319 Winesap Lane - 4. Chapter 4 - Life Changes for Geoff

Geoff's POV

“Thank you for coming to my office on such short notice,” the Provost said. “Have a seat, Professor Johnson, I need to discuss something with you.”

I sat down in a chair on the other side of the desk and immediately noticed how uncomfortable it felt. This had to be about Jerry. It was Friday afternoon and classes had been in session for four days, about the length of time it would’ve taken for the gossip mill to go around campus about the first-year living with me in that great big house on Winesap Lane. How could a professor at a small college such as Warnton afford such a house? And, what was that boy doing there? Everybody knew I was on probation with the Provost over the little indiscretion last spring and now there was a boy living with me, obviously a flagrant affront to the school.

“What do you need to know?” I asked. “Is this about Jerry?”

“Is that what you call him? Awfully familiar, aren’t you?”

“He’s my houseboy. It’s not like I’m going to refer to him as Jerrold.”

“Uh, huh. Do you have an employment agreement? Are you doing withholding, paying Social Security and Medicare taxes, and state tax? Where’s he sleeping, your bed or have you provided one for him? Or, does he sleep on the floor at your feet with a dog collar around his neck and a leash fastened to the bedpost?”

“My lawyer provided an employment contract for him, my accountant handles his wages, and I am paying his tuition. He has a suite that has a bed, lounge, desk, and bath. He has duties inside and outside the house and I’m teaching him how to cook. And, if you’re concerned, he’s met another first-year who’s been over for dinner a couple nights.”

“Geoff, my concern is your possible sexual relationship with this boy; after all, he’s the seventh member of his family to attend Warnton and his great-grandfather has included the college in his estate. Are you having sex with him?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“I don’t know if I can trust you on that.”

“Well, then I don’t see any point in continuing my relationship with this institution. Since my uncle died back in the eighties, I don’t have the need for the measly income I receive here, so maybe I should just go my own way and you can have some peace of mind on my sex life.”

“Will you keep this boy working for you?”

“Look, his family made no monetary provisions toward his college career and he wasn’t able to get any scholarships. Plus, financial aid wasn’t going to do anything to help him either. Without my assistance he would have had to go home and either go into farming or go into the military. For all his family attendance here, I was surprised how little they cared where he went to college. It was only his great-grandfather who seemed to be particularly interested in Jerry coming here, so I stepped in and arranged for him to have the money he needs to attend.”

“I wasn’t aware of that.”

“No, I don’t think they would’ve said anything, especially financial aid from what they told me. They seemed little interested in his attendance at your fine institution. So, I guess this is it. I’ll have my office cleaned out today and tomorrow. I’ll leave the keys with Charlotte, she’ll get them to Physical Plant on Monday. Goodbye.”

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, but I must insist that moral standards be maintained.”

“Yes, well, one’s morality often conflicts with another’s,” I said as I stood. When the Provost didn’t stand I assumed the man didn’t want to shake my hand, so I turned and left.

As I walked across campus to the Humanities building, I began to contemplate the full impact of what just happened. I’d bought a big, expensive house in an out-of-the-way small town in Upstate New York that had an apple processor of some kind on one end of town and an influential college that was so small it hadn’t considered going the university route for fear potential students would think more of it than it really was.

What was I going to do with my life? I certainly didn’t want to leave Warnton and, besides, where could I go? The market for professors of comparative linguistics my age was extremely limited. Who was going to hire a sixty-six-year-old professor who quit because he was suspected of balling a first-year? No, I had to come up with something else to do; something I had skills for, but was, as yet, uncertain what those skills were.

When I got to the office Charlotte gave me a box to put my graduation certificates, photographs, and desk memorabilia in. I looked through the office at all the books and wondered if I should take them to the house. Some of them might be of use and if I didn’t take them, they probably would end up in the nearest dumpster. I started going through the shelves sorting the books by those I definitely wanted to keep, those I might have a use for, those that couldn’t be replaced, and those that I could see never needing and those I’d never used beyond one or two times after their purchase.

“Can I ask what you’re doing?” Charlotte asked at my door.

