My Fair Laddie

A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication

Ryan Field

A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication

www.ravenousromance.com

Copyright © 2010 by Ryan Field

Ravenous Romance™
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: 978-1-60777-357-3

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely
coincidental.

Chapter One

Harlan Henderson threw two huge parties a year. One was in late springtime, where his

historic Greek revival, located on an elegant Savannah square, was filled with fresh exotic

flowers and the swimming pool overflowed with handsome young men in skimpy bathing suits.

The other fell at Christmastime, where there was a fully decorated Christmas tree in every room

and a lit candle placed in the middle of every windowsill.

Harlan came from an old, respected Savannah family. Aside from his Aunt Margaret,

who spent most of her time in New York, he was the only one left.

The spring party always sported a different theme. One year it was roses. The entire

house had been filled with roses in every size, shade, and variety. Another year it was purple

ribbons, with aubergine silk flowing from every window, sconce, and chandelier. But the year

Harlan chose a pomegranate theme was probably the springtime party Harlan would remember,

in detail, for the rest of his life. It was the party that would change his life in ways he never could

have predicted.

Though most of the pomegranate-theme party hadn’t been much different from his other

spring parties, the last fifteen minutes made Harlan’s eyes cross and his face turn red. While he

was standing at the front door saying goodnight to the last of his guests, he moved a large cache

pot filled with pomegranates, away from the wall to show one of his guests it was an important

Asian antique that had been in his family for years. He forgot to move it back against the wall

when he was finished explaining, and an awkward young waiter carrying a tray of empty martini

glasses tripped over it on his way from the dining room to the kitchen. The waiter lurched

forward; the martini tray flew up in the air. Then the waiter pressed both palms to Harlan’s back

and the tray landed on Harlan’s most important guest of the evening: a female senator from

Georgia. Though for the most part the martini glasses had been empty, there had been remnants

of pomegranate martini in a few of them.

When Harlan looked up and saw his distinguished guest had two small spots of watered-

down pomegranate martini on her beige cocktail dress, he clenched his fists and glared at the

young waiter. He didn’t bother to notice the waiter had spilled more pomegranate martini on his

own white shirt, and he didn’t bother to ask if the young waiter had hurt himself during the fall.

Harlan turned to the senator and said, “I’m so sorry. Please send me the bill for the dress.

I can’t seem to find good help anywhere these days.” Then he sent the young waiter a seething

glance.

Harlan had seen this guy working around the house. Usually, he was working outside

with the other landscapers, but Harlan had never actually met him.

The senator wiped the drops of pomegranate with her palm and smiled at the waiter. “I’m

fine,” she said. “I’m sure my dry cleaner can remove them. Don’t give it a second thought.”

The waiter regained his balance and stepped forward. He appeared large and awkward

and gangly. His pants too short and too tight and his white shirt so large the shoulder seams

drooped down his arm. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I been on my feet all night and didn’t see them red

fruits down there in that there big ole pot. I know they wasn’t there before. Someone musta

moved’em.” He pointed at them and looked up at Harlan . “Them things is dangerous. Ya’ll

ought to get ’em out of the way before a person falls and breaks somethin’ important.”

Harlan’s eyes bugged and his jaw dropped. He kicked the cache pot into the wall and said,

mocking, “Them things is only dangerous when there are idiots in the room.” This guy had the

worst backwater drawl Harlan had ever heard. It brought chills to his spine and pain to his

eardrums. And Harlan knew all about dialects. He’d been studying two distinct aspects of dialect

all of his adult life: regional and social class. He not only had a doctorate in applied linguistics,

he’d also written textbooks and given lectures about the differences between regional and social

class dialects. This waiter, as far as he was concerned, had the worst combined regional and

lower-class dialect he’d ever heard in the entire country. There was something unusual about it

that didn’t make sense.

The senator smiled and shook Harlan’s hand. She pointed to a section of her dress, down

near the hem, where the drops of pomegranate martini had landed and said, “Look, no harm done.

You can hardly see anything now.”

“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” the waiter said. “I like to die when that tray went over, I did.”

Harlan smiled, thanked the senator for attending his party, and watched her walk down

the front path. By the time Harlan turned around, his closest academic associate, Dr. Fritz Griffin,

an older professor who had once been Harlan’s teacher, was grinning at him.

“Calm down, old boy,” Fritz said. “No harm done. I saw it from across the hall. The lad

tripped over the fish bowl because it was in the middle of the room. It wasn’t his fault.”

“See?” the waiter said. “I told ya it weren’t my fault.” Then he smiled at Fritz and said,

“Thanks all the same, but I ain’t no lad. Just turned twenty last week.”

Fritz smiled and bowed. “My apologies then, young man.”

But Harlan wasn’t smiling. He raised an eyebrow and glared at the waiter who was now

down on the floor on his hands and knees, picking up pomegranates two at a time and placing

them back in the cache pot.

He looked up and said, “Ya’ll are getting all worked up over nuthin’ when the lady

already went and said them little drops weren’t botherin’ her. You couldn’t hardly seen ’em.”

His drawl was so thick it was difficult to understand most of his sentences. There was an

unusual hint of British cockney mixed in with the drawl. He dropped all g’s, usually ignored h’s,

misused most verbs, and didn’t have a clue when it came to the differences between words like

them and those. It was almost as if he were speaking a completely different language.

“She was being gracious, you little fool,” Harlan said. “The woman is a senator and her

campaign depends on large donations from people like me. She is probably in her car, right now,

cursing me, not to mention my party. I’ve never been so mortified.”

The young guy plopped the last pomegranate into the cache pot and stood up. He put his

hands on his hips and frowned. “Who you callin’ a fool? I like to die when them funny lookin’

apples damn near knocked me into the next room. If ya’ll axes me, ya’ll are the fool for leavin

them there things out in plain sight where a person could kill hisself.”

“Where on Earth did you go to school? I’d like to meet your first-grade teacher and club

her. I’ve never heard such a bastardization of the English language. You, my dear boy, are the

reason refined and educated Southern people get a bad reputation all the time. You make the rest

of us look bad.”

The waiter blinked. Though he seemed clueless, Harlan could tell he knew Harlan was

insulting him. “I’m a good kid, I am,” the waiter said. “Never got messed up with no drugs and

don’t even drink no beer likes the rest a them kids I know. Ya’ll got some nerve talkin’ to me as

if I’m some kinda trash.”

Harlan gave Fritz a look. “Did you hear that? He used quadruple negative in the same

sentence. And that was the best part of what he just said. I’ve never heard such rubbish in my

life.” He bit his bottom lip and his entire body shuddered.

“Who you callin’ rubbish?” the boy asked, squaring his shoulders. “I’m a good kid, I am.

I work my ass off at this place since I started here. Why, this mornin’ I hauled, pruned, trimmed,

and cleaned. And I been a workin’ all night and ain’t slept more an a few hours last night, helpin’

to git ready for this here party.”

“Was one of your parents British?” Harlan asked, ignoring his complaints. Though it

wasn’t too pronounced, he couldn’t help wondering where the hint of cockney in his accent came

from.

“Me father is from England,” he said. “And me mother from Arkansas.”

Harlan pressed his index finger to his bottom lip. “Well, that explains the cockney I’m

hearing.”

Fritz smiled and patted Harlan on the back. “You worry too much about linguistics. He

seems like a nice young man. Don’t be so hard on him, Harlan. He has an innocent, adorable

quality you don’t see often.” Then he looked the waiter up and down and rubbed his jaw.

Harlan pressed his lips together and folded his arms across his chest. Fritz, he knew, was

an old chicken hawk. He had a soft spot in his heart, and his sixty-year-old groin, for helpless

young men like this wretched little waiter. And the fact that this waiter had a slim, hard body,

thick dark brown hair, and an ample bulge in his ill-fitted black pants certainly worked to his

advantage.

“Yeah,” the waiter said. “And besides, I done got most of the red stuff on my own white

shirt anyways.” He extended his arm and pointed to a long red splotch on his white cotton dress

shirt. The cuffs and collar were frayed; the cuffs rested on the middle of his hand. “I don’t have

near the money to just go out and git me a new one.”

Harlan lifted his arms and shrugged. “Who is this kid? Jethro Clampet?”

“My name ain’t Jethro,” the waiter said. “It’s Wilbur Munroe. And where I comes from,

them that does the insultin’ whilst they thinks they’s right is usually them that don’t know

nuthin’ about nuthin’.”

Fritz gazed down at Wilbur Munroe’s crotch and blotted his lips. Then he rubbed his

palms together and said, “He certainly is a spunky little fellow. I’ve never met anyone with such

spirit. I think he’s absolutely delightful.”

“You would,” Harlan said.

“Is that another shot?” Wilbur asked Harlan. “Because if it is, I might just have to give

this heer job up. Lord knows I needs the money bad. But I ain’t takin no abuse from no one. I try

to do right. I got me a good work ethical, I do.”

Before Harlan could reply, another young man, this one in his late twenties, came into

the hallway and said, “Are we going upstairs soon, babycakes? I’m tired. I told my wife I’d take

her shopping for a new sixty-inch plasma TV tomorrow. You promised me you’d give me the

money after the party.” Though his voice was deep, it took on a whiny quality whenever he

asked Harlan for something.

When he called Harlan “babycakes,” young Wilbur Munroe’s jaw dropped and he

blinked.

Harlan closed the front door and smiled at the young man. The last guest had just left the

party, and Fritz knew all about the young man talking to Harlan (he didn’t care what Wilbur

thought). Fritz and Harlan weren’t just academic associates. Fritz knew all about Harlan’s

passion for dangerous young men, and he lived to hear Harlan’s risqué stories. And this young

man had provided Fritz with some great entertainment. His name was Vince Jones and he’d been

sleeping with Harlan for the past six months. Though they didn’t live together, he often spent the

night with Harlan. In the mornings, Vince would go back to the trailer park to his young wife,

with a few less condoms in his wallet and a handful of crisp, fresh cash.

Fritz laughed and winked at Harlan. “I guess I should be leaving, Harlan. Looks like you

have a few extremely important matters to take care of upstairs with young Vince here.” He

reached for the doorknob and said, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” Harlan said.

Fritz smiled. “I’m not,” he said. “I’m being sardonic this time.” He patted Harlan on the

back and left the house.

When Fritz was gone, Harlan turned to Vince and smiled. “Let’s go up now. I’m tired,

too.” Though Vince wasn’t refined or educated and he spoke almost as poorly as Wilbur, he did

have those dark, rough looks that had always made Harlan’s heart beat faster. Vince also had

thick dark hair that fell to the right side of his forehead in a thick shock, tattoos on his biceps,

and the kind of hairy legs that make gentile forty-year-old gay men like Harlan pull out their

credit cards and drool. But more than that, Vince was the quintessential top man in bed. He had

the biggest dick Harlan had ever sucked. It took two weeks for Harlan to learn how to

accommodate his girth and length, and another two to take it all without experiencing the kind of

pain that made his back teeth ache.

“What about my shirt?” Wilbur asked. He’d been standing on the sidelines, watching

Harlan flirt with Vince.

Vince cocked his thumb and tipped it toward Wilbur. “Who’s the bigmouthed kid?”

“He’s nobody, handsome,” Harlan said, staring at the heavy five o’clock shadow on

Vince’s face that seemed to have darkened since the party began. He couldn’t wait to get upstairs

in bed and rub his face against it. He couldn’t wait for Vince to spread his legs and pound him

into the headboard.

“Who you callin’ nobody, babycakes?” Wilbur said. “I told you I was a good kid. I been

workin’ hard for you for almost near a year now and you never even paid me no mind. Not even

a good morning nod when you walk me by. And now I just ruined my best white shirt ’cause you

put a pot of red fruits in the middle of the hall.”

Harlan ignored young Wilbur and shrugged his shoulders. Under normal circumstances,

he would have fired Wilbur for calling him babycakes. But thinking about Vince’s bull-sized

testicles softened his mood. “Let go upstairs now, Vince. It’s late and we don’t want to lose what

little time we have together.”

“Do I get the money for the new sixty-inch plasma TV in the morning?” Vince asked.

This seemed to be a prerequisite for going upstairs.

Harlan smiled. “It all depends on how hard you work tonight.”

“I’m ready,” Vince said. “I’ve been working out all day at the gym.” He lifted his right

arm and flexed his bicep.

“How come he’s gittin’ money for a new TV and I cain’t even git a new shirt outta ya?

Don’t seem fair to me,” Wilbur said. “He don’t even talk much better’n I does.”

Harlan almost laughed in his face. Though Wilbur didn’t know an adverb from a noun, he

wasn’t a complete idiot. So Harlan started walking to the staircase. He took Vince’s arm and

squeezed his large, tattooed bicep through the fabric of his dark jacket. Without turning to look at

Wilbur, he smiled and said, “Vince has something you don’t have, young man, and it has nothing

to do with spirit.”

“What’s that?” Wilbur asked.

“You’re too young and it would take too much time to explain,” Harlan said, with a

dismissive tone. “Just trust me on this.”

“Ya’ll think I’m jess some hick, don’t you?” Wilbur said. “I know what yer up to tonight,

I do. I got a boy cousin tried somethin’ like that with me once and I set him right. I might not talk

too good, but I’m a good kid and I know who I is.”

With the arrogance of someone who never had to work hard to survive, Harlan pulled two

twenty-dollar bills out of his pocket and dropped them on the gray and white marble floor.

“Here’s forty dollars for a new shirt, kid. Now be a good boy and go help the others clean up.”

Now that Vince was there, looking so rugged and dangerous, Harlan felt a sting of forgiveness.

He realized he’d caused the waiter to trip by leaving the cache pot in the middle of the floor and

he wanted to clear his head from any guilt.

Wilbur went down on his knees and scooped up the two twenty-dollar bills. He turned

them back and forth twice, then said, “Hell. I kin git me ten new white shirts at the secondhand

store with this.”

But Harlan didn’t hear him. He was already at the top of the stairs, and Vince was sliding

his large callused hand down the back of his pants.

Chapter Two

In bed, there were several unique positions for which Harlan had a fondness. But the one

position which made him wild with desire beyond words wasn’t always easy to obtain. He

needed a strong young man with solid legs and enough strength to balance Harlan’s entire body.

Not just any guy would do. Though Harlan still had the tight, hard body of a twenty-five-year-

old, and he still had a thirty-two-inch waist, he was almost six feet tall and packed with neat,

defined muscles. There weren’t many young men who could satisfy Harlan’s desire to be in this

position, and when Harlan found one with enough brut strength, he took advantage of a good

situation for as long as he could.

So when Vince woke the next morning at dawn and said, “Can I have the money to buy

the new plasma TV now?” Harlan responded with a yawn and said, “After we do it one more

time in my favorite position.”

“But you promised me the money,” Vince said. “I tagged you for two hours last night and

my legs are sore. You’re wearin’ me out, man.”

Harlan reached under the covers and grabbed Vince’s cock. He stroked the shaft a few

times, rubbed the head with the pad of his thumb, and said, “Just one more time, in my favorite

position, and then I’ll give you the money you need.” He didn’t want to overwork the guy. But if

they didn’t do this now, Harlan would wind up thinking about it all day.

Vince rubbed his eyes and stretched his beefy legs. “You’re wearing me out. I’ve never

met anyone who likes to get fucked as much as you do. You’re worse than my wife was the first

year we were together. But I was eighteen years old then. I’m twenty-eight now.”

“That’s nonsense,” Harlan said, pulling the covers back. “You’re a strong young man,

filled with testosterone. Having a lot of sex is actually good for you. It makes you even stronger.

It’s like a vitamin, so to speak.”

“Really?”

“I know it’s a fact,” Harlan said. “I read all about it in a magazine once.” He had no idea

what he was talking about. But it sounded logical and Vince seemed to believe him.

“Okay,” Vince said. “But just one more time, in your favorite position. After that, you

give me the money.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Get me hard first,” Vince said. “Then put a condom on my dick and I’ll stand up at the

edge of the bed so you can get into position.”

Vince rested his head on the pillow and spread his legs for Harlan. Harlan sat up, leaned

over Vince’s torso, and started stroking his semi-erect penis. Even when it wasn’t fully erect,

Harlan marveled at the way the thick hunk of flesh filled his palm. When he opened his mouth as

wide as it could go and started sucking, he almost whimpered. Then he closed his eyes and

inhaled the strong masculine aroma between Vince’s legs.

While Harlan’s right hand explored Vince’s hard abdominal muscles, his left hand rested

against the soft, dark hair on Vince’s thigh. Though Harlan always primped and shaved his body,

Harlan preferred to be with men who didn’t shave their bodies. He always used a light touch with

Vince; he knew Vince preferred it. And this morning it didn’t take long for Vince’s dick to reach

a full erection. Harlan had felt it expanding in girth and length inside his mouth the entire time

he’d been sucking.

“I think you’re ready now,” Harlan said, looking up at Vince’s face. He was holding the

shaft with his left hand and the head was resting on his bottom lip. “Give me the condom on the

nightstand.”

Vince tossed him the condom and groaned. “I guess I was hornier than I thought I was.

This feels good.”

“You’re a strong, virile guy,” Harlan said. “You have needs.” He was bullshitting him

again. He knew stroking Vince’s ego worked just as well as stroking his dick. If Vince had any

brains at all, they weren’t in his head. They were between his legs.

“Put the condom on real slow,” Vince said. “Do it with your mouth the way I like it.”

“Whatever you want,” Harlan said.

After Harlan gently covered Vince’s dick, Vince sat up and climbed out of bed. While he

braced his legs against the side of the mattress, Harlan went down on his back, lifted his legs,

and spread them apart. Then Vince bent his knees and pressed the head of his cock to Harlan’s

opening. He poked around, for a second or two, then plunged to the bottom of Harlan’s hole with

one quick thrust. The condom was pre-lubricated. Harlan’s head went back and he gasped for air.

His toes curled down and the small of his back arched up. Though entry always hurt in the

beginning with Vince—the man was donkey huge—and Harlan always had to concentrate hard

to get past this pain, it never took longer than a moment or two to accommodate him.

When he was inside Harlan as far as he could go, Vince leaned forward and slipped his

arms beneath Harlan’s knees, and Harlan lifted his upper body as much as he could and laced his

fingers behind Vince’s wide neck.

“Are you ready?” Vince asked. “I’m going to hoist you up now.”

Harlan nodded yes, with a groan.

“Hold on tight,” Vince said. Then he lifted Harlan up and took a few steps backward,

staggering for a moment to keep his balance, searching for a solid stance.

“Ah yes,” Harlan said, adjusting his position. “This is wonderful.” His legs were spread

and dangling over both Vince’s arms, his dick was up against Vince’s torso, and his arms were

wrapped around Vince’s wide shoulders. Best of all, Vince’s huge cock was still buried inside

his body. This was the ultimate position. Vince’s dick hit his g-spot in just the right way.

“I’m ready,” Vince said.

“Are you sure?”

Before Vince had a chance to nod yes, Harlan started riding his cock. He used Vince’s

shoulders for support and pointed his toes. As he arched his back, spread his legs until his groin

muscles pulled, and went up and down on Vince’s dick, Vince held him in place. While he rode,

Vince secured his two large palms on the bottom of Harlan’s ass for additional support and just

stood there balancing all of Harlan’s weight. Harlan didn’t feel an ounce of guilt because he

knew Vince liked this position, too. Whenever they fucked this way, Vince’s entire body

trembled with pleasure and he always wound up filling the condom with a larger load than usual.

Ten minutes later, Harlan’s head went back and his mouth opened wide. “I’m getting

close.” His face had turned red and there were beads of sweat dripping from his temples. He was

still riding, only much faster now. When he was in this position, he never had to touch his own

cock to climax.

“Slap my ass now. Slap it as hard as you can.” Harlan gasped for air.

“I’m close, too,” Vince said. “Don’t stop. I’m gonna come soon.”

When Vince began slapping his ass with loud, even cracks, Harlan tightened his sphincter

muscle and tossed his head back. On the third slap, Harlan’s body jerked. On the fourth, his body

went rigid, his feet went up, and he came all over Vince’s torso.

Vince slapped his ass two more times, then filled the condom. After that, he slowly

lowered Harlan back down to the bed and pulled out just as fast as he’d entered. There were no

kisses; neither said thank you. Vince just left Harlan on his back, with his legs wide open and his

chest heaving, and removed the condom. This was all fine with Harlan. At nearly forty years old,

Harlan had had his share of love and romance, all with bad endings. Now he wanted nothing

more than a strong young man like Vince to satisfy his physical needs and desires.

When Vince tossed the condom into a trash can beside the bed, he looked down at Harlan

and laughed. Harlan’s legs were still in the air and he was wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Why are you laughing?” Harlan asked. He had trouble speaking.

“I just never saw no one who liked getting fucked as much as you do, is all,” Vince said.

“You look like you’re ready to take on ten more guys.”

Harlan smiled and spread his legs wider. Too bad there weren’t a few more guys in the

room. It was true: he would have taken them on. He stretched his arms and said, “Should I

apologize because I know what I like?”

Vince shrugged. “I don’t give a shit,” he said. “I’ll fuck you all you want. I just want the

money for my TV now.”

“I’ll give it to you before you leave,” Harlan said. “Let’s take a quick shower together

first and get dressed. I’ll soap you up the way you like it. Unless you’re in hurry today.”

Vince looked at him and said, “I’m not in a hurry. We can take a shower.”

Like most alpha bisexual men Harlan had been with, Vince loved being pampered and

babied. When they took showers together, Vince stood there with his back against the tile and his

eyes closed, moaning, while Harlan rubbed soap around between his legs. “You go in and get the

water ready, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Vince nodded and crossed to the bathroom. Harlan sat up and watched his tight little ass

move with each step he took. At this particular moment, there was nothing else Harlan needed in

life.

* * * *

As usual, Harlan’s housekeeper, an older woman with a tight gray bun and a large, round

middle, made a tray of coffee and a few light breakfast foods that included fresh scones. Her

name was Mildred and she’d been working for Dylan’s family since Harlan was a child. Now

that he was the only one left in his family, she catered to him as if he were her own son, without

crossing the line and becoming too familiar. When she brought the tray into the library that

morning, Harlan was standing next to his desk and Vince was standing in front of the window.

She said good morning to Harlan and rested the tray on his desk without acknowledging Vince.

“Thank you, Mildred,” Harlan said. He noticed she’d brought enough coffee and food for

Vince as well. Harlan and Mildred had never discussed his young male friends aloud. But

Mildred knew all about them and had learned how to plan ahead without asking any Harlan any

awkward questions. Once in a while Mildred, without overstepping her boundaries, would make

light references about Harlan meeting someone nice and settling down. She never said whether it

should be a man or a woman. She just generalized about how nice it would be if Harlan had

someone permanent.

Mildred scowled at Vince and told Harlan, “Dr. Griffin just pulled up and he’s on his way

inside. I placed three cups on the tray. One of the landscapers said he wanted to talk to you this

morning. He said it was extremely important.”

He knew his friend, Fritz, would just come into the library and make himself at home.

They often shared coffee together in the early mornings this time of year. But he wasn’t sure

about the landscaper. “Did the landscaper say what this is in reference to, Mildred?”

When she shrugged, her large sagging breasts went up. “He didn’t, Dr. Henderson.

Should I tell him you’ll see him?”

“You’d better,” Harlan said. “It could be something important about one of the gardens.”

Harlan liked the outside of his home to be just as perfect as the inside. “Go tell him I’ll see him

in fifteen minutes.”

A minute after Mildred walked out, Fritz entered the room with a huge grin on his round

face. He was wearing his brown tweed with a cream-colored vest and a stained yellow necktie.

“Good morning, Harlan,” he said. Then he turned to Vince and looked him up and down. “Good

morning to you, young man.” His face was red and there was a trace of giddiness in his voice—it

always happened when he was around Vince.

“Hey,” Vince said, without looking at him. He was watching a bird in a willow tree

outside the window. Harlan wondered what, if anything, was going through his gorgeous head.

“Good morning, Fritz,” Harlan said, pouring three cups of coffee.

“You’re both looking well,” Fritz said.

“Thanks, man,” Vince said. Then he faced Harlan. “Can I have my money now? I want to

get to TV City while it’s still early to avoid the crowds.” He didn’t seem to have any shame

whatsoever about taking money from Harlan. The fact that Fritz was there didn’t seem to mean

anything to him.

“Calm down,” Harlan said. “It’s only nine. The stores don’t even open until ten. Have

some coffee.” He liked watching the way Fritz gaped at Vince as much as he enjoyed making

Vince wait for his money.

Vince lowered his head and pouted. He walked to the desk and took a cup of black coffee.

“You’re buying a new TV?” Fritz asked, reaching for his coffee with his right hand and

resting his left on his large belly.

Vince’s eyes lit up and he smiled. “I’m getting one of them new 3D sixty-inch plasma

flatscreens, with Blu-ray and all. When football season comes around this year, I’ll be the most

popular dude down at Applejack’s bar.”

“Indeed.” Fritz gave Harlan a look and smiled. “They must be very expensive.”

“I’m helping him with the payments,” Harlan said. “In return, he’s helping me out with

some very important things around the house.” He knew where Fritz was going and he didn’t

like it. Though Fritz often joked around about Harlan’s young lovers, Harlan didn’t like it when

he went too far. Vince wasn’t bright, and he was taking money for sexual favors, but he wasn’t a

bad guy either. In fact, Vince was probably the most decent casual lover Harlan had ever had and

he didn’t want Fritz making a fool out of him.

Before Fritz could reply, Mildred knocked on the library door and said, “The landscaper

is here to see you now.”

While she was still speaking, Wilbur Munroe burst into the room and said, “Mornin,’ Dr.

Henderson. I came by to talk about somethin important.” He didn’t pronounce the h in

Henderson.

“You just can’t barge right in, young man,” Mildred said.

Harlan lifted his arm and waved his hand. “It’s okay, Mildred.” Then he turned to Wilbur

and said, “Aren’t you the one who spilled pomegranate martini all over the senator last night?”

Though Wilbur was dressed differently that morning, wearing a plain white T-shirt, soiled jeans,

and worn black work boots with holes in each toe, Harlan couldn’t forget his unmistakable

accent.

“I didn’t spill nuthin’ on her,” Wilbur said, with a wrecked tone. “I tripped over them

funny-lookin’ apples, I did.”

“You could have at least washed your face this morning,” Harlan said. Wilbur had gray

smudges on his cheeks, his shaggy dark hair was greasy, and his fingernails were black.

“I think he looks divine,” Fritz said. He was smiling wider than ever now. He wasn’t sure

where to look: at hunky young Vince, or at dirty little Wilbur.

“Hey,” Wilbur said. “Don’t be g’tting' fresh on me the minute I walks into the room. I

came here to ax you ’bout somethin important. I took me a shower just the other night. I’m

always clean, I am.” Then he stared at Vince, looked him up and down, and frowned.

Harlan took a sip of coffee and smiled. “What can I do for you, Mr. Munroe?” Though he

could smell Wilbur’s armpits from the other side of the room, there was something innocent and

charming about him. Fritz was right. Wilbur had an unusual sense of spirit.

Wilbur crossed the room and sat down on a leather wing chair in front of Vince’s desk.

Then he looked up at him and smiled. “I want you to learn me how to talk good,” he said. “I got

this friend, see, who takes them eye-talian lessons over at the community college. And I heard

you was a teacher. So I’d like you to learn me some good English so’s I can talk like a

gentleman.”

Harlan almost choked on his coffee. “You want what?”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Vince said. He moved closer to the desk and glared down

at Wilbur. “You don’t have time for this kid, Harlan.”

“How interesting,” Fritz said. “I think young Vince is worried young Wilbur might take

up too much of your time and you won’t have enough time for him.”

Harlan gave Fritz a look. But deep down, the concept made him smile. Though he knew

Vince wasn’t upset about Wilbur in a romantic way, and he was probably only worried Wilbur

might horn in on his cash flow, it still gave him a comfortable feeling to think a guy like Vince

would get jealous. “I can pay you,” Wilbur said, wide-eyed. “I ain’t no charity case. I ain’t here

expectin’ somethin’ for nuthin’.”

Vince laughed. “You’re gonna pay him?”

“This is usually how it works,” Fritz said, facing Vince, “when one person offers a

service to another the one offering the service gets paid.”

Vince laughed. “Don’t I know it.” He looked at Harlan. “Can I have my money now?”

Harlan ignored both Vince and Fritz. He looked into Wilbur’s green eyes and asked,

“Why on Earth would you want to do this?”

“I want to talk better. I want to be a gentleman, like them guys I saw at your party last

night.” Then he turned to Vince and frowned. “I don’t want to be no hick all me life, I don’t.”

“Hey,” Vince said. “Watch it, pal.”

While the two young men sent each other nasty glares, Harlan considered the prospect.

He’d spent his entire adult life studying different dialects and accents, and though he could

pigeonhole anyone’s background by listening to a few sentences, he’d never had a chance to

actually transform someone. He knew there were talented actors who could switch from one

accent to another without any problems. But he’d never met someone like Wilbur, with such

limited social and academic skills, who could do it.

“I think it sounds intriguing,” Fritz said. “I see potential here. I’m just not sure it’s

realistic.”

“I think I can do it,” Harlan said, as if Wilbur wasn’t in the room. “I’ll bet you one

thousand dollars I can turn him into the perfect gentleman.”

Fritz rubbed his jaw and thought for a moment. He looked at Wilbur and shook his head.

Then he smiled at Harlan and said, “Okay. One thousand dollars says you can’t.”

“And I can pay you,” Wilbur said. “I ain’t no charity case. I’ll give you ten dollars a

session while you’re learnin’ me to talk right.”

Harlan laughed. “Do you have any idea how much people like me get paid to teach

people like you?”

“I’d just send him back outside,” Vince said. “He belongs with the trash out back.”

“Hey,” Wilbur said. He stood up and looked Vince in the eye. “I know what you’re doin

here, pal. And I don’t see as you have no right callin’ me trash when you’re sittin’ in the middle

of a heap of pig slop your own self.”

Vince walked up to Wilbur and pressed his shoulder against his. He stared him down and

said, “You callin’ me what I think you’re callin me, boy? Say it again. I double dog dare you.”

Harlan sent Fritz a glance and shrugged. “He double dog dares him.”

“I heard,” Fritz said, trying to control his laughter.

“I ain’t no one’s boy,” Wilbur said. “I’m a man, I am.”

“Okay, knock it off, you two,” Harlan said. Then he walked over to Wilbur and leaned

forward. “If you’re serious about this, you have to follow my rules. I don’t want any money from

you. But you have to do exactly as I say.”

“What rules is they?”

“Are you sure about this, Harlan?” Fritz asked. “I wasn’t actually serious about the bet.”

“I don’t know about them rules,” Wilbur said. He glared at Vince. “I sure as hell ain’t

doin’ what this one does with you. I’m not that kind of guy. If you’re lookin’ to just rub a few

out, let me know now.”

“What does he mean, Harlan, by rubbing a few out?” Fritz asked.

Harlan looked at Wilbur and said, “I assure you, I am not looking to just rub a few out.”

Then he looked at Fritz and said, “I’ll explain what it means later.”

“What kind of guy is that?” Vince asked. “Say it to my face.”

The two men were staring each other up and down again. Vince’s fists were clenched and

Wilbur was grinding his back teeth.

But Harlan ignored them both. He’d never been presented with such a fascinating career

challenge before. It could be the highlight of his career as a teacher. “If I agree to teach you, you

have to shower every day.”

“You callin’ me dirty?” Wilbur said. “I ain’t dirty. I shower once a week, every Saturday

night.”

“And you have to shave your balls and get a haircut.” He was only teasing about shaving

his balls. He just wanted to get a reaction from Wilbur.

“Hey, I’m outta here,” Wilbur said. “This is just dirty talk now. I’m not shavin’ my balls

for no one. You people is preverts!”

“Pervert,” Harlan said, correcting him.

“I ain’t no prevert,” Wilbur shouted, missing the point. “You people is the preverts.”

Harlan’s eyebrows furrowed and his voice became deep and serious. “You’ll shower

every single day, and you’ll move into this house. I want a complete transformation and total

control. You’ll do exactly as I say at all times.” Then he gazed at Fritz and said, “I think I can do

this. When I’m finished with him he’ll be ready for a state dinner at the White House.”

“I think it’s a mistake,” Fritz said. “I’d hate to see the boy’s spirit broken. He’s special.”

“Hold on,” Wilbur said. “I wasn’t lookin’ to move in here or nuthin’ like that.” He

glanced at Vince and frowned. “I ain’t like him. I’m a good kid, I am. And I ain’t shavin’ my

balls for no one.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to live here because I’m gay and you think I’ll take

advantage of you?” Harlan asked. He figured he might as well be blunt.

