“After that, we were inseparable.” Gerald was lost in thought. “Two years of bliss. It was. . . and probably still is. . . the best time of my life. But it didn't last. Sometime before Georgie's twenty-third birthday, Nathaniel Saunders became suspicious of the time his son was spending over at my house. He decided to investigate.”
“He caught you?”
Green nodded. “Fucking his son over the breakfast table. It was, to say the least, a scene.”
He explained that both he and George were forced to agree never to see one another again. To help distance himself from the pain, Gerry met a young woman in town and married her shortly thereafter. Nathaniel arranged for his son to do the same.
“After that, did you ever—”
The older man shook his head. “No. When I married Cheryl, I made a commitment to her. In front of our friends, our family, and to God. I respected that vow.” He nodded with a bittersweet expression, “And we had a wonderful life, Cheryl and I. Moved down the coast. I loved her. . . maybe differently that I did Georgie but I loved her all the same.” He stopped and looked at his empty glass. “She died of pneumonia seven years ago.”
They spoke a while longer, Dane absorbed in Green's revealing story. It explained so much of the history of Eldon Court, its early flirtation with the gay life when it was forbidden, how it affected those who wished to carry nonjudgmental love to the next generation. Then the bartender approached.
“I'm sorry but we're closing the patio for the evening now.”
They rose. Dane extended his hand to Gerald Green. “Thank you for meeting with me, Gerry. But I'm not sure how this is going to help us.”
Green slapped his forehead. “I almost forgot. See, this is what you get when you let an old man ramble.” He held up two fingers. “Two things, quickly, before you go home. First, I told you all of this for a reason. . .” The reason, it turned out, could be the solution that Dane and Sawyer and all of their neighbors had been looking for.
“And second, I wanted to arrange an exchange.” Dane gave Green a puzzled look. “I'd like my photo back. And in return. . .”
Gerald handed Dane a sheaf of papers.
“I can't understand a word of it. Way over my old head. But someone else might. Albert Einstein left them in the house when they rushed him away one night in secret. Some early notes on a thing he was noodling on.”
Dane read, “Unified field theory?”
“He called it the theory of everything. Told me about it over supper one night. According to him, everything in the universe is connected.”
They walked to the parking lot. Dane promised Green that he'd return the photograph, if it were among his things in the morning. He explained that Sawyer's parents had kicked them out of their house.
“Michael Block?”
Dane nodded. “But I'll see what I can do—”
They were suddenly bathed in the headlights of a car parked just near the entrance to the Bayside Hotel. Two men jumped from the car and rushed forward. Green fell down, his bad leg failing him. Dane sidestepped the dark figure coming at him and, for a moment, squared off with his attacker.
Then a silvery streak burst onto the scene. A two-toned horn pierced the air. And Sawyer's Porsche crashed directly into the side of the black Cadillac with a thunderous crash. Dane didn't wait to see what would happen next. He swept his opponent's legs with his foot and, as the man dropped, punched him squarely in the neck. That took the wind out of him.
Vertigo tugged at Sawyer as he forced his door open and moved to help Dane. It was too dark to see the thugs clearly but easy enough to determine who was a friend and who wasn't. Not friendly at all was the guy who turned from the old man and charged at Sawyer from the left. Without thinking, Sawyer positioned himself for a hip throw, a move that until now, he hadn't been able to pull off. This time, he got it right. Sawyer swiveled his hip to meet his attacker and naturally placed his foot on the outside of the man's right shoe. Then he rotated at the waist, grabbing his attacker's wrist. Simple physics did the rest. The man sailed into the air. He collided against the chassis of the mashed-up Porsche.
“Way to go, Saws!”
That signaled the end of the melee. The men in black rose and fled into the night.
Dane checked on Gerald Green, who was sore but otherwise unharmed. That's when he realized—
“Oh shit! They took Einstein's papers!”
Sawyer placed a comforting hand on Green's shoulder. “Sorry about your stuff, Mr. Einstein. But at least you're okay.”
