Roar - Georgetown Book I - 3. Roar • Part III

“Please wear yours.” Owen held CJ by the arm and whispered so none of the other guys could hear.

Before the group left Washington, Harley was anointed road captain and led the way with the other motorcycles riding in staggered formation behind him. It was an easy ride and the weather was beautiful. After crossing the state line into Pennsylvania, somewhere near the halfway point of their ride, they stopped at a gas station. It was as they were ready to mount up again the blonde Aussie approached his boyfriend.

CJ looked at him, smiled, and nodded. “Okay, because you asked. But you better get ready for me to ditch the brain bucket at some point too.” While Harley took the lead, Brad brought up the rear in the chase vehicle. Defiant―CJ’s bright yellow Jeep―carried their luggage since the only bikes with saddlebags belonged to César and Brett.

Pennsylvania did not require a helmet and as soon as they stopped, Harley and the dads removed theirs and stored them in the Jeep. “It’s no surprise Brett’s taken his off. Your dad has a crazy streak running through him. But César? He’s always so careful and protective…”

“You’ve heard the stories passed down from Uncle Rico to Randy and Rod. Dad was a wild man in his younger days. I think he controls himself because of me and now Ritchie. He doesn’t want to set a bad example.”

“Well, he’s not being careful right now for sure. It still blows my mind you guys have different rules depending on the state. Everyone should be required to wear helmets.”

“Cultural differences, Ozzie. Just like with gun ownership, cultural differences. Helmet laws are just another example of government overreach. Like requiring people to wear seat belts or have special seats for kids.”

“Come on, CJ. You can’t tell me you’d want your kid to ride in a car without a child seat and risk injury!”

“Nope. If I ever have kids, they’ll be strapped in. But I resent politicians making decisions for me. If somebody wants to ride without a helmet or drive without seatbelts it should be their choice.”

“Even if it means they could suffer serious injury or die?”

“Yep, even then. Life may be precious to some of us. We may want to cling on to it no matter what. But some people prefer to take the risk. Part of the you only live once approach. We should respect their choices. Here’s a perfect example. I’ve heard when drinking laws started changing and the age limit was raised to twenty-one, Louisiana held out. They didn’t want to lose out on the tourist dollars New Orleans brought in during Mardi Gras and other celebrations. The Federal government stuck their butt into it and threatened to withhold highway dollars if they didn’t go along. Perfect example of the Federal government infringing on state’s rights!”

“I’m sure people wanted the laws.”

“Yeah, a bunch of stupid bitches who couldn’t leave well enough alone. Mothers Against Drunk Drivers is nothing but a bunch of bullies. They want to force their beliefs on everyone. Fuck ’em. They wanna wear seatbelts and helmets, let them. Just don’t force me to do the same.”

Owen shook his head and sighed. “Not arguing with you, CJ.”

The sun was still up when the guys returned to the motel after dinner. They decided a swim would be nice and changed into bathing suits before reconvening around one of the tables by the pool. Harley had brought a couple of joints and Brett carried a handful of cigars. By the time they retired to their rooms, the six men were pruned from all the time in the water, smelled like a fire pit due to the cigar smoke, and their eyes were red-rimmed thanks to the Oskosh Organic grown by Harley’s grandfather. CJ thought it was funny to see both his dads stoned simultaneously. It was a rare occurrence.

 • • •

“Frank Lloyd Wright was an American architect, interior designer, writer, and educator. He promoted organic architecture, which is best exemplified in his most famous work: Fallingwater.” The twenty-something man smiled at the small group surrounding him “Welcome. I’m Baylor, an architectural student and volunteer intern with the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy. Today, I’ll help guide you through this magnificent structure. And not to take credit for words not my own, my opening was a direct quote from our website.”

CJ paid rapt attention to the guide even though he was familiar with most of what the man was saying. After his visits to Wright’s home in Oak Park, Illinois and the Guggenheim Museum in New York City, his interest in the famed architect had grown. He owned a couple of books on the man’s work and Fallingwater had been high on his list of places to visit for a while.

“The house was designed as a weekend home for Edgar and Liliane Kaufmann, owners of Kaufmann’s Department Store in Pittsburgh.” Baylor stood with his back to the structure while CJ split his attention between the man and the house. “The total cost of the project was $155,000. Adjusted for inflation, that’s the equivalent of $2.7 million in 2016 dollars. The cost of restoration work done in 2001 was estimated at $11.5 million.”

