Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, when Seth and Jody emerged from Seth's bedroom both drained and refreshed, they found Andrew humming some unknown tune and putting a handful of three by five cards into an order that he kept changing. He glanced up and explained, “My morning calls ...”
“Why don't you use a scheduling app?” Jody asked. “I have a good one I can show you.”
“I can just barely operate a phone. Don't confuse me. Besides, touching the cards is kind of a memory device. It helps me remember the client.”
“The app can include thumbnail photos.”
“That would just be depressing. I don't actually want to see these people. God!” Andrew engaged in some elaborate eye-rolling. “But thank you. It's an idea for my next incarnation. Would you two like some breakfast? It sounded like you worked up a good appetite.”
Seth laughed and Jody was unphased. “I've got to go,” Jody said. “Work to do. You're not my only client.” Seth walked him to the front door. “I wish you were ...” Jody kissed him tenderly. “But you're not ...” He whispered for Seth only, “I love you.”
Seth closed the door and confronted Andrew.
“I'm not saying anything ...” Andrew commented, switching the order of two index cards and sipping a tea.
“He says he loves me ...” Seth said.
“Of course he does, sweetie. I love you. Everybody loves you. Why wouldn't he?”
Seth got a warm feeling and kissed the top of Andrew's head. “Sometimes you know just what to say … But it's so sudden … And ...” Seth grimaced. “I don't know … He knows I don't love him, but he says – with complete confidence – that I will. And he may be right.”
“Lawyers are always confident,” Andrew commented in an even tone.
“And the sex is fabulous ...”
“I heard ...” Andrew continued to avoid passing judgment.
“Sorry … I figured you and Adan would be making noise of your own.”
“Adan always goes home. He like a God-damned mailman. Neither rain nor snow nor my needs … will convince him to spend the night here. He'll be back. Going to pick up last year's catalog for that job we got. It shouldn't be hard to improve on last year's in-house effort. That's what these calls are for. Maybe. I hope.” Andrew patted the cards into a neat pile and poured himself more tea from a pot on the counter. “You sure?” he gestured to Seth with the teapot. Seth shook his head. “Adan doesn't love me. In fact I don't understand out why he even ...”
“He probably figures the experience ...job experience, I mean … will be helpful … and you're pretty nice yourself, Andrew, when you want to be.”
“That's my Seth. Master of the half-compliment.” Andrew turned to Seth grinning. “It's eight-thirty. Models like to sleep. Too early to start calling, huh?”
“Go ahead and call. You would still get the same answering machines at noon.”
“Adan says he'll take minimum wage, but he wants Chris to do a portfolio for him. We can manage that, huh?” Seth nodded and Andrew continued, “Sethie … We're making a little money again. Have you noticed?”
“Shhh. You'll jinx it. When does he want the portfolio done?”
Before Andrew could answer Adan arrived with a set of catalogs in his arms. “It is a collection of catalogs, not just one.” Adan was relieved to dump them on the table. “I look like a school girl carrying these in my arms.” Andrew looked at the way Adan's pants fit and nixed the school girl idea.
“Probably not … Are they arranged in some system?”
Not really. Not … hmm … estacional?”
“Seasonal,” Seth prompted with a little bow to Adan.
“Thanks,” Adan acknowledged. “Not seasonal and not functional. It's just one thing after another.”
“Like history,” Andrew noted and Seth laughed, excluding Adan.
“I don't get it,” Adan said.
“Arnold Toynbee said something like that,” Andrew explained. “It's not important.”
“How do you spell that?” Adan persisted, ready to write the historian's name.
“I-M-P-O-R ...” Andrew succeeded in making Adan laugh that time. A look of affection passed between them. This time Seth felt excluded.
Adan, when do you want your portfolio shot?” Seth asked. “And can I ask why? The purpose will matter to the photographer.”
“I want something good to send home to my family. So they don't forget me. Your photographer is very good.”