* * * *
Very unusual to have such an early visitor, let alone any visitor, thought the caretaker. But he answered the door in his most professional manner and, at the insistence of the guest, showed him in. It took a while to dress Mr. Saunders to receive this stranger, but soon, the servant wheeled him into the small living room.
George was particularly distant today, muttering to himself with a far-off, glazed-over gaze. The caretaker doubted he was even aware of what was happening around him. Cognitive dysfunction, the doctors claimed.
Now, George's eyes wandered randomly around the room, almost avoiding contact with the visitor. But when they did settle on him, his look steely and focused, something miraculous happened. He stopped fidgeting. His gaze focused. And tears welled in his eyes.
Saunders’ hands tightened on the arms of his wheelchair, as though he were about to try and rise on his own accord. Instead, he opened his mouth in a weak smile.
“Gerry?”
* * * *
“YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED!?!”
Dane laughed at Paolo's reaction, but begged him to listen. There was one more thing. He moved in closer. “Look. . . Aaron was the best thing we had in our lives, you and I.”
Paolo nodded.
“It's a connection we share. That's why I want to ask: Will you be my best man?”
Paolo's response was capacious to say the least. He spilled his drink in his excitement, momentarily considered cleaning it up, and instead rushed to Dane to hug him.
“Hey, no molesting my fiance!”
Sawyer stood in the hallway, the rest of the neighborhood suddenly appearing, all in tow, a joyous reason for their quickly assembled reunion. Even Parker St. John and his mother were present. It took only five minutes to get everybody settled. Paolo poured bubbly all around.
“Oh, bubbles, this ought to be good,” Rose said.
Finally, Dane and Sawyer stood before their friends.
“So come on,” Marc urged, “What's the news?”
Paolo couldn't contain himself. He jumped up. “They're getting married!”
Everybody responded with surprise and cheer, though Sawyer noticed Marc shoot his lover, Rich, a serious look.
Dane shouted above the din. “Well, that's the plan, and of course you're all invited. But first, we have to get through this mess we're in. And we have an idea on how to achieve that.”
Sawyer picked up from there. “It turns out that Eldon Court has a rich history, dating all the way back to the 1800s.” He motioned around them. “These houses have stood here since then.” As best he could, Sawyer related the history of Wonderland and Eldon Court, just as Dane had told him. The rich early-American roots. And it's military significance. Then Sawyer revealed Green's suggestion: Have Eldon Court declared a national landmark.
“Well, actually, I don't think we'd qualify as a national landmark, hon,” Dane corrected. “But possibly a historical California landmark.” The others looked at him blankly, save Jack and Edgar whose faces brightened with realization.
“That's would protect Eldon Court from any kind of construction,” Jack pointed out.
“Or destruction,” countered Edgar.
“Yes. It would preserve our homes the way they are. And stop any plans for the Wonderland Palaces.” Dane folded his arms in happy satisfaction. “And what's more, I'd like to announce a new film project I'm starting: a documentary on Wonderland.” He looked at his next-door neighbor
. “Edgar, I was wondering if you would care to help write the script. Maybe add in some of the content from your book.”
Edgar mock-saluted, “With pleasure, mon ami.”
The doorbell sounded. Paolo answered it to reveal Gerald Green on the stoop.
“Hello, folks. Sorry to barge in.” He politely wiped his feet on the doormat outside. To Sawyer and Dane, he explained, “I tried you at your home but no one was there. Then I saw all the lights on over here.”
Dane led Green to the foyer where the others looked on with interest.
“I can't stay. I just came to see Sawyer and Dane for a moment. They speak highly of you. All of you.” He squinted with humility. “Look, I'm an old man, so I guess that gives me the right to speak my mind, no matter how insensitive. Don't play into Danvers Converse's hands. Every time you cheat on each other—”
Rich looked down at his shoes. Paolo sucked in a breath, sneaking an ashamed peek at Parker.
“Every time you fight. . .”
