Wellington Napoleon Dowd - 8. Chapter 8 - Summers

The end of that first year at college was both relieving and unsettling. I was relieved to be away from the environment controlled by Josh and comforted by the fact that he would not be there for the fall semester. I was unsettled by having to return home. I was excited to have Clark Gable at my beck and call again, but I didn’t have anywhere to go. The house, if forty some-odd rooms can be called a house, was as lifeless as it had been in my childhood. For a week, I haunted the house and grounds seeking diversion.

I even stopped by Mr. Selwen’s office to see review the corporation’s activities, after all I was the president. He reviewed the books with me, all seemed in order. He did mention that a detailed survey of the Wellington House grounds was scheduled to begin. Somehow, Mr. Selwen had managed to grab the accounting duties for the construction contractor for the project, so was in the know. He explained how that would ensure that my interests were protected. It also meant another revenue stream for Mr. Selwen.

A few days later I was gazing from the highest tower of the Dowd Mansion, not really looking for anything in particular, the view was virtually unchanged in my experience of it over nineteen years. The congregation of several pickup trucks and a van near our front gate did raise my curiosity. Why not investigate? By the time I had ambled to the gate the vehicles had moved further along in front of the empty acreage where the condominiums would rise. Ah, the surveyors

My approach was observed by the group of men huddled near the vehicles. “Hey kid, wanna earn a couple of bucks?”

“Sure.” Though the sale of the property and mortgage income had solved the dire financial straits of not long ago, the prospect of diversion, any diversion appealed.

“Some college kid was supposed to show up to help out with the survey. He must have blown us off. We’re surveying the property for a condo development. We need someone to hump stuff around, hold the surveying rods and sometimes go for coffee. You know, a summer job. You live around here?”

“Not far.” I didn’t see any value in mentioning that I was a Dowd living in the Dowd Mansion next door. Low key, yes, that’s the idea.

“Fine. We start most days at 7:00 AM and knock off by 3:00. It runs late sometimes. We pay union scale plus a bit – keeps the unions away. Not bad money for a summer job. I’ll get the paperwork for you tomorrow. Selwen & Thompson handle the payroll. They’re local, so shouldn’t be a problem.”

Go Mr. Selwen. You’ve got this town locked up.

“For a start, go grab some coffee. There’s a diner right in town. You’re from around here, you must know it. Get twelve coffees, some milk and sugar on the side. Use my truck, the red one. Here’s the keys and a couple of bucks. Oh, I’m Mike, Mike O’Hanlan.” He turned back to the other workmen.

And so I began my first summer job toting and fetching for the surveying crew. It wasn’t hard work, mostly running into town for coffee, lunch or supplies. Some days I stood holding a tall rod the surveyors aimed the transit at. Every feature of the extensive acreage was plotted and recorded. The crew answered all of my questions about their job and how the equipment worked. I ended up learning a good deal about surveying.

I will always remember the first week on the job. At the end of the day I was unbelievably dirty and exhausted. I managed to drag myself back to my home, shower away the day’s soil, eat a really big dinner in the kitchen with Mrs. Cooke and crash into bed. I think it was the first time I didn’t masturbate myself to sleep. That did return later, but at the end of the day, I was beat. It really felt good.

On the first Friday, I was sent to Mr. Selwen’s office to pick up the payroll. He asked me to join in him in his office. “I’m impressed. At first I was surprised to see your name on the pay roster. You know, you’re kind of paying yourself since your corporation holds the notes on this project. It’s good to see you get involved. Smart.”

I confessed that I didn’t really have a plan, the job was dumb luck. From Mr. Selwen’s wink, I suspect he always has a plan. I just had a summer job.

Toward the end of the summer, the general contractor showed up on the site to go over the survey and discuss some areas that might present difficulty with the construction. Mike O’Hanlan, in response to the contractor’s question ‘who’s the kid?’ took the opportunity to point me out as a college student that actually was a good worker and worth considering for next summer.

