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Rewriting Singularity Ch. 01

By: el_wing



Dinner was late that year. 

On the table. Cold. I waited. Waited. Waited. 

Tic-tock-tic-tock said the clock. Then chimed. And chimed. And chimed again.

Pete the canary sang along.

I waited. He wasn't coming. Stupid! I should have expected this. 

I got out my laptop and wrote to pass the time. Give him a chance, I thought. Maybe he can explain. I opened Word. Stretched my fingers over the keyboard. What should I write? I scratched my nose. Um, maybe he can't explain. Maybe there's no possible explanation for his vile and traitorous behavior.

Like always, what's on tippity-top of my mind transfers directly to my fingertips-- thus the five-question breakup test came to me like I was channeling Dr. Ruth. I zipped off the following questions with no hesitation: 

Q: Does he always come before you? 

A: A man who always comes first in bed will always come first out of bed. Lose him.

Q: Does he make you feel good? 

A: Not just at giving pleasure. Does he make you feel good about yourself inside? Does he compliment you? Listen to you? Drink in your every word like it's the nectar of the gods? Lose him if he doesn't.

Q: Does he whisper your name in his sleep? 

A: If he doesn't, well, there's always time, but if he's moaning someone else's name, lose him.

Q: Is he sorry? 

A: And we don't mean: is he a sorry bastard? If that's the case, dump him. If he's man enough to say he's sorry, he's man enough unless it's for cheating, beating or lying-- if that's the case, dump him. 

Q: Is he clean? 

A: If your nose knows he's approaching before your eyes-- lose him. Mind isn't as important as body. For many a dirty mind is preferred. 

Finished. Good but needed work-- 

Reflecting over it, I kinda thought two of the words should become a mantra for my life: lose him. Amazing how writing a few cold, hard questions crystallized my condition. 

The clock still ticked. Dinner was still cold. It was a relief, really-- that he didn't show. I sighed, resigned. With Pete singing on his little swing, I left the spread on the table. Left it all. Put my wallet in my back pocket. Grabbed my coat. My hat. My laptop. 

Shut the door. Bang. Walked down 23rd Street.

Sing, Pete, sing.

Tramped through slushy snow that crunch, crunch, crunched under my Reeboks-- not ideal apparel for six inches of white stuff, but bus stations don't have snow on the floor, and I didn't think past the ticket booth when I left the apartment. My mind at that moment was fixed on the Greyhound station on West 95th, not the five blocks I'd have to along through to get there. 

No turning around for boots, no turning back. At two blocks, my feet turned from painful to numb. 

But at least I only had my laptop and back pocket to worry about, and I didn't have to be as wary as I usually had to be in the station. 

I bought my ticket, sat on the bench with trash at my feet, sucking in all those healthy exhaust fumes, and fucked with my own brain for a good thirty-five minutes while I waited. First on my list was Pete. Pete was his canary even if I took care of him. Pete'd be fine-- after all, anyone can pour bird seed millet and change his bowl of water-- even Austin. I hoped he had enough sense to give Pete grit. And what about Pete's vitamin and mineral supplements? Austin might forget those, too. Two drops when he changes the water. I almost got up and went back to the apartment so I could write instructions on "How to take care of your canary," but I decided to phone it in after I got to where I was going. 

And where was that? 

Destination unknown? 

I'd taken the first bus out, and I didn't care where. Now what did that ticket say? I pulled it out of my pocket. Yeah. That's right: Green Bay, Wisconsin. 

My teeth chattered. In retrospect I should have packed. Something. Anything. At least dry socks. 

But I just wanted out. Gone. Vamoose. 

After a while, crocodile. See you later, alligator. Or maybe Wally Gator. Randy Gator. Escalator. Going up?!

Anyway, I couldn't call before I got there-- as in Green Bay-- or I might change my mind-- believe his lies. Turn around. Go back. To Chicago. To Pete. To Austin. To cold turkey. To cold gravy. With mashed potatoes. And dressing. Yeah, those were cold, too.

Like my feet. My wet feet. I felt them again, and they burned like a bitch. Maybe I had frostbite. Maybe I'd lose my toes. I'm sorry but we couldn't save them, Doctor House said, eyes burrowing into me. Do you want to keep em in a jar?

I stepped up into the bus, walked to the back-- God, my feet ached-- at least the bus was warm. Watched the world whisk by as I sat by the window. Just me and my laptop-- strolling down the avenue. Or down Highway 43. Or I could kick myself down the highway. John Lennon's singing "I should have known better" in my ears. Cheater. That's what he is. Austin the cheater. Or cheet-ah. Kinda looks like one-- all hairy. With spots. And sharp teeth. My left nipple knows.

If it was just sex with a man, I might have forgiven him-- but fuck a duck-- it was a woman. With really big bazoombas. And he gave her everything-- not just his dick! My partner in bed and out! He took my idea, my story, my jokes to the other side. The dark side. To ABC! He gave them my sitcom, Singularity! My pilot!

He betrayed me with our agent. With her. 

No mistaking that message left on the machine from her congratulating him after he left Monday for a conference. I knew who the message was really for-- me. Rubbing my nose in it-- that she had him and my sitcom. Oh, and of course she had to drop the bomb about Thanksgiving-- "Dinner will be ready at noon." 

Screw her. Screw them both. I was gonna be a hit without that sitcom.

And I made dinner-- hoping I had misunderstood. Hoping he'd come home on the plane, walk in and say it was a jealous woman making trouble. But no. 

That show is going to be a hit... I could sue him, but he's my partner or was my partner-- how could I prove it was all mine? And my Thanksgiving with cranberry sauce was an equal masterpiece. What cut into me the most was that he didn't even have the guts to show and face me. He ate with Miss I-got-big-titties. I hoped the turkey was so dry he choked on it.

I had only one recourse. I have the capability to make the world's first bionic sitcom... better than it was before. Better. Smarter. Funnier.

And it's all in my head. All I need is a quiet space-- say in Green Bay, Wisconsin-- three cases of beer, a dozen double pepperoni pizzas, four dozen chocolate donuts, five jars of instant Maxwell House coffee and three uninterrupted weeks. And no Austin-shot-in-the-heart-Nicholas.

I'll show him. Yeah, I can do singularity.

---------------------

Green Bay isn't green. It's white. At least it was when I got off the bus.

I caught a cab at the station. Cab was idling. I got in. Nice guy-- mustache, gray on the sides, dark glasses and kind smile-- who says cab drivers are all jackasses? He helped find me an out-of-the-way bed and breakfast to hole up in-- and it was just outside of the city. Peaceful, serene. It was a grand old home, refurbished into what it was now. A young lady named Miss Kate ran it with her brother. He didn't say much. Just grunted and grumbled. 

"Nice to meet you."

Grunt.

"Name's Jacob, Jacob Grey."

Double grunt.

"Friends call me Jake."

Grumble.

"Snow sure is white."

Double grumble.

"You must excuse my brother," Miss Kate said, hitting him in the arm. "He's not a very good conversationalist."

Her brother frowned. "Where are your bags?" he asked.

She didn't even blink when I told her I didn't have any bags. Mr. Grumbles smirked. The way she shrugged it was like everyone books a room for three weeks with no luggage at the Grande Lodge Bed and Breakfast. 

"I have this," I said, holding up my laptop like it was the lost ark of the covenant. "But I can manage it." 

"We'll show you the downstairs first," she said.

I followed them both. Actually she was kind of cute. If I was into women, I'd bang her. Had a perky nose, curly dishwater-blond hair. Nice curves. Her brother was cute. Same perky nose, brown eyes and curly dirty-blond hair. But rugged-looking. I'd bang him. Too bad he had no vocal cords. I prefer men who can articulate what they want in bed. 

They both showed me the sitting room, bathroom, dining area and pointed toward the kitchen. Mr. Grumbles didn't stay for the whole tour. Too bad. His cute ass made up for his dour demeanor. I got Miss Kate as a guide, and she waltzed around in her pink cashmere sweater and well-worn Levis, proudly pointing out all the nooks and crannies "of this Grande old place." The whole home was furnished with antiques, which I knew absolutely nothing about other than they looked old and beautiful. She told me the history of some of them-- frankly, I was surprised none of them were family heirlooms. Most she bought "at auction" for "a good price." Except for the Victorian china cabinet. She said she "simply had to have it," and paid far too much for it.

Out the dining room and through a long hallway that opened up into an anteroom and-- the staircase.

Magnificent.

She looked up, and my eyes followed.

"I'll take you to your room." 

We climbed.

The banisters were scrolled on the end, and I loved them; I skimmed my finger across the polished and smooth surface-- ah, perfect for the kid in me who would love to slide down the railing. 

My room was on the first of three landings where each flight took crazy 90-degree turns, up, up, and up. The doors in this place were huge. All were either French with old wavy glass or thick, ornate doors with carvings in rich, red hardwood cherry. The door to my room was the heavy cherry with a big brass doorknob-- Miss Kate opened it up with an old-fashioned skeleton key and handed it to me. I hadn't noticed until we opened my door that all the carvings were the same: the scrolled balusters of the open staircase, the doors, wainscoting, even the casings around the windows-- all had the leaf pattern with rosettes. 

The bed was just as big as everything else in the house. A mammoth four-poster with pillows of all sizes. And my room had a fireplace-- huge, of course, with the same carving across the mantel. About that time, Mr. Grumbles reappeared with an arm load of firewood stacked so high I could barely see him and his steamed-up glasses. Damn he was strong like a bull, three pigs and a turkey. A boy scout, too; he began building a nice, cozy fire with matches and rolled-up newspapers for kindling. There he was, on his hands and knees, big feet sticking out, wearing thick red and brown wool socks with his ass in the air.

He was building a fire-- in my pants.

Miss Kate opened the door near the dresser on the north wall. Not a closet but...

"...your bathroom," she said. "Usually you'd share this with another guest, but for now you have it all to yourself. Still, be sure to lock the door on the other side just in case."

I peeked inside-- large claw-foot bathtub, fuzzy rug along with a sparkling clean sink and john. I was going to like it here. 

The best part of the room was the view out the bow window. After living in New York City and then Chicago, this was culture shock with Mother Nature so near. In the distance, the last golden light from the setting sun glimmered on the Fox River, its icy banks blinding me. I shaded my eyes to see a line of white pines with branches heavy with new snow. I decided that this view would be the perfect place to write-- and that I'd move the desk to face the window. 

I stepped over to the fireplace, touching the mantle and bumping Mr. Grumble's feet.

"This is amazing craftsmanship-- the carving is so intricate, beautiful," I said. 

And he laughed. Then she laughed. Laughed. 

What was so damned funny about the woodworking I didn't know. I figured it had to be some inside joke.

Miss Kate left us. As her brother stacked the wood neatly, I sat down on the bed and shucked off my wet socks and shoes, then got up and set them near the hearth to dry. Mr. Grumbles stirred the fire. Sparks flew. I sat back down on the bed and massaged my poor toes.

"Need anything else?" he asked, standing up.

"No, I'll be fine. I'll need to pick up some things soon, though."

"Clothes? Toiletries?" he asked. "Boots?" Mr. Grumbles actually smirked as he said it, which made me curious about him. Worn Dockers one size too small hugged his thighs, red plaid flannel shirt just a tad too tight across those broad shoulders, and the wool socks I noticed before-- except for the hole where his big toe poked out. He peered at me through his black reading glasses. A blond Clark Kent. Who was this mystery man and could he jump tall buildings in a single bound?

"You can either get a cab or ride into town with me when I go in."

I blinked back from fantasyland and said, "And that would be when?"

"When I need to go."

Of course. I scratched my nose. "As far as a date on the calendar, when would that be?"

"I'll talk to my sister."

"So, if I need you, what do I call you?"

"You mean my name?"

"Yeah, I mean, what's your name?"

"Hector," he said. I put out my hand, and he looked at me like I was an alien being. I pulled it back. "But everyone calls me Hec. If you need anything, there's a phone right next to your bed. Dial three."

I nodded. Mr. Grumbles left. I wanted a bath, but I was too beat. First I had to call Austin about Pete. Had to. 

I got voice mail and left an extensive message on feeding Pete. I said nothing else. No goodbye. No pissed off rant. Nothing. 

I fell into bed and woke up the next morning, wiped the sleep from my eyes. I'd slept almost twelve hours. I climbed out of bed. The view from the window was breathtaking-- the sun bright. Oh, something new-- more snow.

Shit. And I only had tennis shoes. I had to go shopping. Today. The day after Thanksgiving. The number one shopping day of the year. And I hate shopping. I started plotting Austin's demise.

I knew I should have sprung for a rental car, but I'd decided against it. With no way to leave, I'd be forced to stay and write. No sight-seeing, no partying, no little drives to take my mind off things. No picking up one-night stands to ease my shattered heart. Well, maybe my heart wasn't that shattered. Just my pride. Austin did a number on that. I thought I knew him. I trusted him. 

I still can't believe he took my pilot and sold it-- as his. My baby.

I bathed. God, my feet were actually warm for the first time. I rubbed the skin off me in every spot where Austin touched or bit me. I scrubbed hard and was especially brutal with my left nipple. After I skinned myself alive, I relaxed. I filled the tub up with more hot water, turning the knob with ape-like dexterity using my big toe, which relieved me to no end that it still functioned after the long thaw. 

The old tub fit to my back like only an old tub can. I wondered if two people had ever used this tub-- it was big and deep enough. My eyes closed. With my legs stretched out and my body submerged and warm, my muscles loosened. I napped-- not sure how long, but cold water and raisin hands said it was time to get out. I dripped on the blue fluffy bathmat, my skin blotched bright red, my hands and feet wrinkled.

Miss Kate left me pink K-Mart razors in a convenient eight pack next to the sink. Never shaved with a woman's razor before-- cut myself twice. For a safety razor, it wasn't too safe in my hands. I stopped the hemorrhaging with pressure and half a roll of toilet paper.

I got dressed to go down. I opened my door and looked out. I closed the door, turned around and wham! I stepped smack-dab into Mr. Grumbles the human Pop Tart. How'd he do that? Pop up out of nowhere? Toilet paper was still stuck to my face from my battle wounds.

"Breakfast was at 8 a.m. It's 10 o'clock," he grumbled.

I scratched my chin. Oops. Blood was on my hand.

"I'll remember that." I followed him down the stairs, dabbing my chin with my thumb to stop the blood flow.

"I think there's something wrong with the plumbing," I said.

"Why? Is there a leak?"

"No, but it made this loud, clanging noise last night."

"That so-- I didn't hear it."

"Well, I did. It was loud." Well, not loud enough to keep me awake, but...

"I'll check on it. Could you tell where it was coming from?" 

"Hard to tell. Sounded like the bathroom."

He nodded. "There's cereal." Which I believe was code for: follow me to the kitchen for sustenance. 

I did.

French doors opened up from the dining room into the kitchen. It was homey, close even. The old kitchen table was one of those from the 50s with shiny aluminum and simple red and white Formica top. The cupboards ran clear to the twelve-foot ceilings. The wall and cupboards were all painted white. He pointed up, and behind the glass cabinet door I saw Cheerios, Wheaties and Grape Nuts. He moved his finger and my eyes followed. Bowls, blue and white Stoneware bowl and plates on the right, glasses and cups on the left.

Then he pointed to the counter to a Bunn coffee maker with its red light beaming at me. I helped myself to a bowl, coffee mug and some cereal.

"Sugar's on the counter and creamer's in the fridge if you want some," he said, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"You bet." 

I poured myself a brimming mug of coffee and a bowlful of Cheerios with plenty of whole milk-- something Austin never let me get-- always skim because it was healthier. 

Hec pulled out the silverware drawer and handed me a spoon. 

"Kate says you can come to town with us, but it might be a long time. She likes to shop. She said give her a list and about what you want to spend. She'll buy whatever you need and put it on your tab."

I almost did cartwheels and handsprings. Yippee-Yi-Yo and call me Lucky Larry: I didn't have to go out in the madness and leave this quaint oasis! Hallelujah! Better yet, I could write. 

"I'll make a list," I said eagerly. "Thanks, Hec."

I turned around-- he was gone. I shrugged my shoulders and sat down on the vinyl-covered chairs to eat my breakfast and wondered, How did he do that?

I took a second cup of coffee up with me to my room to write the list. I jotted down what clothes I absolutely needed along with sizes. Boots, of course. I picked my brain for other necessities. I'm no miser, but I didn't know Miss Kate from Austin-- I mean Adam; therefore, I wasn't giving her carte blanche. I decided to go on the cheap, might as well drink that way, too-- nothing like good ghetto-wine. Like Mad Dog 20/20. I added it to my list.

Tap, tap, tap on my door. 

"Yes? Come in."

"It's Kate," she said, peeking her head in the room. "We're going to be taking off." I put the last two items on my list: a Norelco razor with shaving cream. I looked up to see a second head pop in. "This is my little sister, Charlie. She'll be watching the place for us while we're gone."

"Charles in Charge."

"What?" she said.

"Nothing," I said. "Bad sitcom joke."

Rewriting Singularity Ch. 02



It was Sunday afternoon. Three days, and I had nothing. Nothing. Nada. Nil. Zero. Zilch. White screen on Word. Asterisks rained on my page while childhood melodies flooded my head:

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing-- nothing, nothing all day long. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, how do you like my nothing song?

I managed to type my thoughts, my desires, but not a single one-liner, not one idea for a running gag. All I had was the premise I started with. Shit, I couldn't even come up with a treatment let alone a story arc. 

I tapped out more brain garbage... Heath looks hot today in his khakis. I procrastinated... Oh look, there's a pixel missing in the upper right-hand corner of my monitor. I obsessed... Is that a nose hair sticking out? I crumbled... The sky is falling! The sky is falling! It hit me on the head!

I'd never experienced writer's block before so I blamed Austin. I blamed him for all the world's problems. Hunger, the war in the Middle East, inflation, and while I'm at it, global warming. 

Yesterday when I sat typing the finishing touches on my five-question breakup test (that I knew would be perfect for Cosmo magazine), Hec, a.k.a. Mr. Grumbles, appeared in back of me, looked over my shoulder at my laptop and said, "I write, too."

I jumped. How does he do that? Appear out of nowhere?

And...

He writes? What? Advertising jingles? His name in the snow? Letters to Santa? I wonder if he gets writer's block? Probably not.

Dear Santa,

What I really, really want for Christmas is a life-size doll. Please send me the five-foot-two beauty called "Silicone Satisfaction" that I read about at the back of the November issue of Playboy. 

I'm sad to say that your last year's gift, the vinyl inflatable model, and the previous year's, Pocket Pussy, are no longer usable. I fear I need a woman more "durable." 

Please send me the model with the detachable features, as this will also come in handy for fast and easy storage.

Thank you, Santa.

Yours truly,

Hector 

Yes, that's probably what Mr. Grumbles would like. On second thought, being the strong silent type, he probably has plenty of living dolls after him and doesn't need to resort to rubber rendezvous. And if by chance, and I'm just saying if here, he did swing the other way, I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating Triskets-- I might even let him bring his dolly.

God, I had to stop this! Fantastic Voyage please end now. Must work on sitcom.

Since I walked into this place, I haven't been able to write. Blame it on Austin. Blame it on Hec. Blame it on Chicken Little. Blame it on the plumbing. 

Yeah, the plumbing. It sings. I thought Pete was nerve-racking with his tweet, tweet, tweeting but no, no, no-o-o! The plumbing here is far worse. It starts at 1 a.m. with a single pipe humming a simple tune. Three bars. Five notes. 

The ensemble starts at 3 a.m. with other pipes joining in. By 5 a.m. it's a complete concerto, banging and hissing and clanging. I get no sleep until six in the morning, a meager half hour, then-- it's a reprise. 

I told Hec. Called number three-- woke him up. Then it stopped. Stopped! I repeated the process over the next few nights, but every time the same thing. It stopped when I woke Hector up!

I seriously considered going to a different bed and breakfast, but I liked the view from my room. And then there was the off chance that Hec would actually come up to the room in the middle of the night to investigate the noise, and he'd see how utterly irresistible I am, and... 

Stop!

One-track mind is on the Hector Express, chuggin down the railway. I need to get off. I mean, get off as in step onto the platform, not... 

Stop obsessing.

Bang, clang again. No wonder they don't have many people here-- and not just because of the plumbing, because, yes, this place was strange. Odd-- like Other Limits odd. Like Twilight Zone strange. Like the tense pauses in Rod Serling's voice:  

It is the middle ground between light and shadow-- between science and superstition-- and it lies between the pit of a man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area we call-- the Twilight Zone.

I am in the zone.

Weird shit kept happening. Things appeared in my room. Christmas stockings on the mantle. Candy canes on my pillow. Jack Daniels on my dresser. I think the Lodges are invading my room. 

At first I thought my imagination was getting the best of me, but cookies and milk just don't keep appearing on a plate next to your bed by magic.

The place could be haunted-- but a hostess ghostess with the mostess? I've never heard of hospitable spirits. 

What I wanted to know was how they were doing it. Maybe Hec and Kate had superhuman abilities. They're so fast. Like the Flash and Wonder Woman. 

And another thing I just noticed twenty minutes ago-- the mantle-- the carvings on it are pornographic.

"I see naked people..." 

...or parts of naked people. Specifically penises. With mouths. Open. 

Fellatio all over the place.

So I checked out the door. Same carvings. How did I miss this before? I stepped out into the hall. Yep. Carved rosettes my ass, them are lips! And damned if there aren't phalluses aplenty all standing straight up in a row. A gay man's dream.

That morning I was on my hands and knees on the stairwell landing, inspecting the craftsmanship when the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. 

He was there behind me. Staring down. Smirking. 

Hector. Mr. Grumbles.

Visions of him danced through my head (in various positions). Mr. Grumbles candy bars Rich milky chocolate. Yummy center. 

My God! It was porn and chocolate!

And I had a raging hard-on. His knee touched my back, turning it to scorched earth. 

He was still smirking.

"You've gotta quit doing that," I turned my head and said.

"What?" 

"Sneaking up on me."

I glanced up, then down again; my finger unconsciously traced the head of the-- penis... I mean... carving.

I jerked my finger off because he'd given me a look like I'd defiled his sister or something.

"Most people don't notice," he said to me. 

Most people? What did that mean? Since I'd noticed and that made me, what? Perverted?

"It's not obvious," he added.

No shit. Or I never would have commented on the "intricate beauty of the woodworking" that first day and looked like one of those idiots who goes to the Louvre museum and thinks a bench is a work of art. I understood why they both smirked and laughed at me that day-- making fun of my ignorance, were you?

My face got hot as he watched me. I decided to make conversation...you know... lighten the mood.

"So you told me you write-- what do you write?"

He hesitated, then said, "Novels."

Oh, so he was one of those serious writers-- the ones who turn their noses up at people who write sitcoms. He was a real writer. Yeah, I just pretended to be a writer.

"Published?" I asked. I figured I was one up on him there. I'd never heard of a Hector Lodge, author extraordinaire.

"Yes."

"What books?" I asked, doubtfully.

"Um, not under my name. A pseudonym."

"What's the name?" I asked. He was squirming. I almost felt guilty-- almost.

"Rather not say."

"Come on. I'll admit I write mostly spec scripts if you tell me who was that masked man."

"Spec scripts?"

"Episodes for existing sitcoms." I straightened up, looking him right in the eyes. My, they were attractive. "You can blame me for introducing the big 'schmooze' gag on Life of the Party."

"Afraid I've never watched that show."

"Yeah, not surprising-- it just got canceled." I leaned against the obscene railing. "So give-- what's your pseudonym, Kemo Sabe?"

"Ya have to promise not to tell anyone."

"Ok, cross my heart, hope to die, 'Hi-yo Silver, away!' Now give--"

"Charlotte Rey."

Holy shit?! The Charlotte Rey? The romance writer? "You're kidding--" I choked back a laugh.

"Knew I shouldn't have told you..."

"No. I'm sorry. I just never thought of you as mistress of adverbs, the queen of the 'throbbing member,' the eminence of the 'heaving breast,' the--"

"You can stop--"

"Sorry--"

"It pays the bills."

"More than pays for them by the look of this place." Then it struck me. "I guess that explains the unique woodworking..."

"Moment I saw it, I had to buy the place."

I laughed. "You know, I once got a dishonorable mention in the Bulwer-Lytton fiction contest."

"So did I! What year?"

"2001," I said.

"1999 for me."

"I still think I should have won."

"Me too."

I entered the competition as a joke; a few friends showed me the contest. In the end, the "Dark and stormy night" bad fiction contest was too much fun to pass up. I was actually disappointed when I didn't win.

"I got some beer. You want one?"

"Sure."

"You really like that Mogen David shit?" he asked, as we started down the stairs.

"It's ok, but not as good as beer."

We went down the stairs, discussing the wide variety of flavors that Mad Dog offers. Went and sat in the smoking room, and I shot the shit with him instead of writing. I started to like him inside. He spoke; I listened. I spoke; he listened. He drank Miller beer, but I didn't hold that against him. My tongue loosened, and I confessed to him why I was here-- I told him all about Austin fuck-me-over-the-kitchen-sink-sideways Nicholas. Well, not all about Austin literally fucking me over the kitchen sink. Hec read between the lines though-- after all, he was a writer even if it was of the Harlequin Romance variety.

"When did you first think you were, you know, different?" he asked.

"You mean gay-- when did I first think I might be gay?"

"Yeah, gay."

"Well, part of me always knew I was different. Gay, well, I didn't obsess on girls and their breasts like my friends, but I never thought much about it. I mean, I thought maybe it'd happen for me sometime-- like I'd wake up with a huge boner dreaming on some girl? Never happened... Guess it was eighth grade, the day my best friend, Sam, said, 'hey, I got some of my brother's girly magazines,' and he asked me if I wanted to go beat off with him while we ogled the pictures. I went along with him, snuck up to his bedroom, and Sam locked the door. He got them out, flipped through the pages. Problem was I didn't get off looking at the pictures-- I got off watching Sam. Next night I had that wet dream, except the object of my boner wasn't a buxom blonde, it was my best friend, Sam." 

Heath nodded and took another swig of beer.

"Women never did it for me" I said. "I tried to get into them, believe me. I kept it to myself in high school. After I got out of Roaring Spring, Pennsylvania, I went off to college. It helped that I had this uncle who was out."

We sat quiet after that. I tapped my foot, waiting. I was expecting him to make a grand confession-- or maybe hoping he would. He sat tight-lipped, thinking.

Then he turned on TV, and we watched the Packers, which is good because I love the Packers.

Another thing we had in common.

After a few hours, I stumbled back upstairs and sat down to write. 

Still nothing. 

I went to bed wondering about Hec. 



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 03



The next day more of the same. Beer with Hec, stumble up the stairs. Each day I spent more time downstairs and less time upstairs trying to write. 

By day five, I still referred to him as Mr. Grumbles in my mind, but with affection. I even read his novels late at night. Cheesy bits but there was a taste of talent inside each bite, and the ravaging left a red-hot fire in my mouth.

The pipes still clanged, but I didn't care. I found I could sleep through most of the noise. Food still appeared in my room by magic. When I asked Hector and Kate, they smirked. I think it's a family trait.

I tried writing. Then gave up. Instead I did everything but-- I watched old movies on TMC. I helped around the bed and breakfast. I loaded the dishwasher; I dusted with a Miller beer in my hand and Hec in my head. I came to the conclusion: I think I have a drinking problem, and his name is Hector. 

By day six I admitted to myself that I was completely obsessed because just when he left my head in spirit, he appeared beside me in body. I'd jump like a nervous cat every single time he came near. 

It was odd how he'd appear-- I'd never know when, I'd never know where. He was like a genie. A djinn. Poof! He'd just appear like a puff of smoke and disappear with the same mysterious ease.

And then there was my sitcom--

Almost one week here, and I still had nothing.

I was in a serious funk.

I woke to Lodge-sibling magic next to my bed: toasted bagels with cream cheese and coffee. I devoured them as I lazed in the big old tub and listened to the plumbing play Mozart. I'd grown fond of the pipes after all; the sound was preferable to Kate's singing "Polly Wolly Doodle All the Day" as she polished silver.

I got out of the tub, wishing that my sitcom would write itself, but it wouldn't, so I decided I'd force myself to sit this afternoon and write and try, try, try to ignore that beautiful view out of my window and the even more beautiful view that appeared in my room.

I put on the flannel bathrobe that Kate picked out for me at Hudson's and admired my reflection in the full-length mirror-- the blue did bring out my eyes.

I still hadn't discerned if Hec preferred men to women-- maybe he liked both. I swore at times he was flirting with me. I decided today I might push it to the limit and find out if he swung my way. 

I looked over at my desk, at my laptop. That was odd-- the light was on. I sat down, wiggled the mouse. And there, in front of me were two pages minimized at the bottom--

One, a fleshed-out story for my sitcom. The other, my five-question breakup test.

Someone's been snooping!  I decided now was the time to ask Hec a few pointed questions. I got dressed-- after all I couldn't live in my bathrobe. At least not the entire day. 

But when I got downstairs, I couldn't find him. Kate was in the laundry room, a small room where the maid's quarters once were, just off the kitchen. She wore one of those paisley old-maid housedresses, but it didn't make her look like an old maid. She was stuffing towels and bed sheets into the washer, and she smiled at me as I came in.

She added the laundry soap, started the load, then bent over and opened the drier-- the flowery scent of fabric softener filled the room as she pulled out an armload of towels. She began folding, and I picked up a blue towel and helped her.

"Where's Heath?" I asked nonchalantly-- at least I hoped I sounded nonchalant. 

"He's in town," she answered, smoothing the towels down that she'd folded. Damn she was quick.

"Oh."

She reached into the dryer and pulled another handful. "Can I ask you a question?" she asked. "It's kind of personal."

Here it comes... 

"Sure, what?"

I expected, Are you gay? Not...

"Are you religious?"

I laughed. "Well, yes-- but not in the traditional sense. I majored in Eastern Religions-- I'm interested in all kinds of religions. I don't believe in one-- my beliefs are rather eclectic."

"A sitcom writer with a degree in religion."

"I did study literature and poetry."

"Where? What university?"

"Columbia."

"Are you gay?" 

I blinked. Whoa! Wasn't ready for that-- she did the old bait 'n switch then blindsided me.

"Well," I hesitated, "let's just say that I did the Three's Company thing with roommates at Columbia, and I didn't have to pretend."

"Three's Company?"

"You know, 'Come on, knock on my door,' Three's Company-- with John Ritter?" She shook her head at me. I couldn't believe she didn't know the show. "Late 70s sitcom with a blonde bombshell, a brunette hottie and a guy named Jack Tripper, who pretends he's gay so that Mr. Roper their landlord won't kick him out?"

"Never seen it." She picked up the stack of towels and put them in a large wicker laundry basket. "So you are gay-- I thought so. My sister Charlie has a mad crush on you. I warned her."

"Ah, thanks-- I guess--"

"Why? You like her?"

"No-- I mean, she's sweet, but not my type, if you know what I mean." 

"And what is your type?"

I almost said, your brother, but instead I said, "Well-built... blond... brown eyes..." 

