Date: Tue, 25 Jan 2005 14:24:27 +0800
From: gspencer <gspencer@amitar.com.au>
Subject: Taxi! Taxi!

 This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to any person,
whether living or dead, is purely accidental and unintended. Copyright is
retained by the Author and reproduction or distribution, in any form and
whether for profit or not, without the written permission of the Author, is
forbidden.

If reading this type of erotic literature is forbidden in the area where
you live, you proceed at your own risk.


All my stories are written for those who have a moderate grasp of English
and like a story in which there may be some sex. Any word you do not
understand can be found in the Pocket Oxford Dictionary. 1992 edition.
<gspencer@amitar.com.au>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Taxi! Taxi

     Methuen Halverson sat waiting, hoping that his fare would not be long
coming out. This was a regular booking, the dispatcher had said, and he was
always on time. Met hoped it was right, because he was parked in a No
Standing zone, and it was evening peak hour. It wouldn't be long before the
camera picked him up, and an irate policeman arrived.

     Andrew Travesich fumed as he waited for the lift. Having just been
made a partner, his position was not so secure that he could afford to snub
the 'Head of Chambers', as the old boys liked to still call the senior
partner, but the exchange of niceties had made him late. He had no
illusions, if he was more than a couple of minutes late, the cab would be
gone. He cursed his having lost his licence, and made a dash for the fire
stairs.

     Met decided to make this his last fare for the day. It was after six,
and he had been on for over twelve hours. This one would take him within
fifteen minutes of home, and the run back to town would be dead kilometres,
at this hour of the day, so it was a good one to finish on. It was rare to
get someone going so far out. He wondered why anyone would regularly take a
cab that far.  If this Travesich bloke didn't turn up in the next sixty
seconds, he was going to be walking.

     Andrew dashed out the front door and rapped on the half open window of
the cab. "Are you for Travesich?"

     "Hop in!" Met answered.  "You made it with thirty seconds to spare. I
saw the camera turn this way about a minute ago, and decided I wouldn't
wait more than another half a minute. It isn't worth the fine."

     "I would have paid it. It's worth it to me to know I'll be getting
home at a reasonable hour."

     "That's what they all say," Met replied sourly. "But when it comes to
doing it, then it's a different matter.  I was silly enough to get caught
once, by a detective of all people. I'll never fall for that again. He
didn't even do anything to stop them taking the two points. That ruined my
clean record. Not that it matters much, but it was nice to boast that I had
a clean record."

     Andrew laughed. "A cab driver with a clean record? How long have you
been driving cabs?"

     Met grinned. "Since I was twenty one. I've got well over a million
kilometres under my belt now, and that's my only offence."

     "How long has that taken?" Andrew was staggered.

     "It's seven years next month." Met's grin was almost ear-to-ear. "If
you live out in the sticks, like I do, and you work a minimum of twelve
hour a day, you run up a lot of kilometres each year."

     "Where do you live?" Andrew was genuinely interested.

     "Milton's Reach"

      "Hey! That's not all that far from my place."

     "Nope! That's why you're my last for the day. I've decided to have an
early night tonight."

     They chatted amiably as they swung onto the freeway that took them the
first half of their journey. Both of them enjoyed people, and were happy to
talk, as long as it didn't get too personal. The cricket finals, the new
footy season, the weather, politics, all the usual topics of conversation
were disposed of, by the time they swung down the off ramp and onto the
country roads. Their shire was not renowned for road maintenance in its
sprawling rural area, and they were fortunate to have asphalt on the roads
for the last part of the journey.

     Met finally got around to asking the question which had piqued his
curiosity. "Why get a cab all this way? You can obviously afford a car, and
you could drive to the station if you don't want to drive to the city."

     Andrew almost snapped the standard put-down reply he gave to Met's
colleagues, but stopped himself. There was a sort of kinship with this
driver; they were both country boys, well not quite but near enough.

     "I love driving, and I've got a Jag. The trouble is that it's hard to
keep it under the limit. I've lost my points, so I'm out for six months.
You only have to be ten k over the limit to lose two points, and I got
caught six times.  I'll have to take it out for a spin somewhere very
quiet. It hasn't had a decent run in weeks, and it needs it."

     "Not the brightest of moves." Met replied amusedly. "Get caught
driving without a license, and you'll be off the road for much more than
six months. Can't you get someone you trust to take it for a spin for you?"

