Date: Wed, 8 Jun 2011 09:20:01 +1030
From: Marcus McNally <marcusis32@live.com.au>
Subject: Love On The Rocks - 22

This story contains sexual situations between males. If material of this
nature offends you then you should not read this story.  If you are under
18 years of age you are probably not legally allowed to read this story.
This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons
living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely
coincidental. The author claims all copyrights in this story and no
duplication or publication of this story is allowed (except by the web
sites to which it has been posted) without the consent of the author.

*************

It was early on Sunday morning when I woke, curled in a ball under the
covers of the bed Ty and I shared.  We'd had a late night after his second
concert and despite the fact my stomach was registering a need for
breakfast, I assumed George was letting us sleep in.  The room was still
dark as I uncurled and stretched in the bed.  I reached out my hand for the
reassurance of Ty's naked body next to me, only to find his side of the bed
was empty.

I eased myself on to my elbows and called his name.  No response from the
en suite, no running water, no tuneful humming.  Perhaps he was in the
kitchen, letting George know we were ready for breakfast?

I got up from the bed, padded naked to the bathroom and took a leak.  I
splashed my face with cold water and looked around for something to throw
on.  Being the neat one in this couple, I knew all my clothes would be
folded and put away in drawers, so I looked for -- and found - Ty's
boxers and tee-shirt crumpled in a corner of the bathroom.

Throwing them on, I headed into the lounge, to find nobody hanging about.
The next stop was the kitchen, where George was busy buttering muffins and
percolating more coffee.

"Hey George," I greeted him.  "Where is everyone?"

"Good morning Mr Stewart," he replied cheerily.  "Dot and Frank have gone
to church.  And I think you'll find the Hill boys are all in Lachlan's
room.  I'll be along in a moment with some more breakfast for them.  And
for you, sir?  Eggs?"

"Thanks George," I replied as I headed through the door.  "Poached would be
good.  And I need coffee."

I wandered down the hallway and turned into Lachlan's room, to be greeted
by the sight of Ty, Lachlan and Scott all sitting up in bed.  Ty was
spoon-feeding him scrambled eggs while Scott was waiting poised with a cup
of coffee with a children's drinking lid secured to the top of it.

"Hey Mike!" Lachlan beamed.  "Come and join us!"

"Doesn't look like there's any room for me!" I pouted.

"Morning sleepy!" Ty grinned.  "We couldn't wait any longer for breakfast.
Hope you don't mind?"

"Nah," I shrugged.  "Mine's coming."

"Hey," said Lachlan.  "They're Ty's boxers aren't they?"

"Yeah," I replied.  "All I could find.  Scott's wearing yours!"

"And Ty's wearing yours!" Lachlan chuckled.  "Doesn't anyone in this joint
ever wear their own clothes?"

"Well, George does," Scott laughed.  "But only because nobody would be seen
dead in those grandpa undies he wears!"

"I heard that!" barked George as he walked into the room with a tray.  He
placed it on the bed and added, as he turned to leave, "At least they don't
have those loathsome South Park characters on them!"

Behind his back, Scott turned and mouthed `he hates me'.  Without turning
around, George quipped, "I don't hate you, Scott.  I just find you
irritating.  Like jock itch!"

"How does he do that?" Scott asked incredulously, as George disappeared
back to the kitchen.  "It's like he's impotent!"

"I think you mean `omnipotent' mate!" I laughed.  "George knows everything
that goes on in this house, Scott.  Including what you do under the covers
every morning!"

Scott opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by Lachlan.  "At least he
can!" he groaned, holding up his bandaged hands and sighing.

"Mate!" guffawed Ty.  "You're a patient here at the very exclusive Hill
Hospital now!  Our trained staff will have you back to your normal self in
no time at all, and you can tug on that eeny weeny peeney all you like!"

"Who you callin' `eeny peeney', asshole?" Lachlan retorted, pulling down
the doona cover and wiggling his ass so his penis shook in Ty's direction.
"This is Anaconda!"

"Well, as long as he's nowhere near me when he's `ready to strike'!" Ty
chuckled.

"No," sighed Lachlan.  "That'll happen when George comes to give me a
fucking sponge bath ..."

We heard the front door open and close and in the hallway, the click of
Dot's high heels, which she wore only to Church on Sundays.  They both
stopped at Lachlan's door, and Dot immediately went into fuss mode.

"Now what are you two boys doing in that bed?" she berated, wringing her
hands.  "Lachlan's not well and he needs his space.  Now you two, shoo.
Let your brother rest."

Ty and Scott just grinned at her, making no attempt to move.

As Dorothy fluffed Lachlan's pillows she turned to her husband.  "Frank,
tell Tyson and Scott to get out of this bed!  This is why Lachlan should be
home with us, so I can keep an eye on him."

"Now Dorothy," soothed Frank.  "Stop mothering the boy.  If he doesn't want
his brothers in bed with him, he'll tell them soon enough."

"I don't get the chance to mother him," Dot harrumphed.  "Not with these
two around."

Frank changed the subject.  "This morning's sermon was all about family,
and how family is a gift from God," he said.  "You boys would have enjoyed
it."

Lachlan grinned.  "Yeah Dad, real sorry I had to miss it!"

"You three are God's blessings on your Mother and me.  At least, that's
according to the Bible passage the sermon was based on.  What passage would
that be Lachlan?"

"Can't remember, Dad," he replied sheepishly.  "But like Mum said, I'm
sick."

"Tyson?"

"Um, Genesis 4?"

"No Tyson," sighed Frank.  "That was probably one of those Genesis albums
you played to death.  Scott?"

Scott shrugged.  "I can't remember either, Dad.  I think I got sick from
sitting so close to Lachlan!  Mike will know though.  He knows everything."

"Mike?"

I smiled.  "Ah, my moment to shine," I said, taking a slight bow.  "That
would be Genesis 33:5, Frank. `And he lifted his eyes and saw the women and
children and said `who are these with you?'.  So he said, `the children
whom God has graciously given your servant'."

"Correct!" grinned Frank.  "A lawyer who knows the Holy book, Dot!  Imagine
that!"

"Yeah, he might come over all Holy and respectable," said Scott rolling his
eyes, "but he swears like a trouper whenever you and Mum aren't around.
Honest!"

"Hey!  I do not, you little asshole" I cackled.

"Michael!"

"Sorry Dot."

**********

When Dot and Frank had left the room, I steered the conversation towards
making a plan for the day.  It was settled that Ty would be picked up by
Vince at 10am and would go straight to the Arena to oversee the
arrangements for the tribute concert.  He would sound check mid-afternoon
and would remain at the venue in his dressing room.  I would take Dot,
Frank, Scott and Lachlan out for lunch, Lachlan's first foray into the
outside world since being admitted to hospital.  Scott -- now fully
licensed -- would be on standby as `runner' for the day, driving guest
artists from their hotel to the venue, and picking up anything anyone
required.

Things came to a grinding halt when George appeared with his plastic wash
basin and hand towels.  "Time for someone's sponge bath!" said George
chirpily.  "You two," he added, pointing his thumb at Ty and Scott, "Out!"

