Date: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 11:39:02 -0500
From: Michael Raburn <mraburn@bellsouth.net>
Subject: Daniel's Love Chapter 16

THIS WORK IS FULLY PROTECTED BY U.S. COPYRIGHT LAWS.  NO PORTION OF THIS
WORK MAY BE COPIED OR REDISTRIBUTED BY ANY MEANS WITHOUT THE EXPRESS
CONSENT OF ITS AUTHOR.

THIS WORK DEALS WITH A FICTITIONAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN TWO MEN.  IF
READING ABOUT HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS OR SEXUAL CONTACT BETWEEN TWO MEN IS
EITHER ILLEGAL IN YOUR AREA OR OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READY ANY
FURTHER.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS OF THE MEDICAL COMMUNITY AND USE CONDOMS, THEY
MIGHT JUST SAVE YOUR LIFE. RESEARCH SHOWS THAT MORE AND MORE PEOPLE HAVE
MADE THE DECISION TO PRACTICE UNSAFE SEX--PLEASE RECONSIDER THIS DECISION
IF YOU HAVE CHOSEN THAT PATH.

ANY SIMILARITIES TO ANY PERSON LIVING OR DEAD ARE PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
THIS WORK IS ENTIRELY FICTITIONAL.


***Guys, Thanks for your responses. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!***

The saga continues...


DANIEL'S LOVE


Michael A. Raburn


Chapter 16


"Thank you baby." I looked up from the remains of my sandwich to my smiling
lover.  Lately he had gotten in the habit of bringing my lunch up to the
studio at the college.  "You gonna stay for critique today?"

"Well, maybe for a little while if you don't think they'll mind.  I'm kind
of at a loss right now anyway."

"No, they like it when you're here.  Sally, you know the redhead, is always
asking about you.  I think its LOVE." I said, taunting him.  He only shook
his head and snickered.

Daniel had finished the rewrites on his new book a few days ago and was
taking a long-needed break from his word processor.  Who was I to complain?
It gave us more time together, something we had been sadly in short supply
of lately since I was back to the old teaching grind.  As much as I
grouched about it, it was actually a lot of fun.

I agreed to come back to the college with a couple of stipulations that I'd
never asked for before.  Starting this year I wanted to only teach one
senior-level painting class instead of the normal two and to teach an
introductory general studio class.  I think the dean thought I had totally
lost my mind when I insisted on the beginning class.  Normally the
professors only wanted to be bothered with the more advanced classes,
probably because it was less work.  But, I wanted the stimulation of
several media options and the opportunity to be more of a guide and less of
a taskmaster.

"Okay, guys.  Who's gonna go first this time?" I asked the six students as
they arranged their latest paintings around the room.  I stepped up behind
Sally, winked at Daniel and started: "Sally, what was your inspiration for
this work?" I pointed.

About an hour later as the discussion turned to another artist and another
group of oils, Daniel stepped up behind me, kissed me on the check and
said: "Honey, I've got to go.  I want to be home when the kids get in from
school."

"Okay, baby.  I'll see you in a couple of hours." I walked him to the door
and grabbed a quick kiss and a discrete grope of his butt.  He winked as he
turned to go.

"You two are so cute together." One of my students said.  "I hope I have
something like that one of these days."

"Its all up to you, kiddo." I laughed.  "Back to work."

As the group reconvened, my mind turned back to that evening Cornelia and I
had scattered, to use a polite word, Robert's ashes into the Pacific Ocean.
With the love and understanding of my family I had come so far since then.






Daniel held me in his strong arms, rocking me gently against his chest,
letting me cry myself out.  I cried like I never had before.  All the
emotions I held so close in suddenly could not be controlled.  Feelings
that I thought had been dealt with already were returning.  Years of
longing, sadness, pain and depression made their way to the surface there
on our beach in the Pacific.  The loss of my parents, the second-hand grief
I felt for Daniel's mother, the hurts and betrayal at Tony's hands, all the
mess with the boys' fathers, and now Robert's death.  I cried because I was
in pain twenty-four hours a day from the shooting and could not see a way
to get any better.

