Date: Fri, 21 Jan 2011 16:43:40 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Final part - The Musician

The story is fiction but based on real characters, events, places and
situations. There is no relationship between the names used and that of any
real person. Send comments to michaelpete@hushmail.com.

THE MUSICIAN

By Michael Peterson

Chapter 4

      There was one other development in August, one that, at the time, I
found hopeful. According to Barney who told it to Sissy from whom I heard
it, Bobby was spending a lot of time with a black friend three blocks
away. As before with the teacher's information, I didn't mention it though
later I wished I had.

      School opened on Wednesday, the 6th of September. Bobby carried
pictures of him at the recording studio to show off. The album wouldn't be
out for another two weeks. His name was on it as a back up vocalist. Better
still, Mary Jean wanted to record his `The Farm Song' on her next album
which she expected to cut in early October. She'd spoken to Bobby about it
on my car phone. He'd promised to sing. Mary Jean told me they were talking
about letting him do lead on his song with her doing harmony on the
choruses.

      According to Bobby when I saw him for his guitar lesson the following
week, his new teacher wasn't as easy to get along with as the woman from
the previous grade. I guessed that also meant no more or fewer long visits
to the boys' room.

      Mary Jean secured studio time on Saturday, the 8th of October so
Bobby could record without losing any school time. It was harder to get the
best musicians on Saturdays since many had out-of-town work on weekends.

      "Bobby's becoming a legend. I got a couple of guys to turn down
jobs so they'd be here to work with him."

      The producer and arranger for Bobby's song was about the best in
Nashville for that type of music. I decided it was time to start discussing
cutting Bobby's first album.


      I arrived in St. Louis Friday the seventh in time to be at Bobby's
house as he was getting home from school. We had tickets for a 6:10 flight
to Nashville. A car would be waiting at the airport there to take us into
town for dinner and an hour or two at the club where Bobby had sung with
Mary Jean on his previous visit.

      Sissy answered the door. Trouble was written all over her
face. "Bobby ain't goin' taday. You best talk ta my mother."

      "What's wrong? What happened?"

      "Ah can't say nothin'," she said as she slowly closed the
door. "You gotta talk ta Mom."

      I had the cabbie take me to Martha's diner. She didn't look a bit
friendly or interested in speaking to me.

      "Look, Mr. Simon, Bobby can't be goin' nowhere an' ah gotta
work. It's dinner time."

      "Martha, at least tell me what's wrong, what happened. Is Bobby
okay?"

      She walked away. I walked after her.

      "Martha, a very expensive studio has been rented and some of the
best musicians in Nashville have been hired for Bobby's song tomorrow. What
in the world has happened?"

      She stopped and half turned. "Look, my son has got hisself
`spelled from school an', ah can't talk now. Please don't go both'rin'
us no more."

      With that, she headed into the sanctuary of the kitchen. Moments
later, the manager walked up to me and asked that I "not be bothering
the help."

      I went back to the house. There was no answer to my five minutes of
knocking. The cabbie started to say something when I got back in but saw
the fury and frustration on my face. I had him take me to the hotel I
stayed in there.

      It was necessary to call my secretary in Nashville to come up with
Bobby's school's music teacher's phone number. I told her to call Stanley
and tell him to cancel the next morning's session. Shirley must have heard
the same emotions that shut up the cabbie and didn't ask me the questions
that must have been on her mind.

      The music teacher wasn't home yet.

      I called Bob Matthews, the boys' choir director. He hadn't heard
anything.

      Before I could make another call, Stanley called. "What's
happened?"

      I told him what little I knew.

      "Son of a bitch! Are we gonna lose the kid? Jesus, there wasn't
anything going on between you two?"

      He'd never asked me that sort of question. It confirmed my belief
that he at least suspected something.

      "Christ, Stanley. Of course not. He's been expelled from school
for some reason. I think, no, I'm sure they blame me somehow. His mother
just told me Bobby'd been expelled, then had me kicked out of that goddamn
diner where she works. Bobby's sister won't talk to me, won't even answer
the amn door. I'm trying to get hold of Bobby's music teacher at
school. Right now, I'm gonna call his piano teacher. Maybe she knows
something. Let me get back to you when I learn something. Tell everybody
I'm really sorry about tomorrow and I'll take care of the studio time. Let
me see if I can get this mess straightened out."

      The piano teacher only knew that Bobby hadn't shown up for his
Thursday lesson. Since the family had no telephone, there was no way to get
in touch. She just figured Bobby was sick or something and would appear for
his next lesson.

      I told her what I knew. She didn't know anyone at Bobby's school so
she couldn't be of any help.

      "How well do you know his mother?"

      "I've never met the woman. Bobby's sister came with him once but
that's the only other family member I've ever met."

      I turned on the television looking for something to divert the
tortured thoughts wracking my brain. There was nothing but disgusting
afternoon dramas. I ordered up a deck of cards from the hotel store.

      At five, I called the music teacher again. She was home.

      "Boy, Mr. Baker, I'm not so sure I should be talking to you."

      "For Pete's sake, Mrs. Blanchard, what in the world do I have to
do with Bobby being expelled? All I've done is teach him music. What has
happened?"

      The sigh was loud enough to come over the telephone. "Okay, but
don't ever tell anyone that I spoke to you."

      I gave her my word. At that point, I knew sex was involved in
whatever had occurred and I had been labeled a pedophile. I was right.

      "Tuesday during recess, Bobby was caught in the boys' room with
three others. One was abusing him at the time. Apparently the others were
involved in the same thing and had been for quite a while, even last
year."

      "What in the world has that got to do with me?"

      "Oh, Mr. Baker, use your imagination. You're single and involved
with a ten year old boy, one who is obviously what he is."

      "Wait a minute, how long has this been going on? He was going to
the boys' room a lot last year. It's where you all first heard him
sing."

      "I know what you're getting at and that's why I'm talking to
you. It seems, well, let me explain. You know how some of the boy's were
abusing Bobby, stealing from him, extorting money from him for, well, at
least a year or so. The main one apparently was the boy who they caught in
the stall with him. This boy and one of the others have been problems since
first grade, especially the bigger boy. He's the nastiest bully I've ever
had in my class. Well, then, for no known reason, around the first of the
year, these two bullies suddenly stopped bothering him. I think this was
the price Bobby paid for his personal security but you didn't hear that
from me."

      "So they expelled the victim?"

      "Along with the three who apparently abused him."

      "Hasn't anyone pointed out that I wasn't even around until several
months after this all started?"

      "This is the St. Louis school system, Mr. Baker. A boy went
unprotected for the better part of a year. They can't allow it to be the
system's fault. If I were to say anything, I'd be in very hot water,
certainly get moved to a different school or somehow fired. Even the
teacher's union won't meddle in something like this."

      "Good grief! So they'll just sacrifice Bobby, not just an innocent
kid but the victim, just to cover their own butts?" I'd almost said
`Jesus Christ' but remembered the woman was a fundamentalist Christian,
probably another reason she wasn't going to do anything to defend either me
or Bobby.

      "Would it do any good to speak to the school principal?"

      "None. He's the one who most wants this covered up. He'd have you
locked up if he could."

      "How about the social worker or Bobby's fourth grade teacher. She
thought I was great for the boy."

      "They're in the same shoes I'm in. They can't get involved. And,
don't think for a minute the social worker would even listen to you. She's
the one who brought you up in the first place. The principal had no idea
you existed."

      My level of frustration was heading toward eruption. Rather than vent
to this poor woman, I thanked her for speaking to me and asked to be
allowed to call her again if a reason arose.

      "I suppose that's okay but never try to contact me at school."

      It was too late to catch my flight. A call confirmed there were no
more planes to Nashville until Saturday afternoon. There was no way I was
going to sit for hours on a damn bus. I turned the TV back on. I hated
local newscasters. I went down to the lobby to buy a newspaper. There was
the bar. I walked in. Every fiber of my being told me to stay the hell
out. I was an alcoholic. If I got drunk and made a scene, it would only
make matters much worse, probably impossible to resolve. I loved Bobby. I
had to find a way to get this matter cleared up. But there was nothing that
could be done on a weekend other than trying to see Sissy or talk to the
mother, either of which could bring on more damage than good.

      "Shit, I'm a rich motherfucker," I said to myself.

      I called the airport and arranged a private plane, prop since no jets
were available until morning, to get me back to Nashville.

      From the airport, I went straight to the club. Stanley wasn't there
but I played anyhow until two in the morning. It helped.

      I still didn't sleep for more than a couple of hours even though I
stayed in bed until ten thirty. All night my mind raced over a myriad of
ways to attack the predicament but all seemed to have far too many dour
possibilities. I went over every situation where someone might have sensed
any sexual connotation by me. The one incident that concerned me was when I
had my hand over Bobby's crotch twice while teaching him to
swim. Admittedly, I did so for reasons which were, to be sure,
pedophilic. Then I remembered Sissy twice pushing my hand up over her tiny
boobies as I taught her to swim. Had Bobby or Sissy said anything about
that? That was something I hadn't asked the music teacher though it didn't
seem likely she'd know much that came out of any interrogation.

      I remembered the black boy Bobby was reportedly friendly
with. According to Sissy, he lived only a few blocks away. I considered
hiring a detective to locate him and see what he knew. Then I thought about
having a detective looking into the matter discretely, possibly speaking to
Sissy or Bobby himself. I was desperate to find out what actually had
happened and why they were so intent at laying it on my doorstep even
though, due to the timeline, I obviously couldn't have had anything to do
with something that had started at least three months before I'd first
heard of Bobby Stottlemeyer, much less met him. Of course, the grandmother
was probably poisoning the mother against me.

      Maybe that's what a detective could do: make the mother aware of the
timeline problem, get her at least considering the possibility that I had
nothing to do with what had occurred and could help resolve the
situation. Hell, if he couldn't go to a public school, I was quite capable
of putting him into any private school that would accept him. The problem
with that was how the rich kids, probably twice his size, would treat a
small effeminate boy who spoke like a hillbilly.

      In the end, the one thing I felt that had to be done was consult a
lawyer who knew something about dealing with school systems and perhaps
could protect me in case any actual accusations were to be made.

      What dragged me out of bed was Stanley at the door. My housekeeper
let him in. Stanley had heard I'd been to the club and, knowing my history
as an alcoholic, was concerned I'd gotten drunk.

      "I almost did in St. Louis but that would have made things worse,
maybe much worse. I was, still am really pissed off. It's so goddamn
frustrating not knowing what the fuck is going on."

      Stanley apologized for asking about the possibility of any sexual
action with Bobby.

      I wasn't into being defensive with my best friend. "Shit,
Stanley. You know me better than anyone. It was a legitimate question but I
guarantee you, nothing was going on, had ever gone on but I do love that
boy. I've got to work this out somehow."

      "All right, let me ask you this. Has anyone actually accused you
of doing anything, sexual I mean?"

      "I don't think so but they're certainly intimating there was
something. His mother talked about her family being shamed and she sure as
hell was laying that on me. Like I told you, the music teacher says the
school can't have anything laid on them or the lawyers will have a field
day. They need a fall guy and apparently I'm on the top of their
list. Can't blame eleven year olds, ya know. They don't know enough about
sex to have been doing what they were without some nasty adult teaching
them."

      "You better be getting yourself a lawyer who knows about
situations like this."

      "I suppose so but what I really want is one who can go after those
sons of bitches in that school and force them to lay off Bobby. He's the
victim, for Christ's sake. They didn't protect him from those hoodlums when
they were robbing and beating him then forgot him when they were taking
their extortion out of his ass or whatever they were doing."

       Still, it was the weekend. Lawyers worked weekdays. Stanley knew a
couple but they were business types for musicians. Hell, I knew a bunch of
them. This type of thing required a completely different set of legal
experience and knowhow.

      Being the good friend he was, Stanley dragged me along to an
afternoon recording session, even got me a slot playing rhythm guitar for
some honky tonker trying his hand at bluegrass. Then he took me out to
dinner and back to our favorite club to play half the night.

      By the time I got home after three, I was droopy enough to catch a
few hours of sleep. Sunday morning, I watched the news programs until noon
then went to a not so old Bogart / Kate Hepburn film. `The African
Queen', which actually did take my mind off Bobby for most of a hundred
twenty minutes or so.

      After a not particularly satisfying meal at Nashville's best
steakhouse, I went home and sat in front of the television all evening,
half watching, half planning what I'd do in the morning.

      Then the phone rang. It was a collect call from Sissy.

      "Ah'm sorry ah couldn't talk to you th'other day. The social
worker and some man from the school come and was askin' all kinds a things
`bout you and Bobby. Why was you always comin' ta see him an' takin' him
places an' did he stay overnight anywheres with you an' did you sleep at
our house an' did Bobby ever say anything about ya'll doin' anything, you
know, you know, like sex. Ah tole `em none a that was right an' they
could ast Bobby."

      "Sissy, if I come to St. Louis tomorrow, can we meet somewhere
after school?"

