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The Honorarium
Prologue
My name is Sargent McCoy. Sargent was my mother's maiden name. Naturally everybody calls me Sarge. Strangers think that I served in the army. I never did.
I attended a small, but prestigious university for my undergraduate degree. It was located in the heart of the mid-west, and few people have heard of it. The tuition was astronomical, but fortunately for me, my family was loaded, and I could afford to go there. Even so, I needed to pass a stiff entrance exam, whether I had money or not.
That being said, the academic standards were extraordinary, and the school boasted many alumni who had gained fame and fortune. There were so many of these people, that every year the university presented an honorary Doctor of Letters degree to a graduate of note. It was a rare year that no honorarium was awarded.
I am now forty-two years old. I graduated twenty years ago with a degree in political science. From there I returned to my native New York City, and attended Columbia University School of Law. Right out of law school I joined a medium-sized law firm. It wasn't your everyday law firm. All the partners and professional staff were gay men or women, just like I am. I should mention that we had one token heterosexual attorney. He and his gay brother were the original founders of the firm of Harper and Harper. As you can imagine, the vast majority of our clients were gay. That's how I got assigned to every lawyer's dream case.
I was the best litigator in the office. I was known as The Shark among my peers. There came a time (lawyer talk) when we got a case which was to be litigated. It was to make me a household name, and our firm very rich indeed. Three young boys accused a very famous movie star of sexually abusing them. In fact, one of the boys said that he was raped. The client was guilty. I knew it, the press new it, the boys knew it, and my client knew it.
Nevertheless, I got the client off, and became the most sought after litigator in the country. In spite of his guilt, the prosecution based its entire case on the testimony of the three boys. I was able to prove that the boys received vast sums of money from the tabloids for their story. I argued that that's exactly what it was, a story concocted for the almighty dollar. The rest of the case was circumstantial, and if the testimony of the boys could not be trusted, there was no case. By the time I was finished and rested my case, I had successfully turned the three boys into the criminals.
I lectured the movie star about keeping his fly zipped up. In spite of the outcome, the actor's reputation was so tarnished, he couldn't get any more acting gigs. He adopted a pseudonym, and became a screen writer. He was quite successful, but fortunately he was never nominated for an Academy Award. It would have been very awkward if he showed up at the awards ceremony.
The day after the not guilty verdict, two significant events occurred in my office. The staff made me a cocktail party, and the champagne was flowing generously. Fortunately, it was after business hours because everyone was pretty sloshed. Just before the festivities began, I got a phone call from one of the deans at my old college. He informed me that I was this year's recipient of the honorary degree of Doctor of Letters. He added, almost as an afterthought, that I would be sharing the stage this year with another famous alumnus, Jerry Small, who was in my graduating class.
Of course, I recognized Jerry's name immediately. He had published five runaway best sellers in the past decade. They were all spy thrillers. I racked my brain. I knew everyone in my graduating class, and I didn't recall a Jerry Small.
-1-
My first class, on my first day at the university, was English Composition. It was a required course. That's where I met Marty. He sat next to me, and we introduced ourselves. When he told me that his name was Marty Salmon, I didn't dare laugh. After all, I was about to tell him that my name was Sargent.
"My given name is Marty," he informed me. "Just Marty, not Martin or Martino or anything else."
When I told him that my given name was Sargent McCoy, he looked surprised but he wisely didn't say anything so I quickly added, "Sargent was my mother's maiden name. Call me Sarge."
We were cordial for a couple of weeks, but then one Friday I asked him if he had plans for that evening. Friday is traditionally date night, and I was just plain curious.
"Not really," he said. I figured I'd have dinner in the cafeteria, and catch a movie in town, after that."
I had no place to go that evening. The nearest gay bar to the campus was in Chicago, ninety miles away, so I asked Marty, "Mind if I join you?"
Marty's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Sure, sure," he said. "I'd like that."
After the movie we went to a malt shop, and our friendship began in earnest. We started to talk non-stop. We shared everything we could about our lives. I even got up the courage to tell him that I was gay.
"I thought so," he said with a smile. "I am too."
"I suspected as much also."
We didn't realize how long we had been talking until the owner came over to tell us that he was closing. We reluctantly got up to leave.
We were both wealthy enough to have our own autos. Marty had driven that night. He looked at me sheepishly. "My roommate has gone home for the weekend," he informed me. "Would you like to come back with me to my dorm room?"
I smiled the broadest smile, I had ever attempted. "It'll be a pleasure," I assured him. I knew at that moment that I had fallen in love with Marty.