     "I wouldn't trust any of the lot I know to drive it. It'll wind up
wrapped around a tree. That's assuming I can find one of them that's not
full to the eyeballs on uppers, downers, poppers, mull or booze."

     "Wild friends you've got!" Met grinned. "Worse than the lot I
know. They might get into mull and booze, but they're petrol heads and
would never go driving when they're high. The thought of bending their
pride and joy would give them nightmares."

     Andrew laughed. "They're more acquaintances than friends. They can't
understand why anyone wouldn't want to give up living in a little box of a
flat, right in the middle of the café strip, and live in the
sticks. They're fun to party with, but they haven't grown up enough to
realise there's more to life than sex and drugs. It's a miracle they
haven't caught AIDS by now, the way they carry on. You should have heard
the flak I got when I bought this place, and sold my flat."

     "So you're not a local." Methuen looked puzzled. "You sound like a
local boy though. Where do you come from?"

    "Mum and Dad have an orchard just this side of 'The Mountain'. I
decided my future was in the law, not the land. Not that it matters
much. Janine's husband loves the place, and he's gradually taking over from
Dad. What about you?"

     "I couldn't be much more local if I tried. Dad owns Malvern Rural
Transport, just up the road from you."

     "So you're one of the Halverson boys. Why aren't you working for your
father like your brothers?"

     "You know how it is! Sometimes you just need to get away. Why don't
you ask one of my brothers to take it for a spin for you? They're all
pretty good drivers, and if they bent it, Dad would skin them alive and
then make them pay for it."

     "What about I ask you? I already know your driving record, and I'll
shout you dinner. We could take it for a spin down to 'The Loose Box'. We
needn't be all that late, and you could still get an early night. If you
like, you could even drive me in tomorrow. It's awfully hard to get a cab
out here. Usually I get a local cab to drive me to the station, and catch
the train. They won't take me in to the city, no matter how much I offer
them."

     "That's because they've got restricted licenses. They can't get a fare
back, and they can't work the city. I've got an unrestricted license."
     "What about it? I'd love some company for a change, and it'd be
'killing two birds with one stone'. I'm enjoying our conversation, and I
promise not to put the make on you."

     When Andrew had said where he had lived previously, he might just as
well have announced he was gay. Any taxi driver with Met's experience would
have known that the area was mainly populated by gays. They were both well
aware of the implications, and both aware that the other knew it.

     Met thought about it for a moment. Did he want to take the risk? There
was no risk with Andrew. If he stepped out of line he was dead meat, living
in Halverson country. The shire of Malvern was littered with descendants of
old Gustav Halverson.  The trouble was, the support network was also the
risk. Did he want to proclaim to the whole extended family that he was gay?
There was no chance their dinner together would go unreported.

     "Up the lot of them." Met decided. "I'm not some kid they can browbeat
any more. I deserve as much of a chance at happiness as they do. At least
if I accept, I'll make a friend like myself, and that's more than I've got
now." He spoke before the silence got too uncomfortable.

     "What makes you think that I wouldn't like you to try?" Met was being
as open as he dared.

     "I never make assumptions without some proof to back it. Your brothers
have been quite forceful in making it plain, on several occasions, that
they're straight, although they aren't rude to me, and they haven't done
anything to make me think they hate me either."

     "They're pretty good, but they're uncomfortable around people like
us." It was out in the open now. He couldn't just pretend it had been a
joke. "That's why I decided to buy a cab. Dad was nice about it, but he
thought it a good idea to move out so the others were more comfortable. He
bought the cab and I'm paying him off. I bought the little place in
Milton's Reach with my savings. It's an old shop, with a flat above
it. Milton's Reach is not much better than a ghost town now. The car killed
it off, and it's not picturesque enough for a tourist resort. Got it for
not much more than the back rates."

     "What about it then? Game for dinner and a fare to the city in the
morning?"

     "We'll give it a try and see how things work out. It might be a plan
for the future, if I still manage to make enough in a day. It'll save me
dead miles. I'll work out the financial side after tomorrow.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     Met sat in 'Henry's Café' eating a late breakfast, or an early lunch,
depending on how you viewed it. He was not a morning person, and his
stomach had to be persuaded before it would accept a cup of coffee and a
piece of toast, unless he had been up at least an hour and a half. There
was a lull in business around this hour, but you had to be quick or you'd
miss out on the upturn when it started.

