Coming to Love - 8. Disappointment and Renewal

The next three weeks were a flurry of activity. First, Ted flew to Houston for an interview—I should say interviews—that lasted three days. He met with the Chief of Police, of course, and also with the head of Personnel. But, since he was being considered for the Chief of Staff position, he met in small groups with all the department heads, assistant chiefs, and anybody else who gave a damn who their COS would be.

He checked in with me every night. Houston is in Central Time, so he was two hours ahead, but we managed to connect at a convenient time and chat for at least half an hour.

“I think it’s going OK,” he assured me. “How about your application to work at NASA?”

“I finally finished all the paperwork. They asked about a ton of stuff, going all the way back to elementary school.”

“How can they expect you to remember all that?”

“They said ‘do your best, and we’ll check it with the school records if we can find them.’ ”

“That will probably take a while.”

“No kidding. But it’s worth it so we can be together when you start your new job.”

“Well, just keep that attitude, and it’ll soon be all over, and we’ll be together again. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Ted progressed through all the interviews, checked all the boxes, and even met the Chief’s wife. He called me one evening and told me he had the job.

“Fantastic! I wish I could be there to celebrate with you.”

“Can you fly down this weekend? We’ll paint the town—and I miss you in bed with me.”

This happened on Tuesday, so we made plans to spend the weekend together. Thinking I might kill two birds with one stone, I called Surya Ranaswami, the personnel officer at NASA who was shepherding my application through their bureaucratic process.

“Oh, hello, Bruce. How are you?” Her voice was downbeat and filled with concern.

“Uh, I guess I’m fine, Surya. Why don’t you tell me what you think?”

She cleared her throat. “Well, I’m not authorized to say anything except your application has been flagged for further information. You should expect a visit from a security officer in the next couple of days.”

“Is that it? No decision yet?”

“I can’t say anything more. Wait until you meet with the security man.”

My stomach sank. Something was clearly on her mind. I hoped the mysterious visitor would clarify things and my application would get back on track.

When I told Ted during our evening call, he sounded worried. “I don’t think the HPD has any real influence with NASA, but let me ask around and see if I can find out anything about how they operate. Don’t worry, Bruce. It’s probably some stupid little thing like, did you smoke marijuana when you were a kid?”

I froze. “Oh, shit! I did!”

Ted laughed, “And so did millions of others, many of whom I’m sure are employed by the government, and a lot of them at NASA. Stop worrying. That was a dumb example. Wait til the guy shows up and tells you what he wants to know.”

I spent most of the night racking my brain about what deep, dark secret of my life was standing in the way of my getting the job. Sure, I was a sexual deviant—or so they might think—but I’m in a committed relationship with a goddamn police chief, so how could I be a security risk? I finally convinced myself that the only thing to do was wait and see what the real issue was. And I didn’t have to wait long.

I was in a staff meeting on Thursday morning when Adrienne paged me. When I called her, she said a man from NASA was waiting in my office. Relief and trepidation fought a war in my mind and body as I excused myself and hurried to my office. The man waiting for me stood over six feet tall, and he immediately reminded me of the government agent I nicknamed “Tall Man”—that was the only name I ever knew for him.

When I entered and closed the door, he rose and held out his hand. “Mr. Hutton, I am Special Agent Charles Braintree from NASA.”

I hoped my hand didn’t tremble too much when I shook his. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Braintree. How may I help you?”

“I need to clarify a couple of items with you.” His demeanor and tone of voice were those of a detective trying to win the confidence of a suspect he was about to interrogate.

“Please. Anything you need.”

We sat in the two leather chairs on one side of my office. I didn’t think sitting behind my desk and talking across it to him would make for a relaxed atmosphere.

“I’ll get right to the point,” Braintree said, opening his briefcase and removing a red folder. The color alarmed me, but I tried to tell myself folders could be all kinds of colors. Opening the folder, he studied it silently before looking up at me. “Tell me about your relationship with Dr Gregor Mikhailovich Galinsky.”

I sighed in relief. If Grisha were his only concern, this would be a slam dunk. “Dr Galinsky worked with me in Renton on the International Space Station program.”

“For how long?” I knew perfectly well that all the details were right in front of him. He was clearly trying to find out if I was hiding anything.

“I’d have to check my records, but I would say for a bit over eighteen months.”

“Twenty months and nine days.” He intoned. If he were hoping for a “gotcha” to unnerve me, it hadn’t worked.

“OK. That sounds about right.” I laughed it off. “It was a while ago.”

His stern gaze burned right through me. “And of the twenty months and nine days, how long did your sexual relationship last?”

Startled, I jerked fully upright in my chair. “Where did you get that information?” Tall Man stressed to me that the whole affair with Grisha “never happened,” and I was forbidden by law to ever discuss it. I didn’t even tell Ted about working with Grisha.

