Walls - 18. December 2015 • Part I

CJ tapped into his growing network of connections when organizing the Gay Straight Alliance’s program. The organization had decided to sponsor an event on December first―World AIDS Day―at School Without Walls High School. Along with his co-chair, Kim Hoang, they presented their plans to Principal Martha Edwards and she was quick to approve the proposed school assembly and accompanying display.

The two students met with Dr. Prescott Harding―one of CJ’s doctors, an infectious disease specialist, and Director of the George Washington University Milken Institute of Public Health. Pres agreed to make a presentation to the students covering the medical aspects of HIV transmission and the current status of vaccine and treatment research for those infected with HIV.

Dragon bought the two students lunch at Rogo’s when CJ asked to speak with him. Although Devon Jefferson declined the invitation to speak during the event, he agreed to set up and man an information station where he would talk to students and distribute literature about the District of Columbia’s social programs geared towards prevention and the care of those infected and affected by the virus.

CJ also called on Aileen Ridder, his contact at the Human Rights Campaign, and she put him in touch with a man by the name of Steve Barnes who agreed to get together with the two students. “It’s nice to meet you, Kim. You too, CJ. Aileen said some very nice things about you and your volunteer work at HRC.”

“Thank you, sir. I don’t think I did that much, but it was a great experience.” CJ and Kim had met the man at a fast food joint near the campus of George Washington University. They’d ordered drinks and sat in a corner booth away from the sparse late afternoon crowd.

Kim sipped from her soda and stared at her co-chair. “CJ’s kinda modest about what he does, Mr. Barnes. I’ve watched him for the past two years. When he commits himself to a project he gives his all. Never takes credit for what he does, and constantly praises the work the rest of us do.” The girl paused and smiled while glancing at CJ who didn’t know where to look. “We just trust him and follow along. It’s the reason why the GSA is so successful.”

“I’m getting the feeling you two make a good team. Both of you appear to be dedicated to your causes and selfless about taking credit. Okay, how much do you guys know about the Names Project Foundation and the AIDS Memorial Quilt?”

“Not much,” Kim replied. “CJ suggested the Quilt would be something interesting to display at the school and told us a little about it.”

“It was my dads’ idea. They own a painting which was the concept design for a Quilt panel.”

“What does it look like?” Steve sounded surprised. “It’s not often I get to see an original piece of work which ends up as part of the Quilt.”

CJ reached into the back pocket of his jeans and retrieved his phone. “I took a picture of it. You can’t see the signature real well but the artist is some guy named Martin Kreloff and it’s dated 1992. The thing’s older than I am!”

“May I?” Steve accepted the phone while retrieving reading glasses from his shirt pocket. The screen displayed a colorful drawing of three empty yellow beach chairs facing a blue sea and a pink sky. “What else do you know about this, CJ?”

“Not a lot, sir. My dad’s an accountant. He told me he bought it from the estate of a client of his. That was while he was still living in Miami.”

“Okay, Miami and 1992 are a good starting point. My guess would be there was a display down there that year. I can check the database and see if I can find what Quilt section this panel ended up in. If I locate it, we can request it be included in what we ask be sent to us. Maybe we could borrow the painting and display it on an easel next to it?”

“Really? That would be cool. I’m sure the dads would love to see that.”

The man returned the phone to CJ and replaced his eyeglasses in his pocket. “I’ll give you my number and you can text the picture to me. Let me give you a short history lesson on the Quilt.”

“Oh, I’d like that a lot.” Kim tucked a leg underneath herself and cupped her chin in a hand while resting her elbow on the table.

“Cleve Jones, a gay rights activist, came up with the idea for the Quilt back in 1985. He’d helped organize candle-light vigils in honor of Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk since they’d both been murdered in the late seventies. By the time the eighty-five event rolled around, AIDS had reared its ugly head and begun blazing through the gay community like wildfire. That year he asked marchers to write the names of people who’d died from the disease on placards. And after the march concluded, the signs were taped to the wall of a building. The result was something that looked like a patchwork quilt.

“Two years later, the first panels of what would become the largest community art project in the world were created.”

“How big is it?” Kim asked.

“Well, each panel’s three feet by six feet. Panels are sewn together into twelve by twelve blocks. We have almost 6,000 blocks as of this summer which means about 48,000 panels.”

“Wow!” The girl seemed surprised at the magnitude of the numbers being discussed. “Is the whole thing ever displayed together? CJ mentioned we might be able to get half a dozen or so of the big… blocks I guess you’d call them.”

