WATCHING BRAD
Part XII
I felt like an idiot. I really did. I can handle computers okay, and I can do lots with them, but I couldn't figure out how to play that damned Nintendo. Brad was killing himself laughing as he watched me play. I love his laugh. It's a good laugh, and it made me feel good inside, too. But, the harder I tried, the worse I did. And the harder Brad laughed.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "Stop! Stop!" he yelled, and, when I wouldn't stop, he went to the machine and turned it off. He looked at me, holding his stomach and doubling over with laughter. Tears rolled down his face.
I waited for him to stop laughing at me, but every time he did, he'd look at me and start laughing all over again. I finally grabbed my beer, slipped outside, and took my place on the wall as I lit up a cigarette. I could still hear him inside. I was halfway through the cigarette before the door slid open and he came out to join me. Even then, he would look at me and snicker.
"You're a mean, nasty little bastard, you know that?" I said.
"I'm sorry. I've never met someone with ten thumbs before," he said, and then he started chuckling again. He pressed his lips tight and furrowed his brow in concentration as he sucked air through his nose, trying to gain control of himself. Still, a few snorts escaped.
I had finished my cigarette and lit another before Brad could look at me without a silly grin cracking his face.
"I've got a Super Nintendo at home," Brad said.
"What's that?"
"Easier," he said.
"Aw, come on, Brad. I'm not
that bad."
"Oh, yes you are, Ted," he said and snorted through his nose again. He recovered himself quickly, though. "I don't think my stomach can survive another assault like that. I'll bring the system over when we're finished here and set it up."
"I'm old. Sue me."
"You must be old," Brad said matter-of-factly. "Know what you forgot to do today?"
"I didn't forget," I said sarcastically. "I was just too anxious to get home to play Nintendo with you."
He checked his watch. "We can still make the paint store."
I went silent for a bit, looking down at my beer bottle, using a fingernail to peel away a corner of the label. "Actually, Brad, That's what I need to talk with you about. I don't think I can afford to do all that housework right now. If I need to hire an investigator. . ."
I felt a hand on mine and Brad wrapped his fingers around it and held it. I looked into his sparkling green eyes. "Don't cut Lindsay short on my account, Ted," he said. "The only reason I want to do all this for you is so I can spend more time with you. I don't need the money."
"You don't need to be working for me to spend time here," I said. "I like having you here. I like coming home from work and finding you waiting here for me."
My cell phone started to ring. "Excuse me," I said, pulling my hand free and retrieving my phone from my pocket. I popped it open. "Hello," I said into it.
* Mr. de Villiers? *
"Yes."
* I'm Jacob McConnell. I'm a friend of Bill's? *
"Yes."
* I'm a retired private investigator. Bill called me tonight and said you needed some help. *
"Yes, I do, actually," I said. I tilted the phone and glanced at Brad. He moved in closer so he could hear. "I'm trying to get some information on my ex-wife so I can get custody of my daughter."
"Yes," Jacob said. "Well, as I said, I'm retired, but Bill has asked me to do this as a personal favour to him. I'd like to meet with you to discuss it. If you think my services might be useful to you, I'd like to offer them freely. All I ask is that you pay my expenses."
"I'm willing to pay the going rate," I offered.
"I'm retired, remember?" His voice sounded old, but capable and cheerful. "I don't need the money. Investigation is more of a hobby these days, and my license is still valid."
"But you're retired, Mr. McConnell," I said. "You should be enjoying your time with your family now."
"I'm also a widower, Mr. de Villiers. I have no family to spend time with."
Brad looked at me, wondering what I would say. "Okay, Mr. McConnell. When could we meet?"
"Any time."
I thought quickly. "Okay, do you know Wally's on Simcoe Street?"
"Yes. I've eaten there."
"How about tomorrow at six?"
"Fine."
"I'll make a reservation for us," I told him. "Tomorrow night then?"
"I'll be there."
"Thank you, Sir."
He hung up. I closed my phone and Brad sat back. "Good ol' Bill," I said. "He's fast."
