Desperate Enemies 3 (18 page)
“That's would protect Eldon Court from any kind of construction,” Jack pointed out.
“Or destruction,” countered Edgar.
“Yes. It would preserve our homes the way they are. And stop any plans for the Wonderland Palaces.” Dane folded his arms in happy satisfaction. “And what's more, I'd like to announce a new film project I'm starting: a documentary on Wonderland.” He looked at his next-door neighbor. “Edgar, I was wondering if you would care to help write the script. Maybe add in some of the content from your book.”
Edgar mock-saluted, “With pleasure,
mon ami
.”
The doorbell sounded. Paolo answered it to reveal Gerald Green on the stoop.
“Hello, folks. Sorry to barge in.” He politely wiped his feet on the doormat outside. To Sawyer and Dane, he explained, “I tried you at your home but no one was there. Then I saw all the lights on over here.”
Dane led Green to the foyer where the others looked on with interest.
“I can't stay. I just came to see Sawyer and Dane for a moment. They speak highly of you.
All
of you.” He squinted with humility. “Look, I'm an old man, so I guess that gives me the right to speak my mind, no matter how insensitive. Don't play into Danvers Converse's hands. Every time you cheat on each other—”
Rich looked down at his shoes. Paolo sucked in a breath, sneaking an ashamed peek at Parker.
“Every time you fight. . .”
Marc pursed his lips, refusing to look at Rich.
“. . . you help Converse. So stop it. Stop it right now. And if you think, for one moment, that running away will make life easier, then consider this: What happens when you find a new home and another Danvers Converse pops up to cause trouble?”
Jack and Edgar exchanged guilty glances.
“There'll always be someone trying to take away what you have. Wonderland isn't a place where you park your car. Or eat your dinner. Or sleep at night. YOU are Wonderland. Remember that. What you have here is worth fighting for. Draw your line in the sand.”
Green looked at the assembled neighbors and offered one last thought, “Winston Churchill once said that in time of war, the
truth
is so precious it's protected by a bodyguard of lies.
I'd
say it's time to figure out what the truth is—about yourselves and about what's happening here—and expose it to the light of day. Make no mistake, this is war.” He moved to the door, passing a beaming Rose Emerson St. John. “Ms. Emerson, nice see you again.”
“Always a pleasure, Gerald.”
Sawyer and Dane walked Green to a cab that was waiting along the curb. The old man turned and tossed something to Sawyer. “Oh, you'll need these.”
They were the keys to Number One Eldon Court.
“It's all yours. Lock, stock and barrel.”
The boys were stunned. “But. . . how? My father—”
“Got a call from
his
father, Michael Senior.” Green smiled. “A former colleague of mine. We served together up here in World War II. How do you think the house came to be in your family's possession? As I said, we're all connected.”
Dane muttered with irony, “Unified Field Theory. . .”
As Green settled into the back seat, he wished them well. “You boys be good to one another. Enjoy together what not every man was allowed in the past.”
And with that, the cab drove off.
Inside, the old man chuckled quietly to himself.
Former colleague.
Michael Block and he had served one year together at Eldon Court, watching for trouble at the periscope on the bluff. Six months into that tour, the two men, lonely and horny, though not in that order, acted on impulse. There was no premeditation to what happened, just a release of sexual tension. For Gerry, it was his first taste of another soldier's manhood. And once consumed, he was hooked. After draining Block orally, Green was jazzed enough to turn tail and let his friend fuck him. The experience was euphoric. Block touched a space in Gerry that had never known fulfillment. As he came, Block cried, “Shit!”
Gerry, too, cursed, but for a different reason. There, in the viewer of the periscope, appeared dark shadows that broke the moonlight on the water. For a second, he thought he was delirious from lust. But no—those were subs. Without explanation to Block, Green ran down the street, holding up his pants with one hand, to radio San Francisco harbor from the house.
As it turned out, it was a fleet of three Japanese I-26s. The Navy gave chase and finally sank the lot just off northern California. In effect, putting the kibosh on what might have been surveillance for another Pearl Harbor.
All Green remembered was the sweet, nutty taste of Private Michael Block's juices as he spoke to the base supervisor.
And they awarded me for a job well-done.
