Field, Ryan Gay Pride and Prejudice

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Ravenous Romance

www.ravenousromance.com

First published in 2010

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Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

CONTENTS

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen

* * * *

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

* * * *

Gay Pride and Prejudice

Ryan Field

A Ravenous RomanceTM Original Publication

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

A Ravenous RomanceTM Original Publication

www.ravenousromance.com

* * * *

Copyright (C) 2010 by Ryan Field
Ravenous RomanceTM
100 Cummings Center
Suite 123A
Beverly, MA 01915
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced in whole or in part without written permission
from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief
excerpts in connection with a review.

ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-354-2
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to

persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

* * * *

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Chapter One

In the middle of June that year, Tristan Briggs and his

Uncle Eldridge left Manhattan for good.

They weren't going to miss much about New York. Uncle

Eldridge had been hanging onto his grand lifestyle from the
late 1990s by a thin piece of thread. His Bentley lease had
expired and his weekends in the Hamptons were over. At one
point, it was so bad they weren't sure there would be enough
money for lunch in The Village.

Things had been going downhill since Eldridge had lost his

position as a vice president for a high-end designer clothing
corporation due to downsizing. On top of that, he'd lost
money in the stock market and he was months behind in the
rent for his upscale interior design boutique in the east
sixties. The wealthy clients weren't spending money on
crystal chandeliers and gilded tables the same way they'd
been spending it five years earlier. As a result of all this, he'd
come very close to losing his townhouse in Turtle Bay and his
summer house on Fire Island.

But Uncle Eldridge had been lucky to find buyers for both

the townhouse and the summer house in such an unusual real
estate market. And just in time to save him from bankruptcy.

Tristan was looking forward to a new life in Florida, where

there wouldn't be phone calls from the creditors and
embarrassing moments in trendy restaurants where credit
cards had been declined.

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

In fact, moving to South Beach might be beginning of a

whole new era. It could be what Tristan needed to push his
own life forward. He was ready to meet a man and fall in
love. He wanted to get married and share everything in his
life with one man, even if marriage between two men wasn't
legally recognized.

But when the taxi dropped them off at their new home in

South Beach, Tristan gave his uncle a look and shook his
head. Tristan hadn't seen the house yet. His uncle had gone
down a month earlier for a short vacation and he'd bought it
on an impulse. Though the huge, three-story house was
located in a desirable neighborhood and was surrounded by
multimillion-dollar homes that belonged to rich and famous
people, this wasn't at all what Tristan had expected. The
stucco was chipped and falling from the corners, the terra
cotta roof tiles were cracked and dilapidated, and the
shrubberies in front were so overgrown they covered most of
the front windows. One of the front windows was boarded up
with plywood and the front door had a split down the middle.
Beside the front walk, a large faded green commercial sign
read: Slocum Real Estate

Tristan got out of the cab and crossed to the cracked front

walk. He placed his hands on his hips and looked back and
forth. A huge moving van sat in the driveway and the workers
were already removing their things from the truck. The sign
on the van read, "Wiley & Son Movers, Inc."

When his uncle walked up behind him, Tristan touched the

top of the real estate sign and said, "We're going to be living

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

in a real estate office?" His face remained pinched and his
right eyebrow arched.

His uncle laughed. He ran his hand through thick brown

hair mixed with strands of silver, then patted Tristan on the
back. "Of course not. The sign has to be removed. Originally
the house was built by Stella Crystal, the old silent movie
star. When she died, her niece took it over and lived here for
about twenty-five years. After that, a small real estate firm
bought it and used it as an office until a few years ago." Uncle
Eldridge stared at the house with wide, glistening eyes. He
smiled and rubbed his jaw. He seemed to love the fact it had
once belonged to a silent film star. "The real estate firm didn't
do well, and they were on the verge of losing the property by
the time I came along and made an offer."

"I see," Tristan said. He should have known better. When

his uncle had first mentioned the house and what he'd paid
for it, Tristan should have expected it to be in shambles.
Uncle Eldridge had done this before. He'd been buying up
ruined properties in New York, renovating them while living
there under the worst conditions, then re-selling them for
huge profits. He'd done this with the townhouse in Turtle Bay
and the summer house on Fire Island. Before that, he'd done
it with a brownstone in Murray Hill. He was actually very good
at what he did, and he'd always made money. The only
problem was Uncle Eldridge's spending habits. If he made a
million dollars on Monday, he usually had two million dollars
spent by Tuesday.

"It's going to be different," said Uncle Eldridge. "This time

we're not moving again. I'm renovating this place with the

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

money I made from the New York houses and we're staying
here for a long time. I shall never sell this house."

Tristan smiled; he almost detected a slight British accent in

Eldridge's voice. Uncle Eldridge said this each time he bought
a new property, and with the same dramatic tone. He'd loved
his uncle like a father since he'd been three years old.
Tristan's mother had been Uncle Eldridge's sister. When
Tristan's father and mother had been killed in an automobile
accident, his uncle had taken him into his home and raised
him as if he were his own son. Eldridge had even legally
adopted Tristan and given him his own name. He'd never
hesitated once and Tristan was grateful.

But lately Tristan had been worrying. His uncle wasn't

getting any younger and if he kept making poor business
decisions based on trendy impulses he'd wind up with
nothing. As it was, they were living on the money Uncle
Eldridge had just received from the sale of his properties.
After the all the debts had been paid, there was just enough
to survive for a year of two. And Tristan knew when his uncle
started renovating this old mansion it wouldn't take long for
him to go through all that money. When Uncle Eldridge
designed a kitchen, the counters couldn't be any ordinary
material. They had to be special uba tuba granite from some
far off country.

So Tristan took a deep breath and sighed. "At least we can

always sell it for a profit. Once the real estate market turns
around I'm sure this house will be worth at least five times
more than what you paid."

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Uncle Eldridge shook his head. "No way. I want to stay

here forever."

"Homes like this require a lot of upkeep," Tristan said.

"Without an income, it might not be realistic. We could
renovate and sell, then buy a nice condo."

"I will not be forced to live in a con-do-minium." The word

condominium seemed awkward coming from his mouth, as if
he'd become tongue-tied. "I will not live in something referred
to as a unit."

"We need an income. And you can't open another high-end

furniture boutique. It's the last thing South Beach needs."

"But we'll have an income," Uncle Eldridge said. "When we

open the new restaurant we'll make a fortune." Then he
patted Tristan on the back and paid the taxi driver.

Tristan rolled his eyes and followed his uncle to the back of

the cab where the driver had just unloaded their Gucci bags.
He was only twenty-two, but he had a college degree in fine
art and he'd just graduated from culinary school. After he'd
graduated from college early and he'd discovered there
weren't many decent jobs out there for fine arts majors, he'd
gone to culinary school as a back-up plan. He'd always loved
food and cooking, he'd always wanted to own his own
restaurant, and he'd never been afraid of hard work.

"I'm not so sure this is the best time to open a restaurant,"

Tristan said, picking up his suitcases. "People are cutting
back. Banks are being bailed out. From what I learned in
school, restaurants are the number-one businesses to close
down after the first year in business. It might be better if I
just get a job working for someone first."

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Uncle Eldridge lifted his eyebrows and lowered his chin. He

adjusted the Gucci bag over his shoulder and blinked.
"Nonsense," he said. "We're opening a restaurant as soon as
we find the perfect location. You're going to run it and it's
going to be a huge hit. I'm not having my own flesh and
blood work as a cook for some greasy spoon. What would
people think? I have a reputation to consider."

Tristan smiled and tilted his head. "I was just thinking it

might be a good idea if I had some experience working in a
restaurant, is all." He didn't want to hurt his uncle's feelings.
He just wanted to be realistic. Someone had to be.

"Sometimes you're so much like your mother it makes me

shiver," Uncle Eldridge said. "She was always the cautious
one, always the one worrying about tomorrow." He picked up
a suitcase and started walking toward the front door of the
massive old house. "I miss her every day, but life is too short.
You have to take chances. We'll open a restaurant and that's
that. I'm sure you're going to meet some very nice, wealthy
young men down here. I just know it. South Beach is filled
with some of the richest gay men in the world. With your
looks and your body, you won't have any problems snagging
one."

Tristan didn't reply to his remark about meeting a wealthy

young man. This wasn't the first time Uncle Eldridge had
broached the subject and Tristan knew it wasn't going to be
the last. His uncle had been trying to fix him up with wealthy
gay men since he'd turned eighteen, hoping to secure
financial security in doing so. Once, he'd fixed Tristan up with
the heir to a huge retail fortune, a young guy named Felix

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

who bit (devoured) his fingernails and would then sniff the
tips of his fingers the rest of the day. Then there was the guy
from Saratoga Springs with the horses, the one who wanted
Tristan to have sex with him in public restrooms all the time.
And Tristan would never forget about the guy who came from
a famous organized crime family—Uncle Eldridge smiled and
called them "business people". This guy had asked Tristan to
blow him while three of his intoxicated buddies took turns
plowing Tristan. Tristan was a good sport. He did it once,
because the guy had asked so nicely and because his friends
were so cute. But when Tristan found out that was all this guy
wanted to do, he ended the relationship fast.

"But what if the guy I fall in love with isn't wealthy?"

Tristan asked. They were at the front door now; his uncle was
watching one of the moving men carry a delicate marble
topped side table, trimmed with ormolu and inlayed wood.

His uncle smiled. "It's like I always say: it's just as easy to

fall in love with a wealthy man as it is to fall in love with a
poor slob." Then he turned his back to Tristan and shouted at
the moving man. "Be careful with that antique table. There
are only two like it in the entire world. The other is in St.
Petersburg, Russia." When he was stressed, he tended to
sound slightly effeminate.

While Uncle Eldridge shouted at the moving man carrying

the table, Tristan lowered his eyes and smiled at the
handsome young moving guy standing in the back of the
truck all by himself. He had short brown hair with reddish
highlights, a tall lanky body, and nice furry legs that bowed at
the knee. He was wearing an oversized black T-shirt with wet

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

stains under the arms, and baggy cream-colored shorts that
hung low on his slim hips. There were two silver hoops in his
ears, several tattoos on his arms, and a thick gold rope chain
around his neck. He smiled back at Tristan and lit a cigarette.
When he inhaled the tobacco, he looked Tristan up and down
and made a fist. Then he exhaled and blew the smoke in
Tristan's direction.

Though Tristan's ultimate goal was to fall in love and get

married, he'd lost his virginity years ago to a guy on his high
school basketball team. But this moving man was too good to
resist. He had a rough-trade, dangerous quality that made
Tristan's heart race and his jeans tighten. His face was
covered with a light layer of five o'clock shadow and his
fingers were thick and meaty. So Tristan stared into the
moving guy's dark brown eyes for a moment and smiled.
Before he turned to enter the house, he said, "I think my
room's up on the third floor. If you need any help moving my
things, just let me know."

The moving guy looked him up and down again, then blew

smoke out of his nostrils. "I'll do that. We're one man short
today."

"Smoking isn't good for you," Tristan said. He was still

smiling and flirting without shame.

The guy shrugged and flicked an ash. "I'll live."
Two hours later, the truck was empty and Uncle Eldridge

announced he was joining some old friends for cocktails. He
asked Tristan to join him, but Tristan said he was tired and he
wanted to take a nap before dinner. He walked his uncle to
the front door and watched the moving van pull out of the

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

driveway. He kissed his uncle on the cheek and told him to
enjoy his time with his old friends. As his uncle's little red
Mercedes convertible backed out of the garage, Tristan closed
the front door and jogged back to his bedroom on the third
floor.

On the way up to his room, he rolled his eyes and looked

up at the ceiling. There was a lump in his stomach; he hated
lying to his uncle. But this time it was for his uncle's own
good. His uncle hadn't bothered to notice there had been only
one moving man in the truck when it left the house. The other
moving man, the one with the tattoos and the earrings and
the sexy legs, was waiting in Tristan's bedroom. While they'd
been moving Tristan's furniture upstairs and no one else
could hear them, the moving guy had asked Tristan if he
could stay around a little longer and help. Tristan had gladly
accepted his offer.

When he walked into his room, the lump in his stomach

disappeared. The moving guy was standing in front of a large
window at the far end of the room looking down at the
swimming pool. His legs were slightly spread and he was
scratching his crotch unconsciously.

"Hey," Tristan said. "We're finally alone." He still wasn't

exactly sure why this guy had asked to stay. But he had a
feeling it had nothing to do with moving furniture.

They guy turned from the window and stared at him. His

dark eyes went up and down and he said, "Did anyone ever
tell you that you look just like the guy from the vampire
movie, Robert Pattison?"

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Tristan rolled his eyes. "All the time." He was tired of

hearing it. Though he did resemble Robert Pattison to a
certain extent, he didn't think he looked exactly like him.
Tristan was taller, and his hair was a much lighter shade of
brown, almost ash blond. In the summer months, it was
practically medium blond. "I'm Tristan," he said, putting
Robert Pattison out of his mind.

"I'm Miller." He shoved his hands into his pockets and

started rocking back and forth on the soles of his black work
boots. Though he'd seemed so blunt and forward earlier, now
he seemed apprehensive and shy. "I'm not gay or anything
like that," he said, without looking Tristan in the eye.

"That's cool," Tristan said. He wasn't sure where this was

going, but he was eager to find out.

"I just thought I'd mention it up front."
"No problem."
For the next few minutes, Tristan carried the conversation.

While they talked about Tristan's move to Florida, Miller lit
another cigarette and avoided eye contact with Tristan. They
both fumbled for words. Tristan really couldn't figure out why
this guy was even there. So Tristan asked a few direct
questions and discovered Miller wasn't just a moving man. His
family owned a national fleet of moving trucks based in South
Beach, and he was working from the ground up to learn the
family business. Miller spoke with a low, even tone and often
hesitated between sentences, as if he were working too hard
to say the right thing.

After a long, awkward moment of silence, when there

didn't seem to be anything else to say, Tristan smiled and

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

walked over to the window. He stood next to Miller and
looked down at the unkempt swimming pool. "Just so you
know," Tristan said. "I am gay."

Miller cleared his throat and smashed the cigarette into a

tin jar lid on the windowsill. He lit another cigarette and said,
"I figured you were. It's cool." He took a long drag and
exhaled. "But I'm not gay."

Tristan took a quick breath and smiled. He wasn't exactly

sure, but he had a feeling Miller wanted him that afternoon.
He'd seen that hungry look before. Miller was telling Tristan
he wasn't gay, but he couldn't stop staring at Tristan's lips.
Under any other circumstance, Tristan would have reached
down and grabbed Miller's dick, and then he would have gone
down on his knees and pulled it out of his short pants. But
Tristan knew, instinctively, this time he had to play it cool. If
anyone was going to make a move that afternoon, it had to
be Miller.

So Tristan looked down at the floor and kicked a large old

trunk next to Miller's legs. "I can't believe that old thing got
into my room by mistake," he said. "It was supposed to go to
my uncle's room."

Miller perked up and squared his shoulders. "I can bring it

there now," he said. "It's too heavy for you to move alone."

"Don't worry about it. We can take care of it later." He

bent down and opened the lid of the trunk. It was filled to the
rim with sequins, feathers, and colorful fabrics. "I haven't
seen this old trunk in years. I'd forgotten all about it."

Miller leaned forward and stared into the trunk. "What's all

that shit in there?"

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Tristan shook his head and laughed. "It's my uncle's old

drag outfits. He used to wear them when he entertained on
stage in Fire Island." He reached into the trunk and pulled out
a short, sparkly red dress. "My uncle was Miss Fire Island four
years in a row back in the eighties. He's actually very
professional and still very well known on the circuit."

Miller reached out and touched the red dress. He ran his

thick, soiled fingers across the sequins and bit his bottom lip.
"Why don't you try it on?"

"Huh?"
"Seriously," Miller said. "Try it on. I'd like to see how it

looks."

Tristan's eyebrows went up and he stared down at the red

dress in his hands. Though he'd always enjoyed a good drag
show, and many of his uncle's New York friends had done
drag on stage, Tristan had never been interested in doing
drag himself. Even his personal taste in clothes was tame
compared to his uncle's. He didn't own a single shirt that was
brighter than light taupe.

"I'm not sure about this," Tristan said. "I'd feel silly."
"Just try it on for a minute," Miller said. His eyes were wide

and his voice sounded more animated than it had sounded up
to now. For a moment, it even seemed as if he were about to
smile.

"I guess I could try it on for a minute."
But when he lifted the dress, just as he was about to lower

it over his head, Miller reached out with both hands and said,
"No. Take off your clothes first."

"Take off my clothes?"

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

"It won't look right over jeans and a black shirt. You

should be naked."

Tristan put the dress down on the bed, kicked off his

shoes, and pulled off his socks. While he lowered his jeans
and underwear at the same time, Miller lit another cigarette
and watched. By the time he removed his shirt, Miller was
breathing so fast his chest was heaving.

He lifted the red sequined dress and lowered it over his

head. The neckline was cut low and there were two dramatic
slits on both sides that exposed his smooth legs and most of
his ass.

"I feel ridiculous now," Tristan said. He turned sideways

and looked down at his legs.

"It looks good, seriously. You have good legs."
Then Miller smashed the cigarette out in the tin lid and

crossed to where Tristan was standing. He reached out so he
could zip up the back of the dress and fasten the small hook
at the neckline. When he was finished, his hands went down
and grabbed Tristan's ass. He squeezed Tristan's flesh hard
and asked, "Can I fuck you?" His voice was a low stage
whisper and there was a hint of desperation. "I need to
come."

Tristan pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. He

could feel Miller's hot breath on his neck, and Miller's hands
were still squeezing his ass. Though he'd never done anything
like this, he felt more desirable than he'd ever felt in his life.
No man had ever begged to fuck him; no man had ever been
this persistent. Though it wasn't the most romantic scenario
Tristan could have imagined, there were no other hot-looking

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by Ryan Field

guys with big hands tossing wedding rings his way that
afternoon.

"It's okay if you say no," Miller said. His voice was deep

and raspy. "I'm not forcing you or anything."

"You said you weren't gay," Tristan said. He wondered

what Uncle Eldridge would think if he came home and caught
Miller fucking him in a red dress. And with his luck, that's
exactly what would happen.

"I'm not gay," Miller said. "I just like to fuck."
"Do you have a condom?" He crossed his fingers, hoping

and praying Miller had one.

Miller let go of Tristan's ass and reached into his pocket.

He pulled out a pre-lubed condom and held it up to Tristan's
face. Then he bucked into Tristan's ass and said, "Can I fuck
you now?"

Before Tristan could finish nodding yes, and before he

could even consider his Uncle Eldridge walking in on them,
Miller pulled his dick out of his pants and pushed Tristan down
on the bed. Miller had one of those thick, smooth, floppy
dicks that actually do, in fact, resemble long, irresistible
uncooked sausages. Miller didn't even bother to take off his
clothes. He just put on the condom, climbed up on the
unmade bed, and pulled the red dress up to Tristan's waist.
He spread Tristan's legs apart and guided the tip of his cock
to Tristan's opening. He went inside so hard and fast a pillow
jumped up and flew off the bed. Then he plunged to the
bottom of Tristan's hole before Tristan even had a chance to
arch his back and prepare for the intrusion. There was a
moment of sharp, concentrated pain, but it didn't last long.

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Though Miller's cock was large and thick, Tristan was
experienced enough to know how to accommodate him.

After that, the entire affair lasted less then five minutes.

By the time Miller was grunting and filling the condom, Tristan
was reaching between his own legs to climax.

They both came together, then Miller wiped a bead of

perspiration from his forehead and rammed into him a few
more times. When he'd had enough, he pulled out just as fast
as he'd entered and stared at Tristan's ass for a minute.
Tristan was unable to move. His heart was still palpitating and
his ass was on fire. When he heard a car door slam outside,
he stopped breathing for a moment, terrified his uncle would
catch him in bed, wearing a red sequined dress, getting
fucked by the moving guy.

While Miller removed the condom and pulled up his zipper,

Tristan stood up fast and tried to remove the dress. He didn't
want to get caught; his uncle would pass out on the floor and
he'd have to call 911. But his legs were a little wobbly and he
couldn't unfasten the clasp at the neckline. He had trouble
looking Miller in the eye, but he needed help.

"Can you give me a hand? I can't seem to get the hook

unfastened."

Without saying a word, Miller walked up behind him.

Before he unfastened the clasp, he reached down and
squeezed Tristan's ass one more time. He slipped both hands
up the red dress and massaged with rough, circular motions.
It made Tristan's eyes bulge and his stomach jump. For a
moment, he forgot all about the red dress and getting caught.
He'd assumed Miller would want to get out of there as quickly

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as possible. He'd thought this was just a quick fuck and he'd
never see this Miller the moving guy again. But Miller wasn't
in a hurry. And when he finally unfastened the clasp and
pulled the dress up over Tristan's head with his own two
hands, Tristan wasn't sure how to react.

So he smiled and said, "Thank you," and put his clothes on

as fast as he could while Miller stood there watching him
shuffle.

When he was dressed, he turned around and looked Miller

in the eye. "How are you getting home?" Tristan knew the
moving van was long gone. It dawned on him Miller was
probably taking his time because he wanted Tristan to give
him a ride home.

"I can walk," Miller said. He shrugged his shoulders and

tilted his head. He spoke with abrupt sentences and his facial
expression remained blank.

"I can give you a lift if you want. I don't mind at all. You've

worked hard today and I hate to think of you walking in this
heat. I have a car in the garage, but I haven't seen it yet." It
was over ninety degrees that day. Tristan figured this was the
least he could do. Though Miller wasn't exactly fawning over
him with kisses and hugs, he'd been unexpectedly polite...for
a straight guy who was just looking to get off on a hot
afternoon.

"Don't bother," Miller said. "I live across the street. I can

walk."

Tristan's head fell back and he gave Miller a sidelong

glance. One of the first things he'd noticed about his new
neighborhood had been the house across the street. When

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by Ryan Field

the cab had dropped them off earlier, he'd actually gaped at
the house. It was a massive Normandy manse with large
black gates, a long winding driveway, and manicured grounds
stippled with perfectly trimmed topiaries. Though the entire
neighborhood was impressive, this was the one house that
stood out among the rest. Uncle Eldridge had pointed to it
and said, "I'm going to make my house even better."

"I'll walk you downstairs, then," Tristan said to Miller. He

could still feel this magnificent man inside his body; he could
still smell his masculine scent.

"Cool."
A minute later, while Tristan was opening the front door

for Miller, he smiled and said, "Thanks for helping out so
much. It's been a long day." He was talking about the
moving, not the fucking. Though it had been a long time since
he'd been fucked by someone as competent as Miller, he
didn't want to sound needy.

But Miller misunderstood. "It was good. You're a good

fuck." Then he stepped outside and shoved his hand into his
pocket. He pulled out a business card and handed it to
Tristan. He looked him in the eye and said, "If you need help
with that trunk, call me. My cell is the bottom number. If you
don't get me, leave a voice mail."

"Okay." Tristan held his breath for a second, then said,

"But you're straight, right? I just want to understand. I'm not
sure what just happened here." He'd never been in such a
precarious position before. At least he could relax about his
uncle catching him. The door he'd heard slam was the mail
truck, not Uncle Eldridge's car door. The mail carrier had

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parked in front of the house and he was delivering mail to the
house next door.

Miller shrugged. "We just fucked. That's what happened."
"I know," Tristan said. "But you're straight, right?"
"I didn't say that. I just said I'm not gay."
"I see." He still didn't understand, but he didn't want to

press the point. Miller seemed slightly annoyed with him now.

Miller turned and headed down the driveway. Without

looking back, he said, "I'm usually around most nights. You'll
never be able to move the trunk alone. Call me."

"Okay. I'll call."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Chapter Two

"We've been invited to Bart and Ashley's tonight," Uncle

Eldridge said. "I forgot to tell you last week." He was sitting
at the breakfast table, with a cup of coffee in one hand and
the newspaper in the other. The kitchen in this old house
hadn't been renovated in thirty years. The countertops were
yellow Formica, the appliances harvest gold, and the walls
were covered with orange and yellow flowers with a backdrop
of lime green ferns.

"A party?" Tristan asked. He jumped; he'd been

daydreaming. At that moment, he was lying flat on his back
in the middle of a green meadow naked, and Miller the
moving man was on top of him. He was just about to spread
his legs and wrap them around Miller's waist when Uncle
Eldridge's voice pounded his ears.

"Bart and Ashley are throwing a cocktail party in our

honor. Be ready at seven. I have a few meetings today and I
won't be around much. Bart is going to help me get involved
in a few local charities now that I'm living here full time. You
know how I believe in giving back to the community."

Tristan smiled and rolled his eyes. He knew his uncle far

too well. Though his uncle had, in fact, devoted a good deal of
his time to many charities, and he'd raised money for many
important organizations to help people, Tristan had always
suspected his uncle became involved in these charities partly
to boost his social life. Now that he was in a new city, this
was the best way to do it. Uncle Eldridge loved being the

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

center of attention and working with charities gave him a
voice and a platform he normally wouldn't have. He wasn't
shy about putting out press releases for his favorite charities
and he loved seeing his own picture in the newspaper. Uncle
Eldridge's one goal in life was to be an old-money aristocrat.
Unfortunately, fate had dealt him a short hand in this
department and he had to find way to compensate.

Tristan loved Bart and Ashley. They were an older gay

couple who had been together for years. Tristan had grown
up with them in New York and they referred to him as their
godson.

"Do I have to go?" Tristan asked. "I'd rather just stay

home and get my room organized before the construction on
the house begins." "You can take your time unpacking," Uncle
Eldridge said. "The major construction is going to begin down
here in the kitchen and on the first floor." He looked around
the room and frowned at the yellow kitchen cabinets. "Then
there will be people working on the outside of the house and
the grounds. Nothing is going to happen to the second and
third floor for at least a month." He took a sip of coffee and
continued reading the paper.

"But I don't know anyone other than Bart and Ashley,"

Tristan said. "I'd rather stay home and just relax tonight. No
one will miss me. I don't feel comfortable being thrown into a
new situation so soon. I'd rather get to know people slowly."

Uncle Eldridge lowered the paper and gave him a look.

"Bart and Ashley are throwing this party in our honor. They
will be devastated if you don't show up. We can't let them
down. They are inviting the most important people in South

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by Ryan Field

Beach to meet us. It's important to be there. Clint Rosen is
going to be there tonight, too."

"Who is this Clint Rosen?" He felt a lump forming in his

stomach.

Uncle Eldridge sighed. "Clint Rosen is only the most

successful gay real estate agent in Florida. He just turned
thirty, he drives a Bentley, and he owns a magnificent home.
He's also very single and he's looking for a partner." He
shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "You never know. You two
might hit it off."

Tristan rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested in being fixed

up with anyone," he said. "I'd rather meet someone on my
own and fall in love just like everyone else."

Uncle Eldridge lifted the newspaper and waved it. "This

isn't a fix-up," he said. "This is just two young men at a
party. It's as simple as that. And there will be plenty of other
young men there, too. You never know. But you have to get
out there to find out."

"I'll go," Tristan said. "But only because it's Bart and

Ashley. I probably wouldn't go if it were anyone else." He
would have remained at home and called Miller to help him
move the old trunk. Since Miller had fucked him, he hadn't
been able to think about anything else.

Uncle Eldridge put down the paper and stood up. "I'll see

you later today. I'm getting together with Bart and Ashley in
fifteen minutes. This is a meeting about a new organization
that focuses on same-sex marriage and helping older lgbt
couples who have been together for a long time. It's so new
there isn't even a name for it yet." He was smiling and his

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by Ryan Field

eyes were brighter than they'd been in a long time. "Be ready
by seven this evening. I don't want to be the first to arrive at
Bart and Ashley's. But I'd like to be there by at least seven
fifteen. After all, we are the guests of honor."

"I'll be ready," Tristan said. He was staring down at his

lap, and his voice was low and calm. He wasn't looking
forward to this party. But it was probably not a good idea to
make a booty call to Miller this soon. He didn't want Miller to
get the wrong idea and think he was stalking him. It was just
that he couldn't help wondering what it would be like to get
down on his knees and pull down Miller's zipper with his
teeth.

At seven o'clock that night, Tristan met Uncle Eldridge in

the front hall. Tristan was wearing a plain black dress shirt,
beige slacks, and a black suit jacket. Uncle Eldridge was
wearing a cream-colored suit, a white shirt, and a pink
bowtie. He'd been wearing bowties for years; he thought they
looked old money. Though Tristan knew other people would
be talking behind his uncle's back all night—who is the man in
the ridiculous pink bowtie?—he didn't want to hurt his uncle's
feelings. Uncle Eldridge had this contrived notion he was
special: a sophisticated, socially superior gay man. Everyone
else thought he was a pretentious climber with the wrong
background and not enough money. Some people even ran
from him when they saw him coming. It didn't matter one
way or the other to Tristan. He knew who he was and he'd
never tried to pretend.

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"You look nice," Tristan said. He thought Uncle Eldridge

had used too much bronzer on his face. But he kept that to
himself.

"Thank you, so do you. But maybe a white shirt would

have looked better with that outfit. Princess Diana was
wearing a similar outfit the night she died in the car crash in
Paris, only she was wearing a white shirt. You still have time
to change."

Tristan rolled his eyes. "I'm a chef," he said. "I'm regular

person, not British royalty. And this shirt is fine. If anyone
doesn't like it, they can kiss my American ass." He'd never
been good with clothes; he couldn't have cared less what
Princess Diana had bee wearing the night she died. The nicest
outfits he'd ever purchased on his own had been from actual
displays put together by retail clerks in clothing shops. His
favorite outfits were comfortable, loose, and slightly
threadbare.

Uncle Eldridge blinked. "You don't have to get nasty about

it. I was just suggesting a nice white dress shirt would look
far better with that dark jacket and your beautiful sandy hair,
and it would accentuate your tan as well. But if you don't
want to take my advice, that's fine too. I was only trying to
help. I only say these things out of love, not criticism. I'm
just an old man. What do I know?" His head went down and
he pouted.

Uncle Eldridge knew how to lay on the guilt trip better than

anyone. Tristan's face softened and he shook his head. "I'll go
up and change," he said.

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by Ryan Field

Uncle Eldridge lifted his chin and smiled. "That's a good

boy. I'll get the car and pull it up front while you're
changing."

By the time Tristan returned, Tristan's car was in front of

the house and Uncle Eldridge was sitting in the passenger
seat waiting for him. Tristan jogged around the front of the
car and sat down in the driver's seat. "Why are we taking my
car?" His car was also a 1989 Mercedes convertible, identical
to Uncle Elbridge's, except it was black. They couldn't afford
two brand-new Mercedes cars so Uncle Eldridge bought two
used models. He called them classic; he told people he was a
collector of fine cars. Tristan would have been happy with a
new Corolla, which would have been cheaper and more
economical to run. But his uncle had insisted on a vintage
Mercedes so people wouldn't get the wrong impression and
think they were poor.

"My car wasn't washed today," he said. "Your car is much

cleaner. We can't show up as the guests of honor in a dusty
car. That would be tawdry."

Tristan rolled his eyes and started the car.
Though Tristan knew his way to Bart and Ashley's home,

Uncle Eldridge gave him step-by-step directions, along with a
quick driving lesson. When he approached a stop sign, Uncle
Eldridge told him when to slow down, when to put on his turn
signal, and when to take off again. If Tristan went a mile over
the speed limit, Uncle Eldridge reminded him there were
police and speed traps in the area. As other cars passed
them, Uncle Eldridge pressed his palm to his chest and

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by Ryan Field

gasped. By the time they reached Bart and Ashley's house,
Tristan was ready to get out of the car and walk.

At the end of the driveway, Tristan saw an open parking

space and pulled up behind a large white Cadillac Escalade. It
was simple; he couldn't have asked for a more perfect space.

But before he had a chance to put the car in park, Uncle

Eldridge said, "We can't park here."

"Why not?"
"It's too far away, dear."
"It's not that far."
"No one will see we've arrived. That huge American SUV

thing is blocking us completely." He lifted his arm and pointed
to the front door of Bart and Ashley's house. "I'm sure there's
a better parking space up there. Pull out and drive up to the
front door."

"But this one is perfect," Tristan said. He didn't want to

move. He knew no one cared where they parked, when they
arrived, and least of all who they were. This entire sense of
grandiosity was something Uncle Eldridge had created in his
own mind.

Uncle Eldridge waved his finger again. "Trust me, dear.

This one isn't perfect. I'm sure there's something better up
front where people will see us arrive."

Tristan bit his bottom lip and backed out of the parking

space. But when he turned the wheel and pulled out of the
parking space he was so frustrated he forgot to look in the
rear view mirror. A horn honked; there was a screech. The
driver in the car behind him honked a second time.

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Uncle Eldridge looked back and smiled. He waved to the

other driver and told Tristan to pull out. "Don't let this person
get in front of you. He might get the only parking space up
front. Let him park in the back. He's just a guest, not the
guest of honor."

Without looking back, Tristan lifted his arm and waved to

the other driver. Then he pulled out and drove up to the front
door.

The driveway was one of those semi-circular affairs, with a

walkway leading to the front door at the top of the circle.
Uncle Eldridge pointed to an empty space at the foot of the
walkway. "Look," he said. "That's the perfect parking space."

"I think they want to leave that space empty so people can

just go up the walk," Tristan said. "We'd better go back and
park on the street. There are no more spaces in the
driveway." The car that had almost hit him had taken the
parking space he'd left.