“The Quilt has been exhibited in its entirety here in Washington a handful of times. Many of the older panels are fragile nowadays due to repeated handling. They may never all be displayed together again. I’m going to suggest you guys watch a documentary. Common Threads: Stories from the Quilt won the Oscar for best feature-length documentary film of 1989. I can lend you guys a copy of it.”

“That would be great. If Kim agrees, we’ll get our group together and watch it. I’m sure my dads would be okay with us doing it at my house.”

The phone calls and meetings began soon after the start of the school year and by the time the day arrived, all the planning and hard work paid off: the event went off without a hitch. CJ invited his fathers to drop by the school in the afternoon so they could at least see their artwork displayed next to the Quilt block containing the actual panel. Their friend, Charles Houston, claimed his journalistic antenna twitched when he heard about the event and asked to write an article about it; CJ insisted Kim and other members of the GSA be interviewed and featured before agreeing to sitting down and talking about it with Uncle Trip.

• • •

Two days later, CJ and Ritchie found themselves in the White House once again. The Obama girls had invited the brothers, along with a handful of classmates, to attend the National Christmas Tree lighting ceremony as their guests.

“Welcome back, guys.” President Obama shook hands with each of them as they readied themselves to move over to the stage erected at President’s Park for the evening’s performances.

“Thank you, Mr. President.” CJ nudged his brother, trying to get his shyer sibling to speak.

“Yes , thank you, Mr. President. This is for you and Mrs. Obama.” Ritchie handed over a bottle of Liston wine the dads had suggested the brothers bring as a token of their appreciation.

“Australian wine, eh? However did you get this past security? And aren’t you a little young to be buying wine?” The wink and smile Mr. Obama gave Ritchie made the boy blush.

“I didn’t buy it, sir. Our dads gave it to us to bring tonight. It’s from CJ’s boyfriend’s family winery in Australia.”

“Thank you, boys. Mrs. Obama and I will enjoy this. So, CJ, you seem to associate with interesting people. You have an Aussie boyfriend with a family winery and Malia tells me Bill Clinton wrote you a letter of recommendation for your college application. I must say I’m impressed.”

“Ummm, it was nice of him to do it, sir. Robbie Mook―”

“Hillary’s campaign manager? You know him too?”

“Yes, sir. I met him last year at a political event our fathers hosted at home. He introduced me to President Clinton at the HRC dinner last year. When I asked Robbie if he’d be willing to write a letter of recommendation for me, he suggested it might be better coming from the President considering where I was applying. Mr. Clinton was nice enough to do it, saying he remembered meeting me.”

“Definitely impressed, young man. I’ll be keeping an eye on you. We’ll talk again but I think we need to get going now. I understand Ms. Piggy’s one of the performers this evening and we don’t want to keep her waiting.”

• • •

Walking out of the dojo, Thiago adjusted his backpack and buttoned up his coat―the temperature had been dropping all day and the low was expected to be near the freezing mark soon. “What are you and Ozzie doing tonight?”

“Nothing, he has to study. The dads have some black tie event to go to and Ritchie’s spending the night at a friend’s house. I have the place to myself until the boyfriend gets done and comes over. I’m thinking I’ll roll a fat one, order pizza, and veg in front of the TV. What are you up to?”

Thiago chuckled and shook his head. “I was fishing for an invitation to come hang with you guys…”

“Really? Won’t the girlfriend mind?” CJ was surprised. The girl Thiago had dated for the past few months was not the friendliest.

“No girlfriend, homie. We broke up. I’m single!”

“WHAT? What happened? When?”

“Right after Thanksgiving. You and I don’t see each other that often anymore so I haven’t had a chance to tell you. And I didn’t want to share the news over a text or Snapchat. I dumped her sorry ass.” Thiago didn’t sound upset about the break-up; he was acting more relaxed than he had for a while.

“Why? What she do?”

“Complained about you.”

“Me? She complained about me?” CJ was shocked. He had not liked the girl the few times he’d met her but Thiago seemed content and that was all that mattered; his personal feelings he’d kept to himself.

“Well, you, and Ozzie, and Harley, and Chipper, and―you get the idea. When she found out about your birthday trip, and the fact I’d be gone for New Year’s Eve she went bat-shit crazy. She complained about me hanging out with white people all the time.”

“Ouch!” CJ wasn’t sure if he was happy or hurt the girl hadn’t liked him. He ended up chuckling at her attitude.

“Yep, bitch turned out to be a racist. In twenty-fifteen! Can you believe that shit?” Thiago pulled his phone out and smirked. “Speak of the devil. She keeps calling me even though I told her there isn’t a chance in hell I’d get back together with her. Hang on.” He hit the answer button while winking at CJ. “What up? You gonna have to stop calling me, girl. I ain’t changing my mind.”

