This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.

Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments.

Love It or Leave It

by Dennis Milholland

questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu

Thirteen

(Wednesday, October 5th, Thursday, October 6th)

Vicky wants to talk about it. But there is nothing to be said. As have Raphaël and I over the past days, Vicky wants to find an answer. None of us can think of one: except that Mack had been unable to ask for help until it was too late.

During the course of this evening, night, we try to find an answer. We wrack our brains to discover some hidden key.

Actually, the one thing, that we do find, is our housekeeping money, the thirty dollars Maman left in the knives drawer in the kitchen, and we only find that after she calls to see if everything is as it should be. We assure her that it is, although it is not.

Vicky feels the need to phone Wanda, to tell her. This time, Vicky on the telephone is different. She is no longer the yackety-yak teenager making random, compulsive phone calls. And it only takes twenty minutes for Wanda to be seated at the Mongrain dining table.

“Wow, the last time I was sitting here, I thought that Raphaël was going to need hands-on training.” We all laugh at Wanda’s allusion to Raphie having told her that he was a virgin.

“And I still don’t have any experience with girls.” Raphie’s beautiful face turns the color of polished rosewood.

“Boy, I guess not, if it still makes you blush like that.” Her teasing is good natured, but his color deepens even further. “How long have you and Dan been together?” Everyone feels relief when Wanda tactfully changes the subject.

“You went to Kensington Elementary, didn’t you?” Raphie seems to vaguely remember.

“They have been with each other for fucking ever.” Vicky is chewing on an ice cube from her drink. “Those two have been boyfriends since the second grade.”

“Is that true?” Wanda demands of Raphie. He stutters so she turns to me with her questioning look.

“Yes and no.” I clarify, and her look expresses impatience. “We have been very close since the second grade, but--”

“--Close!” Vicky giggles. “Shit, you call that close. Close like joined at the hip.” She spits the ice back into her glass. “Let me tell you about how close, Wanda.

“We were all out on the playground during morning recess and were supposed to choose up sides for dodge ball. Our teacher, Miss Douchman, had selected that Italian kid, Paulo Gionelli, as one of the team captains. So, he started with ‘Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe’…”

“Oh, shit.” Wanda laughs.

“Yeah,” Vicky confirms. “And when the kid got to that part, the teachers had told us not to use anymore, Raphie punched him.”

“Wow, Raph! Good going.” Wanda pats his hand.

“But when Dan, who was in an entirely different class, came out for recess, and saw Raphie being held down by some creeps and Paulo kicking him--”

“He was bleed--” I look at Wanda. But Vicky doesn’t let me get a word in edgeways.

“--he gave Paulo a running tackle from behind, flipped him over on the ground and beat him within an inch of his life. When the Principal tried to pull Dan off, he slugged her and bit her in the hand. They had to call the police to get things quieted down.”

“Hey, Boyfriend, now I know who to call.” Wanda grins and I become uncomfortable with being portrayed as inherently violent.

“I’ve changed, Wanda.” I claim, and Vicky laughs raucously.

“Sure, you have. And how about the one-time quarterback of the Northeast football team, who called you a lackey last Fall.” Vicky decides to disclose any and all secrets.

Wanda and Raphaël hoist their respective eyebrows to full mast. Vicky tisks with her tongue to convey mock rebuke. “Our Mr. Bourke, here, had been waiting for Raphaël to finish swimming practice and was sitting on the grass outside the library, just next to the stairs that go down to the ROTC field, so I joined him to soak up some sun. And who happens along but that slut, Babsie Finster, with her quarterback boyfriend.

“And as it seems, this Northeast quarterback is best pals with the captain of their wrestling team, and being that Northeast is still fully segregated, he’d refused to wrestle Raphie because he isn’t as white as that goofball thought he should be…”

“Yeah, that was embarrassing.” Raph states shyly. “They were going to suspend the meet and claim victory, until Dan took my place.”

“Soooo…” Vicky draws the word out to add suspense. “Mr. Northeast Quarterback says to Dan: ‘Are you still picking up after your nigger buddy?’”

“And?” Wanda demands forcefully.

