Gene Moore Portfolio

On a cool, grey January evening, Nick and Tony were just sitting down to supper when the telephone rang.

"I swear, the universe watches to find the least convenient time for a phone call," Nick grumbled, depositing the platter of salmon salad in the middle of the table.

Tony turned to glance at the caller ID. "But you wouldn't want to miss this one," he said, reaching for the handset. "It's Ma."

"I take it back. She can call any time. Supper can wait."

"Hello, Ma. How are you? How's Pops?"

"Give her my love," Nick stage-whispered.

"Nick says to give you his love," Tony continued. There was a pause while he listened. Then, "Does he have wheels?"

Nick watched Tony's face darken, the little line between his brows contract, and his eyes narrow.

"What did Pops say to that?" Tony's mouth tightened. "Okay, I've heard enough. More than. We'll be down this evening . . . No, we were just about to eat, but we won't linger. We should be there by 10 . . . Okay . . . Yeah. See you then." He put the phone back in the base and turned his attention to the table, his face a thundercloud.

"What's happening?" Nick asked, arranging food on Tony's plate. "You look really pissed." He set the plate in front of his husband and scooped a hefty portion for himself.

"Nothing I shouldn't have seen coming," Tony answered, picking up his fork. "That little prick Marco just found out his youngest is gay, and threw him out of the house. You remember Gary, right? He's at the ranch. Ma's upset, Pops is furious. I told Ma we'd drive down tonight – well, you heard me say that. I think she and Pops want to have a sort of family council about it."

"Marco's religion getting in the way of real family values, is it?" Nick asked, taking a bite, and then spluttering. He clapped his napkin to his face. "Jee Zuss, what the hell? Shit!" He reached for his glass and took a couple of deep gulps of white wine. "Whoa. Man, is that . . . Whoa! Mmph." He cleared his throat and sat back from the table.

Tony put down his fork. "You okay, babe? What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong," Nick snarled, staring at the platter stupefied. "Nothing at all. Except, I seem to have made dinner with a can of Bobo's food. Or something. We can't eat this," he continued, rising. "Give me your plate."

"Huh?"

"Give me your plate. Someone must have distracted me while I was trying to cook. Not that I'm complaining." He laughed. In fact, he had been in the kitchen when Tony got home from work, and Tony had spent a good ten minutes pressed against his back, nuzzling his ears and neck while Nick was chopping celery and onion. "But this is inedible. I'll make sandwiches or something. Really, this is . . . it's just disgusting." Nick scraped the plates onto the platter, stacked all three together, and disappeared into the kitchen muttering.


"You're not concentrating on your driving," Nick said, bearing down on the imaginary brake on the passenger side. "Let me take over."

"No, no. I'll be fine." Tony took a deep breath and eased off the accelerator. "I'm just royally pissed right now."

"I know that. But don't take it out on the road. We'll get there a lot quicker if we don't have to wait for a tow truck."

Tony glanced over and smiled tightly. "I know you're right, hon. We'll be fine."

"I think it would be better if we pulled off at the next turn-out and traded places," Nick said. "You can work on calming down, and I can get us to the ranch in one piece."

"I don't know if I can calm down. That little shit-for-brains has gone a step too far this time."

"Well, if you can't calm down, I'm taking the wheel. You're scaring me on these curves, dammit."

"All right! All right! If it'll make you feel better. And stop shouting in my ear."

Tony pulled off the road. The two quickly changed places, Nick adjusted the seat and they swung back onto the coastal highway.

The remainder of the trip passed in silence. Tony tried to control his breathing and dampen his fury, his hands balled into fists in his lap. Nick glanced over from time to time, and eventually saw Tony's shoulders drop to their normal level. By the time they arrived at the long driveway to the ranch, Tony's face was almost back to its usual color, and his forehead had smoothed somewhat.


As the car rolled to a stop behind the big old house, Nick could hear Mr. Molinari talking, apparently on the telephone.

"You shame me, boy," he bellowed, his voice trembling with fury. "Never did I think I could raise such an embarrassment in my own family. To speak of your own son, your own blood, like that. Shame! Just . . . shame."

"Silvio, let me talk to him," Angelina pleaded. "Caro, please."

"I haven't finished with you, young man," Silvio said angrily. "I want you here tomorrow morning at nine. Yes, nine o'clock. You have appointments? So? I expect you here. At nine. Tomorrow."

The sound of the telephone being slammed into its cradle cracked through the open kitchen window. Nick and Tony exchanged looks, grabbed their bags, and mounted the porch steps.

Inside, they found the old man sitting at the table, steaming, with his wife kneading his shoulders, looking sorrowful and anxious.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here," she said, turning to greet them. "Your father's in such a state."

Tony wrapped an arm around his father's shoulder and kissed his cheek. "Pops, get a handle on it, can you?" he said gently. "You're worrying Ma."

Nick leaned in and greeted him from the other side, then turned back to hug his mother-in-law. "It'll be okay," he whispered to her. "Tony'll fix it. He can fix anything."

Angelina sighed and tried to smile. "I'm afraid Marco's really done it this time," she whispered back. "I can't remember the last time I saw Silvio so angry."

"Where's Gary?" Nick asked, taking her hand and squeezing it between his.

"Upstairs. I asked him to make up beds for all of you. He'll be in the middle bedroom, Tony's old room, and he's making up the front for you boys."

"Why don't we all go into the living room, then, so we can talk comfortably," Nick suggested. "Here. I'll help you set up a tray; we can have a glass of something."

He steered her toward the pantry, talking quietly about the drive and then about what to serve.


Gary came down the stairs as Nick and Mrs. Molinari were setting out wine and Naples biscuits. A muscular, rather tall young man, he had a light step, and it was only the faint brush of his sandals on the carpet that let Nick know he'd appeared. Seeing his grandmother, Gary quickly pulled the music buds from his ears and tucked them in a pocket of his cargo shorts.

"You found everything, darling?" Mrs. Molinari said, fanning out the drink napkins next to the glasses.

"Of course, Nonna," he answered. His young baritone was resonant and his small smile belied the recent drama in his life.

"You remember . . . ," she began.

"Uncle Nick!" the young man exclaimed, moving toward Nick and giving him a brief but powerful hug.

"You remember me?" Nick asked, smiling up as he gripped the boy's arms. "It has to be at least six or seven years since we saw each other. You were still in grade school. And now you're taller than I am."

"Yes, but you helped build my tree house. How could I forget?"

"We're going to have a glass of wine in here, dear," Mrs. Molinari said, taking a seat on the sofa. "Will you go tell your Nonno and Zio Tony, please?"

"He certainly has grown up," Nick said, taking a chair. He assessed Gary's wide shoulders and strong legs with admiration as he moved toward the kitchen. "He barely came to my chin the last time I saw him. I'm not all that fond of goatees, but on him it looks good."

"He's the image of Silvio when he was young," Mrs. Molinari said, sighing. "So handsome, and so sweet natured."

"A real heartbreaker," Nick said, smiling.

"I'm afraid so. But he's a good boy, and he's intelligent. I think he'll do well, if we can get past this problem with his father." She shook her head sadly.

The three men appeared from the back of the house, Mr. Molinari leading the way, Tony with an arm wrapped around his nephew's shoulders. Nick marveled again at how handsome the Molinaris were.

Mr. Molinari was still puffing and grumbling to himself as he opened the wine. Nick noticed the tremor in his hands when he lifted the bottle and quickly set it down. He clenched his jaw, picked up the bottle again and began to fill glasses as the others made small talk.

