Date: Fri, 9 Jul 2004 16:01:17 EDT
From: RitchChristopher@cs.com
Subject: lush-life-9

All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or
are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language,
please exit now.

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                                   LUSH LIFE

                                       by

                                Ritch Christopher


                                  Chapter Nine



                     "I'LL ONLY MISS HIM WHEN I THINK OF HIM"


                     "I'll only miss him, when I think of him
                      And I'll think of him all the time.
                      Likely I'll spend my days -
                            hearing his turn of phrase--
                      Things I found hard to praise,
                            right now, would seem sublime.

                      The truth is...

                      I'll only miss him, when some stranger laughs
                      'cause it's still his laugh my hearts hears.
                      Maybe in time - I guess,
                            the longing will grow the slightest
                            bit less
                      And there will be moments - yes -
                            when it disappears.

                     I'll bet I'll forget him completely -
                            in about a hundred years."

                     From the Broadway musical, "Skyscraper"
                            Music by Jimmy Van Heusen
                            Lyrics by Sammy Cahn
                            Copyright 1965


         * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

	Fortunately for Dave's sake, when the Chicago police arrived at the
bus to have him removed, arrested for public intoxication, or both, one of
the officers noticed that Dave was very warm and was probably spiking a
fever. So instead of hauling Dave to jail, an EMS squad was called. One of
the medical attendants used an ear thermometer while another checked his
pulse, blood pressure, and respiratory count. It was serious. Dave was near
death. His temperature was 105.5 degrees; his BP was 90/40 which was odd
considering he was breathing almost 35 bpm. They covered his face with an
oxygen mask and inplanted an IV needle in his mid-arm vein and quickly put
him on a gurney; next into an ambulance and they rushed him to the nearest
emergency room.

	A doctor in the ER ordered a CBC, CATscan, and a tox screen
immediately. Dave's colon was hemorrhaging; he had sepsis in his urine and
throughout his body. A nurse pumped a huge dose of antibiotics into his
hip. Dave was unconscious but he was still able to move his head slightly
from side to side and moan. It was nearly ten minutes into his examination
that his post-op anal surgery was discovered. He was being cared for by two
doctors, two RN's, an LPN and two nurses' aides. Dave was a goner for sure
unless the antibiotics started taking effect ASAP.

	Carefully, they rolled him onto his side to administer treatment to
his anus and colon and soon his bleeding was stopped. His BP rose to 100/60
and the medical staff began to relax a bit. His respiration rate dropped to
25 bps.

	"I think he's stabilizing, Doctor," one of the RN's said.

	"Besides being one of the sickest patients we've seen all night,
this guy is fucking drunk!" the doctor replied.

	Another IV was inserted into Dave's other arm to combat the alcohol
level in his system.

	"I don't suppose he has any ID on him," someone said.

	"The police found him on a Greyhound bus, but didn't take the time
to see if he had any luggage. So we don't know who he is, where he's coming
from, or where he was headed," said another RN.

	"It's a good thing the paramedics got him here as fast as they did
because there's no doubt where he was headed...the morgue," a doctor
replied. "Chances are he has no insurance which means the hospital will
have to eat the bill...just another drunk passing through..."

	One of the LPN's suddenly observed, "Look! I think he's trying to
open his eyes."

	Dave had been so near death and was still so drunk to boot, he had
difficulty focusing. His mouth was dry as a desert, causing his tongue to
stick to the roof of his mouth. He couldn't have said a word if he'd wanted
to. One of the aides looked at Dave's mouth and grabbed a lemon flavored
swab and opened Dave's mouth and began applying it to Dave's tongue. Then
she took a needleless syringe and squirted a teaspoon of water into his
mouth.

	Dave had no idea where he was but somehow he was grateful to the
"waterboy", whoever the hell he was. Nothing had ever tasted as sweet to
him as a spoonful of water flooding his arid tongue.

	One of the nurses tried to communicate with the semi-conscious
patient.

	"SIR?"

	It took every ounce of effort Dave had to attempt to turn his head
toward the direction of the voice.

	"SIR?" she repeated. "Sir, can you see my face?"

	Dave was aware she was talking to him, but wasn't cognizant enough
to know what she had said, thus, he couldn't reply.

	"Sir? Can you tell me your name?"

	Dave heard the word, 'name' and shut his eyes and tried to respond
by moving his head side to side, slowly.

	"Sir, are you in pain?"

	Dave did his best to open and close his eyes twice in slow
succession.

	"Can you tell me where you hurt?"

	Dave opened his mouth and tried to speak. All he could utter was,
"Wah", as Helen Keller did at the end of "The Miracle Worker".

	"I think he wants water," the aide said.

	"Sir, would you like some water?"

	Once again, Dave blinked his eyes twice with his best effort to
communicate.