      "Ah ain't goin' ta school now. Everybody's lookin' at me an'
askin' me stuff. Ah tole Mom she's gotta get me a transfer to some other
school. Ah ain't goin' back there."

      "Well, can we meet? You just say where and when. If you need to
use a taxi, I'll pay him when you get there."

      She named a department store downtown. She could take a bus so nobody
would see us on the street. It was an indication of the intensity of
Sissy's paranoia considering what a truly remote possibility that was. We
were to meet in the restaurant on the fifth floor at eleven if I could get
there that early. She'd leave right after her mother went to work. I told
her not to worry. I'd be there.

      Immediately after hanging up I booked another prop aircraft that
would have me in St. Louis by ten. I knew I was too tired and far too
distracted to safely drive two hundred fifty miles.

      I spent the rest of the evening and part of the night making and
re-making a list of questions that needed to be asked.

      It was only ten thirty the next day when I entered the nearly empty
cafeteria. I bought coffee and a donut then took a corner table to
wait. Feelings of relief and even love for that dear girl swept over me
when she walked in at ten to eleven. She believed in me and cared what
happened to her little brother. Worry was etched onto her face.

      A hug seemed inappropriate though I really wanted to give her one. So
I told her when she sat down.

      "I really want to give you one big hug for calling me but, under
the circumstances, some jerk might take it wrong."

      "They're bastards, Mr. Simon. They are so wrong about you. I wish
you could put them in jail."

      "Are you okay? They bother you any more after they questioned you
last week?"

      "No. They din't come around `er nothin', din't even come ta
talk ta Bobby."

      "Okay, let's start at the very beginning. I'm sure you don't like
talking about it but what exactly was going on when they caught Bobby and
the others? Did they actually catch them doing something or did they just
think they did?"

      She sighed and looked at the hands she'd folded on top of the Formica
topped table. "Oh, they caught `em all right. That nigger, Jerome,
was doin' it ta Bobby when they come in. The others tried to warn him but
they was too fast. Principal Watson had that school cop jump up on the wall
and see what it was they was doin'. They both had their pants down. The cop
jumped inside an' opened the door. Then they took all four of `em ta the
office. Bobby says they put each one in a diff'rent room an' Principal
Watson went in an' asked `em all kinds a questions. He called Bobby a
homosexual an' said they din't want none a that kind in the school."

      "Was one of the others Ronald?"

      "Uh huh. Him and Benny. All three of `em was niggers, the same
ones was takin' Bobby's money `n' all last year."

      "I thought Ronald was Bobby's friend."

      "That's what we thought but I figure Bobby was jus' goin' with
`im fer the same, you know, so there wouldn't be no trouble when he went
back to school."

      "What's Bobby say about why they were doing it?"

      "He won't talk about it with nobody `cept he says Ronald din't
do nothin' so maybe he really was Bobby's friend `cept ah don' know why
he let the others do that shit to him. Ronald's Benny's cousin or
somethin'. They live in the same house."

      "So why if they know whatever they know and it was just the kids,
why do you think they're trying to blame me for all this?"

      "Mom says they don't b'lieve little kids just eleven can't know
about that kinda stuff `less somebody bigger shows `em how. That's
bullshit. Ah know all kinda stuff and so's everybody else. Niggers do that
kinda stuff all the time. Ronald's cousin Benny is called Benny Boner
`cuz he's always pulling out his thing an' tellin' kids to blow
`im. Ah seen him do it a couple a times. They say he's made a couple
kids actual' do it in the boys' room. An' Jenny, a nigger girl in mah class
says she knows a kid jes' eight gets it in the butt from kids big as
thirteen where she lives. Sucks `em too. Niggers jus' like sex. Why you
think they got so many kids?"

      That was an interesting observation for someone from Sissy's
background but it wasn't the time to delve.

      "So what does Bobby say?"

      "That's why ah called you. He just sets around with his guitar an'
songs an' hardly don't talk at all. An' he cries a lot. Saturday night, he
was crying so hard, ah could hear `im upstairs. Ah went down an' tried
to talk to `im but `e wouldn't say nothin'. At first he kept tellin'
Mom an' me an' Barney that you din't do nothin' so why can't he go stay
with you. Barney calls him names all the time. I'm afraid he's gonna run
away or somethin'."

      Tears formed in her eyes. "Friday and Saturday he was sayin' he
wished he was dead. You gotta help `im, Mr. Simon, some way."

      I put my hand on hers and squeezed gently. She ran her sleeve across
her eyes.

      "Sissy, why does your mother think I had something to do with all
this? Doesn't she realize it had been going on long before I met Bobby?"

      "Ah tole `er that but she says that ain't fer sure and granma
says it's all `cuz a you. She wants her ta go ta the police an' have you
put in jail. Ah talked ta `er again yesterday morning but she di't wanna
hear nothin' `bout it. Ah asted her what she was gonna do so Bobby could
go ta school but she jus' says he can stay in the house `til he's
sixteen and then he can go git `im a job and live somewhere else. That
what she always says, that he's just gotta stay in the house. She don't
hardly even talk to `im like he done all this hisself, like Jerome
`n' them din't do nothin'. Ah'm so scared somethin' terr'ble gonna
happen. You gotta do somethin'."

      Sure at that point that the question wouldn't seem self serving in
any way, I asked, "Have the police been around?"

      "Cops? Unh uh. Shit, that's right. They oughta be locking up them
niggers. What they did is rape, ain't it?"

      "I don't know about that, maybe not." Not, I thought, if Bobby
had been a willing participant which any lawyer would claim with Bobby's
obvious effeminacy to back up the claim. "That's good, though. The last
thing Bobby needs is a trial or any kind of legal procedures."

      She sighed and stared at the table. "Sucks," she grumbled.

      I offered her something to eat but the poor kid had no appetite.

      "Don't tell anyone we've met, not even Bobby. Let me see what I
can do. Here's the number of my hotel and my room number. You call me
anytime you want."

      I did hug her before we left the cafeteria.

      At the hotel, I called my house and office to check for
messages. There was nothing pertinent. Next was a call to a lawyer friend
and asked if his firm had any contacts in St. Louis. They did. I called
them and asked for a lawyer who knew his way around the city school
system. They had no one but recommended someone who they felt could
help. He was out until after lunch which meant around three. I spoke to his
secretary and told her I had an urgent matter and needed to meet him that
day. He called me at three fifteen and said he was far too busy that
afternoon. Could we make it the next day? I offered dinner at the
restaurant of his choice along with a car to pick him up at his office then
take him wherever he wanted afterward. That figured to let him know I was
well heeled and could pay well for his services.

      We met at six thirty in a swank seafood palace by the
Mississippi. The man was easily six foot six with a mop of hair that made
him appear even taller.

      "Herman Scott," he said as he held out an enormous hand.

      Herman Scott appeared to be in his early fifties but suntanned and
athletic, probably played basketball regularly in the company gym. I told
him about myself then filled him in on the situation, all of it, not
finishing until our meal was on the table.

      "Well, welcome to St. Louis, and I suppose most American
cities. The schools are supposed to look out for the children but don't
even do a very good job of fulfilling their primary function of educating
them. I'd say the easiest thing to do here is just put the boy in another
school and wait for his mother to cool off. Getting the education
bureaucracy to admit they messed up, especially in a case like this where
you've got children, sex and race all mixed up, is going to be well nigh
impossible. From what you tell me, I don't think you're in any
danger. They're not going to say anything publicly. They know you'd sue
them for millions."

      He cut into his fish and took a bite. I could see he was thinking, so
ate too.

      Herman Scott waved his fork in front of himself and said, "There
might be, well." He chuckled to himself. "We might be able to turn
this thing on its head. One of the black board members is always on the
look out for white schools getting better whatever. I know him pretty
well. I could challenge him on this to prove he's genuinely even handed. It
would have to be done discretely. They're not going to want any of this to
go public. Bobby's mother would be fighting off civil attorney's wanting to
take her case. In reality, there's no way they can toss this one off on you
or anyone but themselves. That's why the police haven't been involved. I'd
guess it wouldn't be hard to just have all the kids involved transferred to
different schools. Let me talk to the man I mentioned."

      "Keep in mind," I said, "I need to solve the problem with
the mother. Some important musicians are waiting for Bobby in
Nashville. Like I told you, Mary Jean Kestler is prepared to record one if
not both of his songs that I sent her. He's supposed to sing one
himself. I'm not exaggerating when I say the boy is possibly the best child
singer ever to perform in Nashville."

      "Do you have anything signed by his mother regarding any of
this?"

      "Permission types of documents, no contracts."

      "We might be able to convince her she'd be abrogating an agreement
to perform or something like that. She wouldn't be but I could have someone
talk to her. Have to be careful what we say but, who knows."

      I had an idea. "What if Mary Jean went along with whoever spoke to
her? We'd have to fit it into her schedule but I'll bet she would. I could
get her here and back pretty quick."

      Herman Scott smiled. "Of course, that would have to impress the
woman."

      Back at the hotel, again after calling home for messages, I dialed
Mary Jean's house. She was out of town but her husband Jim was there. He'd
heard there had been a serious problem but not much more. His wife wouldn't
be back for three days. That ruled out a daytime visit on that Wednesday,
Martha's day off. I told him I'd be in Nashville Thursday to fill them in
on what had happened and gave him my hotel number in case Mary Jean called
and there'd be some way to get her to St. Louis sometime Wednesday. Meeting
with the mother at the diner probably wouldn't be productive.

      The lawyer called me just before seven the next morning. He had a
serious doubt about one aspect of the situation. "Are you sure this
thing was forced on the boy, that he wasn't doing this because he wanted
to? You did indicate to me that he was possibly homosexual."

      That was a thought that had been lurking in the back of my mind since
Saturday. Bobby had never exhibited the classic symptoms of a child being
regularly forced to do something he really didn't want to do. Perhaps
before he got to know me, one might have said there were signs but for the
past several months, he'd been a fairly happy boy, practicing his music,
doing his studies, getting along with others better than ever before. Maybe
his friendship with Ronald was either the result of or perhaps even the
reason for the sexual activities. I'd seen that sort of thing before.

      "Your silence worries me, Mr. Baker. I'm not going to anyone if
there wasn't any force involved. What do you think?"

      I thought out loud. "Through the end of 1988, those same boys had
been stealing from Bobby, extorting money from him, occasionally beating
him up. There's plenty of evidence for that. Then, all of a sudden, after
the Christmas holidays, the abuse stopped. Apparently, the sex was going on
at that time and continued up to a week or so ago. Admittedly, Bobby was
seen by his brother hanging with one of the boys, a boy Bobby claims was
not involved in the sex. However, that boy's cousin, a bad actor in the
school with a long history of discipline problems, was involved. The
biggest boy, Jerome, another serious discipline problem, was still bullying
other kids.

      "The principal never asked Bobby why he was letting the others
abuse him. Assumptions were made that were convenient for the school and no
other possibilities were explored. Bobby was expelled for doing something
wrong although no one looked at the possibility that he was forced.

      "I can't say honestly why he allowed those boys to do what they
did, especially for such a long time. But..."

      "I get your point, Mr. Baker, and you're right. The boy's actual
attitude at this point has no bearing on what the school officials
did. I'll make the call and get back to you."

      I retrieved the morning paper from the hallway and ordered up
breakfast. There was nothing in the news regarding adult child
sex. Breakfast was good.

      Staying in the hotel waiting for calls seemed the best
tactic. Anything active I was to do at the time might be
counterproductive. A call from the lawyer or Mary Jean would be important.

      I was right. Mary Jean called just before ten. She was in Omaha.

      "Did you talk to Bobby?"

      I told her most of what had happened and about the lawyer's
suggestions, particularly about her meeting the mother along with a
contract attorney.

      "I don't go on until after eight. I can fly in Wednesday
early. Can you pick me up?"

      "Absolutely. What's your phone number there?"

      We spoke a bit longer. I told her about how depressed Bobby seemed to
be and about Sissy's concerns.

      "People can be bastards, Simon. We've gotta help that poor
kid. He's lucky to have such a great sister."

      Herman Scott was out. I left a message that Mary Jean would be with
us Wednesday and that he should arrange the lawyer he suggested.

      Mary Jean called back before noon with a flight number and time of
arrival. I promised to be there to pick her up.

      "I think Jim wants to come too. Is that okay?"

      "Sounds good to me but let me talk to the lawyer."

      Mary Jean's husband was a business man, wore a crew cut and cowboy
boots. He was buddy buddy with the more conservative part of the Nashville
crowd. I think it was Stanley who told me that Jim was a regular
contributor to Republican campaigns. He didn't seem to be a racist but did
seem to be what many called a redneck. I hadn't told him too much about
what was going on because of concern about how he might react, that he
might ask his wife not to get involved. Now, he wanted to come along? Why?

      Herman Scott finally called at around two thirty. Could I make a
meeting with two school board members downtown at three thirty.