CJ had read the cantilevered home was built partly over the waterfall on Bear Run against the original wishes of the homeowners. The Kauffmans wanted it located on the opposite bank to provide a view of the cascade. But now, as he listened to the guide, the background of water spilling over rocks provided an incredible soothing sensation and he realized Wright had made the correct choice. This was the perfect location for the home. CJ thought how wonderful it would be to live with the splashing sound as a constant soundtrack.

“And now, if you’ll follow me, let’s take a closer look at the house Smithsonian Magazine lists as one of the places to see before you die.” Walking through the front entrance, Baylor explained the design had been influenced by the Japanese style the architect loved. “Mr. Wright sought harmony between his man-made structures and the surrounding natural environment. His use of locally quarried stone and glass encouraged a feeling of being outdoors even when surrounded by walls.”

Standing in front of one of the large windows, CJ surreptitiously ran a finger over the juncture between the glass and stone wall. He was unsure of what he was allowed to touch and what was off-limits. There was no metal frame. The panes were set into a caulked channel creating a seamless joint. Baylor took a couple of steps in his direction staring at him, and CJ withdrew his finger as if scorched.

“I see our friend has discovered one of the endless number of Wright special touches in the house,” the tour guide said. “Frank Lloyd Wright embraced the use of glass in his quest to open living spaces and permit interaction with nature, while providing protection from the elements. You’ll notice that although he inserted glass into the stone without any sort of wood or metal railing, he didn’t hide the window frames connecting an individual pane to the ones next to it. In fact, he painted them red to attract attention and provide a continuous line as counterpoint to the stones’ jagged edges.”

CJ stepped back until his vision encompassed the outside wall and the hearth. Both were clad in the same stone. It resembled an unbroken surface bisected by the glass panel. He recalled Wright had a fixation with fireplaces―Fallingwater had four―considering them a focal point for gatherings of friends and family. This one was considered the grandest of all in the Pennsylvania house. The original rock outcrop the property owners cherished as a sunning spot had been kept in place. It protruded through the polished flagstone floor fronting the grate, further highlighting the connection between indoors and outdoors.

“Aside from stone and glass, wood and reinforced concrete are the other two primary materials used in construction. Like many other Frank Lloyd Wright structures, Fallingwater was plagued by leaks and due to the location’s high humidity, mold also became an issue.” Baylor spoke while moving around the first floor of the house allowing the guests to take pictures. “Over a number of years at the turn of the century, the Conservancy embarked on an ambitious preservation project. Although neither the exterior or interior appearance was modified, high-strength steel cables were fed through the blocks and exterior concrete walls, and then the cables were tightened using jacks. The changes repaired sagging on the cantilevers which had reached a critical stage in the late 1990s and threatened failure.”

Stealing a glance at his traveling companions, CJ was somewhat surprised when he noticed Harley was the one paying the closest attention to the guide’s presentation. He smiled, remembering how his buddy admitted during the road trip to Wisconsin the previous year, he had enjoyed CJ fascination with architecture. Harley must have felt eyes on him. He took a quick glance at his friend and was rewarded with a quick wink.

“You’ll notice a lot of the furniture in the house is built in.” Baylor motioned towards the two large sofas standing perpendicular to one another underneath the expanse of windows. “They’re upholstered in simple materials which provide a suitable background for the specialty fabrics on pillows, throws, and carpets. Early on, a critic wrote the details of the house were as much in their place and as consistent in themselves and in relation to each other, as the whole house is to the surroundings.”

Wright was known for designing not just a house but most of the fixed and freestanding furnishings, including light fixtures, textiles, and decorative glass. It was part of a philosophy which aimed at consistency. Often, his designs would evolve from the initial drawings and a motif would repeat itself throughout the entire project.

“Take a few minutes to look around at some of the details on the first floor and we’ll then move upstairs. It’s a beautiful day outside. I think you’re all going to enjoy the views from the terraces.”

Three hours after arriving, the group had toured the inside of the house and explored the surroundings. It was then Harley’s interest came to an end. “I have no idea what you guys are thinking but this is enough for now. This place’s sick and I enjoyed myself a lot. But it’s waaay past lunch time. I’m hungry.”