"Nonsense, dear," Uncle Eldridge said. "This is perfect.

They probably left this space at the entrance just for us,
because we're the guests of honor. Park right there."

It was no use arguing the point, so Tristan backed into the

parking space without an argument. Of course it took three of
four tries to get it right. Uncle Eldridge insisted on being
exactly six inches from the curb.

When they were finally set to get out of the car, three

people crossed in front of them. A middle-aged couple walked
by first. The man was short and bald, with a multi-colored
Hawaiian shirt and white short pants. The woman was small
and thin. She wore a white seersucker shift, flat white shoes,

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by Ryan Field

and she was carrying a bamboo purse. Uncle Eldridge pressed
his lips together and shook his head. "I don't know why Bart
and Ashley would invite straight people to a party in our
honor. They look so nebbish. Sometimes those two have the
most peculiar guest lists. You just never know who you're
going to wind up sitting next to at one of their dinner parties."

While Uncle Eldridge was rambling and dissing his good

friends, a third person walked by. He was wearing jeans, a
black suit jacket, and a black shirt like the one Tristan had
just removed. At first, Tristan just thought he was another
guest. But as the guy crossed in front of the car and Tristan
got a closer look at his face, he realized it was Miller: the
same Miller who had helped move them into their home; the
same Miller who had fucked him in the red dress.

As Miller passed, he looked into the car and recognized

Tristan. His face turned white, he bowed his head, and started
walking so fast Tristan didn't even had a chance to smile and
wave back.

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Chapter Three

They waited in the car for a few minutes. Uncle Eldridge

didn't want to follow anyone else into the house. He said he
wanted to make his entrance alone, without being "grouped
in" with a couple of "straights." The sentence came from his
mouth as if he'd swallowed something sour. Though Uncle
Eldridge was a progressive left-wing liberal in most respects,
he was from a generation of gay men who still believed there
were distinct lines drawn between gay men and the rest of
the world, especially the "straights." He tended to take this to
certain extremes. If he was giving directions to another gay
man, he wouldn't even use the expression "go straight." He'd
smile and say, "Go gaily forward," instead. On the surface,
this was just a light joke. But deep down, it had been
ingrained.. And Tristan had noticed most of the gay men in
his uncle's age group felt the same way, too. They'd never
admit this openly in public; it wouldn't have been politically
correct and they were far too progressive to take any
chances. But when they were alone in a group—with their
own kind)—they tended to be vigilant in their disdain for the
straights.

When the straights were inside, Tristan and his uncle

walked to the front door and pressed the bell. They could
have just walked inside, but Uncle Eldridge said it would have
been too presumptuous—he used the word gauche—to do at
a party.

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When Bart opened the door and welcomed them into his

home, he put his hands on his hips and scolded them both.
"Why on earth would you ring the bell? You're like family."
Bart was a short, rotund man with fluffy silver poodle hair and
small dainty features. That night, he was wearing a loose red
shirt and white pedal-pushers. At a glance, he could have
passed for a middle-aged woman at a resort spa in Arizona.

Uncle Eldridge kissed Bart on the cheek and said, "I didn't

want to intrude."

Bart waved at him and hugged Tristan. "You're always so

formal, Lena. Lighten up. This is a fucking party, for Christ's
sake." Lena was Uncle Eldridge's gay nickname. Years earlier,
when Uncle Eldridge and Bart had been doing the drag shows
in New York, his stage name had been Lena Genster.

Uncle Eldridge raised his eyebrows. "I'm assuming we're

going to use our real names tonight. And we'll be using
proper pronouns as well, so we don't all sound like a bunch of
old, low-rent queens. You know how I don't like to promote
stereotypes." He'd always been vocal about how much he
despised being called Lena in public, and he loathed being
referred to as "she" or "her."

But Bart just shook his head and swallowed a gulp of his

martini. He patted Tristan on the back and gestured to
Eldridge. "Get her tonight. She makes a few bucks in real
estate and already she's the queen mother of South Beach."

Tristan laughed.
Uncle Eldridge rolled his eyes and tightened his lips. Then

he stomped his right foot and put his hands on his hips. "I'm
not joking, Bart. No campy bullshit tonight. I'm going to be

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by Ryan Field

meeting people from South Beach for the first time and I
want to make the right impression." He smiled and nodded at
Tristan. "And I want Tristan to be received well by the
community. I don't want them thinking we've moved down
here fresh from the gay ghetto in New York. In many ways,
this is Tristan's coming-out party."

Tristan rolled his eyes. "I'm not a debutant," he said. "I'm

too old."

Bart squared his shoulders and clicked his heels. "I'll be

good, I promise. I'll only refer to you as my friend, Eldridge,
not Lena. And no feminine pronouns, I swear."

Uncle Eldridge's face softened and he smiled. "Thank you,

Bart. I want to make a good impression on Clint Rosen. I'm
dying for him to meet Tristan." Then he moved forward and
spoke with a stage whisper. "It would be nice if they hit it off,
don't you think?"

Bart shrugged. The whites of his eyes were already pink

and his voice was starting to slur. "Clint is around here
somewhere," he said. "I think he's out back near the pool."

Tristan smiled and grabbed his uncle's arm. "Please don't

be too obvious," he said. "If I meet this Clint guy and we like
each other, fine. But if we don't, then let it rest. I'm not here
to meet anyone and I'm not here to find a husband. I'm only
here to see Bart and Ashley and have a little fun."

Bart put his arm around Tristan's waist and smiled. "Come

on," he said. "I've missed you guys, especially my godson. I'll
take you to get a few drinks and then I'll introduce you to a
few local people."

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by Ryan Field

As they crossed through the house, Tristan and Eldridge

ran into Ashley. He was tall and thin, with skin so tan and
thick and wrinkled it reminded Tristan of the leather seats in
his Mercedes. He wore an all-white cotton outfit with beige
sandals. There were thick gold chains around his neck and
three chunky gold rings on each hand. They hugged him, but
didn't talk long. Ashley was the cook and he was carrying a
tray of food into the living room. During parties, he was rarely
seen because he was in charge of the food.

When they reached the bar in the dining room, Tristan

took a deep breath. From the way his uncle had described the
party, he'd been expecting welcome banners with their names
written all over the house. But there were no banners and no
welcome signs. Bart and Ashley's ultra-modern glass house
looked just as stark and cold and white as it had always
looked. Evidently, Uncle Eldridge had been pipe dreaming
again. The party wasn't in their honor at all.

If anything, people seemed to look down on them. Uncle

Eldridge didn't pick up on it because he was too busy smiling
and pretending to be the guest of honor. But Tristan noticed
the negative energy immediately. When Bart introduced them
to a group of gay men at the bar, one of the gay men smiled
at Eldridge and said, "So you're the one who bought the old
place across from the Wiley house. Didn't that used to be a
real estate office or something? I heard it was condemned.
They said it was a tear-down." Uncle Eldridge missed the
snide tone in the man's voice. He also missed the way the
other gay men in the group were rolling their eyes and

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by Ryan Field

nudging each other in the ribs. One even made a gesture
about Eldridge's bowtie by touching his own neck.

But Tristan knew what they were doing. When it came to

snarky competitive queens, he had good instincts. He'd seen
enough of them in New York. "Yes, that's our home. We're
renovating it from top to bottom. It's the oldest home on the
street and it has historical significance. I can't imagine who
would have told you it was a tear-down." His voice was strong
and even and he looked each one of them in the eye.

Uncle Eldridge stepped back and pressed his palm to his

chest. He stared at Tristan with wide eyes. Normally, Tristan
wouldn't have involved himself with conversations like this.

Another man leaned across the bar and said, "Are you

living there while the renovations are going on? Isn't that
awfully awkward? I mean you're there with the workmen all
day. I can't even imagine the horror."

"Not in the least," Tristan said. "It's actually a lot of fun.

We have the workers to dinner and they're actually a nice
group of guys."

"You eat with the workers?" another man asked, pressing

his palm to his open mouth. "How interesting."

"We do all sorts of things with them," Tristan said. "You

should try it sometime." He looked the entire group up and
down with his tongue pressed against his cheek. "Though
there are a lot of nasty cunts in this world, there are also
many fine, decent people out there, too." Then he looped his
arm through his uncle's arm and pulled him away from the
bar.

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by Ryan Field

By the time they reached the pool area, Uncle Eldridge's

hands were trembling. He shook his head and pulled his arm
away from Tristan. "How could you be so rude to those men
back there? One is a prominent gay doctor in Miami, another
is an important attorney, and two own one of the most
successful architectural firms in the country. I'm mortified,
just mortified. What on earth came over you? Did you see
their faces? The construction hasn't even begun yet, and
we've never dined with the workmen."

"They don't know that," Tristan said, with a huge smile on

his face.

"I'm just mortified." He clutched the wall and started

fanning his face with his right hand.

"They were laughing at us," Tristan said, "not with us. And

that's the last time they'll do it." He didn't go into details; he
didn't want to hurt his uncle's feelings. Tristan knew those
men had been laughing at his uncle's bowtie and his
pretentious mannerisms. And Tristan wasn't going to let them
get away with it. Tristan didn't have as much money or power
as those men, but he was younger, stronger, smarter, and far
better looking than they'd ever been or ever would be. If
there was one thing that trumped everything else in the gay
world, it was youth and looks. Besides, men like that were
only a small segment of the lgbt community. He'd run across
their kind many times in the past. The only way to handle
them was to have a stronger offense than defense.

Uncle Eldridge patted his back and said, "Well, please pull

yourself together. We're trying to make a good impression
tonight. We don't want to alienate the entire community."

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by Ryan Field

Tristan smiled. "I'll be nice."
But Tristan had a feeling people already had a

preconceived image of them. Though no one else was as
blatant as the men at the bar had been, Tristan sensed
people had already pigeonholed them as the poor slobs from
New York. They were living in the old tear-down house and
holding onto their last penny. Even though this was true and
he wasn't ashamed of anything in his life, it made his
stomach churn to think people would be so mean.

The party turned out to be somber, with good food and

small clusters of people gathered in different sections of the
house. Bart introduced them to so many people Tristan knew
he'd never remember their names. After the incident with the
men at the bar, no one else had the nerve to pass any snide
comments. The highlight of the evening was when Bart
introduced them to a straight couple, Ellen and Clark Wiley.
When Ellen and Clark approached them, they were standing
with Bart at the pool bar outside. Uncle Eldridge and Bart saw
them first; Tristan's back was to them because he was getting
another drink at the bar.

"These are your neighbors, Eldridge," Bart said. "Ellen and

Clark Wiley."

Tristan turned around and smiled. But when he saw Miller

the moving man was standing with Ellen and Clark, he almost
dropped his drink in the pool. Miller was smiling. His hands
were in his pockets and he was rocking back and forth on his
feet.

"And this is their son, Miller Wiley," Bart said. "They live in

the cute little house across the street from you, Eldridge."

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

He was teasing. The Wiley house was the largest and most

spectacular in that particular section of South Beach.

Uncle Eldridge raised his eyebrows and gave Tristan a look

so he'd remain quiet. These were the straight people Eldridge
had just trashed outside in the driveway. Evidently, he didn't
feel this way anymore. In fact, he was so excited to be
introduced to them, he leaned forward and extended his
hand. When he dipped and bowed, it almost looked as if he
were about to curtsy. "It's so nice to meet you both. You have
a lovely home, just lovely." He turned to Miller and said, "Nice
to meet you, too."

"This is Eldridge's nephew, Tristan," Bart said.
While Tristan shook Ellen's and Clark's hands, Uncle

Eldridge pressed his index finger to his lip and stared at Miller
Wiley. He looked him up and down and pressed his lips
together. Tristan knew the look. Eldridge was trying to figure
out whether or not Miller Wiley was straight or gay.

As Tristan reached out to shake Miller's hand, he smiled

and said, "It's nice to meet you." He focused on Tristan's
forehead and avoided looking him in the eye.

"Yeah," Miller said. It almost sounded like a grunt.
Uncle Eldridge leaned in and tilted his head. He stared at

Miller and said, "You look vaguely familiar. I just can't seem
to place you, though."

Tristan gulped. He never knew what his uncle would say

next.

"I helped move you into your house," Miller said without

much inflection.

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by Ryan Field

"Yes," said Eldridge. "I remember. You were one of the

moving men." Then he stepped back and tilted his head to
the right as if he didn't understand.

"We own one of the largest fleets of moving vans in the

country," Clark Wiley said. His voice was soft and he had a
pleasant grin. "Miller here just graduated from college and
he's learning the business from the ground up. This summer,
he's doing local moves to get hands-on experience."

"I see," Uncle Eldridge said. He put his arm around Tristan.

"My nephew is opening a restaurant in South Beach. He
graduated from college and went to culinary school in New
York."

Tristan wanted to disappear. Whenever Uncle Eldridge was

with other parents, he tended to compete with them. "I'm not
sure about the restaurant just yet. I might just get a job
working for someone first." He stared down at his shoes; he
still wouldn't look Miller in the eye.

Uncle Eldridge put his arm around him and smiled. "He's

very modest. Trust me, he'll be opening his own place very
soon, and it's going to be spectacular." He threw both arms in
the air and struck a pose.

Ellen Wiley smiled. "Our son is the same way. We wanted

him to move right into a managerial position, but he wanted
to work on the trucks first. I don't get it." Ellen's voice, unlike
her husband's voice, was strong and even. When she smiled,
the right side of her face went up as if she were experiencing
a pain.

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Tristan looked up at Miller for the first time but Miller was

staring down at his shoes. "Wow, I think that's wonderful,"
Tristan said.

Miller looked up. "You do?"
Tristan nodded. "Yes, I do. This way you get to know

everything about the business first. I think it's great."

"Thanks," he said. For a second, he almost cracked a

smile.

Before Tristan could reply, a nice-looking guy in his early

thirties walked up and said, "Bart, this is a wonderful party."
Then he hugged and kissed both Ellen and Cark Wiley as if
he'd known them for years.

Bart hugged him. "Clint, where have you been all

evening?"

Uncle Eldridge stepped forward and extended his right

arm. The man was Clint Rosen, the successful South Beach
real estate agent Uncle Eldridge had wanted Tristan to meet.
For a minute or two, Uncle Eldridge complimented Clint on his
outfit, his haircut, and his impressive reputation in real
estate. Then he yanked Tristan's arm, pulled him to his side,
and said, "This is my nephew, Tristan. He's gay and he's
single. He's been dying to meet you."

Ellen Wiley almost choked on her drink.
Clark Wiley blinked twice.
Miller just looked up at the sky and buried his hands in his

pockets.

"Uncle Eldridge," Tristan said. His face felt hot and his

heart began to race.

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

"What did I do?" Eldridge pressed his palm to his chest and

dipped again. "I just wanted you two young people to get to
know each other."

Tristan took a deep breath. He shook Clint's hand and said,

"It's nice to meet you." The best way to get out of an
awkward situation was to move forward fast.

Clint smiled. "So you're gay and single." He was joking.
Tristan laughed. "I wasn't planning to announce it to all

the guests tonight. But yes, I'm gay. That's me: gay, single
Tristan."

Ellen Clark laughed and said, "Don't be embarrassed,

Tristan. Your uncle meant well. I'm always trying to fix Miller
up with nice girls and he reacts the same way."

Uncle Eldridge nodded in agreement. "You see, all parents

worry about their grown children this way. We just want to
see you have fun and be happy, is all." Then he pressed his
palms together, tilted his head, and grinned.

Ellen laughed again. But it sounded more like a snort. "And

if Tristan is anything like my Miller, I'm sure he needs a little
nudge every now and then. Why, if I didn't introduce Miller to
girls, I swear he'd just come home from work every day and
disappear in his bedroom. For the life of me, I'll never
understand what he does up there for so long."

Tristan gaped at Miller, because he had a feeling he knew

what Miller was doing in his room all alone. Miller's face had
turned red and he shook his head.

After that, Ellen and Clark Wiley announced they were

going inside to get something to eat. Though they were a
straight couple in a house filled with gay men and women,

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by Ryan Field

they didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable. But Tristan
couldn't help wondering what Ellen would have done if she'd
known Miller had recently fucked him in a red sequined dress.
When they asked Miller if he was going to join them, he shook
his head and said he'd rather stay outside near the pool.

Uncle Eldridge grabbed Bart's arm and said, "We may as

well join the Wileys and leave these two boys alone so they
can get to know each other better. I'm sure they have a lot to
talk about." He was talking about Tristan and Clint, not
Tristan and Miller. Then he turned to Miller and said, "Are you
sure you don't want to join us inside, young man? I'm sure
there are some very nice young girls in there for you." Subtle
was not Uncle Eldridge's middle name. When he'd heard
Miller's mother mention girlfriends, he'd most likely dismissed
Miller as a suitable husband for Tristan.

Only Miller wasn't going anywhere. He smiled at Eldridge

and said, "I think I'll just stay here, pal. Thanks anyway."

"I don't want to go in either. I'm not hungry," Bart said. He

was so drunk by then he could hardly speak a full sentence.

Eldridge yanked him from Clint's side and started walking

toward the house. "I'm sure you'll be hungry when you're
inside. There's so much wonderful food in there and Ashley
has worked so hard." Then he nodded at Clint Rosen and
winked at Tristan.

When they were gone, Tristan took a quick breath and

smiled. "I'm sorry about my uncle. He's about as subtle as a
thunderstorm."

"Don't worry about it," Clint said. "He means well. Besides,

I'm glad he was so obvious. I would like to get to know you

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better." He was smiling and looking Tristan up and down. His
left hand was in his pocket, and he held a martini in his right.

Miller was still standing there with them. Though he hadn't

said a word, he was watching the way Clint stared at Tristan.
"Do you two know each other?" Tristan asked.

"We've met," Miller said.
"Yes," Clint said. "I've known Miller's family for years. I

sold them their house, the one across the street from yours."

At a glance, Clint Rosen was a nice-looking guy. He had a

thin, lanky body, nice features, and thick dark brown hair. But
the more Tristan looked at him the less attractive he became.
His eyes were too close together, his chin was weak, and
when he smiled, every tooth in his mouth became visible. And
there was something creepy about the way he kept staring at
Tristan. But then, anyone standing beside Miller Wiley would
have looked dowdy. Miller was the sexiest, most rugged hunk
of male flesh Tristan had ever seen.

"I guess South Beach is a small town," Tristan said.

"Everyone knows everyone else." He forced a laugh. Miller
wasn't helping with the conversation. And Clint was too busy
staring at Tristan's chest to make small talk.

"I was just leaving," Clint said, speaking to Tristan and

ignoring Miller completely. "I have an early showing in the
morning. But I'd like to get together with you." He reached
into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. "Give
me a call and we'll get together. It was nice meeting you."

"I will," Tristan said. "It was nice meeting you, too." Clint

seemed like a nice guy. Though Tristan wasn't sure where it
would lead, he was hoping they could be friends.

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Clint leaned forward and kissed Tristan on the cheek, then

patted Miller's arm and said, "See you later. Call me, Tristan."

When Clint was gone, Miller squared his shoulders and

said, "Are you going to call him?"

Tristan turned fast. Miller's head was tilted and he was

staring into his eyes. "Probably. Why?"

"You took my card. You didn't call me."
"I haven't had a chance to call you. I was going to call you

tonight, but my uncle dragged me to this lame party."

"Are you going to call me before you call him?"
Tristan gave him a look. "That's none of your business."
Miller shook his head and exhaled. "You want to go over

there?" His hands were still in his pockets. He motioned with
his elbow to a dark section of the property behind the pool
house.

Tristan shrugged. He'd never felt so peculiar in his life.

Part of him felt restless and angry, and another part of him
wanted to do anything Miller asked. So he nodded and said,
"I'll see you there in five minutes. You go first."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Chapter Four

Tristan remained at the bar, trying hard to act both casual

and innocent at the same time. But from the corner of his
eye, he watched Miller sneak behind the pool house. Miller's
hands were in his pockets and he was taking his time. Every
so often, he'd turn around to see if anyone was watching him.
The music was loud and people were talking and laughing;
some were even dancing. No one saw Miller leave the party;
no one saw him slip into the darkness and disappear behind
the long narrow structure along the far side of the swimming
pool.

Ten minutes later, Tristan asked the bartender for a

martini and crossed to the other side of the pool area. He
walked with slow steps; he looked up at the sky and whistled.
When he was beside a huge potted palm tree, he ducked into
the side of the building and took a deep breath. It was so
dark he had to touch the wall to keep from tripping or spilling
the drink. Dried leaves crunched beneath his feet and the
music from the party sounded muffled.

When he rounded a dark corner and walked behind the

pool house, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He
looked up and saw Miller. He was leaning back against the
wall, smoking a cigarette.

"Here," Tristan said. He handed the martini to Miller.
"What's this?"
Tristan shrugged and said, "I saw you drinking one of

these and figured I'd bring one back for you."

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Miller took a sip and said, "Thanks. That's nice." Then he

held out the glass. "You want some?"

Tristan leaned forward without touching the glass, and

took a gulp. "I need that," he said. "I thought I'd fall over
back there when my uncle introduced me to Clint Rosen. I
can't believe he said those things. I wanted to sink into the
ground and disappear. When he practically dragged you into
the house so I could be alone with Clint, I almost died. Sorry
he was so rude." He pressed his palm to his chest and
continued talking.

He didn't stop until Miller tossed the cigarette into the dirt

and stomped it out with his shoe.

"Smoking isn't good for you," Tristan said. He didn't mind

the fact that Miller smoked. Tristan wasn't one of those strict
anti-smokers. Though he'd never smoked anything in his life,
he didn't judge people who did. If anything, he felt sorry for
them. They were only hurting themselves.

Miller finished the drink and tossed the glass into the

bushes. "Neither is this," he said, referring to the vodka. "But
I like it."

"You're a bad boy," Tristan said.
"You like that. I saw the look on your face the day you

moved in."

"I didn't know you were watching me so closely."
"Well, now you do. Does it bother you?"
Tristan shrugged. "Why should it bother me?" He had a

feeling Miller was testing him. He wasn't the least bit
intimidated. Though Miller was the physical image of his
dream man, Tristan had never been a fool.

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"Maybe I'm too bad for you."
"You don't know anything about me," Tristan said, smiling.

"I might be too bad for you."

Miller laughed. "That's true. You do have a mouth."
"Did you get upset when your mother started talking about

fixing you up with girls?" Tristan asked. It suddenly occurred
to him he'd been talking nonstop and Miller hadn't said
anything.

But Miller ignored his question. "You look good tonight."
"What about your mother? She wouldn't like this."
"I don't want to talk about my mother right now. You look

too good."

Tristan blinked. "Thanks," he said, "so do you."
"Do you want to suck my dick?" Miller asked. He adjusted

his position and spread his legs wider.

Tristan smiled. He had a feeling Miller was trying to shock

him on purpose. "That's not very romantic," Tristan said.

"You haven't sucked my dick yet, so you don't really know

that for sure. It might be the most romantic thing that's ever
happened to you."

Tristan laughed. "You're a fool and an idiot."
"And you like it."
"I thought you were straight," Tristan said.
"I didn't say that. You're not paying attention. I just said I

wasn't gay."

"Then what are you, exactly?"
Miller shrugged and jerked his crotch. "A simple guy who

wants to get his dick sucked."

"There's nothing simple about you, Miller."

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"Suck my dick." He smiled and bucked his hips forward,

baiting Tristan.

Tristan rolled his eyes. "But I'm not wearing a red

sequined dress."

"No big deal," Miller said. "Red dresses are not

mandatory."

"Is that a fact?"
"Take it as you wish."
"I don't usually do this sort of thing at parties," Tristan

said. Joking around was one thing. But he wanted Miller to
know he wasn't promiscuous. Though he'd had his share of
good sex and he'd never been a prude, he wasn't the type
who went out cruising just for the sake of sucking guys off.

"You don't suck dick?" Miller asked. He was squeezing his

crotch and bucking his hips faster now.

"I didn't say that. Now you're not paying attention. I just

said I don't usually do this sort of thing at parties." He lifted
one eyebrow and smiled. Miller wasn't the only one who knew
how to avoid giving direct answers to important questions.

Miller smiled. "I like you. You're not like everyone else."
"I like you, too. And believe me, you're nothing like

anyone I've ever met."

"Do you want to suck my dick or not?"
There was a long moment of silence. Tristan looked down

between Miller's legs and stared for a second. Then he went
down on the dry patchy grass and knelt before Miller's crotch.
While Miller adjusted his position, Tristan unbuckled his belt,
unfastened his pants, and pulled down his zipper. It was too

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by Ryan Field

dark to see the exact color, but Miller was wearing dark
checkered boxer shorts with a snap at the fly.

But when Tristan unsnapped the fly, Miller touched the top

of his head and said, "Take off all your clothes first."

"You want me to strip naked? Out here, with a party on

the other side of the building?"

Miller shrugged. "You could put a red dress on instead."
"I thought the red dress wasn't mandatory."
"It's not, but I want to see your hot ass again. Fuck the

red dress."

"What if we get caught?"
"No one will see you," Miller said. "Get naked."
Tristan hesitated for a moment, then stood up and

undressed. He removed his shoes and socks first, then his
jacket and shirt. When he pulled down his beige pants and his
white underwear at the same time, Miller reached out and
held his arm to support his weight. When he was naked and
both feet were on the ground, Miller's hand went down and
landed on the left side of his ass.

He squeezed Tristan's flesh hard and said, "That's better."

Then he slapped Tristan's ass and said, "Get down on your
knees and suck me off now."

"You like giving orders, don't you?"
Miller shrugged. "You like taking them, don't you?"
Tristan looked into his eyes and smiled, then took a deep

breath and went down on his knees again. He pulled Miller's
pants down to his calves, then slipped his hand into Miller's
boxer shorts and grabbed his cock. He pulled it out and
milked it a few times. It was already hard by then, and the tip

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

was wet with pre-come. Though Tristan would have laughed
at cliched expressions like dripping dick or weeping cock in
public, and he would have frowned if anyone had used these
awful, trite, cliches in ordinary conversation, when he had one
right in front of him it was a different story. He couldn't wait
to open his mouth and lean forward. He couldn't wait to wrap
his lips around the head and start sucking.

And that's exactly what he did to Miller's vulgar, offensive,

dripping, weeping cock. He sucked so hard and for so long the
sides of his face ached. His head went back and forth so fast
he had to close his eyes in order to remain balanced. But it
was all worth the effort. As each sweet drop of Miller's pre-
come slid down the back of his throat, he jacked his own dick.
Though Miller was clean, he smelled like a real man. There
was nothing soft or flowery about him, which only excited
Tristan even more. He wanted to please him as much as he
was being pleased. And he wanted Miller to remember this
blow job for a long time.

Tristan knew he was doing something right, because

Miller's strong legs were trembling, his eyes were closed, and
his mouth was wide open. Tristan opened his eyes just long
enough to watch Miller's head fall back. When Tristan heard
Miller's soft grunts, he sucked faster, with his tongue pressed
to the bottom of Miller's shaft the entire time.

When Miller was ready to explode, he spread his arms as

wide as they would go and braced them against the wall
behind him. He started bucking his pelvis forward and
grunting even louder. "I'm close," he said. "Make me come."

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by Ryan Field

Tristan pressed his left hand against Miller's hairy thigh as

hard as he could, jacking his own dick with his right hand to
the rhythm with which he was sucking Miller off. A moment
after that, Miller slammed his pelvis into Tristan's face and he
moaned even louder. At the exact same instant Miller filled
Tristan's mouth, Tristan's dick erupted all over the patchy
ground between Miller's feet.

Miller's body continued to jerk with post-orgasmic

sensations. He reached down and grabbed the sides of
Tristan's face with both hands and said, "Don't stop. Keep
sucking."

He had no idea of knowing Tristan had no intention of

releasing his dick so soon. Tristan wanted every last drop and
he wasn't shy about getting it. He sucked at a slower pace,
with a lighter touch, until Miller's penis was completely flaccid
and ready to be packed neatly into his pants. When he finally
let the soft shaft slip from his mouth, he gave it a gentle kiss,
put it back into Miller's underwear, and patted it down with
his fingertips.

By the time they were both dressed, Tristan's face felt hot

and his lips swollen. He popped a breath mint into his mouth
and asked Miller if he wanted one.

Miller smiled and reached for the back of Tristan's head.

He pulled Tristan's face to his and kissed him on the mouth.
When his warm tongue was inside Tristan's mouth, he swiped
the breath mint away from Tristan, leaving Tristan with weak
knees and arms dangling at his sides. The last thing Tristan
had expected was a kiss like that. He'd assumed Miller would
just pull up his zipper and they'd go in different directions.

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by Ryan Field

"Thanks," Miller said. "I needed a mint." Then he placed

his hand on the small of Tristan's back and pulled Tristan
against his warm body. He grabbed Tristan's ass and kissed
his forehead. "Thanks for sucking my dick, too. You have a
hot mouth."

Tristan stepped back and popped another mint into his

mouth. He laughed and said, "You're welcome." This was the
first time a guy had ever thanked Tristan for sucking his dick.
"Should I go back first, or do you want to go back first?"

"You go first," Miller said. "This way I know you got back

okay."

Tristan didn't expect this either. He smiled and said, "I'll

see you around," and turned to walk back to the party.

"You going to call me?" Miller asked.
Tristan stopped walking and took a fast breath. "Yes."
"You going to call that other guy, too?"
"Does it matter?" Tristan asked. He was curious.
"Yeah, it matters."
"Then I won't call him."
"Good."
By the time Tristan walked into Bart and Ashley's living

room alone, Uncle Eldridge was pacing back and forth and
wringing his fingers. Tristan smiled and said, "What's wrong?"
He saw Miller's mother, Ellen, standing on the other side of
the living room. She was talking to a nice-looking young
woman with long blond hair.

"There you are," Uncle Eldridge said. "I've been searching

all over for you. The party is winding down and I was ready to

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leave. You know how I hate to be the first to arrive and the
last to leave. Where on earth were you?"

Before he went into the house, Tristan had gone to the

bathroom in the pool house to make sure his face and his hair
looked okay. His lips were still puffy, but there wasn't much
he could do about that. He smoothed down the back of his
head and said, "I was just outside, talking to a nice older
couple. I can't believe you missed me. I saw you. Maybe
you've had one too many martinis tonight."

Uncle Eldridge leaned forward and stared at Tristan's body.

Then he brushed a few pieces of dried grass off his shoulder
and said, "Why is this on your jacket?" He peered at Tristan's
face. "Why are you lips so red and puffy?" He put his hands
on his hips and frowned. "What have you been up to?"

Tristan smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't been

up to anything, uncle. I have no idea how it wound up on my
jacket, and I must have eaten something that made my lips a
little puffy. Maybe it was the shrimp." He put his hands
behind his back and crossed his fingers.

Before Uncle Eldridge could say another word, Ellen Wiley

pointed to the living room doors and said, "There you are. I
want you to meet someone but I couldn't find you."

Miller stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets

and his shirttail hanging out of his pants. "Come here and
meet Mandy. She's a medical student and she's going to be a
pediatrician."

Miller just shrugged his shoulders and shuffled to where

she was standing. He didn't look left and he didn't look right.

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by Ryan Field

But Uncle Eldridge looked Miller over twice. When he saw

there were clumps of dried grass on his shoes, he put his
hands on his hips and turned to Tristan. "Why is that boy's
shirttail hanging out of his pants? And why do you both have
dried grass on your person?" He pointed at Tristan and
stomped his foot. "Where were you, Tristan? Were you
sneaking around in the bushes with that boy?"

Tristan shrugged his shoulders and turned toward the front

door. Bart and Ashley were in the hall saying goodbye to a
couple of guests. "I'm ready to leave now if you are. I'm a
little tired."

"I'm ready to leave, too," Eldridge said. He turned back to

look at Miller. "But I'm going to be watching you very closely,
young man. I have a feeling you were up to no good tonight."

Tristan smiled and started walking to the front door. "You

worry too much, uncle. I'm fine."

"I hope so," Eldridge said. "Because I know a few things

about life you don't know. And one of those things is knowing
not to get involved with young men like Miller Wiley. He's
trouble, with a capital T."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tristan said. "I'm

not involved with Miller Wiley. I barely even know the guy."
While he spoke, he noticed that even though he'd had a
breath mint, he could still taste Miller's dick.

"I sincerely hope so," Eldridge said. "And I'm not joking

around."

"C'mon," Tristan said. "I want to thank Bart and Ashley for

throwing such a great party." He didn't want to discuss this
with his uncle anymore. Though he wasn't sure what he was

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by Ryan Field

doing, he knew there was something about Miller he couldn't
resist. He knew Miller felt the same way. When he reached
the front door, while his uncle was thanking Bart and Ashley,
he looked back at Miller for a second. The young woman with
the long blond hair was laughing and joking with Miller's
mother. But Miller was just standing there, with his shirttail
still sticking out of his pants and a somber expression on his
face. While Tristan was watching Miller, Miller saw him.
Though his expression didn't change, he lifted his chin and
winked at Tristan. Tristan nodded fast, and turned around to
kiss Bart and Ashley goodnight.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Chapter Five

Two days after Bart and Ashley's party, Tristan pulled

Miller's business card out of his pocket. He'd been carrying
the card around in his back pocket since Miller had given it to
him. At night, he placed it on the nightstand beside his bed so
he wouldn't lose it. Tristan had thought about calling the day
after the party, only he didn't want to seem too eager. He
figured it would look better if he waited at least a full day.