	"Yes!" the aide said, "He wants more water."

	The aide got a larger plastic syringe and filled it with 5 cc's of
water and slowly released it into Dave's mouth, but he had difficulty
swallowing and began to cough and choke. The RN quickly grabbed a tube to
suction some of the excess water clogging his throat. Then, she pried his
mouth open wide enough to swab the lemon moisture further on the back of
his tongue and the opening of his esophagus. Dave gagged once more, but he
was aware of the moistening, for which he was glad. He began to feel that
he could almost talk.

	"I..." Dave uttered.

	"Go ahead, sir, tell us what you want us to hear."

	"I...I...wah..."

	"More water?"

	Dave moved his head side to side.

	"NO? You don't want water? What do you want?"

	"I...wa..nt...t'...die."

	"He wants to die," the aide said.

	"Sir, you're not going to die," the doctor said, "but you came
goddamned close."

	"Puh...puh...leez...let...me...die." Dave said.

	"Sir, do you suffer from any kind of mental disorder? Are you
bipolar? Do you suffer from depression?" the RN asked, rapidly. "Do you
take any kind of psychotropic medication?"

	Dave didn't reply. The nurse had asked too many questions for his
comprehension.

	"Liz," the RN said to the other RN, "call the psych unit and have a
consultant come to the ER. Based on what he just said, he could have some
clinical depression disorder and might need some Elavil or something
comparable."

	"...no," Dave garbled. "I...I...my head...is...not...sick."

	"Sir, can you at least tell me your name?"

	"Uh...I...don't...know..."

	"His vital statistics being so unbalanced might have induced
amnesia," the younger doctor said.

	"It's possible," the older doctor concurred.

	"Sir," the Rn continued, "do you know where you are?"

	"...uh...New York..."

	"Is that where you live?"

	"Yes."

	"Well, he has SOME recall," the older doctor remarked.

	"Dr. Marks, could you recognize what type of surgical procedure was
performed in his anal area?" the RN, Ms. Calder asked.

	"It appears to be some kind of restoration or reparation instead of
exploratory or extraction of a tumor," Dr. Dennis Marks replied.

	"Restoration?" Mrs. Banks, an LPN asked. "What could have caused
him to have his rectum or lower colon repaired?"

	"Off hand, I'd say he'd had some kind of accident which caused some
object to forcibly intrude his anus...or he could have been the victim of a
vicious rape."

	"A rape victim?"

	"I've seen worse cases than this on young men after their first day
or two in prison. The...the entire prison population loves young men and
sometimes gangbang a new good-looking young inmate. Of course, he doesn't
have to be good looking. If the young man is heterosexual and never had
experienced anal intercourse...the first time can be brutal if he was taken
by force by many intruders."

	"You think he was a prisoner?"

	"It's possible. The clothes he was wearing when he arrived didn't
fit him and were definitely not his. If you'll observe how well groomed his
hair is--cut recently--and there's still a tinge of clear nail polish on is
fingernails. There must be quite a story this young man is hiding. My
theory is reinforced by his death wish."

	"If he thinks he's in New York, that must be where he boarded the
Greyhound bus originally," the younger doctor, Bob Fisher,
concluded. "Perhaps he was running from someone, maybe the police...maybe
he escaped some kind of incarceration where he was assaulted..."

	"There are a dozen 'maybe's', but if he's not willing to talk, we
may never know. I'm sure the Chicago police will want to run a fingerprint
and a DNA check to see if he's on the lam from the law," Dr. Marks
added. "In the meanwhile, we'll keep trying to keep his vitals at a normal
level, combat his sepsis with antibiotics, and lower his fever."

	"Doctor, should I call admitting and get him a room?"

	"You know without hospital insurance verification, he won't be
admitted to a room...just the same, he should be admitted to one of the
wards that are assigned to street people. That's the best we can do until
we get more information from him."

	"Are...you...a doctor?" Dave asked Dennis Marks.

	"Yes sir, I'm your doctor."

	"Then, please, please, please let me die. I want to die! I HAVE to
die."

	"I'm sorry, but as long as you're under my care, that won't
happen!"

	"Then...you're...fired! I don't want you to be my doctor. I want a
new one that'll let me die."

	Dave's attending medical staff was amazed and how coherent he'd
become. His was becoming more alert; his speech was in a steady flow now.

	Nurse Calder made another attempt to get Dave to reveal something
about his person. "Sir, it would help if we knew your name? Do you have any
family you'd like us to contact and report to them that you're in the
hospital?"

	"No, there's no one. I have no family. They're all dead."

	"And your name is...?"

	"My name? My name is...my name is...'Wes'. Yeah, that's
right. Wes."

	"And your last name?"

	"It's...I don't know. My God, I don't know my last name!" Dave had
a hint of terror in his wobbly speech.  "Good God, what happened to me? Why
don't I know my name?"