     The arrangement with Andrew had turned out to be as financially
profitable as anything in the wildly fluctuating cab business could
be. With no dead kilometres, he didn't have to take as much as he had
before, to show a profit. His last week's profit had been about normal. He
and Andrew got on very well. They didn't seem to bore each other on the
long drives, and they often found things to joke and laugh with each other
about. They had notified the company that Andrew would travel with Met, but
that he wanted to remain on the books as their customer, in case Met was
involved in an accident or something.  As a consequence, the dispatcher
asked Met, every afternoon, if he was going to be able to fulfil the
regular booking, and Met had answered yes. It was a good failsafe system.

     Dinner at 'The Loose Box' had been nice, but a bit stilted. That had
not been helped by Rose, one of his second cousins, being their
waitress. He was pretty sure all his relatives knew by now. The Bargos were
pretty good at gossiping, and kept in touch with almost everyone in the
family. So far there had been no repercussions, and he hoped it stayed that
way. The Halversons were a bunch that placed great store in their macho
image. If one of them felt that his masculinity was endangered, by having a
'fairy' in the family, he could be in trouble, and he wasn't at all sure
which side his father would be on, let alone his brothers.

     The cab fraternity didn't know about him, and it wouldn't matter if
they did. Most cab drivers were dysfunctional in one way or another. Most
of them were avoiding a permanent relationship, although they would deny it
if asked, and give some other reason. Many of them were gay, but afraid to
admit it. Many of them were straight but had problems with
relationships. Some of them were promiscuous and would fuck anything that
would stand still long enough, but most were just ordinary people, with a
bit of a problem and a lot of tolerance.

You have to be tolerant, and adaptable, if you're going to survive for any
length of time in cab driving, and buying a cab was committing yourself.
Just because someone had a very upper class accent, expensive clothes and
lived in an exclusive suburb, it didn't mean they could be trusted to pay
their fare, especially if they were drunk. You had to be very shrewd and
alert. For every armed robber, there were hundreds of 'upright citizens'
who would try and find some way to cheat you out of your fare. The
statistics showed there were four armed robbery attempts each year, per 100
cabs. That guaranteed that every cab got their fair share of runners, con
men, and other types of cheats. Everyone had a story or two to tell, and
everyone got caught a few times each year.

     Met glanced at his watch and gulped down the last of his coffee. Time
to get moving. He began to feel a bit uncomfortable, about Andrew. He was
enjoying his new friend, it was fun being able to be himself with someone
who understood and enjoyed it. What was going to happen when Andrew got his
license back? With Met working seven days a week, there would be no time
for them to get together.

     Met gave a mental shrug. There was time enough to think about that
later. Andrew didn't get his license back for another twelve weeks at
least, but by then he'd have to have made up his mind. If he wanted this to
continue, then HE was the one who would have to make changes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     Andrew was in a quandary. He had been invited to a barbecue to get
better acquainted with some of the other partners in the firm. Although
they knew of his work, and his record in winning the difficult 'Personal
Injury' and 'Defamation' cases, there were three of them who hardly knew
him at all, on a personal level.

     He had been invited 'with partner', and he didn't know quite how to
approach this.  He had never pretended to be anything but gay, but he had
kept it low profile, since it was the sort of thing, which might put
clients off hiring him. Should he or shouldn't he take a partner? If he
did, then his first choice would have to be Methuen. They had grown close
in the months Met had been driving him to and from work. They had gone out
to dinner several times, ostensibly to give the car a run, but both of them
knew it was more than that. Their friendship was beginning to become
something deeper. The idea was fraught with problems. Would Met be willing
to take a day off? Would their air of superiority irritate him so that he
ended up insulting someone?

