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Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager.
*** Since Yahoo has taken down their groups pretty much, I was thinking of creating a group for the story on Facebook. Would there be any interest in that? Let me know.... Thanks!
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Sean's POV. Sean is in the den at the Alamo writing in one of his composition books.
"Well, I said I needed to write this last book. I've said for years that I needed to do it. Brad said I needed to do it, too. I keep putting it off, but I guess I can't put it off any longer. Brad's never bugged me about it, or asked me about it, and that's just like him.
"I'm lucky to have Brad. We've been together for two years now, and it's been better than I could have ever hoped for. Not only do I have an extraordinary lover, but he's turned out to be a steadfast friend and companion. Not always, but most of the time these days the bittersweet memories of Andy stay more sweet than bitter. I've had to come to grips that that was many years ago now and I can't bring him back. Sweet, wonderful Andy. I guess he was the forerunner..."
A tear falling from Sean's eye stained the page he was writing on.
"I've come to rely on Brad a lot, too. About six months ago I convinced Scott Branson and Kevin Masterson to move back to Janesville. They'd stayed in Minneapolis after college, and Scott had gone on to be the CFO of 3M. I needed him here to run our accounting while Brad ran the entire operation together with me. Kevin Dickson is still in charge of all the financial stuff, but he's moved to London to be with Tory permanently, or at least they'll be in London for the next few years or whatever it ends up to be, and that's what he needed to do.
"I never told anyone, but Ginny left the financials in an antique state. They had to be completely overhauled and Kevin saw to that. Well, Kevin and Brad if I'm fair about it...
"Anyway, like I said, Brad and I now run the Consortium together. If anything ever happened to me I want to leave Brad in charge. Yeah, last year I had that pancreas thing, and the operation was a success, but still... Sometimes life can be short. And we don't know. It was short for Andy anyway, wasn't it...
"We also agreed to purchase another building downtown, the old Farmers and Merchants Bank and had it renovated into an office. It was one of those old stone Romanesque-style bank buildings left over from maybe 150 years ago and it has a small parking lot just big enough for us. We made it look like it did in old photographs even having teller windows in the lobby. On the outside, the building directory next to the front door says that there are two tenants in the building. Riverside Auto Museum, and Scott Branson & Company, Certified Public Accountants. It looks like I have the head office of the Auto Museum there which of course I do not, and that Scott's company is an Accountant's office, which it is, but he is our accountant.
"I'm glad I was able to do that for Scott. He's one of the few relatives outside of dad and the boys that I know I've got. I've gotten to know his dad, too, but not really too much outside of "Hi, I'm Sean, a semi-distant relative." Seems like a nice man, but beyond being invited to a cookout here or there and trading jokes we're not going to be close, and I can see that.
"Kevin Masterson's still been the good friend he was as an opponent on the football field, and the quarterback I coached when we were both seniors in high school. Kevin was always bright and he inherited from his dad a good sense of being an organization man. T.J easily hired Kevin to be his HR Director to entice him away from his job at Pillsbury in Minneapolis and from what I gather Kevin likes it and he's doing well. They bought a nice enough house on the west side of town in Sinnissippi Hills. A 1950's mid-century split-level at the top of the hill that I almost wish I could have bought, but of courseI can't. Brad says we're staying here at the Alamo and so I guess that's where we'll be. I'm not going to fight that battle. Nope. There are just so many memories here, though... It's the same now as it's always been. Everywhere I look there's a memory of Andy. I guess that's just how it's going to have to be for me. I have to think of Brad and even more than him I have to think of my boys. I let them all down so badly before. If the penalty for that is the ghost of Andy in the Alamo, then so be it. God knows I had enough therapy sessions to put it behind me.
"I guess that's what happens when one person's life becomes part of yours. I never asked myself how Andy felt at that exact moment. That moment he knew he wasn't coming back. Did he walk into the light? Did his life unfold in front of him? If it did, did he have a smile for me? Selfish of me to wonder about that I suppose...I guess I won't know any of that until it's my turn...
"I wish I could keep these thoughts out of my head. It's not fair. To me. Or to Brad. I can't thank Brad enough for taking a chance on me. Oh, I know the twins put him up to it. At least partly, anyway. I think he always secretly loved me but I also think that Joey and Lennie gave him the push he needed. I still can't believe that time he showed up at the Dickson lodge up north. He just walked in and told me he was going to be my husband. Well, I guess, after I had invited him... I'll never forget that. How that all went. Brad rescued me. Yup. Fuckin' Brad...
"Whodathunkit...
"It's a couple days later now and I keep putting off writing in this book what I know I have to write. I hate to even think about That Year much less the thought of having to relive it by writing it down.
"God, I hate the thought of revisiting it. That Year. That Fucking Year! Fuck That Year! It fucks with my head still.
"I guess I'll take another diversion while I try to `psych down' to write about it...
"I decided to run for the City Council again. I won, of course. First place. Just like I always had in the past. It was less than thrilling. But I felt I had to run what with everything else that was going on. I guess we'll see if it was worth it...
"Brett handily won his race to be re-elected Governor, too. I thought he was crazy to do it, but he did it running from both parties and got almost 90% of the vote. Eighty-nine-point- something, anyway. People on the main news networks talked about him running for President after he won which Brett instantly put the kibosh on. He said that he was just a citizen and that this term would be his last ever. For anything. And I know he meant it, too. It's a hard job and even someone as never-fail as Brett, well, it has to get to him sometimes. I had to talk him out of making Dix the Attorney General, though. Yeah, Dix is probably the best person for the job, but that was never gonna go anywhere if a person really thought about it... So, in the end he talked his original AG into staying. Best deal, I thought. The rest of it I'm gonna keep my ass out of - that meeting we had at the Club back then. That's not anything I ever bargained for, and nothing I want to be involved with. I always said that all I wanted was a normal life and I meant it the same way Brett said this is his last term. I guess if I need to know anything, I'll be told... And I can deal with it, or not, if and when it happens.
