Date: Thu, 13 May 2004 19:21:50 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <quasito_cat@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Graschels of Guenther Street - Chapter Two

Pertinent information is listed at the beginning of
this series.

The Graschels of Guenther Street

M.C. Gordon


Chapter Two

     Deet showed Herbert Milhauser and Eric through
the house on Guenther Street.  "It's always been in
the family," he said proudly for many of the historic
homes gone through several changes of ownership.  "The
family fortune went through a series of setbacks
because of fluctuations in the economy and my parents
turned it into a bed and breakfast when I was a kid.
We lived in the old servant quarters on the third
floor.  I had to close it when they died because I was
working and couldn't run it.  Most of the place is
closed off now since there's only old Wolfgang any
myself living here."

     Herbert Milhauser closed his eyes and imagined
his wife's reaction had she seen the Graschel home.
Every room was filled with antique furniture, hand
crafted in Europe and worth a fortune.  Beneath the
dustcovers were dressers topped with crocheted doilies
no modern machines could begin to duplicate.  Quilts,
made with loving hands, covered the wood-frame beds.
Porcelain chamber pots and brass spittoons were
discretely placed.  Handmade lace curtains hung in the
windows.  He decided that if Dieter ever wanted to
replace any of the furnishings he'd ask if Betty could
be given first chance at bidding on the old antiques.
He figured he owed her for the years she had put up
with him working almost eighty hours a week and tried
to help, where he could, with the antique store she
had just opened.

     Eric didn't view things like Milhauser did.  He
was a child, agreeing to live with a father he'd never
known but liked instantly.  "Which one is your
bedroom?" he asked Deet.

     "I still like my old room on the top floor," Deet
replied.  "The view from the windows is nice and all
my old stuff is there, teddy bears and school
pennants.  But I don't live there now.  Getting up the
stairs is hard for Wolf so I sleep in a room that used
to be the parlor.  You can choose your own room."

     The tour continued with Milhauser noting that
there were several modern conveniences.  Each of the
six bedrooms on the second floor had a bathroom.  Two
of them, more suites than single rooms, opened onto
balconies on either side of the back of the house.

     Manuel joined them partly because Deet invited
him, partly because he didn't trust any attorney who
wasn't with his own small law firm.  He had one
partner, one associate, a paralegal, and two
secretaries.  He knew the Graschel house as well as
Deet because he'd spent many boyhood hours playing
there with his friend.  "The view is nice," he said as
he crossed one of the suites and opened the door to
the balcony.  "It's not spectacular now because it's
the middle of November, but come early summer it's
going to be.  Deet's grandmother planted a couple of
magnolia trees and his mother the confederate jasmine.
 I remember summer nights when we camped out in the
back yard.  We could smell the magnolias and jasmine."


     Milhauser joined him on the balcony and had to
admit he enjoyed the view.  The boathouse was clearly
visible.  The trees were bare but the grass was still
green and several of the rose bushes were in bloom.
He'd been in San Antonio less than a year and was
already happy that he'd taken the transfer from the
firm in Indianapolis when they bought the smaller firm
in Texas.  The senior partners had seen NAFTA as a
blessing and wanted representation in Texas.  San
Antonio had been chosen because it housed a Mexican
Consulate and he, Herbert Milhauser, had chosen
Spanish as his foreign language in high school and
college.  He was fluent in both the verbal and written
language and was a certified interpreter.  He liked
the people, and he liked the young attorney
representing Deet.  He understood the mild hostility
from Manuel because he had almost decided to give up
the long hours and pressure of being a law partner in
a high-power firm until this position was offered to
him.  He decided he wanted to be friends with the
handsome young Hispanic attorney.

     The tour continued to the third floor and
Milhauser watched Eric as the boy wandered around
Deet's old bedroom, touching everything from the
battered old engine of an HO electric train set to the
University of Texas pennants on the wall.  Scruffy
teddy bears that had seen better days were propped
against the pillows on the bed and toy soldiers lined
the edge of a bookcase containing an assortment of
books that included boy detectives, race horses, the
odd Dickens and Twain, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

     Deet saved the first floor as the last and the
group moved through an immense dining room and
kitchen, library that contained everything from
Shakespeare to Grisham, ancient Greek mythology,
anthropology and archaeology, astronomy, the history
of Texas and Mexico, and Native American works.
Herbert Milhauser felt his fingers itch at the
prospect of one day having access to that library
because at one time, as a very young law student, he
had wanted to champion the Native Americans and right
centuries of wrongdoing.

     "Well, Eric, I guess I know all I need to do is
let the home office know that you're in good hands,"
Milhauser finally told Eric.  "What do you think?"

     Eric still wasn't at all sure of adults.  "You
gotta be my lawyer, right?" he asked.  "So if I call
you and say I don't like it here you're supposed to
`do what's best for me'?"

