The Land Whore - 26. Chapter 26

October 15, 1973

I drove Greg down to Almaden and showed him the original development, and the land that I owned adjacent to it. He wasn't as into real estate as I was, but he humored me and pretended to be impressed. That wasn't the main purpose of this trip anyway. Then we wandered through the winery where we found Roger working in the storage area.

“Hey Stef,” he said enthusiastically. “Hey Greg,” he said, but this enthusiasm was faked. Still, Greg probably wouldn't figure it out.

“I'm heading back to Malibu. I wanted to stop by and let you know that. I talked to Luke and Cecile and they're going to work up an agreement for us to sign, and then you will have some more room to expand.”

He grinned at both of us. “So you came to get him huh?” he said to Greg. His words and demeanor were friendly. “Smart move.”

Greg responded in kind. “Yeah, I finally wised up.”

Roger wiped his hand on his jeans and extended it to Greg. “I wish you guys all the luck in the world. Stefan's a special guy, and I'm glad he's found someone to make him happy.”

Greg was stunned, but together enough to shake Roger's hand. “Thanks Roger. Those were the words of a true gentleman. It's nice to know we have another friend out there.”

I gave Roger a hug and then we left right afterward. There was no reason to prolong a successful yet uncomfortable meeting. As Rafael drove us to the airport, I just sat there, incredibly happy, holding Greg’s hand.

“You were right. That was a smart thing to do.” Then a minute later: “Damn that guy has a nice body.”

I giggled. “Yes he does. And he's an animal, and a lot of fun. But he cannot come close to you. You know how to satisfy another man.” He grinned at me, enjoying the ego stroke.

“Hmmm. Well, when we make up our rules, we may have to add him to the list.” I chuckled and raised my eyebrows.

Rafael drove us right up to the plane. He had phoned ahead so the engines were already warming up and the pilots had done whatever it was they did with the tower to make sure we could leave. I found myself feeling a little giddy. I'm a very wealthy man, rich may be another way to put it, but Greg took that to a new level. Private jets, a-list parties; the life of the rich and famous was something entirely new to me. As soon as we were on board the engines revved, and after a brief taxi we were airborne.

“What a nice way to travel,” I observed.

“We won't be flying like this tomorrow,” he said.

“Tomorrow? And exactly where will I be going tomorrow?”

“Australia.”

When he said travel, and not on this plane, I figured we were looking at Europe. Visions of Paris popped around in my head. But Australia? Now that was exotic. “Wow. That's pretty far. Sounds like a lot of fun though. Why are we going there?”

“They just finished the Sydney Opera House. The grand opening ceremony is on October 20, and we've been invited. The Queen is opening the building, so maybe we'll get to meet her.”

“You taking your queen to meet the Queen?” I teased.

“Something like that.”

“It sounds fantastic. But you know, as long as I'm with you, I'm happy.” I found that I truly meant that, they weren't just idle words.

“I'll remember that if we ever have to go to Oklahoma.”

We drove up to our house in Malibu. “Our” house. It made me smile. The driver unloaded the bags and put them in the foyer, where we were met by a very nervous Alice.

“I'm so sorry Mr. Anders. He came over and pushed his way in and would not leave. I was going to call the police but he hasn't caused me any problems, so I thought I'd wait for your instructions.” She was nervous, but despite that, she looked at me and smiled. “It's good to see you back Mr. Schluter.” What a nice thing to do.

Greg moved into the living room but I paused to talk to Alice. “It's nice to see you too Alice. And you must call me Stefan or I will think of something really horrible to call you.” She smiled at me. “Who's in there?” I asked, sotto voce.

“Al,” she answered softly. I nodded and headed into the room. Greg and Al were just glaring at each other. Al was not what I expected at all. He was tall, and reasonably muscular, with about 30 extra pounds around his waist. He had dirty blond hair, and it was all messed up. Physically he was no match for me. I was almost irritated that I'd almost been dumped for this slug, but I reminded myself that this told me more about Greg than it did about Al. Greg loved the person, not the body. He picked me despite my great looks, I thought to myself playfully. My mood took a different turn when Al saw me.

“So this is the little fucker you dumped me for?” He looked at me menacingly, but I just stood there coolly. I'd been beat up before, it may very well happen again, but I'd be damned if I showed any fear. “Some pretty little Hollywood slut-boy who captures you with his magic wand. I dumped my wife and kids, blew my career, and get jilted for the latest model?”

