Date: Fri, 4 Sep 2015 03:51:13 +0200
From: Morris Henderson <bigmoh@post.com>
Subject: TRIALS_AND_TRIUMPH_9

TRIALS AND TRIUMPH -- Chapter 9


NOTE: You may have read chapters 1-8 when they were posted in
2012.  If so, you may not remember the plot.  Don't worry. This
chapter is written in a way that will refresh your memory of
important details.

***

The phone rang just after ten on a Saturday night, which was
unusual.  The residents in the condo, Eric Mathews and Tim
Watson, rarely received phone calls at such a late hour.  It was also
unwelcome because the two men were blissfully snuggling in bed
after an extremely satisfying period of loving sex.

"Who could that be at this hour?" asked Tim.

"I haven't a clue," Eric replied.

"It might be a client," Tim added.  "Maybe something went wrong
and he's calling to complain."

"Perhaps you're right.  I'd better answer it."

Eric was the owner of an escort service based in Houston.  All
escorts were carefully investigated before they were accepted as
members of the team.  New clients were also thoroughly vetted
before booking an appointment with a client.  With all those
precautions, there had been no serious problems.  Clients were
consistently satisfied with the services they received.  If a client
was calling to complain, the reputation of the agency demanded
that the problem be resolved.  Not to do so would risk having the
problem reported to local law enforcement authorities who would
not hesitate to shut down the agency and prosecute all the
"degenerate, queer prostitutes" associated with the "filthy
operation."

Eric picked up the bedside phone and said, "Hello."

The caller, Rick Howard, was one of the better escorts in the
agency but the tone of his voice clearly communicated distress
bordering on panic.  "Eric!  I've been arrested.  I'm in jail.  I need
bail money.  If I don't post bond tonight, I'm stuck here `till
Monday.  Can you come bail me out?  I'll reimburse you as soon
as I can get to my bank."

"What's the charge?" Eric asked.  He feared his suspicion, a sting
operation, was correct.  Rick had a gig with a new client that
evening.  The client had easily passed the rigorous vetting but it
appeared that what had been a constant fear had become a reality.

Rick didn't answer.  Instead a new voice said, "This is Sergeant
Davis.  Your cousin was caught soliciting sex.  With a MAN!
That's prostitution.  And, I might add, disgusting.  If you're here
before midnight with $500 cash and you agree to have him in court
on Monday morning, we can release him into your custody."

Eric had no choice.  "Where is he being held?"

"The Reisner Street Jail."

"I'll be there within an hour."

He briefed Tim, his lover, on the situation while hurriedly putting
on his clothes.  Tim also got dressed after saying, "I'm coming
with you."

"No need for that," Eric replied.

"Maybe so.  But I'm the one who recruited Rick.  And mentored
him through his first few weeks of work.  I kinda feel responsible
for whatever happens to him."

"As you wish, Luv.  Just wait a minute while I get the cash."

On the drive to the jail, neither of them could understand why Rick
had been arrested.  The only explanation was that Rick had
violated the primary rule of the agency: NEVER be the first to
offer or ask for sexual contact with a client.  Only after the client
EXPLICITLY requests sex may you agree to provide what the
client wants.  And NEVER ask for payment.

Could Rick have been so careless—or stupid—to have forgotten
the standard protocol?  The young men working for the agency
were frequently reminded of the rule and the possible
consequences of violating the rule.  Invariably, it was emphasized
to anyone servicing a new client.  While the prohibition technically
applied to all assignments, it was generally understood that it was
unnecessary if the client was a steady customer.  At least Rick was
smart enough to pretend to call his "cousin."  That would protect
the agency.

The aging, overweight desk sergeant sat behind a barred window.
He looked up to see two men enter the small, dimly lit lobby that
had only a bench as furniture and growled, "Whatcha want?"

Eric, trying to ignore the discourtesy of the old man, said, "We're
here to post bail for Rick Howard."

"Yeah," the uncivil official said, scowling.  "That'll be the fag we
just brought in.  You his cousin?"

"Yes, Sir.  I'm Eric Mathews."

"I'd be ashamed to admit having a queer cousin.  And you should
be, too.  Sit tight while I fetch his paperwork."

The grumpy sergeant fumbled through a stack of papers on his
desk and pulled out the arresting detective's report.  Glancing up at
the visitors, he asked, "You got the five hundred dollars?"

