Chapter 9

As soon as I got back to the apartment and saw the forest of plastic bags, some sense of normalcy returned. At least here in front of me I had a definite task cut out for me. But why do just one chore when you can do two at the same time? I called Kevin's cell phone while I put away the groceries. I got his voice mail, not him. Maybe Kevin had already caught up with Shoe. I sure hoped so; I hate playing "telephone tag".

I went back to the groceries with a renewed sense of purpose. There's a rule of thumb that says you should never go grocery shopping when you're hungry. That should be expanded to include desperate people who think they're about to get laid.

I pulled a large bottle of soy sauce from one of the bags like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. Did I really buy this? And what the hell was I going to put it on? People my age aren't supposed to have liquid salt anyway. Still, it would be a sin to waste it. I'd find some way to use it.

I was pondering a can of fruit cocktail like Hamlet contemplating Yorick's skull when I heard the knock on the door. I carried the can with me hoping that it would explain how it got in one of my bags. It never happened.

Kevin was at the door and I'd never seen him quite this hyper. "Thank God you're home," he said almost breathlessly as he brushed past me into the apartment.

"Come on in," I said trying not too hard to hide the sarcasm.

"I've been tryin' to get ahold of you all day," he whined.

"Check your phone," I said flatly. "I answered your last call."

He fished through his pockets, finally locating the phone in the bottom pocket of his cargo shorts. "I've got it right here. And...uh oh. It's off again. Sorry, Bob."

"Well, what's gotten you into such a tizzy, Kevin? I'm guessing it has something to do with Shoe."

"Boy is it! What am I gonna do, Bob? I've never been so confused. Not since I had to get ready for my first date with a girl years ago."

"Come out to the kitchen. You can give me a hand while we talk." His eyes bugged out when he saw all the bags of food. It looked like I hadn't even started putting stuff away.

"Jesus Christ! What's with all the food? You throwin' a party or something? I haven't seen this much food since last Thanksgiving."

"I had an out of mind experience today at Meyers. I figure they owe me at least a Christmas card for this trip alone. Grab yourself a soda and let's talk."

He opened the fridge and his eyes popped again. "Jeez, you couldn't get melted butter in here. Damn, Bob! Oh, cool! You've got root beer. I love root beer." He saw me giving him the you're-such-a-kid look and added, "Uhh, just don't, you know, tell anybody, okay?"

"Your secret's safe, Kevin. Just you, me and the National Enquirer. I can see the headline now. 'Root Beer Boy Dates Fratboy. Will They Go All The Way?' Don't worry; they'll probably bury it on page 43." Boy, this kid blushes easily. He's got to get over that.

"Hand me what's in that first bag. So what's up with you and Shoe?"

"Good choice of words. I think Shoe was last night after we turned in. Oh, I stayed over at his place last night. After a little while I was, uhh, "up" too. Except I was too nervous to do what Shoe did." He hand me two cans of succotash.

"And what did he do to you?"

"Oh, he didn't do anything to me. But after the lights were out I think he was poundin' his pud." He pulled a bunch of carrots from the bag.

"Those go in the bottom drawer in the fridge."

"After a while I heard a funny sound--kinda squishy and slurpy. It took me a minute to figure out that he was..." He lowered his voice like a consipirator. "...jacking off. In about a minute I was as hard as I've ever been. Which really bothered me in a way, 'cuz that had never happened to me before because of another guy. Anyway, I was too embarrassed to do what he did, so I just kinda straightened it out and, well, I sorta humped the mattress, you know, kinda slow so he wouldn't know what I was doing. I guess sometimes a foreskin would really come in handy. I just about rubbed it raw doin'that." Foreskin? Handy? I'd never think of putting those two together in the same thought. And if I hadn't been concentrating on the groceries, I would have had more than just the half-hardon that I was sporting.

"So did you talk to him about it? Maybe this morning?"

