Date: Mon, 12 Feb 2001 01:29:48 EST
From: Yip3@aol.com
Subject: Sterling Ducat Chapter 4

Sterling Ducat

Chapter 4

	"Er, well, hmmmm, uh, Marshall...."

	Marshall, in the middle of sipping his drink, peers over the top of
his glass at Steph when Steph begins hemming and hawing.

	"Well, you see, Marshall, well, it was just, ummm, it was just
that...."

	Lowering his glass, Marshall says, "It has nothing to do with a
video, does it, Steph?"

	"Well, no, Marshall, it doesn't."

	"What is it?" asks Richie.  "I don't know myself, Marshall."

	"Just spit it out.  Tell me what's going on to make you, all of a
sudden, drag us from the club.  I expect it had better be a good
explanation."

	Steph has turned his head away not wanting to look at Marshall as
he gathers himself to tell him.

	"Marshall, I don't want you to get mad or anything, but I did that
for your own good.  I didn't think you would want to be there."

	"I wouldn't want to be there?  What the hell are you talking
about?"

	"Yeah, what the hell are you talking about?", repeats Richie.

	"I didn't think you would want to be there `cause I saw Aaron come
through that door.  He had a m...."

	"Aaron!!  You saw Aaron?!?," interrupts Marshall getting a little
louder.  "Why didn'...."

	"Oh, shit!," also interrupts Richie, a little less vocal than
Marshall.  "Oh, fuck!"

	"Well, he had..., he looked like...., uh", Steph haltingly tries to
explain.

	"...didn't you tell me.  Why Steph?  Why?  Oh, shit, why didn't you
tell me?  Why didn't you te..." Marshall voice trails off as tears start
brimming on the bottoms of his eyelids.  Marshall turns his head away from
the couple sitting on the sofa and brings his hand up to his brow.  His
thoughts slip away from the present to reflect back in time.

	Steph and Richie untangle themselves from the sofa, move the coffee
table from in front of the sofa before putting their wineglasses on it and
rush over to Marshall.  Richie coaxes Marshall slowly to his feet and he
and Steph bring him back over to the sofa.  Positioning him between them,
Richie brings Marshall's head over on his right shoulder to rest it there.

	Steph continues softly, "Marshall, I'm so sorry.  It was just that
Aaron wasn't looking good.  He looked like he wanted a fight.  With
anybody.  His face was stormy and, well, he just was looking like a mean
bitch.  I know you would not have wanted a scene.  You were always his
favorite target when he decided he wanted high drama.  I flatly refuse to
let that happen.  You know Richie and I will not let him do that you
anymore.  Right, Richie?"

	"Stephan is right, Marshall.  We love and value you too much to see
you suffer at the hands of that slug.  He never, and I mean never, felt for
you the way you felt for him.  Let `im go, baby, let `im go," agrees
Richie.

	Marshall just rests his head, not saying anything, as tears leak
from his squeezed eyes and trickle down his cheeks dripping on Richie's
shoulder making dark red spots on Richie's red shirt.  Every now and then
Richie feels him spasm with a sob that is being held inside.  Richie is
stroking the back of his head.

	Steph sets his hand on Marshall's right shoulder, caressing it to
bring comfort to his friend and vows, "Marshall, as long as we can breathe
and our asses point to the ground, Richie and I will not let Aaron gets his
hands on you again."

	The three sit there quietly save for the small sounds that come
from Marshall.  Richie and Steph both feel the little spasms from him come
more often than they had been.  Another moment passes and the spasms become
more pronounced and evolve into an uncontrollable shaking.  The pair feel
so bad for their friend because they knew first hand what Aaron Thomas had
meant to Marshall.  They despised Aaron all the more for still having an
affect even after more than a year had passed since that last explosive
scene.

	Marshall, shaking, raises up from Richie's shoulder, wipes the
tears lines from his face.  His two friends help him straighten to a more
upright position and keep their arms around his back and shoulders.