“I ain’t gay,” Vince said, squaring his shoulders. “I have a wife. I’m bisexual.”

“No ones care about you,” Harlan said, dismissing Vince completely. He was still

looking into Wilbur’s eyes. His heart was racing now. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ways

he’d transform Wilbur. “Is it because I’m gay, and everyone in town knows I’m gay? Be

honest.”

“I don’t care nuthin’ about that,” Wilbur said, waving his hand. He stared down at his old

boots; he couldn’t look Harlan in the eye.

“Are you gay?” Harlan asked.

“I don’t take to labels none,” Wilbur said. “I like guys better than women. But I don’t

sleep around with anyone.”

“So you are gay,” Harlan said, leaning forward, looking him up and down. It didn’t

matter whether he was gay or not, because Harlan had no intention of sleeping with him. It’s just

that Harlan had never seen such an unkempt young gay man.

“I had a feeling he was gay,” Fritz said. “I saw it in his eyes.” He was enjoying himself so

much he almost missed the tray when he lowered his coffee cup.

Wilbur seemed near panic. He backed up and headed for the library door. “I told you, I

don’t take to no labels like gay or straight. I’m a man, is all, and I ain’t lettin’ no one put a label

on me. And stop lookin’ me over that way. You’re freakin’ me out now. I seen that look before.

Other guys done tried to git me that way and I fought them all off, including my own boy cousin.

I ain’t sleepin’ with no guy unless I want to sleep with him.”

Fritz lifted his fists and pressed them together. “Oh goodie,” he said. “A virgin.”

“Ha,” Vince said. “He’s a liar. If he’s a virgin, I’m a priest.”

“I’m gittin’ out a here,” Wilbur said. “You’re all plumb crazy with all this dirty talk. I

never heard tell of such smut in my life. Besides, I never said I was a virgin. I been around

enough.”

Fritz frowned. “Ah well, too bad.”

Harlan crossed to where he was standing. “Don’t go,” he said, lifting a set of car keys

from a table beside the door. They were the keys to his new Porsche. He waved them in Wilbur’s

face and jiggled them a few times. “No more talk about sex. I don’t care if you’re a virgin or not.

It doesn’t matter. I just want to teach you. If you stay, you can drive my new Porsche.”

“You never let me drive the Porsche,” Vince said.

Harlan ignored Vince and stared at Wilbur.

Wilbur’s eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. He gaped at the keys and said, “I can?”

“With me in the car, of course,” Harlan said. “But you have to move into the house and

do exactly as I say for the next six months while I give you exactly what you need.”

They all stared at Harlan and said at the same time, “Six months?”

“I’ll need at least six months to make you the perfect gentleman,” Harlan said, ignoring

everyone but Wilbur.

“I ain’t sure,” Wilbur said, still staring at the keys to Harlan’s Porsche.

Harlan smiled and rested the keys on the table. “Do you have any idea how many young

men in your position would kill to be offered an opportunity like this? Only a wretched fool

would turn it down. I can make you into somebody. I can change your entire life.”

“Can I have my money now?” Vince asked. He pouted and kicked the chair. He seemed

perturbed because he’d never been allowed to drive Harlan’s Porsche.

Without removing his eyes from Wilbur, Harlan said, “There’s a check on the desk made

out to you, Vince. But I want you to help me out with one more thing before you leave.” Then he

tilted his head and asked Wilbur, “Are you staying or not?”

“Ah well,” Wilbur said. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt none. But no weird stuff. I’m only

here for learnin’. And I ain’t shavin’ my balls!”

Harlan laughed. “Okay,” he said. “You won’t have to shave your balls.”

When Wilbur agreed to stay, Harlan shouted Mildred’s name and summoned her into the

library. Without hesitating, he told her to take Wilbur up to the guest room on the third floor and

clean him up. And just to be sure Wilbur wouldn’t change his mind, he asked Vince to help

Mildred get him upstairs. Though it may have seemed as though they were forcing Wilbur into

doing something against his wishes, Harlan knew it was for Wilbur’s own good. He was

determined to turn this seedy, smelly wreck of a creature into a dignified young prince.

Chapter Three

Poor Wilbur. He fought all the way up to the third floor. Mildred had to take his hand and

drag him up the steps, and Vince was forced to grab the back of his neck and push him the entire

way. Harlan followed them, with a huge smirk on his face, absorbing the beginning stages of

Wilbur’s development, wondering how long it would take before he succumbed to all the

changes that were about to happen to him. With each step up, Harlan made a mental note he

would write down later that day.

On the second floor, Vince told Wilbur he smelled like an old clothes hamper and Wilbur

tried to break free. “This is just plain wrong,” he said, trying to push Vince away from him. “I

ain’t done nuthin’ to be manhandled like this.” He looked at Mildred and frowned.

But Vince refused to budge. If he was strong enough to balance Harlan’s weight on his

dick, yanking Wilbur to the guestroom was nothing to him.

At the top of the third floor, Wilbur screamed with such force poor Mildred lost control,

grabbed the front of his T-shirt, and said, “Stop this carrying on, young man, or I’ll straighten

you out myself.” Then she shook her fist and waved it in front of his face.

“I’ll take care of him,” Vince said. He was still holding the back of Wilbur’s neck. “I’ll

get him in there. He needs a shower. He stinks so bad I’m ready to puke.”

Wilbur jerked his arm. “I don’t stink. I took me a bath on Saturday.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Harlan said. “He’s just in shock. He’ll calm down once he realizes this

is for his own good. Go easy, Vince. He’s not as strong as you are.”

“I hope you’re doing the right thing, Dr. Henderson,” Mildred said. “Some people might

think this is kidnapping.”

“Nonsense,” Harlan said. “I’m not kidnapping him. Wilbur agreed to this. Didn’t you,

Wilbur?”

“I didn’t agree to have no big ape push me around like I was trash,” Wilbur said. “Git this

big ugly donkey off my back.”

Harlan laughed and pointed to the room. “Just take him into his room and get the shower

ready, Mildred. He’ll be fine.” Though he knew they were being a little rough on Wilbur, he also

knew if Wilbur had truly wanted to leave, no one would have stopped him. He was fighting them,

but only to a certain extent. Deep down, Wilbur seemed to know this was the best thing for him.

And when they dragged Wilbur into his new bedroom and Harlan saw the look of

absolute astonishment on his face, Harlan took a deep breath and exhaled. He knew everything

would be fine.

“This is my room?” Wilbur asked, gazing at Harlan. His voice dropped to a soft stage

whisper. He wasn’t pulling away and his arms weren’t flailing anymore.

Harlan nodded yes. He’d given Wilbur one of his favorite rooms in the house. It wasn’t

the largest bedroom, and it wasn’t the most luxurious, but it had the kind of charm and simplicity

Harlan thought would be appropriate given Wilbur’s education. Though the rest of the old house

was filled with ornate carpets, gilded French antiques, and crystal chandeliers, this room was

such a beige, monochromatic paradise of simplicity it made Martha Stewart look gaudy. The

mission-style furniture was painted a lighter shade of beige than the walls, with a satin gloss. The

long thin windows that looked out to the square were flanked with white cotton sheers, the sheets

and duvet were the same white cotton as the curtains, and there were two authentic Andrew

Wyeth paintings on the long wall near the closet. The only thing in the room that wasn’t a

tasteful shade of beige was the solid oak floor. It was a different shade of wood than the rest of

the house, closer to the color of an Idaho potato skin than actual oak.

Wilbur crossed to a beige armoire and ran his fingertips down the left door, then turned

and touched a white cotton pillow resting on a white slip-covered wing chair beside the armoire.

“This is too good for the likes of me,” he said, turning his head left and right slowly. “I’m gonna

be scared to move in here. I’m kinda clumsy, I am.”

While Wilbur gaped at the tranquil room, Mildred went into the bathroom and turned on

the shower. Vince stood guard beside the doorway so Wilbur wouldn’t leave, with his legs

spread wide and his arms folded across his chest. Vince was good at taking orders, and he he

seemed to be enjoying himself. Harlan stood in the doorway, watching with a wise half smile.

“I don’t know,” Wilbur said. “It don’t feel right to me.”

By the time he finished the sentence Mildred came back into the bedroom and glared at

him. “Remove your clothes and leave them on the floor. I’ll bring you fresh clothes.”

Wilbur pressed his palm to his chest and stepped backward. “Remove my clothes? I ain’t

gittin nekkid in front of all ya’ll. I ain’t into no dirty kinky shit, I ain’t.”

“Do as you’re told,” Harlan said. He used a forceful tone, but not mean. “There’s

nothing kinky about it, and the only dirty thing in this room is you. I can smell you from over

here. Are there onions under your arms?”

“I ain’t gonna git nekkid,” Wilbur said. “It’s just wrong, it is.”

While Wilbur cowered against the armoire, Harlan sighed and gave Vince a nod. “You

and Mildred take him into the bathroom and undress him. Then get him into the shower. I’ll go

get him some clean clothes. I think he’s about the same size as I am.”

“This is just wrong,” Wilbur shouted. “I ain’t gittin nekkid in front of no one, especially

not a mean old woman and a big old donkey boy.”

Mildred shook her head and reached for Wilbur’s right arm. Vince took his left, and they

pulled him into the bathroom. But he wasn’t screaming or fighting. He wasn’t being dragged

against his own will. He did shake his head and repeat, “This is wrong,” a few times. But he

could have left if he’d wanted to leave.

When they closed the bathroom door, Harlan stepped into the hallway so he could go

down to the second floor and get fresh clothes from his own closet. He saw Fritz at the top of the

stairs. He was standing there, with one hand on the banister and the other on his pants pocket.

Though Wilbur wasn’t screaming anymore, his slightly less violent protests could be heard all

the way out in the hallway. “I ain’t takin off me underpants, I tell ya. It’s just wrong.”

Fritz frowned. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing, Harlan?”

“I’ve never been surer about anything in my life,” Harlan said. He felt lighter than he’d

felt in years. He couldn’t wait to sit Wilbur down and give him his first lesson.

“You have a reputation to consider,” Fritz said. “And this kid could be nothing but

trouble. You read about these things all the time in the newspaper, where an established middle-

aged gay man takes a young gay man under his wing and it only ends in misery for all.

Something like this happened out west. A wealthy middle-aged gay man took a porn star into his

home and the porn star wound up shooting him to death in the middle of the night.”

Harlan patted his old friend on the back and smiled. “Stop worrying. I know all about

these stories. I read all about that incident in Colorado. This is different. What I’m doing with

Wilbur is almost like art. Besides, I’m not middle aged. I’m not even forty yet.”

“How is it different?”

“My only interest in this wretched little freak is academic and professional. I have no

intention of sleeping with him, paying him money for sexual favors, or abusing him in any way

at all, sexually or emotionally. I’m offering him the chance of a lifetime.”

“He isn’t bad on the eyes,” Fritz said. “He’s actually quite attractive.”

“I assure you, Fritz,” Harlan said. “I have absolutely no sexual interest in him at all. You

should know me by now. I have young men like Vince to take care of all my needs. Why on

Earth would I be interested in taking advantage of a filthy little hick like Wilbur?” Then he

winked and slapped Fritz on the back. “Besides, you know my tastes as well as I do. Wilbur is

too thin, too awkward, and too weak. I like them rough and strong, with big muscles and hairy

legs, like Vince.”

Fritz laughed. “You think he’s a bottom, don’t you?”

Harlan shrugged and started walking downstairs. “I honestly couldn’t care less. It hasn’t

even entered my mind.” He was telling the truth. When he looked at Wilbur, the only thoughts

crossing his mind were academic.

Fritz followed him down to his bedroom on the second floor. While he was picking

through his clothes, Fritz sighed. “What about emotional attachments?”

Harlan reached for a pair of beige chinos in his closet and rested them over the back of a

chair. “There won’t be any emotional attachments,” he said. He was rummaged through the other

side of his closet, looking for an olive green polo shirt he knew was smaller than his other shirts.

He’d send Mildred out to buy new clothes for Wilbur later that day. But he had to find something

suitable for the time being.

“How can you be so sure about that?” Fritz asked.

“Because, my friend, I like my life just as it is. I don’t have to answer to anyone, I can do

whatever I please, and I intend to keep it that way. I’ve been involved in relationships before,

and they didn’t work out. I know who I am, Fritz. I’m a selfish, spoiled bastard who always gets

what he wants.” Harlan said this with pride. He smiled and removed the olive polo shirt from a

wooden hanger. “In other words, I’m a selfish little prick.”

“I wasn’t talking about you, Harlan,” Fritz said. “I already know you’re a selfish little

prick. I was talking about Wilbur. The boy is young. Suppose he falls in love with you.”

Harlan gave Fritz a look, pressed his palm to his stomach, and doubled over with laughter.

“If you’re trying to take me aback,” Harlan said, “it’s not working. Trust me, Fritz. By the time

I’m finished with old Wilbur, he’ll be so sick of me he won’t even want to see my face. I plan to

work him harder than I’ve ever worked anyone in my life. The last thing he’ll be thinking about

is love.”

* * * *

After Harlan chose the right outfit, with brown oxfords, a belt to match, and a pair of

Harlan’s own designer briefs, he and Fritz met Vince in the third-floor hallway. He’d just left

Wilbur’s new bedroom.

“How is he now?” Harlan asked.

“He’ll be fine,” Vince said. “I’m going TV shopping now. But first I’m gonna eat. I can’t

wait to get me a few beers, a big bowl of chicken wings, and some a’them fried pork rinds. You

done wore me out today and it’s not even eleven o’clock yet.”

“I appreciate your help,” Harlan said. “The check is on my desk. I’ll see you in a couple

of days.”

Vince said goodbye and headed down the stairs, taking them two at a time. When he was

out of listening distance, Fritz rubbed his jaw and said, “I’m curious about something, Harlan.

Why didn’t you ever try to transform any of these other guys? Take Vince, for example. Though

he’s not as rough around the edges as dear young Wilbur, he certainly could use a few etiquette

lessons in all areas, from the way he speaks to the way walks. And he seems willing to do

anything you ask. I’m just curious.”

Harlan smiled. “There are three reasons, old friend. First, I pay Vince for his services.

He’s never offered to pay me like Wilbur did. Second, Wilbur asked for help, which means he’s

serious about learning and growing and changing. And third, poor Vince, like the other guys I’ve

had like him, is about as intelligent as that newel post over there. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not

very bright either. He is what he is.”

“You think Wilbur is intelligent,” he said this without a question mark.

Harlan nodded. “I’m not sure yet. But there’s something more to him, a hidden quality

that’s just bursting to be released. And I’m going to be the one who releases it.”

Chapter Four

“I don’t know if I can get used to these here tight underpants,” Wilbur said. “I’m used to

wearin’ my Pa’s old boxers.” He was referring to Harlan’s black designer boxer briefs, and he

was talking to Mildred. They were on their way to Harlan’s library and Harlan could hear every

word they were saying.

Wilbur had showered and shaved, and his hair had been parted on the side and combed.

When he walked into the library, Harlan looked up from his desk and blinked. Though the beige

chinos were a little too large for his slim body, and the shoulder seam on the polo shirt hung

about an inch off both shoulders, his face was clean, his green eyes were alert, and his facial

features seemed more articulate now. He had a strong, defined chin and high, chiseled

cheekbones. His nose wasn’t too pointy or too round, and his skin was absolutely flawless. There

wasn’t a freckle, mole, or blemish to be seen.

Harlan stood up and smiled, staring at this blank canvas of a man, wondering where to

begin first. “You look very different, Wilbur. You almost remind me of a conservative version of

that actor, Colin Farrell.”

Wilbur stared down at his feet. He seemed uncertain about where to place his hands, so

he shoved them into his pockets. “I feel different, too. Don’t feel like me.”

“All we have to do is get you to a good hairstylist now,” Harlan said. Wilbur had thick,

straight, almost-black hair. The sides fell over his ears and the back landed at the base of his neck.

Mildred had parted it on the side and combed it back. But Harlan knew Wilbur would look much

better with a short haircut that had one of those cute little turned-up waves above his forehead.

“I need to get some of me things from home,” Wilbur said. “After all, I didn’t come to

work this mornin’ plannin’ on stayin here for six months, now, did I?”

When Wilbur spoke slowly, Harlan picked up more of the British influence in his speech.

There couldn’t be anywhere else in the entire world an accent like this. If Harlan wrote about it

in a journal, no one would have believed him. Harlan’s heart started racing and he rubbed his

palms together. He couldn’t wait to get started with the transformation.

“You won’t need anything from home,” Harlan said. “I’m taking you out for a haircut

today, and while we’re gone, Mildred is going shopping for new clothes. She’ll buy you

everything you need in town and if it doesn’t fit, we’ll have my tailor come here and fix it.

You’ll have everything from a formal tuxedo to casual jeans.” He smiled at Mildred, knowing

she wouldn’t be thrilled about this. “Won’t you, Mildred?”

She rolled her eyes. “I guess I will, Dr. Henderson.”

Harlan smiled. “Take all the time you need, Mildred. This is the only thing I want you to

concentrate on for the next few days. Can you handle this?”

“I’m sure I can, Dr. Henderson,” Mildred said. “I’ve been shopping for you since you

were a boy. I know what to buy.”

Harlan laughed, then thanked her. The only thing he despised more than two bottoms

trying to get it on in bed was shopping—for anything. If it hadn’t been for Mildred, he would

have been forced to buy all his own clothes on the Internet, or have his tailor make custom

designs.

“But I need to go home,” Wilbur said. He was still staring at his feet. “There’s some

things I need with me, some personal belongings and such I have to have.”

“Very well,” Harlan said. “We’ll stop by your home on our way back from the hairstylist.

But I don’t want you bringing any of your old clothes. From now on, you’ll wear only what I tell

you to wear.”

When Wilbur nodded, he didn’t look into Harlan’s eyes. For a moment, Harlan worried

he was being too strict with him. He didn’t want to break his spirit. After all, it was his bold

bright spirit that gave him the courage to ask for help. But at a second glance, he saw Wilbur

wasn’t pouting, and he didn’t seem to be in distress. His overall appearance seemed to be

apprehensive now.

“Here’s your first lesson, Wilbur,” Harlan said. “It’s simple. When you speak to me, or

anyone else, I want you to look them in the eye from now on. I don’t want you looking left or

right, or down at the floor, or up at the ceiling. You’re to look directly into the other person’s

eyes. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” he said, without looking up.

“Yeah is not an answer,” Harlan said. “Yes is an answer, and look into my eyes when you

say it.”

Wilbur’s head rose slowly. He hesitated for a second or two, then looked Harlan directly

in the eye and said, “Yes.”

“Excellent,” Harlan said. “Let’s go now. My hairstylist isn’t going to be thrilled about

taking you today. But I’ll make it worth his while. We’ll take the Porsche.”

Wilbur’s head went up fast. “Can I drive? You said I could.”

Harlan gave Mildred a look and rolled his eyes. He took a quick breath and smiled. He

pointed to the table near the door and said, “The keys are over there. Do you have a valid

driver’s license?”

Wilbur nodded and said, “I drive good. Ain’t got no tickets for nothin, and I ain’t got no

points against me neither.”

“This might be a blessing in disguise,” Mildred said.

Harlan frowned, without commenting. Mildred was referring to the fact that Harlan

wasn’t the best driver. He tended to drive too fast, he parked on the sidewalks in town, and he’d

never mastered the art of going in reverse. When people in Savannah saw him coming, they

usually stepped back against a wall or a tree until he passed by.

When Mildred saw Harlan was not amused by her comment about his driving habits, she

smiled and said, “I’d like to get started now, Dr. Henderson, unless you need me for anything

else.”

“That will be all, Mildred,” Harlan said. “We’d better get moving, too, Wilbur. We have

a lot to do today, and I want to be home by four thirty for my nap.”

“Your nap?” Wilbur asked. “I never heard of no young man taking no naps before. That’s

for old men.”

Mildred turned to leave, but covered a smile with her hand so Harlan wouldn’t see how

amused she was.

“I’m not young,” Harlan said. “I’m twice your age. I’m almost forty.”

“Hell,” Wilbur said. “That ain’t old. My gramps is old. He’s near to ninety now. But we

ain’t exactly sure, seein’ as how his Mama birthed him in the woods and never took no count of

the date. They was country folk, uneducated hicks.”

“Well,” Harlan said. “Forty isn’t young either.”

“It ain’t?” Then he thought for a moment. “I still never heard tell of no forty-year-old

takin’ naps every day. Don’t seem natural.”

Harlan squared his shoulders and took a defensive stance. “Well, now you have,” he said.

“I take my nap at four thirty every single day of the week, without fail.” He’d been doing it since

his last partner had walked out on him ten years earlier. He shut down the phones, turned off his

computer, and told Mildred he was not to be disturbed unless it was a matter of life or death. It

wasn’t about being tired or needing sleep. It was about killing time. Harlan despised the hours

between four thirty and six thirty in the afternoon. This was the emptiest, loneliest time of day

for him. There was no one to talk to, nothing to do, and far too much time to think. When his last

partner had walked out on him to be with someone else, Harlan had learned to pass these two

lonely hours each day by falling into a deep sleep. He was so good at it he could fall asleep even

if he wasn’t tired. And he’d been doing it so long now he wasn’t sure he could survive without

his nap.

“Do I have to take a nap, too?” Wilbur asked. He scrunched his lips and gave Harlan a

sidelong glance.

The question came out of his mouth with such innocence Harlan had to control himself so

he wouldn’t laugh out loud. “No,” he said. “You are not required to nap, or shave your balls.

You can do whatever you want until dinner. You can swing from the trees for all I care.”

“I got an idea,” Wilbur said. “Maybe we can play cards sometime instead of napping. I

got me some real good poker moves I could learn you.”

Harlan’s eyebrows shot up. “I told you, Wilbur. I nap every single day, and I’m not about

to change my ways. Now let’s go. It’s getting late and we have a great deal to accomplish today,

beginning with that awful black mop on top of your head. It’s so bad it hurts my feelings.”

Wilbur turned and walked to the table for the car keys. His head was down and he didn’t

appear to be speaking. But Harlan heard him mumble something that sounded like, “I never did

hear tell of no young man nappin’ every single day of the week…it ain’t natural.” But Harlan

couldn’t be certain that’s what Wilbur had said, so he decided to ignore the comment completely.

* * * *

Although Wilbur couldn’t speak a full sentence without making Harlan wince, the minute

he sat down in the driver’s seat and started the Porsche, Harlan noticed an unmistakable

transition. Wilbur put his seatbelt on first, then forced Harlan to wear his seatbelt, too. “I ain’t

startin’ this here car until you is buckled in,” Wilbur said. And when Harlan frowned and replied,

“I hate the feeling. I never wear seatbelts,” Wilbur sat back, folded his arms across his chest, and

refused to move until Harlan was wearing the seatbelt. Harlan didn’t feel like arguing, so he put

on his seatbelt and ordered Wilbur to start the car.

Then Wilbur adjusted his rearview mirrors and slipped the car into first gear. When they

pulled out of the driveway, Harlan was holding the handle above his head. But by the time they

hit the street and were headed toward the first stop sign, Harlan’s hands were resting quietly on

his lap and he was marveling at the way Wilbur shifted gears with such ease. He went from one

gear to the other without so much as a quick jerk. He moved the gear shift in perfect unison with

the clutch, while keeping his eyes on the road at all times. If Harlan hadn’t known he was sitting

in a car with a manual transmission, he would have guessed he was in a car with the smoothest

automatic transmission ever invented. And Wilbur barely used the brake pedal. He just

downshifted at the proper moment, only coming to a full stop if it was necessary.

By the time they reached Harlan’s hair stylist, Harlan told Wilbur to park in the

handicapped parking space to save time. “It’s no big thing here,” he said. “I park in the

handicapped space all the time. Marc Terry doesn’t enforce it, and all the parking spaces are so

close together the handicapped spaces are just as close as the other spaces.” Marc Terry was his

hairstylist and the owner of the salon, a dramatic queen from New York who talked too much,

but who could turn the worst hair into something magical. He’d been a guest at the spring

pomegranate party, wearing a gold loop in his ear with a tiny little pomegranate dangling from

the center.

But Wilbur ignored Harlan. He drove beyond the handicapped space and parked three

spaces away. “I ain’t parkin’ in no cripple- person spot. Supposin’ some poor cripple comes by

wantin’ a haircut and there’s no spaces left. How they gonna park then? And I ain’t gitten’ no

ticket neither. I got a clean record, I do. Them fines is steep.”

Harlan rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Well, I don’t like walking too far.”

“Well, ain’t that just a shame for you, your highness,” Wilbur said, pulling the handbrake

and shutting off the engine. “But you is perfectly healthy to walk clean from here to Florida.

Them cripple people ain’t that lucky. You gotta count your blessins in this life, you do.”

“Very well,” Harlan said, feeling more annoyed than guilty. “Park wherever you want to

park. I don’t care.”

“I’m not parkin’ where I want to park,” Wilbur said. “I’m just followin’ the law, is all.

I’m parking where I’m supposed to park.”

When they entered the salon, Marc Terry was taking money from an older man with thick

curly white hair and bright red cheeks.

Wilbur took one look at the curly white hair and leaned into Harlan’s ear. “I better not

come out lookin’ like him.”

“Stop worrying,” Harlan said. He was grinning more than usual, excited to see what the

new haircut would do for Wilbur’s appearance. “Marc Terry is the best hairstylist there is.”

Only Marc Terry didn’t seem thrilled to see them. When the older man walked out, Marc

Terry glanced at Harlan, raised one eyebrow, and put his hands on his hips. “I was about to go

home. My sister from New York came down for a visit and I wanted to spend some time with

her.” He was wearing a bright red shirt that hugged his pot belly, white capri pants that cinched

his waist, and his long wrists dripped with heavy gold bracelets. Harlan noticed he had a few

new blond streaks in his dark, spiky hair and an artificial suntan stippled with gold glitter.

Harlan forced a smile. Marc Terry knew hair, but his thick Brooklyn accent always made

the short hairs on the back of Harlan’s neck stand up straight. “This is an emergency. My young

friend here, Wilbur, needs his hair styled right now, and he needs the best hairstylist in the state

of Georgia to do it.” He was hoping flattery would work. Marc Terry tended to swoon and blush

whenever someone praised his work.

“I’ll get one of my other stylists to do it,” Marc Terry said. “They’ll take good care of

young Wilbur.” When he looked at the thick, shaggy, greasy mop of dark hair on Wilbur’s head,

he pursed his lips as if he were about to whistle.

Harlan pulled a platinum credit card out of his pocket and placed it on the counter in

front of Marc Terry. He smiled and said, “I really prefer you to do it. I don’t want anyone else.”

He truly believed gay hairstylists with two first names were better than the others. When flattery

didn’t work, he figured he’d try money. Mark Terry wasn’t shy about taking money. A normal

haircut in his salon cost at least three hundred dollars. “I’m willing to pay you double for your

time and your expertise.” Then he gestured to Wilbur and said, “I realize it’s short notice. But as

you can see from the way he looks, this is an unusual situation.”

Marc Terry gazed down at the platinum credit card and smiled. Then he looked up at

Wilbur and frowned. “Well, since it’s an emergency, I guess I could do it. But just this once, and

please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want the other clients to think they can just stop in here any old

time they please.” He crossed from behind the counter and told Wilbur, “Follow me to the back

and we can get started.”

“Are you comin’ too?” Wilbur asked Harlan.

“I’ll stay out front and wait,” Harlan said. “You’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” Wilbur said. “The only one ever cut my hair before was me Mama.”

He did it again, and it made Harlan smile. Wilbur said me instead of my, with that

interesting hint of British. “Just go back and relax,” Harlan said. “I’ll be waiting for you out here.

You’re going to look fabulous.”

An hour later, Harlan looked up from a magazine he’d been reading and blinked. The

haircut was finished and Wilbur had just entered the waiting area. His long, straggly clumps of

dark hair were gone. The new haircut was short and styled toward his face, with a slightly

turned-up wave above his forehead just as Harlan had imagined. His face seemed longer now,

and his features more pronounced. Instead of making him look younger, as most haircuts tended

to do, Wilbur actually looked a few years older and a few inches taller. Harlan stood up and

gazed at the transformation with his lips parted. The dirty little creature from earlier that morning

had been replaced with a swarthy young man who had the potential to turn heads wherever he

went.

Then, unfortunately, Wilbur opened his mouth and ruined the entire look. “I ain’t so sure

about this here haircut. Don’t it make me look too gay?”

“But you are gay.”

“No, I ain’t,” Wilbur said, stomping his right foot. “I told you I don’t go in for them

labels none. That’s fine for some folks, but not this one!”

Marc Terry walked in and asked, “What do you think, Harlan? Did I work my magic on

him?” He walked behind Wilbur, staring up at the back of his head.

“It’s perfect,” Harlan said. “I can’t thank you enough for taking him on such short

notice.” Then he gave Wilbur a serious look and moved to the counter to pay Marc Terry.

While Marc Terry was swiping Harlan’s credit card, he smiled and asked, “Is Wilbur a

good friend of yours, Harlan?” He made no comment about the way Wilbur spoke.

Harlan smiled. He knew Marc Terry was dying to know how he was associated with

Wilbur. Marc Terry was the worst gossip monger in town, and his salon was usually buzzing

with more news flashes than The Associated Press. “No, he’s not a friend.”

Marc Terry handed him the credit card and a slip of paper to sign. “I see. Is he a relative,

then?” He smiled coyly and pressed his tongue to his cheek.

Although it did occur to Harlan to tell Marc Terry the truth about Wilbur, he decided it

was none of Marc Terry’s business, especially when he looked down at the receipt. Marc Terry

had charged more than six hundred dollars to Harlan’s credit card, and Harlan thought the little

viper had received more than what he deserved that afternoon.

So he signed the receipt fast and turned his back on Marc Terry without saying a word.

“Let’s go, Wilbur. We have another stop to make this afternoon before I go home for my nap.”

Wilbur followed him out to the car with his head bowed and his shoulders slumped.

When they were in the car, he took a deep breath and looked into the rearview mirror. “I don’t

know about this. My family ain’t gonna know who I is.”

“Stop being so dramatic, Wilbur,” Harlan said. “Now start the car and let’s get moving.

I’m sure you’re family will know exactly who you are. Just open your mouth and speak.”

* * * *

Wilbur drove to his family’s place with the same precision with which he’d driven to

Marc Terry’s. By the time they were four miles out of town and turning right on a dirt road,

Harlan’s eyelids actually felt heavy. He’d never felt so calm and so relaxed with any other driver.

But when they were halfway down the dirt road that led to Wilbur’s house, the car started

to swerve and zigzag in all directions, and it wasn’t because of Wilbur’s driving skills. There

were so many holes and bumps and gullies in the road any other driver would have ruined the car.

But Wilbur maneuvered each obstacle with great care, always conscious of what was ahead of

him. He never hit the brakes once.

When the dirt road widened and Harlan could see structures, Wilbur honked the horn so a

group of loose chickens would get out of his way.

Harlan looked back and forth with his palm pressed to his throat, and said, “Ah well, I’ve

lived in Savannah all my life and never knew a place like this even existed.” It reminded him of a

scene from a horror movie, where a group of college kids get lost on a back road and wind up

being stalked by a mass murderer. But he didn’t mention this aloud.

To the right sat an old stone farmhouse with a massive hole in the roof and not a pane of

glass in one window. It was a big old monster, with loads of potential if someone had the right

amount of money to pour into it. But now there were chickens roosting on the windowsills and

overgrown weeds so thick it wasn’t even approachable without a scythe and an industrial lawn

mower. To the left, on the other side of the yard, there was an unpainted clapboard with a

crooked front porch; tattered, soiled curtains hanging from the front windows; and stacked

cinderblocks for front steps.

“This is where you live?” Harlan asked. He hadn’t imagined it to be this awful.

Wilbur pulled up to the unpainted clapboard with the cinderblock steps and shrugged. “I

know it ain’t Buckingham Palace, but it’s home.”

Harlan didn’t want to insult him. But he felt like turning around and running back to the

main road. “I’ll remain in the car while you go inside. Please don’t take too long. I want to be

home for my nap, on time.”

Wilbur pulled the brake and shook his head. “You sure do take a lot of stock in them naps

of yours. I never seen anyone so worried about nappin’.”

Before Harlan could comment, a tall young man opened the front door and stepped onto

the porch. From a distance, he wasn’t bad looking. But he wasn’t wearing anything but boxer

shorts and a loose white undershirt. He stared down at the Porsche and rubbed his chin with one

hand and scratched his balls with the other. A second later, an older, rounder man walked outside

with two cans of beer.

“There’s me cousin, Darvin,” Wilbur said. “And me Pa, Larvin.”

