Searching for Him

Chapter 7

I dressed formally for dinner because I thought that is what Jordan wanted. I was surprised when he was wearing a herringbone hunting jacket with a maroon cravat. As I approached Jordan and the young woman I was struck by how ordinary she looked compared to the women Jordan usually escorted. He rose and said, “Michael, I would like you to meet Heloise Stanford. You remember meeting Heloise’s mother a few days ago.”

“How nice to meet you. Do we have time for me to change into more appropriate clothes?”

Jordan said, “Michael, you are dressed fine. I’m probably a bit too casual but I just came from the theater.” We asked the maitre d’ to discreetly seat us. He accommodated us with a quiet table toward the rear of the restaurant. Heloise was totally smitten by Jordan. I was amazed and puzzled at Jordan’s interest in her. After dinner we said our “Goodbyes.” I did not see Jordan that night nor the following day. I assumed he was with Heloise. I spent the day reading and answering correspondence that was long overdue. I was looking forward to my dinner engagement with Thomas. I wondered if I should refer to him as Tom or Thomas.

Promptly at eight the elevator attendant opened the wire screen and heavy metal door. I entered the lobby. Tom stood relaxed and dressed like Jordan had been last night. I was dressed similarly in a sporting jacket and tie. He greeted me with a warm handshake. He put his hand in a familiar way on my shoulder and directed me toward the livery entrance. He gave no directions to the driver but we started down the hill toward the bay. He was chatting about the massive construction as we turned into a dark shabby street and stopped in front of a brightly lit restaurant and bar. He said, “Here we are!” He said to the driver, “We’ll be ready at 11:00.” The fellow tipped his hat and left without a word. Inside the restaurant the environment was noisy and smoky which I found unpleasant. We walked through the bar to a dining room in the back. I noticed that the only women in the place were bar maids and there were no women in the dining room. He shocked me when he said, “This is the best restaurant in San Francisco for people like us.”

Considering the clientele, I knew what he meant. At my request he ordered a bottle of California wine, an Inglenook red and asked, ”Do you know about American wine?

“Not much, but I am interested. I was thinking about taking the train into the Napa Valley where they grow the grapes and make the wine. Some of my English friends say is better than French wine.”

“I have had some good American wine, but I don’t think we’re ready to compete with the French.” When the wine he ordered was decanted, he acknowledged that it was quite good. “Mind if I tag along with you when you go on your wine journey?”

“I’d like the company. I was planning to leave on Saturday, but I am also planning on a follow-on trip to the Yosemite Valley.”

“I’m game. When is opening night? The benefit performance is Thursday, November 16 and opening night the following night.”

“I must be back for opening night.”

“I plan to be back for both performances,” Tom said.

The steak dinner was tasty but the visuals were more interesting. It was clear that the men dining had more than food on their mind. Thomas made it quite clear with his knee he was interested in something beyond food. He was handsome and young with curly black hair. He had a dimple when he smiled. I am still not used to his forward American manner. On our drive back to the hotel he kept his hand on my knee. I could not invite him for a brandy because the bar was closed. I did not invite him to my room either, which he definitely would have preferred. I told him Jordan and I were roommates. He smiled and agreed to meet me at the train station on Saturday morning.

I pored over the San Francisco Chronicle classified ads the next morning to identify a place for Tom and me to stay. A small three line ad read, “For Rent. Large bedroom in secluded house with beautiful garden. Unmarried couples welcome. 47 Napa St. Yountville. Telephone Main 755.” I tore it out and called the long distance operator. She was gracious and connected me to the number which rang several times before a woman’s voice answered. After introducing myself the woman’s voice deepened. I was curious but inquired if the advertised room was available. I said, “We are two men traveling together.”

The voice at the other end became that of a man. He said, “That’s wonderful. I assume you will need only one bed in the room?”

“Yes, that will be fine.”

The man said, “That room has a bathtub in the room for your convenience. Do you want us to fix dinner for you? We are expecting several other couples the night you arrive.”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead but said, “Yes,” but added, “we are coming to sample the wine in the valley.”

