Poor Man's Son - 26. Chapter 25

July 25, 2000

Claremont, Ohio

Gathan

I was nervous as we drove up to the Hendricksons’ mansion. Her parents were sure to hate me now. I’d spirited their daughter off to Europe, we’d gotten into a big fight, and then she’d booked herself on a flight that had ended up crashing.

“You’re nervous,” she said, stating the obvious.

“Duh,” I said. “Your parents are going to hate me. I almost got their daughter killed.”

She paused to think about that. “Why don’t you just drop me off,” she suggested.

“So they do hate me?”

“No,” she said, frustrated. “It will just be easier if I explain it to them first.”

“How are you going to do that? You’re going to tell them that you caught me making out with a guy?” I was freaking out about this.

“No, I’m going to tell them that we got into a stupid fight, and that you came to the airport, bullshitted your way into the lounge, and talked me into staying,” she said.

“Only it wasn’t a stupid fight. You had every right to do what you did. I’m so glad you didn’t leave.”

“I figured that out, since I’m going on the assumption that you didn’t want me dead,” she joked. I gave her a dirty look. She sighed. “You’re right, it wasn’t a stupid fight. It would have been better as a talk.”

“I know,” I said sheepishly.

“Someday, maybe you can tell me why you are the way you are, why you wake up in the middle of the night in a sweat, enraged. Why you get so mad so quickly,” she said gently.

“I’m worried I’ll scare you away,” I told her honestly.

“That’s why you didn’t tell me you’d been with guys, and by not saying anything, you almost did just that.” I had to admire both her logic, and her skills at arguing.

“And someday, I’ll get to win an argument with you,” I said playfully, bringing us back off the tough topics. We pulled through the gates and up to the front door. I left the truck running, got out and helped her with her bag, and then left her on the front walk, feeling like a coward. But she was right, it was better this way. She could calm the waters so I didn’t have to deal with her irate and powerful father.

Since I’d gotten out of that confrontation, I decided to go ahead and face a different one. I went to JP’s house and dropped off my suitcase, then drove over to what used to be my home. I felt so unwelcome, I almost rang the doorbell. Instead, I steeled myself and just walked through the door. I found Wally sitting in the front room all by himself.

“Welcome home!” he said cheerfully, and got up to give me a big hug. “Happy Birthday!”

“Thanks, Pa,” I said.

“Did you have a nice trip?”

“It had its moments,” I said cryptically.

“We saw that horrible crash on the news and we were worried about you,” he said with genuine concern.

“Kristin got mad at me and was going to fly home. She was almost on that flight, but I talked her out of it.”

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“I told her that I love her,” I said. He smiled at that. He was a romantic at heart, which probably comes from finding and marrying your soul mate. “I got a new car. Want to see it?”

“Sure,” he said to humor me. I led him out to the street and showed him my new Chevy Tahoe. “It sure is nice.”

“Stef gave it to me for my birthday. He said I’d need something more reliable to make it out to California.”

“He’s not planning to get cars for all of you, is he?” Wally asked nervously but fatalistically.

“Robbie said he thought that kind of present was good for graduation from high school,” I told him. He seemed OK with that. “He didn’t want to cause problems though.”

“He’s a very generous man. We should be grateful for what he does for you boys,” he said. “I just don’t want you to get spoiled.”

“I’ll try not to,” I said.

“I wasn’t thinking of you, so much as the others,” he said. He led me over to the swing on the front porch and we sat in it, swinging gently as we talked. It was a warm, muggy night, and there were fireflies flitting about.

“I’m going to give my Dodge to Brent. He deserves it, since he did most of the work on it anyway,” I said. I’d helped, and paid for the parts, but he was the one with the automotive skills.

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.” We rocked for a time before he spoke again. “I’m sorry about what happened when you left. It’s hard adjusting to losing you.”

“You’re not losing me,” I said.

“It seems that way. You’re moving in fancy society now, and you’ve got nice things, nice clothes, and you’re going to a really good school.”

“But I’m still me,” I insisted. “I wouldn’t have this stuff, these opportunities, if it weren’t for you and Ma.” I stopped the swing and made him look at me. “I don’t want you to see my success as moving me away from you; I want you to be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you Gathan, and so is Ma. When I think of what you’re doing, it makes me smile.” He leaned in and gave me a hug, and for what seemed like the zillionth time this day, I had tears pouring out of my eyes. “But there’s no denying you’re moving into a world that isn’t ours, and that we can’t follow you into it.”

“I get that,” I conceded. There was more to this than what he said, and I knew what it was. I decided to verbalize it. “This is about Zach.”

“This isn’t about Zach,” he said, too emphatically. We rocked on, until he relented. “At least not entirely.”