	Marshall opens his mouth, as if to speaks, but gulps air a few
times to gain a little self control.  He does try to say something but
words get caught on the lump in his throat.  He noisily clears his throat
and manages to croak out, "As long...", clearing his throat again, "as long
as your asses point to the ground, huh?"  He finishes by snorting because
of the battle between sobbing and laughing fighting to suppress each other.

	Laughter wins.  "As long as your asses point to the ground!",
chortles Marshall.

	"Yep, `Dat's rite!' ", pipes up Richie.

	"You got it," adds Steph.

	"Thank you both, thank you.  A guy couldn't ask for better friends.
Y'all are both great.  Thanks Steph for looking out for me at the club.  I
love ya for it.  You too, Richie.  That, uh, bastard really would have
caused a problem."  Marshall hugs each and kisses their cheeks.

	"No problem, pal.  Here, you may want another one of these," offers
Richie handing him another tissue.

	"Yeah, tissue man, I guess I do.  Oh, shit, sorry about staining
your bright red shirt.  I'll wash it for ya."

	"Don't worry about it.  It kept it off the sofa."

	"Alrighty then.  Let me dash to the bathroom for a little more
repair," says Marshall, getting up from the sofa.  After he gets up, he
turns back to the two lovers still sitting there.  Murmuring thank you and
I love you both again, he reaches out and squeezes their knees before
heading back to the bathroom.

	"Want another drink?", queries Steph to Marshall's retreating back.

	"Definitely yes.  Make it a double, thanks."

	Richie follows Steph over to the wet bar and just before they reach
it, Richie encircles Steph with his arms around the waist, resting his head
on Steph's back.

	"Steph, it was so good you saw Aaron before Marshall did, or worse,
before that asshole saw us.  That was quick thinking to get him out.  You
know I really love you for being so caring.  That really is the kinda
person you are.  I am so lucky."

	"Richie, I do believe I learned how to care for others from you.  I
love you too."

	Steph turns in Richie's arms to place his own around his lover
saying, "I really do, you know.  I really, truly love you."  Steph quickly
flicks out his pointy tongue and wets the end of Richie's nose before
lowering his smiling lips to his better half who, of course, if more than
willing to meet those lips.

	Breaking the kiss off after too brief a moment, Richie hugs Steph
to him and huskily whispers in his soulmate's ear, "Later tonight, my
breath of life, I'm gonna try extra hard to leave you breathless for days."
Having said that, he licks the earlobe while moving his hands down to
squeeze Steph's lower cheeks and pulling their pelvises together from a
small grind.

	Steph whispers warmly into Richie's, "You already leave me
breathless just by smiling at me, `mon vie', but I know that am willing to
let you try for more.  `Lay onst'."

	They move their heads back to look into each other's eyes.  After a
quick wink from Steph, they kiss again, a touch more hotly than the
previous one.  Breaking the kiss, they gaze again and then move apart Steph
reaches to make Marshall's drink and Richie reaches for the white wine when
both realize that their respective glasses on still on the coffee table and
end table in the living room.

	"Oops, lemme get the glasses," Steph tells Richie.

	"Naw, let's us our fine crystal.  We need to use it more often or
why bother to spend the money for them.  Hell, we deserve the best."

	"Oh, I got the best already.  Crystal stemware is just extra
benefits."

	"Oh, babe, flattery is gonna get you anything you want...from me,"
banters Richie as he gropes his own crotch.

	"Don't I know it.  You don't think I just say words to waste `em,
do ya?", teases Steph as he rubs his right hand over Richie's hand and
crotch.

	They quick kiss again, break it off and grin hugely at each other.
Hearing Marshall return from composing himself, they breakout the Waterford
and prepare the drinks.  Marshall meets them at the bar, still looking a
little puffy from earlier but a little more clear eyed than when he headed
to the bathroom.  He grins a little sheepishly.

	"Thanks.  I need this one," he says.

	Richie raises his glass of wine before the other two has taken a
sip and toasts, "For friends, tried and true, Glasses offered, I to you.
This, with minds unspoken, Keeps our friendship unbroken."