      The meeting was at the real estate offices of one of the board
members. Herman Scott told me that both of the men I would meet knew all
the facts and a tentative agreement had been made to arrange new schools
for all the kids involved. They were aware of my personal concerns and were
willing to address that too with the mother.

      The realtor, Martin Feinberg, was obviously Jewish. His political
leanings were there in two photos of him with a conservative, though
Democratic U.S. senator. The other man was black and rotund. Herman Scott
introduced us.

      The black man, Harold Johnson, spoke first. "Mr. Baker, this is a
serious matter that could have terrible consequences for a lot of people
including your boy, and let's not forget the schools of St. Louis. I want
you to tell us exactly what you understand to have occurred."

      I told them my background, how I heard about Bobby, the history of
our relationship and his progress in music, then everything I knew about
the situation. Both men seemed attentive asking occasional
questions. Herman Scott always turned toward the speaker.

      When I finished, the realtor looked to his black counterpart and held
out his hands. Herman Scott had said things would be turned on their
heads. Apparently, it was the black man's time to defend a white child.

      "Now, wait, we need to hear what the school staff has to say about
all this."

      "Harold," said the realtor with a wide smile, "you never go
into a meeting like this unprepared. I have no doubt you've already spoken
to them."

      Harold smiled and put his hands up to his chest. He turned to
me. "Mr. Baker, exactly what are your desires for your boy?" That was
just a half note off the grandmother's question when we first met.

      "First, someone needs to apologize for how he was treated. That
should be Principal Watson. He or someone needs to tell the mother I am not
in any way being accused of any involvement in what happened. Finally, all
of the boys need to continue their schooling. There's no way ten and eleven
year olds should be punished with the destruction of their future."

      I felt pretty good pulling such an unprepared but good answer out of
the air.

      "Your last point is already being taken care of. Do you have a
school preference for your boy?"

      "Not yet but a good music program would be desirable. Bobby has an
incredible talent."

      "So it seems, Mr. Baker."

      Herman Scott asked, "What about the first two points. They are
equally important. The boy's mother has received very bad, very dangerous
intimations from your people regarding Mr. Baker."

      "Now, Mr. Scott," defended Harold Johnson, "no one has
accused Mr. Baker of anything but I get your point. Why don't we let the
school social worker handle that?"

      "Mmm. That's kind of low level under the circumstances, don't you
think?"

      Harold looked at the lawyer over his glasses. "What level would
you suggest?"

      I got the impression these two did a lot of sparring then probably
went to a bar together.

      "How about a school board member?"

      Harold grinned. "How about the mayor?"

      "How about you, defender of the downtrodden?" asked the
realtor, again smiling.

      Harold chuckled. "And, of course, you promise not to alert the
press?"

      "Not this time, and I mean it."

      I asked, "Do you know who Mary Jean Kestler is?"

      The realtor shrugged his shoulders. Harold smiled and said, "One
of our best country singers. Why?"

      "Because she'll be here tomorrow morning to speak with Bobby's
mother, she and her husband."

      "Sounds like press to me," said Harold.

      "Not this time, Harold," said Herman Scott. "Nobody wants
any publicity around this. You should join her."

      "We've met. She played a campaign party for our esteemed
mayor."

      There was a frightening message from Sissy when I got back to the
hotel. Bobby had run away. She would call me again between seven and eight.

      The moderate serenity I'd felt moments before evaporated. How
depressed was Bobby? Bad enough to attempt to do what he had wished for in
front of Sissy, death? If he'd just run, where would he try to go? To find
me? Unless his mother had let him hold that $180.00 he'd earned, what was
he traveling on? If he'd taken clothes with him, that would at least rule
out the worst. I cursed myself for telling Sissy not to inform Bobby that I
was in town working for him?

      In part to divert my mind a little, I called Mary Jean to tell her it
was a good idea to have Jim come too. She was startled when she heard that
Bobby had run away.

      "My God! Where could he go? Do you think he's going to try to go
to Nashville looking for you?"

      "That's one of my worries but there's not much I can do without
his mother's permission. Hopefully we'll get that tomorrow."

      Tomorrow took forever to come.

      Sissy called as promised at seven. "He took some clothes, his
music notebook and his bookbag. And I think he took some money Mom hid in
her bedroom."

      I explained that we'd be coming to her house in the morning with a
man from the school board who was going to apologize for what happened and
arrange for another school for her, Bobby and the others. "Mary Jean
Kestler and her husband are coming to speak to your mother about Bobby's
music."

      "Are you coming too?"

      "Yes. You sound worried about that."

      "Mom says she never wants to see you again. She's not gonna wanna
let anybody in if you're there too."

      "A lawyer will be with us to explain some things to her that
should help and the man from the school board will tell her they are sure I
had nothing to do with what happened at the school. Don't worry about
that. I need your mother to start working with me so we can find Bobby
before something happens to make things worse. If he gets in trouble,
Principal Watson might want to use it against him.

      "Has anyone seen Bobby anywhere?"

      "No an' ah been all over astin'."

      "Sissy, I made a big mistake asking you not to tell Bobby I was
here. Let's hope everything works out well tomorrow morning so we can get a
real search going. I'll hire some detectives if we need to."

      She was still afraid my presence would be a problem but her mother
figured to know who Harold Johnson was and certainly Mary Jean. According
to Herman Scott, Johnson was constantly in the news, second only to the
mayor in public recognition.

      I watched TV until the end of the late night talk shows but still
couldn't get to sleep. So I watched more television and got lucky. One of
the channels was showing the movie `M.A.S.H.'. I watched it in bed and
fell asleep before the end.

      Mary Jean and Jim arrived just before ten. To avoid attracting any
attention, I'd rented the worst looking car on the Avis lot. We went to my
hotel for a snack then headed for the gas station chosen as a meeting
point. Harold Johnson bubbled over with his admiration of Mary Jean. Her
husband smiled.

      I told everyone about Bobby running away. Heads shook but there were
no comments.

      The contract attorney was another athletic type who probably played
basketball with Herman Scott. He knocked on Bobby's front door while we
waited in the two cars. Sissy answered.

      The attorney said they were there regarding Bobby and included a
member of the school board who wanted to speak with her mother. Harold
walked up behind him in case Martha didn't believe it. When the door opened
wide, we all got out of the cars and went in. I went in last.

      Harold went straight to Martha with his hand out. She took it. Though
Johnson was between us, from what was visible of her head, she might not
have been looking at him.

      "Miss Anderson, we are all here with a great sorrow in our hearts
for the terrible trials that have come down on you and your family. I am
here personally to tell you how sorry I am and beg your forgiveness for
whatever part Bobby's school might have had to do with it. I want you to
know that we have taken action to castigate those who handled your son's
situation so poorly and see that nothing like that ever occurs again."

      He turned toward the rest of us that were crowded along the entry
door side of the small living room.

      "I'd like to introduce you to the rest who have accompanied me
here. I'm sure you know Ms. Mary Jean Kestler and her husband."

      Mary Jean went smiling to her and gave her a brief hug while
whispering something in her ear. Jim waved his hand.

      Harold continued, "These two men are attorneys at law who
Mr. Simon Baker employed to make sure Bobby's rights are respected. I
wasn't aware of the terrible situation until Mr. Herman Scott here called
me yesterday morning. I spent the rest of the day investigating and
arranging a meeting of the school board to deal with the situation and do
what we could to heal the wounds you have suffered."

      Martha glanced at me twice. There was no deciphering her feelings but
they weren't particularly friendly.

      Harold ent on, "I understand Bobby has gone off but I promise you
we'll do all we can to help get him back home as quickly as possible and
when we do, you have my promise that he will be immediately placed in the
school of your choice. Mr. Baker has suggested that one with the best music
program would be good but you will be the one who makes the final
choice. And don't worry about where the school is. Mr. Baker has indicated
he will take care of any transportation costs."

      Bobby's mother pressed her lips together and folded her arms across
her chest but didn't look my way. It was worrying.

      "Miss Anderson, I understand that some of the unfortunate
questions asked by certain school officials may have given you bad thoughts
about Mr. Baker but I want to assure you that I and the school board have
investigated this thoroughly and we are all convinced that Mr. Baker had
not a thing to do with any of the unfortunate events discovered last
week. He didn't even know your son until months after this unfortunate
affair started. The individuals who may have given you those bad thoughts
have been dealt with and will be making personal apologies to
Mr. Baker. And, as I told you, it was Mr. Baker who went to great personal
effort and expense to bring this matter to our attention. You are all very
fortunate to have such a friend. None of us would be here now if it weren't
for him. It grieves me to think of what might have been the future of your
very talented son if Mr. Baker hadn't informed all of us here of your son's
plight and I want to personally thank him in front of everyone for what he
has so unselfishly done."

      He didn't say `alleluia' or `amen' but I heard it in the
air. Unfortunately, Martha merely appeared to sigh. I hoped she was just
ashamed of how she'd treated me but didn't really believe that was the
case.

      Mary Jean had retreated to the wall and put her arm around Sissy's
shoulder. I was a couple of feet up the wall from them. Sissy reached out
to take my hand while staring at her mother. Poor Martha was badly
outnumbered.

      Herman Scott assured Martha that a school appropriate for Bobby and
his great talent would be found as soon as he was home. "The school
board assured me about that yesterday afternoon at the meeting arranged by
Mr. Baker."

      That lie assured prompt payment of whatever fee he sent to me.

      Martha sat on the old sofa. She had yet to say a word. I really
wanted to hear what she was thinking. Harold sat across from her and
confirmed the school board's commitment to find the best school for Bobby,
"And, of course, as I said, you will be involved and must approve the
choice. And we'll make sure your son gets extra help to cover any material
he's missed due to this unfortunate situation."

      Martha finally spoke. "Ah don't think Bobby gonna need no
help. He's real smart. So what school you talkin' about? Sissy gots to go
someplace new too."

      Did all this overkill have Martha realizing she had the City of
St. Louis over a barrel?

      Harold Johnson answered, "We are preparing a list for you and
Mr. Baker to look over. I'm sure he'll want to check each one out and let
you know what each has to offer your son, and, of course, we'll find a
school for your daughter. I'm sure you'd like them to be together."

      I watched for her reaction to that. She did glance up at me. Once
again, there was no emotion in her eyes, perhaps a touch of anxiety.

      Harold stood and excused himself so the others could speak with
her. "Rest assured we have people right now out looking for Bobby. I
just know he'll be back with you very soon."

      As Harold shook hands with everyone, Mary Jean asked me, "Did he
call her Miss Anderson?"

      I nodded. With Jim close behind, she walked over and sat where Harold
had been.

      "Miss Anderson, I've sung a couple of times with your wonderful
son. He's made a lot of friends in Nashville and we're all praying for him,
especially me. I cried when Simon told me he'd run away. It's why I'm here
just so you know we're all thinking about you and Bobby and Sissy, too.

      "I know this seems all so terrible right now but I know in the end
it's gonna turn out just fine. We're all confident that Simon will do
everything possible to help you find Bobby. I understand you've had some
people say some bad things about Simon but I can guarantee you, and this is
from knowing and working with him for a lot of years, that there's no finer
man walks this earth."

      Jim stepped forward with a smile. "And from years watching how he
looks at my wife, I think I know what his sexual orientation is."

      I felt certain that Mary Jean had written that line for him. I'd met
Jim no more than three times in my life, each brief.

      Mary Jean said, "You know Bobby was about to cut his first song
for my new album the week that all this happened. It's a song he
wrote. He's an amazing boy and one day he's going to be a very important
person in the music world. One of my producers wants him to cut a solo
album and there's lots of us who'll want to be on it with him."

      Sissy pulled me toward her mother. "Mommy, tell Mr. Simon
everything's okay now so he can start lookin' fer Bobby."

      Jim backed up so I could approach Bobby's mother.

      Martha spoke. "It ain't all that easy, Sissy. What about your
grandmother and Barney?"

      Mary Jean was about to speak. I held out my hand.

      "Martha, you know the truth here, at least about me. Now we have
to start thinking about Bobby, nothing else. I need you to stand up for
your son so we can find him and get him home and back in school; get all
this behind us. The school problem is solved, over with. You can deal
you're your mother later. Don't worry about Barney. I'll work things out
with him. So, how about it?"

      She sighed heavily. "So what am ah s'posed ta do? You the one
doin' everything an' ah don' mean that in a bad way, jus', well, ah don'
know where ta look."

      "Is it okay with you if I hire a detective agency to start
looking? They'll be discreet." Did she understand that last word?
"Nobody's going to create a big fuss. It'll all be done quietly."

      She looked up at me, hands clutched together in her lap, as confused
as I'd ever seen her. "Oh, ah s'pose so."

      I turned to Sissy. "I want you to make a list of every person
Bobby knows in the city and the best address you can come up with."

      "Ain't that many." She headed up the stairs.

