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

 

Twenty

(Saturday, October 8th)

A constant throbbing in my head wakes me slightly. It’s not a throbbing of pain; it’s a throbbing of sound. As my senses become vaguely more acute, I perceive that it sounds like a basketball bouncing off pavement.

Still, it’s not clear where I am, but I can smell Raphie, so the actual geographical location is of secondary importance. I hear his comforting growl, and try to drift back into soothing unconsciousness.

At some point, my awareness is teetering on that fine line between waking and sleeping, my subconscious seems to be debating with itself as whether to inject the prescribed amount of adrenalin into my system needed to lift the curtain of slumber or to wait and suspend animation for a few more minutes.

The debate is decided by Raphie’s drowsy voice. “What the Fuck is that noise?”

Adrenalin infused, my eyes open to look at clouds directly above our bed. I couldn’t possibly have slept through the tornado that must have taken the roof off our new apartment. My eyes focus enough to see a window in the sloping roof, which I hadn’t noticed yesterday.

I look across the ruffled sheets to see my ruffled Raphie propping himself on an elbow in the sunshine coming through the roof window, when we hear Jordan’s much too exuberant voice. “Good shot, Bob.” Ah, the worshiper and the worshiped.

Raphaël collapses onto my chest, snuggles and licks my nipple, when another familiar voice drifts through the door. « Je ne sais pas, Jose. Je crois qu’ils dorment encore. » At least, Maman is concerned about whether we’re still sleeping or not.

Ah, but now the question arises, since we’re fully awake: “How did they get in?”

I have no idea.” Raphie declares with an annoyed expression on his sleepy face. “I’ll bet we forgot to get the second set of keys off them last night.”

And that would explain Jordan’s shooting hoops with Bob. What time is it?” I look for my watch on the small table next to the bed and remember that I left it on the breakfast bar.

No idea. I left my watch in the kitchen when we were washing the glasses.” He’s kicking his feet free of the sheet. “Where’s yours?”

My feet swoop over the side of the bed to find my cum-stiffened jeans and undershorts. “On the breakfast counter next an ashtray full of dead joint-butts, which is next to our fairly good-sized bag of marijuana.”

Going into the bathroom, he stops to look at me. “Should we go back to bed and play opossum to stall off any discussion about dope?”

Standing up, and tripping over my jeans, I regain balance and have to scratch my balls. “I think you’re confusing mothers. Mildred would start the discussion with one of her famous rhetorical questions, like: ‘Just what do you think this is?’”

Yeah,” He giggles and sits down on the commode. “then she’d call me a darky and pull out a gun and shoot your heathen ass.” He releases the contents of his intestines with a look of pleasure crossing his face.

When he flushes, he moves over to that low washbasin Maman calls a bidet, straddles it back to front and turns on the taps and lathers up. I’m awed that he knows what this equipment is for. Then I imagine that his relatives in Louisiana would probably have them. Duly impressed, I follow suit, feeling as if I’m toilet training myself all over again.

Sort of washed but wearing clean clothes, we emerge from the bedroom to find Maman sitting at the table reading the Sunday Star. Raph and I file by, kissing her on the top of her head. She smiles at us, much more relaxed than I’ve seen her in ages. « Bonjour, Maman. Bien dormie ? » I wonder whether she’d slept well.

« Ç’allait. Et vous, comment avez-vous dormis ? » Her concern about how we slept seems cordial enough.

I find my watch next to the cleaned ashtrays and bag of dope. It’s half past twelve. The rollup papers have been removed from the bag and are lying in one of the ashtrays.

« Il n’y a pas de café. Hier, je n’ai pas trouvé que ce dégoutant café américain. » She underscores her disgust of usual American coffee with a dismissive smirk. Consequently, she hasn’t made any.

« Mais, je vous ai fait une infusion. » Did she say herbal tea? Whoops! No, it couldn’t be. I look at Raph, who shrugs, grinning somewhat sheepishly.

