Cody in Wyoming - 5. Chapter 5

I knelt on the bedroom floor, sorting my dirty laundry. I don’t know why, but Butch takes this as an invitation to play. Maybe it’s being on his level. He began by knocking me sideways with a hit from his hindquarters, then he threatened me with a facial lick. He lay down and pawed me, then rolled on his back and demanded a belly rub. While rubbing his belly, I looked at his happy dog smile, mostly big teeth. It’s remarkable how coy his toothy grin could be, well, threatening and endearing and coy – all three at once.

While tussling with him and trying to accomplish my sorting task, I thought back a couple weeks to my visit with Rence. I remembered our tentative kiss at the top of the stair, the softness of his lips. He hadn’t, nor had I, pressed into the kiss. It was light, exploring new ground, unsure. It’s strange that an adult can revisit his youth, can revisit that time of life that’s inexperienced and uncertain, even with nearly forty years of life under his belt. I could feel the corners of my mouth twitch upwards with my reminiscences of kisses.

I swatted Butch on the rump but then lost my focus again, losing myself in my memories of the visit.

That afternoon, we’d done much more than kiss and eat lunch together. We had been able to cover a lot of ground while enjoying the lamb stew.

It began with my confiding my curiosity about him, about why he was manning a gas station on such an isolated stretch of highway. It seemed smart to begin with a concrete question, so I asked him about his business card. What was his connection to Carbon Springs Ranch?

“Well, Karl, that’s a good place to start. Can you stay with me while I recite a little family history?”

I nodded and gave him a non-verbal cue to show my agreement.

“Just remember, you agreed to the recitation! I’ll try to make this quick.” Rence put down his silverware and looked directly at me.

“You probably know that Basques have made a name for themselves here in the US as shepherds. That’s how my family began here in the States. My great grandfather was the youngest son of an industrialist’s family in Bilbao, Spain. Being the youngest son, he had no real future there, so he emigrated and found work as a lowly sheep herder in Southern Idaho.

“His father died soon after he arrived in the States, but the family had lost track of him. It took almost a decade for them to locate him with his portion of the inheritance. By then, he had established himself on a Wyoming sheep operation with his wife and child. It was a bad time in the sheep market, so the ranch owners were ready to get out and he had the newfound wealth to buy the ranch. He named it Ynzunza Ranch and made a successful operation out of it. It’s now the neighboring ranch to Carbon Springs.”

Rence bit into a piece of lamb and chewed thoughtfully before taking up the story again.

“You see, when my father attended the University of Wyoming (he studied animal husbandry – there’s a story there for another day…), he met his future wife in his ag economics class – his future wife who just happened to be the daughter of the homesteaders who owned Carbon Springs Ranch. Long story short, like the royal realms of old, when dad married mom, they joined the two ranches into a single operation. When mom and dad passed away, my sister inherited the Carbon Springs Ranch and I inherited Ynzunza Ranch, though we still run them as one operation under the Carbon Springs name. Because it’ll all be going to my sis and her family when I’ve passed, it’ll be one operation again legally. You’ve know my nephew, Peio, downstairs. He has an older brother and a sister, so someday, the three of them will be running the ranches.”

“So, you’re not going to get married and have kids or get partnered and adopt?”

“Karl, at our age we would be adopting a grandchild, not a child. Can that even be done? No, I kinda think having a kid to bequeath the ranch to is not in the works.”

I stopped listening after he said, “we would be adopting…” I knew what he intended to say, but for a moment there, I had interpreted his comment as the two of us, together, adopting and creating our own family. It surprised me how attractive that sounded. I had to run the conversation backwards so I could get the gist of it and rejoin it.

“Is that really fair to you? Couldn’t they buy you out or isn’t there some way for you to get paid for your ranch so you could, I don’t know, retire to the Riviera or something?”

“That assumes I would want to be elsewhere.” Rence pointed at me with his fork.

“Nope, I don’t want to go anywhere, now. I had my chance to make my mark on the world. After I came out, I looked for a way to move out into the wide world and leave this small one. Listen, my degrees might explain things. The B.S. was in animal husbandry, the M.S. was in ag education, but the PhD was in Basque studies. Big switcheroonie, there! When I first went to college, I expected to move back to the here and be able to care better for the rangeland and the herds. I stayed at university because my parents valued education and because I wasn’t ready to return to the homestead after getting my B.S. And because I hoped to keep my deferment and keep out of Viet Nam. You remember those times, don’t you? Talk about overheated! Talk about craziness!

