Tender Loins

Tender Loins

Tender Loins

©MCVT2017 MCVT2017 June 22, 2019

Saga of two kids building a future with nothing between them except for their hopes, dreams, the bounty of the land and the kindness of strangers. David McCann and Romero Dolcevita meet in peculiar way, comforting way that changes their lives. Intuition of an old friend makes the spark of luck that brings lives together and into abundance. Abundance doesn't come without and problems -- always someone wanting to exercise their evil...

Many of the events and social comments in this story are historically correct though partially fictionalized to create a tale I hope you enjoy. Please make a donation to Nifty and keep this space open for writers that you enjoy.

100% fiction, adult content, gay, hist, rom, blackmail, suicide, implied assault, mast, anal, threeway, cd, firsts, control, Muxe, light bond.

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Part 1 of 5

May, 11, 1931

Dear Mother,

Jonathan and I left yesterday -- Guymon is deserted but for the last three families. Dust still heavy in the air, glad I won't be spitting mud much longer. Heading south to the oil fields first. Then straight to the coast. Tell Dad and everyone I miss them. Love, David

Dropped the postcard at the Pampa, Texas post office. We had enough money to make it down to Big Spring, then to the boom towns south of there -- usually some kind of work available, wildcatters and their ilk came and went often.

...

I was born on October 29. We celebrated my seventeenth birthday the very day the stock market crashed. Didn't think it would affect us -- we had no stocks. Tenant farmers doing okay until drought hit the next year -- then the dust storms came.

Dad said that money was like water, it had to keep moving around in its cycles of rain and rivers, clouds else things start getting out of whack. Water stopped, money stopped and life became a struggle for people who raised their food. Banks were depleted of cash and farmers were left broke, unable to pay their loans and bills -- they abandoned their dusty farms to begin migrating for work. The Oklahoma panhandle along with much of the central US vacated. Drought and dust, and destitution.

Through that last year, me, Mom, Dad, and Caroline sat at the table talking way into the nights reading and rereading letters from Pennsylvania and composing our replies. A few of my great grandfather's family still lived there. They would take all six of us, but described a cramped situation. It was a place to get started again - they were north of Philly, in Allentown and weren't in drought. Hours we talked about leaving and decided to increase our odds of finding work by splitting the family on two coasts. Having my two younger brothers with them, Mom and Dad would go to Pennsylvania. My older sister Caroline and I would head west in the old pickup truck to pick fields along the way then look for solid work in California or maybe move along with the pickers up to Oregon. Caroline and I worked together since we were kids, she was strong and matched my work except for bailing hay.

Mom fretted about Caroline and me being on the roads alone. More letters were exchanged between Pennsylvania and Guymon until an unexpected offer came from the east coast. A distant cousin, Jonathan would accompany me instead of Caroline. Three adults could surely support the family in Pennsylvania, my dad figured. He, Mom and Caroline could find work somehow to support my two younger brothers.

Jonathan was twenty-three. They touted him as a mechanic. He would accompany me to the coast, working along the roadways -- earning our way by repairing vehicles. Sounded like a good idea, two of us guys working repairs together, we'd do well. The decision was made -- our family would split to search for work.

Sold the last of our livestock and started shutting our farm down. Sorrowful, silent days as we put our dreams away.

...

Way before I was born, my great grandparents moved to Oklahoma to rent land, like many did. Tenant farmers hoping to save and buy their own place. My father's family was a little different than the other farm families -- we were wheelwrights. Great grandfather and grandfather were wheelwrights and had all the tools and a shed to work in. Dad wasn't so patient with mechanical things but I was.

I stayed with my grandfather often and learned to build, true and repair wheels for wagons and carts. Didn't need to make the wooden wheels when folks bought cars and trucks. Grandfather and I began working tires. Learned a lot about axles, joints, bent frames and all that related to wheels and tires, but mostly it was the bad roads that damaged the wheels. Repaired tires with a Michelin kit -- best on the market, he said. After the economic crash, wasn't so much about the innertubes as it was about thin tread worn through. Couldn't fix that, but we mended and patched what we could to get `em rolling again. The old man taught me that I had a skill, hold my head up proud around others, I was a smart young man with a valuable skill.

Grandpa made sure I could read and write -- learned in the back of his shed from the cans of grease and oil, the old newspapers and flyers. Then, he taught me my numbers and how to write out a bill, just like he did. Had to learn bartering, too. Lots of farmers didn't have a lot of cash.

...

Dad was a farmer, had the four of us kids with an Osage woman. I was dark like Mom, only me and my sister carried clear, light brown skin, straight black hair and her ebony eyes. Dad was the leader of our family, but it was Mom that was the supervisor on our farm and in the house. She beat the heck out of dad the first time he'd come home drunk from a Grange meeting. He didn't do that again after she raised a nasty knot on his head with her broom stick. Mom ran a clean house -- none of that nonsense in our home. More than anything else, she made us into a loving family on a great farm with lots of food when I was young, plenty of time to play after we finished our chores. We learned to love our freedom from our parents. Wide blue skies of Oklahoma, I loved them, even fierce blizzards and hard rains were welcomed when Mom explained that's how nature kept all in a great order larger than humans can imagine.

She was a wise woman. Taught me and my sis that we'd be treated differently as we appeared more Osage than white, "Stand tall and stay away from trouble and the bottle: "A drunk Indian is killed in the worst ways -- some folks are just waiting for a chance to exercise their evil."

...

After the big crash we heard that shantytowns sprung up all over the US; houses scrapped from any kind of trash that would make a roof and walls -- Mom said that way of living would make them sick. Photographs in the newspapers must have scared her. In one last attempt to keep all of us together, she tried to convince Dad to take us to the reservation with her people, but they were living in the same drought and dust storms as us. Not any more promising than staying on the farm.

Dad handed me the keys to the old pickup truck, an old worn map and three dollars and sixteen cents. "You'll have to scrap for what else you need -- Jonathan will help. Keep the truck running, it's your home till you're on the coast."

Later that night, Mom came to me, sitting close, "Of all my children, you're the one I've loved the most because of your nature -- not like the others. If we'd lived on the reservation, it would be easier for you, but you've got to go make your way the best you can. Write me when you find work." Her expression was odd. I knew she loved me more than my brothers, and I didn't know she knew my heart so well.

Letters from Philly in hand, they left in our sedan, oilcloth over a bundle their things on the roof. The house felt as empty as our fields looked after they left. Nailed the outbuildings shut and cleaned up what was left, packing my tools carefully. Cleaned and checked he old pickup truck. Had to wait a few days for Jonathan McCann, he was on his way.

I stayed in the old house living on jerky and hardtack-like bread Mom left for me, waiting for Jonathan. Took him several extra days to arrive, I was almost out of food, but caught a few skinny jackrabbits and stewed them, stretching out the little meat as long as I could and began cooking up nopales and drank my last few gulps of our well-water.

...

Saw Jonathan walking up the road one morning and started the truck to pick him up and leave. He was tired after days on the rails. Threw his bag in the bed of the pickup and got in, slamming the door hard. I headed south west to get on the highway to the oil fields. He gathered some energy and woke around Amarillo, "How the fuck you rubes live on this god-forsaken desert? You half reptile or somethin'?"

So much for pleasantries. "We're stopping in Lubbock, be there by nightfall."

"Oughta drive at night and find shade to sleep days. Damn, must be over a hundred."

"Been that way for over a year, that's why we're going west, remember?" He bitched and moaned for the next several hours, then asked me to stop for a pop.

"Drink th' water."

"You got money. Dad told me they left you some cash."

"Any cash I got is for getting out of a bind -- got to keep this truck runnin.' Don't wanna be stuck in the middle of the Mojave. Don't you have money?" I was sleeping with my wallet in my pocket around this cousin.

"Heh. Burned it up on fire-water, boy. Know what I mean?"

Eyes on the road, I ignored him as he prattled on about the scams he'd seen; snake oil sales, phony preachers with prayer rugs and healing holy water. "Flimflam man." That's what Dad called people who made their money that way, con men. Had to wonder why he thought he had to impress me but he did; impressed me enough to know I'd never trust him if he thought scams were the way to live.

...

Through the heatwaves and mirages of water, I saw something on the side of the road. As we approached, I slowed. Another traveler, truck bed full of furniture and, several sunburned kids.

Nearing his truck, I stopped, "Need me to send someone out to help?"

"Gotta wait till it cools off again - been overheating `bout every hour." He lifted the hood of his truck.

"Cracked belt, hose, maybe a radiator leak." I offered and shook his hand, "David McCann -- used to farm outside Guymon, Oklahoma. Where you headin'?"

"Toddy Stein from outside Little Rock. Heading to Torrance -- Los Angeles. You?" He shook my hand and we talked about the roads while I got a water jug from the truck to fill the radiator for him. Jonathan got out of the truck, pissed and approached the man's truck, inspecting the kids, then neared the passenger side of the cab and began a line of talk with the man's wife. She kept her eyes forward and her mouth shut.

"Heading to work on the coast -- not sure yet." That's when I heard Jonathan telling Toddy's wife she was a "pretty little filly." Mr. Stein's eyes flashed as he watched Jonathan. I cut things off, grabbed Jonathan's arm and took him back to the truck, put him on the seat and shot him a hard look. Went back for my jug, filled Stein's radiator for a few coins and left.

"Jon -- gotta be careful on the road. Leave the women alone. Until we get to California, we're probably going to see the same people along the way -- don't want to get a bad reputation. You get in trouble - fighting or anything, I won't back you up."

After a few miles, "Jealous, aren't ya, rube." He laughed.

...

October 1, 1931

Dear Mother,

Going to the Irish International Car Race in Phoenix. No dust storms since we left Texas. No work in the oil towns, too many had the same idea. We're in New Mexico now after six tire patches and minor fixes. Jonathan has a troubled spirit - patience is all I have to deal with him. Love, DM

Just a postcard from Carrizozo. Glad to get through New Mexico -- hot, bare land.

Picked up some work outside Phoenix, not on the race cars, but along the way. So many people on the highway, and more than I expected on the shoulders of the roads. Three more tire repairs and earned enough for a deposit on another empty jug for filling radiators. Had enough to buy another Michelin repair kit. Running low on adhesive. My pockets weren't empty -- not full though. Kept my last few dollars rolled and stuffed inside the lapel of my old wool coat, safety pinned under the thick folds that buttoned the coat up the front. While I drove, it occurred to me that I might have to get Jonathan's face fixed up by a doctor along the way, that'd cost me plenty.

More trucks and cars filled the road as we headed into Phoenix, traffic slowed in the heat. Didn't need a sign, everybody was parking and walking toward the race track -- heard engines revving and a band. Hundreds and hundreds of people there, mostly divided into two crowds. An area was roped off for the people who had money, sponsors and drivers. They were dressed well standing under awnings.

Jonathan and I walked around the crowd of people who were dressed like us; travelers, farmers, working men and their families. For those few hours people forgot about their woes - everyone was curious about a race and all the goings-on. Like the county fairs, it attracted everyone from all over.

Heard a guy taking bets, touting the features of the different cars and the drivers. He drew wanting to double their few dollars.

A man in a dusty suit stood to the side of the group, talking about his ailing mother -- such a dear, sweet woman. Listened to his sad tale. Selling the deed to the land for two-hundred dollars to go take care of her. Ten acres near Clarkdale, Arizona on the edge of the mountains, "Plenty of water from the Verde River..." He showed a map. Women were clucking their tongues at his hardships, nudging their husbands. Buying land, sight unseen seemed more than chancy. I wandered to the pits where men were checking their engines. They had big tool boxes with all manner of fancy equipment, I watched. Saw a lot of sleek, low-slung cars that I never saw before.

Lost my cousin for a while until I spied a group of men selling alcohol away from the race track. There was Jonathan, slugging along with the best of them -- damn, he hadn't bought a drop of gas, wouldn't even check the oil or offer to buy a new can but he had the funds for alcohol? Kept myself in the crowd, watching to see what he was up to next.

Jonathan sauntered away from the drinkers after his bottle was empty. The races had started, engines screaming, everyone craning their necks or finding a better spot to watch from. He scooted behind the crowd by the rail, not watching the race at all. Silently, he slipped close to a woman holding the hand of a small child, I think he put his fingers into the woman's purse. Not sure if he stole anything or not. Then he sneaked his hand into a man's pocket as the cars rounded the curve and made a big racket leaving the dust roiling behind them. The man turned, almost caught him but Jonathan smiled and pointed at an MG that was passing like a lightning bolt, then he wandered off.

The last thing I needed was to hauled into jail with a drunk pickpocket who claimed me as family. Pulled him away and took him bodily to the truck. Wanted to see who won the race but felt police presence too near. Races mean gambling and gambling means cash. Along with the alcohol, there were going to be misunderstandings, fights and trouble. It was a cloudy day, and I took it as a sign to get on the road, this drought wouldn't last forever. I'd find work easier without a record tailing me.

...

Jonathan had enough money to buy himself a soda in the next town westward when we stopped for gas. Young girl behind the register took his money and smiled. That kicked my admonitions out of Jonathan's pea-sized brain. He began a line of patter telling her she was too beautiful to work in a dusty, backwater town, "Why you could be a beauty queen with your looks, come out from behind that counter and let me see..." Grabbed him away again when I saw the girl's father in the backdoor watching Jonathan with steely eyes and his teeth clenched.

Back on the road after that he regaled me with his sexual exploits, hookers and all the fun he'd had with women, some as young as twelve. I was appalled and wondered if that was true. But more than wondering, I wanted to shove him out the door and leave him in the ditch. "Got any children, Romeo?"

"Two. Look just like me." Grabbed his balls and squeezed. "Quality work."

"You're married?"

"Marry that slut? The kids live with her parents now -- they're fine."

This man had bastard children raised by someone he didn't know? Damn, he was a cold-hearted snake even if he was lying about it. In that moment I decided I had to get away from him, looked on the map the next time we stopped. Took the road south and west through more desert and stopped to fill the tank and the water jugs before the sun set. As I drove, I decided to leave him at more than a gas station with a general store -- I'd leave him in a town where he'd have a good chance for getting a ride. Gila Bend was the next town. I decided to ditch him there.

Crossing miles of desert was hard. I stayed quiet and stayed on the road day and night until we hit Gila Bend. Jonathan wandered off to row of small stores and went inside the first one. Quickly, I threw the filled water jugs in the passenger side floorboard, paid for the gas and drove straight south to a reservation, feeling lighter and cleaner without him. I was not my cousin's keeper. Odds were working against him -- he'd eventually get caught, he just wasn't careful enough to be a professional crook, maybe he'd already been caught in a mess. Could be why he was sent out west.

...

Turned off the highway onto a dirt road south of Gila Bend, slowed to dodge the holes and rocks. Didn't stop till I found a box canyon to stop and hide my truck. Fell asleep with my head on my wadded coat on the seat of the truck smelling the pinon and desert air. I'd lay low for a while.

Next morning, I heard a strange clanking. A bell? Sat up to see a goat looking back at me -- he had a cow bell around his neck. Following him was a small herd of sheep. I jumped up and reached out to touch the goat. He was curious, sniffed my fingers. Off in the distance I saw a figure on horseback. I waved and he came toward the truck, hesitantly.

The closer he got, the more quickly he rode toward me. He told me how to get to their settlement, pointing further south. I left to speak with their leaders and ask for permission to stay a few days, needing rest from the blaze of the sun and I needed sweet water from a deep well and let my heart heal from being around Jonathan, he had bruised my heart. He wasn't looking for work, he was scamming -- I had to stay on task finding employment and a place for my family.

The tribe were holding their own through the drought. Sheep, a few horses, small plots of corn and beans. Their settlement was only a few adobe huts and a several wooden shacks. Had a well with good, cold water. We sat together and ate in one of the adobe huts as they told me about their lives. Very different from the Osage and alike in some ways. Offered me a small corn cake and bowl of mutton stew. Never ate sheep meat before -- but it was rich and good. Stayed several days working on their old trucks and fixing a few parts. It was incredibly hot during the days, but the skies were open and clear, the land red and yellows like it was painted from the colors of the sunsets.

On the second night I was on their reservation, we listened to the radio. Communists were touted as the next threat to our nation. One of their elders told me that these were distraction tactics, poverty and barring people from opportunity to improve themselves were the real enemies. "It's their thoughts that hurt so many, the things they fear. They fear poverty, loneliness -- those men lack courage. Most push away the poor, and dismiss the stranger. Staying close together through struggles builds courage." He quietly spoke of many things that reminded me of my mother's people, their ways. He took a broad view over many peoples, many centuries, stories of their ancient ways and their long history of surviving on the plains and now the desert.

These people were as generous as they were poor, I'd say rich in spirit, but the bodies holding their spirits to the earth were puny and wondered how long they'd last in that oven of a reservation. They had the earth and each other. They had more courage than anything else.

...

The next morning, I cleaned up and hauled some baskets and bags along with a several of the tribe and took them into town to the market. Didn't see Jonathan but I didn't check the jail. Filled the tank, and readied to cross into California. Heard there was nothing but tilled land filled with produce as far as one could see. Didn't mind working the fields if I could earn.

Mile after mile I passed fields of melons, tomatoes, all kinds of vegetables and heard there were orchards further north. Farmworkers dotted the rows and big trucks sat to the side to carry them back and forth to the camps. Stopped at the camps near the wide fields of produce. Camps run by the government were very basic, but organized and neat for being filled with ragtag families. Heard that these camps weren't so much for the comfort of the people but to quell the union organizing -- a backhanded way to keep people from revolt. Desperate people do desperate things. Some of the pickers roused the others to put a squeeze on the producers -- when a crop is ripe, there's only a few days to get it into the boxes and on the road. Those days were the time when a strike would force higher wages -- the government countered by saying that would raise the price of food. Both sides had good arguments and I didn't know enough of large-scale actions and the economy to have an opinion; hunger and poverty I knew well -- my solution was to scrounge what work I could and forage for food.

Spoke to the leadership of the government camps and usually got work, a few mechanical fixes, tire work. They paid, not much, but I had a place to park and sleep without bother. Asked about work in the fields -- but there were so many already, any more workers would cut their meager pay along with everyone else's.

Still, the camp showers felt good after the desert. Able to get a bowl of soup and read a newspaper. Seems the government was always a day late and a dollar short -- new programs were coming, "in the pipeline" they said. My hunger wouldn't wait for legislation. Still had a few bucks, and kept pushing toward the coast. Hope and warm slugs of water kept me between meals of corn meal mush and nopales.

...

August was hot, and the fields were full -- more produce trucks on the roads. It was slow going, lots of broken-down cars on the sides of the roads, but these folks were out of money entirely having spent most of it on their way. I passed them and followed caravan of several empty trucks going into a ramshackle camp. Driving through the camp, I saw the inhabitants' faces. These were a miserable-looking lot, mean expressions and flinty eyes. Hotheads wanting better pay, but labor was so cheap with so many people coming, these men were stuck between holding out for more pay and starvation. Union guys -- first I'd seen and decided to stay to the side of that - no one wanted to organize tire repair men. Cautiously, I pulled through the camp by a stream, trees. It was filled with all manner of tents and lean-tos, wet wash hanging through the area. Pulled aside a woman walking on the path, asked directions to the person operating the place.

As I spoke with the woman, I noticed the few people standing around were leery and skittish. Something dark about this place - almost silent but for the sounds of pots being washed and a few curses. Went to the leader of the camp - in a big, white tent erected on a rise away from the others. Outside the opening to the tent was a girl tied to an old metal chair wearing a dress with her dark hair shorn short. I nodded as I passed. She looked away.

Inside I met a man chewing a cigar - short, fat man who'd obviously never worked the fields or the road -- his hands were soft, white and smooth. Tent was heavy with the smell of tobacco and a sharp, pungent cologne. That was odd -- him living aside the pickers and their families who were thin as rails and smelling like their pine-wood campfires and soured sweat. This man in pleated pants, tie and dress shirt was packing papers in a leather briefcase. Another suitcase stood by the tent flap.

"Looking for work, repairing tires, got experience with engines. Need any work done?" We talked for a while and agreed on a price to check the tires on his sedan, and the spare, then check the fluid levels. I could do that easily. Before I left, I asked why the child was tied to the chair outside.

"Clearing his mind of nonsense."

"His?" I wondered. "What's wrong with him? Why is he tied?"

"Sissy-boy, pansy, you know. Got to shame that out of him if he's going to make anything out of himself." He said, chewing the stump of the cigar, and stacking more papers.

As I left, I slowed by the boy in a dress and whispered, "Gotta keep some secrets to y'self." I stopped to stretch for a moment glancing at him. He nodded once, then looked back to the side as other men came and went into the tent. Went on with my work about twenty yards away and kept glancing at the boy or maybe I was keeping an eye on him. He was dark, like me, but had pale eyes, wavy hair. A few times I saw him watching me work.

"Shame it out of him?" Damn mean practice.

...

Evening came, I packed my tools, but made sure I could watch the boy from the bed of my truck. He was untied and taken inside as dusk fell. Settling in for sleep, I heard noises from the men down in the camp. Got a funny feeling -- the campers stayed up late, loud discussions around the fires. Men raised their voices often, but I couldn't decipher their words. Seemed odd if they were picking and hoeing all day - why weren't they sleeping? Heard a few cars coming and going; sunset usually brought quiet in the camps. Not here, not tonight.

Had a half-moon that night, I was looking at it as I felt the bed of the truck sway, someone beside me. It was the boy in the dress, "Dogs coming tonight. Get out."

"Are you sure?"

"My uncle and his men already left."

"Didn't take you?"

"He said I'd probably get dropped at a mission. They'd take the fag out of me."

I could hear distant hum of motors. "Get in the cab if you want to come with me -- going to San Diego, then up the coast for work." He stared at me. "You can get out where you want later." For the first time in my life, I said it out loud. Foreign words to my ears, but true: "I'm like you are about men. Don't want a woman, I want a man beside me in my life, else I'll live alone."

We heard voices in the camp alerting everyone and jumped in the cab of the truck. The kid showed me how to leave by the back route and we hit the highway passing a number of cars and trucks screaming past us to raid the camp. Close call.

...

The boy fell asleep on the seat beside me, still in his dress. Slender boy and his shoulders were just beginning to widen. Looked like he'd been fed -- his skin was smooth. He'd shucked his work boots and lay in a tight curl on the seat with the cool, night air swirling around us. Reaching behind the seat, I found my old coat and threw it over him and continued until the first rays of sun hit the rearview mirror.

After several hours, I pulled off for gas and woke my young companion. "Get over there behind the bushes to pee and tell anyone who asks that you're my sister until we find you some pants." Those words made me realize I suddenly had two people to feed. Needed some new strategies for more work, and twice as much food.

