Secrets

Secrets by Ian DeShils

Chapter 7

Moving on

We continued working at the Sidewinder until May. There were fights that spring, big ones and my nose got smashed again. A sort of war broke out among several of the biker clubs over drug territories I think. The Sidewinder was in constant turmoil. Finally even Pete got sick of it. He closed the place, supposedly for 'renovation' and we were jobless again.

I received my degree that spring and went looking for work only to find that entry level BA's were paid about as well scrap yard workers, that is when anyone was hiring them. We were desperate, down to our last few bucks so Jake went back to flipping burgers. I was still looking when Rip arrived one day with news of a road construction job and I grabbed it. It was hard, backbreaking work, but the pay was excellent, far better wages than I had seen in a long time. A week later Jake was able to hire in with the same company and we soon caught up the back rent as well as paying something on the credit cards.

For the next few months we did little but pay bills and pour concrete freeway overpasses in the hot summer sun while the realization set in that this might be our occupation for the rest of our lives. It was a thought that didn't set well with either of us, especially to Jake.

"I think I hate this job as much as you hated the salvage yard!" He growled one evening as he knocked dried concrete off his boots. "Why don't we start a business of our own? Something indoors so I won't have to watch peel all the time. I keep dreaming one morning I'll wake up to find nothing but a pile of dead skin beside me."

"Well, since you're on the subject of skin, have a look at my back. That new stuff didn't work worth a damn."

Jake ran his hands over the tender areas and said,

"Not yet, tomorrow maybe. Damn it, Ted, stop believing those ads! This is your third bad burn this summer. You just can't tan, so forget it. I swear, if I see you without a shirt one more time I'm gonna slap you silly. You're flirting with skin cancer!"

A glow warmer than the sunburn infused my soul. The fact that Jake worried about those sunburns was all it took to make me stop searching for that elusive and probably nonexistent magic tanning emollient.

"So, what kind of business did you have in mind?" I asked, deftly side stepping his little threat, "We have the grand total of seven hundred in the bank and perhaps another two in spending money."

"Well, jeez, Teddy, I didn't mean today! We can save up while we look around. I just feel we should start thinking about it, Let's try to match our skills with something we'd both like to do."

"Our skills, our skills," I said mock seriousness, "Let me see. . . . Well, we know for sure we can pour concrete, at least by the ton, and we're pretty good at breaking up fights. Mmm.. Come to think of it, you do have quite a reputation as an ambidextrous burger flipper. As for me, well, its been said I cut scrap iron with a definite flare, although that was after I set fire to the building and I'm not entirely sure it was meant as a testimonial. Oh yes, one more thing. I do believe we both can write an almost legible traffic ticket. By God, Jake, we're loaded down with talent, but does any of that suggest a specific occupation?"

Jake grinned broadly,

"You've forgotten one thing, Teddy. We can also find our asses with both hands, which puts us ahead of about half the people in LA. Joke all want, but we're never going to get anywhere working by the hour." "I know, I know! That's the reason I went back to school. As a kid, I used to get a warm, fuzzy feeling whenever I heard salary figures quoted by the year, only the ones I heard last spring made me cry. Hey, I think a business is a great idea. I don't know what the hell we can do, but we can sure look around and give it our best shot."

An exuberance infused Jake as he began shucking clothes in preparation for our shower.

"We just have to do a little research." He said, growing more excited by the moment."Why I'll bet that within a year or so we'll be doing something we never dreamed of."

His enthusiasm captured me as always. I loved watching him like this. The energy, the beauty of his every move intoxicated me. He adjusted the water while I breathed in his musky scent. To me, Jake's sweaty perfume is like honey to a fly: Irresistible. We soaped each other playfully, scrubbing backs and enjoying an exercise in closeness without the urgency of sex. Never were two people more attuned in their wants and needs than he and I, never in this world. All those past chapters of my existence were mere prelude to this great abiding love I feel. Sarge thought he could read me like a book, but he was wrong. How could he? My story was penned with someone else in mind.

Notes

Jake IS getting better, I see it every day, but it's not the instant reawakening I hoped for. Instead it is slow and painful for him. He keeps trying to return, but each step foreward is soon followed by a retreat and I'm now more puzzled than his doctors were. For a few moments he is his old self, then he'll disappear again as though he can't stand to face the present. What is it Jake? It must be more than just that shooting. You were wounded almost as badly in Vietnam yet it didn't cripple you like this. What could it be?

My one means of reaching him appears to be through the journal so I continue on, but I'm haunted now by the fear that Jake's condition is somehow my fault, the shooting merely the catalyst. Can anyone truly understand what goes on inside that tangled bundle of emotions we call the human mind?

Dichotomies

Saturday Morning. We'd been pulling down as much overtime as possible and saving money like a pair of misers, and still hadn't settled on a business. I was tired to the bone, mentally exhausted and too wasted to even think about shopping properly, so I stepped out to a nearby convenience store to pick up a few items and then sat reading the latest paper over a cup of coffee. I felt we needed a vacation, perhaps just a weekend away from all the saving and planning. I needed a few days of fun and relaxation to break up the monotony of work, work and more work.

More out of habit than desire, I flipped to the business section and after a moment began to laugh. It was perfect, the exact thing I'd been looking for. Something to shake Jake loose from his obsession, at least for a little while.

When I returned to the apartment, Jake sat at the kitchen table with his feet propped up on a chair while he read another of those dreary, lying, 'get rich quick' pamphlets, (instructions on becoming a millionaire for only $19.95)

"Jake," I cried, tossing the paper down in front of him, "I finally found the perfect occupation."

Circled was the article I'd read about a new franchise offering for something called "Frank-N-Stein". Hot dogs and beer. It was perhaps the unlikeliest combination imaginable for either of us. As far as Jake was concerned, just the thought of a fast food franchise made him sick. As for me, well, I drink a little beer, but Jake knew I wouldn't sell it this side of Hell.

"Weenies and beer?" He asked in disbelief, trying to figure out what I was getting at.

"Well, we could at least investigate it. What say we start down the coast, stop for a beer or two, then get a motel and check out the rest? Jake, I need a break from all of this, don't you?"

His face cleared and he laughed,

"Ah, the great weenie hunt, huh? That sounds like fun. It has been awhile since we just lost ourselves someplace. Hell, we haven't been anywhere in months. OK, lover, I game! Grab your stuff, we're heading down to Capastrano or maybe even San Diego. But just remember Babe, no matter what some handsome sailor tells you, your ass is mine."

"And vise versa." I replied laughingly.

We researched the combination diligently with fantastic results. We ended up in Tijuana where Jake began buying little mementos of the weekend; a serape like the one worn by Terrance Hill in the 'Trinity' movies (Jake said I looked like him) and a sombrero as big as an umbrella. What a time we had. Every few hours he'd drag me back to the hotel for another excursion into the wonderful world of sex. We were both insatiable, perhaps only because we were away from the ordinary, but whatever the reason, I'll always remember that weekend as time of pure sensuality. Two splendid, spectacular days of living strictly for the moment.

When we returned home, it was back to work stacking up overtime like cord wood and stuffing every unused cent into the bank account. It was growing fast, we had nearly ten grand, but when we finally did settle on a business we found our hard earned savings just a drop in the bucket compared to the money we needed.

We settled on an upscale limo and courier service with perhaps the later addition of contracted body guard service for our clients. A sort of mini conglomerate serving the rich and famous of the three B's: Brentwood, Bel Air and Beverly Hills. The plan was scalable. We could start with just the limo's if necessary. So with filled out the loan applications in hand, along with our brilliant presentation, we headed for the Bank of America. . . Only to have all our hopes flushed down the nearest toilet.

