*****
The rest of the week was a whirlwind of surprises. Margaret called Andy on Thursday to say that two of his paintings sold and the third was on hold, and when could he supply her with more. She also wanted to know when she could arrange a show for him. A local paper had contacted her wanting to arrange an interview with Andy after they had seen the interview on TV. But the biggest news Margaret had was that a local entertainment show syndicated on the west coast wanted to interview Andy for one of their weekend broadcasts. That one was freaking Andy out. When Andy got off the phone, he called me at the office. "What am I going to do!"
"First, take a deep breath. Second, what did you tell Margaret?"
I heard him exhale. "I told her I would get several more paintings over to her."
"Good. And what did you say about the interview?" I waited, wondering. "Andy?"
"I told her I would have to think it over and she gave me their name and number."
"Andy, understand that this is a good thing for you. This is publicity for your career. You don't have to do it, but it would be beneficial for your future. We would be there when you do the interview if you wanted. We could do it in our home. Can I make a suggestion?"
"Sebastian, just the thought of it makes me queasy. But, yeah. Go ahead."
"Why don't you talk it over with Patrick?"
"Yeah. I should have thought of that. I'm going to call him right now. Thanks!"
I heard the dial tone. If I heard nothing in the next few minutes, I would assume that everything was all right.
When I told Isaac the news, he sat back in his chair, shocked. Like me, he never expected there to be a television interview at this stage, even a local one. "You mean to tell me from that little clip on the news another program wants to interview Andy?"
"Yes, and there may be a slim, very slim chance, mind you, that our names will come up in the interview. It depends on how forthcoming Andy will be about his background and how he came to be here."
Isaac did his typical shoulder shrug. "Me, that's not a problem. You, on the other hand. It could bring your loving family out of the woodwork again. Another phone call, or maybe even a visit this time. Nah, I doubt they would invest the energy to leave the east coast."
One could only hope. "If we don't hear anything then the call with Patrick should have helped. Don't forget, it's your turn to cook tonight. Take out doesn't count."
No phone call came so we finished the day reviewing the final bids for the two locations we settled on for the shelters. One was south of Market Street from the Civic Center, and the other was in the inner Mission District. It was a beautiful evening with a slight chill, but there was no need for coats. We rounded the corner of our street and headed to our house where we noticed Abby on the porch with a distinguished looking gentleman. As we approached Isaac elbowed me and whispered. "Isn't that Gregor?"
I looked again, and he was right. As we approached the gate I waved and Abby saw us. She straightened her hair and dress and returned our wave. "Hello, boys. You remember Gregor from the fair? He was just dropping off a sculpture I ordered from him."
Isaac looked at me and winked. "Nice to see you again, Gregor. As you can see, the sculpture we bought looks great in our front yard. Have a nice evening." He stepped around him to open the front door.
I reached out to shake his hand. "Nice to see you again." I stepped through our door and closed it behind us. Leaning against it I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. As I calmed down, I noticed the wonderful smell coming from the kitchen. "Is Andy cooking dinner?"
Isaac laughed. "I think so."
We entered the kitchen to find Andy wearing an apron, taking a very aromatic casserole from the oven. Grinning at us, he set it on a trivet. "Hey, guys. As an apology for my freak out earlier I made baked chicken marinara for dinner. Nothing fancy, but I had to do something."
Andy placed it on several trivets on the counter and Isaac bent over, taking a deep breath. "It smells delicious, but you didn't have to do that. We all have our moments, and that's what family is all about. Now, let's get the plates because I'm starved."
Andy scooped out servings of the piping hot dish while I got our drinks. Once we were seated, I asked Andy how his talk with Patrick went.
"He pretty much told me what you said. He also promised he would come down and be with me for the interview, so I said I would do it. Now we have to decide when. I want you guys there as well, if you don't mind."
"We'll be there." Isaac grabbed my hand as I answered.