"Oh..." and she said oh like she just stepped in a pile of dog shit, or I was the dog shit that she stepped in. Either way, I was caught, and she wasn't pleased. Her eyes narrowed, then she ticked off the next words like a metronome in three-four time: "He never keeps a girlfriend long." 

I didn't know if his short-lived romances were a good or a bad thing, but what I did know was that being here in the same room with her at that moment in time wasn't a good thing for me. I decided I'd overstayed my welcome. Time to scram. Hit the road. Goodbye, farewell, adios. 

"Are you ok? I mean--" I stammered.

Leave the laundry room, already! Why was I hesitating?

"I should get to writing..." 

"Here--" she said, shoving the laundry basket in my face, "take these towels to your room." 

I took the basket from her, and as I turned around, her laser eyes burned into my back. I imagined them searing me even after the laundry room door closed behind me.

I felt bad. I couldn't help it-- I've always had that little internal voice in me that hated it when people didn't like me-- that tiny voice spoke to me, egging me on, making me do deeds, saying vile things, trying to change a person's mind about me. 

Sometimes those deeds and words worked; sometimes they didn't-- and it was best to ignore that little voice. I decided today I'd ignore it.

It was hard to convince Kate that I was a nice guy with noble intentions toward her brother since those words would be a big, fat lie. 

----------------------

I spent the rest of the morning alternating between pacing the floor and writing.

Writing.

What Hec wrote was good. Really good. At least I think it was Hector. It had to be him. Who else could it be? Who else would it be sneaking into my room? I was embittered and entranced at the same time-- embittered because I stalled with my great idea and entranced because he ran with it.

And how he ran. Wow.

I paced again.

I've always been a "rug burner." That's what my mom used to call me. I paced back and forth-- I literally wore a path on the rug in my room from the ideas ready to burst out of my brain. 

Ideas gushed out now and the carpet was scorched.

Until this point, I had no title, no name. Just an idea. I know names of TV series are subject to change at the whims of producers, but this was perfect. The Singularity. And this wasn't network stuff-- this was something beyond that. Like HBO. 

Humor. Sex. Aliens. Kink. 

Woo-hoo!

The beginning of this script was like an aphrodisiac to me. I had a perpetual hard-on from the moment I sat down to type. Words poured out of me like water down a fall. 

Like profanity at a Cubs game. 

Like piss after twelve Millers. 

Like cum out of my--

I jerked around. There he was. Smirk. Shirt open. Three-- no, four buttons undone. Sleeves rolled up. Paper bag in those arms. 

Those arms.

God, the shirt wasn't the only thing that had come undone.

"Hi," I said, stupidly, tongue peeking out the side of my mouth.

"Hey," he said back. 

"What's in the bag?" I asked.

"Surprise."

"Yeah, you're full of surprises. Don't you ever knock?"

"The door was ajar."

"Was it ajar last night when you wrote this?" I asked, pointing to my laptop. 

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Don't give me that-- you wrote this."

He hesitated. "And what if I did?"

"First I'd have to say, you have no business nosing around in my personal stuff..."

"And then?"

"I'd have to say this is really good-- so good it got me going. Look how much I've written," I scrolled up the document and up and up. "So--" I hesitated, "you're the one who's been leaving things in my room?"

"I didn't say that. I didn't say I wrote it, I just said, hypothetically-- what if I did write it."

"So this just appeared 'poof' on my laptop?"

"Poof." He winked at me. Winked.

I've been called a poof before, but that was another time and place. 

"Who are you? What are you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "And why can't you ever give me a straight answer?"

"You're full of questions today," he said, setting the bag next to my laptop.

"Questions? You want questions?" I blurted out, standing up and sticking my nose inside the bag to root around. Ear plugs. He bought me ear plugs. 

I began my tirade while my brain clicked in what was inside his bag of surprises: "Does anybody really know what time it is? When a cow laughs, does milk come out its nose?" Not much else in the bag. Snacks, mostly. "Does your mother have any more at home like you? Why is it called chili? Do you really want to hurt me?" I pulled out the Oreo cookies. "Why is a boxing ring square? Who can turn the world on with a smile?" Dug around more in the bag. Found some Fruit Snacks. "Are you gay? What's another word for thesaurus?" Wait, what's this at the bottom? Blue raspberry saltwater taffy! "When you choke a smurf, what color does it turn? Who let the dogs out?"

I caught my breath and looked up at him slowly. His brows were pinched. I had the taffy bag clutched in my hand.

"Did you just ask if I was gay?" His eyes were dark, magnetic, and my heart felt like a chunk of iron.

"I don't think so... well, it may have been in there," I said. "Maybe."

"No, you said it, you asked, 'Are you gay?' right before the Mary Tyler Moore reference."

I opened the bag and got out a piece of taffy, trying my best to look casual. "Well?" I asked, unwrapping the candy.

"Well, what?"

"Well, are you?"

He sat down on the bed. I popped the taffy into my mouth and chewed.

"What if I told you, I don't know..."

"How could you not know-- you're what? Twenty-five?" I asked, with blue stuff sticking to my teeth. I cautiously sat down on the bed next to him. "Or is this another one of your ambiguous answers?"

"None of my answers are ambiguous."

"They sure the hell are! At least when it comes to bathroom pipes-- thanks for the earplugs by the way-- and random items appearing in my room, and now stories on my laptop!"

"Sometimes there just isn't an answer--" he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Who are you, the Dalai Lama?" I asked, unwrapping another piece of taffy. Damn, it was good, but hardly a sweet enough distraction from the warm body next to mine. "Just answer me straight out, did you write this?"

"Yes."

"Now we're getting somewhere--" I said between chews. "Next-- have you ever had sex with a man?"

"Well, yeah," he said, looking me straight in the eyes. "I have."

"With a woman?"

"Ah, yeah." And his eyes squinted, conveying to me, Duh? Of course I have.

"A blow-up doll?"

"What?!" His eyes opened wide. Pupils wider.

"Just kidding," I blurted out.

"No you're not."

"You're right, I'm not." I looked at him squirming, but I was really the one squirming more. "Forget I asked that one--"

"This is making me really uncomfortable."

"You're uncomfortable? How do you think I feel? You sneak into my room-- night, day, whenever! Come in here like there's some revolving door. You snoop around. Sneak up on me. Watch me. Christ. You disappear like you never were even here. And now I find out you've read my personal files on my computer. Are you some kind of stalker?"

I was starting to feel bad for him; he was wringing his hands and blushing. My head was spinning from all that was going on. More than that, I was afraid that I was falling for a man who was cracked in the head. 

"I didn't sneak into your room."

"You came in without my permission."

"It's my property. I have the right to enter."

"I have a right to privacy! I bet you don't get much repeat business. Do you do this with all your guests? No fucking wonder you don't have anybody staying here. You really should put a sign out front that says, 'We snoop on our customers.' Shit."

"Are you going to leave?" he whispered.

I looked at him. I should leave. This was crazy, but what he wrote was good-- inspiring. And his voice pulled at my heart. Man, was I in deep. 

He looked so good sitting on my bed, waiting for my answer. Those eyes again, looking all puppy dog-like. I wanted to pat him on the head-- tell him to go fetch a bone. My bone.

I didn't need this. He was attracted to men and women. I didn't need another Austin in my life who'd fall in love with a woman because it was easier. Or maybe it was just easier for me to believe that to accept Austin's betrayal. Damn, I've been with openly bisexual men before-- some predominantly hetero and some predominantly gay. Most weren't like Austin-- they were into the relationship more than the genitals. They just weren't into me. I seriously wondered if Austin was ever in a relationship with me considering what happened. He was either one confused son of a bitch or a son of a bitch. 

So I had to ask the question. The big one. Go for the gold.

"Are you attracted to women more than men?"

"I'm attracted to people."

To me, that was the right answer. He fell heart first and his head followed-- head of his dick maybe, but at least that was a good sign. I might have a chance. Might.

Now ask him if -- Go on, ask. 

Ask, ask, ask.

"This taffy is great," I said, shoving another piece in my mouth. "Where'd you buy it?"



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 04



"Interior: Small closet. Dark. Flashlight beams up into two faces, heads together." I turned my own head as I read what we'd written of the script aloud to Hec. This was the second time from the beginning, and we'd been writing for a few hours now. I helped myself to a couple more cookies out of the bag, jamming more into my mouth and crunched, crunched. As I recited the stage directions, I watched Hector's reaction. His black Oreo cookie teeth smiled back at me. 

Over the last few hours I'd noticed a curious parallel between our Oreo eating methods and our writing styles: Hec twists his cookie and savors the filling first like he savors words, while I just cram the whole cookie into my damn mouth like I cram phrases. 

I chewed and read with my mouth full, sneaking looks at Mr. Grumbles, who no longer grumbled. I decided I needed a new name for him-- one that reflected his animated, excitable side. I had to think on this. 

I continued reading through our brainchild without stopping, checking the flow. As the last line left my lips, the room became silent except for wet snow slapping the window.

"It's great so far," he said, "except--" 

"Except what?" I reached into the bag. Empty. 

"The name of the show..."

Maybe I was too quick to rename Mr. Grumbles-- I hesitated, the defensive artist rising up in my throat along with about twenty half-digested Oreo cookies. "What's wrong with the name of the show?" I choked.

"There's already a series with that name. It's on CBS's new lineup. Seems like being in the business you'd have known-- Barenaked Ladies does the theme song--"

My head fell to the table. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I must be slipping. I'd never heard of this new show. But then again, I wasn't into CBS anymore. Or ABC. Or NBC. 

HBO was my calling. Yes, that bastion in the sky. That pinnacle. The name was inconsequential compared to the story, but I was disappointed. 

I lifted my forehead off the table and sighed.

"That was such a great name, too." I sat back in the chair gazing over at Hec. He had frosting on his bottom lip.

I shoved another cookie in my mouth. "We can always come up with another. We're clever." 

That frosting. Lick that frosting, come on, lick it off, I want to see some tongue.

"We can brainstorm ideas," Hec said. "I've got lots of books on astronomy in my room-- maybe we could get some items there."

I've got plenty of ideas of what I'd like to do in his room, and that's an invitation if ever I heard one... Hec. Bedroom. Tongue.

Ringgggg. Ringgggggg.

The phone. We both stared at it like the devil was in Salem. I turned back to Hec and the frosting was gone. I'd missed the tongue.

Damn.

Ringgggg. Ringgggggg.

I hesitated. Who could be calling? Maybe Kate looking for Hec? Somehow I didn't think so... My stomach turned to Jell-o. 

Ringgggggg. Rin-- I picked up the phone.

"Hello?" I said. 

Stomach turned to lime Jell-o, legs to strawberry and feet? To orange.

Bill Cosby was wrong-- not everything goes better with Jell-o. No, no, not everything because--

It was Austin. 

"What do you want?" I snapped. My gelatinous manifestations were in sync with 1-800 psychic network. 

"It's Pete."

That got my attention. My Jell-o legs wobbled down to the bed. Shit, he hadn't killed poor Pete my beloved canary, had he? 

"What's wrong with Pete?" I hugged the phone to my ear.

"I think he misses you."

Of course he does, shit head-- I'm the only one who cared about him enough to feed him. 

"I'm in the lobby downstairs." 

"You're where?" I croaked. 

"I'm downstairs, with Pete."

His voice echoed, bouncing off the bad memories in my brain. Downstairs?

"Fuck!" Serves me right for calling him on the phone from the bed and breakfast. Caller ID bites.

"Who's Pete?" Hec asked. I jumped. Somehow he'd managed to park himself next to me on the bed. I waved him back.

"I'll be right down." I hung up on Austin, turned around to Hec's questioning stare. "Do you allow pets?" 

"Not usually, but we make exceptions sometimes. Why?" he asked, squinting his eyes.

"My ex is downstairs with Pete and wants to pawn him off on me. More than likely he's here for other reasons..."

"Other reasons?" 

I liked the way he said "other reasons"-- almost like he was jealous.

"This is that Austin fellow, your ex-partner," he said as he studied me, eyes still slits. "And Pete is that bird you were telling me about?" 

I nodded. He was jealous, but maybe he was just jealous on a business level-- yeah, that's what it could be... after all he was working with me on this new script, and the invitation up to his room really was to brainstorm ideas. My old partner shows up, Hec might feel conflicted, you know, torn because he sees himself as part of the creative process on this new sitcom. A partner. Partner. Hec's brown eyes soaking into me had my stomach all in butterflies. Or maybe I was mistaken-- maybe that was just Jell-o jiggle from Austin's appearance downstairs. Nope, one more look at Mr. Grumble's intense peepers and my tummy flittered with quivering wings. No mistaking my diagnosis, this stomach malady was of the fluttering butterfly not jiggling jell-o variety. 

"Yeah," I said. "And I'm still not sure if I can look at Austin without punching him in the face. Would you mind coming down with me to make sure I don't do something that will get me arrested?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

He followed my heels out the door. I looked over the railing, down into the expansive lobby, and there he was, leather coat, faded Levi's with snow still clinging to his Hugo Boss boots. His hair was messy, making him look younger. The hook of Austin's gloved finger held Pete's cage, swinging slow with the cloth draped over it. Austin's head turned up. He saw me, then Hec. Blinked. I started down the stairs like a George Romero zombie, my eyes locking with his. I was struck how there was nothing really there behind his eyes for me. No want. No love. As Hec and I descended, the vacant stare let a hint of curiosity creep in as he watched Hec behind me.

I gave him the most wicked smile that I could conjure and licked my lips. That always got to him. I hoped he thought Hec and I were fucking. I hoped he thought he'd just interrupted us going at it like rabbits. I even did a fake adjustment session when we reached the last landing just to make Austin wonder.

He met us at the bottom. Hector stood directly behind me like a shadow, and Austin stood straight as a board, his countenance, holding not one iota of shame, regret or jealously, which pissed me off even more. I guess licking my lips didn't do it for him anymore.

"Well?" I said. 

"Here he is." He held up the cage, then handed it to me. "You bought him for me. You love him, I don't."

"Not much you do love," I said, flatly. I lifted the cloth to check on Pete. He hopped up to my face, little feet hanging on to the bars of the cage, and gave my nose a love peck.

"That's not fair," Austin said. 

"Not fair," I said, putting down the cover. "I'll tell you what's not fair, not fair is fucking over your partner of four years. That's what's not fair."

"I'm sorry, Jake."

Sorry? Please!

"And giving me Pete illustrates just how sorry you are?"

"I thought you'd want him." 

Hec took Pete's cage from me. I heard the familiar twitters, must be Hec lifted the sheet to take a peek at Pete, too.

"I never meant to hurt you," Austin said.

I gave a strangled laugh. "So now you're quoting Boy George? What the hell! You did mean to hurt me. Leaving me on Thanksgiving, taking our sitcom and calling it yours! I think most people would say that's meaning to--"

"Listen, we aren't ever going to agree on how much was yours and how much was mine," he said. "You didn't want to sell it to ABC-- I did. End of story."

"It was mine," I shot back.

"See? That's what I mean. It was half mine. Half. Everything we wrote was half mine."

"According to what? That paper we signed? Your version of a prenuptial agreement for sitcom partners? You know that sitcom was mine. I wrote it all."

"We're never going to agree. The concept was ours. There was plenty of work we wrote together where I wrote most of it and we shared."

"You asshole!" I stood staring at him. "You sold the rights!"

"Yes, and I'm on the team too."

"A lot of good that will do. How long before the producers realize who really wrote that script?"

He pulled papers from his pocket. Then a pen.

"I need you to sign this." Austin held both out to me.

"I'm not signing anything."

"Come on, Jake. Sign the release."

"That's why you're here!" I started pacing back and forth between Austin and Hector. "This had nothing to do with Pete or seeing me or being sorry. This is all about you!"

"It gives you half. The check will go into your account. Our partnership will be dissolved and everything we write from this point on is our own. Sign it, Jake."

Over. All over. Isn't that what I want?

"Read it first," Hec said quietly from behind me. 

"ABC's lawyers making you do this?" I asked. Austin just glared at me, holding out what was in front of him like it had a vile stench. I felt like punching him in the face. I was thankful Hec was there.

"Can you make him disappear?" I asked, turning briefly to Hec. I wished Hector was a genie who could blink Austin away into oblivion.

The papers gave a delicious crunch in my hand as I snatched them out of Austin's fingers. I ripped the pen out of his hand with the same gusto. 

I read them fast with Hector reading over my shoulder. He nodded. They were exactly what he said they were.

"Sign em, Jake," Hec said. 

I bent over and signed the papers, pressed against my leg. I thrust them back in Austin's face. I didn't care anymore. 

I didn't care. 

I... didn't... care...

He shoved them back in his pocket without a glance. Turned. And started away then stopped at the door.

"Didn't take long to find someone else, did it, Jake?"

"Fuck off!"

Austin laughed as he continued out the door.

It slammed shut. I thrust my hands in my pockets.

Pete twittered again behind me.

"He's cute," Hec said.

"Yeah, I thought so too-- at first."

I turned around and realized Hec was talking about Pete, not Austin. My face grew hot, but Hec didn't notice, or else he didn't let on.

"I can't believe the fucking nerve of that guy," I said, pacing an invisible line back and forth in front of Hec. "He didn't even bring Pete's birdseed and vitamins!"

"We can go into town later and get some at Petco," Hec offered.

"Do you think he looks alright? I mean, he seems alright to you, doesn't he?"

"You're talking about Pete, right?"

"Well, I don't give a shit about Austin's health." I didn't really mean that I didn't care. Well, maybe I did. It wasn't like I wanted to send a pox on him or something; I was just pissed. Um, maybe a pox wasn't a bad idea-- maybe Hec could make him contract something non-life threatening like priapism or beaver fever.

Hec lifted the cover and checked Pete. "I don't know much about parakeets."

"That's obvious," I laughed. "Pete's a canary, not a parakeet."

"He seems fine to me." 

I knelt down next to the cage and rubbed his little head. Um, Pete's head, that is. I'm sure Hec's wasn't little-- at least from what I could tell in this position, it looked impressive.

"I bought him for Austin's birthday," I said, eyes flitting between Pete and Hec's face. "I went to the pet store to buy lovebirds, but they were $120 each and the cage and supplies were expense. Pete was $47, and he didn't fly away like the other birds when I looked into his cage. He got his little body up as close as he could and sang to me."

"Sounds like love at first sight."

I chuckled and stood up. "Guess Pete was always more mine than his." I frowned. "Damn Austin, he never appreciated anything I gave him."

"Sounds like he appreciated that pilot."

That was the wrong thing to say-- his words got me pacing again. 

"That fuck head!" I swore, waving my arms above my head. "He knew that sitcom was my child! He knew it, and he snatched it away in the night like the Lindbergh baby. Hell! I don't know why I signed that release! What was I thinking?!"

I stopped, my chest heaved, my fists clenched. My whole body hummed. Yeah, Jake, you know actually what you were thinking... 

And so did Hec. His words came quiet and slow. "You wanted out of the partnership." 

He was right. But more important Hec wanted me out of the partnership. That quiet exterior, that calm smile spread with a glint in his brown eyes. Yes, that was why I signed. I opened my hands. Took deep breaths. And there was the other part of that reason, the reason standing right in front of me. 

"Let's take Pete up to your room and get him acclimated," he suggested. "You need to relax. Take a bath. I'll bring up something from the kitchen-- comfort food-- maybe a hot roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes with loads of gravy? Kate makes the best. Come on." He waved me to follow, and I obeyed like a little lost puppy. 

I was right on his heels like he'd been on mine just minutes earlier. We got to my room. It seemed different to me. Maybe it was my mood, maybe my imagination. The room felt magical. Hec set Pete down on the table against the far wall next to the bathroom door, then he continued into the bathroom. I stepped around, curious as to what he was up to. He was bent over drawing my bath, sprinkling in Mr. Bubbles. Water splashed in the tub as he tested the temperature with his open hand under the spray. 

I felt a little creepy watching his ass. I mean, his ass was great, but I didn't want him to find out how much I yearned to be a card-carrying member of the Mr. Grumbles Ass Appreciation Society. So I scratched my own ass and went back in the bedroom where I relaxed on the bed. I spread my legs and arms out and plopped my head in the mass of pillows. Felt good. I began my new fantasy-- the one where Hec steals into my bedroom but instead of messing with my laptop he's on top of me messing with my lap.

I sighed.

Pete groomed himself and admired his reflection in his mirror, then hit his little dangling toy ball with his beak. It was like he never left home. 

I closed my eyes. Drifted off for a bit, lazing in my little perverted world. The water stopped. I opened my eyes to Hec standing in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, grinning at me. 

"Take off your clothes and jump in."

Take off your clothes. My jaw went slack. My fantasy come true. I sat up mechanically. Pulled my blue sweater over my head like a robot, then I rolled my t-shirt up over my abs. Hec watched. With interest. 

I stood up. Unzipped my jeans. Kicked out of them. When my fingers began to slide my underwear down, I suddenly felt sheepish. Doubt reared its ugly head in the back of my brain. What am I doing? I felt pink climbing up my neck into my cheeks. He had to notice, my neck, my face, my... Oh, my! He clutched the door frame, his eyes trained on my body like a hawk. He was waiting, waiting. My heart hammered with enough force to cause structural damage to my chest. Then my nervous twitch began. My eye. Christ. Not now.

I kept my underwear on, walked across the room with my eye twitch, twitch, twitching relentlessly. I brushed by him as casually as possible for a man in a half-aroused state. He politely stepped out of the doorway away from the tent in my Calvin Klines but not without his hand brushing over me first. Shit. He slipped into the bedroom, and I shut the bathroom door between us. 

I still felt the tingle where his hand touched my dick. I stumbled and grabbed hold of the sink, steadied myself. My eye winked back at me in the mirror. 

I was losing it. I was acting like a bird with a broken wing, flopping around helplessly.

Only one thing to do.

Get into the tub.

Bubbles. Mr. Bubbles poured over the top. I leaned back, legs stretched out. I took myself in hand. More bubbles spilled over, just like I did. The water sloshed around. The bubbles pop, pop, popping. The water slop, slop, slopping. Then me. God, sweet release. I couldn't stop myself from bursting and flowing over. 

I stepped in that tub tense and stepped out-- relaxed. Maybe. Christ.

He wanted me. I wanted him. What was the problem?



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 05



I toweled dry, wiping water and the Mr. Bubble residue from my skin. I closed my eyes. What was the problem? Despite my best efforts to ignore my little voice of reason, it whispered in my ear all the clichéd warnings my heart didn't want to hear...

Don't mix business with pleasure. 

Don't put the cart before the horse. 

Don't be led down the garden path. 

Don't, don't, don't.

Putting head over heart was a damned problem. I'd mixed business with pleasure in my last partnership. And I'd hitched that cart up without knowing Austin. I knew even less about Hec and his garden path. 

I threw the towel in the hamper, took the bathrobe off the hook on the door and stuffed myself inside.

I opened the door to the magic of a hot roast beef sandwich next to my computer. Still, I was disappointed-- no Mr. Grumbles in sight. The aroma of mash potato and gravy ambrosia lured me over; I was surprised at how hungry I was. God, Hec was right-- I did need comfort food. He was right about his sister's cooking too-- this was the best roast beef I ever tasted: Every bite melted in my mouth. As I chewed, I thought about Hec-- his tentative touch and how crazy-confused Hec made me. I gazed out the window to falling snow, mesmerized. This bed and breakfast was a world apart from my old life until Austin stepped in and invaded it. 

At least this room was untouched by his bad karma. 

I considered that part of the magic I felt when I stepped back inside this room was the idea that this room was my haven. I'd had this weird feeling about Hector all along-- like he wasn't real, like this wasn't real. Being with Austin in the lobby with Hec felt real. I kinda preferred this feeling of unreality, this personal Shangri-La. 

Still, I was worried I was making Hec out to be some otherworldly creature-- unattainable, unreachable. And, I couldn't shake the way I felt about this place and him-- that something extraordinary was happening here, and I was part of it. The sitcom, the touch. This meal. 

This meal. How in the world could Kate make it so damn fast and so damn good? Did she conjure this up like the bagels? Or did Hec do this?

I liked to imagine Hec as my personal genie, extraterrestrial love interest or 1-800 psychic friend. He'd look great in a skimpy harem outfit. That whole genie in a bottle was just a metaphor for sex anyway-- lay me down on the magic carpet and do me now! And aliens? Please! Don't they kidnap people and do perverted sex acts on them? Tie me up in plasma coils and proceed with the power coupling.

I savored the last bite of mashed potatoes while our new X-Filesque sitcom slowly manifested itself into my depraved imagination. 

I wiped my mouth off with the napkin and stood up. As I stretched I saw it next to Pete's cage: a box of canary food, vitamins and grit, all in a neat little row.

I was seriously spooked. How did Hector do that? No way he could get to town that fast to buy Pete's supplies. No way.

All my crazy ideas about 3rd Rock from the Sun and I Dream of Jeanie converged into one bizarre bed and breakfast fantasy island.

I got dressed and headed downstairs, aiming to find out who this enigma was called Hec, and what was happening in this house.

I spent a few minutes looking for him and gave up. I learned it was easier just to do what I gotta do and let him find me. He always managed to be drawn to me like some bug to a light. He found me-- in the kitchen rinsing my dishes off in the sink.

"There you are," he said with that crooked grin. It was so hard to be pissed off at that face.

"Ok, how'd you do it?" I said, packing away what was in the sink into the dishwasher.

"Do what?" 

"Get Pete's seed and supplies so fast."

"Oh, that." He leaned against the counter, sizing me up. "Neighbor breeds canaries. They gave the stuff to me. I offered to pay him, but he wouldn't take anything for it. One of those you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours kind of deals."

My ass, I thought. 

"A half an hour ago you didn't even know what a canary was and now you're telling me you knew your neighbor bred them?" I asked.

"I knew he had a bunch of little yellow birds that looked like Pete. What's the matter?" He leaned back more, hips thrust forward and crossed his arms against his chest. "Kate and I are going into town later. Anything you want?"

"I'll make a list." I added the Cascade dishwashing detergent, then set the box on the counter. "But I don't need much." I shut the dishwasher door, flipped the handle and turned it on.

The dishwasher hummed. 

It happened that fast: One, two, three strides and he was there, eyes burning into me. Water started humming, beginning to spray the dishes as his eyes got darker. Then, bam! He crushed me into the dishwasher, his mouth greedy on mine. I dug my nails into his scalp to keep from reeling off balance and his long fingers pulled the hairs on the back of my neck while his tongue took ten fast laps around the inside of my mouth. I felt like one of those spinning plates on top of a pole at the circus. The dishwasher whoosh, whoosh, whooshed, as that spray tower inside the washer spun jets of hot water over the pots and pans. 

My eyes opened. Christ, he was hot with his eyes all scrunched tight making those laugh lines spread. My arm flew out to the counter for balance-- I knocked over the Jet-Dry. Shit, I forgot to put some in the dishwasher-- no spot-free glasses today. 

I groaned pitifully into his mouth. I never was much for kissing-- I'd rather skip it and get to the main event, but this was as good as a fuck. Better than a sloppy blow job even. I was hard as yesterday's donuts. 

I think it was the combination of hot agitation of the dishwasher on my ass end and his tongue in my mouth, but holy hell, I was about to come in my jeans. Then he did the full body slam and--

We have ignition!

I came. 

Just as fast as he pounced on me, he leaped off. 

"Why'd you stop?" I asked, gasping. 

"Kate-- she's coming."

Like that, she waltzed through the door. I grabbed a dishtowel to cover my lap too late; she'd already noticed the spot on my crotch. Sure could use some of that Jet-Dry myself. 

She narrowed her eyes at me, then at Hec. 

"I think we'd better get going," she said.

"Sure," Hec said. 

She spun around and went out the door. 

"We need to talk when I get back," Hec said, following her. I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or her sister, but I answered, "Ah, sure" anyways.

Then I watched them from the kitchen window as they drove away.

I dropped the dishtowel on the counter and sighed as I looked around me.

This was the first time I had the freedom to explore in the old home. Hec or Kate was always hovering near before. I searched the downstairs, calling out their names. No sign of Hec or Kate or little sister. I had to make sure. I just didn't trust my eyes. Never know when one of them might just pop up. Not one answered. I crossed my fingers. 

I was pretty certain there was no other living soul around except Pete and me. I slowed down and took this time to discover closets, investigate doors, rifle through drawers and do general busy-body snooping that all people who are naturally curious succumb to at least once or twice during their lives. This gave me a lot of leeway to become the Sherlock Holmes of bed and breakfast skullduggery and take my own magical mystery tour of the house. 

In light of the fact that the few possessions I had that were fair game for them to rifle through, I felt no guilt whatsoever.

Liar, liar, pants on fire. 

Ok... yeah... I did feel a touch of guilt. A touch. 

There sure were a shitload of doors in this place. I almost got lost. I certainly got turned around on a couple of occasions. Before I always had Hec to follow. Hec.

He'd kissed me. 

Kissed me. Made me come in my jeans. My sticky, sticky jeans. I didn't want to change them-- yet. I figured I'd let the memory of the whole experience age. Kind of like wine only protein-based. 

It was difficult making my way through this maze of interconnected rooms with or without sticky underwear.

Kissed me. His whiskers weren't scratchy like Austin's. 

And his tongue... Made me dizzy again just remembering. 

I found myself back in the lobby after going through what Hec called the smoking room's side door. I made my way to the main desk and flipped through the guest book. I was the first and last entry they'd had in weeks. Kate's room was off the main lobby in the back of this main desk. I tried the door. Unlocked. What can I say? I couldn't help myself... 

I stepped inside. Not a room, more like a small furnished apartment with a dinette, small fridge and oven. Three of the walls were painted eggshell, the fourth with the fireplace on it was painted a rich rose color. She had a cozy living area, plush high-back couch in a flowered pattern that complemented the walls and matching chairs. Most of the wood was cherry with a smattering of oak. I peeked into her bedroom cautiously. No one there either. Plenty of fluffy pastel pillows on a cherry bed. Nice handmade quilt. 

She had a cherry desk in one corner of her bedroom that contained very little, like most of the drawers in this house. Pens, tablets, no notes to speak of other than shopping lists. The letters that were there amounted to only junk mail. Nothing telling, nothing of interest. A 14-inch TV sat on the dresser against the far wall near the only window in the room. There was dust on the knobs, and I didn't see any remote. The lace curtains looked old. 

I knew even less than I did when I started.

Next was to find Hec's room.

I'd wondered for days where his room was located. I'd thought it was downstairs, in the back of the house. I'd searched high and low. There were smoking rooms, sitting rooms, large living room, kitchen, laundry, two dining areas but no other bedrooms downstairs but Kate's and a sparsely furnished guest bedroom that looked like it'd never been used.

I knew his room wasn't off the main stairs-- or I was pretty sure since the times we had sat and talked downstairs in the living room, he'd said goodnight, then walked toward the back of the house. His room had to be up and off one of the two servants' stairways back there.

So that's where I headed.

I had a lot of fantasies about Hec's room, including whips and chains. Not that I was into that kind of thing, but I was always open to try new things.

The servants' stairwell just off the dining room was a straight shot up. The stairs were steep and the railing old and worn. At the top was a bathroom with modern tub and fixtures. The medicine cabinet contained only aspirin, Tylenol and an old toothbrush.