We look cautiously at the teapot sitting on its wire stand over a warming candle. We look at her; she’s engrossed in the paper. We get cups out of the cupboard and pour. It is. This is going to be an excellent breakfast. Should I offer her any? « Maman Mongrain, est-ce que vous voulez de l’infusion aussi ? »

« Non merci, Daniel. I’ve already had my limit, and I have to drive later on. » She doesn’t even glance up from the paper. She is so cool, hip, but, of course, she would prefer nonchalance as our description of her. This is not how your run-of-the-mill, school-teacher mother handles Mary Jane in the house. But it is how I imagine the nightclub singer would.

We hear the door open at the bottom of the stairs and low voices and snickers. Dad’s head appears over the half-wall partition followed by Marty’s beaming face. I grin and wink at Marty who turns a glowing crimson. Guess he is Dad’s type. And his wheezing is noticeably less after climbing the stairs. Whatever, they’ve been up to, is apparently what he needs.

Dad comes over smiling and gives Raph and me a good-morning kiss. Since Marty is looking somewhat left out, I drag him into a kiss as well, then Raphie grabs him. Marty’s face is now a light shade of burgundy. And, probably out of solidarity, Raph blushes, too. He’s not as red as Marty but a lot sexier.

Dad takes a sip of my tea and grins. “So, what’s the plan for the day?” Apparently he’s speaking English because of Marty. Guessing by his expression and slouchy body language, Raph is open for suggestions. Marty looks as if he’s in for today’s activities, although he’s officially off duty. And Geneviève jumps when the phone rings. It rings for the second time.

Hey! Dan, Raph, wake up and answer yer feckin’ phone, would yus?” Dad laughs at us.

The phone rings for the third time. I pick it up. This is odd for both Raph and me, since we’ve never before had our own telephone. “Uh, hello?”

It’s Jennette Volker saying that she wants to meet us today, here, at our place. Now, that’s a turn of phrase I’ll have to get used to.

To get us withdrawn from East High, she’ll need both Dad’s and Maman’s signature on a parental/guardian power of attorney. I hand her over to Dad.

Dad listens. “Good, meet us here in an hour.” His face goes bitter. “You have to be joking. I wouldn’t let him represent me at a bleedin’ catfight. Okay, see you in an hour.”

He hangs up and looks at me. “She asked me, if I wouldn’t rather have that wee fucker, Busby, handle this for us.”

He looks at Maman. “She needs our signatures to change schools.”

Okay, that’s a good place to start.” Marty takes charge. “Geneviève, you and Jordan need to pack at the Norton house, is that correct?” She confirms with a nod.

Joseph, the same with you at the Quincy place?” Another silent affirmation. “Good, we’ll have Bob go with Geneviève and Jordan, and I’ll go with you and the boys.”

I clear my throat, because it’s dry after the cup of my special tea. But Marty looks as if he’d put his foot in it by calling us boys.

He nudges Dad. “What was that you call Raph and Dan.” He looks apologetically at us. The poor man is trying to get over his racist upbringing and sees his life as a series of minefields, made up of things he shouldn’t say.

Lads?” Dad isn’t quite sure what he means.

Okay, I’ll go with you and the lads, so we can clear out anything Dan may still have there.” He looks at his watch. “I’ll go tell Bob.” He starts for the stairs, and I follow him.

Out on the patio, I put my hand on his shoulder from behind. He turns to me with sad eyes. “Look, I’m sorry.”

Marty, you’re a good man, and I don’t want you to have the feeling around us that you’re negotiating enemy territory.” The hug I give him is strong and sincere. My voice descends to a whisper next to his ear, so only he can hear it. “Even if the word, nigger, should slip out, it’s okay; we’ll get over it. You’re our big brother. And you’re not responsible for where and as what you were born no more than the rest of us.” I notice Raph standing behind the screen door, watching us, as I take a step back.

He opens the door and comes out cautiously. “What’s up?” He puts his hand demonstratively on my shoulder. I sense his tension.

I keep my volume low. “Upstairs, Marty referred to us as ‘boys’ and changed it to ‘lads’, because he thought we’d see a racial connotation to it.”

Is that all? Shit!.” Raph subdued chuckles are barely audible, then he blurts, trying to be funny: “Hell, I thought Dan was about to do something to you that he might regret.”

Whoa,” The bass voice comes from out of nowhere. “what are you doing to Marty?” Bob comes round the corner of the house. And sees Marty’s embarrassed, flustered face. “What did Marty do?”

