1968 - 10. Chapter 10

March 19. 1968

The flight settled down smoothly in Boston. Jeff was in a great mood, apparently happy to be with me. If he thought this would be like our road trip and that he'd worm his way back into being my boyfriend, he'd be mistaken. My goal was to transform our relationship into something like I had with Stefan, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to succeed. We took a cab to the hotel, all the while Jeff gaped at the scenery. He'd never been to Boston.

I got a room with one bed, a sign that I still cared about him, or so I hoped. It seemed to make him happy. It was evening by the time we got settled in the room, and I decided to go out for dinner. Last time we'd had room service I'd met Sam, and he was great, but I had enough guys in my life. We ate, and then went for a walk around campus. It was cold and brisk, but it was great to be back. This is where I did my undergrad years some ten to fourteen years ago, so it was like a homecoming for me. I showed Jeff my old stomping grounds, and saw students walking around looking pissed off. The rumors of military action against civilians were really going to change the equation if they were true. People were going to end up hating the military.

We got back to the room and there was an uncomfortable pause. “I'm gonna take a shower,” I said to him. “Wanna join me?” He got a big grin on his face and we headed to the shower. He stripped and I admired, once again, his magnificent body, and the fact that his dick was almost completely hard just at the thought of showering with me. While the water flowed over us our lips met, and I felt his hard dick poking my abdomen. We'd been together so long he knew how to push my buttons. He turned me around and soaped up my ass, then entered me gently but assertively. I moaned; he felt so good.

“Oh baby, it feels so good to be inside you again. No one feels as good as you. You're the best. You know exactly what to do to make me feel good. I love you so much baby.” His words didn't turn me on like they used to. I knew now that when he was making love that anything he said was so much bullshit. But I let him murmur in my ear and I responded anyway, focusing on how masculine he was and what a good lover he had evolved into. He came first, but it took me only a few strokes to finish myself off afterward.

We dried off and went to bed, cuddling like we always had. “I'm so glad we're together again,” he cooed.

I didn't know what to make of that. “It's nice to be with you,” I said.

“What are we going to tell Stefan and Sam?” he asked.

“Why would we worry about that? We had sex. They expect that. They're probably doing the same thing.” He looked at me in surprise.

“That's not what I meant,” he said, flummoxed.

“Jeff, I love you, I really do, but nothing has changed between us. We weren't exclusive lovers before, and we aren't now. I need you to accept that we're just not meant to be soul mates. Close friends, dear friends, yes. Soul mates, no.”

“If I lost you, then what's the use of all the work I did to get off drugs?” he asked a hint of emotional blackmail in that question.

“You got off drugs for you. Period. And what about Stefan? He is in love with you, and he's there for you. Are you going to throw that away chasing after dreams of the past?” He looked somber, so I kissed him. “You want everything. You want me and Stefan to be your harem, totally devoted to you. We don't work that way. The level of commitment you want can only come from one person, and that person isn't me.”

“But I love you,” he persisted.

“And I love you,” I said. I rambled on and on about our relationship and what a tumultuous ride it had been, and how I liked the stability that I had now. No matter what I said, he didn't get it. He got horny again but I didn't feel like sex so I blew him. After that he finally left me alone so I could go to sleep.

We made love again that morning, and then we headed to the auditorium for my talk. I saw Jeff wander off and talk to some of the hippie demonstrators, and I headed over to him. “Hey Jeff, can you help me get set up?” I asked. I introduced myself to the hippies and chatted a bit. One of the guys was cute, but why did they all have to stink so bad?

“Didn't trust me with them?” Jeff said. I realized he was playing me, figuring that if he migrated toward that crowd I'd intervene and take him back to save him.

“No, they seem like nice guys. But I need you to help me set up this stupid projector. You're good at this shit. Can you do that for me?” He got to work on it sullenly.

Harvard did a much better job of promoting my talk, and the room was packed with lots of students. Sam had helped me spruce up my talk so it wasn't so technical and it seemed to resonate better, even though these students were super bright. I had developed a theme to my talk: Before you attack the administration and faculty, try to find out if they're on your side first. How the institution got its research dollars, handled ROTC recruiting, and most of all, their attitude to the war and protesters were good indicators. I got a standing ovation at the end, and it was a little overwhelming.