I walked as softly as possible, but the old hardwood floor squeaked every so often under my stocking feet. I was trying my best to be covert, but I guess I just didn't have that in me.

I methodically walked through the rooms. The first room had loads of furniture in it, old lamps, sofas, chairs. Some looked to be antiques, but most were just junk. The adjacent door was locked. But logically it was connected to the second room, which I got to from the hallway. It held more of the same old furniture. Third room was a nursery. The walls had wallpaper with little puppies playing with balls and digging holes. Kinda cute. A baby bed and a small single bed were on the west wall. The only other furnishings were an old rocking chair that sat on top of a braided rug, a bassinette and a dresser. I checked the dresser. Nothing in it. The room was dusted and clean although it didn't look like it'd been used in a long while. I checked the closet. Nothing in it but an old lamp. I opened the door connected to another bedroom. The furnishings all from the 50s with double beds that looked like they came out of the Dick Van Dyke Show. The closet had a few outfits in it that were about as old as the furnishings.

I went out into the hall. I noticed then that hallway came back on to itself. There were two more doors. One led to an inside bedroom that was small. Nothing in it at all. No beds. At a 45 degree angle from that bedroom door was the last room. It was lived it, but I was disappointed since no way this room was his. A hint of perfume hung in the air. A bed, chair and dresser with a small TV on top. I tiptoed inside and began investigating, pulling out the dresser drawers. Clothes. Bright colors. Charlotte's room. I felt bad snooping.

But I didn't let that stop me. I was obsessed. I had to learn more about the place and Hec-- the man with the magic tongue.

I opened the closet. She had a few dresses hanging in there. Shoes on the floor. Boxes with more shoes on shelves along with knickknacks. I found a box with candles and matches for those evenings when electricity went out. A straw hat and winter gloves. A flashlight. And then I noticed something odd. I slid the clothes aside. It looked like a door. A hidden door. Fuck.

There wasn't a handle, but I could see where it opened. The wood was polished at the top where fingers had pried it open. I dug my finger in and pulled. 

It opened. I took the flashlight off the shelf and turned it on. And there was light.

This had to be how they got in my room. 

I stepped inside. I could stand up straight. Leaving the door ajar, I shined the light around pointing it down the passageway. It was wide enough so that two could easily pass side by side and ran between the walls. I noticed it was virtually free of cobwebs. 

Must be from frequent use.

I cautiously measured my way down the passageway, inspecting the walls with my hands carefully for other doorways. I soon realized that this was more of a maze than the downstairs rooms. The passageway ran within every wall! Christ! I was at another four-way stop where rooms met. If I got lost I'd be in trouble; they might not be gone for much longer.

I shined the flashlight down straight ahead. It was a long way down the passageway and looked well used. Then I illuminated the way to my right. There was a small stairway! Again no cobwebs to speak of. To my left it looked like the passageway either came to a sharp turn or it was a dead end-- and had more spiders than a late night horror movie. 

I debated. What was the worst that could happen? They'd find out I knew their secret? I decided to take a chance and went the way of the stairs.

I checked the wall for more secret doorways and found only one, but I couldn't budge it. The first step creaked as I put my weight on it. Then I heard it. A bang and clang under my feet. The plumbing! I stepped again. A groan this time. I think I found my symphony. The plumbing was under the stairway

At the top of the steps I followed the most worn path left on the floor where bare boards were cleared of dust. It was like following a trail of breadcrumbs, turning, weaving, wandering until I found a place where the dust was pushed aside from a door opening. I shined the flashlight on the wall, and there it was, the door. I ran my hand around its perimeter and found that at the top edge I could just fit my fingers inside. I pulled and it opened...

Into a closet. 

Hec's closet. 

I knew it immediately. 

I could smell him. 

Opening the closet door into his bedroom I felt like Dorothy, opening the door to see Oz.



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 06



I stepped out of his closet into paradise. 

Color and light. Huge windows. Space. Bookshelves to the ceiling. Purple walls. Hec's bed looked like something out of Middle Earth-- a four poster made out of tree trunks. Its roots appeared to sprout from out of the floor, and vines carved and wound around the trucks from base to canopy and across. No mistaking the craftsmanship; the same hands that made the grand staircase skillfully carved this same bed.

Until this moment, I felt no compunction searching the rooms in this home-- now I felt like a blasphemer to do so. I reverently ran my fingertips across his dresser, carved by the same hands. His mirror. His comb. I touched his curls caught within its teeth. 

I felt like a love-sick fool.

I was acting like he was some deity, not the flesh-and-blood man who just an hour ago had me pinned to the dishwasher, making me cream my shorts like a schoolboy.

I turned to the bed, imagining what it'd be like-- him on top of me, in me, making me call out his name.

I could have it. I could be here, with him.

I crept up the bed, feeling like an outsider wanting to be in. I traced my fingers over the dark bed posts, so hedonistic-- the mattress lush and deep covered with a rich velvet bedspread. Ran my fingers over fabric; I never knew a color could be felt, but the purple tingled on my fingertips like sparks of light. 

In an instant the room turned, changed. An odd, unexplainable aura filled it. Not Mary Poppins Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious magic. No, this was erotic. Desire, lust, want, swirled around me like a manic merry-go-round. Even if I hadn't known this was Hec's room, I would have been hard-- but imagining Hec spread out on the same bed I was touching, well, it made me want to take my dick out and mark my territory by spotting the crushed velvet with come. I eased myself down on the lush mattress, threw my legs and arms out. My cock was rock-hard for the third time today. I looked up--

Holy fuck.

Inside the canopy were carvings. Pornography, all sorts of acts carefully carved. The carvings were detailed, too. Men with men, men and women, women with women. Made me wonder what this bed was used for, and how Hec could possibly sleep here. Hec had to masturbate to these pictures. At least I hoped he did. Hard not to. Just thinking on one image in particular almost sent me over the edge. I wondered what kind of house this was. A brothel? And this bed? All a customer need do is point at a position and say, "I think I'll have number seven tonight!" 

I knew if I stayed in this bed much longer, he'd find me here passed out after a good wank. Part of me wanted that-- but I'd rather not explain how I got in his bed.

As I got up, the flashlight I'd held tight in my hand dropped with a thud to the floor and rolled under the bed. I bent over to pick it up and suddenly felt dizzy, grasping the post of the bed for support. My mind was milk-toast and honey, and I was ready to faint with desire. Great, who was I now? One of those damsels with my heart pounding with longing that Hec writes about? That would be just prefect-- Hec finds me, sprawled on his floor, helpless and vulnerable. I could see it now--





Rewriting Singularity Ch. 07



I woke up a sticky Hec-and-me mess with no desire to shower. God, who would want to with a hot romance novelist curled around you like a big, snuggly warm blanket? Not me. I didn't move, just inhaled his musky, sweet sex-kitten neck. If I thought I had it bad before, I was now in the terminal stage-- I even loved his snoring. His whistles and snorts sounded like Gershwin. Fuck, I had to be in love.

I was admiring the freckles on his upper lip when he woke. He yawned and stretched like a cat, then smiled at me like he'd eaten the canary-- well, maybe that was the wrong simile to use: I'd never let him eat Pete. Me, I'd let him eat. Serve me up hot with two helpings of tossed Hot Hector and Mr. Grumbles on the side.

"Hi," he said. 

"Hi," I smiled back.

That grin. Then-- Zap! Pow! Bang! went my heart. I looked up at the ceiling, then back at him. 

"That was-- nice," I said. Lame. Yes, lame. That was nice?! Was that all I could think of to say? Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

"I thought it was spectacular," he said.

"That too." Double lame. I needed to come back with something witty, something that would impress him with, you know, my intellect--

"You have amazing--" think, think, think. Witty. Something witty, "--testicles." 

What came out of him sounded more like a sneeze than a laugh that transmuted into a cackling, comedic-contagion. 

"Yours are amazing too." 

He started laughing and choking again. I started. Tears rolled down our cheeks. There was no need for sweetening our little sitcom with canned laugh track. 

He caught his breath, and I reached over to muss his hair. I liked touching it. I had to make sure he was real every once in a while. Besides, any excuse was good for me to play with those curls.

"Probably should be getting downstairs," he said at last.

"So soon?" 

"I bet Kate's wondering what happened to me."

"Or maybe she's not wondering--" I added. Man, my tummy was good and sore from mad snorts of laughter. 

"Yeah, you're probably right."

I sat up, pulled the sheets around me and looked down at Hec. 

"What's up with your sister anyhow?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, chewing a hangnail.

"The way she looks at me like I'm the Prince of Darkness or something. What's up with that?"

Hec sighed and put his hands behind his head. "It's a long story."

"I got time." 

"I got time, too." Hec rolled over and into me. The corner of his mouth curled up as he rubbed seductively against my thigh. 

Horny bastard.

Mr. Happy tried to get hard again-- but four times in one day had him all wore down to no bone.

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head. "I need recovery time-- how about story time instead?" I closed my eyes. "I love stories."

"I didn't want to get into this yet."

"I said, it's story time!"

"I don't believe this--" 

Mr. Grumbles returneth. 

"Come on, Miss Charlotte, tell Jacob the Legend of the Lodges. Come on-- ple-e-e-ease."

"You aren't going to give up, are you?"

"Nope."

"Very well," Hec sat up next to me in the bed. Needless to say, there is nothing more distracting than a hot naked man sitting with his legs crossed. 

He cleared his throat and began his tale. "Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away lived a family of three curly-haired children. These three children were very, very close and very, very special."

Like I could understand one word with his special family jewels on display? He had to know how distracting that was.

"They lived all alone with no one else in the world. You see, they had no mommy or daddy to look after them, so they were forced to look after themselves. Because of this--"

"You really need to sit differently," I interrupted. "I mean, at least cover yourself--" He bounced his knees instead. Christ.

I got tough. I was strong. No need to succumb to human weakness-- I will look at him-- in the face! That's it, yeah! No! No! No-o-- not there! Um, I do believe they're bouncing. 

"Ok, what happened to your parents?" I asked, trying to get my act together.

Hmm, yes, follow the bouncing balls. No, no, don't follow them, look at his face-- oops! Shit! 

"Don't know," he smirked, enjoying every moment of my frustration. Bouncy, bouncy... What a tease. "We woke up one day, and they were gone." 

"You're saying that your parents ran away from home?" Now, he had my attention.

"Something like that. After they disappeared my sister took over, became mom, I suppose. She raised us."

"That must have been hard on your sister."

"She didn't have any choice-- we didn't have any choice. None of us really had a childhood."

"That's not very fair. Still," I said.

"Listen, my sisters and I are all the family we have. We stick together. Kate is just protective, and well, maybe a bit afraid I'm going to find someone and, you know, leave her all alone."

I could understand that, but--

"She has your younger sister--"

"--who's getting married in June."

"Oh--"

"--and that's been a hard one for Kate too. She doesn't like the guy."

"Do you?"

"He's ok-- for a Bears fan."

"So why doesn't your sister like him?"

"Maybe it's the fact that he slept with me first."

"Huh?" I thought I heard him wrong.

"It was nothing--" he said.

My mouth was still hanging open thinking about how the Lodge Lodge was really Peyton Place Revisited.

"He decided he preferred his Lodge with breasts instead of balls."

I could relate to that-- Austin, the traitorous bastard, was with Miss Big Bazoombas, and he left my balls hanging. 

"From the moment you checked in, Charlie couldn't stop talking about you. 'Jake this' and 'Jake that' and she even Googled you." 

"I don't know if I should feel honored or scared shitless," I admitted.

"Yeah, well, she tends to fixate."

Like other Lodges don't?

"I thought you said she was getting married?"

"She's fickle," he shrugged. "She's been engaged three times. This one's lasted the longest."

"Don't tell me-- they were all your boyfriends first?"

"No," he laughed, then turned serious. "I liked you too. Right away."

Alright. True confessions.

"And we've spent a lot of time together since you've been here, talking and writing. My little sister noticed and got pissed-- Kate freaked. I'm sure she thought, 'Oh, no. Here it comes again.' So Kate thinks this whole thing with you is like déjà vu because Ted, that's Charlie's fiancé, stayed here too. That's how we-- they-- met, in this same room. And well, after a few days... this is all pretty personal..."

"I think we're getting into the long story--"

"Yeah."

"So, you did it in this bed, huh?" I asked, slapping the mattress. I was trying hard not to get jealous. I mean, he had a life before me. 

Before me? I was thinking like we were a couple... 

"Did he sneak into your room too?" I asked.

"No," Hec frowned, "but he snuck into my sister's."

"Did he find anything?"

"Just my sister."

I stifled a laugh. "That's not what I meant."

"I know-- you meant did he find anything unusual-- like maybe a music box?"

My brain went white. "Yes," I whispered.

"No, she doesn't have one, but you should know that since you went through Charlie's room--"

"Yeah, I did."

"And Kate's."

I nodded.

"And most of the rest of this house."

"Yep."

"And the passageways--"

"Well, some..." 

He took both my hands in his, long fingers brushing my knuckles, then my sore palms.

"I noticed you had some trouble," he said slowly. "Is that what happened to your hands?" 

I nodded.

"Next time you want a tour, just ask, ok? It's safer."

I hesitated. "I want a tour..." Should I say it? Should I? He squeezed my hands. 

I said it. 

"...of your room."

He inched closer, took my bottom lip into his mouth and sucked. 

Mr. Happy came alive.

"I can arrange for that tour," he said, as my lip popped out of his mouth.

"Arrange? I want you to be the guide."

"Sure," he said, slyly. "I'll guide you."

Fuck.

"How about later today?" he suggested. 

"I think I can fit that in," I nodded. Mr. Happy should be wide awake by then.

"Maybe we can play, you show me yours if I show you mine." 

"I was hoping for more than show and tell-- more like hide and seek."

Suddenly, Hec went quiet-- like he was listening intently for something, then he jumped off the bed.

"I've gotta go now."

"What?!"

He rushed to dress, shoving his legs into his jeans and he walked across the room, then pulling his green and black striped shirt over his head as he stepped out the door.

"I'll give you the tour after dinner."

The door closed.

People sure came and went fast here.

I rested my back against the headboard. I closed my eyes. It was then that I realized there was something in my hand. I slowly opened it, and there in my palm lay a tiny gold key. How it got there I didn't know, but I did know that Hec was somehow responsible.

What was the key for? Not the music box. It didn't have a lock. And how did I come by it?

Over and over I'd scoffed at the possibilities-- that Hec was not what he appeared. Genie? A supernatural being? A magician? All had seemed impossible.

Seemed.

Until now.

My first impulse was to run down the stairs and find Hec. But wherever Hec was, Kate was near. Not that I was chicken-shit, but playing twenty questions about my sex life wasn't my idea of a good afternoon. 

I tried to be logical-- he'd looked in my hand. Maybe he was a slight-of-hand artist, slipped it inside my hand. If so, he was pretty damn good. The more I thought about it, the more I worried I was falling in love with an apparition. 

I dressed, then decided to write. Sat down to my laptop, turned it on. I tapped my fingers against the table waiting for it to boot up, then clicked on our sitcom script, scrolled down, and shit. There was more there. A lot more there. He'd done it again. I jumped up and paced around my room. How did he do it? Was he in my room all along, writing instead of at the store with Kate? More feasible than the other idea I had in my head-- the one where he wrote through telekinesis.

The key? The sitcom? This place?

I plopped back down in the chair and read what he'd written. Brilliant. For a romance writer he had a knack for comedy. I reread it. Then added, then edited. I shook my head, then glanced over at the clock. Almost dinner time. I stood up, stretched and scratched my head. 

Time for dinner or at least a sandwich. Maybe run into Hec, and I could get the tour-- I'd long since given up on straight answers. I checked myself in the mirror and decide to try my luck, go downstairs. What I didn't expect was to find Kate standing outside of my door.

--------------------------

She stood in front on me, dressed in a simple gray knit sweater with a scoop neckline and jeans. Her tiny diamond stud earrings were as cool as the eyes that appraised me. She crossed her arms over her chest and heaved a sigh before telling me, "Dinner is almost ready."

I tried slipping around her, but she blocked my way with a quick sidestep.

"I was just coming down," I said, still trying to get past her.

"I need to talk to you first."

"Won't dinner get cold?"

"If it gets cold, I'll warm it back up."

"Fine," I said, leaning my shoulder against my door. Might as well get this over with; I cleared my throat. "What do you want to know?"

"What do you want with my brother?"

I took a deep breath. 

The stairwell just didn't seem the best place for this conversation. Our voices echoed through the vast expanse of the entryway below, and I didn't like the idea of other people hearing our conversation-- not that there were other guests-- it was more along the lines of Charlie and Hec hearing which concerned me.

I kept my voice low, trying not to let my part of the conversation bounce off the walls. 

"Well, I want him for a friend for starters."

"And..."

"I want to spend time with him. I like being around him. He's smart, funny, intelligent; he makes me laugh."

"Go on..."

"I'd like us to be more than friends."

She inspected me like a bug under a magnifying glass that a kid intends to fry under the lens. 

"I think you already are."

"You should talk to your brother about this."

She ignored me. 

"I'll tell you what I think you want--"

"If you already know, why bother asking?" Damn, it was hot in this stairwell. 

"I wanted to hear what you had to say-- to see if it had a ring of truth in it."

"I take it you already have me all figured out. I admit I'm very attracted to your brother. I don't see why you'd find that threatening-- and if you're worried that I'm toying with him-- don't. You think I'm after something? I'm not. I don't see what you're so concerned about."

She shook her head. She didn't believe me. I wiped the sweat off my forehead.

"I'll tell you what I see," she said, "and you tell me if you think I'm wrong-- how's that?"

"Go right ahead--" I jiggled the change in my pocket impatiently. I was sure she saw me as an intrusion into her life. Sounded like she wanted to drop-kick me. And to make things worse, I was sweating like I'd run a marathon-- it had to be over ninety degrees in this stairwell. Must be all the hot air rising.

I took my hand out of my pocket and fanned my face. "Tell me what you see then--"

"I see a washed-up sitcom writer who hasn't had a hit in years," she said. "I see a man who tried to take credit for someone else's work."

I was dumbfounded. "Ah, shit--" I wiped the sweat off my brow again, which I'm sure she interpreted as guilt.

"I see a man who took money that wasn't rightfully his to dissolve that partnership, and I see a man who's found another patsy to write for him." 

It was all clear to me now. Austin-- he'd gotten to her. 

"I don't believe this," I said. "When did he talk to you?"

The stairwell got hotter; it felt like the temperature had climbed at least another 10 degrees. 

"A few hours ago." She recrossed her arms in front of her. "It's plain for me to see-- you found out my brother was a writer, and you used him."

Something smelled hot. Smoldering. Could be her frying my brains.

"Wait a minute-- he was writing on my laptop before I knew he was a writer."

"You mean before he told you he was a writer."

She probably thought I was using sex to get what I wanted, too. Great. Thanks, Austin. That sucked, especially since we really hadn't had sex yet, at least not the Final Act.

"You've got it backwards-- or should I say, he's got it backwards," I explained. "Austin is the one who stole my sitcom that I wrote." Sweat rolled down my forehead, down, down and ending in a precarious drop at the tip of my nose. I flicked it off. "It's hotter than hell in here! Is something wrong with your furnace?"

"I'm not hot."

I looked her over. She wasn't. I wondered if I was coming down with something-- flu maybe.

"He's the one who screwed me over," I continued. "I left him-- he didn't leave me-- well, he did leave me with Thanksgiving supper on the table to go eat with that woman, but I left after that."

"He said he threw you out."

"He says a lot of things. Normally, I'd just blow this off as Austin being a son of a bitch, but I care about your brother and consequently, what you think." She rolled her eyes. "I do."

"Doesn't sound that way to me." 

"Listen, if you don't believe me, I have some friends who will vouch for me and tell you all about Austin's antics."

"I'll do that. In the meantime, I don't want you playing with Hec's head."

I blinked. That wasn't what I wanted to play with, but I wouldn't say that to her. Didn't matter. It was like she could read my mind-- her cheeks flushed an angry red.

I stood there, drenched in sweat, looking down at a woman half my size, beating me down, telling me what a rotten, lousy person I was. Shit. I was the injured party. And since I'd been here, weird things were happening to me. 

"If there's anyone who should be pissed off, it's me," I snapped, not caring anymore if anyone heard me. "People sneaking into my room, going through my things, leaving food, messing with my laptop."

"What are you talking about?"

"What is it with this place? I keep thinking this is all a dream, and I'm going to step out of the shower like Bobby Ewing or-- are you missing your thumbs? You don't eat walnuts, do you? Do you know Kolac? Have two extra eyes in the back of your head? Where are the walnuts?"

She looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. I felt delirious-- waking dreams of Dick Van Dyke and Dallas danced through my head like sugar plums or thumbs. Not sure which.

"Forget it," I said, waving her off. "It's so hot. You can't feel how hot it is? I don't think you want to believe me-- about the heat, about my room, or about your brother. You had your mind already made up before you came up here to talk to me. I've never used anyone in my life-- and I like Hec." I fixed on her narrowed eyes. "Correction-- I more than like Hec. God, I don't believe I'm saying this--" I exhaled slowly. "I think I might be in love with him."

A light came from above. Or maybe it was just my imagination (running away with me). Like temptation-- or The Temptations-- depending on whether I wanted five hard parts or five-part harmony. 

Something happened inside her after I said those words. Her whole countenance softened: Her arms loosened, her hands relaxed, her pupils widened. Then she stepped aside.

"I want my brother to be happy. He's never been lucky in love. I don't want to see him hurt again," she said, pointing her finger at me for emphasis. "And if you hurt him, so help me, I'll make your life a living hell."

"Feels like I'm already in hell. Christ, I'm burning up." I got a whiff of smoke, too. Not a good sign-- she probably charred-broiled my insides.

"I think dinner is burning," she blurted out. 

I didn't think that would turn the house into Dante's Inferno-- but it would explain that smoky ambiance.

We rushed down the stairs.

"I'd appreciate it if you two were more discreet," she said, stopping short. I halted at her heels. 

"About what?" I held the railing-- the obscene railing-- under my fingertips. Smooth. Warm. Please. I need that guided tour.

Beep! Beep! Beep! 

"Shit, that thing is always going off," she grumbled. Going off? Does everything have to be a metaphor for sex?

Beep! Beep! Beep! 

Smoke detector. Wonderful, maybe the house was on fire-- it was hot enough to be.

She flung a look at me. "Don't talk about having sex. Especially around Charlie."

"But we haven't had sex!" Not yet. But there was always hope.

Beep! Beep! Beep! 

She spun and continued down the stairs, through the hallway and I followed half falling over my feet. "Ah, fuck!" I grabbed her waist to keep my balance. "We haven't!" I repeated.

"Shhh! Keep your voice down," she said, opening the door to the dining room. "No sex? According to what definition?" 

"Mine, the Bible's, Webster's Dictionary's, the Encyclopedia Britannica's, Bill Clinton's. We've only-- you know, done other things."

Other things-- but were they ever good.

"Like making out on the kitchen counters?!"

"The counters? No, but I can't say the same for the dishwasher--"

I heard running ahead of us. We weren't the only ones heading toward the alarm. 

Beep! Beep! Beep! 

Through the dining room. 

"Well, keep whatever you did together to yourself," she continued. "I'd rather Charlie not know the details--" 

Beep! Beep! Beep! 




Rewriting Singularity Ch. 07



The kitchen door opened to a puff of smoke, and through the haze I saw Hec standing on top of the kitchen table, taking the batteries out of the smoke detector, while Charlie fanned a large pan of blackened pasta she'd just placed on the virginal counter-- the oven door was wide open, smoke billowed out. 

"Damn," I said, disappointed. "And it was a casserole, too."

"Well, you won't be having that tonight," Hec said, snapping the cover back on the smoke detector and bouncing the battery in his hand. The ceiling fan whipped around on high, and the smoke churned around the room like a maelstrom. My eyes burned. 

"Sorry, Jake," said Charlie. "I must not have been watching the time."

"More like distracted," Hec said under his breath as he hopped off the table smack at my feet.

"Oh, like you weren't eavesdropping too?!" Charlie blurted out, slapping the singed potholders on the counter.

"Seems like we're all to blame," Kate said, changing the subject. "Guess it's sandwiches for dinner."

Charlie threw open the outside door to the kitchen, and cold air rushed inside. I stood staring into Hec's face. He wore a huge grin-- and Charlie's face was as frigid as the air. They heard me alright. Every word. 

"Fine with me," I said. "I was thinking about having a sandwich a little while ago anyway." My teeth chattered with the last few words. Fuck, I was cold. First hot, now cold. 

"You alright, Jake?" Hec asked. 

I shivered and nodded. "Just chilly."

"Go sit out in the dining room-- I'll make you a sandwich-- it's one of my specialties. You'll love it."

"Sure I can't help?" I asked.

"No, you go sit down," said Kate. "You're the guest, remember?" 

She was trying to get rid of me. I looked at Hec for a nod, and then I went out into the dining room. Kate shut the door behind me for privacy. 

I sat down, wondering what in the devil they were talking about in there. The Last Temptation of Christ? Global Warming? Hot Cross Buns?

Hec came out about 15 to 20 minutes later, more than enough time to make a troop of hungry teenagers sandwiches. Kate and Charlie excused themselves as Hec set down two plates, one for me and one for him with sandwiches neatly cut on the diagonal and chips on the side. I took a bite as Charlie threw Hec an odd look, then followed behind Kate. 

I chewed and focused my attention on the vision sitting next to me. His eyes filled with mischief and his lips curled in satisfaction. Home-baked bread, yum. Layers of turkey, ham, mayo, some kind of cheese-- warm and gooey. Banana peppers, lettuce and tomato. And Hec, equally well put together with more layers than I'd ever be able to decipher.

"What do you want to drink?" he asked

"A beer would be nice," I said with my mouth full.

"Sure you don't want something stronger?"

"I'm fine."

Hec whisked away through the kitchen door and came back a few moments later with two Heinekens in hand and set mine in front of me.

I twisted the cap and took a swig. 

"Thanks."

"Yeah, thank you," he smiled. "In advance-- just in case I'm too winded and forget to thank you later."

I noticed he was blushing. God, I wanted him-- I was hot all over again.

We both ate silently, both taking peeks at each other between bites. Hec took care of the plates when we were done and came back fast.

"Ready for that tour?"

"You bet."

I followed him through the kitchen. Such a nice ass to follow, too-- 

I carefully observed those buns of steel, keeping a nice distance so as to get the full effect.

He led me to the old servants quarters converted to laundry room to the stairs-- the one staircase I'd never gone up. 

"These stairs were used by servants to get to the master bedroom-- that's my room. It leads to a back hallway and then to the corridors off each of the rooms."

This place was hot too. Either my heavy sweating and breathing were from checking out the exquisite flex-and-release action of his ass, or I was coming down with something. 

We reached the top. 

"My room is at the end of the hall here."

I followed. I liked this tour-- straight to the point-- not like one of those tours given by docents, elaborating on the rich history of the home. Not that I wasn't interested, it was just that at that moment my interest was in making a bit of rich history with Hec. Between the sheets. Or on velvet. In that bed. 

There it was. The end of the hall. The door. His door. He shot me a sly look and opened it. 

Hec stepped in. I stood looking, this time not at the room but the man before me. He coaxed me in with a shy grin. I followed and closed the door.

I boldly stepped over to the bed and sat down.

"Who's been sleeping in my bed?" he asked, bouncing down next to me.

"Ah, fuck. You got me, Papa Bear. It was me." I slid in closer, grabbed his arm and reined him in. "Except I didn't sleep."

"Oh, so what did you do?"

Both my hands got wound up in the back of his shirt, pulled him tight to me, then tipped him back, and we flattened on the bed. 

"I wondered how you slept with all those lustful images carved above and Blue Boy below," I gazed up and pointed.

"You have been a busy snoop. But to answer you-- I haven't slept too well-- but you're wrong as to why I stay awake."

"Enlighten me, oh wise one."

He chuckled as he half sat up.

"You see, the thrill you get from erotica wrapped in brown paper and depraved carvings doesn't last," he said, pulling at my sweat-drenched shirt over my head. "I need someone to share my interests. Someone who appreciates my taste. Someone who will carve out something with me." I helped him off with his shirt, then unzipped his jeans. "Help me select the wood, make sure it's hard, prepared, then polished."

I reached inside and traced my thumb around his cock. 

I let my fingers graze-- down, down, down.

So nice.

"I find the carvings very-- instructive," I said.

He slid into the center of the bed, leaving me behind for a moment, sprawling out as he did so. His jeans sliding over his hips, cock free. I slipped them off the rest of the way, then got rid of my damp denim. I glanced over and noticed Hec admiring Mr. Happy standing free.

I crushed his lips with mine, searching for that bold tongue-- that tongue-fuck. Instead, he toyed with me, flirted-- tongue demi pliés. With every feather touch, I tingled clean down to my toes.

I panted and squirmed as he plucked my nipples. I returned the favor, then rolled on top of him. Contact. Friction. We went from light pets to hard rubs. We wrestled and rolled and laughed and writhed. 

"Good, so good." I liked Hec's encouraging words. At last, he went up on one elbow and his tongue targeted my ear. Magic tongue blundered around the outside then took the plunge, playing "Skip to my Lou" in my ear canal. I hummed as kisses trailed from my earlobe across my jaw. His lips came together with mine, open-mouthed and wet. 

That kiss--his devil tongue. My hand pulled at the back of his neck.

"You're really hot," he said, breaking the kiss.

"Thanks."

"I mean you're burning up."

"So I've been told."

"No, I mean you have a fever."

"I sure do-- a fever for you."

"Maybe we shouldn't do this if you're sick."

"I'm delirious-- delirious for you."

"Now I know you're sick."

"Number seven."

"What?" he asked.

I pointed. "Number seven."

He shook his head. "Number nine." 

"Number seven."

"Number nine."

"I said, number seven."

"Alright, only because you're sick, but I'm on top-- I don't want you to over-exert yourself."

He rolled over, and I rolled after, not wanting to be far from his touch-- I'd smother him with every inch of me if I could. He reached under a plump pillow and pulled out a condom and lube.

"Aren't you prepared?" I observed. 

He tore the wrapper with his teeth. All my senses peaked and played in slow motion-- I watched Hec's warm eyes, eating me up. The feather-soft bed. His long fingers deliberate as he rolled the condom down my cock. The lube cap popped open. Hec's hands shiny and cool as they buttered my length. Then he slid over me, one hand steady on my thigh the other helping me bury my fingers inside him. 

"A good guide expertly leads his clientele to the proper destination."

So tight. I loved his deep, throaty moans as I push-pulled my fingers. 

"I'm ready," he groaned as my fingers slipped out as he pulled away, "to finish this tour."

Hec straddled me. Lowered himself down onto the tip of my cock. I whimpered; he gasped. Knees bent, he impaled himself down to the root of my cock, then he rode me as I thrust wildly, thumbs digging into the dense flesh of his thighs. I moved my hand up and took the shaft of his cock and jerked. I looked into his dark eyes and I was gone. A few more jerks and he was too.