After my somewhat sad and definitely chastened second year at school, I was picked up as part of the construction crew. Not much had happened since the previous summer. A chain link fence now surrounded the property with a construction trailer parked near the entrance. Back hoes and bull dozers showed up on trailers as needed. This was clearly only one of the construction sites in the works for the contractor which probably explained the apparent lack of progress. But I had a job for the summer which most importantly gave me something to do.

This job was much the same toting and fetching, with some time doing hand shoveling where the big equipment couldn’t be used. We were digging and laying foundations and roughing in the roads. I was pretty much invisible to the construction workers. They had all worked together for years and had formed a kind of fraternity of hard knocks. Their conversations were laced with profanity, often abusing one of their own. The worst verbal assault seemed to be being called ‘gay’ or worse versions of same. I played very very low key.

Over time, I began to observe these men in a different light. I saw them at work. It was not the intellectual work of college or professionals like Mr. Selwen. It was work of a creative, material nature. At the end of a day, massive amounts of earth had been moved, forms set, foundations poured, roads created. Their skills and knowledge were impressive. The best back hoe operator, one of the many Mikes or Joes on the job site, could pick up a nickel dropped into a trench with the giant machine. One glance at a barely exposed rock was enough for the foreman to know whether dynamite or hand shoveling was needed to remove the obstacle. Like I said, impressive.

The men themselves presented a subject for my study. They seemed to fall into three basic camps. There were the big guys, who despite big bellies were strong beyond my imagining. There were the skinny guys, usually burned a permanent wrinkled brown by years out of doors. These guys were usually quick witted with tremendous endurance. The last group were the kids, guys from town. Most of these needed the job to support young and emerging families. They seemed much more mature than guys I had known in college, I guess they had to be. Most were diligent on the job, looking for ways to advance. I was learning about how life was lived beyond college and the walls of the Dowd Mansion.

I was immediately included for the third summer. The rough build of the condos had already begun, but many more units remained to be constructed. I added some basic carpentry skills to my list of abilities. That summer, I was invariably called ‘the professor’ to my embarrassment. This was both a taunt and an envy. The crew knew I would graduate the following year and move on to a different life. I had maintained the secret of my position – and sexuality - throughout the summer jobs. I enjoyed the inclusion with these rough men and learned to respect them and their contribution.

My relative seniority after three summers brought me into contact with the head guys usually found in the construction trailer. I often was the go-between for questions or problems. Some issue cropped up that sent me to the trailer. The usual group of contractors, trade foremen and suppliers were not in the trailer that time. In their place was a vision in shades of red. His brick colored hair surmounted a sunburnt face, dotted with darker freckles. Dark red, almost brown fur emerged from the neck of his shirt. He was of medium height, sturdy with muscular arms. And his eyes, his eyes were a sparkling green. I threw a rod.

“Can I help you?” A surprisingly deep voice with a Southern influence interrupted my reverie.

“Um, yeah. Mike, the crane operator Mike, sent me to find out if we were going ahead on the next set of units.”

The vision approached me, his hand extended. “We’ll have to wait for Mike, the foreman Mike, to get an answer. Can it wait a bit? I’m Kevin, by the way. I started a couple of weeks back as assistant architect and engineer. And you are?”

I pulled myself back from the fantasies raging in my head and heart, and yes, lower down. “I’m Well. They usually call me ‘Will’, and that’s close enough.” I shook his hand, forgetting to let go in the wonderful sensations of touching him.

“Okay, Well. Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll call Mike to see what he says.” He attended to this, his back to me, allowing me to appraise the swell of his back muscles, broad shoulders and very cute ass.

“Looks like we’re going to concentrate on finishing up the units we’ve got roughed out, so you can tell Mike he can wrap it up.”

I tried to will myself to get up to deliver the message, but could only sit and gaze at him. He didn’t seem the least put off, instead he smiled at me and gave me a meaningful wink. “So, Well. I’m new around here. Maybe you could show me around. Like, tonight, after the work.”

My mind raced, as I took in this invitation. What would I show him, where would we go?

“Look, Well, I’m staying at the motel on the far side of town. We can meet there, or I can pick you up after you clean up.”

