run low.'
Nicholas had just pulled his English paper up on his laptop and was trying to remember his train of thought from the night before when he heard Mike begin to wake up. He stood and crossed to the bookshelf that served to hold their books and kitchen pantry. Retrieving their only two cups, he filled each with packets of instant cocoa and hot water. He was just beginning to stir their morning rush of chocolate flavored caffeine when Mike began his waking ritual. Nicholas was amazed because he'd never seen anyone go through quite such a combination of regret and joy day after day.
Mike yawned and moaned a few times before he began his stretching exercise. It never varied ... arms, then legs, then arms again. Mike sat up and stretched his arms up and back until his back was arched like a bow.
Then he dropped his head toward his chest, locked his hands together and, placing them against the back of his neck, pulled his elbows back as far as they would go.
Nicholas admired the flexibility of Mike's body and wasn't surprised that the boy was attending the University of Chicago on an athletic scholarship. A pulled hamstring had kept Mike from getting a slot on the U.S. Olympic gymnastics team in 2000 but his body had healed well and he was on the college team, still hoping for a chance at a gold medal.
"Hot chocolate?" Nicholas asked as Mike made his way back to their dorm room from the communal bathroom.
"Love some," Mike replied as he yawned and accepted the steaming cup. He glanced at Nicholas' laptop. "How's the paper coming? I thought you were going to leave it until after Latin."
"Ben taught me that one should never put things off. I love him to death but he totally warped my young mind with punctuality and practicality."
Mike cocked one dark eyebrow at Nicholas and dared to ask, "Ben? Friend, or lover?" It was the first time one of them had brought the subject into the open, although each knew instinctively that the other was gay.
"Dad," Nicholas replied and bent his sandy head to the screen of his laptop.
. . .
Mike ... Miguel Fuentes ... had been born and raised in one of the many barrios of San Antonio, Texas. In the barrios, as in the ghettos scattered across the country, the only way out for the poor minority was through education or sports. Baseball and soccer were the usual choice for most of the Hispanic youth because football and basketball were beyond their reach. Most never achieved the height required for basketball or large body mass football demanded. As a child, Miguel was small but as agile as a cat. His good nature and almost pretty good looks, with jet black hair and eyes to match, gained the attention of his middle school coach who quickly contacted a friend who had a special school in the hill country northwest of the sprawling cow-town of over a million inhabitants.
"Roland," Coach Johnson said as the two had breakfast tacos one Saturday morning at Lupita's Cocina, "I want you to take a look at a little Mexican kid. He's a bright little guy, but you know the school district I teach in. Harlandale's not the best in the state. In fact, it's one of the worst. Very few of these kids ever finish school, much less get the chance to go to college. Miguel shows all the signs of being a class one gymnast. If you take him, it's his best chance of escaping poverty."
Roland Romanovski, one of the many gifted men who had fled to the United States to escape the domination of the old Soviet Union, passed an aging hand through his white hair and replied, "Bob, you know that I work with troubled kids who are dealing with their sexual identity ... not just budding gymnasts."
"Give Miguel a few more months, Roland," the coach replied. "He'll have all sorts of problems coming to grips with the fact that he's gay. He won't acknowledge it yet, but I know. How many kids have you and your wife housed at your school who were almost suicidal when you took them in? Ten? Thirty? A hundred? Miguel's not at that point yet, but he will be. I believe his only hope is you and Katarina. I spoke to his mother the other day and Mrs. Fuentes is willing to let Miguel study with you. She knows her son. And like all good Mexican mothers she loves him without question, but she knows what the gangs will do to him once Miguel reaches sexual awareness. This kid has a good mind and I'd hate to read in the newspaper one morning that some homeless guy stumbled across his broken, dead body on Menchaca Street."
. . .
"Which one is your roommate?" Ben asked as he and Ray sat with Nicholas at the first gymnastic meet of the season.
"There he is!" Nicholas pointed as he saw Mike getting his wrists taped.
"Kinda little, isn't he?" Ray asked.
"Dad!" Nicholas exclaimed, "most young gymnasts aren't very tall. Like with ice skaters, it messes up their center of gravity if they get too tall before the rest of their bodies catch up with their height. Mike's perfect. Wait `till you see him when he does his routine on the floor! His body is amazing."
Ben's eyebrows both arched and he nearly pulled his right ear off at Nicholas' announcement. Ray jabbed his lover in the side as a sign to keep quiet. They watched as Mike completed an amazing program of leg lifts over and around the wooden bar, his legs swinging so rapidly that they seemed a blur.