“But back to my story… as I was completing my M.S. I began to understand I was different from my colleagues. After completion, I found a job teaching at a junior college in Reno, Nevada. That’s where I finally made peace with my sexuality. I returned to school and did my PhD tracing the Basque diaspora in the American west.

“I thought I had permanently settled in Reno until my parents began to get old and sick. That made me change my perspective abruptly. Suddenly, I missed my family and the homestead. I missed the rural community and the quiet of the Wyoming countryside and I couldn’t wait to come home. But coming home didn’t happen the way I had hoped or expected. Seven years ago, Mom and Dad were killed in an accident (it happens a lot out here in on our county roads) and suddenly Paula and Ramiro (that’s my sister and brother-in-law) couldn’t keep ahead of the work at the ranch. Just as suddenly, I needed to be at home, so I left my tenured position and moved back. It’s not been easy, but I’ve never regretted the decision.”

I hummed a few bars and then serenaded him briefly, “Non, rien de rien. Non, je ne regrette rien!”

Rence tilted his head and then caught the allusion. He chuckled. “No Regrets” – Edith Piaf.* Yeah, like that. It’s strange to feel so certain, but I am… certain, that is, not strange… well, maybe I’m strange too. Whatever… This was absolutely the right thing for me to do.”

“In all that time, I mean, we’re talking a couple decades aren’t we? In all that time, did you settle into a relationship? Were you ever in love?” I was fishing.

“Yeah, I had a partner while in Reno. It was good, but it wasn’t great. I suppose I thought I was in love, but now I’m not so sure. We owned a house together. We had mutual friends. We took vacations together. But, when I came to my senses and realized where “home” was, where I needed to be, it was surprisingly easy to leave the relationship. Well, it was surprisingly easy for me, at least. Julian took it hard. That was four years ago and Julian’s now happy in another relationship – and the two of us are talking again. And I’m single, still.”

Rence paused and took a bite of salad. “There aren’t a lot of options out here if you know what I mean. That being said, I’m not uncomfortable… well, maybe it’s more accurate to say I’m not desperate.” With that comment he gave an ironic “chuff”.

Butch mouthed my sleeve, demanding my attention. I refocused on sorting my laundry. It was Monday of the final week of the run of my current production. This time next week, I’d be flying to Kansas City to help my mother settle into her new home. Then I would fly down to LA for a couple appointments with a voice coach before taping some voice-overs.

------------- ~ o ~ -------------

It had been a harrowing rush to Seatac airport only to find the flight had been delayed. I was too keyed up to read my airport fiction so found myself at loose ends for an hour before boarding began. My thoughts returned to my conversation with Rence on that cold afternoon in Wyoming.

“So, Rence, you’ve ended back at your family homestead. What about this gas station. How does it fit into your return to your roots?”

“It’s not as much of a stretch as you might guess. You know how commodity prices have shot through the roof recently. They’re never predictable, but it got ridiculous a few years ago. It made sense to diversify and not be as dependent on the price of lamb or fleece. So, we (that’s me and my extended family) got together and decided to open this station and shop. It was the same impetus that got us to start the dairy herd and cheese making. We’re still casting about for other ways to make money without having to leave the ranch. Got any good ideas?”

“Yeah, like, ‘My uncle’s got a barn… We could do a show!’? I could be Mickey Rooney to your Judy Garland.” I looked at the balding, solid, handsome man sitting across the table from me. “Or vice versa.

“Wait! You mean, the station’s on the ranch? Where’s the rest of it? Where’re the sheep and all?”

Rence stood and motioned me to a dormer that faced the foothills in the distance. I stood and followed him to the window. I felt confused. I didn’t remember seeing any structures behind the station. Out the window, I searched for any sign of a ranch house or outbuildings. Nothing. Nothing more than the flat expanse of snow-covered patchy scrub and grassland. In the distance were the ridges of rocky foothills with a dark shadow of conifers on their higher slopes. They rose until obscured in the leaden, snow laden clouds.

“Karl, you can’t see the ranch from here, but see the first range of foothills? The Carbon Springs Ranch is behind them. Ynzunza Ranch isn’t visible at all from here. It’s south of CS Ranch, so it’s higher elevation so it has some prime pasture for summer browse.”

“But that’s miles from here!”

“Yeah, the CS ranch house is 12 miles from here. Ynzunza is 26 miles by road.” He put his arm over my shoulders as we looked over the gray landscape. It felt good.

