Goodnight, My Angel - Georgeotown Book IV - 2. GMA II

CJ ripped the goggles off, shielded his eyes against the sun with his hand, and stared upwards. Harley landed a few dozen feet away; his goofy grin hinted at how much he enjoyed the experience. CJ shifted his attention to Owen. The instructor appeared to stumble. Instead of taking a few running steps, he came to a sudden stop. Owen put his hands out to break the fall as his diving companion pushed him toward the ground and landed atop him with a thud. They rolled on the field for a moment and then remained still while the parachute floated and settled over them.

“FUCK! Fuck! Fuck.” CJ ran to his husband. The other instructors and Harley followed a few steps behind. The parachute covered both men and CJ ignored the admonition to stay away and let company personnel handle it. He pulled at the material until the two men were visible. “Ozzie? OZZIE!”

“Shut up and unhook us. Bloody hell but that hurts.”

CJ breathed a sigh of relief before company personnel pushed him out of the way. They unclipped the harness and helped the two men stand. The instructor did so on one foot while grimacing. The Aussie seemed fine but cradled his left hand.

“You okay, Oz?” CJ cringed as he stared at his husband’s blood smeared lips; a few drops of scarlet fluid trickled down his chin.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I broke my wrist when we hit the ground. And I bit my—” The wailing of a siren made them turn; an ambulance hurtled toward them across the grassy field.

“Are you sure you’re okay to fly out tomorrow?” Harley’s grandmother appeared intent on smothering the man with concern and affection.

“For goodness sake, Vanessa. Leave him alone. He broke a wrist, not his back.” Wade Wilkinson dismissed the entire incident as unimportant once he found out his houseguest’s fracture would heal in a few weeks.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Wilkinson. Honestly. I’m not even in pain thanks to the pills they gave me.” Owen raised his hand, wiggling his fingers inside the cast to back up the claim. Either the drugs or his swollen split lip made him sound funny.

A smirking Ritchie muttered into his brother’s ear. “Yeah, the pills and the doobie we smoked out in the equipment barn. I still can’t believe Lucy’s grandfather grows pot and stores it in a Harley-Davidson coffee can like you do.”

“Told ya that’s where I got the idea.” CJ raised his voice after whispering to his brother. “I’m still flabbergasted by Ozzie’s bad luck. He was the most hesitant to do the jump and it had to be his partner who got his foot stuck in a gopher hole.”

“I’d do it again. You were right. It was fun. Up to the last second.” Owen’s retort confirmed CJ’s suspicion his husband was high.

About a week after returning from Milwaukee, the couple headed out of town again. Their trips to New York City were so frequent several Amtrak employees knew them by name or sight. Unlike most other times, they traveled on Monday morning, not their typical Friday departure for a weekend in Manhattan. Instead of a two-night stay, they would be away for a week.

In September 2016, Bruce Springsteen published his critically acclaimed autobiography Born to Run. César Abelló, a long-time fan, bought and read the book, and carried it with him to Philadelphia the night before the presidential election. His musical idol was gracious when CJ introduced him to his parents and willing to take pictures with them and autograph the book.

CJ grew up listening to The Boss, but Owen was a recent convert. It was hard not to become addicted; his father-in-law played the man’s music constantly. He used the cast around his wrist to hold the book open while reading on the train ride to Penn Station. “Mate, can we stick around the apartment today? I’d like to finish reading this by tonight.”

“That works.” CJ had read the book soon after meeting Springsteen and thoroughly enjoyed it. He was happy his husband was now a Bruce Tramp too. “Tell you what. When we get in, I’ll walk over to Pastrami Queen, get us lunch, and we can head to the park to eat. It’s gonna be great weather and you can read out there while we catch some rays.”

“How about we go upstairs together and change clothes? I’ll walk to the deli with you. Makes no sense to backtrack.”

They sat on the edge of a man-made pond; a place for sailing and renting model boats which was not as crowded on a Monday as it was during weekends. Owen buried his nose in the book and CJ soaked up the sun. The sounds of kids running around provided an exhilarating, playful soundtrack. He could imagine sitting on the same spot in the future, while his and Owen’s children played as the young New Yorkers did that day. Living in the Upper East Side permanently was something he thought would be enjoyable. But that was not happening any time in the foreseeable future. His priority was to remodel the house they were currently renting out and turn it into a home for the two of them and any future offspring.

