Summer - 3. Mansion on the Hill

On Tuesday, the day after the blowup between her husband and her son, Lourdes Peterson kept CJ home from school and drove to Christopher Columbus Catholic High School without him. She explained to the principal, a Marist Brother whose religious order ran the school, that there was an extreme family emergency, and CJ was leaving for Washington, D.C. the next day. He would be there for the entire summer, and possibly for an extended time. Based on the boy’s high grade-point average, and his model behavior, the principal agreed to grant incompletes on all courses.

Lourdes was asked to return the following week to collect a summary of the remaining lessons for each class. There would also be a list of Catholic schools in the District of Columbia area, where her son could make arrangements to take final exams, before the beginning of the next school year. Telling a blatant lie, about the reason for CJ’s departure, did not seem to bother her. As long as a scandal was avoided, her husband was happy, and she was able to keep her social standing, she was content. Lourdes wanted, at all costs, to avoid the embarrassment of a public argument, between her homophobic husband, and her strong-willed son. Once everyone settled down she’d figure out her next move.

Rich came home with a pair of large duffle bags that same night. Handing them to CJ, he instructed the boy to spend the next twenty-four hours, filling them with clothes. He was also to pack his suitcase with any school or personal items he might need during the following couple of weeks. The teen was told he was being sent off to live with his biological father as soon as it could be arranged. The stepfather added anything not fitting in the three pieces of luggage, would be shipped to him at a later date.

César was born in San Juan, Puerto Rico to Cuban immigrant parents. His mother and father had left Cuba at an early age, on the heels of the revolution which left Fidel Castro in power of a communist regime. They settled in the neighboring Caribbean island, where they re-established their lives and where their children were born.

In 1980, when César was three, his parents once again uprooted themselves and moved the family to Miami; eventually settling in Coral Gables near the campus of the University of Miami. Although he grew up as a Miami Hurricanes fan, upon graduation from Christopher Columbus High School, the young Abelló entered the rival University of Florida. He planned to play baseball for the Gators, and major in Accounting.

Lourdes was his best friend during their freshman and sophomore years at the University. Both were the product of Miami Cuban-American families, and had several friends in common, even before moving to Gainesville to attend college.

She was twenty months older, a junior, smart, pretty, popular, and she wanted to make the young man with the sexy dark looks hers. César had come out to his parents at the beginning of his last year in high school. He was open and honest concerning his sexuality―he was gay and that was all there was to it. She would not accept it, she insisted it was probably just a phase her friend was going through, all he needed was a good woman, and he could stop being gay. What to César was a good friendship, to Lourdes was a calculated effort to snatch herself a trophy husband.

After two years of spending countless hours together, and getting to know each other well, the two friends decided to visit Florida’s Emerald Coast for Spring Break. The annual migration of thousands of students, searching for warm weather and a good time, would be her last one before graduation.

The beach, the parties, and the alcohol were a dangerous combination for all these young people. On their final night at the beach, Lourdes managed to get in bed with her friend, both of them intoxicated and horny. The next morning she was all smiles, while he was somber.

“I can’t believe you raped me,” he said as he hastily packed his travel bag.

“Sorry, mister, but your thing was pretty damn hard when I sat on it last night. How the hell can you call it rape?”

“You've always known I’m gay, you've always known I didn't want to have sex with you, and you’ve always known I’m not much of a drinker. You got me drunk and took advantage of me. I didn’t consent to anything.”

“Tell it to the judge, buster.”

“No, bitch, I’m telling it to you. We are done. I never want to see you, or hear from you, again. Don’t call, don’t write, don’t visit. You know that nasty temper you’ve always nagged me about? Please don’t say anything else now, it’s close to surfacing. If it does, it won’t be pretty. I’m trying to be responsible, and do the right thing, so I won’t just leave you here stranded. So just shut the fuck up, and get in the car, we’re leaving now.”

The drive back to school was tense. She kept making light of the previous night’s events; he reiterated his position she had violated his trust and had taken advantage of him. After the first few miles, he wouldn’t say a word.

Phone calls, emails, and messages carried by friends were all ignored by César. All her attempts to apologize, and renew their friendship, were dealt with in the same manner. Graduation was a little less joyous because the man she had set her sights on was not around.

Nine months later, Lourdes gave birth to a beautiful boy. César Marcos Abelló had been listed as the father on the birth certificate but was not told about the baby. By becoming a single mother, Lourdes had lost some standing in the social circles she moved in. Even though it was 1997, having a child out of wedlock was not viewed as proper in the conservative Cuban community.

