On Wednesday morning Bryce and Curtis walked together to the fitness center and shared their workouts. It was good to have a friend like Curtis, with a shared interest such as SAT and working out. As Curtis was an engineering major, and Bryce was a history major, they had almost no academic interests in common, but these other activities gave them a common ground, a base upon which to build their friendship.
“I called El Rincon Latino last night. We’re on for tonight at seven,” Bryce informed his friend.
“Does that mean you’re going to be setting off more alarms this morning?” Curtis teased his friend.
“No. Damon has pretty definitively banished me from the kitchen. At least, from anything that involves heat or electricity. Yesterday was an accident,” Bryce moaned in his self-defense.
“No one seriously thinks you set off the alarm on purpose,” Curtis reassured him, “but still, I’m glad to know you will not have an opportunity to repeat it.”
“Can we change the subject,” Bryce piteously requested.
Curtis chuckled. They were in the workout room by this time, spotting each other as they did bench presses.
“I’m glad last night’s meeting turned out the way it did,” Curtis accommodated Bryce with a new topic of conversation. “I was fairly confident that the brothers would reject any effort of Bick and Mack to rejoin the fraternity, but the completeness of the rejection, and the anger at the Administration, reassure me that this is not a grudging or half-hearted decision, but something we can count on sticking by, even if we do come in for some of that harassment Dr. Dickinson mentioned. And I am really pleased, too, that I have such strong backing for the position I’ll take with the VPSA.”
“Well, let me tell you, Damon and I are really, really pleased with the response we got last night. You know, Damon had a pretty lonely time of it growing up. He comes from a dysfunctional family and a run-down public housing project where being good in school is enough to get you beat up, not to mention being gay. He told me he once witnessed some bullies actually castrating a gay guy. He is really moved by the acceptance he finds in SAT,” Bryce reported.
“Castrated? Oh, shit! I knew only a bare outline of his background. This fills in some details. I can’t imagine what it must have been like, growing up in an environment like that,” Curtis sympathized.
“Don’t let on that I told you about this. Damon would be upset if he thought you were giving him any kind of special treatment. He wants to earn his way,” Bryce warned.
“I understand. But I will tell Maddy. She’s asked several times about the two of you, and I had more answers about you than about Damon, thanks largely to that visit from your father last December,” Curtis agreed. “By the way, how are you and your father getting along?”
“Pretty well. Dad has never been demonstrative. He has always been a father, and never a buddy. He’s not thrilled that his younger son is gay, but thanks to Dr. Harris and Father Miller, he accepts it. I think he’s actually getting comfortable with Damon. Basically, Dad is a realist. He’s a lawyer, so he wants reasons for things, but once he has them, he does what he believes is right, so once he was convinced that I was not just acting up and that I was serious about Damon, he adjusted. He even told our pastor back home that he would withhold his contributions if he didn’t clean up his homophobic sermons,” Bryce reported, his voice showing his pride in his father’s support.
“Wow. Well, I’m glad that worked out. When he was here, I thought we had a good meeting,” Curtis remembered.
“Yeah. It was you guys, along with Father Miller, who convinced him I was not just being some kind of goof-off, out to grab some attention. I appreciate it,” Bryce said with obvious sincerity.
After about an hour and a half, the two young men returned to the Caldwell house.
“Now remember, you let Damon do the cooking,” Curtis could not refrain from teasing his fraternity brother.
Bryce gave him the finger as a chuckling Curtis went his own way.
After rousing Damon and having breakfast, Bryce settled down to his computer, while Damon departed to see his academic advisor. He had received a note by e-mail requesting this meeting, even though, like Bryce, he had registered before the conclusion of last spring semester. It was partly his change to an Art History class from another elective which needed explanation, as, like Bryce, he had made that change by computer after returning from Europe. Damon had also decided to take Spanish this term. Bryce utilized the absence of his partner to pursue his researches into possible genealogical connections to Damon in the Chicago newspapers. He found that there were several papers containing obituaries, including the Chicago Tribune, the Chicago Sun Times, the Daily Herald, and the Chicago Defender. The last of these was
specifically devoted to black issues and news, so it might be a better source, but Bryce would not neglect any of them. So far, he had found nothing useful, and it was a wearying task culling all those obituaries, but if he could find anything, it would be worth it.
About 9:30 Bryce logged off his computer and prepared to walk to campus. As a member of the GLBT Club, he was supposed to put in two hours manning the booth in the Chandler University Center beginning at ten. As he exited the apartment into the hall, he heard steps on the stairs leading down from the third floor. Neither he nor Damon had as yet met the renters on the third floor, so he delayed his departure to meet whomever it was. In only a minute or two, a man and woman appeared on the stairs. To his surprise, Bryce recognized the woman, and even thought the man a little familiar.
