Let the Music Play - 5. Moving Day

Helen, her mouth half full, continued where she’d left off, “Brandon, you and I will be picking out your new clothes, because I have an eye for what you will need. I do that for the other guys too, and that’s just put on the corporate credit card, so you need not worry about that at all; it’s business. As for any other expenses, there is this studio...” Brandon felt his gut clench at the thought of that, but Helen assured him, “Which is also no concern of yours. The contracts are clear on that; the studio lease is paid off the top from the last album proceeds, so Lump is paying his share on that no matter what. So, you’re covered for everything I can think of, except your personal stuff.”

Brandon mumbled around a slice of pizza, “No problem then. Hell, all I can think of is I need some new deodorant, maybe a new toothbrush, so what I’ve got in my wallet is more than enough.”

Helen snorted, “What about your personal life, Brandon? I also need to ask about that because of scheduling the publicity events.”

“Whenever the other guys don’t need me, I’m available.”

“They’ll be there too, so that’s not an issue, but like I said, what about your personal life? These guys don’t have much of one, but if you do you don’t want to ignore it, but I do need to know about it,” Helen demanded.

Devouring a second slice of the pepperoni pie, Brandon replied, “Nothing there to tell you about. I don’t really know anyone here in Los Angeles, and even back home I’m not close to anyone since my folks threw me out. So, no life here to worry about,” Brandon smiled wanly, and Helen looked sympathetic. She herself had had a rough ride due to being outed at home, so she felt for Brandon.

Pressing home her point with bulldog-like tenacity, Helen asked, “Isn’t there anything personal you would like to do, or buy?”

Adding some pepper sprinkles to his third slice, Brandon shrugged, “No, nothing… ah, maybe one thing; the water pump on my car is failing and I’ve been real worried I won’t make it to Phoenix, so I’d like to replace it. I’ve found one for seventy bucks; I just couldn’t afford it before.”

Helen smirked, “Well, you really should ride on the tour bus with the group, but see, for stuff like that you do need some cash. So, guys, how about we give Brandon ten to tide him over until the concert? I’ll split it with you?”

Brandon was a bit surprised, but figured that he could hold off on the water pump if he was riding on the tour bus. He was thrilled about that, he’d always wanted to see inside a tour bus, and never dreamed he’d ever ride in one, least of all as front man for a major group. He found the offer of ten dollars perplexing because it seemed to him a bit small to be worth all this trouble, especially after having seen Jon drop a c-note on the pizza guy like it was nothing, though he was grateful for everything they’d done.

The three brothers happily nodded, and Helen told Brandon, “That’s settled. I’ve got a company debit card with me, and I’ll transfer the ten thousand for it as soon as I get back to my computer. There’s a pin number on the post-it that’s on the back.”

Helen handed a shocked Brandon a Visa debit card. Holding it in the flat of his hand, he stared at it, his mind reeling. Ten thousand? Had he heard right? That was more money than he’d ever even seen, let alone had. He sputtered, “Whoa... I mean, thanks, but no, I can’t… I thought you guys were kicking in to give me ten bucks, not ten thousand! I don’t need this…”

Jon shook his head, “Dude, take it. Trust me; you’ve got a lot to learn about this life. Money is one of the perks; just enjoy. It’s also necessary; you have an image to maintain as soon as you’re announced. This is business, dude.”

Eric laughed, “Same goes for me. There’s a lot of downsides to the life we lead; the biggest is we can’t go out in public without worrying that we’ll be recognized and mobbed, harassed, or worse. We’re pretty isolated, and have to watch our backs all the time. This shit with Gabe for example is par for the course. Except for one-night stands with groupies, Jon and I haven’t had a date in months, and we live in hotels most of the year which gets old pretty quick. So there are a lot of downsides, but money is one of the perks, so like Jon said, enjoy.”

Helen seized the opportunity to quell any false expectations, “This does not mean that you can throw money around. The guys put most of their income into investment funds, for the simple reason that music careers have a way of ending. I expect you to do the same, but take this, you will need it.”

After nodding agreement to the investment funds, Brandon was about to object over the ten grand when Helen cut him off yet again, “Enough, that’s settled, case closed. Now, first things first: we need to get Brandon down to his former room and get his things. It’s getting late, and I don’t want any of you there after dark.”

