Levi 6

Winnebago, Winnebago1995, 123456, levi123456, fisher123456, qwertyuiop, asdfs, mnbv, fourteen, tawn, Tawn, Vietnam, taun, abc123, password, fuck#*me…

How do you spell Tuan anyway? If he could Google the damn name, then he would not be searching for Dr. Evil’s laptop password anyway. Catch 22, the cryptic phrase comes from somewhere in the before. His dad likes to say it, as if it explains some nonsense in the world. His fingers dance across the keyboard manic for another minute. A sort of sanity returns, and Fourteen’s head drops onto the glowing Apple keyboard.

Somewhere warmer, not, as Fiona would say. Fourteen carefully places the laptop back on the coffee table, positioning it just so. Levi’s Sharpie pen sat across the white apple in a particular way, clip to the left, cap away from the user. Fourteen SnapChatted that detail when he reached for the device. He thinks he left the pen as it was. Honestly, Levi probably set no traps. Why would he? Dr. Evil has Fourteen’s skinny king in check with the silver-queen reminder of Nguyen Huu Tuan. Was this pretty bauble once around the Vietnamese youth’s neck? Fourteen wonders, but it is the yes-no menace of it that preys upon his mind. That and the subtle, too familiar noises from the single bedroom in this posh Condo.

Not somewhere warmer, the view, driving in along the choppy lake, reminds Fourteen of Washington, DC. Crafty Badgers planted the Mini-Me clone dome in a jumble of low rise commercial, straddling two lakes. Fourteen is close to this in a 2,000 Sq Ft condo that feels bigger than his parents’ house because it does not feel lived in. Maybe it is ready for a party. Beyond a wall of glass and furniture strewn balcony lies an expanse of black water. There is a city-never-sleeps reminder of traffic passing on the road. Midnight-oil lights twinkle from lucky-few houses crowding the far shore.

Hacking Levi’s laptop is a fail. Favorite 60’s bands? Ian? Holland? The possibilities are endless. Time was, Fourteen might have stolen a moment in an Internet cafe or hunker down in the public library. He knows cafes have Wifi, libraries clunky desktops, but he was born with a sleek phone in his pocket and libraries seem tucked away. He is never urban out-of-site anyway. Every breath You (I) Take, that is the every single day now of Levi and Fourteen. They put libraries in malls these days, and Levi never lets him in one. Fourteen moves across the perfect maple floors toward the brushed-steel, glass-tile kitchen because it is as far away as he can get from the bedroom’s frosted French doors.

Madison is unexpected. It is all unexpected, he reminds himself. Unexpected is expected, if you think about it. This is the reality children live. Helicopter parents live routine. There is routine child’s play-work. Little Jeremy Gates relied on such. Get up for school, chores about the house, friendly games, the comforting sameness of the days. The changes, when they come, come from adults. His teachers pronouncing-imperial the day’s learning challenges, hour by hour; “Page 13, questions one to infinity….” Then home, where Jeremy might walk in the door to learn he has been summoned to the dentist, needs new pants, is treated out to dinner just because. It is what it is, no discussion. That is the child’s now.  Little Jeremy Gates is fourteen now. He is caught between the childish before, in this chafing now, adolescent anxious for the adult freedom-after. Fourteen’s across the country hate being treated like four. Unashamed, his hand goes down his underpants. Unsubtle, and too familiar noises are coming from the occupied room.

The Luxor Winnebago followed Interstate 41 out of the Upper Peninsula to Fond du Lac. No Packer home game in Green Bay, though Fourteen argued for it. His life is a drive by. Wild flights of fancy get gunned down by Levi on a mission. Fourteen just sits shotgun day by day, watching the exit ramps to life. Highway 151 to Madison, because somehow this is taking them West, Far East in Levi’s shuttered mind. Fourteen does not need to understand, it seems.

Fourteen was not invited to talk to Levi and therefore knows nothing about his future. Lost in solitary old man thoughts, Levi might be driving alone. There has been no mention recently that Fourteen would return to anything he knew before, or even see his parents, or that they might be searching for him (they are). It seems to Fourteen, he is cast off in this dark now where his body can be cut as easily as his hair to suit an adult’s whim. Dr. Evil scorned Patrick’s mental games, talks respect for Fourteen, but cuts his body callously.  

The boy is not exactly who he has been before. A well-rounded boy on his way probably to college, with a family. Standing in a lakeside condo kitchen, he feels smaller in the world's view. Insignificant and possibly invisible to everyone, except when Levi wants to look. He feels closer to death than life, which is not how fourteen-near-fifteen year old boys should feel. This sours the tangerine. Being where he is, he no longer feels fortunate, and is likely not going to be. His face flinches his distress as he strains to hear. The dark condo is too quiet. His finger circumnavigates the rainbow kiss scar tissue banding his cock. Levi Fisher’s voice saying something indistinct to Ian Holland. Fourteen could cry tonight. He would have, but there is no one to cry to, and in any case he hates to cry.

Levi’s Tuan-Hajj has brought them to Madison and this condo by the lake. Not to lay the blood-token on another veteran’s grave, it seems. Levi breaks his silence at the Bottom of the Lake right turn. “We are going to see my ex partner.” Dr. Evil Ed Harris has a past. Fourteen knows this. Nguyen Huu Tuan figures into it, obviously. There is joining the navy. There is the eminent surgeon backstory. Levi will talk about that to pass the time. Ex partners would be to be expected, only Fourteen is surprised.

“Why ex?” This adds a dimension to Levi Fisher.

“Ian and I did not work out.” Levi shuts down. It is not a brooding silence. “Pick a radio station.” This is an unexpected treat intended to distract Fourteen from his question. “Not rap,” Levi warns. “That damn rattle is back.”