“Model?” I said coldly. “Well now that is really flattering. Thank you. You must be Al?”

That took the winds out of his sails for a minute. “We'll see how flattered you are when I smear your face all over the floor.” He moved a step toward me to bully me. I didn't move.

“It will not help. It will not win Greg back. Once I pick my face up off the floor, he and I will still be together. Only this time, instead of just being annoyed at you like he is now, he will truly hate you for hurting me.” I was perhaps being too arrogant and assuming a lot, but if Greg meant all those things he'd said, that's how he'd feel.

Conveniently for me I had directed the focus back to Greg and away from me. Greg didn't flinch either. “Stefan is right Al. We're together. And you're leaving.”

“I'm not going anywhere!” he yelled. Then he collapsed onto a chair with his head in his hands, crying. Sobbing. I felt so sorry for him. I walked toward him but Greg grabbed me. I gently shook him away. I don't have all that many skills, but I'm usually good with people.

“Al, when you leave here, where are you going?” I asked gently. He stopped sobbing and looked at me, a whole myriad of emotions flowing through him. Hate, anger, sadness, all of those, but in the end a soft concerned voice seemed to crack through some of that.

“I have nowhere to go thanks to you.”

“It is not my fault that you have nowhere to go, but maybe I can help you end up not sleeping on the streets.”

“I don't need charity. You going to get me a hotel room to ease your guilt?” I saw Greg ready to just lose it but I looked at him, begging him to let me do this. He rolled his eyes.

“I'm not offering you charity, and I have nothing to feel guilty about. But if you want a place to land for awhile, a place to do something physical while you figure out what is next, I can help you with that.”

“What are you talking about?” I had him curious.

“I own part of a winery in Almaden, in the Bay Area. We could use some help there. My former boyfriend owns the other part and runs it. It's up to you.”

“So both of your cast-offs end up out on a vineyard?” he asked rudely.

“Exactly. Kind of like that Island of Misfits you see on that Christmas special. What is it, Rudolph the Reindeer?” I was proud of my insertion of American pop culture into our conversation. “If you want, I will call him and you can meet with him. If not, that's fine too. I wish you luck.” I got up and walked back toward Greg and stood next to him with my arm around him. It was a possessive gesture, and Al finally got it.

“Do I have to leave right now?” Greg was silent.

“Yes, unfortunately you do. I do not think you're over this enough for me to feel comfortable with you here. But I truly do hope that we can get past that Al.” Greg said nothing.

“Alright. I'll go.” I walked over to the desk and wrote directions on how to get there. I put it in an envelope and stuck a couple of thousand dollars in there while they weren't looking. “Here,” I said handing him the sealed envelope. “Good luck.” I ushered him to the door, guided him out, and shut and locked it.

“You amaze me,” Greg said, kissing me.

“You handled that really well,” said Alice, coming back out of the woodwork.

“Well thank you both. Is anyone besides me hungry?” I asked.

“I can make something for dinner,” Alice said.

“Alice, I was thinking that the three of us could go out to eat. I'm going to shower and change. Let's leave in an hour.” She bubbled with excitement.

Greg followed me into the shower. “Squiring the help around in public? I'm not sure my mother would approve.”

“I do not think I'm going to impress her anyway,” I joked. We made love in the shower and then took Alice to dinner at a trendy Hollywood Cafe. Several stars came up to talk to Greg, and Alice was just bug-eyed at getting to meet them without serving them drinks or food. It was a really fun time.

October 16-18, 1973

No rest for the weary. I had packed like a crazed fiend and so had Greg. It was actually pretty funny the way we kept running into each other. But we'd done it, gotten packed up and on our 13 hour flight to Sydney. I was really excited to see “down under”. I picked up a few tour books in the airport, and grabbed a paper as well. I was relieved to see that the Yom Kippur War was stabilizing. Israel had driven the Syrians out of the Golan Heights and had forced a salient targeting Damascus. The Egyptians were risking entrapment on the East Bank of the Suez as Israeli counter-attacks forced them back.

I thought about my emotions. As a Frenchman, I had reasons to feel ambivalent towards the Arabs. They had been a pain in the ass in neighborhoods near mine in Paris, and the battle for Algeria had brought down our government and caused the death of thousands of innocent Frenchmen and women. Still, I understood their beefs with Israel. But I liked Israel and the Israelis, and the horror of the holocaust was always there, reminding us of how Jews had already suffered so much, which would have guilted me into partiality for them anyway.