	"Wes, the Chicago police found you passed out on a Greyhound
bus. Do you have any idea where you were going or where you came from?"
Dennis asked.

	"Chicago?" Dave asked totally confused. "Looks like I'm not the
only one who's mixed up. I'm not in Chicago. I'm in New York."

	"Wes, you're in a county hospital in Chicago...you know, Illinois?"

	"I know where the fuck Chicago is! I'm just saying I'm not in
Chicago. You're all a bunch of fuckin' crazies!"

	"Sir, you're getting exciting and you need to remain calm. You
don't want to start bleeding again," Nurse Calder said.

	"Why not? Afraid I'll die...when that's all I want to do?"

	"Nurse," Dennis said to RN Calder, "give Wes one cc of Haldol just
to hold his vitals steady."

	Dave wanted to rant and rave but he felt helpless and couldn't stop
whatever his captors wanted to do with him. He was given the shot and soon
drifted back to sleep. Perhaps when he awoke again, he would be more
susceptible to their treatment of him.

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	Scott slept late and awoke feeling better than he had since his
scandal in Boston broke. He had forgotten how much he used to like being
around Clay. In their teen years together, Clay had been more daring and
adventurous than he. Clay was always the aggressor when it came to deciding
when to have sex and even though Scott was never completely sure that
Clay's mom and dad knew what he and Clay were doing privately in Clay's
bedroom, Clay never tried to hide it from his parents. If the parents
knew...they knew and it didn't bother them. If they didn't know or even
suspect, Clay remained the same around them.

	Whereas, if Scott's parents had any idea their son was engaging in
homosexual activities with the boy next door, they would have shipped Scott
off to the nearest anti-gay rehab center.

	Scott mulled these thoughts over in his mind as he lay in bed
watching Clay stirring a mixture in a large bowl in the kitchen. Scott was
sure Clay was preparing something healthy for his breakfast and Scott
smiled at his former best friend and now, his doctor. Another thought came
to Scott: if he HAD to have a gay fling, why couldn't it have been with
someone his and Clay's age. There would have been less repercussion if word
got out. But with a kid, his student, how stupid could he have been? Clay
looked up from his cooking and noticed Scott looking at him.

	"Good morning, Bozo!" Clay said. "Sleep well?"

	"Heavenly," Scott replied, "but why shouldn't I? For years I dreamt
of falling asleep in a man's arms...and it finally came to pass."

	"You...uh, never spent a whole night with your student?...You
know...?"

	"He and I were lucky if we ever spent more than one hour
together...and there weren't many of those."

	"I don't remember asking at the restaurant last night, but--were
you in love with him?"

	"Not really..."

	"Then, why..."

	"Why did I do it?"

	"Well, yes..."

	"I've asked myself that same question a thousand times during the
past few weeks. Sure, I'd seen other men...men my age or older that I was
attracted to, but I never made a move. I didn't know how...and I guess I
was too scared."

	"But you weren't scared to have sex with your student? Why him?"

	"I guess because I had the upper hand. I was his mentor; his
superior! I suppose I expected him to do as I wished, not give him a chance
to object. If he had been someone my age...a peer or a fellow teacher,
my...my effrontery would have disappeared. I wouldn't have been brave
enough."

	"What about your wife, Scott? Were you still having sex with her?"

	"Actually, not for months...maybe even a year. We didn't quarrel or
anything. I'm sure she'd have been a willing partner if my sex drive wanted
to manifest itself...only thing is...I HAD no sex drive...not toward her
anyway...not toward ANY female. Wanna hear something crazy?"

	"Sure."

	"I...I used to hide a Penthouse magazine behind the tank of our
toilet...you know, just to get off when I felt my balls aching."

	"Lots of my male patients tell me they do the same thing."

	"Yeah, but even the Penthouse didn't do it for me."

	"Oh?"

	"Yeah, I'd look at page after page of naked women in sexy poses;
their legs spread apart so far you could see right up into their cunts. I'd
try to visualize getting hard and plowing into one of them...and as soon as
I got that far, I'd lose my hard on."

	"So you didn't get off?"

	"Oh, yeah, but only after I began fantasizing about what you and I
used to do, years ago. THAT got me excited every time. Sometimes, I'd cum
so hard it would shoot clear across the bathroom. Once I even hit the
bathroom door and that was nearly eight feet away from the toilet where I
was sitting."

	"Do you think it was me...or the fact you desired a man and I was
the only one you'd ever..."

	"You WERE the only one. I had no other fantasies to replace
you. That's why it was so unreal to go to bed with you last night, naked,
and have you hold me! God damn! I still can't believe it!"

	"Scott, when you get physically and emotionally settled, you're
going to find there are many men...many like me who will hold you just as I
did."