“He’ll be pissed that I gave Brent the truck,” I said.

“Brent deserves it, he don’t,” Pa said simply. Then he sighed. “I’m worried about him, but I expect he’ll turn out alright.”

“He probably will,” I lied, “but in the meantime, he’s a shit disturber.”

“You see that, I see that, but your ma don’t see that,” Wally said. “She will in time. I hope you’ll be patient while she does.”

“I will.” We rocked a bit longer while I braced myself for the next issue. “JP asked me to watch his house while I’m here. I figured I’d stay there until I move to California.”

“You don’t want to stay here?” he asked sadly.

“Not really,” I admitted. “I think it would be better this way. Don’t you?”

I was brutally honest with him, but I was wondering if he would be as honest with me. He was. “I do. It still makes me sad.”

“It makes me sad too, Pa,” I told him. “But I’d be leaving for California soon anyway. How about you and I just pretend that I already left, and then when we see each other, it will be a bonus.”

He chuckled. “You coming around often?”

“Yeah,” I said, giving him the explicit promise that he wanted, along with an engaging smile to help take away the sting of me moving out.

“Your ma went to bed already. She wasn’t expecting you home until tomorrow. I’ll explain things to her.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“She’s planning a dinner for your birthday tomorrow night. Come over and bring that pretty girl of yours.”

“I will,” I promised. I gave him a long, meaningful hug, then went over to JP’s house and effectively moved in.

 

July 6, 2000

Rome, Italy

Will

 

“So I see you had to hire a boyfriend,” Darius quipped at breakfast.

“He’s not a boyfriend, he’s a guide. Good luck finding your way around Rome on your own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“Dude, you’re lucky if you can find your way home,” I joked. Darius had a notoriously bad sense of direction.

“Whatever,” he said. It was at times like this when I really missed having JJ around to pile on. The two of us would frenzy-feed on Darius, hitting him with one dig after another, until he was almost ready to kick our asses. Right now it was just Ella and I with him, and all she did was give him these adoring and supportive looks. Sometimes they made me want to puke.

“I’m off,” I said, standing up and stuffing a pastry in my mouth. I walked back to my room and started to get my stuff together when a knock on the terrace door made me jump. I walked over and opened it.

“Good morning,” Berto said cheerfully. He was dressed pretty much like me, and he looked great. He was wearing shorts which showed off his legs. He had big calves, and muscular thighs, all covered with furry brown hair. He was wearing a tank top, which emphasized his arms and bulging biceps, but my favorite part was the way his underarm hair kept trying to poke out when he had his arm lowered.

Once again I was busted checking him out. I guess that was the price I paid for having this god as my escort. “Morning,” I said, slightly less cheerfully because I was blushing.

“You look very good today,” he said. I kind of stared at him as I digested that comment, trying to figure out what it meant, and that made him nervous.

“So do you,” I said.

“I thought I would use the terrace door, since it is so nice today.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“So what do you want to see?” he asked. By the time he’d gotten back to the hotel last night, I’d been ready to crash, so we hadn’t talked or planned out our day, which would have been my normal mode.

“Surprise me,” I said. He smiled, and we took the elevator down to the lobby. He led me to a motorbike; at least that’s what I’d call it. It wasn’t a moped, it wasn’t a motorcycle, it was like this thing in between.

“You will have to ride behind me,” he said apologetically.

“We call that the ‘bitch seat’ in America,” I told him.

“What is this ‘bitch seat’?” I explained it to him, and he laughed.

“We are too afraid of our women here to use such a term,” he joked. “Does this mean that you are my bitch?”

I laughed at that, and he laughed with me. “Absolutely.”

He got on the bike, and then told me to get on behind him. “I am sorry, but you will have to hold onto me,” he said apologetically.

“Don’t we need helmets?” I asked.

He laughed. “We do not go that fast.” I moved up and put my hands on his shoulders. He turned around and gave me a dirty look. “No, like this,” he said. He took my hands and placed them on his sides.

“Not like this,” I joked, wrapping them around him more so they rested on his abdomen. I could feel his six pack quivering beneath my fingers, and that threatened to give me a full erection.

“That is much better,” he said. He looked over his shoulder and winked at me. I laughed and tried to move my hands, but he stopped me, so that’s how we ended up.

The traffic in Rome was chaotic, and he drove like most Romans do, like a fucking madman. My tentative grip on him got much tighter, and by the time we got to our first destination, I had moved up and all but wrapped myself around him. Not that I was complaining. “Let us walk around,” he announced, as he parked the bike. I wondered if I’d bothered him by grabbing him, but noticed his pants were tenting when he got off the bike. I didn’t stare; I didn’t want to embarrass him.

