Winning the Lottery - 11. Chapter 11 Geting married and Don and the surfer dude

Two important words: wedding planner.

It was short notice, but the guy we hired did an excellent job. We expected to have a small wedding, but between Derrick’s family and friends and my friends and colleagues we sent out fifty invitations and almost all of them RSVP’d a positive response.

The venue was the golf clubhouse up the hill from our home. We asked for elements of Buddhist, Muslim and Western traditions but generally left the theme and decorating to the wedding planner. “Surprise us, but nothing too over the top,” we said. All we had to do was show up for a rehearsal the day before, and arrive wearing tuxes on the appointed hour of our ceremony. We joked about wearing our ‘uniforms.’ Derrick, of course, looks handsome and dashing in his captain’s uniform, but I’d look pretty weird in green scrubs and a stethoscope around my neck.

The wedding venue, the banquette room of the golf clubhouse, was decorated in white orchid theme. The walls were draped with a gauzy, slightly shiny material on which giant orchid blooms had been silkscreened. Around the room, on every surface, there were white orchids. It was simple, yet breathtaking. It’s hard to describe it without making it sound frou-frou, but it wasn’t. It was a surprisingly masculine theme.

All the guests were given a white orchid bloom. Either a boutonniere, a pinned corsage, wrist corsage or hair adornment.

“Cool. A white party,” joked Derrick.

Cass was our groomsman, and for the ceremony we stood in a ‘V’ formation: Derrick and I on one side, Cass on the other and the judge who performed the ceremony on the open part of the V. Basically, Derrick and I faced Cass. We exchanged the bare minimum official vows but also included special ‘family’ vows with the three of us. After that, Derrick’s parents replaced the judge and performed a traditional Buddhist wedding chant, after which Mr. Foroughi gave us a brief Muslim blessing. The traditional kiss was replaced by a very loving and prolonged group hug between Derrick, Cass and me.

After a scrumptious meal, (choice of vegan, halal meat or fish entree), a couple of speeches and an hour of dancing we were taken to the airport to board the Gulfstream for our honeymoon trip to Japan. Why Japan? Well, I hadn’t been to Asia and I was curious—there is a lot of Japanese culture in Hawaii, and one can’t help but wonder what the ‘real thing’ is like. Plus, Zen Buddhism is from Japan, so it was also a cultural flavoring of our family. First stop Tokyo.

We put our foot down and insisted on privacy on the plane. No bodyguards! Two guys flew ahead on a commercial flight to meet us when we landed in Tokyo.

After the jet took off, the captain came on the intercom and said, “We’re giving you guys four hours of privacy. Enjoy your flight.” That is how Derrick and I consummated our marriage and became members of the mile high club. After we’d put the seats into the bed configuration we stood facing each other, smiling. Derrick put his hands on my shoulders and I put mine on his waist. We began with light kisses, then began to explore each other with our tongues. Unconsciously, we closed the gap between us and explored each other’s bodies with our hands. I slid my hand under Derrick’s shirt; he did the same to me. I could feel his hardness rubbing against mine through the fabric of our pants.

I reached down and rubbed his cock through the fabric. He responded by pushing his hand into the back of my pants and onto my ass. His finger traced its cleft.

My whole body ignited in one big lustful fire.

“I need you naked!” I said into our kiss.

“Yes, naked would be good,” replied Derrick.

We separated and began to tear our clothes off, throwing them about the plane’s cabin.

I collapsed back on the bed and Derrick dove on top of me. We kissed and stroked and frotted like wild men. He sucked me; I sucked him. We 69’d. If we could have, I think we would have devoured each other.

“I can’t stand it. Fuck me!” I begged. Derrick complied. Then I fucked him.

Bathed in sweat we lay tangled and panting. God damn, but I love that man!

The second time, we made love slowly and romantically. Afterwards we cuddled and slept briefly. Just before our four hours were up we put the seats back up, cleaned ourselves in the lav, and put on a pot of coffee. At precisely the four hour mark, I knocked on the cockpit door and said brightly, “Coffee anyone?”

