The Center, Billie Joe's Jorney, book 3

Chapter 16

Whirling Dervish

While I made up a recipe for French toast, Donnie came into the kitchen and stood beside me at the stove, wrapping one arm around my waist and resting his head against my shoulder. When I could free a hand, I put it around him. Donnie had worked his way through his crisis, but he was taking no chances, seeking to keep me close for reassurance.

He didn’t want to talk about it. Like most men, he held in his fears and apprehensions, not wanting to take the chance of letting another human know his weaknesses. I accepted his under arm and under foot presence without objection. Anything was better than when he kept his distance.

Denny and Danny were lacking in deep concern. They had a roof over their heads, they were getting fed, and the new kid was more fun than the latest version of Grand Theft Auto. They were all in perpetual motion, especially Carl. Just watching made me tired and I wondered how we’d settle them down after Carl’s departure.

One of the boys was always off the ground, upside down, or maybe on Carl’s back or across his shoulders. The other boy would spend his time trying to throw Carl off balance, instigating to be the next to be elevated to heights only Carl could manage to take them. The giggles and laughter were contagious. The quiet reserve of Argyll’s home underwent an abrupt alteration.

Carl loved to play but he was in the army playing war games every day, which meant fighting, wrestling, and doing his best to out-maneuver his opponent. Denny and Danny were no match for him most of the day, but they didn’t wear out or need breaks either and therein they found Carl’s weakness. He only thought he was a little boy.

I slipped out after breakfast to visit The Castro and one of the shops that closed late and opened early to acquire implements necessary for my next quest. It wasn’t anything new. It was something that had been on my mind since Seattle. Carl’s unexpected arrival brought it back to the drawing board. I was back in the apartment before my absence was noticed. I was lucky to have returned when I did, because Argyll already had plans for the day.

We all piled into the car and headed north toward the Golden Gate Bridge. Carl said to stop the car near the entrance to the bridge and he got out with the boys to walk. We waited for a few minutes to give them time to make some progress before we merged into the traffic, passing them as they neared the halfway point. They failed to notice us as they took in the absolute splendor of the spot with its magnificent architectural wonder apparent to all who crossed. No other man-made object excited me the way that bridge excited me. The only thing that came close was the Washington Mall with the Capitol at one end, the Lincoln Memorial at the other, and Washington’s Monument in between.

As they came running toward the car, Carl had one of the boys on his shoulder as the other two chased him the last fifty yards. I was surprised when he placed a giggling Donnie back on his feet next to the back door. It was another victory for the forces of good. Donnie came in out of the cold that day, although, surprisingly, he liked to sit and talk to Carl about the army, while his brothers did all they could to get Carl to play.

There was nothing more confusing than how we’d all come together in that place at the same time. Incongruity was the easiest explanation. I was on a mission. Argyll was an unwitting accomplice, who was only looking for love, and Carl was there to hold on to what was his. The boys had become the glue that held the three of us close, but none of us knew what tomorrow might bring.

I was the least successful in completing my quest. Argyll might have thought he was going to get lucky, when he took me home, but the love he was looking for and the love he found for three little towheaded boys bore no resemblance to expectation. Carl came to demand I return home with him, but he would return home alone, giving me his blessing to do whatever it took to see to it the boys were given everything they needed.

The boys chattered. Carl and Argyll yelled to hear each other above the chaos, and I absorbed it all, knowing how lucky I was to have found the three of them to rescue. I couldn’t have imagined this scene in my wildest imagination and yet it seemed as natural to me as anything ever had. I’d never felt so much love for so many.

Sausalito was quaint and an easy drive from the City. After driving through the narrow streets in the center of town, we headed north on Highway 101, until we could turn west onto US Highway 1. It ran along the Pacific Ocean, darting inland when the coast was too rugged to support a road, and jogging back next to the rocky coast whenever possible. Our route had been chiseled directly out of Mother Nature’s most incredible work. Being there was like being part of the Pacific and the jagged coastline that was like no other.

Even the boys grew silent as they marveled at the view. We came upon the tall trees with huge trunks. I remembered pictures of even larger trees with cars driving through the trunk on a paced road built through the center of the tree. Seeing a tree that large up close was quite an experience.

Argyll said the trees had been there a thousand years. I imagined that’s how they got so high they kissed the sky. The site of the Redwoods was enough to quiet the boys even more. They seemed to sense their smallness among the tall trees. We all touched, smelled, and walked around the biggest tree trunks. I’d never seen a living thing that large before.

Stopping at a roadside restaurant, we got take out. We all sat in the back of the car to eat, which was the only time Argyll sat with us, but he was always close enough for conversation. It was a long day but one worth remembering.

All the boys were fast asleep as we traveled south toward town. I climbed over the front seat and sat beside Argyll, once everyone else was worn out.

“Thanks,” I said. “It was worth the trip. I didn’t know it was so beautiful.”

“Lots of visitors come to the city and never realize how close they are to the wonders of the world. I rarely think about it unless company comes. I thought the boys would enjoy it.”

“Wore them out, and that’s not easy to do,” I said, looking at Carl peacefully sleeping with the boys all around him. “I wish things were different, Argyll.”

“I know. Me too,” he said, not daring to look at me, swallowing hard.

Argyll let us off in front of the building. I carried Donnie and Carl carried Denny and Danny. Donnie’s eyes opened and he looked up at my face as we walked the three flights upstairs.

“Don’t drop me,” he said softly, before leaning his face back against my neck.

“Don’t give me any ideas,” I said, which got a smile.

I set him down to unlock the door, but he insisted on being carried the rest of the way, just like his brothers, only Carl handled his brothers like a couple of sacks of potatoes. Donnie was all I could hoist.

Argyll plied the boys with sweets to distract them, while I dragged Carl away from them before they started playing again. I’d left my bag of goodies in the middle of the bed for him to find before he was too tired to get the idea.

“What’s this?” he asked predictably amused.

“It’s for you, my love.”

“For me? You shouldn’t be spending money on me.”

Carl reached in the bag and pulled out a modest sized dildo, which brought laughter to the room.

“Billie Joe, if you haven’t noticed, I come equipped with one of these, and it’s real.”

“Yes, I noticed that. There’s more.”

Carl pulled out another dildo, which puzzled him. This one was larger, thicker and longer. He held it in front of his pants.

“We’re getting closer to the real deal,” he said, smiling at his observation.

“There’s more,” I said as he reached in the bag totally bewildered by this time.

“Lubricant!” he said, examining the tube with all the virtues of that particular lube spelled out in large letters.

“One,” I said, obscenely running my fingers down the length of the first dildo. “Two,” I said, doing the same to the second larger dildo. “Three,” I said, grabbing him through his pants.

He realized what I wanted.

“No way,” he protested. “No, Billie Joe.”

“Yes, Carl. It’s what I want.”

“I won’t hurt you. It’s not going to happen. Don’t ask me to do that to you.”

“You haven’t given it some thought.”

“Sure, back in that hotel room in Seattle. You’re too small and I’m too big.”

“We’ll take our time. I’ve been waiting for over a year. I’ve let you off easy but now I want you inside me. It’s a simple matter of physics and the proper preparation,” I said with authority and gave him another squeeze for good measure.

“One wince or one flinch and I’m done. I won’t hurt you, Billie Joe,” he said, with his resolve dissolving like putty in my hands.

I squeezed and gave it a twist as he winced and giggled over my persistence. I could see he was starting to come around to my way of thinking.

“No, wincing, please,” I ordered.

“You’re going to make me make a mess in my pants, Billie Joe,” Carl protested with a smile.

“I know who’ll be happy to clean it up for you.”

“You’re terrible,” Carl reminded me, holding my hand with his to the front of his pants.

“You bring out the worst in me, love. I want to get this done before you go back to the Army. It’ll give you something to talk about to the boys.”

“You’re so bad, Billie Joe. You’re so bad, you’re good.”

I stripped Carl out of his clothes to start the ball rolling, but his erection kept getting into the way. Once I’d gone to work on him for a few minutes, he was putty in my hands. I arranged the items on the bed and got him between my legs.

“Start with your finger,” I said, holding his hand and sucking his big middle finger, saving the lube for a bigger prize.

Carl’s interest in the operation was obvious as he stood up and took notice in the proper place. Before I was ready to give him instructions, he buried the finger in my butt. Once he’d sunk it all the way in, he waited, using the lube on a second finger before he added it to the mix. I did my best to show no discomfort or apprehension, but it was a delicate operation. We’d been this far before, but I knew there was more to it this time around.

Once I indicated I’d adjusted to the stretching his fingers were doing, he lubed the first dildo, placing it on the spot as quick as his fingers came out. I grabbed his cock and started to twist it as he pushed the dildo in an inch or two. It was the proper distraction and raised my lust level a few notches.

“That thing’s going to go off if you keep that up,” he said, putting his hand on my wrist as if to disengage it from the trigger, but never quite managing to break my hold on him.

His adjustment came faster than mine but he was easy once I got him aroused. Getting across the goal line on this visit wasn’t my objective; my objective was to have him in a position where he no longer feared taking the lead and getting the kind of pleasure he gave me. I was sure, once he got the hang of it, it would be like rolling off a log.

He took care in easing the dildo halfway home. I took it like a man, rearranging myself as the intruder went beyond where Carl’s finger could reach. He wiggled and repositioned himself, but he never moved out of range. We were content taking our time but I could feel the pulsing excitement running through him.

“How much left?” I asked.

“A couple of inches.”

“Go ahead,” I said bravely.

He took a few minutes to finish burying it and I accepted the opening stages in a mission I was determined to complete. Carl seemed fascinated by the mechanics of what I wanted to do. There was the sensation of having my ass full. I kept my mind on my business by using the tube of lube to massage a slick sheen onto Carl’s cock.

As I twisted and massaged his stiff flesh, we worked our way down the home stretch. He wiggled and wriggled, pushing himself up through my eager hand. The further we went the hornier he became.

He withdrew the first dildo an inch at a time, until it popped free. Positioning the second well-lubricated version, we were getting closer to the size of Carl’s cock. He inched the tip passed the ring before sliding it a millimeter at a time deeper inside of me. The width of this version would make it easier for me to adjust to Carl’s similar size. We were both hot to trot by the time we finished with the second dildo.

Passionate kisses accompanied the dildo’s withdrawal. It was the moment of truth.

“Go ahead,” I implored him.

“Give me a minute,” he said, still unconvinced.

“Carl, it’s going to tighten up if you don’t get in there.”

“I’m not ready,” he explained.

“You won’t hurt me. You wouldn’t hurt me, so let’s get the show on the road. I’ve been waiting for this for over a year.”

“Billie Joe!”

“Carl!”

Carl took some time adding more lube to his already slick dick. Before I needed to encourage him any more he was behind me, pressing his stiff dick against me. With far less resistance than the big dildo received, his head slipped in past the only resistance between him and success.

“Oh, God, I’m in,” he said to himself in disbelief. “Lord, don’t let me cum.”

I could hear him giving his best effort in maintaining control. Carl’s calm controlled demeanor was gone. He moaned as passionate sensations surged through him. I could feel him tensing against me as he did all he could not to force the issue or lose control.

“How much?” I asked, feeling like I was being stretched open with a vice; my asshole felt like it was on fire.

“Just the head,” he advised in a short raspy moan. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Go ahead,” I said, not absolutely sure I knew what I was saying, but understanding if I gave any indication of apprehension, game over.

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

He pushed forward ever so slightly as my hole continued to burn as it yielded to him. His breathing was strained, progress was slow, but there was an excitement that came with his forward movement.

“It’s going in,” he happily kept me appraised.

“I can feel it,” I said, giving him pushback to show my enthusiasm once the burning ceased. My dick pulsed and throbbed, thickening with excitement, and it was all I could do to keep myself under control.

I swelled in a way that made me want him to go faster and harder, disregarding the physics involved. The hardest part was over, convincing Carl he could. Now it was time for me to show him the kind of pleasure he was more than willing to give me.

“Did I hurt you?” he said alarmed by a deep slow groan.

“You’d never hurt me, Carl,” I said, hooking my arm around his neck forcing him to lean forward. “You’re driving me crazy. I’ve been waiting for this for so long. You don’t know how much I love you.”

I had to stop talking when I put my mouth on his, dazzling him with passionate kisses to get his mind off the mechanics. We were soon wrapped in an awkward embrace with our bodies churning out a lusty dance of desire. It was difficult to keep track of who or where I was; I merged with Carl in an unexpected union of love. My body was on fire but it no longer burned, except for the way I burned with devotion for him.

He messaged my cock as he rocked his hips against my ass, pulling me up so that I could wiggle my way as far down on his shaft as I could go. It didn’t take words to figure out how to work my body to get the most out of the situation.

“Fuck me,” I growled, forcing my ass hard down on his cock while he held me against his body so we stayed glued together.

“Shit!” he said in a gasp. “Oh, fuck. I wanted it to last.”

“Let it go,” I whispered. “We’ll cum together.”

Just about that time, Carl’s body convulsed with a major orgasm. He leaned forward, grunted before pushing himself deep inside me. I pushed back to make sure we were tightly joined together.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned.

Bringing his cock back out a few inches, he buried it a second, third, and fourth time. Spasms left him to shake me as he rode his climax to the end. His body twitched a few more times as he held me tightly before his muscles gave way to a less demanding posture.

I groaned and felt his hot liquid inside me. I’d flooded his hand and the bed once he’d began his serious fucking. It was like nothing I’d experienced before. Even when I was screwing Carl, the thrill of it wasn’t anything like when he did it to me. This was far better than anything we’d done before.

“Oh, man. That was incredible. You don’t know how incredible,” Carl advised me.

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” I joked.

“You’re not funny. I wanted to make it last,” he complained, panting as I watched his chest heave from the workout I’d given him.

“Believe me, it lasted,” I said. “Let’s give it a little bit of a rest before it stretches me out permanently back there, but there’s plenty more where that came from. One time isn’t going to get it, pony boy.”

“I didn’t hurt you? Once I got really turned on, I was afraid I’d hurt you” he said, starting to recover enough to talk.

“This puddle under me didn’t just magically appear. No, you didn’t hurt me. It was perfect, Carl. You’re perfect. I love you so much.”

“You don’t know how much I love you, Billie Joe. I never imagined ever loving anyone the way I love you. I didn’t know what love was until we met.”

Carl leaned forward to kiss me some more, making no effort to separate from me. He was less formidable once he’d softened. Our position was awkward for making out, but I wasn’t complaining, especially when he was beginning to fill my insides again. The break I’d anticipated after the first go-round got lost amongst the kisses. Once more our passion overrode the normal physical limitations I accepted.

Not being convinced I could take Carl, I developed the dildo theory to prove I could. He hadn’t tried to screw me during our sexual activity in the van. It was then I understood his apprehension but my lust and ingenuity got me where I wanted to go. I figured Carl’s natural inclination should lean toward being on top. While his enthusiasm for being on the bottom was remarkable, I figured we might find some new and exciting techniques if we tried reversing the roles. I turned out to be a lot smarter than I gave myself credit for.

Of course tops and bottoms were never a part of my vocabulary before my second mission to San Francisco. Like Sal, and then Argyll, things seemed to be positioned to meet my needs. Taking that back to the first time I was in The City, people magically appeared, whenever trouble confronted me. First it was Ty, then Gene, Jesus, Ty and Walt at the end of my stay.

I’d lived a charmed life when few around me escaped the savagery of the streets we haunted. It was all those times someone came to my rescue that had me reflecting on all the things that might have gone wrong, starting with the car with the dark tinted windows. I’d been lucky in each instance and now I was lucky again, each step in my journey complete with people who intended to help me, even if they didn’t understand what drove me to want to help those no one else cared much for.

I owed a debt to the boys who helped me. They may have even saved my life. I couldn’t get on with that life until I made good on the debt I owed. I needed to make one major effort at making it better for the homeless gay kids who would come to San Francisco, thinking they’d find a place where they’d be safe and accepted. That place didn’t exist, yet.

“You okay?” Carl interrupted the formula being created in my mind. “You don’t seem all that excited about the prospect.”

“Give my dick a pull, big fella,” I said, gathering in my wandering thoughts.

“That doesn’t tell me anything. It’s always hard, Billie Joe,” he said, examining my happy erection

“Yeah, it’s always hard when you’re around, my love.”

“That’s a difficult thesis to prove,” Carl analyzed.

“You’ll have to take my word for it.”

He squeezed and handled me with his dick twitching in response. We kissed and he chewed my neck, until the tip of my dick dripped. That’s when he positioned himself to get some traction, easing his dick almost out of my ass before pushing forward in a slow resolute motion. There was no discomfort of any sort connected to his movement within me. He’d broken me in without any of my apprehensions about permanent disability coming to pass.

We used most of the bed, tried half-a-dozen positions, and spent a lot of time making out when we got to the one where I lie on my back with my knees hooked over his shoulders and him between my legs. I could see him working as we sweated and wrestled to a second climax that was worthy of our effort.

He waited until he’d become completely soft before coming up for air. When he jumped up to shower, he was like a kid who just got his first bike. I’d seen most of Carl’s moods, but giddy wasn’t one, until the day he screwed me the first time twice.

He was feeling himself as he turned into the bathroom door. That’s how he judged the amount of time it might take to reload. The shower sounded scrumptious. I rolled off the bed, making a mental note to change the sheets and wash those before Matilda saw them. But for now, I wanted to find out how long it was going to take to get Carl up and running again.

I slipped in behind the shower curtain, wrapping my arms around his body. He immediately put his soapy hands around me as I stood behind him. He pulled me close to him. He pushed his ass back against me, until all my available skin was touching his.

He used his soapy skin to turn to kiss me. I collected soap he’d lathered on his chest to put it in gobs on his cock. There was moderate recoil as I felt the sensitive organ. I soaped gently at first, but collecting more suds gathering momentum, until it was standing up between us, an unflagging tribute to his love for me. It was the one thing Carl always forgot, when he came too soon. Ten minutes later, if conditions were right, he could be encouraged to go again. Like when I rode the roller coaster, too much of him was never enough for me. Once we hooked-up, there was no telling when we’d unhook. We spent too much time apart to waste any time when we were together.

Simply touching Carl excited me. It certainly excited him. When he turned to rinse some of the soap off, I took matters in hand, letting one and then the other slide down into his pubic hair. I went slowly at first, feeling the one big vein that ran almost the length of his cock. Once I got rolling, going slow wasn’t easy. I had enough soap on my prick to allow it to slide easily up his crack. It was a glorious feeling indeed.

He leaned heavily on the tile once he started breathing fast and heavy. He reached around and positioned my well-hardened prick on his hole.

“You better get going, buddy. I’m well down the road,” he sighed, his ass pressing back to accommodate the stiff offering that he so wanted to receive.

As soon as I got inside, he initiated enough pushback to take it all in one motion and it took my breath away. I leaned my face on his back, keeping my hands moving on his meat. I took to fucking with vigor. After no more than a minute or two, his hole tightened on me in a swift grab of lusty response; a soft moan escaped his lips.

His first discharge squirted up against the tile and started running down in front of us. A second discharge seemed minimal at best, but the third was biggest and best, causing a loud moan as his hole twitched and massaged me into submission, ending with my own orgasmic bliss.

We were both reaching the end of another long day, and our posture suffered. I leaned on him and he leaned against the tile, trying to catch his breath. My heart fluttered and my knees were weak, but Carl could hold both of us up in the worst of times, and it took no effort at all in the best of times.

We took to my bed again, once I’d changed the soiled sheets. I found myself wrapped up in his arms with him in mine. We kissed over and over. It wasn’t the fertile hungry kissing that gave way to making love, but the passionate appreciative kissing that speaks of the loving without trying to recapture the lust. This was how we found our way to sleep that night. My last conscious awareness was of being in his arms, his lips caressing my skin.

Oh, happy sleep.

Chapter 17

Hello/Goodbye

Sunday was for Monterey Bay, Carmel, and Santa Cruz. The kids swarmed around the amusement park, while we enjoyed the pleasure of the place. We had a quiet lunch, and once we’d filled the boys on hot dogs and soda, turned them loose on the rides again. They made the trip special, especially when Carl dragged me along behind them to get me on this ride or that.

At sunset we sat on a bluff near Big Sur, watching the sun slowly slip into the Pacific Ocean. We returned to the city with the boys soundly sleeping in the back seat. Carl and I weren’t interested in sleep, but we hadn’t slept much since his arrival. We held each other as we talked most of the night, sorting through our separation as best we could.

And it didn’t seem to take long for the dawn to arrive. It was a day I didn’t enjoy seeing arrive, but there was a chance I could make some progress inside the gay community. There was a meeting of gay men to discuss gay issues at The Center in The Castro that evening.

Argyll had made arrangements for me to speak after he spoke to one of the gay leaders he dealt with as the Gay Liaison Officer. He assured me it would be casual and he’d meet me there once he got off from work shortly after 8p.m. I was hoping this meeting might help to expedite my departure from San Francisco as Carl and I faced separating once again.

This was on my mind as we fed the boys a well-rounded breakfast of Captain Crunch with bananas and wheat toast. Carl had two bowls with two bananas while Argyll ate his yogurt and shook his head as the four kids gobbled their cereal. I wasn’t hungry and decided on coffee and some fresh orange juice Argyll brought back from the market earlier that morning.

Matilda arrived during our breakfast and she brought a bag full of groceries with her for the lunch and dinner she’d prepare. To make cooking quicker, Matilda always came equipped with strange smelling concoctions that came out of bottles. I had to admit most of her exotic food was interesting and she was reluctant to share the contents. Although a few of her dishes were way spicy for my taste, most were delicious and all were eatable.

Carl watched Matilda unloading her supplies onto a kitchen counter as he leaned up against the sink eating another bowl of cereal.

“You are a big one,” Matilda said in her brogue, taking her time looking Carl over.

“Matilda, this is my friend Carl. He’s from Alabama.”

“I didn’t see him as Mr. Argyll’s type. We’ve certainly had a houseful since you arrived, Billie Joe.”

“I’ve never been all that good with people,” I admitted. “Carl and I hit it off right away. And the boys needed a place to stay.”

“You are a collector. You collect people who have a need. Don’t let the needs of others put you under, boy.”

“What does that mean, Matilda,” I asked, pouring more coffee.

“People aren’t always as they seem. Don’t let the size of your heart get in the way of your vision.”

Argyll brought Carl’s uniform up, so he didn’t need to dress in the car. It was freshly cleaned and pressed. Carl thanked him, but wasn’t amused by Argyll’s fastidious nature. He understood enough about Argyll by then to simply accept his generosity as graciously as possible.

I went with Carl to my room, where he changed. Seeing him back in his uniform reminded me of the first time we met. It also made me sad. Carl’s coming was wonderful, except his intentions were to take me back with him. He was returning to the east without me. It was obvious that’s not how he saw it before he arrived. For the time being he was satisfied that for me to leave now would be ill-advised, because the boys needed me more than he did. Carl didn’t like it, but he understood, and I had a little more time to accomplish my goal.

By the time we got back in the kitchen, the boys were seated around the table with pencils and tablets at the ready as they waited for Ms. Cho’s arrival. They were all bummed out because they couldn’t go with us to see Carl off, but Carl sat at the table awhile and told them he’d be back to see them if no one else.

Matilda began tossing this and that into a pot on the stove. The smells were already mingling with the kitchen air. Denny stood up to see what was hitting the pot next as she chopped, mixed, and stirred things from each of the containers she removed from the bag she brought.

Denny perched under her arm as she moved precisely to mix just so much of this and a little pinch of that to Denny’s amazement. To my amazement she worked around him like he wasn’t in her way.

“How do you know I’ll like it, Matilda?” Denny quizzed.

“You’ll be hungry, boy. You’ll eat if this is all Matilda fixes.”

“I don’t know what you’re putting in there. I don’t like everything,” he said, worrying about his lunch before he’d digested his breakfast.

“Boy, this be like life itself. You dives in and takes out what you likes. You leaves the rest for someone else to takes out. Worrying about what it is don’t do you no good, boy.”

“It smells funny, Matilda,” Denny advised.

“You smell funny. Get yourself back over there where you belong and let Matilda be doin’ her cooking. I got me some frog tails in my other bag if you don’t want none of this.”

It wasn’t unusual for the boys to quiz Matilda about her exotic dishes, but they rarely got an answer that told them any more about what it was they were eating, but eat it they did and usually in vast quantities. I, too, wondered about some of those smells, but once she’d put it all together, you stopped wondering and started eating.

Saying goodbye to Carl was never easy. This time it was more difficult than ever. Being with him was as good as it got for me. I wondered if I wouldn’t go to that meeting tonight, say my piece, and start planning my exit. I did so want to go back with him.

Then, there were the boys who were a constant reminder to me of the streets and the needs of the kids on them.

“I wish I was flying back with you,” I said, while Carl and I held hands in the back of the car.

“Yeah, me too, but having those kids does change the equation,” Carl reminded me.

“This might be bigger than I am. Do you know how much it takes to give those kids what they need?”

“Everything you’ve got, Billie Joe. Kids require a lot of care if you want them to have a chance in life. You’ve stuck your foot in it and you can’t back out now.”

I’d stuck my foot in it all right. I never knew how much I missed Carl until he was leaving me. I wasn’t going to tell him how much it hurt saying goodbye.

Leaving him after he first returned had been different. It all seemed so simple at the time. I was going off to win a war and I’d be right back. Stupidity was easy when you were eighteen. I hated admitting how I’d misjudged the task. Anything that could help depended on someone else to get it going.

I’d been gone from Alabama for weeks and weeks and I was no closer to solving the problem I came to address than the day I arrived. If anything it was far more complicated than my young mind could grasp. I was one single person and the job required an army of concerned people.

That evening I’d get my chance to ask for help.

Argyll was going to meet me in time for the meeting of the executive board of The Center, which was open to the public. By the time I walked nearly a mile to the meeting, my determination was peaking. It did require some pumping up for me to be ready to face people with my request. I’d had maybe two or three hours of sleep a night since Carl arrived and the fresh evening air was just what I needed to revive me.

Meeting with the gay men I’d come to find the year before didn’t excite me in the way it might have if I’d gone to talk with them the first week I arrived, but like the year before, I didn’t know where to find the people who might give assistance.

They couldn’t help but know something about the problem on the streets around them. Like society in general, they couldn’t see the street kids, because it was easier for their conscience if they pretended they didn’t know, but I knew where to find them now, and I’d get to say my piece. Even with my enhanced living circumstances this year, last years experience weighed heavy upon me as I finished my walk.

The meeting of the executive board of The Center was nothing to write home about. It started out with talk about funding gay concerns and various ongoing AIDS projects and gay pride events to promote The Center and its objectives. It was an easy crowd that only brought up small issues they considered important. They spent a considerable amount of time on someone’s complaint concerning a business in The Castro that was ‘ripping off’ its gay patrons. This was followed by a lot of petty bickering about The Center’s responsibility to protect the community it served.

Nine o’clock came and went and there was no Argyll. By that time I was ready to leave and walk home. I wasn’t clear how these folks would be of any help to me. My purpose for being there became blurred in my boredom over their trivial concerns.

I was annoyed with Argyll. I was tired and bored and maybe even a little bit angry. Why all of these emotions picked this time to visit me, I can’t say. The fact is they did and my ill-humor might have had me saving my argument for another day, but there was no way for me to know if there was going to be another day. I’d hit the street a year and a half ago and this was the first time I faced other gay men with the problem. Thinking tomorrow would be a better day wasn’t in my mindset.

“There’s a Mr. Joe Walker here?” the man who had been running the meeting asked. “I was told you wanted to speak.”

I raised my hand from my back row seat, thinking I could still run for the door, except I’d never be able to return.

“You can just stand and address the issue I’m told is of some importance to us. If you’ll introduce yourself and speak up a little so everyone hears you, please.”

I stood and addressed the man who addressed me. “I’m Billie Joe Walker Jr. I’m here because of a problem on your streets. I think you know about it but you obviously don’t know the details or you would have done something.”

“I can’t hear you, Junior,” someone said from the far corner of the moderate size room.

“Billie Joe,” I said louder, being angered by being called Junior. “I’ll speak up.”

My mind flashed back to the senior play. It was the last time I addressed more than a couple of people at the same time, except in Argyll’s kitchen. This was a considerably smaller group but one I had no connection to. I felt awkward. There was no prepared text or easy statement to fall back on.

“I’m here to talk about a problem you have on your streets. There are kids out there. They are hungry and they have no where to go. Many of them are your kids. You need to take some responsibility for them. If this is a community it needs to act like one,” I said, not feeling like I stated it all that well.

“Kids!” someone objected loudly. “It’s the last thing we need to get associated with. Kids and gay men are a red flag to right wingers. They’d eat our lunch. We’ve got enough trouble. Let the city take care of the kids. That’s what Social Services are for.”

“Red flag!” I shouted too loud, and I looked for Argyll, who still hadn’t showed up. “We’re talking about hungry goddamn kids. Right wingers? Why the hell does anyone care about the hateful jerks that are often responsible for their gay kids being on the street? We need to lead in an issue like this, not depend on Social Services to know what’s best for gay kids.”

“You have a point?” the man in charge asked pleasantly.

“I was here. I was one of those kids. I came back to get them help.”

“A young pup like you is going to come in here and tell us how to act? Look, Junior, gay men can’t afford to be involved with kids under eighteen. The law is clear and there’s nothing a good prosecutor likes more than a sex charge, true or not. Just the hint one of us is involved with underage kids, they’ll be on us in nothing flat.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked louder. “They’re right here. You guys party, drink, and walk right past us like we’re not there. Open your eyes and do something. You all grew up gay. You all know what it’s like. How can you ignore kids who are out there because of being gay?”

“What were you doing out here anyway? You look pretty young to me. You look pretty clean and neat for a street kid,” a man objected. “You don’t talk like a street kid. They need to stay home until they’re eighteen.”

I was stunned by their antagonism. I thought I was bringing them an important message and their hostility shocked me. Everyone was staring at me and one guy got up to head for the door. The heat was rising in my face as I watched him leaving. My anger erupted.

“I came here to find you,” I shouted at him, stopping him in his tracks. “I came here to find the ‘gay’ community. You couldn’t see me. I was invisible.”

“You should have stayed home,” someone advised.

“I needed to find you. I needed to know you existed. I came here because of Ralphie, my best friend. He killed himself. He committed suicide. I couldn’t live at home any more and I came here to find you,” I said, and I felt the tears starting to run.

“Shit!”

I wiped them and more came and ran on my cheeks.

“I killed my best friend,” I sobbed. “He was gay. I was gay. He killed himself. I killed him with my silence. I killed my best friend by doing what you people do,” I yelled, sobbing and losing control. “I came here to find you and now that I’ve found you, I don’t know why I bothered. This isn’t a community. It’s a bunch of goddamn queers looking after themselves. You’ve forgotten where you came from and what it’s like out there.”

One of the only women in the room sat down beside me and held my hand, pulling me into my seat as my sobs intensified. Everyone was stunned at my outburst. They’d only seen me as a kid. I was annoying them and they just wanted me to go away. I’d made a fool out of myself and now they stared at me crying like a kid. This was my best chance to do something and I fucked it up.

Just in time Argyll came in the door near where I sat. I raced to him, burying my face in the front of his uniform. I sobbed harder. He held me carefully. People buzzed as they whispered to one another but mostly they watched the drama I’d brought to them.

“What is it? What’s wrong, Joe?” Argyll asked, holding me tenderly.

“Get me out of here. These assholes don’t give a shit,” I growled, reaching my hand out to the women who had sought to comfort me and she held it for the second I allowed before I turned away, pushing Argyll back out the door.

“Where were you?” I attacked Argyll as we drove home. “I made a fucking fool out of myself. I needed you there. They didn’t want to hear it.”

“What happened, Joe? What did they say?”

“They don’t care. The law? Who am I? They didn’t want to hear it. I should have known better. Where were you? I needed you. Why did you leave me alone?”

“There was an emergency. The station was shorthanded. I stayed to answer the phones. I wanted to be there but I couldn’t. I was worried about you, Joe. I could see how tired you were after we left the airport. I know better than to question your wisdom but I was worried.”

We were home before we could get into a good argument. I was livid with myself not Argyll. Why had I come back to San Francisco and what was I going to do now? My mind was awash in minutia. When I thought of Ralphie, I cried harder and harder. He’d been dead a year and a half and I’d hardly shed a tear and I sure picked a fucked-up time to start. I wasn’t cut out to deal with something as vital as getting assistance for homeless kids.

My anger with Ralphie merged with the anger with myself for remaining silent while he suffered and died. Being his best friend, I thought he’d know he could come to me with anything. How could being gay be so entirely terrible that he couldn’t simply say, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m gay and I’m going to off myself.’ I’d done nothing but run from it and there was nowhere left to run.

No wonder there were so many homeless gay kids. No one cared that they were out there, until they ran foul of the law. It was risky helping them. It was probably illegal helping under age kids. It was easier ignoring them. If their parents didn’t care why should the gay community? They were busy being proud.

But these were their kids, our kids. This was the next generation of LGBT growing up alone and unwanted. If they wanted to say they represented a community they needed to reach out to everyone, include everyone.

They needed to help their own kids. They needed to give them a place to go when they had no place to go. If there was risk, there were friendly attorneys who fought for justice for the least among us. If there were laws, they needed to be addressed and changed to give gay kids a chance to survive their childhood.

There was no excuse good enough to justify kids living and dying on the street.

My surly demeanor stayed with me all night and Argyll kept his distance. I slept alone in my room after the boys went to bed in Argyll’s room, which they’d done while Carl was there. I’d not been disturbed after everyone else was up in the morning. I lay awake, thinking, for a long time before I got out of bed.