“Something is not packed right, down below. It does not sound like the motor.”

♪♫♬ He knows

Dirty secrets that I keep

Does he know it’s killing me?

He knows, he knows ♪♫♬

D-d-does he know

Another’s hands have touched my skin

♪♫♬ I won’t tell him where I’ve been

He knows, he knows, he knows ♪♫♬

“Who is this?” Levi brakes hard because, impossibly, there is a vehicle travelling even slower than the Luxor Winnebago.

“Shawn Mendes.” Fourteen answers. August 2nd, Cleveland, Jeremy Gates would have died to make that concert. Epic argument with mom and dad when the tickets went on sale. There was desperation in Jeremy Gates voice as he argued the impossible. Desperation deep enough to plan a double date: mom-dad, Jeremy and a girl, any girl. Not a good month, August. “I like Shawn Mendes.”

“You like his music or you like Shawn Mendes?”

“Both,” Fourteen grins. The song plays down and Fourteen is hearing it differently. The familiar phrases have new meanings. “Why ex?”

Levi is silent for a while, pretending to concentrate on the road. “Another’s hands have touched my skin.”

Fourteen remembers this reply as he realizes he has been jacking off to the sounds of two old lovers. He pulls his hand free. He runs a clammy palm over the satin surface of the kitchen island, as if he was the bartender, then drops his head on his folded arms.

The Luxor Winnebago is resting its old bones at yet another box store pasture. They took essentials in a taxi to the heart of things where warm greetings meet them on the fifth floor. Levi gets the hug. Fourteen gets a look. Fourteen and Ian Holland are like two Tom cats arching backs. Levi affects not to notice this. Unlike Levi Fisher, Ian Holland does not know what to do with the tag along teenager. “This is Kale,” then the men only have eyes for each other.

Just days before the Patrick-John pickup, Jeremy Gates road tripped with his grandfather to Liberty Village Senior Community. He spent the afternoon slouched on his phone while the old folks exchanged medications and rear view mirror insights. Ian Holland’s condo visit was like that. Ex partners wandered the expanse sipping Cabernet Sauvignon from 14 ounce burgundy glass instead of insipid apple juice from cloudy plastic cups. Fourteen slumped before the wide screen, working out the scattered controllers.

Fourteen lifts his head and notices half a bottle of Mayacamas 2014 ($125) airing beside the soiled glasses. A generous sample fills a glass. He turns his back to the crescent bar, tries a sip, surveys the pristine sweep of black countertop, and cups his groin thoughtfully.

Ian Holland lies pensive on the bed listening to the water running in the on suite. Double sinks, but it has been five years since his last partner got restless and abandoned him, as he had Levi. Eleven years with Levi is the longest either of them have been with anyone. After the necessary breakup-drama, there was something left. Ian thinks of Levi and Malcolm King. Not friends as such, the two veterans were survivors sharing an unspoken moment in history. Levi never tried to explain Malcolm King to Ian. Ian made the Ex-mistake, try to explain the Ian-Levi shared history thing to those that followed. You cannot.

Levi returns to the bed, a glass of water in his hands. “How do you manage to look so damn good?” Ian asks. There is twelve years difference between them, twelve more since have passed since they parted. Ian feels the extra weight that clings to his frame like barnacles attaching themselves to an unconcerned whale. Levi seems as trim as the truculent boy he has brought with him. “Are you Okay?”

“I’m fine.” Levi sets the glass on the floor beside the bed. Form does not always follow function in this spartan home. This less is more was Levi’s style, not Ian’s. Levi is amused to see his influence reflected in this way. People change. “I’m really fine,” he adds. “Just a tremor, I took something to help me settle down.”

“You should not be galavanting about the continent like this.” Ian keeps his distance as Levi settles beside him. Good wine, too many memories, distance-time making the heart grow fonder. This is just a passing moment for them. Ian picks un-Levi like partners for the same reason Levi selects every hue but Tuan’s. Memories can hurt. Levi walks the line with tangerine teen. The age and grace of Fourteen is Tuan/not-Tuan enough for Levi. “Treatment is important.”

Ian Holland is in finance. He really cannot guess Levi’s prognosis. “There is enough time, and I am doing what needs to be done.”

A clatter breaks the silence. Across the open concept living room’s echoing emptiness and through the Shoji-translucent French doors, the men can hear cupboard doors slam, heavy metal rest on rock. “What’s he doing?” Ian asks, perplexed.

“Letting me know he is here.” Levi’s voice is a sigh.

Ian wonders at this, but not too much. Kale Euller was unexpected. There are excuses enough for the boy’s belligerence. Adolescence is self absorbed. How many teenagers does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Only one, he just stands there and the world revolves around him. “Will he be okay in there?” Ian is imagining sharp knives and thin wrists. “Should we check on him?”

He is propped up on an elbow, questioning Lev. It seems Levi has drifted off to sleep. Perhaps he took something, perhaps the kindled passion drained him. This too is Ian-Levi. Ian Ex-ited the thing in the eleventh year because Levi was so self sufficient (self absorbed). Always Dr. Fisher, never quite committed to anyone but his patients. “You have trust issues.” Ian explained while packing. Levi did not deny it. The man is in his seventies and he still takes my breath away. 1,135 miles was just about enough distance to keep between them. A fresh burst of noise draws Ian from the bed.

Prepared ingredients lie marshalled on the glistening counter like units waiting for a command. This is how his mother would have organized the meal. No frantic search for the next essential. She would have laughed, seeing how well her inattentive boy absorbed this lesson. Remy Müller Gates would weep with relief to see her son at all. The Luxor Winnebago galley is as ordered as an operating theatre. Dr. Fisher notes this Prussian discipline with approval.  