“Even the word, lightening, is a poor description of the speed, Dan used to kick that asshole off his feet and jump up to stomp on both his kneecaps and then his groin, making it very unlikely that he will ever play football again or have any kids.”

Silence enshrouds us at the table until Raphie breaks it. “You never told me about that.” He sounds sad.

I shrug my shoulders. “It wasn’t important, Raph.” I discover how much it upsets me to make him sad.

“Now, there’s something I have to ask. And it’s something that I just don’t talk about.” Wanda works herself up, which is apparently necessary to overcome her hesitation. “How did you get to be so entirely color blind, Dan? From what Vicky and Raph have told me, you have never made any racial distinctions.”

“Raphie talked about me to you?” This makes me feel self-conscious.

“Yeah, it was like you were with us on our dates.” She grins and winks at Raph. “Just kidding.

“But it doesn’t seem like you had to realign anything, like the rest of us had to. Hell, do you have any idea what my mother is going to say to me, when I tell her that I have a white, blond boyfriend?” She titters for relief but remains nervously excited.

“It’ll probably be less radical than what she would say, if she finds out that you’re eating white, blonde pussy.”

“Eee!” Wanda squeals in mock disgust, which lightens the conversation and relieves her tension. “You sure as Hell got that right.”

“Anyway, Raphie is just as racially impartial as I am.” I counter her argument.

“And he’s almost as white as you are, for fuck sake. He doesn’t have any choice. Raphie doesn’t have slavery in his family history. He doesn’t know how to be subservient; he didn’t have to unlearn suppression. Shit, he can’t even talk trash. As far as my family’s concerned, he’s a white Frenchman with a good tan.”

I am stupefied. What she is saying is that my Raphie isn’t accepted on either side of the racial divide. It’s not just my mom, it’s her mom. I have never stopped to give any thought to this aspect of my lifelong best friend, my lover.

But what Wanda is saying puts things into perspective; she is making his situation understandable for me. I feel ashamed mainly because I still have so much to learn. I look at Raph; he seems tired of this discussion. He seems very unsure of something.

“So, what I wanna find out, Honkey Dan, is how come yous a nigga lova.” Wanda’s ghettoese isn’t all that convincing either, but I do take her point.

“Well, let’s go for the simple version. You know that Dad comes from Ireland, don’t you?” She and Vicky nod in agreement. “And you know that he is quite a bit older than your parents?” Again, they nod. “So, when he came to this country shortly after World War I, he had trouble finding work, even though there was plenty of work to be had. And do you know why?”

This time they have to shake their heads looking at each other quizzically. “From the shear fact that there were signs, especially on the East coast that said: ‘Niggers and Irish need not apply.’.”

“I didn’t know that.” Vicky admits looking around the table.

“Wow.” Wanda is virtually speechless, appearing as surprised as her voice.

“Yeah, his dad told me about that when we were kids. His dad, Joey, is really cool.” Raphie states affectionately, and then turns pensive. “As opposed to his mom.”

“My dad always says: ‘No matter who it is, never forget that there is a vulnerable soul behind every pair of eyes, who is begging to be loved.’.”

“Your dad sounds so sweet.” Vicky superficially mellows.

“He is,” confirms Raphie. “He even thinks that Dan and I are a good match.”

“What?” Vicky sits up abruptly, finished with mellowing.

“Do you mean to say,” Wanda gasps for breath. “Dan’s father knows you guys are lovers?”

“Yeah,” Raphie nods to accentuate what he is saying.

“Holy, fucking, shit!” Vicky is now really awake. “And what does your mother say.”

I decide to take back the reins. “Her reaction was less than Christian.” I think for a second. “No, it was pretty much your basic Christian reaction. She went fucking ballistic, and told me that I was going to burn in Hell. You know, the usual.”

“And she said that she’d make sure that he would burn in Hell.” Raphie adds nervously.

“Your own mother threatened to kill you, because …” Wanda lets her voice drift; her breathing becomes labored and sounds as if she may hyperventilate.

“Yip, because I love someone.” I put it in glaringly simple terms. “Someone, who is exceedingly easy to love.” I place my left hand on Raphie’s right one and squeeze lightly.

“And, do you think she’ll follow through on it?” Vicky whispers.

