Date: Sun, 10 Mar 2002 14:20:06 -0500
From: Cepes LA <cepes@mail.com>
Subject: The Interviewee Part 8

This is gay erotic fiction.  If you are offended by graphic descriptions of
homosexual acts, go somewhere else.

Neither this story nor any parts of it may be distributed electronically or
in any other manner without the express, written consent of the author.
All rights are reserved by the author who may be reached at cepes@mail.com.

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance of the characters to anyone
living or dead is pure coincidence and not intended.  They are all products
of the author's overactive imagination.



The Interviewee Part 8



Looking back on the day from my noon-time perspective, I realized little
had gone as I planned it this morning.  `Aww, fuck it.'  I laid down the
papers I had been re-reading, locked my computer, stood up, and looked for
Charlie.  He said he was going to catch lunch at the mall a few blocks from
our office building.  Ordinarily, when I'm this behind in my work, I would
never have said yes.  But, the morning had been filled with a series of
little problems that combined to make me tense and agitated.  The best
solution, then, was to absent myself for an hour or so and relax.

`Where did he get to?' I thought.  My eyes were looking for Charlie as I
stood up and had a field of vision unobstructed by cubicle walls.  He must
be in another part of the office--or on another floor.  I decided to sit
down again and wait.

As I was sitting at my desk, slumped forward slightly, eyes closed, almost
nodding off to sleep, I remembered getting in early and sitting down to
work on a presentation that was due in two days.  But, opening my Outlook
stopped me cold: I dug through the reams of spam clogging my inbox and
almost deleted one unfamiliar message without a subject until I glanced at
the preview pane.

It said, "What do you want from?  I got your message and saw you walking
around the park last night.  Leave me alone."  It was unsigned; I didn't
recognize the e-mail address; but, I knew that Alex had sent this to me.

Immediately my mind was cleared of everything except for these twenty-some
words.  How did he know how to reach me?  My eyes flashed onto a stack of
my business cards laying on my desk; I remember giving one to Alex after
his interview.  He had evidently kept it, even after last Friday's
happenings, a fact that, in combination with his sending me this message,
suggested there was a conflict between Alex's words and what he really
wanted.  If he had wanted me to leave him alone, he wouldn't have sent
anything; he wouldn't have given me his e-mail address.

This was a mixed message he was sending: stay away but here's a way to keep
in touch, if you want.  `What does he want?' I thought to myself.  Last
Friday, he wanted to give me his virginity--but without telling me that
I would be his first.  When I untangled that enigma for myself, I tried to
let Alex down as gently as possible.  I even finished him off with a
handjob.  The look of pain on his face as I drove him home broke my heart;
I knew he wouldn't ever want anything to do with me.  But, because of that
promise to Chris, I needed to bring Alex back, get him to agree to meet
Chris, and fix something of what I had broken--between Chris and myself,
Alex and myself, and within my own mind and sets of memories.

My question `what does he want' became in my mind mind `how do I get him to
want to do what I need him to do?'  It was a tough thing I was trying to
accomplish: use an e-mail to convince someone of something painful, even
distasteful or repugnant.  I knew Alex would not likely be receptive to
anything I might ask of him.  But, my mind kept going back to the seeming
contradiction embodied within his e-mail.  There might be a window open.
What to send through it was the problem.

It would have to be an e-mail, something heartfelt but also measured and
careful.  I did not want to scare him off any further, like some mewling,
injured kitten that backs itself into a tight place when someone with
helping hands comes to minister aid.  In this thought, I also realized the
added complexity of my `helping' hands also being responsible for the many
of the seeming injuries in the first place.  `First do no harm' echoed
through my mind.  Don't make it worse; could I write something that
wouldn't degrade the situation even further?

I would have to see, after writing a draft and thinking carefully about
what would likely happen.  I pressed reply and started composing the
response.  At that same moment, my internal guilt monitor kicked on and
reminded me I had legitimate work.  (It also reminded me not to be sending
this kind of material through the company's e-mail system; who only knows
what the hell the e-mail administrator monitored and forwarded around for
violating company policies.)  I opened a web browser, accessed my personal
e-mail, and copied the response into a new e-mail message.  Then, I turned
my attention to the presentation.  It was closing in on 8.00 when I finally
started working on it.