Lunch preceded additional hours riding back roads through rural southwestern Pennsylvania. Leaving the Jeep behind, Brad took turns as a passenger on the back of the dads’ motorcycles since those were the two largest. By the time they stopped for dinner, he swore he’d be learning how to ride and getting his own bike sometime in the foreseeable future.

• • •

“Are you ready?” Earlier, Owen remained by the pool talking to César and Brett while CJ retired to their room.

“Yeah, I looked through my luggage again in case I’d forgotten something. And read and replied to a bunch of messages. This coming week’s going to be crazy.” CJ had laid out the next day’s clothes and plugged in all his electronic devices so they’d be charged in the morning.

“Excited?”

“Ummm… Some, but also hating it a bit. Some things I won’t enjoy. Like having to shave and wear a tie every day. But overall? Hell yeah, I’m excited. I just wish you’d be there with me.”

“You know I can’t. I have to be in the office early on Monday and my week will be just as hectic as yours.”

“How come? I didn’t see you this hyper over any assignment at the Nature Conservancy last year.”

“This one’s special. I get to make the first run through all the legal documents. A senior attorney will have to sign off in the end, but this is my baby. And it’s an Australian project, mate!”

CJ stripped off his shorts and jumped in bed, patting the side next to him. “Come here. We need to get up early so we should go to sleep. But I want to hear about this thing first. You haven’t mentioned anything before.”

“You have enough on your plate, CJ. I didn’t want to add to it and bore you with my stuff.”

“You’re such an ass. It doesn’t matter how much I may have going on. I’ll always have time for you. And listening to you share what you’re working on isn’t a burden. It’s a treat.”

“Thanks. Anyway…” By the time Owen finished describing what the Australian branch of the Nature Conservancy was proposing and what his role in it would be, both men were yawning. It didn’t take long for them to fall asleep.

• • •

The bright yellow Jeep and the five Harley-Davidson motorcycles drew plenty of attention as they stopped at the hotel’s entrance in Philadelphia. They rode across Pennsylvania on I-76 making one short stop for gas and then another one for lunch once in town. Brett insisted there was no way he was stopping in the city of Brotherly Love and not getting a cheesesteak sandwich. He and Harley bought an extra one each to take home.

“Call me after you get to Washington, okay?” CJ gave Owen a final kiss and watched as the Jeep and motorcycles roared away from the curb. He followed the cart carrying his luggage, promising the valet he would return to move the motorcycle after checking in. Ensconced in the room afterwards, he unpacked and put away his clothes, checking the shirts and jackets to ensure they didn’t need ironing. He showered, changed into jeans and a button down shirt, grabbed his blue blazer, and headed out to register and retrieve his credentials for the week.

CJ spoke with Robbie and planned on attending a breakfast meeting the following morning with him, campaign staff, and official surrogates to review the tentative schedule for the week. The first day of the 2016 Democratic National Convention would be a busy one but the remainder of the week his time commitments would depend on each day’s developments. That evening, he attended a reception for Pennsylvania delegates as a guest of State Representative Brian Sims and, after much pestering from the man who had started him on his journey through the political world, promised to return to Philadelphia with Owen later in the summer so they could go out to dinner together with Brian’s partner.

Afterwards, he stopped at the hotel bar and had a soda while talking to delegates and visitors from all over the country. Later in his room, he raided the mini bar and enjoyed a couple of beers while talking to his boyfriend and checking messages before collapsing in bed and falling asleep.

• • •

“Good afternoon. My name’s CJ Abelló and I’m with her!” CJ smiled when his repeating the phrase so often used to express support for Hillary Clinton was greeted by a roar from the crowd. He waited until the noise level diminished and once again stepped up close to the microphone. The teleprompter was something new and unsure of how he would react, he had a printed copy of his remarks atop the podium as a backup.

“I’m a delegate from the District of Columbia. Home to Washington, our nation’s capital, and the next state in the union.” The comment was met with a vociferous response from the DC delegation and the approval helped calm any remaining jitters. This was by far the largest audience CJ had ever spoken in front of and he tried not to think of the millions following the proceedings on television sets and computer screens around the world.

The dads had said they would record everything so they could watch it later in the evening after they had returned home from work. And Harley―being the most tech savvy in the group―had promised to set everything up for them so CJ’s appearances could be saved permanently on a flash drive and shared with family and friends.