The food, warmth, and contentment were enough for CJ to doze off. His nap ended in the late afternoon, when Owen jostled him. “Come on, Ceej. I’m done with the book. Time for us to head back and start getting ready.”

In October 2017, Springsteen on Broadway opened for an eight-week run at the Walter Kerr Theatre. The show was extended several times with Springsteen joking his wife had wanted him to do a full year on Broadway and they had reached a compromise: he would perform for a year. He admitted it was the first time in his life he worked five days a week.

The ticket seller instituted a lottery and restricted the number of admissions each person could purchase. The limited availability led to secondary market prices as high as five thousand dollars a seat. César was lucky to get one of the coveted codes. He and Brett raved about the show after they returned to Washington.

“You can get involved in political campaigns anytime you want if it’ll get us this type of perks.” The breakfast burrito he held in front of his mouth somewhat hid Owen’s mischievous grin.

“I knew it!” CJ shook his head and tried to look hurt. “I knew you only married me for my connections.” After a quiet night at home, they woke up early and walked to Irving Farm Coffee Roasters on Third Avenue for breakfast.

“Asshole!” Owen’s murmured retort elicited a smile from his husband and the couple sitting at the next table.

CJ and Springsteen traded messages a couple of times after Hilary Clinton lost the election. He and Owen invited the artist and his wife to their wedding but he replied with regrets; contractual obligations would keep him in New York that day. However, he sent them the name and number for a woman in his management company and asked them to get in touch with her.

It was how they ended up in front of the theatre that evening. Their wedding present was two, third-row, orchestra-center tickets for the evening’s performance. The venue held 960 people, one of the smallest crowds to watch Springsteen perform live in his forty-year career according to the Playbill CJ read while in line for cocktails. Owen was in a different queue to purchase t-shirts.

“People are staring at us,” Owen said once they found their seats.

“They’re prolly wondering if we’re famous or something to get best-in-house seats. Did you notice all the looks Steven Tyler got as he walked in?” CJ tilted his head to indicate Aerosmith’s lead singer sitting a row in front of them.

The show, a mixture of music and spoken word, loosely followed the arc of Springsteen’s life. Some of it was a word-for-word reading from his autobiography. The minimalist set had a brick wall as background with instrument cases and speaker boxes strewn around the stage. Springsteen divided his time between standing in front of a microphone strumming a guitar, and sitting at a piano tickling the keys.

Two-and-a-half hours later, before crossing the street for a late dinner, they stood backstage talking to Bruce and his wife Patty. The artist insisted on autographing their Playbill and CJ knew he would frame it, display it at their apartment, and at some point in the future their home.

“What’s in the canvas bag? Smells like garlic and onions.” Ethan Feldman sniffed the air when CJ and Owen met him in front of Penn Station. An attorney working and living in Manhattan, Ethan graduated from law school with Owen and was a member of the Squad. After a rocky start to their relationship when in a drunken stupor he hit on Owen at a party, he eventually became a full-fledged member of the tight-knit group of friends.

“Bagels, lox, cream cheese, and a few other things. We stopped at Pick-A-Bagel on the way. Breakfast for the next couple of days.” CJ hefted his stuffed backpack higher on his shoulder and held the food bag up for his friend to smell.

“Mate, I’m chuffed you got the extra days off work and get to join us the whole weekend.” Owen draped an arm over his friend’s shoulders as they strolled through the station headed toward the Long Island Railroad platform. They would ride the Montauk line to Sayville and then catch the ferry to The Pines.

Ethan nodded at Owen’s arm. “How much longer before you lose the cast?”

“They said about six weeks total. So another month or so.”

“How scary was it? I’m reconsidering going skydiving. Even though I’ve always wanted to do it.”

“It wasn’t that bad. I mean—”

“Bullshit!” CJ’s furtive looks assured him there were no kids around; he did not have to worry about language. “It was scary as shit. My curlies curled when I saw him crash land.”

“Admit it, CJ. What got you worried was the fact your husband was on the ground and there was a man on top of him.” Ethan danced out of the way to avoid his friends’ elbows.

“Asshole!”