An amused CJ watched as his friend rolled his eyes while opening and closing a hand to indicate the girl was talking.

“I really don’t wanna hear it. My best friend happens to be white and you’re a racist. No fucking way I wanna be around you.” Thiago closed his eyes and shook his head; when he spoke again there was no disguising his annoyance. “I don’t care if your family thinks we black people need to stick together. You know what? I tried to be as nice as I could but you’re being a pest. You’re getting blocked. Get it through your head, okay? I’ll repeat a line CJ’s fond of using: ‘My cow died. I don’t need your bull.’ Stay the fuck away from me.”

• • •

Two weeks later, CJ rushed home after practice to have dinner with his dads and brother. It had been the last day of classes at Walls and Sidwell Friends School and the brothers were in a good mood. It was also the end of term for Ozzie at George Mason University School of Law; he and CJ would be attending a party later in the evening at the apartment of one of the Aussie’s classmates.

“So, I have some interesting news…” CJ allowed the words to hang in the air while spooning food on his plate.

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear something?”

“They sent you an e-mail, right?”

He looked at his family and smiled. The three of them knew it was decision day for early admission applicants to his college of choice and didn’t seem happy with his delaying tactics. “You’re not going to believe this: Harley has a date tonight!”

“Asshole!” Brett seemed to be the most impatient one. While Ritchie giggled and César chuckled, the retired marine half-rose from his chair. “If you don’t spill, I’m going to cream you!”

“Fine, Papa, chill. Yeah, they sent me an e-mail. I’m in! I’ll be a freshman at Georgetown University next fall!”

• • •

“Fuck!” He looked to his side to find Owen pulling away from him and hiding his head underneath a pillow. The incessant banging on their bedroom door was so loud the down-filled thing wouldn’t muffle the noise. “WHAT?” CJ shouted.

“Wake up already, you lazy bums! Can we come in?” Brett had cracked the door open, thrown the light switch on, and was peeking in at his son and boyfriend in bed. “You two better be decent. I hope you’re at least wearing something under the covers.”

César placed a hand on the edge of the door and finished pushing it open. “Sorry to wake you up so early, boys, but I have to get to the office.”

“I brought you guys coffee.” Ritchie walked in behind the two men, carrying two steaming mugs, taking each step with care. “Happy birthday, CJ.”

“Thanks, bro! Just put them on the nightstand, I’m not sure Ozzie’s ready to wake up yet.”

“We have a couple of presents for you, buddy.” César sat on the edge of the bed next to his son, leaned down, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “You get three of them now and another one’s at Brett’s office. You can get it when you go pick him up for lunch.”

CJ sat up, leaned against the headboard, and reached for the mug Ritchie had brought him. “Thanks, Dad. We still meeting at 12:30?”

“Yep. Rachel’s coming downtown and we’ll go eat somewhere near my office. Don’t be late. Sorry, I have to run. But since I’ll be out all of next week, I have to make sure some things get done. I love you, son.”

“Love ya too, Dad. See ya!” CJ nudged Ozzie and when the blonde peeked from under the pillow, CJ gave him a quick peck on the tip of his nose. “You want your coffee? Time to open presents.”

“What is it with this family? Can’t you guys sleep past sunrise? I’m sleepy. And it’s chilly. I want to stay in bed.”

“It’s way past sunrise, Ozzie.” Ritchie walked around the bed, carrying the second coffee, and handed it to his brother’s boyfriend. “And you’re whining. That’s not allowed.”

“Good one, Ritchie! You tell him. Now where the hell are my gifts?”

Brett placed two packages wrapped in Georgetown University themed paper atop the covers. “These two are from Ritchie.”

CJ took the larger box, ripped off the gift wrap, and lifted the lid. “Yes! I’ve been meaning to go buy a new one. My old one got stained when I helped Harley change Defiant’s oil and filter.” He held up the dark blue t-shirt―with the image of the school’s bulldog mascot printed on it―for Brett and Ozzie to see. “Thanks, bro.”

“You like it? I got you a large since that’s what all the shirts I’ve borrowed from you are. Careful with the other package, it’s glass.”

“I love it! And like I said: my old one got ruined so I can’t wear it out in public.” CJ reached for the smaller square package and removed the tape holding down the gift wrapping paper with care.

“They had a big display of these things at the bookstore when I went to buy the shirt.” Ritchie had taken a seat on the other side of the bed, next to Owen. “I thought you’d like to put it on the tree down here.”