I strongly considered having Argyll take me to the airport before he went to work. I’d fly home to Carl and put my past behind me for good. Argyll was elsewhere in the house and I sat with the boys as they crunched their morning cereal, trying to read the box all at the same time.

Argyll came in and stood with his hand on my shoulder. I sat silent, knowing how lucky I was. I could feel his concern for me and he suspected leaving was on my mind. Neither of us spoke the words.

“I talked to Supervisor Henderson yesterday. They’re going to address your issue Wednesday evening at the regular meeting of the Board of Supervisors. Do you want me to call him and tell him you’re decided not to be there?”

My face flushed. I felt the heat run through me. Whatever I said was going to dictate the direction my life would take from then forward. Was I going to finish what I started or was I going to do what I did after Ralphie killed himself?

“I’ll be there,” I said, thinking things were moving too fast for me to keep up with them. “I came to do something. I can’t back out because it’s hard. I’ll listen to what they have to say.”

He patted my shoulder twice and went to get his yogurt out of the fridge. The boys battled over the nearly empty box of cereal. Argyll opened the cupboard and took out another box, setting it on the table and peace was restored to the kitchen. Nothing seemed to upset Argyll, except maybe when something upset me.

“Matilda will be late. I told her to get some extra sleep. She’s been here twelve hours a day most days. Speaking of which, you might want to catch up yourself. You look terrible, Joe. I don’t want you making yourself sick over this thing. I don’t want you going to pieces in front of the Board.”

“I won’t,” I assured him. “I didn’t sleep much while Carl was here. I’ll rest today. I’ll be ready for tomorrow.”

“I don’t think they don’t care, Joe. I think it’s the third rail gay men face most of their lives. Helping kids is promoting a gay lifestyle to the enemy. They don’t understand the number of homeless gay kids out there. Did you read those books I gave you? They have a lot of information in them. They have the numbers.”

“I’m reading them, Argyll. I only have so much time.”

“One gives statistics on homeless kids. You might want to read that section. I’ll mark it for you. The numbers are startling. You need to be prepared for their questions and have some prepared statement you can fall back on if you get flustered. Cold hard fact will shut up the naysayers.”

“Thanks, Argyll,” I said, going over to give him a hug.

He smiled and set down his yogurt long enough to return the hug. Donnie starred at me as I returned to the table. I walked behind his chair and hugged him from behind, tickling him until he begged me to stop. I hugged Danny and Denny the same way, without the tickling, but they laughed anyway before asking for more milk for more cereal.

My anger had passed and about Argyll and the boys I felt better, more focused. I was going to be ready to speak to the Board. I wasn’t going to yell, cuss, or make a fool of myself in any other way. I was going to take it easy that day and get a good night’s sleep that night. I wasn’t going to lose control again.

The Board had an agenda to adhere to and all I could do was sit and listen. I listened to the flow of the conversations as the Supervisors discussed one issue after another, while the audience waited for their turn to comment on each subject.

For what seemed like hours they talked and weighed comments and concerns from the audience as the topics were examined. I’d slowly slid down in my seat and was ready to nod off, when Argyll gave me a sharp elbow to my ribs.

“What?” I asked, annoyed.

“You’re on, Joe. He wants to know what you want to do about the street kids.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to pull myself together on my way to the microphone. “Thank you.”

“Thank you? Thank you for what?” Mr. Wisner asked, leaning in toward his microphone with the top of his bald head shining in the overhead lighting. “You had something to say. Then, I’ll have something to say. You go first so I know what I’m talking about.”

He pushed the microphone away from his face and sat back in his seat, staring at me, but we were separated by most of the room. I felt exposed anyway as the thirty to forty people waited for something to happen.

“Thank you,” I said, biting my tongue for saying it again. “For giving me a chance to speak. I’m here about the street kids, as you said. They need your help. They’re in danger every day and you should be doing something about it.”

“Who are you again?” Mr. Wisner asked, leaning forward to get his lips close to the microphone.

“Billie Joe Walker, Jr.” I said, as he jotted it down without looking at what he was writing.

“Mr. Walker, I have a list of agencies in the city that are responsible for this problem you’ve brought to our attention. It’s never enough help but the homeless are a particularly difficult problem to face. They’re here today and gone tomorrow, but there are agencies for them.”

“These kids aren’t going to seek out the help of city agencies.”

“No, I somehow knew we’d have an objection of one sort or another. You need to speak with the agencies on this list to find out what is now available. It’ll give you a place to start. I can’t solve the problem here in the time we have, and you’re devoted to it.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you. As I was saying, they’ve been thrown out of their own homes. They don’t trust adults,” I advised him. “If the agencies will work with us to begin helping them we might reach them that way.”

“Mister…, Mister…, I’m not here to argue with why they are or aren’t where they are. You asked for help. Here it is. It’s what I’ve got,” he said, waving one sheet of paper and then he waved another, holding both, unsure which had the proper information for me. “You’ve got to meet us half way.”

“It’s important you know that the adults they trusted betrayed them, Supervisor Wisner,” I said with reverence. “These kids aren’t going to put themselves into the hands of the agencies,” I said, feeling a bit more comfortable as people seemed to be listening. “We need to be creative and offer them food and medical care first, and then, they may come to trust us. We need you to know what we’re doing and maybe speak with the agencies to see if they won’t compromise. What they are doing isn’t reaching any of these kids.”

“These are gay kids? I assume the ones thrown out of their homes are?”

“According to the statistics, I believe a large number are gay kids, but I’d tend to believe most of the homeless kids that come to The Castro are gay children. The numbers are difficult to pin down because of their circumstances. Admitting to being gay is a certain recipe for more abuse at the hands of adults.”

“You talk to them and have some idea of their needs?”

“Yes, sir. I was one of them. I’m an adult now and they don’t trust me that much. I came back to San Francisco to help them. That’s why I’ve come to speak to you.”

“You’re young for a crusader. You’re not much more than a boy yourself,” Mr. Wisner said, and I was blinded by a sudden flash of light that distracted me.

“Old enough to know these kids need your help, sir,” I answered.

“How old is that, Mr. …Mr. …Walker, Jr.,” he said, trying to read his scrawl.

“I’m nearly nineteen,” I said, fudging a little.

“Nearly? That’s how young you are, you see. I’m nearly a lot older than that, but I’m not going to give you a number. When you get old enough to have the power to do things about injustices, you stop telling people your age. When you are a boy, you always bump it up. When you no longer need to be almost nineteen, you’ll be a lot better positioned to almost do something about the problem you came here about.

“I’ve got the list of agencies for you. I had my staff look into the problem you mentioned at our last meeting, and these agencies service those particular problems. It’s the best I can do for you at the moment, but it’s a place to start.”

“Another words you aren’t going to do a damn thing?” I charged, regretting the words before I’d spit them all out.

“Mr. Walker, I’ve done something. I’ve gathered a list for your purpose,” he said, waving the paper in the air. “This is where you start. Some arrangements can be made to get some aid. Have you heard of The Center?”

“Yes, sir, I think I’ve heard of that,” I said, trying not to cringe.

“Good, I’m giving you the number of an acquaintance of mine, his name is Adam. He is in the middle of everything The Center does. If you talk with him he might have some suggestions for you. They hold open meetings at The Center to discuss business matters and funding on gay issues, but I don’t recommend you discuss this issue in their open sessions. They’ll need to consider all the ramifications and an open meeting will simply confuse the issue with distracting input.”

“No, sir, distracting input would be a bit premature. Thank you. I’m sorry I sounded sarcastic. It’s been a long week and I appreciate your effort.”

“Yes, tell me about it. It’s okay, Mr. Walker. I’m used to being told where to go. A lot of folks have opinions on that, when I can’t do as much as I’ve managed to get done for you. You speak with Adam. You tell him Supervisor Wisner sent you. You explain your concerns to him. That’s the best I can do at the moment, but you are free to keep us posted.”

“Yes, sir, I appreciate your time and effort.”

“Thank you, Mr. Walker. It’s good to see such a young man involved in making things better for people who don’t have it easy. I commend you for your attitude and wish you luck on your crusade. You can step down and get the list. I’ll give you one of my cards so you can reach me, but there are things beyond our control here. We’ve got to obey all existing laws. Keep that in mind”

“Thank you,” I said into the microphone, before working my way toward the dais to pick up the information.

Before long we were on our way back home.

“That went well,” Argyll said.

“Yes, it did. He isn’t such a big asshole,” I said.

Argyll started laughing.

“No, not so big.”

Chapter 18

Getting Better All the Time

My disposition improved the following day. It didn’t hurt when Father Flannery called to give me a rundown on the kitchen brigade and pantry he’d organized at the church. As soon as he got a supplier for Styrofoam containers, we would be in business. They’d be ready to supply meals in a few days.

When Argyll came in that evening, he brought the daily paper tucked under his arm. I dished him up some of Matilda’s dish of the day that she’d prepared for dinner, while he smoothed out the paper on the counter in front of him. He folded it over neatly two or three times before sliding it over in front of me.

“Boy Crusader Lectures Board.”

There was a picture of me speaking along side a picture of me shaking hands with Supervisor Wisner. The story outlined the conversation and added that I’d be taking my concerns to the LGBT community.

“What does it mean?” I asked Argyll as he shoveled food.

“It means you’ve been noticed.

“This is really good. Matilda’s an artist.”

“Noticed by whom?” I asked carefully.

“They always monitor the Supervisor meetings. Never can tell what might come up. You turned up. You do attract people, Joe. Handsome young guy crusading for the underdog, while being less than adroit at doing it.”

“You can say that again,” I said, feeling my embarrassment and searching the picture for signs of it. “It could help my adroitness if you told me how great I was doing.”

“Probably not necessary, Joe. The story is offbeat. You’re a charmer. Supervisor Wisner isn’t known for his charm, but you had him eating out of your hand.”

“He seemed okay. I didn’t like his answers, but at least he listened and tried to help, even if he was passing the buck.”

“He listened because he had to listen. Your topic is loaded and no supervisor can afford to be on the wrong side of a loaded issue. He’s trying to get it to go away.”

“Loaded with what?”

“Joe, it’s the story that has everything. Gays, straights,

conservatives, liberals, kids, homelessness, and people wanting to change the status-quo. It’s all perilous for elected officials if they get bad press. You smile. Say what’s expedient. Get on to another topic as fast as you can.

“Any more of this stuff? I don’t know why I’m so hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten anything but twigs and yogurt in two months. That could have something to do with it.”

“You call Adam?” Argyll inquired, waiting as I got him another plate of food.

“No, I’m thinking of cutting my wrists first. Do you realize what a fool I made out of myself in front of those people. I don’t want to go back there.”

“You’ve got to. It’s where the action is. If you are going to accomplish anything worthwhile, you’ll need The Center. Call, don’t mention your last appearance. Maybe he’s seen the newspaper article and he won’t mention it either.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Do you want to talk about it? You never told me what set you off. I knew it had to be more than my working late.”

“No, let’s put it behind us. I can’t let the past get me down.”

“It was the past. It has something to do with your being here the first time,” Argyll said.

“Very clever. I wasn’t very smart letting myself end up on the street. I didn’t come back because I was on the street. I came back because of the kids who are.”

I dished up another plate full and watched Argyll dig into it with enthusiasm. It was rare to see him eat and enjoy his food. We were all bad influences on him.

“You better be careful. That figure you take such good care of might put on a pound or two.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said, not missing a bite.

“Where do we go from here?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

“How do I use this to make inroads into the LGBT world?”

“I’ll have a few copies of the article delivered to The Center. It’s self-explanatory. Word will get around. We place a call to George Carroll before you make another appearance at The Center. He’ll run interference.”

“You think it’s smart seeking out the press?” I asked.

“Actually, the press sought you out when you come down to it. He saw you and thought it was worth a story. Ride the wave. What do you have to lose? Go in prepared and they’ll take you seriously.”

“George Carroll?”

“Bi-Line, George Carroll,” he said, using his napkin on his lips. “Use what’s available. We can’t reach very many people. The San Francisco Chronicle reaches everyone.”

“I don’t want to make a fool of myself again.”

“What did I just eat?”

“It be a little uh dis an a little uh dat, Mr. Argyll. It be like life itself,” I said in a poor imitation of Matilda’s accent.

“Good stuff that life,” he said. “I need to change and shower. Boys watching TV?”

“Yeah, they finished their homework. I told them they earned an hour. We’re going to the library to get books for them to read tomorrow. They’re actually excited about it. I’ll take them by the park on the way home and they can burn off some of that energy.”

“They’ve watched that television more since they’ve been here than it’s been watched since it was taken out of the box.”

We sat with the boys in front of the TV until ten, and then we put them in bed. By popular demand I slept in Argyll’s room with the boys between us. Donnie slept with his arms around me.

Donnie had beamed when I returned from the airport with Argyll, telling me he was sure Carl was going to take me back with him. My word had proven to be trustworthy. It was the most important thing to Donnie. He finished settling down and accepted whatever efforts were made on his behalf from then on. All the boys seemed content, even with all the comings and going that filled their days.

For the rest of the week we stuck to our routine without much variance. On Friday Father Flannery came by with the tutor. He sat with Argyll in his study for an hour or more before I was invited into the conversation.

“Billie Joe, I’m meeting with our kitchen brigade tomorrow afternoon. I want you to speak with them. They’ve all read about you and I think hearing from you would excite them. Once they’ve met you, we’re ready to start feeding the children Monday.”

I agreed without giving much thought to what I’d say, but it was a start. I had called Adam the day before, but he was busy, and promised to call me back when he could schedule me to meet with some of the more influential members of the gay community. Adam did mention how concerned he was about my concerns and he sounded sincere.

Argyll took me to the church for the meeting. It was exciting, because this was the first concrete achievement. I knew it was only a start, but seeing it start meant there was that much less to do. We hadn’t figured out the best way to supply the food to the homeless kids, but we did have food.

There were prayers and some church business that needed to be taken care of first before Father Flannery introduced me. As I stood up to address the dozen woman and several men that were the husbands, a flash blinded me. This time it wasn’t difficult to find the culprit; he stood just behind the chairs that had been arranged in front of the podium in what was the kitchen area beneath the church.

“My name is Billie Joe Walker Jr.,” I said, looking at the photographer to see what the hell he was up to, but the camera was down at his side. Now he stood with a notebook in his hand, jotting down notes even before I spoke.

“I’m here to tell you about the homeless kids on your streets. You’ve probably noticed them. They look very much out of place, young, disheveled, with no particular place to go. They often panhandle, looking for enough money to buy food, and when they can’t get enough they prostitute themselves to get a meal or they eat out of dumpsters behind restaurants.”

A woman raised her hand and I acknowledged her, stopping to hear her question.

“These are gay children thrown out of their homes? The ones you talked about to the Board of Supervisors?”

“Many are. Unfortunately many are thrown out because of strong religious beliefs held by their parents. They refuse to let them continue to live under their roof, or, in some cases, they are so hard on these children, they leave to find somewhere that might not be so harsh. Most kids, whether gay or not, don’t want to live on the street.”

“I’ve seen kids that fit your description. How is it you are so well acquainted with their plight? What brought your attention to them? You must have made an effort to discover this particular group. I’m told they avoid most institutional situations.”

“A year and a half ago I was one of them. I knew the kids that lived on the street. They kept me alive. I went home and finished school but I never forget my life on the street. As much as I hated what being on the streets did to me, I came back to see what happened to the boys I was with while I was here. I couldn’t get on with my life until I did something about it.

“Father Flannery offered to help with feeding them and that’s why I’m here. It’s a wonderful place to start. I want to thank each of you for wanting to help. If enough people learn about the problem and want to help, we might find homes for those kids before they are lost to the street.”

“What did happen to them?” another woman asked. “The ones you were with?”

“Some died of AIDS. Some were murdered. The rest have disappeared. I haven’t been able to find any of the boys I knew when I was here. All the faces are new.”

“How old were the boys you knew?”

“Most were middle-to-late teens. I don’t know where they went. I’ve looked for them.”

“Where did they get AIDS?” another woman asked with concern in her voice.

“Right here. They weren’t sick when they came. What they do here to survive makes them sick; kills them in the end. That’s why meals are so important. It’s a good start. Next, some kind of medical care so they are taking the medications that will keep them from getting sick.”

“Not all of them get AIDS?”

“No.”

“You didn’t get it?” was a question that shocked even me. “I mean you’re such a handsome clean-looking young man.”

“No, I was able to go home. I’ve tested negative for HIV.”

“I don’t understand,” another woman interrupted, seeming confused. “I work for the AIDS kitchen. We provide meals for men sick with AIDS. My understanding is they caught AIDS from… sex,” she whispered the final word, but no one missed it. “But you say these are children. How can that be?”

“IV drug use can also spread the disease. Kids on the street have one thing to sell. They sell their bodies in order to eat. By feeding them we remove the incentive to do that.”

Half the women were holding their hands to their mouths, seemingly shocked by the detail. I knew the position of the Catholic Church on gays. I didn’t know if these middle aged and elderly women would want anything to do with gay kids.

“They would stop getting AIDS if they could get fed?” the woman who worked at the AIDS kitchen said.

“They can’t go home?” a woman inquired. “You said you went home.”

“There are people, parents, who find homosexuality so despicable, so sinful, they disown them,” I advised. “They have no home to go back to. I did, because I ran away from home. Once I understood the risks on the street, I went back home.”

“Their own children,” one said, holding a hand up to her mouth as if she was horrified by the words she spoke. “What sin could allow parents to disown their own children?”

“We’re homosexual. That’s enough for some Christians.”

“That’s awful,” another woman added.

“Yes,” I agreed, sensing no hostility from the Catholic ladies.

“If we feed them will they accept it? Where do we go? What do we do?” Father Flannery asked. “We have a kitchen. I feel most of our ladies still want to help, but if we prepare the meals, how do we deliver them to the kids?”

“I’ll get the word out. At first we’ll need to take the food to them. Argyll has offered to help in the morning, but if you’re sincere and honest about your intensions, they’ll come for a home-cooked meal if no strings are attached.”

“No strings attached?” Father Flannery spoke up.

“None. No preaching. No conversions. No cops. No social workers. None. Keep in mind, the people they trusted and depended on to care for them and love them put them on the street. Trust won’t come easy. They sense anything that smells like government agency, you’ll never see them again. Most of them would starve first.”

“We need to try,” Father Flannery said. “While we’re all sinners, the greatest sin is these kids being forced onto our streets. It’s our responsibility to extend the sanctuary of the church to them.”

“Yes,” several women said out loud.

“These are God’s children and they’ve been horribly mistreated. We must do what we can to help,” Father Flannery explained.

“Do what you can do to help with them in mind, not with your sense of spirituality in mind. Trust me. Let them come and eat and see people like you that care enough to feed them. Let them simply come to eat and feel safe here. You’ll win them over a lot quicker if they don’t think you’re trying to sell them something.”

“Ladies, we’ll be preparing meals starting 6a.m. Monday morning. All of you wanting to assist us come Monday. We’ll do breakfast and a bag lunch to start with. You can see me after we break up so I can take your names and the times you are available. Your husbands may wish to help with deliveries. We’ll allow Argyll and Billie Joe to develop our delivery schedules.”

I didn’t see anyone who didn’t volunteer. I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t expecting so many church ladies to respond to the needs of these particular kids. My spirits were elevated as we were getting underway.

We sat together to discuss the final arrangements. There was a need to come up with a number of meals per day and what times we’d deliver them. Argyll and I would be delivering the meals between 8a.m. and noon, when the three boys would be with Matilda and their tutor.

Argyll seemed satisfied with the way things were turning out. He was as giddy as me over the idea it was finally happening. I looked at him as we drove toward the park, realizing what a find he was. There was almost no way to explain to him how his kindness and compassion made me feel. I leaned in his direction, kissing his cheek, making him blush.

We picked the boys up from the park near the church where we’d dropped them to burn off a little energy. We took them to a movie and went out for spaghetti, which all of us loved. I was flying so high it was difficult to come in for a landing that evening.

It was happening.

On Sunday I got up to feed the boys so Argyll could sleep on his only full day off. When he got up he decided he needed orange juice and went out to the market. I offered to go for him but he decided he might want something else to go with the juice.

Once back and after he ate, he called me into the library. He opened the newspaper and folded it out on his desk, indicating for me to get closer.

The article read, “Boy Crusader Goes To Church.”

The article was topped off with a picture of me facing a group of people in the basement of the church.

“What’s with the boy crusader deal?” I asked, amused by the idea.

“Supervisor Wisner alluded to your being a boy, remember? Then, he called your mission a crusade. Boy Crusader!” Argyll explained. “It’s dangerous to give reporters any ideas. This one seems to have an interest in you.”

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t put the two together.”

“Obviously Mr. Carroll did. He’s decided you’re a story people will focus on.”

“Was that him at the church, standing in the back with the camera, trying to look innocent?”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s him. For some reason he’s interested in you.”

“He isn’t interested enough to talk to me, though? How’d he know I’d be at the church.”

Argyll thought a minute before saying, “Father Flannery read the first article. He called to announce the church’s role.”

“It’s still my mission. I’d think he’d talk to me about it.”

“Probably learning what he can before going to the horse’s mouth,” Argyll observed.

“Me being the horse?”

“But a handsome horse to be sure,” Argyll smiled.

“You mind if I cut this out. I want to send the articles to Carl.”

“You really think he wants to read your press clippings?”

“Sure. I don’t keep anything from him. It’s kind of neat, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it could help get people involved. You’ve definitely gotten your feet wet.”

I sent the articles with my next letter to Carl. It did let him know I was accomplishing something.

On Monday we put out half the meals in The Castro. The rest went to the homeless in the Mission District. I was disappointed but Father Flannery reminded me that word would spread and hungry kids would find their way to the food. He didn’t seem like a priest. If he had anything against me for being gay he never showed it.

The second day, when we still had to put half the meals out in the Mission District, I was disappointed again. Argyll left me off at the church on his way to work.

“Almost brought two meals back to you. We ran into some down and outers on our way back here. I don’t know where the kids are. Maybe we’re going out too early,” I said.

“Billie Joe, the kids didn’t know you were coming to feed them. Word will spread. We need to have the meals out the same time each day. They’ll find us. Be patient,” Father Flannery reassured.

“The women work so hard fixing up nice meals. It’s a shame the kids aren’t getting them.”

They did find us; a few more kids were around for delivery each day. I tried to interact, while Argyll sat in the car, but they viewed me with suspicion. They wanted to know what I was up to, but they kept their questions simple, taking the neatly wrapped containers and moving away. Some looked back at me a couple of times, confused by my gift.

By the second week a dozen boys were waiting near the corner where we parked. They became more interested in the meals than the guy delivering them. The Castro was barely awake and the boys disappeared swiftly with only a few sitting in a nearby doorway to eat their meal. I told them I’d be back at 6 p.m. with more food and each boy checked my face to see if I was serious.

Near 6 p.m., we went in Father Flannery’s car and returned to the somewhat busier streets, giving out all the meals in about ten minutes.

There was a doctor coming to the church the following Monday morning and we passed the word for anyone who had a health problem. We told them there would be food at the church and we’d soon have clothing for them. Attached to each meal was a business card with the address of the church on it.

Dr. Bock was retired and agreed to stay all day with a nurse volunteer who also helped with meal preparation. Only six boys came for medical treatment, but they stayed to eat there, leaving with fresh socks and underwear Argyll bought. They were happily laughing the last time I saw them. We were reaching them.

Father Flannery told them they could come by any time between 10-6 each day to get fed, which was a great way to get the hungry boys to come to us. Word was spreading and I could identify two dozen different faces between the church and the corners where we set out the food. Each day there was one or two new faces that appeared.

On the following Friday I was making the morning rounds, handing out the meals with the address of the church now printed on the containers. As I stood talking to one of the friendlier kids, an older boy, maybe my age, took a hold of my shoulder to get my attention. I turned to give him one of the meals.

“What the fuck you think you’re doing with my boys?”

“Doing? Your boys? Just how did you come by them? You’re a little young to have almost grown kids. You must be older than you look.”

“They work for me, see, asshole. I don’t know what you’re after, but no freebees. I don’t want you fucking around with my boys. You fuck with them and you got to fuck with me. Am I making myself clear?”

“I’m feeding them. You should try it, makes for a happy productive work force. Just what’s your business with little boys?” I asked, stalling for time, waiting for Argyll to notice I hadn’t returned.

“I don’t answer your questions. You answer mine, see. What are you do-gooders up to? I don’t like the smell of you. Am I making myself clear?”

“Excuse me, is there a problem?”

“No problem. This asshole is fuckin’ with my boys. I don’t like that,” the insistent boy said, turning to find himself face to face with a cop, minus his hat. “Oops! Nice day, officer. We were just having a chat about the weather.”

“I’ll ask you one more time. Is there a problem?”

“No problem,” he said meekly, glancing at me to see if I was going to rat him out.

“I’m memorizing your ugly mug, see,” Argyll said in the kids voice. “I see it anywhere near these kids, I’ll run you in on contributing and a half a dozen other charges I’ll think up by the next time I see you, see.”

Argyll stood tall and looked formidable in his tailored uniform. His voice was filled with conviction and my nemesis was convinced he should be moving on, and he did, disappearing around the first corner.

“You kids have any trouble with that guy or anyone else, talk to me about it. I’m out here every day,” he said, before walking back to the car.

“He’s a cop,” one kid said, digging into the warm food.

“Yeah, he’s here to see to it no one gives you any shit,” I said.

He laughed, squinting as he looked up from the doorstep where he sat.

“Cool,” he said, sounding like it was okay with him.

“Where you from?” I asked, pushing it a little too hard.

“Not that cool,” he advised me. “What’s your angle, dude.”

“No angle. I was out here last year. I came back to try to help you guys. There’s a free clinic at the big church eight blocks up this street. They serve meals up there all day. A doctor’s there on Mondays, if you have something wrong or aren’t feeling well.”

“Church?” he said without sympathy, shaking his head knowingly as he ate.

“It’s cool. No one is going to convert you. They want to help is all.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks for the food, dude,” he sang, standing up and handing me the empty container.

“You make a friend?” Argyll asked as I sat back down in the front seat of the black Jeep we used for food distribution.

“No, you did. He was happy we were there. Who was that guy anyway?”

“Probably procuring for a pimp. There’s money in boys in case you haven’t noticed. Always someone willing to exploit them.”

The number of boys eating at the church increased daily. Women started collecting coats, shoes, and hats to make available to them. Father Flannery asked some of the women to stay once they’d finished their cooking chore to talk with the boys, because most of them didn’t have a woman in their life. It was a complete effort to offer the boys the essentials in life they’d been denied at too early an age.

Some of them sat and talked to the women and each other, laughing and acting like kids. I sat down with Tang, drinking a glass of ice tea early the following week. He liked to talk while he ate and he usually sat alone, waiting for someone to join him. I brought him a new pair of socks and a shirt without any holes in it to replace the one he wore. Once he was done eating, he put on the new socks and shirt and put the old clothes on the table in front of me. He looked thoroughly pleased.

“Later, my man,” he said, heading for the door.

“Later, Tang. Be careful.”

I moved his old things to the seat beside me so I could trash them as I left. A woman I’d seen in the kitchen any number of times sat down next to me.

“You’re special, Billie Joe,” she said like she had some intimate knowledge of me. “I’m Verna.”

“Oh, hello. I’ve seen you lots of times. Thanks for cooking for the kids. In case you haven’t noticed, they love the food.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed. My lover calls me Vernon,” she said without missing a beat, offering me her hand.

We shook on it.

“Vernon,” I said, unclear on the dynamics of the comment.

“I want to thank you for bringing attention to the homeless gay kids. You see, I’m not what I appear to be. I wanted to speak to someone about it. I hope you don’t mind,” she said, smiling pleasantly.

“Vernon, I don’t understand,” I said confused but suspecting something larger was at hand.

“Because I haven’t told you anything. I’m a man, Billie Joe. My wife is a real woman and we have two children. They’re adopted of course, but I’m their father.”

“You’re a man?” I repeated, trying to process the meaning of the words.

“Because of my age, when I was born and grew up, you were stuck with what you were born with. I was born with all the equipment a woman is supposed to have, except in my mind, feelings, and desires, I’m a man.”

“Not an impersonator?” I reasoned out loud.

“No, a drag queen is indeed an impersonator. That doesn’t make them gay. Many drag queens are straight men. Many simply like to dress up like women. I do wear pants and men’s shirts, but I don’t impersonate a man. I am a man. There’s a difference.”

“How have you managed all this time?” I asked, knowing she was in her sixties or older.

“Like most of us, I took it one day at a time. I took men’s jobs and I dated woman. I was always a woman as far as the men were concerned, but I was a man as far as the women were concerned. Being transsexual is complicated if you aren’t totally committed to your identity. To succeed and to find any happiness, you’ve got to come to terms with who you are.”

“That’s amazing. You must be one tough cookie,” I observed with respect.

“I’ve been accused of that. I can be tough or I can be tender. I know what’s called for from experience. You represent someone who sees wrong and does his best to right it. I want you to know there are some of us that can’t simply come out and tell you in public what we think and feel, but I can tell you in the confines of my church. I wish you all the luck in the world in accomplishing what you’ve set out to do. I’ve got to go now, but I couldn’t go without finally telling you about me. No one else here knows, so I trust you’ll keep this as a private communication between like minded men.”

Vernon stood and eased back to the kitchen. He didn’t wait to hear me say I’d honor his privacy, knowing I would. He walked like a man and carried himself consistent with that. I realized how much larger the world was than I thought. There was no way I could even imagine what it must be like going through life in a woman’s body. How hard was that for a guy?

Respecting Vernon was an easy thing to do.

Chapter 19

Keeping the Ball Rolling

That was the week an article documenting the progress of the church kitchen appeared and each Saturday thereafter. I checked the article for my name, but I wasn’t mentioned. Father Flannery was quoted prominently. At first I felt a bit of disappointment. Realizing what we were doing wasn’t about me made me smile. The emphasis was properly placed. People would soon forget an upstart kid but not a priest.

“There’s a meeting at The Center Wednesday. Do you want to attend?” Argyll asked the following weekend. “I heard the board that funds The Center is meeting for the first half hour.”

“You stay with the boys if I do?” I asked.

“We’ll take them along. It won’t be late and they don’t get out enough. We’re always doing something at the church and on the street. We’ll be your moral support, Joe.”

“Matilda has been a doll about it,” I said. “She’s great with them.”

“She treats those kids like her own. They have a good home. They’ve never had it so good, but I still want them to know what we’re doing.”

“They’re not at home,” I reminded him.

“No, but some homes aren’t worth being at. Look at the kids we feed every day. They aren’t home. I don’t think most of them would go home, Joe. They left because they couldn’t take it at home. I’m glad you brought Denny, Danny, and Donnie home with you. If we didn’t have them I’d want to take all the kids we feed home. I know I can’t with our three boys there.”

“I don’t know. I must admit I had it pretty good. After my friend Ralph killed himself, I couldn’t be there any more. Finding out he was gay, and me, not knowing he was. His best friend didn’t know. If he’d known about me he’d be alive. I just had to find a way to avoid facing my guilt. Don’t get me wrong, my parents are strange, but harmless. I didn’t run away from home, I ran away from my memories of Ralphie.”

“I’m sorry, Joe,” he said, putting his arm around me. “Times like that, when your friend killed himself, you’ve got to understand you can only do the best you can. You had nothing to do with him killing himself. You can play would of, should of, could of, all you want, but it won’t change anything.”

“I know,” I said, patting the back of his hand. “I never saw it coming, Argyll. One day everything was fine, he was fine, and the next I heard he was dead.”

“It’s pretty bad for these kids, Joe. You were the exception and got to go home. You’ve got something inside you that makes you want to correct the situation you found here. It’s what I like about you. You’re always looking for a way to make things better.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Ask those kids. Ask our kids. That’s what you’re doing. We might only be reaching a few of the kids that need us, but it’s a few more that eat regular and have access to a doctor. Who knows, Joe, the San Francisco Chronicle goes all over the world. Other people are going to read about what’s going on here, and they’re going to say, I can do that, and you got the ball rolling. One kid got the ball rolling. You!”

“It’s never enough, is it?” I said, knowing my contribution was getting out of Argyll’s Jeep and handing someone a meal.

The people responsible for doing the work were back at the church—a dozen caring older women and their concerned priest.

“It’s our job to make people aware, to find ways to help, to get other people to help, and then, you’ve got to stand back and let everyone do whatever they can do best. You’ve made a good start, Joe. I’m proud of you,” Argyll said, giving me his largest smile before moving away.

“I couldn’t have done any of it without you. You’ve been terrific, Argyll. I wish things were different. I wish I could….”

“You can’t, Joe. I understand that. I admire you for it. I hope one day to find someone as true blue as you.”

“Yeah, you’ve made all this possible. It’s the people you know that have done the most.”

“None of it would have happened if you hadn’t been so passionate about it.”

Argyll was a prince. I’d never met anyone so kind and gentle. My idea of God was in a constant state of change. The Christian God had a lot to answer for. Starving dying kids put him in a very poor light as far as I was concerned, but the God that guided me to Argyll, or him to me, was also a prince. Was it merely a random happenstance that merely turned out to be exactly what was called for?

Perhaps God was about putting people in the proper place to make a difference, as Argyll was placed there for me, but

once done, it was up to them to make a difference? Maybe all the starving kids in the world got that way because the people who God put there to make a difference, didn’t. That God I could understand and apologize to for our failures.

It was difficult not to consider a nation where life is precious, except, once born, you’re on your own, every man for himself. Take all you can get, but life is only precious until you have a need you can’t meet at which time you’re on your own.

*****

Monday Matilda was cooking and the tutor was with the boys, when someone came to the door. I left the library, passing the noisy kitchen and yanked open the door.