Fourteen takes a sip of water, swishing it slightly across his teeth. His lips purse below an angry frown. After a swallow, he spins the spice rack, caroselling the bottles in slow motion. Basil catches his eye. With a let’s-just-see bob of his head, Fourteen shakes a tablespoon into his latest rub. Not good, his taste buds declare. He dumps the mess into the garbage under the sink.

Fifth try, he counts. You could Google this stuff, if you had a phone. Fourteen is off the grid (beyond the steadily accumulating images captured unnoticed cross country until he is Panama bound). It is all guesswork beyond Levi’s sporadic advice and fussy old man requirements. Fourteen cooks. That was the order. And even though Jeremy Gates never worked, and felt self-conscious about it, Fourteen found he did not mind the work. It was his nature to be serious and persistent about doing things well. Being the faithless Levi’s pliant lover for example. Do it well. Fourteen’s duties are small, but they feel adult-respectable.

The cereal bowl wiped clean, the boy tries again. He is not thinking labels: cumin, cinnamon, coriander. The brown ones tasted interesting, allspice and cloves. The yellow one, ginger. A taste test follows. More yellow, he decides. Garlic is familiar. Then Fourteen spies the sweet potato-tangerine glory of turmeric. He smiles at the fresh concoction, and rewards himself with a slurp of red wine. More red, Fourteen decides, still angry with Levi. Paprika, then cayenne for good measure. Levi’s digestion rebels at hot, though he recites elegies to Southeast Asian food. The boy is not particularly hungry for this past-midnight snack. It keeps him busy. It puts him in this Ian Holland’s space.

Ian stops at the kitchen island. The boy has turned the track lights on. Under cabinet lights romantic-glow the many heaps. The boy does not turn. This Kale Euller glances once in the mirror backsplash, then takes a drink of wine. So easy in his underwear. I could never pull that off and I might have looked that good. Different times, Ian concludes, different people. The man sits down on a stool, conscious of his weight. Not to be outdone, he reaches over the counter to the other empty glass and expiring bottle of wine.

The boy is dicing the contents of his refrigerator with a large blade. All Ian can see is the promise-strength of bare arms, flexing shoulder blades, the strong spine, all in a concert-motion singing grace. Thin cotton briefs seem sheer across the narrow hips and admirable swell. Long legs, Ian reflects on just how much of us are leg and how well they complement a torso. The kid is sex on legs. This Kale Euller, who Levi slips and calls a troubling Fourteen, stands poised on one foot. The one rests lightly on the other. Muscles flex up the smooth thighs, through the generous swell, and up the fibres of the fat-free abdominals and dorsi. The boy is of an age where you can see this casual muscle play. Ian waits out the silence.

(Or not) One and a half inches of Porterhouse lies fresh-pink on a cutting board. It is centrepiece for tomorrow’s meal with Ian’s latest interest. “That is a $25 steak.” His voice breaks the silence. This Kale Euller pauses over Julian fries that were meant to be steaming baked potatoes smothered in sour cream. The long-blade tip comes down on the Porterhouse, as if to ask, this one? The boy sets the knife down. He twists around, 14 ounce burgundy glass held by the stem, and Ian gets the other view.

There is something inscrutable about the teenager’s expression. Ian half expected homophobic revulsion from this suicidal boy. What must he think? Two old men casually rutting in the confines of Ian’s condo. Gay stuff affronting adolescent manhood. More unnecessary trauma for a fragile lad who just lost his parents, tried to kill himself. There is nothing fragile here. If Ian Holland had his wits about him, he would have read the (lover scorned) coldness in the young eyes, the set of the boy’s mouth. He had faced rivals before, but never looked for one this young. Ian’s eyes focus on the steak, because if his eyes were not there, they would have to devour the masculine harmony of Fourteen.

Fourteen says nothing. Another sip, and he bobcats over to the fridge to retrieve the second steak. This is insolence, to be sure, masking uncertainty. Fourteen has been out of his depth, taking guesses, shuffling cards as quickly as his nimble mind can paint new ones. He clings to routines like sitting shotgun, sex with Levi, preparing meals, because so much of this is just survival-improv. He is mostly fish-out-of-water gasping, gill-caught by Levi’s Vietnamese silver bomb choker, I’m-a-man-on-man sex, and the utter strangeness of it all. The anger-betrayal he feels is directionless, inarticulate. He sets the second steak beside its mate, Levi and Ian fucking. Fourteen has no idea what ought to be said.

Ian lets him work, regretting making an issue of the price of meat with this teenage boy. The steaks fall to the knife. Each one and a half inch thick (intended to be grilled to perfection) slice falling free for simple stir fry. Ian is content to study the play of muscles, the sensuous boy buns.

At such moments, Levi would be thinking of Fourteen twined about his body. Young muscle sweat-vibrating under his experienced hands. Ian only thinks of this Kale Euller sportsing innocent-erotic with his mates. Yes that, and why not the other? Kale, private with his privates, young rampant jerking off a throw-away stream that leaves him cathartic-panting. Getting old sucks, Ian repeats the past best-before lament. Getting old sucks.

The only noises are the crystal chime of two wine glasses landing on the dark counters and a zen-like rearranging, last consideration, of ingredients arrayed before the boy. A final sip of Mayacamas 2014 ($125) and Ian watches the boy launch into motion over his seldom used wok. Like much of the kitchen, it is a backdrop for his lifestyle. Ian will be the man (the bottom) for his boyfriends. Barbecue steak well done before the Packer game. Mostly, he is Skip the Dishes lazy. He works so he does not have to work.

