Buddies

DISCLAIMER

This is my first attempt at writing a long piece of erotic gay fiction. If you are not of legal age to view this material please don't. If you are offended by male-male relationships, please don't proceed further. All characters, plots, events etc are purely imaginary and any resemblance to anything living or dead is regretted. Please do not distribute without my permission.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

There isn't a lot of action so if you are interested in a quickie, this is not the place to waste your time. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors, spelling mistakes or even the length of the story. Hopefully you are not confused by the changes between characters and places. I have tried to separate them using '*'.

Comments and constructive suggestions are welcomed at john_young00@yahoo.com

BUDDIES

CHAPTER 1 (BEGININNGS)

We were an odd pair in high school. He was more of an outdoor guy, reveling in all kinds of sports, soccer being his favorite, while I preferred the less rigorous activities such as music and oil painting. That would explain the marked differences in our physique. He was tall, almost 6', very well-built, brown hair and tanned. I was of medium height, 5'6", flaccid, black hair and very pale, looking like a white sheet from a far. As the president of the Student Council, the largest student organization in school, and captain of the soccer team, he was extremely popular among the girls and even the guys. Added to this was the fact that he was very smart, being one of the few to qualify for Mensa, which made him equally likeable among the teachers. There was never a time when we sat alone in the canteen as people, some we had never met before, would invent reasons to sit beside us. Compared to him I was a nobody, the ugly duckling that curled up next to the swan and everybody only knew me as 'his friend'.

Yet we managed to get along. It was probably because we could talk about anything under the sun regardless of where we were. He would be the first person I would seek to confide in should I have any problems and he would ask my advice on everything from purchasing a shirt to planning school events. We would have been mistaken as a couple were it not for the fact that he was already attached and I was confused about my sexual orientation. Anyway he wasn't my ideal of a boyfriend at that time. I desired pretty boys and he was not. He looked too mature. Thin lines of worry stretching his features too tight and his eyes were steely cold. His lips were clenched into a firm line and there was a determined set to his chin that shouted a need to excel. I had attributed them to be side effects of stress given his heavy responsibilities.

But that was several years ago and we had lost contact with each other since.

Until he was introduced as my new boss.

Everyone in the research department was buzzing with activity. We were expected to meet up with the new president of Troy Electronics who had just bought over the company in a fierce acquisition battle. It was considered the most scandalous fight in Wall Street, for the previous owners, Troy Associates, were one of the longest standing giants in the country, dating back to the 70s, with strong financial backing and political clout and they had lost to a new comer, Viacom Enterprises. At the helm was Marcus Stone who had founded and expanded Viacom from a small webpage design firm to a multinational corporation with varied interests in pharmaceuticals, electronics and aeronautics in a short span of 8 years.

Nobody knew why he wanted to tour our department. Rumors were that it was a strange quirk of his and that he fired half the engineers after the visit. Unlike most of my colleagues who were terrified of losing their jobs and trying to look their best to impress him, I was unperturbed. To me I merely kept the job so as to sustain my interests in the arts and it didn't matter where I worked so long as at the end of the month I got my salary to pay for my lessons.

So there I was shabbily dressed in a crumpled off-white laboratory coat, my hair in a wild disarray, greeting a cold pair of eyes that were affixed onto a towering figure of granite who was immaculately dressed in a sharp black business suit.

"Good morning, Mr. Stone," I said, stifling a yawn. I hadn't taken my customary cup of coffee and was having difficulty trying to concentrate.

He shook my hands but I felt no warmth in his palms and spared me a brief glance, a frown creasing his face in a familiar way that caught my attention. Abruptly, he moved on down the row of engineers without even taking a courteous nod. I was shocked. It was him! And he didn't recognize me! My brain was telling me to yell and scream but I remained motionless, staring at his retreating back as he gradually walked out of the place. Somewhere in the background, I heard a chorus of voices.

"Gosh is he cute or what?" a feminine voice exclaimed.

"Definitely. He looked so much better in person. Did you see those beautiful gray eyes? It must feel like heaven to have them stare at you with devotion," another similar voice joined in.

"Those hands of his. So rough and yet tender."

"Agreed."

"Quit dreaming. He is divorced twice and from what I have heard, the main reason was because he was reportedly cruel to his wives," an irate, male voice interrupted.

"Your just jealous."

At that comment, a peal of girlish laughter filled the air but I couldn't bring myself to hear anymore.

"Good morning, Mr. Stone. Your ex-wife just called." a young secretary in her twenties gushed nervously. She hadn't anticipated him to finish that early.

"Which one?" Marcus snapped. He had more important matters on mind than to deal with women. The introductions this morning were supposed to invigorate his mind but someone during that meeting had made him uneasy and he had no idea why. He hated not knowing.

"She...she..didn't say." She stammered, cringing at his tone and the sudden scowl marring the face of her boss.

"You are fired if you don't learn to speak up by tomorrow. If she calls again, ask for her name. If it's Betty, tell her to speak to my lawyer whose number is available from the head office. If it's Patricia, warn her that if she ever contacts me again, I will see that she is put into jail immediately. Now get me Jason Smith from Strategic Development."

She nodded frantically and groped wildly for the phone, squirming when Marcus strode past and headed into his newly renovated office. It was a habit of her new boss to revamp the office of every company he had bought and furnished it to be exactly identical with the one at the headquarters in Houston, she was told. Unfortunately, nobody had informed her that he was such a cold, demanding beast.

Within seconds, the intercom on the large mahogany desk blinked yellow, indicating an incoming call. Marcus pressed the 'Secured' button before taking it.

"Jason Smith here. Congratulations on your success Mr. Stone," an earthy, low voice with a faint Southern accent rumbled from the other end.

"Cut the crap Smith. This is still way from being over." Marcus smiled a little at his friend's formal intonation of his name.

"Marc, can't you at least try to sound happy? Like it's a riot over here when they heard you nailed that arrogant bastard's ass. So what's up?"

"I want you over here by tomorrow to discuss the restructuring plans for Troy E and bring over the proposals for that Govind project. I am interested in what they are doing with satellite transmissions over in India. Also I want the latest reports on the Kensingtons. With luck, I can put Patricia's father out of business by the end of this week."

"Yes sir. Geesh, sounds like someone pissed you off this morning. Are you serious in buying over the Kensingtons now? I mean interior design and shopping marts are not our thing." the voice asked in concern.

"I already have a team of experts over here but they have yet to be screened and I would like you to do that. You can use one of the company's jet."

Marcus disconnected the call. He knew Jason was right. There were plans to branch into the shopping industry but it was projected for the next financial year. It was a hasty decision on his part to bring it forward which had resulted in a minor crisis two months ago. Viacom Enterprises was growing too fast and was already severely short-staffed of capable executives to lead the existing divisions. He was aware of the issue but it had not hindered him from getting back at Patricia's father, the patriarch of the Kensingtons family, for branding him a scum. Through sheer manipulation and tempting coercion in monetary terms, he had overcame the problem and had amassed a group of new talents to steer Viacom through the uncharted waters of retailing.

Oddly despite all the thoughts going through his mind, each one seemed to converge onto that disturbing image he had seen earlier on. Why did the face of a junior engineer irritate him so much?

He clicked a button on the intercom.

"Get a list of the attendees for the introduction meeting this morning and fire the person who organized the tour."

He lifted his finger from the intercom without waiting for a response. He was going to find out the reason.

"That scumbag ex-husband of yours thinks he is going to win!" James Kensington slammed the newspaper onto the long, dining table and roared.

"Daddy, you are upsetting me. I'm not going to call an ambulance if you have another heart attack. " Patricia Kensington pouted. Her elegant face contorted into a poor imitation of a young, unhappy girl. For a woman in her early thirties, she was breathtaking, beautiful brown eyes and red luscious lips framed in a slender oval-shaped face that was pale like fresh snow, and anyone would have mistaken her for the surreal princess in children's' storybooks had there not been a catty and vicious look in her eyes that was chilling to peer at.

"There is nothing to worry about, Mr. Kensington." Eliot Troy, youngest son of the prestigious Troy family, comforted. He was remarkably handsome dressed in a fitting blue suit and matching pants. Two trimmed eyebrows arched gracefully across a pair of glistening green eyes that were set in a smooth, slightly tanned face. A sculpted nose rose proudly into the air and his golden yellow hair was brushed neatly back.

"Young man, you will speak only when spoken to." the old man in his late sixties growled. He was a big man with a pot belly and a freckled face sprayed with grayish white facial hair.

Eliot gulped and quietly sought Patricia's help by moving his hand over hers. He was never one to stand up for himself when bullied but he had managed to deceive himself that he was just trying to show respect to the elderly.

"Daddy, don't fret. I'm sure those journalists are just speculating over the take-over. Anyway, Eliot promised to take me out in his new car."

Patricia stood up, went over and pressed a quick kiss on her father's face before grabbing Eliot out of his chair and heading straight for the door of the mansion. Once safely outside, she turned menacingly towards Eliot.

"You moron, aren't you supposed to convince your brother to buy out Viacom?" She scolded, jabbing a threatening finger painted with red nail polish at Eliot.

"I...I...We.." Eliot said weakly.

"Now he has Troy Electronics and my father's on the verge of bankruptcy." She gritted in fury.

"I'll try harder...I promise." Eliot said.

"Make sure you do that. I want to see Marcus Stone begging on the streets." She demanded, her lovely face suddenly transformed into a wicked sneer.

CHAPTER 2 (REUNION)

I glanced at the numbers flashing by on my digital watch. Bits of the plastic straps had already chipped off due to years of wear and tear and the square-like clock face read 6:00 PM . I was standing outside the department manager's office along with a few other colleagues. I had a rough idea why I was summoned - my attire this morning was atrocious and it must have displeased our boss tremendously. I was prepared to face the music and get my walking papers.

So I was very surprised when I saw the president sitting there as he ordered, I think that was the word because his words sounded like commands, the department manager to leave the room.

"How long have you worked here," he paused awhile, scanned a list in his hand before continuing, "Mr. Bancroft?"

"Less than a year. Nine months to be exact." I answered, pulled back a chair without waiting for him to gesture for me to sit.

"Are you satisfied with your job?" He asked.

I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or cry. This was ridiculous. Here I was talking with a friend who was in the past closer than a brother to me, except he was now my boss, and he was asking me about whether I liked my job or not? I decided to throw caution to the wind and do something daring. Anyway I could always find another job if I lost this one.

"Are we done with the ninety questions, Stoner?" I inquired, using the nickname I had given him in high school, effectively turning the tables on him for I saw shock, puzzlement and anger registered on his face before he went back to the cold, aloof mask.

"You will answer my questions, Mr. Bancroft and refrain from using labels that I do not take kindly to or the consequences are dire" I knew he meant it as a threat and under other circumstances I would have been afraid and faithfully did as he wished. However I did the opposite. I cackled out loud.

He was livid with anger, not that he would show it but the way those grayish eyes of his narrowed into thin slits of darkish silver and his hands clenched into fists until the knuckles crackled were clear signs. He had definitely grown more comely over the years, the set of his chin and coldness in his eyes made him looked ruggedly handsome. I wondered if he had lost his sense of humour and decided to goad him further.

"How about Bunny, for those cute buns of yours? The girls worshipped them."

He punched some numbers on a nearby phone.

"Security, this is Mr. Stone. I want you to come up here and escort Mr. Bancroft out of the building right now."

That only made me laughed louder but I sobered instantly as he stood up and regarded me with a censorious glare. I had carried the joke a little too far. We were no longer high school kids and this was one powerful entrepreneur who was dead serious about teaching me a lesson. And he still didn't know who I was.

"Stoner, how rude can you get? You don't write to your best buddy in school and then you subject him to an inquisition after so many years? I wouldn't do that to someone who knows I was still fed from a milk bottle until third grade."

He gaped at me in astonishment and for a moment I saw the friend I knew before he cloaked himself in that impregnable sheet of ice. I didn't know if I have convinced him.

