Christopher & Craig
Part 99: Responsibilities.
On my way home last night I stopped and picked up a copy of Mike’s movie. The production values were crummy, to say the least, but he certainly gave his all to the performance. Craig seemed to enjoy the debut as much as I did. Afterward we had steamy, sweaty sex.
It was Wednesday morning and I had no pressing business to attend to, so I decided to take the morning off. I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper.
Wade ambled in, dressed in pajama pants and a T-shirt. He opened the freezer, dropped a waffle in the toaster, and slid into the chair opposite me with a megawatt grin on his face.
I set the paper aside. “You have something to tell me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Scott thought you were cool.”
Cool? I could live with that. “He seemed like a nice guy.”
Wade’s grin grew wider. “And he thinks I kind of look like you.”
I looked into his brown eyes. “You did tell him we’re not really brothers, right?”
Wade cocked an eyebrow. “He said he could see a family resemblance.”
I wondered vaguely if Scott was nearsighted. I mean, maybe in dim lighting from afar Wade and I could look alike. Then again, we did have the same cleft chin and animated eyebrows.
The toaster popped and Wade claimed his breakfast.
“Well, I’ll just take the compliment,” I said, earning a beaming smile from Wade. “What are your plans today?”
“I was kind of hoping I could get a ride to the DMV. I’m starting classes in a month and I don’t even have my learner’s permit. I mean, how am I gonna get there?”
I sighed. There went my morning off. Technically Wade really did need to learn to drive. Still, it was one less thing to worry about knowing he wasn’t stranded somewhere on the road.
Craig bopped into the room, dressed and ready for the day. “I forgot to tell you. Leatherman called last night.”
“He did?”
Craig nodded.
“What could he want?” The truth was I suspected I knew what he wanted. And the answer was still no.
I started toward the den to return his call when the phone began to ring. I answered the extension at my desk.
“Hi, mate. What’s new?”
It was unmistakably Lee Phillips’ voice.
“Lee, I’m surprised to hear from you. What can I do for you?”
“This is something I’m doing for you. The carnival is headed your way.”
I frowned. Terrific. “When?”
“Should be approaching your neck of the woods in a few weeks. I thought you might enjoy seeing your boy go a few rounds.”
No way, Jose.
Actually I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to wondering how he was faring as a boxer. Then again, I didn’t really think it wise to have him back in town. All I needed was for someone to notice his resemblance to Donald Sullivan.
Not that he’d really resembled Donald when he’d left. In fact, what was I worrying for? Let the carnival come. Craig and I could go and see Jose get knocked senseless. Might even be fun.
“Christopher?”
“Oh, sorry, Lee. I was wondering about Jose. How’s he making out?”
“From what I gather he trains nonstop. He’s like a machine, they tell me.”
I grinned. Like he had a choice.
“I appreciate your call. When you get in to town again we’ll have to get together.”
“I’ll be in touch. Take care, mate.” Lee disconnected.
While I had the phone in my hand I dialed Leatherman. I rolled my eyes. Why was I worried about Donald returning in the guise of Jose Sanchez? Mitch Driver was living as a Leatherman right here and town and no one had noticed he was a new and improved version of the former Police Detective.
“Christopher, I’m glad you called. I was planning to stop over today to catch you.”
“What is it?”
“My staff is ready for training. Just say the word and I’ll have them here for a meeting.”
I sighed. “We’ve been over this. I’m not hypnotizing your staff.”
“What harm will it do? You could consider it a means toward self-actualization for each of them. We’ll make them better servants with leaner, harder bodies.”
“Forget it,” I said. “I’m not getting you slave labor for the Club.”
“But we could—”
“Leatherman, you may want to drop this. Right now.”
“Think of the possibilities, man. Every bartender, bouncer, and busboy on my staff serving you, taking your commands. Think of the power!”
I thought of Scott, the raven-haired bartender at Kampas. I wondered what he’d look like in one of the Club’s uniforms.
Even better, out of it.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. I love Craig. My interest in Scott was pure physical attraction. Well, maybe not pure.
“The answer is no. Goodbye, Leatherman.”
“Call me when you decide,” he said and hung up.
I wanted to scream. I had decided!
Craig waited in the doorway. “What’s up?”
“Leatherman wants me to hypnotize his entire staff.”
“Are you going to?”
“No.”