Eric handed him the money through the bars of the window.  The
jailor counted it twice before writing out a receipt, which he gave
to Eric along with another form.  "Sign this," he commanded.  "It's
your acceptance of custody and guarantee that you'll have him in
court on Monday."

Eric signed the release and handed it back.

The desk sergeant then picked up the phone, punched a few
buttons, and said (in a decidedly less offensive tone), "Bring out
the fag, Rick Howard.  His cousin has posted bail."  Without
another word—not so much as a "have a seat, it'll take a little
while"—he went back to shuffling papers on his desk.

Eric and Tim sat on the bench.  Both had opinions about the
attitude of the desk sergeant and his ignoring of the second part of
"protect and serve."  But they wisely chose not to discuss the
unpleasant reception.  They would surely be overhead and risk
anger and retaliation from the bigoted police officer.

Twenty minutes later, a young police officer entered the lobby,
with Rick, and said with a pleasant smile, "He's free to go but
must appear in court Monday morning at nine.  In the meantime,
do your best to see that he doesn't proposition any other men."

"You can count on it," Eric replied.

As they left the building, Rick gushed, "Thanks, Eric ... for bailing
me out.  And thank you, Tim, for all the help you've given me."

Eric, perhaps infected with the desk sergeant's surliness, snapped,
"You screwed up, Rick.  You've now got a police record.  You
better pray that it doesn't affect the Agency."

"That's the last thing I would do," Rick replied contritely.  "The
police don't know anything about the business we're in.  All they
know is that I offered myself for sex, which amounts to
prostitution.  I gave them no hint that I was working for you."

"That's reassuring, Rick.  But I'm taking you to my place.  We're
going to have a very long talk about what you did and did not say
and do tonight."

As the trio got into Eric's car, Rick began to explain what led to
his arrest.  But Eric cut him off by firmly saying, "Later, Rick.  I
want to hear the story but I want to observe how you tell it.  And
be warned.  If you start giving me a load of shit, I will read it in
your face, your body language, and subtle clues in your speech."

Tim recognized that Eric was overstating his skill but also
recognized that it was a tactic to intimidate Rick into being brutally
honest.  He decided to support his lover and said, "Believe it, Rick.
He's got an almost superhuman ability to spot lies and deception."

Rick had decided earlier to embellish his explanation to minimize
his mistakes, but what he just heard about Eric's ability to detect
deception had a profound and disturbing effect on him.  He was
now convinced that glossing over his errors of judgment would not
minimize his punishment but would make the consequences more
severe.  He sat in the back seat of the car quietly while the dread of
confessing his errant behavior grew.

The rest of the drive back to Eric and Tim's condo was without
any conversation.

They settled into the living room just before midnight.  "Okay,
Rick," Eric began.  "Tell us what happened."

Rick stared at the floor for a few moments.  Raising his eyes to
meet the gaze of both Eric and Tim, he began to tell his story.  "It
started out as usual.  I met the client at the hotel's restaurant.  He
was much younger than I expected.  Very handsome.  We had an
interesting conversation during dinner.  He suggested a wine with
the meal but I declined because it's against Agency rules.  While
waiting for the meal and later while we ate, he seemed genuinely
interested in my background.  He seemed impressed by my college
studies and plans for a career.  Because he asked so many
questions, I had little or no chance to find out anything about him
... beyond, of course, the fact that he was attractive, personable,
and a delightful change from the usual sort of client: horny old
men interested in nothing beyond a romp in bed.  Most clients
want to get dinner over with and take me to their hotel room.  But
this guy seemed to be in no hurry to get what he paid for.  For
some odd reason that made me like him more."

Rick paused before continuing.  "Eventually, however, he said he
had a book, a novel, in his room that, because of my college major
in astronomy, I might be interested in.  He had read it and thought I
would enjoy it.  Of course, I knew the real reason to get me into his
room—most clients simply say something like `let's go to my
room.'  But his offer to give me something I might like was just
another sign of genuine interest in me ... as a person ... and not just
the service I could provide."

Rick paused again.  The continuation of the account of the
evening's events, so carefully planned with appropriate deletions
and embellishments, had been scrapped.  Fear of being caught in a
lie and thereby escalating his punishment demanded the `truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth.'