This is getting out of hand, and poor Marty’s face is glowing like a stop sign. “HEY!” I shout. “Enough!” I force my voice down. “Marty didn’t do anything.”

Now, with Jordan standing next to him holding the basketball, Bob glares at Marty and bellows. “Are you sure you didn’t let some shit slip, like... you know?”

Right at this point, Dad comes down the stairs and out the door with a bang. “Back off!” I’m about to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, when I see the fire in Dad’s eyes. The last time I saw him like this, East High’s principal was on the receiving end. “I’m warning the lot of yus; get off Marty!” Stunned, the group slowly disperses.

Everybody’s wondering what’s going on, except for me and Geneviève, who is standing behind the screen door with a grin stretched across her sculpted face. She comes over to Raph and me. « Il l’aime, exactement comme il a aimé son Maurice. » I wonder why Maman refers to her late husband as his Maurice when talking about my dad’s love for him.

Raphie, opens his mouth to speak, closes it and opens it again. « Qu’est qu’il a ? » He glares at me, then at his mother looking for a reason why my dad, his friend, Joey just threatened us, all of us.

« Mon père voulait to stake his claim. Like I did with you on the playground in second grade. Dogs piss on trees; we Bourkes have to take on the rest of the world. » I laugh and give my man a kiss.

We come around the corner of the house to where Bob and Jordan have gone back to shooting hoops and Dad is talking, albeit at arm’s length, to Marty, who is leaning against his cream-colored Austin Cambridge in the driveway.

Maman asks Dad for his car keys, so she, Raph and Jordan can take Jordan’s stuff up to our living room. And I need to find out from Marty if they’ve got a washing machine, and if not where the nearest laundromat is.

But Dad steps in front of me. “I’m sorry, Dan. I didn’t mean...”

I laugh and give him a pat on the back. “I know that’s your way of telling him that you love him.” I look over Dad’s shoulder. “And Marty, if you keep going red like that you’ll, have a stroke.”

Jesus, Dan, how did you know what...”

Aw, for Christ’s sake, Joey.” And yes, this is the first time I have ever addressed my father by his given name other than in jest. “You’re more like an older brother who never left home than my dad. We are so similar, that, at times, it scares the bejesus out of me.”

He takes a step back and looks surprised.

You just staked your claim to your man, like I did, when I took on the whole school for Raphie. You knew about us then, and we know about you now.

Geneviève just said: you love Marty just like you loved your Maurice.” I look past the astonished Joey and address the equally astounded Marty. “Being overly protective of the ones we love is somewhat of an obsession with us. But at least now, you know exactly where you stand. Welcome to the family, Marty.”

Marty’s eyes brim, and tears flow freely down his face. He’s standing there, next to his car, a sobbing wreck. Dad is looking anywhere but at him. “Go on, Joey, he needs you. Show him how much you really do care.”

Dad hisses under his breath: “Not where everyone can see.”

I turn up the volume, so that those on the second floor of the mansion to the north of us, peeking from behind their lace curtains, will get their money’s worth. “Fuck ‘m.” I look up in time to see the curtains twitch. “You don’t need them; you need him. And by the looks of it, he definitely needs you.

It must be hard on a father, when his youngest kid is giving him advice in matters of the heart. But he does reach for him, at first watchfully, then unwaveringly, he takes Marty into his arms. Here, in broad daylight, both grown, well-developed men, one just beyond middle age and the other not yet approaching middle age, resemble clumsy, self-conscious teenagers on their first date and anxious that disapproving parents could be watching.

Neighbors from the other mansion, across our long drive from the twitching curtains, are grilling steaks on their picnic-table hibachi. My stomach growls, and it’s loud enough for Dad and Marty to turn to look at me.

Your kid chaperone has to get something to eat. And if you don’t let go of those surprised looks, your faces may freeze like that.” I tell them in passing as I go to help carry Jordan’s belongings up to our apartment.

***

While hanging onto the refrigerator door and surveying the food, I hear Raph and Jennette climb the steps in animated discussion. The sound of the trained lawyer proves who is in charge. “No, I talked to them on Thursday, after I was at your place. And then I phoned the principal of Westport and he agrees.”