CJ was given five minutes for his speech and tried to cram as much as possible into the allotted time. He disclosed he was gay and praised the candidate for her support of the GLBT community. After acknowledging he was the grandson of immigrants, he decried the xenophobia exhibited by other candidates. He brought up race relations, recounting the experience of being stopped during a recent road trip by a cop and the fear shown by a black traveling companion. Mocking those who would deny the science behind climate change, he praised Clinton’s support for environmental protections.

The reaction from the crowd was supportive. His statements were greeted by cheers and applause until he spoke with pride about his father being an officer in the Marine Corps. CJ stood motionless, the bank of screens behind him displaying a fluttering American flag. The booing and jeering from a section in the Wells Fargo Center shocked him. But his frown turned into a smile when a loud response rose from other sections of the arena. The roar of hundreds chanting, “USA, USA!” rose and drowned out the negative shouts.

The less-than-enthusiastic reaction to his praise of the military and Secretary Clinton’s support for the armed forces and veterans rankled him; he was however, gratified by the applause when he was done and stepped away from the podium. He had mixed emotions concerning his appearance and thought he might have to rethink his political involvement. He wanted to speak to the campaign manager but knew he would not have a chance this week. Robbie had already told him he was swamped with everything he had to do.

Any conversation and subsequent decision would have to wait. He was met by the campaign’s director of communications soon after he walked backstage. She raved about his performance but told him he would have to miss some of the proceedings. They’d scheduled an interview with Armed Forces Radio for the late afternoon and an appearance on a cable news network show for the early evening.

• • •

“It’s good to have you with us tonight, CJ.” The host of the eponymous Hardball with Chris Mathews flashed a friendly smile at his guest. “This evening we have with us CJ Abelló―a surrogate for Hillary Clinton. He spoke at the convention earlier today and had a rough time of it with the audience. Didn’t you, buddy?”

“Thanks, Chris. It’s a pleasure to be here. I didn’t think today was so rough. It was actually―”

“Oh, come on! You can’t tell me you were happy with the Bernie Bros booing after you brought up the military.” The reference was to Bernie Sanders supporters; many of whom populated the left-leaning fringes of the Democratic Party. “For goodness sake, you were telling the world how proud you are of your father and they dissed you. I thought it was uncalled for.”

“The way I look at it, those people were exercising their First Amendment―”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The usual platitudes referring to free speech.” Mathews waved his hands around as CJ had seen him do on those occasions he had watched the show. “Just because it’s protected by the constitution doesn’t make it right. And it being directed against your family had to rankle.”

“This afternoon wasn’t about me, Chris. My goal was to show why I support Secretary Clinton and why―”

“Well, I have no doubt she was happy with what you said. Clinton’s always going to be a bit too hawkish for me.”

CJ stared at the blond, older man and smiled. He thought it was time to take over the interview. “You know something, Chris? I seldom watch your show.”

“Ouch!” The host held a hand over his heart in mock pain.

“Oh, not just because of you. It’s not that personal. It’s because I spend very little time in front of the TV. But those times I have watched you, I’ve noticed you tend to talk a lot. And you interrupt your guests all the time. You’re doing it to me right now and it’s annoying. Maybe you can give me a chance to utter a complete sentence?” CJ’s rebuke was delivered with a smile.

Matthews stared at his guest in silence for a moment and then chuckled while shaking his head. “You got spunk, kid. I like that. I like you. Not too many people would have the hutzpah to call me out the way you just did. And on my own show! Okay, go ahead. Finish your thoughts. I’ll try to stay quiet.”

“Yeah, right!” CJ’s response elicited a guffaw from the political pundit. “Anyway, the times I’ve seen you you’ve always come across as a bit too dovish for my taste. Your pacifist nature’s not appropriate in the world we live in. Yes, war is horrible. Yes, it should be a last recourse. And yes, we’ve been involved in several senseless ones. But sometimes we have to fight for what we believe in. Or to protect unfortunate ones from oppression or even genocide.

“To paraphrase one of our great presidents: We must speak softly and carry a big stick. And not be afraid to use it when they stop listening. After all, except for ending slavery, Fascism, Nazism, and Communism, armed conflict has never solved anything.”