"I'm thinking if I should fire you just to punish you for making me take art classes in high school." He said it in such a matter of fact manner that it took awhile for the meaning to sink in. I noticed a faint grin tugging at his lips before launching myself at him and grabbing him in a fierce bear hug.

That was how the security guards saw us and they stood there, stunned into immobility. Marcus noticed their presence and waved them away. After several minutes, I broke off the hug and seated myself.

"Where the hell have you been? After graduation, you simply vanished." I said.

"Let's see. I studied, worked and became CEO of Viacom Enterprises," he answered evasively.

"Tell me something I don't know." I persisted.

"Why not you tell me what you have been doing Jon?"

I conceded and gave him a brief account of my inglorious past since the years we parted. How I found my identity as a gay man, my constant struggle with my family when I came out and why I kept hopping from job to job, never settling down into one permanently. He just sat there quietly like he used to and absorbed whatever I was saying.

"I have always known you were gay," he said bluntly.

That came as a shock. I couldn't trust myself to speak.

"You didn't act effeminate. It was more of the way you avoided topics such as girlfriends and how you stared at other guys when we hanged out together," he added.

"How nice of you to inform me after so many years." I bit out sarcastically.

He raised a sardonic brow and said, "And spared you the agony of finding out for yourself? Remember how you used to laugh when I humiliated myself in art class? An eye for an eye."

A freezing chill spiraled down my spine at his words. How typically unforgiving of him. I didn't know if he meant it or not but my face tensed.

"I was joking," he smilingly said.

That did little to banish the dreary feel of cold but I managed to force myself to relax.

"Look at the time! Do you want to go for a bite? I have an hour to spare before I need to go through some reports."

I shook my head since I had a human sculpture class later on.

"Busy. Art lesson tonight." I said.

"Tomorrow night?"

"Fine with me."

"Great! There's someone I would like you to meet too. Meet me at the sentry house just outside the building. Going to disperse that group of people waiting outside now."

I nodded and left, not caring for the curious looks that were targeted my way. It was only when the cold night air of New York hit me that I realized he had just dismissed me and planned my activities for tomorrow night with a series of commands. Just as he used to organize my tutorials and our class outings. I should have seen then that he was to be a force to be reckoned with.

"Mrs. Stone please?" the burly man asked, peering out of his window at the solitary figure that was walking past the front gates of the Troy Electronics building.

"Speak." a high pitched voice demanded.

"Mrs. Stone? Me Jeremy from Troy Elect? 'member?" he asked, slurring his speech. He wasn't a clever man but he could still differentiate between who was good to him and who was not. Mrs. Stone treated him very well and would buy him a dozen cans of beer every time she came by with Mr. Troy. This new Mr. Stone was evil for he kicked his old bosses, who were nice people, from the building. This was the least he could do to repay Mrs. Stone and Mr. Troy. Somehow in his mind he hadn't reached the conclusion that Mrs. Stone could be related to Mr. Stone. There were too many people who had similar names.

"Of course I remember. Sweet Jeremy from Troy Electronics who was in charge of security. What news do you have for me?" the voice cooed, like a mother hen beckoning to her small chicks.

"M'kay. Me boys saw that bad wolf Mr. Stone hugging another man today in the office. Methinks that man is a Mr. Jonathan Bancroft from that RD place."

"RD place?"

"Me not good, dunno how to pronounce the name. That place where they play with new toys?"

"Oh, the Research and Development Department."

"Yer rite. Yer smart, M. Stone."

"Jonathan Bancroft?"

"Uh-huh."

"Thanks Jeremy. You are such a dear."

The line went dead but the hot red blush on Jeremy's face refused to go away. He felt he was on the top of the world and in his head he replayed that intoxicating night he had spent in the arms of that prettiest damsel he had ever beheld in the world.

"Patt, who was it?" Eliot Troy asked, snuggling close to the awakened beauty next to him. It was still too early to be in bed but where Patricia was concerned, anytime would have been perfect to have sex when she was in the mood for it.

"Don't you dare call me Patt again." Patricia warned but she was in such a jovial mood that she could forgive this slight transgression on Eliot's part, even that low-life guard's use of her old title didn't matter. She had expected Jeremy to drop it after she divorced Stone. Apparently that pea-brain idiot hadn't realized that she was having an affair with Eliot while remaining married to Stone.

"Oh never mind," she said. Eliot was a fantastic partner in bed and she wasn't about to frighten away such a delicious piece of meat.

"I want you to investigate a Mr. Jonathan Bancroft from the Troy Electronics, Research and Development Department."

"Why?" Eliot dared to question. He felt indignant enough to voice that opinion because his ego had taken a beating when Patricia inquired about another man while naked beside him. Nobody was more handsome and desirable than Eliot Troy in bed.

"Silly fool, this is not the time to get all jealous over a non-existent rival. I just got a call from Jeremy at Troy E that Stone hugged a man in the office," she admonished, chuckling at the pained look in Eliot's eyes. Obviously he was upset over this sudden discussion of another man.

"I don't understand. Hugging is very common."

"Not if we are talking about Stone. He never hugged, not even me." There was a hint of bitterness but it was quickly masked behind a false smile.

"But what use is it to us?"

"I have some tricks up my sleeve that will destroy Stone's credibility and hopefully delay the take-over." A sly grin split across her perfect features.

Dinner was superb. I didn't like the main course which was too fattening for my taste since I was supposed to watch my weight. I had acquired a few pounds around the waistline and it was taking ages to lose them. Nonetheless, the vegetable salad and low-fat ice cream was great. Trust Marcus to still remember my penchant for diet ice-cream. The restaurant was very classy, decorated in splashes of gold and silver and below the balcony where we sat was a revolving stage where a string quartet was playing. I did feel a little out of place though, garbed in a pale yellow sweater and khaki slacks while Marcus and Jason wore expensive suits. Fortunately we had an isolated table, so I didn't stand out. I had erroneously believed we were to have burgers and fries, thanks to both my friends.

"Jesus, stop fidgeting Jon, your making my head spin." Jason chided good-naturedly.

Jason was the vice-chair of the Strategic Division team. He was in charge of organizing the teams, monitoring sales and keeping track of future expansion plans for Viacom. He also happened to be Marcus's best partner in high school since he was vice-president of the Student Council. He was also a good friend of mine as well.

I shot him a mutinous look before saying," You should have the sense to at least phone and let me know we were dining high-class, not at some fast-food outlet. I do have presentable clothes."

"Not my fault. Your best friend here changed his mind at the last minute as usual." He pointed a finger at Marcus who was sipping a glass of champagne.

"Mr. Stone, I would appreciate it if you inform me where I will be going the next time you schedule my activities for the night." I grumbled, putting on my most respectful tone just to mock him and emphasizing the pronouns, I and you.

"My deepest regrets. May I remind you that you were going to dine with your boss and etiquette requires you to try to dress properly for the occasion?" he offered off-handedly.

I could strangle him. He had walked into the department during lunch time, barked orders at me to wear as 'casual' as possible for the dinner tonight and then marched out, leaving me to deal with the backlash of his unprecedented visit. By the end of the day, everyone in my department had already concluded that I was a distant relative of his and were trying to get into my good books. He wasn't going to get away with it. I reached for the bottle of champagne and accidentally tipped the entire thing into his lap. The horrified look on Jason's face told me that I had gone too far. There was a long silence at the table.

"This suit cost me two thousand dollars," the object of Jason and my attention commented as he wiped himself using the napkin. A waiter had already arrived and was trying to offer his help. Jason blanched visibly. Again for the second time in a week, I was suddenly acutely aware that we were no longer high school friends and a prank could be fatal.

"Jon, I think I will have payroll deduct that from your monthly salary," he grinned.

Jason expelled a breath of relief while I smiled weakly. Marcus excused himself from the table and went to the washroom to clean up.

"Unbelievable." Jason said immediately, giving me a curious look that felt uncomfortable.

"What?" I asked.

"That joke?" he pointed to the bottle lying on the table.

"We used to do that to each other in school." I protested.

"Yeah I know. But we are not talking about the same Marcus we know in school. Of all people, you should know better. I was just his vice-president and only got to speak to him during council meetings."

Jason was right. Marcus wasn't Marcus and what I did was highly inappropriate.

"Jason, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm not too sure either. But he seems to be more tolerant towards you, much more. I mean if I played a joke on him in a public place, he would bite my head off, friend or not."

I pondered that answer for awhile before Jason went on.

"There's only one way to find out. You could ask him why he divorced his wives. Nobody knows the exact reason, not even me, and I have been his closest confidant for the past few years. He would ignore me for weeks if I ever brought up the subject and after a few attempts I gave up. Anyway here he comes."

I looked up and saw that Marcus had removed his suit and was wearing only a white shirt and a pair of black pants. There were a few ill-concealed blotches on the shirt.

"So what have the two of you been discussing?" Marcus asked.

"Nothing much." Jason winked at me. I decided to take him up on his suggestion.

"Actually I was asking Jason why you are divorced? I was thinking about those rumors about alleged cruelty."

I was about to congratulate myself on my ingenuity when I saw Jason shook his head. Alleged cruelty, what a lousy way of phrasing it.

Marcus laughed. It was more of a forced laugh with a bit of resignation.

"Cruelty was the term the media coined not me. I provided them with everything money could buy but it wasn't enough so they decided divorce was the best way to put us out of our misery." he said.

Jason stared at me wide-mouthed in amazement. I was just about to brush it off when the maitre strode over and bent to deliver a message.

"Sorry gentlemen. There is a phone call for a Mr. Jason Smith. It's urgent. Could he kindly step over to the reception to take it?" the maitre intoned, his French accent clearly audible.

"Be back in a minute." Jason rolled his eyes.

Marcus and I resumed our conversation and I kept him updated on some of the night courses I was taking. I even told him about my dream to hold an exhibition to display my works of art. The minutes went by and I was starting to worry about Jason when I saw him hurrying towards our table with a harassed look on his face.

"Trouble." Jason said, trying to catch his breath.

"Home?" I asked.

"I believe it's Patt." Marcus interrupted. Jason nodded vehemently.

"What is she up to now?" Marcus growled. I had a bad feeling that this wasn't the first time he had dealt with this Patt person. The name had a familiar ring to it. Patricia Kensington? Marcus's ex-wife? Jason confirmed my doubts.

"We did a scan on the employees of Troy E and..." Jason began and stopped, casting a querying look at Marcus.

"Continue Jason." Marcus said.

"Okay well in a nutshell, we have several spies planted in Troy E and one of them just called Eliot Troy at his home. He is from the Security Division and we fear there maybe a leak."

"How large of a leak are we looking at here? What post is the insider holding?" Marcus inquired, nonplussed. I was amazed at his ability to remain composed. My hands were already shivering. Commercial espionage, this was supposed to occur only in fantasy land.

"Preliminary results show that he may not be able to do much damage. He is a minor securities division head, mostly in charge of safety within the compounds of Troy E."

Marcus held his chin with his thumb and tapped lightly on his nose with his forefinger, deep in concentration. Jason signaled for the waiter to bring the bill and took care of it. I asked for a few more glasses of water, not sure of what to do.

"I want closer tabs kept on this security chief but don't alert him or anyone who maybe liable to warn him he is being watched. Check our records for recent break-in incidents. Do a full investigation on all executives who had previously worked for Troy E. Most importantly, I want at least half the SD team in my office by tomorrow." Marcus ordered, firing away like a machine gun.

"Gotcha." Jason said and withdrew a cell phone from his suit pocket and punched a sequence of numbers furiously.

"Jon, it doesn't help your nerves even if you filled your stomach with water. Jason and I will be returning to the office, so you probably should grab a cab and head home first." Marcus said dryly, gazing at the four glasses of water infront of me. Jason was lost in conversation on the phone, oblivious to everything else.

"Okay, wise ass." I gulped down the glasses of water and left. I wasn't aware that this would be the last time I would walk out of a restaurant without wearing a disguise.

CHAPTER 3 (REVELATIONS)

I was rudely awakened by the incessant ringing of the phone on the night table. I flung the pillow and jerked myself into an upright position, peeking briefly at the time on the alarm clock. 5:37 AM. This was insane. Who could be dying to want to speak to me this early in the morning?