Chicago brilliantly kicked Syracuse's ass during the competition and Mike was the center of attention.
"Champ," Ray softly spoke as he and Ben walked their son back to his dorm, "is there something between you and yer roommate? `Cause if there is it's ok. Ya know that, don'cha?"
"Yes, Nicholas," Ben added. "Ray and I have no objection if there's an attraction between the two of you. How could we? We just want you to be sure that he's the right person for you."
Nicholas stopped on the path and stared at his fathers. "Mike is my roommate. Yes, we're both gay but we're just friends. We don't even have time for casual sex. I mean, I'm busy with my studies and staying in shape for baseball tryouts in the spring. When Mike's not at the gym he's burning electricity with his own class work. We've got professors breathing down our necks all the time. Consider yourselves lucky that I got a roommate who actually wants to finish college and do something with his life instead of one of those clowns that just wants to party. I won't promise that I'll never have sex. That would be stupid. But I know about protecting myself, and I know it won't ever be with Mike. I don't want to risk losing a good friend just because he's got a body to die for."
. . .
"I didn't know it got this cold anyplace in the world," Mike said as he entered the dorm room he shared with Nicholas one bitter morning in early December. "I'd be a frozen Mexisicle if you hadn't told me about thermal underwear." His laughter faded as he looked at Nicholas who was sitting on the edge of his bed crying.
"Hey, Nick, what's wrong?" he asked as he crossed the room and sat beside his friend. "Did you get bad news this afternoon? Nothing's wrong with one of your dads, I hope."
Nicholas brushed away his tears and blew his nose. "My dads are fine," he replied. "You know that shelter I volunteer at sometimes? One of the kids there died today."
"Madre de Dios!" Mike exclaimed as he made the sign of the cross. "What happened? Was there an accident at the shelter?"
"It's a community center and shelter for kids with HIV and AIDS," Nicholas replied. "It's called `Arthur's House' and is run by the Arthur Allen Foundation. I knew Art; we were best friends. His mom started the foundation after Art died of AIDS three years ago." Nicholas' voice quivered and broke before he could continue.
"Man, that just sux," Mike said as he draped one arm over Nicholas' shoulders in an attempt to offer comfort. "My mom told me a couple of gang members from my old barrio died from AIDS, but those pendejos were shooting drugs all the time and probably got it from infected needles. The bad thing was that they screwed anybody they could get their hands on and I'll bet they gave it to half of the west side. I was lucky because I got out of there before I could get involved in the gangs." He knew he was rambling but hoped his voice and touch would let Nicholas know that he wasn't alone. "Coach and Mrs. Romanovski made sure I got a good education and stayed too busy to get into trouble."
"This poor little kid, Timmy, was just thirteen. He died of AIDS," Nicholas said as he accepted the warmth of Mike's well muscled frame and leaned into the welcomed embrace.
Mike held Nicholas until his emotions were spent then eased his friend's head to the pillow and covered him with a warm blanket. Going to his knees by the side of the bed, he closed his eyes and whispered, "Madre Santa, alivia por favor mi amigo en su hora de la pena." (Holy Mother, please comfort my friend in his hour of grief.)
The emotion charged hour had drained Mike of energy and he lay down next to Nicholas, still providing the touch of a human hand and heart to his grief filled friend. He hadn't realized he was falling asleep until he felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. He jerked awake only to find Ray Beswick squatting next to the bed signaling him to be still.
"You boys doin' ok?" Ray whispered. "Lenore, I mean Mrs. Allen, called and told Ben and me about Timmy. We got worried when Nicholas didn't come home to let us know. Then I figured that he's getting a little grown up to come crying to us when something like this happens and thought I'd just sort of drop by for a visit."
Mike eased himself carefully away from Nicholas and motioned Ray to sit with him on his own bed. "Nicky took it really hard," he told Ray. "I thought he'd never stop crying."
"He's always had a soft heart," Ray replied. "I'm just glad he's got a good friend like you to be with him right now." He rose and started to leave. "I'd better get on home and let Ben know that our boy's going to be ok. This weather is kicking the hell out of his back and he was some kind of pissed that I wouldn't let him come with me. You take care of Nicholas and I'll go calm his dad."
"Sir?" Mike inquired before Ray could leave the room, "you wouldn't think we're having sex or anything if I sleep with Nicky tonight?"
