9.11 - 47. Chapter 47

September 21, 2001

New Brunswick, NJ

“Will you need anything else, Dr. Crampton?” the handsome room service waiter asked.

“No thank you,” I said with a smile as I signed off on his bill. The guard would see him safely out. I sat at the dining room table of our suite, reading the morning newspaper, with conflicting emotions assaulting me. Today I had let my focus shift from my family to the nation as a whole, and found that the same general worry and apprehension I felt for my loved ones I also felt when I thought about America.

On the positive side, the outpouring of support from the world community over the 9-11 attacks was very reassuring. I pondered that as the only real remaining superpower, the United States was an easy target for the woes of the world. That we sometimes acted like a bully, and that we were usually slavishly self-interested, did not help our global image. It was not a surprise that the zealots of Al Qaeda had chosen to make the US their focus of discontent, but that they had been able to strike at us and wound us so badly was. Yet even countries that would normally welcome a chance to laugh at our misfortune were publicly supporting us. The massive amounts of worldwide goodwill generated by these horrible attacks were one good thing to come from them.

The nation as a whole had pulled together with a fervor I only vaguely remembered from World War II. I tended to attribute that to the attack on our own soil by a foreign entity, and by the fact that we knew who had perpetrated the crime. With the assassination of President Kennedy, the crime was against one man, and it was presumably committed by one of our own citizens. In this case, the victims were for the most part ordinary people, just doing their jobs. It made the tragedy just that much worse. The patriotic fervor was contagious, and these were heady days to be an American. I found myself filled with emotion at the sight of our flag, and felt a unique pride in being a citizen of this great nation. That feeling of national pride seemed to engulf everyone, and a pleasant side effect seemed to be a general level of caring that had not existed before. People were nice to each other, for the most part.

Perhaps I was being pessimistic, but despite those positive sentiments, there seemed to be so many more negatives. The worldwide support for the US was manifesting itself into another war, this one against Afghanistan and their Taliban regime, from whence we were led to believe the Al Qaeda terrorists were succored. It was difficult to argue against intervention in Afghanistan, even though history was replete with examples of how badly such an intervention could go. Afghanistan had managed to resist and expel Britain and Russia at times when both of those nations were among the preeminent superpowers. Would they do the same to us? How many of our soldiers would we lose this time? Vietnam had cost us over 40,000 dead, and innumerable wounded, both mentally and physically. The thought of a similar bloodbath made me recoil in horror.

The patriotism that I experienced was even more worrisome, when I pondered that nationalism was at the core of such emotions. History was filled with examples of how nationalism could subvert common sense and judgment, but perhaps it was the rise of the Nazis in Germany that had the best ability to instill fear into my heart. Could that happen here? It seemed impossible, yet such extreme patriotism had already cost one unfortunate victim his life. In Phoenix, on September 15, Balbir Singh Soldhi was shot by an idiot who thought Soldhi was a Muslim. Soldhi was planting flowers at his gas station when the shooter gunned him down from his pick-up truck. The idiot thought Soldhi was a Muslim because he was wearing a turban and had a beard, when the poor man was in fact a Sikh. Was this just the beginning of a movement similar to that in World War II, where Japanese-Americans were rounded up and sent to camps? What heinous crimes would the new popular motto ‘United We Stand’ be used to hide?

More worrisome still was that the man in charge was George W. Bush. I’d written him off as a clone of his father, a man I’d had no great objection to, but now that events had propelled him into a more prominent historical role, I had significant misgivings about him. The first was a general nervousness about the man, and while I chided myself for being unfair, there was no dismissing the unease I felt when I heard him speak. He’d addressed the nation last night and he’d seemed bitchy and petulant, traits one would find in a four-year-old, but should not find in a president. I found myself longing for Bill Clinton, who despite his considerable flaws could at times of crisis make me feel that things would be alright. Then again, I was merely whining about stage effects, or so I hoped, and it would be unfair not to note my own bias toward the Democrats, even though I had not been an active supporter of Al Gore. I forced myself into a more deliberate analysis, and decided that if it would have been the first George Bush, or Ronald Reagan, I still would have felt much more comfortable. As the President had spoken, I’d gotten the feeling that I was watching a man performing an act laid out by others, as if he were a puppet, and based on those who were surrounding him that gave me considerable cause for alarm.