I turned to face him. “Wait… you mean you own everything between the highway and back into the mountains?”

“Yeah, the two ranches cover nearly 30,000 acres. It’s a little more than average, but it’s not uncommon for ranches around here, especially the older ones, like the CS.”

“You gotta be kidding! That’s huge! You must be worth mill--… well… an awful lot!”

“Hey, city boy… this is Wyoming. Property values aren’t like they are on the coasts. But you’re right, the ranches would be worth a lot of money if we sold out. But so what! It’s not like we’re gonna sell. You heard how I value this land. You’ve got to realize it’s not just the land I’m talking about. It’s the way of life. It’s the community. It’s the family history. It’s the cultural history. It’s my personal history too, the best fishing holes up in the foothills, my first trout cooked on a campout under the ponderosas, listening to the black grouse calling, the spot where I watched a mama bear face off coyotes after hustling her cubs up a tree. I remember 1963, listening to the news reports about the Kennedy assassination. In 1969, I remember standing behind the house, looking up at the full moon and realizing that humans were walking on that glowing disk.

“I’ve got a lot of my life wrapped up in these hills. And now my nephews and niece are experiencing the same things, or their version of the same things. You know, like 9/11 and the 1997 and ’98 Bronco Superbowl championships. You get the idea. Some of it’s bad, some is good, but it’s our personal histories.

“I know you can’t live for the past, but it does add an extra savor to the present. I’ve learned its value after thinking I could dispense with it. I was wrong. This is where I belong. It’s my past, but it’s my present and my future to the extent I can see it.”

My reminiscences were interrupted by a young family gathering their belongings: diaper bag, child carrier, toys for their toddler, stroller and sundry other carry-ons and heading to the jetway. We were beginning the boarding process. I seriously hoped I’d be far from the kids while in flight. I seriously hoped my mother had checked with the airline before leaving for the airport. We were boarding nearly an hour later than scheduled. I hated to think of her cooling her heals in the Kansas City airport waiting for the delayed flight. Damn it! I really needed to get a cell!

------------- ~ o ~ -------------

“How was your flight?” Mom squinted up at me.

“Fine, Mama. You know, it’s funny… you move to Kansas City and I still have to fly to Denver to come see you. That’s the only way to get here from Seattle.

“I hope you called before leaving home. Did you have to wait in the airport? I tried phoning from Denver, but you must have left already. You’ll hear the message when we get to your apartment. How are you settling into the apartment, by the way?”

“Oh, it was fine.” She showed me her knitting bag.

“I’m working on a sweaters for Keith’s kids.” Meaning she hadn’t checked in advance and had been stuck in the airport for the extra hour. She took out a sleeve with an intricate, multicolored pattern that she’d been working on.

“My new apartment is fine. It’s a little snug, but it’s comfortable. Being in the community has been wonderful as well. I’ve already been on excursions to the symphony and been shopping at the Plaza and even been to a theater matinee last weekend.”

“Really? What did you see?”

“We saw ‘Othello’. It was… very well done.” Mom looked uncomfortable. No surprise. ‘Othello’ is filled with base language and ends tragically. Not something my mother would be comfortable with.

“That’s great, Mom! Who were the leads? Anyone I know?” I tried to change the direction of the conversation.

“Oh Karl, you know I can’t keep track of who’s who. I have no idea. The cast was impressive. Its ended, but they’re moving on to ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’. Do you want to go? We could make it a family outing with Keith and Kevin and their families. I suspect you’d enjoy the performance, especially the woman who played Desdemona in ‘Othello’. She’ll be playing Tatiana. You might know her. The program mentioned she’s from LA.”

“I’ll think about it, but our priority has to be getting you settled in, Mama. I’ve only got a short while to visit before heading home and then down to LA for some voiceover work. Still, if you still have the program, I’d love to see who’s in the cast.”

“I may still have it. I’ll have to look. I don’t know where anything is at this point!”

We continued to chat as we approached her car. I settled Mom into the passenger seat, threw my carryon into the back seat and then we left for the long drive to Mom’s new home. Mom continued to describe the politics and social tensions of living in a active adult’s community: the dining, the excursions, the various clubs and the other residents. She sounded as if she was adjusting well to her new living conditions. And it sounded as if she was past the initial desolation she’d felt after Jack’s death.

After we arrived at her unit, Mom showed me the tasks she wanted to accomplish during my brief visit. I changed from my travel clothes, strapped on a carpenter’s apron and began hanging the pictures and photos as Mom requested. While I’m nowhere near as butch as my brothers, or even their wives, work in college scene shops made me comfortable with a hammer and tape measure.