      I knelt in front of Bobby's mother. "Martha, I care about your
whole family, not just Bobby. I'm gonna talk to Barney and work things out
with him. It's gonna cost me but, in the end, he's gonna benefit
too. You've got to trust me now, know that I'm in this for all of
you. Bobby's not just a business opportunity for me, I care about him a lot
and you have my word I'll do whatever it takes, for all of you, to help
Bobby become whatever he wants to be.

      "Now, I'm going to work right now and we're going to find Bobby
and get him back home."

      Mary Jean said she wanted to stay a little while with Martha. Jim
stayed with her. The rest of us left. I didn't feel it was a good time to
discuss contractual obligations. It was just great that Bobby's mother was
at least not against my participation.

      Herman Scott had suggested an agency which I had called from the
hotel to make sure someone would be available. Their office was on the
other side of the city. I left the car I'd rented for Mary Jean and Jim and
went downtown with Herman Scott, the other attorney and Harold Johnson and
took a taxi from there.

      By the time I arrived, the owner of the agency had been called and
briefed by Herman Scott, probably describing me as a man with deep
pockets. Sissy had given me a list of three names including Ronald. Only
one had a last name, addresses were numbers of blocks in a particular
direction from her house.

      "We can ask the school for more information on these three but
they probably won't give it. The other alternative is to have a couple of
my detectives go into the neighborhoods and find them. That shouldn't be
too difficult for the two white boys. This boy Ronald will be more
difficult. Folks in the black neighborhoods are a lot less cooperative but
we can find him.

      "What about relatives?"

      "The only one he has is a grandmother and I doubt very much he'll
go there. Anyway, we'd have heard by now.

      "The other possibility is that he could be trying to get to
Nashville to find me."

      "Hmmph. Unless he takes a bus, nah, I don't think they'd sell him
a ticket unless, of course, he gets some adult to buy it for him. This kid
wouldn't try hitchhiking, would he?"

      "I doubt he'd know how. I think you're right. He'd try a bus but
even if he did, he'd have arrived by now and called my number. There's been
no call."

      "Something else we do with runaways is posters, even milk
cartons. We could try that."

      That sounded a bit too dramatic and would have been difficult for a
boy as shy as Bobby to deal with afterward. "Let's wait on that for
another day or so."

      I authorized him to send his detectives to find the three boys on
Sissy's list and see if they had seen him.

      A taxi took me back to Bobby's house. Mary Jean was in the kitchen
helping to clean up after lunch. Jim was sitting on the sofa looking bored.

      Sissy looked at me anxiously as I entered.

      "No news," I told her, "but a couple of detectives are
looking for the boys on your list."

      Martha commented, "Ah don't think he's gonna go near that
Ronald. They oughta find that Michael what's his name. He talked about him
and Michael goin' some place a couple weeks ago. Mebbe it was in school. Ah
don' know."

      She seemed friendly enough. Maybe Mary Jean smoothed things over for
us.

      I took Mary Jean and Jim back to my hotel to wait there before we
went to the airport for their four thirty flight to Omaha. I called my
office for messages.

      Katherine, my housekeeper, had called. "Some boy named Ronald
called collect. She told him you were out of town and to call back
tomorrow. When are..."

      "Jenny," I interrupted, "did the boy leave a phone number or
anything?"

      She didn't know. I called my house.

      "No, he just said it was important is all."

      "Katherine, if he calls back, tell him I'm here in St. Louis. Get
a phone number or address or some way I can contact him. Bobby has run away
and I'm betting he's with Ronald."

      I called the investigator and told him to forget the white boys and
find Ronald.

      "Don't you worry about us," said Mary Jean when I told them
about Ronald's call. "We'll take a taxi. You go find Bobby. Just call me
tonight and tell me what's happening. And if you find him, you tell him I
was here for him. And give him a big hug from me."

      I drove to Bobby's house and asked Sissy to direct me as close as
possible to Ronald's house. Her instructions were vague but I had the names
of two boys living together, Ronald and Benny.

      Everyone in the area was black. I was the only white face
around. Asking in a nearby store and liquor outlet seemed the best starting
points. The convenience store sold everything from food to magazines and
cheap jewelry. The man inside didn't live in the neighborhood.

      "I don't know none a the names around here."

      The second was a liquor store. I think he thought I was a cop or city
inspector.

      "We don't allow no kids in here so how'm I gonna know any a
them?"

      I asked a woman leaning out an open first floor window who'd been
watching me. "You ought'n ta be askin' alone like that `round
heah. Somebody gonna get the wrong idea."

      That's all she'd say to me.

      A woman moving slowly down the street with a walker was more friendly
but said she was pretty sure no two boys named Benny and Ronald lived in
that block.

      I walked up to the next block but there wasn't a soul to be
seen. There was a grocery store at the next corner. There were two kids
about twelve or thirteen inside buying from the old man behind the
counter. I asked the man hoping the boys would listen.

      "I think you're talkin' about Benny, `bout this high," he
held his hand at chest level. "If it's him, I think he lives around the
corner down a block or so but I'm not sure."

      That sounded promising. The two kids had left so there'd be no asking
them. I followed the man's directions. There were a couple of women
outside. The first one was sweeping in front. She didn't know any kids
named Benny or Ronald. I suspected she'd have said the same even if she
had.

      The second just shook her head.

      A couple of blocks ahead was what appeared to be a supermarket but
they didn't figure to know anything. I went back to the grocery store to
make sure I'd followed the man's directions correctly. A boy ran up behind
me.

      "You Mr. Simon?"

      He was about eleven, light skinned, a bit frail looking. "Are you
Ronald?"

      He smiled and took my arm. "I called you but you wasn't
home. Bobby wants ta see you real bad."

      I took a deep breath. Emotion welled up inside. I followed Ronald for
a block and around a corner to an alley. There were fenced in back yards up
to the next street. Ronald forced open the gate to one about halfway
up. Inside were barrels of iron and steel scrap and a dozen or so battered
rolls of roofing material. A weathered stairway led up to the second and
third stories. Pulling hard on the railing as he went, Ronald ran up the
stairs to the third floor and entered through an open window with me right
behind. Bobby was standing anxiously just inside.

      He wrapped his arms around me and cried. I dropped to a knee and held
him tightly, my eyes nearly as damp as his.

      "Barney said he was gonna kill me if I din't go away. Let me come
live with you."

      It was immediately apparent why Martha was so concerned about
Barney's opinion of me. The situation with Bobby's teen half brother was
worse than I'd imagined.

      I sat on the floor, my back against the wall, no idea what to
say. Bobby sat on my lap, his head buried in my chest.

      We were in what appeared to be a bedroom of a long empty
apartment. The smell of shit and urine came from somewhere. I hoped it was
an unflushed toilet. A blanket lay on the floor. I assumed Bobby had slept
there. That's when I noticed another boy in the hallway, just outside the
door to the room. He was slightly smaller but much sturdier than Ronald,
considerably darker, probably Benny. The look in his eyes was
apprehension. I motioned for him to come in.

      Bobby said, "Ah'm sorry."

      "Don't worry about anything right now. I'm just very, very happy
I've found you."

      "It's jes' that Barney..."

      "Don't worry about Barney. Let me handle him. Right now, I'm just
very, very happy that we're together again."

      He embraced me with all the strength he had. I tightened my grip on
him.

      "Ah wanna live with you."

      As he spoke, the boy in the hall moved to the doorway and stood
there, his expression unchanged, distracting me from Bobby's words. Was he
afraid of me? Right then, I was so filled with love for the boy in my arms,
no one for any reason could have moved me to anything else.

      Though mostly overwhelmed with relief at having Bobby, alive and
well, in my arms, I was also trying to figure out how to deal with his
request to come live with me. As appealing as the thought was, I knew how
impossible it would be. My life was too full of travel and other
obligations for me to be a decent father. There was no way to put a halt to
all that activity without creating a mountain of problems for a lot of
people who depended on me. And, I wasn't sure I'd want to. That may sound
strange but this wasn't the first boy who wanted to live with me. The other
time, after a couple of weeks of internal turmoil and grief, I forced
myself to accept the fact that were I to bring a boy into my home as a son,
I could easily fall out of love with him due to the total change of
lifestyle forced onto me, the great drop in the activity I loved. I'd be
responsible and do the right thing but my heart wouldn't be in it and the
boy would know it. Bobby could spend some time with me but his life would
have to be with his family.

      The problem was what to do about Barney. Worse, his mother hadn't
seemed terribly concerned about finding him. She may actually have found
his absence convenient. Were he to return, she might try to have him placed
in some God awful foster home which would greatly limit or even put a stop
to our seeing each other. I realized at that moment that his music career
was second to our relationship.

      "Are you okay?" I asked more to converse than any concern. He
seemed physically fine. The look on Ronald's face clearly told me how much
of a friend he was, or perhaps more.

      Bobby nodded into my shirt. "Is Mary Jean mad at me?"

      "Mary Jean was at your house this morning talking to your mother
about me so you can keep making music. She's crazy about you. We were all
very angry about what happened to you but everything's all right now. The
school people have apologized for what they did to you and are going to let
you go to whatever school we pick. Everybody understands now what really
happened. They all know it wasn't your fault. I always knew it."

      Bobby gripped me tighter. He tried to whisper something but it didn't
quite come out. He cleared his throat and tried again.

      "Yes it was."

      That made me wince. Poor Bobby was taking the blame for something he
had no control over, something that controlled him. But then, two of his
three supposed abusers were standing right there in the room where they'd
obviously been protecting and feeding him. Or were they still using him?
They might have become friends over time. Kids generally get over things
far faster and better than adults. Nonetheless, at least Benny and Jerome
had, for along time, robbed and hurt him. It was hard to believe the sex
hadn't at the very least been a compromise to stop the pain and
aggravation. I was about to make an attempt at getting to realize how
things really were when Bobby spoke again.

      "Ah'm sorry," he nearly whispered and began to cry softly.

      "Bobby, there's nothing you need to feel sorry for. These boys may
be your friends now but they certainly weren't before. What they did to you
before was very bad. You were just defending yourself the only way you
could. You didn't do anything wrong."

      Benny shook his head and walked out of the room.

      Ronald knelt beside us. "You don't gotta say nothin', Bobby. He
ain't mad at you. He loves you like you said."

      Bobby lifted his head. "Yeah, but he thinks you did stuff to
me. Ronald din't do nothin' bad to me, or Benny. Maybe Jerome did some
stuff but he said he was sorry and din't do it no more."

      "Because you let him do things to you," I said.

      "Unh uh. He just wanted to do what we were doin' is all. He din't
make me do nothin'. Nobody made me do nothin' so how come they's all in
trouble too. It's `cuz a me, cuz ah wanted ta do it."

      While I'd suspected he might have enjoyed some of the sex, it hadn't
occurred to me that he might have actually initiated it. That was hard, too
hard to believe. Don't get me wrong. There are definitely kids well under
nine years of age who have initiated sex with others. I knew of a situation
where a five year old got bored of using his fingers and pencils and
convinced a couple of six and seven year olds to screw him. And he wasn't
gay or a BL, just horny. But Bobby was so shy. It was hard to imagine him
walking up to kid and saying, "Fuck me, please."

      However, that was not the time to dispute anything. I was much too
happy to have him in my arms.

      Ronald put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and leaned his head in
against Bobby's back.

      I took a breath and said, "Well, there's nothing to worry
about. Everybody's out of trouble. Everybody's going to go to school, just
someplace else."

      Ronald looked up at me. Bobby sat up, his face wet with tears.

      "Everybody?"

      "Everybody."

      Ronald called out, "Benny, come `ere. We goin' back ta
school. Mr. Simon fixed it up fer `erybody."

      Benny walked back, skepticism on his face. "Me too?" he asked
pointing at himself. I nodded. "But everybody's got to behave
themselves."

      Benny shrugged but smiled too.

      Bobby put his head back against my chest. "Ah still can't go
home. Let me come live wif you, please?"

      "Your mother wants you back, and Sissy. Sissy's really been
worried. She's the one who called me when you left and talked to me when
she wasn't supposed to but don't say anything to your mother. She missed
you a lot."

      I hoped Martha would welcome him like a mother should but wasn't sure
she was capable, or wanted to.

      "But what about Barney?"

      "Let me take care of Barney."

      "You can't stop him. He broke my guitar and sold the piano. He
hates me real bad. He's gonna hurt me, ah know."

      "You still gotta let me try, son." The son just came out. It
wasn't planned but I was glad I'd said it. This boy was that important to
me.

      Ronald and Benny walked us to the car. It was a short drive, just
three blocks. When we got there, Bobby didn't want to get out.

      "Go see if Barney's in there."

      It was after four. He probably was. Bobby locked the doors and rolled
up the windows after I got out.

      As usual, Sissy answered my knock. "Barney's here, an' he's
pissed. He don' want Mom to let Bobby back, `er you. You find Bobby?"

      "He's in the car. You go see him. I'm gonna talk to Barney."

      She forgot me and rushed out to her little brother. I closed the door
behind me.

      Barney was sitting on the edge of the sofa. He stood and yelled,
"Git outta mah house, faggot."