But the most worrisome thing of all was that we were now in a ‘War on Terror’. Terrorism was not a nation, it was not a belief; it was a concept or strategy. The last time we’d fought a war against an ‘ism’ (against communism) it had been all encompassing and long, one that had transformed our society completely. I was fairly certain this one would do the same thing. This simple incursion into Afghanistan was sure to evolve into something greater, whether it was on the domestic front, on the international front, or both.

“You are deep in thought,” Stef said, ironically enough pulling me from those thoughts.

“That is not always a good place for me to be,” I said somberly, and then forced myself to be more upbeat. “What is on your agenda for the day?”

“After the traumas yesterday, everyone is pretty much doing their own thing. Will has already left with Matt and Wade. I am going to do some shopping with JJ,” he said. “We are finding that it is a common love.”

“That is good news for the local merchants,” I joked. “I am glad you are doing that.”

The bell rang, indicating that someone was at the door of our suite. Stef walked toward the door even as his bodyguard answered it. Brad and Darius came in. Darius strolled confidently over to the table and took a seat to my right. “Good morning,” he said. Brad sat next to him.

“Good morning,” I responded. “We were all discussing our plans for the day. What are yours?”

“I’m going to stay here and do some work,” Brad said. He was in a somber mood, where the melancholy seemed to take control of him.

“And spend some time with Cody,” Stef said.

“Probably,” Brad said with a slight smile.

“Well, I am off. I will see you later,” Stef said, and made his exit.

“I’m probably going to spend my day working with lawyers on Mom’s estate,” Darius said.

“That should not prove too difficult,” I said, more of a question. “Wasn’t everything in trust?”

Darius shook his head. “Hank’s family was like locusts, thinking that the condo in Tribeca and all of the stuff in it was joint property, and that they were going to get half of it. My lawyer says they weren’t happy when they found out everything was in trust for Maddy.”

“I suspect they were not,” I said with a wry smile. “Arguments over money can be particularly acrimonious after a death.”

“No shit,” Brad said. “I remember how unpleasant things were when Grandmaman died.” Since Isidore used that title now, I glanced briefly at Darius to ascertain whether he understood we were talking about my mother.

“Things were unpleasant?” Darius asked.

“My mother had been irritated with Jim and his family, and had changed some of her bequests to reflect that,” I told him. “Jim did not appreciate those adjustments.”

“That’s putting it calmly,” Brad interjected. “I remember being so impressed by the way you faced him down.”

“You seem to be fine now,” Darius said, referring to my relationship with Jim.

“We are. Irritations can heal, but anger and resentment can linger. That is why it is important to be fair but as generous as you can,” I opined.

“Well, now that Hank’s relatives have figured out that only the stuff in joint accounts is partly theirs, they’ve focused on arguing about that,” Darius said.

“How much money are we talking about?” I asked.

“There’s $100,000 in cash, and some furniture in the condo. Plus there’s Hank’s truck and her house in Hoboken, but that was in her name, so I don’t have to worry about that,” Darius said.

“Are the furnishings in the condo valuable?” I asked.

“It’s only stuff that was Hank’s before they got together. Probably worth $5,000 at the most,” he said.

“I am assuming you are telling me this because you want my advice?” I asked. He nodded. “Let them have it.”

“Almost all of the cash is money I was giving Jeanine,” Brad said.

“So,” I said dismissively. “The hassle of arguing with these people over that sum of money, which is huge to them, is well beyond what any of us need to be dealing with right now.”

Before Brad could say anything else, Darius jumped in. “That’s what I was thinking, but I wanted to get another opinion first.” He looked at Brad. “You’re OK with that?”

