The Land Whore - 30. Chapter 30

April 5, 1974

I boarded the small jet spryly, trying to act like I was as good as new. It was partially a lie. I was actually doing pretty well, but my back still hurt when I sat for a long time, or sometimes for no apparent reason. Months of grueling therapy and hard work had reforged my body into the love machine it had been, I thought to myself with a giggle.

It had been a busy four months. In the world, Watergate continued to worsen. I didn't see how Richard Nixon was going to escape this investigation, but he held on stubbornly. Impeachment had gone from a possibility to a probability. The economy still sucked, but at least the stupid oil embargo had ended last month. No more flags. Scott lost his job filling up my car.

The big thing around our world was the kidnapping of Patricia Hearst in the Bay Area. Scion of the Hearst Publishing empire, she'd been spirited away by the Symbionese Liberation Army. I still couldn't figure out what this Army was supposed to be doing, other than extorting ransom money from William Hearst. Still, it had scared the shit out of all of us. JP and Isidore were raising four kids and they had lots of money. What if it was Brad? It freaked us all out.

“You are nervous?” I asked Armand. His mother had begged him to come visit, his first return to France since he'd escaped with me. It was her pleading and the desire to see his siblings that had finally made him commit to going.

“I am,” he said. “My mother says she is looking forward to seeing me, but my father will not talk on the phone.”

“Jacques has always been a close-minded idiot,” Isidore snapped. Her brother's treatment of his son had made her detest him even more. She turned away and focused on getting the four kids in their seats and locked down.

“After our last visit, I bet he's a little nicer,” JP observed wryly. He was probably right.

I didn't really want to go on this trip, but Armand had begged me to go with him, and so had Brad. That, along with some urging from Greg had persuaded me to agree to spend a week in France. That was before he told me that he wasn't going with me. He claimed that he'd been really busy, and that he had a lot to do. He'd also been spending a lot of time with Peter lately, and that really worried me.

We still lived in happily wedded bliss, and I couldn't complain about anything. He treated me like a God, gave me as many orgasms as I wanted, made sure that I knew how much he loved me, but when he had extra time, he'd come up with reasons to do something with Peter, and to then fuck Peter. So now with me out of the way for a week, they'd be free to spend as much time together as they wanted. What if he fell in love with Peter? I couldn't bear to lose him.

I told myself that I was being an idiot. That Greg loved me and that there was nothing to worry about. Still, I knew Peter's charm and magnetism. I shook these thoughts from my mind. There was nothing I could do about it, and if our relationship was that weak, I was fucked anyway.

The plane rolled down the runway and took off gracefully. The only disadvantage of flying on a small jet was that we'd have to stop and refuel. That was nothing compared to the convenience of avoiding the airlines.

The flight was long but it gave me a chance to see the dynamics among the four kids. I hadn't spent as much time with Billy and Claire as I had with Brad and Ace, so it was neat to see their personalities in action.

Ace was the driving force, pushing them ahead. His joie de vivre, his élan was the fuel that added excitement to all of their lives. He was also the one most likely to piss the others off; his diplomatic skills were quite accomplished with those who were lucky enough not to be his brother or sister.

Brad provided guidance for the group. He was logical and deliberate, modifying Ace, redirecting him, keeping everyone on an even keel. His similarity to JP continued to crack me up.

If Ace motivated them forward, and Brad fine-tuned the direction, Claire was responsible for how they looked. She ruled her brothers with an iron fist. It was really hilarious to see this adorable blond cherub lay down the law with these guys. And that left Billy. Billy was one of those 'go with the crowd' guys. He followed along, didn't really assert himself too much. As long as he was doing something physical, he was happy. Cooped up in this plane was driving him nuts. He relieved the tension by picking a fight, and the only person likely to get riled up enough to fight with him was Ace. They snapped back and forth at each other for most of the flight, at least the part they were awake for.