"Hullo?" I asked, half-dozing.

"Mr. Bancroft?" a young, cheerful voice replied.

"Yeah, who's this?"

"I'm a reporter from The New York Times and I would like to do an interview with you."

"What news? What interview?" I was getting annoyed and quite impatient.

"It's..ah...regarding your relationship with Mr. Stone?"

"His my boss. What's so incredible about it that the entire city should know?"

"Not that relationship. We were informed by...uhm...reliable sources that both of you are...how shall I put it? Tossing in the hay?"

"What?!"

"As in a couple? Gay couple?" the voice was starting to sound doubtful but pressed on relentlessly.

"What nonsense is this? If this is a prank call, you better pray I don't get your number." I threatened and hung up.

Within seconds, the phone started to ring. I lifted the receiver from the cradle and left it on the table. Unable to get back to sleep, I crawled out of bed and staggered towards the bathroom. After a long warm bath, I wrapped a towel around the waist and went to fix myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen. The apartment was quite small, three rooms in total. One was the bedroom, another was the adjoining bathroom and the final room served as both a living room and a kitchen. Often the last room would also be a temporary storage room where I kept my paintings and sculptures before I sold them to a curator who had a shop several buildings away that sold artwork at a discounted rate.

I switched on the old radio set and was greeted by the buoyant voice of some unknown DJ. He sounded like a 15 year old with a microphone.

"All you gay people out there, listen up! Dreams do come true! Rich, suave entrepreneur Marcus Stone of Viacom Enterprises has just announced his engagement to engineer Jonathan Bancroft." the radio boomed.

I was stunned speechless. What in the name of Zeus is going on here? What engagement? I searched the apartment like a wild predator, hunting for that elusive morning paper and found it hidden beneath the faded door carpet.

The headline read:

"INDUSTRIALIST MARCUS STONE INVOLVED WITH GAY ENGINEER."

This could not be happening. There was a loud knock on the door and I jumped instinctively, fearing it was the press.

"Jon, open up!" It was Marcus. But I was still suspicious.

"Who is it?" I yelled, too scared to even want to stand close to the door.

"JB, we don't have time for this." It had to be Marcus, for only he knew about this nickname.

With trepidation, I unlocked the door and was about to let him in before he halted me.

"Grab some clothes, some daily items and follow me." He said. His hair was tousled and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top.

"What are you waiting for? Get moving!" He half-pushed me into action.

We were on our way out of the building before he spotted a group of reporters and dragged me into a dark corner. We waited for the crowd to pass by before making a bee-line for the exit. Jason was already waiting there in a red Mercedes.

"Where are we going?" I asked dazedly, completely lost in the whirlwind of action.

"To Marc's villa." Jason provided as he sat in the driver's seat. Marcus was already giving out orders on his cell phone.

"I can't believe you did this!" Eliot exclaimed, partly in awe and partly in disgust. He didn't approve of sabotage, especially when most of it were aimed at destroying the personal lives of others.

"The ends do justify the means. Don't you say, Eliot baby?" Patricia wore a beatific smile on her face as she switched on the television and watched in glee as Viacom stocks plummeted at the opening of the stock market.

"Was this what you had in mind when you said you had a few tricks up your sleeve?" Eliot said.

"Not exactly. I just made a few phone calls to a few influential media friends of Daddy's and advised them to interview Jeremy at Troy E. Of course I have already instructed Jeremy on what to say when the press looks for him."

"This is unethical. Whatever did this Jonathan guy ever do to you? He was just a high school friend and so what if he is gay? Your grudge is with Stone not him." He turned to the page with Jonathan's picture and indicated with his forefinger to emphasize his point.

"In war, sacrifices are inevitable. Don't be so naive Eliot darling." Patricia wagged her finger in the air as if teaching a foolish young boy some lessons.

"I still think we should apologize to this Bancroft person." Eliot sulked. It was not typical of him. Usually he would abide by whatever Patricia did, regardless of how audacious or ludicrous it was. However, this didn't bother Patricia that much, she already had her revenge. Stone was going to pay for divorcing her. It was all that mattered.

Just then a maid rushed into the dining lounge.

"Call for Madam, Sir." she said.

"This is Patricia Kensington speaking. Who is it?"

"Baby, did you read the news? That sick perverted ex-husband of yours is going to down," James Kensington's exhilarated voice reverberated from the other end.

"Daddy, can we drop the ex-husband thing? I don't want to have anything to do with him," Patricia replied.

"Sorry love. Anyway I'm going to get your Uncle Troy and the other families We will bury that arrogant son of a bitch." James Kensington promised with deadly certainty.

"How bad is Viacom Enterprises?" I asked, sick of being pampered and kept in the dark. There was a group of people in the living room, some had their eyes locked on an enormous television screen that almost spanned the face of an entire wall, some were busy keying data into laptops scattered across the large rectangular coffee table while a few were pacing up and down, making notes. Everyone stared at me and there was a tangible animosity in the air. After all, I was partly to be blamed for this crisis.

"We are down by ten points every hour and by the end of the day, Viacom Enterprises would be worthless. In short, we are doomed." Jason supplied, sympathizing with my predicament.

"Can't we just raise funds and buy the shares? I mean Viacom is a large corporation." I suggested and immediately regretted it. Half the population in the room gave me mocking glances and were it not for Jason's presence, I believed they would have jeered. Marcus was at a board meeting, explaining the situation.

"It's not that simple. We have grown too much over the past few years and lack liquid funds to buy back the shares on our own. Marc has mortgaged all of his properties over the recent bid to purchase Troy Electronics. Eighty percent of the board is reluctant to offer any help since Marc had offended them by defeating the Troys. Most of them are family friends of the Troys. We have already tried the banks and they are blocking all loans on account of unreliable credentials. Someone has been telling them Marc is to be replaced as president of Viacom Enterprises by today and banks despise risks..." Jason patted me on the shoulder, wondering if I had absorbed all that information.

Madness. Utter madness. To fire a CEO just because he was gay? All these power play and vengeance.

"They are firing Marc just because he is in love with a man?" I queried, not for one moment did I trust myself to speak those words. They sounded so stupid, so inane.

"They hated Marc and have always been waiting for an excuse to get rid of him. He had wanted to change the board over the last year without much success and that had piqued some of them." Jason said.

"I'm useless around here. Let me cook something for the team." I said dejectedly. I needed something to do, something to keep myself busy, something that will keep me sane. It occurred to me then that the business world was more ruthless and merciless then I had ever imagined.

"We got everything here. Come on we are the Strategic people, the people with the brains, we won't starve ourselves." Jason tried to joke, but his voice sounded hollow to my ears.

"Why not you take a nap and who knows when you wake up tomorrow, everything is going to be fine again." Jason offered.

"I suppose this means the Troys' and the other vultures, like Patricia's father, are going for the kill, latest by tomorrow." I stated. Jason's eyes were on me and so were several other pairs of eyes. There was something of confusion and shock in them. They didn't think I understood what was going on. Who could blame them? I was just a junior electronics engineer. Research was my field not business.

Was it night or morning? I had lost track of time. The silk curtains in the large guest room were drawn and there was a disquieting silence in the air. I felt uncomfortable and warm even though I was probably resting on a bed that cost as much as my apartment's monthly rent. I could distinctly hear the clicking noise of leather shoes against polished redwood. Someone was coming up the stairs and most of the servants should be asleep, else there would be several other footsteps in the background. Abruptly the noise died down. I climbed out of bed and opened the door, narrowly missing Marcus who was standing outside.

"You gave me a fright," I gasped.

"Sorry," he said.

"What time is it?" I asked, trying to make small talk.

"No idea."

"Have you eaten?"

"Nope," he replied dispassionately.

"How was the meeting with the board?"

"Okay."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I persisted.

"Nope."

"Anything you want to tell me?" I asked, not wanting to give up, something was wrong. I could feel it.

"Nope," he said.

"I think you need a hot chocolate."

I grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him down to the kitchen. It took me awhile to find it since the place was huge and I didn't want to wake the household by switching on the lights. Not that I knew where all the switches were. I flicked on the fluorescent kitchen lamp, pushed Marcus into a chair and busied myself with fixing him a drink. I took the time waiting for the water to boil to survey him.

He looked terrible. There were beer stains on his shirt, his tie was loose and his hair resembled a haphazard nest built by birds using twigs and straws. His eyes were blood-red and his face was smudged with some black marks. There wasn't the slightest sign of the confident businessman I have dined with. I could have just picked up a drunkard off the streets.

I fished a green porcelain mug out of the counter, mixed in the chocolate and milk powder, and placed the cup into his hands. I was acutely aware of the stench that was emanating from him.

"Drink this. No more alcohol for you tonight." I said.

Silence.

"Fine. So what if you lost your job and the company? You are talented so I'm sure you will make a comeback. Those old ninnies who call themselves the board of directors should just go shoot themselves for sacking the most capable chief executive officer. Buck up, Stoner, show them that they are wrong. You can always start over again."

"Can't do." he mumbled.

"I have some savings. You can have them." I lied.

I didn't have much to spare, most of what I had earned I spent on art lessons. Besides even if I did save, the paltry sum I would have wasn't going to be enough to buy a large corporation. He smiled wryly but it faded just as soon as it appeared.

"Okay I was joking but I'm serious about giving you support. We can work together and along with Jason's help, we are going to make a formidable team."

"Won't work. Jason's facing charges of illegal business practices and may end up in jail."

"How the hell did that happen?!" I was about to curse.

"No fucking idea." Marcus beat me to it.

Both of us chuckled. It was a childish game that we played in high school. Jason used to brag to Marcus that he was more cultured and had better manners. So Marcus had conceived the game and tricked me into being a reluctant participant. We would monitor each other's speech and for every obscenity that was mouthed, the person would have to pay a fine of a dollar.

"You owe me a dollar," I laughed.

"Rain check. Broke." He rasped. I knew he was going to break.

"There's only you and me. If you want to cry, I won't laugh. I promise. Let it out Stoner. Stop denying the pain," I beckoned and embraced him.

He resisted for awhile, his shoulders taut with tension while his arms remained at the sides, before releasing the dam over his emotions. He wailed, the cries wrenched from deep within him and all I could do was to soothe him with my hands as shudders after shudders racked his big body. I could feel my own tears rolling down, for I knew I was partly responsible for his pain. Gradually he subsided and I felt the ache in my heart ease a little.

"Better?" I asked, trying to break out of the hug.

"Yeah. Thanks JB," he croaked.

"I think you should let me go," I chided softly, pushing him away but his arms tightened even more.

"I liked hugging you," he giggled foolishly.

"Marcus Stone if this is a joke, I don't think this is the right place or time." I warned, hoping he would let me go. He was quite strong and much larger than me.

"No joke. I think I'm in love with you," he professed.

I almost fainted.

CHAPTER 4 (PROMISES)

His body was sleek with nicely formed muscles around the arms and the abdomen. There was a thin mat of tawny hair spreading from his nether parts all the way to the chest. The water from the shower sprayed against his body as I gently worked the soap into a thick foamy lather, massaging it over his naked frame. He was very tall, like a titan and I had to stand on tiptoes to reach for his damp, silky brown hair. He moaned softly as my fingers brushed against his ears while I shampooed his hair. Slowly he descended and kissed me full on the lips. The sensation was incredible as his tongue attacked my mine, poking, stroking, teasing, toying with it like a child who had found paradise. Soon our tongues were entangled together, twisted with each other in an endless twirl. His saliva tasted of chocolate, cognac and cigar and I could feel his hot breath leaving scorching trails on my face.

I groped blindly with my hands, finding his phallus and stroked it gently. Step by step I increased the tempo, going from slow to fast and faster, stretching his 8 inch long manhood until it was burning hot and thick as a club. The rivulets of water trickling down his torso only extended his pleasure as I pulled back the foreskin and cleaned his cock with my finger.

"Suck me, JB. I want to feel your mouth," he rasped hoarsely.