He dialed the number, but Miller didn't answer, so he left a

message on Miller's voice mail. "It's Tristan," he said. "I just
called to say hi." Then he left his cell phone number and hung
up.

Though his hands were a bit shaky and his voice cracked,

he kept the message short, without getting into anything too
personal or too emotional. They weren't lovers; they weren't
even friends yet. There wasn't much more he could say.

He waited for Miller to return his call. He carried his cell

phone everywhere he went that week. Each time it rang, he
jumped to read the caller ID to see if it was Miller. But it was
always someone else calling, and he always answered with a
slow, disappointed voice. He triple-checked his voice mail
almost every hour to see if Miller had left a message, but
there were no new messages.

When he hadn't heard from Miller by the sixth day, he left

his cell phone on his dresser and went downstairs for
breakfast. He figured Miller wasn't going to call back and it
was pointless to sit around waiting for phone calls at his age.

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by Ryan Field

He wasn't a teenager. He had to buck up and face the fact
that his two encounters with Miller Wiley were nothing more
than quick sex on the down low. Miller was just a horny
straight guy and he had no interest in pursuing a relationship
with Tristan. Though it made him toss and turn for a few
nights after he realized Miller wasn't going to call, he knew
he'd eventually get over it. Tristan's ultimate goal included
marriage and sharing his life with another man, with wedding
rings and plans for a future. Large formal ceremonies didn't
matter to him, but he wanted the long-term commitment of
marriage whether it was legal or not. Most important, he
wanted to fall in love with the man first, and he wanted the
other man to love him just as much.

The construction in the kitchen had already begun and

Uncle Eldridge was in the dining room sipping his coffee and
reading the newspaper. When Tristan entered, he put the
paper down and poured him a cup of coffee. "It's going to be
a very busy day," he said. "I'm looking at properties this
morning, and after that there's a meeting about MEE at Bart
and Ashley's house." He pronounced MEE as me.

"MEE?" Tristan hadn't heard his uncle mention MEE before.
"Marriage and Equality for Everyone," Uncle Eldridge said.

"It's that new organization I was telling you about. We finally
decided on a name. We're growing in numbers, and I'm on
the board. There are a lot of young people getting involved,
too. You should join us this afternoon. Ellen Wiley has become
very involved."

Tristan's head lifted and his eyes opened wide. "Ellen

Wiley? She's straight."

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by Ryan Field

"Don't be so shocked," Eldridge said. "Ellen just loves this

sort of thing. She can't wait to get involved in the next liberal
cause or social issue."

Tristan frowned. "That doesn't sound very sincere."
"It doesn't really matter what her motives are," Eldridge

said. "As long as she offers her support and her money, it's
the long-term goal that really counts. Are you coming?"

The last thing Tristan cared about that morning was

getting married. The thought of it twisted his stomach.
Though he hadn't been officially dumped by Miller, it felt the
same. "I'll think about it," he said. "What kind of properties
are you looking at this morning?" He knew there were limited
funds. With the new house and all the construction, his uncle
was barely holding his own.

"Actually, we're both looking at properties."
"'We' are?"
Eldridge cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee. "Clint

Rosen is taking us to see a few commercial spaces in South
Beach for the new restaurant. There's no use wasting time."

"I have an interview for a job in a restaurant tomorrow,"

Tristan said. He'd answered an ad in the newspaper for an
assistant chef's position in a restaurant in Miami.

Uncle Eldridge sighed and took a deep, exaggerated

breath. "I thought we discussed this, Tristan. Cancel the
foolish interview immediately. I'm not having you work as a
common cook somewhere. You're much too talented. You're
going to open your own restaurant and I don't want to hear
another word about it."

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Tristan wasn't in the mood to argue with him. He sat back

and shrugged. "It can't hurt to look," he said. "But I'm
warning you. Don't try to fix me up with Clint Rosen. I'm
serious. He's a nice guy, but I'm not interested in pursuing a
relationship with him. I'm not interested in a relationship with
anyone right now."

Uncle Eldridge stood up and smoothed out his slacks. "I'm

not going to push you into anything," he said. "You know I'd
never do that. I've never been meddlesome. The things I do,
I only do out of love for you."

Tristan rolled his eyes and laughed. "Uncle," he said, "you

are the most interfering man I've ever met. You can't help
yourself."

"I am not." His face turned red and he stomped his right

foot twice.

Tristan stood up and hugged him. Eldridge was pouting

now. "Don't get upset. I know you only do it because you
care."

"I do care," Uncle Eldridge said. "And I worry, too. A

wealthy man like Clint Rosen would be perfect for you. You'd
never have to worry about money again. You could open a
restaurant and if it didn't make money it could be a tax write-
off. I just wish I could go back and do things over again. I
had plenty of chances to marry money and I let them all slip
away because I wanted to fall in love first."

"You've never been in love?"
He shrugged. "I thought I was many times, but it never

worked out."

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by Ryan Field

Tristan smiled. "You sound as if you're an old man," he

said. "You're only in your forties, uncle. You can still find the
right man with plenty of money. I'll bet a lot of guys think
you're hot."

Uncle Eldridge blushed and lifted his fingertips to his lips.

"Ah well," he said. "Do you really think so?"

"I'm certain," Tristan said, knowing his uncle was fishing

for a compliment. But he meant every word. Though his uncle
tended to be quirky and he did have a slightly limp wrist, he
still had thick light brown hair, a tight thin body, and smooth,
clear skin. "I saw a few of those guys staring at your backside
at the party last week." He liked to tease him. "I know for a
fact a few of them wanted to get into your pants, too."

Uncle Eldridge pressed his palm to his chest and swooned.

"That's enough of that kind of talk, young man. I'm not
interested in that sort of thing anymore. I'm way past that
stage, thank you." He lowered his voice and tipped his head
to the side. "But I wouldn't mind finding a nice, wealthy
companion to share my final days with."

Tristan shook his head and smiled. Uncle Eldridge had a

tendency to be overly dramatic, to the point of taking on Joan
Crawford's facial expressions. "Maybe you should try hooking
up with Clint Rosen yourself."

"Oh, I couldn't. I just couldn't. I make a complete fool of

myself. Clint is at least ten years younger than me and I'm
sure he's far more interested in someone your age than
mine."

Before Tristan could answer, a loud crash came from the

kitchen where the construction guys were ripping out the

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cabinets. Uncle Eldridge jumped and said, "I'd better get in
there and see what happened. Meet me at the garage in ten
minutes. We're meeting Clint in a half hour and I don't want
to be late."

By the time they pulled up to the first commercial

property, Clint Rosen was standing beside his car waiting for
them. He drove a brand-new white Mercedes convertible. He
was wearing a white vest, a hot pink polo shirt (tucked in),
and tight low-rise jeans with a wide white belt. The shirt was
too loud and the jeans were too young for him. The vest was
out of style and the belt looked silly. Clint was thin, but his
shoulders sank into his chest and his long, awkward legs
formed the letter X when he stood still. He was nice looking
from a distance, and almost nice looking up close. But he
wasn't male model material.

Tristan didn't mention this to his uncle, but he thought

Clint looked more like he was going to the 1975 Grammy
Awards than to show commercial real estate listings to
clients. His short hair was slicked back with so much product
it looked wet to the touch. When he saw them pull up, he
smiled and all of his large, white teeth appeared. In a
cartoon, there would have been a twinkle at the corner of his
mouth. Tristan didn't mention this to his uncle either, but he'd
never seen a man with such large choppers in his life. Tristan
couldn't imagine Clint sucking dick with those teeth. About
the only thing he could imagine was Clint going to town on
huge ear of corn.

They'd driven there in Uncle Eldridge's red Mercedes that

morning. Though it was twenty years old, it looked just as

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elegant parked beside Clint's brand-new car. When they got
out, Clint walked over and said, "Great car. I love the
classics."

Uncle Eldridge batted his eyelids a few times. "I'm a

collector. Tristan has one in black."

Tristan just smiled. Eldridge had never collected anything

in his life, let alone cars. The only reason he wasn't driving a
brand-new Mercedes like Clint's convertible was because he
couldn't afford one.

Clint smiled at Tristan. He looked him up and down and

said, "I'll bet you look really good behind the wheel, too."

Tristan shrugged and smiled. "It's nice to see you again,

Clint." He reached out to shake his hand. He didn't feel like
playing cat-and-mouse games that morning. He figured if he
just acted as if this were all business, he'd be safe from any
romantic innuendo.

Only Clint didn't get the hint. Instead of shaking his hand,

he pulled on Tristan's arm and gave him a huge hug. "It's
nice to see you, too. When you didn't call me, I started to
worry you weren't going to call."

Clint's back was facing Eldridge, but Tristan was hugging

Clint and looking his uncle in the eye. He lifted one eyebrow
and pursed his lips.

Uncle Eldridge's eyebrows went up and he shrugged.

"We've been so busy settling into the house there hasn't been
much time for anything social." Then he pressed his palms
together and smiled. "You two young boys look so good
together. You look just like the grooms on top of a gay
wedding cake."

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"How many commercial spots are we going to see today?"

Tristan asked, ignoring his uncle's comment about grooms
and marriage. Then he stopped hugging Clint and took a few
steps back.

"I have five lined up," Clint said. "I thought it would be

good to start here and work our way down. I lined them up in
order of location. The keys are in my car. I'll get them and we
can take a look around and see what you think."

While Clint crossed to his car to get the keys, Uncle

Eldridge walked up to Tristan and watched Clint bend over.
Even in low-rise jeans, Clint's buttocks were flat and square;
the pants didn't fall the same way they would have fallen on a
guy with a better body. Tristan didn't find anything about him
attractive. But Eldridge yanked Tristan's arm and squeezed it
hard. He stared at Clint's body and said, "He certainly is a
fine-looking man. He makes me weak all over." Then he
covered his mouth with his fingers and giggled.

Tristan smiled. "Do you think he's top or a bottom?" He

knew this question would raise his uncle's eyebrows.

"Don't be so vulgar," Eldridge said in an exaggerated

whisper. "You know I don't like that kind of talk."

After they looked at all the commercial listings, Tristan and

his uncle thanked Clint and said they'd think it over. The only
one Tristan liked was an old stone building that had been a
Methodist church at one time. The restaurant he dreamed
about opening had a Tuscan theme and old world charm, with
rustic food and a casual atmosphere. There weren't many
places like this in South Beach. Most had an art deco look.
But there had already been one restaurant in the same

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location and it had gone out of business, which made Tristan
frown.

Clint casually placed his hand on Tristan's lower back and

invited them both to lunch. He said he knew a great little
restaurant he was sure they'd love.

"I'm so sorry I can't accept the offer," Uncle Eldridge said.

"I'm due at a meeting I simply can't miss. But I think my
nephew is free to join you." His voice sounded too formal and
his smile was too insincere.

"You know I can't go to lunch," Tristan said, jumping in

before the conversation grew out of hand. "I'm going to the
meeting with you, uncle. You know how deeply devoted I am
to this cause."

"You are?" Eldridge asked, as if this was news to him.
"I was just telling you this morning, uncle, how I wouldn't

miss this meeting for anything." He turned and smiled at
Clint. "I'm very serious about certain issues."

"What issues?" Clint asked.
"Yes, I'd like to know, too," Uncle Eldridge said. His arms

were folded across his chest and his head was tilted back.

"The meeting is for a new group called MAA," Tristan said,

pronouncing it Ma. "It's all about support for legalizing same-
sex marriage and getting equal rights for everyone." He
wasn't exactly sure what the group was about. But he had to
say something.

"It's MEE," Eldridge said. "Marriage and Equality for

Everyone."

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Tristan smiled. "Yes, MEE. It's such a new organization I

get confused." He gave his uncle a nasty look and pressed his
lips together.

"Maybe next time," Clint said, walking back toward his car.

"But I have heard of this new group. A few of my friends have
mentioned it to me and they've been asking me to get
involved. I hear Ellen Wiley is a huge supporter."

"Yes, she is," Eldridge said. "I can give you more details if

you like."

Clint smiled. "I'd like that."
Eldridge stepped forward and bowed slightly. His hands

were folded and he was smiling like the Joker in a deck of
cards. "Thank you so much for taking us around this morning.
I'll call you later this week after we've discussed each
property. I've worked with a lot of real estate agents in my
time, but you're by far the best." He lowered his eyelids and
pouted. "And you're also the best looking, I might add."

Clint stopped walking and turned. His lips parted, his huge

teeth jumped forward, and he said, "Well, thank you,
Eldridge. I'll look forward to hearing from you." Then he
turned and waved. "Bye, Tristan."

"Bye."
While Clint backed out of his parking space, Eldridge's cell

phone chimed and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket to read
a new text message aloud. "Meeting place switched from Bart
and Ashley's to Ellen and Clark's house. Same time."

Eldridge put his phone back into his pocket and frowned. "I

wonder why they switched the location at the last minute. I
hope everyone else gets the message."

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"Is that the Ellen Wiley?" Tristan asked. "The woman in

South Beach everyone seems so enthralled with?"

"I would assume so," he said. "I've been dying to get into

that house since we moved to South Beach. Now's my chance
to get to know Ellen better."

"I still don't get why Ellen Wiley is so interested in this

cause. It doesn't make sense."

Eldridge shrugged. "It's the most popular cause in Florida

right now. But if you ask me, I think Ellen is a big fag hag.
She's always running around with Bart and Ashley, then I
have to listen to Bart go on about their adventures for hours.
Bart was just like this in New York. He always had a fag hag
by his side."

Tristan opened the car door and said, "Have fun." Though

he was curious about Ellen, he wasn't curious about Ellen and
Clark's house in the least. And he certainly wasn't interested
in anything or anyone remotely connected to Miller Wiley.

"Ah well, you're coming with me," Eldridge said.
"No, I only said that because I didn't want to go to lunch

with Clint. I'm going home and I'm going to think about all
the commercial spaces we saw this morning. I really liked the
old renovated church."

Eldridge shook his head. "The hell you are. You're coming

to the meeting. Now you have to go, because you lied to
Clint. The gay community is tightly knit here and people talk.
If Clint found out you weren't at the meeting it wouldn't look
good."

"Seriously?"

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He nodded. "Now get into the car and drive. I don't want

to be late."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Chapter Six

As they pulled into the Wiley driveway, Eldridge lifted his

head and gaped at the exquisite landscaping. The driveway
itself had been perfectly laid with pavers in three different
shapes and colors forming intricate designs. There were rows
of manicured boxwoods in identical round balls lining both
sides of the driveway, the deep green grass was thick and
lush, and a massive three-tiered water fountain stood in the
center of the front lawn. There were too many exotic flower
beds to count; elaborate concrete urns had been placed in
strategic positions and filled with more flowers. In Tristan's
opinion, there was too much of everything. But Uncle Eldridge
just sat there gaping, with one hand pressed to his chest and
the other to his mouth.

They parked behind a large black SUV. When they walked

between two wide columns and knocked on the tall front
doors, a small friendly woman in a formal black maid's
uniform answered. She welcomed them and smiled, then
escorted them to a long double parlor filled with gilded
antiques where everyone else was already waiting for the
meeting to begin.

Ellen walked up to them first. "Eldridge," she said. "It's so

good to see you. I'm so glad you brought your nice young
nephew, too. I'm so glad you boys got the text message Bart
sent out. You were the last one he texted, Eldridge."

Tristan smiled. But he clenched his fists behind his back

and bit his tongue. He despised it when straight people

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referred to gay men as "the boys." Though harmless on the
surface, there was an underlying condescension that was
difficult to pigeonhole. It implied gay men were different and
weren't actually real men. If Ellen had been joking when she'd
referred to them as boys it would have been a totally different
matter. But she was serious, which was even more insulting
to proud young gay men like Tristan.

"Why did they switch the meeting place?" Eldridge asked.
Ellen laughed with her usual a snort. "You know that Bart,"

she said. "He's such a card. He was outside gardening, and
when he cut down a tree, the tree accidentally cut off all his
electricity. Until the power company gets there, they won't
have power."

"That's just awful," Eldridge said, pressing his palm to his

chest.

"I know," Ellen said. "I felt so bad for the poor boys I

offered my home for the meeting."

"It was very gracious of you," Eldridge said. He looked

around the room and smiled. He reached down and ran his
hand across the fabric on a chair. "You have such a lovely
home, too. It's filled with so many expensive things."

Tristan put his hands in his pockets and lowered his eyes

to the floor. Though his uncle knew how to pretend to be the
wealthy heir to a vast fortune, he always gave himself away.

Ellen Wiley ignored his comment about her expensive

things and escorted them into the long room. When she left
them to talk to a few other people, Eldridge saw a group of
men he knew. He lifted his chin and smiled. "I'll introduce you
to everyone before the meeting starts."

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Tristan stopped walking and smiled. "I'm just going to sit

down and listen this time," he said. "You go do what you have
to do. I'll be fine alone."

Then he walked to the back of the room and sat down on a

long Chippendale sofa with his arms folded across his chest.
There were so many strange faces and so many people he'd
never seen before he didn't even bother to scan the room. For
the next two hours, he listened to people talk about marriage
and equality. Though he was still annoyed Miller Wiley hadn't
returned his phone call, he had to admit the meeting was
interesting. He was glad he'd gone. They talked about future
events to raise money and attract new members, they talked
about doing small things to gain support, and they talked
about a brand-new website they were putting together to
build an online presence.

When Uncle Eldridge introduced the person who was

helping them create and design the website, Tristan nearly
fell off the sofa.

Miller Wiley stood up and crossed to a podium. He'd been

sitting up front and his body had been hidden by a thick
potted plant in a gigantic rose medallion cache pot. Miller
cleared his throat and Tristan sat up and squared his
shoulders. When Miller started speaking and saw Tristan
sitting back there alone, he hesitated in the middle of a
sentence and stared at him with an open mouth. Then he
regained his composure and explained what he was doing and
how he was going to design the website. The focus seemed to
be on keeping it simple in appearance, easy to navigate, and
a place where people could offer their support either

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physically or financially. The goal with this group was to go
national, and part of Miller's job was to design a website that
would attract as many people as possible.

He didn't speak long. He said what he had to say with his

usual short sentences and abrupt words. When he was
finished, his mother stood up and said, "This is what we need.
More young men like my son who isn't gay, but willing to join
in the fight for equality and marriage for everyone."

Tristan blinked. Everyone else applauded. Miller stood

there with a blank expression on his face. Tristan couldn't
believe what he was hearing. And he couldn't help wonder
what Ellen Wiley would have thought if she'd known he'd
sucked her son off at Bart's and Ashley's party. Ellen's face
gleamed with pride; she gazed at her big strong straight son
with love and affection.

When the meeting was over, Tristan stood up and waited

in the front hall for his uncle. He didn't want to run into Miller,
and he knew how much Uncle Eldridge loved long goodbyes.

A few minutes later, while Tristan was looking out a small

round window in the hallway next to the front door, he felt a
hand on his shoulder. He jerked and turned around. When he
saw Miller standing there, he took a step back and said, "Hey.
Nice speech." But he didn't smile and he didn't look into
Miller's eyes.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Miller said.
Tristan shrugged. "I promised my uncle I'd come. It was a

favor."

"I'm honored by your presence," Miller said. He wasn't

smiling.

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"I didn't know you were involved in this organization."
"I'm good with computers. My mother asked if I'd help

out."

"That was nice of you," Tristan said. Then he smiled and

backed up to the front door. "I think I'll wait outside for my
uncle. It was nice seeing you again." He wanted to ask him
why he'd never returned his phone call. But, if nothing else,
he still had his pride. The best thing to do was to act casual
and get out fast.

While he reached for the door knob, Miller asked, "Why

didn't you call? I waited for days until I realized you weren't
going to call me at all." He rubbed his chin. "I believed you
this time."

Tristan released the door knob and studied his expression.

"I did call. I left a message on your voice mail. When you
didn't return the message, I just figured you didn't want to
hear from me again."

"I didn't get the voice mail."
"Well, I called you and left a message."
"You could have called again."
"You could have called me," Tristan said.
"I don't have your number."
This was true; Tristan didn't have a good argument there.
"Do you have your phone with you now?" Miller asked.
Tristan rolled his eyes. What kind of weird game was this

guy trying to play with him? "No," he said. "I left it on my
dresser this morning. Don't you believe me?"

Miller pulled his phone out of his pocket and went into his

received calls. He held the phone up so Tristan could see it

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and said, "Look here. These are all my incoming calls for the
past two weeks. Is your phone number there?"

Tristan took the phone from his hand and looked through

all the incoming calls. He read the times and the dates and
scanned all the phone numbers. But he didn't see his phone
number anywhere. When he was finished, he handed the
phone back to Miller and said, "I don't understand. I really did
call you. I swear to God I did. I left a short voice mail and my
phone number. And when you didn't call back, I figured you
didn't want to be bothered with me anymore."

"Why wouldn't I want to be bothered with you anymore?"
"It's happened before," Tristan said. "I'm not even sure if

you're gay or straight. I just assumed you didn't want me to
call."

"So I get punished because some asshole in your past

fucked you over."

Tristan shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sorry. But I did call. I

really did."

"How do I know that?" Miller asked.
Before Tristan could reply, Ellen Wiley and a group from

the meeting walked into the hallway. Uncle Eldridge was right
behind Ellen. When he saw Tristan standing with Miller, he
said, "There's my nephew. I was wondering where he was."

"And there's my son," Ellen said. "Miller has several gay

friends. He's very open-minded."

"Indeed," said Uncle Eldridge. But he was looking in

Tristan's direction and frowning.

While Ellen escorted Eldridge and a few other people out

the door, Miller turned and said, "You can call me again."

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Tristan took a deep breath and exhaled. "I don't think

that's a good idea." He didn't trust Miller; he was too evasive
and too unemotional. If Miller had truly wanted to see him, he
could have crossed the street, walked up to his house, and
knocked on his front door. After all, Tristan wasn't hiding
anything from anyone. He was openly gay and he didn't care
what anyone thought. "Look, we had some fun. It was nice.
Let's just leave it like that. If and when you ever decide who
you are and what you want in life, you know where to find
me." Then he gave Miller a friendly slap on the arm and
walked out the front door without looking back.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Chapter Seven

After their little talk in Miller Wiley's front hall, Tristan went

home and checked his cell phone. When he saw he'd
misdialed Miller's phone number the first time he'd called him,
he sat down on his bed and punched the mattress as hard as
he could. He called himself an idiot and punched the bed
again. He should have checked to be sure he'd called the
correct number. If he had, he could have saved them both a
great deal of frustration.

So the same day he sent Miller a text message that read,

"Checked my phone. I called the wrong number. Sorry! It was
an accident. But I really did call." He had to say something.
He didn't want Miller thinking he'd never called.

Two minutes later he received a text from Miller that read,

"It happens. No big thing. You going to call me again???"

Tristan replied as fast as his thumbs would move, "Not a

good idea. Take care, Miller. You're a nice guy. But this is too
complicated."

When Miller didn't reply, he fell backwards on his bed and

remained there for hours without moving. He skipped dinner
and fell asleep in his clothes. He'd wanted to answer yes. He
missed Miller's touch, he missed Miller's strong hands, and he
missed Miller's rugged masculine scent. Every single bone in
his body ached to be with him again. But deep down in the pit
of his stomach, he felt as if he'd done the right thing by not
continuing the peculiar relationship. Though Miller Wiley was
slick and dark and great in bed, he wasn't marriage material.

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Hell, he wasn't even dating material. And Tristan wasn't
looking for a stud at this point in his life. He was looking for a
husband.

For the next month, Tristan concentrated on forgetting

about Miller, securing a location for his new restaurant, and
planning a date to open. He'd decided on the old church at
the end of town. Though it wasn't the best location with the
highest visibility, he was counting on his talents as a chef and
word of mouth to make it a success. The good thing about the
location was Tristan didn't have to do many renovations. The
place reeked with the kind of charm he'd always envisioned
for his Tuscan restaurant, the kitchen had been remodeled by
the former restaurant owners, and there were already tables
and chairs in place. As far as atmosphere and decor went,
there wasn't much to do. There was one problem, however.
Tristan wanted his restaurant to have an outdoor dining
section, where people could enjoy the wonderful Florida
weather all year long. He also knew it would attract more
customers to the restaurant if they could dine outside. There
was a huge open space behind the restaurant he wanted to
turn into a garden area for larger special events, with statues
and flower pots and water features. But in order to do
outdoor dining, he had to apply for permission. It would take
time.

But Tristan wasn't in any rush. He wanted to take his time

to make sure everything was perfect. He wanted this
restaurant to succeed; he didn't want it to be just a tax write-
off. The landlord had agreed to hold the space, with a deposit

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and the stipulation Tristan signed a three-year lease, until
Tristan was ready to open the doors for business.

With all the construction going on at the house, he also

had time to watch the progress and make sure no one was
slacking off. His uncle was busy working on new projects for
MEE and running around town with Clint Rosen. (Tristan knew
his uncle: he was good at planning and giving orders, but not
so good at following up.) At that point, Eldridge claimed he
and Clint were just good friends. But Tristan had a feeling
Eldridge was hoping for more. He hadn't seen his uncle smile
so often and laugh so much since he'd been Miss Fire Island
two years on a row. Just the mention of Clint's name made
him giddy. And best of all, Eldridge had stopped trying to fix
Tristan up with Clint.

Then, one morning while Tristan was looking over

templates for the menus in his new restaurant, the new tile
guy arrived at the house to begin working on the first-floor
powder room. Uncle Eldridge had ordered expensive black
marble that would cover the powder room from floor to ceiling
and he wanted the best tile man in South Beach to do the
job. From what Tristan had heard, this tile guy had just
returned from active duty in Iraq and he'd won several
important medals for service to his country. He'd been
mentioned in Time Magazine and he'd been on the local six
o'clock news. Tristan answered the front door; his uncle was
at Bart's and Ashley's discussing some sort of a black tie
event for MEE that would be taking place in the fall.

Tristan hadn't showered or shaved yet, his hair was

sticking up, and the shorts he'd worn to bed were wrinkled

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and unkempt. When he opened the front door, he expected to
see a regular guy wearing a tool belt. But when he saw a tall,
blond man in his late twenties looking him in the eye, his
eyebrows went up and his stomach jumped.

"I'm here to start the tile work in the bathroom," the guy

said. His voice was deep and throaty; he wore a snug white
T-shirt, baggy black shorts, and beige work books.

Tristan smoothed out his messy hair and smiled. "Come

in," he said. "I'll show you where the powder room is. I'm
Tristan. My uncle isn't here right now."

The guy reached out to shake Tristan's hand. "I'm Becket,"

he said. "Nice to meet you."

His handshake was firm; his fingers thick and solid. When

Becket entered, Tristan almost tripped on his own feet closing
the door.

Becket took Tristan's elbow and said, "You okay?"
Tristan regained his balance and said, "I'm fine. I guess

I'm still not totally awake yet." He was lying; he been up for
two hours. He'd tripped because he'd been staring at the thick
muscles in Becket's back. They popped through the white T-
shirt and jiggled whenever Becket moved his arms. Tristan
hadn't been with a man since Miller, and his mouth was
watering.

Becket looked him in the eye and smiled. "I'd better get

started. I promised your uncle I work fast. This is the first job
I've had since I returned from Iraq and I want to do a good
job. It's hard getting back into civilian life."

"It must be," Tristan said. Then he pointed to door on the

right side of the center hall and said, "There's the powder

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room. If you need anything, I'll be around all day. I have
some paperwork to do, and then I'll be helping the kitchen
guys install some cabinets." He worked hard to keep his voice
even and casual.

Becket smiled even wider. He looked Tristan up and down

a few times and said, "So you're not just another pretty face.
You do construction, too. I'm impressed."

Tristan smiled and looked into his deep blue eyes. He'd

been wondering if Becket was gay or straight—it was getting
harder to tell these days. "I'm only helping out," Tristan said.
"And I don't know a hammer from a screwdriver. I just take
orders and do what I'm told to help the guys out. The more
hands helping, the faster I get a finished kitchen."

"Ah well," Becket said. "So I was right. You are just

another pretty face, after all."

He was staring at Tristan's lips now, running his palm

down the back of his closely shaved head. When he moved
his hand, his bicep jumped up and down.

Before Tristan had a chance to reply, the telephone rang.

"I have to get that. It's probably my uncle."

"I'll see you later," Becket said.
"If you need anything, let me know," Tristan said, walking

toward the dining room, "I'll be around all day."

"I'll do that."
When Uncle Eldridge returned from his morning

appointment and saw Becket cutting black marble tiles out on
the front lawn, he ran into the dining room where Tristan was
working on a few papers and pressed his palm to his chest.
"Have you seen the tile guy? Have you seen his arms? He has

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biceps that remind me of canned hams. He's so perfect he
doesn't look real."

Tristan smiled without looking up from his paperwork. He

was scanning papers from rental companies that handled
linen napkins and tablecloths for the new restaurant. "I've
seen him," Tristan said. He lifted his head and rubbed his
eyes. "What do you think of Santa Lucia?"

"Is that his name? Santa Lucia?"
"Whose name?"
"The tile guy outside."
"No," Tristan said. "The tile guy's name is Becket, and

Santa Lucia is the name I'm thinking about for the
restaurant."

Uncle Eldridge crossed to the dining room window and

looked out on the front lawn. "I don't know about calling a
restaurant Becket's. It's a bit mundane."

"Pay attention, Uncle. The tile guy is Becket. The

restaurant is Santa Lucia."

"He's lifting a box of heavy tiles now," Eldridge said,

ignoring Tristan. He lifted his fists and shook them. "He's
lifting the entire box with one hand and he's not even
squinting. I've never seen such brute strength and such a
packed body. I can smell the testosterone. They must have
worked that boy hard in the Army."

"And he's a nice guy, too," Tristan said. "He told me he

really wants to do a good job for you." He decided not to tell
his uncle that Becket had already made a pass at him. He
didn't feel like listening to a lecture about the dangers of

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getting involved with a guy who looked too good and didn't
have enough money in the bank.

Eldridge leaned into the wall and sighed. "All he has to do

is stand still and smile. I wish I didn't have a luncheon date
with Clint. I'm already late now, but I could just sit in front of
this window and watch him cut stone all day." He sighed and
covered his heart with his palm. "When I die, I hope this is
what heaven is like."

"Uncle Eldridge," Tristan said. "That's awful. Pull yourself

together. I'm sure poor Clint is looking forward to lunch with
you. You should be ashamed of yourself." He was only
teasing. He thought it was cute the way his uncle was fawning
all over Becket's body.

"You're right," Eldridge said. "I'd better get moving. I only

came home to see if the tile guy arrived and everything was
going smoothly." He stepped away from the wall and said,
"I'll be back in a couple of hours, though. If you need me you
can reach me on my cell phone."

Tristan smiled. His uncle always said the same thing before

he left the house. "I'll see you this afternoon," he said. "I'm
helping the kitchen guys later today. They are leaving for
lunch in a few minutes and when they get back they're
installing some of the new cabinets. I'm excited. It feels like
we're making some progress."

As Eldridge crossed to the hall, Tristan stood up and said,

"Say hello to Clint for me, too." He had a feeling Eldridge and
Clint were sleeping together and keeping it a secret. He
wouldn't have been surprised if Eldridge was meeting Clint for

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lunch in Clint's home so they could have a matinee in the
bedroom. But he didn't want to mention it yet.

"I will," Eldridge said, and he left the room without looking

Tristan in the eye.

When his uncle was gone and the kitchen guys left for

lunch, Becket came inside and stood in the dining room
entrance. Tristan was standing at the head of the dining room
table, organizing his papers into neat little piles. He smiled
and said, "Are you going to lunch now?"

"I brought my lunch," Becket said. "Once I get started I

hate leaving. I'd rather eat while I work."

"I usually do the same thing," Tristan said. Then he

stepped back and pushed the dining room chair under the
table. He didn't look into Clint's eyes this time; he didn't want
to encourage him to flirt. "I'll be out back taking a quick swim
if you need anything. The pool area is still a mess and there
won't be any parties out there for a while, but we finally
opened the pool and it's fine for swimming."

"Have fun," Becket said.
Tristan turned and headed toward the kitchen. "I'll see you

later." Though he wasn't flirting with Becket, he had a feeling
Becket was watching him leave the room. But Tristan didn't
turn back and smile. He thought about asking Becket to join
him, but decided to just go for his swim alone.

He still couldn't stop thinking about Miller Wiley. No matter

how hard he worked on the house and the restaurant plans,
he still couldn't forget the expression on Miller's face when he
told him he wasn't going to call him again. He had no reason

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by Ryan Field

to feel guilty. He and Miller didn't even know each other. But
he just couldn't focus on anything else.

When Becket showed up beside the pool ten minutes later,

Tristan just smiled and said, "The water is still a little cold. I
was just getting out." He had a feeling Becket was waiting for
an invitation to go swimming. There were those awkward
pauses between sentences and Becket kept hesitating. But
Tristan didn't want to get involved with anyone else,
especially not with a guy who was working inside the house.
He'd have to see him every single day for weeks.

Becket, however, wasn't shy. He kicked off his heavy work

boots and pulled off his socks. "Do you mind if I join you? I'm
taking my break now."

Tristan was on the other side of the pool. His legs were

stretched out and his elbows were against the coping. "Feel
free," he said. "I told all the guys working on the house they
can take a quick swim if they want to. It's not formal around
here. But I'm getting out."

"Keep me company for just a few minutes," Becket said.

"I've been in the service and I haven't seen anyone like you
in a long time."