• • •

On Wednesday, CJ felt the need to escape the charged environment around the convention’s venue and the nearby hotels. When the session ended for the evening, he returned to his room, changed into jeans and a t-shirt, retrieved Lola from the safe, and with it secure in his motorcycle vest’s built-in holster, he took a taxi to The Bike Stop. There was no way he was going out late at night to a gay bar in a strange city without protection.

He discovered the Quince Street establishment on the internet and decided to venture out for a new experience. He had been to gay bars in Washington and New York but none of the ones he had patronized resembled the place he was headed to. He told himself sometime soon he would ask Dragon or Dr. Pres and Gray to take him and Ozzie to The Eagle.

“Hi there, I’m Matt. You in town for the convention?” The man used his beer bottle to point at the Clinton t-shirt CJ wore.

“CJ here. And yeah, I’m a delegate.”

“Cool. It’s rare I come out during the week but I figured there might be some interesting people out because of it. Where are you from?”

“Washington, D.C., but originally from Miami.” CJ studied the twenty-something hunk in front of him and thought how pissed off Owen would be. He could not deny the man was hot. The tight tank top Matt wore revealed a hairy, muscular chest and the low-slung jeans didn’t leave much to the imagination. CJ realized he was not alone in going commando that night.

“Cuban?”

“Yeah, my grandparents are from the island but both my parents were born in the US. And you? Native to Philadelphia?”

“Nah. New Hampshire originally but I’ve been in Philly for a while.” Matt was friendly and CJ warmed up to him. It felt good to talk of things other than Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump. “What do you do for a living? I’m a teacher.”

“Student. I’m starting my freshman year at Georgetown University this fall.”

“You’re a freshman?” Matt raised his voice in surprise and CJ looked around to see if anyone was paying attention.

“Keep it down. The bartender doesn’t need to hear you.”

“Dude, what are you, like eighteen or something?”

“Yep. Be nineteen in December. How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. You look older, you know? How did you end up being a delegate for Clinton?”

“Long story. Want another beer? My treat.”

“Sure, man. Thanks.”

Over the next half hour, CJ recounted his relationship with Hillary Clinton and Robbie Mook and what he’d been doing on behalf of the campaign. At one point, Matt moved a bit closer and CJ smiled. He felt he was being naughty by not bringing up Owen and it gave him a small thrill. If this Philadelphia stud was going to flirt with him, he was ready to flirt right back. After all, it was just innocent flirting.

“So, you’re a big shot in the Democratic Party, eh?” Matt signaled the bartender asking for another round. “This one’s on me.”

“Thanks. You’re pushing it by calling me a big shot. And I don’t know about the party itself. I’m a little peeved at a big chunk of it.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“The more liberal arm of the party should have an equal say, but when everyone’s starting to sound like Bernie… I’m a big time capitalist, I support lower taxes, gun ownership, the death penalty, and a strong military.”

“You sure you’re not a Republican?” Matt chuckled and shook his head.

“Definitely not. I support a graduated tax rate. I support the estate tax. A woman’s right to choose. Equality in opportunities regardless of gender, race, or sexual orientation. I support efforts to help the environment and think we need to deal with immigration in a way we keep the best of those who’ve come to the US seeking a better life. But I also support throwing back the bad hombres.”

“Okay, I’ll vote for you.” The men clinked their beers in a toast and laughed. Matt grasped CJ’s bottle by the neck and shook it. “You’re almost out. Another one?”

“Nah, thanks. I’ve had three and that’s enough. I think I’m going to get an Uber and head back.”

“Are you sharing a room with anyone? If you’re not, maybe I could come over for a nightcap? I’ll buy from the room’s mini bar. Or you could come back to my place. I live in the Gayborhood.”

CJ pulled a Papa Brett move and raised an eyebrow before chuckling. He retrieved his phone, swiped at the screen a couple of times, and handed it to Matt without saying a word. The Philadelphia man tilted his head while staring at a picture of Owen. “Good looking guy, even if I prefer dark-haired men to blondes. You’re sharing a room with?”

“I wish, but not this week. But that’s who I sleep with most nights. Ozzie and I have known each other for two and a half years and we’ve been a couple for the last two. Sorry, Matt. You’re sexy as shit but no matter how tempted I may be, I don’t cheat.”