I managed to okay the arrangement to meet at the motel and stumbled over my still raging erection on my way out of the trailer. I could hear him laugh as I left. It was a laugh of flattered amusement. I was heartened.

The rest of the day dragged on. I raced back home to shower and tried to dress how I imagined a construction worker off duty would dress. Not a simple matter with my wardrobe preferences. I borrowed Gardner’s car, less ostentatious than Clark Gable, and drove to the motel. I was greeted with ‘door’s open’ at my knock. The bedroom was empty, the bathroom door ajar emitting steam.

“Sorry, I’m running late,” came from the bathroom. “Had to review some records before leaving today.” He poked his head through the partial opening. I could tell he was still naked following his shower. A minute later he emerged wrapped at the waist in a towel. He displayed no embarrassment, only confidence as he crossed the room to the dresser. I tried to keep from gaping at him somewhat unsuccessfully. He opened a drawer, removing some underwear. The towel dropped to the floor. I nearly came. His butt was covered with reddish fur, reaching down his legs and to his lower back in an inverted ‘v’. I could see his full, fuzzy balls between his legs as he bent over to pull on his shorts. I think I gasped.

He turned toward me, nicely bulging. “I’m really hungry. How is the diner? Or do you recommend anyplace else. I’m sick of pizza and fast food. What do you feel like.”

“Ummm, ummm, uh, yeah, the diner’s okay. There’s a steak place in the old hotel in the middle of town, but it’s kind of expensive. Maybe best on a weekend.”

“You know what I miss most working on this job? A home cooked meal.”

I was coming back into focus as he continued to dress, somewhat reducing the distraction of his earlier naked body. “Um, yeah, I felt the same when at college.”

“What year are you?”

“Going into my senior year.”

“I just finished grad school and an internship. That’s how I landed this job. So tell me, Well, what do you do around here for fun?”

It had been a very long time since I had had real contact with another human being. My desire for Kevin was overwhelming me. I was nervous and flustered. I opened my mouth to respond and out leapt, “I’m gay.” It escaped from me against my will.

Kevin laughed gently. “That’s nice, so am I. But I still want to get something to eat. I guess we can talk about having fun later.” Another wink. He motioned to the door with a nod and led out of the room.

He drove us in his pickup truck. It might have been a nice truck sometime during the Great Depression, but its glory days were long behind it. It got us to the diner. I don’t know what we ordered. I don’t recall eating. I remember a steady stream of talk from Kevin and trying to focus enough to respond to questions. After a while the conversation took a more serious tone.

“I’ve been looking over the project records. There seem to be some irregularities, particularly around scheduling. The head contractor seems to be moving equipment and guys around his other projects a lot. I’ve seen that before, usually when a general contractor is in financial trouble.”

“Why are you telling me this?” This part of the conversation brought me into focus.

“The records also show that the Dowd Corporation is holding the mortgage on the property and has made some construction loans. It wasn’t too hard to link the principal of the firm, one Wellington Dowd with a bright, enthusiastic and attractive – if I might add – young crew member. It’s all there in the records, if anyone cared to look. That’s really why I was running late.”

I tried to demur.

“And I took the precaution of watching you as you left today. I saw you head out the other way, but double back and sneak into the Dowd Mansion gates. I was pretty sure then. Pleased, too. I don’t want any part of a scandal on my first job. Bankrupt contractors are all too common. When you came into the trailer today, I saw my chance to talk to you.” Kevin reached across the table, taking my hand in his. “I didn’t think I’d also be meeting someone I’d like to know a lot better.”

My mouth that had been watering since I first laid eyes on Kevin went dry.

“Come on, let’s go for a walk.” Kevin led me out onto the street.

We walked along the main street and into the municipal park. In a copse of trees behind the civil war cannons, Kevin took me in his arms and kissed me.

“There, that’s out of the way. I really want to make love to you. I’d do it right here, right now, whatever you wanted. But I think we should straighten out this business stuff first. You could end up being my boss and that can mess things up. What do you say? Can you arrange a meeting with your company officers to go over my suspicions? Hopefully, the contractor can explain everything. If not, I wouldn’t want you hurt, especially now.”