"You're nineteen now, right?" Nick asked Gary. He reached for his wine. "Going to Coastside CC?"

"That's right, Uncle Nick. One semester left. Hospitality Management program." The young man frowned slightly and took a sip from his glass. "I guess I'm going to have to do some business management of my own, if I want to graduate."

The senior Molinaris exchanged glances as Tony lifted an eyebrow at Nick.

"You're working, too, I thought?" Tony said.

"Oh, yeah. Still at Breeden's Garage. He's been totally generous about my schedule, really flexible."

"You work on cars?" Nick asked, somewhat surprised.

Mr. Molinari straightened in his seat. "The boy's really good with engines," he said proudly. "You remember that old Dodge pickup we used to have, Antonio," he continued. "The engine always ran so rough, until Gian-Andrea here began working on it. Less than a week, evenings, and he had it purring, better than new, and he was only fourteen. Breeden's lucky to have him there, and he knows it."

"Hah. Maybe you could take a look at ours tomorrow, then," Nick said with a sly grin. "Your Uncle Tony can't seem to find a mechanic who can keep it running more than a couple of weeks at a time."

"Sure, Uncle Nick. Glad to. Although . . . it's a Saab. Bad rep, you know."

"In this case, deserved. Very stylish and comfortable when she runs. But not good mileage."

"Yeah – they top out under 30 here. The European models get way better. Over 40, I hear."

"Well, maybe you can do something to goose the mileage while you're poking around," Tony said, taking Nick's point. "Lady Jane's beautiful but she's not very economical."

"Lady Jane?" Gary snickered. "You named your car Lady Jane?" He laughed. "Why not Long John? He's silver, not grey."

"It's the unreliability, I think," Nick said, laughing along with him. "You never know whether she'll be in the mood to move, or not. Unlike your Uncle."

Tony cleared his throat. "Nick!" he said reprovingly.

"Sorry, love," Nick replied, stifling a last chuckle. He turned to Mrs. Molinari. "I apologize, Mama M," he said, chastened. "I blurted again."

"I've heard much worse," she said, smiling at him. "And we're all tired; I'm rather sleepy, myself."

"Let me help you," Nick said, beginning to gather glasses. The two cleared up quickly, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Tony gazed after them, his eyes soft.

"Wonderful woman, your Ma," Mr. Molinari said. "I don't deserve her. Never did. But she's made me very happy. I hope you and Nick have as happy a home as we have had."

"Thanks, Pops," Tony said. "I'm lucky to have landed Nick at last. He certainly put up a fight."

"Did he?" Gary asked, leaning forward.

"Oh, yes. Didn't anyone tell you? No, probably not. Nick resisted almost until the very day. I really had a hard time setting the hook and reeling him in."

"No, I never heard anything about it until after. And then it was just bare facts. Dad didn't elaborate."

"I – we – would have liked to have had the whole family at the wedding, including your Dad and Mom, but he wouldn't have anything to do with it. Just as well he didn't come, I guess."

"He said you'd married a man, is all. I had to ask Nonna about it to get any information."

Mr. Molinari began to steam again, but Tony cut him off.

"It's okay, Pops. Marco's not obliged to rejoice in my love life, and he's not necessary to it. We can let it drop."

"No. We can't. That's not how I raised him. And he knows as well as anybody you aren't the first in the family; neither one of you breaking new ground here."

"We have history?" Gary asked sharply.

"Great-uncle Luigi," Tony said. "You probably never heard of him from your Dad, or if you did all he told you was that Unca Lou was on the stage, right?"

"Uh huh. Here and back East, both."

"He was a female impersonator," Tony said. "A drag artiste. His stage name was Lulu Clement. Billed as 'the boy in the picture hat', and he was touring the Keith circuit in the 1920s when vaudeville went into its decline. Everyone in the family knew his dresser was his lover."

"That's right," Mr. Molinari said. "A very devoted couple. My papa used to say you couldn't separate those two with a knife. Polo Nemeth, that was his name."

"Very handsome guy with that sort of slick, Latin lover look that was so popular. Like Ramón Novarro," Tony continued. "We have photos in the old albums. We can ask Ma to get them out tomorrow."

Mrs. Molinari and Nick came back into the room just then, Nick covering a yawn. He stopped behind Tony's chair and put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know about you, babe, but I've had it. I'm going up to bed." He moved to give the elders their goodnight kisses, and then turned toward the stairs. "Don't be too long, Tone," he said.

Gary rose. "Guess I'll go to bed, too," he said. "Good night. I love you." He kissed their cheeks, and followed his uncle up the stairs.

"Breakfast at 7:30, darling," Mrs. Molinari called after him. "Sleep well."

Tony stood and stretched. "G'night, Ma. Night, Pops. Sleep well." He kissed them both, and gave his mother a reassuring hug before turning and going slowly upstairs, yawning as he went.


Nick was already sitting up against the headboard with a paperback propped on his knees and the bed clothes lying in folds at his feet when Tony came into the bedroom. "You pretty, pretty man, you," he said, leering at his naked husband.

"Oh, stop," Nick grinned. "I bet you say that to all the boys."

"Nope, only to one." Tony bent to give him a kiss on the forehead.

"Well, hurry up and get ready for bed before I get involved in this book, Mr. Only-to-one," Nick added. Tony turned and disappeared toward the bathroom.

A minute later, Nick was startled to see Gary stick his head in the door. "Can I come in?" he asked softly.

"You want to talk? Sure. Grab the chair." Nick slid his feet under the quilt and set the book aside.

"I'm glad you and Uncle Tony came," Gary said, settling into the little chair. "Thank you. It's been rough." He ran a hand through his dark hair.

"I bet," Nick said sympathetically. "You know I've been through this, too, don't you? Or do you?"

"No, I don't know anything about that," Gary said, looking up briefly. He quickly dropped his eyes to stare at his hands. "All I know is that you and Uncle Tony got married last fall, when it was legal. In San Francisco, right? – where you live."

"That's right. At Good Shepherd. I'm not religious, so I left the decision pretty much up to Tony and the folks. Anywhere would have been okay with me – City Hall, the St. Francis, our living room – hell, a bus stop would have been fine. But it needed to be big enough for the family to be there. Tony and I both wanted that."

"Do your family live here?"

"Well, my chosen family. I'm not sure what's happened to my birth family. We've been estranged for a long time. I didn't have anyone to intervene when my parents found out I was gay, see. No champion, as it were. My dad had a free hand in throwing me out."

"Whoa. What happened?"

"I went for my draft physical and 'checked the box', as we used to say. Ticked the little box for yes where it asked if you'd ever had a sexual experience with another man. I hadn't had that many, but I knew I'd be wanting more. That 4-F'd me, and my parents got suspicious when I wasn't called up for Viet Nam."

"You were young."

Tony appeared in the doorway, nude, his clothes hanging over one arm. Looking at Nick and then at Gary, he crossed the room, dropped his things on top of the luggage, and sat on the end of the bed lotus-style, leaning against the footboard.

"Seventeen when he opened the door and shoved me out," Nick said. "Not a good experience. So I know where you're coming from. It's hard. You think you have the security of your family's love, and then you find out there are qualifiers and you don't measure up. It really, really sucks. But there's no draft now. What went wrong for you? Are you okay talking about it?"

"Hal's little brother walked in on us."

Tony cocked his head. "Hal?"

"Hal Rayburn, Uncle Tony. You know him. We play soccer together. We've been buds all our lives, and we've been together since we discovered our dicks."