Harlan blinked. “Darvin and Larvin?” Oh, Fritz Griffin would never believe this.

“They like rhymin’ names in my family,” Wilbur said. “I’m the onliest one who don’t

have a rhymin’ name. My uncle was Parvin. That was Darvin’s father. But he’s dead now. Done

got hisself kilt over a card game only a few months after someone done his wife in.”

“Darvin, Larvin, and Parvin?”

“You wait here,” Wilbur said, opening the door. “I’ll be back fast.”

Harlan sat back and folded his hands on his lap. He watched the two men on the front

porch bend forward and stare at Wilbur. When Wilbur started walking up the steps, Larvin

reached for a shotgun on the front porch and Darvin, the cousin, shouted, “What you want

around here?”

When Harlan saw the shotgun, he dropped down below the dashboard fast. Evidently,

Larvin didn’t recognize his own son with the new haircut, and Harlan didn’t want to die this way.

A moment later, Harlan heard laughter. So he slowly rose and peered over the dashboard

to see what was happening. Wilbur and his father, Larvin, were on the front porch talking. Larvin

was laughing and patting Wilbur on the back. Wilbur made a gesture with his right arm toward

the car, said something to his father, and then they both waved at Harlan.

Harlan smiled and waved back, then both Wilbur and Larvin disappeared inside the house.

When Harlan looked at his watch and saw it was nearly four o’clock, he started tapping

the seat, worrying he wouldn’t be back in time to have his nap. There was only a short window

for taking naps, and that window was only open between four thirty and five thirty. Any time

between four thirty and five thirty would work. But after five thirty, a good nap was ruined. Then

the rest of the evening was ruined as well.

Harlan was about to exhale when a deep voice coming from his right said, “You sure is

nice lookin’. Nice car, too.”

He turned and looked out the window. The tall cousin in his underwear, Darvin, was

leaning over and peering into the car. “Excuse me?”

“I said you was nice lookin’. My name’s Darvin.” His hands were pressed to his knees

and he was smiling. There were two front teeth missing and the rest were brownish yellow. He

was much better looking from a distance.

Harlan gulped. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, thank you.” He figured this must be

the gay cousin who’d tried to seduce Wilbur, and now he was staring between Harlan’s legs and

licking his lips.

“What’s your name?” Darvin asked.

“It’s Harlan.” Darvin’s accent was slightly different form Wilbur’s. He sounded redneck,

without the touch of British Wilbur had.

“I like them pants you’re wearin’,” Darvin said, and reached inside the car, lowered his

massive hand, and started rubbing Harlan’s right leg. “Are you a homasexshul? I got a real big

one for you hangin’ between my legs.”

Harlan’s heart began to race. Normally, guys like this didn’t make passes at other guys

out in the open. There had to be something wrong with Darvin, something unstable that might

render him dangerous. Harlan felt a cold sweat break out at his forehead. He smiled politely at

Darvin, then honked the horn a few times. This guy was huge, at least six feet four inches tall.

And his hands were the size of Frisbees. If he wanted to, he could probably lift Harlan out of the

car, carry him into the woods, and tie him to a tree trunk. Though Harlan liked rough sex and

rough men, he only liked it when it was his choice.

By the time Harlan honked the horn again, Darvin’s large, filthy hand was between his

legs and groping the bottom of his ass. Harlan felt light-headed; he started to gasp for air.

Then there was a loud slap on the roof and Wilbur shouted, “Git your hand outta there,

you big dumb fucker, you. This here is a gentleman, he is. And you git your hands off him now

or I’ll kick your ass till hell won’t have it.”

Harlan couldn’t see Wilbur’s face; he was standing next to the car on the driver’s side.

All he could see from inside the car were Wilbur’s clenched fists.

But Darvin removed his hand from between Harlan’s legs and took three steps back.

Then he lifted his arms in surrender and said, “I was just payin’ the man a compliment, was all.

Calm yourself, pretty boy. Just cuz you got a new haircut and some new clothes don’t make you

the boss of me. I’m still yer big cousin.”

After that, Harlan’s father leaned into the car and introduced himself. He spoke with the

thickest, heaviest cockney accent Harlan had ever heard. Harlan had been worried about

Wilbur’s father. He wasn’t sure how the father would feel about Harlan taking his young son to

live in his home for six months. Most fathers wouldn’t have approved. They would have asked a

long list of questions, and they would have wanted to know Harlan’s intentions were above

board.

But not old Larvin. He told Harlan he was glad his homosexual son had found a place in

the world. He said he’d been worried Wilbur would wind up like Darvin. He said all this through

the open window, thanked Harlan for taking an interest in his son, and told Harlan he could have

him for as long as he wanted. He even laughed, rubbed his beer belly, and said Harlan could

keep him forever if he wanted. Then he stood up, slapped Wilbur on the back, and said, “Don’t

go and ruin this. Do whatever the nice man tells you to do, Wilbur. Your kind ain’t good for

much else in this world.”

Wilbur didn’t reply. He opened the door and tossed a small paper bag into the back seat.

He started the car and turned it around without looking back at his home, his father, or a woman

with long gray hair in the front window of the house. He didn’t even put his arm out the window

and wave goodbye.

When they were back on the dirt road, Harlan asked, “Who was the woman in the

window?”

“That’s Ma.”

“Why didn’t she come out, too?”

“She don’t leave the house,” Wilbur said. “She’s a hider.”

“A hider?”

“When strange folks come up, she runs back to her bedroom and hides,” Wilbur said,

with a matter-of-fact tone. “She ain’t left the house since l991. And that was because she didn’t

have no choice. She had to git a tooth pulled and the dentist wouldn’t come out here this far.”

“I see,” Harlan said. He was starting to understand why Wilbur was willing to do

anything he said. He was also starting to see there were more layers to Wilbur than he’d

imagined there would be. How he’d been able to survive in such a dysfunctional mess for so long

was anyone’s guess.

Harlan looked back at the small brown bag in the back seat and said. “That’s all you

wanted to take from home?” He’d been picturing Wilbur coming out of the house, arms filled

with plastic bags of junk collected from his childhood bedroom.

Wilbur shrugged. “I just wanted to git my playing cards, was all. Nothin’ else back there

matters much to me.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice.

Harlan just nodded and watched him maneuver the Porsche back down the wretched dirt

road. He seemed more confident now than when they’d taken the road toward his house earlier

that afternoon. When they reached the end of the road and it was time to turn left to head back to

town, Wilbur looked left, right, then left again. But he never looked back once.

Chapter Five

For the next month, Harlan worked with Wilbur’s speech at the very basic levels. They

studied from eight in the morning until Harlan’s nap time. After dinner, they worked three more

hours, reviewing what Harlan had taught Wilbur earlier that day. Harlan had situated Wilbur in a

small room off the main hallway not far from the library and taught him as if he were teaching a

five –ear-old how to read for the first time. He used all the modern technology available,

including a computerized machine that measured Wilbur’s speech capacity. But for the most part,

in those beginning weeks, Harlan’s goal was to erase everything Wilbur had ever learned and

start from scratch.

On the fourth Friday Wilbur was there, about an hour before Harlan’s nap time, Harlan

gave Wilbur a vowel exercise and left him alone in the small room to work on his own. Though

Harlan loved his work, sometimes Wilbur’s voice grated his nerves raw. When Harlan closed the

door and walked into the hallway so he could join Fritz in the library, Wilbur screamed and

threw a book across the room. Poor Mildred was passing through the front hall on her way to the

kitchen when it hit the wall. When the book crashed and Wilbur screamed, she stopped short and

held her palm to her stomach.

“I hope you’re not wearing that poor boy out,” Mildred said. She lowered her head and

spoke with a low, respectful voice. “The way you work him so hard seems cruel sometimes. He

barely takes time to eat and sleep, and he hasn’t been out of this house for nearly a week.”

Harlan smiled and said, “I assure you, Mildred. I know exactly what I’m doing.” Since

Wilbur had arrived, Mildred had taken a strong liking to him. If Harlan had let her, she would

have coddled and spoiled him. “He needs discipline right now. If he’s ever going to reach his

goals, I can’t make it easy for him.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I guess you know what you’re doing,

Dr. Henderson. I just hate to see him so frustrated.”

Harlan smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m taking him out for a long drive tomorrow, and I’m

letting him drive the Porsche.” He’d grown fond of Wilbur, too. He just didn’t want Wilbur to

know how fond he was. It would have ruined their sessions.

“Ah well, then,” Mildred said, pressing her palms together. “I’m sure he’ll love that.”

Harlan lifted his index finger above his head and pointed to the ceiling. “But only if he

works hard today. I told him if he doesn’t learn to pronounce his vowels correctly, I’m not taking

him anywhere tomorrow.” Then he smiled and crossed into the library to see what Fritz was

doing. He’d been there since lunchtime, reading an old book because he didn’t have anything

better to do that day.

Savannah was in the middle of a horrendous heat wave. Friday marked the fourth

consecutive day with temperatures reaching the one-hundred-degree mark, and they weren’t

forecasting any relief until at least the middle of the following week. Fritz had taken to wearing

his lightest seersucker pinstripe that week, blue and white, which tended to make him look as if

he’d just stepped out of a carnival ring. Though the air conditioning was going full blast, Fritz

was sitting in a brown leather club chair fanning his face with the latest edition of Harlan’s

Architectural Digest.

“Don’t look so sullen, old boy,” Harlan said, crossing into the room with a brisk pace.

“It’s cool in here.”

Fritz looked at the sun beating on the window pane and shook his head. “It’s not cool

anywhere,” he decided.

Harlan sat down at his desk and opened his e-mail to see if he’d missed any important

messages while he’d been working with Wilbur. But before he could read anything, Mildred

knocked on the door and said, “There are two rather interesting men at the door. They want to

talk to you about Wilbur.”

Harlan gave Fritz a look and shrugged. “About Wilbur?”

“They say their names are Larvin and Darvin,” Mildred said, with a cautious voice.

“Larvin and Darvin?” Fritz asked.

Harlan smiled and told Mildred, “Send them in.” Then he looked at Fritz and said, “I

know them, and I’ve been expecting them. It’s Harlan’s father and cousin.”

A moment later, Mildred escorted Larvin and Darvin into the library and left them with

Fritz and Harlan. Larvin, Wilbur’s father, was wearing the same soiled jeans and sagging black

T-shirt he’d been wearing the first time Harlan had seen him. He probably hadn’t washed them

since then. And though Darvin was fully dressed this time, his jeans were ripped in both knees,

the sleeves had been cut from his plaid shirt, and his cowboy boots were so pointy the toes curled

up. Neither one had shaved in at least two days, and both smelled as if they’d just stepped out of

a vat of stale beer laced with vinegar.

Harlan stood up from his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “What can I do for

you fine men this afternoon?” He knew why they were there; he wanted to play with them.

“Nice to see you, Dr. Henderson,” Larvin said. He didn’t pronounce the h in Henderson.

“Me and me nephew come to see you about a serious matter.”

Harlan smiled and glanced at Fritz. He gestured and introduced them. “This is my old

friend and associate, Dr. Fritz Griffin. Fritz this is Larvin, Wilbur’s father, and Darvin, Wilbur’s

cousin.”

Darvin just stood against the wall and nodded at Fritz. He scratched his groin and sniffed

his fingers.

Larvin said, “Nice to meetcha.”

Fritz didn’t rise. He nodded at them both and smiled.

Then Harlan reached for a book on his desk and opened it to a page in the middle. He was

only pretending to read. From the corner of his eye, he was watching Larvin and Darvin closely.

Darvin seemed harmless: he stood with his back to the wall, hunched forward with his hands

folded across his stomach. But Larvin wore a serious expression, with pinched lips and furrowed

eyebrows.

While he was staring into the book, Harlan asked, “What is this serious matter you came

to discuss?” His voice sounded jovial, as if he’d just received good news he wanted to share with

them.

Larvin tried to square his round shoulders and cross the room. But after the first step he

dropped the keys to his truck. He was standing in front of where poor Fritz was seated, only

inches from Fritz’s face. When he bent over to retrieve the truck keys his sagging jeans rode

down in the back and his black T-shirt rode up, exposing his bare white flesh and three inches of

his ass crack.

Fritz gasped at Larvin’s bare ass and sat back in the club chair with a blank look.

Harlan laughed and said, “Is this about Wilbur?”

“I’ve come to take him home,” Larvin said, righting his large body and taking a strong,

solid stance.

“Feel free,” Harlan said, with a huge smile. “Wilbur is in the next room studying. You

can just walk in and take him now if you like.” Then he patted Larvin on the back and winked at

Fritz.

“I need him back home, I do,” Larvin said. “I been workin ‘double since he’s been gone.”

“He’s your son,” Harlan said, “not mine. He’s not my responsibility at all.”

Larvin’s face tightened and he shook his finger at Harlan. “Hold on there. You take an

innocent young man away from the bosom of his family for a month, do Lord knows what with

him, and then you just try to hand him back over to me because you’ve already done whatever

you want with him and now you’re tired of him. And now you want me to take him back. He’s

damaged goods now.”

Harlan slammed the book shut and dropped it on his desk. He turned to Larvin, looked

him in the eye, and said, “How dare you come here and try to blackmail me? First you say you

want him back, then you turn it around and get mad at me for giving him back.” Harlan was not

about to let Larvin or anyone else take advantage of him. And the way Larvin referred to Wilbur

as damaged goods made his heart race.

“I never said nothin ‘about blackmailin’ you,” Larvin said. He turned to Fritz. “Did I say

anythin’ about money?”

Fritz moved to the edge of the seat and shrugged.

“Well, if you don’t want money, what do you want?” Harlan asked. He glanced at Darvin

on the other side of the room. Darvin was picking his nose, oblivious to what they were talking

about.

Larvin laughed in Harlan’s face. “What do you think I came for?”

Harlan stepped back; Larvin’s breath made him nauseous. “I’m sure I have no idea.”

“When Wilbur told me he was takin’ off with you the day you both pulled up in that little

foreign car, I gave me blessin’, I did. And before he left, I told him, don’t forget where you came

from, boy.”

Harlan smiled. “So you sent him away with me on purpose. You wanted me to take him

off your hands.” Harlan knew where this was going. He wanted to trap the old man and hang him

with his own belt.

“He told me he was going off with you and he didn’t want none of his clothes, not even

his underpants,” Larvin said. He leaned forward and winked. “Now what was I supposed to think

about that, I ask you. I’m a man of the world. I know what fellas like you do. I seen it before. I

know what gay is and I know what homosexuals do. A delicate, sensitive, innocent boy like

Wilbur, who ain’t never been interested in girls none, wants to go off with a nice-lookin’ man

like you and he don’t want no clothes. What am I supposed to think as a good Christian?”

“I see,” Harlan said, with a wise half-smile. “You’ve come here today to rescue Wilbur,

as a good Christian, because you think I’m just a bored, rich, gay man playing around with a

young, innocent boy. And that I’m doing awful wretched things to him.”

“It is what it is,” Larvin said.

“Mildred!” Harlan shouted. He turned his back on Larvin and walked to the door.

When Mildred came in, he said, “Wilbur’s father came to take him home. Please go get

him now.”

Mildred looked Larvin up and down and scowled.

Fritz pressed his palm to his mouth.

Larvin’s body jerked and he jogged over to Mildred and Harlan. “Hold on. Let’s not

jump to conclusions none. I’m not tryin’ to insult you. I’m a good God-fearin’ Christian, I am.”

He reached for Harlan’s arm and said, “We can work this out. You and me is both men of the

world.” Then he winked at Harlan and smiled.

“Well, I see,” Harlan said, with a patronizing tone. “Mildred, you’d better leave. I don’t

want you listening to two men of the world.”

“I should say not,” Mildred said, turning her back to leave the room.

As Harlan walked to his desk, Larvin followed him. “I’m not so sure I want Wilbur

back,” Larvin said. “If you want to keep him around for a while, it might be the best thing for

everyone. You get your young boy, and I get some peace of mind. But I can’t let you have him

for nothing, you see. I’m interested in talkin’ about an arrangement. I’m just takin’ advantage of

my rights as Harlan’s father, and you surely don’t think I’d just let a good-lookin’ young boy go

like that for nothin’.” He looked Harlan up and down and smiled. “You look like one of the good

ones, Dr. Henderson.”

“Good ones?” Harlan said, holding his chin in his palm.

“Yeah,” Larvin said. “You know, real classy, like a real man. You’re not one of them

lady-boy poufs, with a limp wrist and a swishy walk. You don’t pluck your eyebrows, talk with

no lisp, or wear no makeup. Why you could pass for a straight guy anytime, you could. I can’t

fault you none if you have a likin’ for innocent young guys like me Wilbur.”

Fritz cleared his throat. He’d remained silent until then. “You should be aware, Larvin,

there’s nothing wrong going on here. Everything Dr. Henderson is doing with Wilbur is

completely legitimate and strictly professional. Dr. Henderson is an excellent linguist and teacher,

with the best reputation.”

Larvin laughed and covered his lips. “I’ll bet he’s very good at what he does. If he wasn’t,

I’d ask for two thousand.”

“Are you saying you’d sell your own son for two thousand dollars?” Harlan asked.

Harlan had been around and back, but he’d never met anyone like this man before.

“Do you have any morals?” Fritz asked.

Larvin shrugged and looked at Darvin. Darvin was biting the nail on his thumb now. His

face was turned sideways and he was chewing with his back teeth. “When you’re as poor as me,”

Larvin said, “you can’t afford to have morals.” Then he sat in the chair across from Fritz and

sighed. “Look at me. I got a homosexual son, a wife who won’t leave the house, and a half-

witted homosexual nephew over there standing against the wall suckin’ on his fingers. I ain’t

seen England since the day I left and I’m stuck in that rat hole where I live until the day I die.

I’m only askin’ for one thousand dollars. Just for all it took to raise me Wilbur and get him ready

for the likes of men like Dr. Henderson.”

Harlan rolled his eyes and laughed. He patted Fritz on the shoulder and said, “Since he

put it this way, maybe I should give him two thousand instead of one. Just because he’s such a

good Christian.” Then he walked behind his desk and reached for his checkbook.

Larvin stood up. “Oh no,” he said. “I only want one thousand, is all. I wouldn’t feel right

takin’ a penny more than that. I have me own limits.”

Fritz stood up and took a deep breath. While Harlan wrote the check, he rubbed his jaw

and said, “Too bad gay marriage isn’t legal, Harlan. If it were, you could just marry Wilbur and

it would be much cheaper.”

Harlan ignored Fritz. He knew Fritz was joking, and he didn’t want to start a new

conversation about marrying Wilbur. His only interest in Wilbur was academic. Now that he

knew what Wilbur’s background was really like, he was even more determined to make

something out of the boy to keep him away from these wretched people.

“I just don’t understand why you people are always goin on about g’tting' married,”

Larvin said. “I never married Wilbur’s mother. Didn’t see a reason for it.”

Harlan handed Larvin the check and looked at Fritz. “Why am I not surprised to hear you

say this?”

Larvin ripped the check from Harlan’s hand and started for the door fast. He grabbed

Darvin’s shirt, pulled him forward, and said to Harlan, “I’ll be seein’ you. You have a good day

now.”

But on his way out to the hall, Larvin ran into Wilbur. Wilbur had just burst out of the

small study room with his arms in the air.

“I’ve had it,” Wilbur said. “I can’t do no more.” Then he stopped and looked at his father.

He lowered his voice and clenched his fists. He glared at Larvin with his head tilted sideways.

“How come you’re here?” He frowned at Darvin. “And why is that big fool here, too?”

“Don’t you start up now,” Larvin said, pointing his index finger in Wilbur’s face. “You

do as you’re told from now on, and listen to everything Dr. Henderson tells you to do.” He

turned to Harlan. “If he gives you any problems, you just take a belt to him like I always did. A

good beatin’ always straightens him out.”

“You beat him?” Fritz asked. He was near the door, standing behind Harlan. “With a

belt?”

Wilbur stiffened his lips, folded his arms across his chest, and turned away from them.

When Harlan heard Wilbur had been beaten, he felt a tug in his stomach. Though Wilbur

wasn’t effeminate, there was something so gentle and easy about Wilbur it was hard to imagine

anyone beating him or causing him pain.

“Sure, I whipped him,” Larvin said, tugging on Darvin’s shirt again. His head went back

and there was a hint of pride in his voice. “Wilbur’s a tough one, too. Never cried once no matter

how many times I beat him. Well, I’ll be on me way now. C’mon Darvin. Let’s git movin’.”

They practically ran out the door, almost knocking poor Mildred into the staircase.

Mildred continued walking to the kitchen, murmuring something under her breath.

When they were gone, Wilbur faced Harlan and asked, “What did they want?”

“No need to worry,” Harlan said, smiling. “You just go back and study your vowels. I’m

going up to get ready for my nap now. It’s been a busy afternoon.”

“I’m not goin’ back in there,” Wilbur said. “I know me vowels.” He repeated them with

the worst accent he’d used in days, getting them completely wrong once again.

Fritz put his arm on Wilbur’s back and said, “You just have to keep practicing, son.

You’ll get it right. I know you will.”

“Don’t be nice to him,” Harlan said, glaring at Wilbur. “He needs to work harder and he

needs to concentrate more on what he’s doing. Being nice to him isn’t going to help.”

Fritz sighed. “I just don’t want to see you overwork the poor boy. I’ll call you later. I’m

going home now.”

Harlan walked him to the door and waited until he was in his car. After that, he turned

around and started for the stairs. But as he went up, Wilbur said, “What am I supposed to do now,

while you’re up there takin’ your bloody nap?”

Harlan smiled. “Go back and study. Or you can start taking naps yourself. This way when

we go over today’s work later on, you’ll be more rested and you’ll concentrate better.” He knew

this last comment would make Wilbur’s face red.

“I ain’t takin’ no naps,” Wilbur shouted. “And I ain’t studyin’ no more today.”

When Harlan was halfway up the stairs, he turned back and looked down at Wilbur. He

laughed and said, “Wilbur, you will say your vowels correctly by the end of this day. We’ll go

over them later, after dinner. And if you don’t say them correctly, you won’t get to drive the

Porsche tomorrow.”

“What you talkin’ about now?” Wilbur asked. His back was facing Harlan; he was

sulking.

“I was going to take you out for a long drive tomorrow,” Harlan said. “I was going to let

you drive the Porsche. But if you don’t say your vowels correctly by tonight, you’ll sit home and

study again all day tomorrow.” Then he turned and continued to his room. He was looking

forward to his nap now.

While he climbed the steps, Wilbur looked up at him and shook his fist. “You’re a mean

man, Harlan Henderson. You’re heartless. You don’t care anything about me, or how I feel. All

you care about is your nap.”

Harlan smiled and continued climbing. At that exact moment, for the first time since he’d

started working with Wilbur, he was certain he was making progress. This time, when Wilbur

said the word anything, he didn’t drop the g. When he pronounced Harlan’s full name, he used

h’s. But more than that, he actually used the correct word, “anything,” instead of using a double

negative. And he didn’t even know he was doing it.

Chapter Six

On Monday morning, Vince called out of the blue and asked Harlan what he was doing

that day. Harlan was in the library with Fritz and Wilbur, sipping tea and going over Wilbur’s

lessons. Harlan had been easy on Wilbur that weekend. He’d taken Wilbur for a long ride in the

Porsche on Saturday, and on Sunday he’d allowed Wilbur to use the swimming pool all

afternoon. They hadn’t studied anything since they’d practiced pronouncing vowels on Friday

evening (he didn’t get them right once). So now, as far as Harlan was concerned, the fun was

over and it was time to work.

When the phone rang and Harlan saw Vince’s name appear on the screen, he almost

dropped his teacup to answer it. He hadn’t seen Vince in almost a month. And he hadn’t been

with a man since then.

“Hello,” Harlan said, turning away much too suddenly from Fritz and Wilbur. Fritz was

sitting on the sofa, and Wilbur was in a wing chair beside the fireplace.

“I was wondering if you’d like me to come over today,” Vince said. He spoke with a

lighter quality than usual.

Harlan smiled and said, “I think that would be nice.” He didn’t want Fritz and Wilbur to

know it was Vince. He pretended it was a casual call from an acquaintance. Though he didn’t

care, in a general sense, what anyone thought of his sex life, he did not like tossing his sex life

around in everyone’s face either.

“I wanted to come over sooner,” Vince said, “but I’ve been having trouble with my truck.

It’s ten years old and I’m gonna to be needing a new one.”

“I see,” Harlan said. He knew Vince wasn’t calling him because he missed him. Vince

never called unless he needed money for something. This time it sounded like he needed a new

truck. “Why don’t you just come over and we can talk about this later? I have to give my new

student his exercises for the day, then I’ll be free for as long as I want.”

“I can be there at ten,” Vince said.

Harlan looked down at his watch. It was almost nine, which would give him plenty of

time to prepare enough work to keep Wilbur busy for most of the day. “I’ll be upstairs,” Harlan

said. “Just come up the back stairs outside that lead to the veranda off my room.”

“See you then,” Vince said. “I’d better get moving. I still have to take my shower and get

dressed.”

Harlan turned and leaned forward. He didn’t want Fritz and Wilbur to hear. “No,” he said,

“there’s no need for that. You can do that when you get here.” When he was with Vince, he

preferred him to smell like a man should smell, not doused in cheap, offensive cologne and

strong deodorant.

Vince laughed and said, “I’ll just come as I am then, all sweaty.”

When Harlan hung up, he turned and faced Wilbur and Fritz. They were holding their

cups at the same height and gazing at him. He blinked and smiled. “Is something wrong? Do I

have food on my chin?”

“Who were you talking to?” Wilbur asked.

“My friend, Vince,” Harlan said. “You met him the first day you moved in here and

started studying.”

“Ah well,” Wilbur said. “The big dumb redneck donkey.” Then he looked at Fritz and

nodded. “That one reminds me of me cousin Darvin. I’ll bet they both have size fourteen feet and

pea-sized brains.”

Fritz pressed his fingertips to his lips and giggled.

Harlan, however, was not amused. “Not me cousin,” he said. “It’s my cousin. And frankly,

Wilbur, your only concern is learning to speak correctly, not judging my friends or my personal

life. Is that clear?” He didn’t want to appear angry, but he wanted to make his point. His personal

life had nothing to do with Wilbur, and he didn’t want anyone judging what he did, or with

whom he did it.

Wilbur looked down at his lap and pouted. “Yes, it’s clear’s a whistle.”

“And just for your information, Vince doesn’t have size fourteen feet,” Harlan said.

“They are size thirteen.”

Fritz gulped and pressed his palm to his chest. “That’s a big foot.”

“He’s a big boy,” Harlan said, winking at Fritz.

Wilbur rolled his eyes and said, “Anything over size twelve is a donkey.” He was still

staring at his lap, pouting and kicking the edge of the carpet.

When he pouted this way, Harlan always felt a pang of guilt for no apparent reason. And

he didn’t like feeling guilty for nothing. So he crossed the room and pointed to the small study.

“Let’s get moving,” he said. “I’m going to give you one important exercise that I want you to

exclusively work on all morning.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows went up. “Your friend is comin’ over then, so’s I’m stuck all alone in

that little room.”

“Would you like me to work with him while you’re, ah, while you’re entertaining your

friend Vince upstairs?” Fritz asked.

Harlan gave Fritz a look and frowned. “No,” he said. “I’d rather Wilbur worked alone.

It’s just a simple exercise, really. All he has to do is practice it and repeat it all morning.” He

turned to Wilbur. “We’ll go over it again this afternoon.”

Then Wilbur and Harlan walked into the hall and crossed to the study. When Wilbur sat

down behind a small desk, Harlan reached for a large book on the top shelf of a tall barrister case

beside the door. He opened the book and flipped through the pages for a second or two. When he

reached the page he’d been searching for, he placed the book in front of Wilbur and pointed to

the first few lines at the top of the right page.

“I want you to read this sentence aloud all morning until you get it right,” Harlan said.

“I’ll read it first, then I want you to repeat what I said until you get it absolutely perfect.”

“You want me to repeat the same thing over and over all morning? That don’t make no

sense at all.”

Harlan rolled his eyes and smacked his forehead. “Just do as I say, Wilbur, and stop

making comments about my methods.” He cleared his throat and recited the passage: “The rain

in Spain stays mainly on the plain.” Then he glanced up at Wilbur and said, “Now repeat what I

just said.”

Wilbur gazed up at him with wide, innocent eyes. He took a quick breath, squared his

shoulders, and exhaled. “The rine in Spine falls minely on the…”

Before he finished, Harlan slapped the bookcase. “It’s not falls, it’s stays!” Harlan was

making progress with his backwoods Southern drawl, but sometimes if sounded as if his British

cockney was getting stronger. “Now pay attention and repeat it exactly like this: The rain in

Spain stays mainly on the plain.”

Wilbur pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. Then he exhaled and said, “The

rine in Spine sties minely on the pline.”

“No, no, no,” Harlan said. “You sound just like your father now. It’s not rine, Spine, sties,

or pline. You’re not paying attention to me. It’s rain, Spain, stays, and plain. Do you

understand?” He’d been making progress with Wilbur’s dropped g’s, and he knew this exercise

wasn’t going to be simple, but he hadn’t expected Wilbur to be this clueless about it.

Wilbur nodded and looked down at the book.

“Now I’m going upstairs to my room and I’m telling Mildred and Fritz I don’t want to be

disturbed for any reason at all. You will remain here and repeat this over and over again until

you get it right. You must work harder, and concentrate harder, Wilbur. By the time I come back,

later this afternoon, I want you to read this to me exactly the way I just read it to you. Is that

understood?”

Wilbur nodded, still staring at the book.

But as Harlan turned to leave so he could go upstairs and wait for Vince, Wilbur lifted his

head and smiled. Without looking back at Harlan he said, “Have fun.”

Harlan didn’t reply, though he did experience a slight twist in his stomach. He wasn’t

sure why he felt this way so he continued walking, closed the study door with a slam, and headed

toward the staircase.

Fritz was out in the hall, with his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

“Why are you smiling?” Harlan asked. “Don’t I deserve a little fun once in a while, too?

I’m a grown man, damn it. And If I want to get together with someone like Vince once or twice a

month, it’s my business.” He felt as if both Fritz and Wilbur were judging him, and he didn’t

think that was fair. Though bisexual Vince wasn’t exactly the hero in a romance film, and he was

far from being a genius, he was honest, extremely competent in bed, and always aware of safe

sex. Harlan had never been a promiscuous man. During the times in his life when he’d been in

relationships, he’d always been monogamous—which was more than he could say about his

former partners. Even with Vince he was monogamous, and he didn’t have to be.

Fritz raised his hands and said, “Calm down. Don’t get the wrong idea, old friend. I’m

only smiling because I have a funny feeling our young Wilbur is a bit jealous of big, strapping

Vince with the size thirteen foot.”

Harlan tilted his head to the side and rubbed his jaw. “Ah well,” he said. “I seriously

doubt that. If anything, Wilbur is so annoyed at me right now for making him work so hard he’s

probably ready to club me with a baseball bat.” He patted Fritz on the shoulder and laughed.

“You have a very interesting imagination.” He turned to the stairs and said, “But I’m afraid

you’re way off on this one, Fritz.”

Fritz shrugged. “Maybe so. I’ve been known to be wrong before.”

* * * *

A few minutes before ten, Harlan heard Vince jog up the back stairs that led to the

veranda outside his bedroom door. He knew it had to be Vince. No one else ran up those steps

with such heavy thuds. So he went down on the bed, flat on his stomach, and rested his body

across the width of the queen-size mattress. He was already naked; he spread his legs and arched

his back. It was fun to pretend Vince was walking in on him without notice, catching him naked

and sprawled across the bed, so he could pounce on him while he was in the middle of a deep,

comfortable sleep.

When he heard the doorknob turn, Harlan rested his face on the sheets and closed his

eyes. A few seconds later, Vince crossed the room, climbed up on the bed, and fell on top of him.

Harlan stretched his arms and sighed. The rough fabric of Vince’s jeans on the backs of his legs

and ass made his balls jump a few times. His worn cowboy boots tickled Harlan’s bare feet.

Then Vince pressed his rough beard against Harlan’s ear and whispered, “You’re lookin soft and

hot today. Looks like you just worked out and shaved your whole body for me.”

“I did it just for you,” Harlan said in a stage whisper. “I got up extra early, did an hour

workout, then used one of those depilatory creams in the shower.” It was the truth, too. But he

hadn’t done it just for Vince. Harlan worked out every morning, and he used the depilatory

cream on his entire body once a week so he’d remain smooth and hairless. Though he loved men

with a slight amount of body hair, especially on their legs, he preferred to be smooth all over. It

made him feel both sexy and civilized.

Vince reached down and rubbed his smooth thigh. “Feels good,” he said. “Thanks.