“Packing up; I no longer work here,” I said. “You’ll find my key on your desk Monday morning.”

“Is this about the boy living at your house?” she asked as she walked in and sat in one of the dark brown leather easy chairs I often used during student conferences.

“Yes, the Provost refuses to believe me that we’re not in some sort of sexual relationship. I chose to terminate my association with Warnton.”

“Your students are going to miss you. You’re a popular professor, one of the best.”

“They’ll get over it. Time heals all wounds.”

“I’ll miss you,” she said sounding honestly saddened by my words. She was a good secretary and I was going to miss her.

“Say, Charlotte, you’re married, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Harry is a groundskeeper here.”

“Do you have any children?”

“Two, Harry, junior, is six and Angela is four.”

“I’m having a little gathering at my house Sunday evening. We’ll be having a large beef roast and I’d appreciate it if you and your family came over to join us. We have lots of room.”

“I’ll have to discuss it with Harry. I’ll call this evening and let you know, okay?”

“Sure, that will be fine.”

I cleaned out my desk and filled my box to where it wasn’t too heavy and walked out of the office. I’d be back this evening to get some books and tomorrow to finish. But, as I was adjusting the box and turning to make sure the door was locked, I heard Charlotte speaking in a low voice on the phone.

“Professor Johnson quit! He told me the Provost wouldn’t believe him he wasn’t screwing that new boy living with him. Well, no, I believe him. I work for him. Sure, sure, there was that boy from last spring, but that was one of Professor Stuart’s students. Yeah, I know creepy ol’ Stuart. Can you imagine? And, guess what? He invited me and my family to Sunday supper at his home. Yes. Well, of course I’m going, if Harry wants to or not and he wants the kids to come, too. No, I have no problem that he’s gay. Why would that be a problem? No, I don’t think he’s religious, at least he doesn’t go to our church. No, I’ll tell you all about it on Monday. Yes, yes, I’ll call. Bye, Shirley.”

“Shirley Enders in Admissions?” I asked.

“Oh, Professor Johnson, I didn’t know you were there,” Charlotte said.

“No, that’s all right, I apologize for eavesdropping. And, no, you don’t have to bring Harry. He might feel out of place socializing with students and professors. I should be finished moving out tomorrow and I’ll leave the key on your desk. Whatever I leave can be put in the trash.”

“We’ll miss you. Shirley was saying some students might get up a petition and present it to the president or the board of trustees to keep you on because you’re so popular.”

“Well, that would be nice, but I don’t think anything will come of it. The Provost is bent on keeping this a chaste and moral institution and he’ll put his position here on the line to keep me out.”

“Yes, well, Mr. Edwards is a religious prude and from what some of the secretaries have said, he might be homophobic, too. If the board got wind of that, they just might think your leaving was because Mr. Edwards can’t deal with LGBTQs on campus.”

“Well, Charlotte, I’ve been here since the late Seventies and the chance of having a little vacation is sounding more and more like something I might want to pursue, so please don’t turn this thing into more than it needs to be.”

“No, siree, we’re not going to have Mr. Edwards turning this college into a religious school. Did you hear that he actually wanted the board to authorize setting up a department of religion on campus?”

“No, when was that?”

“Last winter, but the board shot him down. No, we’ll get him this time. You mark my words. We’ll get you back to teaching here at Warnton.”

“Well, Charlotte, I reserve the right to not come back.”

“Well, okay, but there’ll be a fight brewing, you mark my words.”

I left the office carrying the box under one arm and not too surprised Charlotte was willing to accept my invitation. She always impressed me as a very liberal woman who never put students down because they didn’t attend her A.M.E. church or believe in the things she did. I walked down the stairs and out the front door probably for the last time in my life. I knew I was going to miss Warnton.

* * * *

Back at the house I put the box over by the fireplace and was surprised by the doorbell. Who could be coming to my house on the last day of the first week of classes. I went out to the front door, which only had the screen door shut, and saw a woman of around fifty with a young boy, who had one of those wheeled suitcases. I opened the screen door and said, “Yes, may I help you?”

