If It Fits - 3. Chapter 3

March 17, 1995

I had always referenced our previous yacht as “the yacht,” but I'd decided this new one deserved to be called “the ship.” Greg and I argued playfully about the difference between a ship and a boat, but I won after pointing out that a boat would not sail from Marina del Rey and go through the Panama Canal. The last few days had been magical, almost wiping away the torturous months before. What's more, Greg relaxed and regained his old personality, and transformed himself back into the man I loved.

I sat at the dining room table, nibbling on my breakfast, reading the news sheet. The ship had a satellite dish of some sort so we could communicate with the outside world. One of the products of that was the sheet I was reading now, a summary of world events in the last 24 hours. The headline was that Mississippi had finally ratified the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution, officially abolishing slavery. I shook my head. It only took them 130 years. It reminded me of the 60s, when the civil rights movement had been such a noble cause.

Nowadays, the noble cause seemed to be all about making money, about surging capitalism in the world. The Republicans had finished enacting most of their “Contract With America,” and even though I generally disliked them, I found it hard to disagree with most of the provisions in their Contract.

“Anything new?” Greg asked as he leaned over and kissed my neck.

“Mississippi abolished slavery,” I said.

“Already?” he joked. Then his mood changed. “Stef, would it be OK with you if we went back to LA for the Academy Awards? They're on the 27th. I figured we could fly out and attend, then fly back the next day.”

Part of me wanted to resist, worried that the award show would fuel his competitive desire. Ironically, if he won he'd be even more keyed up. However, this was also a chance for him to enjoy the laurels of his success. “You will not try and stay afterward?”

“No. I promise. We fly in just for the awards, then it's right back to the ship.” I relented.

March 27, 1995

The limousine drove Robbie, Brad, Greg, and me home from the round of parties we'd been to. I could feel Greg's anxiety, the feeling that came from being back in the hub of the action, and I now realized what motivated him. It wasn't the next success or the money, it was power. As a successful producer, he wielded enormous power and commanded the ultimate respect. Now, as a retired producer, he elicited a more polite respect, an acknowledgment of his past successes.

Interestingly enough, Robbie, who'd inherited his role, played it completely differently. He was less about ego and power, and more about success. He was more like me, and Brad too, more achievement motivated. I smiled at all of them. Brad lit a joint and took a hit, then handed it to me.

“So when do you have to go back?” Brad asked.

“We leave tomorrow,” I said firmly, looking at Greg, reminding him of his promise. We'd left the ship in St. Thomas, a nice enough island, but I was anxious to go to St. Barts.

“I was thinking that we could stop by the office on the way to the airport,” Greg said nervously. “I have a lot of friends there I'd like to say hello to, and thank.”

“We can spare 15 minutes on our way to the airport,” I said rigidly. This world, his career, was like a drug. He had walked back into the opium den and he wanted another fix. I could feel it; I knew him so well. I sensed there was an argument coming, but we put that aside and went upstairs and made love.

I lay there afterwards sprawled on top of him. “You know, you have become an even more amazing lover over the past few weeks,” I told him, stroking his ego.

“You're just saying that so I'll keep fucking you,” he teased.

“I am not. And you're skinnier too,” I teased back, poking his tummy. He'd already dropped about ten pounds, although a good part of it was probably water weight.

“I am. And I feel better. But I still miss the business,” he said sadly.

“Do not think I do not understand that,” I told him. “I know this is tough for you. You are no longer the major power broker, now you are the respected sage. But you are alive.”

He nodded and kissed the top of my head, holding me gently as we drifted off to sleep.

March 28, 1995

I knew this was a bad idea from the moment we got up, but I had told him we'd stop by, and I figured that if I made him honor his promises, I should honor mine. We pulled up to the ultra-modern building and strode through the doors, greeting the receptionist. Their offices were unique in Hollywood. No dark wooden panels or long hallways, it was all light and airy. The walls of the building were solid windows, and the roof was mostly glass as well. Everyone but Greg (well, now Robbie) had glass dividers for their office, so everything was open and visible. Before it had seemed like a nice open work environment, but I'd overheard his cynical employees comment that it was built that way so Greg could keep an eye on all of them.

I felt him tense up as soon as we walked into the massive open area where those unlucky or unimportant enough to not to have an office sat in open cubicles. When Greg was in charge, this place was fairly quiet and businesslike, with people simply going about their jobs. Now they were moving around, talking to each other, and actually laughing. In his mind, they were goofing off. In my mind, they were just enjoying their jobs. It would be fascinating to compare productivity from before, when Greg was in charge, to this new more open environment.