Jeff helped me pack up and we headed to the airport for the brief flight to Philly. This time we rented a car, fought rush hour traffic, and didn't make it to Princeton until 8pm. We checked into the hotel and ordered room service. Jeff was in a good mood, telling me what a great job I'd done, how proud he was of me, and he made love to me that night, and the next morning, like he meant it. No bullshit, just two people who love each other. It was like sex with Stefan.

Princeton went just as well as Harvard. This was another homecoming, since Princeton was where I'd gotten my doctorate. The memories here were more recent, and more intimate. I'd met Andre here and been his roommate for two years; two years of suppressed desires as I'd fallen deeper and deeper in love with him. And I'd also met Peter Gordon here, and saved him from time in a jail cell and given him his fresh beginning. Jeff was amazing. He helped me get all set up, took care of all the little details. In fact, he took over so well I was able to spend some time with Professor Rosenburg, one of my mentors. I was a little nervous when he vanished during the last part of my talk, but he appeared again at the very end.

“We'd better get moving. We've got to get our stuff and get to the airport.” I said.

He smiled at me. “I already packed everything up and checked out. We're ready to go.”

“Thanks Jeff. You're pretty handy to have around.”

“Yep,” he said.

Jeff slept on the flight back while I read the paper. More riots and demonstrations, this time at Howard University. Howard was a mostly black university, and they'd combined the two hottest current issues: Civil rights and the Vietnam War. I shook my head, wondering if there would be a university left after those students vented their rage. They had some damn good reasons to be pissed off.

We got home right after dinner, but Anna heated something up for us. Everyone was glad to see us, especially the kids. Stefan looked nervous, Sam was serene but I could sense his nervousness underneath. After we ate I pulled him aside.

“It's good to see you. I missed you, a lot” I said with a grin, following it up with a big kiss.

“So nothing has changed?” he asked. Poor guy. This had been hell on him.

“Of course not,” I said. “I told you it wouldn't. If anything, I'm more in love with you than ever. Didn't Stefan cast his magic spell on you?”

“Stefan has a magic wand and a magic ass, but his powers are no match for my feelings for you.” I giggled.

We played with the kids and had a good time that night. And then, after we went to bed, Sam reminded me of how good sex could be between two people that are completely in love with each other.

March 31, 1968

Jeff, Stefan, and I sat around the television in Stefan's condo. The last week had been a whirlwind. Falstead had asked me to do a talk at Stanford. He reasoned that it was unfair that I was running around visiting other schools without sharing my insights with my own student body. I caved and did my dog and pony show last week, and it went great. So great it blew out my second section. The administration decided to transfer my class to one of the big lecture halls, doubling capacity, and Falstead let me hire two more T.A.s to help Sam. I teased Sam, telling him that we were so famous now he needed his own staff.

We were making great progress on the book, but I was worried since my schedule was jam-packed until at least the middle of May. There was one week in April, the week of April 16, which was free. Not only that, it was spring break. I told Sam to get his passport, and asked him to work with our publisher to get us press credentials to go to Vietnam. So Sam was planning that out, and assuming he got the details together, we'd be heading to the scene of the crime itself.

But before that happened, I had a talk to give at Stefan's alma mater, the University of Chicago. He and Jeff had flown out with me to help with my talk. We planned to load the rest of our stuff in the Fleetwood, which Jeff and Stefan were going to drive back to Palo Alto.

President Johnson was on television giving a speech, telling us how well the war was going. I was ranting at the screen, disputing all of his statements, which amused Jeff and Stefan greatly. Then at the end of his speech the President dropped a bombshell that even shut me up: "I shall not seek, and I will not accept the nomination of my party for another term as your President."

Now we all stared at the television, stunned. The commentators that came on afterwards weren't doing much better. This blew the Democratic Party wide open. I personally supported McCarthy because of his anti-war mantra, but Kennedy was also an attractive candidate. Humphrey was just Johnson with a different accent. The presidential campaign, which had seemed so boring before, now picked up some real interest. There was so much tumult and chaos in the world right now, it made me wonder what could possibly be next.