“I’m asking the questions, Mr. Hutton.”

“I realize you are, but are you aware of my security limitations? I am not at liberty to discuss those events per my agreement with the government. I think you need to consult with the proper agencies before opening up questions like that one.”

His smirk told me I had walked right into his trap. “It has already been done. NASA has been granted full access to all classified information about prospective employees, especially those who are...acquainted...with the head of Roscosmos. There is nothing you are not allowed to discuss with me.”

“Well, then you already have the answers to your questions.”

With a glare of revulsion, the agent slowly closed the red folder and returned it to his briefcase. The look in his eye told me he knew he had prevailed over me, forcing me to reveal exactly what he needed to hear. The outcome was predetermined, but the look of enjoyment on his face sickened me. His frown deepened, and the accusation in his voice became flat and unbending.

“Your intimate relationship with the director of Russia’s space program disqualifies you from any association with NASA.”

Unwilling to accept that statement without trying to explain myself, I sputtered, “But all that happened—” I saw no reason to obey Tall Man’s warning since NASA obviously already had access to the supposedly non-existent information. “...years ago, and before he was at Roscosmos.”

Blatant disbelief colored his face. “And you’ve had no further contact with Galinsky since then? Not so much as a Christmas card?”

I snorted. “Not even that.” I pulled myself together. “Mr. Braintree, since you have full access to all the details of my relationship with Dr. Galinsky, may I assume you have been informed that the government conscripted me to spy on him, to befriend him, and, yes, to have a relationship with him?”

He feigned surprise, “And you did so willingly?”

I nodded, hoping he was seeing the whole picture. “They threatened me with all kinds of shit if I refused.”

His tiny sneer told me I had blundered into another carefully baited trap. “But you were ‘conscripted’ because you were already having sex with him—isn’t that true?”

My back went ramrod straight, and my face reddened with anger. I barked, “Is this about homosexuality or espionage?”

With a shrug of his shoulders and a look of distaste, he drove in the dagger. “Both, I suppose. Looking at the full record, it’s clear you were the perfect candidate to participate in the mission. There is every indication you willingly engaged in intimate relations with Galinsky, and we must assume that your conversations could have included discussions about our space program.”

I should have shut up and accepted my fate, but I desperately needed to be with Ted in Houston. “Well, you’re wrong. Tall Man—er, one of the agents—strongly cautioned me against telling Grisha anything. My ‘mission’ was to see if he tried to pump me for information. He did not, and we never discussed our work outside formal meetings at WWA. Our relationship remained strictly personal.”

As he leaned in to me, the gleam in his eye told me he had one more bomb to drop. “You are aware that he is married?”

Taken aback, I tried to defend myself. “Yes, but I didn’t know then, and he never said.”

Braintree leaned back in the chair and crossed his leg. When he spoke, it was dismissive, almost denigrating. “So let’s add it all up, Mr. Hutton. You were in a homosexual relationship with a Russian engineer who the Unites States Government thought was a spy—”

I fought to keep from flying out of my chair and slapping some sense into this asshole. “Which he was not, and that became crystal clear when the two agents who tried to kidnap or kill me were apprehended.”

A disrespectful snort and uncaring shrug answered me. “Perhaps. But let’s move on. Your Russian lover moved directly from his relationship with you to become their space agency’s Director. How can you expect us to believe he went to that position without information about our program, including secret aspects of it?”

I fought the desperation what was creeping into my voice. “I had little information about any secret aspects. My work was entirely concerned with the space station’s support systems—information that partly came from the Russians in the first place, and all of which was officially shared with them, and besides—”

Like an attack dog with his victim locked in its jowls, the man twisted everything I said into a condemnation sufficient to keep me from being hired at NASA. “Let me finish. You entered into the sexual relationship willingly. It was only after your indiscretion was discovered that you were invited to participate in an important government mission to root out foreign agents in Renton.”

“Invited?” I spit out the word. “Coerced! Threatened! Blackmailed! And as it turned out, expected to risk my life for the sake of their goddamn investigation.”

His head turned slightly to one side and his face took on a taunting grin. “You are to be commended for your bravery, but that doesn’t change NASA’s decision not to employ you.”

Defeated, I sank into my chair. His deep, contented sigh of triumph ended the conversation. He rose to his feet but didn’t offer his hand to me. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Hutton. You will receive a letter from NASA in the next few days. I’ll see myself out.”

When he left, I leaned forward in the chair and held my head in my hands. Tears wouldn’t come—what good would they have done anyway?

Adrienne knocked and opened my office door. “Bruce? Can I get you something?”