     Met was a hard working country boy at heart. Would he find it
comfortable to be around people who were constantly trying to impress
everyone else? It was so much part of some of the partners, and of that
clique, that they didn't even know they were doing it. Met was no lover of
pretentiousness, and made no bones about it. As far as rich went, Mr
Halverson was probably as wealthy as any of the partners, but he had no
intention of pretending he hadn't worked for his money, and neither did
Met. They were proud of their background and looked on the majority of Old
Money families as leeches on society, giving nothing back for what they
took. Andrew had to admit there was a lot of truth in their opinion. Some
of the partners were more 'Passengers' than partners, and their wives were
on whatever committee offered the greatest prestige and publicity for
them. One of the most telling insights he had got, into Met, had happened
on one of the early trips home. Met had asked him how come he could work at
that firm, and he didn't behave like some upper crust poseurs?  Andrew had
realised that Met was actually paying him a huge compliment. In Met's eyes,
he was a successful legal eagle who hadn't lost touch with his roots. It
wasn't a matter of preferring wine to beer, or of driving a Jag instead of
a Holden; it was a matter of values.

     Met saw blue-collar workers as more honest and sincere than the upper
class. It was just as stereotyped as Met's opinion of the partners, and
like all generalisations it was easy to find plenty of exceptions.  Andrew
tended to classify people by their behaviour rather than their class,
probably because he rubbed shoulders with all of them, every day. There
were good and bad in every stratum of society.  When you analysed it, what
Met and Andrew found a bit repulsive, was people pretending to be something
they were not. It was what was wrong with the Gay Scene, the Soiree Set and
the Pub Culture.  The majority of people seemed to be pretending to be
something they were not, and concealing what they really were. It would be
a good topic to talk to Met about, on the way home. Damn it all! If Met
would take the time off, he was taking him to this barbecue, so he knew he
would have at least one honest person to talk to. If the Soiree Set was
trying to seduce him to their side, they were in for a rude shock.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     Met swung the Jag off the main road onto the quiet streets of
Riverside. They had been a little quiet on the drive in, thinking about the
implications of what they were doing. They had discussed things in detail
over the last few weeks, and had made their decisions. This was their first
social occasion as a couple, and they hoped it wouldn't be their last. Now
they had to face the crowd and find out if it was hostile. After this they
had to face the Halverson clan. Would they survive?

     Met had considered his position with care. He didn't really need to
work seven days a week; he did it to keep from having to face the
loneliness. He had repaid his father at twice the agreed rate, for six
years now. He could take the weekends off if he wanted to, but, until now,
he had never wanted to.  If this thing between Andrew and him was to
survive, then they had to be able to spend time together, and once he got
his license back, the only time they had, was the weekends. He secretly
hoped it might mature into something more, but he was almost afraid to
admit that to himself, let alone Andrew, at this early stage. This mob of
Silvertails didn't frighten him; he had plenty of experience, and knew how
to handle them. The reaction of the clan was the real problem. He didn't
know many of them very well and he had no idea how they would
react. Regardless, they would accept him and Andrew, or wear a bunch of
fives. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, he intensely disliked fighting,
but he had four brothers, and knew there were times when you couldn't avoid
it.

     Andrew was in as much of a bind. He was burning his bridges. Taking
Met to this social occasion was tantamount to 'nailing his colours to the
mast'. He was demanding that the Soiree Set accept him as he was. He might
well find himself excluded from future social occasions, except for those
hosted by the firm, but he was determined. Met was his friend, and he
secretly hoped they might become more than friends. They had a relationship
that was unlike anything he had ever had with the café strip boys, and he
loved it. They were so in tune with each other about almost everything of
importance, it was as if they were brothers, or had been best friends for
most of their lives. He would far rather have what he had with Met, than
have the approval of his peers in the legal world. He had no wish to join
the artificial world of the 'Glitterati' but he would prefer not to insult
them; that could strain relationships within the firm. "Up the lot of
them," as Met liked to say, either they accepted him and Met as they were,
or they could stick their heads up their fundamental orifices.

     Andrew was much more sanguine about his acceptance by the Halverson
clan, than Met. The comments various people had made to him, as he did his
shopping and pottered around the shire of a weekend, made it plain that
many people accepted there was something between Methuen and himself, and
thought it was a good thing. Even Met's brothers had been accepting, and
were just as blunt telling him that, as they had been telling him they were
straight. In the next couple of weeks he was to find that Met had been more
realistic about some of the clan than he had been. Andrew had no real
understanding of the breadth and cohesiveness of the Halverson descendants,
and the strange attitudes of some of the relatives. He was to find out how
things were done in Malvern Shire.