	Steph and Marshall just look at Richie when he completes the toast.
Richie reaches forward with his glass but the other two don't move.
However, before Richie reacts to their not moving, they do bring their
glasses to his and the crystal chimes a two tone harmonic as the glasses
touch.

	"That was a terrific toast, Richie.  Where did you get it from?"
asks Marshall.

	"Yeah," agrees Steph.

	"I just made it up right then.  You like?" answers Richie, smiling.

	"You made it up?"  "Just then?" both Steph and Marshall speak on
top of each other.

	Steph reaches out a hand, placing it on Marshall's arm and says to
him, "I got me a poet.  Who knew?  A fuckin' poet."

	Marshall grins back, "Don't look at me.  I didn't know it.  You've
known him longer than I and you didn't know?  Surely, the `fuckin' you
would know, but you didn't know the `poet' part?"

	" `Mon dieu', Marshall, he's a man of many talents of which I have
yet to discover, obviously."  Steph leans a little toward Marshal to say
with a quieter voice, "But I do know, from first hand research, that
fuckin' is a major talent of his."

	In an even quieter, sweeter voice, "But when it goes beyond fucking
to making love.... `Ooohh, la la, cet homme est fantastique'."  Steph
brings his fingertips to his lips, kisses them as he flings them outward in
that time honored, stereotypical European gesture of the superlative.

	Richie blushes to hear his lover tell their friend this.  The tops
of his ears turn pinkish, his stomach flutters and his heart pounds.  He
starts to protest that the toast wasn't that good when Steph whirls around
and plants a `wet one' on his lips.  It happens so quickly he doesn't even
get the chance to close his eyes so he is kissed while staring into Steph's
twinkling blue eyes.

	Marshall tries to choke off a laugh.  He fails.

	" `Doon't throoow bou-queeets at mee.  Doon't pleease my folks too
muuuch and goon't laaaugh at my joookes too muuuch. Pee-ople wiiill saay,
weee're in looove...' ", Marshall serenades the couple.

	Richie and Steph break apart laughing.  With another quick peck and
a wink, Richie looks over Steph's left shoulder at Marshall and, as Steph
turns too, they cry out, "Songfest!".

	This trio launches into a musical "remember this one" and "where
were you when" and "name this tune" late evening of entertainment.

	"Whoaaa, look at the time.  It's almost four in the morning,
fellas," observes Marshall, "It's time for me to head next door, beauty
sleep, ya know."

	The other two laugh and make comments about whether Marshall's
beauty sleep is working or not.  It is left undecided as Marshall hugs them
both and goes to his condo.

	After locking the door behind Marshall, Richie snaps off the light
as Steph is picking up the glasses.

	"Just a sec, Richie, lemme get the glasses."

	"Stephan, how's your breathing?"

	Steph turns around at the question and says, "How's my breathing?
What?  It's just fine."

	"Oh.  Well, come over here and let's see if I can take that breath
away," coos Richie as the flare from a match throws a yellow, warm glow on
his face before extending the match to the candle on the coffee table.

	"Yes, please," pleads Steph as the candle wick blossoms with flame.

	Some time later, as patterns of soft light from the candle flicker
over Steph's closed eyelids, in the back of his mind, a small part wonders
if he will ever be able to get his breath back.

**********

	Morning comes slowly or comes quickly depending on one's point of
view or degree of motivation to wake up.  The sun creeps or is flung into
its dawn illuminations again determined by one's anticipation or lack
thereof.  Various realms of the earth stir into the day.  Birds shake out
their feathers and launch into their respective songs.  Bats head back to
their resting places.  Roosters crow.  Cows head to the barn for milking.
Mankind slaps shrilling alarm clocks.  Kids turn on Saturday morning
cartoons.  Coffee drips.  Bacon sizzles and bread toasts.  Traffic, even
for a Saturday morning, fills Houston spider's web of freeways.

	It is a cloudless day and the sun rises higher in the eastern sky
creating a full glare as it reflects off the mirrored sides of the glass
covered Houston skyscrapers.  Driving into Houston from the wrong direction
can put the sun's reflection squarely in the driver's face.  It can be
blinding even though it may make the downtown sparkle from a distance.