I sat up, shook my head, and forced a smile. “No thanks, Adrienne. I have some paperwork I need to do.”

“OK. But let me know if you need anything.”

I nodded and shuffled some papers on my desk. Taking out my mobile phone, I speed-dialed Ted. He answered immediately. “So, how’d it go? Are you in?”

I choked. My voice jammed in my throat. I could only croak, “No. Can you come home?”

********

Handing me a second glass of Chablis, Ted asked, “Are you sure you don’t want something stronger? You’ve been pretty badly fucked over today.”

As he sat next to me on the couch, I took the wine and shook my head. “What can I say? Braintree came to me knowing everything.” I peered up at him with fire in my eyes. “Goddammit! They threatened me with prison if I ever breathed a word of the shit they made me do, but they handed it all over to NASA without so much as a...a—”

“A thought about the harm it might do to you.”

My voice softened as I nodded sadly and rested my head on Ted’s shoulder. “Thank you for dropping everything and getting here so fast.”

“What else would you expect? I love you, and what hurts you hurts me.” He put an arm over my shoulders. “We’ll figure this shit out, Bruce.”

Turning to face my lover, I shook my head sadly. “No, we won’t. There’s nothing we can do. I can’t get the job at NASA, and now I’m scared I’m gonna lose mine at WWA. If they revoke my security clearance, I’m well and truly fucked.”

“Let’s cross one bridge at a time.” He hugged me. “So NASA doesn’t want you. Do you realize how much aerospace industry is based in Houston? I’m sure dozens of companies would hire you in a heartbeat.”

“Ted, think about it. My secret is out—despite the government threatening me with prison if I ever told anybody—the whole spy fiasco, plus my relationship with Grisha. I’ll never qualify for any kind of security clearance, anywhere. And if I apply a bunch of places, the word will spread like wildfire, and nobody will even accept my resume. I’m well and truly fucked!”

It hit me as I spoke those words—Ted was in the same boat. If I couldn’t work in Houston, how could he?

I took his hand in mine. “Listen, Ted. This isn’t your fault. You need to take the job in Houston and let me figure out what I’m going to do.”

He sat stone-faced. “I can’t do that, Bruce. I love you. I need you with me. If I hadn’t been so goddamn ambitious about the new job, this would never have happened to you. I’ll stay here right where I am until I retire.”

We talked through the night. Near dawn, we made love, but it felt different to me. Ted said and did all the right things, but as we talked and shared our bodies, I felt him inching away. His heart was set on the new job being the crowning achievement of his long police career, and I had to admit it would be. He said he would give it up in order to stay with me, but the more we spoke, the more his disappointment overwhelmed both of us.

We got up and showered, and I made coffee. We took our mugs out onto our deck overlooking Lake Washington.

“This is such a beautiful place,” Ted began. He clearly didn’t know where to go next with the conversation, but I did.

“We have to face it.”

“Face what?”

“The fact that you have to go to Houston and take the job. I couldn’t live with denying you that.”

“What about you? How can I live, accepting a job that takes me away from you?”

“I guess we could try a long-distance relationship.” I realized that was bullshit, but I felt it had to be on the table.

He shook his head sadly. “You know that wouldn’t work.”

Swallowing hard, I manned up. “So we both know what has to happen.”

“Let’s not rush into any decision.”

With a sob, I insisted, “No. Let’s face the facts, right fucking now, and figure out how we’re going to end this.”

********

We spent the next day decoupling our belongings. Ted packed most of his clothing, knowing that the cold weather gear would probably never be needed in Houston. We boxed up his books and important papers, along with some mementos, and called UPS to ship them. He was intentionally downsizing, but I noticed that he kept anything that had to do with me. I hoped he wasn’t going to pine away over me. My heart was aching, but I forced myself to be strong and supportive.

Ted flew back to Houston the next day. As we hugged at the airport, I whispered, “I’ll never forget you.” His body shuddered, but after a moment, he stepped back and said quietly, “You’re so much stronger than I am.”

My tears were flowing. “Bullshit. I’m nothing but a big sissy. Now go and be the best Chief of Staff that goddamn police department has ever seen.”

I watched his plane take off. I was in a daze, devoid of emotion. I drove back to the house and sat alone on the deck, staring out at the lake but seeing nothing. Because of the time difference, we skipped breakfast so he could catch an early flight. He said he would get something on the plane, and I promised to make breakfast when I got home, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat or drink anything for the rest of the day.

That night, I climbed into our bed—where we made love for years—and found it so lonely and uncomfortable that I got up and slept in the guest room. The next morning, I called Adrienne and said I had come down with a cold or something and wouldn’t be in for a day or so.

“Can I help, Bruce? Maybe have some medicine delivered to you?” Her voice was filled with concern because she knew Ted was in Texas preparing for his new job.