Kevin drove me back to my car, chastely said good night, and waved as I drove away.

***

Mr. Selwen accepted my call. He did not sound as surprised as I had been. He suggested a meeting later that morning with our attorney. Mr. Selwen shared that the monthly payments had become sporadic and occasionally incomplete. It was understandable that cash flows could fluctuate during an extended construction project, but had begun to raise some alarm. I shared Kevin’s concerns. This convinced both Mr. Selwen and the attorney to call an immediate meeting with the contractor.

The contractor entered the conference room of Mr. Selwen’s office, quickly scanning the room, clearly trying to evaluate the situation. He stopped when he spotted me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Our attorney responded for me. “This, Mr. Evens, is Mr. Dowd. His firm holds the mortgages and loans on the Wellington Muse project. It is he who will repossess the property, inclusive of all improvements should you be unable to explain a growing list of irregularities.”

“Why you little shit. You snitched on me.”

“I suggest you confine your conversation to the matter at hand, Mr. Evens. To my knowledge, Mr. Dowd is unaware of any problems, and has, in fact, been an exemplary employee of the project.”

I tried not to quail. Mr. Selwen put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“It seems that the suspected problems are indeed factual, based on your comments and attitude. Inform your attorneys that we will proceed with an investigation and all necessary actions.”

The contractor left significantly diminished.

“Now what?” I asked.

“There are several courses of action available to us,” explained Mr. Selwen, clearly the brains behind our operation. “We could identify and employ another contractor. That could be costly and will take time. There has been too much time wasted on this project already.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I think you should take over the project as general contractor.”

“Me?”

“Certainly, you. I have no doubt you are far more aware, based on your experience working on the project, than most GCs. You would of course need to employ a highly skilled architect, engineer and foremen.”

“But I have another year of college.”

“With the right key people, our local monitoring and the coming close of the construction season, we should be able to make it work. In all likelihood, we’ll be delayed with legal proceedings until the spring. What do you say? Dowd Construction?”

“Mr. Selwen, I suspect you had this in mind the whole time. I’m a little afraid of you. You’ve become the secret ‘big wheel’ of Millsville.”

“Fear not, dear boy. As I said years ago, I have your best interests in mind, particularly since they align with mine. This town, my firm and you stand to prosper significantly and as you have so keenly pointed out, I enjoy my growing influence. You may not be aware, I was the son of a lowly mill worker. The Dowd Foundation supported me in my education. I am grateful and well compensated. But to the matter at hand, you personally know the various foremen and crew members. They will likely lose their jobs as this situation plays out. Who from among them should we consider as hires? Put a list together. We’ll meet again on Friday. I don’t think you ought to go to the job site anymore, just to be safe.”

***

I had driven Clark Gable to Mr. Selwen’s office that morning, enjoying again the sensations he shared. I had given no thought to remaining in cognito. I was surprised to see a gathering of construction workers outside the gates of my home. It was, after all, next door to the construction site. As I approached, I was fearful of some kind of backlash from our meeting with the contractor. Instead, I was greeted with catcalls and whistles in appreciation of my somewhat ostentatious ride.

“Yo, Dowd, nice ride.” It was like being back in high school.

“Don’t forget your friends, Mr. Rich guy.”

I crimsoned with embarrassment.

Kevin emerged from the crowd. I stopped the car. He leaned in, resting his elbows on the door. “Seems I was right. Evens shut down the job as soon as he got back, then split. That’s the end of this job.”

I made up my mind right then. I would take on the construction company. “Kevin, meet me tonight, here at my home. We have lots to discuss. First reassure the guys that this project will continue thought there might be some delays. And by the way, we’ll have that home cooked meal.”

***

It was the most difficult thing I ever had to do. Kevin had been at me constantly for the last two weeks. He had convinced my mind that I had to go back and finish my senior year. I accepted that it was the right thing to do and that I would regret not finishing. I would even be driving Clark Gable, allowing me to return home on weekends. But to leave what we had just gotten started, the construction business, the romance and the sex tore me into a thousand pieces. It was only Kevin’s ultimatum, that either I go or he would, that forced me to break free of a relationship more beautiful than my dreams.