But most of all I cried for the sadness I had brought into Daniel's life
and the mess I was making of our relationship.  Why this wonderful man
loved me was beyond any comprehension I could grasp.  Why he stuck with me
through everything I would never know.  When I was cried out my only
thought was that everything had to change; I, no, we could not continue
like this.  I had to get better, I had a great man that I loved with all my
heart and I had to find a way to take better care of him.

I raised my head from his chest and saw the mess I had made of his shirt,
my tears and mucus were everywhere.  Daniel just smiled and took off the
shirt and used it to wipe up the mess from my face.

"Feeling better?" he asked, holding my head like a child so I could blow my
nose in his shirt.

"Umm, yeah, actually I am." I turned to look out at the reflection of the
moon over the water.  "I'm not alright, but I do feel better."

"I know, honey.  I know."

"Daniel, you do know how much I love you, don't you?" I asked, turning to
gaze in his blue eyes, my voice catching in my throat.

"Paul, ever since I met you that first night, I've always known.  I can
look in your eyes, even when you're totally worn out, or completely
disjointed from the world and see your love.  That little glimmer in the
corner of your eye and the way your eyebrow arches when you look at me tell
me everything I'll ever need to know."

"Baby, I can't imagine my life without you."

"You don't have to.  I'm not going anywhere.  Like Cornelia said, we're all
connected to each other, always have been and always will be.  So, see,
you're stuck with me."

"Thank you!" I yelled out to the universe.

Daniel giggled and snuggled into my embrace.  "Paul, make love with me."

"Here?"

"Yeah, right here."

We stood up and as we undressed each other, Daniel used our clothes to
cover the sand so we would have a place to lie down.  He helped me ease
back into our makeshift bed and straddled my lap.  I wrapped my arms around
him and pulled him down to lie on my body.  The last thing I was truly
conscious of was that incredible taste of his lips and mouth.  >From that
point there was no thought as such, just our incredible love for each other
being expressed with our bodies and our souls.

Some time later, I awoke, still holding Daniel in my arms, still intimately
connected to his body.  It was probably about three in the morning and
there was a little chill in the breeze.  Someone, Cornelia probably, had
brought out a blanket to cover us.  Shifting to ease the pressure on my
leg, I thrust up into Daniel's body, causing him to moan into my chest.
Since the moon had set earlier, the stars were glorious above us in the
clear night.  I was eerily aware of all the night sounds that surrounded
us, but mostly focused on the searing heat of him surrounding me.  I am not
sure whether he was ever truly awake as I lazily made love to him again
before I drifted off again.



"Paul, wake up." Daniel murmured into my chest.

"Huh?"

"The kids are up, they'll be out here soon."

"So?"

"We should at least get dressed."

"Nope.  Come on, lets go get cleaned up in the surf."

"They might see us." He said, shocked.

"So, who cares?  You don't think they don't know we make love, do you?"

"No, but..."

"Last one in..." I stood up and shuffled off for the beach.

Daniel sped by me, his cute butt bouncing as he ran for the water.  God,
how I loved him.  All of him.  We played in the water, splashing each other
and washing away the evidence of our lovemaking.  Giggling and laughing we
barely made it back to our bed and into our shorts before the boys and
Cornelia joined us.

"Feeling a little frisky this morning?" She asked, a playful twinkle in her
eye.

"You got it babe!" I yelled.

The boys ran us and hugged both of us then scampered off down the beach
holding hands.  Yep, they seemed to be over it too.



"Son, I think when we get back to Atlanta you need to see Dr. Jenkins.
Maybe there's something that he can do about your depression."

"Cornelia, you know how much I hate the idea of being medicated."

"Yeah, I know.  But, I think this has gone on long enough, don't you?" she
asked, patting my hand.

"You're probably right."

"Damned straight, she's right!" Kyle popped in.

"Language, mister.  Watch the language." Daniel reprimanded.

"I'm sorry, but you know what I mean."