"Nah, I wanna stay and see Anaconda get all fired up!" Scott giggled,
lifting up the doona cover and taking a peek beneath.

He was immediately pushed to the side of the bed by Lachlan.  "Fuck off, ya
dirty little worm," he bellowed.

From the end of the hallway we heard, "Lachlan Hill!"

"Sorry Mum," Lachlan called back.

George went to work on Lachlan's ablutions while we got ready for the day
ahead.  With Dorothy and Frank hovering around and filling in time before
our lunch date, Ty and I had little time for fun in the bathroom.  We did
take a shower together, but neither of us was inclined to start anything
that Frank might walk in on.  A wise decision, too, as Frank arrived while
I was drying myself and Ty was standing naked at the sink, shaving.

"George wants to know what you boys want to do about dinner," he announced.
"What with the concert and all ..."

I thought I would feel self-conscious standing naked in front of Ty's
father, but strangely I didn't.  "We'll have a big lunch, Frank," I said,
rubbing the towel back and forth across my back.  "Tell George to make
something light that we can have before we leave for the Arena tonight.
Maybe some pizza?"

"What about you, Tyson?"

"There's catering at the venue, Dad," Ty responded, dropping his towel.
"Can you grab my jeans from the bed?"

"What about your underwear?"

"I don't wear underwear, Dad," Ty laughed.

"You don't?  No wonder you can see everything you've got in those pants."

Ty provocatively grabbed his cock and balls and shook them in his hand at
his father.  "In the music industry it pays to advertise, Dad!"

"What's say I tell your Mother you don't wear underwear, son?" Frank
replied.

"Oh Christ!  I'd never hear the end of it.  You win.  Grab me some boxers
too!"

Frank grinned as he went to fetch Ty's clothes.  Ty turned to me and said,
"She'd make me sit in the naughty corner for half an hour!"

"Seriously?" I chuckled.  "You had a `naughty corner'?"

"Yep.  There was a stool in the corner of the kitchen and we'd have to go
and sit facing the wall for however long the punishment was."

"Not effective at all, if you ask me," said Frank, handing Ty his boxers
and jeans.  "Just more time for them to sit around doing nothing.  A good
smack on the ass is what they needed."

"That's what Lachie and Scott needed," Ty corrected.  "I was the Good Son."

Frank grunted.  "Good sons don't run around with their balls hanging out!"

"Frank Hill!" I exclaimed, as Ty chortled.

"Don't start that shit with me!" Frank retorted.  "Now get dressed, both of
you.  It's almost lunchtime.  A man could starve around here!"

"10 to 10 is hardly lunchtime, Dad!" Ty joked.

"If my stomach says it's lunchtime Tyson, it's lunchtime.  End of story!"

**********

Vince rang the doorbell at 10am on the dot, and by ten past, he and Ty were
on their way to Acer Arena.  Dorothy made some morning tea to placate
Frank's rumbling stomach, and Scott was playing tug-of-war with Scruffy on
the kitchen balcony, with something that looked suspiciously like one of my
running tee shirts.

George emerged from Lachlan's room with his bowl and sponges, and an
armload of dirty washing.

"Everything OK, George?" I asked.

"Yes sir," he replied. "Lachlan still has that ... um, little problem
though."

"He's one of the Hill brothers, George," I smirked.  "It's a big problem!"

"Yes sir, indeed," George sighed.  "It's quite embarrassing for the poor
lad.  And there's nothing he can do about it you know."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it either, mate," I chuckled.  "I
might ask Dot to knit a woollen hoodie for it, so at least it looks pretty
..."

Dorothy called out and asked us to join her for some morning tea; scones,
jam and whipped cream, and a family-sized pot of tea.  We had a long
discussion of whether or not Lachlan would attend the benefit concert with
us.  We guys were all for it, being that it was in honour of Lachlan's
mates, but naturally Dorothy was against the idea, lest Lachlan pick up
germs from other concertgoers.

"For Heaven's sake Dorothy, stop mothering the boy," Frank grizzled.

"But you don't wanting him getting sick after all that's he's been through
do you Frank?" Dot reasoned.

"He's as fit as a bull except for his hands, Dorothy.  He wants to go, and
the four of us think he should go, so he's going.  End of story."

"Well don't blame me if he gets the flu or hurts himself," Dot retorted.

"Where are we going for lunch?" asked Frank, changing the subject.

"Oh Frank!" sighed Dot.  "All you men think about is your stomachs and what
hangs off them!"

"Muuum!" groaned Scott.

"Well it's true" Dot defended.

"I'm taking you to a little bistro in Double Bay called `Ad Lib'," I
smiled.  "It has a great menu and the waiters speak French."

"Double Bay?" asked Frank.  "That's one of those posh suburbs, isn't it?
It'll probably cost the earth ..."

"Lunch is on me, Frank," I laughed.

"Oh good!" beamed Scott.  "Let's order everything!"

"Scott!"

"Well, I need a good feed," Scott chided, within earshot of George.
"George never gives me much to eat.  He hates me ..."

**********

I got so sick of Frank's pacing that I packed the Hills into the car early
and we pulled up outside Ad Lib right on opening time.  Once we were
seated, Frank and Dot started perusing the menu, tut-tutting to themselves
about the cost of the dishes.  I took advantage of their distraction to
call Ty but, as expected, got his voicemail.

"Hey mate!  Just ringing to see how everything's going," I said in my
message.  "We've just arrived at Ad Lib and your folks are just commenting
on how reasonable the prices are!  We'll have something to eat and then
we'll go back to the house and leave for the venue at about six.  Oh, and
can you find some `running around' for Scott to do?  He's being an
asshole!"

"Michael!" gasped Dot, clearly shocked that I would use such language in
such a posh restaurant, especially since she knew the waiter had heard my
message.

"Sorry Dot," I said, as Marcel approached me with a wine list.

"I assure you Madame, we hear a lot worse language here than that!" he said
to Dot with his delightful French accent, before turning to me.  "Bonjour
M. Stewart. Accueillez en arrière."

"Le merci Marcel," I replied.

"Que puis-je vous offrir pour boire?"

"Nous aurons quatre Couronne Lagers pour commencer et un sherry de crème
pour Mme. Hill. Et une bouteille de Bouchard Aine et de Fils Bourg pour
partager, s'il vous plaît."

"Très bon, monsieur," Marcel replied, before bowing and heading to the bar.

"So you can quote the Bible, and you can speak French?" Frank asked,
slightly bemused.

"He's just showing off!" mocked Scott.  "That was just a whole lot of
swearing in French, Dad.  True!"

Marcel returned and was pouring the beers when I said, "Scott a un très
petit pénis, Marcel!"

Marcel grinned and played along.  Looking at Scott sympathetically and
said, "Surely it cannot be that small, no?"

Scott's eyes narrowed.  "Hey!" he said.  "What did he just say?  What's
small?"

"I cannot tell you, as you do not speak French monsieur," Marcel replied
before darting off back to the bar.

"I really don't know what to order," said Dot, steering the conversation to
safer ground, even though she didn't realise we'd been talking about
Scott's penis.  "I don't know what half these things are."

