Special Forces - 12. Chapter 12

“............really sorry...............Greg...................not like that....................very angry........................Gregory’s friend................. Nick?”

“What? Oh, sorry Darlene. I was a bit spaced out there. What were you saying?”

“I was just saying that we’re sorry about what happened. Nick, you look a little pale, are you okay?”

“Um, yeah, I’m just...um....”

“Are you mad at Greg and me? I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

“No, not at all, Darlene. I’m just feeling...well, there’s been a lot going on in the last year or so. I think it’s all catching up with me. I feel...drained....”

“Nick, even though Greg screwed up big time, we think you and Sam are the greatest. I’ve watched you with Jorge and you are both excellent parents. And Jorge is wonderful little boy, he’s the best thing that’s happened to Gregory all year. He hadn’t made any friends at school and Jorge has been a lifesaver. He’s so much happier now. If you need a friend, Nick, someone to talk to, I’m here for you, okay?”

Darlene’s offer of friendship really touched me. The truth was, I did need a friend. I hadn’t had one since I’d left Minneapolis—Andrea, a chum from high school, who’d been a faithful companion through my mother’s sickness. I’d never had any close male friends. Is that why I was feeling angry at Sam? Could it be jealousy?

Darlene came over and put her arm around my waist and leaned her head against my shoulder. “You’re a good man, Mr. Poulos. Don’t forget that, okay? You have people who love you and people who want you as their friend.”

It was such a relief to hear Darlene’s validating words. How did she know what I needed to hear? I put my arm around her waist, and we stood in companionable silence, looking out the window at our animated husbands.

Conversation around the dinner table was lively. Everyone had their say. Greg is an industrial engineer who designs household electronics, so we had a lot in common. He was really interested in my kiln; said he’d always wanted to try his hand at pottery. Darlene teaches elementary school part time. Jorge and Gregory got a little carried away with the giggles when they threw peas in the air and tried to catch them in their mouths, earning them stern looks from their parents.

On the drive home I was pensive. I reflected on my maternal role in the relationship. It was a role Sam and I had discussed, and I had no qualms about taking when Jorge first arrived. And the truth was I enjoyed the friendship of women more than men. Comparing penis size wasn’t my cup of tea. Ordinarily I was happy to let Sam and Sandy tell their off-color jokes and smoke their cigars. So why was I kicking at the traces now?

The answer was one word: Anger. I was saturated with it. And much like a summer flood finds the easiest course, I let mine flow out at Sam, a convenient but undeserving target. But what could I do? I was loath to go back to my counsellor. I didn’t have the time or energy for cognitive therapy. And I balked at the idea of taking antidepressants. I feared they would hinder my creative process.

When we got home I took over the duties of getting Jorge ready for bed. We skipped the bath and I just have him a quick once-over with a facecloth. He was pretty tired so it only took about two pages of Twenty Yawns to get him to sleep. Sam came in just Jorge was drifting off and gave him a loving, gentle kiss on the forehead and told him how much he loved him.

“I poured you a wine, Nicky, come and sit with me.”

He settled on the couch turning sideways and invited me to sit between his legs. I settled into his chest and he moved my hair and gently kissed my neck. “Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Truth was always the best option with Sam. He was immune to evasive tactics and could sniff out a lie a mile away. “Sometimes I feel angry, Sam. For no reason. Tonight...well, I don’t even want to talk about what I was planning to do. I’m so scared it’s going to bubble over and I’ll say or do something stupid. I’m scared I’m going to blurt something out that is hurtful. You know, one of those things you can never make amends for?”

Sam kissed my neck again. “Hmmm, you’re having mood swings?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds like mild PTSD—just some tendencies—nothing serious. But let me reassure you. First of all, Nicky, I know you love me, and I love you. So if you say something that seems hurtful I won’t be fazed by it. Think ahead a few years. Jorge will be in the throes of teenage angst—jerking off ten times a day and thinking we don’t have a clue he’s doing it. Anyway, something will happen. Maybe he’ll ignore his curfew and we’ll ground him for a month. That’s going to piss him off, and he’s going to tell us we’re stupid and that he hates us. Now is that going to destroy our relationship with him? No, because we love him, and he loves us. He may not think that in the moment, but deep down he does. So it’s the same with us. External forces may make you cranky, and you may take it out on me, but the crisis will pass.”

