1968 - 15. Chapter 15

September 3, 1968

After our return from Chicago I'd given a scathing interview to the San Francisco Chronicle and to Stanford's paper. Those actions alone served to sever any ties I had with the Democratic Party. I wasn't sad at all. Sam and I had spent a few days at the beach, but today was the beginning of a whole new chapter in my life. Today was the first day of classes; my first day of classes at Stanford. No one had seen me teach here, no one knew how good a teacher I could be.

The class was held in a huge lecture hall, and it was all Sam could do to get all the syllabi and handouts printed and handed out. I had over 200 students in each section, with another 100 wait listed. Speaking in front of such a large crowd was daunting for some, but not for me. I was calm and confident, teaching class the same way I'd done since I first started. I outlined the class and what the requirements would be. This was not going to be “underwater basket weaving” and I wanted them to know it up front. I expected that I'd scare them away, but I learned something new that day. Stanford students never shirk from an academic challenge. I spent some time talking about my past and talking about the book I'd written, and I introduced Sam as my senior T.A. God he looked good up there, oozing knowledge and confidence. It was a repeat for the second section. In the end, we cleared the wait list and just figured that the hall would be crowded. I hated to turn students away.

At the end of the day I was happy, almost ecstatic, and I paused to evaluate my feelings. I realized that my confidence had been a little more fragile than I had let on. But having given my first lecture at Stanford, and meeting the bright enthusiastic students, I knew that I'd finally found an academic home. At that moment, a senior position at Harvard, Yale, or even Princeton wouldn't have tempted me to leave.

October 12, 1968

Stefan and I waited patiently at San Jose Municipal Airport for Tonto to arrive. I'd finally talked her into coming out to visit. I'd expected her to bring Barry along too, but he apparently didn't feel up to it so she decided to come alone. The plane pulled up to the gate and Tonto was the first one off. Short, frumpy and indomitable, she strode down the steps and across the tarmac with a purpose. No wonder the Claremont ladies treated her with care.

“Stefan!” she yelled, and grabbed her grandson and squeezed him in a big bear hug. “JP!” she yelled, and I was next. The way Tonto carried her feelings on her sleeve was refreshing, most of the time. We got her luggage and dragged her off to the car. I took her up Interstate 280 which was a much prettier drive. Tonto was pretty impressed with the picturesque views, and even more impressed with Escorial, but that's not why she was there.

As soon as we walked through the door the kids came charging out to see who was visiting. Brad was nervous at first. He gave her a big hug, and seemed glad to see her, but something was bothering him. Finally, he said, “I want to stay here.” Tonto promised him that she was just visiting, and that this was his home now. After that, his normal, bright personality broke through and he dragged her off to see their rooms. The smile on her face at seeing him so happy was priceless.

Dinner was a marvelous affair, with Betty and Anna going all out to welcome Tonto. The kids finished first and ran off to play, leaving the adults munching on dessert.

“I hope you don't mind me talking about this, but there is concern that maybe Jeff's death wasn't a suicide,” Tonto said, and shocked her audience.

Everyone else seemed too stun to talk, so I filled the void. “What makes them think that?”

“Neighbors saw a car over there the night that he died. It had Illinois license plates, but apparently none of them bothered to get the number. All they know is that it's a '66 or '67 Chevrolet. They think it was a Biscayne. Not much to go on.” I looked around the table. All of us seemed to take it in stride, but Sam was more uptight than normal. He caught me looking at him and quickly put on his facade.

“Well, he had lots of scum ball friends from Chicago. I'll bet it was one of them that came to see him. Probably brought him the drugs he overdosed on.” I told her about the hippie that Stefan and I had caught in Jeff's room in the hospital, and Stefan amplified it.

“I didn't know about that. You're probably right. I'll make sure to pass that on when I get home.” She seemed relaxed. Sam looked relieved.

After dinner, Tonto was pretty tired, what with the jet lag and a busy day, so she headed off to bed. I went out with the boys and Isidore to smoke my nightly joint.

“That is strange that they just now found out about the Illinois car,” Stefan said. I felt Sam tense up again. This was really bothering him, although I'm sure I was the only one who sensed it.

