Roar - Georgetown Book I - 4. Roar • Part IV

The rented Mustang convertible roared down the Dolphin Expressway on the way to South Beach. CJ texted his parents and grandparents as soon as Owen slipped behind the wheel and began worming his way through the warren of back streets surrounding the rental agency’s airport location.

He adjusted his new Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses and stared upwards, visions of soaring through the air on his mind. The sky’s blue was so deep you might have thought night approached. Yet the sun was high in the sky―it was early afternoon―and the few clouds above them were thin wisps and small, jagged-edged trapezoids so white the sun reflecting off them hurt your eyes.

When CJ’s phone chimed indicating replies, Owen looked at his boyfriend and waited for him to finish reading. “Any changes to our plans?”

“Not so far. Breakfast with Abo and Aba tomorrow morning. On the way back, we stop at the University of Miami and pick up Chipper. We spend the day hanging out at the pool or at the beach and we go out dancing tomorrow night. Sunday we have brunch at The Biltmore with Abuelo and Abuela and then head to the airport.”

“You never told me. How did your grandparents handle it when you told them we were coming to Miami but staying at a hotel in South Beach?”

CJ chuckled remembering the conversations with his grandparents. “Aba was okay. I mean, we weren’t about to get a hotel way out there where she and Abo live now. Abuela, I could tell wasn’t happy. I think it’s more the fact we’re not seeing them until our last day in town. Whenever we’ve come here with the dads, the abuelos’ house’s always been our first stop.”

They were in South Florida to attend a GLBT-community Clinton fundraiser hosted by Cher. Robbie asked him to represent the campaign because of his ties to Miami and because of the target audience. CJ realized they would be on display to highlight the relationship between the candidate and the queer community. He was okay with it. He had no doubt Hillary Clinton was the right candidate to help preserve the hard-fought-for rights earned in the past few years.

The National Hotel was one of the jewels in the Art Deco District. One of the largest concentrations of the style’s structures in the world had helped propel South Beach back into the limelight near the end of the twentieth century. After years of neglect, many of the properties were refurbished and became an integral part of this international playground of the rich and famous. Built in 1939 and having gone through a multi-million dollar facelift in recent years, the National captivated CJ from the moment he read about it on the vacation site. Since they were traveling alone and were committed to South Beach Friday evening, CJ decided to bypass the Biltmore and booked a room in the South Beach hotel’s tower. He requested a room on the east side to ensure views of the two pools and the ocean beyond. They might not spend a lot of time in the space, but he wanted a view of the water while in it.

The event was being held at the Miami Beach Botanical Garden located within walking distance of the National Hotel. The invitation they saw listed four levels of contribution, each with increased access to the star. CJ didn’t have any illusions about who the attendees were there to see. Cher was the attraction and most of the individuals there would already be Clinton supporters. He didn’t think his presentation would draw a lot of interest, so he planned short remarks. Ignoring how much people contributed, he planned to speak with anyone who wanted to talk to him.

“Are you wearing jeans or khakis tonight?” They had traveled light: a rolling suitcase, a garment bag, and a backpack. After checking into the hotel, CJ tipped the porter a few dollars for bringing the bags in from the car but declined the offer to take them to the room.

CJ pressed the elevator button for their floor. “I don’t know. What are you wearing?”

“Whatever you’re not! I brought both so I can go either way. I just don’t want us dressing the same.”

“I’ll wear jeans. They’ll look good with my new tan jacket. But I’m not wearing a tie, okay?”

“That’s fine. I’ll skip the necktie too. Khakis, a button-down shirt, and a blue blazer should be enough.”

CJ leaned over as the door opened and gave his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek. “You always look good anyway, babe.”

• • •

Arriving a half hour before the scheduled start time, CJ felt he had entered a different world. He and his boyfriend strolled through a lush tropical enclave in the middle of a cement and asphalt jungle. Surrounded by the convention center's massive concrete structure and the its tar-covered parking lots, the Miami Beach Botanical Garden stood as a green jewel dotted with reds and yellows from blooming gingers and orchids. They were greeted by a campaign volunteer and ushered into an office to join Cher, who was being interviewed by the local press.

A breezeway bisected the building to the right of the entrance; a multitude of doors on one side led to offices and an exhibition space occupied the other. It was there the first part of the evening would take place. An hour-long private reception and the opportunity―for those who paid four times the basic admission―to have their picture taken with the mega star.

