Rhythm

by

John Terry Moore
 

PART TWO

LIFE AFTER UNI

CHAPTER 28

Peter Finche as Administration Executive of the ICHP, was effectively the ‘face’ of the organisation, and much appreciated by the Directors.  He had become a skilled operator, full of commonsense, who set and maintained budgets with great efficiency.  In his position, he could have spent at least half his time overseas staying at the best hotels on ICHP business.  Instead, he had established contacts in most countries around the world, gave them all a small annual fee as the ICHP representative, then delegated and controlled the business by email.  Currently he was in discussion with representatives of five Asian countries, assisting them to draft legislation for the betterment and liberation of their same-sex attracted population.  And the level of business continued to increase in other spheres, particularly adoption services and surrogacy.  Some of the business was of a deeply personal nature.  He had overseen the surrogacy arrangements for Adam and Patrick, and their surrogate had produced twin boys, much to everyone’s delight!  Then Lance and Angelo had decided, through Kenneth Osborne’s contacts as an ex African American, to adopt two children, a girl and a boy from an orphanage in Cape Town.  And Darcy and Jacob had rung last week, also wishing to use the surrogacy service for their first child, adding to his job satisfaction and keeping him closer than ever to the old rowing group. 

*****

At twenty-seven-years of age, Peter had bloomed.  People often asked in the past if he and Patrick were brothers because they both had dark hair, blue eyes and dark complexion. 

“Tell ’em we’re just sisters,” Patrick had once said, and it had stuck. 

So if his phone went and a voice on the other end said, “Hello sis,” he knew exactly who it was!  Like Patrick, he also had almost maintained his rowing weight, being blessed with the genetics of slim parents.  But he worked out at the university gym whenever he could, and swam in the pool in the quieter periods.  Peter had great taste in clothes and was elegant in business suits, entertaining guests or visiting overseas.  His business acumen and self-motivation had become almost legendary in a very short period indeed, and even though his intellect was formidable, he was just the same loving, kind and gentle person he had always been. 

The Dean had seen all of these qualities when she first urged the ICHP Directors to appoint him.  She had watched when he bravely came out as a gay man at Darcy and Jacob’s wedding, and gently but firmly told Richard Nation, the three man from the Eight, that their relationship was over but their friendship wasn’t.  She knew then he had the guts, determination and capacity to do almost anything in life whilst also considering other people and without losing sight of the human condition.  She and Viktor had become quite close to him, sharing their love of good food and wine.  He was a precious link back to the old rowing group, and one of her ‘children’ who remained physically close.  She had bullied the ICHP board and organised a one per cent finance rate so he could buy his home, a large villa unit only two kilometres from the university.  And he had Priscilla, ‘Queen of the Backyard’, a Jack Russell Terrier, and Jack’s girlfriend!  Jack was getting older so Adam and Patrick wanted some pups that would be a link with the past!  So Priscilla was ‘a whore in waiting,’ ------ waiting for her next season, so Jack could come visiting! 

Peter’s phone trilled.  He was about to ignore it, as it was Saturday, but decided it may be ICHP business, and reached into his pocket.  He saw it was a local caller and didn’t recognise the number. 

“Oh Peter,” said the voice, “it’s Steph.” 

Peter drew in his breath; he hadn’t had much contact with Stephanie and Richard lately; they were probably the most remote of all the old rowing group, and he had begun to wonder if they were OK. 

“Steph,” he replied, “how are you?” 

“Not good, I’m afraid, um, can I come over for a cup of coffee, I really need to talk to you.” 

“Sure,” he said, aware Stephanie was obviously in some sort of trouble.  And helping people was part of his everyday life with the ICHP. 

The door bell buzzed and she stood there.  Still the same lovely old Steph, a pretty yet somewhat homely type of girl, but with a hardness about her Peter hadn’t noticed before. 

“Come in love,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.  “Coffee’s just made.” 

They sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, Stephanie sipping her coffee gratefully. 

“It’s over,” she said, as if speaking to herself.  “It was over before it even started.  I thought I could change him, that I had enough love for both of us.  Fag hags like me seem to always come unstuck, you know.” 

Peter sat there, stricken whilst Stephanie continued with dry eyes.  “Just as much my fault, you know,” she said.  “He had the religious nutters for parents who laid out the ground rules, and he followed their direction because he loved and respected them, like any person would love their parents, but I should have been smarter.”  Peter waited patiently for her to continue.