“Todd!” I said surprised. “Mr. Walker,” he said in a non-friendly voice. “I thought I told you I never wanted to see you on my streets again.”

I used my arm to highlight the entryway, “Does this look like the street to you?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, continuing to act annoyed.

“Want a cup of coffee,” I offered, ignoring his annoyance. “This isn’t a social call,” he said.

“I see no business you have with me. I’m an adult. I assume you’re still working for social services?” I said as he followed me into the kitchen. “We have any coffee left, Matilda.”

“No, Mr. Joe, but I’s can fix up a pot in a few minutes.”

“I said, I don’t want a cup of coffee,” Todd argued. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Nobody asked you nothin’,” Matilda spat in Todd’s direction. “You be sittin’ yourself down there and mind your manors.

“Todd looked surprised as he followed her orders, taking a good look at Matilda, probably making certain she wasn’t armed. “How the hell did you know where I was?” I asked.

“I supervise the woman that is responsible for the boys’ case,” he said, as Donnie, Danny, and Denny glanced over at him.

“Oh, and where’s Ty?”

“That’s a privileged piece of information. He’s fine and passing in school. He doesn’t need to hear from anyone that might tempt him back to my town.”

“He’s living with his mother? He said she was back in touch with him.”

“Yes, but don’t you dare go looking for him. He’s doing fine and he doesn’t need to be distracted. Leave him be.”

“He playing basketball?” I asked.

“Billie Joe, we do things other than play basketball.”

“He liked basketball. He was good at it. I just wanted to know if he was playing.”

“I don’t know. His mother hasn’t mentioned it. If he likes it he can play. I’m sure he will.”

“Here, if you tone down some, I’ll serve you a cinnamon roll when I set them out for my boys,” Matilda said, slapping the cup and saucer down in front of Todd.

“All right,” Donnie said, smiling at Matilda.

Ms. Cho tapped her finger on the counter in front of Donnie and he quickly went back to writing in his composition book. Todd smiled at the discipline. His coffee was still moving back and forth in his cup from the way Matilda had set it down.

“Is he healthy?” I asked.

“Ty? T-cells are staying in the high two hundreds and he has an undetectable virile load.”

“He hasn’t been sick?”

“He’s healthier than I am. Hey, this is good coffee. Thanks.”

“You thinkin’ Matilda don’t know how to make coffee? I just might be skippin’ you when I set out the rolls,” she said, keeping her back to us as she worked over the stove.

“No, I just meant it was good coffee.”

“You planning to stay with us awhile?” Todd asked in a less strident voice.

“Until I’m finished,” I said.

“You have more in mind than feeding them?”

“Yes, we’re doing some medical, clothing, looking for ways to house them without running foul of the law. You came prepared?”

“I can read. I figured it was time to visit you. You’ve done all right for yourself,” Todd said, looking around the sterile kitchen.

Matilda set out the rolls as soon as Ms. Cho collected the books the boys wrote in. We were all speechless, eating magnificent cinnamon rolls.

There was more coffee before we all went back to what we were doing once Todd left. I was satisfied, even happy. I knew Todd wouldn’t lie to me about Ty, and my one worry was that he was sick or alone; knowing he wasn’t improved my disposition.

I placed calls to Adam at The Center on Monday afternoon and again Tuesday. He didn’t answer and I told him I was coming to the meeting Wednesday. There was a hot discussion going on when Argyll, the three boys, and I made our entrance. The meeting stopped until we’d taken seats in the background. The meeting continued.

It took about twenty minutes for the financial end of the meeting to be concluded. A good looking young man stood and announced my arrival.

“We’ve got a guest speaker this evening. Mr. Walker is here to tell us about the progress he’s making in his crusade to help homeless kids. Mr. Walker, would you care to speak.”

I sat Denny off my lap and I stood at my seat.

“Why don’t you come up front where everyone can see you and hear what you have to say.”

I didn’t like leaving the comfort that Argyll and the boys gave me, but I moved to the front of the room. There were nineteen or twenty people spread out over a fair size room, not counting my group.

“I’m Billie Joe Walker Jr. While I haven’t had any experience with the ‘gay’ community, I am gay. As far as I know I’ve always been gay. I was here two summers ago and I lived on your streets.”

“But you went home,” someone reminded me.

“Let him speak,” the man who introduced me said.

“I don’t see the point. He’s feeding those damn kids and they’ll never go back to where they belong. It’s not our job to babysit someone else’s kids and this is The Center for all of us, not just for the feel-good crowd. What can he tell us we don’t know. We’ve got to step over the little… those kids every time we want to go in or out of a shop. I don’t need him to tell me they’re out there.”

“Excuse me, I think I have what you want,” I said directly to the objector. “There are 1.3 million homeless kids on the street of the cities in America tonight. Forty percent of the homeless kids are fifteen or under. Twenty to forty percent of the 1.3 million homeless kids on our streets tonight are LGBT children. Our children.”

“Oh, come off it. Our children? Hey, I’m aware of all my kids, and there ain’t none. I’m gay. I don’t need to hear this. What’s with twenty to forty percent? That’s as close as they can get? How bogus is that?”

“It seems children thrown out of their homes for being gay aren’t likely to tell strangers they’re gay. We all faced coming out. How many of us did it at twelve or thirteen? We waited until it is safe. Throw away kids rarely feel safe.”

“Oh, please, you don’t know how many are gay. It’s simply statistics to make us feel sorry for them. They should go home and tough it out like the rest of us did. What you want brings us back to our having an agenda to brainwash the right winger’s kids.”

“One more statistic just for you, and this one might be one you like,” I said angrily, directing my venom at the mean man who had all the answers. “Thirteen, that’s thirteen, homeless children die each day on the streets of America. I don’t expect you to give a damn but I want you to know that statistic. I want that little tidbit to pop into your brain each night before you fall asleep.”

The audience was stunned dumb. When I glanced at Argyll, he was smiling in an appreciative way. He knew I’d read the books he’d given me. I was using the statistics of “Standup for Kids,” a non-profit dedicated to finding homes for homeless children.

I broke the silence myself, finishing what I’d come to say.

“I confess, I do have an agenda. I don’t want another gay kid thrown out of his home. I don’t want another gay kid threatened, beaten, bullied, or buried prematurely. I don’t want another gay kid to kill himself rather than put up with the hatred this culture nurtures. I want gay street kids to live long enough to grow up to make a difference, and I want each of us, each of you, to aspire to make a difference, only then will my agenda succeed. Is it too much to ask?”

“What do we do?” someone asked anxiously.

“You like your parties, bookstores, bars, and gatherings. I don’t know what you can do but if you talk it over I bet you’d come up with your own ideas.”

“You mean like feeding them,” someone else said.

“That’s what we do, but there are dozens if not a hundred or more homeless kids in The Castro area. Certainly you have the resources to establish an outreach for them. I venture to say most of the kids who come to The Castro are gay. They come here for the same reason I came, looking for the gay community.”

“You didn’t find us until a few weeks back. That is disappointing,” someone said.

There was a brilliant flash that blinded me as I looked over at the speaker. When I regained my vision, the photographer at the church was now at The Center. Who was this guy?

“Yes, I did and I must apologize for my last appearance here. You see, I came looking for you, the gay community. My best friend had died, committed suicide, and all I could think of was finding people like me, who would know about what I felt. When I finally found you a few weeks back and stood in front of you a year and a half after I needed you, I realized why I had come to San Francisco in the first place. I came looking for you so my dead friend didn’t kill me. You didn’t impress me once I found you, I’m afraid.”

“That’s terrible. No one helped you?” someone said as a second flash caught me by surprise.

I really wanted to go grab that camera and shove it up his….

“No,” I said out of sorts. “Just the other homeless kids. They kept me alive and taught me how to survive. The only interest gay men had in me was… well, that’s not important. I needed to find you and once I did, my friend’s death overwhelmed me. It was a long journey and I didn’t realize how much of it was about his suicide.”

“I’d be willing to give up a night a month at the clubs to help fund a safe place for them,” someone spoke out.

“My public expects me to appear. I can’t deny them my presence even for a single night a month,” another man said with a superior air to his voice.

“Do them a favor, Ms. Thing, keep your ugly ass home one night a month, they’ll love you for it,” someone yelled out and everyone laughed, including Ms. Thing.

“It’s not a joke,” a woman said. “That’s our problem. We are too quick to laugh off injustices directed at us,” she said in a soft sympathetic voice. “He’s been out there and seen it. He’s not from here but he’s come back to make a difference. I can’t speak for anyone else, but my lover and I spend far too much pampering ourselves. I’ve never given a thought to those kids. We pass them. I’ve given them my spare change. I walk on past like there’s nothing else I can do. Now I see I must do more. How can any of us sleep tonight knowing what he’s just told us? He said, many of them are LGBT kids. We need to take responsibility for them. We can do something to help them.”

“Well, this is way big for an open meeting. I’m convinced we need to take this up in committee and see what we can come up with. The Center is here to deal with gay issues. I can’t imagine a more important issue. It is one we can do something about,” the man who introduced me said.

“You better start lining up the lawyers,” someone shouted out. “You get this Center involved with anyone under eighteen and there’s going to be such a howl from the right wingers, you’ll think the hounds of hell are after us. Whatever you think about doing, you best have a dozen lawyers running interference. That’ll cost ten times what it costs to take care of all those kids.”

“Perhaps,” the moderator said. “Perhaps there are attorneys who will donate the time to see to it we don’t risk legal exposure. I know some attorneys. We need to think it over and see what we’re best suited to do. The board will meet next Wednesday for this discussion. It’ll be closed to everyone except for our advisory board and people with specific ideas. Can you join us at 7:30 next Wednesday, Billie Joe?”

“I’d be happy to attend,” I said, and everyone seemed glad once I moved back to my seat.

I was just glad it was over. Argyll grabbed my forearm so I’d look at him. He smiled, nodding his approval. The boys yawned and Denny sucked his thumb. I kissed the top of his head.

I’d never felt as though I was in control of myself before. In front of the church ladies I’d been measured, using their questions to formulate the message. In front of the people at The Center, the place where I’d made such a big fool out of myself a few weeks before, I got a hold on who I was. My message and my mission merged into a cohesive dialogue, where I could answer the questions thrown at me without losing my cool.

There was enough of a foundation under me that I knew where I was and why I was here. It took me back to the senior play and my impromptu speech. While my purpose for being at The Center was a lot more specific, I’d come up with the answers I needed for a more comfortable exchange of ideas. I hadn’t accomplished anything yet but it was a start and I had been invited back.

The Center had more business to discuss and it was time to get my boys home. I carried Denny and Argyll held Danny and Donnie’s hands as we started down the steps. As we got to the bottom of the stairs a familiar flash blinded me and a familiar anger rose up inside me.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked.

“I’m baiting the hook, Mr. Walker. People won’t be able to resist you once they see you with your kids.”

“No way no how. You write anything you want about me. That’s up to you. You leave my family out of it. You never, ever photograph these kids again! Understood?”

“Man, you drive a hard bargain. Okay, I’ll destroy the negative, but I want a sit-down interview in exchange.”

“You could have asked me for an interview before you started bird-dogging me.”

“It wasn’t time,” he said, walking fast to keep up with us as Argyll walked ahead with Danny and Donnie.

Denny fell back to sleep on my shoulder as we haggled.

“What has changed?” I asked, losing my hard edge toward the noisy newsman.

“You’ve changed, Mr. Walker. At first it was the waves you made that was the story. Now, you’re the story. You were an annoying noise people tolerated and now you’re the face of the crusade you lead. I can’t let go of that. The readers have become fascinated by the ‘boy crusader’ and his transformation. It’s time to introduce them to Billie Joe Walker Jr.”

“Keep the kids out of it and I’ll give you all you want about me, no one else. My family, all of it, everywhere, is out of bounds,” I emphasized.

“Done, Mr. Walker,” he said as we stopped beside the limo.

“How about tonight?” he asked as Argyll put the boys in the car.

“We’ve got to put the boys to bed,” I said.

“I’m in no hurry. This won’t hit my editor’s desk until Friday. You are my Saturday morning human interest story. Can you give me a ride? We’ll get started tonight.”

“You don’t know where we live.”

“Of course I do. I knew that the first time you went to talk to the Board of Supervisors.”

“Good, you can come up after the boys are in bed. See you, Mr. Carroll,” I said, closing the door on him as he stood speechless on the curb.

I had a feeling Mr. Carroll was seldom speechless and I felt a little evil making him find his way to Argyll’s place. I didn’t know much but I knew better than to let him think I was being flattered by his attention. George Carroll was in it for his own reasons and as long as I could use him to help promote my mission, he was fine with me.

Chapter 20

The Rest of the Story

By the time George Carroll arrived at our front door, the boys were in bed. Argyll stood behind me as I opened it.

“Do you know how hard it is to get a cab this time of night?”

“I have a good idea,” Argyll said. “We needed the time to put the boys to bed.”

“Jesus, I won’t bite them. I promise. I just want Billie Joe’s story.”

“They don’t need any more disruptions in their lives. We have a routine and now I have time to talk to you.”

Argyll took us to the library and closed the door on us once we were seated inside. George sat his camera down next to his chair and removed his pad from his jacket. We sat opposite one another as he got out two pencils, shoving one behind his ear and taking the other one in his hand.

“Where are you from?”

“St. Cloud, Minnesota.”

“You were here last year?”

“Two summers ago, the end of June through August.”

“Your quest?”

“Not my crusade?”

“That’s just a writer’s tool to attract attention. It was Wisner’s comment that led me to it. It caught right on.”

“So I was told.”

“Like it or not, Mr. Walker, you are at the center of the problem you’ve brought to the attention of our fair city. Powerful people have their eye on you. You’ve given them a good slap and they don’t like it. Tomorrow I may blacken their eyes,” George Carroll bragged.

“I have nothing against the ruling powers. I’m here about the kids. I don’t care about those men. Don’t blacken their eyes on my account.”

“Why does a nice clean-cut Midwest boy come to San Francisco in the first place? You were what, seventeen?”

“I was sixteen. I turned seventeen on the street.”

He jotted down everything I said and he wanted it all. I asked he not bother my parents. He agreed. I told him about the day I heard about Ralphie. It was surprisingly painless this time. I felt bad about the words I used but the intense sorrow I’d felt only a few weeks before was no longer with me. I had a better understanding and an acceptance that Ralphie was gone forever. Mr. Carroll continued to write as fast as I talked and as long as I talked he didn’t interrupt. The words flowed easily.

Once we talked about Carl, he was satisfied not to pry too deeply into my relationship with him, although it wasn’t so easy for him to get beyond Argyll.

“If Carl sanctions your being here, where does Argyll fit? From what you say, Carl isn’t a man you trifle with. Argyll seems like a bit more than a trifle.”

“Carl knows why I’m here. Argyll is a man of honor. He respects me and my quest. He understands the need and has been more than willing to take a role in getting it done. I’d say, after Carl, Argyll would be my best friend.”

“I’d say you are lucky to have people like these. Most men I know spend much of their time back biting and complaining about what they don’t have but want.”

“It’s not about me, Mr. Carroll. It’s about the kids. I wish your story was more about them. The church has been wonderful. The Center can take on a lot of responsibility and they all deserve praise, but it’s about the plight of the kids.”

“Ah, yes, it is about the kids, but the kids have no face, as you’ve so astutely observed in speaking about their invisibility. You, Mr. Walker, do have a face. You have a nice face, and your voice is being heard, but more importantly, you have the experience to back it up. I’m giving you the chance to tell us about the kids.”

“I told you the conditions. I’ll give you what you want.”

“What I want…. What I need is to get an overview of what motivated you in undertaking this crusade? You speak of boys you knew, when you were on the street. I want to know them and I want the reader to feel like they know you.

“You’re… young and you seem to be focused like a laser beam. I’ve seen you in action, which isn’t always pretty, but tonight, you grabbed them by the gonads and you didn’t let go until you were done with them. I must admit, after seeing some of what I’ve seen you do, I was impressed. I don’t know how seriously I took you until this evening, and that’s why we’re talking. Up until now you were a novelty. I think people are starting to take you seriously.

“You left Carl in Seattle?”

“SeaTac Airport.”

“Yes, and you came here, looking for what?”

“It’s a long way from there to here. There was Raymond, Ingmar, Kyle, and then, The Prince, and that’s when I came to San Francisco to stay with Dennis and John and I met Harvey.”

“That’s a lot of people. Start where you’re comfortable. Who was Raymond?”

“An obnoxious shit who pissed me off. Thinking about him pisses me off.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve never been patient. You’d probably say I’m spoiled. Raymond was a know-it-all who knew nothing and complained, oh man, did that boy know how to complain. I nearly kicked his ass, but once we were out on the road together, I realized he was all there was between me and….”

“And what?”

“I was brave when I left. I’d made up my mind what I had to do, but when it came down to it, Raymond was all there was between me and alone. I’d never been alone before and I’d never been away from home before. Raymond was all I had.

“He was raped. The guy came at me. He’d given us a ride in a black car with those really dark tinted windows. I fell asleep in the backseat. He pulled off on a ramp in southern Oregon, below Roseburg somewhere. When I woke up he was coming after me, reaching over the back of the seat trying to grab me. I’d had just enough karate when I was nine to react to him. I drop kicked the mother fucker’s head into the windshield. It stunned him long enough for us to get away from the car. We hid in the woods all night. The next day we began hitching south, keeping our eyes open for that car, but he was gone.”

“You weren’t hurt?”

“No, I wasn’t. Scared shitless for the first time in my life maybe? Raymond was hurt some and that’s where Ingmar enters the story.

“We ended up working on a truck for Ingmar the moving man. He wanted to protect us, after hearing our story. His nephew, Kyle, was sweet on Raymond. I think he wanted to protect him.” “Kyle was gay?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think he was. He just liked Raymond. I didn’t get the impression he knew much about having sex with other boys.”

“I don’t understand. If he was having gay sex wouldn’t that make him gay?”

“That’s not very good logic. Lots of guys have gay sex and they aren’t the least bit gay. I think it has something to do with being horny and how horny they are. A lot of guys will do most anything to solve that little problem,” I said with my best analytical answer. “I don’t think it makes them gay.”

“That’s a new one on me,” Mr. Carroll said.

“I stayed on the truck until we got into Fresno and then I left them to go to San Francisco. It wasn’t easy leaving Ingmar’s

protection, and Kyle was a sweetheart. I even hated leaving Raymond, but he was so dizzy over Kyle, he didn’t mind.”

“Why San Francisco? It’s just a city. You’re a kid, or were a kid at the time.”

“It was the gayest city I knew about. I thought if I could find people like me, and I didn’t know any in Minnesota, my life would be saved from doing what Ralphie did. I wanted to go somewhere to find acceptance.”

“Okay, you got off the truck. What happened?”

“The Prince picked me up. He wasn’t much older than I was, but he said he came from European royalty. I believed him. He had a house and seemed totally self-absorbed. I don’t know anyone who is royalty so that’s my best guess. He took me into San Francisco to stay with Dennis and John. They were lovers who had a place in town. I was going to stay there with them, while I found what I was looking for.”

“What happened?”

“Harvey happened. They brought him home for sex and when I caught on, I left when Harvey left. He took me to the street kids. I didn’t realize I was one of them at the time. When you end up on the street sometimes you’re the last to know.”

“Harvey stayed with you?”

“No, he left me at a place they called the Party Hotel. I was nearly raped there. That’s where I met Ty. He was my first protector. Ty was tough as nails and sweet as chocolate. He messed up the guy who tried to rape me, then, we took off together. That’s when I realized I was on the street.”

“Messed up?” George inquired.

“Ty wasn’t someone you wanted to tangle with. He knew how to take care of himself and he took care of me. The guy who tried to rape me wasn’t going to try that again for awhile.”

“What happened to Ty?”

“Ty had a friend, Walt, where he could stay. When Walt got critically ill—he had AIDS—Ty ended up staying with him and leaving me alone at a motel room. I don’t guess I was exactly alone,” I rectified.

“He left you with someone?”

“More like a small army. It was a safe place off the street. Word gets around and people keep coming. They need to shower, sleep somewhere safe. I met Gene, Jake, Sharon, Donnie, and a whole bunch more people. We were doing pretty good there and it wasn’t like being on the street. Then, the cops came. It was a rude awakening. I escaped with my pants in my hand and ran naked across the rooftops, following Gene. He was street savvy and he showed me how to get away. I lost everything in the motel room, clothes, money, everything. I was truly homeless after that.

“I cut my foot. I was barefoot. No time to stop and put on my shoes. Gene took me to Jesus.”

“Gene was religious?”

“No, I don’t think so. Je’sus was Jesus to me. He was a Vietnam Vet. He’d been a medic there. He took care of my foot. He gave me his best pair of shoes and his dress shirt. I only carried that one pair of pants with me, so he gave me his clothes. I’ve always thought he might have been Jesus. I’d never known anyone to give away their best things to a stranger.”

“Sounds like quite a guy. Where was his place?”

“Down by that row of warehouses below The Castro and off to the right a mile or so. He lived in an Amana refrigerator box. I don’t know about Amana’s products, but if they are anything like the box they ship them in, they’re first class merchandise. Gene and I lived in that box until it was time to go.”

“Time to go? You had to be pretty smart to keep yourself alive. If you were safe there, why go?”

“I was stupid for being out there in the first place. I was smart enough to hook up with people like Ty and Gene. I was sure I knew how Jesus felt. He saw so much his mind broke.”

“…I tore my mind on some jagged sky. I saw so much I couldn’t unwind…,” George lamented, being someplace else for a few seconds.

“What’s that mean?”

“You would not believe it. It’s a Kenny Rogers song, when he was with the First Edition. ‘Just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in,’” he sang softly. “’I saw so much I broke my mind.’ It’s part of the lyrics of an old… old Kenny Roger’s song. It was another world, Billie Joe”

“Isn’t he the Ruby guy? ‘Don’t take your love to town’ kind of thing?”

“That’s the one. He sang rock and roll in the later sixties; the Psychedelic Era. A bit before your time.”

“Psycho what?”

“Psychedelic. You’d have fit in I believe. You could go downtown and never need to worry about a place to sleep or where you’d eat. Everyone came together for a brief minute. I was a kid but I remember the seventies. All us kids were in the wind, looking for the best pot, somewhere to crash, and the free food. Someone always knew where to go to find it. Homeless kids wouldn’t have had any trouble getting fed. All of us were homeless on the weekends and in the summer, especially in the summer.

“People cared about each other back then. The people I knew anyway. There was Jelly Bean, Cosmos, Rainbow. Whose interviewing who here? You say you don’t know what happened to Gene?” he asked, steering us back on course.

“In the wind?” I asked curiously.

“When you were moving from one place to another, we said we were in the wind. When you got off on the highway coming here the first time, you were in the wind.”

“Oh, I like that. I’ve looked for Gene and I’ve asked the kids about him. No luck.

“After we had to leave the Amana box, Jesus was quite mad, you know. One night we came in from our usual dumpster diving and food gathering and Jesus was screaming and hollering something fierce. Gene said he’d gotten liquor somewhere and we shouldn’t be around him.

“I was sorry to see Jesus that way. I wanted to believe in him, but he was only a man in trouble. My foot was mostly healed by then and we never stayed anywhere too long.”

“My God! We absolutely must do a novel, Billie Joe. This is great stuff. Running naked across rooftops, being healed by Jesus, kids taking care of other kids, I couldn’t make this stuff up.”

“Sorry, I’ve already picked out my biographer. If I’m ever ready for that I’ll contact him and he gets the first shot. I’ll keep you in mind as a backup.”

“This is right out of Dickens. Who’d believe this kind of stuff is going on today in America? Where’d you get to once Jesus freaked out on you?”

“We ended up back at the Party Hotel. Some of the people who had been in the motel room with us when the cops came were there. The cops busted some of them but most got away and the rest were back on the street in a few days.”

“Social Services didn’t lock them up?”

“I don’t know where they sent them. It didn’t take long for most of them to hit the street again. The youngest ones had the most difficulty getting free. They tried to get them in the system. The ones they couldn’t charge with something they eventually let go.”

“So back to the place where it all started?”

“Yeah, and that’s where I lost track of Gene. He went out and didn’t come back. We were held up there for a week or more. People came and went. It was all a fog. We were drinking, there were drugs, and kids from the suburbs came to stay and party on weekends. That was as wild as it got. Guys were out on the street making money. They’d bring back bags of food and it didn’t stop for a long time.

“It was crazy. I didn’t know where I was and I didn’t care. One day merged into the next. Hell, I didn’t know if it was day or night half the time. There were more new people and they brought more food and more booze and I just stayed put, until everyone disappeared.”

“I went out to find some food or get some money for food and just as I was about to get into a car, Ty grabbed my ass and slapped the shit out of me. He told me he better never catch me getting into a strange car. He had this idea he could save me. He talked about it all the time.

“He took me home to Walt and Walt was not quite as sick. He told me he wouldn’t have kept me in the apartment, but if he threw me out, Ty would leave with me and he’d die. I didn’t understand but I didn’t want to.

“Walt contacted my parents. They wanted me back. He made arrangements through Todd, Ty’s case worker. He set it up for my father to come and pick me up. I stayed with Walt and Ty until then. I went home, finished high school, and here I am.”

“Wait a minute. We got a year you’ve left out. What happened when you went home?”

“I’m saving that for my biography. You can read it once the book is finished. I’ll call it The Return Home.”

“Fitting if not inspirational,” he said, wanting more.

“What do you expect from a kid?”

“You’re a hard man to persuade. I’m right here, Billie Joe. I can write it. People here will love it. I’ll have them clamoring for more.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can but the guy I’ve picked out speaks my language and he’ll say it like I’d say it. You’ll say it like a newspaperman and I’m not a news story once I leave here. For me it’s a piece of my life. For you it’s a story you’ll finish.”

“What will you be once you leave here?” he asked unhappily, maybe trying to get me to see he could make me someone I couldn’t become without him.

“I’ll be Carl’s lover and I’ll be doing whatever he says to do. It’s the promise I made him if he let me do this, I’ll do what he wants afterward.”

“I can’t imagine anyone telling you what to do. You’re strong willed and self-assured and you’re still a boy. I wouldn’t want to be called to negotiate with you once you’ve made up your mind.”

“Maybe not, but that’s where love comes in. I love Carl enough to know that whatever he wants to do is what I’ll want to do with him. I’ve loved being with him almost from the first minute we met.”

“You don’t like being here… with Argyll?”

That wasn’t something to which I’d given thought, especially in those terms. When I thought about it the idea of Argyll and my mission were now all tangled up together in a way that was difficult to separate in words. With Denny, Danny, and Donnie on the scene, it was even more complicated and not a question I could answer yes or no.

“If I have to be with someone besides Carl, I couldn’t pick out anyone better for me than Argyll.”

“Better for you or easier for you?” Mr. Carroll asked, after watching me squirm to answer his previous question.

His questions had become more pointed and more difficult to answer. Pitting Carl against Argyll might be a great journalistic tool, but I could separate the two of them, knowing I always loved Carl most and Argyll and the boys were a close second, but they were second.

“We’re getting off track. Dwelling on my living arrangements is non-productive. It is what it is.”

“Yes it is,” he agreed. “These are questions that will be asked later. I’m getting out in front of the public interest. People always want to know who they’re pulling for. Wouldn’t you rather they get your story from you rather than from speculation?”

“This isn’t about me. I don’t care what people speculate. They have too much time if they are spending it on me and who I live with and who I love.”

“Why come back to a place that was no picnic the first time around? What do you want to accomplish?” he fired the next question as quick as I rejected the last.

“All I can,” I said, letting the questions hang there for a minute. “I want people to be aware of what’s happening on their streets. If you tell them they’ll know. If they choose to let it happen without making an effort to solve the problem, then they’ll need to live with themselves. I’m their town crier, you might say, and all is not well. If some of them get involved it’ll be fine.”

“Town crier,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. “Right out of Charles Dickens. There is poetry in your message, Mr. Walker. What makes you care so much?”

“Caring about each other is what Jesus taught us. We’ve forgotten and our lives have become more about stuff, having more stuff, buying better bigger stuff.

“You want to achieve happiness, Mr. Carroll, come with us one morning when we deliver meals. The look on the faces of those kids, the smiles, the infrequent ‘thank you’—those are the moments that keep me here thinking I can do more.

“Come on along and hand out a few meals to hungry people, and see if it doesn’t alter you for the better. You don’t need to buy the food, it’s all contributed by the Catholic Church’s parishioners and a couple of pantries that help. Simply hand them out and look at the expression on the faces of the people you feed. That’s happiness coming and going. Everyone wins.”

“You’ve convinced me. I want to report on every aspect of the effort.

“You know about Jesus?” he asked thoughtfully.

“I went to Sunday School every Sunday until I was twelve. My father is very religious.”

“You said Todd made arrangements for your father to come and get you.”

“Yes, I did.”

“He wasn’t so religious he didn’t want you at home with your family.”

“I can’t tell you my father’s reasoning. I can’t tell you much at all about my father. We lived in the same house and he laid down the law, but we didn’t know each other. He wasn’t crazy enough to think his religion meant he had to disown his son. I was his.”

“What was it like going home? You don’t need to tell me about the year you spent back there, but just what it was like to go home, after experiencing so much.”

“Hard, it was very hard. I was closed in. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was angry. I was very angry.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know. I was a kid.”

“What happened to the kids you were with,” he leafed back through his notes. “Harvey, where’d he end up.”

“He died of AIDS.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. How about Ty?”

“I talked to Todd and Ty’s back with his mother. He’s in school and doing fine. Ty was smart. He’ll make something of himself.”

“That’s good. He got out virtually unscathed?”

“He’s got AIDS,” I said bluntly, waiting for the words to sting him.

He was caught off guard by the comment. For the first time he looked out of sorts.

“His friend. The fellow he lived with?” he moved on quickly.

“Walt died of AIDS.”

“Oh!”

“No one comes off the street unscathed, Mr. Carroll. It alters your DNA. The smell, the hunger, the loneliness alters you. The fear isolates you. I still have dreams about the car with dark tinted windows.”

“You seem fine to me. You are focused and determined. I don’t see you’ve been altered beyond repair.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I returned to a place where I knew hardship and life without any future. I could be home with my lover. I could be in his arms. I’ve been altered. Maybe if I can succeed at this, the rest of my life will belong to me.”

“But what of Argyll and the boys?” he asked, unsure of what I was telling him.

“I don’t know,” I said, not knowing what would come of all my love affairs on two different ends of the country. “I don’t know.”

“Are you happy, Billie Joe?” he inquired with concern.

“I suppose. I’m alive. I’ve got more than I deserve. I love someone. I have a friend like Argyll. He didn’t have to help me. He took in our boys. My life is blessed, but am I happy?”

“But you said you don’t have anything of your own,” George challenged me.

“I don’t own anything. I’ve got more wealth in my heart than I can tell you about. I’m rich beyond my wildest dreams. I could be on the street tomorrow, and believe me, I know that, but it’s today and I’m wealthy with hope and desire. If I can get done what I came to do, then, I’ll be happy. Then, I can think about tomorrow.”

“You want to begin a movement. You want people to care about one another unconditionally. I wouldn’t mind living in that world.”

“No, it’s easier than that. I want gay men to care about their own, starting with our kids. We all grew up gay and know how damaging it can be if you have no one you can tell, or feel comfortable with, no hand to hold, no affection to share. We need to be there for everyone who is LGBT or LGBT friendly.”

“Je’sus? Is he still out there?”

“I’ve looked for him. I have Argyll drive me around there with a meal now and then. I would like to make sure he’s fed. I’d like to give him a few dollars, maybe get him inside somewhere; get him treatment so he can put Vietnam behind him at last.”

“You certainly have some strong feelings about him. He made a big impression on you?”

“Jesus is what it’s all about. Feed the hungry and cloth the poor. Wasn’t that his message? That’s how I remember Je’sus.”

“Je’sus is hardly a gay homeless child. The meals are prepared for the homeless kids, aren’t they? What does Father Flannery say about expanding the mission?”

“He helps hand the meals out in the evening. Once we’ve hit all our regular stops, we go to the Mission District and he helps hand them out to the homeless there. There’s no name on the meals.”

“I suppose that’s as it should be. I think I better quit before I get off track again. I want to stick with the boy crusader end of the story. Is there anything else you want me to know before I go with this?”

“No, I don’t have anything I want you to know. You’ve got the story you asked for and I just want you to leave my family alone. I’ll talk to you any time you like, but don’t be following us around and flashing pictures. We’re just now getting the boys settled in. None of this is about them.”

“It’s a good story, Mr. Walker. I don’t usually leave so much unsaid, but under the circumstances, I agree and I’ll keep my distance and I’ll call you if I have any questions. Let me give you a card and you can call me if you have something you want in the articles.”

“Articles,” I asked, as he removed a wallet from his wrinkled jacket to give me his card.

“Yes, I’ll be running with this on Saturdays until something comes of it. Publicity can’t hurt. Here’s the card and I’ll get out of your hair.”

I walked him to the door, and he went out without hesitating for pleasantries. It was late and he was probably tired too.

I found Argyll reading in bed with the boys sleeping beside him. He looked over top of his glasses as I came to the door.

“How’d it go?”

“Fine. He got what he wanted. I don’t know what he wants to write, but he has the facts up until tonight. He won’t write about the kids, Carl, or you.”

“You sold me out. How will I ever get my fifteen minutes of fame?”

“You’re famous to me,” I said fondly. “Won’t that do?”

“You drive a hard bargain, Joe. How about a hug, while I think it over?”

I sat beside him and leaned against him, feeling his arms wrap around me. I almost fell asleep. There was a comfort that came with being there.