I broke off the kiss and covered his prong with my mouth. I gnawed and chewed at it like a ravenous slut, slurping the immense length until he groaned with ecstasy. He rode my mouth like an expert, his buttocks bucking back and forth rapidly, threatening to ram the entire length of meat into my throat.

"I want to fuck you," he demanded and before I could protest, he turned me towards the wall roughly, imprisoned my body with his and plunged deep. I cried as the pain tore through my system, my mind filled with an image of a searing white light. Then as the pain subsided, he began to move. His stick entering and withdrawing while my splintcer muscles contracted and expanded to contain him.

"God you feel so tight," he breathed.

"Please, please," I begged as I felt the pressure mounting.

"I'm going to cum in your love-hole," he said

I felt a warm stream of jism ejaculated into my body as the man behind me swore in ecstasy. He took a little of the cum and smeared it across my dick as he tenderly said, " I want to make you cum, honey."

Gently, he grabbed my penis. His large rough hands tenderly moving up and down my cock and I knew I was nearing the edge as a fiery sensation threatened to burst from my bladders. Within moments, I came and came until I was empty and slumped tiredly into his comforting embrace.

"That was the best sex for me in years," he said as his palm gently caressed my body.

"We are going to regret this in the morning," I predicted. I had to be dreaming. This was not happening. Marcus and I should not, could not be in bed naked and holding each other.

"Does it still hurt?" he questioned, fumbling through the sheets as his hand sought my asshole, probing the tender muscles now lubricated with antiseptic cream. He was cleaning my hole after our love making and found that I was bleeding. Parts of the skin were torn due to the abnormal invasion of his virility and my virgin ass was not well-prepared to accommodate it.

"You should have told me you had no experience," he grumbled, pinching my nipples with one hand while the other softly stroked my butthole.

"I...I didn't know you were gay...and Oww!" I groaned as a piercing pain shot up from the buttocks. He was sliding a finger into my hole.

"Sorry baby," he pressed a quick peck on my lips as a form of apology.

"How about this?" he settled for tapping lightly on the sensitive walls of the cavity instead of trying to work the cream into it.

I nodded and rested my head on his shoulder. His neck smelt of spicy cologne.

"When for you?" I asked, ignoring the heat that was starting to spread through my groins.

"After Patricia I guessed. She was the perfect catch of the season, beautiful and witty, and making love to her was fantastic. But subconsciously I knew I wasn't with her. My heart was somewhere else and there was always that feeling of emptiness. Back then I had attributed it to my disillusion of women and thought nothing of it, until you came back into my life and this...this...charade," he paused and I could tell he was still struggling to accept that he had lost both his company, wealth and status in one day. Things he had worked hard to achieve all his life.

"As a form of compensation I gave her everything that money could buy. Initially, I had trouble coping though since she was a rich, pampered girl and I was just a small manager in an export company. My break came when I started Viacom and the concept of E-Commerce took flight. Unfortunately, my success proved to be the factor that unraveled our marriage. I spent less and less time with her willingly because I knew we could never satisfy each other sexually. Everything became a routine. I would call her once a week to make sure she was alright and we would send each other presents during important occasions such as birthdays and anniversaries." he said, narrating the story as if it was someone else's.

"So you tried to salvage your marriage," I concluded, stopping his hand that was wandering from my chest to the lower half of my body. He gave me a silly grin and nibbled on my ear instead.

"I'm not trying to rid myself of guilt here. But I did try to remain faithful. There were the occasional flings but they were just meaningless one-night stands. I had always thought she was happy with the kind of allowance I was giving her monthly. So I was stupefied when out of the blue, she served me with divorce papers and extorted half of Viacom, which had by then became one of the leading corporate in the world," he said, his voice laden with bitterness as he sat up and laid a hand across my shoulders while resting his chin on my head.

"So you never hit her or anything?" I said. It was more of a statement because I knew Marcus would never hurt any living creature willingly.

"It was just a vicious lie she invented to file for divorce. Of course the media blew it out of proportions," he sighed.

"Apparently you didn't lose half of your company. What happened?" I asked curiously.

"Luckily since the Kensingtons were rich snobs when we married, James Kensington had stipulated that I signed a prenuptial agreement to protect his only daughter and his wealth. I wasn't intending to use his money anyway so I was happy to go through with it. It turned out that the agreement saved me."

His probing finger withdrew from my asshole and came to rest on my lap. I reached over the table for a towel and wiped it.

"So when they left the court in disgrace, he called you a scumbag and you decided to retaliate against him. Ever since that day, it had been outright warfare between the two of you." I finished.

"Something like that. But he had already labeled me as a money-grabber since the first day of our marriage. I didn't want to get married, Patricia had forced me into it. She fooled me into thinking she was pregnant," he trapped both of my hands with one of his, while the other disappeared beneath the sheets, travelling down to my crotch.

"Why?" I breathed, trying valiantly to free my hands.

"I was in love with Betty, my secretary at the export company."

"What the?!" I jerked upright and glared angrily at him, my eyes stabbing pins into his.

"Are you jealous?" he asked, flashing a devilish smile my way.

"Damn right I am, Marcus Cornelia Stone." I growled, injecting as much dignity as I could garner into my voice.

"Debt paid! I don't owe you a dollar now!" he laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that made his stomach moved.

"What debt? Oh that! Of all the..." A dozen retorts sprang to my lips only to be kissed away by his seductive mouth. Trust that oaf to be this flippant!

"Okay I lied. I thought I was in love with her," he mumbled against my lips.

I pushed him away and surprisingly he yielded.

"And are you still?" I was a little pacified. Just a little.

"Absolutely not," his mouth formed the irrevocable words and I felt my heart skipped a beat as he stared at me, tenderness in his eyes. It was impossible to hate the man.

"How did you end up marrying Betty then?" I asked suspiciously. I wasn't going to let him get off so easily.

"I was confused. I thought my first marriage had failed because I didn't love Patricia. So I married Betty, who was by then a widow. Her husband had died in a plane accident. But two months after the wedding, I found I was unhappy again. Betty was great with running the household and much more considerate than Patricia, a perfect choice for a wife. But I could not bed her without forcing myself to perform the act. It was pure torture and I was beginning to suspect that I preferred men. I believe Betty knew something was wrong too but I didn't confront her."

"Did you try to save your marriage again?" I asked, pitying the poor man beside me who hungered for love but was looking in all the wrong places.

He nodded. "I did. But as with Patricia, Betty served me with divorce papers and wanted half of what I owned. I was furious but there was nothing I could do to prevent it. No prenuptial agreements were signed because I had presumed the marriage was going to work. I didn't think she would want to have anything to do with my money either. Later on, I found out Patricia had offered to help Betty."

"So you gave her half of your company and properties?" I questioned.

"Nope," he answered.

"Suspense, suspense. I'm starting to get sick of this," I scolded.

"Patience," he said.

"Jason managed to prove that she was still legally married to her husband. They were married in a Muslim court and by their laws the wife had to mourn her husband for months before she is fit to remarry," he provided quickly and patted me on the cheeks.

"What a mess." I said and he nodded in agreement.

"So, now what?" I asked.

"We kiss and make out," he had resumed squeezing my cock with one hand.

"No, I mean we can't make out for the rest of our lives."

"My resignation will be announced at the press conference held in the reception area of Troy Electronics building tomorrow. I intend to affirm our relationship as well," he said.

"But we only got involved after the news broke," I was baffled by his sudden decision.

"Technically you are right but it doesn't matter to me," he smiled.

"Are you serious? Why me? I'm plain and normal. You have just discovered your sexuality, surely you would want to explore some more? Meet other guys, hang out and get to know them?" I rambled on, reiterating my thoughts and was amazed that I could actually put them into words.

"I know what I am looking for. It is love but not love for a woman, it is love for a man. You are everything that I want in a spouse. Why else did you think we mix so well in the past? There was friendship then but I believed somehow along the way it had became companionship and something infinitely more intimate. For crying out loud, I asked your opinion on every minute detail, from which sock to buy to which shirt to wear and included you in all major events and decisions of my life. Unless, you are saying you don't feel anything for me." he hesitated, gauging my emotions, correctly interpreting my moment of weakness when he pulled me into his arms.

"I think we should give it a shot." I conceded and in my heart I prayed that I have made the right choice.

Eliot Troy laid on his bed, staring at the blown up photograph of the man hanging on the far wall. There was something disturbing about the man's eyes that perplexed him. They reminded him of a small orphan begging to be adopted. He shrugged off the memory. He was now heir to Troy empire and not some poor kid who had no parents. Patricia had gone too far this time. What else would she attempt next? It was a fact that Marcus Stone was going to be a pauper by tomorrow. His father and uncles had made sure of it. Patricia was there with her father but he knew she wasn't satisfied. Patricia Kensington never stopped halfway. He had only caught snatches of the conversation Patricia had with this Timothy guy when he pretended to be asleep. What did Timothy mean when he said the trap was set and Smith was good as dead?

I almost made a vow to myself to run down any journalist I should ever encounter. The press conference was a massacre and I was certain I would have broken down had I stood in the line of fire. Fortunately, Marcus had arranged for me to watch from a hidden corner while he answered the questions. They were ruthless. Why was being gay so different from being heterosexual? Did these people seriously believe that by coming out we are trying to tell teenagers that being gay was cool? Why did it interest them how it felt to have sex with a woman as compared to a man? Why did they delve so far into the motives behind Marcus's resignation? Why was it funny to them that there were smart and talented gay people who actually made it to the pinnacle of the corporate ladder through sheer hard work?

At that time, Jason was held in the police station and was not permitted bail. The officer in charge had refused bail on grounds that there were substantial pieces of evidence to indict Jason. Marcus was convinced someone had fabricated false documents but he had no proof and there was nothing we could do to prove his innocence. We could only hope for the best.

Viacom Enterprises was acquired under the joint efforts of Troy Associates and Kensington & Co. Patricia Kensington was made president while James Kensington was made vice-president. It was a highly acclaimed strategic move according to some analysts. Marcus thought otherwise. He told me never to trust the economic reviews completely because they were written by people and people were biased.

"Look at the figures and statistics instead and make your own judgements," he advised while we sat on the cramped couch reading the paper.

We had discarded the front page because we didn't want to see our faces splashed across it with lurid headlines beneath. Apart from the couch, the only furniture were some swivel chairs, a few easels stranded on the floor and a faded Egyptian tapestry on the wall where the television set used to be. I had sold it awhile back to pay for a new set of drawing materials. It was a far cry from Marcus's villa but he seemed content to be where he was.

"Shouldn't reviews be as truthful as possible?" I asked.

"To a certain extent. I wouldn't be lying if I felt that this was a good move would I? You have to realize the financial world is very volatile," he answered, flipping through the pages. He was actively looking for the latest development on Jason's case and I knew he was very tensed. The trial wasn't going in Jason's favor.

"Stoner are you trying to say the Kensingtons are egomaniacs?" I said, pulling away the newspaper and draped my arms across his shoulders, hoping to distract him.

"Only if you let me strip you," he smiled and kissed me on the forehead.

Just then the phone rang. I jumped in spite of myself. Who was it this time? Playgirl? Or some gay bashers? Maybe it was some gay friend who was kind enough to let us know he or she supported us.

"Want me to take it?" Marcus quirked an eyebrow at me.

"No, I got it." I picked up the phone, listened and replaced the receiver.

"Who was it? You look like you have just seen a ghost," Marcus asked worriedly.

"It was my mum. I had just been formally disowned. My foster parents are filing for the official papers." I replied without any emotions, sitting down next to him. I was still in a state of shock.

My boyfriend pressed my head against his chest and wrapped me in his arms, cuddling me like a teddy bear.

"How are you taking all these?" he looked me in the eye. I tried to avoid making contact. I didn't know how to react.

"I dunno."

"Try talking about it. You always feel better after voicing your thoughts." he suggested.

I gave it a try. "It was inevitable I guess, being disowned but the incident this time probably made them angry enough to make true on their threat."

"They already know you are gay. What difference does it make?"