April 4, 1968

The University of Chicago is in its own little enclave on the south side of Chicago. Northwestern is surrounded by the wealth and affluence of Evanston, Wilmette, and other northern suburbs. The University of Chicago is surrounded by the black ghettos. The three of us felt kind of ridiculous and embarrassed going into such an impoverished area in the massive Fleetwood, but it was the only car at our disposal. Stefan had already gotten his Barracuda out to Palo Alto. It made us even more uncomfortable, if that was possible, that the talk was at night. I was scheduled to start at 7:00 PM. The coup-de-grace was that Lake Shore Drive was blocked off for repairs near the University, which forced us to take a detour through some pretty scary neighborhoods. Still, with Jeff we had a pretty good body guard, and an excellent driver.

I started talking to a packed audience. It was flattering that I was drawing such crowds, and it inspired me, hoping that step by step, maybe I could actually make a difference. Jeff was amazing. He set everything up for me perfectly, letting me schmooze with those who invited me. He was earning himself a spot on my travel team. Plus he and Stefan were a lot of fun to fuck around with, and they were nice enough to include me most of the time. I really did love both of them.

About 15 minutes into my talk we heard sirens, a lot of sirens, outside. It was distracting, especially since there was obviously something going on. The sirens didn't abate. Some people were starting to file out to see what was going on. Finally, at 7:30, one of the university officials handed me a note. I read the note and stopped dead, all eyes on me. I labored to control my emotions.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I have some very bad news to convey to you. The Reverend Martin Luther King was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. He was pronounced dead half an hour ago. Under the circumstances, I'll postpone the rest of my talk for a later date.” I felt the tears running down my face and saw the sobs of people in the audience. Other than the assassination of the President, this was probably the worst thing that could happen.

“You're stopping?” asked one of the older faculty members. I just looked at him, amazed, and nodded. What was wrong with this guy? Jeff was a dynamo, working with Stefan to pack up our stuff.

“JP, we have to get out of here,” he said. There was fear in his eyes, and that mobilized me. I uttered some quick goodbyes and we packed up the Fleetwood and headed out. There was chaos in the streets. People, mostly black people, running around, fire shooting out of some store fronts, and angry mobs roaming through the streets. And here we were, three pasty-faced white boys in a hulking Cadillac. I'd never really been afraid of my environment before, but I was now

We were making good progress when a group of angry black men surrounded the Cadillac. They were yelling at us, kicking the sides, beating on the hood and the trunk. Jeff tried moving ahead slowly, pushing those in front back just as slowly, but that just seemed to enrage them more. There was a crash from behind and a brick smashed the rear window and hit my head. It hurt like hell, but I was still conscious. Then another hit the side window, and I saw people trying to scramble in.

“Jeff, go. It's us or them. Do your best not to kill anyone.” Jeff let the brake off and moved forward more quickly. The mob was angry. Rocks flew through the windows and another hit Stefan, who was sitting in the front seat, but they had no choice except to yield to the massive car. As soon as Jeff saw a gap he floored it.

“Jeff, listen to me.” It was a crisis, so I was at my calmest and most assertive. “Don't take your foot off the gas. You hit someone, you hit someone. Ignore stoplights, ignore everything. Just get us to the Drive as fast as you can.”
He nodded. I ripped off my shirt and used it to make a bandage for Stefan's head. He had a pretty bad cut on his temple. It wasn't easy with Jeff careening the Cadillac around corners and people. It seemed like an eternity until we got to the Drive, but even then there were angry people. Jeff kicked the Caddy hard, and we must have been blowing north at close to 100 mph. No cops were going to stop us; they already had their hands full. We didn't slow down and catch our breath until we were near Lincoln Park.

“Does Stefan need to go to the hospital?” Jeff asked. The look in his eyes and his obvious concern was touching.

“He's got a bad cut, but I think it will be OK without stitches. What do you think Stefan?”

“Let's just please go home,” he said, and that's what we did. We got out of the Cadillac and took stock of the damage. There wasn't a body panel that wasn't dented and scratched, and none of the hubcaps were left. Funny, I hadn't even noticed them being removed. Three of the windows were broken out.

“Guess you won't be driving the Fleetwood home tomorrow,” I joked, but it fell flat. We were all too keyed up from our recent brush with death. Mobs are scary. Especially that mob. That night we all slept together, not for sex, but for perceived safety.