“It’s your decision,” Brad said, “but I think you’re right.”

Darius looked confused by Brad’s seeming change of heart, and that made me chuckle. “You are experiencing your father’s dynamic with Stefan, which is probably strange when you encounter it yourself for the first time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brad asked in a belligerent manner. Darius and I both gave him steely looks that shut him up and calmed him down. His emotions were really running wild these days; yet another thing to worry about.

“When you discuss things with Stef, you play ‘devil’s advocate’ and argue the alternate point. I have observed that you seem to do that in order to make sure that you have considered all of the details, and all perspectives. To unaccustomed people, such an attitude can seem argumentative.”

“That’s cool,” Darius said nonchalantly. “Could be useful.”

“Could be,” I agreed, and winked at Brad.

“Mom’s estate is different,” Darius said. “The biggest asset is the condo, and that’s in trust for Maddy. She just had jewelry and personal effects beyond that.”

“Then that makes things quite easy,” I said. “Will you sell the place in Tribeca?”

“Not right now,” he said, stating the obvious. “I probably should, but I just don’t want to let it go yet. It’s like part of her.”

I smiled softly. “I understand. I have an idea.”

“Go on,” Brad said.

“I am thinking that we could buy the condo from Maddy’s trust. It is a lovely property, and it would not be a bad thing to have a place in New York. Stefan will certainly appreciate having a base from which to assault Fifth Avenue.” That got a chuckle from both of them. “That way, the funds in Maddy’s trust can be more diversified.”

“You’ve made this so easy,” Darius said to me with a grin. “Thanks.” He got up and patted my back on his way out, a marked display of affection from him.

And then it was just Bradley and I. We sat there quietly, even after we heard the door close behind Darius. “I look at you, and I can see you surge from one emotion to the next, even though you are not talking,” I told him.

“Fine. I’m fucked up. Is that what you wanted to hear?” he demanded.

“Actually, it is,” I said. “If you were not aware of that, I would be even more worried.” I stood up abruptly. “Join me.”

We stood up and I led him out to the balcony, with a nice view of Rutgers. I pulled out a joint and lit it, passing it to him. “Thanks,” he said, and inhaled. “You’re right. I’m more fucked up than I normally am.”

“And that’s saying something,” I said with a smile. “This is not easy.”

“How did you handle it?” he asked plaintively. “How do I get beyond this?”

“The emotions will fade over time. There is no other way.”

“That’s not very encouraging,” he grumbled.

“If you want a pabulum pep talk, you are in the wrong room,” I said, even though we were on a balcony. “The times when you are alone are the times when it is the worst.”

“Yeah, because that’s when I have time to think,” he said.

“No, because that’s when you have time for self-evaluation, only for both you and me, that usually manifests itself in the form of self-flagellation.”

“True,” he agreed sheepishly.

“I cannot say what this will be like for you; I can only tell you what it was like for me when I lost my partner. I think that losing Roger was the most painful, because it was so immediate and unexpected, and because I was in a good place with him. With Jeff, it was the hardest, because it was a very long and arduous ordeal.”

“What about Mouse?” he asked.

I smiled, as I usually did when I thought about Mouse. “I was sad, as you remember, but he had such a long illness, that I think I grieved as he got sicker, so when he died, it almost felt like a relief. It was not that I wanted him to be gone, it was that I had exhausted my emotions during his demise.”

“So when he finally died, you were much farther along in this process,” he summarized. “What about Sam?”

“Sam’s death was sad, but that sadness was mitigated by the fact that I was no longer in love with him. I loved him, and cared deeply for him, but our romantic feelings had long since evaporated. His continued relationship with Jake, and the possibility that he had contracted AIDS from that young man, was an additional irritant that helped me move beyond his death.”

“That’s what worries me about Will and Tony,” he said. “I’m worried that Tony will take advantage of Will.”

I laughed, surprising him. “I think it is unlikely that Tony will get the upper hand in a relationship with Will. Will has his number, and I think he handles him quite well. In the end, I think that he will ultimately help Tony with his own issues.”