"Okay, okay, I get the picture.  I'll go see the doc."


As it turned out, the depression was a symptom of the problems that I had
but was not the cause.  After the endless battery of tests, probing and
draining me of my blood Dr. Jenkins decided that the lingering pain from
the attack was the actual problem.  He felt that the chronic pain was
feeding my mental state and that if we could find a way to alleviate it,
the depression would ease back to a manageable level.  We talked for about
thirty minutes about the options that I would have for pain reduction and
finally settled on a regime that would use the least amount of medication
possible.  If that did not work we would work our way up to stronger
options.

He also urged me, well actually threatened is a better word, to get back
into physical therapy.  After we solved the pain problem, I could build
back my muscle tone, further easing the leg and back problems.  His nurse
had already scheduled the appointments with PT before I was done dressing.
Looks like it was back to the torturer and the pool again.


During the first few weeks of therapy most evenings I just wanted to curl
up somewhere and die a peaceful death.  Daniel and the boys kept rallying
around me, encouraging me through the pain and agony of defeat.  The boys
took turns doing laps in the pool with me in the evenings.  It turned out
to be a great time for us to catch up on what was happening in their world.

Their relationship, now well past the Andy incident was growing daily.
Daniel and I often wondered if our love was as evident as theirs.  It was
amazing to see the care that they took to show each other what was
important.  After dinner and homework you could almost always find them
curled up together on the sofa, not really saying much, just enjoying their
quiet time.

Amazingly I was improving, slowly though.  The range of movement in my leg
was getting better.  At least I did not scream every time the therapist
would touch it, even though it felt like he was trying to break my leg off.
Daniel had to point out to me that I could stand longer before I had to sit
down, a fact that I had not noticed.




Another surprising development in the household was Cornelia's decision to
leave Texas.  After we talked about all her options, she felt that it was
time for a change in her life and her schedule.  She was spending so much
time with us anyway she might as well have been living in the house.  We
pleaded with her to move in with us, into her suite, but she was adamant
about wanting her own place.

She retained the house in Houston, but basically closed it down and found
an agency that would see that it was cleaned, secured and maintained until
a later decision would be made about it.  I do not think she wanted to sell
it, but was unsure of what to do with it.  It was a large part of her and
Robert's life together, but it was now a part of her past.

Amy, our realtor, was her ever-efficient self and had chosen several
smaller houses and a few town homes for Cornelia to consider.  We all
trooped through them, never finding the right space.  One afternoon Amy
took us to an older building a few miles south of our house.  The building
had been a hotel in an earlier life and was slated to be demolished during
a prior city administration, but was saved by the now thriving historical
group in town.  They had been instrumental in saving the venerable old Fox
Theatre from the wrecking ball and were renovating the older structures in
that neighborhood.

Two weeks later Cornelia and her furnishings were firmly ensconced in her
new home.  The three-bedroom penthouse was decorated in a similar manner to
the New York apartment.  She had moved her art and some selected antiques
from Houston.  It was a little strange to see "Waterlilies" back in
Atlanta, but some how it felt like it belonged here.  All in all it was a
great home for her, somewhere she could entertain on a smaller scale and
still be close to her grandkids.





"What exploded in here?" I asked as I gingerly stepped around the piles of
papers strewn on the studio floor.  Daniel was sitting cross-legged in the
middle of the floor sifting through yellowed papers that he was pulling
from a box.

"Remember that stuff the Ralph gave us when he moved?"

I nodded, looking over his shoulder.

"I was cleaning out the pantry and found this box.  Looks like my next book
has been handed to me already written."

"What is all this?"

"Their story, the journals they kept through their forty years together.
Some of these talk about the trips they took together, some about their
daily lives.  There's even some old guest lists and menus from parties they
hosted.  Listen to this." He started reading.

Two hours later we had somewhat organized the journals, loose pages and
scraps of paper into several groupings, the remnants of Ralph and his lover
and friends' lives.  Mostly it was a joyful chronicle of their time
together, but many, many pages dealt with how different gay life was back
when they were younger.  The continual hiding, the secret signals people
used to meet others, the wild crazy hedonistic period before THE disease.