      "Nice to see you too, Barney. We need to talk."

      "Fuck you! Git out before ah call the cops. Ah know what you
are. You can't fool me like them niggers, so git out."

      Martha hurried in from the kitchen. "Barney, just listen ta him
for a minute an' stop yellin'."

      "Shit, you takin' the faggot's side too? Then fuck you both!"
He stormed up the stairs. A door slammed.

      "Ah tole you," said Martha. "He ain't gonna listen ta
nobody, `special' you."

      "Bobby's out in the car. Barney's gotta know he can't hurt
him."

      "He don't wan' him in the house neither. Ah think we best find a
foster home or sumthin' for `im. Ah can't stand all this fightin' an' ah
don't wan' another a mah kids in trouble. Why don' you jus' keep Bobby with
you for a while and see if Barney calms down some."

      I was about to do just that but stopped at the door.

      "Martha," I said as I turned back into the room, "Bobby is
your son. He's just ten years old. You just can't decide he's too much
trouble. Barney's nearly sixteen. He's old enough to know what he's doing
and pay the price when he does something he shouldn't. What Bobby did was
the mistake of a ten year old. Even the boys who did things to him were
just eleven."

      She folded her arms across her chest and sighed. I went on.

      "Now, I'm going to try something. Might work, might not, but you
have got to deal with Barney whether it does or doesn't. This is Bobby's
home, not just Barney's. I may take him for a day or two but Bobby has got
to live with his mother. That's what ten year olds are supposed to do and
their mothers are supposed to make sure they can."

      With that, I marched up the stairs and knocked on the first door I
came to. There was no answer.

      Martha called from below. "That's mah room. Barney got the nex'
one."

      "Oops", I said to myself and moved down the hall. The knocking
still didn't bring a reply so I spoke. "Barney, I've got two hundred
dollars in my pocket. Come downstairs, or let me in you room, and talk to
me for thirty minutes and it's yours whether we settle things or not."

      Silence. I waited then reminded, "Two hundred dollars."

      "Ah heard you."

      "So?"

      "And then you leave."

      "If you insist, yes."

      There was some movement of things in the room like he was trying to
make it more presentable, or getting out a hidden gun. The door
opened. Standing tall as he could at about five feet three or four inches,
he waved me in.

      The room was small. His bed took up nearly a third. After closing the
door, he said, "Lemme see the money."

      I pulled out my money clip and showed him there was more than two
hundred there.

      "So talk."

      "We're both gonna talk, and listen, you to me and me to you."

      "What time is it?"

      I checked. "Six fifteen."

      He sat on his bed. I sat at the end near the door.

      I began. "Bobby is your brother."

      "Half brother."

      "I stand corrected. Still, you two have the same mother. You're
supposed to love and look after each other..."

      "Not when one's a fag," interrupted Barney.

      "Wrong! Especially if he's gay because that means he's going to
need more help and love than the average brother."

      Barney shook his head.

      "Bobby didn't plan to be gay. It's not his fault. It's not
anybody's fault. About one out of every twenty-five males in the world is
homosexual, about 4%. That's the way it is. The odds are that one of your
friends at school is gay but for one reason or another is able to hide
it."

      "Not from me, they can't. Ah'm a expert on fags cuz a livin' with
mah fag brother."

      "Your brother is only one type of gay. There are other kinds you'd
never know until they told you.

      "You're full of it."

      "How many boys are there in you school? A thousand? More? If there
are only a thousand, then there's about 40 gay kids among them. I'm sure
you can spot some but not most. 4%, Barney. Go to the library and check it
out for yourself. There are lots of scientists who think it's actually a
higher percentage but who knows. Four percent is certain."

      Barney leaned against the wall, folded his arms over his chest and
tried to look bored but it was clear that he was thinking, probably about
which of his school chums was part of the four percent.

      "Actually, the numbers aren't that important in your case. Even if
Bobby was one in ten thousand, he's your brother, by your mother, and that
means you have a responsibility to protect him and he has one to be a good
brother to you.

      "Now, I agree that means he should do his best not to hurt you or
embarrass you and that's one of the things I'm going to be talking over
with him. Everything goes two ways."

      "He's already embarrassed me plenty, too fuckin' much."

      "You mean that some of your friends aren't being friendly because
of it?"

      "That's right!"

      "But I'll bet your real friends are standing by you and saying how
tough it must be to have a fag for a little brother, right?"

      Barney shrugged.

      "But they're still your friends, right?"

      "So what? They don' wanna come `round here no more with some
little fag lookin' at them like he wants ta suck their dicks."

      "Barney, your friends never came around here anyhow and Bobby
wouldn't be interested in them if they did. His interest is in others his
own age."

      "So, their little brothers."

      I smiled then chuckled a little. He almost did too. "So tell
`em, if they come around, leave their little brothers at home."

      "Shiiit."

      "So, Barney, you've got a problem."

      "No, ah don't."

      "You have a responsibility to protect your little brother and he's
making it very difficult for you, pissing you off with what he got caught
doing."

      "An' the way he talks, an' the way he walks an'
everything. Shit."

      "Absolutely. That makes it very difficult for you. But, life is
full of difficulties. The ones who manage to handle those difficulties, in
the right way, are people who manage just about everything better. They are
the ones who end up with the best jobs, the best wives, the best families,
the most happiness in their lives.

      "Any asshole can survive, living in a small house like this, or a
room somewhere, making enough to get by, getting drunk with his loser
buddies. It takes hard work to have more than that. But, you know what,
it's actually easier to work hard and have things than to be the asshole
who just survives, and is always unhappy, complaining about his bad luck,
how this person and that are against him, all the bullshit losers use as
excuses."

      "That ain't got nothin' to do with me."

      "Sure as hell does. You've got what it takes up here," I
pointed to my brain, "to become most anything you want. I know that
because Sissy's very smart and Bobby's probably some kind of genius and
that sort of thing runs in families. You're a so so student but that's
because you don't do much work."

      "That's bullshit. ah do mah homework and ah never failed a grade
like Bobby, the genius, did."

      "Bobby failed because he was miserable. There were kids picking on
him and stealing what little he had, beating him up. No one protected him,
not even his big brother. Once the abuse stopped, he became the best
student in the school even though there were still kids making remarks and
treating him like shit. Well, you don't have his problems, never have, and
still you just get by, not failing but not much more."

      "So ah'm the bad guy and the little faggot is the angel. Is that
what yer paying all that money ta tell me?"

      "Not at all. I now you've had it tough because you were poor and
didn't have what lots of others had, and your little brother was an
embarrassment which, to be honest, is a little bit your fault for thinking
it means more to your friends than it actually does."

      "What? You think they don't say things?"

      "Not as much as you think and maybe because you get so upset about
it. You know damn well that the kids that get picked on the most are
usually the ones who are the most fun to pick on, the ones who get the
maddest when things are said or done to them."

      Again, he shook his head and put on the bored look. "What time is
it," he asked.

      "Six twenty-four. We've got plenty of time."

      He sighed loud enough to be heard.

      "I'm sure you never thought of it but if you had been defending
your brother all those years he's suffered abuse, and telling your friends
"Hey, he's my brother no matter what!' First of all, most of them would
have admired you for it, maybe even helped and more important, what
happened a week ago probably wouldn't have."

      He shook his head again, slowly.

      "Now, there's a way all of this can be worked out so everybody's a
winner. It's going to require a little brotherly understanding, from both
of you, but I can make that easier, especially for you.

      "By the way, do you realize how talented your little brother
really is?"

      He ignored the question probably because with the likes of Mary Jean
coming around and Bobby making albums, he knew his brother was a lot better
than average.

      "Bobby is probably going to be famous, and maybe soon. If he cuts
the album a lot of people in Nashville want him to, and gets up the courage
to perform in public, he'll be the biggest child star there's ever been in
country music. That, my angry young friend, is going to be a big plus for
you with everyone who knows you, especially the girls."

      "They're still gonna know he's a fag."

      "I doubt that would matter even if they did which most won't
because we're going to work on that with him, teach him how not to be so
obvious. That, of course, will make it easier for you too.

      "Now, I've been doing a lot for him and not much for you. I'm sure
that sucks. That can be changed too but, like I said, life's a two way
street.

      "I'm betting one of your problems with the girls has nothing to do
with your brother and that's all those pimples you've got on your face and
neck."

      "Fuck you!"

      "What if there was a way to get rid of them in a few weeks?"

      Barney let his eyes turn toward mine.

      "I thought that would get your attention. There are clinics that
deal with skin problems like yours. I can set you up with one tomorrow.

      "But, like they say on the TV ads, there's more. You push your
grades up into the 80's on your next exams and I'll pay for driver's
ed. Then, if you end the year with a 90 or higher average, I'll buy a used
car for you to drive. It'll still be mine, but you'll have written
permission to use it, as long as your grades stay up. If the school
requirement sounds too difficult, don't worry. If you need one, I'll
arrange a tutor, depending on the subject, maybe even me.

      "And, here's the best part. I'll take you out to eat any time
you're around when I take Bobby and Sissy."

      Barney smirked. "I ain' goin' nowhere with Bobby."

      Hearing `Bobby' instead of `fag' lifted my hopes that there was
headway being made.

      "That doesn't mean you can't be his brother when he needs one."

      "What kinda car?"

      "One that runs well. Nothing fancy. And not before June and then
if you can average ninety in your finals for the year."

      "Shit, that's easy."

      "I have no doubt."

      He sucked in on his lips.

      "Do we have a deal?"

      "You gonna start fixin' my face tomorrow?"

      "Just because it's too late today."

      He stood up and walked to the door and back.

      "An' you all`r' gonna make Bobby talk normal?"

      "More normal than now, not exactly like the other kids which isn't
supposed to matter because he's your brother and you support him for that
reason alone."

      He frowned. "I ain' gonna hug `im or nothin', no way."

      "Not until you want to."

      "That ain' never gonna happen."

      It was my turn to shrug my shoulders.

      "Do we have a deal?"

      "He gonna stay here tonight?"

      "Probably not but definitely tomorrow, no matter what you say
now."

      "An' if I say no?"

      "He'll be here tomorrow. You've have to deal with it inside
yourself without my help because I'm not going to permit you to hurt him in
any way. And I mean that exactly as I said it."

      "Shit."

      I held my hand out to him. He shook his head, then took it.

      With my other hand, I pulled out my money clip and handed him two one
hundred dollar bills. "That's yours but you can spend some of it on food
for the family.

      "I suppose you don't want to go out to dinner with the rest of
us?"

      He didn't. Even bribery has its limits.

      Martha stared anxiously at me as I came down.

      "Your turn to handle your mother. Wanna go to dinner with us?"

      Her expression defined the word `relief'. "Ah, ah already was
fixin' somethin', but, ah s'pose. Barney goin' with us?"

      "Don't ask for miracles."

      Bobby and Sissy bathed and changed, not in the tub together but I got
the impression they were in there together nude as one got out and the
other got in.

      Barney came downstairs while his younger siblings were getting
cleaned up.

      "Do I gotta talk ta Bobby?"

      "Of course you do, and he's gotta talk to you, like brothers
do."

      "Man, an' what're we s'posed ta talk about? Ah don't like nothin'
he likes and he don't like nothin' ah like."

      Even though he was throwing up obstacles, it sounded like Barney was
going to try to get along.

      "You both like pizza, don't you?"

      "Big deal. Everybody likes pizza. If you go to a pizza place,
bring me some."

      "Tell Bobby what kind of pizza you want and he can get it for
you."

      "He knows ah like pepperoni."

      "Then just remind him when you ask him to bring you some."

      We sat in silence for the few minutes more it took Bobby and Sissy to
come down all dressed up. Sissy was trying to comb her little brother's
hair as they came.

      Bobby looked at Barney apprehensively. Sissy pulled him to a halt at
the bottom of the stairs so she could finish with her combing.

      Barney glanced twice at Bobby as though meaning to say something but
didn't.

      I asked him, "Anything you want Bobby to bring back for you?"

      Barney smirked, sighed, shifted his position on the sofa then said,
"Bobby, if you go to a pizza, bring me some, you know, pepperoni."

      Bobby took a breath and answered, "Okay," then looked at me
with a `let's get out of here' expression.

      I slid over toward Barney and whispered, "Good start. You'll be
fine."

      We went to a pizza joint.

      Conversation was limited. Martha ate. Sissy talked about the kind of
school she wanted to go to: easy, with lots of social activities. Bobby
made sure everyone understood that he was staying with me that night. I
tried to talk about helping Barney deal with his role as big brother to
Bobby but that only brought nods from Martha, smirks from Sissy and
absolutely no response from Bobby.

      On the ride back to the house, Bobby insisted on riding up front with
me then, when we arrived, he didn't want to go inside.

      "You gotta give Barney his pizza so let's go."

      He came in behind us then walked over to Barney, the medium pepperoni
pizza held well out in front of him.

      Barney took it and said "Thanks" very softly.