The co-pilot said, “Thank God. I have to piss like crazy.”

Tokyo was amazing. Crazy busy, but amazing. We stayed in a sumptuous suite at the Imperial Hotel—a very romantic setting for our first few days of marriage. We explored the streets and markets to a limited extent. Amongst Tokyo crowds it was difficult for our guard to keep a discreet distance, so it seemed a little ‘three’s a crowd.’

Also, we didn’t have a lot of time, just three days. Mostly we used the hotel limousine, and a guide, to tour the major sights: The Imperial Palace, the Asakusa and Sens­ò-Ji temples, Ueno Park, the Meiji Shrine and the Tokyo Skytree.

Next, we flew to Fukuoko Airport (which has the unfortunate airport code of FUK). From there it was a two hour scenic drive, cross country, to Oita prefecture. Douglas and MacKenzie had arranged for us to stay at a quaint hillside inn on Mount Ryozen, adjacent to a Buddhist monastery where they had attended a retreat some years ago. Nearby was a natural hot spring—a relaxing treat after vigorous hikes in the woods (and vigorous romps in bed).

Rural Japan is light years away from the chaotic swirl of Tokyo. Green forested mountains, rivers, lakes and rice fields. Many houses had those special design elements that made them look like they came from the Samuri époque.

All too soon, but feeling completely, absolutely sexually sated and more in love than ever, it was time to board the Gulfstream for the trip home. This time we let the guards join us for the flight.

I went happily back to work and faced many challenges, some of which forced me to reassess my goals.

The clinic where I was working was located in a somewhat downtrodden area of Honolulu. Nothing like the poorer parts of LA, but nonetheless there were social problems. This was the very population I’d had visions of helping before I entered med school. And I still did. But the community need was like quicksand. I could see it sucking in every resource you could throw at it and then some. How could one define the boundaries of something like that?

And the gay kids...

Word got around that I was gay, and the kids started asking for me specifically. Some of their stories broke my heart. Confused, scared kids who were beaten and thrown out of their homes, forced to survive by selling their bodies. STD’s. Parasites. Anal fissures. Bad teeth. Depression. Anger. Drug addiction. And many more preventable diseases. All I could do was patch them up and send them on their way. The bleeding heart side of me wanted to adopt every one of them. The doctor side of me kept me stoically remained detached.

I had lots of concerns and questions, and ideas, but no answers. When I asked my colleagues they shrugged and said, “We do what we can.” The trouble is they didn’t have a multi-billion dollar foundation to call on. But I realized that I couldn’t just start throwing money around willy-nilly. Indiscriminate spending could backfire, causing more harm than good. The last thing I need to do was steamroll over existing government and charitable programs. My dreams needed boundaries. I needed personal boundaries. I’d already seen too many marriages ruined by doctors who ignored their families. Derrick was numero uno, and I was never going to forget that.

I turned to MacKenzie. “Mom, I hate to lay heavy stuff on you, but here’s my dilemma....”

“You know, when Douglas and I first established our retreat on Orcas Island we wanted to help the whole world. We wanted to offer free retreats to all and sundry. And that backfired on us. First off we were attracting people who simply didn’t take Buddhism seriously. Free to them meant no value. Then we were ganged up on by every abbot of every zendo in the Pacific Northwest. We were taking away their paying clients, depriving them of needed income. Douglas and I meditated. We talked. Finally, we decided that, although we didn’t need the revenue, we would charge just slightly higher than the going rate. After all, our zendo was in a perfect, peaceful location, and very well set up, offering a tasteful tone of spartan comfort.” She smiled ruefully. “And that worked. We attracted a more serious clientele and the other abbots were mollified. So, I understand your dilemma, but I think it will take a bit more than meditation to solve. It strikes me that young Donald might be the very person to help. And I think he’s a bit lost and could use a good project.”

Derrick concurred. We approached Cousin Donald and after thinking about it, he agreed to take on this, as yet, very nebulous project.

Donald took up our offer to stay with us while he was in Hawaii working on the project. The first night we were all together, en famille, eating dinner, he came out to us.

“I’m living in homo hotel,” declared Cass.