     "Right," Milhauser replied.  "Look, son, like I
told you earlier, I'm on your side.  It's not just my
job; it's what I want to do.  I want you safe and
happy.  I think you will be with your dad.  Here's my
business card.  You can call me anytime."

     "Does this mean that you are offering to serve as
Eric's attorney?" Manuel asked.

     "Only if the boy wishes to retain me," Milhauser
answered.

     "Then I think the two of us should make
arrangements to meet formally and work out
contingencies for him and set up an equitable trust
fund -- in the event that your client ever decides he
doesn't want to live with my client.  Once we have the
basics worked out we can set up an appointment with
family court."

     Oh yes, Milhauser was going to like Manuel
Fuentes and the two left in deep conversation of writs
and briefs.  And as long as Eric was his client, any
work Milhauser did for him would be pro bono
regardless of how much money the senior Graschel had.

     "So, did you decide on a room?" Deet asked after
the two attorneys left.

     "Do I hafta tonight?" the boy asked.

     Deet chuckled.  "No.  It's a big house and I kind
of rushed everyone through it.  Would you rather wait
until tomorrow?"

     "I think so," Eric answered.  "Really?  I get to
choose any room at all?  Like, could I have your old
room?"

     "If you want.  You can sleep there tonight if
that's what you'd like."

     Eric thought a few minutes and finally said, "I'd
like to pick a room after you go to sleep."

     Deet froze at the thought but he understood.
Eric had been abused by one family member and, even
though he was willing to give this a try, he was
frightened.

     "Tell you what," he said, "I'll call Manuel's
wife and see if their son Jorge can spend the night.
He's your age.  You can sleep in any room and he'll be
there for you.  I've known him since he was born.
Right now he has a crush on a girl named Aurelia,
which is a little young to have crushes I think, but
nobody cares what I think because I'm over forty and
bordering on being an old man."  Deet didn't really
consider himself old but he remembered that thirty can
appear very old to a boy barely in his teens.

     "I think I'd like that," Eric replied and Deet
was instantly on the phone to Consuela, telling her
that Manuel would explain everything.

     "What would you like to do the rest of the day?"
Deet asked.

     "I dunno," Eric replied, suddenly a little unsure
of his situation.

     "We might go shopping," Deet said.  "You need
clothes.  I guess I should see about getting you
enrolled in school, but it's close to mid-term so
maybe I'll get you a tutor until the next semester.
Do you know how to use a computer?  You can use mine
until you decide on your own room and then I'll buy
you one.  I hope you don't mind if I set up parental
controls on it.  The world is full of sick people who
put things on the internet that kids shouldn't see.
And we can see about that bicycle for you today.  The
pony will have to wait until later.  I'll call my
friend John and ask him if there are any auctions in
the Bandera area soon and then we'll go and pick one.
It's almost noon, would you like something to eat?"

     "I think I'm a little hungry," Eric admitted.

     "Have you ever had tacos?"

     "I don't think so," Eric said.

     "Well then, sit yourself down and watch a master
taco maker at work," Deet told him as he opened the
refrigerator and pulled out flour tortillas and
barbacoa.

 . . .

     Jorge rang the doorbell at precisely 4:15.  He
was nice looking boy with deep brown eyes and black
hair.  Outgoing and intelligent, he made friends
easily.  He was also pampered because he was the only
boy of Manuel's and Consuela's five children.

     "Hi, Dude, what's up?" he asked when Deet opened
the door. "Mom said you need me.  Don't tell me your
yard needs cutting.  I'm not a Mexican flunky you
know."

     Deet laughed and ruffled Jorge's black hair.
Their friendship was an old one and Jorge gigged him
every chance he got.

     "Cheeky bastard," Deet replied.  "You're so
spoiled you don't know which part of the lawnmower is
the start button."

     "So, what's the sit?  Not that I mind a
sleep-over but you're a bit old, Dude."

     "I'd like you to meet my son, Eric." Deet said.
"He lost his mother not long ago and just moved in
with me.  He needs a friend."

     Jorge was very much aware of the situation.
Consuela had called Manuel and he filled her in as
much as he dared -- leaving out what had happened to
the boy.

     "Gotcha," Jorge said.  "Didn't know you gay dudes
had kids.  Did you stumble into the wrong wood pile?"

     Dieter Graschel was dumbfounded.

     "This is a new day, bro," Jorge said with a
smile.  "I've got a finely honed gaydar.  Kids at
school now are so out!  The campus is full of dudes
holding hands and looking at each other all
starry-eyed.  I think they're kinda cute but no way am
I ever gonna let one kiss me.  No offense intended.
And besides, Mom spilled the beans about you and my
uncle a couple of years ago."