The three men had last seen each other six weeks before at the wedding but this was their first time together without a horde of people around them. Ethan peppered them with questions about the honeymoon. “At least you guys posted some pictures, but I want to see them all. Was sharing only one a day planned?”

Owen rolled his eyes. “Blame my anal retentive husband for that. He had a schedule for that too.”

“Hey! No picking on me.” CJ grasped and held his husband’s hand. “I tried to give an idea of what we were doing. Posting regular keeps followers happy and interested.”

“Whose campaign are you working on this year? Is that why you want your followers happy? So you can rope them into supporting your candidate?” Ethan’s comment earned him a middle finger from CJ.

“Nobody’s.”

The response visibly surprised Ethan. “Really? No politics? But it’s a mid-term election.”

“Really, Ethan. Working on Clinton’s campaign was a great experience, but I’m staying away from that type of involvement for a while. It was restrictive. I had to behave a certain way in public and watch what I said and how I said it. I’m writing checks for candidates, but I’ve turned down all requests to get involved any further.”

“You mean you’re okay with the nationalism some of these yahoos are pushing?”

“I have no objection to anyone putting the United States first.”

“Oh, fuck!” Ethan slapped his forehead while shaking his head. “You sound just like a politician. You just evaded the question by giving an answer that’s not an answer.”

“Asshole! I have no problem with nationalism. My problems tend to be with how we define nation. To me, it’s not the white, heterosexual, Anglo-Saxon, male dominated 1950s. Our nation is multi-cultural, multi-racial, and most of all accepting. If we can keep that in mind, then hell yeah. Bring on nationalism. Let’s stand up for our fellow citizens and our country.”

“Okay, that’s more like it. That’s the fire and conviction I’ve seen in you before. Although I still can’t believe you’re not out campaigning for anyone.”

“I told him I wouldn’t mind it if he went out on the campaign trail a few times.” Owen had said he would support whatever CJ wanted to do. “I’m not complaining about his activism. Because of it, we met Bruce Springsteen, and ended up with tickets to the show last night.”

“Lucky bastards. Those damn tickets are some of the hottest in town. I wanna hear all about the show.”

Owen reached for his backpack, retrieved Springsteen’s book, and handed it to Ethan. “Here, happy Wednesday.” Apparently that was the best he could do as an excuse for a present. “You can keep it. We have a couple more copies back home.”

“He signed it!” Ethan’s eyes widened when he saw the inscription on the front page. “I’ll borrow it but I don’t think you want to give this one up.”

“It’s okay, mate. He sent us an autographed copy as a present with his regrets about the wedding. I didn’t want to ruin it, so I bought another one to read. He signed this one last night.”

Ethan’s smile widened. “I recognize the fluorescent Post-Its. This is what you used to do with textbooks. You always stuck one of these suckers wherever there was a passage you liked or confused you. Which one are these for?”

“Interesting stuff,” Owen replied while his friend paged through the tome, stopped at one of the markers, and skimmed the contents.

“Oh, I know why you highlighted this page. That paragraph reads like something your hubby would say.”

CJ leaned over trying to see what Ethan meant, but the attorney pulled the book away. “Stop being nosy.”

“Hey! The damn book’s autographed to us. I have a right to look at it.” No matter how long they went without seeing each other, the banter always resurfaced.

“Sorry, you forfeited your rights when Ozzie handed it over.” Ethan’s smirk led to eye rolls and head shakes. “But I’ll read you the passage. Tell me is this isn’t something you might say yourself. ‘This is America. The prescriptions for many of our ills are in hand—child day care, jobs, education, health care—but it would take a societal effort on the scale of the Marshall Plan to break the generations-long chain of institutionalized destruction our social policies have wreaked. If we can spend trillions on Iran and Afghanistan in nation building, if we can bail out Wall Street with billions of taxpayer dollars, why not here? Why not now?’ Sounds like you, CJ.”

“Nah… I may share the feeling, but I would have never been able to say it so succinctly.”

The next few days were uncharacteristic for the recently married couple. CJ slept past his usual 5:00 a.m. wakeup time; even when he awoke before Owen, he remained in bed until the Aussie was ready to get up. There were no death-defying adventures or frantic sightseeing. They lounged on the deck or sunbathed on the sand, a cocktail always within reach. Excess energy was spent making love or dancing.