According to Ms. Pevey of the loan department, we had no experience, the plan was too ambitious, etc., etc., and even when scaled back to just the Limo service she refused to consider it. Disgusted with her negative attitude, I ask what the real problem was and she answered me with disdain,

"Quite honestly, Mr. Gibson, the bank is not interested in financing any scheme for people of your ilk. We find you less than dependable."

"And, what ilk might that be?" Jake ask, icily.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," She answered, "You two have joint bank accounts and live together. Your applications plainly show that you've been doing so for several years now!"

"And what's that supposed to mean? That we won't pay our bills because we share an apartment? Come on, lady, if you turned down everyone who shared housing in LA, you'd be out of business."

"I'm sorry, Mister Sanders, but the bank is definitely not interested."

"The bank or you?" Jake retorted. "I think we'd like see another loan officer, one who isn't a narrow minded twit!"

In a moment she was on her feet, screaming,

"No damned pervert is going to call me names. Get out of here, both of you before I call the guards."

"Lady, I don't know what you're problem is, but you better get a grip. Why don't you take another Valium and call your psychiatrist, you need help!" Then he turned to me,

"Come on, Ted, let's close out our accounts and let this stupid bitch explain it to her boss." Hysterically, she began hurling filthy names after us as we made our way toward the teller windows. It was probably the most embarrassing moment of my life, walking through the crowd while that harridan called us every vile name she could think of. Jake was livid. I felt like slapping her stupid face, but we stayed cool and went about closing out the accounts, then turned to watch as several bank guards hustled the still screaming woman off thefloor.

The phone was ringing even as we entered the apartment. The bank wanted to apologize. Would it be OK if they sent over a representative? He arrived so fast, I barely had time to hang up the phone before answering the doorbell.

Apologies flowed like honey. Mrs. Pevey was having difficult time right now, a failed marriage, a change of life and she had not been acting like herself for several weeks now. She evidently suffered a slight nervous breakdown and wasn't really responsible for her actions.

"If Pevey was going off the deep end, how come she's still processing loans" I asked, "Do you people normally keep nut cases working?"

"Oh, Lorena Pevey's not a nut case," the man replied, "She's a very fine person who just happens to be under a lot of stress at the moment. Why, she is very wealthy in her own right, tons of stock, and the only reason she's at the bank at all is to help people. Some wealthy women spend their time with charities, but Mrs. Pevey rolls up her sleeves and assists ordinary folks in starting businesses. You won't find many of the Beverly Hills 'in' crowd eager to do what that fine woman has done these last fifteen years. It was just unfortunate circumstance that brought you together at the same time her new husband left her for. . . someone else. Really she's not like that at all. If you gentlemen would kindly come back to the bank, I'm sure we can arrange financing for any reasonable project"

When the man mentioned Lorena Pevey's connection with Beverly Hills elite, I realized just how unfortunate that encounter really was. There is nothing like verbal advertising to make or break a business and in three B's area, a bad word from the right person was the kiss of death. As the man spoke I watched our business plan shrivel on the vine. It required no great genius to figure out what Mrs. Pevey's problem was; her new husband had recently ditched her for a man.

When it was all said and done, it was all said and done. We changed banks of course, there was no way either one of us would show up at the B of A again. Because of her hysteria, much of what Lorena Pevey screamed that day was unintelligible, but one thing was plainly heard, and being repeatedly called 'Filthy Perverts' in front of sixty or so bank patrons was something I could not easily overlook. I was still seething about it days later when Jake threw his arms around me in a warm embrace,

"Forget it Teddy, no matter what Pevey said, you know perfectly well we bathe regularly." And he said it with such straight faced sincerity that it broke me up.

That fall, Jake went back to school and it was pressure on my part that sent him there.

"As long as the limo service is out of the question, why not finish your degree? We have money in the bank and I make more than enough to cover all our expenses. Look, Babe, you're in the same boat I was last year, only a couple of semesters away from graduation. Besides, a degree might make all the difference the next time we try for a business."

I kept pestering him until he finally agreed.

Jake really detested pouring concrete, especially after our escape plan collapsed. He had been all pumped up with business ideas, and now we were back to square one again. He couldn't stop thinking about how much he hated road construction, while I saw it in the same light as cleaning barns back on the farm. To me, it was just some lousy, joyless job that had to be done. To Jake, it had become pure hell.. He was so unhappy, I nearly forced him into school. I thought the change would do him good. How was I to know it would almost finish us?

After Jake left, they teamed me with a young body building fanatic by the name of Chip, a strapping big kid of about eighteen or nineteen who I was supposed to train. Chip was full of teenage bullshit, bragging about his weight lifting ability, his sexual prowess, even the size of his cock, all of which I took with a grain of salt. He seemed a bit manic at times and was forever trying to evoke laughter with silly, worn out jokes, but he was likable enough. He was also about the most turned on kid I ever met. No girl got past our work site without him showing off. His favorite garb appeared to be a pair of ragged jeans with holes so far up the legs he was practically exposed and with every move he made, he radiated pure sensuality. Laughing, I told Jake that although Chip ran entirely on hormones, he seemed smart and dependable, but I'm afraid that last was a false impression.

After his second day, Chip began disappearing for long periods, drifting back only when the work was done. The kid was good at it, I will say that, I believe he could hear a cement truck coming a good ten minutes before it arrived. I told him how dangerous it was on top of the forms, how a slip meant drowning in wet cement unless there was someone right there to throw a safety line. I stressed that point over and over, as well as the fact that it took two men to do the job properly, but I might as well have talked to a stump. Each time a truck arrived, he'd be gone and I'd end up working the pour alone.

I put up with it for more than a week, trying to get through to the kid, while venting my frustrations every night to Jake. Finally, after another of his disappearing acts, I took the kid aside and told him if he wasn't going to work, he had better quit because the next time he vanished, I was going to beat the shit out of him.

"Oh yeah? You and who else?" He puffed, peeling off his shirt. While he stood there trying to intimidate me with his muscular development, I decked him, pinned an arm behind his back and trotted him down the ramp with the same alacrity that I once used in helping troublemakers out the door of the Sidewinder. Shoving him into the foreman's trailer, I said,

"Stan, either palm this asshole off on someone else or get rid of him. He's no use to me!."

"Whoa," Stan replied, "What's going on here!"

"He hit me, and I wasn't doing anything." The boy cried, looking for sympathy.

"That's right, he wasn't doing anything and he hasn't done anything since he came here!"

"He hit me!" Chip bellowed, "The bastard hit me!"

"And, I'm going to hit you again if you don't shut up. Now sit down!" I said, shoving him toward a chair.

"Stan, this guy disappears every time I need him, he hasn't done ten minutes work whole week. Damn it, I need help. Either that, or pay me double, I'm sick of doing his job for free!"

"Are you OK, Chip? "Stan asked.

"Yeah," came the reply, "But he hit me and for no reason, Uncle Stan."

"Uncle Stan? I echoed, "This kid is your nephew? So, that's why he feels he can walk off and sit on his ass. Jesus Christ, Stan, put him someplace out of the way. Let him lean on a shovel for all I care, just get me someone who want's to work!."

"Calm down, Ted, the boy's young, that's all." Then he turned to Chip,

"You're got to buckle down, Son. Gibson is only trying to teach you a lesson. All you have to do is stick with it and do the job to the best of your ability."

I wasn't trying to teach the kid a lesson, I wanted some help, but Stan continued talking to him as though he were a little boy.

"Son, you can't let your mother down. You need this work experience and she needs to know that you can make it on your own. Now you go back with Ted and do exactly what he tells you."

"STAN!" I said, through clenched teeth.