“Dad and Raph and I are taking it seriously. That’s why I’m living here for the time being.” Not having given it all too much thought, I think about it and add broodingly. “She’s also been hanging out with the Bottemlys a lot since Mack died. And they blame me for his death.”

“That certainly does not sound like a good mix.” The thought seems to drift out of Vicky’s mouth on its own, as if it is only a random verbalization. She then becomes more conscious of what she is saying. “So, you guys were having a threesome?”

Before I could say anything, Raph, always protecting me, jumps in with: “So to speak.”

Vicky gives him an impatient, lopsided grin. “Don’t play sphinxi-poo with me, Yves-Raphaël. I want dirt!”

“Your name is Yves-Raphaël?” Wanda swoons.

“Okay, let’s put all the cards on the table.” I take control, getting to the core of the matter. “Raph and Mack were not lovers. Mack and I were, and Raph and I are. Raph, Mack and I were also good buddies.”

“What?” Wanda looks confused.

“That’s why guys aren't allowed to have slumber parties, Wanda.” Vicky injects a good amount of what she believes to be sound worldly insight.

“You explain.” Wanda looks at me.

“As you have learned this evening, Raph and I go back for almost to the beginning of time…”

“I can’t remember a time, when Dan wasn’t with me.” Raph adds, turning his right hand palm up, so we are holding hands.

“Yeah, you see the one, the other can’t be far.” Vicky reiterates the obvious.

“And we met Mack, when I was in the spring play. That was back when we were in the eighth grade and Mack was in the tenth. We were at a cast party at Vicky’s.”

“At last!” Vicky triumphs. “Now, I can tell somebody about that.”

Of a sudden, we are all on that borderline of a dare, which lies between dissolving into giggly insinuations and going for an explicit description. It’s Vicky’s call, and she chooses the latter: “My sister decided that it would be a total disgrace if I were to participate in the cast party of the senior play. Even though, there would be underclassmen present, a stray eighth-grader was out of the question.

“Of course, she knew that Dan, who had one of the leading roles, was a sub-freshman, too, but that didn’t matter, since he was tall, blond and build like a brick shithouse. Anyway I had to think up something. So, I hid under the snack table, where I was able to watch everything. And it was worth watching. I got enough ammunition on my sister to last for a year’s worth of blackmail.

“Anyway, our Dan was talking to that fruit-loop, Chris, when Mack showed up and planted a kiss right on Dan’s mouth. Now, that was a sight for sore eyes. Two of the most macho hunks, you’d ever wanna see, making out with each other, and airy-fairy Chris, looking thoroughly disgusted.

“The best part was when Dan took Mack by the hand and pulled him into the dark corner by the sump pump only about five feet from the snack table. I could see everything. In fact, when Dan undid Mack’s jeans and let his hard cock pop out, that was the first time, I’d ever seen one.”

Raph, Wanda and I let our respective mouths drop open. It isn’t the fact that she is describing in detail me in a compromising situation, but none of us can believe that there actually was a time when Vicky Wilcox had never seen a dick.

“What?” Vicky looks defensive and directly at her lover. “Okay, when was the first time for you to see a guy’s cock?”

“I have three older brothers, Girl. When do you think?” She opens her handbag and pulls out a pack of Kools with a book of matches tucked into the cellophane wrapper. “Let’s go out back.”

I run upstairs to collect my cigarettes and lighter and empty my bladder. While I’m still on the crapper observing the ‘seated only’ rule, Raph comes in, waits till I stand, then drops to his knees and sucks my cock into his mouth. It feels as if he’s an expert, although I know that this is his first time. I let him continue for a few seconds, delighting in what he is doing, but also realizing that we have to go back downstairs. I lift him gently to his feet. I lick the saliva from around his mouth and kiss him, letting our tongues caress. I pull away and whisper: “Later, Raph.” Then, I suddenly have to snicker.

“What?”

“Was wondering if Vicky just asked you what I taste like and you didn’t know.”

He titters mischievously then whispers: “Just had to see if I could.”

I step back to get a good look at his face. “Could what.” I sound worried.

“I knew that you were taking a leak. So, I thought that if I could suck you immediately after you’d pissed without gagging, I really am queer.”

