Date: Thu, 9 Nov 2000 21:24:17 +0800
From: Lady Poetess <egiggles@moose-mail.com>
Subject: The Gentlemen's Club: Scott

THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Scott

By and copyright Lady Poetess

Visit http://www.egroups.com/group/gentlemens-club

Disclaimer
This story is fictitious and bears no resemblance to anyone dead or alive.


ONE

What was it about intelligent, charismatic people that attracted others to
them?  Scott Wolf had no idea, but he knew early that he was particularly
vulnerable to these attractive people. After all, he was born in a family
of very, very intelligent people. His father was a forefront physicist, his
mother was a prominent player in AIDS research, and his siblings were well
on their way up the academia rung. He was trained early to embrace
knowledge, to put personality and character above beauty.

   Being from a family of brains sucked big time, Scott would be the first
to admit.  Especially when he showed no talent or even capability to be
one. He could barely passed high school were not for the last moment SAT
coaching by his younger brother and sister. Scott had even tried excelling
in sports instead of academics, but alas, while he played everything from
football to gymnastics to swimming to hockey, he was an average player at
best.

   So how did one hold his head high in a family of rocket scientists,
philosophers, and biologists when one was a mere newspaper copyeditor?

   Therefore, while Scott loved his family to pieces and they him, he
dreaded the message on his answering machine that night, asking him to go
back to Dallas for a family reunion. Leslie, his youngest sister, was
graduating two years ahead of schedule from college and everyone was
expected to be there on her convocation. Another future academic (political
science this time around) had joined the ranks of the Wolves, one of the
most respected name in academics, right next to Watson and Crick, maybe
Einstein and Edison too.

   One thing he could blame his family for, though, was that they taught
him brains was sexy. His parents were god in his eyes when he was young,
and now he was still in awe with his siblings and cousins. The unfortunate
result was a spillover of his respect and craving for brains into his
social life. A fifteen year-old Scott in his school, during which his
self-esteem was completely nonexistent, he was easy meat for his swimming
coach. He also sought out the nerds.

   It was humiliating. Here he was, a jock who offered to the nerds when it
should be the other way around, and they found him too uninteresting for
anything but sex. Bye-bye self esteem, hello depression.

   But hey, here he was, twenty-eight years old and totally secure in his
affections and standing in his family. They never saw him as the stupid
family black sheep -- in fact, Mom always said his talent one day would
show. He just had to know it.

   Well, one thing was for sure, he was a stubborn sucker for pain. Here he
was, standing in the middle of a gathering of socialites, a stand-in
volunteer (some would say sucker) just because he found being in the
company of snobs more exhilarating than cocaine.

   That, and the fact that Ben Affleck was paying him two thousand bucks to
stand in for him found him here. "I will personally murder the whole lot if
I'm in their company for two minutes," Ben had declared. "I'd rather spend
the whole day inspecting Matt's private parts."

   But even two thousand dollars seemed like a bad compensation for his now
being bored to death. As was his habit, he kept his mouth shut, afraid of
making himself look like a fool among these boring yet sophisticated
people, and no one paid any attention to him.

   This was his first socialite gathering, and heck, he was starting to
think maybe it wasn't worth two thousand bucks. He called for another glass
of champagne.


Jesse Bradford was bored. The twenty-three year old son of an American
diplomat, he was well versed in the rules of the socialite circles. He had
played by the rules since he was fifteen. Propriety, image, and discretion,
the three steady pillars of society.

   Even now, his father was probably with his mistress, somebody's wife. He
could see his mother now, her eyes roaming the room for any potential
candidate for the comforts of her neglected state. Not for the rest of her
life, not even for the rest of the month, but for tonight. And she was not
alone in her exercise of futility.  Every other happily married people in
their loneliness circled each other, playing musical chairs with anyone
willing to make them forget even if for a moment the bleak meaningless life
of theirs.

   Once, he had been an enthusiastic teenager willingly accepting the
invitations of her mother's much older friends. Now, at twenty-three, he
felt fifty, old and jaded beyond reason at his life.

   It struck him as ironic, therefore, that here he was, his own eyes
straying across the room, looking for someone, anyone to help him
forget. He wondered without humor whether he and his mother would be
fighting over a male candidate tonight.