We stopped at some obscure airport in Canada for fuel and a chance to stretch our legs, and then we were off. Everyone was tired by now, so they fell asleep one by one. Brad came over and lay next to me, putting his head in my lap for a pillow. That could be a dangerous place to be, I thought to myself giggling.

It was a weary group that landed in Paris. Two cabs full of people and luggage whisked us off to the Ritz. Figuring out who was going to sleep with whom was the big battle after that. We had four rooms linked together with a central sitting area. Isidore and Claire claimed one, JP and I stayed in another, Armand had his own room and the three brothers ended up sharing the fourth. They weren't happy about that, so we ended up rearranging ourselves. I shared a room with Brad, JP shared one with Ace, and Armand shared one with Billy. I thought about how easy it was traveling with Greg, and I missed him yet again.

April 7, 1974

Isidore and JP had taken Ace, Claire, Brad, and Billy out to Champagne to see JP's family, or at least the French arm of it. I was going with Armand to meet his mother, brother, and sister at the Eiffel Tower. His father wasn't coming along on this trip, fortunately, so I figured that Armand and I could handle any problems that came along. Of course, before we went out Armand and I had to have sex. I think sharing a room with Billy was really cramping his style.

We spotted them right away. Armand ran toward them and had a tearful reunion. I stood back and let them enjoy their time, gazing up at the tower, this symbol of France.

“Thank you for coming home with him,” Antoinette said, interrupting my daydream.

“It's my pleasure,” I lied. “I love France and Paris. Who could not?”

“Germans,” she said, teasing. We laughed. “My husband refused to come here. I am sorry for his behavior.”

“You do not have to make excuses for him. You are here, letting Armand know that he has at least one parent who loves him.” She smiled at me. “And next time, you must come visit him.”

“There is no way I could get Jacques to spend the money to go to America.”

“That is not a problem. Armand can afford it.” She smiled even broader at that.

They had a long, fun reunion. I left them and strolled around in the Champs de Mars, and visited the Invalides with all the tourists. In the end, I was glad to pick up Armand and head back to the hotel. I was tired but he was not, and I was forced to satisfy his carnal desires. Such sacrifices I have to make!

April 10, 1974

I boarded the 747 with relief, preparing myself to endure the long flight home with hours of sitting. I had enough of France and family, and I finally made my excuses last night and told them I was going home. JP understood so I didn't have to lie to him, but I told the others that I needed to rest at home, that my back was bothering me. That shut up the cloying pleas to stay, especially from Armand and Brad.

In prior times I would have scouted the plane for a fuck, but this time I just slept. Is this what it means to be in love? When you are not happy unless you're with that special person? If it did, that was certainly a downside. I needed to get back to Malibu, back home to Greg. That was where I belonged, where I was centered. The flight was grueling until I finally found a way to adjust the pillows to ease the pressure on my spine, and then I was finally able to drift off to sleep.

It was late when I got into LAX. Everyone was crabby, especially the immigration and customs workers. Still I gave them my most dazzling of smiles. No need to create problems; legitimate problems seemed to find me just fine on their own. I hired a guy to carry my bag to a cab. Since it was night there was almost no traffic and we flew up to Malibu. I tipped the guy well and had him set my bag inside the door.

No one was around, which didn't surprise me too much. I wandered around the house, looking for Greg, or Alice, or even Scott, but to no avail. I finally climbed the stairs, no mean feat for me, even now, and headed to my bedroom. When I approached the door my heart sank. I heard voices. Not just one or two voices, but a lot of voices.

I opened the door to find five guys in my room. John Bartlett was there, plowing into Rock Hudson as usual. Those guys were practically an item at these things. Then there was the other vignette. Greg was pounding away at some young guy's ass. I couldn't see who it was from behind, but he was certainly young and cute. The young kid was blowing Peter at the same time.