Noticing that Helen was reaching for her cell, and leaping to his feet fast enough to startle her, Chase snatched Brandon’s hand, pulling him out of the suite in a rush, “I’ll take ya.”

Once they were in the hallway, Chase led Brandon at a run down one flight of stairs, to the elevator on the next floor down. Chase laughed as they took the elevator down to the studio parking garage, “I wanted to get out of there fast; Helen wouldn’t have let me go.” Brandon was still a little shell-shocked, so much so that he barely noticed when Chase led them to a car, unlocking it with a remote, “Hop in.”

Freezing in his tracks as he actually noticed the car for the first time; the stunning vision of pearl paint and smoked glass of a Mercedes two-seater blew him away. Chase looked back at him with a puzzled expression, “What’s up?”

Brandon stared at the car, collecting his thoughts. “Chase, whoa, that’s some car. I’ve never even seen one of these up close before, but as much as I want to ride in it, taking this to my hotel is the ultimate bad idea. It’s really scummy there and a car like this would put you in real danger. Can we take mine instead?”

Chase locked up his car, “Yeah, thanks, I never thought of that.”

Leading the way further down into the parking garage, Brandon grinned, “Could you take me for a ride in that sometime? It’s one hot set of wheels.”

“Sure, and you can drive.”

Brandon shook his head, “Wow, thanks, but I can’t... I’d be too nervous, plus I can’t drive a stick too well.”

“Cool, I’ll teach you how to handle a stick.”

In a back recess of the underground garage, Brandon fumbled for his keys, as Chase realized that the dusty old Buick before them was Brandon’s car. It was, Chase thought, to put it nicely; a mess. Old, oxidized paint with rust, dusty, with what remained of the interior was peeling and splitting all over. Chase hopped in on the passenger side to find Brandon looking over at him a bit sheepishly, “It’s not much, but it gets me where I’m going – usually.”

Brandon looked over at Chase, trying not to stare at his bare chest, “Dude, we probably shouldn’t go to my hotel shirtless; it’s kinda rough and we’re likely to get harassed, especially if anybody recognizes you. I should probably go there alone. It won’t even be safe for you in the car: that’s why I keep it here and walk.”

Crossing his arms to indicate his decision, Chase replied, “I’m not letting you go there alone. Thanks, but I’m staying put.”

Brandon smiled, feeling good that, for the first time in a long time, he was around people who cared about him. Brandon opened the glove box, handing Chase an old baseball cap and sunglasses. “At least put these on so nobody recognizes you.”

Accepting the proffered hat and glasses, Chase put them on, shoving his hair forward in the process, giving him a different look. Taking note of Brandon’s surprise, he chuckled, “Yeah, we all had to learn how to change our appearance so we could go out in public.”

The starter motor chugged, and the engine sputtered, hesitating before gurgling to life. Chase hid a grimace, wondering if the car would make it to the hotel, let alone back.

After a short drive, Brandon pulled up to the curb at a broken down old hotel, with several older guys standing around the doorway. The sign said ‘15-Minute Parking’, and he was glad it was right out front. Leading Chase inside, they were subject to a couple of wolf whistles from two of the old winos in the lobby. Brandon blushed a little as they climbed the bare wooden stairs, “Sorry about that.”

His nose wrinkling from the growing smell, Chase shrugged as he took the stairs two at a time, “Not like you didn’t warn me... but I think they were looking at you anyway.”

Brandon shrugged, not knowing how to answer without pointing out that Chase was gorgeous.

They headed up the third flight of stairs, Chase fighting the urge to gag from the smell of urine. They reached a room and Brandon unlocked it, letting Chase go in first. He was appalled at what he saw; the paint was peeling, the single bed that took up most of the room sagging, and holes in the plaster. The floor was so dirty he could barely see that it was carpet, and the room stank of stale sweat. Brandon, blushing slightly, said “It’s not exactly great, but it was all I could do...”

Grabbing a duffle bag where he kept his clothes from under the bed, he opened it, tossing in a couple of books. He glanced up at Chase, to see him staring at the wall. Following his gaze, Brandon’s gut clenched as he mentally kicked himself for not remembering that.