“The cops probably didn't investigate very thoroughly when he turned up dead. I mean he was obviously on drugs anyway, they knew that, so they probably accepted his death as suicide and moved on.” No matter what was going on, nothing would be gained by idle speculation.

“Perhaps you are right. Who would have wanted to murder Jeff though?” Stefan was relentless.

“Maybe he owed someone money, or maybe he accidentally overdosed,” Sam said, speaking about the issue for the first time.

“JP gave him money, he should have had enough,” Stefan said. “I suppose it is possible that he overdosed on accident.” He paused. “Well, if the police find anything, I am sure they will let us know.” And with that, the conversation shifted to more frivolous topics.

Everyone had gone to bed, leaving me alone on the patio. It was a beautiful night, clear and brisk, so I bundled up and laid on my back, taking in the brilliant night sky and pondering Tonto's revelation about Jeff.

In the back of my mind was a fear of what really happened to Jeff. I had put forward the theory that it was just Chicago hippies, but I wasn't too sure about that. Sam's reaction had been unusual. Illinois was next to Missouri, wasn't it? Just across the river from St. Louis. And he had been in St. Louis when Jeff had died. Did Sam kill him?

He would have had to get the Chevy from a friend or a car rental agency and drive up to Claremont. I mentally reconstructed the time line. He would have had time to get to Claremont, off Jeff, and then make it back to the airport with just a little time to spare to catch his flight back. He could have told his family he was leaving, made the trip, and then ended up at the airport. They wouldn't have known any different. I didn't know his parents so I couldn't really ask them when he left. Would I even want to if I could?

What was his motive? Why would he kill Jeff? Sam had always liked Jeff. The realization was chilling. If he did it, he did it to protect me and my family. I'd given him the lecture on upholding family position and honor in the car after we confronted Jeff on July 4th. He knew that if Jeff put the screws to me, he'd have either tortured me endlessly, or worse, he'd make good on his threat and devastate my father.

So my current boyfriend murdered my ex-boyfriend? Sounds like something right out of a cheap novel. I searched my feelings. I guess I hadn't really been all that upset when Jeff had died. If anything, I'd been relieved. If I thought there was some way to save Jeff from his drug addiction, I would have been upset, but there wasn't hope. After Paris, after he screwed Stefan over, after he blackmailed me, his self-hatred would have been too great to overcome his addiction. Still, the thought of someone killing him turned my stomach, and the thought that Sam was capable of such intense violence was disturbing in the extreme.

The letter Jeff had written me on July 4th showed me that he was going to kill himself. He'd given up hope. He'd charted his course. I gazed at the sky, enjoying the crisp air and the stars, lost in my thoughts.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew I was being lifted up and carried inside. I woke up to see Sam looking down at me protectively; carrying my scrawny body like it was nothing. I was freezing, so I just wrapped my arms around his neck and let him carry me off to bed.

October 13, 1968

We rode across the hills, Tonto and I, as I showed her the extent of our property. It was a chilly morning; chilly for Palo Alto, but not for Claremont, so Tonto seemed exhilarated rather than cold. We pulled up our horses at the top of the hill and gazed out at the Bay, and north to where The City was barely visible.

“Tonto, I need to talk to you about Jeff's death,” I said. She just looked at me, waiting for me to continue. “Frank Hayes gave me a letter that he found in Jeff's house after his death. He'd written it after he'd seen me on July 4th, and basically told me he was going to kill himself.”

“So you have a suicide note? It's probably good the police didn't have that, otherwise they wouldn't be investigating his death as a murder.”

I grimaced. “It's pretty personal Tonto. If I gave it to the police, it would expose my relationship with him. That would probably raise more questions.”

She studied me carefully. She understood what I was saying. If I turned in the note, it could embarrass our family, and create a big scandal. “Then maybe you should just hang onto it and let them investigate. It will give them something to do.”