"And because of that, because it's nothing I signed up for, I changed my mind on having all those British computers, or whatever the hell it is, they wanted to put here in the basement at the Alamo. I told Sir Stafford he'd have to rent the apartment over the garage and he could put the shit there. He did, and liked the place so much he decided to live in it. Which is fine. Bent and Jon had just moved out anyway. That way the neighbors will think he's just a tenant. An eccentric British guy tending his flowers in the flower beds I had put in at his request. Anyway, I didn't want people coming and going in the main house at any hour they please if the equipment needs servicing. That would have been weird, or at least Brad and I thought so... Never mind what the neighbors would think...
"So that's as far as I'm getting involved with that shit. I never ask Brad what he sees looking at the stuff they asked him to watch and Brad being Brad he's never gonna tell me. That's fine. I don't want to know.
"As far as I went was to make a plan for a fund would be set up at the private bank for local relief in case it was ever needed. If needed, it's a tax deduction. I'd like to do something. I guess I'll run it by Dox first... We'll see... If nobody else wants to, then maybe I'll do it with my own money. That and be on the City Council again. That's it.
"We had another grandson this last year, too. T.J. and Ann Marie had a baby boy. They didn't pick a family name for him and that's OK. I guess there's only so many ways someone can rearrange our names. His name is Anthony. Anthony Jared Wyman. `A.J.' And Ann Marie found herself pregnant again two months after A.J.'s birth. Irish twins I guess one could say. It's going to be another boy. A girl would be nice. We'll have to wait and see if we get one someday...
"I guess they're still going to stay out in Boston. Why not? They like it there. But still... I wish they'd come back home. Selfish of me, isn't it, when I did to them what I did when they were kids. I'll never live that down. Not to myself, anyway. Oh, sure, they all say, `It's OK, dad, don't worry about it, dad, we understand now dad.' I had no right to do that to them. I should have been strong, but I was weak. They needed a father and all they got was a shambling, self-pitying drunk. Who was almost never around. God, that must have embarrassed them. How could I have done that...
"I've always thought Brad took care of a lot of stuff with the boys during those days. But I was too wrapped up in my own shit to even care about it. In fact, I'm sure he did now that I think about it. God, I'm an asshole for never having really thought about that before. How could Brad have ever wanted me...
"It used to be so easy when I was younger, when I was a kid in school, or after that, and even during football season to just be so cool and calm and collected. I look back now and wonder how I could have been so naïve. Those were innocent times, I guess. Before life started handing out reality. OK, so we won the State Championship that year. So what... Who remembers that shit now?
"Maybe we started out a little young with kids and a family. Raising kids when you're 17 isn't easy. Well, who am I to say... We had Mrs. Cheadle so we didn't have to do much. It was like having our cake and eating it, too. And then the two other boys came right away. 19 years old and four kids. What were we thinking?
"Maybe if we hadn't had Mrs. Cheadle I'd have been better prepared for hard times ahead as I'd always known nothing but success. I guess that can be a curse sometimes... I'm glad we had Mrs. Cheadle. God knows the boys are all probably better off for it. A straight-laced old English nanny to them she was...
"They were all good kids, though. And to this day when I look at them it puts a lump in my throat. Bothers me, though, that not one of them is Andy's flesh and blood. But that was Andy through and through. Never thought of himself. He wanted to adopt a kid that might not have a chance otherwise. God, I remember when we were just kids and his dad died. Andy just kept going. And some years later when my mom died, it was Andy who was always there. Came over every morning before school for breakfast. Came home with me every day. Told me not to worry. That everything would be OK. Andy was always the strong one, not me...
"Oh, yeah, later on in school when I got into sports we might have seen less of each other. But he was still my best friend. He was always there. I wonder how long he wanted us to be more than friends... Typical me, I didn't even notice. I guess I was too self-absorbed. Until I started to think of him sexually. I didn't know what to do about that, so I just kept on acting normally, never mind that I constantly masturbated thinking about him. But there it was: I knew that I loved him. I guess I should have picked up that he was in love with me, too, but Andy could be so guarded sometimes. I guess it worked out in the end.
"It wasn't until dad's job here in Janesville came up and we thought we'd lose each other that it then came for both of us that the reality was we were gonna be a couple. I could have made the move, made the team, been a star and all the rest of that crap but I couldn't have done any of it without Andy. Even now I marvel at the balls it took to insist that he came with us. And that dad and his mom agreed. And that he made the move. Who ever heard of something like that? But, there we were... It was so natural. And not `almost without trying,' either - we didn't even have to try. And it was glorious. As long as I live I'll always look back on those golden years.
"Cut short.
"And I'll never forget something Brad said to me. He asked me if I'd have traded all the years of sorrow after he died for never having known Andy. I had to admit that the answer was no, I wouldn't have. I couldn't have.
"I guess that's how I should keep those memories. Locked in my heart where I can replay them in my head if I want to. Memories of a simpler time. And then...
"And then there's That Year. God, I know I have to put it all down on paper but every time I tell myself that enough times to actually try to do it I choke.
"Even still. Every time. I fucking choke.
"I know I've got to bury those demons.
