Date: Thu, 20 Jun 2002 09:34:11 -0400 From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com> Subject: The Innocents by Richard Dean - Part 3 Chapter 1 Gay - A/Y Copyright 2000, 2001, 2002 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving alternative sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ************************************************************************ The Paratwa Partnership, Inc. is a publication and marketing agency and is not responsible for the content of the Tom Cup Library, TomCup.com or its affiliate sites, or stories written by Mr. Cup or his associates. ************************************************************************ Support your favorite Nifty writers. They write for you, you should write to them. ************************************************************************ The Innocents By Richard Dean Part 3 Chapter 1 Renewed Energies The letters spurred me in the idea of a Children's Home or Youth Center, as the case may be. Beto Perreira, it seemed to me would be the perfect choice to direct such a venture. As Manager of the Hotel do Americas in Fortaleza; he knew what it took to run a hotel and all that went with the accommodations business, supplies, restaurant, service personnel et cetera. The idea of establishing a youth center, should the funding be adequate, thrilled me but I knew it would take a strong director to see that all should run smoothly; a director who could direct his staff with efficiency and strength of leadership. Of course, I would have to run this idea by the family and get their input, whether agreeable or objectionable. My return to Rio de Janeiro was imminent, subsequent letters kept me well informed as events progressed. The third March of Silence, which occurred on a Friday as Miss Flavia predicted from a previous letter, was still being reported on television and radio. The marchers, it was estimated, numbered between 40 -- 50,000 of supportive citizens willing to sacrifice their time and efforts to make a difference in the lives of these powerless children. Marches were made in most of the larger cities of the country. Miss Flavia insisted this was NOT a political statement, however she said that it would not bother her at all if the politicians in the Federal, State and municipal governments would finally come to their senses and passed laws and regulations stating that all children had rights to live with the same rights afforded to adults. There was much resistance from the governments, however the challenges that the marches threw into the faces of the powers to be could not be ignored much longer. New political action committees were being formed to institute a political front to confront the graft and corruption, which had become de facto. While this was going on, I had written to my friend, William Cooper, the editor of the Halliburton monthly newsletter, to report on this situation. He, of course, obliged by printing my letter in the next issue. In my letter I proposed that all of the 60,000 employees, contribute $2.00 each month for one year. Company executives jumped on this idea in full support, thinking this would be a positive image for the company. The company declared for each $2.00 employee contribution, Halliburton would add $0.50. The largess of this company started off the collection drive with their corporate contribution of $50,000.00. A company letter went out to each employee, asking for their assistance. The following month, Petrobras joined as signators to follow the lead of Halliburton; as had other US owned companies doing business in Brazil jumped on the bandwagon with smaller contributions, but contributions nevertheless. Paulo was right, it would take money to accomplish what we had proposed, lots of it. We were on our way. Our immediate task was to see that results emanated from these corporate gestures of good will. I asked for and received permission to take a 6 month leave of absence. I felt it was necessary to see that we husbanded and did not foolishly overspend these contributions. We had to show that we would be fiscally responsible for such a newly formed organization. I was going home. I knew we would have hurdles to overcome, obstacles to jump, and regulations of the finest print one could imagine; to prove that a "little old lady with a cancerous condition" could do, what governments could not. Had we become political? Not in the best sense of the word. In truth, we had. We had to politicize this fight, we had to send strong proponents into the halls of government to plead, sway, cajole and/or embarrass in order to save these children, these innocents. Paulo had arrived to meet me at the pier after my ship had become moored. As I walked down the gangplank, through the fence I saw my handsome friend Paulo beaming his wide Milton Berle smile. It appeared as he had a contingent of a welcoming committee with him. I entered the customs/immigration shed to have my passport and visa stamped. As I handed my passport