How did I tell her that I wanted them to stop the investigation? What if they tracked the car back to Sam? We turned the horses around and headed back to the house, while I pondered my dilemma. I found myself instinctively defending Sam, and I wondered if that was the kind of motivation he felt when he found out about Jeff blackmailing me. In the end, I decided to keep the note in reserve and hope that the police were inefficient enough not to track the car back to Sam. In a more disturbing revelation, I realized that this plan involved my tacit acceptance that he had probably been involved in Jeff's death.

October 16, 1968

The last few days had been schizophrenic. On the one hand, having Tonto here was a blast. Away from Claremont and her various responsibilities, her stress seemed to evaporate and her natural effervescence bubbled through. She'd managed to bond not only with Brad, who clearly adored her, but with the other three kids as well. Watching the stress evaporate from her was priceless.

Then there was the other issue. The issue of Sam and his involvement with Jeff. I hadn't said a thing to him, and he hadn't brought up the issue with me either. To me, that was almost an admission of guilt. I knew that letting this fester was hurting me, and hurting us, but I couldn't bring myself to confront him. What was I supposed to say? “Did you murder Jeff?” He'd deny it, and I'd look like an ass. I didn't see how I could broach the issue without damaging our relationship, yet letting it simmer was having that same effect.

It was already starting to tear at my psyche. When we were intimate, there was a wall there, a barrier that we both had erected. The sex was still great, phenomenal in fact, but the emotional aspect, that loving bond, was missing. Worse yet, I'd started having nightmares. Nightmares where Jeff was laying helpless in bed and Sam came up and shot him, or stabbed him, or beat the shit out of him. Last night I'd had one, only to have Sam wake me up because I was apparently screaming in my sleep. When I woke up and saw him over me, I screamed out loud. This was driving me nuts. I had to do something. But what?

So here we were, all of us, gathered around the television watching the Olympics. This year the summer games were being held in Mexico City, where there had, of course, been some bloody protests. Today was a good day for America. Two of our runners, Tommie Smith and John Carlos had won gold and bronze medals in the 200 meter race. Both were black, and we watched, stunned, as they raised their fists in the symbol of “black power” as the US National Anthem was being sung. Their protest, their defiant gesture, caused an immediate ruckus, but at least it didn't start any new riots.

It seemed like the entire country was sitting on a powder keg waiting for one spark to ignite the fuse that would blow it up. I was starting to think my relationship with Sam was in the same situation.

October 20, 1968

In the end, it had been the beach that saved us all. I'd taken Tonto there to see our property and spend a few days. The house was still in chaos from the construction, but we just smiled and roughed it. The sea air, the pounding surf, the soothing balm that was the Pacific healed my soul, or at least put a salve on it. I found that I was able to bury my fears and worries about Sam and Jeff and put on my happy facade. Sam had to know something was still wrong; it was obvious every time we made love. Still, I told myself that I'd be able to ultimately deal with it in time, and that I'd just forget it and we'd go on.

Stefan had taken Tonto back to the airport, Isidore and the kids headed back to Escorial, and that left Sam and me alone, sitting on the porch, staring at the waves. They looked ominous under the steel gray winter clouds. I looked over at Sam and noticed a tear running down his cheek. I instinctively reached up and gently brushed it away.

“What's wrong baby?” I asked him. Seeing him vulnerable, hurting, seemed to pierce through the bullshit I'd been thinking and made me realize how much I loved this guy.

“You know what's wrong. I've just been afraid to tell you,” he said. I let him simmer, waited for him to go on. “It was my car that was at Jeff's. Well, not my car, but it was me.” And then he did something I never expected, never in a million years. He broke down sobbing. Not crying, sobbing. “You're going to hate me now. I'll lose everything!”

I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight. “Sam, I love you. It's OK. We'll get through this together. Come on, let's go inside and you can tell me what happened.” He looked at me and just nodded, allowing me to guide him to our room. We lay down together on the bed and he put his head on my chest while I stroked his back. His tears continued to pour out, dampening my shirt.

I just let him cry, waited for him to talk. It didn't really take all that long. “I had to do something JP. I know blackmailers. I know how they are. I knew he'd put the screws to you, and you are so loyal to your family, you're damn near Italian.” That made me giggle.