Around 11.00, after I'd finally made some good progress and started feeling
the weight of the world slipping off my shoulders again, I looked again at
the e-mail to Alex.  I had stolen moments here and there, when writer's
block or frustration set in, to write a good couple paragraphs.  I re-read
it, twice.  Once quickly though; a second time more slowly.  This e-mail
wasn't good; it was trite, conventional.  It was a reason itself why Alex
should never talk to me again.  It just wouldn't do.  I deleted everything
except for the "Hello Alex" opening--and even that might need to go.

I decided to take a break, after noticing I was hungry.  After snagging a
snack and glass of water from the kitchen, I returned to my desk to find
the phone ringing; I checked the digital readout, someone from outside the
company.

"Hello, this is John."

"Hi, John, this is Paul."  My mind turned up a blank, at first.  None of my
contacts at my client were named Paul.  None of my friends, either.  But,
ding ding ding, one of Chris' was.  How did he have my number, I wondered.
I must have given him a business card a long time ago.  It seems everyone
else is much better at keeping those pesky things than I am.

"Hi Paul, how's it going?"  My voice sounded clear; it sounded, I hoped,
like I knew who I was talking to.

"Actually, John, I was calling to ask you.  How's Chris doing?"

"Hmm.  What?"

"I assumed he was sick.  I didn't seen him at the office yesterday or
today."  A ball of nervous energy began collecting in the pit of my
stomach.

"Oh, I had no idea.  He didn't get home until late last night.  I thought
he was working."  I kept my voice calm, although my mind was anything but.

"No.  I also tried his cell.  Nothing but voice mail.  This is pretty
weird."

"Yes, it is.  I am going to try to calling home.  Maybe he's sick.  I left
this morning before he woke up."  I tried to convince myself this is what
it was; my beautiful Chris in bed, sick.  But, he would have called me; he
also hadn't taken a sick day in more than two years.  He was disgustingly
healthy.

"Thanks.  When you get in touch have him give me a call.  I need to ask him
about a project we're working on."  Chris was also not the kind of person
who would ever ditch work when he was needed.  If anything, he was more
driven by duty and obligation than I was.  The ball tightened in my
stomach.

"Sure, thing.  Paul, thanks for being such a good friend to Chris and to
me."  I felt I needed to say something to make all of this less strange.  I
mean, this is the first time Paul had ever called me and it winds up being
about my boyfriend having gone missing.  And I didn't even know anything
about it.  My nerves were joined by a tinge of embarrassment.  Could he be
hurt somewhere?  Could Chris be doing to someone else what I had wanted to
do to Alex?  Could all this just be a mix up?  I didn't know.  Anxious and
embarrassed is not a very pleasant state to be in; I wanted this call to
end as quickly as possible.  I needed to find Chris.

"No problem."

"Thanks for calling.  I'll have Chris call you."  Done.  I heard the click
on Paul's end.  The phone nearly fell out of my hand, but my other hand
steadied it and shored it up. Once I was sure that my hand could hold the
phone, I used my now freed up hand to start punching buttons.  Chris' cell.
Nothing.  Our home machine.  Only our combined voices jokingly hinting that
we were too pre-occupied with each other to talk just that second.  I
wondered if he had left me a message on my cell.

I was notorious for forgetting it in the wrong places, leaving it turned
off, rarely checking the messages.  Worth a shot anyways, I thought.  I
just happened to have dropped it in my pocket as I left the apartment this
morning.  I fished it out of my suit jacket and turned it on.  Low battery,
figures.  But there was enough juice left to listen to messages, I hoped.

I found there were four.  As I was listening to the third, one of my
co-workers, Charlie, tapped me on the shoulder.  I gave him the universal
sign for `give me a minute.'  He smiled and retreated from my cube.  The
fourth message was from Chris; he left it yesterday.  I really need to get
better about checking these messages, I thought.

Chris told me that he was taking the day off and going to see his parents
in Malibu.  He said he would be back late.  He says he might have to go
back the next day--which was now today.  He said I should call him and
we could talk about it.  I immediately felt relieved.  This was really
unusual, but at least it was something.

The relief washed through my body, but then it was accompanied by an
infusion of more doubt.  It was strange he left the message on my cell.  He
knew how bad I was about checking it; he gave me hell about it at least
once a month.  He could have called me at my desk or left a message on the
home machine.  Why use the cell?  Maybe he didn't want me to get the
message.  I don't know.  I'll have to ask.

Why visit his parents on a Monday?  God, I hope something hadn't happened.
I realized, then, that my overactive imagination had made its usual shift
into overdrive.  Everything would be okay, I told myself.  When I got in
touch with Chris, everything would make sense once again, I hoped.