"That fucking year...
"Well, I guess Brad's going to be home from work anytime now. Shit! I sat down to really try to start what I know I need to do and I didn't! Sometimes I disgust myself... State Champion, City Councilor, run an international business... Bullshit. I'm a fucking pussy."
In fact, Sean had not heard Brad come in from work. Poking his head into the den, Brad called out a hello. He noticed Sean sit up startled and noticed, too, that Sean had been writing in one of his composition books. "Good," Brad thought.
"If you're busy I can make dinner..." Brad said.
"Aren't we having dinner at the Country Club tonight?"
"Oh yeah, that's right. Tim and Brett. Well, I suppose we should get ready then."
"Who wants to shower first? And remember, after we eat you're heading up north with Brett..."
"I guess I better pack, then," Brad laughed. "That won't take long... Anyway, we're showering together, Sean," Brad said with an evil grin. "How about you give me a buttfull of your cum, husband..."
Sean melted. He could never say no to Brad. However much Sean's past and `That Year' gnawed at him, Brad's presence calmed him and brought him back into the world of the living. He felt his dick begin to chub a bit. Jesus, Brad was gorgeous... And Sean thought, too, the same was true of Brad's heart. He had a heart like Andy.
"God, we're so different," Sean thought.
On a cold analysis, Sean and Brad might seem to be not at all well-suited as a couple. There was no way that Brad was Sean's intellectual equal to say the least of it, but Brad had qualities that more than made up for that. Sean was apt to cut someone off and say, "bottom-line it for me," while Brad being an economical man with words listened, really listened, to every word of what someone else said expecting that each word spoken meant exactly what it said, no more and no less. And then Brad might give an answer that was barely a phrase, or maybe even just a silent nod. Sean was quick to make decisions once he felt he had full information. Brad always thought that when something seemed important he should sleep on it. Sean was more transaction-oriented in that he might be willing to give up a little bit now in order to get it back and more later while Brad was straightforward and expected that any deal was the final deal, simple and devoid of intrigue. Sean easily grew bored with minutiae while Brad, as an accountant, made a profession of it. Sean was a good cook. Brad was not. Sean sucked at interior design while Brad was uncannily Andy-like in that.
Sean was a forest. Brad was a tree.
But a forest could not be a forest if it didn't have any trees just the same way that a single, solitary tree rarely flourished out in the open on its own.
Sean followed Brad upstairs to the master bathroom and ravished him in the shower. Twice.
The evening's dinner with Tim and Brett was nice. They dined in the Dickson family booth in the Country Club's private dining room. The dinner was nice. Beef Wellington, roasted Brussels Sprouts, whipped potato rosettes browned under a broiler, salad of bitter greens, and for desert a refreshing lime gelato.
Sean, despite his self-professed lack of interest, tried to inquire of Brett whether there was anything he should be aware of stemming from the meeting a year ago in the Founders room but was told that at this time there was not, at least at present nothing he was at liberty to talk about, and that he thought that there might not be anything at all as the work done so far seemed to be effective.
That Brett volunteered there was nothing to be concerned about was fine with Sean. He knew that if there were he'd have been tipped off most likely through channels. Sean was only doing his due diligence and had no doubt that Brett and Tim weren't fooled.
Interesting,' Sean though. Might not Brett and Andy, and Tim and Sean have made better couples? No, Sean thought, probably not. Brett and Andy were too much alike and he and Tim were certainly too much alike. Two sweet-natured guys like Brad and Brett might eventually grow bored with each other while two quarterback-swagger guys like Tim and Sean might get on each other's nerves. No, Sean thought, things are better as they were. Andy had been perfect for him, and now so was Brad. And he'd never forget watching the fireworks of Tim and Brett's first real meeting with each other at the mall way back when. It's OK to think what if' Sean thought, but it was best in the end that things had happened the way they did.
And that was fine with Sean.
During dinner Brett asked Brad if he was ready to take off for up north. Brad looked at Sean, Sean giggled, and that was that. Brad said that of course he was, that he was looking forward to it, and suggested they use Glen Muick Lodge. Sean invited Tim to be his guest at the Alamo for the week. And that was fine, too.
Tim's old rule. `Those who cannot manage their affairs don't deserve to have them.'
Tim and Brett's sons were all out of the house now anyway. All students at UW-Madison. George a junior, Andrew a sophomore, and Kevin a freshman. All three were in Pre-Law and the professors jokingly referred to them as `The Dickson Triplets.' George had resigned from Brett's press office to concentrate on being able to finish school on time. He intended to finish his undergrad at UW-Madison and then do Law School at Marquette in Milwaukee. He found out a little bit the hard way that being well-known at UW-Madison wasn't always a picnic. The younger boys would probably follow their older brother there. Tim had already purchased a home for them to live in for that reason. They'd sell the house on Vilas Avenue that the senior George Dickson purchased years ago for Tim and Brett to live in.
The four men had thoroughly enjoyed their dinner and cocktails and when it was time to go, in the parking lot Brad gave Sean a tight hug and whispered, "I love you" into his ear. Sean said the same and kissed Brad on the cheek.
"Have a good time up north, you!" Sean whispered. "I can't wait until you get back!"
With that, Brad and Brett left in the Buick for the long drive up to Glen Muick Lodge. They would stay there as the security was better than at the Dickson Lodge. And the setup was there for Brett to plug into for anything he would need to do. Like Sean, Brad had no intention of concerning himself with what he called `Brett's shit.'
"I stay in my own lane" was still Brad's motto.
"Well, Dix, shall we?" Sean said.