I'd let myself get lost in my daydream and only came out of it when I saw Greg tear off to Robbie's office, really pissed. I followed behind quickly, but he didn't see me, and slammed the office door shut right in my face. I stared at it, worried and pissed off, then burst in.

“What the fuck is going on around here?” Greg yelled at Robbie. “I leave for a few weeks and everyone is just fucking around? Is that what we pay people for now?”

Robbie eyed him coolly. “I have a different management style than you. And it's working. Morale and productivity are way up in only a few weeks.” He glanced over at me and I winked at him. His journey had been a long one, but the end result, this confident and assured executive, was worth the trek.

“Sure they're happier. They don't have to do anything,” Greg yelled, still beside himself.

“Well, Robbie is in charge now, so it is his decision to make,” I observed. “You will find out how well he does when you read the 10Qs.”

“That's bullshit. That's not happening. I can't leave now and let everything I built go to hell!” He was directing this at me.

“If you stay, your whole life will go to hell. And this confident, successful young man, whom you lied to when you said you trusted him, will leave and go out on his own,” I said, getting in his face. The argument was not with him and Robbie anymore, the argument was between him and me.

“That's some loyalty,” he said.

“I agree. He's been remarkably loyal. Even now, when you're being a total ass, he has not had you thrown out of his office.”

“Well then he's fucking fired!” Greg screamed at me. I glanced over at Robbie, willing him to be patient, to let this tirade wind down. It was a wasted look. Robbie had been dealing with this for a long time. If anything, he looked resolved.

“Then you are truly all alone,” I said to him.

Greg’s face turned bright red then, his eyes bulged, the rage and fury building up. I braced myself for this onslaught, determined that it would be the last I would ever suffer from him. Then his look changed. He appeared to be choking. Robbie and I stared at him for a minute, trying to figure out what was happening, but he was so enraged neither one of us wanted to get too close. Then he clutched his chest and collapsed to the floor.

Robbie was first to him, putting his head to his chest. He pulled up and ripped Greg's shirt open with one movement, and began to perform CPR. Feeling like an idiot, I jumped up and threw open the door. “Call 911! Greg had a heart attack!” Then I went back to him and sat there, looking at his hollow eyes, waiting for some sign of life while Robbie continued to pump his chest, the sweat pouring off of him from his exertions.

“My turn,” said a young guy who gave Robbie a break. It only took ten minutes for the paramedics to get there. They took over CPR and brought in a defibrillator. They shocked his chest, then again, then again, then again. He showed absolutely no sign of life. They put him on a stretcher and wheeled him out, maintaining CPR the entire time. I was vaguely aware of all the eyes on us as we moved through the building and got into the ambulance. The hospital was only a short distance, but hope for me had already gone. He simply showed no sign of any response at all. By the time we got to the hospital, there was no more to be done, and they pronounced him dead.

I sat there with him, still holding his hand, staring at him, this man that I loved, who had been such an asshole. “Sir,” said a polite nurse. “Sir, he's gone.”

I nodded. “He was my partner for 22 years. Let me have a minute here with him.”

I felt her hand on my shoulder, a kind human gesture. “Certainly.” Then the tears started flowing, unstoppable tears reflecting the myriad emotions flowing through my body. Sadness at what a waste his death was, guilt that I hadn't done enough to save him, anger at him for being so stubborn and so focused on his career, and above all, a huge sense of loss at losing the man I loved. I kissed his still warm forehead and ran my fingers through his hair, praying to a God I knew didn't exist for some miracle to suddenly bring him back to life.

I thought about our life together, and all the good times we had. Our trip to Israel when we were dating, our honeymoon, as it were, to Australia after we officially got together, and all the time we spent on his boat enjoying the sea and unwinding. I thought about my slutty days before him, and knew that I owed him my life. Without him, I would have been a victim of the first wave of AIDS, of that I had no doubt. Yet when it was my turn to save him, I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it.

I felt a more familiar hand on my shoulder and looked up to see Robbie. “He's dead,” I said, more of sob than a sentence. I saw the guilt in his eyes and knew what that could do to someone like him. That strengthened me, and I stood up to face him. “This was not your fault.”

“It was. I changed things too quickly. I should have known he would not be able to handle it.”

“Bullshit,” I said, and my hand, as if with a mind of its own, soared up and slapped him hard across the face. He stared at me, stunned. “You did nothing wrong. He gave you the reins and you took them, and to all appearances, you were doing quite well. He was wrong. One hundred percent, completely wrong.”

He held his hand up to his face. “Couldn't you have said that without slapping me?”

We actually grinned at each other for a second. “People do not always take me seriously. This was important.” Then he put his arm around me and led me out of the room.