   Again, his eyes fell on the rather stocky, unsophisticated man who
looked very uncomfortable. The man had been standing at a corner,
constantly looking at his watch, as if he was waiting for a decent moment
to flee the party. Jesse couldn't blame him. He wanted to flee his life.

   Maybe they could both use a moment of forgetful bliss. After all, wasn't
that what life was all about? A moment of pleasure, ephemeral and
transient, but enough to last a lifetime? Pray God, he would find that
moment.

   He made his way towards the man, his resolution fueled by alcohol and a
sick feeling when he saw his mother walked out of the hall with his
father's best friend by her. He had to get out of here.

   "Hi," he said, standing next to the man. "I'm Jesse."

   "Scott. Hi."

   Scott apparently didn't know the rules. In fact, he looked as if he
wanted to disappear, so discomfited did he look when Jesse talked to him,
that Jesse wondered if he was that hideous to look at. He never had
complains before.  "Wanna get out of here?" he asked Scott simply, putting
on his most dazzling smile. Someone had once said that his smile was pure
tantalizing promise and mischief roguishness combined, an irresistible mix.

   "I, uh, sure," Scott said, still looked dazzled by Jesse's attention.

   Jesse hesitated, wondering if Scott was one of those silent, dull
types. But what the fuck, the night was young, and Scott didn't need to use
that mouth to speak when he was with Jesse.

   "Good, then let's get away from here," he said.


TWO

The night was still young, in fact, it was only eight in the evening. It
was hard to believe that he was at the party -- if he could call it that
-- for only an hour. Not even a full hour. It was even harder to believe
that this dazzling, utterly charming, eloquent, and attractive man --
Jesse -- was beside him in the car. Scott gave the silent man a sidelong,
discreet glance and swallowed heavily.

   He rarely gave in to impulsive actions, but tonight, he'd done just
that. Jesse offered a reckless adventure, and Scott accepted with alarming
alacrity. He knew what Jesse wanted, of course, and Scott was flattered
that the man wanted it from him. Experience had taught him that his boyish
face and shy smile attracted the brains who found him intriguing if only
for the moment. Whether he wanted to let Jesse have him, now, that was an
irresistible notion but one he knew wasn't wise.

   "Your place or mine?" Jesse asked, speaking for the first time since he
climbed into Scott's car. He lazily yet gracefully turned his head to look
at Scott. "Where are you driving me?"

   "I don't know. I don't usually do this, you know."

   "Mingling with the rich and boring, or taking in strangers for one-night
stands?"  Jesse asked. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You're wearing a
cheap suit, and I know every boring socialite and their family and kin. I'm
a socialite after all, an ambassador's son, and we all know, fuck, and hate
each other in our incestuous circle. Why were you at Elda's boring party
anyway?"

   "A friend whom I worked for paid me two thousand bucks to attend in his
place."

   "Hmm. Only a few people had the courage to defy Elda's RSVP. Brendan
Fraser was away in Italy, so he wouldn't need you as an excuse. Which left,
ah, Ben Affleck. Impressive connections you have." Jesse was now looking at
Scott with more interest that he had displayed earlier. "Who are you
really?"

   "Scott Wolf. Maybe you've heard of the Wolves? We are some sort of
socialite ourselves when it comes to the academia circle."

   "My father signed a large check to a Baio Wolf's conservatorium project
in Alaska."

   "That's my brother." Scott felt the brief, slight wistfulness when he
heard Baio's achievement. Sometimes he wished he was as smart as Baio,
sometimes. "He's saving the wolves."

   Jesse laughed, a bitter laugh that made Scott look at him in
amazement. The man wore ennui and jadedness like some proud medals of
war. Scott thought he knew self-pity, but maybe this Jesse could teach him
lessons.

   "So, what are you doing to save the world?" Jesse asked.

   Scott got asked that a lot, so often that now he could make a joke out
of his answer. "I make sure the New York Times crossword puzzle answers are
printed correctly."

   "Lucky you," Jesse answered. "So, wanna stop the car and fuck? It's been
awhile since I fucked in a car."

