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Message of Love

Page 35

by Jim Provenzano


  “What?” Her astonished glare probably continued after I finished hugging her again, tight enough to almost make her squirm. As I pulled away, she remained stunned.

  “You gave birth to the most wonderful, amazing guy, and I can never thank you enough.”

  “Well, I’m… I’m touched.”

  Before we got misty-eyed, Everett, his glad-handing duties completed, approached. We bid his somewhat bewildered mother goodnight and retreated to our hotel room, where corny as ever, Everett had ordered a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of …

  “Marigolds?”

  “Roses are so cliché,” Everett grinned.

  “Another fancy night. Mister President, sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is living.”

  Everett sighed in agreement.

  “So, what’s the big surprise?”

  “Remember when I gave you that ring?”

  I held up my hand. “Of course.”

  “And I said how it was thanks for all the miles yet to come?”

  “Yes,” I replied, slightly confused. “We should get out early tomorrow, since we’ve got a lot of miles to get back to Greensburg.” I had decided to spend a few weeks at the nursery to save up before our move.

  And then I saw that look in his eye, that mischievous, daring glint. “What do you say you don’t go back right away.”

  “But I have to start work.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re richer than me now.”

  “Theoretically. Dad convinced me to put most of it in savings.”

  “What about… another adventure?”

  “What kind of adventure?” I asked warily.

  “Look, before I get caught up in this rabbit hole of poster boy stuff, let’s take a road trip; cross-country. That new truck–”

  “The Blazer!” I announced, as if introducing a pro wrestler.

  “It’s just aching to be broken in. We can travel, see Mrs. Kukka in Baltimore, then pop back here to Pittsburgh, say goodbye to Wesley, then see the country before we land in Berkeley.”

  “Any other Bs?” Although his plan included visiting a hospital and a cemetery, he kept his tone oddly upbeat.

  “Bumfuck; I don’t care,” he said. “I just… school can wait. Everything can wait.”

  “Just not our little road trip.”

  He raised his arms wide.

  “Which you’ve already planned.”

  “Well, I may have made a few notes on a map or three.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “That’s why you love me.”

  I leaned in close, offered a kiss, then slowly loosened his bowtie, undid the top button of his shirt.

  “We need music.” I fiddled with the small radio alarm clock, settling on a jazz station.

  “Are you up for it?” he asked.

  I returned to him with a sort of cha-cha. “Monkey, I’m up for anything.”

  “I noticed. Did I tell you how handsome you look in a suit?” he said as I loosened my tie as well.

  “You did, Mister Ex-President, but you can say it again.”

  “Ex-presidents still get called President.”

  “Yes, Mister President.”

  “Mister Conniff?”

  “Yes, Mister President?”

  “You look hot in a suit.”

  I grabbed my pants suggestively, until he pushed my hand aside to feel for himself.

  “I look better out of it. But first…” I took his hand in mine, up and to the side, shifting my hips beside him. “Would you like to dance?”

  He spun his chair around in consent. “Mister Conniff, you’re a class act,” he smiled.

  “And that’s why you love me.”

  Chapter 43

  July 1983

  The sweeping sea and landscape spreads below. Wild yellow poppies shimmer as the breeze grazes the field sloping around us. While not even the northernmost accessible view, our perch on Mount Tamalpais looms over the bay. The land beyond it, behind Angel Island, could be our next home.

  Perhaps it’s behind another island where he’ll go to school, just below the curve of hills, where I start working in a few weeks, if I choose, if we choose.

  “So?” Everett smiles at me, his face already slightly sunburned as we sit on a blanket. “Do we just stay in Oz, Scarecrow?”

  “Maybe.”

  It took more than two casual weeks for us to cross the country. We slept in cheap motels or elegant suites, depending on our mood. Canyons, diners, rivers, the enormity of the land, exhausted us toward the end of our trip. And yet only a day after arriving, we’re exploring again.

  Nancy and her husband told us we can stay in their spare basement room through the summer until fall semester, when Everett’s graduate apartment will become available. Basements are different in California. Sometimes they have views, and for us, even a small yard where our hosts’ feisty terrier likes to romp.

  “We could just have our stuff shipped out,” I say.

  Everett offers a studious look of agreement, as if it were a novel idea, since he probably already thought of it himself.

  I hand him the binoculars and point as he peers over the distant hills and, below them, a jutting clock tower spire. Just uphill from that, somewhere in that speckled hillside, our temporary home lies nestled under oaks, evergreens and the occasional oddly placed palm tree. It’s a strange land, one of succulent plants, dry grasses, where almost everyone and everything is an invasive species. And here we are, plotting our own little invasion.

  Over on the other side of the expansive view, the city with its own beauty lies beyond the blood-orange bridge. I wonder how much of its pleasures we’ll sample, and what we’ll have to avoid. It’s late in the afternoon, and although we’re still under a blast of sun, the brisk sea breeze tugs a blanket of fog, and beyond that, a dark bank of clouds.

  As a child, I dreamed of living in the forest, of hiding among the trees to avoid the world of people and all their problems. Instead, I met a boy in the woods, and together we grew and somehow figured out how to become men.

  We’re still working on that.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jim Provenzano is the author of the Lambda Literary Award-winning Every Time I Think of You, the novels PINS, Monkey Suits, Cyclizen, the stage adaptation and audiobook edition of PINS, as well as numerous published short stories. A journalist, photographer and editor for more than two decades, he lives in San Francisco. www.myrmidude.org

  www.facebook.com/JimProvenzanoAuthor

  www.jimprovenzano.blogspot.com

  If you liked this book, please post online reviews and tell your friends.

  Download the book trailer song, Dudley Saunder’s performance of The Pretenders’ “Message of Love,” at www.DudleySaunders.com

  Table of Contents

  Acclaim for the Lambda Literary Award winner Every Time I Think of You (the companion novel to Message of Love)

  also by Jim Provenzano

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Chapter 1 June, 1983

  Chapter 2 February, 1980

  Chapter 3 March 1980

  Chapter 4 April 1980

  Chapter 5 May 1980

  Chapter 6 June 1980

  Chapter 7 July 1980

  Chapter 8 August 1980

  Chapter 9 September 1980

  Chapter 10 October 1980

  Chapter 11 November 1980

  Chapter 12 December, 1980

  Chapter 13 January 1981

  Chapter 14 February 1981

  Chapter 15 March 1981

  Chapter 16 April 1981

  Chapter 17 May 1981

  Chapter 18 June 1981

  Chapter 19 July 1981

  Chapter 20 August 1981

  Chapter 21 September 1981

  Chapter 22 October 1981

  Chapter 23 November, 1981

  Chapter 24 December 1981

  Chapter 25 January 1982

  Chapter 26 February, 1982

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sp; Chapter 27 March 1982

  Chapter 28 April 1982

  Chapter 29 May 1982

  Chapter 30 June 1982

  Chapter 31 July 1982

  Chapter 32 August 1982

  Chapter 33 September 1982

  Chapter 34 October 1982

  Chapter 35 November 1982

  Chapter 36 December 1982

  Chapter 37 January 1983

  Chapter 38 February 1983

  Chapter 39 March 1983

  Chapter 40 April 1983

  Chapter 41 May, 1983

  Chapter 42 June, 1983

  Chapter 43 July 1983

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 

 

 


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