“Mr. Franklin, I’m Ms. Smytheson, from the Department of Social Services,” she started. “I’m here to see if you would be interested in taking Erik Robertson in as a temporary placement. He’s been abandoned by his family for being gay. I tried your number, but it said it had been disconnected or changed. I know it’s been a number of years since we’ve placed a child with you and your wife, but I was hoping you would be amenable to this placement. May we come in?”

“Well, I’m not Mr. Franklin, whoever he was. My name is Geoff Johnson and I’ve owned this house since 1986 and have lived here ever since. Are you certain you have the correct house? But, you said Erik here was abandoned by his family because he’s gay?”

“Yes; I’m sorry to have bothered you, we’ll be going.”

“No, wait, please come in, I’ve had a rather abrupt change in my life this morning and I might be willing to take in a child if I can meet your standards and qualifications.”

“Well, this is most unusual, but I’m willing to do anything to keep Erik out of a group home. Boys in those facilities tend to be rather homophobic.”

I showed them into the living room and offered Ms. Smytheson the wine red wingchair and the boy the light green sofa. I sat in the royal blue wingchair, which was near Ms. Smytheson. Erik was a slight boy, probably not much taller than five-foot-three and a hundred pounds dripping wet. Though most of his features were hidden under the black hoodie he was wearing, I could see he had longish, black hair that hung over his forehead and into his steel blue eyes; a small, nondescript nose; thin, red lips; and an oval face with pasty, white skin. I guess that’s what kids call the emo look. His fingers were long and slightly muscular for whatever purpose I couldn’t imagine.

“Mr. Johnson, are you married? I don’t see a wedding band,” Ms. Smytheson said.

“No, I’m not. I’m gay and I do not have a relationship with another man.”

“I see; do you work?”

“Until a couple hours ago, I was a Professor of Comparative Linguistics here at Warnton College. The Provost and I had a difference of opinion on trust this morning and I severed my relationship with his institution.”

“Oh, you’re that Professor Johnson, I’ve heard of you. We had an intern in the office last year who had taken a class of yours and was very impressed. If I asked for references would you be able to provide at least four?”

“Uh, well, I suppose I can. Yes, yes, I know four people who would be willing to give me a reference.”

“Do you attend a church?”

“God and I had a falling out when friends and family started dying from suicides, Vietnam, and AIDS. When I do go, and I do go to church sometimes, though it’s usually only for a Christmas or Easter service at either Saint Anne’s, it’s Roman Catholic; or to Our Lady of the Lake Lutheran church here in town. I know Father Seymour; he and one or two of the Sisters from the school often come over for my Sunday suppers. And, Reverend Charles, his wife, Jolene, and their son, Charlie, sometimes come over, also. I’m sure either one of them would be willing to vouch for my character, especially the Sisters”

“I’ve heard of your Sunday suppers. That intern said they’re the social event of the month on campus and getting an invitation is something to be treasured. Will you be having them this year?”

“Yes, whether I’m working at Warnton College or not, in fact the first will be this Sunday. With more time on my hands, I might add more to the schedule because I do know the students here appreciate being invited. The conversation can be quite lively at times.”

“Okay, I’m going to agree to a temporary placement pending the outcome of your background investigation. Do you have any experience with teenagers?”

“Well, I commonly hire …”

“Geoff! I’m home; are you here? Dave is with me. We’re going up to my room. Okay? Geoff?”

“Maybe he’s not here.”

“I’m in the living room!” I called out. “That would be a teenage first-year student. He’s my houseboy. I always have a student living with me as this is such a large house I need help taking care of it. Plus, I think it gives young boys a little responsibility at a time when I believe they need it.”

“Oh, you’re busy,” Jerry said when he came into the room. He was wearing one of those jersey shirts that are cut off short so a portion of the abs show and Jerry definitely had abs to show.

“Oh, Jerry, why don’t you take Erik, here, up to your room while Ms. Smytheson and I finish with the paperwork,” I said. “Erik will be living with us for a while. I think the bedroom across the hall should work out for him, unless you think one of the other rooms will be more appropriate. You might as well start earning your wages around here and get whatever room you two decide on cleaned up and make the bed.”