"Oh, sure. His dad and I were in the same class. Pete. Tall, redhead. Cross-country runner – married late and she's a beauty. Carmen, Carmela . . . I can't remember her name."

"That's his dad, all right."

"And?" Nick prompted.

"Well, we were going at it pretty good. We didn't see him until it was too late. He went running out of the room yelling that he was gonna tell on us 'cause we were fucking. He told my dad first."

"Let me guess," Tony said. "'We were fucking' means you had your ankles locked on Hal's back and he had his dick up your butt."

"How d'you know that?" Gary asked, a blush rising at his uncle's directness.

Nick's heart went out to the boy.

"Because your dad wouldn't have minded half so much if it had been your dick up Hal's ass, that's why. I'll guess something else."

"What?"

"You and Hal trade off, don't you? Sometimes you fuck him, sometimes he fucks you, sometimes you suck each other off; you like to try different ways to have fun."

"Yeah, pretty much. But how do you know?"

"Gary, you're a Molinari, that's how. Your mom and dad probably had a pretty active sex life before they got suckered into that church they belong to."

The young man's face registered shock and disgust.

"Oh, I know. Your brain is saying 'Ewwwww'. But really, think about it. You like sex. A lot. If you didn't have work and school and soccer and chores, you'd be going at it all the time, right? You think you're going to settle down to once a month when you turn thirty? Or forty? Or fifty? Think again. There's too much pleasure in it, for one thing, and for another you're probably going to be pumping out the hormones well into your middle age, if not beyond. Better get used to it."

"You and Uncle Nick . . ." He looked from one to the other.

"Are pushing sixty and we have a very satisfying relationship. That's all you need to know."

"But – "

"When you find someone special and decide to settle down into a serious relationship, we'll have a fathers-and-son chat about it. If you and Hal are just fuck buddies, it can wait."

"My dad – "

"Has always been stubborn as a stain on silk. I'd call him pigheaded if it weren't an insult to pigs. Don't look to him for anything like a change of heart, Gary. Really. He was a braggart and a bully as a kid, and he hasn't changed much since. Pops is going to go after him, I know, but your dad will just dig in his heels. I'll tell you what, though. After we get your stuff moved up here to the ranch, why don't you come back with us and visit for a week or so."

"Give things a chance to cool down. You could do with a few days to get your head together, I think," Nick interjected.

"Really?" The young man's face lit up.

"Absolutely. The couch opens up and it's comfortable. We don't have anything planned, so we can make it up as we go. Go out, stay in, whatever. And you'll be far enough from your dad that you won't have hourly updates on the ways he can be a jackass. But don't mention it around him. He'll go volcanic and that'll set Pops off, and then we'll never hear the end of it."

"Okay. And, Uncle Tony? . . . Uncle Nick? Thanks."

"You're welcome, Gary. Now, you'd better get to bed. We've all got to cycle through one bathroom in the morning in time for breakfast, and it's late." Tony dropped his feet to the floor and stood up as his nephew did. They hugged briefly, Gary leaned over and gave Nick a peck on the cheek, and then he was gone.

"He's a good kid," Nick said, flicking the covers open and patting the bed. "Your ma's partial to him. He has a lot going for him. He'll be fine. And we can be there to catch him if he falls."

"Yes," Tony sighed, exasperated, "but I wish Marco hadn't gone off the way he did. It makes things twice as difficult, and the only one who gets any benefit out of it is Marco – who's probably all puffed up about doing the right thing by showing off just how stupid and bigoted he can be. And Krissie probably egging him on with her mealy-mouth religious bullshit. Marco's been a mouthy troublemaker all his life – spent half his time at school in detention for one thing or another."

"Well, speaking of mouths, we never got to eat dessert tonight, did we? And I had something special planned."

"You've been experimenting with mascarpone again?"

"Naw. Better than that. I was thinking cream, not cream cheese. C'mere." Nick leaned forward and gave Tony a solid, serious kiss, then gripped his flanks and pulled him up so that his knees were on either side of Nick's hips. "I've been wanting this particular dessert all day," he said, opening his mouth and flicking his tongue across the head of Tony's cock. "All day," he said again. He opened his mouth and pulled Tony's hips forward, plunging the rapidly growing erection across his tongue and down his throat in one long, slow stroke.




Fog rolled in during the night, and when Tony awoke, the world was shrouded. He slipped out of bed and quietly closed the window before going down the hall to empty his bladder. When he returned, he switched on the small space heater in the corner of the room before getting back into bed and turning toward Nick.

"Morning, sweetheart," he murmured, gently kissing Nick's temple. "How'd you sleep?" He slid his hand down Nick's torso until he was stopped by the erection he found. "Wait – what's this? Do we want to do something about it?"

"Good morning, love," Nick said,, yawning and beginning to stretch. "Slept like a rock. I always do, here. And the only thing we want to do about that, beautiful man, is drain it before it bursts." He rolled to his side and extended a foot toward the floor. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Twenty past six. You have time to drain it and give it some exercise if you want. I'd counsel you to seize the moment. Among other things." Tony grinned wolfishly. "You never know when you'll have the time, the opportunity, and the willing co-conspirator again – it could be a long wait."

"Married to a Molinari? Psshh. I don't think so." Nick propelled himself out of bed and shambled toward the hall. "I'll be right back. Don't touch that dial."

Three minutes later, he was back in bed, pleasurably engaged in demonstrating how much he enjoyed being married to a Molinari. And twenty minutes after that, he and Tony were basking in afterglow, Tony still chuckling softly, his head on Nick's chest and one arm across his belly.

Nick rubbed his chin gently on the top of Tony's head. "We really ought to get up. I don't want to keep your Ma's coffee waiting."

"Yeah, I guess," Tony murmured, not stirring.

"Come on, babe. Up and at 'em."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Tony still didn't move.

Nick slid his hand down Tony's back, slowly stroked across one butt cheek, then pulled a finger up his cleft, taking a second to tickle his pucker with a feathery touch. Tony's cock twitched reflexively against Nick's side and his hips bucked, but the rest of him remained motionless. Nick bent to kiss the crown of curls. "I'm getting up now, whether you do or not. I need to shave and shower. You do, too."

He disengaged himself and got out of bed, picking up his kit before heading to the bathroom. He was brushing his teeth when Gary came barreling in.

"Sorry, Uncle Nick. I really have to piss. Um, good morning."

"Do you need privacy? And good morning to you." Nick smiled into the shaving glass at Gary's reflection.

"Nope. As long as you're cool with it."

"Blast away, young man." Nick rinsed his brush and began washing his face for shaving as Gary took aim at the porcelain. "And if you want to shower, go ahead. I'll be a few minutes shaving before I'm ready for that."

Gary finished with a soft grunt, shook off, and moved to the shower, where he quickly adjusted the taps and stepped in. Nick looked up and saw the boy had forgotten to take a towel off the shelf, so he grabbed one and hung it on the hook.

He was finishing his shave when Gary turned off the water and slid the curtain back, reaching for the towel as Tony walked in.

"Oh, there you are," Nick said brightly, rinsing his razor. "Tony, have you met my nephew? This is Gian-Andrea, also known as Gary. Gary, I'd like you to meet the animal I live with, my husband Tony. He doesn't bite if you offer him a sugar cube, but don't move too quickly – he's barely saddle-broke and he spooks easy. Especially before breakfast." He grinned, patted the razor dry, and dropped it into its case. "As soon as Gary's toweled off, I'm taking a shower, hon."