Alright, when do we start?” Raph sounds enthused and looks excited as his head appears above the half-wall bordering the stairs. “Hey, Dan, listen to this.”

I had a very revealing conversation with the principal of East High on Thursday, and I’ve filed a restraining order against him to compliment the ones against the Bottemlys and your mother. And, by the way, I have also filed for one against Busby and your sister, Margret.”

What have Busby and Maggie done?” I sense an aura of intrigue building.

I think it advisable to include Margret, since she has made threatening remarks about you in the past, and your brother is now representing Mrs. Bottemly.” Jennette takes out her yellow legal pad full of notes and laughs, accompanied by the muffled sounds of a bouncing basket ball coming from outside and more footsteps on the stairs.

Her laughter calms to chuckles. “The Bottemly woman is claiming that you and Raph tried to set fire to her, while driving up Main to the east of Penn Valley Park. But, of course, she’s got the chance of a snowball in Hell with that, since she was in violation of the restraining order against her.”

I see everybody, except Bob, bringing the remainder of Jordan’s belongings into the living room. So, Bob must be shooting hoops by himself, or maybe one of the neighbors has joined him. “And why the restraining order against Mr. Nixon?”

During my interview with your principal, it became clear that he intends to try to harm both of you. He wants to try to stop either of you from graduating mid-term, claiming that you are too immature.” She laughs sarcastically. “He’s projecting just slightly.

Anyway, I had a chat with the principal of Westport and he said that he would support you in your efforts.” She flips the page on her legal pad. “He even said that if you’re just short of having the credits to graduate High School now, he would let you go to JC, which is just across 39th Street and take the courses there and do the finals at Westport.”

Screw that.” Raphie snorts somewhere between being bemused and belligerent. “What do you think, Dan, do we take those fluff finals now, and just go on to college?”

I certainly agree with him as I address Jennette. “We’d just be wasting time. We’re taking drama, public speaking, advanced typing, English Lit, fourth-year French and study hall. We can pass those semester finals right now. Naturally, study hall would be the hard one.” I have to belch from the sandwich, I’d eaten too quickly and smirk in disgust at the thought of Mr. Nixon. “We were only treading water at East because Nixon wouldn’t let us take the finals ahead of time.”

Okay.” She puts her pad onto the breakfast counter and takes notes. “I’ll get you out of East first thing on Monday, and we’ll all go talk to Mr. Bruneau, the principal at Westport.”

Over from behind the couch, where Jordan is trying to keep his bags of belongings out of the way, we hear Maman chuckle to herself. “Is that Claude Bruneau?” Joey looks up from helping Jordan sort clothes, and both smirk with enjoyment.

Jennette refers to her notes. “Yes, it is.” Then she looks at Geneviève with a conspiratorial grin, and Raph is beaming like a 1000-Watt bulb, jittery with anticipation.

And, of course,” Geneviève now laughs outright. “you kept Raphaël’s name quiet, when you talked to him, did you not?”

Hmm. We are, after all, dealing with privileged information here.” Jennette obviously gets the gist. “And do you know him?”

No longer able to contain himself Raph blurts: “He’s Papa’s adopted brother.”

And as rumor has it,” Geneviève blushes slightly. “he shares the same persuasion as do my two oldest sons.” When Jordan looks confused, she adds: « Daniel et Raphaël, mon petit. » He returns to sorting out his clothes.

Okay, friendly territory at last.” Jennette mumbles and pulls some papers out of a thin briefcase, which I hadn’t noticed until now. “Here are the powers of attorney for you to sign. Uh, Marty, would you please witness their signatures?”

Marty nods and gazes over Dad’s shoulder as he reads the documents. “I see,” Dad says with a slight tinge of sadness. “that these will give you guardianship, should something happen to Vievie and myself.”

Jennette nods and explains the obvious. “Since we are dealing with several death threats and one manifest attempted homicide, I think it appropriate.” She looks at us. “Are you guys okay with that?”

Raphie snickers. “As long as we don’t have to call you ‘mama’.” Jennette gives him a daggered glare. His hilarity dies a sudden death. “Uh, sorry.” She relaxes her laser gaze, and I recognize that lawyers and school teachers not only share attitudes of superiority. I thought it was only Busby and his friends.