His sole decoration was what had caught Chase’s attention; a poster from his copy of Drumbeat magazine. Cringing, Brandon looked at the familiar poster, the ‘Instinct’ logo at the top, though the logo was not his concern. The image of the shirtless blond drummer, striking a hot pose behind the drums, was.

Chase turned away from his own image, with a smile and an eyebrow raised, as Brandon sputtered, “You knew I had the magazine, and I’ve been a fan for a long time. Cool poster, man,” while wondering if he could possibly sound any lamer.

With a casual shrug, unable to meet Chase’s gaze, Brandon rescued his poster from the wall, folding it carefully before placing it in the duffel’s side pocket.

Sweeping up the duffel bag, Brandon forced himself to say casually, “Let’s blow this dump,” as they turned and left without a backwards glance, heading back down the putrid stairs.

As they neared the lobby, Brandon told Chase, “I’m paid up for tonight, but I doubt they’d give me any refund. I’m just going to hand in the key so we can get out of here.”

Getting out of the dive hotel sounded great to Chase, though his mind was still back in the room, focused on the poster he’d seen, wondering what it meant. Dismissing the thought, not wanting to get his hopes up, he decided to accept Brandon’s explanation. Reaching the lobby, he watched as Brandon tossed the key through the tiny window, leaving that part of his life behind.

Shouldering open the lobby door for Chase, Brandon spared one glance back, relieved that his friend had been spared any further rude noises from the quartet of winos.

After struggling with the rusty old lock, Brandon opened the old Buick, tossing the duffle bag on the rear seat as soon as Chase was safely inside. Checking for traffic and finding his way clear, Brandon reached in the driver’s side to pop the hood. Grabbing a water bottle from behind his seat, he opened the hood, gingerly loosening the radiator cap with a rag as Chase got out to look. “Dude, stand back, this sometimes blasts out. I’ve got to add some water because the radiator leaks so bad. Now you know another reason why I was worried about making it to Phoenix.”

Chase shook his head in amazement, “Couldn’t you have ridden on the crew bus? We don’t take our cars with us on tour either.”

“Yeah, but I needed somewhere to keep it, and they wouldn’t let me keep it at the studio once Instinct’s lease is up. I still know a few people in Phoenix so I was going to park it at somebody’s house. I guess I’m still going to have to get it to Phoenix.”

Chase found himself very surprised that Brandon would want to keep the old wreck, but thought he might have some sentimental attachment. Picturing Brandon trying to drive the old clunker all the way to Phoenix, skeptical that it would even get out of Los Angeles, let alone nearly half a thousand miles across the desert, Chase asked, “So, do you have some kind of a sentimental attachment to this car? Uh, I don’t know how to say this, but in our business image is important, and this isn’t really what goes with the image of a sexy front man for a top group.” Chase blanched, realizing that he had just called Brandon ‘sexy’. Would he be uneasy with that? Would he think he was being hit on?

Brandon broke the awkward silence, “No, it’s my first car; I couldn’t afford anything else, plus I’ve had to sleep in here a few times so I like the bench back seat.” Brandon had noticed that Chase had used the word ‘sexy’, but maybe he was just talking about front men in general... Or, he wondered, did Chase mean something personal by it? Brandon shook his head, silently scolding himself for the stupid notion that a major star like Chase, who also happened to be hotter than hell, would be interested in some roadie with a broken down old heap.

Patting the rusty fender, Chase replied, “I was just thinking that maybe keeping it isn’t worth the work, and it doesn’t fit the image. I’m sure nobody would say anything if you keep it, well Helen would, but it’s up to you. You won’t need a car on tour, and by the time the tour is over you can get whatever you want.”

Brandon nodded, looking at his ramshackle car, agreeing that something new would be great, but still having a hard time accepting that he would be able to afford it.

Chase suppressed a wicked grin as he had an idea. “We leave ours at Helen’s house – she’s got a big driveway out front where we park – so I’m sure you can do the same if you want to.”

Brandon finished adding the water, and checked the oil before closing it up. As they got in, Brandon remarked, “I can’t leave it anywhere that dripping oil would be a problem, because it leaks like a sieve. I hope she doesn’t live anywhere fancy?”