	The city's downtown skyscrapers push up , like giant monoliths, in
stark relief to the relatively flat terrain.  With the sun just right,
downtown glitters, but "all that glitters is not gold" and Houston is no
exception, but then again, it is not all bad either.  It is like any big
city or even smaller ones.  It runs the gamut from worthless to greatness.

	With ingenuity, resourcefulness and determination, one can be
successful and prosperous.  Yet the elements exist that can lure one into a
quagmire which can defy the imagination.  Even so, people are people; some
good, some so-so and some bad.

	Mike glances at the clock in the dashboard of his truck to read
6:23 as he climbs back in.  He glances over at his passenger who never woke
up when he stopped for gas.  He did smile a little when he first stopped
and the cat popped his head up from his nest in the crook of Sterling's
arm.  His smile grew a little wider when Sterling unconsciously moved his
other hand over to the cat's head to settle Forest back down.  Mike had
taken extra care not to wake him up when he closed to truck door.

	When he starts the truck and begins to pull out of the gas station,
Sterling stirs a little to change positions and continues to sleep.  Now
that the sky is getting lighter, Mike takes a closer look at his passenger.
He wonders what kind of trouble would have a nice looking guy compelled to
leave home.  Alternating with watching the road, he mentally catalogs the
light brown, wavy hair, height that's probably a couple of inches shorter
than his own 6' 2", 150-160 pounds or so, and probably plays tennis from
the looks of it.  One feature that flags his interest is the long curled
eyelashes that rest delicately on the high cheek boned face below it.  He
wonders what color are his eyes since he hasn't seen them in a bright
enough light.  The nose is straight and just the right size, not too large,
not too small.  A quick glance at the crotch area reveals two cat eyes
blinking at him.

	Forest is giving him a "keep your eyes on the road where they
belong" look.  To emphasize, the cat yawns, all those feline teeth showing,
and stretches a paw, claws extended, toward Mike as if to ward him away
from Sterling's crotch and demonstrating the tooth and claw threat should
he try anything.

	Mike chuckles under his breath as he turns his head back to the
road.  Forest continues his morning stretch before settling back down and
kneading his front paws in Sterling's leg.

	"Oowww!" yelps Sterling jerking awake as his thigh is pierced by
needle sharp claws.  He snatches at the cat to unhitch those claws.  "Easy
Forest."  He glances at Mike with a sheepish grin to see Mike looking back
amused.  He turns a little pinkish in the cheeks as he shifts positions a
little and rearranges the cat in his lap.  He has that morning piss hard
that plague males so he uses the cat to hide it from Mike who never got the
chance to see it.

	"Morning, Sterling," says Mike.  "Hellava wake up call, huh?"

	"Uh, hey, Mike.  Painful too," replies Sterling.  "Where are we?"
He yawns, patting his mouth politely with the back of his free hand.
"Excuuuse me," he apologizes.

	"We passed the Beltwa....aayy," a yawn interrupts Mike.  "Sorry
about that.  You started that yawn, ya know."

	"Sorry.  Can we pull off somewhere?  I need to go to bathroom,"
asks Sterling who is feeling the pressure in his bladder.

	"Sure thing, dude.  Let's stop for breakfast.  I see a Denny's'
sign up ahead."

	"Cool by me.  Cool by you, too, Forest?"  The cat his head rubs
against Sterling's arm and purrs.  Both guys giggle at that feline
affirmative.

	Mike takes the next exit as Sterling surreptitiously makes
adjustments to his crotch still using the cat as a concealment.  After
pulling into the parking lot and parking, both guys get out of the truck.

	"You don't mind if I leave Forest in the truck, do you?  I am so
sure Denny's wouldn't allow him in and I don't want to leave a country cat
loose in the big city."

	"Naw, no problem."

	"After I take this major piss, I'll come back to let him do his
business before he decides your seat or floorboard is a litter box."

	"No shit! Pun intended.  No cat pee either and I don't care if it
glows under a blacklight," laughs Mike.

	"No kidding."  Sterling places the cat back in the cab and closes
the door before Forest can dart out.  When the cat `meows' in protest,
Sterling reminds him he'll be right back.