A sea breeze whipped up and buffeted the side of the cab, breaking Green's reverie.
“Storm is coming,” the driver said.
“Sonny, you have no idea.” Still Green wondered. . .
What next?
Part Five
“The Desperate Hour”
By Adam Carpenter
* * * *
For the first time since he moved to Wonderland's beautiful Eldon Court, Rich North didn't want to think about what was to come next. He'd had enough of the intrigue, the drama, the danger, especially since last's night wild celebration showed just how great life could be. Who could have envisioned a party that would include the following: bottle after bottle of champagne, a faded, but still beautiful star of the silver screen, the ghosts of Albert Einstein and a military coup during World War Two, the joyous expressions on the faces of two men who loved each other and announced their plan to spend their lives together, all wrapped up in a discussion of protecting their valued land through the California landmark society, and lastly, the comforting, haunting words of Gerald Green, an influential Eldon Court settler, who, while invoking the pioneer spirit of Drew Saunders and his love for Aidan Turner, lectured them about what was important in this world: love, support, fidelity? Rich had almost sensed a connection to Marc that he hadn't felt since before the shooting, their eyes lingering on each other amidst the various toasts that were offered up. Regret tinged looks, but looks nonetheless. Yes, too many bottles of bubbly had been consumed.
No wonder Rich had slept in this morning. He was exhausted just thinking about the events of the night. Perhaps a bit hung-over too.
But even in the midst of all those thoughts, as the sun glinted across his eyes and pried them open to the possibilities of a new day, the one word that nagged at him was this: almost. He and Marc, they were still miles apart in their relationship and last night had just been the latest example, the two of them returning home together but not, and even tipsy managed to avoid each other. Back in happier times, they would have been screwing their brains out until they fell asleep. Living in separate rooms, with Rich in the bedroom, Marc upstairs in his studio-cum-apartment, there was a sense of incompleteness swirling around them. This had not been the intent when they'd made that fateful decision to leave the east coast and move to Wonderland and set up their ideal home at Number Five Eldon Court. Ideal. The word toyed with him.
So much had happened since then, and Rich knew most of it had been his fault.
His cock's fault.
Fucking other men had gotten him in big trouble back in New York. The fresh setting of a picturesque village on the Pacific coast hadn't cured him on his wandering eye, his lust for sex, and now it appeared his hunger had finally cost him the most important thing in his life—the man he loved. He thought back to the first night back in Wonderland, the two of them staying at the Bayside Hotel, pretending to have just met each other at the bar, Rich taking him up to the penthouse suite and stripping him down in the elevator, sucking him, fucking him, watching as Marc energetically shot his thick load all over Rich's chest, soaking the dense mat of hair.
Ha, things had really changed. Rich, rising from the oversize, empty bed, padded over to the mirror where he looked at his weary face, surprised he could even look at himself after all he'd done this past summer. New lines had cropped up around his eyes, and he thought he could detect more than a hint of gray in the stubble that littered his cheeks and chin. He gazed at the healing wound on his upper chest where the bullet had pierced him. The skin was puckered and it always would be, a bald spot on his chest. The hair had begun to grow back over the rest of his chest with a vengeance; he was thankful for the testosterone that still coursed through his body. As he ran a hand across his strong chest, he mused that another week or so, his chest just might start looking like it used to, dark and thickly furred, just how Marc preferred it. Perhaps when his inner—and outer—hairy beast returned, he could lure Marc back to bed, back into his heart.
Tossing on a pair of tight black jockey shorts, Rich made his way downstairs, listening for the sounds of human activity. Since coming home from the hospital, he and Marc had essentially been reduced to being roommates, hardly sharing meals, their conversations, if you could call them that, civil but uninspiring. At times, Rich would even look Marc's way and find his once-upon-a-time lover quickly looking away. Did he repulse him that much?
“Marc, are you home?” he called out as he reached the main floor, only to hear an echo through the large Victorian house they shared.
A fresh pot of hot coffee was waiting in the kitchen, a clear indication Marc was up and about, probably out for a morning jog. Something he did often these days, didn't have to be morning. Rich had noticed how skinny Marc was looking lately, not that he was anywhere near being fat prior to his new obsession with jogging a couple times a day. He supposed it was Marc's way of avoiding him. He poured coffee, made his way out onto the porch, where the cool morning air attacked his bare skin. He was about to retreat inside for a robe when he saw his neighbor, Paolo, making his way up the pathway.