Aware of the presence of reporters, not to mention the inevitable appearance of phones recording the event, CJ opted for a club soda with a lime while eyeing Owen’s beer. They circulated amongst the guests and engaged in small conversation but for the most part CJ observed. Many in the crowd knew each other and small clusters of men and women formed. He smiled noticing the sometimes discreet, sometimes blatant cruising and flirting. More than one set of eyes raked over his and Owen’s bodies.

An hour after the reception began, glass doors facing the gardens opened and the VIPs mingled with the rest of the guests who had been milling around the two outside bars. Greeting remarks by the campaign person in charge and a couple of South Florida politicians were short with the last one inviting CJ to come to the front of the room.

“Good evening. My name’s CJ Abelló, a Miami native who now lives in Washington. Earlier this week I had dinner at a place called Commissary back in DC and ordered one of their themed sandwiches: The Trump.” CJ paused for a moment, gauging the crowd’s reaction up to this point. “It’s served on white bread, it’s full of baloney, has Russian dressing, and comes with a small pickle.” The uproarious reception to his opening line ensured everyone was paying attention. CJ was pleased; most of all by the smile he saw on Owen’s face.

“At the age of fifteen I left my home in Miami. My stepfather found out I was gay and our relationship crumbled. I was luckier than most teens in similar situations, who often end up in the streets. Abandoned by those who’re supposed to love them. Discarded because of their sexual orientation. I had a father in Washington, D.C. who was thrilled to take me in. He and his husband―yes his husband, my Dad just happens to like boys like I do―nurtured me and rebuilt my self-esteem.”

CJ spoke slowly but with confidence. The nods and smiles from those gathered in the room let him know many related to and sympathized with his situation.

“It’s not a scared boy who stands before you today. I know my worth and I’m lucky enough to have a wonderful man in my life.” CJ’s love for Owen came through in his tone of voice; it softened when he spoke about him. “That’s him in the back of the room. The tall, handsome, blond with the sexy accent. Ozzie’s mine and I don’t share. So please keep your hands off him, though you’re allowed to drool.” He was playing with the crowd and it rewarded his efforts with laughter and applause.

“If my confidence in myself is strong, my confidence in Hillary Clinton’s just as robust. A life of service has brought her to this point in time and she’s ready to be our next President.

“Donald Trump―”

Jeers and boos filled the room as soon as CJ mentioned the name of the Republican presidential candidate.

“No, no, no, don’t boo. To quote President Obama: Don’t boo…” CJ allowed the word to float in the silence ensuing his admonition. “Vote! …And make a larger contribution to the Clinton campaign. Booing does no good…” He once again allowed the words he’d lifted from Barack Obama’s stump speeches to drift, smiling and fixing his gaze on one guest after another. “Donald Trump can’t hear your boos. But he sure as hell will hear you in November when you go to the polling station. He’ll hear you loud and clear when you vote. He won’t be able to ignore the roar of millions of people voting for Hilary Clinton.

“As I started to say before, Donald Trump doesn’t understand how the real world works. He’s too caught up in his own version of reality which does not reflect our values. Our goals of creating a more perfect union. Of embracing our differences. Of being stronger together.

“So, if you care about GLBT issues, Hillary’s got your back. She’ll fight to ensure our hard won equality’s not imperiled.

“If you care about the planet and the effect climate change will have on our country and this beautiful city of Miami, Hillary’s the one we must elect. She’ll push for cleaner energy and support science-based initiatives to combat global warming.

“If you care about immigration reform which recognizes our nation was built by those seeking a better life in the US like my grandparents’ did, Hillary’s the one to turn to. She’ll enforce existing laws while working to improve them and acknowledging the contributions millions of people have made. Contributions they’ll continue to make if given the opportunity.

“If you care about income inequality, Hillary’s your woman. She’ll strive to achieve equality in pay for equal work regardless of gender. For too damn long women have been treated as second class citizens.”

“You got that shit right, brother!” The unexpected comment from Cher made CJ blush and the crowd roar in approval.

“If you care about our democracy, if you care about our citizens being able to vote without artificial barriers erected by those who’d suppress the vote of minorities, Hillary’s the one to support.