Chase was about to change the subject when Brandon started the car, or tried to. The starter motor rattled and clanged, making a grinding sound. Brandon swore and tried several more times, only to hear more grinding noises. He muttered “Oh, great. I think the starter just gave out, maybe where it’s connected to the flywheel.” Brandon tried again, sighing with relief as the engine wheezed to life. Keeping the RPM’s up he popped the column shifter into gear, knowing that if it stalled they’d be stuck.

As the old Buick chugged up to speed, Brandon told Chase, “I’m going to have to fix that before this thing will start again. I’m just glad it didn’t leave us stranded back there. How far away does Helen live?”

Distracted by the sputtering engine, Chase replied without thinking, “Not too far, her place is in Bel-Air.”

* * *

Strolling down a busy concourse of Rome’s Da Vinci airport, The Scar paused at one of the few windows, peering out at the tired old Aeroflot airliner as it pulled away from the gate, bound for Moscow. He could only hope he had chosen wisely; Dimitri, the man he had just put aboard, carried over one million dollars in negotiable securities. His cover as an industrialist was weak, but should suffice for his planned role as courier. The long-planned opportunity, served up by a fickle fate before they were ready, had required an immediate albeit risky operation. Dimitri’s mission to meet with the engineer had been conceived only forty-eight hours before.

An offer, tendered to and accepted by an unemployed engineer possessing rare skills, had sealed the deal; this one job, were the engineer successful, would earn him, he believed, an instant early retirement and the funds for a comfortable life on some tropical beach. No mention had been made by either party of failure; both men knew that, were the engineer to be discovered by the authorities, retirement of any sort would be of no further concern.

With other plans to make, other deals to be made, The Scar checked a monitor, confirming that his own flight would be leaving within the hour. With a spring in his step, he sought out a coffee stand, taking the time to savor one last Italian Cappuccino, knowing as he did from experience that it would be his last, until his return a few days hence. The Czechs, he mused, nervously fingering the scar on his head, might know their explosives, but they didn’t know a damned thing about coffee...

* * *

Brandon arched an eyebrow at the mention of “Bel-Air”; he’d heard about that area, but the wheezing engine forced him to concentrate on it rather than whatever Chase was planning.

Turning left into the studio parking garage, the old Buick’s backfiring caused Chase to cringe and laugh, Brandon joining in. They pulled into the parking space as the engine chugged to a halt, Brandon grabbing his duffle bag and locking the car, while Chase left the sunglasses and hat on the seat. Returning to the lounge they found it empty, and headed up to the suites assuming the other guys would be there. On the way to the suite, Brandon asked, “What you said back there about parking my car at Helen’s... You were setting her up for a prank, right?”

Chase snickered, “Yeah, she’s kinda uptight about image, especially hers. She’s super-fussy about her house. She had a fit once when I parked my Mercedes there with some mud on the fender.”

Laughing, Brandon replied, “Cool... I’ll play along.”

Upon opening the door, they found Jon, Eric, and Helen in heated conversation in Jon’s suite. Helen rounded on Brandon as soon as he stepped through the connecting door, “I heard gunfire, or thought I did, so I looked out the window and saw an old heap pulling into the studio, with a shirtless guy driving, and it was you. Is that your car, Brandon? That thing has simply got to go. Image is important for you guys, and yours, Brandon, because you are new, will be under even closer scrutiny. That thing looks like it’s ready to blow up!”

Trying to look shocked, Chase replied, “Uh, Helen, that car means a lot to Brandon, and he wants to keep it, but not drive it anymore. I sort of offered to let Brandon park it at your place along with ours…”

Nodding while struggling to keep a straight face, Brandon set the duffle bag down as he replied, “Yeah, it’s kinda personal, but I’ve got a big sentimental attachment to that car. I can’t part with it.”

Helen gawked at him, imagining the old heap parked for months in front of the showplace estate she had worked so hard to achieve. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she struggled to think of a reply. Chase, turning slightly red from the fight to keep from laughing, said: “It would make such a statement parked in your driveway, so I was sure you wouldn’t mind...”

Beginning to understand that she’d been had, Helen glared at Chase. “It’s so sad, really, for such a talented drummer to die violently at such a young age!”

