Date: Wed, 4 Nov 2015 00:33:45 +0000 (UTC)
From: John Gerald <connectwriter@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mickey 11

"Did you lose them?" Mickey heard as Drew held up the cell phone to his
face, its tiny speaker barely competing with the road noise and the revving
engine.

"Um, I think so, but it was luck if it was anything. I hardly ever drive,
and now I'm James Bond.  And I really want to call my Mom. Once we're in
the clear I want to give the wheel to Drew. Is that OK with you?" He
practically yelled into the speaker, his eyes only momentarily leaving the
road.

"Of course," Sarah responded. "I'm sure he knows how to drive a fast car."
Even as he focused on what seemed like the obstacle course of vehicles
ahead of him, Mickey could almost see her snickering. Drew's father owned
most of the big racetracks in the country, the payout for calling off a
notorious hostile takeover bid for a rival operator a few years before
that. She would remember that kind of thing.

"Whenever you want to pull over, I'm ready," Drew said.

"You're sure?" he responded. He momentarily took his right hand off the
wheel and bounced a fist on Drew's thigh. `Wow, solid!' he thought to
himself.

"I'm sure. I love to drive, and I can't wait to really open this thing up!"
Drew declared into the phone.

"I don't have racing insurance," her disembodied voice shot
back. "Remember, I'll go after the deep pockets if there's an accident!"

"Well, we'll either meet you at Andrew's place, or the body shop..."

"...or the Emergency Room," Drew interjected.

"...but we need to concentrate on this ride and I need to make a couple
other calls. So see ya soon," Mickey said into the speaker before Drew hit
the `end call' button.

With the paparazzi dragnet likely focused around the campus and Drew's
apartment, they decided to `hide in plain sight' in Andrew's dorm room.
College security would prevent any intruders, at least do better than what
existed at his semi-secure condo. So a texted offer from Andrew looked as
good as anything as a temporary asylum.

After they had passed a particularly complicated intersection where five
streets came together, Mickey pulled into a narrow delivery driveway and
the two switched sides.

The door had only just closed behind him when Mickey yanked his phone from
his pocket and dialed his Mom.  But almost immediately he pulled the phone
off his ear.  "Damn, it's busy!" he said.

"I hope that those guys don't nose around your family, Mickey. But there's
no telling what they'll do for a story. I have no idea how they figured out
who you are, but they did." There was exasperation in his voice as he
pondered the consequences of everything that was happening.

"Whatever they do, it's not your fault, Drew," Mickey said, bumping his
elbow into the driver's arm. "We'll get through it."

Drew glanced over and gave him a small smile. "Well, At least she's
enjoying herself," he replied as he nodded toward the back seat where Daisy
had her head out the window, her big, hairy ears flopping in the breeze.

As exhausted and stressed as Drew must have been, Mickey was impressed that
he seemed to get some new energy after he got into the driver's seat. Still
ahead was the difficult talk with his family. But for the moment, he had
two hands on the wheel and was in control.

						***

"So what did you say when they came up to you?" Andrew asked.

"He was like a pro," Mickey replied, "They really snuck up on us, kind of
rude, actually. They stuck a microphone right in our faces and started
asking questions, most of them very suggestive. But he handled it really
well, especially considering how offensive they were. He was very polite,
gave them indirect answers, and, like one of my law professors told us we
should always do when in a bind, don't acknowledge the obvious."

"Even though we were caught `in flagrante'," Drew said, to laughs around
the room.

Neither of them mentioned the ominous words of one of the reporters, who,
as they parted, alluded to Mickey's `tragic' background.  It was also the
only time that Mickey sensed real anger from Drew and had to tug him away
from the scrum of reporters.

Besides the guys, Sara had also arrived, along with a couple of Drew's
friends who Mickey knew from the basketball game. Even though a good share
of them had classes, the event was too good to pass up.

"I hope that we don't get you into trouble here with Daze," he said, a
diminutive that he sometimes used with his dog. "I didn't want to have her
home all alone, especially with those reporters camped out front."

"The housing office wouldn't like it if they found out, but too bad. I just
wish I had something besides..." he slowly reached his hand into his
backpack, then flashed a small plastic package.

"A granola bar!" he proclaimed, as he finally revealed the partially eaten
treat and then started to break it into small pieces. Glancing at Drew, he
got an affirmative nod.

"Here, Daisy. Take a bite. Pretend it's Dave's nuts," he said to uproarious
laughter around the room.

As much as everyone laughed, the specter of Drew's situation hung over the
room. No one wanted to ask what his situation was with his family. It had
all happened so fast, he didn't yet know that himself.