Had a couple of tin cans I cooked in. Usually built a fire, boiled cactus paddles after I'd singed off all the thorns, nopales. If I was lucky, they held their red the fruits along the top of the paddles, I cleaned them and cooked them with the white strips of cactus meat. Red and sweet, they made enough for a meal. Better with egg cooked along with the cactus -- that's how Mom always fixed them.

I pulled into a farm where I saw several sheds behind the house. Walked up to the door and knocked. Took a while but a woman answered the door, eyeing me, then she glanced at the truck to see the boy-girl smiling.

"Need an egg or two, I'll pay. Got any to spare?"

Took her a while, sizing up the situation. "That girl, she's hungry?" Two children stood behind their mother's skirt peeking around at me.

"Ma'am, that's my sis. I know you've probably met with hustlers from the road -- not looking to make trouble. Just enough for us..."

"Wait here." She glanced again at the truck. "Poor child -- how long has it been since you've eaten?"

"Been a while." I was bony enough to make a hard impression. Waited patiently listening to the mother order her children about making buttered bread and packing left-overs for us. Boiled potato sandwiches, dried apples wrapped in newspaper, half a jar of apple butter, a few soda crackers, bits of what she had. She came back to the door with an old flour sack heavy with food. I offered her several coins along with my thanks. She wouldn't accept money. "God be with you. By the way, where're you going?"

"San Diego, then Los Angeles. I fix cars, tires especially. Need any work done?"

"Pa does all that." She looked closer at me, my unshaven face and ragged clothes. "Up north of Los Angeles is a city called Santa Barbara. I was born there. Not as busy as Los Angeles, but not as many problems." She smiled remembering Santa Barbara. We spoke for a while about the towns along the coast, she knew the beach towns well. Her children came out from behind her skirts to stare at me while the mother told me of a younger sister she'd loved deeply, "Consumption took her."

I stuck my hand out to shake her hand, she leaned forward, wrapped her arm half-way around my neck and patted my back. "I'll pray for you and your sister." She glanced at the truck again and lifted the corner of her apron to wipe her eyes.

...

While I was waiting on the porch and the woman was busy putting together food for us, that boy sneaked out the driver's side of the cab and ran to the fence where the woman hung her wash. He stole several things then sneaked back in the driver's side with dungarees and two shirts and a pair of socks. On the road, the boy looked in the bag to find the food, handed me a sandwich and told me what he did, he pulled the clean, but damp clothes from under the seat, grinning.

"Don't steal. We'll depend on the bounty of the earth and the kindness of people who have enough to share," repeating my mother's philosophy. Ate as I drove, drinking from the gallon jug lifted to my lips. He seemed like a new boy after he ate.

"What's your name, barefoot boy?"

"Romero Dolcevita, they called me Romy."

"Dolcevita? What kind of name is that?"

"Means `sweet life' in Italian. My parents are Italian."

"Name's David McCann, from Guymon, Oklahoma. Osage and Irish."

We drove along for a while; I became curious. "You got family out here?"

"Only my uncle at the camp. He's gone now -- probably going to another camp to organize." The boy was alone now and didn't seem upset about it. Maybe he didn't realize how vulnerable he was. Confident or naive, wasn't sure which and decided to be more of an older brother to him till he found his place; I missed my brothers.

"Till we find a place for you, stay close." With a full stomach, he curled on the seat and slept while I considered where I'd take him. Not any place would be welcoming if they found out his leanings -- might be punished again and it could be worse.

A while later, he woke. We stopped beside an empty field, rinsed our hands and faces. "Heard it gets better when we get to the coast -- more people, more business and more work, if you're old enough. Have you ever seen the Pacific Mr. Dolcevita?"

"No. Are you going to the ocean?" He asked, eyes excited.

"Yep. We'll see it together, if ya' like."

...

Good day, full stomachs. About a week, we'd be in San Diego. In the distance I saw a line of trees -- water ahead. Stopped beside a river, washed our dirty clothes and ourselves in the cool water. Naked, we lay under the trees and let our clothes dry. Felt good to be out of the cab of the truck, I looked up at the sky in the afternoon sun through the leaves of the cottonwoods.

As Romy used his finger to wipe the last of the apple butter out of the jar, "Being tied to that chair didn't change me at all. Coulda stayed there a year -- can't change what's inside me." Romy said matter-of-factly, "Born this way."

"Until I met you, I never said it before -- I mean where I could hear my own voice admit it, but yeah, can't change that part of me -- I think about men, dream about them the way other men think of women." The roar of the cicadas built and waned above us. "Think about being loved by a man and loving him. Only heard it in whispers a few times, but there are lots of men like us in the big cities -- San Francisco, Los Angeles."

Romy's hand toyed with his package till his short rod was stiff. "Romy, you got to be careful -- men like us can be hurt -- maybe killed. The white guys get tossed in jail, but they're harder on the darker ones. There's always people looking for a place to exercise their evil."

He rolled over and took a blade of grass, ran it along my dick till I was hard. Slapped his hand away, "You're not old enough. Stop it."

"When will I be old enough -- in five minutes?" He laughed.

"When I'm around seventy." I chuckled. Dad always said that when I wanted to do something reserved for adults. Romy's tender body was at the age it was needy for touch, affection and so was mine. Set all that aside and excused myself to the river for a while.

...

Romy's stolen dungarees were too big, but we found a way to hitch them around his slender waist with strips from the flour sack and rolled the cuffs up. The shirts were baggy, I took them and let him have my worn, but smaller shirt. Still Romy had no shoes that fit so, we cut the leather along the toes of his old boots and I patched them with my tire repair kit.

Crossed the heat of the desert at night and through the hills east of San Diego. I stopped and got directions when we got gas. Repaired three tires for the gas station owner and we left for the ocean with a few big coins in hand. Empty cars and broken-down vehicles along the highways here and there. Didn't see any kids, so I didn't stop -- felt like the ocean pulled me closer.

...

Crossing the hills into El Cajon -- still hot, but the changes started happening. I knew it'd be so - San Diego was filled with unemployed men and their families. The further along, more encampments and families. Heartbreaking to see so many kids so poor, runny noses, dirty and dull-eyed.

The further west we drove, the cooler the breezes became. Romy was excited, reading all the billboards and signs we passed. The boy asked a million questions and I had no idea what he wanted to know; knew there were oceans and seas, but not much more about them than fish and whales, sharks and tides changing with the moon.

Wasn't so dusty in San Diego as we neared the coast. Very different place, odd trees planted everywhere that had the strangest odor. Smelled like the medicine Mom used to rub on our chests when we got the grippe.

We followed the signs of businesses at the beach. Then, the air changed -- a new smell swirled around us. Suddenly, with the hills so far behind us I couldn't even see them, we stopped and stared at the ocean -- so wide! Abrupt change from the asphalt and dusty roads I'd stared at for so many days. So blue against a turquoise sky. At our feet was sand sprinkled with what looked like sparks of gold. The water shushed us, waves, in rolls came toward us. We dropped on the sand, rolled our pants legs up, tossed our shoes to the side to feel the cold Pacific tugging at our feet. Small holes in the sand bubbled from their inhabitants, seabirds screamed and the wind was strong and cool on our faces. Wonderful, mysterious place -- the beach.

The smell of the beach was foreign, strong and in some ways smelled like sex. It smelled like all life and the liquids it made in joinings. I remember that smell from my parent's bedroom -- their bed, their sheets.

The sea whispered its abundance in its breadth and my spirit fell into the rhythm of the waves -- they washed a new hope inside me. Life couldn't stay hard forever -- I was sure it would change like the tides; always turning, bringing the new. I grabbed Romy and hugged him right there in the open. Then we took off running down the damp sand to a pier. People were fishing, we looked in their buckets -- a few mullets, and a lobster. Looked like a big, ugly bug and I wondered how they were going to eat it. They were proud of it. I wanted no part of that meal.

Romy pointed to the west, "Ships!" Sure enough, ships so large we could see them from miles away. He flitted up and down the sand examining bits of shells and seaweed. I breathed deeply the cool, moist air like it was a remedy for all the sorrows I'd lived the past months. Seemed to heal a lot of worries inside me -- the sharp sorrows of parting, the mean heat of the road, the slow going through the sierras, the deserts and the hard-hearted folks I'd met; even faded the memory of Jonathan and all his troubles. The enormity of the horizon tore all that raspy hurting from inside me and blew it away as if it were nothing. The greatness of a sky that hovered over me, hovered over my family and all those on the roads. That greatness brought me into a comfortable, rightness I'd never felt before. All was right, all was in the right place and always would be.

"What's that man doin'?" I looked down the beach to a man with a cart under an umbrella, wrapping my arm around Romy's shoulders.

We raced off to see, laughing till we got to the man at the little wheeled metal box. Older Latino man was selling raspas -- snow cones. Flavors were red, green and white. "What's the best flavor?" Romy asked.

"White's my favorite." The old man chuckled.

"Two white raspas." I said, this was a day to celebrate. I have him a few cents for the shaved ice with syrup and coconut flavoring. Were they ever good -- never tasted coconut before and I was in love with life as the ice melted on my tongue and I watched Romy -- his eyes smiled as he tasted. "Little brother, we're going to be alright." He only nodded, eyes in smiling crescents above his round cheeks - as thrilled as I was with the ocean and all around us. He was smiling from his spirit.

...

Romy and I walked along the sand, feeling sparks of excitement in our hearts. We'd passed several large missions built centuries ago, "Romy, the church can help you find a place, get in touch with your family... Don't you miss them?"

"I'm old enough to work." He grabbed my arm. "Don't leave me, I don't have anyone here or in Chicago anymore."

Looking at him I figured his family was separated the way mine was -- off to different relatives. He could work? I saw a few dark hairs on his upper lip, several more across his chin. "How old are you now? Don't lie."

"Fifteen in few months. Don't send me away to strangers. I'll work hard."

"What can you do?"

"I'll do anything -- anything. Just don't leave me in the church -- they don't know me..."

That was true -- not sure about how he was raised, but I knew enough that most religious folk didn't like men like us. Leaving him in a church would just force him back to the road. He was too young to be on his own. "We'll find a way, but life's gonna be hard."

Slender arms embraced me, "You won't be sorry; I'll work and we'll make it. I know we will."

Odd to hear a boy saying that to me, "We'll make it, I know we will." But there was a rightness around us, and all felt in order between us now.

...

Since we had no family or friends in San Diego, we had to build our reputations from the ground up. We found ways to survive while we kept some dignity about us -- ready for an opportunity if one opened up.

Garbage cans in town were already picked through, Romy suggested we watch for the ritzy restaurants to take their trash out. They took it to the alley early in the morning, just before the garbage men arrived. We got there a few minutes earlier and filled our jar and cans with whatever looked like it would make dinner of soup. Along with a few stale bread crusts, and it was enough. Food lines were problems -- fights broke out and rough trade, easier and quieter to forage off the leavings of wealthier folk and eat from the bounty of the land.

Found a pair of shoes at a church donation bin, kept those though they didn't fit us. Only stayed in the city shelter long enough to get our hair cut and wash our clothes. Other days, as we scrounged short tasks to earn enough for gas, we slept under a tarp in the back of the truck parked in a canyon -- lots of canyons around San Diego.

When we pulled into our usual canyon, we knew there were others nearby inside their own campsites, and never bothered anyone -- they didn't bother us as an unspoken agreement. One night, we heard a ruckus down the road, about a half mile and went to the road to see what was going on. The group didn't douse their campfire well enough. Flames were climbing, spreading. Quickly, we threw everything into our truck and left -- didn't stop till we were in Otay Mesa -- flat land. Went back the next day to find acres of our canyon area blackened -- several houses on top of the ridges were burned as well. Romy wanted to go into the burned campground. He went to dark hulk of a car and looked through it, tearing through the still-smoldering seats then the trunk.

"Whacha doin'?"

"My dad used to drive for the union. People hide valuables in their cars because they can lock the doors." He held out his hand. In his palm were two black flattened mounds and the remnants of several dollar bills. I looked closer -- those were corners of twenty-dollar bills -- worth nothing now. He spit on the flat mounds and rubbed them. I took one and inspected it. Looked like gold, yellow but dull metal. "How much do you think it's worth?" He asked.

"Not sure."

Romy was fifteen, but he was an astute observer of human nature, he began kicking around through the ashes, looking for anything else we could salvage. Found a hunting knife with a sturdy blade away from the fire, handle was gone but we could fix that. Old cast iron skillet with charred bits of their last dinner; still usable, I tossed it in the truck. Picked up a few metal stakes that looked like they were from the rails, and took the license plates off the car, in case we needed them. They were from New Mexico -- we'd clean them up and repaint them carefully -- might be worth a few bucks. Kinda sad finding parts of a toys among the ashes. Wondered where the family was now.

...

That gold brought us luck -- not because we sold it, no. That next week I got on one day of work at a gas station south of Logan Heights. Well-heeled clientele from Logan Heights and some came from Banker's Hill to get full service. Did my best to impress the clients and the owner. The gas station was located near Coronado Bay, pumping gas and checking the oil levels, simple tasks and steady work in the cool breezes. Romy went off during the days, making a few coins sweeping parking lots and stocking for a few stores in the area. Still sketchy finding work for him -- he was so young. He was supposed to be in school, but there were so many kids on the streets and in the camps. No one ready to try to round all of `em up for schooling even if they had enough classrooms.

As we drove the alleys and back streets, I noticed some folks turned to the trade, selling themselves, and I suspected Romy could have sold himself in the right places. He was a good-looking young man, but he never even mentioned it. I didn't either. Kept reassuring him we'd make it somehow with our self-respect, though we looked and smelled so damn poor. We held out and held on scavenging day-old newspapers for any sign the economy was improving. Listened to the radio at work, heard the ads for the Civilian Conservation Corps.

...

After our canyon was burned, we camped south and east of the downtown area near National City, going to the beach at Imperial, just north of the border with Tijuana. Most nights we made soup, Sundays we split soda crackers and a can of sardines, we'd dine and watch the blazing sunsets together as we talked about our days and discussed any ideas we had for work. I suggested we find a place to park and grow a few rows of corn and beans, maybe some squash.

Romy laughed, "Somebody'll steal them while we're at work."

He was probably right. When I told him about the steers and milking cows, having to hoe row after row for our food, he seemed surprised. He never knew that about farms being raised in Chicago. Had to explain the feeling of freedom was nurtured in the outdoors, being one with the earth that feeds you is a good life.

Romy explained about his life -- feast or famine it seemed to me. His dad was a big man who commanded a lot of respect on the streets of the Windy City, was recruited early by the trucker's union and rose in their ranks. Romy's family went from living in a walk-up tenement to a real house with a yard when he was a boy. Later, his parents sent him to a boarding school -- had to leave when the all-boy's school found him with another student. Didn't set well with their policies. Then Romy went to public school. Going to public school wasn't hard for Romy, he had a good education so far and did well.

A few years later his father was still with the union and earned the trust of the leadership. He and another man were put in charge of picking up the union dues from the workers every Friday. Thousands of dollars in cash, each workplace steward had a brown envelope in a black bag that contained a list of the workers who'd paid along with their dues. Because that much cash is a temptation, you never know who's got designs on it. Money disappeared from the delivery truck they drove, more the next week. Romy's Dad didn't come home one night after driving his route. Police said it appeared someone had held up the truck they drove. Romy's family heard nothing from Mr. Dolcevita for a week, then two weeks. Being a smart woman, Romy's mother sent her three children all over the US to distant relatives, unsure if the thugs at the union hall would come looking for her thinking she involved with the theft. She hopped the border for Canada and went back to Italy. Chicago was corrupt and violent during those times -- lots of dirty dealing.

Romy was street-smart - much more than me. He could spot a crook at twenty paces -- the bookies, sharks, and cons. He knew their tricks from the sidewalks of Chi-town but never suggested a shell game or asking me to be his shill -- nothing like that. I'd made it clear to him that I couldn't risk my reputation being around trouble.

"Do you ever write your mom?" I asked later. "She probably wants to know you're okay."

"Not sure where to address the letter."

"We'll find out." I explained we could go to the library and look on a world map, "Maybe find a town close to where she was from in Italy. They'll get the letter to her."

The reason I recall that night clearly was because I'd read of the violence in Chicago before. It was in almost every issue of any newspaper I found. Crime bosses established territories for distribution of illegal booze before prohibition ended. But it was the information that Romy told me before we lay down together to sleep -- words whispered among certain men. Romy told me about bathhouses and there were bars -- usually shady bars where men met other men. Speakeasies before, now the hidden nightclubs, and questionable haunts. There were parties in private homes and places where men met, but you had to know where they were.

"I was glad when Mom sent me to my uncle, and all the men. Well, I was glad until he found out. Don't know what happened to the man he caught kissing me." He sighed, "But now I can be myself."

"Some call us an abomination -- you were lucky that man was your uncle, otherwise we might not be having this conversation."

"We look okay, act okay -- no one would guess." He paused, "We'll find those places. I know we will."

The next day, we mailed a sheet of paper we wrote the letter on, folded it by the instructions and mailed it to Brindisi, Italy with a note on the back asking the postmaster to please find and deliver this to Serafina Cancio Dolcevita and gave the name of the small costal town on the heel of the boot of Italy and hoped for the best.

...

Our evenings were calm. Romy told me about geography, history, lots of things I'd missed by not going to school. He was good at math and began showing me multiplication and division -- just another way to add and subtract. We wrote out my numbers on the margins of newspapers remembering what I could of the things my grandfather taught me. I could figure the small numbers out easily. Felt kinda stupid beside him sometimes and he never made fun of me.

Sometimes we lay on the thin mattress and looked at the stars -- I showed him the Big and Little Dippers, Orion and all the planets like my grandfather had taught me. Told him about trueing wheels and how we made and repaired the old wagon wheels and the ways of my mother's people. The information we passed back and forth was new to the other, and we developed a deep appreciation for our disparate pasts.

We slept on the small mattress in the bed of the truck, often naked when the weather was warm. Our bodies touched and I remembered sleeping with my brothers. Sometimes I felt Romy pulling his rod, I did the same. All in silence -- we were close, and though we both loved men, we weren't quite the men for each other -- neither of us considered us fully men. Survival was still first on our minds.

We made it through a year living on little or nothing while the government dithered over a few bucks that would have sprung us into a place with a roof. Trust deepened between us -- Romy didn't want to go back to Chicago or with his brother or sister. That might be veering too close to the "family" in organized crime. He wanted a new start. I just wanted a start on full-time work. We needed each other those days, hope was as scarce as coin.

About that gold -- or what we thought was gold. Prices on gold were fixed, the US was on the gold standard to stabilize the dollar's value and the economy. That didn't work out well, but we took the two small mounds and I got out my Michelin repair kit and stuck them inside the hem of my coat with adhesive and a patch near the three dollars and sixteen cents I'd tucked into the placket. Couldn't even tell they were there, but we had to hold onto that coat.

...

July, 12, 1933

Dear Mother,

Write to me at General Delivery, National City, California. Jonathan's gone. I have a buddy. The ocean and the beach are beautiful. Heard about the Civilian Conservation Corps, am going to apply. Will send home money every month if I get on with them. Hope all is well. Love, David.

Romy and I hunkered down for what I thought would be a cold winter, but I hadn't quite adjusted my brain to my new location. Got a few light showers, and the damp air chilled us but nothing near the bitter winters of Oklahoma. He told me about the howling blizzards in Chicago -- I shuddered.

We worked through the spring and summer, showering at the beach on Saturday nights. Mostly earning enough for what we needed and keeping ourselves from looking like animals. Romy took that pair of shoes he found and we filled them with newspaper and cardboard till they fit enough to wear while odd jobbing. Lots of people liked Romy, he found a few regular jobs cleaning and stocking, unloading trucks around town. I was hired on an extra day pumping gas and fixing cars. Two days a week doubled my income but it was meager pay. Romy occasionally found us some clothing someone left out by an ashcan; we struggled and stuck together sharing what we had, and were finally able to afford soap.

...

The day had been overcast while I worked, cool and I trueing out-of-round wheels and made repairs all day. It was Friday -- pay day. Met up with Romy at a corner near the row of small businesses near San Ysidro, cash in hand. Went into our favorite bodega. "Get two cans of sardines tonight -- gonna talk money." I winked at Romy and grabbed a bar of licorice. "You like this?" He made a face, so looked around and decided this announcement needed something special. Bought a bottle of cheap wine -- I knew nothing of drinking, only saw it was cheap and had a basket overflowing with purple grapes on the label. Those grapes looked so luscious, the wine must be good, right?

Crackers and sardines again but a little extra tonight. We sat on the tailgate of the truck sharing our dinner, opened a can of peaches to spear with our knives and drank our wine passing the bottle back and forth.

"What's this about money?" Romy asked.

Looking at him without his shirt, I saw his ribs and collarbones jutting out from his smooth skin, "They're taking applications for the CCC soon. Announced it on the radio at work." I explained we'd get paid and get training for lots of things but work the forests and along the roads. "Six-month commitment, stay on for two years if you like it. Room, board, and pay -- thirty a month. Only hitch is you have to send twenty-five bucks back home every month. Feds are priming the pump -- getting the money goin' around again."

"Don't I have to be seventeen to work?" He asked, slurring his words from the wine. "Not old enough."

"Probably lots of guys signing up won't have birth certificates -- mamas had `em on the farms. Just say you're seventeen. We'll get schooling and a skill. C'mon, if you don't like it after six months, go on. You'll leave with money in your pocket. Worth a shot."

I took a slug of the wine. Burned my throat as Romy took another drink. "How do we get in?"

"Applications at the post office..." We sat in silence as our heads spun with alcohol. My brain wouldn't shut down, my heart was beating fast. He'd half-agreed to stay with me after so long together, hard to imagine life without Romy. Now, thinking about the CCC, I'd never been in any kind of big group of men, that was too big of a dream for this Okie. With Romy, we could take the knocks of learning the ropes together watching out for each other. I wanted to kiss Romy for bringing that calm to me by asking how we get in the CCC.

Leaning toward him, only wanting to smell his familiar sweat. Romy turned and kissed me, held my face, he pulled me to stand and we undressed in the dark, then crawled onto the mattress, "One time you told me you dreamed about being with a man..." He whispered and grabbed my cock.

That was all we said that night as I grabbed the empty can of sardines, pushed him onto his back and took the greasy oil from the can and nudged his knees till he opened to me, oiled his tight hole with the grease. By this time, I was rigid and my brain whirling. Fumbled around in the dark but put his ankles on my shoulders and underneath Orion I held myself against his hole and pushed. Didn't work the first time, or the second till I stuck my finger in his ass hard. He moaned but I couldn't stop. Pulled my finger out quick and shoved my leaking dick inside him. His short yelp dissipated quickly into the darkness.