"I find that hard to believe," Tristan said. "I'm sure you

saw plenty of good-looking guys in the Army."

Becket laughed. "Okay," he said. "There were a lot of

good-looking guys. But I haven't seen anyone like you, whom
I can actually communicate with, in a long time. I never told
anyone in the Army I was gay, and they never asked." He
was joking about DADT. "Just hang out for a few more
minutes and talk. I'd like to get to know you better."

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

"Okay," Tristan said. "But only a few minutes. I have work

to do and the guys will be back soon." He was serious. He had
no intention of playing around with Becket.

Tristan wasn't prepared for what came next. Becket smiled

and pulled off his white T-shirt, exposing his thick, square
chest muscles and well-defined abs. Then he unfastened his
black shorts and yanked the zipper open fast. The shorts slid
down his legs and he stepped out of them. He was wearing
tight black boxer briefs, cut so low at the waist Tristan could
see where his pubic hair began. And they were so sheer
Tristan could see the outline of his dick and balls.

When Becket jumped into the water, Tristan bit his bottom

lip and adjusted his bathing suit. He was wearing loose red
surfing shorts with a built-in pouch. His dick was growing, and
the pouch became tight and pinched his balls. He didn't want
Becket to see his erection, so he turned around and leaned
into the pool tiles.

A minute later, Becket surfaced and wiped water from his

eyes. He paddled up to where Tristan was leaning and said,
"This sure feels good."

Tristan turned and stared at his right arm, then reached

out and gently squeezed Becket's bicep a few times. He
couldn't help himself. "You're as hard as a cinderblock. You
must work out all the time to get a body like that."

Becket smiled. "Not really," he said. "I work out about four

times a week and watch my diet. It's not as difficult as people
think it is. And I had plenty of time to work out in the Army."

Tristan released his arm and moved back. "I heard you're

a hero and you have medals."

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Becket shrugged. "It's no big deal."
"I think it is," Tristan said. "You're the first guy I've ever

met who was actually in Iraq. I have a lot of respect for that.
It couldn't have been easy, especially being gay and all."

"It wasn't," Becket said. He moved closer and placed his

huge hand on the small of Tristan's back. He rubbed Tristan's
wet skin and said, "Is it okay if I touch you this way? You're
very attractive."

Tristan gulped and clenched his fists. Becket didn't waste

any time.

Then Becket's hand went down the back of Tristan's

shorts. He slid it past the elastic waistband, placed it in
Tristan's ass, and squeezed hard. "Is this okay? I'll stop if it's
not okay."

Tristan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Becket was

squeezing his ass and working his thick middle finger into the
crack. Tristan's chest was heaving and his heart was racing.
Though Becket's body was perfect and he was genuinely a
nice guy, Tristan couldn't stop thinking about Miller Wiley.
Miller wasn't as big and strong, he wasn't as easy to talk to,
and he wasn't a military hero. He was just a normal, quiet
guy with slightly bowed legs and an awkward boyish gait. And
though Becket's middle finger felt good, Miller's adorable face
kept flashing before Tristan's eyes.

But as Tristan was about to tell Becket to stop fingering

him and take his hand out of his shorts, a deep monotone
voice said, "The front door was open. I brought this over. It
might be important."

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by Ryan Field

Tristan turned so fast Becket's hand ripped the front of his

shorts wide open. When he looked across the pool, he saw
Miller standing on the other side. Miller was wearing baggy
beige shorts, a black tank top, and black running shoes. He
was holding a business letter in his right hand and his left was
in his pocket jiggling keys.

"What are you doing here?" Tristan asked, while he pulled

up his shorts and fastened the snap.

Becket moved away from Tristan and nodded at Miller. For

a second, the two men made eye contact and glared at each
other with pinched lips and furrowed eyebrows. Becket
frowned and rubbed his jaw, then turned his back on Miller
Wiley and looked in the opposite direction.

Miller ignored Becket and focused on Tristan. "This letter

came to our house by mistake," he said. "My mother asked
me to bring it over to you in case it was important. Sorry I
interrupted you. I should have left it outside the door." He
placed the letter on a chair beside the pool and turned to
leave.

"Wait," Tristan said. His heart pounded and the lump in his

throat expanded. For a moment, he thought he noticed a hint
of disappointment on Miller's face.

Miller didn't turn around. His head was down and both

hands were in his pockets now. If he'd had a tail, it would
have been between his legs. "I have to get back to work."

Tristan knew he couldn't stop him. "Thanks for bringing

the letter over," he said.

Without looking back, Miller lifted his right arm, waved it

above his head, and headed back into the house.

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by Ryan Field

When Miller was gone, Tristan turned to Becket and said,

"I don't think I've ever had a more awkward moment in my
entire life."

Becket turned around and sighed. "Miller Wiley didn't

knock on purpose. He's used to doing whatever he wants and
never being questioned about it."

"You two know each other?" Tristan's eyes widened and his

lips parted.

"We're cousins. We grew up together. Miller's father and

my father were first cousins. Miller's father inherited the
family trucking business and swindled my father out of
everything." He stared straight ahead and spoke with a bitter
tone.

"I thought Miller's family owned moving vans," Tristan

said.

Becket sighed. "When Miller's father inherited the trucking

business, he sold it for millions of dollars to a competitor.
Then he took the money and started his own moving business
alone. The new owners of the trucking company fired my
father, and Miller's father turned his back on him completely.
My father tried to get jobs doing other things, but all he'd
ever known was working in the family business. He eventually
shot himself."

Tristan's jaw dropped. "That's awful," he said. "I can't

believe Miller's father could be so cruel to his own cousin.
Why would he do this?"

Becket shrugged and smiled. "Jealousy," he said. "Ellen,

Clark's wife, didn't want my father around. But life goes on.
After my father died, I wound up enlisting in the service and

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was sent to Iraq. Now I'm just a guy laying tile, struggling to
get ahead. It's all good. I like what I do. But I have no use for
Miller Wiley or my extended family."

Tristan took a closer look at Becket. Though he and Miller

were second cousins, he didn't see much of a family
resemblance. "From what I hear about your time in Iraq, your
father would have been proud of you."

Becket smiled and moved closer. He placed his hand on

the back of Tristan's neck and rubbed it gently. "Let's not talk
about Miller or my sordid family. I'd rather talk about you."
He smiled and leaned forward to kiss Tristan on the cheek.
"You're adorable," he said. He rubbed his big leg against
Tristan's hip. "You're so smooth, too."

Tristan tried to take a step back and say something, but

Becket practically jumped on top of him. He wrapped his huge
arms around Tristan's shoulders and pulled him up against his
massive chest, then he sank his teeth into Tristan's neck and
began sucking. Though it wasn't easy to do, Tristan pushed
him back and explained he'd just broken up with someone
and he wasn't ready to get involved with anyone else yet. He
told Becket it was nothing personal and that he liked Becket a
lot. Tristan didn't go into details and he never mentioned
Miller, but Becket was nice enough to understand. He gave
Tristan a hug, rubbed his back a few times, and told him it
was okay. He even helped Tristan out of the pool and
apologized for being so aggressive.

Tristan left Becket alone by the pool so Becket could

remove his wet boxer briefs and put on his dry clothes alone.
Then Tristan picked up the letter Miller had just delivered and

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by Ryan Field

went up to his bedroom to change his clothes. When he was
in his room and the door was shut, he looked down at the
letter and read the return address to see who it was from.
When he saw it was one of those throw away real estate
advertisements they received all the time, he frowned, sat
down on the bed, and wondered why Miller would even bother
to waste his time delivering a junk letter.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gay Pride and Prejudice

by Ryan Field

Chapter Eight

"I'm on my way over to Bart and Ashley's," Uncle Eldridge

said. "We're starting to make progress with the event. It's for
the older gay men and women who have lost their lifelong
partners and have been slammed with paying unfair taxes on
their homes. It's going to be a formal black-tie event. We're
going to raise tons of money."

Eldridge was wearing a pair of low-rise jeans and a white

polo shirt. He did mention his friendship with Clint had
evolved into a dating relationship. And Clint had been giving
him fashion tips. Eldridge hadn't worn a bow tie, a crew neck
sweater draped over his shoulders, or a pair of pink plaid
slacks in weeks.

Tristan looked up from his desk. "Taxes?" He was in his

room working on getting his credit card system set up for the
new restaurant. Though one credit card company took a
higher percentage, he knew the best customers used this
credit card and he didn't want to ignore it.

Uncle Eldridge frowned. "There are many older gay couples

who have been together for years. Just like straight married
couples, they own property together. When one of them
passes away, the surviving partner is forced to pay
inheritance taxes on their own property. It runs into
thousands and it wipes them out."

Tristan glanced up at his uncle and tilted his head.

"Seriously? They pay taxes on their own homes?" This was
news to him.

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by Ryan Field

Eldridge nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. And these are not

wealthy people. They are senior citizens living on fixed
incomes. Most are forced to leave their homes because they
can't afford the taxes, federal and state."

"Isn't there a way around this? Isn't there some kind of

legal loophole?" Tristan asked. He knew gay couples could get
legal power of attorney for medical issues.

Eldridge laughed. "There are some loopholes. I knew one

lesbian couple once who did something unusual to avoid
paying inheritance taxes. They were together forty years,
living like any other married couple. When one was diagnosed
with terminal cancer, she left the house to a nonprofit
organization with the stipulation that her surviving partner
would be able to live in the home for the rest of her life.
When the sick one died, the surviving partner avoided paying
taxes and she was allowed to remain in her home."

Tristan thought about this for a moment. Though simple in

theory, and totally legal, it still presented a few problems.
"But the surviving partner was stuck there for the rest of her
life. She couldn't sell the house. What if she met someone
else on the West Coast and wanted to move out there?"

"Exactly," said Uncle Eldridge. "Whenever there's a

loophole, there's usually a price to pay." He rubbed his jaw
and shook his head. "I've known other gay couples who
adopted their partners the same way people adopt children.
After your parents died, I legally adopted you for legal
reasons. This way when one partner dies, the other avoids
paying taxes. But this adoption thing with gay couples is not
legal in some places anymore, and there are all kinds of

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by Ryan Field

problems. Most gay couples just don't think about or know
about these taxes until it happens to them, and then they are
faced with a reality they hadn't planned for."

"But if they'd been able to get legally married, this

wouldn't happen," Tristan said.

Eldridge shrugged. "This is one of the reasons why we're

fighting so hard for marriage and equality," he said. "It goes
much deeper with regard to insurance and pensions and other
financial matters. You never hear any of this mentioned in
any political speeches anywhere. It's a serious problem with
gay couples. I know a few who refuse to own property. Bart
and Ashley don't own their home. They've never owned any
property together. They rent and invest their money in other
places to avoid paying these taxes."

"Bart and Ashley rent their home?" Tristan said. "I never

knew that."

Eldridge shrugged. "They've been together for thirty-two

years, and they don't want to pay inheritance taxes on their
own property when one passes away."

"I feel like an idiot," Tristan said. "I always thought the

marriage and equality issue was more about love and
romance and spending eternity with the same person, joined
in marriage."

"Mostly, it is about love and romance," Eldridge said.

"That's what it should be about. Unfortunately, most same-
sex couples don't realize the pitfalls until it's too late. So MEE
is organizing a fundraiser to help a few gay men and women
pay these taxes so they can remain in their own homes for as

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by Ryan Field

long as they want. And we're trying to get the message out
there that this is a serious issue."

"If you need any help, Uncle," Tristan said, "let me know.

You have my support."

"Thank you," Eldridge said. "Right now, the best thing you

can do is be friendly and charming at dinner tonight. Ellen
and Clark Wiley are going to be making a nice donation to the
cause."

"Dinner?"
"I told you," Eldridge said. "Ellen and Clark Wiley invited us

to a dinner party tonight. I mentioned it earlier this week.
Ellen wants to get to know us better. She's a powerful source
in the community, and we need her support to help expand
MEE. Just being invited to her home is a social honor no sane
person would ignore."

Tristan smacked his forehead. He'd never been a social

climber and these things had never been important to him. "I
totally forgot about the dinner party." He'd been busy
painting the walls of the new restaurant. He was doing it
himself to save money, and it took him away from Becket
during the day. When Becket wasn't working on the marble in
the powder room, he constantly flirted with Tristan. He
offered him compliments and made adorable innuendos. But
Tristan wasn't interested.

"But you'll be there?"
"I'll be ready at seven," he said. Though he wasn't looking

forward to having dinner at the Wiley's and possibly seeing
Miller again, he knew how important the Wiley's were to his
uncle and to the MEE organization.

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by Ryan Field

That evening, they drove across the street to the Wiley

house. Tristan wanted to walk, but his uncle said it wouldn't
look right. So they backed Uncle Eldridge's red Mercedes out
of the garage, drove it down the driveway, waited for cars to
pass by, and crossed the street to enter the Wiley driveway.
It took almost ten minutes; walking would have taken four.

When they knocked on the door, the maid answered and

escorted them into the long double parlor. Clint Rosen was
talking to Ellen and Clark near the grand piano. He smiled at
Eldridge and nodded his head. Ashley and Bart were already
there, sipping drinks and complimenting the crab spread. Bart
was wearing a conservative Hawaiian shirt with white flowers
and a solid black background, and he was wearing white
slacks instead of his usual pedal-pushers. Ashley wore a loose
dark shirt and baggy black slacks. He looked so thin and so
tan that night the wrinkles on his face resembled the wrinkles
on the back of his dark shirt.

Bart and Ashley were talking to a couple of older women

near the fireplace. One was short and stocky, with a short
haircut, a baggy black sweatshirt, and loose black jeans. The
other had an average build, with long brown hair that had a
few highlights framing her face. She was wearing a soft pink
skirt and a white Poplin blouse. There were delicate little gold
rings in her ears and her lipstick matched her skirt.

When Ellen Wiley saw Eldridge and Tristan enter the room,

she put down her drink and crossed toward them. She
hugged and kissed them both on the cheek. "We were
starting to worry about you. We thought you may have gotten

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by Ryan Field

lost." Then she threw her arms up above her head and
snorted.

Tristan rolled his eyes and smiled at her lame joke. Though

he knew she meant well, there was something about her that
made him clench his back teeth. When Ellen Wiley made a
comment, a gesture, or an expression, people seemed to stop
moving and wait for her next comment. She commanded a
certain invisible power that made Tristan's stomach rumble.
Even her own placid husband, Clark, stopped speaking when
she walked into a room, and her son, Miller, seemed to be
wound around her little finger. But more than that, Ellen knew
she had this power and she knew exactly how to use it. The
more people bowed to her, the more she smiled.

Uncle Eldridge laughed and continued the joke. If Ellen had

asked him to stand on his head, he would have. "We made a
wrong turn out of the driveway." The only reason they'd been
late was because Eldridge didn't like to be the first to arrive at
a party. But he would never have admitted this in public to
the hostess.

Altogether, there were eleven people: Bart and Ashley, the

two women, Tristan and his uncle, Ellen and Clark, Clint
Rosen, and Miller Wiley and a young woman with dark brown
hair. During cocktails, Miller and his date kept to themselves
near the garden doors. The two women were introduced as
Carla and Rose. Though Tristan was introduced to the young
woman with Miller, he forgot her name a minute after he'd
met her.

When they all sat down at the dinner table, Ellen waved

her hand and said, "I hope you don't mind being the odd

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by Ryan Field

number out, Tristan." She snorted again and slapped his
back.

Tristan glared at her and shrugged. "Odd number?" He had

no idea what she was talking about. He bit his bottom lip and
took a breath through his nose. Miller was ignoring him
completely. He wouldn't even look into his eyes.

"The odd number of dinner guests," she said. "Everyone

else is coupled off except you. I'm not one of those formal
persnickety hostesses who always have to have an even
number at a dinner party. Life is just too short to worry about
such things. It's just as easy to entertain eleven as it is to
entertain ten or twelve. But I hope you don't mind being the
odd number, dear."

Evidently, everyone had paired Uncle Eldridge and Clint

together that night. Tristan was fine with that. As long as he
didn't have to date Clint Rosen, he couldn't have cared less.
"I don't mind being the odd number," he said. Then he looked
at Miller Wiley on the other side of the table and tilted his
head. "I've never been insecure about being alone."

Ellen Wiley blinked at his blunt honesty. It seemed to have

smacked her in the face without warning.

Uncle Eldridge gave a nervous laugh and said, "He was an

only child, Ellen. He's never been needy."

Ellen readjusted her expression and grinned. "I told your

uncle you were more than welcome to invite a guest of your
own tonight," Ellen said. "But he said you weren't seeing
anyone important and you'd rather go alone."

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by Ryan Field

"I see," Tristan said, smiling at his uncle. He hadn't been

informed he could invite a guest. Until that moment, he
thought he was there as his uncle's guest.

Miller Wiley laughed and pulled out a chair for the young

woman with the brown hair. "Tristan doesn't mind being
alone. He told me he prefers being alone."

Tristan gave Miller a nasty look. No one else would have

known, but Miller was being sarcastic. "Actually," he said. "I
just started seeing someone this week." If Miller wanted to
pay childish games, he could play, too.

Miller and Uncle Eldridge spoke at the same time. "You

are?" they asked.

Tristan nodded at Ellen Wiley. "He's doing some

construction in the house. He's the guy laying the tiles in our
powder room. His name is Becket Wiley. I think he's related
to you in some way, but I'm not sure how. We're just getting
to know each other." He was lying, of course, but they didn't
know that.

Ellen and Clark looked at each other and frowned. Neither

seemed sure how to reply to a comment about their
estranged nephew, Becket Wiley.

Uncle Eldridge pressed his palm to his throat and gulped.

"But there's nothing serious between them," he said. "Tristan
is so busy working on his new restaurant he doesn't have
time to get involved with anyone seriously right now." He
glared at Tristan and said, "Isn't that right, Tristan?"

Tristan shrugged. "My uncle is right," He said. "I'm

working hard these days and putting everything else aside.
Love and romance and marriage are just going to have to

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100

wait." The only thing he'd told his uncle about Becket Wiley
was the story about Becket's father and the Wiley family
business. He hadn't mentioned anything to his uncle about his
encounter with Becket at the swimming pool. Nothing had
happened between them since them. The only reason he'd
mentioned Becket was because he knew he could shock Ellen
and Clark Wiley, and he knew he could make Miller angry. But
he didn't want to stress his uncle for no reason, so he decided
to play it down.

Eldridge smiled. "My nephew has an interesting sense of

humor sometimes," he said. "But deep down he's just a
hopeless romantic waiting to fall in love and get married."

Ellen Wiley patted Tristan's back and said, "That's why

we're fighting so hard to get national with MEE. Personally, I
won't be happy until all the boys I know are legally married
and have the same equal rights as my own son." She
gestured to Miller. "It's not fair my son can fall in love with a
woman and marry her legally, and poor Tristan here can't."
When Ellen mentioned Miller and marriage, the girl next to
Miller smiled and gazed at him with adoring eyes.

Tristan smiled, and at the same time clenched his fists. He

knew Ellen meant well, but she'd done it again. She'd called
gay men "the boys" and it twisted Tristan's stomach into
knots. He was a man, not a boy. And he wondered if Ellen
would refer to her own son that way if she'd known what he'd
been up to with Tristan.

Ellen patted Tristan's back again and said, "Don't worry,

dear. You'll find the right boy to settle down with eventually.

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101

Look at your uncle and Clint. And maybe by then you'll be
allowed to marry legally."

Tristan shrugged and sat down in his seat. He couldn't

refrain from his next comment. "Well, until that happens,
there's always Becket to keep me from getting bored. He has
such big strong hands and he's a great kisser."

Ellen blinked as if he'd just told an X-rated joke. Then she

walked over to her own seat. When she sat down, her face
was red and she fumbled with her napkin. Though she was all
for same-sex marriage and equal rights, she didn't seem to
want to hear even the slightest details about the affection
between gay men.

Uncle Eldridge gave Tristan a look and raised an eyebrow,

so for the rest of the evening, Tristan was on his best
behavior. He didn't put his elbows on the table, he didn't use
the wrong fork during the salad course, and he didn't drop his
napkin once. He didn't speak unless someone asked him a
direct question, and he kept his answers down to one or two
quick sentences.

The only time he showed a hint of attitude was during the

main course when Miller asked him to pass the salt. He
ignored Miller on purpose and continued eating. When Miller
asked a second time, he looked up and said, "I'm sorry, I
didn't hear you. What did you say, Miller?"

Miller bit his bottom lip and gave Tristan a nasty look. He

took a quick breath, adjusted his neck, and said, "I need
salt."

"You don't have to shout, dear," Ellen Wiley said. "We can

all hear you." Then she turned to Eldridge and laughed.

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102

"Since he's been working with the moving crew guys, he's
turned into a regular man's man."

Eldridge didn't know how to reply. So he just smiled with

his usual joker grin. "Is that so?"

"Are you a man's man?" Tristan asked Miller. Then he

smiled and passed him a crystal salt grinder.

Miller glared at Tristan. His face was red and his fists were

clenched. He took a deep breath and said, "That's me, all
right. I'm just a cigar-smoking, tobacco-chewing man's man."

Ellen snorted. "Please, Miller," she said. "People will take

you seriously." She turned to the other guests and said, "He's
never smoked anything in his life."

Tristan smiled and looked into Miller's eyes. "Is that so?"

To bad Ellen Wiley hadn't seen her son smoking cigarettes
behind Bart's and Ashley's pool house. "I'm glad. Cigarettes
are bad for you, Miller. You shouldn't smoke."

When Miller looked at Tristan this time, he almost cracked

a smile.

During dessert, while Carla and Rose were involved in a

serious discussion with Bart and Uncle Eldridge about gay
couples and inheritance taxes, Miller's girlfriend asked Tristan
about his restaurant. "What type of cuisine will you be
doing?"

"Bangers and beans," he said, without looking at her face.
He knew she was being polite and only trying to make

innocent conversation. But he couldn't help being sarcastic.
He'd been watching her fawn all over Miller that night. She
pushed her chair up so close to him their elbows were
touching. She'd even fed him a few pieces of steak from her

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103

plate she hadn't been able to finish (so she said, only her hips
didn't look as dainty as her appetite). When she lifted the fork
to Miller's mouth, Tristan felt like pushing her face into the
dinner plate and rubbing it around the mashed potatoes.

Uncle Eldridge was listening. He'd always had the uncanny

knack of being able to listen to three different conversations
at one time. "Tristan is joking, dear. It's going to be a
Tuscan-themed restaurant, with northern Italian cuisine."

"That sounds wonderful," she said, clapping her palms

together. "I can't wait to try it out."

Tristan didn't look up from his dessert plate. "Isn't that

nice?"

When it was time to go home, Tristan was the first one to

stand up. This had been the longest night of his life and he
couldn't wait to leave. But on the way to the front door, Uncle
Eldridge slipped and fell backwards in the center hall. The
gray and white marble floors had just been polished that
afternoon and Eldridge had been wearing his new Gucci
shoes. His foot turned in, the side of his heel slid on the
marble, and he wound up flat on his back.

Clint and Tristan ran to help him. But he couldn't stand up

without screaming in pain.

Ellen Wiley's face turned red and her jaw dropped. "I'm so

sorry, Eldridge. This is just awful. I was worried this floor was
too slick. Maybe I should call the paramedics. It might be
serious."

Eldridge waved his right arm and said, "It's not your fault.

I should have been paying attention. This has happened
before with my back. If I turn the wrong way, it goes out and

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the only thing for it is bed rest. There's no need to call the
paramedics. I'll be fine. I just have to figure out a way to get
across the street and into bed for a few days. My doctor has
prescribed pain mediation for me."

"Clint and I will just have to carry you, uncle," Tristan said.

He'd seen this before with Eldridge. The last time his back
went out he'd been confined to his bed for a week.

"I won't hear of it," Ellen said. "There's no way they are

going to carry you all that way. You'll stay right here in one of
our guest rooms until you're able to walk. I absolutely insist."
Then she pointed to Miller, Clint, and Tristan and said, "You
can help him up to the third room on the right."

"I couldn't," Eldridge said. "It would be too much of an

imposition. It's late and you must be exhausted."

Clark Wiley stepped forward. He'd been standing in the

background watching. "I think it's best if you go up to the
guest room. Ellen's right. You don't want to take any chances
with your back, Eldridge. When my back goes out, I'm not
good for anything."

"Listen to Clark," Ellen said. "He's always been the sickly

type, poor dear."

Eldridge frowned and looked at Tristan. Tristan knew his

uncle wanted to go home, but everyone else, including Bart
and Ashley, thought it was best for him to remain in the
Wileys' guest room. When he reluctantly agreed, Miller and
Tristan carried him up the stairs and into the guest room
while the other guests said goodnight to Ellen and Clark.

After that, Tristan went home and packed a small bag for

his uncle. When he returned to the Wiley house, Miller

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answered the front door. Miller had changed into a white T-
shirt and plaid boxer shorts, and he wasn't wearing shoes;
just little white athletic socks that only came up to the bottom
of his ankle.

"C'mon in," Miller said. "My mother and father went to bed.

I said I'd stay up and wait for you to get your uncle settled."

"Where's your friend?" Tristan asked. He was talking about

the young woman from dinner. He had a peculiar feeling she
was lurking somewhere in the dark.

"She went home. It's late."
"Then I'll just go up and get my uncle settled," Tristan

said. "It won't take long. I know you have to get up for work."
It was a Friday night and he knew Miller worked in the
moving van on Saturdays.

"Take your time. I'm not tired."
When Tristan thanked him and crossed to the staircase, his

stomach tightened and he wasn't sure why. The more he told
himself he wasn't attracted to Miller Wiley the more his
stomach twisted and turned.

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Chapter Nine

After Tristan helped Uncle Eldridge get into a comfortable

pair of pajamas, he gave him a muscle relaxant prescribed by
his doctor for when this sort of thing happened, then tucked
him into bed and said he'd be back in the morning to check
on him.

When he went back downstairs, he found Miller sitting on

the hallway floor with his back up against the front door and
his arms folded across his chest. His slightly hairy legs were
spread wide, the boxer shorts were bunched up, and the fly
was partially open. Tristan wasn't sure if Miller knew it or not,
but he could see a patch of brown flesh sticking out of Miller's
boxer shorts.

Tristan kept his chin raised and his eyes on the middle of

the front door so it wouldn't look as if he was staring at what
was going one between Miller's legs. "I think he'll be okay for
the rest of the night. I'll leave so you can go to bed."

"I'm not tired," said Miller.
"Don't you have to work in the morning?"
Miller shrugged.
"Thanks for staying up," Tristan said. He'd run out of

conversation. Everything that came to mind sounded forced.
"I'd better get home. I'm exhausted."

Miller slowly rose from the floor and smoothed out his

boxer shorts. When he adjusted the waistband, he caught
Tristan staring at his crotch. "You don't look tired to me."

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Tristan faked a yawn and stretched. "I've been up since six

this morning. The workers start very early. I really am
exhausted."

"Do you tell my cousin Becket you're tired?"
Tristan sighed. "There's nothing going on between Becket

and me. I just said that back there to shut your mother up."

"Seriously?" He spoke fast, vowels disappearing.
Tristan nodded.
Without turning, Miller reached back and opened the front

door. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

"You're not wearing shoes. You'll hurt your feet."
"Do you want me to walk you home or not," Miller said,

without a question mark. His eyes were wide and his arms
were stretched out at his sides.

"You're not dressed. You're in your underwear."
"My dick is covered." He reached down and tugged at his

balls.

Tristan shrugged and smiled. "You can walk me home if

you want to."

Miller blinked. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

Then he turned and opened the door all the way so Tristan
could pass through first. "Stop making life so damn
complicated."

Tristan stopped. "Please don't use that tone of voice with

me."

Miller rolled his eyes.
When they were outside, Miller placed his palm on the

small of Tristan's back and gave him a gentle push forward.
Without saying a word to each other, they walked down the

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driveway, across the street, and up to Tristan's front door. As
Tristan pulled his house key out of his pocket and pointed it
toward the lock, Miller's hand went down his back and landed
on his ass.

Tristan shoved the key into the lock and closed his eyes.

Though he hadn't planned on being with Miller again, he
couldn't seem to open his mouth wide enough to tell Miller to
stop touching his ass. It was dark and warm that night, and
the heat rising from within his body caused beads of
perspiration to trickle down his sideburns.

"Did you mean what you said?" Miller asked.
"About what?"
"About my cousin Becket."
Tristan shook his head. "I'm not involved with Becket."
"Have you, you know, done anything with him?"
Tristan's eyebrows furrowed. "That's none of your

business."

Miller grabbed his ass again and squeezed so hard the

button on Tristan's pants opened. "Have you been with
Becket? I have to know."

Tristan's body went rigid. "No, I haven't, and don't use

that tone of voice with me either." Then he turned and gave
Miller a sidelong glance. "I haven't been with anyone since
the last time I was with you." He put his arms around Miller's
shoulders and rested his cheek on Miller's thick neck. "I
haven't been able to think about anyone but you. I know it's
wrong. I know you're all wrong for me. But I can't help the
way I feel. When I'm with you, the world is perfect again.
When I'm not, I can't eat, I can't sleep, and the only thing

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that makes me feel better is work." He made a fist and gently
punched Miller between the shoulder blades. "I shouldn't even
be telling you all this."

When a teardrop landed on Miller's neck, he reached up

with both hands and held Tristan's face. He pushed Tristan's
head back and watched the tears roll down his cheeks. Then
he wiped the tears with his thumbs and kissed both sides of
Tristan's wet face. "Don't cry. I hate to see you cry."

"I can't help it," Tristan said. He sounded as if he'd been

drinking. "The only thing I ever really wanted was to fall in
love and get married, and when I do finally fall in love, it's
doomed for failure from the start. My uncle is right about you.
I should have listened to him."

"Your uncle doesn't like me?"
Tristan sniffed back. "He thinks you're trouble. He thinks

you're a spoiled rich kid out for kinky fun and games. He
wants me to find a nice gay guy with money, like Clint Rosen,
and settle down."

"How do you feel?" Miller asked.
He shrugged. "I like you...obviously." He'd already used

the word love, but he didn't want to again, unsure how Miller
would react.

Miller lowered his hands and slid them down the back of

Tristan's pants. "Would it make you feel any better if I said I
feel the same way about you?"

Tristan hugged his wide shoulders tighter and kissed his

neck. "You do?"

He laughed. "When I saw you with Becket in the pool, I

wanted to jump in and kick the shit out of him." He laughed.

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"I wanted to yank you out by the back of your head and drag
you into the house. I know that's wrong. I'd never really do
it."

Though Tristan knew deep in his heart there were so many

differences between them, from their backgrounds to their
social statures, he didn't want to let go of Miller. "I don't want
to talk anymore," he said.

"What do you want to do?" Miller's voice was soft and

deep.

The list of things Tristan wanted to do with Miller was

endless. But that night, he wanted to suck Miller's dick. Since
he'd sucked him off the first time behind the pool, he hadn't
been able to erase the image, or the taste, from his memory.
So he reached down with his right hand and found the open
fly of Miller's boxer shorts. Miller was already hard and his
dick was waiting to be released. Tristan didn't fumble or
hesitate. He wrapped his fingers around the thick shaft and
pulled it through the open fly. When it was sticking out in a
downward arch, Tristan stepped back and removed all his
clothes right there on the doorstep, beneath the amber
hurricane light above the front door.

"What if someone sees us?" Miller asked. He spread his

legs wider, yanked his dick, and leaned back. "You were
afraid of that when we were behind the pool."

The entrance to the house was hidden from the street.

Tristan knew no one would see them. But the thought of
being seen added an exciting element of danger to what they
were about to do. "They can watch me suck you off, then."

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Miller smiled and shook his cock up and down. "I had a

feeling you were a dirty boy."

Tristan laughed. "You like it a little dirty, don't you?"
Miller nodded. "I like when you suck me off. You have hot

lips."

Tristan went down on his knees in front of Miller. He

spread his legs wide, arched his back, and aligned his lips
with Miller's penis. When he saw there was already pre-come,
he licked his lips and said, "I hope you like this."

Then he closed his eyes and opened his mouth. He

wrapped his lips around the head of Miller's penis and placed
his hands on Miller's solid thighs to keep his balance. While
Miller continued to hold the base of his shaft, Tristan sucked
up and down on the top half.

Miller's head went back and he started to moan. But he

didn't remove his hand from his erection. Instead, he jacked
the shaft slowly, milking pre-come into Tristan's mouth.

Miller tasted as sweet and salty as he'd tasted the first

time Tristan had sucked him off. The harder Tristan sucked
the top half of Miller's erection the harder Miller jacked the
bottom half. Tristan hadn't planned on sucking him off this
way. He had imagined doing all the work with his mouth and
his tongue. But if Miller wanted to jack off in his mouth, he
wasn't going to stop him. Besides, it was a new experience.
This was something Tristan hadn't done before with other
guys. He'd seen guys in porn videos jack off in each others'
mouths, but he'd never done it.

As Miller jacked, Tristan became so engrossed in the

moment he closed his eyes and reached between his legs to

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grab his own erection. When Miller's hand moved faster,
Tristan sucked with more alacrity, working to please him in
any possible way. If this had happened with anyone else,
Tristan would have been apprehensive about finishing him off.
Tristan was a good sport in bed, but he didn't allow just
anyone to come in his mouth. With Miller, however, he
couldn't resist the urge to continue sucking. Miller was rugged
and strong and athletic; he moved and spoke and thought like
a real man. He didn't shave his body hair and there was
nothing prissy or delicate about him. Although Miller was
Tristan's complete opposite in many ways, he was the man of
Tristan's dreams. When Tristan masturbated alone, even
before he knew Miller, it was the image of a man just like
Miller that always made him climax.