“Why do I always underestimate him?” he asked, referring to Will.

“I am not sure, but I think it is something you must correct. He is a bit too much like his father when he becomes annoyed, and that is sure to annoy him,” I said, teasing him.

“So how did you get over Roger?” he asked, bringing me back to the original topic.

“You never ‘get over’ losing someone, you just learn to deal with them not being part of your daily life. When I think of those times after he died, the thing I remember the most was being lonely. I enjoy time to myself, when I can read or research, but after he died, I dreaded the isolation, because I would only focus on the void in my life. So my solution was to surround myself with people I loved. It is a bit like weaning a baby, such that the void from losing the teat is filled by solid food.”

“Most of the time I miss Robbie more than I can say,” he said to me sadly. “But some of the time I get really pissed off at him. Only he’s not even here for me to argue with.”

“Surely you’re not having problems finding someone else to argue with,” I joked, only he didn’t laugh.

“And I feel guilty because when I had problems with Robbie, I let that spill over into my relationships with other people that I love, especially with Will.” And with that statement, I felt he’d finally hit on the core problem.

“So you are feeling guilty for that, and angry at Robbie, but then you feel guilty for feeling angry at Robbie, which just makes everything worse,” I summarized. He nodded. “I would like to note that those feelings derive entirely from you.”

“What?” he asked in his pissed off mode, then sighed and relaxed.

“You had a very volatile relationship with Robbie. At times, it satisfied you beyond your wildest dreams, and at other times, it frustrated you more than anything else. You are trying to parse out part of it, the bad part, and judge it, without factoring in the good part. One is not possible without the other.”

“Is that how relationships are?” he asked. “In order to have those incredible highs, one must have the incredible lows?”

“Not always, but that is how your relationship with Robbie was,” I said.

“And that’s why I feel guilty, because I wonder if it was toxic.”

“I think that you will know you are over the worst part of this when you no longer feel that way.” He looked at me, confused. “When you evaluate your relationship as a whole, and not piecemeal.”

“But shouldn’t I try to learn from this?” he asked. Only that’s not what he was really doing. He was trying to grapple with his feelings.

“I would like you to go on a mental journey,” I said. “I would like you to replay your relationship with Robbie, from the first time you met him in Claremont, to the last time you talked to him.”

“I’ve done that…” he said, but I held up my hand to stop him.

“When you have done that, ask yourself if you would have been happier without him. Ask yourself if you regret having him in your life,” I said.

“I would have changed things,” he said.

“It doesn’t work that way,” I admonished. “It is not a buffet, where you take certain items and leave others. It is a meal served to you where you must eat all the food, good and bad.”

“Even the peas,” he joked. He’d hated them as a kid.

“Even the peas,” I confirmed. “When you can honestly answer that question, and when you can look at your relationship wholly, then you are on your way to dealing with losing him.” He nodded, and we sat there in silence, gazing out at the campus of Rutgers.

September 21, 2001

Washington, DC

“Where are we going?” Matt asked me, as the limo zipped toward the capital. “We’re not going to the Compound, are we?”

I shook my head. “No way. I got a suite for us at the Hay-Adams. We’re meeting with everyone there to finalize plans for my father’s memorial.”

“The thing starts tomorrow,” he said. “Don’t they have that worked out already?”

“The basics are worked out,” I said. “Now all we have to deal with are the details.”

“Something tells me that won’t be easy,” he said to me.

“You’re probably right,” I agreed. “They want to play this similar to a state funeral. That means that most of the events follow a distinct protocol.”

“A state funeral?”

“It’s like the funeral for a former president, only the light version,” I said.

He eyed me carefully. “You seem to be in a good mood.”

I gave him a very frustrated look. “Yeah, I’m having a great fucking day. I went to a funeral for the boyfriend of an old friend, watched the old friend get outed, watched my adopted little brother get raked over the coals for doing a good deed and being a good person, and now I have to go to a meeting with my mother.”