“You’ve had a big night. You opened the door for The Center’s involvement and you did your first big-time interview. You do know the San Francisco Chronicle goes all over the world? You’ll be famous.”

“It goes to Fort Gordon, Georgia. Carl’s getting it mailed to him every day. He wants to keep up with my activities. He gets today’s paper tomorrow.”

“I can’t imagine anyone less likely to be reading the Chronicle,” Argyll quipped.

“What’s that crack mean,” I said, sitting up away from his arms.

“It means Carl is a country boy through and through. I can’t imagine him having an interest in the big city by the bay. It is the city where you are, however, which makes all other rationale mute.”

“Yes, it is,” I agreed.

“You ready for bed yet? We’ve got to be up early to get up to the church.”

“I want a dish of ice cream. I’ve still got a few things I want to think over. I’ll be in later,” I said, standing to leave the bedroom.

George Carroll had opened the door to my past in a way that I didn’t expect. Sleep wasn’t going to come easy and I read until I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer.

Chapter 21

Church & Dates

The rest of the week was routine. Argyll worked Saturday morning and I went out with Father Flannery to hand out breakfast. George Carroll called to say he’d be in shortly after noon to accompany us on our rounds. We always handed out a hot meal and a bagged meal to help them get through Sunday, when the church was pretty busy with services and food preparation wasn’t practical.

Argyll was in the shower when George arrived. I had him leave his camera on a table in the entryway before escorting him into the kitchen, where we were preparing to eat before going out on our rounds. George was immediately sniffing the air while I poured him a cup of coffee.

“Smells good,” he said agreeably, sipping from the steaming cup.

“There’s sugar and half & half on the counter if you like.”

“No, I like it black this time of day. Keeps my eyes open.”

“Late night last night?” I asked.

“You could say that,” he said with a mock smile.

When Argyll came in, he came over to shake George’s hand. Argyll was still drying his hair and wore the black and white floor length robe he used around the house before he dressed to go out.

“You ready to serve meals,” Argyll joked.

“I think I’ll simply watch. Something smells mighty good.”

Argyll went to stand behind Matilda as she introduced ingredients to the big bubbling pot in front of her on the stove. Denny stood next to her, one arm around her waist with his free thumb shoved in his mouth. He watched each ingredient she introduced to the mix.

“This is the cat’s paws and puppy dog noses?” Argyll asked, sniffing at the pot of food from behind Denny.

“Don’t you be pokin’ no fun at Matilda’s recipes. I’m not being responsible if you do, Mr. Argyll. There be forces at work poor Matilda can’t be controlling. You be sitting down over there and I’ll serve this for you boys before you go to work. This be my lamb curry with rice and collards with fatback; cornbread’s in the oven. You big boys sit at the table. I’ll feed the youngsters once you be gone.”

George poured himself a second cup of coffee and remained next to the coffee pot.

“You be temptin’ fate you don’t get yourself over here and eat what Matilda’s fixed,” she advised, carefully eyeballing George.

“My stomach hasn’t gotten up yet. I was out late last night.”

“Just humor her, George. We can’t risk offendin’ de recipe,” Argyll said in a fair imitation of Matilda.

“Okay, just a little. I’m not fond of lamb,” he said.

“I be givin’ you what you wants but the spirits be tellin’ me, you’ll be wantin’ more,” Matilda said, dropping a single spoonful of the lamb concoction into the middle of George’s plate. “They ain’t tellin’ me if I’m to be givin’ you no more.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve walked onto the set of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil?” George asked, dipping the tip of his fork into the steaming mixture. “This is good. I don’t even like lamb. While you’re here I’ll take some more.”

Matilda glared back at George once she’d dished out a helping for Argyll and me. She dished up a full helping for the reluctant reporter.

“Where did the boys come from by the way?” George slipped in between mouthfuls.

“Joe, maybe you should handle this?”

“Nice try, Mr. Carroll,” I said. “Just because you got the interview doesn’t mean the conditions have changed. Be happy we agreed to take you along today. This definitely has more to do with what Father Flannery has accomplished than it’s about the guys handing out the meals.”

“Why so formal? We know each other now,” George said with familiarity. “Just call me George, Billie Joe.”

“Nice try, George,” I said.

“It’s okay. If you think I’d talk to the cops about the boys being up here, I won’t. You can trust me to be discreet. Those boys live better than I do. I wouldn’t presume to interject my sense of morality into your lives.”

Argyll raised his hand as he chewed a mouthful of food, putting it down before he spoke.

“I’m the cops,” Argyll said with a curt little smile.

“You’re what?” George asked, being thrown off balance by the revelation.

“I’m a cop. I’m the Gay Liaison Officer.”

“As I was saying, I’d have to report anything unusual to the police.”

“That’s what I thought you were saying. I have legal custody of the boys. I intend to adopt them,” Argyll revealed.

“Aren’t you a little young to have three nearly grown boys?” George asked facetiously.

“No, I’d say I’m exactly the right age to raise these boys. Fatherhood didn’t occur to me the normal way. It was thrust upon me,” he said, glancing at me before he smiled.

By the time we’d dug into the collards and cornbread I was bursting at the seams and Argyll was ready to get going. For George Carroll there was always one more question.

“Before… your friend killed himself, what was life like at home? You’ve never mentioned before.”

“Everything was fine. My life added up as I went along. I was this goodie two-shoes all my life. I followed the plan my parents had for me but mostly did what I wanted. It was easy as long as I stayed within the guidelines that were put there for me.”

“You were happy?” George popped that question again.

“I was numb. I knew what I knew and I had no curiosity about what went on beyond what I knew. I was a good boy.”

“How’d you feel when you first went home?”

“Hardest thing I ever did. I was like a wild child at first. I’d been free. I was caged back up in the house. I think my parents thought I might cut their throats one night while they slept. I adjusted and finished school. I knew I had to get a whole lot smarter. I did what I could with my senior year of school.”

“We’ve got to get going. We’ll need to take the limo so we’ve got room for Mr. Carroll,” Argyll said, drinking down the rest of his glass of milk meant to ease the presence of Matilda’s wonderfully spicy food in his stomach.

“How did you end up with Argyll? I won’t write about it. I’m just curious to how you two met.”

“He arrested me,” I said.

“I did not. I held you for questioning.”

“That, too,” I said, smiling as George looked from one of us to another.

“What did he arrest you for?”

“Being too cute for his own good, as I recall,” Argyll said. “Come on. I’ve got to get my uniform on and we need to get out of Matilda’s way.

While Argyll went into the bedroom to get into his uniform, I took George into the library, which I hoped would entertain him, but he always had another question.

“What if Carl says, enough is enough, I want you home with me.”

“I haven’t crossed that bridge yet. He’s my man, George. I plan to be with him for the rest of my life. But I need to finish this.”

“So, you’d defy him?”

“Carl is my man.”

“Argyll? For the life of me, I don’t know where he fits into this picture.”

“A guardian angel in a uniform? He loves those kids.”

“He’s quite a guy to be in love with you and he still backs you up, knowing you’re in love with Carl.”

“I don’t know he is in love with me,” I objected unconvincingly.

“All you need is to look at the way he looks at you. The man loves you,” George Carroll informed me.

“Mr. Carroll, would you like to walk or do you want to ride with us?” Argyll said in a most unfriendly humor. “You’ve been given parameters. Violate them at your peril. The interviews will stop if you persist in going where you aren’t welcome. It’s time to go.”

George followed us around the church as we talked to the kitchen brigade and loaded lunches into the car. While he flashed a few pictures in the church, I wasn’t in the line of fire. He stood and talked to Father Flannery for a few minutes, after which the father stopped to talk to us.

I watched Argyll and wondered how hard it was on him. I’d tried not to think about his feelings for me. After George brought it up, it was difficult not to think about it.

We spent a couple of hours putting out fifty-one meals and an equal number of bagged lunches. George Carroll stayed out of the way, until we were down to the final tray and bag. We passed a guy with a shopping cart as we eased back toward the church.

“Stop,” George said firmly. “I want to give him the last meal. Do you mind?”

He got out of the car and caught the man, who was pushing the cart up hill with his head down. George taped on his bent shoulders. The man made a sudden swing around, locking his leg against the cart so it couldn’t roll backward. As George spoke to him, the man stood motionless, staring at him. George set the meal down in the top of the cart and walked away.

He didn’t say anything about the experience and I didn’t ask. We’d developed a routine, which kept us moving and unless one of the people receiving the food wanted to talk, we moved on to get the food out while it was still hot. This was what we were there for.

George had us stop at a newsstand near Market Street and he brought back five copies of The San Francisco Chronicle. He opened one copy and folded a section back, handing it to me.

“Boy Crusader Takes The Center”

There was a picture and it went into detail about the facts I’d given at Wednesday evening’s meeting. The more in-depth interview wasn’t part of the article and I didn’t ask when it would be in print. He got out on a corner before we got back to our building and he walked away.

“Billie Joe’s Journey,” didn’t appear until the following Saturday. It covered two full pages under that banner with a picture dominating each page. One picture was of me handing out meals. Reading the words gave me chills. It was my story appearing in the middle of a major newspaper. I was both elated and saddened. I wasn’t able to explain either feeling. Fame was not my purpose but it didn’t hurt.

I was asked to attend a meeting of a subcommittee for the Board of Supervisors on the issue of street kids on Tuesday night the week before the largest article appeared. I was asked to meet with Supervisor Henderson and his staff on Thursday afternoon. It was the first time I’d spoken to the supervisor since we’d fallen out at dinner the month before. He was polite and professional and left after the first ten minutes.

These discussions were “fact finding” events. I was questioned about everything I knew about living on the streets of San Francisco. I did all I could to give them all the information they asked me for. Mostly it was repetitious and I repeated the same information several times.

I was only out once when Argyll came in from work and I got home shortly after he did. There was nothing said but I knew there was something that wasn’t being said. With the boys staying close we went to bed without having said whatever it was that needed saying.

It was Monday after taking the boys to the park for some exercise before the tutor was due that Argyll met me at the door, immediately sending the boys to the kitchen to get ready for their lessons. He was unusually short with them and shorter with me.

“Adam Crest left a message for you to call. His number is on the message,” Argyll said, handing me a sheet of paper. “John Stone wants you to call his number. It’s on this message. George needs to come by for a chat about this week’s story. He mentioned Adam Crest, so he probably knows all about something I don’t know anything about.”

“Who are these guys?” I asked, holding the two messages I didn’t relate to anything.

“Adam is with The Center. I don’t know the other guy. You better tell them not to give this number out to casual admirers. They’ll be coming out of the woodwork, Joe.”

“They will?” I asked, trying not to sound stupid.

“Yeah, it’s your fan club. Get used to it. The pictures will get you more admirers. You’re an item. It creates security concerns if they find out where you live. You need to be careful.”

“I didn’t bargain on this,” I said, watching Argyll’s remote manners. “What did I do?”

“You’ve got kids. You can’t start running off every time someone wants some of your time. You need to organize your time so these kids don’t need to ask me where you are, Joe.”

“Argyll! I know what I’m doing. I’m with the kids when Matilda isn’t. I don’t leave them alone.”

“You used to be with the kids even when Matilda was here. They notice you aren’t here as much. They were certain you were leaving with Carl. They got over that and now this.”

“Is this about the kids or you?” I asked, wanting the words back as quick as I spit them out.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t ask me that. Those kids come first with me. They’ve been abused, deserted, and ignored. They don’t need any more pain.”

“I know,” I said, feeling hurt by the tone in his voice.

“They’ve begun to trust us. They’ll stop trusting anyone soon. We could be the last chance they have.”

“I’ll do better,” I assured him, not sure what I’d done wrong.

I called Adam. He wanted me to come to a cocktail party that night. I told him I’d come for an hour, but I had kids to take care of. He gave me the address and that was that.

“What about Carl?” Argyll asked, when I told him of the invitation.

“It’s business,” I explained. “It’s men from The Center. I’ve got to get to know them.”

“A cocktail party isn’t business,” he explained harshly.

“Why are you being like this?” I asked.

“You are going to get in over your head. You’ve never been involved in the gay scene, Joe. It can overwhelm you. People are going to want into your life. They’ll want to be part of your crusade, and then they are going to want in your pants. They’ll wine you and dine you and expect you’ll bed them in the end. You’ll let them because you’ve never been exposed to that kind of rush before.”

“It’s not going to happen. I’m here for one reason.”

“I hear what you’re saying, Joe. I hope you believe it.”

Adam’s cocktail party was attended by at least fifty people. I was introduced around by Adam shortly after I arrived. Everyone knew who I was. I was a celebrity, at least among his guests.

I made an effort to spend a few minutes with all of them, but it got too hectic and having cocktails wasn’t the smartest idea I’d ever had. I decided to eat some of the snacks to dilute the liquor.

Each time I was alone, someone whose name I couldn’t recall would come over to chat. I wasn’t cut out for high society or cocktails but I had the high part figured out. It was about the time I was planning on staggering for the door, when Adam came to get me, guiding me to a room on the second floor.

He kept talking as we walked and I never had time to ask him what we were doing. We went into a room with four older men sitting around a table smoking big black cigars and sipping booze from a bottle of Johnny Walker with a blue label. They looked and smelled like money.

These guys were all older by a generation than the downstairs party goers. They were well dressed in suits, well mannered, and precise. While I’d forgotten all of the names of the people downstairs, I knew I hadn’t been introduced to any of these guys. They had a presence the casual crowd lacked.

“Randolph Cohn, Ben-Al Stein, Horst Manheim, and Claude King,” Adam introduced them one at a time and each man nodded at the mention of his name.

I found myself nodding back. I’m not sure why. I didn’t remember their names either and the longer the introductions went on the dizzier I got.

“Please, Mr. Walker, take a seat,” Ben-Al Stein suggested.

There were two of us and one chair was left. I didn’t expect a game of musical chairs to break out, so I looked at Adam to see if it might be his chair.

“Well, you men have a pleasant conversation. I’ve got to return to my guests. Sit down, Billie Joe,” Adam said before leaving me alone.

“How are you doing, Mr. Walker?” Ben-Al asked.

“You’ll have to pardon me. Every time you say that, I look for my father. I’m afraid I’m not used to meeting a lot of strangers. I thought a drink would relax me, and believe me it would have if I hadn’t had to spend so much time trying not to fall on my face. I’m afraid I’m a little out of sorts,” I said as they chuckled together, dropping cigar ashes on the expensive looking leather-topped table.

“We’ll do the talking,” Ben-Al said. “Is there anything I can get for you to ease the effects of the alcohol?”

“Maybe a sandwich would absorb whatever I drank,” I said, looking around the room.

“Excuse me,” Ben-Al said, politely leaving the table to go to a top coat to retrieve his phone. “Yes, Raymond, Ben-Al, I need a turkey club with your special sauce. I need it an hour ago if that’s possible. Oh, I knew you’d understand. I’m just around the corner at Adam Crest’s loft. Just follow the noise and I’m upstairs. Thank you.”

Ben-Al turned off the phone and put it back in the pocket of the coat, returning to the table.

“His turkey club is the absolute best made. He does a particularly nice dill sauce and I predict it will mellow out the impact of the alcohol in no time at all. I trust that’ll be okay?”

“Thank you. I wasn’t expecting a meeting of any kind. I wouldn’t have had that drink,” I said, as the four of them sat sipping their bourbon.

“I suggested it to Adam,” Randolph said. “I knew Ben-Al and Claude would be coming and I called Horst to tap his wealth of knowledge. We are some of the moneyed Interests in and near the city. We do our best to fund projects The Center undertakes. This is something more than a usual project.”

I was sadly ignorant about moneyed interests, but I could smell the money in the room. Horst was the youngest, ruggedly handsome, and dressed to kill. Ben-Al and Randolph were older men dressed in suits specifically tailored to their build. They were both graying and remarkably tan for San Francisco residents. Claude King was a bit rotund and his clothing, while expensive looking, was wrinkled in a way that made him look unkempt, even in his high-dollar casual attire. Claude was younger than either Ben-Al or Randolph but older than Horst.

My mind was a flutter with worry about my ability to say the right things. I knew I’d hit the mother lode but I didn’t know what to do about it.

“Your crusade is unusual, Billie Joe,” Ben-Al said, becoming more familiar. “The idea that this is the responsibility of the gay community isn’t a popular view. I can see its validity. The four of us see the possibility of making some contribution to keeping the gay homeless children off the street. It’s fraught with legal questions. But we are all privy to legal staff and we can attempt to keep the issue in a favorable light for The Center. The Center is gay oriented to which there are natural objections. Those objections will be heightened at any idea that The Center is involved with children under eighteen. Anything decided upon as practical must be above board and supervised in a way which is above suspicion. It’s going to be a complicated balancing act if there is some aspect we can agree to fund.

“We are to remain anonymous and our involvement will be discreet. We are visible businessman. People will think they know where the money comes from, but people outside a small circle will only think they know. What we need from you is some of your guidance so we know what we’re talking about. I would want to know enough about your experience, and the things you envision would be the best starting point without taking too much preparation as opposed to those things that may be more complicated, which would require a greater degree of planning.

“I don’t know why you are telling me these things. I came here to talk to people about the problem on their streets. Gay, straight, priests, little old ladies with white hair, it’s a problem for everyone. It’s only your problem if you believe in its resolution. As businessmen I’d think you’d want to do something about it regardless of your relationship with the gay community. The kids don’t have a relationship with the gay community or anyone else, but they inhabit doorways and street corners.

“The Board of Supervisors didn’t understand and they’re stalling me. They want a committee to take a look and their aids to examine the situation. I think they’re doing that much for appearances. They aren’t sure of who is paying attention. Otherwise, they wanted to know what the gay community was doing. If anyone asks them what they are doing that will be the answer: what’s the gay community doing about it?

“If the gay community isn’t doing anything about it nothing is going to be done to solve the problem. I’m here. I can tell you about my time on your streets, what I did to survive, what happened to the kids that didn’t survive. It’s a serious problem requiring a complete effort. Thanks to Father Flannery we’re getting some of them fed, but that doesn’t address the next generation of LGBT youth who will know the same fear and violence we’ve all grown up with,” I said, identifying with them in terms of the experience of being gay. “We can start when and where you like.”

“Would any of you like to add anything to what I’ve said? We’ve hardly had time to formulate a cohesive approach in getting your complete story. This will be the start. If we wait until we have time to hear all of Billie Joe’s story, we will certainly be better informed about what we might be able to do in the way of making a positive contribution.”

The door opened and a restaurant fellow in one of those caps to keep his hair out of the food was summoned to the table. I reached into my pocket for some money and Ben-Al flipped out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to the young man.

“I have no change. I’ll have to bring it back,” he apologized as Ben-Al accepted the food.

“You keep the change for pampering us. Tell Raymond it’s greatly appreciated. I’m in his debt.”

Adam stood at the door to lead him back downstairs. Ben-Al opened the bag and removed the wrapping to set the plate with the sandwich out in front of me.

“I don’t have twenty,” I said, looking up at his smiling face.

“No matter. My treat. You didn’t know we’d trap you here without notice. I’d avoid the pickle. It is deadly with spices. Delicious if your stomach is up to it.”

“Thank you,” I said, starting to feel a bit more alert after listening to Ben-Al’s rapid fire presentation.

Once I was done with half the sandwich, Adam slipped back in the door, bringing a bucket of ice for the table. Immediately cubes tinkled into glasses and the bottle of bourbon moved around the table.

“Adam, I’m late. I need to call Argyll. I should be home already,” I pleaded.

“Argyll?” Ben-Al chuckled after saying the name. “Fiserelli?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Let me take care of it. His father and I are business partners. I’m well situated in his bank. I’ve known Argyll since he was a boy.”

Ben-Al didn’t need to ask for the number. He ran through an index and in no more than a minute he had Argyll on the phone.

“Argyll, Ben-Al, how are you? Oh, I’m fine and your father? I see. He is. I knew that. I’ll tell you why I called. I’ve got your boy with me, Billie. No one told him we’d want to discuss his issues tonight. I’m going to keep him for awhile and I’ll have him delivered to your door in an hour or so if that’s suitable? Fine, Argyll. I’ll stop over for a chat. You are keeping handsome company, you know, but I don’t need to tell you. Okay. Okay, I will. Goodnight.

“His father and I were in business together for many years. He’s made a lot of money with my money. It’s certainly a small world. That takes care of that,” he said, happy with himself or with the idea I was connected to someone with whom he was connected.

I’d finished the sandwich by the time Ben-Al sat back down at the table. There was more smoking and drinking. My stomach was fine and my head was way better, but there wasn’t anything more said about what these men hoped to do. I did give them a rundown on how Father Flannery’s operation worked. It was also Claude King’s church and he was pleased to say he knew Father Flannery very well.

Adam drove me to the door and walked me upstairs, claiming Ben-Al told him not to leave me, until I was safely home. Adam was a pleasant sort and not at all pushy, which wasn’t the impression I got at The Center. Argyll met us in the entryway and thanked Adam for the special delivery. I would like to have invited Adam in, but I didn’t question Argyll’s wanting to say goodnight to him. It was getting late.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, once the door was closed and I was sorry Adam hadn’t stayed.

“I didn’t know they were there. I was getting ready to leave just after nine and they ambushed me. How could I say no to those guys? They might be the key to success.”

I gave Argyll the names and he knew all of them but Horst, and he knew of him. He knew the rest of them through his father’s business. We went into the library to talk.

“It didn’t take you long to find the money?” he said in a way that sounded like he thought I’d come looking for money.

“I didn’t find them. They were waiting for me.”

“Are they going to do anything?” Argyll asked firmly.

“They talk in a non-specific language. There are obstacles and hazards. Mostly what you and I have already discussed, but they say it differently than we do.”

“I hope you know what you’ve getting yourself into. They see something in it that benefits them.”

“Argyll, you know everything I’m into,” I argued.

“These guys don’t do anything for nothing, Joe. Don’t forget that. They aren’t rich because of wanting to help anyone but themselves. If they get involved in what you want to do they have a motive. Just be aware of that fact.”

“There’s a party on the Russian River this weekend.”

“I knew it,” Argyll blurted disgusted.

“I’m telling you in plenty of time. I couldn’t say no.”

“No, of course you couldn’t. You don’t have meals to put off or kids to care for? I do.”

“Argyll, I’m just trying to accomplish what I came to do. Why are you mad all the time?”

“I know. Go ahead. I’ll do the meals and I’ll be here with the boys. You enjoy yourself,” he said without meaning it.

It hurt to have Argyll angry with me. I couldn’t turn down the invitation. This might be my best shot at achieving what I came to do. Didn’t he see that?

Chapter 22

Mission Overload

Argyll’s unhappiness complicated everything. My heart ached in a way I couldn’t ease while living in his house. His big generous heart was suffering because of me and I suffered. I was doing what I came to do and the closer I came to success the closer I was to leaving him. I wasn’t certain it was that or if it might be my many absences when he was home. This tear in my gut reminded me of who stuck his neck out to see that I got what I came after.

I didn’t envision it’s becoming so complicated, as my goal came closer to realization. I wanted to stay home and comfort Argyll because of his unhappiness with my plans. Going off on holiday to bargain with men who couldn’t get enough information to commit to my project was risky. I didn’t like the setting but I’d come too far to let go of the hope they represented.

I missed Argyll when I sat in with the ‘moneyed interests’ to reassure their many doubts. They wanted to know more about my story of their streets and I’d stay until I got an answer and hope Argyll stuck with me.

The men I’d met wanted my time at their convenience. Each wanted different details about my experience, except for Claude King, who wanted a drink and then another. Success seemed there for the taking but at the same time illusive. It was close enough to touch. It seemed too good to be true that I was here with my high hopes with such high-powered men.

While I felt way older than I was, they had a way of making me feel like a child. Their questions seemed to lack purpose. Their randomness confused me like lessons in my geometry class once did. Ben-Al, Rand, and Horst were always almost satisfied except for one question more before the meeting ended. Then would come another call from Adam, asking for more of my time.

Rand required the most reassurance. Our frequent meals were toned down when my wardrobe failed to meet his taste in restaurants. I refused his offer to dress me ‘properly.’ Adam was pleasant when he said I should beware of Rand, and he was a man who didn’t like disappointment.

“Why’s that?” I asked in my most naïve fashion.

“There are things you do because it is prudent,” he had said.

Argyll warned me that I was not only endangering my mission but my relationship with Carl. He didn’t mention his respect and my boy’s affection, but I could read it into the way he said what he said. I still wasn’t able to get the commitment I was looking for. I did what I thought I had to do. What else could I do?

Success stood just beyond my reach, or so it seemed. I still saw life on simple terms. I was a boy, striving to accommodate men who didn’t seem easily able to understand the message I brought or how they could help.

I still thought I could respect these men if they put up the money necessary in the end. They certainly had no trouble gathering money by the sound of it. Everyone made it clear that if I had these men on my side, I couldn’t lose. I suppose that made me no better than they were. I’d do their bidding for the bucks. My face was associated with the problem thanks to George and they were willing to funnel funds in the proper amounts to worthy projects if I stood out in front and kept my mouth shut, but the word came that one more meeting was required.

While I was guilty of coveting the money they waved in front of me, there was a big difference between me and the men who interviewed me. I didn’t need to appear respectable in a culture that allowed kids to live and die on its streets. I could tell it like it was and suffer no consequences, because the object was for me to be the voice of a problem most people ignored.

I even imagined these ‘moneyed interests’ would come along to hand out meals and their cold hearts would warm to the idea they could make a difference in a way that actually brought them happiness and peace of mind. I envisioned they’d look into the eyes of a grateful recipient touched by their generosity, and they’d understand.

My idealism came out of my dreams and not my life.

Listening to my benefactors had me questioning their veracity and my stamina. One more meeting, one more line of questions they needed to have answered, and my patience was wearing thinner.

“As businessmen we can’t be too tightly identified with such efforts with our individual relationship to the gay community aside. Some of us are more visible in that respect and some of us are invisible. It’s a matter of propriety concerning business interests. You understand our position? We can’t stress this element enough. You will be the face but will be denied the ability to say where the money comes from.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “It’s none of my business who puts up the money.”

“We want you to know our concerns. If we provide money it has to go to the best use possible. While we might be persuaded to help, we want our funds to bare fruit in a productive way. We want the boys to become productive members contributing to society. It’s our responsibility.”

“I think if you give these kids an opportunity to be productive, they’ll respond to whatever educational possibilities you put in front of them. These kids have no home and are eating out of dumpsters. Any alternative you give them is likely to succeed, but no one can give guarantees that they’ll all flourish. It seems to me salvaging these lives has a direct correlation to how quickly you can get them off the street. If there is a program you can get them into right away there are no limits to what they might achieve.

“It still remains to be seen if in general they want the kind of help we’d be willing to offer,” Ben-Al responded.

“They have a relationship with Father Flannery and his kitchen brigade, because they cared enough to feed them. We take food to the streets and make sure no one is going hungry, but most of the kids go up to the church. The kitchen brigade talks with them. They want to feel welcome. That’s where we are: food, fresh socks, and a doctor once a week. It will be no different for anyone who is sincere about wanting to help them.

“What you need to decide is if there’s a role you want to play that makes them feel wanted, not because you are gay—I don’t know that—but because you have the resources to reach them. If you fail to help, what’s it say about you?” I asked, looking into each face as we were once more back at the leather table in the private room in Adam’s loft.

“Ouch!” Claude said, reaching for the Johnny Walker bottle that was always there and always full when we started if not when we finished.

“You are persuasive,” Rand said softly. “We want to help.”

Horst would meet my eyes. Rand smiled pleasantly and Ben-Al talked for the lot of them. It was starting to be predictable and I let my impatience show.

“You present us with a fresh face and an opportunity we couldn’t have considered before you came along. We can provide certain funding for the proper projects. There are stipulations we haven’t finished developing. Money isn’t free and we’ll need reassurances. We are determined to help.”

“I’ve told you everything I’m able to tell you. I’m neglecting my responsibilities at home by meeting you every day. I appreciate your interest but I’m hearing words and little else.”

“Yes, and we appreciate your time, Billie Joe. We’ll talk this weekend at the Russian River house. We’re close. Very close. You’ll be happy with us. I promise you,” Ben-Al said.

Rand smiled. Horst nodded his agreement. Claude rattled his ice cubes , watching them move around in the brown liquid.

I’d been patronized before and I didn’t like it then either. I thought about telling them to get over themselves and put up or shut up, but I smiled and accepted my dismissal with grace.

“Do you need a ride home,” Adam asked, as I went downstairs to leave.

“No, it’s only a ten minute walk. I like the fresh air.”

“Don’t get discouraged. They’re hard men when it comes to money, but I’m certain they are going in your direction. They do confide in me. They simply require more detail than anyone is capable of giving them. You’ve got their ear and they’ll come around. They rarely spend this much time with anyone.”

“Yes, well, I’m talked out. I don’t have anything else to say. Does The Center operate without their say so or do you need to run everything by that crew?”

“We don’t have that much of a budget. What they do for The Center is in the form of private donations. I’ll see you this weekend at the River? Let me know if you want to ride with me.”

“Yes, they expect me to be there. Thank you, Adam. I’ve got to get home.”

It was the following morning that I was up and out with Argyll first thing. He sounded back to normal and we chatted about the kids, Matilda, and the movie we might see this weekend, except I had to tell him about the Russian River meeting.

This piece of news made Argyll quiet and our carefree chat was over. It was beginning to be difficult to keep going. I hated it more each time Argyll was disappointed with me. The quieter he was the worse it made me feel.

We loaded a dozen hot meals into the new hot box in Argyll’s Jeep and we started making our rounds. Most boys knew they could walk up to the church to eat, when they got up. They didn’t need to wait on the corner, but we still put off a couple of dozen meals on the street each day.

By ten we were all but done. I spotted two older boys sitting on some stairs and we stopped. I went around to the back of the jeep, getting out the last two meals on our second run that morning. I handed each boy a meal along with one of the cards Father Flannery had printed up for the kids to hold onto in case they got into trouble. Each day there were a few new faces, unacquainted with the meals and the other services available at the church.

I’d seen one of these boys before and he readily took the meal and the card. The other kid looked a bit confused and I explained we brought food for them each day, which got me a delighted smile. I gave him the card and directions to the church.

As I turned to return to the Jeep a familiar face was staring at me from the corner. It was the guy who objected to my giving out meals a few weeks before. I pointed him out to Argyll, but by the time he got to the corner the young man was gone.

“What do you think he’s up to?” I asked, being made uncomfortable by seeing him so close to the kids we fed.

“He’s pimping these kids, Joe. We’re cutting down their need to work for the likes of him. He’s probably got someone running him. He’s just the face we see, but if we see him the kids see him, and that might scar some of them. He’s trouble.”

It sent a chill through me, seeing him a second time. I remembered how the street stole your dignity and self-respect, making it easy for anyone who showed an interest to get your attention and distract you from what’s right. It was bad enough when it was happening to me, but thinking about it happening to other helpless kids nauseated me. Someone had to put a stop to it, but it wasn’t an idea I shared with Argyll.

This encounter brought out Argyll’s protective side. He left no doubt he was concerned for my safety. He reminded me to be careful, especially when taking our boys to the different parks we used for exercise. It pleased me to know he still worried about me, but I knew his biggest concern was for the boys. If he had any plans to do anything to handle this guy he wasn’t sharing it with me.

Once Argyll left for work, I busied myself while waiting for the boys to get involved in their school work before I walked back to The Castro. I kept my eyes open and met two kids who were new to San Francisco. I gave them Father Flannery’s card and explained how they could find the church.

When they found out they could get free food, they wasted no time heading in that direction. I watched them walking away from me and couldn’t help but wonder whether they ran away together or if they met somewhere along the way. Whatever their story, they were young and vulnerable, fifteen, maybe sixteen at most.

By mid-afternoon I was back at home eating one of Matilda’s marvelous mystery lunches. She danced around the kitchen like a girl, putting things away, getting things out, and cleaning up as she sang.

It struck me how lucky I was to have found Argyll. I’d never lived as well or been as secure. Without him I’d probably have long ago left for Alabama. Was there some grand plan that put Argyll there for me, so I wasn’t back in Alabama, so I was still dealing with the careful old men with the money to spend?

Carl came to mind during most days. I wondered what he was doing and how long it might be before I’d see him again. Once again I counted my lucky stars. I didn’t think many men like Carl would put up with my antics. I knew I meant well, but there were limits to everyone’s patience. I hoped to finish here before Carl’s ran out.

The rest of the week went smoothly. Each afternoon I toured the Castro, looking for our pimp friend. He was either very good at avoiding me or he wasn’t there. My feet were sore from walking, but I had no luck and entertained the idea of giving up my detective work. It was wearing thin and I didn’t know what I’d do if I found the guy.

The Russian River didn’t so much rush as it meandered. The house was large and twenty to thirty people were there at all times. It had wide Redwood decks all the way around. In the rear of the house, which sat up against the river, a room sat on top of the huge back deck. The room was all windows on three sides, with the glass starting two feet off the floor and running up to the ceiling. I was led up the stairway on the back deck by Adam, who had driven me to the house in his silver Lexus.

A brawny man opened the door for us and closed it behind us as we entered off a catwalk that was built between the room over the deck and the house. Inside sat my hosts, each in his own wicker chair with the most deliciously comfortable pillows. From this perch you could see to the bend in the river above the house and you could see where the river blended with the trees and disappeared below the house.

The noise of jet skis and boat motors were barely noticeable, once I’d reached the room. The buzz and movement created by people coming and going from the deck below couldn’t be heard at all. Big overhead fans churned the air.

“Ah, Billie,” Ben-Al said, standing to greet me. “Adam. Glad you got him here safe and sound. My house is your house, Billie.”