This Kale Euller is Ian’s late night Teppanyaki chef. Instead of an iron plate, it is a Lodge Seasoned cast iron Wok some friend house-warming gifted him. The entertainment is the hot body, sure, but also the economical way the boy moves his hands and shifts about the floor. “I’m not used to having this much space.” The boy explains unexpectedly.

“The kitchen is too big.” Ian confesses, glad the silence has finally broken. “It doesn’t get used much.” They exchange a glance as this Kale Euller moves two plates closer to his gas stove top. The boy is too young, too new at this to be totally zen about his work. It is still amusing. “You cook for your granduncle? Did you cook at home? Sorry, it must be hard to think about your parents.”

“Yes.”

While Ian Holland has his doubts, this comes out subdued-sincere. There is silence while the young chef divides the potato between the plates. He dribbles sea salt before responding further. “I cook for Levi. I never cooked at home.”

Ian was not hungry, but the Moroccan melange Fourteen stumbled his way into sparks an appetite. It is sort of Stone Soup, quintessential chop-suey, whatever’s-handy. The strips of beef are still medium to rare. The boy presents it without flourish, refills his empty wine glass and leans over his side of the counter. He picks at the plate, popping a slender strip between his lips. After a chew and a sip, he comments, “Levi insists the meat be pink.”

“Yes,” that was a thing with Levi Fisher.

The food is good, if somewhat underdone to his taste. The steak slices melt in his mouth, natural juices mingling with the North African accent. Ian takes a few more bites. This Kale Euller sips wine, eating sparingly. Ian sees no evidence of scarring on the boy’s wrists. Drugs, the modern choice. Nobody to act out for, spilling blood. There is no Emo-nihilistic vibe from this young suicide risk, no taint of death, life abandoned. No despair, although there is a tension. This Kale Euller is shut-the-fuck-up sexy. Ian fancies he can smell the salty-animal essence of the boy, as if he were one long joss stick.

Fourteen stands island-separated from the man because he is certain he can smell the  after-sex. Moroccan melange cannot hide it. The before Jeremy Gates question, Can this awkward frame of skin and bones attract a partner? Has been emphatically answered. He stands defiant-shy, eyes studying the plate of food, Fourteen is frightened Levi-Ian is some twist on Patrick-John. Or not; this Levi-Ian thing just makes him angry.

“There are no grandparents on your father’s side?” Ian breaks the fresh silence, thinking about Levi’s dilemma. “This is good, by the way.” He points his fork.

“My father’s side?” Fourteen must regroup. This is the Kale Euller story Levi likes and Fourteen hates.

“Your grandfather, Levi’s sister’s husband, I remember he passed on. You were five or six I think. A healthy boy.” Healthy boy. This is a polite way of saying little Kale was amply fed.

Fourteen pushes a slice of meat, then takes a bit too much wine. His summer tan has faded, so it is easy to see the blush below his long lashes. “You knew my mom and dad?” He deflects with his own question.

“Levi and your family were not close. As I understand it, your father thought it was important Levi be invited. They pushed him to attend the funeral, so he made me tag along. It was awkward.”

“Why?” Fourteen asks. He turns away, planning to start the cleanup. It was in his mind to leave it for Ian Holland, but that is not in his nature now.

Ian does not answer. He cannot decide if this Kale Euller is innocent-oblivious to the obvious. If he is blunt, the fragile boy might shatter. “There was so much distance back then. Your granduncle’s being gay, it mattered more to us old folks.” Ian paused, “But Levi is a bachelor. He is successful. His family was aware of that. It would not do to be too critical of him, if you know what I am saying.”

Round-rainbow peg in a square hole, the primal fear. Fourteen is certain being gay won’t matter to those that matter, but what if? Even if the square hole is neatly drilled out, lovingly accommodated for Jeremy Gates, it might always be the poor second-best accommodation to the ones he loves. Jeremy is Gay, his mom will explain. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, his dad will add quickly.

He considers Ian Holland’s words. “They did not like that he was gay. Is Levi rich like you?” Fourteen waves his glass about the condo. “I mean, he drives that ancient camper. We look like hillbillies when we stop beside the new rigs. Eat $25 steaks? As if, like so yeah.”

Ian smiles patronizingly. “But of course, you have seen his Boston place? Been out to Cape Cod?”

Ian despises the mercenary way this teenager was flung at Levi by the disapproving sister. Right when what the man needs is some genuine compassion, the old prune is securing inheritance. Levi stood obscenely healthy at her husband’s funeral. No sign of AIDS. No harbingers of doom to secure the gay brother’s fortune for Kale Euller’s family. Ian did not like the Euller family much. He is coming to like this Kale Euller though. “It is good to see the two of you together. You can help each other.” From the boy’s undecided look, Ian wonders if he resents Levi gossiping about his flirtation with death.

“Why Ex?” Fourteen returns to his question. He is not prepared enough to be Kale Euller, strung out orphan.

Fourteen opts for the dishwasher. It is a compromise that makes Ian Holland share cleaning up. The heavy Wok consumes the bottom rack. Ian Holland's silence makes Fourteen nervous. The man seems content to watch him. Counter clean, Fourteen retreats to the island barrier. The underwear was meant to be provocative, like the slamming cupboards and the heavy Wok. He had been expecting Levi to come out, not Ian. He feels exposed. He feels too available.

This Kale Euller is back before his plate, the other view is pressed against the counter as the orphan boy resumes picking at the cooling plate. Ian wants to ask what Levi said about him. Probably very little, he is sure. Ian broke it off, yet it was he who obsessed endlessly with others. “Did your parents fight?”