We walked from square to square, and it seemed that every one of them had a fountain. I was stunned by what a beautiful city Rome was. I’d been here before, but I didn’t remember it being so cool. “Most people go to see the tourist places, like the Forum and the Coliseum. We will do that as well, but I like this, just walking around the city.”

“I like this too,” I told him. “I’ve seen that stuff already. It’s amazing, but this is more fun.” That got me a big smile. “So what do you do for fun?” I asked him. He looked at me quizzically, and I realized that could be easily misinterpreted. “Do you play a sport?”

“I play football,” he said proudly.

“We call it soccer,” I teased, getting a fake frown. “Are you any good?”

“I am very good,” he said. “Oh, did you mean at soccer?” We laughed at that.

“No, you can tell me all the things you’re good at.”

“What about you? What are you good at?” he asked me.

I wanted to say ‘sucking dick’ but I thought that was a bit too forward. “I’m a surfer.”

“I have surfed before,” he said. “I am not very good.”

“I’m very good,” I told him. He raised an eyebrow. “It’s true.”

“We may have to see about that.”

“You have surfing around here?” I didn’t think there were surfing beaches near Rome.

“I have a friend who surfs. I will introduce you. Maybe you two can go surfing.”

“You mean the three of us,” I corrected. I didn’t want to go off and leave this guy.

“You will just make fun of me,” he said.

“Probably,” I agreed. “Show me where you live.”

“Alright,” he said, but a little nervously.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I told him.

“No, it is good. My friends are, how do you say, interesting.”

“Good.” He drove to the near northwestern suburbs of Rome, touring around there, and finally ended our trek near the University.

“This is the San Lorenzo district,” he said. “It is where I spend most of my time.” We wandered around the streets, many of which had been converted to pedestrian use only.

“I’m hungry,” I announced.

“There is a restaurant right up here that is very good,” he said obligingly. We strolled over there and saw three guys seated at a table out front. “Maybe we should go somewhere else,” he said nervously.

“Berto!” one of the guys called out enthusiastically. He waved us over and gave Berto a kiss on the cheeks in the continental fashion.

“Cristo, this is my friend, Will, from America,” Berto said in English, introducing me.

“Welcome!” Cristo said enthusiastically, and grabbed me, kissing me on the cheeks as he just had Berto. He was a big guy, both in height, muscles, and circumference.

“Thanks,” I said nervously. He introduced me to another guy, Paulo, who was pretty shy, and not overly excited to see me.

“This is Rico,” Berto said nervously. Rico stood up and eyed me with disdain. He was tall and thin, very thin, but very handsome. He reminded me of a less-attractive version of my cousin, Kevin, which meant that he was still really hot.

“Hello,” he said coldly, looking down his nose at me.

“Join us!” Cristo said. I wondered if the guy ever talked normally: everything he said was bubbly. It was nice that they were all speaking English for my benefit. I hadn’t told Berto that I spoke Italian pretty well, or that I understood it even better.

“Yes, join us,” Rico said sarcastically. Berto looked embarrassed, but I winked at him to reassure him. A waiter came out and Berto ordered beer for both of us, which was pretty cool. It would be another seven years before I could do that in the States.

“How long are you in town for?” Cristo asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Your English is very good.”

“Thank you,” he said cheerfully. “We took it in school, hoping to study in America.”

“Where were you planning to go?” I asked curiously.

“Wherever we can get in,” Paolo chimed in. I laughed with them. We ordered food, and then Rico got up, glared at Berto, and stormed into the restaurant. Berto excused himself and followed. I wanted to see what they were doing, but to follow them would have been rude. I waited a minute, and asked Cristo where the restroom was. Fortunately, it was inside.

I walked in and headed to the back, to the restroom. I got close and saw Berto and Rico arguing, nose to nose. “How dare you bring your latest boyfriend around here to flaunt him in front of me,” Rico spat in Italian.

“He is not my boyfriend, he is a friend,” Berto insisted.

“You will sleep with him. I see the way you look at each other. I know you, Berto.”

“What business is it of yours anyway?” Berto demanded. It was the first time I saw him get pissed off. It wasn’t very scary. “You have no claims over me.”

“Not any more. Not after you dumped me. I gave you two years of my life. I gave you everything. Then you dumped me for that pretty boy.”

“Do you wonder why? You are a psycho.”

“Is this one rich like him? Are you still gold digging?”

“Fuck you, Rico. I did not date him because of his money; I dated him because he was fun, and because I liked him. And I did not dump you for him; I dumped you before I ever met him. I dumped you because of this shit, these tantrums, and because you drop your pants for any guy who comes along. You are a fucking bitch.”

