The Center, Billie Joe's Jorney, book 3

The Center

 Billie Joe's Journey, book 3

Editor: Gardner Rust

For David

Prologue:

In book I of Billie Joe's Journals, Billie Joe goes in search of what it means to be gay after the suicide of his best friend, who left a note saying he was gay. They both kept the same secret and now one of them was dead.

Billie Joe is determined not to follow in Ralphie's footsteps. He decides to leave home in order to find out what being gay means. Before he gets very far, he meets Carl on the bus to Seattle. They have a short romance, which ends when Carl ships out for Vietnam.

Billie Joe ends up on the streets of San Francisco with dozens of other homeless gay youth. The streets get darker and more hostile as Billie Joe struggles to survive.

In The Return Home, book II of Billie Joe's Journals, once it's known Billie Joe has been tested for AIDS, his enemies do their best to make his decision to finish high school a tough proposition. The gay people Billie Joe has kept his distance from, are now his only friends,

In book III Billie Joe goes to meet Carl, who is returning from Southeast Asia. The reunion is a bit overwhelming for both of them. They pick up right where they left off before Carl left for overseas.

Carl doesn't understand Billie Joe's need to return to San Francisco to help the street kids. Being in love with Carl, Billie Joe realizes that he must return to the mean streets to do his best to save other gay homeless kids.

Carl returns to his family's home in the East.

Billie Joe goes back to the mean streets of San Francisco.

Chapter 1

Carl’s Home

I was certain the final week before I got to see Carl again would be the longest week of my life. Much to my surprise it wasn’t. It flew by so fast that I wasn’t sure I was ready to transition out of my new life into his. Doubts were easy to come by. I had a good job at a company I liked and with people who liked me. I was earning a living, albeit modest.

There was pizza the last day. After one piece I had a lump in my throat and my stomach became a pizza-unfriendly zone. When Mr. McMichael came down to say goodbye, I felt like I was making a mistake leaving his company. He took a few bites of pizza and a few sips of his ginger ale.

“Billie Joe,” he said, “If you ever come this way again, there will always be a job at RamTech for you. I want you to promise me you’ll keep in touch with me. I want to know what you’re up to.”

“Yes, sir. I will,” I said, trying not to tear up. “Thank you.”

We shook on it and he patted my back before he left the mailroom.

“He’s genuinely fond of you, Billie Joe,” Ms. Mars said to make sure I didn’t doubt his words. “You’ve made quite a good impression on us.”

I was left feeling like a kid again. I’d been out working on my own and doing a fine job as an adult, and now, as I prepared to leave to meet my lover, I felt stupid and like I was doing something silly and childlike. Why was I leaving such good people? What was I doing?

My brother stopped by for a complimentary piece of pizza. About half the secretaries who took mail deliveries from me came down to wish me well. They didn’t eat pizza and I’d delivered my last mail. It was then I understood how final the goodbye party was. I found myself leaving more than a job.

I’d been there little more than two months and it was more painful leaving RamTech than it had been leaving home. Just before leaving that afternoon, Ms. Mars made it worse by taking a box out from under her desk. I knew I was going to hate this part.

“Good Luck Billie Joe’ was written across it in her handwriting.

In the box was a light weight black jacket with the RamTech decal in red affixed to the back of it. I put it on and left the box behind, taking the card with me.

“Thank you, Ms. Mars. It’ll be hard to find another boss I like as much as you.”

“Billie Joe, what a nice thing to say. I doubt I’ll soon see another mailroom employee I’ve enjoyed as much as I’ve enjoyed working with you. You are a delight and I predict you’ll do well in life.”

There was no conversation on the drive home from RamTech. My brother seemed to sense I wasn’t in a talking mood. I had a life waiting for me just beyond my reach, but the life I was leaving had grown on me in a way I never expected it could.

At ten the following morning the overnight flight from Japan would fly into SeaTac. My brother John would let me off at the airport before he went to work and then what came afterward was all up to Carl.

Sleeping was not easy the final night at my brother’s. I kept getting up to eat cookies and drink milk. At least John would have milk in the morning now that I was leaving. Each time I went back to bed I saw Carl and Raymond and the car with dark tinted windows. I saw the Prince and Harvey, Ty and Gene, and I saw and smelled the dank dirty smell of the street. I’d get up and have more milk and cookies.

The rest of my life was about to begin, but my mind was once more affixed on the events from the summer before. I didn’t see this as particularly unusual, but it was a reminder that those memories would likely be there for a good little while to come. It had all happened since I last saw Carl. The thoughts and faces hadn’t been so vivid since the night of the dress rehearsal of the senior play. Fortunately, they weren’t as powerful as they were that night. Perhaps it meant that the worst of the nightmares was over. I continued to remember the details without the pain coming back to life in my dreams. I wasn’t likely to forget the hard times. My worry about hard times hadn’t left me simply because Carl was on the way back to me.

There was no reason for anything but happiness and joy, but the uncomfortable visions from my past seemed to have a mind of their own. It was a past Carl knew little about. He’d always said we’d talk about it once he was home. I knew we wouldn’t if I left it up to him. He didn’t want to spend time dwelling on things we could do nothing about. It’s the attitude he had about being in the Army and being in Japan. There were certain obligations, and we’d deal with our lives once those obligations were satisfied. Until then we’d work around the inconvenience of his prior commitment.

We’d both been out in the world now and I knew I could make it. I wasn’t sure how it worked. Maybe it was as simple as going to work for a company that cared about more than their bottom line. Whatever the reason, I was successful. Carl was also successful and we’d be able to build a life together. I’d had questions about that before I went to work at RamTech. I didn’t know if I could hold my own on a job. Being qualified for the job made the difference. From day one I was anxious to make a good impression, and I had, and the job was great.

It beat the hell out of school. It didn’t mean I wasn’t going back to school. I hadn’t gotten that far yet. I didn’t want to go back to school until Carl and I settled into our own lives and then we’d talk about how best to get the most out of our lives. The idea of college no longer turned me off. I was more comfortable with myself and with my options and I was in no hurry.

By the time I was leaving RamTech, Simon and Brit were together at Princeton. They went East and I’d come West. Brit was training for the cross-country season and Simon was studying Brit as he went through orientation. Simon signed up for a liberal arts curriculum while Brit was in prelaw. I’d told them all about my job but all they were interested in was the day I’d finally meet Carl. The final hours were the longest with my mind refusing to let loose of the memories from my summer in San Francisco.

I got to go home to face the dirty little minds that figured out what I did on my summer vacation. They had no evidence but what difference did that make? I wasn’t talking. Being bullied by adults or other kids was nothing new. My life was easy when compared to the lives of the boys I left behind.

The last thing on my mind was returning to San Francisco. I went there so I could take off my invisibility shield. I went there because I was tired of hiding my true identity. Once Ralphie had died there was nothing holding me back home. I was still paying the price for that bit of naivety. Once I was back with Carl I’d put it all to rest. Having our life to live meant I’d probably never think about San Francisco again, except maybe for its bridge. I always liked the Golden Gate Bridge. That was a piece of work.

That’s how the night went. There was no rhyme or reason to it, just sleeplessness. I suppose I did sleep, but every time I noticed what was going on in my mind, I was pondering my past. There was a time it was clear. Now it was a jumble. There were faces with no names, names with no faces, and events I couldn’t be sure happened. My final thoughts were of Carl as I heard John struggling to get up just above me. He’d given up an hour of sleep to get me to the airport to start the rest of my life.

“You up, kiddo?” he asked, sounding groggy.

“Yeah, I’m awake.”

“You packed?” he asked.

“All week,” I said.

“Give me a few minutes. We’ll stop for coffee on the way,” he promised with no enthusiasm in his voice.

I’d been lucky to make the friends I’d made. Up until Ralphie died he was the only person I was close to. In the past year I’d made all kinds of friends in all kinds of places, but the one that left me feeling the best about was my brother John. I suppose it was impossible for us to become close in the house where we lived, but John had taken me in, gotten me a job, and made sure all my needs were taken care of while I waited for Carl. I was sure he’d be happy to get his life back, but I’d miss him. I’d never known what it was like having a brother before.

“You look like shit,” he said, making his way downstairs not looking all that dapper himself. “You couldn’t sleep? Excited, huh?”

“Yeah, I can hardly wait.”

“Go splash some cold water on your face before we leave. It’ll make you feel better. We’ll stop and get some coffee in us and we’ll both feel better. I’m going to be late for work anyway. I may as well get a cup of coffee out of the deal.”

*****

“Tell Carl I’m sorry I couldn’t wait around to say hello, kiddo,” John said as I slipped out of the car in front of the main terminal.

“I will,” I said.

I carried a paper with Carl’s flight and arrival time at SeaTac written on it. I would be there waiting when he came off the plane. It would be like starting over. I was willing to do whatever it took to recapture the love we once shared, even if it was only for a few days.

“You can’t stand there, kid. Move along,” a gruff voice ordered me from behind.

I’d come 1500 miles to meet my man, and no want-a-be rent-a-cop was going to move me.

“Yeah, I can. See,” I said, undeterred once I’d worked my way to the closest point I could get to where Carl’s plane would unload. I wanted to see him coming. I wanted to be the first familiar thing he saw. No silly rule was going to stop me.

“I said move it,” the authoritarian ordered like some top sergeant motivating his troops.

“Stick it in your ear,” I said, holding fast to my vantage point.

“An interesting proposition to be sure, but if memory serves me correctly, a physical impossibility,” a slowly softening voice with a Southern drawl observed as a big hand clamped around my neck.

“Carl!” I screamed turning and jumping into his arms all in one motion. “Carl. Carl. I missed you so much.”

I hugged him and cried on his crisp green uniform. He held me tight to his chest. For a couple of minutes we held each other without regard to the sensitivities of the world moving on around us.

“How did you get past me?” I asked, wiping my eyes and standing back to get a good look at him.

“The plane was early. I thought to myself, where would Billie Joe be? It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to bring me here. I got to watch you bump all those people out of the way so you could get to the front of the waiting area.”

“Carl! Carl,” I said, grabbing him again, hugging him for all I was worth, crying some more.

I felt like I did when I was with him the year before. I felt like I did before I’d gone off on my own. It was a good feeling, an innocent feeling. I remembered how different I was. Would we still be able to salvage something out of a past that amounted to a week, when two boys fell in love?

We’d both become men in our time apart. The street made a man out of me and the army made a man out of Carl.

“Let’s get out of here. You’ve grown,” he said, backing away from my arms. “You gained some weight. You look older.”

“You got skinny,” I said, seeing how his uniform hung on him.

“A few weeks of my momma’s cookin’ will fix that.”

“Was it rough over there?”

“No, mostly boring. The place was full of foreigners.”

“That was you,” I said, grabbing his duffle bag before he could string it over his shoulder.

“Me what?” he asked.

“You were the foreigner. It was their country,” I explained.

“Yeah, sure, but not on base it wasn’t. That’s heavy, better let me carry it, squirt.”

“I got it and don’t call me that,” I tempered my objection, catching the tone before it bit him. “I can handle it.”

I all but knocked myself off my feet as I hoisted the seventy or eighty pound duffle bag onto my slender shoulder.

“Have it your own way. Where’s your stuff?”

“Right here,” I said, holding up my gym bag stuffed with socks, underwear, and my bathroom gear.

“You certainly travel light,” he said, taking my bag before clamping his hand around the back of my neck as we walked against the incoming hordes of fliers.

Carl stepped off the curb right outside the front doors, throwing his arm in the air. Starting toward us, two uniformed men objected to his solicitation of transportation, but backed off when Carl glared in their direction.

“He’s been overseas for a year. He’s in a hurry,” I explained.

“Carry on soldier,” one man said with a smile. “Thanks for your service, son.”

Carl bristled at the use of the word son, but the cab had pulled up beside us by then, and he opened the back door. Taking the duffle out of my hands, he tossed it into the far corner, making the cab shudder. I sat in the middle and Carl sat next to the door.

He took a roll of bills out of his pants pocket, stripping off a twenty and dropping it onto the front seat.

“I need a used car lot. I want one that can sell me a decent van. I’m a mechanic, so no games and there’s twenty more for you once we’re there. Tell me if that’s not enough.”

“You say a van?”

“Yeah, no windows around the back of it. I plan to go across country in it. We’ll be camping in it, sleeping in the back.”

“Your lucky day, soldier. My brother-in-law has such a van he’s got up for sale. It’s eight years old and has tags good for three more months if memory serves me correctly. It’s a little hungry when it comes to gas but it’s three-quarter tons and built to pull the big grades.”

“Where’s he live?”

“About ten miles or fifteen miles up Route 5.”

“Will the forty cover it?” Carl asked, sounding expectant.

“Yeah, I’ll hit him up for a cut. Twenty is fine if you buy it. He’s had trouble selling it. I’ll insist he gives me a finder’s fee. You guys don’t make enough money to be throwing it around.”

“Thanks,” Carl said, settling back next to me with a smile.

“It’s a horse of a van. It can climb like a cat. Most people are looking for something to tool around town in and take it for a weekend run to the coast over the summer. I think that’s why he hasn’t sold it. It’s meant for a man who doesn’t need to stay on the road to get where he wants to go. Sounds like it might be what you’re looking for.”

The cab driver used his cell-phone and arranged for his brother-in-law to get from where he was to meet us. In a little more than an hour we were heading back toward Route 5 in the high riding van. I’d watched Carl peeling off hundred dollar bills to pay the $1200 without saying anything. The man threw in a road atlas, pointing out his favorite way east. Carl seemed pleased after he took a test drive and spent some time poking about under the hood and under the van. The man waved and smiled happily as we backed out of his yard and we were really on our way.

“Where’d you get all the cash?” I asked, unable to get the roll of money out of my mind..

“I robbed a bank,” he said, glancing at me. “Credit Union. Put my pay in there each month and took it out before I flew out. I never spent any money over there.”

“Where we going?” I asked.

“I want to see some of the country. We can take our time. I’ll buy some camping gear once we get away from the coast. We’ll cook out and breathe some fresh American air. I want to see some mountains. I want to feel some cool air. You game?”

“I’ll follow you anywhere, big guy,” I said, smiling and remembering the last time I camped out with Gene and Jesus in an industrial strength appliance box behind a warehouse. I wanted to describe it as well as everything I’d done since he’d been gone, but we had time.

Reaching the signs directing us to Route 5, there was one more thing I wanted to do before getting on with the rest of our lives.

“Carl, can we go back up to Seattle?”

“Seattle? Didn’t you just leave Seattle?”

“Yes. Can we make a stop there? I have something I need to do.”

“We’re in no hurry, Billie Joe. We can stop anywhere you like. I’d think after a couple of months you’d have had time to do everything you needed to do.”

“This is something I can’t do without you,” I said, smiling and holding his hand.

“In that case we shall go to Seattle, my love.”

Pulling into the RamTech parking lot I directed him to the mailroom’s parking zone where the mail truck stopped.

“Come on,” I said, and I led him to the mailroom.

“Billie Joe,” Ms. Mars said, jumping up to greet us at the door.

“Hi, Ms. Mars. This is Carl,” I announced to her. “I wanted you to meet him.”

“Ah, you’re the one on the other end of all those letters I posted for Billie Joe?” she remembered, shaking Carl’s hand politely.

“Yes, ma’am, I reckon that’s me.”

“A touch of the South,” she said, smiling happily.

“He’s the reason I’m leaving RamTech. We’re going to live in Alabama. I had to show him where I worked.”

“I have a better appreciation for your decision. I hope you two find happiness. I did wonder about why you wrote to him so often,” she said, still smiling. “I’m glad you brought him by.”

“I want to introduce him to Mr. McMichael. Do you think that’s a good idea?” I asked, still not completely certain I should risk telling him.

“I think it would go a long way to explain your motivation for leaving us. He wondered if he might have put too much pressure on you. Let me call upstairs to see if he has a minute.”

Ms. Mars talked to Barbara then told us to go on upstairs via the executive elevator. It seemed logical Barbara would clear us with security, although the guard knew who I was and didn’t need any coaxing to allow us into the elevator. He did give Carl a once over and took notice of his uniform.

“Hi, Billie Joe,” Barbara said, greeting us cordially as we stepped out on the fortieth floor.

“What a view,” Carl said, having a similar reaction to mine the first time I looked out of the wall to wall windows.

After I introduced Carl to her, she told me to go on in that Mr. McMichael knew I was on the way. I knocked and opened the door, making sure Carl was behind me.

“Well, couldn’t stay away from us,” Mr. McMichael said, smiling from behind his desk. “I told Ms. Mars to keep your job open in case you changed your mind.”

“I was reluctant to explain to you why I was leaving, Mr. McMichael. I was afraid you’d think less of me if I told you the truth.”

“I don’t think I understand,” he said, looking at me carefully before standing to come around in front of his desk.

“Billie Joe,” he said sincerely. “Trust goes in both directions. I’d like to think you could tell me what’s on your mind and trust me to treat it fairly.”

“Fair isn’t always fair. You treated me like you cared about me. I figure I owe you the truth, but I also owe myself. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want you to meet my lover, Carl. We’re going to live in Alabama. He’s been in Japan,” I said.

I could see Mr. McMichael was already curious about Carl. Once he processed what I said, he smiled and moved to shake Carl’s hand.

“Thank you for serving your country, Carl. It’s nice meeting you. I hate losing a bright young man like Billie Joe. He obviously knows where he’s going. I’m glad to find out he isn’t going alone.”

“Not while I’m alive. He won’t ever be alone,” Carl said.

I held his hand and Mr. McMichael sat on the corner of his desk. He seemed undaunted by my confession.

“Don’t forget what I told you. While I don’t have anything for you in Alabama, Raleigh-Durham and Atlanta are major tech towns. We do a lot of business there. I’m sure I could find you something if you needed work, but stay in touch even if your life is perfect in every way. I meant what I said about that.”

Being with Carl made all the difference. I didn’t have to stand alone when telling people I was a gay guy. I couldn’t leave without knowing if Mr. McMichael’s interest in my life was sincere. He had to know who I really was so I could take his offer of future help seriously. He didn’t disappoint me and Carl got to see where I worked and meet both of my bosses.

Now I was ready to leave without looking back.

“Oh, Billie Joe,” Mr. Michael stopped me at the door. “What size jacket do you wear, Carl?”

“Large,” Carl said.

“Send me your address when you get where you’re going, Billie Joe, and I’ll have Ms. Mars send Carl a RamTech jacket like yours.”

“All right!” Carl said enthusiastically. “I didn’t tell him I really liked his jacket, but I do. Thank you, sir.”

“Take care of him, Carl. He’s a special young man.”

“Yes, sir, I plan to.”

Ms. Mars called for my brother to come to the mailroom and when he saw Carl he came in to give him a hug. He then shook his hand and John thanked me for bringing Carl by before I left for good. I said he could come to visit us and Carl agreed. John liked the idea.

We were finally on our way home together.

“They all seem like nice people,” Carl said, as he turned toward Route 5 southbound.

“I didn’t think I’d like working all that much, but it wasn’t really work. I was doing things I liked. I learned some stuff that I wouldn’t have learned otherwise. It was totally cool,” I said.

There was so much to say to Carl, but there would be plenty of time for talking about the last year.

He reached for my hand once the traffic thinned out. I leaned to kiss his cheek. He blushed. I kissed him again and giggled with delight as I settled back in my seat to look at him.

Even though Carl had eaten several times on the plane, mostly because they didn’t want returning servicemen to eat the seats, he hadn’t been satisfied with the food, which he couldn’t identify, except for the bags of nuts they coerced out of the stewards. It was obvious he was ready for food with a definite American flare to it.

What I wanted for lunch couldn’t be found at a restaurant.

Chapter 2

High on Cabbage

Driving south on Interstate 5 we climbed the grade that left Seattle behind. I took time to kiss Carl every couple of miles. We held hands and smiled at each other. It would have been easy to pull over at the first rest area to make up for lost time, but time was in abundant supply and Carl wanted to put some distance between us and civilization. He’d been stuck in the middle of an Army for the better part of fifteen months. He wanted to breathe free fresh air, preferably on a high hill somewhere.

For me it was a matter of going along with whatever he wished to do. I kept looking at his face, which made him smile even though he was busily watching the traffic ahead. He knew I was watching him. We were together and it was enough after so long. It’s all I really needed for the moment. For a year I’d wondered if we would ever be together again. There were a hundred ways we might lose each other, but we hadn’t.

Watching him was a bit like watching a stranger. Did Carl and I ever really know each other? We’d spent a rush of days together, but they were always too quickly coming to an end. We held on and let our emotions carry us from day to day. Then he was gone, and I was left to find a way to make it through a year without him.

Carl was big, strong, and somewhat imposing to me when we first met. On the inside, it was another story. Carl was gentle and sensitive. There was nothing I was familiar with to compare to those qualities I found in Carl. He was one of a kind.

I had no reason to believe this big Army dude was meant for me, but I never got much of a choice in the matter. Strangely enough, it simply happened to both of us at the same time. Disdain and anger turned into curiosity and desire in short order, once we’d noticed each other.

Carl was a lot more than he appeared to be at first glance. His gruff exterior conveniently masked his soft side. It protected him from the rough world around him, but once we got together, lookout. Nothing protected us from each other; neither my anger nor his exterior could divert the inevitable.

It was already obvious that we were picking up right where we left off, only the rush of time was no longer a factor. I could look at him without jumping his bones. I had the power to make him blush and he had the power to steal my heart away. Looking would be quite enough until we stopped, and then all bets were off.

We stopped at a truck stop advertising the all-day breakfast. It was well past noon. He ordered the lumberjack breakfast, which had more food on it than any one person could eat. He ate it. I had coffee and pancakes and an eye full of Carl.

I drank more coffee thinking he said he was going to the bathroom. I kept looking for him, wondering if he’d fallen in. Maybe he’d forgotten how to use American plumbing, but I was hesitant to go looking for him.

When he returned he was wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, and a big smile that told me he was happy to be there and back in civvies. Seeing him smile was nice. With my eyes on him he modeled his new clothes for me.

“You look good,” I said. “Turn around again and let me see how those jeans fit you.”

He turned around and lifted the shirt above his butt.

“Not bad. They look good,” I said.

“Not as good as you look,” he said, sitting down and leaning toward me like he might kiss me. He put his hand on mine instead, saying, “I missed you.”

“Not half as much as I missed you,” I said.

“Did you miss me all those months you didn’t write me? I wanted to ask you that,” he said with the smile gone and the seriousness back in his voice. “Do you know how worried I was?”

“Especially, I missed you during those months. You left me, Carl. I had to find out where I belonged.”

“What happened to you? I thought you were dead. I told you I’d worry.”

“Not now, Carl. Let’s just be together now. I’ll tell you all about it later. We have time. Let’s just enjoy being together.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know I want to hear about it. I don’t know why I agreed to let you go off on your own. It’s a mean world out there, kiddo.”

“Billie Joe. Not kid, kiddo, squirt, or hey you. I’d rather you call me by my name,” I said, feeling some tension over what I would tell him about my time on the streets and what I would leave out.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me. I’d rather hear you say my name.”

“That’s what I remember most about you,” Carl said, moving his hand.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“You are contrary as hell. As I recall we spent half our time arguing.”

“Carl, we were together little more than a week. We didn’t even know each other. Now, we have the time we didn’t have then. We can take our time and get to know each other proper.”

“I don’t know how much time I want to take. I’ve already considered throwing you into the back of that van and raping your ass,” he said, as the waitress came to the table with the bill.

“You the same boy in that uniform, handsome?”

“Afraid so,” he said, grabbing the bill and looking at the total.

“You ought to ditch that thing. You dress up nice,” she flirted, leaning her leg on his arm.

Carl gave her a weak smile, took the check, tossing a couple of bucks on the table.

“That’s what I think, but my boyfriend likes the uniform. I wear it to humor him,” Carl said curtly.

I smiled at the discombobulated waitress. We got up and Carl paid the check.

“Place next door has camping gear,” Carl said, as we walked back to the van.

We moved around the Surplus Emporium for some time. Carl brushed off two young guys who wanted to help us. He spotted an old man behind the furthest counter. He went right over to him.

“Just flew in from Japan. I been stationed there for the past year. I aim to go camping. I got maybe two hundred bucks to spend on gear. How about you fixing me up with what I’ll need. Don’t mind if it’s used. Used stuff is broken in better than most of this new stuff. Maybe things someone has brought back because it wasn’t what they expected.”

The old man looked at Carl carefully, checking out the haircut as an indicator to verify the accuracy of his claim.

“Come with me,” he said in a soft voice as he went through a doorway at the back of the store.

It took about half-an-hour of good natured haggling before we were outfitted and loading cooking gear, lanterns, sleeping bags, and even some dried food samples he threw in for good measure. The elderly clerk seemed pleased about unloading so much used merchandise and Carl was pleased by what two hundred dollars could buy.

I wasn’t educated in the art of bargaining, but these two were experts. Carl picked out a stove that looked new. The clerk pulled it away and replaced it with a similar model that needed cleaning. Carl’s hand resting on it once it was placed in front of him meant he accepted the exchange. Two items I recognized were the surplus jackets with heavy-duty liners that could be zipped in or taken out. One had a tear in a sleeve and the other was missing the flannel collar. Woolen socks weren’t unusual in Minnesota and the two matching flannel shirts made me smile, but there was no reaction from the clerk. He didn’t pull them back or exchange the ones Carl picked for some other shirts he had it in mind to unload.

Carl seemed different, more mature, more self-assured. He included me in the conversation but not the bargaining. He would nod at me once an item was added to the stack. I nodded back, figuring he knew what we were doing. Maybe he wasn’t looking for me to react but was looking just to see me. What did I know?

The old clerk stood in the parking lot waving as we turned toward the ramp back to Route 5. We’d only just arrived in Oregon when we turned east on Route 84. Carl adjusted the radio to find something he liked—country western.

I watched Mt. Hood off in the distance with its whitecap of snow. Mt. Rainer was as distinctive in Seattle and it marked the horizon in a magnificent way when you looked east of the city. Mt. Hood seemed further away but every bit as distinct. There was a grandeur I hadn’t really noticed before. Where I was from the landmarks weren’t as spectacular.

It took time to get far enough east of Portland for the traffic to thin out. Car dealerships and truck stops lined both sides of Route 84, but after ten or fifteen miles they thinned out. I reached for Carl’s hand, which he’d kept on the wheel in traffic. He glanced at me and smiled. I felt giddy, a little drunk with passion. I wanted to get my hands on him, but I entertained myself by holding tightly to his hand and watching the scenery.

“Oh, Carl, pull off here,” I squealed.

He slowed to merge onto the ramp I indicated. There were cars in front of us and cars behind us as we moved into a large parking lot. The sign had indicated a waterfall and when I stepped out of the truck I could hear running water nearby. Moisture was apparent as a light mist drifted out from where the sound of flowing water emanated.

The waterfall towered above us. We stood near where it plunged into a large pond. The light spray created by the water’s colliding made the air cool and comfortable. With such a warm afternoon, this was the perfect interlude.

Carl stood close behind me, holding the hand I’d placed in the curve of my back. I was excited by his presence and for the first time I relaxed, realizing what I’d waited a year for had come to pass. It was worth the wait. Being alone together, once Carl was satisfied with the miles we’d put behind us, would also be worth waiting for.

I think I understood his need to move away from the coast and as far from Japan as he could get. I didn’t know how many miles that would be, but I could wait for him a little while longer. His presence stimulated me and being together was pretty neat.

The amazing waterfall was flanked by a path we could follow to get a view down into the pond from above. Only a few people ventured up the path for the more spectacular view. It was made even more incredible since it had taken only two minutes to pull off the Interstate to take a gander at nature at its best.

Once we made the most of our break, we moved back out on the highway. A few minutes later the Columbia River appeared beside us on the side opposite the waterfall. It was an incredible sight, wide and imposing with boats large and little moving along the waterway. Near the shore were guys on jet-skis, smaller boats, and some windsurfers as well.

Wow!

“This gets better all the time,” I said, finding it hard to believe it was all within a short distance of the road.

“Nothing like Alabama,” Carl advised.

An hour later we were turning south, heading inland away from the great Columbia River. We passed fertile farm fields flat and less distinctive, another striking change in scenery.

We stopped at a grocery store in Pendleton, filling the cooler with ice and lunch meat, cheese, and various packages of chicken and beef. Carl was hungry again.

As we got into higher elevations and started to climb, we slowed to about 45 miles-per-hour.

“Why so slow,” I asked, after enjoying our faster drive across country.

“Big hill. The truck is built for power and the wear and tear is way less in a lower gear. We’re in no hurry, are we?”

“My stomach is starting to growl,” I said, thinking about the food we’d just bought.

“Should be a turnout up toward the top. We’ll stop there and fix hamburgers. Hamburgers okay? Maybe some pork and beans?”

“Hamburgers sound great. That bag of Ruffles and a Pepsi would be just fine.”

“You’re too easy,” he said, knowing the truth about me.

We climbed and climbed and the engine groaned as it labored against the hill. The turnout Carl predicted came after fifteen or twenty minutes of climbing. We swung off into something called an overlook and parked to one side.

“Wow!” I said, looking out over the valley I could plainly see for mile after mile spread out far below the overlook.

“That’s a sight to behold,” Carl said.

Where we were there was shade with clouds quite near to the ground, but down below the sun lit up the farm fields. They were carefully squared off in various shades of green and brown. From our elevation, each field looked like the square on a checkerboard.

It was still warm, but the breeze made it comfortable. Carl went about setting up the stove and getting things ready. I set out paper plates on the picnic table next to the van. I loaded them with potato chips and buns for the burgers Carl prepared.

I was hungry, but half way through my second burger I began watching him, the way he moved, the way he ate his burger as he prepared more, just in case we needed more. He stood with his flannel shirt open; his chest glistened from the warmth of the fire he’d built.

He took a big bite of his burger, flipped the two in the pan, and looked up at me as if the thought came to him that he wasn’t alone. He chewed carefully before smiling. His eyes glittered as the daylight was leaving the mountain.

I got up to stand next to him, slipping my arm up under his shirt and around him. I felt the warm soft skin on his waist. He pulled the frying pan away from the flames and set it aside. He turned to face me.

“I love you, Billie Joe. I wasn’t sure I still loved you after so long, but I’m sure now.”

Without giving me a chance to answer he kissed me and I lost track of where he ended and I began. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight to his body. Our tongues danced together as a spell overtook me, obliterating the hill and everything around us. I couldn’t be sure which lips were mine, nor did I care. We danced by the cook stove or maybe it was me floating on the love I felt for him.

We embraced and kissed and kissed and kissed. This had been worth waiting for and the wait was over. Time stood still.

Standing there making out, it was obvious dinner was done. I was ready for dessert. We climbed into the back of the van after Carl positioned it so the back doors opened out to face the valley floor below. We spread out the sleeping bags as our mattress. Before we had it neat we were making out again and stripping each other free of our clothes.

Our bodies mingled; his soft skin caressed mine. As his erection rubbed against my stomach, I reinvestigated him in my effort to get him going. It was little different from the way he responded to me the first time around in our Seattle hotel room. We were together now and we were going to make the most of it.

Carl said he couldn’t get enough of me and once we got started, I couldn’t pull back from peaking and falling and rising again in effortless response to him. I was eager to find new ways of exciting him. The idea entranced me. We’d waited a long time for those hours on that hill. Being together made me feel a little closer to heaven.

After our second or third go around—who was counting—we lay looking out into the dark at twinkling lights below. Carl slipped his arm around behind me and my head rested on his shoulder. I cuddled closely hugging myself to him, wanting him, too worn out to have him.

“What did you do over there?” I asked, kissing his chest.

“Wasn’t a lot to do, babe. Some of the guys liked it over there. I guess it was okay, but not my cup of tea.”

Carl began to talk about his year in Japan. The first few months he took advantage of passes and tagged along with the friends he’d made as they went in search of women and booze. After a few trips into the city, he decided to save his money, stay on base, and take whatever duty was assigned him without question.

“I kept thinking about the last time I saw you. I wasn’t expecting it to hurt so much saying goodbye, seeing you for the final time, not knowing if I’d see you again. I can’t remember anything ever hurting that much, Billie Joe.”

“We’re together now. It’s all new. We’re starting over with more control over what we decide to do. You didn’t have much choice when it came to leaving me, Carl. I didn’t feel as though I had any choice either. I couldn’t go home after being with you.”

“Yes, all that’s true, but you did go home, and I’m not sure I want to know what happened that made you decide to go home.”

“Carl, there are things you need to know. I wouldn’t rest easy if I didn’t tell you everything. I want to be honest so you know I’m not hiding anything from you.”

“Everything is a lot of stuff, Babe. Everything might be more than I want to know. Like you said, we didn’t have much of a choice last time.”

“Carl, are we going to have a long term relationship?”

“You think I’m here to go a few rounds and move on? I’m taking you home with me, babe,” Carl said. “I’ll listen but I can’t tell you how I’ll react, Billie Joe. I want to know everything as long as everything isn’t too much. Do you understand?”

“After you left me, I watched your plane until I couldn’t see it any longer. I wasn’t sure I still wanted to go it alone, after being with you. It was like we were best friends forever. But you were gone and I was alone.”

“Well, I like that part,” Carl said. “You really felt that bad about me leaving?”

“It was one of the worse moments of my life. It’s why I decided to go looking for the truth about my life and the world I needed to know about. I needed to find a place where I belonged. I didn’t want to go back to my parents’ house and live the lie I’d led for years. I deserved better. You were gone and I had to decide what my life would be about without you. I didn’t know if we’d see each other again either.”

“I understand that. I just needed to work and stay out of trouble. Let time do the rest.”