“I knew he was in denial, Pete,” she said, eyes blazing.  “He knew he was gay, I knew he was gay, he knew that I knew.  So what did we do?  We pretended.  We put on a brave front.  We mixed with all you guys, and played make-believe.  We tried to have sex together but failed miserably.  We started staying home because it was easier than going out and pretending we were what we weren’t.  Then he started to get sick; ----- depression, and that’s when I really got frightened.  He got really crazy and I got him to his GP and then a shrink who has finally put him some medication to calm him down.” 

“Jesus, Steph, why didn’t you ring me?” Peter snapped.  “Surely I could have helped?” 

“Don’t you see, Pete,” she said, smiling a tired smile.  “You were the problem as well as the solution!  When he was having nightmares and flashbacks, it was always your name he was crying out, always.  You are the only person he’s ever loved, I accept that now.  I tried to ignore the fact, but the depression is no better and I’m frightened he’ll harm himself.  He can’t work, they’ve given him leave without pay to sort himself out, but I’ve just given up.  He actually agrees we’ve made a mistake, but that hasn’t improved his mindset.  He’s really, really down and I’ve come here to ask a big favour, Pete.” 

Peter’s eyebrows lifted, giving Stephanie permission to continue.

“Will you take him in, Pete and look after him?  The house is already sold and I’ve got my stuff out and in storage.  I’m going to Brisbane to live.  But I’ll never relax unless I can be sure he’s in good hands.  He’ll be where he should have been in the first place,” she said with just a hint of a sales pitch. 

Peter finally found his voice, his head spinning with excess information.  “Stephanie,” he said very deliberately, “you can’t expect me to turn my emotions on and off like a bloody light switch.  What Richard and I had was years ago now, we were school boys and then uni students.  I’ve moved on, and although I have no one special, I’ve made a life for myself.  So please don’t use emotional blackmail with me!  But of course I’ll take Richard in and I’ll look after him because he’s still, through all of this, my dearest friend.” 

Stephanie felt the coffee go sour in her mouth as she felt a variety of emotions; guilt, the terrible fear of her husband maybe using suicide as a way out, a sense of abject failure and now the certain freedom to find her own way because she could leave what was left of Richard where he would be cared for.  She began silently weeping, more out of gratitude, because the rest of her life beckoned.  “Thank you so much Peter,” she said.  “I fucked up royally, didn’t I?” 

He put his arms around her, and hugged her. 

“You’re not the first people to make the same mistake, and sadly you’re not the last,” he said more gently.  “You still love him, don’t you Steph?” he said. 

“Yes, but it’s all so hopeless, as you understand so well,” she replied.  “However there is some good news through all this bloody tragedy,” she smiled grimly.  “He’s told his father and that horrible church to leave him alone; and that he’s same-sex attracted.  That’s why he has to come here ----- they won’t even open their door to him.  He’s formally resigned all his positions in the church and is the latest atheist in town.  That much I helped him with.  The rest is up to him, and you, dear Pete, I’m afraid.  Good luck and please only ring me if it’s good news.  I’ve started divorce proceedings and hopefully this whole sorry part of my life will soon be behind me.” 

She proffered her cheek for a kiss, and walked quickly to the door, letting herself out.  Peter sat down heavily in his favourite armchair, trying to absorb all the facts.  He had a sinking feeling that his life would never quite be the same again; ‘Jesus,’ he thought.  ‘I don’t even know what time he’s arriving!’

Peter almost didn’t know him.  He watched from the window in horror as his old friend struggled up the path, bent over like a geriatric.  He wasn’t just fat; he was bloated with an unhealthy looking blotchiness all over his once handsome face.  He looked at least fifty-years-old instead of not quite twenty-eight.  Peter opened the door before Richard had a chance to ring the buzzer. 

“Where’s your case?” he said. 

“I didn’t know if you really wanted me here,” he said, in a defeated tone of voice.  “It’s all in the car.” 

“Don’t be so bloody silly, bring it in, for Christ’s sake.” 

Richard returned, loaded up with suitcases and boxes and with a very interested Priscilla following closely behind, watching. 