Seth wondered how big Adan's family could be that they might forget someone like him. “This afternoon? Would that suit you?”
“Mmmmmm,” Andrew inserted. “We need to make a few changes first.” He looked at Adan with a casting director's eye. “Just a few changes ...”
Wolf paraded High Street in the vicinity of Saint Philip's School. One side of his sign board advertised the Girl Scout car wash and the other advertised the gypsy, in case passers-by missed the association. The Girl Scouts themselves were mostly decorative. Their fathers, older brothers, and older sisters were both chaperones and actual laborers. The Scouts in their uniforms practiced other skills like collecting money and eating cookies.
It was a warm day and the work was real. By midafternoon everybody was glad to see the event over. One older sister stood like the statue of liberty, raising a fist instead of a torch. She took a deep breath and yelled “YES! WE'RE DONE!” At the second deep breath her bikini top popped open in the middle. If she had been bigger in important places, she would have provided an eyeful, but in fact she got hold of things in time and suffered only minor embarrassment. It was cute, though. This would never happen in Frankfurt, Wolf thought; maybe not even in Munich. He shed his sign and drank a lemonade.
The car wash crew split up and Wolf walked home with Torrey and Candy. At the corner Candy spotted a friend and begged for permission to stay at her house. Torrey promised to come back for her in two hours.
“I can walk a block home by myself. I'm not a baby,” Candy complained.
“Two hours,” Torrey restated. “Don't be in the middle of something when I get there.”
Wolf walked Torrey to her apartment and thanked her for the day. “You're thanking me for letting you work in the broiling sun all afternoon?” she joked.
“It was fun. I've never done anything like that before.” Wolf smiled a little ruefully. “I especially liked it when ...”
“... when Carrie's bra popped open. AGAIN! The guys always like it when that happens.”
“Again? I thought it was an accident.”
“Anybody can do that.” Candy said and turned away from Wolf briefly and fussed with something. She turned back again and said, “Watch!” She took a deep breath. Wolf saw the most beautiful pair of breasts he'd ever seen. Their size was generous without being huge. The nipples were pink, not dark. And the indistinct tan lines made the surrounding whiteness look like the softness of innocence. His mouth hung open. He looked into Torrey's eyes and then back to her breasts.
Torrey blushed. “It wasn't supposed to be that revealing.” She pulled the halves of the bra together and fastened the hook securely this time.
“You're beautiful ...” was all Wolf could manage to say. Slowly, waiting for her to object, he moved closer and kissed her. It was a light kiss, gentle, his hands went to her shoulders to hold her. He backed away awkwardly when he realized his pent-up erection was poking against her.
Torrey didn't seem to mind. “You want to come in?”
By the time Torrey needed to leave to pick up Candy, Wolf's virginity was buried a couple times over. “I'm not as good at this as you are,” he admitted.
“You're plenty, all right, do-it-again, fine with me, Wolf,” Torrey answered. “You know … I was afraid that ...”
“What?”
“Your brother and his friend are … gay. I thought maybe you might be, too.”
“Do I seem gay?” Wolf frowned.
“No, but the good-looking guys always seem to … disappoint one way or another.” Wolf motorboated her breasts and she laughed. “You're tickling me.” Wolf switched positions and lay his cock between her breasts and pushed them together. He followed with some gentle thrusts.
“No you don't. At least not right now. I HAVE to go get Candy.”
“I'll go with you.”
“You better not. She's real good at figuring out what her babysitter is up to.”
Torrey's promise to meet Wolf later kept his hopes up if not his cock. He entered the apartment next door and saw Heiko in the kitchen putting away some last minute food buys.
“Hendryk?” Heiko looked up surprised; Wolf never called him Hendryk.
“Maximilian?” Heiko echoed the formality.
“You were worried about me messing things up for you.”
“More likely messing things up for yourself,” Heiko temporized, not sure where this was going.
“Well ...” Wolf's face described the term shit-eating grin. “You don't need to worry.”