“I had my brother let me off on the ramp to southbound Route 5 and I was on my way to California.”

“What happened?” he asked, hesitantly interested.

“I’ve thought about it a lot, not in any order. Mostly the worst part of it comes back in dreams and sometimes in day dreams. Sometimes I think I was born with a horseshoe up my ass. Even when there was danger, I got out of it somehow. A tractor trailer stopped for me before I stopped to hitchhike at the end of the ramp. The trucker seemed okay, but he had another boy with him. That was Raymond,” I said, remembering the fiery red-head that made the first few days of my journey a test of wills. “Never has anyone tried my patience the way Ray-Boy did. He was persistent and annoying.”

“Did you two… you know, did you and Raymond get it on?”

“Carl, I did a lot of dumb stuff but sleeping with Ray-Boy wasn’t one of them. The trouble he had with keeping his hands to himself was easily solved when I threatened to break his arm for him. He got the idea and quit pestering me. It was a relationship complicated by our reliance on one another for safety’s sake. I wouldn’t have been caught dead with Raymond otherwise.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t boink him.”

“Raymond was definitely not my type. He was the mouth that complained. We learned to get along in order to survive and when I left him, we parted as friends, but we were never going to get it on.”

“Good,” he said, sounding relieved. “I suppose that’s stupid. I was a million miles away and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”

“No, there wasn’t. Did you and Leon… get it on?”

“Me and Leon? No.”

“Did you say goodbye to him before you left?”

“Oh, yeah, he was sorry to see me go. He didn’t have that many friends. Boy was hopelessly in love with his wife.”

“Yeah, right!” I said without agreeing.

I was soon talking about the black car with the dark tinted windows and how Raymond was attacked and how I tried to kick the dude’s head through the windshield once he turned his attention to me. I could feel Carl’s anger as I unveiled the truth about my adventures on the road. I explained to him how being alone didn’t work on that long lonesome highway. Each time I found myself alone, I was scared shitless, until I’d team up with someone else so that the man in the car with the dark tinted windows couldn’t catch me alone.

As I droned on about my early experiences, Carl held me close as though he was protecting me from their dangers. He questioned me when I left gaps he couldn’t get beyond, and he didn’t always like what I told him.

“You telling me everything?” he asked along the way.

“No,” I said.

“Good,” he said, wanting me to leave out what he wasn’t ready to hear.

He didn’t let go and he didn’t desert me. We were there together and he was able to protect me from my memories and the danger now passed.

It was daylight when I realized where we were and our lips were sealed… together as we winged our way over the passion playground yet again.

It was hard to catch my breath as he stole kisses from me. I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth and with this horse in my mouth he wasn’t going to last long. He was making up for the year we’d spent a part.

It was way after dawn and I heard the cars coming and going from the overlook, but we took our time regrouping for today’s assault on the highways of the West. Carl yanked on his jeans once he’d grown irrevocably limp.

By the time I got around to the front of the van to accost him again he was in the midst of fixing breakfast. On the grill was the fat sausage he’d picked out at the market, sticking it beside a few eggs on a plate he handed to me, once he was done with it. That fresh morning air made me ravenous and I had to check my stomach to make certain I wasn’t bulging out over the top of my jeans.

A truck pulled off into the overlook and the driver stood out in front of his rig stretching, looking back down at the valley below. He walked toward us once he finished appreciating the scenery.

“Best view on Cabbage,” he said with confidence.

“Cabbage?” Carl asked.

“The hill is called Cabbage. There is a better view going down the opposite side of the road but no turnout. They don’t want folks testing their brakes on the way down.”

“Why Cabbage?” Carl asked, handing him a Styrofoam cup filled with black brew.

“Thanks. The story I’ve always heard was a ways back, probably fifty years ago, a guy hauling an open-trailer load of cabbage lost his brakes going down into the valley where you just came from. For a mile or more he left a trail of cabbage behind him before he slid over the side. It’s been known as Cabbage ever since.”

“That’s pretty amazing,” Carl agreed.

The trucker went back to his rig and left us to finish up. There was more coffee and long looks of lust that threatened to waylay our day if I got my way, but Carl’s determination to make tracks got us going again as soon as the cooking gear was cleaned and stowed.

What I’d gone in search of the year before, I found in Carl. My innocence and ignorance had me on an impossible mission that I somehow survived. I was older and wiser. My journey the year before added to my ability to appreciate being with Carl, but I was but half the equation. His unconditional acceptance of me was reassuring indeed.

As quick as he finished shifting gears, aiming us toward the top of Cabbage, I scooted toward him in my seat, taking his hand in mine as we exchanged smiles. We moved on toward our future together.

Chapter 3

Out of Oregon

Carl whistled and hummed with the radio and seemed happy to be alive. I was happy to be with him. It felt like our first days together had been a real big success. Being with him was enough for me, although the trip was pretty amazing. Finishing the climb up Cabbage didn’t take long. I’d expected a trip downhill once we reached the top, but instead the road leveled out at our new elevation.

While we climbed small hills and went down others, our abrupt climb up out of the valley farmlands deposited us in the hill country above. My idea of an equally abrupt drop off down into the next valley wasn’t confirmed by the geography of Oregon as we continued our drive eastward.

Carl was as devoted to his driver’s duties as he could be with me there to pester him for whatever attention I could get out of him. Otherwise, we held hands and smiled back and forth. Being there was good for me.

Keeping us on course and heading in the right direction kept Carl focused on the road ahead. He was an ordinary guy in a natural sense. He held the steering wheel with both hands when I’d let him, and he was in complete control, staying alert for any anomaly. His presence was powerful without him having a need to point it out or posturing to take advantage of his size.

He liked being where he was with no apparent desire to be something or someone he wasn’t. He had a confidence that hadn’t been there before. He was on the way home rather than on his way to a world that was foreign to him. It could explain the difference. He was older. He’d had well over a year and a half in the Army to grow on. It could all account for the more mature and more in control Carl.

There was no mistake. My judgment about Carl and the feelings that had flowed between us was accurate. Being young and clueless when we met meant I was never completely sure I was capable of making sound judgments with so little time in such an intense situation. I felt like I was in love but was I?

The maturity and self awareness I’d achieved in the past year told me love was in the air. I’d passed the age of consent, had my first job, and was now with the man I loved. Our meeting and falling in love was no fluke. We were heading in the right direction at last.

Leaving the extraordinary scenery behind us in favor of a far less rugged drive out the back of Cabbage, we were soon in larger and larger groves of pine trees whose density partially obscured the great height of the trees.

It was a beautiful day as we headed toward Idaho and out of the back of Oregon’s mixture of rolling hills, rivers, and forests.

Idaho was rugged. It wasn’t mountaintop-rugged; the landscape was covered with short wiry bushes with enough space between them to give the feel of a harsh barren wilderness. I saw no evidence that anyone could live or prosper there. We crossed the Snake River shortly after getting into Idaho. A wicked chasm had been carved by a river that resembled a snake winding its way deep within the canyon below. A bridge crossed the river giving us a clear view of the rushing waters hundreds of feet below. It was yet another incredible view.

Carl stopped for gas and checked the oil, tire pressure, and took a quick look under the van. It ran smoothly at all speeds and he seemed pleased by what he’d found. We grabbed cold drinks from the cooler and were on our way again. The country was open and I could see a long way on either side as the hills rolled out in front of us.

Not long after filling up we entered Utah, where the landscape totally changed into one of cliffs of chiseled brownstone rock. Beyond were flatlands and a body of water that could qualify as an ocean. It was The Great Salt Lake. Salt Lake City stood at its far end.

Major signs of civilization sprang up north of the City near Provo and grew denser, after a morning of relatively uninhabited land. The traffic was heavy going as we approached the City, but lightened once we were out on the other side. An hour south, civilization had gradually thinned out to the occasional truck stop, gas station, and restaurant. There were more green flatlands and the kind of trees and scrubs we had in Minnesota.

We pulled off the highway and into a small rest area not large enough for more than a handful of cars, but it had several picnic tables and a place to set up our cooking gear. Carl indicated this was more like what you might find in rural Alabama. We parked the truck in the shade of the trees surrounding the area.

Carl fixed the chicken and pork and beans, while I opened the Ruffles potato chips and set the table. Sitting out in the fresh air, after hours of riding, created the perfect atmosphere for fine countryside dining. Food had never tasted better than those first few meals Carl prepared for us.

I’m sure Carl’s cooking them made all the difference. It was his way of reconnecting to the life he had before he went to Japan. Watching Carl move around the stove and the cooler might have had something to do with my appetites. His unbuttoned shirt flapped in the warm modest breeze. The smoke drifted around us and brought me the scrumptious smells of the food.

We sat across from one another, digging into the chicken thighs. Grease slicked Carl’s luscious lips. With a little help from the chicken drippings canned beans became gourmet food. The chips and soda made the meal complete. I suppose the quality of those moments had more to do with the company I kept than the quality of the cuisine. I’d never been as happy anywhere as I was, while sitting in that turn out right off the Interstate in Utah.

Carl was fastidious about cleaning everything before we retired to the back of the van for what he called R&R. We laughed at tasting the chicken on each other’s lips, but a little chicken fat wasn’t going to stop us. Making love became our dessert. It took time to do it right, and once done, our appetites were soon back in earnest. We rolled, sweated, and wormed our way around the back of the van, burning off all the excess calories we’d built up on the road.

I never knew what registered with Carl. I’d watch his face for reactions, but they weren’t apparent in many instances. The way I knew he heard everything I told him was after the quiet. Many times, once we’d made love to our mutual satisfaction, he’d lie with hands behind his head, then came the questions about the things that troubled him.

“So those two guys you said you stayed with in San Francisco?” Carl pondered.

“It didn’t have anything to do with them. It had to do with me finding what I was looking for,” I intercepted him.

“They were creeps?” he continued.

“At the time I saw them that way. That was before I knew anything. They were middle-aged guys with lust in their hearts and access to boys who’d play for pay.”

“Prostitutes!” Carl muttered, needing a name for it.

“Giving it up to eat isn’t a new concept. They called it hustling for change. It’s how you survive.”

“Why would that dude do that? It sounds slimy.”

“Harvey? I think it was a game for him. In his own weird way he wanted to feel wanted. They certainly wanted him.”

“Why didn’t you just go home? You went home anyway. Why’d you put yourself in danger like that? It was bad enough you hitchhiking on your own, but living on the street…?”

Our bodies didn’t touch and I didn’t want to touch him for fear that it would repulse him just as the details of our time apart repulsed him. It was difficult to read someone I only knew through the eyes of lust. It was difficult to say which part of the details upset him most.

“I didn’t know I’d end up on the street. I saw something I didn’t like and I left. How’d I know what I was about to get myself into? When Harvey left, I left with him. He led me to the street. Would you rather I stayed with those guys? I couldn’t stay.”

Carl seemed distant and stared up at the ceiling. I watched his chest rise and fall as he considered the details of the story I was telling. I feared his reaction to what I’d done as well I should. I’d been so stupid it was difficult to explain it to myself. I felt like a different person from the boy who went in search of some meaning in his life. I knew so much more now than I did then.

“No one is there to help them?” he asked in a pained voice. “I can’t believe in this country kids are going hungry on the street to be taken advantage of by the creeps. Someone has to do something.”

“It would be nice. I’m telling you what it was like for me. Most of those kids don’t get to tell anyone about their experience, not anyone that gives a shit. You see, I went home, but most of those kids have no home to go back to. That’s the hardest thing for me to deal with. I dream about them.”

“It’s not right, Billie Joe. It pisses me off.”

“It would piss a lot of people off to know about it, but on the other hand they don’t want to know about it. Even the gay people ignore the homeless kids. They sit in doorways, invisible to the world passing by them. They sleep in squats and sometimes cardboard boxes,” I remembered for him and for myself, the memories too vivid to lose.

“My mother would cook and carry food to them. If she knew what those men were up to she’d take a rolling pin after them.”

I laughed at the picture it created in my head. It wasn’t the reaction I expected.

“So you aren’t that mad at me for going?”

“I’m sorry, Billie Joe,” he apologized.

“Sorry for what? You didn’t do anything.”

“No, I didn’t. I left you and I didn’t argue with you about going on the road alone. I never liked the idea and I should have told you no, but I loved you so much I couldn’t say no to you. I’ll never be that weak again, Billie Joe.”

“You still love me?”

“What?” he asked as if he were unable to fathom the question.

Rolling over, he grabbed me to plant a big greasy chicken kiss on my lips. I giggled as his whiskers rubbed my smooth face. I giggled because he still wanted to hug and kiss me. When I thought about San Francisco, I didn’t feel all that huggable.

I wanted to keep driving east. I wanted to get a country between me and the memories that were more powerful than ever. I didn’t want to live with them for the rest of my life.

“I don’t know, Billie Joe,” he said after a long silence. “You’d never catch me letting some old fart swing on my dick. I don’t care what kind of cash he offered me.”

“The streets are mean, Carl. Hunger is powerful. Once you go hungry for a while, you’ll do what you’ve got to do to never go hungry again?”

“Scarlett O’Hara,” Carl said with certainty.

“What?” I wondered out loud.

“It’s a line from a book,” Carl advised. “She, Scarlett, vows never to go hungry again, and boy does she mean it. It’s a Southern thing, babe. Not the line, the book.”

“Was she a street kid?” I asked.

“Hardly. I thought there are people who take care of homeless kids? Foster homes and stuff. Why aren’t they in foster homes if their parents don’t want them?”

“Think about it, Carl; if you were a kid and you were thrown out of your house by your parents, how anxious would you be to trust people you don’t know?”

“My parents wouldn’t throw out one of their kids,” he informed me firmly. “They’d die first.”

“That’s not the kind of parents these kids have. Their parents would rather they die on the street than live in their home, because they are different.”

“We’re all different,” Carl argued.

“Not so different, not really. We all get hungry. We all need to eat. We all want to feel safe.”

“You lived with them. You lived like them. Why didn’t you go home?”

“I was them. The only difference, I was dumb enough to leave home without being thrown out. My parents are no walk-in-the-park, but they’re not demented.”

“They need to be shot,” Carl snapped angrily, unable to let go of what I’d told him.

“My parents? They weren’t all that bad. I left home on my own.”

“No! the kids… I mean those kids’ parents ought to be shot. Anyone who can throw away his own kid is sick. There are laws, aren’t there?” he asked.

“These kids are invisible. No one sees them. If there were laws about that you’d have to admit you’ve got a social problem and we all know there are no social problems in America.”

“Why didn’t you go home?” He still had to have an answer.

“Carl, there are some questions without answers. I went looking for what it meant to be gay in the gayest city I knew about. I figured there was some social order and community. I’d heard about the gay community, where we could all be together and support one another. I just wanted to be with people who didn’t mind my being myself. When I found the street kids, I assumed they’d lead me there, except, there was no there there.

“There is no gay community, not one that takes care of its own anyway. They meet to drink, party, go to book stores and bars. They notice you if they want something off you. The rest of the time they ignore you. They have short memories. They have forgotten what it’s like to be a gay kid and all alone.”

“You could have gone home, Billie Joe,” he insisted.

“It was too late to go home. I ended up going down the rabbit hole. It was easy,” I explained in terms that described how I felt looking back on it. “At first I had no where else to go. I followed Harvey. Then, I met others like him. Before I could take time to consider my options I was being saved from harm, drawn in, becoming one of them. There was genuine community with them. They protected each other, fed each other, and shared what little they had.

“You don’t join so much as they assimilate you. You’re a kid. You’re on the street. You’re one of them. It was that simple. I was one with them. In some strange way I found the community I went looking for, only not in the form I expected.”

“Why didn’t you go home? You could have gone home.”

“I forgot I could,” I said in all honesty, remembering the way it was. “I don’t know how to tell you how fast the street swallowed me. I was dependant upon a strange alliance with the other kids. I was safe with them when outside forces threatened us. They were all there was between me and being alone.

“The hypnotic spell wove its way around me—how is a mystery and still beyond my ability to understand. I could have called it off at any time I wanted, and maybe that’s why I didn’t, because I could and no one else could. Once assimilated you are the one, unable to separate from the many. They were loyal to me and I was loyal to them. Then, the cops came.”

“What happened?” Carl asked with interest.

“We ran. The cops were no match for a dozen street kids. Oh, they’d get lucky and grab one or two every once in a while, but mostly we slipped their grip and took off to places where cops dared not go.”

“Where couldn’t they go? I thought cops could go anywhere?”

“They weren’t very good at taking off over rooftops, or squeezing between two buildings that sit a foot a part. The kids knew all the escape routes and so did the cops. They didn’t even bother once we reached one.”

“You were running from the law?”

“More than once,” I admitted.

“That’s not very smart,” Carl observed.

“It was never about smart. It was about survival. I was surviving. I forgot everything else. There was always a boy to follow, and I followed him. That way I couldn’t end up alone. That was the worst thing, alone.”

“You wouldn’t have been alone at home,” he insisted.

“No, I wasn’t alone at home. There is no way to equate what you do for survival with some kind of measure of your character. Survival is the art of reducing your life to its lowest factor. You throw everything else overboard.

“We can go over each event incident in detail, but you aren’t going to understand or like it any better. I’m not proud of it, Carl, but I’m not going to let it shame me either. If I’d known then what I know now, I’d have gone home when you left me. I didn’t go home, because I didn’t know then what I know now.”

“No, I don’t think I want those kinds of details. I’m not very happy with you, Billie Joe. I think you made some bad decisions. You put yourself at risk. I wasn’t here to stop you and I’m sorry for that. I should have said you couldn’t go.”

“I was going to go whether or not you said I could,” I reminded him.

“I know that. That’s why I said you could go. I loved you enough to allow you to do what you felt you had to do.”

“Not half as much as I loved you,” I said, squeezing myself close to him, feeling his arms tighten around me. He comforted me.

“Let’s not start measuring up whose love is largest.”

“That’s a game I couldn’t possibly win,” I said, giggling as I grabbed his half erection.

“You do just fine,” Carl said, holding me tight. “I just worry about you, babe. Promise me you’ll never ever do anything like that again, Billie Joe. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you. I can hardly stand knowing how much danger you were in while I was gone.”

“Oh, Carl, I love you so much. My biggest fear was of you turning your back on me once you knew what I’d done.”

“Never,” he said, kissing me passionately.

Carl was tough and tender and being in his arms made me feel as safe as I’d ever felt, but even in those arms, the faces of the boys I’d known on the street refused to leave my brain. As much as I wanted to be honest with Carl, the honesty didn’t come without a price. While Carl’s arms were strong enough to make me feel safe, they were unable to keep the faces at bay.

My mind kept leaving the van to go back to where I’d routinely seen those faces. The distance between us didn’t seem to matter. The idea of outrunning them seemed remote. The country wasn’t wide enough and they were only a thought away. There had to be another way to put my memories to rest and allow me to get on with my life.

Carl’s thoughts converged with mine as he lay with me.

“I’ve got to report to Augusta, Georgia, in a little over three weeks. We’ll go home to my place in Alabama. You’ll meet my family and we’ll enjoy being together, but once I report, it’ll be two or three months before I’m able to make arrangements to have you with me in Augusta. That would be off-base housing, or we can just live at my parents and I’ll have one or two weekends a month when I can come home to be with you.”

“We’ll be spending a lot of time apart,” I observed.

“I’m in the Army, Billie Joe. Once I’ve completed my obligation to them I’ll be back home with you. Until I get established at my new base, I won’t get much say in the matter and probably only a few days off.”

“You know what I need to do?” I asked.

“You mean besides being with me like we’ve been planning for so long?”

“I can do something if I go back and tell people what’s happening on their streets. I don’t know I can stop thinking about it, Carl. If I don’t do something I don’t know if I can live with myself.”

“If you think you can do some good by going back there for a few weeks, then this is the time you need to get it done. Don’t expect me to go along with you living on the street again. No way! No how! Billie Joe Walker. That ain’t going to happen. I’ll go along with only so much.”

“Junior. I’m Junior, my father is Billie Joe Walker,” I corrected, feeling suddenly whole.

“Oh, hush. You know what I’m saying. Go see if there’s some way you can help those kids. But you can’t stay on the street, and you’ve got to get it done in short order. I want you with me. Is that clear? I’m more than meeting you half way here.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ll do anything you say.”

“Yeah, right, I wasn’t born yesterday. Do what you need to do but when I get settled, you come home.”

I leaned to kiss him and wrap my arms around him.

“That’s why I love you,” I whispered in his ear. “You’re the best.”

“Why, because I’m a pushover when it comes to you?”

“No, because you care, Carl; I love you because you care. Your heart is the size of Alabama.”

“I’m just getting ahead of the curve. I know you’re going back there. I may as well get used to the idea. Don’t think it makes me happy, but someone needs to speak for those kids and as far as I can see you’re the one that knows what to say. Go out there and find someone in charge and tell him to get off his ass and get ‘er done.”

“That’s what I’ll say,” I said, laughing at his diplomatic style.

It was a solution I hesitated to let cross my mind, until it crossed Carl’s, and he had a timetable and a game plan that hadn’t occurred to me. It wasn’t going to keep us apart for any longer than the Army was going to separate us, while he settled in at his new base. In this way I had a project to keep me occupied, until Carl was able to get us a place off base.

The plan eased my conscience. I didn’t want to leave Carl, but the guilt I felt over leaving the boys on the street behind, after they protected me, was growing. Living happily ever after with them still out there no longer seemed possible.

After twenty-four hours on planes and a day-and-a-half of driving, Carl was ready for a break. We settled in for the night and my appreciation for him expanded in more ways than one. There was so much for me to be thankful for.

Chapter 4

Jurassic Park

The next morning I woke to the smell of the remaining sausage Carl had sizzling on the grill. I dragged myself out of the back of the van to stand next to him and watch his cooking technique. He was all smiles as he kept an eye on me. It was still difficult to believe that we were finally back together again.

As we were cleaning up, a trucker pulled up to use the Port-A-Potty. He stretched and took in the scenery.

“Mighty fine day,” he said, ambling over toward our picnic table.

“Yes, sir,” Carl agreed. “Cup of coffee? We’ve got plenty and we’ll dump what we can’t drink.”

“Don’t mind if I do. Fresh coffee is a treat I can’t refuse.”

“I got a big fat sausage over here we can’t eat. Want me to slap it on a piece of bread for you?”

“That’s a plan I can get my hands around,” the happy trucker said, anxious to get at the sausage.

Carl kept his cup full of coffee as we watched him savor the last piece of sausage.

“Man, oh man, that hits the spot,” he said, saving the last bite in favor of conversation. “You boys heading east, I suspect?”

“Yes, sir,” Carl said.

“Let me give you a tip. Pass up Route 70 if you aren’t in a hurry. Let me show you,” he said, going to his truck and bringing back an atlas. “Here we are heading south on 15. You’ll pass Route 70 and go south until you get right here. I think it’s the first exit after 70. It’s just an old mountain road but it’s made for a rig like yours. Take that east and you’ll climb up into the foothills, but then it drops back into a canyon.

“It’s like going back 50,000 years, except there’s a road cut through it. It’s an amazing bit of real-estate. There’s a small river, huge boulders, and the cliffs are straight up and down. If you follow that road to the first road you get to, turn back north; you go right back to Route 70, pretty as you please. It’ll cost you an hour of travel time, but believe me, it’ll take you back a ways. That canyon is straight out of Jurassic Park.”

The sun was high in the sky by the time we cleaned up and packed the cooking gear. Carl was ready to go and we were on the road again, heading south.

“We going?” I asked. “To his canyon?”

“What do you think?” Carl asked.

“We’re going,” I smiled. “All right!”

It took a couple of hours for us to bypass Route 70 and following the trucker’s instructions from there. It was ordinary enough climbing into the hills at a modest speed so we could enjoy the ride.

There really wasn’t that much out of the ordinary, until we dropped sharply, ending up in a valley with sheer canyon walls towering over us. The change was dramatic. The road was put between peaks that blocked the sky. There were trees, rock falls, and then, appearing beside the road, a small river that hugged the south canyon wall.

The further we drove the more isolated it became with only the road to assure us man had been here before. As we came around a tight curve, Carl swung off between some huge rocks that bordered the road and parked under some trees next to the river.

When we got out of the van, the water caught our attention.

“Wow. I wish I had some fishing gear,” Carl said. “I know a prime fishing hole when I see one. Why don’t you go get us a couple of towels and a bar of soap.”

We waded into the cold water. It was only deep enough to get in up to our waist, but you could see your feet. The water felt like velvet washing over our skin. With a slight bit of soap we had mounds of suds and we bathed without thought to time. Only at mid-day was the sun high enough to overcome the canyon walls and shine down on us. We lay on one of the big rocks and let the sun dry our skin.

By early afternoon, once we’d eaten a sandwich and grabbed a soda, we were back on the road and moving through the rest of the valley. It was five miles to the road we’d take north back to Route 70. The final two miles were more scrub grass and sandy soil, slanting down toward the secondary road. Looking back once we turned north, there was no sign of the valley. It was hidden from view and we’d never have known it was there had the trucker not guided us to it.

We passed no cars on the canyon road and no cars passed while we were parked. It was like our own private valley. It was another memory I’d save. I had no idea that rock and sky could have such an overwhelming impact on me.

Once back on Route 70 the scenery was rather ordinary. The scrub grass mixed in with yellowish red rock like we’d seen in southern Idaho and northern Utah. We drove at highway speed and Carl was happy getting some miles behind us. There was no more talk about what I’d do, after he reported to base, and I liked that. It was something we’d figure out as we went along. The longer I was with Carl the more at ease with him I became. It didn’t seem like I could easily upset him and that was good.

“You see that?” Carl asked, looking out of the left side of the truck.

As we came upon an exit he took it. We turned on what looked like an unused road and turned left. He drove until he reached what had once been a rest area that had fallen into ill repair. As we drove to the farthest point on the road covered in sand, it led us to the Colorado River. It was rushing past with enthusiasm. Even the sound was impressive. It was huge and every bit as impressive as our valley but far different.

“Can you believe the scenery we’ve seen today?”

“No, it’s remarkable,” I agreed.

We ate there, and it was late enough that we spent the night at that old deserted rest area. The sound of that river rushing by didn’t hinder my sleep. There was a soothing quality to it. We’d made another wonderful discovery on our trip, but early the next day we were on our way again.

Once we entered Colorado we stopped in Rifle to fill the cooler with food. Not long after leaving there we started to climb the Rocky Mountains. It took most of the day to finally get to the top. Carl had already located the road he wanted to use that would carry us south into New Mexico. As daylight was fading we pulled off to fix dinner before it was dark.

Carl backed up the van and opened the back doors on the Rockies. We were facing peak after peak with many valleys between them. It was the purple mountain’s majesty for sure. We ate hamburgers, ate chips, and couldn’t help but gasp now and then as the fading light lit one more spectacular view after another.

It was a great place for making love. We were about as high in the sky as you could get and the cool mountain air assured we would not sweat one bit no matter how hard we tried, and try we did. We’d had a most excellent day and fell asleep in one another’s arms. It was the cherry on top of our day.

When I awoke at first light, Carl was beside me, hands tucked behind his head as he looked out on the slowly appearing landscape the dark gave up to the light. He put one big arm behind my shoulders and pulled me close.

“Where will you stay?”

It figured that he was still working on an old conversation. Making love was infinitely more enjoyable than explaining myself, which was never easy. I kissed his face and chest.

“I’ll find a place,” I said with a feigned confidence, kissing him some more for emphasis.

He didn’t answer for some time but he was thinking about my answer and not my attempt to distract him.

“Oh, no you won’t. You aren’t going to do what you did last year. I won’t have it, Billie Joe. I’ve still got a couple of thousand bucks in my bank account. It was for our apartment. You’ll get an apartment. You will not find a place. Is that clear, babe?”

His remarks were spoken far too softly for me to ignore.

“That’s a needless expense, Carl. I can find a place.”

“I know you can. I’m not about to put up with you wiggling your butt to attract offers. Last year I said that I wouldn’t stop you, because with me leaving, I had no right to tell you what to do. I haven’t bitched-a-fit about it, but not again, Billie Joe. Am I making myself clear?”

“Quite clear, Carl,” I said without resisting.

“We’re together. You can go there to do what it is you think you need to do, but no fooling around. You’re with me from here on out. That’s my only condition. Take it or leave it.”

“I have no interest in anyone but you. I won’t let happen what happened last year. I was way younger and not very bright about the street. I’m well educated on the street scene now. I don’t need to do anything with anyone but you. I have no desire for anyone but you. Let me see what I can arrange and if I need money, I’ll call you.”

“I’ll get a joint account at home. You’ll have checks if you need money. I’ll give you enough cash when you leave to give you time to get situated. You can take the van with you.”

“Nowhere to park in the city, Carl. The van would be a handicap. Once I’m there I can get where I need to go on foot or by bus.”

“I’ll sell the van once we get home. You’ll have that money.”

“What will you use for wheels?”

“I’ll get my old man to drive me to Fort Gordon. Once I’m on base I can bus where I need to go.”

“I kind of like this van. We’ve had some great times in this van. Memories that’ll last a lifetime.”

“We’ve only had it a few days, Billie Joe.”

“It seems like we’ve been together forever.”

“Not yet,” he said, leaning to kiss me with no lingering doubts about us.

“We’re heading for Alabama?” I asked.

“Yeah. Home! Where’d you think we were heading?”

“I had no idea. Didn’t really matter as long as we were going there together. We could just keep driving for all I care.”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Carl said.

“Don’t sell the van, Carl. We can take trips in it once I’m back home,” I said, moving into his arms. “I really like this van.”

Chapter 5

Alabama Here We Come

We drove across the top of the country, starting to lose altitude as we drove south. Coming out at Durango, we headed southeastward. Once we reached Route 40, we turned east again. The Rockies gave way to rolling hills and considerably more heat.

Crossing New Mexico we found ourselves in the company of a train. Looking across the red earth between the road and the train tracks, we could easily see the train from engine to caboose. There were eighty-four cars between those two cars. I took the time to count them as we moved along in tandem for mile after mile. I never lost sight of the train. In the East, you see two, three, four cars, before some obstruction blocks your view. I’d never seen an entire train before the one I watched in New Mexico.

The West is big enough not only to hold whole trains but to allow easy viewing. The East is cut, bent, and divided so often, you can never see far. I loved seeing far. The magnitude of the country was never as obvious as it was on that trip with Carl.

It got me thinking of the people in covered wagons who crossed the same Great Divide we were crossing. That was beyond remarkable. Even in the van, I wasn’t always certain we’d make it up the next grade. There was one steady hour long climb after another separated by the steep descent that required you not let the speed of your vehicle get faster than your braking capability.

We went through the neck of Texas, stopping in Amarillo to replenish supplies. The flat straight highway required little sightseeing. We were most of the way through Oklahoma, when Carl decided to stop for the night, after filling up the van.

“We’ll be there tomorrow evening,” he said, between bites of the hamburger.

“You’ll have a couple of weeks before you need to report?”

“A little more than two weeks.”

“Where will we stay?”

“Not sure. Haven’t been there in a spell. I’ll make sure we have plenty of room. My parents won’t want us under foot and I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable.”

“Thank you. I’ll be fine as long as I’m with you.”

“That’s how I feel, Babe.”

Arkansas gave us green forests, lakes, and rolling hills, but after the first few days, the East would always seem somehow ordinary. You can never see very far in the East, because of the next curve, dip, or rise that you can’t see beyond. There was one thing common to both East and West: trains.

It was late afternoon when we drove up a long driveway near Decatur, Alabama. There were several young kids swinging on a tire hung from a rope on a low branch of a huge tree. Two dogs barked as they ran along beside the van. A stout middle-aged woman stepped out on the porch, holding a cooking implement, and watching closely as the kids stopped their motion and we stopped the van.

Carl swung out of the driver’s seat onto the ground and took long strides over to the woman who had gray streaks in her hair. Her full attention was on Carl as she stood motionless, expressionless.

“Hey, maw, what’s cooking?”

“Carl!” was the shrill retort. “Carl. Carl. How’s my baby. You’ve lost weight.”

The woman objected to Carl’s thinness. She stepped back to look a second and then a third time, always going back for another ready hug.

“Mama, this is my friend Billie Joe. He’ll be staying, until I go over to Fort Gordon.”

“Well, don’t just sit there, Billie Joe. Come on in. It’s not as country as it looks. I’m fixin’ a roast, potatoes, carrots, and sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions. We got plenty, so don’t you be bashful,” she said, stopping and holding the door for me. “You could use a little fattening up as well.”

“Uncle Carl.”

“Uncle Carl.”

“Uncle Carl.”

The young kids caught up with us before we got settled in the kitchen.

“These aren’t your kids,” I calculated.

“Heavens no. Carl’s my baby. These are the grandkids. I’m an easy mark when my kids want some peace and quiet. They’re here as much as not come summer.”

I realized I didn’t know anything about Carl’s family. He didn’t know anything about mine. There was no doubt I’d come to a happy home by the look of the kids. Each of them seemed relaxed with Carl.

“Can we use Memaw’s trailer, Mama?”

“Trailer? You will not. You’ll stay right here with us. I want you where I can look at you, Carl Ray. I want you under foot. You’ll be gone in a spell and then I’ll be waiting to see you again.”

“Carl Ray?” I questioned.

“Mama! Billie Joe would be more comfortable not having a half dozen crumb snatchers under foot. He’d be worried about stepping on one.”
“All right, Carl. I’ll have to do bed clothes. Air that place out. It hasn’t been open since Mama passed,” she said, figuring her response as she went through it in her head.

“Give me the key and I’ll go open it up. We got sleeping bags in the van. We’ll just throw them on the bed for tonight.”