“Oh, okay, but Dave’s here and we were going up to my room, you know.”

“Jerry, there are times for love and times for work. Erik, how old are you?”

“I just turned fourteen,” Erik said in a soft voice. “Ms. Smytheson, can I go with Jerry?”

“Certainly, that will be fine.”

“Hear that, Jerry, he’s fourteen,” I said. “You and Dave leave him be.”

“Yes, sir, come on Erik. Sir, is it true that you quit Warnton?”

“Yes, the Provost expressed concern about our relationship and refused to believe me when I said we weren’t doing anything. So, I decided maybe it was time for me to think about doing something else. Where did you hear about it?”

“In class, one of the students asked Professor Adams, but she didn’t know. I guess when you didn’t show up for your nine o’clock someone checked with your department secretary. Someone said there’s going to be a protest on Monday.”

“Oh, god, just what Warnton doesn’t need, a media show over LGBTQ rights and I’m thinking of retiring.”

“Come on, Erik, we can go upstairs and I’ll show you your room or you can pick out which room you want,” Jerry said.

“He seemed a rather likeable young man,” Ms. Smytheson said after the boys left. “I got the impression from his conversation that he’s gay. Is that right?”

“Yes, but I didn’t hire him because of that,” I said. “We didn’t discover that until he started hanging around with Dave, who he met in one of his classes. They’re both remarkable young men and have come to look on me as somewhat of a father figure. I suppose the graying hair and the sparseness of it only adds to the effect. Come, we can go into the kitchen and sit at the table if you need to write. Would you like some ice tea or spring water, they’re both chilled?”

“Yes, thank you, spring water will be fine.”

* * * *

While I filled out and signed a bunch of papers, Ms. Smytheson made some calls to various people in town and made notes on a big tablet. Finally, she seemed satisfied that I wasn’t an ogre or pervert who might prey on an innocent boy and gathered up all the papers. I walked her to the door and she said I would have to go down to Lyons to attend some meetings and would let me know when. I thanked her for trusting me with Erik’s care and watched her walk out to her car.

I wanted something new to do, so I guess getting a foster son was something that might keep me busy for a while until I figured out how to get along in Warnton without a job. I wasn’t sure when school started in Warnton or if the town actually had a school. The way town and cities were structured in New York it was possible the school might be located in a larger town; I had never considered that about Warnton. I went into my study and looked up Warnton on the computer. After a bit of searching, I found out that we did have a high school—actually it was a combination of middle and high schools—and it was only three blocks from my house. How could I live in a town the size of Warnton and not know where the public schools were. Talk about not paying attention to the world around you. Jerry and Erik walked into the study and sat down on the chairs by the fireplace.

“Sir, I put Erik in the bedroom on the other side of my bathroom,” Jerry said. “Is that okay?”

“Sure, that’s fine. Erik, did Jerry help you get moved in?”

“Uh, no, sir, my suitcase is still in the living room,” he said in a more diminutive voice than he had used before. I suspected something was going on and I hoped something hadn’t happened between Erik and the two older boys.

“Why don’t you go get your bag and take it up to your room,” I said. “I want to talk with Jerry a little bit and then I’ll send him up to be with you. I don’t want you to be afraid of us. Jerry and I are still getting to know each other, but I’m positive we’ll all learn to get along. Run along, now.”

“Yes, sir, and thank you, sir, for letting me live with you for however long you will have me,” Erik said in the same soft voice that had the air of someone who was very scared of something. Had this boy been abused?

“I suppose you want to talk about our sleeping arrangement,” Jerry said after Erik left.

“Well, that wasn’t what I was thinking, but I suppose we should consider it, after all Erik will be living on your floor. What’s your impression of him? He seems awfully quiet to me.”

“Well, sir, uh, Geoff, Erik has been through a lot over the past couple days and he told me he’s been physically abused ever since the adults he was living with decided he was gay because he didn’t fit their idea of what a normal teenager should be doing with his life.”

“Is he gay?”

“I think so; he intimated something like that when we were talking.”

“Okay. Does he have a problem with it?”

“I think he’s scared to death of all of the unknowns.”