“Fuck you. Fuck you, Berto. You are lucky I do not tell everyone what a small cock you have.” Berto seemed nervous about that. It must be true.

“I know. That is the excuse you gave me when I found that guy fucking you. You are a whore, a slutty size queen,” Berto spat. “I do not even want to be around you.”

“You know when you get horny, you will come find me,” Rico said in a slutty but devious way. “You know you want me.”

“You have never been more wrong in your life,” Berto said coldly. I walked closer and they spotted me.

“Look who came to find you,” Rico said rudely, and in English.

“I came to find the bathroom,” I said evenly, then walked past them to that destination. I heard their muted voices, and then they stopped. The door opened, and Rico walked in. I was at the urinal, and he came up and stood right next to me.

“He will use you, and then throw you away,” he said to me in English again. It surprised me that none of these people bothered to ask if I spoke Italian.

“Unlikely,” I said. I finished peeing, and shook my dick. I saw him staring at me, lust in his eyes. He raised his eyebrows.

“He will not be able to handle you,” he said.

“Look, I’m here visiting Rome, and Berto’s showing me around. That’s all there is to it.” It was like I was being drawn into some big gay soap opera. Well, one question was answered. Stef was right. Berto was gay, or so it seemed.

“I know better,” he said. “But you are interesting.” He stared at my crotch again. “I will see you around.” I washed my hands and walked out of the restaurant to our table.

“I am leaving,” Rico announced. He gave Berto an evil look, and then came up to me, as if he were going to give me a kiss on each cheek. Instead, he planted a lip lock on me. I clenched my teeth and barely responded, but that didn’t stop him. I finally pushed him away, sending him careening into Berto. “See you around,” he said to me and winked.

Berto stood there, really pissed off, glaring at me. “I didn’t want him to do that,” I said.

“I know,” Berto replied, and I saw his anger evaporate.

“We are leaving too,” Cristo said. “Will you be at the club tonight?”

“No,” Berto said.

“Friday is the contest,” he said. “You must be there for that.”

“I will try,” Berto said. We sat down at the table, just the two of us then, and said nothing.

“You were right. Your friends are interesting,” I said. He looked at me, and I smiled back at him, trying to cajole him out of his bad mood.

“Rico is not my friend,” he asserted. “Not anymore.”

“But he used to be,” I said.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“And you were intimate,” I added.

He looked at me hard, as if trying to read my mind. “Yes,” he admitted. “You probably do not want me around.”

“Why?”

“Now you know I am, how do you say in America, a faggot? How odd that is the same word English people use for cigarettes.”

“That’s pretty odd,” I said, smiling at him. “In America, we don’t call ourselves faggots. We call ourselves ‘gay’,” I told him.

“You are gay?”

“Dude, I’ve been almost unable to talk when I look at you, you’re so hot,” I said. “What are you, blind?” He blushed, and it was really cute. “I don’t think you believe me,” I said, flirting.

“I believe you.”

“I don’t think you do,” I said. “I think you should try kissing me like Rico did, just to make sure.”

He grinned, that Robbie-like grin, and leaned toward me. “I think you are right.” He gently grabbed the back of my head and pulled me to him. Our lips met, and synced together so perfectly it was scary. His tongue moved to find mine at the same time mine moved toward him, and we sat there at the table, two guys, making out for a couple of minutes, a couple of minutes of sheer heaven.

“Wow,” I said, when he broke off the kiss. I wondered why he did, when I looked up to find the waiter holding our food and looking irritated.

“You are full of surprises,” he said to me fondly.

“I certainly am,” I said to him in Italian. His eyes bulged.

“You speak Italian?”

“Sort of,” I said. “Not as well as I surf.”

“You should have told me,” he scolded.

“You should have asked,” I said playfully.

“So how much of our conversation did you hear?” He was referring to his talk with Rico.

“I’m not sure, but probably most of it.”

“Oh,” he said, and looked sad.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“You must think I am a horrible person.”

“No, I think Rico is a horrible person,” I joked, then got serious. “Why would I think you’re a horrible person?”

“The things he said, the part about me being a gold digger. I am not, you know.”

“I thought you were upset about the part when he said you had a small dick,” I joked, only it fell flat. Now he really did look sad.

“It is small,” he said softly.

“Good,” I told him. “It is easier to work with. Besides, the rest of you is big.”

“It does not bother you?” he asked. Were all gay Italian men size queens?

“No,” I said dismissively.

We wolfed down our food after that, even though it was so good it deserved to be savored. “So where do you want to go now?”

“Back to the hotel,” I told him.

“You are not having fun?” he asked. We started walking toward the bike.

“I’m having a blast,” I said. “Still, I think we’ll have more fun back at the hotel.” He looked at me, smiled really big, and raced me back to the bike.