“You scared it will rub off?” retorted Derrick.

“Not a chance, Dad!”

“Don, do you have a boyfriend?” I asked.

“Naw, it’s tough...you know, to trust people.”

“I know that only too well,” said Derrick. “We need to find you a Gabe.”

I blew him a kiss.

Donald had a business degree from Stanford and knew his stuff. He set about defining the project. This entailed many hours of interviewing me. Next he set out to interview the president of the Hawaii Medical Association. After that the Minister of Health and Social Services. After that the city’s police chief. Next came service providers: doctors, nurses, social workers, police officers. And finally, the clients themselves. He set up focus groups—and here was a varied clientele, everything from stable families with little or no medical insurance to the street kids I’d mentioned. He asked them what they wanted. The general answer was not a surprise. They wanted their self-respect back. Yes, they needed help, but could they, please, just retain some choice, and dignity?

Donald had a lot of background on the subject. What he didn’t have was a plan. “We need a niche, Gabe. General medicine and social services is just too broad. Think about it. You’re the guy out there in the trenches. Your choice, but you can’t save everybody.”

As I’d mentioned before, so many of the diseases I diagnosed were preventable. We’d studied that very topic in med school. Statistics were cited. Economics were discussed. It’s true, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. I pondered that subject.

Meanwhile, finding Donald a suitable boyfriend became the family’s obsession.

“I met a pediatrician you might like.”

“There’s this pilot. He seems nice.”

“One of my classmates is gay...I think.”

“I know this wonderful Turkish boy.”

“Hey, isn’t the abbot of the Such-And-Such Zen Centre gay?”

Donald reluctantly went out on a few blind dates. Disasters. Every one of them.

Donald remained sceptical. The family despaired. But we’d made a false assumption. We assumed Donald would like a nice clean-cut boy like himself.

It was Cass who inadvertently hit the jackpot. He’d taken Donald out to the Banzai Pipeline to watch him and his buddies surf. One of those buddies asked Cass, “Dude, who’s the dude on the beach? The guy you came with?”

“My cousin, Don. Why?”

“Dunno. Just wondering.”

Later....

“Hey Cass.”

“Hey Marco. This is my cousin Don. Don, Marco.”

“Nice to meet you, Marco.”

“Uh...”

Awkward fist bumping ensued.

“Want a sandwich, Marco?” asked Cass, reaching into the cooler for one.”

“Uh, sure.”

“Sit, Dude.”

“Uh...okay.”

Now if you like the surfer-hippy look, which apparently Donald did, Marco was a fine example. Taller than average, thinner than average (those surfer shorts hanging low narrow hips showed a delightful ‘V,’ a fine treasure trail, and maybe a hint of pubic hair), and beautifully tanned, Marco was all dudely hotness. Add to that long, tangled, sun-bleached hair, high cheekbones, a prominent nose and penetrating blue eyes...well, Donald was...intrigued.

And for some reason, Donald’s Irish looks seemed to appeal to Marco. Sparks flew. Cass felt like a third wheel.

Cass got up. “Uh, I’ll just go over and talk to Marybeth and Letisha.”

Donald and Marco didn’t even notice him leave.

“Would you like to come to our place for dinner,” said Donald, wiping the drool off his chin.

“Uh...wanna come to mine? It’s private. A room. In a house. Up the beach.”

Much to the security guys’ chagrin, and a quick adjustment of schedules, Donald headed off in Marco’s little Beetle with the surfboard on top. A true classic. Security followed at a respectful distance. Marco was unaware.

Cass and Donald had driven the North Shore in my Solara, so Cass’s bodyguard hitched a ride home with him.

At dinner, Cass relayed the story, including a description of Marco as a typical surfer dude, with wide-eyed amazement. Surely, we thought, he must be embellishing.

Donald looked very much the worse for wear and rather sheepish at dinner the next night.

Luckily, Cass wasn’t there and we could discuss this situation coolly, logically.

“He’s not what you think.”

“Oh?” said Derrick trying to conceal a grin.

“What do you think we think?” I asked.