He collapsed next to me, belly against my side, breathing hard into my ear as he laughed, "That was amazing."

All I could do was nod. He tied off the rubber, wadded it up with Kleenex and tossed it under the bed. After, kisses covered my throat and nose and lips. I sighed, and we hugged and mumbled goodnights. 

Moments later, I was asleep, curled up in a living blanket.

When I woke later, the room was dark. My eyes adjusted. 

It was like a call-- or maybe a pull. Light from the full moon bathed the small table. I slipped out of bed naked; I glanced behind. Hec snored-- such music, song as beautiful as the box on the table, his chest rose and fell, slow and rhythmic. I hesitated, then walked silently across the room. The music box was as I had left it, still open. I looked inside. Shadows dipped and fell, but I could make out its contents still: the handkerchief wrapped neatly around what called to me. 

I reached inside. This time I felt no cold. I lifted it out. From the size and feel I guessed it was a small book. Slowly I unfolded each layer of the handkerchief. First one flap, then the next.

A diary. And I had the key.

Hec stirred. I hurriedly wrapped it back up, but as I did I heard metal drop to the floor. I watched something shiny roll off under the bed. I hastily put the diary back in the music box. 

I stopped. Hec's snores quieted. I had to smile. He looked boyish with his hands tucked under his head. He seemed to be sleeping. 

I stepped next to the bed and knelt down onto my hands and knees. Hec did not move. I looked under the bed. The moonlight gave it away. A ring. I picked it up, rolling it between my fingers. A simple gold band. There was something engraved on the inside.

As I turned to be able to read it better in the moonlight, I heard Hec move.

"Let me turn on the lamp," Hec said. "You'll need better light to read it."



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 08



I was caught. 

"I spy with my little eye something round." I rolled the ring between my fingers.

"And what does it say inside?" Hec asked.

I leaned closer to the lamp Hec so kindly turned on for me-- light reflected off the simple band as I tilted it to see. I held my breath. It couldn't be. "Is this a joke?" I asked as blood pounded in my ears. "This has to be some kind of joke--"

"No joke." 

I whispered the words "to JG always, HL" then shook my head. "I'm either delirious or dreaming."

"No, you're not." 

My legs turned to rubber bands. I was dizzy and sweating. A gazillion questions popped into my head. The first and last of which were: Why did this ring have our initials engraved inside? 

"I don't understand," I said.

Hec studied my face, reached out his hand and touched my brow.

"You're sick-- running a temperature. Sit down on the bed," Hec suggested. What? Sit next to his nakedness? I'm all over that. 

"I better go and get you something to get that temperature down--" 

I didn't disagree. I let my new night nurse fetch me a Tylenol and a nice tall, glass of water.

He got out of bed and wrapped a bathrobe around himself whilst I enjoyed the view.

"Want anything else?" he asked.

I pondered. Sex? Pickles? Chocolate? Number nine? 

I settled on-- "Ice cream?" -- almost as good as number nine and less messy.

"Yeah, I can get that. But we only have chocolate."

"Chocolate is good." Shit, another brilliant line from my mouth. He flashed me a grin and was off, leaving me to debate with myself about my own sanity and his. I looked at the ring again, wondering where it came from and why it was engraved with our initials. 

He wasn't gone long, which didn't give me much chance to fixate on my plight. He came back balancing a glass full of water, a bottle of Tylenol and two bowls of ice cream.

He made a charming nurse as he dispensed my meds with care, then handed me my ice cream. I even got kissed after. Now that's good home care. Yes, he'd look good in one of the little nurse uniforms. Another kiss. He stripped and climbed back in beside me, retrieving his bowl off the nightstand.

"The diary will help you understand," he said, scooping a big spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. "I'll try my best to fill in some other pieces."

I hesitated. "I left the key in my room." 

He tugged my arm, his lips brushed my ear as the Everly Brothers crooned inside my head, Dream, dream. dream. No, not a dream, just felt like one, but all of this was surreal-- maybe brought on by fever. Maybe real. And his heat close to me got me interested in more than the inscription on the ring. I made some feverish advances. I wanted to make his lips mine. 

He ducked away.

"Look inside the front pocket of your Levis," he nodded. "Over there on the floor."

I had hoped my nurse would fetch the key, but I wasn't that ill-- and he was busy eating ice cream. I hated to get up; I'd miss more moments of Hec's warm body and warmer lips pressed to mine-- but Hec continued to eat, so I got my lazy bones out of bed to retrieve it. 

My plunged my hand into the front pocket, and there it was. The Everly Brothers sang inside my head again. Dang song was stuck there. Not that I didn't like that song, but it was starting to get on my nerves.

"How do you do that?" I asked, key in my hand.

He gave me that lopsided grin. "I'm sneaky." 

I knew that-- but this was beyond sneaky. I stood in the bedroom in all my glory, wonder on my face and desire in another part of my anatomy, and I turned the key over. 

"Who are you?" I whispered.

"Who are you?" he whispered back with hungry eyes that pulled me back to him. God, I so wanted his heat and covers in that oh-so-hedonist bed. I crawled across to him. Ahh, there was a hint of ice cream on those lips. I licked it off for him. Number nine. 

My fingers caressed the curls at the back of his neck. I pulled back and searched those eyes. I was torn between my hunger for knowledge and my hunger for him.

"The diary?" Hec asked, brows scrunched.

Well of course, that was on the other side of the room. I felt a pang of disappointment when Hec got up to retrieve it. The shadows shifted, then lined his glorious derrière (my thumbprint conspicuously imprinted on one of those oh-so-perfect buns). I shoveled ice cream down my throat as I watched the live show. His body was a distraction. His mind a temptation. This spirit? Mind over matter. Or mind didn't matter. I don't really mean that since, well, I liked him for his mind too but-- Mmmm, butt... yeah, I liked that. Wiggle it more pleeeeeease! And more ice cream. More Everly Brothers-- 

I need you so, that I could die, I love you so, and that is why-- 

He plopped back down next to me, eyes all puppy-dog sad. I didn't know what to make of that as he handed me the music box. 

Whenever I want you all I have to do is dream...

He lifted the lid, and it played a different magical melody. 

He bent in, mouth on mine. Then his lips, cooled by the ice cream, nipped at my neck. Bite me. Now. On the neck. With teeth. Chocolate hickey kisses. Oh, god. He's Count Chocula. And now he's got a hold on my Frankenberries!

I pushed into his hand almost forgetting the ring in mine, the music box between us, and the diary in my lap. Almost.

Then Thump! Bang! Thud! from behind the wall.

"What the fuck was that!" I yelped, sitting straight up in bed.

Hec sighed. "I've never been sure--" 

Thud!

"What the hell?" I was seriously spooked. Good thing Nurse Hector was there.

"I don't know where to begin with all this-- it sounds so crazy. And you're not feeling well. It might not be the right time except that the music box let you take the diary so I think it's the right time-- but I'm no expert."

Thump! Bang! 

"What the hell are you talking about?" I looked at the closet. Then came another bang from behind the wall.

"There's just no easy way to say this so I'll come right out. I'm--"

Thud!

I prepared myself. He's Alf. He's Captain America. He's Uri Geller. He's Hans Holzer. He's Oz the Great and Powerful. 

He's--

"Haunted."

--insane.

But for some strange reason, I wasn't surprised. I was beginning to believe in a lot of things I never would have even considered a week ago: destiny, supernatural, true love. 

He helped me move the box into better light. He took the diary out, long fingers set the gift next to me on the bed, then they tipped the box. The light illuminated the inside. Chiseled into the bottom were the words: 

To my dearest Johann, my heart, my soul. 

Yours forever, Henry.

The lump in my throat was all too familiar; I reached beside me for the diary and held it to my chest. 

"Do you believe in reincarnation?" he asked.

Reincarnation? 

"Either you're haunted by Henry or you are Henry, but not both," I said.

"I don't think it's Henry haunting me. Maybe it was one of the other, um, homosexual guests-- like Walt Whitman."

I laughed, then realized he wasn't joking.

"You're serious."

"Yes, he was one of the guests who stayed at this place. I found all the old ledgers signed by guests-- you'd be surprised who came here. This was a popular place."

"So good old Walt was gay?" I said. "I knew it, but I don't think he'd come back from the dead just to bang on your wall."

"Hmm. Maybe not." 

"So you carved this?" I asked, changing the topic. I nodded at the music box. 

He laughed. "How is yes and no for an answer?"

"Ok, Mr. Metaphysical-- straight answer this time: Do you think you carved this?"

"Yes," he hesitated, "but not in this life." 

I'd read Jess Stearn's book on the author Taylor Caldwell's so-called past lives and was unconvinced that her stories were anything other than a good read about a hypnotized author with an overactive imagination (go figure-- an author with an imagination). I'd read about transmigration of souls. I was familiar with the concept of reincarnation. Sure I knew all that hypothetical stuff. And ghosts? Hey, I'd watched Ghost Hunters alone in the dark, seen Peter Venkman kick paranormal ass in Ghost Busters. And yes, I had all the X-Files on DVD. That didn't mean it made hearing the idea any easier from someone I knew and was just beginning to realize I had serious feelings for.

"I know this is hard to believe," Hec sighed, then pointed to the book clenched in my hands. "Open the diary. Read it for yourself." 

Deep, deep down in the pitter-patter of my heart, I hoped that what he believed was true-- that he wasn't crazy and that I wasn't going to be right next to him in a mental ward bound in a straight jacket gibbering mindlessly.

I unwrapped it slowly, like I was opening the biggest present under the Christmas tree, or hoping, like Raphie, that it was the good gift that'd been tucked away, the BB gun.

"I know all this is difficult to take in," Hec said, shifting behind me. "Believe me, when I first stumbled on this I was confused. But the more I read, the more I saw the parallels in my life to his, the more I was sure that his life was somehow intertwined with mine. I showed this to Kate-- she thought I was absolutely crazy-- still does. She didn't believe much of this. Then when you checked in here-- I don't know. I saw your name and hoped. And Kate-- she saw your name and freaked. And when I met you, something clicked inside me--"

That would explain Kate's reaction to me. At least some things were beginning to make more sense while others were--

I turned the key, and the latch fell loose. I reverently opened the cover, then cautiously turned to the first page. My fingers moved under the flowing letters. The ink neat and clean-- the handwriting simple. I swallowed and read. 

Was it going to be an official Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifle or a football?

"I did some research after reading the diary." Hec leaned his chest into my back. So warm. "Henry was an architect, a craftsman, a musician, a writer. Learned. A true Renaissance man."

"Damn." I read quickly and flipped to the next page, then the next. The first part of the diary was about the home-- about how he, Henry, designed it. I turned the page. He described his plans for his home, a home where he could be "himself." 

"I found it in the attic not long after we bought the house," Hec explained, reading over my shoulder. "Inside the music box-- right where you found it. The first time I reached in the box, I couldn't take it out. Then--"

"It let you," I finished. Spooky. "This is amazing. I don't know what to say-- to think," I said. But reincarnation? He is Henry, and I am Johann? 

"Strange things happened in the house from the moment I came here. Same as to you-- I blamed it on someone else. Frankly, I thought Charlie was playing a practical joke on me for a long time."

I skimmed pages as he talked. More information about the house-- his carvings. The passageways between--

"Finish your ice cream," he suggested. 

By now it was soupy but still tasty. I ate it and listened. 

"He built this home as a safe place," Hec continued. "Being homosexual wasn't something men were open about. I mean, it was unspoken. In any case, Henry loved men, and he'd been loved back by them." 

I could tell. I smirked as I looked up at the carvings above me on the bed, and Hec laughed.

"Yeah," he said. "I know. Number nine."

He began his little kisses-- down my neck. The diversion felt so, so wonderful-- especially since I knew I wasn't getting a football. His mouth moved down, down, down. To my chest. Past my navel. Into my trail. On Mr. Happy. He gave him a nice, cool lick. Then the mouth-- sucking. Oh, so fucking gooood. Those lips around my cock. He turned around. He looked spectacular-- his cock bobbing near my own mouth. I watched. Loved looking at him. I took his length into my mouth, and he moaned. His throaty notes were more melodic than any music box. I clawed at the sheets as I fed on his cock like a starving man slurping and lapping and sucking. Cheeks hollowed. Damn. Neither of us lasted long. Muscles tensed, then with a muffled moan, I swallowed him. I came on his face. 

What a perfect beauty treatment. He wiped his face off all over my legs and stomach and chest. I slowly returned to Earth. Admired him. Christ. He snuggled in next to me-- diary almost forgotten. Almost. But Hec picked it back up and handed it to me. 

In my post-orgasmic state, I leafed through the pages, scanning them. Costs for materials, construction, all included along with Henry's daily thoughts on the progression of the home. Mostly in the first half of the book, almost two years, each entry was but a few meager sentences, then I came to a lengthy entry. I stopped and looked at Hec.

"People came here to stay as guests--" Hec explained. "This house was something of a retreat. A place to go for men who loved other men, but we didn't know that when we bought this house. I remember the day we drove up with the realtor. The moment I saw this place, I knew it was mine. It's hard to describe. The moment I stepped in the door, it was like I was coming home. I knew my way around the place instinctively."

I recalled how I stumbled onto the secret passageway and started to second-guess myself. Was I drawn here too? I certainly didn't feel the same sense of home that Hec had-- then again, this wasn't Johann's home, or was it?

I was starting to believe.

I looked down at the diary in my lap. The pages turned on their own accord, as if some otherworldly spirit-- no, it couldn't be-- Then the pages stopped. The first word at the top of the page: Johann. 

Hec had watched the pages flip too, but he wasn't surprised. 

"How?" I asked, not knowing if it was Hec or some other force that flipped the pages. "Did you just do that?"

"I stopped wondering long ago," Hec answered. "I quit wondering and thinking aloud since Kate began to think I was crazy when I told her. I mean, don't you think it's crazy?" He laughed when he looked at my face. "Of course you do. I don't even ask myself anymore-- I just accept what happens. It's weird but sometimes I wonder if I am doing this myself, then there are other times that I think that maybe-- now don't think I'm insane here-- maybe it is Henry or some spirit here doing things."

"Ok, Dr. Smith, you and Will go back to the Jupiter 2 and get Robot. Penny and I will stay here and guard the Fruit Loops."

"Huh?"

"Yes, you sound crazy--"

"But--"

"I believe you." 

I looked down to the open page. And Hec began to read the page aloud-- it was all about how Johann came here. Johann the dreamer. Johann the astronomer. Johann, Johann. The man that Henry came to love. I don't know how long he read for, but Hec's voice grew hoarse and raspy. At last I shut the diary. 

Henry and Johann. 

It seemed I wasn't the only one obsessed. 



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 09



I don't know how long we held each other in that bed. The house quieted. My heart stilled. Our whispers muffled until I fell into a deep sleep wrapped in his arms. 

My slumber was confused yet untroubled-- laced with two reoccurring dreams: one, a dream I'd had since adolescence where naked men throw pickles at me (big, fat koshers-- not the dainty gherkins I detest); the other, a dream I'd had since I'd graduated from college where I search for a story I'm writing on my old Pentium Pro. I click on the file and instead of my story, the Wheel of Fortune appears on my monitor with Vanna White asking for a vowel. I type an A, then a buzzer sounds. The old computer does the Bill Gates shuffle and starts its search all over again. I spin again. Vanna repeats. Each time I ask for a different vowel, but there aren't any. I'm doomed in Microsoft hell.

I woke up feverish from my word processing conundrum, but life was good. I smiled as I tucked my leg over his. His response: he snuggled closer and sighed as his forehead pressed against my neck. I counted his pulse beats as I pulled the quilt tighter around us. Within seconds, something akin to panic came over me. What if this wasn't real? What if none of this was? I touched his nose. Felt real. Those limbs intertwined with mine were solid and warm. That early morning wood was real too. This near, dear intimacy terrified yet elated me-- I had never felt this passion for anyone, ever. As my finger traced his freckles in the moonlight, Hec woke: his eyes fluttered then opened wide. That lopsided grin greeted me, then lips turned to a frown.

"Are you ok?" he asked. He felt my head with the flat of his hand; I felt the cool of a ring. "You're sweating. God, you're burning up." He sat up in bed, flicked on the lamp, then looked at the clock. It blinked 3:12 a.m. "It's time for more Tylenol. I'll get you some water. Stay right here."

I watched him pad off, then closed my eyes. He was real. I was real. No doubt that what I felt for him above and below the waste was real. I was dizzy, my mouth was dry, and my cock was hard; I knew I was in love with Hector Lodge.

I opened my eyes to the mural of porn above and began to laugh. I counted twenty-two acts in all between my hysterics. I recalled there was some sort of significance to that number, but in my state, I couldn't place the import. I held back another fit of laughter and studied the figures carefully for the first time. Henry had a gift, that was certain-- each form was gracefully carved. I wondered if he carved this bed before or after Johann-- I'd assumed from the diary it was before, yet something in me wondered if maybe some of these figures might be them. I had to admit the voyeur inside me liked the idea. 

I hadn't noticed the facial expressions until that moment, which ranged from coy bliss to outright ecstasy. I touched two lovers above me in the fourth frame just as Hec stepped back into the room, his face a picture of concern. He retrieved the Tylenol from the night stand, then felt my forehead again. 

"Take these," he said, handing me the cool glass. I did as I was told-- swallowed my medicine-- not good to cross your nurse. He sat next to me, eyes flicking to what had caught my interest.

"Four looks intriguing to me," he said, licking his lips. I nodded. Great minds think alike.

"Want to try it?" I added. 

"I think we should wait-- at least until your fever goes down." He slipped in beside me, and I tried to hide my disappointment. "We could do number six before--"

I studied six. Legs over shoulders, mouths together. I wasn't that flexible-- but maybe Hec was--

"Six?"

"Four is good. We could do it before--"

"Bingo!" 

"What?" he blinked.

"B-four. Like, you know, in Bingo!"

"Where's that thermometer? I think you're seriously ill--"

"I don't think so. I mean, you could take my core temperature," I said wickedly. I thought about having him take it rectally, but no, that might be pushing Nurse Hector too far. 

"But what about Bingo?" he asked, shaking his head doubtfully. 

"I'm not delirious. I thought I was hearing and seeing things, but you seem to be under the same delusion so I figure I'm fine other than a touch of the flu."

"But Bingo? That's a dog, right? The dog that ate the baby?"

I slid my arm around Hec's back, pulling him close to me. His head fit perfect on my shoulder. Time to explain the facts of life according to Bingo-ology to Hec. It might get messy. "No, that's a Dingo," I explained. "Haven't you ever been to a Bingo hall? No? Well, that's where this secret society plays this game called Bingo. These chain-smoking old ladies play with chips and cards. Some of them even win money. And then there's the song with the dog, 'B-I-N-G-O and Bingo was his name-O!' You weren't a Cub Scout, were you? Hmm, guess not. Now, the dingo that ate the baby? Hmm... wasn't there an Australian couple who got convicted of killing their child and said a dingo did it?"

"And all that time I just thought it was a fictional band."

"Band?"

"The Dingo Ate My Baby is that band in Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

I frowned into his hair. Hec beat me at TV trivia. He must be right-- I must be seriously ill. Time to get out the rectal thermometer. Had to one-up him-- "The dingo really did kill their baby. I remember." 

It didn't impress.

"I was thinking," Hec said, throwing his leg over mine.

"Um, yeah?"

He tucked the covers under our chins.

"What did you say in the stairwell-- to my sister?"

My tongued knotted up. No more Bingo stories. 

I blushed. Maybe it was the fever, maybe the heavy quilt or maybe his hot aura. I cleared my throat. He turned his head and looked me square in the eyes. 

"Can I have another sip of water?" I asked sheepishly. 

Coward, I'm such a coward.

"No," he said slowly. "I'm sure that's not what you said to my sister."

"Do you mean 'no' I can't have any water, or 'no' that's not what I said to your sister?"

"Yes, I'll pass you the water. No, that's not what you said to my sister."

"Could you pass me the glass? I'm parched."

He shook his head as he sat up to get the glass. "Who says 'parched'?"

He handed me the water. "Um, me?" I answered. Even with shadows falling on his face, I could see he was still waiting for my answer. I gulped the rest down along with my panic attack.

"Well?" he asked. He watched me wipe off my mouth with the back of my hand, all white-knuckled and holding the glass. He stopped me before I could wipe it again; he held my wrist tight in his grip. He bit his lip, waiting, waiting.

Here goes---

"I told your sister... I told her... oh hell-- I told her that I think I love you," I admitted.

His eyes twinkled as he took the empty glass out of my hand. "Good, 'cause I think I love you, too."

We both flopped down into the deep mattress. 

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked. 

"Glad I could help."

"Thanks. I hoped I heard you right." 

I smiled. 

"I heard enough," he said.

"Enough?"

"Enough to share my pillow." Hec switched off the light. I traced the ringlets on the back of his neck with my fingers; my reward was hiccups. 

"Shit," Hec swore, giving another hic. "Always get em when I'm nervous."

"It's ok to be nervous," I said. "I am too."

I kissed the back of his hand. He rolled over.

"Perfect fit," I mumbled as I rubbed his back. 

"Mmm, perfect," he yawned. "Feels good." 

I felt the familiar stirring between my legs, then hugged him closer. 

He pushed back against me. "Keep that up," he joked, "and we'll be doing number four."

Tease. It only took one more minute before his hiccups turned to snores. 

I should be used to disappointment.

-------------------

I woke. The sun was out, the spot next to me vacant. The clock blinked 7:36 as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. 

He stood next to the window, holding a coffee mug was in one hand and pulling the curtains back wide with the other. The light of the morning warmed his face-- he looked younger with freckles shiny across his nose and gold flecks in his hair. He was dressed in the same well-worn jeans and the flannel shirt he'd worn the day I met him.

"Feeling better?" he grinned behind the mug as he took a sip. 

I scratched my chin and nodded. I needed to shave, but my fever was almost gone.

"Hungry? Kate made pancakes." He pointed to the tray next to the bed on the night table with one of the free fingers from around the coffee mug. My stomach answered with a growl. "I hope you like them smothered in maple syrup."

"How'd you know?" I asked. 

"Lucky guess, Mr. Sweet-tooth." He smoothed the curtains with those long fingers, then turned to face me, leaning against the window frame. He studied me over his mug while I ate.

I grabbed the tray as he started to walk over. He sat down on the edge of the bed and fiddled with the handle of the mug. "Um, it's late," he said, "and I've got work to do. Just take it easy. I'll be back in about an hour to check and see if you need anything."

"Like number four?" I asked hopefully, stuffing a fork-full of blueberry pancake into my mouth. Mmmm, number four, on all fours. My mouth watered from more than Kate's cooking.

He laughed. "I guess you are feeling better."

"Yeah, a lot better." 

He tipped his mug up and finished it. It was then I noticed the glint of the ring.

He was wearing it.

Why was he wearing it? He left before I could ask. Shut the door. Out of the room. Down the hallway. A metaphor for my life. He left me thinking of rings and pancakes and maple syrup. Kate sure was a great cook-- these pancakes were light, fluffy... and the syrup... God, it was sinful. I closed my eyes and imagined Hec drizzled in it. Bet he would taste better than Mrs. Butterworth. Christ, for now the buttermilk pancakes would have to do.

As I finished them off, I spied my laptop on his desk. Curiosity got the best of me, and I set the tray aside and was out of bed. My found my shoes next to the dresser with my socks stuffed in them. 

I flipped up the lid of my laptop and turned it on-- the familiar hum answered. Amazing the battery still worked. No Vanna White pop-up or flying pickles appeared on the screen. I opened up our sitcom. No changes-- I shut it down. 

I have to admit I'm a natural-born snoop. My hand instinctively went for his drawers-- or should I say, my drawers since my briefs and my t-shirts were neatly folded inside his dresser. I pulled out the drawer underneath-- there were my jeans next to Hec's. 

He'd moved me in-- I assumed Hec moved me in-- my laptop, my clothes. For some reason I wasn't happy. The panic I'd felt last night returned. 

I had to do something so I opened the music box. 

The diary was back in place, wrapped up snug. I lifted it out. It was all there. I unwrapped it. The ring was still there-- the inscription the same. Must be Hec wasn't wearing it; my imagination got the best of me there. I'd never noticed him wearing one before. And the band was simple like this ring. Curious, I slipped it on. It fit. I slowly looked up into the mirror, and I looked back. Nope, not invisible-- so it's not The Ring. Ha. Too bad, not that I wanted some evil one-eyed villain to come after me like Frodo, but a one-eyed snake? Well, if it belonged to Hec? Um, sure, come on. 

I carried the diary over to the bed and read through the early pages with more care then I had before while I waited for Hec to return. I was interested in finding more out about the bed and the rings, but nothing else was in the diary about them that I'd missed. I twirled the ring around my finger and thought more about our counterparts, and what the whole thing could mean. I could almost believe I was Johann.

I shut the diary and looked back at my laptop. I'd almost forgotten about why I was here. Almost forgot the sitcom. Singularity or whatever new name we came up with. All this other stuff-- learning about Hec, the haunting, falling in love, moving me in-- it all just happened. 

Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.

Seems every time I've planned for something to go one way in life, it'd go the other-- why should this be any different? Maybe I should just let it be, let it happen and stop planning so damned much. Maybe I should quit analyzing everything-- like my socks in his dresser next to his boxers. Like now. What the fuck was I doing? I was analyzing my life. Now that I was pretty certain that Hector wasn't some supernatural being casting some strange spell over me-- um, I could relax-- and what was I doing instead? Picking everything apart. So what if he moved me into his room-- it didn't have to mean anything serious or permanent-- after all, he hadn't moved Pete in too. That would be moving too fast. 

That would be permanent. 

The door opened, and the man walked through.

With Pete.

I told myself to breathe easy. 

Pete, swinging in his little cage.

Breathe in. This whole head-over-heels in love was new to me. 

And that paper bag Hec had in his other hand? Had to be Pete's belongings.

Breathe out. No wonder I'd panicked. So what if it was happening at warp speed. 

Stop analyzing. Let it happen.

I'd never lived in laissez-faire land before-- 

Only one thing to do.

"Ready?" I asked. Yeah, just let things happen. Small things. Big things. Real big things. Really big, hard things. Don't good things happen in fours? Or was that threes? No reason why good things couldn't happen in fours too. After today, good things could happen on all fours. 

Drop your drawers and assume that position.

I'm on my hands and knees, ass in the air. I throw him a hot look. Or feverish, depending on the angle.

He quickly placed the cage on the stand by the door. I turned around, head facing the headboard, eyes closed in anticipation. I moved my ass. 

For effect.

It worked.

I heard the slap of his belt coming off fast, the change in his pockets jingle as his jeans hit the floor.

Kiss my ass and send me to heaven with a hard-on.

Breathe.

The bed bounced with his weight.

Breathe.

He barely had time to slap the condom on, slather on lube before he slammed into me. It fucking hurt so good.

I bucked back into him as he pressed his chest into my back, reached around for my dick, and rammed me again. 

I swore. Hec hollered. I swore some more and praised the god of spur-of-the-moment, impromptu, half-dressed fornication. He grabbed my hips and pumped harder. Sweat poured off me but I didn't care. I loved his big, thick dick pounding me. I loved how his dick stretched my ass. Yes, my ass was made for his dick. I honest to god never felt this turned on in my life. I kept yelling "harder, harder, harder" and he obliged. I was close, so achingly close. But then he stopped, my ass literally throbbing around his cock. He let go of my dick, and rocked into me oh, so slowly, making me beg and whimper under him, bringing me close to the edge again. Then he stopped and began again. I was crazy to come. I was so close. I shook and pleaded for him to take me over the edge. 

At last he angled his cock just right, hitting that sweet spot inside me, and whispered, "Come for me, Jake." 

That was it-- 

I yammered some nonsense as I felt my balls tighten and my ass clench around him. His hand wasn't even on my cock, and I shot all over creation with him right behind.

We collapsed in a sweaty, gooey mess on the bed.

Afterwards I heard peep, peep, peep.

It was Pete.

Hmm, he was watching. 

My little yellow voyeur, my feathered-friend.

Hmmm.

I know why the caged bird sings.



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 10



Three days passed, and I was still in Hector's room. The days fell into a pattern: First Hec woke early, took care of his errands and upkeep while I wrote. The laptop became a fixture on the bed along with Hec's rumpled clothes, which came off every afternoon around three. After, we wrote, we laughed. I threw off my bathrobe, and we practiced our numbers all over again.

Today I'd started early. Hec hummed as he dressed, then went to help Kate run into town while I snoozed longer thinking about last night. Our Favre-O-Meter had maxed out on four. We'd kicked back and watched the Packers, drunk Coors, ate Fritos and shed big tears over Brett Favre's departure. Later Hec crushed the Lay's bag flat as I tackled him into the mattress after a long pass. This morning I was content as I leered at Hec's tight ass through heavy eyelids.

I got up later. Showered, shaved. Decided to dress. Still, the best place to write was on that bed. Me and my laptop continued our long romance. 

I was better. I knew it. Hec knew it. But no way either of us wanted to bring it up. I sure didn't want to leave our sanctuary; I enjoyed living in a haunted room with a not-so-haunted roommate. 

I liked how that word rolled off my tongue-- roommate. Especially the mate part. There are all sorts of mates to appreciate: Playmate, Coffee-Mate, checkmate, Paper Mate, soul mate, the right mate, the wrong mate, mating, The Mating Game (ok, yeah, that's Dating Game-- but well, Mating Game would be more entertaining).

I closed my eyes. The words on the laptop blurred. I rubbed my eyes. I wasn't getting very far today-- might as well be drawing left-handed with broken Crayolas. Time for a distraction-- a little fantasy à la Hector. Um, yes...

The Dating Game music begins-- me? I'm contestant number three. I sit calm, collected on the last stool. Behind that 70s psychedelic flowered panel, Hec sits with his legs crossed on his lone stool, his questions scribbled on a yellow notepad. He has a leisure suit on. Tan-- no, brown-- to match those eyes. He has on one of those loud patterned shirts-- bright rainbow colors. He taps his small notepad against his leg-- he's doing the all-twitchy-and-nervous-cute thing I love. He tells the host he's "looking for that perfect match." I smirk, because, well, that's me of course. I flash a smile and wave as the camera pans over me then across to the two other possible suitors. The music stops. And the questions begin. 

Yes, the questions. 

I tap my toes on the rung of the chair, waiting. Finally, it's my question, my turn.

"Contestant number three," Hec says, "it's the holiday season and I'm Santa-- you're on my lap. Little boy, take it away!" 

I clear my throat. Here's my chance to impress him. "Oh, Santa," I purr, "I've been such a good boy. Please come down my chimney and fill..."

Bang! The door. Shit, another good fantasy wasted. 

"What?!" I jumped, and the laptop cover slapped down right on my fingertips. "Fuck! That hurts." 

"Hey, Jake?!"

God, Hec surprised me. I looked at the clock-- only one-- he was early; it wasn't his usual time to come back yet. But wait! Fantasy be damned-- Hec stands next to the door, looking so much better in those old jeans and flannel shirt than any old 70s polyester-wear. 

"Where were you just then?" Hec asked. "Not on this planet."

