Why Did He Die?
Chapter 8
I arrived in Naples to find my brother, his family and Beth packed up ready to go the airport. They waited to see me but were returning to Chicago sooner than expected trying to arrive before a winter storm arrived. Rob came inside to say “Hello” to Beth and meet the others before driving on to Captiva. As we walked toward the rental car Beth pulled me aside, “Something is different between the two of you,” she said squeezing my arm. I blushed and smiled knowing that she was correct.
Two days with grandmother, grandfather, my mother and father and I was ready to go. My father and I discussed the executor situation retreading the conversation we had had on the phone. I didn’t have any idea what I would find when I got to California. On the second evening as we were sitting by their screened pool enjoying a glass of white wine my cell phone rang. I answered and heard Rob say, “John, I can drive down and get you so you can see Captiva. It’s fantastic. My parents are leaving tomorrow and Grandfather’s condo will be empty except for Gramps and me. Do you want to come up?”
“I am ready any time.” I spoke without hesitation. “As soon as you can get here I can be ready.”
“If I leave now I can be there in about two hours. That way you can meet my parents. I have told them about what happened.” Laughing, he added, “Not everything. I mean about Andrew.”
“Call when you are getting close. We may be out at dinner but I will have my stuff with me.”
Two hours later he picked me up at my grandparents’ condo as they were preparing to leave for dinner. I automatically reached over and gave him a kiss on the cheek when we were in the car. “I guess we won’t be doing that on Captiva.”
“Probably not,” he said.
When we arrived I told my version of the Andrew story for the Hearns. They seemed to like me. I got the impression they thought I was looking after Rob. The next morning Rob drove them to the Ft. Myers Airport. Grandfather and I rode along. Fortunately, we had rented an SUV.
As we drove back to Captiva, Bucky, as Rob’s grandfather told me to call him, asked, “OK boys what is on the agenda for today?”
Rob responded without a breath, “Can you take us to North Captiva to swim with the dolphins? I, also, want to show John the house on the beach.”
Bucky hesitated with a slight scowl, “I don’t know if we can get a boat. We’ll see.”
“Looks like rain to me.” The clouds were gathering. I thought it probably wasn’t the best day to go.
“That’s when the dolphins love to play,” Bucky added.
When we got back to South Seas Plantation, Bucky called the marina to see if a boat was available. He was told that there would be several back from morning fishing trips after noon. He reserved a fishing size boat for one o’clock. I put my things in Rob’s room which had been his parent’s room. There was a big queen size bed so sleeping with Rob was going to be easy and not cause a stir. Rob sat on the bed as I pull out a regular swim suit and my topsiders. Bucky walked in, “Ready for a walk down the beach so I can show you the house.”
“Let me slip into my trunks and I’ll be ready.” I turned away and bared my rear end in their direction.
“Nice ass,” Rob quipped.
“I agree and no tan lines.” Bucky added.
“I don’t have any either,” Rob chuckled.
“Well, you may be surprised but I don’t have one either, smarty,” Bucky said smiling at Rob and me.
We were laughing and joking as we walked west on a great curve of shells that was Captiva. Twenty minutes later we stood in front of a pink wooden house with a rope fence with ‘No Trespassing’ signs hanging from the rope. As Bucky was telling us the story the front door opened and two handsome, well-built, Black men came out.
“Hi Rob, what are you guys doing?”
“Jeremy, what’s up?” Rob called.
“Oh, Gramps is telling my friend, John, the story of your house.”
“Oh, Mr. Hearn did you know that my grandfather died last year?”
“Yes, Jeremy, I was with him in the hospital several times. He was a great guy. We go back a long way, you know.”
“I miss him alot. Yoo, this is my brother, Javal. I was telling him about the dolphins this morning. You guys going up?”
“We’re going this afternoon. Bucky, can they come along?”
“The more the merrier. We’re leaving the marina at one. Meet us there. Jeremy, you know what to wear.”
“Yea, nothing.” His brother scowled.
“I told him about swimming nude. He may not come”.
Boys Diving in Gulf of Mexico
We had lunch at the marina café before signing out the boat. We had towels and a cooler with beer and sodas. Jeremy and his brother were at the marina at one. We motored up to the second island north of Captiva. We tied up at small dock. As we walked onto the beach Rob and the others stripped and sprinted into the Gulf.
Within minutes all four guys were in the water. Bucky gave us instructions. Everyone got multiple rides. When we had enough we exited the water every guy was sporting some stage of a hard-on.
Bucky commented, “I see everyone had a good time.”
Javal laughed, “Better than my sex life lately.”
Speaking Javal’s direction Bucky said, “Did you boys ever hear of the anatomy lecture your great grandfather gave me, my brother and your grandfather about the reason for the difference in dick size between us white boys and you?”
Rob said sounding embarrassed, “Bucky that’s too much information.”