"You know, I think Margaret Johnson and the group could use some of this
stuff for their research." I looked up from the mess.  "Do we know if these
people are still alive, could the kids talk to some of his friends?"

"I'm not sure, Paul.  Ralph was pretty scattered the last time we visited
him, but we could always ask when we see him again."

"How are you going to use this, yourself?"

"I'm not sure yet.  I'll have to talk it over with Marcie when we're up
there next week.  Right now I'm thinking about a love story, their love
story.  You know, change the names, protect the innocent kinda thing, but
try to show what it was really like."

"Sounds good to me."




"Paul, can you join me?  Let's go to my office and let these two get some
work done." Mr. Greenley ushered me towards the door.  Daniel and Marcie
were head-to-head talking about his newest project.  We had already set the
publicity schedule and tour dates for the book, a fast-paced schedule of
major cities and major networks.  After that was done, Daniel pulled the
new outline from his satchel and dropped it in the middle of the table with
a flourish.  Greenley and Marcie raced to grab the synopsis, starting a tug
of war over the conference table.  Daniel only chuckled and pulled another
copy out.

"Coffee?" He asked as we passed the break room.

"Sure.  What's on your mind Jonathan?"

"Well, Paul, Marcie and another one of our editors have hatched up a couple
of little ideas and they wanted me to pitch them."

"Somehow I don't like the sound of this." I looked up from putting sugar in
my cup.

"Oh, it's not that bad.  You can always choose not to do it."

"This is sounding worse and worse."

"Here, have a seat and calm down.  Marcie wants the boys and Margaret to
write a book about what they're doing in Atlanta.  I've already talked to
Avery about this and he's agreed to being included.  Do you think that two
fifteen year olds and an old school teacher could pull this off?"

"Jon, I'll have to admit I'm surprised, but I think it's a great idea.
What better way to get the message out.  You are pitching it towards the
young market aren't you?"

"Yeah, that's the idea.  So many of the important books on the struggle are
written from an adult's prospective.  We'd like to get a fresh look at what
the situation is like now."

"Good idea."

"So, you think they'd do it?"

"You'll have to ask yourself.  But, yeah, I think they'd almost kill for
the chance to do it."

"Great!  One down..."

"Here it comes..." I chuckled.

"Our lead art editor wants you."

"What do you mean, 'wants me?'"  I asked.

"You know, nice slick large-format coffee table book.  Your name plastered
across the front."

"Aww..."

"Typical publicity run, major retrospective of your work, a few pages of
your commentary about each of the paintings, you know something simple like
that."

"Simple?  You're simple.  You can't be serious.  You've got to be kidding
me." I was shaking my head.

"Totally serious.  It's a great story, Paul.  And the paintings, well, they
stand for themselves.  You've been getting some major press the last couple
of years.  The critics are taking notice."

"I can't do this.  My work isn't in that caliber."

"You don't have a clue do you?  Nina hasn't told you about this?"

"Told me what?  I know the paintings are selling, but..."

"Selling?  Mr. Jamison, every one of your canvases is purchased even before
you paint it."

"What!"

"You really need to talk to you agent more." He laughed.

"I didn't know.  I knew she was leaving me alone lately and the completed
pieces were being picked up on schedule, but I never had an idea..."

"So what do you say?"

"If that's what you want, how can I say no?"

"Here you go." He opened the desk drawer and handed me two envelopes.  "I
was pretty sure you'd say yes to both."

"Looks like it..."


"What did Greenley want to talk about?" Daniel asked as we were leaving the
office.  I noticed the look Jon and Marcie shared as he silently affirmed
her unanswered question.  If smiles could have lit up a room, hers would
have.

"Oh, nothing much.  Just a couple of little things." I pulled the envelopes
from my pocket and handed them over.

"Oh, shit!" He gasped.

"Yeah, that's kinda what I thought."