I tried to sound upbeat. “Thanks, but I’ll be all right. I just need to rest.”

I forced myself to eat a bowl of cereal and sat in front of the TV for hours, watching whatever came on, but not seeing much of anything. My mind was numb

Around five o’clock I suddenly flew into a rage. I kicked the coffee table in front of the couch, tipping it over and spilling magazines and candles onto the floor. I got up and went to the kitchen cabinet where we kept the liquor. I took out a full bottle of bourbon and poured a tall drink. I choked on the first couple of swallows, but it soon went down easily.

When the bottle was half-empty, I stopped in horror. I never drank the shit, so what the fuck was I doing guzzling it? My head was slightly spinning, and I raced to the bathroom to barf it all back up. I felt like shit, but not bad enough to convince me not to get in the Mustang. The evening was warm, so I put the top down and drove aimlessly. The air in my face served the double purpose of sobering me up and drying my tears.

I crossed the I-90 bridge and headed south on the 405. I didn’t notice, but force of habit somehow made me exit onto the Coal Creek Parkway and head for Cougar Mountain Park, a place where I often jogged. Running was my refuge, as well as my thinking zone. I guess I thought I might find peace there. At the end of the road was a parking area and trailhead. I found myself wondering why I’d driven to this particular spot. I wasn’t dressed for running, and it was getting dark. I leaned back in my seat and contemplated the sky streaked with bands of orange and red.

I had cried so much and slept so little over the past 48 hours that I dozed off, and it was pitch dark when I opened my eyes. I sat up and surveyed my surroundings. I was surprised to find a half dozen cars still parked in the lot, and I wondered what the hell they were doing there. It occurred to me that this might be a park-and-ride lot, but it was in a remote spot for commuters to want to use.

My head cleared a bit, and I examined the other cars more closely. I watched as a man got out of one, took a few steps, and zipped up his pants. He got into his own car and drove off. Two more cars came in and turned off their headlights as they approached the parked vehicles. As I watched, other men got into and out of cars, drove off, and were replaced by new visitors.

As I sat wondering what the hell was going on, a gruff voice to my right startled me. Fearful, I jerked around to see a man standing at my passenger door.

“Nice wheels.” In the semidarkness, all I could make out was the silhouette of a large man. I could smell beer on his breath.

“Uh, thanks.”

Without asking, he opened the door and climbed in. “You come here often?” he inquired.

“Uh, I run here a lot—in the daytime.”

“So what’re you doing here now?”

“I–I’m not sure.”

With an evil grin, he lifted his ass in the seat, unzipped his pants, and slid them down to his knees. “This give you any ideas?”

My eyes flew open as he pulled his cock out and began to stroke it. “Like it?”

“I, uh—” The reality hit me like a ton of bricks. Of course! This was a hook-up spot where men met for anonymous sex.

The stranger gestured at his hard-on and gave me a malicious smile. “Come on, dammit. Suck it. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

I recoiled, pressing my back hard against the car door. “No! I came here—” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

A fierce grimace replaced the false friendliness, and his face reddened. He growled, “Cut the bullshit. We’re all here for the same reason—some to get blowjobs and some to give ‘em.”

“Not me. I–I—”

He didn’t let me finish. Shoving his cock back in his pants, he reached over and roughly grabbed my arm. “What’s the fucking matter? Not big enough for you? Or are you a goddamn prick-tease?”

“Wait a minute. I—”

Without warning, he swung his right fist at me and brutally connected with my cheek. The explosion in my brain made my head spin, and I saw flashes of light. I cried out, “No—” and he hit me twice more. I was sure he would kill me, but he suddenly stopped and backed off.

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” he demanded of someone standing by my passenger door.

A third voice joined the conversation. “I think you’d better pull your pants up and get the fuck out of here while you still can.” The speaker took a step back to let my assailant open the door, and that’s when I noticed the small, shiny revolver in his right hand.

“Move it, asshole!” he shouted at my attacker.

The man who punched me jumped out of the car, slammed the door, and scowled at me. “You’re damn lucky, motherfucker.” He turned and glowered at the man with the gun, hurried off to his car, started the engine, and squealed his wheels in his hurry to escape.

I was still seeing stars, but I tried to make out who my rescuer was. In the dim light of the single streetlamp at the entrance to the parking lot, I made out the features of a man about my height dressed in a dark green military jacket and wearing a Mariners baseball cap.

“Who–who are you?” I wasn’t sure if I was now in more danger than I had been with the guy beating me up. I looked fearfully at the weapon in his hand.

“A friend,” was all he said. He put the gun back into the jacket pocket and came around to my side of the car. I was still disoriented, but I could tell he was limping.