“That he’s a dumb surfer.”

“A very hot dumb surfer, apparently,” said Derrick, unable to stifle a chuckle.

I was madly thinking of puss-oozing vaginas to stop myself from cracking up.

“For your information, he’s taking a break from writing his PhD thesis, in astrophysics.”

“Riiiight,” squeaked Derrick, giving full rein to his laughter.

That did it for me. I lost it. I howled with laughter, close to losing control of my bladder.

“Stop it, you two!”

“Astro....” said Derrick laughing madly.

“Physics...” I said holding my aching stomach.

We howled, we cackled like old ladies. We shed tears. We were out of control.

Donald stomped off yelling, “You two are assholes!” and we heard his bedroom door slam.

It took us a few minutes to regain our control.

“We went too far,” I said, trying to stifle an impulse to laugh again.

“Way too far,” agreed Derrick, fighting his mirth.

Repentant at last, we crept to Donald’s door. Derrick knocked and said, “Don, we’re sorry. Honestly. Please come out and talk to us.”

“We’re really sorry,” I added. “We promise to take you seriously.” (A promise that, unfortunately, was NOT easy to keep.)

“If you two idiots would just listen, you’ll find out the truth,” yelled Don. Behind the anger was hurt.

That finally sobered us. We hadn’t meant to hurt him. “We’ll meet you downstairs,” said Derrick.

“Yes, I was irresponsible,” admitted Don. “But, well, you know.... And we used protection. Anyway, in the morning we got talking, and Marco dropped the whole surfer-dude accent. He told me about his studies. He has a master’s degree in physics from Cornel, and he’s working on his PhD at MIT. He’s not lying, and besides, I asked security to check him out today, and they confirmed that he has his masters and is enrolled in the doctorate program at MIT. Anyway, the sex was amazing. I think for him too. I feel something special here. Maybe love at first sight? It’s like that for him too—I just know it is. Okay, maybe it’s just lust, but have you ever read those shifter stories where they just know when they’ve found their mates? For me, it’s like that.”

“That is fast. But it was pretty much like that for Gabe and me, too. What about the big Deacon elephant in the room?” asked Derrick.

“Um...I was hoping you can help me with that. I invited him over here for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Damn,” said Derrick. I’ve got a trip scheduled starting tomorrow. Gabe, can you help out?”

“Sure, if that’s okay with Don.”

Unfortunately, the next afternoon I had an emergency that kept me at the hospital until 8pm. I texted Don to let him know I’d be late. Cass had a study group that evening, which left Don and Marco alone at the house for a couple of hours. Time they put to good use judging from the puffy lips, razor burn and dreamy looks I saw when I got home. Well, good for them. I noticed Marco had dropped the surfer-dude accent, and his thick hair had been pulled into a pony tail, which was now unravelling. He’d shaved except for a soul patch and long sideburns. He was gorgeous in a hawkish sort of way.

Don had ordered Chinese food when I’d called to say I was on my way home. It was in the oven staying warm when I arrived. It smelled delicious, I was ravenous.

When the food was dished out, I pointed my chopsticks at Marco. “Tell him, Don. It’s like a band aid. You just have to rip it off.”

“We’re billionaires,” blurted Don.

“Huh?”

“It’s true,” I said. “Stinking rich. How do you feel about that?”

Marco, frowning, looked at Don. “Is that a problem?”

Don shrugged.

“Not necessarily a problem. It’s just that sometimes people exploit that.” I said.

“I won’t,” responded Marco sincerely. He took Don’s hand. “I promise I won’t let the fact that you’re rich...a billionaire, really?...get in the way of...us. Why would it matter anyway?” Then he turned his frown on me. “You’re not joking about this are you? ‘Cuz if you are, it’s not very funny.”

“Serious as a heart attack,” I said, medically. I gave Marco a brief rundown on the Deacon security, and generally the necessity for it.

“Shit, you mean they followed us to my place the other day? That is sooo uncool.” The accent was back.

Don became defensive. “It’s not like they were spying, or listening or anything.”

“It’s like...the way you have to live..?”