“Hi. I’m one of the tenants here in the front apartment,” he said. “I’m Bryce Winslow. I guess you must be our neighbors on the third floor.”
“Yeah, we are,” the guy said.
“Haven’t we met before?” the girl asked.
“I think so,” Bryce replied. “Aren’t you Marc Rimbault’s sister?”
“Yes. I’m Annette, and this is my boyfriend, Ken Broussard. You’re new here this term, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’m sharing with my friend, Damon. Last year both of us lived in the dorms,” Bryce confirmed.
“We moved in here last January, and have been really pleased. Dr. Caldwell is a dear,” Annette said.
“So far, we’ve been really pleased, too. Of course, we’ve only been here since the weekend. Are you headed for campus?” Bryce asked.
“No, we slept late, so we’re headed out to get something to eat. That reminds me, were you the one responsible for the alarm yesterday morning?” Annette asked.
Once again, Bryce blushed at that reminder of his ineptness. “‘Fraid so. But don’t worry. Damon says I am not to touch the stove again.”
Annette laughed. “We weren’t here to hear it. We just got in last night. But we heard about it from Maddy as we were moving back in.”
“Geez, I’ll never live that down,” Bryce moaned.
They parted, with Bryce heading to campus to take up his place in the University Center.
When Bryce arrived at the location where the GLBT Club had its information booth, he found it manned by Josh Young. Last year, Josh had been the leading spokesman for the radical element within the organization. When a major vote went against him, he stalked out of a meeting in anger, but he later returned after being invited back by Bryce.
“Hi, Josh. I guess I’m your relief,” Bryce greeted him.
“Hi. Glad to see you. I think I was scheduled for the eight to ten slot in revenge or something. I am going back to my place and crash. I am definitely not a morning person,” Josh replied.
“Well, thanks for putting in the time. I’m glad to see you here at all, frankly,” Bryce told him.
“Yeah, well, I kind of decided you were right after all. It does no good for me to go off sulking. Maybe if I turn up at the meetings I can get you wafflers off your duffs on occasion,” Josh said.
“Now that sounds more like the Josh I knew last year,” Bryce teased him.
“I don’t know where some dummy freshman got off being right when I was a junior,” Josh groused, but grinned to let Bryce know he was not seriously upset.
“How about divine inspiration?” Bryce teased back.
“Oh, geez! I am definitely going back to bed.” With that, Josh departed, and Bryce slipped into the chair behind the table and settled in for the next two hours.
Everything went well for the first hour. Bryce familiarized himself with the handouts provided him, including a flyer announcing the next meeting of the organization, one announcing the pending name change of the club to LGBT, a brochure about the club and its activities, and a copy of the University anti-discrimination policy. Along with these informational materials, he had forms to fill out if anyone wanted to join. He was able to speak to several students who seemed interested, and one who asked whether there were a private place to discuss matters. Bryce agreed to meet this student, who was named Peter Boyington, later that afternoon upstairs in a lounge area. If the guy wanted information, fine, but if he were trying to set up a hook-up, Bryce would be able to walk away without much difficulty.
A little after eleven, loud voices heralded the approach of the guys Bryce had been dreading. He recognized the voices even before he saw them. Campbell and Lomax were there.
“Oh, what have we here?” Bick said, flicking the handouts with a look as though he had just bitten into a lemon.
“Do I have to wear a skirt to join?” Mack asked in a falsetto.
“A skirt but no underwear, so the other members can cornhole you easier,” Bick responded.
Bryce picked up a copy of the University anti-discrimination policy and handed it to Bick. “I think you’re in violation of University policy,” he commented.
“Who the hell cares? As long as my dad writes enough checks, I can do whatever in the hell I want,” Bick replied, throwing the policy back at Bryce.
Fortunately, at that point John Zoeller, a member of the campus Security Force known to Bryce, walked up. “Hello, Bryce. Everything okay here?” Zoeller asked.
“Yes, Officer Zoeller. These two were just leaving,” Bryce replied.
Campbell and Lomax gave him a sour look, but moved on. With them back on campus, Bryce expected more of the same.
“Those are the guys we arrested last year, right?” Officer Zoeller asked.
“Yeah. Unfortunately, they’re back,” Bryce confirmed the identities of the two.
“I’ll be keeping an eye on them. We talked about this among us on the force. Letting them back in is not going to help maintain campus security,” Zoeller commented.
“You know why they were let in, don’t you?” Bryce asked.
“Something about an appeal is all we were told,” the officer replied.