“The bed?” she measured carefully, glancing at me as she spoke. “I’ll need to clean it. Go over and open it up and I’ll sweep and dust after dinner. You boys can help with the dishes and I’ll get the trailer in some kind of condition to live in.”

“That’s fine, Mama. You need me to do anything before we go over?”

“No, Carl. Your Daddy’ll be in for supper in an hour. You boys come right back after opening it up. Leave the doors open. The back screen isn’t all that much, but you need the air to move around in there a little. It’s been powerful hot this summer.”

Carl drove the van back behind the house following the same driveway we’d taken up to the house. About a half a mile behind the house was a full sized trailer set back under a half dozen large trees. Carl opened the front door and we went about opening up the windows. There was a slight musty smell, but a little fresh air was all it needed.

“Your mom’s nice,” I said, as we met at the front door.

“You were expecting Attila?”

“No, I wasn’t expecting anything, but it does explain a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Like why she has such a nice son.”

“Oh that, I’m just one in a million,” Carl said, leaping down the few stairs that led to the front door.

Carl, his mom and dad, and I ate at the table in the kitchen. The kids ate on a picnic table out back under a big oak tree. His mom checked on them frequently the first few minutes before settling in once she’d made sure we’d all been taken care of.

“Carl wants to use Mama’s trailer,” his mother said.

“Don’t see why not. Just sitting there since Mama died. You better let me spray up under the skirting. There were hornets up under there before mama passed. The electricity is hooked up. Always figured one of you kids would come back to use it sooner or later. Mama’d like to know it’s being used.”

“I got bed clothes in the washer, but they’ll never dry tonight. I guess it’ll be tomorrow before I can make up the bed. I’ll go over and give it a good cleaning tomorrow. Wait and hang the sheets out to dry.”

“Mama, we been sleeping in the back of that van for almost a week. Memaw’s place will be like a palace to us. I don’t want you troubling yourself and trying to do much. There isn’t anything we can’t do.”

“Yes, I know, Carl, but I’ve been cleaning up after you since you were old enough to make a mess. If you’re going to stay in that place, it needs a good cleaning and a couple of boys aren’t going to get it done in my experience.”

The back screen door banged and a shorter and older version of Carl made his way to the table.

“Hey, little brother, you found your way back. I figured you would.”

“Branch,” Carl said, standing to hug his brother. “How’s Karen?”

“Just fine. Visiting her mother for a few days. I thought maybe if I looked pitiful enough Mama might feed me,” Branch said, leaning over his mother’s shoulder to kiss her cheek.

“Get yourself a plate and quit bothering your Mama while she’s eating,” his father said.

“How’s the garage, Daddy?” Branch asked.

“It’s always slow this time of year. We’re making a buck or two.”

“I see you’re still collecting strays,” Branch said, pushing a chair up to the table to join us.

“Billie Joe, this is my older brother Branch.”

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Billie Joe. Where you from?”

“Minnesota.”

“Oh, that’s cold. Where’d you meet Carl,” Branch quizzed, before starting in on his food.

“Branch, I’ll take a switch to you, you don’t mind your manors. He came with your brother. That’s all you need to know,” his mother scolded.

“I just asked, for Pete sake.”

“Eat your groceries,” his father ordered between mouthfuls.

“Those your kids?” I asked.

“Just the oldest two. Gordon’s responsible for the other one. He came in between Carl and me. You outdone yourself, Mama. This roast is special. I do miss your cooking. Next time I’m going to marry me a woman who can cook.”

“Branch!” his mother corrected. “You’re lucky Karen puts up with your foolishness. You may as well forget about attracting another woman. You best take care of the one you got.”

“I was just kidding, Mama,” Branch said, reaching for the nicely roasted potatoes.

“How’s the mower? Had any more trouble with it?”

“No, sir. Runs like a top since you had it. Which reminds me, I got to mow that damn lawn before Karen comes home.”

The screen door slammed again and a little girl about ten stood just inside the kitchen.

“Memaw, we’re out of tea, and you didn’t cut us off any pie.”

“No, Baby, I didn’t. You go back out to the table and I’ll bring out some tea in a minute. Once you’ve all cleaned up your plates, Grandmaw will cut the pie, but you’ve got to eat your dinner first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the little girl said, and the door slammed as she went back outside.

We played something called Canasta, drank tea, and ate the best apple pie with the lightest crust I’d ever experienced. Branch played a few hands, sat out a few hands, and seemed at home there but not comfortable with himself. Before dark Carl said we were going to Memaw’s, and we walked, leaving the van at the house once we’d unloaded its contents into the trailer.

This was the kind of routine that carried us through the next couple of weeks. If anyone had told me I’d be comfortable with Carl’s people so close at hand, I’d have thought it not likely, but being there was being home, just not my home. Carl’s family was thoughtful and considerate. They accepted me as is with Carl’s certification all that was necessary to account for my presence. I enjoyed the stoppage of time, the constant companionship that Carl furnished, and Decatur, Alabama in general.

Carl took me to his father’s garage, which just happened to be on the main highway another half mile further back behind the trailer. Carl was immediately involved in odd jobs to help his father out. He assembled a transmission, rebuilt brakes, and took the transmission out of the van to attend to a part that made a wobbling sound at low speed.

His father was quiet, receptive, and appreciative of Carl. There were no questions about what I was doing with him or what the long-range plans were. It was like being set down somewhere that I’d always been. It was a bit country but Carl’s family made country pretty darn cool.

Chapter 6

3 Days on a Train

If anyone told me I would miss rural Alabama, I’d have laughed hysterically, but that was before I spent those weeks there in August with Carl and his family. It wasn’t necessarily Alabama that had me feeling so comfortable. Carl’s family lived on the edge of a town that had grown up around them, but they’d kept their little piece of paradise the same for them as it was for their ancestors with the exception of modern conveniences to make life easier. They could sell all but the small piece they actually lived on and gotten rich, but instead they passed their modest values on to a new generation.

Carl wanted to take me to Atlanta so I could fly. I’d have been in San Francisco in a few hours. I opted for the train and a little bit more time to prepare myself. Carl shook his head but agreed, taking me to Mobile where I caught a train that went all the way across the country to Los Angeles. I’d take a train north to San Francisco from there. He cried when I left him at the Amtrak Station. I hugged him and didn’t look back.

In a few days he would be in Georgia and back to the Army. My absence wouldn’t be as hard on him once he reported for duty. As much as I hated being away from him, this trip would allow me to close the door on my street experience. Then I’d go back to Carl with that weight lifted off my shoulders.

I promised I’d call him twice a week and write him a lot more often than the last time I went to San Francisco. Carl didn’t seem that worried but he’d set me up with checks, his only credit card, and several hundred dollars cash I carried in my socks. I didn’t intend to spend anything if it wasn’t crucial, but having it allowed me to rest easy. I was determined the street wouldn’t be able to swallow me again, but the money was insurance.

I knew I needed the time on the train to prepare myself for San Francisco. In the year since I’d been there I’d changed. Going home, after all those months away, was the hardest part, but it was the smartest thing I ever did. I’d lost myself in San Francisco. I’d gone looking for people like me and what I found was other kids with nowhere to go and no one who cared. I was going back to do something about it. People had to care if they only knew what those kids went through to survive.

There were people who protected me—Ty, Gene, and Walt. That was the difference in my making it, when some of them didn’t. I could go home to parents who’d take me back, but the rest of them had no such option. Now I was back. I was lucky to be alive and able to look for some way to repay what I owed the boys who saved me.

The train rocked back and forth as I snacked from the bag Carl’s mom had fixed for my trip. She’d make the most delicious cakes, cookies, and breads to give me a variety of flavors to savor. Each time I took something out, I inspected it as I ate. Each bite took me back to Decatur and a family rich in feelings for one another.

I thought about when I told Carl’s mother goodbye. She hugged me like she hugged her sons. I’d given her Carl’s credit card and told her I shouldn’t have it where I was going, but during our hug she slipped it back into my pocket for me to find later.

“I’ve never seen Carl as happy as he is with you, Billie Joe. I can’t say I understand it, but that’s not my job. I’m glad you found each other.

“I don’t know why you are leaving, but be careful. Remember we care about you and don’t forget to come home to us and Carl.”

She cried, and I couldn’t help but remember all the kids I’d known and how they’d almost all done combat with their parents. I’d not heard an ill-tempered word spoken by any of Carl’s people. I found it amazing, because I’d known so much discord in my own life. I felt at home there with his family. Leaving wasn’t easy. Facing an uncertain future was a difficult proposition, but I intended to return.

No amount of money would make things easy. I just needed enough to keep going until I came up with a plan. As I figured out what I needed to do, I’d figure out how to do it. How long could that take?

I liked the train ride. I sat watching the scenery as we rolled along through the countryside. Mississippi was flat and without distinction. Louisiana seemed old, covered in Spanish moss and swampland. Texas was big, flat, sandy, and empty after the first few hundred miles. New Mexico was red and rocky. Arizona was less red and more rocky, and California was deceptive. California started off as a serious desert with enough sand to make the Sahara jealous. This lasted for hours. We were nearing Los Angeles before we hit some serious civilization, which grew and grew and grew, until there was nothing but one big city after another.

There was a two-hour wait before I caught the train that would carry me on the final leg of the journey. The trip from LA to San Francisco was the most beautiful. It still didn’t match the miracle of the Snake River or the prehistoric canyons in a tiny corner of Utah, but we often went along beside the Pacific Ocean. It appeared and disappeared from time to time. It could be amazingly rugged with dense wilderness one minute, followed by a heavily populated area a few miles later.

I suppose where the train came into the city was the lowest point in San Francisco. We were down under the freeways near the waterfront, facing Oakland. I wasn’t the only one on foot, heading up the steep hill with other passengers strung out behind me. The walk up to Castro took me more than an hour. I stopped for breakfast at the first open diner I found. After three weeks of Carl’s mother’s cooking and three days on a train, the food was incredibly average. It merely quelled my appetite.

I went back out to the street carrying the single bag I’d carried since meeting Carl. It was early and the city wasn’t completely awake yet. The traffic was all downtown and I walked up, and up, and up, with the unusually clear sky overhead and the sun warming me along the way. The heat was unusual but Alabama in August is no picnic. The morning air was still fresh and cool, which made the walk easier.

A chill ran through me when I first returned to The Castro. I was back. This time I came armed with a plan and a familiarity for the streets I once more walked. I’d brought some self-confidence with me and that made a big difference in my mind. This would be a challenge but it was a challenge I was ready for.

The Castro was closed in the early morning. The streets were empty, except for random cars transitioning to somewhere else. The business day during the week started here in earnest after dark. Some shops opened earlier than others to serve the foot traffic as it gradually increased during the day, but for now it was quiet.

It was like I’d never been away but my feeling about it was new. The hold it had on me the summer before was broken. What I was going to do now that I was back remained a mystery. I’d figure it out as I went along.

When I left, I left as a kid, my father having me in tow. Now, I was a man. There was a measured difference in how I thought. I couldn’t be arrested simply for not being at home, which eliminated a lot of the worry. I was independent and on my own. The streets were dangerous, because people were dangerous. But the truths I knew about them would help to keep me safe and out of trouble, which would in turn allow me to formulate a plan.

Even on the train I had to keep telling myself, I’d know what to do when I got there. Now that I was there, I figured I’d know what to do when the time came. Would I recognize when the time came? If not, would my opportunity pass me by? I tried to keep that kind of idea out of my head. There was nothing apparent to me on my way back to The Castro, but it was early and maybe the time would come soon enough that I could be on a train home at the end of the week.

I decided what I needed to do first was find the softer side of The Castro. Find people who might be interested in helping street kids, without wanting them. I wasn’t sure where to start. It was the beginning of a plan.

I felt the downgrade in my steps as I focused on the diner. It had been in the center of the streets we haunted. I went inside, taking the last booth, tossing my bag in before I sat down.

“Coffee. Large water,” I said, still feeling the rock of the trail and not certain real food of the greasy spoon variety was all that good an idea.

“Water’s a quarter,” the gruff voice advised; it was the same guy who was always there.

“Better make it two waters,” I snapped, noticing his still greasy apron.

I wondered if it was the same one he was wearing last year.

“Two bucks fifty. When you empty the water I’ll refill it for you,” he said, sloshing the coffee cup down in front of me.

“Two fifty,” I said, laying out two ones and pulling two quarters to set in the center of the bills. “…And for you my good man,” I said in my perkiest voice, putting a quarter in his palm.

He examined the quarter, once he swept up the two fifty. He trained his stare on me, going back behind the counter to wait for another customer to enter. It was a bit early for foot traffic in The Castro.

“Don’t I know you?” he questioned after a few more minutes of mock mopping of his counter.

“Me, my good man? Me thinks not. I’ve come fresh from Alabam. I’ve come to your fair city for… my health.”

“You came here for your health?” he said with disbelief in his voice. “Bad move unless you’re partial to fags and pervs.”

He took little time to think about the advice he dispensed, or maybe it was opinion. Whatever it was, he followed it with curious looks. It was easy to see my presence troubled him, but I had money, and that was enough to buy me a pass.

“You don’t sound like you’re from Alabama. You are foreigner?”

“To many, my good man, I would be foreign.”

“Yeah,” he said, starting a new series of endless circular motions.

‘Now what?’ I wondered as time passed.

Sipping my coffee, I watched the morning traffic pick up. I drained the glass of water and true to the man’s word, he refilled it. I didn’t bother to insult him further. I’d be back there for food sooner or later, and insulting someone who wasn’t clever enough to recognize the insults was no challenge.

It seemed like the time to give some thought to securing a place to stay. I didn’t want to spend a lot of money on housing, because the money would be gone in no time. I needed to keep my eyes open and I was sure I’d stumble on to an acceptable arrangement that would be cheaper than a motel room.

I’d made a promise to Carl that I wouldn’t go back to the streets. This would call for creative thinking, because of my promise not to let myself become sexually involved with anyone else. While that was an easy promise to keep, because I had no interest in anyone but Carl, it was still a concern because of my location. I’d need to be sure not to take up with someone that could tempt me.

Sitting there, I remembered something Ty said to me: “I want to think I got someone off these streets alive.”

Indeed he had. I hoped he’d saved himself and was now living the good life with his mother. I thought about the day Walt had his heart-to-heart chat with me. He’d taken out that green box and showed me how he’d leave Ty well taken care of. He used that knowledge, believing I wouldn’t take Ty away from him, but knowing he cared that much for Ty made an even bigger difference. Walt thought he’d be dead by the time I was eighteen, but he thought maybe I could come back then and do for Ty what Ty had done for him.

Walt was a wise man. It was Walt who had planted the idea of coming back to do some good in my head. The idea lived on beyond him but Ty was lord-knows where. I was back and I was ready to do something to help the people who had helped me stay alive until Walt talked me into going home.

I’d gotten out alive the last time and I didn’t plan on putting myself in danger this time. How I would avoid it was still in question. I felt I was on the right path and I stretched and breathed in the fresh air as I left the diner. I looked up the hill and started walking until I reached Walt’s. I checked the mailbox to see who lived in their apartment. It was blank. Someone wanting anonymity lived there now. I walked around the white five-story building and looked up at the window Walt once looked out of so he’d stay connected to the world he could no longer access.

Time passed quickly as my mind wandered over my previous experience with the city. I walked past the hotel that was no longer there. Some of the boards that had once blocked entry to the building were still strewn along the side of the next building over. The black scorch marks told the tale. The party hotel had burned. I walked down to the motel and stood in the driveway looking up at the room where I began my decent into hell.

‘My name’s Jake. I thought you should know it,’ I remembered, thinking about Donnie’s brother, another military man I could have loved. I figured he still had a year in prison before he’d be free to walk these streets again, but he made out better than Donnie, even if it didn’t seem like it at the time.

I wondered about Gene, remembering our flight for life over the rooftops of San Francisco. I recalled Jesus in his white sheet, ranting and raving and shaking his fist at the sky. Was he really Jesus? I wondered if Gene might still be around. He would never recognize me. I’d grown, matured, hardened to the indifference of much of the world where I lived.

Tony and Tim had gone to work for some gay contractor in Santa Rosa. If anyone made it off the streets and into productive lives, it was the two of them. Like Carl and me, they’d found one another unexpectedly and simply fell in love. Tony was gay but Tim never was. They simply met and became inseparable. Carl had adamantly defended himself against that label, saying, “Billie Joe, I love you. I don’t love guys in general. Hell, I don’t even like most of them, but I love you and I’m not gay.”

Therein lived the ambiguity that filled all the area between what people believed they knew and what the reality of living made true. Love isn’t so incredibly certain about who should be in love and who shouldn’t. In the great cracks and crevices of life, man’s knowledge isn’t nearly as clear cut as some would like us to believe. There are many more ways to be than is allowed by popular culture, but popular culture has never been too influenced by the facts of the matter.

I had no such ambiguity. I was gay as a goose and can’t remember being “normal.” I always knew, although I didn’t always know what it was I knew. Once I was old enough to be clear on the sexual stuff, I knew where I fit. That’s what I knew in spite of the objections that I was too young to know that.

My friend Ralphie killed himself because he was gay. I was sixteen and so was he. I don’t know why he decided to do it, but that’s why I left Minnesota, already knowing I had to do something to keep myself from ending up like my stupid best friend.

I was still pissed off at him. He robbed me of the security and innocence that would have accompanied me to adulthood. He robbed me of my best friend. He was the reason I ran away, and he likely had a lot to do with me coming back to do something for the boys I left behind, even if none of those boys were still around. There would be replacements. Of that I had no doubt.

I met Carl before I got to my brother’s and that’s when I made up my mind I had to find out what was out there for me. I did my searching from the highways and streets. It was never what I expected. Like popular culture, what I believed didn’t match up with the facts of the matter. My search for a warm and accepting community that embraced its younger brothers with hope never matched up to what was real on the street.

Now I was back with the idea I could change it. Ideas are simple things. The truth is complex and involved. I was back to do some good, but where to start? What could I do? I was but one person and the streets came alive each night with the lost and lonely gay kids and the gay adults who cannot see them. I would need help.

I was back and maybe for the next kid that came looking for gay America, there’d be something more than I found. The gay men were willing to exploit the street boys but not so willing to take responsibility for them. Maybe I could guilt them into incorporating gay street kids into a social system that provided safety and shelter for kids forced out, thrown away, or simply unable to live in the world in which they lived.

I was older, wiser, eighteen, and a high school graduate. Man, I had a lot going for me. What was I going to do with it?

What I did was waste a day, thinking. I walked up to Golden Gate Park. It was far enough from The Castro to give me some perspective on things. The fifteen or twenty minute walk was enough to clear my brain. The park was usually quiet with people coming and going at their own pace. I liked to sit there and enjoy the peace and quiet.

I sat among the lunch crowd, wondering how to connect with a world that never allowed me to do anything but stand on the outside. How do I get in with someone? There was no offer and little aside from casual glances to check out the merchandise. It was San Francisco after all.

I needed to get the attention of good people who cared and who might want to help. Finding a proper place to start would be important. My first time around I’d found what I was looking for without really trying, but it was what I was looking for without any connection to people who could make a difference. This time I would connect with people who could make a difference.

I remembered the couple Earl had left me with. Dennis and John were middle-aged men. I really thought I hated them for what they were, but they were only middle-aged men trying to hang onto the idea they could still get their sexual urges met, even when they needed to pay for it. It still didn’t make what they did with Harvey okay with me—it wasn’t—but those guys could help street kids as easily as exploit them. Had they ever given it a thought? Would they help if they knew they could? How complicated would it become if men like that tried to help?

These were people I’d given little consideration to in over a year. They came back as clear as the day I’d first met them. I didn’t know why. At the time it was all cut and dried. I hated easily, loved almost as easily, and I followed boys I had no reason to trust, but I trusted them anyway. I’d fall in a deep pile of dodo, always ending up smelling like a rose. I was lucky. I was alive. I was back to try again. I knew there was a gay community around me, but I didn’t know how to get its attention. This would be the key.

The street-lamps coming on kept me from noticing fading daylight. The business suits and ties gave way to tank tops and jeans. The look of indifference that came in the suits gave way to more hungry looks that came in the jeans, as they checked my eyes for interest and some degree of recognition. If I could harness that there was a sea of potential helpers around me.

I walked back toward civilization, looking for a market, where I purchased a ready-made but pregnant looking sandwich, a soda over ice, and a San Francisco Chronicle so I’d be informed.

It was a gourmet meal and I carried it back to Golden Gate Park. I ate on an empty bench off the beaten bath, enjoying each bite of the fresh ingredients. I flipped through the Chronicle and sipped my soda. I’d never read the paper before. I was most interested in the local stories about life in the city.

It was already a long day and my eyes were heavy and burning. I set my bag down behind me on the bench where I relaxed after eating. I watched the foot traffic as it passed. I looked for a familiar face or for someone who might recognize me, but I’d grown two inches and gained fifteen pounds in the year since my departure. I looked nearly as manly as I felt. Someone would have had to take a good look to put today’s Billie Joe together with the one that left here the year before.

My eyes grew heavy as I drew comfort from resting my back on my bag, not realizing how tired I was. The initial excitement that came with being back in the city had worn off. I’d wasted away a day and now I was in Golden Gate Park, alone, after dark. They’d found Sharon’s body in Golden Gate Park. She was fifteen and six months pregnant with a child that would never experience the indignities of life her mother knew. There were extra risks that came with being a girl on the street, but Sharon couldn’t worry about those anymore.

Sleeping there wasn’t recommended, and when I woke to the emptiness around me, I seized my bag and headed for the street, scared shitless of the shadows, the time, and my ability to leave myself completely vulnerable. At first there were few people on the street, but then, as I got closer to the open shops and businesses, there were more and more people still moving about. My heart calmed down and my feeling of foreboding passed. I was already making mistakes. I wouldn’t do that again.

I found a clock in a store window. It was after 1:00 p.m. I’d slept for four or five hours. I hadn’t really slept on the train, more dozing around my overactive mind. I suddenly missed Carl more than I had missed him since we last parted and I started a journey that led to this one. By now he had reported for duty and he was too busy to worry about me.

I felt my pants for the checks he’d given me. They were taped inside my underwear. Maybe that wasn’t all that safe a hiding place in this city. It’s the best I could do.

I kept walking until I was across from the motel and I crossed the street between cars. I’d spend some of the cash to get off the street for the night. It’s what I told Carl I’d do. I stepped inside the door and waited. A fat man I recognized came out after about five minutes, buttoning his shirt over his hairy body.

“No rooms,” he said, inspecting me closely and in places that might have made me blush if not for the nausea he gave me.

‘Be nice,’ I reminded myself. ‘You may need to come back one day.’

“Thanks anyway,” I said.

“Wait! I’m not supposed to do this. Well, I have a couple of rooms that are out of service. It’s late and you shouldn’t be on the street. Maybe we could think of something you could give me for letting you use one of those rooms. Maybe something you need taken care of or relieved.”

“Thanks! I don’t want to put you at risk,” I slipped out the door as I spoke, making sure the door was shut tight before he could make me even sicker.

I breathed in the cool San Francisco night air, trying to get his smell out of my nose, and remembered how we’d gotten the motel room last year. All it required was one willing boy who would let the lecher leer and slobber over his youthful delights.

I hadn’t given it a second thought last year, but I hadn’t been the boy who secured the room. Someone else paid the price for my good night’s sleep. There wasn’t going to be any more sleep this night. The Castro was starting to close down, and I headed for the Mission District where I remembered an all-night diner. They kept the lights low and the coffee wasn’t half bad. I walked with purpose in my step.

A car slowed down as quickly as I turned off the busy boulevard. I ignored him as he drove at the same speed I walked. He drove away after a minute of bird-dogging me, as Carl would call it. It left my heart pounding and I breathed easier once I was alone on the street.

I thought about going in search of the street kids, but I’d slept the prime time away. They’d have already been on the street and the ones who hadn’t made out were thinking about where to crash before daylight caught up with them. I had plenty of time and I wanted to get off the street, inside, with other people. I hadn’t expected to be scared my first night back. But I was.

I wanted some hot food and a cold drink. I wanted my heart to quiet in my chest. I didn’t want to feel like I was being stalked. I turned several times until I was on a well-lit street again. I looked at the sky and wondered what time it was.

It took half-an-hour to get to where I was going. The diner was busy but not full. I sat at the counter rather than take a seat in the booth where several people might sit. I ordered a roast beef sandwich and a Pepsi. It was five dollars. Everything was five dollars if you wanted to sit in the diner. A cup of coffee, five dollars. A glass of water, five dollars. I’d have paid three bucks for the sandwich in most places but I’d have paid twenty to sit inside this place tonight.

I came to San Francisco to save the kids and I was scared of my own shadow. How the hell was I going to help anyone?

At four forty-five the counterman was putting a cup of coffee down in front of me.

“I didn’t order this,” I said, taking a quick sip of my empty Pepsi to prove I deserved to be there.

“Nah, it’s on the house, kid,” he said, sounding like he was a million miles from home. “New to town, huh?”

He looked like he was twenty-two or three. I wasn’t big, but he was way small, he needed a shave, and his apron needed an oil change. It must have been a common problem among the counter men in the city.

“Thanks. Yeah, I’m new. Got in yesterday. Couldn’t find a motel that had a room. Bummer, huh?”

“I’m off in little more than an hour. I got a couch. You look like you could use one right about now.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I should. I mean I’m not….”

“Neither am I. It’s a couch. It isn’t even comfortable. Take it or leave it. Can’t beat the price and it beats the hell out of this dump.”

Sal was Greek. At least his father and mother were. They’d come from the old country, had a restaurant, and just retired to Ensenada. I understood a little more once he opened the door to his apartment.

“Sally, you didn’t bring another one home?” a broad-beamed woman shouted harshly.

“Take it easy. Take it easy. A few hours on the couch. He’s new in town. My parents always helped new people. They were new people once upon a time. You were probably a new someone once.”

“I’m not a new people. I want to walk around in my apartment without my clothes whenever I feel like it. I want my husband should want to fuck the shit out of me when he comes in after we been apart all day. I don’t want an audience, Sally.”

“Agnes, this is… what’s your name, kid?”

“Billie Joe. Maybe I should go, Sal. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“Fuck no. Stay right here. We’re selling tickets for the morning show. Watch us swing from the light fixtures and screw. Sally, this has got to stop,” the woman argued.

“Yeah, Agnes, now you done your “Streetcar Named Desire” routine, shut the fuck up and get us some coffee.”

“Come on, Billie, she only acts like a bitch,” Sal said, leading me past an ironing board complete with three feet of laundry stacked on top, and a number of cardboard boxes filled with papers and trash. “We recycle,” he admitted as we passed.

Sal and I were both delivered a silent cup of coffee. Agnes went back to whatever it was she was doing before we arrived. The coffee was good. The apartment was cluttered and looked to be the size of a large postal stamp. There was one window so heavily laden with curtains and drapes that it might have only been a mock attempt at making it look like they had a window.

“Where you from, Billie?” Sal asked as friendly as ever.

“I came here from Alabama,” I said.

“Oh,” he said, looking distressed. “It as bad as it sounds?”

“No, actually parts are quite nice. Nice people.”

“Really! Not the way I heard it. Do they still lynch black men?”

“I don’t think so,” I laughed nervously and coffee came out of my nose. “Not while I was there anyway,” I explained further.

“Need a napkin in here, Agnes. You should have brung one with the coffee for Pete sake,” Sal complained as a fresh roll of paper towels sailed toward his head. “Thanks, Agnes. If I need a hammer I’ll come get it. She’s a little temperamental,” he apologized, finishing the comment with a wink.

“Go ahead and stretch out there. I’ll take care of her and she’ll be satisfied for a few hours. I’ll rustle us up something to eat once you get up.”

“Hey, Sal… thanks,” I said, feeling safe there if not completely comfortable.

As I pulled off my shoes a pillow came flying at Sal’s head. He knocked it down into his lap just in time.

“You been working on your curve ball, I see,” Sal said. “I think this is for you. Little woman thinks of everything.”

I cracked up and was glad I’d finished my coffee.

“Thank you,” I said loud enough for Agnes to hear.

I figured she could probably kick my ass, so being nice seemed like a good idea. How Sal put up with such nonsense, I wasn’t sure. I remembered Carl’s sweet mother and I realized I wasn’t in Alabama any more.

Chapter 7

Salvatore’s

I woke up to noise in the kitchen. Pans were being shuffled, the refrigerator door opened and closed, and someone was chopping food at the speed of a food processor. At first I was disoriented. It wasn’t like being disoriented on the train, when you doze off a few minutes and are so sleepy you aren’t sure where you are. It was the kind of disorientation I knew the year before. I’d wake up from fitful sleep not knowing where I was or what day it was. Each day was a separate life requiring a new plan to get fed, stay clear of the law, and to survive. Survival was elevated above all else.

The getting fed part seemed to be in the bag on this morning. I felt my underwear for the checks. I reached under my legs to check my bag. I was back on San Francisco alert. All my belongings were within an arms reach. Who was Sal? Why did he bring me home? What did he want?

“Billie, come get it while it’s hot,” Sal said from the kitchen.

I stretched in the kitchen door and rubbed my eyes. Sal had changed into a well-manicured young man. He was shaved, his hair was neatly swept back on his head and he looked squeaky clean and far more handsome than he’d appeared at the grubby little diner he fit into perfectly.

“Have a seat,” he said, pulling out the chair he wanted me to sit in. “I hope you like omelets. I’ve cooked up some ham, onion, green pepper, and such. Here’s coffee.”

Sal danced around the kitchen like a chef. He had on what appeared to be a tailored shirt and pants that were creased so tightly they could slice the bread. He caught my eyes on him a few times as he got all the food in front of me before sitting down.

“There. Cream and sugar. Salt and pepper. Shout if you need something you don’t see.”

“You’re dressed?” I finally managed, sipping from the steaming coffee. “This is good.”

“Fresh roast and ground, it’s a Columbian blend, but I like that best at breakfast. It gets my eyes to open. I don’t grind my Costa Rican beans until later in the day. It helps keeps me up nights, which is good when you’re working an all night diner.

“You sleep okay? I know that couch isn’t much. I could tell by the look on your face when you saw Agnes that you weren’t interested. She does go on. It takes a guy with a tin ear to take her on. You look a bit too refined but I prefer the spice.”

“What?” I said.

“We do guys. Usually I meet them at the diner. Variety is the spice of life. It’s okay. I’ve always been bi. Some guys need time to get acclimated.”

“I’m gay,” I said in self-defense.

“Saw it in your eyes. Not last night. I was still hoping for a threesome, but never with anyone who doesn’t play. Some guys can get angry if the touching gets too tender. Agnes is a handful as you may have noticed.”

“Wow!” I said, processing our breakfast chit chat.

“Sorry, Billie, I didn’t mean to pour it all out there without warning. It’s easier to get it all out on the table so there aren’t any misunderstandings.”

“Good omelet. Great coffee. What are you dressed for? I mean you look nice.”

“Thanks. I don’t see daylight all that often. We finished early last night and I figured I’d get out to see some daylight.”

“Sorry if I disappointed you,” I said, going to town on the food. “You aren’t eating?”

“I ate. I nibble while I cook. I never expect much, when I meet a new guy. That way I’m often surprised.”

“You must like cooking. You spend a lot of time at it,” I observed, polishing off the omelet and some toast as he poured my cup full again.

“My parents owned a restaurant here. I cooked for them. This was their place before they retired, sold the restaurant, and went south to Ensenada.”

“Why Ensenada?”

“Small. It reminded Papa of Greece. There’s a small fishing fleet there. Retirement is too final a word. Papa has opened a lunch counter near the water. He likes cooking for the fisherman.”

“You’re really different,” I said, noticing his perfect teeth.

“Not that different, Billie. I like bi guys, because I am one. I don’t have anything against gay dudes. Some of my best friends… you know. I did that when I was younger.”

“No, I mean, last night you were kind of grubby, didn’t say much, and you looked so at home in that place where we met.”

“Oh, yeah. A friend of my fathers. He was short counter help. He calls me when he needs a cook. I try to look like I belong where I’m at. How would the regulars take to a polished chef working the counter and the grill?”

“You work as a favor?”

“Sure. Keep my hand in. He pays me. I’m not sure how much. I probably make forty for the night, plus tips. It just goes in the bank. I don’t work for the money.”

“You don’t?” I asked with surprise.

I never knew anyone that didn’t work for money. I thought that’s why everyone worked.

“Come on. I’ll show you my parent’s old place. It’s where I worked since I was in high school. You’ll understand. They owned that restaurant since the late seventies and sold it last year.”

I grabbed my bag and we were out on the street. I didn’t have time to react to much of what Sal told me. While I knew enough not to let people surprise me, Sal did. I’d never talked to a guy that talked about his sex life like he was talking about last week’s football game. He seemed totally genuine, but I knew enough not to let appearances form my opinion of someone. Sal had already presented three totally unique appearances, a counterman, a submissive mate, and a handsome young man. I didn’t know which might prove to be most real.

We walked quick time across busy streets. Their dismal and dirty appearance reminded me of what they looked like to me the year before. Sal walked fast, talked fast, and seemed to be geared to quick-time movement. He’d had no more than three or four hours of sleep, and he mentioned satisfying Agnes during that span.

He chatted me up the entire time we walked. He was bright and full of ideas. He treated me like he’d known me for way longer than he had.

“Here! That’s it. Papa’s pride and joy. He sold it once, but the buyer told him he was changing the name. Papa backed out of the deal. He said, ‘Salvatore’s has been Salvatore’s for a quarter century. People know Salvatore’s means a fine dining experience’. The buyer cannot change the name.’”