"He sounds old, Ted."
"It's not age," I reminded him. "It's ability. And his price is right."I tucked the phone back into my pocket. "Besides, Bill wouldn't send me someone he didn't trust to do the job."
I lit another cigarette. When I looked up again, Brad was rubbing his stomach. "What's wrong?"
"Your Nintendo playing," he replied with a grin. "That's what's wrong. My stomach still hurts from all the laughing." He finished his beer. "It's still early. Want me to set up the other system? I have a car racing game. You only need to push two buttons. One for the gas and one for the brakes."
I smiled at him. "Two buttons I can handle."
"Be right back," he said, then stood and hopped over the wall.
* * * * *
I sat back on the sofa watching Brad work. He'd already disconnected the other system and was hooking up the older one he'd brought over.
"I hope it still works," he said. "I haven't played it in a long time." He busied himself, plugging in cords and paddles and such.
"I still want my bedroom done," I said. "Feel up to doing at least that much?"
He looked over his shoulder at me as he plugged things into the back of the TV. "Sure."
"I'll get the paint tomorrow after I meet with Jacob." I looked at Brad then, really for the first time. I'd never paid much attention to his back side. I never looked at guys' back sides. Brad was dressed in his cut-offs, of course, and no shirt. I'd seen him like that dozens of times, but this time was different. He was standing on one leg, his other extended for balance, and he was leaning over the back of the TV. I could see the muscles in his back working and it was intriguing. I could see his leg muscles working, too. I was used to looking at a woman's legs. This was the first time I'd ever really looked at a man's legs before. I could see the power in them. The strength. It was so different, but so interesting and somehow exciting as well. Brad had good legs.
He had a pretty nice butt, too. I'd seen it often enough, of course, but this was the first time I'd really paid any attention to it. It certainly wasn't flat, but it wasn't big, either, and I could see the muscles working there as well. I hadn't ever thought of ass muscles working before. There wasn't much of an indent between the cheeks, but I could see where the cheeks of his ass divided themselves. I could also see the indented lines made by the legs of his underwear.
I wasn't used to looking at a man's butt. I was used to the smoother, more gentle curves of a woman's butt. Brad's ass was round. It didn't slope down from his back. It just started at the top and ended at the bottom. Like I said, it was interesting and it was exciting. I could feel my cock growing as I looked at it.
I blinked myself into awareness and stood up to get another beer for each of us, making sure I marked a line on Brad's IOU chart. When I returned, Brad was sitting on the sofa, paddles in hand. He handed me one. Music was coming from the TV speakers and the words ‘Top Gear' flashed onto the screen.
I caught onto the game quickly enough, probably because there were only two buttons I had to concentrate on. He beat me easily the first few tracks, but soon he had a tough time trying to stay ahead of me. I didn't let on that I was imagining chasing his ass around the track.
* * * * *
I didn't know that was Jacob McConnell until the waitress guided him to my table. He was a small man, almost frail-looking. He was almost bald - just a line of short, neatly-trimmed hair. He reminded me of a miniature version of Star Trek's Captain Picard. Just older. He was nicely dressed, though. Neat, clean. I rose to greet him.
"Ted de Villiers," I said.
"Jacob McConnell." He took my hand and we shook them.
I indicated he should take his seat and he did. "Would you like something to drink?"
He eyed my beer and said, "I don't drink." To the waitress, he said, "Coffee, please." He turned to me and looked me squarely in the eyes. "You're Ted de Villiers. Full name, Francis Theodore. Your birthday is August 13th. You were born in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. Your grandparents came over from Johannesburg in 1922 and settle in Halifax. They moved to Dartmouth in 1927. You moved to Ontario with your parents when you were seven years old. You lived in St. Catherines until you were sixteen. Your parents still live in Crystal Beach. You're a computer programmer and you work for. . ."
I held up my hand, silencing him. "You're hired," I said.