During all the hours I'd driven the narrow, hot roads I'd fantasized all the ways my body would fit with and inside another man. Kissing, licking and sucking every part of him, and his lips on me. There were a thousand ways I wanted to take a man and be taken. My imagination saw ways to seed almost everywhere I looked, but never let myself try. Had a rubber hammer. Used the handle to fill my butt when I got really horny and it made me cum hard. Kept that to myself, knowing people would call it perverse; illegal. Now, though I was inside a hot hole, so tight around my cock it was almost overwhelming along with the alcohol. Being hard as any crowbar, I began stroking into his heat to find my balls had a mind of their own. Wanted it to last but couldn't stop it - feeling his tight muscle gripping my shaft was too much. I came like a dam burst, then my seed squishing around my dick -- only made it better but my sac was empty. Aching and empty after only a few strokes.

Smelling the sardine oil and my seed, I fell on him. His dick was hard and twitching, his man juice leaking. Rubbed myself against him a few times and felt his twitch and his hot release between us. Silent, strong statement of that almost made me cry. First time, all-male. Sweaty and wet, my dreams were finally realized and were better than anything I imagined. So much satisfaction, it made me want more, a lot more.

I kissed his neck and held him close; moist skin and the slippery fluids felt like a new kind of relief. No, it felt perfect. I moved to lick his cum from his smooth chest. His fingers stroked my hair pressing my face against him and we fell asleep deeply.

Hard time waking up the next morning, I grinned, not knowing what to say. Romy was smiling, too, walking a little funny, but we cleaned up and he dropped me off at work then went to the post office. We only had one pencil, it was short, but Romy sharpened the lead with the knife, sat on the side of the garage in the truck and started filling in the tiny spaces on the CCC application form.

On my lunch break he handed me a blank application, "I don't want to use my last name."

"Why?"

"It's an odd name -- they might recognize it from Dad's union work. Could make it hard if they check on me. The CCC is part of tamping down the union organizing, but I want steady work, maybe get to graduate high school while I'm there." He held up his CCC brochure looking disappointed.

"You got another problem -- you have to send fifty to someone every month. Who you gonna send it to?"

Biting his lower lip, "Better think about this."

Reading through the requirements, "You know it's going to be hard work, building fire towers and cleaning brush... Maybe we could wait." I offered.

After a few moments, "How much harder is it going to get for us? We're always hungry. We stink. We're filthy. Everyone around us is filthy and stinking... Everything around us is filthy and stinking." He looked into my eyes. "I'm sick of living like this if there's a better place with work -- being poor so long is wearing me down. Gotta be just as hard on you. We gotta try."

His outburst of honesty surprised me. Romy just summed up our lives since we'd met. Glanced around and leaned over to kiss his cheek just to feel his stubble. He wasn't going to be a teen for much longer, yet he was a man. Since we'd met, he'd become thinner, lankier, a little taller. Romy's body would be filling out soon -- he needed more food than we could rustle up. Looked at him differently now. He'd come a long way with me and stuck by my side. Wondered if that was from need or want.

...

November 12, 1933

Dear Mom, Am in CCC - working in the forests. Address: CCC in Alpine, California. Getting more schooling. Sending you fifty every month from my pay. Please let me know all is well. Love, David

How did Romy get in? He used the name McCann. Romero McCann. Like me, he had no birth certificate, we said he was born on the reservation. We alluded to an imaginary liaison my father had years ago, complicating our relationship. No one asked after we prattled on about second and third nieces and nephews and cousins between the prairie and the reservation. Sold my old truck for twenty dollars and surprised to get that then got a mailbox under the name of R. Dolcevita. Romy's "mother" lived in a shanty town near the border without a street address or house number. The feds swallowed all that hook, line and sinker to fill their needs for getting recruits to get the CCC going. The first hires had to be the best in order to make the CCC reputation shine for the next group and the continued funding. Romy and I looked like clean farm boys with a strong work ethic. Prime recruits.

We got our physicals first. Then we were tested for skills and mental fitness and got plenty of paperwork all stamped with approvals and clipped together. Found out through the processing that a lot of the men they'd chosen couldn't read or write, and most had no identification -- that was a relief. This was a diverse group -- every man different. Some bore scars on their faces and arms, some tattoos, some looked too delicate for the work ahead of us. We were all alike in that we were skinny, quiet and waiting for a chance to work.

Had to look twice -- a familiar face passed me as he boarded the camp-bound bus. Stubbled chin, dirty shirt, and looking tired -- took a few minutes to place him, but here was Toddy Stein -- from outside of Little Rock. He'd just made it in the last group of men being assessed. Sold his truck and sent his wife and children to a distant family in Los Angeles. Good to see him again. He didn't say much -- preoccupied with his family's welfare until he could put a check in the mail.

Rode a big, white school bus with forty men through the hills east of San Diego. Another bus was to come later filled with more workers. Took the Sunrise Highway up the Cleveland Forest and got out to find an area cleared for three wood-slat buildings and lots of tents in rows -- old army tents that stood about seven feet tall in the center. I noticed each one had wires -- we had electricity! Inside each tent were narrow metal cots and a small foot locker underneath each. We were lined up in alphabetical order outside the bus and portioned among the numbered tents. "Remember your tent number. That's your home for the next six months." An older man called out and divided us into groups.

We were shuffled to the dining hall. Smelled good in there -- real food but we had to wait to eat. Each man was given his clothing, toiletries and a schedule, in return we handed over our bags. "What the hell you got in here boy?" The man asked Romy when he passed our bag to him.

Stepping beside him, "Tools. I work tires and wheels." I answered.

"You two related?"

"Distant cousins -- we're from Osage country, out there in Oklahoma, ya' know..." Romy started rambling, a trick he'd learned to stop a conversation with anyone getting too nosy about us.

The CCC worker dug through my bag like he had all the others looking for guns and alcohol, I guessed. Then, he took it and handed me a receipt. We and our tent-mates were taken to the shower for delousing and another quick medical check. Everything was timed, and we moved along between the guys from tents seven and nine till everyone was showered, shaved and dressed. Took our old clothes and what little we had to our tent and tested the cots immediately. Felt good, but I knew this would be hard work for what we earned.

At noon a bell rang -- that meant meals were ready. Good to see Romy in front of a full plate, eating like he'd never tasted mashed potatoes and fried fish before. Looking down the long table, I saw other men attacking their food. Sure, we were all hungry -- we could ask for seconds here, too. Didn't say anything, but I had to wonder who would last the six months. Causing problems got you kicked out -- something like a dishonorable discharge from the military. If you lasted, you'd get help finding work, carry your certificates with you and show you had a valuable skill. I winked at Romy and looked around for Toddy. He waved -- "Tent twelve."

"Number eight." I nodded and ate hearty that meal. The afternoon we were separated by educational level and to decide which classes to take. Romy wanted to take the business courses. It was hard for me to decide, I told them I wanted to take the math classes and I'd decide the rest later. You know they found out I had a tool kit and had worked as a mechanic and wanted me to go into vehicle repair. It wasn't my choice, I wanted something more than digging grease from under my nails all my life. Maybe I'd take the agriculture course. They agreed to let me wait but had to have an answer within the week while people shifted around between classes.

That afternoon we got our work orders. There were four crews: scrubbers, road crew, carpenters and springers. Scrubbers cleared scrub making fire breaks and generally cleaning out underbrush, road crews built roads. Carpenters built the look-out towers and worked in the camp. I was assigned to the springers -- hunting for springs and making small concrete catch basins below them.

Every month we rotated through a different crew. Romy went to the carpenter crew building the lookout towers. I found out being a springer was easy. We scoured the forest for any small stream or spring, dug a channel and made a basin with concrete to catch the water for the wildlife. Dry most of the year in the Cleveland Forest and it was full of life. Small mammals and deer, even mountain lions they said would come to drink from our basins. Carried our cement, and tools in wheelbarrows, switching off through the shift. Much easier than working engines and tires.

Romy liked carpentry and enjoyed measuring and nailing, bolting and erecting the towers, and clearing the paths to them, then sometimes his crew worked around the camp buildings. One of the older supervisors took a liking to him and another guy and had them working in the camp offices and fixing the out buildings. I was proud -- Romy was more refined than the other guys around camp, had manners, knew how to speak with the supervisors and get along better than I did.

Tanned and lean, no longer pitifully skinny, he was a shining god as he showered. Hard work and plenty of food did him good. I noticed he was more of a man almost every day -- balls and dick were bigger, swung when he walked, heavily haired with a thick, dark swath down his front. We'd been told to look at the wall ahead of us as we showered and be quick. Always got hard when I saw him naked, he was too. Showering side by side, it was easy to glance at each other. Couldn't help but remember how tight his ass was around my dick.

Showers were hard for him. His eager, young cock wouldn't settle down for longer than a few moments and being around so many men only made it worse. Yeah, I noticed the men who quickly glanced and looked away, noted the ones who glanced and didn't look away. No lingering in the showers, there was another tent-full of men waiting behind us, stinking and grimy.

...

One of the men in our tent got a radio out of his possessions and we listened to all kinds of programs at night - music, dramas, news and a woman from Los Angeles -- a preacher-lady. Though I didn't really care about theology, the way she spoke was different from the other preachers who condemned, begged or moaned. Sister Amy told her ancient stories like she was really there and made them feel real to me. She even talked to the spirits, and healed people. Hard to believe all she was doing -- soup kitchens, helping the poor in so many ways and never asking a dime from the downtrodden. Had a big church and invited everyone. Everyone. No special sections for the blacks, or anyone else -- they all sat together as a huge, human family.

While her program played in the dim light of the tent, no one moved -- listening closely. She was a beacon to us by her work, she showed us that there was real goodness on the earth, she was showing us that there was a bright future, we wouldn't always have to fight for a few pennies. Restored our faith in the goodness of men for those moments.

Spoke of her Jesus -- he was another man like us, poor, working the byways for years, like Romy and me. Sister Amy loved her Jesus more than any mortal. Not so sure of heaven and hell and all that, but when they sang about the wings of a dove, a snow-white dove, bringing pure, sweet love - my heart soared. Romy was impressed with the thousands of people who followed her, we read about her in the paper. One of the men in camp ordered literature from her church. New way of thinking about religion. Seemed to me she was showing how to redistribute wealth, a political act close to communism, and she did make it sound appealing.

After the evangelist's program ended, the guys turned the radio off, we lay quietly reading, two guys were playing cards on their foot locker. All calm till our big, blonde tentmate came in -- Andrew Michaels. He'd already been called down for slinging gravel on the other men's boots if they didn't do something to his liking. Michaels was a bully, most men avoided him, he worked the road crew on his first rotation, hated sweating and shoveling earth -- let us know every evening. Loud guy, cussing "the bitch" when we ate -- said he was only in camp with us cause his wife made him apply. The rest of us suspected he couldn't hold work in town due to his temper, or something else.

Michaels fumbled around in the area of his cot for a while, muttering about the supervisors, I think he was late coming in that night `cause he was pulled aside for another warning from the bosses. The men in the tent went quiet and turned away when he entered that night, hoping he'd shut up and go to sleep.

Michaels didn't shut up. He stood in front of me as I sat on the side of my cot, "Hey prairie nigger, your little papoose leanin' over for the boss? Heard he's in camp all day -- injuns get privileges now? Place is going to the dogs..." He brawny body filled the space between the beds - in a foul mood for some reason and aiming his displeasure at me.

"Romy was asked to work in camp." I said, turning away. From the corner of my eye, I saw Romy get off his bed and stand at the end of my cot. Then, I smelled it. Michaels had been drinking -- where'd he get it? Booze was contraband.

"Your squaw lickin' the big-shots' totem poles? What say we powwow and get you buffalo-jockeys to suck my peace pipe." He leaned closer, I couldn't get away and got ready - slipping my foot between his, I'd roll back on my cot and lift my foot into his groin if he went on. "Fuckin' redskins."

That's all it took.

So fast you couldn't see it, I gripped the side of my cot, jerked my foot upward shoving it up between his legs till my right foot hit his nuts hard. Then I rolled back fast over my cot and stood behind it. He tumbled back, clutching his groin while the other men watched, lifting him back to his feet. Looking past him, I saw one of the camp supervisor's face at the opening of the tent. My heart stopped. I waited to be called out for starting a fight.

"Michaels, pack your gear." The supervisor tossed an envelope on the end of my cot and waited while the big man packed his things mumbling curses. For a moment I thought I'd have to leave with Michaels. Flooded with fear, I kept myself as calm as I could while I looked around. The other guys nodded and gave me small smiles, but that didn't make me feel any better -- I had to keep this work.

Amazingly, the supervisor left behind Michaels and said nothing to me.

Took the envelope, read it, and looked to Romy -- "From Mom!"

With Romy beside me, we read her letter several times together. Mom was doing well, Dad found work delivering linens around town to several hospitals. Said they used the money I sent to buy coats for my brothers and Caroline. My brothers were in public school but got held behind. Mom complained about the housing -- lived in an apartment in Philly, Mom wanted to be back on the land. She signed it, "Love, Mom." I kissed those words written by her hand. It was in those moments I realized that things really had taken a turn for the better in my life -- a big change had started.

...

At camp, our days began before sunrise; breakfast and off with our crews till 11:30 lunch break, then back at it. Studies started at three in the afternoon, went till dinner and one more hour afterward -- usually a lecture on patriotism, government workings and civic duties.

Romy took different classes, ahead of me. Toddy and I were in the same math class, him on the tenth level and me on my seventh level. We sat together and solved the exercises in our workbooks those months. Our teacher showed us how to use numbers to figure out all kinds of problems. Like how many men to put in each tent, how to measure and order food for eighty men and ten staff, pounds, ounces, miles, inches -- we covered it all, it seemed. Cash I could deal with easily, but we learned about bank accounts and balancing a checkbook. That took a while to grasp. Paying bills and getting loans were coming, I read ahead in my book before lights-out. Business and math were like a married couple-- very close and depended on each other for everything. Contracts and agreements kept their marriage peaceful -- everything written out in detail so they knew what the other were doing.

Leadership classes were held in the mess hall after dinner on Sunday nights. Learned leadership is more than yelling at people -- hollering at them to stop slacking, berating them to finish up. Had to keep records and show men how you wanted them to act, then how to be fair when you cut the problem guys out -- plenty of men standing behind him to take his position. Had to appeal to men's ambition and conscience by your example, develop trust by being consistent - keeping your word. The camp leaders were from the military -- most were good at showing us leadership.

We worked through our different crews, got our pay and sent our money as promised. Got more letters from Mom thanking us. Romy and I stashed our small monthly pay only buying what wasn't provided by the camp. Most of the men bought candy bars, trashy magazines; frivolous things. Romy and I asked the camp managers to bring books -- I wanted to read what a guy named Twain wrote -- the men laughed about the antics in his books. To everyone's surprise, a box of books arrived within the week -- those were borrowed away the same night. Murder mysteries were my favorite. Those characters were devious!

Haircuts were all the same in camp, and the style suited Romy. I splurged and bought VO5 to make his black waves glisten in the sun. I was proud of him, his body filled out, his muscles were well-defined like most of the other men now. He took on an inch the first six months, that may have been pride. Romero McCann was strong and handsome -- a real jewel among the others, smiling and confident. I admired him, his smarts and his obdurate spirit. He was right, we were going to make it and shine, though had no idea how it would happen. I took life and work a moment at a time hoping the worst was behind us now.

Romy became excited about his future -- he liked business classes and organizing his work crew to get their assigned jobs done. I'd decided to study agriculture. My life on the farm served me well. At the fourth month, the trouble causers in camp were weeded out and life fell into a good routine.

Took Romy out in the woods on Sunday afternoons along the paths worn by the deer showing him different plants and outcroppings I'd learned about. Few men wanted to visit their work sites while they were off. Leaning over a boulder on the top of a mountain, he gently took me while I looked out on a wide horizon feeling his shaft move in and out my ass to mate me - to feel is hands on my back, then grabbing my hips moaning as he'd fill me, those moments I felt like the world was offering me bounty in perfect measure. I was filled with love and my rightful place in the universe and all time during those moments. In a grove of scrub oak, we'd lay on a blanket with folded bread with jelly from breakfast. We watched the clouds, talking about our futures. We'd kiss and embrace naked near a small stream and clean up aside one of the small catch basins I'd made with my crew.

As we walked back to camp, I always felt privileged, in a sense. The other men didn't have the luxury of sex, though I suspected there was more going on that I knew about.

...

Six months came quickly; we signed up for another stint. About a third of the men dropped out that first six months. They'd had enough of the hard labor or enough confidence to start up back in the city with their training. Most had contacts, family and opportunity -- especially now. There were big red, white and blue NRA signs in the window of businesses. Those business were supposed to support national reconstruction by hiring CCC men.

The long white bus came again bringing new recruits including several black guys. They were put into a separate tent. All the men were shuffled around that afternoon. That night, I saw Toddy Stein sliding his footlocker under a cot in our tent. He was staying on along with us.

Toddy had endured some of my kind of harassment -- he was a Jew and insulted often for it. Men around the camp said terrible things about Toddy and his children. I didn't know much about Jewish people, but insults all hurt the same. Glad to have him in our tent. Something about him was calming, he wasn't any kind of hot-head, he was working to support his family.

...

After the incident with Michaels I got a reputation for being an angry Indian. That surprised me -- I wasn't angry. Romy told me to learn to whistle some of the pop songs and smile more often. I was poker-faced, but I practiced whistling and smiling. Toddy thought I'd gone crazy and teased me. He'd whistle along with me and then change the melody to confuse me. Funny guy, he was easy to be friends with. Late into the nights he told us about Jewish people and their beliefs, their customs -- seemed to me like being Jewish meant being born to travel. Interesting what he said but not anything I'd be interested in living. It was work being Jewish -- lots of rules and prohibitions but they were aimed at making a good man and a good home he explained.

Romy became a leader of his crew, and soon was helping erect barracks for the expansion of the camp. The next year, they expected to be running half-capacity with over two hundred men; a year later at full-capacity with four hundred. Mess hall and all the other buildings had to be doubled or tripled. Plenty of work building barracks and plumbing and wiring all of them. Romy thrived with the extra work and was in camp every day reading blueprints and stacking lumber and construction supplies.

Because most of the crews had men with six months experience, we all relaxed after we'd tested the different supervisors and what annoyed them. A man from each tent stepped forward to the supervisor's table at lunch one day, we asked for a radio on the mess hall. The guys loved music, singing "inky dinky do," "hidey-hidey-hidey ho..." Crazy lyrics and snappy tunes. I enjoyed watching them dance and strut through the tent at night calling themselves "cool cats."

We got that radio in the mess hall and entertainment as some of the men pushed the tables aside and danced. That did more for morale than lectures on patriotism. Good evenings, men enjoying themselves. I'd never forget those hot nights under the bare bulbs hanging down and the voices of men as they sang along together. Romy was right in the middle singing with them and learning jive-talk. I wanted to join with them, but I was too well-practiced in staying to the side to avoid trouble.

...

Romy, Toddy and I stayed our full two years, sending or money back home, gaining muscle and a lot of confidence. As we rode the bus into San Diego, we sat at the back of the bus away from the others with our friend Toddy, feeling a heavy load of melancholia with our parting -- we'd become close in a lot of ways. Shared secrets, covered for each other a few times when we needed to be alone. Toddy was a man I respected and listened when he leaned close, "You're always welcome in Torrance -- we'll make room for you two." He glanced toward the group then back, "I have something you might need. Information." He paused, I was confused, he'd always been easy to speak with. "You two aren't related, you're, um -- men's men, right? Cousins don't spend so much time in the woods." He whispered.

Romy and I froze.

"It's alright. Come by the house, I'll show you around LA. Still working your way up the coast, right?"

"Yep. Heard the government's putting money into the counties to help the farmers. Got my agriculture certificate so I'm going to apply with them." I tried to change the subject.

"More to life than work, Dave. Put your load down a while and enjoy life -- you and Romy will do well. Promise you'll come visit us?" He wrote his address on corner of a magazine and stuck it in my bag. "I need to repay you. Promise me?" He winked. We shook hands when we got off the bus, promising to visit.

In San Diego, we walked Toddy to the train depot by the bay, then walked up the street to the YMCA. The next day we got on the bus and went to get his checks from his postal box. Damn hard time cashing them till we pulled out our CCC identification and certificates -- handing over twenty-five hundred to two men in work clothes raised a lot of questions till the bank manager handled the transaction, then wished us well saying we were doing a great service to the nation. Cash in hand, we were smarter, stronger, but still faced the enemy of a bad economy. Two-thousand plus dollars was great, but how long would we have to make it last?

Never discussed finances because we never had enough to discuss. Romy and I stared at each other for a moment. Romy could have gone off on his own with his money. Mine had gone to my family but for the few bucks in my pocket. He could have split it or given me some, I guess. He didn't but looked me square in the eyes and told me we were going to be rich men, and this money would seem like chump change in a few years, "We're gonna make it, I know we will."

Tender Loins, Part 2

Stayed in a rooming house in San Diego till we got our bearings in civilian life again. The landlady was proud to have two CCC guys and man, oh, man could that Arkie cook. She doted on us like we were prodigal sons. We needed that for a while.

Took Toddy's advice and lay my burdens down for a while. Romy liked going to the movies seeing all the fancy people dancing and singing. I enjoyed anything about the sea or murder mysteries. One night we took the bus to Tijuana after a matinee at the cinema. That trip put things into context for me. The economic depression was world-wide and I saw our Mexican brothers had it worse than us, but they were ingenious. Found ways to park cars and wash windows for the tourists who had money. Any service they could provide to someone - they pushed their thin bodies through those tasks quickly for a few centavos. In them I saw Romy and me, but we'd held out till the government pipeline gave us a few drops of water. Hoped the best for them.

Romy and I had a stinker of a disagreement. I wanted to get us another pickup truck to go to LA, working our way to San Francisco. Romy wanted a car, a sedan -- he was right, we needed to look like upstanding employees than scrappers. Got a used Ford V-8 with a radio. Not the fanciest or sleekest, but a reliable vehicle that would get us to Toddy's listening to Sister Amy's preaching and those sweet songs they sang before we went north. We washed, waxed and cleaned that old Ford till it shone like a new penny. Had to wonder if it would become our next home. But strangely, that car seemed to spring us into some success and we lit out for LA with high hopes.

...

August 12, 1934

Dear Mom, Leaving for LA today. Will write when I get an address. Romero and I have a car and a few bucks. Tell all I send my love. DM

August 12, 1934

Dear Toddy, we'll be in Los Angles in a week -- see you soon.

Romy and David.

Mailed those postcards before we left San Diego. Romy had tools he'd collected, and along with mine, we had more equipment than anything else, but he was in high spirits as we drove toward the beach where we'd first seen the ocean. Better off than we were before, and much more excited, we bought snow cones. "Look at me, still love cocoanut raspas like a little kid." I looked at him, tall slender with his hair shining and a big smile.