He raised his eyebrow, teasing me since I’d pretty much lost it there. “That’s why I’m surprised you’re in a good mood.”

“I have to be at my best, on top of my game, to deal with my mother,” I said.

“Will Nana be there?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “She was his mother-in-law, and they generally leave them out of these meetings. Besides, she’d probably try to kill my mother.”

“Can’t blame her for that,” he said. “So we left Will to comfort Carullo,” he mused, bringing up a topic we’d already touched on in New Jersey.

“Jealous?” I asked playfully.

“No,” he said. “Besides, Carullo won’t mess around with Will. He’s too young.”

“Does Carullo know Will is fifteen?” I asked. Matt looked at me strangely. “I never told him.”

“I didn’t either,” he said. “Fuck. Should I call him?”

“I wonder what Will would do to you if you did that, called Carullo to let him know Will was only 15?” I asked with a smile. I watched Matt as he processed that, the possibility of taking the brunt of Will’s ire over being exposed as a young punk.

Matt sighed. “Fine. I’ll let Carullo fend for himself.”

“Smart move. We have enough of our own battles to fight,” I said. That comment seemed to signal our arrival at the hotel. They were extremely courteous, and actually took me up to the suite to sign us in instead of making us do it at the front desk. The suite was very nice, with old world charm and a lot of antiques. I asked them to expand the dining room table so it would accommodate our group, then Matt and I vanished into the bedroom while they worked to get things ready. We barely had time to unpack and change clothes before everyone got there.

I greeted my mother formally, and saw her get annoyed when she saw that I’d taken the seat at the head of the table, but I knew there would be a power struggle, and I was ready for that. Beau got there next. “Hey Wade!” he said, and gave me a nice hug.

“Hey,” I responded. “How’s school going?”

“Not good, if I keep missing classes,” he grumbled. We’d spent some time together at Goodwell after the California crew had gone home, and it had been good for both of us. No sooner had I finished greeting him than Mary Ellen arrived. Somehow she managed to look slutty and classy at the same time, a feat that never ceased to amaze me.

“Hello Wade,” she said, and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Mary Ellen,” I said, matching my tone to the same level of friendliness she’d exhibited. Matt was awesome, playing the co-host and getting everyone situated. Then the other people arrived. Jerrilyn Ketch, my father’s secretary, had originally appointed herself as overall coordinator, a job she was forced to relinquish as the others had gotten involved. There was another person from the Senate, Harry Vogel, a dour looking older man, who was there to instruct us on Senate protocol. The White House sent over a pleasant young man named Farleigh Burke, who was probably in his late 20s. He had the accent of a Bostonian, which went well with his effete looks and his wispy brown hair. A representative from the military was there, Major Jones, which surprised me until I remembered that they provided honor guards and the like. Finally, there was a shrewish looking woman in her 30s named Denise Gladwell, from the governor’s office, presumably there to look after one of Virginia’s first sons.

“This meeting should be relatively speedy, since I’ve already gone over things with the chief mourner,” Jerrilyn said. That got her an annoyed look from everyone except my mother. Jerrilyn had always been a bitch, and it was no surprise that she was tight with my mother. That probably explained how my mother had known so much about my father’s activities.

“No you haven’t,” I said. She looked at me, confused. “I’m the chief mourner.”

“Isn’t the spouse the chief mourner?” she asked, trying to sound pleasant when she was being bitchy.

“My father did not have a spouse,” I said factually. “He was divorced.”

“The ink was barely dry on the decree, Wade,” my mother snapped. A glance at Mary Ellen showed her to be sitting back smugly, enjoying this tussle.

“Yet it was a decree nonetheless,” I said.

“The rules of precedence and protocol are clear. In the event that the deceased is single, the eldest child is the chief mourner,” Burke said, sounding like a male version of Emily Post.

“So we will start from the beginning,” I announced. My mother was furious at having lost control of this event.

“I was just notified this morning that we have recovered some remains from the Pentagon, and have positively identified them as being Senator Danfield,” Major Jones said a bit pompously.