You’re always so classy when it comes to these things. There’s nothing I love more than a nice

smooth, clean, round ass. You smell good, too. Like fresh laundry.”

“You feel good, too,” Harlan said, spreading his legs wider. Vince’s cold belt buckle was

pressing into the small of his back, and he could feel Vince’s erection through the jeans.

“I’m a mess,” he said. “I should take a shower first. I haven’t showered since Saturday.

And I was out workin’ in the garage early this morning, tryin’ to fix my truck. My hands are

covered with grease.” Then he rubbed his beard against Harlan’s cheek and squeezed his ass hard.

Harlan’s head jerked and he smiled. His bottom lip quivered. “Don’t shower. I want you

just the way you are. You smell good to me.” Harlan wasn’t into anything raunchy or too kinky.

Vince didn’t smell offensive, nor was there anything repulsive about him. When Vince didn’t

shower for a day or two, he tended to smell tweedy, like old jeans that have been hanging in the

closet for too long. And his private parts took on a damp, subtle aroma that reminded Vince of a

wet beach towel on a hot summer day that had been rolled up and shoved into a beach bag.

“But I’ll get greasy marks all over your smooth, clean body,” Vince said, biting his

earlobe.

Harlan opened his legs even wider. He wanted those grease prints all over his body,

especially on his ass. “We can take a shower afterwards,” he said. “Let’s just have fun first. You

can put grease stains anywhere you want on me.” He was always certain to use the right words

with Vince. He never referred to their sex as making love.

Vince pulled down his zipper and released his dick. He rubbed the head against Harlan’s

ass and said, “Did you miss me?” Then he shoved his warm tongue into Harlan’s mouth and

kissed him hard.

While they kissed, Harlan nodded. A moment later, Vince rolled Harlan over on his back,

climbed on top of him, and started kissing him again. Harlan closed his eyes; he laced his fingers

at the back of Vince’s head without applying pressure. When he lifted his legs, he wrapped them

around Vince’s body and crossed his feet at the ankle. Vince was kissing and bucking his hips by

then. He felt Vince’s erection rubbing the soft spot between his right leg and his penis.

They kissed for a long time, much longer than Harlan expected. They’d been fooling

around on the down low for a while, and this was longer than they had ever kissed in the past.

Harlan wasn’t about to object to the kissing either. When they were together this way, Harlan

always allowed Vince to make the first moves. He wanted Vince to take control. But today

seemed different for some reason; Vince truly seemed to be enjoying this make-out session. It

wasn’t forced or planned. Though their foreplay usually varied, depending on how much time

they had to be together, there was something distinctly different about the way Vince held him,

kissed him, and played with his body.

It didn’t end with kissing. After they stopped rolling around on the bed, Vince got up and

removed all his clothes. He tossed his dirty underwear and socks on Harlan’s face and laughed

when Harlan said he was being a pervert. When he picked up his size thirteen cowboy boot and

rubbed the sole between Harlan’s legs, he smiled and bit Harlan’s big toe. He seemed more

playful and animated that morning, in ways Harlan hadn’t seen before.

When Vince was naked, he climbed back into bed and straddled Harlan’s face. First, he

dangled his low-hanging testicles over Harlan’s mouth, then lowered his body so Harlan could

suck them for a while. After that, he sat back on Harlan’s chest and inserted his erection into

Harlan’s mouth. While Harlan sucked, he bucked his hips in and out. The head hit the back of

Harlan’s throat and his balls slapped against Harlan’s chin each time he bucked forward. Vince

had one of those strong, insensitive dicks. When the head rubbed against Harlan’s teeth, he

didn’t wince or whine. He just rubbed it harder. He did this for so long Harlan had a feeling

Vince wanted to come in his mouth. Harlan wouldn’t have objected. He liked giving head, and

the taste of come made his mouth water more than expensive dark chocolate.

But Vince had another idea. He finally pulled his cock out of Harlan’s mouth and hopped

out of bed. When he was standing, he said, “Turn around now. Get down on your back and put

your head under my balls.”

Harlan turned around, following Vince’s orders. He had a feeling Vince was going to jerk

off on his chest while sucked Vince’s balls. Though Harlan wanted to get fucked, he wasn’t

going to complain. Half the fun of being with a young, bisexual man like Vince was allowing

him to do whatever he wanted to do in bed, especially when he was enjoying the sex so much

himself. Harlan knew the difference. He’d been with a few guys who hadn’t enjoyed the sex.

They did it for money and because they had been born with an unwarranted a sense of

entitlement. They did it because there was nothing better to do; they did it because they were

drunk and just wanted to close their eyes and get off. And most of the time they just sat back,

pulled down their zippers, and let guys like Harlan suck them off. It wasn’t all bad—getting them

off didn’t take long—but it was much better when the guy was actually enjoying himself.

When Harlan was on his back and his head was beneath Vince’s balls, Vince leaned

forward, grabbed Harlan by the waist, and hoisted Harlan’s entire body up in the air.

“What on Earth are you doing?” Harlan asked. He was upside down, with the front of his

body pressed to the front of Vince’s. His face was between Vince’s legs, his own legs were

spread wide, and his ass was a fraction of an inch from Vince’s lips. “You’re going to hurt

yourself.”

“I’m good,” Vince said. “I can handle you. Are you okay?”

He could feel Vince’s hot breath on his ass. Being suspended upside down made his heart

race even faster. “I’m fine. I could hang this way all day. But I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Vince said, rubbing his dark beard into Harlan’s ass crack. “Just suck my

dick.”

Harlan smiled and licked his lips. He’d never given head upside down before. He placed

one hand on Vince’s upper thigh for support, then grabbed Vince’s dick with the other and

started sucking him off. Though he been in sixty-nine positions with Vince before in bed, he’d

never done it in an upright position, dangling in mid-air. And when Vince lowered his own head

and started rimming Harlan’s ass, Harlan’s eyelids fluttered and toes curled back so far they

almost cramped.

Harlan lost track of time, but it went on far longer than he’d expected it would. By the

time Vince lowered him to the bed and rested him gently on the mattress, Harlan was ready to

get fucked, and he could see from the desperate look in Vince’s eyes he was ready to fuck.

“You want it, don’t you?” Vince asked. “You want me to fuck you now?”

Harlan licked his lips and nodded. “Yes. And please don’t hold back.” He’d never been

the type to scream, “fuck me,” or shout out orders. But he wasn’t shy about saying it politely.

Vince put on a condom and told Harlan to get up on all fours. He slapped Harlan’s ass a

couple of times, told him to spread his legs wider, and prepared for the mount. By the time he

plunged inside, Harlan didn’t care about the pain. He tossed his head back, took every last inch

Vince had to offer, and prayed Vince would come this way. When he was with Vince…even

though he was having safe sex with a condom…the fantasy of being filled with Vince’s come

made his body tremble. For Harlan, this was the definition of lust. And though it wasn’t the

definition of love, he was okay with this. True love had passed him by. But lust was still there,

and it was something on which he could always depend.

Fifteen minutes later, when Vince grunted and said, “I’m coming. I can’t hold back,”

Harlan reached for his own erection and started to jack. He clamped down on Vince’s cock and

started snapping his sphincter muscle as fast as he could.

“Yeah,” Vince said. “Keep doing that. It’s fucking wild. Don’t stop.”

Harlan continued to snap and Vince continued to slam into him. Vince grunted again,

bucked harder, and filled the condom. Harlan came while Vince was still deep in his hole. He

shot a long stream all over his white sheets and it dribbled on his index finger.

Vince fell on top of him and said, “Damn, that was fucking intense. I wish you could

teach my wife how to make her pussy snap the way your ass does.”

Harlan licked his index finger clean. Then he sighed out loud and frowned. When he was

horny and he wanted a man, the fact that Vince was bisexual and married didn’t bother him. Lust

took over and the only thing he wanted was to get fucked. But after sex, when it dawned on him

he was fucking around with a married man, he always felt a pull in his stomach. The only thing

he could do to make it go away was to rationalize. He told himself he wasn’t trying to steal

Vince away from his wife. He wasn’t trying to ruin their marriage and he had no intention of

ever putting any emotional demands on Vince. And the money he gave Vince helped the wife,

too.

He slapped Vince’s thigh and said, “Let’s go take a shower. I have to get back to work

this afternoon.” Then he crawled out from beneath Vince and went into the bathroom.

After the shower, while Harlan was drying Vince off, Vince placed his hand on Harlan’s

ass and squeezed it. “I’m havin a real problem with my truck,” he said. “If I don’t git it fixed, my

wife’s going to lose her job at the diner.”

Harlan pressed his lips together and continued to wipe Vince’s balls dry. He had a feeling

when Vince turned him upside down it was going to cost him more than usual. “Why would she

lose her job?”

“Because I’m gonna have to use her car to git to work,” Vince said. “And her car is

fifteen years old with almost two hundred thousand miles on the odometer.”

Harlan lifted Vince’s flaccid penis and patted it gently with the towel. It had to be seven

inches long soft, and so thick it filled Harlan’s entire palm. He stroked the top a few times and

said, “How much do you want, Vince?” He figured it would save time to just ask.

“You know I don’t take advantage,” Vince said. “I only ask for what I really need. I’m

not looking for you to give me money just for fun.”

“What about the flatscreen TV?”

Vince pouted. “I really needed that,” he said. “How’s a guy gonna watch a game without

a large flatscreen?”

Harlan smiled. He knew Vince wasn’t being glib. In his mind, a flatscreen TV was a

necessity. Even though Harlan didn’t have a large flatscreen TV himself, he knew Vince wasn’t

trying to take advantage of him. “Now you need a new truck?”

Vince put his arms around him and rubbed his back. “Not new. I found a really good deal

on a used truck,” he said. He mentioned the make of the truck, the mileage, and a few other

things Harlan didn’t care about. “It’s six thousand dollars. But all I need is the money for the

down payment. Fifteen hundred dollars, is all. I’m gonna finance the rest and pay it off over time.

I’m already pre-approved for the loan.”

When Vince told him the interest rate he would be paying, Harlan clenched his teeth and

cursed the bank. But more than that, it was hard to understand the fact that there were people

without fifteen hundred dollars for a down payment on a used truck. But at least this wouldn’t

cost him as much as the flatscreen TV.

So he put his arms around Vince’s neck and kissed his chest. “I’ll tell you what, Vince.

I’ll write you a check for six thousand and you go buy the truck outright. I don’t want you taking

out a loan. You and your wife don’t need the extra expense.”

Vince stepped back and gaped at him. He lifted his arms and raised his palms. “I’m not

askin’ for the whole thing. And I’m not askin’ for a loan or a handout. Fifteen hundred is good. I

don’t want no more than that. Hell, I’m startin to feel bad about takin’ any money from you.”

“Why?”

He shrugged and looked at the floor. “I like being with you, is all. I didn’t just come over

for money today. I came because I wanted to see you.”

Harlan reached for his cock again. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and said,

“Look, you’re a decent guy. I know you’re not asking for the whole thing. I’m offering to give it

to you. It’s not a loan. I’m just offering to do it for you and for your wife.” He had selfish

reasons for doing this. At least it would alleviate the guilt he felt for sleeping with a married man.

It wouldn’t make the guilt disappear. But it would help him sleep better at night.

“Why?” Vince asked. “Am I gonna have to do something extra for you?”

Harlan laughed and shook his head. “No. You don’t owe me anything else. And if you

never want to come back here again, that’s fine with me. This isn’t a loan. I’m not asking for

anything else in return. I want to do this.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Harlan said, releasing Vince’s dick. “Now get dressed so I can write you a

check and you can get out of here. I have to get back to work.” He had a feeling it was going to

be a rough afternoon. He kept thinking about the defeated expression on Wilbur’s face when he

made him recite the line from the book.

As Harlan turned to leave the bathroom, Vince grabbed his arm. He looked into Harlan’s

eyes and said, “I meant what I said. I do enjoy coming here and being with you. And I’m not just

comin’ for the money anymore. I was at first. But not anymore.”

Harlan reached for his hand and stroked it. “You’re married,” he said. “Don’t do this.

We’re just friends, Vince. That’s all we’re ever going to be. I’m not going to be responsible for

breaking up your marriage, and if I thought I was, this would end right now. Do you

understand?”

Vince shrugged. “I understand. But I can’t help the way I feel. I’m bein’ honest with

you.”

“And I’m being honest with you,” Harlan said. He tiled his head to the side. “You once

told me you loved your wife.”

“I do,” Vince said. “I love her more than anything. But it’s hard because I’m attracted to

guys, too. And I really like you.”

Harlan smiled. “Just get dressed now and go back to your wife, Vince.”

Chapter Seven

By the time they were well into August, Wilbur made some advancement with his speech.

When he worked face to face with Harlan, he didn’t drop his g’s anymore and he pronounced

almost all of his h’s. Instead of being “’appy” he was happy, and instead of feeling “’orrible”

about studying for so many long, endless hours, he felt horrible. But when they were finished

studying, Wilbur would revert back to his original Southern drawl/British cockney way of

speaking and Harlan would clench his fists and take a few deep breaths to remain in control. For

some reason Harlan couldn’t understand, it just wasn’t sinking in. He’d used all kinds of

technical equipment and study guides, he’d researched and followed up with his peers in top

universities, and he’d taken careful notes to be sure he was doing everything he was supposed to

be doing. And after two months, Wilbur should have been making more progress.

Although this frustrated Harlan to the point of losing sleep, it also made him even more

determined to transform Wilbur into an example of social excellence, and no one was going to

change his mind. Fritz saw how hard both Harlan and Wilbur worked together. During one of

their midnight sessions, when Harlan was so exhausted he could hardly keep his eyes open,

Wilbur ran from the room blotting tears from his eye because he couldn’t repeat a sentence. Fritz

had been in the library with them. He turned to Harlan, paused for a second, and said, “Maybe

it’s just not possible, Harlan. Maybe you can’t change him. You have been working so hard, and

I’m not seeing very good results.”

Harlan rubbed his eyes and pounded his fist on the desk. “I’m not giving up. He’s just not

concentrating hard enough.”

After that night, Harlan and Wilbur began working seven days a week instead of five.

The only break Harlan took was for his afternoon nap, and he left Wilbur in the library studying

the entire time he slept. It finally reached the point where Mildred had to say something to

Harlan, and Mildred never interfered with Harlan’s professional life.

“Dr. Henderson,” she said. “It’s none of my business, but this just isn’t right.” It was

another dramatic night, where Wilbur stormed out of the room and Harlan was behind his desk

holding his head in his hands. “That poor boy is about to lose his mind, you’re completely

overwhelmed, and I haven’t been able to get into this library to clean it in almost three weeks.”

Harlan sat back in his chair and took a long, deep breath. He stretched out his arms and

yawned. “He’s getting there, Mildred. I know he is.”

“But you’re killing yourself,” she said. “The boy is tired, but it’s you I’m worried about.

Even the landscapers are talking. When they see you they shake their heads and say, ‘Poor Dr.

Henderson. He’s gonna kill himself with that boy.’”

This, for some reason, made Harlan laugh. Though he’d always been intense about his

work, he’d never taken his privilege and wealth for granted. “There are many people who work

much harder than I do, Mildred. I’ll be fine. I promise you.”

She lowered her head and smiled. “I guess you know what’s best, Dr. Henderson,” she

said. “But I do have to get in here and give this library a good going over. It’s been weeks since I

dusted.”

Harlan laughed. He had a feeling she was more worried about giving the library a “good

going over” than anything else. “This Saturday you can have the entire library to yourself,”

Harlan said. “I’ll give Wilbur the day off and let him drive the Porsche.”

From the way she looked at him, with that huge smile and those large bright eyes, anyone

might have thought he’d given her an expensive diamond necklace instead of permission to clean

the library. “It’s for the best, Dr. Henderson. I think you both need a day off.” Then she left the

room with a light step, almost skipping into the main hall.

Harlan yawned again and stood up from his desk. His head pounded and his legs felt stiff

and heavy; he did need sleep. Though he was having his own second thoughts about whether or

not Wilbur would ever get what he was trying to teach him, Harlan wasn’t ready to give up yet.

To make matters even worse, Harlan hadn’t been with a man since the day he’d given Vince the

money to buy the used truck. He’d decided while writing the check that it was time to cool things

off with Vince. This was the first time he’d ever been with a married man and he didn’t want it

to blossom into a sordid, furtive relationship. When he made this decision, he started sleeping

better at night for the first week. But then his insomnia returned and he blamed it all on sexual

frustration. The only decent sleep he experienced occurred during his afternoon naps.

But when he woke the next morning he wasn’t feeling much better. His penis was rock

solid and there was no one around to take care of it. He could have called Vince. But he didn’t.

He pulled a dildo out of his nightstand instead, greased it up with lube, and masturbated before

breakfast. As far as Harlan was concerned, nothing could ever compare to being with a real man.

But at least he wouldn’t spend the rest of the day feeling guilty about sneaking around with a

married man, and he wouldn’t wind up snapping at Wilbur because he was sexually frustrated.

There was enough snapping to do thanks to Wilbur’s lack of hard work and his inability to grasp

what Harlan was trying to teach him.

After a fast breakfast in the library, Harlan pulled out the book with the quote “The rain

in Spain stays mainly in the plain,” and told Wilbur the entire day would revolve around him

learning to say this one sentence correctly. Fritz was in the wing chair beside the fireplace. When

he heard this he rolled his eyes and shook his head. They hadn’t done this exercise for a while

because the last time had been so horrific.

“We’re going to study this until you get it right,” Harlan said, placing the book on

Wilbur’s lap. “If you get it right by the end of the day, you get to drive the Porsche all afternoon

tomorrow. We’ll go for a long ride.”

Wilbur didn’t utter a word. He just stared down at the book and gulped. He was wearing

one of the new shirts Mildred had purchased for him, a black short-sleeved polo with white

stripes on the shoulders. His jeans were those tight faded low-rise affairs, with a two-inch zipper

and a wide leather belt. He’d just had his hair re-styled three days earlier and it made his strong

face appear clean and fresh. The boy looked good that morning; just like any other cute, well-

bred gay circuit boy. But Harlan didn’t want to bury him with compliments until he learned how

to repeat the sentence without mistakes.

“And tuck in your shirt,” Harlan said, furrowing his eyebrows. He wasn’t sure about the

low-rise jeans. He would have preferred a more conservative pair of chinos. “I know a lot of

young men wear their shirts outside these days. But I prefer them tucked in.” Then he gave Fritz

a look and winked.

Wilbur stood up and glared at Harlan. While he tucked the shirt into his tight jeans, he

made a face that looked as though he’d tasted something bitter.

Fritz gazed at Wilbur’s backside and smiled. “You look much better with it tucked in,

Wilbur.” His eyebrows jerked up and down a few times and he licked his lips.

“It’s not about how he looks,” Harlan said. He knew old Fritz was harmless; he would

look at Wilbur with desperate eyes, but he wouldn’t touch. “It’s about what’s right and what’s

wrong. If you want to be a true gentleman, you have to live like one in every aspect of your life.

Frankly, I couldn’t care less how Wilbur looks. He’s not the most attractive young man in the

world. That doesn’t matter. There’s more to being a gentleman than just looking good.”

Wilbur’s head went up. “Hey,” he said, without pronouncing the h. “Are you sayin’ I’m

not attractive?”

Harlan smiled and winked again at Fritz. He wanted to get Wilbur mad on purpose.

Actually, he thought Wilbur was very attractive. But before Wilbur could say another word, the

telephone rang and Harlan reached to his desk to answer it.

It was Vince. He told Harlan he missed him and he wanted to come over that afternoon to

see him. He made a point of telling Harlan he wasn’t interested in any money and he didn’t want

a thing from him. He only wanted to see Harlan this time because he’d been thinking about him.

Harlan nodded and smiled and listened without letting Fritz and Wilbur know to whom

he was speaking. They were both sitting on the edges of their seats, waiting for Harlan’s next

word.

Harlan smiled at them and said, “It’s not a good time. I’m very busy right now. I’ll call

you next week.” He didn’t mention Vince’s name once.

When Vince refused to give up, joking to Harlan he was so horny he was ready to fuck a

telephone pole, Harlan gave Fritz and Wilbur a casual smile and said, “I have to hang up now.

I’m much too busy to talk. I’ll call you next week.” Then he turned off the phone, made sure the

ringer wasn’t on, and set it back on his desk.

Fritz didn’t ask who Harlan had been speaking with. He looked up at the ceiling, adjusted

his position, and sighed with a blank expression.

But Wilbur leaned forward and smirked at Harlan. “Who was that?” he asked. “Was it

good old Vance? He hasn’t been around much lately.”

“His name is Vince,” Harlan said, “not Vance. And it’s none of your business who it was.

The only thing you have to concern yourself with today is learning how to say, ‘The rain in

Spain stays mainly in the plain.’” He pointed and shook his finger up and down fast. “Now get to

work.”

Wilbur shifted his body away from Harlan. He stared down at the book and pouted. Then

he folded his arms across his chest, huffed a few times, and started reciting the sentence aloud.

When they took a break for lunch and Wilbur still wasn’t able to recite the sentence the

right way, Fritz frowned and said, “I don’t know, Harlan. It’s not looking good. Maybe there’s

something else he could recite and practice. Maybe it’s this particular arrangement of words that

is confusing him.”

Harlan’s back stiffened and his head went up. “I refuse to admit defeat. We’ll just work

harder.”

After lunch, they worked until nap time and Wilbur still couldn’t get it right. He was

leaning over the coffee table by then, with slumped shoulders and a lugubrious expression.

When Mildred brought in a plate of homemade chocolate-chip cookies for them to snack

on, Harlan took three and handed the plate to Fritz. He purposely passed it in front of Wilbur’s

face. Wilbur stared at the chocolate-chip cookies, pursing his lips and rubbing his abdomen.

“What about me?” Wilbur asked, while he watched Fritz bite into one of the warm

cookies.

“You’re too busy working to eat,” Harlan said, swallowing his cookie. He pointed to the

book. “Now get to work and stop wasting time.”

By four thirty, Harlan looked at his watch and said, “I’m taking a break for my nap. Fritz,

if you’d like to stay for dinner you can nap in the guest room on the second floor.”

“Don’t I get a break, too?”

Harlan smiled. Though he was frustrated beyond words, he didn’t want Wilbur to know it.

“You’ll remain right here and continue to recite this sentence until you get it right. If you haven’t

mastered it by the time I wake up from my nap, you’ll get no dinner tonight.”

* * * *

Harlan and Fritz had a light dinner—watercress sandwiches and cold asparagus spears—

in the library, and Wilbur continued to work on pronouncing “the rain in Spain” while they ate.

He watched them chew and swallow, with his palm pressed to his empty stomach and his mouth

watering. At one point, he leaned forward so far he almost fell off the chair watching the tip of

an asparagus spear on the end of Fritz’s fork.

By midnight, Fritz was flat on his back, sleeping on the sofa. Harlan reached for a bottle

of aspirin and said, “I have a splitting headache. My temples are pounding.” In all his years of

teaching, writing, and lecturing, he’d never been so frustrated and felt so completely

disillusioned.

“My head is poundin’, too,” Wilbur said. “I can’t even think straight no more.” His voice

was wrecked and his complexion was a pale shade of gray.

Harlan swallowed the pills and rose from his desk chair. He crossed to where Wilbur sat

slumped forward and handed him two aspirin and a glass of water.

“I know you’re tired,” Harlan said. He spoke with a low, exhausted tone. “I know your

head hurts even more than mine.” He sat down across from Wilbur and looked into his eyes.

“But try to think about the magnitude of what you’re doing. This is a great, courageous thing,

and not many young men where you come from would have the guts to tackle it, not to mention

the insight to want it in the first place. You are learning how to master the English language in its

purest form. It is not just about speaking a certain way. It is art, it is history, it is mathematics,

and more. It all revolves around love and truth and beauty. And you’re trying to master it. Just

think about what you’re actually doing. Listen to your heart instead of your head, and know how

special you are. When it all finally comes together, and you’ve absorbed what I’ve been teaching

you, you’ll see what I mean.”

Wilbur gaped at him, with his hand pressed to his heart and glazed eyes. His lips were

parted and his body dead still.

Harlan smiled and patted his arm. At that point, he was ready to give up for the day.

“You set out to master a goal. You wanted to do this just as much I was wanted to help you do it.

You were so eager you were willing to pay me. And master it, you will.” Then he sighed and

stood up from the chair.

While he walked back to this desk, Wilbur sat there staring, reflecting on what Harlan

had just said. Except for the slight whistle coming from Fritz’s breathing, the entire room turned

dead silent. Even the huge old grandfather clock in the hall seemed to have stopped ticking.

Harlan sat down and reclined in his leather chair.

Wilbur sat up, lifted his chin, and moved his lips. “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the

plain.” He spoke slowly and pronounced each word to perfection. Though his face remained

blank and unsure, his eyes blazed with anticipation.

“What was that?” Harlan pushed forward in his chair and stared at Wilbur.

He faced Harlan with a slow turn and repeated what he’d just said. “The rain in Spain

stays mainly in the plain.” He did it without a Southern drawl or the slightest hint of cockney.

Fritz opened his eyes and blinked. He sat up on the sofa and faced Wilbur’s back as if he

couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Again,” Harlan said. His lips turned up slightly, as if he were terrified to actually smile.

“The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.”

Fritz jumped up and clapped both hands together. “He’s got it, Harlan. By God, he did it

right this time.”

After a second of disbelief, Harlan finally stood up and smiled. He raced across the room

and shook Wilbur’s shoulders, then grabbed Fritz and gave him a hug. “He got it,” Harlan

shouted.

“I got it,” Wilbur said, and screamed the “rain in Spain” sentence three more times.

They made so much noise congratulating Wilbur that Mildred came running down the

stairs in her bedclothes. “I heard shouting. It’s after midnight. Is everything okay, Dr.

Henderson?”

“Everything is wonderful, Mildred,” Harlan said, crossing the room and giving her a big

hug, too. “Things have never been better!”

Mildred stepped back and frowned. “Well, I’m taking this boy up to bed now. He’s

worked enough for one day.” She put her hands on her hips and scowled at Fritz. “I suggest you

two do the same thing before you all wind up in the hospital.”

Wilbur was still smiling. Fritz was tapping his knee.

“I think it’s time we took him out in public,” Harlan said. He turned to Fritz. “I was

invited to a Labor Day party in the Hamptons. I’ll charter a jet and we’ll fly up to New York.

We’ll stay at my Aunt Margaret’s home in East Hampton. She’s the only family I have left and I

haven’t seen her since my last Christmas party.”

“Do you think he’s ready?” Fritz asked. He snickered. “Do you think your Aunt

Margaret and East Hampton is ready for him?”

Mildred ignored them both. She took Wilbur by the arm and started pulling him out of

the library.

“We’ll never know unless we give it a try,” Harlan said.

Then Harlan reached for Wilbur’s other arm. He stopped them, only for a second, and

looked into Wilbur’s wide, almond-shaped eyes. “I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my

entire life. I knew you could do it. I knew you’d finally get it. It just had to sink in.”

Wilbur smiled and shrugged. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” Then he leaned

forward to hug Harlan.

But Harlan stepped back before Wilbur could hold him in his arms. “You go up to bed

now and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow you can drive the Porsche all afternoon.” Then he

turned to Fritz and said, “We have to get him a tuxedo with a white dinner jacket. I know this

will be a formal dinner party in East Hampton, at the Maidstone Club, and he’ll have to have a

proper white dinner jacket.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Mildred said, escorting Wilbur into the hallway. “But first this

poor boy is going to get some sleep. And so are you two. It’s not right to be working this late.”

Harlan wasn’t listening. His head raced with thoughts of chartering a small jet, buying

new clothes, and planning for Labor Day weekend in the Hamptons. But if he had been paying

attention, he would have noticed the way Wilbur looked at him right before he turned to leave

the room. Though Mildred held his arm the entire time, he looked back and gazed at Harlan, with

his head pitched willfully to the left, his lips parted, and his eyes glistening with the kind of

adoration only lovers share.

Chapter Eight

Wilbur seemed to enjoy flying in the small chartered jet. But he frowned and scrunched

his lips when they landed at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey. When Harlan asked him what was

wrong, he shrugged and said he was expecting to see Kennedy Airport, not some tiny little

airport in New Jersey, where people just stepped off the plane onto the tarmac. He said he’d

never been to a huge airport and he’d been looking forward to seeing all the unusual people

walking to and from their exotic destinations.

Fritz patted his back and told him it was easier for small jets to land in small airports.

Harlan said he’d tried to fly directly to Long Island, but could only get a flight to

Teterboro on such short notice.

“And it’s much more civilized,” Fritz said, with a smile. “Trust me. Flying commercial

can be very stressful. With security checks, long lines, and delays, it would have taken the entire

day to get up here.”

Then Harlan nudged Wilbur forward and told him he should be thankful he didn’t have to

spend hours wasting precious time in a large airport. “Let’s get moving. I want to be in East

Hampton by four this afternoon to get settled in so I still have time for my nap.”

As they walked to the town car that was already waiting for them, Wilbur gave Fritz a

look and rolled his eyes. “There goes that bloody nap business again.”

Harlan smiled and handed his luggage to the driver. “It would do you both good to take a

nap as well. We’ll be out all night tonight, and then it’s back to Savannah in the morning. A nap

will refresh you.”

Fritz shrugged. “I’m too old to sleep any more of my life away.”

Wilbur shook his head and said, “I’ll just take a walk while you nap, if it’s okay with

you.”

Harlan shrugged and said, “Suit yourself, Wilbur. What you do on your own time is your

business.”

Wilbur didn’t reply. But he gave him a sidelong glance and pressed his tongue to the

inside of his cheek.

On the drive out, Wilbur sat on the edge of his seat and looked at the New York skyline,

the bridges, the traffic, and all the congestion. He poked Fritz in the arm and took a deep breath.

“It’s all so much, and so big. It even smells different from Savannah.”

Fritz laughed and rubbed his round belly. “That’s called pollution.”

“I wasn’t talking about the buses and cars,” he said. “I was talkin’ about the energy. You

can actually smell it. And it’s almost as if you can feel it pass through your whole body. I’ve

never seen so much of everything in my life.”

“Pay attention to you g’s, Wilbur,” Harlan said. He’d expected Wilbur’s speech to falter

slightly. The boy was so excited he seemed to have trouble catching his next breath. “You want

to do well at the dinner party tonight, don’t you? They will be watching you closely.”

Wilbur sat back and folded his hands on his lap. They were now on the Long Island

Expressway heading toward the Hamptons. “While we’re on the topic of the dinner party,”

Wilbur said, “I’d like to ask you a favor.”

Harlan tilted his head and looked at him. “What’s that?”

“I’d like to be called Will now instead of Wilbur.”

Fritz said, “It might not be a bad idea.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Harlan said. Of all the silly things he’d heard Wilbur say,

this was the most ridiculous. “There’s nothing wrong with your name.” Harlan thought the name

Wilbur had good energy and tons of spirit.

“But Wilbur sounds so old fashioned,” Wilbur said. “It reminds me of someone’s old

grandfather. I like Will better.”

Harlan furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t see anything wrong with the name Wilbur.

Actually, he’d never known anyone named Wilbur and he’d grown quite fond of it. Harlan had

always been attracted to quirky, unpopular names, and he tended to like the people with these

names better than people with trendy, ordinary names. But it wasn’t his decision. “Very well,” he

said. “If you insist, I’ll introduce you as Will Munroe. But I’m still going to call you Wilbur

when we’re alone. I don’t think it sounds old fashioned. I think it sounds rather elegant.”

Both Wilbur and Fritz spoke at the same time. “You do?”

Harlan’s head jerked back. It felt like they were ready to pounce on him. He hadn’t

expected them both to react with such eagerness. “Yes, I do,” he said defensively. “But if you

insist on being called Will, that’s how I’ll introduce you.” Harlan didn’t think it made a

difference one way or the other. From what he’d learned growing up with privilege and wealth,

some of the most powerful people had the strangest names. His own father’s name had been

Vivian. His grandfather’s name had been Elmer Lucas Henderson. And everyone always called

him Elmer Lucas.

After they discussed his name, the drive to East Hampton turned out uneventful. They

passed the same level farmland and the same strip malls Wilbur saw back in Savannah all the

time. As the landscape flattened out, the traffic dwindled. Wilbur kept folding his hands and

unfolding them, as if he wasn’t sure where to put them.