For dinner, Mom put together one of her standard meals: chicken, broccoli and egg noodles. She complemented me (effusively) on the work we had already accomplished and she brought up the subject of my move and the subsequent failure of my relationship.

“Karl, you’ve got to keep a positive attitude because then, surely, you’ll find things will work out for the best.” Mom’s optimism can be a bit irksome. On the one hand, it got her through WWII and the death of her two husbands. On the other hand, it was based on her belief in God, a belief we didn’t share. As she continued in the same, inspirational vein, I couldn’t help remembering the old WWII song she used to sing to us when we were young,

Accentuate the positive.
Eliminate the negative.
Latch on to the affirmative,
don’t mess with Mister in between!

You gotta spread joy up to the maximum.
Bring gloom down to the minimum.
Have faith or pandemonium's
li'ble to walk upon the scene.

A moment of silence brought me back to the present.

“Uh, thanks, Mom. We’ll see…”

“Have you met anyone through that new theater you’re working with in Seattle? Are you getting out?”

“Not yet, Mama. I’ve just not felt up to it. I’m fine at the theater, but socially… let’s say my confidence is a bit shaken.” I knew I shouldn’t bring up the subject of Rence, but at the same time, I wanted her to know that I was making an attempt.

“Actually, Mama, I have met an interesting guy, though he’s not in Seattle. He’s in Wyoming and we met, as luck would have it, while I was driving out to Boulder the last two times. He’s a rancher.”

“A rancher?”

“Yeah, he and his sister own a pair of ranches in Carbon County, just north of the Colorado border. They raise sheep.”

“Really? Sheep? How did you meet?”

I could see my mother’s discomfort, her worry that something illicit or sordid had already happened between Rence and me. I often feel I need to contradict my mother’s image of gay men as simpering tarts or sexual predators. It’s the image that was current in the 40’s when she was a young adult. I often feel like it’s best not to fill her in on the details of my life because I’m not confident she’d be comfortable knowing them. I’ve never forgotten her expression when I first told her of my sexual orientation. She said she understood, but she retreated and hid her emotions behind an iron curtain of Lutheran rectitude.

“Well, Mama, he’s not only a rancher, he owns a gas station on I-80. I stopped at the station on my first trip out and then again on my second trip out. He remembered me and we struck up a conversation. It turns out he’s an interesting guy.”

I pulled out his academic credentials to illustrate his cosmopolitan perspective. “He has his PhD in Basque studies and taught at the University of Nevada, Reno before moving back to Wyoming to be closer to his family. In fact, on my return last time, he served me lunch at the station and we got to know one another a bit.”

The PhD piqued her interest. It conformed to her WASP idea of propriety. A gas station owner and rancher certainly wouldn’t be “suitable material” for a partner for one of her offspring.

“… Basque studies… I take it he’s Basque then?”

I was beginning to think I had made a tactical error in mentioning him.

“Yes, yes he is. Actually, I think you might like him, if anything comes of this. He’s traveled a good deal, mostly to the Basque region of Spain and France. He seems to have a foot in Wyoming and a foot in northern Spain. You know, he ran with the bulls in Pamplona when he was younger. He has some interesting stories to tell.” I was shamelessly pandering to Mom’s interests and life experience. Being the daughter of Lutheran missionaries, she was born in southern China and had been educated at a Lutheran school in Switzerland. I hoped the breadth of his life experience would resonate with her. Apparently not, though, because she changed the subject and we moved on to talk about my nieces and nephews and their lives in Kansas City.

------------- ~ o ~ -------------

“OK kids, backstage is going to be a madhouse, especially since this was the first performance. If we go backstage to meet Monica, we have to stay together, keep quiet and keep your hands to yourself.” My ‘piercing gaze’ seemed to have no effect on my youngest nieces and nephews. I felt like a teacher on a field trip or a tour guide to my nephews and nieces and a couple of their dates, not to mention my mother, my brothers and their wives.