“You tried gay and hated it?”
“No, I tried straight and liked it.”
Heiko tut-tutted. “So did I. That doesn't prove anything. I was unofficially engaged and the sex was great.”
Wolf's expression became puzzled. “I thought if I liked straight ...”
“If you like straight, all that means is you like straight. It doesn't mean you wouldn't like gay as just as much or even more.” Wolf sputtered and tried to protest. “I don't know, I'm just saying ...” Heiko continued, “It's plain logic, Wolf. Think about it.”
Wolf went to take a shower and Tom came out of the bedroom. “You're fuckin' with him, Heiko. That's not like you. You're always so generous … and accepting.” Tom hugged his lover, figuring it is easier to chastise somebody if you're kissing him.
Heiko made a face of more or less sincere contrition and went to Wolf's room. “Oh, sorry ...”
Wolf was naked. “That's ok. What do you want?”
“About what I said … Don't take that as a reason to go have sex. You can probably figure it out without actually doing it.” Heiko returned to the kitchen and got a smile from Tom. “The kid's got a big schwanz, Tomi.”
“Like you, dummkopf.”
“Yeah … so … we were speaking German and you understood it?”
“Most of it. Not every word … it helps I'm in love with my teacher.”
“What are we going to tell Darren,” Kevin asked Jeff. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and they had just finished a hot fuck. “We'll see him tomorrow.”
“Tell him the truth. What else would you tell him?”
“That we've both turned into tops, insatiable fuck-meisters, hard-dicked bulls that hardly ever ...”
“That's not true. I liked it when you fucked me. You're a very good cocksucker ...”
“That's what you said and then you practically burned my ass off. It was like the lube just vaporized. What a scorching fuck!”
“I thought you said you liked it.”
“I did. I did like it ...” Kevin admitted.
“I think the word is versatile. We've become versatile, Kev, leaning a little toward the active role.”
“Are we gonna be lovers?”
“You don't love me. Aren't you supposed to be in love to be lovers?”
“I kinda love you, now that I know you so well. I like kissing you.”
“You like fuckin' me better.”
“That's true … So what are we doing, Jeff?”
“We're doing Darren's homework. We've found out a lot about ourselves. And each other. But we're not in love.” The two young men lay in each other's arms watching the room darken as the day ended.
“I do like kissing you, Kev. You have really nice lips. And I like you a lot.”
“But you don't love me. So let's not worry about that part of it. Do you like doggie style?”
“Giving or taking?”
“Both. I think sometimes I could come just from getting fucked that way.” Kevin sighed at some secret thought.
“Doggie's ok, but I like seeing you, you know? I want to read your face, see how you're liking things, and kiss you. I think I come best that way. I like a lot of kissing.”
“I can tell. You're a good kisser, Jeff.” They practiced kissing for a while as the room got really dark.
“We have fucked the day away … Are you hungry?”
“Starving …”
Sunday night at the student center was quiet as usual. Saint Mary's had dormitories, but the majority of the students were dayhops, commuting mostly from the valley towns east of the Oakland Hills. With maybe fifty empty tables, Jeff picked the one with a guy sitting alone.
“It's so crowded. You mind if we join you?” The kid smiled and gestured for them to sit down. Jeff looked at his book. “World history, huh?” It was a mandatory
Freshmen course. “How are you likin' it here?”
“I'm not really a full time student. I'm taking a couple summer courses to get a head start on the fall term at U.C Davis.”
“Ah … just passing through ...” Kevin noted.
“I like it though. It's not a factory like the U.C.'s are.”
“Davis and Berkeley?”
“And Santa Cruz. I guess Merced is small, but how can you have much of a student life in Merced?”
“You can't have much here either, but all manner of depravity lies just across the bridge.”
“Yeah,” the almost-
Freshmen lit up with anticipation.
“So should we go?” Jeff proposed. Kevin was willing. And Rocky, as the kid was called, couldn't wait.