The waitress arrived with Jacob's coffee and we placed our dinner orders. After she left, Jacob said, "I may be old, Mr. de Villiers, but I can do this job better than anyone else. I'm doing it because I want to, not because I must. You will get no-less satisfaction from the results because of that. I will get you the information you need, and I guarantee it on paper or I don't charge. I ask only that you pay my expenses."
I smiled at him. "I'm ready to write you a bonus cheque right now."
And then he smiled. "I don't need the money, Sir. I have enough to keep me happy. Save it for your daughter. She's the one who needs it now."
As we ate our dinner, Jacob made notes in a small pad. "I'll talk to Lindsay about the babysitters her Mother hires," I said.
He didn't look up from his pad as he wrote. "Don't worry. I'll find them."
"But I've hired a few as well."
"I'll find
them, too. Their information could be useful in verifying your abilities as a parent."
"I can get the names easier."
He stopped writing and looked at me. "You're my boss now. I do the work. You pay me. It's my job." He went back to writing again. "I don't have one of those new-fangled cameras," he said. "I'm too old to learn how to use it. I still use film, if that's okay."
"That's fine," I said. "Whatever it takes."
We finished our meal. Jacob would start immediately and give me daily reports. We left the restaurant as good friends.
I bought the paint I wanted and stopped at Tim Horton's on the way, picking up a box of Timbits and a half-dozen apple fritters and coffee before heading home. I entered the house. I could hear game music coming from the TV in the livingroom.
"Brad!" I shouted. I sounded like Ricky Ricardo. "I'm home!" I headed for the livingroom and was surprised not to see Brad sitting on the sofa. His T-shirt was there, though. The game was still running on the TV screen. And then I saw the puddle of vomit on the carpet in front of the sofa. "Brad!!?" No answer. I dropped the coffee and doughnuts. "Brad!!!" Still no answer. Panic set in. "
Brad!!!" I screamed.
Bathroom, I thought. I ran down the hall and looked in. "Oh, God!" Brad was lying on the floor, curled into a ball around the toilet. He lay in another pool of vomit. Beads of perspiration covered his forehead and I could see him gasping for breath. He was holding his stomach. His body was shaking and he was crying. I dropped to my knees behind him and put my left hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. "Brad," I said soothingly, "I'm here, Brad."
He tried to look at me, but couldn't. "Ted, help me!" His voice was weak and full of more pain than anyone should have to endure. And then he puked again. His body heaved and he retched. I soothed him as much as I could while trying to keep my own dinner in my stomach.
I'd seen this before. With Lindsay. When he stopped puking, I said, "I'm going to move your arm, Brad. Don't fight me." I reached out and moved it aside. With my left hand still on his arm, I reached out with my right hand and placed my fingers gently against his lower abdomen. "I'm sorry, Brad," I said. "I have to do this." I pressed my fingers into him.
Brad screamed in agony. My ears rang from the sound echoing of the tiled walls and floor. His entire body tensed up. I was right. "You'll be okay, Brad," I assured him. "I'm right here. You'll be okay. I promise. Can you hear me?" Brad nodded. I could hear the vomit squishing beneath his cheek and I fought down my dinner again.
I pulled the phone out of my pocket and called 911. "I need an ambulance," I said when the operator responded. I gave her my address and the details and was told the ambulance was on its way. I hung up, then dialed Brad's home. John answered. I tried to keep my voice calm. "John? It's Ted. Brad's sick. Get over here." I heard the phone slam down and I flipped my phone closed and dropped it into my pocket.
I kissed Brad's cheek and grabbed his hand. He squeezed it tight and held on. "Help's coming, Baby," I said. "Hang in there. I won't leave you."
"Oh, God, Ted! It hurts!"
"I know, Baby. I know. You'll be okay. I promise."
"Don't leave me, Ted," he begged.
"I'm not going anywhere." I kissed him again.
A moment later, I heard a panicked voice shouting, "Bradley!??"
"Here, John!" I shouted. "In the bathroom!"
Footsteps hastened down the hall, and then John was on the floor beside me. Bernice stood in the doorway, her hand covering her mouth trying to stifle her gasp.
