Date: Wed, 28 Mar 2001 22:10:34 EST
From: Justin69SK@aol.com
Subject: Luke's Secret Art 7

Luke's Secret Art
Chapter 7 (SCtxt)
March 21, 2001

Written By:  Justin Case

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Disclaimer: This story is written about young gay love.  If it is illegal
for you to be here, you know what to do.  This story is fiction, any
similarities to real people, places, or things is coincidental.  The
author, his editors, and the web site publishers accept no responsibility
for actions that happen before or after you read this material.  Remember
that you should never try these things at home, unless you know what you're
doing and do them safely.

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Words from our author: I want to begin with thanking you all so much for
your constant stream of support.  I can't begin to express my gratitude for
your letters and thoughts.  It is an honor and a privilege to have you all
read my work.  Write me or IM me at Justin69SK@aol.com if you want.

I want to get on my soapbox; I haven't done that lately.  You can fast
forward if you like.

My faithful readers, in my long absence, I have had time to observe the
world.  Oh I know it's only from my little corner, or as an old friend
would say, "from my little lily pad in the vast pond".  I haven't been
amused with what I've seen.  There is so much anger, so much hate around
me.  I can't begin to imagine where it is all coming from.  I find myself
saying things like, it must be a lack of moral fiber due to the breakdown
of the family, or the bombardment of violence from our media.  I even began
to blame it on full moons.  When I began to blame the Ides of March, I knew
something was wrong.

I am today, and just for today (one day at a time from now on), accepting
my part.  I am going to start a change from within myself.  I am going to
accept people, places, and things as they are, for I can not change them.
I can, however, change myself.  So when others are rude and thoughtless, I
will meet them with patience and understanding.  When others are greedy and
selfish, I will examine my motives and myself, and I will act generous and
selfless.  When I am faced with hate, I will return love.  Perhaps my
actions will be met with contempt; I'll pray if they are.  I'll pray for
those who do not understand. I can only accept responsibility for my
actions.  I hope that at least one of you will do the same.

On a side note: I reviewed the story line of Luke's Secret Art.  I forgot
where I was with it.  Let's make some corrections to my mistakes.  This
story began around Christmas 1999.  Luke began telling the tale in April
2000 and said it took place a few months ago, not five years ago.  When he
went to see the Boston Pops he was ten, not five.  These discrepancies
appeared in the first two chapters.  I should probably mention his hair.
First, he has wavy brown hair; next he's doing it in a spike to make him
appear to be taller.  Instead of a spike, he did it in a Mohawk, both in an
effort to look taller and an act of individuality.  With all that said and
done, let's get on with the story.

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As I stood in the reading room, I noticed Travis standing silently by my
side.  Just as I was going to ask him to spend the night, the chimes of our
doorbell rang.  Helga must have gone to the door before answering my call,
because she hadn't responded.

"Luke, are you going to be all right?"  Travis broke the silence that
seemed like an eternity.

"Um, yeah.  I was wondering though.  Do you think you could call your mom
and spend the night?"  I answered from my deep thoughts and asked.

"I was going to suggest it.  I just didn't want to be too pushy," he
sheepishly responded.

Just as I was going to respond, Helga entered the room.  I noticed again
how terrible she looked. I felt bad for her, I knew how much she cared for
my father and family.  She always made sure her attire was impeccable, as
was her general hygiene.  Her appearance made it obvious she was
devastated, but as far as she was concerned, her responsibilities to Mom
and me took precedence to her caring for herself.

"Mr. Luke, you rang?  Also, a Miss Tacano is here," Helga said in that
thick German accent of hers.

"Thank you, Helga.  Could you send her in?" I said, as the maid quickly
turned to comply.  "Oh, and Helga," I called after her; she turned back to
face me.  "Could you please give our regrets to the others?  While my mom
and I appreciate their condolences, we need some privacy at this time."

"Certainly, Mr. Rogers.  Will there be anything else?" Helga replied, the
first time she ever called me Mr. Rogers.

"Yes, Helga, Mr. Jenson may be an overnight guest, would you prepare one of
the guestrooms for him?" I requested, amazed how the formality I earlier
complained about was so contagious.

"Why, of course, Mr. Rogers," the fairly rounded woman with black hair
answered before exiting to send Miss Tacano in.

Miss Tacano came into the reading room; I had seen her often before.  She
had been my father's personal assistant for some time now.  I never knew
why, but for some reason I never liked her.