"Touch and go for a while..." He looked back at me with an expression of satisfaction.

"Need a place with some privacy." Winked at him.

"Luxury item, privacy. But I think I can find a business in LA. Maybe Toddy'll help out. We'll find a place and some friends. I don't want to be your cousin forever." He leaned toward me, "I'll make enough to afford privacy and more."

"Yeah, what would that be?"

"You."

"Can't be bought." I told him.

"I know. That's why I want you."

That moment I realized how much we'd grown up.

...

Roads were bad back then, narrow and winding but much better than the southern route I'd driven from Guymon. We got on 101 and headed north. Beautiful drive, most the time alongside the ocean. We stopped at an isolated beach. Made love right on the sand between the rocks, sun beating down on our bare skin, reveling in the sounds and smells around us. Holding him, kissing him, feeling him love me, touch me, fill me as the waves roared behind my moans. Bliss. I was in the right place and my heart pounded inside chest like it would burst.

What a stroke of luck to find that boy in a dress tied to a chair. Seemed like he'd used me, leaned on me till he learned the road, then took his role as my sidekick and confidant easily. Him being next to me had pushed me forward as well as making my life much less lonely. I had what few men had on the road -- trusted companion and in our hidden way, love.

...

Split the sweet luxury of an orange with Romy while he drove us into Los Angeles, smiling, ready for a new adventure and seeing our trusted friend. Los Angeles is in a basin, surrounded by hills eastward, and opening to the ocean on the west. Every town, every area smells different, LA had a distinct mix of old, new and the smell of the ocean but it smelled like money -- industry and opportunity.

Knew we were close when we saw more billboards and small towns clustering tightly along the road. I was anxious to see Toddy again for this furtive information he alluded to and I was deep in thought about that when a sign caught my eye in the traffic of the city.

"Stop. Stop -- go around the block! Angelus! Look! Angelus -- it's her!"

Romy screeched the tires and switched lanes to go around the block. "What?"

"That preacher-lady! Sister, sister... I forgot her name."

"Preacher-lady?" Romy went around the block and we saw a line of people going into the temple that boasted the radio evangelist's name. Big, wide three-story temple built in a curve with archways along the front.

"Gotta see what it looks like, she's makes the stories and all the music... Sister Amy." I said as we passed the crowd of folks outside the temple. "It's true, all the work she does. Look!"

We went to a man who seemed to be in charge, he spoke softly, kind words about the love of the savior, welcoming us warmly. The man sized us up as he spoke, "Go into that last door and turn to the left..." Didn't even ask our names or anything, that felt odd, but the crowds were quiet and people were smiling around us as we followed the instructions. Met a man at a counter inside a big closet. "Size?"

Romy had told the man he wanted a suit; he was looking for work in business. We got fitted with suits, shoes, everything and left with a box of clean clothing -- socks, shoes, slacks and suits, everything. I hadn't worn underwear in years, wondered if I could tolerate it. We were directed to the kitchen to eat along with several hundred people. Big bowls of hot stew, fresh bread and half an apple. No, we didn't need any of this, but I was amazed at the generosity thrust on us -- so much freely given after so long with so little. As we ate, I heard strains of music and asked the man next to me if Sister Amy was preaching.

"Rehearsing for the service tonight." He said between bites.

"Will they let me watch?"

"Sure. See those stairs over there? Up and to the right. Be quiet, or you'll have to leave." Turns out Romy and I weren't the only ones sitting with bags and boxes watching the choir practice. A pianist played and they grouped in rows then began singing, stopping often for correction. I was enthralled -- what control those voices had. They smoothed together into the harmonies I remembered from the radio. The music was so, well, I couldn't explain how different it felt -- the vibrations of the sounds they made filled the cavernous auditorium wrapping me in the wonder. Nothing like I'd ever felt before. I was spellbound, Romy was smiling and watching all the hubbub. He'd been to churches before, nothing new to him. Transfixed, I watched as the music director lift his baton and all eyes immediately focused on him. Must have been a hundred people in that choir. The thin wooden baton he held gingerly drew the heavenly, honeyed tones forward perfectly from the bodies standing in front of him. Incredible, silent control with only a thin dowel! That was leadership like I'd never seen before.

We sat there for an hour in the cool air, on the pews where thousands had sat before us, watching the doings. People walked back and forth preparing the altar, cleaning and dusting all the fixtures, bringing in props for the play. Captivating how they prepared --I watched closely when a man caught my eye. Tall, slender, he looked familiar, but I didn't know anyone wearing such a stylish suit with wide lapels -- waves pushed into his hair slick with grease. Sat my box on the pew and stood, getting a better look, then walked a few feet down the aisle... My heart stopped and my stomach tensed. It was Jonathan, my troublesome cousin. Did he get religion -- what was that snake doing in Angelus? Went back to Romy and explained about what happened when I left Guymon with my cousin, "He's nothing but trouble."

We thought about it for a minute, then Romy asked if Jonathan might be able to help find us work, "Maybe he had an epiphany, a conversion. He's family, go talk to him. Ask if he knows anyone hiring."

I stalled, feeling this would lead to trouble. Romy stood and took me by the arm down to where the drama crew was setting up crepe paper palm trees to use that evening. Jonathan glanced at us, went back to his work, then glanced again, and smiled, "If it ain't my dear cuz Dave. Looking good. Still fixing flats?" He looked at Romy, "Who's this? Another cousin? Hallelujah, bring in those pitiful souls. This one's from Gila Bend?" He sneered.

I rankled, he hadn't converted, still the tough waiting for a place to exercise his evil. "You working for Sister Amy now?" I asked.

"Best racket in town." He whispered, "Feel `em out for what they need and promise plenty in their afterlife and ya' got `em hooked. These suckers - fall for anything and open their wallets on word alone." He glanced around the room, "Have to chasten a few of the women, if you know what I mean, but they come around after a taste of my -- saving grace." He grabbed his belt buckle and bucked his hips once.

Romy stepped back, watching Jonathan, not saying anything.

"Where you staying?" I asked to change the subject.

"Several places. Seems like the Civilian Conservation Corps makes some poor souls into widows for a couple a years -- widows with income. God bless `em." He winked.

"You stinkin' bastard." I said softly with a mean look.

"What does that make you, leaving me in that hell hole? Gila Bend. Damn. You son of a bitch."

My face flushed; I stepped forward, seething with anger.

Romy spoke up, "Sir, you don't know hell yet." He grabbed my arm and we left. Surprising words from Romy.

...

Left for Toddy's house quickly. It was noon when we arrived, and what a welcome! House was small, cozy, real nice furniture, pictures and photos on the walls. Had a hutch in the house -- not for rabbits but for dishes that didn't touch milk. Kinda confused me but I let Ona, Toddy's wife deal with it. We sat around the kitchen table sipping lemonade regaling that sweet woman with tales of our times in camp together while she cooked dinner. Toddy's kids came in from school, red-faced from running when they saw our sedan in the drive.

Watched Romy look at the kids lovingly -- he took them down the street for penny candies and came back smiling, "This place is great -- nice town, Torrance. That guy at the store knew the kids' names and everything." He handed me the newspaper. "There's a park down the street without a camp sitting in it. Imagine that!" He looked at me, smiling and I took it to mean that there was work close by and a place for us.

"Go get cleaned up, we're having another guest for dinner tonight." Toddy said and turned to help Ona as the kids took us to a small room and brought our bag from the car. We cleaned up, felt good, relaxed and I read the paper while Romy showered and then talked to the kids, enjoying hearing them talk about school and studying Hebrew. All domestic peace was broken when a huge Oldsmobile pulled in front of the house.

"Onkie!" The kids ran out to the car -- I looked at Toddy.

"That's what they call their Uncle Russel." He chuckled as I watched a big, broad-shouldered man get out of the car and grab the kids against him, kissing them and mussing their hair. Uncle Russel came in dungarees and a work shirt, flat hat over a head of white hair. Musta be prematurely white -- distinguished! Body moved so smoothly -- like he had liquid for joints and tall, onto six feet or more. Big smile as he carried the youngest child against him and came into the house.

Big, booming voice, he introduced himself and shook our hands welcoming us. Romy and I were five-eight and five-seven but felt dwarfed by this man's presence -- contrasted with his gentle presence. I was amazed. He went into the kitchen to check what was for dinner and kissed Ona's forehead, picked up his "favorite prima," he called her, and swung her around the kitchen. She laughed and gave him the menu -- brisket, latkes...

As soon as Russel sat on the couch, the three children sat with him, one on his lap. He held them gently and kissed them as we spoke of our trip. Felt like years since I'd been in a loving home with a close family. Ona called the children to come set the table, I joined them and thought about this home -- some in the CCC camp accused the Jews of being stingy, cold-hearted and tricky. Saw none of that. Food was stacked high on platters, hot and rich, slices of meat and the drippings. Latkes -- potato pancakes, but these were filled with spices. Was that a bowl of stewed apples beside the sweet peas? Bread and butter, and a cake waited in the kitchen for dessert. If this is how Jewish people were stingy and cold-hearted, I'd stand in line for more!

During dinner we talked about LA -- all the sights and oddities. Their oldest girl told me about La Brea tar pits. She said there were dinosaurs inside, deep in the black ooze. "Why don't they just get their shovels and sling that tar over to the roads?" I asked.

"You can't do that! It's nasty and stinks, it'd get all over and come in the house on your shoes." She said, very confident in her thoughts. Riding miles in the back of a truck hadn't touched her spirit.

The younger boy told us about Brother Noah and the ark he built. I wasn't familiar with the story and asked him who cleaned the stalls of the animals, "Noah shoveled the poop?" That sent him into ripples of laughter.

"God created muck boots." Uncle Russel told me and winked. That started the comments on god's footwear and attire from the children. The god of the Jews had flair, especially with his head gear.

What a dinner, what a good time. When I thought it couldn't get better, Ona brought the cake. I had to pass; my belly was straining. Romy and the rest of them had cake while I took the plates to the kitchen. Ona came in later and we began washing dishes and talking, "Haven't had a better meal, since I was at home, thank you."

"Toddy talks about you every day -- worried you wouldn't come. We're so glad you're here, Russel needs help, looking for good workers."

"Plenty of good men out there."

"Russel wants workers who stay -- lot of men come and go like swallows at Capistrano. Too many grifters in LA, drunkards, thieves -- troublesome sorts. Transient town." She said and paused, "You and Romy were Toddy's best friends for two years -- meant a lot to me. Every letter home he wrote of you two. Being who he is, and you two, well it would have been a lot worse if you hadn't met up again."

Well, since Russel did it, I kissed her forehead, "He meant a lot to us, too."

...

After Toddy and Russel put the children to bed, I found Romy in the living room, studying the paper, smiling, "Says the government's going to start a guaranteed minimum wage and fix the hours -- no more fifteen-hour days in the fields for a few nickels. Still trying to hog-tie the union."

"You gonna pay your workers minimum wage, Mr. Business Owner?" I asked.

"You pay for what you get. Low pay doesn't make a man do anything more than look for other work or take a second job -- either way the quality of his work is poor. Find a good man and pay him what he's worth to keep him -- new workers need too much time and attention, like taking care of a baby."

Russel and Toddy joined us as Ona brought coffee. We talked the economy and the movie industry in LA, they were organizing -- "Gonna be big money there for the stage crews, all the musicians, and all the businesses to keep it going." Russel told us.

I brought up visiting Angelus that afternoon, then I apologized for my cousin Jonathan's behavior years ago. Ona laughed, "I thought he was crazy with the heat. Glad you took him off, Toddy's a bear about his family." She smiled; I could see her love for her husband in her eyes. Mom had that look sometimes about Dad, then I thought about what she said -- maybe Jonathan had a mental problem. The image of his head sticking out of a straightjacket came to mind -- he was yelling, screaming and struggling. I shook that out of my head.

Then we came to the topic of employment. Russel asked if we were looking for work, and what we did. Romy explained that I'd worked as a mechanic and tire man on the road to the coast and took agricultural courses, then he talked about his training in the CCC with construction and business, "Toddy'll tell you what we did -- all quality work we left up there."

The big, man leaned close, "Did Toddy tell you what I've been doing?"

Ona laughed, "You got your fingers in every pot in town. What are you up to now?"

"Ona, you love the greenhouse, didn't I hear you say you wanted to live there?" They laughed and joked for a while, Romy was in his element asking about what was in the greenhouse and if he was into commercial sales... Russel explained he'd gotten the greenhouse from a man in bankruptcy -- planned to open a wholesale shop to landscapers, hotels and high-end places -- Angelinos liked their greenery. "Plenty of money in tropicals."

My mind went back to what I'd read in the newspapers about LA. Los Angeles seemed to be rich in work, but you had to know the right people to get in. Heard a man had to pay for a job in the LA county government. This man had a greenhouse? Close enough to agriculture, though most of my studies were about farming to conserve topsoil and soil testing, things a farmer uses. Figured I could try.

Russel pulled a small pad of paper out of his shirt pocket and a pen as the evening calmed. Wrote some quick notes and handed it to me. "Come by tomorrow morning -- we'll talk." Toddy winked at me.

What a day! It was hard for me to lay still and I didn't sleep a wink while Romy snored on the folding bed. It was a cool night but my mind was jumping from all I'd done and all that could happen. Could we really be this lucky to find a man wanting to hire?

...

Hearing the children readying for school woke me from a light sleep the next morning. Dressed quickly and met them at the breakfast table, "Where's Toddy?"

"Toddy manages a crew maintaining Russel's rentals. He'll be out all day." Ona told me, pouring juice for the children.

I looked at the kids' excited faces, "God got his muck boots on today?" That got them going about what god was wearing. Had to chuckle, what imaginations. Maybe all the rules and prohibitions did build a good home, these kids were happy, loving and after all the turmoil they'd endured on the road and being without their father for two years.

"Russel called this morning; he's looking forward to you coming. Do you know how to get to his house?" Toddy and Ona had a phone. What a convenience -- wondered if Mom had one. "I think we can find it -- what does the house look like?"

She thought for a minute, "Row of olive trees in row along the front -- stucco, looks like adobe with a red tile roof - on the side of a canyon with poinsettias and ice plant down the front --drive that curves to the left from the street. Only two or three other houses out there." She explained how to get to the area as Romy came in, smiling.

"Go get ready. Look through the clothes in the boxes. We need to look good." I said. We shaved and cleaned up, dressed wearing the clean shirts and slacks from Angelus. Felt on top of the world that morning with my lover beside me, damn he'd grown into a handsome man. Romy wore a gray tie making his pale eyes bright. We followed the directions Ona'd given me and I looked -- yep, olive trees, ice plants... there were a few houses in the canyon, but this had to be the wrong place. These were mansions.

"Pull into the drive -- I'll ask if they know where this address is." Felt a little odd as I touched a doorbell and heard it ring softly inside the house.

An older man in a brilliantly white shirt and a red apron tied around his middle answered the door and cocked his head, "Yes?"

"We're looking for Russel -- "

"He's expecting you." The door opened fully to a shadowy entry. Beyond the foyer was a sunlit room filled with plants, rattan furniture with fluffy cushions covered in bright colors. I turned to motion to Romy. Amazing -- years on the road and poverty, bare necessities at the camp, then Toddy's warm home, now suddenly I'm in a mansion to see a man who wants to talk to me about a job? Had to set that to the side and slip on a mantle of confidence -- this was not the time to stand around gawking. I waited for Romy and we entered together. Had to focus on keeping from inspecting all the new, posh surroundings. Work. We needed an opportunity to work and wasn't going to let this slip away.

We were escorted through the breezeway to the pool and seated in the shade of some plants I'd never seen before -- strange tall plants with white and purple blossoms with petals that splayed like the blades on a jackknife -- it stood ten or twelve feet, but it wasn't a tree or a bush. Strange plant; didn't smell any sweetness from the huge bloom.

"Bird of Paradise Giganticus, the only one in town," the red-aproned man whispered when he saw me staring. Pots with vines that climbed along the fence sporting drupes of brilliant red and purple petals - never seen bougainvillea before. The patio around the pool was lush with foliage straining toward the sun. Tucked here and there among the vegetation were paths that lead elsewhere but hidden from clear view.

The red-aproned man brought small tumblers of orange juice, thin glass, etched with small blossoms and sat them between Romy and me. Above the house on the side of the canyon, past the deep green of the landscaping I saw cactus, the kind I'd eaten along the road, standing proud against a blue sky; the smell of piñon was strong from the hillside. Glancing at Romy, I saw him smile at me as he lifted his little finger, sipping the orange juice carefully. "Don't step to the side again." I admonished myself.

...

"...Without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own. Blue moon..." we heard Russel's voice in the hallway coming toward us. "Thanks for coming, let's get started." Right was behind him was the man who'd met us at the door, without his apron but pushing a cart with a platter under a chrome domed lid. It looked like a hub cap to me. Alongside the dome was a bowl of fruit sitting in crushed ice.

Russel lifted the dome and took a pastry, "Pan dulce?" He asked. The butler-man pulled a chair close by and took a pad and pencil from the lower shelf of the cart and looked toward him. "My business assistant Fredrick found out I'm grouchy without my breakfast. Fredrick, this is Romy and David McCann. They're cousins." He winked at Fredrick. "Toddy's friends from the CCC camp outside San Diego." He took a bite of his pastry, "Help yourself boys."

We took pastries -- as we heard the front door open, "Here, Mr. Russel." I looked to see who it was.

"Maria and her husband, pool man and housekeeper." Fredrick said.

They appeared on the door to the patio, "Anything special today?" A short, heavy-set woman with her hair in a bun asked as her husband went to around the pool to an equipment shed. "Party?"

"These men are staying for lunch -- "He looked at us, "Do you want anything special?" Russel asked.

"She's from Mexico?" Romy asked, "I like Mexican food." He said.

"May have Mexican blood, but she's an Angelino for generations." He said.

"Empenadas o huaraches, Mexicano hoy, por favor." Fredrick suggested.

"Si, si." She smiled and left.

"Toddy explained your work in the camp. Now, tell me what you boys did to get by before the camp." Russel leaned back sipping his juice.

Didn't mention the hard life, Romy only said we'd worked our way out along the roadways, picking up what work we could. Me, taking mechanical work and him finding what he could to help business owners with inventory. Made our lives sound presentable. "We jumped at the chance to go to camp, we were the first group..." From there he explained his work on the construction crew and his business classes, and my agricultural classes. "But he's a hot shot mechanic, has a lot of experience with wheels, engines."

Russel leaned forward and nodded, "Worked your way out here?" He looked at us closely, "Now tell me about your families -- you two are no more cousins than Fredrick and I are." Fredrick chuckled, I blushed and froze as Russel leaned close, "You're native, which tribe?"

"Osage -- half Irish."

"Looks like you got the best of both." He leaned back and nodded while Romy grabbed the steering wheel of the conversation: "Telling people we're related kept us out of scrapes. I'm Romero Dolcevita from Chicago, lost my dad, sent to an uncle organizing the farmworkers outside the Imperial Valley. Uncle was punishing me..." He looked Russel right in the eyes, "Found me with a man." Then he paused as a small smile lit Russel's face. "The night David found me, we left. Lucky that Dave came into the camp for work that afternoon. The camp was raided that night -- we just hit the highway right before trouble started -- passed them on their way in." He chuckled. "After that, we depended on each other -- I'd never had to survive on the roads." He smiled and gave me a warm look. "Could say he saved me."

Russel looked at me, "Met on the road? Miracle that happened." He looked at me. "You took in a boy you didn't know? He could have killed you."

"Why would he bother? A man driving an old truck and begging for work doesn't have any money. He came with only the clothes on his back and got us out of trouble that night. I wasn't afraid." Leaned back and looked at Russel and Fredrick, "I knew he was enough like me, and I figured he needed a ride home. He was only fourteen." I explained that Romy was tied to a chair in a dress. "I was ready to send him back to family but there wasn't one. He stuck with me. Easier on the road when you have a buddy."

"How old were you?"

"Almost nineteen."

"I see." Russel studied us for a while, then chuckled, "Young love, true love. Wonderful feeling." He looked to Fredrick, "Get their qualifications, I have to make some phone calls." He went into the house. After a few moments, Romy went to the car for our paperwork from camp.

"Do you think we'll get work?" I whispered to Romy.

"Seems so..."

...

Took a while to answer all the questions from Fredrick. Romy had no ID with his real name, only his CCC card. We had little or nothing else official except the camp certificates. After showing us around the grounds, then the downstairs of Russel's home, we waited on the patio, watching the pool man sieve the leaves from the pool.

When Russel came back, he asked Fredrick about our paperwork and nodded. "I see -- get that changed so it's legit enough for government work."

"Where are you boys staying?" Russel asked.

Romy and I looked at each other; I answered, "Hoping to stay with Toddy till we find a place -- just got into town yesterday."

That conversation ended with us agreeing to stay in the bungalow behind the pool till we found a place. The rest of the morning was spent with Russel explaining about his businesses, contracting and subcontracting. Russel had an "in" at Glendale -- Grand Central Airport. "Put the asphalt in several years ago and haven't stopped yet. Lot of promise there, profits, too." Russel and Fredrick wanted to get a bigger foothold in the airport saying air travel and tourism were booming despite the economy and Hollywood would push it forward. "We'll go out there this afternoon. You'll see."

Around noon, the talk about business continued at the lunch table. Found out I really liked huaraches -- not the Mexican sandals, a thick tortilla topped with all kinds of lettuce, tomato, avocado and cheese. Alongside the tomatoes and rice were a stack of grilled nopale strips now covered in lime juice and spices. Familiar taste, I looked up from my plate, smiling at Romy.

As we ate, we watched Fredrick and Russel as they talked and teased each other, personal jokes, sly looks, grins. This is the information Toddy had for me -- there were other homosexual men doing well and ready to hire more like them. I'd have to thank Toddy -- he'd just given me more than I expected and exactly what Romy and I needed.

That afternoon as we toured LA in Russel's Olds, visiting the airport and drove by several apartment buildings and rental houses, then finally to the greenhouse. The greenhouse was over ten times the size of the barn back home and maybe half as big as the sanctuary at Angelus. It was in bad shape after being ignored for years, but held potential. The air was warm and humid, wouldn't take much to get it going again.

Russel mentioned that he was meeting with friends that night at a private club. Those words were music to my ears, I squeezed Romy's hand. He squeezed back. It was late afternoon as we stopped at Toddy's and picked up our bag, found Toddy was out managing a problem at a rental, "When he gets home, thank him for us." I kissed Ona's forehead and we left and glanced out the kitchen window seeing their children playing in the back yard. Yeah, Toddy had the information Romy and I needed, and more. How could I ever thank him enough?