“Yes, support. With your wallet and your vote.

“She’s been a champion for children, for families, for minorities. She’ll continue to do so as President of the United States. But, she needs all of us to help get her to the White House. She needs us to vote for her. She needs us to work for her. And she needs us to open our pockets and financially support her.

“For I firmly believe a woman’s place’s in the Senate―she’s been there, she’s done that. And I believe a woman’s place’s in the House―the White House. Thank you and I hope you’ll spend the next few months before the election working to make sure Hillary Clinton becomes our forty-fifth President.”

• • •

“How many new Facebook friends and phone numbers did you get tonight?” Owen hung both their coats and stored them in the garment bag. The next two days, their attire would consist of jeans and short-sleeved shirts or shorts and not much else.

“Too damn many! I muted the phone at the beginning of the night but I peeked at it on the way to the reception. One message from Dad wishing us luck and nothing else except text messages with names and phone numbers and a shitload of notifications about new followers. Remember, I changed my profile. No more friends, only followers now.”

After the reception, Cher, CJ, and Owen had joined a small group of supporters at a waterside mansion on Bay Road for a late-night light supper. “I saw you talking to Cher when you were standing on the seawall looking at the skyline. What did she have to say?”

“First thing was she thought you were gorgeous.” CJ’s comment and smile made Owen blush. “She asked a bunch of personal stuff. Like how we’d met and what we did. She was surprised I hadn’t even started college yet.”

“Did she give you her contact information?”

CJ glanced at his bare feet and smiled. “Yeah… and her agent’s. She said if I ever wanted to get in touch with her and couldn’t, the guy would always know how to reach her. What about you? Did you have a good time?”

“I did. But some of those guys were a bit too much for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“One of them sent me a couple of naked pictures when he texted me his number. We have an open invitation for a four way with his husband whenever we want it.”

“WHAT?”

Owen burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, I deleted the pictures already. The damn man’s older than César and he’s hitting on someone half his age.”

“Yeah? Was he hot? You know I like ’em older.”

“Asshole!”

• • •

Chipper tossed his shorts on an armchair and stood naked in front of the window for a moment before slipping on a bathing suit. “Nice view you guys got here.”

“Yeah, pretty cool, ain’t it?” CJ walked over and slipped an arm over his friend’s shoulders. “It’s great to see you, bud. We missed you this summer.”

“Bullshit! Based on what you and Ozzie told me on the ride over here, you’ve been too damn busy to miss anybody.”

“Asshole…”

CJ and Owen rose early and drove over to the retirement home his grandparents were living at. The meeting left CJ with conflicting emotions. Although cheered by Olga’s usual talkative, loving demeanor, Juan Santos left him depressed. His grandfather’s condition had not deteriorated since their last visit, but there had been no improvement and none was expected. Abo seemed to recognize CJ and smiled throughout breakfast, but it was gibberish coming out of his mouth when he spoke. His words were so garbled most of the time, all CJ could do was nod and smile in return.

“You look good, mate. So glad you didn’t do anything wild with your hair this year.” The Aussie had a drawstring bag in hand―part of the ticket package for the concert they’d attended in West Palm Beach two years before―and tossed phones, wallets, and sunscreen in it. “We’ll pick up towels downstairs by the pool before we walk out to the beach.”

“Here, throw my stuff in there too. Are you guys wearing shirts?” Chipper still had his t-shirt on.

Owen glanced at CJ. “We might want to at least take them with us. In case we decide to have lunch somewhere requiring them.”

“Dude, on South Beach?” CJ shook his head and chuckled. “I think they’d want us to wear as little as possible. The more skin their patrons show, the better it is for business.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Chipper raked his eyes over his half-naked friends. “You guys look good without clothes. But you looked hot in the pictures you showed me from last night. No doubt in my mind Cher enjoyed being in the middle of that photo op.”

“Pig! Get your mind out of the gutter. We’ve been to enough functions this year we’re getting used to wearing pants and jackets.”

“Fine, be that way. I’ll save my drooling for the guys at school. But I know that picture’s going to end up on the basement wall back in Washington. It’s a good one.” Chipper held the door open as the guys left the room and headed to the elevator. “You know something? I’m happy with how things turned out. The Frost Music School’s a good match for me. I’ll miss New York but I think I’ll like being in Miami for the next four years.”