Mom and I had accomplished our goals. Her pictures were all hung, her food and kitchen implements stored away within reach, her furniture placed, a futon for the guestroom was ordered, her wireless set up, her e-mail and web access established. And our extensive nuclear family had just attended the first night of ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’. As luck would have it, I had known the woman who played Tatiana. We had both been in a Shephard production at the Taper Forum nearly six years before. I was herding my family backstage to meet Monica and so they could bask in the apparent “glamour” of the theater. And they were (mostly) thrilled at the opportunity to meet the cast. We’d waited quietly in the house to let the cast get into street clothes and then I had given the house manager my card with instructions to give it to Monica, only to realize she was “Mona” here in KC. Mona had appeared within minutes, all grandiose gestures and brilliant clothes and hair. She swept up to me, gave me the requisite air kisses and gushed when she saw the assembled crowd of children, teenagers and adults. She’s always been one to play to an audience. After we’d caught up briefly, she offered to take my family on a tour of the stage and backstage areas. The kids were agog at their good fortune. I had no doubt they would have tales to share with their school mates come Monday. But before we went backstage, I collected them and gave them my lecture.

When Mona opened the door we heard a cacophony of laughing and shouting backed with the beats of house music. The opening night party had begun. Amid the madness, the stage crew were bustling about collecting props and packing away costumes. The kids glanced about, drinking in the ambience of the theater. After a tour of the set, Mona took us to the green room, where the cast was gathering. As we turned into the room, a champagne cork bounced off the ceiling accompanied by a loud pop. Mona introduced the family to several cast members and then Keith suggested that we should be going. I don’t know if he was worried about over stimulating the kids or if he felt the scene was a little too racy for their midwestern minds. I, however, wasn’t ready to leave Mona or her friends, so I arranged for Mom to get a ride home with Kevin, leaving me her car.

After the family had made their exit, despite the grumbling of the teenagers, I found myself in conversation with the handsome young actor who had played Lysander. I was trying to remember his name. Andrew, it had to be Andrew. At least I thought it was Andrew. Mona was no help; she stood across the room chatting with one of the producers. She was definitely “networking”.

“Karl, I haven’t seen you in any recent movies, though I loved your character in the last one. There are rumors you’ve retired. Have you left Hollywood? That can’t be true! You were so good in the last remake of ‘A Star is Born’!”

Andrew was gushing. I tried to ignore the subtext accentuated my his many light touches and focused on answering his question.

“No, no, I’m still working. I’ve not met a wealthy patron. Not yet, at least. And retirement seems a long way off. No, I’m just cooling my heels for a while. I moved to Seattle a couple years ago. You know – family reasons. I expect I’ll be back in LA before long. In fact, I’ll be working there during the next few months. You may see this mug on the big screen in a couple years and for years to come!”

“That wouldn’t be so bad. I’m sure that’ll make some people very happy.” He touched my shoulder and gave me a secretive smile. I looked around the room, searching for an escape. Mona caught my eyes and gave me a smirk. Damn that woman! She was clearly enjoying my discomfort.

“Some members of the cast are going out for a late dinner. Maybe you’d like joined us?” He dropped his gaze and then looked up again, his blue eyes partially hidden by his long lashes. He looked hopefully at me.

I was saved when Mona steered herself up to our little duo. “Karl, you’ll be joining us for a light dinner, won’t you? We need to catch up and I’m sure that Anthony would love to hear our stories from bygone years!” Perhaps I hadn’t been saved after all. And it was Anthony, not Andrew. I am such a shit when it comes to remembering names.

“Mona, Anthony, what can I say? I can’t make it a late night though. I have to catch a flight back to Seattle tomorrow.”

“Not to worry, not to worry, my dear! Mona will take you under her wing… or perhaps Anthony will take you in hand!”

“Mona, you naughty vixen!”

I swatted her behind and she let out a very unladylike blast of laughter. “Ladies” should not guffaw! In my peripheral vision I noticed Anthony was blushing. He appeared to have hopes for us for later that evening.

“Alright everyone!” Mona announced to the entire room, “Karl will be joining Anthony and little me for dinner and drinks. Who will be joining us? Gather your belongings and join us in the garage in 10 minutes and we’ll caravan! Ho!”

The chatter dropped about twenty decibels as the cast departed to the dressing rooms to pack up.

Before leaving for his dressing room, Anthony (not Andrew, I chided myself) looked up at me.

“You will be joining us for dinner, won’t you?”

“Yes, Anthony, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Call me Tony, please?”

“Sure… Tony.” I graced him with my “confident” smile.

He squeezed my shoulder again, then turned and strolled out, catching my eyes just before he turned the corner. I had been watching his retreating figure and wondering how he could possess such a luscious rear end and be so slim in the rest of his physique. He had been perfectly cast as Lysander: a bit naïve, but young and attractive.