...

We drove the coast and pulled afront a simple, adobe building near the cliffs above the beach. A man came to park the car while Russel and Fredrick motioned for us to follow them. There was only one door, and it looked like the front door to a private home. Inside, I smelled the ocean, the back of the restaurant opened to the sea. Tables with candles and potted plants overlooked the surf. Far on the horizon were ships passing in front of a blazing gold sunset -- glimmers of their lights caught my eyes.

Dined like kings, soft music, waiters bustling around filling our glasses, wine, and everyone had lobster except for me. I stuck with what I knew -- meat and potatoes, and they were excellent. The sun set and I thought we'd leave, but we didn't. Russel whispered to the waiter and we walked down a narrow hallway away from the dining room into a room marked, "Private."

The room was dark -- no windows, instead lit with small lamps on small tables, a piano in the corner and a short bar. Behind the bar a man stood smiling, "Russel, Fredrick, good to see you. The usual?" They nodded. He asked Romy and me what we wanted. I asked for iced tea, having too much wine with dinner.

Romy asked the barkeep's specialty, "One of those." Looking around, there were only a few men in smiling conversations, arms around the other's shoulders, laughing and enjoying their affections openly. Had to lean and kiss Romy's cheek, then I beamed at Russel and Fredrick. All I had imagined for years was true --and I was right in the middle of it.

Stayed several hours as couples came and went -- most of them knew Russel. We were introduced and shook hands. Hard for me to contain the excitement, had to look away often I was grinning so hard. The pianist played all kinds of music, some old, some new and Fredrick asked me to dance with him. He held me close, and it felt good, moving slowly with the music. Full stomach and good company -- I wanted more of this.

Dancing with Romy in my arms, slowly swaying while the pianist banged out the Tiger Rag may have looked odd, but that night was one roman candle after another exploding inside me. Free and easy, I whispered I loved him as the music stopped and we continued in close embrace.

"You're mine." He whispered back.

"I always have been."

...

Didn't stay too late, Russel said he didn't like the crowds.

"Enjoy yourselves?" Fredrick asked when he took the wheel to drive us back to Russel's.

"More than you know." I was ready to unzip Romy's pants and take him on the back seat, my hand was on his slacks.

"Hold on, boys." He checked the rearview mirror smiling.

Romy was giggling and trying to sing with Russel as we went into the house -- he liked gimlets and had more than several that evening. I took his arm in one hand and our bag in the other to walk him to the pool house. Fredrick grabbed the bag from me, took my arm and walked with me while Russel held Romy around the waist and took him upstairs. "What?"

"They're going to talk business for a while." Fredrick whispered and escorted me to the pool house. Only four rooms, but furnished nicely. Clean, fresh linens, windows opened. He turned on a lamp and led me to the bedroom. French doors opened to a small patio with a table and two chairs nestled into palms and mossy rocks -- water gurgled from a small fountain underneath a miniature orange tree.

I stood looking at the water, then upward toward the full moon above the top of the ridge when I felt Fredrick's hands around my waist, He stood behind me and began unbuttoning my shirt. Turning to him, I almost didn't know how to ask, "Romy?"

His hands went to my butt, pulling me against him. "He's fine, Russel's a good man."

Suddenly, I realized my predicament. Is this the price of work? Was there anything in LA without a price tag? Suddenly I was sick. All the rich food, the alcohol, the smiles and friendly treatment was simply to bring me to this, and the man I loved, young and ambitious was being used upstairs. I felt duped, baited, and hadn't even seen a paycheck. I had to surrender myself first -- the last interview before the job. Was my trust in Toddy misplaced? I mulled my situation -- seemed I was boxed in.

"A good-looking twenty-one-year-old without an erection?" Fredrick chuckled, "Are you saying you don't like older men?"

Fredrick had sharper features, thinner than Russel yet tall and wide-shouldered, narrow hipped. Blonde hair mixed with silver parted on the side, and thick black eyelashes ringing bright, golden-brown eyes. Soft-spoken guy, and clearly educated. I looked up at him. "Never been with an older man to know."

"Well, what is it? Need a reefer?" He pulled me against him, kissing my hair, holding me close.

I shook my head. All my questions rushed toward my mouth, but I stopped them. "Romy..."

Heard an exasperated sigh from the big man who held me, "Boy, who do you think you are?"

Took some courage, and the pain in the miasma of realization pushed it forward: "Who do I think I am? I'm a man who's come a long way on damn little, a man who found a lover and kept him till he became a man -- he didn't owe me anything for it. We've survived harsh times, built ourselves into more than ignorant jerks. Now, we have to fuck for work? No. We've come too far." I shook my head.

"Humph," Fredrick snorted. He was quiet for a few moments, still embracing me. "You're not fucking for work. Let that be clear."

Taking me by the hand to the bed, he patted the space beside him, "There are things you need to know..." He took my hand in his and inspected the scars and unkempt nails. "These hands tell me how far you've come. I admire that about you -- actually quite touched when I put it together during your interview. Clever how you two survived -- I have a good idea how far you've come." He kissed my fingers, then pulling me aside him and gave me quiet, but unsettling lesson:

"Do you love Toddy and his family as much as I do? He's made a wonderful home for his wife and kids."

"Sure, he's been good to me and Romy."

"Now, you have to respect Russel for building his businesses, a good reputation, and sharp sense of trends. He's shaping the future of LA."

"Yeah."

"All his money, power and foresight won't ever be enough to have what Toddy has -- Russel won't have children or family, a home. He has me, and a few friends -- that's the family he's made around him. Societies honor and respect men like Toddy, he's admired and treated well for what he's built -- he's a shining example of true success. Society, well -- hates us." He took my face in his hand and looked into my eyes. "Fags had to make their own ways -- well, different customs for our lives. Our ways have to give us some of that respect and admiration within our circles the way that society does for Toddy. We're denied so much, living in the shadows and hiding parts of ourselves. We'll never be the shining examples of true success. Always thought I'd be a great father, but I've never seen a fag with a family where it worked out. So, we build family around us in our ways. Sex, for us is a way appreciate another man, build the relationships close enough to being family. We have a system that uses the sexual act as admiration and respect we can't get elsewhere. Understand? We shine with our success for each other in our ways."

"What about love?"

"Honey, you get it where you can, you were lucky to find Romy. For us, love is misshaped by the law. Majority rules and we're not in the majority. Our expressions of love are illegal -- some are jailed, fined for it. If a man is open about his affections, he'll be an outcast, even us sods can't be around him for fear we'll join him in jail or the mental hospital. Those places are more dangerous than the streets."

Fredrick painted a dismal future, and my eyes burned, filled with tears. He leaned to me and kissed them away. "Perhaps I've been too blunt." He paused, "Sickens me to have to explain it like that, and a half-life with our customs is better than none at all and there's way too many sorrows among us now." He kissed my lips. "Not the best customs we've created, and it's the best we have now."

My eyes still burned with tears, "Isn't there another way?"

"My god, find it and let me know." He whispered, as his own eyes filled with tears. It was that moment when I realized that Fredrick was right. Romy and I had been clever, yet we had lived half-lives, stayed to ourselves most of the time living as cousins, intuitively giving up the freedom to be honest, yet we'd survived. My imagination had held the hope for a full-life, though I didn't know exactly what that looked like.

Looking into Fredrick's eyes, "Romy..." I whispered. My lover's embrace was the only way to salve this bitter sting of truth.

He stood, and took my hand, "You need your Romy?"

Nodding, we dressed and walked out by the pool, into the house and upstairs. Moonlight streamed in the window to reveal a large, bed where Russel and Romy lay sleeping. "Russel, get up. These boys need to be together."

Russel rolled over and stood, naked, grabbed his robe, "This one hasn't learned how to hold his liquor." He snorted. I was never so glad for alcohol as I was in that moment.

Tender Loins, Part 3

Heard the birds outside and woke early, just before the sun rose. There were sounds of soft splashes, through the doors opening to a small veranda, I looked to see Fredrick slipping into the pool -- completely bare. He looked up at me and silently motioned me to come swim. Romy was still except for his breathing, I found a towel and slipped downstairs and into the pool naked. Fredrick opened his arms to me and I neared. "Thank you." He whispered.

I gave him a questioning look.

"Last night. You're making me think -- one of my favorite pastimes." He winked and we swam back and forth in the pool, underwater, silent and swift, trying to make the whole length on one breath, then back again. He was a strong swimmer, moved like a fish, pulled along with his arms, and hunching his body for a strong kick. A frog-like maneuver was more my style. When the sun was full and the canyon walls warmed, we went into the kitchen, making coffee. I found bread for toast and sliced fruit as Fredrick mixed a short glass of medicine for Romy, "Take this to him." He checked his watch, "He won't be up before noon."

When I came back downstairs, we took our coffee at the breakfast table and opened the newspaper, browsing through the headlines. "Strikers rioting in San Francisco..." I read aloud.

"Been to San Francisco?" Fredrick asked, reviewing the stock prices.

"Not yet. Heard the weather's good, plenty of work. Hoppin' town with jazz clubs and all kinds of diversions..."

"Yeah," He paused, "About last night. Maybe I was in my cups, but I wasn't clear. There are men like us who live out in the open -- in the public. Very few of them but they do well."

"Who's that?"

"Mostly artists and performers -- the theatre has been filled with homos, lezzies, men who dress as women, all kinds... And there's the writers and poets, the great ones; a few scientists and specialists --who are highly revered for a unique skills or knowledge - they can live openly, but damned few of them." He sipped his coffee, "Now, I'm an accountant -- I'll get none of that freedom. Russel, he won't either. He gets a lot of attention, but he's paid his dues. Still has to live the half-life."

"Paid his dues?"

"Came to LA from New York with his family when he was about twelve, I think -- had a good life before the crash. Father was working in the bank and got laid off, you know the story. They had to sell their house and move into an apartment about the time Russel graduated from high school. The whole family was looking for work. Russel was a looker, still is, and being young and innocent he was courted, in a sense, by a married man, Sepulveda. You'll see that name all over town -- he was big in real estate. Wealthy, powerful family -- you could say the Sepulvedas founded LA. He took Russel and taught him real estate, made him a manager at twenty years old. That was about the time I met him, and I fell hard, but he didn't have time for me. Always had to meet his benefactor for their liaisons. Can't tell you how many bruises and scrapes I saw on his body after he'd been with the old man. Broke my heart."

Fredrick's hand came to my arm, "You've got to promise you'll never mention this to anyone." He leaned close. "We blackmailed Sepulveda -- told him we'd go to the police if he didn't stop the bondage and torture. It was close, but Russel's smart, he cut a deal for prime consideration on contracts with the city for keeping the Sepulveda name out of the papers. They terminated their relationship -- Sepulveda probably had another boy in the wings. Russel opened his contracting business and hasn't stopped since -- his name crosses the Sepulveda desk and we get the contract."

"Sepulveda's still in business?"

"He's about seventy-five or so now, I imagine he's with family. Won't be able to keep his deal for much longer." He looked at me, "That's why Russel wants you and Romy working for him. He has a few good men now, but most have moved on to their own businesses." Looking into my eyes, Fredrick was serious. "Maybe all this came from dirty dealing, but it's the real world, baby boy."

So, Russel had almost outed his half-live to threaten a man living a double life? Ingenious, but more crooked than an Ozark backroad. Didn't want to participate in any of those shady dealings, but I understood how he'd taken a bad situation alongside Fredrick and turned it to their favor. "How did you fit in with all this?"

"My mom was a bookkeeper, I learned the trade, then went to work with the Internal Revenue Service. I was with them when I met Russel. When he parted from Sepulveda, I gave him the low-down on his taxes and how he could increase his profit margins from the tax returns I reviewed with the government. I became his accountant, confidant, his business partner. Now, my role is to keep him reigned in, he's full of ideas, some more lucrative than others." He glanced around the room. "Lucrative beyond belief."

For the last time, "What about love?"

"That question." He shook his head. "That question kept me awake last night." He came to put his arm around my shoulders. "Whether you're a sod or not, a woman or a child -- everyone needs to be loved. Many different ways to show love, many kinds of love..."

I nodded.

"Let me think now to say this." He pressed his lips together and thought. "When Russel and I are apart, we're still together. Even when he's with another man, he keeps me with him -- inside him. Can't say how I know it, but I feel it. Never has been any jealousy, we keep coming home to each other at night knowing we're greater together in life and business. Not all love is meant to last forever, sometimes love is only for a moment -- many kinds of love. Get it while it's there, it's a rare commodity."

Fredrick was right about somethings, and not everything... I had to think more about what he said.

...

Blood ran red in the streets yesterday.

San Francisco's broad Embarcadero ran red with blood yesterday.

The color stained clothing, sheets, flesh. Dripping. Human blood, bright as red begonias in the sun. A run of crimson crawled toward the curb.

Most of us came to hate the sight of red.
There was so much of it.

Anonymous witness to "Bloody Thursday," July 5, 1934.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Got a small place. Am patching and laying tarmac at the LA airport. All goes well. Please send your phone number, I'll call. Love, Dave

Along with that note, I sent her a clipping from the local business journal touting the new hires. Russel and Associates supported the NRA by hiring CCC employees - us. Times were still tough on the streets; the economy was still dismal and Sister Amy's kitchen and distribution center kept ladling out dinners.

Romy and I began in laborer's clothes, working as bottom-rung employees. Started laying and patching tarmac - keeping the runways smooth for the burgeoning commercial airline travel industry.

Planes came from all over. I loved it - seeing engines mounted to run propellers instead of tires. Planes had different tires, they took a lot of wear bearing heavy loads and having to stop before the end of the runway -- I didn't have time to inspect them, and didn't want to. Patching tarmac was enough, and there were tricks to layering the substrate. The ground under LA often shook and settled -- this job had no end. The generous salaries we earned didn't stop us from sweating. While we worked, Russel asked us to watch our coworkers. We would eventually take over this contract, and we were picking the men we wanted to keep. A few workers were troublesome, but most of the men were grateful for steady work.

...

That first year, we did well, and our crews were busy every day. Expanded to two trucks full of asphalt and equipment. As we moved from crew, then crew supervisors, then management, a few men became disgruntled being passed over for supervisory positions. They didn't produce enough good work anymore and Fredrick weeded them out. Began interviewing for others to fill their places after we rearranged the men left.

Hated firing men, but Fredrick helped me make a letter of reference to smooth their transitions. Interviewing applicants was horrible. I wanted to give every man a job, knowing how hard the streets were. Fredrick taught us the right questions to ask, and signs of problem behavior. Body language, he called it and said it spoke louder than words. Few men had more than spotty work histories, couldn't hold that against them, but Fredrick had friends at the police department to verify their records in Los Angeles City. Had to call past employers and references, that was the easiest part of hiring.

Still, I hated interviewing; it got worse. Had to cringe when of all people, my cousin Jonathan McCann showed up. There were several men in the waiting room of our small office, I saw him through the partially open door and went to the back to tell Romy. I quickly explained my relationship with Jonathan to Fredrick and asked to sit out of the interview. They wouldn't let me. This was part of the business and I had to learn how to deal with it.

Wouldn't you know he wanted work as a supervisor telling us he had experience working with the temple. "Give me your manager's name, I'll call. I'm sure we'll get a glowing recommendation."

Couldn't give us one, he said that managers came and went at Angelus when they found other work.

Asked about his prior duties.

Vague.

Keeping my most serious business face on, "Well, what have you been doing?"

Tugging at his slacks, he smiled at me, "Quality work." He smiled. "Like you do." He glanced at Romy. "Just had to come by after I saw your photo in the business journal." Grinned, lifting one eyebrow. "Such pretty boys doing so well."

Fredrick showed me how to deal with bullies: "Exactly what are you saying -- let's get down to brass tacks. Why are you here?"

Jonathan stayed cool, "Job would be good. Or, maybe something else. Share some of your success, we're family, after all." He hemmed and hawed for a while. "Proud of you and your little, well, we'll just say friend, for now." Implied coercion. We were being extorted.

Fredrick wasn't upset with his talk. Romy and I seethed. Tenting his fingertips together and leaning back in his chair, Fredrick said that he was the owner of this company, and that our family was quite proud of us already. "Yes, very proud, and if you'd like to negotiate some of that pride for yourself, my attorney handles those affairs." He handed Jonathan his business card after he'd penciled in a phone number on it. "Speak with him." Then he leaned forward, "If I see you on or around any of our sites, we'll have you arrested -- give your family a little more to be proud of. Sabe, you fool?"

Jonathan glared at me before he walked out of the office and down the street. Fredrick looked at us, "Is he really family?"

"Really my cousin, unfortunately."

"Got to get that cleared up. Dinner by the pool tonight." He left early as Romy and I made phone calls checking the backgrounds of the applicants we interviewed so far.

That night, Russel just rolled his eyes when Fredrick told him about Jonathan, "If he makes a move, we'll just hire some gals for the evening and make sure you two show up in the social columns a few times. Like blondes or brunettes? A hot redhead would spring you out of any innuendo. Don't worry - happens all the time. Going on all over town -- adultery's just as illegal as buggery."

The next week, I got a new driver's license. Fredrick sent a telegram to the small town in Italy where his mother lived, we needed to get his birth certificate before he could get his ID. That lit a spark of hope inside Romy, we awaited word from his mother and within the week, Fredrick handed him a telegram with a smile.

Romero, Sending papers via aéropostale. Returning next year. SDC.

Romy's mom, Serafina would send his birth certificate and was coming back home after almost six years!

...

Our lives were already in high gear, we were moving forward getting the airport contracts under control. Within the next six months, we would be hiring for the greenhouse and taking over management of several duplexes for short periods of time.

Fredrick and Russel guided us through the hurdles of taking over more responsibilities. Every week, all four of us met with our crew supervisors and kept tabs on their work, showing us how to handle problems and create reports for the county and city. Lot of work -- had to hire a secretary and a bookkeeper to keep us all the paperwork in order -- Fredrick was stepping to the side alongside Russel.

We had great salaries and earned every penny going over the books and keeping the projects running smoothly and it felt good to work alongside Romy, we had an incredibly deep trust and knew each other's ways. We still lived in the pool house, but we wanted privacy though really had no time to use it during those months.

Russel made sure the business journals noted the "golden boys" of the CCC. Sent every one of them to Mom. We were their "golden boys." Felt good to work, get paid and appreciated the way we were. With every sea breeze I remembered that boy on the beach with me for the first time, cocoanut raspas and him telling me we were going to make it. He was so right.

Fredrick had become a trusted confidant as well as an advisor to me -- always spoke softly and explained things simply. I appreciated his advice; he appreciated my questions which were becoming much more complex every time we met. After we enjoyed our early-morning swim, he told me that he and Russel wanted to take time to travel -- I needed to learn to delegate more work to our staff. "Toddy'll help you with the rentals, we're moving him up to handle the collections and oversee the repairs, but the over-all management decisions are yours."

"We need our own place. Romy's mother is coming next year, and, well, we need some privacy."

"You need a vacation. When was the last time you took a day off?"

Couldn't answer him for a few moments, "Can't remember."

He smiled and nodded, and leaned to kiss my cheek tenderly, "If I had a son, he would be you. I'll speak with Russel and get you a few days off."

...

Within the month, Romy and I took off five days in a row. The first day, I missed seeing my workers and checking on their progress. We lounged by the pool, I fretted until Maria came out and told us she was leaving to shop, asking if we wanted anything while she was out.

"No. We're fine." Romy told her and waited till she and her husband left to shop. Romy led me by the hand to the pool and stripped me, leaning to kiss my neck as his hand went to my rear. In the bright sunlight heating our shoulders, he pulled me against him, "Love you, boss-man."

Had to grin, I was the one that handled the men on their sites -- getting dirty didn't bother me. Romy liked to keep his wingtips clean and shiny. And that sophisticated man was in my arms. We'd made it together. I sighed as he pushed my butt on the steps in the shallow end and knelt in front of me. Sneaked his hand between my leg and took my dick in his mouth. Leaning back on my elbows I felt the touch of his finger entering me. I loved the way he tickled my asshole and teased me. Felt good to feel my balls swirling in the water and his lips pushing my foreskin back to lick my slit. My head tilted back to see the sky, wide, clear and flawlessly blue above me. Closed my eyes and felt my skin cool in shadow. Shadow? I opened my eyes to see Fredrick standing above me, smiling, undressing quickly.

Lifting me up by my shoulders, he slipped his torso behind mine, his hips underneath me while Romy, still kneeling, watched. Without a word, Fredrick hooked his arms under my legs and lifted my ass to Romy. Wide, open, the sun on my skin, and the splash of the water cooling us, Romy leaned into me, holding himself in place against my ass. He pushed, slipped and pushed again, harder. Quick burn, then I felt him moving slowly inside me. Romy leaned to kiss Fredrick over my shoulder while he waited for me to relax further -- hard to do I was so excited, rod full and hard, twitching and leaking. Then, I felt Fredrick's hard rod at my back pulsing. Our balls bumped together in the gentle currents when Romy began his rhythm. Feeling Fredrick kiss my hair and watching my lover's chest as he began breathing hard, moaning, I was almost ready. Fredrick moved me around so that Romy's thrusts would rub my back against his shaft. Can't tell you how good it felt to see the sky, feel the water moving gently around me and being pressed between two men I loved.

Romy's cock was hitting the place I needed to feel him, soon, I heard the little trembling sounds he made before he shot his load deep into me. He was still for a few moments, his torso shuddering as his balls emptied into me. Fredrick dropped my right leg, pushed Romy back leaving swirls of semen in the water. Deftly, he slipped his rod inside me, and leaned me forward slightly. "Rub it off, boy I can't wait much longer."

I did.

Frantic, he held me hard against his hips and filled me, grunting loudly. Looking up, I saw Romy lean and kiss me and I came. Felt like I'd never cum before, feeling Fredrick's hot load and thick rod twitching his last rushes. Overwhelmed, like I was drunk, I wasn't touching earth, as my body soared on the incredible high that ripped through my body and settled in my chest.

Leaning quietly against the steps in the shallow end, we caught our breaths. Fredrick kissed me, then Romy. He stood, grabbed his clothes and left.

After a few moments, he returned with glasses of hibiscus tea and towels. "Maria's in the drive now. Cover up." We napped in the sun while Maria cooked dinner. Russel came in whistling and bustling through the house.

...

Over dinner that night, Fredrick told Russel that Romy and I needed more privacy.

"So shut the gate to the pool house." Russel said.

"They need a place to be alone -- all alone, on their own." Fredrick countered. "Don't you remember when..."

"I'll think about it." He grunted, eating his salad.

"Thirty minutes to think about it. We could lose good managers, Rus." Fredrick stated and lifted an eyebrow.

"Okay, we'll work it out."

That was easy!