He laughed, “We will have plenty for you to try. The room will be $10 per night and dinner will be $2.50 each. The wine cost will depend. How many nights will you be staying?”

“Probably three or four nights.”

“I can recommend wineries for you to explore. We have an automobile or a motorbike with sidecar for you to rent which you’ll need to get around.” He gave me instructions to take the interurban electric train toward Calistoga and then disembark at Yountville. “We are three blocks down Main Street on the left. Ours is the white house with big front porch.” I thanked him and hung up.

I telephoned Tom and invited him for cocktails so I could officially introduce him to Jordan and Heloise. Shortly after he arrived they excused themselves. Tom and I took the cable car on Clay Street to Chinatown where we found a restaurant recommended by the concierge. It was noisy and smoky but the food was good. Once again after dinner and a night cap I didn’t invite Tom up. I could tell he was frustrated. I assured him I had a surprise for him when we arrived in Yountville. His facial expression told me he was disappointed.

We boarded the interurban at 10 am the next morning. The train was crowded. Many folks were heading to wine country for picnics because the overhead space was filled with baskets and picnic accessories. Tom and I each had small overnight bags. Shortly after noon the train arrived in Yountville. It was a bright sunny day with completely cloud free skies. We admired the houses as we walked and without trouble we found the rooming house. The sprawling, white clapboard house lay behind a high hedge. We walked up the long walkway and pulled a chain by the front door.

Within a short time, a tall man with a bushy mustache greeted us. I introduced myself as did Tom. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised that the two of us were together. We walked through the quiet hall to the stairs. We followed him to the third floor and into a very large room that had both a sitting area and a sleeping area. The bathtub was open in the corner and he showed us how to ignite the gas fired hot water heater. He volunteered to draw our baths if we had problems.

He invited us to join him on the back porch after we were settled. Both Tom and I used the toilet on the second floor and proceeded to join our host and another male couple on a screened porch that overlooked a lush garden filled with resplendent rose bushes with multiple roses blooming. The dahlias of multi-colors were radiant. I wanted to explore the garden. Our host, Gerald, began with introductions of Mark and Rutledge who were from San Francisco. I guessed that they were in their late fifties. They wore proper Victorian suits of a similar fashion. Gerald indicated there would be another couple, Mr. and Mrs. Pointer, who would be joining us for dinner. He encouraged us to walk through the garden, then the community and return for tea at four.

Tom joined me for a walk through Gerald’s garden. When we were away he said, “Do you assume as I do that those two are a couple?”

“I do. It means you can keep your hand on my knee if you wish to.”

He laughed, “I want to put it on places other than your knee.”

“I feel quite certain that Gerald and the others will not care.” A few minutes later Gerald joined us with an open bottle of wine and two glasses as we sat in the gazebo. He encouraged us to enjoy the glorious afternoon because rain was predicted for Sunday. The three of us sipped the wine quietly. He walked with us to a small pool. He said, “I would invite you for a swim but the water is not heated so I think it’s quite cold this late in the fall.” We thanked him and he left us.

We found a spot on a hill not too far from the house where we sat down. Tom pulled close behind me and kissed me behind my ear. I didn’t resist. He pulled closer and I put my arm around his shoulder. We sat quietly reading for a while. “Would you like to go back to the gazebo for more wine?”

Tom said, “Let’s wait. I suggest we go to our room and rest before tea.” I suspected what was on his mind. I was ready.

When we got to our room the bed covers had been pulled back as if Gerald knew of Tom’s plan. Once in the room Tom stepped in front of me and kissed me directly on the lips. His action caused me to take a pleasant deep breath. He proceeded to help me take off my sweater vest, then shirt after taking the braces off of my shoulders. I sat down to untie my shoes as he did. He stepped in front of me and pulled down my pants and underwear in one gesture. I was rock hard. He grasped my manhood firmly and said, “This is what I have been waiting for.”