There were times when Tristan liked foreplay. He could lie

in bed for hours and let the ultimate climax build slowly. In
college, Tristan had been with a gentle blond man who had
loved to lick him from head to toe. The blond guy would
spend hours arousing Tristan each time they were together.
He'd suck Tristan's dick for so long it would turn red and he'd
lose the urge to come. But Tristan learned fast there was a
fine line between foreplay and boredom. After three or four
encounters with this blond guy who was so heavily into
foreplay, Tristan ended the relationship with a smile.

And there were times, Tristan knew, when the passion and

the urge to get off were just too powerful to waste on
excessive foreplay, when toe-licking, fingering, and sweet
gentle kisses made him yawn. This was one of those times.
With Miller that night, anything less than absolute dedication

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to releasing the tension between them would have been a
pitiful waste of sexual energy. Tristan learned early only the
best lovers know this for a fact; the amateurs never seemed
to get it.

When Miller's fist started banging into Tristan's lips, Tristan

knew Miller was getting close. So he stopped sucking, tilted
his head back, and opened his mouth as wide as it would go.
He stuck out his tongue and closed his eyes the same way
he'd seen the guys in the porn videos do it.

When Miller looked down at him, he said, "You look so

fucking hot right now with your mouth open that way." Then
he bit his bottom lip, grunted a few times, and pointed the
head of his cock to toward the back of Tristan's throat. A
second later, he rubbed his load onto Tristan's mouth, aiming
his cock with precision so every last drop would land on
Tristan's tongue.

After Miller came, Tristan swallowed fast. Then he wrapped

his lips around the head of Miller's dick and started sucking it
again. While he sucked the remaining drops, he blasted his
own load all over the front steps between Miller's feet.

Tristan continued sucking, though much slower now, until

Miller's penis went flaccid inside his mouth. Then Miller took
Tristan's hand and helped him to his feet. When he was
standing, Miller wrapped his arms around Tristan's waist and
pushed the back of his head. Miller kissed him so hard and
shoved his tongue in so deeply, their teeth locked together
and a chill ran up the back of Tristan's spine.

A minute later Miller released the back of his head and

said, "You looked good at the party tonight."

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Tristan tilted his head and smiled. "So did you." Then he

stepped back and picked his clothes up off the front porch. "I
should go inside now."

Miller rubbed Tristan's ass and bit his neck. "You should.

You're naked."

Tristan reached down and held Miller's hand. Even though

they'd both just climaxed, he felt something stir between his
legs when he touched Miller's flesh. The feeling was so strong
he couldn't describe it or explain it. He didn't want to ruin the
night. But he had to say something before he went inside.

So he squeezed Miller's hand and asked, "Where do we go

from here?"

"I don't know."
"It's pretty clear what I want in life," Tristan said. "I've

never lied about it. I want a traditional, monogamous
relationship and I want to get married."

"Why is the marriage thing so important to you?" A hint of

frustration floated through his voice.

"Because it is," Tristan said. "It's what I've always wanted,

even before same-sex marriage became a hot political topic.
When I was a child, I'd listen to my uncle's friends talk about
their relationships. If they were in permanent monogamous
relationships, they always said they were married. They even
referred to their partners as their husbands, or wives if they
were women. I didn't even know they were using these words
loosely until I was about ten years old. I thought they really
were married. They lived like all the straight married couples
I'd ever known. When I found out that gay men and women
couldn't get legally married, when my uncle explained the

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cold hard facts of life to his little gay nephew, I was so
devastated I tore up all the wedding magazines I'd been
saving for years.

"As I got older and legalized same-sex marriage became

an issue within the lgbt community, I started to realize I
deserved to fall in love and get married just as much as
heterosexual couples deserved it. I made a decision a long
time ago I wouldn't settle for less. Call it pride, call it being
stubborn. But I won't settle for less."

"I never thought about it that way," Miller said. He

shrugged his shoulders. "I just like to fuck."

Tristan looked him in the eye. "We both know that's not

true. You wouldn't have walked me home tonight if it was
true."

Miller shrugged again and looked down at his feet. "I

guess."

Tristan had a feeling Miller was at a loss for words. His lips

were parted and he had trouble looking Tristan in the eye.
"I'm not demanding anything," Tristan said. "I don't want you
to plan the rest of your life right now on this doorstep. I do
understand it's not easy, and you obviously need time to
think about who you are and what you want in life. You're still
dating women you want your mother to approve of. And I'm
not even going to try to compete with that."

Miller leaned forward and kissed Tristan's neck. He ran his

rough stubble up and down Tristan's cheek and said, "You
know how I feel about you. Can't we just keep seeing each
other like this? I won't see anyone else, and you won't see
anyone else either."

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"I don't think that's a good idea," Tristan said. "Let's just

keep it like it is right now. If and when you decide you're
ready to be open about me to everyone, we can talk. But until
then, I'm not going to compromise on this one. It's too
important to me. I have to live an authentic life." Then he
kissed Miller goodnight and turned to the door. Though the
sex they'd just shared had rocked his world once again, he
wasn't going to submit to sneaking around with anyone.

As Tristan turned the key, Miller moved in the opposite

direction. He walked down the driveway with his head bowed
and his arms dangling at his sides until he reached the street.
Tristan watched as he looked back and forth to see if there
were any cars, and when he jogged across the street to his
own house and Tristan watched his athletic body bob and
move so effortlessly, Tristan pressed his palm to his chest
and wondered if another man would ever make him feel the
same way Miller Wiley did.

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Chapter Ten

The next morning Tristan ran into Becket Wiley on the

front lawn. Becket was setting up his tile equipment for the
day and Tristan was on his way across the street to see if his
uncle was feeling any better. Though it was only nine in the
morning, Becket had already removed his shirt and his back
was dripping with perspiration. He must have been wearing a
strong deodorant because there was a spicy, woodsy aroma
coming from his body. The waistband of his baggy tan shorts
had slipped down so far it was apparent he wasn't wearing
underwear that day. Tristan's eyes darted down, then up. He
noticed Becket had those well-defined muscles at the base of
his abdomen only some men have. They began at each side
of his lower waist and slanted down toward his groin. Tristan
had to admit one thing: Becket Wiley was the kind of man
who could keep a guy warm on the coldest night.

When Becket saw Tristan come out of the house, he looked

up from his power saw and smiled. "You're going out early
this morning."

"My uncle hurt his back last night at the Wiley house,"

Tristan said. "And they insisted he spend the night in their
guest room. I'm going over to check on him." He knew Becket
wasn't fond of his cousins across the street, so he didn't
mention the dinner party or the fact he'd been there, too.
Though this was none of Becket's business, Tristan didn't
want to rub it in his face.

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Glancing at the house across the street, Becket frowned.

His face turned red and he unconsciously clenched his fists.
Then he took a quick breath and bent down to pick something
up. "I found these on the front steps this morning." He held
up a pair of see- through black boxer briefs and let them
dangle from two fingers.

Tristan took a step back and tilted his head to the side.

He'd paid a small fortune for those see-through boxer briefs
in a trendy New York boutique. He must have left them on
the steps last night when he'd gathered his clothes. It was
dark and he'd been so exhausted he hadn't been paying
attention. But he didn't want Becket to know they were his
briefs, so he shrugged and said, "I can't imagine where they
came from."

"I thought they might belong to you," Becket said. He

waved them back and forth, then pressed them to his face.
"They smell like you."

"Well, they aren't mine." Tristan put his hands behind his

back and crossed his fingers. "I'm not in the habit of
discarding my underwear on the front steps, so you just
sniffed a stranger's underwear."

"Ick," Becket said, dropping the boxer briefs on the grass

with one hand and rubbing his nose with the other. "I thought
they were yours. What did I just sniff? Maybe one of the other
workers went for a swim and dropped them." That sounded
reasonable. "Yes. They were probably wet and he didn't want
to put them back on right away." Becket made a face. "I just
hope he soaked for a long time in the chemically treated
pool."

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"You shouldn't be so presumptuous," Tristan said. "And

you shouldn't take chances sniffing strange underwear."

"Would you like to go for a swim around lunchtime today?"

Becket asked.

He was one of those people who tended to switch from one

subject to the next without making a smooth transition.
Maybe it was a family trait; Miller often did the same thing.
Tristan had a feeling he did this on purpose, to catch him by
surprise.

"I can't. I have to go down to the restaurant and finish

painting the main dining room." It was another lie. He'd
finished painting the entire place. "I have to get moving. I'll
see you later." He turned and walked toward the driveway.

"Maybe later," Becket said.
Without turning, Tristan said, "We'll see. I'm very busy

with the restaurant. I want to be open by Labor Day
weekend."

"I'm not going to stop asking," Becket said. His voice didn't

waver.

At the end of the driveway, Tristan stopped. He turned and

faced Becket. Becket was watching him walk away, with his
hands on his defined hip muscles and a wide grin on his face.
Tristan shook his head and looked up at the clear blue sky.
"I'll see you later."

Becket wiped his brow and said, "Don't work too hard."
When Tristan knocked on the Wiley's front door, the maid

answered. There was something about her he liked. She had
a round face with a warm gentle smile that put him at ease.
"Good morning," he said. "I'm here to see about my uncle. He

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spent the night in the guest room because he hurt his back
last night after dinner."

The maid opened the door wider. Tristan heard shouting

from the rear of the house. The maid looked back and forth,
placed her fingers to her lips, and said, "You can go up alone.
Mr. and Mrs. Wiley and their son are busy right now. Your
uncle is in his room."

When Tristan entered the house, the shouting became

louder. The voices were too far away to hear words, but it
sounded like Miller and his mother were discussing something
serious.

The maid gestured to the main staircase and said, "You

can go up now." Then she turned fast and walked down the
hallway.

The guest room door was open a crack. Tristan knocked

first, then entered the room. Uncle Eldridge was fully dressed
by then, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to put his
shoes on.

"Are you feeling better?" Tristan asked.
Uncle Eldridge leaned forward and moaned in pain. "Not

much," he said. "But at least I can walk this morning."

Tristan went to the bed and bent down to help him with his

shoes. "Why are you trying to move around so soon? Ellen
said you could remain here as long as you like." He slipped
one shoe onto his uncle's foot and reached for the other. "It
usually takes you two or three days for you to walk normally
again."

Before Eldridge could answer him, there was a loud slam

from downstairs. "What's going on down there?" Tristan

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asked. Though it was muffled, he could still hear them
shouting. Clearly, it wasn't a typical conversation on a
Saturday morning.

"That's why I'm leaving," Eldridge said. "All hell broke

loose this morning. Miller, his mother, and Clark have been
arguing for the last hour. It began in the upstairs hallway
when Ellen told Miller she thought the girl he was with last
night would be a suitable wife. When she suggested it was
time for Miller to start thinking about marriage, Miller went
berserk and told his mother to mind her own fucking business
for once."

Tristan frowned. "Uncle, you were eavesdropping on

them?"

"I couldn't help it. They were shouting right outside my

door." He looked around the room. "Where could I go?"

Tristan's eyebrows went up and he rubbed his jaw. "What

did Miller tell them?" If Miller had come out of the closet to his
family, Tristan wanted to know the details.

"He told his mother he was interested in dating men

instead of women."

"He said he was gay? He came out to his parents?"

Tristan's heart raced and his eyes bulged.

"Not exactly," Eldridge said. "He just said he wanted to

date men. He didn't use the word gay once. But this was the
gist of the conversation. And they've been shouting ever
since. Ellen's been going berserk, telling him he's just
confused." He stood from the bed slowly, grabbing the
bedpost and wincing with each move. "Take my arm. I want

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to go home. I don't like getting involved in other people's
affairs."

"Why is Ellen so upset?" Tristan asked. "She's involved

with gay organizations, she's best friends with gay men like
you and Bart, and she seems so liberal and open about
legalizing same-sex marriage. I don't see why she'd be so
upset her own son is gay."

"Trust me," Eldridge said, "I've seen this before. There's

nothing worse than when a fag hag finds out her own son or
daughter is gay. They love to hang out with gay men. It's fun
and it's amusing and it's safe. With gay men, they can say
and do things they wouldn't normally say or do with straight
men. Best of all, there's no jealousy or competition from
other women. But when a fag hag finds out her own kid is
gay, she goes ballistic."

Tristan took his uncle's arm and helped him walk into the

hallway. They approached each step one at a time, taking
short rests every third or fourth step. By the time they
reached the bottom of the semi-circular staircase, the
shouting had stopped and the house was dead silent. Tristan
and Eldridge looked at each other and shrugged, then slowly
hobbled to the front door so they could leave without being
noticed.

As Tristan turned the doorknob, Miller Wiley walked into

the center hall. "Where are you going?" He lurched forward
and grabbed the doorknob so Tristan could help his uncle
walk. When he did this, his palm brushed against the top of
Tristan's hand and the two young men hesitated. "I thought
you'd stay in bed all day. You shouldn't be walking."

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Miller was speaking to Eldridge, but he was looking into

Tristan's eyes. Tristan stood there holding his uncle's arm,
gaping back at Miller with dumbstruck expression on his face.

"I'm feeling much better," Eldridge said. "Please thank

your mother and father and tell them I'll call them myself
later today." He tried to force a smile, but his teeth and fists
were clenched from the pain.

"At least let me help you get home," Miller said.
Slowly, Eldridge turned. "We don't want to bother you.

We'll be fine. Thanks so much."

When it was apparent Miller was not needed, he stepped

back and nodded at Tristan. "I'll call you later. I'm leaving for
a business trip, but I'd like to talk before I go." He kept his
voice slow and even. "I need some time to think."

Tristan nodded, then turned and helped his uncle walk out

of the house. Miller had mentioned he was going to the West
Coast on business, but he hadn't gone into detail.

They concentrated on walking, not speaking, while Eldridge

took quick breaths to ease the pain. As they crept down the
Wiley driveway, Tristan thought about the exasperated
expression he'd just seen on Miller's face. Tristan wanted to
know more about what Miller had told his mother that
morning, but he wasn't sure how to ask his uncle without
looking too obvious.

When they reached the end of the driveway, a mail truck

passed, followed by a stream of dark cars in a long, slow
funeral procession. Uncle Eldridge stopped walking and said,
"I don't know for sure what happened with Miller Wiley and

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his parents. But I have this sneaking suspicion you're
involved in some way."

"Me?" Tristan asked. "I had nothing to do with Miller's

argument with his parents."

Uncle Eldridge pressed his lips together and frowned. Then

he said, "I see the way you two look at each other. His
tongue fell out of his mouth when he saw you this morning.
And I have this feeling that if he slipped a ring through your
nose you'd follow him around without asking any questions.
Have you been fooling around with that confused boy?"

"I don't have to answer that," Tristan said. "And Miller

doesn't seem confused to me."

"Ha," Eldridge said, "They all sound like they know what

they want when their pants are down and you're kneeling in
front of them." He pointed at Tristan. "You're treading on
dangerous waters, pardon the cliche. That boy doesn't know
what the hell he is. I don't like this, young man."

"Why is it dangerous?" Tristan asked. He didn't want to

admit he had feelings for Miller, but he was curious about why
his uncle didn't approve of Miller.

"You and Miller Wiley come from different worlds," Eldridge

said. "His family has been in the trucking business since
trucks were first put on the roads. They aren't old money like
the Vanderbilts, but their money is much older than ours and
I've seen people like them eat people like us for breakfast."

"So I'm not good enough for a guy like Miller Wiley?"
"Of course you are," Eldridge said. "But not in their eyes.

Trust me, Ellen and Clark want their son to marry a nice
refined young woman. They want grandchildren and they

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want to control their lives. They don't care if he screws
around with men on the side. Make no mistake, Ellen Wiley is
a formidable woman and she wants a daughter-in-law, not a
son-in-law."

Tristan scowled. "I thought you wanted me to marry a nice

wealthy guy."

"I do," Eldridge said. "A nice wealthy openly gay guy, like

Clint Rosen, or one of the doctors we met at Bart and Ashley's
party. I want you to stick with our own kind, and I don't want
you screwing around with all these straights. But more than
that, I don't want you getting involved with some flighty
quasi-straight guy like Miller Wiley who isn't sure what he
wants. Guys like Miller Wiley, rich or poor, are dangerous for
guys like you and me. They take nice young gay men like you
and they toss them out like trash when they are finished with
them." He grabbed Tristan's wrist and looked into Tristan's
eyes. "I've seen it before. It happened to me once and I was
never the same again."

"What happened?" Tristan asked. Uncle Eldridge had never

mentioned much about his past relationships. As far as
Tristan knew, he'd always been single and there had never
been anyone serious in his life.

Eldridge took a deep breath and exhaled. "I don't want to

talk about me," he said. "All I want to do is go home and get
into my own bed and rest until my back feels better. And I
don't want you getting involved with Miller Wiley at all."

Tristan took his uncle's arm and helped him step into the

street. "You're worrying for nothing. I'm not getting involved

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with anyone right now," he said. "My only focus is on opening
my new restaurant and making my own money."

Eldridge patted his wrist and said, "You're a good boy. I'm

only concerned about your welfare."

Tristan laughed. "Is there anyone else I'm not supposed to

get involved with besides Miller Wiley?"

"Becket Wiley, the tile guy."
"Huh?" Tristan had been joking. He hadn't expected his

uncle to reply so fast.

"I've seen the way Becket looks at you," Eldridge said.

"He's a war hero, every young gay man's fantasy. He
undresses you with his eyes whenever he sees you. I don't
want you getting mixed up with his kind either. If he wasn't
such a great tile guy, I'd hire someone else. It's just that it's
hard to find someone who knows marble as well as he does."
He shook his index finger. "Marble must be laid just right."

Tristan shook his head; he didn't understand. "But Becket

is a nice, openly gay man. He's decent, he treats me well, and
he's doing a great job on the marble on the bathroom. What's
wrong with him?"

"He's a poor slob," Eldridge said. "He doesn't have a dime,

and you need to marry money."

They stopped at the end of their driveway. Tristan wanted

to make something clear to his uncle before they walked
another step and ran into Becket again.

"Uncle," he said, "I'm not involved with Becket Wiley. If

he's undressing me with his eyes, I can't help that. Though
it's none of your business, I've actually turned Becket down
several times. He a nice guy, but I'm not interested in him

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that way. And it's not because Becket is poor. I couldn't care
less about how much money he has or doesn't have. When I
tell you my only concern right now is for my restaurant, I'm
not joking around. I want to earn my own money. Marrying
for money may have worked for people in eighteenth-century
novels, but it doesn't work for me. I live in the real world. We
have enough money right now to keep us comfortable, but it's
being spent on renovations and upkeep for this big old house.
It's going to run out eventually. I want to be self-sufficient by
then, and I'm determined to make this restaurant a success."

Uncle Eldridge gave him a serious look. But he didn't have

a chance to respond, because Becket Wiley had seen them
hobbling across the street and he'd stopped working so he
could help Tristan get Eldridge up to his room. He jogged
toward them, with his sweaty muscles jiggling and jerking.
"Can I help?" he asked in his throaty football player voice.

Tristan smiled at Becket and gave his uncle a baleful stare.

"Can you carry him up to his bedroom?"

"I don't want to be carried. I can walk, thank you."

Eldridge made a sound between a grunt and a giggle.

"Sure, I can carry him," Becket said, ignoring Eldridge.

Then bent down, against Eldridge's wishes, and scooped him
up in his arms without flinching.

Uncle Eldridge didn't have time to protest. One minute he

was standing, the next he was in Becket's strong arms and
they were heading to the front door.

His uncle wasn't sure where to put his hands at first. When

Becket said, "Put your arm around my shoulder for support,"
Eldridge bit his bottom lip, lifted his right arm with a few

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awkward jerks, and rested it across Becket's wide shoulders
as if Becket's body was on fire. He lifted his left arm and
rested it across Becket's hard chest. Then he laced his fingers
together and crossed his feet at the ankle.

Becket tossed Eldridge up with a jerk to adjust his

position. "Are you comfortable?"

"Ah well," Eldridge said, blushing. "I'm just fine."
"Are you in pain right now?" Becket asked.
Tristan laughed. "I don't think he's feeling any pain right

now."

Eldridge's head whipped around and he gave Tristan a

fierce glance. He lifted his right eyebrow and bit the inside of
his cheek to let Tristan know he didn't appreciate his
sarcasm. And as Becket carried him through the front door,
Eldridge lowered his head and rested his face on Becket's
chest to avoid the top of the doorway.

"I'm sorry I'm a little sweaty," Becket said.
Eldridge giggled and kicked his feet. "Don't worry," he

said. "It's nice to have a real man around the house for a
change."

As Becket carried Eldridge up the staircase, Tristan

remained on the bottom step, observing them from a
distance. While he listened to his uncle flirt with Becket, he
noticed a strong family resemblance. Though Tristan had
never done drag, he'd never worn bowties, and he'd never
swooned, dipped, or curtsied in public, his basic make-up
sometimes mimicked his uncle's far more than he wished it
did.

[Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Eleven

On a hot, humid Thursday morning before Labor Day

weekend, Tristan heard the front door slam, followed by an
apology from his Uncle Eldridge. Tristan took a large sip of
black coffee, smoothed out his hair, and adjusted his shirt.
Uncle Eldridge had just returned from the airport. He'd gone
there to pick up his mother, Karla Briggs, who had just flown
in from New Jersey so she could attend the grand opening of
Tristan's new restaurant.

Tristan hadn't seen his grandmother since they'd moved to

South Beach. Though she'd learned to accept the fact that
Eldridge and Tristan were both openly gay, she'd never
completely adjusted to the entire concept. She blamed herself
for Eldridge's gayness, thinking she'd coddled him too much
as a child. And she blamed Eldridge for Tristan's gayness
because he'd exposed Tristan to too many gay people at a
young age. Once Eldridge challenged her, and told her it was
genetic and there was no possible way he could have made
Tristan gay, and she pointed at him and said, "That's shit for
the birds. It's not genetic. If anything, it's in the blood. I had
an aunt who used to go to a barber, drive a pickup truck, and
wear men's clothing all the time."

Karla had been living in a huge retirement community on

the Jersey Shore for the past twenty years and she didn't
travel often. The last time Tristan had seen her had been
Mother's Day, when he and his uncle had tried to persuade
her to move to Florida, without much success. This trip to

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South Beach was a big thing for Karla; she hadn't flown since
before 9/11.

Tristan took another sip of coffee and went into the hall to

welcome her. He took a deep breath and looked up at the
ceiling. Whenever Uncle Eldridge and Karla were together for
any length of time, people tended to scatter off in different
directions.

When he walked into the hall, Karla was fumbling with a

hot pink vinyl carry-on bag. She lifted her head, stopped what
she was doing, and stretched both arms out. "Where's my
kiss?" she said. "You look too thin. Doesn't he feed you? I'll
fatten you up."

Tristan put his arms around her and gave her a kiss on

both cheeks. "You look wonderful, Grandmother, ten years
younger than the last time I saw you." He'd always called her
Grandmother. Karla wasn't big on the homespun
grandmotherly nicknames like Nan, Nannie, or Gram. Though
she was eighty, she looked more like sixty-five. For as long as
Tristan could remember, she'd always had teased and
sprayed honey blond hair, she'd always been a size six, and
she'd always worn a three—inch-high heel. She wore a navy
blue suit today, with a white blouse, a knee-length skirt, and
a gold and white striped silk scarf.

"That's because you haven't seen me in such a long time,"

she said. Then she looked at Eldridge and cocked her thumb
in his direction. "If this one hadn't taken you all the way to
Florida to live, you'd see me more often. I can't believe I have
to come all this way to see my own flesh and blood. I'm an
old woman." She lifted both arms in the air and shook them.

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She was only an old woman at that moment. If anyone else
had been in the room, she would have lied and said she was
only sixty years old. "I don't get it. I'm the mother. I'm
supposed to move to Florida. But that's not how it works in
my family. The mother stays in New Jersey and the kids move
to Florida instead."

Eldridge scowled. "Mother," he said. "You know you can

move down here any time you like. We've gone over this a
thousand times. We want you here."

"We do, Grandmother," Tristan said. "Every single night

Uncle Eldridge tells me how much he misses you." He was
lying. He smiled at Eldridge and batted his eyelids.

"I'm going to move at my age?" Karla said. "A move like

that could kill an old woman. And you don't have to lie on my
account, Tristan. You're a dear boy, but I know my son
doesn't want me around."

"Mother! That's not true."
"How was your flight?" Tristan asked. He wanted to change

the subject. The tension between Eldridge and Karla was
building and he didn't want to see an explosion so soon.

She patted Tristan on the back and lowered her voice. "Not

so bad. I've been through worse. But you don't want to know
what they put me through in Newark Airport with security.
Since when, I'd like to know, did it become a crime for an old
woman to carry a small pair of scissors in her pocketbook?
And that snippy, bitchy stewardess wasn't so friendly either."

The house filled with her scent: a sweet violet perfume

she'd been wearing for years. Even her cash smelled of

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violets. Tristan hadn't heard anyone refer to a purse as a
pocketbook since the last time he'd seen Karla.

"I'm sorry, Grandmother," Tristan said. "Flying isn't as nice

as it used to be."

"They are called flight attendants," Eldridge said.
They both looked at him with raised eyebrows.
Eldridge shrugged. "They don't call them stewardesses

anymore. It's flight attendant."

Karla shook her head. "My son, always so politically

correct. What would I do if I didn't have him around to tell me
what to say and when to say it?" She bent down and reached
into her carry-on bag. She pulled out a plastic grocery bag
and handed it to Tristan. "Here. Put this in the kitchen."

"What is it?" Tristan asked. It looked lighter than it was. If

she hadn't mentioned the contents, he would have sworn
she'd brought him a bag of rocks from New Jersey.

"Some rolls and a marble cake."
Instead of just saying thanks, Eldridge sighed and shook

his head. "We have plenty of food, Mother. I told you not to
go to any trouble."

Karla lifted her right arm and waved it back and forth.

"What trouble? It's a marble cake and a few rolls." Then she
turned to Tristan and said, "Let's go into the kitchen and you
can tell me all about your new restaurant. Eldridge, you take
my bags up to my room and make yourself useful. I want to
be with my grandson now. He'll take care of his poor old
grandmother."

While Karla headed toward the kitchen, Tristan smiled at

Eldridge and shrugged his shoulders. Karla adored her

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grandson; he couldn't do anything wrong. But with Eldridge,
she was often critical and catty in ways no one could portend.

"She's not even here an hour and she's already driving me

crazy," Eldridge said. He spoke low with a stage whisper.
"She didn't want to get into the car at the airport."

"Why?"
"She said it didn't look safe because there wasn't a back

seat. Then she made a remark about German cars, Hitler, and
World War II. I'm just glad no one heard her. I would have
been mortified."

"She means well," Tristan said. "It's generational. She

can't help it." He didn't take his grandmother's comments as
seriously as Eldridge did. Karla usually amused him more than
she frustrated him. "Sometimes I think she just says those
things to annoy you on purpose. When I'm with her, she's a
perfect lady. And she never says the wrong thing, or anything
remotely politically incorrect."

From the kitchen, Karla shouted, "Would you look at this

place? I'm in Buckingham Palace. You must have spent a
fortune in here, Eldridge. Who do you think you are, Princess
Margaret Rose? I just hope you're saving some money. You're
not getting any younger, you know. You're going to need a
nest egg in your old age."

"I'll go into the kitchen and deal with her," Tristan said.

"You go upstairs and calm down. After all, she's only going to
be here a week."

Eldridge leaned into the wall and banged his head on the

hall closet door a couple of times. "A whole week. I'll lose my
mind."

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Karla Briggs wasn't the only one who flew in that morning.

Miller Wiley was also taking a flight from Los Angeles. He'd
left South Beach a few days after the dinner party, the party
where Eldridge hurt his back. This trip had nothing to do with
Miller's announcement to his family about not wanting to date
women anymore. Miller had been planning a trip to Los
Angeles to learn more about the family business all summer.
The Los Angeles location was the second-largest location in
the company and he wanted to get to know the people who
worked there and learn how it operated.

Tristan hadn't seen Miller since the day he'd overheard

Miller and his family arguing about Miller's sexual preferences.
The day before Miller left South Beach, he called Tristan and
said he was leaving for business reasons, but he also needed
time to think. He told Tristan he cared about him, but he
didn't say he loved him. Tristan wished him well and told him
to call when he was back in town. Then Tristan lifted his chin
and went back to work on his new business. Though he'd had
plenty of offers, he hadn't been with a man since the night
he'd blown Miller on the front steps of his house. It was partly
because Tristan was too busy to think about anything but the
restaurant, and partly because no other men could compare
to Miller Wiley.

He wanted to meet other guys. But Miller's image had

been tattooed to his brain. One afternoon while he was
washing the front windows of his new restaurant, a guy who
looked like Miller jogged by with his hands in his pockets and
his head down. For a minute, Tristan's heart stopped beating.
He dropped the sponge into the bucket of soapy water and

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stepped down from the ladder. He almost ran after the guy
and shouted Miller's name. But then the guy turned and
Tristan saw it wasn't Miller after all. His nose was too big and
his chin was too weak. So Tristan climbed up the stepladder
and finished his windows with a heavy, disconnected feeling
that lasted for the rest of the day.

On the day of the grand opening, the Friday before

Memorial Day weekend, Tristan opened the front doors of his
restaurant, Santa Lucia, at eleven in the morning and
welcomed his new customers one by one. The lunch crowd
consisted of tourists and other faces Tristan had never seen
before. They trickled in one by one, complimenting the decor
and raving about the food. Tristan made so much money on
the lunch crowd, he almost forgot about the fact that Miller
hadn't called him yet.

By seven o'clock that night, familiar faces began to appear.

Bart and Ashley came with Eldridge and Karla. The four of
them joined a large group of people from MEE, including Ellen
and Clark Wiley, at a long table near the back of the
restaurant. The only one who wasn't with the group was Clint
Rosen, but Tristan was so busy he didn't have time to ask his
uncle what had happened to Clint. Karla sat at the head of
the long table and kept asking Eldridge what MEE was all
about, and Eldridge kept tapping her wrist and telling her he'd
explain it later. Tristan knew his uncle didn't want to get into
it that night. Eldridge wasn't sure whether or not his mother
would understand the significance of an organization designed
around Marriage and Equality for Everyone.

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But Karla's focus was on Tristan and the restaurant. She

smiled at the guests and proudly informed them her grandson
was the chef and the owner. When Karla noticed the people
sitting at the table next to her hadn't been served rolls, she
stood up from her seat, walked into the kitchen, and told the
waiter to "snap it up." When Eldridge told her to sit down and
mind her own business, she pointed at him and said, "I'm the
grandmother. I can do whatever the hell I want."

Ellen and Clark Wiley raved about the food, the

atmosphere, and the service. Tristan still wasn't sure how he
felt about Ellen or Clark. But he thanked them for coming to
his restaurant on opening night, then thanked them for
lending their support to MEE. Though he'd never been actively
involved in any of his uncle's previous charities, he'd become
very fond of MEE. So fond he'd offered his new restaurant as
the location for the formal benefit they were planning in the
fall.

By the end of the night, Tristan was still moving on

adrenaline. When he walked over to the table where his uncle
was sitting with the MEE people, he personally thanked each
of them for all their support.

Ellen Wiley said, "I think this is going to be my favorite

restaurant from now on. I can't wait to tell Miller how much
we enjoyed it. He'll love the food."

Before Tristan could say a word, Karla turned to Ellen and

said, "Who's Miller?" Karla was still at the head of the table
and Ellen was on her right, three seats away.

"He's my son," Ellen said. "He just got back from a rather

long trip to L.A. on business. He caught a terrible bug there

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and couldn't make it tonight. He just fell into his bed the
minute he got home yesterday."

Tristan smiled. At least now he knew why Miller hadn't

called or texted him yet.

Karla gave Ellen a dead stare. "Is Miller a homosexual,

too?"

"Excuse me?" Ellen said, pressing her palm to her throat.
"Is he a gay?" Karla asked. "You, your husband, and I are

the only straights sitting at the table with all these gays. I
just figured your son was a gay."

Tristan knew she wasn't joking around, but he didn't know

how to make her stop talking. Karla had never been one to
mince words, and the older she became the less she held
back. So Tristan gave his uncle a pleading stare.

"Mother," Eldridge said. "I think it's time we left now. It's

way past your bedtime." Then he smiled at Ellen and Clark.
"You'll have to forgive my mother. When she's tired, she says
whatever comes to the top of her head."

Ellen laughed. "Don't worry. We have one just like her,

too. Clark's mother in Arizona is the same way."

"What did I say?" Karla asked. "I only wanted to know if

her son is a homosexual gay." She gestured to Tristan and
Eldridge. "Hell, I've got two of them. You don't see me
complaining."

"Okay, Mother," Eldridge said. He stood up and crossed to

where Karla was sitting. "We'd better get you home now."

"What am I, a two-year-old?"
Tristan bent down and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks

for coming all the way down here, Grandmother. It makes a

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difference." Though she was often loud, sometimes crude,
and had a tendency to be too honest, he loved her like his
own mother.

She stood up and kissed his cheek. "You're family. That's

what you do for family." Then she frowned at Eldridge and
said, "Let's roll. If it gets any later you'll have to peel me out
of that little Mercedes with a can opener and a crowbar."