	"I wish to fuck I could believe you."

	"Like I told you last night...it took over ten years to find
someone like Dave to hold me."

	"Clay, please don't get angry with me, but have you reasoned with
yourself? Have you considered that Dave might not come back?"

	"As long as no one has told me differently...as long as no one has
called to say he's dead...I won't give up hope."

	"What'll you do in the meantime?"

	"I have my new job which starts next Monday. There are hundreds of
places I haven't seen in New York yet. Now that I have you here, I'm going
to do all that I can to persuade you to stay as long as you can so I can
get you to rejoin the human race once again."

	"I...uh...know I told you I WOULD stay...but now I'm not so
sure..."

	"Why, for God's sake?"

	"Maybe I'm afraid to stay."

	"What do you mean, Scott?"

	"What...what if...what if my feelings for you grow stronger? What
if...?"

	"I won't let that happen, Scott. Love is a two way street. It take
two to form a love relationship. I love you as a friend...my oldest and
maybe my best friend. I want you to stay. I want to make you get well..."

	"But what if my emotions...my feelings for you get carried away?"

	"I'll do to you what I always do when I'm examining a male patient
and I see him getting an erection. I haul off and give it a good thump with
my finger and it goes down immediately."

	"Does that happen a lot with male patients?"

	"Quite a few."

	"And you never get the urge to go any further with them?"

	"No, because I'm always aware of the situation. I'm their
doctor. I'm there to treat them, not have sex with them."

	"Can I ask you something without your breaking confidentiality?"

	"Try me..."

	"Are any of them straight?"

	"Most of them."

	"But why...?"

	"Why do men --STRAIGHT men--get erections around other men?"

	"Well, yes."

	"Ten men out of ten will respond sexually to another man, another
woman, even an animal if the situation is right. There's not a man in the
world who doesn't want to take a peek at another man's penis while standing
side by side at a urinal. Because we, as humans, hide our private parts
with clothing, there's always a curiosity about wondering what the other
person's penis looks like. Is it shorter or longer than mine? Do I have the
biggest? Am I king of the jungle? Is he or is he not circumcised? How does
he have sex with or without a foreskin? If he does have a foreskin and you
don't, you wonder what would it feel like if I pushed it back? These
thoughts go through every guy's mind...gay or straight. If you were naked
in a dark room and someone went down on you, could you tell if it was a man
or a woman?"

	"Probably not..."

	"Ah ha! You WOULD!"

	"How?"

	"Because a man knows more about what oral sex should feel like than
a woman ever could...not even a highly paid prostitute!"

	"I never thought about that."

	"I don't want you to reveal what you and your student did, but I
remember way back when you and I used to give each other bj's, it wasn't so
much the thrill of having your organ in my mouth, I wanted to show you I
could pleasure you better than anyone. Giving head is a challenge. You
don't want to appear to be inexperienced. You do everything you know which
feels good to you and hope your partner gets the same sensation you'd get."

	"You know, now that I think about it...you're right. With my
student, sure I enjoyed what he did to me, but at the same time, I wanted
to make it better for him."

	"Homo ad hominem, Horatio?"

	"Exactly."

	"I don't mean to sound like a chauvinist, but many men like to
cheat on their wives with other men. It's less committal. The third party
doesn't become romantically attached as often in a male-slash-female
affair. There's less hurt if the relationship goes awry."

	"Unless, as in my case, the wife finds out...she gets hurt and we
both suffer the consequences as I'm doing now. Why are you bringing all
this up?"

	"To get you off the subject of falling in love with me."

	"Oh. But do you think there could ever...we could...?"

	"I don't want to talk about that, Scott. I'm more concerned with
your health. Now, I'm making a batch of whole wheat pancakes..."

	"Yes, doctor..." Scott said, giving up his topic of conversation.

	"Now come on and get dressed. I want to show you around the city
and maybe visit a few places I've never seen."

	"Clay?"

	"Yes?"

	"I...I'll stay, but it's going to be difficult for me."

	"Do you think it best if we don't sleep together tonight or in the
future?"

	"No, at least let me have some joy, even if it's only one-sided on
my part."

	As Clay was leaving Scott to return to the kitchen, the phone rang.
Every time Clay heard a ring, his heart stopped beating for a moment,
hoping the call would be from Dave or someone with some information about
him. He took a deep breath before answering.

	"Hello?"

	"Clay?"

	"Dr. Ed?"

	"Yes. I'm pleased that you recognized my voice."

	"Thank you."

	"Clay, the reason I'm calling is two-fold. First, I had a call from
my old friend at St. Bart's and he told me you'd accepted his offer to work
there."

	"Yes, sir, I think I'm going to like it."

	"That's good, son. If there's anything you need..."

	"As a matter of fact, there is, Dr. Ed."