to the control officer, he reached his hand out to shake mine and said to me; "Welcome home, Senhor Dean, all paperwork has been done, you've been given permission to proceed from the highest orders. Your friend awaits you through that door if you will, please," "Thank you, officer, I appreciate your kindness." Taking my papers in hand and putting them safely away in my inner pocket of my jacket, I walked out into the bright sunshine of the Brasilian day. Paulo greeted me with a warm and affectionate hug. "Ricardo, don't be pissed off at me. I had no way of knowing in advance that all of these reporters would be here." "What are you talking about, Paulo. What reporters?" I followed the sweep of his arm. Surely my mouth must have dropped open and my eyes were widened when I saw a milieu of people milling about, jostling to get in position to question me, no doubt about it. I started sweating by the unsettling sight. "Good Christ, Paulo, get me through there as fast as you can. You've got to be my blocker. Go ahead." I followed Paulo in anticipation that the crowd would part. Paulo was blocked and could make no further progress. A cacophony of voices, shrill, yelling screaming all at once, "Senhor Dean a few moments^Å.Mr. Dean. Senhor is it true^Å." There were so many questions being thrown about me, I could not concentrate. As soon as I turned to look at one questioner, another would pull me away with a microphone stuck in my face. I confess it seemed as if I were being tortured with the tumult of questions, coming from all directions. It was a mass of confusion. With a deep sigh of exasperation I looked toward Paulo, who could only shrug his shoulders with head atilt as if to say: "Don't look at me, my friend, there's nothing I can do about this. You're on your own." I was on my own for well over an hour. Somehow I managed to answer all of their questions, those I did not know, I told them to call the next day and I would have that information available. I was asked about the large corporate contribution that I had been given. How could they have known about that? I concluded a member of the publicity department of the Halliburton Companies were doing their job, and had, ahem, blurted it out. How they heard it from across an ocean I had no idea. However, I do know fax machines are as good as a telephone call to the right people. Publicity departments can easily obtain telephone numbers of television and radio stations with ease. That's why they make the big bucks, I guess. My friend came to my rescue, finally^Å.what in the hell took him so long, I wondered. "Ladies and gentlemen, people, please stop. Senhor Dean has meetings he must attend. His family awaits him after a long absence. Please show your respect and allow him to go to his home. If you need more information for your stories or reports, I will meet with you outside of his home and give you what you need. Thank you, very much." Taking up my valise, Paulo led me away through the crowd, which parted to allow me to pass. He led me to a Cadillac Sedan upon which we entered. "Where's "Herbie"? I asked confused. Paulo started the car and drove us away from the crowd of people surrounding the car. As he edged slowly through the crowd he said, "Herbie" is being used in deliveries. Elena loaned us the use of her car, else I would have had to call a taxi. She told us to keep it as long as we need. She's got another anyway. I've got to warn you about the condition of our house. When we arrive, you'll see the only place where there is any privacy is the bedroom wing. But you may have to wait in line to use the bathrooms." "Paulo, nooooo," I wailed. "Tell me it isn't so." I knew from the look of his face and his shrugged shoulders, that it was so. My privacy would be a thing of the past. I could only respond to that with a deep sigh. The times^Åthey have changed. When Paulo made the turn into the drive, I discerned the change before I stepped into our home. Cars of every sort and description lined the drive; people were coming and going. Some waving to us in the car, others yelling I don't know what, but assumed they were yelling greetings. I had hoped, at least. Entering the front entry I was confronted with a scene of disorder, talking above a whisper, would have been drowned out in this beehive of activity. Phones were ringing. Where have all of those telephones come from? When? My heart dropped when I saw Miss Flavia attending to something else. I got no greeting from her. She was too busy. I finally saw my little man, Toninho. He too was busy talking and directing with the speech of his hand movements. I wanted to cry. There were no greetings, hugs or kisses. They were too busy. I was filled with jealousy of this larger thing than all of us, which had consumed their attention. I felt abandoned. Lone. Sadly I trudged up the steps to the bedroom wing. On my way up, I was confronted by a lady coming down. As I moved to the side to allow her passage, she stopped and wrapped me