• • •

By the end of the week CJ had had enough of politicians and reporters. He spent a few minutes with Bill Clinton one night and was able to thank him in person for writing a letter of recommendation for his college application. The President was thrilled with his acceptance and plans to attend Georgetown, making him promise to keep him abreast of his progress.

He shed tears when the mother and father of a Muslim soldier killed in Afghanistan spoke and was appalled by the dismissive and insulting reaction from Donald Trump. And one afternoon he came close to getting arrested while trying to break up a fight between protesters he blundered into while walking through the street crowds.

Knowing the dads and Ozzie would be at work, he was not in a rush to get home on Friday. After checking out and entrusting his luggage to the concierge for overnight shipping to Washington, he strapped on his backpack, mounted Hunter, and followed back roads instead of the interstate. It was his first long-distance solo ride on the motorcycle. When he at last arrived in Georgetown, he found a Post-It note on his bedroom door letting him know César was bringing food home that night and Tom, JP, and Brad would be joining them for dinner.

• • •

“You need to practice reading from the teleprompter.” César broke off a piece of bread and waved it in his son’s direction. “You looked real awkward at first. And then we could tell you stopped using it and read from whatever you had on the podium instead.”

“I know. I could tell right away. And the thing is I did practice before going out on stage. In the morning before they opened up the doors to the public.” CJ looked around the table and realized everyone was eating without paying much attention to their food. Instead, their eyes were focused on him.

“Dude, I don’t care what your dad says. You looked good out there. I was real proud of you.” Brett sounded a tad more serious and somber than he was most of the time. “It kinda reminded me of attending political events when I was a kid. My parents used to drag me to them now and then. Watching you on the screen brought back some memories. It never happens when I watch politicians speaking but with you out there…”

César placed a hand over his husband’s. “It was different because it was your family out there, Jarhead. It had to mean more because it was your son and it reminded you of your father.”

“Yeah… I guess.”

CJ reached into the pocket of his short-sleeved sports shirt and retrieved two business cards. He placed one on the table and reached over to hand the other one to Brett. “Here you go, Papa. That’s for you.”

Brett stared at it and shook his head. “I don’t recognize the name. Who’s this?”

“That is a California Mexican-American. A former member of the Bush White House. A Republican who’s backing Clinton. And an old acquaintance of Grandpa Davenport. He wants you to call him.”

“A friend of my grandfather?”

“NO! An old friend of my grandfather. He knew your father.”

Brett looked confused. My father? Your grandfather?”

“Duh, Papa. If you’re my father, then your father’s my grandfather.”

“Asshole! Don’t be getting cocky with me. How’d you meet this man anyway? How old is he?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere in his late sixties or early seventies? Anyway, there were all these meetings and receptions going on all week. I had an invitation to one geared towards Hispanics. I ended up talking to him and when I mentioned your name he asked if you were related to the California Davenports. It was cool hearing him talk about your dad. He told me Grandpa Davenport would have been proud of me even if he didn’t agree with all my political opinions.”

“What’s the other card, CJ?” Owen sat to CJ’s right who had taken the seat at the head of the table at his father’s suggestion. Brad was on his left with JP and Tom next to him.

“This one’s for Tom. Hand it to your dad, Red.”

Bradley looked at it before passing it down. “Representative Joe Kennedy III? From Massachusetts?”

“Yep.” CJ looked at Detective Tom Kennedy who flipped the card over several times. “He wants you to get in touch. He said they have a detailed genealogical chart and he wants to know if you’re related.”

A smile creased Tom’s face. “We are. If I remember right, this is the grandson of Bobby Kennedy. Which makes old man Kennedy―that would be Joe Kennedy the first―his great-grandfather. This guy’s a little younger than me, I think. But his great-grandfather and mine were cousins.”

“Really? You’re related to those Kennedys? How come you’ve never mentioned it before?”

“I don’t know… Not important? I mean, the connection’s so thin. My family knew of it and it’s why I was named after Jack Kennedy. Never had to explain my middle names being John Fitzgerald back in Boston. But it was never a big deal. How’d you meet him?”

“Oh, at one of those events I mentioned.” CJ smirked and glanced at Owen. “Oz, if I was ever gonna cheat on you, that’s who I’d do it with. The man’s a hunk. Fucking great smile. Friendly as shit. And the red hair looks real good on him. He looks like what I think Brad will look like in fifteen or twenty years.”

