by Trey Martini
A Merry Marry Christmas
Trey Martini, MD
Let Freedom Ring
CHAPTER 1
Central Park, New York City
It has been a perfect New York Saturday night for Buddy the Golden Retriever. Late in the evening, nobody seems to mind when his master, the handsome blonde man they call Liam, slips off the leash so Buddy can run beside him on the thick springtime grass. During the long loop from Riverside Park through Central Park's Strawberry Fields, Buddy’s brushed and feathered tail hasn't stopped wagging. He’s a very lucky dog and seems to know it. In a city infamous for despair, Buddy’s Upper West Side enclave is home to the beautiful people and their pedigreed pets. Cover dog Buddy is just 13 months old; a playful puppy lies just below the surface of his very good training. Like everything and everyone around him, the golden boy has the light coat and sturdy build of an expensive purebred. Buddy knows very well that he must behave like the gentledog he was born to be.
Where Central Park West crosses West 75th, and sidewalks replace grassy paths, Buddy stops and looks up to his Liam for a signal and waits as the leash is clipped back on. The red rubber ball in his mouth hides his smile when Dad reaches down to tousle his golden coat. Liam knows the private spot below his left ear that can always use a scratch. They're in the home stretch now, just a few more blocks along 75th to the brownstone the man and his Buddy share. In this privileged piece of paradise, sidewalks are free of glass to cut feet and paws; the restaurants Buddy passes smell as heaven surely must.
Passersby inevitably smile at the sight of Buddy jogging and turn a second time to check out his handsome owner. At the other end of the leash, in cargo shorts and T-shirt is Liam O’Connor, just over 40 but somehow showing a flash of playful pup himself. With the golden good looks of the Nordic Irish and broad shoulders of a dedicated swimmer, Liam earns as many adoring looks and comments as Buddy, perhaps even more.
Buddy sits at heel at the Columbus Avenue stoplight, as a younger man approaches. Buddy notices the stranger first and puts himself between Liam and Dr. Justin Beck, still in navy scrubs that compliment his deep blue eyes. Justin’s friendly face, complete with rocking dimples, focuses on Liam, even as the young physician stoops down, ready to pet Buddy.
“May I?” Liam nods at the implied request to pat his dog and gives Buddy the signal that there's no stranger danger here. Buddy somehow senses a hesitation in Liam's approval.
"OK, Buddy," Liam smiles but is reserved–even distant–and Buddy can feel it. Liam allows himself an unobserved and nervous glance at the exceptionally attractive young physician. Something stirs inside him and he explores cautiously again, his pulse quickening at the closeness. Buddy notices the change, and worries a little more.
"Buddy! What a handsome boy you are. It’s so good to meet you. Shake?" Justin seems to be a dog lover. But the dog isn't sure. Buddy lifts his paw as requested; yet his tail remains flat as he cautiously sniffs the crotch of the scrubs. "Good dog. Good boy." Justin enthusiastically scratches Buddy’s ear, gives him a hug and stands back up to face Liam. Justin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card, his eyes hard on Liam. "I’m Justin Beck. I’ve seen you walking Buddy before. My place is just down the block on 75th, past Amsterdam. Here’s my number. Call me if you ever need someone–maybe just to walk Buddy–when you’re busy or need a hand." Justin reaches to give Liam his card and is interrupted by a body block and sharp bark from Buddy as the dog reacts to the smell of apprehension from his man.
"Sorry, Justin," Liam reluctantly refuses the card with an upturned palm. "Buddy really doesn’t make friends easily. We have the walk thing covered–thanks very much though." Liam smiles through sad eyes and pats his dog. He wants to say more to Justin but doesn't really know how. He gives the leash a gentle tug. “Come on boy, time for bed." Liam and Buddy jog across the street without looking back. Justin watches them leave with hungry eyes.
"Lucky dog," the young physician says aloud as he follows slowly behind. "Viking God," he adds a moment later.
At Columbus Avenue, through the tinted windows of a Lincoln Town Car, another observer studies the scene and slowly tracks Liam down the block. Several minutes later, Buddy and Liam are still frisky as they climb the last few steps to their brownstone home. In the clear light of a hanging copper-and-crystal lamp, Liam unlocks the front door and Buddy bounds in. A matching polished metal plaque beside the door reads:
Liam O’Connor, M.D., J.D. - Practice Limited to Psychiatry.”