“One of the members of SAT works in the Bursar’s office. He told us two large checks came in just before the readmission was announced. One check from each father,” Bryce related to the security guard.
“Oh shit! Should have known. Those people in Dinklemore make me sick,” Zoeller said, referring to the central administration building. “If you have any trouble, let us know. We’d love to kick those two out again.”
“Will do, and thanks,” Bryce replied.
He continued to man the information desk until noon, when Larry Guthrie, the GLBT member who had been so polite when Bryce and Damon enquired about membership last year, came to relieve him.
“Glad to see you, Larry. Been busy, but not exactly swamped,” Bryce commented.
“Anything interesting?” Guthrie asked.
“Had a visit from Campbell and Lomax. Be on your guard. They might come back. Oh, and John Zoeller of the University Security Force came along just in time and scared them off. If they give you any trouble, just call Security. We have an ally as far as those two are concerned,” Bryce advised his relief.
“Good to know,” Guthrie agreed.
Bryce went off to meet Damon for lunch.
When he found Damon in the cafeteria, he was accompanied by Caroline Koehler. They already had their lunches, so Bryce went through the line, and then joined them.
Damon said, “Inasmuch as I will be responsible for any cooking done in our apartment, I have been consulting the voice of experience for some tips.”
“I understand you had some difficulty yesterday morning, Bryce,” Caroline said.
Bryce blushed again. “Geez, is this never going away?” He picked up his tray and began to move away.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” Damon challenged him.
“To Siberia, where no one has ever heard of smoke alarms,” Bryce announced.
“Sit your sorry ass back down and take it like a man,” Damon ordered.
“Yes, Sir,” Bryce meekly said, and sat.
Caroline giggled. It was almost worth it to hear her giggle, as she was usually so serious. Almost, but not quite. Over lunch, Damon and Caroline discussed some fairly simple meals Damon could make, but when Caroline suggested that even Bryce could learn to do some of the things she was discussing, Damon immediately vetoed that.
“I cannot stand being wakened again like yesterday morning. I’ll move out,” he wildly threatened.
“But it’s just like karate. All he would have to do is concentrate,” she protested.
“NO, NO, and NO, all with capital letters,” Damon insisted.
Caroline sighed, but dropped the suggestion. Bryce mumbled about him being there, too, but the other two continued their talk, completely ignoring him, except for a few third person references, and some sly looks from Damon.
When Caroline left, Damon asked, “What’s on your calendar for the afternoon?”
“Besides getting back at you, you mean? Well, I told a guy from the booth this morning who wanted a private talk that I’d meet him upstairs at three. Otherwise, nothing until we go to El Rincon Latino this evening,” Bryce replied. “Why?”
“I’m horny,” Damon simply noted.
“Oh, you subject me to great humiliation, then proceed to ignore me all through lunch, and then expect me to do something about your horniness, do you?” Bryce demanded.
“Yep,” Damon grinned.
“Let’s go,” Bryce agreed, and the two took off at a jog for their apartment.
Despite his early afternoon dissipations, when three o’clock arrived Bryce was found in the upper lounge on the second floor of the University Center. He had arranged a little area of two easy chairs and a table, separated from the other chairs by a few feet, anyway, for privacy. A minute or two after three, Peter Boyington appeared. They greeted each other, shook hands, and settled into the chairs.
“What’s on your mind, Peter?” Bryce asked.
“That group you were representing this morning – it really is the gay club on campus?” Peter asked hesitantly.
“Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgendered. That’s what our title means. But, as one of my handouts this morning showed, we’re reversing the order, so it will become Lesbians, then Gays. The girls thought they had been coming second entirely too long,” Bryce explained.
“There’s not another gay group?” Peter persisted.
“Well, there may very well be some private arrangements, but we are the only campus group recognized by the University,” Bryce replied.
“And you just have meetings? And all I have to do to join is pay dues?” Peter asked, still uncertain about the whole situation.
“Right. That’s all. You don’t even have to be gay, or lesbian, or bisexual, or transgendered. As long as you’re concerned about equal rights for those with minority sexual orientation, you’re welcome,” Bryce further assured him. “Peter, I can see there’s something on your mind – something bothering you. Why not just come out with it?”
“Okay. I’m a freshman. I’ve never been on the U of C campus until now. I mean, this week. My folks dropped me off at the dorm on Monday. But I’m getting distracted. I have an older brother named Derek. He graduated from here last year. He told me about some kind of demonstrations the GLBT Club held. Like making out in public, and shouting obscenities, and trashing some office. He said it was an initiation into the Club,” Peter related.