“Salvatore’s,” I said, reading the sign that swept across the roof of a building that sat all alone no more than a mile from Fisherman’s Wharf. I was sure I remembered it from the year before. “Salvatore? That’s your name.”

“That’s my name. Not everyone has their name in lights. Think of what it was like when I was ten years old. Mama would bring me every day and I’d walk under that sign. Does something for the ego, of which I’ve always had more than my share.”

“It’s huge,” I said, thinking out loud at how impressive it was.

“You peeked. Papa always told me not to let lesser men see what Greek men had going for them. I never listened. I was always showing off. We are blessed and there is the ego thing that makes me want to show off.”

“The sign. The restaurant,” I declared, blushing at his bragging.

“Yeah, I know, but I can’t help myself. I’ve brought you home, polished myself up, fed you, and now I’ve shown you my restaurant. You don’t seem all that impressed.”

“You only like bi guys. You’ve got a girl living with you.”

“So? I told you there’s no shortage of… ego here. I still want to be wanted. Gay guys usually can’t wait to get a peek.”

“Sal! I don’t even know you.”

“What a nice way to get acquainted.”

“I’m dirty. I’ve been wearing these clothes for four days. I slept in these clothes. You can’t be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

“Did I tell you how horny I get when someone resists my natural charm?”

This was yet another side to Sal. I was under orders not to have a sexual relationship with anyone, and in spite of Sal’s endearing quality, he wasn’t my type. Telling a man with a big ego that I wasn’t interested probably wasn’t the best idea. But even a couch was better than a curb, until I found something better.

“Sal, I don’t know you. You’re with a girl. How hot and bothered do you expect me to get under those circumstances?”

“I’ve met guys that go nuts over that proposition. Military guys are incredible. They’ve gone without for so long that being the meat in a sandwich isn’t beyond consideration.”

“Sal!”

“You’re a prude, Billie. We’re talking modern times here. It’s the end of the twentieth century. Live free or die, my friend.”

“I’m plenty free, but I’m not interested in getting involved with a couple.”

“Yeah, Agnes is a downer. I’ve been going to give her the boot, but she knows what to do. She makes my proclivities work.”

“Sal, you certainly don’t have any trouble finding girls that know what to do. You’re a hot handsome dude. You can have anyone you want.”

“I can? Well, now that that’s settled, let’s get a room.”

“Sal! I’m not that fast. You’re quite a guy, but there’s no future. How long have you been with Agnes?”

“Two months. Being a big man isn’t as easy as it sounds, Billie. I’m five six, one twenty. Most women don’t expect much in the peter department. Then, they shriek. You don’t know what it’s like. Most women say no way. It’s the only reason I kept doing guys. Men? They’re more game once they get a taste. Gay guys act giddy over big cock. It’s a turnoff to have my cock become their only interest. It’s enough to make me want to pass on guys, but then I remember the shrieks.”

“There’s a lot more to life than sex,” I said, having experience with both sides of the equation.

“Yeah, but then when I meet a good looking guy like you. It reminds me of when I was young and my only thoughts were of boys.”

“You are young and you are with Agnes. I just slept on your couch one night.”

“Yeah, I know. You can get a shower once we get back. I’ll talk to Agnes about cooling it. I don’t want her to run you off. You’re good to talk to. Gay guys are always nicest, especially after they get a peak at my poker.”

“Sal!”

“Sorry,” he said. “Can’t help myself. You think I ought to dump Agnes?”

“Well, you asking me if I’d date her, the answer is no way. What you need is another matter. If she is there to satisfy your needs and other women aren’t, you might want to hold onto her. I’m not into throwing people away.”

“Couples are different. Once a couple runs their course, it’s a downer. Besides, she wears me out, Billie. Never thought I would say that. Most girls are ready to quit after we go around once or twice. Agnes never quits, until I’m unconscious.”

“Sounds good for you. Why are you telling me all this?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a guy to talk to in a long time. I haven’t had a guy my own age to talk to since forever.”

Sal didn’t have a lot to say when he wasn’t talking about his dick or his prowess. I knew it was for my benefit and he figured he’d wear me down in time. I wasn’t being dishonest. I liked Sal. A year ago I’d have gone with him in a minute. Now, it was different. I wasn’t a kid. I wasn’t alone in the world. I didn’t need to see his dick or sleep with him to find him interesting. He sure knew his way around a kitchen. I wondered if I was going to end up weighing a ton. Between Carl’s Mama and now Sal, I was always hungry and sniffing the air for what came next.

Chapter 8

Mission District

Sal and I sat on a bench watching the street. A blond-haired woman in a green poncho waved her arms at the sky, screaming quite madly at it. People parted as she walked against the morning foot traffic. She was coherent enough to stop when she had a red light, but crazy enough not to care who saw her insanity. She wasn’t old, maybe forty or younger, but already weather- beaten by the streets.

Even after I lost sight of her, I could still hear her screams. I remembered Jesus screaming at the sky. Jesus was talking to God. I knew that when I was watching it. A few days before he was nursing my foot, keeping me fed, and making Gene and me at home in his brand new, side by side, wide refrigerator box. It was the Cadillac of on-street living. The three of us slept inside, but Jesus never touched Gene or me, except for when he tended to my cut foot.

Jesus was as gentle as gentle could be. His voice was soft. His motions were precise. His years of training told him what to do. Once he was done, my foot healed with little more than some alcohol to keep it clean and frequent changes of the bandage.

Looking at Jesus I could have doubted his competence, but watching him work convinced me I was in capable hands, even if he did wear a sheet. He didn’t have much, but he shared everything with us. When there was something we needed, it appeared, even a pair of too-big shoes he’d been protecting for who knows how long. He gave those shoes to me to protect my foot from further damage, because he could see it was what I needed, after using waded up newspaper to adapt the too large shoes to my two small feet.

Jesus believed he was Jesus. He acted as Jesus would act. When he went mad, he spoke to God. It was a terrible thing for me to see in a world where I had no control and everyone seemed somewhat mad. Jesus could be the picture of a man in control, even in a sheet. Seeing him lose his mind scared the hell out of me. It was the single most frightening thing I’d seen in all my weeks on the street. The fear didn’t come from seeing a crazy man, it came from seeing a kind and gentle friend go nuts in front of me. I couldn’t even trust someone who had proved I could trust him. It was all quite mad.

A chill made me shiver long after the woman’s shrieks passed out of earshot. The sounds of the street slowly came back into my ears. My thoughts were still clouded by a man I’d known for only a couple of days.

“Hey, you all there?”

“Huh?” I said, noticing Sal’s voice inside my dreamy head.

“Here. Thought you might need this,” he said, handing me a soda.

“Pepsi? How’d you know?”

“You ate at the diner? Remember?”

“Oh, no, I didn’t think of that,” I said, getting a grasp on now.

“You okay? You look… I don’t know. You look like you don’t feel good. You need some food. You want to go back to the palace and lie down?”

“You got to stop buying me stuff. I want to give you some money,” I said, putting my hand in my pocket.

“Forget it. I don’t need your money,” he said, turning so he didn’t need to look at the bills.

“I can’t forget it. You’re feeding me. You’re giving me a place to stay. I can’t forget it, Sal.”

“Forget it,” he said. “Come on. I got somewhere to go.”

Sal always had somewhere else to go. Sometimes I waited for him outside. Sometimes I went inside with him. I ruled out he was dealing drugs, or doing tricks, because I saw no sign of his mood changing regardless of where he took me. He did pay for everything and that made me no more comfortable than waking up to find him sitting on one of the kitchen chairs with Agnes straddling him as she jumped up and down on his lap.

I’d never seen anything quite like it. Agnes no longer threw fits, but Sal told her in front of me that I was his friend and I was welcome in his place, and she was to treat me like a guest. Luckily, he’d told her I wasn’t interested in sleeping with her, although he mentioned that contingency each morning as we made our rounds in the days that followed.

“Come on,” he urged, climbing the steps of the very old, very dirty Wells Fargo Bank.

Sal sat me down and walked over to a thick well-polished mahogany railing, where a woman immediately met him. He spoke with her before coming back to sit beside me.

“It’ll be a minute. You sure you aren’t hungry? I don’t want you getting sick on me,” Sal said, putting his arm over my shoulder and speaking intimately to me.

“I’m fine, Sal,” I said. “I was just thinking is all. I think a lot.”

“About me, I hope,” he smiled, hugging his face close to mine in an intimate hug.

“Of course,” I said, touching his arms.

I did like him but not enough to get involved in his weirdness. I still hadn’t done anything about what I’d come for, but I was rested up after the long trip and my mind was back on my business.

“Come on,” he said, when the woman signaled to him.

We walked back through the bank and into a vault with its huge thick door swung wide open.

“Your number?” the woman requested.

“Eleven seventy-three,” Sal said, handing her a key he held out in his hand.

The woman stretched to insert the keys and open the door so she could remove the safe deposit box. She walked us out of the vault and into a room adjacent to it. She opened the door of a small cubical and waited for us to enter before she came into set the box down in the middle of the table. She left us, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Why’d you bring me in here?” I asked. “I’m not into kinky locations.”

“Very funny, Billie,” Sal said, flipping back the top on a good-sized box.

I stood looking in at a half dozen bundles of bills wrapped in rubber bands. I’m sure my mouth dropped open. I’d always had enough money to get by on, except when I was last in San Francisco. Now I was seeing more money than I knew for certain existed. We’re talking real money here.

“The restaurant money. It’s what Papa didn’t take with him. I don’t touch it very often. I can have what I want, but I have their old place and when I work I have spending money. I don’t need your money, Billie. It’d simply get thrown into the box. I doubt I’ll ever spend it and my folks aren’t young. I’m the only kid, and they’re making money in Mexico. They come here off and on, but haven’t touched the money as far as I know.”

What do you say to a man who has a box filled with more cash than you’ve ever seen?

The box was closed and the contents went untouched. The box was returned to its resting place. Sal led the way out of the bank. I didn’t know what to make of him.

“Why show me that, Sal?” I said, sitting down on the first bench we came to.

“Why not? You keep bugging me wanting to give me money. You’re sleeping on my couch. Save your money, Billie. As you can see, I don’t need it. You are at my place because I want you there. You are my guest. Get used to it and save your money.”

“I like paying my way,” I argued softly, knowing he never listened to anything I said.

“Great! You shall buy me lunch,” he said loudly, waving down a hotdog cart.

“How do you want your dog?” Sal asked from over his shoulder.

“Sit down. I’m buying lunch,” I said. “How do you want your dog,” I said in his voice.

Sal laughed and I put out seven bucks for two dogs and two drinks. I could have gotten some real food for that kind of money, but I was determined to pay for something. Dogs would do.

“Hits the spot,” Sal said, wiping his mouth with the tiny napkin we were provided by the entrepreneur-on-wheels.

As I chewed on my hot dog I found myself watching a guy that was sitting with two other kids. I thought about my mission, except this was the Mission District and although I knew we’d hung out near here, I didn’t remember many street kids in residence in the area.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” I said, clearing my mouth before I spoke, but I looked up at the three boys again.

“You do hustlers, Billie?”

“No!” I objected, wondering if these boys knew any of the boys I knew. “They aren’t hustlers.”

“Bet me,” Sal said, waving the older boy over.

“Yeah!” the surly kid said as the two boys he left sat watching.

“What’s up?” Sal asked.

“I don’t know. Depends on if you make it worth my while getting it up. Twenty-five. One of you,” he snapped, glaring at me as Sal interviewed him.

“I have a girl. I mean she’s a bit heavy, but she likes a threesome. What are we talking here?”

“I’ll do both of you for twenty-five. I don’t take it up the ass, and I don’t suck cock. Got it?”

The boy laid down the ground rules carefully as he suspiciously checked me out to see where I fit into the picture.

“What about me?” I asked, being cute for Sal.

“Twenty-five,” he said, indignant.

“But I’m with him,” I explained.

“I don’t give a fuck who you’re with. Twenty-five for you.”

Sal broke up laughing and the kid wasn’t amused.

“You know, Gene?” I asked.

“Gene? Gene who?”

“He hung in The Castro. We had a motel room up there last summer. Lots of you guys came and went.”

“You know Fat Alfred?”

“Is that the desk guy?” I asked, sensing some connection with the angry young man.

“Yeah, that’s him. We always give him one of the new guys and he gives us a room. It’s a good trade for the money.”

“Yeah, that’s him all right. Gene was thin, dark curly hair, he hung with Ty, Donnie, and a couple of guys named Tony and Tim.”

“Yeah, I know Tony. Went north with some guy he met.”

“Santa Rosa,” I said.

“Yeah! He was working with a contractor up there. I worked for him a couple of times. Him and some other dude lived in a cabin behind the contractor’s house.”

“Yeah, we all lived together in the motel for a time. Just before they found Donnie’s body up off 101.”

“Yeah, I remember that. You one of us. You look pretty old for the street. Who’s this guy then?”

“Not that old. It’s what happens. You grow up. Some of us do and you get off the street if you can.”

“LA,” he said. “Gene went to LA if it’s the guy I think it is. Some rich dude picked him up. He’s living the good life. I wouldn’t worry none about him.”

“That’s what they said about Donnie, even after they found him dead. They said he went to LA. They knew what happened to him and they said he went to LA,” I objected still angry about the street that no longer owned me.

“Yeah, I heard that story too. Go figure,” he said, failing to draw the connection. “Say, I got to make a living. Did I tell you what you wanted to know or what?”

“Here,” I said, reaching into my pocket and giving him a ten dollar bill.

“What do you want for this?”

“I already got it. Get something to eat,” I said. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

“I got friends,” he said. “They eat too, you know.”

“Here,” Sal said, holding out another ten. “You can’t all eat on that. You should look for another line of work.”

The boy put the two bills together, stuck them in his pocket before walking away. Sal sat staring at me in disbelief.

“I just learned more about you in five minutes than I’ve been able to get out of you in three days.”

“It’s a long story,” I said.

“Why’d you give him your money? He’s a hustler,” Sal advised.

“He’s a kid. He’s got to eat. Been there, done that. It doesn’t hurt to help someone who needs it.”

“You hustled? No you didn’t. Billie, don’t get me not trusting what you tell me. I trust you.”

“I didn’t tell you anything. You figured out most of what you know without any help from me. I don’t need your approval, Sal.”

“No, you haven’t said much. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what that was all about? I do have a right to know.”

“A guy named Gene saved my ass. I’d like to find him if he’s still alive.”

“You were here before?”

“Yeah, I spent last summer here.”

“Were you the new guy they fed to Fat Alfred for the room?”

“No, I didn’t do that. He’s a slob. I wouldn’t go near him.”

“No, you wouldn’t. I’m blown away. You want me to get that kid for you? Is that what you like? I can if you want me to.”

“No, I don’t like kids. I know what it takes to be where he is. These are mean streets and those kids don’t have any way to get fed on a regular basis. You’d be surprised what you’d do if you get hungry enough.”

“Someone killed that kid, Donnie?”

“Yeah, two guys in a van. They nearly got me once.”

“Man, let’s get out of here. You’re scaring the shit out of me. You survived on the streets? I’d never have guessed that.”

“Sal, we’ve been through it. That’s all there is to it. I’m here. I survived.”

“I didn’t mean to piss you off. Why so angry?”

“I’m not. Those were tough times and they’re tough memories.”

“And you came back?” he asked suspiciously.

“Here I am,” I said, opening my arms wide for him to see all of me.

“Why?”

“I have this crazy idea that I can help the kids get off the street,” I confessed. “I don’t want anyone going through what I went through. I’d like to do something so that the kids could be kids a little while longer.”

“Those kids? What, ten bucks at a time? You’d be broke in an hour. You’re not much more than a kid yourself. How can you do anything?”

“I didn’t say I knew how to go about it. I’m open to suggestion.”

“My suggestion is, go back where you came from. Those kids are commodities. They’re bought and sold. No one wants them. They’re yesterday’s trash. You think it’s possible to convince them they don’t want to be where they are?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t come with a plan. I came with an idea. I’ll work on it. I don’t need to convince them of anything. I need to provide them with an option.”

“You’re serious?”

It didn’t seem to require an answer. It sounded ridiculous. How could someone like Sal understand? He didn’t have any idea what it was like. He knew what I said, but he didn’t know what I meant. Not many people were going to see it as I saw it.

“You want me to buy that kid for you? I’ll do it if you want me to. I got the cash.”

“That’s exactly what I don’t want. That’s the problem. There are too many guys who purchase them and then toss them out, after getting what they want off them. I don’t want anything from them. I want to find a way to help them.

“You read the laws on that kind of thing? They better get rid of ‘em. The law loves a good sex charge. It’s all the rage with prosecutors. It’s how they make their promotions.”

“If they had a safe place to stay, got fed regularly, and maybe went to school, maybe they’d have a chance of living to adulthood. On the street, even if they make it to adulthood, how are they going to survive after that? There’s got to be a way to get to them before it’s too late.”

“They don’t want to be pinned down. I’ve lived here since I was a baby. Those guys have always been out here. They can’t stand being closed in somewhere. They’re forever looking over their shoulder.”

“Well, they shouldn’t be out here. They shouldn’t think no one cares about them. They should know they can get help if they want it.”

“You see it as a problem. Most people see it as one more thing they have nothing to do with. If the truth be known most people never see those kids. They keep on walking until they’re no longer faced with them.”

“Is that how it is for you, Sal?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“Sal, I misjudged you. When I thought you couldn’t get more offensive, you have. I’ve got to go, Sal. Thanks for everything. I mean that. I sincerely thank you for getting me pointed in the right direction. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Billie! Come on, Billie! Don’t be like that,” he begged.

Sal sounded exasperated. I couldn’t go back to that tiny place where they lived. I’d gotten my feet under myself. The fear had passed. I was ready to face the future without giving in to self-service. I walked back toward The Castro, feeling almost at home when I passed the cut-rate motel.

I passed the people on their way somewhere, heading back for the one spot where I could sit and look out on the activities that might lead me to what came next. I pushed myself into the last booth of The Castro’s diner and ordered coffee. I’d just given up the only place I had to stay and I felt liberated.

“Water? ...On the house for paying customers,” the counterman offered.

“Yeah, thanks. It was a long walk up here.”

“Downtown?”

“Downtown,” I answered in the counterman’s shorthand.

He slid the water over next to the coffee and collected the three one dollar bills I’d set down.

“Keep the change,” I said.

“Thanks. Nice stew on special today.”

“Just had a hot dog… downtown. It’ll take some doing to get anything passed that. I may try some before I leave.”

He laughed and I checked to see if it was the same surly man in the same dirty apron. It was. Maybe he was having a good day.

I watched the traffic pick up as the evening rush developed. The foot traffic was still hurried but interspersed with strollers, some couples holding hands, and kids started to appear, two sitting with their backs against the glass where I sat. I remember Ty sitting in the same spot, tapping on the window for me to come out. The memories were far more vivid in the places where they were created. I finished my coffee, thanked the man, and stepped out into the evening air, bag in hand.

Where the hell was I on my way to now?

Chapter 9

On My Own?

Sal always encouraged me to leave my bag in the apartment if we were going wandering. I didn’t like the idea. It wasn’t Agnes. Maybe it was Agnes, but separating myself from everything I owned didn’t seem smart. There wasn’t much I learned on the street that I could put to use, but keeping what I owned close was one rule that worked. When I decided it was time to move out of Sal’s, I didn’t need to pack. All I needed to do was walk away.

I felt a little bad, because Sal didn’t understand. I would have taken time to explain it to him, but I didn’t understand either. It was time. Funny thing about time, just when you think you have all the time in the world, it becomes time to move on. In the morning when we left Sal’s I had no idea I wouldn’t be returning. Standing on the street corner in front of the diner in The Castro, I had no idea why I’d given up a safe place to crash, not to mention the food, but when it’s time it’s time and here I was back in a familiar place.

Carl thought I was crazy when I put everything I was taking in one bag. He didn’t understand the need for mobility. I’d left my working clothes at my brothers for him to send to me later. I was well fed and rested, which wasn’t the case after my first trip west.

I could always find a place to rest my head in a pinch, but that wasn’t what was on my mind. I was no closer to having some ideas concerning what I came to do. There had to be a way to reach out to politicians with the problem. This was a gay city. It was time to put out the welcome mat for the runaway and throwaway gay kids. They came to San Francisco expecting to find a friendly city only to discover they are invisible.

The kids in the park reminded me of why I was there. Sal reminded me of the attitude I had to defeat. Could I just walk into a political meeting and say, ‘Billie Joe’s here, listen up.’ I wasn’t the type to stand up in front of a crowd and order up their attention. I’d pulled it off at school once. That little stunt got me an A in speech class for the rest of the year, but that was school and this was the real world. Would adults even listen to me? I didn’t know the answer, but I knew I had to speak up.

I picked up a paper and walked up to Golden Gate Park and sat under a lamppost to study the news about the city I expected so much from. I tried to put my memories to work, fitting my knowledge of the city with the current local events described.

What was going on and who might be willing to listen to my story? There was surprisingly little detail reported about the working of the city. There was less yet on gay aspects of city living.

Was it the same old-rich-dudes rule as was true of most towns? Did the same old farts run this city that seemed to run every city? The same farts that ran the country? Were all the young people so busy earning a living, paying the rent, and raising their kids that they had no time to interject what it was they wanted to be representative of their city?

I wasn’t buying it. It would be too easy to admit defeat and go back to where living was easy for me. How long would it take for me to start realizing I had to do something for me to get on with my life? How long would it take for me to be back on a train heading right back here again? No, I was here now, and I needed to finish what I came to do before going back to Carl.

A familiar chill ran through me. How was I going to find someone to help? What if no one was interested in helping? Maybe if I had given Sal a chance, he’d have helped.

I took a pad from my bag and jotted down some notes, while I remembered the details in my mind. I’d get another paper tomorrow and do some more studying. Maybe there would be something to go on as far as how the city was run. I needed to have some idea of who might help if I talked to them. I stuffed the paper into the first trashcan I passed, put the pad in my pocket, and went back into The Castro.

It was night and my presence there felt familiar. There was something attractive about The Castro. Perhaps it was because it was the gayest spot in one of the gayest cities in the world and I was gay in a country that made being gay as tough on you as it was possible for them to do. I wasn’t going to do much to change the country but I thought I just might be able to make a difference in San Francisco. Someone had to care. They had to know about the problem and they had to care about it, but who?

I stopped and talked to a group of kids. I asked the same questions but got less positive responses. I looked into all the young faces and no one was familiar. The boys all posed for me, seeking to be the one I picked to talk to. Each sought to be the center of my attention. Breaking away from their midst, they offered me their favors for a price. They laughed and giggled, sensing they’d embarrassed me. How young they were, but none knew or remembered Gene.

I wasn’t there to find Gene.

There were even more than I remembered, and they were younger. These boys, not old enough to present anything of interest to most men, offered their services just the same. Some were neat and clean and dressed in brand-named clothes. It was obvious they didn’t live on the street, but they acted no different than the ragamuffin kids who they ran with. These slick dressers with big smiles were first to disappear into the cars that hesitated only long enough to collect a quick and eager boy.

I saw them behind the counter at the motel with Fat Alfred. My skin crawled. They belonged in middle school and not in the middle of The Castro. The world I came to change was changing faster than I could keep up with.

As I walked on I noticed boys leaning on car windows on side streets. They bargained with the clients who couldn’t stand the glare of the daylight. Some cars stopped, doors swung open with boys disappearing into them with familiarity. Arranged meetings had many of them here to meet the men who fancied their particular brand of affection.

It was hard to believe I’d been one of those boys the year before. Perhaps the older boys had deserted The Castro for some other meeting place where the drivers of the cars knew to go.

Why did the boys look so much younger than I remembered? Why did I feel so much older? Why did it seem impossible that I could have once been one of them? I’d aged a year or more last summer while I was on the street. I hadn’t aged quite as fast at home, but I felt far older than my years.

I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground the year before, and now I’d come back to do something about a problem it seemed like most people didn’t know existed. I was walking back into The Castro on a pleasant summer’s evening and I recognized what was going on, because I’d been a part of it. The moving mass of humanity was oblivious as they stepped in and out of the stores. The boys were but fixtures on the street, like storefronts and lampposts, looked at and not seen.

I’d once been told that the last person you went to for advice about being a drunk was a recovered drunk, because each thinks he knows what it takes to beat alcoholism. In reality he only knows what it took to beat his alcoholism and all drunks are different. Maybe all street kids were different and all I knew was about the experience I had. I didn’t buy it.

I had willingly headed for the street before it could seduce me. I didn’t know my life was out of control. I simply followed the boys I fell in with. While I knew why I came to the city, it had little to do with what I found. If not for meeting people who cared about me, I’d have never left. I knew what it meant to be swallowed by the city and then being rescued.

That was the answer. That’s what I was looking for. I was like those boys until someone took the trouble to guide me out of the darkness. I was going to find a way to guide them off the street. It was a start.

Once again I stopped to chat with boys holding up the side of a building. I looked like a tourist, carrying my bag full of belongings. Inevitably I was asking if they knew Gene, Donnie, or any number of boys whose names came to mind. They sat staring up at me their arms resting on their knees as they looked one to the other for some reaction. They offered no room for follow up and looked to one another to escape my intrusion.

“Hey,” one of the smallest boys said when I was half a block away, merging back into the crowd. “What’s he do I can’t do for yuh?”

“What?” I said, a bit surprised by a twelve year old’s proposition.

“For the right price I’ll do yuh,” he said, dancing along while trying to look at me and talk and not run into too many people walking up the hill as we walked down.

“What, I look like I’m doing business here?” I asked in all seriousness.

“Come on. You stopped to talk to us, didn’t you? I know why you want those guys and I can take care of it. I am short of stature but long on talent,” he said, selling his wares in quick time.

“What’s your name?”

“Me?” he asked, unprepared for the question. “Tommy. You can call me Tommy.”

“What do your friends call you?”

“What? You fucking with me or what?”

“I just asked you for your name. You’re the one doing the dance,” I said disinterested.

“Come on. I’m a reasonable man,” he said, taking a few sidesteps with his hands jammed into his tight cutoff jeans.

He had dark hair and was likely Spanish. His English was flawless if a product of the street. He’d honed in on me for a reason, and I wasn’t certain what it was. He kept up his pitch as I continued walking until I got to the diner. I stepped to one side so I was no longer married to the movement downhill.

“You going to buy me a Coke?” Tommy asked.

“Pepsi,” I said, loyal to my brand.

“Whatever?” he said with exasperation. “I’m hungry.”

“This food here will kill you, kid.”

“I ain’t a kid. Come on, let’s blow this joint,” he said.

There was a single short toot from behind me as a big sedan stopped at the curb.

“Oh, gotta go. Snooze you loose, dude. See yuh, wouldn’t want to be yuh,” Tommy advised in parting.

“Tommy, don’t get into that car,” I yelled in my father’s commanding voice.

It got about the same result my father got when he used it on me. It was worth a try. Tommy pulled open the car door and was immediately out of sight behind tinted glass. The dark glass alarmed me and my heart began to pound.

“Tommy, get out of that car,” I yelled, sounding frantic.

I was powerless to stop him. Why did I want to? This was going on up and down The Castro. The car was almost immediately on the move and I used the only weapon I had. Stepping into the street, directly behind the car, pad and pen in hand, I stared at the license tag and began to scribble.

Immediately I found myself thrown off balance, while being physically yanked off my feet and back onto the curb.

“What is it you think you’re doing?” the officer asked.

“Fuck!” I said to myself. ‘No good deed goes unpunished,’ I thought.

“Jaywalking is illegal in this city. You trying to get run over?” he asked, and my ears picked up the sound of a car door slamming.

I looked over my shoulder and the big sedan was pulling away from the opposite curb, Tommy was charging toward me furious. I smiled.

“You crazy or what? You’re certifiable, asshole,” Tommy screamed at me, bumping his body into mine. “He’s certifiable. That was my meal ticket, you asshole. What’s wrong with you?”

I fished a few bills out of my pocket and handed Tommy a ten. He yanked it out of my hand and stared at it.

“What’s this? I could have gotten twenty. More!” he calculated as he spoke. “This guy is nuts.”

“You said you were hungry. Ten should fill your pie hole and you don’t have to do anything but eat food and tomorrow you’ll be alive to have indigestion,” the cop informed him.

“Nuts!” Tommy said, throwing both hands into the air before stuffing the ten into his pocket as he walked away.

“I wasn’t walking,” I said to the observant officer.

“He’ll be back tomorrow and he’ll get into another car,” the officer informed me.

“Yeah, and he’ll be alive tomorrow. That’s all I wanted.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be a do-gooder?”

“Aren’t you a little young to be a cop,” I countered.

“I’m older than I look. Come on with me?” the cop ordered firmly.

“Why? I wasn’t walking? Is there a law against jay-standing?”

“Okay, obstructing traffic without a parade permit. That suit you better? …and I’m still working on the rest of what just went on out there.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, figuring the honey approach might work in my favor.

He pushed me to the diner door, held his hand on my back as he turned the knob and held the door open for me to go in first. His uniform was baggy on him. He was tall but not as tall as Carl. He had darker hair and pleasant blue eyes that glared out from under his cop hat. Even the hat looked a little big on him. I thought of asking him if it was his fathers uniform, but I decided not to go there.

“Sit,” he said, tossing his ticket book on the table in the last booth.

“He’s okay, officer,” the counterman vouched for me pleasantly. “He’s a regular.”

“Did I ask you anything? When’s the last time I inspected your storage area? I got a feeling you got rats back there the size of warthogs.”

“I didn’t say anything, officer,” the counterman said. “Sorry, kid.”

The counterman went back to his wiping and the officer glared at me.

“What can you tell me about what just happened out there? This is your only chance before I start writing.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t like what I saw and I did something about it.”

“The kid was talking to you before he got into that car. You sure you weren’t just wanting him for yourself?”

“He’s a fucking little boy,” I protested.

“Watch your language,” he objected.

“Yes, sir,” I conceded.

“Two coffee,” the cop ordered.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, not so sure of myself.

“I’m thinking. There is the jaywalking. I’m not sure if I should write you up for that or give you a civic award for good works. Where do you work?”

“I don’t,” I said.

“You don’t work and you’re handing out cash to street urchins? You’re independently wealthy or what?”

“No,” I declared meekly.

“You aren’t from around here?”

“Alabama. Actually Minnesota, Washington, then Alabama,” I corrected, realizing my identification would tell the whole truth.

He tapped his finger on the table as he watched me. Then, there was a definite pattern to the tap. I looked at the finger and looked at his face as he looked into mine like no cop had ever looked at me before.

“What? …What do you want from me?” I yelled, frustrated by his unusual behavior.

“Be quiet. The pad. Hand me the pad that you put in your pocket.”

“Sure,” I said, rolling to one side to pull the pad from my pocket. “You won’t like it.”

The cop was immediately investigating my notes, which no one could possibly understand but me. He flipped through the pages, stopping from time to time. I knew what he was looking for and I knew he wasn’t going to be happy with what he found. I had been too smart for my own good.

“Who’s Carl?” he asked.

“What? What do you want from me? Carl is none of your business is who Carl is. Write me the ticket already. I don’t like you.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” he said in his most investigatory voice.

The counterman came with the coffee and he gave me a sympathetic glance, after hearing my protests. The cop kept trying to cipher my notes.

“Okay, where is it?” he asked, once he got to the last page.

“What?”

“That guys tag number. I want it,” he said, tapping his finger again.

“I told you you wouldn’t like it. I didn’t write it down,” I explained. “I was bluffing. I didn’t expect it to work. It was worth a shot.”

“You didn’t write it down?” he reasoned. “I saw you write it down.”

“You saw me act like I wrote it down. I didn’t care about his freaking tag number. I wanted him to think I wrote it down. I got the result I was looking for,” I said, proudly. “Write me the ticket and get off my back. This is getting old.”

Feeling proud of myself, I tapped my finger on the table until he handed back my note pad. I took a good look at him and he was still staring at me. This was not about a ticket.

“What?” I yelled too loud.

“Don’t raise your voice. We’re still considering what to charge you with. Don’t make it any worse than it already is.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I protested loudly.

“So, why are you here, Minnesota?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. I’m very understanding. Let me see your driver’s license,” he ordered.

“I wasn’t driving,” I yelled in frustration.

“Identification please?” he said politely, taping his finger on the table for me to put it there. I pulled out my wallet and dropped the laminated Minnesota identification on the table.

“Let me see that other thing?”

“What other thing?” I asked.

“There’s another picture ID in there. Let me see that.”

“It’s my RamTech employee ID,” I explained, tossing it with the Minnesota ID.

“This one says St. Cloud, Minnesota. This one says Seattle, Washington. What’s that about?”

“I told you. I lived in Seattle and worked there. I went to school in Minnesota.”

“Oh,” he said, looking at the front and back of both identification cards without writing anything down.

“What kind of cop are you?”

“I can be a very nice cop. I don’t like seeing stuff on my street that I don’t understand. I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff, but you take the cake, Billie Joe Walker Jr.. Help me out here.”

“Hey, I’m the one needing help. You busted me and I gave my last ten dollars to that kid,” I lied, sensing an interest that went beyond what he’d hauled my ass in for.

“What time is it?” the cop asked the counterman.

“9:22,” the counterman said after looking at the clock for a minute.

“I was off duty at eight. Let’s say I didn’t see what I said I saw. Since I wasn’t actually on duty at the time, I might cut you some slack if you give the facts.”

“What facts. You know everything about me,” I complained.

“I don’t know. I heard it somewhere: Just the facts. It’s a good line, don’t you think?”

“What are you after? Maybe it’s time I took a look at your ID.”

“Just a couple more questions. You aren’t a serial rapist or something. Come to town to have your way with our local ladies.”