"Ah," I sucked on my bruised fingertips as Hec studied me critically. He raised his eyebrow. I decided to confess my fantasy to him. Why not? Maybe he'd share fantasies. "Ah, The Dating Game? Yeah, The Dating Game. I was contestant number three, and you were just asking me what I'd do if you were Santa and I was on your lap."

He stepped across the room. "Actually, I have this Santa fantasy about you too-- but in mine you're only wearing a Santa hat-- and it's not on your head."

"Where is it? Oh! Sounds intriguing." Yes! Jackpot! "Most people don't have sex fantasies about Santa Claus." I decided to push the envelope-- or the letter to Santa-- whichever. "Similar sex fantasies? We must be soul mates!" I twirled the ring around my finger.

Hec smirked. "Not all Santa sex fantasies are good ones. I remember when I was 14, and Kate told me we were going to play 'Dirty Santa' for Christmas-- I thought my family was going to exchange more than gifts-- almost scarred me for life thinking about grandma and those dentures." 

He completely ignored my point about soul mates.

Hec smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Get much writing done?"

"Yeah, I did-- some."

"So," he looked at me and licked his lips, "we were on the Dating Game."

"Yeah, I used to watch it on TV Land-- now it only plays in my head."

"So, what did you ask for?" he asked, scooting closer to me. "From Santa?"

"I didn't get that far."

"I can remedy that."

Did I ever mention Hec's amazing tongue? Yeah, I did. Um, well, he showed me another use for it that afternoon-- he called it "Ring around the Rosy."

I practiced on him too. He sure was enthusiastic.

"Yes! There! Oh, god... Flick it again like that... again! Ahhh... Jake! I'm cumming!"

After, we snoozed for a while. I woke before him-- getting hard again thinking on his magic nursery rhyme tongue-- highly contagious, almost as contagious as the bubonic plague but this plague didn't come with a big death, just a little death. 

Oh sweet orgasm, kill me now.

Yes, we must play "Ring around the Rosy" again. Ring, rings. I recalled other rings and my question to Hec a couple of days ago about the ring he was wearing. He admitted to me in a matter-of-fact tone that "there were two rings." He took it off to show me-- and I read the matching inscription. 

I'd been wearing the other one since, and he hadn't said a word about it, but I'd seen him taking secret and not-so-secret glances at it over the last few days. Not that I expected him to say anything-- that stoic male inside him kept him from vocalizing his kismet heart.

I was fiddling with the ring when I noticed his eyes open, watching me.

"You know, I've been meaning to show you something," he said, rolling into me. "You feel like a trip to the attic?"

Man of mystery, what now?

"Sure."

---------------------------------

The walk between the walls was less nerve-wracking with Hec. He'd dug up two flashlights with fresh batteries (especially after my last experience, he made sure), and we'd headed through the secret door in the back of his closet. He moved through the walls' recesses with the same sure-footedness and stealth as Daniel Boone. 

"How much do you use these corridors?" I asked, spitting out a cobweb.

"Some quite frequently. It's a good shortcut-- and it's the only way to get to some places in this house."

"Like the attic?"

"Like the attic."

"What about spying? Do you--"

Hec stopped abruptly. I stepped on his heels. 

"If you're suggesting that I spied on you or any other guest here, you're wrong." He started walking again. "Besides, it's not like there's peep holes all over the place to look through."

"But there are some. Hey! You did watch me!"

He hesitated.

"Well, maybe once."

"Or twice?" I asked. I rested the beam of the flashlight on his backside, admiring it. Such a nice ass-- the kind of ass that deserves a spotlight. 

He hesitated again. I almost bumped into him again. My dick against his ass. I bit my lip and moaned.

"Well, maybe twice."

"What about your sisters?"

"Kate? No. But I don't know about Char." He turned: my flashlight illuminated his crotch instead of his ass. "Hmm, seems we're not the only peeping toms."

"Ok, so I'll drop that-- how about telling me why you're taking me to the attic?"

"It's where I found the music box and the diary and-- I thought you'd appreciate it."

We continued on. I doubt I could recall how we got there again-- right, left, right, down this corridor and that with steps up in between, each passageway looked the same-- some just had bigger spiders than the others.

I tried not to flash my light on Hec's ass again since it was far too distracting. Every once-in-a-while I'd catch Hec making hand shadows of dogs on the wall. 

Finally Hec stopped just after cutting around a corner. I stopped behind him and held my breath. His flashlight beam moved across the floor then up to a staircase. I moved my beam along with his, following up the stairs. These weren't a few steps made from pine boards nailed together like the others in the passageway. These steps were dove-tailed and crafted with care. 

As we stepped in front of the staircase, I used my flashlight as my eye, focusing on parts of the woodwork. The carving was simple-- elegant. No ornate, intricate carving-- the edges smooth. Each rung a simple spiral, twisting into each step. The steps were worn but polished. The wood differed too-- this looked like oak. 

"Twenty-two steps," Hec whispered. I stepped beside Hec and knelt down. My fingers traced the wood. 

"The same number of pictures on the bed."

Hec nodded. "Come on."

I stood and followed up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, a simple door. I turned the knob. Locked. Hec dug into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a key and held it on his outstretched palm in front of him. The flashlight cast a perfect shadow on the door-- Hec's profile, the key, his hand. He gave it to me-- I turned it over on my own palm. It was a larger version of the simple diary key I had in my own pocket. 

"Well," Hec said, "open the door."

The key turned easily, tumblers clicked, the door swung open with a twist of my wrist. 

Long thin windows lit stacks of the books, weathered chests, old rugs in bundles along with tapestries and a couple of old model flying machines dangled from the ceiling. A few pieces of old furniture sat haphazardly around the room. Light filtered down from the center of the room. Another set of stairs led up to a cupola.

"It's like Merlin's laboratory," I whispered. 

Hec chuckled. "I pretty much thought that the same first time I saw this."

I walked up to a stack of books to investigate. Old Bibles, classics like Shakespeare's Hamlet and Homer's Odyssey, a few Latin books, five or six red-bound journals, old ledgers neatly stacked and separated. I picked up a curious book off the top of one pile of fiction, Cheiro's Book of Numbers. 

"You might want to read that book-- it's about numerology."

I opened the book. "This is Henry's book--" I said, "his name is on the inside cover."

"This has 22 steps, too." Hec nodded to the stairs. "Come on. The view is incredible."

"Numerology! Now I remember!" I said, snapping the book shut. "Twenty-two! It's a mystical number-- people who live in two worlds-- one normal and one, well, surreal."

He turned back to me as he started up the steps. "You coming?" he asked, pointing to the steps up into copula.

I set the book down and followed him. You'd think it'd be cold up there with only wavy glass windows between winter and us, but it grew warmer as we climbed up the steps. It wasn't only temperature that transformed me into a different state. I'd dreamt of this moment many times. This was not Deja Vu but a real dream I'd had-- I remembered it all. The view. The light. The bright edge of expectance. The tightness in my chest. The same ghostly spell and panoramic view surrounded me. Light blossomed around us as we stepped up into the sky. Snow twinkled and glittered like faerie dust from the above, and the sun just above the horizon glowed like some saintly specter. The only element missing from my dream was that I couldn't throw open the window and fly up and over the snow-covered limbs on the fir trees. 

Flying. 

Sure glad I don't have vertigo.

"Well?" Hec asked. 

"I--" 

He stood, hands in pockets. There was no more maybe. I loved him.

For a few moments, I couldn't decide whether to confess my dream, my love or my lust. I decided on lust.

My fingers filled with curls, my mouth with moans. Our cocks bumped together, teeth clanked. We collapsed down to our knees, rubbing, pushing, then I swung Hec down flat to the floor boards-- we dusted and polished the floor. Hec sneezed.

First we rutted like teenagers, rolling, humping and copping feels through clothing. After about ten minutes of heated make-out time, we discarded first our shirts, then jeans, and finally our BVDs. 

Yeah, this was a hell of a lot better than flying.

I told him to fuck me-- not that he needed any encouragement-- the man's dick was knocking at heaven's door already.

On hands and knees with Hec behind me, I didn't worry about splinters or lube or heights. Nothing to use but spit and a condom. The burn didn't bother me-- I only thought about how sweetly Hec teased my cock with those long psychic fingers and about how his mouth wisped against my neck. He pushed inside me, and I'd never felt so full. 

He groaned. I moaned. He thrust and collapsed on me. That dick buried deep hurt so good. He slowed down, licked my neck and blew in my ear. He whispered words I couldn't understand. And in the last moment before I came all over the floor, I bleated out those three words without maybe in between.

We were both out of breath, sweaty and stuck together. We rolled on to our backs, and I rested my head on his shoulder as we both looked up into the sky. I knew he'd heard me. He smiled and stared at me. 

"When we first moved here," he said, "I slept up here. Pulled a mattress up the stairs. I should have left it--"

"Think Johann and Henry did it here?" I asked. "I bet they did." 

"I bet they had a mattress."

I think it was his way of telling me his back hurt. I sat up. "It's beautiful here. And familiar."

Hec looked up at me-- our eyes locked, understanding.

"Me too," he said. "First time I came up here-- I knew it, recognized it." He sat up next to me and gathered our clothes, handing mine to me. "There's something else you need to read--"

"That book on numerology? I--" 

"No, I mean you should read that book, too-- but it's the journals I want you to read. That's why I brought you up here-- to see this view and to show you the journals."

Hmm, and I thought he brought me up here for a quickie under the sky.

I pulled on underwear and jeans as Hec dressed too. "Come on then," I said, resigned. "Let's go back down and look at Henry's journals."

"Johann's," Hec corrected as he buttoned his shirt. "They're Johann's journals."



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 11



I woke up in a coughing fit. Pete was swinging and singing as the sun poured into the room. I sat up, then hacked some more. I tried to suppress the fit, but it didn't work-- I woke Hec. 

"Hey," he said, "thought you were over that."

"Probably the aftermath," I said. "Nothing serious. My throat's just scratchy."

"Mmm, maybe I could itch it for you."

"Mmm, maybe."

To blow or to be blown? That is the question.

Which I knew the answer: I grabbed a handful of his t-shirt along with a little bit of skin as my hands moved down his chest and over his taunt stomach muscles. My mouth followed my hand, and his whole body shuddered as I sloppy-wet kissed and licked my way around his navel then inched down, down-- my fingers leaving white prints on his skin behind.

His cock pointed proudly up. Took all of my self-control not to swallow him down whole immediately. I lapped around the root of his perfect dick, loving the musky smell and salty taste. His cock bobbed in excitement with every flick of my tongue, but delayed gratification was never my thing-- I took him into my mouth to my tonsils. All those years of practicing with bananas sure paid off: Hec yowled, his fists curled then uncurled in the sheets. One hand on his hipbone steadied me while the other hand teased those curls between his legs while my mouth went hard to work. My heart pounded as I slurped him up and down. Soon he set the pace, thrusting and straining into my mouth. His thighs quivered with every thrust. Every whimper and moan from him threatened to send me shooting.

He'd scratched one itch-- but I had another. I took my lips off his cock with a pop, looked in those chocolate-brown eyes and begged, "Fuck me." 

He returned a breathless grin. God, I'm in love with a man I've known for less than two weeks, yet it feels like I've known that lopsided smile forever.

I flipped over. Anticipation only momentary-- because rip, snap, pop-- he had the condom open and on, the lube out and inside me as two of his impossibly long fingers worked in and out. My eyes rolled back. No coherent response-- just quick staccato breaths from my lips.

"Tilt your ass up more."

His cock replaced those fingers. 

Then he pushed inside all the way in one quick, even thrust. 

Three hiccups with a butt-load of pressure, replaced with pain then oh-my-god-in-heaven pleasure. 

He stayed buried inside for a moment, then rotated his hips. "Good?" he asked.

Unfortunately, my brain wasn't as eloquent. "It's--" I said, "oh, yeah." 

Hec chuckled as his weight shifted and stretched. He held my waist as his mouth found mine, and he bruised my lips with kisses. I panted and swore as he rocked over that spot inside. His short, smooth, controlled pumps brought me to the edge fast. Without one hand on me, I came. Hec hands clamped down on the back of my arms as he abandoned all control-- a few wild strokes and he came too. "Fucking gorgeous," was all he said.

We kissed and held each other, then a well-timed knock came at the door. 

"Breakfast!" came Kate's chipper voice. "Thought you two might want to come out of hibernation and have blueberry pancakes."

"Blueberry pancakes?" I said, rolling over. "I'm starved."

"Always hungry--" Hec said. "Can I at least catch my breath?"

And that was how I came to sit at the kitchen table, interrogated by the two sisters.

-------------------------

I was ok with-- "Where did you go to college?" 

And-- "What's your mother's maiden name?"

"Do you go to church?" seemed a bit intrusive.

And I'd buy that questions like "Saving money for retirement?" and "Have any IRAs?" were just looking out for Hec's future--

--but when Kate asked me, "What's that on your finger?" I balked. Or more like coughed. I covered my mouth and turned my head. Hec looked over his coffee mug at me, giving me a mental pat on the back.

Chas eyed Hec's finger looped through the mug handle. Couldn't miss it-- his matching ring twinkled. 

"What's that on your finger?" she repeated.

"A ring," I answered.

"Well, duh!" said Kate. "Yes, it's a ring. But why are you wearing that ring?"

Why was I wearing it? A symbol of love? A deep-seated need for romance? Too much saltwater taffy? The Dark Lord bid me put it on? 

"Ah-h, it fit?" I stammered. Christ, I blushed too. Suddenly fresh-blueberry pancakes, smoked sausage and pure maple syrup wasn't an appetizing enough incentive for an inquisition. Or was it The Inquisition?

"So what," Hec said, waving his sisters' off, "he's wearing Johann Galle's ring."

"Why are you wearing the other one?" 

"Stop it, Kate," he said. "Enough questions. It's our business."

Kate and I both dropped our eyes to a spot of maple syrup on the tablecloth, then looked up at each other. We understood. She knew how I felt-- I'd told her. She was fishing all right, but she wasn't casting in my pond. She had to guess from my response that Hec and I hadn't discussed the whys. She had to notice the way Hec looked at me and know how Hec felt-- she wanted to hook him-- to hear him say it. 

I did too.

Say it.

"It's our business," he repeated.

At least he didn't say the rings didn't mean anything.

The chairs creaked. The clock hummed. I tapped my fork on the table. I hated uncomfortable silences. I always wanted to sing or shout or bark like a dog when they happened-- but what I usually did instead was start babbling nonsense. Today, I got a reprieve from Char.

"Well, it sure is snowing. Look at it," she said. "You'll have to get out and shovel the walk again and dig us out with the snow plow, Hec. I bet it's snowed three more inches since I woke up. Usually you have it done before I even get out of bed. I hope you know, Jake." She pointed her fork at me. "You've been keeping Hec from his work-- snow piling up, outside decorating not done-- Christmas isn't far away, and we still don't have the tree up."

"Can't expect me to do everything myself around here," Hec complained.

"I know!" Char chirped up. "We could all go today, pick up a tree and you and Jake could set it up!"

"Sounds fun," I said. "Do you cut down your own tree or go to a lot?"

"We've done both," Kate said. "I like cutting them down--"

"I like cutting them down?" Hec interrupted. "I? You mean--" 

"--but Hec always bitches and moans about it."

Ah, he's Mr. Grumbles to his sisters too--

"I've never had a real tree," I said, wistfully. "We always had an artificial one."

"Nothing beats a real tree," Char said. "The fragrance of pine--"

"The dripping sap, the unending needles, the tangling of twinkle-light strands, the swearing--" Hec said.

"That's you swearing, Scrooge--" Char laughed.

"Sounds fun to me," I piped up. "Tramping through snowy woods, finding that perfect tree."

"One year we brought home this white pine with a bird's nest in it. Kate and Char insisted, 'Leave it in the tree, Hec.' Well, I left it in the tree." Hec frowned. "I got mites."

"Told you he was a Scrooge," Char added.

I coughed. Shit. Hec was giving me that look. 

"I don't know-- that doesn't sound good," he said. My face fell-- I knew what was coming. He was worse than my mom-- man, and I was all hyped to stop by the woods on a snowy morning like Robert Frost too. "I don't think it'd be such a good idea traipsing through the countryside with Char. Takes her forever to find the right tree."

Kate nodded. "Yeah, that cough doesn't sound so good. Maybe you'd better stay here."

I knew they were right, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed-- but at least that would give me time to read Johann's journals.

"Alright," I hacked. "I'll stay."

Hec got up and helped Char and Kate clear the table while I finished the rest of my pancakes. 

"So--" I said, taking the last bite. "If I can't go, I better be able to decorate it."

-----------------------

I sat at an old dusty desk next to the window eating a cheese sandwich. The new snow was shoveled aside and the driveway plowed. I watched and waited for Hec's truck to return. Pete swung back and forth, then jumped off with a chirp and began his early afternoon bath, dunking his little beak in his water dish then pruning his feathers. He was right at home. 

I leaned back and stretched. I needed a break from Johann's journals. Reading through them all would take a while: There were fifteen of them-- all in his handwriting-- which was almost as hard to read as my scratch. I'd just picked up and begun reading one of his last journals when I saw Hec's truck bump down the driveway, tree strapped down in the back, and sisters strapped in, in the front. 

I grabbed my coat and gloves, pulled on my boots, then raced down the stairs and out the door to meet him.

Hec was intently cutting the ropes that hugged the blue spruce with an old jackknife. He'd secured it well the old pickup bed. I stepped up behind him as Char and Kate chatted animatedly on the other side of the truck.

"You two can go in and get the stand," Hec said. "I'll cut off the bottom of the trunk, do some trimming, then bring it in."

I stood in back of him.

"Damn expensive tree," he mumbled.

"Need some help?" I asked. 

Hec jumped. "Shit!"

I waved to Char and Kate as they went into the house.

"You shouldn't be outside," Hec said, turning to me.

"It'll only be for a few minutes. I need some fresh air."

"Ok, then help me get this thing out of the truck, and we'll cut off the end of the trunk," he said. "A shame to cut off two inches at $12 per foot."

We dragged the tree onto the snow and stood it upright. Hec stamped the trunk into the ground, shaking loose needles free. I bumped into Hec trying to help.

"It's huge," I said. 

One of his clumsy, gloved hands cupped my dick. 

"It sure is."

"Must be over seven foot," I laughed.

"You got that right," he said with a squeeze then let go. "Cost $88. You grab the trunk, and we'll carry it over to the shed so I can saw off the end."

It was an easy haul. Hec sawed right through the tree with ease, snap oozing out. 

"Careful not to get it on you. It doesn't come out easy." 

Char was waiting at the door with the stand. Hec slammed the tree into the spikes three times then we tightened up the clamps on the stand while Char helped us get the tree straight. 

After ten minutes of "to the right an inch" and "to the left a touch more," Hec complained, "Come on, Char. Jake shouldn't stay out here all day."

"I guess it's good enough for now," she sighed, then held the door open while we pushed top-first all seven-plus feet of blue spruce through the doorway, each branch bunching then popping out like a spring as it passed through the threshold. "I'll go help Kate bring down the lights and decorations. You two get it straight in the living room."

"Was that some kind of gay joke?" I asked after she left.

"Probably, knowing my sister."

We hauled it into the living room and placed it upright in the bay window. 

"Looks straight to me," I said.

"And big," Hec added.

"It's beautiful," I said, stepping back.

"It's a tree," he replied sarcastically. "In a house."

"Wow, you really are Scrooge."

"No-- yes-- shit. I hate this time of year," he said numbly. "It's when... well, it's when our parents left."

I was flummoxed. "Your parents left you at Christmas?" I stepped up next to him. 

Hec nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His toe that poked out of the end of his sock wiggled, and his hands that were thrust deep into the jean pockets bunched into fists. He looked so dejected-- I wanted to hug him tight to me, kiss him and make the pain go away. 

All I could think of to say was what a shitty thing to do and a shitty time to do it-- but I kept that to myself. Instead I said, "Damn, that's hard." 

"Yeah, but this year will be different," he added.

We hadn't talked about Christmas. My original plan turned to dirty snow: to have my sitcom done before Christmas and head back to the big city. I wanted a fresh blanket of white to cover that thought in my head. I'd been good at pushing those thoughts out-- that I had to leave. All I knew was that I didn't want to leave-- and now, this seemed to me an invitation from Hec to stay for Christmas.

"Yeah, this year will be different," I agreed.

"You know, Char just wanted you along to pick out the tree so she could ogle your ass. Now she gets to do it while you bend over and untangle lights."

Hmm, he changed the subject. Two could play that game.

"God," I said, "you got me! That's why I wanted to help decorate!"

"What? So my sister could ogle your ass?"

"No, so I could ogle yours."

"Well, here they come with the decorations. No more peace and quiet now."

I untangled light strands while Hec wound them around the tree. I plugged them in and a Christmas miracle happened! They worked! Lights twinkled in time with Jingles Bells, making Hec's mood shift. No swearing, just grinning; Mr. Grumbles left for the afternoon, leaving Hec, my Hec, the man who laughed like a giddy kid and sang "Deck the Halls" just a little bit out of tune. We joked with his sisters-- told stale knock, knock jokes and laughed like idiots. I caught Chas checking out my ass once, she caught me checking out Hec's twice. We strung popcorn, hung some old family ornaments, and I got little glipses of Lodge history as we hung them on the tree. 

It was the perfect afternoon. 

Around four o'clock, Kate hung the mistletoe and caught me me under it. She's shameless.

Then they left us alone to go make dinner. We stood in front of the tree with winking lights, held hot chocolate with marshmallows, and kissed in front of the cozy fireplace. 

"Best tree we ever had," he said. "I bet it will look even better at night."

"Everything's better in the dark," I said as I pulled him by the shirt and chest hair across the room and under the mistletoe. 

What was that line from The Princess Bride? That "since invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind"-- Well, our kiss was just like that--

only better.

As our lips parted, he opened his eyes then whispered, "I love you." 

"Let's sit down," I whispered. "I think it's time we had a talk."



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 12



The couch was lived-in. I like that about furniture-- one more thing I had in common with Hec, I presumed. We fidgeted our feet, scratched our crotches and chewed our lips. I took the lone candy cane from the box that sat between us and looked into Hec's eyes. Pete watched us both. Char had insisted we bring him down to watch us finish decorating the tree. I really think she wanted to pet his little birdy-beak. Char and Kate were long gone. Off baking Christmas cookies. I could smell them. 

Mmmm, sugar cookies. 

I-- we'd-- put off talking about my leaving. I thought of why I'd come here to this place, and why I wanted to stay. Besides great meals, fresh-baked cookies and salt-water taffy, I knew why. Two celestial galaxies collided in this bed and breakfast with a build-up of energy second only to the Big Bang. I wondered if my sitcom title Rewriting Singularity foreshadowed this cosmic expansion in my life called Hec Lodge.

"Want some?" I asked, poking the candy cane in his face. Hec shook his head no. 

"I came here to write," I began. Hec nodded. "On that first day it happened, I lost my senses--" I hiccupped. "Yes, it was somewhere between you bending over to put logs in that fireplace and me picking my eyes up off the floor."

"It's true--" Hec leaned in closer to me-- eyes fixed on mine. "My ass is that distracting." The cellophane on the discarded candy cane box crackled and popped like my nerves as Hec shot me a devilish smile. "And I can prove it--" he continued, "my ass is in the Guinness Book of Records under most desirable body parts."

"Um, yeah," I said, unwrapping my candy cane. Where was I before I was distracted by his ass? Yes, why I was here and when I was leaving... "Like I said, I came here to write a pilot for a hit sitcom and--"

"--to get away." 

"Yeah, to get away."

"And on your way to writing this sitcom my ass happened."

"Yes, your very distracting ass."

"And my distracting ass made you do things, crazy things."

"Yes, crazy things I've never done before."

"And now you're wondering just what my distracting ass has in store for your future?" Hec asked, smashing the candy cane box flat into the couch with his hand. I licked my lips thinking, Those hands! Crush me! Crush me, please! 

"And what I want to know is--" he hesitated. One risqué comment coming up! "--just where my ass fits in the end?" 

What at tease. Need a comeback. Something good. "Or what I'd like to fit in the end of your ass?" I blurted out. 

Touché. Or should that be tushy? 

I couldn't help myself. Blame it on 15 strands of twinkling lights, one phallic peppermint candy cane, and two perfect butt cheeks-- my primal brain took hold. I let the candy cane sag suggestively from the corner of my mouth as I squeezed my hand between the cushion and his ass. A tight fit but I still managed to wiggle my fingers.

"I thought you wanted to have a serious talk," he said, squirming on my hand.

"Who's the one that brought up all the ass talk?" I came back, pinching his left cheek.

"You did--" he jumped, "you said something about logs and a fire and me bending over, then you losing your balls."

"My eyeballs, not my balls." He had me-- literally. My hand was pinned as well as my mouth. So I sucked on the end of the cane, sticky peppermint drool dribbled out the side. Not sexy. 

Hec lifted his ass, and I slipped my crippled hand out. I wiped the drool off my mouth with my Captain Hook's appendage. We sat there, both watching lights on the tree and the star at the top, me with my lame hand and him with his ravaged ass. Neither of us talked. I started to hum, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" when finally Hec got the hint, picked up the crushed candy cane box and twirled it around with his fingers. 

Dizzy, I'm so Dizzy my head is spinning.

"Stay--"

My mouth opened. He said it, but for how long? For now? For Christmas? For-ever?

"Stay-- for Christmas."

Ok, maybe forever was a bit premature, but when galaxies collide they're hard to separate. It takes time-- billions and billions of years of time. Christmas wasn't that long. 

But what the heck? Deck the halls, fa la la la la and all that rot. I'll take what I can get. 

Pete twittered; he's saying: Don't take what you can get! Go for more! Chirp! Chirp! If you want it, here it is, come and get it-- tweet, tweet, tweet.

"I can stay for Christmas and--" I said, sucking on the end of the candy cane to a point. Or to make a point. 

"And New Year's-- you have to stay for New Year's--"

"I could stay for New Year's and--"

"And if you're going to stay for New Year's, then you have to stay for Martin Luther King's birthday--"

"Of course! And--"

"And then Groundhog Day--"

"Without a doubt." I tapped the sticky peppermint tip against my lips.

"And Valentine's--" He watched my lips with the same intensity that a cat eyes a mouse before it pounces. "Oh, fuck," he mumbled. "Ok. How do I ask this?"

What an opening! 

"Just ask," I said. 

"Stay." 

That's what I wanted to hear. 

"I think I'll need more clothes." I smiled. Yes, forever. That'll be door number two. 

Pete peeped. 

"And bird seed."

-----------------------

"Maybe it's not reincarnation--" I said, typing away on my laptop. He sat beside me on the bed, reading what I'd just written. Me? I pecked away at the sitcom, but this whole room exuded a supernatural aura I could no longer ignore. I felt like some intangible agent lurked over my shoulder. I needed to determine what bound Henry to Hec and Johann to me. "I mean, Henry's here. I feel him. Hell, he wrote part of this sitcom-- or at least he did through you-- like he channels through you. How can he be here haunting this place if he's reincarnated as you?"

"I know, I've thought of that too-- it's just creepy-crawly thinking that someone else's spirit has wriggled into my brain. I keep wondering, why me?"

"I'd guess he identifies with you."

"Because I'm gay?" Hec asked.

"Partly," I said, leaning back on the headboard, "and because you both are a lot alike."

"Alike?"

"You both like wood."

"Ha, ha."

"You both are anal retentive."

"Double ha, ha."

"You both love incredibly handsome, ingenious men."

Hec hesitated. 

"Oh, come on." I coughed into my hand. "You know it's true."

"Yeah, but you don't need to be so modest about it."

I grinned. 

"Seriously, I know you're right-- but I've never thought he'd taken possession of my body."

"So a 19th century spirit knows word processing and can get around Bill Gates. I don't think spirits are computer-literate."

"Yeah, that's pretty farfetched--"

"About as farfetched as ghosts and pornographic beds." I sat up and put my hand on his knee. "But I guess Windows 07 is a lot like a Ouija board at times." 

Then we noticed the LCD screen. One letter blinked, then two.

"Ho-ly fuck," Hec whispered.

My heart stopped.

Invisible hands clicked out the message, one chicken-peck at time: 

R e a d J o h a n n ' s j o u r n a l .

I got goose bumps as my eye picked up another motion-- my head turned to the desk by the window where I left the journal. Pages fluttered then stopped. 

Hec noticed too. "I guess this means we don't have to call an exorcist. I'm mean, I'm not possessed."

I nodded. "I think we better take his suggestion and read the journal." 

Hec pulled the covers tighter around his legs. "So who's going to get the journal?"

Chicken. 

What the hell-- I got up. After all, he's a friendly ghost. Like Casper. 

I took careful steps across the floor. Yeah, a gay Casper-- Casper the Friendly Gay Ghost who carves in woodshop and plays in cyberspace.

I shivered. I'd heard of cold spots before-- I'd seen Poltergeist more times than I cared to admit, and I'd felt chills in this house, but until I walked through ice-berg central, I never consciously thought that I was walking through a spirit. I had that sense now and was faced with a psychological dimension that I'd never pondered. 

I was walking through a being, something not of this world, something unknown.

I picked up the journal, thumb held to the spot Henry left open as I carried it back to the bed. I curled up next to Hec to get warm, then opened it. 

"You've read it all?" I asked.

"Yes-- what I could decipher. The handwriting is next to impossible to read."

So like my own handwriting, I realized that this was why Henry prompted me to read with his message. 

Smudged ink and scratched letters ran off the lines like a runaway freight train. One word jumped out at me, a word I knew Hec had already deciphered: Consumption. I understood now why Hec fretted, why he kept me in bed; why he worried over my every cough. Not that I would have this disease, vaccines prevented that, but not for Johann. 

He took my hand and held it tight as I haltingly read aloud the words on the last page: 

I know now where I must go. Although it pains me to part from Henry, it is a far, far better solution than the alternative. The telegram came from my parents today with the details, and I know they are correct as to where I should go to receive the best of care. My parents agree to this proper place, they say, where I will get proper care I require. Although my Henry says good food and fresh air are as abundant here in Wisconsin on the shores of Lake Michigan as on the shores of Saranac Lake near the Adirondacks, I tell him this is why, but alas, I know in my heart the real reason we must part. The learned Dr. Eleni warned that I may infect those nearest me, that I may infect my dear Henry, and that I cannot, could not bear. The good doctor Trudeau, whose sanatorium shall be my new home, lives with this terrible disease himself. He too has separated from those he loves, yet has hope for there are many who work with him at his sanatorium who are cured. Yes! Those who were once his patients now care for those who are ill! These people inspire me to live, to breathe, to hope for a tomorrow. I tell this to Henry. It gives him hope too. I leave him sadly in three days from our home. This I call home, although my home would be any square foot of space where Henry stood. I part knowing that these last years were all good years. I hope for the gift of more to come. I told Henry that I will keep these journals, that I will keep these blank books that were a gift from him, and that I will fill them with words and send them home. Each journal a record of my life, my thoughts, my heart, all I gladly fill and return as a gift to him. I told him this and he made me promise a day will come that I will return and follow, like my journals, back to him; my deepest hope is that I may keep that promise.