“If nothing else, you’ll get to eat some great food.” Owen often claimed his favorite part of the frequent trips to South Florida was the preponderance of Latin American restaurants. Even if afterwards he always complained about the amount of fattening food he had eaten.

The three friends strolled through the lobby. Once outside, they passed the long infinity pool and went out onto the warm sand. “Let’s head south,” CJ said. “The gay beach’s a few blocks in that direction.”

CJ was glad his new sunglasses had a mirrored finish. They’d been laying out in the sun for a while―with frequent dips in the ocean to cool off―and he was able to discretely check out all the beef around them. He smiled, realizing even though they were surrounded by an abundance of good looking men, it was Owen he looked at the most. The Aussie looked great in his skimpy swimmers―as he would call them―his skin darkened and his hair bleached by the time spent in the sun over the past couple of months.

“Tengo hambre. You want to go get lunch at one of the restaurants across Ocean Drive?” Owen was laying on his stomach and raised his head to look at his companions.

“Tengo hambre?” Chipper’s hearty chuckles made Owen and CJ smile. “You’re telling us you’re hungry in Spanish? Wassup with that, man?”

“Dude, Ozzie’s Spanish keeps getting better. You shoulda heard him talking to my grandmother this morning. Fucker’s putting me to shame. We can both use English and Spanish. But he also knows enough French. He’s used it a few times at restaurants. Saved my ass from ordering who knows what.”

“Time for you to study French, CJ.” Chipper brushed sand off his body, shook out his towel, and threw it over his shoulders. “We can go eat wearing just our bathing suits and flip flops, right?”

“Yeah, we should be okay. And I think I want to take something different. Maybe German since I know some already from when I lived there. I mean, you and I can pick up a word now and then in a bunch of languages because we speak Spanish. And since I always have Ozzie around, French’s taken care of. It’s gonna be either German or Portuguese, which would make Thiago happy. I’ll decide by next week when I register for classes.”

The statuesque blonde at the stand in front of the restaurant stared at the three guys and licked her lips. They had rinsed under the showerhead at the edge of the sand and CJ’s carpet of chest hair still glistened with water droplets. “Welcome to The Palace, gentlemen. Inside or out?”

CJ’s sudden coughing was a ruse to hide his grin. The woman’s Adam’s apple bobbed when she spoke. It was Owen who asked for a table on the sidewalk. All three ordered iced coffee and requested a little time to peruse the menu. Conversation lagged while they waited for their grouper sandwiches. They were happy to sip their drinks and enjoy the view.

“So you guys aren’t going to Orlando to see Harley this trip?”

CJ wiped his mouth and took a sip from his coffee. “No time, man. We need to get back for school.”

“I don’t know when we’ll make it back to Florida either. CJ and I were talking about it on the flight down. His involvement with the Clinton campaign will keep him busy until the election.”

“Yeah, I told my grandmothers the same thing. It may have to wait until Christmas or early next year. What about you? Are you gonna head up to Mouse Town to see him any time soon?”

“No wheels, man. Dad offered to get me a car but it’s a pain for freshmen to keep them on campus. I talked to Harley last night and invited him to come down whenever he gets a chance. At least he has his motorcycle. My roommate said he had no problem with a friend staying over for a couple of nights.”

“Are you coming to DC for Thanksgiving? Might be the only chance to get the Squad together.”

“Not made plans yet. Your place will be full so I may have to ask Matt if I can stay with him and Dash if I do.”

CJ shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t be an idiot, Chipper. You actually think he’d say no? And anyway, with Ozzie sleeping at my place and Brad away there’s room next door.”

Their conversation came to a halt when a shadow fell over their table. Looking up, they found a man standing in front of them. “Excuse me, guys. My name’s Clive. Could I ask who represents you?”

CJ raised the sunglasses and rested them on his forehead, glanced at his companions, and then looked at the thirty-something man standing on the sidewalk. “Excuse me?”

“What modeling agency are you guys with? Or are you with different ones?” Clive ran a hand over his short-cropped beard, its rich chestnut color a perfect match for the buzz-cut hair on his head. He raised the camera dangling at his side. “I’m a photographer.”

“Mate, he thinks we’re models.” Owen smiled when he removed his own glasses and looked at the muscle bear. “Sorry, Clive. We’re just college students.”