April 5, 1968

It seemed like all of America's cities were burning. I looked out the windows of my condo and stared at the smoke rising from the south side. It would be the black neighborhoods that would be hit. I never could understand that, how a minority group would turn their anger on their own homes and businesses rather than directing it at the neighborhoods where people whom they blamed for their problems lived. I left the Cadillac in the garage and the keys with the concierge. The insurance company would have to handle it from here.

It took me an hour on the phone to get a flight out. I refused to go through Midway. It was on the south side where all that smoke was coming from. Getting there could be suicide. We headed out, glad to be rid of Chicago, or at least glad to be away from the riots. We flew into San Jose, which didn't seem to experience the same kind of violence as other cities. Oakland, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. We could see smoke rising from it as we drove up the 101. This time when we got home there were worried, emotional welcomes, even from Betty. Then, and only then, were we able to sit down and digest the horrible impact Dr. King's death would have. It was like tossing napalm on a fire.

That night when I went to bed I just snuggled up to Sam's rock hard chest and wrapped my arms around him. I didn't cry, I wouldn't let myself. Besides, Sam calmed and soothed my emotions, helping me keep them under control. I just clung to him while he wrapped his strong arms around me. After a while, I broke our embrace and moved up next to him, kissing him warmly.

“Sam, are you sure you love me? I mean, really love me?” He looked at me confused.

I saw him almost get offended. “Yeah JP, I love you, I love you a lot. What, you don't believe me?”

I kissed him again. “I believe you. I just wanted to be sure, because I have fallen for you hook, line, and sinker. That makes me vulnerable.”

He seemed to sense what I was saying. I was telling him that my feelings for him had developed to the point where he could really hurt me. “I'm just as vulnerable as you,” he said. “It's scary, exciting, and wonderful, all at the same time.”

“Yes it is. Maybe you'd be willing to show me how much you really do love me?” I said with my coquettish voice. His lips met mine, strong and commanding, then his body was on top of me, and then he was in me.

April 17, 1968

I had visualized that this trip to Vietnam would be part research, part vacation. It wasn't working out that way. We'd been in the country for three days, and had hired a driver and photographer to take us around. They both spoke English and French, which made it convenient for me. Sam spoke a little French and some Italian. Neither one of us had a clue how to speak or read Vietnamese, and most of the time we couldn't even pronounce the names. Our mouths just couldn’t form the unfamiliar sounds of the tonal language.

We'd spent most of our time in Saigon so far, talking to civilians and soldiers. Neither group seemed very happy about this war, and we were noticing that the lower we went on the socio-economic scale, the more pissed off both of those groups were about being here. Drugs were rife. I'd had no problem scoring pot for my nightly relaxation session, and so much more was available it was scary. So we'd taken pictures, frantic notes, and recordings to add a personal dimension to our book.

Today we were heading out into the country, something that was considered dangerous. Still, I thought a rural view was key, since Vietnam was primarily a rural country. They took us to a village north of Saigon, one that had recently been ravaged. The sad part was that it had been done by South Vietnamese and American forces. It was fresh enough that there were still bodies lying on the side of the road. Truly a horrific sight, one which Sam documented with his camera.

Our guide helped us interview some of the villagers, but they were visibly hostile to us. Hatred may be a better way to say it. They lumped us all together in one class, Americans, so in their mind Sam and I were just as bad as the troops that had come through there. I was so moved and saddened that I thanked the villagers by giving them $500 to help rebuild their city. It wasn't much, but they seemed to appreciate it.

On the way back, for the first time in my life I was shot at. A sniper took two shots at us, one narrowly missing Sam and the other shattering the window of our car. After we got back to Saigon, I decided that I'd had enough. There was no peace here anywhere, and the tension alone was sufficient to drive a sane man nuts.

We caught a flight out and landed, exhausted and burned out, in Honolulu. Sam looked at me funny as I got off the plane and collected our luggage.

“Our flight leaves in an hour,” he said.

“No it doesn't,” I said. “I'm pretty wound up. Let's spend a few days here and relax.”

“We have a lot to do, and I didn't bring a swim suit or anything.”

“Silly man,” I taunted, “That's what rich boyfriends are for.” We caught a cab to the Royal Hawaiian and we were lucky enough to get a room. It was a nice room, nothing special, with a view of Waikiki Beach, but to Sam it was paradise.