"It's his appendix," I said. "I don't think it's ruptured yet. Ambulance is on its way. I should have seen this coming." Actually, when I thought about it later, I had seen it. Brad passed it off as ‘laughing pains', but I hadn't paid attention to where it was that he had been rubbing his stomach. I cursed myself for it.
"I'll wait for it," Bernice said, and headed for the front door.
I pulled my hand free from Brad's, stood up, grabbed a wash cloth, soaked it with cold water, then knelt down beside him again. I dabbed at his forehead.
"Ted?" It was John who spoke.
I looked at him. The question was clear in his eyes. "He'll be okay, John. We got to him in time. He'll need surgery, though."
John nodded, then looked back down at his son, his hand resting on Brad's thigh and stroking it gently. I could hear the ambulance siren approaching, and then a clatter in my house. I stood up, grasped John by the shoulders, and pulled him away out of the bathroom. "Come on, John. They need room to work."
John came away with me into the hall. I could feel him quivering beneath my hands. My assessment had been correct. Brad was soon hooked up to an IV and placed gently on a gurney. They wheeled him out of the house and into the ambulance. We helped Bernice into the back.
"I'll be right behind you," John said. Bernice waved sadly. The doors closed and the ambulance sped away.
"Would you like me to drive you to the hospital?" I asked John.
"You're going, too, aren't you?"
"No, but I'll drive you if you wish."
"Ted," John said quietly as he placed his hands on my arms. "I'm old, but I'm not blind. Bradley needs you to be there and you know it. I know it, too. And I know that you need to be there with him just as much."
I was stunned. "John. . . I. . ."
He stopped me with a raised palm. "Just promise me you'll never hurt my boy, because, if you do, I swear I'll kill you."
"I could never hurt Brad."
And then he smiled reassuringly. "I know you couldn't." I smiled back nervously. "He loves you, too, you know," John added. "He's just too damned stupid to admit it to himself. Now, let's lock up and get over there."
* * * * *
"Mom?" Brad's voice was weak, strained.
"I'm here, Bradley," Bernice was holding his hand and brushing his hair with her fingers. "I'm here."
"Where am I?" he asked. "What happened to me?"
"You're in the hospital, dear," she replied. "It was your appendix. The doctors had to remove it."
"Dad?"
"I'm here, Son," John said. "Ted's here, too." I had called into work and told them I'd be a bit late. Family emergency. I could still make it by noon if I only stayed for a few minutes. I just wanted to be there when Brad woke up.
Brad's eyes searched for us and found us. When he found my face, he said, "I'm sorry, Ted. I tried to get to the bathroom."
I smiled. "Don't worry about it. Been there, done that," I said. "I've got a nine-year-old daughter, remember?"
"That's how Ted knew what was wrong," Bernice said. "Lindsay had her appendix out when she was six."
"Am I going to be okay?"
"You're going to be fine, dear," Bernice assured him. She kissed his cheek. "It's just going to be a week or two before you're back on your feet."
Brad's eyes found mine. "Will you come visit me?"
I searched for the answer in both Bernice and John.
"Ted is welcome to visit you whenever he wants to, Son," John replied as Brad's eyes turned to him. "We'll talk about this when you're feeling better."
Brad looked back at me and smiled. His blinks were slow and full of effort, as if he was having a tough time lifting his eyelids up again. Then he turned to his Mother. "I think I'm falling asleep again. Will you be here when I wake up?"
"I'll be right here, Bradley," Bernice promised.
"I love you, Mom." Brad's eyelids were sagging dangerously now.
"I love you, too, Bradley."
"I. . . um. . ." But Brad didn't say anything more. He was asleep.
The nurse, who had been in the room with us, said, "He'll probably sleep another few hours if you'd like to take a bit of a break."
"Come on, dear," John said. "Bradley will be here when you come back. I think you need a coffee. You, too, Ted. The three of us should talk."
I nodded. Bernice kissed Brad's forehead and released his hand. She stepped aside so John could kiss him, too. "I love you, Son," he whispered. He stepped back and waited, as if he expected me to kiss him as well. I wasn't quite ready for that.
