Gap Year - 87. Chapter 87

Travis’s Journal: Escape from Buck Mountain: April 7, 2004: London

Yesterday my plans, and all of my scheming, turned to complete shit. I should have known I couldn’t trust that Guy Fellowes dude. I should have listened to my instincts. They were supposed to file that lawsuit on April 19, and then I’d be back in the US and legal on the 20^th. I’d be in a position to orchestrate the takeover of Buck Industries. In one stroke, I’d be able to totally fuck my father over and save our family heritage. I’d be able to repay my grandfather for being the only family member who fully loved and supported me. I’d make sure that the legacy he had so carefully preserved and expanded, the inheritance that generations of Bucks had worked to create, wasn’t destroyed by my idiotic father.

Only instead of waiting until the 19^th, they’d filed yesterday, and that meant that a deal to take over Buck would probably be accomplished long before I got back. My big plan had failed, and now the company would be acquired by whoever my unethical lawyer had gotten in bed with and handed this deal to. I raged at my impotence in this situation. My family wouldn’t be completely broke, but they would all have serious shocks to their lifestyles. I decided that might be good for all of them. Part of me wondered if having the company removed from my father’s control would make my whole escape unnecessary, but I ruled that out pretty quickly. Curtis Buck would be angry, spoiling for revenge, and if he could save his financial situation and pay me back by killing me off, he’d do it in a heartbeat. I probably was no more vulnerable than I had been before, but I felt like I was. Instead of returning like a victorious warrior, swooping in to save the family firm, I’d be slinking back home like a coward, my only achievement being to save my own skin.

Then, to make matters worse, Curtis had issued a press release accusing me of being a drugged-out psycho who had stolen shitloads of family property. I knew exactly how he’d pulled that off. My grandfather had gifted me his Patek Phillippe watches, and they were collectively worth about $20 million. He’d also given me some other stuff. Those things were all safely stored in my safe deposit box in Malibu, but without me there to prove they were mine, there wasn’t much I could do to refute the charges. So now, in addition to worrying about my father having me offed in a fucking alley, I had to worry about cops arresting me. I was trying to figure out how I was anything but completely fucked. I knew that Fellowes and his cronies wouldn’t lift a finger to fight these new allegations, because the whole thing just played into their hands to keep me on lockdown.

Since those press releases came out, my guardians had become my guards in all but name. I’d had to almost throw a tantrum to get access to my computer tonight. We were staying at a townhouse in Kensington, and I was in the third-floor bedroom. I had briefly thought about trying to escape, but I knew they’d be watching me, and it was too high for me to jump out of a window. They’d wanted to leave London tomorrow, which had made me panic, because I was determined to escape from them, and Will was my key. If I left London, I’d miss our rendezvous at Westminster Abbey. To preclude our departure, I’d put on yet another epic performance and pretended to be violently ill. I’d even forced myself to vomit in front of them, and that wasn’t easy, because I’d gotten pretty good at controlling my gag reflex. That had convinced them to postpone our departure until the 9^th, but it also meant that I was stuck here in my room for the day. I hated being cooped up like this, especially with a vibrant city right outside my door, but it was part of the role, part of the act, and I was determined to win the equivalent of an Academy Award to get out of this situation.

Friedrich had wanted to keep all of my electronic devices away from me, but I’d acted like I had to have my phone, argued like crazy about it, then caved as long as he let me keep my laptop, which was what I really wanted in the first place. I had my plan all worked out for tomorrow. I’d have a miraculous recovery, then I’d drag their slow asses all over Westminster. We’d go by Westminster Abbey and I’d tell them I wanted to go to Evensong. They’d argue about that, but I’d tell them I had to do it, because while I normally didn’t attend church, I’d promised my mother that I’d go every time I recovered from an illness. That was laughable, because there’s no way my mother would give a fuck about that, but they didn’t know that. I decided I could also use that as an excuse to spruce up my appearance a bit, because I didn’t want to look like shit, not when I was going to see Will.

Just thinking about him reminded me how much I missed him, and how rough it had been to have our link severed. I was positively ecstatic about seeing him tomorrow. He’d wanted to run away with me before, and I’d caved to pressure from Fellowes and his stooges not to take him with me, but after tomorrow, we’d be a team again, and the rest of these douches could just bite me.

I logged on to Facebook and found a message from Will, asking me who would be with me that I had to get away from, and if I had a fake ID and what name I was using. I gave him a brief profile of the team that was guarding me and told him that my fake Euro Identity was Andre Gerhardt. He responded and told me that during the sermon or whatever, I should go to the bathroom. I smiled at how appropriate that was, and how it dovetailed perfectly with me being sick today.