He put a hand up to quell my outburst, then told the boy to head on back to the work site and wait. He watched until Chip was out of earshot, then turned to me and said,

"My sister will soon be entering the hospital again and this time she may not come home. Chip is all she has and he's the only thing that keeps her fighting. I think he might turn out to be a good kid if someone would just bear down on him a bit. I can't fire him. Sis would never forgive me and besides, I don't want him running around where I can't keep an eye on him. Won't you give him another chance? Look, if you need to knock some sense into him, do it. Just keep it between yourselves. I know Chip won't go crying to his mother."

I seemed to always fall into messy situations I don't want or need. What the hell did Stan expect of me? Was I supposed to be some sort of surrogate father to the boy! I doubt he would have been so eager to foist the kid off on me if he knew I was gay, not that I couldn't control myself, that wasn't the problem at all. But damn it, Chip was Stan's responsibility, not mine. Moreover, I didn't want to get chummy with Chip or anyone else on the crew. The last thing I needed was for the kid to get the idea he could drop around for a chat any old time he felt like it. My private life is my own business and I tend to keep a distance from those I work with for exactly that reason. It leads many to think that I'm a cold fish, but it keeps them from asking too many personal questions. Fuming, I headed back to the work site. Stan might baby his nephew, but I sure as hell wouldn't. Either that kid buckled down or I was going to boot his ass right back to Stan.

Surprisingly, Chip settled in and worked straight through the afternoon with hardly a break: Our little go around earlier evidently caught his attention. Finally, when the shift ended, I told him to grab a couple of soft drinks and join me.

"Now that wasn't so difficult, was it? Why the hell did you keep running off all the time?"

He gave me an uncomfortable look,

"I don't know, exactly, it's just that you kept scowling at me as though you weren't too thrilled to have me around. I guess it was pretty childish."

I thought about it, Chip was undoubtedly right, I do scowl when I'm unhappy, and I sure hadn't been very happy these last few days.

"Well, the truth is, Chip, I guess I was wishing you were someone else. My old partner Jake. I believe I kept looking over and expecting to see him. Sorry, kid, I won't let it happen again."

"What became of Jake?" the boy asked, looking dubiously at the deep concrete forms that I had warned him about.

I laughed. "Nothing too awful. He got tired of cement and went back to collage."

Over the next few days I come to realize that Chip's earlier behavior as well as his bullshit bravado was merely an attempt to hide the pain he was experiencing. He knew his mother was dying and felt completely helpless about it. Chip really had very little self esteem and that which he did posses was fragile, yet I found him to be a willing worker. All it took was a little patience and a kind word now and then. I discussed it with Jake, saying,

"I don't know why a boy like that would have such poor self image. He's great looking kid, as handsome as the devil himself and built like a sailors wet dream."

I laughed at my own remark and added,

"Well, at least for those sailors I used to know."

If Chip held any resentment over our bit of fisticuffs, he didn't show it, instead he made every effort to learn the job and soon needed little prompting. As he took hold to the work, I found myself mellowing even more. Chip was a good kid at heart, but it bothered me that he had so little confidence in his own worth. He needed praise constantly and if I failed to give it, he'd wilt. I couldn't figure it out. Here was a young man who had been surrounded by loving relatives all his life, yet instead of that love making him strong enough to face adversities, the potential lose of even part of it left him weak. As he talked about his family and all the things they did when he was younger, I felt a twinge of envy. How different my childhood from the rosy picture he painted.

My mother died when I was two, my grandmother thirteen years later, and all the years I can remember my father drank. I can't count the number of times he reached out and slapped me for no reason, nor can I count the times that fist was doubled, but not once during those years did I suffer the lack of ego Chip displayed. And yet as I thought about it further, I found I could sympathize with him. There had been a time in my life when my world was torn apart. It was during those weeks of basic training, and right then I would have given anything to have had a friend.

I told Jake about Chip's problems and my opinion of him.

"If he continues like he's been doing these last few days, he'll work out fine. I feel sorry for him. Stan tells me that when his mother dies he'll be on his own. Oh, Stan will help if he can, but he and his wife are having problems right now and Stan himself is presently bunked down at the office. Chip just needs a friend, someone to talk to. You know, he's really a nice kid."

Jake, who had remained mostly noncommittal through all my frustrations with the boy, that night looked at me from the corner of his eye,

"You're not thinking about bringing him home, are you?" He asked.

I laughed,

"Well, I hadn't really planned on it," I said teasingly, "But he is awfully cute."

A few minutes later, Rip, TF and Bear stopped by. They were loaded down with a case of Bud and a giant Pacific lobster tied up in a wet gunny sack.

"Dinner time." Rip called out as he swung the lobster into the sink. "Now don't you guys run off, I'll need a hand with this. Hey, CB, where's the cutting board?" As always, when Rip brought food he waltzed in and took over the kitchen with all the finesse of Hitler taking Poland. Of course no one complained, he was a great cook, only, from the moment he arrived everything had to be done to his specifications. I learned that one evening when I set out a jar of pickled peppers while he was doing something wonderfully fragrant with veal and cheese. Evidently my offering was an unsuitable side dish for his masterpiece for he casually dropped those peppers into the trash can.

I dug the board out from under the sink while he produced some plastic bags containing a shelled abalone and several nice fish steaks. With a minimum of fuss he put me to work tenderizing the rubbery abalone and between beats of the mallet, I asked,

"Been skin diving again, huh ?"

"Yeah. On the lee side of Catalina. Man, you should have seen the sting rays, it must be mating season, hundreds of them. My share of the catch this time was a lobster, an ab and a small shark, or as Bear calls 'em, 'Rack of Sword fish steak supreme.'"

"Hey, Bear, I thought you hated sharks?" Jake said, smiling broadly. In one of our last nights at the Sidewinder, the big man pulverized a trio of Sharks who ganged up on Jake and me. Bear sent all three to the hospital and ended up spending a weekend in jail for his troubles.

"The finny ones are OK. Can't eat the other kind."

"You can't?" TF interjected, "Then how come I saw you sprinkle salt on them?"

Bear grinned from ear to ear showing a wide three tooth gap in his upper deck,

"That just get's their attention. Salt makes those little cuts hurt like hell."

Bear was one of those huge men who anger slowly, but piss him off once and he'll hold a grudge until the end of time. Something happened between him and the Sharks long before we met him. I never knew what went down, but the Sharks avoided him like the plague. The one thing you could say about Bear that described his personality to a tee it that he made a wonderful friend and a really bad enemy.

Rip nudged me,

"Say, when you're done beating your meat, why don't you make the salad?"

"What do I look like, a slave? What's wrong with those guys?" I demanded.

"Well, you sure don't want to eat anything Bear touches. Who knows where his hands have been, as for TF and Jake, they have to get the barbecue going."

"It takes two to light a match?" I asked archly.

"I think we're out of charcoal." Jake said.

"Well don't just stand there, go get some!"

Rip took on the stance of a general directing a major campaign. "TF, ride shotgun. You two have exactly ten minutes to get that fire started. Bear, would you fetch the tub, please?"

Everything happened just as he commanded. The tub turned out to be an oblong copper boiler, well aged, well dented and badly stained. I had seen it once before on a beach outing, only that time they were steaming clams. We filled it half full of salted water and set in on the stove were it fit nicely over two burners.

I finished the ab and under Rip's direction sliced it into thin strips while he mixed a marinade, then Bear opened a trio of beers and we three started whacking up salad material. It was pure fun time for me. It's difficult to describe the warm feelings I get when surrounded by friends. It's little things like Rip reaching over and popping the last olive in my mouth just because he knows I like the things or Bear's way of sneaking up and lifting you off the floor. Sure, it's just general foolishness, but somehow it washes away all the days troubles and soon I am as relaxed as a petted house cat.