      Bobby started to step back but I was there to stop him. "You're
welcome," I whispered in his ear.

      "Yer welcome," he said with a rasp.

      Barney nodded.

      It seemed enough for the moment but there needed to be more before
I'd feel comfortable leaving the two of them together.

      I reminded Barney he needed to come straight home from school in case
his appointment with the skin clinic was at that hour.



      -----------------------------------
















      Chapter 5

      On the way to the hotel, Bobby wanted to know what had transpired
between Barney and me.

      "We made a deal that you and I are going discuss at the hotel. But
he's going to be a good big brother and you're going to have to be a good
little brother."

      "What's that mean ah gotta do?"

      "We'll talk about that later."

      "Ah don't gotta go doin' a bunch a things for him all the
time?"

      "No, Bobby, but you have got to remember that when you get in
trouble, it affects him too. But don't worry, I just want you two to be
nice to each other and Barney says he'll do it."

      "You have to give him money?"

      The little guy was sharp. He probably understood, as I had, that cash
was the only language his angry brother was going to listen to.

      "What I did to arrange the peace, my dear friend, is none of your
business. Just know that an understanding was had and you are safe in your
house."

      Just so there wouldn't be any misunderstandings, I took a different
suite, one with two bedrooms and registered Bobby as a guest. There were
still looks due in part to the obvious poor kid clothing. But, hotels don't
ask embarrassing questions of customers who stay in their most expensive
accommodations.

      A call to Mary Jean´s hotel found her waiting by her phone.

      "Let me talk to him," she said after I´d given her the news.

      All I heard were a series of `Yes, ma'ám´s'.

      When Bobby handed back the receiver, she told me she'd instructed
Bobby to behave, do what I told him, not to fight with his brother and that
she loved him.

      "I think I counted four `Yes ma'am's'. What was the last one
about?"

      "That was between us, Simon, but you can try to pry it out of
him. And he says he's gonna do that album with me. I'll talk to Stanley to
see if he can set it up for next Saturday or Sunday. You okay with
that?"

      Of course, I was.

      The suite had a balcony overlooking the city right out to the
Mississippi. We sat on a small wicker sofa. Bobby sat with his back against
my side. I put my arm around him. He played with my fingers.

      "Bobby, you just answer as much as you want but I would like to
understand how you decided to have sex with the same boys who had been
taking things from you and beating you up. I'm not saying it was wrong, I
just, well, I just want to understand what happened, how this thing got
started. So what happened."

      Bobby took a deep breath. "You know Benny? He was at the house in
the nigger neighborhood where ah was."

      I shook my head at the confusing set of attitudes this kid had in
him.

      "Benny likes ta pull out his dick an' say, `Suck this' an' it's
alus hard so, one day, ah said okay cuz, you know, it was kinda neat
lookin'."

      "But wasn't Benny beating on you?"

      "Not then. Ronal', he's Benny's cuzin an' they live in the same
house wif Benny's `n' Ronald's grandmother an' a ant an' Ronal' made
Benny stop botherin' me so ah said okay an' Benny an' me went inta the
boys' room and ah done it inside a toilet an' Benny tole Ronal' but Ronal'
din't wanna do it then so ah jus' done it wif Benny but then Ronald said
okay an' ah did it ta `im too.

      "Then, one day, Ronal' kissed me on the mouf an' said he loved me
so we done that a lot cuz ah liked him a lot too even if he was a
nigger. But Benny jus' liked sex so we jus' done that."

      Bobby's shyness apparently wasn't universal. The frankness was mind
boggling. Why was he being so incredibly open with me? "And Jerome?"
I asked.

      "Oh, Jerome's a friend a Benny's an' Benny asted me if it was okay
if Jerome stopped botherin' me could ah suck his dick too an' ah said
okay. Anyhow Benny said Jerome had one even bigger'n his but not too big
an' it was an' had little hairs growin' on top so ah done him too an' he
really liked it an' never done nothin' ta me no more an' even wudn't let
nobody else do nothin' neither."

      "So," I began but was cut off. Was he just unloading?

      "My teacher was lettin' me stay in the boys' room since last year
fer a long time so ah tole Benny an' Ronal' `n' Jerome they should come
when ah was in there so we made a time on Tuesday and Thursday when they
would come after recess an' we could do it. That's when Benny said he
wanted ta do it in the back."

      Bobby reached under himself to touch his buns.

      "So he done it there an' it was kinda good so ah said it was okay
fer Ronal' an' Jerome ta do it there too and they did `cept Ronal' din't
do it then but later cuz he wanted mostly fer us to kiss. He said it was
makin' love an' we loved each'n other so but ah said he should do it back
there so one day he done it an' he liked it too. Jerome hurt some but it
was good too. So that's why we was doin't it when that police come over the
top and caught us all cuz a that new kid."

      "What new kid? Whatta you mean?"

      "Jerome was makin' noise when we done it, you know like clappin'
when he went in each time an' the kid says ta Benny `What's that
noise?" an' Benny tells him ta shut up er he's gonna hit `im but the
kid says `F you' and he goes out an' we know it was him who tole cuz he
was in the hall when they took us out an' give Benny the finger. Benny says
he was jealous is all. Benny want'd ta kill `im'."

      My body was reacting to Bobby's incredibly graphic descriptions. Was
Bobby coming on to me? The next question came out of my loins.

      "And did you guys get together in the summer?"

      "Yeah, ah went to where they live cuz niggers can't come ta my
house cuz a you know an' they had that place where ah was hid when you come
where we done it on the blanket `cept Jerome cuz he got a job in a store
an' only done it couple times."

      "Jerome's got to be getting pretty big by now if he had hair and
was bigger than Benny a year ago. Doesn't that hurt?"

      "Not so bad an' it feels good too. An' sometimes he gives me
money."

      "Do you do sex with any other boys or just those three?"

      "Just these two white kids from my class but not all much cuz they
was afraid we was gonna get caught. An' we did but not them. Anyway, one a
them was real tiny and cummed real fast. Steven was better but not good as
Benny."

      "You don't talk to other people about this like you are to me, do
you?"

      "Unh uh. ah never done that. They'd go `n' tell. But you know
all about sex like us so Ronal' said it was okay to say stuff ta you. You
know what else he said?"

      I worried I did. "No. What?"

      Bobby turned my hand up in his. "Ronald's says you like ta do it
with kids like us'ns. You kin do it wif me if ya want. Jus' not in my
ass. You're bigger'n Jerome an' it'll hurt too much."

      Could Bobby feel my temperature rise? "I think Ronald was just
guessing. I mostly just like being with you like this."

      Bobby pulled my hand up to his lips and kissed it. I pulled him into
my lap and embraced him.

      "You know I love you very much?" I'd never said that to him. It
felt good doing so.

      "Ah know an' ah love you too."

      We sat there like that for a while. Neither of us spoke. I squeezed
him gently a few times and kissed his head. The tranquility, at least in my
case, was strictly on the outside. Never had I imagined a boy would dump so
many very personal revelations on me plus the idea that his buddy, no,
lover, had accurately and frighteningly nailed me as a boy lover and Bobby
had not just accepted the fact, he'd embraced it as completely as I was
embracing him.

      Bobby broke the silence with, "Why can't I live with you?"

      I had prepared for that and was quite content the conversation had
veered away from sex with me. "For one thing, ten year old boys need to
be with their mothers. And, you know I travel a lot. Sometimes I'm gone for
over a week and I go out a lot at night. It's part of my work. But, you can
stay with me every once in a while like when you come to Nashville to
record. You're still gonna do that album with Mary Jean, aren't you?"

      "Mm hmm. Can ah stay at your house on Friday's an' Saturdays? An'
Thanksgivin' `n' Chrismas?"

      "It's not going to be every week, Bobby, because of my work but
we'll see about the holidays."

      He mulled that over for a minute or so then, "An' what if Barney
hits me?"

      "I don't think Barney's going to hit you any more."

      "But what if he does?"

      "Then he'll be punished. Now look, Bobby, for you and Barney to
get along the both of you have to be brothers to each other. You're gonna
have to try to make some changes just like he will."

      "Ah din't do nothin' wrong ta `im. Anyway, he's way bigger'n me
so what'm ah s'posed to do?"

      "Well, for one, no more sex in the boys' room where you can get
caught. If you wanna have sex with Ronald and Benny, you need to do it some
place private like that house where I found you, no more at school."

      "We ain't gonna do nothin' at school. But where'm ah gonna go ta
school? Ah wanna go where Ronal' goes."

      "We've gotta see what's available. I'll be working on that
tomorrow. Hey, and I'm gonna get you a new guitar and piano. Don't worry,
Barney's not going to do anything to them.

      "You think your mother would like to live in a bigger house?"

      "In yers, in Nashville?"

      "No, no. A house like yours but bigger with more rooms so you
could have a bedroom too, and a practice room so you could practice playing
and not be bothering anyone."

      "Where? Ah gotta live near Ronal'."

      "Tell you what. Let's have lunch at your mother's diner and ask
her what she thinks about a bigger place."

      I ended up telling Bobby about the skin clinic for Barney and that
I'd be helping him in other ways too. He wanted more details but it was
getting on bedtime. He didn't want to sleep in the other bedroom.

      I insisted. For a moment, I thought he was going to cry but that
passed and he seemed to be drifting off when I left him all tucked in.

      I went to bed and thought about all that had to be done the next
day. First on the list was the skin clinic. I had to come through with that
or the whole deal could fall apart. Then there was the matter of finding
schools for everyone. It didn't seem likely the school system would do more
than approve my choices which had to be approved first by parents, well
guardians in the case of Ronald and Benny, guardians who probably didn't
yet know more than the matter was over and that schools would be found. I
think I was on the music store and new instruments when I fell asleep.

      It was well after midnight when I rolled over and was awakened by the
realization that I was half on top of something solid which, of course, was
Bobby. Unable to resist, I pulled him to me. He was, or seemed to be, as
ten year olds are an hour or so after hitting the hay, completely
unconscious.

      I was tempted to reach down and see what he had between the legs but
concern that he wasn't actually asleep held my hand back. No use confirming
Ronald's assumptions.

      It was during that near to awakening state at around seven AM
dreaming about a boy playing with my early morning hard on when I suddenly
realized it wasn't a dream. It took a moment to remember where I was and
with whom. My first sleepy impulse was to hug him and return the favor when
my paranoia, call it my better judgement, kicked in. Still, rather than
push him off, I kissed his head and said, "We better get up. Lots to do
today." It was a way of escaping the situation without having to
acknowledge it had occurred.

      Bobby said, "Yers is really big. Can ah see it?"

      "C'mon, Bobby, we gotta eat and get outta here. There's..."

      "Jus' fer a minute. Ah never seen a man's dick before. Please."

      He didn't say `please' very much. I whipped back the covers and
let him look for a moment then started to get out of bed.

      He hung on and pushed me backward.

      "Bobby..."

      "Ah just wanna smell it." He dropped his head to my crotch and
did just that. "It smells different`n Jerome's. Niggers smell
different'n white people. How come?"

      I lifted him off me. He held onto my cock until I got him shoulder
high and held him there. "Black people have different skin chemicals, I
suppose. What do you want for breakfast?"

      "They got bigger asses'n `n' dicks'n white people. Benny showed
me that. He's got a big ass an' his dick's gonna be big soon. Jerome's
gittin' real big.. White boys don't got`em that big. Tonal's bigger'
Steve's. Benny says it makes niggers have more smell to `em, cuz they
got more skin

      I was going to stop his speech a couple of times but it was just too
much fun to listen to. With the street science lecture over, I got back to
breakfast.

      He said he'd eat whatever I ordered so I ordered a lot of everything.

      The first task was a skin clinic for Barney. Relying on the size of
Yellow Pages ads as an indication of success, I called two. The first was
booked up for over a month. The second gave the same response but I
insisted on coming by to see their operation.

      There were a dozen or so patients of all ages in the waiting
room. None were pimpled teens but they all figured to be in school. I asked
the receptionist about their treatment for acne. She gave me a printed
folder with photos and drawings. I sat down and read the whole thing. It
seemed professional and well thought out. One fact that jumped out at me
and that I should have wondered about before is that acne generally starts
later in adolescence that it had with Barney who was still a bit short of
sixteen. Considering that Sissy was late coming in – most girls her age
had a lot more chest – and Bobby was both small for his age and actually
looked a couple of years younger, Barney must have had some genetic factor
from his father for him to reach puberty earlier, or there was another
factor aggravating his condition.

      I agitated the receptionist to let me see the doctor.

      "Miss, I'm a music producer from Nashville and I've got to get
back but I have a teenager I'd like to be seen by your clinic and need to
see the doctor to set it up. I'll pay one hundred percent up front if need
be."

       The argument worked because I was in the doctor's office a few
minutes later. I explained Barney's condition and some of the psychological
stress which might have aggravated it. "However, I think we may have
taken a lot of pressure off him recently and he seems more relaxed. From
what I've read in your brochure, you seem the best people to get rid of his
acne." Diplomacy was one of my strong suits.