“And you did not choose to share this with us until now?” Jerrilyn asked rudely.

“He did not,” I said, shutting her down. “You found remains?”

“I don’t want to hear the details,” my mother snapped.

“Then you can leave the room while the rest of us do,” I said, pausing to allow her to leave. She didn’t. “Go ahead,” I said to the Major.

“His body was badly burned. It was discovered in what had been an empty office. It appears he was on top of his tour guide, evidently trying to protect her from the blast,” he said reverently.

“Who was his tour guide?” Mary Ellen asked innocently, even as she tried not to smirk.

“Samantha Kaminski,” the Major said sadly.

“Had she been at the Pentagon long?” Mary Ellen probed, smelling blood.

“No, she had only graduated from college in May. Such a shame, to see a 23-year-old young lady like that lose her life at such a young age,” he said, unbending in a remarkable way.

“That name sounds familiar,” Mary Ellen said. “What did she look like?”

“Is this really necessary?” my mother demanded.

Major Jones opened his attaché case, rummaged through some papers, and pulled out a file with a picture in it. He handed it to Mary Ellen, who passed it first to Beau, who passed it to me. Samantha Kaminski had been very beautiful. I looked at Mary Ellen, and we grinned at each other knowingly. “Well that was very noble of Daddy to throw himself on top of that poor young woman to try and save her,” Mary Ellen said. My mother seethed.

“Yes it was,” I said somberly, even though it was all I could do not to laugh.

“Well this will change things,” Burke said.

“How?” Jerrilyn asked.

“Now it is not a memorial service, but a funeral,” Burke said. “Where are the remains?”

“The Body is on its way here from Dover Air Force Base,” Major Jones said, uttering the macabre word ‘Body’ with a strange reverence.

“My understanding is that you had planned for him to be interred back in Charlottesville,” Burke said delicately.

“Yes,” I said, taking the lead.

“He did not serve in the military?” Burke asked.

“No,” I said, and began to worry that my rather bald yes and no answers sounded rude.

“The president would like you to consider burying him at Arlington National Cemetery,” Burke said. “He feels that he died in the equivalent of a battle, and died serving his country.

“I’m not sure about that,” Mother said, but I ignored her. She had no voice in this.

“I think it’s quite an honor,” Mary Ellen said. I think she did it to piss off my mother, but I also happened to agree with her.

“I think so as well,” I agreed. We both looked at Beau, who got nervous, being caught in a squeeze play between Mary Ellen and I against Mother. He nodded his approval, and Mother looked annoyed.

Jones and Burke began to plan out a new ceremony, where the Body would be taken on a caisson to the Capitol Building from Arlington on the 22^nd. They spent a considerable amount of time discussing the bands that would march and play along the way.

“Once there, the Body will be taken to the rotunda and placed on the Lincoln Catafalque,” Burke continued. “The Body will be followed by the chief mourner, the children of the deceased, the grandchildren of the deceased, and other family members. Once they have arrived, there will be a service with eulogies. The President has offered to make some remarks.”

“We would be honored,” I said, as if I had a choice.

“The Vice-President has also offered to speak,” he said.

“I think having the President say some kind words, along with a tribute from his colleagues, would be sufficient,” I said. I really did not want Dick Cheney speaking at my father’s funeral, since I knew my father had never really cared for him.

“So I suppose I am to be relegated to walking in with the masses?” my mother asked acidly.

“There really is no place in the order of precedence for former spouses,” Burke said.

“Can we make an exception?” Ms. Gladwell asked.

“Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“Governor Gilmore was planning to escort me,” my mother said. “I think it would be inappropriate to treat him with disrespect.”

“I’m not sure that Governor Gilmore can make it,” Ms. Gladwell said. “Mr. Earley was planning to fill in for him.” And then it made complete sense. The election for governor of Virginia would take place in two months, and it was hotly contested. Mark Warner, the Democrat, was fighting a tough battle against Mark Earley. So having Earley there on my mother’s arm would garner him some public sympathy, and maybe tie him in to the President’s huge approval ratings. It would also help my mother resurrect her political power.