As a light is switched on in the second floor great room, Justin Beck strolls slowly past Liam’s impressive home. The young doctor looks up to the light and stops–wishing for Liam to appear in the window. Buddy senses the man below and gives one concerned bark without moving from his protective station under Liam’s piano. Twelve chimes echo up from the grandfather clock in the entrance hall as Liam begins a soulful jazz melody. Shirtless in the summer heat, he moves with the music on the Steinway. Buddy falls asleep dreaming of a cool swim in the lap pool glimmering in the courtyard below. The young doctor lingers outside and listens to the music filtering down from above. As common as an Uber in the upscale neighborhood, the Lincoln Town Car idles anonymously at the curb not far away.
Directly across the narrow street from Liam, a pair of giggling teenage girls lounge in a window seat, Waterford martini glasses in unsteady hands. "Check out the hot dude in jammies. I've seen him hanging around before. Nice," petite brunette Leila Logan, 17, hiccoughs drunkenly.
Friend and neighbor Kelty O’Reilly,16, leans into the window for a closer look. "Scrubs, not jammies. What the hell's he doing down there? You say you've seen him there before?"
Leila reaches for her camera and aims it below. "Looks like Liam has a stalker–besides us." Leila shoots and the camera flashes. "That’ll get rid of him." Startled, Justin starts walking slowly away.
The Town Car remains parked in the shadows.
"Damn,” Kelty slurs, "he looked pretty hot for a stalker."
Leila puts her camera down and takes another gulp of her martini. "Totally hot. And it wasn’t just this Stoli. He looks even better in daylight. I’ll show you a picture I took last week. He was in shorts and a tank top and we can really check him out. You'll want to see those amazing pecs. The scrubs don't do him justice. Maybe he has his name written on his chest like doctors do. We can find out who he is and Google the shit out of him. Maybe put his pic on Grindr and troll. But Doctor Dreamboat isn’t the main event tonight. Just try to stay awake a little longer."
Kelty belches and concludes, "Nothing could beat that fine piece of ass. I’ll believe you when I see him."
“Who says it’s a guy?” Now Leila is being mysterious.
Buddy snores as Liam works up a sweat at the keyboard. The grand Steinway dominates the room and fills the brownstone with a sensual warmth. Plain white walls give themselves to impersonal modern art; but one intimate framed photo on the piano says a great deal about Liam O'Connor. A simple silver frame shows a much younger Liam happily playing a duet with a darkly handsome young man. Whether his music tonight is a serenade to the partner from his distant past is a secret only Liam can answer.
The doorbell rings below; Liam groans, his music stops. Buddy runs down to the front door and barks loudly, just once. Outside at the curb, a uniformed chauffeur stands guard as Anna Lund, the Academy Award-winning actor, rings the doorbell anxiously. She has just turned 40 but her platinum-blonde beauty makes age irrelevant. Dressed in a thin satin nightgown, Anna smokes, bangs and rings. Liam jogs down the stairs pulling on an old Yale T-Shirt. He tells Buddy to stay and opens the door.
Leila Logan smiles drunkenly at Kelty. "Voila. Anna Lund–arguably the most beautiful actor in the worl
d. Told you." Leila snaps a pic of Anna and Liam together below.
The girls clink Waterford martini glasses. Kelty is impressed and amazed. "How’d you know she’d come?"
Leila smiles like a Cheshire cat, "28 days. No luck again this month."
The gangly Kelty sighs in admiration of the beauty on the street below. "Talk about having it all. She looks plenty lucky to me."
"Not according to Nina Newman," Nan begins.
"All Nina knows is what’s for dinner." Kelty rolls her eyes at the thought of their mutual friend. That brainiac eats like a horse and never gains a pound.
"Nina’s Dad gives Anna fertility drugs. Tick tock–biological clock–from the horse’s mouth."
"Horse’s ass. What doctor would tell his daughter stuff like that?" Kelty is outraged and belts back the rest of her martini.
"Nina goes through patient records on his laptop."
Kelty wants blood. "Gotta be a felony. Let’s blackmail her."