     The Jag slid gracefully into a parking bay at the mansion, and a
security guard came to check they were guests, and direct them to the
gathering.  They were right on time, which was typical of Met, even if it
wasn't fashionable. As they walked, Andrew marvelled at how smart Met
looked. He knew Met would not let him down by being scruffy, that would be
impolite, and his father would have been livid if he found any of his boys
being impolite. Besides, it wasn't Met's nature to insult people, even if
he didn't particularly like them. He had not expected Met to be so
fashionably dressed. He wore casual, but tailored slacks, an Armani shirt,
which was a perfect colour compliment, hand made shoes and an Armani jacket
over his arm. He was better dressed than Andrew, who had no idea that Met
had picked his clothes from "DNA" magazine, and the shoemaker was a school
friend of Met's, who made whips, cowboy boots and saddles for rodeos.  It
really wouldn't have mattered if he had known. The important thing was that
Met looked magnificent, he would probably make some of the snobbish younger
kids, green with envy, and he was there with Andrew.

     They were introduced around, and Met looked as comfortable as anyone
else. He greeted the ladies politely, but was not very forthcoming. They
wanted to pump him for information, so they could fit him into their
all-important social ladder. He was just as skilled at avoiding or
deflecting their questions, and when they did manage to get an answer from
him, it often left them as puzzled as they had been before they
asked. Andrew could see he was enjoying frustrating the old dears. The more
he saw, the more he realised what a find Met was. His pride in his friend,
he dare not call him boyfriend yet, was growing by leaps and bounds.

     "What do you do for a living young man?" The hostess had cornered him
and was determined to get answers.

     "I'm in transportation Mrs Mobbs."

     "Do you have your own company?"

     "I work for myself now. I decided my father had sufficient help from
my four brothers, and wouldn't suffer if I branched out on my own."

     "What is your company name? I might be interested in investing."

     "I'm afraid that won't be possible. It's a private company, and
investment is by invitation only. I don't need more capital for the
foreseeable future. I was disgusted by a speech of George W. Bush's s, so
it's called 'The Taxis of Weevil,' but we don't trade as that."

     "What a peculiar name! What do you transport?"

     "We specialise in ensuring that the 'great unwashed' get to their
appointed place at the proper time to undertake their meaningless little
rituals."

     Alfred Mobbs was in stitches. He tapped Andrew's shoulder and
gasped. "Go and rescue him. If he keeps this up he'll give me a coronary
and frustrate my wife to death." He flopped into a chair with his back to
his wife.

     "Sorry to interrupt Mabel, but Alfred would like a word with Methuen."
Andrew led him away with a big grin splitting his face.

     "Come and meet Alfred. He's laughing so hard he's almost pissing his
pants. I never knew a country boy would have the gift of the gab like you
do." His look of pride and pleasure warmed Met's heart.

     "I don't know about that. You don't do too badly yourself, hayseed."
They reached the chair of the still quaking Alfred Mobbs.

     "God forgive you young man! You're incredible. If I hadn't seen you
drop Andrew off and pick him up, I'd have no idea what you did for a
living. The amazing thing is that you've never told a lie the whole
time. The women are going to be mortified when they eventually find out,
and some of the senior partners still have no idea. That line about the
great unwashed was brilliant. No wonder Andrew loves you. You would have
made a brilliant barrister if you'd gone into law"

     "That's very kind of you sir."

     "I'm not sir to you Met." Alfred stood and clapped his shoulder. "I'm
Alfred to you, and I'm bloody proud to know you. Am I wrong in assuming
you're the son of Gus Halverson?"

    "I'm his second youngest son. Don't tell me you know Dad?"

     "We do a lot of work for your father, including drawing up the
contract for buying your cab and the repayment agreement. You've got your
father's sense of humour, but he's a bit more restrained than you are. If
you're the one for Andrew, then he sets his sights as high in his personal
life as he does in his professional life. I'd be proud to have you here as
a guest, with or without Andrew, but I suspect he's not going to let you
get away easily. Are you Andrew?"

     "We aren't quite up to that yet Alfred, but were working towards it."

     "Good for you! I presume you haven't announced it to the Halverson
tribe yet?"

     Andrew looked at Met's grim face as he replied. "That's the next item
on the agenda. At least we know we have the support of his brothers and his
father. Met has a better idea of what we have to face than I do, but
everyone has been pretty supportive so far."

     "Unfortunately, not everyone's as accepting as Aunt Hanna and my
family." Met sounded almost depressed. "You're going to find out why I was
never willing to draw attention to myself until now. If I didn't think you
were worth it, I wouldn't do it, even now. There are some pretty hard men
in the Halverson family."

