Date: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 11:39:02 -0500 From: Michael Raburn Subject: Daniel's Love Chapter 16 THIS WORK IS FULLY PROTECTED BY U.S. COPYRIGHT LAWS. NO PORTION OF THIS WORK MAY BE COPIED OR REDISTRIBUTED BY ANY MEANS WITHOUT THE EXPRESS CONSENT OF ITS AUTHOR. THIS WORK DEALS WITH A FICTITIONAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN TWO MEN. IF READING ABOUT HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS OR SEXUAL CONTACT BETWEEN TWO MEN IS EITHER ILLEGAL IN YOUR AREA OR OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READY ANY FURTHER. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS OF THE MEDICAL COMMUNITY AND USE CONDOMS, THEY MIGHT JUST SAVE YOUR LIFE. RESEARCH SHOWS THAT MORE AND MORE PEOPLE HAVE MADE THE DECISION TO PRACTICE UNSAFE SEX--PLEASE RECONSIDER THIS DECISION IF YOU HAVE CHOSEN THAT PATH. ANY SIMILARITIES TO ANY PERSON LIVING OR DEAD ARE PURELY COINCIDENTAL. THIS WORK IS ENTIRELY FICTITIONAL. ***Guys, Thanks for your responses. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!*** The saga continues... DANIEL'S LOVE Michael A. Raburn Chapter 16 "Thank you baby." I looked up from the remains of my sandwich to my smiling lover. Lately he had gotten in the habit of bringing my lunch up to the studio at the college. "You gonna stay for critique today?" "Well, maybe for a little while if you don't think they'll mind. I'm kind of at a loss right now anyway." "No, they like it when you're here. Sally, you know the redhead, is always asking about you. I think its LOVE." I said, taunting him. He only shook his head and snickered. Daniel had finished the rewrites on his new book a few days ago and was taking a long-needed break from his word processor. Who was I to complain? It gave us more time together, something we had been sadly in short supply of lately since I was back to the old teaching grind. As much as I grouched about it, it was actually a lot of fun. I agreed to come back to the college with a couple of stipulations that I'd never asked for before. Starting this year I wanted to only teach one senior-level painting class instead of the normal two and to teach an introductory general studio class. I think the dean thought I had totally lost my mind when I insisted on the beginning class. Normally the professors only wanted to be bothered with the more advanced classes, probably because it was less work. But, I wanted the stimulation of several media options and the opportunity to be more of a guide and less of a taskmaster. "Okay, guys. Who's gonna go first this time?" I asked the six students as they arranged their latest paintings around the room. I stepped up behind Sally, winked at Daniel and started: "Sally, what was your inspiration for this work?" I pointed. About an hour later as the discussion turned to another artist and another group of oils, Daniel stepped up behind me, kissed me on the check and said: "Honey, I've got to go. I want to be home when the kids get in from school." "Okay, baby. I'll see you in a couple of hours." I walked him to the door and grabbed a quick kiss and a discrete grope of his butt. He winked as he turned to go. "You two are so cute together." One of my students said. "I hope I have something like that one of these days." "Its all up to you, kiddo." I laughed. "Back to work." As the group reconvened, my mind turned back to that evening Cornelia and I had scattered, to use a polite word, Robert's ashes into the Pacific Ocean. With the love and understanding of my family I had come so far since then. Daniel held me in his strong arms, rocking me gently against his chest, letting me cry myself out. I cried like I never had before. All the emotions I held so close in suddenly could not be controlled. Feelings that I thought had been dealt with already were returning. Years of longing, sadness, pain and depression made their way to the surface there on our beach in the Pacific. The loss of my parents, the second-hand grief I felt for Daniel's mother, the hurts and betrayal at Tony's hands, all the mess with the boys' fathers, and now Robert's death. I cried because I was in pain twenty-four hours a day from the shooting and could not see a way to get any better. But most of all I cried for the sadness I had brought into Daniel's life and the mess I was making of our relationship. Why this wonderful man loved me was beyond any comprehension I could grasp. Why he stuck with me through everything I would never know. When I was cried out my only thought was that everything had to change; I, no, we could not continue like this. I had to get better, I had a great man that I loved with all my heart and I had to find a way to take better care of him. I raised my head from his chest and saw the mess I had made of his shirt, my tears and mucus were everywhere. Daniel just smiled and took off the shirt and used it to wipe up the mess from my face. "Feeling better?" he asked, holding my head like a child so I could blow my nose in his shirt. "Umm, yeah, actually I am." I turned to look out at the reflection of the moon over the water. "I'm not alright, but I do feel better." "I know, honey. I know." "Daniel, you do know how much I love you, don't you?" I asked, turning to gaze in his blue eyes, my voice catching in my throat. "Paul, ever since I met you that first night, I've always known. I can look in your eyes, even when you're totally worn out, or completely disjointed from the world and see your love. That little glimmer in the corner of your eye and the way your eyebrow arches when you look at me tell me everything I'll ever need to know." "Baby, I can't imagine my life without you." "You don't have to. I'm not going anywhere. Like Cornelia said, we're all connected to each other, always have been and always will be. So, see, you're stuck with me." "Thank you!" I yelled out to the universe. Daniel giggled and snuggled into my embrace. "Paul, make love with me." "Here?" "Yeah, right here." We stood up and as we undressed each other, Daniel used our clothes to cover the sand so we would have a place to lie down. He helped me ease back into our makeshift bed and straddled my lap. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him down to lie on my body. The last thing I was truly conscious of was that incredible taste of his lips and mouth. >From that point there was no thought as such, just our incredible love for each other being expressed with our bodies and our souls. Some time later, I awoke, still holding Daniel in my arms, still intimately connected to his body. It was probably about three in the morning and there was a little chill in the breeze. Someone, Cornelia probably, had brought out a blanket to cover us. Shifting to ease the pressure on my leg, I thrust up into Daniel's body, causing him to moan into my chest. Since the moon had set earlier, the stars were glorious above us in the clear night. I was eerily aware of all the night sounds that surrounded us, but mostly focused on the searing heat of him surrounding me. I am not sure whether he was ever truly awake as I lazily made love to him again before I drifted off again. "Paul, wake up." Daniel murmured into my chest. "Huh?" "The kids are up, they'll be out here soon." "So?" "We should at least get dressed." "Nope. Come on, lets go get cleaned up in the surf." "They might see us." He said, shocked. "So, who cares? You don't think they don't know we make love, do you?" "No, but..." "Last one in..." I stood up and shuffled off for the beach. Daniel sped by me, his cute butt bouncing as he ran for the water. God, how I loved him. All of him. We played in the water, splashing each other and washing away the evidence of our lovemaking. Giggling and laughing we barely made it back to our bed and into our shorts before the boys and Cornelia joined us. "Feeling a little frisky this morning?" She asked, a playful twinkle in her eye. "You got it babe!" I yelled. The boys ran us and hugged both of us then scampered off down the beach holding hands. Yep, they seemed to be over it too. "Son, I think when we get back to Atlanta you need to see Dr. Jenkins. Maybe there's something that he can do about your depression." "Cornelia, you know how much I hate the idea of being medicated." "Yeah, I know. But, I think this has gone on long enough, don't you?" she asked, patting my hand. "You're probably right." "Damned straight, she's right!" Kyle popped in. "Language, mister. Watch the language." Daniel reprimanded. "I'm sorry, but you know what I mean." "Okay, okay, I get the picture. I'll go see the doc." As it turned out, the depression was a symptom of the problems that I had but was not the cause. After the endless battery of tests, probing and draining me of my blood Dr. Jenkins decided that the lingering pain from the attack was the actual problem. He felt that the chronic pain was feeding my mental state and that if we could find a way to alleviate it, the depression would ease back to a manageable level. We talked for about thirty minutes about the options that I would have for pain reduction and finally settled on a regime that would use the least amount of medication possible. If that did not work we would work our way up to stronger options. He also urged me, well actually threatened is a better word, to get back into physical therapy. After we solved the pain problem, I could build back my muscle tone, further easing the leg and back problems. His nurse had already scheduled the appointments with PT before I was done dressing. Looks like it was back to the torturer and the pool again. During the first few weeks of therapy most evenings I just wanted to curl up somewhere and die a peaceful death. Daniel and the boys kept rallying around me, encouraging me through the pain and agony of defeat. The boys took turns doing laps in the pool with me in the evenings. It turned out to be a great time for us to catch up on what was happening in their world. Their relationship, now well past the Andy incident was growing daily. Daniel and I often wondered if our love was as evident as theirs. It was amazing to see the care that they took to show each other what was important. After dinner and homework you could almost always find them curled up together on the sofa, not really saying much, just enjoying their quiet time. Amazingly I was improving, slowly though. The range of movement in my leg was getting better. At least I did not scream every time the therapist would touch it, even though it felt like he was trying to break my leg off. Daniel had to point out to me that I could stand longer before I had to sit down, a fact that I had not noticed. Another surprising development in the household was Cornelia's decision to leave Texas. After we talked about all her options, she felt that it was time for a change in her life and her schedule. She was spending so much time with us anyway she might as well have been living in the house. We pleaded with her to move in with us, into her suite, but she was adamant about wanting her own place. She retained the house in Houston, but basically closed it down and found an agency that would see that it was cleaned, secured and maintained until a later decision would be made about it. I do not think she wanted to sell it, but was unsure of what to do with it. It was a large part of her and Robert's life together, but it was now a part of her past. Amy, our realtor, was her ever-efficient self and had chosen several smaller houses and a few town homes for Cornelia to consider. We all trooped through them, never finding the right space. One afternoon Amy took us to an older building a few miles south of our house. The building had been a hotel in an earlier life and was slated to be demolished during a prior city administration, but was saved by the now thriving historical group in