Chapter Ten
It seems that as children, we are always looking forward, and we cannot wait until we reach some magical pinnacle: when we turn 12 so we can join the girl scouts or when we turn 14 so we can be in middle school or when we become 18 and can graduate high school and leave home and venture out into the big world on our own, or the most magical of all, when we turn 21 and are suddenly anointed as an official adult.
So now that he was seeing the big world from the inside of protective custody of the Federal Marshall's holding facility, Diego was truly wishing he was 12 again. Back before all of the criminal gangs in Guatemala took over the country, and ran everything except the national government. Back when his mother and father were still together, and he could enjoy Abuelita's homemade tortillas every Sunday. Back when he played futbol in the dusty streets of his village with the other boys, and served the parish priest as an altar boy, for which he was able to sneak drinks of the sacramental wine.
He had spent three days in the federal immigration court, waiting for the judge to appoint an attorney to represent him, but nothing had happened, so to move things along, the judge remanded Diego back into custody while waiting to try to find a public defender. When that would happen was up to the slowly grinding wheels of the federal system. Most likely, Diego Miguel Andrade Dominguez would end up back in Guatemala within the year.
For Mario, similar thoughts occurred to him as he considered all of the many phases of his own magical life, first as the care-free youngest son in his family In Argentina, then as a college student in Buenos Aires sowing his wild oats, which meant fucking every hole he could manage, and then running away from home, in a fashion, and landing on the coast of the Golden State.
His marriage to Mason, Mason's death, and his own long journey around the world mourning his partner, and then his role as the senior partner of the law firm, all added to the character he had become: a long and beautiful life, crowned now with his marriage to Peter, the crazy California boy who had an entirely different point of view than Mario about how the world worked and what the world owes us, or, conversely, what we owe to each other as well as to the world.
Simon's point of view, as the New Year approached, was somewhat similar to Mario; born and raised in South Africa during apartheid, and watching the upheaval in politics, race relations, the structure of the government and the entire social system, Simon had watched from the sidelines as a product of the old Boer empire, not one of the privileged, but as a product of their dynasty. He was White in a country where that was automatically the most gifted of the classes; joining the Defence Force, he was treated differently, he noticed, than were his fellow recruits who were Black or Mixed.
The Mixed were the bottom rung on that ladder, because during apartheid, it was illegal to mix the races. The 1948 novel by Alan Paton, Cry the Beloved Country was testament to that ugly truth. Thinking forward, he was sure that now that he had discovered Robin Layton, his life was going to make another great change.
Robin was sitting astride a body board within sight of his bungalow in Hermosa Beach, waiting for the next big wave to sweep him into the steep sandy hillocks. How different this view, and the accompanying point of view, than the years he had anticipated his future as a farm kid in central Wisconsin. Corn, as far as he could see then, even from the lofty seat of the John Deere tractor, was the limit of the known world. Grad school was a world he had never heard of; college was merely a dream he had heard spoken of in hushed terms by schoolteachers, and not one shared with him by the school counselors or even his parents.
Robin's grandfather had been in the US Army stationed in Europe well after WW2 had concluded, and when he found himself in a US military encampment in the countryside of England, a pretty Portuguese girl serving in the camp had caught his eye. Before he had time to think about it twice, he married her and took her home to the farm in Wisconsin. That afforded him the luxury of missing the Korean war.
Robin's father, a conscientious objector to the war in Vietnam, had married a girl from the next town over, despite the objections of her retired military father and his Portuguese wife. Soon they were a happy hippy couple trying to raise two children as well as two dozen row crops of what are now referred to as "organic" vegetables for sale in their road-side fruit stand.
Stuart Warden, the nephew of Mason Taylor, had grown up on a farm in Idaho Falls, within sight of the Wyoming mountain range known as the Tetons. Stuart's family did not farm; his mother was married to an insurance broker in the city, and Stuart was never burdened with farm chores. The property they lived on was adjacent to the homestead of his grandfather, which many years later Stuart would inherit. Still, the One True Law of the eastern Idaho farm country of the Snake River valley was that if you want anything to happen, do it yourself.