Rand turned his head to smile. Horst watched the river, and Claude was absent. Being the youngest of the ‘moneyed interests’, he still spent time in boats and floats in the river, although he would always appear sunburned to me as his face had a reddish glow. It was never more apparent than at the Russian River, but he was no vision of loveliness and he rarely had anything to say.

There were huge glasses of odd tasting iced tea and tiny little sandwiches on plates on a table on one side of the room. You’d need to eat a ton of them to ever have enough. There were some with this delicate cream cheese that I couldn’t resist, but those ran out first, mostly because of my effort. There were nuts, salsa, dips, and chips for when the mini sandwiches were gone. They’d figured out how best to tempt me. After some politeness and before I could eat the rest of their food, they sent me out to play.

There was always a large group of people there, but the faces changed. I was among the youngest, except for a couple of boys that might have been sixteen or seventeen. Since the rest of the crowd was middle aged, I figured the youngsters were with some of the men. The idea their parents were about was negated by the size of their bathing suits, or lack there of. Big things often come in small packages, but not these kids packages, which no doubt had something to do with their presence.

They ignored me, the next youngest person there, and Adam was next, after me, being in his early to mid-twenties. I was surprised that he became more attractive to me in his bathing suit, which made it clear he was still very young. In fact I was a wall flower next to the boy with perfect teeth and a swimmer’s body.

I was immediately in his care, once I’d been dismissed from where the ‘moneyed interests’ held court. It was easy to see Adam was there to keep me from getting too restless. He seemed attentive and ready to take care of my every need.

When I lamented my lack of planning for river activity, Adam escorted me to a room deep inside the house. On one wall hung all sizes and varieties of the latest swim wear, T-shirts and terry cloth jackets; the floor underneath was filled with flip flops of all colors and sizes.

“Take what you like. It’s provided for guests. Once you pick something out, it’s yours.”

“Adam,” I protested.

“Billie, insulting them isn’t going to do anyone any good. Take what you like and say thank you, once they want to sit down and talk. Today will be for fun, so enjoy. If they want to talk it will be tonight.”

I must admit sticking with Adam allowed me to enjoy myself, even if he was their flunky. I tried to ride a jet ski and kept falling off to the sound of Adam’s laughter. Luckily the thing shut down once I was no longer on board. I ended up riding behind Adam to get a good look at the river on both sides of the house.

I got hard as his butt was pasted to my best part. I couldn’t remember the last time I was made so horny, but I couldn’t remember my name either. I kept tucking myself back down in my bathing suit, and I’d picked one out with infinitely more material than Adam’s. It made for easy hiding of my equipment but there was no way he missed what was behind him.

“You certainly know how to make an impression on a fellow,” Adam said, once we got on shore, giving up the jet ski to more happy river rats.

“I’d need to be dead not to respond to you. I’ve got a lover, Adam,” I said.

“You are something,” he said. “You have a lover, you aren’t dead. It’s okay to feel something for other people. If you don’t realize that, it’s going to be a difficult life for you, Billie. People are going to hit on you because you’re special. Don’t tell them you have a lover the first thing out of your mouth. You aren’t required to jump in bed with everyone who likes you. A lot of us like you without ever thinking about taking you to bed.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I don’t know what to make of all this. I didn’t know anything about what it means to be gay, except I am, and I like guys, and that’s it.”

“I know,” he said, putting his arm over my shoulder as we walked toward the back deck.

Rand Cohn stood at the window looking down at us as we glanced up at him. He wasn’t smiling. I felt strange but didn’t dare rearrange myself to contain most of the evidence of my naughtiness. I was human, so sue me.

With all the laughter and joy around me I was still able to feel alone or perhaps out of place. My life was a jumble of feelings, hopes, and opportunities that were leading nowhere. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing at the Russian River.

On the deck under the room with the windows a great grill was filled with every conceivable kind of food, some of it unconceivable and unidentifiable. A half dozen women worked around the twelve feet of live coals, handing out plates full as people went about filling their plates from buffet style cooling and heating stations.

Adam wanted to change out of his Speedos before eating and I was just hot and sweaty enough to want a shower. Other people came and went from the dressing room but the majority of people were busy with the food.

“You need to do something about that,” Adam said, when I came out of the shower drying my hair.

“Oh, I can’t. I mean it won’t cooperate once…. The jet ski ride might not have been the best idea when it comes to containment,” I apologized, I think.

Adam laughed as he dried his crotch, while watching mine.

“Don’t be sorry, you’ve got a lot to be happy about. I’ve been having the same trouble since you sat so close,” he said, moving the towel away from the thick ruddy red half-hard cock that was as beautifully cut as the rest of him.

The dry mouth was nothing new to me, when pleasant scenery was at hand. Adam would turn on most people old enough to notice or not too old to appreciate the way he kept himself. I gave my hair a rough going over with my towel, trying to divert my attention from the wonders that abounded around me. I felt Adam’s arms around me as he slid his aroused appendage across my erection. His hot smooth skin made me deliriously dumb.

My knees bent as he pressed his lips against mine, letting me taste his ample tongue. My arms were immediately around him, my fingers delved deep between his cheeks, touching his rosebud of joy as our hips ground together.

Someone came in behind us as I circled for a landing. His fingers felt my crack. It wasn’t something I wanted to be doing in public, but it was difficult to protest as someone suggested we go for it. His tongue was made of velvet and my cock throbbed with anticipation.

Adam broke the embrace, stepping back one step to look at me. I felt a little woozy and found myself speechless.

My towel was still in my hand but I forgot what I was doing with it. I used it to hide my erection, feeling embarrassed that I let it happen.

I sat on the bench. He sat next to me and watched me squirm.

“We’ve got all night for fucking,” he said, unapologetic for his desire. “Since I felt you digging that thing in between my ass cheeks, I’ve been thinking about you using it on me, Billie Joe. You’re a stud and I like studs.”

“I have a lover, Adam,” I explained.

“Jesus, Billie Joe, half the guys here are married. They don’t come here to worry about their wives. It’s called a party because it is.”

“I have a lover I love, Adam. You are as nice a guy as I’ve ever seen. I’ve never been with gay guys, but you are one I could go with in a minute, but I can’t. I’m spoken for and as horny as I am… as horny as you make me, I would hate myself if we did something.”

“Yes, you are horny. I guess you are in love. I don’t take to many guys, but when I do, I don’t apologize for it. I am sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I imagined you were someone I could love. I do want someone who will love me as much as you must love your man. I can respect that. Can we be friends, even if you won’t fuck me?” Adam asked.

“Yes, I like you. We can be friends if you want. I just can’t do what we both would like to do. Do you know Argyll?” I blurted without reason, knowing how stupid it sounded.

“Who?”

“Argyll. The guy I live with? You met him when you drove me home that first time.”

“Oh, no I don’t know him. He’s not your lover? The night you told us about your friend’s suicide, he was holding you.”

“He’s the sweetest guy on earth, next to my lover. He’s not with anyone and he’d make a great lover,” I explained, seeing a way to make lemonade out of our lemons.

“I do my best to avoid match makers. There are plenty of guys available. I just don’t connect with them. I want someone who isn’t in the middle of the gay scene. Too many ways to be bad. I want to be good.”

“You are very good,” I confessed with a blush.

I kissed his cheek and got up to put on my clothes. My cock swung in front of me still half hard from the experience. He watched until my pants hid the excitement. He got up to dress. We went out to get our hands on something to eat.

The food was incredible and was I hungry. Adam stood next to me and he joked, we laughed, and we were part of the crowd that swarmed like bees over the food and they never stopped coming and there was always more food.

Adam took me out in a rowboat and told me about being a boy in Wyoming and how he rode horses and wrestled calves to help get them branded. It was easy to see the result of his physical activity, but he wasn’t real muscular, only cut tight and firm.

It was far easier being with him, once I’d told him no. I expected he’d drop me like a hot rock but instead it allowed us to be friends without the sex thing getting between us. He was smart, lovely, funny, and he made the Russian River pleasant. I no longer regretted coming, but I missed Argyll and the boys, when I had time to think. I really wanted to be at home with them. I didn’t need to party and mingle with rowdy crowds of hangers on.

When we rowed back to the dock, the big brute from the door of the upstairs room reached to tie us up to the post.

“Boss wants you should come up, when you come back,” he said in certain terms.

Adam followed me as I followed the guy with arms the size of small hams. His shirt was cut tightly over his muscled back. He wasn’t a fellow I’d want to meet on a dark street. The room was cool and pleasant. There were tables full of food and another for drinks. I was still full and went to sit in one of the luxurious chairs that were now in a circle.

“Adam, could you see if everyone is sufficiently supplied with whatever they want,” Ben-Al said, as the brute, now inside the door, opened it to let Adam out. The brute went with him, leaving me alone with them.

The night had claimed the river, but there were lights from the dock and the lower portion of the house. The lights in the room were a dimmed yellow or orange, which was easy on the eyes. I sat silent until Ben-Al took the role as spokesman.

“We have a building. It’s part of the Stein Foundations holdings. It was an old hotel that had fallen on hard times. There are twenty rooms that could be turned into a residential facility, but Mr. Walker, we can’t facilitate druggies and malcontents. There will need to be rules and restrictions. My foundation can’t be associated with a meaningless exercise in futility. There will be strict screening. We’ll accept the best and the brightest. It’s the best we can do.”

“How do you determine who is okay for your cause?”

“I suppose you need to instruct us on that point. We don’t want to be impractical and yet we don’t wish to be seen as the financiers of folly. Please, somebody,” Ben-Al pleaded for assistance.

“We certainly can’t risk scandal. Who do we employ to supervise the building and the boys?” Rand asked.

This was a bit more like it. They seemed sincere. There was a building. It required thought and ideas. These were questions which I couldn’t answer, but I hadn’t thought about them.

“You can’t recognize which boy is a best bet and which is a loser,” I said. “Some boys in the worst shape will respond best to structure and opportunity. Some of the smarter kids may be too smart for their own good. Maybe bring up these ideas at The Center. There are bound to be people who are interested in helping with the details.”

“Education,” Horst said, “We’ll need to get them in school if they are to become productive. This moves them from our supervision and into public school. Many opportunities for them to backslide. No backsliders. No thank you. I don’t think so.”

“Private schools are out of the question. We couldn’t get them in even if we could swing the expense,” Ben-Al observed.

“Home schooling is all the rage in Minnesota. It reduces the outside influences,” I said. “My boys are tutored at home and they are thriving. Would you consider that as an option?”

“Excellent!” Horst said. “No backsliding. This can work.”

“This is good. This is what I’m looking for. We need ideas,” Ben-Al said happily. “We’ll need to discuss it more.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, liking the enthusiasm. “Make it a community operation.”

“Good, Billie Joe, more Ideas. We will succeed at this if we aren’t too ambitious at first, but our success will be an invitation to others to become active in assisting in this endeavor. Perhaps other abandoned buildings will be seen as residential living opportunities. You do realize the building we are talking about is under construction as we speak. We obtained it some weeks ago with the idea it would be the perfect housing unit.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve had absolutely no feeling that anything was coming of our talks,” I revealed in my honest opinion.

“Yes, but it kept you thinking and probably added to the ideas you’ve come up with for the project. Men with money play their cards carefully. We can always figure out ways to spend it. We can feed and cloth the homeless, but reaching these kids, making the investment that will make a difference in their lives isn’t quite so easy. This requires ingenuity.

“We are maybe halfway there, but it’s close enough to give you what you need to keep working toward a satisfactory resolution of the problem. We are determined to get it done,” Ben-Al announced to me. “You have always been right, Billie Joe. It isn’t about you, but you are the driving force behind our desire to succeed. We do not start programs we don’t expect to succeed at.”

“What do you want me to do to help?”

“Think,” Ben-Al said. “We’ll build it, and after we’ve dotted each I and crossed each T, they’ll come.”

Horst laughed and Rand smiled.

Yes!

Chapter 23

Careful Planning

On the way home from the river house, Adam and I sang and talked. I was at ease with him. The pressure of moving the money men had passed. Adam worked for Ben-Al’s Foundation and he told me what he knew of the building they were donating to my crusade. He drove me by it on the way home and it was surrounded with construction materials. He said they’d been working on it for several weeks.

This was further evidence that there was progress and when placed beside the feed-the-street kids operation, my mission was in good hands. I could still furnish details that would implement the assistance that could be offered the kids on day one. Once the organization was in place, everyone would know where they could best serve the cause.

On Monday morning Argyll and I were off and running early to make our rounds. We went back to our usual routine. As we delivered the hot morning meals, I told Argyll about the building and I might have mentioned Adam a few more times than necessary. Argyll remembered Adam but nothing beyond the fact he delivered me home after one of the meetings, or so he said.

By early afternoon I was in the kitchen with the boys, Matilda, and Ms. Cho. I needed to write Carl and do some more reading on historical gays. I missed the boys so much I wanted to watch them study. The hazard here was smelling Matilda’s cooking. I checked the size of my stomach as I sniffed. With all the food I’d eaten over the weekend I was going to weigh a ton.

The cornbread came out steaming and was loaded with corn kernels, some red and some green pepper pieces. The butter was lathered heavily on each piece as we made all gone with the cornbread before she could bring the exotic bean stew.

The boys could eat and study and never miss a bite; it amused me that they were so adept at the life Argyll had provided them. I thought there was a doctor, a lawyer, and maybe an astronaut among them, but I was a dreamer and what I wanted them to be was happy. I thought I was happy, even when I knew all this was temporary for me. This was what happened to me on my way to somewhere else.

My heart was full of joy and my worries evaporated with the news that the ‘moneyed interests’ were indeed interested in doing the right thing. Their involvement meant as much to me as anything since my return to San Francisco. We were getting close to reaching the vision I’d come back with.

That night we watched a movie from Argyll’s Film Noir collection. The boys protested, when they found out it was in black and white. The Big Sleep drew them in by the time Bogey had spoken his first lines. I was surprised they all sat still and stared into the screen as the mystery unfolded. The story was a bit thin by today’s nonstop standards, but the boys were mesmerized by its simplicity.

Then we had three kids all talking like Humphrey Bogart. Danny had him down to a T by the time the movie ended, even though he’d never heard of him. I thought it funny how timeless some things were. I remembered being drawn to him as a boy. Bogey was a man, always. He was mostly likeable, but not always.

We were up late winding the kids down and Argyll had trouble getting me to get up the following morning. I was still a bit worn out from the river weekend. I’d spent a great deal of the day Sunday running down the pier and jumping into the water with the younger boys and Adam holding hands.

We’d swum down the river, up the river, and across the river. I hadn’t had that much exercise since I couldn’t remember when. It was almost like I was a boy, except on Tuesday morning I was tired and dragged along while Argyll encouraged me.

As we put off the final meals around the corner from Market Street, there was the young man pimp, leaning against a wall, cigarette dangling from his lips, and his hand patting the wall like he was keeping time to some strange beat in his head.

“You ready for work?” I asked Argyll casually.

“Am I ready for work? You know I go in as quick as I drop you off. I better be ready.”

“I know. Go ahead and drop me off. I’m ready to go home,” I said, as he glanced at me as if he could see motive.

I wanted to get back to where I saw the guy and see what he was up to. It was still in my mind that there was a way to keep him off our kids. There had been no such character in my time on the street. Each of us took care of our own dates without it requiring middle management.

When I rounded a corner, I caught sight of him a block away from where he’d been before. I raced to the next corner once he disappeared around it, easing my face in a position where I could see where he went. I was curious about who he met and what he did. Each time I waited for him to turn off the street he was on before I raced to continue my surveillance. My heart raced and I breathed hard as my one eye looked down the next block, but it was empty. Where did he go that quick?

“Damn!” I said, thinking he went into one of the shops along the street.

I went from door to door for the first three shops and I didn’t see him in any of them. Just as I was about to turn around and head back home, I found him or I should say he found me.

Before I was aware of him he had me pinned against the window of the Greek Bakery, his elbow was across my windpipe and there was just enough pressure to tell me not to move. At which time he expressed his displeasure with my sloppy tailing technique, spitting out his words with his face up close to mine.

“I don’t know what you want, but I want you to steer clear of me. I know who you are and you aren’t the only one with protection. You keep toying with me, boy, and your ass is going to be mine. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, my voice breaking as it took all the air I had to answer.

I felt myself shaking. He felt me shaking.

“That’s better,” he decided, moving his arm. “You don’t want to fuck with me, boy. You’re in over your head. Now, back off or you’re going to get hurt.”

He was gone that fast. It took maybe a minute and at the most two for him to make his point. I felt stupid, exposed, and I didn’t know why I did things without thinking about the consequences beforehand.

I vowed I’d change.

I was never happier to get home. I realized how wonderful it was having the kids in the house. Matilda was singing and the kitchen was filled with exquisite smells. I had a cup of coffee, holding the cup in both hands so no one could see them shaking. Denny reciting a poem from memory and he impressed me. Danny and Donnie were writing in their notebooks and I was happy to be there where we were all completely safe from the world beyond our front door. I thought about going to write about my confrontation in my journal. I wondered if I should tell Argyll about the threat. By the time he got home I knew I should, because it had to do with more than me.

“Something happened today,” I said, once Argyll and I were alone in the library, where we talked away from the boys.

I closed the door behind us to make sure and Argyll noticed my caution.

“What?” he asked concerned, sensing something was wrong.

“I saw that guy. The one you say is a pimp. I wanted to see where he went. I thought I was being careful. It’s what I’d seen them doing on television. It always worked on TV.”

“Joe!” he growled, as unhappy as I’d ever seen him.

“He caught me. He told me I wouldn’t like what he did if I crossed paths with him again. He said he’d hurt me.”

“Joe! I’m the cop. You leave Page Cross to me. I know who he is. I know who he works for. I know where he lives and I know where he’s from. I’m a cop. It’s my job to keep an eye on guys like that. He’s a small fish in a big sea, Joe, but he’s dangerous if he’s cornered.”

“You know about him? You didn’t tell me you knew anything. I was afraid for the kids. I can’t let him hurt them.”

“It’s none of your business. I did my job, Joe. Now, I’ve got to do it again. What did he say? I want to know exactly what he told you. I want to know where he went.”

I recalled the short conversation for him. Argyll seethed at the unnecessary risk I’d taken. He was sparse with his words and I felt a further cooling between us. I didn’t know what to do about it. I kept fucking up and his patience was going to run out. It was hard for me to leave such things up to someone else. I wanted to know what that guy was up to with which kids. What good it would do me wasn’t so clear.

As usually happened when I hit a rough spot, Carl called. He seemed to have keen radar when my life was going through changes. Didn’t I know better was what he wanted to know; so much for him taking my side. I was ready to believe Argyll called him, only Carl relied on phone cards to call me and he didn’t have a phone. We talked for over an hour and we agreed we missed each other and it would be better for both of us if I finished what I was doing so I could return to him.

I always felt a lift after speaking to him. I wasn’t feeling quite as stupid, because I was smart enough to fall in love with Carl. Talking about being together always appealed to me.

The following night I walked to Adam’s for dinner, once the boys were fed. I kept looking over my shoulder imagining Page was now following me. That was stupid. He didn’t want anything to do with me, and that had been his point. I was still fearful and happy to get the hug and kiss from Adam at his door. I didn’t let on that I was out of sorts.

Dinner was broiled chicken, grilled asparagus, and roasted red potatoes. It was neither catered nor did a cook prepare it for him. Each item had a delicately delicious taste and I probably made a pig out of myself. Adam merely smiled, poured more wine, and traded chit chat with me. We were like old friends.

I was blown away when he took me to his bedroom and in one corner was a pile of clothing several feet high with shoes beside the pile.

“You need to do laundry,” I quipped.

“No, this was collected by several of the guys from The Center. For the homeless kids. Isn’t that the nicest thing?”

I picked up a few pieces of the designer clothing and realized I had never been able to afford clothes like these. A few showed a small amount of ware, but the colors were bright and gay and it was going to appeal to some of the gayer boys if not all of them.

‘Nothing like designer wear for dumpster diving,” I thought.

“Do I get first pick?” I asked.

“Billie Joe, you’re such a character. What do you think of their doing that on their own? That’s how important it is for people to hear your story. They respond to you, Billie. They want to help you.”

“We could open a thrift shop, sell this stuff, and buy them practical clothing, but I doubt you’d get any objection form the kids. It’s all great looking stuff.”

Adam and I joked and rolled on the bed together. He reminded me of Simon and how close we’d become before my final school year ended. My life seemed filled with meeting people and saying good-bye to them. For the first time I wondered if I really wanted to say goodbye to Argyll and the boys. San Francisco wasn’t that bad the second time around.

I called Argyll to come and pick me up. I neglected to tell him I was scared to walk home alone in the dark. He didn’t ask me for a reason.

“I’ll be right there. Do you want me to come up to his apartment?”

“Yeah,” I said, my mind racing a mile a minute. “I want you to come up. You can park out front. I’ll be ready.”

I let Adam answer the door without getting up, but I knew it was Argyll coming to fetch me. I was in no hurry and left them to their own device for a short time.

“Oh, high, you’re Argyll. I’m Adam,” Adam said, as they shook on it. “He’s finishing his soda. Come on in.”

I told Argyll I was ready to go five minutes after he arrived, but I could see his disappointment. I still made him leave, but I’d brought them together for the first time and I sensed they liked each other, even if neither said so to me. I told Argyll how nice Adam had been to me at the river house and on the way home. I wasn’t about to give up on the idea of getting my two best friends together, whether they liked it or not. Once I got something in my head it was difficult for me to let go of it.

Adam called the following day to tell me there was a meeting that night and I would want to attend as they discussed logistics. They were reworking the plans for the hotel’s kitchen and dining area to make room for several small classrooms. The idea of tutoring the kids had caught on.

Even on short notice there were eighteen men, three women, and me. Adam started out giving the summary of where we were in dealing with the problem. No one had anything to say to that and Ben-Al stood to speak.

“We are toying with the idea of tutoring the kids in-house. Home schooling is popular in many places, like Minnesota for instance. We’re thinking lesbian teachers would make good tutors and great female role models in a house full of boys. There may be a live in opportunity with some supervisory role. We’re thinking retired gay women who could alternate these responsibilities. We’re shooting in the dark here, so feel free to offer your suggestions. Maybe former teachers or just intelligent women who want to do what’s necessary to bring the kids up to the standards that will be required for them to receive a GED. We want a major female presence at the facility at all times. Lord knows there are enough men to go around.”

“Retired teachers come as male and female,” an older fellow added. “You need strong productive males to furnish a balance.”

“There are legal considerations. The less chance of impropriety the better, do you all agree?”

“Ben, the god-damn building is in The Castro, or butted up damn close to it. You think those kids aren’t going to be able to find a little something on the side if they have a mind to? Strong male teachers aren’t the enemy. The idea that we all can’t keep our dicks in our pants is the lie floated by the god-damn right wingers and as long as you people keep repeating their god-damn lies, they don’t need to say a word. When the hell do we tell them to go get screwed. These kids are out on the street because of those same right wingers.

“You let the best teachers volunteer to teach them. You never allow one teacher with one student at any time, no matter male, female, purple kangaroo. It’s not about failing to trust each other, it’s a matter of doing the right thing. These kids are abused and we’ve got to protect them in all instances from anyone who might have it in mind to take advantage of one. You do this by always having the proper supervision, when adults and children are in close proximity. It’s not complicated.

“Now, you’re going to do exactly what you want, but that’s what I think,” the angry man said. “I’m a retired teacher and I’ll donate a couple of days a week to the kids. Make that into something dirty if you can.”

“Thank you, Lewis. Your candor is always refreshing. Retired teachers are an excellent idea, male, female, but no kangaroos please. Do they need to be LGBT? I think as long as they’re friendly to the community, all teachers are welcome. We can explore that,” Ben-Al said softly. “Are there anymore ideas on this issue?”

“Vets. Disabled Vets. Use them to supervise the buildings. I assume there’s to be more than one hotel if this effort is successful. Some of these guys would love to have a purpose,” a guy stood up to say. “I have a friend who lost his legs and he’d be perfect with kids. He’s perfectly capable, simply disabled.”

“How do you figure? They’re not exactly trained for childcare. Kids would eat them alive if you mean crippled guys.”

“That’s a myth. These kids aren’t Attila. They’ve been abused, thrown out like garbage. They eat out of dumpsters and sell themselves for food. They know hardship,” Paul Jefferson said, smiling at me when he stood to talk. I hadn’t heard from him since shortly after the first Board meeting. “Give them a vet to look up to and look after, and you may be surprise how well they respond to each other.”

“Come on. We’re talking military men. It’s not a good idea to put throwaway kids with disabled war vets. There’s bound to be an explosion.”

“I like it,” Ben-Al said, immediately stopping the discord. “I like that very much. You think the kids would accept someone seriously disabled and will the vet accept gay kids?”

“These kids are seriously disabled. We just can’t see it, Mr. Stein. The kids will relate to their vet, being able to see his disability outright. They’ll want to help. You can bring back their humanity by trusting them to let a vet influence their lives. It would need to be supervised. We don’t want someone dangerous, but like the kids, we can’t predict who is going to go off one day, but what better way to make sure they don’t? We won’t get any guarantees on any of these issues.”

“What you have here are self-emancipated minors. It’s not a legal status but is the government going to go after their parents, force them to restore their kids into a happy home or else? No, they aren’t. It’s a problem of invisibility.

“We provide the organization and structure to get these kids off their streets before the street becomes part of them, and you’ve taken a losing proposition and eliminate it as a social problem. The wing nuts will always be there criticizing us no matter what we do, but they don’t want anything to do with gay homeless kids. Once they get wind we’re tackling the problem, they’ll be coming out of the woodwork on full attack mode.

“In San Francisco the people will support it as long as taxpayer money isn’t paying the tab. The gay community is certainly financially capable of doing the job and my law firm is at your disposal on this matter. Each child we take on files for emancipated status and he agrees to a custodial arrangement that furnishes room, board, and education. I think it’s got everything. It would represent one of the most progressive movements in any city in recent history with it being privately financed. We can talk in more detail as we are close to opening the facility.”

“Thanks, Brad,” Ben-Al said, smiling with approval. “We can do this if we work together and your help is always a comfort to me and the Foundation.”

The interaction continued and while there were several naysayers, they didn’t keep the floor for long before someone came up with a positive response to their fear. It was about all of them working together for the same outcome. None of it was about an individual and it was all about the result. Ben-Al smiled approval as he listened to the many new and exciting ideas.

Once the meeting ended, Paul came to walk out with me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call, Billie Joe. I met a man. We’ve been together every minute. I read about you. When I saw there was a meeting tonight I just had to come to explain. I’m really in love,” he assured me.

“That’s wonderful, Paul. I’ve been really busy myself. Goodnight, Paul.”

I found Argyll waiting for me out in front of The Center. He sensed my fear and he was being extra attentive, which was nice. When he saw Adam, he left the door he was holding open for me to go to speak to him. I felt like I was part of the conversation, even though I stayed out of earshot. After a minute he came back and we were on the way home.

“How’s Adam?” I asked, smiling.

“Oh, he’s fine. Nice fellow.”

“Yes, he is. Very nice,” I agreed smugly before leaning to kiss his cheek.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“For picking me up. For being my hero.”

Smiling broadly, he watched the street ahead.

When we got home the kids were camped out in front of the television watching Key Largo. Danny repeated each of Bogey’s lines with perfect inflection as he practiced the tone and quality he tried to mimic. Denny and Donnie were busily eating from a huge bowl of popcorn and drinking sodas.

“Popcorn and soda?” I questioned.

“They’re kids. They never ask for anything. They need their treats,” he advised me as I smiled at the change in him.

“Okay, Carl,” I said, remembering Carl’s need to fill the boys with sweats and junk.

Argyll smiled.

The distance between us melted back to being more as it had been when Argyll first took me home. It was hard on him, knowing I loved Carl, but he’d adapted, never turning mean or vindictive. The presence of the boys had filled his life with a joy he’d never known before.

Now, with Adam appearing more frequently, Argyll noticed him and in spite of Adam’s protests it was easy to see him light up each time he saw Argyll. Using every opportunity possible, I made certain their paths crossed often.

Having the boys in good hands before I could leave was essential. Having Argyll in good hands was something I was determined to do as soon as I suspected the mutual interest. Each time I spoke with Adam, I told him Argyll said to say, hello, and then, I’d tell Argyll that Adam said hello. I made sure Argyll answered the phone when Adam scheduled a chat. I could tell by the size of Argyll’s smile, when it was Adam.

Film Noir became a regular feature at the Fiserelli household. Key Largo had introduced Edward G. Robinson and Danny was torn. He followed the Bogey lines with due diligence, but every once in awhile he slipped in one of Robinson’s lines. I could see him thinking about the tone and the quality of the voice, which his voice was better able to duplicate.

Sensing the same thing I saw, Argyll put in Little Caesar as quick as Key Largo finished with Bogey winning out over Robinson in their life and death struggle aboard a boat.

There was a split among our boys with Donnie and Denny sticking with their man Bogey, imitating him poorly. Danny studied ‘Edward G’ with a new focus.

Danny was Little Caesar from the moment he heard the immortal words, “I’m Lit’l Caesar, See.” We’d come to regret giving him the fuel for his fertile imagination. Danny said everything like his hero, ‘Edward G.’ It’s true we all got a big laugh out of it the first few dozen times, but by bedtime we were ready to strangle Lit’l Caesar, see.

While Argyll and I tried to humor Danny, hoping it would go away on its own and Donnie and Denny simply held their hands over their ears, Lit’l Caesar didn’t fair quite as well with Matilda. Danny came bursting into her kitchen the next morning, during my second cup of coffee. I knew what was coming, but Matilda was unsuspecting.

“I’m Lit’l Caesar, see,” he announced to the world, thrusting out his chest and living the role.

Matilda pointed one long black finger in his direction, saying, “Boy, you going to be so little they’ll not be able to find you, you be a messin’ with Matilda this morning.”

Danny made a fast retreat, forgetting about Eddie Robinson when Matilda was in the house. What a life we lived. There was never a dull moment.

Matilda still could be heard spinning her mystical tales of Caribbean intrigue and it was difficult to tell if the stories were rooted in fact or simply a well-developed part of her imagination. Danny had met his equal and he wasn’t taking any chances on her ability to cast spells.

It was the following morning the shit hit the fan. It all started out routine. We were at the church a little after eight and helped to wrap the trays full of food. I carefully packed the hot box and Argyll drove toward the top of The Castro, where the early birds were waiting by nine.

We’d work our way up and down the streets and set off the meals as we found takers. By ten that morning we were down to two meals and Argyll turned in and out of the streets as we worked our way back toward the church. He turned a corner and walking on the sidewalk ahead of us was Page Cross, head down, smoking bellowing behind him.

Argyll’s focus intensified. I wish I hadn’t told him about my run in with Cross. The scowl on his face made him unrecognizable. My head hit the side bar as the Jeep bounced over the curb to cut off the prey, but he adroitly leaped across the hood, tossing down his cigarette, he took off like a deer with Argyll dashing after him.

The distance between them was no more than a few yards, but when Argyll stopped, I thought the pursuit was over. Withdrawing his nightstick from his belt, Argyll’s arm came back before he threw the stick at the sidewalk behind the runner. It took one bounce and leaped between his churning legs and Cross sprawled, sliding to a stop on the sidewalk.

Argyll was on him before he could get back to his feet. Argyll yanked the stick out from under him as Cross rolled over to look at his tormentor. Argyll came down hard on top of him and I saw the stick being applied to the prone young man’s throat. I cringed not certain Argyll wasn’t out of control. I’d rarely seen him angry but he appeared to be possessed.

He put his face very close to his captive’s face before summoning me.

“Joe,” he screamed and it shook me hearing the yell.

I slid out of the Jeep rubbing both sides of my head. I walked to where I was staring down at a helpless animal.

“You see him?” Argyll screamed into his now purple face.

Page Cross tried to nod but the stick prevented that much motion.

A faint squeak emerged in a poorly formed affirmation, “Yes.”

“He comes home with so much as a hair out of place, I’ll be looking for you, asshole. If I were you I’d get out of this town before you really piss me off. You hear me?” Argyll yelled into his ear by yanking a handful of hair to get the ear against his lips.

“Yes,” he squeaked.

“Argyll, you’re killing him,” I objected as his eyelids fluttered and his face turned a darker purple.

Argyll swung around to look at my horrified face. He pulled the stick away from the young man’s throat, standing up, brushing off his uniform. He replaced the nightstick in his belt.

He reached down to yank Page Cross onto his feet, ready or not. Brushing him off in a mock reconciliation, Cross stood as far away as Argyll’s grip on him allowed, waiting for the next act in the drama. He was dazed and began coughing.

“There, I knew I could reason with you, Page. Beat it.”

Cross beat it, but before he did, he cast one ugly glance in my direction. My blood ran cold but I didn’t dare mention it for fear Argyll would go off again and get himself into some serious trouble on my account.

“That should take care of that,” Argyll said with confidence.

I followed him to the jeep and he backed it off the curb and we were under way again.

“You scared me,” I protested. “It was only words. He didn’t hurt me.”

“Some one like him only understands a powerful message,” Argyll explained in a precise measurement of words. “He’ll think twice before he comes near you again.”

“Violence never solves anything,” I said, feeling as if I’d just been part of something ugly.

“It’s all that type understands, Joe. He won’t bother you again. It’s all I was after. I won’t have you hurt. I’m a cop. Give me the benefit of the doubt. I do have experience with bad guys. I know what I’m doing. For you he’s a puppy. For me he’s a coiled snake.”

“I told you about what happened, because I tell you everything. I didn’t tell you so you could feel justified in hurting someone. I wish I hadn’t seen that side of you. I didn’t believe you capable of that kind of violence,” I argued.