Soon after her son was born, Lourdes began working and dating. She met Rich Peterson, an Air Force pilot, at a party in the summer of 1998, while the fly-boy was in town visiting friends. They spent as much time as possible together during the two weeks following their meeting. When he was ready to leave Miami and return to his post, he asked her if they could keep in touch. Through the remainder of the year, they visited each other whenever possible. Then, on December 31, 1999, Rich asked her to marry him. She agreed, and they planned to be wed in twelve months, on January 1, 2001―the first day of the twenty-first century. Rich also expressed a desire to formally adopt CJ and give him his last name.

César became aware he had a son when the boy was two years old. He was contacted by an attorney, requesting he sign away his parental rights, to allow for the toddler’s adoption. Joy and pride in being a dad, and hurt and anger about being kept in the dark, collided inside him; his rage even scared his parents, when he made them aware they had a grandson.

“The fucking cunt! First, she rapes me. Then she keeps my son away from me and wants me to give him up so some asshole can claim to be his father. They can both go to hell, I’ll never allow it. They may as well get ready for a very long and very nasty court fight.”

The young father was living back in Miami, working as a staff accountant at Ernst & Young, one of the world’s largest public accounting firms. He knew Lourdes would hate the publicity associated with a nasty custody fight, and he correctly assumed Captain Peterson would not enjoy being involved in one either. For someone in the military, that type of public relations disaster could derail further advancement. To avoid such a spectacle over parental rights, César was granted visitation privileges. He was allowed to spend time with his kid and did so as often as possible. He was delighted to have a routine of regular Sunday morning visits, having his boy with him full time on alternate weekends, and over his two weeks annual vacation. His contact with the toddler came to a temporary end six months later, when the airman was posted to Germany.

In 2008, Major Peterson was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and deployed to Afghanistan; Lourdes moved back to Miami along with nine-year-old CJ. César, now living in the nation’s capital, began regular visits to South Florida to re-establish a relationship with his son. Beginning in 2009, the boy spent at least half his summer vacation in D.C. with his father and his father’s partner. He also saw them when they flew down to celebrate Thanksgiving with the entire Abelló clan in the warm weather. Spring break usually found father and son going on vacation somewhere together.

Upon his return from Afghanistan in 2011, Peterson was assigned to Southern Command operations in Doral, Florida. During the conversation in the living room of the Georgetown townhouse, CJ mentioned the man expected an early promotion to Colonel and thought it would be followed by a new posting.

“They’ll agree to whatever we ask. Lieutenant Colonel Dickhead is too wrapped up in his career, we can blackmail them with the threat of lots of dirt―he’ll back off from a fight.” César paced back and forth in the kitchen, as he talked with Brett and CJ, who sat on stools and the breakfast bar. “Not a move I’m proud to consider, but the desperate times and measures cliché applies. That woman is plain selfish, she’ll follow along, and do whatever he wants on this. She didn’t even put up a fight to keep her son with her. Sorry buddy I shouldn’t be calling your mother names, but she’s not one of my favorite people.”

“That’s ok, Dad, right now she’s not one of mine either.”

They discussed and agreed on what they wanted to happen; then decided to wait until after dinner to make a call to South Florida, one day ahead of the requested time. The strategy was to strike early, and strike hard. The goal was to achieve their objectives, with no casualties along the way, except for the homophobic asshole. That was the way Brett described their plans, making César and CJ roll their eyes at the choice of analogies.

For dinner, Brett grilled the lamb shish kebabs César had bought the day before when planning a welcome dinner for their kid. A salad of arugula, avocado and pears, and fresh steamed asparagus rounded out the meal.

“Ugh! My pee’s gonna smell tomorrow.”

“That’s disgusting, CJ. True, but disgusting anyway.” Papa Brett shook his head and grinned.

“In punishment, you’re on clean-up detail while Papa and I go upstairs to our room to make the call. Once you start the dishwasher go take a shower. You’ve been running around all day and probably feel cruddy. We’ll stop by your bedroom when we get done.” César kissed CJ’s forehead on the way to the staircase.

“Peterson.” The voice at the other end of the connection sounded gruff and unhappy.

“Hello, Rich. This is César. Brett and I have you on speaker.”

“Honey!” The military man’s shout was muffled as if he had apparently covered the mouthpiece. “Pick up. It’s the D.C. fags.”

“Asshole!” César and Brett’s retort was loud enough to be heard over the phone.

“Glad to hear everyone’s in such a good mood,” said a female voice in an icy tone.

“Hello, Lourdes, so nice to hear your voice.” The sarcasm in Brett’s comment was obvious. It earned him a stern look from César, accompanied by gestures suggesting he take deep breaths. “Now that we’re all here, I’ll let César share some information, with the two of you.” The Marine sat back in his chair with a predatory smile on his face. It was obvious he was itching for a fight.