“Let me take a look. Turn your head to the right.” I obeyed, and he produced a flashlight, which he turned on, pointing it at the ground. I realized he didn’t want to blind me with the sudden brightness.

“OK. Let’s see what kind of damage the bastard did.”

I slowly turned to face him. In the light, I saw him better. He was about my age and had a kind face. He leaned in and gently grasped my chin, turning my head left and right to survey the result of the beating I had taken.

“I think I can take care of you myself, so you won’t have to go to the hospital and explain what happened. They would have to call in the police, and, well—we can guess where that would lead.”

“You? You can take care of me? Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“This isn’t the time for questions, but I’ll answer all of them once we’re someplace safer. Do you think you can drive?”

I put my hand to my face. I was in a lot of pain, and I was sure I would be black and blue in no time, but at least I wasn’t bleeding.

“Yeah. I think so. Where are we going?”

“I have an office near here. Follow me. I won’t go fast, and it’ll only take fifteen minutes.”

Whether I was still a little drunk, in shock from the beating, or maybe because he seemed so kind, I did what the stranger told me to do.

True to his word, he led me to a small strip mall and parked in front of an office. He came over to the Mustang. “Your car will be safe here. Put up the top and give me the keys.”

“Wh–Why?”

“You need care, and it’s gonna hurt. I don’t want you wimping out and running away before I’ve patched you up.”

The pain in my face started to overpower all else. I did as he said and followed him into his office.

“Are you a doctor?” I said through my fog.

He chuckled. “I was a medic in the Marine Corps, but I’m a lawyer now. Don’t worry. I’ve handled a lot worse damage than this.”

We stepped across a tiny waiting room, past a reception desk, and through a door into a back office. The room was lined with bookshelves and nothing else except a desk facing two wooden chairs. He guided me to one of the chairs and helped me sit.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he stepped through a side door. I peeked in and saw a small lavatory. I heard water running, and then he was back at my side.

“What’s your name, buddy?” he asked quietly.

“Bruce. Bruce Hutton.”

“Well, Bruce. It appeared you were in deep shit back there. Was it your first time?”

“First time?”

“Cruising that parking lot.”

“I wasn’t doing that. I–I was out driving around aimlessly and kind of ended up there. I park there when I run on the trail.”

He scoffed, “Don’t hand me that bull. The men who go there at night are there for one reason only.”

“Honest, I’ve never been there at night before.”

He looked me in the eye and nodded slowly. “I think you’re telling the truth. Why did you let the creep into your car?”

“I had a few drinks, and I fell asleep. I was confused by the whole situation. He got in before I knew it. I didn’t let him. He just did it.”

“And he wanted you to—”

“Suck his dick, I think.”

“And you—”

“I told him no, and he started hitting me.”

“Why did you say no?” Our conversation began to sound like a cross-examination.

“What is this all about? Why all the questions?”

“I’m trying to decide whether I believe you.”

My indignation boiled up. “Some asshole tried to beat the shit out of me, and you don’t believe me?”

“Calm down, Bruce. If I’m going to help you, I need to trust you’re telling me the truth.”

“Help me? How?”

He inspected my face again. “I don’t think anything’s broken, but there are a lot of delicate bones in the face, so you’ll need an x-ray to make sure.”

“X-ray? So you are a doctor.”

He laughed. “You’re still a bit out of it, aren’t you? No, I told you—I’m a lawyer, but I have a friend who is a doctor—well, an x-ray technician—and he helps me when I need him.”

“Who the fuck are you, and why were you there?”

He stood up straight. I swear it was the first time I got a good look at him. He was wearing khaki shorts, and I was shocked to see that his right leg was missing from just below his knee. In its place, I saw an artificial leg and foot.

Following my eyes, he tapped on his prosthesis. “Got this in ‘91—Gulf War, First Marine Division. I told you I was a medic. I was riding in an ambulance that went over an IED. When I came to, half my leg was gone. I was the lucky one. The driver and guard didn’t make it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Shit happens. Now let’s patch you up enough to head to my friend’s place and have him check you out.”

“He has an x-ray machine?”

“It’s not his, but he has the keys to the place and always opens it up early so everything is ship-shape for the first patient. He can let us in and take a look at you without it raising any questions.” He gave me a pat on the shoulder. “By the way, Bruce, I’m Miles Anderson.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I went with him. He drove me a few miles to another strip mall. When we arrived, Miles drove past the storefronts and around to the back of the building. He parked and helped me out of the car, which I found ironic since he had the disability. We went up to a steel door with a small sign that said

Newport Radiology Service – Patients please use front entrance only.

Three light taps on the door caused someone on the inside to hastily open it. Dim light flooded out into the parking lot. I was hustled indoors, and a man about my age in medical scrubs slammed the door shut.