"I also called Margaret." He cast his eyes down but was grinning.
"And?" I could tell something was up and glanced at Isaac who raised an eyebrow.
Setting down his fork he looked like he would explode. "I told her I would do the exhibit!"
"You did!" I couldn't believe he took the step.
Isaac was more subdued, almost cautious. "Andy, that's wonderful. What made you change your mind?"
"Patrick kept reminding me of everyone's confidence, and how much the professionals saw in my work. Now with the interviews, I needed to believe in myself and take that chance. So I went upstairs to see Abby, asked her for a brownie, had two bites for courage and called Margaret before I was too stoned, and agreed to the show. When I do the interview, Margaret wants my collection for the exhibit in place. I'm not sure I'll be ready for that. There's a couple of paintings I'm not sure I'm ready to let go of yet."
Isaac looked at him. "One thing at a time."
"Andy, I am so proud of you. Down the line you won't even need that brownie. In the old days, well, not that old, mind you, it would take me a few drinks to gather up courage. So, I understand. Now, Isaac here. I don't think this big, tough man ever had that problem."
I rubbed his cheek and gave him a kiss. Isaac blushed and chuckled. "I'm not that tough. You know I have had my moments."
*****
We decided yesterday that whenever the interview was, we would be there, so whatever Andy and the station decided was fine. The only condition we all agreed on was that it be in our home. The show had no issue on that and thought it would be more intimate. When Patrick said he could come down, he only wanted to know two days in advance since he would be driving. Now the ball was in Andy's court.
He called just before lunch and told us the show had an opening next Thursday, and they would air it a week after the following Sunday at seven in the evening. I could tell Andy was anxious, not overly so, but it was still there. "Why don't you let Patrick know? Maybe he can come down and stay for the weekend?"
"I'd like that. Would you mind if he stayed with me?"
I hated to admit it, but we were way past the point of saying no. He slept with Elias and we knew what was happening with Patrick was real and not a rebound. "That's fine."
"Yes! So much better than us renting a room." He laughed. "I'll call him right now."
After he hung up, I realized what he said. Renting a hotel room? Had he considered that? Well, like I thought to myself, he is an adult. I knew Isaac would be fine with it.
He had this annoying grin on his face when I told him later. "It makes perfect sense, Sebastian. It's not like Patrick will take advantage of Andy."
"Oh, shut up!"
He laughed.
"When we see him tonight, maybe you could just tell them to keep down the noise. I don't want to hear anything." I winced at the thought.
Putting his arms around my neck he whispered in my ear, "Honey, I think he already knows that."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Adapting to Life's Changes
Isaac
The following morning Andy focused on the interview, reviewing his paintings. He was on the phone with Patrick every day and spent evenings in his study. I noticed a change in him over the next week, and Sebastian picked up on it, too. There was a new confidence and sureness in his attitude. Patrick arrived on Wednesday, the day before the interview, which was scheduled for two the following day.
B
right and early the following morning, Andy and Patrick chased us out of the house and told us to go to the office. They told us under no circumstances to return until one. As we were leaving, Abby showed up on our doorstep telling us to have a nice day with a huge grin before stepping inside and shutting the door behind us.
I did my best to focus on several requests for help that morning, still wondering what was going on at home. Not one phone call came from Andy all morning. Sebastian kept popping in asking if I heard anything, making it worse. At eleven I went into his office and found him staring out the window. We were a pathetic pair and useless at the office. I decided we needed a drastic change of scenery. "Lunch!" He jumped out of his chair clutching his chest.
"You fucker!"
I smiled and went over to him, wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a kiss. "I'm sure everything at home is well under control. Let's get out of here and find a distraction until they allow us inside."
We said our goodbyes to Elizabeth and I gave instructions that we were unavailable for the rest of the day unless the earth was coming to an end. "How about we try that Thai place that opened?"