“Carl’s my lover,” I said. “That help?”

“No, not what I wanted to hear,” the cop said with a distinct frown. “Where’s he?”

“Alabama. He’s stationed in Georgia. He lives in Alabama,” I corrected, becoming more suspicious of his motives but not enough to give him a more difficult time than I already had.

“Oh, I get it,” he said, perking up. “You like men in uniforms?”

“I like Carl. If you’re off duty and you’re not going to write me up, what do you care what I’m doing here?”

“My street, remember? When I see something that makes no sense, I want to make sense of it. What does Carl call you?”

“Carl calls me by my name. What do your parents call you?”

“Argyll.”

“Argyll?” I said with a smirk.

“Don’t laugh. It could happen to you. My mother is eccentric. My father was holding out for Benjamin—‘The Graduate.’ The future in plastics convinced him. He’s an investment banker. He was away when mother put the name on my birth certificate.”

“Billie Joe,” I said.

“That you?” he asked and watched me nod. “I like Joe. Sounds… butch. You better put your ID away, Mr. Joe.”

“Your name is Argyll and you wear a uniform that’s a couple sizes too large. What kind of cop are we talking here?”

“I’m the gay liaison between the Department and The Castro. I’m still growing, by the way. I’ll fit this uniform one day.”

“The jaywalking ticket?”

“Oh, that went away right after I looked into your eyes. You couldn’t tell? They are quite lovely.”

“You’re trying to pick me up?”

“No, I didn’t try. I did pick you up. The question now is, can I keep you? I’ll feed you and give you a clean place to stay.”

“I have a lover?”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to see his picture. He’s probably a hunk and a half and I’d be forced to hate him.”

“Yes, he is. ”

“I’m a part optimist, part masochist. Come stay with me. I’ll grow on you, Joe. I’m an affable guy.”

“You’re serious? How often do you take home guys you threaten to ticket”

“Never. Never met one I wanted to take home with me before.”

“You’re funny. Why me? The Castro is full of hot men.”

“Maybe it’s not so much how hot you are—and you are hot— as it is curiosity over what you thought you were doing when I found you. That interests me to no end.”

“I was here last year. I left The Castro about this time last year. I was a street kid.”

“You? No way. You’re so… so… middle class. How’d you end up here?”

“I came looking for a gay community. I expected people that incorporated all aspects of gay life. I was very young and even more immature. What I found were gay people quite willing to exploit me and the other homeless kids. No community.”

“So that was no accident out there. You actually kept that kid from going with that guy?”

“Seems like.”

“That makes me more curious. You really give him the last of your money?”

“No. I lied. I have backup money.”

“Are you lying about being on the street?”

“No,” I objected. “I came looking for the gay community. I lost my money and possessions when the cops raided a motel room I was staying in with other homeless kids. That’s about the time I became one of them. They showed me the ropes and kept me safe.”

“You, no way,” he said.

“Way. That’s the way it happened.”

“How’d you beat the street?”

“A sick gay guy had a place and my best friend, Ty, took me there. I stayed until I went back home to finish high school. I decided I had to come back and do something.”

“Do something?” he thought. “You gave the kid money to stop him from going with the guy in the car? You don’t have enough money to give all of them money for food.”

“I came here to do something. I did something. There’s no grand plan. I’m about a day from heading back home, but I’ve got to do something. I can’t know the danger and the damage done to these kids and not try to do something about it.”

“I’ll be damned. I was right about you,” Argyll said thoughtfully. “I usually am, you know. Right about people. Get your bag and let’s go,” he said, standing up and pushing his coffee away.

“No, wait a minute. I’m not sure about this. I see the way you look at me, Argyll. I’m with Carl. He may not be with me at the moment, but I’m with him.”

“Yeah, I know. Come on. You hungry? I’m starved.”

We walked high up on Geary Street. He unlocked the front door of a small building and we walked to the top floor. He unlocked three locks before opening the heavy wooden door, holding it for me to enter.

The entryway was big and wide, like a room, but it was for hats and coats with one nicely upholstered long seat without a back or arms. The apartment covered the entire top floor. It was done in a shinny reddish wood with lots of leather. I looked for things hanging from the ceiling but a chandelier over the dinning room table was the only thing out of the ordinary.

“It’s crystal,” he said, as I stared up at all the dangling clear glass. “It’s from the nineteenth century. My father lives here when he’s in town. He hasn’t been in town for five years. He has a company in Houston and offices in London and Paris.

“You’re rich?” I said.

“On the verge of being disowned in fact. I might be homeless soon. Daddy didn’t want me to become a cop. He sent me to Stanford to study law. I merely added enforcement to the program. The old man wasn’t amused. He keeps threatening to make me live on a ‘copper’s’ pay. Luckily this place is paid for and has doubled in value twice over the last five years. The old man is a sucker for investments. Can’t bare the idea of selling it and thus I keep on living here.”

“You’re rich?”

“Do you want to go out, or do I order in?”

“On a cop’s pay? You can’t afford to wine and dine me.”

“No wine. Besides, I have credit cards. We can eat and we can shop.”

“You can eat and you can shop. Who pays the credit cards?”

“Well, that’s complicated. There’s this annuity my grandmother left me. She outlived granddaddy by a ways. The cards are drawn on the annuity, so I never see any bills. It’s kind of nice if you are living on a cop’s salary.”

“It must be nice,” I said cynically, remembering Sal’s box full of cash and the matchbox where he lived.

He ordered Chinese, because they delivered late. He signed when they came to the door. We sat at the dining room table, which would have fit ten more people effortlessly. I felt uneasy because I knew Argyll wanted more than I was going to give him, but I had nowhere else to go. I reasoned I wasn’t betraying Carl or my promise to him. I had no intention of sleeping with Argyll, but was I using him then? Of course I was. I needed a place to stay and he was willing to provide it for his own reason. I’d try to find a way to repay him, but that looked like it might be hard to do.

There was a library full of books neatly set upon handsome bookcases. Hawthorne, Melville, Emerson, Thoreau, Shakespeare, and the rows of classics went on and on and on. Each book was bound beautifully in sets. The print was flawlessly elegant. The feel of a finely bound book still gave me an erection. It was exciting. The smell was glorious and even Mr. McMichael’s bookshelf full of books paled in comparison.

I sat down in an overstuffed chair in the library and started reading. Before I knew it Argyll was shaking on my arm.

“Hey, Joe, you can’t sleep here. Come on,” he said.

He was wearing a pair of navy blue boxers with big red dots and that was all. Argyll was… thin. Skinny would be harsh and he did have some meat on his bones, but very little. He looked sixteen as I followed him back through the house.

“You like books?”

“Yeah, I like to read but never have time with this many books around.”

“I’ve read all of those. Most of them. There are a few that never interested me.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Most of my life. My parents lived here, when Daddy worked in the city.”

“How long have you lived here alone?”

“Five or six years, I guess.”

“How old are you?” I quizzed.

“You decide to become a cop?”

“Just curious,” I said, as he swung open a door to a bedroom with a huge bed in the center.

“I’m twenty-one.”

“You’ve lived alone since you were fifteen?”

“I told you my mother was eccentric. She divorced my father almost six years ago. He was already living in Houston. She moved to San Maritz or Monaco. I don’t remember. We had a butler that lived in until I left for Stanford.”

“I’m not sleeping here?” I said. “The last place I lived the entire apartment would fit in your bedroom.”

“Wouldn’t that make it crowded in here?”

“Very funny. Where do I sleep?”

“Joe, this is my room. I’m showing it to you so you know where it is. If you need anything just come in and yell. I sleep sound. You shall sleep in the guest room, which is substantially smaller. Follow me.”

He opened the door to a room across the hall. It was way smaller than his room but way bigger than my room at home.

“I trust this will do?” he asked. “I put your bag on the chair in your sitting area.”

“Oh, thanks. Thank you, Argyll. I don’t know what to say. I do need a place to stay, but I didn’t expect this.”

“That’s enough for now. Sleep well,” he said, backing out of the room and shutting the door.

I sat on the bed, bouncing on it a few times, using my butt to test it. I found myself smiling at my good fortune. Life certainly was filled with its little surprises. I lay back across the bed, musing at how fast my circumstances had changed. I knew this too would pass, but I hoped not before I woke up in the morning.

I fell asleep without bothering to undress or pulling down the covers.

Chapter 10

The Plan

“Hey, Joe, I’ve got to go to work. You going to sleep all day?”

“No,” I said, rolling over and burying my head between the pillows.

The luxurious bed had swallowed me and after a few days on a couch, this was heaven. Everything had a clean fresh smell and felt magnificent.

“What time is it,” I finally managed from deep within the pillows.

“10:30. I go to work at noon. We need to talk.”

“It’s 10:30 in the morning?”

“Yeah, that usually comes just before noon. I’ve rustled us up some breakfast.”

I put on my freshest set of sweat pants and my last clean T-shirt. After a couple of false starts, I found the dining room again. Argyll was still in his boxers with a white T-shirt. He sat reading the paper. In front of him was a tray with all sorts of peculiar items. I recognized the yogurt, English muffins, bagels, jams, and butter, but there were several bowls of something that looked like gravel, a bowl of English walnuts, sunflower seeds, and unidentifiable artifacts of one variety or another.

“Help yourself,” Argyll said. “It’s all healthy.”

“Help myself?”

“Sure. I spent all morning putting this feast together. I thought there might be something you could eat. They don’t deliver breakfast in a form I can eat.”

“They don’t? You got this where?”

“I stop in the evening and buy things for breakfast the next day. This is some of that. Sometimes I oversleep and don’t eat what I bought for breakfast. That’s how it builds up. I throw away rancid stuff.”

“Coffee?”

“You wouldn’t want my coffee. I’m not much of a cook.”

“Coffee takes a scoop of grounds and water. A coffee maker helps. You went to Stanford?”

“Yeah, they didn’t have any cooking classes. They do coffee real well at the diner. They even pay them to make it.”

I sat down a little out of sorts. Sal’s sumptuous breakfasts filled my nose even before my eyes opened to launch me into each new day. This wasn’t that kind of breakfast.

“Look, there’s a market across the street. We’ll go over tonight and I’ll introduce you. You can keep busy ‘til you drop over there, but I’ll need to be with you the first time. I’ll ask Matilda if we have a coffee maker. She comes Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to clean and change the beds. She’s a good cook but can’t cook for just me. It’s wasteful.”

“A maid?” I said with an understanding for how the place was kept so neat and clean.

“You don’t think I keep this place up myself? You eat what you like. When I get to work, I’ll order something.”

“I see,” I said. “We’re going to talk.”

“The market owners have a key to the front door of the building but you’ll need to answer the door and sign for it. It won’t be breakfast. Maybe they have orange juice and coffee. By the way, you need some pull.”

“I do? Is that a new cereal with nuts and twigs?”

“No. What you want to do will require someone with connections. You need to find out how things are done and who the doers are. Then, you bug the hell out of the people with the pull. They’ll findly come around or have you arrested for stalking.”

“What do I want to do again?”

“Those kids have always been there, Joe. I can remember them when I was young. I knew to steer clear of them. No one cares about street kids. I mean people might care but the law is so complicated that trying to help a street kid can land you in jail if anyone suspects any hanky panky or has a grudge against the fellow that’s trying to help. One word about funny stuff and you’re ruined. It’s a tricky subject. Even the guys with pull might not want anything to do with it.”

“Hanky panky? You mean the kids that are selling their asses to eat can’t be helped because someone might suspect people that help might want them for their bodies?”

“Exactly. As long as they’re on the street, no one cares, most people don’t care, how they survive, but as soon as someone takes an interest, tries to help one, there are suspicions, you know. The bureaucracy kicks into gear and wants to make sure everything is on the up and up. It’s the law.”

“I knew the government did something,” I said. “I was out there three months and the only people that came near me were cops and creeps, and they cops cost me a soft bed in a motel room, my shoes, and most of my things.”

“I’m telling you they aren’t geared to help street kids. Get them into a program. That’s the only remedy they know. Most of those kids run the first time they see anyone that looks like government help. They don’t want to be within a country mile of social services.”

“I wonder why?” I said in a silly pondering voice.

“It’s what’s there for them. You can’t make this stuff up, Joe. I’ll talk to my priest, Father Flannery. He’s a kind sort and might have some ideas.”

“A priest? He’ll pray for them?” I asked cynically. “I won’t mention priests aren’t seen as being good to have around kids.”

“Joe, we aren’t all assholes. He might get involved if he’s asked. The church does good works. If I take the idea to him the right way, who knows? What else have you got?”

“That’s pull,” I mused.

“I know a member on the Board of Supervisors. I use the term ‘know’ loosely. He’s gay but not out. When I took the job with the police department, he made himself known to me. I think he likes me is why. He has pull but he’s also got a secret if you know what I mean. He may be reluctant to get involved in an underage issue. It’s complicated for politicians, but he’s the place to start the ball rolling with the government. I don’t want to lead him on, but I can invite him over and forget to tell him the reason why. But you’ve got to be nice. I need to work with these people.”

“You’ve given this some thought? You think he’d come?”

“My impression is he’ll come. I told you he likes me. That gives me some pull in this case.”

“What good will he do if he’s afraid to let anyone know he’s gay.”

“He’s on the Board. It’s a start. He has an ear. You fill it with your story, and maybe he’s sympathetic. Maybe he knows how to approach the problem without hitting it head on.”

“It’s a start, Argyll. Thank you for wanting to help.”

“Glad to help. I see the problem every day. It just never occurred to me to do anything about it, because there are so many of them. Those kids can be dangerous. Don’t let their innocent appearance fool you. Once they learn the ways of the street, they know every conceivable way to get a buck out of someone. One word… one hint you touched one, you’re toast, dude. You’re over eighteen and the sex laws are deadly.”

“Toast! I don’t suppose you have a toaster?”

“There’s a small contraption in the kitchen that does toast and TV dinners. I never use it but I’ve watched Matilda use it. She knows a lot more about the kitchen than I do.”

“Can we go see the contraption?”

“You’re easy to entertain. Sure.”

I followed him to the kitchen and the contraption was a multi-function convection oven. I could do toast for a dozen people in that thing, except there was no bread.

“Can I look in the fridge?” I asked, as he stood watching me.

“Yeah, but you’ll be disappointed.”

It was a two door refrigerator. It was so white inside it sparkled. All the empty shelves sparkled. There in the door, a dozen more single size containers of yogurt, all varieties. There was a half-a-jar of Vlasic dill pickles and a half-used jar of mustard.

I looked back at him and there was a look on his face, like he was sorry. Of course he hadn’t planned to bring anyone home. If I slept until the afternoon, they’d deliver food. I wasn’t sure I could eat what was on the table.

I took an English muffin, offering to do one for him, but he said no, and I managed to get it out of the oven before it burnt too much. I raced back to the table to slather on some really great jam. He watched me intently with the start of a smile appearing on his lips while he observed my contortions.

“It’ll only take me a minute to pull myself together,” I said, wiping the jam from the corners of my mouth with a cloth napkin he’d put in my spot.

“No need. You can stay here and read. I’ll only lock the main bolt and I’ll order you some food once I’m at work. Simply sign your name when it comes. They won’t ask any questions. They have a key to get in downstairs, so all you’ve got to do is open the door.”

“I don’t know,” I pondered.

“You don’t know what? You don’t know if a park bench is more comfortable? Let’s face it, Joe, no matter what you think of me, you won’t get a better offer on short notice. Stay. I won’t bother you. You can trust me, I’m a cop.”

“Offering has nothing to do with it. Why would you trust me? You don’t know me. What if I decide to steal you blind?”

“What, you going to steal my autographed copy of Homer? There’s nothing here of any value you could get out without a lot of effort. Besides, you’ll probably be in the library reading when I get home. I am a cop and I do have some instinct, even if it doesn’t extend to culinary pursuits.”

“There is that,” I said. “I like Italian of any kind.”

“Now, we’re talking. I just happen to be Italian. Hot blooded and made for love,” he bragged boldly, waiting for my reaction.

“When you order my lunch, think Italian. You’re Italian?”

“Argyll Anthony Fiserelli at your service, Joe,” he stood to take a bow, his blue eyes riveted on my face.

He was cute.

Taking in his inconsequential build, I asked, “You ever get your ass kicked when you were a boy, because of your name?”

“All the time, when I was a boy.”

“Ever think of calling yourself Tony?”

“Nope! I’m Argyll. They’ve always called me Argyll.”

“I’d have changed my name,” I argued.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. My old man enrolled me in Karate class when I was eight. After that, I had no further difficulty.”

“Kicked a lot of ass, did you?” I rationalized, not seeing him as the least bit threatening.

“Heavens no! I’m a lover, not a fighter. No, they taught me all those crazy noises you make when you’re kicking the shit out of someone. I figured that if I employed those noises in advance of the ass kicking, it might make fighting unnecessary. I was right. Never had another fight. It did require me spending a lot of time looking in the mirror and practicing those noises.”

“How’s that work?” I asked, unprepared for a demonstration.

In a flash he was circling the table, raising and lowering his arms as he moved adroitly, crossing one leg with the other, never taking his eyes out of mine. He made the strangest noises I’d ever heard. By the time his fists and arms were flailing, he was a regular sound-effect production source, twirling and whirling his way about the room. I laughed until I was hysterical at the sight of him preparing for battle wearing his underwear complete with big red dots.

“That was one reaction. Difficult to get a good fight going if everyone is laughing. The other reaction was absolute uncertainty about whether or not I was a lunatic. No one wants to fight a crazy kid, and I was accused of being crazy more than once. Never got my ass kicked again though.”

“You’re funny,” I said, still giggling at the sight of him. “I took karate classes and I never saw anything to compare with that.”

“Funny ha-ha, or funny queer, sweetheart?” he said in a Bogart tough guy voice.

I laughed some more. Argyll was a classic. He was a soft and tender boy that had grown to manhood on his own. He was lonely, a bit insecure, and more than happy to have me around. I wasn’t certain I should humor him. Would he think something might come of my staying there? The last thing I wanted to do was to deceive or hurt him. I’d been honest. If he began making my staying there more complicated than it needed to be, I’d go.

He took me to the market, left a list of all the restaurants where he ordered food, and we settled into a casual friendship that often had me laughing at the stories he told about his life with two parents that didn’t necessarily like each other or him. As with most marriages, it was easier staying together than it was going it alone, until Argyll was old enough for college prep courses at a live-in school. At sixteen he was enrolled at Stanford, a novelty to be protected by upper classman who were in awe of him, the boy wonder.

Matilda was a trip. She was a large woman, maybe from Jamaica or Haiti, maybe not. At first I steered clear of her. She had her appointed rounds and she was like a small tornado, washing, wiping, and cleaning everything that was anchored down.

On the first day, in the second hour, she came storming into my bedroom, not even noticing me as I primped in the bathroom just off to one side. In a flash she had my bed stripped down and the beautiful white sheets tucked in her arms, dashing out of the room for parts unknown.

I put on my shirt and followed her down the corridor to see where she was going. When she reached the end of the longest hallway in the apartment, she reached for a keychain and unlocked the door, letting it sit open once she entered. I moved to the door as she stuffed sheets from all the beds in the house into an industrial sized washing machine. She sorted out some clothing that was mixed in the bedding, tossing it to one side, before starting the wash cycle.

“Don’t you be getting in Matilda’s way, young’n,” she barked with an accent so heavy you could have hung the laundry on it.

She was off and running again as I stood back to let her move swiftly back down the hallway to get lost in the house. When I looked in the kitchen, it sparkled beyond what it had sparkled before Matilda arrived on the scene. Nothing was loose in the room. Every pot, pan, glass, plate, knife and fork had been cleaned and stored in its proper place. I’d never seen anything like it or her. Any rumors I’d ever heard about maids being slackers did not include Matilda. She was a one-woman power cleaning machine.

For some reason I opened the door of the fridge and there on the top shift, all by itself, was a brown paper bag. A jar of unopened olives had been set down in the door beside the half jar of pickles. I began to see a pattern. I thought pickles were a bit exotic for Argyll.

I swung into action. There was a tin of lasagna we hadn’t opened from last night’s dinner. There was also a large portion of garlic bread and salad makings that were far fresher than the market offered. I popped the tin in the convection oven, set the bread to one side to heat later, and put the tin with salad fixings on the counter.

“Boy, you can’t wait ‘til Matilda’s gone before you be makin’ the mess,” she barked, sweeping into the kitchen like a bull on a rampage.

“It’s lunch. We didn’t open one tin of lasagna last night. I’m heating it up. There’s wonderful garlic bread and all kinds of things to throw into a salad. I saw your brown bag. I thought this would be a nice change for you and we’ll never eat it.”

The woman swung around and her focused black eyes narrowed on me. The look on her face could have stopped a Mack truck. She eyeballed me from head to toe, and I watched her expression soften into a most mellow smile.

“You’d do this for Matilda? You don’t even know me, young’n. Why you do this?”

“I know you have to eat. I know this will go to waste if you don’t eat it. Why waste such good food. We just ordered too much.”

“I do love the lasagna,” she admitted, weakening. “You don’t have any crazy ideas about taking advantage of my good nature,” she barked back to attention, suspicion still present.

“Only your appetite,” I assured her, and the oven buzzed.

I slid the salad makings in front of her on the counter, popped the lasagna out of the oven and the garlic bread in. There were small plastic packets of dressing and she used one. She ate the meal without speaking, but Matilda and I were buddies after that. I tried to order extra food on the nights before she came, and we always sat together while she ate. It made living there a little more natural, although everything was sterile, thanks to Matilda.

Each evening before we ate I told Argyll we weren’t going where he so frequently told me he wanted to go, but Argyll was not easily discouraged. Otherwise, he treated me like royalty and I loved it. It was quite a step up from the first time I stayed in San Francisco.

One evening he came in with Pizza, not his favorite, but one of mine. He did like the breadsticks and always had some sort of extreme antipasto that came from a different restaurant than the pizza. He told me of directing the assembly of the antipasto, so it contained too much of the things he liked most.

He brought me hard-bound books he thought I might enjoy. He brought me this absolutely wonderful chocolate, but he never ate any himself. Argyll was probably the most thoughtful man I’d ever known. Not once did he cross the line to make me feel uncomfortable, even if he kissed my cheek or hugged me, when he thought he could slip such things by me without protest.

I felt great affection for him. If not for being in love with Carl, I’d have certainly fallen for him, but I knew better. I wasn’t the least bit interested in romance from anyone but Carl. I was aware I was treading on dangerous territory, but after my experiences from the summer before, I wasn’t about to complicate my life any more than absolutely necessary.

I’d sent my address and phone number to Carl’s house in Alabama, not having his military address. Once Carl started calling, Argyll always made a face when he answered the phone. He never pretended he didn’t want me for himself, but he was polite and refrained from making comments, when handing me the phone. By his reaction he didn’t need to tell me who it was.

Carl wanted to know all about “sock” boy. I told him everything except for the harmless kisses and hugs that Argyll deserved. He’d shown me he respected me, reluctantly respected my choice in men. Of course he thought he was a better choice. He calculated I’d change my mind one day and he lived with that idea in mind.

Carl sent me an eight-by-ten glossy in a very nice frame for my bedside table. He wanted to be the last thing I looked at each night. He was. The fact he was only wearing a pair of boxer shorts gave me the full view and didn’t require much imagination to remember the rest, which was the plan.

“This him?” Argyll asked the first time he came into my room and saw the photo that arrived in the daily mail.

“That’s Carl,” I said.

“He couldn’t send you a picture with his clothes on?”

“I think that’s more for your benefit than mine. I know everything about his body,” I said suggestively.

“I bet you do,” he said in a mixture of sarcasm and disappointment. “I can see why you never gave me a second look. What a body. Not half bad looking for a guy.”

“Argyll, I never gave you a second look because I have a lover I love. If I wasn’t in love with Carl… well, let’s say you’d be at the top of my list.”

“Really. Do you think I’m handsome?”

“Yes, you are good looking. You’re sweet.”

“Do you think I’m intelligent?”

“Very intelligent,” I said with extra emphasis.

“Top of the list, huh?”

“You’re probably the nicest person I’ve ever known. I like you quite a lot,” I said, taking his hand in mine.

“Means a lot to me, Joe. I really mean that. You might have a lover, but I don’t, and if you’d have me….”

“Argyll!”

“Yeah, I know, you’re in love. Just remember if anything ever happens, I’ll be here for you. Anything. Ever.”

“I never doubted you would be. Thank you, Argyll. That is sweet. I wish things could have been different for your sake. You deserve to have someone special in your life.”

“I have someone special in my life, Joe. You are a gift.”

“Argyll, you need someone for yourself.”

“I’ve been saving this but I guess I’ll give it up on account you’re treating me so nice, Joe. There’s a Board of Supervisors meeting without the mayor tomorrow night. I’ll take you. They have an open microphone for whatever time is left once they’ve concluded business. You can say your piece.”

“The gay Supervisor?”

“Mr. Henderson. He’ll be there. He’ll hear what you have to say. Once you’ve said your piece, I’ll see if I can get him to meet with you alone. Have him to dinner one evening.”

“It’s a start. Thanks. I’m so comfortable here I almost forgot about why I came back to the city.”

“To be with me, of course,” Argyll chirped. “It’s God’s plan. You can’t mess with God’s plan. You’ll see.”

“You sure you’re Catholic?”

“Of course, I’m Italian aren’t I.”

“You’re going to hell you know.”

“Yeah, but I’m going to have a talk with God about that. I’m going to tell him he needs to rethink this entire faggot deal. If he continues to let the breeders run rampant, the earth is doomed. If he lets us fags take over things, man, we can reduce the population in no time. Fags having kids is counter-productive. I think the whole purpose is population control in the first place.”

“Yeah, sounds about right to me, but leave it to you Catholics to bugger up the plan.”

“It’s what we do. It’s why we’re here. That and to pamper handsome young men that you find jaywalking.”

“If you treat all law-breakers like this, we’d have a crime wave the likes of which no one has ever seen.”

“Rest assured, the Western World is safe. You’re the first lawbreaker I’ve ever brought home with me. Besides, we both know you weren’t technically jaywalking.”

“Why me, Argyll?”

“I don’t know. You aren’t half bad to look at. You said the right things. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. I brought home a kitten once. The old man made me take it back where I got it. ‘They’re unclean,’” he yelled. “I’ve got to admit you are way better than a cat.”

Chapter 11

Speak Up

It was a Wednesday night. Matilda and I had polished off the rest of the Everything Pizza Argyll brought home the night before. He wanted to stop to eat before the Board of Supervisors meeting, but my stomach was already churning and I made him wait.

I’d never been to a political meeting before. There was this motion and that motion. There was this objection and that objection. There was old business. There was new business, but mostly there was arguing about everything. Most of the business was of little interest to regular people, and I stopped listening to what they were arguing about.

The open microphone gave ordinary people a chance to say their piece. The Board of Supervisors was an elected body, so they needed to pretend they cared about the voters. I think they listened to us about as keenly as I listened to them, but they had to do it if they wanted to be reelected.

Argyll nudged me after three people stood up and complained about the garbage that was spilled each time the garbage was collected. When asked why she didn’t pick up the garbage and place it into one of the cans instead of leaving it lay there, she had no answer beyond, it’s not my job. She was told spills are unavoidable and residents needed to help keep their environment clean.

A woman complained about her dog getting a ticket for taking a dump in a non-dumping zone. She was livid and no one had an answer for her. Doggy-do wasn’t their department.

Being next in line, after a woman with the dog, I wasn’t sure I’d get much response, as the supervisors were talking amongst themselves.

“There are homeless kids living on your streets,” I blurted into the microphone and got an incredible feedback that alerted everyone to my presence, while clearing the sinus of everyone present.

I blew into the microphone and looked at Argyll, suddenly speechless.

“Is this damn thing on?” I yelled, and Argyll cringed and slipped down in his seat in disapproval. “There are kids living on your streets. Sometimes they’re dying out there.”

All the conversation between the supervisors stopped as they all stared at the microphone. One very dire looking gent leaned forward to speak into his microphone.

“Who are you?” he asked, looking like he’d like to wring my neck.

“My name is Billie Joe Walker Jr.”

“Mr. Walker, we don’t use profanity to express ourselves here. While I’ll overlook your youthful impertinence, there are government agencies that provide services for the homeless. I’d suggest you find the appropriate agency.”

His voice was dismissive and he pushed the microphone away from his face as he leaned back to make a comment to another supervisor.

“Street kids won’t go within a country mile of your government agencies. Why do you think they’re on the street in the first place?” I persisted.

“I have no idea,” he snapped, leaning forward to make sure I got the entire impact of his displeasure.

“I was one of those homeless kids. I was living on your streets. I lived to come here to tell about it. Some of my friends died on your streets. Killed because no one gives a damn about gay kids thrown out of their own homes,” I continued, bringing out my heavy guns and succeeding in making myself more angry. “Someone ought to give a damn. You’re the Supervisors. How about you? Do you give a damn or are you just putting in time?”

Once again the skinflint leaned back to speak to another supervisor. A younger, better dressed, and half- way decent looking guy leaned over to put in his two-cent’s worth. The older man covered up the microphone as they spoke for a minute. The old guy kept shaking his head no.

A black guy pushed his way to the microphone. He seemed to be in a hurry to speak.

“Hey, Hey, I’m in line here,” a woman complained as I shielded the microphone from him.

I refused to budge, realizing this might be my one and only shot at telling someone what I knew about life on the street.

“I’m on your side. Let me say something,” he said, reaching to pull the microphone toward his mouth as he leaned in front of me.

“I know some of those kids. They aren’t going near government agencies. They’ve been thrown out of their own houses by their so-called parents. Those kids don’t trust anyone,” the man bellowed, taking the heat off me.

“Thanks,” I said, and the word echoed around us.

“Who are you, sir?” the skinflint asked unhappily before he glanced at the clock.

“I’m Paul Jefferson. I work for the gay outreach. Those kids are all over The Castro in the evening. They come here thinking we’ll take in our own.”

“Our own?” the skinflint asked sarcastically, smirking, and then looking at the supervisor at his side.

“They’re homeless because their gay,” I blurted. “Who elects you people? Don’t you go out on the street?”

The microphone was once more muffled as the younger supervisor talked to the older supervisor. I checked to see which supervisor was which, and Supervisor Henderson was the name in front of the younger man. Supervisor Wisner was consulting him. I looked at Argyll and mouthed the words, ‘is that him?’ He nodded affirmation.

“Well schedule this for our next meeting. We can’t accomplish anything talking back and forth tonight. Our time is about up for tonight, Mr. Jefferson. You contact my office and get that boy’s information so I’m not dealing with children. This meeting of the Board of Supervisors stands adjourned.”

He banged his gavel to keep from hearing my goodbye.

“I’m old enough to vote and I’m not with him,” I protested into the dead microphone. “Bastard. You’re the problem,” I said, as my words followed their retreat.

“Thanks,” I said to Paul.

“It was your dime. I just put in my two-cents worth. They don’t react well to youngsters. You need a spokesman or a mustache.”

“I’m not a youngster. I can speak just fine,” I protested, feeling very much like I’d been dismissed.

“You didn’t have to use so much profanity,” Argyll scolded.

“I didn’t?”

“Yeah, you did. You cuss like a sailor,” Paul said.

“They weren’t paying any attention,” I explained.

We decided to exchange information so we could stay in touch. I wasn’t sure, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. It was a start but not the one I envisioned.

“You do have a way with words, Joe. You bring admirers out of the woodwork,” Argyll said as we walked toward the restaurant he had picked out without consulting me.

“What do you mean? Those assholes didn’t listen to a thing I said. Sorry, your time’s up. Son-of-a-bitch. It was a waste of time?”

“Welcome to big-time politics, Joe. That was your baptism under fire.”

“Yeah, right, I could have been yelling on a corner on Market Street for all the attention they paid to me.”

“Paul Jefferson paid attention. They talked to him. You might want to talk to him. By the way he was looking at you; he might be willing to help.”

“You think so?”

“Just don’t go to his apartment for any late night meetings on the subject,” Argyll suggested, “and you might not want to call the supervisors assholes to their face. It tends to put them off.”

“Truth hurts,” I snapped.

“Emotion is the death of any argument. You need to go in prepared. Raising your voice and cussing will mostly assure the brush off.”

“Now, you tell me. I didn’t know what I was doing. I should have been better prepared but I didn’t know what to expect.”

“I thought you’d act mature. You do around the house. I thought you were pretty smart, but you sure made a horse’s ass out of yourself. I guess I should have realized you didn’t know what was coming. It didn’t bother Paul Jefferson.”

“Everyone isn’t after my body, you know?” I argued.

“You obviously haven’t lived in this city all that long. Did you do much dating when you were on the street?”

“No, not really. Someone else was always willing to do it,” I explained. “They knew the ropes and they knew I didn’t.”

“And they took care of you?”

“Mostly,” I said. “I’d never been on the street before. They knew how things worked.”

“I rest my case, Joe. You have that effect on people. We all want to take care of you. Those kids you were with, they’d never been on the street before either. They learned how it worked because they couldn’t go home. You went home.”

“Get out of here,” I said, not connecting to his observation in a very mature way as I pushed him away from my side.

“Greek?” he asked.

“It’s Greek to me. I’ve never been popular with anyone,” I defended. “You’re full of it.”

“Greek food? Lamb. Grape leaves. Black olives. Feta cheese. It’s all quite healthy, but even you’d like it. Mellow mingling Mediterranean flavors”

“Sure,” I said. “I lost my appetite back there in that meeting. They didn’t pay any attention. Why’d you take me there?”