Helen turned to Brandon, “Unless you really do have some sentiment for that thing, I want you to get rid of it. I don’t want you driving around in it at all after we announce you joined the group.”

Brandon shrugged, “Couldn’t if I wanted to. The water pump is nearly gone, and I don’t think it’ll start again unless I put in a new starter. It nearly left us stranded at my old hotel.”

“Why did you go in your car?” Helen asked with a thoughtful look on her face.

Surprised by the question, Brandon replied, “Have you seen what Chase drives? Going to my hotel in that would have been an invitation to disaster, a carjacking, or worse, plus I didn’t want anyone recognizing Chase. I gave him a baseball cap and sunglasses to wear.”

Helen nodded, “Your hotel must be even worse than I thought. I’d intended,” she shot a glare at Chase, “to send a bodyguard with you. Good thinking, Brandon. You think ahead; you knew that where you were going was seedy, and you knew to do the right thing. Keep doing like you’re doing, but that car has simply got to go. Have you any objection to me calling up the Kidney Foundation? They take old cars as donations.”

Nodding, Brandon replied, “Sure, if I won’t be needing it and can beg rides or whatever. I’ve got a few things in the trunk I need to get out, so just let me know in advance. I was more worried about my stuff than anything; it wouldn’t have been safe at my hotel, and Gabe didn’t let us talk to the talent or studio staff outside of official business, so I couldn’t even ask if I could stick my boxes in a storeroom.”

Helen scowled, “I noticed that a lot of the road crew were uncomfortable talking to me. That fits though; if Gabe was skimming, he sure wouldn’t want word getting back to us.”

Slapping himself on the head, Brandon blurted out, “Something I forgot about; Gabe’s been making my life hell ever since I asked him about the room I’d been promised. I asked him a couple of times... Maybe he thought I’d complain to the wrong person, so he was trying to make me quit, or find grounds to fire me.”

“That fits. One way or another, that bastard is going down. I’m meeting with a police detective Monday afternoon, so I hope to have good news. Now, regarding your car; it will be leaving Monday at the earliest, so you can get your stuff out whenever. You’ve been added to the Hotel’s guest list as a resident of Jon’s suite, so this is now your home.” Helen said, silently relieved that the Buick would be departing.

Brandon nodded, realizing that he sure did have a lot to learn, about pretty much everything on this side of the business. Gesturing around the suite, he replied, “I guess I’m still shell-shocked by everything. I’ve never been in a place like this before last night, let alone stayed in one.”

Shrugging, Eric said, “We’ve basically lived in hotels ever since we had the blow-up with the folks. So, for us, these places are home. I think you’ll like it once you get used to it.”

Brandon could only nod in agreement before saying, “If nobody needs me for anything for a few minutes, I’m going to go get my stuff out of my car, so I won’t forget.”

“Need a hand?” Chase offered.

Brandon grinned; he knew he could manage himself, but having help would be great, and spending more time with Chase: even better. They headed down via the hotel lobby, and he couldn’t help but notice the proud way Chase, still shirtless, carried himself.

Arriving at the old Buick, Brandon worked the stubborn lock to open the trunk, revealing two tattered cardboard boxes. They each took one, and Brandon slammed the empty trunk before retrieving the old baseball cap and sunglasses Chase had worn. Taking a look back at his car, the fact of leaving it for the last time ramming home to him just how much his life had changed.

Returning to the suites, they carried the boxes and duffle bag into Brandon’s new bedroom. Chase stood uneasily, wondering if Brandon wanted him to leave, but Brandon motioned for him to look, “This is about all I have left. Some books, trophies, and other stuff. I was lucky to have salvaged this much when my folks tossed me out.”

“Man, that sucks. I went through that too, but I never had to rough it like you did, so you had it way worse. I just drove to a hotel and got a room, then Jon and Eric brought my stuff and joined me. It’s nowhere near being tossed out on the street.”

Brandon shrugged, “Still, I know how it feels to have your family turn on you. It sure does suck.”