“Yeah, it is.” We told him about Cass’s kidnapping.

“Guess that’s part of the package then,” observed Marco. “Well, I guess it’s okay....”

I paraphrased what Douglas had told me about the power of money, and added my own two cents worth about how surreal life with a Deacon can be at times.

“I get all that,” said Marco. “But it doesn’t take away who Don is or how I feel about him...as a person.”

Don and Marco looked google-eyed at each other. It was if I was no longer in the room. Yessir, those two had chemistry. I excused myself to read up on a particularly challenging case of fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva.

Marco stayed the night. Thank goodness we’d put extra insulation in the walls, so Cass wouldn’t be able to hear us. But even that wasn’t enough to completely muffle the sounds from next door.

When I arrived home the next evening Cass and Marco were deeply involved in a surfing discussion. Marco’s surfer-dude accent was back. They were talking an unintelligible language. What are a ‘bomb’ or a ‘floater’ anyway?

“Where’s Don?” I asked.

“Next door talking to Grandma and Grandpa,” replied Cass.

I wondered if Don might be recruiting allies. Who knew how his mother and father would take the news of Marco? Would surfing and astrophysics ever be in a league with haute couture?

Don and Marco spent every night of the next few weeks together. It was clear that the two of them were falling in love.

Just before Marco was to return to Boston, we could see that the happy couple were becoming anxious about having to separate.

“I hate that he has to go back to Boston,” raged Don privately to me. “But Marco has to finish his PhD. God, I’m so tempted to follow him there, but the last thing he needs is me underfoot while he’s got to concentrate on his thesis. I’m afraid that if I suggest it, Marco will think I’m stalking him.”

Marco confided in Cass, “Dude, I’m going to miss your cousin sooo much! I hate that I have to go home and not be with him, but I gotta finish my thesis. I’m too close to finishing to transfer to Stanford now. But I totally understand that his job’s in San Francisco, and he can’t just move to Boston...like for me.”

Of course the lovebirds were too shy, and fearful of rejection, to broach the subject to each other. They needed a bit of a push...

Over dinner, I took the bull by the horns and said, “You two need to stop pussyfooting around. Marco, if you love Don, why don’t you ask him to come to Boston? Don, you need to shit or get off the pot. You’re job with the foundation isn’t tied to San Francisco. You can do it just as easily from Boston.”

Don huffed, “Thank you for your...uh...suggestion, Gabe. Marco, can we discuss this in private?”

They didn’t reappear from Don’s bedroom until the next morning, just as I was about to leave for work.

Both looked disheveled and wore goofy grins.

“We’ve decided!” exclaimed Don.

“He’s moving to Boston!” declared Marco.

“I’m going to find a house,” added Don. “We’re going to live together.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “I wish you every happiness.”

“I’ll write up my report for you in Boston,” said Don. “I’ve been listening to you, and I think I’ve found your unique niche. I just have to think about it a bit more.”

The last hurdle for Don was telling his parents, but he’d done his homework and recruited Douglas and MacKenzie as allies. And we all knew about MacKenzie’s persuasive abilities.

For the next few days, except for when Marco was surfing, which was most days, he and Don were inseparable. Even when Marco was surfing Don watched him from the beach. In my opinion they were both getting too much sun and not wearing enough SPF 50.

Cass and his friends had long ago christened me ‘the suntan lotion Nazi.’”

Don’s parents and brother cautiously accepted the idea of Marco. When it was time for the happy couple to return to Boston, Don’s father sent the Boeing jet for them. Marco commented that it was ‘nice.’ I thought it was a generous gesture on Uncle Darius’s part. All the Deacons, in their various permutations, were a supportive bunch.

Don ended up leasing a small, but beautifully restored, heritage home in Cambridge. Marco moved in but was oblivious to the house’s charms. He was too immersed in his dissertation to notice much. He was just happy to be in Don’s arms at night. He didn’t ask for a thing other than that.

In a few weeks I received Don’s very comprehensive support. It was nearly one hundred pages excluding the seven pages of bibliography and citations. I scanned the executive summary and realized Don had nailed it....