"No way!" You'd think I had asked if they had fucked in the middle of Main Street at high noon. "I couldn't do that!"

"Sure you could. You two were doing the same thing, except you were doing it alone. Here's a news flash fot you. It's a lot more fun if you do it together.

"Which reminds me. Did you get the envelope I left for you?"

"Boy, did I! Where'd you find that stuff anyway? I got off twice this morning just reading it."

"Twice?" I asked trying not too well to sound astounded. "You evidently didn't pay attention to what it said."

"Well, it just, you know, got me going. So I went ahead."

"Did you jack off in my stairwell?"

"No, of course not," he said in an offended voice. "I read it in the car and did it there."

"You know, maybe you should show that paper to Shoe. See if he reacts the same as you did. Hell, you might even try it together. Finally get this thing out in the open between you two.

"You know what your problem is, Kevin?" I grasped his shoulder to make sure that he was paying attention and tuned in. "You worry too damn much. You've got to get past the embarrassment, whether it's yours or the other person's. Then you'll be okay. Or at least better than you are now."

"Could we try it?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course you can. Weren't you listening?"

"No, I mean, you know..." He pointed at me and then himself a couple of times. "...you and me."

"Oh! Well! I was talking about you and Shoe. You want to do it here?" He nodded enthusiastically. "And now." He nodded again, smiling like a puppy about to get, you should pardon the expression, a new bone to chew on.

"Yeah, I'd feel more--I don't know--comfortable if I did it with someone else first."

"Sex isn't about comfort, kiddo. When it's 'comfortable', when it's 'old hat', then you're taking it for granted and that can lead to other problems. Trust me, I've fucked up two relationships myself that way.

"Sex should be exciting and unpredictable. It should keep you on the edge of your seat every time. And if it doesn't go right, it's not that big a deal. You can always try again in a few minutes.

"That's why you should be trying this with Shoe and not me. You two should..." I was stopped by a soft but insistent knocking on the door. "Would you get that? Tell whoever it is that I'm not buying." As soon as the words were out of my mouth it dawned on me that it might be Randy! "No, wait! You finish up the groceries; I'll get the door."

My heart was suddenly beating a battle-formation tattoo and my palms were definitely leaking they were so wet. I wiped them on my back pockets and opened the door.

"Hi! Glad you're home."

"Oh. Hi, Hank. What's up?"

"Try to contain your enthusiasm, Bob. Somebody might think you're glad to see me."

"Sorry. I was hoping it was Randy. He's on his way here now, but I don't know when he's gonna show. What brings you around here?" I started walking back to the kitchen with Hank on my heels.

"Harvey called. He's got tickets for tonight's ball game and he's asked me to go. I was wondering if you could kinda watch the house and the kids tonight for me." He stopped in his tracks when he saw Kevin in the kitchen trying vainly to put away the groceries. "But I see you've got your own kid for tonight." Kevin glared when he heard the word "kid".

"Kevin's not a 'kid', Hank. He works for me."

Hank looked at Kevin blankly for a moment and then his memory kicked in. "Oh yeah! I remember now. We've ment down in the shop, I believe.  Howya doin'? Hank Mitchum," he introduced himself.

Kevin took his hand but looked at us both suspiciously.  He might have figured out that Hank is my best friend and that we share "special" information from time to time.  I just hoped Hank wouldn't bring up the "beer can" reference right now.  Kevin would freak.  "Actually, Mr. Mitchum, we've only talked on the phone until now."  They shook hands for a long time.  Hank was up to no good.  God help us all!

Kevin maintained that suspicious look as if he was expecting one of us to say something truly rude.  Hank startled him when he said, "Got a good grip too." Kevin looked down at his hand and removed it from Hank's like he was about to get his watch lifted.  "Listen, I get the impression I'm intruding here.  If you want..."

I interrupted with what I hoped would be a brainstorm and not just another electrical storm.  "Actually, Hank, you might be able to help here.  I know for a fact that you weren't always the horndog that you are now.  What was your first time like?"  It's reassuring to know that I can still catch him off-guard sometime.