Argyll looked at me with disbelief on his face. I could see he thought he was doing something for my benefit. He thought he was protecting me, but his actions left me as cold as Page Cross’s final look. If looks could kill I was a goner. I kept it to myself.

I didn’t have much experience with overt violence, but I knew violence led to more violence. I thought about Sal and how what he said about buying me a boy so thoroughly disgusted me. I’d known Argyll a lot longer than I ever knew Sal, but I had the same kind of cold feeling down inside me. If not for the kids, I don’t know that I wouldn’t have left him that day. I’d try to forget what I’d seen.

I believed I was close to succeeding in a way that would allow me to go home, and I’d do my best to forgive what Argyll had shown me. I was living in his house and my work wasn’t finished yet. It was in my best interest to put this behind me.

The ride back to the church was silent and I left the two hot meals in the jeep. I slid off the seat and turned my back to walk away. Neither of us said goodbye.

Chapter 24

Changing Fast

My life ebbed and flowed as each of the forces most important to me pulled in its direction, seeking my time. Meeting and discussions went on around me, but the men who were going to impact the lives of the boys didn’t need me. They’d figured out what was needed on their own. I just witnessed the process.

There was to be a part-time medical clinic with various doctors offering care for more serious issues. There was to be a councilor for occupational guidance. He would expose the boys to jobs they expressed interest in doing if they had an aptitude for it. The number of volunteering teachers was overwhelming and each volunteer knew more who would. The clothes were already pouring in and I helped Adam carry a load to the church to keep the room where he kept them from overflowing.

I’d found the gay community a year after I went looking for it. There were some false starts and some not so nice experiences before I got someone to listen. What I’d gone looking for was surpassed by what was taking place after it was so long on my mind. There was an obvious excitement around the idea they could be part of the solution.

Seeing my roll diminish was not a disappointment to me. I never intended to be at the center of the problem, because what I had to offer had already been given. Seeing it all coming together was plenty of excitement for me. I got my biggest joy out of handing out meals on the street corners, except I was forever looking over my shoulder to see who might be close.

Being with gay men was a comfort. I didn’t like all of them and in particular the naysayers were kind of a drag. These were my people and getting to see them in action, doing something about my crusade, gave me a great satisfaction. I was amazed at how swiftly things could get done, but even more was happening out of my view.

All in all these were good men who were sensitive to the constant barrage of negativism from people using Jesus to condemn them as a routine purpose of their religion, but in turn and in spite of the constant harassment, the gay community intended to take in the kids these same people threw away for reasons Jesus wouldn’t understand. The reward for caring would come in the form of these same friends of Jesus condemning the effort to save their children as recruitment.

Watching men like Ben-Al and Rand wasn’t much different from the men I grew up around in Minnesota. They saw things that needed attention and they attended to it with business like efficiency. I’d found the ‘moneyed interests’ or they’d found me and it was a matter of identifying the problems and solving them. It seemed effortless from my outside view but I spent enough time with them to know they wanted to be a force to make a difference.

What I saw as a hundred different overwhelming things that needed doing, they saw as a big problem you tackled at its center. Once the overall structure was in place, all the little things became incorporated into it. The doable was done immediately, while the impossible took a little time. I watched these stern imposing men I once saw as a mountain I had to climb, smiling pleasant satisfied smiles. What I’d seen from the bottom up they’d seen from a different view.

The women at The Center weren’t a big presence. They handled some of the logistical roles and added their slant to things but it was mostly men most of the times I was there. The suggestion to have women in the middle of the residential facility seemed obvious and I sensed no acrimony but a different focus that gave the women credibility. We didn’t need them to be fulfilled. They didn’t need us to supply them fulfillment, but we needed each other to gain a more complete perspective.

These were the forces I’d encountered in San Francisco on my second visit to town. I was no longer invisible or helpless. What I’d gone in search of I’d found. The hole in my life was filled with people and activity.

I still hadn’t forgiven Ralphie and perhaps I never could, but my quest had led me to Carl, Ty, Gene, Argyll and my boys. I couldn’t have planned any better. My life was a joy and I made the most of it, knowing my presence there was winding down.

Although Christmas was closing in on us, it didn’t seem like it. Argyll and I started each day with food deliveries. I met with different people two, three, and four nights a week. When I wasn’t busy, I was with the kids, and when we were all together, Argyll often took us out to have an evening of exercise and some different food. The boys still favored hamburgers and fries above all else, but spaghetti, enchiladas, and pizza were close behind, and all three were good at the same time if it could be arranged.

When Adam was invited to tag along, he smiled and made a point of taking a backseat. It took a little time for the boys to accept him into our circle, but they slowly warmed up to him. He did his best to be helpful but not pushy. He was a terrific guy that Argyll and I liked equally. Well, equally in like but Argyll had more in mind than I did. Adam often blushed when Argyll greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek before they ever got to know each other, but I supposed Argyll wanted to make his intentions known.

Carl came the weekend before Christmas loaded with gifts for the boys and me. They jumped all over him at the airport and one or another was climbing on him at all times. Even Donnie was among his admirers this time. Before he got into the gifts he broke out the fudge and Christmas cookies his mom made and the boys were in hog heaven, and Argyll let them go.

We went to Adam’s for dinner on Christmas Eve, and Carl and Adam got along. I was worried that they wouldn’t, but Adam told Carl about Wyoming and they were just a couple of country boys and really hit it off. Argyll wasn’t too keen on Adam’s hugging my man, but like most things, he got over it. When Carl caught Argyll scowling, he grabbed him in a bear hug, thanking him for keeping me safe and out of trouble. Carl was irresistible when he tried but I could be prejudiced on this point.

There was no mention made of the threat from Page Cross, but there was no point. It had been a couple of weeks and Argyll was sure he’d hit the road. It’s what he said should happen after he’d been roughed up by the law. I didn’t like thinking about it. I didn’t like the thought of someone suffering on my account. It still bothered me that Argyll was capable of doing what he did.

“It’s wonderful seeing two people so in love,” Adam said as Carl and I held hands after dinner. “I understand more about you now, Billie Joe. I wouldn’t want to risk losing anyone as hunky as him either.”

“Oh, you talk about me?” Carl asked.

“The boy never shuts up about you, Carl. He knows a good thing when he has it.”

The boys were yawning and half asleep before we got them in bed on Christmas Eve. Argyll had set up the Christmas tree in the dinning room but the smell of pine permeated all the rooms. You didn’t need to turn on the chandelier as the eight-foot tree was lit up like Times Square. All the colors blended into a sparkling glow of beauty.

We were up at six a.m. the next morning, when the boys couldn’t wait any longer. Carl didn’t mind dragging himself out of bed, even though we hadn’t had any sleep yet. The boys were all over the presents in childish amazement. On each of our chairs was a stocking, hung by Carl, whose mother took care to mark one with each of our names. The most scrumptious homemade candies and cookies came out of mine. I was giddy with delight at each new flavor I discover inside.

The boys went quickly onto the presents piled high under the tree. Each had an area of his own and each squealed with glee each time they discovered what was inside the colorful wrappings. I got them all gold chains with their names engraved on a disc that hung down only slightly. It got me a great hug and a kiss from each of them.

Carl had gotten each boy camouflage sweats and an Army T-shirt. They had to put on the T-shirt before going further into the gifts. Argyll got them each two books, two pairs of jeans, two dress shirts, socks, and underwear. It wasn’t exciting but then each got a watch exactly like Argyll’s, which had them all squealing and delighted and the rest of the gifts waited as they modeled and set them properly with all of us assisting.

Carl frowned when Argyll handed him an identical watch but wasn’t as insulted once he saw mine. They were expensive and too high priced to wear for every day, but I knew Argyll would be insulted if I didn’t wear mine. Carl left his with me to keep safe, because he didn’t want it with him on base.

I’d had all my Christmases at home with my parents and most with my brother. There was always a tension at my house. I liked getting presents and I liked the food, the decorations, and the celebration. It was better than every day at home, but it wasn’t happy the way we were happy at Argyll’s that Christmas.

Maybe it was the joy of the kids, having a home and people who could do for them. Maybe it was my lover Carl, holding my hand as we watched the openings, laughing and smiling together. Maybe it was all that had happened since last Christmas and all the gifts I’d been given. Especially my happiness over the success of my crusade to help the gay homeless kids had me as happy as I’d ever been.

“When will you be done here, Billie Joe,” Carl asked his last night. “I want to start looking for a place. The barracks is starting to close in on me.”

“April, babe,” I said. “The residential facility is scheduled for opening then. I can’t leave before it’s done and there are a lot of things to do between now and then, but I’ll be ready in April.”

“It’s a date, Billie Joe. I’ll give you to April.”

I knew it was more than a date. I knew what Carl was telling me. I’d feel free to hand off my responsibility once the doors of the residence opened. My job was to sound the alarm and it was working out far better than I could have imagined. It was now up to the gay men of San Francisco to take care of their entire community, while I went home to take care of my man. Having a timeframe was good, even if there were people who might not understand.

The day after New Years day we were at the airport waiting to put Carl on his plane. We all went because no one wanted to say goodbye any sooner than necessary, especially me. In the car and in the airport waiting area, the kids wrestled and tormented Carl. He hoisted one and then another up on his shoulders as he was just another big kid, and maybe that’s why the boys enjoyed him so much. Carl was very much our fourth boy, not that he wasn’t all man when necessary.

As the kids wore down and his departure was near, they listened to Carl talk about Alabama and his parents and how the boys were coming to spend the summer with us. They were due to finish their studies in May, so the idea of my leaving was made easier by the knowledge they were coming to stay with me the following month.

Carl’s final words to me as he left us behind, “See you in April, Billie Joe.”

We all knew what that meant. Carl wasn’t returning to San Francisco. He’d made that clear. He seemed eager to have the kids come stay with us, which didn’t surprise me because it gave him someone to play with. I couldn’t tell how Argyll took these conversations but he never said anything about it.

After Argyll had done so much for me, I wanted to make it as easy on him as I could, but I didn’t think easy was possible in this instance. I knew it had to be done. The boys were as happy as I’d seen them, even though one or the other was already giving me long distant looks. This was not going to be easy on any of us but once the summer came they’d realize I was there for them..

Lucky for me Adam and Argyll were hitting it off. Adam returned the watch at Christmas, saying it was too expensive, but he was wearing it on New Years Eve, when they couldn’t get enough of each other, dancing every dance together at The Center’s party. They danced beside Carl and me and my love never ceased to amaze me. He wasn’t in the least self conscious dancing in front of a room full of people he didn’t know.

Early New Year’s day, when it was time to return home to the boys, Adam couldn’t seem to let go of Argyll. I didn’t think Argyll minded, but he did blush when I mentioned it on the drive home.

“He’s a nice fellow,” Argyll told us in the understatement of the new year.

“Nice fellow,” Carl agreed with a Cheshire cat size smile.

“Very nice,” I said, thinking I’d seen this scene in a movie.

Argyll’s jealousy about Carl wasn’t the least bit diminished. He liked him. He admired him. He didn’t like that I was with him. I reminded him how lucky he was to have someone, as popular as Adam, interested in him. This always altered his mood but my hope was we could depart friends and stay that way. I was happy for him and Adam and I wanted him to be just as happy for Carl and me.

I hadn’t forgotten my anger over Argyll’s violent streak, although I’d never seen anything resembling that kind of behavior otherwise. I did watch him around the boys. Maybe cops knew what they were doing but violence always disturbed me. I refused to accept it as a necessity.

One morning before he left for work he came into the kitchen and asked Donnie to accompany him to the library, which he did obediently. I stood at the library door in plain view, wondering what this was about.

“Where are your books?” Argyll inquired.

“TV room. I read when the shows get boring. Denny and Danny like the kid stuff,” he advised.

“Go and get them,” Argyll ordered, and Donnie moved past and was back in a minute with his Christmas books.

Argyll stood and took him over to the corner of the bookshelves where three shelves stood empty.

“You’re the tallest so the top shelf is yours. We’ll go to the bookstores once a month and you can get the books you want and you can keep them on your bookshelf.”

“Cool,” Donnie said, looking up at Argyll as he placed his books on the designated shelf.

“Send Danny in when you get back to the kitchen,” Argyll said.

That was the day I stopped watching him around the boys. Argyll was quite a guy. The boys were something too. The idea of leaving them was made no easier by these intimate moments but each time Carl left me it was harder. I wanted to get on with my life with him, knowing the boys would be a big part of it.

There were phone calls that came more often from Georgia. The meetings at The Center came more often as well. I sat in with the teachers, when they came to discuss how best to find where each student would start in on his studies and where each stood with what he most needed to learn.

I sat in when the doctors discussed giving each boy a complete physical to deal with any STD or condition that might require chronic care. These were interesting discussions on how best to get ahead of anything that wasn’t serious now but could become serious if not treated. The health hazards coming from being homeless and eating out of dumpsters were endless, but they were also easily cured.

When Ben-Al called on restaurants owners to contribute something, they discussed feeding them at the residence. They fussed with Ben-Al who wanted everything they had to give. They were reluctant to take on more than they could handle, but they decided they’d be able to feed the residence of the house as well as any street kids who weren’t in housing yet.

By the time the meeting was over, each restaurant was making available their kitchens and staff, along with donating food that was perfectly good but couldn’t be sold to customers. They knew Ben-Al well enough to argue with him, but in the end they agreed to pick up any slack on feeding the kids. With a little thought and some fresh ideas everyone left happy.

The day after the meeting with the restaurant owners, Adam took me on my first tour of the facility as it was taking shape. All the plumbing, electricity, and fixtures were either in place or ready to be installed as the rooms were being readied for the two students that would live in each. They weren’t large rooms but the plan was for two single beds, two desks, and two chairs in each room. The clothes closet was barely adequate for two boys and with all the clothing being collected it would be a tight fit, but when did boys use closets?

On the nights I wasn’t meeting with the people actually coming up with ideas far beyond my imagination, I was home with the boys so Argyll could go to Adams for a late dinner and….. The boys were surprisingly flexible and didn’t ask about the obvious. They probably knew more than I did.

By February the three shelves set aside for the boys in the library had a set of bookends the boys picked out. Donnie had a half a dozen books, Danny had four, and Denny had an even dozen, favoring picture books with things that popped up if not out as he read. He also had a stack of comic books that didn’t require the bookends. They sat to one side and showed signs of wear from frequent use.

By February all the scaffolding on the outside of the residential building was gone and it looked very nice after a good cleaning for the bricks and many fancy carvings that must have been fashionable in the early part of the 1900s when it was built. The biggest chore left was to name it as we waited for the arrival of the furniture and the kitchen fixtures.

Each morning six days a week, Argyll and I were out and up at the church loading meals and delivering them to the areas we’d identified as most likely to be where we’d find takers. For the first time, Argyll’s boundless energy ran out. Many times I’d come back from delivering some food and spending time talking to the kids and Argyll would be asleep at the wheel.

He’d relaxed from his full-on attention the presence of Page Cross required, and by February the alert had subsided with Cross not making any more appearances anywhere near where we delivered the food. This relaxation of tension along with Argyll’s need to stop to see Adam each evening after work and before coming home, lengthened his days considerably and he often wasn’t home and out of the shower before 10p.m. He wasn’t likely to be in bed until one or two in the morning and we were up before eight.

A couple of nights a week he came in and showered and dressed for his date with Adam, and on these night he didn’t leave the house until nearly ten and might not get home and in bed until two or three in the morning. After date nights Argyll was particularly tired and he caught up on his sleep each time we stopped and I got out with some food.

I never knew how the boys took our relationships. We did our best to keep the overt displays of affection out of view. Hand holding and kissing seemed okay in a house where people obviously loved one another. It took the boys differing amounts of time to come around on Carl and I wasn’t sure how they’d accept Adam as it became more and more obvious that he was in love with Argyll and Argyll was in love with him.

One evening when Matilda stayed late to cook a nice dinner for Adam’s benefit we all sat and chatted in the dinning room with the boys coming and going from the television room once they’d gotten enough food. When Adam was ready to go home, Argyll walked him to the front door where they embraced and kissed, which is apparently the moment the boys had been planning for.

I heard them singing a little ditty about their other father having a boyfriend. The laughter and giggling had me smiling broadly. I was delighted for Argyll and Adam and if the boys accepted their relationship, then it was going to be easier on them to let me go. I’d yet to find a way to sit down with the boys and explain what was about to happen and why, but they’d probably have an easier time with it than I.

Everything was falling into place in a way that had me at peace with my life. For the first time as far back as my memory took me, I wasn’t at war within myself. I was letting life be and it in turn was letting me be.

The day the kitchen fixtures arrived, Adam called for me to come down to see it. They’d removed the two glass front doors to get the huge freezers, refrigerators, ovens, and ranges in through the lobby. Each item was stainless steel and it sparkled like Matilda had just given it a good cleaning. A pile of cardboard and blankets were stacked in the middle of the lobby floor when each piece was unwrapped before being put in place for the installers, who supervised the unloading.

For the first time in well over a month, George Carroll showed up, snapping pictures of it all and shooting pictures of the newly painted interior and me in jeans and a T-shirt. Several times when I turned around, the flash of his camera blinded me. Before I could tell him to stop, he was gone, popping up a few minutes later, after I’d relaxed again, repeating his technique of surprise journalism. He’d stopped talking to me again and I was reluctant to say what was on my mind as the sneak attacks always caught me unaware.

“You’re a celebrity,” Adam told me, when I complained.

“I am not.”

“George’s journalism created an interest in you, Billie Joe. In turn your story has been told. None of this would have happened without you. People need a point of entry into a cause, and you’re it for your kids.”

“I didn’t shave and I look like shit?” I said.

“You look fine just as you are,” he advised.

It was a few days later Adam called to tell me there was a dinner to honor the contractors, suppliers, and investors who helped get the residential facility open. It was being held at one of the nicer restaurants in the area. He wanted me there to see the people who had contributed most to the project. It was a dinner I was honored to attend. I wanted to thank each of them.

“Call me when you’re ready to come home,” Argyll told me, as I slid out of the Jeep.

2001: A Space Odyssey was on at 9p.m. and he’d promised the boys he was going to watch with them but he thought it would only take ten minutes to drive down and get me if he kept the Jeep out front. I assured him I’d call and kissed his cheek before he left me.

There were probably thirty or forty men attending the dinner. At first there were drinks and I had something mixed. I’m not sure what I asked for or what I settled for. Adam sat with me at a table off to one side. Most of the men being honored and thanked sat at two long tables facing another long table where Ben-Al sat in the center with Rand, Horst, and Claude all seated beside him. It was quite an energetic gathering.

“Thank you isn’t enough, gentlemen. This humble offering doesn’t begin to express my appreciation for your participation in this project. This is some of the best food in town and since I’m going to let Rand pay for it…,” Ben-Al said with a broad smile, glancing back over his shoulder at Rand as the audience laughed. “He’s got deep pockets.

“When my Foundation took this building it was under the agreement that it would be in service within a year. That was five months ago. The hard work you’ve done has me in good stead with the city. They had in mind I provide a big tax boost with a business or businesses. Won’t they be surprised?

“This goes beyond that. They get plenty of money. What we’ve built is something that can make everyone in the city proud. Tax dollars can’t begin to provide what we’ve built.

“This will be the start of taking responsibility for some of the least among us. We have our eyes on another building, so I’m going to feed you real well tonight so you feel good and start thinking of ways you can once again step forward to help us get a stronger foothold on this problem. I hope you brought your checkbooks.”

Everyone laughed; Ben-Al was in rare form. The men I’d suspected of something other than being honorable, reminded me I wasn’t as sharp as I might have thought I was. They were thorough and not too quick to make decisions, wanting to know everything before they did anything.

One day I hoped to have their patience and dedication. I laughed at the proper places and enjoyed watching the wheels in motion. It was kind of Ben-Al to want me there but I didn’t belong with those men. They all were successful in their fields and shared their success when they found something in which they could believe. I felt lucky to have gotten the ball rolling so they could feel comfortable with the cause they were tackling.

I’d just about finished my drink when I became a little more than a spectator. I never saw it coming.

“There is someone here who is a bit more responsible for why we are here than you or I. We’d be ignorant of the seriousness of the problem we’re attempting to correct if not for the warning he sounded. Once he sounded the warning he went about giving us the detail of what we couldn’t have imagined without him coming to tell us. For this we should all be grateful and I want Billie Joe Walker Jr. to step up here and say a few words before I’m going to let the food start coming.

“Billie Joe, please come up and say a few words.”

Ben-Al stood back and began to applaud. As soon as I stood up, everyone started to applaud and then they stood and applauded. The camera flash startled me, keeping me from freaking out but I couldn’t find the source. I walked from my table behind the big table to stand next to Ben-Al, who shook my hand and then stood back, applauding until everyone had sat back down. The quiet was unnerving.

I had chills and my knees shook and there were two flashes, but this time I was dressed for the occasion. I was even wearing one of Argyll’s silk ties, but I had nothing to say.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “I came here nearly two years ago. I ended up on the street. We didn’t eat in any place like this. I won’t describe where our food came from, because you’re about to eat. What you’re doing will save some lives. What you are doing will put some throwaway kids back on their feet. Your effort will point them in the right direction, after people who should have loved them, threw them away. Some of them might follow in your footsteps and become builders and contractors.

Each of you would make excellent roll models, so don’t just stop with donations and labor. Let them see who you are and what it is you do, so they can aspire to reach the heights you’ve reached in my heart tonight. You may be surprised by what you can achieve and it won’t cost you a dime.

“I can assure you that giving them a safe place to lay their head at night is the beginning. The residential facility is like a palace, once you’ve lived on the street. You can’t imagine the good it will do for kids who have been seriously damaged by people who should know better.

“You can’t imagine their pain, once betrayed by their own parents. You should feel very proud of yourselves for letting them know that you care and that you will protect them until they can finish school and go out on their own.

“I’m so happy I can’t think of anything else to say, thanks. Thank you Ben-Al, Rand, Horst, and Claude for listening to me. Especially thank you for hearing me. You are my heroes. You are good men all. Thank you,” I said, looking at their faces as tears ran down my cheeks.

What was I doing there? Even feeling very much out of place there was happiness running through me. I couldn’t stop myself from crying. George Carroll stood in my way this time, flashing a picture as I moved back toward my table. He snapped another from the side as I passed.

There was more applause. Adam was smiling and crying as I had to sit back down to hide what I felt, which was more like being overwhelmed. I’d never suspected what was in store for me.

Everything calmed down and there was talk and laughter coming from all the tables. I was quiet and ate only a few bites of food. My stomach wasn’t going to tolerate it and my nerves were all on edge. As the guests of honor drank and ate, I was no longer on stage or part of what they’d come to do.

“Adam, I’m leaving. I need to get home. We’re watching 2001: A Space Odyssey tonight.”

“I’ll drive you,” Adam offered.

“No, I need some fresh air,” I said. “This was more than I expected.”

“Call Argyll. I’m sure he’d want to come get you, Billie Joe.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that,” I lied, wanting to get out of there.

As quick as the cool night air hit me I breathed it in deep gulps. I’d been waiting for this minute. I’d accomplished what I’d come to do. I didn’t know how to feel about it. It was only March and I felt like I was finished in San Francisco.

I faced needing to alter my life one more time. I thought of Carl as I walked. It had rained and the sidewalk was wet. I encountered fewer and fewer walkers as I turned up some of the lesser traveled streets to take the most direct route home. The hard-soled shiny black shoes pinched my feet.

I picked up the pace. I needed to be with Argyll and my boys. My heart ached for them as I faced leaving. It’s a revelation that comes, even when you’ve considered it before; there is the moment when the reality hits home.

Chapter 25

Sign of the Cross

I yawned, breathing deeply so I didn’t fall asleep before I got there, but I felt an underlying stress accompanying my impending departure. It was often on my mind, especially concerning Donnie. ‘Argyll had Adam now, and I was leaving the boys in better circumstances than they’d ever had. Their potential for success was unlimited with Argyll behind them.

‘…But I’d found the boys, brought them home, orchestrated Argyll’s custodial role. He’d never have gotten involved if I hadn’t been there, but it led to happiness for him. I’d shared responsibility ever since they’d come to live with us. Did I have a responsibility to stay? People came and went from our lives all the time. It’s a normal part of life, but these boys didn’t have a normal life. Their life was better than it had ever been, but it wasn’t normal and they’d never known stability. Would my leaving upset that?

‘I didn’t know that it was fair to the boys, or Argyll, or the programs that I’d been instrumental in creating, but I needed to get out of town before I ended up staying. I had to admit I liked the attention and the unexpected reward was even more attractive. These people were a whole lot smarter than I was and I needed to slip away before it was too late.

When I came, I had no idea how difficult it would be to leave. When I came it was a huge city with nothing friendly about it. Then, everything changed. One step at a time my voice was being heard and people responded. The seduction of power was powerful, although all I could do was rub shoulders with it, but that meant it was time to go. There was no point to my staying.

‘There was no one that didn’t want to help. They’d never been asked to assume any responsibility for gay kids who grew up every bit as detached from society as the rest of us. Alone, no one thought he could make a difference, but with someone telling them they could make a difference, they did, and that was what I came to do.

‘I didn’t do anything but deliver meals and run my mouth when appropriate. Anyone could deliver meals and I’d said all there was to say. I needed to get out of the way of the people who could get things done. That was simple enough and I could do that. I wanted to hang onto that thought. I needed to remember my life was with Carl.’

Turning the final corner, the building stood at the top of the hill, a five or six-block climb. As I looked up at it, it looked like home to me. ‘It was a beautiful home and how lucky was I to live in a place like that? There had to be more to life than chance,’ I reasoned, thinking of all the people who were there when I needed them over the past two years.

‘What a find Argyll had been. I wouldn’t have accomplished anything if it wasn’t for him finding me.’ I smiled and was warmed by the thought of him. ‘What an amazing guy.’

A chill followed the warmth of my thoughts about Argyll. Maybe it was the rain and the coolness of the night, except I was sweating under my jacket. The hair was standing up on the back of my neck as I listened to a car turning onto the street behind me. It had been on the street I turned off of.

It wasn’t the car. There had been lots of cars, all speeding past me. It was the sound the car made—a quiet sizzling of the soft spray a slow-moving car made on wet pavement. I’d heard exactly the same sound on the street I turned off of. It stayed a half a block behind me. It moved very slow. I’d heard it, but I was too preoccupied with my thoughts to realize what it meant. I then I turned the corner and so did the car and the sound it made.

Not paying attention, I failed to recognize the danger. It wasn’t until it turned the corner behind me that I became aware of it. I listened to its slow-motion movement. It was the same car, moving at the same speed. The speed I was walking. It was following me and I was still over four blocks from home.

I looked up at our building as another chill shook me. Walking faster, it was just five more minutes. Why didn’t I call Argyll? It had been a perfect evening, until now.

I didn’t want to look at the car. I was too scared.

‘Maybe they were lost? Maybe they were looking for an address? That was it, they were looking for an address. They weren’t following me at all. It was probably my imagination. I had quite an imagination.

‘It still hadn’t passed me. It was still behind me by half a block, moving no faster than I was moving, but I walked faster. Maybe I can run for it? One more block and I’d make a dash for home. I’d catch them by surprise. I’d make it just inside the lobby and lock the heavy gate behind me. I’d be okay.’

‘I remembered the car with the dark windows that picked Raymond and me up on Route 5 in Oregon two years before. I still saw that car in my nightmares. We’d been lucky to escape with our lives.’ I shook my head to get it out of my mind. I listener for this car. It was still there. My legs shook as I picked up my pace. I could make it. It wasn’t that far.

For the first time I noticed how dark it was. I’d turned onto a street with few working street lamps. If I’d been paying attention, I’d have stayed on the well-lit street, until the car got tired of following me. The low overcast blocked out any ambient light that might come from the moon and the stars or the buildings. I knew better than to walk up a dark street. I’d been so busy patting myself on the back that I wasn’t thinking.

My footsteps were the only sound, except for the sound the car made, that overrode the sound of my pounding heart. They closed the distance between us. I wanted to run. I wanted to be home.

Why hadn’t I called Argyll?

‘Pass me, you asshole,’ I thought, as I could taste the fear.

“Hey there,” his voice broke into my panic.

I glanced to see what I was up against. I saw a guy leaning out of the car window, his arms on the door as he faced me. The car moved along beside me. I couldn’t run now. I didn’t want to show them I was scared. I looked up the street, looking for another human being, a car, anything. There was nothing.

“Don’t play hard to get. You know, you’re cute, and we’re horny. I’ll tell you what, how about you slow down long enough to blow us, and then, we can all go our separate ways? We’ll like it, and you’ll love it. What do you say, cutie?”

I was shaking and I ignored the advance. I could stop and do as they wanted, but it wasn’t going to end well for me no matter what I did. The menace in his words was unmistakable. They’d take a blow job if I’d give them one but that’s not what they were after. He smiled an evil little smile trying to make it look believable.

‘Where was everyone?’ I thought, looking up the hill for help. ‘Argyll was always showing up to pick me up. Maybe he’d come, but he wouldn’t go this way. He never came this way.’

I walked faster and didn’t look again. Maybe I could outrun their car. It was about three blocks to home. My heart was pounding like a trip-hammer. ‘Should I run? Should I wait until they made their move?

‘Maybe I can make it. I’m a fast runner. I’ll catch them by surprise and make a break for it.’

I’d always been fast. I could remember Ralph and me racing each other here or there, and I always beat him. ‘Funny I’d think of Ralphie at a time like this. Ralph’s dead.’

“You’re not being very friendly, and if there is one thing I hate, it’s unfriendly folks, you know?” the smile was gone as was the phony pleasantness in his voice.

I picked up my pace and the car stayed right beside me. I started to cross the next street.

‘Two more blocks. I can make this. Two blocks and I’m home free. Two blocks and I’m safe at home. Just two blocks.’

I started to run. My heart crashed against my lungs. The car sped up, swerving into my path. The smiling face came directly in front of mine with the guys arms reaching out to grab for me.

I darted off to the right, down the cross street. I had let them turn me away from home. I came to an alley that would take me back in the right direction and I ran into it at full speed. ‘They’d need to slow down to make the tight turn into the narrow alley. By that time I’d be coming out on the next block and I’d only be a block from home. I could make it now,’ I thought before realizing I’d make a fatal mistake. ‘Fuck!’

It had turned into a bad night. I slowed and came to a stop. The alley was a dead end, and I became resigned to whatever fate awaited me. It was ironic in a way. I was living the highlife, giving my wisdom on how I lived on the street and survived to tell about it. I’d gotten off easy when so many around me didn’t. Perhaps this was always the fate that awaited me. I’d been spared to do a job and the job was done.

The walls on either side were solid brick. It was old brick with the wide groves and uneven bricks that had settled after so many years. There were no windows, no opportunity for escape, but I didn’t turn around. ‘Maybe they hadn’t seen me turn into the alley.’

I listened to the sound of the car pulling across the alley. My heart quieted and my breathing slowed. The doors opened and then shut. I was trapped with them in the alley. There was nowhere left to run. All the oxygen was suddenly sucked out of the air around me. I couldn’t breathe, my legs shook, and I was petrified. ‘What did they want and what would satisfy them?’

“You could have been nice,” the same malevolent voice observed.

‘I wanted to be a writer,’ I thought. ‘How would I write this? Malevolent. Male violent. Maybe this is what I would write about one day. ‘Would there be a one day?’

‘Why me? What had I ever done to anyone? I hated violence. I was going to hate this more than most.’

“Turn around,” he ordered, all pretence gone. “I want you to see it coming. Too bad it’s too dark to see who it’s coming from.”

There were three of them. The speaker was no bigger than I was. It was too dark to see their features, but I’d remember them. The other two would remain anonymous in that instant, covered up with the darkness. It was simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time with three people who meant to do me harm.

There was the sound of something being struck against the palm of the speaker’s hand as he advanced. I did my best to keep a distance between us, backing slowly, trying to maintain some self-control. I didn’t want to show them my fear.

In his hand was a sawed off ax handle. I’d seen one under the seat of every pickup truck back in Minnesota. They stayed about three feet apart as they advanced. It made escape impossible. In another moment or two my back would be literally against the wall.

As they moved forward, I continued backing up, looking for an opening that might allow me to escape. I halfway expected Argyll or Carl might show up at the last second to rescue me. I’d always been rescued before. There’d always been someone there for me to depend on.

“You faggots think you’re better than us. If you’d been nice, we might have gone easy on you. Broke you a little, maybe, but you weren’t nice, were you? Now, I’m horny and I’m mad, and those are a dangerous combination for you, sport. You do have a pretty mouth, but I can fix that for you,” he said ominously in slow precise words, smacking the ax handle on his palm.

“You could ask us not to hurt you, you know?” he suggested.

I thought of Carl again. He could have disassembled these three in about ten seconds. I, on the other hand, wasn’t a big guy. It’s probably why I was backing up away from them in that alley, but backing up, being trapped like that, made me angry.

People had forced me to back away from who and what I was all my life. San Francisco was the only place where I hadn’t continued backing up. For the first time in my life I moved full speed forward and I accomplished something good.

“You bastards are all sissies, you know? Aren’t you going to beg us not to hurt you? I’d like that. Won’t you beg a little?”

“Nobody to protect you this time,” a second voice offered in a revelation I wasn’t able to grasp at the time.

I didn’t understand people who needed to hurt other people. I never understood hatred. What was the point? What did they get out of it? ‘What did he mean? I didn’t know these assholes. Could I have crossed paths with one of them before?’ There wasn’t any time for a lot of pondering.