For the next three days we did four things. We ate, we hung out at the beach and pool, we slept, and we fucked.

April 21, 1968

We should be flying back today, but I put it off one more day. I was enjoying myself, really enjoying myself, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd done that. We lounged in the pool, both of us tanned and healthy looking. I decided to really treat myself so I scheduled a massage at the spa. Sam thought that was something only women did, but I didn't care. It felt great, until the hot Swedish guy doing it brushed over my ass a few times so that when he turned me over I had a raging hard on. He giggled, I turned red. I had a feeling that it wouldn't have taken much on my part to at least get a hand job out of the deal, but I was saving myself for Sam.

He wasn't in the room when I got back, so I just hung out by the pool. He didn't show up until 5pm, and I bit back my irritation. What was he doing in Honolulu for four hours? Did he have some evil secret that would break my heart like Jeff had done so many times? I chided myself for being paranoid and insecure, and for letting myself mistrust a man who had done nothing to make me suspect him. All he had ever done for me is encourage me, support me, and love me.

I decided to make up for my irrational thoughts by taking him out to a really nice dinner. There was a restaurant that was right on the water, and I bribed my way into a table right by the surf. White table cloths, attentive but not intrusive waiters, with the sound and sights of the surf close by made it the ultimate in romantic atmosphere.

They cleared away our dinner plates and Sam insisted that we order dessert and after-dinner drinks. I shrugged and went with it. He got really nervous, and that made me nervous. Maybe I was right to be worried this afternoon.

“JP, I don't really know how to do this, I mean, we're both guys so it makes things weird.” I felt my heart sink. Was he going to dump me? Why would he do that? In Hawaii, on vacation?

I forced myself to smile. “Relax Sam. Just say what's on your mind.”

“Well, you know I've been with lots of people, and I even thought I'd been in love before, before I met you.” He gazed into my eyes. “I wasn't. I didn't even understand what love was until I met you.” Aww. He was so cute and so romantic. I rubbed his leg with my foot under the table and that made him grin, but he was still nervous.

He steeled himself and went on. “I know we've only known each other for four months, but it's long enough to know that you're the guy for me. I want to spend my life with you JP. I want to be your partner.” He pulled out a box and opened it and there was the wedding ring I'd gotten when I married Isidore. It suddenly dawned on me that I wasn't wearing it, and this explained why. Linked to it, bonded to it, was another band, just the same.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” I said, smiling my biggest smile.

“Well, to the degree that two guys can get married, yeah. JP, will you marry me, will you be my partner?”

I took the ring from the box and looked at it carefully, not saying anything, torturing him. I put it on my ring finger. “Yes Sam, I will be your partner, now and forever.” Dessert seemed to take forever, and I swallowed my after dinner drink like it was a shot. We couldn't get back to the hotel fast enough.

Sam stripped his own clothes off while I watched, his huge dick springing out from his big black bush as soon as his briefs came off. Then he came over to me and lovingly undressed me. He led me to the bed and pushed me on my back, then took my dick in his mouth. It was too much and I had to stop him. I didn't want to cum that soon.

He grabbed the Vaseline and lubed my cock, then his hole and moved up on top of me. I was worried for him, because this would only be the third time he'd let me fuck him. He moved up and pinned me down with his massively muscular body, kissing me firmly, showing me that he was totally in charge. Then I felt his hole pushing against my dick and I was in him. It felt amazing.

Every time I'd ever had sex, the person penetrating had been the dominant one, the one calling the shots. Not this time. I was pinned, completely pinned under Sam, totally powerless, totally at his mercy. He lay on top of me, kissing me, while he moved his ass like he was fucking me, only he wasn't. My cock was sliding in and out of him while his cock rubbed back and forth across my smooth stomach. Soon he'd leaked enough pre-cum that he was sliding, not rubbing. I let myself go, gave myself to him completely, and responded to his moves. It was heaven, euphoria, nirvana.

He moved his mouth to my neck and bit me, not harshly, but a love nibble. I moaned in his ear and started talking to him. “Sam, oh God Sam, I have never felt this good with anyone. Never felt this close to anyone. I love you so much. I can surrender my body to you completely. You're such a great lover, gentle and forceful, and all man. God, are you a man.” That did it. I felt his pace pick up and I felt my orgasm boiling up. “Sam, you're gonna make me cum. I'm gonna have to scream. Watch your ears baby.”