“Rocky?” Kevin questioned the name.
Rocky stopped and flexed his bicep, in a way that invited a touch, but neither Jeff nor Kevin took him up on it. “I work out. That's how I got the name. My real name is Eddie … Edward.”
They piled into Kevin's aging SUV and left the campus very slowly. “It's the biggest truck with the smallest engine my mom could find,” Kevin explained. “You couldn't roll it if it had only three wheels and did eighty.”
“Guys,” Rocky said from the back seat. “I'm eighteen. No ID. Can't drink. It that ok?”
“That's cool. We're just looking for some entertainment.” And North Beach was where they looked.
“I-H,” Jeff pointed out. The red and black initials resembled the logo of an old truck manufacturer, now fading in memory. “Comedy show. Five dollar cover.” Jeff read the sign. “Five is cheaper than a movie … what do you say?”
“A glass of water is probably another five ...” Kevin said.
“Still cheaper than a movie … or the Metreon, if they allow people over twelve these days.”
“I like the Metreon,” Rocky said as they approached the door to the I-H..
“Hello, boys,” a husky voice said. “I hope you're here for the show, 'cuz I don't get off until eleven.” The ticket vendor's gender was ambiguous; to the inexpert, it could go either way.
“Discount for three?” Jeff proposed.
“Tell you what … your eighth round will be on me.” The vendor winked an enormous row of false eyelashes.
“We probably won't drink eight rounds,” Rocky said, sounding very young.
“Keep track, honey. We're open every night.” She collected fifteen dollars. “I hope your ID's are as good as your money.”
“Uh … Miss ...” Rocky groped for a name.
“Helena … Helena Hahn-Bosquette. What's the problem, dear?” She took Rocky's hand in both of hers. “You're only thirteen?” He answered that he was eighteen. “Is anybody twenty-one?” That question was followed by silence. She stamped their hands PMD and let them in.
Another heavily made up employee met them at the bar. “Hi. I'm Istanbulla. Let's see your hands, please,” she requested. After the inspection she asked,” Pepsi or Mountain Dew?” It was a friendly query.
After they were served, Rocky felt emboldened and confided to Istanbulla, “Miss Hahn-Bosquette said she'd pick up the tab for the eighth round.”
“Her promise is as genuine as her platinum tresses,” Istanbulla replied.
“She has red hair,” Rocky pointed out the obvious. He combined dumb with charm and innocence.
“You're sweet. I like you. Would you like to be part of the show?” Rocky grinned his approval and stepped back from the bar. Thirty minutes later he was on the bar with dollar bills sticking from the waistband of his underwear.
I'm gonna do it. No, I can't. Yes, I'm gonna do it. Shit! He touched the numbers 925-362- and then pressed cancel. Fuck it. He dialed the whole number. “Neil? It's Jerry. Good seeing you the other day.”
Neil was friendly without actually saying much while Jerry worked up to his point. It was hard getting to the point. Neil's voice was as warm and intimate as ever and Jerry wanted to keep him talking. Finally he took a breath and came out with it.
“I'm going to have some of the lacrosse guys over for dinner along with a couple from work, Bernice and Cyril. I was wondering if you and your wife would like to come. Bernice has two little kids, so it won't be fancy or anything … if you feel like it … Really? Great!'
Jerry gave the details and ended the call. He was so excited he had to run a couple of extra miles to take the edge off. Then he got home and realized he had no idea how to serve food for eight or ten people. He called a restaurant he liked. “Do you do take out?”
“No,” a man who sounded hurried and harried answered, “but we cater. Minimum party is six.”
“You cater? Great! Perfect in fact ...”
“Can you come in to discuss it? I'm available after lunch – around two - any day but Monday. Ask for Steve.”
Something clicked. Stories from somewhere. Where had he heard of Steve? “Steve? Did you used to give cooking lessons?”
(At least he has a bit of a good heart, as long as it doesn't interfere with his needs!)