town. They had been instrumental in saving the venerable old Fox Theatre from the wrecking ball and were renovating the older structures in that neighborhood. Two weeks later Cornelia and her furnishings were firmly ensconced in her new home. The three-bedroom penthouse was decorated in a similar manner to the New York apartment. She had moved her art and some selected antiques from Houston. It was a little strange to see "Waterlilies" back in Atlanta, but some how it felt like it belonged here. All in all it was a great home for her, somewhere she could entertain on a smaller scale and still be close to her grandkids. "What exploded in here?" I asked as I gingerly stepped around the piles of papers strewn on the studio floor. Daniel was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor sifting through yellowed papers that he was pulling from a box. "Remember that stuff the Ralph gave us when he moved?" I nodded, looking over his shoulder. "I was cleaning out the pantry and found this box. Looks like my next book has been handed to me already written." "What is all this?" "Their story, the journals they kept through their forty years together. Some of these talk about the trips they took together, some about their daily lives. There's even some old guest lists and menus from parties they hosted. Listen to this." He started reading. Two hours later we had somewhat organized the journals, loose pages and scraps of paper into several groupings, the remnants of Ralph and his lover and friends' lives. Mostly it was a joyful chronicle of their time together, but many, many pages dealt with how different gay life was back when they were younger. The continual hiding, the secret signals people used to meet others, the wild crazy hedonistic period before THE disease. "You know, I think Margaret Johnson and the group could use some of this stuff for their research." I looked up from the mess. "Do we know if these people are still alive, could the kids talk to some of his friends?" "I'm not sure, Paul. Ralph was pretty scattered the last time we visited him, but we could always ask when we see him again." "How are you going to use this, yourself?" "I'm not sure yet. I'll have to talk it over with Marcie when we're up there next week. Right now I'm thinking about a love story, their love story. You know, change the names, protect the innocent kinda thing, but try to show what it was really like." "Sounds good to me." "Paul, can you join me? Let's go to my office and let these two get some work done." Mr. Greenley ushered me towards the door. Daniel and Marcie were head-to-head talking about his newest project. We had already set the publicity schedule and tour dates for the book, a fast-paced schedule of major cities and major networks. After that was done, Daniel pulled the new outline from his satchel and dropped it in the middle of the table with a flourish. Greenley and Marcie raced to grab the synopsis, starting a tug of war over the conference table. Daniel only chuckled and pulled another copy out. "Coffee?" He asked as we passed the break room. "Sure. What's on your mind Jonathan?" "Well, Paul, Marcie and another one of our editors have hatched up a couple of little ideas and they wanted me to pitch them." "Somehow I don't like the sound of this." I looked up from putting sugar in my cup. "Oh, it's not that bad. You can always choose not to do it." "This is sounding worse and worse." "Here, have a seat and calm down. Marcie wants the boys and Margaret to write a book about what they're doing in Atlanta. I've already talked to Avery about this and he's agreed to being included. Do you think that two fifteen year olds and an old school teacher could pull this off?" "Jon, I'll have to admit I'm surprised, but I think it's a great idea. What better way to get the message out. You are pitching it towards the young market aren't you?" "Yeah, that's the idea. So many of the important books on the struggle are written from an adult's prospective. We'd like to get a fresh look at what the situation is like now." "Good idea." "So, you think they'd do it?" "You'll have to ask yourself. But, yeah, I think they'd almost kill for the chance to do it." "Great! One down..." "Here it comes..." I chuckled. "Our lead art editor wants you." "What do you mean, 'wants me?'" I asked. "You know, nice slick large-format coffee table book. Your name plastered across the front." "Aww..." "Typical publicity run, major retrospective of your work, a few pages of your commentary about each of the paintings, you know something simple like that." "Simple? You're simple. You can't be serious. You've got to be kidding me." I was shaking my head. "Totally serious. It's a great story, Paul. And the paintings, well, they stand for themselves. You've been getting some major press the last couple of years. The critics are taking notice." "I can't do this. My work isn't in that caliber." "You don't have a clue do you? Nina hasn't told you about this?" "Told me what? I know the paintings are selling, but..." "Selling? Mr. Jamison, every one of your canvases is purchased even before you paint it." "What!" "You really need to talk to you agent more." He laughed. "I didn't know. I knew she was leaving me alone lately and the completed pieces were being picked up on schedule, but I never had an idea..." "So what do you say?" "If that's what you want, how can I say no?" "Here you go." He opened the desk drawer and handed me two envelopes. "I was pretty sure you'd say yes to both." "Looks like it..." "What did Greenley want to talk about?" Daniel asked as we were leaving the office. I noticed the look Jon and Marcie shared as he silently affirmed her unanswered question. If smiles could have lit up a room, hers would have. "Oh, nothing much. Just a couple of little things." I pulled the envelopes from my pocket and handed them over. "Oh, shit!" He gasped. "Yeah, that's kinda what I thought."