After dinner, we went back to the pool before the sun set. Fredrick and I did our underwater laps while Romy and Russel talked business. Nice end to the day. In bed that night, Romy said Russel was buying a small, oddly-shaped plot of land that sat between the highway and road to our house. He'd always wanted the land, but never had a use for it. Only four or five acres of scrub. Russel was going to buy it and build a small house on it for us. He didn't want us too far away. We could lease the house or buy our own near the airport later.

Had to think about it. Not so sure -- we needed Russel and Fredrick's advice and we needed our privacy as well. I'd think about it after our time off. I was still in my penny-pinching mode, and Romy had convinced me to fly to San Francisco. He wanted to roam the Tenderloin, take the sky car to see the Golden Gate and take in a show. Not a movie, but a live show. Sounded good. I wanted to visit Sutro Baths.

We got our hotel room in San Francisco and didn't leave that first day. Made love slowly again and again, had a bottle of champagne and woke to go out that evening, coursing the "soft underbelly" of the city. Musta looked like a real greenhorn, I was awed by the open solicitations. We passed through the women and came to a small bar that featured "fancy boys." Romy laughed and stuffed a few bills in the cleavage of the performers. I was agog most of the time. What a show -- men that were as beautiful as actresses and models so seductive and inviting. We visited the sites, the baths and several bars, seedy places, dark and filled with the most interesting characters. Sure, we were approached with offers, racy comments and openly blunt invitations. We were leery after having been warned that Russel wouldn't come bail us out if we were arrested. We moved along to live theater -- kind of like Angelus, the sounds of the orchestra and the voices wrapped me around the story the actors made.

Romy wanted a hat, so we went to a hat shop filled with Stetsons, caps, straw hats, fedoras... Watching my lover try on different hats in front of the mirror with an elderly man helping him, smiling and chatting, I knew it was more than luck that brought me that boy in a dress. Cosmic destiny, perhaps. I let them set the different styles on my head until Romy was satisfied and looked "cosmopolitan" enough. We left feeling like royalty in the soft, flat hats of the time.

Before we left, I bought candies from a chocolatier, and a book by Gibran for Fredrick. Found a steering wheel cover for Russel, I had some news for him I'd overheard at a restaurant.

Arrived home feeling great, rested and ready to get back to work where I found a big mess! I'd lead by example, following the courses I learned at the CCC camp. Russel was old school, he upset my crews and supervisors trying to get them to do things his way -- he managed by nagging. These were experienced men, they had their own rhythm and produced good, smooth tarmac, taking care of the potholes before they got deep, and kept a tight schedule. Lost two hours of work with those complaints and affronts to their skills. They were glad I was back. Romy stood to the side, smiling as I handled it the way I figured Fredrick would. Listened patiently as I handed out their work orders, then shook hands with them and we all went back to work.

A few days later, Russel and Fredrick left for Hawaii, leaving us to work into the nights with the bookkeeper and ordering supplies, while a small three-bedroom house was being constructed on the scrubby lot nearby. I called Mom, she and Dad would come for a week later on, and bring my brothers. Caroline was married and had her second child on the way. Mom kept thanking me for the money I sent from camp, "Mom, we all made it." They were doing better than before, and we'd both benefitted from the CCC. Too bad the government hadn't started it sooner.

...

As soon as Russel and Fredrick returned in loud, print shirts and shorts, we met on the patio and strategized the greenhouse production. Fredrick looked tanned and happy, Russel was excited about all the plants -- different palms and all kinds of trees and flowers. "First shipment will arrive next week." That surprised me. Quickly Romy and I figured out how to promote one of the managers on the airport project -- we decided to promote two, figured out their pay and divided their workload. The airport was expanding by the month with more commercial flights and plenty of smaller privately-owned planes.

Got that settled for a moment, and I told Russel what I overheard in San Francisco: "I want to buy stock in GM. There's a man named Hertz on their board now -- wants to rent cars by the day. I want the concession for car rentals in the airport, tourists and movie stars coming in."

He nodded his head, thinking, "Who's gonna run it?"

"We'll get a couple of clerks, set up a desk in the lobby of the airport, and rent space for the cars on the parking lot. I'll manage it, but I think it's going to be big business."

"Hmmm." He cocked his head and thought for a few moments. Fredrick smiled. "I'll check it out with the county tomorrow. There's other costs involved." I could hear his mind working. "Might be good to have another rental concession at the train depot."

...

Our small house was built in the Spanish tradition -- an open courtyard in the center, I began working with the landscaping at night, using mostly native plants - Jimson, plenty of cactus with nopales outside the walls, agave. Planted a row of olive trees along the boundaries. Left the scrub alone for the animals who lived there.

Came time to furnish it, Fredrick showed me a catalogue. Romy and I were bewildered at all the choices and colors -- Danish furniture? I could outfit a pickup truck, but not a whole house. Seeing our confusion, Fredrick suggested a friend, Douglas to decorate. Romy agreed and within a few days, our home was painted soft colors, filled with bright fabric wall hangings from Mexico, plants and our own bed covered with a bright red spread. Even had a washing machine. Dishes of deep terra-cotta colors of the earth and a refrigerator. I called Mom and Dad. "Come as soon as you can."

...

Couldn't have lived, worked or loved harder than that next year. My parents came, we partied at Russel's pool -- Fredrick took them to the sights. My brothers went into the CCC and Caroline brought her children and husband. They took a while to warm up to Romy, I suspected Fredrick had given them some of his wise counsel, and told them how valuable we were to our workers and the city of Los Angeles.

Dad took me aside, saying he was hoping for grandchildren. I simply told him I'd think about it, but his odds were slim. That seemed to quell his questions, he told me to be careful and that he loved me. Proud of me, he said but he wasn't smiling when he said that. Mom started fretting thinking I would be get caught and go to jail. "Mom, I remember what you said about drunk Indians and people looking for a place to exercise their evil. I'm careful."

...

Romy's mom finally came, exhausted after catching planes around the globe. Arrived with only a small suitcase and a box of papers. Tiny little woman with sparkling eyes and quick smile, she moved into the guest room. She'd been a front desk clerk at a famous old hotel in on the coast of Italy -- experienced and poised, I was delighted with her. She never blinked an eye when Romy and I sat together or kissed -- she had a worldly sophistication my parents didn't have. Russel and Fredrick were delighted with her as well. Spent so many nights by the pool together, we cut a road between our two homes.

Romy and I still worked eight to ten hours a day and still moving forward. The economy slowly, very slowly began picking up speed, along with the union movement. Unemployment was still a problem. The CCC and the WPA helped getting men off the streets and on a payroll, and we wouldn't realize how bad this economic depression was till years later.

When my family visited the next year, things were calm. They took to Romy and Serafina without problem.

Recalling the explanation of living half-lives Fredrick explained to me, I didn't feel like Romy and I lived half-lives. I figured that coming from a farm, I didn't need to be a shining example of success to everyone around me. Didn't want that. Work, love, food, a warm place with my lover -- those fulfilled my dreams. I needed respect of the people I loved more than the admiration and possible the envy of people I didn't know. In public, we worked. In private, our families treated us well. My life was full.

It was during those next few years though, Romy and I became closer together and closer to our mentors. I understood more about our queer family -- between the four of us we became confidants, intimates and, yes, Fredrick was right. I could feel the different kinds of love I was offered from each of them and knew how to love them in ways that reflected my full appreciation of them. Maybe Fredrick saw us as living half-lives and to Romy and I, our lives were rich, full and too often demanding of our time.

...

Our fourth year together, Russel and Fredrick threw a holiday party that shook the rafters. I called my parents and sent them gifts; they were having their own party on the east coast. Serafina, Romy and I opened Russel's mansion and greeted all the county commissioners, their wives and what seemed like a hundred business associates and acquaintances of Russel and Fredrick. Music, wine, women in long dresses, and diamonds, pearls, furs. Men in formal wear, musky colognes and their hair shining. Everywhere I looked around the mansion that night, beautiful people glimmered, smiling. Took turns dancing with a few women, light bulbs flashed, the woman who wrote the society column was in my arms, grinning, "Don't see a ring on your finger."

Used Romy's trick -- I snowed her, "Who has time for romance when LA's growing every day? I'm cutting hay while the sun shines. Have you seen the Dolcevita Greenhouse? Incredible plants and we're expanding again. Tropicals, that's the new trend..." She knew why I didn't wear a ring, probably knew every sod in town of import. I smiled coyly and tilted my head, "Don't see a ring on your finger either. Cuttin' hay, like me?" She moved on to more interesting conversation.

Found out through that evening that these social affairs cemented business relationships, exchanged information, and in general kept the big bucks within a small group of wealthy Angelinos. You can bet I was grateful that Russel and Fredrick had slipped us into these circles.

Recall that evening well for one reason. We'd opened up the greenhouse and searched for more men who could deal with the delicate plants, as well as meet the ships that brought them in and transport them carefully through customs and to the greenhouse. Insects and the wrong microbes could close the business within a few days if we weren't careful. Jonathan hadn't shown up again for work or tried another shake-down. I wondered where he was, but not for long -- he didn't deserve my time. That night, as the women stood by the pool, one was speaking about a yardman she hired last year, "He has your name but I'm sure there's a lot of McCanns -- Irish always have so many children... Well, he showed up drunk and ruined, positively destroyed my roses then wrecked the hydrangea. Had to fire him when I caught him peeing in the koi pond, and damn if he didn't try to take some of our tools with him."

That had to be cousin Jonathan. Smiled and nodded letting her prattle on, but she made me wonder if Jonathan had left town for good after that. Made a note to myself to check the jail the next day.

The crowd of business associates and politicians dwindled as they moved on to other holiday parties. Serafina went back home to call Romy's siblings. At around eleven another group started coming. These were Russel and Fredrick's pals -- distinguished older men with their dates. Stunning men, I recognized some of them from the private bar at the restaurant. Much less pretentious crowd, dressed to the nines. I smiled, watching them embrace, kiss openly and flirt. Intriguing, entertaining, I watched with focused attention. I knew what sexual innuendo was about, and enjoyed the banter among these friends, yet, to see this happen openly, so easily, gave me an odd kind of comfort.

The champagne flowed and I listened, mostly. A few of these men were married - must have had some kind of arrangement with their wives or were separated, but most seemed satisfied. I saw Romy and myself part of this family for years ahead.

...

The next day I called the county jail. Jonathan wasn't there. He was at the city jail. Went down to the front desk and asked how long he'd be there. Don't think I was going to bail him out, I couldn't. He was serving a year for a fracas behind a bar. Stabbed a man but didn't kill him. Crime of passion they said and showed me his mug shot. He'd graduated into the next level of desperation as time and alcohol took his suave features leaving him with a rigid scowl. Still scamming and dodging real work -- what a wag.

Went home and phoned Mom. She only sighed, "I'll call his family."

Tender Loins, Part 4

October 29th, the year I turned twenty-eight, Russel and Fredrick reserved the private room in the restaurant and had a cake brought in, wine -- candles and everything. Didn't need gifts, we had all we wanted and more, except for time. Russel and Fredrick were vacationing more often. Romy and I held our own with the management, stronger through every trip they took. It was a good way to work us into taking over, and I saw our mentors readying to retire satisfied with themselves.

By the piano that night, Russel gave me my gift, keys to a roadster. Couldn't believe it, but he'd heard me talk of the race in Phoenix when I was on the road, I remembered several of the cars clearly -- it was the first and only race I'd ever seen. He took me in his arms as we swayed to the piano music and told me to be very careful, it was a small car and could turn over easily. I kissed his neck, enjoyed being held against his broad chest and as soon as I could get away, I grabbed Romy and took him to the parking lot -- deep blue, shiny, spoked wheels with a red bow tied to the steering wheel. It was the finest vehicle I'd ever seen -- an MG roadster. Most handsome car on the roads in my opinion, and we jumped in. The coastal road was beautiful, then up through the hills east of town. The wind in our faces, swirling our hair around, the night air chilled and we drove straight to Fredrick and Russel's house late that night.

In the dark downstairs, we undressed quickly, sneaked up the stairs and in the big, round bed beside them. I grabbed Russel, grinning, "Thanks, that was the best birthday ever."

"You're here to play hard?"

I nodded. He rolled over and stood -- went to pee. Fredrick was leading Romy to his room, arms around each other's waist. I waited, anxious. Ready -- Russel liked it rough and I was ready to give it. Felt "full of piss and vinegar," as he liked to say. I knew what he wanted. No whips, no belts, nothing like that. He wanted to give it all up -- give all control to me he wanted to surrender to complete submission. In his bedroom was a small oriental chest filled with the things he needed. Selecting ropes, a cock ring and a bandana, a few more things... I began when he returned. "Face down."

"Kiss me." He whispered, this is how he started -- he'd bite me when he kissed, bit my tongue hard. Pulled away, spat and handed him his cock ring.

"Get it on." In the dark, He was half erect and struggled to get his equipment into the small rings. His shaft filled quickly and his big sac was bunched tight.

"Stand up straight." When he did, knelt in front of him and bit the taught skin of his scrotum -- took a pinch of the tender skin between my teeth and shook my head. With the rough heels of my hands, I rubbed his nipples till they were hot and sensitive. He gasped -- nipples must have burned. I stood and pointed to the bed. Face down, I could see his breathing speed as I secured his ankles, then his wrists. Spread eagle, butt exposed.

Waiting in the dark silence, I let him squirm as he imagined what I would do next. Time and silence increase anticipation -- builds it to anxiety if you let it. Let him hear me rummage in the bath for a while, then came back to the bedroom, closed all the doors and windows and slapped him hard on his butt, reached between his legs and yanked a handful of pubes. "You're gonna get it tonight -- can you take it like a man, or do I have to gag you?"

His body was tense, coated with a light sheen of sweat, "Without..."

Now it was seldom I got this kind of invitation. Fredrick abhorred any kind of pain, and yet Russel, who meted out all kinds of hassle at work, reveled in the Sepulveda technique behind closed doors. Early conditioning, I guessed. After my first time being in complete control, I began thinking, imagining all the different kinds of fun that fell within Russel's arena of sexual play. I'd been waiting for a chance to try this, knowing he would give me the silent treatment for several days and probably come back for more later.

Another slap on his butt and a yank on his ball sac, I pulled out a dildo, really old piece with carvings around the handle and a small hole for a satin tassel. Six or so inches long and about an inch and a quarter diameter -- must have been made for a woman, I thought. Laying it on the cleft of his ass, I drug it across his hole several times. He lifted his ass wanting penetration. Not yet.

Those trees that smelled so odd in San Diego were eucalyptus. An Asian doctor combined eucalyptus with spices and other herbs into a balm -- tiger balm. I grabbed the tiny glass jar, opened it and stuck it near Russel's nose, "Nipples need a little medicine?" He moaned as I coated my fingers and sat on the small of his back, reaching under him to rub the stinging medication on his sore, swollen nipples. "Looks like your butt needs some, too." I rubbed the inflamed handprints on his butt with the ointment. This was the prelude to his pinnacle of pain and my pleasure. Deprivation was the theme for the evening -- his rigid cock inside the cock ring pressed beneath his body was becoming more numb by the moment. I waited in silence, then began gathering what I needed, letting him hear me and wondering what was going to happen.

Between his legs, I rubbed my man juices up and down his cleft. He must have liked that, thinking I'd enter him, but I was just making my next step easier. Took that ivory dildo, coated the head with the fragrant ointment and told him to lift his butt. He groaned, probably knew what I was planning to do. With the head of the dildo at his ass, he pushed and I twisted it inside him fully, one fast stroke and waited. Gasping quickly, then soft sobs -- his body shook as the burning sting began inside him. I laid myself on his back, hunching against the dildo, ramming it harder into him. "Is it good yet?" I chuckled. His tears were clear as he kept gasping -- great control, he hadn't said a word.

I was hard and dripping by this time, ready to unload, moving to his face, I began kissing him, biting his thin lips while his nose ran and tears dampened the sheet beneath his face. When his lips were swollen, and I think they were bleeding in a few spots, "Suck me." Hard to get into position with him tied face down, but I managed to get myself into his mouth with his head laying on his right cheek. "Suck!" Hot, swollen lips took me and his breathing was hard. I held his head against my groin straddling his upper, left arm and humped as hard and deep as I could into his throat, but held back. Chuckling softly when he was struggling to breathe, I pulled out. "Not good enough." I stood and slapped his butt hard. He jerked, trembling.

Untying his left ankle and wrist, "Turn over." Nipples and pecs still warm from his "treatment," I examined his cock -- almost time to get it off before I did any permanent damage. Greased his pole while he watched and squatted over him, "Can you feel me?"

"No."

"Good." I pushed and grunted, got him in quick, I was about to explode. Yeah, maybe I got off to this as much as he did, but neither of us would admit it. Palms on his chest, I worked him in and out my hole, finding where I needed to be rubbed and aimed my cock at his face and blasted. Didn't stop till I was completely emptied, balls ached. Went to his face and with my tongue, I shoved all my cum between his swollen lips. He kept moaning and accepted a tender kiss and my thanks.

After I untied him, I opened the French doors to the pool, went back to bed and went to sleep. He didn't come to bed after quite a while in the bath. Almost dawn he came beside me, fell asleep deeply, snoring loudly.

...

The next morning, I was grinning like a mule eating briars as we met for a quick swim before we went home. Russel wouldn't look at me until I went to kiss him over coffee, "My lips are swollen, my eyes are red and I'm still burning this morning. See if I get you another roadster if that's how you treat me."

"Look like a satisfied man to me." I whispered back to him. He looked away, but didn't say anything more. He was still deciding if he liked my treatment. Leaning to kiss his neck, I nipped his earlobe, "Let me know when you want some more."

My birthday party continued. One more celebration tonight, Serafina was cooking manicotti for everyone and making an Italian fruitcake.

At home, our little house smelled great. Serafina was up early to get the big dinner started. Toddy and his family would join Russel and Fredrick at our table. The phone rang before I left to get ice cream. It was Mom and Dad, Caroline and my brothers all calling to wish me a happy birthday.

We talked for a long time, catching up. Before we hung up, my father told everyone to go on to bed, he wanted to speak with me personally. "Got a little problem, family problem." He started, then explained that my uncle was ill, heart problems, and had a stroke. His brother was home with his family -- no longer able to work. "They need Jonathan to come back, can you get him here?"

"Dad, please. He's nothing but trouble, and wouldn't do anything but cause problems. Mom told you he was in jail, right?"

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear, his father is not doing well and has come home. We don't know how long..."

"Okay, Dad. Call the jail and ask if he can get some kind of a reduced sentence for a family emergency and I'll get him to the bus station."

Tried to forget about that as Toddy brought Ona and the children, Fredrick and Russel came. What a great party. Piñata over the end of the carport, lots of yelling and swatting at the brightly-colored ball of treats. Great food, cake and ice cream, drawings from the children and Ona bought me a tie with small golden threads on a deep brown silk, "To match your eyes." Too soon, all the laughter and joking were over. We cleaned up and I wondered what gift Romy had gotten, maybe a scarf and hat for riding in the roadster. Not by a long shot.

As evening settled, he took a flashlight in one hand, and grabbed my other hand, walked me up the side of the canyon and we sat on the boulders, still hot from the sun. We watched the moon rise, full and yellow. Below, in the distance, waves broke along the shore. "What could I possibly buy you? We've got everything -- we have years ahead of us for gifts." He reached into his pocket, and brought out the two mounds of gold we'd found in the burned-out car years ago in San Diego. "These brought us luck, you started working at the gas station -- remember?"

Those times seemed like centuries ago, "Yeah, I remember you said we smelled poor... and damn, we did." I picked up one of the mounds. "You're giving these to me?"

"I don't want to lose what we had during those times, so I'm making them into rings to remember where we came from. LA is a place that twists peoples' heads around. If we're going to keep what we have, we've got to keep our feet on the ground -- getting too high and mighty would make a harder fall."

Looking over the hills to the moon, the wide, dark sky with stars just beginning to shine, I saw Mars. "Am I getting too big for my boots? My head getting twisted around?" I'd seen the stars that burned out too quickly around town.

"Just making sure we don't fall into the trap. Fredrick talked to me last night... We need to stay away from trouble, like always, but different kinds of trouble now. The more money we have, the craftier we have to be to keep it. We can always be blackmailed or put into a situation where we can't get out and the stakes are bigger now." He kissed me. "I sent a five-hundred-dollar check to San Francisco to a man there. He's organizing a group to repeal the sodomy laws."

My eyes must have been as big as the moon at that moment. "You did what?"

"Sent five-hundred dollars to San Francisco. We can afford it. If we can get the law repealed, that's one less trouble we'll have." Had to think about that -- could it really happen? I'd never been involved with politics, and wasn't sure but Romy seemed to know how it would happen. "Going to have this metal made into signet rings, with Russel and Fredrick's initials on them and our initials on the inside."

If I hadn't stopped when I saw Toddy and helped him along, we wouldn't be here. How surprised I was to have found a child in a dress tied to a chair, and had the gumption to ask... We kept holding on with little those years, almost like we were caught in a plan to meet Fredrick and Russel. How we got through our time in San Diego on the streets without a criminal record was amazing -- lots of guys got picked up for vagrancy, loitering, and it would have been easy to steal and front things around town. Fights broke out in the shelters and in the soup lines... That was the hardest time in my life -- have no idea how we made it so long on nothing.

"Tonight is ours." He took my hand and led me down the trail with the flashlight. Before we went inside, "Just happen to have bottle of cabernet and a can of sardines..." Then, he opened my palm and put a nickel, a dime and a penny along with three folded dollar bills. "You were holding out." He winked.

I'd forgotten about the cash my father had given me way back in Guymon.

...

Sunday morning as the sun rose, the phone rang. It was Dad. "It's set. Jonathan's out tomorrow morning. There's a bus at seven-thirty in the morning, a deputy will meet you at the station and see he gets on the right bus and leaves."

"How do we know he'll stay on the bus?"

"Get him a non-refundable ticket. Can't sell it and we'll pray he gets here next week. Give him some cash for food. Wait! Give him a bag of food and a bottle of water."

Why did I just know that Jonathan wouldn't take a bag of food? He'd hoodwink someone into buying him dinner. "Okay. I'll call you when I get back from the station."

Apples, peanut butter, crackers, what I could find in the kitchen, I packed it together in my old tool bag, jumped in my roadster before the sun was up and met Jonathan with his uniformed cop at the bus station. They watched me buy the ticket and I handed it to Jonathan. He didn't say anything. When I offered him a bag of food he dropped it and spit at me. "I ain't nobody's fuckin' squaw."

I picked it up, I liked peanut butter and apples and left Jonathan and his uniformed escort outside the bus station waiting for the East Coast Express and left. Couldn't get him in my rearview mirror fast enough. Called Dad and told him Jonathan didn't look like the same guy that left Philly years ago, "Scowl, a few scars and a nasty attitude. You won't recognize that ungrateful dog..."