   Scott looked at Jesse, beautiful, tormented Jesse who could make a great
Heathcliffean hero in his sister's plays. Stubbled and disheveled, he
looked devastatingly attractive. But Scott couldn't find it in him to lust
after the man, not when he found the man's thick self-scorn so
repellent. His cock was saying otherwise, for he would have been blind not
to smell the man's cologne, a potent scent of heated skin and expensive
fragrance, or be affected by the man's charming, cocky, yet arrogant
demeanor. But his heart, his head, both were unmoved by the man's darkness.

   Weird, for here was an obviously eloquent, sophisticated, and
intelligent man who radiated charisma -- Scott's sort of guy. But Scott
found himself reluctant to play the game.

   Instead, he pitied Jesse, although he would never let the other man know
that.  Here was a man whom Scott wanted to be above all, and the man was
being more miserable than Scott. How… pathetic.

   If he wanted to play hero, he would say the last thing Jesse needed was
more meaningless one-night-stands. If he wanted to be a hero, he would try
to help Jesse this one night, at least. If he wanted to be a disgusting,
condescending saint, which he didn't want to.

   Yet, yet when he looked at his own reflection in the mirror, and
realized that fuck, in this moment, he realized exactly how lucky he was to
have a supportive, loving family who wanted and respected him
unconditionally. He would call home tomorrow and tell them yes, he would be
with them the end of next month.  Maybe he would even tell them he loved
them.

   It was a Hallmark greeting card moment. And Scott looked at Jesse, and
felt pity as well as gratitude to Jesse. The latter showed him, didn't he,
how Scott was better off, only Scott was too stupid to know it?

   Good-natured lightness bubbled in Scott as he looked ahead in his
driving. If he was grinning like an idiot, he didn't care. He was happy,
and in that moment, he had found back his long-lost self-esteem. At
occasions like this, he deserved to laugh. And so he did, startling Jesse.


Jesse stared at the man beside him. The cynical part of him wondered if
Scott was crazy, but the long dormant side of him, the mushy romantic idiot
who believed in dreams, stirred at the sight of the man laughing. He looked
at his hands clenched into fists, and he wondered why, at that moment, he
wanted to murder Scott.

   He was jealous, he realized with shock. He was jealous of Scott's
laughter.

   "Stop it," he snapped instinctively. "Shut up. Shut the fuck up!"

   "Oh, damn it," Scott said when he could stop laughing. "I'm not laughing
at you, Jesse. It's just -- damn, life is good!"

    "It isn't. Shit, I don't think I'm in the mood for fucking
anymore. Drive me back."  He might still find another fresh meat for the
night. His heart beat too fast for Scott, and his blood sang too rapidly at
the sight of Scott. It terrified him.

   Scott only smiled, and this time his eyes gleamed with mischief. Jesse's
cock and heart jumped at the sight, and Jesse's hands clenched even harder,
this time to stop them from touching Scott. Oh, but he so wanted to, damn
his stupid self.

   "Where are you taking me?" Jesse asked warily.

   "Shopping," Scott answered cheerfully.


The man was mad, Jesse told himself later. Scott's strange mood was
infectious, and they caused Jesse to max out his credit card. Their first
stop was the records store, where Jesse's instinctive heading to the
classical and new wave section was halted when Scott placed his hand on
Jesse's shoulder and directed him to the pop section. Jesse was too stunned
at the touch and the fever that surged through him at that touch to
protest.

   So there he found himself listening to everyone from the Spice Girls to
Nelle to Britney Spears. Scott just wanted to purchase the new Matchbox 20
CD, and he ended up waiting, bemused, as Jesse listened and agonized over
the Spice Girls, Christina Aguilera, or Nelle. It was embarrassing, he,
Jesse Bradford, classical music enthusiast, was going all crazy over
lightweight pop music. He ended up with twenty new CDs -- he didn't care,
he took every CD on the Billboard Top 20 Albums Chart that week.

   And he startled himself when he forced Scott to play the Ruff Endz CD in
the car.

   It was Scott's crazy mood -- it was infecting him too.

   Such as when he found himself in a club called Abracadabra, staring in
disgust at the largest submarine sandwich he had ever seen, liberally
coated with unhealthy mayonnaise and ketchup. This club was a far cry from
the crystallized atmosphere of the five-star restaurants he frequented, it
was loud, it was jam- packed with obviously middle-class New Yorkers after
a hard week's work, and it was disturbingly informal in the dress code and
mood. Even Scott had left his suit in the car, and Jesse felt a fool in his
full suit.