	Both guys head into Denny's and while Mike waits for a table for
them, Sterling heads to the bathroom for much needed relief.  While he is
washing his hands, he looks up in the mirror and examines his face.  There
is a little discoloration, not much, but some where "The Advocate" magazine
hit him after his dad threw it at him.  It seemed so long ago that he dad
kicked his bedroom door as he reminds himself that it was just yesterday.
Depression begins its creep into his mood as he stares into his own brown
eyes in the mirror.  Shaking his head, he refuses to let depression win.
He asks his reflection aloud, "Sterling Ducat, what are you going to do
now?"  Before his reflection responds, the bathroom door opens as another
patron enters.  Sterling quickly looks down, moves over to punch the hand
blow dryer.  When his hands are dry, he leaves.

	Mike is in a booth in the front corner near the door looking at his
menu with another menu indicating Sterling's place.  He looks up from his
menu as Sterling approaches.

	"Hey, breakfast's on me; I owe ya, dude," offers Mike.  "Whatcha
want so I can tell the waitress while you're messing with Forest?  Coffee?
Coke?  OJ?"

	"Oh, uh, thanks.  Coffee'd be good.  I'll be right back."

	Sterling heads out the door and when he is almost there, he spins
on his heel, going back to the table.

	"I need the keys, if ya don't mind."

	"Yeah, right.  Can't do much without `em, I guess," grins Mike as
he drags the keys out of his pocket.

	"Thanks," taking them.  He goes back out the door.

	After taking Forest out of the truck cab, he carries him to the far
back edge of the parking lot where he set the cat on the ground.  Forest
starts sniffing the area as Sterling patiently waits.  When he about to
start encouraging the cat to pretend it's a litter box, Forest is finally
satisfied that he has found the appropriate spot.  Sterling looks away,
politely, as the cat takes care of business.  When the futile scratching of
the gravel stops, Sterling turns back around and picks up the cat.  Placing
the cat back in the truck, he promises that he will feed him when he gets
back.

	As he slides into the booth, Mike says, "I wuz startin' to wonder
where you got to."

	"Forest decided to be finicky about where to squat," he replies as
he dumps sugar in the coffee following with creamer.

	"That's a cat for ya," he nods in agreement as Sterling picks up
the menu and starts to scan it.

	The waitress comes over with the coffee pot and refills Mike's mug.
After setting the pot on the edge of the table, she takes his order.
Sterling has made his selection by the time she is finished with Mike.
After taking the second order, she tops off his coffee and leaves for the
kitchen.

	Sipping coffee turns into an awkward silence as each fellow seems
to be lost in his own thoughts.  When it becomes obvious, they glance
toward each other.

	"Ah, well..." "Oh, umm...", they start at the same time, both stop
to let the other continue and then laugh together at the situation.

	"Don'tcha just hate it when that happens?" starts Mike as he
notices that the guy across from him has soft brown eyes and dimples, cute
active dimples.

	"Yeah, yeah I do," dimples showing from a big smile.

	They hit the second grand pause and cover it by sipping more
coffee.  Mike sets his mug down and leans back studying Sterling's face for
a second.  Leaning forward again he asks, "Whatcha goin' do in Houston?  Do
ya know anybody or have somewhere ta go?"

	Sterling looks back into the blue eyes that are looking at him.  "I
don't know yet `cause I haven't had time to give it much thought.  I don't
know anybody here or really where to go.  I guess downtown'd be fine.  I'm
not too sure; I just don't know."  He peers done into his coffee mug as if
he will find an answer in the light brownish liquid.

	"Shit, dude.  That don't sound good.  Not good at all," observes
Mike.  "How old are ya, anyway?"

	"20"

	"I thought ya might be a little younger than me.  I'm 22.  Houston
can be a rough place for a young dude.  Ya can get in a heap of trouble if
you're not careful."

	"I got a good head on my shoulders.  I can take care of myself,"
trying to make himself believe it.  "I'll just gotta find a place to crash
and get a job."