      We talked. He wanted to start him a week and a half later. I
convinced him to at least take a look while I was still in town so he'd
know what treatment was going to be necessary and I could pay for it right
away. That, of course, meant it would be expensive but the investment would
come back many times over if this helped create domestic peace in Bobby's
house.

      He agreed to see Barney at four.

      I convinced the doctor to let me use his phone to call Harold
Johnson. He wasn't in but his secretary said he was waiting for us to bring
him the name of the schools we wanted we wanted for our kids. So, he wasn't
going to be of any help in finding the right one. I leaned on the doctor to
permit another call, this one to Bob Matthews, the boys' choir director. He
figured to know which schools would have the best music programs. He
invited us to his home.

      He was wearing slippers when he answered the door. His apartment was
as disorderly as most bachelor pads with the exception of their being a
large grand piano and an upright with a roll player on adjoining walls of
his living room.

      The walls were covered with the photos of boys' choirs, some with him
as director, and individual boys, some in skimpy swim suits, a few either
sitting on his lap or draped over his shoulder. I assumed he didn't have
many guests dropping by and further guessed I was a fellow spirit.

      I told him enough of what had happened that he understood the
position in which we had the St. Louis' education department.

      "None of the public schools have much in the way of special music
education but, if Bobby is as bright as you say, you might be able to get
him into an accelerated program to go along with outside music
education."

      I assured him the school system would accept whatever institution I
requested.

      "God, I wish I was in your shoes. I'd really put it to them. Some
of my kids are in really crappy schools. They're bright and bored having to
stay with a curriculum geared for the slower students. So they get in
trouble all the time and the schools say they're problem children when the
problem is the crappy schools."

      By the time we were ready to leave, I had two special schools to look
at for Bobby, another for his sister and a phone number of a teacher who
could guide me regarding schools for the other boys. That man, also a
scoutmaster, sounded like a boy lover too.

      Another call to Harold Johnson's office resulted in the same response
as before but the possibility that he'd be in around four. A call to Herman
Scott arranged a lunch meeting the following day for the three of us. I
expected to have Bobby at home by then.

      The next stop was our favorite music shop where I bought Bobby
another used Martin guitar, this time with six strings, and a new keyboard
with a built-in sound system similar to the one Barney had either destroyed
or sold. I suspected the latter but had no plans to bring it up.

      We spent an hour in a practice room there at the store. Bobby refused
to sing in such a public place but promised to do so the next time we were
alone.

      His mother didn't appear to be happy to see us but sat for lunch
anyway. Her boss gave me a dirty look a couple of times but didn't
interfere.

      I brought up the larger house idea.

      "One of the reasons for the conflicts between Barney and Bobby is
the lack of space. If you accept, I'll pay the difference in the rent and
find you a house where you want."

      "Well, ah'll have to think about that. It's a nice offer an' ah
appreciate it but ah better think on it first." It didn't sound very
positive.

      However, she was ready to accept any school that would take in her
two children. I promised to pay transportation if needed.

      In case Martha did find a larger home appealing, I visited a couple
of real estate agencies we found in the phone book. Both had plenty of
interesting prospects but Bobby was adamant that any new home had to be
within walking distance of Ronald´s house. As a matter of fact, there were
a number of houses for rent in that area but all in completely black
neighborhoods, something I knew Martha and certainly Barney would never
accept.

      While in the second office, it occurred to me that I might look for a
place for myself. My hotel bills were much higher than a mortgage would be
making the purchase a reasonably good investment. And, I could sell it if
need be, probably at a profit, a few years down the road.

      Bobby loved the idea. "Can we live there wif you?"

      "You can visit me there but you are going to live near Ronald,
remember?"

      I'm sure he was trying to figure a way to have his cake and eat it
too.

      I made an appointment to visit a couple of houses the next morning.

      It was getting on three so I took Bobby home. He was again
apprehensive but since I was taking Barney with me when I left, he went in
without a fuss. He did ask to be able to stay with me again that night.

      "I've got work to do and you need to be with your family."

      I escaped quickly with Barney in tow. The wet hair up front told me
he'd washed his face. We had to wait over half an hour during which he
asked what they were going to do a number of times, each with a request for
more detail even though I repeatedly told him I hadn't a clue.

      The doctor knew how to talk to adolescents. Barney was attentive and
cooperative, taking off his shirt the moment he was asked to do so. I saw
the reason for the request. There was acne nearly down to his tits.

      I'd expected a brief checkup but they got right to work. I was down
to reading a House and Garden magazine when he finally came out.

      "Man," he explained, "they damn near washed my skin off."

      Apparently they'd done a thorough cleaning then applied three
different kinds of medication or something. Barney had three prescription
sheets filled with medications, diet limitations and multiple daily
washings and treatments. He had an appointment for the following
Wednesday. I got the bill. It would have paid for Bobby's music lessons for
the better part of a year.

      After stopping by two pharmacies because the first didn't have one of
the items on his list, I dropped off Barney with an admonition to be a good
big brother and went to the home of Ronald and Benny.

      Much of the time I'd been sitting in the doctor's office, I wondered
just how bright those two boys might be. Sometimes kids who are constant
discipline problems, like some of Bob Matthews choristers, are merely bored
due to work that is too easy for them. I remembered something Bobby's
teacher had said indicating that Benny was no dummy.

      The grandmother invited me in. "You the man gonna put my boys back
in school?"

      "That's the plan. Are they in? I'd like to get an idea how they're
doing in school, get a look at their notebooks."

      She called out, "Benny, that white man's heah." Then said to
me, "They's eatin'. You hungry?"

      "No, ma'am. Just ate," I lied concerned that they were eating
might be unappetizing then repenting at the thought of the great food black
families prepared back in Nashville.

      Ronald came first, a piece of chicken in his hand. Benny, right
behind him, was licking his fingers one at a time.

      "This man, what's yo name, suh?"

      "Simon."

      "Mr. Simon heah wans ta see yo school books."

      I suggested they finish eating first and sat on the hardest sofa I'd
ever encountered to wait. They brought their plates into the living room,
plates with what was left of some delicious smelling fried chicken, boiled
potatoes and what were probably collard greens. A small girl about seven
peered into the room, the remains of a chicken leg between her lips.

      "So when we goin´ back ta school?" asked Benny

      Ronald looked at me anxiously. I noticed the great difference between
the two cousins. Benny was almost pure black, with a strong jaw and eyes
that spoke of energy. Ronald was considerably lighter with a softer look, a
more tranquil demeanor.

      "That's what I'm here to find out. I'd like to see your copybooks
from school and talk to you about how you were doing. Do you have your
report cards from last year?"

      Their grandmother went off to "fetch `em."

      Another woman, stocky and dark, wearing slippers came in. "You the
man from the schools? I hope you get these two in school soon as
possible. They's drivin' me crazy aroun' all day."

      Benny retorted, "We wasn't hardly here all day, Aunt Sally, only
come in fer dinna' an' suppah."

      She ignored her nephew. "So when they goin' back?"

      "Next week, I expect."

      The grandmother returned holding out a large manila
envelope. "She's Benny aunt an' mebbe Ronald's."

      I stared at her for a moment, hoping for an explanation of the
`mebbe'. There was none so I pulled out the large quantity of paperwork
inside the envelope.

      There were lots of report cards along with birth certificates and
other official looking documents. Benny sat down beside me and pushed aside
papers until he snatched up a stiff blue form.

      "Heah's mines from last yeah."

      "And Ronald's?"

      Ronald nudged in on my left, sought out and found his.

      Benny's, considering all the trouble he'd apparently been in, was
fairly good with only science below eighty. His conduct was uniformly
bad. Ronald had coasted along in the seventies but had good conduct
ratings. Neither missed many days.

      "Sixteen plus sixteen?" I asked Benny.

      He grinned and smirked at the same time. "Thirty-two. Tha's
easy."

      "Thirty-two plus thirty-two?"

      "Sissy-fo'."

      I kept doubling. He kept answering, only slowing to think at four
thousand nine-six, but just briefly.

      "Where's Brazil?"

      "Souf America. Got's the Amazon, longest river in the world."

      "Nigeria?"

      "Nigeria? I know all the countries a Africa." He named them
north to south. I couldn't have done that.

      I asked him some grammatical definitions. He messed up the definition
of a pronoun but knew what they were. Using what was in his science
copybook, I asked questions, all of which he answered correctly, with a
certain amount of braggadocio. All the while, his eyes looked straight into
mine as though challenging me to beat him. When I finished, he stood and
bowed to all of us.

      "So why only seventies in science on your report card?"

      "The teacher din't like me."

      Ronald laughed. "You din't do no homework's why."

      Ronald hadn't done nearly as well as Benny but certainly wasn't a
poor student.

      However, while I could probably put Benny in the same experimental
school with Bobby, I didn't think Ronald would be able to keep up.

      Jerome lived a block and a half away but wasn't home. According to
his apologetic mother, he worked in a local store making home
deliveries. She showed me his report card. It was bad. I promised to come
back in the morning about nine.

      In the hotel after checking with messages of mounting urgency back in
Nashville, I called the teacher Bob Matthews had suggest would know about
area schools. He sounded wary, asking questions regarding who I was. He
accepted my suggestion that he call Matthews to confirm my identity.

      "We have to be very careful who we discuss school matters
with," he explained. I suspected something else.

      He called back a few moments later, very apologetic and asked if I'd
like to come to his place or if he should visit me.

      Curious to see this paranoid character in his native environment, a
man I was by then sure was a boy lover, I went to his apartment, a fourth
floor walkup in a white working class neighborhood. Ted Anderson was a
tall, fat man, bald, probably in his late forties. He effused welcome.

      "I apologize for being so difficult on the telephone but these
days, a guy can't be too careful."

      I got the distinct impression he too felt he was speaking to a
brother of the cloth. Did Bob Matthews tell Ted Anderson that I was, as a
matter of fact, a boy lover? Much as I enjoyed the all too infrequent
opportunities to let my hair down, this was a little too sudden for me.

      He sat me in a comfortable easy chair and poured himself into one
corner of a matching sofa.

      "Bob says your boy is very talented, and smart."

      The ´my boy´ part went another step toward the openness.that made me
uncomfortable. "Bobby is bright. There's no doubt about that. I was
hoping you could recommend a school for him, and another boy a year older,
eleven, who seems to be quite bright too."

       He recommended one of the two special schools Matthews had
mentioned.

      "Do you think the principal would meet to show me around?"

      "You don't want to meet that woman. She's suspicious of any man
working with kids. If you've got Johnson's ear like Bob says, you best just
let him put your boy in and stay clear. The teachers are pretty nice though
and you'll be able to talk to them once he's in. Do you have pictures of
the boys?"

      "Sorry, never took one but there'll be publicity shots once the
album he's working on comes out, probably around Thanksgiving. What about
kids with normal intelligence? Are there classes for them at the same
school?"

      "Sure, they have slow students. It's experimental so they work
with all levels. Your boy´s going to be on a record album?"

      Matthews hadn't told him. I screwed up. "Just one song." Guilt
set in. This man was very paranoid. He was only speaking to me because I
was recommended by Matthews. I relaxed. "Yeah, a country album with Mary
Jean Kestler."

      "I've heard of her. What the album called?"

      I told him I had no idea but would make sure he got one when it came
out.

      The conversation went on for about an hour. I managed to get away
without discussing sex or boy bodies but did tell Anderson about Bobby's
difficulty with shyness and how he'd progressed and finally sung at a club
and in the recording studio. When he asked about Bobby's and the others'
problems at school, I sensed Matthews hadn't told him sex was involved so
just put it down to thuggish behavior on the part of one pair that, due to
friendships, fell on the others as well. The principal had made a big
mistake in how he'd handled it and that was why Harold Johnson had agreed
to help get all the kids into other schools.

      I left angry with myself for not being more open and enjoying a bit
of free discussion on my favorite subject.

      Friday morning at seven, I met the real estate agent to see a couple
of the houses she had shown photos of the day before. The first was a
dream, a quiet area of upper middle class homes, two stories with four
bedrooms, two and a half acres of grass and trees, a garage with an
electric door all only twenty minutes by expressway from Bobby's
neighborhood.

      I went to the second one to give myself a better negotiating position
on the first.

      "I like the first one better but you're gonna have to do a lot
better on price. I'll tell you what." I made a cash offer. "If the
owner accepts it, I'll have a cashier's check or make a bank transfer the
moment the papers are in hand and they're ready to sign."

      I doubted she got many such offers. She said she'd get back to me
before noon.

      Next was a talk with the infamous Jerome. His mother had kept him
home from work so we could meet. Jerome lived up to my expectations, even
in the face. The poor kid was not exactly ugly but you'll never find his
face on a Saturday morning TV ad for Commando Sam's Rocket Man. His
expression was one of those `you lookin' at me, man' types.

      "You the man gonna get us back inta school, ain´tcha?"