“Okay, here’s where we stand. On Monday, CJ and I will be flying to Miami to meet with Cooper, my college fraternity brother, who’s a lawyer at Holland & Knight. You should remember him from our days at the University of Florida, Lourdes. I’ve already called him, and he’s putting us in touch with a lawyer at his firm’s D.C. office, who specializes in child custody cases. With their help, a lawsuit will be filed in Miami-Dade County, requesting your parental rights be revoked. We will claim abandonment, mental anguish, and fear of physical abuse as the causes.

“Our friend John Paul, who’s the press attaché at the Australian Embassy, is helping us arrange a press conference once the lawsuit’s filed. We will explain to the press how an up-and-coming Air Force LC threw a fifteen-year-old model student out of his home when he discovered the boy was gay. How the officer covered up an incident where a soldier under his command sexually abused the minor. And how the child’s mother stood by silently, allowed verbal abuse to be heaped on her son, and consented to the boy’s banishment from his home.”

“I get the picture, gay boy. What do you want?” The anger in Rich’s voice was palpable, Brett and César smiled, knowing they had hit a raw nerve.

“Funny you should ask, Dickhead. If you agree to our conditions, instead of us flying down, Cooper will have some documents delivered to you on Monday morning. You’ll both sign what he sends you if you wish to avoid the publicity. You’ll give up all parental rights to CJ, and in exchange, we’ll sign a confidentiality agreement promising to keep quiet concerning what has transpired. I’ll terminate child support payments, including any amounts used towards his school tuition. Since you’re giving up all rights as parents, we won’t request you pay child support.

“You’ll gather all of CJ’s vital documents: his birth certificate, social security card, passport, and medical records, and FedEx them to us by Monday afternoon. By the end of the coming week, you’ll pack up all of his belongings, and I mean all of them, and have them shipped here.”

They heard Lourdes say ‘Whatever… Let’s just get it over with’. Rich remained silent, but the couple in D.C. could well imagine his rage. César assured the mother they would not interfere in her maintaining a relationship with CJ. Her reply was very telling of her feelings, ‘We’ll see’. The call ended with the Petersons agreeing to all conditions.

The two adults headed downstairs and jumped on CJ screaming, “Dog Pile!” All three rolled around the bed, tickling each other and whooping it up in celebration.

“All set, kiddo, the four of us agreed you’re up here for good. You’re stuck with Papa, and your old man.”

CJ had put on a clean red t-shirt with the lightning bolt logo of The Flash on it. The three were headed out for ice cream.

“That’s the third different t-shirt I’ve seen you wear today.” César led the way as they walked out onto Prospect Street. “Just how many of those suckers do you have?”

“I don’t know, Dad. One of the duffle bags’ full of them. It’s what I wear most of the time.”

Going out for ice dream was a good time. CJ was happy about the outcome of the conversation, and the prospects for the coming year, although he would miss the daily contact with his kid brother. His fathers constantly repeated how thrilled they were having him around permanently. They made it clear their lives would change significantly over the next few months, but those changes would be dealt with at the proper time. They would even be welcome. He’d learned a lesson about being bullied; there was no need to cower in fear, options were often available. And he had a great place to live in! Yeah, he was sure his dads would give him a great home, in their mansion on the hill.

Later that night, alone in their room, César and Brett lay in bed talking about the turmoil of the last day.

“Babe, are you really fine with CJ coming to live with us? Having a teenager around’s going to turn our lives upside down short term. Long term, we’ll always have to take him into consideration, whenever we make plans or decisions.”

“I can’t believe you would ask me such a question. Haven’t you realized over the past couple of years how much I enjoy being around the kid? Hell, once he gets settled in, I’d love to officially adopt him. We know that the Supreme Court could overturn DOMA this year; if that happens, we’ll have to dust off those wedding plans we talked about before. A wedding, and adopting CJ, would make me a very happy Devil Pup.”

“I know your feelings for the boy are real, babe. I just want to make sure we both enter this new phase of our lives fully aware of what’s ahead. He may or may not have to deal with coming out at school, but he’ll be faced with the two dads conversation soon enough after classes start.”

“I’m glad we’re both off tomorrow. We haven’t played hooky in a while, and it’ll be good for Junior to have both of us around for the next three days. We should pull Dragon aside at some point Saturday, and see what he advises, as far as helping the kid get over the rejection and the changes in his life. Your son’s smart, but he’s still only fifteen years old. Has your anal-retentive mind scheduled our activities for tomorrow? I’m sure you have every minute of the day planned in detail.”

“Listen, Jarhead, don’t start complaining about what is one of my most endearing qualities. If we left planning and organization to you, it would be just as detailed. Plus, we would end up with a platoon shadowing us all day, just so you could have your minions around!”

“Hmmm, that sounds like a great idea! I’ve got some thoughts about what we should do, but let’s wait until breakfast, so we can get CJ’s input. After all, the day will be all about him. Good night, babe. Love ya and your hairy butt.”

“Love you too, stud.”