“You putting on a show for us all?” Paolo asked.
“Uh, yeah, I suppose,” Rich said, “let me go put on some clothes.”
“Don't dress up on my account,” Paolo said, “remember, I've seen even more.”
“Well, someone's feeling frisky again.”
“I miss Aaron, I always will. But my heart is still beating.”
“Don't you mean throbbing?”
“Bitch.”
They laughed together, the playful sound nice on this fresh day. Rich offered up a cup of coffee, Paolo accepted quickly enough to make Rich believe his neighbor had come over with an agenda. Settled at the kitchen table, Rich scratched absently at his stubble while Paolo took a sip of his hot drink.
“What's on your mind?” Rich asked.
“What makes you think. . . shit, why bother. You're good at reading people.”
“Your eyes, they may be a beautiful brown, but somehow I can see through them.”
“It's last night, all that stuff that came out. Who knew Eldon Court had such a history?”
“Still doesn't solve our problem.”
“That's what I wanted to talk about.”
“How so?”
“I offered to sell my house to Danvers Converse.”
Rich almost spit out his coffee. “You did what?”
“And then I slept with Troy Saunders.”
Good thing he'd set his cup aside. “The kid?”
“He's no kid anymore,” Paolo said. “He picked me up at the Bayside's patio bar, didn't even know who I was or what my connection was to his. . . guardian. He was the first guy I slept with since Aaron. And I know, it may seem like I didn't wait that long to get my rocks off, but I've been so down, so confused about how to move forward, I just wanted a release. . . I wanted out. Out from Eldon Court and all the trouble—I mean, look at all that its cost me. As for the sex, I was feeling the booze and heck, he was cute and. . .”
“You don't have to explain yourself to me,” Rich said with a noticeable pause, images of the two of them engaged in sweaty, urgent sex. Not just them but other images, of Aaron, of Parker, the cute nurse from the hospital, all of them playing to his pleasures, everyone but Marc. “I'm not exactly Mr. Pure. What I don't understand is why you're telling me all this, and why now?”
“Like I said, it's about what was said last night. What Gerald Green mentioned about being true to ourselves, to stop all the cheating and lying. Only by banding together can we defeat Converse. . . I know we've all tried, but we've let things get in the way. We may be under siege from the outside, but we've also been captive to our desires. Four gay couples and one hot stranger in Parker St. John living in close proximity, the pool parties, the booze, lots of exposed skin, we've enjoyed ourselves—almost to the point of self-destruction. Look at Sawyer and Dane, their lives were very nearly destroyed by their secrets.”
“I agree, we can all do better,” Rich said. “Where do we start?”
“With me coming clean. About what I know.”
Silence settled between the two of them, Rich feeling the room darken. Either clouds had moved in, hiding the sun, or his pupils had narrowed with the notion of oncoming bad news. He swallowed the last of his coffee, pushed the cup out of the way with too much force, watching as it slid to the floor and shattered.
“Okay, I'll take that as an omen,” Rich said, “so, Paolo, spill it.”
“It's about Marc.”
“So I gathered.”
“Those jogs he goes on, he's not really jogging.” Paolo paused, Rich said nothing. “He's fucking Parker.”
Rich heard the words, felt them bounce off his skin as though they couldn't possibly be true, they could not penetrate the thick muscles or the pelt upon his chest. Yet his heart suddenly beat faster, a band of sweat broke out on his forehead. “Marc. . . and Parker? You've not serious. I mean, I know I'm a bastard and a cheat but Marc is good, he'd never give it thought, much less be tempted by. . .” Then his jaw clamped up. Marc's distance, his anger at Rich—was revenge really a part of his make-up, or had Rich created it with his own betrayals? The night of the gallery opening, Rich and Parker had indulged in a power struggle of sex; it had meant nothing beyond wanting to assume control of the battle for Eldon Court. He pictured that beast, so hairy, his huge cock so thick. . . there was no doubt Parker loved showing off his hot body to anybody who would look, but would Marc really give in to his advances?