   His growling stomach told him he was hungry, and even as he felt queasy
at the liberal greasiness of the sandwich, he took a bite.

   "I never know you have such disgusting table manners," Scott commented
when Jesse finished the second serving of fries.

   Jesse made to answer, but he was cut off when a guy greeted Scott and
rudely took a seat around Scott. He wanted to protest at the intrusion of
this moment -- damn, it was supposed to be just he and Scott, right? --
but Scott's warm greeting to the man told Jesse that Scott might not
appreciate that.

   And why was he feeling this strange hurt inside him at the possibility
that Scott might prefer this stranger's company to his?

   He had to be going mad, he had to be. Especially when he felt this crazy
urge to burst into tears when Scott laughed at something the other man
said.

   "Jesse, this is Brian, who'll be singing soon after. Say hi, Bri," Scott
was saying.

   "Hi." After the obligatory nicety, Brian turned his attention back to
Scott. "So, Rich is down with a bad throat and Rupert will kill me if I
don't sing tonight."

   Jesse wasn't used to being ignored, and he realized the feeling sucked.

   "No, I don't, I can't sing," Scott was saying.

   "I can't reach the notes, not with my own bad throat," Brian was
saying. "And you know the words to the song."

   Jesse shocked them all by saying, "I can do it."


So here he was, standing at the stage, looking at many, many faces that
looked as if they had no idea what to make out of this crazy-looking joker
on stage. He panicked, of course, for his volunteering was a purely
instinctive reaction to being ignored. So here he was, trapped into a
corner.

   Brian grinned at him as he sat beside, slightly behind Jesse.

   "Why can't I sit?" Jesse asked.

   "That's because you're not the one playing the guitar," Brian said
cheerfully.

   Jesse found himself warming up to the man. He now knew why Brian looked
familiar -- the man was Brendan Fraser's infamous assistant and (some
whispered) key industrial saboteur. "I can't do this," he told Brian.

   "Scared?" Brian taunted.

   "Yeah."

   Brian smiled, and mercilessly played the first few chords on the
guitar. The crowd clapped, and Jesse wanted to sink down into the floor.

   "It seems Jesse James has forgotten the words," Brian told the crowd,
who laughed.

   And the Bradford pride, long submerged under his nervousness at this
strange environment, resurfaced full force. The crowd clapped, and Brian
later admitted that it was, well, a decent show. But Jesse wasn't
listening. He was trying to sort out his feelings, such as why he felt as
if had just saved the world when Scott smiled and clapped for him, or why,
during his singing, he found his eyes looking straight at Scott, unable to
look away, unable to be certain whether when he was singing about
heartbreaks, he wasn't singing to Scott.



"I got corrupted by pop music, I ate enough greasy food to last me a
lifetime, and I sang a stupid love song. If they could see me now," Jesse
said.

   The man's voice had changed sometime during that night, Scott realized.
Jesse no longer sounded as if he viewed everything through cynical eyes,
for now at least. This Jesse was happily munching on a muffin bought from a
7-11, looking as if he was a happy-going, down-to-earth charmer of a man. A
man whom Scott found frighteningly attractive.

   And he was also afraid. Jesse had told Scott anything and everything,
and it only showed Scott how wrong Jesse was for him. Jesse had been all
over the world, seen everything and done everything. Jesse read books Scott
had never heard of and listened to tasteful classical stuff. The man knew
things, knew about all those strange and mysterious things about the world,
politics, geography, people, and ways of the world only the rich and
cosmopolitan knew. He terrified Scott, his intelligence and charisma were
an aphrodisiac to Scott.

   "Why aren't you eating? This muffin's good. I will never pay those
exorbitant café prices again." Jesse was taking to his introduction to
7-11 goods very well indeed.

   "I'm on a diet," Scott confessed sheepishly, charmed at the sight of
this new Jesse despite himself. "It's my family curse. If I don't watch
what I eat, I will balloon up."

   "Ah. You'll look cute fat," Jesse said.

   Scott couldn't laugh, because Jesse said it as if he meant it.

   "Okay, get in," he said, grateful that they had reached his car. "I'll
drive you home."

   "I don't want to go home," Jesse said.

   "Then where do you want to go?" Why did Scott feel strangely pleased at
Jesse's declaration?