"With other clients, I sometimes imagine them naked but it's not
arousing.  With this gentleman—yes, a genuine gentleman—my
imagination was not mere curiosity.  It was more like desire ... and
impatience to get into bed with him.  Are you getting the picture,
guys?  I was becoming more and more attracted to this guy."

Rick stopped talking and starred at the floor again.

Tim broke the silence.  "Remember back when you joined the
agency, Rick?  I told you it was essential to avoid any emotional
attachment to a client?  And the complications that causes?"

"Yeah," Rick responded.  "I'm to regard them as customers, not
companions.  I thought about that following dinner and in his hotel
room.  But the warning took a back seat to my admiration of him
as a person ... to be perfectly honest ... my growing affection for
him."

"By affection, Tim countered, "you mean lust."

"NO!" Rick almost shouted but gathered his composure to
continue.  "Okay....Lust was a component.  But far more important
was my respect for his personality, his empathy, his character.  All
those things are what I've longed for in a partner.  And he had
them in spades."

"But it was his body you craved at the moment." Eric said
confrontationally.

Rick paused to frame a response, one that would be truthful and
avoid being trapped in a lie but would still accurately describe his
state of mind at the time.  "I admit that having sex with him was
enticing.  But ... believe me on this ... the dominant feeling was to
show my respect and admiration through sex."

Rick scanned the faces of his interrogators for signs of acceptance
of or doubt about his professed feelings at the time.  But he
couldn't interpret their expressions either way.

"Go on," Eric urged.  "What's the rest of the story?"

"He handed me the book.  I started to scan the jacket cover.  When
I looked up, he was taking off his sport coat, tie, and shirt.  My
eyes locked on his magnificent chest and abdomen."

He noticed my stare and said, "Sorry.  I hope you don't mind my
getting comfortable."

"'Not at all,' I stammered.  I guess it was at that point that I lost all
reasoning.  I said something like, `It looks like you're getting ready
for what I'm here for.'  He asked what I meant.  And I said, with
no thought to the Agency rules, `I'm ready to show you a good
time.  A time that you're bound to thoroughly enjoy.  I give a
superb blow job if that's your preference.  Or you can fuck me to
your heart's content.'  He looked me straight in the eye and asked,
`Are you offering sex?'  `Of course!' I replied.  `Sex in return for
my paying you money?' he asked.  Without thinking, I said,
`Stupid question.  You've already paid to have me in bed with you.
I'm at your service.'"

Eric and Tim both frowned at the blatant breach of the Agency's
primary rule.

Rick already knew that he had screwed up royally.  His shoulders
drooped, his eyes fell to the floor again, and he tried to prepare
himself for his boss's anger.  But the silence in the room was
crushing.

Eric let Rick suffer over his behavior...and over the possible
consequences.  Eventually, he broke the silence.  "And that's when
he revealed he was a cop and arrested you?"

"Yes," Rick mumbled.

Another long silence.

"Thanks," Eric said.  "For being honest.  And for acknowledging
that you used poor judgment.  I don't have to tell you that I'm
disappointed in you.  I'm going to have to think long and hard
about what to do next.  Only one thing is certain.  You WILL show
up in court on Monday morning.  To make sure you do AND to
support a loyal, competent member of our team—up to this
evening—I'll pick you up at eight on Monday and go to court with
you.  In the meantime, I have a lot to consider about the situation,
how to handle the possible repercussions on the Agency, and your
future as part of the team.   Right now I'm taking you home."

When Eric returned from taking Rick home, he and Tim discussed
the situation for almost two hours, focusing primarily on what to
do to or for Rick and on limiting the potential damage to the
Agency.  There were a number of disagreements between the two
lovers.  Tim's compassion and willingness to forgive Rick was
often at odds with Eric's sense of urgency to protect the viability of
the Agency.  The differences in perspective never led to arguments
but were discussed rationally—as was typical of the openness and
candor in their relationship.  As it approached two in the morning,
they had not decided on the best course of action.  They agreed to
postpone the discussion and go to bed.