Marc pursed his lips, refusing to look at Rich.
“. . . you help Converse. So stop it. Stop it right now. And if you think, for one moment, that running away will make life easier, then consider this: What happens when you find a new home and another Danvers Converse pops up to cause trouble?”
Jack and Edgar exchanged guilty glances.
“There'll always be someone trying to take away what you have. Wonderland isn't a place where you park your car. Or eat your dinner. Or sleep at night. YOU are Wonderland. Remember that. What you have here is worth fighting for. Draw your line in the sand.”
Green looked at the assembled neighbors and offered one last thought, “Winston Churchill once said that in time of war, the truth is so precious it's protected by a bodyguard of lies. I'd say it's time to figure out what the truth is—about yourselves and about what's happening here—and expose it to the light of day. Make no mistake, this is war.” He moved to the door, passing a beaming Rose Emerson St. John. “Ms. Emerson, nice see you again.”
“Always a pleasure, Gerald.”
Sawyer and Dane walked Green to a cab that was waiting along the curb. The old man turned and tossed something to Sawyer. “Oh, you'll need these.”
They were the keys to Number One Eldon Court.
“It's all yours. Lock, stock and barrel.”
The boys were stunned. “But. . . how? My father—”
“Got a call from his father, Michael Senior.” Green smiled. “A former colleague of mine. We served together up here in World War II. How do you think the house came to be in your family's possession? As I said, we're all connected.”
Dane muttered with irony, “Unified Field Theory. . .”
As Green settled into the back seat, he wished them well. “You boys be good to one another. Enjoy together what not every man was allowed in the past.”
And with that, the cab drove off.
Inside, the old man chuckled quietly to himself. Former colleague. Michael Block and he had served one year together at Eldon Court, watching for trouble at the periscope on the bluff. Six months into that tour, the two men, lonely and horny, though not in that order, acted on impulse. There was no premeditation to what happened, just a release of sexual tension. For Gerry, it was his first taste of another soldier's manhood. And once consumed, he was hooked. After draining Block orally, Green was jazzed enough to turn tail and let his friend fuck him. The experience was euphoric. Block touched a space in Gerry that had never known fulfillment. As he came, Block cried, “Shit!”
Gerry, too, cursed, but for a different reason. There, in the viewer of the periscope, appeared dark shadows that broke the moonlight on the water. For a second, he thought he was delirious from lust. But no—those were subs. Without explanation to Block, Green ran down the street, holding up his pants with one hand, to radio San Francisco harbor from the house.
As it turned out, it was a fleet of three Japanese I-26s. The Navy gave chase and finally sank the lot just off northern California. In effect, putting the kibosh on what might have been surveillance for another Pearl Harbor.
All Green remembered was the sweet, nutty taste of Private Michael Block's juices as he spoke to the base supervisor.
And they awarded me for a job well-done.
A sea breeze whipped up and buffeted the side of the cab, breaking Green's reverie.
“Storm is coming,” the driver said.
“Sonny, you have no idea.” Still Green wondered. . .
What next?
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
Part Five
“The Desperate Hour”
By Adam Carpenter
* * * *
For the first time since he moved to Wonderland's beautiful Eldon Court, Rich North didn't want to think about what was to come next. He'd had enough of the intrigue, the drama, the danger, especially since last's night wild celebration showed just how great life could be. Who could have envisioned a party that would include the following: bottle after bottle of champagne, a faded, but still beautiful star of the silver screen, the ghosts of Albert Einstein and a military coup during World War Two, the joyous expressions on the faces of two men who loved each other and announced their plan to spend their lives together, all wrapped up in a discussion of protecting their valued land through the California landmark society, and lastly, the comforting, haunting words of Gerald Green, an influential Eldon Court settler, who, while invoking the pioneer spirit of Drew Saunders and his love for Aidan Turner, lectured them about what was important in this world: love, support, fidelity? Rich had almost sensed a connection to Marc that he hadn't felt since before the shooting, their eyes lingering on each other amidst the various toasts that were offered up. Regret tinged looks, but looks nonetheless. Yes, too many bottles of bubbly had been consumed.