But when they finally reached the outskirts of the small village of East Hampton and

turned off Woods Lane, Wilbur sat forward again and stared out the window. All the way down

Georgica Road, he leaned on the arm rest of the back door and gaped. Though most of the large

expensive homes were hidden from view, the homes that were visible, or partly visible, seemed

to hypnotize him. On Cottage Avenue he sighed; on Lily Lane he took a deep breath and inhaled

the fresh salty air. When they finally reached Lily Pond Lane and pulled into the driveway of

Harlan’s Aunt Margaret’s summer home, he shook his head and gulped. It was one of the older

shingle-style cottages, with a long white porch, steep gables, and established boxwoods trimmed

into perfect rounds. It had been in Harlan’s family since the late l920s and Harlan was the next in

line to inherit it.

Wilbur exited the car and looked up at the roof. “I’ve never seen anything more

wonderful in me life,” he said. Then he pressed his palm to his mouth and sighed. “Looks just

like the house in that movie, Grey Gardens, with them two old crazy ladies.”

“In my life,” Harlan said. But he smiled at the same time. When he saw the way Wilbur

stared at the old house, with such wide innocent eyes and such love, he realized he’d almost

forgotten how wonderful the place really was. Growing up with all this, he often took it for

granted. “The house from the movie isn’t far from here. It’s been renovated completely. And my

family knew them well. They weren’t crazy and they weren’t recluses. They just had a slight

reversal of fortune.”

“It’s nice to be here again,” Fritz said. “I’ve always loved East Hampton.” Fritz’s family

had once owned a home of their own on the other side of Woods Lane. “It’s interesting to go

back to a part of your life and realize you’ve missed it far more than you realized you actually

did.” He rubbed his chubby palms together and took a deep breath.

While the driver emptied the trunk, Harlan looked down at his watch and smiled. “It’s

only four o’clock,” he said. “Just in time for my nap. I’ll get you both settled in your rooms, then

we’ll meet up again at seven.”

Wilbur glanced at him and kicked the gravel with the tip of his shoe. “A walk on the

beach would be nice,” he said.

Harlan smiled. “Feel free to take a nice long walk, then.”

“It might be nice for two people,” Wilbur said. “You could skip the nap today and walk

with me. We could talk and look out at the ocean.”

“Maybe Fritz will go with you, if he’s not too tired,” Harlan said. He was busy fumbling

with the luggage, not paying complete attention to Wilbur.

“What about Aunt Margaret?” Fritz asked. “We’ll have to spend some time with her

before the dinner party.”

“We’ll be meeting her at the party,” Harlan said. “She’s still in town. She had a charity

event today and she’ll be meeting us at the Maidstone later. The housekeeper will let us in.”

Then he walked back to the car and told the driver to be back in the morning at eleven sharp.

“Come here, Wilbur,” he said. “Let’s get the rest of this luggage into the house and get settled so

I don’t waste any good nap time.” He smiled and pointed to his watch. “The clock is ticking.”

Wilbur pressed his lips together and glanced at Fritz.

Fritz patted his shoulder and said, “I’ll take that walk with you, Wilbur. We’ll go down

Lily Pond Lane and stroll on the beach. I haven’t done that in ages.”

“See,” Harlan said, “you won’t have to walk alone after all. You have good old Fritz to

keep you company.”

Wilbur smiled and said, “Maybe you should come with us. We could practice what I’m

going to say tonight. I’m a little nervous about it. I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing in

front of all these society people.” While he spoke, he gazed at Harlan as if searching for approval

and attention at the same time. He almost sounded as if he was begging Harlan to join them.

Fritz seemed to notice. “Why don’t you come along with us, Harlan? It surly won’t kill

you to miss one nap. Don’t be so set in your ways. You’re too young to be so crotchety.”

“You’ll be fine without me,” Harlan said. “You know how I feel about my naps.”

But his heart started to pound, and his mind raced with images of Wilbur attending this formal

dinner party at The Maidstone Club, where some of the wealthiest, most important people in the

country gathered all summer long. Harlan hadn’t mentioned anything to Wilbur or Fritz yet, but

he was planning on introducing Wilbur to his Savannah friends at his next huge Christmas party.

And if he could get Wilbur to pass as a gentleman at the Maidstone Club, he could do it

anywhere.

* * * *

On this particular afternoon, Harlan experienced one of those rare naps that left him

feeling both relaxed and energized at the same time. And if anyone knew about naps, it was

Harlan Henderson. It was such a deep sleep he’d drooled on the pillowcase. When he woke,

every cell in his body tingled with a sense of comfort and well being and he wasn’t sure where

he was. He hadn’t slept this well in months. When his stomach grumbled, it occurred to him he

hadn’t been this hungry in months either. He was sorry he hadn’t planned on staying longer. He

could have worked with Wilbur in East Hampton just as well as in Savannah.

But when he looked at the small clock on his nightstand and saw it was after six thirty, he

jumped out of bed and walked down the hall to Wilbur’s room to see if Wilbur was getting

dressed for the dinner party. Before he’d taken his nap, he’d laid out Wilbur’s tuxedo, the new

one with the white dinner jacket, so Wilbur wouldn’t have to wonder what he was supposed to

wear. He knew Fritz would be ready on time, but he didn’t want to take any chances with Wilbur.

For all he knew, Wilbur was still down on the beach collecting sea shells and staring into the

ocean.

He walked up to Wilbur’s door and opened it without knocking—or thinking. But when

he burst into the room and looked at the bed, his jaw dropped and his right hand clutched his belt

buckle. Wilbur was in the middle of the bed, naked, on his back with his legs wide open,

starching one of his white athletic socks with fast, even strokes.

Wilbur sat up and gaped at Harlan with headlight eyes. His face turned red and his right

hand stopped moving. “Hey, don’t you knock first? I’m nekkid!” Then he pulled the white sock

from his erection and covered the lower half of his body with a white sheet.

Harlan turned around and pressed his palm to his cheek. The last thing he’d expected to

find was Wilbur jacking off into a sock. “I’m so sorry, Wilbur. I didn’t mean to intrude. I should

have knocked. I just wanted to see if you needed any help with your tuxedo.” Although he’d

embarrassed them both, he couldn’t erase the image of Wilbur’s penis from his mind. It had to be

at least nine inches long and thick as his new flameless candle from the Home Shopping

Network. The way his balls were bounding up and down while he jerked caused a pull in

Harlan’s stomach.

“Yes,” Wilbur said. “You should have knocked.”

“I just wanted to see if you needed any help.”

“I’ve been doin’ this for a long time all alone,” Wilbur said. “I think I can handle my dick

just fine by myself, thank you.”

“I didn’t mean help you with that,” Harlan said. “I meant help you to get dressed

properly.”

“I’m not a complete moron,” Wilbur said. “I do know how to dress myself.”

“I’ll just leave you alone, then,” Harlan said. “You can finish up what you were doing

and we’ll just forget this ever happened.” He knew the boy had needs. Harlan had already

masturbated twice that day: once in the morning while taking his shower, and a second time

before he closed his eyes to take his nap. When he’d been Wilbur’s age, he used to starch his

own socks four or five times a day. From what he remembered, there was nothing smoother than

a good jack session with a soft white sock.

Without turning around, Harlan asked, “Are you okay? Are you mad at me?”

“I’m fine,” Wilbur said. “It ain’t no big thing. And I’m sure it ain’t the first dick you ever

seen that wasn’t yours.” He didn’t sound mad anymore, just slightly annoyed with a hint of

frustration.

Harlan laughed. Actually, it was one of the biggest Harlan had seen in a long time—even

bigger than Vince’s. But he didn’t mention this aloud, and he didn’t correct Wilbur’s grammar or

speech this time. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a half hour,” he said. Then he closed the door and

walked back to his own room, trying hard to remove the image of young Wilbur’s dick

protruding through the tip of the white sweat sock.

A half hour later, Fritz and Wilbur paced the front hall, waiting for Harlan to come

downstairs. When he finally did, they both looked up at him and tightened their lips.

“You’re wearing that?” Wilbur asked.

Harlan stopped in the middle of the staircase and looked down at his outfit. “What’s

wrong with what I’m wearing?” he asked. He wore a brown tweed sport jacket, a white cotton

shirt with a button down collar, and tight black jeans. No tie. Brown oxfords.

Fritz and Wilbur were both wearing tuxedos with white dinner jackets. Fritz looked nice,

but Wilbur looked as if he’d just stepped out of a gilded royal coach. The walk along the beach

had bronzed his handsome young face. Beneath the subtle light coming from the hall chandelier,

he seemed to be glowing with seven different shades of amber. Even his almond-shaped eyes

sparkled and danced.

But he put his hands in his hips and glared at Harlan. Then he pointed and said, “We’re

both wearing tuxedos, and you look like you always look. It ain’t fair.”

Harlan descended the staircase and smiled. “I never wear black tie,” he said. “Actually, I

never go to these pretentious black tie events unless it’s absolutely necessary. I despise them to

no end. It’s all so fake and pointless.”

Fritz laughed. “I love getting dressed up.”

“Then why are we going to this one?” Wilbur asked. “I’d be just as happy to go for

another long walk on the beach. I don’t like gettin' dressed up this way neither.”

“It’s the only way to see if all our hard work has paid off,” Harlan said. “You wanted me

to transform you into the perfect gentleman and that is what I’ve been doing.” He was having his

doubts, though. Since he’d walked in on Wilbur, Wilbur seemed to be reverting back to his old

ways of speaking.

“But what about you?” Wilbur asked, tilting his head sideways.

“I know who I am,” Harlan said. “And I’m perfectly fine with who I am. Besides, I come

from older money and older stock than most of the people who will be there tonight. I don’t have

anything to prove to anyone.”

Fritz reached for Wilbur’s arm and said, “Don’t try to understand him. It’s not possible.”

Wilbur took a quick breath and turned toward the door. “Tell me about it.”

Chapter Nine

They took Aunt Margaret’s 1952 Cadillac convertible to the Maidstone, but Wilbur drove

instead of Harlan. When Harlan tried to back the massive car out of the garage, he almost

sideswiped the right rear fender. Fritz and Wilbur were waiting in the driveway. At the same

time, they lurched forward, threw out their arms, and suggested it might be a good idea for

Wilbur to drive. And Harlan was more than willing to lift his arms in the air and slide into the

passenger seat without an argument. Though the Maidstone was only a short drive away, Harlan

wasn’t fond of driving large cars. He could never seem to judge the width, and he didn’t want to

damage his aunt’s vintage car, not to mention the shrubbery between Lily Pond Lane and the

club.

A few minutes later, they got out of the car and Wilbur handed the valet the keys. Harlan

smiled and gave Wilbur a meaningful glance. They’d already rehearsed a plan for the evening.

Wilbur was only supposed to speak to people when they asked him a direct question and he

wasn’t to say or do anything without looking at Fritz or Harlan for approval. His main goal that

night was to smile a lot, look pretty, and be as mysterious as possible. And he was never to be

left alone. Either Fritz or Harlan had to be with him at all times.

During cocktails, in a small reception room not far from the main dining hall, Harlan

greeted his Aunt Margaret with a brisk kiss on the cheek. “You’re looking wonderful, my dear,”

he said. “It’s so good to see you.” She’d just arrived, with only minutes to spare before cocktail

hour was finished.

His aunt looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow. “I wish I could say the same.

You look as if you’re going bowling. This is not appropriate for a formal dinner at the club, even

it if is Labor Day weekend. This isn’t one of those typical informal parties out here. This one

specifically stated it was a black tie affair, and a casino night to raise money for charity.”

He laughed and said, “What wrong with what I’m wearing? I think I look fine.” He’d

forgotten it was a charity event.

She laughed and slapped his arm. “Don’t be obtuse, my dear. You know I don’t suffer

fools gladly.” For this reason, she’d been married and divorced five times.

“You look absolutely marvelous,” Harlan said. Her blond hair was pulled back in a neat

French twist. She was wearing a simple black dress, a small diamond circle pin on her right

shoulder, and black pumps with three-inch heels. She’d always had a classic, unaffected look,

which seemed to exude good background and breeding. Thanks to good strong genes, some

excellent plastic surgeons, and four of five stiff martinis every day of her adult life, Aunt

Margaret had very few lines on her face and the same size-four frame she’d had as a teenage

debutant. Though she was seventy years old, she didn’t look a day over fifty.

“What will people think when they see how you’re dressed?” Aunt Margaret said.

He knew she didn’t care what he wore. She was just playing him for sport. “Should I be

concerned? I changed my underwear.”

“You arrogant little bastard,” she said, with a sly grin. “I taught you well.”

He leaned into her side and said, “While we’re alone, I want to warn you about

something. You see, I picked up this wretched young boy at my last spring party and I’ve been

working with him all summer.”

“Ah well, Harlan,” she said. “It sounds rather tawdry. I do wish you’d just find a nice

man your own age and settle down. You’re getting too old for these sordid affairs with these

rough young men.” She knew he was openly gay, and she’d always been his strongest supporter.

If anyone even looked at him the wrong way, or make a snide gay comment, she’d attack them

without thinking twice.

“It’s not like that, dear,” he said. “I only took this young man into my home to change

him. It’s all purely academic, I assure you. I’m educating him. So far, I’ve taught him how to

speak correctly, I’ve taught him how to walk and dress, and I’ve taught him how to be a perfect

gentleman. This evening is an experiment: his first time out in public.”

She sighed. “I do hope you know what you’re doing. These people can be extremely

vicious. I hope he’s ready to deal with them.”

Harlan lifted his hand and motioned to Fritz and Wilbur. They were standing near the bar,

waiting for him to signal. “I think I’ve outdone myself this time, Aunt Margaret. I just wish you

could have seen the wretched little creature before I transformed him into who he is today.”

Fritz walked to where they were standing and reached for Margaret’s hand. “It’s so good

to see you again. I missed you at Harlan’s last party. It was quite an event. Savannah is still

talking about it.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Fritz,” she said. “I was in Europe. I just couldn’t get away in

time. But I’ll be there this Christmas. I promise.”

Harlan reached for Wilbur’s arm and said, “And this is Will Munroe, Aunt Margaret.

He’s the young man from Savannah I’ve been telling you about.”

Wilbur smiled and lifted his chin. When he reached to shake her hand, he said, “It’s a

pleasure to meet you.”

Harlan held his breath, then smiled. Wilbur’s body was stiff and there was a bead of

perspiration trickling down the left side of his face. But he pronounced each word without a hint

of his former accent.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Aunt Margaret said. She looked him up and down and smiled.

“Your nephew has told me so many splendid things about you,” Wilbur said. He spoke

slowly, enunciating each word as if they were all separate works of art.

Aunt Margaret smiled and glanced at Harlan. “We’d better go into dinner now. I have a

feeling it’s going to be an interesting evening.”

Harlan escorted his aunt, and Fritz walked alongside Wilbur. As they wended their way

through the crowded dining room, Harlan noticed people turn and stare at Wilbur. And not just

because he was a new face. He walked slowly and lightly, with his head held high and his eyes

focused on his destination. One man leaned into another man and murmured something. Two

young women elbowed each other and giggled.

When they reached the table, there were already two other people seated: a middle-aged

woman wearing a flouncy beige dress and a young man in his late twenties wearing a white

dinner jacket. The woman’s mousy brown hair was dead straight, parted in the middle, and cut

bluntly just below her ears. She wore dark-framed half-glasses that rested on the end of her nose

and a hint of light pink lipstick. She reminded Harlan of Willy Wonka—the Johnny Depp

version. The young man, however, was tall and thin, with a strong handsome jaw line, short dark

hair slicked with product, and steel blue eyes that softened his strong Anglican features. When

they approached the table, the young man stood up and gazed into Wilbur’s eyes. His lips parted

slightly and he fumbled to pull out a chair.

While Aunt Margaret introduced everyone, the middle-aged woman remained seated the

entire time. Her name was Buffy Campbell, and the young man was her son, Biff Campbell.

Harlan had met them before. They were old East Hampton summer people from New York. But

he hadn’t seen them in so long he wouldn’t have recognized them in any other situation.

Aunt Margaret introduced Wilbur last. He smiled at Buffy and tipped his head. “How do

you do?” he said, pronouncing each word with perfection. He even lowered his voice and

exaggerated all the vowels a second or two longer than he should have.

In the background, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, handsome Biff lifted

his right hand and signaled Aunt Margaret. Evidently, he didn’t want her to forget to introduce

him to Wilbur.

When she finally did introduce Wilbur to Biff—as Will—Wilbur smiled coyly and batted

his eyelids. “How do you do?” he said.

Biff jerked to the side and walked around the table. He extended his right arm, peered

into Wilbur’s eyes, and said, “I do just fine. How do you do?”

Wilbur’s head went back with a dramatic turn. “I do just fine.”

Harlan cleared his throat and said, “Why don’t we all sit down, now that we’re all doing

so well.” The table was round; he wanted to sit next to Wilbur. He’d been hoping Wilbur

wouldn’t have to say too much. He knew Wilbur still wasn’t completely transformed and he

didn’t want any slip-ups. Biff, Harlan saw, could be a potential problem. He was definitely gay,

and he wasn’t shy about it either. It was as though Wilbur had hypnotized him. If Biff had had a

tail, it would have been wagging. Harlan hadn’t planned on this. He’d just assumed they’d be

surrounded by the usual straight crowd all night and he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone

trying to get into Wilbur’s pants.

Though Wilbur seemed innocent and unaware, it didn’t discourage Biff. When Harlan

suggested they all sit down, Biff grabbed Fritz by the arm, yanked him to the chair beside Buffy,

and said, “I’d like to sit next to Will, if you don’t mind. I’d like to get to know him better. Would

you take my place next to my mother?”

Fritz didn’t have a chance to answer. Before he knew it, he was sitting beside Buffy.

On the surface, it all appeared harmless. Aunt Margaret sat on Buffy’s other side and

Harlan sat next to his aunt. It was a good thing Harlan was next to Wilbur, too. When Wilbur sat

down, he forgot to put his napkin on his lap and Harlan had to kick him under the table and nod

at the napkin. When the first course arrived and Wilbur started eating with the wrong fork,

Harlan had to kick him again. And when the soup course arrived and Wilbur drew the soup

spoon toward himself instead of away from himself, Harlan was there to remind him.

The good thing about Biff Campbell was that he was so self-absorbed he didn’t stop

talking through the entire meal. He told Wilbur all about his athletic abilities, from lacrosse to

college football. He spent at least twenty minutes raving about his favorite pastime, race car

driving, and another twenty minutes discussing his future plans as an attorney in New York. He

spoke only to Wilbur. He smiled so often it looked painful. He gazed between Wilbur’s eyes and

lips, at times leaning so closely Wilbur had to sit back in his chair and lift his chin so their noses

wouldn’t touch.

Fritz, oblivious to everyone, concentrated on eating. Aunt Margaret and Buffy spent most

of the night talking about their next charity event in the fall. By the time the dessert course was

ready to be served Harlan took a breath and sighed. He’d been so worried Wilbur would do or

say the wrong thing, especially with Biff focusing on him with such absolute concentration, that

he been putting off a trip to the men’s room all night. But Wilbur seemed to understand the

importance of remaining silent. In fact, Harlan felt so confident now that Wilbur could handle

himself he excused himself from the table to use the men’s room, without taking Wilbur with

him. Before he left, he gave Fritz a look and Fritz nodded back at him, assuring him he’d be

watching Wilbur so everything would go smoothly while he was gone.

When he returned to the table, Fritz smiled and tipped his head. Biff was still talking

about his next racing event as Wilbur gazed at him, smiling and nodding with a vapid expression.

Then Buffy rolled her eyes and said, “I heard they were predicting rain next week. I

certainly hope they are wrong. I have a garden party on Tuesday and I don’t want rain.”

Wilbur perked up and adjusted his position. “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.”

Fritz blinked.

Harlan dropped his fork.

Buffy and Aunt Margaret lowered their coffee cups and stared at Wilbur blankly.

“Excuse me,” Biff said, leaning forward again, resting his palm on the back of Wilbur’s

chair. His legs were spread so wide he was almost straddling Wilbur’s chair.

“The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain,” Wilbur said. “But in Savannah, Atlanta,

and Valdosta, it’s been known to flood the creeks and rivers.” Now that he’d gained some

newfound confidence he seemed eager to talk.

Biff stomped his foot and laughed. He moved closer and placed his palm on Wilbur’s

shoulder.

“What is funny about that, young man?” Wilbur asked. “I think I got it right.” He lifted

his eyebrows and straightened his back.

“Nothing,” Biff said. “You’re so adorable. I love your eyes.”

Wilbur lowered his eyelids and smiled, enjoying the attention Biff was giving him.

Fritz cleared his throat and nodded at Harlan with a momentous glance.

Before Harlan had a chance to break into the conversation, Buffy said, “I do hope we

don’t have too much rain this season. With all these new strains of flu going around, we’ll all be

wearing protective masks. Bird flu, swine flu. I can’t keep track.”

“My cousin Darvin’s mother, my Aunt Bobbie Lee, died of the swine flu not long ago,”

Wilbur said. “Them that lived with her said it was because she was always with them pigs all of

the time.”

Harlan’s head went up and his eyes widened. They hadn’t rehearsed this. Wilbur had

been told he wasn’t to say anything unless someone addressed him first. He gave Wilbur a slight

nudge and cleared his throat.

But Wilbur didn’t want to stop. “They say it was the swine flu. But it has always been my

theory that they done the old girl in to get the in-surance money.” He was still speaking slowly,

with caution. But he emphasized the first syllable in the word insurance and traces of his true

accent were beginning to show.

“Done her in?” Aunt Margaret asked, with her head tipped sideways.

Fritz rubbed his jaw and looked up at the ceiling.

“Yes,” Wilbur said, with a blunt nod. “They done her in. Why would she succumb to

something like the swine flu when she practically lived with them pigs, and then she come

through cancer the year before? A tough old gizzard she was. They all thought she wasn’t going

to make it when she came down with cancer. But my father, he kept slipping beer down her

throat in the hospital when no one was looking.” He spoke slowly, with a smooth tone and a

pretentious rise and fall. He even rolled a few of his r’s.

Harlan turned his head. This was too painful to watch, and there was nothing he could do

to stop it. Biff, Aunt Margaret, and Buffy were gaping at him, lurching forward to hear the rest of

the story.

Wilbur sipped his coffee and said, “Then she come to so fast she put her false teeth into

her mouth, bit the IV wire right out her arm, got up out of bed, and stomped out of the hospital

all on her own with her arse hanging out of the gown.”

“Ah well,” Buffy said, pressing her palm to her bosom.

“Now how could a woman with that kind of hardness in her die from the swine flu? And

what become of her collection of made-in-Japan figurines that should have come to me?” He

winked at Buffy and took another sip of coffee. “Someone swiped ’em when no one was looking.

And I thinks that them that swiped ’em done her in.”

“Done her in?” Buffy asked. “But what exactly does that mean, done her in?”

Harlan sat forward and smiled. He had to save Wilbur from complete ruin. “That’s the

new way of talking. All the young people speak this way on those Internet places like Facebook.

They have their own jargon now. It means she was killed.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Are you saying your aunt was murdered?”

Wilbur smiled and reached for his coffee. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Them that

lived with her would have killed her for just one made-in-Japan figurine, let alone the entire

collection plus an in-surance policy.”

Harlan looked to Fritz for help. But Fritz was leaning forward with his elbows on the

table. His face was buried in his hands and he was shaking his head.

“I don’t think beer could have been good for her, especially not in the hospital while

being treated for cancer,” Buffy said. “It could have killed her.”

Wilbur smiled. He seemed to be enjoying all the attention. “Not Aunt Bobbie Lee. She

loved her booze. All kinds, not just beer. Vodka was like holy water to her. Besides, me father

downed so much beer himself he knew the healing properties firsthand, he did.”

“Your father was a heavy drinker?” Buffy asked.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “He practically bathed in booze.”

Biff started laughing. It didn’t matter what Wilbur said. He seemed to be in a trance just

sitting next to him.

“What are you laughing at?” Wilbur asked. He lifted his chin and looked Biff in the eye.

“I love the way you speak,” Biff said. “You do it so well. You’re very unique.”

“Then why are you laughing?” Wilbur asked. He looked back and forth to see how the

others were reacting. “Have I spoke anything disproportionately?”

Harlan closed his eyes and groaned. He had no idea where Wilbur had picked up that

word.

Aunt Margaret smiled. “You’re doing just fine, dear.”

When Wilbur opened his mouth to speak this time, Harlan stood up and said, “I think it’s

time we check out the casino tables. We can’t stay late. We have to catch a flight back to

Savannah in the morning.” Then he nodded at Fritz to get up, and he helped Wilbur from his

chair.

Biff stood and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a few chips and said, “It was nice

meeting you, Will. I can’t recall when I’ve had so much fun. I’d like you to have these chips.

Maybe they will bring you some luck.” Then he handed the chips to Wilbur and caressed his

hand a couple of times.

Harlan grabbed Wilbur’s arm and pulled him away from Biff. Then he nodded at his aunt

and Buffy and said, “We really must be off now. There isn’t much time left. Come along, Fritz.”

Before anyone had a chance to say another word, he whisked Wilbur away from the

dinner table and headed for the casino room. Fritz followed with his head down and his eyes on

the floor.

But it didn’t get any better. The casino room was filled and Harlan couldn’t control

Wilbur. There were too many people gaping at Wilbur and Harlan didn’t want to cause any

unnecessary attention. When Wilbur saw a group of people playing roulette, he left Harlan

standing with Fritz and jogged across the room to join them.

By the time Wilbur and Fritz caught up with him, he’d placed all the chips Biff had given

him on one number. “Ten’s me lucky number,” he told Harlan. When the roulette wheel started

to spin, he clenched his fists and jumped up and down. “Come on, baby. Come on, baby,” he

shouted.

Harlan placed his palm on Wilbur’s back to quell his enthusiasm, but Wilbur was too

excited to concentrate on anything other than the roulette wheel. No one else shouted, but Wilbur

didn’t care. Harlan knew these people weren’t there to win money. They were there to contribute

to a charity. But Wilbur wanted to win and he wasn’t trying to hide his feelings.

When the roulette wheel began to slow down, Wilbur put his hands on his hips and

leaned forward. As it approached his number, he bit his fist and closed his eyes. But when he

opened them and saw the wheel had landed on the number next to his, and he watched the dealer

collect all his chips, he shook his head and shouted, “Well, fuck me very much.”

For a second, everyone around them went silent.

Two men stopped talking and stared at him.

Fritz lowered his head and turned in the opposite direction.

One woman standing a few feet from Wilbur clutched her pearls with one hand and

reached to the man next to her for support with the other hand.

When Wilbur realized what he’d just done in public, he bit his bottom lip and shrugged

his shoulders. He turned toward Harlan and gave him an apologetic look. He mouthed the words,

“I’m sorry.”

Harlan smiled and said, “I’m going to find my aunt and escort her to her car, and then I’ll

have our car brought around. You and Fritz meet me out front in a few minutes. Just keep

smiling and try not to say another word.” He couldn’t get mad at him. It wasn’t Wilbur’s fault. It

was Harlan’s own fault for taking him out in public too soon. He still needed more work. Besides,

when Harlan saw the look of shock on the one woman’s face after Wilbur used the word fuck, he

almost fell down laughing himself. In spite of Wilbur’s mistakes, it had been one of the most

enjoyable evenings Harlan had experienced in a long time.

This is exactly what he told his aunt on the way outside when she questioned what he was

doing with Wilbur.

“I don’t think it’s fair to the boy,” she said. “He is who he is, and you’re only going to fill

his head with things he’ll never understand. You could wind up doing more harm than good.”

“That’s ridiculous, Aunt Margaret,” Harlan said. “I’m educating him and giving him

opportunities no one else would ever offer him.”

“It’s harmful,” she said. “He’s a nice boy, and you’re playing with him because you don’t

have anything better to do. You should become more involved with charity work. Or go back to

teaching full time. You could even write another book. But you shouldn’t be confusing a poor

soul and filling his head with things he’ll never understand. It’s wrong.”

Harlan didn’t agree. And now that he knew how his aunt felt about his project with

Wilbur, he was glad they were only staying there one night. He couldn’t wait to get back to

Savannah and resume their sessions. Now that he knew where he had to focus—no stories about

Wilbur’s lower-class relatives or his past—Harlan was even more determined to turn Wilbur into

the perfect gentleman.

He helped his aunt into her car and said, “I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning.” He

kissed her on the cheek and closed the door. “You’ll see I’m doing the right thing. When you

come to Savannah for the Christmas party he’ll be ready for anything or anyone.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I hope you’re serious about this boy’s welfare. You can’t play

with human beings, Harlan. They aren’t toys.”

Chapter Ten

In the morning, Harlan joined Fritz and his Aunt Margaret in the dining room for

breakfast. He’d always loved this room. Though it was considered the formal dining room, it

echoed the simplicity of the rest of the house. Buttercream walls, white glossy trim, and dark

mahogany furniture. The table was Sheraton and the chairs Chippendale. The wall above the

Hepplewhite buffet had a soft, hand-painted scene of a colonial village. He walked to the buffet

and poured a cup of coffee, then filled his plate with small muffins, fresh fruit, and miniature

Danish.

“I’m starved,” he said. He sat down beside Fritz and gobbled two blueberry muffins

before reaching for his napkin. Aunt Margaret was at the head of the table. “It must be the ocean

air.” He looked at Fritz’s plate and blinked. There was so much food the grapes were hanging

over the side and resting on the white lace tablecloth.

His aunt smiled. “I figured you would be, dear, so I ordered a full breakfast this morning.

Normally I just have black coffee in the conservatory. But I know you have a busy day ahead of

you. I do wish you’d planned to stay longer. Sometimes I feel like I keep this old place for

nothing.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t plan to stay longer,” Harlan said. “But I really must get back to

Savannah. I still have a great deal of work to do with Wilbur.”

Fritz stopped eating and gave Aunt Margaret a blank stare. He cleared his throat and

smoothed out his napkin. It looked as if they’d already been discussing Wilbur that morning

without him.

“I’d like to talk about Wilbur,” she said. She leaned forward and thought for a moment.

“I think you should stop with all this nonsense, Harlan. You’re going to confuse the poor boy,

and possibly ruin his life.” Her voice remained even and stern. She gazed into Harlan’s eyes

without blinking.

“I agree with your aunt,” Fritz said. “I think it should stop right now. I’d like to call off

the bet I made with you, and when we get back to Savannah, I think Wilbur should resume his

normal life. It’s not fair to the boy.” He lifted a small muffin from his plate and dabbed a hunk of

butter on top. The hunk was bigger than the muffin.

Harlan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sure, there had been a few mistakes the

night before. But Harlan was even more excited about finishing his project now that he knew

exactly what he had to work on with Wilbur. From what Harlan had witnessed, he had to

concentrate on teaching Wilbur what not to say as much as what to say. Wilbur grasped the

basics; he just had to grasp the entire concept now.

But before Harlan could respond, Wilbur came into the dining room with his head bowed

and his shoulders slumped. He picked at his disheveled hair and pressed his lips together. He

didn’t even say good morning. He just walked to the buffet table, poured a cup of coffee, and sat

down two chairs away from Harlan.

Aunt Margaret frowned at Harlan.

Fritz sighed and went back to his butter dish.

“Good morning, Wilbur,” Harlan said. “Did you sleep well?” The last thing he wanted to

do was hurt the boy in any way.

Wilbur shrugged. “I guess.” His voice was low, and he didn’t look into Harlan’s eyes.

“Don’t you want anything but coffee?” Harlan asked. He’d never seen Wilbur this down.

“You’re always so hungry.”

“Coffee is fine, thank you,” Wilbur said. Then he looked up for a second and said, “I’m

sorry about last night. I let you all down. I tried so hard. If I’d just kept me big mouth shut. Buffy

and Biff Campbell must think I’m an absolute idiot.”

“You did your best, dear,” Aunt Margaret said.

“That’s right,” said Fritz. “There’s no need to apologize. Maybe this is all just too much

for you. We were thinking you might be happier if we just stopped this whole experiment and let

you go back to your normal life.”

When Fritz said this, Harlan looked at Wilbur for a reaction.

Wilbur’s lips parted and he stared at Harlan. “Do you think it’s too much for me?”

Harlan smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “That’s up to you, Wilbur,” he said. “I’m only

giving you what you need. The only reason I started this experiment and the bet with Fritz was

because you came to me asking for my help. If you recall, I didn’t come to you first.” He shot his

aunt a look. He wanted her to understand. They all seemed to be forgetting this hadn’t been

Harlan’s idea. It had been Wilbur’s idea.

Then the front doorbell rang and Aunt Margaret’s housekeeper walked through the front

hall to see who was there. There was a moment of silence, then Harlan heard her heels clicking

toward the dining room.

“Biff Campbell is at the door,” the housekeeper said. She was holding a huge bouquet of

pink roses. “He brought these flowers for someone named Will and said he wanted to see him.”

“He’s talking about young Wilbur,” Aunt Margaret said.