"Neither do I," added Frank.  "What's Meuniere?"

"It's French for Miller's Wife," I smiled.  "It's used to describe fish
that's been dipped in milk and then flour before being sautéed."

"Well why don't they just say so?" he said, scratching his head.

"To make it easier, would you like me to order for everyone?  That way you
can taste a few good dishes."

"That sounds like an excellent idea Mike," Dot said, clearly pleased she
didn't have to ask any embarrassing questions.  "This is really very good
of you."

I signalled for Marcel and ordered some starter dishes - Sugar cured salmon
with herb & shallot mascarpone and toasted brioche, prawns sautéed in
garlic butter, courgette flowers grilled with goat's cheese and tomato, and
roast portobello mushroom.

To follow, I ordered a fish fillet Meuniere with almonds and green beans,
coq au vin with shallots, mushroom and bacon, a roast lamb rack with
creamed spinach and olives, and grilled sirloin steak with buttered baby
carrots, rosemary potatoes and fried onions.

The entrees passed muster with the Hills, but there was some disbelief on
Frank's face when he saw the size of the main courses.  "Where's the rest
of it?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"That's it, Dad," Lachlan chuckled.  "It's the way they do it in France!"

"If you're still hungry Frank, we can order more!" I added.

"Crikey!" he spluttered.  "They're charging nearly 40 dollars for that bit
of steak!"

"Don't be rude Frank," Dot admonished. "It all looks very nice, Mike."

It was very nice, and the highlight for me was watching the expression on
Scott's face after he'd chewed his way through the accompaniments for the
portobello mushrooms.  "This chicken's a bit tough," he grumbled.

"Um, Scott," I grinned.  "They'd be snails!"

It took less than three seconds for him to start spitting escargot and
garlic into his starched white napkin!

**********

All the way home in the car, Frank lectured me on wasting my money on fancy
French food "when George could make most of that stuff for a quarter of the
price".  And in turn, Dot lectured Frank on his lack of gratitude and good
manners, and thanked me again for treating them to fine dining.  The
bantering didn't stop until I pulled up in the driveway and thankfully,
minutes later, George was the one getting an ear bashing about the fancy
food and the poncey waiter.

I took a call from Ty just after he'd finished sound check, and he sounded
pleased and enthusiastic about the way the day was panning out.

"What are you going to sing?" I asked.

"Still not sure.  I sang `Love On The Rocks' for the sound check because
I'll do that for sure.  And I'll do `Angels On High' as well.  But there's
a couple of other songs I'm just not sure about.  I need to think about it
a bit more.  But I was thinking of ending the whole thing with everyone on
stage doing `Give Peace A Chance'.  What do you think?  Too hippie?"

"Nah, I reckon it's a great choice, mate," I enthused.  "Very fitting for
the occasion."

"Great.  I hope Lachie likes it."

"He'll love it, mate," I assured him.  "Whatever you do will make him
happy."

Dot and Frank, not used to eating a two-course meal in the middle of the
day, retired to the couch and watched one of the afternoon game shows on
TV, while Scott and I shot a couple of games of pool.  At five, George
announced that a light dinner was ready and I wondered to myself whether we
were all too full to even think about it.  I should have known Hill Sr. and
two Hill Jrs. would be at the feeding trough before George had even made it
back to the kitchen.

By 5.30, three large pizzas had been demolished; by six, I was reversing
out of the driveway, leaving George to the thankless task of cleaning up
after us.  Dorothy fussed about seating arrangements, putting Lachlan in
the front with me "where nobody's bumping him" and Scott in the back
between her and Frank, "where I can keep an eye on him."

By the time we arrived at Acer Arena, I was glad to be getting out of the
car.  Ty had arranged parking for me outside the stage door, so there was
no long walk involved for his parents.  Inside the venue, Ty's parents and
brothers were escorted to the bar while I ducked into the backstage area to
look for my guy.  I found him deep in conversation with Jimmy Barnes, one
of my childhood heroes.

"Mate!" he beamed when he saw me.  "Come on over.  Jimmy, this is my lawyer
Mike Stewart.  Mike, Jimmy!"

We shook hands.  "It was Mike who pulled a lot of this together," Ty said
proudly.

"Well you've done a mighty job," grinned the swarthy Scotsman.  "Ay, it's
gonna be a fantastic night!"

I thanked him and then let Ty know that the Hills were in the house.
"They're still going on about the bloody cost of lunch," I grimaced.

"Yeah, lesson number one, mate," Ty grinned.  "When you take `em out, ask
for the menu without the prices!"

"I'm thinking I'll take them over to The Brewery at the Novotel for a
drink, fill in an hour or so," I suggested.

"No, it'll be packed and it can be pretty noisy," Ty replied.  "Tell you
what, why not take them back to my dressing room?  I'll get the catering
people to swing by with some cheese and fruit platters and you can order
what you like to drink?"

"Great idea," I agreed.  "Better get some Access All Areas laminates for
them though.  Don't want `em being frog-marched out by security!"

With that, Ty called a stage hand over and within a minute or two, I had
five laminates that would allow us all to roam wherever we liked.

I wandered back to Ty's family and directed them through the maze of
backstage corridors to Ty's dressing room where sure enough, catering staff
were setting up a small table with plates of cheese, fresh fruit, cold
meats and sliced breadstick.

I wanted the ground to swallow me when Frank whispered, not softly enough,
"Tyson doesn't have to pay for this, does he?"

I whispered back, "It's called a `backstage rider', Frank!  There's always
catering on a tour, and it becomes a `tour expense', so it's tax
deductable.  The food's already here and if we don't eat it, it'll be
chucked out and the promoter will still have to pay for it.  So you may as
well eat whatever you can!"

A waiter took our drinks order -- four beers and a cup of tea -- and as
soon as he'd disappeared, more catering staff arrived to set up Ty's rider.
Although I'd seen all the contracts for his tours, I'd never seen the
schedule with his dressing room rider.  He'd ordered masses of fresh fruit,
a small plate of raw vegetables and a bain- marie of steamed greens --
everything from courgette, broccoli and beans, to cabbage, Bok Choy and
asparagus.  Accompanying it were small bottles of imported olive oils,
bottles of room temperature spring water, a small urn with boiling water
for making tea, assorted tea bags, milk, sugar and honey.  For beverages,
there were 12 Crown Lagers, 2 bottles of Crittenden Estate 'Zumma' 2007
pinot noir, and 2 bottles of Coldstream Hills chardonnay, the latter almost
certainly ordered for me!

Frank, Lachlan and Scott made quick work of the cheeses, breads and fruits.
They must have been starving -- it was at least an hour since they'd
demolished three pizzas!  Attentive catering staff kept the drinks
refreshed and without being asked, continually replenished the food
platters, not realising they were creating a Hill family conveyor belt.

As they left the room, Ty walked in carrying a pile of running sheets.  He
made straight for his Mum and kissed her, and then worked the circle of
chairs, kissing Frank, me, Lachlan and Scott.  He flopped down on the chair
in front of his dressing table space and was about to speak when Monique
stuck her head in the door.