	"What is it, Clay?"

	"My old chum who I grew up with in Florida is visiting me here in
New York and it seems...he has the virus."

	"Oh, my lord, I'm sorry to hear that, Clay."

	"He was only diagnosed a couple of weeks ago and I've offered to be
his doctor if he'll stay and let me treat him. I wanted to Fedex you a CBC
sample of his blood for someone in the lab at Cole to check his viral load
and see what would be the best meds for him."

	"I'll see to that myself. Send it down today. Why don't you go take
him to St. Bart's and have them pack it there and ship it to me ASAP?"

	"I was hoping you'd say that. I know you have many experimental
drugs at Cole that just might arrest his virus in the bud."

	"I've seen it happen hundreds of times. So don't you or your friend
worry. Let me do what I can and I'll supply you with the meds myself."

	"You're a good friend, Dr. Ed."

	"Maybe you won't think that when I tell you my other reason for
calling you..."

	"Sir?"

	"Clay, your 'Dave' called me here at Cole."

	"You're kidding! Where is he?" Clay got extremely excited.

	"That's the problem, Clay. He didn't say where he was and wouldn't
tell me when I asked."

	"Then why did he call for chrissakes?"

	"He was trying to reach you here. I told him...and maybe I
shouldn't have...that you were in New York and staying at his apartment."

	"I'm glad you did! Now he knows where and how to reach me."

	"Clay...Dave told me to give you a message."

	"What? I'm dying to hear..."

	"Clay, he said he didn't want to see you anymore and for you not to
try to find him!"

	Clay's body froze as if someone had poured ice water down his back.

	"Did he say why?"

	"No...when I asked, he hung up."

	"Oh, my God, NO!"

	"I'm sorry, son. I hope you won't be angry with me, but he called a
few days ago. I...I've put off calling you for fear of how you'd react. I
wish I knew more. When I heard you were going to work at St. Bart's, I
thought you'd be stable enough to hear what I had to say."

	"I...I don't know what to think! Why would he leave me that
message?"

	"I wish I could answer that, son. I...I didn't know if you'd want
to stay in New York after I told you...I wanted to tell you that if you
should decide, now, in the near or distant future, you want to come back to
practice here, you have a job anytime you want it."

	"Thanks, Dr. Ed, but I don't think I COULD leave now. Just knowing
he's alive gives me hope. I...I'm sure he'll want to come back here where
all his belongings are. I want to be here when he does."

	"I...I thought that would be your decision. I'm glad to know you
have a place to live and a job to go to in the meantime."

	"He...he didn't call again?"

	"No, son. I only talked to him once."

	Clay was silent as he let Ed's words sink in.

	"Clay, are you all right?"

	"Huh...yeah, yeah, Dr. Ed, I'm OK."

	"You know if he calls Cole again, I'll call you immediately."

	"Thank you."

	"Now you've got to be strong until you...until you hear from Dave,
yourself. I suggest you take your friend down to St. Bart's and we'll start
to work, getting him better."

	"I will, Dr. Ed, as soon as he has breakfast. You'll get the sample
sometime this afternoon."

	"I'll be expecting it."

	"Thanks, Dr. Ed."

	"You're welcome, Clay...I'm sorry."

	"Goodbye."

	"Goodbye, son."

	Clay couldn't have felt more depressed if he'd heard that his
mother had died. Somewhere...Dave was out there, running away from
him. Clay was convinced now that Dave was ashamed and that was the reason
he didn't want to see him. Clay worried that Dave might not be all right
physically since he'd left the St. Vincent's AMA. Clay stood in the living
room with the phone still in his hand, unable to move. He was petrified
with fear and anxiety.

	"Clay?" Scott said, coming into the living room. "Clay? What's
wrong?"

	"I...I feel as if my world just came to an end," Clay replied in a
stoic monotone voice.

	"My God, what's happened?" Scott asked, rushing to Clay to put his
arms around him.

	"I can't talk about it now," Clay said, holding back tears.

	"Was it bad news about Dave? Your mom? Who, for crying out loud?"

	"Scott, I said not now!" Clay said firmly. "Now, please let me
finish your breakfast, then I want you to shower, shave, put on some warm
but casual clothes. We have to go to St. Bart's to have your blood drawn
and sent to Cole."

	"This morning?"

	"There's no sense in putting it off."

	"Clay, please! Can't you give me a hint of what you just heard over
the phone?"

	"I...I promise to tell you later this afternoon when I've had time
to figure out what I'm gonna do?"

	"Does it concern my staying here?"

	"Oh, no! You've said you would stay here and let me help you... and
for the time being, you're what comes first!"

	"I wish I DID come first in your life."

	"Please, Scott! Let's don't start that conversation all over. Tell
you what! You go clean up and I'll have your breakfast ready by the time
you get through in the bathroom. Deal?"