Tom had thick black, curly hair on his head, but black hair also heavily covered the rest of his body. I had never been with a man with so much hair. Jordan by comparison only had a small amount of hair in the usual places – chest, under arms, penis and butt. The biggest surprise was Tom’s willie which was short but significant in his girth. It was growing before my eyes. He pulled back the skin covering his tip and a generous crown crept out. He was intent on using every orifice and he did so more roughly than I liked. In Tom’s favor when he sensed he was going too hard or too fast, he pulled back. When he entered my backside, the pain was intense because of his penis’s girth. He was careful but could hardly wait to get fully into my channel. Tom was more aggressive than Jordan but I felt Tom really liked me.

Tom was a bit too excited and didn’t last very long the first time. His second climax was more pleasant for him. He was pleasing to me. We both fell asleep until there was a gentle knock at the door. I called out and Gerald said, “Tea at half past.” We didn’t get up immediately but kissed in a gentle way for some minutes.

As we entered the back porch, Mark and Rutledge and another man and woman were seated. Gerald entered but he had become Geraldine with a mustache dressed in a black waitress costume, a blond wig and his lips were colored bright red. Even his mustache had a tint of color. I managed to suppress my surprise but Tom couldn’t. “Whoa, Gerald, you’re gorgeous.” He did a slight curtsy. I became aware before Tom did that the woman sitting across from us was another man. His facial hair was darkening his face. She needed a shave.

As Geraldine poured the tea and served the cakes she said in her girly voice, “Michael and Tom you have met these two but I would like you to know Maurice and Maude.”

I said, “How are you?”

Maude gushed, “I love you’re British accent. Where’re you from?”

“Devonshire, on the south coast.”

“Are you a Duke or something like that?”

“Not that it is important but, yes, I’m a Viscount.” Tom looked completely surprised.” As I said, it means very little. In the past it meant more.”

Exasperated Maude spouted, “My god, a real nobleman.”

I had really started something that I wanted stopped. So I said, “Tom is originally from Portugal. You know where that is?”

“Of course, darling, I know it’s next to Spain. That’s where Christopher Columbus sailed from when he was looking for America.” She added in the most condescending manner, “Is he important, too?”

Tom joined in the taunting conversation with, “Indeed Maude, I came to find my fortune in America. Tell us about yourself.”

“Well, Maurice found me in San Francisco at the Bijou Theater. I was a dancer but now I’m like his wife.” Maurice was turning multiple shades of blush hoping Maude would shut up.

Geraldine, sensing the situation, invited Maude to help her in the kitchen. Maude rose in a very unladylike manner exposing her male genitalia before shuttling off the kitchen. Maurice hoping to change the subject said, “You boys enjoying the wine?”

“Absolutely. We came to visit the wineries and sample the local wines. Do you have any recommendations?”

“Certainly, but you will need a rig or an automobile. I can recommend a driver if you would like. He can take you to Krug, Inglenook and you must stop at the Christian Brothers. That is the oldest winery in California. Their tour and tasting is one of the best. I have had better wine from smaller vineyards but theirs is consistently good. You may find some interesting brothers to help you.” His last statement puzzled me but I thanked him. We rose intent on taking a walk before dinner. We returned for cocktails on the porch which we fixed ourselves. Promptly at 7 we were invited into the dining room.

Geraldine and her helper presented a fine first course of pheasant and wild rice served at room temperature, with a light red wine. That was followed by beef that was roasted, but more raw than I prefer, along with new potatoes and a squash casserole and a robust red wine. Finally, there was a roasted apple covered with a light creamy glaze and a glass of champagne. I knew it couldn’t be champagne so I asked. Geraldine said, “It’s like champagne but in California it’s called brut.” We confirmed with Geraldine that we would like to hire the automobile and driver that Maurice recommended. She agreed to make the arrangements.

The following morning after Gerald’s delicious breakfast we made our way to the Inglenook winery near Rutherford about seven miles north of Yountville. A young man in his late teens walked us through the vineyards, the barrel rooms and finally to a room where we were invited to try three of their finest wines. One wine, pinot noir was soft and light, a cabernet was full bodied and delicious and last we tasted a brandy. The brandy was not my favorite, but it was light and smooth. After the tasting, we were invited to have lunch in their outside arbor.