"Oh, Luke, I am so sorry about your dad," Cassandra, plastically sounding,
told me, as she crossed the room to hug me.

"Yes, we all are," I said coolly, as I was released from her embrace.

"He had me taking a deposition at another office.  I just heard.  I came as
fast as I could," she explained in that phony kind of tone so many
insincere people use.

"I see."

"I guess he was going to his bank," she reported.

"I suppose," I said, wondering what she was talking about.  My dad didn't
do the banking; it was another of the rules he had.  He always let my
mother do all the family banking.

"Well, I just wanted to express my sympathy to your mother," she gushed on.

"Unfortunately, Mother is not to be disturbed.  I will be certain to let
her know you called on her," I said as subtly as I could.

"I see.  I won't keep you," my late father's Spanish assistant said, as she
left.

"Who was that bitch?" Travis quipped.

"You noticed too?" I asked.

"Mmm, she puts the `B' in itch," my new friend observed.

We both sat down in the overstuffed pink chairs that were placed in the
exact spot they were the day that the decorator left.  The two chairs were
angled with the Queen Anne table in between.  I began to think about my
dad.  My eyes watered up.  Travis allowed me space, he said nothing as he
sat in the chair beside mine.  I couldn't help feeling bad that I hadn't
seen my dad his last week.  I also felt guilty about how I purposely
avoided him the day before, while I was conniving a plot to get to be with
Travis overnight.  I felt shame in my actions.  The tears flowed down my
cheeks, as I sat there quietly next to Travis.

"Mr. Rogers." I heard Helga's voice; I looked up with a start.

"Yes?"

"I put the fold out bed in your room.  I thought it might be better if
Mr. Jenson slept in there.'

"Thank you, Helga."

"Maybe you should retire, Mr. Rogers.  You look exhausted; you'll need your
rest," our family maid said, with all the affection that I had come to know
from her.

"I have to call Grandmother.  Could you bring me the portable phone?"  I
remembered `no phone in the reading room', the decorator had told us.  It
was the only room in the house without one.

"Of course," the German woman said, as she scurried to get the phone.

"Do you mind sleeping in my room with me?" I asked Travis.

"I'd rather.  I didn't think much of sleeping in the guestroom.  I want to
be close to you.  I do need to call home, though," Travis said, his voice
full of concern.  His green eyes darted around the room, too embarrassed to
look at me with the tears in my eyes, I surmised.

"I'd rather have you sleep close to me.  Could you ask if you could stay
for a few more days?  There is going to be so much to do.  I don't even
know how I'll get through this."

"I'll call work too.  I didn't like the job anyway.  I'll quit; it was just
for Christmas," Travis said, in that mile a minute way I was becoming
accustomed to.

It had only been a couple of days but it seemed like he and I had been
friends for a lifetime.  I remember thinking how strange this all was.  I
meet someone, a person I think I couldn't live without, lose my father, all
just days before Christmas.  Life is funny.

"Mr. Rogers, I have your grandmother on the phone for you," Helga said, as
she entered the reading room, with the cordless in her pudgy hand.

I nodded.  "Hello.  Grandmother?  Yes, this is Luke.  Grandmother, I have
some bad news.  Are you sitting?  It's Father.  There was a terrible
accident earlier this morning," I said into the phone.

"Yes, Luke. I understand.  Is he all right?" Grandmother asked, with
nervousness in her voice.

"Grandmother," was all I could say, before I broke down.

"Oh, Luke. No.  My Billy.  Dear God, my Billy.  Luke, I will be there as
soon as possible.  Let Betty, I mean your mom, know."

I shut the phone off.  Travis took it from my hand and pulled me up to my
feet.  He embraced me while I cried on his shoulder.

"Come with me, Mr. Jenson, bring Luke with you.  I'll show you to his
room," Helga said. I felt myself being led away, I mean I heard and saw
everything but felt like I was outside, looking in at it all.  I was in
shock.

How is it everything happens so quickly?  I mean, Aerosmith has a song, 'In
the Blink of an Eye'. I guess I understand.  I may not accept the cards
that are dealt me, but I must never forget life can change in a second.

Once I had been escorted to my bedroom and realized where I was, I came
back.  I was still distraught, but fully aware of my surroundings.  I was
so thankful for Travis.  I showed him where everything was.  He used the
phone on my desk and called his mom.  She gave him permission to stay and
even offered to bring him some clothes.  It was decided she would come by
the next day.