Once I was done with Facebook, and had cleared my history, I went online to search the news and found out that an unknown investor group had reached an agreement to buy all of the assets of Buck Industries. My entire life has turned to shit, along with my plans. Even seeing Will wasn’t enough to prop me up. I wondered how much time I’d even get to spend with him before they found me and sent me to jail. I’m saving this to my backup drive, then clearing out any other personal shit on my laptop. I’d have to leave that behind, along with my clothes and everything else, but that’s a small price to pay for my freedom.

April 8, 2004

Westminster Abbey

London, UK

Will

We’d gotten here early, and that had scored us seats in the transept to the right of the altar. That was perfect, because the restrooms were in the cloisters just behind this transept, and I’d gotten a seat where I could see down the aisle, so I’d be able to spot Travis when he got up to go to the loo. I was having a hard time being calm, so anxious was I about this rescue operation, when Grand’s steady hand squeezed my leg to tell me to chill the fuck out.

Grand and I had planned this whole thing out meticulously, and just doing that had been eye-opening. I’d planned some pretty monumental battles, usually with my father, and I knew how important it was to think things through, but working with Grand took that to a whole different level. What was the most impressive was how he considered not only the immediate dilemma, in this case springing Travis from his guards, but also what happened next. It had been a good learning experience.

I stared at this building, and despite being an avowed atheist, it was impossible not to appreciate the beauty of it. “I’ll be back,” I said to Grand. He gave me a concerned look, but there was no way I could sit still and not scout out the place and look for Travis. The volunteers who worked there looked at me benevolently as I walked over and looked up at the stained-glass windows, probably because I put on that god-dazed expression, acting like the windows were giving me some major faith experience. I walked out into the cloisters, then moved toward the entrance of the church where I could peer through a side door and see who was coming in. It was 4:50, and despite my efforts to be calm about this, I felt myself spiraling into depression. What if we went through all of this and he didn’t show up? Would he still be able to Facebook message me, or would I lose my connection with him completely? Just as I was starting to lose my shit, I saw him.

Travis walked in, looking fantastic. He was wearing chinos, a long-sleeved shirt, a dark blue blazer, and some shoes that looked good but comfortable. His hair was a little scraggly, probably because he hadn’t had it cut in a while, but that gave him a more relaxed look, and made him just that much more attractive. I was a bit tonier than him, with gray wool slacks, but otherwise we were dressed almost identically. He must have felt my glance, because he turned in my direction and our eyes met and locked onto each other like a tractor beam was pulling us together. We could only hold that intense gaze for a second lest our expressions give away that we knew each other. He was escorted by two people, a man and a woman, just as he’d described them.

One of the guys we’d hired walked up and stood next to me. “That them?” he asked, gesturing at Travis and his two keepers as they walked down the aisle. I watched as the volunteers guided them to the left transept.

“That’s them,” I said. He nodded briefly, and I went back to my seat. “He’s here,” I said to Grand softly.

We both looked across to the other transept, where I saw Travis flanked on either side by the man and the woman who were with him. They were clearly taking no chances of letting him interact with anyone, not even a person sitting next to him. “That is him, in the eighth row?” Grand asked.

“That is him,” I said, and couldn’t help but grinning like an idiot.

“He is quite handsome,” Grand noted.

“True that,” I said, then our conversation was truncated as the service began. There was a procession with various prelates and a bunch of young boys. “The choir?” I asked quietly.

“Yes,” he said. “Young boys who are selected for the choir go to a special school here in the Abbey. It is quite competitive.” I just nodded. Most of them looked like total dorks. My impression of them changed immeasurably as soon as they started singing. Holy shit, they were good. This building had been impressive before, but with the choir singing, it had come alive.

“Good acoustics,” I said to Grand, who rolled his eyes at me. I was only obliquely aware of the service, because my eyes were locked onto Travis. About twenty minutes after it had started, I saw him talking to the guy who was with him. Travis stood up and started walking back toward the entry to the church, while his captors looked a little flummoxed by his move. As expected, they both got up and followed him. He had to walk around the area where the choir was, which meant he had to go toward the front, then across the nave to get to the cloisters, so I waited until I saw him walking out the door then got up. “See you at St. Pancras.”

“Call me if you have difficulties,” Grand said. He rose with me, and while he left the church, I went to the bathroom. Travis’s guard was standing outside, almost blocking the door, so I had to push past him to get in. He gave me an annoyed look, then recoiled when I glared at him. I set the timer on my watch for five minutes.