Tristan was the last one out the door. By the time he

arrived at the house, it was almost midnight. He slipped his
key into the lock and turned it slowly so he wouldn't make
any noise. He didn't want to wake his grandmother or his
uncle.

But when he walked into the hallway, he noticed a light in

Uncle Eldridge's library. The library was a small, square room
of the main living room on the left side of the house Eldridge
used as a home office. It was still undergoing renovations:
there were books on the floor, three different paint colors on
the walls, and unopened boxes along the far right wall.
Tristan walked to the end of the hall and stood in the library
doorway, where he saw his uncle sitting in a white wing chair
beside the fireplace. Eldridge was still dressed in the clothes
he'd worn at the restaurant. His legs were crossed, his hands
were folded on his lap, and there was a letter on the floor
next to his feet.

"Why are you still up?" Tristan asked.
"I can't sleep."
Tristan noticed his eyes were red and puffy, as if he'd been

crying. "What's wrong?"

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He kicked the letter with his foot and pointed to the floor.

"This says it all."

Tristan walked into the room and picked up the letter and

read it aloud. "Dearest Eldridge, I'm leaving for Palm Springs
today. I have a small condo and I'm going to be spending a
good deal of time there from now on. Best wishes, Clint."

Then Tristan read the letter again to himself. When he was

finished, he placed it on a table beside the chair and said, "I
don't understand. I thought you were talking about a serious
relationship with Clint. I thought you were ready to introduce
him to Grandmother."

"So did I," Eldridge said. "I guess I was sadly mistaken,

once again."

"It doesn't make sense."
Eldridge shrugged.
"Did you have an argument? Did you say something to

him?"

"Not that I know of," he said. "I spoke with him the day

before yesterday and he was looking forward to the grand
opening. Then he left a quick voice mail on my cell phone and
said he wouldn't be able to make it. I figured he was busy,
then I found the letter on the front steps when we got home
tonight. I didn't say a word to your grandmother, so don't you
say anything either. She'd just enjoy this too much."

"I won't say anything."
"You go up to bed now. You must be exhausted."
"Are you sure you're okay? I can sit up with you for a

while."

"I'm fine," Eldridge said. "I'd rather be alone."

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Tristan touched his shoulder and kissed the top of his

head, then turned to leave.

On his way out, Eldridge lifted his empty wine glass and

said, "I was very proud of you tonight. You look like Robert
Pattison, you handle your business like Donald Trump, and
you cook like Julia Child. And in spite of this letter from Clint,
this was still one of the best nights of my life. I may suck at
love, but I sure did a fucking great job raising a great kid all
by myself."

Tristan shrugged and smiled. "Love you, Uncle."
"Love you back, kid."

[Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twelve

When Tristan rose from bed the next morning and looked

into the bathroom mirror, he made a face and took his time
going downstairs. He suspected Uncle Eldridge would be
sitting at the breakfast table slumped over a cup of coffee and
a bowl of soggy cereal, with a frown on his face. And while
Eldridge would be slumping and pining about Clint Rosen
moving to Palm Springs, Karla would be rattling on about
everything Eldridge was doing wrong with his life, from the
risky moves he made with his money to the fact that he was
still middle-aged and single.

In all fairness, one couldn't blame Karla: she wasn't a cold-

hearted woman. Karla wouldn't even know what had just
happened between Eldridge and Clint. When it came to his
love life, Eldridge had never confided anything to his mother.

Finally, Tristan put on a T-shirt and a pair of swim trunks

and walked downstairs slowly. He didn't have to be at the
restaurant until eleven that morning and it was only eight. As
he crossed through the center hall, he thought of topics he
could focus on to keep his grandmother off Uncle Eldridge's
back. Tristan couldn't tell her the truth; she would swear
Eldridge had done something to scare Clint Rosen away. And
this thought, as bad as he knew it was, had already passed
through Tristan's mind. Though Uncle Eldridge was good,
honest, and decent, he'd never been able to sustain a
permanent relationship for longer than six months. This time
it was worse than the others. All of Eldridge's former lovers

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just stopped coming around, but this was the first time one
had left town and moved to the other side of the country.

When Tristan entered the kitchen, he stopped moving. His

jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Karla was sitting at the
antique country French table drinking tea, all dressed up and
ready for the day in her pink seersucker shift and white high
heels. Becket Wiley was sitting across from her, wearing a
skin-tight white underwear shirt and black short pants. He
was finishing a stack of pancakes and telling Karla she didn't
look a day over fifty-five years old. His muscles were bulging,
and Karla was blushing. And while all this was going on at the
table, Uncle Eldridge was bouncing between the center island
and the brand-new six-burner stainless steel stove, flipping
pancakes and whistling You Are My Sunshine.

Tristan tilted his head and walked to the table. Uncle

Eldridge hadn't whistled this song since the day he'd sold the
house on Fire Island for two million dollars. "Good morning,"
he said. "I guess I slept a little longer than I usually do." He
smiled at his grandmother and nodded at Becket.

"You deserve to rest," Karla said. "After all the hard work

you've been doing, you should be resting." She wore more
makeup than usual that morning and her blond hair was
teased and shiny with hairspray. Even though Eldridge was
still cooking, the room smelled more like her violet perfume
than pancakes and syrup.

"Congratulations," Becket said. "I hear the grand opening

was a huge success. I can't wait to have dinner there myself."
He filled his fork with the last few pancakes on his plate and
shoved it into his mouth. He chewed fast and swallowed with

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one big gulp. When he wiped his strong chin, he missed a
drop of maple syrup.

Tristan forced a smile. He didn't want to deal with Becket's

constant flirting that morning—especially not in front of his
grandmother. He was hoping he'd made this clear to Becket.

Before Tristan could reply, Uncle Eldridge stopped whistling

long enough to say, "We'll go tonight then, Becket." He
flipped a pancake and turned to Tristan. "Put us down for
dinner for two at nine."

Tristan blinked. Why would Eldridge and Becket make a

dinner reservation together?

Karla leaned forward. "Dinner for two? What about me? I

come all the way from New Jersey to eat alone in an empty
house?"

"Make it dinner for three," Becket said. "I'd love to have

dinner with this gorgeous blond woman from New Jersey."

She batted her eyelashes and smiled at Becket. When she

laced her fingers together and swooned to the left, Tristan
noticed the family resemblance between his uncle and his
grandmother. Then she pointed to Eldridge and said, "Make it
seven. I don't like to eat too late. It's not good for the
digestion."

Eldridge sighed. "Very well, Mother. I'll make a reservation

for three, at seven."

When that was settled, Becket pushed his chair back,

stood up from the table, and crossed to the center island
where Eldridge was cooking. He carried his breakfast plate
and put it in the sink, then kissed Eldridge on the cheek. "I'd

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better get to work now. I don't want to get fired." Then he
turned to Tristan and said, "See you later."

Eldridge giggled and swooned, and he nearly dropped his

spatula when his arm went backwards. "I doubt that will
happen," he said, with a coy, flirtatious tone in his voice.
"You're far too valuable to your boss. You've done such great
work on the powder room, I'd like you to do all the bathrooms
in the house now." Then he put his palm on Becket's bicep,
squeezed it a couple of times, and kissed Becket's cheek.

"Wow," Becket said. "That's so cool. I wasn't expecting to

hear that this morning."

Karla slammed the table with her fist. "My son may not

know how to run a good business, and he might have a few
noticeable problems after he eats garlic bread, but he's not a
total idiot." She smiled at Becket. "You're good at what you
do, Becket. And you were also brave enough to fight for your
country. You're a fine young man."

"I'm afraid my mother's right," Eldridge said. "You are very

exceptional at what you do. I'd be an idiot not to hire you for
the other bathrooms."

"Ah well," Becket said, rubbing his wide chest, "I'm

flattered."

Tristan just stood there gaping at them all. Last night

Eldridge had been so depressed about Clint Rosen, Tristan
was worried it would take months to get him back to normal.
Now Eldridge was almost skipping through the kitchen and
agreeing with his mother as if they'd never argued a day in
their lives. If Tristan hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he
wouldn't have believed it.

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When Becket was gone, Karla stood up and smoothed out

her shift. "I guess I'll be off now." She adjusted her girdle,
slipped her purse handles over her arm, and stared at
Eldridge for a moment. "Whatever you do, don't screw this
one up, Eldridge. I like this guy Becket. For the first time
since you told me you're a homosexual gay, I like one of the
friends you have. So don't screw it up. I don't understand
what he sees in you, but I like him."

Eldridge sighed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence,

Mother. You're always so supportive."

Tristan tilted his head. "Where are you going,

Grandmother?"

"To visit an old friend in Miami," she said. "We were

neighbors years ago, and we never stopped keeping in
touch."

Eldridge removed the pan from the stove and pulled his

car keys out of his pocket. He handed them to Karla and said,
"Please drive safely, Mother, and make sure you have your
cell phone with you. I parked the car out front so you don't
have to back out." His voice was exhausted, as if he'd just
run a mile race in record time.

Karla took the keys with her right hand and waved the left.

"Don't tell me how to drive. I'm the one who taught you how
to drive and don't you forget it." She winked at Tristan. "I'm a
very good driver. I haven't had a ticket or an accident in the
last thirty years."

Tristan smiled and kissed her on the cheek. "Just be

careful, Grandmother." He'd been in the car with her before.
Though Karla had, in fact, been driving for thirty years, she

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hadn't learned how to drive until she was fifty. After Tristan's
grandfather died suddenly, Karla had been forced to get a
driver's license. And like most people who learn to drive later
in life, Karla had a few strange moves. She pushed the seat
forward as far as it would go and hovered over the wheel.
She tended to constantly press and depress the accelerator
pedal for no apparent reason, causing the car to jerk back
and forth. And though she drove with two stiff hands at all
times, she jiggled the steering wheel on the straightest,
calmest roads for no apparent reason. After a trip with Karla
behind the wheel, it took at least an hour for your stomach to
relax.

She gave Tristan a hug. "I'll be fine, dear. I'm looking

forward to dinner tonight. I'm going to keep an eye on that
one waiter for you, the guy with the bushy brown hair. He has
a shifty look about him I don't trust."

"Thank you, Grandmother," Tristan said. He'd already

warned the waiter about Karla, telling him to just smile and
do whatever she said. "Have a good time with your friend."

When Karla was gone, Tristan poured a cup of coffee and

sat down at the table. He waited without speaking while
Eldridge cleared the island and loaded the dishwasher.
Eldridge didn't look up. He kept his head bowed and whistled
another song Tristan hadn't heard before.

After a few minutes of silence, Tristan put down his coffee.

"What the hell is going on here? Why was Grandmother
referring to Becket as if he was your lover?"

Eldridge shrugged. "Going on?"

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"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Tristan said.

"Last night you were ready to sign yourself into the old-age
gay men's rest home, and this morning you're whistling and
planning dinner with Becket Wiley."

"Oh, that."
"Yes, that."
Eldridge put down the dish towel and walked to the table.

He sat down on his right leg and leaned forward on his
elbows. "After you went to bed last night, I went out for a
walk. I couldn't sleep. I just wanted to get out and think. Aas
I was walking down the driveway, Becket pulled up to the
curb in his white pickup truck. He said he was coming back to
get his marble saw, the one with the diamond blade. He'd left
it outside and he was worried it would rain."

Tristan covered his face with his hands. "I'm not sure I

want to hear this."

But Eldridge continued. "Well, he asked where I was going,

so I told him everything that happened. I unloaded it all and
started crying. I told him about Clint, and how he left me
without so much as an explanation. Becket was very
comforting. He made me feel so much better."

"So you're just good friends," Tristan said.
Eldridge shrugged and grinned, with his head tilted and his

lips pressed together. "Not exactly," he said. "Becket
suggested we go for a late-night swim in the pool and I
reluctantly agreed. He suggested we swim in the nude, one
thing led to another, and the next thing I knew Becket woke
up in my bed this morning. When Becket came into the
kitchen this morning, I simply introduced him to your

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grandmother as a friend I'm dating. I didn't tell her I'd slept
with him last night."

"Uncle!"
His fingertips went to his lips. "It's just scandalous, isn't it?

Mother thinks I'm dating Becket." He closed his eyes. "She
actually likes him."

"But you're not dating him. You just tricked with him last

night, right?"

"I thought it was only a trick," Eldridge said, shrugging his

shoulders. "I wasn't expecting anything more than that, I
swear to God. But this morning Becket asked if I'd be
interested in dating him exclusively. I don't know what came
over me, but I said yes. As far as I know, we're a couple."

Tristan frowned. "I know exactly what came over you,

Uncle. I've seen Becket in the nude. He tried to seduce me,
too." His uncle was only human. It would be difficult for any
gay man to resist Becket's muscular body and ten-inch penis.

"He is a fine-looking man," Eldridge said. "And did you

know he's twenty-nine years old? That's only a sixteen-year
age difference." Then he stood up from the table and walked
back to the center island to finish washing the pots and pants.
He walked with a slight limp, as if he'd sprained his ankle.

"Why are you limping? Did you fall? Is your back out?"
He gave Tristan a sheepish look. "Becket is a strong young

man. He told me he learned how to do three hundred push-
ups in a row while he was in the Army. I'm limping because
the backs of my legs are so sore. Becket got a little carried
away in bed last night. He was an absolute animal."

Tristan covered his ears. "Okay, too much information."

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Though he was happy to see his uncle wasn't pining about

Clint Rosen's sudden, peculiar departure, he had to admit
there was something off color about the entire situation.
Eldridge had been warning Tristan about getting involved with
a guy like Becket Wiley, and now he was doing it himself.

"So it's okay for you to get involved with Becket Wiley,"

Tristan said. "But you don't want me getting involved with
Miller Wiley, or guys like Becket. He's too blue collar, he's not
good enough for me. I'm supposed to go after the Clint Rosen
types instead and marry for money. I'm just asking so I
understand it all. I'm a little confused."

Uncle Eldridge put down the frying pan and placed both

hands on the uba tuba granite. He took a deep breath and
looked into Tristan's eyes. "I'm not sure what's right or wrong
anymore," he said. "All I know is last night I felt like crawling
into bed and not coming out for a month, and this morning I
feel like climbing the Eiffel Tower. I'm forty-five years old. I'm
not sure where this will lead. It might just be my last
passionate fling. I just want to enjoy it while it lasts."

"Do you feel the same way about Becket as you did about

Clint Rosen?" Tristan asked.

"Not at all," Eldridge said. "I could fall in love with Becket.

The best I could do with Clint was fall in like. Clint was
companionship and security—he made me comfortable."

"How does Becket make you feel?"
"Like running out and getting a tattoo on my ass," he said.
When Eldridge put it that way, with such an elated

expression on his face, Tristan couldn't argue with him. He
felt the same way about Miller. Though he wasn't fond of the

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double standards his uncle had enforced, listening to him
whistle was far better than listening to him groan. So Tristan
shrugged his shoulders and said, "As long as you're happy,
Uncle, so am I." Then he stood up and headed for the back
door. "I'm going for a swim."

"Thank you," Eldridge said. "Don't forget to make those

reservations for three at seven tonight. We're having a
meeting here at ten this morning to plan the MEE fundraiser.
We're discussing the music and possibly doing a show.
Nothing complicated, just a few simple numbers for
entertainment."

"Are you doing a drag show?" Tristan asked. Though he'd

seen Eldridge in drag many times, he hadn't seen him do it in
the past two or three years.

"I'm talking it over with Bart and Ashley," he said. "We

haven't decided. Bart is willing, but Ashley thinks he's too old
now. He says no one over fifty should do drag."

"Is that how you feel?"
He thought for a moment. Then he smiled and said, "I

have no idea how I feel about anything right now."

Tristan had to leave for the restaurant at ten thirty, but he

managed to catch the beginning of the MEE meeting. It was a
small group that morning—just the board of directors. This
was the first meeting Eldridge had been able to host in his
home. The renovations on the first floor were almost
complete and the house was at least presentable. After the
original hardwood floors had been refinished, Eldridge had
found the perfect glass table for the dining room, with twelve
white leather parsons chairs. The walls were stark white and

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the floors had been stained a dark walnut, then coated with a
high-gloss urethane. Instead of one chandelier, Eldridge had
purchased two rock crystal chandeliers with solid bronze
arms. He'd paid far more than he should have paid—
thousands. But the effect had been worth it. Though the table
and chairs were the only pieces of furniture in the room, and
it was presentable enough to have an informal meeting or the
most formal dinner party.

Ellen Wiley and Eldridge sat at the head of the table. They

were in charge of the meeting and running the fundraiser
committee. As usual, Ellen took full control. Tristan had been
dying to ask Ellen how Miller was doing, but then decided he'd
rather wait for Miller to call him when he was feeling better.

Tristan slipped into a chair at the other end of the table,

next to Bart and Ashley. While Ellen and Eldridge discussed
hiring a band for the event, Bart leaned closer to Tristan and
asked, "How's Eldridge this morning?"

"Why?" He wasn't sure how much Bart knew about Clint.
"I heard about Clint Rosen leaving," Bart said.
"You did?"
"There have been rumors," Bart whispered. "Supposedly,

Miller Wiley offered Clint a job in one of their West Coast
offices, in Palm Springs."

"Why would Miller offer Clint a job?" Tristan asked. "Clint's

a real estate agent." Tristan didn't understand at all. Miller
knew how serious his Uncle Eldridge was about Clint. He knew
they were planning a future together. "Why would Clint just
pick up and move away, leaving his home and his career here

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in South Beach?" It sounded as if Miller had purposely tried to
break Clint and his uncle up.

"I have no idea," Bart said. "But I've been very worried

about how Eldridge would take the news. I'm sure he was just
devastated last night. I know he was planning a future with
Clint, and I wanted to see him happy and with someone. He's
been alone for so long."

Tristan laughed. He couldn't stop thinking about the way

his uncle had been limping earlier that morning, thanks to
Becket Wiley's brute strength. "He was devastated."

"Then why are you laughing?"
Tristan stood up to leave. He wanted to be at the

restaurant before the staff arrived. "I'll let my uncle fill you in
on the details. I can safely say there's no need to worry about
my uncle and Clint Rosen anymore."

[Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Thirteen

Though there weren't any big groups at Santa Lucia that

day, business had been better than Tristan had guessed it
would be, and most of his customers had been unfamiliar
tourists. This is what he'd been hoping andpraying would
happen with the restaurant. It was all well and good to attract
friends and family, and the acquaintances of friends and
family, to the restaurant. But for Tristan, it was far more
important to attract the unfamiliar people in order to build a
solid, dependable business. With friends and family, he could
never be certain whether or not they were truly enjoying the
food and the atmosphere. They tended to tip too much and
they loaded on the compliments. But with strangers he knew
he'd get the truth. When people were spending their hard-
earned money on pricy lunches and dinners, they didn't hold
back with sincere comments, good or bad.

To night, most of the people just came, ate, and left, but

two tables complimented the food and promised they'd be
back in a week's time.

The only familiar faces in the restaurant that night were

Uncle Eldridge, Karla, and Becket Wiley. They arrived at
seven and dined until nine. Tristan was busy and he couldn't
spend much time at their table, but not too busy to notice the
casual way Becket pulled the chair out so Eldridge could sit
down, or the way Eldridge became slightly giddy whenever
Becket paid him a compliment. They weren't too obvious
because Karla was with them. But when Karla rose from the

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table to complain to the one waiter she didn't like about the
water being too warm, Tristan saw Becket reach for Eldridge's
hand, look into his eyes, and kiss the fingertips of his right
hand.

Tristan turned his head and gulped. He knew his uncle was

still a young, vibrant man with needs and desires, but it didn't
make the scene any less nauseating.

Though Eldridge had just been let down by Clint Rosen

without a plausible explanation, he smiled through the entire
dinner. When it was time to pay the check, though Tristan
insisted he didn't want Eldridge's money—they were business
partners; it made no sense—Eldridge couldn't wait to hand
over his credit card to pay for the entire meal. Tristan knew
their financial situation better than anyone. There was a huge
construction loan against the house for renovations, they'd
just invested huge sums of money in the restaurant, and the
money Eldridge had made from the sale of his New York
properties was disappearing fast. It wasn't that Tristan was
against his uncle getting involved with Becket Wiley. He just
didn't want to see Becket take advantage of his uncle's
financial situation.

At the end of the night, Tristan was the last one to leave

the restaurant. His feet were burning and his temples were
throbbing. The money he'd made today made him sigh with
relief. His first goal was to pay the rent and the employees. If
the business at least paid for itself the first six months, he
knew he could start making a profit. He crossed his fingers
and hoped it would continue. But something else weighed on
his mind: Miller Wiley still hadn't called since he'd returned to

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South Beach, and now Tristan was beginning to think he
never would call.

But when he switched out the lights in the main dining

room and turned toward the exit, he stopped in his tracks and
stared at the first table near the door. Miller was sitting there
in the dark, with the back of the chair against the table
turned in Tristan's direction. He was wearing beige short
pants, a dark red T-shirt, and brown leather sandals Tristan
hadn't seen before. His slightly hairy legs looked good enough
to lick, and his muscular feet looked sexy in sandals. His arms
were spread wide and resting on the edge of the table. His
legs were open and his head was tipped to the right. When
Tristan inhaled, he could almost smell the clean, fresh aroma
coming from between Miller's solid legs.

"Hey," Miller said. He nodded and the right side of his lips

went up.

"You're wearing new sandals," Tristan said. "I've never

seen you in those sandals before." He wasn't sure what to
say,and it was the first thing that popped into his head. "They
look cute."

Miller laughed. "I look like a slob."
"No, you don't."
"I missed you."
Tristan walked a few steps closer. "You could have called."
"I was sick. I had the flu. I couldn't lift my head from the

pillow, and I couldn't even look at food for days."

"You look good."
"I quit smoking."
"I'm glad. I was worried about you."

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Miller shrugged. "I figured it was time."
"How are you feeling now?" Tristan silently noticed there

were still dark circles beneath Miller's eyes and he looked as if
he'd lost some weight.

Miller shrugged. "I'm okay. I'll live." Then he stood up,

smoothed out his shorts, and walked to where Tristan was
standing. He placed his hands on Tristan's waist and said,
"Did you miss me?"

Tristan nodded. The minute Miller's large hands touched

Tristan's waist, a strong sensation of absolute elation passed
through Tristan's entire body. He felt light-headed and
grounded at the same time. He didn't feel like yawning
anymore. His feet stopped aching and his head stopped
pounding. He lifted his arms and placed them gently on
Miller's broad chest.

Miller rested his hands on Tristan's ass and said, "The

restaurant looks good. I wanted to come to the grand
opening, but I still couldn't manage to hold down food." With
both hands, he squeezed both sides of Tristan's ass. "I didn't
want to show up and heave all over the floor."

"Are you hungry now?" Tristan asked. "I could make you

something if you are."

"I'm starved."
"What would you like?" He had plenty of catfish left, and

there were a few leftover orders of a Tuscan pasta dish with
marinated chicken.

Miller squeezed his ass harder. "I'd like some of this," he

said. "Take off your pants and bend over. I'm so fucking hard
right now I'm ready to fuck the table."

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Tristan took a quick breath and pushed Miller back. But

instead of dropping his pants and bending over, he looked
into Miller's eyes and said, "Why did you offer Clint Rosen a
job in Palm Springs? You knew he was involved with my
uncle. Did you do it to break them up?"

"I have my reasons," Miller said. His face tightened and his

voice was deep and serious.

When he didn't offer more information, Tristan clenched

his fists. "Well, I'd like to know what those reasons are.
Thanks to what you've done, now my uncle is seeing your
cousin, Becket."

"Becket?"
Tristan nodded. "I don't know the details. But if Clint

hadn't left so suddenly, and without a good reason, my uncle
and Clint would still be together."

Miller took a step toward him and reached for his hand. "I

don't want to talk about this right now. Besides, Becket's not
a bad guy. He might be good for Eldridge. I always thought
Eldridge need a good fuck, and Clint wasn't the one to do it.
They are both bottoms. It wouldn't have worked out anyway."

"You don't know that," Tristan said. "Maybe Eldridge is a

top in bed."

Miller laughed. "I don't want to talk. I want to fuck."
"You never want to talk about anything," Tristan said,

pulling his hand away from Miller's hand. "I'm good enough to
fuck. I'm good enough to suck your dick whenever you ask.
But I'm not good enough to talk to. You refuse to talk about
what happened with your mother and father the day you told
them you're not interested in women, and now you refuse to

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talk about why you intentionally busted up my uncle's
relationship with Clint Rosen. But you don't mind fucking me."

"I'm not much of a talker, is all. I'm not into the talking

thing."

"The talking thing? Who says things like that anymore?

Who are you, a character in a 1970s sitcom?"

"I'm not a talker. I'm a doer. Now pull down your pants

and shut the fuck up." His voice was lighter and he was
smiling as he gave Tristan the direct order.

Tristan reached into his pocket for his car keys. "I think it's

time to go home now." He didn't want to leave, but he
thought it was the smart thing to do.

"Don't leave this way."
Tristan took a deep breath and shook his head. "I'm tired

of sneaking around. You've already told your family you're not
interested in women. But you haven't told them about me.
And you've had plenty of time. Weeks."

"I have to tell them at the right time," Miller said. "My

father is cool and he seems to understand. But my mother
has certain expectations. If I tell her about you too soon, she
won't be happy about it. Now that she knows I'm not
interested in women, she's starting to come around. She even
mentioned introducing me to a guy. His family is in the
shipping business and she's known his mother for years. They
are on some board together."

Tristan lifted his eyebrows, then left the restaurant and

walked out to the sidewalk. It had been one of those humid,
overcast days, and it was pouring by then. When Miller

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followed him outside, Tristan locked the restaurant door and
started walking to his car.

But Miller jerked his arm and pulled him so hard his entire

body wobbled. "You don't understand."

"Let go," Tristan said. "That hurts."
"I'm not letting go. I'll talk. If it's what you want, I won't

stop talking."

Tristan pulled his arm back fast. "I'm beginning to

understand it all very clearly now," he said. "I'm good enough
to fuck, but not good enough to bring home to your mother,
which definitely means I'm not good enough to date or marry.
It's fine that her son is gay, but if he's going to get serious
with another guy, the guy has to be from the right
background, not some poor slob who owns a small restaurant
that may or may not make money."

Miller lowered his eyes to the sidewalk and didn't respond.
"Is that why you sent Clint Rosen to Palm Springs? Wasn't

my uncle good enough for him?" His head was soaked and
water trickled down his face.

When Tristan said this, Miller squared his shoulders and

lifted his chin. "Your uncle was making a fool out of himself
with Clint Rosen. My mother was laughing at them. Your
uncle kept telling my mother how he and Clint were building
their relationship and how Clint was such a wildly successful
real estate agent. He told my mother they were planning to
get married and share their lives. I overheard my mother
telling my father all this one night before I left for Los
Angeles. She laughed when she told him how your uncle

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thought he and Clint were going to be an important power
couple in South Beach."

"So you broke them up because your mother was laughing

at my uncle?" Tristan asked. His head was starting to spin.
Nothing made sense anymore. He knew his uncle wasn't
ordinary, and he knew people laughed at him. But this was no
reason to break up his relationship with Clint.

"Clint Rosen wasn't in love with your uncle," Miller said.

There was contempt in his voice. "Clint was only using him as
a meal ticket and my mother knew it."

"I don't understand." He wiped water from his face and

looked into Miller's eyes.

"I offered Clint Rosen the job in Palm Springs because he

was on the verge of losing everything. It was the only way I
could get him out of town and away from Eldridge. It's not
common knowledge," Miller said, "but he's not as successful
as everyone thinks he is. He was using your uncle, and your
uncle had no idea he was doing it. I didn't want to see that
happen, so I offered him a good job and bought his South
Beach house with my own money so it wouldn't go into
foreclosure."

"Why would you do all that?"
Miller walked up to him and reached for his hand. "I didn't

want to see your uncle being laughed at. This can be a vicious
town."

Tristan's fingers laced with Miller's. He lifted his arm and

pressed Miller's hand to the side of his face. "Thank you," he
said, lowering his voice. "Can we keep this quiet? I don't want
my uncle to find out about it."

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"I wouldn't have even told you if you hadn't forced me to."
Tristan shrugged. "I don't know what to say. It was a

wonderful thing to do."

"Can we go back inside now?"
Though Tristan's heart was racing and there were tears in

his eyes, and the only thing he wanted to do at that moment
was put his arms around Miller and hold him as tightly as he
could, he frowned and said, "No."

"Why not?" He tightened his grip around Tristan's fingers.
"I'll never be good enough for you, or for your mother,"

Tristan said. "And you know I want more than that."

"Give me some time," Miller asked. "I sent Clint away for

you, too. I didn't want to see you get involved in a bad
situation because of your uncle. If it hadn't been for you, I
never would have told my parents I'm gay." He sounded as if
he were trying too hard to prove his love.

"Now you're making me feel guilty," Tristan said. "I didn't

force you to do any of those things."

Miller put his arms around him and coughed deeply from

his diaphragm. "Would it make a difference if I told you I'm in
love with you and can't live without you?"

Tristan nodded. "It makes a big difference," he said. "Let's

go back into the restaurant before you wind up catching
pneumonia. We can talk in there." Then he took Miller's hand
and led him back to the door.

When they were inside, he brought him to a small room in

the back with a twin bed. The room was off the kitchen.
Tristan told him it had originally been a maid's room when
this had been a church and he was now using it so his

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employees could rest if they were doing double shifts. The
walls were white, the floor was hardwood, and there was a
small nightstand with a dim lamp beside the bed.

"Take off your wet clothes before you get sick again,"

Tristan said. "Then get into bed and pull up the covers."

While Miller undressed, Tristan opened the wall of louvered

doors. Behind the doors, there was a clothes washer and
dryer. He kicked off his shoes and removed his own wet
clothes, explaining to Miller he kept a washer and dryer there
in case he needed clean tablecloths and napkins in a hurry.
He realized there was an excited edge in his voice; he wasn't
sure what to say to keep the conversation moving.

"Just leave your wet clothes on the floor and get into bed,"

Tristan said. "I'll put them in the dryer with mine, and then
we can talk."

When they were both naked, Miller solved the conversation

problem. He walked up to where Tristan was standing and
handed him his wet clothes. As he leaned forward, his
erection brushed up against Tristan's side and he bucked his
hips a few times as if he were about to dry hump a pillow.

"I told you to get into bed," Tristan said, trying not to

smile.

Miller tossed his clothes into the dryer with one hand and

grabbed his dick with the other. Then he slapped Tristan's
thigh with the shaft and said, "I'm not getting into bed until
you're there. I wanna fuck."

"But you've been sick," Tristan said.
"I'm better now."

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Tristan slammed the dryer door and set the dials. A second

after he pushed the on button and the dryer started rotating
Miller took him by the waist and bit his neck. Tristan's head
fell back while Miller sucked his flesh. His back arched and his
arms rose. His own penis was standing at attention and his
entire body was vibrating with pleasure. Miller sucked hard
and put his arm around Tristan's waist. Then he walked
backwards toward the bed, pulling Tristan with him.

When they reached the edge of the bed, Miller lifted his

head and grabbed Tristan by the waist. It was the same way
he'd manhandled him the first time they'd fucked in Tristan's
bedroom. Miller's fingers pressed into his soft flesh. His lips
parted and he gasped for air.

"Can I fuck you?" Miller asked. "I have a condom."
When Tristan nodded, Miller removed his hands from

Tristan's waist, grabbed his arms, and threw him down on the
bed so hard the headboard slammed into the old plaster wall.

Tristan hit the mattress face forward on his stomach. He'd

never been with a man this powerful. No one had ever just
thrown him down on a bed. While he reached between his
legs to adjust his own erection, Miller opened a pre-lubed
condom he must have had in his pocket and covered his cock.

Then Miller told him to spread his legs. A second after that,

Miller was on top of him, grinding his thick cock into Tristan's
ass crack as hard as he could. He enveloped Tristan's entire
body with the weight of his dense muscles; he pushed
Tristan's arms forward and started bucking his hips. And
though Miller was a rough lover, he was just as articulate. He
seemed to know how hard to push without crossing the line of

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intolerance. He kept Tristan riding the thin line of pain and
pleasure until Tristan's eyes started to roll back in his head.

When Miller was ready to enter Tristan, he pushed the

back of Tristan's head with his left hand and guided his cock
into Tristan's body with his right. He rubbed the lips of
Tristan's opening with the head of his dick to get it slick with
lube from the condom. He worked the head in slowly, tugging
Tristan's head back with each minor insertion.

For a long moment, a flash of pain passed through

Tristan's body. It clenched his fists and tightened his lips, and
though he wanted to scream out loud, he closed his eyes and
waited for the sting to pass. When it did, and his body relaxed
again, Miller took a deep breath and slammed his cock to the
bottom of Tristan's body with one fast plunge.

Miller didn't start moving in and out right away. This was

nothing like the first time they'd fucked. He remained deep
inside Tristan, grinding his hips in slow half circles. "You feel
good," he said. "I haven't been able to think about anything
else but this. Are you okay?"

His hand was beside Tristan's face. Tristan kissed his index

finger and said, "I'm fine, Miller." He wrapped his lips around
Miller's thick finger and started to suck it.