He nodded, and we headed up the street to Ashbury. The restaurant was just around the corner and it was still early so there were plenty of seats available. The waitress handed us our menus and then told us of the day's specials. When she asked us about drinks Sebastian looked at me. The busboy came by and placed water at our table.
"Do you want to try the Thai Iced Tea? Leland said it is great."
"Sure. Why don't we order the special and try it?" If I didn't like it, I could always order something else.
Sebastian ordered, and when the waitress left, he leaned across the table. "Why did they chase us out this morning?"
I took a sip of my water. "They had a specific way they wanted the living room set up for the interview and didn't want us meddling. Remember, those people coming will bring lights, a camera, microphones, and who knows what else. Andy and Patrick probably moved furniture out of the room too."
"Oh." He made a face. "Now I don't even want to think about it."
"It'll be fine, Sebby. We'll put everything back in its place when it's over."
The waitress brought our iced tea, and I looked at it for a minute. It didn't look like any iced tea I had ever seen. It was very milky.
Sebastian looked at me and then back at his glass before raising it. "Well, Leland said it was delicious." Taking a sip, he had a puzzled look on his face before trying it once more. "It's spicy, and it's good. Try it."
I did, and he was right. Different, but good. A few minutes later our lunch arrived. I asked her once more to say the name of the dish, and for the life of me I couldn't pronounce it if I tried. It was a fish dish served over noodles. It was very spicy and flavorful. We both needed to order another iced tea to finish our lunch. It was that spicy.
Once we paid, we headed home. Noticing the time, we slowed down and made our way to Buena Vista Park. We looped around the perimeter enjoying the sun and quiet before heading home. When we arrived at the gate, we both took a deep breath, not sure what to expect, and headed up the walk. When we opened the door, we stopped at the entrance to the living room and stood there, stunned. They cleared the room except for the sofa which was facing the window, and an armchair with its back to the window with the sheer curtains closed where I assumed the interviewer would sit. There were a few dining chairs on the far side where we would sit. The sliding doors to the dining room were closed and along the whole expanse of wall were easels of Andy's paintings. When you looked, you could see they told a story, a powerful story. A story of growth from pain and despair, to hope, and ending with love, and one canvas still covered.
"I told you, Andy." Abby was smiling at him. "Look at their faces. This is how your art affects people."
"So?" Andy looked at us. "Will you guys say something?"
Patrick had his arm around Andy's waist and leaned in close. "Look at them. Give them a chance to speak."
Words were difficult. "Andy, you know what I think of your work. I don't know what more I could say. The way you have it displayed for the interview says it all. Are you going to talk about what it means?"
I glanced at Sebastian and his face was filled with emotion. I could see him trying to control himself.
Andy stepped forward and stood right in front of us.
He was looking at us, his expression filled with hesitation. "Guys, I want to ask your permission to tell my story because part of it involves you both. If you say no, I understand."
Before I could say anything, Sebastian threw his arms around Andy and held him close. "I'm so proud of you, and how far you've come. You may not legally be my son, but in every other way, especially in my heart, you are my son. I love you so much."
I patted Andy on the shoulder. "In case you weren't sure, Son, the answer is yes."
*****
Though prepared, we were anxious when we saw the TV truck pull up in front of our home. Andy turned to us. "They're here."
Patrick whispered in his ear, but we could all hear. "You'll be fine."
Sebastian stepped to his other side placing a hand on his shoulder. "You should go greet them. We can come with you."
"You're right. I should go greet them. But I'd like Patrick to go with me." He turned to the young man. "If you don't mind?"
Patrick's grin was so bright with pride as they made their way to the front door. Before they left, Andy turned back. "Now remember, I'm using the name Andrew Montgomery Browne, but you can still call me Andy."
We all watched as they walked hand in hand to the gate to greet the crew. The young woman who I guessed was the reporter was a dark blond with a pixie cut wearing a blue blazer with a gray skirt. She shook their hands and introduced her crew of a cameraman and another guy who I guessed handled lights and sound.