I thank god for Clark Gable. He comforted me, eased me, held me during the drive. Even though the pleasures he imparted were but a shadow of what I had come to know with Kevin, Clark Gable carried me along assuring me that I would return and that Kevin would be waiting.

Kevin never left after that night. He came to the Dowd Mansion. I told him about Mr. Selwen’s idea for the construction company. I told him it would only be possible if he agreed to lead the company. I might be nominal head or owner, but without him there could be no company. I needed his expertise, his education, his support. And much more. He voiced concerns about being involved with ‘the boss.’ I drew his attention to many successful couples. He countered with all those who had failed, either their businesses or each other. It was only when I listed all the construction workers who would lose their livelihoods, to whom we held an obligation, that he relented and committed to try to partner with me.

He allowed himself to be led to my bedroom, the special one in the high tower. I didn’t seduce him, nor him me. The tension between us was electric. The current flowed between sending off sparks us as we loved. I consumed him. He consumed me. Over and over again.

In the quiet of morning as we lay side by side, I asked him, “When did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That we would do this, be together.” I entwined my fingers in his abundant chest hair.

He laughed his merry laugh. “It was that time you came into the trailer. We were alone. I’ll confess I’d spotted you the first day I was on the job. I asked who the tall, masculine, somewhat aloof fellow was, the one who was so good with tools. They told me Will, the college kid. I watched you working, loving it when you took your shirt off, seeing the sweat glisten on your chest, your arms straining while laboring. I could taste you. Then you came into the trailer. I tried being coy. I was holding back with everything I had. I needed to be sure you could accept me.”

“What convinced you?” My fingers wandering along the trail to tug at his pubes.

“Two things come to mind. First, when you blurted out ‘I’m gay’ in my motel room.”

“Well you were so lusciously naked.”

“Accidents do happen,” he confessed. “I’ve always had difficulty keeping a towel on.”

“And the second?”

“Oh, that would be the boner you had in the trailer – and impressive it was and is.” He stroked me for emphasis.

“But you had the business difficulties in mind.”

“I’d like to think I’m a professional. As tempting as you are, especially when I realized you were the one who would be hurt by Evens’s mishandling of the project, I had to tell you my suspicions. It was a threat to us all. Thank god for Selwen’s plan and your good sense. We have a meeting at nine, which means we only have time to make love one or two more times, so are you going to keep asking questions?

***

Kevin agreed to stay in the Down Mansion while I was away. It gave Cook Cooke and Gardener something beyond my parents to care for and it made coming home to him on weekends easier. I had introduced Kevin to my father, whose comments were approving if somewhat confused as to the nature of this man in our home. I spared him my mother, confident their paths would never cross.

I didn’t make it home for as many weekends as I had hoped. My senior year was academically demanding and I was distracted. Kevin and Mr. Selwen kept me apprised of the legal issues with the former contractor. It was all settled fairly quickly, as these things go, by Thanksgiving. The best of the original crew were asked to be ready for the spring construction season. Small loans at very favorable rates were offered to anyone in need. Mr. Selwen both encouraged thrift and expressed optimism for the success of the project. At least I only had one more semester to pay for before finishing.

Kevin and I were inseparable during the Thanksgiving break. Mrs. Cooke did the feast proud, though only Kevin and I were in the grand dining room to enjoy it. We again had conversation after some postprandial romping.

“I’m stuffed, are you stuffed?”

“I wouldn’t be if you pulled that big cock out of my ass.”

“But it fits so nice and snug. It feels really good.”

“Yes, it does, but why ask if I’m stuffed. You know I am. Now give me another load.”

***

After the Thanksgiving break, I returned to college to finish papers and finals. The prospect of a long month between terms with Kevin was luscious. We’d be working, along with Mr. Selwen, to begin the new year with our plans in place and ready for action.