I felt numb, like I had in the hospital on all of those pain killers. I cherished the numbness, because I knew when the pain fought through the fog it would be excruciating. I just stood there, thoughts flowing through my mind. How could he betray me like this? How could he so blithely toss our bonds of trust into the fire? I got hard as a rock watching them, which just pissed me off. How many guys could I have experienced, how many had I shunned for the sake of monogamy? I had followed the rules and Greg hadn't. I just stood there, waiting for the next emotion to rise. I knew what it would be. It would be anger. Fury. I had to get out of there before that happened.

I turned to leave the room but my movement had attracted attention. I heard Peter call my name but I ignored him as I hobbled down the stairs. As I hobbled I wondered if this physical disability was what had driven Greg into the ass of someone else. I had tried so hard to hide it during sex, even when it hurt me. The thought that it hadn't worked, that I was deformed and unattractive, brought the tears forth. I snarled at my weakness.

I got to the first floor and moved quickly on the flat ground, heading to the next flight of stairs, the ones that would take me down to the beach. I left the house, walking down to the sand, letting the sound of the surf flow through my brain, the wind blow my hair, and the smell of the ocean fill my nostrils. I forced myself to breathe it in, to be calm, and to evaluate the situation.

I couldn't do it. I could calm myself if I didn't think about the scene I'd just experienced, but I couldn't do both. It was too shocking, too upsetting. I heard footsteps in the sand behind me and I knew it would be Greg. I was right. He came up and sat next to me.

“I'm sorry,” he said lamely. I guess there wasn't much else he could say unless he wanted to provoke a fight or break up with me. I was prepared to give myself enough credit that I didn't think he'd do either.

“You are not sorry for what you did, you are sorry that you got caught.” My words had a sting to them that surprised even me.

“Right now that's probably true. But when I have time to think about this, when I have time to mull over what I did, then I will feel remorse like you won't believe.”

I looked at him for the first time since he'd come down and realized he was stark naked. He hadn't even taken the time to grab a robe, so intent was he on chasing after me. I hid a smile. “You are going to get arrested for indecent exposure,” I said, joking.

“You think I don't look decent?” he said, flirting back at me. “I really am sorry Stef. And I am so happy that you're home. I really did miss you. Really. Can't we go inside where it's warm and talk about this?”

“What is there to talk about?” I asked, rude again.

“Well, I can't lose you. You have to forgive me. That is not negotiable. So you have to tell me what penance I have to do, tell me the road I have to follow to win you back completely.”

It's funny. He said that as a central tenet, like there was no disputing that I would forgive him. Now all we were arguing about was the price. My instinct was to rebel and remind him that he assumed a lot, but I knew he was right. That would just be petulant. “It's a road that will make the Grapevine seem like the 405,” I said. He smiled at me, knowing that I wasn't going to leave him.

I got up and followed him back into our now empty house. He made to climb the stairs to our room but I headed to the guest room on the first floor instead. He looked really sad, rejected. Part of me wanted to inflict pain on him, make him suffer too, and I pondered whether to push him away to really make him hurt. I never could maliciously hurt people I love though, and I did love him. “Are you not going to join me?” I asked. “I do not think I want to go up there until it is cleaned up. The smells would piss me off.”

He smiled and followed me into the guest room where I took off my clothes and got into bed with him. I didn't want to make love to him, but I was horny. He solved my problem with a spectacular blow job, and then I surrendered to him, curling up in his arms and falling asleep. I'd forgive him, I knew I would, but would I be able to trust him?

April 11, 1974

I woke up the next morning, sprawled across Greg. He smiled at me and kissed me lovingly. A kiss that escalated into passion, and I ended up moving to take him inside of me, reveling in the feel of being one with the man that I loved. Even though he hurt me, even though he betrayed me, despite all of that, I still loved him, and I knew he loved me.

“Does this mean you'll forgive me?” he asked after we were done making love.

“I love you more than life itself Greg. Yes, I will forgive you. But we have to figure out a way to make sure this does not happen again.”