	"Yep, that sounds a good start.  Heah, practice after me, `you want
fries with dat?'  Com'on, look up and try it, `you want fri.....' "

	" `...nt fries wid that?'  `You want fries with dat?'  How's that?"

	"Fries?  I thought you said hash browns," asks the waitress who had
walked up with their meals balanced on her arms.  Her face looks quizzingly
when the guys start laughing.

	"No, no.  We did say hash browns," Sterling giggles.

	"Oh, ok.  Well, here's your food.  I'll be right back with your
milk.  Anything else I can get for y'all?  Tabasco sauce? Catsup?  I'll
bring more coffee."

	"Tabasco for me," requests Mike.  Sterling shakes his head no,
nothing else for him.

	"Ok, honey, I'll be right back."

	They both reach for the salt and pepper.  Sterling gets the pepper
first and Mike the salt.  After making the desired dashes of their
respective seasoning, they switch shakers.  Mike dashes the pepper just as
freely as he did the salt.  Sterling measures out some salt in his palm and
sprinkles it lightly over his eggs and grits.  The waitress returns with
Sterling's milk and Mike's Tabasco Sauce.  After refilling their coffee
mugs, she leaves them to eat.  Mike starts sloshing the red hot sauce on
his eggs.

	"Damn, man, you got a cast iron stomach or what?"

	"I just like my eggs spicy.  Wanna try some of this liquid fire?"
offers Mike.

	"Oh hell no!  The belching would kill me."

	"Yeah, there is that, for sure."

	The two hungry dudes leave off the conversation as they start to
tuck in their food.  They make quick work of their meal; growing boys do
need food.

	"That was good.  Thanks, Mike," Sterling offers as the waitress
adds coffee to both mugs.

	"Think nothin' of it," replies Mike, "I owed ya."  Not knowing what
kind of financial shape Sterling's in, he asks, "Want anything else?"  The
waitress looks at Sterling, ready to take additional requests.

	"No, no thanks.  I'm stuffed."

	"Well, if there's nothing else, I'll take the plates outta your
way," says the waitress as she reached for the empties.

	"Could I get the rest of the milk to go?" Sterling asks her.

	"Sure.  I'll get you a to-go cup."

	"Thanks."

	Mike studies Sterling for a moment.  Leaning forward, a serious
look on his face, he inquires, "Do you have any idea at all, where you want
me to drop you off?"

	Sterling looks out the window as he gives serious consideration to
the question.  He doesn't know much about Houston outside of things like
Astroworld, the Astros, the Rockets and so forth.  He had never considered
living there or the need to get a job.  He just wasn't at that stage in his
life where he was making decisions about life after college and living with
his parents.  He had a little money that probably could get him a week or
two somewhere that would probably be a real dump.  That should be long
enough to find some type of job which could help keep him in that dump and
give him breathing space to come up with something better.  He realizes
that he cannot be wasteful with his financial resources.

	Turning back to Mike, he replies, "I don't know, really.  Do you
know anything about Houston?  I need to find a real cheap place to stay
first, I guess.  I have some money but not much.  I'll have to find a job
too.  Somewhere close to wherever I stay `cause I don't have a ride."

	"I don't really know myself.  Downtown's probably the best.  I
think there's a YMCA somewhere.  I seem to recollect seeing one.  That is
probably the cheapest place and shouldn't be a total flea bag.  We'll drive
around some to look."

	"Good idea, Mike.  You're probably right.  I really appreciate you
helping me out. Hell, I'd probably be still trying to hitch."

	"No prob, dude, and you're welcome.  I'm just makin' up for the way
you got treated by us.  Besides I think you're a good guy.  You're ok."

	"Here ya go, honey.  Anything else?" asks the waitress as she hands
Sterling the to-go cup.  "No?  Ok.  Y'all can take care of this up front."
The bill is placed on the table and Mike reaches for it before Sterling
gets a chance to.

	"Thanks," they both tell the waitress.

	"Well, dude, you ready to begin your adventure?" smiles Mike.

	"Yeah, man.  Let's do it," agrees Sterling as they slid out of the
booth and head to the cashier.