Jake and TF returned, fired up the grill then came in for a beer. Our apartment was on the ground floor with a sliding door opening onto a minuscule patio surrounded by a high fence. This made it a "garden apartment" in contrast to the "terrace apartments" of the second floor where each sported a postage stamp sized balcony. Our patio was just big enough for a grill, a table and a half dozen chairs. If more guests arrived we slid open the door and spilled back into the apartment.

Finally the water came to a boil and we all crowded around to get our first look at the lobster

"This may be tricky." Rip said as he undid the gunny sack. The lobster moved weakly.

"Don't look too tricky to me," TF declared, "This sucker is on his last legs. Not like that other one."

"What other one?" I asked.

All three laughed,

"The one you better hope this one isn't." Rip said, "Last year we were cooking one of these over at Sammy's place and just as we were about to drop it in the water, it got a grip on the both edges of the tub and wouldn't let go, it just hung there suspended, locked tighter than a drum head. We were using a broom handle trying to force it into the pot when we accidently knocked the whole shebang off the stove. Well, that did in the lobster, but what a mess. Sammy was hotter than a firecracker, he kicked the tub all around the room. Bear almost had to sit on him. That boiling water did a real number Sammy's brand new tile floor, all the edges curled up. Now he won't even touch these babies. He prefers the scrawny little Atlantic kind that don't fight back."

Our monster presented no such problem. It went quietly and we ate very well indeed.

The next day I sweat out the previous night's festivities with the gang who tore down the forms. Noisy and hectic, we loaded trucks that hauled those forms to where another crew reset them. Chip worked as hard as anyone. That night I praised him for it, and told him I'd see him in the morning up on top where the real work took place. That little pat on back did wonders for his ego. He walked off whistling, while I dragged my tired ass toward home.

The following morning Jake had to drive me to work. For some reason, my car refused to start and there wasn't time to look it over. It really ticked me off. Only the weekend before Jake and I tuned up both cars and his was still running fine.

Chip arrived early and put in nine solid hours without once needing direction. At quitting time I told him,

"I'm proud of you, kid, you did great job! Just remember, don't lean over the safety rail like you were doing today, it's dangerous as hell. Oh, and one more thing, don't ever let the drivers bullshit you into cleaning out the chutes, that's their job, let 'em get off their fat asses and do it themselves."

Elbowing him in the ribs, I said,

"You know, those jerks had Jake and me cleaning chutes for a month before someone clued us in. "Course, we got even. One day we just ran the chute water on the ground, folded 'em up and sent them on their way. Boy, were they pissed. That concrete sets up pretty good on a twenty mile trip."

It got a laugh out of Chip, which was, after all, the whole idea. A little praise, a little story, make him feel good about himself and the job he was doing and maybe he'd have something to hold on to when his mother died.

"How long have you known Jake?" He ask, "You sound like old friends."

"We are. We've been buddies for about four years now. We first worked together as Sheriff's deputies."

Not wanting to go any further into my private life, I glanced at my watch and said.

"As a matter of fact, he'll be coming to get me in a few minutes. My car broke down this morning."

I had no more than said it when in the distance we heard the deep rumble of Harleys echoing against the hillsides. About a dozen I judged from the racket they were making. We walked down to the foreman's trailer and punched out while the noise of the motorcycles grew louder. Moments later they came sweeping around the bend of the unfinished freeway, slowing only slightly as they approached the work site. Chip and I stood in the middle of the south bound lanes watching them, when, as one, the cycles veered, coming across the tarmac turn around, directly toward where we stood. Slowing to a crawl, they began circling us like Indian's around a wagon train. It was Rip and the Devil's and by their actions, they were intent on some sort of mischief, but I didn't have a clue as to what.

Around and around they circled. I waved, but got no reaction at all until I took my hard hat off and tossed it at Rip. He caught it easily with one hand, winked broadly and slapped it on his head, but without cracking a smile. Chip was getting nervous until I said,

"It's OK, I know these guys and it looks like they want to talk to me. You stay put a minute, I'll be right back."

I sauntered toward the circling bikes, but as I walked, the circle expanded away in front while coming closer behind until I was alone in the circle. Suddenly, the bikes were crowding about, penning me in and several riders dismounted. They were all guys I knew and who I greeted by name, yet they never said a word, they just grabbed me. The next thing I knew I was being placed on the back of Rip's bike, my arms around his waist and my wrists lashed together with duct tape.

"All right, Alex, what the hells going on?"

"The name's The Ripper, CB. You won't forget it again if you know what's good for you!"

"OK, 'Ripper'," I replied, sarcastically, "What the fuck is going on?"

"By the time you find out, Collage Boy, it'll be way to late to do anything about it." Laughing like a mad hyena, he kicked the bike in gear and surrounded by the others, we roared back down the freeway at a speed that violated both law and common sense.

An hour later, we pulled up to a rundown tract house in Pacoima, a biker pad by the look of it. Rip tore off the duct tape and the rest of the Devils crowded around as I was unceremoniously hustled inside.

"Will one of you bastards please tell me what the hell is going on?" I yelled. Again no answer. One would have thought I was a total stranger to them. At first it seemed like a joke, some sort of prank they were playing . Now I wasn't sure. They weren't particularly menacing, just absolutely uncommunicative and they had a rather single minded intensity about them as though had already tuned out any protest I might make. I was led through a house that was entirely different from the expectations of outside. Inside it was clean and spacious and fitted out with low tables and piles of soft cushions like some sultans domain. They prodded into a large bedroom at the far end of a hall and as the door swung shut, Rip said threateningly,

"Don't try to leave, CB. We wouldn't like that!"

I heard a bike cough to life and roar away down the street. A few minutes later, several more came back and they kept arriving in twos and threes over the next half hour. A huge crowd was gathering, but what the hell was going on? These guys were my friends, at least I thought they were. Rip and T.F. and especially Bear crashed at our apartment whenever they felt like it. Hell, our door was always open to any of the Devils and not one of them had ever done anything to indicate we weren't friends. I wasn't scared, but I was definitely getting pissed at the way they were treating me.

I looked around the room thinking maybe I could slip out a window, only the window wasn't real. It was painted on the wall and so cleverly done I didn't realize that fact until I touched it. Then I saw that whole room fooled the eye. It wasn't large at all. The walls depicted expanses and furniture that didn't exist, yet it was so well executed I had to touch everything to make sure. There were only three real pieces of furniture in the room; a brass single bed, a night stand and an ebony chair.

I heard scrapping noises as if something was being moved, then a few minutes later the door opened and Rip sauntered in.

"Well, CB, this is the first time you've ever seen one of our clubhouses. How do you like the layout?" He asked pleasantly.

"Damnit Alex, I don't know what you guys think you're doing, but at least let me call the office. They'll have the cops on you! I'll bet half the crew saw me being wrapped up in duct tape. They probably think I've been kidnapped."

"Ah, Ah, Ah, I told you to call me Ripper didn't I? I warned you! This is club business and that means club names only." He stood up and yelled,

"OK, you guys, come on in, old CB didn't take me seriously" I jumped up ready to defend myself only to be overwhelmed in seconds. They stripped me, tying me spread eagled on the bed, my arms and legs strapped to the frame. Then, a guy I had never seen before came toward me with some sort of electrical gadget in his hand, the cord wrapped around his wrist.

It was over in a matter of minutes. I now had a small blood red tattoo above my right nipple, a skull, as far as I could tell.

Rip sat down on the bed motioning everyone else out.

"You're one of us now, CB. No matter where you go, you'll be known by our sign."

"Is this a joke? I never asked to join the Devils!"

"Ah, CB, you and Slugger can't ask to join. We pick our members and we pick the time!"