Even with all of these additional questions, I felt so much better knowing
something about what Chris was up to.  When I turned around to talk to
Charlie, I had a small smile on my face, a smile of relief.  He smiled
back, apparently thinking my outward happiness was for his benefit.  I
didn't disabuse him of that thought.  He asked if I wanted to catch some
lunch.

The request hit my mind and joined the long queue already waiting for
answers.  My mind was swirling around a pile of questions: how to finish
this presentation, an important deliverable in a long client engagement;
how to get the research done for two proposals and get a pile of reading
digested before heading off to Cincinnati next week; what to make of Chris'
skipping work to visit his parents; how to write something to Alex that
would get him in a responsive mood.  Going to lunch wouldn't help me answer
these questions, but I knew I wouldn't be getting anything productive done
unless I took a break and let my mind wander.

"Sure.  When are you going?"

"I want to walk to the mall now."

"Actually can you wait ten minutes?  I need to finish up an important
e-mail."  I smiled at this mention.  To me, Chris and Alex, I hope, this
e-mail would be important.  Charlie would be indifferent or perhaps even
hostile if he knew what this `important e-mail' was about; that irony put
the smile on my face.

Charlie nodded his head and walked off.  I turned back to my computer and
tried to figure out what I could write in ten minutes.  Even though I had
no idea when Alex would next check his e-mail, my initial hesitation about
getting out the perfect draft was replaced now by the need to just get
something done.  I could sit and think about it all day, pushing off
everything else I need to do.  Or, I could whip something out in the next
ten minutes.  What would be descriptive and enthusiastic about Alex; what
would show him I cared?  The only thing that popped into my mind was the
letter I had written on his behalf.  The confidential letter to the
admissions committee that I wasn't supposed to disclose, certainly not to
the candidates themselves...

Right then, with the newly imposed artificial deadline looming, I decided
to violate one of my own rules as an alumni interviewer.  I knew I wouldn't
be able to write anything more passionate, more convincing about my
thoughts regarding Alex than the letter I had already written to improve
his chances of getting admitted to my alma mater.  I never let the
interviewees see them.  Because I needed Alex to trust me again, I decided
to send him a copy.

I returned to the one-line greeting of an e-mail I had started and tapped
out the following:

"I really need for you to understand I meant you no offense on Friday.  I
like you a lot, but I could not do what you asked of me.  I started
thinking about how I lost my virginity and, well, I couldn't inflict that
on you.

"I would like to talk with you.  I also want you to meet my boyfriend; he's
very interested in meeting you.  This isn't as strange as it seems, he's
already forgiven me for looking at another guy.  Now, he wants to know what
his competition looks like.  :-> He's really cool, you'd like him, I think.

"Please call me.  --John

"P.S.  I'm breaking my own rule about this, but I want you to know how I
really feel about you.  This is what I wrote the day of our interview and
sent to the admissions committee.  Know that I meant every word."

I attached the letter I wrote and was about to press send.  Before I sent
it off, I thought, I should probably verify that I did mean every word.  I
might even have to clean it up, take out anything critical.  I had better
re-read the words I had written a month ago.  Curiosity also found its way
into my mind: What did I actually think of Alex before all of this other
stuff happened?  It was really hard to remember.

I rifled through my folders and found a paper version I had printed out
when I wrote it.


"Alexander Franklin is a dynamic, passionate, and very interesting young
man.  I really enjoyed the hour that I spent with him; he was articulate
about his interests and beliefs and knows how to tell a good story, which
to me is almost always the sign of a gifted mind.  Sifting through mounds
of material to select things that are interesting and relevant, taking a
position, and leading a listener through to a poignant, or funny, ending is
challenging!  What I like most about Alexander is that, although he is
obviously intelligent and well schooled, he recognizes that there are a lot
of things he doesn't know--and his curiosity and drive motivates him to try
to find out the "truth" about matters physical, intellectual, and
spiritual.  I offer a very enthusiastic recommendation for Alexander's
candidacy; he could both gain from attending the College and contribute to
its community strongly.  A thinking man and a very strong candidate for
admission.

"We discussed his courses at length.  He favors history and the sciences,
particularly physics.  Even though he wouldn't admit it, the way he talked
about the literature courses he took and the books he read in them makes me
also suspect he is gifted in that discipline.  He also looks for
educational opportunities outside his school; he has taken community
college courses in psychology, swing dancing, and Asian history in the
evenings or during school breaks.  He has become proficient in French and
has taken two years of Russian at school.  But, instead of walking you
though his course list, let me show you why our conversation was memorable.