“What’s gotten into him?” Sean handed Owen a drink while their group watched CJ dance like a possessed man on the edge of the crowded space. “I’ve never seen him so animated out on the dance floor. Aren’t you worried about all those guys circling around him?”

“Nah… I know who he’ll be sharing a bed with tonight.” Owen had seen several men try to get handsy with his husband; each time someone ran fingers down his back or played with his exposed chest hair, CJ adroitly moved away without the smile leaving his face. “I kinda like this version of him. Instead of picking a fight when someone tries to molest him, he’s enjoying himself. Let him dance his heart out.”

When the DJ seamlessly transitioned from Big Boi’s “All Night” to Walk the Moon’s “Shut Up and Dance”, CJ’s jump and shout of “Old school! Yeah!” left his friends and those dancing around him laughing.

“Bloody hell, I know what this means.” Owen stripped off his tank top, stuck it through a belt loop in his shorts, and advanced toward CJ’s beckoning finger. His nipple rings glistened whenever the lights bounced off them, as did the gold band dangling from a chain around his neck. It was the one CJ used to propose. “I think it’s time I shut up and dance with him.”

“Oh, hell. Come on, Ethan. Let’s go join the lovebirds.”

When he saw their two friends follow his husband, the corners of CJ’s mouth ticked up another notch. Sean Owen Brody was, at first glance, an unlikely thread in the rich tapestry of friends CJ had woven around himself. The Freehold, New Jersey native—an escort and porn actor when they first met—now worked as a bartender and personal trainer. The furry ginger’s position as one of his idols solidified when he helped prevent CJ’s drugging and rape years before. A resident of Manhattan, Sean became involved with Ethan when the young attorney moved to New York City. Their casual relationship evolved over subsequent months and the two were now a solid couple.

The snap of the wind-filled sails was the perfect soundtrack for a sun-filled day in the middle of August aboard PP. CJ adjusted their course a smidgen and felt the old Lagoon 42 catamaran belonging to Tom Kennedy and his husband John Paul Smith respond. Glancing back at his own spouse, he realized the fair-haired hunk had fallen asleep reading. His eloquence always seemed to fail when he attempted to describe how he felt about the man. He knew if he stared long enough, his body would react as it always did. His ears would buzz—he assumed a result of rising blood pressure—precursive to an erection.

As far as he was concerned, Owen Liston was flawless. At the moment, two items marred that perfection: the cast protecting a broken left wrist and the microscopic Aussiebum swimsuit the man wore. He thought the Australian stud would look much better naked, but both he and his husband liked a tan line. There was something about creamy white buns contrasting with golden thighs and torso that raised CJ’s heart rate.

“Are we there yet?”

CJ, lost in thought, failed to notice Ritchie sneak up on him. “Almost there, bro. What have you guys been doing down there?”

“Nothing, just hanging out.” There was a hint of guilt in the kid’s voice. Their fathers often commented on how the sixteen-year-old was not quite as mature as his brother had been at the same age. However, the boy was more of a risk taker. “And before you ask, Harley did roll another joint. But he burned it with Allan and Tank. You know Patrick and Fadi don’t smoke. And I know I won’t for a long time.”

“Good! I don’t want my lobbying the congresswoman on your behalf to be for nothing. And hey, I’m gonna be in the same boat pretty soon. Once I start the job search late this fall, I’m gonna have to give up smoking too.”

“How long was I sleeping for?”

The brothers turned when they heard Owen. “Not that long, Oz. Hey, I was telling Ritchie we’re almost there. One of you two wanna get the rest of the guys up here? Once we reach the spot we always anchor at, we’ll lower the sails and we can have some fun.”

Patrick Thomas Kennedy was a year-and-a-half younger than CJ. Along with his brother Bradley, he moved to Washington to live with his father after years estranged. His grandfather disavowed his own son when Thomas Kennedy accepted and acknowledged his homosexuality. Reconciliation between Tom and his sons occurred, in part thanks to CJ, after Officer Kennedy was shot in the line of duty. While the Washington DC police officer recovered in the hospital, a tentative phone call by Brad paved the way for reunification. Their mother encouraged them to live with their father in DC to compensate for the years they missed being together.