For that reason Stuart had managed to gain a full scholarship to college and then had put himself through law school. Now one of the rising stars among the attorneys who practiced in the federal court system in southern California, Stuart imagined that he and his husband Raj would be able to retire within the next ten years. They had no children, of course, but did count many friends as well as Raj's niece and nephew, his sister Aneth's two children.
As a practicing Hindu, Raj Acharya had never deviated from the path he had been schooled in, in the mountainous state of Rajasthan in India. His family was from the caste of Kshatriya, who served the courts and rulers and governments as administrators and managers. He earned a degree in industrial engineering in Delhi and then a master's in business administration at USC while working as the chief of staff for the mayor of Los Angeles; he was promoted to chief of staff for the governor of California when the mayor won that office. Raj and Stuart were one of those very rare `love at first sight' couples and had been devoted to each other ever since being introduced by Stuart's uncle Mason Taylor.
Likewise, as a Hindu, Raj spent very little time imagining the future; recent decades in Hindu practice had been influenced by the Buddhist beliefs about fate being mitigated by our own actions. He had never spoken with his husband about retirement, assuming that when that time came, they would both instinctively know.
Scott, the twink whom Diego had fucked countless times, in the studio, in the office, in bed, in the car and on a sand dune in La Paz, Baja California, and once on a park bench in Hollywood, had no thoughts about the future. He worried consistently about the bus schedule, and about the infrequent gang assaults in the neighborhood two towns over from his home. Scott's most current thoughts were about saving to buy a car.
David Branson, the husband of Paul Campbell, and chief economist of the San Francisco branch Federal Reserve Bank, did think about retirement, and wondered at least once a week if he and Paul would stay on the farm in Sacramento. Since the death of Paul's father, Paul had become the general manager of the family farming corporation, and had more or less given up his law practice. Their two children, Bethany and Stephan, lived nearby, and visited frequently, together with their own children. Having four grandchildren was completely beyond David's wildest dreams; as a young Mormon missionary in Japan, he could barely imagine graduating college let alone being married to a lawyer and heading a department at the most important central bank in the world.
He made a note in his day planner to speak with Paul soon about the range of topics floating around in his head; on the train home to Sacramento from the Bay, he edited the notes to include `birthdays for grandkids'. Stephan's oldest son had just returned home from a Mormon mission to Chile, and Bethany's son was getting ready to leave for a mission to Portugal. Paul and David's two children, Bethany and Stephan, had been borne to them by surrogate mothers; these two kids were truly a heavenly gift, David considered, and he treated them as such for their entire lives.
Paul Campbell was finishing his notations in the annual report to the shareholders of the farming corporation which he headed and managed. Those shareholders were himself and his husband David, his brother Scott and Scott's wife Cindy, as well as his sister Emily and her husband Ted Gibson. The farm had just finished its best year financially, and David and Paul had kept their promise to Paul's grandfather to never go into debt. Every expansion of the farm and the corporation came out of current revenues; the report would outline all of that, but Paul included a few notes about possible expansions he and David had discussed, such as looking for more acreage to purchase in the surrounding communities.
Paul paused in his writing and his thinking; this farm, this place which had provided him a home and a safe place to be raised and to raise his children, and to nurture his marriage with his husband David, was sacred ground. He wanted to preserve it for his children and grandchildren. His parents and grandparents had worked their entire lives to make this dream a reality, and Paul was deeply grateful to them for their sacrifices.
He was also immeasurably grateful to them for their understanding and patience and acceptance of David and Paul's commitment to each other as a gay couple. In a Mormon household, one which was only a few generations down from one of the Mormon Church presidents, Paul was very cognizant of the meaning of that sacrifice.1
The maître d' was also thinking of the New Year; he had contacted the members of his jazz combo, and had a unanimous positive reaction. Simon had already offered him $2,000 to play for the party at the restaurant, and Clark was eager to have the chance to perform. It was not the money, it was the chance to expand the combo's experience beyond the garden parties and rest- home gigs which they were accustomed to.
Simon was going over the guest list once more; he wanted to check off all of the RSVP's he had received. He called Peter to see if he or Mario had received any more responses; tomorrow night was going to be very special for Simon, and, he hoped, for Dr Robin Layton as well.