Tony looked from one to the other. "This is a joke, yes?" he said, rubbing his eyes and then his face with both hands. "I've stepped into an alternate universe where all the beautiful men are related to me somehow but . . ."

"But you have to negotiate water hazards to reach them? Well, that's the price you pay when you dawdle in the bed of a morning. Der steeplechase began vissout you, Fwenchy," Nick said, doing his best Lili von Shtupp.

Gary giggled.

"Oh, jeez," Tony moaned. "Comedy at daybreak. Why did I ever let myself get mixed up with this man?"

"That's not the way I heard it, Uncle Tony," Gary said, kilting his towel. "I heard you went hunting in a big way, wouldn't let your mount cool until you'd run the fox to ground. Isn't that right, Uncle Nick?" he asked with an innocent smile.

"Damn right, kid, and don't let anyone tell ya different. He was a madman, a demon, an animal on the attack," Nick wailed, clutching imaginary pearls. "It was impossible to escape. I had to give in. And here you see me," he sobbed, "a broken blossom, a panting hind," – he flung out an arm dramatically, laid the back of his other hand on his forehead, recoiled in silent-movie terror – "and a dirty old man who wants his shower." He dropped the parodies, stepped into the stall, and pulled the curtain closed with a flourish.

Gary had begun shaving, the hum of his razor not masking the occasional chuckle that bubbled out as he carefully trimmed his moustache and goatee.

"Gosh, what got into you this morning?" Tony said, lowering the cover on the toilet and sitting on the dressing seat.

"You know the answer to that one, Fwenchy, you old mustang," Nick sang out through the rush of water.

"And now Gary does, too," Tony shot back. "You about finished in there?"

"Getting close. Closer. Closer. Ohhhh, yeah, right there. Uh huh. Uh huh. Ohhhhh, bay-yay-yay-bee, YES!" The water stopped abruptly, and Nick pulled back the curtain. "Thank you, thank you. Thank you especially to all the little people," he said, bowing and smiling as he reached for his towel. "And you know who you are."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Mornings at our house aren't always like this," he said to Gary. "In fact, usually it's pretty quiet."

"Yeah, but usually I'm not having to wind myself up for meeting a brother-in-law I've only heard about – and only heard the worst, at that. Even if I keep my mouth shut the entire time he's here, I need to crank my spirits up for this one. Speaking of which," he said, giving a final rub to his hair, "do we have a plan?"

"The plan is," Tony said, grabbing a towel, "that we're going to go over to Marco's house, get Gary's stuff, bring it all back here, and take him to the city with us for a few days. Pops and Marco will probably spend time arguing, Ma will try to play peacemaker and get nowhere, and the dogs will whine and hide in the laundry room to get away from the shouting. Beyond that, there's no plan." He stepped into the shower.

"Well. That's mighty encouraging," Nick said sarcastically. He hung his towel on a hook under the window, ran a comb through his hair, and mugged at himself over Gary's shoulder in the shaving glass for a second. "You have a lot of things to move?" he asked, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Well, I'm not taking furniture, so I guess the answer is no. My computer, my books, my clothes, my scooter. I'd like my soccer trophies and my music, too, if we can fit them in the car."

"We taking one car, Tony? Or two?" Nick said, raising his voice over the shower.

"Two. Ours and that boat Pops drives. We'll leave Gary's Bug here."

"Well, there's your answer. Better call the liquor store or the market and ask them to save any boxes they may have on hand. We'll pick them up before 10, if they want to know." He squeezed the kid's shoulder. "It'll be okay, Gary."


Breakfast was quiet. Mrs. Molinari tried to appear cheerful, her coffee was superb as usual, and the cheese-filled breakfast rolls were deliciously fresh from the oven. But everyone except Mr. Molinari was preoccupied. He was thoughtful but alert.

Nick excused himself around 8:30 and went up to make the bed. The others remained in the kitchen, picking at their rolls and sipping their coffee. Nick came back down just as Lucky, the older of the two dogs, lifted his muzzle and whined softly.

"That'll be Marco," Tony said, reaching down to scratch the dog's head.

Mr. Molinari rose and went toward the living room.

As the dogs stood and stretched, the four still in the kitchen heard the front door open. Tony glanced at his mother, and then led the way to the front of the house.

Mr. Molinari had stepped out onto the verandah and stood there waiting. Mrs. Molinari stopped just inside the doorway, but Tony, Nick and Gary went out as Marco approached the steps.

"Marco," was all Mr. Molinari said.

"Pops," Marco answered, mopping his forehead, his face greasy with sweat. He walked toward the porch steps and began to mount them, bulky and awkward in his ill-fitting sport coat. "I see you have reinforcements. Is that my new sister-in-law standing next to Tony?" he sneered.

Tony stiffened, but Nick put his hand on Tony's forearm and squeezed, hard. He extended his right hand to shake; Marco ignored it.

"Your manners haven't improved since you were here last," Mr. Molinari said softly. "I'm disappointed in you, boy." Mr. Molinari turned his head slightly. "Angelina," he said, his voice gentle, "would you bring me my coffee, please?"

A moment later, Mrs. Molinari was back, with coffee cups and the pot on a tray. Mr. Molinari saucered a cup, filled it, and waved her away. "Thank you, my dear."

He turned and moved to the small wicker table and chairs in one corner of the long porch. Mrs. Molinari hesitated a moment, then took the tray back into the house as her husband seated himself. Pointing at a chair, he ordered "Sit." His voice had turned steely.

"You say that the way you'd say it to a dog," Marco whined, wedging his ample backside into the creaking seat.

Tony, Nick and Gary ranged themselves along the porch. Mr. Molinari calmly sipped his coffee, gazing toward the road as the fog began to burn off, ignoring Marco. It began to dawn on Marco that something was up. He fidgeted in his chair, his heavy features working.

"I suppose you want me to take Gary back," he said finally, desperate to break the silence. "You want me to say that it's all right with me that he's a goddamn faggot, that I don't mind that he takes it up the ass. That I like having another pansy in the family. Is that it?"

"Not at all," his father said. He flicked his eyes across Marco's features and grimaced slightly. "You're the head of your own family now. You can treat them any way you like, dispose of them any way you see fit. If one of your children displeases you, you can deal with it in your own way. You're on your own."

"What, then?" Marco said, shifting in his seat, missing the point of his father's last few words.

"I want to know what you propose to do about Gian-Andrea's education. He still has some way to go before he finishes college. I assume from the way you talk that he's to be left to find his tuition and fees without your help. Am I right?"

"He's no son of mine now." Marco's expression turned mulish. "I thought I had three sons but it seems I only have two. The Bible says . . ."

"I know what the Bible says, boy," Mr. Molinari interrupted. "I've had a few years to study it. I want to hear what you say."

"Let him marry his fucking boyfriend, then, and see if Pete Rayburn is any more willing to pay for his education than I am. Maybe he can get a job waitressing at that truck stop south of town. He'll look good in the mini-skirt. Probably get pretty good tips . . ."

Nick glanced over at Tony just in time to see him uncross his ankles and shift slightly on the wide windowsill. He held his breath, hoping Tony would keep himself under control.

"Basta," Mr. Molinari said sharply, "I’ve heard enough. We’re driving into town in a few minutes. We'll be picking up Gian-Andrea's things, now that he's no longer part of your family, and bringing them here. You will not hinder us. Gian-Andrea is still a beloved part of my family." He hooked a thumb toward the center of his chest. "You have appointments this morning, you said. You'd better be going." He stood, picked up his cup and moved toward the front door.