Greg handed me a sleeping pill for the flight. I took it and felt myself dozing off. The next thing I knew someone was shaking me firmly. “We're descending into Sydney sir,” the polite stewardess informed me. I felt groggy and disoriented. This was worse than being really really stoned.

Somehow Greg and I managed to get through immigration and customs, and to find our bags. We were like walking zombies. We surrendered ourselves into the hands of a friendly cab driver, who took us to our hotel downtown. There control over our well-being was passed off to the bellmen and front desk, who somehow managed to get us into our suite. Without looking around, we both headed to the bed and crashed for another eight hours.

I woke up first, and got out of bed and took in the view. What a beautiful city! It reminded me of San Francisco, with its picturesque bay and quaint architecture. There in front of me was the new opera house. What a gem, a modern design masterpiece. And off to the left was the Harbour Bridge with a huge oil tanker sailing under it. I just stood there, taking in the beauty and spectacle that was Sydney. I felt an arm around me and gazed up at Greg.

“It's nice isn't it?”

“Yes it is,” I said. “I need a shower. Want to join me?” We were lucky that our room had a big shower, because we were very active. We spent the next day just enjoying the city. Greg hired a driver to take us around. We even went over to Taronga Zoo where we could see some kangaroos and koalas. The must do beasts to see when in Australia, I'm sure.

“So this must be our honeymoon,” I said to him as we walked along the quay, just enjoying the harbor front.

“I'm hoping that our life together is one long honeymoon.”

“That's as corny as it gets,” I teased him. He laughed.

“You know, once we move beyond Hollywood not everyone is going to be as accepting of us as a couple.”

I didn't know where he was going with that. “I understand. What's bothering you?”

“When we go to the opening, we're going to have to be like two buddies.”

“You worried that I will embarrass you?” I probably sounded more irritated than I was.

“No, that's not it at all. You are class personified. I'm just sad that it has to be that way.”

“Maybe it will not always be like this.” It was a nice thought.

October 20, 1973

We spent the afternoon relaxing and then went to great pains to get ready and look our very best. In the end we looked ridiculous, or at least that's what I thought. Two guys standing there in dinner jackets looking like penguins. Still, black was a good color on me; it was a good color on everyone.

The Opera House was truly magnificent. We got to tour through the various chambers, watch the Queen dedicate it, and got to hear a wonderful rendition of Beethoven's 9th Symphony. The Hollywood contingent seemed to stay more or less to themselves, unwilling to let their hair down with people who may be out to cause them problems. So after the gala, we were invited to a party which was conveniently located at our hotel.

It was a blast, and I drank like a fish. I danced like a crazy man until I was so hot and sweaty I had to go outside and cool down. I slowed my drinking when I realized that I was having trouble walking. John Bartlett had tried to coax me up to his room to fuck me, but even drunk, I was strong.

I hadn't seen Greg for awhile. My jealous streak emerged, and I wondered if he was being as strong as I was. I wandered around the party for a bit. There was a side room off of the main ballroom. It wasn't being used, and it seemed to be blocked off. I heard voices on the other side. One was Greg's. I followed the walls, and had to go into an employee-only foyer, through a small hallway, and ultimately into the room from the staff entry.

“Come on. You know you want me.” I recognized that voice, that croon, but I couldn't quite place it.

“I can't do this. Pull your pants up. Stop it. I'm out of here.” That was Greg.

I walked into the room and there was Peter with his pants down, hanging onto Greg. It was actually a pretty hilarious visual. Peter begging Greg to fuck him, which was pretty rare for Peter so he must be way drunk, while holding him in a death grip hug. Peter saw me and let go immediately.

“You messing with my man?” I asked aggressively.

“Uh, I'm sorry Stef. I'm just drunk and lonely. Don't be mad at me.”

He looked too stupid to be mad at and I just started cracking up. “Peter, you look hilarious.” He looked down at himself and started laughing too. I kissed him on the cheek. “Now, in the future, you stay away from my man. Got it?”

“Got it,” he said with a smile.

“Come on stud, let's go upstairs,” I said to Greg and dragged him off.

“I'm sorry Stef. I shouldn't have gone off with him. He was whining and making a scene. I thought maybe he'd just pass out.”