He growled and ground his ass onto me hard, and I screamed, literally screamed as I blew. It was marvelous and seemed to last forever, as wave after wave of bliss washed over me. And Sam, his waves were sync’ed with mine. It was the total merging of two people. I had to push him off of me after we were spent.

“I'm sorry baby,” I said. “You made me cum so hard I can't breathe.” He giggled and cuddled up next to me in that way that was so cool; his breath blew more fervently as he panted into my ear.

“You can't have sex like that, bond like that, unless two people are completely in love,” he said. I nodded and kissed him. I was happy now. Happier than I'd ever been. And that scared me. It seemed that in my life, every moment of happiness had to be paid back in misery, and with compound interest at that. Maybe my misery bank was full enough to handle this. Maybe.

April 22, 1968

We got to the gates of Escorial before I got nervous. I wanted to be happy about my commitment with Sam, but there was a big unknown about how Jeff would react. I decided that I couldn't worry about his feelings forever, that he was going to have to handle things as I moved on. If he couldn't handle being a good friend, then it wasn't my problem, it was his.

We got home in time for dinner. After the kids finished and wandered off, I bit the bullet. “I have an announcement to make,” I said, demanding their attention. I looked over the table at the faces of these people that I cared about. There was Isidore at the opposite end of the table with Betty on one side and Stefan on the other. Jeff sat next to Stefan, and Sam sat next to Betty. Rafael and Anna had the night off. They looked at me expectantly.

“When we were in Hawaii, Sam asked me to be his partner, to stay with him forever. I really love this man, and I accepted. So now I have a wife, and a partner. And I also have great friends, all of you at this table, who have given me such joy. I love you all, and I wanted to share my happiness with you first of all.”

Sam and Isidore were beaming, Stefan perhaps even happier than them, while Betty just rolled her eyes. She did wink at me though, just to tell me that underneath her tough exterior she cared about me and was happy for me. Jeff was upset but tried to put on a happy face. I avoided staring at him, giving him a chance to work through this without my scrutiny.

Isidore stood up smoothly and gracefully. How was it that she never looked klutzy? “I want to propose a toast. To JP and Sam, here's wishing them eternal happiness.” Everyone drank enthusiastically, and then I meandered out to the patio for my nightly smoke. Jeff and Stefan didn't join us.

April 26, 1968

No rest for the weary, I told myself. No sooner had we gotten home, unpacked, and said hi to the kids than I was off again, heading to New York City for a speech at Columbia University. Stefan was working on a business project, and Isidore was getting her office set up, so only Jeff accompanied me this time. I was glad to have his hulking presence. There were some serious protests going on at Columbia. The protests had culminated with the occupation of Hamilton Hall by black students. They weren't letting white people in. So the protesting whites had seized part of Low Library and a few other university buildings. I called this morning, asking them if they wanted me to postpone my talk, but they told me things were under control and the protests would end pretty soon.

Jeff made light conversation, avoiding the subject of Sam and me, which was just fine as far as I was concerned. When he was ready to talk about it, we would. But I decided that this was a good step. My commitment to Sam would hopefully persuade him that we were over as a couple.

We checked into our hotel and took a cab up to Columbia. My goal was to see Sammy, even though none of us had heard from him for awhile. Jeff and I were both confident that he'd be in Hamilton. When we got near Hamilton, we ran into a cordon of counter-protesters. They seemed to be the athletes, frat boys, and regular undergraduates. One of them stopped us as we tried to pass.

“Excuse me sir, you're not carrying any foodstuffs or supplies like that are you?” The young man who stopped us was very polite.

“No, I'm not. Why? What are you doing here?” I asked.

“We're the Majority Coalition,” he said. My defenses went up. Majority being the opposite of minority, were these white supremacists? He seemed to sense my change in demeanor. “We're not against the causes these other students are supporting, and in fact most of the people here are totally anti-war. We just don't think that people should be taking control of Columbia's buildings.”

I thought about that. “Well, that dovetails with my own philosophy. I'm JP Crampton, and I'll be delivering a lecture on Vietnam on Monday.”

That statement gathered a crowd. They were warm and enthusiastic, and I felt comfortable in their presence. They politely let us pass.