“What should I do, Sam? I really need you to give me some guidance, so don’t say ‘what do you think you should do?’ Based on your experience what could I do that would help?”

“Well, you’ve got the basics covered. Exercise. Nutrition. Sleep. Wild sex. But you’ve been really busy lately what with the move, Jorge, your artwork.... Hey! I know. How about you take a little vacation? Leave Jorge and me to fend for ourselves. We could live like slobs! Drink beer. Fart. Eat takeout. Tell dirty jokes! Okay, seriously, is there anything special you’d like to do? Or anyplace special you’d like to go?”

“Wow, Sam, that’s....an interesting idea.... Can I think about it and get back to you? Did you mention wild sex?”

His response was to turn my head and give me a deep kiss. Once he pushed his tongue through my lips I was a goner....And yes, the wild sex did help my mood.”

That Monday the landscaper guy came in and poured the concrete patio around the pool. We opted for the cheaper option of stamped concrete, but it turned out well. After that was cured, he put up the fence and the pool was ready to go. The next couple of days after that he reconfigured the landscaping, front and back. Sam and I were very pleased with the ‘finished product.’ You’d never know it was the same house we’d looked at only a few short months ago.

Once the workmen had finished for good I felt a great sense of relief. It was such a pleasure to settle into my old routine, spending a few hours each day on my artwork. I was no longer haunted by dark moods.

Jorge and Gregory were constant companions. Now that we had the pool I think we went through a gallon of suntan lotion a week; we couldn’t keep the boys out of the water. Sam was teaching them to swim as only and ex SEAL can. He already had them holding their breath underwater for something like ten seconds. He just had a way with the kids. They glowed under his lavish praise.

Sam’s suggestion that I take a small vacation hadn’t been forgotten. In fact, I’d found a three day pottery workshop up in Mendocino that had peaked my interest. I showed Sam the information on the internet and, of course, he encouraged me to sign up for it.

I decided to drive up there taking the route via Big Sur to do some sightseeing. Maybe stop at the Getty Museum and the Hearst Castle on the way.

We prepped Jorge that I was going away for a few days. As usual, he seemed unconcerned, but you never knew with him. I worried what his reaction was going to be when I drove away. Sam told me to stop worrying; he would handle it. Of course he would! Jorge trusted Sam implicitly. If Sam said I would be back in a few days, then Jorge would believe him. Also, Darlene had offered to help with Jorge, and he was used to spending time at the Cotton’s, so I had little to worry about.

I left early in the morning, before Jorge headed off to school. Both my men kissed me goodbye, and I watched them waving to me in the rear-view mirror. Jorge was laughing at something Sam had said.

I stopped in Venice Beach to have lunch with Jerome. Rob was off on a trip, so it was just him and the twins, who called me Uncle Nick.

Jerome was now working part time at a marina, but he was pretty much a stay-at-home dad. In a family role not unlike mine. I awkwardly broached the subject of roles in a gay-parent family. A subject, as you know, that I had been mulling over.

Jerome was quite forthcoming about his role as ‘mother.’ A role he quite happily accepted. He said he loved being home with the boys. Rob, like Sam, was the boys’ hero. Jerome said when Rob came home from a working trip it was like Christmas for the boys every time. As we talked I saw the similarities in our situations. I found the conversation reassuring; it ‘normalized’ my own position. Quite frankly, the discussion was a confidence booster.

In the afternoon I stopped at the Getty Museum, up off the 405, to look at the art. I hadn’t realized that you had to take a train up to the museum from the parking lots, and that was fun. The view over Los Angeles from the museum is spectacular.

Next, I backtracked to Sunset to drive via Malibu where I stopped for the night at an outrageously expensive motel. I ate dinner at a restaurant on the pier, but the water was too calm to see any surfing activity.

Then next day I made it all the way to the Hearst Castle, which I found fascinating. It’s a huge mansion up on a mountaintop. A sort of wannabe medieval structure. Definitely a monument to William Randolph Hearst’s gigantic ego and furnished with incredible European antiques and tapestries.

The next day I took the snaking Big Sur highway up as far as Carmel. The views from the highway were certainly spectacular, but it was a nerve-racking drive. Too many hills, corners and narrow bridges for my taste.

