Date: Wed, 1 Dec 1999 13:03:15 -0000
From: Ernie <ernies@ionia-mi.net>
Subject: Secrets chapter 5

Secrets
by Ian DeShils

Chapter 5
Threats and Promises

I took the civil service exam at the Hall of Justice in downtown LA,
passing it with a decent score. Then came a physical, the orientation
meetings, plus a short stint of what I thought of as basic training, and
three weeks later I was in jail doing a two year stretch at Mira Lida.

Those waning months of 1969 were turbulent times with a great deal of
turnover in the Department, so my status as Los Angeles County's newest
Deputy Sheriff didn't last long. By the time Jake arrived three months
later, I was practically an old timer.

In those days, a deputy spent his first couple of years at places like Mira
Lida where being young and badge heavy didn't impose to much hardship the
general population. Actually we just guarded jail prisoners, directed work
details and the like and it was almost the same thing I'd done in the army
as an MP. Near the end of the two year evaluation period, an officer worked
up to road patrol, which meant answering emergency calls and writing
traffic tickets. If he didn't screw up too badly and learned to keep a cool
head when some jerk called him a dirty rotten motherfucker, or some such
expletive, he was then assigned to the more populated areas of the county.

Some guys never made it out of the jail facilities, they didn't have the
temperament for working with the public, but those two years usually weeded
out the sadist, power freaks, and cowboys and left the department with men
who wouldn't involve the county in an endless string of lawsuits.

We were hired just before they phased out those old training methods. Now,
a few months at the academy is all that's needed to put an officer on the
road. Truthfully, I can't say which method is best for the department, all
I know is that I'm glad I spent those two years at Mira Lida.

Mira Lida lay on the desert near Lancaster. Originally, an airstrip built
to train WW II pilots, it was later fenced for its new roll as a jail
camp. The prisoners lived in the original Quonset huts, the unmarried
officers in the old Army BOQ which was a series of attached two room
cottages housing two officers to a room. The BOQ was inside the compound,
nearly adjacent to the prisoners quarters, which made it by any standard
about as close to the job site as one could get.

For a jail, Mira Lida was not so grim as one might imagine, at least not
for the employees. Next to the BOQ was a large lawn encompassing about two
acres, where as Adam Brown used to say, the officers went to play with
their balls. Those of the Volley, Base, and Foot variety anyway. Touch
football was by far the most popular game played there and we had regular
competitions three times a week

Adjacent to our quarters, and for use in case of fire, was the state
mandated emergency water supply. This was cleverly disguised as a large,
sparkling in ground swimming pool complete with lounging area. Unheated,
the pool itself saw little use except at the height of summer, however, the
lounging area was used to maintain tans almost year around. In fact, the
inmates discretely referred to it as the 'Pig Roast'.

About five yards from the BOQ and separated from it by only a single
cyclone fence, were the prisoners quarters. To them, our area must have
seemed like a health spa with officers lounging about the pool and lifting
weights or perhaps playing ball on the lawn. Despite the fact there were
500 prisoners housed there, Mira Lida was so low keyed it appeared almost
asleep. The pool, the tiny PX type store, a barber shop and a mess hall
that served four meals a day gave the place a resort like feel. It was very
calm and quiet with the only noise arising from some sport activity. That
is, until one visited the married officers section with its mob of
screaming kids.

Married officers were provided quarters outside the main fence, a good
hundred yards beyond the parking lot. These were the same buildings used by
the army for family housing; compact one and two bedroom cottages, and
there was always a shortage of them. If it hadn't been for the fast
turnover in those days, the waiting period for a cottage might have been a
year or longer.

Friends told me I would hate the desert, but instead, I loved it. The air
was clear and clean, so unlike the murk of the LA basin. The wind came
always from the direction of Sierra Madre mountains, some eighty miles to
the south west and sometimes when heavy fog rolled in off the ocean beyond
them, mist could be seen billowing upward from those peaks like long silken
scarves..

There is a beauty to the high desert well beyond the brief poppy bloom of
spring. It is in the sky that stretches out forever, in the Joshua tree
standing sentinel against the moon, and in the quiet barrenness waiting
only for that drop of water to prove that life lies hidden
everywhere. Certainly, days can be hot and the constant wind annoying, but
then there are the mornings, calm, cool, dry, and fragrant, and the
evenings with their mournful coyote lullabies lulling one to sleep. Yes, I
loved the desert. I found it soothing, but I can't say the same for some of
the people I met there.

I'll never forget my first two months At Mira Lida. In that short time I
managed to make my first friend and my first enemy, all within the confines
of bungalow C.

The entrance to bungalow C was shaded by a large, brutally pruned Chinese
elm; its sawn off, stubby limbs giving it the appearance of a war
casualty. The door was decorated with four brass name tag holders, one
showing the name Adam Brown and above that, a little slip of paper that
read: 'To all ye who enter here: He who hesitates is lost!' I read it twice
wondering if it some sort of fractured quote. Rechecking the assignment
sheet, I slipped my own typed card into the holder marked C1 and looked
around trying to get a feel for the place.

>From the outside, the staggered, attached cottages that made up the BOQ
looked like a '50's style California motel. The eaves were wide and shady,
the walls a stucco tan, and the roof sheathed in thick redwood shakes. The
doors were all identical, each made of heavy wood at least forty inches
wide. They appeared to be relics left over from the days when student
pilots scrambled here. I tugged open the door to my new home and was
greeted by the reptilian hiss of a heavy duty pneumatic closer that
sedately pulled the door shut again. I had just starting through when the
thing suddenly released its counter pressure. That massive door slammed
against my back with all the power of a major leaguer drilling a line
drive. Bag and baggage I was violently transported inside unable to stop
until my nose came in contact with the hall wall. The little sign was now
abundantly clear, however, I would have preferred something at least as
incisive as that God damned door.

After ungluing myself from the wall, I glanced around. Unlike the laid back
appearance of the outside, the interior was standard military issue; gray
paint as far as the eye could see. Two doorless rooms, one at each end of a
broad Spartan entry hall, seemed to share an equally doorless bathroom and
that was the entire layout. There were no signs in evidence, but the left
to right military orientation was so familiar there was no confusion as to
which room was C1. I turned left. A step or two in that direction brought
me in line with the bathroom and as I glanced in I came to an amazed
halt. It was like stumbling onto an avant-garde art display: The room was
sheathed in gleaming snowy tile and a cloud of steam roiled about the
ceiling.  In the center of this ethereal whiteness, stood a man so black he
seemed to absorb light. He was pure ebony, and with such a perfect symmetry
he appeared sculpted by a master artist.  After a moment of frozen silence,
I dropped my bags and said,

"Hi"

Startled, he spun to face me, quickly bringing down the towel to cover his
loins.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I'm Ted Gibson. You must be Adam
Brown. "

He looked me over with a chilly eye as though he didn't care much for what
he saw

"You've got the name right. Who are you looking for?"

"Nobody. I'm just moving in."

"So, they assigned you to no man's land did they?"

"Huh?" I grunted stupidly.

"For your information, Gibson, bungalow C is a strictly temporary
assignment. You were sent here only because the other rooms were full. They
didn't tell you that?"

"No one said anything." I replied. "What are you talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough." He answered, rudely turning his back to me.

I stood there stunned by the reception while a slow burn set in. What the
hell was his problem? I'm just trying to be friendly and he was acting like
an arrogant asshole. It brought back the same feelings I'd experienced in
the Army when one of Randy Robinson's black friends called me a 'crack'. It
was a bit of name calling that came not from anything I did, but from
purblind prejudice. I hated it then and I wasn't about to put up with it
now.

"Look, Brown, I didn't come here to get wound up in your bullshit mind
games. If you don't want me here just spit it out. Maybe you can get one of
your black buddies to swap rooms with me.  Personally, I don't give a
flying fuck where I sleep!"

Brown whirled and glaring as I gathered up my stuff and tossed it into the
nearby room. I went about unpacking and heard him pad down the hall, but a
few minutes later he stood at my door offering an apology.

"Hey, I'm sorry Gibson. It's been a rough day, and I guess I was just
taking it out on the first person to come along."

He seemed contrite and suddenly I felt guilty about my own
outburst. Obviously, Brown was no bigot and catching him naked like that
might very well have put him on the defensive. In my mind I could almost
hear my grandmother chiding, 'Never make snap judgments!", but before I
could think of what to say he extended a hand.

"Let's start over, shall we? Call me Adam and welcome to Mira Lida."

After that rocky beginning, Adam seemed intent on making me feel
welcome. We toured the facility and he took the time to introduce everyone
we met. Later, as we sat talking over dinner, I found we had several things
in common. We both originally came from west Michigan and both grew up on
farms. If nothing else, these regional similarities gave us a common
language. His references were the same as mine, my idioms were his, and our
views on most things were very similar. This alone was to make for a
different relationship than the one I'd had with Randy Robinson.

Randy came from Harlem and although we spent a great deal of time together,
he was forever losing me with obscure phrases or jive talk that I couldn't
always follow. It wasn't that Randy couldn't speak plain English, he could
and did, but he had a tendency to dive in and out of slang like a porpoise
cutting waves and then laugh when I'd get lost.."Man, you're hopeless!"
He'd say as he translated some indecipherable riff or word.

Randy became a wonderful friend whose letters and phone calls never failed
to cheer me. He taught me much about life and friendship in the year we
were stationed together, but he was never completely successful at teaching
me the changing, flowing language he called 'black jive.'

Adam, on the other hand, never used street slang, not even when speaking
with other black officers. It wasn't his style. Many of them seemed to view
his white sounding, midwest diction as a sort of put down as did a number
of white officers, especially those older guys still suffering seizures
over the integration of Mira Lida

Up through the early '60's, Mira Lida had been lily white. It was a basic
requirement for both inmates and officers until civil rights changed the
rules. By '69, the word 'Niger' no longer issues from white lips at Mira
Lida, but it remained firmly entrenched in many hearts. While bigotry
itself was no longer overt, I could sense something akin to it in the way
Adam was treated. When he and I shared a dinner table, we rarely had
company, but if he didn't show, other officers might sit down to talk. At
first, I didn't know what the problem was. I just felt it had to do with
Adam's strong sense of character. He took pride in himself and was not
about to cater to anyone's idea of who or what he should be.

Like everyone, Adam's personality had a few rough spots. He could be moody
at times and was well known to be sarcastic to people who made truly stupid
statements. He also had an annoying way of correcting speech like some
never resting English teacher but that later proved to be a totally
unconscious response on his part. It was simply a habit picked up from his
father who once was a teacher. Despite his somewhat serious demeanor, Adam
did have an off side sense of humor. His car, a beat up, disreputable
looking heap, carried an illustration of a mushroom cloud and the words
"The Adam Bomb" painted on the trunk, and on the front door, like a WW II
fighter plane were pictured his "kills": Three jack rabbits and a
Volkswagen.

Some people claimed Adam was always trying to be a smart ass, but in truth
he was always just himself: A very witty, intelligent and somewhat
complicated man. I suppose the reason we got along so well is that I liked
him just the way he was.

It was several days before Adam told me he was the adopted child of a white
couple, the oldest of three. His sister was half oriental and his brother's
natural parents were Mexican migrant workers. He often joked about being a
charter member of the rainbow coalition.