"An Old Fashioned at the Alamo bar sounds like just the ticket," Tim answered as they left in Tim's nondescript Chevrolet Biscayne sedan. Tim and Brett had a GMC Yukon XL Denali with cargo room to spare if they were taking a trip, or if they had all three of their sons along, but the unadorned, stolid, spartan Biscayne was the car Tim drove around town. It wasn't even fully electric, being a hybrid with a 1.4 liter 4-cylinder diesel engine and electric motor assist. It even lacked a floor stick-shift for the 5-speed manual transmission instead having an old-fashioned five-on-the-tree' shift lever mounted in the steering column. The seats were a plain vinyl that GM amusingly passed off as leatherette' and there were no non-essential comfort or convenience features. Not even power windows. It was the absolute zero-excess car.
"Jesus, Dix, couldja have bought anything plainer? Like maybe a fucking Conestoga wagon?" Sean laughed. "Do we need to hitch up the horses?"
"Fuck you, Wymo. It does the job. Dad said his mom drove a car like this one. He's told me the story so many times that I can picture it. It was a 1965 Biscayne*, white and it had nuthin' on it. Not even a radio. He said it was a six cylinder with three-on-the-tree and just literally NUTHIN' on it. Blackwall tires. Dad says she said people made fun of her for driving a poverty-spec car and she totally got off on their shit. He says she drove it until the wheels fell off. Drove it to the Country Club every Wednesday for women's brunch. It's too bad you never met my grandma Dickson. You'd have liked her,"
"I never met any of my grandparents, you know..." Sean answered.
"Why so?"
"Well, mom's parents died, from what I was told, in a house fire and honestly dad's never mentioned his parents to me. I don't even have any idea who they were. Or where they were from. Probably here in Wisconsin somewhere if I hadda guess, but I dunno for sure... No names or anything. He's really never told me any stories about when he was a boy. So I dunno..."
"That's weird," Tim said. "Sorry, man, I mean maybe I can trace my family too far back. Maybe that's why my life seemed like it was all planned and all I had to do was put my feet on the pre- painted footprints on the sidewalk. Sometimes I wonder what if..."
"Maybe it did seem that way to you, Dix. I'll never forget the first day I met you. I was like here's this guy, we're going to be competing for starting quarterback and he's totally super confident and shit. I was like fuuuuuck, I'm screwed..."
"Fuck, I was scared shitless of you, Wymo. I knew of you. Don't forget, I saw you start your team against us the year before. Fucking sophomore you were. I was like shit, this kid's got it. And then I found out you're my fucking competition? I was shitting bricks, man! I worked until there was no more work left in me to try to beat you and I still didn't really beat you out. We both know that."
"Well, I didn't beat you out either, so... And I never took a bullet for you..."
"I'd do it again so shutcher ass. Let's just get back to the Alamo and have a couple drinks and some weed and then you can fuck me."
"You think Brett and Brad are gonna fuck?"
"You love him, don't you... You love Brad..."
"Yeah," Sean said with a sniffle.
"Sorry..." Tim said.
Sean reached over, took Tim's hand in his and squeezed it.
"Tell ya one thing, Wymo, you guys had a helluva season this last year. How'd it feel to win another State Championship?"
"It was the kids that won it, Dix."
"Yeah, but you guys, you coaches were a hundred percent. Still can't believe you asked that guy to be the offensive line coach..."
"Had to. We ain't ever gonna be best friends but I needed a line coach. I'm not a lineman. And I honestly and totally believe what Coach Slater always said, that linemen win games. I knew I could coach the backfield well enough to win it all, but I needed someone who could put a good an offensive line together."
What Sean referred to was that he knew all along he was up to being an offensive coordinator, but coaching linemen was not in his wheelhouse. He called down the GM plant to find out the shift schedule for one of the employees and then went down and had that employee pulled off the line and sent to meet him in one of the conference rooms.
Sean sat waiting.
"What the... Wymo?!" I mean, I thought we... I mean, I thought we buried our hatchet a long time ago..."
It was Mark Braden.
"Siddown, Brade. It's got nuthin' to do with that. I'm here to ask a favor..."
"Whadya mean?"
"I'll just flat out say it. I'm gonna be the offensive coordinator for the Craig football team this next year. I can coach the backfield. That's fine. I need a line coach. And I'm here to ask you to do it. From what Noles says, and he's the head coach now just so ya know, it's gonna be a good team. State Championship good. I need a line coach."
"And you're asking ME?!"
"Yeah. I am."
"Why?"
"Look, Brade, here's the deal... You and I are never gonna be bosom buddies. We both know that. But this ain't about us. It's about those kids. As much as it pains me to admit this, when we played at Tremper you were one of the best high school lineman I've ever seen. And a center at that which is the most difficult position on the line. I need you."
"I mighta had a college career, and who knows, maybe a shot at the pros, but I killed my own chances. That's on me. I'm in. What I'd like so I know what I'll be looking at is a couple of things. I'd like rundowns on the players. Their size, speed, and their strengths and weaknesses. Also, whadya got for a playbook so far?"
"We're gonna be running a lot of the shit that we did when I was on the team. We think this team is good enough to run it. So I'm gonna need not only a strong front line, but a quick one and an intelligent one."
"Well, I might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but I can still read a playbook. For what you're asking we're going to need off-season conditioning. I'd suggest a tough conditioning program because the guys are gonna hafta be in top shape or you can forget about any championship. Have the guys who are gonna be on the team next year pulled out of their gym classes and assigned a special one. You, me, and Noles can work out what the program will be. I'm smart enough to know that the WIAA has rules against that shit and I'm also smart enough to know that everyone with a team that's worth a shit bends `em. Whadya think?"