As I headed out the next morning I stopped at a Shell gas station just north of Monterey, and that’s where I found another stray. He was sitting slumped against the side of the convenience store with his head in his hands. A scrawny looking thing with longish hair obscuring his face. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, not adequate protection from the cold air coming in off the dunes. He looked sick, or in trouble, or both. I squatted beside him. “Are you okay?”

“’Fuck do you care?” But his tremulous voice belied his obnoxious remark. He’d been crying.

“I care, okay?”

“You gonna offer me twenty bucks to blow you like that other asshole just did?”

“Did you...”

“No! I fucking did not! Jesus....”

“Sorry. Um, are you in trouble?”

“Like I said, ‘fuck you care?” And he lifted his head and pushed his hair off his face. God almighty, it was black and blue. It was covered in cuts and dried blood. I was so shocked I stood up suddenly, prepared to.... To do I don’t know what. I was having a major fight or flight reaction. I took a deep breath to steady myself.

“Let me help you. You need help. Dump the attitude, okay?”

“Fuck you!” And he buried his head in his hands again and sobbed.

I tried for a gentle, reassuring voice, but I’m sure it came out as patronizing. “You need to get that face looked at. Are you hurt anywhere else.”

He nodded his head for ‘yes.’

“Your ribs? Arms? Legs?”

“All over! Okay! Just leave me alone. Nobody likes me, okay? I’m toxic! God hates me!”

“I’m going to help you. You’re not toxic to me. I have no reason to dislike you.”

“Sure, you say that. But when you find out about me, you’ll be just like the rest of them!”

“Who did this to you?”

Silence.

“Was it other kids?” Bikers? Aliens?”

He snorted at this and said, “No.”

It pained me to even ask, but I did. “Your father?”

“Yes....”

“Listen, kid, believe it or not I’m going to help you. What’s your name?”

“Joseph....”

“Okay, Joseph, my name’s Nick. I’m going to help you. I’m going to make sure you’re safe. I take it returning home is not an option, at least for now. Let’s figure out something. I’m going to make sure you’re safe, okay?”

“Don’t call the cops!”

“No, I won’t do that. Listen, why don’t you get up, and we can sit in my truck where it’s warmer. I’m not going to molest you or sell you into white slavery. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, stand up. Do you need help getting up?”

“No.” And I watched him laboriously stand up. It was clear he was in pain. Possibly his ribs. Possibly his arms and legs. And he was likely stiff from sitting against the wall in this cool air.

He hobbled over to my truck and I opened the passenger door for him. He gingerly climbed inside. I went to the driver’s side and climbed in. “Okay, Joseph, I’m going to start the car. We’re not going anywhere. I just want to turn the heater on to warm you up. Oh! You’re probably hungry. Can I get you something to eat? Sandwich? Coffee?”

He didn’t answer, but from the look I got I realized I’d hit the mark. “Okay, I’m going into the store and buying you a sandwich and something to drink. In the glove box in front of you you’ll find some baby wipes. Use them to clean up your face. There’s a mirror in the sunshade there. But wait, before you do that let me get a picture of your face, okay? We might need it later for evidence.”

He allowed me to take a photo of his battered and tear-streaked face.

“Joseph, would you mind telling me how old you are. I need to know that if I’m going to help you.”

“Eighteen.”

“Yeah right. How old are you really? I’m guessing maybe fifteen?”

He nodded yes.

“Fifteen? Is that the truth, Joseph? Because I’ll need your real age so I can figure out how to help you.”

“I’ll be fifteen next month.”

It was reasonably warm in the car with the morning sun shining through the windshield. So I could hold off starting it. I climbed back out of the truck, keeping my keys in my hand, and went into the store. I got a sub sandwich, chips, chocolate bar, a can of soda and, for good measure, a hot chocolate from the machine. While I was doing this I had a good think about what I could do for Joseph. If I called the police or social services he’d get put into the ‘system’, whatever that means. God forbid they would send him back to his bastard father.

It crossed my mind that his father may have beaten him for being gay. My gaydar was pinging a bit, but not definitively. It could be for any reason, really. God knows Sam got beat up for simply having a rotten father.

Thinking of Sam gave me an idea. I’d run it by Joseph first, but with Sam’s cooperation there was something we could do to keep Joseph safe, and maybe even give him the loving home he needed.