Marco remained seated for a moment, then struggled free of the chair and stood uncertainly. "Is that it? Is that all you had to say?"

"Your so-called Christian morality has served you well, Marco," Mr. Molinari said wearily. "And I feel certain it will continue to insulate you from the real world. But I tell you this: you have two grandchildren you've never met, you have at least one grandchild whose father is a stranger to you, and I know where your wife spends many of her mornings."

Marco's face went slack.

"Come, Tony, Nick, Gian-Andrea," Mr. Molinari said, opening the door. "We have things to do."

The three roused themselves and headed for the door behind Mr. Molinari. Tony was the last of the group. As he took hold of the screen door handle, he turned to look back at Marco.

"You've torn it this time, Marco," he said, holding the door open.

"What did I do?" Marco whined.

"You really don't get it?" Tony asked, surprised.

"Get what? What don't I get?" Marco said, straightening his clothes. He was panting as though he'd run a long-distance race. "What don't I get?" he repeated, looking at Tony.

"My god, you're a waste of skin," Tony said wearily, and went into the house.

Marco was left alone as the door clicked shut.


"You go ahead," Mr. Molinari said to Tony as they moved toward the kitchen. "I'll be along in a few minutes. Take Gian-Andrea with you; I'll bring Nick and meet you at the house."

"Okay, Pops," Tony answered, checking his keys and wallet. "Gary, do you have what you need? Keys? Whatever?"

"I'm set, Uncle Tony," the young man replied, holding up his keychain.

"Okay, let's go, then. We'll see you in a bit, Pops." He kissed his mother quickly and went out the back door, followed by his nephew.

Nick was left in the kitchen, somewhat confused.

"I have to see a man about a dog, Nicky," his father-in-law said. "Let me make a telephone call and then we can go. Have some more coffee if you like."

Nick picked up his cup, recoiled from the chill liquid, and dumped the cold coffee before pouring a fresh half-cup.

Mr. Molinari moved to the telephone, flicked through the old metal desk directory, and dialed. "Bill. Good morning. Silvio. Do you have a few minutes for me this morning? Good. Half an hour, maybe a little longer, probably not so long. Yes. Thanks. See you shortly." He hung up and turned back to Nick. "Any time you're ready," he said.

Nick stood and moved toward the coat rack by the door. Pulling down his jacket, he turned and smiled. "As ready as it gets."

The older man smiled back, grabbed his keys and his hat, and they headed for the car.


The car really was like a boat. Nick wondered if it got more than five miles to the gallon. But the sense of being protected lulled him as they drove. He began to pay attention as they reached the little town. After a couple of blocks, Mr. Molinari turned inland and they followed a narrow road up into the foothills. A mile or so back, they pulled into the driveway of an undistinguished stucco house squatting behind a patchy lawn and a couple of flower beds that weren't doing much to brighten the neighborhood. Tony's car was parked at the back steps, its doors and trunk lid open.

The scene inside wasn't pretty. The kitchen sink was piled with dirty dishes, the remains of a meal littered the table, and a basket of dirty clothes occupied one corner of the room. They could hear voices farther in, and followed them down the hallway.

Tony and Gary were standing in the middle of the small bedroom. Around them were strewn a couple of dozen boxes, with Gary's possessions tossed into them. The walls had been denuded, bookshelves were bare, and the closet held nothing but empty hangers. The chest of drawers had been emptied, the drawers hanging open at odd angles. The bed had been stripped.

Tony looked up as they entered. "Marco just left," he said, gently rubbing Gary's back. "We can put these in the cars. And Gary's scoot, in the garage. I think it'll fit in the back seat of your car, Pops."

"Don't we want to . . ." Nick began.

"Just take the boxes," Tony said, his voice tight. "Marco's already 'helped' with the packing."

Mr. Molinari's face turned grim. "He did this?" he asked.

"He and Krissie," Tony said tersely.

A muscle in Mr. Molinari's jaw twitched. "I see," he said, and bent to pick up a box full of broken-backed books and miscellaneous paper.

Nick hefted another box of books and papers, and followed him out.

Mr. Molinari retrieved a couple of furniture quilts from the trunk of his car and laid one across the back seat. "We can wheel the little scooter in and wrap it," he said, setting his box into the trunk. He led the way into the garage, flicked a switch, and they saw a small yellow moped parked against the back wall. It was quickly loaded into the car, and they went back into the house.

Gary was sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes red and his breathing rough, looking disconsolate. Nick walked over to him and briefly wrapped his arms around the young man's shoulders before returning to the task of carrying boxes outside. Tony dismantled the computer and found boxes for it. He checked the desk drawers and found nothing; apparently, any disks or programs Gary had been using were in one of the cartons on the floor. He carried the computer out carefully, one box at a time, and loaded it into the back seat of the Saab.

Nick found a box filled with Gary's trophies. They had been dropped one on top of another, and several had pieces broken off – the tail of the Coastside bobcat from one, a flame-shaped finial from another, the softball bat from a third. The separated pieces themselves seemed to be in the box, but he was shocked to see how callous the kid's parents had been. He carried the box out to Mr. Molinari's big car and set it gently on the back seat, thinking he would try to repair the damage if possible.

None of them spoke much as they gathered Gary's life up and stowed it away. Tony and Mr. Molinari were too angry for speech, and Nick felt desolate. Gary seemed to have had the life drained out of him, although he was gamely trying to help. At last everything had been arranged in the two vehicles. Nick went back for one last look around the room. Scouting behind the bed, he discovered a tattered teddy bear lying on the floor in the farthest corner, picked it up, and tucked it into his jacket.

"You go on ahead, Tony," Mr. Molinari said finally. "I have a couple things to do yet, but Nick and me, we'll be back in time for lunch."


They returned to the main drag of the little town. Mr. Molinari soon pulled into a parking space. He switched off the engine and sat for a moment before he turned his head. "I'll be about ten minutes, son," he said, pocketing his keys. "You okay watching the foot traffic?"

"Just fine, Papa M," Nick answered, smiling. "Take your time."

Mr. Molinari got out of the car and walked quickly down the street. Nick idly wondered what was happening, but was content to scan the sidewalks, noticing a couple of townsfolk strolling along but otherwise letting his thoughts drift. He reviewed the almost surreal scene with Marco. It had seemed like an act in a Greek tragedy, Mr. Molinari a betrayed king who yet had power unsuspected by his feckless child. It was apparent to Nick that his brother-in-law had been at sea during the entire brief interview. Clearly, Marco had never been the favored son – not smart, not athletic, not self-disciplined – but had always thought he should be, simply because he provided the grandchildren. It was also clear that Mr. Molinari cherished values other than a desire to perpetuate his name, and that Tony's superior mind and manners, his high ethos, outweighed Marco's puerile bluster and active loins in their father's mind.

Nick let his mind drift back to the scene in Gary's bedroom. It looked to him as though the dresser drawers had simply been turned over into the boxes on the floor, and the other things, the solid objects, had been either dropped or tossed into their own boxes. The broken-backed books, crumpled and crushed papers, especially the trophies – Gary's life in sports – which looked as though they had been dropped from a height, the heavy onyx bases breaking whatever they bounced against as they fell. He inadvertently shook his head, cursing silently. The "saved" could be so cruel, he thought, armored in their self-righteousness.

Gary appeared to have grown up a well balanced, intelligent young man. He was doing fairly well, everything considered, but it was obvious he would fare better if he got away. Nick was glad Tony had invited him to visit, although their apartment was small.