The overnight trip was Patrick’s farewell party. Having graduated from high school at the end of spring, he was heading off to college. His friend Allan was invited to join them since they were both moving to the same city. The newcomer seemed intimidated by the other men even though he had met most at one time or another. When Harley pulled out the first doobie as they left the marina, Allan at last appeared to relax. “How can I help, CJ? Or should I call you captain?”

“Nah… CJ’s fine. Patrick should be piloting, but he’s too fucking lazy. I’m just the hired help. And I think you can sit this one out. The others know what to do. You just get ready to jump in the water when we anchor. Patrick and Ritchie will have the jet ski out there as soon as we do.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll go downstairs and change into swimming trunks.”

“You don’t have to, Allan. The place we anchor at is secluded, so we all just go skinny-dipping. Hope you don’t mind, but we tend to be casual about clothing in this crowd.” CJ noticed the hesitation. Allan was a tad pudgy, and in all likelihood kept comparing his body to the rest of the group. At least Fadi—Ritchie’s classmate at Sidwell Friends School—was accustomed to the crowd’s nudist tendencies.

“I… I don’t know about that. I’m not used to being naked in front of others.”

“Chill, son. I may not live in the dorms, but I can tell you seeing naked guys walking around isn’t rare. You need to get used to that. And it has nothing to do with sexual orientation if you’re wondering.” Patrick came out to CJ during the older guy’s final semester in high school. Since then, he had been active in the school’s Gay Straight Alliance and served as its president his senior year. Allan knew this well enough, so CJ did not believe it was an issue. Even if half the group on board was gay. “One of my best friends’ also straight and I spend a lot of time hanging out with Carson. Guys in his dorm walk to and from the bathroom in just a towel all the time. And seeing dangling bits ain’t rare.” CJ hoped the kid did not feel threatened.

Later in the day, while fixing sandwiches in the galley, the conversation turned to Patrick’s and Allan’s move to Boston. As usual, Tank was mixing a protein shake to accompany his meal. “So y’all gonna be in the same city but at different schools?”

Tanix Janda hailed from Lafayette Louisiana; his accent was a mixture of Southern and Cajun that at times led to razzing by his friends. He had served two years in the U.S. Navy before going to school to become a licensed massage therapist; he still did some work in that field although his main occupation was as manager at Rogo’s Bar & Grill.

“Yeah. Allan’s gonna be at Harvard which is on the other side of the Charles River.” Patrick ripped open a bag of Doritos and placed it on the counter for the others to help themselves. “Boston University’s a little over a mile away on the south bank. By the way, Tank, what the heck is that shirt you’re wearing?”

The blonde bodybuilder looked at his smooth chest, visible through the front gap in his unbuttoned shirt, and bounced his pecs while grinning. “You like it?” He turned around to show how the back was cut leaving a thin strap running from the collar nearly all the way to the hem. “It’s called a shirt-thong. It’s what the meatheads wear on Floribama Shore when they want to score and hunch.”

Patrick slapped his forehead and shook his head. “You still watching that crap? I watched half an episode after you mentioned it last time. I don’t need to see anything more.”

“Hey! Those are my people. It’s a Southern thing. You damn Yankees just don’t get it.”

“Yo, Preach! Can you grab me a beer from the cooler?” CJ’s use of the new nickname made the Boston bound young man smile. Saddled with it as soon as he told friends he planned to study theology, Patrick was getting used to it. He wanted to work with kids in the future and a double major in social work was part of his plan.

Late that night, beer, wine, or joint in hand, the guys relaxed on deck while stars scrolled above. “I can’t believe summer’s almost over.” Ritchie once again declined when Harley offered him the roach threatening to burn his fingertips.

“Bruh, At least you guys are going back to school.” Harley flicked the remains into the water, reached behind his ear for another one, and lit it. “I start work in a couple weeks. Since I’m the new tech, I’ll prolly be working weekends. I’m never gonna see you. And worst of all, my girlfriend’s gonna be away.”

“Stop bitching, Harley. Kim’s a half hour away at College Park. I’m sure you’ll be taking the ride to the University of Maryland often.” CJ had a low tolerance for whining. “Anyway, you could have gone to a four year college if you wanted to. Motorcycle training school was your choice. Or are you regretting not listening to your parents when they wanted you to go to MIT?”

“Nah… Lucy will prolly end up there. She’s smarter than me anyway. I guess it’ll be okay. I’ll see you all whenever I can. But having the Squad together like we did at the wedding ain’t gonna happen too often. That whole week was lit.”