   "I don't know," Jesse answered, looking away, seemingly deflated. "Very
well, take me home."



"Do you believe in love?" Jesse asked Scott later.

   "My parents are happily married," Scott answered. "I'd be crazy not to,
not with living proof under my eyes."

   They were standing outside Jesse's door. And both were reluctant to
leave, taking this conversation as an excuse to linger. If they were
attracted to each other, they dared not acknowledge it, Jesse out of
wariness and Scott out of self- preservation.

   "Have you ever been in love?" Jesse asked, lifting his brow
cynically. Shades of the old Jesse were coming back.

   "No. I thought I had been a few times, and maybe I did love them, but
they didn't love me back. Big deal. Sometimes I try to tell myself that
love doesn't exist, but I'm stubborn. I keep waiting, hoping, maybe one day
love will come knocking at my door, and I would be there to answer it."
Scott realized he was standing too close to Jesse, and tried to take a step
back. He couldn't, drawn to Jesse's body heat and presence.

   And Jesse, damn him, took a step closer.

   "I don't know whether to call you optimistic or stupid. Not that there's
any difference between both, is there?" Jesse asked softly.

   "Goodnight Jesse," Scott said gently.

   Jesse hesitated and then said, "Thanks." Another hesitation. "I'll be
leaving for Moscow tomorrow night." Now why did he mention that?

   Scott didn't know why, maybe because of the promise that he would never
see Jesse again, but he did it nonetheless. He kissed Jesse then. A gentle
brush of lips, a too-brief moment of yearning acknowledged, but it felt as
if Scott had just kissed fire.

   "Goodnight," he said again even as his lust surged forth, almost making
him lose control. He had to get out of here.

   "Goodnight," Jesse parroted softly, sounding confused and unhappy.

   Scott, the coward he was, fled.



THREE

Jesse wasn't listening to what his mother was saying. He didn't care
anymore, he realized. He looked instead at his luggage, all neatly packed
for tonight's flight to Moscow, where he would then spend the next few
weeks in ennui. He didn't want to go. He couldn't bear living his life that
way anymore.

   He was actually contemplating getting a job, he realized. Maybe it was
time to accept New York Times' offer as a staff reviewer in the
entertainment pages. And he would see Scott at a daily basis. They could
meet over lunch. They could -- they could -- what could they do?

   Ignoring his mother, he picked up his cell phone. Ignoring her indignant
gasp, he walked away from her and made to dial Scott's number. Only to
curse when he realized he never knew the man's number.



It was ten and Jesse would have left by now. Probably that was for the
best, Scott told himself. When had a brain ever found him worth his time?
None, probably never.

   "You're thinking of him again, aren't you?" Rupert Everett said quietly.

   Scott was sitting on a swing at the playground near his apartment and
Rupert was pushing him. A stupid, kid-like gesture on both their part, but
Rupert had just broken up with his boyfriend and Scott was miserable and
lonely. This was cheaper than therapy.

   "He is so much different from me," Scott said simply.

   "You know, I can spend the night with you," Rupert said. "Who knows,
maybe good for the both of us, a night of meaningless sex."

   Scott laughed without humor. "You just want a rebound affair."

   "And you are always so afraid of being used." Rupert sighed. "So how on
earth do we cheer up?"

   "Well, for one, you can fuck off and leave Scott alone," came a voice
that made Scott jumped inside. Jesse walked into sight, looking feral yet
incongruously holding a bouquet of roses. "He's mine."

   Rupert made an amused snort. "Think I should go, Scott?"

   Scott didn't know what to say. Maybe he should just stop
fighting. "Sure, fuck off buddy. You'll get your meaningless sex somewhere
else, I've no doubt."

   "Oh, don't bet on it." Rupert took his time, dusting his trousers and
giving Jesse a mock salute before walking away to his car.


"I'm jealous," Jesse said. He stood there, hadn't moved since Rupert left,
and Scott was getting nervous. It was as if Jesse was gathering his temper
for a big explosion. "I want to kill him when he asked to fuck you. I don't
believe it. I'm actually being possessive about you, a man I just met last
night."

   Scott didn't know how to answer that, so he kicked himself into
swinging.