“What, do you mean, like, throwing stuff at each other? Trash talk, tears?” Jeremy Gates comes from Pleasantville. “Not hardly. They argue stupid stuff, like best friends do.” Fourteen’s smile slides free, as the sun might slip free from a heavy cloud. “Dad can’t be angry with the Bengals. Fight? Not hardly.” Sun-bright face slides behind shadow again.

“Levi does not like to fight, either. I’m sure I surprised him when I walked out.” Ian knows he has drunk enough, but he splits the last of the Mayacamas 2014 ($125) between their glasses. He might be splitting it at Tornado Steak House on West Main with Alisha Ellison. Girl talk between friends, each trying to out-drama the relationship fuckups over salty food. “People like their routines. Levi in particular. Things have to be just so with him.”

“Tell me about it.” The tangerine sun returns to Fourteen’s face. He forgets the wine beside him and starts in on his trials being roommate with a seventy-year-old bachelor in 288 square feet. Everything is organized to suit Levi. Fourteen exists around his schedule. Ian nods agreement. “He lets me know what he wants.” Fourteen rolls his eyes.

“He told me little of his other men.” Ian gives the boy a knowing look, then stops himself. He is going all Queen-confidential with a teenage boy; a straight teenage boy in brief white cotton briefs. Different generations, they say these Post-Millennials (Generation Z, iGeneratiion, or whatever) poll oblivious to the things that tore the Boomers up. They are all LGBTQ or friendly Gay-Straight Alliance. “Levi barely listened to me, rarely answered questions about himself. Levi was never bored, always something occupying his mind. It made it hard to entertain him.”

“I get that.” Fourteen bites his lip. “He slept around?”

Ian slept around. “Not so I would know. He is quite romantic, I think. Sort of tragic too. People let you down, that is what he would tell me. He never seemed to realize he let people down too.” This is Ian’s standard complaint. Everyone has heard it. He forgets he is talking to a straight boy. “Not into an open relationship, but not quite satisfied with me. Not quite trusting me.” Ian’s voice trails off.

Ian flung his infidelities at Levi while he packed, wanting to stir some jealousy. Levi simply nodded, as if to say he expected nothing less. Levi always lived for himself, because somewhere he lost his faith in love.

“Who was Tuan?”

“Shawn?”

“No, Tuan.”

Ian cannot hear the ‘T’. “Well, not to shock you, but there have been men in your granduncle’s life. He stuck to Boston, pretty much. It was not hard to stumble into his old partners. It is high school for forever.” Ian giggles. He realizes he is flirting with the teenager. Too much wine. Ian pauses to take another bite or two of stir fry. “Levi was forty-nine.” My age, more or less, Ian Holland knows. “You two get along?”

“He gets his way.” Fourteen replies. Ian’s gaze is getting uncomfortable again.

“Cincinnati Bengals, I’m shocked. I took you for a Patriot fan.”

“Why?”

“You lived in Framingham, I thought.” Ian tries to reconstruct what little he has heard. Levi said Framingham, he was certain. Kale will have to go back to his grandmother in Farmington for another year. He takes in Fourteen’s ongoing metamorphosis, boy to man. “How old are you?” He asks suspiciously.

Fourteen thinks fifteen, then adds a year. “Sixteen.” He catches the puzzlement in the old man’s eyes. His heart sinks.

“Five, you were five or six at the funeral, what thirteen years ago?” The boy begins to look uncomfortable.  “Who are you?”

It could spill out. Right there on the island counter, sad bits dripping like congealed gravy onto the pristine floor tiles. I was kidnapped by two men. They raped me. They sold me to your Ex, who sort of saved my life, because John was ready to kill me. Help me get home. I want to go home, only…. Only what? Levi still has to get West, Far East for reasons still unclear. There are more cemetery stops along the way to see dead people. Then there is Tuan. It is enough to freeze Fourteen’s breath. This confession-doubt cascades in the space of a choking intake of his breath.

He is Levi’s boy. He can no more tell this other man of his love affair with Levi Fisher than he could confess his gay-infused masterbations to his mother. No one touched me. That will be the story he will tell. He does not want to know what Levi did with Ian Holland in the bedroom. It is not Ian Holland’s business to know that Fourteen welcomes Levi’s touch. His face burns. Even now, he feels robbed.

“Would Levi kill someone?” Fourteen’s mouth is dry, cooked out by the burning fire across his cheeks and chest.

“That is all he cares to tell people about his time in Vietnam. I killed people. He avoids veterans of that war. I’ve only met one man Levi served with. Another Bostonian named Malcolm King. He lost a leg over there, I guess. They reconnected over some problem with the man’s son. You were a navy corpsman. You saved lives, Ian overheard Malcolm King say. Not enough, Levi answered. Maybe that is why it did not work out. Levi can never do enough to shed the memories of his time with the marines.. PTSD, I think”

PTSD, Fourteen does not know. He just knows the now cluster fuck all all these these men dealing with their afters. Ian Holland does not give him the answer he needs. Is the old man Ed Harris or Dr. Levi Fisher Evil? “I’m Levi’s nephew. You know, grandnephew.” He tries the look that would melt his mother’s heart, make dad laugh, turn that baseball coaches’ frown upside down.

Ian Holland is not buying what he peddles. “What are you doing with Levi?”

You can hear Fourteen shuffling the deck. Lay your cards out on the table. Maybe keep a few back. The cards are still not good. Fourteen does not know this Ian Holland, Levi’s ex lover. He wonders if this condo visit is Patrick and John all over again.