“I'm proud of you. You were so good! Of course, so was I.” I opened the door to our suite and pushed him in. “So now I'm ready to be bad.” He giggled, and definitely showed me some bad ass sex.

October 21, 1973

I woke up with a massive, painful hangover. Not only that, I woke up late. Greg wasn't there with me. I thought about getting up to look for him but the thought of doing that made me tired and I dozed off again. I felt the bed shake as a way too cheerful Greg jumped on it.

“Wake up Stef. Time for the honeymoon.”

“Have we not we been on our honeymoon?” I was confused and I needed aspirin.

“Nope. Get ready. We're leaving in an hour.”

I pulled myself out of bed and took a restorative shower. Then I frantically packed up my stuff. He was handing my bags to the bellman as I was zipping them up. I was starting to get really annoyed, almost pissed off even. It was a race to see whether I'd finish packing before I finally lost it. Fortunately, I finished packing first.

The car whisked us off to Bankstown airport where we boarded a private jet. I didn't ask where we were going; I just sat there quietly, wishing that either the sun would be less bright or that my sunglasses would be darker. I saw him snickering at me and my misery and I swore that the next time he was hung over I would torture him mercilessly.

We took off and headed over the ocean, the beautiful blue ocean. We weren't really in the air all that long when we landed on a small airstrip on Hamilton Island. Of course, since I'd passed out on the plane, “not all that long” turned out to be about two hours. “Are we there?” I asked. I was hoping.

“Nope,” he said. There was a yacht waiting for us, just us, and as soon as we got on they fired up the boat and took off. I found the bathroom and vomited out my guts. I swore I was going to kill him, planning a new way for him to die with each retch. I came out of the bathroom and headed onto deck. The fresh sea air was invigorating.

“I'm sorry you got sick. It was kind of funny dragging you out here until then.” He put his arm protectively around my shoulder. I decided that he had just earned a reprieve from his death sentence. “We're almost there. See.” He pointed to an island in front of us.

The yacht slowed as it entered the small harbor. There was a delegation waiting to meet us, a small group of hotel employees there to usher us from the boat to the property. They were so pleasant and the weather was so nice I had no choice but to abandon my bad mood.

The place that Greg brought us to proved to be paradise. It was a small island with a small hotel. There were less than 100 guests there, with a staff of 50. The service, the food, the intimacy was amazing. Not only that, there was a lot of fun stuff to do. We went snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef, hiked up to the top of the single mountain, played in the water, and sunbathed in the nude. And we had sex. Tons and tons of sex.

We were lying on the beach, stark naked, when one of the handsome Australian waiters came up and brought us drinks. I tried to look as seductive as I could, and I saw him trying not to look at me. Was that a slight tenting in his pants? I giggled. Even though my slutty days were behind me, I still had the touch.

Greg watched me and laughed. “What are you doing, auditioning to be in his jack-off fantasies?” I giggled even harder. “We have to go back tomorrow. I've had the best time with you on this trip. You are my world Stef.”

“You are such a sweet guy. I love you too. Thanks for bringing me down here.”

“So how do you want to handle this monogamy thing?” he asked.

“You know Greg, I think it's really up to you. I can work with just about anything, as long as the rules for both of us are the same and we follow them.”

“So you're saying it's up to me?” he asked.

“Well, I want veto power.” He rolled his eyes. “Look, we can be exclusively monogamous. I never thought I could do that before, but I could with you. The only problem is that if either one of us slips up, it's going to be a big deal.”

“So we won't slip up,” he said. To him it was just that simple.

“And if Peter corners you again and you are drunker, or not as strong? The other option is to have certain people that are OK to fuck around with. That's how JP and Sam do it, and it works for them. The only other thing I can think of is to just allow sex with other people with no restrictions at all. Rely on our love to keep us together, not rules.”

“That last one sounds great for hippies, but I don't want anything that open-ended,” he said. “I'm worried that we'd end up in a fight and decide to take the battle to the bedroom by trying to fuck other people.”

That was a pretty clairvoyant thought. “I agree with you,” I told him. “That's not really what I want either.”

“If there were a 'list' of guys that you wanted to fuck around with from time to time, who would be on it?”

“You're really putting me on the spot here, are you not?” I said, uncomfortable with being the one to go first. “Whatever. JP would be on there, and so would Sam. Armand would be my third choice. What about you?”