Jeremy added, “I know our grandfather was well hung. I took care of him when he was sick.”
Rob was anxious to end the conversation so he got up, slipped on his tee shirt and surfers. We followed his lead as we drank a beer. I affectionately put my hand around Rob’s waist. When I didn’t think anyone was looking I nuzzled into his left ear. “You are fucking cool”
He smiled, “We can fuck tonight?”
“You sure? Your grandfather is in the next room.”
“Don’t worry.”
Rob and I slept together and quietly made love. Early as the sun was rising I heard rustling in the living room. I opened the door to find Bucky fixing coffee. I greeted him. Rob followed me. I suspected that he knew what we had been doing. I was slightly apprehensive.
“You boys want coffee?”
“Mine with milk and sugar,” Rob said.
“Black for me.”
“Go out on the porch.” We didn’t dress even though there were other condo porches nearby. Neighbors could see in if someone wanted to. Bucky didn’t seem to care. He came out with a tray of coffee cups and the pot. He went back in for the sugar, milk and a box of cinnamon donuts. He sat down on his chair with his sizeable dick and balls hanging over the edge of the custom. He picked up his cup of coffee and studied it.
Looking at us he said, “I can tell you boys are more than friends which is fine with me. Did you have fun last night?”
Rob blushed, “Yeah. Did we wake you?”
“Rob, I am a light sleeper. I could hear the sweet sounds of love making. I am totally fine with it. My uncle was gay. We called him a homosexual. He had a lover who died with him in an automobile accident. Did you ever hear that?”
“No I didn’t hear that. And just for the record I am not sure whether I am gay or bisexual. I like being with John a lot but I haven’t given up on women.”
I listened intently trying to imagine if my grandfather and I could ever have had this conversation. I concluded that it couldn’t have happened.
Bucky added, “Rob, what if I told you I have Hispanic man who comes over to socialize and do other things for me.”
Rob smiled, “When you say other things do you mean personal things?”
“Yes, he is happy to do whatever I ask him to do. We spend many afternoons snuggled together. It is really wonderful. He is so nice to me. I don’t want you to think I did this while your grandmother was alive but I did some.”
“Bucky, just like you said. I am fine with it.” A dark skinned man about grandfather’s age opened the front door. He saw us sitting naked and smiled
“Come join us, Carlos.” He set his duffle by the door and shed his shirt and flip flops leaving only his Docker shorts on. He pulled a stool up close to Gramps.
“Carlos. This is John, Rob’s friend. How are you doing?”
“Did you tell your grandson about me?
Before Bucky could answer my cell phone rang. As I got up my dick brushed Carlos’s hand. He smiled. I retrieved my phone and read a text message from the Hong Kong office: “Go to Philadelphia before returning to St. Maarten. More later.”
Returning to the porch I said to Rob, “Guess what? I’m going to Philadelphia from here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know but it’s what the text message said.” Rob frowned.
The message changed plans for sure. After we finished coffee I began calling about reservations to get me to Philadelphia. Rob didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to go back to St. Maarten without me but he didn’t have the money to fly to Philadelphia. Carlos fixed enchiladas, rice and salad for lunch which was restaurant quality. When Rob shared his dilemma Bucky told him to fly with me.
When we got to the airport the next day Bucky handed Rob an envelope which Rob glanced at and stuffed in his backpack. When we got seated I said, “What did he give you?”
“The note said that the next time we see him his friend, Carlos, will be living with him at the condo. He told me not to tell my mom and dad.”
“Do you think he means Carlos?”
“I don’t think so, but I will get the note out as soon as we take off.” As soon as the “Fasten Seat Belt” light was extinguished Rob retrieved his backpack and pulled out the note and several typewritten pages. We began to read the longer document entitled, Remembering Todd Hudson by Robert ‘Bucky’ Hearn. Rob silently read a page and handed it to me. The only sounds were gasps and giggles as we got acquainted with Rob’s grandfather in a totally unexpected way.
Rob was breathing softly and moved slightly in the twin bed next to me. I waited impatiently for the alarm clock to signal the beginning of January 3 in Philadelphia. We arrived at Rob’s house very late. While we were with Bucky a second text message arrived from Hong Kong. It instructed me to meet a woman named Michelle Gordon at 110 S. Broad with telephone number 216-459-9000. I had called from Florida and made an appointment for nine in the morning.
As I thought about all that had happened since last May 15. My head moved side to side in disbelief. I lay in a friend’s bedroom in a strange town with and order to meet a person I did not know and the reason for the meeting was not known. I was ready for whatever and was waiting for the starting bell.
The alarm buzz startled me since I hadn’t heard an alarm recently. Rob reached out his hand to hit the plunger to stop the sound. His hand hit mine as we fumbled to halt the intrusion. We knocked over a glass of water that splashed on my hand as it hit the plush carpeted floor.