"Now there’s an idea. Blackmail." Leila starts filming the scene below on her cell phone.
"So what’s with the 28 days?" Kelty wonders out loud.
Leila loves to be in charge. "What do you think?"
"Her period–she’s depressed. So she’s seeing her shrink," Kelty ventures. “Nothing special about that.
Leila pushes. "Think deeper. We need a backstory we can sell to the gossip trade. Starts with an 'O' ". Kelty is stumped. "Orgasm? Oral sex? Oprah?"
Leila grins smugly. "O as in Ovulate. Anna's ovulating."
"So. I still don’t get it. Why’s she seeing her shrink? Oh! Women go nuts when they ovulate, don’t they?" Kelty tries.
Leila explains. "She wants Liam to screw her. Anna goes sperm hunting every 28 days–wants a baby. So desperate, Nina said Anna tried to seduce her dad."
Kelty belches. "Fantasizing troll. He may know what’s up with Anna’s ovaries–but not what’s in her mind," Kelty argues.
Leila likes to shock. "No way she’ll get laid tonight. O’Connor’s queer as a 3-buck bill."
"No way, no gay men look like that. I can smell his testosterone from here." Kelty shakes her head.
"No straight hunk sits home alone every night watching WEGO," Leila rolls her eyes and explains.
Kelty doesn’t get out much. "What’s WEGO?"
"Duh. Lesbian and gay TV on Cable." Leila knows everything.
"How would you know that about him?" Kelty has an inquiring mind. “Unless you start telling me everything I won’t …”
"I opened his cable bill." Leila smiles.
"That’s a federal offense." Kelty is stunned. “I think you’re taking this whole thing a little far.”
"We’re neighbors–honest mistake. I’ve just done it a few times." Leila has guts. She pouts like she’s seen the bad girls do in Brooklyn.
"A few times? What else did you see?" Kelty is hooked.
"He has a mortgage." Leila is thinking out-loud. “Nobody in this neighborhood needs a mortgage.
"That place is worth millions. He probably just needs the interest write-off. Smart financial planning. Welfare for the rich. But it could explain why he has patients at night. Even society shrinks need cash off the books." Kelty is having fun as Nancy Drew.
"Maybe he’s a hooker–or sells sperm to the stars. Either way–it’s a story we can sell some rag. We can get creative, since he’s gay…and probably pretty creative himself." Leila smiles and begins a laugh that turns into a cruel cackle. "If you know what I mean."
"Maybe the WEGO channel is part of a bundle. Get real, what other bills prove he’s gay? I'm having trouble believing that delicious hunk is bent. Besides, I thought it was almost OK to be gay these days."
Leila keeps at it. “It’s OK for some people–not our people. He has a professional reputation–so who knows if he wants himself outed? I also saw a monthly bill from a gym in The Village. Gay gym. The kind of gym where men drop their soap in the shower on purpose."
"Now how would you know what kind of gym it is? Unless you tailed him there. Don't tell me…"
Leila gives her Cheshire cat smile again in response.
Kelty is amazed. "So you checked out the gym too. Christ. Maybe he's just bi or cheap. Dating the right women in Manhattan costs big bucks. I’m guessing men go Dutch."
"Going Greek is more like it. Bisexuality’s a myth. Look–he’s in the window. She’s there with him now–but I don’t see them touching. Maybe they’re brother and sister–they’re beautiful enough to be twins. Christ. No straight man looks that good–come on–open the window wider."
Leila moves in for a closer shot as Kelty plays director. "Get one of his ass. A doctor, a lawyer, body to die for, he’s packing perfect jizz! All that and he’s gay–what a waste!"
Hours later, and fighting hard to stay awake, the young girls are still glued to their window. The lone man in the Lincoln remains on duty and nurses a cup from Starbucks.
The grandfather clock in Liam's hallway sounds three times as Anna Lund goes on endlessly, emotionally. "I was gone one minute to brush my teeth and put on this $5,000 negligee. When I got back to bed he was snoring. A coma. He’s getting it somewhere else. He knows my signals."
"Signals?" Liam is taking notes to stay awake.
Anna is annoyed by Liam's simple question. "Wake up. Wine, perfume, music. Clear signs of my wide-on. Get it now? Carlos doesn’t want me–I want a divorce."