“Put your stuff in there, the second bedroom,” said Peter, his mind still whirling.  “Cup of tea?” Peter enquired, when Richard returned to the living room. 

“Wouldn’t mind something a bit stronger, actually.” 

“What medication are you on, Dicky, we can’t upset that, can we?” 

“Fuck the fucking medication, I need a drink!” he roared. 

Peter looked sorrowfully at his friend, a friendship that began when they were ten-year-olds at primary school.  His outburst was totally out of character; it was the first time Richard had ever raised his voice to him.  Even at this early juncture, the signs were not good, Peter decided.  Sadly it looked very much like Richard was a lost cause; obviously rehabilitation could only happen if he wanted it to happen.  He was clearly in the grip of a powerful antidepressant, probably prescribed in good faith but ignoring the root cause of his depression.  Peter knew enough through his work with Lance and Angelo as active youth workers, that antidepressants sometimes worsened the patient’s condition.  And the warning signs of suicidal tendencies included agitation and irritability.  And alcohol was often a trigger. 

He took a deep breath and continued, playing for time. 

“Why don’t we start with a cuppa, then we can go to something stronger later?”  “OK,” was the gruff reply. 

They finished their tea and suddenly Peter had an idea. 

“Remember when we were at high school when I did that remedial massage course and how I’d practise on you?” 

There was a glimmer of something in his eyes, and he responded with a desultory, “Yeah, I remember.” 

“Well I bought a new table, how would you like to try it out?” 

“No good tryin’ that angle, can’t even get me dick up.  Think it’s this stuff I’m on.”  “Dicky,” admonished Peter.  “I’m not suggesting we have sex, you’ve obviously got some problems, and you might find a massage soothing.” 

“Yeah, OK I suppose.” 

Peter quickly dragged the table out and directed him to the shower.  He occupied both ends of the spectrum of behaviour, Peter noted.  One moment anger overtook him in a flash, the next he became totally negative without any motivation at all.  Remembering an obscure quote from somewhere about “rendering your foes helpless by removing their clothes”, he did just that, demanding Richard remove his towel and lie face down on the massage table.  He lit some nice incense and candles, dimmed the main lights and put on some gentle rainforest music.  And it worked.  He was his again, rational and even a little cognitive. 

*****

His bloated body still gave up some clues to his former physical glory.  His bum was still high and well-formed, and his legs were as strong as ever, like massive tree trunks.  His shoulders still had a hint of power, but his upper arms were puffy, and his gut was enormous, with rolls of fat hanging down, ugly and unhealthy.  His hair was still thick with tight curls, a beautiful golden honey colour, and his dick; well, he was pleased to see his old friend again!  Easily the biggest boy in the Eight, he was simply enormous, girth and lengthwise.  But Richard was correct, it remained utterly lifeless. 

Peter started with his feet and legs; the classical Thai massage.  As he worked, he talked quietly to him. 

“We have to get you well again, Dicky, don’t we?” 

“Hmm,” was the reply. 

“And you understand how you got like this?” 

“Pretty much.  I fucked up.” 

“So you got a plan?” asked Peter, working away on his shoulders. 

“Nup, not really, shrink says I’ll probably be on this shit for life.  But that probably won’t be long anyway,” he mumbled. 

Peter gasped; here he was already talking about either deliberately shortening his life through drugs, alcohol and unhealthy living, ----- or suicide!  It was at this point that he realised that being totally obese was probably a most depressing scenario in itself.  So if he could get him eating healthy food, and set an exercise regime for him, maybe that would help snap him out of this terrible inertia, this nothingness into which he had descended. 

Peter finished the massage and pointed him toward the shower again.  He made some quick but necessary phone calls whilst Richard was showering, thankful for once that because his illness had slowed him down, there was time to put some basics into place, and he wouldn’t be overheard.  He knew that his personal decision was already made; he was prepared to put his life and his work on hold unreservedly to restore Richard to good physical and mental health once again.  ‘Because that’s what friends must do for each other,’ he thought.  He realised that probably six months would pass under the most favourable conditions if the goal of full recovery was to be achieved. 