"Son," Ray replied, "I think your friendship is the best thing in the world for him right now. Get some sleep and I'll call around nine tomorrow morning. I don't know about you, but I think we need a good Sunday brunch."
. . .
Le Deux was a was a quiet, upscale bistro owned and operated by Fran Wilson and Rob Thomason, old family friends. Fran and Rob had invested the profits from their catering business into the small restaurant after Arthur Allen's death and devoted a percentage of the gross income from their new business to the Arthur Allen Foundation. Arthur's valiant fight for life, coupled with his mother's dedication to ease the plight of HIV children, had made the Allen family and their friends favorites among the gay and lesbian community of Chicago. Since the mission of the Arthur Allen Foundation included financing for private research into a cure or prevention for HIV, the older members of the community who could remember the devastation from the initial onslaught of the virus spent a great deal of time and money at Le Deux.
"Will you spending the Christmas holiday with your family?" Ben asked Mike as the nineteen-year old finished the last bite of his third order of crepes.
"No, Sir," Mike replied. "I've only got my scholarship and it doesn't include travel funds. Mamma knew I wouldn't be home until next summer. She misses me but I've got four brothers and three sisters at home to keep her busy. My old gymnastics coach helped her get a computer and a webcam. I'm trying to save enough money from my university job working dorm security to get a webcam myself by Christmas. If I can get one then I'll sort of be able to spend the holiday break at home."
Nicholas coughed softly and stood. "Excuse me for a minute. I need to ... um, you know ... the weasel."
When Nicholas had left for the men's room Ben turned to his lover. "Ray, weasel?"
Ray and Mike locked eyes and both burst into laughter. "I'm sorry," Ray managed between giggles. "Ben's Canadian."
Mike was confused, wondering if they spoke a different kind of English in Canada.
"You're going to pay for that when we get home," Ben teased. Then he became serious. "Mike, you're more than welcome to spend the holiday break with us. We already have a webcam that we use to stay in touch with my sister, Maggie. You can use it anytime you want to see your mother. We have a vacant bedroom, and I know Nicholas would like you to stay with us instead of being alone in the dorm."
"Are you sure it's okay?" Mike asked. "I mean, thanks. But I don't want to impose or anything."
"No imposing allowed," Ray added. "We're happy to have you. Nicholas always wanted a brother and you're perfect for the job."
"I don't know what to say," Mike finally managed, surprised at the invitation and warmed by the genuine love he felt between the two men.
"Say yes, duffus," Nicholas said behind him.
. . .
Ben, Ray, and Nicholas tidied up the living room after the morning frenzy of opening presents, politely allowing Mike time alone with his family in their den.
"I'm having a nice Christmas, Mamma," Mike said as he talked to his mother on the telephone while he waved enthusiastically at his family on the webcam. "My roommate's parents invited me to stay with them. You'd like them."
He explained to her about the family he had been invited to join. "Nick is adopted and his fathers are really nice. I can make a little extra money working for Mr. Freeman when I have time. All I have to do is help clean up kennels for rescued animals. And Mr. Beswick said I can have a job with his construction company during the summer if I want. No, Mamma, Nick doesn't work for either of his fathers. He spends most of his spare time volunteering at a place for kids with HIV and AIDS. What? Oh, he's going into medicine so that he can help find a cure for it."
"I'm very happy that you have such nice friends, Miguel," Alfonsa Fuentes told her son. "But if you work during the summer you won't be home to visit."
"Yes I will, Mamma," he replied. "I already talked to Coach Romanovski and he invited all of us, including Nick and his dads, to spend some time at his ranch. Nick's fathers like the idea, especially Mr. Freeman because he used to ride horses when he lived in Canada. We worked it out with Coach to go down as soon as school lets out for the summer and spend June in Texas. Mrs. Romanovski is supposed to talk to you about it."
What Mike didn't tell Alfonsa was that the Romanovski's housekeeper had retired and they were going to offer her the position. It would mean relocating her family from the San Antonio barrio to the thousand acre ranch near Helotes which housed, educated, and trained potential Olympic gymnasts. It would also provide the remaining Fuentes children with an excellent private education, freedom from poverty, and escape from the crime ridden atmosphere created by gangs.
Mike had an uninterrupted hour with his mother and siblings before Nicholas, Ben, and Ray entered the den one at a time to be introduced to the Fuentes family. He watched his siblings open their presents from him, all Chicago Bulls t-shirts and caps for that was what he could afford. His gift for his mother had been difficult because he wanted something special for her.