“Well, to let Steve Henderson see you. I’ve got a feeling he won’t be so anxious to come over for dinner now that he’s seen you in action,” Argyll observed.

“You just said everyone wanted to help me. Make up your mind.”

“He’s a low key kind of a guy, Joe. He can do more good undercover than if he comes out. You’ve got to learn to leave a better impression.”

“Bullshit. People seeing him come out would do more good than all his undercover nonsense. We need role models not more shame from people afraid to admit they’re gay. The secret is killing us, Argyll.”

“Joe, do you want help or not? I can only do what I can do. I’m not a politician. I’m a cop. Let’s finish this after dinner. I don’t need indigestion.”

“If you really liked me you wouldn’t mind,” I smirked.

I found I enjoyed the way Feta cheese crumbled and Greek olives were just the ticket with the cheese. I’d had lamb before but not seasoned like in the Greek restaurant. I suppose the freshness along with thousands of years of experience made the food great. Argyll seemed to know all the best restaurants.

That night Argyll came to my bedroom door with a stack of books in his arms. The door was open. He knocked with his knee before coming in with the books.

“Here, I picked these out for you,” he said, setting them down beside Carl’s picture. “Writing him again? Can he even read?”

“Argyll!” I protested.

“Sorry, just highlighting my strong points.”

“I’ve got plenty to read,” I said.

“Yeah, that envelope from Carl weighed two pounds. I thought you said he was in the Army. Don’t they have some work for him to do?”

“Argyll, is there a purpose behind the books?” I asked, looking up from the letter I was writing.

“Yeah, it’s gay history. There are books that tell you about the modern gay movement. If you’re going to fight with people you need to come armed. You can’t cuss them out and expect them to fall at your feet and beg to help. Not the supervisors anyway, maybe that approach will work with Paul.”

“I know about gay stuff,” I said.

“Yeah, but this is our history. There were turning points that created what we have today. Did you know it was a crime to be homosexual up until the 70s? Did you know we may owe a bunch of drag queens for beginning the modern gay pride movement?”

“No way,” I said, looking up from my letter, not believing a word of it.

“Way!” he said firmly. “Read.”

“Drag queens? Come on, Argyll. I’m not joking here.”

“Drag queens. Read your history. You might be surprised what you don’t know and who the real heroes are. It’s all in these books.”

Argyll kissed my forehead and bid me goodnight. I continued on my letter to Carl and never did look at the books he’d brought that night. I’d spend other nights reading them later and learning more about where gay pride started and what it was like before.

I got a call from Paul the next day. He invited me to his place the next afternoon. Paul was definitely interested in more than helping street kids. He was smart and funny but wanted a date with me. I told him about Carl. I told him about my mission. He questioned my determination and especially my tactics. I told him I was working on my temper.

“Argyll?” he quizzed once I made it clear there was no one but Carl.

“Argyll is merely a sweet, adorable friend,” I said confidently.

“An adorable friend who adores you. He looks at you like you’re the main course at a feast.”

“Argyll is fond of me. He’s sweet.”

We left with the agreement that our mutual interest should be the gay street kids. I had the feeling Paul wasn’t as passive as Argyll. I’d continue seeing him as long as we were working on the problem I was there to address. I’d try to talk Argyll into going along to Paul’s with me.

I came in before ten and found Argyll reading in his bedroom.

“Come on in and sit down,” he said, patting the bed beside him. “How’d it go?”

“Just like you said. You think you’re so smart.”

“And did Paul take no for an answer?” Argyll inquired, setting his book to one side.

“For the time being. It could be a problem. Maybe you should come with me next time, since you’re so smart?”

“Schedule your next meeting with him at a time when I’m off. I’ll go with you.”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea. It’ll be all about the street kids. Maybe wear your uniform and bring handcuffs.”

“I want to help, Joe. I’ve got to be careful not to cross any lines. My job comes first. I won’t always be there to protect you. We’ve got to find you allies so you aren’t alone with people like Paul. The reason I’m so smart is because I saw the way he looked at you. You couldn’t see his face until he came to the microphone and then he was on good behavior.”

“I won’t ask you to do anything out of the ordinary.”

“No, this wouldn’t be a good place for that. Carl called. There’s a number on your dresser but he had to be back on base by ten. It’s almost ten now. You can try him if you like.”

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He wanted to know if you were eating okay. He wanted to know if the place was warm and comfortable. ”

“Sounds like him. He worries a lot. He’s stuck on that army base most of the time.”

“He cares a lot about you. It’s apparent in his voice.”

“Yes, he does and I care a lot about him.”

“Well, try that number. He might still be waiting for your call.”

I used the phone in my room but Carl had gone. I looked at his picture and felt bad about missing a chance to talk to him. Holding the frame against my chest, I thought about having his arms around me. I thought about going back to Alabama to wait for Carl to be discharged.

It was an evening later when I was sitting in my bed writing Carl, when Argyll came to my door.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Argyll said from the doorway to my room.

“No, just thinking,” I said.

“I told him you were fine, safe, and staying well fed.”

“Yeah, well enough he’ll leave me flat if I don’t slow down on the food intake.”

“You’re fine,” Argyll reassured me without hesitation. “Steven is coming to dinner tomorrow evening. I’m having dinner catered. He likes French, so if you can be here at six to let the caterer in. They’ll have things ready to serve by the time I get home. I told Steven eight thirty so I can shower and get changed. Try to limit your cussing if you could. He’s important if you want help getting done what you want to get done.”

“Steven?” I said, thinking I ought to know the name.

“Henderson. Supervisor Henderson. He remembered you with no difficulty. Of course all the Supervisors have a clear recollection of you. In spite of it he wants to meet with you for a chat.”

“Progress?” I inquired to get some feel for what to expect.

“That or you’ve got another admirer. You are collecting people at a pretty good clip.”

“Argyll, I’m not collecting anyone. Whoever wants to help is welcome to help.”

“One small piece of advice, Joe: these are sophisticated people. You’d score more points if you don’t cuss them out. They’re there to help and most of them do their best within the context of what’s politically expedient.”

“I’ll watch my mouth. I don’t usually lose control so easily but those guys were jerking me around. They’ve got to take the issue seriously. Something has to be done and they can help.”

“Just remember it’s a nice friendly dinner. He’s coming to talk to you. It wouldn’t hurt for you to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Okay. Thanks for arranging it. After the Supervisor’s meeting, I was starting to get depressed.”

“I have my admirers too, you know?”

“You and Henderson?”

“Me and nobody, but he’s let me know he’s interested.”

“I thought you said he was married?” I remembered out loud.

“Yeah, he is. I told him no, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still interested. A lot of politicians marry out of convenience.”

“How convenient is that for their wives?” I inquired.

The caterers were prompt. There were enough of them to feed a small army. I was already thinking about the leftovers that I’d share with Matilda the following afternoon. The smells that came with them had my stomach growling by seven. The table was set in the dining room and all the pots and pans they used in cooking the meal were removed, replaced by silver serving bowls with candles flaming underneath to keep them properly heated.

One man in a chef’s outfit stayed on duty when everyone else left the apartment. A few minutes after the place calmed down Mr. Henderson arrived with a bottle of expensive-looking wine. We shook hands and went to neutral corners.

“You’re from Alabama?” he inquired, ill-at-ease.

“Minnesota,” I answered, made devilish over my hunger pangs.

“Oh! I’m curious about your experience here. You mentioned it at our meeting.”

“There’s not a lot to tell. I survived it. Some died. Street kids are invisible, you know,” I said as fact. “Someone should take notice and see what can be done, medical care, clothing, and especially food, simple things that might keep them alive.”

“You are passionate,” he said, as I rattled off the list of things that made sense for me to memorize after I blew my first chance in front of the Board.

It was easier one on one, but I couldn’t completely resist saying the obvious.

“You people aren’t blind. You know about the kids. A guy like you should be leading the charge. If people knew how the kids lived, they’d demand they receive aid, but they are invisible, aren’t they?”

“Unfortunately there’s a lot more to consider than getting street kids to come in out of the cold. They don’t co-operate. They don’t ask for help. When they’re picked up and put into a program, they run the first chance they get. You are right. They fill our juvenile facilities.”

“They were thrown out of their homes for being gay or just couldn’t stand living at home any more. Rather than commit suicide, they come to the city to find people like them.”

“Some maybe. I can’t believe that so many families disown their own kids. Parents don’t dump their own kids. What kind of people would do that?”

“The same kind that think it’s a sin and something they won’t tolerate under their roof,” I snapped. “This is organized religion’s finest hour. Root out the queers and run them off.”

“That’s not fair. There’s more to consider,” he argued. “There are drugs and wild kids who don’t want to listen to their parents. I’m sure there are any number of considerations.”

“Your fucking career? You wouldn’t give that up to save the lives of those kids? You wouldn’t stand up to be counted if it meant saving lives? You must feel really good looking in the mirror at yourself when you shave,” I told him unsympathetically.

“This kind of attack won’t get you anywhere. I’m on the Board and I do my best. I’m the last person that needs to get behind this problem. One word. One hint that my motives aren’t pure, I won’t be on the Board any longer.”

“It’s a gay city. The gay people can’t help because the law puts anyone at jeopardy who takes in a street kid. Even being with one makes you suspect. Don’t we have any attorneys? Can’t we get the laws changed?”

“There’s always the risk someone who is willing to help ends up compromising himself. It’s something we’ve got to be cautious about.”

“I don’t give a damn about how it looks. The point is you have the power to do something and it’s criminal if you don’t. Those kids are getting into cars with strange men and sometimes they’re never seen again.

“They’re dying. What difference does it make if they are doing the same things, only they have a place to stay and food in their belly. Maybe even go to school. At least they might live to have a life. Because there’s sex involved they don’t deserve your help? They’re gay kids. They’re out of options.”

“It’s an ideal picture you’ve painted in your mind, but not one the general public will sanction. Going against my constituents assures I don’t get reelected. Then, what good am I? I can talk to the other Supervisors and see what can be done.”

“Even if you weren’t any longer on the Board, would that mean you have no value? Wouldn’t you rather go down in defeat fighting for the lives of kids that get no say in anything?”

My mean streak surfaced with a vengeance. The Billie Joe who came to live on the streets of San Francisco no longer existed, but his temper had me wanting to punch Mr. Henderson in the face for spouting political talking points to justify doing nothing.

These were the times I thought about people like Jesus and Gene, Jake and Ty. They had no reason to assist me, keep me alive on the streets, but they did whatever they could. The cops chased me and the powers that be threatened me. I wasn’t a kid any more and I’d come back to finally help the kids who kept me alive, when I wouldn’t have survived without them. No wasn’t the answer I was willing to take.

Mr. Henderson and I had reached a loggerhead. My future in politics seemed doubtful. My ability to put up with obfuscation, at least on this subject, didn’t exist.

It was obvious to me that Mr. Henderson and his Board would be an obstacle to getting anything of importance done. I was talking commonsense and he wanted to discuss politics.

Mr. Henderson’s early arrival, for whatever reason, was ill-advised. Luckily Argyll arrived before we came to blows. The situation must have been obvious to him as he rushed into the room, hand extended and ready for shaking. He was all smiles as he came between us to greet Mr. Henderson, who stood to shake hands.

“You’re early, Steven. I’m sure I said eight thirty. Does that food smell good?” he asked, sniffing the air politely. “How are you getting along with Joe,” he asked, buoyantly optimistic, as usual but managing to stay in-between us without turning his back on either of us. It was probably good positioning on his part.

“Let’s say we’ve agreed to disagree,” he answered. “He’s bent on getting something done that isn’t within our power. We are governed by a culture who’d be suspicious of our involvement in such a program. Probably the gay community would be willing to stick their necks out.”

“Well, let’s eat. I’m starved,” Argyll interjected, anxious to change the subject.

Argyll seated us around the table, close enough to chat but not close enough to punch each other out, although I had no sense that Mr. Henderson would defend himself if I did decide to punch him in the face. In reality he had done absolutely nothing wrong, but the fact he wasn’t going to do anything totally pissed me off. He knew what I was after. Why did he bother to come?

Chef served and we all sniffed and commented on the crepes and accompanying dishes that were so rich that even a little bit was too much. It was all full of flavor and new sensations for my mouth, but a little went a long way.

Argyll made an effort to pour the wine Mr. Henderson bought, and I put my hand over my glass, getting a few drops on the back of my hand as I shook my head no. He poured Mr. Henderson’s glass half full and poured less into his glass before returning the wine back to the ice. I licked the alcohol off the back of my hand and drank water to wash the taste out of my mouth. Wine was fine but not his wine.

I felt just like I felt once I returned to Minnesota the year before. I hated the world and sitting around the dinner table was the pits, especially all the phony politeness. I just wanted to tell everyone to get fucked and leave me alone. Argyll was fine and if we’d thrown Mr. Henderson out before dinner, I might have enjoyed it. Instead I was left with indigestion.

Maybe I was wasting my time. The entire time I stayed at Sal’s, I kept thinking I was wasting my time, not doing what I came back to do. I’d been two rounds with the politicos and I thought about throwing in the towel and going back to where I belonged. I picked at my fancy vegetables with the yellow sauce, feeling on the outs.

“How’s Kim?” Argyll asked politely.

‘Must be the wife,’ I thought, looking up from my plate at Mr. Henderson, waiting.

“Fine,” Mr. Henderson said. “She’s at her mothers.”

“The baby?” Argyll inquired.

“The baby,” I choked on a piece of asparagus and let my fork drop on the plate.

Both of them looked up at me like I’d just tossed a turd into the punchbowl. Argyll was mortified, all his politeness wasted.

“You’re having kids? You’re gay and you’re having kids?” I said, unable to hide my displeasure.

“I like kids,” he explained, looking at me like I had two heads and he’d heard enough from both.

I was on a roll and nothing was going to stem the tide of ill-will.

“Does the little woman know about you?” I asked, which was like a slap in his face.

“Joe!” Argyll squeaked, choking on his asparagus.

“I don’t see where that’s any of your business,” he spoke with his sharpest tones.

“No, that’s true. Maybe it’s something she should know, but it isn’t any of my business. How can you live a lie and call it a life? It’s pathetic. It’s dishonest. You are a phony and that’s why gay men have to continue to endure having their civil rights denied them. You are why we can’t make progress. You ought to grow a backbone. I’m done. Thank you. I’ll let you two finish up. I’ve had enough for one night.”

I stormed out of the dinning room, having made a perfect ass out of myself, but feeling good about it. I wasn’t sorry. I had to go off on someone and who better than the man standing in the way of what I wanted to get done.

I thought about Argyll and bit my lip. I’d probably need another place to stay after my performance. Why did I go off at times when I needed to be a little less angry? Each time I thought I was growing up, I acted like a kid. I remembered how Sal wanted to do something for me and I dumped him, because he didn’t understand what I wanted. Maybe I’d never grow up.

I sat in the library reading, waiting to apologize to Argyll. The two of them stayed at the table and there was laughter I could hear a couple of times. I hoped Argyll was able to soothe the guy’s hurt ego. I’m sure he wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to in the manner I talked to him.

I still wasn’t sorry for anything I had to say, but I had no thought that it had reached a man that should be leading the charge to make sure all gay men had the same rights as every other man. I couldn’t believe he didn’t feel like a heel.

“Sorry,” I said, when Argyll came to the door and took a long look at me.

“It’s not me you insulted,” he said. “I thought he’d turn green there for a minute.”

“I’m sorry you went through so much trouble and I ruined it for you,” I apologized again, looking out of my book with both of my knees bent over the arm of the overstuffed red leather chair.

“It’s only food, Joe. I’ve thought the things you said. I just never had the nerve to say them. Not the kind of truth that’ll help you get to where you want to go, but there’s more than one way to skin a cat,” he said, sitting on the other arm and putting his arm around my neck.

“You have another Board member you want me to verbally assault?” I asked in jest.

“No, he was the last one of those. I think I’ll leave it alone for the time being. I’ll need to think about it.”

“The food was good,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You want to finish your dinner now that he’s gone? There’s a considerable amount left in the serving dishes. I’ll dismiss the chef and we’ll be on our own. I’ll have him come back to get his serving dishes tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sounds good. I can smell it all the way in here. My stomach is growling.”

“Oh, that’s what that was out there. I see,” he said, laughing like he wasn’t angry with me.

He told the guy he’d serve me and they could come back to collect the remnants and clean up the following morning. We pigged out and I put the rest in plastic bags to preserve some for Matilda. I thought she’d get a kick out of genuine French food, even if it was leftover.

I enjoyed the food a lot better without the supervisor. The rich flavors were easy to take when my stomach wasn’t upset. Argyll splashed a little wine in my glass and I cocked my head to look at him.

“It’s not tainted. Goes good with the food. Quit being contrary and try it.”

“He’s part of the problem, you know?” I couldn’t help myself.

“Steven is dense, but he means well. He might come around in time but he’s young and ambitious and he knows his career will hit a serious headwind if he comes out.”

“That’s not what I mean. He’s living the lie. Until we stand up to be counted, it’s going to be too easy to deny us our due.”

“Yeah, but getting where he is takes careful planning. Being gay isn’t the thing you want on your resumé. This might be the gayest town in America, but not everyone is gay. We have some fairly conservative residents and he’s too ambitious to count out statewide office.”

“As long as he lives a lie, I wouldn’t vote for him.”

“Don’t yell at me. Remember my title. I’m the gay liaison to The Castro. I don’t have to come out.”

“Just what do you do?” I asked.

“I furnish a friendly face. I’m gay. People talk to me. Some of them make passes at me, but I’m professional. I do my duty as a police officer.”

“His fear is killing us. When do we say, ‘Here I am, deal with it?’”

“Not everyone can make a stand at sixteen like you,” he said.

“How do you know how old I was?”

“I can count. I listen to what you say. You were sixteen when you got here last year. We can’t all make a stand because you think that’s what we need to do. He’s doing the best he can. He’s a Supervisor. Making him the enemy doesn’t help you. He gets to do it his way and you get to do it your way.”

“You’re taking his side, you know,” I argued.

“I’m being reasonable. I can’t live his life. I don’t expect him to live mine. If he meets a girl and gets married, who am I to argue with that?”

“He’s gay.”

“There are more gay married men than you can count.”

“You think so?”

“Look east, young man. What do you see?”

“From here? I see a canyon in Utah, a lot of big hills before you get to the flattest land in the world.”

“It’s America, Joe. You see America, and how many gay men do you think come out here to be with their own?”

“How should I know? You’re confusing the issue.”

“No, Joe. A lot more gay men stay home. They aren’t burning up the highway to get to San Francisco. Only hardcore gay men want to live here. The country is full of men that have nowhere to go. They end up in secret relationships with other men, or they get married so they aren’t alone and they get a little on the side, when the opportunity arises.”

“Their wives? Don’t they get a say about it?”

“Not in a culture that would ruin them for being gay.”

“How many?”

“Millions, I figure. Steven Henderson came to San Francisco, but he still wanted to achieve respectability.”

“Gay men aren’t respectable?”

“Perceptions are hard, Joe. The majority of people see us as perverts, child molesters, and drag queens. Those people will only change their mind when they are dead. They will die. One day the perception will change, but gay men will still need to make the decision whether or not to come out. You can’t make them come out.”

“I suppose not. I don’t want him speaking for me or thinking he speaks for me. I’ll speak for myself. I don’t need help like that.”

“Don’t get angry with me,” he said, sipping wine. “I’m trying to help.”

“You don’t see how important this is?”

“I see how important it is to you.”

“You still don’t think they’re worth helping.”

“I still don’t know if you can help kids that don’t want to be helped. They don’t trust me, I’m in a uniform. They don’t trust social workers, because they want to put them in a program. They won’t trust you, because you’re old.”

“I am not old,” I argued vainly.

“You no longer look like a kid, Joe. You have circles under your eyes, lines in your face. You aren’t an immature little boy. Now, you’re hardcore, determined, and won’t take no for an answer. Those kids don’t see the youthful Joe who needed them to survive.”

“I’ll find a way, Argyll. I’m in-between the adult world and the street kids and I’m going to make enough noise to get them the attention they need.”

“You ever think the last thing they want is attention? You’ll have Social Services, the cops, and everyone else looking into the problem and that means getting them off the streets. If the wrong people get involved, getting them off the streets will mean locking them up or handing them a bus ticket to make it someone else’s problem. Is that what you want?”

“No, of course not. When did you give it so much thought?”

“I don’t know. I met someone who alerted me to the problem. I guess that’s where I got the idea. I know someone else. It might be a better way to go. The kids won’t be so quick to distrust him. He might be able to get them fed and clothed, maybe furnish some alternative housing and medical care.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Father Flannery. He’s a good guy. He might listen to what you have to say if you don’t cuss him out. He has a big heart. If he thinks he can do more good than harm, he might look for ways to help.”

“That would be great. Food would help keep them out of the cars.”

“It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.”

“This stuff isn’t half bad,” I said, getting my appetite back.

“No, not bad at all.”

Chapter 12

No Longer One of the Boys

When I broke out the French food for her lunch, Matilda put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to one side. She thought so much sauce couldn’t help but cover up the taste of the food. The color of the food changed, once it was refrigerated, but the taste was excellent. The crepes with strawberries and gobs of freshly whipped cream were the favorite for both of us. Matilda had to admit it made for a great lunch.

That was the day I walked to The Castro to make an effort to talk to the kids I was there to help. They sat in groups of two and three in the same places I had sat. I asked about boys with the names I remembered. Gene always came to mind. He’d showed me the way over the rooftops to escape the police, who weren’t as swift as teenagers.

“Dark curly hair. Taller than me. Thinner than me.”

The description was old. He’d be taller, more mature now.

Rink, the boy who sat talking to me from the doorstep of the Korean market admitted to sixteen. His white blond hair and freckled pure face made him look thirteen. He was thin, but they were all thin. He kept his baby blue eyes out of mine, until I said Gene’s name. For the first time his face met mine.

“Gene, yeah, he was here. Some guy from L.A. picked him up. He’s living down there now. I hear he’s living large.”

“How long ago?” I asked.

“Can’t be sure. What day is it?”

“Monday September 17th,” I said suspicious.

“Last month? Late July, maybe. He’s been gone more than a month. I seen him once since and he said he was living in LA with a rich dude,” Rink said, going over my face carefully. “I can do anything he did for you if the price is right.”

“Anything?” I said, surprised by his frankness.

“It’s extra for taking it up the Hershey Highway. You got to use a condom. I blow, but I don’t swallow. I can do what Gene did. You’ll see,” he said, his voice smooth and certain.

“He was my friend. He helped me when I was out here last year,” I said, looking for his reaction.

Once more his eyes moved around my face. He looked away while thinking about my words. There were no further offers or negotiations as he sat silent, looking uncomfortable.

‘I wouldn’t have believed me either,’ I thought.

If he thought I lied about that, he knew I’d lie about everything. It wasn’t easy reaching kids on the street. The first rule was to trust no one. I wanted to be able to talk to them without running into a stone wall.

“I only said that because I got two brothers. They depend on me to feed them. We ain’t ete today,” he revealed, sounding more honest than I ever did.

“I can get you something. A sandwich? A soda?”

“I told you I got two brothers. I can’t eat if they don’t eat.”

“What are you doing here with two brothers?”

“What were you doing here?”

“I understand,” I said softly. “Where are your brothers?”

“Safe,” he said, drawing circles on the sidewalk between his legs. “I’ll do what you want but I got to get enough to feed my brothers.”

“What about you? Don’t you eat?”

“If I make enough I do. Come on, I’ll take care of you.”

“You’re pretty young,” I said, wiggling on his hook and feeling guilty for letting the conversation go so far.

“I’ll get you a guy ‘at’s sixteen, but I got to have five.”

“You’re sixteen,” I said, as he looked away from my face squinting as he thought about it.

“Okay, I’m not sixteen.”

“How old are you?” I asked, knowing better.

“Fifteen,” he said, knowing I wouldn’t believe him.

“Fifteen, sixteen, they’re the same and you’re still awfully young.”

“What, you want my birth certificate? I ain’t got time for this. I got to feed my brothers.”

“Okay, I’ll feed you,” I said.

“All of us,” he insisted.

“Did I say I’d feed you? Go get your brothers.”

“My brothers ain’t part of the deal,” he explained.

“There is no deal. I’m going to see all three of you get fed. That’s the deal.”
“No body just comes along and decides to feed three kids without expecting something in return,” Rink advised me.

“Well, then, you got a problem. I’m going to take you home and feed you. I don’t have enough money on me or I would feed you now. Do you want to eat or not?”

Rink turned to take a long look at me before he headed up toward where the party hotel once stood. I could see him thinking over how much of a threat I might be to them. He seemed to decide I didn’t represent any physical threat.

What in the world were three little kids doing out here? They were too young to be dealing with the street. In fact his two brothers should have been in elementary school. Denny was ten and Danny was eleven. They looked more like triplets than brothers. They had identical hair, eyes, and skin, with each boy having more freckles than the one who came before him.

I collected them and we headed toward home, praying Argyll understood it was only for a meal. My desire to help cornered me into doing something I hadn’t thought through. If I left them to go get money, they’d never have waited. Rink was only willing to trust me as long as it meant feeding his brothers, but he watched me carefully for any sign of danger.

Once in the apartment they seemed to relax. I got them Pepsi from the fridge, after sitting them in the kitchen and ordering the super deluxe everything but the kitchen sink pizza and more Pepsi from Stromboli’s Pizza.

“What’s the deal?” Rink asked.

“No deal. Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” Rink said.

“Starved,” his two brothers chimed.

“It’ll be a half an hour.”

“There’s got to be a deal,” Rink insisted.

“Rink, there is no deal.”

“Whose place is this? You got a sugar daddy or what?”

“I live here with a friend,” I said.

“You’re gay?” Rink asked, as his brothers looked on.

“You a detective?” I asked, and they all laughed. “What’s up with bringing your brothers out here, Rink?”

“Long story,” he said, sliding down in his chair.

“How old are you?”

“This is the price of the meal?”

“No, it’s something that’s bothering me. You aren’t fifteen?”

“Thirteen. You caught me. Denny’s ten, almost eleven. Danny is eleven almost twelve. My mother was nothing if not consistent. I turned thirteen in May. Let’s eat.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Living. What you related to Harry Mason or what?”

“Perry Mason,” I corrected. “Yeah, why can’t you go home?”

“Donnie!” Danny said uncomfortably.

“Who is Donnie?” I asked.

“Mother’s boyfriend,” Rink said ill at ease, swinging his feet back and forth under his chair.

“He beats you?”

“No, Donnie wasn’t mean.”

“Why did you leave?” I persisted, not having anything I could do about it.

“You got a television?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Can they watch?”

“Yeah,” his brothers agreed.

“I don’t want to talk in front of them. They won’t bother nothin’. Don’t touch nothin’,” he told them.

Rink was right. He sat them in a chair in front of the TV and told them not to move, until he came to get them. They were hypnotized by the cartoons before we left the room.

“Donnie’s the youngest boyfriend my mother’s brought home. I suppose he’s twenty, twenty-one. She’s going through her second childhood. They screw all over the house. He’s always hard. He walks around naked. Hard to miss he’s horny.”

“That’s a lot better than being on the street.”

“No, that was no biggy. I kind of liked that part of it. Some of her other boyfriends got me to play with theirs. Donnie was younger and he liked me more than my mom. I think it’s why he stayed with her.”

“You’re gay?” I blurted with no more consideration than many of my comments, but he needed to tell someone.

“I don’t know what I am. I’m fucking thirteen. I didn’t mind he paid attention to me. I liked his dick. It was kind of cool, ya know. He liked holding me close. He’d come get in my bed at night and we’d fool around. Most of my mother’s boyfriends growled and yelled. Donnie was such a little boy.”

“So what happened?” I wanted to know.

“Donnie was cool as long as I was the one he was getting in bed with.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I caught him with Danny. I’d been out for some reason and when I came in Danny was sitting on his lap as they watched television. They were both naked. Now Danny is bashful so I knew whose idea it was.”

“Maybe he liked him, too,” I reasoned.

“Yeah, and I might have gone along with that, but Denny was watching them. I knew he would be the next one sitting on his lap and Denny isn’t the least bit bashful. It’s how he got the ball rolling with me. He knew I looked at him. Didn’t take no Alfred Einstein to figure out what was on my mind.”

“Albert,” I corrected.

“He gay too?”

“No, what happened?”

“It excited me but they’re too young to be fooling around with an old dude. I’m too young to know the difference, but Donnie was getting way too friendly.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized for what he’d learned too young.

“We never had no old man. Donnie was the closest thing to a father. He did stuff with us. Not just sex stuff. He took us to the movies. He hit the ball to us. We passed the football. Stuff like that. He paid attention to us. He liked us. We all liked him.”

“The streets are totally dangerous. You were better off at home. If you can’t go back why not send your brother’s back?” “Donnie!”

“Oh, yeah, maybe he’s gone. Maybe if you told your mom?”

“You kidding me? She found out he slept with me, she’d kill me and then she’d kill him. My mother isn’t about sharing her men… or boys in his case. Donnie was closer to my age than hers.”

The pizza came and when I went to get the boys, they hadn’t moved, mesmerized by the screen. They looked so young. Boys that age being on the street was a crime.

Rink took each of his brother’s plates and served out one of the huge pieces of pizza for each of them. He served me before taking a piece for himself. I caught him glancing at me a couple of times. He’d been waiting for me to make a request for services, but it hadn’t happened and I could see the uncertainty on his face.

“What’s your real name? What’s with Rink?” I asked.

As Rink chewed his pizza, holding it as it dangled down around his hand, he pointed at his youngest brother, “Denny,” he said, pointed to the other, “Danny,” he said, and he pointed to himself, “Donnie. I changed my name because it reminded me of him.”

“You have the same name as your mother’s boyfriend?”

”He said it made us brothers, having the same name. I thought it was cool. Do you think he was gay?”

“More like horny,” I said, before realizing his brothers were listening to our conversation.

“He said I was his brother,” Danny said. “He said lots of brothers were close.”

“Close doesn’t mean taking it up your butt,” Donnie snapped.

Denny started laughing into the pizza he was eating.

“You never minded it when it was your butt,” Danny countered.

“I never did it in front of you,” Donnie reasoned.

“No, just in the next bed. You think you’re the only one he liked? He liked me, too.”

I had it in mind to take the boys back to The Castro before Argyll came in from work, except I couldn’t bring myself to put them back out there. At twenty-five after eight, I heard Argyll’s key in the lock. He carried something into the kitchen and I knew I was skating on thin ice.

“Billie Joe Walker Jr., in here. Now.”

The ice broke.

Denny was sitting at the table chewing on a piece of pizza, staring at Argyll who glared right back.

“Who’s this and what’s he doing in my kitchen?” Argyll asked in a stern voice.

“That’s Denny,” I said. “Denny, this is Argyll.”

“Who’s he?” Denny asked with his mouth mostly full.

“He’s the man in charge,” I said.

“Oh, hi,” Denny said, finishing his cold pizza.

“Go watch television, Denny,” I said, and we both watched as he made his exit.

“No! No! No! No! I can’t do this, Joe. I can’t be party to this. How old is that kid and what the hell is he doing here?”

“His age is the point. You want that kid living on the street?” I asked, figuring it was an argument we were going to have. “You take him back, because I can’t.”

“Joe!” he yelled, cutting it off before he was screaming at me.

“This on account of us?” Donnie asked, as he leaned into the door of the kitchen to see who was yelling at me. “We can go if you want. Don’t get in no trouble for us. It was good pizza and it was nice not be scared for a few hours.”

“There’s more?” Argyll asked in disbelief but keeping his voice controlled.

“This is Donnie and you haven’t met Danny,” I said, as Danny and Denny poked their heads in beside Donnie’s.

“We out ah here?” Denny asked. “Thank you, sir, for the wonderful pizza. I really enjoyed it. You sure got a big nice house,” Denny said in his best Oliver Twist imitation.

Donnie smacked Denny on the back of the head. “Cut it out. He’s not falling for that crap.”

Argyll sat down hard, looking at the three angelic faces peering at his before he put his face in his hands.

“Why me, Lord?”

“I’ll leave with them. It’s not your problem, Argyll. I just couldn’t leave them out there. I’m sorry,” I said, hating to see Argyll’s anguish.

“There’s three of them? Joe! Joe! I got a job to think about.”

“How could I leave them on the street? I couldn’t.”

“Joe, they were just fine where they were. I can’t have kids up here. My old man would croak.”

“He’s home?”

“Figured this was too nice a set up to be yours,” Donnie said, as Argyll peaked out of his hands at him.

“Father Flannery,” I said, and Argyll looked up. “Maybe he’d take them?”

“I talked to him like I said I would. I think he wants to help. They can’t stay here. Even if he’d take them, it would take arrangements. He’s looking into what would be practical without upsetting the powers that be any more than necessary.”

“A priest? We’ll go,” Donnie said. “Thanks, Billie Joe. Come on,” he said to his brothers. “The pizza was awesome. You’re awesome. You sure I don’t owe you nothing?”

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” I said. “I might be going with you.”

“No, go ahead and be in a hurry,” Argyll said, looking directly at Donnie as he spoke.

“No offense, Billie Joe, but I can’t take care of no one else. I hardly get enough to eat as is. Hey, Mister, we forced him to bring us up here and buy us pizza. It weren’t his fault. It’s all I got, Billie Joe, good luck,” Donnie said, holding the door for his brothers.

“I was thinking?” I said to Argyll.

“No, don’t do that. I always end up fixing things when you start thinking, Joe,” Argyll said, resting his chin on the back of his hands as he rested them on the table.

“Are we leaving?” Danny asked. “MASH is on.”

”Go watch television for a few minutes. All of you,” I ordered, and the doorway cleared out immediately.