We stripped rapidly, and stood naked in his room as we checked each other out. No competition here. We were both nearly five inches flaccid, and we were both uncut. When we got hard, Marty reached eight inches, and I was a smidgeon shy of that.
The sex we had that night was nothing you would write about in a romance novel. We were both novices, and we performed awkwardly. Of course, in time we got better and better. Before the end of the first semester of our freshman year, we could have been photographed for a porno film every time we made love. Unfortunately, we couldn't make love often. We had no privacy.
Marty and I rented an off-campus furnished efficiency apartment for our last three years. Now we could make love every night, and we did. In the three years we lived together, we only missed four nights while school was in session. Unfortunately, I had the flu. Our love making was very inventive, but it followed a basic pattern just the same: a trip around the world, fellatio, and finally we fucked each other.
We both believed that we would be together for a lifetime, but college romances, like summer romances, hardly ever last. After graduation, I went back home and to law school. Marty got a job as a journalist for his local hometown newspaper somewhere in Indiana.
We called each other constantly, and when we started to use computers, we E Mailed each other. I got really busy with law school, and I guess Marty had the same situation with his job. Little by little, almost imperceptibly, our correspondence decreased. One day, it stopped altogether, and I admit that I didn't even notice.
-2-
When I arrived on campus for my honorarium ceremony, I got the shock of my life. I ran into Marty at the hotel where I was staying. He had booked a room there also.
"Marty?" I asked.
"Sarge, Sarge, is that you?" His voice cracked.
We embraced each other warmly, but refrained from kissing in this public place.
"I was just going to the hotel dining room for dinner," he said. "Join me, and we'll catch up.
"Absolutely. I was just headed there myself," I said.
We were seated, and we each ordered a scotch and soda. "We'll order dinner after we finish our drinks," I told the waiter. He nodded and left us.
"Do you still live in Indiana?" I asked.
"Sure do, and do you still live in New York City?"
I nodded, and I had to wonder if he had even read anything about my legal victory. It was in every newspaper and on every newscast in the nation.
"What brings you back here to the university?" I asked.
"Well, crazy as it sounds, I'm this year's honorary doctorate recipient."
"No shit," I said. "So am I, but I'm confused. I was told that my co-recipient was the famous author, Jerry Small."
Marty began to laugh from the pit of his stomach. "I'm Jerry Small." he said. "It's my pen name. I didn't think Marty Salmon could sell many books."
"I figured it was a pen name." I said, "but I never dreamed it was you."
"I guess you never read any of my books," he said in mock dismay. "If you had, you would have recognized my picture on the jackets."
"I'm sorry to say that I haven't read your novels, but I've heard about you. My job leaves me very little leisure time."
"Why are you joining me in receiving an honorary degree?" he asked at last. I guess he didn't read much either.
"I just won a big law suit. It's so big, it's being called the trial of the decade, if not the trial of the century. Don't you read newspapers?"
"Actually, I don't," he said. "I'm too busy writing my own stuff. Besides, when I worked for the newspaper right after college, I learned that most of the stuff is fabricated. The TV news channels are even worse."
"Ouch," I said. "It's good to know, but I wish you hadn't told me."
He put his hand on mine. "Are you still single," he asked, "or are you in a relationship?"
"Shit, Marty. How could I ever have a relationship with anyone? I loved you too much. Nobody I've ever met could hold a candle to you."
"Same here," he said. "Do you think that you'd like to spend the night with me?"
"I'd love to, but I can't."
"Why?" Marty asked. There was no mock dismay now. He was truly dismayed.
"Because if I get close to you again, and I lose you once more, I would be devastated. I don't think I can risk that."
"I feel the same way," he said. "Why the fuck did we lose touch with each other? I swear I won't let it happen again. Spend the night with me Sarge. You won't be sorry."
That's how we found ourselves in bed together, not one hour later. All my love for him was suddenly renewed.
Just as if it was twenty years ago, and we were back in collage, we picked up our love making where we had left off. I gave Marty a slobbery trip around the world that lasted for hours (or so it seemed). Then I went down on him, and brought him to the edge. Finally, he rimmed me and got my ass as wet as possible with his saliva. Then he fucked me. We didn't even consider using lube or a condom. When I felt his juices filling me up, I began to cry. Marty was crying also. We rested awhile and then we repeated the process. This time Marty did all the work. After I came in his ass, we lay still for quite a long time. We were alternately holding hands and fondling our cocks.