"When I asked him about his favorite book, Alexander smiled and then
related how it felt to read Aristotle's Poetics (from personal experience,
a difficult text).  After prompting from the teacher, he explained he was
able to begin to understand for himself how epic poetry and dramatic poetry
were related to each (dramtic, according to Aristotle, evolving from the
epic).  Alexander has been particularly excited about the way this
literature teacher helps him and other students to begin finding
"cohesion," or the little moments of 'epiphany' that when combined provide
a sophisticated view of the whole work, in what they read.

"Alexander also struck me as being particularly mature and sophisticated in
understanding his own goals in life and understanding how to achieve
them. For example, in two classes, AP Chemistry and Russian II, Alexander
realized that he was no longer learning what he needed to learn because of
personal conflicts with a teacher (in Russian) and a realization that a
teacher wasn't teaching well (in Chemistry).  His Russian teacher had taken
it upon herself to give Alexander work different from that given to the
other students, several of whom had learned Russian at an early age and had
even been speaking the language as a primary language at home.  Even though
Alexander completed the work successfully, the teacher gave him a 'B+'
because it was different work--a definite "Catch-22" situation.  From
personal experience of this sort in high school, I know how hard it is to
leave a class, because of the pressure exerted by teachers and counselors,
and how much resolve and determin!  ation it takes.  I applaud the bravery
of the decision.

"Alexander has also spent a good deal of time outside of school taking
community college courses.  He said he realized in the second half of his
tenth grade that a local community college was very near to where he lived.
Since then, he has been taking evening classes or classes during the
summer--enough courses to accumulate 35 credits in such courses as Asian
history, cultural anthropology, psychology, and various forms of dance,
mostly swing.  He says that he enjoys being treated like an adult--given
responsibility to do work without being looked upon like a ward of the high
school.

"Several times I found this kind of independence exhibited in what
Alexander said about himself.  For example, after he successfully
petitioned to get out of his Chemistry class, he accepted a teacher's
request to become a teaching assistant for her 9th grade English class (the
same teacher and class he had attended in his ninth grade year). Alexander
says he looks forward to this hour of the day most.

"It was initially frustrating for him, as he lacked some credibility and
official "power" to maintain discipline in the class as the teacher likes
her classes to remain relatively loosely structured.  He said, though, that
he was able to cope and develop unofficial mechanisms: "Please settle
down." "Why should I?" "If you don't, I won't be able to help you."
Showing both the quality of the assistance he was able to give and the
personal respect / credibility he had won for himself, the kids began to
settle down, one by one, day by day.

"Alexander definitely strikes me as a man who thinks methodically, weighing
choices and determining how they conform to the plans he has set for
himself.  For example, he discussed how as a nine-year-old he encountered a
friend of his older brother playing a piano.  Listening to the as-yet
unknown "Fur Elise," he asked the friend of his brother to teach him to
play that song.  And then another.  And another.  Eventually, he asked his
mother if he could take piano lessons, which he did for two years.
Needless to say, piano lessons are not something a youngster asks to be
given.

"Alexander is also very interested in athlethics, particularly soccer.  He
is the captain of his team this year.  He has been on the teams that won
the California Private School League the last two years.  He was very
analytical in breaking down his team's chances for this year; he knew the
competition intimately and was frank and succinct in comparing and
contrasting his team to many of the others out there.  There was a fire in
his eyes when he spoke about the team and his experiences leading it.  His
natural outgoingness and charisma obviously greatly aided his team leading
efforts--but athletics also deeply challenges him on personal and
intellectual planes as well.  I have not seen a top-notch athlete among my
candidates who was as poised, analytical, and convincing as Alexander.

"In what I think is one of most interesting things we talked about,
Alexander described a conversation he had had with his teammates before an
important game a few days ago.  Saying that the team members has become
more than a little arrogant about their abilities on the field, Alexander
decided to try to motivate his fellow team mates in a different way.  He
said he got the idea from an article he read in Scientific American about
the difference in approaches between two major league baseball managers:
one encouraging a cocky stance in his players, the other employing a kind
of psychological pressure where the players would make a promise and then
the peer pressure effect would encourage all of the team members to work
harder and better as a team.