***

At eight on Monday morning, Eric and Tim picked up Rick and
accompanied him to the arraignment in court.  On the drive to the
courthouse, Eric informed Rick of what he would do to help.
"First, we will ask for a continuation to allow time to secure legal
counsel.  Second, I will pay for a lawyer.  You'll need expert
representation if you're to escape with a minimum penalty.  And to
shield the Agency from any problems.  The lawyer could, for
example, persuasively argue that the incident had an undeniable
element of entrapment."

"What's entrapment?" Rick asked.

"I can't give you the legalese definition but essentially it's
manipulating a person or situation with the purpose of inducing an
otherwise law-abiding citizen to act contrary to established law.
For example, it could be argued that the client on Friday night was
unusually cordial toward you, which could be interpreted as a
tactic to gain your trust.  The clincher, however, was partially
undressing in the hotel room.  That was clearly inducement to a
young man who, up to that point, believed that his only duty was to
provide company during dinner."

"Will that get me off the hook, then?" Rick asked.

"Honestly, I don't know.  But there's more in your favor.  Your
stellar performance in college and complete lack of prior
involvement with law enforcement could help.  Depending on the
lawyer's advice, he could call a number of people to be character
witnesses.  Courts are generally lenient with first-time offenders.
It could be enough to secure probation instead of a fine or jail time.
Perhaps even a dismissal of the charge."

"So that would mean I won't have a police record?"

"I'm not sure.  The lawyer can answer that question.  Finally, Rick,
you owe Tim huge thanks since he consistently and persuasively
argued in support of you.  As a result of his support, I've decided
to continue your association with the Agency ... but with a six-
month probationary period.  Tim has more confidence in you than I
do but I have enough to keep you on board."

Rick's apprehension over his future was reduced although he was
still concerned about what the court would do to him.  "Thanks,
guys," he gushed.  "I know I screwed up and deserve to be
punished for it.  But I promise on all that's sacred that I will never
... ever ... let you down again."

"I believe you, Rick.  At least in the sincerity of your promise.
But, to be fair, I have to tell you that I'll be watching you carefully
for the foreseeable future."

Thanks to a sympathetic judge—or perhaps one burdened with an
unusually large number of cases—Rick was granted a continuance
with a new court date in three weeks.

It seemed that the problems, if not completely solved, had not been
as dire as feared.  Rick was, at least for a while, free to continue his
schooling and part time work for the Agency.  Eric was pleased
that the threat to him and the Agency was not as ominous as it once
seemed to be.  Tim repeatedly expressed his gratitude to Eric for
helping Rick through the ordeal but his thanks became redundant
so he said, "Enough, Tim!  I'm helping Rick, but what I'm doing is
mostly to protect the business.  And," he added with a grin, "To
continue living with the man I love."

The two lovers kissed long and passionately, which resulted in a
surge of hormones in both of them.   The result, although it was
nearly noon, was a long, erotic period of love-making in bed.
After extraordinarily satisfying orgasms, the cuddled together
blissfully.  About half an hour later, Eric said, "Call it paranoia or
simply prudent caution but I think we should anticipate the
possibility of the business becoming involved.  So far, it's been
kept out of the mess Rick is in but just to be safe we should do
whatever is necessary to shield ourselves from possible
investigation by authorities."

"What do you mean?" Tim asked.

"First of all, we should `sanitize' the computer system.  All
financial records and all client information must be transferred to
encrypted files on an external hard drive and then purged from the
computer.  And the external hard drive must be hidden
somewhere."

That and responding to a few calls from clients consumed most of
the afternoon.  While transferring the client information, Tim
found the name and vetting results for Rick's weekend assignment.
"Do you want to save it?" Tim asked.

"Yes.  But first add a note that he's black-balled for any future
service."

A regular client of the Agency, a lawyer, recommended another
attorney, Paul Stephan.  The cost of legal help was very expensive
but necessary to help Rick and, more importantly, to protect the
Agency.  Stephan proved to be very competent ... and earned his
fee.  Based on a number of extensive, probing, and confidential
interviews with Rick, he was successful in convincing the judge to
dismiss the charge.  The evening following the judge's ruling, Eric,
Tim, and Rick celebrated by dining at an upscale restaurant.

Eric's fretting over repercussions to the Agency gradually gave
way to the normality of managing the business and enjoying the
extraordinary pleasure of loving and being loved by Tim.  Until ....

***

... The doorbell rang at ten in the morning just two weeks after
Rick's ordeal with the courts.  Tim opened the door to find two
men.  The taller, slightly older man asked, "Are you Eric
Mathews?"