"Hi everyone!" she beamed to the room.  Turning to Ty she held up her
fingers and said, "10 minutes til news, OK?"

Ty nodded.  "Yeah, OK".

In walked a girl with a small tray of cosmetics.  She smiled at us and said
`hi' as she whipped a towel around Ty's shoulders, spun him around in his
chair and flicked on the lights surrounding his mirror.  As he blinked, she
began making him up.

"I didn't know you wore makeup!" Frank said, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I don't usually Dad!" he laughed.  "Channel Ten has a news crew here and
they're doing a quick live cross from here for the TV news, me talking
about the concert and what it's all about.  And under those lights,
apparently I shine!  So they have to make me look pretty!"

Scott smirked.  "Which night's news is it for then?" he giggled.

"Asshole!" retorted Ty, sneering at his brother in the mirror.

"Tyson!"

"Sorry Mum!"

Monique reappeared, looked Ty over and said, "Looking good!  You ready to
roll?  It's one cameraman and a reporter.  They'll ask you why you're doing
a benefit for your brother's mates' families, how you got the other stars
on board, and what you'll be singing.  You good with that?"

Ty nodded.  "But I don't want to say too much about what I'm singing
because I haven't finalised it all in my head yet."

"Well they'll probably put you on the spot to sing something `a cappella'
to the camera," Monique replied.  "Just go with one of the hits, something
you know you'll be singing.  Cool?"

"Yeah.  I'll do a chorus of `Angels On High'."

As they left the room, Ty turned and bowed majestically to us.  "I'm sorry
to leave you, but my public awaits!"

"Wanker!" mumbled Scott.  He was bracing himself for the "Sorry Mum" that
he knew would follow Dot's reprimand, but Frank cut her off.

"You got that right!" he grinned.

**********

It took us a while to be seated in the arena, such was the size of the
sellout crowd.  While Lachlan and Scott bantered and Dot and Frank perused
the brochure they'd been given about Lieutenant Matthew Burgess and Private
Rodney Maguire, I looked around and started doing some rough calculations.
A full house.  21,000 bums on seats, almost all of them paying $130 a head.
So, a cool $2.7 million in box office.  Less venue costs, staff,
production, staging and ticket commissions.  They'd be looking at maybe $2
million for the families.

My mental arithmetic stopped when the house lights went down, and for a
short time there was just vision on the large screens of Lachlan's mates,
Matt and Rod; old home movies that Ty had sourced from their families,
along with a montage of still shots of them, in the service and at home
with their loved ones.  The accompanying music started soft and slow but
built to an incessant gospel beat and then all of a sudden the stage was a
blaze of light and on walked Ty, singing "Angels On High".  At the end of
the first verse, more lights flooded the back section of the stage,
illuminating a gospel choir who brought the chorus to a crescendo and the
audience to fever pitch.

When the ovation had died down, Ty stood centre stage in front of a stand
mike.  He thanked the audience for the applause and for the support they
were showing the families of two extraordinary men.  He then launched into
a heartfelt speech about Matthew Burgess and Rodney Maguire, and the
ultimate sacrifice they had made for their country.  In salute to them, he
performed an astonishing version of the song he'd sung at their funerals,
"Heaven Was Needing A Hero".  There wasn't a dry-eye anywhere to my right,
and I dared not look behind to where I knew Matt and Rod's families were
sitting.

Lachlan had his head in his hands and was visibly weeping, and Scott --
who minutes before had been Lachlan's annoying kid brother -- had his
arms around him and was rubbing the top of his head on his brother's cheek.

When the sustained applause had died down, Ty launched into a medley of
hits from both his albums, before leaving the stage to Angus and Julia
Stone.  They were followed by Birds Of Tokyo, and a set from DJ Havana
Brown to the break.

After interval, Kasey Chambers enthralled the audience with her hits and
moved us all with her version of "True Colours" as more footage of Matt and
Rod was screened.  She left the stage to Jimmy Barnes, who changed the pace
with a blistering set of his biggest hits, the audience on their feet and
raising the roof.

At the end of "River Deep Mountain High", Jimmy took what we thought were
final bows, but he stayed on stage until the clapping had completely died.

"You know," he told the audience, "I only found out recently that back in
1987, there was this geeky little 10- year old tike in a funny place called
Stanthorpe who was impersonating me in front of his bedroom mirror ..."

A light fell to side stage and Ty walked on to rapturous applause, took a
bow and -- in exaggerated style -- did his best "Jimmy Barnes" on the
chorus of "Ride The Night Away".

As the applause died, Ty said, "It's taken 20 years but finally I get the
chance to sing with the master!"

More applause and cheering.  "So what're we gonna sing?" Jimmy asked.

Ty scratched his chin with his fingers.  "Just one song, eh?" he mused.
"Tough choice.  But I always wanted to have a go at this.  Used to sing it
into Mum's hairbrush!"

With that, he started singing, "When something is wrong with my baby,
something is wrong with me ..."

He was joined by Jimmy in a gut-wrenching version of the old Sam & Dave
classic and the reaction that followed was overwhelming; a full house on
its feet, clapping and stamping.

Jimmy and Ty took several prolonged bows before Jimmy left the stage,
waving.  When order was restored, Ty walked to a side stage stool and sat,
lit by a simple spotlight.

"Any idea what it feels like to sing a legendary classic with your
legendary hero?" he asked, his face barely disguising his elation.

He let the roar subside before continued.  "When I thought about that song
today, I thought what I maybe should have been singing was ... `when
something is wrong with my brother, something is wrong with me ...'.  It
made me think again about my brother Lachlan, who is also a casualty of
this war.  By God's grace, he didn't die like his two heroic mates Matt
Burgess and Rod Maguire, but my brother lives every day now with the
physical and mental scars of war, and yet with gratitude in his heart for
the privilege of being able to call Matt and Rod his mates.  `Heaven Was
Needing A Hero' was for Matt and Rod and their beautiful families.  This
one's for you, brother ..."

I was completely gone by the time Ty opened his mouth and began,
unaccompanied ... "The road is long, with many a winding turn, that leads
us to who knows where?/Who knows when?/But I'm strong/Strong enough to
carry him/He ain't heavy, he's my brother ..."

A smattering of random voices singing along triggered an onslaught from the
audience, and the Acer Arena sounded like a mass choir as Ty lead them
through to the finale, "So on we go/his welfare is my concern/No burden is
he to bear/We'll get there/For I know/He would not encumber me/He ain't
heavy, he's my brother ..."

Ty left the stage to a tumultuous reaction and didn't return for bows.  The
applause eventually turned to slow clapping and before long the stage began
to fill with all the evening's performers, Ty and Jimmy Barnes entering
last.

They all joined hands as the screens once again filled with images of Matt
and Rod and this time, Lachlan, and together they sang "Give Peace A
Chance".  Ty broke from the pack and prowled the front of the stage, urging
the audience to stand and join them all.  By the finale, the entire venue
was singing as one, "all we are saying, is give peace a chance ..."