The leader of the pack kept hitting his palm with the ax handle. They moved forward. I backed up. I felt the walls closing in on me. I didn’t know how far back it was to the wall that would stop my retreat, and for some reason this had me think of Argyll and the story he told me about learning karate. I’m sure I smiled, letting that thought take my mind away from the inevitable. I’d taken enough karate to know how to drop kick a guys head nearly through a windshield up in Oregon.

It wasn’t going to turn out well for me no matter what I did, and so I decided to stop backing up before I backed into the wall.

I stopped. They stopped.

“Oh, we’re going to stand and fight, faggot?”

The word boiled my anger, especially the way he twisted it. I hated that word. I was a man and that insult was going to cost him. The deal was sealed.

I was never more aware. The wall was six feet behind me. I could feel the cool bricks on the walls towering above us. I smelled the moisture gathered near the sides of the alley. Water dripped off to my right, making a steady tapping sound as each drop collided with the alley. I noticed the uneven texture of the concrete under my feet. I’d never been more alive.

“Fuck you,” I hissed, raising one leg and both arms, making God-awful noises an instant before I struck. I didn’t need to see him as long as he kept running his mouth and he did. My entire being focused on precisely where the words were emanating from.

The sudden motion was masked by the disturbing noises that served to distract them for the instant it took me to get to him.

I brought my clasped hands down on where I thought his nose ought to be with all the force my body possessed. I was full of power and destruction as his nose gave way to the blow.

For one split second I heard someone else making a God-awful sound. For a millisecond my spirit soared. I was not afraid.

Then, the darkness in the alley came crashing in on me.

All awareness ceased.

Chapter 26

Prone

Argyll found me.

Adam called to see if I got home okay. I didn’t.

Donnie cried a lot. Danny gave up impersonations. Denny sucked his thumb.

Argyll searched through my things to find Carl’s number, but he didn’t notice his parent’s number inside the cover of my journal.

Father Flannery said a special Mass for me with the front pew filled with white haired ladies clasping dampened lace handkerchiefs.

Carl was on guard duty in Georgia. He drove all day with the copy of the San Francisco Chronicle on the seat next to him. It told of my fate. After getting off-duty, he’d come out of the shower and opened the paper to the section where the articles about me appeared. The headline was all he read. Leaving his fresh uniform laid out on his bed and his dinner uneaten, he contacted his commanding officer about emergency leave.

A division head at RamTech, who was from San Francisco, took the article about me to Mr. McMichael as she’d taken all the articles about me before.

Mr. McMichael called my brother to his office to find out what he knew.

My brother John called my parents to break the news to them, but they knew I’d come to no good end.

Ms. Mars had a cabinet built for the articles. She told anyone that showed an interest, “He worked here once.”

Brit and Simon heard at the gay center on campus. Brit sang for me in church. Simon wanted to scratch somebody’s eyes out.

Gene, living in LA with a gentlemen who fancied him, read about it in the LA Times and called the hospital each day until they gave his number to Argyll.

Sal brought a bouquet of flowers to my hospital room and laid them with the many floral arrangements that came from all over.

Everyone in my life saved the Chronicle articles documenting my progress.

San Francisco turned unusually warm and sunny, heralding an early spring, or so I’m told.

*****

San Francisco Chronicle

“Boy Crusader Badly Beaten”

*****

San Francisco Chronicle

“Billie Joe Hangs On”

*****

San Francisco Chronicle

“Billie Joe Will Live, Docs Say”

*****

San Francisco Chronicle

“Coma, Day-16”

*****

San Francisco Chronicle

“Crusader’s Future Uncertain”

*****

The room was green. I can’t tell you if it was green green or maybe mint green, but it was green. I’m not sure if I was seeing the color green or if maybe I might have felt the green. I can’t say if my eyes were open or closed then, but I knew the room I was in was green.

*****

San Francisco Chronicle

“Billie Joe Improves Slowly”

*****

San Francisco Chronicle

“Coma, Day-22”

*****

People came and went from the room where I was. At times I wanted to scream for them to go away and let me sleep. People talked but never close enough for me to hear their words or understand what was being said. This was maddening. Then, when after hearing the words, I couldn’t understand them. Where was I? Why didn’t they speak English?

I dreamed of running in fields of flowers. The smell was everywhere and my nose smiled when it recognized the difference in the fragrances, except I wasn’t able to make out the kinds of flowers I smelled.

Where was I?

I kept hearing someone yelling at me. All I wanted to do was sleep, but this asshole wanted to yell. I didn’t know where this hotel was, but I sure wasn’t ever coming back. I think he was calling me by name. I knew my name. Who was he?

“Billie Joe…. Billie Joe…. Open your eyes for me, Billie Joe,” he yelled at me.

“Fuck you,” I said. I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do.

He wore a white robe and stood at the foot of my bed and he yelled. I couldn’t understand the words and I didn’t like him yelling. I had it in mind to give him the finger, only for some reason I couldn’t locate my arms. How’d he know my name? I didn’t know him.

This place was fucked.

I went back to sleep.

More people came and they jabbered nonsense. I either couldn’t understand the words or they talked so softly I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

I couldn’t figure out where I was or why all these strange people came to look at me. I’d often feared going around the bend, because that’s where my mother seemed to have gone, and I wondered if this was what was around the bend?

The only one who seemed to be talking to me was that damn dude in the white robe. I’d been told about guys coming for me in white coats. Was it a white coat? Was this the funny farm?

I wasn’t amused.

I dreamed I was back with Gene and Jesus. That was weird, because Gene went to LA, and street kids who went to LA were actually dead. LA was code to explain why they never appeared again on the streets. No one told me that’s what it meant, but when someone told me Donnie went to LA, it was obvious. His body was found a few blocks from The Castro, and when someone would say in front of me, ‘Donnie? Oh, he went to LA.’ To which I replied, “Yes, that’s what I heard, too. Donnie went to LA.” Why would I think about Donnie? Donnie was in LA.

Had I gone to LA? If I’d gone to LA this was fucked. Maybe that’s why everything was so fucked? I never liked LA.

This was when I considered I might be dead, but I was sure you can’t be dead and be tired at the same time. Wake me when it’s over. Sleeping was the easiest thing to do and I did.

A guy in a beard was sitting next to me. Each time I became aware of what was in the room where I was, he was there. I don’t know how long he’d been there. I just became aware he was. He didn’t know I was awake and I didn’t talk to strangers. A few times he leaned over me and jabbered. I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Was this France? I’d never been to France like I’d never been to LA. I wonder if they talked funny in LA. Why doesn’t anyone speak English? If this was my dream why wasn’t I dreaming in English?

It took me a long time to realize the guy in the beard was Carl. Why didn’t he shave? Why wasn’t he in the army? Did the guys in the white coats come for him too? I never knew anyone less likely to go around the bend than Carl. Were we all in LA? There were a lot of questions I didn’t ask. This place was strange and I wasn’t talking to Carl until he shaved.

I knew Carl spoke my language, but I also knew he shaved, so I figured it was another in a long stream of dreams. That’s why I wasn’t going to talk to him this time. Besides, if I talked to him and it was a dream that would prove I was around the bend. I hadn’t forgotten he needed a shave, big time.

As weird as my dreams were, I didn’t want to wake up. I was very tired. Sleeping was easy and I went back to sleep.

One time I watched him sitting next to me. His eyes were closed and he was snoring. I don’t know why I couldn’t shake him to make him quit, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. I knew I had arms somewhere but I couldn’t find them, so with some difficulty I went back to sleep.

Argyll stood at the foot of my bed with a long serious look on his face. Some times he and the Carl with the beard sat together, too close for my taste. They were always looking at me. Man, this dream was way weird; I couldn’t imagine Carl and Argyll sitting next to each other to watch me. They had always been careful not to spend too much time too close to each other, except in this dream.

The screaming doctor was back. This time he lifted the sheet and took an interest in my feet. I must not have washed them because he started yelling at me again. What a Bozo. Maybe the people in the white coats were the crazies. When I found my arms, he was getting the finger.

The side of my face was itching, but I was lost for a solution. When I opened my eyes to look to see what it was, beard boy was kissing my cheek. He laid his head on my chest and the itching stopped. I tried to tell him he needed a shave but I fell asleep instead.

More people came and went, until I lost track of them. I wasn’t sure if I might be in some sort of hell that would be like this for the rest of my life. Was this being dead? I didn’t want to go to LA. Maybe there was someone I could talk to about it.

One day the screamer was back and both Argyll and Carl stood beside him. They were all staring at me. Carl came around to the side of the bed and he was holding my hand. He pushed his bushy face against mine, kissing my cheek. Man, did it itch. I turned my head. He was jabbering again, but it made no sense. Argyll was jabbering and they were all happy like it was someone’s birthday, except the guy in the white coat, he never smiled. The party was over.

What were they doing here? Carl had soldiering to do and Argyll was supposed to be working during the day. Was it day time?

*****

There was that furry face again. I knew Carl needed to be somewhere. Argyll still stood at the foot of the bed. He hardly ever sat down. Carl kissed my cheek, then he put that prickly beard against my skin again. I turned my head and they acted like I’d just recited the Encyclopedia Britannica. Unabridged.

Carl spoke and it finally made sense.

He said, “I love you, babe.”

Argyll stood staring at me.

I tried to lean my mouth toward Carl and I whispered, “I used to wear his socks.”

Carl’s concerned face came closer, “What did you say?” he was yelling now.

“I used to wear Argyles,” I said.

Carl started to laugh as he stood up, looking at my face. He looked at Argyll as tears ran down his cheeks. He laughed and laughed, looking like he’d lost his mind.

It was the funny farm.

Where’s the asshole in the white coat when you need him?

“What?” Argyll asked with alarm on his face. “What happened?”

“He said, ‘I used to wear his socks. I used to wear Argyles,” Carl repeated happily, laughing harder as he cried.

Argyll looked confused before he smiled. Then, he started laughing and crying at the same time.

What was going on?

The next thing I knew they were dancing at the foot of my bed. Did I tell you how weird this dream was? A nurse, hearing the commotion, came running. Finally, someone sane.

“He spoke. He knows Argyll. He’s going to be okay,” Carl yelled at her, and for a second they danced with the nurse.

She did what I’d have done if I’d thought of it, she ran from the room.

The next thing I knew the screamer was back. He looked at my chart, marked something on it, looked at me, and I wanted to put my fingers in my ears, but he said in a normal voice I had no difficulty understanding, “Welcome back, Mr. Walker. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“I haven’t been anywhere,” I whispered, feeling like my throat was on fire. “My throat’s sore,” I complained. “Am I sick or something?”

“We’ll take care of that. Bring a container of ice, nurse. We’ll do some testing as fast as I can arrange it. The fact he’s talking is a very good sign. It doesn’t mean we won’t run into trouble later down the road. It seems as though we have a very lucky lad here. I think he’s going to make a nearly full recovery in time.”

I heard all the words this time. Giving them meaning wasn’t as easy. What was going on? Why was I here? Why did I need a doctor? Why was I in a hospital?

People came and went, and some times I did. The time frame eluded me. I wasn’t able to put things into the proper sequence. My brain was working but there were gaps. Carl was almost always next to me in the room. He talked to me a lot. It didn’t occur to me to talk back most of the time. When I did, I usually wanted ice or ice cream. No matter the request, Carl seemed happy to receive it. I got ice immediately. Ice cream took longer. I liked Butter Pecan. I loved Carl if not his beard. People came to see me and brought ice cream. I was starting to like this deal, but I was sure I was supposed to be somewhere.

The doctor was a different story. He demanded a response when he questioned me. From time to time he got one, but more times than not I went back to sleep with him standing at the foot of my bed with his official looking chart, waiting for me to answer. It didn’t seem important.

One day Argyll came up in his uniform, before going to work. With him were three of the saddest sacks I’d ever seen. They rushed my bed, as Carl and Argyll tried to slow them down. The next thing I knew the bed was full of boys and my face was showered with kisses. No beards.

I finally located my arms and hugged them close. This time I cried, the boys cried, Argyll cried, and Carl was always crying.

It was the best I could ever remember feeling. Having the boys there gave me a vitality I’d lacked before. The piece that had been missing was about to be revealed.

Denny sat on Carl’s leg. Danny stood behind Carl with his arms draped around his neck, and Donnie stayed in the bed with me, sobbing softly against my face. Why was he so sad?

“It’s okay,” I told him. “I’m okay. I’ll be fine, baby.”

“You aren’t. You nearly died,” he protested loudly, keeping one arm around me as he sobbed softly, unable to let go of me.

There was no comforting him so I held him as tightly as I could manage.

“I did?” I asked Carl, looking at his face for confirmation.

“It was touch and go, babe. You were quite the mess when they brought you in here,” he explained as both Danny and Denny moved away from the conversation, preferring to stand behind Argyll rather than listen.

“What was…?” I lost track of what it I wanted to ask. “Damn it,” I said, for the first time frustrated by my new shortcomings.

My head was jarred as something flashed into my brain. It was a blur that jolted me from head to toe. I shook my head to clear up the picture, but it vanished as quickly as it came to mind. I closed my eyes to bring some kind of clarity to the picture. My temples throbbed but I was unable to get my hands up far enough to rub them. Something was wrong.

What did happen to me? I struggled to remember and fell asleep. When I woke up again the room was almost empty. Only Carl was there. It was dark with only one small lamp on in the corner. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, once he noticed my open eyes.

“You need a shave, my love,” I advised him. “You itch.”

He kissed me again, laughing. He squeezed the hand he was always holding. My head no longer hurt. I wanted to touch my head but wasn’t able to reach it. There was something wrong with my head.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he said.

“Get Argyll to bring my shaving gear. Get him to browbeat one of the nurses into letting you take a shower. You’ll feel better,” I said. “I really hate that beard. I want to see your lovely face. I love your face, Carl. I want to see it without hair blocking my view.”

For some reason the idea of a shave made him cry. He looked into my face with tears flooding his eyes. He seemed happy that I’d thought of it. I remembered just before I left for San Francisco two years before, I’d put Carl on a plane to Japan. He was crying even harder then, because he had to leave me. I think I almost left him this time.

“When did you come back from Japan?”

“A while back,” he said.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the army?”

“I’m on leave, babe.”

“Oh, yeah.”

I couldn’t figure out what happened to me, but I remembered that. I remembered my boys and Argyll. Why couldn’t I remember what happened to me. Each time I worked on remembering, my head started to throb.

*****

The gurney made a noise like it was rushing downhill at the Soap Box Derby. We moved swiftly through the corridor, ending up in a tunnel, me that is, not the gurney. People talked in the background and there was a knocking that disturbed my slumber.

I was always waking up or going to sleep without much to connect me with what was going on. I got that I was in the hospital. I didn’t understand why. It’s a question I didn’t think to ask. I didn’t think much but there wasn’t much to think about.

My parents came. They’d been there the first week I was in the hospital, or so I was told. They stayed in town a couple of days, visiting me a couple of times while I was awake. They had to go back because my father had business. What they knew from the police was, I’d been attacked and severely beaten by assailant or assailants unknown.

No one else spoke of it but now I knew why I was there. My head hurt and I was very angry about what my parents told me. What had I done to make someone want to kill me? Why didn’t Carl tell me? I didn’t like it. I didn’t like being there.

Adam came with Argyll the day they rolled me around the hospital for half a dozen more tests. It might have been the next day. Carl wasn’t there when they moved me off the gurney and back onto the bed. I might not have noticed, except he was usually helping me get back in bed, when I returned from tests.

It was the day of the tests, because I asked Argyll, “Where’s Carl? Is he okay?” once I was back in bed.

“He’ll be right back, Joe. How you feeling today?”

“Fine. I’m tired,” I said. “How’s Adam?” I asked, forgetting he’d come in with Argyll.

I didn’t know Adam at first. It wasn’t like with Carl, Argyll, and the boys. He needed to remind me and after he reminded me, with Adam in the room, I didn’t remember. How stupid was that? There was something wrong. Why would I keep forgetting Adam was Adam?

“I’m okay, Billie. You look better today,” Adam said, so Argyll didn’t need to explain that he was right there.

I could tell by the way he looked at my face that he was examining it to compare with something he’d seen before. This had me wondering about my face.

“You’ve been here before?” I asked him, thinking about that look he gave me.

“You were sleeping. I came a couple of times on my own, just to look in on you. Argyll and I come to see you whenever we go out. I stay with the boys on the days Matilda wants time. She’s a trip, Billie Joe. I told Argyll he’s got to keep her.”

“Argyll, don’t bring him here on your dates if you’re trying to make a good impression,” I advised.

“I insist on it,” Adam replied. “We want to see how you are. I can’t wait for you to get better.”

“I’m not getting better?” I asked, finding someone that was willing to go further than, ‘nice day. Everything’s just ducky.’

“Yes, you are. You doing way better, Billie Joe.”

“Do you have a mirror?” I asked, not forgetting how he looked at my face.

Adam slid the mirror out of the hospital table, holding it in front of me so I could get a look at myself. My head was bandaged in crisp white linen. My eyes were dark hollows, my cheeks puffed out like I was a squirrel collecting nuts for winter.

“Okay,” I said. “I look like shit.”

This got a laugh from them, but there wasn’t an argument over my observation. It shocked me to see how I’d been damaged. I felt a sharp pain on the side of my head. There was that jolt of white hot pain again and I was back in the alley. ‘I smelled the moisture and I heard the water dripping. I saw the three shadowy figures. I heard the ax handles being hit against their palms.

“Adam, leave me and Argyll alone for a minute,” I said. “I need to talk to him alone.”

Adam went out and closed the door. Argyll was already next to my bed leaning close to my face.

“What is it, Joe.”

“They followed me,” I remembered for him. “They were in a car. I left the dinner and was walking home. I didn’t want to interrupt your movie. I went up the side blocks toward our building. They drove slow and laid back for a block or two.”

“Who?” he asked, leaning his ear close to my mouth so he couldn’t miss anything I said.

“Just three guys in a car. They drove close to me. I couldn’t get away from them. I was scared. I didn’t recognize the guy on the passenger side. The windows were tinted but there was the driver and someone in the backseat.”

“You’re safe now, Joe. No one can hurt you here.”

“Did they paralyze me? I can’t seem to make my arms work right when I want them to,” I said.

“They messed you up pretty good, Joe. The jury is still out on how much damage. The doctor is hopeful. When you came in, he didn’t hold out much hope you’d ever regain consciousness. Anything you can remember would help. Think, Joe. Anything at all. Think hard. There were three of them. They followed you in a car.”

There was another white jolt and I felt my head recoil. I heard the words, ‘no one here to protect you this time,’ and I knew the voice. I had plenty of time to think about it now.

“I’m sorry, Argyll.”

“It’s okay. You’ll remember later. It’s been a month. I’m worried the trail will go cold. We have no leads. No one saw anything.”

“Is Carl here. I don’t want him to hear.”

“No, we’re alone, Joe. What is it?”

“I’m sorry I was mad at you. You were right. You did know how to handle Page Cross. It was him, Argyll. He’s the one that hit me first. He’s the one that picked me out. They had ax handles. He beat me with an ax handle.”

“You’re sure, Joe? Don’t tell me if you aren’t sure.”

“He said, ‘There’s no one here to protect you this time.’ I didn’t realize it was him that moment. I was too scared to think about the voice. I just now remembered. It was his voice. It was the same voice as the day he caught me tailing him. It was Page Cross. I’m certain.”

“Okay, Joe. I’ll take care of it. I’ve got to go. Carl will be right back. I need to go. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“One more thing, Argyll, I hurt one of them pretty bad,” I said.

“You did?” Argyll said, stopping at the foot of my bed.

“I remembered that karate trick you used, making noise and acting like a fool. I knew it wasn’t going to stop them, but I thought, what the hell, they’re going to hurt me, I may as well get one of them. I locked my hands together and brought them down with all my strength against his nose. I made so much noise they were caught off guard. I hurt him bad.”

“Did it make noise?”

“The cracking sound from me crushing his nose. That’s when Page hit me and the next thing I knew I was here.”

“I’ll take care of it, Joe. Carl will be back in a minute. I’m going now. I won’t be long.”

“Don’t tell Carl. No trial. I’m not coming back here. Once I leave with Carl, I won’t ever be back. No trial,” I said.

“I’ll take care of it. No trial,” Argyll said after thinking it over for a minute.

His voice reassured me and I knew whatever he did was fine with me.

Chapter 27

Blinders Come Off

My recollection about my beating marked the end of my mental mystery. Oh, life wasn’t a barrel of monkeys, except I could process information and recognize some things, even though the vivid memory of the assault on me was the scariest. The white hot jolts that shocked my brain with facts I now remembered, didn’t return.

I didn’t want to know any more and Page Cross’ name was never mentioned again. I didn’t want to know if he’d met a bad end, but I remembered what Argyll did to him after he threatened me. As mild mannered as Argyll was, he could seriously hurt someone who represented a threat to me.

My reason for being in San Francisco in the first place was a constant theme running through my mind. While everything seemed like it was moving in the right direction, each consideration ran over and over through my head. There had to be a resolution before I could rest easy in Alabama. When you are in bed 24/7, you can’t help but think, sometimes obsessively.

Carl came in shortly after Argyll went out with the belated information on my attackers. He’d changed clothes, looked squeaky clean, and best of all, he’d shaved. When he bent to kiss my cheek, I moved my face so our lips touched.

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me gently. I wanted more. I loved him more than ever. The kisses were passionate but he was holding out on me. I knew why and I giggled because I was able to smell him and touch him. I was completely alive. Carl’s being there made my life perfect. My place was with him.

After a few minutes, he sat down and held my hand.

“Why aren’t you in the army?” I asked, having tried to remember to ask that particular question for what seemed like forever.

“I’m on emergency leave.”

I looked him over carefully and didn’t think this sounded like the army that sent him to Japan and out of my reach, when I most needed him.

“Wasn’t that nice of the army,” I said dubiously.

“I had a discussion with my captain about some of his more questionable habits, concerning ‘his boys’ and his photographs of them. He insisted on granting me all the emergency leave I needed. My Captain is a cautious man.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble on my account,” I said.

“I love you, babe,” he told me, kissing my fingers.

“I love you. I want to go home, Carl. I don’t want to be here. I want you to take me home,” I said, putting words to some of my lingering thoughts.

“You want to go to Minnesota?” Carl asked.

“I don’t live in Minnesota. I live with you. Remember? Which one of us got hit in the head anyway?”

“Yeah, babe, I remember. I don’t know when you’ll be well enough to travel. They haven’t said anything about that.”

“It won’t be long. You know me when I make up my mind to do something.”

“Maybe we should let the doctors have a say before we go racing off to Alabama.”

“Go home, Carl. Get the van. You can take me back in the van. I’d like that. Seeing the country together, before we settle down, would be special. I’m alive and I want to be with you on top of the world again. I want to go to our Jurassic valley, where ever that was,” I explained as it came to me. “I want to bathe in our river. I want you to make love to me, Carl. I want you to hold me and never let me go.”

“Okay, babe, I’ll get the van out here, but I’m not leaving you. The last time I left you, you got yourself into a pickle. I’ll get Daddy to give it a good going over first. Then, once the doctors give us a green light, we’ll do anything you want.”

“Make love to me?”

“As often as you want me to, Billie Joe. I can’t wait, but I will wait for you.”

“All right,” Argyll said, standing just inside the door. “Can we go?”

“No,” Carl and I said at the same time.

“I’m going to be okay,” I guaranteed them.

“I know, babe, and I’m going to be right here to make sure of it.”

“That’s why I fell in love with you,” I said, and we kissed again.

*****

After that day, my life became more cogent each day, and they began reducing the drugs they’d filled me up with. Pain ensued, but I wanted to feel my body again. I wanted my brain to work at my command instead of flash on, flash off. I was not pleased with my progress or lack of same.

The nurse brought in a large flower arrangement. She set it in the window and brought me the card.

‘Get well. Your servant, Ben-Al.’

The flowers were blue and white. It almost filled the lower portion of the window. The man had style. I always doubted people’s sincerity but he’d proved he was a man of honor and true to his word. I was a peon in his world of giant proportions but he took time out to think about me.

“Your room was filled with flowers when I got here,” Carl told me. “I saved all the cards. A lot of people care about you. although I don’t think you know most of them. Argyll said he recognized a few of the names.”

“People from The Center, The Board, and the church, and from people I’ve never heard of,” Argyll said.

Carl removed a stack of cards from the hospital stand, handing them to me. I clumsily removed the cards from the envelopes. My hands were more useful but they still didn’t respond the way I wanted. There were cards from The Center, the church, and individuals known and unknown to me. I came to the last card in the stack and read aloud, ‘Get well soon. Gene & Paul.’ It’s from Gene. He’s alive.”

“Gene?”

“I told you. He helped me get away from the cops, over the roof tops. Sorry about that Argyll. I cut my foot and he took me to a guy who fixed it.”

“Hey, when I had the chance to arrest you, I took you home instead,” Argyll advised.

“When did this come?” I asked, handing Carl the card.

“First week. An old dude and a kid came up. The kid knew you. They came here from LA, I think. They’d read about you and saw a picture and the kid knew who you were. I think he said his name was Gene. He was quite sad. He sat with you for a long time that day.”

“Gene’s alive. How cool is that?” I beamed and a dark shadow in my brain became bathed in light.

“They said they’d be back, once you came out of the coma. I have the dude’s number somewhere. Check the back of the card. I think I wrote it there,” Carl said.

“Here it is. I thought he was dead, Carl. Gene’s alive. You call. Tell Gene I want to see him. Tell him I’m okay.”

“Okay, babe. I probably should have called before this, but I forgot about them coming up. A lot of people came up the first week. That Ben-Al guy was here a couple of times. He was quite upset when he saw you. It wasn’t a pretty picture those first few days. The doctors didn’t know how it would go.”

“I wasn’t ready before this. I’m ready now. I’ll call Ben-Al but I want to see Gene. I want to know it’s him.”

“Ben-Al bugged the hell out of the doctor about your prospects for survival. He was quite angry and concerned.”

“He’s the one opening the residential center,” I said.

“I think he told them not to bother me. Argyll said he’s a big donor to the hospital. They had been bugging me to leave, but I ignored them. I wasn’t leaving you. Argyll told them to back off the first few days. He wore his uniform to make sure they knew he meant what he said. Then, Ben-Al came up and that was that. Adam was with him the first time he came.”

“Adam’s his aide,” I said.

“Adam’s nice,” Carl observed.

“You’ve got to say that,” Argyll said.

“It’s easier to say when it’s true,” Carl answered.

“He’s the sweetest. He goes with Argyll like a bee goes with honey,” I said. “I’m sorry I missed all the people.”

“Argyll was pretty shook up when we talked,” Carl said. “He found you, you know? That was hard on him, waiting for the help to come.”

“No. No one told me. I don’t remember any of that part.”

“Cops instincts,” Argyll said. “Luckily I backtracked from our building. If I’d started at where they’d held the dinner….”

“He saved your life, kiddo. He went to look for you when Adam called him to make sure you got home okay. He backtracked the way he thought you’d go. Once you weren’t on the street, he thought the worst, knowing you. He called for reinforcements and they sent ten cop cars to search. Argyll went back to looking for you and began searching every nook and cranny. There you were, maybe two blocks from home.”

“I ran into an alley. It was a dead end. I can’t believe I didn’t know it was a dead end. I shouldn’t have known that. I lived right around the corner.”

Argyll didn’t add anything to the story. It was easy to see it upset him to think about finding me that way. I must have been a real mess. I felt bad for him.

“He’d taken his police radio, called with your location, and you were at the hospital ten minutes later.”

“He’s something, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. A hard guy not to like, Billie Joe. You do have a knack for picking out winners, me for instance.”

Carl smiled.

“He picked me out,” I said of Argyll. “I was too busy being stupid to notice him.”

“Yeah, he told me. He was a basket case when I got here. It was still touch and go. All he wanted to do was talk about you. He said you picked out Adam for him.”

“No, I didn’t. That was all Argyll and Adam. I knew him first but they did the rest.”

Argyll had gone out while Carl finished giving me the gory details I needed to have. Being honest about it helped me to understand my limitations. While I could remember some things at some times, at other times I drew a blank, even when I knew I knew what I couldn’t remember. This was more frustrating than words can tell.

The constants were Carl, Argyll, and my boys. I’d drawn a blank on Adam a couple of times, but he’d only been in the picture a short time. If he appeared with Argyll I knew him immediately. I didn’t speak to any one of my frustrations but that didn’t mean they weren’t hard on me.

*****

The following week they put me in a wheelchair. This I did not like. My legs showed no sign of supporting me, but I wasn’t ready for a wheelchair. I was in a sour mood all day and Carl took the brunt of my wrath without a flinch.

My frame of reference covered a narrow range. Small things triggered memories and expanded perspective, but mostly I lived in the moment, feeling pain, frustration, and boredom that came with being flat on my back twenty-three hours a day.

I didn’t see a wheelchair in my future and to allow myself to be transported in one made it less acceptable. I knew once you accepted such disability the journey back became longer and more difficult. I wanted to get up and out of my bed and walk to where I needed to be. My immaturity was even harder to defeat than my infirmity. Luckily Carl didn’t hold it against me. His constant presence soothed my discouraged spirit.

There was talk of rehabilitation and more hospitals. I wasn’t ready for that either. Doctors probed, prodded, and poked at me, swishing in through my door, doing their bit, and swishing out without comment.

When I asked them about their prognosis, they looked at me thoughtfully and said, “It’s hard to say at this point.”

After well over a month, I thought they should have some idea of how long it was going to be before I was back to normal. Either they didn’t know or they weren’t talking. I went with didn’t know, because if they knew and weren’t saying, it wasn’t good.

“Help me sit in the chair,” I said, indicating the most comfortable looking chair in my room.

“You feel up to it?” Carl asked.

“Did you call about the van? I’m about ready to get out of here, Carl,” I said firmly. “We’ll wait until everyone’s asleep and make a break for it, Rocko.”

“You’ve been watching too much television, kiddo. It’s ready to go whenever you’re ready. My father had it in his garage and gave it a once over.”

Carl pulled back my covers and swept me out of my bed, sitting me near the window and Ben-Al’s flowers. The arm of the chair was wood, and I used it to prevent myself from rolling onto the floor. I didn’t feel well balanced or comfortable but I didn’t say anything. I sat there like a normal human being.

“Are you going to get the van out here?” I asked a few minutes later.

“I’ll do that but you’ve got to do what the doctors tell you. Once they agree you’re well enough to travel, we’re out of here, babe, but not until.”

“I can live with that. I get stronger each day, you know. It won’t be long. I want to walk. I’ll forget how to walk by the time these yahoos think of it.”

“They’re trying to help you, babe.”

“They can help me get out of here. I’m sick of this place.”

“I can tell you’re feeling better,” he said, sitting in the chair Argyll usually sat in at the foot of my bed.

“I was going to sit there,” a voice in the doorway said. “You look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

“Gene! Gene! I thought you were dead. No one’s here from when I was here,” I said.

“I live in LA. I met Paul and I’m living with him in Bel Air.”

“You look good,” I said.

“You look like shit, but better than when I was here last. What did you do to get someone to fuck you up like that?”

“Gene,” his companion scolded.

“Paul, this is Billie Joe. Billie Joe, this is Paul. He’s trying to make a human out of me. Not an easy job, huh, Paul?”

“A labor of love, Gene,” Paul said. “Good to see you up and around the gray haired man said.

“Nice to meet you. You take care of Gene?”

“I try. I don’t know who is taking care of whom,” he said.

“He took care of me once,” I said. “He kept me alive.”

“We kept each other alive. Remember Jesus?”

“Do I. Probably the most unforgettable character I’ve ever met. How is he?”

“I don’t know. I’ve looked for him every time we come up here. I want to give him some money. Thank him for all the times he gave me his food and protected me,” Gene said. “The last time I saw him he was out of his mind. I was afraid that one time he wouldn’t come back.”

“Remember the night he was screaming in that storm. I think he was talking to God,” I said.

“Yeah, he did that. He could go off in a minute. I just wanted to do something for him. I see you’ve tried to do something for us,” Gene said. “Never figured you as the political type.”

“I did my best,” I said. “I had to do something.”

“I saw the articles in the Chronicle. You did good, Billie Joe. I’m proud of you,” Gene said, hugging me close enough for me to smell him the way I once smelled him when we were holding each other at night.

We were both crying, when he backed away.

“Life’s good for me. I’m going to school where Paul teaches. It’s a fine school. I’m smart, you know,” he said.

“Yeah, I knew.”

“He’s going to UCLA. I went to UCLA,” Paul bragged.

“Thank you,” I said to Paul. “Thanks for getting him off the street.”

“I couldn’t help myself, Billie Joe. Gene is the apple of my eye. It took me awhile to convince him to come live with me. He’s something special.”

“I know,” I said, feeling delighted for Gene.

It was the one question that haunted me most. What happened to Gene? No matter how much I did to help street kids, it was never enough to repay Gene for what he did for me.

“This is my lover, Carl,” I announced, as Carl stood silently off to the side.

“I remember,” Gene said. “You only talked about him all the time.”

“No more than you talked about Billie Joe,” Paul said. “I knew all about you before he found the first article in the Chronicle. I always read it. I used to teach here,” Paul said.

“You remembered me?” I asked Gene.

“I’ll never forget you, Billie Joe. You were my first love. Paul’s my true love. He’s the sweetest man in the world.”

“Gene!” Paul blushed.

“You are, and I’m proud of it. I’m proud of you, Paul. I’m going to amount to something because you cared about me.”

“The easiest thing I’ve ever done, Gene.”

“He is a sweetheart,” I said.

Carl talked me into going into the wheelchair to walk Gene and Paul to the entrance. They promised they’d return to visit, but they didn’t. It wasn’t necessary. Seeing Gene was the answer to a prayer and knowing he was okay meant a lot to me.

