Destination, Wedding!

by Xavier Mayne

  “Hold the chair while I pick him up?” Sandler asked.

  “I can do this, Sandler,” Trevor said. He rolled the chair closer to the open door, locked the wheels, then lowered the armrest. He lifted himself off the chair and into the car, then swung his legs over. “See?”

  “Wow,” Sandler replied. “That’s awesome. Your mom actually let you do that?”

  “Not once, ever,” Trevor said with a laugh. “I would sometimes practice moving from my wheelchair onto my bed and back again. But I could only do it when she forgot to take my chair away, so I didn’t often have the chance.”

  “You are fucking amazing and I love you so much,” Sandler said, lowering himself into the car as Donnelly wheeled the chair around back to stow it in the trunk.

  Donnelly stepped in from the street side and sat next to Trevor. Given his small stature, they fit comfortably together across the back seat. “Clothes shopping is probably not what you dreamed of doing on your first day of freedom,” he said as the town car pulled away from the hotel.

  “Oh, you have no idea how much I wanted to have something other than cheap sweats and slippers. I tried some of Sandler’s clothes, but they basically fell off me—all except this amazing fleece thing, which is the best thing I’ve ever worn.” He pulled the collar of the pullover up over his mouth and nose. “Probably because it smells like him.”

  Sandler put his arm around him and pulled him close.

  “You guys are just too cute,” Donnelly said.

  “Cute’s nice,” Trevor replied. “But I think I heard something about ‘sharply tailored’?”

  “Right you are,” Donnelly said. “I think Imre’s exactly correct. We need to show the judge that you are just fine now that you’re out of your parents’ clutches.”

  “You have always been fine,” Sandler added, a lover’s growl in his voice. “But now you’re going to be superhot.” He kissed Trevor on the cheek. “And, you know, all independent and stuff.”

  “I’m fine with independent as long as I have you. I did dependent and alone for a lot of years, so now it’s time for independent and not lonely.”

  They rode in quiet for a few minutes.

  “Gabriel?” Trevor said as they entered an older quarter of town.

  Donnelly turned and smiled.

  “You don’t think they really have a chance, do you?”

  “Your parents? I’d like to think that they will see what you’ve become after one day out from under them, and they’ll give up without a single word from the attorneys. But I’ve seen parents do really awful things when they think they’re doing the right thing. It seems like your parents are pretty bought into the whole ‘gay is a disease’ thing, and that can be hard to pry loose once it takes root.”

  “So you think there’s a chance they’ll win, and I’ll have to go back to them?”

  “You’re asking two questions there,” Donnelly replied. “To the first, I’d have to say there’s always a chance of anything. You can’t go in certain you’re going to win because that might lull you into taking your eye off the ball. So I would say it’s a vanishingly small chance—like ‘a meteor hits this car as we drive up to the tailor’s shop’ small—but there’s always a chance. But, more importantly, to your second question: you will never have to go back to them. Never. I would never allow that to happen, and neither would Ethan or Kerry or Imre. And Sandler would pick you up and carry you out himself if they tried to take you. You are free, Trevor, and you will never have to go back to them. No matter what happens in that hearing tomorrow.”

  Trevor’s expressions had run from relief to terror to resolve during Donnelly’s answer, and now tears sprang to his eyes. “I am the luckiest man on earth,” he said softly.

  “You earned your luck, mister,” Sandler said. “You’ve seen some shit, and now things are going to get better.”

  The car slowed and pulled to a stop in front of the tailor’s shop. Donnelly got out first, checked the sky for meteors, and then retrieved the wheelchair from the trunk. They rolled into the shop, where the proprietor himself was awaiting their arrival. He stood amid a luxurious sea of cashmere, leather, and silk.

  “Right on time,” he called in greeting. “I am Anshel, and I welcome you to my shop. And you must be Trevor. Imre has given me very clear instructions, so let us get right to work.” He swept open a curtain to reveal a fitting room surrounded by mirrors.

  Sandler and Donnelly introduced themselves on their way past Anshel, and with a great flourish, he drew the curtain closed behind them.