Mr. Molinari appeared just then, still looking grim, but no longer red in the face. As he got into the car, Nick turned to ask "Is there someplace here in town where I could get some super glue and a bottle of gilding?"

"Stationer's two blocks down," Mr. Molinari said, and turned the ignition.


When they arrived at the ranch, there was an unfamiliar car in the turn-around next to Tony's. Nick looked over at Mr. Molinari. "You have visitors," he said.

"Don't know who," Mr. Molinari answered, pulling into the shed. "Let's get the scooter out first. We can come back for the rest later."

Wrestling the little moped out of the car was harder than getting it in, and Nick was out of breath by the time they had it propped against the wall. He picked up the box of trophies and followed Mr. Molinari into the house, thinking he could set it on the kitchen table for the time being. But when they entered the room, they found Mrs. Molinari, Tony, Gary and another young fellow sitting with fresh coffee. Nick turned back to set the box on the washing machine, but was stopped by Gary's voice. He put the box on the floor and pulled his chair away from the table.

"Nonno, Uncle Nick, this is Hal Rayburn. Hal, you remember my grandfather Molinari? And this is Uncle Tony's husband Nick." Gary was grinning, bashful but happy, his eyes shining.

The young man was on his feet instantly, his hand extended to Mr. Molinari. "How do you do, sir," he said, smiling. "It's a pleasure to see you again. And to meet you, sir," he said, leaning over the table to shake Nick's hand. Nick was glad to notice the youngster had a firm handshake and a friendly, genuine-seeming smile.

"Hal was just filling us in on what's been happening at his house," Tony said after everyone had settled and Mrs. Molinari had passed coffee cups to her husband and Nick. "His dad's almost as upset as Marco," he held up his hand as Mr. Molinari began to puff up, "but for a completely different reason." He chuckled. "The one who's feeling the wrath of Khan at the Rayburns' is Larry, Hal's little brother."

"Huh?" Nick said, disbelieving his ears.

Tony lifted his chin at Hal and grinned. "Tell," he said.

"Well, Dad was at work when Larry walked in on us. Mom was at a meeting and then she had to go to church and help with the flowers so we weren't gonna see her till supper time, so that's why Larry went and called Gare's dad first. He just couldn't wait to tell someone. I guess if Gare's dad hadn't answered, he'd have told the lady who delivers the mail. But he was all happy that Gare's dad went off. Enjoyed the show. Figured he'd get a repeat when dad got home and he told him. Except dad went off at him, not at me."

Mr. Molinari sat back in his chair, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. Nick goggled at the young man sitting across from him.

"I probably shouldn't be so happy about it, with what's happened to Gare and all, but dang! Dad laid into Larry about walking into someone's bedroom without at least knocking. Called him a brat and a punk, and told him he wasn't supposed to be perving on what other people did in private. I thought he was going to whale on him, but he just called the locksmith to come out and fix the old lock on my door and make me a key for it. Then he grounded Larry for a month. And then he took Larry's bedroom door off the hinges and carried it out to the ammo room in the shed. Locked it up. And he took the key out of our bathroom door and gave it to me to hang on to."

Tony nudged Nick. "Larry's thirteen," he muttered. "Gonna be fourteen in April." He chuckled. Then he guffawed.

Nick choked. Then he snorted and burst out laughing. Soon all five men were laughing, and even Mrs. Molinari was smiling down at her cup, her shoulders shaking slightly as she giggled.


When Tony and the two young men had gone to set up Gary's computer, Nick helped Mr. Molinari bring in the rest of the boxes and stack them at the foot of the stairs. The boxes of books and papers Nick took to the dining room so that he could straighten out the books and at least try to smoothe out the crumpled sheets of loose paper. He hated to see books treated badly, and these had just been tossed into the boxes, some of them landing open; pages were torn or folded, spines were open and some were probably broken, covers were dented and bent. He went through the boxes quickly, improving what he could and stacking the books neatly.

Then he turned to the trophies. Some of the broken elements would have to be professionally repaired, but he was able to fix nearly a dozen with just the glue and a steady hand.

Mr. Molinari joined him after a while, pulling out a chair and sitting to watch as he worked on the delicate joinings.

"Think you'll be able to fix 'em all, Nicky?" he asked, after watching for a few minutes.

"Don't think so, Papa M," Nick answered, licking a corner of his mouth as he concentrated. "Some of these are bent where they broke. I was thinking I'd take them to the jeweller in town, ask them."

"These five here?" Mr. Molinari gestured toward the troupe of probable rejects.

"Yah. Look at how the metal's sort of pulled at the breaks. What do you think?" He laid the trophy he was working on carefully on its side.

"I'd bet we can do something ourselves," Mr. Molinari said, picking them up one after another and inspecting the breaks. "Let's take them out to the garage. I'll get the soldering iron going."


"Pops says you did almost all of this yourself, hon," Tony said. He was standing in the garage, admiring the array of mended trophies on the old work bench under the windows.

Nick shrugged. "He's not taking enough credit. He's the one who did the soldering. I just smoothed off the joins where they needed it. You know how electrical things make me nervous! Can you see me handling a soldering iron?" He laughed. "Not in a million, baby."

"Well, Gary's going to be really touched," Tony said, pulling him close.

"Let's not show him until I've had a chance to re-gild them, okay?" Nick said, snuggling in. "I want them to be as close to the way they were as I can get them. I know they're important to him. But don't get the idea that this is an exercise in pure altruism, either, hon," he continued. "Think of it as my way of sucker-punching Marco and then knocking him on his fat ass with an upper cut. Every time I remember the way he acted when he came out here this morning, I get mad."

"I don't think he really understood what was going on this morning," Tony said. "Do you?"

"Nope. It sounded to me as though Papa M was washing his hands of him, actually. I mean, Papa's language seemed pretty plain. But I got the same impression you did – that Marco really didn't get what was being said."

"Then he's in for a surprise when he finds out what I have in mind," Tony answered. "What do you think about us helping with Gary’s tuition and fees? I've been turning it over in my head, and I'm sure we can afford it, but I wanted to talk it over with you before I said anything to him or Pops."

"I like that!" Nick exclaimed, giving Tony a quick kiss on the cheek. "It would be a shame if Gary had to drop out now, so close to getting his certificate. Could we help out if he wanted to take extra business courses? Or transfer to Cal?"

"Absolutely. In the meantime, let's take some of these up to his room and see if they help him feel any better." Tony picked up two of the trophies and turned toward the door.

"You don't want to wait till I've re-gilded them?" Nick asked.

"Nope. He'll love them the way they are, if he loves them, and if he doesn't, we'll save a step. But I'm sure Pops and Ma want him to feel that he has a home where he's loved no matter what, and having his trophies will help."

The kitchen was deserted when they walked into the house, but the basement door was open. Tony paused to shout down the stairs that they were headed for Gary's room, and they proceeded to the third floor.


Gary and Hal were on the floor, sorting through CDs when Tony tapped on the door jamb and poked his head around.

"How's it going?" he asked, entering the room with Nick right behind him. "You doing all right, Gary?"

"Better, Uncle Tony," Gary said, setting a CD to one side. "We're just getting my music back in order."

"Good," Tony said, carrying the trophies to the nearest bookcase and setting them on top.

Nick followed with his, and then knelt next to the two boys. "Mind if I look at your collection?" he asked, picking up a stray jewel box.