Levi Fisher has a sort of Patrick-like after problem. John was his guardian. Fourteen tries to read the set of Ian Holland’s face.  Who is Ian Holland?  Is he righteous? Driving south, Levi explained he needed this man’s help. Fourteen knows this (younger) old man could easily want a kidnapped boy bent hay-bale ready over one of the ottomans scattered through this slick condo. Ian has some ongoing after thing with Levi. Old friends talking adult business over wine, sexing. Anticipation-dread catches in Fourteen’s throat.

Ian Holland might help Jeremy Gates. Fourteen could lay it on the Ex. Righteous-rescue instead of boy, hay-bale ready. Ian Holland could talk sense into Dr. Evil. Cut the boy loose, Ian Holland urges. Then either the silver loop comes off sweet….

… or it goes off in a blood blossom sour. Fourteen cannot forget the dead goat lesson. I’ve killed people, Levi admits. Fourteen has seen the haunting in Levi’s eyes, the moments of John’s stone-cold resolve to make it West, Far East. Levi will make good the Beretta Nano threat as sure as goats drop dead in fields. The gun is here. It came in the Condo in Levi’s bag. Threatened with exposure, Levi might simply shoot his former lover, easy as a goat. Could Ian Holland talk the old man down? Not likely!

This back and forth debate concludes in the space of four slow breaths. Are you going to fuck me? Fourteen asks the waiting man silently. I’ll fuck you hard. I owe it to Levi, the boy can imagine Ian Holland’s reply. Fourteen takes his 14 ounce burgundy glass and half empty plate back to the sink. Leaning against the counter, his toe digs into the cold length of his right foot. Some more Dutch courage from the glass, and he tries again. This is his story:

“I was on the road. This pair of guys snatched me. Levi came along and got me out of it.”

Ian absorbs the brief tale. “You have family?”

“Yeah, I have family.” Fourteen slides past that hurt. Deep breath, “Levi is giving me a ride to California. I saw how sick he is. He tires out, gets headaches, good days and bad. Levi needs some help. He helped me, I can take the time to help him.” Fourteen shrugs. “You know, keep an eye on him, cook for him, other stuff.”

Ian absorbs this, the boy’s rich spice lingering on his tongue. This is a twist. The innocence of brash sixteen (for real?) is troubling him. This (not) Kale Euller rests like a loaded weapon propped against the kitchen counter. The hand that absently scratches a smooth thigh is more contrived than automatic. Insidious, the way it curls one finger pointing toward the weighted briefs. The boy’s eyes are calculating. They always are. Ian took it for the constant social sorting, young outsider coping with the old insiders. Now, it strikes Ian as more than adolescent antagonistic. He is the boy’s enemy in some way. Or is it a mercenary look? This kid wants something.

“So your name is not Kale.” This is a fact.

“No, Fourteen will do.”

There is a logical progression in Fourteen’s mind. If he claims to be Jeremy Gates, the masturbatory-guilty rest will spill out. If he lets this truth fly free, lays his cards down, then Levi or this Ian Holland will do John Cannon’s Saturday-night-special worst. Jeremy Gates will float face down in Lake Monona or be stumbled over in the busy Arboretum. Levi has promised it. He will not be stopped. He explained it with a goat.

The unformed anger at Levi is doused by this threatening moment. All that is left is his vulnerability. Other stuff, best left unsaid, Fourteen decides. “I’m going to take a shower, do you mind?”

This (not) Kale Euller is shut-the-fuck-up sexy dangerous. Ian can imagine him twisting naked under the rain shower blessing. Ian can imagine the soap rafts riding the white water rapids tumbling over the plains and swells, slipping into sensitive folds. Fourteen for Christ’s sake! Oh Levi, what have you done? What are you doing?

Ian clears his throat nervously. “Sure, I’m headed back to bed. Are you okay here on the couch?” The boy dips his head and walks away. One last view for Ian Holland to trouble his mind over.

Two plates, two wine glasses remain. Ian surveys the food. Fourteen can cook, no question about that. Ian Tupperwares the remains and sets the dishes in the washer. So quietly done, but not because of Levi, narcotic-gone in his bed. Softly, softly, because then Ian can hear the little sounds. Car’s Doppler along East Wilson Street. The double pane glass mostly mutes this. The fridge abruptly stirs-distracts. His own soft sigh. Water falling on the tub in broken patterns.

Ian moves toward the guest room-office door. He can match the water music to the boy’s shower-dance. A brief crescendo as a body twists away from the deluge to reach for what? The Axe Phoenix soap gel perhaps. Hands gliding over spring-tight skin. Ian sighs soundlessly.

Ian mourns his lost youth. He envies the young university bucks strutting their stuff on Langdon Street. He takes a walk by B.B. Clarke Beach to see who is swimming. Ian’s TWINK youth had currency. He never squandered it. Used it to land Levi Fisher.

Eleven years together and the mature, long distance friendship that followed, things got said. Levi has a different take on aging. Levi was indifferent to his youth. His Ex partner left his morose, closeted, neurotic adolescent self behind without much regret.

Levi’s life had its seasons. Furtive guilt-masturbations, the closet agony of being homosexual, acne-blighted anxiety, that is what adolescence was to Levi. His adolescence was a seed in winter. Somehow, Vietnam was Levi’s unexplained Spring. He came back from that national nightmare to an endless Summer of men.

Levi’s promiscuous years never unfolded in a coherent narrative. Levi’s twenties and thirties were a blur. What information Levi shared with Ian came through casual dinner conversation flashbacks, usually self deprecating stories of his youthful pratfalls. Been there, done that, bought the T-Shirt. Yes, Levi said that once. Levi was more than comfortable with the drawn out Autumn of his life. He seemed to want the world to know he saved the best for last. Levi, the bottle of Dalmore 62 Single Hiland Malt that aged well.