“Well, are you awake?” his sarcastic voice growled in my direction.
“Yes, thank you.” I sat on the side of my bed as the cool air in the room reminded me that I was no longer in St. Maarten.
“Will you drive me to the station? I haven’t ridden the train forever.” He hopped up trying to beat me to the shower. I shaved and waited for Rob to finish. I wanted to be ready to take the seven-fifty Mainline into the city with Rob’s father. The brightness of the heat lamp made Rob glow as he stepped out of the shower grabbing a plush white towel.
“Your body is going to be the color of that towel if we don’t get back to the sun.”
He turned around and smiled. “I’m ready. Just tell me when.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the shower with him. We washed each other paying close attention to our hardened cocks. He got on his knees sucking me. I pulled him up and gave his a hard kiss.
I dried off and put on a shirt with a starched collar and a tie for the first time in months. I got a haircut in Florida on New Years Eve because my hair was longer than anyone in my family had ever seen it. I got it cut short.
Sitting on the train all I could think about was Rob. He was so open and relaxed with me being in his home. His parents seemed to think I am making him more mature. Our age difference caused me to wonder if we could ever be a couple. Our tenderness was forthright and passionate sex continued to be magnificent. Thinking about him made my dick twitch. What if we became a couple? He has college to attend and who knows where I will be. Can we keep a relationship going even if he wants to? The train pulled into the 30th Street Station.
I found 110 S. Broad and was shown into a small office which has a great view of the city hall. I had the conversation with Ms. Gordon about the two boards where she and Lee served. The conversation was informative but I couldn’t figure out why she and I were having a personal meeting when our conversation could easily have taken place on the telephone. Lee called my cell from Hong Kong moments after I finished my meeting. I stepped into a coffee shop to take his call. From his tone I could tell he was relaxed. “How’ya doing? Are you feeling OK? I mean about Andrew.” He paused waiting for a response. He went on, “How was your time with your family?” He seemed genuinely interested in what we had been doing.
Feeling I needed to say something, “We took Andrew’s ashes out on the Sulu and let them fly into the wind. I think that is the way he would have wanted it.” I didn’t tell Lee that I was the executor of Andrew’s estate. I didn’t tell him I wasn’t convinced Andrew died the way the official report stated.
“Did you find any of Andrew’s relatives?”
“No, apparently, he was alone — the end of his line.” There was a long pause. I waited. Lee changed the subject, “I need you to go to New York City for a three-day conference on advanced video technology that starts on Saturday.”
“What do I know about video technology?”
“Don’t worry; you don’t need to know anything. I simply need someone there representing our company. I got a Telex from the guys in Taipei telling me we won a big contract to provide the Koreans critical components that up until now were only available from the Japanese. We’ve got the design figured out. I want Sony to know we are a contender because we have something the Koreans want. They have been assholes in the past. I’ll have the guys FAX you the contract. I made reservations for you at the St. Regis.”
“I’m up here with no winter clothes.”
“No problem. Buy whatever you need.”
“After your done fly to San Francisco and attend the January and February board meeting for me. Ms. Gordon will let them know you will be there. You can finish your audits in the San Francisco. I expect you will get the Sulu in late February.” I cleared my throat. Lee said, “Something wrong?”
“So I will be going back for the Sulu eventually?”
“More than eventually,” he snapped. “I want the boat ready for a big party in Tampa in the middle of April. The International Fiber Optics Marketing Convention will be at the convention center from April 10-14. You and I will both be there to entertain the Koreans. We’ll talk more about all that later.” We wished each other happy new year and hung up.
I called Rob and asked him to drive downtown. I wanted him to help me pick out clothes at Brooks Brothers. Forty minutes later Rob arrived wearing pressed chinos and bright blue sweater with a blue stripped starched collar showing under his bright red poplin jacket. Eyes turned his direction as he walked in the door. He had good suggestions to improve my normally boring accountant’s taste.
I asked if I could be a houseguest through the weekend. He said, “Sure, if I can go with you to New York.”
“If your parents are OK with it.”
Back at the house Rob, his father and I discuss Rob’s return to St. Maarten. Since we would not be sailing north until late February or early March. We would tell Roddy to keep the charter operation going. I wanted Rob to sail on the Sulu with me but I wasn’t comfortable with him being around Roddy and his friends for two months. His father contacted another friend and got Rob on a bigger yacht for a month or two which was sailing in and out of Tortola.
Luckily I reached Roddy at his home and told him about Lee’s instruction. He seemed miffed when I told him we weren’t sailing north until late February. I agreed to let him keep all the charter fees he earned from the Sulu. I also agreed to pay him one and half times what we had originally agreed for the trip to Tampa.
Roddy asked, “Do you want me to tell Larry he can’t live on the Sulu?
“Would you ask Larry to call me at Rob’s tonight? I’ll do it.”