So he rang the Dean first of all, because there would be no overseas travel and much delegation of his job responsibilities for the next few months.  Margaret Reeve wept; she always knew Richard had no physical compatibility with the fairer sex at all, and she had picked their secretive relationship long before Peter had publicly outed them at Darcy and Jacob’s wedding over seven years ago.  The huge sadness was the waste of time spent in a place where Richard was never intended to be; an environment created by parents who rigidly observed Christ’s teaching, and who would never accept they had produced a gay son; ----- even in these enlightened times.  But the tragedy was that if Peter was unable to turn him around from the darkness which had become his day-to-day existence, Richard may die, and for the Dean, that was not an option.  She agreed with Peter’s requests, and late on a Saturday afternoon, she set about establishing a network of support. 

*****

They ate the healthiest of dinners, despite Richard’s suggestion of pizza.  No further mention was made of alcohol; and Peter conveniently forgot about it.  He was an excellent cook and there were generous servings from a stir-fry followed by fruit.  Mountains of fruit. 

“If you feel hungry Dicky, just fill up with fruit,” Peter smiled.  “Remember, this is your home too, so just help yourself.” 

He nodded, a man of few words these days, ‘just existing’ thought Peter.  The only hint of any animation was saved for Priscilla, who, sensing that all was not well, proceeded to adopt him.  When Richard sat anywhere, she was on his lap, with her head on his chest, like a baby!  And after dinner, she found her lead and dumped it at his feet, barking and demanding to be walked!  So they walked, and walked, ----- and walked.  Richard, too proud to give up, continued on, even though Peter and Priscilla walked on ahead at times.  Peter guessed he was nearing exhaustion, and they turned for home.  But Priscilla insisted Richard was her responsibility, and wasn’t happy until Peter handed the lead to Richard.  She barked her agreement, and proceeded to walk with Richard as if she had known him always. 

“What a bloody bitch you are, Prissy,” grinned Peter.  “A real bloody traitor.  The first handsome face that comes along you piss off and take their side!” 

Richard gave an imperceptible grin and Peter’s heart lurched.  Progress!  It wasn’t much, but Priscilla seemed to understand she had a wounded human being in her house and somehow Peter felt more cheerful because she was so protective! 

It was bedtime and Priscilla, after her final wee for the night, climbed into her bed in the laundry, and fell fast asleep. 

“She’s lucky,” grumped Richard, holding up a prescription bottle of pills.  “I gotta take these to sleep.  It’s me depression medication.” 

Peter turned the bottle over in his hand. 

“Zedril,” he said out loud.  “Is that all you’re on?” 

“Yeah,” responded Richard.  “About two minutes after I take ’em I just go unconscious.” 

‘Absolutely bloody perfect,’ thought Peter.  ‘If anyone wanted to knock themselves off, just take the whole bottle, and it’s see ya later world.’ 

“I’ll see ya in the morning I suppose,” said Richard, his body language negative and his eyes averted. 

“Of course you will,” said Peter, “but where do you think you’re going?” as Richard walked towards the door of the second bedroom. 

“To bed of course.” 

“Listen, that bedroom is for your clothes and personal items.  You’re sleeping in here with me,” indicating the door of the master bedroom.  “But I told you, I can’t get it up anymore.” 

“Well what would you prefer, someone to cuddle you every night, limp dick or not, or would you like to sleep alone?” 

“No contest,” he said, ----- and there it was again, the vaguest glimmer of a smile!  Peter made him wait until he was also in bed and insisted they had a cuddle before Richard reached for the pill and the glass of water. 

He was true to his word, and was sound asleep almost immediately. 

*****

The next morning, his mother arrived, and embraced Richard, her ‘other’ son.  She and Eric, Peter’s father had always known the boys were close and encouraged the friendship, understanding that Richard always needed much more support than Peter because of his family background.  It was no surprise to them when Peter outed himself, but they were upset that Richard, through his marriage to Stephanie, had chosen a path that excluded them from his life.  Now he was in trouble, and as with their son, there was only one course of action; ----- get him well again. 

“I’ll do some vacuuming whilst I’m here,” she said, winking at Peter.  Through Peter and the Dean’s telephone hook ups, everyone had agreed that at least for the interim period, Richard should have constant supervision, so Jasmine Finche was the first volunteer.  Peter hugged Richard. 

“Mum will keep you company and I’ll be home for lunch around 12.30.  Help yourself to everything, there’s some really good reading on the second shelf over there,” he smiled.  “Some gay romance novels, all good stuff.”