"With a guy or with a woman?"

"With a guy," I said hoping I sounded like a research scientist and not a reporter for the The Star.  I was hoping that approach would keep Hank "under control" and he'd answer honestly and not get carried away.  I made a pleading face at him and he caught on.  He's not as dumb as he looks, you know.

"With a guy was my first time with anybody.  Never before that time and never since that time have I been as nervous as I was right then.  I felt like every pore on my body was sweating gallons just sitting there waiting for the door to open.  And when it did open, I probably should have passed out from dehydration.  But I didn't.  And after about five minutes I was doing as much exploring as Rudy was doing.

"What I remember most about that night was that I was constantly being surprised.  My body was showing me damn near every nerve ending I had never even thought about.  Just when I thought that it was as good as it was gonna get, Rudy would push another button I didn't know I had.  When I finally got off the first time, I truly thought I was going to die.  He could brink me better than anyone except maybe Philly.  Or Alan."  Hank had a wistful smile on his face and I couldn't help but wonder who he was thinking of.

"What about you, Bob?  Nick was your first, wasn't he?"  This was starting to sound like we were trading war stories, but in a way that's what I wanted...to show Kevin that we all were crazy out of our minds the first time we tried this.

"Nick would like you to believe he was my first, but the honors went to a bank vice-president in Schenectady.  George I think his name was.  Yeah, it was George alright.  I was working at a racquetball club up there one summer and he showed up at my apartment one afternoon.  I didn't have air conditioning, so I was running around in just a t-shirt and shorts just like I did at the club.  Before I could get him his iced tea, he had me in a bear hug and was feeling me up in the dining room.

"My heart started beating a mile a minute, I was nervous, I was scared, I was confused--how did he figure me out anyway?--but I knew one thing for sure.  I wanted this to happen.  And it did.  But I betcha I didn't last three minutes.  Hell, I wasn't even naked yet and I lost it in my skivvies.  I was embarrassed to death and wanted to hide somewhere if I could have gotten away from him.  He just smiled and said, 'Cool!  Let's do it again!'  I can tell you, I didn't need very much convincing.

"Just like you, I learned there were places on my body that were going to need daily attention from that point on.  You know what the funny part was?  After a couple of sessions, we were taking a nap and I was wondering what would happen if my mother walked in right then.  She's 1200 miles away and I'm worried about her showing up at my door!  And then BAM!  BAM!  BAM!  Someone was pounding on the front door!  My heart started beating harder than when George had grabbed me.  I was trying to put on jeans while I was hopping to the door.  Turned out to be my stupid roommate who was loaded down with groceries.  He takes one look at my sweaty body and says, 'Eww, you smell like sex.'  All I could say was, 'Thanks' and I went back and got some more.  God I was pathetic.  I stayed euphoric for days."

Hank didn't give me much time to reminisce; he turned to Kevin as soon as I had stopped.  "Okay, your turn, Kevin.  How about you?"

"Oh!  Uhh...I...uhh...well..."  He looked frantically at me over his shoulder for help.  I clamped onto his shoulders to calm him down some.  If he was this nervous here, he'd be a basket case with Shoe.  But then, that was the point we were trying to make.

"Hank, this is pretty much what Kevin and I were talking about.  I've been trying, without too much success, to convince him that it's normal for him to be nervous but that it doesn't last all that long before he really gets into it."

"Yeah, kid..."  Kevin was too stunned to protest that word a second time.  "...just go out have fun for crissakes.  This isn't a science fair project you're gonna get graded on, y'know.  You nervous right now?"  Kevin nodded.  "You want to get over that?"  Uh oh.  I didn't like the smile, no, the leer that was creeping up on his face.  He was up to something.

"Haaaaaank," I used my best cautioning voice although I knew it wouldn't do much good.