"I'll run it by Noles, and of course the Principal will have to sign off on it, but I think it's something we should do. If the Principal gives Noles any shit I can have the School Board override that."
"You can?"
"I can."
"Thing is, though, how am I gonna do that, you know the coaching deal, and keep my job here? I'm not made out of money, Wymo..."
"I already talked to my dad about that. He's not the Plant Manager anymore, Herb Dowling is, and they're old friends. Herb was dad's General Foreman. What's gonna happen is that you'll work mornings here at the plant. You'll be on half-time. The other half of your time will be devoted to football. GM will pick up your full salary and bennies. It's already taken care of."
"Wow..."
"I knew it wouldn't be right to ask unless that shit was already covered. You need your income. I get that. I arranged for it. I need your help as a coach. Do we have a deal?"
"OK, it's a deal. As long as my Foreman says it is."
"I've already spoken to him."
"Jesus, Wymo. You never miss a thing. Just like back at Tremper."
"It's my job not to miss anything. So... Deal?"
"You got a deal, Wymo. Let's win a championship. I might be an asshole, but I'm not gonna do this so we can lose."
"If I thought you'd give it less than a hundred percent I wouldn't have asked. We don't need to be buds, but we do need to be effective."
And so an effective coaching staff was formed that lasted for many years. The team would field as excellent a team as they had 25 years earlier. And that year they would repeat as State Champions. And it would not be their last. In a surprise, somehow a reporter from the unimaginatively-named Kenosha News newspaper found out about Jim Nolan, Sean Wyman and Mark Braden being coaches at Janesville Craig and ran an article on the three former teammates from Tremper High School leading the Big Eight champion Craig Cougars to a second straight Division I State Championship.
Relaxing with cocktails at Glen Muick Lodge, Brett asked Brad if he'd been able to get Sean to finish writing his journals.
"He'd kill me, Brett, if he knew I ever talked to anyone else about that. Well, he'd be pretty PO'd anyway..."
"I know. No one is a secretive as Sean is when he wants to be."
"I think he started it. I came home the other day and he looked to be writing in one of those journal books. I dunno if he can bring himself to write down what he needs to, though. You know, that whole final year. He's a tough nut to crack sometimes..."
"You married him, Brad..."
"Yup. And I'd do it again. He doesn't know this, but I see through him. I see what he will never willingly show. His vulnerabilities. I see them."
"No, he wouldn't ever show anyone else anything like that. You're right."
"I never bug him about it, though. If that's not what he was writing about when he was writing in that book, that's fine. He'll do it when he's ready if that wasn't it."
"That's why you're good for him, Brad. Sean's never been `not on.' I mean, he's low maintenance and everything, but he's always on stage. Always has been for as long as I've known him. I guess the only time he wasn't was during the years after Andy died..."
"Yeah, and that's cause he didn't wanna be on.' So, as much as he could be on,' he could also be off.' But it cost him a lot. It cost him a lot of self-confidence. And how he thinks he failed as a father to his sons."
"Well... Sean mighta failed, but nobody's perfect and the boys really didn't suffer all that much. Not in the long run anyway. I mean, Sean was there when he HAD to be, like when they boys had basketball and football games and shit, but you took care of a lot of the day-to-day shit, Brad. For a lot of the time you were their adult figure. The one they could depend on."
"Yup. And I never turned them against their dad. One time one of the boys, I forget if it was T.J. or Scotty, complained about something having to do with Sean and I reminded him that it was thanks to their dad that they had the Alamo to live in, and all the proper things they needed, and that some parents aren't always all that touchy-feely. It was hard on them, sometimes. They never got bitter about it, though..."
"I know... Sean loves his sons and they love him back. That one simple fact survived everything."
"Want me to fire up the sauna?"
"Yeah, I think so..."
"I got a question first."
"Shoot."
"I'll shoot alright, just not now," Brad laughed. "What about all that shit we had that meeting about a year or so ago... What about all that?"
"I really can't say any more now than I said then. I guess about all I can say is that we've got the twins ready to liquidate a lot of shit and invest in hard commodities like gold and silver if need be. And I don't know everything they know inside the financial markets. Overall, it'll be OK. We're getting better at what we do all the time and there have been some, shall we say, breakthroughs along the way that I've been made aware of. Of course, you realize, I'd have to deny knowing anything... And I certainly don't know everything. My job is to have the state in good order, and it is."
"I ain't much for all that cloak and dagger shit. Anything I find out is only to help Sean."
"There's not really a whole lot that any of us knows everything. Not even me. And that's fine. Who wants a complicated life?"
"I'll let Sean know that when we get back. Strip and take a sauna?"
"I'll strip and take whatever you got..."
After a relaxing and sensual sauna, Brad and Brett retired to the bar at the Lodge, wrapped only in towels, where Brad concocted a completely new cocktail of rum, white tequila, Angostura bitters, sugar, orange and lime juice and peel, ginger root, basil leaves and a hint of white pepper. He made it shaken and then poured into martini chilled martini glasses with a garnish of mint leaf and a splash of seltzer.
After two rounds of cocktails and a joint that was excellently rolled by Brad, Brad decided to show Brett a room in the Lodge he had not seen before.
They exited that room the following morning.
Knowing Brad wasn't the best cook in the world, Brett prepared breakfast.
After breakfast, an airplane was heard landing on the road beyond. Brett asked to be taken to the road where he retrieved a leather pouch from the pilot. The pilot returned to the airplane, turned it around and took off again.