“Are you sure this is legal?” I mumbled.

“Definitely not.” Miles chuckled. “But parking at that trailhead at night is also against the law, or didn’t you see the big-assed sign?”

The other man leaned in and examined my face. “Shit! You took a good one, buddy.”

“This is Phil Cozzolli, a fellow medic from my unit in Iraq.” Miles introduced, “And this is my new best friend, Bruce Hutton.”

“Nice to meet you, Bruce. Let’s see what kind of damage this is.”

The two men helped me into an examination room, where Phil positioned me in front of a white screen. He and Miles stepped into a cubicle, and Phil ordered, “Don’t move. Hold your breath.” I heard a couple of clicks, and Phil said, “OK. You can breathe now.” The two men emerged from behind the wall.

“It’ll take five minutes for the films to come out,” Phil explained, indicating I should sit in a chair near the door. Turning to Miles, he inquired, “So, what’s this dude’s story?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Miles explained. “You don’t need the details.”

“Copy that, Sir.” the other soldier answered.

“Sir?” I wondered, looking at the two men.

“I was a lieutenant,” Miles smiled, “but it didn’t keep me from getting fucked up. Phil here was a sergeant, and he came home without a scratch.”

The x-ray tech muttered, “At least none you can see.”

A few minutes later, Phil brought a large sheet of plastic from the little cubicle and held it up against a light panel.

“I’m not a doctor, but I’ve seen enough of these to say you don’t have any permanent damage. It’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker for a week or so, and your face’ll look like shit for a while, but it should heal up without any scars or anything.”

“Thanks, Phil. Semper Fi.” Miles shook his hand and the two men pulled into a loose hug as Phil returned the Marine salute.

“Let’s go, Bruce, before we land our angel of mercy into trouble.”

Back in the car, I asked, “Where are we going?”

“First, back to my office, so you can pick up your car. Then you’re gonna lead me to wherever you live, and I’ll make you something to eat and put you to bed. If you want to, at some point, you can tell me your life story, or at least the recent part where you got the crap beaten out of you in the parking lot.”

“Why are you doing this?”

He stared straight ahead as he answered, “I’ve been where you are. Gay and horny, and out to score some cock—”

“That’s not what I was doing!”

“Then what?”

“It’s a long story.”

“And you can tell me all about it when we get you home.”

********

Miles followed me to the house on Mercer Island. We went inside, and he sat me down at the kitchen table while he scrambled eggs and made coffee for both of us. The light of dawn gradually illuminated the room.

Seated across from me, he looked around and observed, “Damn! You’re living high on the hog.”

I didn’t answer.

“You live here all by yourself?”

I hesitated. I had no reason to trust this man, but he had done a hell of a lot for me over the past few hours, so I gave him the short version of my life with Ted.

“And he wouldn’t stay here with you?”

“I told him to go. It was too important to his career to give up the job in Houston.”

“But you were not important enough for him to say ‘fuck the job’ and stay here with you.”

Indignant, I barked, “You heard me. I told him to go. I didn’t want to spend the rest of our life together hating myself for holding him back—or with him hating me for doing it.”

“OK—” he sounded like he thought what I said was bullshit.

Needling him, I demanded, “So, Mr. Wise Guy, what’s your goddamn story? Are you some kind of caped crusader who shows up at all the gay bashings?”

“I wish.” He sighed. “I know about that place, and I check it out a couple of times a week when I can. It was pure coincidence that I was there last night and saw what the jerk did to you. You were damn lucky, you know.”

Ignoring his fishing for thanks, I pressed for answers. “And you carry a gun when you do this?”

“I have a carry permit, and I have only needed to take it out three times, counting last night. That dude was twice my size, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not as quick on my feet as I once was.”

We talked until the food was finished. I had gone so long without eating that a tremendous need to sleep came over me. A big yawn escaped me, and Miles asked, “Where’s your bedroom?”

A cold chill came over me. I didn’t want him to know I’d been sleeping in the guest room, so I tried to hurry him down the hall. As we passed the closed door to the master bedroom, he opened it and peeked inside. “Can’t bear to sleep in the bed you shared with him, huh?”

“Something like that.”

He helped me undress down to my boxers and got me into bed. “As long as we’re breaking laws tonight, here’s a pain killer. I have a prescription for them, and I’ll give you two pills now and leave two for eight hours from now, if you still need them.”

He handed me two white capsules. “After these, you’ll have to make do with Tylenol. I’d go with two tablets four times a day for a while. It’s more than you’re supposed to take, but it won’t kill you if you only use it until you can stand the pain better.”

He covered me up and gazed around the room. “I’ll come back tonight after work if you’ll trust me with a key.”