	"Deal."

	Reluctantly, Scott went into the bathroom to begin his
clean-up. Clay stayed in the living room. He had yet to hang up the
phone. Quickly, he dialed his mother in Florida, once Scott was out of
ear's reach. Elizabeth Haskins answered the phone on the fourth ring.

	"Hello?"

	"Mom?"

	"Clay?"

	"Yes, Mom, it's me."

	"How lovely it is to hear you so early in the morning. Are you all
right?"

	"Yes...and no."

	"Sounds like you have some bad news, listening to the tone of your
voice. That's something a mother never forgets...how to assess a situation
by the inflection of her child's voice. So tell me what's wrong, Clay?"

	Trying to be brave and hold back tears, Clay related his entire
conversation he'd had with Ed. Elizabeth didn't interrupt until Clay had
finished.

	"And that's the whole story up 'til now, Mom. I know it must seem
childish for a grown man, a doctor at that, to ask his mother to tell him
what he should do."

	"Clay, you don't have to apologize for calling. As a matter of
fact, I'm flattered and proud that you thought of me. It reinforces my
belief that you know I'm always here for you no matter how large or small
the problem is."

	"God, Mom, I know it's that he's ashamed to face me after what he's
gone through."

	"I think you might be right, Clay. So what are your plans?"

	"I don't have any immediate plans..WAIT, that's not true! You'll
never believe it, but Scott spent the night here with me last night."

	"That was quick."

	"Tell me about it! I was more surprised than you. He and I had
planned on doing a little sight-seeing today before Dr. Ed called."

	"I think that's a wonderful idea, son. Did...did Scott go into
detail of what's wrong with him?"

	"Yes, but I don't think it's anything I can't solve...or rather he
and I can't solve together."

	"So he's going to be staying with you for a few days?"

	"A few."

	"I'm glad, Clay. I'm glad you're not going to be alone. After all,
you and Scott were best friends at one time. Your dad and I always thought
you'd make Scott a permanent member of our family sooner or later."

	"Mom...you're embarrassing me..."

	"Well, I don't have to say it out loud, but you know what I meant."

	"Yes, Mom, I know only too well what you meant, but the main reason
I called, I wanted to ask Daddy Rob if he might float me another loan?"

	"Clay, you know he won't! Not as a loan! He'll give you anything
you ask for, but don't expect him to let you pay him back ever. You're his
stepson, but the only 'son' he'll ever have unless you count the new Great
Dane he brought home yesterday. Clay, his name is Eric and he's as large as
a small pony and eats like a horse...sorry, I got off the subject. How..how
much money do you need?"

	"I don't know. I was thinking maybe I'd hire a private detective
and have him look for Dave independently from the NYPD."

	"Clay, look! Suppose your detective finds Dave. Do you think he's
going to be ready to face you?"

	"I...hope so."

	"Clay, Dave is going through the worst period in his life...so bad
he can't even tell you about it--you, the one he loves. Now try to see his
problem through Dave's eyes and not yours."

	"OK."

	"What I'm trying to say, Clay, is that Dave will come back to you
only when HE feels ready...not when you are. I...I'm not trying to talk you
out of hiring a detective, the money is no object and you know it. It's
just that you can't force Dave to come back...Am I making any sense to
you?"

	"Yes, Mom...I think you make a great deal of sense. You're
right. I'm being selfish with what I want for Dave...not what HE wants."

	"Now you're sounding like a man...AND a doctor, both of whom I'm
very proud to call 'son'."

	"You...you always seem to know the right things to say to me."

	"That comes with the qualification of being a parent. You'll see,
you'll be one yourself some day."

	"I wish I could be as certain as you."

	"You better be. I'm not leaving this world until I have a
two-legged grandson...one that doesn't bark and wag its tail!"

	"Woof!" Clay said meekly, but smiling.

	"Now go out and have a wonderful day with Scott. Who knows? His
problems might be worse than yours. He might need YOU to cheer HIM up."

	"Score number two! You're right again."

	"Call me tonight, Clay, and if you still want the money. I'll go
online and it'll be in your account in a matter of minutes."

	"I love you."

	"I'm glad you remember that I'll always love you."

	"Goodbye...give Daddy Rob a hug and a kiss and pat all the dogs for
me."

	"Good lord, that'll take half a day."

	"Bye." Clay hung up the phone this time and smiled, feeling better
even though his situation hadn't changed since Ed called him.

	"Shit! Shit! Shit! I forgot about Scott's breakfast!"

	Clay hurried into the kitchen and heated the griddle and onto it he
poured eight heaping spoonsful of pancake batter. Luckily, he'd bought some
soy link sausages for himself and put six of them in a skillet while he
made a pot of decaf coffee.