There was no one in the bathroom, but one of the stall doors was closed. I opened it without knocking, surprising Travis, only to see the shock on his face replaced by a big smile. “I have missed you so much,” he said, and enveloped me in a huge hug. I knew time was short, but I could not let go of him.

“I missed you more,” I said. “We have to go soon.”

“My guard is outside,” he said.

“Not for long,” I said, and winked at him. We heard some arguing outside the bathroom, then the main door to the bathroom flew open with a thud.

“I am going to kick your ass!” I heard Travis’s guard say.

“Other way around, mate,” I heard one of our guys say, then I heard the sharp crack of wood on bone as our guy presumably clubbed Jacques. A different stall door opened and there was a lot of noise as they dumped Travis’s guard in there, then there was a soft knock on our stall. “All’s clear.”

I pushed the door open and grabbed Travis’s hand. “Thanks!” I said, then ushered him out of the bathroom, past the two guys we’d hired, leaving Travis’s guard trying to recover from his concussion in one of the stalls. They’d detain him long enough, hopefully, for us to escape. “This way,” I said.

I led Travis through the Cloisters to an exit near the Westminster School, hopefully dodging the chick who would be watching the other door. We were walking calmly but briskly as we left the Cloisters and kept up that pace until we exited the Dean’s Yard and got to Victoria Street. “Now what?” Travis asked.

“Run!” I instructed, and we tore across Parliament Square, jostling several tourists, and across Great George Street, managing to dodge traffic. We maneuvered through the crowds at the Westminster Tube station, then I handed him a subway card, and we passed ourselves through. He followed me as I hurried down to the Jubilee line. I had rehearsed this yesterday and knew exactly what I was doing. We got there and only had to wait a minute for the train to arrive. It was rush hour and the train was packed, so we stood close together, swaying to the motion of the train. Each time I bumped into him, it fired up my libido, which was frustrating because the last thing I needed was an erection on a crowded Tube train.

“What’s our stop?” he asked.

“Baker Street,” I said. We got to Baker Street and took off running again, tearing through the station until we got to the Circle Line. We hopped onto that train, but it was crowded too, so we stood there, both of us totally keyed up.

“Now what?”

“King’s Cross St. Pancras,” I said. Five minutes later found us tearing through St. Pancras International toward the Eurostar. We got to the platform, I handed our tickets to the agent, then we rushed through the security process and boarded the train to France. We had two minutes to spare.

“Cut it close,” he said, grinning as we made our way to our seats in the first-class section.

“Timing is everything,” I said. We found Grand waiting for us.

“I am glad to see that you made it,” he said. “I am JP Crampton.” He introduced himself to Travis.

“Travis Buck,” Travis said, a bit nervously, because he didn’t want anyone to hear.

“You have occupied much of my thoughts and plans for the past few days, so it is nice to finally meet you,” Grand said pleasantly, as we took our seats.

“Thank you both so much for rescuing me,” Travis said emphatically, even as the Eurostar train began to move away from the station.

“Will has assured me you are worth it,” Grand said.

“He is,” I said. “It’s like there’s so much to talk about, I don’t know where to start.”

“I can’t be home until the 20^th, so we have a lot of time,” Travis said. I beamed at him, so happy that he was committed to doing the rest of his exile time together. “I’m curious what our plan is.”

“We are going on a Grand Tour,” I told him. He looked at me blankly. “Grand says that all rich young men need to see ancient Rome so they’re not cultureless embarrassments to their families, so that’s where we’re going.”

“Those were not my words,” Grand sniffed.

“So we’re taking the train to Italy?” Travis asked.

“No, we’re taking the train to Marseilles,” I said. “As soon as we get there, we’re going to get on a launch to take us out to Stef’s yacht. We’re going on a cruise.”

“Seriously?” he asked. “That’s the bomb!”

“Well, if you’d have agreed to go with me in the first place, this whole thing would have been a lot easier,” I grumbled.

“All’s well that ends well,” he said, smiling at me to keep me from being mad at him for being so secretive about his plans and keeping me in the dark. I’d deal with those emotions later. “This is all I have to wear.”

“Then you’ll have to spend the cruise naked,” I said with a leer.

“As magnificent of a masculine specimen as Travis is, and as well as he might fit in with the statues of Roman gods, I still think they will require that he wear clothing when we go to Pompeii,” Grand said, cracking us up.

“I think you underestimate me,” Travis said to him, in a mildly flirtatious manner. We all laughed at that. For the rest of our trip to Paris, Travis told us all about his experiences with Jacques, Giselle, and Friedrich. I was having a hard time not being irritated with him. I’d been worried shitless, while he’d been wandering all over Europe, having a good time until the last few days. Then I remembered my own exile, when I’d been fourteen and run away, and how someone could have thought the same thing about me. I’d spent my time on Oahu’s north shore, surfing some awesome waves. While that may have sounded good, it didn’t even describe all the rough emotions I’d dealt with.