Neither of us spoke. Then out of the blue, Marty said to me, "I can work anywhere in the world you know. All I need is my laptop. If you're like me, you're used to living alone, and you might actually prefer it, but how would you feel about me moving to New York and living with you?"
"I can't wait that long. Could you move in yesterday?" I laughed.
Marty rolled over on top of me, and we began to make love again. In our minds, we were twenty-two years old again. Sometime during our love making I started to cry. Marty must have read my thoughts. He whispered in my ear, "Don't be sad, my love. Better late than never."
"Do you realize?" I asked, "if we didn't share this year's honorarium, we might never have reconnected."
"Hush," Marty said. "That's too horrible to think about."
We wrapped our arms around each other, and fell asleep. We had to be well rested for our big day. It's a good thing we did. We had no idea, but at the graduation ceremony, the press was out in full force. For the moment, Marty and I were two of the most famous people in the world. For one brief moment I thought of kissing Marty instead of shaking his hand, but I quickly vetoed the idea. Today was not the day to shock our fans.
After the ceremony, and all the brouhaha from the press, Marty and I sat down to have a serious talk about his relocation to New York City. He was from a small mid-western town. What if he hated the hustle and bustle of The Big Apple? I was concerned, so I asked him to come back to New York with me for a test run.
"I live in a spacious penthouse apartment in a high rise," I said. "It has three bedrooms. I use one as an office. We can convert the other guest room to be your office. If we have a guest, the sofa in my office is a sleep sofa. If you don't think the apartment is big enough for the two of us, I'll sell it, and we'll look for another place together. I'll leave it all up to you. Let's not lose each other again," I pleaded.
"I'd rather die," Marty said dramatically.
-3-
When we arrived at my apartment building, we were both surprised to see several members of the paparazzi out front. They started taking dozens of pictures of the two of us. They knew that we were old school chums who had shared an honorarium. It was no secret that I was gay because of where I worked, but Marty was still a mystery. He turned to me, kissed me, and stepped out of the closet. The boys actually applauded us as they continued to take pictures.
Marty loved my apartment and thought it was spacious enough for four inhabitants. He especially liked the location. It was close to Lincoln Center, the theater district, and all the great museums. In fact, he said, "I'm going to love it here. I can't wait to move in."
Marty went back to Indiana. He sold his house and all its furnishings in less than two months. After the closing, he shipped all his personal stuff to me, and we became a bona fide couple. Just like when we were in college, we made love every night. I admit, eventually we slowed down.
We had been living together just shy of two years, when Marty announced that he had completed his latest novel.
"Can I read it?" I asked.
"No, you MAY not," he said, subtly correcting my grammar.
"Why not?" I pouted.
"Because it's unedited. I'll let you read it after it's edited."
That very day, I was presented with another possible noteworthy case. My secretary had scheduled an appointment for me with a very high profile New York politician. He was married and had three adult children. When she brought Jonathan Hill into my office, we shook hands cordially.
"It's a pleasure to meet you Senator," I said. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, Mr. McCoy," he said, "the first thing I have to tell you is that I'm straight, 100% straight."
"Please call me Sarge," I said, "and what's your sexual orientation got to do with anything?"
"Everything. Yesterday, I received an envelope from a private courier service. I couldn't believe my eyes when I read the note inside."
He removed a piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to me.
"Here, read it," he said.
Hi Jonny:
Thanks for the wild and wonderful sex you gave me last night. You make love to a man like a pro, and I appreciate it. Be that as it may, unless you give me $500,000 in small bills, one week from today, May 15, I'll out you to the press.
Seal the money in a box. Write "John Doe" on the outside. Bring the box to the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station, and leave it with the maître d'. Tell him that John Doe is coming to pick up the box and he should give it to him.
Do as directed and I'll be out of your life. I will not personally retrieve the money. If my courier is arrested while doing so, or if he is followed. I will go through with my threat.
John Doe.
"Wow," I said, "so your declaration of heterosexuality is your way of telling me that there is absolutely no truth in that accusation."
"That would be correct."
"But why come to me? You should go to the police."
"I did. I saw the district attorney immediately. He told me that there would be no charges, unless the perp could prove his case in person. That would mean exposing himself. The DA said that when he did, he would immediately arrest him on bribery charges. I said that I didn't like the idea. Bribery sounded like I had done something wrong, and would pay to cover it up. No, I intend to prosecute him in a court of law, and expose him as a charlatan. That's where you come in. I want to sue John Doe in criminal court."
