Date: Mon, 22 Sep 2008 14:30:15 -0400
From: ronyx <ronyx@woh.rr.com>
Subject: A Bridge to Yesterday  Chapter 2

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to anyone are purely
coincidental. The story is intended for a mature audience. It may contain
profanity and references to gay sex. If this offends you, please leave and
find something more suitable to read. The author maintains all rights to
the story. Do not copy or use without written permission. Write Ron at
ronyx@themustardjar.com with your comments. Ronyx is a prolific Nifty
writer.



A Bridge to Yesterday         Chapter 2



The two boys across from me were sitting uncomfortably in their
seats. Jason Thompson unconsciously reached down and grabbed Travis
Armstrong's hand and squeezed it gently. He quickly let go when he saw me
look down at their entwined hands.

"It's alright, Boys," I assured them with a gentle smile.

"Are you going to suspend us?" Travis asked with tears in his eyes. Jason
placed his hand on his knee and squeezed it.

"Why should you be treated any differently than other students?" I saw a
look of relief appear on their faces.

I looked down and reread the disciplinary note that Coach Arnold, the gym
teacher, had angrily thrust into my hand the previous afternoon.

"I demand these boys be expelled!" He had shouted as he paced angrily
around the room. Earlier in the day he had caught Jason and Travis kissing
in the locker room after all the other boys had left. According to the
report, both boys were dressed and it was apparent they were leaving the
locker room when the incident occurred.

I had been more upset with Coach Arnold's reaction than I was with the
boys' behavior.

When he referred to them as fags, I reacted immediately. I informed him
that he was being given a written reprimand and I ordered him to take a
sensitivity class that the school district held on Saturday mornings.

"That's outrageous!" He shouted. "I'll be damned if I do that!"

"If you don't," I said calmly, "then you'll be given a one-day unpaid leave
of absence."

"What!" He approached me as if he was going to hit me. "Those faggots kiss
in the locker room and you're going to discipline me?"

"That will be two sensitivity classes," I said angrily. "Would you like to
go for three?"

He tried to stare me down, but I defiantly stood my ground. I'd been
dealing with homophobes like him all my life, so I was prepared for his
reactions. After a minute, he turned and stormed out of the room. "What's
this goddamned world coming to?" He muttered angrily as he slammed the door
behind him.

"You have the same punishment as any other students who exhibit
inappropriate conduct that violates the school code," I informed Jason and
Travis.

"Two nights of after-school detention?" Jason asked.

"Yes," I said. "But that can be waived."

"Waived?" Travis asked. "How?"

I thumbed through their records that were on my desk. They waited nervously
while I read through them, looking up occasionally.

"You are very impressive students," I finally spoke. "Marching band, tennis
team and reporters for the school newspaper. You seem to be very active in
extracurricular activities."

"Yes, Sir," Travis replied. "It keeps us out of trouble."

"Obviously not enough." Their faces turned red with embarrassment when they
realized that I was referring to the kissing incident. "Perhaps you need
another activity."

"Another activity?" They said in unison. I sat back in my chair and put my
hands behind my neck. I smiled when Travis reached down and held Jason's
hand. It was obvious they felt relaxed around me.

"For some time I've wanted to form a Gay Student's Alliance here at
Southwestern," I said. "I think I've found the perfect students to help me
organize it."

"Are you serious?" Travis released Jason's hand and sat on the edge of his
seat facing me. I could tell he was interested in the idea.

"Are you both out?"

They looked at each other and then nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"To your parents also?" I knew I couldn't ask them to take on such an
assignment if it would risk trouble at home.

"Yes, Sir." Jason responded. "We've been dating for two years. We told our
parents when we realized we were in love with each other."

"Wonderful," I said. They grinned and reached again for each other's
hand. I pulled out a desk drawer, took out a packet and handed it to
Travis.

"I've done some research and I've contacted the State Board of
Education. This is everything you'll need to start a chapter here at
Southwestern." I watched as they looked over the material.

"I don't need an answer right now," I said.

"No, Sir!" Travis said excitedly. "We'll do it!" Jason nodded his head in
agreement.

"Do you think there will be other students who would be interested?"

Both boys began laughing. "Dr. Carpenter," laughed Jason. "Do you have any
idea how many gay and lesbian students there are around here?"

I smiled. "Well, I haven't taken a survey lately."

"Don't worry," Travis assured me. "We'll probably have one of the largest
chapters in the state."

Jason pointed to a page he was holding. "It says here we need a faculty
advisor. Do you think you could do it?"

I sat back and laughed. "I don't have enough time to do all the things I
need to do now. I'd love to, but I just can't." Both boys disappointedly
slumped back in their chairs.

