by Julie Bozza
Xavier laughed. “That’s an obvious image. Almost crude in its lack of imagination.”
“Maybe,” Fletch retorted, “but some of my most erotic fancies involve chocolate.”
“So what else are you being obvious about? You think I’m a tireless black stud with an enormous hungry cock?”
Fletch smiled up at Xavier from the man’s nether regions. “Well,” he demurred, “you’re a tireless black stud.”
Lachance’s laughter grew broader. “Hell, I’m looking forward to being excused from further duties this weekend - I don’t claim to be tireless. And, as for my hungry cock, admit the fact that your lily white ass loves it. I know exactly what to do with it.”
“Yeah, you know what to do with it.” Though Fletch couldn’t help remembering Albert, whose knowledge about exactly what to do with Fletcher exceeded Xavier’s in both quantity and quality. Except for the fucking, of course, and Albert was probably aware of that, too, even if he never acted on the knowledge.
“Hey, sweet man, concentrate. What are you day dreaming about? Or who. That man of yours, right?”
Fletcher smiled self-consciously, offered, “Sorry,” and bent to his task. In between kisses, he asked, “You’re rich sweet chocolate, but what am I? Pale and uninteresting. Vanilla means boring, doesn’t it? What does a beautiful black man like you want to sleep with a boring white man for?”
Laughter a rumble now, that Fletch could feel through his hands and lips. “You’re rich cream from the dairy; sweet ice cream on a summer day, cool on the flat of my tongue. And then your eyes are fire, white boy. How did Baraka put it? Those silk blue faggot eyes. I like those hot silk blue faggot eyes of yours, sweet lover man.”
“Xavier, you’re a poet.”
“That’s poetry,” the man murmured, “what you’re doing now - yes, that.”
Fletch chuckled, and continued, but then his thoughts distracted him again. “I shouldn’t call you black. I should say African-American.”
“That’s a mouthful,” Lachance said absently.
“You’re a mouthful.”
“Flattery, now, sugar man? You can call me black, you can call me anything you want. You don’t need all that white liberal shit with me, that’s strictly for the public.”
“Then I’ll call you … lover.”
“Oh Christ,” Xavier exclaimed. “A white liberal romantic. How do I get into these situations?”
“You were so pushy,” Fletcher reminded him. “You didn’t let me refuse.”
“That’s true.” Xavier stretched, disrupting Fletch’s ministrations, then sat up. He hauled Fletch up the bed, and began to respond in kind. “I wanted you,” Lachance murmured. “Sure, I like my brothers best but I like anything male. And I hate being sensible, though I’ve tried to be since I started college, and I have to be sensible now. It’s like I said before, there’re some liberals, white or black doesn’t matter; they’ll vote for the other guy if they think I actually do have sex with men. The church’s attitude is the same. It’s okay if you’re gay, as long as you’re chaste as well.”
“Maybe you should outrage them with the truth.”
“Maybe I’ll take you along to lunch tomorrow with the Colorado Catholic Ladies’ Association. I’m sure they’d be as bewitched by you as I am, sweet lover man, with your fresh dairy skin and your silk blue eyes. If we kissed over the champagne and strawberries, we’d probably make the front page of Saturday’s papers. Great photo op.”
It was a funny and absurdly charming idea, but Fletch soon considered the serious thoughts behind it. “How do you live like that, Xavier? Constantly presenting different facets of yourself to different people, acting so many different roles.”
“We all do that to some extent, sugar man, even you. You don’t act like this at work, do you?”
Fletcher insisted, “I’m not acting now. I try to minimize the pretence, wherever I am. Mind you, the Bureau doesn’t make that easy.”
“Neither do the voters.” Xavier smiled, almost wistful. “You try so hard to be honest, don’t you, Fletcher? Honest and true.”
“Don’t you?” Fletch said.
The smile was suddenly a grin. “You know what? Not only do I fuck white boys like you, Agent Ash, I’ve even slept with a couple of women.”
Fletcher laughed at this confession. “Is that so dreadful?”
“Oh yes. If you’re gay, you’re not supposed to be sexually interested in women.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Fletcher observed, encouraging Xavier to continue rambling.
“Brothers loving brothers,” Xavier intoned, “sisters loving sisters, sure that’s sweet. But some would call me a snow queen, sleeping with you. And it’s not intended as a compliment.”
“And me?”
“A dirge queen. Or they might accuse you, being a decadent dominant white, of tainting me, seducing me, using me. They’d tell me, Brother, cast off your chains, you’re being abused.”
Fletcher reached for a pillow and stuffed it under his shoulders. It was tempting to joke about Xavier being the dominant one in their love-play and perhaps to thereby provoke a more physical interaction, but this conversation was too interesting. Fletcher liked talking with this man and he was forever curious. He said, “Subcultures within subcultures … We can’t all keep to our separate little factions like that.”