I lost count of call-backs before the house lights went up and the now
wired audience reluctantly trudged towards the exits.  Backstage was a blur
of performers, stage hands, sound and lighting guys and catering girls
running around like ants.  By the time we reached Ty's dressing room, he
was stripped, wearing a bathrobe and sipping a beer.  As soon as the door
opened, he was set upon by Lachlan, who grabbed him in a bear hug and
sobbed into his shoulder, "Mate, I fuckin' love you so much!"

For once, there was no "Lachlan!" from Dot, who clearly knew when to leave
a tender moment alone.  The two older Hill boys embraced for a while before
Lachlan, without raising his head, stretched out his arm in our general
direction and with no need of encouragement, Scott scampered into their
clinch.  Three loving brothers, united in grief and glory.  Nothing was
said as they hugged, and I was surprised and touched when Scott reached out
an arm and beckoned me to join them.  For just a moment, I got to feel the
intimacy that these three extraordinary brothers shared.

Mum and Dad Hill got a hug too before the doors opened again and Ty's
dressing room was awash with fellow performers, well-wishers and Matt and
Rod's families.  It was a long, long night but we finally made it home at
around two in the morning, and Ty was still on a high.

George had long ago turned in for the night, and Dot and Frank bowed out
quickly, but we four boys partied on in Lachlan's room, drinking toasts to
his fallen comrades.  By three, Ty and was in bed with Lachlan, and by
3.30, Scott was snoring lightly on the floor.  I finally left them and made
my way to my own bed somewhere around four.

**********

My head was hurting and my mouth tasted like the bottom of a birdcage when
I groaned and rolled over.  I opened one eye and looked at the clock; it
was 8.20am, much later than I normally slept.  As I tried to piece together
the events of the previous night, or more to the point, earlier this
morning, I rolled over and spooned with Ty.

I recalled the several Tequila slammers we guys had had to toast the
success of the benefit concert.  One too many for me I'm afraid.  I
snuggled into Ty's back and as I felt myself drifting off again, my hand
ran down the side of my guy's sleeping form.  When I got as far as his ass,
I realised I'd encountered cotton boxer shorts, and my eyes flew open; Ty
never wears anything in bed!  Jesus Christ!  I sat bolt upright just as
Scott turned over and sat up.

"Were you feeling me up?" he asked sleepily, looking at me suspiciously.

"I thought you were Ty!" I shot back lamely.

"Yeah sure," he said.  "You were copping a feel of my ass!"

"I was not!  What are you doing in my bed anyway?" I asked, rubbing my
eyes.

Scott was about to answer when we both noticed Frank standing in the
doorway.  "Good question," he said with no real hint of concern in his
voice.  "What exactly are you doing in Mike's bed, Scott?"

"I wanted to sleep with Lachie, Dad," Scott started explaining.  "But Ty
was in there and he was taking up all the space.  I feel asleep on the
floor in Lachie's room and when I woke up they were asleep and Mike had
gone.  So I just came in here to crash."

I was relieved when George appeared in the doorway carrying a tray with
much needed breakfast and coffee.  He took the scene before him in his
stride as he placed the tray on the end of the bed.  "I'm not even going to
ask," he deadpanned.  "And it's probably best for your health that you
don't either, Frank," he added as he left the room.

Scott got up and headed to the bathroom.  "I gotta piss," he said by way of
explanation to his father.

"Aren't they Lachlan's boxers and dog tags?" Frank asked.

"Yeah, he gave them to me," Scott called out as he took a leak.  "At least
I wear stuff to bed," he added.  "Mike doesn't!"

Frank looked back at me and I shrugged.  Just then, Ty and Lachlan turned
up.  "Hey Dad!" Ty chirped as he sailed past his father and slipped into
bed next to me in the space Scott had just vacated.

"I feel like shit!" Lachlan announced as he leaned in the doorway next to
his father, scratching his balls through his boxer shorts.  "Those Tequila
slammers are nasty!"

Scott flushed the toilet and wandered back into the room.  "Hey, move your
ass Ty!  That's where I was sleeping!"

"`Was' being the operative word, asshole!" Ty shot back.  "You've got your
own room."

"OK, enough!" Frank announced, holding up one hand in the `halt' position.
"This is like a scene from `Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice'.  Only there are no
girls ..."

"Who are `Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice'?" Scott asked.

"No idea," said Ty.  Lachlan shrugged.  Frank looked at me.  "Late Sixties
movie with Natalie Wood and Elliot Gould," I explained.  "It was a comedy
drama about `swinging' and it pushed some boundaries back then."

"Ew," said Scott.  "That's weird!"

"Yes, I suppose it would be" agreed Frank, "because of course, nothing
weird goes on in this house ... "

Scott was about to keep the repartee going when his eyes shifted to
Lachlan.  "Hey guys!" he laughed.  "Lachie's got wood!"

Lachlan's hands immediately fell to cover the front of his boxers.  "Fuck
off, Scott!" he grumbled, embarrassed.

"God Almighty Lachlan, you still can't keep that thing under control?"
Frank chided.

"It's not my fault, Dad!" Lachlan whined.  "It's been hard lately ..."

Lachlan realised his faux pas just as we did and we all convulsed, Frank
included.

"OK boys," he said, once he'd composed himself.  "We're heading to the
airport in just over an hour.  I want you all showered and dressed and
ready to say goodbye in 30 minutes.  And please keep the swearing to a
minimum so I don't have your Mother on at me all the way home about your
language."

"Yeah, sorry Dad," Scott grinned.  "It's all's Mike's fault. He's the one
with the fucking dirty mouth!"

"I think someone's just asking for a spanking," Frank replied.

"Allow me," I interjecting, reaching out and pulling Scott across my lap.
Given the squirming that ensured, I was lucky to manage three hard swats on
Scott's ass before he sprang from the bed and headed out the door.

"Hey, looks like someone else is sporting wood!" I called after him.

"Jesus wept!" Frank chuckled, shaking his head as he walked back to the
lounge room.

"John 11:35 in the King James version of the Bible," I called after him.

I heard a chuckle.  "Correct!  The death of Lazarus ..."

**********

Given the fact the benefit concert was held on a Sunday night and that the
next day would see Ty with one of his few days off before his tour resumed
in Canberra, and that his parents were returning to the farm in Stanthorpe,
I had pre-arranged a day off.  I knew it wasn't going to be a typical `hang
loose' kind of Monday, but I wanted to spend whatever time I could with Ty,
and I also wanted to say goodbye to his parents whom I'd become so attached
to in the short time since I had unexpectedly dropped in on their lives.

As I stood under the shower, absent-mindedly watching Ty towel-dry his
perfect body, my mind wandered to the events of the past few weeks.  How
close we'd come to losing Lachlan.  How near-tragedy had forced Ty to out
himself to his parents and how gracious they'd been in overcoming their
shock and accepting me and my relationship with their first son.

We dressed and joined brothers two and three on the kitchen balcony, for a
parting cup of tea and cake with their parents.  Of course, there was much
instruction from Dot.  "Tyson, make sure you have early nights from now on.
You look tired.  You need your sleep" ... "Scott, don't annoy Lachlan.  He
needs to get well And don't drink too much!" ... "Mike, you call me if
there's any trouble.  I can come down and help at any time."