I closed the journal. I knew in my heart what the other journals held. I saw it in Hec's eyes. Maybe he couldn't read all the words, but what he could, he understood. Something separated them. I wondered if somewhere near the shores of Saranac Lake wandered another spirit, waiting too.



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 13



Hec was walking funny. I think it was either that last piece of pumpkin pie with three dollops of whipped cream or that last piece of me-- I didn't come with whipped cream though-- still, I knew we could both fit in that bathtub, and he did say I tasted a bit like whipped topping, maybe Reddi wip. I told him "I'd rather be topping then whipped," but then I added, "Hey, I'm ready for it if you are."

Eat, drink and be merry, I'd said. Or fairy. Maybe a merry fairy. He didn't laugh, but me? I was pretty merry knowing in a few days Christmas was coming and so was I, in or out of the bathtub. Best of all I wasn't leaving anytime soon. 

"I can't believe you're still hungry," Hec said. I watched his wet derriere cling sumptuously to the old flannel pjs he threw on so we could make our incredible-edible journey to the kitchen without showing skin. I was for the natural look, but Hec was a bit more modest. 

"I can't believe that Kate's fried chicken, mashed potatoes, lumpy gravy, and extra special seven-layer salad wasn't enough! You are a bottomless pit, Jake."

"I know-- I'm a bottomless pit for your love."I walked behind, taking in the view, wiping my sweaty palms on my sweatpants. Anywhere you go, I will follow. Any excuse to trail behind that perfect ass makes Mr. Happy, happy. 

At our destination, he opened the fridge and leaned over. Be still my heart.

"There's leftovers from tonight," he said. "America's Finest fruitcake or corndogs."

"America's Finest fruitcake? Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"No, actually it's good. Doesn't taste like any fruitcake you've had-- I mean, it's palatable. Has walnuts and candied pineapple and--"

"Stop! I'll pass. I have nightmares about the fruitcakes my Aunt Bess used to make. The third little pig could have used them to build his house. I like corndogs though-- makes me think of the county fair. That's a better memory."

"Sounds like corndogs it is--"

"Yes, I'll take horn dogs for twenty, Alec."

"You're a horn dog alright."

"Corndog, horn dog, porn dog-- so many choices!" I joked.

"I can microwave some. How many you want?"

"I don't know," I said. "How many are in a pack?"

He counted. "Eight."

"Sounds good."

"Eight corndogs?!"

"I figured you'd want one."

Hec laughed. Such a comely laugh. Made me want to bend him over that counter and--

I wonder how many times I could come in one day? We'd have to test that sometime-- send the results into Kinsey Institute.

He arranged the corndogs carefully on a microwave-safe plate. The way he fingered those corn-covered dogs made me wish I was an Oscar Meyer wiener.

I watched the carousel go round and round. I caught Hec smiling at me.

"You have any mustard?" I asked, turning to the fridge. I opened the door and began rummaging around. "I like to dunk them in mustard." 

"I bet you do." 

Found it.

As I shut the door, Hec came in for a kiss. I liked the contrast of the cool against my back and the hot against my front. 

"What?" 

"What do you want for Christmas?" he asked, lips parting mine. 

The microwave rang. We separated, and I popped open the microwave's door and set the corndogs on the counter. 

"Let's see... what do I want? Well, actually-- I already got what I wanted."

I turned. Loved that blush on him. He wore it so, so well. 

"Besides that," he said, and kissed me again.

"Not that. Although that is always good. It's you. I'm staying here with you. That's what I wanted."

I squirted a puddle of mustard on the plate, then looked up into those warm-brown eyes.

"Yeah, but you have to want something. Come on, tell Santa."

I gave him my most serious look as I dunked a corn dog in the mustard.

"Anything you get me would be special." I put the corn dog up to my lips. "Surprise me. I like surprises." I bit in. "Oh, shit! Hot!"

Hec to the rescue. He grabbed a glass, rushed to the sink and ran cold water. He filled it in a rush, then ran back to me and thrust the dripping glass to my lips. I took the glass from him, swallowing the cool liquid.

"Burned my damned tongue," I said. Felt like my tongue was still on fire.

"Gluttony is one of the deadly sins."

"Smart-ass," I said.

"Now you got a reason to poke that tongue out," he teased. "Come on, let's take those corndogs upstairs and give you and them time to cool."

---------------------

After my tongue mended and the corndogs were no more, Hec and I settled down to write. We'd finished the rough draft of the sitcom the night before and now the real work began: polish, polish, polish. The house was quiet. Over the last few nights our ghostly friend was shy. I wondered if Henry wanted to let us work or maybe he was just bored with one-liners, b stories and scene call-backs. For whatever reason, he'd left us alone to work and play. But tonight my thoughts turned to Henry and more importantly to Hec. He'd hinted at a bit about his family history the night before, which made me curious, more curious than I was prior. I knew his parents' disappearance was a sore spot-- every time the word parents came up, he'd squirm and stealthily change the topic. I'd let it go. Not tonight.

We sat, our backs against the headboard, toes touching and the laptop between us, when I brought up an idea I'd been bouncing in my brain about Johann.

"I was thinking," I said. "Henry is unsettled because Johann isn't here. What if we found out where he was buried and brought his remains and buried him near Henry? I mean, seems to me that Henry's restless spirit stems from their separation, not only in life, but in death. Maybe if we re-unite them, Johann's spirit can finally be at peace."

"That's a good idea, but I think there's laws against digging up people--" He laughed. "Besides we don't even know where Johann's buried."

"I don't think it'd be hard to find out, and you know where Henry's buried, right?"

"Yeah, in the plot behind the house here." Hec scratched his chin. "Actually, I have thought about this before-- but it occurred to me: What if Johann is at rest? Wouldn't unearthing his body and moving it disrupt his spirit? I mean, I'm no psychic, but it occurred to me that we might be making matters worse."

"I'd be willing to bet that wherever Johann is, he's not resting. That might be part of Henry's problem." I hesitated. "What if there's another way to bring them together?"

"What? Conjuring spirits? As in with a medium? Here? A séance?"

"Well, yeah, but to start I thought that we need to find out where Johann is. I know a couple of private investigators who could help us locate Johann's remains-- or where he's buried. And the men I'm thinking of could help us find a good medium, too-- someone on the up-and-up. Someone who could find out if Johann's spirit is restless somewhere else. "

"So you want to hire private investigators to locate the dead and find a reputable psychic? I didn't know private investigators did that. Who ya gonna call? Ghostbusters?"

I sighed. For a man who'd lived with a ghost for years, he sure wasn't taking this too seriously.

"Missing people are missing people," I said. "Doesn't matter if they're dead or alive." 

"Not sure if you need a private investigator for that-- and digging em up? I think you'd hire grave robbers for that. I wonder if Igor is busy."

"There are professionals who make a living finding people," I said. "And they have nothing to do with mad scientists."

No one spoke-- not even Pete twittering in his cage.

"Nothing to do with mad scientists, huh? But everything to do with-- this isn't just about Johann, is it?" He dug his nails into his arm and scratched.

"No--" I plunged forward. "--they could locate-- your parents."

"I knew it," he mumbled.

"So, you've never tried looking for them."

"No. If they didn't care enough to stick around, then why should I care enough to try and find them?"

"What if they didn't run off-- what if something happened to them? The PIs could give you answers."

"Answers. Sometimes answers are worse than questions. When I was a kid, I used to come up with all sorts of elaborate stories about why they disappeared-- I'd lie awake in bed pretending like they were double agents off on some secret mission and that they'd come home. Or pretend they were superheroes off on some intergalactic adventure. Mostly I'd pretend that they went into some witness protection program because they turned on some underworld villain. Even told myself that they didn't really leave-- they were just on vacation. And you know what I told people sometimes? I told them that my parents were dead-- that they drove off a bridge into the bay."

"I didn't want to bring it up, but you know that something like that might really be the case."

"It isn't." He kicked the quilt to the end of the bed. He stared at his feet and scrunched his long toes while I waited for him to continue. "Detectives looked into their disappearance. Never came up with a thing. That and well, they packed. Took valuables. My mom took her favorite earrings. And clothes. IDs. Credit cards although they never used them. They left us alone. Drove off and never looked back."

"If you'd like-- now I'm not pushing-- but if you'd like, those private investigators I know are really good. They did some work for my sister Margie a few years back. Found her sleazoid ex-husband off in the Bahamas living the high-life. They could find them. I mean, if it was me, I'd want to at least confront them. Tell them what I thought. And then what about your sisters? Wouldn't they want to know the truth?"

"So these PIs would look for Johann and find a psychic for us."

"And find your parents."

"Let's forget about that--"

"For now."

He shook his head at me. "You're impossible. Come here."

I pushed the laptop aside and rolled on top of him. "Thought you'd never ask."

"Since when did I have to ask?" He mashed his mouth into mine while I mashed our hard cocks together. Hec's mouth curled up and my heart frantically pounded in my chest as his hand untied the string at my waist and reached inside my sweats-- god, such sweet, long fingers wrapped around the base and appreciatively slid up to the tip. His other hand entangled itself in the sheet next to my head. I slithered my hand down his flannel pjs and held his heavy cock in my hand, running my thumb on the ridge of his dick then into his slit, toying with him just to hear his delicious moans. Eyes wide. Ankles hooked. In the deepest pit of my stomach I ached to feel him hard and hot and sweaty. His cock bobbed as I let go briefly, and he groaned. Kisses came all weightless and wet along my neck, encouraging me. I grabbed him again, toyed with the pre-cum that had bubbled up on the tip, then I pumped him. I loved his enthusiasm--how he'd rut into my hand and moan. Increased the tempo as a reward. He hummed in approval. 

His fingers released the sheet near my head and touched my face before his fingers made a full assault. Down, down. Both hands on me. I hissed through clenched teeth as the rhythm increased. I was desperate, delirious. A red-hot pulse quickened. 

I bucked and moaned and begged. He bucked and moaned and begged.

It didn't take long for the fireworks.

I love the rockets' red glare. Bombs bursting in--  our pants. 

"I think you killed me," I shuddered. "God, only you can make me come in my sweatpants."

"We're a mess," he mumbled into my ear. "Might need another bath."

"Then you'd really kill me dead."

Ah, the aftermath. Heart rates returned to normal and limbs turned to rubber. Life made steady. He snuggled closer, his hair tickled my nose. I loved sex-- don't get me wrong, but I loved this part more. 

"So tell me about these two PIs." His hand found mine under the sheets and held it tight.

"They're a couple of older guys in their 40s. Partners."

I didn't tell Hec that they were partners in other ways too. Or that they were both hot. Or that I used to have elaborate fantasies about the two guys involving a ménage a trois with me as the recipient of various and sundry deviant ministrations-- one of which involved pink furry handcuffs, a riding crop and maraschino cherries.

"Their names are Jorge Domingo and Wes Linden. Domingo was in the elite Mexican Secret Service, Linden graduated from Duke-- he's been a PI most of his life. The team is highly respected, specializing in international entanglements."

"They sound expensive."

"What's the saying? You get what you pay for. They aren't cheap, but they're good."

Hec moved our joined hands over his chest.

"Let's call them after the holidays."



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 14



"Unwrap it, go on!"

I licked my lips and looked up at Hec as my fingers slid under the tape. Lots to unwrap. And more I'd like to unwrap later. 

Even as a kid I never liked to peek-- took my time opening that special package. 

"You're driving me crazy! Open it!" Hec coaxed. I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. After all, Christmas morning is for lovers and children. 

"Come on!" No one I ever knew danced and squirmed in one place like him: I loved that pile of combustible nerves called Hec. 

My fingers took hold and with one loud, long rip, half the paper was off the box.

The other half wasn't as easy. Tape. Little pieces stuck like insane patchwork.

"Don't tell me--" I said, "you wrapped it yourself--"

He nodded. 

I went at it. As a blizzard of red gift wrap confetti flew around the room, Hec erupted into one of those happy-hiccupping bursts of laughter that endeared him to me. Heat pooled in my stomach from the way he patted his knees in anticipation. His lopsided-twitchy grin made me want to throw him down in front of the fire and fuck him sillier than he already was. Yeah, I'd make him twitch in other places. 

I shook my head and laughed back at him. I loved watching him watch me as much as I loved opening the package.

Paper gone, I slipped my hands around the box. Caressed it and looked to him for a nod, an ok, to finish opening his gift. I got the nod, then slipped the top off and closed my eyes to savor that last instant of surprise. 

"Oh, come on!" Hec said, thrashing around the couch so much that I bounced up off the cushion. "Open your eyes! Open your eyes!"

What is it? I pondered. Haines underwear? Fruit of the Loom t-shirts? Argyle socks? First one eye, then the other. 

Nope.

My first thought was that he spent too much. Shit. A suit. A nice one too. Wool, three button, navy blue. Dress shirt, light blue striped hand tailored from Italy. All my size. And a matching silk tie. 

"Look underneath," Hec said.

What? No... he didn't-- under tissue paper I found blue saltwater taffy.

"Here," he said, handing me a small satin box, hinged. Nothing to unwrap this time. "I got this for you too."

Like that wasn't enough. He'd done too much already--

I lifted it.

Cuff links. Gold. Engraved. Both of our initials together.

"Wow, thanks."

He winked. "You do need something to wear when we go out on New Year's."

"You spent way too much on me." I bit my lip. "Thanks."

He shook his head. "Not as much as you think." 

I went to the tree. I picked up my gift to him and set the box in his lap. I hoped he liked it. 

He unwrapped his package like a kid. Opened the box and--

"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed. "Bird seed! You shouldn't have!"

"Oh, shit. That's Pete's," I said, whisking it from his hand. "Just a minute."

God, how did I manage that? Hmm. I knew I shouldn't have wrapped them in the same paper.

I sheepishly went back to the tree and retrieved the gift.

What a sport. He opened this with the same zeal. 

I unwrapped a piece of the taffy and popped it into my mouth.

He practically jumped in my lap. 

"Holy fuck! Season Packers' tickets!" 

"I got something for Kate and Chas when they get up." I pointed to the tree. "Hope they like bathrobes and Bath and Body Works." 

"Chas loves Bath and Body. And I love this. Thanks." He gave me a big smooch. "This is great. Packers' tickets. Cool." Hec turned the tickets over and looked me in the eyes and kissed me again. "You taste good too."

He thanked me one last time. With tongue. Yeah, lots of tongue. "Look under the tickets," I mumbled. 

Our mouths stuck together, bottom lips attached with blue gooey candy. He fumbled with the box in his hand, pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it carefully. 

"A check? What the hell for?" he frowned.

"Your half of the script-- the sitcom. This isn't even the whole thing. Just a kind of retainer to get the rights." I picked at some candy stuck to my teeth. "I sent it in-- to Fox. They want it."

"This much? Shit, guess I can afford that suit." He socked me playfully in the arm. "Ha, ha. Just kidding. Really. It didn't cost that much. I bought the suit at the Salvation Army."

"Really?"

"No. K-mart."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow and plucked another piece of candy from my box.

"No. The neighbor passed away. He was the same size as you."

"Now you are kidding," I said, stuffing another piece of taffy into my mouth.

"Seriously. I got a good deal. And these Packers' tickets are worth more." He gave me that lopsided grin. "Probably."

After, we drank coffee waiting for Kate and Chas. I rocked in the old chair next to the fire as Hec sat between my legs on the floor in front of me, his back rubbing against my shins in time to the groans of the chair, curly head rolling back cushioned on my knees. I closed my eyes, imagining us twenty, thirty years from now sitting in front of the same crackling fireplace and wondered what we'd look like. Me possibly older, wiser with sultry-hot in my old age, of course. I'm all salt and pepper. And Hec? His hairline gone south, but even more handsome. 

I saw us together, me in the same chair, Hec with his head resting the same way on my old knobby-knees hidden under faded flannel pjs. I'd look down at Hec sitting between my slippers (damn I needed to clip those toenails). He'd turn and smile at me, deep laugh lines with that same impish grin. In one blink, my fantasy went from Winter by the roaring fireplace to the Summer on the front porch. We'd coast on the glider hand-in-hand with feet crossed and sip lemonade as we'd watch the sun set.

Got all mushy-eyed thinking on it. Always doing that-- getting mushy-in-love with the idea of love. What did Austin call it? Over-romanticizing? Only now I wasn't. This was for real. The real deal. The real thing. This was IT. This was forever.

My Christmas morning fantasies flew up and away like Santa's sleigh off a rooftop as Chas and Kate interrupted with banging and laughing in the hallway. The room filled with cheer along with five choruses of "Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock." I spent the rest of the morning listening and watching the three together, throwing wrapping paper, giving bear-hugs and sloppy kisses. 

I still hadn't told Hec that while I was out Christmas shopping I'd called the detectives.

----------------

The weekend passed. New Year's Eve came fast, and I still hadn't told him about the long conversations I'd had with Linden and Jorge. I wasn't sure why-- well, hell I was too. I knew exactly why I kept putting it off-- because I'd asked them to look for Hec's parents along with finding out information about our friendly ghosts, and I knew Hec would be pissed. But still, I figured whatever I learned I didn't have to share with him until he was ready to hear it. I knew I was just making excuses in my head-- justifying my need to right one of the wrongs in the world. My whole life was a series of efforts to do just that-- I was no superhero, but my sister claimed that I secretly wanted a cape. After one of my failed attempts to right a wrong, she'd remind me that I couldn't save the world-- still I wanted to save a piece. I kept trying. Besides, I told her I'd look stunning in one of those skin-tight superhero outfits. 

My sister was happy when I started writing for television-- said as a sitcom writer I could make the world laugh instead of saving it. She always said I'd only find pain in fixing other people's problems. Besides, she said, in a way laughter could help save the world. Although most times she didn't appreciate my advice regarding her dating habits or choice of friends, she put up with it. My friends didn't appreciate my advice either. Relationship counseling that hurt relationships. A real dilemma. Case in point when I tried to fix my parents' marriage: my sister almost wrote me off because of my machinations. Note to other future meddlers: never throw two people together into a locked closet and expect them to kiss and make up. It only works on television sitcoms. That's why I do all of my relationship healing via make-believe. Took me two years in the Peace Corps in Panama before I realized my calling wasn't helping others. Got malaria for my trouble. I guess I didn't learn enough from that though. Now Hec. And Johann and Henry. My inner voice was back. I couldn't leave that cape behind-- I had to know what happened to his parents.

The big evening came, and I still hadn't told him everything. I told him about the detectives, that they were looking into Johann's and Henry's past-- but I didn't say a word about Hec's parents. He didn't ask either. I figured, don't ask, don't tell. 

But I think he may have suspected.

I was ready for New Year's night. Hec too. God, he looked delicious all dressed up. Me? The suit fit perfect. Almost like he knew my frame intimately. 

Loved the cufflinks. 

I knew nothing about the night life in Green Bay. Hec said he knew even less, but he did go to this particular club called SX. 

Hec drove his old truck. The place was near the bay. Parked in the ramp across the street. First thing I noticed as we came down the walk was this crowd of hot women, going into the place, sequins sparkling, spike heels clicking on the pavement. Hadn't seen that much fish-net since my sister's Frederick's of Hollywood catalog. 

We stood in line, waiting to be seated-- Hec scratched his chin, and I licked my lips. Hec had made a reservation. A hot babe was in front of me-- long legs, fiery-red hair flying, silver and black lamé evening gown. She stepped back, I stepped forward right on top of her foot.

"Sorry," I said.

"Watch where yer steppin', mac," came a deep voice. My head jerked up, then I took a closer look around. All those hot, hot women? Ah, they weren't women at all. And some of the men? They weren't men either.

SX was a gay club.

My illusion of myself as the worldly big city boy disappeared into the Green Bay, Wisconsin, night. Shit.

A handsome waiter led us to our table. Nice spot near the dance floor right next to this short, squint-eyed man with over-developed biceps. He pulled out a pipe. Stuffed it with tobacco. 

The waiter handed us our menus.

"Band doesn't start to play until 11," Hec said. "Plenty of time for dinner."

"I'm starved."

Popeye at the next table kept leering at my man. Not that I blamed him, Hec was one handsome man.

Waiter came around. Took our orders. 

"I'll have ribs, baked potato, sour cream, broccoli," I said. "Coffee and a shot of Jack Daniels."

"In the coffee?" Hec laughed.

"No," I smiled. 

The waiter nodded. Hec ordered. The waiter left.

"Shrimp scampi? Garlic bread?" I asked. "I thought you wanted a kiss to ring in the new year?"

"Don't worry. I brought my handy-dandy tooth brush," he said, patting his coat pocket, "and I'm sure they have mints here too."

We had three shots before dinner got to the table. The way Hec was smiling, he was feeling no pain.

The ribs were good, but they gave me spinach instead of broccoli. A fancy finger bowl but no wet naps. Hec had two more shots while we were eating.

"I think you better slow down or you won't make it to midnight," I said, licking my fingers.

"Um, why don't you send it back?" Hec ignored me. "Get broccoli instead?"

"I could send the spinach to Popeye over at the next table," I suggested.

"Him?" Hec half turned to look. "He does kind of look like Popeye."

"He's giving you the pop eye too."

"Me?" Hec laughed, sending a spray of whiskey across the table. "I thought he was giving you the pop eye."

"Hell, no. He checked out your ass when you sat down."

"Well, you don't have to worry-- his date is pretty cute."

"Cute? Those shoes are last year-- and those hoop earrings are over the top."

Hec laughed again, wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it on the table.

"You're pretty cute yourself. You should eat ribs more often. I love to watch you eat with your fingers." He leaned over the table and whispered in my ear. "Makes me hard."

I thought we were going to have to call a cab. No way he was driving home, and I was already drunk too.

The band started up. I knew we were in trouble. Nirvana wannabes. 

It was then I noticed Hec turning green. He made a mad dash to the men's room.

Popeye got up to follow.

I followed Popeye. Popeye's date followed me. Not one of us walked in a straight line either. Someone was rocking the poop deck.

The one-eyed runt was moving fast for being intoxicated. Yep, he was right behind Hec and into the bathroom. Sorry, but gay bar? Bathroom? I wasn't taking any chances with Hec in that condition.

I came in to see Popeye pissing and to hear Hec vomiting in the third stall. I went over and knocked.

"You ok?"

"Fuck! Fine! Just pukin' my guts out. I'll be ok after I get rid of this lung."

I stood outside his stall waiting. Hec opened the door, took one look at me and vomited bits of shrimp scampi and garlic bread all over my shoes. "Sorry, I thought I was done."

"You always get that reaction?" Popeye asked, winking at me.

I shot him a dirty look. His date, Olive Oyl, shot me one. Hec had about half a roll of wadded-up toilet paper in his hand and was at my feet wiping the puke off my shoes.

"Don't, Hec. It's fine," I said, bending down. I helped him up. He stood all shaky, and god, he was even cute after he barfed. 

It must be love. 

Hec stumbled to the sink and threw water in his face.

"Aren't you glad I came prepared?" Hec pulled out a zip-lock baggy with his toothbrush and toothpaste inside. 

I shook my head. "Almost like you knew what was going to happen."

"Yeah," he said. "Almost."

I grabbed some paper towels and cleaned off my shoes better while he brushed his teeth.

"Most men who say they've come prepared pull out a condom," Popeye observed. And that's not all he observed. His good eye leered at Hec's ass all bent over the sink as he rinsed his mouth out. Olive Oyl smacked Popeye in the back of the head.

"I'm not most men," Hec said, turning to me. He zipped his toothbrush and toothpaste back into his handy-dandy baggy. "There," he said, slipping them into his coat. "Now I can drink some more."

"I can't wait..." I said.

As we walked out into bad music, I could hear Olive Oyl behind us bitching out her man. Always thought Olive Oyl was a dyke, not a man in drag.

Never mind that some days, hey, life sucked. Never mind that I hate spinach and fingerbowls with little mint sprigs. Never mind that Popeye insulted me in the men's room. Never mind that bits of puke were still on my shoes and never mind that the stupid band sucked. "Hey, bonehead! You ain't Kurt Cobain!" Never mind. 

I held myself up with whiskey. And Hec.

Back at the table, I slammed down another glass. I was plastered. Drunk. Dizzy and giddy. 

We went out on the dance floor. Anything to get closer to Hec.

Next to us, a man said: "He kissed me and yada, yada, yada." What was this, some rerun of Seinfeld? Yeah and that short, short, stocky, slow-witted, bald man who's pretending to be an architect is Art Vandelay?

Clean up, cut up, slap face, suck face, ding dong dingy. What?! Is that the ball dropping?

Time for a kiss. But here? This was for him. New Year's Eve. For Hec. Cheers.

No cheating, no cutting, no pushing or pulling and most of all no food or drinks beyond this point. Or yeah, no shoes, no shirt, no service. And no gay kissing. Am I that drunk?

Get to the back of the line, son. Get to the office. Get your hand off of that! No touching! Put both hands on the hood, spread your legs. What's this? A gun? Wow. A big gun too. Better get out the handcuffs. Pink and fuzzy ones.

"Ah, Jake? What the hell are you doing?"

Nothing like feeling up your boyfriend in public.

Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfill. Oh, my darlin', I love you, and I always will.

"Happy New Year, lover," I whispered.

---------------------

The bumpy ride along with the speakers pounding out "we will, we will, rock you!" practically rattled the fillings out of my teeth. And then, attempting to drown out Hec's moans as I tried my best to rub through the front of his dress pants, the cab driver cranked up the volume more. I had him pinned to the seat, grinding my way into the best dry fuck I'd ever experienced until Hec ratcheted it up one more time with a quick flick of the wrist. He unzipped me and reached inside to find Mr. Happy. Rock hard on rock. I bit back a groan. Hec's brown eyes below me darkened as he looked into mine, then he flicked them over to check the driver, whose eyes were ahead on traffic, thank god, and not on us. 

Queen played on.

This was probably just another night for the old codger. I imagine a cab driver like him saw it all-- like two sloppy-drunk gay men groping each other was just another night on the late shift. 

All the slurping, moaning and hissing in the backseat probably sounded like a bad skin flick-- no wonder he turned up the volume.

"I think we should slow down," Hec whispered. 

"What?!"

"I think we should slow down." I reluctantly agreed as he pulled his oh-so-warm hands out of my Haines briefs.

But we were getting closer to home. Better straighten up. I zipped myself back up, but not before giving Hec another long, wet New Year's kiss. 

We both sat back up and relaxed into the ambiance of cigarette-burned seats and duct tape. I gripped Hec's knee to keep the world from spinning as I closed my blood-shot blue eyes. There behind them, my world rewound those last moments of the evening as the seconds ticked off on the dance floor. 

We stood in the middle of the floor, hands clasped together. Around us, blurs and flashes of color and light. People shouting, singing, dancing. But not us. I'd never felt this before: to be in a room packed with people and nothing, no one else mattered. 

Ten, nine, eight.

Hec looked at his feet. My hand cradled that fine jaw. He looked up. God, his eyes. What is that I see?

Seven, six, five. 

My other hand slipped through the curls at the back of his neck. So soft. 

Four, three, two. 

His head tipped. Mouth close. Closer. A whisper on his lips. 

One. 

"I love you."

"Jake? Hey, Jake! We're home. Come on." I blinked away the start of our New Year's celebration and stumbled out of the cab with hopes to finish the evening off in the magic bed of numbers. 

But not before I slipped the cab driver a big tip.

He sped away as we stumbled up the steps on to the porch. Hec dropped his keys twice trying to open the door. Each time I snatched them up for him, handing them back with a smile and a punch in the arm the sent him wobbling and laughing into the doorframe as I said, "Open sesame." We forgot about Popeye, puke and partying as we giggled like a couple of kids. 

Third try, I waved my hand in front of the door and shouted, "Allakahazam!"

The door opened. "Wow," I said, swaying into Hec. "It really worked!"

"No." Hec shook his head fiercely. "It was me and the key."

"Damn, I was getting worried there that you were losing the knack for shoving thing into holes."

We both stumbled in, supporting each other. 

"That's nothing," Hec said, pointing. "Now, we've got to navigate up those stairs."

"Aren't we going to your room?"

"You really think we can make it to the other side of the house?" Hec asked.

"You've got a point." I looked up. "I never noticed there were so many stairs." I scratched my head. "Maybe if I said Allakahazam one more time I could transport us to the top."




Rewriting Singularity Ch. 14



"Ok." Hec scratched the inside of his arm. "Give it a try."

"Allakahazam!" I shouted.

"Didn't work."

"Maybe a different magic word," I suggested. "Abracadabra!"

"Nope."

"Hocus pocus!"

"Still here."

"Sim, Sim Sala Bim!"

"Sh-h-h! You're goin' to wake my sisters!" He pulled on my arm. "I know it's a stretch, but let's take the stairs."

We started the long voyage up. 

"Wait," I said, as we made the first landing. "I need to stop a moment."

I looked up. One flight to go.

I tried again. 

"Presto Chango!" 

"It's not funny anymore."

"Ok, one more try, and then we'll climb the rest of the way up the pornographic staircase." I closed my eyes, waved my hands manically over my head and flexed my fingers. "Please!" 

I opened my eyes. Hec cocked his eyebrow. "Um, that's not a magic word."

"Yes it is. My mom told me it was."

"Well, maybe please worked on your mom, but it didn't get us up the stairs. Come, handsome, up we go."

We started up the last flight. 

"Did you ever think that when you slid your hand on the railing like this it's kind of sexual?" I asked. "You know, like beating off?"

"Jesus, Jake, you're really drunk."

"That's because I didn't puke!"

We wobbled our way up. Three more steps, and we'd be to my door. No magic bed of numbers tonight.

Somehow we got into my room, undressed and into bed. 

"This is the first time we've done it this room," I said. I sucked on his bottom lip. "Damn, no lube, but there's lotion in the bathroom."

"I'll go get it if you quit talking."

"I'm a mouse."

"Now don't disappear!"

"Squeak, squeak!"

I waited for Hec to come back. Didn't take long.

"You're still here," he said. 

"Yep," my hands patted the mattress, my head, then my chest, "still here."

He rushed across the room, and our mouths collided-- tongues wrestled and stabbed and darted for supremacy. Finally, he threw back the quilt and bent his head, pressing kisses along the underside of my jaw, his teeth gently nipping the stubble as we both fell flat to the bed. 

His mouth moved lower, dragging his teeth across my collarbone, then down, tongue trailing around my nipples. His fingers toyed with the hairs at the back of my neck and then traced the tips of my ears, making my cock unbearably hard. I yelped as those same fingers moved to pinch my nipples. He laughed, then his mouth followed his hand down, both hypnotically circling my navel, then his mouth moved lower, biting, licking. That wicked tongue slithered lower, down the length me, measuring carefully. I moaned in disappointment when his mouth left me, but then licking his own fingers, wetting them, preparing them. My breath hitched. He took the tip of his tongue and flicked it across my glans, teasing me into a frenzy as those oh-so devilish fingers moved to explore the inside of my ass. I grabbed the sheets, half afraid I was about to come before he fucked me. Two fingers pushed inside me and began pumping and twirling with his tongue doing the same in around my cock in two-four time. Suddenly, he sat up, and I watched one of his steady hands move from me and grip his cock-- he ripped the condom wrapper with his teeth and one hand rolled it on while the other stayed inside me and played with the prostrate. I begged and moaned for him to fuck me now. He just smiled down at me with that lop-sided grin of his. What a fucking tease. I watched, licking my lips as he worked pink baby lotion up and down his magnificent dick with his free hand. 