"You mean Jake's here too?" I asked in surprise.

"Right across the hall, Kiddo. Tanglefoot's got him fixed up just like you!

"But, Rip, we're not bikers, why pick on us? What makes you think we even want to join?"

"I told you CB, it isn't up to you. It's the Brotherhood that does the choosing, but since you're already half way with us, I'll let you in on a little secret. There are guys wearing that skull who wouldn't know a Harley from a Schwinn. We don't choose just bikers and we're a whole lot bigger than the Devils thirteen branches indicate. You'll love the Brotherhood, CB, we offer a great deal to our members, not the least of which is a place where you will be utterly at ease. After all, we selected you, how could it be otherwise?"

The strange logic behind that statement left me at a loss. His words were as unsettling as the walls. What exactly did he mean by that?

Rip lifted a glass and pressed a drinking straw to my lips.

"Here, drink this."

"What is it?" I asked in trepidation.

"Why, just a little elixir to make you comfortable." He lay a finger near the fresh tattoo, "This little baby's gonna hurt pretty soon, we use a special ink."

I had never heard of a small tattoo causing any great discomfort, yet the thing was throbbing, giving off a dull pain similar to the starting of a toothache. Perhaps that boded worse to come. I took a small sip. It was bittersweet and musty, a peculiar flavor, not unlike rye whiskey without the bite. Rip urged me to finish it.

"This is your night CB, yours and Slugger's and all of us are looking forward to it. All the fantasies you've ever had will be fulfilled tonight. The Brotherhood will make this a time you'll remember all your life."

In moments my head was swimming,

"What was in that drink? I cried in alarm as the ceiling fixture splintering into a million bits of colored light, "What was it?

"Relax, it's nothing that's going to hurt you. I think you'll like this next part, CB. Yeah, I think you're gonna love it."

Rip took off his shirt. Staring from above his right nipple through the fractured light, I saw bloody deaths head, the same one I now wore. My mind seemed to leave me, scattering with the light and at first I didn't understand that it was Rip who ran his hand along my chest, down through the hair of my groin, grasping me. That disembodied hand played for a moment and then Rip's voice said,

"Oh, you're gonna love this part, CB, both you and The Slugger."

"Don't!" I cried, "Don't do that, I promised. . .Jake. . ."

Then the Light roared out in multicolored voices, silencing all protest as desire wrapped me warmly in its arms.

"Yeah, I can see you really hate it." Came Rip's laughter as he stoked the fire that boiled inside me. Then the hand went away and I lay watching galaxies collide, shooting stars and comets burning bright lit paths through a tissue paper sky. Eons passed in fleeting moments and I found myself at once surrounded by warm, delicious, icy hands, smiling faces. The smell of almonds touched my skin, a cool refreshing taste as hands worked themselves across my body. The almond fragrance bore me upward. No strap seemed powerful enough hold me as I drifted toward a shining arch, while voices chanted out my name in cadence. And I floated on the Light. Colors yet unnamed, cascaded, splashed against me, burning, as I drifting toward a darkened tunnel. Then appeared another place, less brilliant than before, but filled with angels, all naked, beautiful, glowing in the scattering light as I drifted down to join them on tender ground. . .

"We are Brothers in body and soul." The Light intoned, each word as distinct as the tolling of a bell. "Let no one at this gathering turn away from what our Brothers do. We will know each other joyfully, we will guard each other faithfully, keeping secret unto ourselves all we learn of one another. We, the Devil's Own are Delphic Brothers of the Light and we claim these two as ours. Greet them, Brothers, know them well, for they will be as one with us."

Then the Angels touched me, one at a time, fondling and caressing, their hands everywhere, each learning my body as though it were his own. It was a long thrilling orgy of the senses just short culmination. I studied them as they did me without hesitation and found the fire of arousal all about me. They were beautiful, some dark, some not, all casting long shadows as they moved, long blood red shadows on the silver light.

Then the Light cried out a golden tone as desire flared. The angels doted on me, each offering themselves to my indulgence. My every whim was answered as one after another provided all I desired, until I, lost to all but glutt ony, exhausted every one.

Alone and sad I lay drifting as the light sang a mournful dirge. Through the keening Light came the sounds of someone sleeping, familiar sounds, comforting, yet so blinded were my eyes by bursting rockets, shattered light, I could not see from where it came. I drifted, watching colors flow and ebb for an eternity until again warm hands touched. Perhaps the same ones as before? I didn't know, nor did I care as the unseen ones took their pleasure from me and gave it back again.

I dreamed I was floating on the Light, watching it, until it all became too hot to gaze upon. It burned against my eyes. A white hot desert heat that left me filled with thoughts of death, of slaughtered promises, murdered love, and I was alone, adrift in a wasteland of dead and dying things. Staggering, I bumped against solid barriers, tripped over soft obstructions as I groped for clarity and at last realized that this was the Other Place, the place where the Light had spoken, freeing me from all restraint. Slowly, time once more took on meaning as I found myself trying to pierce the mystery of a spiders web that glittered brightly in a sunlit window . . . and . . . Suddenly I was alive once more! Abruptly, shockingly alive, yet still thinking thoughts all skewed by the Light that came and went like some huge pendulum slashing its way across my consciousness. A horrible noise frightened me, halting my progress along a wall, until I realized it was my own voice crying out in protest against the injustice of what had happened. That drink. That poisoned drink left me nauseous, but not nearly as ill as did those burgeoning memories of the night before.

In between the bursts of Light I discovered Jake wrapped around a pillow sleeping and I couldn't stand the thought of facing him. Bleakly I wondered if he had he watched me with all those men. Would he remember? What had I ever done to the Devils to deserve this? Then the Light obscured all again and I was stunned by the beauty of it, forgetting everything until it faded once more. It was hours or years, or seconds later that the door opened and Tanglefoot stepped inside with a grin on his face. I clawed my way toward him with murder in my heart. I would have killed him in an instant had I the means or strength to do the deed.

"You Son of a Bitch!" I choked out, "What did you guys do to me? Why? Why? I thought we were friends!"

Tears came then, I couldn't stop them. My oath to Jake gone and I saw myself no different than the gays who hung out at the Sidewinder hustling bikers.. That wasn't ME, I never wanted that to be me.

"Damn you to hell!" I cried, beating at him with impotent fists, "Find our clothes!"

Jake stirred as Tanglefoot backed out the door, my yelling must have roused him and possibly the whole house as well, because I soon heard someone else coming down the hall. I was trying to get Jake to his feet when the door burst open again and Rip appeared.

"Get away from me, you bastard, or I'll knock your fucking teeth down your throat! " I could hardly stand, but I would have tried.

"What's the matter, is something wrong with Jake?" He asked, worriedly.

"Why would you do this to us?" I cried, "I thought we were friends!"

"But, I am your friend, and now that you're in the Brotherhood you have hundreds more, good friends who will never let you down. Last night was just an initiation, every one of us has gone through the same thing."

I stared at him,

"The same thing? Do you expect me to believe that? I remember every bit of it, all you guys. . ."

My angry rebuttal halted abruptly as the Light came screaming back in colored whirlpools and eddies and I grabbed hold of Rip to keep from falling.

"Easy there, CB, you'd better sit down, that stuff burps a few times before it quits. Look, I'm telling the truth, we've all gone through exactly the same experience. Oh, Usually we have some of our women involved, but we've learned that for our strictly gay initiates, the ladies can be a hindrance to the adventure. The elixir makes you horny as hell while stripping away every inhibition, and you simply get lost in the experience. In a few hours everything will be back to normal"

He laughed,

"Gay or straight, CB, that juice lets you enjoy sex to its fullest and I'm here to tell you that you two sure enjoyed yourselves."