Dot's concerns were allayed each time by our reassurance that everything
was under control and that we wouldn't hesitate to call if there was
anything she could do to help.

Two events -- within two hours of each other on this day -- will stay
in mind always as pivotal moments in my life with Ty.  The first was when
Frank and Dot were preparing to leave.  Dot fussed in her handbag and
pulled out a cheap, disposable camera.

"I want a picture before I go," she announced.  "I want to have a photo of
family all together because Heaven only knows when we'll get this chance
again.  Quickly boys, stand next to Dad!"

I looked on with a big smile on my face as the Hill men gathered, while Dot
framed the shot.  She moved the camera away from her face and said, "Quick
Mike, jump in between Frank and Lachlan."

I'm sure my face reddened.  "No Dot," I said.  "It's a family shot."

"That's right, dear.  And you're part of the family.  Now quickly, the
cab's waiting."

I can't quite explain what it meant when Frank suddenly held out his arm to
me, and Lachlan shuffled sideways, leaving room for me to jump in between
him and his Dad.  That photo will be one of my life's great treasures.

Two hours later, after Lachlan had undergone his dreaded sponge bath at the
hands of militant George, and Scott and Ty had played two games of pool,
George announced that lunch would be in 10 minutes.  I was just about to
sit at the balcony table for the family meal when George whispered in my
ear that Ty wanted to meet me on the beach for a private conversation.

I looked at him in bewilderment.  "Why?" I asked.  "What's wrong?"

"No idea, sir," George replied solemnly.  "It doesn't sound good though, if
you ask me."

"Why?  Has he said something?  Is something worrying him?"

"No idea, sir," George repeatedly.  "But it's not like him ..."

Did he smirk as I headed for the balcony stairs?  Hard to tell.  I walked
along the beach towards Ty, who was sitting on a towel with his knees under
his chin, a way in the distance.  Only when I got closer did I notice the
picnic basket, although my mind was elsewhere.

"Hey mate!" I managed as I sat down next to him on the towel.

"Hey," he replied.  "We need to talk."

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" he asked, trying to look shocked.  "You need to ask what's
wrong?  Seriously?"

I was at a loss.  "Don't play games, Ty.  Please.  What's wrong?"

"What's wrong," he began, "is that lately it's all been about me and my
family.  Lachie, the tour, Mum and Dad, Scott.  And you just keep taking it
in your stride ..."

"Mate," I interrupted.  "I love your family and ..."

Ty interrupted my interruption.  "I keep overlooking what you do, how you
just deal with all this shit," he said.  "So I thought I'd take a minute
and remind you how much I love you."

OK, yes.  I melted.  Who wouldn't?  As I blinked back what were threatening
to be tears, Ty opened his George-arranged picnic basket and unpacked two
chicken and avocado wraps, a bowl of potato crisps, some cheeses, grapes
and dried fruits, and a chilled bottle of Coldstream Hills.  Pouring two
glasses, he leaned in and kissed me as he handed me mine.  "Thank you,
mate," he whispered, clinking my glass.  "I couldn't do any of this without
you."

We ate our wraps and drank our wine, discussed the weeks ahead and touched
foreheads for a while until, when the basket was empty, we lay back on the
sand.  Ty raised himself up, leaned over and kissed me softly.  That first
peck led us to a pash session that only ended when we both noticed George,
from the corner of our eyes, trudging towards us with what appeared to be
an ice bucket.

As he got closer, Ty called out, "We've had lunch, George.  Is everything
OK?"

A breathless George replied, "Yes, Mr Hill.  But your brothers have been
watching you from the balcony and they asked me to deliver something to you
and Mr. Stewart."

"Hey, cool!" Ty grinned.  "French champagne?"

With that, George upended a bucket of iced water over Ty and me.  In shock
and soaked to the skin, Ty leapt to his feet and yelled towards the balcony
where Lachlan and Scott were in convulsions, "You fuckin' assholes!  I am
so gonna get you, you fuckers!"

**********

The house seemed suddenly empty once Dot and Frank had left to return to
the farm and Vince had picked Ty up for his flight to Canberra for the
resumption of his tour.  Lachlan, Scott and George were still in residence,
but our mornings and evenings were much quieter.  My life gradually
returned to normal, and I divided my time between seeing clients in the
office and working from home so that I could ferry Lachlan backwards and
forwards to the Prince Of Wales for his ongoing physio treatment.

He and Scott fell into a pattern with feeding and toileting requirements,
but it was still poor George who was faced with the challenge of the sponge
bath.  It came to a head one morning after breakfast when I was flicking
through some depositions from the office.  George emerged from Lachlan's
bedroom carrying his plastic wash basin, flannels and shaving equipment,
and looking clearly exasperated.

"Is everything alright, George?" I asked.

"He's in a state again, sir!" George responded, sounding agitated.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sir," George continued, lowering his voice.  "He embarrassed and
upset again because, well you know, sir.  It keeps happening?"

"What keeps happening George?" I asked, although fairly sure I knew what
George was referring to.

"Every time I give him a bath, he ... well, he gets an erection, sir,"
George whispered.

Despite myself, I had to chuckle.  "That's been happening since he was in
hospital, George," I smiled.  "Think about it.  He doesn't have a
girlfriend, and he's a healthy, red-blooded man.  He's spent several weeks
in hospital with his hands bandaged.  It's obviously been quite a while
..."

"I understand that, sir," George responded.  "And I feel very sorry for
him.  But it embarrasses him and it embarrasses me, and there's no
solution.  It's even starting to happen now when I, um, hold him while he's
using the bottle.  And then he can't urinate."

"Well George," I sympathised, trying not to show my amusement.  "It's all
over now for another 24 hours.  If he needs the toilet before tomorrow
morning, Scott's here to help him."

"Very good, sir," George sighed.  "I'll get lunch underway."

"George?" I called after him.

"Yes sir?"

"Make sure you wash your hands thoroughly!"

"Very funny sir," George replied with what I hoped was a little humour in
his voice.

While George busied himself in the kitchen, I pondered Lachlan's plight.  I
could see the funny side of it, of course; horny guy in his sexual prime,
unable to satisfy his urges and almost climbing the walls.  But I was
starting to grasp the downside of it for Lachlan, the humiliation he felt
at exposing himself -- and his unfulfilled needs -- to nurses, doctors,
his brother and George.

For some reason, the thought pattern led me to think of Rhys, one of my
junior partner colleagues at work.  Rhys was also a strapping, red-blooded
Aussie male about the same age as Lachlan, but his fierce ambition left him
no time for socialising, let alone a girlfriend.  We'd talked about it a
few times over the past couple of years, and I always expressed mock shock
when he explained that once or twice a week, he'd avail himself of the
services of one of Sydney's many upmarket massage parlours, where pretty
ladies soothed away the aches and pains of the working week and, for a few
dollars more, relieved his sexual tension as well.