"It might sound strange," He once told me, " but I didn't realize we kids
were adopted until I was about four or five. My folks never mentioned it
and I just thought children were like kittens and issued forth in all
colors and varieties." He chuckled wryly, "Growing up on a farm, you are
introduced to reproduction long before you learn the facts of life."

How true, I thought. And it's those damn facts that finally get you. When I
was young, I used to dream that I was adopted and that someday my real
parents would come to claim me. I hoped for that, even though everyone said
I looked exactly like my father. I told Adam about my childhood fantasy and
we laughed, but I wondered if his laughter didn't also mask a bit of pain.

"We were all throw away kids who couldn't get placed with families of our
own race." He said, "Kimmy was born with a club foot, and Ray with a heart
problem. Nobody wanted kids that weren't perfect. If it hadn't been for Mom
and Dad, we three would have likely been raised as wards of the state. You
know, I don't think anyone ever had better parents, natural or
otherwise. They sacrificed everything for us. Dad sold the farm to pay for
Kimmy's operations and then took a job he didn't like so he'd have
insurance enough to cover Raymond.

"But, what about you?" I asked, "You look healthy as a horse. Are you
telling me that in all of Michigan, there wasn't a single black family
looking for a fine, healthy baby."

He just stared at me for a moment.

"You speak a little jive, Ted, but you don't know shit about blacks. Look
at me, tell me what you see."

"Well, I see a rather good looking guy who is at this moment putting me on
the spot. What exactly am I looking for?".

"My complexion!" He exclaimed.

"Very nice. Smooth, no razor bumps at all. What the hell has that got to do
with it. Were you born with warts or something?"

"I knew you wouldn't understand. It just doesn't occur to whites that
blacks can be color prejudice themselves. You see how dark I am? Well, as a
baby, I was too black to suit any adopting black family."

Adam's statement shocked me. Whether factual or not, it made me think of
the reaction I'd seen in some officers when confronting an extremely black
prisoner. They became edgy as though the fellow was somehow more dangerous
because of his skin shade. A was a strangely odd reaction to any prisoner
at Mira Lida in those days, where the average time served was six months
and the crimes that got them there were all nonviolent. It also made me
wonder if two hundred years of white ignorance hadn't somehow rubbed off on
the black population.

"Do you feel that you've missed out by not being raised by black parents?"
I asked.

"In some ways, maybe. Don't get me wrong, I love my folks and I appreciate
all they've done, but I'm no longer a kid who can pretend to be just like
everyone else. I'm a black man who doesn't relate all that well to other
blacks and a lot of that has to do with spending my first fifteen years in
an all white farming community. I just don't see things from the same
perspective as most blacks. Perhaps that's because as a child I never went
through what they did. Believe it or not, prejudice was something I wasn't
exposed to as a boy. Ours was a religious community and back then, I was
just Dick and Mary Brown's adopted kid. Everyone knew me and if they held
any prejudice, they kept it to themselves. I didn't run into it until we
moved to Lansing, but believe me, it can make you super sensitive in a
hurry. They say you will always be a product of your childhood environment
and I guess the truth is that even today, I'm a little more comfortable
around whites than blacks."

Some whites maybe, but certainly not all. I once saw Adam with a group of
older white officers when he was as tense as a virgin in a room full of
rapists. Adam seemed able to zero in on the barest scent of prejudice or
even a slightly condescending manner, but unlike Randy who would have
vented those feelings with a direct confrontation, Adam kept it all
inside. I think his prickly disposition and very precise ways were a
reflection of that repressed anger. It kept people at arms length, even
made him somewhat a loner, but maybe he felt less vulnerable.

I had only been at Mira Lida for a few weeks when Adam was accepted into a
certain psychology class he had been hoping for at Cal State. That meant he
was on the road five days a week instead of three as he traveling between
the desert and the city. It also meant that I would see him only in passing
since newby's like myself worked second shift. Officers taking collage
courses had preference for third, (my all time favorite). We still got
together for an occasional midnight meal and depending on our days off, the
Saturday afternoon touch football game, but for most of my waking hours I
had bungalow C all to myself. After two years of living in hectic LA, I
enjoyed the slow pace at Mira Lida and having almost private quarters was a
plus. Unfortunately that didn't last long.

Elwin, AKA 'Bull' Davis moved in one day and tranquillity was
unceremoniously drowned in a sea of nasal Texas drawl. Bull was a small man
with a big voice, which might have been tolerable had he been half as
intelligent as he was loud. His mouth ran constantly and within a week's
time I had heard the entire litany of his likes and dislikes, especially
all the things he hated: Commies, Wops, Spics, Jews, Indians, Dikes and
Fagots, and not necessarily in that order. I'm sure Niger was left off that
list only because Bull was barely smart enough to realize that 6'3" Adam
living in the adjoining room might not take kindly to that sort of
talk. Still his feelings about blacks were pretty obvious. He never spoke
to Adam or any other black officer unless absolutely necessary.

Not only did Bull regale me with his stupid, incessant talk, he'd collar
anyone who happened by and drag them inside. I would then have the pleasure
of hearing it all again. Disgusted, I left whenever he got wound up but
thoroughly resented being chased out of my own room.

What really surprised me was Bull's ability to sway people to his warped
way of thinking. Several officers began coming back of their own accord to
listen to that nut case and I immediately lost all respect for them.

One day he spotted one of his worst hates working in the pharmacy. A new
hire with the Health Department, a mild young guy who Bull thought was
queer, but who had certainly done nothing to incur Bull's wrath. Somehow,
Davis got into the personnel files, dug out the man's home address and then
began stalked him with a camera until he got pictures of the fellow holding
hands and acting intimate with another man. Bull justified his actions by
saying he was 'cleaning up' Mira Lida, then had several of those pictures
blown up to 8 x 10 size and tacked them onto the bulletin boards inside the
facility. The poor guy had no idea why some officers began making crude
remarks until someone showed him the pictures. He quit that very day
without finishing his shift.

Oh, how Bull crowed. He strutted about the room like a bantam rooster until
I told him that if they ever found out who posted those pictures, he'd be
out of a job and the guy might even decide to haul his ass into court. I
should have kept my mouth shut. If I hadn't pointed out the obvious, that
idiot would have bragged himself right out of Mira Lida. As it was, he
stayed on and I gained an enemy.

In an attempt to stop his constant idiotic blathering, those photos came up
in conversation several times and I believe Davis got worried that I was
about to squeal on him. I was merely trying to shut him up, perhaps to show
him the error of his ways, but he became paranoid about it and began
snooping into my life. I already disliked the man intensely but came to
hate his guts when I discovered he'd been going through my stuff. Nothing
was missing, only the bastard had evidently read my mail, checked my Army
discharge papers and looked through picture and address books in a search,
I'm sure, for something to hold over me. When I began noticing things out
of place Bull tried to blame it on the inmate who cleaned the rooms and I
almost believed him until I spoke to the duty officer. He had been present
at all times and the inmate did nothing but change the beds and mop the
floor.

Bull and I had an instant parting of the ways. I backed the little bastard
into the corner with every intention of punching his lights out, but hadn't
got in more than one or two good licks when the ruckus roused Adam who
charged in and pulled me off.

"Are you trying to loose your job?" he hissed. I was so hot I didn't care.

"Get your shit out of this room, Davis!," I yelled, shaking my fist, "And
if you ever poke your nose into my business again, I'll rip your fucking
face off!"

Davis scurried out the door and disappeared for the rest of the day, but
when I came off shift that night his things were gone.

I always regretted not letting that jerk talk himself out of a job. He
lasted almost two years before getting fired over roughing up a prisoner
and during all that time I felt he was constantly on the lookout for
something to pin on me.

I then spent almost three weeks in blissful solitude before Jake moved
in. I'll never forget that first meeting. It was to change both our lives
forever, but of course neither of knew that until many months later.

"Damn!"

I heard someone exclaim over a muffled, but familiar thump. Looking up from
my reading, I saw a guy drop an olive drab duffel in the hall, balance a
cardboard box on top and then turn to extract a garment bag that had gotten
half way inside before the door made its final decisive move. The bag was
old and patched about with strips of duct tape. The man, brown haired and
muscular, stood fingered what was obviously a fatal rupture in the pearl
gray plastic.  "Aw, shit!" He said with feeling as he inspected his freshly
smudged uniforms.

I smiled, remembering the reception that door gave me. Adam called it the
'man eater' and had posted a sign, but like so many others, I took it as a
motto, not a warning. Preoccupied with luggage, the man didn't noticed me
until I started unwinding from my cross legged reading position. Startled,
he looked at me and stared for a moment.

"Oh, . . . I'm sorry, I thought this was bungalow C."

"It is." I replied.

Seemingly confused, he glanced toward Adam's room then back at me.

"Then. . .  You're Theodore Gibson?" he asked.

"Yep, the one and only. Most people call me Ted."

Slowly, his face broke into a grin,

"Well what do ya know!" He muttered. Stepping forward with an extended
hand, he said, "I guess that makes us room mates. I'm Jake Sanders."

As it turned out, Jake was just bunking in the BOQ until family housing
opened up. He thought the wait would only be a week or so, but we actually
roomed together for the better part of two months.

Except for the remarkable coincidence of sharing a birthday and being
exactly the same age, we were complete opposites, Jake was tanned and
strongly built with curly brown hair, I was blond, rangy and usually
sunburned. He was the kind of guy who touched when he talked, standing
close, nudging to make a point or perhaps draping an arm over your
shoulder. I was more aloof. If someone stood too close I moved back and for
the first few days our conversations found me permanently stuck in reverse;
he'd step forward, I'd step back, and we did a sort of slow dance around
the room without the benefit of music.

I think some people just have a natural affinity for each other. Despite
the fact my comfort zone was twice the size of his, we soon became good
friends. Not only that, but as far as Jake was concerned my comfort zone
shrank. With others I still needed space, yet in only a matter of days it
came to the point that when Jake didn't flop an arm on my shoulder, I began
worrying that I had offended him in some way.

After Jake arrived at Mira Lida, the ranks of our touch football league
thinned a bit as the fainter hearts dropped out. Jake had been a top notch
football player in his high school days, highly aggressive, and he would
sometimes forget we were playing touch. Many a deputy, myself included,
found themselves kissing grass with Jake apologizing profusely. "Oh shit
Man, I'm sorry!" he'd say as he helped his victim up, but somehow, he never
seemed all that contrite.

Jake was heavily into sports, football especially and although I liked
football, he was more conversant with the game than me. Baseball was my
thing and I could spout statistics by the hour. In sports we found lots to
talk about, but perhaps the biggest boost to our friendship was a mutual
interest in flying. I had just begun taking flight lessons at a tiny dirt
strip near Quartz Hill and when Jake learned how little it cost, he got all
excited and signed up too.

We would drive out together in the early morning to get our flight time in
before the desert thermals made the air bumpy, then afterward spend another
hour or so just shooting the breeze over breakfast. We were twenty-three,
had both served in the army and I soon discovered we enjoyed practically
the same things. I liked hiking and Jake was a rock hound so we combined
the two and spent many great mornings trekking through the foothills.