“You know it,” I said in Italian. Sam had been teaching me and I caught on fast. I was right, French and Spanish had made learning Italian a breeze.

“At first I was gonna get one of my uncles to handle it for me, but I couldn't do that. Dammit, I really liked Jeff, even though I shouldn't have. So I borrowed a car from a cousin and drove up to Claremont. I'd scored some heroin and I figured I'd pin him down, inject it, and everyone would think it was a suicide.”

“Is that what happened?” I asked.

“No. When I got to his house I just walked in. He was alone, and he looked so sad JP. He was just sitting there in a fog. I had tried to hate him, tried so hard, but I just felt sorry for him. When he saw me he wasn't scared, he looked relieved.”

“So then he asks me if I'm there to kill him, and I told him yeah, he was an asshole and this blackmail was a bunch of bullshit. And he says ‘Good, I'm glad you're here. I can't stand to be like this anymore’. So we just stared at each other.”

“I told him that he was being nice, like the old Jeff, and I couldn't do it if he was gonna be a nice guy. And you know what? The fucker laughed. He got up and hugged me. He told me that he knew he could count on me, that only I could understand, and that he had to be a man and end things now. He talked about honor, and about being a man and doing the right thing, and sounded, well, he sounded like my relatives.”

“He told me how he had the world by the balls, how his life was so great, and how much he loved you. God JP, he worshiped you almost as much as I do. He told me about his shitty home life, and how when he seemed happy, when he was close, he always seemed to manage to fuck it up. He talked about the time you guys were together, and how he'd never been able to just be happy. It had to always be something. There always had to be drama. He said that after Paris he knew that he was toxic, and that he could only bring pain to someone he was with.”

Now he had me crying. He had me remembering the Jeff I'd loved. The Jeff that had helped me paint and decorate my condo, the Jeff who'd driven 800 miles to spend Valentine's Day with me, the Jeff who'd gone to Paris with me and talked me into bringing Isidore to the US. We clung to each other like two sinking men.

“He'd stockpiled enough heroin to do himself in, and the stuff I brought was just an added bonus. He asked me if I'd be there with him when he OD'd. If I'd hold his hand and help him through the doorway, as he called it. I told him I would, and then he got inspired and decided that he wanted Jason there too. So we called Jason and I went over and picked him up. Jason wasn't very happy to be there, but Jeff reminded him of all the shit they'd been through, so he agreed. So Jeff shot himself up and Jason held one of his hands while I held the other.” It suddenly dawned on me that I hadn't seen Jason at Jeff's funeral. No wonder.

“Jason and I just sat there while he got this total euphoric look on his face, and then his face kind of twisted and it seemed like he couldn't breathe. It didn't last all that long, and before we knew it, he was dead. We got up, hugged each other and left, and then I dropped Jason off. I made it back to St. Louis with just enough time to catch the plane.” He paused having finished his story, but not sure what would happen now.

I had to forgive him. He did what Jeff wanted, but he did it to protect me. The way it impacted him, the fact that he told me about it, all of those things only made me love him more. He wasn't a cold-blooded killer. He just loved me. Completely. I pulled his face to mine and kissed him lovingly.

“Sam, you should have told me, but I understand why you didn't. Jeff was going to do it whether you were there or not. At least with you and Jason there, he didn't die alone. Thank you.” There were no grins after I said that. It was too sad for us to make out and fuck like rabbits. No, we just lay there together, holding each other, trying to ease our pain, understanding that the love we had was incredibly special and incredibly strong.

November 14, 1968

After our conversation about Jeff, Sam and I had come together like never before. We were totally and completely into each other, both literally and figuratively. I worried that it would be obvious on campus, but Sam did a good job of keeping it cool there, better than me.

He came strolling into my office at the end of the day and looked perturbed. I knew exactly why. He was responsible for the other T.A.s and I didn't interfere. I found that I was actually a good delegator. But this time I'd crossed the line and worked directly with them, and he was pissed, even though he was trying to hide it.

“I talked to Jake and he said that you asked him to handle the test next Tuesday?” I almost giggled at how irritated he was.