“It could be fun.”
“It could be a disaster. You know, Craig, once you start messing with someone’s head you become responsible for them. You never know how a person will react to a suggestion. Sometimes the suggestion is too weak and doesn’t get followed. Sometimes it’s so strong it alters a person too much. You might want to keep that in mind.”
Craig nodded, but his expression was skeptical.
“Let me give you an example. Do you remember when I gave Mike those suggestions about needing to taste cum in order to feel like a good boy?”
“Yeah.”
“They backfired on me. Mike became so desperate to get cum he started sucking guys off in public restrooms. Now, if he had approached a cop and been arrested or—God forbid—contracted something it would have ultimately been my fault. Do you see?”
Craig’s eyebrows were lowered. “That was just one time though. And you fixed it before it was too late.”
“I was lucky that time. And apparently you don’t remember when I told you you liked to be tied up and you became so obsessed you began hypnotizing me into tying you?”
Craig chewed on his lower lip.
“Luckily you’re not hypnotizing anyone so it’s nothing to worry about.”
To be continued in Part 100...
Christopher & Craig
Part 100: Happy Endings All Around?
While Wade was upstairs showering and dressing I did a search on the Net about Professor Damian Edwards. Seemed he was very forward-thinking in his theories on gender. He had published several articles on the subject, positing that gender roles were currently in a state of flux and should be redefined for the time in which we were currently living. From what I could find, response to his conjecture was mixed at best. Mostly it looked like the traditional scientific community thought he was a crackpot.
Then again, some though Columbus was nuts when he proposed the world was round. So you can never tell. Some great thinkers are just too far ahead of their time.
I punched Mike’s number into the phone. Chances were pretty good he’d be home. I knew he had a full classload on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but Wednesdays were light, if memory served.
“Mike, how are you?”
“Hey, Christopher! I’m good. You?”
“I wanted to call and tell you how much Craig and I enjoyed your movie.”
I had a feeling Mike was blushing. “You saw it?”
“Yes. I’d imagine many people will see it in the near future.”
“This guy came into work yesterday and made a big deal. I told him he had the wrong guy.”
“Why would you lie?”
“I don’t want the people at work to know.”
I could see why—it would complicate his life. Still, it’d be fun to give him a truth command. Maybe later.
“If you want to know the truth it was kind of exciting being recognized,” he confided. “I felt kind of like a celebrity.”
“You deserve to feel proud, Mike. The reason I called... Has there been any word on Marty?”
“No. It’s weird. I didn’t really know the guy, but for him to just disappear is kind of freaky, you know?”
I couldn’t have said it better myself. “What about Nick?”
“You mean has he heard from Marty? I don’t think so. Right now he’s probably with Professor Edwards. I think class might still be going. Then they usually go to his office. Listen, I have class in an hour. I gotta go. Okay?”
“Sure, Queer Pizza Boy,” I said without thinking.
I could hear Mike breathing on the other end of the line.
“Be proud of your movie, Mike. If anyone asks you’ll want to tell them it’s you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“1...2...3.” I hung up.
The devil made me do it.
It wasn’t that I wanted to complicate Mike’s life. I thought he deserved an easier time of it. Leading a double life was catching up to him. Kind of like it seemed to be catching up to Nick.
Maybe, I wondered, having big secrets about who we truly are can only cause heartache and stress. Was it possible the only way to ride off into the sunset was to lay all your cards on the table and let the chips fall where they may?
It was possible I shouldn’t have watched so many westerns on the Late Show over the years.
But we all deserved happy endings. And if we couldn’t come by them naturally, what was stopping me from creating a few?
I wondered what Craig would look like in chaps. Throw in a lasso to keep him happy...
Wade broke my reverie. “Ready?”
“Sure.” I grabbed a coat, locked the house, and started the car.
I decided it might be a good idea to check out Professor Damian Edwards. The college wasn’t far from the DMV. I dropped Wade on the side street and agreed to pick him up in an hour. Then I continued on to SUNY.
Finding parking at the college was always a treat. Once I’d stowed the car and hiked to the main campus I entered the Faculty Building. According to the glass case in the entryway Edwards’ office was on the ninth floor. It wouldn’t be easy to just ‘happen by’ that high up.
I took the elevator. The hall was empty. I knocked on Edwards’ door. No answer. Must still be in class.