March 31, 1995

“It's time to go downstairs Stef,” Brad said to me. He never ceased to amaze me. From the moment he'd heard of Greg's death, he'd kicked into overdrive and organized everything. I thought back sadly to when his brother Billy had died and he'd had to do the same thing. A way for him to channel his grief into something more useful. How unlike me. Except for my approval of his plans, I'd done nothing but stay inside and mope around the house. Torturing myself with self-recriminations, fighting the demons, or perhaps inviting them in.

“Thank you,” I said to him. I didn't need to elaborate. He held up his finger in our own private gesture, the one we'd had ever since he became my “blood brother” in Paris. That was even before I'd met Greg. I pressed my finger to his and felt another tear fall down my cheek. I had to carry a bottle of water around to stop myself from being dehydrated.

I headed downstairs and saw everything in order, just as Brad planned. We'd decided to have the wake here, by the beach. I'd told all my friends and family to wait to come down until today. I wanted to sulk alone, to try to deal with this. I found that I suddenly craved people. There was a pianist warming up at the grand piano, there to keep the edge off things. And there, in front of the massive glass wall that overlooked the Pacific was Greg's coffin.

I stared down at his handsome face, looking wax-like from all the embalming work, but still handsome, and felt more tears. Then I pulled myself together and prepared for the onslaught of people paying their final respects. The first few through were just Hollywood types, the people I had to pretend to be sincerely glad to see, and who uttered mindless platitudes about my “loss.” I was just about to work myself into a deep depression when I looked up to see Marcel staring at me. I jumped up and gave him a big hug, sinking into his warmth.

“I'm so sorry Stef,” he said to me in French. He'd come over to the US in 1985 and stayed with me. I'd adopted him as my own son, paid for his education, given him an allowance, bought him a condo when he'd moved to Chicago; all of that and I still felt that I had taken more from him than I gave. I pulled back and smiled at him. He was Robbie's cousin, and could be his twin.

“Just seeing you here makes me feel so much better,” I said. Off to the side I saw his boyfriend Max and hurried to include him. “Max, you look fantastic.” He really did; he always did. The epitome of a blond surfer.

“Thanks Stef.” Then he gave me a hug too.

“You are staying for a while? I have been watching the waves. They are calling for you.” Max loved to surf.

“I'll have to squeeze in some surfing time,” he said shyly.

“You are so cute. How come we are never single at the same time?” I flirted. I couldn't help it. These two always cheered me up.

“Who says we can't be? Give me a few days to dump this guy,” he said, pointing to Marcel playfully. Marcel smacked him. “Has my mother come by?”

Just thinking of her had made him nervous. Janet used to work for Greg, but she'd left under some pretty bad circumstances around the same time she'd been absolutely evil, trying to manipulate Max. “No, but she will most likely show up. Do not worry. You are the welcome guest here. She is the interloper.” I just enjoyed their company, using them as a shield to avoid people in Hollywood that had been Greg's friends, but not mine.

“And just what are you wearing?” I heard a snarky female voice say. I turned to find my niece Claire, JP’s daughter and a true beauty, smiling at me.

“And you are talking?” I demanded. There was nothing wrong with her clothes at all. “I do like this suit. Chanel?”

“It is. Something conservative for the occasion,” she joked back. Then Jack, her husband, stepped up next to her. I gave him a big hug.

“When are you going to get old and ugly?” I teased. Jack was probably the most handsome man I'd ever encountered.

“I don't think that's possible,” he teased. Their two kids, Marie, who was almost nine like JJ, and John, who had just turned eight like Will, came in respectfully, looking for all the world as if they'd never gotten into a bit of trouble.

“We're sorry for your loss,” young John said politely, making me smile.

“Thank you John. That is very sweet. Does this party look like much fun to you?”

He studied me carefully. “No.”

“I do not think so either. Why not go next door and find JJ and Will.” He grinned at me, and so did Marie, then they tore off. Kids didn't need this kind of shit.

Then Ace was there, JP's oldest son, recently married to his high school sweetheart Cass, who was pregnant with their first child. I smiled, thinking about what a chatterbox she'd been as a teenager, and how nothing had changed. Then Isidore and Frank, who was delighted to see Robbie again, and finally, JP was here.

“Where is the professor?” I teased.

“He sends his condolences,” JP said flatly, clearly not wanting to get involved in a discussion about Benjamin Whist.

“I am sure he was most sincere,” I said playfully. He eyed me then, his gaze threatening to pierce through the shield I'd erected and destroy my mood. “Do not get all maudlin on me. I am trying not to feel too bad.”