"Daily briefing," was all Brett said.
"You're not gonna have a plane coming here every day, are ya?" Brad asked. "Not sure that'd be a good idea..."
"You're prolly right," Brett said. "I'll have it sent by courier."
"Have it sent to Great Lakes Security and then have them figure out the best way to get it here. Last thing you or anyone else needs is some local yokel noticing shit like airplanes coming in and out and blabbering about it to all the other yokels. People notice shit... They'd prolly think we were running drugs out of here or something... That's what I would think, anyway..."
Brett nodded silently. After that, the pouch was flown into Rhinelander airport aboard a regularly scheduled flight and then taken by Great Lakes Security on a typical non-descript small private fishing boat with an outboard engine up the Wisconsin River and left in a bait bucket at the Glen Muick dock where Brad was waiting after having been signaled.
Brad never opened any pouches nor looked in them. He only retrieved them and handed them off to Brett. There was no one within at least a mile in any direction who could have seen a drop off and pickup.
Being very different people than their respective husbands, Brad and Brett, and Tim and Sean's friendships were very different, too. Brad and Brett were their naturally introspective selves around each other. Understated and unpretentious they made themselves available to each other in the way one would expect out of the tender way their friendship had started. Brad looked up to Brett's intelligence with awe but at the same time he knew Brett looked up to his resilience and, if one were honest, overachievement given the meager blessings life had bestowed on him.
Tim and Sean were completely different together than their husbands were by themselves. When Tim and Sean were together it was as if they were once again back in high school co- strategizing on how to win a game. Always intense with each other, they were like gasoline and a spark. They never lost that bond as each one of them admired the qualities in the other that were in fact similar to the qualities they had themselves.
Both sets of friends enjoyed their week together. Brad and Brett relished the quiet and privacy of Glen Muick Lodge. Brad never much enjoyed crowds anyway and the private, wooded setting was perfect as far as he was concerned. Brett was growing fatigued at life in the fishbowl of being Governor. While he enjoyed the job itself, and by any measure he had an untarnished and an easily defensible record, he never meant to make a career of it and really wanted to get back to the relatively quiet pleasures of his hometown medical and law practices.
Brett opened up to Brad about a subject he hadn't even discussed with Tim.
"Hey, I want to ask you something," Brett said.
"What," Brad answered.
"Well, you know I don't wanna be Governor forever, right?"
"Yeah. I mean, we all know that... So?"
"So, what if I went for maybe another year and resigned? I'm pretty sure the whole reason I ran again is being resolved in the direction that will prove to be positive, let me just put it that way. If that's the case, then what reason do I have to keep my ass parked in the Governor's office in Madison for another just about three years? I did what I set out to do. I mean, what would you think if I resigned say in another six months or a year?"
"I'd say don't."
"OK, why?"
"Straight up? You ran the way you did because there might have been some kind of emergency. You did it because you had to. And it was a secret. You couldn't go public with it. So if you resign, people aren't gonna understand why and you won't be able to tell `em. I mean, I wouldn't understand if I didn't know any better. Ninety percent of the people voted for you, or whatever it was, and I'm telling you they won't understand if you just up and quit. Put up with it until your term is over. Don't screw anything up. Make sure the state's not broke like it was when you came in. Leave the place in a better condition than you found it. You'll be a hero if you do that. You've already done that. You quit early and you're gonna be everybody's asshole. Sorry, but that's how it would go..."
"I'd thought about that. I guess I just needed someone to tell me. I mean, I haven't totally hated being Governor, but it's such a dirty game. People have no idea. Oh, sure, there's some good people you do business with, but there are also a lot of flat-ass crooks. And it's like this fucking club, or something. The good ones never go after the bad ones. Doesn't happen. The amount of bullshit I've had out of all of them is enough to... Well, maybe I'll write a book about it sometime... Jesus, I'll be glad when it's over... Maybe not. I did what I had to do, and that's enough. Let someone else write about it."
"I'm sure Tim will be when it's over, too."
"I couldn't have done it without him. There's no way."
"I know that. And Tim knows that, too. His job is to stand behind you. And I'm sure you two talk about what to do and what to let slide and how to get done what's needed."
"We do. And as good as Tim has been, he hasn't been what you've been for Sean. He's been my partner. You're Sean's savior. I think if you hadn't twisted his arm into getting married he'd be a goner in a few years. I'm not the only one who thinks that, either..."
"I did what I had to do. And I love him or I'd never have done it. Those boys were after me for years to do it but I hadda wait until the time was right. It wouldn't have worked otherwise. You know that..."
"With Sean? No. No it wouldn't have."
"I hope he's happy now."
"He is. He's told Tim so. He adores you, Brad."
"Maybe so, but he still hasn't totally let go."
"Maybe he never will."
"Maybe not. It's OK. I just try to be a good husband. That's my job."
"That's all of our jobs. Anyway, how about some cocktails and then if you don't mind I'd like to throw you in the sling for a little while."
"Well, let's go then..."
Tim and Sean spent the week mainly playing golf, although Tim had a court appearance he couldn't get out of involving the settlement of a large estate but that only took half a day. Just for laughs, and a bit of nostalgia, they drove down to Monterey Stadium and threw a football around. They got the old groundskeeper, who was there that day and remembered them from their high school days, to let them into the locker room so that they could shower. They locked the door behind them and when they came out 45 minutes later the groundskeeper told them to have a nice day while he good-naturedly shook his head and winked.