   Jesse finally walked up to him, and placed his hand on Scott's shoulder,
halting him. The touch burned. And then he kissed the curve of Scott's
neck, just a brush of heated lips along burning skin, and Scott stopped
breathing. "Why?" he asked Jesse brokenly -- he needed to know. Why he?

   "Does it matter?" Jesse breathed into Scott's ear.

   "Yes." Scott closed his eyes as Jesse's breath, warm on his skin, warmed
him like nothing would. It would be so easy, so foolish, to give in to the
illusion that now, nothing mattered but Jesse.

   "Then okay, I can't go back to living my old life. It's your fault. I
blame you, and I should hate you for it. But I don't." Jesse chuckled, this
time with genuine humor. "All I wanted is meaningless sex. Why do I have to
meet you instead?"

   "I don't know what to say, Jesse. We are so different, and I -- "

   "Just say yes. Look, I don't care if you're not the smartest bastard on
earth. All I'm asking is for you to give me a chance to work something out
with you. That's all. Please?"

   He was never a smart man, but this time Scott didn't care. Not when
Jesse was whispering to him, looking at him this way, as if he was someone
Jesse respected and cared for. What could he say? He never had a choice,
had he?

   "Yes," he said. It was like a benediction, or a fatal seal of his fate.

   Either way, he never had a chance.



He kissed Scott as if he was drowning. Scott was drowning himself, lost
since the first touch of Jesse's hand on his naked chest. Years of trying
battle his weight made him awkward and hesitant in having his shirt
unbuttoned, until Jesse just grinned and kissed him. He couldn't fight the
man then, not when the man was kissing him, touching him, those dexterous
fingers unfastening buttons and belt until Scott didn't know until too late
that he was entirely laid bare to Jesse's scrutiny.

   He wasn't a well-muscled man, for he always had the layer of puppy fat
he never outgrew. Still, Jesse touched him as if he was beautiful, the hand
trembling slightly as if Jesse was the one nervous here.

   "I'm actually very nervous," Jesse said, confirming Scott's puzzled
thoughts. "I don't want to screw this up."

   "That's okay," Scott said. "There's no shame in having no prior
experience before this."

   "Bastard." Jesse laughed, his voice low and breathy in his state of
mind, and pounced playfully on Scott.

   Scott laughed too, but he lost all common sense when Jesse's mouth found
his. It was all instinct when he touched, kissed, and felt. He let his
tongue taste Jesse's lips, tasting slight cigarette leftovers and chewing
gum. And when Jesse stood up to remove a pack of condoms from his pocket,
Scott pulled him back down, his mouth closing over Jesse's cock.

   "Hey watch it with your teeth, I only got one of that thing," Jesse
said, trying to tear open the silver foil, not easy considering he was
getting the blow job of his life. Finally, in frustration, he used his
teeth -- "Got it!" -- and tore the fucking thing open. "Now, put it on
and fuck me!" he said, throwing the rubber at Scott.

   Scott grinned and put on the rubber. He wasn't a big man, but hell, he
was a thick one. Jesse bit back a yelp when he penetrated that man,
shuddering visibly when Scott started forging deep, tearing him open like
he never had been before.  Jesse convulsed around that cock, lost in pain
and pleasure, and Scott started thrusting then.

   He wanted to go slow so that Jesse could enjoy it as much as he. But one
dip into that tight, heated, wet sheath enclosing his cock, he was lost. He
pumped hard, lost in his need for completion, and Jesse urged him on,
clasping his legs around his torso hard, until he came in a blinding rush
of pleasure.

   Dazed, he could only chuckle weakly as Jesse straddled him, his still
hard cock inches from Scott's lips. Scott opened his mouth gladly, and
Jesse plunged home.



"So we finally did it. We fucked, and I say we did it well. Better than
well." Jesse grinned and jumped onto the bed. "You got any good shows I can
watch?"

   Scott trailed the man into the bedroom, wiping his still wet hair from
the recent shower. "You're not going home?" he asked tentatively.

   "Are you always this good with after-sex talks?" Jesse asked with raised
eyebrows. "Or do you just want me out of your house? No, I'm not going
home. I don't think I want to, not for the time being." He grinned at
Scott. "Unless you want to move in with me? I have lots of space."

   "What about Moscow?"

   "There's always next month. Year. Whatever. While you, my dear Scott,
comes by only one every while. I'd be a fool to let you get away."