"Can I...we...hide out here for a while, Andrew? I mean, at least for this
afternoon. I'm hoping that the stake out will be over before dinner."

"Stay as long as you like," he replied. "It's cool with my roommate, and,
besides, he's already taken the train down to New York for the weekend. And
if you need some privacy, just use my bedroom."

"You're not implying THAT kind of privacy, I hope," Sara responded.

Before anyone could laugh, Mickey quickly swatted down the innuendo.  "We
will need some privacy soon. His Dad left a voicemail, which he hasn't even
played yet. And his sister did, too."

She didn't pursue her intimation, and wasn't surprised how quickly Mickey
deflected it. In spite of the guys presumed physical attraction, she
thought it was interesting to see that they weren't pawing each other up in
front of everyone. How many times had she seen couples `in love' who
couldn't keep their hands off each other, yet six months later they were
with someone else or alone again.

Being part of some of the most opulent housing on campus, Andrew's place
had its own small sitting room besides two single bedrooms and a
bathroom. With almost a dozen people in the room, the fit was tight, with
people sprawled over all of the available furniture, and a couple,
Including Andrew, sitting on the floor, cross-legged, watching the scene.

Drew was seated in a fat, overstuffed upholstered leather chair, a
throwback to the University's patrician image, while Mickey planted himself
on the chair's arm.

Looking up, Drew asked, "Um...you had better call your mom, now, you think?
I don't like it that they knew who you were, and they're probably trying to
track down more information as we speak."

"I'll try again in a couple minutes, she might still be working," he
replied.  "But that does bring up an interesting question. How did they
know who I was? I mean, they were staking out my place, too. Like they
thought that he might be there. Drew said that he never actually mentioned
my name in the sessions, so how did they know that I even knew him? How
could they have possibly figured it out?" Mickey mused.

Sara looked at him, gape-mouthed, as did several other around the room,
including Andrew.

"You actually don't know?" she asked. "Believe it or not, they really had
only been able to break into just one file, and... there was no mention of
any particular guy at all," she said. The fact that she was more-or-less
admitting that she had read everything caused her only a moment of
hesitation.

"But I don't think that anyone who knows either of you would have had any
trouble identifying Mickey as your `friend,'" she continued, her hands
forming quotation marks as she said the word.

"Really, you think that?" Drew questioned.  "How would they have been so
sure of Mickey, I mean, they had put him together with me without even
knowing that we were even friends.  Like he said, they even took the time
to put surveillance at his apartment," he continued, looking at Andrew as
he pleaded his case.

"Drew," he replied, shaking his head `no' but smiling at the same time. "Do
you realize that you have probably had either lunch or dinner with Mickey
practically every other day since..."

Drew quickly interrupted. "The first times we ate together were after he
got hurt, you know, so someone had to take care of him.  I just wanted to
make sure that he had enough to eat," Drew said. His eyes scanned the room
for support, but the only hint of back-up came from Mickey.

"So my maternal instincts were not enough, Drew?" Sara questioned.  "I
don't take that comment as an endorsement."

"No, I mean, um...well, it's not that you don't have maternal instincts and
couldn't take care of him, but..."

"You have instincts, Sara," Mickey responded. "They're just not maternal
instincts. Killer instincts, yes, but maternal..."

"I've been slandered enough! No more! " she protested, to laughs around the
room.

"But seriously," Mickey added, after the uproar had died down.  "I mean, it
was really nice of him to bring me stuff, but it wasn't obvious or over the
top. And the fact that we had meals together a lot, well. A lot of friends
do that."

"And talk in very low quiet voices the entire time? Like couples do,"
Andrew countered. "When I'm at a table with you guys, I have to strain to
hear what you say to each other."

"That's not true!" Mickey responded, though his voice was losing some of
its earlier confidence.

One of their teammates, Mark, then spoke up from the corner of the room,
where he had been standing quietly, leaning against the wood paneled wall,
his hands behind his back.

"Do you realize how many times you said that you had a friend from the law
school who was going to play b-ball with us, and that he's not only a great
player but a nice guy and that we'd all like him?"

"Dozens," someone said.

"At least!" Andrew added.

"I think this incident happened when you first met," he said, then moved
away from the wall and gestured with his hands as he spoke.  "We were all
having lunch one day, and Drew laid his phone on the table as we were
eating. He said he was taking care of you after the accident and just
wanted to make sure he didn't miss any calls if you needed him."

"That's not so unusual," Mickey responded. "I mean, he was just, you know,
trying to be helpful.  Luckily, I didn't need to call much, but that's,
um... nice to know, that he was watching."  His voice was continuing the
more deferential tone as he clearly realized his obvious prejudice in the
discussion.