We became real pals. Jake, with his magnetic personality made friends
throughout Mira Lida, yet we still seemed to spend a great deal of time
together in mutual pursuits. He and Adam hit it off right away and whenever
Adam was in residence, Jake would invent something for the three of us to
do together. Once, what started off as a three handed card game, ended up
as a regular pokerfest as Jake invited more and more officers to join in. I
never saw Adam enjoy himself more. His normal reserve slipped away and he
got so wound up in the game that he even stopped correcting English. I
doubt Jake ever realized what took place that day, but I saw it plainly.
Afterwards, when guys stopped by to shoot the breeze, it wasn't always Jake
or me they looked for, and more importantly, it wasn't only white officers
who asked for Adam.

On our days off Jake went to Van Nuys to be with his wife, while I,
depending on the day of the week, explored several options. My old army
buddy, Bob, lived in Simi and now that he and Martha had a new baby, they
were nearly always home on Sundays. My weekdays were reserved for other
things, like movies or perhaps the occasional party in Eagle Rock. It's
funny how my life had changed so drastically in such a short time. The year
before I was the ultimate party guy who wouldn't miss one if my life
depended on it. Now I went to those affairs only as a last ditch against
boredom. Actually, I had jumped at the Sheriff's Department job to get away
from Eagle Rock and all its shallowness and it wasn't until the quietness
of Mira Lida became stultifying that I found myself going back. The parties
had changed a great deal in those few months. There seemed to be a lot more
grass smoked now and much more hard liquor than beer, both of which I
bypassed because of personal and employment reasons. No one could classify
those parties as dull, still, many times I'd duck out early and head back
to the desert. Perhaps I'd become jaded, but I think there was more to it
than that. In those days, I was extremely envious of Bob. He'd found love
and happiness with Martha, while all I had to show for my efforts were
series of vapid one night stands. I wanted more than parties, much more,
but nothing ever seemed to work out.

Bungalow C always brightened up when Jake came back from his days in Van
Nuys. He'd bang through the door with a smile on his face and cheerful,

"Hi there, Partner, did you miss me?" then fling himself on the bed and
start telling some story that would soon have us both laughing. The truth
is I did miss him. After only a few weeks rooming together, Jake had became
an important person in my life. I remember when Bob and I were still in the
service and our enlistment's were coming to an end. I distinctly recall
waking up to see Bob asleep in the next bunk, his face jammed in the pillow
and I wondered then if our camaraderie and friendship could last outside
the service. Now I wondered the same about Jake. Would his wife's arrival
sever our friendship, or would we make adjustments.

One can have many acquaintances without ever having genuine
friends. Friendship is truly the one thing money can't buy and I felt that
Jake and I were fast approaching that priceless realm. It was as though
we'd known each other for years, but the truth is, we each knew very little
about other. Oh, he told me he'd been raised by an aunt and uncle and that
he was only recently married, but those were surface details, nothing
more. Yet our friendship had grown to the point that Jake was now almost as
important to me as Bob. I only hoped that Jake's wife, like Martha would
also accept me as a friend.

Finally, when a family unit did become available, I helped Jake move and
that's when I first met Carla. She was knock out gorgeous with raven hair
and big dark eyes that sent shivers down my spine. I had never in my life
met anyone like Carla. She had the kind of beauty that women envied and men
drooled over and it took my breath away just to look at her. Jake himself
was a knock out in his own way, a handsome, fine looking man who
complimented Carla's beauty so perfectly they seemed made for each other,
yet from the very first I sensed something wrong. They just didn't act like
newlyweds. Throughout that whole day of moving, Carla behaved very cool
toward Jake, yet extremely friendly toward me and Jake began acting quiet
and reserved. I thought her the most ravishing creature I'd ever seen and
for the first few weeks after the move I found all sorts of excuses just to
stop and talk. Jake never said a word, not even when Carla began inviting
me over on a regular basis, but he changed so drastically in every way, I
realized that no matter how innocent my visits, they would soon end our
friendship.

It's odd how an unfamiliar emotion can mess up one's thinking. Jake was the
best friend I had at Mira Lida, and yet for awhile I weighed that
friendship against something I knew couldn't possibly work out. Sometimes
as I sat on the perimeter guard post, I'd stare across the parking lot to
their quarters and wonder what had happened to my world. Why me? Carla
could have any man she wanted, Lord knows, she already had the best, and
all I could bring was heartache. Those lonely watches lead to a deepening
anguish and sometimes to tears, but who the tears were for I couldn't say.

I began begging off from her invitations, using excuses even the blind
could see through. No one ever knew how difficult that was. I felt torn by
an insatiable desire to feast my eyes on her, to again bring forth that
throaty laugh. No woman had ever captured my imagination the way she did,
such beauty, such grace. With just a glance I could sense her every mood,
the very fragrance she wore sent me into fantasies as improbable as those
of my childhood. Looking into those dark eyes it was far too easy to forget
my world and live only for the moment, and I knew I was fast approaching
the point of no return. Either I must back away or be swept away and the
first option held almost as much pain as the last.

For a time afterwards, I even avoided Jake. I threw myself into the Eagle
Rock scene, trying to get my life back on familiar ground. Finally, Jake
pulled me aside one day and asked what the problem was.

"How come you changed your flight days?" He asked, "Hell, I never see you
any more! Is it something I did?"

What could I tell him? I had come within a cats hair of making love to his
wife, but that was a detail he didn't want to know and one that I was
trying hard to forget.

"No, of course not. It's just that when we go to the airport, we end up
wasting half the day. I thought you'd rather spend that time with Carla."

"I spend enough time with Carla. You, I don't see at all anymore. Now
listen up. I'll be here in the morning at 7:30 sharp. You be ready, and I
won't take No for an answer."

There was no argument to offer and no way I could refuse..

The next day was almost like old times and I realized just how much I had
missed Jake's banter. I loved watching him talk; his face and hands were as
animated as his words. I decided then that if I stayed completely away from
Carla, I could spend time with Jake. Maybe not the hiking or the junk shop
browsing, (another of our former mutual interests), but at least our one
day a week at the airport. Jake never again asked me to visit his home,
which was fine with me, but for a long time I wondered exactly what he
thought went on between Carla and myself.

Mira Lida was like a small village w with bits of gossip going around and
around and becoming more distorted with each telling, so about a month
later when the rumors began circulating, I didn't pay any attention. Carla
was after all, the most devastatingly beautiful woman anyone had ever seen
so I figured it was just the kind of bullshit some guys spread when they
get horny and frustrated, only the rumors turned out to be true. It all
came to light when Bill Bass demanded a transfer, or rather his wife did
and Carla was named as the source of all their problems. And that was just
the tip of the iceberg.

I'm probably the least prudish person on the planet, but the scope of what
I learned shocked even me. Carla was messing around, practically running a
free brothel right there in the married officers quarters and Bill was
literally caught with his pants down.

She was nearly thrown out of Mira Lida, which would have been the normal
procedure, only Carla agreed to counseling so they let her stay. One
morning as Jake and I drove to the airport, he told me all about it and
said this wasn't the first time she'd done something like this. I couldn't
believe it, they had been married only a few months.

What can you say to a friend in a situation like this, especially if you
yourself had nearly been part of the problem. In my case I said nothing, I
simply listened. . .

They met at Cal State where Jake was taking law enforcement courses, and
Carla studied Comparative Religion. They had gotten married in a rush, Jake
said, but it wasn't long before he realized there was something odd about
Carla. She would get lost in her current favorite religious discipline and
let their apartment turn into a pigsty as she spent all her time making
fetishes and potions and praying with great fervor in some unknown
tongue. This would go on for awhile and then he would come home to find the
place decked out with an entirely different set of icons.

>From what Jake told me, Carla drove him crazy right from the very
beginning, They were hardly back from a loving and passionate honeymoon
when for no apparent reason, she began screaming that he wasn't good for
anything. He said those mood swings continued on a monthly basis and he was
never really sure what was going on inside her head. Finally, at about the
time he came to Mira Lida, he found she was having an affair, or as he now
suspected, more than one.

It must have been hell for him, but I thought I knew why he put up with
her. My God, but she was beautiful. She had way about her that could make
you forget everything but her.

Carla stopped fooling around at Mira Lida, but it wasn't long before she
was driving into Lancaster every afternoon and Jake told me was the same
old thing. I didn't give him any advice, I couldn't, but I did tell him
what my Grandmother once told me:

"Don't get buried in the past, it can't be changed. You must live for the
future, it's the only thing that matters."

Jake and I spent a lot of time together that spring and summer. Besides
working the same shift, we moonlighted a job stringing fence along the
National Forest. I could hardly blame him for the moodiness he sometimes
displayed. Carla was making his life a living hell and he talked about her
incessantly. I never thought of her as stupid, but in this she was a total
idiot. Whatever it was she searched for could never be half as good as what
she threw away. When he wasn't wrapped up in his problems, I saw glimpses
of Jake's old self come through. He was by nature witty and full of humor,
intelligent, bursting with energy, a natural athlete who excelled at
anything he put his mind to. Jake was the kind of man every man would like
to be and definitely far too good for Carla, but it wasn't my place to tell
him. That was something he'd have to figure out for himself.

They stuck it out awhile longer, but finally Carla began seducing just
about everyone in sight. She especially liked married men with children and
I'm sure there were wives would have gladly killed her if they could have
figured a way of doing it without getting caught. Jake told me he no longer
cared what she did, but it obviously gnawed at him. He started drinking
heavily. Suddenly he was getting plowed every night after work, then
phoning me to come drive him home.

I wanted to tell him to divorce Carla, to get on with his life, but I just
couldn't. I had sworn never to interfere with anyone again. So, I'd pick
him up, fill him full of coffee and let him sleep it off in my bunk at the
BOQ.  At that time I was in the process of moving out anyway, but still
hadn't officially relinquished my room. My new digs was a little rental
house near Quartz Hill that I was busy fixing up and furnishing and I split
my time between the two places for awhile.

Jake wasn't a mean drunk, quite the opposite. He'd get maudlin, throw his
arms around me and say all sorts of crazy things, but somehow seeing him
like that brought back memories of my father's drinking that I couldn't
bear to think of. Dealing with a drunk had been my entire childhood and I
hated it to the point that I hadn't seen my father since leaving home at
seventeen. Not that I mind having a beer now and then, but I can't abide
drunks and in fit of emotion that surprised even me, I caught Jake sober
one day, backed him into a wall and told him about all the hell I'd gone
through as a kid.

Maybe the lecture helped or maybe he just got over his depression. Whatever
the reason, he stopped boozing as suddenly as he had started and that
pleased me more than I could say. I guess the real reason behind that
confrontation was the worry that Jake might harm Carla or himself. I once
lost a friend under almost those same circumstances. Jeff broke up with his
girl when he found she was seeing someone else. He got drunk one night and
blew his brains out and I never saw it coming. He just snapped, but I know
if it hadn't been for the booze he'd be alive today.

Or. . .  Maybe, if I hadn't urged him to dump her. . .


We finished the fencing job late that summer and talked about taking a few
more courses at the local junior collage, but before classes started, he
and Carla had a huge fight complete with flying crockery and bellowed
curses. He told her to get out and file for divorce and if she didn't he
would himself, naming everyone she'd ever slept with.