Smiling wistfully, Chase sat on the edge of the bed to face Brandon, “With me, it still hurts a lot. Jon and Eric were fantastic; they’d known about me for a while, but they left home too, and it’s because of me. They don’t even let me finish if I bring that up, but it makes me sad that they lost their family because of me. When Dad threw me out and said he didn’t have a gay son, they informed him that he didn’t have any sons, and packed up their stuff and mine and joined me at the hotel. Eric had called me on his cell to let me know they were heading over, but I had no idea until they got there that they had ended it with the folks too. I still feel bad about that.”

Chase looked down, dejected, his bare shoulders sagging and a sullen look on his face. Brandon wanted to put an arm around him, though he was nervous that Chase might react badly to so intimate a contact. Sitting close by instead, Brandon shook his head, “Whoa, I didn’t know. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so I can only guess here, but look at it from their point of view. Your folks were tossing you out; disowning you, so they probably felt they had a choice: you or your folks. Why wouldn’t they pick you? You’re their brother, and they clearly love you. How could they love your folks after what they were doing? Besides, any chance your folks might come around would be helped by the shock of losing all of you, instead of just one. Chase, if you ever want to talk, I’m here for you, anytime.”

Chase looked up, smiling sadly. “Thanks, and vice versa. It just stunk how everything happened. I figured myself out when I was fifteen, but I never told anyone or did anything, so no one knew. I was a total closet case. I’ve always been close to Jon and Eric, but I didn’t know how they would feel, and I barely had admitted it to myself. I was afraid, but then one night on tour, Jon was out on a date. Eric and I were kicking back drinking Tequila and we both got pretty trashed. Eric started going off about a buddy of his who’d been kicked out by his folks. Eric was real pissed at the guy’s parents, so I asked why he’d been kicked out and Eric told me it was because his folks had found out he was gay.

“So, being drunk and seeing an opening to sound out Eric, I asked him how he felt about that. Eric told me he’d known the whole time he had been friends with the guy, and asked me why it would matter. Then Eric started to lecture me about gay people being just like us, only attracted to different people. I was drunk enough to take the opening, so I asked if he’d still feel the same if he had a gay brother. He said of course he would, so I told him that he did. He just hugged me. We talked a lot that night, and he said he’d been curious why I didn’t date, but figured if there was a reason I might not even have figured it out myself, so he wasn’t going to bring it up. He told me much later that he’d launched into that tirade about gays being just like us partly to let me know how he felt, without putting me on the spot.”

Brandon whistled, “Wow. That’s just awesome; what a great brother. Was Jon the same?”

Chase smiled, his eyes rolling, “Not exactly. I’d asked Eric what Jon would think, and Eric didn’t know. He said he’d never talked about anything like that with Jon, but had never heard him say anything anti-gay either. Eric offered to sound out Jon, and being drunk, we thought that was a good plan.”

Chase laughed, putting a hand on Brandon’s shoulder, “One thing you need to know; never, ever trust Eric to know what he’s doing when he’s been drinking Tequila... Not long after that, Jon got back and Eric dragged him off to his suite saying he needed to talk. Before I had time to get nervous, Jon stormed out, glaring at me, and then left without a word, just a loud bang as he slammed the door behind him. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Then, like ten seconds later, Jon opened the door, stuck his head in, and called out to me ‘I’m just being an ass, I know that, but give me a few.’ and stalked off again. Then Eric came out to sit with me, a blank look on his face. He looked at me and said ‘Sorry, I kinda phrased that wrong I guess. I told him that you wanted me to sound him out about how he felt about you being gay.’ Then he took off.”

Chase sighed, “I nearly choked. Then Jon came back; he told me that it was a shock, but he was also hurt that I didn’t come to him myself. Jon was a bit distant for a few days, but after that, he was fine. I think he had more trouble with it because he’s the oldest and has always been more of a tough guy. That’s why Eric and I cracked up so hard when you gaydarred him.”

Brandon blushed, remembering that incident. “Yeah, I can see why. Oh, man, I put my foot in it, then did it to Eric too... So, how did your folks find out? Catch you with somebody?”