“Well, I don’t know all the ins and outs of being young and gay these days, so I guess we’ll have to use Dave for some of the advice and I’ll certainly try to help in the meager way I can. It’s a shame I’m nearly old enough to be his grandfather. Speaking of which, how come I have him and county didn’t take him to his relatives?”

“All of Erik’s close relatives are either dead or don’t want anything to do with him. On top of that, they all live in Maine. I guess the county welfare people didn’t want to just drop him in the middle of Maine without any chance of support so they came here thinking that the former couple who lived here would take him in. He was kind of shocked you were willing. What are we having for dinner?”

“What are you cooking?”

“Me? I’m the houseboy, not the cook.”

“Okay, I tell you what. I’ll fix something for myself and my new foster son and you can fend for yourself, houseboy.”

“Touché! Okay, how about those steaks we were going to barbecue anyway, some kind of salad, and a vegetable?”

“Where’s Dave?”

“He went back to the dorm. He said he’ll see me tomorrow, since we have Erik and will need some time settling him into the house.”

“Speaking of which, you better get on upstairs and see how he’s doing.”

“Sure thing boss.”

I got my phone and called the high school to find out about registering Erik. I told the secretary who I was and she told me Ms. Smytheson had stopped by and given them all the information they would need to get his school records from Maine. She told me to bring him in on Monday and they would admit him then. I thanked her, but strangely she told me to go into Rochester and see about getting him a clarinet because his was probably in the van, which was on its way to Illinois and he probably wouldn’t be able to get his back in time, if ever. She gave me the address of a music store that rented instruments. I figured it was time for a little chat with the new resident.

* * * *

I climbed up the stairs and heard voices when I reached the second floor. I followed them down the hall to the door to Erik’s room. He and Jerry were lying on his bed facing each other. Jerry’s hand lay softly on Erik’s smooth cheek. I knocked on the doorframe and Erik jumped off the bed. He flattened his back against the wall seemingly steeling himself against a suspected attack. Jerry looked over at me. I sat down on the bed behind Jerry and lightly rubbed his shoulder. Erik stared at me.

“Erik, why don’t you come back and get on the bed,” I calmly said with a smile.

He bit his lower lip like he was about to start crying and whispered, “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Come on, Erik, Geoff isn’t going to hit you,” Jerry said. “You know he’s gay. Just because he’s an adult doesn’t mean he has to be bad to you.”

“I’m afraid,” Erik whispered. Tears continued to stream down his cheeks.

Jerry got up off the bed and pulled the younger boy into a hug. I watched them and stood up. There was nothing I could do now except leave Jerry to comfort a scared little boy.

I was going to have to get Erik in to see a psychologist and went downstairs to call Ms. Smytheson—or, her office, if she had gone home directly after coming to Warnton—to see if there was someone she could recommend here in town. I wasn’t particularly interested in taking Erik all the way down to Lyons, but would if necessary.

Luckily, she stopped in the office and took my call. She wasn’t surprised about my request and gave me the name and phone number of a clinic in Warnton. And, surprisingly, she said that since Erik was a foster child he would be receiving Medicaid so I didn’t need to worry about getting him medical insurance on my own. I thanked her and hung up. I called the clinic and made an appointment for the following Friday. They asked what the problem was and I said Erik had been abused when the adults he had been living with suspected he was gay. I said that he showed fear when I was in his room even though someone else was in there and had started crying. They asked if I had notified the police and I told them he was a foster child. They said they would contact the county child welfare office for the particulars and thanked me for making an appointment for him. After the call, I went back upstairs. The boys were in the positions they had been the first time.

At the door, I said, “May I come in?”

Erik eyes went wide, but Jerry grabbed his arm.

“Uh, uh, you’re not getting away this time,” Jerry said. “Come in, Geoff, and have a seat.”

I walked in and went over to the desk where I turned the chair around and sat down. Erik continued to stare at me clearly in fear of my presence.

“Erik, I made an appointment for you next Friday to see a local psychologist about the fear you’re expressing toward me,” I said. “I hope that is okay because, since you’re going to be living with me, I need you to be calm when you and I are alone in a room, which is bound to happen. Does that sound okay to you?”