Bryce took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Peter, your brother had only part of the facts. This is only my second year, so I can’t speak of earlier times from personal experience, but I can about last year. Yes, there were some demonstrations, and yes, during them some people did some making out and other things. But those activities were definitely NOT sponsored by the GLBT Club, and are definitely NOT any kind of initiation ritual. In fact, the Club passed a resolution regretting the demonstrations. We believe that kind of thing turns off potential supporters instead of gaining acceptance. I can tell you this because I was around, and was involved in the Club last year.”
Peter looked immensely relieved. “I … I think I want to join. You won’t be sending anything to my parents, will you?”
“I’m assuming you’re over 18. You’re an adult. Besides, we have no reason to send anything to parents,” Bryce assured him. “They don’t know of your … interest?”
“Oh, no! I mean, they would never …. Anyway, I know I’m over 18, and I am hoping for some acceptance, but not …. I mean, that’s impossible.” Peter said in an agitated manner.
“Relax. No one in the Club has any interest in causing you trouble. We’re made up of a variety of individuals. Some are more counter-cultural than others as far as how they dress and the like, but no one will try to force anything on you. That is a basic principle of the Club. We accept you as your are, at whatever place you’re comfortable with, as long as you do the same for the other members,” Bryce insisted.
Peter gave a big sigh. “Okay, then, I guess I need one of those membership forms.”
Bryce grinned. “I was hoping that would be the outcome of our meeting, so I just happened to have a membership form with me,” he said, as he pulled a form out from his book bag.
That ended much more pleasantly than it might have.
Later that evening, Bryce and Damon were invited back to the Mannings’ apartment for a pre-prandial drink. Curtis was actually legal by this time, so Damon joked that he would have to be the delivery boy for him and Bryce whenever they needed a new infusion of the social lubricant. After an enjoyable visit, they all piled into Bryce’s Mustang and made their way down to El Rincon Latino, the Mexican restaurant owned by the Sandoval family. There they were greeted by Isobel Sandoval by name, and shown to the sector where Mike would be their waiter, of course.
They had not been seated long, and were just looking over the menus, when Mike appeared. “Buenos tardes, señora y señores. My name is Miguel, and I will be your waiter this evening. What may I get you to drink?”
“Hi, Mike,” Bryce greeted his friend. “Before anyone has time to say anything about fires or smoke alarms, let me say that I am paying for all of us.”
“Oh? I’ll have to get that story. But it seems that Bryce is a little sensitive this evening, so I’ll catch one or the other of you later. Now, how about drink orders?” Mike said.
The other three diners were snickering about Bryce’s attempt to short-circuit any mention of the incident in the kitchen the previous morning. Curtis ordered Bourbon for all of them, and Mike smilingly agreed to fill his order.
Not long after, while they were still perusing their menus, Damon noticed Mike’s brother serving at a nearby table. He took a second glance, then told the others, “I believe Kyle has a black eye. We’ll have to ask Mike how that happened.”
When Mike reappeared, Damon asked, “How did Kyle get a black eye?”
“Kyle? We have no Kyle around here,” Mike kidded as he served their drinks.
“Your brother, Doofus!” Damon insisted.
“Oh, you mean Carlos!” Miguel insisted back, using Kyle’s ‘stage’ name. Then, in a whisper not audible to those at nearby tables, he added, “Kathy is having a rough time of it, this close to her delivery date, and mi hermoso Carlos made the mistake of making light of it. Dad says all women are like that close to delivery.”
“Sounds like a sexist comment to me,” Maddy said.
“Probably,” Mike admitted, “but is it true?”
“Never having been pregnant, I couldn’t say,” Maddy replied.
“That goes for me, too,” Bryce joked.
Everyone boo’ed him, but watched closely as Kyle/Carlos returned to the floor with the order for one of his tables.
“That’s quite a shiner,” Curtis said.
“Yeah. It happened early today. Kyle was at least hoping he would be excused from work this evening, but no dice. He is not a happy camper at the moment,” Mike supplied.
“He and Kathy are not breaking up, are they?” Bryce anxiously asked.
“Oh, no. Kyle promised to be more sensitive in the future, and they were all lovey-dovey by this afternoon,” Mike assured them.
Later, as Mike delivered their dessert, he also commented that his father had recently had the kitchen inspected, and the smoke alarm was in fine shape. Bryce glared at his partner. Damon had gone off to the restroom, so obviously Mike had waylaid him and got the story of the burned bacon and the smoke alarm.
“Come to think of it, I’m not sure I want to pay for some of the party at this table,” Bryce commented.
“Sorry, you’re already committed,” Mike informed him, presenting him with the bill.
The rest of the meal passed without incident, so the four of them left feeling both sated and content.