“Do you guys mind if I sit for a minute?” Clive didn’t wait for an answer; he pulled out the empty chair at the table for four and made himself comfortable. “Just because you’re in college doesn’t preclude you working in the fashion industry. I’m always looking for fresh faces and you have them. I’d love to photograph you. Either together or individually.”

“I might be interested.” Chipper raised a hand and smirked. “But good luck with these two. CJ’s always been paranoid about publicity. He tends to be kinda private.”

“We can tell you’ve been out of the country for a while, Chipper. Things have changed. You should’ve seen him last night being interviewed by one of the local TV stations.” Owen chuckled and extended his hand to Clive. “Hi, I’m Owen. The guy sitting next to you is Chipper and the one with his back to the restaurant’s CJ.”

“Nice to meet you guys. Sorry I interrupted your lunch. But I think you could make some money with this. And I’ve yet to meet a college student who couldn’t handle having extra cash. Are you guys locals?”

CJ tried to keep from laughing when Clive mentioned college students always needing money. He sure as hell didn’t, and for that matter neither did Owen or Chipper. “Ozzie and I live in Washington. The city, not the state. Chipper’s a local now, I guess. He’s at the University of Miami.”

“Do you guys come here often?” Clive must have realized what he said. He shook his head and raised a hand. “Damn, that came out wrong. Do the two of you come to Miami often? Have any of you ever been to New York? That’s where I’m headquartered.”

There was no stopping the laughter from the three friends this time. “Oh man, that’s funny. Yes and yes. CJ’s from Miami and he comes visit his grandparents on a regular basis. I’m originally from New York. And the three of us do spend time in Manhattan. CJ’s parents own an apartment there.”

“Wow! How did you guys meet?”

“Long story.” CJ had finished eating and pushed his plate away. “Ozzie and I met a couple years ago in Australia. I was traveling with my parents and their best friends. One of those friends’ his cousin. Ozzie was already planning to move to the US to study. And since his cousin lives next door to my parents’ place, we became friends.”

“Is it Owen or Ozzie? I’ve heard both so far. And how do you fit in Chipper?”

“Either one. His name’s Owen but his friends call him Ozzie… Ozzie the Aussie.”

“Asshole!”

Clive was now chuckling. “I can see you're close. So what I was going to say is Ozzie mentioned you’ve been out of the country. I’m getting a little whiplashed with all these locations.”

“Not real hard. My parents are from Argentina and I’ve spent the past few summers in Buenos Aires with my mom. Anyway, as to how I met these two. CJ was up in New York with his parents. My dad was friends with them from when he lived in DC. One thing led to another and when I moved to Washington to finish high school, CJ and I ended up going to the same one.”

“Okay, that’s a little clearer. Now about this privacy thing you mentioned with CJ which Owen suggested may have changed―”

“I’ll handle that one.” CJ raised his hand and motioned for their server. “Do you want something to drink, Clive? I think we all need refills.”

“Sure, thanks. You guys drinking iced coffee? I’ll have one of those. One thing, I’m guessing CJ’s a nickname. What does it stand for?”

“César Junior. I’m named after my father. Okay, so, my parents are kinda private and I’ve grown up that way. However, that has fallen by the wayside over the past few months. I’ve been working on a project that has attracted some media attention.”

“May I ask what that is?”

“I’ve been doing a little volunteer work for a presidential campaign.”

“A little volunteer work, my ass.” Owen reached over and took CJ’s hand. “My boyfriend’s always been modest but this is silly. The man’s a spokesperson for Hillary Clinton.” Owen waved his hand dismissively when CJ glared at him. “Forget it, mate. You spoke at the Democratic National Convention last month. In front of thousands of people. With millions watching all over the world. And last night you had the crowd at that fundraiser eating out of your hand.”

Clive leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and stared at CJ. “Wow! Just, like, wow. I’m pretty sure you qualify as a public figure, CJ. How do your parents feel about this? I mean, you said they shunned publicity.”

“They’re fine with it. They think what I’m doing’s important. They really let me do what I want anyway. Within reason. I guess they trust me not to embarrass the family in public.”