I heard about it secondhand. Several of the officers wives gave me all the
juicy details as we stood in line at the bank in Lancaster. I felt relieved
that Jake's problems were finally coming to an end and the women who told
me were absolutely ecstatic. I believe everyone at Mira Lida was glad to
see Carla leave, even the guys who had once followed her around with their
tongues hanging out. In the short time Carla lived there, she became that
facilities single largest source of stress.

My house at Quartz Hill was small, just a bedroom, a bath, a kitchen and a
tiny living room with a goofy oversized fireplace. I'm sure it was built
from the scavenged leftovers from the housing projects going up near
Lancaster, but it was comfortable for one and the occasional guest. The
move to Quartz Hill had been for the privacy it afforded. I had finally
found someone of my own and wanted a place where we could spend more time
together, only it wasn't working out the way I'd planned. For some reason,
the chance meeting that started out so bright and beautiful, had fast
evaporated into just another dry lake. Not that my sweet one bothered to
inform me of that anything was amiss, oh, no, that would be too easy,
still, when my phone calls all remained unanswered, I got the message.

After his breakup, Jake asked if he could stay with me for a few
days. Carla had taken the furniture, the bachelor quarters were now full,
and he was stuck with sleeping in the car.

"Just until next payday. Then I'll get a place of my own."

I told him he could stay as long as he wanted. He was after all my best
friend and one who would have done the same for me had circumstances been
reversed. Besides, it had became abundantly clear that the privacy I once
sought was a thing no longer needed, actually, I hadn't needed any in
weeks..

I showed Jake about the place, what there was of it and made room for his
clothes in the closet. The couch opened up into a bed that looked pretty
comfortable and the end table had several drawers where he could keep his
small stuff.

It was a relief having Jake around to talk to. I had learned to appreciate
a modicum of peace and quiet, but truthfully, the stillness out there was
beginning to get on my nerves. The time we shared a room at Mira Lida stuck
in my mind as being the most fun I'd had since moving up from LA, and now
that Jake was out from under Carla's cloud, he was again acting much the
same as in those first months.

We made a pot of coffee, lit the gas log, and sat gabbing for a while. He
told me he was glad Carla was gone, and then said,

"I'm depending on you, buddy. If I ever again chase after anyone as crazy
as that broad, I want you to shoot me! Promise me you will."

He laughed, but I wasn't sure he was kidding. The poor guy had come out of
that mess up to his ass in debt. Evidently Carla never charged anyone for
her favors, but that didn't stop her from billing Jake for the pleasure of
it all. Every credit card he owned was over its limit and he was in hock
elsewhere for everything from clothing to furniture.

"Maybe I'd better plan on taking a long term lease on your couch," He
joked, "That is if you don't charge too much." I told him not to worry
about it, I was glad to have him and he was welcome to stay for as long as
he wanted.

We talked about my crazy little house and I showed him that everything was
mismatched and how the trim changed pattern at each corner and he thought
it was cool. "It beats the hell out of fourteen rooms all painted beige."
he said. I knew he was talking about his uncle's house where he grew up. An
unhappy place he once confided. I warned him about the neighbors dog, a
Boxer, that wasn't good for much except keeping the coyotes out of the
trash and untying shoes, but he thought I was joking about the shoes until
we went for a walk. Out she came, looking ready to tear us apart, but the
only thing she went for was Jake's shoe laces.

"Jesus Christ" He laughed, as he danced around trying to get away from her,
"A dog with a foot fetish! I always knew the desert could drive you
crazy. This is ridiculous! Quick, call her off before I start to like it!."

With Carla out of his life, the true Jake I had glimpsed at times, at last
emerged. Not so different from the old, just warmer and more relaxed, a man
of high spirits and lively humor. We were perfectly suited as room mates, I
knew that from the time before, but now he was even more enjoyable to be
with. Jake was the perfect foil to my somewhat dour disposition. He
constantly broke me up with his jokes and stories and he loved to horse
around, starting wrestling matches at the slightest provocation. We began
hiking again, tramping through the desert in the cool mornings accompanied
by the neighbors crazy dog. We couldn't seem to get rid of her. I believe
the mutt had fallen in love with Jake, or at least his shoe laces and Jake
made a joke of it.

"I'm just stringing her along," he'd say.

Those were idyllic days, a time that I will always remember with great
fondness and strangely enough, I understood exactly how fine it was at the
precise moment it was happening. Jake had taken Bob's place as my best
friend. Bob was married now with a new baby and new commitments and
although we remained the best of friends, we could no longer be Best
Friends. That spot naturally was reserved for Martha. To me, those few
months were almost an extension of my adolescence; a time where your
friends can do no wrong and you are still perfect in their sight and I was
fully aware that this would never come again for me. Life might be more
fulfilling later on, but it could never be as innocent or sweet.. Did Jake
feel the same? I can't say, I only know we both displayed a great zest for
life and all things new.

Jake seemed to thrive on impulsive entertainment. We saw the latest movies
of course, but he also taught me how to enjoy an outing without all the
advanced planning I normally did. Never looking at a map, he might drag me
away for a day of sports car racing at some little desert track no one ever
heard of, or perhaps a trip to the Mount Wilson observatory. And if we got
lost along the way, so what? There was always something new ahead, just
over the next rise.

Most of the time Jake and I went on those excursions by ourselves, but
sometimes Bob would bring Martha and the baby up from Simi, and the five of
us would make a day of it. Truthfully, I couldn't recall a more relaxed and
pleasant time. I enjoyed my job and was surrounded by people I cared about
and by my reckoning at least, everything was perfect. Then, a few weeks
after Jake took up residence on my couch, the department changed our hours
and for awhile it disrupted my life completely.

I am a night person by nature, my mind doesn't even function properly until
somewhere around noon, but, all of a sudden I was expected to be bright
eyed and bushy tailed at 5:30 in the morning. It was the same problem I
suffered from in the Army, the one that kept me on extra duty for a good
portion of my hitch.

I survived the change only because Jake became the one alarm clock I
couldn't ignored. He'd holler only once and if I didn't get up, I'd find
myself being flung into the shower. I told him he was a sadist who got his
rocks off watching me suffer, but he just laughed. At least we never missed
a roll call, which was more than I can say about my Army days, and believe
me, a few mornings of being stuffed into an ice cold shower was all it took
to reset my internal clock. I might not have been at my best those
mornings, but I was awake long before Jake yelled out the time.

When payday rolled around again, Jake stayed on just as I hoped he
would. The BOQ was still full and I didn't relish the thought of living
alone, so we decided to share expenses on the house. Jake did the smart
thing. He took out a bank loan to pay off bills, thus saving his credit,
but the payment left him barely enough to survive on.

We continued to get along famously, not only was Jake fun to be with, he
willingly did his share in keeping up the place. Actually, that consisted
of little more than cleaning the bathroom and sweeping up the sand
deposited by the incessant desert winds, but I seldom had to do those
chores after he moved in. The kitchen was the one room that had always
remained nearly spotless. My total lack of talent in that direction and
Jake's exaggerated fear of ptomaine kept us from experimenting much in
there. Luckily, Mira Lida provided a couple of meals a day and the rest of
the time we either hit the restaurants or lived off the few things we could
make without fear of poisoning ourselves, the 3 C's: Coffee, canned soup
and cold cut sandwiches.

I think Martha felt sorry for us. Whenever she and Bob came to visit, we
were sent out for groceries and then Martha got busy and whipped up a
homemade pot roast big enough to graze on for a few days. After the first
one, Jake insisted we send her flowers each payday. He said it was a cheap
price to keep her coming back.

As far as my love life was concerned, I was getting used to being celibate
again. My phone calls remained unanswered, as did my letters and I'd given
up all hope. Then, one day, we ran into each other on the street in
Lancaster and I was fed a long tale about being down in LA for the past few
months, going from agency to agency, and how things were at last looking up
in the modeling business. And, oh, yes, we'd be together again, 'Real Soon
Now.'

The story smelled high enough to make me look around for vultures, but I'm
a sucker for a cute face, especially when it's attached to such a gorgeous
body. In the sudden surge of yearnings that accompanied the brief
encounter, I completely forgot to mention my roommate and that a phone call
might be advisable rather than just popping in, but as it turned out that
information was irrelevant and immaterial. My love disappeared again, I
assumed, back to the brave new hinterlands of LA and I said to hell with
it! This wasn't the first time I'd been dumped, and probably wouldn't be
the last, but it did set me to brooding. Why did it always end this way for
me?

I'd been moping around for awhile, feeling sorry for myself when one
morning I awoke to the smell of frying bacon and thought that Bob and
Martha had made a surprise visit. Instead, I found Jake standing over the
stove trying to look like he knew what he was doing.

"Wow, right into the domestic stuff, huh?"  I asked, sidling over to lay a
palm on his forehead. "You feeling OK?, Do you want me to call an ambulance
now or should we wait until after we eat?"

Jake laughed.

"Sit down and shut up. This is a hell of a lot more complicated than it
looks."

The pan sizzled merrily. Little flames erupted near the burner as hot
grease spattered out against Jake and the surrounding walls. The walls
voiced no complaint, but Jake had a few choice words as he held a pot cover
in front of him like a shield.

"I think the eggs are cold. I guess I should have cooked the bacon first,
but since I'm suffering third degree burns from this God Damned meal, I'd
advise you to chow down and start heaping praises on the cook!"

"Is that a threat?" I asked

"You bet your ass it is!" He replied, slapping a plate of bacon on the
table.

I groaned loudly, but actually it was pretty good. Nonetheless I suddenly
felt compelled to point out the fact that degreasing the kitchen would
probably cost more than breakfast at the Hilltop, and that got me thrown to
the floor, sat on and fed strips of bacon, one at a time until I apologized
for being ungrateful. With Jake around, it was impossible to get lost in a
blue funk for very long.

I tried to forget about my love's disappearing act , but I couldn't put it
entirely behind me. It still preyed on my mind and one day as I stripped
for a shower I just stood looking at myself in the mirror. This was the
second time I'd been shot down in a like number of years, and I couldn't
figure out why. It wasn't the lack of sex that bothered me, of course I
missed it, but what I really wanted was a commitment from someone willing
to share my life, not a series of easily available one night stands. I'd
already been through that and the thought of spending my entire life that
way depressed me. I wanted the real thing. I saw how Bob and Martha had
interwove their lives to produce a happiness greater than either one had
ever experienced alone and I wanted my own version of that love
song. Instead, I kept getting variations on a theme by Carla and Jake!

I stared in the mirror trying to figure out what it was about me that drove
my lovers away. I realized I wasn't all that handsome, my nose was bent, an
ever present reminder of Dad and his drunken rages and I thought that gave
me a slightly sinister look. I didn't like my ears at all, they seemed too
big! And then there was that crazy hair; a wild blond mop with a mind of
it's own, and no easier to comb today then it had been when I was a kid. My
best features seemed to be a nice smile and a pair of blue eyes surrounded
by dark lashes and darker eyebrows. I tried flashing a grin at myself,
lifting an eyebrow to add a devilish, debonair look and studied the
effect. Not too bad. I was six feet tall, a hundred eighty pounds, wide
shouldered and smoothly muscled. The mirror reflected a healthy, clean
limbed body that came extremely well equipped. Perhaps I wasn't as handsome
or as muscular as Jake, but I sure wasn't the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Maybe I was boring! Sure, my friends indicated differently, back in Eagle
Rock, party invitations abounded, but at those parties, everything
abounded. Still, the more I thought on it, the less likely it seemed. I had
never been accused of being a boring person, perhaps a little snide at
times, but never boring. So, what the hell was it about me that made my
lovers vanish without explanation? I threw my hands in the air, grabbed a
washcloth and started for the shower. . .  And then saw Jake. He stood
watching me through the open door and I guess he must have seen me go
through the whole routine because he had an odd look on his face.