Ian’s revry ends. The movement in the bathtub has stopped. The white noise cover of the rainfall shower head hides the boy’s movements. Ian lets his imagination run free. He sees Fourteen is standing back to the water, letting it hit his neck and shoulders. One hand is braced against granit tile, bicep-forearm flexed with preorgasmic tension. Fingertips are spider-splayed for the one-arm push up. The other hand will be wrapped around the other view.

Sixteen is just a promise year. The boy in the shower, not sixteen, he decides, is junkie-age. Addicted to his junk and the self administered high of the narcotic orgasm. Orgasms at sixteen are a vampire’s bite draining strength from you. Ian can revisit that euphoria. Levi made it happen for him not long ago. Twenty something is so much better. Fourteen had that one red spot on his shoulder. He probably agonizes about another on his chin; nothing to envy in the spotty now of adolescence. Only, sixteen looks forward. That is what there is to envy

But the boy is fisting something hard, something new and fresh. Ian imagines that. Fast or slow? Ian figures fast. Fourteen will slam it out impatiently. Boys are impatient. Ropes will eject into the shower-water swirl, while tense muscles vibrate from the groin outward. The pulsing ejections will mainline nature’s narcotic into every organ. Ian can picture that.

This (not) Kale kid is a walking bomb. Ian worries about Levi. I was on the road, cook for him and other stuff. Boys, girls get seen. Young ones, teenagers, (hell, adults) Levi always sorted them out like any healthy human being. The beautiful, the interesting, the sexy; people sort. Ian never would have guessed his Ex partner might be bent that way, but now he is wondering. This Antigua business Levi is insisting on. Telling me I won’t know the client's name till I get down there. It will not be Kale Euller, it will not be Fourteen. But Ian Holland senses it will be Fourteen, but why? Across the extra room, beyond the bathroom door, this (not) Kale Euller, this Fourteen must have completed the essential male ritual. Strength spent, Ian expects the boy to sleep adolescent coma till Levi coaxes him awake. Ian Holland is frightened for Levi.

Fourteen squats on the floor letting the endless flow of stinging hot water beat down on his naked body. Don’t run the water heater dry, Jeremy Gate’s father warns. Ian Holland’s bathtub is unappreciated luxury tonight. Free from the in-and-out of Levi’s Luxor Winnebago shower, Fourteen should be luxuriating. Instead, he is feeling the weight on his chest. Fourteen knows he has been thrust into an adult world he is expected to understand. He is ill equipped to negotiate this world where (as usual) adults have wealth and privilege and he is just a boy.

He is Levi’s boy now. The old man said he was necessary-desired till after March. Fourteen believes the old man too. The pill popping illness needs his care. Something ill-defined in Levi’s moods need his care. They are travelling toward something West, Far East. He is not expected to understand. Tethered to this task, Fourteen only knows he is Levi’s boy. He has two rings to prove it.

Fourteen’s forehead is resting on his crossed arms, eyes squeezed shut. It is actually a Tuan-like pose Levi Fisher would appreciate. Thin shanks and washboard belly makes it easy to fold into himself like this. The inarticulate sense of betrayal-abandonment brought on by Levi’s sleeping with Ian Holland lingers on. His outrage will not settle on this thing. The thing is, Fourteen is overwhelming him. Since Patrick Hunter scattered Jeremy Gates across the rain-soaked pavement in Chillicothe, Levi has been seducing what little else remains.

As if he understands this, Fourteen lifts his head, letting the fat-fake raindrops spatter on his face. Beyond the shower curtain, white cotton briefs, black clothes lay discarded on a couch. Everything he has is Fourteen-new. Jeremy Gates has put on this Fourteen-skin. He relinquishes his independence, avoids looking too closely at the tarnished silver threat about his neck. He trusts somehow that if he plays along, embraces Fourteen for Levi, he will learn how to be the free-Jeremy he wants to be. There is no plan here. Sixteen, seventeen, he might understand the situation better. Fourteen is ill equipped to negotiate this world, but the tangerine fountain welling up within says, Make it so.

Fourteen runs a palm over his groin. Ian Holland could not know. Fourteen has not solo-jerked a load since Patrick lay him on the hotel table for a fuck. His organisms are a renewable resource managed by men now.  Insidious-inevitable, Fourteen waits for Levi. He is Levi’s boy. The Patrick-John betrayal at Gordon Pinchot State Park taught Fourteen that he is a commodity traded on men’s markets. This is not a thing he thinks, but it is being woven into his being.

Fourteen has been waiting for Levi all night. That moment in the kitchen, when Fourteen turned, the 14 ounce burgundy in his hand, he was quite expecting Levi. But he turned to face Ian Holland across the kitchen island instead. His next thought was an invitation to the Patrick-John tag-team over his young body. Levi and I are waiting kid, Ian Holland will declare. Fourteen then nods (of course) and offers up a different cut of meat for this Ex partner and Levi. That is the transaction.

Fourteen does not understand Levi’s neglect. He feels discarded. Assuming he does not step out of the shower and into Ian Holland’s bed. That possibility remains. Assuming he has not been traded (once again), Fourteen expects-hopes day will come, and the Luxor Winnebago partnership will carry on West, Far East. He is Fourteen till after-March. That is the transaction.

Levi wakes before Ian. He rolls free of the Egyptian cotton and stands before looking back at his former lover. Ian Holland has changed far more than Levi believes he has. Although both men have paced the same years down the road, Levi feels he has weathered the seasons well. Ian was a lovely boy at twenty-eight. Levi shrugs. They have both moved on, that’s life! Ian looks like he will sleep until the 10:00 appointment he said he must keep. It is only 6:14 am. Levi wants to go.