"Anna, you and Carlos just need to communicate. If that was reason enough for a divorce there wouldn’t be one married couple on the planet."
"Open those big blue eyes, doctor. Think with that one-eyed monster I can see in your shorts. Look at me. What man would fall asleep when he could have this?" Anna cups her breasts, runs a hand down her middle, stops at her crotch and rubs.
Liam looks at his notebook instead of following Anna's hands down. "Did you tell Carlos you wanted to make love tonight? Have you ever talked to him about what he likes, what you need and when?"
"Talk? Screw talking. He’s been traveling all week–I should be raw now. Unless he's getting it somewhere else."
Liam is calm. "Maybe he was tired. Professional athletes work hard for the money."
Anna wants to scream. "He’s 30. Every muscle on his body is hard–except the one I want. He has a younger woman somewhere. I know it."
"30 is old for professional soccer. Did he ever actually say something about another woman?"
"Jesus Christ Liam, he's Brazilian. Latin men don’t talk, they screw. That's why I married him.
"You talk to me–try Carlos. Men can’t read minds."
Anna makes a bucking motion that exposes her thighs. "Bullshit, he can read my hips."
Liam tries again. "Maybe he’s more conservative than you think–and wants to initiate."
Anna runs her hands through her platinum hair. "We met when I grabbed his crotch in a bar. He nailed me in an alley on the way to his car–he liked it then."
"That was once, you were both drinking."
"Yeah, and he was as hard as the champagne bottle for the next week."
"Drunken sex and marriage aren’t the same–play hard to get."
"Real men want it all the time." Anna has a scowl on her face.
Liam tries hard to find an explanation. "A woman, with another woman, might know what the other wants sexually without talking. But you need to start communicating with Carlos…"
"If you’re trying to make me a lesbian just because you…"
Liam remains calm. "Anna, please. Teach Carlos about what you want. Young men can be like kids, they just care about themselves."
Anna stands and takes a long look at Liam. "You can’t teach a man when to want you. Either they want you every minute or not at all."
"Then practice. Pretend you’re with one of your leading men. Tell Carlos what you want–and when."
Anna laughs sadly. "I won’t beg him. Finito."
"Please think about it. Communication is the key to a successful marriage. Practi
ce. If you don’t talk to Carlos I can't see you again."
Anna moves quickly to lock Liam in a hug. He gently resists. "Practice?” she taunts. “Communication? OK. I’ll tell you exactly what I want right now." She puts her hand flat against Liam's crotch and starts to massage. "I've been wanting to do that for years. Feels good, I'm very impressed. And I don't impress easy."
Liam gently gives Anna back her hand as Buddy wakes and starts to growl. "That won’t help you with Carlos."
Anna moves back in with surprising strength. "Maybe not, but it would help me get what I need tonight. Right now. I’m communicating with you. Screw me here on the floor. Let that dog watch while you breed me."
"Anna, I’m your therapist."
"And you're a man. Real men want women like me all the time. So, what does that make you Dr. O'Connor? Your paying customers have a right to know." Anna’s voice turns sharp.
Liam gently takes hold of Anna's hands and leads her back to her chair. "Anna please. I mean it this time. Talk to Carlos. Talk to him or no more sessions."
Anna reaches for her purse. Her voice is controlled, but tears show the real state of her emotions. "Sure, you'll shut out a cash patient. A cash patient who pays you double for night sessions."
Liam crosses his arms in resolve. "I don’t need the money as much as I need you to talk to Carlos.“ He stands up to end the session.
Anna jumps up and starts counting bundles of bills, "10, 20, 30…it’s not me–it’s him."
Liam moves to the staircase, another signal that the night session is over. "It’s both of you Anna. Talk to Carlos or…"
Anna runs ahead down the stairs. "A threat? 40, 50, $6,000. This was the cash he’d put aside for Vegas. Better you get it than a hooker."
"You don't have any proof there is a hooker–or another woman at all. Promise me you’ll talk, or I won’t see you again. Honest to God…"
"How’ll you know if I talk to Carlos–unless you see me again? Money always talks–I’ll get to Carlos my way." Anna sashays toward the door, dropping $100 bills as she goes. As Liam opens the door she grabs his crotch again and kisses him hard on the lips.