"Just having one of my yearly fits." I said with a laugh, trying to cover
my embarrassment. Then I wondered why the hell should I feel embarrassed?
It wasn't as though he could read my mind and we'd both seen men pose in
front of mirrors before. It's just something the average guy does from time
to time.

Over the next few days, I had the notion Jake wanted to talk about
something, but he couldn't seem to spit it out. He'd sit down, start
grouping for words and suddenly we'd be yakking about the weather or the
football scores. I thought it might be more about Carla. Maybe now that she
was gone, he missed her. I hoped that was wrong, but if he needed to talk,
naturally I'd listen.  It's one of the things I do best.

Jake's stammering convinced me that whatever was bothering him, was at that
moment, just too personal to talk about. Friends can share many things, but
there is after all, a limit. We protect ourselves by first trying to find
out how the other person thinks before revealing too much.  It's sad
really, we spend our whole lives searching for the kind of people we can
share everything with and then end up being too self conscious to unveil
ourselves. I have my own secrets of course and I'm extremely careful not to
let them ruin my friendship with Jake or with Bob and Martha, but are my
secrets any darker than theirs? None of us will ever know. Friendship is
based on mutual respect and like them, I won't jeopardize that by unloading
every last detail of my life on my friends.

The saddest thing about that whole scenario is that there is probably
nothing those three could tell me would ever disrupt our friendship and
possibly the reverse is true, but I don't know that for sure and neither do
they.

About a week later, Jake received a letter from Carla's lawyer concerning
alimony. He got a bit hot under the collar - he spat nails for a few days
and when our time off came around, he packed a bag and went down to LA for
a face to face talk with the man. I spent those two days painting the house
in exchange for a month's free rent. It was something we had intended to do
earlier, but couldn't get to it because the winds kept blowing the sand
around. By the second afternoon the final coat was on. I had showered,
taken a long nap and was just about to go out for a late dinner when Jake
came home. Jauntily he walked in and before saying a word, did the one
thing he always did right after I'd spent an hour slicking down my hair. He
mussed it up again!

"Jesus, Jake!"

Bitching loudly, I ducked away from his hand, dug out a flimsy pocket comb
and tried to repair the damage.

"Aw, come on, Ted, leave it alone. You don't look natural with it all
pointing in the same direction!"

"Thanks a lot! Who the hell made you my fashion counselor?" I retorted,
wincing at each new tangle in that unruly mop. I could see he was in a
better mood then when he left, a big grin now lay on his face.

"How did it go?' I asked, "Is Carla still demanding alimony?"

"Nope! She keeps the furniture, I keep the bills, plus I'll pay for the
divorce, but that's it. All it took was a little threat of a counter suit
to stop it. She was so disinterested in the proceedings that I'm not sure
the alimony thing was even her idea. However, I do believe she's presently
diddling her lawyer because when I started reeling off names he turned a
tad green. I'll never understand why she's the way she is, but I do know
one thing. She could be a millionaire if she'd just get her act together!"

The comb made tearing sounds as I worked it through my hair, and suddenly,
Jake grabbed it out of my hand.

"Will you quit that, it drives me crazy!"

He tossed the comb in the general direction of the bathroom, and then went
about the business of unpacking his bag.

We talked a bit more about his two day trip. He seemed in high spirits as
he told me that on the way back, he bumped into Adam and that they spent an
hour looking at used cars. Evidently the Adam Bomb had finally exploded.

"No more junkers for Adam. He picked out a sharp '68 Caddie and told me to
tell you that from now on not to speak to him unless he speaks first."

We laughed, and then Jake absolutely dumbfounded me by casually mentioning
that he had also seen Andy shopping for a car.

"Where do you know Andy from?" I asked in dismay.

"I don't know him, but in that jumble of crap you have stuffed around your
dresser mirror, I believe you have a picture of him. I also seem to recall
that a few months back, he picked you up after work and you mentioned his
name."

Of course! Andy borrowed my car to run some errands while his piece of junk
lay dead in the driveway. I worked on that old heap one whole weekend
getting it running again and then loaned him enough to have the valves
ground. What the hell was he doing looking at cars? The last I heard, he
couldn't even afford to pay me back! How long had he been in town, I
wondered, and why didn't he call? I was pissed off and hurt and probably
looked it, but God I hated being used.

"Well," Jake said quietly, "It seems we've both had our problems in the
love department, doesn't it?"

My stomach hit the floor somewhere in the vicinity of my shoes.

"What do you mean by that?" I demanded.

Jake smiled,

"Oh, come off it, Ted, I know he's more than a friend!"

Stunned, there was no denial adequate. Jake wasn't fishing around, he KNEW,
I could hear it in his voice. But how did he find out?  My mind raced in
circles. Had I said something, perhaps made some stupid comment that lead
him to this?  NO! My skill at hiding runs so deep it's ingrained now. Even
Bob has never guessed and we've been friends for years. Someone must have
seen me with Andy, someone who knew about him. Visions of being thrown off
the force flashed before my eyes. Why, I'd be blacklisted from half the
decent jobs in the country!

"Who's been talking about me? My God, have I become a piece of gossip?"

If word was out, it would spread through Mira Lida like wildfire! There was
only one person I could think of who might nose around in my private
life. Bull Davis! The little asshole who was always talking about kicking
the snot out of queers. My fists clenched as I muttered his name and said,
"That fucker's in for a surprise."

Jake doubled over laughing.

"No one's talking, Ted, honest! I didn't find out myself until just
recently, but Andy's picture is on your dresser mirror and I turned it over
and saw what was written on the back."

Oh, My God!  What the hell was the matter with me? Why didn't I take that
down when Jake moved in?  'To Ted, the sexiest man alive: May you always
remember our nights together.' I couldn't believe I'd forgotten that! How
dumb can a person be? Jake glanced at my face and again laughed, while I
sat there stunned by my own dimwitted stupidity.

"I'm sorry, but this is first time I've ever seen you flustered. Don't
worry, pal, your secret's safe."

Then he chuckled again,

"You know, it just come to me. You must have drove Carla nuts. You're were
probably the only guy at Mira Lida who wouldn't screw her!"

That really broke him up. He threw his head back and laughed and
laughed. My tension eased, Jake didn't act like someone about to rat on me,
but why the fuck he was so happy? I was miserable. Nothing would ever be
the same between us. Could we now be just two guys horsing around and
having a good time, or would Jake forever find some dark sexual meaning in
everything I did? Damn! Damn! Damn! Well, I was out of the closet now, at
least as far as he was concerned and once out you can't go back. My only
hope left was that Jake really could keep quiet. I had one less secret to
hide and human nature being what it is, I figured that soon I'd have one
less friend as well. It wouldn't be easy even if we could remain
friends. From this moment on, any stranger Jake saw me talking to would
automatically be deemed a faggot, whether he was or not. Why can't people
just be people? Why must they be hung on one peg or another? I'd never shed
a tear over my orientation before, but I could have sat down and cried over
what that damn picture cost me.

As I watched Jake laugh I realized there was one last secret I could never
tell him, simply because now he'd never believe it. I too had wanted Carla,
back when she first moved here and before the rumors started. It was her
eyes, those gorgeous eyes that seemed to pierce your soul. No wonder Jake
had fallen in love with her, I really think she could see inside you. She
just didn't give a damn about what she found there. No, Jake, I never slept
with Carla, but not for the reason you assumed. Oh, I wanted to and could
have, but you and I were friends.

Jake's laughter did seem to clear the air and I found he really wasn't up
tight about his discovery. If anything he seemed somewhat pleased and kept
insisting I talk about it. Old habits die hard, yet when I did begin to
speak, I let it all out. For once in my life someone was listening to my
problems and it actually felt good.

I told him how Andy had disappeared one day, not breaking it off, but
obviously with little or no interest in continuing and he just smiled. I
didn't think he understood that Andy was to me what Carla had been to him
and I told him so.

"When it's over, Ted, it's over! Think about the future and don't get lost
in the What Might Have Been's. Isn't that the same thing you told me?"

Of course it was, but it's much easier to hand out that kind of homespun
philosophy than it is to follow it. I must have looked pathetic because
Jake flung his arms around me in a bear hug,

"Come on, Bucko, believe me, it's not the end of the world. I've never held
any confidence in preordained fate," he added cryptically, "But maybe
everything that's happened this summer was for the best. Maybe now things
will turn out right."

It surprised me that he wasn't already acting standoffish. Perhaps our
friendship was strong enough to withstand this revelation. I sincerely
hoped so, and though I never intended to say it, I blurted out what was on
my mind.

"Jake, Please don't let this change anything between us. I'm sorry if it
bothers you that I'm not just a regular guy, but I'm no different now than
before you knew, and I. . ."

He interrupted with a snort,

"Quit talking like an idiot, God, I thought by knew me better than that! If
it bothered me, I'd have packed up and got out without ever mentioning that
damned picture."

Then grabbing my arm, he dragged me toward the door saying,

"Come on, I'm starving, and if I'm not mistaken, it's your turn to buy!"

Still upset and feeling the need of a few extra minutes to compose myself,
I dug out another comb and told Jake to take the long way to the restaurant
so I could get squared away.

"I don't see one damn thing wrong with you," He replied warmly as he
reached over and brushed my hair to the side, "And what's more, Ted, I
never have, but, if you want to put dinner off for a few more minutes,
that's fine with me."

He then went on to say

"You know, practically every guy who ever lived has had some homosexual
experience in their boyhood, usually with a playmate or friend and because
of that, I've never figured out why later on some guys act like such total
assholes toward gays. When I was thirteen or fourteen, Joey, a neighbor kid
and I used to fool around a bit, then he moved away and I didn't see him
again until last year. He was enrolled at Cal State when I was there, but
he'd become a completely different person than I remembered. One night
after taking Carla home, I spotted him and a couple of other fellows
standing on a street corner. Those turkeys was across from a gay bar
yelling "Faggot" at the people who went in. I couldn't resist. Pulling up
next to them, I walked over, put my arm around him and said,

"Hey, Joey, long time no see! How is every little thing, anyway?" and
reached down and grabbed his crotch, " Hum, just as big as ever! Now don't
forget to call me this weekend, we'll have the whole house to
ourselves. Bye Bye now sweetie," I said as I gave him a big wet smack on
the cheek. It was over and done before Joey knew what hit him, but you
should have seen the look on those other guys faces".

I was still laughing when we pulled into the parking lot and feeling
considerably better.

We arrived at the Hilltop much later than usual and well after the dinner
hour, but as we started through the door I glanced to my left and stopped
so fast Jake ran into me. I couldn't believe my eyes! There sat Andy in the
corner booth with a guy I had never seen before, a well dressed older man.