Rhys had it all figured out.  Having a girlfriend would require too much of
his time, and a visit to one of his favourite masseuses was less expensive
than a romantic dinner for two.  Twice a week he got to lose his load and
for the rest of the week, he could devote his time and energy to climbing
the corporate ladder.  For him, it made perfect sense, and thinking it
over, it was starting to make sense to me.

I wondered? ...

**********

"Hi Rhys!  Mike Stewart ..." I spoke down the line.

"Hey Mikey!  How're they hangin'?"

"Loose and full of juice mate!" I chuckled.

"What can I do for you?"

"Need a bit of help, mate," I replied.

"A client?"

"Nah, this one's personal."

"Cool," he responded.  "Shoot."

"Well, you know how you sometimes visit one of those places in Double Bay
for a little, um, relaxation?"

He laughed.  "Yeah, like twice a week!  Three if it's been a stressful one
..."

"Yeah, well I kind of need you to make an introduction for me ..."

"Seriously, mate? You're crossing the floor on this one and looking for a
little `lady lovin'? ..."

"Wash your mouth out!" I chuckled.  "It's for ... er, a mate."

"And what?  This `mate' can't organise a rub `n tug by himself?"

"It's like this," I began, and without identifying him, went on to explain
Lachlan's circumstances.

"Poor bastard," Rhys sympathised.  "God, if I couldn't empty my balls for
three months I think I'd explode!"

"Well, that's the stage this guy's at," I replied.

"So, what do you think he'd like?  A blonde, a brunette, a redhead?  Big
tits or small tits?  Any kind of fantasy -- a nurse, a maid, a police
woman?  What's his poison - a handjob, a blow job or the full service?"

"Jesus," I laughed.  "What a strange world you straight guys live in!"

"Come off it Mike!  I'm sure gay masseurs offer all the same options, only
they'd be asking if you want a cowboy, a biker or a muscle Mary."

"Yeah, if you were rich enough you'd just hire the Village People!" I
laughed.  "To answer your question, I don't know.  His ex-fiancee was a
brunette, so I guess he likes brunettes.  And nothing too over the top.
Just a nice girl who knows how to give a massage and can work out for
herself how best to end it for him ..."

"Leave it with me, Mike," he said.  "I'll make a call and ring ya back."

"Thanks mate!"

I'd only had time to make a cup of tea when my mobile rang and Rhys was in
my ear, telling me it was "all sorted".

"All you've gotta do is ring `Mrs Archer"," he enthused.  "I spoke to her
and filled her in.  We talked about it and thought maybe Ellie would be the
best choice for your mate.  She's 24, gorgeous looking, nice breasts and
best of all, she's a qualified masseuse.  Most of `em aren't.  She'll only
do hand jobs though."

"Well she sounds pretty good to me," I said.  "Not that I know about this
stuff."

Rhys laughed.  "You'll pay one inclusive price - $150 -- and for that,
your mate can have a happy ending!"  He lowered his voice and continued, "I
had Ellie once and mate, she knows her stuff!  Once she wraps her hand
around his cock, he'll be a happy boy!"

"Hey Rhys, thanks," I said, writing down the number for `Mrs Archer'.  "I
owe you one!"

"You sure do, mate," he cackled.  "If I ever feel like I need to get my ass
plugged by some big burly gym bunny, I'll call you for an introduction ..."

"Mate," I laughed.  "It would be my pleasure!  Seriously! ..."

With George still fussing in the kitchen and Scott still fussing in the
bathroom, I made a quick call to `Mrs Archer'.  I started explaining who I
was but she cut me off.

"I know all about you, honey," she said in an amused tone.  "And your mate
filled me in on your buddy's predicament.  What do you think about Ellie?"

"Well, she sounds good to me," I replied.  "I don't exactly know my mate's
taste though ..."

"What's your email addy?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your email address, honey!  I'll email you a photo of Ellie."

I told her my email address and heard the `ping' as it left her outbox.
Seconds later, I heard the arrival `ping' as it found its way into my
Inbox.  I walked over to my laptop, activated the sleeping screen and
opened the email.  Ellie was ... well, gorgeous.  For a girl.  Long dark
hair, a sweet smile, well dressed and groomed, with minimal but effective
makeup.

"She's beautiful!" I said.

"She is, honey," Mrs Archer replied.  "She's in her final year at Uni
studying agricultural science.  Working for me helps her stay in Sydney to
study.  I'll be sorry to lose her at the end of this year when she
graduates."

"So what happens now?" I asked.  "How do I arrange it?"

"OK, honey," Mrs Archer replied.  "When do you want to book her?"

I thought for a moment.  "Tomorrow's Saturday," I said, thinking aloud.
"Maybe early afternoon tomorrow, if that's not too soon?"

"Nope, that's fine," she replied.  "It's $150 cash for the hour, regardless
of whether there's more than a massage or not.  You got that?"

"Yes, thank you."

"And honey, she only uses her hands, if you know what I mean.  Nothing
more.  She's a masseuse, and she uses her hands to bring the client
pleasure.  So make sure your buddy doesn't expect any more than that.  She
gets paid as soon as she arrives, and she leaves at the end of the hour.
She calls me as soon as she's finished with the client."

"Got it," I smiled.  "And do I need to pay for a cab?"

"No honey," she chuckled.  "Ellie's got her own car.  So we'll say 1pm?
All I need is an address, and your mobile number."

The arrangement complete, I sat and wondered for a while whether I'd done
the right thing?  When George came in carrying a glass of wine for me and a
plate of biscuits and cheese, I took him into my confidence, hoping he'd
reassure me that I wasn't overstepping a line.

"Thank God for that, sir!" he laughed when I'd filled him in.  "It's just
what he needs!  If he likes her, maybe she can come every day!"

"Careful what you wish for, George!" I smirked.  "She might be angling for
your job!"

"She might be good at getting Lachlan to `rise', sir," he shot back, "but
nobody gets cheese soufflé to rise like I do.  And come the crunch, food
will always win with the Hill boys!"

"Yes, George," I sighed.  "You've got a point.  And speaking of food, I
think I can hear Scott's stomach rumbling from here.  What's for lunch?
..."

**********

Early on Saturday morning, Scott joined me for a long walk along the beach
with Scruffy.  I was touched by the way Scott seemed to pick up on the
emptiness I felt when Ty was away from me.  For a young guy who never
passed up the opportunity to exploit an Achilles heel, he generously
indulged my melancholy.

"I don't think I could ever be a male nurse," Scott said out of the blue,
mentally crossing a future career path off the list.

"Why's that?" I asked, wondering if I'd regret the question.

"You've gotta help people piss," he sighed.  "Like with Lachie.  I mean,
it's gross.  And when he throws a bone, it's too big to even fit in the
piss bottle!"

"Too much information!" I chuckled.

"Well I can't wait for him to get those fucking bandages removed," Scott
shot back.  "The sooner he has a wank, the safer it's gonna be for any of
us to go anywhere near him!"

We sat on the sand while Scruffy chased seagulls and pissed on bushes.  I
thought about Ellie's impending visit and realised that as Scott was likely
to be at home, I should let him know what was happening.  I filled him in
on the fact that I'd organised a masseuse for Lachlan for 1pm.