     "No offense taken, Jorge.  Eric!" he called and
the boy entered the living room.  "Meet Jorge."  He
decided to leave the comment about himself and
Consuela's brother alone.

     "So, what's up, Dude?" Jorge asked Eric.  "My mom
told me you guys were going shopping this afternoon
for clothes.  Please tell me the old guy didn't talk
you into lots of slacks and button-down shirts.  Did
he get you cowboy boots?  Dude, nobody wears those
unless it's Rodeo time.  Expensive tennies is the way
to go.  You need T's, lots of them.  Everybody wears
T's.  I need to see what you got and then tell you
what you `really' need.  I know Deet, he's a pushover.
 Pout a little and he'll get you anything you want.
Did you ask for a Playstation2 or an Xbox?  I'll tell
him tomorrow.  No dude can live without those, they're
totally rad.  This is a cool house.  Did you meet
Wolf?  Oh, man, we're going to have so much fun
together.  Deet and my dad have season tickets to the
basketball and hockey games.  Did you see the hot tub
on the back patio?  It's cool.  Deet can't put in a
swimming pool because this is an historical part of
town and there's lots of rules, but we've got one and
you can come over any time and swim.  What school will
you be in?"

     The conversation went on and on as Jorge put Eric
at ease, the lawyer's son acting the part of a
diplomat.

     "What would you boys like for supper?" Deet
called out when it was after five.  "Want me to cook
something or order out?"

     "The only thing he knows how to cook is tacos,"
Jorge whispered.  "Ask for pizza delivery, one of the
supreme ones that has everything."

     "Pizza, please," Eric shouted back, "with extra
mushrooms and no anchovies!"

     They were busy entertaining themselves on Deet's
computer and had found several games they were
enjoying.  Their thumbs and fingers were nearly worn
out with all the enemies to mankind that they had
obliterated.

     "Tomorrow's Saturday, Jorge," Deet said when the
clock edged toward nine o'clock, "but I know you're
supposed to be in bed by ten.  You two go off and find
a place to sleep.  I'll look for you early in the
morning and make pancakes and bacon for breakfast,
because I can prepare something besides tacos."

 . . .

     Deet was deep asleep when his brain registered
the fact that Wolfgang was pawing him in the face.

     "What is it, boy?" he asked groggily and pushed
the large paws aside.  "Do you need to go outside?"'

     Wolfgang paced back and forth while Deet put on
his robe and followed him ... not to the back door but
to the foot of the stairs just as Jorge came bounding
down.

     "He's having a nightmare!" Jorge said as Deet met
him.  "I tried to wake him up, but couldn't."

     Deet was up the stairs faster then he had ever
moved in his life, Jorge leading the way to the empty
room Eric had chosen for the night.  Wolfgang
followed, each stair painfully taken.

     Deet shook his son awake, terrified himself when
he heard the boy cry out, "No, please no!  Not again!"

     He tried to comfort the boy.  Jorge tried, but
Eric pushed them both away, screaming.

     "Wolf," Deet said as the old Labrador finally
made his way up the stairs, "go to Eric."

     The dog made his way across the room and Deet
picked him up and put him on the bed.  Wolfgang
covered Eric's face with sloppy kisses and settled
down next to the child.  As Eric began to relax, Jorge
got back into the bed and cuddled against Eric's other
side.

     "Uncle Deet?" Jorge asked, "can you and my dad
help him?"

     "I hope so, mihijo," Deet replied.  "I hope so."

     It was three in the morning but Deet put in a
call to Manuel.  When the telephone went to voice
messaging he said, "Get me the best goddamned child
psychologist in the entire damn state and I don't care
what the fuck the cost is!  And get that yankee from
Freeman, Freeman, and Birch on the horn.  He's Eric's
lawyer.  I want to see that Indiana Child Services
worker and Warren prosecuted to the full extent of the
law.  Goddamn son of a bitch should be drawn and
quartered for what he did to this boy!  I've got
millions to burn and I can't think of a better way to
burn those bucks!"

     Dieter Graschel was filled with anger.  And to
hell with his mother's advice that anger accomplished
nothing.  His son had been abused to the point that he
screamed in nightmares and Dieter wanted to inflict
pain, legally.  He wanted the bastard to suffer as
much as this innocent fourteen-year old.  He couldn't
sleep and turned on the television, hoping to find
something that would take his mind off of his child's
torment.  He was on the wrong station because the
newscaster was telling about a twelve year old girl
who had been placed in foster care because her mother
was accused of prostituting her.  The girl, whose name
was being withheld because she was a minor, had given
birth to an infant who wasn't expected to live.

     Dieter placed another phone call to Manuel.  "I
don't care what it takes, but get that girl placed in
my custody.  I can't stand the idea of children being
raped.  It makes me sick."