We sat in my room for a few hours.  We expanded on our lives' stories with
each other.  We talked about painting.  I felt bad but we even joked a
little bit.  I mean, should I have been joking at such a time?  It was only
six o'clock, but felt like midnight.  I heard a quiet knock on my door.

"Yes?" I called.

The door opened and Helga carried in a tray of food.  "Here you men go.  I
brought some dinner up.  Mrs. Rogers doesn't want to be disturbed.  She
told me to tell you she'd see us in the morning," Helga reported in her
German accent, as she set the silver tray on the table next to my window
seat.

"Thank you, Helga," I said.

"You're welcome.  Mr. Rogers, if you don't mind?  I think, I'll retire as
well."

"That will be fine, Helga."

"I'll get the tray in the morning."

"That's fine, I can bring it down after we've finished," I offered.

She said nothing and left the two of us.  Travis just stared at me.

"What, is my dinner hanging off my chin?" I asked.

We both laughed.

"Hey, Travis, I think I'm going to take a shower.  You can play around on
the computer if you want," I told him after we finished our meal.  Helga
had been extremely generous.

"No problem, Buddy. Could I take one after you?"

"Sure."  I couldn't help thinking, I'd rather have him take one with me.

I went to my closet and looked for a warmup suit to wear.  I like to wear
casual clothes in the evening.  I saw my dark green nylon Adidas running
attire hanging in my large closet, looking rather forgotten, I might add.

"Oh, my God!" Travis exclaimed.  "I thought I had a fetish for clothes."
He excitedly beamed as he checked out my closet.  "Your closet is bigger
than our bathroom," he observed.

I could feel my face as it went red.  "Really?"

"Oh, man.  I am like, so jealous," Travis, admiring my threads, admitted.

"Hey, you can borrow anything you like."

"Really?  You mean it?"

"Absolutely."

I took my warmup suit and headed for the bathroom, while Travis inspected
my wardrobe.  I felt a little self-conscious, I hoped he wouldn't think I
was all into myself.  I didn't want to lose him as a friend.  I felt so,
so, so...well, I just liked him and wanted him to like me.

After we were both showered, and Travis was dressed in my navy blue Nike
sweat suit, I felt exhausted.  I guess it must have shown in my eyes.

"You're tired, maybe we should turn in, Buddy," Travis said, his voice full
of concern.

"Yeah."

We both shared the bathroom, again to brush our teeth.  We didn't have a
bubble contest though.  Hey, you can't have everything, can you?

When we returned to my room, I took off my clothes, stripped down to only
my Tommy boxers, I noticed Travis watching my every move.  I couldn't help
but watch him as he took off my sweats and stood before me in just his
American Eagle Outfitters.  He watched me as I climbed into my large double
bed.  I noticed his face seemed to say he was perplexed about something.

"What's the matter, Buddy?"  I liked it when he called me Buddy, I hoped he
liked it in return.

"Well, this fold out bed looks kind of old, I mean, well, kind of worn out.
Would you mind if I shared your bed?" Travis asked, all seriousness in his
voice.

"No, not at all.  I don't mind if you don't," I said, and truly meant.
Boy! Did I mean it.

"Cool," he said, and jumped in my bed.

I climbed in the bed alongside of my best friend.  I had to fight my urges.
I just wanted to climb all over him.  I turned off the light next to the
bed, the room was totally dark.  I don't have a night light, and keep my
drapes closed at night.  We lay next to each other, I could hear his
breathing.  I felt his foot brush against mine, he didn't move it away.  I
pushed my foot closer to his, I tried to be smooth about it, kind of like
it was subconscious, even though it wasn't.

"Luke?" he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Well...it's..."

After a long pause, I asked him, "What, Travis, what is it?"

"Actually, I want to tell you something, I just don't know how to say it."

I thought to myself, and hoped it was what I wanted to tell him.  He
certainly was keeping me in suspense.  I couldn't tell him my secret, I was
too afraid of losing him.  I hoped what he was going to tell me was what I
wanted to tell him.  Instead, he said nothing.  After a few minutes of
waiting for him to speak up, I couldn't stand it any longer.

"Travis?"

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Well, for now, my fine friends, that will be it.  I hope you don't mind me
leaving you the way I did.  I just wanted to lighten up the somber mood.
As always you may e-mail me or IM me, the address is still
Justin69SK@aol.com

I would like to thank my editors, Writer Editor Sarah, Creative Editor
Joey, and Final Copy Editor Ed, for all the work they do.

Keep in touch--
Just,
Justin