“Look, guys. I’m flying back to New York tomorrow but I’d love to pursue this. Here’s what I’d like to do. I already snapped a couple of shots from across the street when I first saw you. With your permission, I’ll take a few more. If we trade contact information, I’ll e-mail you copies when I get back to my hotel.

“If nothing else comes of this, you’ll end up with a few nice pictures of yourselves. Individual ones and as a group. When I’m back in New York, I’ll show them to a client and see if they’re interested. I’m pretty sure I can get you a couple of gigs. If it works, you’d end up being flown to wherever the shoot is and making a few dollars in the process. I have one client in mind which could be good. A fashion shoot next spring. It would be six guys total and the three of you would be perfect for it.”

• • •

The guys decided to head back to the hotel after lunch. After a couple of Margaritas―CJ asked for his on the rocks so he wouldn’t be seen drinking out of one with the distinctive shape―laying out by the pool, the sun and alcohol had them tired and sleepy. “Would you really consider a modeling photo shoot?” Chipper rose from the lounge chair when CJ suggested they go to back to the room to shower and nap.

“I think so.” CJ draped the white towel he’d been laying on over his shoulders. “I mean, like Ozzie said, my anonymity’s shot to hell already. And it might be something fun to do. One more experience most people don’t get to have. Bucket list shit. What about you? Would you do it?”

”Hell, yeah! In a New York minute. Remember, I want to become a performer. I want to be in the public eye. What I’m wondering is if I should try to hook up with an agency.”

Owen pressed the elevator button for their floor. “Hold off on doing anything, Chipper. Wait ’til CJ and I are back in Washington and talk to JP. He did a lot of modeling while he was in school. He might have some advice for us.”

“That makes sense. I'd rather not sign anything until someone reviews it first.”

CJ inserted the key card in the door and walked into their room. “Definitely no signing anything until we get a lawyer to look at it. After we talk to JP we’ll call you. I want to do this but I do need to run it by the dads first.”

“Like that’s going to make a difference.” Owen stared at Chipper. “If my boyfriend already decided he wants to do this, he’ll do it no matter what the dads say. Same way he did with our trip to Nashville back in May. CJ told them what we were planning. They objected and he tore into them. All about being of legal age and having the right to make his own decisions.”

One by one the guys showered and then collapsed on the large, comfortable bed. The day caught up with them and the sun had set when they at last woke up. They freshened up, changed into jeans and t-shirts and headed out to Lincoln Road. The pedestrian mall had at one time been Miami Beach’s premiere shopping street. CJ’s grandparents had told them after the road closed to vehicular traffic it had slowly decayed. Exclusive stores left and the cheap rent attracted artists and fringe establishments.

The renaissance of Miami Beach brought throngs of people to the area and the character of Lincoln Road changed again. The street was now populated by a mix of national chain stores and a multitude of local restaurants. Sometime before midnight, following a light supper, the three friends lined up outside SCORE. The gay bar had been in the same location for years and attracted national and international DJs. CJ wasn’t carded at the door but Chipper was. His fake New York driver’s license received a cursory glance from the bouncer. Their wrists banded to show they were old enough to order alcohol, Owen led them to the bar and bought the first round. They could hear the pulsing beat of house music beyond the wall behind the front bar but decided to wait before hitting the dance floor.

CJ lifted the cocktail to his lips and took a sip. “So, Chipper, you mentioned your roommate before. What’s he like?”

“Nice guy. A little quiet maybe but that may be good in the long run. I figure once I have to start hitting the books, having a bookish roommate will be better than a wild partier. I did meet these guys I think you two would like. Maybe I can invite them to join us next time you’re in town.”

“Who are they?”

“Names are Michael and Blaine. They’re from the Tampa Bay region. We started talking and connected after I mentioned Dad lived in the same area. And get this, they’re a couple!”

“Mate, you’ve been in town for what, a week? And you already have two gay guys lined up?”

“Fuck you, Ozzie. It ain’t like that. Michael actually reminds me of CJ. Dark haired, good looking, Hispanic, and he has two dads!”

It was almost three in the morning when they stumbled out of the bar shirtless, sweating, and laughing. They’d spent all their time dancing except for trips to the bar or the restroom. “Okay, guys. I’m getting an Uber and heading back to campus.”

“You sure?” CJ gave Owen a quick glance. “You can stay with us. The bed’s big enough. No sex, okay? But you can spend the night.”