     "I know there are."  Alfred interrupted. "Ever since your grandfather
Emil, started using my father's services, we've represented a lot of
Halverson descendants. We've done a lot more for your family than just
'Wills and Conveyancing'. We've represented more than one of the Bargo's
and the Snook's in the Criminal Court, over the years. Keep your chin up
Methuen, there are skeletons in the cupboard that certain people don't want
exposed, and if I know your aunt Hanna, they're in for a bad time if they
give you any grief. She knows the family history of every one of them, and
will use it, if she has to. Stand together and you might be surprised at
how things turn out. Now go and enjoy yourselves. I'll try and keep the
women from annoying you."

     They did enjoy themselves, and Andrew had been unmistakeably proud
whenever he had needed to introduce Met to someone. It had made Met feel
all warm and fuzzy inside. Even though he had only had four drinks over the
whole night, he was feeling buzzed as he guided the car on the long journey
home. Andrew was a bit sozzled, and kept up a rather disjointed commentary
on the night, before he fell asleep. There was no mistaking his feelings
though, he was ecstatic at how well things had gone, and how wonderful his
Met had been. Alfred's easy acceptance of Met, and of their relationship
had just been an added bonus. Several others had been just as accepting,
but the one who had made a lasting impression had been Alfred.

     Met had to help Andrew into the house and put him to bed. He was only
half conscious when he had dragged him out of the car. Met locked up
carefully and drove home. He hoped Andrew wouldn't have a hangover when he
came to pick him up in the morning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     A few weeks later, the trouble started. Met was now spending Saturday
and Sunday with Andrew, and there were a few things they wanted to buy for
a little party to celebrate Andrew's getting his license back, the next
week. They had decided to have a cooking spree. They were both fairly good
cooks, but hardly ever cooked for themselves. This was to be a little get
together for a few close friends.

     They were in the butcher's seeing if they could get a really big piece
of blade steak, to roast for cold meat. The door warning-bell pinged, and a
loud voice snarled from behind them.

     "Fucking hell, it's the two fairies. Don't get too close to them
Doris, you might catch something."

     Uncle Gordon stepped out of the back room with his boning knife in his
hand. "Shut your mouth Fred. You behave yourself while you're in my
shop. If you don't want to treat my other customers with respect, then you
can take your business elsewhere."

     "Don't start telling me how to behave. We don't want fairies in the
family, and we don't want them anywhere 'round here. No decent person
should have to look at that sort of filth when they're just walking around
minding their own business."

     "You reckon you're decent do you Fred? You're a convicted violent
rapist, but you're still decent? You managed to wriggle out of a charge of
incest, mainly because you had Dulcie scared you'd kill Doris and Robert,
if she opened her mouth, but you're decent?  All your kids hate you because
of your violent abuse, but you're decent? Don't make me laugh Fred. If
there's any filth walking around the street, it's you, not them. We've put
up with you all these years, so it's not much of an ask to put up with
Methuen and Andrew. The worst thing they've done is get their license
suspended for speeding. That's a bloody sight better record than you've
got."

     "It's not natural Gordon! What about our grandkids! We don't want
these filthy perverts interfering with them."

     "You fucking great hypocrite!" Graham stepped into the shop, still
holding a cleaver. "I've known Met was gay since I was ten, and he's never
laid a finger on me, or anyone else that he's helped. Where do you think I
took Dulcie when she was bleeding and hysterical? Who do you think it was
that patched me up when you laid my back open with your belt? If it hadn't
been for Met and his parents you'd probably be in jail for murdering one of
your own kids. You start bad mouthing Met and you're in for trouble like
you've never dreamed of."

     "Fuck the lot of you! You're mad, you buggers!" Fred charged out the
door dragging Doris behind him.

     Graham stood at the counter. He towered over Met now. He'd grown a lot
since he was the skinny ten year old that Met had carried home on his bike,
bleeding and almost unconscious.