"No, but he lives here."

"Is he here now?"

"Yes.  Come in and I'll tell him you're here."  He ushered the
strangers into the living room and went into the kitchen to tell his
lover that he had guests.  Eric immediately went into the living
room.

"Eric Mathews?" the taller man asked.

"Yes."

"I'm Detective Swanson.  My partner is Sergeant Wilkins.  We
have information that you operate an organization that provides
what you call escort service but in reality the services your
employees provide is homosexual sex.  Is that correct?"

Eric's heart skipped a beat.  To gain time to form an answer, he
said, "Pardon my lack of hospitality.  Please sit down.  Make
yourselves comfortable.  Then I'll answer all your questions.  Eric
and Tim sat on the sofa.  The visitors remained standing.  Eric
gestured to the two easy chairs and repeated his invitation,
"Please."  The two men, with obvious reluctance, sat down.

"Do I operate an organization that provides company for men who
are lonely and don't like to dine, attend a theater performance, or
sporting event alone?  Yes.  There are a few young men, all in their
20s, on whom I can call to provide an evening's company and
conversation.  Are they employees?  No.  The clients will buy them
a nice meal and typically offer a gratuity to the young man for the
evening's camaraderie.  Some are college students who need a
little extra cash to pay for their education.  Some are interested in
making potentially useful contacts with successful men—a useful
although unusual way of networking that can lead to career
opportunities.  Do they provide sexual favors to the men?  That's
NOT a requirement.  Nor an expectation.  If—on the rare
occasion—they may do so, it's entirely consensual for both
parties."

The two men glanced at each other.  The Detective then said,
"Interesting story.  But it doesn't match the information we have.
For example, one of your employees, Rick Howard...."

"Excuse me, Sir, but he's not an employee.  He's a personable
young man and a college student needing a little extra cash for
school."

"That's one of the things that doesn't agree with our information.
His comments to the detective strongly suggested that he was on
your payroll."

"I wasn't there to hear his comments.  Were you?  No.  So all you
have is that the arresting detective's report ... which, by the way,
was discredited in court because the whole incident was
determined to be a sting operation.  Moreover, the court
proceedings established that the detective assumed the identity of a
recently deceased person to schedule the appointment with Mr.
Howard.  I don't know whether that's illegal but it certainly is
unethical.  And it casts doubt on his testimony in court.  Rick
Howard is NOT an employee.  Nor was he instructed by me to
provide sexual favors."

"Nevertheless, I want to see any records you have relative to your
`clients,' the men who work for you, your finances, and any
information you have relative to the expectations of `services'
provided by the escorts."

"I would be happy to provide whatever records I have," Eric
replied but paused.  "As soon as you bring a court subpoena."

The visitors suddenly realized that they were unprepared for the
interrogation.  They had not obtained a subpoena.  And their
expressions revealed their frustration.  Moreover, they recognized
that in the time it took to secure a subpoena, Eric and Tim could
relocate or destroy all incriminating evidence.  They had made a
serious mistake and could see no way to rectify the error.  They
stood and prepared to leave.  Eric and Tim escorted them to the
door.  Before leaving, the lead Detective said, "May I inquire about
what you guys do?  And how you can afford to live in comparative
luxury if not by selling sex?"

"I charge a processing fee for my efforts in linking someone with
an appropriate escort.  The fee is not much but it adds up.  Tim is
an accomplished painter and sculptor.  His work sells for ... let's
say tidy sums ... to discriminating customers.  And—if I may
anticipate your next question—all our income is reported and we
both pay taxes on our income.  Is there anything else you want to
know?"

The investigators left without another word but with profound
regrets over botching the investigation.

Tim closed the door, turned to Eric and said, "You handled that
beautifully."  Then, laughing, he added, "I've never seen you lie so
convincingly."

"Do you think they'll be back?" Eric asked.

"Who knows?  I doubt it.  But we'll have to continue being
careful."

"I agree.  It will be inconvenient to keep our records encrypted and
hidden but it's the only sensible thing to do."

***

Having redoubled their efforts to ensure "under the radar"
operations, Eric and Tim lived happily together and enjoyed
steadily increasing success for three more years: Eric managed the
Agency's business while Tim's reputation as an innovative and
talented artist grew.