"Wait. Did you and Uncle Tony just . . .? Wow! Hal, dude, look at that. Uncle Nick and Uncle Tony fixed my trophies!" Gary jumped up and stepped over to the bookcase. He ran a hand lovingly over one of the trophies, then turned to look at his uncles. "You guys," he began, "you guys don't know . . ."

"We do," Tony said, pulling him into a hug. He looked over at Hal, who was grinning. "But don't give me the credit. Lay it on your Uncle Nick, and your Nonno."


The small lamp on the bedside table cast a soft golden light on the "boys" gathered in Gary's bedroom, lounging in various states of undress. Gary had stretched out on the narrow bed, propped against the pillows with his teddy bear tucked under one arm, a light cotton robe over his shoulders, with Hal sidesaddled next to him in a loose tanktop and an old, stretched-out jock, the flaming heart tattoo on his left bicep seeming to flicker when he changed position. Nick was in the chair, his feet extended toward the humming space-heater, tee-shirted over his baggy boxer shorts, and Tony was perched on the chair arm with a towel wrapped kiltwise around his lean hips, one hand on Nick's shoulder, absently rubbing the muscle at the base of his neck.

Nick and Tony had carefully avoided mentioning anything connected to the scene with Gary's father earlier in the day, and Gary seemed to have mostly recovered from it. Hal was quiet, his eyes focussed on Gary's face more often than not.

"Your Gram's an awesome cook, Gare," he finally said, admiringly. "It'd be great if she'd be willing to give classes. We could have special weekends: 'Nonna Angelina in the Kitchen' sort of thing. D'ya think she'd do it?"

"What do you think, Uncle Tony?" Gary asked, looking toward him. "Would she be up for it?"

"Only way to find out is to ask," Tony said, shifting slightly. "She's certainly taught my sisters. And Nick."

"Mostly by experience, though," Nick said thoughtfully. "She never said, this is how much of this, this is how you do it, she just got the stuff together and did it, and I absorbed as much as I could, watching and asking questions as I peeled tomatoes or trimmed chicken livers, whatever. I think she'd be good at it, but she might not be comfortable in a formal set-up." He wasn't comfortable with the suggestion, either, and thought it was on the far side of presumptuous for Hal to bring it up.

"She's so cool, though. I bet she'd be great," Hal continued. "Let's put that on the list, anyways, huh?"

"You have a list of projects?" Tony asked.

"Yah." Gary laughed. "The BB List for the B&B, we call it – Business Builders for the Bed and Breakfast. What's she taught you, Uncle Nick?"

"Jeez, lots of things," Nick replied, settling deeper in the chair. "Even before I met her, I knew she was the best cook in the County – Tony made sure of that. I've always thought he said it so I'd be more comfortable when I first met her and Papa M."

"Well, I had to get you down here somehow," Tony laughed, "and I figured as much as you liked food that was as good a way as any. It worked, at least." He ruffled Nick's hair. "And you did learn how to make great gnocchi."

"Not as good as hers, though," Nick said, smiling up at his husband. "Mine will never be as good as hers. Remember what you told me when I asked if she made them from scratch? You said: 'You. Will. Weep.' And I almost did, they were so good."

"I've never heard the story of how you met, or any of that stuff," Gary said. He laid his hand on top of Hal's on his thigh, squeezing gently.

"Oh, we 'met cute', as they say," Tony grinned. "In fact, Nicky threw himself at my feet and I was swept away by tides of love before I even knew his name."

"Don't listen to him, boys," Nick said. "He makes me sound like a slut, and I've never been a slut. Randy, maybe, and willing, certainly – but not a slut . . ."

"So, what really happened?" Hal asked, his eyes alight. "You've been together a long time, right?"

"Not quite," Nick said, looking quickly away from Tony's smiling face. "We did date for a few years, but then we didn't date for quite a while."

"Well?" Gary asked. "Come on. Give. You know my dad never would talk about you guys."

"I met your uncle on the Green Street hill," Nick said. He laughed ruefully. "I was coming home from my day job, shlepping a couple of really heavy bags of groceries – those suckers were packed as tight as Kraft paper can pack. There'd been rolling fog all day and the sidewalk had slick patches. I lost my footing on one and slid backwards ten or twelve feet, and there he was. Right out of a movie. All handsome and young and sexy. What were we, hon," he paused to ask, "twenty-five, twenty-eight, something like that?"

"You were twenty-eight and I was twenty-seven," Tony said. Then, lowering his voice, "I've always been attracted to older men." He winked at Gary and Hal.

Gary and Hal snickered. "One year older?" Gary asked.

"He was just so cute, standing there with his trousers ripped and pickle juice dripping out of that bag. I couldn't tell whether he was pissed off or embarrassed or what. But he was cute."

"And you called me 'cute stuff', too. No one ever accused me of being cute before you did. I was so embarrassed. God, that was a long time ago. I had all my hair, and your uncle's hair was still dark, dark as a raven's wing, just like yours." He looked over at Gary and sighed.

"Nick was living in this tiny studio on Kent Alley, barely room to turn around."

"That was a converted stable, did you know?" Nick said. "First place I ever lived that was all mine – no roommates. What a luxury that was!" He sighed again.

"And you were working three jobs, I remember. Five days a week in an office downtown, two evenings and all day Saturday at that shop on Upper Grant, and four dinner shifts at Leonardi's. It was a luxury, all right."

"Dude!" Hal breathed. "That's some schedule!"

"I was young and strong," Nick said. "And I had the daytime free on Sunday. But it was a slog, I will admit."

"And then the fog came in and rolled you down the hill to me," Tony said gently. He rested his hand on the back of Nick's head for a moment. "Best thing that ever happened to me."

"Pfff," Nick snorted. "Didn't keep you from taking up with Ken Martin, did it?"

"Who's Ken Martin?" Hal asked.

"Well, he's Ken Gutierrez now," Nick said. "He and Armando got married two weeks after it became legal. But at the time, he was a salesman at Roos-Atkins, the men's store that used to be on Sutter – very classy place, way beyond my salary. They had some of the handsomest floor men in the City, and Ken was right up there – nicely built, very good looking; the classic blond, blue-eyed WASP, in fact. Of course, retail doesn't pay, and he had a second job like so many of us did: he was a go-go boy three nights a week at one of the Polk Street watering holes. Great tips, he always said. Later he moved to a bar south of Market and the tips got even better. He used to do this thing where he'd pull a fifty out of his g-string and use it to sluice the sweat off his body, very slowly, so you'd focus on every contour, every detail, while he undulated on his show box. The men would just drool on themselves, and then wad money up and throw it at him."

"Dude must have been awesome," Hal said.

"Oh, he was that," Nick agreed. "And then some. Plus, he was nice."

"We'd go for drinks where he was dancing sometimes, and he'd come and chat between sets. Dressed, of course, but his hair was like a beacon, so guys would come over and want to get good with him," Tony said. "He was always polite, but he kept a distance. He and I had fun together – he was funny as hell – and I sort of started meeting him for a drink or dinner, or whatever, during the week. I mean, we all socialized together – maybe a couple of dozen of us in our crowd going out in twos and threes and fours, depending on who was free and felt like going. But Ken and I were seeing each other more, uh, specifically. And then we started actually dating, not just casually getting together but serious dating, and I was still dating your uncle Nick on the weekends."

"Which was about the time I realized I'd fallen in love," Nick said, looking up. "We had so much fun together, and the sex was incredible. He's very good in bed." Gary quickly twitched the robe across his lap, looking abashed. "No need to blush, Gary, and no need to cover up; we're all gay here. You've got nothing I haven't seen. Your uncle's hung like a horse too."