"I was just thinking, Bob, that, you know, instead of telling him, we could show him." Hank smirked as he checked his watch. "We could probably do a quick three-way before I have to go. Whattaya say? You want front or back?"

Kevin's face made the short leap from shock to terror. Enough teasing already. "Stop it, Hank. You're scaring him. And me too for that matter.

"Kevin!" I snapped to get his attention. His head jerked toward me like a one-winged bird in a room full of cats. "Kevin! He's pulling your chain. He knows I won't do a three-way. And I don't think that he does either. Although I'm not really sure any more." Behind Kevin, Hank just shrugged.

Hank changed his tone to a more conciliatory one. "Well," he sighed, "since you guys don't want to have any fun, I'm gonna hit the road. You guys are still coming over tomorrow, aren't you? I won't be back until late afternoon, but the invite still stands."

Kevin was totally confused. "Sorry," I said, "I guess I forgot to tell you about the invitation. I'm sure it'll be okay if Shoe comes along. He can have Hank's share of the food since he'll be at the ballgame."

"I, uhh, I'm not sure. I think we kinda had plans. But nothing real definite, so, yeah, maybe we can come over."

"If you check with Shoe, I'm sure he'll go along with it. No fratboy ever passes up free food."

"So you'll do it then?  You'll stay over?" Hank asked excitedly. "I figured you'd say it was too little notice."

"I will. And it is," I said trying to sound peeved. "And. You. Owe. Me. Big. Time. Pal." I punctuated every word with a none-to-gentle poke in Hank's chest.

"I'll make it up to you, Bob. You know that. Listen, here's fifty bucks if you want to rent some movies and order pizza. You can make it into a kinda of slumber party."

"Yeah, right. You've forgotten how I sleep, haven't you?"

"Okay, so buy some cheap jammies for yourself so you don't scandalize the kids. And thanks, Bob; you're a prince." He leaned over and kissed me square on the lips. I'm used to that with Hank, but Kevin was even more perplexed. I'm sure he was getting close to sensory overload.

"Both of you get out of here now. You've got a trip ahead of you, so be careful," I said to Hank. "And you," I pointed at Kevin, "are undoubtedly late for your date at Dettmeier."

Hank chimed in as he walked toward the door, "You're goin' to bareass beach, huh?"

"Bareass beach?" There was more surprise in Kevin's voice.

"Don't worry," I reassured him, "you don't have to take everything off if you don't want to. Save that for when you show him the Tantric Handjob."

"You've still got that?" Hank asked from the doorway. "Boy, Alan just loved doing that! And he was damn good at it too. Well, listen, kid, good luck with your date and the handjob. If he does it right, you'll be begging for more. Believe me! Nice meeting you, Kevin. See you guys tomorrow."

Hank shook hands with me and Kevin, then turned on his heel and was gone, a man on a mission. Kevin was just the tiniest bit overwhelmed. His jaw hung slack as if he'd just been told his winning lottery ticket had been invalidated. "Is he for real?" he asked.

"For the most part, yes. But a lot of him is pure bullshit. You'll see. And don't worry. His bark is way worse than his bite." I clapped him on the shoulder to try to bring him around. "Well, bud, you better get going before Shoe thinks that you've stood him up. Kevin..." I gathered both his shoulders so he was looking squarely at me. "...just relax and go with the flow. Be friends and have fun. If something 'bigger and better' develops, well, enjoy that too. Besides, did you ever think that maybe Shoe is just as nervous as you are? Go on now; get outta here, Pilgrim."

He winced at my John Wayne voice. It can't be that bad, can it? He turned to go, checking his pockets as he neared the door when he pulled a folded set of papers from his back pocket. He gave it a quick glance and muttered, "Okay, I'm ready. I guess."

"Those pages aren't stuck together already, are they?" I teased.

"Not on your life," he said and he was trundling down the steps.

Not on my life. And what was I doing with my life? The hottest guy this side of the Mississippi was going to show up at any moment and I was going to be babysitting two teenagers who were old enough to watch out for themselves.