He smiled then. “Maybe we can spend some time alone later then.”

“Alone time?” I teased, and he blushed. I sensed tension in the room, a lot of tension, and turned to see Janet Granger and her husband standing over Greg's casket. JP and I stood there watching them, and watching Max as he glared over at them. Funerals can be a time for healing, but it was not to be. They merely glanced in his direction and left. “A more heartless couple I cannot imagine,” I observed to JP.

“The loss is theirs. Max is a great guy,” he said.

“Go tell him that,” I urged. He smiled and headed over to see Max and Marcel, to try to repair the damage that Max's parents seemed determined to inflict upon their son.

The visitors came and went, until 9:00 drew close, the hour the wake was scheduled to end. I was just about to steel myself for the next phase, the final goodbye before Greg was turned to ashes, when someone else came through the door, casting tension across the room like Max's parents had. I looked up to see a very nervous Lou, obviously trying to decide whether to stay or flee in the face of such latent hostility. It pissed me off. I went over to him and could see the fear in his face, fear of what I might say to him, of how I might point out what a failure he was. Fear that I would destroy what little was left of his self-esteem.

Instead, I gave him a big hug. I had been drawing strength from other people all day, but this time I was giving it to someone else. “I did not know if it would be alright for me to visit,” he said softly into my ear.

“Nonsense, Lou. Come with me,” I said, taking his hand and guiding him over to Greg's coffin. He stared down at Greg and tears began to flow down his face. It was rare for Lou to cry, especially genuine tears.

“I feel so bad. I disappointed him so much,” he said, almost sobbing.

“You did not disappoint him Lou. He worried about you. We both did,” I told him. I stared up at his face, still devastatingly handsome. He was like Robbie, where age only seemed to make him more attractive, and now at 27, he was perhaps more stunning than when he'd been a teen model. “Where are you staying?”

“I do not know yet. I was at a party in Dallas when I heard about Greg.”

“So you are still a circuit boy?” I asked. He nodded sadly. “You are staying with me. Take your old room.”

“I couldn't impose after all, after...” he couldn't say it. Couldn't admit to how he'd stolen money from us to fuel his drug habit. How he'd betrayed our trust.

I patted his cheek. “Stay with me for a few days. Rest up. Keep me company,” I told him. He grinned at me and nodded.

Brad came up and barely concealed his irritation at Lou. “It is time Stef.” I nodded and we all gathered around Greg's coffin.

I cleared my throat to address them. “It is a shame that he is not with us anymore, a shame because it could have been prevented. But I do not want to think about that anymore. When I close this lid, I only want to remember the good times I had with Greg, for they were so many, and not the bad times, which were so few. I hope you will do the same.” My voice, so calm and steady, belied the emotion I felt. That was betrayed by the constant stream of tears. I took one last look at the face of the man I'd loved for 22 years, the partner who had completed me, tamed me, and then I closed the lid.

April 3, 1995

“You will be OK?” JP asked me, as he got ready to head to the plane. It was bright and early, early enough for him to beat the traffic and still make it to his class.

“I will be now, thanks to your sexual healing,” I teased. He'd been with me the whole time, just as he'd always been.

“I didn't know I had a magic wand,” he said, grinning. “Come up and visit when you can.” I nodded and gave him one last kiss, and then he was gone too.

And that was what was happening. All of the togetherness, all of the support, had been wonderful, but now that it was gone, I was lonelier than ever.

I headed to the kitchen to make some tea; there was no way I could go back to sleep. Or so I thought. I woke up later, someone shaking my shoulder, to find myself asleep at the table, with a disgusting stream of drool coming out of my mouth.

“You should get more rest,” Brad said, smiling.

“You are probably right, but that is hard to do when JP is here,” I replied, smiling back.

“I got a package yesterday from Greg's attorney. He made some changes to one of his trusts. Did he tell you about it?”

I stared at him and shook my head. “We'd always been open about our estate plans.” I couldn't figure out what he might have changed. He'd left most of his money, his assets, to Robbie and Marcel. The balance he'd left for my use, not that I needed the money, but I knew he wanted me to be able to live here. It was technically his house. Brad handed me the envelope.

I studied the amendments carefully. He hadn't messed with Robbie or Marcel, but he'd added two additional bequests to the money he'd left for me. He'd carved out $10,000,000 and split it up between Lou and Max. I handed it to Brad.

“Why would he do that?” Brad asked.

I sighed. “For Max, it is because he genuinely liked him, and he came to consider him to be part of the family. This will be his way of telling Max that, with money.”

“What about Lou?” Brad asked.