"If you don't do it," said Travis sadly, "then I doubt we can get anyone
else. Who is going to help a bunch of gay kids?"

"He's probably going to kill me," I answered tentatively, "but why don't
you ask Mr. Wendelmeirer?"

"Giant?" Travis asked excitedly. I had to repress a smile.

"He won't if you call him that," I chastised him.

"I'm sorry," He replied. "I have Mr. Wendelmeirer for American Literature
third period. He's a cool teacher. Do you really think he'll do it?"

"You won't know until you ask him," I said. "But I think you can rely on
him."

"This is great!" Both boys jumped from their chairs and hugged one
another. They then came around my desk and wrapped their arms around me.

"You're the greatest, Dr. Carpenter," said Travis. "We can't wait to get
started on this."

"You have my complete support," I assured them. "If you encounter any
problems from anyone, and I mean anyone, student or staff, then you come to
me."

"Thanks, Dr. Carpenter." Jason said appreciatively.

"What about the detention?" Travis asked. Jason nudged him in his
side. "Umph."

"I think we can forget about that," I smiled. "But be more careful in
school. Keep your amorous behavior behind your bedroom doors." I laughed
when they began to blush.

They gave me another quick hug and then left my office. I walked out and
watched them talking animatedly as they walked down the hall. I felt
satisfied that one of the goals I had set when I became principal was
finally going to happen.


***************

"Mr. Albright, I think we have a serious problem." I was sitting across the
desk from Mr. Solomon Jefferson, CEO of Amalgamated Biotech Research
Laboratories. An hour earlier I had been called by his secretary and told
to report to his office. "We have seen an eight percent drop in sales in
your division the past two quarters."

He pushed a folder across his desk to me. I took it and thumbed through
it. I was familiar with the numbers, but I didn't want to be appear to be
to dismissive. Phil Hanson, my sales analyst, had shown me the figures a
few days earlier.

I looked across the desk at the tall, domineering man. ABRL was one of the
most profitable prescription drug distributors in the country, and it was
only because of the proficient reputation of the man now glaring at me.

"What's the matter, Gene?" He asked almost fatherly, even though he was
three years younger than me. "At one time you were my most adept salesman."
I tried to hold his gaze, but then looked away, reading the various plaques
on the wall. My office was also adorned with achievement awards, but they
had been declining over the past couple of years. I heard papers being
turned as he continued to thumb through the folder.

"You missed two major meetings," he continued, "one in Los Angeles and
another in Chicago. It cost our company millions when the contracts were
awarded to one of our biggest competitors. Would you like to explain that
to me?"

What was to say? I had gotten drunk the night before in a bar, and after
staggering back to my room, I fell asleep, missing my appointments. While I
slept, the company had taken major losses.

After several more minutes, he shut the folder. There was an awkward
silence as I sensed he was trying to analyze the reasons for my declining
performance.

"I think you need a vacation," he stated. I looked up only to see a
disappointed look on his face. "I'm appointing Sarah Livingston to take
over as interim district manager."

"I don't want a vacation," I insisted. "I'm in a slump. We all go through
it."

"But they don't cost the company millions of dollars," he said
sharply. "I've made my decision."

I knew it was senseless to argue with the Solomon T. Jefferson. I had sat
in too many meetings and watched his stubborn determination once he had
made up his mind on a matter. To argue would only cause more wrath and the
possibility of losing my job.

"How long a vacation?" I asked dejectedly. He sat back in his chair and
interlaced his hands behind his head.

"Until you sober up," he said adamantly. I looked at him in amazement. I
had always thought that my drinking was something that was unknown to
others. Around my coworkers I only drank in moderation. It was the long,
lonely hours on the road that I drank heavily.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked challengingly. He pulled out a desk
drawer and pushed another folder across the desk. With shaking hands, I
reached for it and began scanning through the report.

"You had me followed?" I asked angrily. Mr. Jefferson looked defiantly at
me.

"You were costing the company millions," he explained. "I had to know why."

I looked back down at the report. It had dates and locations of bars I had
frequented. Even I was amazed at the frequency and duration of my drinking
episodes. There were several pictures of me sitting in a drunken stupor on
a bar stool.

"Take a couple of weeks," he said, again in a fatherly manner. "Check into
a rehab center and get yourself dried out. You're too good a salesman to
lose to the bottle."

I slumped down in my chair weighing my options. My first thought was to
quit. I was angry that he had hired someone to follow me around the
country, and even take pictures of me in bars. But then I realized that no
one would hire an alcoholic who had cost his last employer millions of
dollars because of his drinking binges.

I also thought of Tina. We were living rather comfortably. I had little
else to offer her other than stability and a certain social status within
our community. I realized her reputation as an attorney would be tarnished
by having an unemployed, alcoholic husband.