     "Don't mind him! I'll get the others onto it. He's not going to spread
that sort of hate, without everyone being reminded of what sort of man he
is. Dulcie and Robert will help me. We might not have survived without you
and your family, and your family mightn't have known if you hadn't taken me
home that day.  I know Morgan and Rose will help too. They've never
forgotten how you helped them after their dad died. Aunt Hanna will flay
the skin off him with her tongue, when she finds out. You're going to find
out just what sort of man you've hooked up with Mr Travesich. There's an
awful lot of people in this shire who owe a lot to Methuen for the way he's
helped them. He's been at it ever since he was a kid, and he never looks
for anything in return. If every gay in the world was like him, they
wouldn't have such a bad reputation." The door pinged, but no one noticed.

     Andrew looked at the very embarrassed Met, and smiled. "He's never
told me about any of that, but it doesn't surprise me. I knew what a catch
he was, just a few weeks after meeting him. If it gets to the stage where
you lot can't take care of it, I'm pretty sure Alfred will get himself
involved. He likes Met, and keeps telling me how lucky I am."

     "Are you talking about Alfred Mobbs?" Gordon put a wrapped parcel on
the counter.  "That man knows almost as many family secrets as Hanna
does. If he starts to get involved then a lot of the ones who think they're
hard men, are going to be shaking in their boots. Here's your meat, now
don't forget. Cook it slowly, but don't overcook it. Wrap it in alfoil to
keep it moist, and let it sit for at least half an hour after it's cooked,
so it sets before you carve it. If you want the best potato salad in the
state, ask Hanna for her recipe. She's given it to a couple of her
favourites, but they won't give it to anyone without her permission. I'll
bet she'll be happy to give it to Met."

     Andrew and Met reached for their money at the same time, but Gordon
stopped them. "There's no charge boys. This is my way of apologising for
Fred's behaviour.  I know what you've done for a lot more people than Lisa
Bargo's kids and Fred's. I'm proud to have you as a customer Methuen
Halverson, and if anyone doesn't like it they can shop somewhere else. Now
go and get that recipe from Hanna."

     Mumbling embarrassed thanks, the pair turned to leave, almost bumping
into the three people, who had slipped in unnoticed, behind them.  Met went
white as he looked into the face of his Uncle Damien Snook. He was Fred's
brother, and as big as Graham.

     "You're Andrew Travesich?" He growled. Andrew nodded, as intimidated
as Met. "Fred's been shooting off his mouth about you two. Keep well clear
of him if you see him. I had to give him a lesson in manners, and he's not
in a good mood. Glad to meet you" He stuck out his paw for Andrew to
shake. "You'd better treat Met right, or you're going to have a lot of
people gunning for you. If you make him happy, you'll make a lot of other
people happy too. I'm his Uncle Damien and this is Agnes, my wife. If you
need any earthmoving or that sort of work, give me a ring."

      He almost dismissed them as he turned to the counter and they went
off with a spring in their step, to see Aunt Hanna, and get their
groceries. As they went, Met looked at Andrew and asked.

     "Now you've got an idea of what you're in for. You sure you want us to
be more than friends? They're so nosey, that about the only thing they
won't know about you, is what time you got up in the night to take a piss."

     "Stop that Methuen!" Andrew was trying to be stern, but he was having
trouble concealing his smile. "He isn't as eloquent and urbane as his
nephew, but he told us an awful lot in those few words, and Gordon really
opened my eyes to a whole new Methuen. I like what I'm seeing."

     Andrew triggered the supermarket door for Met. "I've just been told by
three of your relatives that they don't give a damn that you're gay, you're
such a nice person, they're willing to fight for you, even against their
own father and brother. The only thing that frightens me about this is
wondering if I'm good enough to be your partner."

     Met grabbed two baskets and dumped the meat in one of them. "Don't be
stupid Andy! I'm the one who has to decide that, not you, and I think you'd
better get to know a few more of my relatives before you make up you
mind. There are plenty more like Fred."

     "Not as many as you think, young man, and they're going to have to
accept you and keep a civil tongue in their head, or the family will send
them to Coventry" The tiny elderly figure of Aunt Hanna was standing right
behind them with a smile on her face. "You two boys will need some salads
for your party. I'll write out my potato salad recipe for you. Go and get
your things and see me before you leave."

     As they walked around the shelves filling their basket, Andrew
whispered. "How the hell did she know about the party? Are your family
psychic or something?"