Xavier lay between Fletch’s legs, leaning up on his elbows to answer him seriously. “A minority people wants to maintain solidarity, to create a home or an identity without internal divisions, so that it can face the rest of the world. They want to present a positive image. So dissidents, like gays within that minority, are silenced twice over because they’re disruptive and they’re seen as negative. You find that with blacks, with Jews, with Chinese-Americans, whatever.”
Jews, Fletcher thought. That was Albert’s distant background. Fletch knew so little about the man. Did Albert have any family other than those long-dead parents? What about the mysterious Elliott Meyer? Had Albert’s isolation been partly because his community wouldn’t accept his … Fletcher found he didn’t even know that much. Did Albert consider himself gay or bisexual? He couldn’t think of anyone, male or female, whom Albert had seemed to relate to sexually, other than Fletch himself.
Belatedly returning his attention to this lover, Fletcher said, “They lose in conformity whatever they gain in solidarity.”
“You’re right,” Xavier said, smiling his approval. “We need to mingle to successfully co-habit this small world of ours, but mingle without imposing templates on everyone. We need to appreciate the individual, celebrate differences rather than persecute them. On the other hand, in our society today, a minority within a minority, like gay black men, needs to first find pride and dignity in its own identity, on its own terms. If you leave us gay blacks as scattered parts within the whole, we have nothing, we are nothing. Because we don’t yet celebrate differences. A small group needs to develop authentic self-determination and then they can choose to become part of mainstream society - a part of the wonderful diverse whole that deserves and demands as much respect as any other part. Your hero, Robert Kennedy, realized all that when he was working on poverty, and with blacks.”
Fletch laughed. “Are you telling me you’re a modern day Bobby Kennedy? Do you want me to fall in love with you?”
The smile that greeted this was broad. “I’ll tell you anything you like, sweet man, and I want everyone in Colorado to fall in love with me.”
“All of Colorado? Tell me your ambitions.”
“I’m going all the way to the White House, Fletcher. I’ll be the first black President.”
“Yeah, I bet you will.” Fletch reached to caress the man’s hair. “I’ll vote for you, lover.” After a moment he added, “I’d wondered why you weren’t running as an independent. Surely you don’t always see eye to eye with the Democrats?”
“No, but the party system works, and it will work for me. I toe the party line on most things and I
try to persuade them on others. The party can be, and should be, shaped by its members, especially influential ones. I could be mayor of Denver as an independent, I might even be sent to the Senate from Colorado, but I couldn’t be President as an independent.”
“So you take a ride on their established power -”
“Of course. You have to take the power before you can change things. What’s the point of me running here and losing, and never being in a position to do anything about what I believe in?”
“You’re telling me there has to be compromise.”
“It’s not a dirty word, you know. Compromise can be a good thing. It’s the meeting in the middle of disparate views.”
Fletch nodded, but said, “As long as you don’t compromise on the basic issues, like human rights.”
A reassuring smile. “Sure, lover man.” He began to ease up Fletcher’s body, pressing kisses along the way.
“You’re not quite as callously ambitious as you pretend,” Fletch said.
“You think not?” Mildly surprised.
“Running for office from Colorado - it’s not the easiest place to promote gay rights, is it? You’d have a better time of it somewhere a little more open-minded, like California.”
“This is my home state, sweet man, these are my people.”
“Loyalty,” Fletcher observed, “even if it doesn’t suit your best interests. I like that.”
“Good,” Xavier murmured absently. And then he effectively silenced any further conversation.
“You look like you need this,” Caroline said, handing Fletcher a mug of coffee.
He accepted it gratefully, then dragged over a visitor’s chair for her to sit on and even made room on his desk for her own mug. “Do I look that bad?” he asked.
“Put it this way,” she replied, “I bet you’re glad the case is closed and it’s Friday.”
“Yeah, I’m glad.” Though he was left with the thought that his relationship with Xavier would inevitably be scaled down, if not closed as well. “I’m just writing the conclusion of my report for you.”
She grimaced. “Monday is fine. Unless there’s anything unexpected to add?”
“No. The last couple of days I’ve mainly been clearing Lachance himself, now Tanya’s working on that Klan thing. I don’t think any of his people had the ability to start the fire, if it were arson, which I don’t think it was, and I couldn’t find any evidence of money changing hands illegitimately.”
“Bit of a waste of your time,” Caroline observed.
“From the point of view of the fire. I’m glad Lachance gave us that lead, though, even if he went about it the wrong way.”
Nodding, she asked, “You squared him on that? He won’t make any trouble for us?”
“Yeah, he’ll keep quiet and let us get on with it, that’s fine.”
“Good.”
Fletcher lifted the coffee to take a sip, then ground to a halt and stared at it. “Hot, black and strong,” he murmured under his breath, “like I like my men.” And he began giggling helplessly.
Caroline eyed him warily. “Sounds like it’s been a long week.”