“W-w-will I have to tell the psychologist I’m gay,” Erik said.

“Maybe not at the beginning, but you shouldn’t fear your psychologist. When I was your age my best friend died and I couldn’t handle it and tried to commit suicide. My parents sent me to see a child psychologist, but he wasn’t any good with teens and when another friend died I tried to do it again, but this time I saw someone who was good with teens and he got me over my problems. So I guess what I’m saying is that you need to talk to your psychologist, but if after a few visits you don’t feel comfortable talking to him or her, you should say something and we can get you someone else you might be more comfortable talking with. Erik, did you ever tell those adults you are gay?”

“No, but Mr. Arnold beat me just because he thought I was and he used his belt when he did it.”

“Oh, Erik, no wonder you’re scared of me. So, what’s with the clarinet thing. The high school said I need to take you into Rochester tomorrow to get a clarinet. What’s that all about? Do you play?”

“Oh, yes, do they have a band or an orchestra? I prefer orchestra because bands usually have to wear uniforms and march on football fields. I don’t think I’ll like marching or playing martial music. I like symphonies best and jazz.”

“Oh, who’s your favorite jazz clarinetist?”

“Well, of course, Benny Goodman and Pete Fountain, but I also really, really like Aker Bilk.”

“Who?” Jerry asked, saving me the trouble.

“He’s from England and wrote ‘Stranger on the Shore.’ It is my favorite song to play on a clarinet other than the glissando at the beginning of the ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ by George Gershwin. I got to play that last winter in a concert. I was in the city youth symphony.”

“I heard that once when I lived in LA.; it’s a beautiful musical piece and that clarinet bit is absolutely haunting,” I said. “I wonder if there is a youth symphony in Rochester. We’ll have to ask tomorrow when we’re down there. Erik do you know how much a clarinet costs? Maybe I should just buy you one if you’re so good.”

“Well, I don’t know if you’d want to buy me a good one, unless they had a reconditioned used one because they can be rather expensive. A really good professional clarinet can cost over five thousand dollars.”

“For a black stick of wood?” Jerry asked. “Oh, sir, can you be thinking of spending that much? We don’t even know if Erik is going to be able to stay with us. Why don’t you just rent him one. Do you think they do that?”

“Well, the store we’re going to does rent them,” I said. “Erik, how about a walk? We could go down to the high school and look around; it’s only a few blocks away. When we get back we can get things ready for dinner. Come on, Jerry, let’s get the house buttoned up a bit and you can go with us.”

* * * *

It was a pleasant walk a half block down Winesap to Fifth Street, which we followed for three full blocks to a surprisingly large two-story brick building. It had just turned four and I was surprised there were still cars in the parking lot. We went up to the doors and, as they were unlocked, we went in. There was a custodian there wiping smudges off a glass case and I asked her if it was okay if we looked around. She said she was going to lock up at four-thirty and asked what we were looking for. I explained that Erik was my new foster child and would be attending the high school come Monday morning. She said we should go down to the office and check with them. So we did.

In the office, I, again, explained what we were doing there and the secretary said they had just received a preliminary email from the Maine school district where Erik attended and looked forward to seeing us Monday. In the meantime, we were free to look around until the custodian was going to lock the door. She gave Erik a map of the school and welcomed him to Tiger country. He gave her a weak smile and whispered thank you. Maybe Erik was just naturally shy.

We got to the back of the school just as the football team and band were getting on the buses for an out of town game, but one of the adults came over and asked what we were doing there. I explained the situation and he said he was Mr. Alexander the band teacher and welcomed Erik to Tiger country. Erik pointedly asked him if he had to take band or if they had an orchestra. Unfortunately, Tiger country was a band land and they marched in purple and yellow uniforms with shako hats that had silver plumes. I asked if Rochester had a youth symphony and Mr. Alexander said yes and asked Erik if he was good enough to play in a youth symphony. Surprisingly, Erik came right out and said he had been the clarinet soloist in concert when his youth symphony played “Rhapsody in Blue.” Mr. Alexander didn’t seem too impressed and asked Erik if he could prove it. Erik told him to go on You Tube, search for Erik Robertson, and he could listen for himself. Mr. Alexander was definitely impressed and said he knew the clarinet instructor at Warnton College and would be willing to introduce him for possible lessons. Erik was tickled and apologized for sounding like a music snob.