"Breathe," he whispered. The bastard knew he had me right at the precipice, fingers never letting up on the flick, flick, flicking across my sweet spot. He let me hang there, back arched, clawing at the mattress. 

"Fucking, hell. I need to come!" I swore, and he loved it. He must of pitied me since he pulled his fingers out with a pop, then pushed his dick inside my ass. Problem was he began teasing again, only this time with his in-a-little/out-a-little jabs, each time in-a-little more. I helplessly swallowed what air I could as he brought me back up to that edge and worked that spot inside me. I swear I'd never been that close to the edge before for so long it hurt. He kept me there, aching. Sweat dripped off both of us. I was practically sobbing.

"God, Hec, let me come! Now!" Only this time he let me take the fall. Hard. The violence of my orgasm shocked me. I jerked and spasmed from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Hec shook with the same ferocity-- after I felt his heart pounding like it wanted out of his chest. I was relieved, frightened, euphoric all jumbled in one.

"I think I came," I panted into Hec's ear.

"Yeah," he gasped. "Me too-- Abracadabra!"



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 15



I woke around four to take a piss. The pipes were bang, bang, banging our song. Most of the alcohol was out of me, my head pounded from my New Year's over indulgence with every clang of the pipes. I opened the medicine cabinet and popped a couple of aspirin into my mouth and cupped water from my hand to wash them down. I closed the medicine cabinet and bloodshot eyes stared back. One twitched back at me. Shit. The pipes were working up to a crescendo, and this time there was an accompaniment: A loud rattle of boards. I wondered, was that Henry? 

"Henry?! Hello, Henry!" I whispered loud enough for a ghost to hear, but quiet enough so as not to disturb Hec from his beauty rest. "You've been shy lately. Come out, come out wherever you are!" 

I don't believe I'm talking to a ghost, I thought to myself as I sat down on the edge of the tub. "You know," I said to Henry, clearing my throat, "I'm looking for him-- looking for Johann. I think they may have found him."

The banging and rattling ceased. The house stilled, listening. The bathroom suddenly became moist, clammy-- my eyes out of focus, in a mist. The hairs on my arm came alive. Hot and cold. The room defied scientific laws. I seriously began to wonder if I was still drunk or maybe dreaming as I heard the unmistakable squeak of a finger on glass. The fog in my head and around me cleared. Every breath I took was visible. It was then that I noticed the mirror on the medicine cabinet all steamed up. I inched off the edge of the tub. Took one halting step to the sink.

Writing. There on the mirror. I stepped closer. It read--

Help him.

"Help me," I whispered. "I'm communicating with the dead."

---------------------

Hec bent over, bare-assed. What a beautiful view. 

I rubbed the water out of my hair with a towel, observing true art.

We were back in Hec's room. All my things, his things, were there. And Pete. We had to get dressed sometime. I'd already told him about my run-in with Henry last night. He didn't seem surprised.

"Where's my purple shirt?" he asked. "The striped one."

Had to be a rhetorical question. I sure as shit wouldn't wear that shirt. 

I blinked. I didn't think it was possible-- he bent over more. I couldn't resist-- I swatted him on the ass with my towel. 

"Stop that!"

I swatted him again.

"Your gay-nus is showing," I teased.

"What?! What the hell is a gay-nus?"

"Double interpretation. First meaning: a welcoming puckered hole inviting entry. Second meaning: men who pine over tight, purple striped shirts."

"That's not funny."

"Yeah, it is." I sat on the bed, pulling on my Levis. "I'm hungry. Need sustenance."

"I'm naked. Need clothes."

"Ha, ha."

"Just a minute. I'll wear this shirt instead."

"Um, flannel. A new look." I raised one eyebrow. 

"Well, fuck. A least it's not gay-looking."

"Well, you need something to pull the look together. While I enjoy that pantless look, others may see your new look as something akin to wearing assless chaps, which is gay-nus definition number three by the way. Put on those jeans. Yeah-- now you look manly. You're a manly-man. Too bad I'm hungry for real food or I'd eat you right now."

"What do you want for breakfast?" He picked my wet towel up off the bed and threw it at me. "Ghost-toasties?"

"Now that was an old joke," I said, pulling my t-shirt on over my head. "Can't you think of something more original?"

"At least I'm not resorting to asshole jokes." Hec smirked. "Gay-nus. That is pretty good."

"Have to write it into the script."

"They'd say that on TV?"

"Don't know. But you always have to put stuff like that in-- test the limits-- it's expected."

We headed down to the kitchen. 

"So when are we supposed to meet these detectives?" Hec asked.

Suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore.

I hesitated. "As soon as they locate Johann's plot and talk to relatives. Should be soon." Part of the truth. I omitted the rest. What was really taking all the time was locating his parents. I needed to call Linden and Jorge, but I didn't feel right discussing that here, in their home. We planned to go back into town tomorrow. I figured I'd call Linden and Jorge then. 

"I'd like to talk to them."

"Sure," I said. "I'll call them later." Shit. But at least they knew I was doing this behind Hec's back and wouldn't say anything to him. 

I had cereal. Hec had oatmeal. Kate and Chas were still in bed. Guess we weren't the only ones who had a late night.

"Snowed early this morning," Hec said, looking out the window as he rinsed out his bowl. "I'll need to shovel. Want to give me a hand?"

"Sure."

"When does their office open back up?" Hec asked, turning to me.

"They're open today." I kicked myself. Why'd I go and tell Hec that?

"That's weird."

"Not really when you think of it. All sorts of investigating to do on New Year's Eve-- Linden complained to me once-- more like twice-- that they never get holidays off like every one else and even the day after they always work cleaning up loose ends."

"Why don't we give those detectives a call right now, before we get started."

"Sure." I was full of sures. What the hell?

We went to the phone in the hallway, and I dialed thinking, please don't be there, please don't be there.

Second ring: "Linden and Domingo Investigating, Incorporated. Connie speaking. How may I help you."

"Hi, Connie. This is Jake. Are either Linden or Jorge around?"

"Well, Mr. Domingo is out of the office, but Linden can take your call. I think he's expecting you."

"Ok, I'll hold."

I put my hand over the mouthpiece. "I'm on hold," I said to Hec. "Linden's there."

I waited only a moment before I heard Linden's voice. He still sounded like a kid to me on the phone. I could never get over how someone so harmless-looking could turn into a pint-sized Mike Hammer. "Hey, Jake?" 

"Yeah, I'm here. Hi. Checking on the progress on locating Johann and his family."

"Well, we found Johann and a few of relatives," Linden said. I could hear the click, click, click of a keyboard on the other end. "Closest one's his brother's great grandson. Frankly, I didn't expect him to know much about this Johann so I was surprised to find out that this fellow did."

"You don't say."

"Yeah, I don't say. Speaking of which, did you tell him?"

"No."

"And he's standing right there?"

"Yes."

"So you can't talk?" 

I didn't answer.

"So, that's a no then. Well, I'll stick to telling you what I found out about Johann Galle-- which is a hell of a lot more than I thought I'd dig up on a dead man. I confirmed most of what you told me about Henry Lester through records. I don't have much to add to that, but Johann-- he was a bit of a celebrity. Did you know that? He was an astronomer who wrote some pretty heady stuff. This relative I talked to, Ralph Galle, has pictures-- lots of them-- with Johann Galle and famous people-- Walt Whitman, John Muir, Elizabeth Stanton. And get this-- even though he was a scientist, he dabbled in the Kabala."

"Did this Ralph know about Henry?"

"Well, he didn't come out and say it, until I pushed-- but yes-- the family knew, but after Galle became ill, Ralph said, he had a woman in his life."

"What?"

"They got married."

"Oh, hell."

"Pardon me, Jake," Linden said, "but you're taking this hard for a person looking into a man who's been dead over a hundred years."

I looked over at Hec. "He said that Johann got married." 

"Seems like he'd have written it in one of his journals," I said for both Hec and Linden to hear. There wasn't a hint of that in Johann's journals. It doesn't make sense.

"Were there other journals?" Linden asked. "Check. Look at the dates, check for any gaps."

"I'll do that."

"There's more," Linden continued, "and it gets better. From what this Ralph Galle told me, the marriage wasn't really a marriage. Ralph Galle was said the family was arguing about Johann's estate before Johann died. Ralph said that he married this woman and made a deal with her-- that way he could pass his estate on without a fight. She was much, much older than Johann and died two years after he did. It wasn't hard to find records on her. He left everything to her, and she left everything to-- get this-- Henry Lester. I guess Johann had plenty. Jorge is going to talk to someone in the Lester family today."

"What was the woman's name that he married?"

"Liebowitz," Linden said. "Her name was Emily Liebowitz."

I nodded. 

"Thanks, Linden."

"Don't mention it." 

"Talk to you later."

"One more thing-- regarding your idea that the spirit of Henry can't rest until his remains are with Johann's. According to Ralph Galle, they already are. Johann Galle was cremated. His wife gave his ashes to Henry Lester after the funeral."

"This Ralph Galle is sure about this?"

"Positive. He said he's sure because that was the other reason why Johann Galle married Emily Liebowitz: Johann Galle knew she would give his ashes to Lester, and his family, his father in particular, would never do it."

"So how do I help him?"

"You're starting to weird me out here, Jake. You're talking to spirits now?" 

"Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but Henry told me, um, to help him. I thought the 'him' he was referring to was Johann." 

"I've heard stranger things, I guess." Linden paused. I heard more keyboard clicking. "Maybe he was never buried with the ashes. Did this Hec you're dating find any jars or boxes with ashes lying around when he was cleaning?"

"Har, har. No."

"Well, put on your thinking cap, Jake old boy. The mystery continues. I'll continue investigating on my end. On everything. And Jake? You need to call me again soon. And I know it's none of my business, but I'm going to say it anyway: Tell Hec. Believe me. You have to."

"I will. Soon."

"Soon."

I hung up the phone. 

I should have told Hec then. But I didn't; we had seven inches of snow to shovel.

-------------------

Two days after the New Year's big snow, a lull came. Hec decided if we were going to make it to civilization again, we'd better go immediately, or there might not be a chance until early the next week. A new storm front was headed our way, and he wanted to make it to the city and back before it hit.

We took off with a tank full of gas, a lengthy grocery list from Kate and two presents to return. Hec told me that we were entering cell service hell, one bar maybe, and to dress in layers just in case something happened on the icy way home-- not that anything would, but he said winter travelers should always take precautions. I got a thirty minute lecture, by the end of which I was referring to him as Professor Lodge. He had an emergency kit in the truck-- in case we got stranded-- with candles, coffee can, down sleeping bags, flares and matches (in ziplock baggies, of course). I did what he asked, dressed the part-- I borrowed a pair of Hec's long johns, donned my old sweat-shirt, confiscated two of his thick flannel shirts, slung on my grey sweats pants, then stepped into these baggy jeans (that Hec had from years ago) and just before going out the door slipped on a big old fur-lined winter parka. I had two extra pairs of gloves stuffed in the pockets, black wool scarf wrapped around my neck and the god-ugliest stocking hat I'd ever seen on my head. 

I swear I felt like the Mummy. Walked like one, that's for sure.

The ride there was uneventful except that we had to roll down the windows to keep from over-heating, and I still was sweating like Drew Carey on a Nordic Track. I wondered if it would have been better just to bring the extra clothes instead of actually wearing them, but Professor Lodge insisted.

Hec took the scenic route instead of Highway 57. We got to our destination, and I helped Hec out with Kate's groceries, then said I need to pick up something at Walgreen's. Hec needed to return Char's gifts and that was good for making excuses to bug out-- I don't do Victoria's Secret. 

I called Linden from my cell outside the doors at Walgreen's. Too hot inside. 

Connie put him on right away. 

"Hoping you'd call me back sooner than this," he said. Good connection. Heard him clear.

"This is the first chance I got," I said.

"So you haven't told him yet."

"I know." I kicked a chunk of ice off the walk. "Well, don't need a lecture. I will, just, I wanted to know what I was up against. Listen, I might not have much time. What did you find out?"

"More like what we didn't find."

"Huh?"

"We found nothing for a Hec, Kathryn or Charlotte Lodge. No parents Hamilton Roger or Eleanor Ruth either. Nothing. No birth records, driver's licenses, car registrations, marriage certificates. Nothing matching the descriptions and information you gave. We started looking into the ideas that maybe they weren't US citizens or that Lodge isn't their last name. "

"Maybe it's the spelling."

"Checked every spelling. Not many similar. Came up with nothing. Then--" I heard Linden shuffling papers on his desk.

"Spill." I stomped my feet. Damn wool socks itched.

"Right after I talked to you last, Jorge called me. Talk about Twilight Zone moments...or Beyond Belief...this is more than just coincidence. Jorge did some more digging into old local archives, newspapers, property transfers, only this time looking for information on Emily Leibowitz, Johann's wife. He found her, but he also stumbled on something else regarding the Leibowitz family-- in 1995 a rabbi named Hamilton Leibowitz embezzled almost a million dollars from his synagogue's trust fund by diverting the funds into foreign accounts. No one knew until the couple disappeared and left their three children behind."

"Three children," I repeated. 

"Two girls and a boy."

"Oh, shit," I said.

"Same first names."

"It's them." Then it hit me-- "Wait. Hec is Jewish?"

"Ah, yes. So am I." He laughed. "We don't bite or anything. Not hard anyway."

"That's not what I mean. It's just that I just celebrated Christmas with all the trimmings with his family."

"Believe or not some of us do celebrate Christmas as a secular holiday. And don't they run an Inn? Sounds like good business to me. Deck the Halls, and all that."

"Forget I mentioned it." 

"Oh, I'll never forget that you said it. I'll wait and bring it up to embarrass you when you least expect it."

"Thanks."

"About his parents," Linden said. "Plenty of people have looked for them. We'll do it too. At least now that I've got names and at least some information to go on. I just want to hear it from you-- that you want to continue."

I watched the dark clouds gathering out of the southwest. The other storm was on its way and coming fast.

"Hold off," I said. "I'll talk to Hec."

"At last," Linden said. "The voice of sanity."

------------------------

He had to have a social security number to get a driver's license. He had valid license plates. And I needed some kind of confirmation. 

Asking questions was out of the question. Snooping was something I was never good at. I knew I shouldn't, but I had to know. I raced back to the truck from Walgreen's, beating Hec. Part of me felt a bit disappointed he wasn't there, so I wouldn't be tempted to do it. I climbed in and sat for a few moments, eyes ahead. I swung my head left, right, in back. Nowhere in sight. I leaned over and popped open the glove compartment. I pulled out empty cigarette packs, candy wrappers, an old comb, miscellaneous papers. I rifled through them. There had to be something. There it was-- guilt and anxiety churned in my gut and the thrill of getting caught pounded in my chest-- 

I found the proof of insurance in the name of Kathryn Leibowitz as it started to snow. 

-----------------

A blizzard started in about two miles from home, and the wind tossed the truck around like some angry giant. Visibility was reduced to the hand in front of your face. Hec knew the old road by heart, and he pressed on-- the truck moving at a crawl.

Me? I was all nervous partly from the ride and partly from what I just found out. I knew I had to come clean to find out what the hell was up with Hec. My heart pounded in time with the wiper blades. 

Yes, I know it's a cliché line, but I had to say it: "I have a confession to make."

Hec flicked his eyes over at me, frowned and said, "Yeah?"

I blew into my hands, looking into the white mess ahead. "I did it."

"You did what?"

"I did what you asked me not to do."

I didn't even have to say what-- he just nodded, jaw set. Not sure why. Could be me. Could be the road. Could be the truth.

"I know," I plunged in, "you told me not to, and I meant what I said and I said what I meant but..."

"Jake Grey's not loyal 100 percent? Shit, that's almost as bad as Michael Myers' Cat in the Hat."

"That's Horton Hears a Who. Hello?! That's Jim Carrey! Don't even confuse the two. Don't you know your Dr. Seuss or comedians?"

Hec just looked over at me, frowned then scratched his arm and said, "I know." I noticed he did that when he was nervous. Mosquito bite nerves. At that moment Hec scratched like he just got bit. "I'm loyal. Just 99.9 percent, ok?" Of course I had to ask the itchy question too: "Know what? About Dr. Seuss or that I asked the private dicks to check out your parents?" 

"Both."

I scratched my chin. Now he's Itchy, and I'm Scratchy. "You know what I learned?"

"Yeah." He frowned. "Nothing."

"Zero, nothing, nada?"

"That right?"

"No, actually." The snow was letting up a bit but my itch wasn't. I was nervous now. The whole thing had turned from me to him. "I told you the investigators were good. What I don't get is that you're not surprised. Who took the F out of flabbergasted? Hec Lodge? Oh, wait-- not Lodge is it? Is it Lilyhammer? Lima Bean? Lincoln Logs? Or maybe Liebowitz?"

He bit his lip. Wipers flip-flopped, snow crunched under the tires, but he didn't say a thing-- just white-knuckled the wheel.

"So, explain," I said. 

"I knew this was coming since before New Year," he said under his breath.

"That explains part of your falling-down-drunk-and-puking state," I sighed. "Well, if you knew it was coming, you should have a lot of practice explaining this to me in your head. Say it aloud: I need to hear it."

"I know."

Our eyes watched the road through the tunnel of snow ahead instead of each other-- like we were searching the swirling flakes for the meaning of life. I guess it was part disappointment in each other and part desperation to be what the other wanted-- our bare hands came together at the same time, and we clutch them tight. Still staring ahead I asked, voice breaking, "Why the big secret? Why didn't you tell me?" I snuck a look at his grim, handsome profile and waited patiently for his answer.   With one hand still on the wheel, he slowed the truck and turned. The tires spun a little, but he never lost control. Through the swirl of snow, I made out the house. We were home. He braked again; the truck idled to a stop, but neither of us got out. I worried my thumb against his hand as I waited for him to speak.

He turned to me, eyes fixed on mine. "It's not just my decision to make," he said. "I planned to tell you-- someday."

Our hands separated. 

"Someday." I knew I shouldn't be getting self-righteous, but shit, sometimes the best defense is to go on the offense. And what better way than to make light of a situation. So I hammed it up. "Well, Halleluiah! Guess what?! Someday has arrived! Risen from the dead! Say hello to Someday!" 

Enter Mr. Hand Puppet aka Mr. Someday. Well, two could change names. If Hec could, so could Mr. Hand Puppet.




Rewriting Singularity Ch. 15



"Say hello to Mr. Someday." I had loads of practice with Mr. Hand Puppet with my sister, Jules. I made the old fist and got Mr. Hand Puppet aka Mr. Someday talking. "Go on, say hello!" said my fist.

"Cut it out!"

"You'll hurt his feelings," I interjected.

"Hello, Mr. Someday," Hec muttered, then swore under his breath.

"I'll have none of the cussing," Mr. Someday said crossly. "Now explain to Mr. Someday why you had to keep this a secret." 

"I will-- tell you if you stop it," he said to me, not my hand. "Don't you just hate it when hand puppets refer to themselves in first person?"

"Yes, it's despicable," I said.

Mr. Someday wiped our hot-breath steam off the windshield and went to sleep on Hec's knee.

"Well?" I said.

"We didn't want our parents to find us?"

"Is that supposed to be an answer, question or what?"

He took my hand again. "I don't know where to start. How 'bout we go inside somewhere quiet like to our room and talk?"

Well, he knew exactly how much talking would get done in our room if his hand guiding mine up his leg was any indication.

"I think we need to have this conversation now, here." I pulled our hands back on his knee. "I know why your parents left."

Hec stared down at our hands and shifted in his seat.

"Ok, I'll tell you," he said and sighed. "After my parents disappeared, our great aunt offered to take us in temporarily. Social Services put us on a bus to send us to our Great Aunt Abby's in Dayton, Ohio. We got on the Greyhound, but got off at Wheeling, Ohio, instead, then transferred to another bus. It was all planned. You see, Mom gave Kate money and told her where to meet them if anything happened, and we got separated. Mom said they'd come for us. She told Kate they would. And we waited. We waited right where she told us to, in an old motel outside of Aurora, Illinois. They never came."

My heart ached. Shit, no way I could ever be pissed at him.

"Why the big secret? Why change your name?" I asked.

"First we did it so we could stay together as a family-- so Social Services wouldn't separate us. And it was hard for Kate right after our parents disappeared--"

I nodded. 

"All the questions. They thought we knew where they were. And there were other people. I was only about twelve, but I still remember clearly strangers calling our house and asking weird questions after it happened. People standing outside our door, knocking, doorbell ringing at all hours. It'd be no different at our aunt's. We had to get away from it. Kate said that it was better to stay hidden. Our parents took almost a million dollars and disappeared! People kill for a lot less. That's scary. Shit, we were kids. Kate was older, but she was pretending to be all grown-up."

I couldn't take the tears welling up in his eyes. Mine were doing the same. What was I thinking, making him say all this? Still, maybe it was good for him to finally talk about it. I hoped that was the case. 

"That must have been hard," I said. "So everything you said to me before was true about, about pretending they drove off a bridge, pretending they were dead?"

He wiped his eyes then continued. "Yeah, I hated them for leaving us to grow up. We never got to be kids again after that. And there was that feeling always in the back of my mind, hey, maybe they are dead. How did they hide the money? Someone helped them do it. Kate always thought someone else was behind it. Our parents disappeared, vanished without a trace. But still, don't you think I'd know? I mean, you'd think I'd feel it, you know? That they were dead? I never did, never felt it, just an inkling of doubt at times. Kate always thought that they never came back because it wasn't safe for us, like they were protecting us. I always hoped that was why. The parents I knew, never would have left us. But the parent I thought I knew never would have stolen a million bucks from charity funds either. Sometimes I think they left just because they wanted to stay out of jail."

Then, tap, tap, tap. We both jumped. There was Kate, wrapped in an old coat, smiling at us through Hec's window. He rolled it down.

"You two coming inside?" she asked. "We actually have guests, and I need those eggs!"

"Yeah," I said. "We're coming."

He hauled the groceries in, Kate packing them away as we loaded the bags onto the kitchen counter. With every trip we shed some clothing, dumping it in the mud room. She kept giving us odd looks. Hec kept giving her a sheepish grin. She knew something was up. On the last load in, I told Hec he'd better fess up. He agreed.

We stood in the kitchen, watching her disappear into the pantry. Sweat dripped off my nose; I was burning up with all Professor Hec's layers.

"Well?" she asked, sticking her head out the door as Hec handed her the last two cans of green beans.

"He knows," Hec said, taking off his coat. "I told him everything."

Nice of him not to say I'd hired a private detective-- that might not go over as well. I shifted my weight to my other leg and waited for a reaction.

She nodded and ducked back into the pantry. 

A few moments later, she stepped out, hands on hips. "Are you two ok then?" she asked. 

We both nodded, heads perfectly in motion together. I stared more at the checked print in her wool sweater than at her face. 

"This isn't something that we want other people to know," she said to me. "That story was in every newspaper. I don't want to live through all the questions again. That's why we go by the name of Lodge. It's easier."

"You never legally changed it," I said.

"Why call attention to ourselves? No one knew us here. We just wanted to forget."

She stepped next to the sink, watching out the window, fingers twirling the ends of her hair.

"I won't ask anything," I said.

"Snow is coming down hard," she observed and turned to face us. "You look flushed, Jake."

"It's hot with all these clothes on."

She laughed. "Hec and his layers. Yes, I know all about it. He gives me the lecture, too."

"Guess I better get you out of those clothes," Hec said with a wink. 

He pushed me out the kitchen door and down the hall. I heard Kate laughing behind us, calling out, "I didn't need to hear that!" 

He did exactly what he told her he was going to do-- he took my layers off the second we got into our room. The long johns drooped around my ankles with him on his knees, looking up eyes all dark. I felt sticky and raunchy and horny, and I wanted him to suck me off so bad I'd do about anything, even listen to Peaches and Herb playing "Shake Your Groove Thing" for six hours straight. Thankfully, I didn't have to go that far. I gave him that look in my eye where I plead like a sinner at the pearly gates, and he swallowed me whole. What a sweet mouth. His hands pushed me back into the soft mattress, his mouth never left my dick. 

My god, that mouth drove me crazy-- tight and twitchy while his head bounced. I held on to that head for dear life, fingers tight in his curls. His hand held my cock tight at the base and jerked me off while he sucked. He looked god damned beautiful, cheeks all fever-flushed and lips pink and shiny around my dick. I watched his eyelids flutter and brows furrow in concentration as he slurped and slipped and slobbered. I came in a rush. He gulped me down like it was the Last Supper. He stripped out of his own layers-- had to be some kind of record-- is there a Guinness Book for the porn industry? Anyhow, he set it. First in the fasted strip-down in multiple-layered dress category.

He flung my legs over his shoulders, rolled the condom on and then thrust inside me fast, hard and rough. He had the bed groaning almost as loud as me. He pounded into me so hard--it was one of those times that pain and pleasure intertwined. I welcomed his heat, his passion. He has so many sides to him. He can bring me to the brink again and again, or like tonight, he can fuck fast and furious. He's the only man who has ever brought me to climax again so fast. He came. I came. Again. I held him tight and kissed his forehead. We just held each other for a while, listening to the wind howl outside. We drifted off, face-to-face, legs and arms tangled, trying to get inside each other's skin.



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 16



"Always..." Hec read from behind me, kissing my neck. 

I stood sipping coffee at our bedroom window, the stream turned to frost, and I etched lazy letters on the glass with my other hand. The whole process projected my mood: light and dreamy. Another silent Sunday morning. Well, except for Pete singing away on his swing. We were snowed-in but good, but I loved the thought of nowhere to go and no way to get away. 

I didn't want to get away from Hec.

Ever. 

And always. As proof that he felt the same, Hec sealed those letters on the window with a puff of his breath, turned, and he kissed me again. Corny to think this, but couldn't help but believe that as our heads bumped that our minds became one. I loved how Hec's glasses slid down his nose as we strained together, and how his endearments turned to mumbles as hard bumped against hard. We'd taken a break after a full morning of rewrites on the sitcom, but our quick stretch break had soon turned into a full-blown make-out session. We'd agreed that we needed a set writing schedule, and we'd followed it. We'd also agreed that early morning was the time we'd write-- but now, feeling his body pressed into my backside-- 

I wanted him to fuck me. 

But Hec had other ideas.

I smiled and pulled him tighter with my free hand; my other hand tipped the neglected coffee mug. Within moments flannel and t-shirts joined the splashed coffee on the floor. My discarded mug-- tipped on its side-- was left on the table next to the music box. Not a drop left in it anyway. On the other side of the room, Pete sang and flew like a winged maniac around his cage.

I ignored his noise. Easy to do with Hec's hands roving. Mister Happy jumped and jerked in anticipation just before Hec gave him a squeeze. 

"To the bed," he suggested, tugging me. "I think we need an extended break." 

I couldn't argue. 

"Extended," I said. "Hmmm...yes, that's a good word for it."

We tripped each other as we raced to the bed. I beat him there. He flung his glasses onto the nightstand, then jumped on top on me. He straddled me, laughing down into my face and grinding into me. I felt something like Hop on Pop or more like Cock. He grabbed the lube next to his glasses and slicked me up. What a view: Sweat popping out on his forehead, him biting his lower lip, his eyes darkening like clouds in a storm. And that body. I loved every inch of him from those firm abs to slim calves with all those freckles in between. I watched, breathless, as Hec squatted down on top of my dick, his ass devouring my cock inch by inch. His hole had me like a hot velvet vise as he bounced up and down. When I stroked his cock, his enthusiasm doubled. 

He swore as a stretched him to the limit. His eyelids drooped as he panted my name. I felt that wonderful tingling in my balls. He slowed when noticed I was close, and I took it as my chance to rock up hard into him. He laughed, contracting tighter around me. Fuck. Buried deep inside that perfect ass, it didn't take long after that. As he shot all over my chest, his ass tugged at my cock, and I came calling to the heavens, chanting his name. 

We collapsed like compact stars-- our feet tangled in the universe of our sheets. 

It was some time before either of us was coherent. 

"Sometimes I think Pete's getting off on us," Hec said finally, reaching for his glasses. "It's the way he flaps around his cage in orbit when we're doing it."

"He's sexually frustrated. Maybe we should get him a Mrs. Pete."

"Or Mr. Pete. He could be gay, you know."

"True," I said. "I've seen male sparrows going at it together before-- I suppose Pete could be like us."

The idea of male sparrows had us kissing and flapping all over the bed for round two. We rolled around making out awhile until Hec and I ended up on our backs, staring up at the carvings.

"Sometimes when I look at them I wonder if there's something else that we're missing," I said. "I mean, sure these are sexual positions, but there's more going on in them than that. Each carving has a foreground and a background and--"

"I've thought the same myself--"

"Yeah, like there's something else there-- besides look how limber they are! Christ! Think I'm limber enough to do number six yet? I've been doing stretches-- practicing--"

Hec laughed, then pinched my side.

"Yeah, maybe." He rolled over, facing me. 

I pointed to the number six and sat up.

"What's this on the wall behind them? Looks like some kind of writing."

"I thought so too. Tried reading it with a magnifying glass more than once, but it's just nonsense."

"So it's letters."

"Not really. I don't know. Kind of."

"That makes a hell of a lot of sense," I said. 

"It's like little pictures."

"Hieroglyphics?"

"No," he said. "Maybe it's just decoration."

I lay back down, Hec looking into my eyes. Me looking at his mouth. Lips meeting. Tongues lapping. Teeth nipping. Teasing.

"You know," I said, pulling back, eyes breaking away from his lips, "We need to get back to writing our insanity that's Rewriting Singularity."

"Yeah, I know-- we should get back--" he chuckled, "to writing no matter how hard it is." He grabbed my crotch.

Well, maybe ten more minutes wouldn't hurt...

We got up after the final round, picked our clothes up off the floor, and returned to my laptop. That's the last we thought about the carvings for a few days.

------------------------------

It's funny how aliens, sex and kink had turned into a real-life romance. Hard to differentiate at times what was the sitcom and what was real life. Anyhow, the show was good, but this riddle we were living was better. Hec and I had rounded off all the sharp corners and polished off the rough parts-- of the sitcom, that is. We zipped and e-mailed it off the same morning that the private eye, Linden, and company were supposed to show up. 

There were hundreds of times over the last days that I'd contemplated Hec's family history, and the taxing fact that the man wasn't who he said he was. I rationalized it all away. I was in love. I didn't care. I knew who he was on the inside. What difference did it make? 

In an hour, Linden would be here with Jorge and some psychic. What else might I learn, I didn't know. Linden said they hadn't located Hec's parents, but they had some information about Johann and Henry to share with us. And the psychic? She was coming along to check out the house. Some ghost hunter or something. 

I was more worried about Hec and all those hundreds of voices in my own head.