“You mean you don't believe me when I promise it won't?” he asked, all offended.

“No, I do not.” Those simple words hit him like a full right hook.

“How can we build on our relationship without trust?” he asked.

“I do not think it's really my problem to figure that out, do you? I'm not the one who broke the rules. You're telling me that you will be fine from now on, and I'm telling you that I'm skeptical since you already failed once.”

The word “failed” hit him hard too. He liked to win. He was about to get pissed off but realized that would get him nowhere but further behind. I sensed his changed mood as he came up with a solution. “I need to think this through. In the meantime, I have a proposal. You can operate under the old rules since you haven't broken them. I'll operate under a different set. I promise that I won't have sex with anyone else unless you're with me.”

And as usual, I had a clairvoyant moment and understood him completely. He had a hard time with hybrid rules. With him, the only way he could be monogamous was an all or nothing deal. If he was allowed to fuck around with one guy, his mind would rationalize it down so that it was OK to fuck around with any guy. Part of loving someone is understanding their flaws and helping them with them. “OK,” I said.

“OK?”

“Yeah. OK. Unless you want to argue some more?”

He smiled at me. “No, I'd rather make love.” So we did.

April 13, 1974

I paced the room, pissed off. Really pissed off. More pissed off than I'd been in a long time. I went to the bathroom this morning and I was pissing fire. Fucking VD again. Greg had just gotten back from his doctor friend with the neat leather case and needles for both of us. He wisely said nothing as he injected me. “We are done with those Hollywood whores,” I said firmly. “Look what they've done to our bodies. I have this hideous disease flowing through my veins.” I was beside myself.

“I know babe. I'm so sorry. We'll never fuck around with them again. This just makes my fuck-up so much worse, and I feel like total shit. I'll figure out a way to make this up to you. Maybe I'll buy you something nice if I end up having any money left after this movie.”

He was being shrewd, changing the subject. “What movie? What about ‘no money’?” I didn't need his money, I had my own. But I didn't want him to have to go through the agony of financial failure.

“Utopica. The movie that Peter's starring in. It's that film set in the future. I liked the script, got a great director, good actors, but it's over budget and no one else seems to like it as much as I do. We're out of cash, which means I let the project die and write off the $5,000,000 I've got in it, or cough up more of my own money.”

“Five million dollars is a lot of money. But Greg, if no one else sees the attraction, maybe they're right?” He scowled at me. He didn't like to be wrong.

“If I cough up another five million dollars,” he said, “that might do it. It may take ten. That would leave me strapped for cash. All I'd have left that was mine is this house, my car, and the investments I've made with you.”

I knew where he was going. He wanted me to raise money for him, or give him my own, but I'd seen the script and I thought it was mediocre at best. I needed to dodge the issue. “I'm sorry about that Greg. All of those real estate investments are doing well, but they're tied up. Illiquid. Like most of my money.”

He got the hint. “Well, I have a big decision to make.”

“Putting all of your eggs in one basket may be a good idea sometimes, but if you want my opinion, this is not one of them.”

“Well thanks for your opinion,” he said with the tone that said ‘fuck your opinion.’ He stalked off to the study. Great. So now both of us were pissed off. He was gone for an hour and then he came back in and sat next to me on the couch. “You're right. It's a stupid movie. The only reason I've been so obsessed with it is because of Peter.”

“Your feelings for him are strong?” I asked, dreading the answer.

He looked at me and almost laughed. “No. Are you kidding? He's a good lay, and a friend, but beyond that...feelings?” He started cracking up. “I only have feelings for one man.”

“You are a smooth talker,” I told him. “Are you not glad I'm not an actor? Otherwise I'd be doing the same thing, asking you to back dumb ass projects just to kick start my career.”

“That's exactly what Peter was doing, and that's why I've always avoided entanglements with actors. I'm done with that shit, done with them. You are all I will ever need.”