"You don't need to waste all that time and spend all that money. Why don't you just call a press conference? Reveal the letter. Affirm that there isn't an iota of truth in it, and you'll sue any news media that dares print it. John Doe is counting on you being too frightened not to obey his wishes."
"That's a great idea," Jonathan said, "but you surprise me. I should think you'd want another high profile law suit, complete with astronomical fees."
"You think wrong. I would prefer my clients to avoid expensive law suits. Besides, this time, my client is innocent. John Doe, might not have a red cent to his name. The only compensation you'd get is to send him to prison. I think you'd be better off just to discredit him."
"I'll take your advice," he said. "If it doesn't work, at least we will have flushed him out, and we can always sue."
"Good. I'm glad you agree."
"I do, and I'm calling the press conference for this afternoon." Suddenly Jonathan smiled at me, and he seemed to get less formal. "What's your fee for this little session?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said. "It's my gift to thank you for your service."
"Then in that case, my wife and I insist on taking you and your husband to dinner tonight." I was surprised, but I let it slip by that he knew I had a husband. I figured that he investigated me thoroughly before making the appointment to see me.
"That's wonderful," I said. "Where and when shall we meet you?"
"Make it 7 PM at Tavern on the Green."
"It's a date," I said.
As soon as he left the office, I called Marty. "Please meet me for lunch today," I said. "I need to talk to you. We have a dinner date tonight, and it's important that I talk to you about it before we meet the other couple."
"Your wish is my command," he said mockingly. "I'll pick you up at noon."
After we sat down to lunch, I filled Marty in. He looked at me with a blank face. He seemed frozen.
"What?" I asked.
"No," he said, "that's not possible.
"What's not possible?" I asked. Was I ever going to get it out of Marty?
"That's the plot of my novel. An international spy ring threatens to out the Secretary of the Army. They offer to keep quiet in exchange for military secrets. I keep the reader guessing until the last page. Is it a set-up threat like with Senator Hill, or is The Secretary really in the closet?"
Without even reasoning that this could have dire consequences on Marty's novel, I stupidly asked, "Which is it?"
"I'm not telling you," he whined. "Don't you realize that after the senator's press conference, I may never be able to publish a novel I've been working on for eighteen months."
"Why not?"
"He could claim that I took an incident from his real life without his permission, and I fictionalized it. He could sue me for everything I have."
"He's a really nice guy," I said. "I'm sure he'd never do that. Why don't you tell him at dinner tonight, and see what he says? If you're as candid as he's going to be at the press conference, he can't be angry at you. By the way, when did your publisher receive your manuscript?"
"About a week ago."
"There, you see," I said, with confidence. "We can prove you submitted your novel before you knew about any of this. Even if he sued, which he won't, you're home free."
"Maybe, maybe not," Marty said. "What if someone at the publishing house read the manuscript, and figured what a great idea?"
Then your publisher is in trouble, so stop worrying," I answered.
-4-
Senator Hill had his press conference at 2 PM, and it was all over the evening news. At 5 PM, the senator called me.
"I'm really sorry," he said. "I'm not a bigot, and I hate to break our date, but until this whole blackmail thing blows over, I don't think I should be seen in the company of two gay men, even if my wife is present, and even if it's two guys as famous as you men are. Please understand."
"Of course, I understand, but I'll take a rain check."
"Done," he answered.
"Senator," I said, "before you hang up, my husband wants to tell you something."
"Sure. Put him on."
There were a few greetings back and forth, and then Marty told the senator the plot of his latest novel. That was something else. He usually kept it a secret until after publication.
"It's at the publisher being edited, and it's been there over a week. I've worked eighteen months on it, but if you want me to scratch it, I will."
"Hell, no. I've read ever Jerry Small book ever written, and I can't wait to read this one. The plot is similar, but different enough. Besides, by the time the book is released, all of this will be forgotten. Do you think before it hits the book stores, I might get an autographed copy?"
"That's a done deal, Senator. Indeed, I can't wait for this to blow over so Sarge and I can have dinner with you and Mrs. Hill."
"That's a date," the senator said, and he and Marty ended the conversation.
I grabbed Marty and wrapped him in my arms. "I've got a great idea," I said. "Let's go out to dinner by ourselves, and after dinner we'll come home and make love all night. I'll call in sick tomorrow and you can put your laptop to sleep."
"That's a great idea. Where would you like to go?"
"Let's make it fast food," I said. "The quicker to fuck you by."
Ever since I had reconnected with Marty, I was living in paradise. I even referred to our apartment as The Garden of Eden, but that night Marty and I entered heaven.