Larry called after we finished dinner. I took the call in Mr. Hearn’s study and firmly stated, “Larry, Roddy tells me you want to live on the boat until we return.”
“Yeah, I’d really like to. I’ll keep her is top condition so she can sail charter on a moment’s notice.”
“That’s OK, but in February I want her out of the water with her hull scraped and painted. Will you arrange that?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want the Sulu to be a floating bed and breakfast for all your homeless gay friends.”
“I hear you, but I’m going to have friends over from time to time.”
“That’s OK, but no permanent tenants. I have told Roddy my rules and he has been instructed to call me if you are not being honest with me.” I asked Rob to check on Sulu if he ever sailed into St. Maarten.
The next morning I called Mr. Henley’s office in California. I forgot it was too early to reach anyone so I left a voice mail for Mr. Henley’s assistant. “Ms. Tornelli, this is John Haffer, executor of Andrew Henley’s estate. I will send you a registered letter following this call but please don’t give out my name as the executor unless you legally have to. Thank you and I’ll explain.”
I took my coffee into Rob’s bedroom and read the paper as I listened to Rob’s soft snoring. I shook my head wondering why I denied myself so long. Rob awoke smiling as I put the paper down. Ms. Tornelli called back and explained that it was legal to withhold your name except it will be on probate documents.”
“I don’t mean to be so vague but they have completed the official investigation into Andrew’s death. I have some concern that there is more to it. I have a feeling Andrew had something that someone wanted. I do not want to endanger myself.” She agreed and said she would tell Mr. Henley my concern when he returned.
On the afternoon of January 19 after the conference in New York I arrived at the law offices of Barkley, Henley, Perkins and Gunn in Santa Barbara knowing Mr. Henley was still away. I was to sign the documents that officially gave me permission to deal with Andrew’s worldly possessions. I specifically asked to meet with Mr. Barkley. The meeting did not start off well. Ms. Tornelli entered the conference room with a sheath of papers followed by a young woman who was introduced as an attorney working for Mr. Barkley. Mr. Henley was still away.
I politely asked, “Will Mr. Barkley be joining us?”
“I am very sorry; he is not available this afternoon.”
Her negative response made me mad because I specifically set the appointment at Mr. Barkley’s convenience. He was suddenly not available. I was steaming when she timidly handed me a letter requiring my signature to authorize payment of Mr. Barkley’s fees of $300. Not so politely I told Ms. Tornelli, a pert, plump 40-something lady with coal black hair with stray gray streaks that I would not sign unless I spoke personally to Mr. Barkley. She again apologized for Mr. Barkley’s lack of availability stating he had some emergency personal matters to attend to. I relented and pulled out Andrew’s check book and wrote the check but instructed her to hold it for a few days. “I’m on my way to his bank to get signing privileges on his accounts. They would not allow me to do that by mail.” I unnecessarily told her, “I paid the hospital and funeral bills myself. I need to be reimbursed first.”
I signed more papers and finally she gave me Andrew’s will. The terms of his will were simple. The executor would receive actual expenses plus 10% of the estate value. The remainder of the estate would be distributed as follows: 50% to a new HIV-AIDS Foundation that he wanted to establish; 30% to an orphanage in Hong Kong that I knew of because Andrew often volunteered there and the final 10% is to be given to James Park. There was no contact information for Mr. Park. I ask Ms. Tornelli if she knew how to locate Mr. Park. She did not but said she would ask Mr. Henley. She doubted he would know the man. We ended cordially and she showed me out through the reception area.
I drove the black rental Ford Taurus to the Bank of America branch to retrieve whatever was in Andrew’s safe deposit box. I waited nervously for a bank officer to serve me. I was still irritated at Mr. Barkley and must have appeared an imbecile when the bank officer had to introduce herself twice before I spoke. “I’m sorry.” I stood to shake her hand. “I am here regarding the estate of the late Andrew Henley that I wrote the bank president about.” She looked puzzled, smiled and left to retrieve the file.
A few minutes later she returned. “Are you Mr. Haffner? Can I see some identification?” After showing her my driver’s license with the picture that did me no great service she said, “There are official papers that must be signed. Do you have the will and the power of attorney from Mr. Henley? Follow me into our conference room.” I signed more papers. She explained that it would be easier to close Andrew’s accounts and consolidate them into one in the name of The Estate of Andrew Henley with me as the only signatory. I explained that I had written a check to the law firm. She suggested I make a quick call to Ms. Tornelli to have her hold that check until I brought another bank check.
I inquired about the safe deposit box. She showed me into a private room so I could confidentially examine the contents of the Andrew’s box. She returned from the safety deposit vault grim faced and asked me to accompany her. “Mr. Haffner, I’m afraid I need your assistance. The box is very heavy.” I dutifully followed her.