Both of us felt we needed a nap but moved on to the Charles Krug Winery in St. Helena, another five miles northward. Again we walked and sampled. Tom and I decided to have six cases of their cabernet sauvignon sent to Gerald’s. The next two days we relaxed and spent time reading and discussing. There was plenty of time for intimacy since Maurice and Maude had left. Mark and Rutledge were planning some type of construction but they didn’t share their plans with us.

On the afternoon before our departure, we were sitting on the hillside in the garden reading. Tom asked, “When are you planning to return to England?” This was the first time the subject had come up and I really hadn’t thought much beyond the opening of Jordan’s play. “The reason I ask is not because of our friendship. I have been thinking about a commercial idea. As you know in the United States there’s substantial trouble with the Temperance League wanting to get rid of all alcoholic drink.”

“Do you think it will happen?”

“I have done many stories for the New York Herald on this subject. One of the reasons I came west was not only to review the play but to get away from the constant drum beat of the League. In an odd way the issue is tied up closely with the suffragettes and their push for the vote for women. I am going to pitch an idea to the editor of the San Francisco Chronicle to examine the flow of California wine to England and other European countries. The European vintners who blamed California fro the phylloxera plague of their vines had recovered but have tried to keep American wine out. I will investigate how much American wine is being shipped and who is making the money. You’re a prominent Englishman and could benefit from becoming an importer of fine American wine.”

“Interesting idea but how do we make a business? Well, tomorrow we are visiting the Christian Brothers Winery in Martinez on our way back into San Francisco. I will introduce myself as a reporter doing an article for the Chronicle and see if we can talk to someone to find out if the brothers are exporting wine. It might take a couple of years to get the channels set up and with the Panama Canal opening in a few years, we could be up and running if the U.S. Congress stops the consumption of alcohol. As difficult as it is to believe, I think there is a possibility.”

The next day we stopped at the Christian Brothers Winery but this time in addition to tasting, we sat down with an older brother for an interview. Because our questions were not only about the qualities of the wine but also the business of wine making, the brother invited us to meet with another brother who was away. We left an invitation for that brother to meet us in San Francisco. Tom’s idea was welcomed by the editor of the Chronicle who knew of Tom’s credentials. We cancelled our plans to go to Yosemite Valley.

When I arrived back at the Fairmount, I found that Jordan had moved out. There was a note to call him at his new apartment on Nob Hill. That gave me the opportunity to invite Tom into my bed. We moved his clothes into the suite. He kept his small flat since we knew I would be leaving soon. We had sex every night.

I cared about Tom. As time passed he seemed less interested in me but was always interested in jumping into bed for sex. If frequent sex is a barometer of a good relationship, then we had a good relationship. He was aggressive with our foreplay and always wanted me to be the bottom. He loved the physicality of sex. I knew he didn’t care for me the way I wanted him to.

During the daytime he was all about work. The biggest surprise for both of us happened two nights before the charity performance of The Importance of Being Earnest. We had confirmed an appointment to meet a Brother Walter at the hotel. We expected an older, monk-attired religious man. Instead, we met a tall, devilishly handsome man in a clerical collar. When he walked into the lobby, Tom and I were sitting at the bar. He came up to Tom and said, “You must be Mr. Manning.”

“Yes, I am, but how do you know?”

“Honestly, Brother Charles who you met, told me you looked very Portuguese.”

“I didn’t know I looked that Portuguese. I am as you have identified, and my grandfather’s name was Mangual. My father changed our name to Manning to make it easier for people to remember. Is Brother Charles from Portugal?”

“No, as I recall he is from New Bedford, Massachusetts.”

“That town is full of Portuguese. My grandparents lived there when they came to America before they moved to Providence, Rhode Island where I was born.”

He turned toward me. I stared into his sparkling blue eyes. “And your name Sir?”

“I’m Michael Leyten-Walker.”

“Yes, Brother said he suspected you were from England.”

“He was correct. I am from the south near Devon.”

“I understand you are interested in the wine business. Why might I ask?”

Tom took the lead. I listened, “I am writing an article for the Chronicle about the movement of American wine to Europe.