“Mother can walk with me,” Beau offered. I almost laughed at my mother’s expression of both appreciation that Beau had come to her defense, and annoyance that he’d thwarted her big plan.

“It is customary for spouses only to walk with the family,” Burke said.

“Maybe if Mother walks with Beau, you can have Matt walk with you,” Mary Ellen suggested, just to stir up trouble. “I’ll have Trevor escort me.” No one else liked that plan, but I did.

“Then I follow the procession with Matt, followed by Mary Ellen and Trevor, then Beau and Mother,” I summarized. My mother was in a quandary and could only accept, while the others certainly weren’t happy about me walking with my gay partner, but in the end, it was a done deal. After that, the rest of the arrangements fell into place.

“I’ll see you at 8:00am,” Mary Ellen said, ending the meeting. I walked her to the door. “How appropriate that Daddy died while fucking a hot chick,” she said quietly.

“We don’t know that’s what he was doing,” I said.

“We don’t?” she asked coquettishly. “I think I inherited my sluttiness from him.”

I chuckled. “Probably.” I gave her another hug, and then saw her off. Beau was next.

“Thanks for helping us find a solution to keep Mother involved,” I said.

“Seemed like you were trying to keep her shut out,” he groused.

“There’s a reason for rules like that,” I said. “And there’s a reason Dad divorced her.”

He sighed. “You’re right. It worked out alright in the end.” He took off, presumably to go find some parties in Georgetown.

“Well Wade, you have relegated me to the dog heap in this thing,” Mother said icily.

“You’re walking with Beau. I think that’s a nice place to be,” I said. She gave me her patent evil look, and left.

The others followed, but Burke lingered behind. “Thank you for your help today,” I told him.

“That bitch has been giving us crap all week,” he said, referring to Jerrilyn. “I figured that with your mother out of the picture, that would take her out too.”

“Good call,” I said. It was funny how his eyes kept scanning my body, even though he tried to stop them. “Have a drink with me.”

“Alright,” he said, a little nervously. I led him over to the seating area and made us both gin and tonics.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. I went into the bedroom and found Matt sprawled on the bed. “Everyone’s gone but Burke. I’m having a drink with him.”

“That cute shrimpy dude?” he asked.

I nodded. “Come out in a towel like you just got out of the shower. I want to see his eyes pop out of his head.” He laughed, and I went back out to bullshit with Burke.

“I need to get back to the West Wing,” he said, trying to convince me he was powerful enough to work there.

Just then Matt came sauntering out wearing just a towel. God, he had an amazing body. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, acting surprised. “I thought everyone left.” He made to leave but Burke’s words stopped him.

“Don’t leave on my account. I was just going myself.”

Matt walked over so he was standing in front of Burke. “I’m sorry about this.” Burke wasn’t sorry at all. He was all but drooling over Matt.

“You certainly are in shape,” Burke said nervously as he swallowed.

“He certainly is,” I agreed. I stood up and got behind Matt, who was tenting his towel now with all this attention. Burke stared at the tent and licked his lips lustfully. I tugged at the towel a bit so it fell off, and there was Matt, his dick rising right in front of Burke. Matt took a step forward, so his dick was in Burke’s face.

“Suck it,” Matt ordered, probably because he knew when he did that it would fire me up too. Burke didn’t waste a second, even as he leaned in and inhaled Matt’s dick. I stood behind Matt, running my hands all over his body while Burke blew him. I could tell Matt fueled his orgasm to come soon, since he could last longer than that, but Burke didn’t care. Matt came, exaggerating it by moaning loudly, and blasted down Burke’s throat.

“Thanks,” Burke said sheepishly, as he hastily grabbed his things to leave.

“No, thank you,” Matt said in his slutty way. I escorted him out, then found Matt lying naked on the bed, grinning. “Guess you can count on his help.”

“If not, that means you weren’t much fun,” I teased.