“I'd put Peter on there. He can be fun. And maybe Roger. He looked like fun.” He was teasing me, but serious too.

“I'm alright with that, but I want to wait awhile for Roger. I do not want there to be any confusion.”

“That makes sense,” he said. “Same way with Al. I don't know if I'd put him on the list anyway. I don't think he'd be able to handle it.”

“So is that what you want to do? We're exclusive except for JP, Sam, Armand, and Peter?”

“Yeah, let's try that out.” he said. He seemed sad.

“Greg, that does not mean that we have to go home and fuck them. It just means that if we do, it is not a big deal. And quite frankly, if this bothers you, I'm fine being monogamous. You're all I need.”

He kissed me, a kiss of love not passion. “I'm going to do my best to be a one man man, and I'm hoping you will too. But if you need to stray, you've got four choices.”

“Armand will be the first one who pulls me off the wagon,” I said. “He's a lot like I was; only he's perfect. His body, his face, his hair, he's the total package. And he's horny as hell, and equates sex with love.”

He smiled at me. “He is pretty hard to resist, but he's not more perfect than you.”

I sensed that Greg had decided on this because it was what JP and Sam had done and it seemed to work, and because he was nervous that if one of us strayed and we didn't have a safety valve, it could blow up our relationship. I was nervous about that too. But I resolved that I would do my very best to be faithful to him.

October 26, 1973

Greg took his sleeping pill but I didn't. I didn't want to be home and all fucked up like I had been when we first got to Sydney. So he lay in the seat snoring softly while I tried to sleep. It was no use. I picked up the newspapers and Time magazine I'd gotten at the airport.

Almost a week ago, on the 20th, Nixon ordered his Attorney General to fire Archibald Cox. The Attorney General refused and resigned, and so did his Assistant Attorney general. Finally, the third in command, Robert Bork, took over and did the job. Congress went apeshit, and there was a chorus of calls for Nixon's impeachment. What a mess. At least in the rest of the world things were a little better. A cease-fire had been negotiated to effectively end the Yom Kippur War. The Israelis had kicked ass again, but there were plenty of dead soldiers who had paid the price for this stupid war.

The latest thing was a little more abstract. OPEC, the group of oil producing nations, had placed an embargo on oil exports to the US. The price of oil, and gasoline, was soaring. Rumor had it that gas was pushing over 60 cents/gallon, almost twice what it was before this. This could really screw up the economy. I put the papers down and tried to sleep. I must have succeeded because I didn't wake up again until the wheels hit the ground in LAX.

I was alert this time, so I guided a dazed and confused Greg through the airport. The driver that picked us up helped us with our bags while I focused on dumping Greg into the car where he could sleep some more. We headed north on PCH and I saw cars lined up, in some cases for a very long way. I moved up toward the front and bugged the driver. “What are all those cars lined up for?”

“You're kidding me right?” he asked, annoyed.

“No, I've been out of the country for a few weeks.”

“Oh. Those are gas lines. There's gas shortages since them A-Rabs won't send us oil. So we gotta wait in line to buy gas. A long time. It sucks.” What's next? A President that is close to being impeached, an economy in recession at least and now lines to get gasoline. The American Dream was starting to look like a nightmare.

I thought that once we got through all the social strife in the 60's and got out of that stupid ass war in Vietnam things would miraculously get better. How naïve of me. I thanked my lucky stars for the millionth time, thankful that JP had decided to move to California and that I'd come out here too. Thankful that most of my business was in real estate, which seemed to be one of the few performing assets out there.

I needed to set up a meeting with Jenny so I could get a handle on what was happening. I needed to see Luke and Cecile and plan on what we needed to do to survive this ongoing slump. Especially Luke, with his focus on business funding and not on real estate.

The real world was washing over me, ruining my happy mood. Still, I had a partner now, someone who was devoted to me, and whom I was devoted to in return. I looked over at him, lying in the limo in an almost fetal position, still knocked out from his pills, and giggled. I spent the rest of the trip poking and bugging him. He grumbled and moved in response to my torture, but it was good natured.

We got home and he staggered up the stairs with my help, and collapsed into bed. Alice helped me get all the stuff unloaded, and I headed up to join Greg. I got into bed and I felt him roll over and snuggle up to me, putting a protective arm across my body. I had never felt so loved before in my entire life.