Instead, I smiled. "Let's go find some coffee. My treat."
"Not this time, Ted," John said.
I nodded.
* * * * *
The coffee tasted exactly as cafeteria coffee should - filtered through yesterday's dishrag. The muffins helped to disguise the flavour, though.
"Bernice already told me she talked to you about Bradley being adopted," John said. "That doesn't make him any less our son, and we don't love him any less. We'd do anything for that boy. And I think you would, too."
Bernice took over. "We don't understand why Bradley feels this way, but we've suspected it for a long time. He's had a very difficult time these past few years, trying to make friends. We've never pushed him in any direction. We feel he has to find his own way. We don't want to take him where he doesn't want to go."
"The point is, Ted," John said, "he seems to have found his way to you all by himself."
"I'm not gay," I said. "At least, I don't think I am. I've never even been with a man before."
"Not even with Bradley?" Bernice asked.
"No." I sucked in a deep, calming breath. "We've kissed and hugged, but that's all."
"We thought you might have," Bernice said. "I mean, he's slept at your home, and you spent that night in Toronto."
"To be honest," I said, "I'm not at all sure either of us would even know what to do. It's a new experience for both of us. I don't understand these feelings myself. All I know is I can't stop them."
"We don't want you to, Ted," John assured me. "Since you moved in next door, Bradley has been happier than we've ever seen him. We're happy that he might be finally finding himself."
"We will never judge either of you, Ted, nor will we ever condemn you. We love Bradley more than anything else. We want only what's best for him. We want only to see him happy."
I nodded. "That's exactly what he told me you would say. I didn't believe him."
"Bradley doesn't lie, Ted," John added. "And neither do we." I was still stunned, and John could see it. "Bradley is the second-most important person in my life." He turned to Bernice and winked. "I want Bradley to be happy, and you make him happy. I must accept that. Just promise me you'll never hurt him."
I fought back the tears. "I swear, John. I'll never hurt Brad. I told you that already."
He smiled again and patted my cheek. "I knew you wouldn't," he said. "I just needed to hear you say it again. So Bernice could hear it, too." He took his hands away.
I nodded again. I think I do that a lot. "And this ‘age' thing doesn't bother you?"
"It doesn't bother Bradley," John said. "Why should it bother us?"
I shrugged. I don't do that as much as nodding.
Bernice reached a hand across the table and set it on top of the back of mine. "Just promise me that you'll take care of Bradley for us."
"You have my word."
* * * * *
I stopped by the next day after work to see Brad. I brought him some fresh apple fritters. Bernice was still there - ever vigilant. Brad's face broke into a huge smile. "Hi, Ted."
"My, you're looking more chipper today."
"Still hurts like he. . ." He glanced quickly at his Mother and rethought his terminology. ". . . heck, but I'm feeling better."
"Great. Look, I don't know if you're allowed to eat these, but I brought them for you anyway, just in case." I held the bag out to him.
"Apple fritters," Bernice said. She grabbed the bag from my hand before Brad could get his hands on it and set it out of his reach. "We'll ask your doctor, first."
Brad looked at me and rolled his eyes. "Mothers!" Then he turned serious and held out his hand to me. I looked at Bernice and she nodded once. I took his hand and squeezed it tightly. "I wish you had been there with me last night, Ted. I was so scared. It happened so fast."
"I wish I had been there for you."
Brad squeezed my hand. "Mom told me they talked to you about us. You know what she said to me?"
I shook my head ‘no'.
"She said, if we get married, at least she'd get a granddaughter out of the deal."
I laughed, and so did Bernice. Brad laughed, too, but not too much. He was too busy wincing in pain.
* * * * *
When I got home that night, I began planning Brad's ‘Welcome Back and Welcome Home' party. Before I fell asleep, I lay in bed for hours, wondering what it would be like to spend the rest of my life with Brad.
I'm sure I was smiling when I finally fell asleep.
To Be Continued