“That's right,” I said, egging him on.

“You could have told me about it first,” he said, getting more pissed.

“I could have, but that would have spoiled the surprise.”

He studied me carefully and realized that I was playing him. “What surprise?” he asked, knowing that was the question I wanted him to ask, but doing it anyway.

“You and I won't be here, so I wanted them to be ready to handle the mid-term. We don't need to be here for that. The T.A.s can proctor the exam.”

He was getting pissed again, this time because I was being coy. “And exactly where are we going to be?”

“St. Louis. We've been invited to do a lecture at Wash U, so I figured that we could go out and spend the weekend with your family.”

A huge grin spread across his face. Sam loved his family, they were so very important to him. He hugged me, and then looked around furtively to make sure no one was looking. “I love you,” he cooed in my ear.

The next day found us walking through Lambert St. Louis airport. It had one of those “Jetsons” space age designs like Kennedy in New York. We grabbed a car and headed to our hotel. We were staying at the Chase Park Plaza which overlooked St. Louis' gem, Forest Park. It was their equivalent of New York's Central Park, and contained museums, a lake, and loads of green space. At one end was our hotel, and at the other was Wash U, a pretty campus with that pervasive Tudor Gothic architecture that academics seemed to prefer. We checked in and Sam took us over to meet his parents. He seemed nervous.

“JP, they don't know about us, you know that right? I mean, they don't even know I'm gay, much less that I have a partner.”

I laughed. “Well, let's not make out in front of them then, OK? It's no big deal. I just want to meet them. Just tell them I'm your boss, and they'll be nice to me so I don't fire you.” That made him laugh along with me.

They lived in the Italian section of St. Louis known as “The Hill.” Sam told me that it was sometimes called Dago Hill by the unenlightened locals. It was a neat neighborhood. The fire hydrants were painted red, white, and green, the colors of the Italian flag, and there was a bar or restaurant on every corner. The houses were shotgun homes and reminded me of Claremont's East Side, only this neighborhood was pristine. All the yards were perfect. We drove up to one of these small homes and Sam almost leapt out of the car. As he bounded up the steps with me trailing behind a large Italian woman threw open the door and gave him a huge hug.

“Mama, I want you to meet my boss, JP Crampton,” he said, tearing himself away.

She turned to me and gave me a big hug too. “Welcome to our house. Come on in. Dinner's almost ready.” She guided us into the living room where Sam's father was waiting with another big hug. There were two big guys behind him, both of them looked like monster versions of Sam, and could only be his brothers Joe and Vito. They immediately absorbed me into their home, treating me just like a member of the family. The warmth was so soothing, so refreshing. No wonder Sam was so loyal to his family, and no wonder our family meant so much to him.

Three little kids came screaming through the room like little demons but Vito stopped them and yelled at them. It really didn't have much of an effect, though, and they kept right on having fun. Too funny.

Sam left me with the men and headed off after his mother. We all sat down and his father gave me a beer. Joe, the middle brother, started speaking in Italian. “Mrs. Luchese told me she wanted her front door painted again. She didn't like the color. Looked too red. The old bitch wants me to do it for free.” Joe did home painting and construction work.

Sam's dad shook his head. “That woman has been a pain in the ass ever since her husband died. She needs a man, not a different color on her door.” They all laughed, and his dad suddenly became conscious that I was in the room.

“I'm sorry,” he said in English, “we didn't mean to make you feel left out. We usually speak Italian at home.”

I smiled. “It's no problem at all. Italian is a beautiful language,” I said, in my flawless Italian, thanks to Sam's tutoring.

The three of them got huge grins on their faces. “Mama, come out here,” yelled Sam's dad. She came scurrying out with a nervous Sam in tow, wondering what I'd done to piss off his father. Sam’s dad gestured frantically at me. “This boy speaks Italian!”

“No? You speak Italian?” she asked me.

“Yes ma'am,” I said. “Sam taught me.” After that, I was part of the family.