For just a second I saw red and wanted to kill the bastard, not only for
being with that guy, but for exposing my life to Jake. It quickly came to
me though that I could hardly blame him for my own stupidity and as far as
the guy was concerned, well, no matter what Andy thought that day in
Lancaster, I'm no fool. I knew damn well he had found someone else. This
was merely conformation. Actually I felt relieved. Now that it was plainly
over I could stop thinking about him. It still made me mad that he didn't
have the guts to tell me, but then he probably intended to leave me
dangling in reserve just in case things didn't work out down in LA. He
obviously didn't know about my change in duty schedule. The little sneak
wouldn't have brought the man here at all if he thought there was any
chance of me showing up.

"Well, speak of the devil," I said, "There's Andy, big as life."

Jake craned to see past me, then asked,

"Don't tell me you still want him?"

I just shook my head.

"OK, then maybe it's time to have a little fun at his expense. Just follow
my lead."  Jake gave me a shove that propelled me on through the doorway,
then steered our steps to an end booth slightly to the rear of Andy's seat
yet still within plain sight, but Andy was so intent on the guy in the pin
stripes that he never looked up. The man noticed us however and Jake began
putting on a little show for him. Thank God it was late and the dinner
crowd already gone, luckily, there wasn't anyone on this side of the dining
room but the four of us.

Jake began discovering nonexistent bits of lint clinging to me and started
plucking them off with exaggerated movements, then, reaching over for a
napkin he let his hand lay on top of mine for far too long to be just an
accident. Everything he said was in a quiet yet highly emphasized voice
accompanied by more than enough body language to hold the man's
attention. After I got over the shock of hearing Jake speak that way, I too
began to get into the swing of it and made sure there was no doubt left in
that man's mind of what was going on.

After the waitress brought our coffee and salad, Andy noticed his friend
watching something and looked back at us. He kind of blanched when he saw
me, then glanced at my companion and did a double take. Jake was wearing a
tight polo shirt, one that showed his biceps and broad chest to maximum
effect. His arm lay casually draped over the back of the booth, his hand
dangling down as he massaging my shoulder with his fingertips. He must have
been keeping an eye on Andy because the second he looked our way, Jake
pressed his leg firmly against mine and began rocking his foot from heel to
toe, sending not only an obvious message to our watchers, but a tingling
feeling throughout my entire body. Jake was damn good looking anyway, but
when he smiled it was like turning on a searchlight, he was dazzling. I
found it impossible not to respond to all that erotic attention. I'm sure
the napkin in my lap didn't hide a thing. After awhile Jake ran his hand
along the inside of my leg and on encountering that stiffness, didn't pull
back or act upset in the least, instead, he whispered in my ear, "Do the
same." I reached down to rub his leg and found to my surprise that he too
was aroused. My hand lay there for a moment while I looked at him
questioningly, but he just winked and flashed that dazzling grin and before
I could figure out what that meant, I had a visit from my former lover.

Andy, who had sat there getting redder by the minute, jumped to his feet,
stormed over and stuck his face about two inches from mine.

"So, this is how it is!" He hissed," Well, I'm not going to sit here and
watch your sideshow. What the fuck do you think you're doing anyway?"

What followed would have made Dr. Jekyll's, Mr. Hyde, look like a
wimp. Jake changed, going from a limp wristed effete to Attila the Hun in
the blink of an eye. Reaching up, he grabbed Andy by the shirt front,
nearly lifting him off the floor.

"Why don't you mind your own business, little boy." he growled in that
truly menacing tone that I'd heard him practice on the inmates so many
times, "You stick your nose in where its not wanted and it'll get
broke. That's a promise. Now shove off!"

I never uttered a word, just sat there watching Andy backpedal while his
red face drained to a rather satisfying shade of gray. Poor Andy, I almost
felt sorry for him. When Jake let go, he scuttled backwards to his own
table and began tugging at his new friend's arm.

"Come on, Leonard," He said shakily, "Let's get out of here."

As they passed us, Jake leaned out and said,

"Don't loan him any money, Leonard." and then began to laugh.

After they left, Jake slide around the booth to face me and we finished the
main course with a bit more decorum, but I can truthfully say I didn't
enjoy it half as much as the salad.

Throughout the remainder of that meal I kept thinking about the petting
incident, concluding at last, that Jake's arousal had just been part of the
role he was playing. With Andy gone things cooled down enough for me to
again shut off my natural responses to a man like Jake. It's a trick I've
used for years, one developed during Army basic training and over the years
that ability has saved me lots of grief.

Our talk skirted both Andy and my proclivity, yet those subjects seemed to
hang over us like a cloud. I felt that Jake was having second thoughts
about our friendship. Sure, he could say it didn't matter, but that petting
incident had caused arousal and most guys are scared to death at the
thought of being attracted to another man. As we left the restaurant he
told the waitress a little joke and they both laughed heartily, but in the
car, his voice took on a sharp, derisive edge as he said,

"Boy, you sure can pick 'em. What the hell did you ever see in that little
weasel? Ted, you're a fool and a myopic one at that!"

My heart sank, but truthfully I was expecting this. The Argument. The thing
needed for an excuse to pack up and move out. Well, if that's the way he
wanted it, so be it. I took his remarks as an insult and flared back,

"Look who's talking! At least I didn't continue living with someone who was
fucking half the men in LA county! God Damn it, for six solid months all I
heard was, Carla this and Carla that, until I was ready to strangle her
just to shut you up, but not once did I ever call you a fool for getting
mixed up with her. Besides, no one ask you to get involved tonight. I would
have handled Andy in my own fashion and certainly gotten rid of him a lot
faster than you did Carla. I don't understand you at all! One minute you
put on an act that would send half of San Francisco to their knees and the
next, you're in my face over someone you don't even know!"

"Well, well, well, testy, aren't we? So, you don't understand me, huh? I
said you were near sighted fool, and you are! What the hell did you think
was going on back there in the restaurant?  Wake up! You slip off into your
own little world and never notice what's happening right in front of
you. Damn it, if I have to explain it then you're a lot dumber than I
thought."

I guess I was a lot dumber than he thought. That news struck like a bolt of
lightning. Even sitting there in the restaurant with my hand on his leg, I
kept telling myself it was only part the game we were playing. Oh, it
crossed my mind, briefly, but Jake was always such a straight arrow I never
thought it possible.

"You mean. . .You. . . ?

We rode in silence for a few moments before he answered,

"Yeah, me. And its got me tied in knots. I've never felt this way about
another guy, ever. Oh sure, Joey and I fooled around a bit, but we were
just getting off, kids stuff. This is different."

"Jake. . ."

I never expected this turn of events, but before I could think of anything
to say, he stopped me.

"Please. Just listen. I've tried to tell you this before, only I couldn't
until tonight. It was that picture of Andy. All this time I thought I was
going crazy, all these feelings I had that I couldn't tell you
about. . . Then, I read that inscription. Hell, I must have went over it a
hundred times trying to figure out if it really meant what I thought it
did, but I still wasn't sure until I saw Andy playing footsy with that guy
at the car lot."

He lapsing into silence again and it was a moment before he glancing my way
and smiled.

"You know, the first time I shook your hand it was like grabbing hold of an
electric fence. I had the strangest feeling I knew you from someplace else,
a sort of deja vu that made no sense at all. I knew I had never met you
before, yet that feeling stuck with me for days."

Jake slowed as he turned the car through the last corner before home, then
sped up again,

"When I arrived at Mira Lida, a couple of guys warned me about you. They
said you tried to punch out a former roommate and that you were an uptight
ugly bastard with a mean disposition. It was only a day or two before Adam
told me the real story, but from the moment I laid eyes on you I knew those
guys were liars. When I walked in that day, I thought I must be in the
wrong place. My new roommate was supposed to be dour and homely and there
you sat, smiling at me, one of the handsomest men I'd ever seen. Call it
whatever you will, but a powerful attraction grabbed me then and its grown
stronger ever since. I guess that all these months I've been trying to get
your undivided attention, but you were always so wrapped up in other things
you never noticed."

Jake pulled into the drive and cut the engine. Not only what he said, but
the implications of it, roared through my mind leaving me stunned and
speechless. Jake talked as though this had been going on all the time he
was living with Carla. My God, did Carla know? Was her interest in me just
a way of getting back at him? I had the feeling I'd been played for a
fool. I knew that the one final step in my attraction for Carla would
forever ruin my friendship with Jake, but I never considered this
possibility, not in a million years. How could this have happened without
me knowing? Normally I have a sixth sense about such things, but somehow my
internal, never failing radar missed this completely and like always, I
simply buried any sexual attraction I felt for him. Jake called me myopic,
only I must have been blind as a bat.

Lost in those thoughts, Jake misconstrued my long silence as rejection and
as I started through the doorway he grabbed my arm.

"Say something, Damn it! Don't try to tell me you don't feel the same. What
about tonight, you couldn't hide from it, could you?"

"I'm still in shock. Of course I'm attracted to you. Jesus Christ man, I'm
gay and you're a great looking guy, but I wouldn't last long at any job if
I didn't have the ability to turn it off. Besides, I've never considered
getting involved with anyone I worked with."

The moment it passed my lips, I knew Jake would take it wrong and he
reacted to those words as though they were a slap in the face. He stood
looking at me with same disbelief as if I had just stabbed him.

"Sure, sure, you can just turn it off! Or maybe you're still mooning over
Andy. Is that it? You really do want that little weasel, don't you? God
Damn it, what about me? WHAT ABOUT ME?"

He pushed us inside, kicking the door shut behind him, then kept shoving me
backwards until I tripped over the couch. As I fell he grabbed my shirt
front only to have it rip apart. Jake stood there holding the ragged
remains as tears welled in his eyes.

"What about me?"  He cried, . . ."I. . . I can't turn it off."

Climbing to my feet I put arms around my dearest friend.

"Oh God, Jake, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. You're my best friend
and I guess I just couldn't visualize anything beyond that. I'm sorry I
didn't see this coming, but I'm not sorry it has, not sorry in the least."

That's what I told him, but it was a lie.  I was sorry, I was sick at
heart. I didn't want to lose Jake, but it seemed to me that fate was
conspiring to end our friendship one way or another. My success in sexual
relationships had been lousy so far and I could just picture this turning
into another wasteland. At that moment I would have given anything to
reverse the clock and put things back the way they were, but you can't go
backward in life, only forward.

I think Jake was having some of the same doubts. Nothing really happened
for several days, except now there was this tension between us that hadn't
been there before. He avoided touching, no more was he the hale fellow with
an arm around my shoulder, yet if he accidentally brushed against me, a
sort of tingling started that spread until the hair on my arms stood on
end. With Jake's declaration everything changed. Now I couldn't look at him
without wondering what it would be like, yet I couldn't bring myself to
make an overture. All I could think of was what I had to lose. It was
almost unbearable. Unresolved by words or actions, the tension grew as
thick as LA smog. We couldn't go back, I couldn't seem go forward and Jake
was waiting for me to make the first move.

The impasse finally came to an end the night Jake awoke me by slipping into
my bed. He lay there on the outermost edge rigidly tense, shivering
slightly. I could detect the sweet muskiness of nervous perspiration and as
I turned toward him he whispered,

"I can't stand it anymore Teddy. Please. . . touch me. .  Please."

In a moment he was in my arms, but as I began testing these new waters, he
said shakily,

"I don't know if I can do it, what you expect of me."