"Yes, I agree," Mark said, his hand motioning to Drew. "But I'd never, ever
seen him do that before.  But wherever we were, whatever we were doing,
he'd be listening for his phone.  But there was only one, unique ring tone
that he would ever answer immediately."

"Well, that doesn't necessarily mean it was me. I mean, it could have been
his Dad or sister," Mickey replied, almost knowing that he was wrong.

Mark smiled at Mickey, who sighed and smiled back.

"I could have. But one day I was next to him and heard the ring. Before he
could frantically grab the phone..."

"I didn't grab it frantically!" Drew protested. "I just don't like to keep
people waiting."

"...before he frantically grabbed it, I saw the word `Mickey' pop up on the
screen."

There was more knowing laughter around the room. But, even more
conspicuously, the white surrender flags finally went up.

"Was it really that obvious?" Drew asked, his face turning red. He seemed
to already know the answer, but asked it anyway.

"It's not something that anyone can hide very well," Andrew responded.

As he was talking, Drew's phone rang.

"Well, at least that's not the Mickey ring," Mark teased, to more laughter
around the room.

Drew looked at the phone. "It's my sister," he said. "Casey to the rescue,"
he joked, to more laughs from the group.

"Do you want to use the bedroom?" Andrew asked, getting up off of the floor
and moving toward the bedroom door,

"Yeah, that would be great, if you don't mind. Thanks."

Sliding over off of the arm of the chair, Mickey tried to step out of
Drew's way so that he could get to the bedroom, which was behind them and a
tight squeeze to reach in the crowded space.

"Case, hi, one sec, let me get out of Grand Central Station here," Drew
said quietly into the phone as he gently grabbed Mickey's arm and pulled
him into the room with him.

Andrew gently shut the door behind them. "This is the easy one," he said to
their waiting friends. "His Dad, that's going to be another story."

						***


"It's that Mickey guy, isn't it?" she asked. They were the first words out
of her mouth.

"For crying out loud - you, too!"

"What do you mean?" she answered, a slight giggle in her voice.

"From what I know, those records didn't say anything about a boyfriend, it
was just about my, umm...questioning and all. At least that's what I
understand was published. But everyone here immediately jumped to the
conclusion that I was in a relationship and it was with Mickey. Gosh, Case,
they even staked out his apartment!"

"Well...were they right? Am I right? Are you a couple?"

Drew sat down on the edge of the bed while Mickey pulled up the chair from
the small study desk and sat opposite him, their knees almost
touching. Daisy stretched out her paws on the floor next to them.

"Drew, are you there?" she asked, not hearing any response at first.

"Yes, yes, I'm here, I just, I mean...um...yes, I guess so. I mean, yes. I
mean, um..."

He looked up at Mickey and asked, "are we a couple?"

Mickey laid his fist gently on Drew's leg. "Yes, we're a couple" he said
softly. He found himself touching Drew a lot with his fist. He was afraid
that if he used his open hand that he might start stroking him.

"Did you hear that? We're a couple," he said into the phone.

"That's good to hear, Drew, it really is," she said, then paused. "A couple
huh?"

"Yup. A couple." He was beaming and she could tell it in his voice.

"I can't wait to meet him."

"Me neither," he replied.

"You know, Drew, the thought that you were gay never crossed my mind until
a few weeks ago. Never. I just thought that you were picky with girls and
maybe, like a true Patterson, a bit aloof," she said as they both laughed.

"But I have to tell you, there was something about you since school started
this year. You really seemed ...I'm not sure of the right word, Drew."

"Nervous?" he proposed.

"No," she replied before pausing. "Well, now that I think of it, maybe a
bit of that. But what I really thought is that you sound alive. You seemed
like a really happy person, more than you ever have since Mom died."

Drew didn't answer at first. For Mickey, he could barely hear what she
said, but the impact on Drew was dramatic.

"Really?" his voice was now barely above a whisper.

"Uh huh. I wasn't sure what it was.  If it was our step brothers, I would
have assumed a new hallucinogenic was on the street," she replied, with a
sort of gallows laughter. "But for you, I thought that there must be a
someone, a girl. But when you first mentioned this Mickey guy, I sensed
that something else was going on."

After she told Drew the same story as everyone else about how obvious his
feelings were (and Mickey could see him again turned red) she went on to
share her own trepidations about their father.

They both agreed that their Dad, for all his bluster, might have a very
slight feeling of sympathy if he was left to his own druthers. But with the
Carla, the stepmom, in the picture and her relentless scheming to promote
the careers of her two wastrel sons, the chances were pretty bleak.