As they came through the door Andy introduced the young lady as Bridget Summers. She remarked on how lovely our home was and how well the living room was organized for the interview before getting down to business and setting up. Bridget commented on the setup of the paintings and Andy explained how they told a story, and that he would like to walk her through them during the interview.
Once everything was set up, Andy sat on the sofa and the rest of us moved to the dining chairs, out of the way and off camera. When Patrick went to sit down with us Bridget raised her hand, "Just a moment." Looking at Andy she smiled, "Would you like to have Patrick beside you on the sofa? I think it would make for a more relaxed interview in case a question comes up you would like him to answer?"
I felt a little alarm go off and Sebastian squeezed my leg, whispering in my ear. "Patrick is a smart young man."
Andy turned to Patrick who was standing in the middle of the room. He smiled and returned to sit by Andy's side, holding his hand. The lights came on and they tested the sound and then the cameraman signaled he was ready. Bridget smiled and introduced herself, talking about the discovery of a bright new artist in San Francisco that was making a name for himself, and then the camera directed itself to Andy as she introduced, "Andrew Montgomery Browne and his boyfriend, Patrick… I'm sorry, I didn't catch your last name."
She seemed flustered and Andy jumped in trying to suppress a grin as he glanced at Patrick who blushed. "His last name is Decker."
"Yes, thank you. First, before we get to the beautiful artwork on display behind you, I'd like it if you could tell us a little about yourself. From what I understand, some of your art is inspired by your background and they tell a story."
Andy stood, and we watched as he cleared his throat and briefly told his background, and how his expectations were different from his father's. How he was rather feminine and liked to wear his hair long. Patrick reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Andy went on to explain how he was not into sports, instead, he enjoyed drawing and reading. He went to the earliest painting of him sitting in the corner while his family had dinner, and the
n to the next depicting him watching the destruction of the pencils and tearing of the sketch paper by his father. He explained each one as he went. The cutting of his hair in the kitchen, the breaking of his fingers, walking down the desolate road with the black sedan following. Andy stopped for a moment before continuing with the painting of him sleeping behind a dumpster somewhere, that we had never seen, then sleeping in a doorway in the city, the brutal one of being kicked and stomped on by a group of thugs on a city street, and then of Sebastian holding him in front of Angel House.
Then the mood became lighter as he showed the one of Sebastian and I on the sofa, the painting of the young man in Buena Vista Park based on the drawing we saw, the one of us at Hearst Castle by the pool, and then he stepped over to the last one that was covered and turned to Patrick.
"I hope you like this one." Pulling the cover off, it was of Patrick, wearing a leather vest and jeans, sitting beneath a tree carving a piece of wood. The sun was gleaming through the trees highlighting the strong lines of his face.
Patrick was standing now, staring at the painting. "When did you do that?"
"When we were out at Golden Gate Park and I took all those pictures. I used my favorite one as the basis for this. I was just waiting for the right time to show you. I finished it last week."
"Andy, it's beautiful. I don't know what to say. Thank you."
The camera panned back to Bridget. "Now, that was a surprise. I hate to interrupt this moment but we only have a certain amount of time. Andrew, the two men in your pictures, I am guessing are the men sitting off to the side here. They are, or I guess, were, your guardians?"
"Yes. They rescued me and when they asked for custody, my parents had no issues signing away their rights. I have never heard from them again. If it weren't for Sebastian Montgomery and Isaac Browne, I don't know where I would be today. They encouraged me to pursue my dreams and be who I am today. They never pressured me to be anybody but who I am. Abby Lee, sitting next to them, is my artistic mentor. She helped channel my anger and anxiety into my work. You can see the results in where I am today. I have gone through the anger to the beauty in the world around us. I can still reflect the inequity in the world, giving both sides representation. The expressionist and impressionist styles will stay with me and I will always use them to express my emotions."
An Unexpected Gift Page 26