“I'd make love to you but we're on the wagon. Have I showed you how good I am with my hands though?” I said teasing him. Then I led him off and gave him the crème de la crème of hand jobs.

August 9, 1974

I sat in front of the television, witnessing the culmination of a year and a half of scandal. Yesterday Richard Nixon had resigned as President of the United States, the first person to ever do so. Today the images were striking. A defeated Richard Nixon heading toward Marine One, the chopper waiting to take him to a plane, and then back here to California. Our new President, Gerald Ford, inherited a stagnant economy and skyrocketing inflation.

And it was the inflation that had finally slowed the amazing growth of my company, or more to the point, the high interest rates that went with it had slowed the growth. Rates were climbing so high that soon we'd have to switch to all-cash deals just to make them viable, or at least move to lower leverage. That would irritate investors, because the tax write-offs would be significantly lower. I sighed. At least I didn't have to write off millions like Greg had a few months ago. He was still stinging from that loss.

His friendship with Peter had suffered as a result, which meant mine did too. Peter didn't see the inevitable failure of Utopica; he was egotistical enough to think that as long as he was in it, the movie would be a hit. That, and he'd been intensely irritated when we'd cut off having sex with him. Two cases of venereal disease, combined with leading my partner astray, had made me less than sympathetic to his whining.

I was so proud of Greg though. He bounced right back and had three new projects rolling, all of which had funding from other sources in addition to his pocketbook.

The door flew open and a still-dripping Brad scampered into the living room. That meant work for Alice, but I could deny him nothing. “Killer waves today,” he said. Scott and Armand followed behind, not as enthusiastic but still happy. Those two had picked up Brad's enthusiasm for surfing, and it was a daily event for them. Brad was spending time with Avery again too, and getting to do his two favorite things had made him bubbling and happy all summer. He was a joy to be around. I had considered taking him somewhere on vacation but changed my mind. He was so happy here it would have been futile to try and drag him away.

Armand stopped and kissed me. He was looking better than ever, now with a deep summer tan. His career was on a nice path, consistent but controlled. He'd gotten his diploma in June along with Scott, but he'd decided to put college off until his career went into a lull, if that ever happened. In the meantime, he'd matured as a man, which was good since he was no longer my ward but his own independent person. I was so happy at how he had evolved, and that he remained a close friend.

Greg and I had sworn off the Hollywood crowd when it came to sex, and since Armand was still fucking around in that world, that meant him too. But he didn't take it badly, didn't hold a grudge. He spent most of his time with Scott anyway, who lived here now. He was a nice enough guy. I didn't see him as Armand's ‘happily ever after’ guy, but they were happy enough for right now.

In fact, there was really only one person that was allowed in our bed anymore, ruling out JP and Sam since we rarely saw them, and that was Roger. My friendship with him continued to grow, and even more impressive, his friendship with Greg had really bloomed. At first I'd been a little jealous, but I finally figured out that there could never be anything beyond friendship and fucking with those guys. They were both too alpha to let that happen. It made having them both in bed at the same time an incredible blast.

Roger's confidence continued to grow with the success of the winery. I'd pumped a bunch of money into it, so we actually had a place where people could go on the weekends and do some wine tasting. Our sales had soared, as had our reputation. He was turning into a good investment.

There was Nixon waving goodbye as he got into the helicopter. How painful this must be for him. I chided myself for feeling sympathy for him, but I had a soft heart and a forgiving one as well. Greg came in and plopped down next to me and I leaned into his body, molding myself to him in the way that was natural for us now. I thought about my past, and how I'd searched for love without even knowing it. And then, with a string of failed relationships and heartbreak behind me, I'd finally fallen for the one man who could complete my world.

I looked up at Greg and told him how much I loved him with my eyes. He'd tamed me, domesticated me, by fulfilling all of my needs and wants. What was even more surprising is that I'd done the same thing to him.

THE END