From high up on the vault wall lined with safety deposit boxes I pulled a box weighing sixty or seventy pounds. The puzzled look on my face prompted the bank officer to asked, “Do you know what’s in there?” Realizing her indiscretion she quickly turned her head, “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”
Without thinking I replied, “No, I have no idea but perhaps Andrew was a coin collector which could account for the weight.” She shook her head in agreement and left me in the private room. “What was I supposed to do with a coin collection?” I thought as I opened the lid. It was a coin collection but not a regular one of nickels and dimes. These coins were gold. A myriad of questions raced through my mind. I got out my accountant’s ledger pad and took an inventory which was an automatic reaction for an auditor:
| Quantity | Item |
|---|---|
| 4 | 100 oz. Stamped Gold Bars |
| 32 | South African Krugerrands |
| 12 rolls | 20 Silver Dollar each dating from 1888 |
| 6 mint sets of quarters | Dates 1919, 1926s, 1929, 1936d, 1959, 1960 |
| 14 | Gold Certificates @10 oz. dated from 1997 to 1999 |
In addition, there was an inventory of artwork in his hotel suite in Hong Kong. I nervously flipped through extraneous papers and found a life insurance policy face value $1,000,000 — Mutual of California. The beneficiary line was blank. I found a sealed plain white envelope. I started to put it in my brief case unopened. Instead I slipped my index finger under the sealed flap. The ripping sound shattered the morgue silence. I carefully unfolded the two flaps covering the contents. Unexpectedly pictures fell onto the table. I picked them up taking a moment to focus on the subjects.
The pictures were of men engaged in sex. Each picture was with a different man or boy. Their faces were clear. An enclosed paper listed thirteen names, addresses and telephone numbers. Jim Park’s name was on the list. I said out loud, “Shit, shit, shit.”
I sat back in my chair and thought, “What am I going to do now? First, I can’t trudge through the airport with seventy pounds of gold and silver. Second, where do you liquidate the stuff? Besides where does a guy with no family and a regular job accumulate so much money in five years of working.” I had no answers.
There was a gentle knock at the door, “Mr. Haffner the bank will be closing in thirty minutes. Can I help you?” I opened the door a crack and inquired about taking the contents with me but the bank officer had walked away. I had no plans to return to Santa Barbara so I had to figure out how to transport the contents. After returning the box and all the contents to the vault except the list and pictures I went to the car to retrieve my PriceWaterhouse audit bag. I asked the vice president who was helping me two questions: “Can I clear out the box?” She answered affirmatively since I was the duly authorized executor. “Do you know of a Mutual of California agent in the area?” She said she would find out while I took the case to the car.
I left the bank after 5pm literally panting from the weight of the bag. I wanted to find an agent and get the life insurance surrender process under way. I hoped their records had a beneficiary listed and if they didn’t I had to find out how to get the proceeds paid to the estate. I met the agent at 6:30 pm in a small office about a mile away from the bank. A Mr. Jeffery listened as I explained the situation. He was able to pull up the policy which was sold in Santa Barbara and premiums were up to date. His facial expression told me something was wrong. He said, “You are the beneficiary so named just last month.”
I was sure he suspected me of something. “I know you have the death certificate and the authorized papers as executor. I will have to get our legal counsel to advise me on how to proceed.”
Trying not to appear shocked I said, “I understand but can it be handled over the phone or by FAX?”
“I think so. Let me make a copy of the death certificate and the other papers to share with our legal department. How can we be in touch with you?”
“In the United States on my cell phone.” I proceeded to write telephone number, my parents’ address in Illinois followed by my addresses in Hong Kong. “Don’t use the Hong Kong address until I call you.” He agreed.
As I drove away I began suffering a case of extreme anxiety. I inherited a $1,000,000 of tax free money from someone I have known less than half a year. I have more than a $100,000 in gold and certificates easily converted to cash in the car with me. My predicament was clouding my judgment so I took several deep breaths to calm myself. I couldn’t fly back to San Francisco. The contents in the case would cause the X-ray machines to explode. I knew the drive to San Francisco was at least five hours and it was almost 8pm. I was hungry. I did not know anyone in Santa Barbara to call to invite myself over. I was not ready to check into a hotel.
I abruptly changed lanes and pulled into a Carl’s Big Boy. I parked the car near one of the big plate glass windows so I could watch the car while I ate. I stuffed the list in my shirt pocket which I only glanced at in the bank. I walked by the “Wait to Be Seated” sign and seated myself directly in front of my car. A short, ruffled Asian waiter hand me a menu and said, “I’m not ready; come back in a few minutes.”
I thought about the pictures in my shirt pocket and wished they were in the car. I opened the envelope and looked at the list. There were seven names some with addresses including Jim Park from the San Francisco, three others are from the bay area, one from Seoul, two in Sidney, Australia and Congressman Clyde Barker. Putting the list on the table I pulled the pictures out of my pocket holding them close to avoid anyone seeing the subjects. I looked at the back of each picture but the names did not match any name on the list.