...

Straight to work, checking on the crew at the airport, and said good morning to two clerks working the Hertz desk. A plane had just landed from Seattle, they were busy. Went out to the tarmac and checked the supplies, consulted with my supervisors. All was well, the tar pot was already smoking and the trucks were filled with gravel. In some ways, I missed working manual labor, sweating with a good crew, getting the work for the day finished. Seemed like things were never finished for me now -- I had to make sure I had enough work to keep my best employees in place.

On to the train depot to check the rental desk there. Those two shooed me away and I was grateful that they felt comfortable enough with my style of leadership to tell me to let them work instead of deferring to my authority. Maybe they needed to be on commission... Nah. Stomachs don't get hungry on a percentage basis and I never wanted an employee to be hungry while they worked for me. Romy was right -- find the right people and pay them what they're worth.

Met with Russel and Romy at the greenhouse. Toddy was with them, heavy in discussions about a warehouse. Russel had bought a plot of land in the San Gabriel Valley years ago in a short sale. The warehouse would hold all the supplies for the tarmac, the fertilizer and pots, as well as all the cleaning and maintenance for the rental properties -- It was going to be a huge warehouse with a loading dock and several bays -- we were purchasing several large trucks for plant delivery and transport.

On the back wall of the greenhouse Russel had enclosed two rooms. One was for supplies, the other an office with a large window that opened to the plants. Seemed several hummingbirds had found their way into the building and set up housekeeping. Their bright green bodies dove among the blossoms and foliage. The office was close, yet cool and we had iced drinks. Our horticulturist was talking about magnesium and phosphorus, peat... Understood exactly what he was saying, though I'd never translated my agricultural classes to large-scale tropical plant production.

My life was going well, Romy and I were happy with Serafina in our home. Though small, and not decorated with the sophistication like Russel's house, it felt warm and secure at the end of the days. Serafina was very much a part of our lives, so loving. She filled dinners with stories about her Romy and his siblings. Seems his brother and sister had hard feelings about homosexuals, but they kept it to themselves. Serafina got calls from them often and we got the perfunctory "Hey Romy! Hey Dave!"

That next Sunday night, Dad called, "Where's Jonathan?"

"The cop put him on the bus. I saw it. He's not in Philly?"

"The driver said he got off somewhere around Lexington and they had to leave. Thought he might have come back -- you know, has a friend in LA."

"Dad, I don't know if he had any friends. Doubt it. Maybe he met someone in jail, but probably not. I'll call around and let you know if I find something. By the way, when are you and Mom coming out?"

"Maybe next June. You know your brother joined the service -- got into the Air Force. We're all so proud, gonna have a fly-boy in the family now. Maybe he'll be stationed at Lompoc."

"Hope so. Let me know when you can come."

Jonathan was on the lam. Immediately I called the Lexington police and told them. They took my information but didn't seem too upset with anything, probably weren't going to look for him. Called the city jail, they said they'd put a bulletin out for him. I doubted anything would happen so I spoke with Fredrick, just had a funny feeling about Jonathan coming back to LA. There was money here, and though he was a nickel-and-dimer, he could scrape by here easier than other towns.

Fredrick simply nodded his head when I explained what happened. "Do you think we need to hire a private dick?" He asked.

"I don't know." We left it there and went on with our busy lives. More work and details came up as we inched along expanding our scope or work and building a warehouse in San Gabriel. Simple life became complex as we built our business network across LA and into the surrounding areas, still under Russel and Fredrick's guidance. Their guidance was more at arm's length now as their hair thinned and their voices softened. They were in San Francisco days at a time with old friends and business associates. Now, it took them a full week to recoup their energy when they returned.

Romy and I wore our rings, with Fredrick and Russel's initials on them and it made us the half-family we were, though I never felt like I had a half-life. In most senses we had family and gathered other loving people around us. Instead of children, our new hires had to be treated like babies until they learned their jobs. We paid well, and they stayed, we watched them grow. Seldom had to fire one of our employees; we had over seventy now in all kinds of positions. I knew there would be a time when we would have to ease a young man, or several into our places the way Fredrick and Russel had done for us. That was too far ahead to worry about.

Life was hectic and these four men were comfortable in their trust and respect. Never thought that would happen to the extent it did. More than enough appreciation and coinage going around to suit all of us neatly.

...

In 1933 there was a 6.4 earthquake off the coast of California where oil was being drilled. Since that time, Russel and Fredrick added some safety features to the houses they owned and shored up the frames of their apartments. Not much, but I think it reduced the insurance costs. Either way, LA was tremor-prone. With a greenhouse made with glass panes, we had a crew come in and re-caulk and add struts and netting under the glass-tiled roof. If the big one came, most of LA would suffer and business had to continue.

The reason I remember the day the tremors came was because that was the same day I got a dog. Fredrick bought Romy and I a dog to keep at the house, but the big, lanky lug took to sitting on the passenger seat of the roadster looking to all the world like he belonged there. Distinguished air about him, the Wellington Springer was short-haired with a mottled white and brown coat and a whip-like tail. "Hunting dog," Fredrick said. "Already trained."

Holmes was friendly, but I noticed he didn't take to some people easily; figured he smelled cat or something else on them. My new companion's name was Sherlock Holmes, and he took to me and Romy immediately. I called him Holmes -- Sherlock was a little too much for me.

That night, Serafina fell in love with Holmes. Kibble with marinara sauce? Yep, that's what he had for dinner, and I took him out and let him loose in the canyon. He was off into the evening sniffing coyotes, getting his area in line. We didn't have problems with the wild animals in the area, and I figured they'd be teaching Holmes their territories as well. He was gone a long time, and I could hear his voice from up around Russel's house for a while, then he loped the ridge and finally came back to drink heavily, then off again. Fredrick called and told me to keep him in the house at night, but if he set up a howl, check for an intruder.

We lived away from the city. Only a few neighbors who were traveling often. Never a problem out here, in fact, very quiet.

...

Mr. Holmes wanted to ride to work with me or Romy every morning, Serafina wanted to keep him with her, especially the days she worked. On the first of every month, she drove Toddy to the different rental properties to pick up the checks or cash and sat in the truck making the deposit slips. Together they took the deposits to the bank and came home. Kinda made me nervous considering her husband held a similar job, but Serafina liked talking with the tenants and their children, taking notes on repairs for Toddy. Holmes developed a deep affinity for children who smelled like cookies or bologna sandwiches -- licking and kissing them while they tried to pet him. They made a good team, the three of them making deposits together. Got some good photos of that one month and sent copies to my parents, gave another to Ona.

Well, since Serafina had to care for Mr. Holmes during the days, I talked to the bookkeeper and the tax man and made a decision: Serafina needed a car of her own. She was delighted with the arrangement and decided she wanted a Peugeot. Not my choice, but she'd driven one when she was young. On Saturday morning, we went to a dealership and selected a new 402 model with a short chassis, ivory-colored sedan. Snappy, small but big enough to take on another task for us -- making donations. Sure, this was for tax deductions, and it was something I wanted to do. In exchange for her new transportation, she agreed to fill the trunk with four crates of fruit from the big produce market on the edge of town and deliver it to Angelus once a week. They were still open and working with the poor. Though I didn't listen to Sister Amy anymore, she'd made an impression on me and fresh fruit was a luxury for the poor.

Serafina could drive like an ace, and soon Mr. Holmes and Serafina went to pick up Maria for trips to the store and to the warehouse. Life was good, especially when I heard Maria speaking Spanish to Serafina, and Serafina speaking Italian back to her. Seems they had some kind of new language, I guessed, but they laughed often and enjoyed each other's company. Thick as thieves, they were with Holmes between them smiling like only a happy dog can smile.

...

Nearing the end of the month, I heard Serafina call Toddy telling she would pick him up in her new Peugeot with Mr. Holmes on the first. They had some kind of coffee-shop meeting going with Toddy's crew -- she left the house early to have breakfast with the maintenance guys. Why not? She was part of the rental crew and wore her dungarees and work shirt like they did. Had to chuckle, she was so outgoing and, at times a little bossy, but she usually did that in Italian.

End of the month wrap-up, and that month, we had quarterlies to review with the bookkeeper. That kept us at the office till ten that night, then we took the summaries to Russel and Fredrick. Fredrick could simply look them over and nod if he felt they were good. Russel had to nit-pick about expenditures. He approved the tax write off Serafina provided. We enjoyed the pool that night, appreciating each other as the moon rose, but had to get back home for work the next day.

...

Heard Serafina let Holmes out for his morning romp, then smelled the coffee brewing. Soon, Holmes started howling, running around the house. Had to grab his collar to bring him back in. God, I hoped we weren't getting a family of skunks in the canyon.

"You taking Holmes with you today to collect?" I asked Serafina and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Of course. Who's gonna rob me with my guard in the back seat?" Holmes was sniffing at the back door.

"Be careful." Romy came in and hugged his mom, "Gonna go to the farmer's market for oranges today?"

"No. Later when Maria can come with me."

We left quickly, and Holmes escaped. Took almost ten minutes to get him back in the house with Serafina, but we left. "Bringing home a kumquat bush tonight -- you like kumquats?"

"You're too good to me." Serafina hugged me.

...

Romy and I were in the old Ford today, going to the airport to look at one of the trucks, it had broken down several times recently. Since it was used when we bought it, looked like we'd need a new one soon. Walking through the lobby, one of the clerks at the Hertz desk snagged me. Said Serafina had called for me, "She says it's important -- call her immediately."

Went behind the desk and got her on the phone while Romy was talking to the clerks, several planes had just landed and the lobby was filling, taxis waited out front, the bus came by every so often, and several groups came to rent cars. "Serafina? Aren't you supposed to be collecting rent with Toddy?" Heard Holmes in the background barking frantically.

"I think Holmes has rabies. He won't come in the house, and won't let me get in the car. He almost bit me -- he's snarling when I try to touch him. I already called Toddy -- Ona's going with him today."

"Can you call Maria to come stay with you?"

"I'm afraid he'll bite her -- Holmes' gone crazy." I held the phone out for Romy to hear the barking and his mother yelling for the dog to shut up.

"Did you call the police?"

"He'll bite them, too. He's so mad! He won't stop jumping around and barking."

Now that was odd, usually Holmes ran the canyon sniffing for coyotes or whatever had crossed into his territory. But I knew this wasn't rabies, he had all his shots and was in fine health, a little overweight from all the treats, but he was a good boy -- usually calm, wanting to go for a ride or retrieve sticks. "Did you call Russel or Fredrick yet?"

"They're not home."

"Okay, we'll be there as soon as we can. Stay in the house and keep an eye on Holmes."

I hung up and looked at Romy, "Holmes is upset about something, won't let Serafina out of the house."

He brought the old sedan to the front as I made a few notes about the workflow at the Hertz desk, and jumped in the car. Romy was worried about his mom, flooring the car as often as he could, eyes ahead and lips pressed together. Romy usually went silent when he was worried.

Pulled in the long drive to find Holmes barking at us and lunging at the Peugeot, then the roadster. His nails had deeply scratched the finish on both cars, he'd been at this all morning it seemed. Poor Holmes' voice was hoarse. Serafina waved at me through the window, scared to come out. Romy got the hose and let Holmes drink from the stream of water while I looked around. Maybe there was a rattler under the cars, some other varmint -- Holmes was too big to get under either vehicle.

When Holmes was finished drinking, Romy and I started looking around. I grabbed a rake and stuck the handle under the cars, thinking I would scare out the animal. Nothing. Holmes was at the hood of the roadster barking loudly. What the hell? Barking at the grill? Down on the ground with the rake in hand, I got on my stomach for a better view. Nothing, again. Couldn't see anything but the smooth earth and a few pebbles. Then I smelled it. Fishy smell. Scooted closer and stuck my hand into the dark shade of my MG to a dark spot, and pinched some of the damp earth between my fingers. Scooted back and turned over and sniffed the dirt. Brake fluid.

"What is it?" Romy asked, holding back Holmes who was lunging and barking -- ears flapping when he jumped and wide-eyed, yipping rapidly.

"Looks like there's a hole on the brake line." We knew what the other was thinking. I went to the Peugeot, the carriage was a little higher, but I got on my stomach again and looked underneath. Sure enough, a dark puddle -- same faint smell of fish. Brake fluid has an odd smell, slightly fish-like and some other smell like nothing else on or in a motor. Pinch between my fingers and I smelled it again. Got up and went to Holmes and let him smell my fingers. "Good Holmes, my Sherlock." Took us almost thirty minutes and two bowls of ice cream to calm him down and another hour with Serafina.

We called the police they came out and took a report. Romy got in the cars and pumped the brake pedals to show them there was no resistance. Damn strange that both had broken lines at the same time... Any footprints were gone after Holmes' fury. So I tried telling Holmes to hunt, "Find him, boy -- where is the guy who did this? Go get him!" To my surprise, he ran down the drive, toward the road and then toward the highway. Running behind him, I followed him to the highway that led to our canyon. The trail went cold at the roadside -- Holmes kept sniffing, but the scent was gone. Whomever cut the brake lines had come and left in a car.

When I got back with a calmer Mr. Holmes, Romy was talking to the police. The police asked if we had any enemies, or someone who would want some kind of revenge. He described how I'd taken Jonathan from the city jail to the bus station to get back to his family on the East Coast yet abandoned his trip in Lexington. They took some notes and looked around the outside of the house, and into the scrub. Found nothing.

...

That night, we piled in the old Ford and went to visit Fredrick and Russel. Holmes was smiling -- really smiling, quite proud of himself, though he looked tired. We ate on the patio, and Fredrick listened carefully. Russel suggested we get several guns, a rifle and a fence -- Serafina needed a revolver and training on how to use it. I liked a clean horizon, able to see all around me easily, watch the earth change with the seasons. Mentally I nixed the idea, but I'd go along with the guns to keep Romy and Serafina safe.

Fredrick let all the conversation play out and tilted his head to the side, "This is a discussion that shouldn't be held in such polite company." He smiled at Serafina. Code for something covert I suspected.

Fredrick drove us into the airport the next day and we rented cars until we could get the Peugeot and MG fixed. They'd have to be repainted as well. Holmes' claws had scratched the paint badly, but I wasn't too upset. He'd protected us, and I figured that was Fredrick's idea behind giving him us in the first place. I made calls to the officers who'd come to the house -- needed to know if Jonathan was back, but no one had seen him. Had a warrant out for his arrest and return to jail.

...

LA was growing up, and being port city, there were plenty of small haunts and cafés, unusual services from around the world. Fredrick and Russel found a massage parlor with Turkish baths and took us after work one afternoon. Slippery with oil, a man with beefy, strong hands worked my body over until I was limp, relaxed and lazy. Russel lay on a table nearby, I watched for a while as his masseuse thoroughly rubbed, tugged and pulled a big load out of his balls, then my turn came. I just closed my eyes and grinned, quivered and emptied myself into the hands of a stranger -- a smiling stranger. Ancient practice, but new to me.

On the way home, Fredrick sat in the back with me, scooted close and asked me if he knew where Jonathan might be, if he were in LA.

"Don't know, he said he worked in Angelus at one time, remember."

"Rus -- go downtown to McPherson's mission. Need to look for someone." Russel glanced in the rearview mirror. He let me and Fredrick out in front. A few people milled around; the evening service had already ended. A man with a ring of keys was locking the doors, we approached and asked if he had seen a man "Jonathan McCann." He hadn't. We walked around a few blocks didn't see anyone, but I doubted if Jonathan would be sleeping on a flattened cardboard box or blanket in the alley. On the way back to the car, Fredrick told me to get a new phone number and make sure it was unlisted, no one could find my address that way.

I looked at Fredrick, "If you were going to try to kill someone in LA, where would you hide?"

"Not in LA." He laughed, then, "I'd jump the border."

Tender Loins Part 5

The next weekend, we were off to Rosarito Beach, Mexico -- just south of Tijuana and Las Playas. The old Rosarito Beach Hotel was still a hang-out of all the stars and starlets. They opened during prohibition, and enjoyed a fine reputation as provender for all forms of recreation and relaxation not found in the states. Unlike most of the West Coast in the US, men could room together without question in Mexico, at this hotel men weren't questioned about getting a room. No way at this point in our lives were we going to have to play "cousins" anymore.

At the hotel, all four of us went to the beach to swim. I enjoyed swimming, but kept hearing kids on the beach hollering "Tiburon!" just to see who would come running out of the waves. I figured out they were hollering "Shark" I just laughed -- how big could the sharks be? Then I noticed a taxidermized shark over the front desk in the lobby. It was over twelve feet long.

After showering, "Where to dine tonight?" I asked.

"Lobster dinner downstairs." Russel said.

"Looks awful, don't see how you can touch it." I murmured.

Fredrick stepped in, "Let's go into Tijuana for the evening. We need to look around." He winked at me.

Dressed casually, we left for Tijuana, coursing the dusty roads and came to the downtown area. Church bells rang calling people to mass. Lots of activity on the streets. The vendors on the sidewalks were leaving for the day and the next shift of sellers came to their stations. Prostitutes. We found an enclosed area to park and paid a man to watch our car and began cruising the sidewalks. I was appalled -- as we strode through the Zona Rosa, the red-light district, there were children prostituting themselves. Lots of indigenous children. Girls, plenty of them and boys. My steps slowed as I looked into the faces of the boys. They looked like me when I was a kid. Dark, straight hair, big brown eyes. One was barefoot, and his feet were dirty, but he looked up at me and gave me a quick, perfunctory smile and glanced around, probably looking for his pimp.

I stopped, grabbed Romy's hand. "These boys -- they're just kids." Concern clouded my face. "Where are their parents?"

Fredrick intervened before Romy could answer me, "I'll explain later." He took Romy's hand out of mine.

...

Stopping in front of several restaurants, Fredrick read the menu and we decided on a rooftop restaurant, upscale and with a view of the streets from the third floor. Food started arriving as we sat down, and the service was superb -- didn't have an empty glass the whole evening. Once again, everyone had lobster while I asked for the house specialty and got a plate full of a whole sea bass, fresh tortillas, salsa. Incredible food, served with flair and a guitarist played softly, strolling between the tables. We watched the streets, and sat back enjoying the cool of the evening settling around us.

Fredrick came to sit beside me and put his hand on my thigh, "Leave the kids alone. If you want a boy, we could wind up in jail. There's more money to be made blackmailing you with a boy and harder to get out of down here. Swift justice on the streets -- you'll never see a courtroom, and because we look like we have money, it's not worth it. If you want a young man, I have phone numbers."

"But they're so small -- so young."

"That's their lot in life. They're feeding their families. Probably all the kids in their homes are working, just like their parents or sold into the trade. Depression hit them harder down here." He said, "Leave them alone. Okay?" He tilted his head and smiled.

Didn't want a boy, it was my heart that hurt seeing them working dirty and looking so hungry.

Fredrick got up and walked to the bar on the side of the dining area and struck up a conversation with the barkeep. Spoke in Spanish, I couldn't understand him. Later, we walked back to the car, heading back down the coast to Rosarito Beach. We sat beside the pool enjoying a nightcap, watching couples dance then went upstairs. The image of the boy smile stayed in my head, I sat on the patio watching the boats passing offshore. Russel and Fredrick were giving it to Romy, simultaneously. Romy was grunting then humming. When their moaning and slapping flesh became loud, I shut the patio door to keep our intimacies to ourselves.

Had to wonder what that boy was doing and my heart ached for him.

...

The next morning at breakfast, Fredrick told us he had to leave for a few hours, jumped in the car and left us by the pool in our bathing trunks -- heavy wool, short pants that weighed and pulled themselves down when wet. We sunned; more American tourists arrived, several teen girls flitted around Romy while Russel and I watched. Romy was a handsome man, sharp features, big eyes, wide smile and a cleft in his chin. He had enough of that quickly and we went upstairs to change and walked the tourist shops buying trinkets. Russel and Romy found ceramics they were bartering over. I wandered outside, standing near a newspaper stand and I saw a flyer of what looked like a Vegas showgirl. Underneath, "Muxe." Never saw that word before. Was Muxe like moxy?

Looking more closely, I noticed the flyer had the words "Zapoteca," and "Oxaca." Living in LA, I had a little Spanish, I pointed to the flyer where the vendor could see me, "What's this? Muxe?"

He grinned, and wiggled his hips with his hand behind his head. "Hombre." He pointed to the photo of the woman.

I pointed to the word "Zapoteca," and raised my eyebrows.

"Indigino. De Oxaca -- Yucatan." I nodded -- Zapotecs were an indigenous tribe living on the east coast of Mexico. Must be a touring troupe of dancers touring the west coast. Lots of variety in Mexico. To my surprise, the vendor jerked the flyer down and handed it to me. I bought a newspaper from the capital, and one from Tijuana, and carefully tucked the flyer inside. Then the vendor offered me some Tijuana bibles. Only a quarter, I bought two -- Maria might like them. Tiny booklets, only about the size of my palm.

Sauntering back to the hotel, we stopped and had our hair trimmed, scalp massages and had bought candies for Toddy's children. Shoe stores seemed to occupy every corner, and Romy wanted to shop for shoes. I went on to shop alone, but found myself walking along the beach, enjoying the wide horizon, tourists and young people -- even found a raspa vendor but he didn't have cocoanut flavor.

Back at the hotel for lunch. It was one o'clock and Fredrick still wasn't back. "Should we go look for him?"

"He'll be back when he's done." Russel wasn't concerned, so I glanced at Romy in new shoes and a guayabera shirt looking all the native. Upstairs, I showed them my Muxe flyer and the newspapers, then the tiny little "bibles." I opened one of them -- why, how rude! So nasty and very funny. We were laughing with surprise and I couldn't ever show them to a woman much less Maria. They were more like a nasty joke, being only six or eight pages long, but showed famous characters and personalities the US cavorting sexually in raucous, satirical situations.

Stumbling through the newspapers in Spanish, it looked like the US paper in most senses. Classifieds, want ads, society columns. I read while Romy and Russel undressed and began rubbing against each other. He was gentle with Romy. Taking off my clothes, I sat to watch after I turned on the ceiling fan. They made love -- nothing frantic about them, Romy seemed to demand that from me as well. He was more refined -- cerebral, needing to start out as a gentle lover, then, as his excitement built, he became assertive, then aggressive forcing his partner to serve him his orgasm exactly how he wanted. Then, he was done, walked away to shower. Rather disappointing at times, but he always came back for more. Funny scenario he created, but quite an enjoyable ride.

We napped for a while and put our bathing trunks on at around three, the pool would be in the shade by then, and decided we needed food. As we headed out, here comes Fredrick, smiling. Romy and Russel went on to the pool. Fredrick pulled me back into our room. "Our lucky day."