"My parents value pride second to money. I couldn't provide them with money so the least I could do is keep as low-keyed about my sexual orientation as possible so as to save them from humiliation. Now the whole country and probably the whole world knows about my being gay. It must be devastating to them." I explained but Marcus was looking at me part amused, part sympathetic.

"What? Stoner if you have something on your mind, spill it."

"JB, I don't think you owe them anything. They never spent a cent on your education, you slogged through high school and college through scholarships. Not once did they bother to look you up in school or attend any event of significance to you. The first thing they demanded was that you pay them half of your monthly salary when they knew you were gay. Don't look so surprised. I got a private investigator to check on you before our reunion but I thought it wouldn't hurt to meet you first."

"I...I.." I stammered. Every single word of Marcus's hit home. I felt tears welling up.

"And I'm not going to apologize because you shouldn't have kept it from me." he continued.

"They are still my family." I protested weakly.

"Do you think they considered you as one? It could all just be an investment to them," he retorted cruelly. I felt as if someone had just opened the Pandora box in my soul and released all my deepest fears.

"No. No. You are just being subjective." I cried, the tears rolling down my cheeks like a river in spate.

"Hush. I'm sorry, baby. Don't cry." he cooed and rocked me gently like an infant.

"They sent me Christmas cards." I said, conveniently omitting the fact that each card always had a message to send money home for my foster brother.

"Yes they did," he said hoarsely.

"They brought me out of the orphanage." I went on.

"You can stop now, love. I didn't mean what I said." he urged, his voice breaking.

"I have a father and a mother. I'm not a bastard child." I sobbed uncontrollably.

"Please forgive me." Something wet landed on my face and it was then I realized Marcus was crying as well. I held him with my arms as we offered comfort to each other.

"Do you think they love me like their own, like they promised?"

Marcus didn't answer.

CHAPTER 5 (GREED)

Life was a living nightmare over the next year. We were constantly hounded by the press and everywhere we went we had to wear a disguise. Sometimes the more careful reporters would spot us and we would spend hours dodging them until we were safely back in my apartment. But it was nothing compared to the surreptitious looks from people on the streets and the whistles, boos and jeers we got when we were recognized. We cut the phone line because it was rapidly becoming a nuisance. There was an increasing number of rude people calling in to harass us compared to the well-wishers. We had thought about shifting but was tight on cash since Marcus and I didn't have a steady income. Nobody wanted to employ us, the reasons were delivered in various manners but they often had one message, that we were too well-known. But we survived. I could still sell my paintings since the curator wasn't interested in who was the painter so long as it looked pretty and his customers liked them. Marcus helped out by doing odd jobs, sometimes posing as a bellhop or waiter.

It wasn't a luxurious lifestyle for we had to scrimp and save every penny, cutting back on electricity, food and water, but it was enough to fill our stomachs. I was surprised Marcus coped remarkably well. I was afraid he would bail out anytime because it was a demeaning form of existence for someone who used to be rich and famous. I was wrong and felt ashamed of myself for doubting him. I finally gathered the courage to tell him about my fears and he laughingly forgave me. The hardship had forged an even stronger bond between the two of us and I got gained confidence with each passing day that our relationship was finally going to work.

Marcus didn't give up trying to start a business again. He corresponded frequently with Jason who had lost the case and was sentenced to a year in jail. It was a brief trial and we never quite understood what transpired. Between them they had already made ambitious plans when Jason was due to be released in another week's time. Marcus diligently kept track of Viacom's progress. It was speculated that the Kensingtons hadn't changed the name because it was too costly to re-introduce it under a new name. It didn't matter. Viacom's business was bound to go downhill after a series of poor marketing strategies even though Patricia had merged the Kensingtons' businesses with Viacom's. As a result, she was forced to completely shutdown several factories, assembly lines, retail chain-stores and branches in several parts of the country. I didn't know whether to gloat or mourn. They were destroying everything that my boyfriend had built.

My parents took no time to break off any ties with me. They even made me signed a document to declare that anything either of us should own would not be transferable to the other party. Everything was handled through mail and not once did they ever flew down to check how I was doing. I cried for days after signing the papers but Marcus said it was for the best. No point in dragging on something that had soured. We received a letter from Betty, informing us that she was married again to a Thai businessman and that she was moving to Manila. She apologized for anything stupid that she had done and wished us all the best. Marcus's father visited us occasionally. He was released from rehabilitation for drug and alcohol abuse two months after the incident. They never really talked but I knew they still cared very much for each other. After Marcus's mother died of breast cancer, his father had taken to booze and cocaine and could never quite snapped out of it. Ever since he had been a fleeting shadow in Marcus's life and never participated much in it until lately.

We were at last picking up the pieces of our life and were starting all over again. However, fate had other plans in store for us.

"Damn bunch of old, senile assholes," Patricia swore.

Eliot looked up from the spacious leather sofa trimmed with fox fur, more baffled by her presence rather than her choice of words. He had gotten used to her irrational outbursts and unpredictable moods for the past year. Frankly speaking, he was sick of her tantrums but he was at the same time, afraid of her. He knew he was somehow masochistic, loving the person who abused and bossed him around.

"Aren't you supposed to be at a board meeting?" he asked.

"Shut up and get me a drink," she snapped.

He obliged and walked towards the bar.

Eliot was probably going to get her a bottle of lemonade if she did not tell him what she wanted. She hated him for not being able to do anything useful on his own during times like this. He was a weakling but it was also because of this that she could bend him to her will, she reasoned. She enjoyed being the dictator in a relationship. It excited her.

"Whisky. A large glass of it." she added. Had she bothered to look up at that moment, she would have seen Eliot already pouring whisky into a crystal flute.

"Here," Eliot placed the whisky onto the table and switched on the television set.

"Off that hideous thing. I'm trying to concentrate," she yelled. There was no need to shout since Eliot was just sitting next to her but Patricia didn't care.

Eliot switched off the set and picked up a magazine to read instead. Something was definitely troubling her. From what little he could glimpse in Patricia's files, he had concluded that Viacom was going to have to close down ten percent of its operations in pharmaceuticals country-wide in the form of retrenching workers due to a wrong investment made on a miracle cosmetic that had turned out to be a hoax. Unless someone could come up with a contingency plan to salvage the situation.

"If its about work, I can help," he offered in a timid voice.

"As if you know what kind of problems I am dealing with. Do you know what a business projection is? I don't think so. Why don't you just squirm back into that mouse hole of yours and keep quiet?" she sneered.

Eliot sighed. He knew what a business projection was and could draft one easily. He didn't spend all of his time in college learning how to dress up and look good. He did graduate with a major in business administration. Besides he had a few solutions to Viacom's economic crisis which he was confident would work since he had consulted his father about it. However, Robert Troy had warned him to stay out of Viacom's business since it was technically still owned by the Kensingtons since they were the major shareholder. Being engaged to the CEO of Viacom didn't give him the rights to interfere. Especially when the CEO had blatantly refused his help.

Patricia stood up and strode towards the balcony. She needed fresh air and being in the same room with that idiotic fianc, of hers was killing her ability to think. She could not coax Eliot into having his father to inject funds into Viacom's treasury since the old bugger had distinctively pointed out during the meeting that he was not going to help. That had embarrassed her greatly and was the main reason for her anger. Her father was helpless since he only knew how to spend his days reminiscing about the good old days. She needed a diversion. Something to distract the press enough that they will stop harping about how badly Viacom was doing and the failed miracle cosmetic experiment.

Then she remembered Marcus Stone. He was related to Viacom and so was his boyfriend, that Jonathan guy. Or was it Jones? She wasn't certain. She was already over and done with them but still the thought that they were enjoying their happy gay life while she worked so hard was enough to make her sick. It would be interesting to see them in the news again.

"What the fuck is going on?" Gabriel Stone shouted. There were a bunch of reporters outside the apartment surrounding Jonathan and flashing their cameras at him. He had just got of the bus from Houston and did not expect this. Nobody took much heed of him as they pounced on a poor, harassed Jonathan who was fending himself from the offending lights with his hand without any success.

"Get the hell out of here or I'm calling the cops," he threatened, already pushing his way through.

By the time he reached the center, Jonathan was a terrible mess and looked like he was about to collapse anytime. He lifted him and barged his way into the apartment, dragging Jonathan with him. Luckily the door was not locked. The mob had probably ambushed Jonathan when he was about to enter the house after he finished shopping for groceries.

"Don't you dare touch my son-in-law with your stinking hands and shut the fuck up," he thundered and slammed the door shut, turning the key.

Gabriel turned and stared at the limp form, laying motionless on the floor, tears flowing freely down his face. His heart wrenched at the sight. What had these people done to the boy? Marcus went to fetch Jason and won't be back until late at night. What was he going to do in the meantime?

Patricia was proud of her handiwork. This definitely surpassed any rumors that she had helped spread, including the one that brought Marcus Stone's downfall. She didn't know it was such a delight to dig out someone's past, edit parts of it and then send it for printing.

The headline in the tabloid was rather ingenious, she thought.

"EX-INDUSTRIALIST SEX SLUT EXPOSED!"

She loved the article. Not because it was well-written but more for the little bits of hidden truth. At least she kept the part about Jonathan being an orphan. It was too funny to be left out. The lies were nicely woven too. She had only planned on using Jonathan but in the end, she managed to throw in Jason Smith and Marcus Stone. Gay high school friends reunited. Gay high school student sleeping with professor for college scholarship. Aspired to be rich and famous but never had the chance. Found new boss was his old friend and tried to sleep with him to get rich fast.

She was still smiling to herself when the office door flew open and her fianc, stormed in. He held a stack of newspapers in his hand and appeared to be spoiling for a fight.

"Are you responsible for this?" he asked in an unusually cold voice and threw the papers onto her table.

"For what?" she feigned ignorance.

"Jonathan Bancroft."

"It's none of your business. Now get out of my office," she replied.

"Answer my question. Did you or did you not spread malicious lies about Jonathan Bancroft?"

"Don't test my patience Eliot. I said get out," she warned silkily.

"Bitch," he cursed and left.

Patricia couldn't believe her ears. Was that Eliot? Why was he so pissed off at what happened to this Bancroft person? He was actually audacious enough to confront her at her office. Impossible!

"If you are a reporter, you can kiss my ass," Gabriel peeped through the hole and scrutinized the handsome young man cloaked in an expensive tailored suit of black.

"I'm not here to ask for an interview. I am here on personal matters." he said.

"With whom?"

"Jonathan Bancroft."

"Look mister, whoever you are I don't give a shit. Nobody gets to see Jonathan."

Gabriel was not about to expose Jonathan to anymore danger given his current state of mind. In all his years, he had never seen someone so lifeless and eerily quiet. It was as if Jonathan was dead as he rested on the small couch, gazing fixedly at the ceiling.

"I mean him no harm. I swear." the man said with sincerity.

"And you are?" Gabriel relented a little. It wouldn't hurt to find out the visitor's name at least.

"Eliot Troy."

"As in Troy of Troy Associates, that piece of scum who thinks he can push anyone around just because he has loads of cash?" Gabriel bit out sarcastically. He knew the Troys were invariably responsible for his son's plight and he had immediately assumed the worst.

"That would be my father." the man replied dryly.

"Screw you all." Gabriel swore and swung the door shut, his patience at an end. He had thought the man was patronizing him.

Outside Eliot stared at the locked door in despair. He had intended to right a wrong but failed.

I could hear faint voices whispering in the encroaching darkness. It sounded like quarrelling but I didn't care. What have I done to deserve this? It wasn't enough that I had lost my family and my job, caused my boyfriend to lose his company and everything he had fought for and being indirectly responsible for putting a good friend in jail. Why did they have to make me out to be a whore? Why did they lie about my past?

Perhaps I was decreed to be live alone by myself in solitude. I was the failed experiment of two people and brought bad luck to everyone I was close to. My boyfriend, my friend and maybe my boyfriend's father in the future. It was time I left. It wasn't such an absurd notion now. It would benefit all that I loved.