"Just don't watch tabloid TV, or read any political columns or blogs in the
next few days, OK?" she suggested.

Drew smiled into the speaker, "Will do."

"By the way, when do I get to meet him?"

"Hmmm... let me talk to Mickey about maybe coming up to Boston one of the
next few weekends. Sound OK?"

"Maybe I can come down to you before that.  I've got some exams coming up,
but I might be able to work around them. I'll let you know."


"Either way would be great, Casey. Thanks," he replied quietly.

After he put the phone back into his pocket, he looked at Mickey and
sighed.

"One down, one to go," he said.

"There are only two?" Mickey replies.

"Yes, as far as my family goes.  My dad and Casey are the only ones who
count. I've got lots of cousins on Dad's side, who are, believe it or not,
even more conservative than he is. And mom was an only child, no cousins
there. So those are the only two people who matter."

He then looked at Mickey. "By the way, it might be a good idea to try your
Mom again now," he said. Then his eyes slowly moved toward the floor.

"Like I said, those reporters are nosy but, more importantly, they are
relentless. They, um... I'm really concerned about what they might do. I
wish they wouldn't but..."

"Like I said, it's not your fault, babe. You can't control these
people. And she's pretty tough, and has already been through a lot in the
public eye, even though it's just been in our town," Mickey said as he
raised his phone to hit the speed dial.

He thought to himself – `did I actually call him babe? I hope that
wasn't too much.'

Drew just smiled back at him.

He was about to stand up, like he was going to give Mickey some
privacy. But a gentle tug on his shirt lowered him back down. The only
thing that changed was that Daisy had jumped up on the bed with him,
nudging for him to stroke her.

						***

"Mom? I've been trying to reach you!" Mickey said as he finally made the
connection.

"Mickey? Are you OK?" she asked. There was, of course, an urgency in her
voice. But it was not the kind that comes from surprise.

"First of all, I'm OK. No need to worry about me, I'm all right," he
quickly replied, starting to speak almost before she had finished her
question.

There was a pause at the other end of the line. He could hear her sigh.

"Mom, is everything all right?"

"I'm fine.  How is your friend, son?" she said in reply.

"Um...my friend? You mean...?"

"His name is Drew, right?"

"What? Did you see it on TV? I mean... like, how do you know, I mean, what
do you know...?" There was some much confusion in his voice that she just
started to talk over him calmly.

"Your brother has been keeping me posted on things Mickey. Something has
been going on almost since the beginning of school, but there wasn't a way
to tell what it was. So of course..."

"You worried," Mickey said finishing her sentence for her.

"Yes, I worried. Were you ill, unhappy, very happy, I really couldn't tell,
but you were definitely distracted practically every time we talked."

She told him how she confronted Nate about the situation. "At first he
denied it, but I told him if I didn't find out what was going on that I'd
worry myself to death."

"That's blackmail Mom, how could you do that!?" He wasn't sure whether he
should be amused or outraged, but he couldn't help but have a small smile.
Drew could just barely hear what she said and rolled his eyes.

"I don't know him Mickey. But all I do know is that if you feel this
strongly about someone, then he must be an extraordinary person and a good
boy."

"He is, mom. He's really special..."

There was no doubt in Mickey's mind that his Mom would be supportive of
him, like she always had. But just to hear her say this caused him to choke
up for a moment.

"Mickey?" she asked into the silence on the phone

"Yeah, I'm here, I'm just, ummm..." Drew continued stroking Daisy, but put
his other hand on Mickey's knee.

"...I want you and Nate to meet him, Mom. He's a great guy, you'll like
him."

"Then bring him home at Thanksgiving, if he can manage it. It's only a
couple weeks away. He'll be very welcome in our home," she added.  The
oblique reference to Drew's world wasn't lost on her son, who looked up at
Drew and quietly repeated the question to make sure that he heard it.

"Oh, yeah! I'd love to visit and meet you, ma'am. And meet Nate and Midori,
too.  Thank you for the invitation," he added.

Mickey put his hand over the receiver and whispered to Drew, "You can call
her Mrs. Deringer, it's OK," he suggested as he pulled his hand back from
the audio holes.

"Did you hear him, Mom. He said yes! This will be great! I can't wait!..."

He was about to start talking about the trip when he remembered the events
of the day that needed to be dealt with first.

"Um, mom, there's stuff that might come out of this that won't be very
good. You see...," he said before pausing, then looking down at the floor.
"Because of who Drew is, I think people are going to start to dig into who
I am. I'm proud of us, Mom, you and me and Nate. But there's going to be
exposure and reporters and they'll be trying to find things out about us,"
he said, then added. "It could get nasty and hurtful. Some of these people
aren't very nice.  I think..."