We got to Paris and caught the train to Marseilles, and that was our clue for Grand and I to talk about our journey. We finished our travelogue about the time we got to Marseilles. I was surprised at how relaxed we all were. It was possible that at any minute, a police officer could arrest Travis. Curtis Buck had seen to that with the bullshit press release he’d issued, accusing Travis of stealing and being crazy.

We got our bags from the train, then found two guys holding a sign with “CRAMPTON” written in big bold letters. They both looked like they were former Navy Seals, or whatever the French equivalent of that was. “I am JP Crampton,” Grand said, introducing himself.

“I am Phillippe, and this is Pascal,” the taller one said. They both looked remarkably similar, with square jaws and dark hair cut very short.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Grand said. “This is my grandson, Will, and his friend Travis.”

We all shook hands, then these guys took our bags for us and led us out to a waiting Mercedes limo. The car drove us to the port, where the launch to Stefan’s boat was waiting for us. Travis just looked at us in amazement. “Dude, I have never been on a trip that went so smoothly, and was so perfectly choreographed.”

I laughed. “We did a lot of planning.” We got to the ship and Travis was duly impressed, but not overawed. We had friends whose parents had bigger boats than this. It was really nice to see Skip, the captain, and his lovely wife, Marta. They both greeted us warmly. As soon as our bags were unloaded, the boat headed back to shore.

“We have set up a buffet for dinner for all of you,” Marta said, making sure to include Phillippe and Pascal.

“Food,” I said to Travis meaningfully, and we laughed as we went into the dining room. We’d grabbed a snack on the train, but it wasn’t enough for our appetites. “Come on,” I said to Phillippe and Pascal, who were nervous about eating with us.

Grand was preoccupied with something, so the four of us ate and chatted in French. Travis struggled a little bit in that language, but he was a lot better at it than when we’d been 13. There was some additional commotion as the boat returned, followed by the arrival of a very attractive couple. Grand introduced them. “This is Charles Degasseau, and his wife, Elise.” They were both in their early thirties, and were a study in contrasts. Charles had black hair without a trace of gray, which contrasted starkly with his white skin. This man desperately needed a tan. Charles would have looked muscular if he weren’t standing next to Phillippe. Elise seemed to be of African descent, with beautiful ebony skin and a thin, lithe body. We all introduced ourselves, then they joined us for dinner.

“Charles is an attorney,” Grand explained. “He is here to help us out if we have any legal difficulties.” He directed that last sentence to Travis.

“Thanks,” Travis said, and looked at me in surprise.

“I was also promised that this would make for a nice vacation,” Charles said.

“It’s about the only way I can get him to take one,” Elise said, shaking her head. “We are French. We are not supposed to be workaholics.” Charles looked at her indulgently while the rest of us laughed.

“Have we met before?” Grand asked Charles. “Your name sounds familiar.”

“You have most likely met my father, Albert,” Charles said smoothly, then directed his attention to me. “I am told that he represented your father some years ago in the trial for the murder of Neil Gardner.” That had been the freak show trial in Paris that had ended up with Robbie spending time in a French jail. That experience had scarred Robbie so much he had pretty much been adamant about not returning to Paris. He’d been accused of killing Neil, and it was only around the time Matt breezed into our lives that we found out Robbie had actually done it.

“Of course, I remember your father well,” Grand said. “If it weren’t for your father, it is unlikely that Will would be with us.”

“You are suggesting my father was such a ladies’ man that he fathered your grandson?” Charles asked, smiling. “He was a ladies’ man, so that is quite possible.” We chuckled at that.

“Robbie was being held in jail, and Albert convinced your father to return to the US to take some of the pressure from the press off his back,” Grand explained to me. “My understanding is that during the week he was in the US, he slept with your mother, and you were conceived.”

I blinked a bit at how sometimes events and people were so interconnected. “Then I suspect, in an indirect way, that makes us brothers,” Charles said, which was hilarious.

“I think my new sister-in-law is cooler than you,” I joked, smiling at Elise.

“He’s smarter than you are too,” she told Charles. We spent most of dinner laughing, and I could have hung out with those people for a while, but there were two things dragging me away. First, I desperately needed to reconnect with Travis, and secondly, I could sense that being in this group had totally tapped his social reserves.

“Hey big guy, I’m thinking it’s bedtime,” I said to Travis in a slutty way. It was funny to see the expressions on the faces of the others. Phillippe and Pascal were stone-faced, their expressions impossible to read, while Charles seemed a little shocked. Elise smiled at us.