in her arms, kissed me on both cheeks and said: "Welcome home, Senhor Ricardo!" Kissed by a stranger, a lady no less, while my family were downstairs busy as bees, not even knowing I was home. She introduced herself to me. Elena. Uncharacteristic to me, I pouted, "This is not the home I left." "We'll soon set that to rest, Ricardo, you'll have your home back after tomorrow. We're going to move our headquarters into our new building, so you'll have your family and your privacy back. Flavia told me you were adamant about your privacy and how stuffy you can be. You won't be that way with me, will you Ricardo?" she teased at me. How could I be `stuffy'? Elena had promised me I'd have my home and privacy back. Smiling, I replied, "Not on your life. Other than Paulo, you're the first person who has greeted me with a smile and a hello." Elena and I talked a long while on the steps of the stairway. I liked her. She was lively, gracious, and understood me rather well from the things Miss Flavia told her about me. She told me that Miss Flavia had put her doctor's appointments on hold until I arrived back home to take over her duties. I was told how proud Elena was of young Toninho. How well he organized things and made things so much easier for his grandmother. She told me how Paulo and Toninho had assumed much more responsibility to take the burden from her tiring shoulders. "Flavia can not keep this pace much longer," Elena said. Elena told me that my Christmas party would go on as usual, that the house would be cleared in the morning of all extra desks, telephones, fax machines, sewing machines; she told me how the garage would be cleared by a team of movers, maids, and housemen who would have the place looking sprightly, cleaned and spotlessly as when she first encountered it with Flavia. Once the house was cleared of all that, she had engaged several decorators to come in and put up Christmas decorations as well as two trees; one in the family bedroom wing, and the other in the living room. All would be done by 6pm tomorrow evening. Then she told me she had arranged for a catering crew to come in on the party day, Christmas eve, so none of us would be worn out from the exhaustion of preplanning and readying for the party. Elena knew when I was going to respond to protest this extravagance, but she placed her hand over my mouth to prevent me speaking. She told me, that my family was an inspiration to her and felt it was an honor to be closely associated with such fine people. Elena was an organizer too; I had to admit. "The only cost to you, Ricardo, is that my husband and I be invited to your wonderful party too. We know half of the guests you've invited, and I'm certain the other half will be equally appreciated." "For you, Miss Elena, an open door policy precludes an invitation. You are welcome in our home at any and all times." Patting my cheek gently she said, "My husband must not know, but I've fallen in love with you already. Flavia told me you had a way with words." Elena resumed her descent into the hustle and bustle of chatter, and the tintinnabulation of the telephones as I ascended to the bedroom wing. I changed out of my clothes. Dressed in a bathrobe I prepared to enter the bathroom, when I felt someone's presence behind me. I turned around and Toninho stepped into my arms. The only word spoken was "Pae" as we embraced, tears flowing freely from our cheeks, nuzzling our faces and lips kissing, forcing entry into our eager opened mouths. We had become enjoined as one from hip to shoulder, touching, caressing, and soothing the ache and pain of our separation into one writhing passionate reunion. We had become one again. Grasping Toninho's hand I backed into the bathroom, he following. In moments he had shed his clothing. Standing tall and expectant as he gazed at me, I dropped my robe, turned on the shower and we entered it. We knew the pain and suffering we felt during our separation, would be cleansed from us within minutes. We were sodden with the water pulsing its jets, scrubbing us for our baptism in expectation of events to come. Our love had grown immeasurably without comment or groan. Once again I was his Pae, his lover; and he, my lover and son. ************************************************************************ Send comments to: richard@boystories.zzn.com To support this and other stories by Richard Dean, visit http://www.eroscities.com or http://www.tomcup.com *********************************************************************** New sites, New Stories, Old Favorites added to the Tom Cup Library: If you haven't visited the Tom Cup Library in a while, you're in for a treat. Calvin - Book 2 is in production, Kevin is back (as well as Antonio) in Kevin Part 3 - Donna, along with other new stories and sites. Check it out! All my best, Tom Cup "Why is it that the words we write for ourselves are so much better than the words we write for others?" Sean Connery as William Forrester in the film "Finding Forrester."