My pants were draped over the back of a chair. “In the front pocket.”

“Fine. I’ll bring something more substantial to eat, too.”

“Tell me again why you’re doing this.”

He shrugged. “We gays always end up with the shitty end of the stick. I can’t do much, but almost my entire law practice is built on defending guys who get caught with their pants down or a dick up their ass. So I do my best to head that off as much as possible.”

“Well, I’m damn glad you showed up, and thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The front door closed and the lock clicked. Between exhaustion and the pills, I fell asleep immediately.

********

Over the next month, Miles went from being my rescuer to my guardian angel to my Father Confessor. Although he was openly gay, he never suggested we do anything together. He started visiting me regularly, usually bringing carry-out dinner. I suggested I was well enough to eat in a real restaurant, but he said he preferred not to call attention to his secret mission. My wounds healed slowly, but I got a lot of sympathy at work, where I told everyone I was mugged outside a bar.

Gradually, we became close friends. Ted occasionally called to check on me, and I mentioned meeting Miles.

“He sounds like a good man. I hope he treats you well.” He paused. “I, uh, I’ve met someone, too.”

We wished each other well, but our phone calls became fewer and farther between.

“Do you miss him?” Miles asked one day.

“I’ll always miss him, but he’s one of many I will miss.”

I can’t say how or when it happened, but we reached a point where we spoke and acted like we were a couple, although without sex.

One night after dinner, I took a healthy swig of wine and confronted him. “Miles, do you have sex? I mean, are you able to? Or are you with someone I don’t know about?”

He chuckled. “Damn. So many questions.”

“How about some answers?”

He regarded me sideways as if he were considering what to say. “OK. You asked. Yes, I can have sex. But no, I haven’t in a while. And I’m not with anyone unless you count yourself.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Why have you never suggested—”

He shook his head. “As a medic, I saw my share of soldiers who didn’t make it, so I learned to keep a professional distance. I think that spilled over into a hands-off attitude toward any of the men I help, legally or otherwise. It’s not that I wouldn’t like to, but in all fairness, I have to point out you’ve never given me any indication you’d be interested.”

I reached across the table and placed one hand on top of his. “How’s this for an indication?”

“Not bad.”

I rose, went to his seat, leaned down, and kissed his lips. He sighed and returned my kiss with increasing passion. “Where is this going to go?” he asked.

“Well, right now, how about my bedroom?”

“You mean the guest room?”

I only thought for a second. “No, the big bed in the big room.”

“You sure you’re ready?” In answer, I took his hand and led the way.

As we started to undress each other, it hit me that his prosthetic might be a problem. Noticing my hesitation, Miles laughed. “It comes off exactly like clothing, and everything from my knee up, including my dick, works the same as everybody else’s—except I can’t do doggie style without falling over.” We had a good laugh, and he soon demonstrated everything he could do.

EPILOGUE

Time passed, and Miles’ practice serving the LGBT community grew enough for him to take on a partner and a legal aide. I left WWA to start a consulting practice. Initially, it required frequent travel, and it was always a relief to come home to the man I loved. By the third year, I had a staff of six, and we were much in demand by the small start-up satellite companies.

In 2002, Miles moved in with me. Same-sex marriage became legal in Washington State on December 6, 2012, and we were married on Christmas Eve. Natalie and her twins, Karen and Keiran, who were both sixteen, attended our wedding, along with Dad and a few close friends.

We spent our honeymoon in Puerto Vallarta and settled into our new status in early January. My sister Natalie called me on February 7th. I picked up the phone on the desk in my study. Miles was seated on the couch nearby, reading a magazine.

“Hey, Nats, what’s up?

“Bruce, I’m so upset I don’t know where to begin!”

“Then take it one thing at a time, Sis. What’s wrong?” Hearing my words, Miles got up and came over to my desk, standing behind me with a comforting hand on my shoulder.

I heard her take a drink of something. “It’s Dad. He’s—” She broke down in tears.

Expecting the worst, my stomach did flips. “Miles is here. I’m gonna put you on speaker.”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

I broke in. “Whatever you were going to tell me about Dad, Miles cares, too.”

She took another drink, and I snapped, “Nat, maybe you should hold off on the booze until you tell me why you called.”

“Very funny. It’s Diet Coke.” She took a deep breath, followed by a long drag on her cigarette. “Dad’s in Cedars-Sinai Hospital. He’s had a heart attack. The doctor says he’ll have to go to cardiac rehab in a couple of days, but he should recover fully.”

Miles gave my shoulder a squeeze to help me relax. I realized I wasn’t breathing. “OK, Sis. You scared the shit out of me. I’m glad he’s doing OK—”

“Bruce, Dad has a gay lover.”