I hope it's still traditional for babysitters to have their boyfriends visit them while they work, because I definitely didn't want to miss Randy because of this. I fired up the computer and found a site that would give me a detailed map from my place to Hank's. I wrote a quick note explaining what was happening, where I would be and that I was very anxious to see him again. I threw a change of clothes and my shaving gear in an old gym bag and I was ready to go.

Movies and pizza, Hank had said. Pizza wasn't a problem, but what the hell kind of movies should I rent? What do kids watch nowadays anyway? I was drawing a complete blank. I decided to wait until I was inside Blockbuster; surely inspiration would come more easily there.

ENNNHHH...WRONG! Can you take it, North Carolina? I was the proverbial kid in the candy store with real money in my hand and I couldn't decide. So many titles, so little time! I did decide on a theme night. My first thought was to get the worst movies ever made. They had "Plan IX From Outer Space" but not "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes". I checked my watch. This was taking way too long, and none of the titles did anything for me. I promised myself to stop going to revivals and see more new movies.

Maybe a martial arts theme. Yeah, right. Get a couple of sugared-up teenagers showing off their kick moves in the living room at midnight. I don't think so. I also nixed musicals. Was I afraid of wisecracks about "show tunes"? Yeah, I think I was. I even put "Rocky Horror" back on the shelf.

Then it hit me. They'd either love it or they'd hate it. If they hated it, they could always turn to cable. I found my movies, picked up some popcorn and left. I checked my watch again. What if Randy was in town already and got to Hank's before me? That could be a tense little scene. And he might leave! I can't have that!

I rushed north on Kennedy to get to the Interstate Liquor Store to stock up on soda and beer. I didn't know what Hank had on hand, but two cases of each ought to fill the bill for tonight and tomorrow's barbecue. Finally I was good to go. And go I did! It's a good thing the state troopers watch the interstate more than the country roads because I was pushing the envelope with the Stratus.

Toby answered the door when he heard my car in the drive. He leaned against the door jamb with his arms folded in front of him. It was the first time I'd seen a less-than-pleased expression on his face. "So you're the babysitter," he smirked.

"Babysitter? I'm no babysitter. Didn't your dad tell you? I'm a semi-professional housesitter schooled in the Oriental arts to maintain an ongoing aura of continuity when the primal residential forces are temporarily absent. Don't they teach you Oriental philosophy in your school? If certain parts of a house are not used continuously, they lose their vibrancy and you have to break them in again from scratch."

He looked sideways at me, wondering what I was up to. "Just what does that line of bull mean anyway?" he asked.

"It means that I'll be sleeping in your dad's bed tonight and you guys won't." I hoped my smile took some of the edge off the implication. Hank never had told me point blank that he wanted them kept apart, but I got the very strong impression that he wanted Toby cloistered until he was in his thirties.

The implication wasn't lost on him totally. "Well, we hadn't thought of anything like that," he shot back.

"And what did you think of?" I asked trying to find out where his head was.

He gave a scary little giggle and said, "We've got to have some secrets from Dad. It's traditional, you know." Okay, he got me there; I didn't know what to pursue from that point. Toby made to end that part of the conversation anyway by helping me unload the car. "Beer! Cool! And movies. What'd you get?"

"Possibly the worst movie ever made."

His disappointment washed over him in an instant. "Oh. Mom already made me sit through 'Paint Your Wagon'."

"Hmmm, I'd forgotten about that one. 'Wagon' at least had nice scenery in it. This one is the absolute worst."

He dug into the plastic Blockbuster bag. "Ed Wood?" he asked corkscrewing his face.

"No, the other one. Ed Wood made the other movie. I thought it would make a nice pairing." He didn't look convinced; he frowned at both titles. Now I was more sure that I had screwed up and that this was going to be a long evening.

"By the way, where's Stick?"