“You better not be trying to get in my pants when I’m that age!” Brad’s comment brought laughter to the table.

“Don’t worry about it, Red. Your ass’ too bony for my taste. But your cousin…”

Owen leaned over, acting as if he was about to kiss CJ, but instead he slapped him on the back of the head. “Asshole!”

CJ’s hand flew up to swat his boyfriend’s arm away. “Watch it, Aussie. You’re doing and saying the same thing Dad always does. What is it with you guys? Leave my head alone.”

“Children…” César used his annoyed parent tone. “How many cards did you end up with this week, CJ?”

“I have no idea. A shitload? It’s one of the things I discussed with Joe Kennedy. After the speech on stage and the TV appearance Monday night, my Facebook account was flooded with friend requests. I have a gazillion new followers on Twitter and I think my phone has twice as many names and numbers in it than it did before the convention.”

“You brought up social media with this Kennedy guy?”

“Yeah. I mean, he’s a politician and he has one of the most famous names in the country. I asked him how he dealt with the loss of anonymity.”

“What did he say?”

“That I better get used to it. He grew up with a spotlight on him because of his name. He learned early on what he said and did could be fodder for real newspapers and tabloids alike. So when in public, he assumes someone’s always recording. And he assumes it’ll end up on YouTube. He has private e-mails and social media accounts just his family and very close friends know of. But even then he’s careful.”

Owen had mentioned before he had received Facebook friend requests from complete strangers. Some mentioned they were following CJ already. “That sounds horrible, mate. Are you gonna have to do the same? Am I?”

“Ummm, not sure what I’m going to do. I guess a lot depends on what happens in November. Who knows how involved or public I’ll be after the election. But I need to get over my paranoia about sharing. If I end up running for office one day…”

CJ looked at the men paying close attention to his words and lowered his gaze. “It’s too far away in the future to worry about it. But you guys need to realize that if I’m a public figure, some of the attention’s going to spill over. I haven’t mentioned your names in public and I don’t plan on it. I already made my relationship status private so Ozzie’s name wouldn’t be visible. But any of you, or the other guys in the Squad, could end up being approached by a reporter.”

“And what are we supposed to say if they do?”

“Whatever you want! Not up to me to stop anyone from speaking. But if you don’t want to talk to them, tell them so. Joe said to let my family and friends know they don’t have to speak to anyone. It’s up to you guys. You can always punt and tell a reporter to come talk to me if they have questions to ask.”

• • •

Chipper was still in Buenos Aires. His most recent e-mail to CJ mentioned he would be flying to Miami in mid-August. His mother would be traveling with him and his father planned on driving down from Tampa to help him settle into the dorms at the University of Miami. Classes at the Frost School of Music began on the subsequent Monday, a week ahead of the first day of class at Georgetown.

Patrick had spent two months in Maine, working as a camp counselor. Ritchie had been at the same camp for the last month. They were in Boston now, visiting Patrick’s mother and her husband. They would be flying back to Washington on Monday. CJ looked forward to spending time with both before school started for all three of them.

Ethan was still in New York. His summer job having ended, he planned on spending the next week at the beach before returning to Washington for his senior year at the George Mason Antonin Scalia Law School. He and Sean would be on Fire Island for a few days, staying at the rental Sean’s bosses had shares in.

“This is like old times, CJ.” Thiago slid into the Uber’s back seat and slammed the door. “Remember how I’d often go home with you on a Friday after leaving the dojo? Harley would meet us at your house, and we’d spend the night watching movies and playing video games.”

“Don’t forget eating! Harley was involved so food was always high on the list. I hope the dads remember he’ll be there tonight and order enough. Dude, can you believe we’re all out of high school?”

Harley’s motorcycle was parked in the side courtyard when CJ and Thiago arrived at the Prospect Street townhouse. CJ looked at it and smiled, remembering the fun they’d had on the recent trip to Fallingwater. He was somewhat jealous of his friend who would be heading down to Orlando on Monday. He vowed to get on his own bike as soon as he could and ride all the way down to Florida.

Inside the house, they found César, Brett, Tom, and JP at the bar enjoying a pre-dinner cocktail. After a quick hello, CJ and Thiago headed downstairs to shower and change. On the bedroom door they found a note from Owen letting them know he was next door with Brad, Harley, and Tank. He wanted CJ to call as soon as they arrived home.