	After Mike settles the bill, they head out to the truck.

	"Mike, can I ask you one more favor?"

	"Sure.  What's up?"

	"Can we wait a few minutes while I feed Forest before we take off?
That's why I saved some of this milk."

	"Shit yeah, no prob.  Since he is still pretty much a kitten still,
he's probably pitchin' a bitch to get fed right now."

	"Better not be a `bitch'!  He'd be a `she' and would be the
funniest looking dog in the world!" crows Sterling.

	"No shit!" agrees Mike, patting him on the back.  "No shit."

	Sterling reaches in the cab and pick ups Forest after Mike has
unlocked the door.  He fishes around in his gym bag and snags a can of cat
food.  He sets the cat in the truck bed and quickly pops open the cat food
before Forest takes a flying leap out of it.  From the way Forest pounced
on the food, an observer would have thought that cat had been starved for
days.  Sterling tears off the sides of the styrofoam cup that is above the
line of milk so Forest can drink the milk out of it without toppling it
over.

	After inhaling most of the food, Forest eyes the torn cup and
delicately, as cats do, sniffs the edge.  He peers over into it, sniffs and
then, in typical cat fashion, sits in front of it, curling his tail around
his haunches, before sticking his head down to lap with steady, quick
flicks of his tongue.  When he is satisfied, Sterling picks him up and
carries him over the edge of the parking they had used as a litter box
earlier.  Mike takes the trash from the cat's meal to the garbage can and
then joins them.

	After the cat finally does his business, they all go back to the
truck and load up.

	Mike cranks the engine, puts it in gear, looks at Sterling, smiles
and asks, "Ready?"

	"Yep, I guess so.  Ok with you, Forest?  Yeah?  Forest says `yes';
let's do it."

	Mike pulls out of the parking and in a few minutes they are zooming
down the road ignoring the speed limit signs, just like all the drivers in
Houston.  They pass Loop 610 and so they are taking the downtown exit.

	Sterling got a touch of apprehension when Houston's skyline came
into view.  It is huge, he thinks as they take the exit, I'll get lost.  He
leans forward to look out of the windshield and up the sides of the
skyscrapers.  Faster than he thought, they were in downtown.

	"It's like being in a canyon with all these fuckin' tall-assed
building!" he cries.

	"It shore does, man," nods Mike in agreement.  "Keep an eye peeled
for the YMCA"

	The pair drives on several streets of downtown Houston, getting
delayed by the road construction crews and the Metro buses.  Sterling is
spending most of the time looking up at the buildings.  Mike is having to
watch traffic.  Forest is asleep.  After traveling up and down Mike spies
the downtown YMCA He finds a place to park not too far away.  Sterling
drops a quarter in the parking meter before he reads the little sticker
that says parking is free on Saturdays and holiday.  Regardless, it's his
first contribution to the city of Houston as a soon to be resident.

	He and Mike go into the YMCA and is finally speaking to the
appropriate guy about getting a room there.  Explanations are given;
application paperwork is produced.  During their conversation, Forest is
mentioned.  Well, in a nutshell, Forest will not be allowed so Sterling
does not begin filling in the forms.  They head back to the truck.

	"I guess I'll have to look for something else because of Forest,"
comments Sterling.  "Mike, lemme get my gym bag and Forest and I'll set out
on foot.  I really thank ---"

	"Forgetaboutit, dude.  We'll ride," interrupts Mike.  "I don't
mind."

	"You don't mind?"

	"Naw, not at all," is the reply as they get back in the truck.
"Let's keep goin' down the street and see what we can find."

	They continue down Louisiana Street and randomly turn down some
streets.  They stop a couple of times at possibilities.  At one, there was
no vacancy and the other did not allow pets.  They stop at a shabby looking
hotel of a sorts.  Here Sterling finds some good luck.  The room costs $120
per week and will allow Forest.  There will be no daily maid service but
towels, washcloths and bed linens may be exchanged once a week all long as
he stays there.  Sterling signs the register and pays for 2 weeks figuring
that at least he has a place to crash for 2 weeks while he finds a job.  He
believes that with his small amount of cash it is better to have a place to
stay now and worry about food later.