I looked at the floor. What would these guys think of us after last night? Rip seemed to sense my feelings. His voice took on a buccaneer's accent as he added kindly,

"Believe me matey. There ain't a man jack among us who didn't end up tasting brothers along the way. It goes with the initiation."

"And, that doesn't bother anyone?" I asked

"Hell, no. Remember, we pick our members and we're damn careful who we choose. Sure, the Brothers might tell you they prefer women, but we all swap around. I suppose technically that makes us bisexuals, only we don't look at it that way. To us, sex is simply a pleasure to be shared with friends, much in the way the ancient Greeks and Romans viewed it. Within the Brotherhood you'll find all kinds of fun and games, but you won't find any sexual hangups. No one cares who does what to whom as long as it stays within the Brotherhood. No, CB, the Brotherhood is tight and our ladies understand it."

"Well bully for you" I replied sarcastically, "And what about the gays, are we expected to drop to our knees every time a 'Brother' wants a little head?"

Rip laughed,

"Only if you drop to your knees of your accord! You're a Devil now and you do what you want. We only have one rule about sex; it stays within the Brotherhood. Oh, some may ask, that's their privilege just as it's your's to say yes or no, but as gay men you and Jake will find the Brotherhood most accommodating. Hell, I'll bet you could play the whole field, if you wanted to."

"But, that's just it!" I cried in anguish, "I don't want to! No more than I wanted to go through that fucking initiation. What the hell kind of club drags in new members against their will? Jake and I don't swap around, did you ever see me with anyone but him? I made a promise to Jake back when we started out and now I've broken it. God Damnit, Alex, you've ruined everything!" And then I couldn't see anymore, too many tears, too much pain and I sat with face cradled in arm.

"But Jake said". . . Ripper hesitated

"Jake said what?" I demanded. At the sound of his name, Jake stirred and began calling out,

"Teddy, Teddy, where are you?"

Crawling to him, I placed his head on my knee, brushing back his hair,

"I'm right here, Babe, everything's OK, go back to sleep." The door opened again and T.F. reappeared toting a chair stacked with our neatly folded clothes. Following closely behind came Bear, Wolf and Sammy, our first 'friends' from the Sidewinder, all of them wanting to know what was going on.

Every move I made launched new sky rockets and even with help it took a few minutes of intense concentration to put my pants on. The Light still advanced and retreated, and now in between times came searing pain. The tattoo burned as though it were just now being applied with branding iron, that is, until I made the mistake of touching it, then the branding iron became a searing blowtorch. In agony I sat as Rip applied a soothing salve that helped turn down the flames while the Light faded in and out scattering my consciousness in the colors and allowing only brief bits of reality between each new assault.

"I know it burns," Rip was saying, "It's the price we pay for the color. Look at T.F., even on his black hide the color is the same as yours and mine and it never fades."

T.F. took the ointment and began applying some to Jake and at his touch Jake stirred. Coming awake with a start he look up at me groggily. Like me, he was still mostly under the influence of the drug and spoke in slurred syllables, although much more coherently than I had on awakening.

"Oh, My God, Teddy, what a night. T.F. said that shit would make the Lone Ranger blow his horse, but I had no idea. There must have been a thousand guys in here and I think I did 'em all."

His eyes rolled in unfocused confusion and he seemed unaware of the small group of Devils who stood only a few feet away.

An awful emptiness carved its way through my soul. Oh. Jake! I never wanted you to know this sort of thing. Last night was nothing but a bus station orgy in disguise! I surely never wanted you to experience anything like that! Lost in sorrow, it was a moment before something Jake said fully penetrated my mind. I had heard that phrase about the Lone Ranger and his horse just a couple of days ago, the night of the lobsterfest, but at the time thought it was just the punch line of some joke T.F. was telling Jake.

"Jake! Tanglefoot told you what was gonna happen, and you still drank that stuff?"

I peered first at T.F. and then at Jake, but neither would meet my eye and the sudden realization struck that Jake had been in on the whole set up.

"What the fuck is going on?" I demanded of him. "Did you arrange this?"

He looked away.

"Why?" I cried, my heart shriveling against the obvious conclusion. "Are you sick of me, do you want to call it quits, is that what this was all about?

"Oh, God Teddy. No! I just thought you were tired of me! You were all the time talking about that guy Chip and I could see where it was leading. I thought if you had a chance to play around little, you'd forget him."

"A CHANCE TO PLAY AROUND?" I shouted, "Are you insane, why would I want that? My God, Jake! Chip is Stan's nephew, you know I wouldn't get involved with him!"

Jake didn't say a word which made me all the madder.

"By God, maybe we should split, you're almost as bad as Sarge!. First you conned me into working at that crummy dive and now you've got me blowing bikers. Where is it gonna end? I thought we had something good together, but you're done your God damnedest to ruin it." Furious, I grabbed his clothes, dumping them in his lap as he sat there staring mutely at the carpet.

"So, you thought I needed a little diversion, did you? Well, by God, you just let me know when I've had enough." Staggered upright, I balancing myself between Rip and Bear and said,

"Come on, boys, lets go do what Jake wants me to do."

I didn't mean it, I really didn't, but Jake's actions fired that old perversity within me and then the Light came roaring back, bringing with it an echo of that maddening desire. I still might have resisted had Bear not leaned against me letting me feel a bulging, seductive invitation. He at least had taken me at my word!

Was I getting even with Jake? I'm not sure, all I know is that I stopped Bear at door, tugged down those jeans and would have did him to the best of my ability while Jake and rest watched.

"NO." Jake cried out as he staggered to his feet. Throwing his arms about my shoulders, he pulled me backwards, sobbing,

"Oh God, Teddy, I'm so sorry. No, Babe, no. That's enough."

We spent hours recovering in the same room where it had all began for me, holding each other through the ebbing attacks of Light until at last, the world, that familiar place of doubt and pain, came crashing back around us. Through it all, Jake was nearly beside himself, alternately sobbing or trying to explain,

"Teddy. Please, please listen to me. I thought you were falling for that kid and it scared me out of my mind. I told myself this initiation wouldn't matter as long as it was just sex, but it does, Teddy, it does. I can't stand the thought of what I've done to us and I wouldn't blame you if you did leave. I'm such a God Damned idiot sometimes!"

And, that he was, oh yes, that he was, but he was MY God Damned idiot. The one person on this planet willing to put us through hell or risk anything to keep us together. The fact that his misguided fears had us doing weird shit like this made no difference at all. I found I could forgive almost anything for that love.

Toward evening came the sounds of boisterous voices shouting above the din of hard rock music and every few minutes someone came through the door urging us to join them. At last we emerged, heads down, abashed, expecting anything but the welcome we received. Surrounded by smiling faces, we had arms thrown about our shoulders with the same familiarity that we had seen among the Devils at the Sidewinder. Emanating from all those around us came a feeling of camaraderie, an acceptance that seemed to know no bounds and we were swept into an ongoing party. In moments we were plied with liqueur, beer and pot, and offered bawdy propositions as though we had been in the Brotherhood for years and I'm sure it was unlike anything Jake ever experienced before. Later, we were treated to a feast of pizza and Chinese carry out and with the pot's mellowing effect came a warm feeling that Rip had spoken the truth. We were now part of the Brotherhood. If we accepted what was freely offered, it came without degradation and if refused, that too was acceptable to our Brothers of the Skull.

Sunday morning found me awakening among a tangled mass of bodies on the clubhouse floor and with a hangover of immense proportions. I alone was covered by a blanket, Jake's work obviously. At least my pants were on, and so were those of everyone else as far as I could determine. Never before had I drank myself into total oblivion and I swore it would never happen again. Brushing the hair from my eyes, I felt my hand strangely heavy and found fitted to the ring finger of my right hand, a signet, the same ring all the Devils wore. A skull, exactly like those red tattoos, only rendered in heavy, gleaming silver. But, how it came to be there remained a mystery. Perhaps some further rite lost in the fog of booze and pot?