“Nah, thanks. If I’m joining you for brunch with your grandparents, I’d need fresh clothes anyway. I’ll head back to UM. Call me when you’re leaving the beach tomorrow and I’ll be ready when you get there. And don’t forget to bring my backpack with you.”

• • •

New students began arriving at Georgetown University a week before classes started. The campus was flooded with incoming freshmen moving into dormitories and their relatives. CJ watched as more than one of his classmates was smothered by sobbing parents while others received a quick kiss, a pat on the back, or a handshake. CJ assumed those individuals had older siblings and the parents had been through the routine before.

CJ did not have a lot to do during the day. In the early evening he would be attending a reception with his dads for incoming students at the School of Foreign Service. Over the next few days he would also attend several orientation sessions, welcoming events, and deal with registration and buying books. But on this Tuesday morning he was free to roam around. César and Brett had encouraged him to spend as much time as possible on campus; it would be a chance to meet people since he wouldn’t have the built-in social network others would enjoy by living in the dorms.

“Need a hand with that?” CJ had introduced himself to several people and offered help to muscle belongings into their rooms. It was almost lunch time when he approached the guy with disheveled, curly brown hair. CJ had been sweating so much he had removed his t-shirt and tucked it in the back of his shorts.

“That’d be great, man. Thanks.” Rich chocolate eyes stared at CJ while plump lips curled into a smile. CJ noticed redness in the eyes and wondered if the guy had been crying or if he was stoned. “I’m Carson. If you could help me carry these two boxes in…”

“Sure, no problem. I’m CJ.”

“Good to meetcha, CJ. What year are you in?” Carson assuming CJ was an upperclassman was understandable. There were plenty of older students helping the freshmen move in. They all wore special t-shirts branding them as part of the school’s welcoming effort; since CJ was bare-chested there was no way for Carson to know the man offering assistance wasn’t part of the official detail.

CJ followed the guy up the short flight of stairs to the first floor proper and into the third room on the right side of the hallway. “I’m a freshman. School of Foreign Service. And you?”

“Really? You look older. School of Public Policy here. Did you get done moving in already?”

“Oh, I’m not in the dorms. I’m a commuter.” CJ looked around the room realizing his own bedroom back home was larger than this space meant to hold two people. Concrete block walls were painted white, along one of them were two single beds and on the other side―flanked by twin closets―were two built-in desks with shelving above them. Rooms on this side of the building had windows facing a campus street and next to those was a sink with a mirror above it. CJ thought that was convenient; in an emergency, the sink could become a urinal.

“So, are you a DC native? Did you go to high school here? That must have been cool. I mean, growing up in the nation’s capital and all.”

“I did go to high school in town. But I’m originally from Miami. And yeah, living in Washington can be a blast. If you don’t mind being surrounded by politics all the time, that is. What about you? Where are you from?”

“Dover, Delaware. Hey! Let me buy you lunch to thank you for the help. May as well try out the cafeteria slop I’ll be eating from now on.”

CJ stared at his new acquaintance and chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be eating the same shit on a regular basis. Thanks for the invite but if you don’t mind, I’ll take a rain-check. I want to go have my picture taken and get my ID. There’s a reception for new students and parents later this afternoon. I need to get home, shower, and get dressed. The ’rents already warned me I have to wear nice clothes tonight.”

“Okay, but I owe you. How about we trade numbers? And since you’re not on campus, I’ll offer my room as a place to chill if you ever need it. I have no idea how far away from school you live, but there’s no sense having you go all the way back home all the time.”

Brett was home early enough to shower and dress but César was running late. He arrived home from the office in time to attend the reception but was too late to change―he kept his suit on but removed the tie and opened up the top buttons of his shirt. During the ten minute walk to the SFS building, CJ recounted his day. Both parents laughed when he told them Carson offered his dorm room as a place to hang out so CJ wouldn’t have to worry about going all the way back to the house.

“You’re an asshole, you know?” Brett was trying to talk while laughing. “You could have told the poor guy we live a block away from campus.”

“Sure, Papa, I could have told him. But what’s the fun in that?”

• • •

Returning home after the reception, they found Ritchie and Owen watching TV waiting for them. With no time or desire to cook, they ordered food in. Over the past few months, Ritchie had taken over the chair at the head of the table with the dads to one side and his brother and Owen on the other. “Did you get the schedule you wanted, CJ?”