“I don’t want to see him,” Wilbur said. “I don’t want to see no one for the rest of me

life.” He sounded distraught. But when he looked at the magnificent roses in the housekeepers

arms, his eyes grew wide.

“I’ll take care of him,” Harlan said. He stood up from the table and patted Wilbur on the

shoulder. “Besides, you don’t have time to waste with Biff Campbell. The car will be here shortly

to take us to the airport.” When he said Biff’s name, his face scrunched up as if it caused a bad

taste in his mouth.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t just fly into Long Island,” Aunt Margaret said. “It

would have been so much easier than flying to New Jersey.”

“We couldn’t charter a flight in time,” Harlan said. “We didn’t have a choice.”

Then Harlan told the housekeeper to put the flowers in water and he walked to the front

door. Biff was standing on the front steps with his back to the door. He was wearing light beige

shorts, a pale blue polo shirt, and docksides without socks. His hands were in his pockets and his

legs were spread apart. From the back, his wide shoulders led to a narrow waist, and his ass was

small and tight and surprisingly firm for a guy who had been so sheltered all his life. Not a bad-

looking young man at all, but there was something about him that made Harlan want to yawn out

loud and take a nap. Harlan certainly would never have slept with Biff. How could he? Biff’s

features were too perfect, his tan too even, and his voice too smooth. He couldn’t even imagine

Biff with a scruffy beard and a few tattoos. It wouldn’t have worked. And—Harlan imagined

Biff with the littlest dick he’d ever seen.

“Good morning,” Harlan said. He found himself squaring his shoulders and lifting his

chin without realizing he was doing it. “How can I help you?”

Biff turned and smiled. His teeth were as white as the porch rail, and his eyes as blue as

the East Hampton sky. “I was wondering if I could see Will,” he said. “I know he’s leaving today.

But I had to see him, just for a minute.” There was an edge in his smooth voice that bordered on

desperation. He stepped up to the screen door and tried to open it.

“Will doesn’t want to see anyone right now.” He held the door.

“Maybe later. I can come back.”

“He doesn’t want to see anyone ever again.” Those were the words Wilbur had used,

after all.

Biff’s eyebrows drooped and he pouted. “Will you tell him that I came to see him? And

that I’ll be down in Savannah around the holidays? I have cousins I’ve been meaning to visit for

ages.”

It was as if Harlan couldn’t get rid of him fast enough. “I’ll tell him. Thanks for stopping

by.”

“Thank you,” Biff said with a nod and a polite smile. Then he put his hands back in his

pockets and jogged down the steps.

Harlan stood in the hall and peered behind the white curtain. He watched him walk to his

car—a typical little black Mercedes sedan. Before he got inside, he looked back and the house,

ran his palm through his thick brown hair, and smiled. When he finally started the car and drove

away, he honked the horn with two lighthearted taps.

When he was gone, Harlan walked back to the dining room and stood at the other end of

the table. “I think we should go up and pack now. The car will be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“What did Biff want?” Wilbur asked. He was still sulking, sipping the same cup of coffee.

He didn’t look up, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.

Harlan waved his arm. “Oh, nothing important,” he said. “He just wanted to tell us he

enjoyed our company last night and that he had a good time.” He made it appear as though Biff

had come to see everyone, not just Wilbur. Harlan thought it was best this way. The last thing

Wilbur needed was someone like Biff Campbell mucking about in his life. Harlan knew Biff’s

type; he’d grown up with them. Biff was a lawyer who would probably never practice law. He

lived on a trust fund, spent most of his time having fun, and he flitted and flipped from one lover

to the next, leaving a long trail of broken hearts without even knowing it. Besides, Wilbur didn’t

have time for fun. They had work do to.

“I’ll go up and get my things,” Wilbur said. He stood up and nodded at Aunt Margaret. “I

want to thank you for letting me stay in your home this weekend. I appreciate it.” Then he

lowered his head and left the room.

When he was gone, Harlan smiled at his aunt and nodded at Fritz. “Did you hear that? He

spoke well this time and didn’t even know he was doing it. There was nothing rehearsed about it.

That was Wilbur speaking, not me.”

“I still don’t like this,” Aunt Margaret said.

“And I’m having my own second thoughts, Harlan,” Fritz said.

Harlan smiled and reached for his cup so he could finish the last of his coffee. “I know

what I’m doing,” he said. “You’ll see. Wilbur can do anything. I know he can.”

Chapter Eleven

“I told you I don’t think it’s a good idea we see each other anymore,” Harlan said.

It was the day after Halloween and he was talking to Vince. The Savannah weather had

been warm that week and Harlan had just taken a quick swim in his heated pool. Mildred was out

shopping, Fritz and Wilbur had taken the Porsche so Wilbur could get a cell phone of his own,

and Harlan decided to swim without clothes. He thought he’d be alone; he hadn’t spoken to

Vince since September. Vince had left a few voice mails to see if he could come over, but Harlan

hadn’t returned the calls.

Vince reached down and scratched his crotch. He looked Harlan up and down and smiled

with the right side of his mouth. “You’re lookin’ hot today. Let’s get in the pool. I’ll take off all

my clothes and lift you up over my head and spin you around.”

“Not a good idea,” Harlan said, though it did sound tempting. He couldn’t look at Vince.

He hadn’t been with a man in months and he wasn’t sure he could control his urges. As it was, he

felt his dick growing and they weren’t even standing close to each other. So he reached for a

short white towel, the only one outside, and wrapped it around his waist fast.

Vince walked up to him and placed his palm on the small of his back. “What the fuck’s

with you? You know you want me.”

Harlan bit his bottom lip and inhaled. Vince’s rough palm made his knees weak. “What

do you want? Are you in trouble?” Since he hadn’t returned any of Vince’s calls, he figured

Vince had moved on with his life.

“Fuck,” Vince said. “I don’t want nuthin’. I came to see you, is all.” He removed his hand

from Harlan’s back and pulled down his zipper. Then he yanked his semi-erect cock out of his

pants and pulled Harlan up against his warm body.

Harlan tried to push him away. “Let go,” he said. “I have to get dressed. Mildred will be

back soon, and so will Wilbur and Fritz. I don’t want them to find me outside like this.” He’d

always been discreet about his sex life. Though everyone knew he was attracted to men like

Vince, he never flaunted it in public. The last thing he wanted was Mildred to see him in Vince’s

arms, while Vince’s dick was sticking out of his pants.

Vince’s hand went down and he grabbed Harlan’s thigh. He ran it slowly up beneath the

white towel and rested it on Harlan’s ass. “You don’t want me to leave,” he said. “You want me

to stay.”

“No. I want you to go,” Harlan said. He thought he’d made it clear. But at the same time,

Harlan stopped pushing Vince away. While he said no, he put his arms around Vince’s wide

shoulders and rested his cheek on Vince’s hulking chest. Vince was wearing a white, grease-

stained T-shirt. He smelled like a combination of gasoline and rubber.

Vince lowered his other hand and slipped it under the towel. He placed his hand on the

other side of Harlan’s ass and pushed the towel up above Harlan’s waist. He squeezed with both

hands and said, “I haven’t had a good blow job since the last time I saw you.”

Harlan took a quick breath. “Ah well, it’s hard to believe you haven’t had a blow job

since then.” He couldn’t believe it had been so long since he’d sucked a guy off. For Harlan this

was a record. He’d been working so hard with Wilbur it felt like days instead of months.

“I didn’t say I ain’t had a blow job,” Vince said. “I said I ain’t had a good blow job. Ain’t

no one can suck dick like you.” He started working his fingers to the middle of Harlan’s ass.

Harlan spread his legs, arched his back, and licked Vince’s white T-shirt. He stood on his

tiptoes and leaned forward. This was all reflex. He didn’t even realize he was doing it. Then he

closed his eyes and said, “What about your wife?”

“She don’t swallow. She thinks it’s disgusting and dirty.” He spread Harlan’s ass apart

and shoved two fingers into his hole. “But I know you like it dirty.”

Harlan sighed; this entire conversation felt out of context and almost ridiculous. “I’m not

talking about that. I’m talking about the fact that you’re married. I don’t want to do this anymore.

You should leave now.”

But Vince knew how to make Harlan follow orders. He removed his hands from Harlan’s

ass and stepped back. His erection poked out of his jeans and he licked his bottom lip. While

Harlan adjusted the white towel to hide his own erection—he was pointing up—Vince pulled a

condom out of his pocket, pointed to a tree swing at the far end of the property and said, “Let’s

go over to that swing.”

“The swing?”

Vince nodded and bent down. He placed one arm beneath Harlan’s legs and the other

across his back. He lifted Harlan into his arms and said, “You’ll see.” Then he carried him, with

his dick bobbing up and down, around the swimming pool, through a small garden, over to the

swing at the edge of the property.

The swing wasn’t anything special—just a plain white board hanging from two thick

ropes fastened to a strong oak limb. Though the entire back of the house was landscaped, Harlan

had left the swing alone when he’d renovated the house. Something about the old swing

reminded him of a quieter, simpler time. On lonely nights, it made him feel warm and safe for

reasons he couldn’t explain.

When they reached the swing, Vince lowered him to the grass and bent down to kiss his

neck. Vince hadn’t shaved that day; his dark, wiry beard stung Harlan’s neck. When Harlan

lifted his arms to hold Vince, the white towel slipped from his waist and landed on the grass.

Harlan lifted his left leg and rested it on Vince’s left hip. He rubbed it up and down, while his

heart raced and his chest heaved. Though Harlan’s neighbors were close, they were in a heavily

shaded area and Harlan knew no one could see them. This section of the property was so far back

and so well hidden he couldn’t even see the swing from his own second- and third-floor windows.

“You feel good,” Vince said, rubbing his beard against Harlan’s soft neck. “Damn, I

been missin’ you. I don’t get you. You know you like it. You know you want it. And you still

turn me away. What the fuck?”

Harlan sighed and lowered his leg. Then he wrapped his hand around Vince’s shaft and

stroked it gently (he couldn’t resist). In the past, the fact that his thumb never met his middle

finger had always made him smile. But it wasn’t the same now. Though he was sexually

attracted to Vince, he simply was not in love with him. Harlan had never been a prude. He’d

slept with more men than he could even count. Only he’d never had an ongoing relationship with

a man just for the sake of sex.

“Get down on your knees,” Vince said. “Wrap those hot lips around me and show me

how good you are.” Then he grabbed the back of Harlan’s head and yanked his hair. “Get down

now and suck.”

Harlan tossed his head back and opened his mouth. He reached for Vince’s massive bicep

and squeezed it. But as he started to go down, he stopped short and froze. A second later, he said,

“I want to stop.”

“No, you don’t. You want to suck me off, and then you want me to fuck you over that

swing. That’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna bend you over the swing, spread those legs as wide

as they go, and fuck you until you beg for mercy.”

“No.”

“Oh. You know I can do it. You know I know how to fuck better than anyone in

Savannah.”

“You’re going to rape me?” He felt a tug in his stomach. Vince was stronger than he was

and he’d never be able to fight him off.

“Of course not,” Vince said. “I’d never hurt you, damn it. What the fuck is wrong with

you?”

Harlan smiled and rubbed Vince’s bicep. He shrugged and said, “I’m not sure. I didn’t

expect you to come back here. I thought I made it all clear.”

“I want you,” Vince said. “I want you real bad. Go down and suck.”

If he went down on his knees, he knew he’d never be able to resist Vince. He knew once

Vince’s dick was in his mouth, it would take a crowbar to remove it. So he took a deep breath,

clenched his fists, and pushed Vince back as hard as he could. Then he reached for the towel on

the grass and wrapped it around his waist.

“I’m sorry, Vince,” he said. “You’re married and I can’t deal with that. My former lovers

all cheated on me. They had affairs with other men while they were still with me, and it nearly

killed me each time. I could have understood and forgiven if they’d fooled around a couple of

times just for the sake of sex. No one’s perfect, after all. But they crossed the line each time by

having these long emotional relationships behind my back, and I was the last one to know about

it. And I swore I’d never do that to anyone else.”

Vince said, “But I think I love you. Would that make it okay?”

“Put your dick back into your pants and zip it up. You don’t love me. You only love my

blow jobs.”

“But what about us?”

“Go back to your wife, figure out who you are, and then we’ll talk,” Harlan said. “But

this isn’t going to happen today. I’m sorry, Vince.”

“You’ve always known I’m bisexual,” Vince said. “And now all of a sudden there’s

somethin’ wrong with that.”

“I don’t care about that,” Harlan said. “But I don’t think being bisexual should be a

license for cheating when you’re married to a woman, or in a relationship with a man. Being

committed to someone is more than just sex. And just because you’re bi-exual it doesn’t give

you the freedom to just play with men and women whenever you feel like it. Now if that’s how

you want to life your life, go have fun. I don’t judge anyone. But you have to be single to do it

with me.”

Vince’s dick was semi-erect now. He lifted the hanging lump of flesh with both hands,

packed it into his jeans, and pulled up the zipper. “I can’t figure you out,” he said. “There are

tons of guys who’d beg me to fuck them over a swing.”

“Most of the time I don’t know who the fuck I am, Vince,” Harlan said. This was the

truth. “I do, however, know who I’m not. Go home now. Try to work things out with your wife.

If you can’t, then try to figure out who you are.”

Vince adjusted his pants and leaned over. He grabbed Harlan by the waist and kissed him

with such force their teeth banged together and Harlan almost lost his towel again. When he let

go, he turned and walked back to the house. His hands were in his pockets and his head was

down.

Harlan sat on the swing and watched him leave. As he walked around the pool, Fritz and

Wilbur opened the rear gate and ran into him. They nodded and he nodded back. Before he left,

he lifted his arm and said, “See you later, Harlan.”

Fritz and Wilbur looked at each other and shrugged. Then Fritz went inside and Wilbur

continued walking toward Harlan. Harlan adjusted his legs and tightened the white towel. Wilbur

would never know he wasn’t wearing anything beneath the towel.

“I wanted to show you my new phone,” Wilbur said, approaching the swing. He handed it

to Harlan and frowned. “What was he doing here? He hasn’t been around for a long time.” Now

that Wilbur was speaking better, he seemed older and more mature.

“He only stopped by to say hello,” Harlan said, turning the phone over to see the front.

“And he was only here for a few minutes.” Though it was none of Wilbur’s business what he did

with his own personal life, he felt the need to make it clear he hadn’t had sex with Vince.

“Is he coming back again?” Wilbur asked. “He said he’d see you later.”

Harlan laughed and said, “He always says that. It’s like when someone says they’ll see

you sometime, offhandedly, but they aren’t sure exactly when that will be. I doubt he’ll be back

here for a long time, if ever.” To his own surprise, he smiled when he said this.

“I see.”

Then Harlan looked at the time on the cell phone and pressed his palm to his throat. “Is

this time correct?”

Wilbur nodded.

He stood up from the swing and handed the phone back to Wilbur. “It’s almost nap time

and I didn’t even realize it.” His voice was light and friendly. “We have a busy evening. We’re

going over vowels again and I expect you to be perfect tonight.”

“I was thinking maybe you could skip the nap today and we could go for a swim. It’s so

hot.” He looked down at the skimpy white towel, then stared. “And you’re already in your

swimsuit.”

Harlan cleared his throat and continued walking. He didn’t turn back once; he didn’t want

Wilbur to know he was naked. “Feel free to use the pool, Wilbur. I’ll see you at dinner.”

When he approached the pavers surrounding the pool, he felt a burst of energy pass

through his entire body. He attributed this to having the self-control to send Vince away. He’d

done the right thing. There was no question in his mind. But if he’d bothered to turn around just

once, he would have seen Wilbur wasn’t smiling. He was still standing beside the swing with his

hands on his hips, shaking his head back and forth in Harlan’s direction.

Chapter Twelve

“I swear, Harlan, if there’s any hint of embarrassment tonight I’m putting an end to this

entire experiment once and for all,” Fritz said. He was wearing a black suit with a dark gray tie

and a red carnation in the lapel. He’d just finished dressing for Harlan’s annual Christmas party

and he was on his way downstairs. “I’m not joking, Harlan.”

Harlan smiled and looked at himself in the second-floor hallway mirror near the staircase.

Though the party was semi-formal and most of the male guests would be wearing dark suits and

ties, he was wearing an olive green blazer, a white shirt open at the collar, and his old brown

oxfords. “It’s going to be fine, Fritz. Stop worrying.”

Fritz clenched his fists. “If there are any more embarrassing moments like the one we

suffered through at the Maidstone Club on Labor Day weekend, I’m going to force you to stop. I

don’t want that boy hurt again. I’ve grown very fond of him.”

Harlan continued to smile. He patted Fritz’s arm and said, “I assure you, everything will

be fine tonight. I’ve worked hard with him since the Maidstone affair. Besides, there aren’t going

to be any roulette wheels here tonight.” He knew Fritz wasn’t arguing the point to frustrate him.

Fritz’s only concern was Wilbur’s welfare and what was in Wilbur’s best interest.

On the way downstairs to the main hall, Fritz followed Harlan at a much slower pace.

The preparations for the party had begun two weeks earlier. Every room in the house had a

gigantic Christmas tree decorated with delicate glass ornaments and lit with thousands of

twinkling white lights. Garland framed the mantels and windows, mistletoe hung beneath every

doorway, and large poinsettia plants in red and white stippled the rooms. Some were tree-sized,

shaped into elegant topiaries. Others were placed in large antique urns and cache pots that

normally contained palms and jades. Harlan hired the best florist in Savannah to do all this every

year, and he’d never been disappointed.

Mildred stood outside the hall closet checking for hangers. She wore a black dress with a

white Quaker lace apron. Her job entailed overseeing the entire event, and to manage all the

extra staff Harlan hired each year to work the party.

“Are all the lights on in the house?” Harlan asked. Though no one would go upstairs to

the second or third floor, Harlan wanted every single light in the house lit for just that one night.

He thought it made the place look festive and inviting.

Mildred frowned; she hated wasting electricity. “Everything is turned on. All the trees are

lit, the bartenders are at their posts, the food is ready to be served, and the jazz band is in the

main parlor waiting to begin. Don’t you worry, Dr. Henderson, everything is under control.” She

folded her hands below her waist and exhaled.

“Excellent, Mildred,” Harlan said. Then he turned to Fritz and said, “Why don’t you get a

drink before Aunt Margaret and Wilbur come down? It will calm your nerves.”

Fritz frowned. “Not a bad idea at all,” he said. “I haven’t been this nervous since the last

presidential election. Would you like one, too?”

“I’m fine,” Harlan said. He turned to catch Mildred before she left the room. “Is the

veranda all set up off the main parlor?” This year he’d opened the large veranda up because the

weather was so mild. He wanted the guests to be able to go there and dance if they felt like it.

He’d even placed large propane heaters just in case it grew too cold.

“It’s all set, Dr. Henderson,” Mildred said.

Harlan thanked her and followed Fritz into the parlor. Fritz already had a drink in his

hand and he was standing in front of the fireplace. “Are you sure Wilbur is ready for this?”

Harlan crossed to a bench and sat down. Fritz was starting to get on his nerves. He

shrugged and said, “I’ve been drilling him and coaching him for six months. If he’s not ready

now, he never will be. And you’ll win the bet and I’ll have to admit I was wrong all along.”

Fritz sent him a complicitous stare. “I can’t help feeling partially responsible. But at least

I care about him. Don’t you care about what happens to the boy?”

Harlan scowled and jerked his head to the side. “Are you joking? What do you think I’ve

been doing all these months?” He looked into the blazing fire and smiled. “Everything I’ve done

has been for Wilbur. I’ve taken a wretched young man with dirty fingernails and turned him into

a fine gentleman who can now not only speak well, but also handle himself in every possible

situation that might arise. Wilbur matters more to me than anyone could ever imagine, Fritz.” His

voice became low and serious. He wasn’t just talking to Fritz. He was talking as if he’d just

discovered this fact himself.

When he looked up from the fire, his head shifted back and jerked. Wilbur stood

solemnly in the doorway beside the largest Christmas tree in the house, gazing down at him with

a half smile.

Fritz put down his drink and walked over to him first. He looked him up and down, then

smiled and said, “Wilbur, you look magnificent tonight.”

Wilbur smiled and said, “Thank you, Fritz.” He moved his head slowly and nodded at

Fritz with such a light, casual gesture his chin hardly moved at all.

Harlan stood up and gazed at him for a moment, reconnoitering, tapping his chin with his

index finger. Wilbur’s soft brown hair had been styled with a subtle product, giving the

impression he’d just stepped off a Greek yacht. He wore a fitted black suit, a starched white

dress shirt, and a black silk tie. The jacket tapered in at his slim waist; the perfect crease in his

black slacks trailed down his slim legs and stopped at the top of his black leather shoes. Even his

skin had a special glow, which could have been the twinkling Christmas lights. Harlan noticed

something different about him he’d never noticed before, and it wasn’t just about the way he

looked on the outside. Wilbur seemed to exude a sense of self-confidence that came from deep

within his body.

“He looks wonderful. Don’t you agree, Harlan?” Fritz asked.

Harlan stepped up to him. His head went up and down. “Not bad,” he said, rubbing his

jaw. “This will do for tonight.”

While Harlan checked him out, Wilbur laced his fingers together below his waist and

maintained an even expression. There didn’t seem to be a hint left of the foolhardy young man

who had knocked over the pomegranates at the spring party. In his place stood a strong,

confident young man with the poise and confidence of royalty.

“We should go into the parlor and wait for the guests by the fireplace,” Harlan said.

But he stopped and hesitated. Then he turned around, walked up to Wilbur, and placed

his palm on the small of Wilbur’s back so he could escort him into the parlor himself. Wilbur’s

eyes opened wider and his lips parted. And Wilbur didn’t stop smiling until Harlan removed his

palm from his back.

* * * *

When the guests arrived, Wilbur stood between Fritz and Harlan and greeted each one

with an aloof smile and a controlled glance. Harlan introduced him as Fritz’s nephew from

Boston, Will Munroe. They didn’t go into details about his past. There didn’t seem to be the need

for it. Everyone seemed so enthralled with Wilbur’s appearance and the way he carried himself,

they stood in awe and waited for his next move.

Harlan watched closely. Wilbur seemed to have the rare gift of leadership without trying

too hard. Though no one in the room other than Fritz, Harlan, and Aunt Margaret knew about

Wilbur’s checkered background, they treated him as if he’d just been elected president of the

United States. Or would be elected president in the future. And Wilbur earned it by just standing

there and giving them half smiles and simple nods. He not only looked good, he looked

intelligent. He made them all feel good without even trying; he seemed to know how to offer

them a sense of both excitement and hope at the same time. Each time a guest glanced at Wilbur

with starstruck eyes, Harlan poked Fritz in the ribs and laughed.

When the senator who had been to Harlan’s last spring party arrived, she walked up to

Fritz and Harlan and introduced her son. “This is Corbin,” she said. “He’s home for the holidays

for the next month. He’s doing a semester at Oxford this year.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Corbin,” Harlan said. “And it’s so good to see you again, Senator.

I was afraid you wouldn’t come after that little mishap at my last party when that awful little boy

spilled pomegranate all over your dress.” Then he smiled and winked at Wilbur.

Wilbur bit his lip and sent Harlan a sharp glance.

But the senator simply smiled and waved her arm. “It was nothing, Harlan,” she said. “I

never gave it a second thought. I’d never miss one of your wonderful parties.” Then she looked

at Wilbur and smiled. “You always have such interesting guests.”

“Ah well,” Harlan said, gesturing to Wilbur, “this is Fritz’s nephew from Boston, Will

Munroe. Will, this is the senator I was telling you about. At the last party this annoying young

man spilled something all over her dress.” He had trouble keeping a straight face; he almost

laughed out loud.

Wilbur smiled and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Senator.” Then he sent Harlan another

serious look. He seemed tense, perhaps afraid she might recognize him.

“Very nice to meet you, too, Will,” she said. “This is my son, Corbin. You two young

men probably have a great deal in common.” She didn’t have the slightest clue Wilbur was the

same young man who had spilled red juice on the hem of her dress six months earlier.

When Corbin looked at Wilbur, Harlan stopped laughing. Corbin pursed his lips as if he

was about to whistle and smiled at Wilbur, with lust in his eyes and a sinister expression. When

he shook Wilbur’s hand, he hesitated for a second and stared at Wilbur’s crotch. Though Harlan

wasn’t sure whether or not the senator knew her son was gay, Harlan could spot it a mile away.

Young Corbin was undressing Wilbur with his eyes. The little pervert was probably measuring

Wilbur’s dick. He was literally two breaths away from drooling on Wilbur’s suit jacket. It was so

obvious Harlan poked Fritz in the ribs again and said, “Look at the little creep, gaping and

licking his lips.”

“Indeed,” Fritz said. “It’s a bit obvious, I must say.”

The senator and her son might have remained there longer, but Aunt Margaret brought

Buffy and Biff Campbell over to greet Harlan. “Look who arrived,” his aunt said. “They are

staying with relatives in Savannah for the holidays.”

“Good to see you,” Harlan said. He’d forgotten about them. Aunt Margaret had

mentioned they might be in Savannah, so he’d sent them an invitation to the party as a kind

gesture, never thinking they’d come. From what Harlan recalled, Buffy usually went to Aspen

for the holidays. Harlan made out the guest list himself. But he never looked over the replies. He

trusted Mildred to do all that for him, especially that year being so busy with Wilbur and all.

Buffy kissed Harlan on the cheek and thanked him for the kind invitation. She

complimented his home, the elaborate decorations, and said she’d heard so much about his

infamous parties she couldn’t believe she was actually there. While she spoke endlessly, Harlan

watched Biff Campbell sidle up to Wilbur and shake his hand. Biff stood much to close, his

stared at Wilbur’s lips the entire time, and he didn’t bother to say hello to Fritz or Harlan.

Evidently, Biff hadn’t forgotten about Wilbur, and now he was trying to make up for lost time.

“It’s nice to see you again, Biff,” Harlan said. “So glad you could finally make it down

here.” He was smiling on the outside, but seething on the inside. Biff didn’t seem to have any

shame whatsoever. And like all trust fund boys of his kind, when he wanted something, or

someone, he didn’t let anything get in his way to stop him.

Buffy hugged Wilbur and kissed his cheek. “It’s nice to see you again, Will. You were so

entertaining this past summer at the casino night. We’re still talking about it.”

Wilbur gave Harlan a quick shrug and frowned. Then he turned to Buffy, looked her in

the eye, and said, “It was fun, wasn’t it? I enjoyed the evening immensely.” He kept a monotone

voice; he didn’t smile once. “I do hope you know I was joking around a lot that night.”

“I had a feeling you were joking,” Buffy said. She tossed her head back and laughed.

“You’re a very naughty boy, Will.” She shook her finger up and down and scolded him.

Biff moved in closer. “You are a naughty boy,” he said, licking his bottom lip. “But

we’re all naughty once in a while, aren’t we? I can be very naughty.”

Buffy and Aunt Margaret didn’t catch Biff’s double meaning. But Harlan and Fritz did.

Harlan leaned into Fritz and said, “He’s trying to get into his pants, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so,” Fritz said. “And I think the boy is in love with Wilbur. I’ve never seen

anyone stare in such and obvious manner.”

“In love?” Harlan asked. He thought Biff was just horny. It hadn’t occurred to him

someone could actually fall in love with Wilbur.

“Look at the way he stands there gazing at him,” Fritz said. “I’ve seen it before. And he

did bring flowers last summer.” Fritz patted his arm. “He’s definitely in love.”

Harlan rubbed his jaw and glared at Biff. Biff’s back was to everyone. He was facing

Wilbur and whispering something to him. Wilbur tried to step back, but each time he moved,

Biff pinned him closer to the mantel. One more step and Wilbur would have been in the fire

instead of next to it.

“I’ll take care of this,” Harlan said. He clenched his jaw and straightened his shoulders.

“What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see.”

Harlan excused himself and walked over to the band. He tapped the band leader on the

shoulder and told him to play something classic that would inspire dancing on the veranda. Then

he crossed the parlor and went into the main hall to look for Corbin and the senator. He found

them standing beside the buffet in the dining room. They were talking to a local politician about

the next election.

Harlan tapped Corbin on the shoulder and said, “Will loves to dance. He’s still in the

parlor. I’m not sure how your mother will feel about you dancing with a man, but I figured I’d let

you know.” This could have been tricky. He had to be discreet. Not because Wilbur couldn’t

dance. Fritz had been taking Wilbur to a dance academy for weeks while Harlan had been

napping in the afternoons. There was another reason Harlan was concerned. Though it was

unusual for men to dance with men in most places in Savannah, this sort of thing was expected at

one of Harlan Henderson’s parties. The people who went didn’t give it a second thought. But

Harlan wasn’t sure how the senator would react if her son started dancing in public with another

man.

Corbin’s eyebrows went up and he smiled. He patted Harlan’s arm and said, “Thanks, sir.

Don’t worry about my mom. She knows I’m gay and she’s cool with it. I’ve been out of the

closet since I was fifteen.”

When Corbin called him sir and then referred to his mother as his Mom, Harlan felt a stab

in his gut. All of a sudden, Harlan felt like the oldest man in the room, with these pushy young

college age guys ready to step up and take over for him. If Vince had showed up at that exact

moment and asked Harlan to go up to bed with him, Harlan probably would have followed him

up just to prove to himself he wasn’t over the hill yet.

But Vince wasn’t there, and Harlan was all alone. So Harlan followed Corbin into the

parlor and watched him walk up to Wilbur and Biff. Corbin wasn’t shy either. He stepped

between Wilbur and Biff and said something Harlan couldn’t make out. Then Corbin reached for

Wilbur’s hand and led him out to the veranda, leaving an offended Biff Campbell standing there

with furrowed eyebrows and an open mouth.

Harlan walked over to Fritz and said, “We’d better keep an eye on him. Biff and Corbin

both want to get into his pants, and I’m not sure he’s ready for anything like that yet.”

Fritz reached for his drink on the mantel and said, “I wouldn’t worry.”

“Why not?”

“Wilbur isn’t interested in either of them,” Fritz said.

“How can you be so sure?” Harlan asked. “They are both fine-looking young men.”

Fritz smiled and patted his back. “I just have this feeling. They aren’t his type. Let’s go

out and see what Wilbur’s doing.”

Wilbur and Corbin weren’t the only male couples dancing on the veranda. There were

several others, ranging in ages from twenty to seventy. There were also a few women dancing

together as well. But Wilbur seemed to be concentrating more on his dance moves than his dance

partner, Harlan noticed. Every so often, he’d turn his head, glance at Harlan, then look down at

his feet as if he were afraid he’d trip and fall over.

After the third or fourth dance with Corbin, Biff walked up to them and took Corbin’s

arm. Fritz and Harlan looked at each other and shrugged. When the next number started, Biff

gave Corbin a gentle nudge and starting dancing with Wilbur himself. He said something that

made Wilbur smile, then pulled Wilbur close to his body and placed his hand on the small of

Wilbur’s back, taking the lead with his head held high.

While Corbin stood on the side of the veranda waiting for his next chance to cut in on

Biff, he rubbed his palms together and tapped his right foot.

Harlan smiled and said, “I think our Wilbur is finished. And I think I won the bet, Fritz.”

“You may have won the bet,” Fritz said. “But Wilbur doesn’t look very happy out there.

He’s so stiff and his face is so pinched. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the young man he’s

dancing with didn’t bathe today.”

“Nonsense,” Harlan said. “He’s having the time of his life.”

Then Harlan left Fritz alone and crossed the dance floor to find out for himself. The band

had started one of Harlan’s favorite waltzes and he wanted to dance with Wilbur now. He walked

up to Biff and Wilbur and reached for Biff’s arm. When Biff saw it was Harlan, he stepped aside,

smiled, and allowed Harlan to cut in without any attitude. There was something about this

gesture that insulted Harlan. It was as though Harlan didn’t pose a threat to Biff and Corbin did.

Harlan was only thirty-nine years old, yet these vapid, impudent, entitled twenty-year-olds

treated him as if he were one hundred years old and ready for the wood pile.

As Biff walked back to the side of the veranda to stand beside Corbin, Harlan asked

Wilbur, “What’s wrong? You look so serious. Did he say something to upset you?”

Wilbur put one arm on Harlan’s waist and reached for Harlan’s hand with the other. He

pulled Harlan closer and smiled for the first time since he’d stepped onto the veranda. “Nothing

is wrong now that you’re here. I’m just tired of those guys leading me around the dance floor.

They are both very pushy and very aggressive. I want to lead this time. I want to be in control.”

Then he stepped back, turned fast, and started waltzing Harlan around the veranda.