“And?” I laugh at his logic but can see his point.

“Hmm, I really enjoyed it. I think mainly because it’s you. But, yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m queer.”

I hug him and kiss his neck, both of us forgetting that the door is standing open.

“Ah, hum, very nice ass, Dan.” Vicky remarks matter-of-factly. “But I have to, as well, if you don’t mind.”

I bend over to raise my briefs and jeans, mooning her.

“Whoa there, Stud, that’s far more than I wanted to see. Ever!”

When we laugh loudly, Wanda shouts from the landing: “Okay, break it up.” Raph and I are giggling when we get to where we meet Wanda climbing up the stairs. I’m still fastening my jeans. “Yo, Dude, I better not smell cum on her breath.” Raphie can’t go any further. His sides ache from laughing; he has to sit down on the stair step.

I give him a hand to get up and we go out to the back yard. I light up. “You know, Raph, I’d never given it any thought as to how much of outsiders we both are until Wanda said that about your being almost as white as I am.”

“You’re not an outsider, Dan, you really are white.”

“And a foreigner, don’t forget, and a queer.”

“Foreigner?”

“I’m British because of Dad.”

“But you were born in this country.”

“Yeah, and that makes me a dual national. And as far as Washington is concerned, I’m a foreigner until I choose to be an American when I come of age.”

“And what are you going to choose?” Although I can’t see him enough to confirm it, I can clearly hear the anxiety in his voice.

“I’m not going to choose anything, Raph. We are going to make that decision, together.”

Then there is silence. I can hear him breathing erratically. But I feel it more than hear it: his eyes are shedding tears. I reach up with my left hand to wipe them away: “What’s the matter, mon amour?”

“Sometimes, Dan, I find your love for me overwhelming. I just wonder if I’m enough for you.”

I quickly flip the cigarette butt onto 24th Street and draw him into a full caress, with my left hand holding the back of his head and my right one in the small of his back. “Don’t ever think that, Yves-Raphaël Mongrain. You’re more than I could ever hope for.”

We hold the comforting embrace until Wanda strikes a match to light her cigarette. “Sorry, Guys, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

I have to clear my voice to assure her. “You didn’t.”

“When you guys hold each other like that, you look like negative images of one another.”

“Hmm, Maman thinks that we are evil twins.” Raphie tries to laugh, wiping his eyes.

“I don’t know about evil, but you sure function as twins; you're good for each other.” Vicky says from inside the kitchen door. “I just hope that nobody, like your mother or the Bottemlys, spoils it.”

That sums it up. My mother's threat to kill me hangs in the air like a foul smell. We stand in the back yard looking into the night until Wanda finishes her cigarette, which she deposits into the trash incinerator.

Back in the kitchen, Raphie refreshes the drinks and ice; I make sandwiches for a midnight snack. Vicky and Wanda are hanging about, watching us, but it looks as if they are lost in thought.

“What kind of car do the Bottemlys drive?” Wanda wonders.

“It's a 1964 Buick Wildcat.” I laugh, since the name, Wildcat, certainly doesn't fit Deacon and Mrs. Bottemly. “Why do you ask?”

“We should go by and check out the license plate number.” Wanda is dead serious.

Vicky is quick on the uptake. “Do you think they might try to run Dan and Raphie down with their car?”

“That or a drive-by shooting.” She folds her arms across her chest and leans against the door frame.

Vicky sound dismissive. “A drive-by? C'mon.”

“Well, they do have a bumper sticker that commands everyone to: 'Kill a Commie for Christ'.” I add with a bit of mirth, but the others just look at me in incredulity. “That's what they're like. They are better-than-thou Bible beaters, who have the tolerance level of Hitler.”

Vicky no longer sounds so dismissive. “Do you think they'd try some shit like that?”

“I wouldn't rule it out.” Raphie adds quietly. “They are prone to violence, as we saw at the funeral, when old man Bottemly tried to hit you. And then there's that stuff in the suicide note.”

“Oh, shit.” Vicky now sounds worried.

“Yeah, shit,” states Wanda coldly. “We're going to have to come up with some kind of a plan.” She shifts gears. “What kind of a car does your mother drive, Dan?”