"Like, for a massage?" Scott asked.

"No, she's coming to install a vending machine in Lachlan's bedroom so all
he has to do when he's hungry is punch a button and food comes flying out!"

"Why does he need a massage?  It's his hands that are out of action."

Ah, so pretty yet so dim!

"He's been in bed for weeks on end, so his muscles probably need a bit of
loosening," I explained, trying not to laugh.  "And the best way to loosen
stiff muscles is to massage them.  So you hire a massage therapist.

Scott grinned.  "Well that'll be a waste of money," he laughed.  "Lachlan's
only got one muscle that gets really stiff, and it's not one you see on one
of those wall charts that show the muscle groups in the doctor's surgery!"

"When you're a hotshot lawyer and you know your way around the traps," I
smirked, "you hire a masseuse who will take care of all the stiff
muscles. Every last one of them!  Are you fucking thick, or something?"

Scott's eyes widened.  "You mean Lachie's getting a handjob?"

"Oh welcome to the Big Picture, Mr. Einstein, sir!"

"Fuck!" he chortled.  "Can I watch?"

"No, you can't, you fucking little pervert!" I chuckled.  "And don't be an
asshole about it.  Let him have his moment."

"He's so ready for action, it will only be a moment!" Scott guffawed,
before rolling back in the sand and kicking his legs.

For some reason his laughter took me back to our first encounter at Grand
Apartments, and how his happy nature had attracted me, and had made me want
him.  If it wasn't for Scott, I wouldn't have met the first true love of my
life, his oldest brother.  I didn't think about it as I leaned over him on
the sand.  I held him by the hair on the back of his head and drew him face
to face with me.

"Don't take this the wrong way, mate," I grinned.  "But I fuckin' love
you!"

"Really?" he grinned back.  "This is gonna be a nasty shock for Mum and Dad
..."

I laughed and smacked him across the side of the head.  "I love you because
you introduced me to your brother, and I found what I've been looking for,
all my life," I said.  "And you make me laugh, even though you're mostly an
asshole!"

"Hey, that's kinda sweet!" Scott replied.  "I kinda figured you had the
hots for me, the way you were trying to cop a feel the morning after the
tribute concert!"

I slapped him lightly on the back of the head as I stood up.  "We'd better
get back to the house. George will have breakfast ready and he'll be snippy
if anything goes cold."

As Scott shook the sand from his towel, he asked, "Do you love me as much
as you love Ty?"

I laughed.  "Are you insane?" I asked.  "You're just sweet, lovable Scott.
With your brother, it's, well ..."

I started to sing "I've got sunshine on a cloudy day, when it's cold
outside I've got the month of May, I guess you'd say, what can make me feel
this way?, my guy, talkin' 'bout my Ty ..."

Scott threw his towel around his shoulders, his hands over his ears, and
ran ahead of me in the sand screaming, "Mum! Dad!  I'm coming back to the
farm! ..."

********** Breakfast was served on the balcony and Lachlan joined us.  With
his hands still bandaged, Scott hand fed him scrambled eggs and toast, and
managed to serve him orange juice without spilling any in his lap.  When
Scott left the table to take a call from his Mum, and George was busying
replenishing the drinks, I took a moment to casually mention to Lachlan
that I'd organised someone to massage him at 1pm.

"Hey, that'd be great!" he smiled.  "Thanks mate.  I've been feeling a bit
stiff."

I had to stifle my laugh.  When Scott and George returned, I suggested that
Lachlan could do with some exercise after being confined to bed for most of
his days, and that Scott would take a long walk along the beach with him.
George would get the weekend washing underway and I was dispatched to pick
up some fresh bread rolls and supplies from the deli.

I wandered the crowded Double Bay shopping strip, picking up the items on
George's list, ending with a trip to the deli where I bought cheeses, pate
and dips.  I decided I'd have a coffee and read the paper before returning
home.  The deli was noisy and crowded with people doing the same as I was.
As I sipped, I noticed from the corner of my eye a couple, possibly in
their early 40s, who seemed to be looking at me and whispering.  I glanced
at them.  They looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place them.

Once they'd finished their coffees, I sensed them walking towards me.  When
they stopped at my table, I looked up.

"Mike isn't it?" the man said, offering me his hand for me to shake.

"Yes, Mike Stewart," I replied, shaking his hand but still not registering
who he was.

"Rob Miller," he prompted, "and this is Jill.  We're Simon's parents."

Of course!  I'd met them during our break on the Sunshine Coast.  "I'm
sorry, Rob," I said, trying not to look embarrassed.  "I wasn't thinking.
How are you both?"

"We're good, Mike," Rob replied.  "Actually it's an amazing coincidence
we've run into you.  We're only in Sydney for the weekend.  We thought you
lived in Melbourne?"

"I did," I replied.  "But I moved to Sydney for work when I got back from
the Sunshine Coast.  So how's Simon doing?"

"He's fine," said Jill, "but he's been frantically trying to get in touch
with your friend's brother Scott."

"They have each other's mobile numbers, don't they?" I asked, surprised.

"Well, they did.  But Simon went overseas when we got back from the Coast
and everything was fine until he got to New York.  He was mugged and they
took everything -- his wallet, his passport and his phone."

"That's awful," I said.  "But he's OK?"

"He was a bit shaken up, but he's alright," Rob said.  "We had a devil of a
job getting him back to Australia without his passport."

"And of course, without his phone, he'd lost all his contacts," Jill added.

Rob leaned in closer and whispered.  "We didn't know that Scott is Tyson
Hill's brother!"

"How did you find out?" I asked.

"Well, while we were trying to work out how to get Simon home, the news
broke about those soldiers killed in Afghanistan and how Tyson's brother
had been injured," Rob explained.  "Simon was frantically trying to get in
touch with Scott, but he couldn't.  He even tried to send a message through
Tyson's website, but all he could do was register for a monthly
newsletter!"

"So how is Tyson's brother?" Jill asked.  "There was a benefit concert,
wasn't there?"

"Yes, for the families of the two soldiers who died," I answered.  "Lachlan
is doing fine.  He's out of hospital and he's staying at Ty's house.
Scott's looking after him."

"Would it be alright for Simon to call Scott?" Rob asked hopefully.

"Of course," I assured him, scribbling Scott's mobile number on a piece of
torn newspaper.  "Scott would love to hear from him."

"Simon's got a new number now," said Rob, writing it down for me.

"So where's Simon now?" I asked.

"He's been in Queensland visiting friends, but he's actually flying into
Sydney today.  We're here for a family wedding later this afternoon."

"What's say I give him a call first?" I asked.  "Maybe I can arrange for
him to come over for lunch tomorrow, as a surprise for Scott?"

"Great idea, Mike!" Rob grinned.  "He'll be stoked.  We'd better get a move
on, though.  We're picking him up from the airport in less than an hour."

We shook hands again and I kissed Jill on the cheek.  I waved to them as
they left the deli, and smiled to myself.  Not only would Lachlan finally
be getting some welcome attention this afternoon, there was possible relief
in sight for Scott this weekend, too ...

**********
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