At first, Miller fucked slowly. He remained on top of

Tristan's body and moved his hips with such precise
movements it felt as though he were fucking to the rhythm of
the clothes dryer spinning in circles on the other side of the
room. When his hips lifted, he pulled his cock almost all the
way out. When his hips went down, he pushed his cock all the
way back inside. Each time, the head of this dick massaged

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Tristan's prostate, the place where Tristan's internal climax
began and ended. Tristan continued to suck his Miller's finger,
imagining he was sucking Miller's cock and getting fucked
with it at the same time.

The slow bucking gradually increased to moderate

banging, bringing Tristan closer to climax each time Miller
went deep. Tristan lost track of time; his feet went up and he
bent his legs at the knee. By the time the clothes dryer
buzzed and the sopping wet clothes were finally dry, Miller
was slamming into his body so hard the headboard was
banging against the wall and small chips of plaster were
falling on the bed. He'd set the dryer for thirty minutes. He
couldn't believe they'd been fucking that long.

Tristan was on the brink of climax when Miller pulled out of

his body and said, "Get on your back now. I want to see your
face when I come."

Though Tristan would have loved to climax on his stomach

(he'd been edging for a while), he turned over and rested on
his back. It didn't take long for Miller to crawl between
Tristan's legs and find Tristan's opening. He guided his dick,
went all the way inside, and pressed his strong hands just
below Tristan's knees. When he started grinding in and out of
Tristan's body this time, he pushed the backs of Tristan's legs
forward until Tristan's knees were next to his ears.

A drop of perspiration fell from Miller's face and landed on

Tristan's bottom lip. Tristan licked it off, then lifted his arms
and cradled Miller's head in his palms. He wanted this big
strong man inside him; he wanted Miller to split him wide
open and bang him until he was dizzy. As he caressed the

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sides of Miller's head, with his legs pushed back as far as they
would go and his knees almost in his ears, he looked into
Miller's eyes and said, "I love you so much."

Miller's face turned red and he bit his bottom lip. "I'm close

now. Tell me you love me again."

Tristan smiled. He'd been with guys who liked dirty talk

and that had been fun. But when Miller asked him to do this,
he nearly climaxed himself. "I love you."

"Ah," Miller said. "Tell me again. Say it louder."
By that time, the mattress was rocking so much it was

difficult to speak. But Tristan looked into his eyes. "I. Love.
You."

On the word "love," Miller's face contorted and he grunted.

When he filled the condom, he looked into Tristan's eyes and
said in a wrecked voice, "I love you, too."

After Miller came, while he was still hard and still deep

inside Tristan, his body rose and he grabbed Tristan's ankles.
Then he spread Tristan's legs as wide as they would go and
said, "Come for me know. I want to watch you."

Tristan reached for his own dick and started to jack. Miller

held his legs in the air and continued to slide in and out of his
body. A minute later, Tristan blasted a load all over his own
face. Most of it landed on his right cheek; a small drop of
come landed on his bottom lip.

Miller lowered his legs and released his ankles. But he

didn't pull out of his body. Instead, he leaned forward and
looked into Tristan's eyes. Then he snatched the back of
Tristan's neck, lifted his head slowly, and kissed him on the
mouth in spite of the fact there was still a drop of come on his

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lips. It wasn't just a peck either. He pressed his lips against
Tristan's and shoved his tongue inside.

When they stopped kissing, Miller pulled out and climbed

on top of him. He wrapped his hairy legs around Tristan's
smooth legs and pinned him to the mattress while Tristan slid
the condom off Miller's dick and tossed it on the floor beside
the bed. Then Tristan caressed the back of Miller's head with
his left hand and massaged Miller's balls with his right.

"That was nice," Miller said. "I never did anything like it

before."

Tristan cupped his balls and squeezed them gently. He

knew Miller was talking about tasting the come on his bottom
lip. "I'm kind of shocked you did it."

"I wouldn't do it with anyone else," Miller said. "It's not my

thing. I've never even tasted my own."

"Then I'd better get up and clean my face," Tristan said.

He could smell the strong aroma of his own come. It was still
rolling down his cheek. "I feel like I'm covered in come right
now."

"I hate to move," Miller said. "I wish we could just spend

the night together. I'd like to wake up with you next to me."

Tristan ran his fingers up the back of Miller's head. "I do,

too. But if I don't go home soon my uncle will call the police.
And your mother will probably call in the Marines, knowing
her."

Miller kissed the clean side of his face and rose from the

bed so he could get a clean towel from the bathroom. When
he returned, Tristan was sitting up gazing at him with a huge
smile on his face.

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"What?"
Tristan shrugged. "Nothing," he said. "You look cute

walking around naked like that. I like the way you walk so
hard on the balls of your feet."

Miller tossed him the towel and laughed. "It's called

clumsy," he said. "I'm not exactly light on my feet."

"Well, I think it's adorable." When he walked in his bare

feet, he reminded Tristan of a jock in a locker room.

While Tristan wiped his face clean, Miller pulled their

clothes from the dryer. When he handed Tristan his clothes,
he asked, "Will you give me some time to work things out
with my mother?"

Tristan reached for his clothes and touched Miller's hand.

"Yes," he said. At that moment, there was nothing he
wouldn't do for him. "But only because I love you."

"It might make it easier for you if you do it because you

know I love you just as much," Miller said.

Tristan smiled and said, "You have a point. Knowing does

make it easier."

* * * *

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Chapter Fourteen

At the end of the week, Karla went back to New Jersey.

She had a brand-new stiff hairstyle that reminded Tristan of
Joan Rivers on QVC, two more bags than she'd arrived with,
and a fantastic tan that made her steel-blue eyes stand out.

She kissed Tristan and Eldridge goodbye in the front hall

and promised she'd be back in South Beach for the MEE
fundraiser at Santa Lucia. Then they helped her carry her
bags out to a long white Cadillac in the driveway. A medium-
sized gentleman in his seventies popped the trunk and smiled
at them. He was driving Karla to the airport, not Eldridge or
Tristan. He had silver hair, a strong chin, and wore white
slacks and a white belt with matching white shoes. His name
was Morton Solnick and he lived in Miami. Karla had met
Morton the day she'd visited her old friend from New Jersey.

Karla referred to Morton as her "good friend." But when

she looked at him, she smiled so wide you could see her
entire upper set of false teeth. He opened doors for her, took
her to lunch at expensive restaurants, and bought her an
adorable gold necklace with her initials. She didn't take the
necklace off all week. She was off with Morton so often
Tristan and his uncle barely had time to visit with her. When
she announced out of the blue that she was coming back in
October, and she might possibly be considering a permanent
move to Florida, Eldridge almost choked on his coffee. He'd
been trying to get her to move for a year. He told Tristan had

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no idea all it would have taken was a gold necklace, a few
free lunches, and a big white Cadillac.

On the same day Karla went back to New Jersey, Becket

Wiley moved a few things into the house. He still had his
small apartment in North Miami Beach; he wasn't moving in
with Eldridge permanently. But Eldridge explained to Tristan,
without going into any details, they just wanted to spend
more time together. Tristan just smiled and nodded,
wondering if he could trust Becket Wiley.

While Karla was back in New Jersey deciding whether or

not to move to Florida, and Eldridge and Becket were making
the mattress in Eldridge's bedroom squeak so loudly Tristan
had to cover his head with a pillow, Tristan continued to see
Miller Wiley in secret. Miller often met Tristan at the
restaurant late at night, and they spent hours in the little
back room on the twin bed. One night Tristan greeted Miller
at the door wearing nothing but a short white apron and a big
smile. Another night, Miller showed up in the alley behind the
restaurant in a jock strap, heavy black boots, and a black
leather biker jacket with silver zippers and studs. Tristan had
mentioned offhand he thought guys in biker jackets were
sexy, but he'd never been with anyone who owned a biker
jacket. So Miller thought it would be nice to fulfill his fantasy,
and he added the extra touch of wearing nothing but a jock
strap with the jacket.

But most of the time they just went straight back to the

little room and jumped into bed. Though the extra kinky
things were fun, they didn't need them.

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By early October, Tristan and Miller slipped into a safe

routine neither one of them wanted to see end. Though
Tristan's ultimate goal was to have a real relationship with the
promise of marrying and sharing his life, he didn't want to
argue with Miller about his family situation. Ellen Wiley hadn't
changed. She hadn't fully accepted Miller's sexuality, but she
was learning to live with it. She continued to make
suggestions about whom Miller should date—male and
female.

It all changed in the second week of October when poor

Clark Wiley was felled by massive fatal heart attack on the
golf course. He'd been deciding on which club to use when he
clutched his chest and dropped face first. They called the
paramedics, and they tried to revive him, but their efforts
were futile. The medical examiner said Clark was dead before
he hit the green and there was nothing anyone could have
done to save his life.

After a huge funeral with a list of impressive people that

included the governor of Florida, Clark was laid to rest in the
family plot and it was announced Miller stood next in line to
take over Wiley Enterprises. Though Ellen Wiley still had a
great deal of power, Clark had left his entire fortune to Miller,
his only son and heir.

Even though Tristan and Eldridge went to the funeral and

paid their respects to Clark, Tristan wasn't able to support his
lover and help him through the ordeal because no one knew
they were together. And it wouldn't have been right to show
their feelings at the funeral. So while Eldridge and their
tightly knit group from the MEE foundation flocked around

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Ellen Wiley and offered her support, Tristan remained close to
Miller's side as a good buddy, and offered quiet comfort
without being too obvious. Tristan knew Miller was in shock;
he'd loved his father dearly. The night Clark died, Miller
showed up at the restaurant in tears. It took Tristan an hour
to get him to stop shaking; it took another hour to get him to
eat something. During the eulogy, Miller almost had a
complete meltdown. Tristan knew it was coming; he saw
Miller's hands start to shake and his lips start to quiver.

Without being obvious, Tristan seized Miller's arm hard and

whispered, "You're going to be fine. Your father wouldn't want
you to fall apart in front of all these important people. You're
in charge of everything and you have to be strong now."

Miller's body jerked. He lifted his chin, sniffed back, and

squared his shoulders. Though there were tears in his eyes,
he maintained his composure as the strongest man in the
room. Tristan took a deep breath and released Miller's arm.
He didn't think anyone had heard him. But when he turned
around to look up at a clock on the wall, he noticed Ellen
Wiley had been watching him the entire time. She stared at
Tristan with pinched lips and one eyebrow arched. While
Tristan looked directly into her eyes without wavering, she
gave him a quick nod. When the service was over, she pulled
him aside fast and said, "Thank you for dealing with Miller."

Tristan smiled and continued walking. There wasn't a tear

in her eyes or a break in her voice. She smiled and nodded
and shook hands without breaking a sweat. If Tristan hadn't
known she'd just lost her husband, he would have thought
she was on her way to a birthday party.

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After the large funeral reception at the Wiley house,

Tristan went back to the restaurant. He left when he was
certain Miller would be fine without him. Santa Lucia was
booked solid every night of the week and he'd been working
so hard he'd forgotten what it was like to have an entire day
off. But so far, the restaurant was worth the effort he'd put
into it. He'd been written up in every local newspaper and
magazine with excellent, unsolicited reviews; he'd received
even better customer reviews from online sources; and there
was such a buzz around town people started calling on
Wednesday afternoon to make dinner reservations for
Saturday night. Some people even booked two and three
weeks in advance. The hardest part was turning people away
because there wasn't enough room.

It was busier than usual the night of Clark's funeral, and

Tristan had to focus harder because he kept wondering about
Miller. By midnight, he went to lock the front doors and saw
Miller's car pull up to the curb. When Miller got out, he was
still wearing the black suit he'd worn to the funeral. He came
to the front door with a lugubrious expression on his face and
slumped shoulders.

Tristan opened the door and said, "How are you?"
He shrugged. "Not that great."
"Come inside and let me lock the doors and turn out the

lights. We can talk in the back room."

He locked up fast and switched off the lights. When they

were in the back room, Tristan pushed the pillows on the twin
bed to the side, climbed up on the mattress, and sat with his
back against the wall. He stretched his legs out where the

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pillows would have been and said, "Come up here and lie
down. Put your head on my lap and I'll make it better."

Miller didn't remove his black suit jacket; he sighed and

exhaled. Then he went down on the bed and rested his head
on Tristan's lap.

Tristan ran his fingers through Miller's soft hair. "Just close

your eyes and relax. You've had one of the worst days you'll
ever have in your life. I was too young to understand when
my parents died, but I can't even imagine losing my Uncle
Eldridge. He's been like a father to me."

"I'm going to miss him," Miller said. He adjusted his body

and crossed his feet at the ankle. "I have no idea how I got
through the service. If you hadn't been there to help me, I
don't even want to think about what I would have done."

Tristan caressed his forehead and smiled. "I'm glad I was

there to help," he said. "But I have no doubt you would have
been just fine without me. You're a very strong man. You're
one of the strongest men I've ever known." In the time he'd
grown to know Miller, he'd seen a vulnerable side of him that
he wouldn't have predicted at a glance. In this respect, Miller
was more like his father than his mother. Ellen had nerves of
steel and a heart to match.

"I wish I had as much confidence in me as you do," Miller

said. "My father left me in charge of running everything and
I'm not sure I can do it. I always thought I had time to
prepare. I never thought he'd die so young. I'm not sure I'm
ready for this. I don't think I can handle it."

Tristan took a deep breath and thought for a moment. He

had to say the right thing to he had to boost Miller's ego so

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Miller could see his own strength. "It's not going to be easy.
But you know the business from the ground up. It's what
you've been preparing for since you graduated from college,
and when you know something so well, and you're prepared
in advance, it makes things easier."

"Do you think so?" Miller asked. "Do you really think I can

do this?"

Tristan ran his palm gently across Miller's forehead. "I

have no doubts at all. When I first met you, one of the things
that impressed me most was how strong you are. You have a
quiet strength that goes beyond words. I think your father
must have seen this, too. Otherwise he never would have left
you in charge of everything."

Miller gazed up at him with innocent eyes. "Do you really

think he thought that about me?" His voice became soft and
tender.

Tristan nodded. "Yes, I do. You just have to believe it

yourself now." Then he leaned forward and kissed him on the
lips.

Tristan had only planned on kissing him gently. He wanted

Miller to relax and unwind. But Miller grabbed the back of
Tristan's head, pushed Tristan's face into his own, and shoved
his tongue into Tristan's mouth. When Miller came up for air
he said, "I love you so much. I don't know what I would have
done without you today. You make me a better man than I
deserve to be, or should be."

Tristan's eyes opened wide. No one had ever paid him such

a wonderful compliment. He slipped his palm beneath Miller's

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white shirt and said, "I'm working with the best material there
is."

Miller bucked his hips. "Take off your clothes. Let's fuck."
"I thought you were just going to relax tonight," Tristan

said. "You've had a hard day."

"I can't think of anything more relaxing right now than

getting into your pants." He grabbed Tristan's hand and
guided it between his legs. "Feel that. I'm hard as a rock and
it's all your fault."

Tristan had a brilliant idea. "I'll tell you what," he said.

"You just stay where you are and I'll undress you and give
you a good long massage. I don't want you doing any work. I
want you to lie there and close your eyes. You need to relax
now."

Tristan jumped out of bed and removed his clothes. When

he was naked, he climbed back on the bed and removed
Miller's shoes and socks. He unbuckled Miller's belt and pulled
down his pants and underwear at the same time. Before he
removed Miller's jacket, tie, and shirt, he stopped to lick
Miller's erect cock. He licked from the bottom of the shaft to
the tip of the head, then ran the tip of his tongue back and
forth across the thick vein down the middle. Then he sucked
each testicle into his warm, wet mouth and rolled them
around a few times before he removed the rest of Miller's
clothes.

When Miller was finally naked, Tristan turned around on

the bed and straddled Millers thighs. He leaned forward and
held Miller's right foot first. "I'm going to start the massage
with your toes and work my way up your body."

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Miller reached out to grab his ass. "Spread your legs

wider."

But Tristan turned around and said, "Close your eyes and

put your hands behind your head. You need to relax."

After that, Tristan rubbed, squeezed, and massaged each

foot until Miller started to moan out loud. When Tristan kissed
and sucked his toes, his eyelids fluttered. When Tristan licked
the bottom of each foot, his jaw clenched and his head fell
back. For those brief moments, Tristan wanted to take Miller
away from everything that had been bothering him all day.

When he finished licking Miller's feet, he licked and

massaged his way up both legs, starting at the ankles. He
marveled at the way the light fleece of brown hair stopped at
Miller's ankles, and he enjoyed rubbing his cheeks against the
soft hair on his muscular calves. By the time he reached
Miller's solid thighs, he could smell the damp masculinity
coming from between Miller's legs. When his tongue reached
the soft, deep crevice beside Miller's left testicle, he buried his
entire face between his balls and his thigh and took a deep
breath.

Even though Tristan had the best of intentions to massage

the upper half of his body, he stopped massaging and started
sucking Miller's cock. He kneeled on the mattress and took
Miller's dick in his right hand. He pulled it forward and licked
the shaft a few times. When he wrapped his lips around the
head and began to suck, Miller placed both of his hands on
Tristan's head and pushed down. Tristan removed his hand
and sucked the entire shaft to the back of his throat. And

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Miller didn't stop pushing until the head of his dick was
pressed to the back of Tristan's throat.

Tristan sucked until his lips puffed and his jaws ached.

When Miller lifted his legs, bent them at the knee, and spread
them wider, Tristan held Miller's knees for support. His head
bobbed up and down so fast, his hair flew in all directions. He
broke a sweat and his face turned red. By that time, Miller
was on the edge. He grabbed the sides of Tristan's head and
maintained the rhythm. While Tristan took even breaths
through his nose and kept his tongue glued to the bottom of
Miller's shaft, Miller's hips bucked into Tristan's face.

Tristan felt the head of Miller's cock swell inside his mouth,

so he reached down for his own dick, and when Miller began
to grunt, Tristan started jacking. Miller's right leg began to
vibrate and he pressed hard on the back of Tristan's head so
his cock would be all the way in Tristan's mouth. When the
head hit the back of Tristan's throat and Miller's pubic hair
was against his lips, Miller erupted with a load so intense
Tristan had to concentrate hard on swallowing so he wouldn't
gag.

A second later, while Miller's chest continued to heave,

Tristan jacked between Miller's legs and soiled the clean white
sheets. Miller's dick remained in his mouth and he sucked the
final remnants of Miller's climax as hard as he could. He never
lost a drop; he swallowed it all and kept sucking for more.

When Tristan finally lifted his head and looked into Miller's

gentle eyes, Miller caressed the top of his head and smiled at
him. "This was the best one yet, so far." Miller had often told
Tristan he was amazed at the way Tristan gave head. He said

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he'd never met anyone with such endurance and tenacity.
He'd never met anyone who enjoyed the taste of come so
much either.

Tristan smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "I can't get

enough of your dick," he said. "I was never like that with
anyone else." With other guys, he'd lost interest and made
them finish off alone. But with Miller he couldn't get enough.

Miller looked into Tristan's eyes. His face hardened and his

eyebrows lifted. "I'm going to make it right for us," he said. "I
promise you this. I want to spend the rest of my life with
you."

Tristan smiled and lifted his leg so he could climb out of

bed and get a towel. It was getting late and they both had to
go home. "I want the same thing," he said. "But I'm not
putting any pressure on you. I can wait until it's the right
time. Your mother isn't going to be easy to deal with. Now
that you're in charge of everything, she's probably going to
fix you up with a gay crown prince somewhere in Europe. I'm
afraid I'll never be good enough for her." At this point, Tristan
was prepared for anything. Though he wanted to spend the
rest of his life with Miller, he wasn't completely sure it was
going to happen.

"I'll deal with my mother," Miller said. "You have nothing

to worry about."

Tristan smiled and crossed to the bathroom. But for some

reason, he wasn't as confident as Miller. He had a feeling
Ellen Wiley suspected there was something going on between
them. She'd looked at him with a penetrating stare earlier
that afternoon, as if she were trying to read his mind. As if

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she was keeping a low profile and watching her son from a
comfortable distance, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

[Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Fifteen

"Would you do me a small favor?" Eldridge asked. He was

sitting across from Tristan at the kitchen table, poking a pink
grapefruit with the edge of a pointy, ridged grapefruit spoon.

Tristan's eyes were focused on the local newspaper. He

was reading an interview with Miller Wiley. Tristan had a
feeling Ellen Wiley had created the entire stunt to get local
publicity for Miller. Now that he was head of the family
business and one of the wealthiest young men in South
Beach, she wanted to brand him as the perfect guy. The
questions in the interview were standard, but the answers
made Tristan choke on his black coffee.

Eldridge leaned forward and touched Tristan's arm. "Are

you paying attention? I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry," Tristan said. "I'm reading this ridiculous

interview with Miller. I'm sure Ellen Wiley is behind this. Miller
would never answer these questions this way."

"What does it say?"
Tristan shook the newspaper and flattened it out on the

table. He pointed to the interview and read the first question.
His voice rose in a false, singsong quality. "The reporter asks,
'What is the first thing you do every morning when you get
up?' Miller answers, 'I kiss my mother.'"

"It actually says that?" Eldridge asked. He pressed his

palm to his lips and rolled his eyes.

Tristan sneered and shook his head. He knew for a fact the

first thing Miller did when he rose from bed was scratch his

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balls, shuffle to the bathroom, and pee. "Oh yes, and it only
gets worse as it goes." He lifted the newspaper and shook it a
couple of times. "When the reporter asks Miller, 'What is your
favorite hobby?' he answers with, 'I love going to church on
Sunday.'"

"Ah well," Eldridge said. "I didn't know he was such a

religious boy."

"He's not." Tristan lowered the paper and rubbed his eyes.

"I'll bet he doesn't even know about this interview. Ellen
probably just sent it to the newspaper and told them to print
it."

"Well, Wiley Movers is one of the largest advertisers in the

paper," Eldridge said. "I'm sure they'd print anything she
asked them to print."

Tristan finished his coffee in one swallow and rose for

another cup. "I haven't read anything that creepy since the
sugary Tom Cruise interview I read in People Magazine."

While he was pouring the coffee, Eldridge smiled and said,

"About my question."

"What question?"
"I just asked you if you'd be willing to be me a small

favor," Eldridge said.

Tristan walked back to the table and sat down. "Sure," he

said. "What you do want?"

"Bart and Ashley and I have decided to do a small

entertainment number at the fundraiser," Eldridge said. He
spoke slowly, choosing his words with care.

"What kind of number?"

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"We've decided on a scene from the Broadway show

Gypsy. It's a scene toward the end, right before Louise goes
out on stage and does her first strip show and sings Let Me
Entertain You."

Tristan smiled and sipped his coffee. "I know that scene,"

he said. "That's where Mama Rose forces Louise to do the
campy burlesque act, then gets dumped by her devoted
boyfriend." Though Tristan wasn't a fan of Broadway shows or
show tunes, he'd grown up listening to them. "There's a scene
where the three burlesque queens do a song, isn't there?"

"Exactly," Eldridge said. "The three of us are going to do

that very scene in full costume while we sing You Gotta Have
a Gimmick. I'm going to be Mazeppa, Bart's going to be
Electra, and Ashley is going to be Tessie Tura."

Tristan laughed. He could picture them now, all in full

drag, camping it up on the stage and loving every minute of
the attention. Though Eldridge tended to be demure as a
man, as a woman he was boisterous and aggressive. "I think
the audience will love it. We can set up a stage near the
band, in the large outdoor section behind the restaurant." He
took another sip of coffee and smiled. "Who is going to be
Louise, Gypsy Rose Lee, and sing Let Me Entertain You?"

Eldridge grinned. "You are?"
"Huh?"
"Please don't say no," Eldridge said. He leaned forward and

pressed his palms together as if he were about to say a
prayer. "We can't find anyone else at this short notice. You'll
be perfect. You can wear my red sequined dress and a long
brunette wig. Bart will do your makeup and there are no real

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dance steps to learn. Basically, all you have to do is walk and
dip all over the stage while you lip sync to the song."

"No way," Tristan said. He'd managed to survive his entire

life so far without doing drag. He was determined to keep it
that way.

"Please," Eldridge said. "Just do this one thing for me." He

lowered his head and pouted. "I don't ask for much, and
there's no one else as attractive as you are, or has as great a
body as you do, or is as young as you are."

"Now you're jerking me around," Tristan said. "Flattery

isn't going to work."

Eldridge sat back and sighed. He folded his hands on his

lap and looked down. "I'm sorry I asked. I only thought you'd
be willing to make an old man happy this one time. But I was
wrong. I'll call Bart and Ashley and tell them we won't be able
to do the show."

"You're not an old man," Tristan said. "Give me a break."
"Depends on how you look at it. I'm forty-five years old.

Even if I live to be eighty, I still have more years behind me
than in front of me. But don't you worry. I don't want you to
feel bad about this. We don't have to do the show at all. I'll
call Bart in a minute and tell him so he doesn't start to
prepare. I know he and Ashley will be disappointed. But I
can't force you to do something you don't want to do." He
smiled and patted Tristan's hand. "Don't worry about it. It's
not that important." He sighed. "We'll live."

Though Tristan knew his uncle was laying a guilt trip on

him, it still tugged at his heart. In truth, Eldridge didn't ask
for much. And Tristan knew how much Bart and Ashley looked

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forward to doing drag shows. So he sat back and said, "If I do
this, will it take a lot of time to rehearse? I'm so busy right
now I don't have time to think. And work comes first."

Eldridge sat up and smiled. "It won't take much time at all.

All you have to do is learn the song so you can lip sync, and
look pretty in a red dress. The rest is just walking and dipping
across the stage." He touched Tristan's arm gently. "But you
don't have to do it unless you really want to do it. I'm not
going to force you."

Tristan knew he couldn't win and that he didn't have a

choice. If he refused to do the show, Eldridge, Bart, and
Ashley would sulk for weeks. "Okay," he said. "I'll do it. But I
can't promise you I'll be any good at it. You guys are all
professionals. You've been doing this for years in top-notch
nightclubs. I'm a rank amateur."

Eldridge jumped up from his chair and clapped his hands.

As he did, Becket Wiley entered the room and asked, "What's
going on? Why are you in such a great mood this morning?"
He was all dressed up in a dark suit, a white shirt, and a
burgundy tie.

"Don't ask," Tristan said. "You don't want to know."
"Tristan has agreed to do the show," Eldridge said. "He's

going to play Louise and sing Let Me Entertain You."

Becket slapped Tristan on the back and said,

"Congratulations. This is all I've been listening to for the past
week, Tristan. They were terrified you wouldn't do it."

Tristan gave Eldridge a look. Evidently, Eldridge had been

scheming and plotting all week to get him to agree.

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Then Becket kissed Eldridge goodbye and said, "I'm late.

I'll be home by noon to start working on the second-floor
bathroom. See you later."

When he was gone, Tristan asked, "Where's he going all

dressed up like that?" He'd known Becket for months and he'd
never seen him wear anything more formal than khaki slacks
and a white shirt to a restaurant.

"He has a meeting with Miller this morning," Eldridge said.
"With Miller? What's it about?"
Eldridge shrugged and reached for the telephone. "I have

no idea," he said. "Becket doesn't even know. Miller called
him, set up a meeting, and Becket agreed to go out of
respect. When they were children, they were very close.
Becket is about eight years older than Miller, and he's always
been like an older brother to him."

When Miller and Tristan were together, they never

discussed their families. So it wasn't unusual Tristan wouldn't
know anything about this meeting with Becket. "Maybe they
are going to mend some fences now that Clark is dead."

"Maybe," Eldridge said on his way out of the kitchen. The

phone was in his hand and he was still smiling.

"Where are you going?"
"To call Bart and Ashley and tell them the good news. They

are going to lose their minds when they find out you agreed
to be Louise."

As he left the room, Tristan looked up at the ceiling and

twirled his index finger. He had a feeling he was going to
regret this decision to do drag, but now there was no way out
of it. He had no idea how he was going to find the time to

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work at the restaurant, meet Miller on the sly, and rehearse
for a drag show. But deep down, though he'd never admit it
aloud to anyone, he couldn't help feeling a certain fondness to
the red sequined dress. If it hadn't been for the dress, Miller
might not have had the courage to seduce him the first day
he moved to South Beach.

On his way to the restaurant that morning, his cell phone

rang. He was backing out of the garage and just about to
press the button to close the garage door. He reached into his
pocket for the phone and read the caller ID first. When he
saw "private caller" on the screen, he opened the phone and
said, "Hello?"

"This is Ellen Wiley. I was wondering if you'd be available

sometime this afternoon to meet with me."

Tristan thought for a moment. In the early afternoon, he

worked the lunch crowd. In the late afternoon, he prepared
for the dinner crowd. But between and four and five, he
usually had some down time to spare. "I could get away at
four."

"That's perfect," she said. Her voice was even and calm.

"We can have an early cocktail hour."

"I'm afraid I can't drink," Tristan said. "I have to go back

to the restaurant and prepare for dinner."

"Yes, dinner," she said. "The restaurant." There was a hint

of indignation in her voice.

"What is this about?" Tristan was curious. Though Ellen

and Uncle Eldridge were friendly—meaning, Eldridge sucked
up to her—because of their activities concerning MEE, Tristan
had always kept a polite distance. He knew how Ellen liked to

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control Miller's life, and he knew she wouldn't be smiling
when she found out he and Miller were eventually going to be
a couple.

"I'd rather discuss it with you in person," Ellen said. "It

wouldn't be right to talk on the phone."

Tristan shrugged; he couldn't imagine what she wanted to

discuss. "I'll see you at four."

"And could we please keep this little meeting just between

us?," she said.

"No problem."

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Chapter Sixteen

Ellen Wiley's adorable maid stood at the front door waiting

for him to arrive. When he reached the entrance, she stepped
to the right and said, "Ms. Wiley is in the conservatory waiting
for you," then gave him one of her biggest smiles.

Tristan nodded and walked into the center hall. "I know my

way. Thank you."

Ellen was primping and spraying an exotic potted palm.

She wore a white belted dress with a flowing skirt and white
high heels. Her back was to the conservatory entrance and
she didn't see Tristan walk in. He cleared his throat so he
wouldn't startle her and said, "That's a beautiful plant."

Ellen turned and smiled. "It's my favorite," she said,

running her fingertips across the wide green leaves. "I've had
it for more than twenty years. Clark gave it to me on our
third anniversary." When she mentioned Clark's name, she
lowered her eyes and frowned.

"You must miss him a great deal," Tristan said.
"More than anyone knows." Then she turned fast and

gestured to a pair of large white chairs beside a long indoor
koi pond. "Please have a seat."

When Tristan crossed the room to one of the chairs, he

noticed a large brown envelope on a white table between the
chairs. He adjusted his collar and took a sudden breath. The
air inside the conservatory was thick and warm; the Florida
sun was beating down on the glass roof and the air
conditioning seemed to have been set higher in this room

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than in the rest of the house. He waited for Ellen to sit first,
then hiked up his loose black-and-white chef pants and sat
down across from her.

She smiled and looked into his eyes. "I know you're very

busy, so I'm not going to waste your time." She folded her
hands together and rested them on her lap. After a deep
breath, she smiled and said, "I know about you and Miller."

Tristan sat up and squared his shoulders. "Have you

spoken to Miller?" Miller hadn't mentioned anything to him,
but maybe he'd finally talked this out with his mother. Maybe
Ellen had invited Tristan over to welcome him into the family.

"Not exactly," she said. "Miller can be a very private

person, and he always confided in his father more than he
confided in me. But I'm not a fool. I've seen the way you and
Miller are when you're together. I've seen the way he looks at
you and I've seen the way you look at him. I don't think it
was ever more obvious than the day of Clark's funeral."

"Obvious?"
She laughed. "No one else noticed. But I'm a mother."
Tristan wasn't going to deny his feelings. But he wasn't

ready to open up and confide anything to her either. "Why am
I here?" he asked. He looked into her eyes. His voice didn't
quiver and his hands remained steady on the arms of the
chair.

"You're a very strong-willed young man," she said. "I

usually tend to admire that."

Tristan smiled. "But you don't admire it with me."

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Her head went back and she laughed. "You're bright, too.

In some ways, you remind me of myself when I was
younger."

"But we're not here to talk about you," Tristan said. "I

have a feeling we're here to talk about me." He was tired of
playing coy games with her. She'd summoned him to her
home for a reason and he wanted to know what the reason
was.

Ellen lifted the large brown envelope from the table and

handed it to Tristan.

"What is this?"
"Open it up and you'll see."
The envelope wasn't sealed. He lifted the flap, reached

inside, and pulled out a few papers and some photos. He
looked at the photos first. In one, he was standing in front of
his restaurant wearing nothing but a white apron. Miller was
facing him and all he could see was Miller's back in the photo.
In another photo, he and Miller were in the main dining room
of the restaurant after hours. Tristan was naked and Miller
was fully clothed. His arms were around Miller's shoulders and
his legs were wrapped around Miller's waist. They were
kissing and Miller's hands were on his ass. Without looking at
what the papers said, or any other photos, Tristan exhaled
fast, put everything back in the envelope, and tossed it back
on the table.

Then he looked into Ellen's eyes and said, "So you've had

us followed."

"Indeed." Her expression remained blank.

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He shrugged. "I don't fully understand. You can't blackmail

me. It wouldn't make sense." He leaned forward and spread
his arms. "What's your point?"

"My point, Tristan, is that I had you followed for a reason.

I wanted to know what was happening and what my son was
doing. I'm not trying to blackmail you, so don't be so
dramatic. I'm merely trying to understand what my son is
doing, and why he's doing it."