“Just an old joke, boss,” Fletch offered when he could. “You started it, actually.”
“I can’t believe that only last Monday I was asking why you were so unhappy. Then you were high as a kite all week - and now you’re glum again. That’s quite a roller-coaster ride, Fletcher.”
“You should sympathize, Caroline, I’m currently looking forward to spending a weekend with Albert. That would make even you glum, wouldn’t it?”
Caroline frowned. “Which case? Not the arson, surely?”
“No, don’t worry, it’s not an official visit, it’s more the case of friendship and sightseeing. We’re heading up into the Rockies - which reminds me, I’d better give you the phone number at the hotel, just in case.”
“Better you than me,” was Caroline’s comment. “But I’m the fool who can’t imagine Dr Sterne progressing the case of friendship, aren’t I?” They drank their coffee in companionable silence, then she asked, “Are you about ready to head off?”
“I am,” said Fletcher. “Especially if the report can wait until Monday.”
“Give me five minutes, and I’ll walk you to the parking lot.”
“All right.” He smiled as she bustled off, then turned to reshuffle the clutter of his desk prior to leaving.
Once they were outside the building, jackets and briefcases in hand, Caroline slowed their pace to a stroll. “I’ve been considering the conversation we had Monday morning,” she said. “I told you that if you needed to talk, I’d be here for you.”
“Yes, and I appreciate it, Caroline, but really -”
“No, let me finish.” A long pause, then she said very carefully, “You know the Bureau’s rules. They’re very prescriptive and they begin with, Don’t embarrass the Bureau. Strictly between you and me, I can’t agree with all of them. On the other hand, I’ll follow the rules for the sake of furthering my career. You know I’m ambitious and you know how difficult the FBI can be for women.”
Fletcher nodded. “Yes, I know.”
She held up a hand to halt him. They were on the edge of the parking lot now, and there was no one within hearing distance. “I don’t want you to say anything, Fletcher, I just want you to listen. All right?” She looked up at him, direct and determined, and said, “If there is anything that I should know about as your supervisor, then as long as it doesn’t affect your work, I don’t want to know. You’ve been on an emotional roller-coaster lately, which isn’t good for you or your work, but I want you to think very carefully before you take up my offer of talking about it, okay?”
“Okay,” Fletcher said, frowning.
“If there is anyone else you can talk to, who can help you, then do what you can, because I don’t want you throwing your career away either.”
“I’m fine, really,” he said. “But if I need to, I can talk to Albert, and my father.”
She looked dubious. “Try your father,” was the advice.
Fletcher almost smiled, then opened his mouth to speak.
Again, Caroline held her hand up. “You’re an honest person, Fletcher, and that’s good. So don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, for your sake. And, for my sake, don’t go saying anything I don’t want to hear. You might think I’m being supportive but you should act on the assumption that I’m simply playing to win.” A pause, and then a smile. “Have a good weekend.” And she was gone.
So Caroline had figured it out about him and Albert, or at least had enough of the facts to suspect something. Had he even handed her a clue or two about him and Xavier? Fletcher knew he had to be far more careful, though he hated the lies that involved. Still, there wasn’t simply his career at stake, or Caroline’s, or Albert’s - it was a matter of life and death. Because he’d have even less of a chance at catching the serial killer if he were out of the Bureau.
And, anyway, Albert would dissect him very slowly if he knew Fletcher had given them away. Fletch definitely didn’t want to be the first live subject of an autopsy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
COLORADO
MARCH 1985
Albert was approaching amidst the crowd of arrivals, luggage in hand. Fletcher waited impatiently. Jittery at facing this difficult and unpleasant problem that required a solution, however inadequate, by the end of the weekend. Nerves and exhaustion affecting his sense of time so it seemed that Albert stepped in ponderous slow motion, when all Fletch wanted was for this trouble to speed by and for Monday to dawn bright and simple.
It occurred to him during the long wait that he hadn’t really put any thought into this, or at least no more than necessary. The first imperative was to get Albert away from the danger of Denver, because Denver was Xavier and passion and joy. The second was to unload the truth on Albert, make his apologies as gracefully as possible, and then to suffer through the consequences, get Albert safely on a pl
ane back to Washington, and trust that something of the friendship - which seemed a very remote, intangible thing right now - would remain to be claimed and possibly healed in the future.
At last Albert was there, and events began rushing by Fletcher too fast. Nodding a greeting, Fletch asked, “Baggage?”
“No.” Of course not. Albert packed logically and lightly, and rarely had to suffer through baggage retrieval.
“The car’s this way.” Fletch led the man off, mentally kicking himself. The plan, such as it was, was to act normally until they had driven up into the mountains, and were settled in at the hotel. Then, late tonight or first thing tomorrow, Fletch would talk to Albert. At whatever length was necessary. Then listen to whatever abuse Albert felt was required.