CHAPTER 6 (REVELATIONS)

Eliot briskly stepped out of the bar. It was freezing and the city was ablaze with multi-colored lights. Cars rushing by while along the streets, scantily-dressed women waved their hands in the air, making passes at the commuters. The scent of cigar and smoke lingered still. He preferred the comforts of a fancy restaurant to a street bar, where the valet took care of your car while you enjoyed the music and drinks. But tonight was different. He had hailed a taxi instead of driving and didn't want to bump into any acquaintances.

"Sorry," someone said as he crashed into Eliot.

"It's okay," Eliot replied and helped the man up. He was unusually attired. Clothed in a thick, large brown coat, only his face showed and he was wearing a dark pair of sunglasses in the middle of the night. He noticed the man snatched a travelling bag and was shivering slightly.

"Is everything alright?" Eliot asked in concern.

"What...oh, yeah." he answered, his hand clenching and releasing the strap of the bag.

"I have to go, sorry about what happened just now," he said hurriedly and was about to leave when something about the man's mannerisms and behavior hit Eliot. Eliot held onto his parting shoulders and restrained him.

"Hold on a second," Eliot fabricated. He didn't know what to say but instinct was telling him not to let the stranger go.

"Lemme go," the man growled, turning hostile all of a sudden.

Something familiar about his voice, his face. Could it be him? Eliot was excited and petrified at the same time. Did he dare to take a risk?

"Jonathan what?!!" Marcus growled. He couldn't believe this was happening. Jonathan gone? And that vicious gossip in the paper.

"He said he wanted to take a stroll," Gabriel defended himself.

Marcus was silent. Dangerously silent.

"I did wait for you to return but I thought it didn't hurt to let him walk around, clear his head in the meantime," Gabriel went on after a long moment, the animosity emanating from his son was stifling.

"Next time, don't think," Marcus said, his voice low and threatening.

"If we rush out now and make some enquiries, maybe we will find him," Jason interrupted hastily.

"I'll do it," Gabriel volunteered.

"That goes for me too. You should stay home in case he comes back, Marc." Jason said.

"Marc, you know, the news could be true. Why else would Eliot Troy come knocking on his door immediately after it was released? Maybe he has been using you all along. Maybe he was sleeping with Eliot. The news did say he was a money-grabbing prostitute so there's no knowing what he would do. We were wrong about him." Gabriel commented and left, with Jason following behind.

"Ms. Kensington?" the lady asked, her voice like a low rumble.

"I'm here," Patricia was still trying to calm her nerves. Why did that pest have to choose this time to escape?

"Listen here, I want him captured. Immediately and I don't care what you do." She instructed while the strong, muscled lady at the other end listened attentively. She was a passivist by nature but she was always willing to use violence when it was necessary. And where in god's name is Eliot?

"Just sign your name on that confession and we are done," the lawyer rubbed his eyes. He was used to the idiosyncrasies of the rich but he wasn't prepared to handle something this serious at this hour. If his employer succeeded, this could be disastrous. He couldn't start to imagine the damage this would inflict.

The burly man scribbled his name on the dotted line. He had a sizable frame but there were bruises on his arms and face that made anyone who looked wondering who could hurt such a man so.

"I repeat. By signing this, you are fully aware of what you have done and consent to it without recriminations," the lawyer droned on.

"Yee.ss," the man stuttered. He had removed his sunglasses and had his head bent low.

The lawyer switched off the camcorder, removed the tape, filed the papers and handed everything to his employer.

"Mr. Troy, here are the things you wanted," he said.

Eliot Troy shivered. What was he going to do next?

I eyed the fleeting scenes through the windows of the bus with remorse and longing, as memories flooded my mind. I could still remember my delight when I first saw New York city with its skyscrapers, neon lights and speeding cars. Even the lamp posts looked so beautiful then. The first painting that I sold, the meeting with Marcus and Jason. That seemed like ages ago.

The trip was long but quiet, giving me ample time to figure out my feelings. Everything was perfectly clear. I was the root of all this vileness. Had I not intruded on Marcus's life, nothing would have happened. Had I accepted my lot in life and stayed on in the orphanage, nobody would have been hurt. Flashes of sunlight bounced off the rooftop of the Houston orphanage as I alighted. I didn't know how long I have sat in the bus or whether I had gotten off when it stopped several times during the journey. It wasn't important. I was back.

The gates were rusty and thick green vines had curled their way upwards around its frame. Vanilla-white paint, yellowed with age, was starting to peel off from the main building and somewhere to the far east, I saw some children in tattered clothes giggling on a crude swing that consisted of a plank of wood and some ropes. At the entrance, I saw a nun in a bleached blue and white uniform stooping over to tend to the injuries of a toddler. I approached her.

"Sister Mary." I said simply.

She peered at me with those sagely eyes of hers, the wrinkles on her face folding unto themselves.

"Jonny?" She asked, using the pet name she had given me.

"Yes, Sister Mary," I replied, taking her hand and pressed a light kiss on it.

"Oh I'm so happy that you are back. I was so worried about you. Poor darling, how you have suffered," she sat the baby girl down and opened her arms to me, welcoming back into her caring embrace.

"I'm so sorry," I cried, letting the pain flowed out of me into her, like an ocean accepting the waters of rivers and streams, taking them as nature ordained without any discriminations.

"Let it out, poor darling," she said while the baby girl watched on in fascination at the grown man, clutching tightly onto a frail woman as if she was his life boat.

Eliot sealed the package and glanced at the ornate grandfather clock made of silver. Patricia hadn't returned home since yesterday, where was she? He didn't know how she would react if she knew what he was about to do. But one thing he was sure of. He would not have the courage to send the package if she were around and would hate himself for the rest of his lives for it. It had to be done, he couldn't hurt a fellow orphan.

Jeremy heard the snapping of his neck as he drew his last breath. The assassin cackled wildly as her blood shot eyes burned fervently in the darkness. She loved the kill but she loved the aftermath of the kill even more. The blood oozing out of the victim's nose and mouth thrilled her. She rode the dead corpse a few more times and orgasmed. She moaned in pleasure as the sensations of her climax filled her. She knew lustful men deserved to die when she strangled her stepfather in bed. This was justice.

Patricia hid her face quickly as a bellboy stumbled past, burdened with cases of luggage. Soon she would be safe, freed from this vermin that dared to threaten her, Patricia Kensington, president of Viacom Enterprises, daughter of James Kensington. The woman was taking her own sweet time. Earlier on, she had tried to call Eliot at home to allay his suspicions and to establish an alibi in case she needed one. But the battery of her cell phone chose that time to go flat. All that vaulted rechargeable, lithium technology only to fail when she needed it.

"You need to eat, boy," Sister Mary said.

"Thank you Sister but I'm not hungry," I replied.

I twirled the pen in my hand and looked out at the playground beneath. Children were bouncing and running about gleefully, skipping over holes and blocks of stone enthusiastically while the skies laid overcast with shadows. Not even the weather could dampen their happiness. I noticed a small carving on the wooden table, Jon B, the alias I had adopted for my artwork since young. The room was still the same as I remembered, white-washed linen bed-sheets, old furniture with missing legs and spotless floors. Sister Mary had insisted we keep our rooms clean for it was where we kept our souls. I didn't understand then. I understood now. You worked hard to keep yourself away from evil.

"What are you thinking about, Jonny?" she asked as I stared into blank space.

"Oh nothing, just that you used to say our rooms were where we kept our souls. I wished I had a broom to sweep the debris in mine," I replied.

"You don't need a broom or anything at all. I see you pure," she said with conviction.

"Thank you Sister," I said. It was flattering of her to speak of me in such glowing terms even though she disapproved of my preference for men. She was a devout Christian.

"So what are your plans now Jonny?" she inquired before she closed the door.

"I don't know, Sister," I answered truthfully. There were several options available but the only one that appealed to me was to run away, hide myself in a remote part of the country and live alone.

"You know Jonny, sweeping is not the only way to clean a room. The wind may bring in dust but it is also a good cleaning agent if you use it wisely," she said sagely before leaving.

"But I lack the courage, Sister," I mumbled to the empty room.

Marcus drowned the bottle of beer. Where was he? Did he leave with Eliot Troy? Not Jonathan. Not my JB. What did Eliot Troy want with him then? It didn't make sense. Did he sleep with that professor? But he felt so tight that night, damn it he could have admitted he was a virgin laying there so innocent in the bed. He must have enjoyed fucking him. God knows, he was addicted to it. And nobody could fake those moans and groans of pleasure. But did Jonathan? He didn't know, he had plenty of experience with bedding women but not men.

He could slaughter his father for planting these doubts in his head but they held some truth in them. But it wasn't logical. Jonathan could have left him if he wanted to several times over the past year. Instead he had stood by him. Yet nothing was ever rational when he was with Jonathan. He could only feel not think where JB was concerned. Why did he run away? They vowed to build a new life together and he had made plans to do so.

He would have to move out if Jonathan did not return. He could not stay in the house without wondering where he has gone to surrounding by things that would remind him of Jonathan.

CHAPTER 7 (PAYBACK)

It was chaotic along the walk outside the old downtown residential building. The place was swarmed with news thirsty reporters as they trained their cameras at the podium where a frail man in a creamy white shirt and pants stepped forward. In a flash of lightning, the cameras blinked like a thousand fireflies glowing in the dark.

"I stand before you today not because I want to be featured in some sex magazine. Frankly speaking, I think they would take a look at me and kick me out on my butt," the man began.

There were chuckles of laughter in the crowd. It was true for the man was gaunt like a thin piece of gnarled branch and one could easily see the cheekbones protruding on his face. He would not to be able to inspire anyone in bed.

Meanwhile at the local police station, a package signed 'Anonymous' had just arrived and the chief inspector exploded into action after viewing the contents.

"Good morning, Ms. Kensington," the secretary said formally.

Patricia nodded regally, bestowing an approving glance at her personal secretary's attire. A gray jacket, loosely-cut skirt and an obnoxious looking pair of glasses that were too big for her face. She disliked anyone who dressed better than her in office.

"Any calls for me?" she asked coolly, flinging her hair back in a charmingly fluid motion. She knew she was stunning in a crimson silk dress with a fitting bodice that boasted her breasts.

"Mr. Kensington called and wanted you to watch the news. Your lawyers called and insisted you return their calls immediately. And the board has just called for a meeting at one this afternoon," the secretary listed, poring through an organizer in her palms.

Strange. Why the sudden board meeting and the news? What news? And what was with the lawyers? Surely nothing much could have happened when she was on vacation in Hawaii with a gorgeous model she had picked out from a GQ magazine. Eliot was proving to be a letdown in bed lately. A frown marred her flawlessly painted face. She had worn slightly more make-up to cover up the dark patches after nights of heavy sex in bed.

She had already taken care of that nuisance, Jeremy. The killer had been paid. There shouldn't be anymore trouble. She flicked on the television set in her office and could only stay riveted to the screen.

"A year ago," I paused, clearing my throat. This was proving to be insurmountably difficult.

"Mr. Marcus Stone of Viacom Enterprises was maliciously slandered for having a relationship with me. The truth is we were close friends in high school and had just been reunited. Unfortunately, due to a misunderstanding, someone had mistaken us for a gay couple after we hugged each other in the office. I'm sorry to shatter any of your dreams," I continued, a tangible silence had settled over the crowd.

"The fact is we were never involved. Mr. Marcus Stone had only discovered his sexuality after the incident and has been faithful to me since. I would like to take this opportunity to thank him for giving me the best memories of my life, for protecting me and to apologize for any hurt I have caused him.....," My eyes were starting to tear and I had to fight to keep from bawling.

"...As for the recent reports about me, they are also not true. I understand some of you may or may not believe me, there are those who choose not to, but I have nothing to gain from all these. I just want this over with."

I ended the speech and turned, maintaining a tight rein on the tears that threatened to flow. It was finally out in the open at last, no more grievances, no more regrets. Just then a man in jeans and sweater dashed up to the temporarily built stage and grabbed the microphone.