“Did you see him and what he was doing?” Jerry asked after Mr. Alexander left and got on one of the buses.

“Yeah, I saw what he was doing,” Erik said. “He was perving me and he was getting hard. I bet he was thinking about what he could do to me if he got me alone in the band room. I’ve seen that look before and it’s creepy.”

“Crap! I wonder who he’s going to try and hook you up with at Warnton,” I said. “Come on, let’s go home; I’m pissed.”

We walked around the side of the school and saw some boys playing a pickup game of basketball on an asphalt court and they stopped when we walked by. One of them broke away from the group and walked along the high chain-link fence as we walked on the other side. At the gate he came out and sort of confronted us.

“Hi, I’m Gerry Parker; I’ve never seen any of you around here before, are you new in town?” he said.

“I live a few blocks up Fifth; I used to be a professor at the college,” I said. “The big boy is Jerry; he’s a first-year at the college; and, under the hoodie is Erik; he’ll be attending here starting Monday. We just came down to look around.”

“Freshmen, huh, well it’s a good thing you met me now, gets all the social niceties out of the way,” Gerry said. “I’m senior class president and varsity guard on the basketball team; and, no, I don’t date a cheerleader. Erik, you’re a little scrawny to play any sports, do you have any activities other than pre-marital sex?”

“Uh, I play the clarinet, but I guess you don’t have an orchestra here. Mr. Alexander said he might be able to find me a private instructor at the college.”

“You met creepy Alexander? Did he try to get in your pants or did your buds here protect you from his wandering eyes?”

“I just talked to him for a little bit, but Jerry said he saw him giving me the evil eye. I saw it, too.”

“Jerry, is that “g” Gerry or “j” Jerry? I’m a ‘g’.”

“‘J’.”

“Oh, okay, well welcome to Tiger country, anyway. Jerry, you wouldn’t need help finding a girl would you? I have an older sister who’s between boyfriends right now.”

“No, I met someone in one of my classes.”

“Oh, okay, nice knockers?”

“No, Dave’s pecs aren’t all that big considering he was a football player last year in his high school.”

“Oh, hey, um, uh, say, do you think we could get together sometime? You know, just to talk. I mean, if you have a friend already I wouldn’t want to horn in on your relationship or anything, but I’m kind of between boyfriends, too, and while there are some gays here most of them are already paired up or downright skeezy.”

“Skeezy?” I asked.

“Oh, sir, you don’t want to know.”

“If you want to meet up with Jerry you can find him at my home at 319 Winesap Lane,” I said. “Big house, cream with green trim, big front porch. The house number is out by the sidewalk.”

“319 Winesap? I used to go trick-or-treating up that way when I was a kid; you always handed out full-sized MILKY WAY® Midnight Dark bars and you didn’t refuse to hand them out until I got too tall and you asked me how old I was. Who were those young men there? Were they your boyfriends?”

“No, my houseboys. I always hire college students to help around the house. That’s what Jerry is doing this year and Erik is my foster child. Gerry, you’re welcome to come up to the house whenever you want.”

“Jerry, can I get your number?”

While they were setting their cells, a couple of the other boys came over and soon Jerry found himself being absorbed into a cluster of high school boys who didn’t care if he was in college, from out-of-state, or gay. Erik looked up at me with a worried look.

“It’s just you and me, kid; what say we go back home and make a potato salad,” I said. “I’ll teach you how to peel potatoes.”

“I know how to peel potatoes,” Erik said softly.

We left and silently walked home. Erik maintained a separation of about three feet from me reinforcing the feeling he wasn’t comfortable being around adult men. I really hoped he was going to be able to stay with me because I saw some potential in him and if I was able to influence his education, I was certain he should have a good chance of getting into an excellent university after high school, unless he was a dummy, which I hadn’t seen any evidence of, so far.