How convenient that posted next to his office hours was his class schedule. He was in the Lecture Center. I crossed campus to the classroom. I’d simply stroll by and see what he looked like.
Then what?
Pretty much I’d know what he looked like, I decided.
When I reached the room it was dark. There was a note taped to the door. “Class cancelled due to illness.”
Hmmm. Well, so Mike hadn’t talked to Nick this morning, so he didn’t know there was no class. It wasn’t like he and Nick were joined at the hip.
I had to wonder about Nick. Most of what I knew about him didn’t add up. He was constantly contradicting himself. Mike had painted a picture of a somewhat shy preppy kid. Marty obviously had been led to believe Nick was straight. Why had Nick suddenly not only decided o be openly homosexual, but dress in spandex and shave his head? Those were two drastic character changes!
How had Scott put it? ‘He’s getting queerer by the day.’ That seemed a fair statement. When I’d asked Nick about his interests he talked about his Gender class and Professor Damian Edwards. What was the deal with this class? And, for that matter, what was the research Edwards was working on and what was Nick doing with it?
My Net search had come up with very little to shed light on things. Edwards had a reputation as a bit of a kook, but he was well-respected in some circles for his pioneering writings on gender and communications.
I left the Lecture Center and walked to the Library. The woman at the reference desk showed me the section of reserved readings for Edwards’ class. I scanned the titles. Nothing really fascinating. A file folder at the end of the shelf contained the paper topics for the semester. I took a copy and skimmed it.
Essay Choice #3 stood out.
Sexuality, like most personality traits, is a product of our environment and not of genetic predisposition. By changing a person’s environment and social conditioning, you could thereby alter their views of acceptable gender roles and/or sexual proclivities. In a well thought out essay agree or disagree, supporting your position with the course materials.
Fuck me.
Nick wasn’t the Research Assistant.
He was the Research!
My cell phone chirped. I flipped it open.
“Chris, I have to tell you something, but you have to promise not to get mad.”
Nick was the research. My God. Did he have any idea? “What?” I asked. It was Craig. What was he rambling about?
“I did something and now it’s all my fault.”
“What did you do?”
A Library Aide approached me. “Sir, there are no cell phones allowed in the Library.”
I nodded, covering the mouthpiece. “I’m hanging up.”
“Remember how I wanted to hypnotize Alan and teach him a lesson?” Craig was saying in my ear.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve been kind of doing it.”
“You’ve been ‘KIND OF’ hypnotizing him?” I asked.
Several college students glanced at me.
I lowered my voice and turned toward the wall. “For how long?”
“A while. Umm, but I think I did something wrong. Really wrong.”
“Why? What happened? Craig, I warned you about consequences. I told you it’s dangerous to fool around with this when you don’t know what you’re doing.” Just ask Nick. Poor kid. Probably had no idea what he’d signed up for. If he’d even signed up for it!
“Yes, but that was this morning! I’d already done all this. Shit! Chris, I need your help.”
That caught me up short. Something serious had happened. Otherwise Craig wouldn’t be confessing all of this to me. I kept my voice very low. “What happened? Did Alan figure out what you did? Is he threatening you? Is he there now?”
“No, I’m okay. I mean, I’m freaking out, but I’m okay. The police were here.”
“What?!” I shouted.
“Shhhh!” somebody hissed.
I moved off into the stacks.
“Chris, last night Alan tried to kill himself. He left a note addressed to me.”
I was concentrating on not hyperventilating. “Where is he now?”
“In the Psych Ward for seventy-two hours observation.”
My mind went into overdrive. My heart was racing. I started sputtering. “If they figure out—How deep were you—What did you suggest—All my fault—My God!”
I leaned back against the shelves and took a deep breath. All I could smell was musty old books. I needed fresh air. I needed to think.
“Chris, I don’t know what to do. I need your help. They won’t let me see him. I think I can undo everything. But I have to get in to see him!”
I took a few beats to compose myself. “We’ll talk about this when I get home. Is there anything else I should know?”
“The mail came.”
“And?”
“I think you got another one of those notes.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Open the envelope.”
I heard Craig tear the paper.
Dread was creeping through me. “What’s it say?”
“It’s a white piece of paper. ‘Abandon your research. My study is nearly complete.’ It’s not signed.”
Research.
Nick.
Fuck me.