"I think he's still out at the pool. He practically lives out there. Dad put him in charge out there since Alan left. It's actually his real job now; Dad's even paying him. He spends so much time out there that you'd think he's a bodyguard or something."

"Well, while he's out there, why don't you show me the prints you made today? I'd really like to see them."

His eyes lit up with the excitement of a neophyte artist about to show off his work. "I'll be right back. Don't go away."

"I'll be in the kitchen putting the beer in the fridge."

"Hah! You won't find room for it. Dad's got at least two cases in there," he called out from the door to his room.

Sure enough, you had to search to find any real food in the fridge. Hank doesn't believe in leftovers. On the rare occasion when food is left over, he brown bags it to work the next day. You'll never find penicillin growing in his refrigerator.

Toby came into the kitchen clutching a sizable handful of photos to his chest. "I've only got about a dozen or so. You promise you won't laugh?"

"Only if it's a funny picture." His "dozen" was more like twenty. He had covered the kitchen table and was still holding a few in reserve. He stepped aside, his eyebrows raised in anticipation, reverting to being a boy looking for approval of his efforts.

They were all 8x10's and, amazingly, all with near-perfect exposure. Some of the poses were a little off but not too shabby for a high schooler. "So Stick is your model of choice, eh?" I asked, picking up the body-builder pose I had seen at the beach that morning.

"Well, outside of Hank and Mack and you, Stick is the only other person I know around here." There was a wistfulness in his voice that told me he wasn't used to being so isolated from people. He probably has a large group of friends back in the city.

I looked at the picture more closely. Stick was trying hard to show off biceps that just weren't there yet. "You could call this one 'Hope For The Future'. The exposure is spot-on, composition is good and his expression is priceless."

Toby let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, I thought he was gonna pop a vein trying to flex like that. You really think it's good?"

"Yes, I do. You've got a lot of potential here, Ace. Stay with it as long as you enjoy it.

"Listen, about what you just said about who you know around here. Have you talked to your dad yet about the part-time job?"

"No, I haven't really had the opportunity."

"Okay, I tell you what. Let me make some calls on Monday and see what I can line up for you as far as an interview is concerned. I can't promise you a job, but I can get your foot in the door. After that, it's all up to you, Ace."

"Hey, Toby, where are you?" Stick's voice came from the lower level.

Like any other teenager, Toby answered from where he stood simply by raising the decibel level. "We're up in the kitchen. And you better not be dripping this time."

"I'm not. I took care of that in the pool."

"A couple of days ago he came up here without a towel. Hank got real pissed. Made him get his towel and mop up the floor. Which of course got Stick real pissed off. I got out of here. If I want yelling, I can always go live with my mother." Well, there was a small piece of Toby's puzzle. I'd have to ask him about that later when we could be alone again.

We could hear Stick's feet flapping up the stairs and hear him muttering. "Gotta love those water jets in the pool. Especially when you aim them right at your di...Oh! Hi, Bob. I, uhh, didn't know you were here." Stick's summer tan deepened as he blushed all the way to his pecs.

"That's pretty obvious, Stick. How you doing?"

"Hungry. We got anything to eat? I'm starving here." Stick looked in the refrigerator but made no move to get anything. "Plenty of beer, but I want something solid. And I'm getting real tired of peanut butter sandwiches. Jeez, if I have to eat one more of those, I won't shit for a week."

"Thank you for sharing that, Stick. Maybe we'll get you a prune pizza tonight. That ought to straighten you out, so to speak." I hoped that he wouldn't get any "cruder" than that. I'd hate to show him how outclassed he is.

"Pizza! Boy, I could go for that alright. A big one with the works. Can we get one?"

"No," I said flatly. "Get three. And make sure one of them has sausage, mushrooms and anchovies. And on a thin crust."

"Ew, yuck!" came simultaneously from both the boys. "That's gross!"

"Try to think of anchovies as salt with gills. Then it's not so bad."