The ten men eventually sat at the dining table to eat, the television set on but muted. The opening ceremonies for the Summer Olympic Games were about to start. “Oh, man, this is bringing back memories” Thiago pointed at the screen as the camera panned across the Tijuca Forest National Park and came to rest on the Christ The Redeemer statue atop Corcovado Mountain overlooking the city. “That thing’s so incredible. Did you guys know it’s almost 100 foot high?”

“You’ve been there?” Tank’s question made CJ realize the newest member of their group and Thiago had spent the least amount of time together. When the blond bodybuilder came into the picture, Thiago had already graduated from Walls and started college at Howard University. His time with the Squad had diminished since he had left high school.

“Yeah, last year. The trip was a graduation present from my parents. You do know my family’s from Brazil, right? I spent two weeks down there and I hope I can go back sometime soon.”

“Anybody else want a beer?” Tom stood and headed towards the refrigerator. “Hey, CJ, I sent my long-lost cousin an e-mail and he replied. Thanks for putting us in touch. JP and I are meeting him for lunch this week.”

“That’s cool.”

“He asked a lot of questions about you. But I think he’d already talked to somebody. He had a pretty good idea of who you and your fathers were and was fishing for personal impressions.”

Wingnut kept sticking his nose all over Tank and the guy kept pushing the dog’s snout away. “Damn dog must be smelling my cat on me. Is that the Kennedy politician Brad was talking about before? The one CJ met in Philadelphia?”

“Yeah! Can you believe that shit? I have a relative who’s a member of congress. Thanks, Pops.” Brad accepted the food container JP passed him and refilled his plate. “You need to watch the video of CJ speaking in front of all those people, Tank. It was cool to see the loser all dressed up looking and sounding like a big shot.”

“Fuck you, Red.”

Dinner over and the kitchen picked up, the group settled in the basement to watch the remainder of the ceremonies. CJ was first one to speak as the commercial break began. “Guys, you keep talking about my week in Philly and I don’t think it’s that big a deal. What Ozzie was doing during the time I was blabbing away is a shitload more interesting. And a hell of a lot more important to boot.”

Owen sat on the floor next to CJ with César right behind them. The older man nudged the Aussie with his foot. “Yeah, Ozzie. How come we never hear much about what you’re doing at the Nature Conservancy?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m not doing anything that special. And CJ’s involvement in the campaign is more interesting. He spent a week surrounded by famous people and I spent mine reviewing legal documents and talking to people in Australia.”

“Bullshit!” CJ wasn’t about to allow his boyfriend to diminish the importance of the work he was doing. “Your project will influence Australia, and the world, for a lot longer than my involvement in a political campaign. Go ahead, tell them what you’ve been doing.”

“Well, if you’re sure. I’ll try not to bore you guys. Anyway, I’m certain you’ve all heard about the Paris Agreement signed last year. It aims to reduce greenhouse emissions in an effort to control global temperature rises due to climate change. A lot of it is geared towards using technology to get us there.

“But scientists have determined that about a third of the reductions in carbon needed can be achieved by protecting and restoring nature. The project I’ve been working on involves work with indigenous communities in northern Australia. And we have similar initiatives in other parts of the world.”

“Tell them about the fires, Ozzie.”

“Damn, CJ, give me a chance to breathe. The area’s tropical savannas. Towards the end of the dry season, wildfires are a problem. They devour the dry vegetation and in the process spew large amounts of carbon into the air. Our program sets small fires at the beginning of the dry period. The controlled burns are less intense. They restore habitat for small animals and birds. And they help prevent the out of control fires, with the resulting carbon emissions reduced. It’s a practice the aboriginal communities employed for years. But all that changed after the Europeans settled in the country.

“At one location, the indigenous rangers have cut the amount of land affected by wildfires from almost forty percent to just one percent. Since it started, the project has cut carbon emissions and the healthier surviving plants end up storing even more carbon.”

“See? I told you what my boyfriend’s been working on is important. A heck of a lot more important than me talking to a few people at the convention.”

Owen gave CJ’s knee a squeeze. “Can we talk about something else now? I don’t like being in the spotlight.”

“Shit!” Brett leaned in to César and tried to lower his voice but CJ was still able to hear. “If these two stay together, they’re gonna be dangerous.”