	Both guys go back to the truck to retrieve the gym bag and the cat.
When they go back in Hotel Majestic, the guy at the front desk, studying
the racing form for the local horse track, pays them no attention.  They
don't see the elevator so they take the stairs to the third floor.  About
halfway down the hall, they find room 312.  Sterling has a little
difficulty getting the key in the door and unlocking it.  As they are
entering Sterling' new pad, as it were, a voice further down the hall moans
loudly something about `go deeper, baby, deeper' before the outside traffic
noise drowns out the moan.  They try not to laugh out loud at the sudden
interruption of the stillness of the empty hall.

	"Did you hear that?  I couldn't tell if it was a guy or a girl,"
asks Mike.

	"Yeah.  Either way, somebody's havin' some fun.  Man, look at this
place."

	"Kinda dumpy, huh?"

	"Better'n nothin', I guess."

	"Good guess," agrees Mike as Sterling sets his gym bag on the dress
and puts Forest on the bed who immediately starts sniffing it cautiously.

	The room is on the smallish side.  A window, which is no stranger
to dust, looks out over the street.  It looks like the outside has not been
cleaned in ages.  A double bed is centered on the right wall flanked on
each side by poor quality night stands which has an older model of phone
sitting on one.  On top of it is a threadbare bedspread that does look
somewhat clean and a couple of flat looking pillows.  Near the window is a
cheap look small round table with a couple of old chairs.  At the wall
opposite of the bed is a particle board dresser that has seen it better
days sometime back with a cloudy mirror attached to the back of it.  The
walls are covered with a wallpaper that has fuzzy areas as part of the
pattern that surely has gone out of style a couple of decades earlier.
They check out the bathroom.  It looks serviceable but not much else.  The
toilet had a faint ring at the water level in the bowl.  The bathtub looks
ok as far as taking a shower but no way would someone want to have a long
soak in the tub itself.

	"Home, sweet home," states Sterling sadly.  "At least for a couple
of weeks at least," he adds.

	"Home is where the fart is, right?" kids Mike as he tries to
lighten the mood that Sterling sounds like he's about to succumb to.

	It's working.  "Yeah, that's right.  A fart might liven the place
up," giggles Sterling. as he surveys the room one more time.

	"Maybe I'll drop in to visit sometime," says Mike.

	"That'll be cool, man,"

	"Well, bud, I gotta go.  Yard work calls."

	"Thanks for everything, Mike.  I won't forget all you did for me."
Sterling crosses over to Mike extending his hand.

	Mike grasps the hand and they shake.  "Think nothin' of it,
Sterling.  After all we scared the shit outta ya, I'm sure."

	"No shit, y'all did."  Both guys grin at each other.

	"Maybe next time you'll take my offer for a blowjob and a fuck,"
quips Mike.

	"Who knows?  Maybe so."

	Impulsively, Mike pulls Sterling to him and gives him a hearty hug
which Sterling does not hesitate to return.  Mike says in Sterling's ear,
"I don't know why or how you got to this situation, but I wish you all the
best.  I think you'll do fine."

	"Thanks, bro," Sterling whispers in Mike's ear.  They give each
other a little extra squeeze before letting go.  Just before Mike steps
back out of the embrace, he places a small, quick kiss on Sterling's
temple.

	"Thanks for that, too, Mike."

	Sterling walks Mike to the door to hold it open.  As Mike passes
him to leave, his rubs his hand on Sterling's arm in a final `good luck'
and comfort gesture.  After he has crossed the threshold, he turns back a
little for a farewell look and a faint smile.

	"Y'all come back now, ya heah," jibes Sterling, grinning and taking
a step into the hall to watch his new friend leave.

	Mike laughs, "Sho'nuff."  He heads back to the stairs and, after
pausing for one last slight wave of his hand, heads down them.

	Sterling stood in the hall until Mike was out of sight before
turning back into his room.  He does not notice a pair of eyes looking at
him from the shadow at the far end of the hall behind him.