November 17, 1968

I was having a total blast with Sam's family, although I'd honestly never eaten so much in my entire life. It seems that his mother was always cooking. Then at dinner, she'd actually put food in my plate and practically force me to eat it. “You need some more. You're all skin and bones,” she'd say, and kept piling food on. No wonder Sam was so muscular. He probably had to work out like a banshee just to keep from getting fat.

Sam never really spent much money on himself. With clothes, I either bought them for him or made him get them. But when it came to his family, he cut loose the pocketbook. He bought his parents a new car, an Oldsmobile 98, which made them the envy of the neighborhood. Just as exciting, he bought them a big color TV and that's where we were, camped around it watching football. The New York Jets were playing the Oakland Raiders, and even though no one seemed to care which team won, they all liked football.

The Jets were winning 32-29 and the game was winding down. There didn't seem to be much hope for the Raiders. Suddenly the game stopped and “Heidi,” the kids’ movie, came on.

“What the fuck is this?” yelled Vito, getting dirty looks from his wife and his mother.

“Put the game back on you bastards!” echoed Joe. Soon everyone was yelling at the television. That lasted for about 20 minutes until a crawling message went across the screen telling us that the Raiders had come back in the last minute and scored TWICE to win the game. Two scores in three plays with just a minute to go. The bitching redoubled. Turns out NBC had screwed up and switched the feed and their switchboards had been overwhelmed. After that, the infamous “Heidi Game” the rule was that football games were to be televised to the end, no matter what had to be pre-empted.

Sam and I did our talk the next day at Graham Chapel on the campus of Wash U. The place was packed and we got a great reception. The only reason I'd done this gig was to meet Sam's family, but it was such a bonus to have a bright, enthusiastic audience. After the lecture, we headed straight for the airport and back home to Escorial.

Seeing Sam's family, and the boisterous, loving dynamic, I understood him so much better. It was hard not to compare them to Jeff's dysfunctional family. It's no wonder that Sam was like a rock, stable and reliable. And it's no wonder that Jeff had spent so many years running from the crap he'd endured growing up.

December 20, 1968

My first semester had ended this week. It had been great. Not only did I have fun teaching it, but the students responded wholeheartedly. I bonded with them at an academic level like I'd never been able to do before. I was inclined to attribute it to my infatuation with Stanford, but I think it had more to do with the topic of the class. It was something I was passionate about, and so were my students, many of whom sat on a bubble, just waiting for the draft board to disallow their deferments and ship them off to Vietnam. But now that the semester was over, I was taken up with an entirely new project. Isidore and I had decided to host Christmas this year, and had invited my relatives to come out from Ohio to join us. They were arriving today.

So I found myself with Stefan, sitting at San Jose Municipal Airport waiting for the flight that was carrying our loved ones. I got a twinge of panic when I considered the impact if that plane were to crash, but chided myself for being negative. The plane rolled up to the gate, and I saw my parents exit first, emerging from the plane into a light drizzle and slippery stairs. My mother was too graceful to slip, but my father wasn't. I watched him almost stumble down the stairs. He was followed by my brother Jim and his wife and kids, and then by Tonto and Barry. Brad's siblings were spending Christmas with Janice's parents.

We managed to cram everyone and their luggage into Isidore's Cadillac, and the huge Fleetwood limousine we'd just bought. Isidore wanted a car that we could all fit into, and since we had a driver (Rafael) she thought it made sense. I thought it was ostentatious, but I caved. Isidore asked for so little and gave so much.

So we stuffed my parents and the Schluters in the limousine, while I took my brother and his family in Isidore's Cadillac. I hadn't gotten to spend much time with Jim over the past few years, so it was nice to have the time on the drive to reconnect. I made a mental note to sneak off alone with him so I could really appreciate all of his sterling good qualities. My sister-in-law was nice enough, although a little ditzy. And their kids were great.

We got to Escorial and I think everyone was surprised to find they actually had plenty of room. Isidore had planned everything out to the last sheet, and her amazing organizational skills shone through. Tonto and Barry immediately sought out Brad. Now that he knew he was here to stay, and since they'd bonded so well in October, he was thrilled to see them. Their expressions at finding their grandson safe and happy, and to find him genuinely glad to see them, was priceless.