I wasn’t planning on being there long enough for another visit.

The following day a walker showed up in my room. Carl held me while I tried to force my legs to work. They weren’t having anything to do with it. After a lot of sweating and swearing, Carl put me back into bed. I was exhausted mentally as well as physically.

“I’m sorry,” I said, after being thoroughly disagreeable, while he did his best to help me.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Billie Joe. You’re fighting and I’m proud of you. Get mad all you want.”

“You deserve better,” I told him.

“Probably, but I want you.”

“Even if I can’t walk?”

“You’ll walk, babe. I thought maybe you might not walk again, but after today, I know you will.”

“I didn’t walk a step,” I complained.

“No, but you never stopped trying.”

He kissed me before pulling his chair back beside my bed. He sat beside me. With his hand wrapped around mine, I fell asleep that quickly. When the doctor came into the room, he woke me up, which never pleased me, but the doctors pleased me even less.

“When are my legs going to start working? You said there was nothing wrong with them.”

My tone was disrespectful and blunt, but he’d heard it all before.

“Your legs are fine. Your brain has undergone serious trauma. Your arms came back first and in time, we think your legs should follow. As the damage heals, it’s likely most of the nerve response will improve. There is no damage that would prevent you from walking, but it will happen in its own time. Who brought that walker in here?”

“I did,” Carl confessed.

“Do any good?” the doctor asked.

“A lot of sweat but not much progress,” Carl told him.

“No progress. No progress at all. I can’t feel my damn legs. I want out of here. I’m tired of this place and I’m tired of you and your long faces telling me nothing. What’s the point in keeping me in here?”

“It’s day-to-day, Mr. Walker. You might feel them tomorrow, the day after, or the day after that. Trying to make them work will encourage them to work. Your feeling will return in increments. It will require rehabilitation.”

“Why am I still here? If that’s the case I can do that at home. If lying here is futile I want out of here.”

“We need to keep an eye on you for a little while longer. You had a serious head injury and we don’t want to let you go until we’ve made sure you’re well enough not to need monitoring. Let’s give it another week. Let’s make sure before you go home.”

“Rehab?” I asked.

“It’s a good idea. You can take a few days off before you go into rehab. Each day gives you more time to heal at this point.”

“Who the hell is paying for all this. Hospitals don’t come cheap. I don’t have any money.”

“That’s not something you need to worry about. It’s being taken care of. If we don’t give you the best care possible, we’ll hear about it, Mr. Walker. That means letting you leave while there are still questions about your condition isn’t a good idea if we don’t want to get our asses chewed off,” he said, seeming amused by his frankness.

“I know you have your job to do. I know I don’t act very sympathetic to what you’ve done for me. I’m not patient.”

“Head trauma often makes politeness difficult. You’ll learn to be more subtle as you get better.”

“I feel fine. I just can’t walk,” I complained.

“Headaches?”

“Some. Not as bad. Always after you’ve been here,” I blurted, and he laughed.

“I can help with that. I’ll check in on you tomorrow,” he said, swishing away with his white coat trailing behind him.

“I hate this place,” I complained loudly.

“It’s not my favorite place either,” Carl said, still holding my hand.

“Oh, Carl, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking selfish. I think of no one but myself. I know it can’t be easy for you.”

“You’re hurt, babe. I’ll cut you some slack this time.”

“You’ve been there by my side from the beginning.”

“Close to it. I couldn’t leave you. My place was beside you and nothing else matters.”

“I love you so much, Carl.”

“I know, babe.”

“You don’t love me any more?” I teased, when he didn’t say the words back to me.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are and it makes me love you even more.”

He kissed my hand and smiled at me. I was the luckiest guy ever, because I had Carl.

“The van?”

“On the way, babe. Argyll will let me keep it at his building until you’re ready to go. Don’t you want to spend a few days with the boys before we leave?”

“No. They’re used to me being gone. No point in having them get more attached to me and then I leave them again. We’ll start making plans for their visit right away and they’ll be with us all summer and at Christmas. It’ll give them two homes to choose from. They didn’t have one when I found them.”

“You’re okay with that?”

“No, I’m not okay with it. I want to be with them. I want to help them grow up. I can’t. I don’t want to stay here. They’re better off with Argyll. He can provide them with the best of everything. Now that he has Adam, it’s perfect for the boys. Otherwise I couldn’t leave them.”

“Mama will love having them back home.”

“That would be perfect. They’ll like Alabama. They’ll like getting out of the city.”

“Why do you think that?” he asked.

“They’re boys.”

“Yeah, they are. We’ll get some horses and bicycles. I’ll take them fishing up at Muscle Shoals,” Carl said. “The old man will teach them about cars and mechanics.”

“You can take us fishing,” I said.

“You fish?”

“Yeah, when I was a kid I fished. My father and I once did things together. We fished a few times. It was fun.”

“There’s a river at Decatur by our property, but I also like going north to fish. More rivers and fewer fisherman.”

“I guess I could qualify as bait,” I said.

“You caught me, didn’t you? Good bait,” Carl said, smiling widely as he gazed into my face.

*****

It was a few days later when I was coming back from another exam that I found Carl’s mom and dad in my room. They’d driven the van cross-country and were staying two days before flying home, although Carl’s dad said he’d put her on the plane and hitchhike home.

The reaction of his parents told me what no one else did. The initial look on his mother’s face told of her shock before she immediately regained control and put on her happy face. His dad looked at me with tears in his eyes as he assessed the damage done. It was easy to see who was toughest in Carl’s family, but my suspicion that men were more fragile than women was confirmed.

Carl’s mom brought me cookies and some spicy pickles she’d ‘put up’ the previous summer. I was amazed that they’d driven all that way for their son. I had the impression they rarely left Alabama, but I didn’t detect any unhappiness about their needing to make the trip.

Carl helped the intern get me back into bed and we exchanged salutations. They were excited about getting me back to home. I’d really liked it there but it was another spot in my memory where details were scarce.

“We need to get you out of that bed and onto your feet, Billie Joe,” his mom said. “Once we have you home, you’ll be able to exercise, get fresh air, and I’ll fatten you up. The hospital is no place to get well.”

“You can say that again,” I said.

“Spring has sprung back east. The weather’s perfect for being outside,” his dad said.

“Did you enjoy the trip?” I asked.

“Motel prices are ridiculous. I didn’t want to buy one, only stay a few hours,” his dad said. “Nice country this. Nothing like it in the world. It’s a keeper all right.”

“It was difficult finding good food, but the drive was fine,” his mom said.

I had a few cookies and handed the can to Carl. He started in on them and couldn’t stop. They went out to eat late in the afternoon and came back with three big bags from Burger King and a big bottle of Coke. Carl went for ice and we sat around eating burgers and fries. I even tasted some of it. I’d had little but hospital food and the occasional snack Carl or Argyll would bring me. All that fat and fizzle hit the spot after hospital food.

Later Argyll came up with the boys. They were immediately crawling all over Carl, while eyeing suspiciously the new arrivals. Donnie kept his distance from them. I asked him about how his school work was going and how he liked the latest video game Argyll had bought for him.

“Such handsome boys,” Carl’s mom said. “You’ll be staying with us come summer.”

“You Carl’s mommy?” Denny asked, one arm around Carl’s neck as he sat on a knee, leaning back against him awkwardly, knowing it was safe.

“That’s me, and when I get done with you, you’ll all be big as Carl and just as strong. I’ll feed you up and there are wide open spaces where you can roam all day. I aim on working on Billie Joe as quick as we can get him home. We’ll have him back to normal in no time.”

“Really?” Donnie asked with his interest peaked.

“Really,” she said with confidence.

“And I’ve got a garage where I’ll put you all to work,” his dad said.

“A car garage?” Donnie asked, moving closer. “I want to race cars. I like cars.”

“Yep, but we work on small trucks too. I like working on the older cars. Too much computer in these new foreign jobs for my taste. I can’t figure them darn things out. What I can see, touch, and hear, I can fix. I don’t know nothing about no computers.”

“I can figure out computers. If you want some help with that,” Donnie bragged, sitting on the foot of my bed facing Carl’s dad as they discussed a future they could see.

“He’s good with computers,” Argyll said. “I didn’t know he liked cars.”

“Tell you what. You come down and help me figure out that computer stuff. I do work for two race car drivers. I’ll fix it so you can go to the races and sit in their cars. Carl and I go up to Nashville to watch the NASCAR race there.”

“Really! Cool!” Donnie said thoughtfully. “I’d like that.”

“You got yourself a deal, son. Which one are you?”

“I’m Donnie. Are these the people who we’re going to spend the summer with?” Donnie asked Argyll.

“Yeah, you’ll be at Carl’s place, champ. Once Father Flannery says school’s out, I’ll fly you back east to stay with Carl and Billie Joe. That won’t be but a few more weeks.”

“And you get to be alone with Adam,” Danny said, and the boys laughed happily.

Denny worked his way over to sit on Carl’s mom’s lap as she opened the cookie can for him. He chattered to her as Danny wrestled one of Carl’s arms. Donnie talked shop with Carl’s dad and it felt like a family to me.

We’d crossed the biggest obstacle and the boys became anxious to see Alabama. Carl’s family was as natural as he was. I had the feeling they didn’t know any strangers, which made them appealing.

From that day forward they were Gram and Pop to the boys. They’d skillfully closed the distance between them and the kids by letting them make the first move. Once they interacted the deal was sealed. I did wonder about Gram’s claim that she’d get me back to normal. It’s not something I wanted to talk about but it was a powerful force in my mind.

*****

A serenity came with the knowledge the van was waiting. It was nice to see Carl’s parents but knowing the van was there ready to whisk me away was better. While Carl’s parents were there, all the pieces fell into place and there was no time like the present for an exit.

Word got around I had expected a few visitors, bidding me farewell, but my hospital room was relatively quiet except for Carl’s family, Argyll, Adam, and the boys. It couldn’t be too soon for me and I tried to get through each day with as little disagreeableness as possible.

My final days were disappointingly quiet. I don’t know what I expected. I’d come to San Francisco to sound the alert and I had. Why should they notice me leaving?

They were getting it done without me and that should have satisfied me, even if a little attention wouldn’t hurt my feelings. The last time I’d left town my departure was a lot less auspicious with my father coming to fetch me home. This time I was leaving with a clear conscience and a pleasant future with the man I loved.

I told myself that should be enough. It wasn’t. I expected some kind of goodbye and maybe a thank you from all the people I’d worked with.

Chapter 28

Great Escape

By the end of the week Carl’s mom and dad were gone and Carl was loading the van with supplies for our trip. I had some exercises for my legs, a pair of crutches, and the wheelchair for those times when I needed to get somewhere without people needing to wait for me. I fussed about it just before Carl ended up putting me in the chair. I objected to being helpless even after accepting I was.

The day I left the hospital a few nurses and interns walked me out. Carl pushed the chair. The van was pulled right up to the front door and he hoisted me up into the passenger seat. I waved goodbye.

My new found freedom exhilarated me. I set aside my other concerns for the moment, smiling at Carl. I wanted to be with my lover and I wanted to get as far away from San Francisco as I could get. Alabama sounded like just the place for me to heal. I didn’t understand why Argyll hadn’t brought the boys to see me off. That thought unsettled me. Had they decided they were pissed off at me?

I didn’t remember the trip to the hospital and I wasn’t sure of where I was when we drove away. I was happy to be moving and getting out of there. After getting some flashes of buildings I recognized, I felt like we weren’t heading in Alabama’s direction.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Alabama,” Carl said, as we pulled up in front of a building that had people coming out of it. It was the residential facility for the street kids. The big banner in front said:

“Billie Joe Center”

“Carl!” I complained.

“Sorry, babe. No way to avoid it. There are people who need to say goodbye. I couldn’t tell them no.”

“Oh, Carl!” I complained, fearing what would happen.

Adam was the first one to the door of the van. I had to reach down so we could hug. By the time the hug was done Carl was ready with my wheelchair. He rolled me into the building as people yelled and shouted at me. I forced a smile on my face and felt trapped.

Who were all these people?

Ben-Al was all smiles and he was the first to greet me inside. He handed me the biggest reddest roses I’d ever seen. He leaned to hug me delicately, like I was a rose.

“I’m so happy you are finally out of there, but sorry we are losing you, Billie.”

“Thank you, Ben-Al. I’ve never seen more beautiful flowers. You are such a nice man.”

“Nothing is too good for you, Billie,” he said, backing up before smiling at Carl. “I owe you everything. This only happened because you made us pay attention. I’m only sorry we couldn’t protect you. This is your moment. It’s our thank you for your persistence.”

I was delighted to see Argyll and the boys appear from the kitchen and even Matilda came to see me off. The people were all very nice to me. I only remembered the ones who came to the hospital to see me, although I knew I knew some from before. There were simply too many faces and distractions for me to process it all.

They served ice cream and cake and we all sat around chatting. Mostly I listened and kept that smile pasted on my face. Father Flannery appeared to wish me well and gray haired ladies I should have recognized smiled and nodded my way.

Carl stood beside the chair, moved it when necessary, and ate three bowls of Rocky Road ice cream. While I felt awkward, it was obvious that Carl knew how close we were to starting the rest of our lives.

Argyll stood beside us talking to Carl and they were like old friends, smiling and laughing. The boys ate ice cream and came to talk to me one at a time. They were uncomfortable competing with a crowd, but they knew they were coming to stay with me in Alabama for the summer and that helped them accept my going and the chaos surrounding my departure.

“Speech, speech,” was a chant started by people around me.

Carl leaned to ask if I was able. I’d given a lot of thought to my departure. Being in bed for week after week left plenty of time for thinking. I wanted to try to express what was on my mind.

Carl moved my chair into a spot where everyone could see me. He stood with his hand on my shoulder to reassure me as the crowd slowly went silent.

“I remember things I never knew but I don’t remember things I know I know. The doctors say I’m blunt because of the trauma to my brain and I’ll relearn subtlety in time. That’s funny, I don’t remember being subtle. Maybe they were giving me a hint, because I cussed them out so often.”

The words jumped into my mind. People laughed, but I knew they expected more than a joke.

“I’m not very smart. I haven’t been to college yet. The street is no place for a kid. I’m smart enough to know that. Maybe not the first time I was here, but I was smart enough to go home when I could. I don’t know if it was smart coming back to do something about gay street kids.

“I almost died, you know, and I don’t know why. What did I do to make someone hate me that much?

I looked at the faces, glancing up. People were standing at the railing on the second floor. They were waiting for me.

“When I eat someone has to show me my mouth. I forget what I’m doing while I’m doing it, but I remember what brought me here. I never forgot that.

“I told Mr. Carroll my story. He couldn’t write what I said. I wasn’t subtle and he told me readers wouldn’t approve of the sex and stuff. He called it obscene. No one tell my lover.

“Isn’t the obscenity kids living in doorways, eating out of dumpsters. What he meant was people don’t want to know. I must admit it isn’t a nice story.

“Maybe the story about parents throwing away their gay kids would make a nicer story. Maybe that’s the story George, Mr. Carroll should write? Anyone else in any other culture, doing what they do, would go to jail.

“They created the problem. You intend to fix it. Would they rather their children live and die on the street? Why wouldn’t they want the community most resembling them to take them in for their sake? I know they hate us, but can they possibly hate their own children enough to want them eating out of dumpsters? No one hates that much.

“We all remember our search for acceptance. You can offer them understanding and acceptance. With us they have a chance at a future they wouldn’t have otherwise.

“There were 1.3 million children on the streets of America last night. Twenty to forty percent were LGBT children. Thirteen died yesterday. Thirteen will die today, and tomorrow, and everyday.

“If they say I have a gay agenda, I’ll say I sure as hell do. I don’t want a single gay kid brutalized at school or at home. I don’t want hatred to force another gay child to commit suicide. I don’t want them homeless, hungry, or threatened. That’s my gay agenda.

“Their’s is a culture of life if life ends at birth. It’s a culture of hypocrisy, when it comes to their LGBT children. When words are obscene but hungry children aren’t, something needs fixing.

“You are a people of action for those who can’t provide for themselves. You’ve been there for people suffering from AIDS and you know what to do and how to do it. You aren’t afraid to stand up for ourselves any more. They can’t make you afraid to do the right thing.

“I’m leaving it in your hands. I’m getting out of your way so you can get the job done. I’ll leave you with this knowledge: your hearts are about to be filled with more love and joy than you can possibly imagine. How do I know this? I’ll tell you how.

“The first meal I handed out went to a boy sitting in a doorway. He eyed me suspiciously when I handed him the hot food. He waited to find out what I wanted off him. Once he realized there were no strings attached, the warmest smile came onto his face. ‘Thanks!’ he said happily, digging into the fresh food with gusto.

“I always wanted to help give out the food, because it made me feel so good to be doing something so important. I knew it was important by how much they appreciated it.

“It changed me. It made me realize what the food meant to a kid that might not have gotten any otherwise. Helping the LGBT kids can’t help but change you. It’s what we need to do.

“At The Center someone suggested giving up one evening out a month and donating the money to the kids; one night a month, 12 nights a year, ten or fifteen dollars, or whatever you’d spend. What an absolutely wonderful suggestion to fund the program. Everyone can be part of it.”

“At great risk men have stepped forward to feed and house these kids. Their personal fortunes and reputations will be threatened by a society that refuses to do the right thing but stands in the way of those who can. I want to thank them. They’ve made a believer out of me.

“I know many of you see me as a kid, but I feel very old. I feel very sad. I’m going to leave you….”

“No,” was the scattered answer.

“I look at your faces. I see black, white, yellow, red, and all the shades in-between. We are a living rainbow. We are from here, there, and everywhere. We are the true children of God, or whatever universal force you believe in, which means together we can accomplish almost anything we decide to do.

“I’m going home with Carl to heal and to wait for my boys to come for the summer.

“Thank you for coming to hear me jabber. I won’t forget that you made my dream come true. I won’t forget that a boy just like me will come here looking for community, because he can no longer live at home, and he’ll find it.

“Thank you and goodbye.”

There was applause and hoots and people talking to each other as Donnie pushed my chair out to the van. The boys crawled all over the van, looking for a way to stowaway, but it was time to say goodbye. Argyll hugged me and kissed my cheek, not wanting to let go.

Adam took his turn, standing on the running board Carl’s father had added to facilitate my entry and exit. He hugged me tight and I whispered in his ear.

“Adam, I need a favor,” I said, as everyone was distracted, mulling around the sidewalk.

“Anything, Billie, what is it?”

“One, take care of Argyll. He’s too precious for words. And take my name off this place.”

“What?” he blurted, surprised by my request. “Ben-Al was adamant. The residence was to be known as the Billie Joe House. He really thinks you’re something special, Billie.”

“It isn’t about me. It was never about me. I came here with the hope of doing something. I don’t want anyone to look back and think I wanted to get something out of it. Naming the residence after me makes it about me. Wait a few weeks and tell Ben-Al my feelings. He’ll understand.”

“Anything you say, Billie. If that’s what you want I’ll do it. You give me the name you want. He’ll insist you name it. I know him.”

“I knew you’d understand. Nobody will know who Billie Joe is after a few months. It needs to be something the kids would like. How about Home?” I said.

“I’ll know you, Billie. It’s been my privilege to know you. You’re a real piece of work.”

“Home,” I insisted.

“Home,” he repeated for me.

We hugged and cried and I felt close to Adam. I was so happy Argyll found a keeper. I couldn’t imagine either of them with anyone else. They fit together in a wonderful way.

“Billie Joe, can you give me a minute?”

I looked out of the van at George Carroll. He was carrying his camera. I decided to make a deal with the devil.”

“You have any pictures of me in the chair?”

“I’m a journalist. Of course I do.”

“Destroy them and I’ll talk to you,” I said sternly.

“Done. I wasn’t going to publish any that showed the chair anyway,” he bragged.

“I would have talked to you even if you hadn’t agreed to it,” I bragged back at him. “You created me, Mr. Carroll. I suppose my departure from your beat deserves an honorable mention.”

“More than a mention, Billie Joe. People call the paper every day about you. I get a dozen email a day on you myself. I didn’t believe in you when we first met, you know. You were simply good copy, giving our Supervisors hell. Something all the readers would like to don’t have the time.”

“And now, Mr. Carroll?”

“You’re a hard one, Mr. Walker. You made a believer out of me. You’re for real. Coming from a cynical old reporter like me, …I hardly ever believe in anything any more. I thought I’d forgotten how.”

“So you’ll write nice things?” I asked as he stood with one foot on the running board as people waited on the sidewalk.

“I’ve always written nice things,” he complained.

“You were there, weren’t you?” I asked, suddenly seeing a flash inside my head. “You took pictures of me.”

“Yes, I did. To be honest I didn’t think you would make it, Mr. Walker. I’ve seen a lot of people after they’d been beaten, but….” He hesitated and rethought his words. “…but you did.”

“You publish any of those pictures?”

“Of course, “Boy Crusader Badly Beaten. I was leaving the dinner and talking to my editor. He got the message. It went out over the police radio. Argyll found you, you know?”

“He told me. Your readers weren’t too sensitive to see those pictures?”

“It wasn’t a close up. I thought you’d seen it. How else would you know I was in that alley?”

“I know things, Mr. Carroll and I always remember that damn flash. You were in that alley.”

“That’s impossible,” he said. “You couldn’t know I was there. You were unconscious.”

“Maybe not,” I said, knowing I knew he was there. “I want a favor, Mr. Carroll.”

“Anything, Mr. Walker.”

“People are sending money…, checks, cash. I don’t know how much but it comes every day. I think it’s for the medical bills. There’s usually just a name on the check and something like, get well Billie Joe, I’m praying for you. Things like that, you know.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“My medical bills are taken care of according to the doctors. Argyll, Ben-Al, I don’t know who is paying them and they aren’t going to say.

“Write something in your paper. If people want to send money tell them they can send it to ‘Standup For Kids’ or to The Center. If they want to say Billie Joe told them to send it for the homeless kids, that’s cool.”

“It’s as good as done. I’ll put it in the story I’ll write about you leaving us. You are the real deal. Can I take one last picture on the record?”

“Sure,” I agreed, giving him the best smile I could muster.

“Good luck, Billie Joe,” he said, backing away.

The van started as quick as I closed the door. People positioned themselves to wave goodbye. Carl steered us into traffic as I waved back.

I was tempted to ask Carl to drive out across the Golden Gate Bridge, because I knew I’d never see it again. It was about my favorite thing about the city, but I didn’t ask. It was time to go.

We turned east, heading for the Oakland Bay Bridge, and I knew in my heart that I wouldn’t miss San Francisco. The people were a different story.

Chapter 29

Alabama Bound

We drove out Route 80 and went over Donner Pass. There was still snow on the ground. We stopped for gas and something to eat in Truckee, halfway down the other side of the mountains. I told Carl I wanted him to hold me before we went any further, and we ended up in the back of the van.

We undressed and Carl held me.

“I love you so much,” I said, being certain this was the one constant in my life and probably what had kept me alive.

“Billie Joe, I don’t want you leaving me again. I want to be there to protect you. You don’t know how painful it was not being there to protect you.”

“You were there,” I said, tapping on the center of his chest where I felt his heart. “I’m in there. Even when we’re a part, we’re together.”

He held me tight. I knew he understood.

We made out for the first time, since I woke up with him beside my hospital bed. He was gentle and passionate. Just the way I liked him.

I fell asleep with my face against his chest and his heart beating in my ear.

We stayed put for the night. I’d been waiting for this for a long time. I was with my love for good. There were no missions left and nothing to separate us.

We drove down through Nevada and out into Utah, passing through Salt Lake City and heading for our prehistoric canyon. We parked next to the huge boulder and Carl carried me into the water with him. It was cold. He was warm. It was the first time I was able to make love with him.

As I stood behind the van, he dried me off. We laid in the afternoon sun. It was a beautiful day. The best part of the trip was when we climbed the Rockies. Carl cooked behind the van after we parked with a view of the mountain tops covered in snow as far as I could see. We sat eating juicy burgers and enjoying our perch. It was the way I remembered it. I’d thought about it lying in the hospital bed, thinking I might never get to see it again.

Making love there on a full stomach made it even more spectacular.

Once we left the Rockies there were the foothills before we reached the plains. The driving was easy; the van purred a fine-tuned synchronism that I could hear. Being alive never felt so good. Being with Carl was the best thing.

As we neared Alabama, Spring was apparent everywhere; the trees were filled with new brilliantly green leaves. The azaleas were in bloom and flowers covered hillsides.

We drove into Carl’s driveway in the late afternoon. His mom was in the kitchen getting dinner ready, his father was at work, and two little girls were playing near a swing under the big oak tree across from the house.

Carl’s collie was the first to greet us, his mother came out in her apron with a spatula in her hand.

We were home.

The following day was Sunday and everyone was home. Carl and I mostly rested from the trip, but the kitchen was always full of Carl’s brothers and their daughters, who needed gram’s attention.

Carl’s brothers no longer belonged there. They’d moved to the city and brought their kids to be tended to while they played golf or did whatever chores they were responsible for. They were all there at dinner but left with their daughters before the dishes were cleared. It left us with Gram and Pop, which is how it was most often.

Gram started in on me Monday morning. There was herbal tea and a smelly mud plaster; the heat that came from it was almost more than I could take. Her technique for massage could best be described as lady wrestler meets the crippled guy. I was like a pork loin being tenderized and seasoned.

I used the walker to get back and forth from the trailer and Carl went back to base to get the hardship discharge his Captain told him he was preparing. It required him to take a physical; altogether he spent two days separating from the Army and one night away from me.

He came home a free man, just like me, on Wednesday. He was glad to see me in the walker but could hardly walk as slowly as I walked with that thing. My legs were moving again, though, and like my arms, they slowly did what I wanted.

With Carl there to motivate me it became easier. The best part of my rehabilitation was Gram’s cooking. She aimed to fatten me up and no matter how much I protested, I couldn’t resist the good old-fashioned southern home cooking. It was different from anything I’d eaten before. The food was filled with simplicity and love; the table was a happy place, where Carl and his father talked shop, and we planned for the arrival of my boys.

Of course the boys weren’t mine. They were Gram’s from day one. It took a bit of time for them to feel comfortable in the new place, but by the end of the week they were playing, yelling, and having a good old time. They wrestled and rolled on the grass and played with Major, Carl’s collie. They went to the river at the corner of the property and swam, fished, and explored as only little boys could explore.

It was easy to see they’d never been in the country before. When Pop came walking down the driveway from the garage one afternoon, he was leading three horses. Donnie and Denny were immediately horse lovers and couldn’t wait to ride. Danny was reluctant to get too close and wasn’t willing to take a ride with his brothers.

He got the last pick, because both Donnie and Denny knew which horse they wanted right off. At first content with having Pop walk the horses with them riding, it wasn’t long before they were old hands, riding for hours every day. Danny stayed under the oak tree, swinging at these times. He did not intend to ride.

I heard Pop stand talking to him a couple of days after he first brought the horses.

“Trooper needs to be brushed, even if you don’t want to ride him. I’ll bring you the brushes and you can take care of it for me. He’s gentle and he doesn’t like fast movements. He was abused as a colt and doesn’t trust that many folks. I’ll tie him up outside the barn so you can brush him out of the stall. He likes being brushed so he won’t give you any trouble, but if you move him be sure to tie him tight. He’s a slippery one.

A few minutes later Pop came back with two new brushes and he showed Danny how they fit on each hand. Danny looked at them for a long time sitting at the table. I watched him building up his courage before he picked them up and disappeared.

I’d watched Pop draw Donnie into talking cars and I wondered if this would work for a boy who was afraid of horses. I didn’t go to check on Danny or make sure he was okay. I left it up to him to deal with his fear.

By the end of the week the three boys were riding together. Denny spent a lot of time with Gram, helping in the kitchen. Donnie walked down to the shop each day and often came back greased up to his elbows with his clothes looking like they’d been dragged through the grease pit. Gram always kept a can of hand cleaner next to the faucet outside and that’s where the men cleaned up and took off clothes that weren’t fit to go into her house. None of the mechanical men complained.

I was home. By June I was walking from the house to the trailer. It wasn’t easy and I often had to stop to correct a problem with my balance, but each day it was better and there was no hospital or rehab, which suited me fine. One day I didn’t lose my balance or need to make any corrections and each day therafter I got stronger, until I forgot I once couldn’t walk.

Carl came home with two more horses, once I told him I was ready to ride. Each evening after dinner we rode the horses down to the river and listened to the frogs and the crickets tuning up for their nightly symphony while lightning bugs furnished the light show. It was wonderful being there.

Donnie and Danny always raced each other back to the house, which announced our return, and by the time we finished our ride, there was desert on the table waiting for us.

I looked forward to every minute of each day.

Life was never better for me. Love was grand. I was glad I had taken care of business first before getting on with the rest of my life. My happily-ever-after was Carl’s happily ever-after as well.

It was easy living indeed. The years treated us well.

Epilogue

I took classes in accounting and philosophy at the local community college and I keep the books for the garage. Carl’s presence allowed Pop to expand the garage. After the expansion, Pop was supervising five mechanics from his upstairs office that was mostly windows.

Donnie finished school and came to stay. He went to college to learn computers from the ground up and to keep all of Pop’s state of the art. In his spare time he raced a Funny car sponsored by the garage.

Danny surprised everyone when he went to divinity school. He became Father Daniel and was the only priest who could impersonate both Bogart and Edward G. Robinson with the proper authority, which delights the kids if not his Bishop. When he must scold one of his boys for misbehaving, using the impersonations takes any sting out of it. The boy understands Father Daniel approves of him if not his actions.

Denny became a chef. He went to school near San Francisco before attending classes in Paris and Florence at Argyll’s suggestion. On holidays he comes home and cooks his latest creations for Gram and Pop and Carl and me. On the holidays he isn’t with us in Alabama, he can be found at home in San Francisco, cooking for Argyll and Adam. The most recent talk is of him opening a restaurant near The City. The last time I talked to Argyll, he was looking for investment possibilities close to home. Denny approves.

Adam and Argyll are still together and visit once a year. No one asks when I’m going to visit them. I haven’t returned to San Francisco, although my feelings for The City are like that of an old friend I no longer see.

If I died in that alley it wouldn’t have been so bad. While I hadn’t quite reached nineteen, I’d lived life on my terms. I left home to search for my community, and while it took some time, I found it. I’d loved Carl completely and I’d been loved completely in return. I would have left a mark on the world in which I lived. I was loved by people who knew me and I had three beautiful boys.

I remember the last idea I had before meeting my Waterloo; ‘I wanted to be a writer.’ I’d only written in my journals until then. Don’t get me wrong, I’m perfectly happy I lived. Living with my love is a lovely life, and all those other things are still true. I am blessed as well as happy.

I’m not certain there is a life after this one, but I am sure we need to give this life all we have to give. If you don’t, what is it you leave behind that makes you proud? What will people remember?

I can’t imagine what my life would have been like had I not runaway from home and ended up where I did. What I accomplished there often makes me smile.

I am taking some creative writing classes and I’ve recovered almost all of my journals from around the country. I’m thinking of writing the story those journals tell. I may call it, My Journey.

There are still some numbers I remember:

Tonight there are 1.3 million homeless children on America’s streets.

Forty percent are under 15.

Twenty to Forty percent are LGBT children. It’s difficult to say how many because we live in a society that will make their lives even more miserable should they confess to being LGBT.

Tomorrow thirteen of those children will be dead, and the day after that, and the day after that, etc., etc., etc.

*****

These statistics come from ‘Standup for Kids,’ a non-profit organization furnishing housing for homeless children.

http://www.standupforkids.org/

Get involved or donate through their website or through The LGBT Center nearest you, and tell them, Billie Joe sent you.

---

Writer’s Comment:

Billie Joe has done everything he knows how to do. What are you going to do?

Talk to your friends. Spread the word. Let people who haven’t read The Center know they can add purpose to their lives by getting involved.

Notes of Interest about Billie Joe’s Journey:

What and who are we fighting for? Join the struggle to stop the hatred in Bill’s memory. He was not a fictional character.

http://www.youth-guard.org/gabi/Bills_Story.html

We can’t afford to remain silent. The next generation of LGBT kids must know you care. Their lives sometimes depend on it.

Bill refused to live in a world that hated him. Thoughts of him were often on my mind during Billie Joe’s Journey, and my own. His death allowed me to create Billie Joe’s motivation for going in search of the ‘gay’ community.

Ralphie’s suicide and the note he left was inspired by Bill’s Story. This storyline didn’t exist at the time the trilogy began. Remember: it started as a short love story that readers wanted me to continue. The rest is now history.

*****

Getting Started:

I’ve done some of the work for you. The Center may have many meanings, but for me it’s where my heart is. Get involved in your local

Center for LGBT action.

While I didn’t know there was a Center in San Francisco, my search revealed they are indeed there. My bad. Visit them with Billie Joe’s apology for any misrepresentation. It was unintentional.

http://www.sfcenter.org/

Local San Diego realtors donate to their Center to house homeless gay children in San Diego. Call and join their effort.

http://www.thecentersd.org/

I’ve heard that there is a program in Los Angeles working to house homeless gay children. Tell me if you find something on this program.

…Eastern LGBTQ Centers.

Google for The LGBTQ Center nearest you. If you are in the UK,r Europe, Africa, Asia, or South America, there should be help lines provided to help someone in trouble. Only where it's safe should you try to make contact with LGBTQ services in your country.

If you are in trouble and need someone to listen, call the Trevor Project. Someone will answer and they'll listen and make suggestions.

The Trevor Project

Our trained counselors are here to support you 24/7. If you are a young person in crisis, feeling suicidal, or in need of a safe and judgment-free place to talk, call the Trevor Lifeline now at 866-488-7386.