Once he’d removed the wrapping paper, CJ found a squared cardboard container holding a dark blue glass ball with the same image of the school’s mascot printed on it. “I love it, bro! A Georgetown University Christmas ornament. It’s sick! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. We should go buy one from Ozzie’s school too. That way the tree will have both your schools.”

“That may have to wait until next year, mate.” Owen adjusted the pillow behind him and sat up while sipping his coffee. “I’m pretty sure the bookstore’s closed until January.”

“Okay, so where’s my other present? Dad said I was getting three of them this morning.”

Brett handed his son a gift bag with tissue paper corners peeking from the top. “A courier delivered this to my office yesterday. There was a note saying it was a birthday present for you.”

CJ dug into the container and retrieved a card and a set of DVDs. “It’s a complete set of The West Wing. Isn’t that an old TV show?”

“Yep, and it’s right up your alley. Martin Sheen as President of the United States. Great show! I remember watching it while I was in college.”

“Who’s it from, CJ? Are you going to open the card?” Ritchie sounded impatient.

CJ winked at his brother. “I am, bro. Wanna get me the letter opener from the top of my desk?”

Intrigued by who’d sent him the present as much as his younger brother was, CJ slit the envelope open and retrieved the card inside. “Damn! I can’t believe this shit!”

“What do you mean?” Ozzie asked. “Who’s it from?”

“Hillary Clinton… I got a birthday present from Hillary Fucking Clinton!” CJ shook his head in disbelief while reading the message. “Robbie Mook had to put her up to this. She says now that I’m eighteen, she hopes I’ll agree to join her campaign. I told Robbie I wouldn’t make any decisions until after I was registered to vote.”

“Dude, that’s pretty cool. I can’t believe my son’s getting presents from a presidential candidate. So are you? You gonna volunteer for her?”

“I don’t know, Papa. Haven’t made up my mind yet. But her comment reminds me I have to stop by the Department of Motor Vehicles today or tomorrow. I need to get my driver’s license upgraded to add the motorcycle endorsement and I’ll register to vote at the same time.”

• • •

“Captain Davenport, Mr. Abelló, welcome back to Forbes Grille. It’s a pleasure to have you with us.” The maître d’ looked to be in his sixties. His white hair fell in gentle waves kissing the collar of his suit jacket and forehead. He stretched out long, slender fingers and combed the front fringe back while turning his sparkling eyes towards CJ. “And you, Master Abelló, I understand it’s your eighteenth birthday today. Thank you for choosing our establishment to celebrate such a momentous milestone. We all wish you the best possible day.”

It wasn’t CJ’s first visit to the upscale private club in Washington. César’s membership was a perk of being a partner at the accounting firm. Although he used it for lunch meetings with clients most of the time, CJ had been there a few times over the past two years and had met Nelson Wheatly before. He smiled at the man while shaking his hand. “Thank you, Nelson, but I must remind you my name’s CJ. This is Owen Liston, my boyfriend.”

“Very well, CJ. It is a pleasure, Mr. Liston. If the four of you will follow me, your table’s ready and Ms. Stout is waiting for you.”

Rachel Stout rose when she saw her lunch companions approach. “Happy birthday, CJ.” The attorney who handled most of the CBC Family Foundation legal matters kissed him on both cheeks before handing him an envelope and shaking hands with the other men. “It’s just a gift card, I’m not brave enough to buy a real present for a teenager and neither’s my wife.”

“Thank you, Rachel. You really shouldn’t have, but thank you so much.”

“Okay, everyone, how about we sit and order some food. We have work to do, and I need to get back to the office at a reasonable time.” César motioned to the server who had been standing in the background observing the greetings and was immediately at their side.

Conversation was light while they ate, centered around CJ’s acceptance to Georgetown and the upcoming trip to Colorado. They all refused the dessert cart when it was wheeled to their table, but accepted coffee while Rachel opened her briefcase and retrieved a sheaf of papers. “Okay, we know César has to get back to the office so let’s take care of business.”

“Are Ozzie and I gonna have to sign our lives away now?”

“Don’t exaggerate, CJ.” Rachel divided the documents she’d retrieved in two stacks and handed one to CJ and the other one to Owen. “Okay, the first page’s a resolution by the current directors electing you to a seat on the board. Although not a legal requirement, we’d like both of you to sign at the bottom, next to your name. You can add the date if you want but I’ll be going through everything again this afternoon and making sure all the dates are correct.”