No wonder Rich had slept in this morning. He was exhausted just thinking about the events of the night. Perhaps a bit hung-over too.
But even in the midst of all those thoughts, as the sun glinted across his eyes and pried them open to the possibilities of a new day, the one word that nagged at him was this: almost. He and Marc, they were still miles apart in their relationship and last night had just been the latest example, the two of them returning home together but not, and even tipsy managed to avoid each other. Back in happier times, they would have been screwing their brains out until they fell asleep. Living in separate rooms, with Rich in the bedroom, Marc upstairs in his studio-cum-apartment, there was a sense of incompleteness swirling around them. This had not been the intent when they'd made that fateful decision to leave the east coast and move to Wonderland and set up their ideal home at Number Five Eldon Court. Ideal. The word toyed with him.
So much had happened since then, and Rich knew most of it had been his fault.
His cock's fault.
Fucking other men had gotten him in big trouble back in New York. The fresh setting of a picturesque village on the Pacific coast hadn't cured him on his wandering eye, his lust for sex, and now it appeared his hunger had finally cost him the most important thing in his life—the man he loved. He thought back to the first night back in Wonderland, the two of them staying at the Bayside Hotel, pretending to have just met each other at the bar, Rich taking him up to the penthouse suite and stripping him down in the elevator, sucking him, fucking him, watching as Marc energetically shot his thick load all over Rich's chest, soaking the dense mat of hair.
Ha, things had really changed. Rich, rising from the oversize, empty bed, padded over to the mirror where he looked at his weary face, surprised he could even look at himself after all he'd done this past summer. New lines had cropped up around his eyes, and he thought he could detect more than a hint of gray in the stubble that littered his cheeks and chin. He gazed at the healing wound on his upper chest where the bullet had pierced him. The skin was puckered and it always would be, a bald spot on his chest. The hair had begun to grow back over the rest of his chest with a vengeance; he
was thankful for the testosterone that still coursed through his body. As he ran a hand across his strong chest, he mused that another week or so, his chest just might start looking like it used to, dark and thickly furred, just how Marc preferred it. Perhaps when his inner—and outer—hairy beast returned, he could lure Marc back to bed, back into his heart.
Tossing on a pair of tight black jockey shorts, Rich made his way downstairs, listening for the sounds of human activity. Since coming home from the hospital, he and Marc had essentially been reduced to being roommates, hardly sharing meals, their conversations, if you could call them that, civil but uninspiring. At times, Rich would even look Marc's way and find his once-upon-a-time lover quickly looking away. Did he repulse him that much?
“Marc, are you home?” he called out as he reached the main floor, only to hear an echo through the large Victorian house they shared.
A fresh pot of hot coffee was waiting in the kitchen, a clear indication Marc was up and about, probably out for a morning jog. Something he did often these days, didn't have to be morning. Rich had noticed how skinny Marc was looking lately, not that he was anywhere near being fat prior to his new obsession with jogging a couple times a day. He supposed it was Marc's way of avoiding him. He poured coffee, made his way out onto the porch, where the cool morning air attacked his bare skin. He was about to retreat inside for a robe when he saw his neighbor, Paolo, making his way up the pathway.
“You putting on a show for us all?” Paolo asked.
“Uh, yeah, I suppose,” Rich said, “let me go put on some clothes.”
“Don't dress up on my account,” Paolo said, “remember, I've seen even more.”
“Well, someone's feeling frisky again.”
“I miss Aaron, I always will. But my heart is still beating.”
“Don't you mean throbbing?”
“Bitch.”
They laughed together, the playful sound nice on this fresh day. Rich offered up a cup of coffee, Paolo accepted quickly enough to make Rich believe his neighbor had come over with an agenda. Settled at the kitchen table, Rich scratched absently at his stubble while Paolo took a sip of his hot drink.
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