"Alexander decided the try the second approach with his team members.
Smiling, he said that it didn't work quite the way the article had
suggested: he made his speech and when he said, "Let's all make this
promise," a team member basically said, "I agree with what he said.  Let's
get out there."  His thunder was stolen; his team members hadn't gotten the
point; the team won again, but the arrogance factor was ratcheted up even
higher.

"I think this story could perhaps be read as a parable of Alexander.  He is
a different kind of person from the people around him: sensitive, bright,
ambitious, but also guileless and honest.  He's the kind of person who can
draw from one element of his life and apply knowledge to another facet.  He
synthesizes information and makes plans based on what he's learned.  I do
not often see someone willing to try this kind of experiment--let alone
willing to tell an alumni interviewer a story like this, particularly when
it isn't, on the surface, terribly successful.

"He says he is looking for a place where "people are smarter than me."  He
finds that 'smart' people have a different take on life; they might do
something different, say "go salsa dancing" rather than just go to the
movies, they see possibilities and opportunities.  He is interested in the
College not only for its proximity to Boston (and its nightlife), but also
because of its hard-working students and the "motivation in the air of the
whole school."  He wants to be pushed by getting involved in a positive
sort of peer pressure and learn and practice the "skills of highly
successful people."

"In conclusion, I found Alexander to be a remarkable young man.  He was
self-assured and mature in a way I had never seen someone of this age act.
This report is much longer than my usual ones, but we discussed so much
that was interesting and suggestive that I didn't want to leave anything
out. Alexander has the full array of qualities that I personally would
enjoy in a classmate: sense of humor, intelligence, strong analytic
abilities, a strong sense of self and direction in life, high motivation
level, natural and unpretentious, and interesting perspectives on his life
experiences.  Even when discussing a trip he took with a cousin to China,
the analytical portion of his mind kicks in when he describes how strange
it was to be able to map theory (e.g., Communism tends to destroy worker
motivation) with actual practice (e.g., noticing the sheer number of people
laying around suntanning on a crowded Beijing street one Monday afternoon)
and come away with an epiphany--synth!  esis, mapping theory and practice
together!  It's a rare thing.  Alexander Franklin is a rare candidate: he
could grow in the rich College environment, but he could also give a lot
back.  I wish more of my classmates had been less sure of their own
opinions and more open to admitting that they didn't know, but wanted to
find out, the 'truth'--Alexander is already there.  An extraordinary
candidate; an entertaining and pleasurable interview; a clear admit."


I smiled when I finished reading.  This really was a love letter; nothing
in it would need to be pared off.  It was a glowing recommendation,
something I almost never gave.  But, it was all true, now that I think back
on it.  I knew I had affection for Alex, but I could see that I hadn't
colored anything differently in the report because I had had a
proto-hard-on forming in my pants.  But, now that I had seen Alex in a
vulnerable position, I didn't feel the same kinds of lewd, sexual feelings
for him.  I felt brotherly affection: I wanted to help him because I liked
him, not because I lusted for him.  That was certainly one change that had
happened over the weekend.  I pressed send.


Still hunched forward on my desk, waiting, I finally heard Charlie's voice.
It sounded as though it were coming closer to my desk.  I opened my eyes
and rubbed them.  I had only closed my eyes for a few minutes, but I felt
slightly refreshed.  Revisiting the events of the day for a few moments,
seeing them all stacked up, I was still plagued by questions.  But, I was
glad I had found a solution to my Alex dilemma and had heard something from
Chris.  No going back on that one.

Charlie got to my desk and flashed me a questioning look.

"Yup, I'm ready to go."

I stood up and fell into step with Charlie.  We had worked together twice
before, on one case in Colorado and another local one.  He was a good guy,
funny when a laugh was required, serious when work had to get done.  He had
just been posted on an engagement outside of D.C., also starting on Monday.
I got Cincinnati and he got D.C.  Damn.

We were a few hundred steps from the elevator when I looked at one of the
offices across the way, door open.  I saw Julie, my current mentor and
someone I wanted to replace, standing, gesticulating with a sheaf of
familiar-looking papers in hand.  The ball in my stomach tightened when I
realized whose office it was: the head of Los Angeles staffing.  What was
she up to?  Was she trying to dump me as a mentee?  I hope so.  Or was it
something worse?  My overactive imagination kicked into gear again as
Charlie and I stepped onto the elevator.


To be continued.


Author's Note: I would thank everyone for their generous comments about my
story.  I appreciate hearing your comments on this story or anything else.
You can send me a message at cepes@mail.com.  I will respond to all
messages I receive.