  “Imre only gave me the barest hint of your situation, my dear boy. You have my every sympathy. That such a thing can happen in our own time… well, it shakes my very faith in humanity itself. Such as my faith was, anyway. My parents were victims of the Holocaust, so when it comes to the human spirit, I am more realist than optimist.”

  Everyone in the fitting room took a long, sad breath.

  “But today we will strike a blow for freedom,” Anshel cried, dispelling the heaviness in the air. “Now, Trevor, my boy, we will start with measurements. I can do neck, arms, shoulders, and chest while you sit, of course.” He rubbed his tidy gray goatee. “Yes, we start there, and we figure out the rest.” He pulled out a tape measure and unfurled it with a practiced flip of his wrist.

  The old man was a blur of motion as he took Trevor’s measurements, not even pausing to write down any of the numbers. In under two minutes he had completed the top half, and stood back to consider. “Are you able to stand at all?” he asked. “Please don’t think me rude—if you cannot stand, I will make you such trousers that people in Paris will take to sitting just to look like you.”

  Trevor laughed. “I don’t get many opportunities to try,” he said.

  Sandler started to move toward him, but Donnelly put his hand on Sandler’s arm, and gave a subtle shake of the head when Sandler turned to look.

  Trevor locked the chair’s wheels, then reached down to put his feet on the floor and swing the footplates out of the way. He gripped the arms of the chair hard enough to turn his knuckles white, but he got himself nearly to an upright posture. As soon as he had, though, he seemed unable to arrest his forward momentum, and he pitched toward the mirror. His right foot shuffled forward a half step, but it wasn’t enough to catch him. Sandler did that, wrapping his arms tightly around Trevor and holding him upright.

  Donnelly feared Trevor would be crushed by his failure to stand, but when he caught a glimpse in the mirror, he saw a broad smile on Trevor’s face.

  “Did you see that?” he said, winded a bit from the effort of standing. “I actually took a step! That’s more than I’ve done in months.”

  Sandler’s smile matched Trevor’s, and he cast Donnelly a look that conveyed a silent thanks for allowing Trevor to try standing on his own. “Amazing, man,” he said, still holding Trevor tightly.

  Anshel shrugged and held out his measuring tape. “I should maybe measure both waists together, then subtract yours?” he said to Sandler with a chuckle.

  “No, I got this,” Trevor said, a look of utter concentration on his face. He released his hold on Sandler’s shoulders, and pushed himself back. He wiggled and waved a little, but he was able to stand with just one hand on Sandler for balance.

  As Trevor and Sandler kept their eyes locked to each other, the one willing himself to stay upright and the other trying to give him strength through the intensity of his gaze, Anshel flitted around them, getting the measurements he needed.

  “Perfect,” Anshel announced when he had completed his wizardry with the tape. “Now, we have some choices to make.” He clapped his hands. “Victor! Bring the bolts!”

  As Trevor sank back into his chair with a heavy exhalation, the curtain surrounding the fitting room flew open, and a young man stood as if he had been conjured up by Anshel’s call. He bore an armful of fabric rolls, which he proffered to Anshel.

  “This, and this, and this,” Anshel said, tapping three of the b
olts, which Victor then handed him. He turned to Trevor, now settled back into his chair. “Tell me, my boy, which of these will you wear?”

  Trevor wore an expression of utter, Christmas-morning delight as he looked at the three bolts. He slowly raised a hand and tapped the fabric in the middle, which Anshel set aside.

  “That is, of course, the perfect one. You have a very good eye.” Anshel handed the other two back to Victor. “Now bring the ties,” he said, and Victor dashed away, returning an impossibly short time later with a tray bearing a dozen ties in different hues. He took the tray and held it before Trevor. “And which tie will you wear?”

  Trevor scanned the jewel-like strips of fabric and, without hesitation, put his finger on one in a crystalline blue.

  “Just like your eyes,” Anshel said with a wink. “Again, perfect.” He turned to Sandler. “Hold on to this one—he knows things.”