I was shaking my head when the mop-headed Asian kid slide grilled chicken sandwich and fries in front of me, “Man, is everything OK with you?”
I snapped, “I didn’t order this.” He quickly picked it up.
“I’ll take your order.” Startled with the pictures in my hand I look up at him and stammered, “Chicken salad and fresh fruit.”
He turned and stooped down. He handed me one of the pictures face up. Shyly he said, “I think you dropped this.” The subject was clear to him but he didn’t react except to give a brief lift of his crouch. Embarrassed I didn’t look directly at him.
I finished eating and paid. The waiter opened the door for me and said, “See you at 10pm?” I gave no response. I didn’t need any more trouble with homosexuals. I drove out of the parking lot and noticed him standing at the glass doors.
The Regency Hyatt Santa Barbara was on the ocean about a mile away. I selected it hoping there were safes in the rooms. Not having a reservation I was charged prime price but at 9pm. One doesn’t question the price when all you had was a heavy satchel and a small duffel with toilettes. The room was bright and had adequately sized safe. I felt better when I had the contents locked inside the safe.
After I was settled in my room I decided someone should know my dilemma. It was late in Chicago but I called my father. He didn’t comment about the hour and was more concerned about me than my unintended treasure. “Dad, what should I do with this metal?” Neither my parent’s investments nor mine included precious metals. I knew that because I did their taxes. After discussing several alternatives we decided that I should drive to San Francisco. At the airport I would contact the security office before approaching the boarding gates to get an escort through the metal detectors. Father agreed to meet my plane in Chicago. In the meantime he would investigate the best way to liquidate the bars, coins as well as certificates.
After I hung up I felt better. I got the list out and the word extortion kept creeping into my mind. This money was blackmail money. It was difficult for me to think of Andrew doing the extorting. Why was Andrew so worried about Lee getting the list? How did Lee know about the list? Did I really want to find out the answers to the questions? I paced around the room feeling trapped. The gold and silver and the list were locked up in the safe bolted to the closet floor. I checked the door twice.
I pulled on a pair of blue jeans commando, a white turtle neck undershirt, a multi-colored silk-cotton sweater and topsiders. I thought about getting a drink at the hotel bar but walked by feeling more like getting fresh air. I stepped absentmindedly into the street. The amber street lights cast a soft light on the buildings. I walked toward the sound of the surging surf. I couldn’t help but think terrible things about Andrew. “How could I’ve so badly misread someone?”
I was not alone in the street. I heard a voice behind me but I didn’t turn. The voice called again, “Hey, Mister.” I was prepared for a homeless panhandler hitting me up for money. I turned and ten feet from me was the kid waiter from Carl’s. I thought, “I don’t need this.”
“I thought you would be staying at the Hyatt,” He said as he stepped up to me.
“So,” came out about as rudely as I could say it.
He paused then stammered, “Thought, maybe I could be of service to you?”
I gritted my teeth and snapped, “Kid, if you think I’m queer looking for a score you are fucking wrong.”
In a dejected voice he whimpered, “Hey, I didn’t mean that exactly. You looked sorta lost at the restaurant.”
He turned to walk away, “You’re right I am sorta at a loss.” I owed him no more but kept going, “My best friend is dead. That picture you saw was him having sex with some guy. I had no idea….”
As I turned to go back into the hotel and the kid said, “Maybe, he was like me trying to make a living any way he could.” His plaintive words softened me.
“Do you want me to buy you a drink?” I said without thinking..
“No, thanks.”
“Do you want a Coke or something?” I continued realizing I was trying to convince him. He shrugged his shoulders and followed me into the hotel. I didn’t even hesitate at the bar and went directly to the elevator not looking back to see if he was following me.
Michael
When we were on the elevator I could see the kid maybe 19 with course, black, unruly Asian hair. He couldn’t have weighed 150 lbs. in his faded red sweatshirt that he clutched around him like a prized possession. He was Asian but not completely was my conclusion.
Sheepishly he said, “I guess you want me with you?”
I looked away and said, “I guess so.”
As the elevator door snapped closed he said, “Mr. I’m not into kinky stuff.”
Quietly shaking I said, “Shut up, just shut up.”
Once in my room things got no more comfortable. He stretched to take off his sweatshirt. Underneath was a dirty tee shirt advertising a local softball league. I assumed he left his white shirt and black clip-on tie at the restaurant. The tee shirt hung limply over his black jeans. He stood in the entry way giving me barely enough room to close the door. I noticed tears of fear in his eyes. He said, “Mr. this is a bad idea.”
“So, leave.”
Pathetically, he quizzed, “Will you be nice to me?”
I stalked over to the maroon quilted high back reading chair and dropped into it. I put my feet up and crossed my arms across my chest. “Young man, you are the person in this room who is confused.”