Looking worse for wear caused by fear and being left out, Jordan oozes with self-pity. “What happens to me, when the rest of you get all shot up?”

Then, you’re mine, Kid.” Bob’s bass booms through the open window from outside. The basketball’s bouncing resumes with a rebound off the backboard. Apparently satisfied, Jordan returns to separating his dirty clothes from the clean. And I realize that Bob is exactly the kind of guy that makes the ideal bodyguard.

Dad and Maman move to the breakfast bar to sign their respective powers of attorney. I go off downstairs to feed my habit.

The patio is a perfect place to be alone. There are only two lawn chairs, so if a group gathers, most will have to stand. The fir trees and the high fence give you the feeling of seclusion but don’t cut you off from your acoustical surroundings.

I can hear the neighbors to the north arguing over their lack of money and the neighbors to the south telling their kids to use a napkin and not to wipe their hands on their clothes with the intermediate rhythmic plop, plop of Bob’s basketball.

It is amazing that the Indian summer is still holding this long after Labor Day. My cigarette smoke masks the smell of the fir trees, and I wonder if the pace of developments will slow down, once we’ve settled in here and start Junior College.

Of course, it’ll be good for Bob and Marty to be able to take classes, while on duty. That is, if we need their protection throughout the Fall. And, of course, If we can find financial assistance to pay for their protection. I have no idea what resources Jennette is tapping at the moment, but I’m sure that they are limited.

And in the context of Junior College, my stomach knots. We’ll be meeting new people. Will Raphie find someone he’s more attracted to? Then, I make a discovery about myself. The knot in my mid-section relaxes. And I’m okay with it, if he does find someone who makes him happier. I can let him go. At this realization, I take another relaxing drag on my cigarette.

That doesn’t mean that I could ever stop loving Raphaël; I can’t. But his happiness is so essential to my wellbeing, that I actually could let him go. And this thought makes me feel good. The worry, at least about Raphie and me as a couple, is gone. I still worry for his safety. That’s still in me. But whether we’ll spend the rest of our lives together isn’t important.

I put out the cigarette and lean back to relax, when I feel a hand touching my shoulder. Without opening my eyes, I place my hand on it. It isn’t Raphie’s; it’s large with slender fingers and calloused. It’s like touching my own hand with calluses. Still with closed eyes, I speak to my dad in a relatively low voice: “Are you okay, Joey?”

How d’ya know it’s me?” He squeezes my shoulder and sits in the lawn chair next to me.

I can smell the people I love.” which isn’t at all exaggerated, of course, he’d have to be a bit more sweaty, like he is after work, for me to be one-hundred percent accurate.

Ya know...” He stops in mid-sentence, so I open my eyes and sit up.

What do I know?” I grin at his uncertainty, wishing I could help him along.

D’ya know what part of it is that attracts me to Martin?” I shake my head for him to tell me. “He sort of reminds me of you.” He lets out a sigh that sounds as if it has been building for a very long time.

And does that upset you?” At this very moment, I seriously wish I could sue the Roman Catholic Church for damages on Joey’s behalf. I know exactly where this guilt trip is going, when he nods. I take his hand. “As someone far more intelligent than either of us once said, and I paraphrase: ‘Religion is opium for the masses.’ And the religion of choice of your family was nothing more than narrow-minded bigotry, a power structure, that made you sleep with your hands above the blankets.”

A good sign; he’s laughing. “But tell me, Dan, you don’t have a problem with...” His face demonstrates extreme embarrassment.

Incest?” I grip his hand, trying to show him that it is alright to talk to me about ‘forbidden things’. His reticence shows me that this is going to take some time. “It’s okay to talk. That’s something that Raph taught me, after Mom’s ‘little secret’ came out. As a matter of fact, it is essential to talk. If I were a little kid or your daughter and could get pregnant, it would be another story, at least when considering the possible emotional damage and consequences.”

His facial expression is begging for help, if not the understanding he’s never found in others. “Ya don’t see a moral issue?”

That’s what I’m talking about, Joey. I’m the initiator, here. The religion that was pounded into your head as a kid, is still having its effect. The moral issues are man-made, arbitrary. They don’t better society; they make society sick. You’re agonizing about something that would not do the least bit of harm to anybody, if it ever happens, which it well might.”