“How wonderful that you two are a couple,” she said. She then obviously elbowed Charles, which jarred him from his shock.

“Yes, of course,” he said hastily. I decided that the best thing to do was to laugh at him, so I did, and everyone else joined in.

“You think you can handle being aboard a ship with three gay men?” I asked him, gesturing at Grand to include him.

“Your math is off,” Pascal said, then looked lovingly at Phillipe, who smiled softly and blushed. “Make that five gay men.”

Elise laughed. “We must go dancing. All gay men dance well.”

“Not all gay men,” Travis said.

“This gay man does,” I said, and winked at her. With that, we managed to escape to our cabin, relying on Grand to make sure everyone else was situated.

“Quite the group you guys assembled,” Travis said. I waited until he was in the cabin, then I closed and locked the door behind him. “We need to talk.”

“I am so done talking,” I said, then kissed him. We made love, then drifted off to sleep, rocking to the motion of the ship.

April 9, 2004

Aboard the Tonto

The Mediterranean Sea near Corsica

Will

“I’m going to go get some food,” I said to Travis.

“Fine,” he said, then rolled over and put a pillow over his head, trying to block me out so he could keep sleeping.

I pulled it off of him forcefully, getting a dirty look. “There are shorts and a t-shirt on the dresser for you to wear.” He stared at me, so I playfully threw the pillow at his face, then walked out of the cabin, chuckling as I did.

I found Grand sitting in the dining cabin, because it was still a little too chilly this early to be out on deck. “Good morning. Where is Travis?”

“Travis the slug is still sleeping,” I said. “He was impressed with how smoothly we planned his escape.”

“I was impressed with that as well,” Grand said, then patted my arm affectionately. “It was one of my best lawbreaking escapades.”

I laughed at that, then focused on eating. “We did a good job.”

“Did you tell Travis about our conversation with his mother?” he asked.

“You mean where she confirmed that Curtis isn’t his father?” I asked. He nodded. “Not yet.”

“You are going to?”

“I am,” I confirmed. “It was a long day for him, and I had a choice. Have a conversation or get laid. So we didn’t have a conversation.”

He laughed at that. “I suspect you made the best decision.”

“I’m quite sure I did,” I said with a leer.

“With that knowledge, and now that I have met him, I cannot help but notice that he has some marked physical similarities to two people,” he said.

“Who?” I asked.

“When I look at him, I can see that he has features that are not unlike Rich Crampton,” Grand said.

“Did he have a chance to sleep with Miranda Buck?” I asked, wondering how Rich would have swung that if he were in Ohio.

“I do not know,” Grand said. “I do know that he was at Claire’s wedding, and according to your father, was sexually active with the strippers at Jack’s bachelor party.”

“Miranda wasn’t a stripper, was she?” I asked, pretending to be serious.

“No, but it is an indication of the lack of restraint he exhibited during that event,” Grand said. I smiled at him to let him know I was giving him shit, getting a frown in return.

“That would be pretty freaky,” I said, now thinking more fully about what that would mean if Travis was really a Crampton.

“I think that is an understatement,” he said, his frustration with his sexually promiscuous nephew evident.

“Who’s the other dude?” I asked. “You said there were two.”

“I also notice that he has a lot of physical similarities to Jeff Grimes, and as I remember how Lark, or Scott Slater as he is now, looked when he was younger, that resemblance seems even stronger,” Grand said.

“That’s fascinating,” I said. “Man, Scott Slater really is a total man-slut.”

“First of all, we must not jump to conclusions, as we are only speculating here,” he said, with his fussy sense of justice.

“Would it change your mind to know that he slept with your daughter when she was in Hawaii?” I asked, and his expression made me really laugh.

“Claire is quite capable of running her own sex life with no interference from me,” he said.

“So I’ve heard,” I said, reminding him of the stories about how he’d dealt with her having sex with Jack in high school. “What was the deal with Jack showing up for dinner before we left?” I hadn’t had a chance to ask him about that yet.

“I think that Jack was trying to heal the rift in his family,” Grand said.

“You mean by getting back together with Claire?” I asked.

“I do know if that is his plan, or her plan, but they have seen how having an acrimonious relationship can devastate their children, and impact the rest of us,” he said. “I am speculating that whether they are a couple or not, they are determined to be harmonious members of this family.”

“That’s good,” I said, giving some serious props to my aunt and uncle for putting their family ahead of their own relationship drama. “It’s also very unusual in our family.”

“This much is true,” he agreed fatalistically.