     "You'll get used to it. We must have said something where we could be
overheard, and the grapevine in this family is like greased
lightning. Don't think that not talking will keep your secrets
either. Someone will see something and someone else will see something else
and before you know it someone like Aunt Hanna or Aunt Lisa has put it all
together and come up with the right answer.  I've never told anyone,
including my father, that I'm gay, but they all know. I've never brought
anyone home, if I did, it would be all over the shire before the end of the
week. You still sure you want me to be your boyfriend?"

     "Wouldn't change a thing. You're still the best thing I've ever
found. If putting up with being accepted and protected by people like
Gordon and Damien and Aunt Hanna is part of the deal, then I think I'll
take the job. Shitheads like Fred are everywhere. Just because he's your
uncle isn't any reason to chicken out. He'd hate me, even if he didn't know
who I was. This way, I'll never have to face him on my own, and I'll have
the nicest person I've ever met as my boyfriend."

     "Flattery will get you everywhere!" Met mumbled as they sneaked a
quick kiss behind the shelves.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     Once the decision had been made, and their relationship was out in the
open, things began to change rapidly. The lunch party had been a great
success. Met had invited those of his school friends he was in contact
with, so they could meet Andy. Andrew invited his sister and her husband,
and the few close friends he thought should know, to meet Met. Most of them
were straight, but they knew the pair was gay, and there were no bad
reactions, in fact, they seemed pleased that their friend had found someone
to share with.

     The only negative note had been sounded by 'Drongo' Lewis, Met's
saddle-maker mate, and he had meant it to be kindly.

     "You do know how long most gay partnerships last, don't you mate? I
hope you two are the exception to the rule. My uncle Dominic and his
partner stayed together for thirty years, but it's not common. I hope you
two make it. He seems like a real nice bloke."

     "We'll make it Drongo." Met was determined. "We know what it takes,
and we're both after the same thing. You'll see."

     "Good luck to you then! Bring him in when he needs shoes, and it's
about time you got a decent pair of boots. Now you're not driving seven
days a week, don't give me that line about not having anywhere to wear
them."

     Met laughed. "We'll be there mate. Just give us a few weeks to get
things settled. We haven't even decided if were going to live together
yet."

     In its usual fashion, the family took the decision out of their
hands. The homestead was part of one of the original grants, and was pretty
run down. Andy had been left enough money by his grandfather to buy the
house outright, with the money he got for his flat, but he had no money to
do repairs. He had spent all his savings on transport, over the last six
months.  Gus had taken over the planning, and informed Andrew of the
family's decision.

     They were to be given the same right to a wedding present as anyone
else in the family, even if they weren't 'married'. The house was a
historic landmark, and would be restored by the family, with modern
facilities being discretely added. They were to live at Met's, until the
work was finished, and Met was to drive Andy to and from work every
day. When the work was finished, they would move in together, and Gus would
take Met's property as full payment for the outstanding loan on the cab.

     They tried to argue against such generosity, but they were wasting
their time. No one would listen to them. The nearest Andy got to getting
anyone to talk to him about it was cousin Graham, and he was very blunt.

     "Shut your mouths and accept it. Too many people owe too much to Met,
and you're the one to make him happy. No one's going to listen to you, so
just give in gracefully, and enjoy it."

     It took six months, before they were allowed to move in.  Gus had to
work like the devil to get everyone co-ordinated to help, when one of the
families had a break between paying jobs. The results were stunning. The
old place looked as if it had been built only a few years ago, and the
plumbing and cooking facilities, were modern 'antique' reproductions. The
house was a showpiece. The Heritage Foundation listed it as a model of how
restoration work should be done. The place was worth more than double what
Andrew had paid, and all the labour had been voluntary. The family stood
back and gave itself a collective pat on the back.

     The community effort had a side effect that a few of the smarter ones
had anticipated. Those members of the family, and of the wider community,
who were homophobic, had been sent a very clear message.

     "These are our boys! Hands off!"

     Alfred had insisted on drawing up a pre-nuptial agreement for them,
and wills for both. All he had charged had been the court fees for
registering them. He insisted this was his 'wedding present' to them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     They did beat the record of 'Drongo's' uncle, but there were plenty of
ups and downs. Over those years, there were many people in the community
who blessed the day they had settled in Malvern Shire. Met never lost his
caring nature but, since Andy had the same problem, there was never any
friction over it. That is another story, for another time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Copyright March 2003. G. Spencer. gspencer@amitar.com.au
Reproduction without the written consent of the author is forbidden.