”We can’t put them back on the street,” I explained.

“We can’t? Why didn’t we leave them where we found them? Sounds like what I might do.”

“They’re being molested at home,” I said. “They can’t go home.”

“Sounds like a case for the cops. Wait a minute. I’m a cop. Where are they from?”

“I grilled them but they aren’t talking. He was doing Donnie, when Donnie caught him doing Danny.”

“He could tell them apart?”

“Argyll, they’re kids in trouble. You’re a cop.”

“I can’t arrest them. How’d that look?”

“Argyll!”

“Well, we can always wait them out. They’ll eventually talk or grow up. Maybe I’ll just have a cardiac arrest and get it over with.”

“They aren’t criminals. They’re victims. They aren’t going to say anything to a cop. Where’s your uniform anyway?”

“I had some things at the cleaners. I changed there and they’re doing an overnight job for me. They’re tailoring a couple of uniforms for me but I’ve only got the one at the moment.”

“He’s thirteen, taking care of a ten and an eleven year old. We can’t put them back out there. That would be criminal.”

“It wouldn’t be if you hadn’t brought them here. You are testing my patience, Joe. They’re sleeping in your bed,” Argyll dictated. “They can use your bathroom. They can use the television room and the kitchen and I’m locking the rest of the rooms. Tomorrow we’re finding a more suitable place for children. Is that understood?”

“I can’t sleep in a bed with three little boys,” I said. “Donnie seems determined to pay me for helping him and you know what that means for a street kid.”

“I’m locking all the other doors but mine. You can sleep in my room if that helps, but this arrangement is not an answer, it’s a make-it-though-the night proposition. Are we clear, Joe?“

“Yes, sir,” I agreed before shutting up.

“You are? I’ll have to mark this date down.”

We walked into the television room and all three of them were sitting in the overstuffed chair in front of the TV, staring into the screen like little boys do.

“I want you to know, Joe, when I saw us together, I never saw us with kids,” Argyll revealed. “One night. That’s it. If Father Flannery won’t take them off our hands, you’ll have to take them back to where you got them or I’ll be forced to bring in social services.”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed, sensing an ever-so-slight weakening in his so far steadfast opposition to housing the boys.

Donnie heard everything without speaking. He was ever vigilant and very good at pretending he didn’t know what was going on. I figured he would already be planning their getaway if anyone unacceptable got close to them. He seemed to trust that I wouldn’t betray him and for a street kid that was a reach in such a short period of time.

I remembered the street sense that came to you fast if you survived the first few days. We all had it, but as dangerous as it was on the street, the real fear was being locked behind closed doors with bigger and stronger kids, street smart, and conditioned to the survival of the fittest.

Argyll dug ice cream out of the freezer and the five of us sat around the table eating Neapolitan out of fine china dishes, staring at each other. We were perfect strangers with nothing in common. I was all right because I’d fed them and asked for nothing in return. Argyll presented a new challenge. He was less malleable and more pragmatic than me, but he’d furnished ice cream and that won him points.

I could tell Argyll didn’t want these harmless kids on the street. It was possible he was rethinking the issue of helping three adorable kids. It was obvious they didn’t have a malicious bone in any of their bodies. Keeping it that way was tricky but essential business.

Argyll was a cop. I was their advocate, and because of Argyll’s feelings for me, I held a certain sway over him. I’d been on the street long enough to recognize these kids hadn’t been hardened by it yet. Keeping it that way was going to require both Argyll and me to get involved. I came back to save all the kids, but if I only got to save three, these three would do.

“Okay, bowls in the sink. It’s time for bed,” Argyll ordered.

“I haven’t had ice cream in so long,” Danny said, “Couldn’t I have just one more scoop.”

He held his bowl up toward Argyll with both hands cradling it. Donnie smacked the back of his head.

“Owe! Cut it out,” he complained.

“You cut it out. The man gave you ice cream. Thank him and shut up,” Donnie said forcefully.

“Thank you very much for the ice cream,” Danny said and both Donnie and Denny agreed.

“Okay, time for bed,” Argyll said, once he ran water in each bowl as it was handed over.

I tucked them into my bed as Argyll watched from the doorway.

“Night, Billie Joe,” Donnie said, kissing my cheek as I leaned to get the comforter over all three of them.

“Night, Billie Joe,” the other two sang. “Night, Mr. Argyll.”

“Night, kids,” Argyll said passively.

We sat at the kitchen table eating more ice cream. Argyll was pensive. He scraped his spoon against the bottom of his bowl long after he’d emptied it. He licked the spoon and hunched over the bowl once he was done.

“I eat when I’m stressed. I’m going to blow up like a balloon,” he lamented. “Life was so easy before I found you.”

“God, Argyll, you weigh a hundred and ten pounds and you’re six foot tall.”

“Today one-ten; tomorrow two-twenty. It’s an endless spiral once it begins.”

“You worry too much,” I argued.

“I have you living with me. I’m entitled. I’m having my uniform tailored to please you. Now, I probably won’t fit into it,” he said with a sigh.

“Two bowls of ice cream won’t alter your figure.”

“I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed. We’ll need to go to the store to get the kids breakfast, dear.”

I laughed at his resolve.

“A box of Captain Crunch and a gallon of milk should do it.”

“Not in my house you won’t. They’ll have nourishing food, while they’re here.”

“Ice cream and pizza. We’ll never get rid of them.”

“I’ve got that feeling too. Good night, dear,” he said, haplessly moving away from the table.

I read for an hour before going to his bedroom. He had on thick horn rim glasses and was reading from a book too thick to be for enjoyment.

“I put two pillows on your side,” he said. “There are more in the top of the walk-in closet if you need more.”

“Thanks,” I said, leaving my clothes on the chair on my side of the bed but keeping on my underwear.

I slid into the huge bed. We were almost as far a part as when I slept in my bedroom. He was propped up on three or four pillows and had his finger on the page he had been reading when I entered. He hadn’t started reading again.

“Near as I can figure we’re not guilty of anything beyond contributing and harboring, and there are half a dozen sexual charges that can be brought simply because we are gay men and have them here. I think we aren’t looking at any more than thirty or forty years apiece.”

“We only gave them pizza and ice cream. Surely we’d get time off for that,” I said, smiling at his morose face.

“Right! Hey little boy, want some ice cream, or maybe some candy? I don’t think that makes a good defense. What I do know is if the wrong prosecutor decides he wants to take us down, he’d have a field day making us appear like hardcore pedophiles. They make they’re bones on cases they can turn into sensations.” “We’ll keep them safe, until we can see they’re in a safe place. They’re too precious for words, Argyll. We can’t let those kids get swallowed by the mean streets.”

“No, we can’t, but it would be a lot easier if I didn’t know anything about them.”

“Life would be wonderful if no one was ever in trouble or needed help, especially kids.”

“You’re one of a kind, Joe. I just haven’t figured out what kind that is yet.”

“I’m beat,” I said. “Kids can wear you out.”

“If I read any more I’ll have nightmares,” Argyll said, laying his book to one side and pushing a button that lowered the lights to almost non-existent.

“Can you turn that back on,” a voice said from the doorway. “I’ll get lost without light.”

Argyll sat straight up and there was light even brighter than before.

“I was wondering if I could sleep in here. I’ve usually stay awake to watch over my brothers, but they’re sound asleep and safe. I’d like to sleep somewhere where I feel safe. Please.”

I looked at Argyll as he looked at me.

“Why not? There are still laws we’ve yet to break,” Argyll said. “Come on, kid. You shut up and go to sleep.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Argyll,” Donnie said in an oh-so-sweet voice, before climbing into the middle of the bed, wearing baggy underwear that obviously weren’t originally his.

“Can I sleep next to you, Billie Joe?”

“Yes, you can sleep next to me,” I said, and he scooted closer and wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on my chest. “You’ve been here a month and the closest I’ve been to you is at the dinner table. This kid’s been here a few hours and he’s already sleeping with you. I got to talk to this kid about my technique.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Argyll,” Donnie said, rolling over the three of four feet to throw his arms around him, hugging him in a warm embrace.

Argyll looked awkward, holding his arms up and away from the affection Donnie gave him, but he slowly relented and let his arms come to rest around the boy, looking ill at ease.

“You smell fresh as a bouquet of flowers,” Donnie said, looking up at Argyll’s amazed face. “Can I sleep like this? Holding on to you makes me feel safe.”

“Donnie,” I said, “As soon as you’re done hustling us, you can roll over and go to sleep. Argyll works tomorrow and needs his rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Donnie said obediently, rolling into a position an equal distance between the two of us.

I pushed one pillow up under his head, which earned me an authentic smile. Argyll turned the light down low. The room grew silent as we all started to drift off to sleep.

“I’m scared. Can I sleep in here,” Denny said from the doorway.

Argyll sat straight up turning the light back up.

“Come on,” Argyll said, patting the bed beside where Donnie now slept soundly.

Denny hugged his brother and quietly settled down on the same pillow Donnie was using. Argyll had an adorable smile on his face as he looked at the brothers before turning the light back off. Once again, we settled in for a good nights sleep.

“I’m scared,” Danny said from the doorway.

The lights came back up.

“Come on. The more the merrier,” Argyll said, as Danny climbed onto the bed, scooting to the other side of where Donnie slept soundly, wrapping himself around him.

“Yours, mine, and ours,” Argyll said.

“What’s that mean?” I asked.

“A movie I saw once. I never thought I’d live it.”

Even with the three kids in the bed, I slept through the night. They were still sleeping after I woke up. I wondered how long it had been since they’d slept in a bed? They seemed too innocent to have been exposed to the more dastardly things men do to boys. I didn’t want to know much about what they’d done since leaving home.

I wondered how accurate the story was Donnie told me about his mother’s boyfriend. He was honest about putting himself into the activity, which made me think he was telling the truth. Danny minced no words about his involvement, criticizing Donnie for thinking he had some special role, when it came to their mother’s boyfriend. The idea that Denny would have been next, simply because he was there, wasn’t unreasonable. I didn’t look very hard to find a flaw in their story.

Both Donnie and Danny seemed protective of Denny, and protecting him from experiencing what they’d gone along with seemed consistent. It would have been something brothers did. Having no father, I could understand how attention from the guy they described led to sexual activity. I fell asleep thinking and worrying about the three new arrivals.

The telephone ringing woke me up too soon. I watched Argyll’s eyes open wide as he fumbled for the phone, trying to come to grips with the new day.

“Hello,” Argyll said in a raspy voice. “Let me see if he’s in.”

“Your husband, Joe,” he said, handing the phone across the slowly awakening boys.

“Hello,” I said. “Hi, Carl. I love you.”

“I love you, too, but it didn’t take long for him to get you on the phone. You’re in his room?”

“I’m in his bed.”

“Billie Joe, I told you I wasn’t going to….”

I took the phone down off my ear and handed it to Denny, who watched me carefully.

“Hello, who is this. Hi, Carl. I’m Denny. Who are you?”

“Wait a minute. He wants you,” Denny said, handing the phone back. “Whose Carl.”

“Billie Joe, I’m not kidding around. Who in the hell is Denny?”

“That’s a long story, my love.”

“You slept in his bed? If I lived closer….”

I handed Donnie the phone as he listened carefully to the exchanges.

“Hi, Carl. I’m Donnie. Now, I figured out why Billie Joe and Argyll aren’t getting it on. You’re Billie Joe’s boyfriend. Yeah, he’s here. He’s a pretty nice dude. He took me and my brothers off the street. They fed us.”

Donnie handed me back the phone and winked, knowing he’d said exactly what was needed to sooth the savage beast.

“They started out in my bed, so I slept in Argyll’s room, but they were scared being in a new place and ended up in here.”

“I was not scared,” Donnie objected.

“Billie Joe, I don’t like that arrangement. You go back to sleeping in your own bed.”

“As long as we have the kids, I might have to sleep here.”

“I ain’t no kid. I been living off the streets three weeks. I kept us alive,” Donnie argued his rationale.

“Who’s talking to you?”

“Donnie thinks he’s grown up because he hasn’t gotten in the wrong car yet.”

“How old are they?” Carl asked.

“Ten, eleven, and thirteen.”

“I’m almost twelve,” Danny argued.

“Jesus, Billie Joe, what are you going to do with them?”

“Argyll knows people. He’s going to see what he can do.”

“Can’t they go home?”

“They’re being molested at home.”

“All of them?” Carl yelped.

“Except for the ten year old and they left before the mother’s boyfriend worked his way down to him.”

“Let me speak to Argyll,” Carl ordered.

“Yes, Carl. I love you, too,” I said, knowing when to back off.

“No, Carl. We had three kids sleeping between us.”

“I’m not a kid,” Donnie objected. “Tell him I’m not a kid,” he said to me.

“Carl, we’ve been alone in the apartment for over a month. I had him all to myself. Believe me, I would have if I could have, but he’s not interested in me. He only has eyes for you. Okay, I will. You too, Carl. Stay in touch. You might need to come bail us out. Joe, anyway.”

Argyll hung up the phone and glared at me.

“Did you tell him I was a cop?”

“He knows,” I said.

“A cop,” Denny said, sitting straight up. “We’re staying with a cop?”

“Sort of a cop, but I wouldn’t say the word staying. Your longevity here is in question. You boys do as Joe tells you.”

“He’s a cop?” Donnie asked, looking over at me for the answer.

“He’s a liaison officer,” I said.

“Oh. You aren’t going to bust us, are you?” Donnie asked, keeping an eye on Argyll.

“Yeah, right after ice cream and Captain Crunch,” Argyll quipped. “No, I’m not in the habit of arresting kids.”

“I ain’t no kid,” Donnie objected strongly, blue eyes flashing out from under the strands of hair that had fallen into his face.

“Captain Crunch. Awesome. You can arrest me,” Danny said, with the bed coming alive with children. “We should have come here right off, Donnie.”

“I think you’re doing the shopping, dear. I’ve got to stop at the cleaners on my way to work. By the way, Carl said he’s not thrilled with the sleeping arrangements.”

“No, he wouldn’t be. I’ll take care of the shopping, but don’t leave until I get back,” I said. “I’ll go right now.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Joe, sir,” Argyll said in Donnie’s voice, earning him a dirty look from both Donnie and me.

I went to my room to dress and headed across the street to the market. As I was checking out, I looked down at the front page of the stack of papers next to the register.

“Boy’s Body Found.”

I cornered Argyll in his bedroom once I’d put out the milk and cereal for the boys. I handed Argyll the paper as he brushed his wavy black hair with two brushes.

“Joe, I haven’t got time for this,” he said, checking his image in the mirror.

“Left side, last column. Read!”

“Yes, sir. Boy’s Body Found,” he read aloud, his voice tapering off until he went silent as I watched his lips moving as he said each word. “Near the lake below the park,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s next to The Castro. He was a teenage boy. Damn!” he cursed. “It could have just as easily been one of these kids. They can’t defend themselves. Not against the evil that roams those streets searching for the weak and helpless.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I couldn’t live with myself if it had been one of them.”

Argyll hugged me tight as if he’d known the dead boy. I made sure he saw the article for my own reasons. I didn’t realize it might upset him the way it did. I suppose I didn’t know much about him, but he got out ahead of me as soon as he recognized the hazards.

“Thank you,” he said. “We did a good thing. You did a good thing, Joe. Thanks for making me listen. Those boys are never going back on those streets. I’ll see to it. That’s a promise. I don’t need this fucking job that much.”

Argyll went to the kitchen before he left. I watched him muss up each boy’s hair as he passed behind them. He looked at them differently now. They were too busy with their cereal to notice the change.

“What if I bring in burgers and fries for dinner?” he asked, once he reached the head of the counter.

“All right,” they all agreed, chewing the sugar coated cereal vigorously, causing Argyll to cringe.

“Burgers and fries?” I asked, as I walked him to the door.

“You only live once, Joe,” he said, more serious than usual. “You’ve got to loosen up. Variety is the spice of life. Will you still love me when I’m grossly rotund?”

It was burgers and fries for dinner. Argyll came home in his newly tailored uniform, which gave him a credibility he didn’t rate while wearing the baggy ill defined version; his size but not meant for his thin build.

Argyll wasn’t pretentious. He thought the uniform an accessory that mattered little, except he’d gone from looking emaciated and skinny in his baggy uniform to looking dapper and handsome. It would make it easier for people to take him seriously.

Argyll picked at the French fries and ate half a burger. He didn’t change before he ate, so the boys were quite aware of the uniform. I figured Argyll had something on his mind, but he waited until everything but the fries were finished before speaking.

“Boys, I’ve been thinking,” he said.

“Not good. Is this when we leave?” Danny calculated, grabbing another burger just in case.

“That’s why I’m an adult and you’re a kid, Danny. I’ve been thinking you boys don’t belong on the street. I’ll let you live here for the time being, but you’ve got to do what I say.”

“I’ll do what you say,” Donnie said with just as much authority in his voice. “They stay out of it. I’ll do what you want if you say we can stay here.”

“Donnie, I’m a cop. I have a job I take seriously, but my job isn’t to go out and bust criminals. I’m on the force to make the job of the police easier, when they interact with the gay community. I’m out in front of it whenever possible.”

“You do?” Donnie said, thinking it over.

“You boys can’t be on the street. It’s too dangerous.”

Denny paid no attention to the details, Danny paid attention to certain parts, but Donnie always measured each of Argyll’s words.

“You’ve got to go into the system.”

“No fucking way. You’re crazy. We aren’t going back home and you don’t even know where we’re from. We aren’t going to be split up. You want my ass, fine. Whatever you like,” Donnie said out his ground rules.

“I’ve got to go by the law, Donnie. If I’m going to gain custody of all three of you, I need your help. It’s the only way you’ll stay together. We’ve got to do what the law requires. I want to help you but you’ve got to help me.”

“Cool,” Danny interrupted. “We’ll play along.”

“What’s in it for you? You didn’t want us here last night.”

“I’ve had time to think about it. I think we can make it work. It’s not something I came up with right off, but cops are there to help people and you qualify.”

“No, you wouldn’t, because we were a pain in your ass. You like Joe and Joe likes us, so maybe you are saying all this to get to where you want to be with Joe,” Donnie reasoned carefully as he took turns looking at us.

“Yes, all that is true, but there was a body found near Golden Gate Park last night. He was a boy not much older than you. Someone out there killed him. Someone that doesn’t care much about what you say or want. One way or another, I’m taking you off the street, so one of you isn’t a nameless body they find somewhere. We can do it as whatever kind of family we can come up with, or I can make a phone call and have you picked up. I want you to stay here. I’ll see you’re taken care of.”

“Is this on the level, Joe?”

“On the level.”

“We’re in,” Danny said. “I’m in and Denny is in. Donnie’s hard headed, but I don’t want to live in doorways and on street corners any more. I’m not afraid up here with you guys.”

“Shut up, Danny,” Donnie ordered.

“You shut up. You’re only a year older an me. You don’t get to say what I do. I say we stay.”

“Yeah,” Denny agreed. “I’m staying.”

Donnie looked a bit miffed by being usurped by his younger brothers. Taking a minute to stop and think about it, he nodded his approval.

“Yeah, we’ll go along with whatever you say. I don’t want them in danger. I don’t figure we can beat this place, and I’m a year and a half older than you, Danny.”

I hadn’t been included in the decision but I couldn’t have come up with a better solution for the situation with the boys. I didn’t know what Argyll had in mind but he was smart and obviously had connections that we’d need to stay out of trouble. The logistics involved in caring for three boys was far beyond my abilities, but I’d yet to consider Matilda as a solution.

Chapter 13

Care & Feeding

Argyll was suddenly convinced Denny, Danny, and Donnie needed to be protected from the street and themselves, and in particular from Donnie’s idea he could take care of his brothers. The story of the body had been enough to shake Donnie’s confidence in his ability to support his brothers. He liked being in charge but could become very much the little boy if you encouraged him to express what he kept locked up inside of him most of the time. He held tightly to the idea of protecting his brothers, but slowly gave into tolerating our protection.

Father Flannery came to talk about establishing a food-for-street-kids program, using willing members of his parish to furnish healthy meals and snacks, and delivering them to where there was a need. He would put the arrangements necessary into the hands of his staff, who would recruit volunteers. He left with a promise to furnish a tutor for the boys and the sanctuary of the church for us if we got in over our heads. Housing the kids would be too controversial for him to risk, which meant he’d look for other options outside the social services network.

Once Argyll made up his mind to do something, he didn’t waste any time. He studied his law books for the laws concerning children who can’t go home. Argyll had studied to be an attorney but was always more interested in police work. He was smart enough to know where to go to find the answers he needed. After discussing the problem of homeless gay kids on his beat with his supervisors, without mentioning the ones living with him, he acquired the services of the law firm his father was associated with.

Matilda was hired to come five days a week. She would be there whenever Argyll and I weren’t. This gave the boys a strong kind woman in their lives, and the fact she was a fine cook of exotic cuisines didn’t hurt none. Even Argyll had difficulty keeping his fork out of her multifaceted casserole, though the ingredients were a mystery, which meant he didn’t know what was in the rich flavorful dishes.

The boys devoured anything she put in front of them, so if Argyll was late getting home, he didn’t have to worry too much about the evils of good food. Matilda took to preparing a separate smaller serving for Argyll, so he always had a fresh meal when he came in from work.

At times I’d find Matilda seated in the overstuffed chair in front of the silent television. She’d be surrounded by boys as she wove wonderful tales of pirates, treasures, and Voodoo curses. The boys liked the Voodoo stories the best, but the idea she knew how to cast a spell on them kept them well-behaved when Matilda was in the house.

I was almost always in the house with the kids. We did take trips to the park and we got gloves and a bat so we could play baseball, or some version of that game that was ill defined. Donnie knew the most about it and I went along with his ideas. The Frisbee was more my speed but simply roaming the streets of San Francisco with the three towheads following along was best. We particularly liked Fisherman’s Wharf and the Pacific Coastal region for day trips.

On Monday morning of the following week Father Flannery arrived with the tutor, shortly after Matilda finished her breakfast cleanup and while she was in the midst of a particularly grisly recount about the exploits of Blackbeard the Pirate. With Father Flannery and the tutor looking on, waiting for an opening, Matilda took this time to reveal Blackbeard’s real name was Teach.

Father Flannery was obviously amused, the boys enthralled, the teacher, not so much.

“Okay, young ones, you be sitting your butts at the counter and be givin’ your tutor your full attention, and I just might finish the story before lunch.”

“Aw,” the boys agreed, definitely wanting more.

The small female tutor seemed humorless, and she got a groan from the boys. It was time to face the fact they were once again a part of the social order, which meant they had a job. It wasn’t a concept they liked. They didn’t protest vehemently and I got the idea going to school wasn’t the worst thing they could conceive.

Father Flannery agreed to stay to see Mrs. Cho through her first session. Speaking to the boys individually, she established where to start each in his lessons. Father Flannery sat with the two boys the tutor wasn’t interviewing. Denny was fine and the most talkative. Both Donnie and Danny were made uncomfortable by the priest. I didn’t know him but Argyll’s word was good enough for me and I simply took in the activities.

Here I was in a spectacular kitchen with a cook, a priest, and a tutor, who provided what was best for the boys. A week ago they were living in doorways and eating out of dumpsters. I knew, because little more than a year ago, that’s what I was doing. The incongruity was inconceivable.

Why couldn’t all the good people who wanted to help provide for all the poor and homeless people? They would if they were asked and provided with a plan. It didn’t need to be such a deadly struggle. If Donnie, Danny, and Denny were left to their own devices, what would become of them? What would become of them now, living in luxury, wanting for nothing, being fed, nurtured, and educated?

My experience on the streets gave me insights into what was needed to solve the problem, but living there with Argyll distorted the entire mess. It was so easy to see from the comfort of my overstuffed chair, while eating gourmet food. Who could take me seriously? Why would anyone take me seriously? Oh, yeah, you know just what you’re talking about, a kept boy, with a lover on one coast and a sugar brother on the other. What did I really know that wasn’t confused by Argyll, Sal, the boys, and even Carl?

My friend died. I ran away from home. I survived. I went home. What the fuck did any of that mean?

“Billie Joe. Billie Joe,” Father Flannery had to try a few times.

“Yes, Father?”

“Will you bring the boys to church on Sunday?”

“If they want to go, Father,” I answered without thinking.

“Will you come, Billie Joe?” Father Flannery asked.

“No, Father,” I said, feeling bad for his solicitation. “I don’t believe in God.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “We offer community and brotherhood. You might feel better if you come.”

“A friend of mine committed suicide because of religious people who tormented him because he was gay. I couldn’t live there, where we were friends, after he died. I came here, Father. Friends of mine died and some disappeared. I don’t know what happened to them. When I was out there, there was one way to survive. We depended on each other. When one of us disappeared, we got closer, held each other tighter, and we didn’t let go until it was daylight. There’s no God, Father. Even if there is, I still won’t believe in him. That God is responsible for those kids that died and disappeared. It’s his game and last year, I decided not to play that game. So, I’m sorry, I’m not a hypocrite and I won’t pretend for my boys. If they want to go to church, I’ll take them and I’ll sit with them, otherwise, no dice, Father. I got better things to do.”

What I intended to be a polite no thank you turned into a soliloquy that everyone heard. It was a precise expression of my experience. Considering what Father Flannery was doing for us, it could have gone unsaid. The response came without thought or concern. It seemed a truth that was impossible to deny. It was my truth.

Everyone, including the boys, stopped what they were doing to listen to my dissertation, and yet I felt nothing. The impolite aspect came as an intellectual response to my impertinence. It was nothing I felt. While I wish I hadn’t said it, at the same time I was glad I did. If it didn’t make a lot of sense, I didn’t really care.

“I’m sorry, Father,” I said, excusing myself from the kitchen.

I sat in Argyll’s library and read Tom Sawyer. I’d never read it before. I’d read from it and it was in school, but this was the day I picked it up and started to read. There was a welcome simplicity. I fell immediately into it and I could picture the characters and the setting as Mark Twain set it out for me.

Ten minutes after opening the book, I had company. Donnie sat in the chair with me. After a few minutes, he wrapped his arms around me. There were no words exchanged, but he seemed to be simpatico with me, knowing more after my outburst in the kitchen. If hurting Father Flannery’s feelings was the cost of receiving Donnie’s unconditional trust, it was well worth it. Perhaps things made more sense than I liked to believe.

It didn’t take long for both Danny and Denny to join us. I wasn’t sure if they were done, but I didn’t question them. If they needed to be with me, no matter the reason, that’s the way it was. I didn’t question them and they weren’t talking.

A few minutes later Father Flannery came and sat in the chair across from mine. He took time to talk with each boy. I continued reading and the boys came and went from my chair. I used my free arm to embrace whichever one sat in the proper spot and this got each of them under the protective arm at one time or another. I was trying to let them know I was protecting them, but I came to believe it was they who wanted to protect me from the pain and the anguish of the world I’d spoken about.

We seemed to have come together there in front of Tom, Huck, and old Mark Twain, not to mention Father Flannery. I never sensed any of the three of them ever again tried to con me. Up until that morning they each, especially Donnie, practiced their manipulation skill if they thought it might get them what they wanted. It wasn’t necessary thereafter.

They trusted me and by virtue of my being with Argyll, they trusted him. Matilda was easy; she fed them nourishing food and filled them with flights of fancy. Little boys can resist neither. The priest and the tutor came with the package in spite of what they represented. Although they were children, they saw it as being in their best interest to compromise.

With all the strangers under foot, it felt something like the first day on a new job. I finally relaxed with the feeling the boys were in excellent hands. Each of them got his own individual tutoring session before they were all called back to the kitchen table for some lessons they shared in common. They seemed engaged with Mrs. Cho who was polite and soft spoken.

With the morning slipping away, Matilda was in the midst of creating something only she could identify by name. The universal reaction was noses sniffing at the air. By the time it was ready, we were all in the kitchen. Mrs. Cho moved back from the table, seeking to get out of the way, before Matilda objected.

“Not so fast. Matilda has put enough together for everyone. You be movin’ that chair back up to this table,” she ordered. “You can’t go without having a nourishing lunch.”

Matilda pulled the tea towel off the platter of hot fresh buttered bread with specs of something seasoning the butter.

“Bring a chair, Father. Scoot the boys together. They’ll have all day to eat. You’ll be leaving here satisfied,” she bragged as I pushed my chair up beside Donnie’s and Denny’s.

Matilda wasn’t a woman you wanted to offend. None of us was completely certain whether the stories she told about curses and spells were truth or fiction. But we never questioned their veracity. Besides, she was a goddess in the kitchen and why take chances if all it took to keep spells and such at bay was to eat your fill of fine food.

Mrs. Cho would happily join us for lunch each day she came thereafter. Father Flannery’s arrival to check on the boys’ progress often coincided with lunchtime. One word from Matilda and he was seated patiently at the table, fork in hand.

Matilda refrained from finishing any particularly audacious stories she was weaving at the time of the priests arrival, but Mrs. Cho listened intently, and even Voodoo was a subject she found fascinating. It was she that always asked for the rest of the story once the coast was clear.

On that first Monday with Matilda taking pains to see that everyone got their fill, we had yet another visitor not so easily persuaded.

“Agnes Holleran, DHS. Mr. Argyll Fisherelli, please.”

“Fiserelli,” I corrected.

“Yes, I’m here to inspect the premises. He’s being considered for our foster parent’s program.”

“It’s not a good time,” I said, thinking of the scene in the kitchen and the confusion the formal lady would bring to our lunch.

“That’s the best time,” she said. “Mr. Fiserelli, we don’t make appointments so we can get some idea of what the home is like. I’d like to see…,” she said, looking through several sheets of paper, “Donnie, Danny, and Denny if you don’t mind producing them for me to inspect.”

“I’m afraid it’s a little hectic, and I’m Billie Joe. Argyll is at work. He’s a police officer, you know,” I said, stressing the point so she’d have that information at the top of her page.

“Of course I know,” Mrs. Holleran said in a snippy bureaucratic informative kind of a way. “I wouldn’t be here if his boss hadn’t made it clear he wanted it taken care of today. We are busy people. Please, the boys.”

When I opened the door to the kitchen, chaos was in progress. The boys were all laughing. Matilda was making some kind of strange face that had to involve one of her pirate stories. Mrs. Holleran didn’t seem amused, but as quick as Father Flannery caught site of her, he stood and introduced himself.

“I’m Father Flannery. You’re from DHS? We were just having lunch.”

“That we were,” Matilda exclaimed. “And you look like you haven’t had lunch yet. It’ll only take a minute.”

Matilda had Agnes in a seat before she could make her formal protest. Father Flannery sat down next to her pointing out the different flavors he’d identified in Matilda’s casserole. Mrs. Cho added one he’d left out. Luckily Agnes responded to having a priest introduce her around and explain his relationship with Argyll, since his arrival in San Francisco.

“We don’t usually put our charges in the hands of someone as young as Mr. Argyll,” Agnes informed Father Flannery.

“Except Argyll is no ordinary young man. I can assure you if he’s made up his mind to take care of these boys, they couldn’t be in better hands. Knowing the shape DHS is in, it’s a good thing he’s willing to take the responsibility to remove the worry from your shoulders.

“Lord knows how you manage with the heavy workload that is the responsibility of your department. The church and I stand behind Argyll if you have any question about his fitness. As you can see, he’s gone the extra mile to make sure the boys have the best he can offer.”

“He certainly has,” Agnes said, looking at the immaculate kitchen before holding up her empty plate as Matilda came in her direction. “This is quite good. Could I have the recipe?”

“Certainly… not. It’s a family secret, I’m afraid. My mother would cast a spell on both of us should I dare reveal the ingredients to you,” Matilda said with deadly pirate like seriousness in her voice.

Matilda glanced toward the priest, not sure it was the thing to say, but Father Flannery was seriously amused by her style. Agnes accepted the edict without alarm, holding out her plate until it had been refilled. She made quick work of the second helping, looking very unbureaucratic in doing so.

After several tries, Agnes was unable to find out where the boys came from or their last name. Father Flannery assured her he’d used his many resources to get that information, but the boys weren’t talking. They’d decided it was best to take their chances without a last name or a past, beyond what I’d learned about their early exposure to sex at the hands of boyfriends the mother brought home. Agnes listened carefully but said nothing. It couldn’t have been a new story for her.

I’m not certain what Agnes wrote down on the official forms she carried with her, but there were no more questions. Father Flannery sat with her until he saw her to the door. He didn’t offer any reservation about her visit and I didn’t bother to inquire. I knew the agents of the government could do about anything they wanted, and all we wanted was to do what was best for the boys. Thinking back on it now, I never had a social worker walk into a situation so totally out of control and yet under control, all at the same time.

I was impressed by the forces Argyll could rally around him with short notice. I suppose having money made all things possible, and whatever it took to take care of Denny, Danny, and Donnie was fine with me. I was blessed when I found Argyll, or he found me, but it had nothing to do with Father Flannery’s God. Argyll had now made my first steps into helping homeless gay kids easy, but his place wasn’t large enough for them all.

I had no objection to money. I saw how useful it could be under certain circumstances, though I was without a desire to wield stacks of dollar bills myself. Perhaps it was the time I spent on the street without anything that made my desire for things far more modest than it once might have been.

Argyll went through his attorneys and the Public Service Office in his precinct to arrange for him to take temporary custody of the boys. Father Flannery’s pledge to use the resources of the church to assist in keeping the boys in a wholesome environment sealed the deal.

While I benefited from Argyll’s money, it wasn’t the money that made my time with him so memorable. He was worth remembering because of the kind of person he’d become at such an early age. He was a man of his word, of vision, and of conscience, and he acted in concert with those qualities.