At first, Harlan’s jaw dropped. Wilbur was, indeed, one of the strongest dancers he’d ever

been with. Wilbur knew when to turn him, how to guide him, and just how to control each step

he took. Harlan smiled and fell into Wilbur’s lead without stumbling or missing a step. Harlan

preferred to follow rather than lead, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it to anyone. For the first

time that night, Wilbur lifted his head, squared his wide shoulders, and smiled through the entire

dance.

By the time the song was over, Corbin and Biff were waiting to cut in. Corbin got there

first. But Wilbur refused to release Harlan’s hand right away. He held it with a tight grip and said,

“One more dance? You’re very good. I can lead you around and make you do anything.”

“I have to get back to my guests now,” Harlan said. “You’ll be in good hands with

Corbin. I’m sure he’s a fine dancer.” Then he stepped aside and Corbin reached past Biff to take

Wilbur’s hand.

When the next song started to play, Wilbur’s head lowered and he allowed Corbin to take

the lead again. He stopped smiling and he followed his moves without faltering.

By the end of the night, one guest walked up to Harlan and said, “I heard that young man,

Will Munroe, was a third cousin to Prince William on Princess Diana’s side of the family.” Then

she thanked Harlan for the party and glided out the front door, waving a red cocktail napkin

above her heard.

Harlan laughed and pulled Fritz to his side. They were standing in the front hall, as usual,

saying goodnight to the guests. “I just heard our Wilbur is related to the late Princess Diana. It

seems there’s a rumor going around.” He slapped Fritz on the back and said, “I can’t tell you

how wonderful I feel right now, Fritz. And I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“It is quite amazing,” Fritz said. “To think just six months ago the boy was such a mess

he was tripping over pomegranates. Now they think he’s British royalty.”

When the senator left, she thanked Harlan and said, “It was a lovely party.” She glanced

at her son and smiled. “I know Corbin had a good time dancing with Wilbur.”

Corbin blushed, then shook Harlan’s hand and thanked him. “Will gave me his phone

number. I might be seeing you again soon.”

“Isn’t that nice?” Harlan said dismissively. Then he laughed and turned to say goodnight

to the next guest leaving.

Buffy and Biff Campbell were the last to leave. Biff wouldn’t let Wilbur out of his sight.

He’d followed Wilbur around all night, begging for Wilbur’s attention, trying to get one step

closer without much luck.

Even Buffy seemed interested in Wilbur. “He has this quality of being distant, yet wise,”

she told Harlan on her way out the door. “I’ve never met anyone like him before. It’s an elegance

that’s impossible to describe.”

Biff gave Wilbur a long hug, then shook Harlan’s hand. “I’ll be around for a week or so,”

he said. “I’d like to get together, Will.”

Harlan jumped in fast. “We’ll see about that, Biff. We’ll be in and out all week.” Then he

thanked Biff for coming to the party and practically pushed him out the door.

When Biff was gone, Wilbur sighed, then exhaled so hard it looked as if his entire body

might sink in and deflate right there in the main hall.

Harlan wasn’t paying attention. He was talking to Fritz, walking to the parlor to sit down

and have a nightcap before bed. On the way, he tripped over a large urn near the staircase. His

arms went out and rolled in circles. His body went forward, then backward, then forward again.

As his face headed straight for the marble floor, Wilbur reached out and grabbed his waist. Then

Wilbur pulled him back and helped him recover his footing.

Harlan’s face turned red. He smoothed the front of his jacket. “Well, how silly of me. I

should have seen that urn. Thank you, Wilbur.” He had no idea Wilbur was so strong. If it had

been up to Fritz, he would have fallen against the marble and broken his nose.

Wilbur shrugged. “I know how you feel. I tripped over the pomegranates at the spring

party the same way. You might want to think about a change and moving those pots. It doesn’t

always have to be the same way all the time.”

Harlan sent him a curious stare. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

Chapter Thirteen

When Mildred switched off the lights lining the front walk, Harlan, Fritz, and Wilbur

continued to the library for a nightcap. Harlan put his arm around Fritz’s shoulder and said, “I

haven’t smiled this much in years. I haven’t felt this way in years. I almost fell over when I heard

they thought our Wilbur was related to Prince William.”

Fritz slapped his knee and tossed his head back. “That is rich, Harlan. To think our young

Wilbur is related to the late Princess Diana. It’s the most amusing comment I heard all night.”

“Did you see the way everyone just stared at him?” Harlan asked. “I think some of them

were actually terrified to get close to him.” He sat back in a leather chair and stretched out his

legs.

Fritz handed Harlan a brandy, then lifted his glass. “To tackling the impossible.”

They clicked glasses and took large gulps. While they laughed and congratulated

themselves, Wilbur stood in a dark corner of the room near the fireplace, with his head bowed

and his hands folded. He watched them congratulate each other, and he sneered when they

toasted their triumph.

A minute after they toasted Wilbur, Mildred stepped into the library and said, “I’m going

to bed now, Dr. Henderson. Everything is put away, and we’ll start the major clean-up first thing

in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Mildred said. “It was a wonderful party. The best one I’ve ever had. I

couldn’t have done it without you.”

She smiled and thanked him, then said goodnight.

When Mildred left, Fritz finished his brandy and said, “Harlan, I applaud you. You said

you would turn him into a gentleman and you did. I must admit I had my doubts, but you

actually did it. You turned a creature from the backwoods into a polished, respectable man.”

When Fritz said this, Wilbur set his palm on the table near the fireplace and sent him a

long, flat glare beneath half-closed eyelids.

For the next fifteen minutes, Fritz and Harlan bragged and boasted about Harlan’s

achievement. They laughed at the way Corbin and Biff had fought to dance with Wilbur. They

doubled over when they discussed the way Buffy Campbell described Wilbur’s aloof sense of

dignity and his natural sense of style. And while they joked and chided, Wilbur stood in the dark

corner near the fireplace watching them with blank eyes and pinched lips.

“Ah well,” Harlan said, finishing his brandy. “I’m glad it’s all over now. I can go to sleep

tonight with a clear head. I’ve done my job well.”

Wilbur raised his right eyebrow and pressed his tongue against his cheek.

Fritz smiled and set his glass on the bar. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll go home and get

some sleep, too.”

Harlan stood up and walked him to the front door. Fritz didn’t bother to say goodnight to

Wilbur, and he walked right past him on his way out the door.

When Harlan returned, he called for Mildred, but she didn’t answer. “Damn,” he said.

“She must be upstairs already. I was going to ask her to bring me coffee in my room in the

morning. I think I’m going to sleep in tomorrow morning. I deserve a break. I’ve worked hard.”

Wilbur didn’t answer. He stood there glaring at Harlan.

“Goodnight, Wilbur,” Harlan said. “I’m going upstairs. Please turn off all the lights in

here, and be a good boy and leave a note for Mildred about bringing my coffee up to my room in

the morning.”

Harlan noticed the way Wilbur remained silent, but he thought Wilbur was just tired.

Harlan’s eyes felt so heavy the only thing he wanted to do was get into bed and pull the covers

up over his head for the next ten hours. But when he reached the staircase, he stopped short and

patted his chest, then patted his pants. “Damn,” he said. “Where did I put those reading glasses? I

thought they were in one of my pockets. I must have left them somewhere in the library.”

Without his reading glasses, he couldn’t even see the clock on his nightstand. He turned

and went back to the library, assuming he’d probably left his reading glasses on the coffee table.

But when he reached the door and looked into the room, his head went back and his jaw dropped.

Wilbur was sitting in one of the wing chairs facing the sofa. He was bent forward, with his

elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands.

Wilbur looked up at Harlan. His face was red and his eyes were wet. He tried to stiffen

his upper lip, but it only quivered more. He lifted Harlan’s reading glasses from the coffee table

and threw them across the room. “Here are your damn reading glasses, and may you never see

straight with them again.” His voice was wrecked with emotion and tears streamed down his

smooth face.

Harlan blinked. “What in the world is wrong with you?”

“Ah well, there’s nothing wrong with me. And there’s certainly nothing wrong with you.

I won the bet for you, and now you can just go on with your merry little life as it’s always been. I

mean nothing to you, nothing at all.”

“You silly little ingrate,” Harlan said. The little fool had come unhinged. He folded his

hands behind his back and smiled. Harlan prided himself on never losing his temper, especially

this late at night. “You didn’t win anything for me. I worked hard to win that bet. I gave you

exactly what you needed.” He walked into the room and looked down at Wilbur. “Why did you

throw my reading glasses at me? That was very rude.”

“You pompous, self-righteous, spoiled queen,” Wilbur said. “You should have left me

alone. You should never have taught me anything. Now that it’s all over, you’re just going to

throw me back where I came from. I mean nothing to you. I was just an experiment, a case

study.”

Harlan smiled and rubbed his jaw. “I see,” he said “So my little creation is worried now.”

He laughed in Wilbur’s face.

Wilbur lifted his arms and clenched his fists. “I could flatten you, you heartless,

pretentious man.”

“How dare you show your fists to me?” Harlan said. He pointed to the sofa. “Go over

there and sit down and get a grip on yourself.” He wasn’t afraid. He knew Wilbur would never

hurt him physically.

Wilbur’s arms fell and his shoulders slumped. He sighed and walked to the sofa. Then he

plopped down in the middle of the cushion and started to moan. “What a mess this is. What am I

going to do now?”

Harlan started to pace the room. This outburst was something he hadn’t expected. “How

do I know what you’re going to do? I’m not sure what I’m going to do next.” Despite his smile,

he realized his tone was dismissive and irritable.

“I know,” Wilbur said, shaking his head. He lowered his voice and threw himself across

the sofa with a dramatic heave. “You couldn’t care less. You don’t care if I live or die, eat or

starve. I’m nothing to you. I mean less to you then them bloody reading glasses.”

“Those reading glasses.”

“Those reading glasses.”

Harlan frowned. “I don’t understand why you’re behaving this way. Have I done

anything to offend you?”

“No.”

“Have I mistreated you while you were here in any way?”

“No.”

“Have I tried to take advantage of you in any way at all?”

“No.”

“Then I just don’t get it,” Harlan said. “Maybe you’re just tired and overly emotional

because there was so much stress today. I’ll let you drive the Porsche tomorrow. You know how

you love to drive.” He forced a smile, hoping to turn Wilbur’s mood around. But his mood was

starting to slip down, too. He suddenly felt as though he were tramping through quicksand.

“You’ll feel better in the morning after a good night’s sleep.”

“No.” Wilbur roared the word as if he was in pain. Then he said, “Thank you,” in a softer

voice.

Harlan smiled. “You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise. There’s nothing to worry

about now. All the stress you’ve been through in the past six months is over now.”

Wilbur stood up and turned his back to Harlan. “It’s all over for you,” he said. “But it’s

not all over for me.” Then he clenched his fists, pressed them to his cheeks, and said, “Fuck, I

wish I was dead.”

“Why on Earth would you say something so awful?” Harlan asked. “You just don’t

understand everything yet.” Though he was trying hard to remain light and upbeat, this comment

caused a sharp pain in the pit of his stomach. He’d always known Wilbur had an emotional side,

but he’d never guessed the boy could be this irrational.

Wilbur lifted his arms and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m too stupid to understand. I’m just

backwoods redneck without a clue. You should have left me where you found me.”

“You have the entire world in front of you now,” Harlan said. “You’re young and you

have everything to look forward to. Go to bed and be thankful.”

“I know why you’re thankful,” Wilbur said. “I heard you. You’re thankful it’s all over

and you can toss me out now.” He tried hard to steady his upper lip. “Your job is finished.”

“You’re young and free to do whatever you want,” Harlan said. “The entire world is

waiting for you.” He didn’t understand all this emotion. It just didn’t make sense. If he’d been in

Wilbur’s place, he would have been dancing around the veranda.

There was a long pause. Wilbur walked to the other side of the room and took a deep

breath. He lowered his head and said, “What exactly am I supposed to do? I’m not trained for

anything, I have no formal education, I have no money and no experience at all. I’ll wind up in

the gutter. I’ll be pushing a shopping cart and sleeping in the park.”

Harlan smiled and rubbed his chin. “So this is what’s bothering you? I wouldn’t worry.

You’ll be just fine. You won’t have any trouble at all finding your own niche in the world.”

Wilbur sniffed back and wiped a few tears from his eyes.

“You could meet a nice middle-aged gentleman and settle down with him,” Harlan said.

“I’ve seen that sort of thing many times, where middle-aged gay men and nice young gay men

like you begin wonderful, healthy relationships. Not all gay men like me are resigned to being

single for the rest of their lives. Most of them, in fact, want a younger lover and partner to share

their lives with. They are out there looking for it all over the Internet.”

When he said this, Wilbur gave him a pathetic glance.

“And you’re not bad-looking,” Harlan said. “Actually, you’re quite nice-looking

sometimes.” Then he frowned and took a quick breath. “Not now, of course, because you’ve

been carrying on and crying. Right now you look dreadful. But I’d certainly say that when you’re

calm and in a normal state of mind you’re what most people would call attractive.”

“Attractive?”

“Yes,” Harlan said, sending him an encouraging smile. He was trying to boost his spirits

so he could go up to bed. He was so exhausted he’d been controlling the urge to yawn for the last

ten minutes. “Of course you don’t have the muscles of a young man like Vince, but your body is

thin and not bad at all. You have a good head of hair. I’m sure there are many gay men who

would find you appealing.”

Then Harlan shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to the doorway. “You’ll feel

much better in the morning. After a good night’s sleep, you’ll see all this silliness was for

nothing. Maybe Aunt Margaret can find a suitable middle-aged man for you. She knows tons of

gay men in New York.”

“Before I met you, I sold my hard work,” Wilbur said. “I didn’t sell myself. I worked as a

landscaper, a waiter, and a general maintenance man, not a male whore. But now that you’ve

changed me, there’s not much more I’m qualified for than becoming a male whore and soliciting

middle-aged men who are more than willing to pay for the talents of a young man like me.” He

turned and faced Harlan. He glared at him and said, “You don’t know the meaning of the words

relationship, partner, or love. You’re inhuman.”

Harlan rolled his eyes. “Good Lord, Wilbur, such histrionics. You don’t have to settle in

with a middle-aged man if you don’t want to,” he said. “You can do something else.”

“Like what?”

He thought for a moment, then lifted his arm and pointed his finger. “What about an auto

salesperson? You love cars. You love driving the Porsche. You could sell high-end expensive

autos. I could even introduce you to the manager at the dealership where I bought the Porsche.

I’m sure he’d be happy to train you.”

Wilbur didn’t reply. His head went down and he pouted.

Then Harlan grew impatient. He was wasting good sleep time. He yawned and said, “I

have to go to bed now. I’m exhausted.” He lifted his head and smiled again, hoping to keep the

mood light and pleasant. As he moved into the hall, he said, “I was looking for something when I

came in. Now what was it?”

“Your reading glasses,” Wilbur said. His voice was low and even.

“Ah yes,” Harlan said. “I remember, you hurled them at me.” He laughed and made a

joke of it, hoping he could leave the room before Wilbur started anything emotional.

When he bent down to retrieve his reading glasses on the hall floor, Wilbur said, “Before

you go, I’d like to know something. It’s important.”

Harlan stood up and put his glasses in his pocket. “What’s that?” Wilbur sounded calmer

now.

“I’d like to know what belongs to me,” Wilbur said, following him into the hall. “Do

these clothes and the other clothes you bought belong to me, or do they belong to you?”

“Why on Earth would you ask this now?” He didn’t turn. He continued walking to the

staircase.

“I want to know what I can take with me when I leave,” Wilbur said. “I don’t want to be

accused of stealing anything.”

When he heard the word “stealing,” he stopped and turned to face Wilbur. “I don’t like

the sound of that, Wilbur. It has a certain implication that bothers me. I wouldn’t accuse you of

stealing.”

Wilbur lifted his chin and looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry, Dr. Henderson. I’m just a

dumb redneck who doesn’t know any better. I just want to know what is mine and what isn’t so

there aren’t any mistakes. There will never be any feelings between a man like you and a man

like me, so will you please tell me what’s mine and what isn’t?” His voice remained calm and

even, without even so much as a hint of his former accent.

For the life of him, Harlan could not understand where Wilbur was going now. Wilbur

hadn’t called him Dr. Henderson in over six months. Oh, Harlan was tired of all this.. His face

felt hot and his heart started to beat faster. So he lifted his arms and took a deep breath. “Take

everything in the fucking house if you want. I don’t fucking care.” His left eye started to twitch.

He turned and walked back to the staircase. “Just don’t take the jewelry you’re wearing now.

That’s on loan from a jeweler in town.”

“Wait,” Wilbur said. He reached down and started removing the Rolex watch he was

wearing and the diamond cufflinks on his shirtsleeves. “You can take these up now, so you’ll

know they’re safe. I don’t want you worrying I’ll steal them.”

Harlan exhaled and shook his head. “Give me those things. If they didn’t belong to the

jeweler, I’d shove them up your ungrateful little ass right now.”

When Wilbur handed him the watch and the cufflinks, he turned and bit his bottom lip.

He couldn’t understand why Wilbur was being so mean. In the past six months, this was a trait

Harlan had overlooked. For a moment, Harlan felt like Dr. Frankenstein, when his creation turns

on him and attacks him without reason.

“Wait,” Wilbur said. “What about the ring? It’s not the jeweler’s. You bought it for me

when he went out for that long drive last summer.” He removed the ring and said, “I don’t want

it anymore.” He sounded more like a sulking child than a grown man.

They’d taken a long drive and passed an outdoor flea market in Southern Georgia last

August. When they stopped to look around at the tables, Wilbur noticed a sterling silver ring

with a large chunk of black onyx in the center. He seemed so enthralled with the ring, Harlan

bought it for him. It didn’t cost much, less than twenty dollars. But to see the look of absolute

pleasure on Wilbur’s face anyone would have thought it cost a million dollars. Through all the

hard work they’d done, it had been moments like this that made Harlan certain he was doing the

right thing with Wilbur. And though he never would have admitted this to Wilbur aloud, if the

ring had cost a million dollars he would have bought it for him anyway.

But when Wilbur said he didn’t want the ring anymore, Harlan felt a sudden sting in his

eyes. His face tightened and he crossed back to where Wilbur was standing. When Wilbur

reached out to hand him the ring, he felt a rush of adrenaline. So he ripped the ring from

Wilbur’s hand, lifted his arm fast, and threw it across the room.

The ring landed in the fireplace. Wilbur covered his head with both arms and ducked as if

he were avoiding a punch. “Don’t you hit me,” Wilbur screamed.

Harlan’s eyes bulged. “Hit you? I’d never hit you. I’d never hurt you. Not the way you’ve

hurt me tonight. You’ve wounded me in a way no one has before.” He turned and walked to the

stairs. His head was down and his shoulders slumped.

“Now you know at least half of what I’m feeling right now,” Wilbur said.

“You’re a lunatic,” Harlan said, reaching for the banister. “I never lose my temper, ever.

At least not until I met you. I’m going to bed now. I don’t want to discuss any of this any

further.”

When he was halfway up the steps, Wilbur looked up and said, “You’d better write your

own note for Mildred about the coffee in bed, because I’m not doing it.”

Harlan stopped climbing and turned around. He squared his shoulders and sent Wilbur a

seething glance. “Fuck the note, fuck Mildred, fuck the coffee in bed, and fuck my own stupidity

for ever wasting my talents on a heartless little fucker like you.” Then he turned so fast he almost

knocked over one of his antique urns on the landing. He caught it in time, fumbled with it for a

few seconds before he could balance it, and looked down at Wilbur. He took a deep breath,

exhaled, and continued up to his room.

While he grunted and moaned all the way to the second floor, he didn’t know Wilbur had

remained in the hall, down on his hands and knees, picking through the ashes in the fireplace so

he could retrieve the cheap silver onyx ring. If Harlan had been there, he would have seen the

way Wilbur was slumped over and the way his shoulders trembled as he tried to wipe the tears

from his eyes with the back of his hand so he wouldn’t get ashes on his face. But more than that,

Harlan wouldn’t have been able to ignore the pitiful sobs that came from the deepest part of

Wilbur’s body when he found the ring and slipped back onto his finger.

Chapter Fourteen

After the messy scene with Wilbur, Harlan slammed his bedroom door and ripped off his

clothes. He threw them in every which direction and plopped into bed. When he was finally off

his feet, his legs tingled with relief. When he rested his head on the pillow and closed his eyes,

he yawned so hard his ears popped.

But his ears wouldn’t stop ringing from all the noise at the party. And he couldn’t find a

comfortable position in bed. He turned the pillow over and punched it every fifteen minutes. He

kept moving his feet to find cool spots on the sheets. He tried going flat on his stomach, but that

didn’t work. He tried sleeping on his sides and on his back. But whenever he closed his eyes he

pictured Wilbur cowering when he’d raised his hand and thrown the ring across the room. Harlan

didn’t mean to frighten him; he didn’t mean to lose his temper. The last thing on Earth he wanted

to do was harm Wilbur.

At three in the morning, he grunted and turned on his back. He was about to give up on

sleep and open a book when there was a soft knock on his bedroom door. He pulled the covers

up to his chest and said, “Who is it?” The last time Mildred had knocked on his door, the burglar

alarm had gone off at the police station.

The door opened slowly and he saw Wilbur looking down at him. He didn’t speak; he

just stood there with his legs spread wide and his hands on his hips.

“Did you come here to apologize for your little outburst tonight?” Harlan asked. Though

he’d calmed down, he was still slightly upset about their scuffle.

Wilbur walked into the room and closed the door. When he stood in front of a white

moonbeam streaking through the front window, Harlan saw he wasn’t wearing anything but light

blue plaid boxer shorts. They were loose and hung on his hips so low he could see where

Wilbur’s solid loin muscles hinged to his abdominal muscles.

“I came to win my bet,” he said. “Then I’m leaving. My bags are packed.”

Harlan sat up and rubbed his eyes. He pulled the covers tighter; he wasn’t wearing

anything. “What bet are you talking about?”

Wilbur smiled. “You weren’t the only one Fritz had a bet with,” Wilbur said. “I made a

bet with him, too. You were taking one of your infernal naps one afternoon last summer and

Fritz and I were playing cards near the pool. I said, ‘Fritz, I’d love to get into Harlan’s pants,’

and Fritz laughed and said, ‘That would be impossible. You’re not Harlan’s type. You don’t

drink enough beer, you aren’t rough enough around the edges, you don’t smell like a locker room,

and you don’t spit on the sidewalk every three minutes.’ Then I bet Fritz that I could, indeed, get

into your pants. Fritz went for it. And now I’m here to win the bet before I leave this house for

good. Poor Fritz. It looks as if he’s a two-time loser tonight.”

Harlan sat up higher and sent him a wan glance. “I don’t believe you. Fritz would have

told me about this.” All these months he’d been on his best behavior, making sure he didn’t do or

say anything that would be misconstrued as a sexual advance. He wanted it clear his interest in

Wilbur was only professional. He didn’t want everyone looking at him as if he were a middle-

aged cliché. But while he’d kept his intentions honest and true, Fritz and Wilbur had been

laughing behind his back the entire time.

“Fritz was sworn to secrecy,” Wilbur said, taking two more steps toward the bed. “And

Fritz is a man of honor. Don’t blame him. He’s a good friend and a good man.”

This was true. Harlan knew Fritz would never say a word if he’d been sworn to a secret

pledge. But it didn’t matter much anyway, because Wilbur wasn’t going to win the bet. “You’re

wasting your time, Wilbur. I have no intention of doing anything with you. You are not, as you

so eloquently phrase it, getting into my pants.” Then he folded his arms across his chest and

tightened his lips.

Wilbur smiled and reached into his boxer shorts with his right hand. He yanked the

waistband down a few inches, pulled out his junk, and let it all hang out for Harlan to see. Then

he put his hands back on his hips and said, “Roll over and spread your legs as wide as they go.”

Harlan’s eyes bugged and his jaw dropped. Though he’d thought about Wilbur’s dick

since he’d seen it in the Hamptons—he wasn’t a saint—he’d always pushed those thoughts to the

back of his mind. “Put that thing away right now,” Harlan said. “This is insane. What on Earth

are you trying to do, Wilbur? I have no intention of sleeping with you.”

“I’m not talking about sleeping, Harlan. I’m talking about fucking. I’m talking about

pounding you into the next room.”

“Well, it’s not going to happen.”

“I’m trying to get into your pants so I can win my bet,” Wilbur said. “It’s only fair. You

won your bet with Fritz. Now it’s my turn.” Then he swung his hips in and out, allowing his

thick, floppy penis to bob up and down in the moonlight.

“You don’t give me orders,” Harlan said. But his mouth did start to water when he saw

the way Wilbur’s dick flipped and flopped. “I’m the teacher. I’m the one in charge. I’m the one

who gives you the orders, and don’t you forget that.” He pulled the covers up to his neck and sat

back as far as he could on the bed. He didn’t want Wilbur to see his penis was growing beneath

the covers. He told himself he was excited because he hadn’t been with a man in months. He

rationalized he would have been excited if any man had walked into his bedroom in the middle

of the night and exposed such a large lump of healthy flesh to him.

But Wilbur only laughed. He reached down, grabbed his semi-erect cock, and started

stroking it slowly. As his hand rubbed up and down the shaft, he looked into Harlan’s eyes and

said, “Don’t play games with me. I’ve been watching you closely these past months. I’ve seen

your type. The minute I saw Vince, I knew I’d be able to get into your pants. I know what you

need, Harlan. You like it rough, just like the way I swung you around on the dance floor. I’m

younger and much better than Vince will ever be.”

“Ah well,” Harlan said. “You think you know so much, don’t you? Well, that’s precisely

my point. You’re nothing like Vince, or any of the other men I’ve been with before. We

wouldn’t be any good together. We’d probably bore each other to death.”

Wilbur released his dick and let it stand on its own. It was fully erect by then; eight or

nine thick inches of shaft, two perfect low-hanging testicles, and a big round head that resembled

a mushroom. “I may not act like Vince,” Wilbur said. “I may not drink beer and spit. But that’s

only because you taught me how to be a gentleman. On the outside I look and speak like the

perfect gentleman. On the inside, I am worse than Vince.” He laughed. “Now roll the fuck over

and spread your legs. I’m going to fuck your brains out until you beg for mercy.”

“I don’t think so, Wilbur,” Harlan said. But his voice was shaky, and he didn’t sound

very convincing. He even dropped the covers and spread his legs a little wider so Wilbur could

see the upper half of his body.

“You have a nice body,” Wilbur said. “Nice and tight, and a great ass, too.”

“I work out,” Harlan said. Then his voice went up. “But this isn’t going to happen. You

should go back to your room and get a good night’s sleep now.”

Wilbur ignored him. He pulled down his boxer shorts, climbed onto the bed, and yanked

the covers off Harlan’s naked body. He looked down at Harlan’s smooth tan legs and licked his

lips. He grabbed his dick and rubbed the head across the sole of Harlan’s soft, creamy foot.

“Let’s not do anything we’ll regret, Wilbur,” Harlan said. Oh, he wanted to kick him off

the bed and throw him out of his room. This was just plain wrong. But he couldn’t find the

strength. And the more forceful Wilbur became, the more Harlan’s body ached for him. “Go and

leave me alone. This is wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong about it,” Wilbur said. He gazed at Harlan’s erection and smiled.

“And from what I can see, you are about one second away from bending over and spreading

those pretty legs as wide as they go.” He smiled and slapped his thigh hard. “You know you want

it, Harlan.”

Harlan took a disconnected breath. His heart raced so fast he felt lightheaded. He glared

into Wilbur’s hungry eyes. “You seem to think you know me so well. You presume to know

what I need and what I want.”

“That’s exactly the way you’ve been treating me all these months,” Wilbur said. “You

told Fritz you knew what was best for me. You told him you knew exactly what I needed. Now

it’s my turn, because I know exactly what you need. And I’m going to give it to you right now.”

He reached for Harlan’s legs and gently spread them apart. Then he crawled between them on his

knees and reached down to play with Harlan’s ass with two fingers.

When Wilbur inserted his large fingers in Harlan’s hole with one quick plunge, he smiled

and said, “Nice and tight. I like that.”

Harlan’s head fell back and his legs went up in the air. He pointed his toes, gasped for air,

and said, “There are condoms on the nightstand.”

Without removing his fingers from Harlan’s ass, Wilbur stretched his left arm as far as it

would go and pulled a pre-lubricated condom out of a small crystal dish beside the clock. When

he leaned forward, his erection pressed into Harlan’s upper thigh. It wasn’t like some large dicks

that only become almost hard. This one was as solid as the large rock crystal obelisk on Harlan’s

desk in the library.

He played with Harlan’s ass for a few more minutes, sliding his two fingers all the way in

and all the way out. “I want to open you up before I go in,” he said. Then he jabbed his fingers

fast, as though he was trying to force his entire hand into Harlan’s body. “Just promise me one

thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Let me know if I get too rough. I tend to lose control when I fuck. I don’t want to hurt

you.”

Harlan’s eyelids fluttered. He pressed his palm to his throat and gasped again. “I will.”

Wilbur bit his bottom lip and shoved his fingers in deeper. He twisted his hand and

jabbed hard a few times.

Harlan didn’t object. This blunt thrust only made his balls tighten and his eyes roll back.

“I knew you’d like it rough,” Wilbur said. “I knew I’d be able to please you in ways no

one ever could. Not even big, strong, empty-headed Vince can do what I can do for you.”

Harlan shut his eyes and squinted. Though he still wasn’t sure about doing this with

Wilbur, he was beyond the point of refusal. So he submitted completely, preparing himself for

what Wilbur was about to give him.

When Wilbur finally did pull his fingers out so he could cover his dick with the condom,

he didn’t waste time. He went into Harlan with such determination, Harlan’s arms went back so

fast he knocked the clock and the dish of condoms off his nightstand. Wilbur held Harlan’s legs

up, grabbing them from behind the knee. He spread them wide, bit his bottom lip harder, and

started bucking his pelvis into Harlan’s body. There was nothing gentle or subtle about the way

Wilbur fucked, yet at the same time, there was nothing painful about it either. He seemed to

know how to ride that thin line between pleasure and pain without even trying.

The sheets fell from the bed and pillows wound up shoved against the nightstands. The

harder Wilbur pounded him the more Wilbur leaned forward. They finally reached a position

where Wilbur’s face was almost directly over Harlan’s face. Wilbur had him pinned to the bed

sideways now, with Harlan’s crown against the leather headboard and his knees practically in his

ears. The deeper and faster Wilbur slammed the more Harlan wanted.

For the first time in a long time, Harlan reacted in ways he thought he never would again

with a man. With Vince and the others he’d had, he’d focused on his own pleasure, waiting for

them to please him without caring about what they were experiencing. Most of the time he was

paying for them; they received their pleasure with checks. But with Wilbur, Harlan felt obligated

to allow him all the control he needed for the sake of Wilbur’s pleasure. While Wilbur fucked,

Harlan reached up with both hands and caressed the back of Wilbur’s head gently to show

Wilbur he was enjoying this and Wilbur didn’t have to slow down. Wilbur’s brown hair felt soft

against Harlan’s palm; his thick neck made Harlan sigh. When Harlan rested his left heel on

Wilbur’s broad shoulder and Wilbur started pounding harder and grunting louder, he knew he

was pleasing Wilbur just as much as Wilbur was pleasing him.

By the time Wilbur’s face grew red and there were droplets of perspiration dripping from

his temples all over Harlan’s face, he looked into Harlan’s eyes and said, “I’m close.”

Harlan grabbed his own dick with one hand and lifted the other to the back of Wilbur’s

head. Harlan caressed his hair and said, “I’m ready, too.”

There didn’t seem to be a need for dirty talk with Wilbur. Their actions spoke louder than

any words they could have said. Their expressions and their sounds were already so intense they

could barely breathe. Besides, dirty talk would have been out of context and made them both feel

awkward. This scene was as intense as it was simple.

In fact, the only time Wilbur spoke while he fucked was toward the end. He’d been

banging Harlan nonstop for so long a thick blue vein started to show on the left side of his

forehead. He looked down at Harlan and sent him a desperate glance; his chest heaved and he

said, “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the fucking plain,” emphasizing each word with a hard

pound against Harlan’s ass.

At the exact moment Wilbur climaxed, Harlan stroked out a load so intense most of it

wound up on his lips and chin. It turned out Wilbur was one of those guys who looked as if they

felt their climax in every single cell of their body. His legs trembled, his head jerked, and his

hands tightened with such strength he left bruises on the backs of Harlan’s legs that wouldn’t be

visible until later that day.