The boys debated briefly the merits of thin crust or deep dish even as they dialed the phone. Stick left Toby to that chore and returned to the kitchen table. "Stick, since these are all pictures of you, which one do you like the best?" His eyes darted from one corner of the photograph-covered table to another. He started to reach for a picture a couple of times but drew back his hand each time.

"This one," he said finally. He was lying on his side in grass probably out back on Hank's property, his knees drawn up to his chest, one arm hanging loose across his lean chest, his head resting on his other upper arm which was stretched out straight. He was looking directly at the camera and he almost looked embryonic.

"Why that one? I would have thought you'd like your bodybuilder picture."

He snorted a short laugh. "No way! I hope he burns the negative on that one. It makes me look like a scrawny little kid. But this one looks like I got no problems, no worries. Kinda like I'm just waking up, just...peaceful I guess. Which one do you like?"

"Well, if I were the artist," I paused to see how Toby would react to that word but he had left the room. "If I were the artist, I'd use them all and make a poster-sized collage. Look at the range of moods you see here." I pointed to each picture and rattled off the litany. "Happy. Peaceful. Surprised. Silly. Thoughtful. Goofy." I ended with the bicep pose. "And you are not scrawny. Take a good look at yourself in the mirror sometime. You've got all the right muscles in all the right places. You're just not as 'bulked up' as the jocks you see at school."

I was trying to reassure him about his self-image, but I must have missed the mark by a mile. He was back at the refrigerator, staring blankly inside as if it were totally empty.

"Maybe you should give one of them to your dad," I offered. "One where you're at least wearing a pair of shorts." No response. "Or maybe one from just the waist up. Parents always like to have pictures of their kids."

"Hmmphf. Not my dad. He wouldn't be interested. He'd throw it away. Just like he threw me away." He was still looking in the refrigerator either trying to hide from me or just lost in thought but the refrigerator light made the tear tracks on his cheeks stand out like neon scars.

"He hates me." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and then wiped his hand on his shorts. "And that was before he even knew I was...gay. And before..." He looked at me with a quizzical look as if I were suddenly a complete stranger. "Did Hank tell you why I'm here?"

"No, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Hank has only said that you were in some kind of trouble and he was going to help out for a while."

"If Hank tells you..." He paused and looked off to the far side of the kitchen knowing that Hank would indeed tell me sooner or later. "...well, I guess that's okay. I just can't tell you myself. It's way too embarrassing and makes me feel really stupid every time I think about it.

"But the point I was trying to make is that my dad didn't know about any of...that...either. He wouldn't even come help me when all that shit went down. He just flat out hates me." His shoulders slumped and he leaned on the counter with both hands.

I moved behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. "Stick...I" I was at a total loss for words, but I knew that I didn't have to ask if he wanted a hug. I turned him around and he kept his arms close to his chest. His body was shaking, most likely from the air conditioning on his damp chest, but as soon as my arms encircled him, it turned into rhythmic heaving as he quietly sobbed.

"I...I...never did...nothin'...to him," he said into my collarbone. "Why does he hate me?"

"That's something you'll have to ask him yourself one day. I've only known you for a little while, but you seem like a pretty sharp guy. You don't seem to be a mass murderer or a serial killer. Unless it's Cap'n Crunch." The attempt at humor was lost on him.

"For now, you've got to get on with your life. Just don't let yourself get too far down in the dumps. If you find yourself feeling like shit, get ahold of Hank or Mack or me and talk it out. That's what friends do."

I wasn't sure if what I was saying was the right thing to say. I'm not even sure if there is a "right thing" to say in a situation like that. I've hugged any number of people over the years, usually, it seemed to me, the partner of someone who had died of AIDS, so it wasn't too surprisig that this felt different. Very different. I stopped rocking him side to side and held him away from me when he had finally cried himself out.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't...it just.." Saved by the bell. The doorbell anyway.