He says softly, “Man, you don’t know how right you are.”
“Why are you soliciting me?”
With his eyes focused on the carpet, “I don’t know. I guess I need the money.”
“Do you or don’t you?”
“I do,”
“You’d lower yourself to sleep with an old guy like me for a few bucks.” He turned and put his jacket back on.
“Take off your jacket and your shirt. I’ll decide whether I want you to stay.” He complied. His torso was completely smooth with youthful muscular definition. There was a small rose tattoo on his left shoulder. His upper body was without hair except for a little shadow above his belt line. He had a black mole about six inches from his tattoo.
“Take off your shoes,” I commanded. He bent over to take off his loose high tops. I watched every vertebra of his spine push against his olive skin as it arched from the neck to the top of his underpants. One shoe fell with a thud as he hopped on one foot. He rolled the dirty white tub sock off. He sat on the edge of the bed and took off the other shoe.
His hands were shaking as he struggled to untie the shoe. He did not look up as he worked to get a knot out of the string. Without further encouragement he loosened his belt, slid the zipper down and pushed his black jeans down to his feet. He was left wearing a pair of gray-white Fruit of the Looms about two sizes too big. He turned to look at me. I said, “What’s your name?”
“Mike,” was his quick reply followed by, “Man, can I use your bathroom?”
“Of course.” He turned and ran into the bathroom. A small makeup light over the sink was on so I can see him drop to his knees in front of the toilet. He coughed once and whatever was in his stomach came out. I was immediately ashamed and shaken. What a bastard I was to this kid. I didn’t know what to do so I wet a warm wash cloth and lay it on his shoulder. Our hands touched as he reaches for it.
“I’m alright,” came a shaky voice over the flushing toilet. “Sometimes my stomach acts up when I eat dairy.” I placed my hand on his shoulder and steadied him as he got up. There were big tears in his eyes.
“Why don’t you get dressed and go on home?”
Pleadingly he said looking straight into my eyes, “Mister, I don’t want to leave. If you’ll let me stay I won’t bother you. I’ll leave before light if you’ll let me stay, please.”
The contents of the safe came into my mind, “What if he doesn’t leave? How can I get him out” My eyes must have given me away because he whimpered, “OK, I’ll go.”
“Shit, shut up! Get in the shower. I’m thinking.” He walked over to the tub and dropped his underpants revealing a smooth, tight bubble butt with several small black moles. He turned to ask me how to turn on the shower revealing his small, dark penis nestled in a sparse clump of black pubic hair. Like a frustrated father I walked over and adjusted the temperature and got my sleeve wet as I slid the curtain closed. I admonished him, “Wash your hair,” handing him the bar of soap and small bottle of shampoo.
With the curtain closed I shook my head thinking of the naked Asian boy in my shower, thousands of dollars in the safe that wasn’t mine and I was tired. I shed my clothes and dropped them over the arm of the chair. I pulled three pillows together and turned off all the lights except the two above the beds which I could reach without getting up. Minutes later Mike emerged.
I pulled back the bedspread and let it fall on the floor at the foot of the bed. Mike walked over rubbing his hair with a big towel. “Hey, man, what is your name?” he asked insistently. He pulled down the top sheet and climbed in before I could move.
“John,” I responded as I started to move over to the other bed.
“John, I won’t bother you. I would like to feel your body next to me.” Momentarily I hesitated then I joined him. I leaned back against the propped up pillows and looked straight ahead. Mike laid there with his left hand holding his head up and his wet hair falling into his eyes. He flicked his hair aside with his other hand and let his right hand fall on my left thigh. I didn’t flinch. He moved closer. “Hey, man I’m not so bad. There’s nothing wrong with me.” I smiled at him and motioned him to come closer. We touched from our feet to our arm pits. I said, “Mike, tell me about you.” He was stroking my belly softly and was playing with my hairy paunch. He continued stroking occasionally letting his hand slip down to my pubic zone. I was not aroused and neither was he.
“Man, you don’t want to know about me. Trust me.”
“Tell me, at least, a little something about the naked kid who is rubbing my gut.”
“We need to sleep,” he jokingly slapped my stomach. “OK, but you’re wasting sleeping time. I was orphaned during the Vietnam War. My family was Montagnard tribesmen from the central highlands. That is what I was told by the missionaries. My family abandoned me at the mission. When I was two or three I was adopted by an East German couple from Leipzig. They had five children of their own and I was added. We lived in Germany until I was eleven years old. I loved my father but my mother was a bitch and she hated me. In 1995 when we were living in Delaware my father had a massive heart attack. I remember being told to stay in my room. The sirens came and I heard one of the paramedics say: “Has he ever had a heart attack?” I never saw my father again. They cremated his body.