Tristan laughed in her face. "You had us followed and

you're calling me dramatic? All you had to do was ask. I
would have been more than willing to tell you I'm in love with
your son and I want to spend the rest of my life with him.
And I would have done it without showing you tasteless
photos that misrepresent how we feel about each other."
After he said this aloud, he felt lighter than he'd felt in weeks.

Ellen clenched the arms of her chair. At first, her lips

remained pinched, then she relaxed and smiled again. "My
son is a very important person now. He's in charge of a
multimillion-dollar enterprise and he has social
responsibilities. The fact that he's openly gay presents certain
problems. He has to be very careful with whom he socializes,
and sometimes Miller isn't the best judge."

"And I'm not good enough for him," Tristan said. "That's

really why I'm here today. You don't have to be polite."

Ellen shrugged. "You have no parents or background, you

were raised by a silly social climber who is always on the
verge of losing what little money he does have, and you're
nothing but a cook in an unknown restaurant. The only
reason your uncle bought that shamble of a house across the

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street was to renovate it and sell it for a profit. We were
hoping it would be torn down by someone with means, and
we'd see a new home erected in its place. On top of all this,
now everyone is talking about the fact that you're uncle is
sleeping with my husband's black-sheep nephew, Becket,
while your uncle continues to flit about town pretending to be
the wealthy socialite he isn't. It's all so transparent I don't
even like to think about it."

"I thought you and my uncle were friends," Tristan said.
"We work together for a charitable organization," Ellen

said. "I like him, but it's very difficult to take him seriously."

"Becket is Miller's first cousin. He's part of your family, not

mine."

Ellen shook her head. "I'm sure Becket told you his version

of the story, about why his father was disinherited and how
he killed himself because he was so distraught. But I'm sure
Becket didn't tell you his father was addicted to heroin and
that he gambled everything he ever had away. If he'd
inherited the company, he would have lost it all. He was
nothing but a poor soul who was his own worst enemy. While
he was alive, he did nothing but disgrace the Wiley name."

Tristan stood up and smoothed out his baggy pants. He

didn't have to listen to this. He wanted to leave as quickly as
possible.

When Ellen stood, she pulled a thick, bulging envelope

from a pocket in her white dress. She handed it to Tristan and
said, "This might interest you."

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Tristan took a step back. "What is it? Do you have more

lewd, vulgar photographs of Miller and me?" His stomach
started to turn and twist.

"This is fifty thousand dollars in cash," she said. "It's all

yours, as long as you agree to stop seeing my son and leave
him alone forever." She shook the envelope up and down in
front of his face. "I know how much this money could come in
handy. I ran credit reports on your uncle and his financial
situation isn't very good right now. One small setback and he
could lose everything. And I know how difficult it is to get a
new business to make even a small profit these days. If
you're smart, you'll take the money and leave Miller alone.
This way everything works out for the best and we can all
remain friends. This will become our little secret and everyone
will be happy."

Tristan looked down at the money and frowned. He wanted

to rip it from her hand and slap her in the face with it. But he
took a deep breath instead. Then he counted to five and said,
"You've insulted me, you've insulted my uncle, and you've
insulted your own son. You don't have the grace or the
dignity it takes to speak to anyone this way. And you don't
have enough money, nor will you ever, to buy me off." He
kept his voice low and even. "Everyone else shakes when
they see you, but not me. I'm not afraid of you and there's
nothing you can do to hurt me."

Ellen dropped the money on the floor and said, "I can

make it more difficult than you ever realized to finish the
renovations on your uncle's house with just a few phone calls
to the right people in town. I can tie things up for years, until

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the money runs out and he's broke. And there's a building in
town I've been thinking about buying. It's a renovated
church, and there is a brand-new restaurant there called
Santa Lucia. There is no end to what I can do to make your
lives miserable."

"Miller won't let you do this."
She laughed. "Miller isn't in charge of me. I still own a

great deal of stock and I still have a great deal of power. I
can make his life just as miserable as yours."

"You would do that to your own son?"
Her neck stiffened. "I would do whatever I have to do in

his best interest. In time, he'll understand this and forgive
me. I've always known how to handle the men in my family."

Tristan knew she wasn't going to back down. So he

shrugged his shoulders and said, "If I agree to stay away
from Miller, will you leave my uncle alone and stay away from
the building where my restaurant is?" He didn't care about
himself, but his uncle's money was invested in the restaurant.
"And leave Miller alone. He's had enough stress in the past
month. The last thing he needs is more from you."

She smiled, because she knew she had him where she

wanted him. "The last thing I want to own is a dilapidated old
church with a fledgling restaurant," she said. "As far as your
uncle is concerned, we'll still be the best of friends on the
surface and I'll still contribute as much as I can to the MEE
foundation. I truly do believe in the fundamentals of MEE, and
I wish none of this unpleasantness between us had occurred.
But it's for everyone's own good, including yours, Tristan. I'm

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sure you'll understand this one day. It's a shame. Under other
circumstances, we probably could have been good friends."

"So I can amuse you the way my gay uncle and his friends

amuse you? So I can help get your name into the newspaper
with politically and socially correct causes like gay marriage
and equality that make you look good?" He smiled. "Give me
credit. I'm not as transparent as you are."

"I'm very devoted to these causes," Ellen said, with a

defensive rise in her voice.

"Whatever." Tristan turned his back on her. "I'll stop

seeing Miller. You don't have to worry about that anymore."

"This meeting will be our little secret?"
"I won't say a word to Miller or anyone else."
"Take the money," she said. "You should have something."

She reached down, clutched the envelope, and pointed it in
Tristan's direction.

He took a deep breath through his nostrils and clenched

his fists. Where she found the audacity to continue insulting
him he didn't know. When he turned to face her, he exhaled
and said, "I don't want your money, Ellen. I don't want
anything you've touched."

Her eyebrows went up. "I think I may have

underestimated you, Tristan. You're stronger than I thought
you were."

"That makes us even," he said, turning to leave the room.
"I don't understand," Ellen said.
At the doorway, he stopped walking and glared at her.

Now that he'd finally confronted her face to face, she seemed
smaller and less intimidating. "You're far more pathetic than I

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ever thought you could be. I would have assumed your son's
happiness would be more important than anything else.
Evidently, it's not."

Before she had a chance to respond, he left the room and

crossed into the main hallway. On his way out the front door,
he smiled at the maid. She'd been standing outside the
conservatory waiting to walk him to the door. When he
thanked her and said he'd find his own way out, she touched
his arm, pressed her lips together, and tilted her head with a
tender nod as if her heart was breaking for him.

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Chapter Seventeen

"I'll be over in a few minutes," Miller said into his cell

phone. "I just left the office and I'm looking forward to seeing
you. I'm so horny I'm ready to put my fist through a wall.
Why don't you do the apron thing again? I like when you
show up at the front door wearing nothing but an apron."

While Miller spoke, Tristan closed his eyes and bit his

bottom lip. He wasn't sure what to say. The relationship had
to end that night. To delay it would only be cruel.

"Are you still there? Did I lose you?"
"I'm still here," Tristan said. "I was just locking the front

door."

"Why are you locking the door?" Miller asked. "I thought

we were getting together as usual tonight."

Tristan followed a moth fluttering beneath the light and he

took a deep breath. "I'm going home," he said. "I've been
thinking that maybe we need to take a break."

"A break?" he asked, followed by dead silence.
"You're a nice guy, Miller," Tristan said, biting his fist, "but

this relationship isn't going anywhere. We're only fooling
ourselves. I'd like to take a break, think about things, and
start seeing other people." He forced his voice to sound
believable.

"You want to start seeing other guys?"
"I didn't say it was the only reason," Tristan said. This was

the most difficult thing he'd ever done. He knew it would be
years before he would start seeing other guys.

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"Then what the fuck are you talking about? This is insane."
"I've made up my mind," Tristan said. "I'm going home

now. Please don't call or come to the house. I need time
alone." He thought about breaking it off completely, but he'd
reconsidered that it was best to break it off slowly, knowing in
his heart they were not going to get back together again.

"You stay right there," Miller shouted. "I'll be there in ten

minutes and we'll talk. I don't know what the hell has gotten
into you, but I want to talk about it. I thought things were
good between us. Have you lost your mind?"

Tristan sighed. "You're only wasting your time," he said.

"I'm not going to be here." Then he flipped the lid on the
phone before Miller had a chance to say another word and put
it back in his pocket.

The phone rang again while he walked across the street to

his car, until his voice mail picked up the call. When he sat
down behind the wheel, it rang a third time. He pulled the
phone out of his pocket and waited for it to stop ringing. The
caller ID said, "Miller," and even the ring sounded more
urgent than the way it normally sounded. Tristan started the
car with a trembling hand and sniffed. Tears rolled down the
sides of his face and he had trouble finding the headlight
switch. Before he pulled away, he opened the phone and
turned it off so he couldn't hear it ringing anymore.

A few minutes later, he pulled into the garage and walked

to the back door. If Miller showed up in the driveway, he
didn't want to talk to him. Except for the usual outdoor lights
that went on with timers, the rest of the house was dark.
Uncle Eldridge and Becket must have gone out.

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He dialed the code into the security alarm and walked up

to his room on the third floor. All the way up, he talked to
himself and nodded his head. "Don't be selfish. You're doing
this for his own good." His legs and arms felt heavy and his
face was slick and puffy from crying. He'd never forget the
sound of Miller's hollow voice on the phone. When he tried to
imagine the look on Miller's face when he'd told Miller it was
over, he experienced a pull in his stomach that made his back
teeth hurt. He'd never done anything like this to anyone in his
life. If he lived another fifty years, he prayed he'd never have
to do anything like it again.

When he was in his room, he locked the door and removed

his clothes. Before he fell into bed, he called his voice mail
and deleted all the messages Miller had just left without
listening to them.

Miller hounded Tristan for the next week. He continued to

call and leave voice mail,.and he sent e-mails and texts
Tristan deleted without reading. Miller even came to the
house and knocked on the door, but Tristan had already pre-
warned his uncle to tell Miller he wasn't home. When his uncle
wanted to know why he was acting so peculiar that week,
Tristan just smiled and said, "Between work and rehearsing
for the show, I'm very busy and I don't have time to screw
around with Miller Wiley." Tristan knew his uncle wouldn't
question this. No one other than Ellen knew Tristan and Miller
were involved in a relationship of any kind. Miller had to back
off sooner or later. No one could take that kind of rejection
forever. Besides, Uncle Eldridge had been against Tristan

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getting together with Miller since the beginning. He was only
too happy to turn Miller away.

By the end of the week, the phone calls and e-mails from

Miller ended abruptly. Tristan was actually relieved. He was
also glad he was so busy rehearsing with his uncle and the
others in his spare time. It helped him forget his own
problems and kept him from phoning Miller when he felt
vulnerable and lonely. One night in bed, he held the phone in
his palm for two hours, wishing he could call and explain
everything to Miller. But he didn't. Ellen Wiley had set the
rules and Tristan knew he couldn't go up against her.

On the night before the MEE event, a Friday, Tristan locked

up the restaurant and walked to his car. This was the first
night since he'd broken up with Miller he finally felt he could
walk slowly, without looking over his shoulder to see if Miller
was watching him. It had been a long, busy day at the
restaurant. There had been so many customers he'd run out
of all his specials and he'd been forced to send one of the
waiters to the supermarket to buy more bread. His feet ached
and his temples pounded. The only thing he wanted to do was
go home, fall into bed, and get a good night's sleep. In the
morning, Karla was flying in from New Jersey and he wanted
to spend a few minutes with her. Then he had to go back to
the restaurant and open for lunch. After that, he was closing
the restaurant for one night for the fundraiser.

But when he reached his car, a deep voice said, "I want to

talk to you."

He didn't have to turn around to know it was Miller

"There's nothing to talk about." The lump in his throat

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returned and the pull in his stomach caused his left eye to
twitch. When he inhaled, he smelled cigarette smoke.

"You've been avoiding me," Miller said. "There's a lot to

talk about."

Tristan opened the car door and sighed. "I'm leaving.

Goodnight." He couldn't look him in the eye.

Miller walked up behind him and pushed the door so hard

Tristan jumped back. Miller held out his hand and said around
the cigarette dangling from his lips, "Let's go back inside and
talk. I want to know what's wrong with you. I'm not leaving
until I find out."

"I though you quit smoking," Tristan said.
Miller took a final drag, inhaled the tobacco, and flicked the

cigarette across the street. "I did quit. But when you blew me
off I started again."

"I'm sorry," Tristan said, fighting back the tears. He

couldn't let Miller see him cry.

"Why did you do it?" Miller asked, lighting another

cigarette. "I thought we had something special."

"You're chain smoking," Tristan said. He hated to see him

smoke.

"I've got a lot of shit on my mind."
Tristan didn't know how much longer he could pretend. He

wanted to bury his face in Miller's hands. He was on the verge
of falling into Miller's arms, explaining everything to him, and
risking everything he cared about. The only solution was to
lie. So he turned and faced Miller with forced determination
on his face. Miller was wearing sandals, he saw, unbuckled in
the back, although other than that he was well dressed in

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olive slacks and a white polo shirt. Tristan squared his
shoulders and looked him in the eye. "I'm going out," he said.
"I've met this guy in Miami and we're hooking up tonight."

Miller's lips parted and his eyebrows lifted. "Are you

serious about him?"

Tristan shrugged and stared down at the pavement. "I like

him." He spoke fast. If he didn't, Miller would detect
insincerity.

"Who is he?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm going out with him whether you like

it or not."

Miller's arms went up and he started to walk backwards. "I

won't keep you then," he said. "I'm sorry I bothered you in
the first place. Have fun tonight with your new boyfriend."
Then he turned, with the cigarette hanging from his mouth,
shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked back to his car
with his head down and the backs of his sandals slapping
against his heels.

For an instant, Tristan almost broke down and called his

name. He imagined himself running after Miller and begging
his forgiveness. But he didn't move a muscle. He just fell back
against the car and watched Miller disappear into the hot,
dark night.

[Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Eighteen

The following night, Tristan spent most of his time in the

small back room off the restaurant kitchen, with Eldridge,
Bart, and Ashley. Up front, the entire restaurant was filled
with guests and supporters of the MEE organization, from the
main dining area to the large outdoor garden space where
there was a band and stage along the back wall. Tristan's
staff had been well prepped and ready to handle everything
on their own, and the only thing Tristan had to worry about
was getting into costume for the drag show.

But he hadn't slept well the night before. No matter how

hard he'd tried, he couldn't erase the image of Miller walking
downtrodden back to his car. While he was getting ready for
the show, Tristan downed three cups of black coffee. Yet his
eyelids still felt weighty and he kept yawning out loud. When
Bart and Ashley were in costume and waiting outside the
room to start their performance, Eldridge grabbed his arm
and said, "Are you okay?"

Tristan smiled and said, "I'm fine. Just a little tired, is all."

Though he knew his uncle meant well, it was difficult to take
him seriously in drag. Eldridge was wearing a skimpy
rhinestone-studded burlesque costume in lime green, with
lime green high heels and a gigantic red wig. On top of the
wig, he wore a massive Vegas showgirl headdress with long
green feathers. His wrists and fingers and neck dripped with
gaudy rhinestone jewelry, and his makeup looked as if it had
been applied with a trowel.

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"How do I look?" Eldridge asked. He put his hands on his

hips and turned back and forth a few times, pointing his toes
in different directions as if he were posing as Julie Newmar in
a 1960s photo shoot.

Tristan knew this was his signal to praise Eldridge. "You

look fantastic," he said. "Much better than Bart or Ashley."
Chubby Bart was wearing a red burlesque costume with long
silver fringe, red high heels, and a big blond wig topped with
a red feathered headdress. It was studded with Christmas
lights that actually lit up during a portion of their number.
Skinny Ashley wore a leopard costume with black fur trim,
black patent leather high heels, and a big black wig topped
with a black feathered headdress. Though up close they all
looked like middle-aged men in outrageous drag, from a
distance they weren't half bad. Tristan knew his Uncle
Eldridge wanted to hear he was the best-looking drag queen
of them all, partly because he hadn't done drag in years, and
partly because he kept saying he wasn't going to do it again
after this one performance.

Eldridge turned again and batted his long false eyelashes.

"Are you sure I look okay?" He spoke with a breathy whisper,
puckering his lips so they wouldn't touch and wear his lipstick
off too soon.

"Trust me," Tristan said. "No man has ever looked better

in drag than you do tonight, and no man ever will." He didn't
want to waste time. When Eldridge was in drag, his
personality tended to change. He became belligerent and
outspoken, and terribly self-absorbed.

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Eldridge reached out to pat his arm with long red fake

fingernails. He gave him a creepy clown smile and swooned.
"You're such a good boy," he said. Then he turned to the door
and adjusted his costume. "You'd better get ready now. We're
going on in about ten minutes and you're going to follow us."

When he was gone, Tristan removed his robe and reached

for the red sequined dress hanging on the bathroom door.
Bart had already made up his face and all he had to do was
put on the dress and a brown wig Ashley had styled into a
somber French twist. He pulled the dress off the hanger and
laid it out on the twin bed, and then he put on a tight g-string
to pack down his genitals. When the g-string was in place and
his penis was as flat as it would get, he slipped his feet into a
pair of red pumps with six-inch heels, glittered with more red
sequins.

He gazed into the mirror and ran his palms down his naked

torso. His entire body was tan and smooth. Earlier in the day
he'd gone to a tanning salon and had his body waxed. He
figured if he was going to do drag once in his life, he might as
well do it the right way. Bart, Ashley, and Uncle Eldridge were
wearing thick stockings to cover the hair—and veins—on their
aging, knobby legs. But Tristan wanted to look as natural as
possible, right down to his fake breasts. He'd even purchased
a lacy red push-up bra and soft flesh-colored falsies at an
erotic boutique in Miami to finish the look. It was too bad
Miller couldn't see him now. Miller would have taken one look
at his smooth body and jumped on top of him.

When he slipped the red dress over his head, he worked it

down past his face with care so he wouldn't smudge his

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makeup. After that, he sat down in front of a makeshift vanity
that was nothing more than an old desk with a foggy mirror
they'd just hung. He clipped large, dangling rhinestone
earrings to his ear lobes. He touched up his red lip gloss and
powdered his nose. Then he put on the wig with the French
twist and adjusted the sides to be sure his own hairline wasn't
showing.

The music for his uncle's song had begun to play. He stood

up from the vanity, smoothed out the short dress, and
reached for a pair of long, elbow-length white gloves and a
fake fur stole. The gloves and stole were an important part of
the act. In the play, the gloves and stole were the only things
Louise removed during the strip show. He slipped the gloves
over his hands and up his arms. Then he wrapped the stole
around his shoulders and walked outside to wait for his song
to begin. He had a little trouble walking in the high heels, but
he'd been practicing walking in them all week during
rehearsal and it only took a few minutes to become
readjusted.

He stood at the edge of a black curtain they'd hung just for

that night and smiled when he saw Eldridge, Bart, and Ashley
swinging their hips and lip-syncing their song, You Gotta Have
a Gimmick. The more the audience applauded, the louder
they sang. When their act was finished, they took so many
bows the small band had to start playing the intro to Tristan's
song just to get them off the stage. For a second or two,
Tristan was worried they'd need a meat hook to yank them
into the wings.

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They bowed their way offstage and giggled all the way

back to where Tristan was waiting. Uncle Eldridge hugged him
and said, "Knock'em dead. It's a lively group tonight."

Tristan took a deep breath and straightened his fake

breasts. As the band began to play the intro to his song,
Tristan slowly stepped onto the stage and started lip-syncing
the words. The easy part, for Tristan, was his character was
supposed to be awkward and nervous, at first. The difficult
part was mimicking this awkwardness and moving his lips to
the original performance. Eldridge had warned him if he didn't
get the lip-syncing right, the audience would think he was
mouthing the words, bananas, bananas, bananas. The fact
that he wasn't supposed to be well trained made it easier for
him to pull it off. While he walked back and forth across the
stage swinging the fake fur stole, the audience could hear
Uncle Eldridge shouting, "Dip! Take something off!" It was all
part of the act—Eldridge made his voice deep and throaty just
like Mama Rose. When Eldridge shouted, "Sing out, Louise,"
half the queens in the audience threw their arms in the air
and started shouting along with him.

Toward the end of the song, after Tristan had removed his

white gloves and stole and tossed them into the audience, he
started to grind and bump his hips in circles just the way he'd
rehearsed it. A couple of times he pulled his dress up to the
tops of his thighs and wiggled his ass. Twice, he lowered the
straps on the dress and exposed his bare shoulders. But this
was as far as he went.

By the time his act was finished, the audience applauded

and whistled. While he took his bows, he smiled when he saw

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a few of his waiters hooting and waving their fists back and
forth. One was shouting, "Take off more, baby. Show us
everything you've got." He knew they were only joking. They
knew he'd never done a drag show before this and they
wanted to have fun with him. When he looked to the left, he
saw Ellen Wiley standing near the front row. She was
applauding and whispering something to the man on her left.
On Ellen's right, he saw Miller Wiley gaping up at him. Miller's
hands were in his pockets, his face was blank, and his head
was tilted to the side.

Tristan didn't have time to think. Eldridge, Bart, and

Ashley joined him on stage to take a few more bows of their
own, and while they were bowing, Ellen Wiley walked up on
stage and took the microphone. She was wearing a silky blue
gown with a dated empire waist (a mistake). The top of her
hair puffed up more than usual and it looked as if she were
wearing false eyelashes. She smiled and gestured to Tristan
and the others, then lifted the microphone to her lips and
started to speak to the audience while they were still
applauding.

While she spoke, Tristan and the others walked off the

stage. Eldridge, Bart, and Ashley joined the audience without
removing their costumes. But Tristan went back to the
dressing room to change. He heard Ellen thank the
performers but he paid no attention to her. The sound of
Ellen's voice turned his stomach. The fact that she was taking
control of the event made him clench his fists. The only thing
he wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed with a pint
of chocolate ice cream.

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A couple of rowdy young waiters congratulated Tristan on

his way to the dressing room. One adorable guy with dark
hair grabbed his ass and said he looked hot. The other guy, a
law student who looked like Justin Timberlake, fondled his
fake breasts and squeezed them a few times. But when they
both shoved their hands up his dress, grabbed his bare ass,
and lifted him in the air, he pinched their ears and told them
to knock it off. Enough was enough. After all, he was their
boss. Joking around was one thing, but he didn't want his
male employees grabbing his ass in public.

Though it had taken almost two hours to apply his

makeup, it only took two minutes to cover his face with cold
cream and wipe it all off with a paper towel. He yanked off
the wig and plucked off the false eyelashes and fake
fingernails. Then he kicked off the high heels and slipped out
of the dress. He tossed the earrings onto the vanity and
reached for a pair of jeans hanging over the back of the chair.
When he was dressed, in a white shirt, jeans, and black
shoes, he ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair and
walked back to the garden to join his uncle and the others.
Karla and her new boyfriend, Morton, were probably with
Eldridge by now. Tristan enjoyed the way Karla stared at
Eldridge when he was in drag. Karla thought it was uncanny
the way Eldridge resembled Karla's own mother.

But when he walked up to Eldridge's side, he heard Miller

Wiley's voice fill the outdoor garden area. Everyone stopped
moving; the entire audience focused on the stage and the
only sound other than Miller's voice came from a trickling
water fountain in the koi pond. Tristan followed Miller's deep

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voice to the center of the stage. He watched Miller yank the
microphone right out of Ellen Wiley's hand. Miller smiled at
his mother and looked out at the audience, then cleared his
throat and said, "I'd like to thank my mother for helping to
organize this wonderful event. We've raised a great deal of
money tonight for gay men and women struggling to keep
their homes after their partners die because they have to pay
taxes they can't afford. Please give her a generous round of
applause."

The audience applauded quietly. There were no whistles or

howls for Ellen.

Tristan gave his uncle a look and shrugged his shoulders.
Eldridge leaned over and whispered, "I know nothing.

Miller wasn't scheduled to speak tonight."

"Interesting." After the show, as far as Tristan knew, Ellen

was supposed to give the final speech at the event and thank
everyone for supporting MEE and for their generous
donations.

Ellen stood on stage with wide eyes and an open mouth,

glaring at Miller. When she tried to take the microphone from
him, he held it tighter and smiled at her with clenched teeth.
"Thank you, Mother," he said, holding the microphone up so
high she couldn't reach it. "I'll take over for you now. I'm the
one in charge of Wiley Enterprises and I'd like to give the final
speech." Then he placed his palm on her back and practically
pushed her off the stage. She almost tripped on her dress
going down the steps as she kept looking back and staring at
Miller. Tristan noticed she didn't close her mouth until she
was in the audience again.

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Tristan gulped. He'd never seen Miller so strong and

confident. Miller's curt, empty way of speaking had
disappeared. Now his sentences were long and eloquent,
without a quiver, a hesitation, or a stumble. He sounded as
though he'd been giving public speeches to large audiences all
his life.

When Ellen was gone, Miller walked to the edge of the

stage and said, "First, I'd like to thank everyone who worked
so hard to make this fundraiser a huge success." He stopped
speaking for a moment so they could applaud. "I have a few
announcements to make that won't take too long. My family
business, Wiley Enterprises, is going to be playing an even
stronger part within the Marriage and Equality for Everyone
organization in the future. I've just hired my cousin, Becket
Wiley, and one of his duties is going to be to head the
committee that will be running things." He gestured to the
front row and nodded at Becket. "Please give him a round of
applause."

Eldridge blinked and pressed his palm to his fake breasts.

"I had no idea. Becket never said a word to me."

Karla threw her fist in the air and shouted, "Good for you,

Becket. You go, girl!"

Tristan gaped at Eldridge and shrugged his shoulders, then

looked over to where Ellen Wiley was standing. Her face was
pale and her fists were pressed to her stomach.

When the audience stopped clapping, Miller said, "Without

boring everyone, I'd like to emphasize Wiley Enterprises isn't
taking this mission lightly. We're supporting MEE because it's
an organization that is close to my own heart. We're

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determined to see legalized same-sex marriage and to help in
the fight to obtain equality for everyone. Some of you in the
audience may already know I recently came out of the closet
myself. After years of hiding who I really was, I decided it
was time to live an authentic life." Before he could say
another word, the audience started to applaud again.

Tristan froze. He couldn't look left or right. He wanted to

see Ellen's expression, but he didn't want to remove his gaze
from Miller.

A moment later, Miller smiled and said, "I appreciate the

applause, but I'm not doing anything special." He gestured to
Becket. "My cousin is also gay and this cause is important to
him, too. He's involved in a serious relationship right now,
hoping it will lead to marriage. Until we get legalized marriage
in this country for lgbt couples, we're not going to stop
fighting."

When the audience started to applaud this time, he

stopped them short. "Argentina just became the first Latin-
American country to legalize same-sex marriage nationwide.
Colombia gives same-sex couples inheritance rights and
allows their partners to share in health insurance benefits.
Things are changing all over the world. But I don't want this
to become a political rally. We're fighting for a political and
social cause, but that's not what this event tonight is about.
From what I hear, we've raised thousands of dollars tonight
that's going to help the surviving spouses of lgbt couples pay
federal and state taxes on their own homes so they can
maintain their lives and their dignity. Though we can't change
the inheritance laws in this country overnight, we can help

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the people being hurt by them. And to show how serious
Wiley Enterprises is, the company is donating a check to MEE
that will match all the money raised here tonight."

This time he couldn't stop the audience from applauding.

They cheered and shouted and chanted the company name
until Miller finally raised his arms to calm them down.

Then Miller looked into the audience and smiled. "I heard

an interesting story this afternoon from my mother's
housekeeper." He gazed into Tristan's eyes as if he'd just
learned a deep, dark secret. "The story was about two gay
men who were in love with each other and couldn't be
together for various reasons. I'm not going to bore you with
the details, but that one story has changed my life.

"I would like to make one more important announcement

tonight. It's probably one of the most important
announcements I'll ever make, and there couldn't be a more
appropriate time to make an announcement like this then at a
fundraising event for Marriage and Equality for Everyone." He
paused for a second and lifted his right arm toward Tristan.
He looked into Tristan's eyes and said, "Tristan, will you
please join me up here on stage?"

Tristan's heart started to race and his head felt light. He

tried to step back into a crowd of people and disappear but
someone pushed him forward. Then someone else took his
arm and yanked him closer to the stage. A second after that,
Becket Wiley was hauling him up the steps and toward where
Miller was standing.

Miller looked into his eyes. "Don't worry. It's all good."

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Tristan walked up to him and whispered, "What are you

doing? I feel like a fool." He was glad he'd removed his drag
costume.

Miller didn't answer. In front of everyone, he smiled, got

down on one knee, and lifted his right arm. He pressed the
microphone to his lips and said, "Tristan, I want to spend the
rest of my life with you. I fell in love with you the first say I
saw you and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you
since then. Will you marry me?"

The audience shouted and applauded. But Tristan's jaw

dropped and his eyes bugged. He bent over and said, "You
have no idea what you've just done." He couldn't see Ellen,
but he knew she must be seething.

Miller stood up and put his arms around Tristan. While he

hugged him, he said, "I know all about what happened
between you and my mother. Her maid told me everything
this afternoon. She said it had been bothering her to the point
where she couldn't sleep at night. When she saw how
unhappy I was, she couldn't stay silent a minute longer."

"Your mother will fire her now," Tristan said. "She needs

that job."

Miller smiled. "Stop worrying," he said. "I just hired her as

the housekeeper for my new place."

"Your place?"
"I decided to move into Clint Rosen's old house, the one I

bought from him before he left for Palm Springs," Miller said.
"I'd like you to move in with me. I think you'll like it there."

Tristan put his arms around Miller's shoulders. He would

have been happy in a log cabin as long as Miller was there.

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"But your mother isn't going to be happy about this. She's
going to fight it all the way. She told me she'd buy this
building and close down my restaurant. Then she said she'd
ruin my uncle financially."

Miller laughed. "I know how to take care of my mother,"

he said. He held the microphone at a distance and spoke
softly so no one would hear him. "She doesn't have as much
power as she thinks she has anymore. My father, bless his
wise soul, took care of this when he left me in charge of
everything. She just thinks she has power because she thinks
she can control me. I'm the one in charge of Wiley
Enterprises now and she is not going to run my life anymore.
I give the orders, not my mother." Then he stepped back and
reached for Tristan's hand. He lifted the microphone to his
face and said, "You haven't answered me yet. Will you marry
me?"

The audience loved it. They started chanting, "Yes, yes,

yes!"

Tristan smiled. His right eyebrow went up and he said,

"Where's the ring? You don't ask someone to marry you
without a ring." He was only joking; he would have married
him if he'd wrapped a Band-Aid around his finger.

But Miller dropped the microphone and said, "Shit, I

almost forgot." Then he reached into his pocket and pulled
out the most beautiful thick platinum band Tristan had ever
seen, with a large square diamond in the center.

While he slipped the ring onto Tristan's finger, tears

formed at the corners of Tristan's eyes. He lifted his hand and

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stared at the diamond, then looked into Miller's strong,
magnificent eyes and said, "It's perfect."

Miller took both Tristan's hands this time and smiled. "Now

will you marry me? Are you going to make me get down on
both knees and beg?"

Tristan nodded. "Yes, I'll marry you. I'll do anything you

want me to do." Then he wrapped his arms around Miller's
shoulders, rested his cheek on Miller's chest, and cried so
hard his body actually shook.

The audience applauded again. One woman sobbed into a

white linen napkin. Bart and Ashley held each other and
danced in slow circles. But Tristan and Miller didn't notice any
of it. Tristan was too busy holding his future husband, and
Miller was too busy comforting his future husband.

"I know same-sex marriage isn't legal," Miller said. He

whispered this into Tristan's ear. "But I still want a formal
ceremony and a reception so huge we have to hire the
biggest room in South Beach. And I'm not calling it a
commitment ceremony. I'm calling it a wedding!"

"Anything you want is fine with me," Tristan said. "Maybe

by the time we celebrate our silver wedding anniversary, we
can renew our vows and it will be legal by then."

"I'd like that," Miller said. "But until it happens, no law, no

organization, and no religious figurehead anywhere in the
world can keep you from being my husband. I love you too
much for that to happen."

"I love you just as much," Tristan said.
As the band began to play a slow version of Smile by

Charlie Chaplin, Miller lowered his hands to Tristan's waist

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and rocked him slowly. Tristan wiped his eyes and rested his
arms around Miller's shoulders, following Miller's lead with
each step he took. When Miller turned him around, Tristan
noticed most of the people in the audience were dancing, too.
Uncle Eldridge was in Becket's arms, and Karla was doing a
slow foxtrot with Morton. Bart was dipping Ashley and two
waiters he'd thought were straight guys were now dancing
and kissing each other. By the time the band began the
second verse, Tristan saw Ellen Wiley walking toward the exit,
clutching a beaded bag, with her head bowed and her
shoulders slumped. When she stopped for a second to push a
chair out of the way, he thought she was going to turn around
and look at them. But she didn't.

If she had looked at them, Tristan would have been

prepared to look right back at her and defy her to challenge
him. He wasn't afraid of Ellen anymore and he wasn't going to
let anyone dictate whom he was going to marry, whom he
was going to love, or how he was going to spend the rest of
his life. Though he knew he'd probably be fighting for
legalized same-sex marriage until he was old and gray and
walking with a cane, at least he wouldn't be doing it alone. He
had Miller, the husband he'd been dreaming about all his life,
and he knew this would never change.

THE END

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