"We have just received a call from a spokesperson of the police that there have been some new developments in the Jeremy Stevenson case. The police have just received a package from an unnamed sender which contains a stack of legal papers and a video tape. Both items will prove beyond doubt that the victim was coerced by Patricia Kensington, president of Viacom Enterprises, into giving a twisted account on the character and sexual orientation of Mr. Marcus Stone in the hopes of ruining him. This tallies with Mr. Jonathan's account," the man read from a piece of paper.

"Amongst other things, it is also believed that Ms. Kensington was also responsible for the fabrication of false documents to indict Mr. Jason Smith of illegal business practices," he finished.

The crowd was in an uproar and I quickly slipped away before a reporter got hold of me and asked for a comment. I didn't know if I was crying out of happiness or relief.

"Crap. Eliot are you there?" Patricia's voice cracked over the answering machine.

Eliot resisted the urge to pick up the phone. Moments ago, he was packing the last few remaining bags of clothes when he heard the news over the television. He had chosen Patricia's short vacation to organize and move his things. She had thought he wasn't aware of her affair with the model. That had been the deciding factor that drove him to gather the gumption to leave her.

"God dammit Eliot, pick up the fucking phone!" She swore, dropping all pretense of courtesy.

"This must be a god send!" Jason shouted at the top of his voice, jumping up from his seat. Marcus and he had just rented a single room at a motel in the suburbs and were on their way back to Houston when they saw the news-flash broadcasted live from New York city.

"Are you listening, Marcus? With any luck, you are going to get back everything that was rightfully yours," Jason pushed Marcus on the shoulders.

"Does it matter?" Marcus mumbled numbly. He had cried when he heard Jonathan's voice.

"He had lost so much weight. God, what a fucking lousy boyfriend I make. He was the best thing that has happened to me and I wasn't even there when he needed support. I actually doubted him," Marcus covered his face with his hands and shuddered.

"Jon understands. I'm sure he does," Jason comforted.

"You don't understand Jason. He thinks everything is his fault and I didn't know he felt that way. Did you see him just now? He was about to cry, the way he bit his lips to prevent the tears from falling," Marcus said.

"Marc I think you should pull yourself together. This is not the time for this. Right now you should concentrate on how to beat the shit out of the Kensingtons," Jason scolded. "Think about all those people at Viacom out of jobs because of Patricia's meddling, your business empire and the people who looked up to you for guidance."

Marcus nodded with great difficulty. He would try his best to make up to Jonathan later but right now there were things he had to do. There were still duties he had to perform.

"Jason are you up to preparing for a court case?" Marcus asked after a long while, his composure restored along with all his faculties.

"It's been awhile but I'm always at your service, boss," Jason did a mock salute.

It was payback time.

CHAPTER 8 (RETRIBUTION)

It was an unpredictable day at Wall Street as stock markets around the world soared and dropped depending on the proceedings of the trial. At the end of the day, Viacom Enterprises shares had risen by eighty points, a record high in months for the previously bullish multi-national corporation. Marcus Stone was reinstated as president and Jason Smith was made vice-president. Patricia and James Kensington forfeited all estates, properties, share holdings under their control to Marcus Stone as punitive payment for untruthfully maligning his character through third parties and causing him emotional and mental pain. The Kensingtons were also allegedly accountable for the death of Jeremy Stevenson, spreading rumors of Jonathan Bancroft and forgery. Each was enough to put them behind bars for years.

I almost jumped with joy by the jury's verdict were it not for the reason that I wanted to avoid being recognized in the courtroom. Jason's lawyer friend was brilliant, cornering the defendant when he tried to argue the authenticity of the proof. I stole occasional glimpses at Marcus, noting that he looked very handsome and confident in a dark blue suit with matching pants, a pale blue shirt and a gray business tie with black stripes. Tiredness was etched on his face but the determination that I had seen before we parted was even more pronounced now. Patricia looked pitiful on the witness stand, dressed in a flowing ivory dress and fashioning a string of white pearls around her neck. My feelings towards her were confused.

I was about to leave when Marcus's eyes found mine and I immediately shied away. I could not face him yet. Or ever. I squeezed through to the exit, pulling the cloak over my head while fumbling for the letter in my pants.

Marcus stood there stupefied. Jonathan was standing just a few meters away from him. Carlos, Jason's friend and a top notch dispute lawyer, had originally intended to subpoena Jonathan but on Marcus's insistence he had given up. Jonathan's presence was vital but Marcus wasn't prepared to make him suffer again. But they had pulled it off and the Kensingtons had gotten their just deserts.

"Marc, you alright?" Jason asked.

"I just saw JB," Marcus replied, scanning the crowd for traces of his boyfriend. He stood well over most people so it wasn't tough if Jonathan didn't wear a disguise. Apparently he did for Marcus had no luck.

"I can handle the well-wishers for you if you like," Jason offered.

"It's no use, I can't see him," Marcus grumbled. JB looked pale and fragile. He wondered JB had slept well at all. He didn't. He had always awakened in the night, panicking when he couldn't feel JB and then stupidly realizing that JB wasn't around. He missed JB.

Somewhere behind the crowd, he saw the Kensingtons being escorted out of the room by the bailiff. The reporters were fighting to get a scoop on them. Patricia had worn all white, hoping to project an image of a hurt angel. She wasn't even close. Marcus was beyond feeling anything for that woman. She did not even make him sick. It was like a part of her had died inside of him. Marcus knew if Patricia ever crossed paths with him, he would strike her dead with all his power and influence. James Kensington was like a drunken old fool still trying to cling onto his non-existent fame and status.

"I left the kettle boiling in the kitchen in case you need some hot water," Eliot provided as he let in father and daughter. James Kensington's cheeks were red and puffed up while his mouth reeked of alcohol. He was still cursing at nobody in particular when he staggered through the doorway. Patricia was eerily quiet. He helped James to the sofa and was about to leave when a feminine hand restrained him.

"Don't go," Patricia pleaded. He could see unshed tears in her eyes.

"Sorry," Eliot replied.

"Fuck you. Fuck all of you. Leave if you want. I don't give a damn," she cursed, venting her anger at him.

"Stop it Patricia," Eliot said. Weird, he used to enjoy calling her by her nickname but now the words held disgusting connotations to them.

"I will bloody do whatever I fucking please," she retorted, raving like a lunatic.

"You always do. You never cared who you would hurt in the process. That's why you are being punished for your sins now," Eliot hastily backed out of the attacking range of her hands as she wrung them wildly in the air.

"What the hell do you mean by that, you goddamn weakling? Were it not because you were like a robot in bed I would not have taken that trip with that hunk and have been around to stop him!" she exclaimed and gaped widely when she realized what she had just said, her hands were still flying about in the air.

"Don't look so stunned. I know about the man, whoever he was. I was the one who got Jeremy to sign the papers and produce that tape." Eliot steadied her, shaking her to get her attention.

"You what?! You ingrate. You fucking son of a bitch," she broke free of his grasp and launched herself at him. Eliot darted just in time before she fell onto the floor with a loud thud. James stirred but did not wake up.

"You were too greedy. You shouldn't have tried to hurt Bancroft further. You forgot I used to come from an orphanage too," Eliot reprimanded her and quickly ran for the door, in case Patricia tried anything dangerous.

Patricia Kensington stared at her father who was drunk and asleep. He had managed to smuggle in a bottle of vodka despite her warnings that he must remain sober throughout the trial. She ripped off her dress and snapped the necklace into halves, kicking furiously at the pearls that fell. They were supposed to look innocent but her father had been no help. Now Stone gained everything and she was left with nothing. Even Eliot had left her because of that Bancroft. That faggot orphan. And there was nothing she could do. Except maybe that female psycho killer. She would teach that Bancroft a lesson he would never forget.

Marcus gripped at the piece of paper in his hand, the bow tie forgotten on the table. He was invited for a celebrations event that night at Troy Electronic Building which had been the headquarters of Viacom Enterprises during Patricia's term as president. The envelope was left at the front desk earlier on in the afternoon by a young kid. Jason and he had moved from the motel to a posh apartment, near to the courthouse. Jason was still bathing. Marcus had thought it was a congratulatory note and didn't open it at first. That was his mistake. It turned out to be a letter from Jonathan.

Stoner,

Congratulations on your win at court. I'm glad everything turned out for

the best. I'm sorry if I have caused you any pain or loss in the past. Talk

about unlucky charm. Anyway I have decided it would be best if I left you.

We were never meant to be. I appreciate your love and concern for the past

year we have been together. It was the best time of my life. I guess I

will not be able to reciprocate it. I wish you all the best in your future

endeavors and may you find someone who can truly love you and heal the

scars in your soul. Please don't look for me. I would have sought you had

I the courage and will to face you. I didn't have either so writing was the

other alternative.

Love,

JB.

Marcus growled with frustration. JB was the worst kind of fool. Didn't JB know that he loved him? Was this his retribution for doubting JB? For not believing in JB and being suspicious of him? Marcus he didn't know but there was something he knew with certainty. They were meant to be and he sure as hell wasn't going to sit around and do nothing. Marcus scribbled a short note, left it on the door and headed for the lift.

CHAPTER 9 (A TWIST OF FATE)

I scrutinized the area for reporters before stealthily making my way towards the building. It was dark and I had chosen a quiet route lit by sparsely spread out streetlights. I had spent the afternoon closing some active bank accounts I had in the city and tying some loose ends before I left. I crept through the backdoor and sneaked up the staircase, not pausing to be certain that I wasn't being followed or to look around the building for reporters lurking in the corners. I didn't want to give anyone a chance to spot me.

The apartment was covered in inky blackness and I switched on the torchlight in my hand instead of the room lights to avoid the possibility that someone would look up see my apartment was lit. Thick clouds of dust spiraled around the faded yellow column beaming across the room as a gust of wind blew in through an open window. Open window? I shivered as a paralyzing sense of dread assailed me and I had the peculiar premonition that I were to die tonight. Suddenly from the shadows, someone grabbed me by the shoulders and held a sharp knife to my throat.

"Hullo faggot boy," a coarse, tom-boyish voice whispered.

Marcus directed the driver to guide the limousine to the back of the building, carefully avoiding the small group of reporters loitering at the entrance. He had made some calls in the car and found out that Jonathan had terminated his bank accounts. On a hunch, he had guessed that Jonathan would return to his apartment for the night. He instructed the man, a young black male in his twenties, to wait while he stole upstairs, pulling the coat closer to him. He was breaking out in cold sweat as if something bad was about to happen tonight and forcibly made himself snapped out of it. He was just going to wait for Jonathan in his apartment. It was childish for him to feel afraid. He inserted the key and was about to unlock the door when a crashing sound halted him in his tracks. It was quite soft as if something had fallen onto a carpet or a sofa.

He turned the key and entered. The room was covered in darkness and on the ground was a discarded torchlight that was still on.

"JB? You there?" he asked, lowering his voice.

He thought he heard some muffled cries and some scraping sounds. He picked up the torchlight and shone it in the direction of the noise.

"Is that you, JB?" he repeated.

He felt his way in the dark using the torchlight as his guiding source and found Jonathan slumped on a couch, his hands tied behind his back and a wad of cloth gagged his mouth. Marcus squatted down and removed the cloth. Just then he saw the open window.

"No!" Jonathan shouted.

In a split second, he was pushed away by Jonathan while a large shadow pounced from behind. He could vaguely make out two figures struggling on the couch, one rocking from side to side to avoid the other. Once he regained his bearings, he leapt out and joined in the fight. The woman was big and bulky, with strong arms like those of a wrestler. Fortunately he had the element of surprise and could subdue her easily, twisting the knife out of her hands. It took all his strength to knock the breath out of her and while he caught his breath, he kicked away the wasted body of the killer, feeling the length of his boyfriend's body for any signs of hurt.

Something wet and sticky clung to his hands as he found the deep cut in Jonathan's neck. He belatedly realized that Jonathan was bleeding! He lifted the dead weight from the couch and headed straight for the main exit that led to the streets, unable to recall in his frantic state of mind that there was a limousine waiting at the backdoor.

"Someone call 911!" he kept on yelling.