Somewhere coffee brewed. The smell drew me to the kitchen where I found Jake and T.F. talking quietly. I didn't enter the room, instead, stood just outside listening.

"The Brotherhood has very few rules," T.F. was saying, "Only four actually, but the rules we do have are unbreakable. First, whatever you are told, whatever you see, hear or learn about a Brother will not be divulged to anyone outside the Brotherhood. Second, you must give aid to a Brother in need. Mostly that's taken care of by a fund we have. Everyone donates to it and the donation is whatever you can afford, but nonetheless, if a Brother comes to you in dire straits then you are bound to help him. The Third Rule is sort of a reverse of the second. You can't put a Brother in jeopardy if asking aid from him might do so. It's not likely to happen, but you will be given a phone number to call in case of such an emergency. The forth rule is about sex. A Brother can marry or have a lover outside the Brotherhood, but once he does, he gives up his right to ask his Brothers or any of our ladies for favors. Let me explain. You see, people change as they get older and what they want at twenty-five might be entirely different from what they want at thirty-five or forty. It affects nothing else and if the outside thing doesn't work out then they're welcomed back, but they can't have both at the same time. Can you see the reasoning behind this?"

"Well," Jake replied, "I would imagine that if a Brother could just run to the nearest clubhouse for a bit of fun and games it might fuck up a marriage."

"Exactly," T.F. replied.

"And, what about us, Jake," I asked from the doorway, "Is this going to fuck up our relationship?" Jake lunged to his feet, threw his arms around me and cried,

"Oh, God Teddy, I hope not, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I should never have agreed to the initiation!"

Rip came in, filled a styrofoam cup with coffee and said,

"Your agreement made no difference anyway. You two were chosen months ago and once the Brotherhood chooses someone it's only a matter of time before they become members."

"You said that before," I retorted, "But it doesn't make any sense! You can't force people into joining! What's to keep someone from running to the cops or maybe bringing back an Uzzi and mopping up the place?"

"Are you planning on doing either of those things?" Rip asked mildly.

"No, of course not, but that doesn't make me a loyal member. Jake can go along with this if he wants, but don't expect me to abide by your rules, I didn't ask to be here."

Rip chuckled,

"Five years ago I said almost the exact same thing. It took me about a week to get it through my head that I really did want and need what the Brotherhood offered. A month after that I wouldn't have traded my tattoo for the presidency of General Motors. Why? Because for the first time in my life I found true freedom."

He sat down at the table and kicked a chair in my direction.

"Grab a seat, and I'll explain what true freedom really is, but first I'm gonna tell you why you were chosen." As I settled down with a cup of coffee, T.F. glanced my way and without a word handed me a bottle of aspirin. I needed them badly and as I gulped a handful, Rip started speaking.

"There are people in the Brotherhood who know more about what makes the two of you tick than you do yourselves. You guys weren't picked because our branch happened to take a liking to you, although that is why your names were entered. We can only nominate, others make the final decision, people who investigate your backgrounds, study your psychological profiles and by now know more about you than you do yourselves. For instance, Jake never knew who his father was. His mother died when he was born without telling anyone, but the Brotherhood knows. His name is Powell Martin and he's alive and well. Jake, you're not the orphan you always thought you were. And, Ted, we know about your friend Jeff and how you always blamed yourself for his suicide. It's not true. Jeff Daly was self destructive. It was only a matter of time before he would have taken his life in one way or another. You had nothing to do with it."

We sat stunned by these revelations. How could anyone know those things?

"The Brotherhood selected you because of what you are and no, I don't mean because you're gay, that really has little to do with it. Understand, I'm oversimplifying this by saying that in sexual matters, the Brotherhood cares only for an open mind. Naturally there is more to it than that, but sexuality is not the overriding factor in your selection. Each of us has a certain special quality the Brotherhood looks for, and don't ask me what they are or how they determine it. That I can't tell you, I only know the results. In your cases, maybe it came from the fact that you were both able to rise above completely lousy childhoods. Jake had an ice cold aunt who hated him because her twin sister died in childbirth and Ted, a drunken father who took out his frustrations on him. These were things could have left you both emotional cripples, but they didn't. You each had the capacity to learn from the good and ignore the bad. They tell me it's a very rare trait. Most kids do it the other way around."

"But, how do they know all that? I asked, "How could they possibly know about Jake's father?"

"That's not my department." Rip shrugged, "But they've never been wrong yet. The thing to remember is that childhood aside, you guys were picked because you match the profile the Brotherhood uses to select potential members. You both fit this organization as though born to it, and that's where the freedom part comes in. No one can be totally free inside themselves until they can locate that sweet spot where they fit in seamlessly with those around them. In the Brotherhood you can be yourself. No public face is needed to find acceptance here, what's more, you will find exactly the spot most satisfying to your personal needs. I found it with the Devils, you two may find it in some other section of the Brotherhood, but believe me, you wouldn't be here at all unless they could make that offer."

"But, what exactly is the Brotherhood?" Jake asked, "Obviously it's more than just a bikers benevolent society."

"You bet it is." Rip replied, "There are more Brothers outside the Devils Own than in, probably eight or ten times as many, maybe more. We Devils are just the soldiers for the Brotherhood. Like you, we've all been conscripted, but we serve at own pleasure. We could leave at any time, yet no one ever has. As far as to what the Brotherhood is, all I can only tell you that their stated goal is the betterment of humanity."

He laughed,

"Rather a tall order for a biker club, but you'll learn that in the Brotherhood, what you see in not necessarily what you get. It's my personally belief that we are all guinea pigs in some huge psychosocial experiment. I can't state that for fact since I'm not privy to all that goes on in the upper echelon, but I am positive of one thing, and that is, that nothing about the Brotherhood is sinister. As I said, we Devils are the soldiers and we have never been asked to off anyone or do anything even slightly illegal."

He paused a moment to taste his coffee, the continued,

"It's time to let you in on a secret. We Devils aren't quite the bad asses we're made out to be. Oh, none of us are pushovers, but the truth is our reputation is maintained more by rumor than by violence. Contrary to what you heard at the Sidewinder, we've never killed, roasted or skinned anyone alive."

Being the born skeptic I said,

If you ask me, that whole thing sounds a tad fishy. What about the dope? Is that what Brotherhood considers the Betterment of Humanity?"

"Absolutely not! The Brotherhood neither condemns or condones it, but they watch the resulting use carefully as part of an ongoing psychological profiling. Oh, sure, the Devils peddle a little pot, but only at the Sidewinder and a few other places, and that only for the rep it builds."

"Oh, come on Rip, We're not quite Mary Poppins." T.F. interjected. "After all, we paid for this club house with pot."

"Well, maybe so," Rip answered, "But none of that money ever went to the Brotherhood. Hell, we don't deal a fraction of what the Sharks do. We all work regular jobs while they make their living off drugs. The only money the Brotherhood gets from us is the few bucks we donate each week and I don't see that as covering half the benefits we get. Truthfully, Ted, I don't know all there is to know about the Brotherhood, all I can say is that here you and Jake will be surrounded by people you'll come to think of as family. Men and women who will never let you down. Jake was in 'Nam, maybe he can explain the feelings you get when you're under fire, how you worry about your buddies and they worry about you. It's the same in the Brotherhood. It's the sweet spot I was talking about, but here, it comes not from being in a life threatening situation, but because we are all psychologically matched for exactly those responses to one another."