"Toby, you gonna get that?" I yelled to the doorway. I lifted Stick's face and told him, "And you, young man, look like hell. Kinda like I looked this morning. One of those in the neighborhood is enough. Go soak your head in some cold water and let's eat." The doorbell chimed again.

"Toby?" I yelled again from the kitchen doorway. I heard his muffled reply from the back of the house, probably from the bathroom. I gave him the benefit of the doubt about what he was doing in there.

Toby stopped halfway down the hallway and turned to me. "Oh, I get it. 'Cereal' killer...Cap'n Crunch. That was awful, Bob." At least he was smiling. I just shrugged and headed for the door.

I took my wallet out on the way. Toby hadn't told me the total, but I figured it would be thirty to thirty-five bucks for the three pizzas and breadsticks. After the excursion at the grocer earlier, I was glad Hank had given me the fifty. After a month with two teenagers in the house, Hank is probably an expert on pizza prices.

I opened the door saying, "Hi, how much do I..."

"Hi yourself! You sure didn't make it easy to find you today."

"Randy! Migod, it's good to see you again! Come in. Come in." We hugged like old friends at a school reunion, laughing and patting each other on the back. I think he even tried to swing me around in his arms, but I'm no lightweight co-ed. Instead we waltzed around a bit until he leaned in to give me a quick kiss. God, but I love his smile. When he turns it on me, the rest of the world just goes away.

"Oh no you don't, buster. You're not gettin' away with a low-grade kiss like that. C'mere!" I pulled his head toward mine and planted a lip-lock on him guaranteed to send him to nirvana. Or at least to bed with me, which I was hoping would be a suitable substitute. It took him about two seconds and he was giving as good as he was getting. Inside of a minute, I could feel my brain starting to turn into tapioca.

I told myself then that I'd do anything for this guy. Anything at all to get him and to keep him. And as soon as I had thought it, I knew that this was a promise I would keep. If only he'll believe me.

Randy was definitely getting the upper hand--or at least the upper tongue--when I heard the boys shuffling back into the living room.

"Is that the pizza guy?"

"I dunno. But if it is, he's gettin' one helluva tip."

Have you ever had someone laugh in the middle of a deep, deep kiss? You're just about to enter the gateway to that alternate universe where only you and the other person exist when there's an explosion of air in your mouth. It will definitely close the gateway and take you out of the mood. Which is probably a good thing, since I was seriously close to undoing Randy's belt buckle.

Toby looked like he was going into shock; Stick, however, turned into the resident wiseass. "If we're takin' turns, I'm next," he said hopefully.

Randy laughed like that wouldn't be possible in this or the next lifetime. "Sorry, pal," he said, "but I'm taken. You'll have to stick to your boyfriend there." He nodded toward Toby who tried to speak but could only manage sputtering noises.

"Him? Hell, we're not even dating. Yet. You know, the shy type."

"You perv!" Toby had found his voice and punched Stick in the arm.

"My name's Randy Sullivan." He shook hands with a disappointed Stick.

"I'm Walter Hudson. But everybody calls me Stick. My 'boyfriend' here is Toby Mitchum."

"Not yet," Toby corrected him. "It's still Wintergarden officially." He shook Randy's hand with a simple "Hi, Toby Wintergarden. You can call me Ace." Uh oh. Hank may not like the idea that he couldn't give his own son a nickname. We can burn that bridge when we get to it. Toby looked at me and back at Toby and asked, "So I guess you guys are friends, huh?"

Randy answered for both of us and lied just a little. "Yeah, we've met a couple of time."

Toby elbowed Stick and said, "Jesus, I hate to think what they would've done if they were really good friends." They both giggled. Thankfully, the doorbell saved me from saying something rude.

"That has got to be the pizza. Here, Toby," I said, digging out my wallet again, "you take care of it. Randy and I will be in the kitchen."

"Yeah, we've got a lot to talk about." Randy smiled at me but there wasn't the same sparkle in his eyes as there had been a moment before. Now what?