Back at the Alamo Sean drew them both pints of Smithwick's beer from Ireland. Taking their beers out onto the patio, Sean rolled a joint.
"We've had a lot of good times, Wymo," Tim said.
"I'll never forget the first time we met..."
They reminisced again about their early meetings.
"I was sweating bullets, Wymo. I never told you this, but Coach called me in and told me we were getting you. I mean, no shit I remembered you. I told you that... Then Coach had me watch video of you, I already knew what I was gonna see, and I was like fuck...' Coach said to me, and you can imagine his voice before he had the stroke and shit, Well, Mr. Dickson it would appear that you have some competition. What say you, Mr. Dickson?'"
Sean laughed at Tim's accurate portrayal of their old coach.
"Fuck, I was scared, too, Dix. I mean, I didn't know anyone here. All I wanted to do was play well and win and shit but there I am, the new kid, going up against a guy Coach already told me was as good as if not better than me. How do you think I felt? And then being gay and shit? I mean, it's not like I knew you were gay then... I just didn't want a repeat of all that shit that happened at Tremper. That's all... So, there. That's how I felt."
"But we jelled, man. I never thought I'd play ball on the level we did. I mean, yeah, it was just high school and shit, but we were good, man. We were really good."
"We were. I've never forgotten that you know..."
"Neither have I. Never. Let's smoke that joint, man..."
Sean lit it up, took a deep toke and handed it to Tim.
"Those were good times, Wymo," Tim said. "And you're back coaching again. Wish I could be..."
"I'll make room for you next year to come in as an assistant coach from time to time. You wanna?"
"I'd fuckin' jump at the chance. Maybe you and me could get back in there for some of those two-QB plays and show `em how it's done."
"They'd laugh at us... Two old farts..."
"Nah, man, we'll work out and get back in shape first. We'll do it. And don't forget, there is no substitute for experience."
"Fine. You got a deal."
"Fine."
The next morning, Tim was up before Sean and helped himself around the kitchen at the Alamo to prepare a decent enough breakfast for the two of them. It wasn't as good as Sean would have made, but the scrambled eggs were plain but creamy, the English muffins toasted, well enough, the coffee hot and the bacon crisp.
Sean smiled when he saw the effort his friend had gone to.
"Wow!" Tim said.
"What?" Sean croaked, rubbing his eyes.
"You smiled. You don't do that a lot."
"Well, I guess maybe I should. I mean smile. Again. More."
Tim laughed.
Both pairs of friends passed the remainder of the week enjoying each other's company.
Tim and Tommy especially enjoyed each other's company when Tommy came to the Alamo after school.
The more time had passed, the more and more Tommy had come out of his shell. He was doing well in school, not Honor Society well, but he carried a solid B average which was a bit better than Peggy Dickson originally forecast. Tommy bugged Sean and by extension Tim about when he was going to be able to get a job.
"Yeah, what about that, Wymo?" Tim teased.
"You'll have to ask your dads, Thomas," Sean said. "But I'd think you could get a job once you're sixteen and that's not too far off. Any thoughts of what you'd like to do?"
"I like your restaurant at the Monterey Hotel condos. Can I be a waiter there? Then I could get tips, too! Extra money!"
"Well, if your dads say so that'd probably be OK. But you'd start off as a busboy until you learn the ropes. That's how ya learn. Being a good waiter is a profession, Thomas. The best ones in the best places can make a really good living at it, you know."
"That's why I signed up for all the classes I can take at your school, too. I like it and I like learning it. I get my best grades there, too!"
"I'm proud of you, Thomas," Sean said. And he meant it. Even though he'd grown about three inches, Tommy was still not a tall kid. He had, however, retained his angelic looks and tousled brown hair. Sean thought if he could learn the system at the Orleans Room that he'd prove to be an excellent waiter.
Later when they were alone, Tim brought up a sore subject with Sean.
"I gotta ask ya something, Wymo..."
"What's that?"
"Well, don't get all pissed off, but you mentioned a time or two in the past those journals that you keep. And I remember that night when I stopped by at the museum and you were alone in there..."
"I remember that night," Sean said, starting to feel a little uncomfortable.
"You ever finish those things up?"
"Why, Dix... Why'd you hafta ask me that..." Sean said, chin quivering.
"Figured somebody hadda and I sure as hell know it ain't gonna be Brad..."
"Don't bring Brad into this. He's..."
"I know. Brad's perfect and you love him. I get that. And I'm not trying to upset you. I just figure, well, um, you know, that, um... Oh, fuck, man... I just figure you gotta face up to it and do it for yourself. I could say why should I care, and all that shit, or that it doesn't affect me, but the truth is that it affects you. And if it affects you it does affect me. You're my best friend, man..."
"I know that," Sean said. "It's just... It's That Fucking Year. That Goddamn Motherfucking Year. And writing about it isn't like just when you remember it in your head for a minute or two. It's every Goddamn detail. It takes a lot of time. And all that time is pain. I'd have to write down every fucking excruciating detail. Everything. All of it. And play those memories in slow motion. God!"
"Yeah, I know. And I'd feel for ya. I would. Butcha gotta do it, man. I don't mean to be a downer, but it ain't gonna be right until you do it. And I think you know that."
"Yeah... Yeah, I know... I tell myself that all the time and then I choke."
"You ain't ever choked, Wymo. Well, maybe you choked on my dick, but you ain't a choker."
Sean laughed. "I wouldn't choke on that number two pencil of yours, Dix... But you're right. I guess I have to just fucking do it. I have to..."
"Well, why don't you wait until Brad gets back and let him know that you're gonna do it. Other than you, it's gonna matter most to him you know... He deserves to be the first to know. Brad is a Saint, Wymo."