"Stay with me. Don't you dare die on me, JB," he warned, running down the streets, bull-dozing his way past the pedestrians. He didn't care if everyone was looking and the reporters were snapping their cameras furiously.

"I promise I won't yell at you or make you angry again. I promise I won't mess with your paints. I won't try to be glib and flippant. I wasn't going to scold you for that letter," he coerced, fighting back the tears for he knew being weak wasn't going to help.

"Oh god, don't leave me alone, I need you," he begged, as Jonathan's face started to turn an ashen gray. Jonathan's blood had already soaked through the white shirt with frills that he was wearing.

"There are so many things I need to tell you and places I want to show you. You always loved forests and snow, we will move to the countryside, England if you like," he said. In the distance, a siren was wailing and a group of paramedics were making their way towards him.

"I never told you I loved you. I love you, JB. Now wake up!" he commanded desperately.

Patricia threw the bottle of vodka at the wall and watched in satisfaction as it broke up into hundreds pieces of broken glass. She gave an annoyed glare at the man who had brought her up and sneered. She didn't need him. She didn't need anybody. Bancroft should be dead by now if that bitch did not procrastinate. She mentally jogged through her story. She was at home accompanying her father all the while, working on her defense for the other cases with her lawyer. She had made a customary call to her lawyer an hour ago just to strengthen her tale. It was a perfect plan because this time she did not use a cell phone.

Just then the doorbell rang and she sauntered slowly to answer it.

"Ms. Kensington?" a police officer inquired, she was quite decent looking with her blond hair cropped short. Behind her stood four other male officers, two of them held a familiar looking woman.

"Yes?" She answered calmly. Patricia knew she was well prepared for anything.

"Is this the woman who instigated you?" the police officer turned and asked the prisoner. The woman nodded.

"Patricia Kensington, you are hereby charged with first degree murder and anything you say shall be considered as court evidence," the lady officer intoned, cuffing Patricia's hands behind her back.

"I demand to speak to my lawyer," she ordered. She had to remain unperturbed. Panicking was not going to help her. She wasn't going to jail for all her scheming. That stupid woman must have made a mistake.

"How is Jon?" Jason asked as he strode down the hallway. Behind him, Marcus saw a few other familiar faces. They belonged to the Strategic Division team which was disbanded when Patricia took over. While he and Jason made up the cranial center where the executive decisions were made, they were the hands and legs. Jason had managed to contact them, reorganized the team and they were supposed to gather in Houston before all hell broke loose.

"Is he going to make it?" a man in his fifties asked. It was Patrick and he was the financial analyst of the team.

"What did the doctors say?" Samantha inquired, she was in charge of human resource.

"Critical," Marcus replied monotonously. He had slipped into his habit of mono-syllables to hide his true feelings. Jonathan had been the only one who broke through his shell of protection.

"We flew as soon as the next flight was available. I'm sorry, boss," said Veronica, the head project coordinator.

"Okay," Marcus answered. He hadn't changed out of his dirty clothes and there were gigantic patches of dark red on his shirt. He knew these people were just being concerned but he didn't want company. He just wanted to know his JB was safe.

Just then the doors of the emergency room flew open.

"What's his condition like?" Jason burst out first.

"Are you family?" the doctor asked instead of answering.

Jason shook his head and so did the rest, except Marcus.

"Boyfriend," Marcus answered.

"Close. He is losing blood rapidly and we are running low on his blood type. We need a donor. He is type A+. Anyone?" the doctor said.

Several people raised their hands, Patrick and Veronica were among them.

"No," Marcus stated implacably.

"Let me. I'm type O," Marcus added.

"Works too, but I'm afraid one is not enough, we may need more," the doctor looked hesitantly around. He had guessed that Marcus's word was final here and nobody acted without his permission but he needed more donors.

"No. Only me," Marcus bit out firmly.

"It will kill you if we take too much," the doctor insisted, thinking of a plausible reason to stop this craziness.

"Doesn't matter," Marcus shrugged. "If he dies, I die."

Everyone in the room was taken aback by Marcus's words.

"Marc, are you..." Jason began. He was the only one in the room who might have any chance of swaying Marcus.

"If he dies, I die," Marcus reiterated with finality.

I felt myself floating in a white light, drifting in and out of unconsciousness. I remembered feeling a blade sliced cleanly along my neck, Marcus holding me in his arms, mouthing inaudible words and someone held a mask over my mouth and nose. And then I was back in the light again, as light as a feather. Each time I swapped in and out of this state of weightlessness, I saw Marcus's face, sometimes contorted with fear and worry, sometimes smiling with happiness.

I recalled thinking how cute and wonderful he was as he laid on a bed next to me with a tube in his arm or when he clutched my hands in his and was praying silently by the bedside or when he rested his head next to mine and said tender words of love. I could only make out 'back' and 'safe' but it was enough. He must have wanted me to return to him. I tried but there was a force stopping me, allowing me to stay only in the light and enjoy a few precarious moments of reality once in awhile. But I was gradually gaining strength, resisting the invisible force and extending the period of consciousness.

CHAPTER 10 (AN END TO A BEGINNING)

"You are going to be fine, love," Marcus said as Jonathan's eyes fluttered briefly. Jonathan had been doing more of that lately and it was a sign that he was on the road to recovery. But the doctors were skeptical. Movement of the eyes wasn't uncommon for comatose patients. Stronger indications need to be present, such as movement of the fingers or toes. But Marcus didn't care. He knew Jonathan was not going to disappoint him.

He gently caressed Jonathan's hand which had a tube intravenously inserted. It felt bony and the skin was almost transparent as veins criss-crossed across the skin. Two plastic tubes stuck out of Jonathan's nose delivered oxygen to sustain the body. Marcus rubbed his eyes to clear away the tears fogging his vision.

It had been two years since the accident.

Patricia was admitted into an asylum and to face life imprisonment should she recover. Ellerosa, the wanted psycho killer on the FBI's list and responsible for the murders was shot dead by the police.

Viacom Enterprises had regained all of the lost grounds under the poor management of Patricia Kensington. The previous divisions - electronics, pharmaceuticals and aeronautics - were performing better than before while the newly added retailing and decor divisions that were inherited after the merger with the Kensingtons' were starting to take flight. Recently Viacom had ventured into oil refining and chemical productions which had both yielded excellent profits. This had prompted Marcus to make plans to expand the company along these lines in the next fiscal year.

Marcus had also succeeded in dominating over the board of directors, buying out some of the previous members and becoming the largest shareholder of Viacom. It was both a great show of Viacom's financial clout and Marcus's bravery and intelligence. The ousted members, except for Eliot Troy, had cried foul play but gave up when they knew they did not have a case. It was Marcus's way of punishing the board for betraying him.

Meanwhile, Marcus Stone was once again the darling of the media, the most sought after persona by the press for positive publicity. Everyone overlooked his sexual orientation, in fact it made him even more desirable to the women because it have became a challenge to be the first woman to convert him. Men and women alike ogled at him even though he was attached and madly in love. It was if the more reports were written about his devotion to his lover, the more the number of fans grew. It was concluded in People's magazine that this abnormal behavior was due to some fans harboring the secret fantasy of wanting to be loved completely by someone like Marcus.

Analysts, businessmen and stockbrokers tracked his moves meticulously. Every decision that he took, every investment that he made and even the slightest change in the hierarchy of Viacom Enterprises was a noteworthy point. For every successful venture, glowing reviews were written and in depth analysis made onto the factors for its success.

He was also popularly sought after by associations for patronage. Despite the many requests, he had only officially sponsored an orphanage in Houston, which was reportedly the home of Jonathan Bancroft, Marcus's boyfriend, and a specialist hospital in New York, where his boyfriend received treatment.

Jason was concerned for his best friend. Marcus was working too hard and he was afraid he would suddenly burn out. Each day he grew more and more distant, discussing only matters related to profit margins and expansion plans when they were alone. Meetings with Marcus was like hoping onto a bullet train as he resolved issues swiftly and rattled off instructions at such an incredible speed, that it was impossible to make notes for references. Whatever free time he had, when he was was not flying about or negotiating a deal, he spent it in the hospital with Jonathan. It was as if he didn't need to rest. It was not necessary for Marcus to slog so hard. Viacom was already grossing billions of dollars annually.

Then there was the void of emptiness isolating Marcus that nobody could get rid of. Jason tried but failed. He knew Marcus was pleasantly courteous to the companion he brought to charity events and other socalite gatherings. There were only a handful of them because Marcus only went when he wished. Nobody could force him to attend anything that he didn't want to, not even the governor himself. Yet that was all Jason could feel. Not one of the glitzy celebrities that accompanied Marcus was able to incite anything else except for one who actually tried to sue Marcus after he was flatly refused a ride home. Then the hospital had just called that they had found Jonathan's heart beating abnormally. It had turned out to be a false alarm because the doctor in charge had mixed up the records. The doctor was fired the next day. Marcus had reacted with wry amusement to the celebrity's complaint, his lips twitching slightly. Jason hardly saw Marcus smiled anymore.

Jason had given up trying to persuade Marcus to start a new relationship. Once he had hinted at it, hoping that it would cheer him up but it had turned into weeks of enduring indifference from Marcus as he communicated with him through their secretaries. Jason was furious and had confronted Marcus with it only to receive a burning tirade about disloyalty.

Eliot looked through the protective glass into a room heavily padded with cushions. A woman with her hands bound to her body and her hair in a wild disarray, like a bush was sitting in the center, chanting to herself. He made it a point to visit Patricia once a month.

Patricia had initially pleaded guilty to the charges of instigating the murders of Jeremy Stevenson and Jonathan Bancroft. She was also found guilty of forging the documents that were used to frame Jason Smith. Subsequently while on the road to the state prison, she attempted to escape with the help of Ellerosa. Her hired assassin was gunned down by the police while she got away. A year ago she was recaptured and by then the police had found she was foraging through town dumps and was mentally unstable. She was diagnosed and admitted to an asylum, facing a lifetime imprisoned in her insanity. The doctors believed that her condition was brought about by the shock and pressure of the sudden upheavals in her life in such a short time. Eliot knew better. Patricia was too obsessed with herself and the concepts of power, status and fame.

Around the same time, Eliot was raised as president of Troy Associates after Robert Troy suffered a serious stroke that left half his body paralyzed. Afraid that Marcus would use this as a chance to strike back at his father, Eliot had told him everything about how he got the testimonials from Jeremy and the tape, after obtaining Marcus's vow of silence on the matter. Marcus had refrained from hitting out harder at the Troys. However, Eliot could not protect the Kensingtons from Marcus's wrath for Marcus had mentioned that the sentence for Patricia was too light and he would make sure that her father paid. Eliot had given James Kensington a considerable amount of money and told him to flee the country. Marcus had found out and had warned him that this was the last time he would help James Kensington else he would bury Troy Associates. Eliot was certain he could do that.

Marcus laid a hand on Jonathan's stomach, closing his eyes as he concentrated on the contraction of Jonathan's stomach muscles. His hand shifted upwards, resting on the chest and he listened for the rhythmic beating of Jonathan's heart. He reveled in the joy of feeling his lover's life pumping beneath his hand. It was this feeling that urged him onto live each day to its fullest. He had bought the entire wing of the hospital where the room was situated just so that he could share these moments with Jonathan in private.

He was not oblivious to the kind of attention he was getting everywhere he went. The media wanted him, men and women hungered for his attention, industrialists and businessmen were afraid and in awe of him. Someone once did an investigation and found an interesting fact that any reading material that featured his picture in the front page would sell like hotcakes. It was all quite funny to Marcus. He merely approached each day with renewed hope and faced whatever challenges that were handed to him with glee and expectation. It was what Jonathan had felt each time he painted a picture and he had adopted this philosophy.

Marcus flicked his wrist and glanced at the old digital watch that Jonathan used to wear. Jonathan had given him the watch for his birthday. He was scheduled for a meeting with the SD team in another twenty minutes. Marcus reached over and kissed Jonathan on the forehead. He missed the imperceptible twitch of Jonathan's hand.

End of Part I

To be continued......