Had I not been in love with and devoted to Carl, I might have felt that way about Argyll. I never used his fondness for me to get anything out of him, but what I got out of him was an experience worth having, even if it might end badly and without the possibility for me to tell him how I felt in a more complete way.

Life for me in the days after we took in the three boys was focused and happy. I believed I was accomplishing what I’d set out to do. It was only three boys, but three boys who were in danger, and I removed it from them or them from it. I went there to save all the street kids, especially those I’d left behind when I went home. Starting with these three seemed to be a good place to begin. There was a great deal of pride in it and in Argyll’s roll.

Doing good was good and I wasn’t expecting a reward, because it felt good doing good. Even when life is good, there’s no law that says it can’t get better, and so it did.

*****

By Friday I was more than a little stressed out by my first week of fatherhood. So much had gone on, it had worn me out, and I was glad we’d have two days of no one coming over to what had once been a quiet oasis. The best laid plans of mice….

“I’ve got to go to the airport,” Argyll announced, coming in early from work on Friday afternoon. “Why don’t you guys come along?”

There was no time to get the logistics straight and we ended up on the curb in front of the building, while Argyll brought the car around. It was a white six-door Cadillac limousine, what else.

“Cool!” Denny said, sitting in the middle of the seat furthest back as Danny followed him. I sat in the seat facing them and Donnie sat beside me.

We headed south away from the city. It was easy to remember the last time I took that trip. I was with my father the previous summer, and I was on my way home to Minnesota.

It wasn’t a particularly happy memory. I’d left home a pliant kid my father had no trouble controlling. Upon my return to Minnesota, I was a more mature and difficult person with plans of my own. My parents didn’t understand the change. I didn’t care, even if I didn’t understand my anger either. I’d gone to San Francisco to find out what it meant to be gay, and what I found was a city too busy to care about the kids lost on their streets. My quest ended without success and the people who kept me alive were left to fend for themselves.

I’d done the right thing, when I agreed to go home. Finishing school and learning to adjust under tough conditions forced me to grow up faster. The last thing on my mind was ever returning to San Francisco. I couldn’t explain what made me return, but it came down to unfinished business. I’d found something in San Francisco I didn’t know existed before I left home. Once I knew, I had to do something about it. Maybe it was my payback to the boys who protected me and kept me alive, even though they were gone, as I suspected they would be.

“Where we going?” Donnie asked suspiciously, as he watched Denny bouncing on the backseat.

“I’ve got to pick up a friend. He called me at work and said he was coming to town. You’ll meet him,” Argyll said, speaking into my ear as he turned his head toward us.

“Who is it?” Donnie asked.

“Not anyone you know, Don,” Argyll answered as we moved through the evening traffic. “You’ll see.”

We pulled into a VIP parking strip up against one side of the terminal.

“Your father?” I asked, thinking it had to be someone important enough for Argyll to take off early from work, but the question came too late as we left the car with Argyll leading the way.

Chapter 14

Visitation

We invaded the terminal with Argyll leading the way. As we moved in, people flooded out, horns honked, whistles blew to summon cabs.

It was nice getting out for a few hours, even if the terminal was jammed. The kids could be a handful, if they’d been cooped up all day. Walking to restaurants together for dinner was most of their exercise if I didn’t get them to the park. We went out to Golden Gate Park for a concert Wednesday night, but it wasn’t enough activity for three growing boys. They were remarkably well mannered, staying close to us whenever we were out. I was sure it had to do with a fear of getting separated from us.

I understood their need to feel safe at all times. Once they’re initial suspicion of us passed, they discovered an environment where we would protect them. I’d spent so much time with them that I could no longer conceive living without them.

It seemed like I’d always been responsible for them. That responsibility made my journey back to San Francisco a success no matter what else came out of it. It was a simple cop-out that I knew betrayed my purpose, but doing what I set out to do was hard, and the kids were here, occupying most of my time. Father Flannery was still setting up a kitchen where meals would be prepared for street kids, but how we’d get the food to the kids was still a mystery and I hadn’t been consulted.

“Here,” Argyll said, looking down at a paper he carried.

The kids wanted a soda and Argyll gave me a twenty, thinking it would take half of it to satisfy their thirst. I didn’t realize how much things cost at the airport. I came to the conclusion they flew everything in, which accounted for the high prices.

We walked back to where Argyll waited, once the boys were satisfied. Once they started complaining about hunger, they were told dinner would come on the way home. They sat down near the windows to watch the coming and going of planes, keeping one eye on Argyll and me. I stood close to the boys planning to use them as my shields from his father, who I’d concluded was who it was we were meeting.

“You’re awful serious,” I said to Argyll as he watched the gate.

“Short notice. I like to plan things. Coming to the airport means chaos no matter how much notice you get. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, Joe,” he said, as if I was responsible.

“Why the short notice, anyway?” I wanted to know.

“Spur of the moment thing. He wasn’t sure he could get away. Once he made his arrangements, he called.”

“Must be someone special,” I decided, maybe not his father.

“I think so,” he said coyly. “Yeah, someone special. You’ll see soon. It’s time for his flight to be unloading.”

I was immediately checking the schedule on the screen to see if I could figure out the most likely flight. Before I got half way through the list another airplane moved to the gate to begin discharging passengers past us. Argyll looked blankly at the people spewing out of the doorway, like he wasn’t even certain what he was looking for.

Then, I understood the evasiveness. I wasn’t sure if I was seeing things or daydreaming, but it all became clear in a flash.

“Carl!” I screamed, throwing myself at him with enough force to make him step backward when I reached him. “Oh, Carl,” I said, hugging myself to him.

His big arms felt like heaven to me. I wanted to kiss him in the worst way, but I cried instead. He moved me back before I embarrassed all of us. My mouth became fixed in a perpetual smile as tears ran. He was beautiful.

“I thought we were picking up someone you knew,” Denny observed, picking up on Carl’s arm around me.

The three boys stood a few feet away. It wasn’t easy to figure what they were thinking.

“Thanks, Argyll,” Carl said. “You didn’t tell him?”

“No. I never mentioned it was you we were picking up. He was clueless, until he saw you. I love surprises.”

Carl was sincere. Argyll seemed fine with allowing Carl to come to join us in what was becoming his crowded residence. The three boys were a bit mystified by yet another man added to the mix. I did wonder if they’d see Carl as a threat.

“You a cop too?” Denny quizzed, checking out Carl’s uniform.

“No, I’m in the army,” Carl said. “No time to change. I left for the airport as soon as I was off duty. Who are the midgets?”

“Denny, Danny, Donnie,” I said, naming each for him.

“You’re a big one,” Denny said, looking up at Carl with admiration for his size.

“You’re a little one,” Carl said, and in a flash Denny was across Carl’s shoulder, being flipped upside down as he giggled like he was on a roller coaster ride before Carl set him back down.

“Do it again,” Denny squealed loudly. “Do it again.”

Carl hoisted him up and moved him around behind his neck before setting him carefully back down.

“He’s cool,” Denny said, giggling out the words and holding onto Carl’s arm. “You come to live with us?”

“No, I’m here to see Billie Joe,” Carl explained.

Danny seemed open to the latest arrival, but Donnie wasn’t buying it. He stood off to one side like he wasn’t with us. He watched Argyll, he watched me, but mostly he stared at Carl with a cold recognition in his eyes.

“You’ve come to take him away from us,” Donnie charged vehemently.

“He’s just visiting us,” I said, wanting to defend the visit.

“We’re going to talk about it,” Carl said, ignoring my retort, having no feel for Donnie’s despair.

It wasn’t as much fun seeing Carl at that instant. It was a little like I’d been blindsided. I loved Carl, but I owed my loyalty to the boys. Whatever Carl had in mind for me, he wasn’t going to like the outcome.

It all made sense. He took off from work and flew across the country. You don’t do that without a reason. It’s why I wasn’t told he was coming. I glared at Argyll, having no forgiveness for his duplicity.

Argyll knew what the visit meant. He knew the stakes and he was betting Carl was going to leave without me. It’s the first time I knew Argyll to be less than forthright with the truth, but I understood his motive. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like being played. I didn’t like that he thought he could win a showdown between Carl and me.

Carl didn’t like the living arrangements and he’d come to do something about it. I heard it in his voice the day he called and I was in Argyll’s bed. I’d treated his concerns irresponsibly, because I knew they were unfounded. It hadn’t been fair to Carl and he had come to see me in response. No matter my love for Carl, I couldn’t leave the boys. He’d have to understand that. I’d do anything else he asked or demanded, but not that.

“Don’t take him away from us,” Donnie pleaded in a little boy’s voice.

“I’d like to take him back with me,” Carl said, looking at me as he spoke, “but that’s not in the cards by the looks of it. He seems to have his hands full at the moment.”

I wanted to get my hands full of Carl in spite of the situation, but I couldn’t do anything suggestive in front of the kids. What I wanted to suggest included no one but him. I could prove I loved only him if he gave me a chance.

Denny and Danny seemed giddy over Carl’s arrival, as he hoisted one and then the other onto his shoulder on the way to the car. Donnie walked well away from the new arrival. He had no interest in being tossed in the air or manhandled. I dropped back to walk beside him, wanting to reassure him, but he picked up his pace and moved up beside Argyll as we left the terminal. Once again Donnie’s concern was vetoed by his younger brothers, but this time he wasn’t going to be won over so easily.

Argyll remained his level-headed self and seemed happy that I was happy. He looped his arm over Donnie’s shoulder as they walked together. Donnie glared up at him at first but decided he couldn’t object to his only ally. Our happy little family faced its first crisis. I didn’t now how it might turn out.

Denny sat on one side of Carl and Danny sat on the other; Donnie sat next to me on the seat that faced them, keeping his distance. Carl and I didn’t touch each other overtly, but Carl’s leg rubbed mine as we left the airport. Argyll stayed focused and offered the only plan. At least someone knew where we were going.

“You might want to change before we stop for dinner,” Argyll suggested. “You have half-an-hour in this traffic.”

Carl opened his gym bag, taking out jeans and a T-shirt with ARMY written across the chest.

“Man, look at his muscles, Donnie,” Danny squealed, feeling Carl’s chest, once it was revealed. “I want a chest like that when I grow up. You’re handsome.”

“Thank you,” Carl said, as Danny examined more of his muscles once he heard no complaint.

“You are big,” Denny said with admiration, using his eyes in favor of Danny’s touchy feely approach.

“You might want to put your jeans on,” I suggested without explaining. “We might want to save the biology lesson for Ms. Cho.”

Carl finished dressing, smoothing his uniform across the seat between Donnie and me. He’d need to be wearing it when he arrived back on base, Monday night. Argyll would probably have it cleaned and pressed if he got a chance, but I didn’t suggest it.

Argyll blended off the freeway, turning into a parking lot adjacent to a spaghetti restaurant in Daily City. We were early enough to beat the rush. The boys all ate spaghetti and meatballs. Argyll got an antipasto and spaghetti with pesto sauce. Carl got his with sausage and meatballs, which sounded good to me. The garlic bread kept flowing as did the soda that came in pitchers. It was good eating if not gourmet. It was a bit noisy, but we created a major amount of the din.

“It’s on me,” Argyll said to Carl, when the bill came.

“I’ll leave the tip,” Carl replied in his brusque voice.

He tossed a ten dollar bill on the table as we stood up to leave.

It was the first dust up, but I knew it wouldn’t be the last. Carl wouldn’t accept Argyll’s generosity. Argyll could pay and so he did pay. Both were the sweetest guys in the world, but they had the ability to rub one another the wrong way, when it came to boundaries. I’d never been certain where my boundaries were, so unless I got an uneasy feeling I tended to accept the boundaries others set down.

There was a certain amount of tension coming from the fact I lived with Argyll, and Carl needed to see what was going on with that. We’d been away from one another for well over a month and Carl laid out the ground rules before I left Alabama. He’d accept my need to finish what I’d started while he was away in Japan, but he wouldn’t accept my becoming involved with anyone he regarded as a threat to our relationship. He hadn’t made up his mind about Argyll yet.

The three boys weren’t a problem. Well, two out of three ain’t bad. Donnie didn’t show any interest in Carl, while Denny and Danny couldn’t get enough of the new man in town. They wouldn’t leave him alone.

Carl was wonderful with the boys. Even when Donnie didn’t speak or make his wishes known, Carl tried to include him on his own terms. Donnie paid Carl no mind for reasons he didn’t make clear. Except for the initial meeting he didn’t have much to go on, but Donnie didn’t need much.

Carl had Argyll stop at a super market before we hit the freeway again. He brought back a case of mixed soda along with a variety of candy for the boys and several kinds of ice cream for all of us. Argyll had gone out of his way to see to it the boys had a well balanced diet, keeping them full of the more healthy foods

“They don’t need that much junk,” Argyll fussed as he drove, listening to the boys celebrate their good luck.

“I do,” Carl said without repentance. “They’re kids. We need our sugar, don’t we,” Carl announced with full agreement from those in the back two seats.

A splurge when Uncle Carl visited would become the custom. Argyll didn’t so much mind the sweets now and then. He did object to Carl thinking of it first. Argyll did everything as a matter of routine. It helped him to feel like everything was under control.

Carl didn’t plan much in advance. He knew what had to be done but he didn’t want to be tied to a specific schedule or routine when the Army wasn’t insisting upon it. This created a spontaneity that allowed for a change of pace. For Carl, this left time to fit in fun stuff, candy and soda. Argyll had never done the fun stuff and there was some initial resistance to anything that was Carl’s idea.

We got out in front of the building, while Argyll went to put the car back in the parking garage under the building.

“Damn,” Carl said, looking at me, once he’d seen inside the apartment. “This is a fucking palace. He a Rockefeller or a Rothschild?”

“He’s a Fiserelli. His father is an investment banker. He says the place belongs to his father, but I’ve never seen him.”

“If I had a place like this I’d check in now and again,” he said, sticking his head in each open door. “Hey, one of you get that ice cream in the freezer before it melts. You, Mr. Joe, show me where you sleep.”

Carl closed the door behind us, when I showed him the small bedroom. He didn’t say anything else, grabbing me and throwing me on the bed, coming down on top of me, planting his mouth on mine. His weight kept me from shifting, but with our mouth’s matching up remarkably well, I wasn’t going anywhere.

“You’ve been lifting weights,” I said, acting just like Danny, once I realized how hard he’d become in places that weren’t so hard before.

“Nah,” he said, rolling onto his back. “I’ve got a captain that likes us in our skivvies and nothing else. We double time back and forth across base carrying telephone poles over our heads, one squad one pole. He likes to take pictures of ‘his boys.’”

“You’re hard as a rock,” I admired, feeling under the T-shirt.

“Don’t let Danny catch you doing that,” Carl quipped. “Is that kid gay or what?”

“He’s twelve!” I said as an explanation.

“I’m twenty and I’ve never been felt up like that before, present company excluded.”

“He did not ‘feel you up,’” I answered, recalling the event. “He likes your muscles.”

“I was there, remember? You better put on your jeans? You thought he was going to go for my dick.”

“Carl!”

I had an excellent memory, but my mouth became hindered by his tongue. I’d forgotten how completely Carl could remove me from my own reality, absorbing me into his. With both of my hands deep in his pants, my nightly dreams were about to come alive as I opened his pants to make my wish come true.

“You guys need to lock the door if you’re going to screw in here,” Donnie said, watching us break our clinch. “My brothers don’t need to see that stuff.”

“I thought I did,” Carl said, trying to get his privates tucked away. Embarrassment showed on his face as Donnie’s cool eyes stayed on us.

“Donnie, the door was shut. Knock first. Don’t simply walk in,” I explained. “Whenever Carl is here and that door is closed, walk away.”

I was as angry with myself as I was with him, but I knew he knew not to walk in on us. He did it to interrupt or to see what was going on. He shouldn’t have seen it either.

“It’s my bedroom,” he answered. “You sleep with Argyll?” he politely answered with the obligatory glare coming from Carl. “Argyll said to come get you. I did what I was told.”

“And you just had to walk in on us?”

“I knew what you were doing. I’m not stupid.”

“Knock when Carl’s here,” I asked more politely.

“Knock on Argyll’s door when Carl isn’t here?” Donnie threw in for good measure.

“Argyll’s door is never closed. You boys sleep in there with us, as I recall.”

“I just sleep there to keep an eye on my brothers,” he said.

“Yeah, I recall you being the first one who wanted to get in bed with us, Donnie. You need to get your stories straight.”

“Or something,” Carl said, throwing his arm around Donnie’s shoulders once he got to the door. “What does ole’ Argyll want, Donnie my man?”

“He’s waiting to dish us out some ice cream. He thought, since you bought it, you might want to dish it up. He told me to go see.”

“Yeah, ice cream sounds good,” Carl said. “Cool things off around here, huh, Joe.”

Every time Carl said Joe, I cringed. It was his little dig, because he knew it was what Argyll called me. Carl wasn’t beyond getting his own digs in at the appropriate time. I was hot and bothered and he was leaving with Donnie, who had steered clear of Carl until he was taking him away from me. He’d probably waited at the door for us to get going good before opening it to watch. I couldn’t believe I thought that.

Donnie was turning out to be far more jaded than I’d suspected. He didn’t miss a trick, but of course, I didn’t either. I made a point of sitting next to him. It was another reason for me to see to it he had no reason to keep his angry edge. He was trying to prove to himself he couldn’t trust us, but I wasn’t going to let it happen. I’d keep my word no matter how hard it was.

Sitting at the table, Donnie waited for Carl to fix him the root beer over ice he’d asked for on the way to the kitchen. Carl treated him like he hadn’t seen everything there was to see, but Donnie was in the midst of recalibrating where we all stood, and Carl was a distraction he’d use to his advantage if he could. It wasn’t Carl he was angry with. It was me.

Carl took orders for ice cream and he dished it out. Denny wanted some of each, Danny wanted a root beer float with chocolate nut fudge ice cream, and they went about trying to finish the ice cream in one sitting. Donnie didn’t have much to say and he didn’t join in on the frivolity. He was watching me each time I looked to see where he was.

In the middle of a good laugh, coming from Carl threatening bodily harm to Argyll if he didn’t eat at least one kind of ice cream, Donnie spoke up.

“You going to leave with him?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you guys to take care of and you come first. Carl knows that and it would be nice if we could show him a good time while he’s here. He came a long way.”

“That’s not the way it looked in the bedroom,” Donnie said sharply.

“Donnie, I love Carl. He’s my boyfriend, lover, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him, after I see to it you three boys are safe and well taken care of. We can wait until that is done.”

“That’s not what he thinks. He came here to take you back with him. He doesn’t like you being here.”

“I know,” I said. “He understands that the three of you come before the two of us. I won’t leave you, Donnie.”

“What’s wrong with Argyll?” Donnie asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Argyll is great.”

“Why aren’t you with Argyll instead of Carl? Argyll’s a lot closer.”

“I met Carl first. I fell in love with him. When that happens, you don’t see other people in those terms. I never saw Argyll as anything but a good friend. Ask him. I didn’t deceive him or you. I’ve put my life on hold to take care of you.”

“He told me about Carl as soon as he knew I liked him,” Argyll said. “I knew I didn’t have much of a chance with him when I brought him home. I’ve been trying to change his mind, but meeting Carl, seeing them together, I’m happy they’re happy. It makes me happy knowing Joe is in such good hands.”

“Why would you put up with it?” Donnie turned to Carl, understanding all the elements involved but not how it was possible for those elements to fit together without someone being hurt.

“Donnie, I love Billie Joe and you’re important to him. If you’re important to him, you’re important to me,” Carl explained. “Yes, I want Billie Joe to come home with me. I understand why he can’t.”

Argyll took small spoonfuls of the chocolate nut fudge ice cream. He tried not to enjoy it, but the look on his face told another story. Then he ran the spoon over the empty bowl a half dozen times. He looked at the bottom of the empty bowl like he might cry.

I wasn’t certain the lack of ice cream was what caused him to look so sad. There were truths that had been spoken and those truths weren’t to Argyll’s liking. I think he understood he’d set something in motion without realizing he’d be hurt most by the truths revealed, but Argyll wasn’t a man to be sad for long.

We’d each listened with different degrees of concern for the answers. Donnie had thought about it longest, drawing his own conclusions before letting his anger with us loose. All three of the adults present had taken great care to calm his fears. Question and answer period ended for the moment, but Donnie would remain unconvinced until Carl flew back home without me. He tried not to show his fear but it was in every word and glance as was his relief when Carl left.

The first time I could corner Carl alone in my bedroom, I threw my arms around him and kissed him passionately, telling him “I love you” over and over again. I knew he wasn’t happy, but I was going to change that and I had no doubt about it, but in my haste, I forgot to close the door.

“Excuse me,” Argyll said, looking at our embrace. “You guys go ahead and sleep in here. I wanted to let you know that I’d keep the kids out of your hair. Donnie is still going to get between you every chance he gets, but I’ll do what I can. He’s so damn smart. He reminds me of you, Joe.”

Carl grabbed Argyll’s arm as he was closing the door to leave us alone at last.

“Thanks, Argyll. Billie Joe said you’re a prince,” Carl said, giving him a solid hug. “You are something.”

“Yes, you are,” I said, kissing Argyll’s cheek as he blushed from our show of appreciation.

He smiled happily, closing the door as he left.

There was a certain incongruity that the two of them would never resolve. I suppose my being in the middle of them was as responsible as anything else, but they did like one another on a man to man basis with both admiring certain aspects of the other’s persona. I loved them both and was satisfied that they loved me enough to trust my judgment. I only wish I did.

Argyll would always remain intimidated by Carl’s physical size and strength, while Carl would feel the same way about Argyll’s wealth and knowledge. Both picked something that was inalterable about the other to be jealous about. Argyll wanted to stay thin and eat healthy to stay healthy. Carl no more wanted a lot of money than I did. But I began to see that it was nice having money when you needed it.

Having a roof over our head and food in our belly was the most important thing for Carl and me. Living large required more energy than it deserved, and no amount of money makes you happy, and no amount makes a difference if you become deathly ill. The best thing about life was the people in it. I’d found a couple of winners.

Chapter 15

Love Me Do

I took care of the dishes so that Matilda could start with a clean kitchen the next morning. By the time I was wiping down the counters I had begun wondering where Carl had gone. I felt a bit neglected with his being so close and yet, not close enough. We’d already agreed to wait for the boys to go to bed before we settled into my bedroom.

I checked my bedroom but it was empty. I stuck my head in the library but found only Argyll pushed far back in his easy chair where he’d become immersed in one of his leather bound books. Next stop the television room, where I found my man as well as the rest of my missing men. They were all stationed in front of the television.

Carl sat in the middle of the couch, Denny leaning up against Carl’s right side with a big arm wrapped around him as he sucked his thumb. On the other side was Danny, his head in Carl’s lap, the other big arm protecting him. They were sleeping soundly when I arrived. Only Donnie was left. He sat with his elbows dug into his knees so his hands could support his chin. He leaned forward into the television screen as he watched Armageddon.

Donnie glanced up as I came in the door before going back to staring at the tube. Seeing Carl was surrounded, I sat beside Donnie. He moved over to create more space. There was plenty of room for both of us. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder, which caused him to look at me again with the same blank stare he used on the TV, but he immediately went back to the explosions and madness on the screen.

I didn’t know what to do about Donnie. His brothers seemed fine with letting the life around them work itself out, but Donnie needed some assurance no one could give him. He displayed the same kind of vigilance he’d used since he became responsible for his brothers. I thought I understood, but it didn’t make the distance any easier to close.

Donnie maintained that posture for some time. I kept my arm around him and tried not to scream over one of the worst movies ever made, but I was determined to be good. I knew kids liked stupid stuff and calling it stupid only assured they’d become even more devoted to whatever it was.

It had been a long day and watching television wasn’t how I wanted to end it, but my eyes fluttered and end it did, at least for the moment. Armageddon was good for something.

“Hey! Hey! Time for a good night’s sleep,” Argyll said.

I tried to focus on him but was only half awake.

“What did you do to him? He’s been totally antisocial since Carl showed up. I figured he was mad with you.”

“Who?” I asked, still half swallowed by sleep.

“He’s sound asleep,” Argyll said with some amount of wonder. “You do have a way with men, Joe. He might make it yet.”

Donnie had leaned back under my arm and was snuggled up against me sound asleep. I brushed his hair with my hand and didn’t want to move. He was at peace and that was rarely something he achieved when he was awake. He carried the weight of the world on his small shoulders.

“I’ll take care of the kids. I’ve already sent Carl to your bedroom. You might have to throw cold water on him, but I’m sure it would be worth the effort. I didn’t want to like him, you know.”

I eased Donnie to one side before standing. I hugged Argyll and kissed his cheek again. Feeling his body trembling, I stood back.

“Thanks,” I said. “You are a prince.”

“More like a lady in waiting,” he said without humor.

Carl was face down on my bed when I got to my room. My heart fluttered and an overwhelming feeling of well-being came over me as I stood beside the bed looking at my love. There was no way I was going to leave him alone.

Stripping out of my clothes I wrapped my body on top of his, running my arms up under his shirt and I surrounded his body with a lusty hug as I chewed on one of his ears.

His ass lifted to rub against my swollen prick.

The denim scratched my tender flesh, which excited me even more.

I chewed his ear and fucked the back of his jeans as he started to squirm in a semiconscious motion, giving me a soft moan when I shoved my tongue deep into his ear and humped the hell out of his hidden ass.

I reached down under him to unfasten his jeans, fishing for the prize within that would fill my hand. I twisted a nipple, nibbled at an ear, on his neck, using my free hand to twist and torment his erect cock. He alternately humped my hand and added some pushback for my desiring prick, and a mystic delirium swept over me from so much stimulation.

“You better not be Captain Pierce,” he growled into the bed as I rode him until the jeans were low on the back of his legs.

Pushing his T-shirt up his back, I wrapped myself around him from behind, humped the softer material of his boxers, pushing my prick into the crack, forcing the material deep down into that crevice with my lust. He lifted against my applying pressure and fucked my fist hard as he turned slightly to achieve some sensation he thought he might find in this movement. I pushed harder against his ass, tormenting his dick with much regard for the pain or pleasure I caused him. Feeling his damp dick tip meant I wasn’t treading anywhere he wasn't willing to go, even if there was some question about his lucidity, but he should have stayed in Georgia if he didn’t want me all over him.

When Carl rolled over, I lost my grip on reality, nearly bouncing onto the floor as he jerked off his shirt and kicked off his pants, leaving him naked, except for his socks. His cock punched a hole in the air as he breathed deep, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Grabbing me in the meantime and giving me the mother of all kisses, he pulled me on top where our cocks rubbed creating a delirium his kisses intensified, until we both moaned and groaned the kind of pleasure it takes effort to achieve.

I employed one hand to turn his nipples roughly, while going after his cock, to squeeze his balls, and finally to rub that thick raised portion between his legs, ending with my fingers poking his hole. He kissed me harder churning his torso to force our cocks to wrestle between us, as he helped get my fingers into his ass in a motion that would have made a contortionist proud.

His hot hard chest became slick with sweat, once we added the new wrinkle to our maneuvers. My hands were full of him but it didn’t mean I could fuck his cock with mine. I used the sweat to excite myself more, almost suffocating from not coming up for air, but there are certain mundane habits you dismiss when in the midst of bliss. We kept exchanging the same air within our kisses, sharing everything it was possible to share, lost in one another in a way it’s impossible to do with anyone but the man you love.

Carl took care to hold me in place, but our pleasure was interrupted by my rolling onto the floor. One arm anchored me to him, but his other arm took to offering me a hand, which he used to explore my ass in a no less vigorous way than I had done to him. With Carl everything came on a grander scale, so when he inserted the second finger into me, we were stretching things to the max, especially my imagination, which had been over-active in his absence, wanting to come up with a way to get Carl to fuck me. His reluctance to take me in the way I was so anxious to experience had more to do with his not wanting to hurt me than it had to do with his lack of desire to be the top dog in our love affair. My inability to stop myself created all the impetus I needed to go from one stimulating activity to another, but there was still one mountain to climb and we would climb it before Carl left San Francisco.

“Fuck me,” Carl said, moving in a way that put me between his legs, which he moved into the air to allow me to position myself properly between them.

With one of Carl’s muscular legs crossing each of his shoulders, I sunk into him with a torrent of lust. My cock took on the ability to expand the pleasure far beyond what we’d achieved before. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and the prick thrust deeper into forbidden fruit. My mind became instantly plugged into the pulsing piston when Carl brought his mouth up to mine to further heat up the situation. Never intending to pound at a punishing pace, it still didn’t take long for me to be dripping sweat and panting for air as my heart surged and my prick lengthened, thickening against his tight confining hole.

The texture of his insides was most certainly like floating on a cloud, even if I was hard at work, keeping the cloud afloat. It was here that my prick seemed to be the only part of my body I could feel. Its piston-poking momentum raised my temperature even higher as if our mouths were mere extensions of the connection between my prick and his asshole. We were reaching the boiling point.

I knew to start stroking him at the moment my climax could no longer be fought off, forestalled, or diverted by one of the hundred ploys I kept in mind, but mostly forgot once my prick went into high gear inside of Carl. When I began jerking him, he recoiled to the touch. The gristle in his dick became steel in my fingers, unyielding no matter the intensity of my stroking. As fast as I jerked him off was precisely how fast I fucked, losing all contact with time and space, only intent on blasting him full of cum. It was heaven. It was all there was in the entire world as our mouths franticly forecast the impeding explosion. Preceded by a primordial moan, Carl reached his peak and a blast of hot wet cum splashed over my chest. He bucked against me, my own launch overtaking me with a jet of cum shooting deep into his ass over and over again as my body left me.

I lost all control, moaning and groaning my lustful release, bucking against him as he bucked against me. I rammed and jammed against the hole, wanting to follow my prick inside as I flooded the inner walls with a joy juice that only Carl could encourage out of me.

Even when I was spent, too weak, too breathless to continue, my prick kept moving into and out of him. I could feel his cock wiggling between us as the kiss to end all kisses ended. The sweat and cum created a lubrication that made staying on top of him next to impossible. My prick finally fell free and I was beyond reaching to put it back where it seemed to belong.

I carefully planned my roll onto my back, keeping as much liquid off the bed as possible. I reached for the towel I’d placed on the chair beside the bed that evening, using it to wipe both of us dry. Carl watched me intently as his chest rose and fell and his breathing began to slow to an almost normal pace.

“Wasn’t I sleeping?” he asked.

“You were?” I said with surprise. “Man, I can’t imagine what you’d be like if you ever woke up.”

“Very funny. I came here to take you back with me,” he said with authority.

“I know,” I said. “Do we have to do this? Let’s just have sex, until you leave. You won’t remember why you came, once I get done with you.”

“Every time we do that, I know I’ll never be able to live without you, but don’t push me, Billie Joe. I won’t put up with you going with anyone else. I love you. I want you to be happy. I’ll let you finish what you’ve started, but this is it. You’re going to be living with me when I get my discharge. We’re going to have a life together, not a country between us. I can’t stand being away from you again.”

“Carl, I love only you. There is no one else. There isn’t going to be anyone else. I’ve got to get this done, and then, before you’re discharged, I promise I’ll be there waiting to go where ever you say we are going.”

He rolled over to kiss me. I’d given him enough to satisfy him and Carl wasn’t a man that wanted to chew the fat once the meat was gone. I’d heard his mother say that about him. I don’t know what kind of kisser she was, but Carl took my breath away.

“What are you going to do with those kids?” Carl asked, rolling back away from me.

“Everything I can. They aren’t going back on the street.”

“Argyll?” he asked.

“I think he intends to keep them. They are living a gentlemen’s life. I don’t know how long he can stick with it. He’s such a sweet guy, but three kids are a handful. He was totally against it at first, but it all changed after he got to know them.”

“Mama loves the boys. Most all her grandkids are girls. It’s surprising how short she is with them and how pliable she is to the boys. I think she’d want them if there was a choice between the street and a place where they’d get love, discipline, as well as a happy home life.”

“You’re serious.”

“As a stroke,” he said, taking my hand and kissing my cheek.

“They certainly took to you. It’s hard to believe they’re street kids. Donnie doesn’t think much of me. He’s jealous, you know.”

“He is not. He’s a little boy. They are neat kids. I don’t get around kids that much. I like them. They’re like three peas in a pod.

“You’d take them?” I asked.

“I think so. If they came with you, I know so. I’m way younger than all my brothers. I always wanted younger brothers to play ball with, fish, show things to. Denny and Danny are cool. They don’t seem none the worse for wear, but Donnie’s wound way too tight. It’ll take time to get him believing he’s a little boy again. He could use a lot of attention.”

“You know you’re absolutely positively too good to be true, my love.”

“Yeah, I am, aren’t I?” he said, sounding taken with himself.

He laughed loudly.

We started to wrestle and giggle like we’d done those days in Seattle, after we first fell in love. We spent all our time together. I wanted to grab him, hold on and never let go. I wanted it to be like it was in Seattle.

I wanted to take all the doubts and worries away from him, but when you live life, there are complications. We had to work at it like we worked at going higher and further each time we had sex, which reminded me, we hadn’t had sex in ten minutes. I rolled over and planted my lips on his, took his cock in my fist, wrapping my legs around his thick thigh, humping myself hard.

“I need a shower, Babe. I worked all day, flew out here, and nearly drowned myself in sweat and cum.”

“You smell like a rose, my love,” I said, lifting my head off his arm to look into his eyes.

“Yeah, and I feel like a dirt bag. I always shower after work.”

“Oh, I see how it is. That was work to you, and I thought you were having fun.”

“You’re a piece of work, Billie Joe. Yes, you are,” Carl said, planting a passionate lip-lock on me.

To be continued..