"We're 'doing it' now, Jake." I whispered, pulling him closer, "There
aren't any requirements, if it feels right, it's right, and if not, it's
not. Relax, I promise nothing bad will happen."

I nuzzled his face and suddenly he pressed his mouth to mine sharing with
me the intensity of his feelings with deep, heart stopping kiss and passion
began to grow of its own accord.

>From the moment we met I knew he was beautiful, but his was an
unattainable beauty, one only to be admired. Now he was in my arms and I
was fairly stunned by it. The hard, muscled weight of him as he lay against
me, the thick curly hair of his chest that seemed so warm and silky as I
combed it through my fingers. That masculine scent of his now stronger in
arousal. My worries evaporated. I went completely into melt down with only
one thought left in my mind; to make this a night we'd both remember.

He lay atop me as we kissed my hands exploring his broad back, learning as
a blind man would of the war wounds he'd suffered three years before and in
my mind's eye I saw him as the very image of a scrap of verse I once read;

 An old scar along his side,
 a broken rib healed juttingly.
 Hard muscle cloaked in tender skin,
 the whole of him the symmetry of love
 and hate, of war and peace, mapped for all
 to see. God's handiwork and man's, wrought in
 discordant harmony

The verse circled in my mind as I lay bemused by the instant now at hand. I
had been here before, many times, but never with the sheer intensity this
moment held for me. Not in my wildest fantasies nor sweetest dreams had I
expected this. My best friend was now my lover and I wanted to absorb him,
his very essence, his soul, directly through the pores of my skin.

I slid my fingers between us at the hips reaching for his mighty hardness
as it lay against mine and he raised himself allowing them to
enter. Slowly, we changed positions and I lay across his body lightly
stroking while my free hand roamed through that wealth of silky body hair,
feeling his skin quiver in response to my merest touch. Gradually I let
those strokes become firmer and faster, bringing him to the verge of
bursting before stopping. Jake clutch at me like a drowning man. Pulling me
to him in a tight embrace he sobbing,

"Oh Teddy, Teddy."

The intensity of his emotions overwhelmed me. I kissed his chest, tonguing
nipples until he moaned, then worked my way downward to his stomach. There
I lingering to nibble at those sensitive spots on either side before
finally teased my way to that beading hardness.  He was beautiful in every
way, absolutely gorgeous and as I took him in he cried,

"Oh, God, Teddy, Yes. . .Yes. . No one has ever. . ."

And it was wonderful to hear his moans of ecstasy, to feel him arch his
back with each sweet explosion. To learn the taste of him and know that I
had given him something he had never had before. (How stupid of you Carla,
how shortsighted to have missed this. Did you never love him?)

Afterward he cried, his arms about me, tears dampening my chest until he
fell asleep. Jake might not understand the ways of love, the things I
needed, but for now, this was enough. More than that I realized, that if
Jake truly cared then this would always be enough.

I drifted into sleep only to have a troubling dream of my own first
experience with a man. I was in the Army then, barely seventeen and his
name was Sergeant Charlie Bailey. . .

A few weeks into Basic Training, we were given a three day pass over a
holiday weekend and while many in the company scattered for their homes, I
spent those days roaming about the nearby town of Manhattan, Kansas. One
evening I was playing pinball at a recreation center when, decked out in
civvies, Sarge came up and challenged me to a game of pool. I was
flattered, as any young recruit would be. At camp, Bailey was the kind of
drill sergeant you see in movies, the in your face type, unwilling to
overlook the slightest error, yet here, suddenly he was my friend, teaching
me the game, leaning over to help me line up shots. I was too naive to
realize the incongruity of his actions until he leaned full against me,
letting me feel his arousal through the thinness of his slacks. Nearly
paralyzed, my mind roared with that sudden knowledge and my eyes seemed
blinded by it. When I flubbed the next shot he smiled charmingly, then,
rubbing a callused hand on the nape of my neck, he said,

"Let's go, Gibby, I've had enough of this game."

And I followed willingly, eagerly, his touch had electrified my very being.

I guess I've always known I was gay or at least different from other
people. My grandmother saw it in me when I was just a boy and did all in
her power to make me comfortable with that fact. That dear, wise old woman
told me to never despair over being different because I would someday meet
someone like myself, a soul mate to share my life with and I believed
her. Yes, I've always known, but it was Sarge who brought it undeniably to
the forefront of my mind.

He was raunchy in the way he talked. Body parts and acts called by their
lowest vulgar names, yet those rough words were couched in humor and there
was a surprising gentleness about him. We showered together, his arousal
and mine, pressed between us as those large, hard hands roamed my body. The
heat of it, the flush of all consuming passion soon had me doing everything
he asked. He brought to the verge of climax, then stood, and when he press
downward on my shoulders I willing complied. Sarge was a huge man with
appetites to match and that night he taught me how to satisfy them all.

I knew he'd been drinking, the Sen-Sen couldn't hide it and at his
apartment he continued until passing out. I should have left then, but I
was just too green to understand the kind of man Sarge really was. To me,
this was the start of a loving relationship, the one my grandmother so
often spoke of.

He awoke the next morning to find me still in his bed and demanded to know
what I was doing there. At first I thought he was joking. I told him how
wonderful he was, then reached down to touch that great interest of the
night before. Slapping my hand away, he snatched up a gun and pinned me to
the bed with the icy barrel jammed against my forehead,

"IT'S A LIE," He shouted, "It never happened, SAY IT NEVER HAPPENED!"

I awoke with a start to find no gun against my head, no raving, red faced
maniac threatening death under a harsh Kansas sun. This was my familiar
room, bathed in moonlight and with Jake's handsome sleeping face outlined
by it as he lay quietly beside me. Was this an omen of things to come? With
the heat of the moment past, would Jake also hate me as Charlie had? I
shuddered at the thought. The rest of basic training had been a living
hell. For two long miserable months, whenever Sarge was drunk he became my
red hot, raunchy lover, and whenever sober, my implacable enemy.

Fretful as I was, sleep finally came once more, and dreams. This time sweet
remembrances of warm summer days, of swimming and fishing along the Grand,
the old, mud brown river of my childhood.

I need not have worried about Jake. In the morning he was even more
responsive than the night before. I awoke with his arm about me, his hand
slowly sliding over the contours of my chest, fingers gently probing from
my navel downward, until they at last arrived at their destination..

"Let me show you what Joey and I used to do." he said, as he shifted me
around so I lay atop his body. I could feel his hardness pressing against
my back, his breath warmly brushing my ear. Once more Jake's hands began
exploring, brushing nipples, massaging the muscles of chest and stomach,
investigating with gentle thoroughness. Then, suddenly his left arm clamped
me tight against him and his right hand grasped my hardness. He began with
slow firm strokes, gradually letting it build until I was about to come,
then he quit and slowly start again. By the time he finally let me climax,
I was almost sobbing, begging him not to stop, my hips thrusting out
against his hand and he came the same time I did. The warmth of it spread
between us, across his stomach and up my back and I was drenched on both
sides. Then, suddenly he was on top of me blending our semen into a single
silky coating as we kissed.

And, I had thought he didn't know the ways of love!

We went to work that morning as though nothing was different, but I had the
devils own time keeping my eyes off him. It's funny, but all those months
we stretched fence out on the mountainside together, tossing a football on
our lunch break or shared a Coke, Jake had never made my blood race. To say
I never fantasized about him would be a lie, naturally I had. He wore tight
jeans and those sexy sawed off sweatshirts and I admired his body, but he
was unattainable so I just shut it off. Oh, a few times when he ask me to
put suntan lotion to his back, I got a bit warm around the edges, but that
was all. Now just to look at him was good for a hard on. It was a problem I
was going to have to face, (no pun intended) and I had better learn to
cope, and quickly.

What truly amazed me was that Jake never looked back. There was no waffling
in his decision. He never tried to blame me for making him gay or got angry
or depressed or went through any of the mental contortions the newly
emerged sometimes experience. He just accepted it. Later, I ask him why he
was so calm about it all.

"Calm?" he exclaimed, "Christ, I nearly blew a gasket! ."

"No, I mean now. Not everyone takes it so easy when they find out about
themselves.

"Oh, that! Well. . When I found you were gay, it made it OK for me. Don't
ask me to explain it, I can't, but it figures that I must have always been
gay, or bisexual and never realized it. Otherwise I couldn't feel this way
about you."

He laughed self-consciously,

"Maybe that's the reason I liked playing football so much, but I can
honestly say, none of those guys ever turned me on. With you it's
different. It's what I was talking about when I mentioned fate. I think
some things are meant to be. Not you and Andy or me and Carla, but you and
me. Don't you feel it? It's just the way it should be!"

I couldn't quibble with that. These last few days had been the happiest of
my life, still, I had to know about Carla and whether or not I had
contributed to that break up.

"No, it was already over even before I came up here. We fought all the
time. It got so bad I dreaded going home nights. When I came to Mira Lida I
finally met someone I enjoyed being with and you soon became far more
important to me than Carla. I told myself I didn't know what was happening,
but I was lying, I was frightened by those feelings and yet they kept
growing until I couldn't deny them any longer. The worst part about it was
that I never really knew how you felt about me. It was awful, all that
frustration and uncertainty yet I didn't dare say a word."

He took my hand and with a finger tip started tracing out the lines of my
palm and when he looked up I saw tears in his eyes,

"When you moved out of Mira Lida I was sure you had a girlfriend and that
nearly killed me. I couldn't stand the thought of anyone being more
important to you than me. I'd been going crazy trying to get some response
from you, but you were so laid back you never seemed to notice. Then, one
day you got into my face about the booze and I realized you really did
care. All of a sudden it come to me that I'd been doing everything wrong by
talking about Carla all that time as though she still mattered when I was
really just using her as an excuse to spend more time with you. I know that
sounds crazy, but I was so screwed up I couldn't think straight. I even
lied about there being no empty bunks at the facility and at first,
sleeping on the couch was enough. Then I started dreaming that I was a kid
again, doing what Joey and I used to do, and it would get all mixed up with
stringing fence and flying planes and you were always Joey! What I'm trying
to say is that I'm pretty sure I love you, Teddy. I've gone through hell
getting here, so please don't ever try to walk out on me. I'd have to break
your fucking legs."

Those last were not the most endearing words I'd ever heard, just the most
honest and heartfelt and they made me feel like crying. Before, I'd always
been the patsy in my relationships, bleeding every time someone put me
through the mill. No More! This time we were equals and I told him so,
right from the heart. Embraced him, I said,

"You couldn't chase me off. All I've ever wanted was someone who cared
enough to stay. I think we both know it couldn't last without friendship,
so, Hell, man, we've got it made!  No, you don't have to worry, I'll never
leave and I'll never look at anyone else. You have my word on it. I'm
betting everything I've got on you, so just remember that, my sweet friend,
because you'll never get away from me!"

I believe it was then that Jake realized I wasn't toying with him, that I
wasn't about to drop him for the next hot body that came along. All the
things he'd been hesitant about doing came at me in a rush and he became
the lover most people only dream about. Our kisses sparked a burning
passion that consumed us and the afterglow left us wrapped in each others
arms for hours. Sleep, when it finally did arrive, became so abidingly
peaceful it could only be compared to the perfect dreamless comfort infants
know. It was Joy. I might watch him read, or polish his shoes, or some
inconsequential thing, and feel joy at simply being with him. Nothing had
changed, yet everything was different. I was love struck. I don't know if
it hit Jake as hard as me, but I think so. Surprisingly though, he handled
it better. I'd been through something like this a few times before,
although at many magnitudes below the feelings I held for Jake, but that
didn't seem to help at all. This time I lost my wits.