December 25, 1968

The kids had opened up all their presents this morning, and it was time for dinner. Betty and Anna had worked like fiends to make a great dinner, and I was glad that I'd included the massive dining room table in the house purchase. I insisted that my father sit at the head of the table, with Barry at the opposite end. The look on Barry's face, my acknowledging his position in our family and showing him that respect, really seemed to mean a lot to him. Rafael, Mike, Anna and Betty had all planned to eat in the kitchen, but I had been adamant about that. They were part of our family, and they belonged with us.

I sat in the middle of the table and looked at our family. There was my brother, looking like a younger version of my father, with his wife and beautiful family. I made him promise to let my niece and nephew come out and spend some time next summer at the beach with us. They were thrilled about that, not just the beach, but flying out alone. At the end of the table sat Tonto and Barry, a couple which had endured more than their fair share of tragedy. Two sons killed in the service of their country, and a daughter-in-law that couldn't handle the loss of her own husband and had jumped to her death. Yet they'd stepped up to the plate and resolved to raise their grandchildren.

My parents, proud of both of their sons, even though one of them was a fag. I thought about the rough road I'd taken them on, and the rough road they'd taken me on. Somehow we'd managed to survive that, and to build an even stronger relationship. I knew now that no matter what, they'd be there for me.

Isidore sat shyly next to Mike. They weren't a couple, but they were fuck buddies. That made me giggle, that Isidore had ended up with her own boy toy. She was fantastic. The best wife a gay man could wish for. She'd been through all of my trials and tribulations and never once complained. She'd let me uproot her from a city and a life she loved and transplant her here in California, and then she'd not only survived, she was thriving. Her branch of Crampton had shown amazing growth, and she had shown that a woman could do the job just as well, if not better, than any man. The respect that Jim and my father showed her was proof of that.

Stefan had firmly claimed Deke as his boyfriend. I always wondered what kind of guy would finally force Stefan to fall in love and settle down. Now I knew. Deke, with his massive dick, was a challenge for Stefan to handle, and I think the two of them instinctively worked to keep their sex life exciting. But Deke had done more than sexually satisfy Stefan, a concept that seemed impossible before. He'd become his partner. Deke was involved in Stefan's business, he was always there for him; in short, he was totally devoted to him. Stefan, put on a pedestal and completely satisfied sexually, was finally a happy, stable person. Add to that success with his business, success which had also impacted everyone at the table, and he was doing better than any of us ever suspected he would. And to me, most importantly, he was still one of my best friends. Always ready to spend time with me if I needed him, always ready to make me laugh if I was down. I couldn't help but beam at him.

And then there was Sam. Every day I seemed to love him more. He was so strong, so solid, so stable, and so reliable. He loved me completely, with no reservations, and I knew it. I never questioned him, never doubted him; I knew that he would always be there for me, and I knew that I'd always be there for him. He'd helped me restore the balance to my own life and repair my own psyche. I was myself again, strong and contained, impervious to people's bullshit, and I owed that all to Sam. I giggled to myself when I thought about how boring that made him sound, he was anything but that. He drove me nuts in bed, and it seemed that every week brought a new high. He wasn't afraid to experiment, which made things fun, but that wasn't it. What did it for me was that I knew he wasn't fucking me, he was making love with me, and when he got excited, and the animal came out in him, I knew that I did that to him because he was so into me. I reached over and grabbed his hand, silently telling him just how much I loved him.

I rose to my feet to propose a toast. “I'd like to thank you all for being here this Christmas. It has been a tumultuous year, and we must take a moment to remember those who aren't with us anymore. Yet as the world convulses around us, as America seems perpetually on the brink of revolution, and in other countries they are actually having them, I look around at this table and realize how lucky we are to have each other. I cherish each and every one of you, and I can honestly say that I have reached a point in my life where I am both happy and content. So here's to our family, and a great 1969.” Everyone toasted, and I wondered if they thought my speech was just so much pabulum, something thrown together to sound good. If they thought that, they were wrong.

THE END