When his body stopped vibrating, Wilbur looked down at Harlan and pushed his pelvis

forward one last time. He lowered his head and kissed Harlan on the mouth. Harlan was still

stroking the back of Wilbur’s head, and Harlan’s come was still on Harlan’s lips. But the come

didn’t seem to bother Wilbur. He pressed his lips against Harlan’s and shoved his tongue into

Harlan’s mouth.

Then Wilbur rose. He pulled out just as fast as he’d gone in and slapped Harlan on the ass

twice. “Now we’re even,” he said. “You won your bet with Fritz, and I won mine. You gave me

what I needed, and I gave you what you needed.” He pulled the condom off his dick and tossed it

onto the nightstand. “It was nice, Harlan. I’ve enjoyed the past six months.” Then he climbed off

the mattress and moved to the end of the bed to claim his boxer shorts.

Harlan lowered his legs and sat up. His eyes grew wide and his head tilted to the side.

“That’s it. You just fucked me and now you’re leaving me here with come on my face?” He sat

up and wiped his chin.

Wilbur sent him a knowing glance and smiled. “Have I done anything to offend you?”

“No.”

“Have I mistreated you while I was here in any way?”

“No.”

“Have I tried to take advantage of you in any way at all?”

“No.”

“Then my job is done,” Wilbur said, as he stepped into his boxers and pulled them up to

his waist. He sounded lighthearted and strong. “Now I can leave here with a clear head.” He

scratched his balls and adjusted his dick. Though his erection had gone down, there was still a

thick lump of flesh sticking through his boxer shorts.

For the first time in Harlan’s life, he was at a loss for words. He’d just experienced the

best sex of his life, and wasn’t sure what Wilbur was thinking or feeling.

So he sat up on the bed and covered his middle with a pillow. “Are you telling me you

just fucked me to prove a point?” He felt a pull in his stomach, as if he’d just been beaten at his

own game.

Wilbur stopped. He turned and faced Harlan with a dead stare. “Absolutely not.” He

pointed and shook his finger. “And you should know this. I know it might look that way. But it

was never my intention. I made this bet with Fritz months ago, and I’ve been thinking about it

since then.”

“You have?” This was news to Harlan. His stomach relaxed. He thought Wilbur

considered him an ogre who only cared about how he spoke, dressed, and behaved in public.

Wilbur nodded and smiled. “Yes, I have.” Then he shrugged and said, “I’ll see you,

Harlan. Be good.”

Harlan jumped out of bed and jogged to the door. He took Wilbur’s wrist in his palm and

said, “You can stay as long as you like.” He could still feel Wilbur’s dick in his body.

Wilbur looked down at Harlan and shook his head. His lips puckered and he whistled

backwards. Then he lifted his other hand and ran it down Harlan’s smooth, naked ass. “I can’t.

It’s time to move on now and get on with my life. You were right. I can’t be afraid forever.”

Harlan looked into his eyes and nodded. “Where will you go?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Wilbur said. “But I have a few ideas.” Then he squeezed

Harlan’s ass hard and kissed him on the mouth again. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for

me. I’ll get out of your hair for good.”

Harlan caressed the back of his head one more time, and then Wilbur turned and walked

back to his room in his bare feet. About ten minutes after that, Harlan heard two quick taps of a

car horn outside in front of the house, and then he heard Wilbur lurching down the staircase to

the front door.

He got out of bed and crossed to the front window overlooking the street. He stood beside

the sheer white curtains so no one would see him. There was a small black Mercedes Benz

parked in front of the house. When Harlan heard the front door open, he saw Biff Campbell get

out of the car and open the trunk. Then the front door clicked shut and Wilbur walked to the car

and handed Biff two suitcases. Biff took them both and put them in the trunk, then closed the lid

and checked to be sure it was locked. And while Biff murmured something to Wilbur in the dark,

gazing at him with glistening eyes, Wilbur looked back at the house one more time. He sent a

longing glance to Harlan’s bedroom window, rubbed his jaw a few times, and smiled.

Chapter Fifteen

When Harlan woke the next morning and went downstairs, Fritz was in the library

sipping coffee and Mildred was carrying a large tray back to the kitchen. The front hall and the

rest of the house had already been cleaned and no one would have guessed there had been a party

the night before.

“Good morning, Mildred,” Harlan said. “Is my Aunt Margaret up yet?” He’d slept later

than usual. After Wilbur left with Biff, he went back to bed and tossed around for another two

hours until he finally slipped into an uncomfortable sleep.

“Your Aunt Margaret was up early,” Mildred said. “She received a phone call from Mrs.

Buffy Campbell about Wilbur and went right over there. Mrs. Campbell is staying at the home of

her nephew, Jackson Campbell, while he’s away in Europe.”

Harlan frowned and rubbed his jaw. He knew the Campbell house. It was one of those old

historic places not far from his house. “Buffy Campbell called? Why on Earth would my Aunt

Margaret go over there about Wilbur?” He assumed Biff Campbell had brought Wilbur there, but

he couldn’t understand why his aunt would run over there first thing in the morning.

“I’m not exactly sure, Dr. Henderson,” Mildred said. “But I think it has something to do

with the argument you had with Wilbur last night.” She spoke with restraint, as if she were

holding back her real feelings. She nodded toward the hallway. “Wilbur left his cell phone and a

small silver ring on the hall table, with a short thank-you note asking me to make sure you get

them. I found them this morning.”

Harlan frowned. “He left his cell phone? He left a ring?”

She nodded. “What should I do with them?”

“Just leave them alone for now, please.”

Fritz put down his coffee cup and stood up. “You had an argument with Wilbur last

night?”

Harlan glared at Mildred and said, “I didn’t argue with him. He argued with me. He threw

my reading glasses at me like a spoiled child.” He turned to Fritz. “He said the most awful things,

and I have no idea why he said them. Then he came to my room in the middle of the night and

told me he was leaving.” Harlan didn’t mention the part about them having sex. It was none of

their business.

“You let him leave?” Fritz asked. “You didn’t even try to get him to stay?”

While they were on the subject of Wilbur, Harlan lifted both eyebrows and said, “I heard

all about your little bet with him, Fritz. He told me all about it last night. Very clever, indeed.”

Fritz sank into his shoulders. He thought for a moment, then said, “Did I win?”

“You can ask Wilbur yourself,” Harlan said. “I’d rather not discuss it in front of

Mildred.”

Mildred lowered her head and stared at the tray she was carrying. “I’ll go see how the

cleanup is going on in the rest of the house. I want to be sure everything is back to normal by

your nap time, Dr. Henderson.” Then she frowned at him, shook her head, and left the room

before he could respond.

“I couldn’t force him to stay, Fritz. After all, I wasn’t holding him hostage and I’ll never

understand why he decided to turn on me the way he did.” This was true. Harlan would have

allowed Wilbur to stay in his home indefinitely, without any questions or any hesitations. He’d

grown accustomed to having him around all the time. Wilbur had a strong spirit that filled the

house, and he made Harlan smile on days when he didn’t feel like smiling. And it had nothing to

do with sex. It went much deeper. He genuinely liked Wilbur and he wanted the best for him.

But the little fool just wouldn’t listen to reason, and he certainly didn’t take orders well.

Fritz sat down on the sofa and sighed. “This is a sorry state of affairs, Harlan. I hate to

think what’s to become of the boy now, out there all on his own, with nothing and no one out

there to protect him.”

When Fritz put it this way, Harlan lowered his head and pressed his lips together. Though

Wilbur knew how to dress, act, and speak like a gentleman now, he was still as helpless and

clueless as the first day Harlan had met him at the spring party.

“I have no idea why he behaved so poorly,” Harlan said. “He ruined a good night’s sleep

for me. I’ll have to make it up with my afternoon nap.”

Fritz stood up and went to the doorway. He grunted something under his breath about

Harlan’s idiotic naps and squared his shoulders.

“Where are you going?” Harlan asked. “You haven’t even finished your coffee.”

“I’m going over to the Campbell house to see if Wilbur needs anything,” he said.

Harlan sighed. “Ah well, give him my best. I guess I will miss him a little.”

“The hell with you missing him, Harlan,” Fritz said, stomping his foot. “I’m going to

miss him a lot! He was the best thing that ever happened to this old house.” Then he turned and

marched out the front door.

* * * *

An hour later, Harlan parked the Porsche in front of the Campbell house and went to the

front door. He told himself he wasn’t there to argue again with Wilbur. And he certainly wasn’t

there to beg him to come home. If by chance Wilbur wanted to come back home with him,

follow his rules and regulations, and listen to reason, Harlan would let him return. But there was

also another reason he was there. The strangest thing had happened to Harlan since Wilbur had

left. Whenever Harlan pictured Wilbur’s face, it felt as if something shattered deep inside his

chest. Harlan had never felt this way before. He’d never worried this much about anyone.

So he knocked on the door until Jackson Campbell’s maid answered. She escorted Harlan

to a great airy conservatory at the back of the house and announced his name. When he stepped

into the room, Aunt Margaret, Buffy Campbell, and Fritz all faced him at the same time. They

sent him lugubrious stares in unison and tightened their lips. Aunt Margaret put her hands on her

hips and glared at him. Wilbur was standing in a far corner of the room, near a large white

birdcage containing two colorful parrots. He was wearing a white shirt, a black wool suit jacket,

and faded jeans. He was the only one who didn’t turn around. He stared into the birdcage and

whistled a tuneless song.

“I can’t believe you could be so cruel,” Aunt Margaret said.

Harlan walked toward them and pressed his palm to his chest. “What cruel thing have I

done?”

“You know exactly what you’ve done,” Buffy said. She was wearing a bright red suit,

and the bangs on her Willy Wonka haircut seemed shorter than usual. She pointed to Wilbur.

“This poor innocent boy has told us all about your experiment. He worked so hard and so long

for you, and you didn’t appreciate any of it. You treated him like a pet instead of a person.”

Harlan shot a glance at Wilbur. Wilbur was still staring into the birdcage with an innocent

expression. But Harlan had a feeling Wilbur knew exactly what he was doing.

“I’m afraid I’m almost as guilty,” Fritz said. “I did take his feelings into consideration,

but I was so excited about how well he did last night at the party I totally forgot to offer him the

praise and congratulations he deserved. I guess we were too busy congratulating ourselves

instead of thinking about Wilbur.” He turned to Wilbur. “I’m sorry, Wilbur. I didn’t mean it.

Please forgive me.”

Harlan rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother.”

Wilbur turned and sent Fritz a gentle glance. “I know you care, Fritz. You’ve always

treated me like a gentleman, and I’m very grateful to you for this. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Then he glared at Harlan and turned his head fast.

“Now hold on just one minute,” Harlan said. “You’re making me sound like a monster.”

“I would have thrown a vase at you instead of a pair of reading glasses,” Aunt Margaret

said.

“I would have thrown a brick,” Buffy said, with two hard nods.

Wilbur turned to face Harlan. He smiled and said, “Good morning, Dr. Henderson. It’s so

good to see you. Would you like a cup of coffee?” He spoke as if he were speaking to royalty,

exaggerating each syllable and maintaining an even, dignified tone.

Harlan walked over to him. He put his hands in his pockets and said, “Don’t you dare

pull that act on me. I was the one who taught it to you. What have you been telling all these

people? Now you get your things and we’ll go home. Enough of this nonsense. The Porsche is

out front and you can drive. And stop making my life so damn miserable. You’ve caused me

nothing but trouble since I met you.”

Wilbur sat down at a small tea table and smiled. He poured a cup of coffee and took a

gentle sip, with his back straight and his pinkie extended.

Fritz frowned at Buffy.

Buffy glared at Harlan.

Aunt Margaret shook her head and said, “How could anyone refuse such a pleasant

invitation? You’re such a charmer, Harlan. You’re the last of the true romantics. Now be a

gentleman and stop bullying this poor boy.”

Wilbur smiled.

Harlan clenched his fists and started to pace. “I pulled this wretched creature from the

backwoods of Savannah. I taught him everything he knows. I’ll be damned if he’s going to get

away with this.”

“How on Earth did you ever learn anything about manners from my nephew?” Aunt

Margaret asked Wilbur.

Wilbur lowered the cup and smiled. He batted his eyelids and said, “It was all thanks to

Fritz.” He sent Fritz and adoring gaze. He was telling all this to Aunt Margaret, but it seemed he

wanted Harlan to hear it. “I wouldn’t have known how real ladies and gentleman act if Fritz

hadn’t been around. He always showed me and taught me I was something better than what I was.

You see, Mrs. Henderson, the difference between a redneck and a gentleman is not how he

behaves, but how he is treated. And Fritz always treated me as if I were a gentleman—with

kindness, appreciation, and respect.”

The room went silent. Harlan stood facing the fireplace, with his eyebrows furrowed and

his back teeth clenched.

“Harlan always treats me like I’m nothing but trash,” Wilbur said. “And he always will.

He thinks of me in a certain way, and I’m afraid this will never change. But I know I’ll always be

a gentleman to Fritz because he’s always treated me like a gentleman and he always will.” Then

he smiled and turned to see if Harlan was listening.

“Indeed I will,” Fritz said. “Because you are a gentleman.”

“Oh shut up, Fritz,” Wilbur said. “You’re making this worse.”

“Yes, you are a true gentleman, dear boy,” Buffy said. “You’re just as much of a

gentleman as my own son, Biff.”

Harlan plopped down in an overstuffed easy chair. He grunted and tightened his jaw. For

a moment, he wondered if they’d all gone insane.

“Don’t make vulgar sounds, Harlan,” Aunt Margaret said. “It’s not becoming.”

While Harlan continued to sulk in the chair, the maid walked into the conservatory and

said, “The president of the art league is here, Mrs. Campbell. Should I show her to the garden?”

Buffy Campbell stood up and lifted her chin. “I should say not. It’s December. Show her

to the library, please.” Then Buffy turned to Fritz and Aunt Margaret. “Would you both like to

join me? The president is an old friend of mine, and we’re trying to work out the details for a

fundraiser we’re having in New York next summer. We’re doing it with a Southern theme, and

all the art donated will be from Southern artists. I figured while I’m down here for the holidays, I

might as well combine a little business with pleasure.”

“I’d love to meet her,” Aunt Margaret said.

“I’ll go, too,” Fritz said. “We’re already good friends. I haven’t seen her in ages.”

When they were all gone and it was only Harlan and Wilbur in the conservatory, Wilbur

sat forward in his chair and stared straight ahead. Harlan got up from the easy chair and started

pacing beside the tea table. He poured a cup of coffee. He dumped six spoonfuls of sugar into the

cup and stirred so hard the spoon clinked against the porcelain.

“Now that you’ve had your little game,” Harlan said. “I think it’s time to go home. That

is unless you’d like to put on another performance for the president of the art league.”

“If I come back,” Wilbur said. “You’ll only continue to boss me around, treat me like dirt,

and make me look for your reading glasses. When you’re horny, you’ll ask me to stud for you,

especially now that you know how good I am in bed. I’ll be nothing more than a live-in version

of that idiot Vince.”

“That’s not true,” Harlan said. “I’ll treat you the same way I treat everyone. And I resent

what you said about me not being like Fritz. I’m exactly like Fritz.”

“No, you’re not,” Wilbur said. “Fritz cares. He treats everyone with grace and dignity. He

has respect for people.”

Harlan took a sip of coffee and said, “The hell with Fritz. I am who I am and I’m not

about to change. I treat you the same way I treat everyone else. I’ve never been a hypocrite about

it.” He leaned forward and spread his arms wide. “I’m not a fake.”

“I don’t care how you treat me,” Wilbur said. He stood up and walked to the birdcage. “I

don’t mind your rants, your swearing, or temper tantrums. I wouldn’t even mind getting a black

eye. I’ve been hit before. I’m used to it. But I won’t be dismissed by you or anyone else. And I

won’t let you run me over anymore without even stopping to look at me first.”

Harlan laughed and sat down at the table where Wilbur had just been sitting. When he sat

this time, his lips twisted sideways. The backs of his legs were sore from the way Wilbur had

squeezed them the night before. “You make me sound like a truck speeding down the highway.”

“You are a speeding truck,” Wilbur said, keeping his voice even. “You just sail down the

highway honking your horn without a care or concern for anyone who gets in your way.” He

took a deep breath. He spoke to the back of Harlan’s head. “But I can survive without you,

Harlan.”

“I know you can,” Harlan said. He folded his arms across his chest and smiled. “I’m the

one who told you that in the first place.” He thought for a second. He refused to fall for more of

Wilbur’s games. His voice dropped and he said, “I don’t think you’ve ever wondered whether or

not I could survive without you, especially after the sex we shared last night.” If Wilbur could

play games, so could he.

Wilbur’s head jerked to the left. “Don’t try to soft talk me, Harlan Henderson. I know

you too well. There will always be a rough young guy with his hand out ready to fuck you for a

new TV or a new truck. This isn’t about sex or you surviving without me.”

“So what if I can survive without you?” he shouted. “I can live without anyone and still

get by.” He sat forward and lowered his voice. “But I’ll miss you, Wilbur. I have to admit I’ve

learned a few things from you, too. Things I didn’t expect to learn. And as much as I despise

change of any kind, sometimes it’s not all bad.” With this tender comment, he knew he’d have

Wilbur back in line in no time.

“You have tape recordings of my voice,” Wilbur said, lifting his chin. “You can listen to

them anytime you want. You can’t hurt the tape recorder’s feelings like you’ve hurt mine.”

Harlan knew what he was doing to Wilbur. He could hear Wilbur’s voice softening. He

figured if he continued to tell Wilbur the things Wilbur wanted to hear, he’d have him back home

that very afternoon. So he sighed and exhaled. He even wiped a fake tear from his right eye. “But

the tape recorder doesn’t have a soul or your spirit, Wilbur, and your soul is all I care about.” He

knew the word “soul” would get him. That word always seemed to strike the overly emotional,

hysterical types hard. “And even though I can turn on a tape recorder and listen to your voice,

your blessed soul won’t be there anymore.” He lowered his head and stared down at his lap with

a disillusioned frown.

Wilbur’s eyebrows lifted. “You are a clever man, Harlan Henderson. But I’m not falling

for it anymore. Why in the world would I go back home with you after the way you’ve treated

me?”

“To have fun,” Harlan said. He slapped his knees and stood up to look Wilbur in the eye.

“That’s why we started the whole experiment in the first place.”

“And you can kick me out when you’re tired of me.”

“Ah well, you could always just pick up and run off when you’re tired of me.”

“And go back to my father and mother and dumb cousin?”

“Yes. Or you could sell cars somewhere, or get a job in a men’s clothing shop. Or you

could always move in with Fritz and he could be your partner. I’m sure Fritz would love catering

to your every little whim.” The way Fritz carried on about Wilbur was getting on Harlan’s last

gay nerve. He told himself he wasn’t jealous, but he couldn’t resist picturing himself kicking

Fritz in the ass a few times.

“I wouldn’t want Fritz for a partner any more than I’d want you, and you’re much closer

to my age than Fritz is.” His voice rose, but he didn’t quite shout. “I’m not looking to be

someone’s lover or partner just to be kept and you know it. Biff Campbell is willing to do

anything for me. He wants me to go back to New York and move in with him after the holidays.

He’s madly in love with me. He’s so devoted to me he sends me flowers three times a day.”

Harlan laughed. The same peculiar feeling pulled his stomach again. He told himself it

wasn’t jealousy, but he imagined kicking Biff in the ass, too. “So that’s what you want,” he said.

“You’d like me to follow you around like a sick little puppy dog begging for your attention. Well,

I’m not that idiot Biff Campbell, and I never will be.” He raised his arm and shook his fist.

Wilbur looked Harlan in the eye and gave an exasperated sigh. “That’s not what I want

either. I don’t want you to be like Biff. I would never want you to be like Biff. I just want a little

respect. I know I’m nothing more than a redneck and you’re a well-known professor and author,

from an old family. But I’m not a bag of trash you can toss out every Monday evening either.

Being with you started out with learning to speak correctly, wearing the right clothes, getting the

right haircut. But it turned into so much more. And I’m not just talking about the sex we had last

night, as much as I loved everything about last night. I’m talking about the times we went for

long rides in the car. The times we spent laughing after we’d worked all day. It’s the friendship

and respect as much as everything else I’m looking for. I was actually dumb enough to think I

was in love with you.”

Harlan’s face remained blank. He gazed into Wilbur’s eyes without knowing how to

respond. For the first time in more years than he could remember, he felt a tug in his heart that

seemed to reach all the way into his gut. But he’d put all that love nonsense behind him, and he

wasn’t looking for a life partner. The word “love” sent shivers up his spine. So he clenched his

fists and said, “You’ll never be a gentleman if you continue to put demands on people like this.

It’s not dignified, and you can’t expect everyone to give you nothing but attention.” He knew he

was turning the argument around; he knew he wasn’t making sense. But he didn’t know how to

respond to Wilbur’s heartfelt comments without falling on his knees and telling Wilbur he was in

love with him. If he’d done that, his life would never be the same again.

“Ah well,” Wilbur said. “You done it again.”

“Did it again.” Harlan corrected him, without thinking.

“You’re not my teacher anymore, Harlan Henderson, and I’ll speak the way I like,”

Wilbur said. “You just turned it around to suit your own needs. You’re pretending to ignore

everything I’m saying. I know exactly what you’re doing. And you can’t keep me down any

longer.” He turned and walked to a large wall of glass and looked outside. He wiped a tear from

his eye and smiled. “I’ll go back to New York with Biff, I will. I’ll show you, Harlan

Henderson.”

“So you’ll let Biff keep you,” Harlan said. “You’ll be his trusty top stud in bed and you

can both live off his trust fund. But his trust fund isn’t very large, I’m afraid. I know this for a

fact. I also know he’ll never practice law because he can’t pass the bar exam. He’s not smart

enough. Oh, you’ll be a fine couple.”

“I’ll support myself,” Wilbur said, lifting his chin. “I don’t care about anyone’s money.”

“Ha! And how will you do that?” Harlan rubbed his stomach and smiled. Now he had

him right where he wanted him.

“I’ll be a teaching assistant,” Wilbur said.

He laughed. “What will you teach?”.

Wilbur sent him a sly glance. He smiled, lowered his voice, and pointed his finger.

“Everything you taught me. I’ll go to that famous Austrian professor in New York and offer my

services to him. The same one you told me about once. The one you don’t like because he won

some award and you didn’t. When he hears I worked with you, I’m sure he’ll be more than

happy to hire me on the spot.”

“You’d go to that fake and tell him everything I taught you,” Harlan said. “You’d give

away my secrets and show him my methods.” Though he tried to control the rage, his face grew

hot and his heart began to race. He crossed to the window and clenched his fists. “How dare you

treat me this way?” He lifted his fists and shook them above Wilbur’s head. “I could flatten you

for this.”

Wilbur looked him in the eye and smiled. Then he glanced up at Harlan’s fists and said,

“I knew you’d wind up hitting me one day. I’m not surprised.” He turned his head and stuck out

his jaw. “Go ahead, give it to me. I can take it, Harlan Henderson. I’m not afraid of you

anymore.”

Harlan took a deep breath and plopped into a chair beside the window. Though his heart

still raced and his temples pounded with rage, he had no intention of actually striking Wilbur.

But Wilbur just smiled and looked down at him. “Look at you now, Harlan Henderson.”

He didn’t pronounce the h’s on purpose. “I guess I’ve finally done you in, I have.”

For a minute or two, Harlan stared down at his lap without saying a word. Even when

Wilbur turned his back and said, “I know now I can live without you, and I’ll be fine on my

own,” Harlan didn’t speak.

And that was because Harlan couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done with Wilbur.

The silly boy with the heinous accent and the clothes that didn’t fit was gone forever. In his place

stood a strong, attractive young man who didn’t appear to be afraid of anyone or anything. As

bittersweet as it was, because part of him still wanted to control Wilbur, he’d gone well beyond

what he’d originally portended with him.

When Harlan stood up, he smiled and rubbed his palms together. “I did a far better job

with you than I ever expected I would. I thought I’d just teach you how to speak and dress and

act. But it seems I’ve created a strong, solid member of society. I can’t tell you how much I like

what I see.”

But while Harlan smiled and praised his own work, forgetting once again Wilbur had

been part of this experiment as well, Wilbur tilted his head to the side and stared with a shrewd,

contrived expression. He didn’t thank Harlan; he didn’t praise Harlan for all he’d done. He

simply lifted his chin and said, “Goodbye, Harlan Henderson. You won’t be seeing me again.”

Then he nodded, turned all the way around, and left Harlan standing near the window without

looking back.

Chapter Sixteen

Harlan watched as Wilbur crossed the room, walked into the hall, and disappeared around

the main staircase. Wilbur kept his head held high and walked with a brisk pace. If anyone else

had seen him leave, they would have thought he was off on an important mission instead of

taking off to New York with a moron like Biff Campbell.

Harlan stood there with a blank expression, rubbing his chin and biting his bottom lip.

When it occurred to him he might never see Wilbur again, he felt a sting in his eyes and a pull in

his stomach.

Then he wiped his eyes fast so no one would see the tears. He lifted his head and called

for his Aunt Margaret. He didn’t know this house, so he just stood in the middle of the

conservatory and shouted her name a few times.

When she appeared in the doorway, she smiled and said, “What on Earth is wrong? And

why are you shouting? We’re in the middle of discussing important issues for the fundraiser.”

“He’s gone,” Harlan said. “He said he never wanted to see me again.” He couldn’t

remove the image of Wilbur leaving the room, walking so damn fast with his shoulders dead

straight and his head held so high and mighty. The little fool had no idea what he was doing,

where he was going, or what could become of him.

Aunt Margaret shrugged her shoulders and laced her fingers together on her waist. “Are

you surprised? What was it you expected from him? I’m not sure I get it, Harlan. This was all

just one big experiment. You told me so yourself. You said it was strictly academic.”

Did she have to be so literal? Had she been writing down his exact words in a damn

notebook? At first, the only thing Harlan had expected from Wilbur was hard work. It had started

out as an academic experiment. After that, he wasn’t so sure. He stared down at his shoes and

frowned. “But I don’t know what to do now. I didn’t think he was serious about leaving. I don’t

understand why he’s being so stubborn and running off with Biff Campbell.”

“I guess you’ll just carry on with your life as you always have,” Aunt Margaret said. She

wasn’t offering him any solutions. “And Wilbur will begin his new life with Biff in New York. I

can’t tell you how happy Buffy is to see her son with a fine young man like Wilbur. And I think

Wilbur will be very good for Biff. He’ll help Biff grow up.”

Harlan scowled and made a grunting sound. He wondered if his aunt had lost her senses.

“Ah well,” he said. “I’m sure Buffy is happy. She’d be happy to see anyone take that idiot Biff

off her hands. He’s good-looking enough, but not a brain in his head. And as far as I can see,

Wilbur is making a terrible mistake. He’ll never be happy with a buffoon like Biff Campbell.”

“But that’s none of your business now, is it dear?” she said. “Wilbur is out of your life

and you can just go back to doing whatever it is you do. You should be pleased with yourself.

You now have exactly what you wantedce, and nothing about your life has changed.” Then she

patted his arm and grinned.

If Harlan had been paying attention, he would have seen her grin was much too sly and

her expression far too lighthearted. But he was still picturing Wilbur’s back as he left the room to

notice his aunt was playing with him. Harlan felt as though Wilbur had just dismissed him from

his life, and no one had ever done anything like this to Harlan before. So he lifted his chin and

said, “You’re right, Aunt Margaret. He’s out of my life and good riddance. I can do whatever I

want now for the first time in six months.”

He smiled and looked up at the ceiling. It felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from

his shoulders. He could go home now and call Vince if he wanted. Maybe he’d ask Vince to

bring over a few of his buddies who needed some extra cash. Or he could just go home and read

for a while, then take his afternoon nap in peace. He couldn’t believe it was already after two

o’clock in the afternoon.

“I’m going home now,” Harlan said. “Would you like a ride?”

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “No, dear,” she said. “I’ll go home with Fritz.

We have a few things to work out in the library.”

“I’ll see you later,” he said, turning toward the exit. “I don’t need Wilbur or anyone else.

I have my naps and I have my books. I have my Porsche and I have Fritz to keep me company.

Let Wilbur Munroe go to hell for all I care.”

After that, he drove the short distance back to his house with the car radio blasting one of

his favorite songs and a wide grin on his face. He parked near the front door, jumped out of the

car with a spring in his step, and jogged up the front walk. But when he crossed through the front

door and set his keys down on the hall table, he saw Wilbur’s cell phone and ring on the table

where he’d left them the night before. All of a sudden, it felt as though he were standing in the

middle of a dark hollow cave instead of in his own comfortable front hall. The entire house

seemed bigger and emptier. When he called Mildred’s name and she didn’t come, he

remembered she’d taken the rest of the day off because she’d been working so hard supervising

the cleanup of the Christmas party.

As he turned and walked toward the library, he heard the grandfather clock in the hall

ticking. This was the first time in a long time that he’d been aware of the big old clock ticking.

He hadn’t heard it tick once the entire time Wilbur had been in the house. And the lights on the

Christmas tree seemed dimmer than the day before; the ornaments didn’t glisten anymore. He

told himself he was tired and he’d feel better after his nap.

But when he walked into the library and passed the long, narrow library table not far

from his desk, he looked down at the small tape recorder and frowned. During the speech lessons

he’d had with Wilbur, he’d taped Wilbur’s voice to show Wilbur how he sounded. Without

thinking, Harlan pushed the rewind button on the tape recorder and waited until the tape reached

the beginning. Then he pushed the play button and turned his back on the machine. While

Wilbur’s voice sounded through the speakers, he walked to a large brown leather wing chair

facing the opposite side of the room so he could look out the window and listen to Wilbur’s

voice one more time. While Wilbur repeated vowel sounds, Harlan plopped down in the seat,

took a deep breath, and crossed his legs.

He sat there for the next twenty minutes listening to Wilbur’s voice and watching the

branches on his willow tree sway with the breeze. He remained expressionless, with his elbow

resting on the arm of the chair and his chin in his palm. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so harsh.

Maybe he should have listened to Wilbur’s needs and appreciated him more. But it was too late

now. Wilbur had made up his mind and Harlan would probably never see his adorable face again.

Then the tape recorder paused in the middle of a sentence about the rain in Spain. A

second later, Wilbur’s voice filtered through the room. “Before I got here, I made sure I took me

shower, shaved me balls, and put on clean underwear, I did.” He spoke with a low, smooth tone.

It was the same horrid accent with which Wilbur had arrived in Harlan’s house.

But Harlan knew those tapes backward and forward, and he knew he’d never taped

Wilbur speaking about shaving his balls or changing his underwear. Though Harlan had resigned

himself to being alone, Wilbur had come back to him and he was standing there in the library

waiting for a response.

Harlan lifted his head and stared out the window. A gust of wind pushed the slim willow

branches to the left and a small flock of blackbirds flew toward the sky. Without turning to face

him, Harlan smiled and said, “Wilbur.” His voice remained low, but went up with a gentle

question mark.

Wilbur stood beside the library table and smiled. “I came to see if you wanted a little

company during your afternoon nap. I was feeling a little tired myself.” He spoke with the clear,

precise voice of a perfect gentleman this time.

When Harlan stood up and faced Wilbur, he forced his smile into a frown. He furrowed

his eyebrows and said, “I was just going upstairs now, but I can’t find my glasses. Would you

please get them for me?”

Wilbur laughed and removed his jacket. He looked down at the coffee table and picked

up a pair of glasses and walked across the room. When he handed them to Harlan, he smiled and

asked, “Would you like me to get anything else for you?”

Harlan smiled and placed his hand on the small of Wilbur’s back. “No, thank you. Let’s

just go upstairs and take an early nap.”

“But you never take your nap early,” Wilbur said. “You always say naps have to be

perfectly timed, or else they are ruined. You always say napping as much about the routine as it

is about the nap itself.”

“I’ve said plenty of stupid things in the past six months,” Harlan said, waving his arm.

“But things are going to change around here now that you’ve come back.”

“They are?”

He nodded and said, “Because I love you more than anything or anyone I’ve ever loved

before. I may not say it often in the future, but I want you to know it up front.” Then he applied

gentle pressure to the small of Wilbur’s back and guided him to the staircase.

“I love you, too, Harlan Henderson. And I may say it too often, so I’m warning you

ahead of time.”

“But I refuse to call you Will. I’ll continue to call you by your real name, Wilbur.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

Harlan smiled and reached for the banister with one hand, and Wilbur’s arm with the

other. He leaned into Wilbur’s strong chest and smiled. This was a young man unrelated to him

in so many ways, and yet here they were, treading upstairs to Harlan’s bedroom as if they’d

known each other all their lives. The grandfather clock struck on the half hour. A floor board

creaked. When they reached the landing, Harlan looked out the window and took a quick breath.

Already the house felt alive again and Wilbur had only been there a few minutes.

THE END