I sighed and rose from my seat. I extended my hand to Mr. Jefferson. "Thank
you, Sir. I'll do what I have to do." I wasn't sure of the meaning of those
words, but he seemed satisfied.

"Take a couple of week, Gene." He replied. "See a doctor and get some
counseling. I'm sure they'll get to the bottom of why you feel the need to
drink."

His words stung. I released his hand as if I had been electrocuted by a
surging bolt of electricity. He gave me a puzzled look.

Bottom of why I need to drink? Need to drink? Did I need to drink? If so,
why? I drank to forget, but I had hidden the reason away to the back
recesses of my mind.

A kiss. It was just a stupid kiss on a night eighteen years ago. One
kiss. Yet it was that kiss that obsessed me. Tormented me. That one kiss
had ruined my life, but gave me the greatest memory. A cherished memory. A
lonely memory.

Tina was home when I arrived. As usual, she was in her office going through
legal briefs.

"Hi, Honey," she smiled as I stuck my head in the door. I entered and sat
down in the leather wing back chair in the corner of the room.

"What's wrong?" She asked. I only entered her office when something
pressing was on my mind. Normally, we'd avoid each other until dinner time.

"How would you like to go on a vacation?" I tried to sound upbeat. "You've
wanted to go to Spain for years." She sat back and stared at me. Like
Jefferson earlier, I could tell she was trying to figure out what had
brought on my sudden suggestion for a vacation. I'd spent the past four
years trying to find excuses not to go.

"What happened?"

"What do you mean, what happened?" I asked indignantly. "I asked you if you
wanted to go to Spain. Christ, you've been after me for years to go. I
thought you'd be happy."

"Your secretary called earlier." I noticed a look of disgust appear on her
face. "She told me about your meeting with Mr. Jefferson."

"That bitch!" I spat. I stood and approached Tina. "She couldn't wait to
let you know, could she?"

"It wasn't Miss Evans fault," Tina replied. "She mentioned that you had a
meeting earlier with Mr. Jefferson, and I coaxed it out of her."

"Always doing a cross-examination, huh?" I said angrily. "So you know. I'm
a failure." I sat down and placed my head in my hands. Tina walked over and
placed her hand on my shoulder. Instinctively, I stood, pulling her hand
away.

"You're not a failure, Gene." Her eyes were becoming wet with tears.

"Yes, I am," I shouted. "I've been a failure for years." I walked over to
the window and looked out across the manicured backyard. "I've failed you,
the company, and myself."

I walked over, took her hands in mine and looked into her eyes. "I'll
always love you, Tina. No matter what happens, I've always loved you."

I then turned and left the room. I could hear her shouting my name from the
front door as I got in my car and sped away.

"Here." The bartender pushed a drink in front of me. It looked like a gin
and tonic. I was still holding a similar drink in my hand.

"I didn't order that." I said. "I'm still drinking this one." I held up the
glass and showed him that it was nearly full.

"The guy over there did." I looked on the other side of the bar, and a guy,
perhaps in his early thirties, smiled and held up his glass.

"Tell him I don't want it," I replied as I shoved the drink back to the
bartender. He shrugged his shoulders and then moved over to the other side
of the bar and said something to the other guy.

I hate this bar, but I find myself coming here often. It's called the
Mr. G's, a gay corner bar. The clientele is an older crowd, and they don't
attract the younger guys. I don't know why I'm drawn to it, but when I'm
really depressed I find myself here. I guess it's my way of reminding
myself just who I am.

There's the sound of soft jazz playing in the background. I discovered that
if I just sit at the bar, I lose myself. That is, until some guy approaches
me and tries to hit on me. Just like the guy who ordered me a drink.

I don't know why I come here. I'm not looking for anything, or anyone. I've
turned down countless guys, simply because they aren't him. I can't imagine
being with anyone but him.

It's a strange feeling. I know I'm gay, but I don't want to be with other
men. Only him. I am repulsed when another guy approaches me, places his
hand on my ass, and then asks if I'm looking for some fun. I remember the
softness of his lips, and I feel I'd betray him to be with someone else.

"What's the matter?" I am startled by the deep voice speaking next to
me. "I thought you were drinking gin and tonic."

"I'm not interested," I say rudely. I'm hoping he'll get the hint and leave
me alone. I look over at him. He's an attractive guy, not like most of the
men who approach me. They are usually about twenty years my senior. A
couple even had the nerve to offer me money to have sex with them.

"Rodney Graham." He extends his hand to me. I tentatively take it and
shake.

"Gene Albright."