      "That's me but just for kids who wanna learn. You one of them?"

      "Yeah," he answered with a changing voice and a smile that
somehow didn't dispel the previous bad guy impression. He told me, as
though I was expected to comply, where he wanted to go, a school half a
mile from where we stood in the opposite direction from his original
institution.

      "His mother complained, "They's alus putting e'rything on
Jerome like he's the onliest kid in that school does things he ain't
s´posed to."

      "An I din´t do none a that shit they said I did to that white
boy. He tole me ta come inside the toilet an' said he wanted to suck my
cock an' I said he was crazy, I din't do no shit like that an' then this
pohlice comes jumpin' over the wall sayin' I was doin' shit an' he knows I
wasn' doin' nothin', jus' standin' theah."

      "Ya see!" added his mother.

      I tried the math questions with him but he claimed to be tired
therefore unable to answer much.

      At the hotel, I called some frustrated musicians and producers I
should have seen that week and promised to be in Nashville Monday to make
everything right. Since I usually did take care of things on time, they
accepted my apologies but hoped I'd be there for them. The most urgent was
work on the cover of the boychoir Irish group album cover and insert.

      Lunch with Herman Scott and Harold Johnson was mostly a happy talk
affair. Johnson wrote down the names of the four I wanted to put into the
experimental school and Jerome for the place he wanted. I promised to stay
in touch with the experimental school and handle any problems immediately.

      Johnson received a promise that he'd be invited to Bobby's first
musical appearance in the St. Louis area. On the way to the parking lot,
Herman Scott handed me an envelope with his bill. I didn't bother to look.

      "You've done a great job, counselor. You'll have payment before
the end of next week." I asked him to take care of one more matter.

      The real estate agent had left a message at my hotel to call her. The
owners had a counter offer, she said when I called. I claimed that the
amount I'd offered was all I had available at the time and didn't want to
get involved in payments. She sounded disappointed as she should have. A
lower price meant a lower commission.

      The owner, a young couple who had inherited the place, met me at the
realtor's office at five thirty. We signed the papers. I wrote a
check. Keys were to be handed over when the check cleared.

      I didn't tell Bobby about the house when I went by afterwards. The
plan was to say goodbye and take a seven thirty flight back to Nashville
getting there in time to join Stanley and the others at our club for a
night of bluegrass.

      Bobby wanted to spend the night again.

      "Barney been bothering you?" I asked with a smile, sure his big
brother with an already improved face wasn't about to do anything to
interfere with the reception of my ridiculously generous bribe.

      "No, I jus' wanna be wif you once more `fore you go is all."

      I liked the idea too but was afraid of what might happen under the
sheets. "Bobby, there are people back in Nashville who are very angry at
me for not taking care of business there. You will be starting classes
Tuesday in your new school, you and Sissy and Ronald and Benny all
together." He hugged me hard as his skinny little arms would
allow. "Easy, son. Sissy, you talk to your mother about a bigger
house. I told her I'll pay the difference in the rent. We can take it out
of Bobby's earnings if she wants. There are some places available in this
part of town so none of you will be moving away from your friends, just
have more space to live in. And Bobby will have his own practice room so he
won't be bothering anybody."

      I promised to get back the following Friday and, with his mother's
permission and if a studio could be arranged, take Bobby back to Nashville
that night for a recoding session Saturday. A man from Herman Scott's
office would stop by the day before they were to start in their new school
to tell them about it and make sure they had what they needed. A taxi would
take all four of them to and from school each day. Bobby was to get back to
his piano lessons.

      It was painful walking away from Bobby. I wanted to be with him
possibly more than he with me but I was frightened by the distinct
possibility I'd succumb to the temptation of his sweet body.



      ----------------------------------------



















      Chapter 6

       We did record Bobby with Mary Jean that next Saturday. Even though
he said he didn't want to make public appearances, the club being the one
regular exception, Mary Jean, Stanley and I gently urged him to consider
making an album. After writing a song obviously about his love for Ronald
– `long brown legs', `thick curly brown hair' and other lyrics
some of which I convinced him had to be changed -, he accepted on the
condition, his usual one, that there'd be no public appearances. Selling
that to a distributor would be impossible but we didn't really care. Bobby
was so good, there were a lot of people who were willing to fork over a
large amount to have his voice in their collection. Among them just about
every musician who'd worked with him or heard him at the club. I was
perfectly willing to fund the entire effort for the same reason. Bobby's
voice would eventually change. We needed him on tape.

      We settled on twelve songs, three of them his compositions with
revised lyrics. The others were old country classics like `Making
Believe' and `Sweet Dreams' both of which would feature Mary Jean's
harmony and some bluegrass numbers with a band made up of some of
Nashville's best musicians and back up vocalists, all stars in their own
right. We did the whole thing over Friday and Saturday of Thanksgiving
weekend so Bobby wouldn't miss any school. That meant some of those
involved gave up lucrative dates just to be part of that project.

      Listening in the control room gave me dreams of taking such a show on
the road. The list of backup artists would fill most venues of bluegrass
music. I was sure that if Bobby's CD were to get significant radio play, he
could fill the biggest houses any of us had ever worked.

      What did happen, though, after considerable persuasion, was an
invitation only concert at an area theater which would feature all the
music and musicians on his CD. We tried to keep it quiet but there are no
secrets in Nashville's music circles. Demands for tickets outstripped the
theater's capacity. Worse, Bobby heard about the hoofuraw and wanted to
back out. He'd imagined a bunch of familiar faces, all professionals who
wouldn't fawn over a performer or ask for autographs. Already, we had to be
careful that no one knew in advance when Bobby was going to be at the
club. I always took him there in a taxi and entered from the back. He never
sang more than one set. They really loved him, and so did I.

      We tried to spread a rumor that the whole affair had been
cancelled. Not many believed it. In the end, what we did was reschedule the
thing two days hence and make phone calls. Mary Jean and another female
country and bluegrass singer went to St. Louis and wooed Bobby. We had to
take him out of school for the Wednesday night affair.

      The place was packed with dozens outside trying to buy their way
in. Now, don't get me wrong, Bobby was popular but there was one great
bunch of performers on the list of co-stars. Still, Stanley insisted that
it was the rumors about this incredible kid that sparked most of the furor.

      Then Bobby saw the standing room crowd. Every ounce of shyness that
boy had rushed into his head. He retreated to his dressing room, refusing
to come out. Eight thirty came and went. The crowd was getting
boisterous. The MC, a popular local disk jockey started the show with Mary
Jean and another starlet doing a duet while Stanley and I tried to calm
Bobby. He was trembling he was so frightened. Tears were in his eyes.

      Another act went on, Mary Jean rushed back and kicked us out. It was
ten minutes and a comedy act before they came out. Bobby was blindfolded
with Mary Jean's famous scarf. She led him toward the stage with Stanley
and me close behind. Poor Stanley had hired two engineers and installed
rented state of the art recording equipment. He was terrified of losing not
just his investment but what might have been his only chance to record a
live performance of Bobby Stottlemeyer as a boy.

      At the side of the stage, Mary Jean spoke to the stage manager. When
the comedy act skipped off, the curtain was closed. The MC walked out and
hushed the crowd while Mary Jean directed a group of us, including me on a
guitar borrowed that moment from a great musician, to get on stage and set
up fast. They were to sing `Making Believe', "just like that night at
the club".

      Mary Jean pulled the center stage mike down to Bobby's level and
knelt beside him, her arm around his waist, the two of them face to face,
Bobby still blindfolded. Mary Jean asked me for an F chord. I played
it. She nodded whispered into Bobby's ear. He began to sing as she
uncovered his eyes and the curtain slowly opened. Our fiddler and I came in
quietly in the background on the second line. I felt a lump in my throat
and tears welling in my eyes. Bobby stared straight into Mary Jean's
eyes. There was absolute silence in the theater.

      When Mary Jean came in on the chorus, I saw the tears in her eyes
too. Neither of us had ever heard Bobby sing so sweetly, so forlornly. He
seemed to float into and out of each note. Each word was so clear, so
perfectly in tune, so sad, any operatic coloratura would have had to be
jealous.

      They sang the whole song twice. I could have gone on until
midnight. It was so perfect, so beautiful. When it was over, there was
silence for a moment then someone started clapping and the place went
wild. Mary Jean hugged Bobby so hard I thought the two of them would fall
over. I also worried that Bobby might do what he did that first performance
at the club, scoot off the stage and refuse to come back.

      But, Mary held up her hand for calm and started Bobby out on another
old bluegrass number, `Is This My Destiny', again harmonizing with
him. They did it just once but Bobby seemed to relax. We'd placed faces he
knew well including performers from the show in the first three rows. They
were the first to stand and call out to him to keep on going.

      We did the whole album plus a few of our favorites. When a very
popular older fiddler came on to do `Uncle Penn', Bobby really let
loose, finally enjoying himself though near the end of the evening.

      After an incredible performance of `White Dove' with some
bluegrass performers old enough to have known the man who wrote it, Bobby
and Mary Jean did `Green Pastures', twice..

      I've always loved that song but no one has ever done it like Bobby
Stottlemeyer and Mary Jean Kestler. We were back to the band which backed
`Sweet Dreams'. I was the first musician to come in after the first word
right up to the first chorus. I felt as nervous as a second grader playing
in his first school talent show. Bobby was in top form. For what seemed
like hours, the only other sound came out of my borrowed but great old
Martin guitar. I shut my eyes and felt my notes rather than played them,
not unlike what the boy I loved did when he sang. Stanley later told me
he'd never heard me play so well.

      At the end, Bobby held the last note for what must have been fifteen
seconds then let it drift upward and upward and upward. The fiddle player,
a man who was probably the best at what he did, drifted up with him a third
away, creating an effect someone described afterward `like a beautiful
bird flying off over a mountain'. The drifting ended with a briefly
sustained high G.

      As Bobby walked off with the crowd on its feet, he winked at
Stanley. Bobby Stottlemeyer had been poking fun at Stanley's earlier claim
that his equipment could record sounds only a gifted dog could hear.

      Back at Mary Jean's house for an after show party, Jim, her husband,
saluted the beginning of one of the greatest careers ever to hit
Nashville. We were all sure the shyness issue was a thing of the
past. Bobby had had fun on the stage that night and engaged with his
audience. He was a performer. Actually, Bobby was asleep beside me on a
sofa.

      But the shyness issue wasn't over and done with at all. Much to
several promoters´ chagrin, Bobby refused to do performances in front of
the general public until the following summer when he worked a number of
bluegrass festivals with Mary Jean and a couple of other friends. He still
does the club at least once a month though there's no longer any big deal
about it. Before his voice changed at fourteen, he made seven albums which
are collector's items since so few copies of each were made. A few means
about twenty-five to fifty thousand. Word did get out that he existed and
he got a modicum of radio play. I think boy lovers bought up several
thousand. We got calls from Europe and Latin America for copies that sold
direct from us at twice the price for a normal LP or cassette. Sales at the
festivals he played also ran in the hundreds each.

      During his second summer of festivals, a lot, hundreds of single men
showed up, all buying albums. One tried to book him into Carnegie Hall but
Bobby politely refused. He did accept an album with an East Coast boys'
choir doing primarily folk ballads. I recall he performed with them half a
dozen times or so, for free.

      He was more forthcoming about shows at thirteen. Money was a major
motivator. Ronald had convinced him he could make enough in one year to
never perform again. He began doing over a dozen shows a month but, even
with a tutor, he felt it affected his school work so cut back to four
maximum. The main reason he claimed school difficulties, it turned out,
wasn't for academic difficulties. His fellow students were discovering his
fame and becoming like fans, asking for photos with him and
autographs. That also was the year his albums were doing 50,000 each or
more. He did rake in enough to be in a very high tax bracket though we
spread it out so the bite wasn't as traumatic as it might have been.

      Bobby's mother, by the way, refused any of the cash saying she could
make her own way. She did allow him to buy things for Sissy and
Barney. They had a great Christmases.

      Still, when his voice began to break, Bobby was relieved. He hated
fans as a group and was tired of trying to act straight in front of
them. Anyhow, he was earning good money from residuals for the songs he'd
been writing, six of which had been recorded by big name singers. The
melodies were so alluring, generally sad the way country music aficionados
like them. The one genuine love ballad he wrote for Ronald, oozed
sensuality.

      He has since graduated from one of America's top arts colleges and is
respected nationwide for his incredible musical ear. It constantly amazes
me who contacts his agent, not me by the way, about producing their album.

      Ronald became his personal assistant and, to a great extent, his
business manager after graduating from high school. Thanks in part to
computers and the internet cutting back on travel needs, the two of them
are able to live together in a very nice mansion outside St. Louis. Bobby's
mother still works in that diner as a waitress.

      Benny graduated from college as a civil engineer and, last I heard,
had his own successful construction company working state contracts.

      Sissy married two years after graduating from high school and had her
first child seven months later.

Bobby and I are and always will be very close, like loving father and son,
and that's how I've kept the relationship.