“Hell no... There was a guy on the crew who was gay. I knew that, so once I was out to my brothers I came out to him too. He wasn’t my type, but I just wanted someone gay I could talk to. The night before my birthday, he offered to take me out to a gay dance club so I could at least meet some people and see a bit of the scene. We went, danced a few times, and it was great. I danced with some other guys there, and even let one guy kiss me, and that was hot. I’d never kissed a guy before. When we went outside to flag down cabs and head home, I let the guy kiss me again, right there on the street. I was disguised so I wasn’t worried about being recognized, but I was wrong. I found out later that Lump was in a passing cab and recognized me, and saw me kiss the guy. A chance in a million, but that’s what happened. Lump went over to see my folks the next day, and half an hour later I was tossed out.”

His fists clenching, Brandon growled, “I’ve never met the guy, but now I hate him. What an asshole! And your folks tossed you on your birthday? Oh, shit…”

Chase tried to pass it off with a joke, “Yeah, that was almost a year ago, so I sure hope my next birthday is better. What about you – what happened?”

With a shrug, Brandon replied, “Not much to it. I figured myself out about when you did, and kept quiet. I did date, but that wasn’t what got me outed. I’d done some searching for gay info online and stumbled into some stories. I got hooked on them because they were about gay guys like me, dealing with being gay. One of my faves was about a dirt-bike rider, a typical jock who just happened to be gay. That’s really what got me tossed out; I guess I forgot to clear the cache or history, because my dad found it and the sites I’d surfed. I’d never been that close to ‘em, but they gave me ten minutes to pack up and get out, and warned me never to come back. After I was gone, they called as many of my friends as they could and outed me. Most of them didn’t react too well, so I had nowhere to crash and I was sleeping in my car for a few nights. I ended up at the door of one guy, Jim, who I hadn’t known long, and I hoped my folks didn’t have his number. I asked him if I could crash on his couch for the night, and he said sure, no problem.

“He just made me welcome, and didn’t ask why I needed a place to stay. It was already real late, but it was good to talk to someone who didn’t hate me. His phone rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. He picked it up, said hello, then stood there listening. Scared it was my parents, I gathered up my stuff and started to leave. He asked me what I was doing; I was pretty much out of it then, so I told him I thought it was my folks and he would want me gone. He shook his head, and told me that sure, my folks had called him days before. He said he didn’t want to bring it up because I looked like I needed to get some rest, and he thought my folks were scum. He’s a great guy and I want you guys to meet him when we’re in Phoenix. His girlfriend’s a major fan, and when she heard I was going to work for you guys, she wanted me to try and get an autograph.”

“I’d like to meet them, and I’m sure the other guys would too,” Chase said with a smile, meaning every word.

“Thanks. They’re the only people back home who I’m still in touch with.”

Looking into Brandon’s sad eyes, Chase nodded, “Sounds like our folks have a lot in common.”

Realizing that they had been talking for over an hour, Brandon dug into his duffle bag, asking, “Where’s the laundry room? I’ll need a few clean clothes soon.”

“Just toss ‘em in the laundry bag in the closet. The hotel does it.”

Brandon dug out a few pairs of tattered levies, socks, boxers, and some old concert shirts, plus one Instinct shirt. Brandon held it up and grinned, and Chase grinned back, hiding that he’d noticed almost all of Brandon’s clothes were worn out and old; even his two pairs of tennis shoes were tattered. Chase felt sorry for his friend, realizing just how rough he’d had it, but glad that things would be different for him now...

* * *

The constant jarring was enough to rattle the fillings out of his teeth, or so he thought as he struggled to sleep. Every three-quarters of a second, clunk. He knew the reason; unlike most of the world, where train rails were staggered, giving the rider a soft, familiar clickity-clack as the train rolled down the track, the Russians of the Soviet era had laid most of their lines with the rail joins parallel. The result was all too obvious; a rough and noisy ride. The Soviets, he mused, had not been long on creature comforts. Thus, he found himself on the world’s longest rail line, the Trans-Siberian express, which wasn’t even much of an express, rolling along at forty miles per hour, with a million dollars stashed under his bunk.

The middle-aged former nuclear engineer, recruited for his skills, promised a lifetime of ease if he succeeded, rolled over in the course bedclothes, wishing for the sleep that would not come. He craved rest, but not so much as he craved sleep’s elusive respite from the gnawing dread brought on by any thought of the risk he was about to take.