   Scott didn't dare hope. He just stood there, naked and uncertain of what
to say as he stared at Jesse. "You do know what you are saying, don't you?"

   "Yeah, I know. Ah, A-ha. Loved that group when I was a teen in the
80's."  Jesse placed the CD onto the player. "I love this song," he said,
acting calm as if he hadn't just told Scott that he wanted Scott as a part
of his life.

   Fuck A-ha, fuck 'Take On Me', fuck the 80's. Scott jumped onto the bed
and gripped Jesse's face between his hands. At the background, someone was
singing 'Take on me, take me home'. How apt. "Don't fuck with me. I am not
a sex toy," he yelled at Jesse, memories of being dumped by a series of
nerds and brains haunting him.

   "Relax. I'm a smart man," Jesse said. "Take on me, Scott. I'll prove to
you I'm the real thing."

   "It's just two days," Scott said.

   "So? Make it two months and then we'll renegotiate, how's that?"

   Jesse grinned, his eyes, free from cynicism and self-effacing
bitterness, telling Scott the truth where his deliberately nonchalant voice
tried not to. He cared for me, Scott thought -- Jesse cared for him, and
saw him as someone to be envied, loved, and to laugh with.

   It was humbling, and it was exhilarating.

   And for the second time in two days, Scott started to laugh.

   "Now, about you coming once a while, let's put that to test," Jesse
began to say, his hand reaching for Scott. Scott was only too happy to
comply.



 FOUR

"You look happy," Jessica Wolf told her son. "Scott, I'm happy for you."

   "Cut it out, Ma, I was happy before," Scott said, embarrassed when his
mother hugged him hard. "I have to see that the soup gets heated in time."

   "Come join us in the hall. Nan can see to the soup."

   Scott tried to stay out of family conversations where he would
inadvertently get lost in. He never could keep up and he never had anything
to share or contribute.  "I'll see you in a few minutes," he said this
time.

   Why not? His family adored Jesse, who was every bit at home with the
too- intelligent Wolves. He made them all laugh with his wit and easy
anecdotes about everything and anything, and Scott couldn't help but to be
entranced at this Jesse, the ambassador's son who had seen everything,
tried everything, and grew bored with everything.

   "To your lovely Scott, who showed me the pleasures of a greasy
hamburger, the plebian joys of a rap CD, and who taught me that being
cynical and jaded is a most boring and uncool way of life," he had
announced earlier that day in a silly toast. "Scott, three weeks and
counting."

   It was embarrassing, but Jesse was displaying an alarming tendency to
melodramatic displays of affections. The other day he actually bought a
$20,000 electric guitar belonging to some dead rocker and announced that he
was going to learn how to play that thing or die trying. What did you know,
Jesse harbored dreams of becoming Van Halen.

   Scott, much to his bemusement, was finding himself the practical and
smart one in their relationship.

   "He does have his flamboyant ways," Jessica was saying. "But he makes a
great addition to the family."

   "Mom, we're only together for three weeks!"

   Jessica shrugged. "Then you better go out and correct that young man,
because from what I gather, he intends to keep this thing going as long as
he could. I hate to see him hurt. Besides, he's the first guy of yours who
actually asks your opinions on things. Can't hurt to keep him, I'd say."

   Scott grinned. "Yeah," he said. "I really like him, Mom."

   "And I like you too." Jesse stood at the doorway. "Now come on, don't
hide in the kitchen. Introduce me to your cousins. And Jessica, you don't
mind me calling you Mum, don't you? Scott, stop staring and come on!"

   When Jesse wanted, he got. Scott gladly went. Dear mad, crazy Jesse, and
dear God, let him stay that way. With a silent prayer of thanks and hope,
Scott gladly placed his hand in Jesse's.

   "You know, I had a good feeling that your family likes me. I always
wanted a big family," Jesse said, his enthusiasm infectious. "I love you
Scott."

   The quiet pronouncement threw Scott off-balance, but only for a
moment. At that moment, Scott knew: he knew that all along. Somehow, he
trusted Jesse, reckless, mad, crazy Jesse, God help him. It was now or
never, he told himself -- step back or jump off the cliff.

   He looked at Jesse's eyes, hesitated one more time (old habits died
hard), and jumped.