I spoke up, “It has been my experience that the American wine is superior to much of the claret in England and is much less expensive.”

“We didn’t get your name, sir.”

“Walter, Brother Walter, but please call me Walter.”

“Are the Christian Brothers at all concerned about the temperance movement? What will happen to your business?” He didn’t answer immediately but tightened his face as if he was contemplating his answer. “Well, if it happens I think it is a few years off. I don’t think the Temperance League has enough Congressmen in their pocket to pass such a measure. But the vintners have hired a person in Washington to keep us informed. You know many states have already passed prohibition laws. Fortunately, none of the states where we have significant business have taken that step.”

As he looked at Tom, my eyes trailed down to below his waist. He was either very significant or he was hard. Uncharacteristically and boldly I said, “Why don’t we retire to my suite and have dinner and wine brought to us.”

Tom looked at me surprised but said, “Will you join us?”

Without hesitation Brother Walter stood up and straightened himself before following Tom and me toward the elevator. Once in the suite I called for a room service menu. Walter excused himself to use the toilet and Tom said, “Why the hell did you do that?”

“He is interested in more than wine. You’ll see.”

Walter returned from the toilet with his jacket off. He had removed his clerical collar. We followed his lead and took off our jackets and removed our ties. We continued the conversation about the wine business before dinner. During dinner Tom asked about Walter’s decision to become a Christian Brother.

Walter said, “Being the middle of seven children – four boys and three girls, one of us, if not more, was going to serve the church. I wasn’t much interested in parish ministry but I like the mission of the Christian Brothers which is dedicated to education.”

“The wine business doesn’t seem too close to education,” I ventured.

“After I finished at St. Ignatius College I was drafted to teach Latin and
Greek at Sacred Heart Cathedral Preparatory. I really enjoyed that but wanted to do more, so I enrolled at the University of California in Berkeley to study economics. One of the papers I wrote was on the wine industry in California and its impact on European wine making. You can reasonably ask why wine? The answer is simple, I enjoy my wine, but not to excess.”

“Interesting, so that is how you got involved with the Christian Brothers and the wine making?”

“When I did my paper, the brothers’ wine was not even known outside California. I convinced the congregation to expand and took several trips to Europe to see if there was a market for our wine. There were Christian Brothers there who were willing to bottle and label our wine. We began by sending only a few barrels but the business has grown. The brothers like the cash that flows in.”

After we consumed three bottles of red wine Walter did not seem anxious to leave so I boldly suggested we undress and get ready to go to bed. Walter said, “I will take my leave.”

I said, “You can sleep here on the sofa if you like.’’

“I will do just that.” He got up as did we and undressed to our under clothes. Tom began to rub Walter’s shoulders and he relaxed on the sofa. Tom intentionally rubbed his dick on Walter’s neck. Walter reached up and rubbed Tom’s bulge. I reached for Walter’s other hand and pulled him up. He followed me without question to our bed. I stripped off my undershirt and pants and then removed his. Tom pushed his willie into Walter’s butt crack. We did what men do for several hours. I must admit we had a very good time. In the morning after washing Walter thanked us and prepared to leave. He said, “I will see you tonight at the charity gala.”

I explained to Walter that I was leaving to return to England after the play opened. The morning after the play opened I received a note from Walter asking if he could come to see me. I was surprised and told Tom of the request. Walter appeared that afternoon with a young man perhaps seventeen or eighteen accompanying him. After a short pleasant conversation, he asked if I minded company on my railroad trip across the country. He told us that the boy, Arthur, had lost both his parents in the earthquake. He explained that the boy had stayed in San Francisco to finish high school but wanted to go to Harvard. I was pleased and looked forward to the company. The boy shyly said, “I appreciate you considering Brother Walter’s request and I won’t be a nuisance.”

“I do want you to know I will be stopping in Denver for a few days to visit my grandmother who lives near there.”

“That’s fine because classes don’t begin until January. When we arrive I will be staying with a family in Massachusetts where Brother Charles has arranged accommodations. I understand you met him when you visited the winery.”

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