Ben had come up with the idea of a scrap book of his first semester at the university with pictures of Mike at various places on the campus, with classmates and professors, and with the gymnastics team. It quickly became a duel effort with Nicholas taking most of the pictures.
Alfonsa recognized Nicholas from the few pictures of him with her son and was profuse in expressing her gratitude to the family that had opened their home and their hearts to Mike.
When everyone had said everything that they could possibly think of and Mike bid his family goodbye, Ray announced that it was time for Christmas dinner.
"Fran and Sylvia have us over every year since my grandma died," Nicholas said. "And you'll get to meet my other best friend, Sofia Rose. Everyone used to think we might get married one day but that was before I realized I was born gay. She's still one of my best friends."
"Our Champ here was a late bloomer," Ray remarked as he tousled his son's hair and they headed out the door for one of Fran's feasts.
. . .
Nicholas was doing so well with his studies that Ben agreed he could continue to live on campus and the spring semester finally came to an end. Nicholas had considered going home because the dormitory was loud with continuous parties, but Mike's scholarship specified that he live on campus and Nicholas wasn't about to leave his new friend.
Their flight from Chicago to San Antonio was uneventful and Roland Romanovski met them at the airport in his modified Suburban.
"We usually have one gymnastic meet a week and I do a lot of driving with at least half a dozen kids," he explained as his guests eyed the extra luggage room and apartment sized, fully functional refrigerator. "The kids lose a lot of body liquid and minerals so I keep a stock of sports drinks. And they don't eat before a match so there's also granola bars, yogurt, and fresh fruit to keep them alive until we can get home to some of my cook's chicken fajitas."
Most of the drive was filled with Mike catching up with his former coach on how his friends were doing. Although the weather in San Antonio was hot and humid, it became more pleasant during the drive west toward Helotes.
"Is this your only vehicle?" Ray finally asked ^Ö visions in his head of having to drive the SUV if he needed to run to any kind of store for a newspaper, video, or condoms.
"Not at all," Roland answered. "I have a '57 Belair, '65 Mustang, and a '63 Corvette. My wife, my practical half, drives an '03 Intrepid. Why?"
"I just wondered, in case I need to go shopping ... or something."
Roland laughed. "Usually if we're just going to pick up something small or want to get away for a little privacy, we just saddle up one of the horses."
. . .
"I'm gonna die," Ray announced as he dismounted from a blood bay quarter horse mare.
"You're not going to die," Ben hissed at him.
"Am too. Or maybe my ass is just gonna to fall off to escape the pain in my legs. I'm from Chicago, f'godsake, not the badlands of Canada or some cow ranch in Texas. You talked me into riding, husband of mine, and if my balls never work again it's your fault."
"I believe it's called a cattle ranch, Ray, and the badlands you refer to are in New Mexico," Ben gently corrected, completely disregarding his lover's comments about his testicles.
"What the hell ever! This thing hates me, I know it does!"
"Actually, Mr. Beswick," Mike said as he patted the muzzle of the sorrel stallion he had been riding, "Antigua likes you. She can sense that you're a novice rider and was pretty gentle. I've ridden her before and she likes to show off. I've seen her stop on a dime and kill a rattler with her hooves."
"That she does," Roland added, dismounting from the huge black he rode. "She's a good work horse, one of the finest I own. Her pedigree goes back to Cooper Bottom, Shiloh, and Steel Dust. She's a fine mare and her colts and fillies by my black, Inferno - a descendant of Old Sorrell and Hickory Bill - sell for a good price, enough to keep the school solvent."
"Do you sell at auction or to private buyers?" Ben asked, sucked into the lore of horseflesh so important to the Canadian Mounties he had retired from years earlier while Ray looked around to see if a snake was lurking in the shadows.
"Both," Roland replied. "My students actually tend some of the foals from the ranch every year. When the colts and fillies are yearlings they're entered in the local stock show and rodeo where they're up for auction. The kids get to keep the money in a college fund and the ponies go to race tracks, rodeos, or ranches. Manuel showed Antigua's half-brother, Tortuga, and he races at Retama Park now. When Manuel got his scholarship to the University of Chicago he turned his prize money back to the school."
Ray grumbled about his aching body parts until he eased himself into the Jacuzzi in the gymnasium of the Romanovski school where jets of hot water began to ease the pain in parts of his body he wished to remain intact and in working order. He was about to drift off to sleep when he heard loud voices and reluctantly left the blissful warmth.