	Scott came out of the bathroom, clean and completely dressed. He
walked into the kitchen like a probing ant with his antennae held high to
detect Clay's mood. Scott's curiosity concerning Clay's phone call was
cause for alarm and suspicion. He was certain that Clay had heard something
bad about Dave but he was afraid to pry more than he already had.

	"Hmm, smells good!" Scott said, casually. "What? REAL sausage? With
pork?"

	"Don't get excited, it's fake...soybeans..."

	"Yuck!"

	"In a couple of days, you won't be able to tell soy from the real
meat."

	"Do you know if they make soybean penises?" Scott joked. "I...might
have to settle for the substitute if I meet some handsome New Yorker."

	"Don't try one unless you read the label on the side," Clay
retorted with amusement.

	Scott didn't know Clay had called his mother, but was pleased to
find that something had elevated Clay's demeanor.

	"What's our first stop after St. Bart's?" Scott asked.

	"That's up to you. It's your tour and my chance to act as guide."

	"My mother used to talk about 'the little church around the
corner'. Is that far?"

	"No, it's on E. 29th. We can take a cab or a subway."

	"Subway...let me have the full treatment."

	"Your choice sorta surprised me. Out of everything there is to see
in the Big Apple, why there?"

	"I...I'm afraid I didn't leave my mother in Plantation on the best
of terms. I want to buy her a gift. She heard the boys' choir there on some
PBS broadcast and has talked about it ever since. I want to see if the
choir has cut any CD's."

	"Sounds like a good apology gift...wise choice!"

	After they had eaten and piled the dishes in the sink, Clay took
Scott to St. Bart's, had his blood drawn, had the hospital pack it in ice,
and shipped it immediately to Cole in Briarwood. Then, it was on to the
'little church' where indeed, they found several CD's by the boys' choir
where Scott bought one of each and asked the gift shop lady if she would
mail them to Florida.

	Even though the day had started off badly for Clay, the remainder
of the morning and afternoon was spent having fun with his old
buddy. Rather than taking a chance on missing a familiar sight, Clay bought
two tickets on the Grayline tour of New York which visited all the hot
tourist spots...from the Empire State Building all the way down to the
Statue of Liberty. They stopped for lunch at a corner hot dog stand and
Clay gave in and let Scott eat two franks with sauerkraut and mustard...as
Clay didn't believe that New York hot dogs contained real meat
anyway...mostly just cereal and grain fillers, like real dog food, the kind
that comes in a can.

	They returned to the apartment around six in the evening and Clay
picked out a health food restaurant for dinner. While they were eating,
Scott kept wondering if they would go to the Rustic Inn before going home
to retire. If truth be known, Clay had not missed going to the Inn a single
night since he'd moved to New York.

	After the meal, at nine o'clock, Scott asked, "Where to now?",
anticipating Clay's answer.

	"Wanna go catch the ten o'clock show at Radio City Music Hall?"

	Scott was not only pleasantly surprised with Clay's suggestion, he
was almost stunned. "YEAH! I'd really like that."

	So Clay hailed a cab and off the two of them went to the
movies. They were in luck for the theatre was showing a sneak preview of
the new George Clooney/Brad Pitt movie. The flick was terrific and they
enjoyed it immensely. The day and evening in each other's company seemed
like old times for old friends. Neither of them had 'chummed' around with
anyone for years and they had a great time.

	After the movie, Scott, once again, waited for the other shoe to
drop, knowing full well that their next stop would be at the Rustic Inn.

	"Wanna go listen to some jazz?" Clay asked.

	'Uh oh...here it comes,' Scott thought. "You mean go to the Rustic
Inn?"

	"No! Let's go to Birdland and listen to some REAL jazz. Whaddya
say?"

	"I'd love it!"

	Scott was even more puzzled by Clay's attitude change and his new
nightly agenda.

	They went to Birdland where there was a two-drink minimum. Clay
ordered two scotches for himself and two ginger ales for Scott. It was
after 2:00 AM when they got back to the apartment. Each took his turn going
to the bathroom. Scott surveyed Dave's CD collection once again and loaded
the CD carousel with six CD's...enough to last until daybreak and then
some. Scott's musical selections included no solo saxophone recordings. He
was surprised to find that Dave had several Johnny Mathis early records and
put "Heavenly" and "Open Fire, Two Guitars" among his choices. Mathis was
always good to listen to while lying in bed. Also, he picked, "Julie Is Her
Name", Julie London's greatest which included "Cry Me A River", but Scott
hoped the song wouldn't created a lonely feeling for Dave, who was still in
a happy mood; plus "The Many Sides of Tony Bennett" which featured one of
Scott's favorite songs, "Spring In Manhattan", and finally, one of Clay's
dad's favorites, "Blossom Dearie".