“Don’t know yet, bro. I’m meeting with my advisor tomorrow. I have the classes I want but not the times. This afternoon I explained to one of the deans about my involvement with the campaign. He suggested I use his name and tell the advisor to get me into the times I want. I think he liked the fact I was working for Clinton. She fits into the whole social justice thing the Jesuits have as a core belief. And since Georgetown’s a Jesuit university…”

“You should have seen your brother in action, Ritchie.” Brett had an evil expression. “He’s all into this conversation with the priest and all I wanted to tell Father Whatever-his-name-was that CJ’s an atheist.”

“I swear, Papa. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because you love him almost as much as I do.” César leaned over and gave his husband a kiss on the cheek.

“What’s wrong with your schedule right now, mate?” Ozzie had become a more-or-less permanent fixture at the dinner table. He ate with the Abellós more often than he did next door at Tom and JP’s place.

“I have a late class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I want an earlier one. In case I have to go out of town for a campaign event over the weekend.”

“Speaking of going away for the weekend,” César said. “I realize there’ll be parties on campus you may want to go to, but remember that while Brett and I are in New York, you’re responsible for Ritchie. I don’t want you staying out all night and him being alone in the house.”

“He won’t be alone, Dad. Remember Patrick’s staying with us while Tom and JP are with you.”

“Just the same, please be careful this weekend. And try not to burn our house down.”

“Bah! As if. You four better behave in New York and don’t trash the apartment. I have spies on the staff.”

“Excuse me?” Brett closed an eye and raised the eyebrow on the other one. “I realize you and Ozzie use it more often than we do. But if I remember your name’s not on the title for the place.”

“Details, details.”

“I have a question for you guys.” Owen glanced at CJ and then looked at the dads. “You have the place in Colorado and the apartment in New York. When CJ and I were in Miami we were looking at all the high-rises on the beach and wondered how come you never bought a place down in Florida.”

“Before Brett came into the picture, I always stayed with my parents. Then the Biltmore was convenient to their place, and close enough to where CJ and Ritchie lived. By the way, Mami’s still pissed off you guys stayed on South Beach this trip. She wasn’t happy she only got to see you for brunch on Sunday.”

“Yeah, well, she better get used to it. Ozzie and I liked staying on the beach. You know something, Dad? I was thinking. Maybe I should take some of the money I control already and buy a condo in Miami Beach. A little diversification from all the stocks and bonds. What do you think?”

“Diversification?” Brett chuckled and shook his head. “What are you? Some sort of college student who has to use quarter words?”

“Leave him alone, Jarhead. It’s a fair question. And a smart one at that. I wouldn’t be opposed to you investing in real estate, CJ. After all, it’s how the Davenports made a lot of their money. And how Brett and I have too. A place in South Beach might be good. But you may also want to look at property here in Washington.”

“How come, Dad?”

“Prices in the District keep going up. You may want to look at a house or condo you can rent out for now. And when the time comes for you to move out on your own it could be your first home.”

CJ registered shock on his face. “You’re throwing me out already?”

“Don’t be an idiot! You know better than that. But, considering you’re staying at home to go to school and you’re not living in the dorms on your own. I have a feeling you’ll be ready to move out when you graduate.”

“Yeah… I guess.” CJ took a quick glance at Owen. “Maybe we should take Dash out for lunch one day, babe. You know, give him an idea of whatever we’re thinking. And ask him to keep an eye out for anything he might think we would like.”

“I… I guess…” Owen looked uncomfortable. “But I’m not sure you need me for this. After all, it’s your money and your investment.”

“Of course you have to be there. I want your thoughts on whatever we decide to do. Anyway, I’ll give him a call after dinner. Maybe we can meet him on Friday?”

“Yeah… If you really want me along, that can work.”

“One last thing, dads. I hope you realize I hate you right now.”

“Pray tell why, son of mine?” Brett’s comment made César roll his eyes and Ritchie giggle.

“Because you guys are going to New York for almost a week. Because you’re going to see Springsteen in concert at Giants Stadium. And because I can’t go since classes start the day after the show.”

“Suck it up, buddy. If you think either one of us’ gonna stay home and bake cookies because we have kids, you’re sorely mistaken.”