"Oh my God!" he said out loud as he looked at what had caused the excitement. Mike was on the rings, his body doing things no human could possibly accomplish. Ray actually gritted his teeth as he watched the gymnast slowly raise himself from a perpendicular position until his feet were directly over his head, the muscles in his arms and legs strong and steady. Mike quickly swung himself around several times until his legs were parallel to the ground behind himself and he held steady, horizontal to the ground. A few more swings and Mike was upside down, his knees pressing against his forehead as his toes pointed toward the ceiling.
"Isn't he great, Dad?" Nicholas asked, appearing from nowhere.
"I have only one thing to say, son," Ray replied. "Why aren't you sleeping with him?"
. . .
June ended too quickly for the boys and they reluctantly bid farewell to Mike's family, the Romanovski's, and the fifty-odd boys and girls who were spending the summer at the ranch. There were promises to call, write, or email for Mike had renewed old friendships and Nicholas had formed new ones. Ray even reluctantly admitted that he wouldn't mind visiting every summer as long as he could keep his feet firmly planted on the ground. Cleaning stalls literally stank, but he preferred that to the thought of ever getting on a horse again.
Roland and Ben quickly made friends and the coach didn't mind Ben's long and tedious conversations about the Chicago Animal Rescue League. Ben was, in fact, so convincing that Roland was considering the idea of adopting greyhounds whose racing days were finished. A thousand acres and nearly one hundred intelligent, athletic young people would make a good home for them.
With the thought of pleasant summer vacations for many years to come, Ray, Ben, Nicholas, and Mike boarded their plane for Chicago.
. . .
"Ed," Professor Mark Tinesley said as he relaxed in the spacious den of the two-story house provided for him as one of the staff at the University of Chicago, "did you get the video I mailed you?"
"I watched it at least four times," Dr. Edward Middleton replied from his office at the Cole Institute in Briarwood. "That young man is quite a spokesperson for someone so young."
Mark laughed, "Nick Beswick only looks young, Ed. Sometimes I think he's older than we are."
"Is this the student in your Microbiology class you mentioned to me last month?"
"One and the same," Mark said. "He's been around HIV and AIDS victims most of his life. His love for and dedication to the memory of Arthur Allen made him give up his dream of being the first man to walk on Mars and turned his brilliance to the idea of medical research instead."
"I could feel his passion," Ed responded as he recalled brief clips from the video taken during a fund raising dinner for the Arthur Allen Foundation.
It is an outrage that medical science has gone no further than a stop-gap effort at curbing the onslaught of Human Immune Deficiency Syndrome," the twenty-two year old had said. And do you know why? I can tell you. Money. Profit. Movies, television, music videos, and advertising today all promote the idea of sex without fear of anything going wrong. And so today we have an epidemic of teenage pregnancy.
`We also have an epidemic of HIV and AIDS worldwide. What happened to the concept of safe sex? The pharmaceutical companies have given us a bandaid with their concoction of drugs instead of the cure or prevention that is so desperately needed. Did anyone doubt that there would be a rise in the number of new cases each year when a livable treatment was discovered? A pill a day falls far short of the reality of twenty or more pills daily. In the United States alone the cost is estimated to exceed $15,000 per year per patient, and it continues to rise.
`Education seems to have failed, where valid sex education is offered. And that is in precious few schools or churches because there are still vast numbers of our citizenry who believe that if sex is never mentioned it will simply go away. The public goes about the business of hiding from reality while prostitutes earn a living the only way they know how ... and are turned into heroin addicts by their pimps. One HIV infected prostitute passes her used needle to another and babies are born whose lives, if they have lives at all, are a continuous struggle for survival from one day to the next. I know because my dearest friend in the world, Arthur, was an HIV child.
`Today's young gays live under the illusion that they are invincible and will live forever. AIDS will find someone else as a victim. But not me. Oh, no. Not me. I don't need to wonder if I've eaten nachos, brushed my teeth, chomped on popcorn, gotten a cavity, or scratched my gum while removing a bit of chicken from my teeth with a toothpick. Why should I use a condom during oral sex? I am young, gay, immortal. And six months or a year from now when I find an abrasion that won't heal or an ugly blotch on my skin I'll be shocked to learn that I've got HIV. Will the rest of the world notice when I turn to drugs or suicide to escape the inevitable?
`Funding for public research has dwindled to a pittance. Our government would rather promote the use of the bandaid drugs now available at astronomic prices. The only ultimate beneficiary is big business. The government has attempted to stop true research into prevention or cure. The only viable hope is in privately funded research ... without government constraint.