“After that my life changed. The hate of my siblings and mother intensified so I was sent to boarding school at St. Albans. I was a good athlete. I could do basketball, soccer, and was encouraged by a coach to come out for wrestling. The coach became a close friend. I had a breakdown in my sophomore year. I wouldn’t let them take me home so they sent me to a foster home for abused children.”
I was wide awake and queried, “How did you get to California?”
“With the support of the wrestling coach to St. Albans I finished. Because of my wrestling I got full scholarship offers to many colleges. My friend the coach had moved to Fresno, CA and I decided to follow him. I accepted a scholarship at Clermont College. Having no money except the scholarship made it impossible for me.”
He stopped and I pulled the pillows out and slipped down in the bed. He was immediately against my chest. His stringy black hair lay coolly against my skin. He pulled himself so close and I heard soft sobs disappear into slow rhythmic breathing.
Too soon I felt the bed move as Mike threw back the covers to get up. He was silhouetted in the bathroom doorway as he turned on the overhead light. His little dick was sticking straight out. I evilly thought I will surprise him. As I pushed back the covers I notice “6:30” on the digital clock shining in my eyes. I stepped into the light as he stood looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes were prominent and sparkling. His broad toothy smile caused me to notice his flat broad un-Asian nose. He turned and smiled, “I’ve got to get to work. Sorry if I woke you up.”
“It’s working.” I said staring at his dick.
“Yeah, pretty nice don’t you think.”
“Pretty nice. Maybe next time I’ll see it in action.” He walked up to me, put his arms around my waist and hugged me.
With his eyes glistening he said, “Man, thanks for being so nice to me.” We released after a long hug. I stepped back as he retrieved his underpants. He dressed quickly and I watched every moment as if it was a show for me. I walked him to the door. He flipped my dick and said, “See you at Carl’s later?”
“Yeah, probably,” I softly responded.
As I closed the door I realized that I had slept with a young man I just met. Why was this scruffy Asian teenager affecting me? I showered and shaved with every intention of leaving the hotel and heading directly for San Francisco. I stopped at Carl’s not so much for breakfast but to see Mike one more time. I realized that I haven’t paid him. I took an envelope from the desk drawer and put two twenty dollar bills inside. I folded the envelope and stuck it in my jeans pocket.
When I got inside Carl’s Mike wasn’t in sight. The “Seat Yourself” sign was before me. I took my table by the window. Moments later Mike came out of the kitchen with a tray and proceeded to serve four white haired women. He smiled at me as he served them their $1.99 specials with two eggs, bacon or sausage, toast and coffee. They chattered and hardly noticed him.
He came over. “This isn’t my station today. Do you care?” Without a word I moved to a table about ten feet away. He brought me coffee and oatmeal and stood to exchange a few pleasantries. He returned as I was finishing. He said, “I guess you’re leaving town?” I shook my head affirmatively. “Will you be coming back?”
“Probably not. I finished my work yesterday. I’m heading to San Francisco so I can fly to Chicago. I work in Hong Kong most of the time.” He didn’t blink.
“Someday I want to fly on a plane again somewhere.”
I stupidly blurted, “If I send you a ticket will you fly wherever I tell you to fly.”
He paused, “Sure, if I can get up the courage to get on the cocksucker. My last flight when I came out here was really rough. I was scared to death.”
“How much notice do you need?”
“About 30 minutes,” he said smiling.
“Where can I send the ticket?”
He puzzled, “I guess here since I don’t have permanent digs right now.” I remembered the money and reached in my pocket, pulled the slightly smashed envelope out and placed it on the table. He looked at it and wrinkled up his broad, flat nose, “I don’t want it. That will change things.”
“Listen, business is business. Anyway you definitely need some new underpants.” We laughed as the manager started to walk over. Mike quickly gave me a check and turned his attention to other customers. I got up and left the envelope on the table. I picked up a matchbook and checked to see if the address was on it. I gave Mike a quick wave.
As I reached the car Mike ran out. “I’ll go with you now if you want me to.”
I shook my head, “You’re going to do this correctly. Sometime today tell your manager you will be leaving in about a week. Do you have a birth certificate? What about a passport?” Before he could answer I said, “I will contact you next week, trust me.”
I hit the automatic window opener to lower the window. He stuck his head inside, “I trust you. Yes, I’ll be ready and yes, I have two passports — German and American.” He turned to return to his job.
I drove to San Francisco and frequently thought, “God what is happening to me? Simple questions like Mike’s last name, where was I taking this kid and ten thousand other questions. The car seemed to know where it is going. I held the steering wheel. In the trunk were the earthly treasures of either a devil or an angel. I might never know which. The day’s light was dusty from the rusty red soil. Silver leaves of the olive trees lined Route 101 up California’s interior. Horses and cattle moved effortlessly as did the wispy cumulus clouds. Over and over, like a flashing caution sign, the words “What could happen next?” kept appearing in my subconscious.