Rick became one of the stars of the Agency with not another lapse
of judgment but with outstanding feedback from a number of very
satisfied clients.  When he graduated from college, moved out of
state for graduate school, and left the Agency, it was a significant
loss but there was a spectacular going-away party attended by the
entire team.

A phone call took them by surprise.  Tim answered the phone.
"Hello."

"Is this Eric Mathews?"

"No.  Hold on.  I'll get him."  Tim walked to the balcony of the
condo and said, "Phone call for you.  Probably a client."  He
handed the phone to Eric.

 "Hello.  This is Eric Mathews."

"I'm Jacob Warren from the office of Schultz and Warren Law
Firm.  Were you acquainted with a man named Ted Connors?"

Eric was speechless for a moment.  That was a name from his past
and associated with decidedly negative emotions.  He had lived
with Ted Connors in luxury but with obligations to provide sex to
his middle-aged "Sugar Daddy."  The man's appetite for sex was
insatiable but there was never any meaningful relationship.  He
was considerate but showed no genuine affection.  He provided
whatever Eric wanted (fine clothes and food) but his single
purpose was carnal gratification.  There was no expression of any
emotional attachment.  Eric escaped his indentured servant status
when his benefactor was caught concealing information about
Eric's father's death and, far more grievously, failing to divulge
that he was Eric's biological father as a result of an extra-marital
affair.  That was inexcusable.  How could a man not show love to
his own son?  The relationship was incestuous, which made his
total lack of affection all the more intolerable.  Eric left and never
looked back.

After a moment to regain his composure, Eric replied, "Yes, I
knew him many years ago."

"And you lived with him for a short time?"

"Yes."

"Finally!  I've found the right Eric Mathews.  I've been trying for
weeks.  What is your date of birth?"

The question rang an alarm in Eric's mind.  "I'd prefer not to give
out personal information to a stranger.  Why are you asking?"

"Just to positively verify your identity.  I recognize why you are
reluctant but I assure you I'm not trying to steal your identity.  My
purpose is to tell you that Ted Connors passed away.  My
condolences for the loss of your friend."

Eric felt like saying, `Don't be sorry.  The world is better without
him in it.'  But instead, he replied, "That's too bad.  But why are
you contacting me?"

"Because you are a major beneficiary in his will.  He has directed
that his home, all its furnishing, and his three vehicles be left to
you.  Plus a sizable portfolio valued well into six digits."

Eric couldn't believe what he was hearing and blurted out, "Is this
some kind of sick practical joke?  Who the hell are you really?"

"It's no joke.  You can verify what I'm saying by contacting the
Probate Division of Denton County Court.  If you prefer, we can
FedEx copies of the will and the probate documents to you."

Still suspecting some sort of deranged joke, Eric replied, "I'm
calling your bluff.  Send me the documents."  He hung up abruptly.

It was not a joke.  The documents arrived the next day.  In the
meantime, Eric briefed Tim on the call, voiced his skepticism
about its legitimacy, and expressed total disbelief that Ted Connors
would include such a generous bequest in his will.

"Assuming it's legit, what will you do with the windfall," Tim
asked.

"I don't know.  Except that one thing is certain—IF what I heard
on the phone is true.  I will sell the house.  And everything in it.
There are too many painful memories associated with the place."

"I understand," Tim replied.  "Your time with that guy was
probably the worst of the many ordeals you lived through."

"Here's an idea that's been percolating in my head for some time.
Now ... maybe ... it's possible to do something about it.  How
would you like to tour Europe?  Visit all the art museums with
works by the old masters.  Take some time to sightsee.  Soak up
different cultures.  Get away from it all."

"But what about the Agency?" Tim asked.

"Sell it!  Lock, stock, and barrel.  Chet has already told me that
he's about burned out on servicing clients and that he would be
interested in buying the business if I should decide to retire or just
pack up and leave."

Tim pondered the possibility for a while before saying, "Chet is a
good man.  He would do a good job.  And he is beyond the typical
age of the rest of the team."

After a few weeks of handling details of assuming control of the
inheritance, subleasing the condo to Chet, transferring ownership
of the Agency to him, and making plans for when and where to go
on their tour of Europe, two happy lovers boarded a plane for
Rome.