As we approached Hamilton, a large black man stopped us. “This building is off limits to European-Americans,” he said solidly. He wasn't rude, just assertive.

“I just flew in from California and was looking for a friend of ours, a black man named Sammy Jefferson. If he's in there, can we talk to him?” The guy called someone else, who went into the building, looking for Sammy.

“Wait here,” said the big black guy.

A few minutes later Sammy came out. He had changed. No wonder he hadn't gone home at Christmas. His hair was long, worn in clumped up dread locks, and he had a scowl on his face, the scowl of someone who had learned to hate. He walked up to us without saying anything but led us off to the side of the building where we were alone.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” he demanded. This wasn't the greeting either one of us was expecting.

“I'm here to do a lecture on Monday and I haven't seen you in years. I figured you'd be in Hamilton, so we came to say hi.”

“Well, hi. You said it, now you should get out of here. Don't want you getting hurt.” He almost smiled when he said that, but then the militant was back. “Nice seein' you.” He turned his back on us and walked away.

“Let's get out of here,” I said to Jeff. We went back through the cordon, stopping to chat politely to students who wanted info on my lecture, then grabbed a cab and headed back to the hotel.

We got back to the hotel and I took a long shower. Jeff came in and joined me, and we fucked. I thought about it, about how it felt good, and it was a great way to release tension, but it was just a fuck. Just a few steps higher up the ladder from my bathroom encounters of old. But just like them, it was still fun, and Jeff seemed to appreciate the attention. It was his way of still claiming part of me.

We went out to dinner that night at a nice restaurant. We'd been pretty quiet, but Jeff finally broke the silence.

“Sammy was a real asshole. Especially considering you pay for his tuition and everything.”

“Yeah. He was. Pretty disappointing. I kind of suspected this when he didn't make it home for Christmas. It's gonna suck to have to explain this to Vella.” Sammy was Abe and Vella's only son, their pride and joy. Or at least he used to be.

“I think you should cut the little shit off. Stop paying his bills. See if he gives you the time of day then.” Jeff was pissed.

“And you know I can't do that, even if I wanted to. I gave my word.” I could tell that bothered Jeff. His word used to be his bond. That had been a problem over the last year.

April 28, 1966

I planned to spend the weekend with Sammy. That's why Jeff and I came out early. Of all the things Sammy did, that pissed me off the most, because I could have been enjoying my time at home with my family and Sam instead of cooling my heels in New York.

But I only sulked for the first night. After that, I determined that I was going to have a blast in New York. Besides, I figured that the more stuff like this I did with Jeff, the easier our new status may be for him. We'd see about that. So on Saturday we spent the day sightseeing, and then went to see a Broadway play. On Sunday the Concierge told us there was a new exhibit opening at the Art Museum, and that we should go see it. It cost me a pretty penny to get tickets, but we pulled it off.

So that's how we ended up at the Museum. There was a familiar figure across the room, surrounded by people. Not being mobbed, but just surrounded. It was Jacqueline Kennedy. Jeff rolled his eyes as I headed over there. He couldn't believe I'd even get close enough to say hello. There was no way she would remember me. We'd met only once at my cousin Billy's memorial service.

I approached her, blocked by a secret service man who eyed me skeptically. She looked up and caught my eyes. “Bonjour Madame,” I said. I knew the French would catch her attention. She returned my greeting and the Secret Service man moved aside to avoid blocking our conversation.

“I don't know if you remember me, I'm JP Crampton. You honored my family by attending a memorial service for my cousin Billy Schluter in Claremont, Ohio. He was on the USS Thresher.” I saw the recognition in her eyes.

“Why of course I remember you. You were the young man with the flattery skills of a true Frenchman.”

“And you Madame were worthy of all the compliments I could think of.”

“Well, as I recall you sent me a very nice note when my husband died. It is good to see you.”

“It is good to see you as well Madame,” I said, taking her hand and kissing it in the French manner.

“Next time you come to New York, you must let me know. An evening with you would certainly boost my ego.” And then she moved off.

Jeff was impressed, and I got some considering looks from the other people around her. I was reminded of the days of Louis XIV, where a person who was lucky enough to be acknowledged by, much less spoken to by the king was considered to be a person worth knowing. We made lots of friends that night, and had a blast.