She interrupted him again. "Mickey, I know what you're saying. And I'll
tell you, there is nothing you can do to control what people say about you.
All you can do is live your life the best way that you know how. And if you
really care about this boy, and he makes you happy, well, I don't care what
anyone says or thinks about us."

There was silence on Mickey's side again.

"Are you there, Mickey? Can you hear me?"

His eyes were getting red but he did his best to get the words out by
speaking slowly. "Thank you, Mom. I can't wait to see you and have you meet
him," he replied.

Mickey's legs were swinging back and forth, a nervous reaction of Mickey's
that Drew didn't fail to notice.  A gentle squeeze from his hand didn't
stop the movement, but the rhythm became much more regular.

"For now, you need to take care of your friend.  If his family is anything
like their reputation then he's in for a rough ride."


						***

As much as it was a relief to hear that his Mom was OK, the air sill held
thick in the room after they ended the call.

"Are you ready for your Dad?" Mickey asked.

Drew fidgeted on the bed, and looked down at Daisy, who was now resting her
head on his lap.

"I think I told you that my Mom gave her to me. If she were here right now
I don't think I'd feel the way I do." He replied, his hand gently stroking
the dog, his knees now touching Mickey's.

He exhaled. "Time to do it, he said as he picked up his phone and hit the
#2 button.

He cleared his throat.

"Dad?"

There was silence on the other end. Then a sound. The voice was flat,
unemotional. But there was no shouting into the phone. At least not a
first.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Yeah, I am Dad. Um...you've probably seen the news and all. I need
to talk to you to explain things..."

"This is serious stuff, and I don't know what you can say about it. I don't
understand this. What's going on?"

Drew tried to explain what he felt and what his path had been to this
day. There wasn't really an exchange, he just did all the talking and tried
to explain himself. His dad wasn't really acknowledging him, but he wasn't
railing against him, either.

Suddenly there was loud interruption or, more like an explosion on the
other side of the line. But it wasn't his father.

"What is the matter with you!?  You've betrayed your father and our church
and all the people that support him, for a lifestyle choice that's not only
sinful but against the laws of nature."

"You can't imagine the pain that you're causing your father in this," his
stepmother continued.  "You're lucky your real mother isn't alive..."

"Don't mention her!" Drew shot back as he shot up off of the bed. He was
about to go off on a diatribe of his own until he felt Mickey's hand on his
belt, gently tugging him back down. He didn't resist.

"Well, all I know is that, as a mother, I don't have any worry about my own
two boys. They grew up knowing right from wrong."

"This isn't about right from wrong. It's about who I am." Drew answered,
doing his best to stay calm. He was about to continue before his father
interrupted.

"This isn't right, Drew and you know that. Did this boy somehow say
something or suggest something to you?"

Mickey heard what they said and saw anger all over Drew's face. He just
looked at him and silently mouthed, `don't worry.'

Drew just sucked in a deep breath and didn't speak for a moment.

When he did speak again, his words were slow and deliberate.  "No one did
or said anything to me, Dad. As I said, it's just who I am. And I count
myself as the luckiest guy in the world to have met him. This is real and
he is real."

"You're playing with fire, Drew," his stepmother said. With her army of
tabloid reporters and almost certain knowledge of Mickey's past, his free
hand involuntarily formed into a fist. Mickey reached over and held it
between his hands, and softly said, "no."

"There's a lot at stake here, and you could lose it all. Do you want to do
that?" she asked.

"What do you mean, `a lot at stake,'" Drew asked.

"Drew," his father started, sounding almost regretful, like the
conversation suddenly went in a direction that he didn't want it to go.
"Your inher..."

"I know where you're going and I don't care about that. I only care about
you, and Casey and Mickey," he said, not extending the list to anyone else.

His stepmother didn't seem bothered. In fact, just the whiff of Drew
getting cut out of his birthright seemed to bring out her cunning side even
more.

"It's so sad, young man. You were always such a soft touch for the more
unfortunate people in the world. I can't help but wonder, one of my
reporters has looked into your friend's background and I've seen his
picture, you know, everyone has, and..."

"You had better stop, Carla. Before you say something that we will all
regret." Drew said. His voice was more ominous than Mickey had ever heard
it.

She ignored him. "...and I wonder, do you really like him or do you just
feel sorry for him?"

Drew was silent.

"I think that we all need to just calm down," his father said, anticipating
what the words meant to Drew.

"I think this conversation is over, Dad. You can do whatever you want with
whatever is yours, I don't care," he declared

"The only thing I really want is Mickey."