Everything else was ready: the alcohol had been delivered and was chilling; the food had been delivered and the kitchen staff had already begun the preparations. Simon would open the restaurant in the morning, with a flyer which told customers that 6 PM was closing time for the special private party that evening. There was a thrum, a vibration, a sensation which Simon sensed, unlike any other party or holiday or event he had planned or managed in the past. This was the big one; these people were all very special to him, but of course there was one who was at the top of the list.
Simon had included in the party invitation that this event was "Black tie", and so in the morning, after his coffee and a run around the block, and showering and shaving, Robin dragged out his tuxedo and made sure everything was ready. He laid out the suit on the bed, and unwrapped the white shirt from the dry cleaner's package, and found the jewelry and bow tie in his dresser.
Similar activities were being undertaken in two dozen more households across California: Paul and David were on a flight from Sacramento to LAX, Stuart and Raj were rolling down each other's tux with the lint brush, and Yoshio Sato was nervously instructing his new husband, fresh from Osaka, about the party, the people, the restaurant, the menu, and the California way of doing things. Yuji Asakawa had only been in California for the six months that he had been married to Yoshio, so there were many things he felt he needed to learn. Perhaps the most important thing, he feared, was the way gay men in California treated each other, as compared to Japan; he had heard many rumors of orgies and open sex in gay bars and strip clubs and was nervous about this party.
Terry Baylor and his husband, Alex Cipriani, were also in the midst of New Year's Eve preparations; Alex was the youngest son of Los Angeles city councilman Tony Cipriani, owner of a large construction company and alleged mob boss. Terry was the only son of Ted Baylor, a founding co-partner of the law firm Baylor, McLean and Garza, of which Mario Garza was still a member.
Sam Stephenson and his husband, Mickey Clarke, were dressed early for the party; Sam had been required to attend a different party in Beverly Hills at the home of one of his clients, one of the muti-millionaire basketball players in Los Angeles. They were preparing to excuse themselves about 9 PM; the host saw them to the door and asked Sam for some business cards, because he wanted to share them with some of his teammates.
Mickey was already tired; he had experienced a very long season as a consultant in the firm he shared with Raj. They had been partners with Ross James, the former lover of Mason Taylor, as well as the former husband of Joaquin Mendez. Following the death of Ross James, the partners had each received a million dollar settlement from the life insurance policy the firm had purchased. Mickey and Sam had very judiciously invested that money with Stuart's investment advisor, the same firm which handled the Saudi family.
Immediately after the closing of the restaurant at 6 PM, Simon threw himself into arranging the interior for the party; he had rented a small stage for the jazz combo, and at the opposite end of the room set up ten tables and instructed the staff to begin setting out the china, silver, and crystal. He then set up the buffet table against the far wall away from the entrance, and brought out the red wines from the cooler. He made sure each place setting included a water goblet as well as a wine glass, and that each table had salt and pepper and flowers. Each place setting had a dinner plate, a salad plate, a service plate for the seafood, and there was a basket on each table for the seafood shells and claws.
By then it was time for the bread baskets to be set out on each table, and soon it would be time to broil the oysters Rockefeller and to heat the grill for the lamb kebobs and check on the prime rib in the oven.
No one was surprised that the first guest to open the door was Dr Robin Layton; Simon ran to him and grabbed him in a big embrace and they kissed. Robin brought a box of Godiva chocolates, and a bouquet of flowers. Simon was not completely dressed for the party; he ran to his office and threw on his formal shirt with the black studs, bow tie, and adjusted the suspenders and cummerbund before adding his tuxedo jacket. Robin kissed him again, and they shyly re-entered the party hall, hand in hand.
Clark, the maître d' and jazz combo leader, handed each of them their favorite cocktails, a Boulevardier for Robin and a Manhattan for Simon. Simon had hired an extra bar tender for the evening, a friend of Clark. The tip jar for the bar tenders already had several $50 bills in it.
Within minutes, Yoshio and his husband Yuji entered, each baring a gift package; it is common practice in Japan to never visit a friend empty-handed, the `omiyage' tradition. The boxes were wrapped in brightly printed silk scarves; Simon had them placed on the far end of the bar. He guided them to the bar and asked them what they liked to drink; both asked for scotch neat. The bar tender opened a bottle of Suntory Hibiki, a Japanese scotch that was competitive with any from the Old World; at $130 a bottle, Yuji was impressed.