Three days later, Patrick boarded a flight for Logan Airport, promising to keep in touch, and looking forward to seeing everyone in December at the gathering for CJ’s twenty-first birthday.

The kick was nothing special. They had thrown countless numbers of them over the years evading most with ease. CJ was astounded when his foot connected with Thiago’s chest during their Friday night sparring session at the dojo.

Thiago Zeca Baravento graduated from School Without Walls High School with his first two years of college complete thanks to a special dual program. He received his Bachelor of Science diploma at the end of spring and was now poised to begin work on an advanced degree at Howard University’s College of Pharmacy.

“Hey, dumb shit, where’s your head at tonight? You better start paying attention or you’re gonna get hurt.” CJ offered a hand to help his friend up from the mat. “Your girlfriend just left town this afternoon and you’re already missing her?” Thiago met Nadine Cox soon after starting at Howard and they had dated for the past couple of years.

“Sorry. It’s not that. It’s the reason she went out of town that’s bothering me…” Thiago stared at the ground, he seemed unsure of what else to say.

CJ decided the dojo was not the proper venue to ask for details. Might as well wrap it up and talk on the ride home. “Well, you’re definitely not into this tonight. Let’s call it quits. Ozzie’s waiting for us at home, so we can go eat. Keep your gi on. Weather’s nice and we’ll change into street clothes after we shower at the apartment.” They took their leave from the sensei and grabbed their bags. Right outside the door, while waiting for the requested Uber, CJ pounced. “Okay, what’s going on? Why did Nadine go out of town anyway? Is everything okay?”

Owen was surprised his husband and their friend arrived at the apartment much earlier than expected. After discovering the reason for it, he suggested getting take out instead of walking to a restaurant; they could talk without having to worry about strangers listening to their conversation. While the other two took turns in the shower, he called in an order to Mai Thai, opened a bottle of Wölffer Estate 2017 Summer in a Bottle Rosé, poured glasses for CJ and Thiago, and left to pick up the food.

“This is good, Ozzie. I think it’s the first time you guys have served me pink wine.” Thiago licked his lips and smirked. “Is it like a gay conversion thing? Are you gay boys recruiting?”

“Asshole!” The response was simultaneous and CJ was happy to see his buddy really smile for the first time that night. “You got it, son. After two glasses you’ll be craving dick.”

“I swear it’s bad enough I’m married to an idiot but now I have to put up with you, too?” Owen pointed a spring roll at Thiago before taking a bite. “I always thought you were the sensible one in the Squad. Tell him about the wine, CJ.”

It was a game they played often. Owen would extoll the virtues of a particular vintage and try to get CJ to regurgitate the information whenever they drank the same wine later. “I’m pretty sure I can get this one right. We discovered it on Fire Island this summer. Let me see if I remember what Oz read me. It comes from a winery in Sagaponack, Long Island. They’ve been bottling it since 2013 and this is their 2017 vintage. I think since the first time we had it was with Asian food, it’s imprinted in our brains as perfect for Thai. I can taste different fruits in it but nothing like what Ozzie can. Oh, and I think the bottle’s pretty with all those flowers and stuff painted on it.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna be writing wine reviews any time soon, homie.” Thiago shook his head, his toothy smile contrasting with his dark skin. “It might be a good idea to let your husband talk about them from now on.”

“Damn! You’re such an ass.” The three men were now sprawled in front of the television, a Washington Nationals baseball game nearly muted, and the debris from dinner on the coffee table. “So, you have no idea what she wants to do?”

“Nope. I told her I would support whatever she chose.” The blackout curtains were open; Thiago stared out the window at the red glow from the neon sign outside the building as he took a sip from his wine glass. “She said she had to talk to her parents before making a decision.”

CJ reiterated the offer he had already made upon first hearing the news. “I’ll say it again. Whatever you need, you ask us. Money, a place to live, doctors… Whatever it takes. You’re family and we take care of our own.”

“I know… You guys are the best friends I could ever ask for.” Thiago looked sad and sounded defeated. “But it’s all up to her now. It’s her body and I wouldn’t dream of telling her what to do. I offered to pay for the abortion if that’s what she chooses. Or to help raise the kid if she decides to keep it.”