T.F. added that the elixir was a sort of chemical shock treatment that allowed one to face his deepest fears and desires. He also claimed the experience brought about a smoother integration with the group and perhaps it does, but there had to be a better way. I've always resented what was done to me that night. It was not the sexual activity that upset me. That was, after all, a minor incident to someone who has been gay all his life, but they stole from me what I considered to be a very precious thing: My solemn promise to Jake, and I railed against it.

For some days afterward I suffered a bout of depression. It had been years since the miseries last visited me and I knew it must be dealt with immediately. Jake wanted me to stay home and rest, but I refused. Work was the thing that conquered it, so I threw myself back into the job with a vengeance. It's impossible to dwell on the miseries when too tired to keep your eyes open. Double shifts that drove me to the point exhaustion soon flushed the depression from my system. Thank you, Grandma Fox, you taught me well.

On my first day back to work my chest was still so tender it hurt just moving my arm. Chip could see the pain on my face and was agog with questions. It was impossible to shut him up so I told him a story about going down to Tijuana for the weekend with the group biker friends, getting drunk and waking up with a tattoo. I tried making light of it and directed the talk away from that experience, but without much success, so I finally showed him the red skull. That seemed to satisfy his curiosity. It was as close to the truth as I cared get and at the same time at least a million miles away from it.

As the depression left there came a smoldering anger. I refused all the Brotherhood offered and for nearly a month wouldn't speak to the Devils. If they came to the apartment I let Jake deal with them and if we met on the street, I ignored them completely. The whole time my signet ring lay in a drawer. Jake wouldn't wear his unless I wore mine, but I knew he wasn't nearly as upset with the Brotherhood as I was. I even made an appointment with a surgeon to have the tattoo removed. But, the Devils kept hanging around, popping up in unexpected places and I found myself missing our conversations, the friendship we once shared and slowly my anger dissolved. I didn't understand it then, figuring the Brotherhood as some sort of cult, but if so, it was unlike any I'd ever heard of. There were no indoctrination meetings, no pressure to conform or to obey the rules T.F. spoke of and if those rules are unbreakable as he once stated, it's because no one had ever found reason enough to break them. The Brotherhood became for me exactly what Rip said it would; a family closer than any I grew up with and I still marvel at the sly intelligence of those shadowy figures who directed it. Imagine, snatching up people against their will and bringing them to someplace they could belong! Shades of Nietzsche, but it worked, at least for those of us fit for the Brotherhood. Someday I wanted to learn just how badly warped one had to be to embrace it all, as I and all my Brothers had.

The signet finally found its way back to my hand and it became a beacon that brought forth unknown Brothers seemingly from every corner, people who would casually walk up and start a conversation with all the intimacy of an old friend. It felt wonderful to be so accepted. Before meeting the Devils, Jake and I had lived a rather lonely life. Except for Bob, Martha, and Adam we shied away from old friends who might be uncomfortable with our relationship and ended up with only casual acquaintances. Of course Rip and the Devils understood about us practically from the time we met and perhaps it was their unbiased attitude that first drew us to them. Later we learned why they thought nothing of it, but at the time it seemed like a miracle of understanding when Rip said, "I can see how much you guys care about each other and it's beautiful, man, simply beautiful!"

We let it be known we were not interested in swapping partners and while there were always propositions, no one seemed offended when we didn't accept. That's not to say we didn't take full advantage of the free and easy atmosphere of the clubhouse. That place was at times a voyeurs delight and simply too exciting to resist. Many a night found us there relaxing with a joint and a couple of beers and if things got going hot and heavy in the nearby rooms we might join in, but our involvement stayed strictly between the two of us.

Initiation was the one part of the Brotherhood we both rejected. That ritual took place nearly every weekend at one of the LA clubhouses, but even as a nonparticipant I refused to attend. I come to love the Brotherhood and every aspect of it except for the initiation. It was the one thing I could not agree with and the only thing I ever actively campaigned against.

Notes

Trying to describe these experiences was a revelation to me, as this entire journal has been. The more I dig into Jake's past, the more I see myself, and sometimes what I uncover is not so flattering.

Jake was right about Chip, I found that boy highly attractive. At eighteen he was gorgeous, like a young Athenian warrior on the brink of manhood. I suppose that comparison came from what Jake was reading at the time. He was doing a paper on the ethics and beliefs of ancient civilizations and the books he brought home fascinated me. Yet Chip actually did fit that mold. His auburn hair curled in beautiful ringlets across a handsome and noble brow, his body firmly sculpted from the weight training, even the fact he remained smoothly hairless for competitions increased the effect. He looked like a young Zeus with the face of Apollo, as beautiful as any godling ever depicted. And that's where the rub lay. I described him to Jake as a boy in need of a friend, yet it was Chip's beauty that attracted me. Jake knew it, he must have felt it, and of course he was right, but I'm not so sure I wasn't also using Chip to direct Jake's attentions back to me.

Jake enjoyed the company of women. He was especially fond of a girl living in our apartment building and I was extremely jealous, maybe even scared he was starting something with her. He used to say things that upset me and which lead me to believe he was not completely satisfied with how things were. Once he told me we were living twenty-five hundred years ahead of our time. We should have been born in ancient Greece, he said, where being lovers was an accepted norm that wouldn't affect anything else. I had read enough of his literature to know what he meant. He wanted a family as well as a lover and I think he saw in the Brotherhood a place where that might be possible. As it turned out, it was possible outside the Brotherhood, but without the acceptance he wanted so badly.

As I look back, I can see no fault in anything Jake did, only in what I have done. He proved himself over and over to me, more so even than those lovers in the ancient stories. Had I only been so faithful. I pressed buttons I should have left alone and I think that went on all the way back to the time when I worked for Oscar Barlow. It was I who told Jake that Barlow was gay and I brought that up many times. Wasn't I testing him even then? It wasn't until Annie left that I got over that foolishness, yet I knew right from the start that Jake would never stay in our relationship unless he too gained something vital from it. I wonder now why I couldn't see it then. One thing is certain. All the anxieties I've discribed of are only approximations of what I felt at the time. In memory, the past was never such an uneasy place as when we lived it.

I'm amazed at Jake's constant improvement. Each day he stays a little longer and when he does retreat, he's not nearly as childish. After all this time and all the doctors, this journal I'm writing is the thing that's finally reaching him. He's never really his old self, of course. The memories he thinks of as recent are all years out of date, but he is improving, day by day.

The one thing that made me believe the doctors wrong in their prognosis, was the fact Jake always knew me, right from the time he came out of the coma and despite the fact he remembered almost no one else. He retained no knowledge of our former relationship nor any firm memories at all, but he knew me, even called me by name. Now, as he moves back and forth between the present and the past, he seems to be fast gaining memories of things other than just those I've written about. When in his childish state, they all disappear, but when he moves forward again, he brings with him some new nugget of knowledge unearthed along the way. All that is presently happening to him drives me to forge on with this journal.

I have so many things to tell Jake and yet there is much we can't discuss unless he fully recovers. Even on his best days I doubt he would understand the dreadful thing that has happened to some of our brothers, so I won't mention it or write about it in any of these stories.

I guess we should consider ourselves lucky. It could have been much worse. I believe the only things that saved the Brotherhood were the early and urgent warnings from the counsel and our ingrained horror of causing harm to one another. Our losses seemed staggering, but they were far less than they could have been. The problem of course is that all who died were family and that was exceedingly hard to take. And it still continues. Without a cure we will loose the last few still hanging on. Thank God the wave subsided. No new cases now in years, but outside the Brotherhood, the carnage goes on. . . No, I'm not going to tell him about Wolf and Sammy, Tony, and all the rest. It's far too sad and too difficult to write about. Instead, I'll stick with only the things he needs to remember.