Mario, Peter, Sam, Mickey, Stuart and Raj were next in the door, followed by Paul and David. Carlos Rivera and his husband Chris Martin were only a few moments later, followed by Joaquin and Felipe. Alex Cipriani and Terry Baylor came in after that, accompanied by Tad Carlyle and his husband Mike Williams, and Phil Downey and his date Sean Devereaux.
Within minutes, the room was rocking with conversation and laughter, hugs and kisses, and the mellow jazz music from the combo. At 11 PM, the waiters began circulating with champagne flutes, and by 11:30 the room was, as Simon said, well lubricated.
At just before midnight, the lights were dimmed and a mirrored disco ball began turning, as the crowd counted down from 10 to the chiming of the bells by the band, with joyous shouts of "Happy New Year!" as more kisses and hugs were seen all across the room. Clark's band struck up Auld Lang Syne, with everyone singing along. Robin kissed Simon first, long and hard, and then kissed his neighbors, Stuart and Raj, as Simon kissed Peter and Mario.
Paul and David were the first to exit; they had traveled the length of that state to come to the party, and had booked a room in Santa Monica at Loew's. Joaquin and Felipe followed them as they were also staying at the new high-end Santa Monica hotel. By 2 AM, everyone had followed them out the door with the exception of Peter and Mario; they thanked Simon for a tremendous party, kissed both Robin and Simon, and exited.
After closing the restaurant and thanking Clark and his friends, Simon and Robin dropped into the Mercedes which Robin had driven; they were standing in the bedroom of Simon's apartment, holding each other, and Robin yawned deeply. "Let's get you out of this beautiful tux, and get you into bed before you fall down."
Simon did not object; he was exhausted. It would be well past dawn when he would be able to open his eyes. When he did, he noticed Robin was gone, and panicked. He ran to the anteroom to look at the parking lot, and nearly bumped into Robin who was holding two cups of coffee.
"Oh my god, I was scared..."
"Don't worry love, I'm right here. Have your coffee." Robin was smiling from ear to ear.
"And," Robin continued, "I stayed all night, and I wanted to be the first person to see you on this new year morning and wish you a wonderful new year and to say I love you."
Simon gasped. "Oh my god" he whispered.
"Something wrong?"
Simon could not stop staring at Robin. "You said it."
"Said what."
"It."
"Yeah. But, it's true. I love you."
A large tear erupted from Simon, and traced down his cheek. He swiped his fist across his face, set the coffee mug on the cocktail table, and stood up to hug Robin again.
"Me too."
"Say it."
Simon was silent for a long moment, and then whispered "I love you."
They hugged again, and after the coffee had been finished, they headed back to bed, this time to make love. They had given each other the joy of sex many times, but this new year morning they were making love. Simon gave himself to Robin first, enjoying the pleasurable pain of the grad school professor's cock inside of his ass, and then, Simon took his turn at fulfilling Robin's desire for a South African commando cock in his ass.
It was after 4 PM when Simon realized his phone had been shut off; he examined it and found that Peter had called at least three times. Returning the call, he told Robin they had been invited to brunch at the beach house, and were already three hours late.
When they arrived at the famous historical gathering spot, they were greeted by Paul and David, Stuart and Raj, Sam and Mickey, and Yoshio and Yuji. Terry and Alex had already been and gone to fulfill family obligations, and Tad and Mike had begged off due to opening their restaurant in Pacific Palisades that afternoon.
When everyone had said hello and Simon and Robin had champagne flutes in hand, Simon was seated and Robin stood and tapped his glass. "Since this is the closest thing to family that any of us have, I am going to ask you, collectively, as family, if I may make an announcement. I want you to know that I have fallen in love, and that has been a big surprise to me, and it has been a long time coming."
Turning to Simon he said "I love you. I want you for the rest of my life."
There was a collective shout, and applause, and everyone got to their feet and surrounded Simon and Robin with hugs and kisses.
Peter said "You know, Robin, you must be magic, because this is the first time in his life that anyone has captured his heart."
More shouts and applause, and more hugs.
"Thank god" Robin said.