“Can I borrow a pen? I didn’t bring one.” Owen looked somewhat embarrassed at not being ready.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. What kind of ambulance chaser are you gonna be if you don’t have a pen to write down the accident victim’s name? Here you go, dude.” Brett ducked to avoid César’s head slap, reached in the inside pocket of his blazer and handed Owen the fountain pen he kept on his desk at all times. “Careful with it. That was a present from my hubby.”

“We give these back to you, Rachel?”

“Yes, for now. And for the record, I had pens for you guys to use. I’ll get you each a set of all the documents later. The second page’s a copy of the resolution adding your names to the directors and officers Liability insurance. D and O insurance covers expenses you may incur as a result of legal action due to your work on behalf of the foundation. If you’ll initial here and here acknowledging your understanding…”

“Has anyone on the board ever been sued?”

“Not that I’m aware of, Owen. Captain?” Rachel glanced at Brett for confirmation.

“Nope, not as long as César and I have been involved. But then again, we’ve kept such a low profile over the years, very few people even know we exist.”

“The next set of sheets is a summary of the foundation’s compensation and expense reimbursement policies. Once again, I need your initials acknowledging you’ve received a copy. You also need to fill out the Internal Revenue Service form so we can report your earnings to them.”

“We get paid?” CJ was taken by surprise, he had no idea there would be money involved. “I don’t think that’s right, Dad. I don’t want to make money out of this.”

César had a satisfied expression when he replied. “You don’t have to. Brett and I have both waived any compensation we might be entitled to. You can do the same.”

“I agree with CJ. It’s not right for us to make money from something like this. All the money should go to whatever programs the foundation sponsors. What do we have to do to turn those payments down?”

“Funny you should ask.” Rachel reached in her briefcase and retrieved two pieces of paper. “Brett and César thought that would be your attitude so I took the liberty of preparing the appropriate documents. If you’d sign above your names…”

“Is that it?” CJ asked while signing.

“Two more, CJ. And these are only for you.” Rachel placed the additional documents in front of him. “The first one is the board resolution electing you as vice-chair of the foundation.”

“Me? Vice-chair? But I thought that was Dad’s position.”

“Nope, I’m the treasurer. What this does is place you on the executive committee along with Brett, Rachel, and myself. We thought it was the right thing to do since one day you’ll be running the show.”

“Damn, Dad, don’t you think that’s getting a little ahead? It’s gonna be a hell of a long time before either you or Papa are ready to step down.”

“True, but you never know. And this way you get some training. Now, the last document Rachel gave you is connected to your new position but not directly. It’s an application to become a member of Forbes Grille. I’m serving as your sponsor but the application has to be approved by the membership committee.”

“Really? I’m gonna become a member? So I can come eat here whenever I want? You don’t have to be with me?”

“Yes to all of the above.”

“So what do I have to do? Do I have to meet with somebody?”

“Nope. The form you’re signing gives the club the authority to run a background check on you. I think they want to make sure we don’t have murderers applying. It also allows them to confirm your income with your employer―in your case, the trust officer at the bank who handles your accounts. Since money’s never used in here, they need to make sure you can afford whatever you sign for.”

“But wouldn’t my credit card be enough for that?”

“No credit cards accepted, bud. You sign the check and you get a monthly bill. You’re not even supposed to tip the servers. A gratuity is automatically added to the bill.”

Brett placed a hand on his son’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “Welcome to the big leagues, dude!”

• • •

“I think we should buy another one… For Ozzie” Brett was naked on top of the covers, hands behind his head, waiting for César to finish in the bathroom. He referred to the custom wooden armchairs they had in the basement around the game table. When the place was remodeled the previous year, they’d ordered two of them: one with the seal of the University of Florida laser carved on it and the other with the University of California, Berkley.

“Aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourself, Jarhead?” When CJ was accepted to Georgetown University, they’d ordered a GU one and given it to their son as a birthday present earlier in the day.

“Have you seen the way those two look at each other? Our kid’s such a goner…”

“Yeah, well, I say we wait. He’s not even out of high school yet! How many couples do you know who stick it out through high school and college and stay together? Owen may be the flavor of the year, but―”

“But nothing. If I have my way―”

“That’s my point, Jarhead. It’s not what you or anyone else wants. It’s up to them.” César walked out of the bathroom, slipped off his boxers and t-shirt and jumped on top of his husband. “I’ll make you a deal: if they’re still together when Owen graduates from law school, we’ll get one then.”

“Fine… Hey, what are you doing? Why are you lifting my legs? Are you trying to molest me?”

César’s response was muffled between Brett’s butt cheeks.