“Greg always blamed himself, his temper, for what happened to Lou. He thought if he'd been more patient, tried to be more helpful, Lou might not have run off, and we might have been able to help him have a more grounded life.”

“That is bullshit,” came a voice from the doorway. Lou. “It was not his fault that I am a fuck-up.”

“Whose fault was it then?” Brad asked caustically. He had grown to heartily dislike Lou over the years. Lou, who breezed into people's lives and took advantage of them, and then breezed right back out again.

“It was my fault,” he said. Brad and I both just stared at him. Lou had never taken responsibility for anything, least of all his own failures. Never. “I am sorry that he felt that way. I let him down so badly.”

I told Brad to shut up with my eyes. “I think that Greg wanted to give you one more chance to redeem yourself. I think he saw a glimmer of a responsible, productive person in you.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because he left you a lot of money,” I told him, carefully watching his reaction. The old Lou would have been happy, gleeful. This Lou just looked thoughtful. Then he simply got up and headed back up to his room.

“That's odd. I've never seen him like that,” Brad said.

“Maybe he is growing up at last?” I queried.

“Stranger things have happened,” Brad said.

I headed up to Lou’s room and knocked, softly. “Come in,” I heard him say. He was packing.

“Where are you going?” I asked, concerned.

“I feel like I'm taking advantage of you again, staying here. You open your home to me after all I've done to you; Greg leaves me money after all I did to him. I feel very undeserving and very bad about myself right now.”

“So now what you will do is leave here and go back to the circuit, drowning your guilt in sex and drugs. That would disappoint Greg more than anything. He left you money so you could build a life for yourself, so you could escape from this cycle.” I said these words as I stared into his eyes.

“I cannot impose upon you,” he said.

“Lou,” I said, putting my arm around him, “I am all alone now. Greg is gone, and our life together is over. You are not imposing. I could use the company.”

He smiled down at me. “Thanks Stef. I think this is the first time in a long time that I've actually felt wanted.”

Then I did my morning routine and headed back down to work with Brad, to enlist his help in getting Greg's estate settled.

“Do you want to keep the ship?” he asked me.

I thought about that. It was Greg's toy, not mine. I wouldn't really use it; it would just sit in the harbor rusting. “I do not think so. I have my plane. I like to get places more quickly than that,” I teased.

“I thought you might say that so I called the yacht broker. They seem to think it would be better to bring it back here and sell it, especially since you have an LA based crew. And that's another thing. They've been cooling their jets in St. Thomas, wondering what the fuck is going to happen.” Brad was so organized.

“I think that I will fly back to St. Thomas and sail back with them.” He eyed me curiously. “It will be therapeutic, I think.” I finished my day by calling the ship's captain and explaining my plans, and explaining that while I planned to sell the ship, they had no fear for their jobs in the interim.

It was only 10:00pm when I climbed into bed, but I was exhausted. It had been an emotionally trying day. I was almost asleep when I felt the bed move and felt someone move up behind me. “Do not be afraid, it is only me,” Lou said.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him rudely.

“I am here to keep you company,” he said, nuzzling my neck and running his hands up my chest, gently flicking my nipples.

“That is not what I meant by company,” I said, struggling to get away.

“Maybe, but it is what you need, and what I want.” I felt his hard cock jabbing my ass now, his firm body curled around mine forcing me almost into a fetal position. His hand seemed to magically appear on my dick and I felt myself yielding to him. My mind screamed for me to resist, but it was too weak, too stressed, and my body too strong, and too needy. I pushed back into him and felt his smile even though I couldn't see it.

“Condom,” was the only thing I trusted myself to say. He pulled away then, ripping open the package and putting it on, making sure to kiss my neck and shoulders to keep me engaged. Then I felt lubricated fingers gently probe me, and I let myself go.

“Stef, I have wanted you for so long. I have wanted to be with you like this since we met in Paris ten years ago.” I moaned as he pulled his fingers out and moved his cock up. He pushed in slowly and I pushed back, so needing the physical comfort he was offering.

“I have heard stories about you, about how good you are, what an amazing lover you are. Show me they are true,” he demanded breathlessly as he fucked me.

“Ahhh,” I moaned in response to his verbal stimulation, and then I let myself go, as I hadn't done in a long time. I turned into an animal. He fucked me doggy style, he pushed me on my stomach and fucked me, and finally, he pushed me onto my back and just pounded me like crazy. The sight of his beautiful face, his perfect chest, the flat stomach with just the right amount of hair, and the look on his face, the look that said he was enjoying this as much as I was sent me over the edge. I started blasting my load, stroking my cock as I went to prolong it as much as possible, while he, skillful lover that he was, pushed his own orgasm up to hit right after mine.