I had to stop daydreaming. Lt. Anderson signed another reprimand and again
it was deadly serious. I goofed up the knife count in the kitchen and an
inmate suffered for it. He wasn't cut up bad, but it was my fault.

"What the hell's the matter with you, Gibson? You walk around like you had
your head up your ass!  You were doing great, had the best evaluation
reports I've ever seen on a young officer, now there's been an attempted
escape, and a knifing all in the last thirty days and both of them
attributable to your lack of attention! You better get your shit together,
mister, because one more fuck up and you're out of here!"

Jake picked up a reprimand himself, but as a tower guard it was for some
minor thing so it didn't count that much. I was about loss it all. Worse
than the reprimand was the realization that I had already lost every shred
of self control as far as Jake was concerned. At work it vanished each time
we spoke and only by the greatest act of will power did I keep my hands to
myself. Just a glimpse of Jake and I could taste his kisses or feel his
hands, and my body reacted to those visions by losing all sense of
propriety. It was as hellish as it was heavenly and it would soon end my
career with the Sheriff's Department if I didn't get a handle on it. The
fact that Jake was also having trouble with self control didn't help
matters. His sly touch or stolen nuzzle always left me in a fog for the
rest of the shift. I knew what had to be done and I knew Jake wouldn't like
the idea.

"Leave Mira Lida? Why?" He asked, as we got ready for bed.

"Because if I don't, I'll end up getting fired. Either I'll keep screwing
up or someone will figure out what's going on. You have no idea what it's
like for me. Every time I see you walking across the compound or sitting up
in the guard post, my mind goes blank and I get a hard on. It damn near
drives me crazy!  I just can't work with you Jake, not like this. Maybe
someday, but right now I've got to get away or I've had it as far as the
Department is concerned! I'm going to ask for a transfer to the juvenile
camp. It's only thirty miles, just an extra half hour drive and I can
probably keep the same shift. Anderson is so pissed off at me I'm sure
he'll go for it."

Jake knew how serious it was, I suppose he also worried about being
discovered, but he never spoke of it. That night he simply said,

"OK, but you're wrong about one thing. I know exactly what it's like. What
do you suppose I think about all day up in the guard post?"

A few days later, I was on the Angeles Crest Highway guarding kids. At Mira
Lida my attention span had been shorter than a gerbil's, now it was back
close to normal and I wasn't covering a bulge all the time. Things settled
down at work and at home they got better every day as Jake and I learned
more about each other. I didn't like the drive all that much, but the
change in locale made making a living compatible with being in love with
Jake.

By the time we worked together again we'd gotten over the craziness of
those first few months and discovered that our life together was more than
just passion. It included all the things we'd had before as friends with an
added new depth. We were now making plans for a future that included each
other. It was everything I dreamed it would be, what I had always searched
for and I hoarded that happiness like a miser. I never introduced Jake to
any of my gay acquaintances but we continued seeing our straight friends as
if nothing had changed. I think some may have figured out that we were now
more than just pals. Bob once hinted at that when he saw the two of us
playing grab ass on the beach, but then he and I used to do the same and it
never meant a thing.

Bob and I spent more than two years together in the army and during the
time he was learning about girls, I was learning about being gay. For some
reason that didn't interfere with our friendship. I just kept my little
excursions secret and even tried girls myself whenever he and I went on
pass. We mustered out together and I stayed at his parents home until
finding my first job. Two years later I was best man at his wedding.

I think Bob was a bit jealous of Jake, perhaps because he thought he'd been
displaced as my best friend and of course he was right. We had both lost
that enviably spot in each others lives. I still loved Bob more than anyone
I've ever known except for Jake. Bob was the brother I never had and in
knowing him I learned what true friendship was. He was the one I could
always depend on and without a thought, someone I would gladly risk my life
for.

The fact that I felt exactly the same about Jake convinced me that we had a
far better chance of remaining lovers than any other gay couple I knew. The
saddest thing I could think of would be to end up bringing strangers home
to add a little excitement to our lives, yet that goes on with gay couples
all the time. I resolved it wouldn't happen to us. I never took Jake to the
clubs or to parties. I dropped that all from my life and never looked
back. Was I afraid of losing him?  Maybe, but I remembered how long it took
me to understand the facts of gay life as found in those places. The
erotica, the flash of excitement one can get from instant sex and the
complete shallowness of it all. Jake would never be exposed to that if I
could help it and I wished now that I had never known it myself. How nice
it would be to have just found each other first without all the in between
stuff that happened to us both. Yet, even as I wished it, I knew how
unrealistic it was. Could I truly understand how precious love, if I hadn't
suffered for the lack of it?

When we finally did work together again, we were assigned patrol car duty
cruising the desert roads at night. We tried to be model cops, checking out
the donut shops, guzzling coffee and handing out speeding tickets, but on a
quiet night, we might find ourselves parked on some back road making plans
on where to spend our vacation or deciding if we should invest in a
house. Or sometimes, just fooling around a bit if the urge struck us. I'm
sure we had one of the lowest citation rates of any unit out of Mira Lida,
but I'll bet we had the most fun.

We might still be on the force if that crazy kid hadn't came down the road
at ninety with his lights off. When he hit us, his car rolled and flipped
for nearly a sixty yards across the desert, but the boy was barely
hurt. Somewhere along that wild ride the kid was thrown clear and so high
on LSD I think he just floated to the ground. But it cost us our jobs just
the same. All because his family was wealthy and prominent and their little
boy could do no wrong.

That was more than twenty years ago and Jake and I are still together. Oh,
we've had our arguments but none so serious we couldn't resolve them. We've
been through some strange times, he and I. We worked as bouncers in a biker
bar while I finished my degree in business and because of that, my nose is
now bent even more than when we met. Jake went back to school and I worked
road construction for a time, coming home some nights to find a Devil on my
doorstep.

Once we had a wife who we're still fond of but no longer lives with
us. Annie gave us two children and those kids have made our life
complete. They visit each summer and call both of us father, but don't ask
which one belongs to me or Jake because to us it doesn't matter.

In all these years Jake is the only one I've ever wanted. He would
sometimes eye a pretty girl appreciating her beauty, but he never chased
around and men have propositioned both of us, but we just passed it
off. Now, these last three years, Jake no longer remembers what it was we
once had, he just knows that I'm his friend. When we started out together I
told him lovers can't stay lovers without friendship, but then, isn't
friendship just another form of love?



Notes to myself

Jake reads as I write, waiting impatiently until I can print out each page,
and then pores over it. Every morning he rereads it all from the beginning
and as the pages accumulate it takes him longer each day. Finally I
finished the last of my narrative on how we met while he was still
rereading and as I handed it to him, I realized how quiet he had been these
last few days. He is intensely engrossed in these pages, not flitting about
from one thing to the next and his attention span seems to have magically
increased from minutes to hours. I left him sitting there reading while I
prepared some lunch, enjoying the quiet comfort of the house now half
buried in snow.

Rancho Soledad is elegant in it's simplicity, comfortable beyond all
expectation and the solitude is exactly what both Jake and I needed. It's
so relaxing here. No phones to answer, no meetings to attend, and without a
single clock to run our days. We hibernate like bears, sometimes sleeping
until nearly noon. This evening we might play a game of checkers or cards
and I find myself looking forward to it as most enjoyable way to waste an
hour or two. At first, I thought we'd soon be bored, cut of from the world
as we are, but I haven't found it so. Jake loves this place. It's wonderful
to see him so happy and I realize now that he hadn't been at all, back in
LA.

I took a break from writing and just lounged around feeling lazy and
content, then after a few games of checkers in which Jake beat me rather
soundly, we went to bed. All day I noticed something different about
him. He had an attentiveness towards me that I hadn't seen since the
shooting and it developed into something more. Jake always likes to
snuggle, but this was different. This was fondling, caresses, the little
tender things I've missed about Jake these last three years, and when I got
all emotional and teary eyed about it he seemed to understand.

At breakfast, more surprises awaited. He reached across the table, took my
hand and began speaking about a vacation we once had years ago when we were
still with the Department. I listened in wonderment as Jake reminisced
about slice of our past life together that I couldn't recall ever speaking
of. It was a moment before it hit me, and then I could hardly believe
it. This was truly Jake who sat before me, not the childish Jake, but the
man he once was.


Memories of Things Past

Several months before losing our jobs with the Department, we took a three
day weekend trip to Santa Barbara. I had never been there before but Jake
knew the city well and selected a modest but comfortable motel facing the
beach. That night, we attended a free outdoor concert in the park. It was a
showcase for new talent and we were awestruck by the ability of one young
singer, a blond beauty who's voice could soar to the heights with bell like
clarity, then drop to the low notes with just a touch of sweet huskiness.
I had never seen a standing ovation at a free concert before, but the
audience wouldn't let her go. We all knew we were watching a rising star. I
don't even remember what she sang, possibly a medley of old standards, I
just remember that voice and the fact that the girl gave each tune a new
and fresh interpretation.

The next day we were at place called Hendry's beach soaking up some sun,
when a little boy wearing a man's Tee shirt came tearing along, tangled his
feet in the hem and fell headlong on top of us. He was carrying a plastic
pail half full of sand and it sprayed out adding a nice coating of grit to
our freshly applied suntan lotion. Jake laughing, grabbed the little
fellow's ankle to keeping him from running off, then as we stood up, he
hoisted the boy to his shoulder and we began looking around for his
parents.  From down the beach, we heard a woman scream,

"DAN, WHERE'S THE BABY?"

We headed for the uproar.

"Lose something?" Jake asked as he swung the child down into the panicked
woman's arms. It was the same girl we saw at the concert and I couldn't
help but notice that she was even more lovely close up. Jake stood watching
her as she held her son. She was scolding the boy in the way a worried
parent does when two men came running up the from the surf where they'd
been searching. The younger man, her husband, thanked us profusely, but as
Jake continued watching the girl he soon began to bristle. I could almost
read his mind. "Don't even think about it!" he seemed to say as he picked
up his son and slipped an arm around his wife. Jake noticed the look and
smiled,

"You have a beautiful family my friend, but then, I don't need to tell you
that, do I?"

And I watched the man's face soften as we retreated to our own spot on the
sand.


Notes

As he told the story, I recalled the details instant by instant, as though
watching a film once seen long ago. With the memory of that encounter, I
thought Jake had made a total breakthrough, only he faded away
again. Subconsciously, he is making the exact same connections I have and
it brought him back, if only for a short while.

I have no proof, but I am absolutely sure it was Sara, Dan, Lonnie and
Philip Harris we met on the beach that day. I might not have even
remembered the encounter except for the look in Jake's eyes. That was no
bold ogle of a pretty woman, what I saw was pure envy as though he was
seeing a family that very well could have been his. That look worried me
for years afterwards and it wasn't until he had a child of his own that I
put it aside.

That flash of remembrance gives me motivation. It is Jake's interest in the
journal that loosened that memory and I so threw myself back into writing,
working feverishly toward what I hope will be Jake's complete reawakening.