After the make-up sex, Fourteen-impotence therapy, reconquest, whatever it was, Levi left the Upper Peninsula campground like a thief in the night. They cannot do that here. He desperately needs Ian Holland to deal with Antigua. Antigua must beiron-clad legal. Realestate is tangentially Ian’s line of work. Levi can trust a friend to carry through the necessary details. There is property in Antigua now, bought largely sight unseen, since Levi has no time for nonsense. Antigua citizenship conditions met, Levi could ignore the property development. That is not his way.

Levi keeps his house in order, even if he will never return to it.

Ian will see things set to right down there, regardless. Perhaps he should have given Antigua to Ian as a parting gift.  Levi is still uncertain about his Mỹ Sơn Temple plans and Fourteen’s part in them. Details, details, Antigua being one. He has made after-March promises to Fourteen. Promises are made to be broken. Fourteen’s for now, he decides.

Fourteen is splayed across a couch, adolescent furnace radiating excess heat. Voices and the odour of meat filtered into Levi’s dreams. Levi knows Ian’s obsession with youth. What were you doing while I was away? He asked the sleeping boy. So might he have asked Tuan as they came together after an absence. Levi fears he would receive the same evasive answers. Nothing, just stuff, just hanging out, Levi has never been a father, but he knows adolescent evasion. The boy would try the laptop once again, search out Ian Holland’s devices. But what did you and Ian do while I slept?

Levi kneels beside Fourteen. A light index-finger-touch begins to trace the contours of Fourteen’s ready package. Fourteen is right handed, his cock bends comfortably toward a ready hand like a hungry chick blindly reaching for food. It is a long drink of water. Levi is thirsty. He begins.

“Ugh!” Then Levi’s hand clamps down on Fourteen’s mouth, muffling further exclamation. This early morning surfacing is ritual. Fourteen knows the shape-aroma of the surgeon’s hand, so he knows it is (probably) not Ian Holland’s teeth gently biting his frenulum. He lifts his head to look. Levi nibbles down the shaft to his scrotum, then back up so his lips can suck the corona past his tongue. Fourteen ejaculates, cutting short the play. “Sorry!”

There is still something of the anger that carried Fourteen through the night. He flips his legs over Levi’s head and pertly yanks his cotton briefs up. He tosses a near-glare over his shoulder as he leaves the living room. Levi is not forgiven. Levi follows Fourteen to the guest bathroom.

As the boy’s stream thunders in the bowl, Levi tugs the white cotton briefs down on his thighs. There is a John-impatience to the act. Even before the stream’s last flow, Levi is pushing the boy’s pelvis over to the sink. A line of urine spatters on the trendy tiles. There is only lotion. Fourteen braces himself against the counter as the old man presses against him. He watches Levi palm the pump. He watches Levi’s face in the mirror as fingers knife between his cheeks, forcing the muscle promise-ring ready. Fourteen presses against the hand, elastic tickling his scrotum.

It is not rape. They are just both angry. Fourteen at the long, neglected night. The men’s fucking broke some understanding he has with this infuriating old man. Levi is angry too. Fourteen was-is-will-be faithless. Levi knows it in his broken heart. Fourteen will be just like Tuan. Fourteen bides his time, making his plans behind Levi’s back. If the silver necklace was real, Fourteen would use it on Levi. It is not rape. It is just angry.

Fourteen hangs on Levi’s chemical cock, not bent over the sink, but hard against a hairy chest. He grunts the first toe-tipping thrusts, adjusting quickly to the home invasion. He is sex-on-legs, suspended in the mirror for Levi’s pleasure. The first assault pauses. Like a father helping his little boy to wash his hands, Levi squeezes white pearl into Fourteen’s palm.

“Do yourself.” Levi commands.

It takes a while. Fresh urine coughs out, thinning the lotion, messing the floor. They both mirror-watch as Fourteen coaxes his cock hard. Levi’s cock resumes its remorseless efforts, setting Fourteens lanky body into motion. Levi keeps one hand on the boy’s thigh, pressing Fourteen’s pierced-pelvis against each deep thrust. The other hand starts low below the navel. It travels upward with the rise of boy-cock. Past the rib cage, to the silver-circled neck, lightly massaging the flesh, poised prepared.

This is the Patrick-dance between them, strokes in sympathetic synch. Levi owns the ass he deeply delves. He owns the boy’s right hand beginning to jerk desperately at the extended cock. Fourteen’s left hand gropes back around Levi’s tense hip. It wants to help press Levi deeper into his canal. Levi watches in the mirror, hand poised for what he knows must come.

Lips part, eyes close, Fourteen is gone again. The second coming spatters into the sink. White Pearl dissolves into white(ish) pearl. It rims the ring of his fingers convulsing around the circumcision scar. “Don’t stop.” Levi whispers in his ear. Instinctively, Fourteen shakes his head. His hand pauses on the spent cock. “Keep going.”

“Aghhh…” he whines in protest. The ready palm muffles his mouth. Paired pelvises are thrusting on some sort of cruise control.

“Keep going, keep going…”

He is Levi’s boy. This is the transaction. Dizzy now, Fourteen resumes the self abuse. His clenched fist pumps mechanically with his heart. Levi hardly moves within him. He is sobbing through the strong fingers across his mouth. Ian Holland’s complimentary hand cream really sucks. Ass and cock are on fire. He clenches desperately around Levi’s shaft. “No, God,” then a sound much like he has been punched in a spot below his navel.

Perhaps he is being punished. Perhaps this is patience’s reward. Fourteen cannot think to say. He cannot watch the boy in the mirror. At some point, sweat-drenched-dripping, one-flesh with Dr. Evil, Fourteen comes again.

Levi bites an earlobe, then he whispers, “Keep going, keep going.”