D’ya mean to say that you would...” I can hear his breathing become slightly labored as his blood pressure increases. Is it out of fear, embarrassment, excitement, eroticism? Possibly a mix of all four elements.

Have sex with you? Of course.” The hand I’m holding is becoming moist, even through the calluses.

He tries to control his breathing by taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. “One thing I really do not understand, is...” I raise my eyebrows in expectation. He nods with another not so deep breath. His breathing returns to normal. “...is how in Hell is it that you can talk so freely about all this. I know what your upbringing was.” He chuckles with a hint of irony. “I was feckin’ responsible for it. So, it couldn’t’ve been that.”

Don’t underestimate your abilities as a parent,” I take his hand in both of mine. “not to mention your ability to love. That’s what you taught me by example all my life. You taught me to accept others just as they are, without trying any fine tuning, and you taught me that love is always unconditional.

Not Mother. She always coupled her affection to a condition. She would be nice to me, if I did exactly as she demanded. She wouldn’t tell you that I did something, if I would help her have an orgasm. She didn’t teach me unconditional love; she taught me emotional blackmail.

There was that time in the ninth grade, when Miss Dummbach gave me an I for Inferior in Freshman English. Mom went ape shit trying to place the blame on anything she could think of: ‘It’s the Rotunda Theatre; It’s my inability to concentrate; It’s Raphie and his mother.’ She went on and on shouting about one, single god-damned bad grade. ‘Just wait till your father gets home.’

And when you did get home, you asked me, in a very calm, soothing voice, what the problem was. I told you that we were rehearsing the Spring play between seven and eight in the morning, and sometimes we’d all be late for our first period. The drama teacher, Mrs. Carmichael would sign an excuse slip for us, but Miss Dummbach wouldn’t accept it, because she hated Mrs. Carmichael. It had sweet fuck-all to do with me. And you told me to transfer to another teacher.”

He sighs deeply “I don’t even remember that.” and tries to chuckle.

But what that simple example taught me, was that you trust me to do the right thing. Not god, not any pastor, not the neighbors, you did. And then I was at Greendale Baptist because of Mack--”

He interrupts with: “--Did you love him?”

I nod affirmatively. “On the day of his funeral, I still thought that I'd only talked myself into it. But now, I know that I really do and probably always will. I can’t switch love on and off like a water tap. If it’s there, it’s there. I live with it. But that’s the point, isn’t it? If you accept everyone else the way they are, why not yourself? That’s what I got from you because I didn’t ever get any unwarranted critique.”

 “I never had the impression, ya know, that I ever made that much of a difference to you.” He squeezes my hand to reassure me that this is also not a criticism.

What?” Maybe I’m not expressing myself clearly enough. “You would take Raphie and me to the Union Station for rehearsals rather than eat dinner on time, and then come to pick us up. You would give me bus fare, so that Raph and I could take the bus to evening performances, and then I’d call and you’d drag your ass out of a sound sleep to come and get us somewhere around eleven o’clock, when you had to get up the next morning at five to go to work.”

He motions for me to give him a cigarette. He lights it and passes back the pack and lighter. “Did ya ever think that I was reliving my days as a musician by watching you perform on stage?”

I had no idea,” I light another cigarette and inhale the first drag through my nose. “that Jose, el ratoncito blanco, even existed until about eighteen hours ago. I would love to have seen Vievie, Jose and Morrie perform.”

Marty opens the screen door and comes out with Raph right behind. “I think we’ve got everything organized.”

Everything?” I think my little bomb shell is going to expand their definition of everything. “What would you two say to the four of us fooling around on my old bed over on Quincy?”

Yves-Raphaël is the first to react with his impish grin and low growl of approval. Exactly what I expected. Joey and Marty are speechless, mouths agape. Also what I expected.

Bu, bu, but...” Marty stammers and wheezes.

We all have our eyes on him. He reddens, looks at Raph, at Joey, at me and shrugs. “Uh, oh shit, why not?”

Joey leans his head next to mine in preparing to leave “Yer one devious bastard, y’are.” and laughs.