  “Indeed he does,” Sandler replied, smiling widely.

  “One last thing.” Anshel handed the tray of ties back to Victor, then whispered to him. He turned and dashed away again. “We will fit the shirt now, and that will let me fit the suit without you having to stay here all day. Come back in the evening, and we will make sure it is perfect.”

  “You can make an entire suit in one day, just like that?” Sandler asked.

  It was clearly a question Anshel had been asked before. “My dear boy, the finest tailors in the country—in all of Europe—I have working here. I have made tuxedoes in two hours. For royalty.”

  Victor returned once again, this time with a single white shirt on a hanger.

  “Thank you, Victor,” Anshel said, then closed the curtains once again. “Trevor, will you put this on?” He took the shirt off the hanger and handed it to him.

  “Of course,” Trevor replied, and pulled the fleece off over his head.

  He was about to do the same with the T-shirt underneath when Donnelly said, “I should wait outside, give you some privacy.”

  “No, stay,” Trevor said. “I don’t mind you being here.” He pulled the shirt off, and began to put on the starched and brilliant shirt Anshel had given him. “I kind of feel like if I lose sight of you, this amazing dream will be over.”

  Donnelly stayed, smiling at Trevor as he pulled the shirt on over his thin and somewhat frail-looking chest. He buttoned it up, and Anshel tugged and pinched and muttered, buzzing around him like a one-man swarm of bees.

  “Done,” Anshel announced. “Now you may get dressed and leave the shirt here. When you return this evening—say, six o’clock?—I will have it done. Give us a half hour to make final adjustments, and you’ll have such a suit.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, sir,” Trevor said.

  Anshel looked at him seriously. “Imre tells me what happened to you, and I say to myself, I have to help. So I help.” He smiled. “Plus, George Clooney cancelled.” He shrugged. “His loss.”

  “All right, gents,” Donnelly said, looking at his phone. “Imre’s set up our next appointments, and we need to get moving.” He held out his hand to the tailor. “Thank you so much, Anshel. You’re a miracle worker. We’ll see you at six.”

  “Very good, very good,” the tailor replied as he threw open the curtains for the final time. “Best of luck to you—to all of you.”

  Late in the day the group convened in the hotel restaurant to recount the day’s progress.

  Trevor told the story of the tailor and then all the doctor visits—there had been three—while they ate dinner. Each of the doctors had reacted similarly to his summary of the past ten years, and all were willing to present their findings at the hearing.

  Then over dessert Brandt and Kerry discussed their marathon meeting with the legal team, and though the details were intricate, the outcome was much the same as with the doctors: the experts were confident in a ruling in their favor.

  At the end of the meal, Imre stood for a moment. “I would just like to say how very impressed I am with what this group has been able to accomplish in such a short time. I am proud to have a small role in helping bring this fine young man to freedom. I’ve only just met most of you, but I am certain that tonight I am in the presence of the most caring and dedicated people I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. I thank you for letting me join with you in this cause.” He raised his glass to the table, and there were cheers all around.

  “We’d better get you to bed,” Sandler said to Trevor. “Big day tomorrow.”

  “You just want to get me in bed,” Trevor joked, but then his face turned serious. “You do want to get me in bed, don’t you?”

  “Every night for the rest of our lives,” Sandler replied. Their kiss was met with hooting from Kerry’s side of the table.

  “All right,” Brandt said in his daily-briefing voice. “There will be a van to take us to the hearing tomorrow at eight sharp. Whatever you get up to tonight”—he raised an eyebrow at Sandler and Trevor—“make sure you wrap it up in enough time to be bright-eyed and ready to roll at eight. Got it?”

  “We’ve got it, Sarge,” Donnelly cracked, but he laid a kiss on Brandt’s cheek.

  “Once the hearing is over, resulting in our overwhelming victory,” Brandt said, then paused a moment for the cheering to die down, “Gabriel and I will be heading for the wedding. You’re all invited, of course. Who’s coming with us?”

  Kerry’s hand shot into the air and waved frantically. Sandler and Trevor looked at each other, then raised their hands, clasped together.