"Besides, I like you naked, babe," Hal put in, squeezing Gary's thigh. "A lot."

"Anyway, I lost my heart to him about the time he transferred his affections to Ken," Nick continued. "And then I figured out what was going on, and it was over. I was way too insecure to play second fiddle. Luckily, I had my friend Sheila to talk me through it. She called her method 'culinary therapy'; it involved dim sum and dishing the dirt at Yank Sing. We'd go to the old location on Broadway and sit there eating for hours. Real yum cha time."

"I didn't catch on at first," Tony said. "You didn't do drama. Your clothes just began to disappear. And then Sheila said something about your new job and I realized I hadn't been paying attention at all, and I felt terrible." He stared at the floor for a few seconds. "By then it was too late to fix things, and of course I was still dating Ken, who was still fun to be with and a great fuck. And I might have been happy with him, if I hadn't already met you." He stroked the back of Nick's head again. "You spoiled me, babe."

"You kept dating Ken until he met Armando," Nick reminded Tony. "At the Pride Fest in Civic Center."

"Right under your nose, too," Tony laughed. "Boy, was that ever awkward." He shifted his gaze back to Gary and Hal. "Nick was manning the Gay Men's Clinic booth, and Armando showed up with a big box of safe sex leaflets to hand out. Ken took one look at him and went all googoo-eyed. I mean, the effect – it was instantaneous, as though he'd been poleaxed."

"Yeah. You could almost see his knees buckle." Nick giggled. "And Armando just very calmly wrote his phone number on one of the leaflets and handed it to Ken. Ignored your uncle completely. Said something like 'if you have any questions, I'd be happy to talk with you', and went back to his truck. Ken was a goner." Nick chuckled again. "I'll admit that it didn't pain me at all to watch that go down. Not one little bit."

"You kept a straight face, though," Tony said. "No triumph, no amusement. Went right on shilling for the Clinic, passing out leaflets, chatting to people as though you hadn't seen him hand me my guts on a plate."

"Sheila came by the booth about an hour later, and when I told her what happened, she actually smiled for a second. You know how cool she always is, very controlled, typically Chinese, but this one got her attention. Yeah, definitely got her attention."

"Jeez," Gary said softly. "No wonder you said Uncle Nick fought the hook. I would have, too."

"Well, yes," Nick said. "There was a lot of scar tissue on my heart."

"And Ken and Armando have been together all these years?" Hal asked. He glanced over and turned his hand palm up to hold Gary's.

"Oh, yeah," Tony said. "Armando was a rising star in the flamenco world, and Ken started studying with his teacher right after he moved in with Armando. He was a natural as a dancer. I don't think it was two years before he was a member of the troupe. And then, of course, the wedding last year. Which, I might add, your Uncle Nick and I both attended. On opposite sides of the aisle."

"Don't ask," Nick said, laughing.

"You stayed friends with them?" Hal asked them.

"Well, sure," Nick answered. "Why not? It's not like either one of them tried to hurt either of us. They just fell for each other. Hard. And, of course, they got twenty good years out of it before marriage was legalized. But I think we all thought of them as married anyway. I mean, you couldn't have found a more devoted couple."

"I don't know," Hal said, considering the statement. "You guys look pretty devoted to me."

"We missed those years, though," Nick said sadly. "At least partly through my own stubbornness and fear. If I'd had the sense Tony credits me with, I'd have taken him back as soon as he asked me the first time, instead of playing the wronged lover." He looked seriously at the boys on the bed, one at a time, and went on. "If you two ever get to a point like that, I hope you'll be wiser and more generous than I was. I mean, from what I've observed I think the two of you are a couple, not just fuck buddies. And you're welcome to tell me to butt out of it. But you're also both welcome to come to me, or Tony, for help or advice or just a sympathetic shoulder when you need to."

"Thanks, Uncle Nick," Gary said quietly.

"Yeah, thanks, Uncle Nick," Hal repeated. "A lot, thanks. That means a lot to me. 'Cuz yeah, we're a couple. At least, I hope we are. Gare?"

"Two horses, one wagon, babe," Gary said, turning to look Hal in the eyes.

Nick's face lit up with a satisfied smile. "Good. That's settled. Now I'm ready for bed," he said, pulling his feet back and smacking Tony on the butt. "And you are, too, Mr. Studly. Let's leave these guys to their own devices and get our aging selves between the sheets." He stood and walked to the bed, leaning to kiss first Hal and then Gary on the forehead. "You might think about a picnic tomorrow? Up to the creek, or out to the beach, one or the other? Depending on the fog, of course."

"And remember, breakfast at 7:30," Tony said. He gave each boy a goodnight kiss and followed Nick out of the room, closing the door softly.

Back in their room, Nick was elated. "They're such a cute couple," he crowed, practically skipping around the room. "And did you see the way they look at each other? Too sweet. Hal's a darling. I wasn't too sure at first, but . . . How come I never met him before? Well, wait, how often have I seen Gary in the last ten years? That might explain it, huh? It would, wouldn't it? Hah! I bet Hal's mom is gorgeous, as good looking as he is, and she must be where he gets his eyes and his skin? You said his dad's a redhead, so his tan and those gold and brown eyes must be from her side. You just know the guest room sheets are gonna be cold in the morning. Hal's not leaving Gary's room, not now that they've actually said the words."

"Sweetheart, you're babbling. Calm down."

"But they're perfect together." Nick lifted the window sash an inch and pulled off his tee shirt. "We have to do something, Tone. We need to give them a party or something, so all our friends – theirs and ours and the families' friends – can celebrate with them."

"Whoa! Whoa, there. Calm yourself. Maybe they don't want that. Maybe they're more comfortable just being who they are without all the fuss and formality of a big reception or whatever. Maybe a few little lunches and dinners would be more their style. Gotta ask, babe. Don't get yourself carried away."

Nick continued to fizz and spin around the room, fluffing the pillow in the reading chair, straightening the keys and change in the dresser tray, turning down the bed with hotel-worthy precision, chattering to himself as he fussed, until Tony finally corralled him and restrained him in a bear hug.

"Hey!" he said, squeezing Nick’s chest against his own. "You’re making me dizzy. Calm down, babe." Nick kept on squirming, and Tony tightened his hold until Nick could hardly breathe. When he finally relaxed, Tony began to let up, gradually softening his clasp until he rested his chin on the top of Nick’s head, gently stroking his shoulders. "That’s better," he finally said, quietly. "You about ready for bed now?"

"Yeah, sure. Okay. Yes, please," Nick said, slowly rubbing his cheek against the fur of Tony's chest. He took a deep breath and pulled away from his husband's arms. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly.

"Honey, it's okay. Really. I'm glad they're a couple, too, and glad they can talk about it honestly, at least with us. And we have a lot to think about and talk about. But that's for tomorrow. Today's been a heavy one. Time to sleep. Or try."

"Guess I'd better get into bed . . . if I'm going to sleep?" Nick said, half humorously.

"It's the usual place," Tony agreed, steering the two of them toward the bed. With his free hand he slipped off his towel and tossed it at the chair, then coaxed Nick's boxer shorts past his hips until they slid to the floor. Without letting go of Nick's hand, he slid into the bed and pulled Nick with him.

"The boys are so dear," Nick mumbled as he snuggled against Tony's chest. "Were we ever that young? I hope we didn't shock them. Did I tell you I love you, today?" His voice trailed into a soft snore. Tony reached over and switched off the lamp.

THE END

---