He took me in his arms, kissed me and said he found some security for me, and not to worry about anything. "Really? What do you mean?"

"We'll talk later. What's this?" He pointed at the pile of newspapers.

"Seeing what they're doing down here. Have you ever seen a Muxe?"

"Heard of them..." He looked at the flyer. "Oh, yeah, this is like the cross-dresser shows in San Francisco. Interesting." He sat and read through the flyer, then the newspapers. "Did you check for Jonathan's name on the list of arrests yet?"

"No, they have that in the newspaper?" We studied the Tijuana paper for the police blotter, "Tourists are let off if they commit small offenses -- maybe a night in jail to sleep it off, but if they cross the line it can be real trouble." He said.

"The line?"

"Yeah. Changeable line, depending on the crime and the arresting officer. Tricky situation, but I don't see his name here." He stood, stretching, "Swim?"

"Nah, I'd rather nap."

We fell asleep together on the bed smelling of Romy and Russel.

...

Later we decided to stop in Tijuana at a private club and leave for home. Saturday night would be busy at the crossing, but we'd cross late. Packed the car, checked out and stayed for dinner. Everyone ate their bugs again and I had some kind of seafood stew with hot tortillas. Fisherman's dinner, and I had to find the name of it to ask Maria to cook it for me. "Caldo de Siete Mares," the waiter told me; I wrote that down.

It was late when we left Rosarito Beach. Fredrick drove us into Tijuana into a seedy area of town. We found a man to watch the car for us and went off on foot to a small bar with a sign on the front boasting the silhouette of a naked woman and a burro. "What's this?" I wondered. Heard about the donkey shows, women and burros having sex on stage; the idea was revolting. Had a lot of respect for farm animals from my youth and didn't want to see anyone in that position. Fredrick and Russel seemed to know where they were going as we passed the entrance to the bar and coursed a dim alley. There were sounds all around us, voices, laughter, then it got quiet as we neared the end of the alley. Russel gave five knocks on a narrow door.

"Si?" A voice answered softly. Fredrick leaned near the door and said a few words in Spanish. The door opened quickly and we went in to find ourselves in a dim room, filled with men. Were they all queer? Had to wonder, but noticed they were all nicely dressed, most drinking beer dispensed from a short, make-shift bar. The room was stuffy and hot - faces carried a sheen of sweat. Looking closely, I saw a number of the men were Mexican, it seemed, and a number of American men -- their shirts gave them away.

Fredrick couldn't find us any seats so we stood near the bar; several men close by introduced themselves casually with smiles. I took my coat off, heated with the alcohol and closeness in the room. Heady smells of men sweating, different colognes -- that was enticing. Fredrick was talking with the barkeeper as the crowd buzzed. There wasn't really any action going on, and I wondered until I heard a deep, resounding beat of a drum from the side of the room, it continued for several minutes as the crowd became silent. Then lights came on at the end of the room and a man in odd dress came out with the drum. Long plumes of feathers, thin and iridescent waved from his headdress. He wore little other than gold armbands and a bright red loincloth.

The crowd started chanting, "Moo-shay, moo-shay..." Soon, under bright lights and onto a small stage, a figure appeared, looking at the floor with toe pointed. The Muxe!

Long hair, studded with flowers, she lifted her eyes, and gracefully lifted her long, golden arms. She wore nothing but a long, traditional full skirt covered with embroidery and ribbons. Her chest was bare, small breasts with tiny dark nipples, she began swaying and glancing at the crowd coyly. Make up, lipstick and big, flashing black eyes. What a beautiful smile. Gracefully she swayed and began a song, I couldn't understand a word, but I was transfixed with the form of a man-woman, moving with the grace of a ballerina, but in the body of a boy -- like Romy's when I'd met him. Her voice carried an ancient melody with the drumbeat. The crowd was silent, watching. The Muxe continued with songs, dancing slowly and as her show continued, her movements became more suggestive, then, she dropped and stepped out of the long skirt to reveal a tight, red satin pair of shorts covering a small package, clearly defined. Narrow hipped, and with a small, rounded butt, she strutted, leaned and posed. Very graceful and limber. Seems like a lot of the men in the room were rearranging their underwear a number of times during the performance.

Several men had approached the stage, mumbling, reaching toward the Muxe. They were bodily removed from near the stage and taken to the back of the room, no real disturbance. I understood, I wanted to touch her skin, too. She was so alluring. Fredrick was sweating, had his jacket over his arm, but fumbled around in his breast pocket for a few moments, then approached the stage, smiling at the Muxe. She smiled back. Instead of reaching out toward her, he stuck his business card in the waist of the loincloth of the drummer and nodded. The drummer smiled, nodded and we left. Good thing we did. As we drove off, there was a line of police cars waiting to raid the place. Not sure if it was the donkey show or the Muxe, but I was glad to get out of the super-heated room. Felt like the night Romy and I left the camp the night I met him.

On the long drive back to LA, I fell asleep in the back with Romy, head filled with images of that beautiful boy dancing on the stage to that ancient drumbeat. Had one more day to get ready to get back into the work routine, and I was very grateful. Working hard allowed me these opportunities -- there was so much in the world I never imagined. I wanted more.

...

Work moved along through the months with Romy and I more solidly in the leadership role and flourishing as we bought more rental properties; our work expanded as the airport grew. Greenhouse was in delivery to the biggest decorators and landscapers up and down the coast and the orders didn't stop. Work became easier when we learned what was important and what could be taken care of later. More celebrations and family visits, all was working out well. Serafina began working full-time with Toddy and his crew, working the rental books as he collected rents and made receipts. She even took short vacations, taking Ona and Maria to the beach with the children always with Mr. Holmes. Romy and I started meeting with Russel and Fredrick at some of the new Long Beach clubs. These clubs were opened, and I suspected some of the men were undercover cops, but they were open, and we enjoyed them.

When the holidays came, I packed gifts for Mom and Dad, everyone in Philly and took it to the post office. Serafina called me into the living room after the phone rang the next Sunday, my dad called. All was going well for him and my family -- all working, bought a row house and they were grandparents several more times. My brother stayed with the Air Force but opted to go into supply side, working as support personnel. "Have you seen Jonathan lately?" Dad asked.

"No. Has he contacted you?"

"No. Just wondering -- your aunt, his mom moved in with us. She's taking care of the little ones for Caroline, but she worries about Jonathan."

"I'll let you know if I hear anything."

...

The week after the holidays that year, the Muxe, Justicio came to stay for a few days. Russel and Fredrick planned on taking him to the North Shore in San Francisco. New clubs and new shows were opening -- he'd be a star as soon as he hit the stage.

Justicio was so beautiful when he came to our house for dinner -- graceful, fluid movements, soft voice. Serafina was agog. Justicio wore his hair in a bob, cut straight across his forehead and a deep brown shawl over a peasant blouse. Wore a long, gathered skirt and sandals. He was a gorgeous person without makeup or anything extra. As we ate, I noticed him looking around, inspecting things in our home, noting how we spoke and ate. Serafina spoke in Italian, a few words. Justicio nodded and spoke back in Spanish and soon they were joking and laughing -- Serafina had that way about her.

In the face of the young man, I saw myself as I walked into Russel's house the first time and knew what he was feeling. Silently, I told him to stay strong, stay himself -- a native boy with dreams and his feet firmly planted on the earth. Wanted to kiss him, yet I felt his spirit was elsewhere.

...

Maybe my conscience nagged me into it, I went down to the police department the next week and asked about any information on our brake lines being cut or Johnathan McCann. Had to wait almost an hour till one of the captains came out and took me aside. He had a small card in his hand. "Is this your cousin?"

He showed me a very small photo pasted on the card, name: J. McCann. Seemed he'd been hauled in from San Ysidro several months ago. Hard to recognize him with a six-inch by one-inch black stripe across his forehead, right above his eyebrows, a perfect rectangle.

"What's the black stripe on his forehead?"

The captain gave me a half-smile, "Tattoo. We did the best we could, but well -- we did the best we could. He's over at the county jail now, working in the library, I heard." Then he left.

My curiosity got the best of me, I drove over to the county jail and asked to speak with someone in authority, and was escorted back to hear the strangest tale I ever heard. A big, uniformed man escorted me to his office -- this was becoming more mysterious by the moment. No one said he'd died, or was sick, I wondered what the heck he'd gotten himself into in San Ysidro. Dusty border town right at Tijuana, filled with mostly shops and services for travelers -- not a drinking town.

We waited in a small office while a secretary was given some orders, "Mr. McCann, this is bad news, and it could be worse." He began. Seems like several weeks after we'd visited Rosarito Beach and Tijuana, Jonathan was presented to the customs officials at the border, escorted by several Tijuana police. The Tijuana police said he was causing problems in a certain part of town, alluding to La Zona Rosa, and the Tijuana police found he was trouble and had from similar charges in the US. Jonathan crossed the line into the street justice of the foreign officials... They dumped him at San Ysidro with a warning that he'd serve the rest of his life in jail if they caught him in Mexico again.

"Your cousin wasn't feeling so well, and he -- he'd been tattooed."

"A tattoo doesn't make you sick, does it?" What was this about?

"This one did. Your cousin came over with the word "Unoco" on his forehead." He chuckled, "Seems the guy who gave him the tattoo couldn't spell."

I cocked my head, "Unoco?" I tried to figure that out, "Does that mean `unique?'"

"Means eunuch." The officer sighed. "Your cousin was castrated. I guess the problems he caused were sexually-related. Someone fixed his problem for him. Guess we won't hear of any more problems from him now -- he's in for twenty-five from some old warrants and some state offenses. We won't discuss the federal charges..."

"Can I see him?" My stomach was turning thinking of a rough castration and painful tattooing. "His mother is worried."

"Come back tomorrow morning around eight."

Jonathan refused to see me, and I found out he was kept in isolation but for meals and his job handing out books to other inmates. Damn, that must be a hard life. I went home and called Mom; we decided to tell everyone he retired in Mexico now more to salvage the family name than anything else. After I hung up, I sent a check to Jonathan's mom to help out with whatever she needed and went back to work, relieved that I wouldn't have to worry about him for a long time.

At lunch I called Fredrick, seemed like he might have had something to do with Jonathan's current physical state. He only said that there were many ways to protect one's self. Refused to say any more, "Don't know anything about more your cousin..."

...

Maria and her husband retired after years with Russel and Fredrick. Shortly thereafter, Russel and Fredrick took their bedroom in the pool house to avoid the stairs. A few housekeepers came and went until Serafina took that situation in hand. The annual parties were smaller affairs with Romy's and my business associates, a newer, younger wave of entrepreneurs and professionals including several performers. Yep, LA had several more clubs and bars for the brave homosexuals of our area. Long Beach was always popular and attitudes in the society became less rigid as more men and women announced their preferences in public. The sodomy laws had finally been repealed.

As we began training new men to take our positions, Fredrick and Russel stayed alongside with advice and counsel. Never required or even suggested exchanges of "appreciation" with the men we mentored, I was more like Toddy -- keeping my relationship with Romy close. Times had changed, and appreciation among men was more open, more relaxed and we kept the young men by paying them what they were worth.

We all had more than we needed, our families were provided for and the year Toddy's girl graduated UCLA we partied hard with a house full of college students. Unfortunately, many would be drafted into the military. Another war in Europe was heating, and it would change our lives and LA forever.

...

Fredrick and Russel often reminisced about the "good ol' days" when we first began working together.

One Sunday afternoon, I loaded everyone in the back seat of the Cadillac along with our proteges and drove us down to San Diego to show them what Russel and Fredrick pulled us out of before our "good ol' days" began.

Romy showed them the canyon that burned, the place on Otay where we'd made love for the first time with sardine oil to ease our orgasms. That brought back good memories of living under the open skies and being loved under the stars. The young men listened, yet had no context for the poverty and desperation Romy and I had lived. These boys had education, maybe they'd been poor, but from the looks of their bodies, they'd never been hungry. They had good minds for business and new trends -- didn't need the CCC training in leadership, these young men were proud and knew psychology.

...

San Diego was a changed town, military and their families, suburbs, none of the old shanty towns remained. We found a place on the beach for dinner and enjoyed the sunset listening to Russel and Fredrick recount our lives for us. As we returned to the car, Fredrick mentioned he'd kept a diary, "Red, leather-bound on the top shelf in my library." He whispered.

A diary? Fredrick was like that, keeping all kinds of records and notes, though he was subtle about it and I understood why. His diary could blow LA apart and destroy a lot of lives if it were in the wrong hands.

...

The time was nearing, Romy's hair was still thick and silver, mine was white. We managed more with words and memos than with being on the sites, dealing with the managers.

Fredrick and Russel retired to a quiet life in the pool house, staying close. A nurse came daily. Fredrick pushed Russel in his wheelchair to dine by the pool in the evening, and I watched closely. They were more intimate in their touches, whispered words, and I suspected what would happen; said nothing. When Russel weakened to the point of not wanting to get up, it was a few days later we found them embraced on their bed, bodies cold. All of Russel's pain medications were gone, and so were the loving men who'd taken us under their wing's years ago. Found it hard to cry, instead I was proud -- proud to have given them some peace through their passings. They'd lived their half-lives in public and full lives with us inside a discrete compound, shiningly successful and highly-respected.

Following in their footsteps, our young men stepped into leadership roles in the business with much more savvy than Romy had done. Good thing they were there -- my parents were older. Romy and I attended their passing from the back of the funeral home so we could stand together -- I was a sobbing mess. Several years later, Serafina passed and Romy's family came for the services. I stayed home though I cried at losing the wonderful woman who'd loved me like her own. Toddy stood in for me. He and Ona greeted everyone along with Romy, and took photos for me. Toddy and his family stood beside us till the very end, good friends and their loving children were ours, too. We were "onkies" to them like Russel.

...

GM stock and Hertz allowed Romy and I to retire early and help our boys from San Diego -- got a place on Coronado Island, met a few friends from the Hillcrest area and often went out deep-sea fishing with them. Life was quiet, and it was good with an open horizon every morning, clear skies and sunny days.

Before we moved, I'd had the good sense to go through everything Russel and Fredrick left. Photos I packed carefully -- so many loving memories. Found that ancient ivory dildo, a few other odd items and tucked those away till I could find out what they were. Ah! The ropes -- just seeing them made me remember the moments I'd been in full control. I kept those. Rubber had cracked and deteriorated to such an extent it was indistinguishable on some of the old toys, I tossed all that. Didn't stop till I found the red, leather-bound diary in Fredrick's things and carefully tucked it into my suitcase along with the books about sexuality. He had quite the library but none of it included the changes we'd seen in our lives.

As our hair thinned, Romy and I read though Fredrick's diary at night. Russel and Fredrick had hobnobbed with the royalty of Los Angeles and almost been outed several times, but they were slick and found ways to get out of their tight spots. Found the details when Russel blackmailed Sepulveda. Seems Russel, ever the entrepreneurial strategist, had become something of a procurer though never demanded a finder's fee. Alongside the names of some of the heads of the biggest government contractors were the names of the young men Russel had sent to them -- the honchos had proclivities for boy pussy. There were almost a hundred names of business owners and politicians in those pages along with the full names of their part-time flings. A lot of those young men were business owners now as well... No wonder Romy and I had been treated well by so many wealthy Angelinos. Then, it occurred to me that Romy and I had never been introduced or `loaned' to anyone else, in fact, we were kept on rather short leashes in town, tied to the businesses. That made me recall the "lessons" Fredrick had given to me the first night we met... Had I changed the customs he explained to me?

There were notes about meeting us; Fredrick had doubts about us being able to manage, but Russel had championed us. Fredrick was the one who wanted to start us out in the manual labor at the airport, testing our perseverance. Then I came to the part where the tides turned. When I suggested the car rental franchise, that seemed to gain respect from Fredrick. When Romy began working the books with Fredrick, he came to fully support us and saw how our different talents and inclinations were working together. We never competed against each other or Fredrick and Russel, I hadn't noticed that, but it was true. Fredrick wrote of that for several pages.

Toward the back of the diary, I came to several pages involving Jonathan. It began with a short recap about Jonathan's relationship to me and Romy, and our interactions as I'd explained to Fredrick years ago. There were a few names mentioned, Spanish names, and Fredrick's notes included more Spanish words. Encoded, and from what I could gather, Fredrick knew several officers in the Mexican Army -- they staffed the checkpoints along the border. Somehow, Fredrick had put out a reward among the military men and had given them a mugshot of Jonathan, told them he didn't care where he was found, and explained that he had to be taken to the San Ysidro crossing and offered up as an escaped convict. There was a warrant out for his arrest and detention. "Then, let LA handle it." It made no mention of castration or tattooing, but Fredrick had encouraged the men to make sure he couldn't bother the women again. Several pages later there was a note regarding the misspelling of the word "eunuco" and something about three-hundred dollars in cash. The LA jail had tried to black-out the word with additional ink, to protect Jonathan, but it didn't cover the word too well. He was a marked man.

Wondered how Jonathan was doing -- I called the jail and found out he'd hung himself after being assaulted again. No tears for him, instead relief. His fight with the world was over.

...

After the war in Europe, and into the Korean and Vietnam battles, Romy and I kept abreast of what was happening in the world, and California. Pink triangles were a sad, but recycled symbol now in America. Homosexuals were still treated poorly in the general population yet were gaining footholds in society and the word "Pride" seemed to appear with the word "Gay" often. Living half-lives were becoming living three-quarter lives as queers began developing institutions like holy unions and working on marriage equality. There were still crimes and violence in gay areas, and there probably always would be, but now homosexuals formed their own security forces to guard their communities until tax-funded policing could occur. Society balked, sometimes, yet the young homosexual youth protested along with the leaders of the gay communities. Sure, some of the families had shunned their young queers, but there were more parents and families in support now than we'd ever seen.

Being older, and losing more hair, Romy wanted to return to the church. I felt no need to repent and needed absolution from nothing; I dodged traditional churches he suggested. On a Sunday night he took me to the intersection of North Park and 30th. Old neighborhood, tightly packed with small duplexes and homes built during the Second World War. He parked in a bowling alley across the street and we walked toward a church, well it had a cross in front -- two buildings with red tile roofs. On the top of one, "God is Love," an ancient sign read.

"C'mon." Romy prompted me. I was miffed being drawn into this until we went up the steps to the sanctuary. A small brass plaque on the side of the door read "Original Four Square Sanctuary of San Diego..." Sister Amy's church! I stepped back to look again. This was one of the first churches she'd established, and all the songs, the wings of a dove, the stories from the radio came rushing back to me.

"Welcome." A tall, dark man at the door handed us a bulletin and motioned us toward the sanctuary. We went inside to see a small choir practicing for the service and sat among women, men, all ages -- some children and families and older people; looked like families that lived in the area. People spoke softly, I read the bulletin, "Metro Community."

"Why are we here?" I asked Romy softly.

"This place welcomes everyone and I want you with me. If you don't like it, we'll leave." He put his arm on the back of the pew behind me.

Sat there thinking about Sister Amy. She'd struck out in bad times, long before us. Her followers poured the foundations, raised these walls I sat in the middle of in that moment. She'd given me hope during our times at the camp, reassuring me that there was good in humanity. I recalled how Romy and I had clung to each other for the strength to hold onto our hope -- divine intervention that we stayed together to finally find Angelus and it was true, the goodness of humanity had come through. A meal here, shower there, a pair of shoes, a little work along our way... Not empty words or dribbling pipelines, but it was real, what the evangelists said was true. Bounty from others who had enough to share... I felt it around me as these thoughts coursed my mind.

The service started and the organist began playing, soft tunes, like the winds through the canyon, the sea breezes in our ears the first time we walked the beach together. My mind drifted back to those days again and again...

"Come thou font of every blessing..." The choir began and I knew the font of every blessing -- the earth offering up nopales, the hearts of a farm woman and her children, a gas station owner, a Native American tribe, Toddy, Russel and Fredrick, so many whose hearts were the font of blessings. The sky with rain clouds, water, precious water, and the wide skies reminding me of my place on this earth -- the heart of the universe had poured out blessings on us. Yes, Romy and I had one heart -- pouring back our blessings on those around us. Half-lives? No, we hadn't lived half-lives at all but were fully incorporated into cycles of life and love around us. It all depended on your context -- we had it all and more to share.

We stood and read, sat and prayed, and my mind wandered back to Angelus, all the people coming for food and clothes, a place to sleep. Jonathan came to mind. All the goodness around him and he couldn't let go of his desperate need to make people around him feel less than him -- it only had the opposite effect. In my mind, I searched through all the blackness of space for his spirit, and couldn't find it.

As everyone sang the doxology, "...from whom all blessings flow..." Russel and Fredrick came to mind clearly, all their wisdom, their loving ways with little chastising, I thanked them from every molecule of me; their spirits resided inside my heart in that moment. That church service awakened things inside me I never knew I had -- an expansive feeling for earth and all the people on it, and the man beside me; our lives in the flow of all time. The moments of my first time at the beach came back, "We're gonna make it -- I know we will."

People stood. Smiling Romy took my hand and led me to the fellowship hall. Urns of coffee gave off clouds of steam as the worshippers stood about chatting and selecting a cookie they liked. Men openly hugged and kissed each other; women did, too. Others in the room were unperturbed by this, and the open affection in a mixed crowd was new to me for a moment, then I welcomed that unease; this was how the world was supposed to be -- people offering each other small blessings. A hug, a brief embrace, a smile, no matter who they were -- many kinds of love and love is a rare commodity. Rare.

We joined a group of men who were talking about their recent trip to San Francisco, recognizing many of the names of the clubs, and areas claimed by queer folk. I smiled, remembering our first trip to San Francisco.

"Do you remember when we first went to San Francisco?" I asked as we left the building.

"Sure. Was I surprised when we were in the Tenderloin. I'd never seen so much out in the open -- that was a shock."

"On the farm we didn't have names like that, we processed meat and cut it up to dry or smoke... When I first heard the name `Tenderloin,' I thought about you. Still do." I paused, trying to figure out how to say it, "When I first saw you, so young, so brave... When we bathed by the river and you tickled me and I told you to stop... I'll admit I wanted you, such a tender young man, smooth, soft skin -- your tender loins." I chuckled.

"I remember that. Dang, I was horny, but you shut me down. Didn't like it, but I accepted it and came to admire your self-control. Respected you for your determination. If you hadn't stopped things, well, let's just say our lives would have been very different. We probably wouldn't be here now, but still screwing our heads off under the cottonwoods."

He patted my thigh. "My tender loins..." He chuckled. "Only a man with a tender heart could have taken me in and loved me -- treated me the way you did. My tenderhearted Dave, these old loins aren't so tender anymore, but your heart -- your heart never changed."

Fin.

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