While waiting, I computed how long dinner might take, how many hours sleep I would need, how many hours I had before I needed to return to Mom’s, and whether I could arrange for some horizontal time with Anthony. He certainly was attractive and willing… smitten even. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to take advantage of his naivety. Then again, I wasn’t sure I didn’t want to take advantage of his naivety. Sometimes, I feel like a dirty old man.

------------- ~ o ~ -------------

Our group of 15 or so ended up at a Spaghetti Factory type of restaurant. Soon, we were eating gigantic portions of uninspired, Italo-American food served in god-awfully over-decorated surroundings. I guessed it was the best that Kansas City could manage for late night dining. Yes, Toto, I was in Kansas; I wasn’t in LA anymore! My cohorts didn’t seem to be put off by the menu or décor, so I tried to climb off my high horse and adapt to mid-western esthetics.

Anthony – or rather, Tony, cozied up to me during the rest of the evening. Mona didn’t join our conversation but kept busy entertaining our other companions. She did not, as she had originally suggested, regale Tony with tales of our mis-spent youths. Tony spent most of dinner inquiring about my acting career, balancing between digging for gossip and bona-fide interest in the profession. I’m proud that I’ve been able to cobble together a middle class existence from my acting work, but I’ve never flattered myself that I am a star. Tony, however, treated me royally. And I was flattered, though confused as well. I couldn’t convince myself that he was interested in me personally. He’d not known me long enough to develop a romantic interest. His interest appeared to be based on what professional credentials I possessed. That, or it was my appearance, which I flatter myself is still attractive – at least marketable enough for our trade. I am fortunate to still have a full brush of silver hair crowning my head, and being a professional actor, I maintain myself. Regular visits to the gym and the gym trainer’s attentions keep me fit while an occasional visit to the plastic surgeon keep my face looking, if not young then at least youthful.

As the hour approached midnight, the wait staff set up for the following day’s lunch crowd, so our crowd gathered our belongings and made for the door. At her car, I gave Mona a warm hug and we promised to do a hypothetical “lunch”, knowing the improbability of our ever getting together for a midday meal. She glanced at Tony and gave me a wink and a jab with her elbow before getting into her car and driving away. I turned to Tony, who was standing a few cars away, patiently waiting for my attention.

Tony and I then walked to his older Hyundai Elantra. By the looks of it, he was still driving the budget wheels his parents bought him when they sent him to college. All evening, I had been conflicted about whether to spend some time with Tony. No, I’m being too much of a prude. I had been arguing with myself about following him to his apartment and having wild sex with him. On the one hand; he was attractive both in personality and in body; he was certainly willing, given the looks he had been sending my way all evening; being an actor, he would understand the uncertain nature of the profession and wouldn’t have unreasonable expectations of me (or at least, I hoped he wouldn’t). On the other hand; there was a basic imbalance from our differing professional experience and our different ages; but mostly, there was my intuition which kept sending me warning signals… there was something needy in his demeanor. I couldn’t ignore the impression that he wanted me as a sugar daddy, not so much in the financial sense but in a professional way. He wanted the role of my protégé.

By the time we arrived at his car, I had reached my decision. I walked him to the driver’s side, handed him my card and encouraged him to contact me if ever in Seattle. I gave him a quick hug (and wondered if turning him down was a mistake when I felt his firm body against mine), a buss on the cheek (he tried to intercept my lips with his own, but I was familiar with that trick) and wished him a good night.

------------- ~ o ~ -------------

As my libido settled during the drive back to Mom’s apartment, I retired my thoughts of Tony and turned my thoughts back to Rence. The man was monopolizing my thoughts. That brief, flirty interlude with Tony reminded me of the comfort, pleasure and ease I enjoyed with my rancher friend.

Tomorrow, no, today, I was flying back to Seattle, by way of Denver. I decided I’d call Rence first thing in the morning to see if we could arrange for a layover in Denver so I could visit him once again, damn the expense. For the rest of the drive to Mom’s, I imagined what the evening would have been like if I had spent it with Rence instead of Tony. The thoughts of the many touches and the secretive looks and smiles warmed up my libido once again.

*The final lines of the song:

Non, rien de rien No, nothing at all
Non, je ne regrette rien No, I regret nothing
Car ma vie Because my life
Car mes joies Because my joys
Aujourd'hui Today
Ça commence avec toi... They begin with you…

Imagine the orchestration swelling with the conclusion of the song!
The translation, such as it is, is the fault of the author.