"I know he is. And I really do love him. He's so sweet, and between you and me he's hot as fuck. I always thought so. Even way back when. I'm glad I grew a pair and married him."
"I'm glad you did, too. I was pulling for Brad all along. Don't forget, old bud, I knew Andy. And I knew you & Andy. And I know Brad. I never talked to him about it, I mean about you and him but like I said, I was always pulling for Brad."
"Were you pulling for me?"
"Always. I know I was far away, but there were so many times when you were in my thoughts..."
"You hardly ever called."
"I'm sorry for that."
"I know. I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to be a dick. I don't even know how receptive I would have been..."
"Does it matter now?"
"No, I guess it doesn't. Not at all..."
"So... What matters then..."
"I guess I gotta get past That Year."
"Yup."
"I will then. Because if I don't you'll think I'm a fuckin' quitter."
"I won't think you're a quitter if you finish it."
"What? You wanna read it then, or something, too?!"
"Not unless you want me to and then I'll read every fuckin' word, bro..."
"Maybe when I'm done, Dix. Out of all the people there are maybe except for Brad I'd let you read it. And then maybe you'd know I'm not the guy you think I am."
"Maybe it would let me know you ARE the guy I think you are... See, I've had trouble all my life with that; with being the confident winner' guy everyone thought I was. Oh, yeah, I mean I was, at least on the surface, but you gotta know that running interference for Kevin when some people called me The retard's brother,' and then trying to follow David who in school had a reputation for being everyone's boss and shit. It wasn't easy. I wasn't always very sure of myself. A lot of times I did the shit I did just because I thought I was supposed to, that if I didn't then my façade would crumble."
"Could have fooled me," Sean said.
"I fooled a lot of people. Even myself. You know, it was Brett who was the one who showed me none of that shit meant as much as if what I was doing felt right to me in my heart. I'll never forget when we first started going out and his dad found his phone with all our text messages. You know, even then he had more balls in his little finger than I had in my whole body. I was so fucking scared of being found out. And it was killing me. Well, I mean, I know you remember all that, so... Anyway, Brett told me years later when we were having a laugh over the whole thing, he said he didn't knuckle under then because he knew in his heart that I was the one for him. He said that he just knew it."
"Brett's a winner, Dix. I always said that. So did your mom, you know..."
"She's told me a hundred times..."
"Listen," Sean said. "I reserved the entire pool down at the Y just for us for an hour in about a half an hour from now and then the steam room after that. Figured it might be a nice surprise."
"Just hope we don't clog up the pool filter..."
"Or leave the steam room smelling like cum."
"Maybe we can lift some weights in-between..."
"I'll change up the times."
"They'll be Ok with that?"
"Of course, Dix. We're their single largest donor."
"Shoulda figured that... By the way, when we get back let's just run through the financials quick. Now that Dad's almost fully retired I've kinda taken over the legal counsel part. Finally... Just gimme a quick run through and then I can put a not in the file saying that they were looked at. At the end of the year, we'll just have the usual audit."
"That's fine. We've had a good year this year so far... And I wanted to talk to you about that..."
"Whadya mean?"
"I want to make a plan to start giving some of it back. We've all had good lives. We never had to worry or struggle financially. Far from it. But a lot of people do struggle. And I know we've done a lot over the years, but I want us to make a plan that will make a real difference."
"OK, well, I'll ask the $64,000 question. How much of the Consortium's assets do you see liquidating in order to do this?"
"OK, well, right now the total of all assets is in round numbers $70 billion. Of course not all of that, in fact most of it, isn't liquid. You know, real estate, certain stocks and bonds and shit like that. I figure about $20 billion is liquid, or fairly liquid. Out of that I was thinking to give back ten percent, so somewhere between four-and-a-half and five billion."
"OK, and what are we going to spend it on?"
"That's for all of us to decide, that is if we all agree to do it in the first place. I'd like to see most of it spent locally. To pay off some of the City's debt, to begin sustaining funds for people who find themselves hard up and it's not their fault, and for education. I don't want the money to be helicopter money, I want to start funds that will last."
"Well, you can count me in. As long as we all agree on the particulars. I mean, we'd make back the money we gave away in less than ten years probably so why not... We've been blessed. We should give back. And then maybe after ten or fifteen years we could do it again."
"Ginny always gave back," Sean said. "And it's not that we haven't, because we have. A lot. But we took the fortune she left us and we increased it by a factor of ten, at least. I think we can afford it, and I think it would set a good precedent for the future."
"Well, you gave back when the housing market went bust all those years ago..."
"I really didn't. People came to me and if they'd previously had good credit then I bought their houses off their lenders at short sale and rented them back to them until they got back on their feet and most people bought their houses back from me which we financed as part of the deal so we made the interest back off that, and honestly, who's to question that. We did the right thing with that one. Everyone stayed in their homes except for one person and we resold that house and made a profit. Everyone else got to stay in the houses they'd always lived in. We can feel good about that. And all the money stayed local."
"We'll be late for the Y if we don't quit talking and get our asses in gear. Do I need swim trunks?"
"No. We'll be swimming naked."
"Steam room?"
"Naked."
"Good."
"And I'll write the book about that God-damn year, Dix, but it's gonna be a long day's journey into night..."
END CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
*1965 Chevrolet Biscayne: http://topclassiccarsforsale.com/uploads/photoalbum/1965-chevrolet-biscayne-4-door-sedan-rust-free-west-virginia-car-49200-miles-1.jpg