My body jerked upright. “What? Say that again.”

“You heard me. He’s got a gay lover, and even worse, it’s a guy in his thirties—younger than you!”

********

Miles and I flew down to L.A. and met my sister in Dad’s hospital room. What Natalie said, unbelievable as it was, turned out to be completely true. My mom, Julia, had died fifteen years ago, and we all knew that Dad was emotionally lost and lonely for most of the time since then. He told us he started traveling to ease the pain, and on one of his extended holidays, he met a young man, Beau Warrick.

Although Dad was almost 50 years older, they fell in love and had been together secretly for three years. Only Keith Cartier, Dad’s best friend and attorney, knew about them. Natalie was shocked and horrified, but I took my cue from Miles and decided to reserve judgment until we met Beau. Dad rang for his nurse and asked her to show the young man into the room.

A handsome, blond man with the build of a surfer and just the beginnings of crow’s feet around his eyes shyly entered the room. He went to Dad’s bedside and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. When he leaned down to kiss my father, the tension in the room evaporated. My heart broke at the thought of the love Dad had missed since Mom’s passing. I knew then and there that these two men were right to be together.

As we took turns introducing ourselves, Beau spoke with quite confidence. He was 32 years old, had a Master’s in Marketing from UCLA, and worked for a film company. His outgoing, friendly personality brought a glow to the stark hospital room. Miles and I liked him immediately, and Natalie slowly joined in the conversation. The four of us went to dinner and returned to the hospital afterward to report back to Dad.

“Well, what do you think of Beau?” Dad asked, tightly gripping the hand of his young lover, who stood next to his bed.

Natalie blurted, “I–I can’t believe this, Dad. How long have you been–been—?”

“Gay?” he supplied the word she was unwilling to say. “I think I’ve always been somewhere in the middle.” He turned to me, “It’s called bi, isn’t it?”

“It can be, Dad, but the whole concept of sexuality is less rigidly defined today. You can simply say you like men and women.”

Turning to Natalie with a gentle smile, he said, “That’s where I am, Honey, and it’s probably where I’ve always been.”

“But what about Mom?”

He reached out his other hand and pulled her closer. “I want you to understand that I loved your mother from the moment we met, and I never strayed or loved anyone else her whole life long.” His gaze moved to Miles and me. “But your brother is brave enough to live his life honestly, and I think it finally sank into me that I could do the same thing. Your mother was the love of my life, and then I was all alone. Please don’t hate me for finding new love.”

Natalie looked across the bed at Beau. “But he’s so—”

Dad smiled at his lover. “Handsome? Sexy? Intelligent? Fun to be around?”

“I was going to say young—” She sighed. “a lot younger than you, so someday—”

“Someday, I’ll be gone, and Beau will be alone.” He squeezed his lover’s hand and added, “We’ve talked about that. It’s clear to us that we’ll only have a few years together, so we’re going to make the most of them while we have them. After that, I hope he’ll find love again, as I have done.”

His face beamed as he turned back to his daughter. “Please don’t deny us happiness. Please accept that I loved your mother, and now I love Beau the same.”

Dad was released from the hospital and went into home-based rehab. In a couple of weeks, his doctor gave him the all-clear to resume normal activities, including sex, which the doctor encouraged since it strengthened the heart. Natalie gradually accepted our new family member. We struggled with what to call him—brother, uncle, stepfather—but he settled the matter with “Just call me Beau.”

Natalie got another surprise when she returned home after Dad’s heart attack. Her son, Keiran, who was sixteen, came out to her. “Mom, don’t be surprised. After all, my uncle and grandfather are gay. It runs in the family!” He laughed, and they hugged. Keiran moved into the pool house on their property and soon had a lover of his own.

********

Back home after our incredible surprise from Dad, Miles and I cuddled in front of the fireplace during a furious rain storm, sipping Chablis. I smiled at my husband, leaned in, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have met you...and fallen in love with you.”

“I love you, too.”

I sighed deeply, bursting with emotions I hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever. My mind raced with one image after another—Craig, Pete, Carl, David, Winston, Just Joe, Grisha, Ted, Miles, Dad, and Beau. I shook my head to banish all the memories back to wherever they came from. As Mom told me, they were part of who I am today, but I have learned to live in the present because I can’t change the past and can’t predict the future. What matters is who and what we are now.

I continued, “Say—”

“Yes?” Miles cocked his head to one side and smiled at me with love.

“What day is today?”

“Um, Thursday.”

“Want to go out to dinner? I know a great little Russian bistro I’ve never taken you to.”

“Love to.”

“One thing...we’ve got to wear something green.”

“Huh? It’s not St Patrick’s Day, is it?”

“Hell, no. It’s an old tradition, and I feel like honoring it.”