`On behalf of Lenore and Art, I want to thank each and every one of you for attending tonight's benefit. Your emotional support means as much, if not more, than your financial support.'
Ed had been stunned by the straightforward words and passionate plea. "We're familiar with the Arthur Allen Foundation," he finally said. "They do wonderful work with children and have only branched out into research in recent years. In fact, I believe we might be contributors to the Foundation but I'll have to double check with Cliff. Say, do you think your young man would like to visit the Institute and see exactly what private research is accomplishing?"
Mark laughed. "He's not my' young man, Ed. You know I'm going to die as straight as I was the day I was born. Nick's no one's young man but his own. However, if he does agree to visit the Institute I think it only fair to warn you that he'll probably be shadowed by someone who carries around an invisible sign that says, He's mine'."
"Is this someone we should fear?" Ed chuckled.
"Only if you fear the 2004 Olympic gymnastic gold medalist, Miguel Fuentes," Mark replied.
Silence ensued followed by, "Well, damn. Now I owe Jay fifty bucks because he pegged the kid and I didn't."
. . .
"How was the trip?" Ray asked as he and Ben met Nicholas and Mike at O'Hare International Airport.
The morning sky was still dark since it was only five o'clock and a slight drizzle covered the Chicago area.
"It was really nice, Mr. Beswick," Mike replied. "Briarwood is a beautiful town. We even went to a football game at Briarwood University with Father Cliff, Dr. Ed, and what they call their Briarwood boys. Well, the ones who were in Briarwood at the time anyway. And we attended Mass at St. Genesius, Father Cliff's church. I was more comfortable there than I ever was at Mission San Jose back home."
"What did you think of the Cole Institute?" Ben asked Nicholas, turning slightly in the front seat of Ray's GTO so he could look at the young men.
"It was fantastic, Dad," Nicholas said. "They're doing cutting edge work prohibited to the public sector because of governmental control over research funding. Not all of their stem cell subjects show complete remission of the virus, but just one success story makes the prospect extremely encouraging. We even got some really neat recipes for broccoli."
Their conversation remained centered on the Cole Institute until they pulled into the driveway of the Beswick-Freeman home. The morning air had a definite chill so Ben started a pot of coffee for himself and Ray, and some hot chocolate for Nicholas and Mike.
They all relaxed in front of the crackling fireplace, allowing hot liquid to warm their veins. To Nicholas, the house still echoed with his grandparents' voices, and the love he had known his entire life. His fathers had always been comfortable holding hands, hugging, and kissing in front of him and Grandma and Grandpa Beswick.
"We spent a week in a little place called Mackintosh," he finally said when all of his marshmallows had melted in his cocoa. "We met a lot of really nice people ... men, women, older teenagers. All of them had gone there to die until Father Jeff, his brother Alex Clayton, and their lovers Johnny Kane and Ted Hampton decided they could make a difference. I know they had a great influence on Mike."
Ray and Ben both looked quizzically at Mike and he blushed under their questioning eyes. "I'm going to change the direction of my medical degree," he finally said. "I had planned to specialize in sports psychology. I decided I can do more good if I work with Hiv/Aids patients. I learned in Mackintosh that you don't have to give up hope just because you're diagnosed HIV+. There's no absolute promise of a prevention or cure, but there's hope. And I saw some shocking statistics about suicide among Hiv/Aids victims. It's appalling the number of people who takes their lives because they're afraid their families and friends will find out they're positive and treat them like pariahs."
"Good for you, Mike," Ben responded. "That's a wonderful calling. And with your compassion, you'll make an excellent counselor."
"So," Ray asked after a short silence, "did ya meet a lot of gay couples?"
"We met several in Briarwood and again in Mackintosh," Nicholas said. "It was nice to be around folks who aren't afraid to be themselves, like you and Dad Ben."
A slightly awkward moment followed as both Nicholas and Mike blushed.
"What's up, you two?" Ray asked.
"Well, Sir," Mike stammered. "I asked Nicholas if he'd ... well, kind of marry me."
Additonal notes:
Information on the pedigree of the quarter horses was obtained from a website maintained by the University of Oklahoma which has the finest encyclopedia of horseflesh I've been able to find.
Parts of Nicholas' speech at the fundraiser were a gift from a friend of mine, M. Hudson, and are either a direct quote or paraphrased when I asked him how Nicholas should address the issue of sexual behavior among the most at risk of today's gay teens.
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