  “I’m fine with that, as long as Trevor doesn’t wear his suit,” Donnelly said. “I can’t have him looking better than me at my own wedding.”

  “Imre, we’d love to have you there as well,” Brandt said.

  “I would be honored to attend,” Imre said with a bow. “Your gracious invitation is entirely in keeping with your character, and I very much appreciate it.”

  “We’ll kick ass and take names at the hearing, then go get hitched,” Brandt said. “Good times.”

  Donnelly leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Fuck yeah.”

  SANDLER CLOSED the bedroom door softly, and padded over to Trevor, who sat on the edge of the bed. He sat down next to him. “Big day, right?”

  “A big, unbelievable day,” Trevor agreed. “I probably would have enjoyed it more if I weren’t so scared about the hearing tomorrow.”

  “You have nothing to be afraid of. Gabriel said it exactly right: we can’t be sure of what will happen at the hearing, but we can be sure that you’re not going back to them. None of us would allow that. I wouldn’t allow that.”

  Trevor smiled weakly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when I see them tomorrow. For so many years it’s just been me and them, and they were always in control.”

  “They aren’t anymore,” Sandler said soothingly, running his fingertips along the side of Trevor’s face.

  Trevor closed his eyes, leaning into the caress, but when he opened them, they were filled with even more concern. “It’s not just that they controlled my life; they controlled me. They were able to make me think they were right about me—that I was damaged in some horrible way, and that we needed to find a treatment of some kind that would rip the disease out of me.” A sob caught in his throat. “I believed them, Sandler. There were times when I was sure they were right. There were times when I just wanted to stop fighting and give them what they wanted.”

  “They were wrong—about you, about everything,” Sandler replied. “There is no disease in you, Trev. And I will be here to remind you of that every single day until you can feel as sure about it as I am. You are your own person, and no one can tell you how to feel. What you and I had back then, and what we have now, is more real and more true and more… you than anything your parents ever said or did.”

  “I’m scared,” Trevor said meekly.

  “And that’s okay,” Sandler replied, pulling Trevor to him. “That’s natural, given what you’ve been through.” Sandler held him for a long time, until
he could feel his body relax. “How about we get some sleep?”

  Trevor pulled back from Sandler’s embrace and looked him in the eye. “How about we do something else first?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Something that would make my mom’s head explode,” Trevor replied with a sly grin.

  “Is that what you want? Not for your mom’s head to explode, of course,” Sandler said with a shrug, “though I guess that’s not a bad side effect.” He looked Trevor in the eye. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

  “Sandler Birkin, it’s been more than ten years since we last touched each other that way. I think I’m more than ready.”

  “Nothing would make me happier than to end your decade-long dry spell, but are you sure you’re up for it?”

  Trevor laughed and tugged at the crotch of his sweat pants. “I am definitely up for it.”

  Sandler slid his hand down to join Trevor’s, and was rewarded with a healthy handful of hard, hot cock. “It’s just like I remember,” he murmured.

  “Let’s see if it still works like you remember.”

  “Being under supervision all the time, how did you…?”

  “Not much, is how,” Trevor replied. “I think I went a year once without even touching it because of how warped they made me. They got into my head, and I really started to believe that all my problems came down to my dick wanting the wrong thing.”

  “What did it want?” Sandler asked, continuing his gentle stroking.

  “You. Through all those years, all it wanted—all I wanted—was you.”

  “You’ve got me now.” Sandler slipped his hand inside the waistband of Trevor’s sweats.

  “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to give me an honest answer, okay?” Trevor asked.

  “You don’t have to tell me to be honest, Trev. I would never be anything but with you.”

  Trevor swallowed hard. “Have you been with other… guys? Since me, I mean?”

  “Will you think any less of me if I say I have?”

  “No, I wouldn’t. I’d be happy for you. After I gave up on ever seeing you again, I just hoped you were happy. I pictured you with a great guy and a nice house and maybe some kids—all the things we talked about. I hoped you’d have those things, even if I never could.”