	Pleased with his choices of musical fare, Scott went into the
bedroom, only to find Clay already undressed and lying in bed with one arm
propped behind his head.

	"Make some good selections?" Clay asked.

	"Yeah, a bunch of oldies we used to listen to with your dad."

	Scott took off his clothes...ALL of them and joined Clay in
bed. The two of them listened to Johnny Mathis, both lying flat on their
backs looking at the dark ceiling, reminiscing on their younger days and on
happier times. Although nothing drastic had changed, Dave was still missing
from Clay's life and Scott still was HIV positive, but something was
different tonight. Clay had promised to tell Scott about his early morning
phone call, but neither of them had brought up the matter all day or
evening. Scott didn't want to break Clay's mood by bring up the subject
now.

	"Scott, when we were kids and used to listen to this recording, did
you have any idea that Johnny Mathis was gay?"

	"No, I didn't know anyone who was gay. I thought what we
did...well, it wasn't gay, but I, stupidly, thought we were the only two
guys in the world that were doing it. I thought we had discovered it
ourselves."

	"God, it was great to be young and naive. I miss that," Clay said.

	"We...we could pretend we're fifteen again," Scott replied,
quietly.

	"You think so?"

	"Sure. Wanna try?"

	"Did you finish reading 'A Tale of Two Cities' for Mrs. Broyles
yet?" Scoot mused.

	Playing along, Scott added, "Hell, no! I barely got through
'Beowulf'."

	Clay laughed, "God, I'd forgotten about him."

	"I never did. He almost made me fail English."

	"Hey, do you remember Tommy Walters who stayed home a week from
school because he thought he had cancer of the penis after he'd had his
first wet dream?"

	They both laughed out loud. "He first thought he had leukemia
because the blood on his shorts was white and milky." Scott added.

	"Jesus! I wonder if he ever found out the truth?"

	"Probably not, if you remember, his mother took him to a shrink
because she thought he was playing with himself...and the Church of God
thought that was a sin."

	"Poor old Tommy," Clay sighed, turning his head to look at Scott
laying beside him. "Well, are you gonna sleep over there all night or do
you want to cuddle like we used to?"

	Scott took the cue and moved closer toward Clay.

	"Clay, I...I want to correct something you said last night."

	"What was it?"

	"You said that we never kissed while we were fooling around...and I
plainly remembered we kissed twice. I never forgot either kiss the whole
time I was at college."

	"I guess you're right. I wonder how I could've forgotten those two
kisses?"

	"I don't know...but I didn't!"

	They lay quietly for a couple of minutes when Clay whispered,
"Wanna make it three?"

	"What?"

	"Wanna try a third kiss?"

	"You mean now?"

	"I don't mean next week."

	"Are you serious? I mean what about...?"

	Scott didn't get to finish saying, 'Dave' because Clay leaned over
and covered Scott's lips with his own. Scott couldn't believe what was
happening, but he sure as hell wasn't going to break the mood by asking a
dumb question. He sighed and received Clay's kiss. The moment was like a
thousands dreams coming true for Scott and he turned to put his arms around
his old boyfriend.

	The kiss wasn't resolved by their having sex. They held each other,
listening to the quiet music until they both fell asleep. The CD player was
playing as two guitars strummed quietly and Johnny Mathis continued,

                        "Do you love me as I love you?
                         Are you my life-to-be,
                         My dream come true?
                         Or will this dream of mine
                         Fade out of sight

                         Like the moon growing dim
                         On the rim of a hill
                         In the chill still of the night?"

<><><><><><><><>

	A thousand miles away in a men's ward of a Chicago hospital, the
effect of Haldol was wearing away on Dave. He was awake and looked about at
a large number of fellow patients who were sharing this huge room with
him. Most of them appeared to be quite ill with various IV bags running
from the poles to their arms. He remembered being in the emergency room
earlier and recalled one of the nurses mentioning that he was in
Chicago. How the fuck did he get here? Where were his clothes? His
suitcase? What had happened to the four hundred bucks he had in his pants
pocket? Had that sailor, Neal, rolled him and stole God's money after he
(Dave) had finished off both half pints of whiskey? Neal? That little lying
son-of-a-bitch! Now without God's money, where would Dave go? How long
would he be in this fucking hellhole?
	What could Clay be doing in New York? What must Clay think? Could
Dave ever be able to face Clay again...after being raped and used as a jail
bitch? God, if he only had a plan to commit suicide!

	Dave was frightened and more lonely than ever before in his
life. He DID miss Clay and he DID love him...but that was all gone. Dave
wanted to keep running away from reality as far as he could. He began to
cry and through his tears he uttered, "Oh, Clay...I'm sorry! I love you..."

<><><><><><><>

(To be continued in "Lush Life" chapter ten. This story will conclude with
chapter twelve.)