"I really don't bite," he laughs. "But I will if you want me to." His smile
is infectious. His teeth are perfect and glistening white. His face is
tanned and handsome. I would guess he's probably a few years younger than
me. He has brown eyes and light brown hair, cut short. He has on an
expensive tailored suit, and his silk tie is loosened. He seems confident,
but not arrogant.

"Well, Mr. Gene Albright," he smiles. "How about that drink?" Our eyes
meet, and I can see a playful glimmer coming from them.

"Sure," I relent. "Why not."

"Good." He motions for the bartender. "Hey, Dwight. How about another drink
for my friend, Gene?" The bartender raises an eyebrow. He seems surprised
that I'm letting someone buy me a drink.

I sit nervously as he lets his eyes roam over my body. "How come I've never
noticed you before?"

"I don't come in here often," I offer.

"Wifey let you out tonight?" He grabs my hand and holds up my ring
finger. I pull my hand quickly away.

"Not exactly." I say indignantly.

"It's alright," he assures me. He holds up his hand I shows me his wedding
band.

"I'm sneaking out tonight myself," he laughs. "Does she know?"

"Know what?"

"That you mess around?"

"I don't mess around." I said defiantly.

"Sure, Buddy. Whatever you say." The bartender returns with our drinks and
we sit quietly for several minutes. Finally, Rodney turns and faces me.

"Look, Gene." He apologizes. "I'm sorry if I offended you." He lets his
eyes roam over my body again. "It's just that good-looking guys like you
don't come in here too often."

"Thanks," I said appreciatively. "Look, Rodney. I'm not looking for any
action."


"Who said I wanted any?" His brown eyes bore into mine. "You looked like
you could use a friend. Maybe I judged you wrong." He started to rise from
the bar stool. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"I'm sorry." I said. "It's just been a bad day."

"How about telling me about it over dinner?" I hesitated before
answering. My initial reaction was to reject his offer, but I felt
comfortable being with him. Maybe it was the fact that like me, he was
married. Maybe it had something to do with him saying he wasn't interested
in having sex with me.

I was surprised when my mouth uttered, "Yes, sure." A wide smile appeared
on his face.

"Good." He reached down and grabbed my hand. I pulled it away
quickly. "Sorry." He apologized when he realized that he had gone too
far. As we were walking out of the bar, he started to put his hand on my
back, but he quickly removed it. For some reason, I didn't think I would
have minded if he had kept it there.

I found dinner enjoyable. We ended up at an upscale steak house downtown. I
had followed him in his car, and we parked in a parking garage nearby. On
the way to the restaurant, I couldn't help but notice that he always seemed
to want to touch me.

Our conversation started out getting the usual pleasantries out of the
way. Rodney owned one of the largest car dealerships in the area. He had
inherited it when his father had a heart attack two years ago and was
forced by his cardiologist to retire.

"You're the guy who does all those crazy commercials on television?"

"Dressing up like a sheik and saying you'll find an oasis at Graham Ford is
not crazy."

"Yes it is," I laughed. "I have to admit, though, I did find the commercial
extremely hot."

"Oh, really?" He raised his eyebrows flirtatiously.

Rodney also told me that his wife's name was Greta. She was German. Like
me, he had met her in college. They had been married twelve years, and he
had two daughters, 9 and 11.

"Does she know you're gay?" I asked.

"She suspects, but I think she really doesn't want to know the answer," he
confided. It made me wonder if Tina felt the same way. She had to wonder
why I know longer found her sexually appealing. I guess the last thing a
wife would suspect is that the man she loved was gay.

Rodney looked at his watch. "It's almost midnight. Why don't we go across
the street and check into the Marriott?"

"I can't do that," I stammered nervously. "Besides, don't you have to get
home to Greta?"

"She's visiting her sister," he replied. "She took the girls with her."

"I really have to go." I started to get up, but he grabbed my arm.

"Look, Gene," he pleaded. "I've really enjoyed your company. You're the
first guy in a long time I've enjoyed being around. I just don't want the
night to end."

He watched me fidget nervously in my seat. "Wait here," he said as he
walked away. He walked about fifteen feet, pulled out his cell phone and
began talking. After a minute, he walked back over and sat down.

"I'm leaving now," he announced. "I'm going over to the hotel. I just
reserved a room. He took out a pen and wrote on his napkin. He folded it
and placed it in front of me.

"Here's my room number." His eyes met mine. They were filled with
anticipation. "I'll be up about another hour." He called the waiter over
and paid for our meal. I insisted on paying, but he refused.

"You can buy next time," he replied slyly. "That's the only way I know I
may see you again." He rose and I watched as he ambled across the street
and disappeared inside the double doors of the hotel. I walked back to my
car and headed out onto the street.

I was about six blocks away, when I turned right and circled back
downtown. Before I realized it, I was standing nervously before Room 3442.

***********************************

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