“She generally drives my brother's old, 1960 Chevy Impala.”

“Do you know the license number?” Wanda looks like she's coming up with something.

“Yeah, why?”

“We're going to give out a watch list to our friends. If they spot either car, anywhere, they'll note the time and place. Then we can establish a pattern of their movements.” We all look at Wanda, as if she were someone we don't know. “Why are you guys looking at me like that.”

“I would ask if you work for the CIA, but of course, you wouldn't give me the right answer and then you would have to kill me for asking.” I laugh along with the others but still wonder where Wanda got this idea.

“It's just logical, Dan. If we spot them cruising the school or driving around in this neighborhood, we can protect you two just by keeping you out of sight.”

“And what are we going to tell our friends? They're going to ask why.” I look up from sandwich making to play my version of devil's advocate.

“How about the truth?” Wanda seems confident, as opposed to me.

“Yeah, sure, Wanda. We're going to tell everybody that I was fucking Mack and his parents found out and are now out to get me.”

“No, but how about telling them that they think that you and Raph are horrible sinners, and they want to make you repent for your evil ways.”

“Yeah, that would work, I like the simplicity.“ Raphie acquiesces.

“It reminds me of the time when Mack and I had to do the book reports on the Bible.” I chuckle while slicing the sandwiches into quarters.

“You gotta lotta splainin’ to do, Lucy.” Vicky imitates Ricky Ricardo. Then, she imitates herself being an airhead. “What the Hell were you doing at Greendale Baptist Church, anyway?”

Wanda looks at her impatiently, while gathering plates and cutlery, as if to say: ‘Now, that was a dumb-ass question, Girl.’

“For a while, it was the only place, where I could meet Mack other than at school. And when I started going, my mother started going. I assume that she missed her Pentecostal roots and the steady diet of Hellfire and Brimstone.”

“And why the book reports on the Bible?” Vicky asks, a tad more intelligently, and Wanda relaxes her glare.

“Mack and I got caught sixty-nining each other under a pew on the balcony during a summer revival meeting. The sermon was on Sodom and Gomorrah, no less.”

“Now, that is classy.” Vicky contends, Wanda and Raphaël agree by nodding.

Since, to judge by his jovial expression, this is obviously not bothering Raph, I’m comfortable with continuing. “And we were caught by none other than Babsie Finster, the preacher’s daughter.”

“That slut has had more dick in her mouth, than there are dicks to be had in the entire student body. That’s why she’s grazing Northeast now.”

“C’mon, Vicky, let Dan get back to his story.” Wanda kisses her in passing to set the table.

I load the sandwiches onto a meat platter and carry it into the dining room. “Anyway, Babsie didn’t tattle that Mack and I had been sucking each other, since we had loads of dirt on her. So, the dizzy bitch tells her father that we were playing cards under the pew, to explain her loud gasp during the sermon.”

“Playing cards?” Wanda is astonished.

“Yeah, cards are right up there with fellatio and smoking cigarettes, not to mention dope.”

“I sure wouldn’t make a good Baptist.” Vicky laments with a grin.

“Nor, should you try.” Raphie laughs. “You heard what Mr. Bottemly said. They don’t take kindly to cocksuckers, queers and coons. That pretty much rules out all of us.”

“That motherfucker actually say that?” Wanda bristles. “Thought Vicky was exaggerating.”

“No exaggeration.” I back Vicky’s testimony and return to my account. “So, that’s why Pastor Finster dished out the book reports on specific Bible stories. And since we had gravely sinned during his sermon and had not been paying attention, Mack and I were ordered to report on the saga of Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“Yawn.” Vicky adds, pretending to cover her mouth, unimpressed.

“No, no, not boring. Like our Baptist friends, you have not read the whole story. I let Mack report on the usual up to and including the pillar of salt. That’s the part everybody knows. But I got to report on the part everybody ignores. After god pulls his pillar-of-salt thing, and he’s obviously still looking, when the two virgin daughters go with their father up the hill to a cave, where they booze it up and fuck their own ol’ man silly; to such an extent, that they both get knocked up.”

“And that’s in the Bible?” Vicky doesn’t believe a thing I’m saying.

“Yip. Genesis 19:30 to 36.”