I'd asked Hec if there was anything else he needed tell me, and he said no. Truth was, he could have said yes, and I'd forgive him. Shit, he could still keep something from me and I'd forgive him most anything-- as long as he wasn't hiding that he was a closet heterosexual or in love with another man, I'd be ok. I even went through the same old break-up quiz in my head, using the same questions. 

No comparing the new answers to the old. This time:

Q: Does he always come before you? 

A: Hec not only waits for me-- he loves to watch me come first.

Q: Does he whisper your name in his sleep? 

A: Every night.

Q: Is he sorry? 

A: He said he was. Not just with his lips, but with his eyes, his hands, his heart. I believe him. 

Q: Is he clean? 

A: Clean? He sparkles.

Q: Does he make you feel good? 

A: Always...

I kept coming back to the always. I thought of Johann-- he loved his man too-- but from afar most of his life. That would be painful. I didn't want to be apart.

What if Hec left me like his parents left him? In my heart of hearts I knew I'd never survive that loss. I'd fallen fast and hard for him. How had Henry and Johann survived? I used to think all that I-can't-live-without-you stuff was bullshit. Now? I thought about all the star-crossed lovers from history and compared them to us. Who'd be Romeo and who'd be Juliet? 

Maybe I think too much.

Just be happy. That's what I kept telling myself. Having Hec was like having all the saltwater taffy I could eat. 

I decided to go up to the attic and have a look at Johann's journals. There was one I couldn't find, and it was driving me a little nuts. I hadn't noticed the gap until a few nights ago when I was snooping through a journal that Hec had left next to the music box. This volume suggested there was a void, a blank spot, a period of time that nothing was written. And there were the dates. Almost two months missing. There were indications on the first few pages where Johann referred to events that were nowhere to be found in any of the preceding journals. Either that particular journal was misplaced or for some reason Johann hadn't written during that time. I thought at first maybe he'd been too ill, but something as important as Henry's birthday wasn't a day Johann would pass over without writing a word.

I stood in the middle of the attic; light streamed down from the windows in the copula above. I was knee-deep in journals when Hec found me covered in dust and deep in thought.

"What ya up to?" he asked.

"Looking for that missing journal." I looked up from reading the volume I was studying. 

"What's that?" Hec pointed to the journal open in my hands.

"The one you left by the music box." One look at Hec's face, and I realized Hec wasn't who left it there.

"H-henry," Hec stammered. We both sat silent. The house groaned and creaked around us. 

"That other volume must be around here somewhere. There's a stretch of time that's gone, Henry's birthday for one, that's not in this journal left by the music box--" I pointed to another volume at may feet. "or the one on the floor."

Hec bent down and picked it up. "It's a clue. Henry must have left this for us."

"What happened during that missing time must be important. But what could it be?" I frantically fingered through the journal. "See here, Johann wrote about how he was leaving and then in the next journal here--" Hec handed me the other book, and I flipped to the first page to read the first entry. "Here, Johann writes about a meeting with one of his doctors. Two months. He wrote in these every day. It's obsessive. Then for almost two months, nothing." 

Hec leaned into me, brows coming together in concentration.

"I wouldn't have noticed except something bothered me after I finished reading that last entry," I said. "Johann was filled with so much anxiety at going to visit his parents. What happened at his parents'? I can't believe he wouldn't write about it. Do you think maybe they took it?"

"I wonder--"

"I know there's a journal missing. I feel it in my heart." I had the other journal under my arm. "He wants us to find it and figure out what happened. And there's something else." I hesitated. "When I found the journal on the table, I was compelled to pick it up-- just like that day that I opened the music box for the first time-- it was like I had no control."

"I know the feeling," Hec blurted out. "I can't tell you how many times feelings like that have come over me since we moved into this place. The day I found the secret passages, I felt like I was being led by the hand through every turn and stairway up to this attic. But you know, when I got here though, the discovery was anticlimactic, because I felt like I'd been here before."

A month ago I would have thought Hec was crazy-- I would have thought that I was crazy, but now I believed. I want to believe. I felt like Fox Mulder on the X-Files only my version of Sully was taller with a dick.

"The truth is out there," I laughed. I dropped the journal into my lap. 

Hec looked down at the journal. "I can't believe he wouldn't write about Henry's birthday," Hec added, pointing to the passage. "And I can't believe I never noticed this before. All this time I assumed that maybe he didn't feel free to write his feelings at his parents'."

"I thought that too," I said, moving closer to him. "But when I realized Johann had missed Henry's birthday, I knew. Maybe that psychic Linden's bringing will help us."

"If she's for real."

"Linden wouldn't bring her unless she was the real deal." I put down one of the journals. "They should be here anytime."

Hec nodded. "Better get downstairs."

We set aside the other journal as I heard a thump, thump, thump from below-- that would be the girls. We took a shortcut through the passage and came out through the closet in my old room. Hec wiped the dust smudges off my face with his t-shirt as we made our way to the stairs. Nothing like a quick spit bath from my favorite guy.

The moment we opened the door, we heard commotion down below. We looked over the banisters and down at Char and Kate, standing next to the door. 

Hec's long legs took two steps at a time, and I followed right behind. 

"They're here! They're here!" Char said, jumping up and down like a giddy kid. "This is exciting! A séance!"

Char's face glowed up at me.

"I didn't say séance--" I frowned. "I said that she communicates with the dead."

"What's the difference?" she said, brushing me off.

"Well--"

Then the knock-- Linden's knock-- I knew it. He had a comical waltz of a knock. His hands moved the same when he talked, always waving about in three-four time. 

Her name was Isadora Isenseven. She stood five foot tall and almost as wide, and she had a smile that would soften even the hardest of men. She'd stepped through the door first-- a grand entrance of a sort. She took off the red velvet beret and tossed her flowing black hair out of her eyes. Her patchwork coat was a Joseph's coat of many colors, and her big, black army boots stomped off snow. Like fire, her eyes flickered and consumed the room. They held to the staircase. At last, she'd acknowledged us: Kate then Char, finally Hec then me, but for now we were inconsequential compared to the house. 

Linden introduced me to Isadora, using his waving-waltz hands. He shook his wet hair, black curls glistening. I was relieved that my regular fantasies of Jorge and Linden didn't rear up. When Jorge and Linden had bounded through the door, I had hugged them both like old war buddies-- not a hint of lust in my heart. I turned to Hec, and introduced him, then introduced them to Char and Kate. Jorge shook Hec's hand and bowed for Kate-- she broke out in a fit of giggles. Jorge does that to women. I've seen some pretty cold ones get all hot the moment he opens his Latino lips to caress every syllable. Hell, I used to get all hot just hearing him speak. I knew Linden did.

The introductions went well; the mood was light. I was worried at first that Kate might be standoffish. Instead it was Linden who held back, studying. I could see him checking out Hec, then me. Most likely looking for what I saw in this guy I'd told him I fallen for. Linden winked at me; I did the same back, then he slapped me on the back; I bent down as he got up on his toes to whisper in my ear, "He's hot." I blushed and nodded. 

I turned back to meet Hec's quizzical gaze. I shrugged my shoulders and turned my attention to Isadora.

"When do we get to have the séance?" Char asked eagerly. 

Isadora threw her head back and laughed deep and loud, revealing her pearly-white, radiant throat.

"I think you understand wrong," she said. "I do not do séances."

"You don't?" Char said, the disappointment clear in her voice. "Darn. I was looking forward to it."

"No, I do not do hocus-pocus for entertainment. What I do is serious business. Very serious."

Kate intently tipped her head to the side. I could tell she was captivated. Char was under her spell too. They looked like twin dolls with their heads lolling to the side.

Linden chuckled and jabbed me in the ribs. "She does that," he said quietly. "Don't ask me how."

Hec stepped between us. Could be marking his territory or could be just for warmth. It got pretty cold standing next to these old double doors.

"Where are our manners!" Kate said, snapping back to consciousness. "Let me take your coats and hats. Hec and Jake can get the luggage, and I'll show you to your rooms."

"Yes, that would be kind of you," Isadora said, taking off her coat. "This is a beautiful place. I feel a happiness here, but there is loss."

She unlaced her boots, then stepped stocking-foot across the old hardwood floors to the staircase.

"Most amazing," she said, touching the carvings.

As Hec and I slipped out the door to get their bags, I saw her glide up the stairs like some apparition.

"This is going to be an interesting three days," Hec said.



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 17



We sat around the dining table like a klatch of eclectic, existentialist wannabes. I laughed to myself as I looked from one to the other. Isadora sat at the head of the table. She changed from earlier, and tonight she was dressed in a rainbow assortment of veils-- 50 possibly, or maybe 200-- she was an elephantine woman after all. 

To my right was Hec, dressed like a lumberjack in his red flannel shirt and suspenders. He demonstrated to Jorge, who sat on the other side of him, his Woodworking 101 skills using mashed potatoes and a fork. At least Hec wasn't trying to pull a Richard Dreyfuss and sculpt Devil's Tower with his spuds. Mmm, and Hec had gravy on his upper lip. Close Encounters of the Third Kind was a possibility. I smiled and nodded while I plotted out bedroom escapades regarding our own close encounter of the nerd kind later.

Jorge held his own fork delicately in his fingers, studiously attending to Hec's lesson. I don't think there has ever been a time I'd seen Jorge dressed casual-- he always looked like he stepped out of GQ. This evening's attire was an Armani suit with just the right amount of rumple to his shirt and tie, giving him a disheveled, sexy look. He watched Hec with rapt attention-- or maybe it was the lip that caught his eye. Shit, it was the speck of gravy Jorge was admiring. I reminded myself not to get too pissed at Jorge-- Hec couldn't help being so damn cute. 

Across the table sat Kate, wearing her usual flowered, cotton house dress. Linden told me earlier that she could have lived in the 50s as one of those wholesome housewives, except he thought Kate was more of the MILF variety. I was surprised when he said that-- I didn't think Linden would know what a MILF was. 

Linden flinched as Kate stabbed her roast chicken. I bet he was thinking, Damn, would Barbara Billingsly do that to chicken after an argument with Ward? Death by butter knife. Kate, you're Beaver's mom with a dark side. Yes, the Norman Bates of culinary. Nothing like killing the chicken for a second time. 

Linden took a bite out of his own dark meat. Hmm, I wondered how often he choked his chicken. I blinked. Damn, I thought I was through with all that fantasy stuff with them! Then, Hec licked the gravy from his mouth. Attention! Attention! Mr. Happy wants Hec to choke his chicken! 

Fuck, it was hot in this dining room. Instead my usual threesome fantasies, I was having a foursome one. 

We're all on the sprawled out on the bed touching, licking, and sucking. Jorge's smooth, dark skin glistens, his perfect abs and pecs a breathtaking contrast to Linden's lithe, pale beauty. Then there's my Hec--hotter than Brad Pitt's boxers. I beg hec to fuck me from hard from behind. He slides into me and I beg and whimper for him to go faster, harder while Linden strains to take all of Jorge's nine inch cock deep into the back of his throat. The air smells of sex and sweat. 

Ahh, yes. Hot indeed.

First, I readjusted my wares. Then, to cool myself off, I turned my attention to Char, at my left. She was dressed in her post-Madonna outfit, explaining in great depth her hatred of all things sequin to Isadora by flipping through her latest copy of Cosmo (why she had it at the dinner table, I'd never ask), and pointing at the headline "Fashion that will make him touch you." She turned the magazine over, and the cover caught my eye. What?! A five-question break-up test? In Cosmo? I was going to submit my five-question break-up quiz there. Dang, someone beat me to it. I guessed my idea wasn't that original. 

As I tapped my spoon on the table in anger, Hec shot me one of his questioning raised eyebrows. He shrugged.

I smiled at him. God, I wanted to fuck him. He nodded to Linden, who stared down at his peas, then he pushed his thick, framed glasses back up his nose. From Jorge and Linden's body language, I'd figured they were having one of their fights-- guess Hec had figured the same. The sorrowful way Linden eyed his peas I knew something was still up. He always used to tell me he hated the fights except for what came after-- the making up. I remembered some night listening through the wall at them "making up."

I entertained myself with further heated images of orgies when our little dinner party turned from dull to dramatic. Isadora dropped her fork, leapt up from her chair and shouted, "Sawdust, I smell sawdust!" We all sat open-mouthed, as she pushed her chair back, then, as if in a trance, started to follow some unseen figure in front of her. Kate didn't even bother to clear the table, she, along with the rest of us, trailed behind Isadora's flowing veils in a perfect line like third graders to a drinking fountain. 

"Who is it?" I asked. "Who are you following?"

"His name is Henry," she whispered.

I threw Linden a look, and he shrugged his shoulders. Isadora ignored our exchange-- she nodded to our invisible visitor and said, "Yes, yes. We will follow you."

And we did: down the hall, past the living room still filled with Christmas tinsel and lights, into the chill of the anteroom, then up the staircase. Hec was behind me, breath hot on my neck; Linden was in front of me with his hands bunched in his pockets. 

Henry led us to the bedroom where I first slept when I came here. Isadora halted near the bow window. Isadora's once garish veils now took on an other-worldly appearance. The moon, half hidden behind clouds, lit up the room and the veils swirled around her like the aurora borealis. Her head tipped to the right ever so slowly, then back again to the left like a bobble head. None of us spoke. I watched, transfixed as Isadora whispered to some unseen spirit--to him. I strained my eyes to see and ears to hear Henry but couldn't. I envied Isadora: I wished I could see and hear Henry, too.

"He's trying to lift the boards on the seat at the bay window." She pointed. "Does it open?" she asked, quietly.

"No," Hec said, then realized with a blink that Isadora was talking to Henry, not him.

Hec took halting steps next to her, then walked with her to the bench. I followed behind them, watching Hec as he knelt down next to her. Hec's hands as he reached under the pillows, feeling around blindly. Next he removed the cushions and set them aside. Hec smoothed his fingers over the polished wood.

"He wants us to open it," she said, her voice hushed and hesitant.

Hec grasped the lip of the seat, straining to lift the boards. All were down nailed tight.

Despite the tense moment it was hard for me not to admire his biceps bunching delectably beneath his flannel shirt. What can I say? He makes me horny.

"Henry said, 'The journal is here'. Does that mean anything to either of you?" she asked.

I forgot about Hec's bunched biceps. My hearted pounded, and my throat closed. 

"Yes!" Hec spoke up, eyes meeting mine. "The missing journal!"

"I'll go get a hammer," Char offered, then ran downstairs.

"Is he still here in this room?" I asked. 

"No," she said. "He has left us."

"What did he look like?" I wanted to know.

"A sturdy man dressed in coveralls, and he has sandy hair and a beard."

I'd imagined he'd look like Hec, with curly locks, a face sprinkled with freckles and sweet laugh-lines. I smiled.

We turned as we heard Char racing back up the stairs. She came in huffing and puffing, handing the hammer to Hec. He carefully pried two of the boards up, setting each aside. The third caught my attention as Hec propped it against the wall.

"Look," I said, pointing to the carving on the inside of the board. Hec brushed the dust off it, revealing Henry's words, the same words that were on the ring I wore: to JG always, HL. We didn't need to turn on the lamp; a shaft of moonlight illuminated the hollow below. There, covered in dust and cobwebs, was the missing journal. Hec reached in, retrieved it, and with reverent hands, opened it to the first page. I read over his shoulder and willed myself to breath. Char turned on the lamp as Hec and I settled next to each other slowly on my former bed. We read the first few pages quietly together while the others waited.

I looked up-- shocked.

Hec laughed.

I no longer believed in coincidences: this was too far-fetched for that. 

"What does it say?" Char finally asked.

"You know the Big Bang Theory?" I said.

"The sitcom?" Linden asked.

"No," I said, "the real theory."

"Yes," Linden said.

"Well," I continued, "it seems our friend Johann had some ideas on that. In fact-- well, how about I read it for you?" I looked down at the journal and cleared my throat: "His story was most upsetting to read. I thought long on publishing my ideas, although I knew I would be scoffed at by my esteemed colleagues, only to find Alex had taken them. He told me I was a fool, that he kept them from me to keep the world from thinking the same. This story of Edgar's is dedicated to him! He alludes to my work our beginnings, our endings, my theory and of Him in his Existence: Life came from nothing, joy from a cloud and the universe from the big bang. How is it that a foe may keep his footsteps hidden and path invisible to see? I find now I have been betrayed most severely. Alas, I left his bed too late for my thoughts come from our bed to his hands and onto Edgar's pages. Oh, Deceit, thy name is Alexander von Humboldt."

Memories of another betrayal haunted me-- Austin's wasn't as deep as Alex's, but it hurt none the less. 

"Who's Edgar?" Char asked. "And who is Alexander Humboldt?"

"Humboldt was a well-known scientist, geologist, and traveler," Jorge said.

"Always with the history lessons--" Linden shot out at him.

"What's he have to do with all this?" Char asked.

"I don't know," I said, "but we need to find out."

"Sounds like Humboldt banged Johann first," Linden said, "before your Henry."

Hec frowned. "I think you got the wrong bang out of this: Johann coined the phrase Big Bang Theory. And from what this journal says, Johann tried to publish his theory but never did because his most of his 'esteemed colleagues' thought Johann's ideas were nuts, and they thought his ideas were nuts because his ex-lover, Humboldt, told them Johann was crazy."

"But who is Edgar?"

I smirked. "Poe."

"As in Edgar Allan Poe?" Jorge said, eyes growing wide.

"Yeah," I said, "one and the same." All the nerdy years of reading Poe paid off. I recalled years ago when I realized Poe's allusion to the theory and thought Poe a genius. It was amazing to me at the time, but now I had to wonder if my latching on to his idea was part of some the grand design-- that I would be here in this room, this day, with this knowledge. 

"This is huge," Hec said, pacing the floor. "I wonder why Henry hid the journal in here? I mean, why even hide it at all?"

"I'd say that Humboldt knew Johann wasn't crazy and planned to take his ideas," I said.

"Yes," said Isadora. "And to keep it safe, Henry hid that journal."

Hec flipped through the pages, scanning them.

"But it says here that Humboldt took most of his work after they parted," Hec said.

I blinked. This was all too familiar. My sitcom was spoiled by Austin Nichols-- Johann's theory spoiled by Alexander Humboldt. Our names, our lives, all merging. This was too much to comprehend all at once.

"Henry told me." She walked toward the closet. "That before he can rest, Johann must receive recognition for his work."

Hec continued to skim through the journal, then stopped.

"Here," he said excitedly. "I think Johann hid his work before he left this house, and this," he tapped on the page, "is the code that tells us where."

Hec held up the journal to us all, showing us dots on a page joined together like a child's scrawl with numbers. No, not dot-to-dots but--

"Constellations!" I exclaimed. I knew those weird shapes and symbols. "The bed!" 

"This is not the time for sex," muttered Linden under his breath.

"No," I turned to him. "The bed in Hec's room!"

Linden shook his head in disbelief. Hec laughed and shrugged and followed me as I grabbed the flashlight out of the closet and scrabbled down the corridors to our room with everyone else hot on my heels. Char described the bed to the others as we made our way. As we stumbled along, my mind was dizzy with possibilities-- did the bed lead to more clues? or did it hold the answer? 

As we threw open our closet door, Pete welcomed us with song. 

Isadora, Linden and Jorge gaped at the bed-- I wasn't surprised; I recalled my own awe the first time I saw it.

"It's on the inside of the canopy," I said, shining the flashlight in that direction.

Linden hopped on the bed with Jorge behind him; I handed Jorge my flashlight over his shoulder. Jorge pressed against Lindens back, lips brushing against Linden's neck. I watched Linden shiver and bite back a moan as they stared at the images. I logged that image of them on the bed for a later masturbatory session. 

"I always knew there was a reason why I liked the number four," Linden said.

"I still can't see the carving background too well," Jorge said. "Do you have a magnifying glass?"

I had to laugh. Like they were really looking at the background? 

"I've got one in this room somewhere," Hec said, finger on his bottom lip as he thought.

It was Hec who figured it out-- he was the handyman, after all. Sure, my childhood obsession with the stars helped, along with Linden's knowledge of constellations and mythology, but Hec was the one who found them.



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 18



Magic filled the room when Isadora opened the music box: Hec stopped his rummaging through his dresser drawers looking for his magnifying glass, and I quit my searching through the closet. The tiny bells and the tiny drum sticks played the delicate melody. Everyone stood, silently listening. I'd never recognized the melody before, but Hec did. 

"Chopin," he whispered. "Interesting that the music box chose to play now."

"Why is that?" Isadora asked.

"You don't play it-- it plays you," Hec observed.

I'd poked my head out of the closet door; Jorge had Linden pinned to the bed panting and grinding into him while nibbling on his neck. Looked like their argument was over.

The bed tumble didn't get past Hec either. "That's not quite what I had in mind when I told you two to inspect the bed," he kidded as he found the magnifying glass and held it in triumph over his head. 

"Gosh," Linden said, "the bed got the better of us."

"Or the music box," I added. "It's like a melodic aphrodisiac."

"Just how much sleep do you get in this thing?" Linden asked me, eyeing another position over Jorge's shoulder.

"Well, we get plenty of..." I started to answer.

"I don't need to hear this--" Kate said, hands flailing above her head.

"Just saying that we get plenty of sleep--" I smirked, "afterward."

"Yeah, but bed has that effect, too" Hec cut in. "Kind of brings out the animal in you, and the way Jorge was sucking on Linden's neck, I thought he was a bat or maybe a vampire." God, what an image: Jorge as the vampire Lestat made more sense to me than Tom Cruise or Stuart Townsend. Jorge would make for a really hot undead creature of the night. And Linden as a victim? Yummy. 

The sensual images of Linden and Jorge transformed into new fantasies with a few of Hec as a shadowed vampire lord having his way with me on that same bed. I was in my little own world where Hec pressed against me in a vampiric embrace when I realized that I must have been staring at Linden and Jorge because they were giving me the oddest look. They both smiled slyly at me, then rolled apart, and Jorge raised his eyebrow as Linden coughed. I worried if they'd noticed Mr. Happy. And Hec? He didn't notice. He seemed to be caught up in Chopin, but I don't think he was having similar fantasies of us together because he-- Completely. Missed. Mr. Happy. Damn.

Linden noticed. I blushed and so did he. Jorge was too interested in the smell of Linden's neck.

Still the music box played on. 

"That's beautiful," Linden said, changing the subject, eyes darting away from my crotch. "What is it?"

"Nocturne No. 2 by Chopin," Hec said, tossing Linden the magnifying glass. 

Linden picked up the eyeglass off the bed, then got up on his knees and crawled to its head and systematically began studying the carvings. He looked like a nearsighted Sherlock Holmes as he searched for details, starting with number one. Jorge crept up behind him and watched, chin on his shoulder. Then Linden went to the second frame.

"Nocturne No. 2... Panel num-m-m-ber 2," I hummed absently. "Num-m-mber two-o-o is go-o-ood."

"Why hadn't I thought of that before!" Hec said excitedly. Yes! Hec loved number two, too! Well, not that number two. Panel number two. And so did Linden-- he was looking at panel two. I was glad to see that everyone had that same enthusiasm. Then it occurred to me what Hec was really talking about.

The bed. 

And Linden was looking at two. 

Two.

Hec jumped on the bed with Linden and Jorge. Images of the three, kissing and fucking and sucking danced before my eyes. 

Now that was hot. Down, Mr. Happy!

"You're right, these are constellations," Linden said, pointing and moving the eyeglass to get a closer look. "Panel number three has Orion in the background. These others are more difficult to make out."

I jumped on the bed behind them, trying to keep my mind on solving the mystery and not on my libido. "I know panel two," I said immediately. "It's Gemini! The twins? Duh!"

The mattress sank. "Twin brothers, Castor and Pollux, reunited in the heavens forever," Isadora said, behind us. Kate and Char joined us. I guess this was a real family bed. "They were called the Sons of Zeus although they had different fathers. Leda was the mother of them both. Zeus was the father of Pollux. Zeus came to Leda as a swan."

"Having sex with a swan sounds complicated," I said.

"I always wondered about all that too," Hec said. "Sex with a bull is odd, but a bird?" 

"I wonder if it used its bill?" Char said, blushing deep red.

"Pollux was immortal since he was the son of Zeus," Jorge explained, "but Castor wasn't since he was the son of Tyndareus, who was the King of Sparta."

"They were Helen's brothers! Helen of Troy! Troy!" Char said, "I love that movie."

Hec shook his head. "You just love Orlando Bloom."

"Don't we all," said Linden, rolling his eyes. "Ouch!" Linden rubbed his side where Jorge jabbed him. 

"They were Argonauts, too," Jorge continued. "I remember that. And don't sailors say that St. Elmo's Fire is the brothers' protective spirit?"

"Yes," Isadora acknowledged. "But what's important was their fate. Castor was killed in a squabble over love. Castor and Pollux became smitten with two desirable sisters who were betrothed to two other brothers, who happened to be the sons of Poseidon. They fought each other over the women, and Castor became mortally wounded; Pollux fell into a deep depression afterward; he wanted to take his own life to be with Castor but could not, being immortal. Pollux begged his father, Zeus to let him die and be with his brother. Finally, Zeus relented, and placed them in the sky together forever, but it had a price: they could not live in Olympus. They had to go between Hades and Olympus for all of eternity."

"Hmm, gay lovers? Sounds like more than brotherly love to me," I commented. 

"That's been suggested," Jorge nodded.

"Under and over. Top, bottom. I wonder..." Hec said, climbing off the bed. "Hand me that flashlight,." he said, pointing to it. I grabbed it and handed it to him, then he flicked it on and climbed under the bed. He looked goofy: all I could see were his silly his big toe sticking out of his wool socks as his wriggled around under there. I should have bought him new ones for Christmas. "Always knew there was stuff carved into the bottom of this thing but never thought much of it," then he mumbled something about Hades.

I leaned over the side, my head upside down, and looked under to see what he was up to. I watched as Hec bumped and fumbled around underneath. There was at least a good two feet of room from floor to bottom of the bed. Hec swung the flashlight and the beam shifted all over in short shots, exposing the dust bunnies, cum crusted Kleenex and gay porn magazines that were strewn around. I understood his reference to the underworld-- it did look a lot like Hades and my head was dipping in the River Styx. He squirmed around like a worm for a while, searching, hands groping the slats and feeling the underbelly of the bed. Finally, the beam of light rested on one spot, and Hec got quiet.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing." Hec shook his head. "Just their initials again and the same constellation, Orion, carved in it. Nothing hidden. No place to hide anything. Must be on top."

He snaked his way out, then Hec put the flashlight under his chin and scaled the end of the bed. We all watched, puzzled as he climbed on top of the canopy. He thumped and bumped around on the top in Olympus.

"What are you looking for?" Kate asked.

He knocked against the bed. "It's hollow here. I'm trying to see." More banging and rattling. Then, silence.

I climbed up. Bumped something hard and--

"Um, Jake? What are you doing?"

"Helping you..."

"Hold the light then--" 

I assisted with the flashlight, illuminating where his hands felt around the edge of the bed. What nice hands...

"I think it slides out," he said. I was fantasizing about things that slip and slide when I heard a loud pop, and then Hec said "shit" under his breath. The board had snapped in half under our weight. We slid off to the side and looked at the damage as I held the light. Hec pulled at the broken board. "I think there's something underneath," he said. We both saw the journals at the same time-- three of them. Hec pulled one out, then rolled onto his back and opened one of the journals carefully. Inside were pages and pages scrawled in Johann's quick hand: his theory, his life's work in three volumes.

"We found them!" I said at last.

The rest of the evening we spent going over Johann's work. Frankly, I didn't understand most of the scientific references, but Jorge and Linden were excited. Jorge said he knew an astrophysicist at Cornell who could help us get them authenticated and published. I was more concerned as to what this meant for Henry's spirit, and I told Isadora as much. She said she still felt his presence-- I told her I hoped he was happy, and she said, yes, he was.

We all decided it was time to get some rest and start out fresh tomorrow. We turned off the lights and headed up the stairs. Linden and Jorge lagged behind, bumping into walls-- most likely making out and making up. Part of me wanted to lag behind and watch the other part of me wanted to give them some privacy. 

We talked awhile longer in the living room, then excused ourselves to bed. It was getting late. We'd just started to settle down for a long winter's nap. Hec had just remade the bed, and I'd fed Pete when a knock came to our door, "Goodnight, Hec," called Linden from the hallway.

Hec called back, "Good night, Linden!" 

Recalling their little romp on our bed earlier in the evening, I took Hec in my arms and sucked on his neck.

"Goodnight, Jake!" Linden and Jorge called back. 

"Goodnight, Jorge!" Hec and I mumbled back. 

I imagined they were about to do some sucking too in their cozy room-- kind of like Dante's Cove meets the Waltons. We heard them pad off down the hallway, then Hec turned to me.

"After all that excitement, think you can take some more?" He winked as he did a seductive little strip tease, then threw back the covers and spread himself out like a rare feast on the nice clean sheets.

I dropped my clothes fast. My shirt, my jeans, and then with lowered lids and my BVDs. He gave me a sweet lopsided grin for my effort.

I stepped lazily up to the bed filled with Hec. He turned his head to watch me, his right arm relaxed across his forehead, and his smile wide now. The bed dipped and swayed as as I climbed aboard. Mr. Happy bounced, eager to see him.

"You look good enough to eat," he said.

I walked on my knees next to Hec, chuckled and grabbed a handful of his curls. I fell on top of him and gave him a sloppy-wet kiss as an answer, grinding my rock-hard dick against his for emphasis.

"You're in a good mood," he said, then he slithered his tongue down my neck, across my chest, and around my navel. I gasped in appreciation as his magical tongue trailed lower, lower, then I moaned in anticipation as he licked around my balls and brushed his thumb against my pucker. God, I love how he teased with his tongue, circling around the head of my dick, then dipping in its dewy slit. I thrashed around at his complete mercy. 

"Roll over." 

I knew what the meant. I rolled over eagerly and felt his tongue trace down my spine, then slip-slide around my asshole.

"God, yes, Hec, eat me," I begged. He proceeded to give my the best rim-job of my life. I whimpered and moaned with delight as he forced his tongue up my ass and started to fuck me with it. I was right on the edge when he stopped. I lifted my head and looked at him, and he shot me his "heap-o-heap a burnin love" look, then flipped me over onto my back and took my cock down his throat in one gulp.

"Ya think Jorge is d-doing this to Linden now?" I stuttered.

Hec flicked his eyes up to me then mumbled, "I bet he is. I bet he's got his big dick down Jorge's throat."

"How do you know it's big?"

"You know what they say about short guys."

"Yeah, I do. What else is he doing to him?"

"Next he's going to get out the lube, like this. Flip the top, squirt it on his fingers like so, then shove 'em up his tight little ass hole." I loved his demonstration and the way Hec smiled as I yelped as he moved his fingers around inside me. "You horny bastard," he said. "You always want more, don't you? I bet you want my cock up your ass now, too."

"Yeah, I do."

"First I'm going to suck you off. Make you come, gushing down my throat."

He did it, fingers still working inside me, playing with my prostrate. He drank me down like I was the last oasis. I came hard in his mouth. God, he was hot.

He flipped me over fast and got me on my knees, his big, hard dick replaced his fingers. He pounded into me as I whimpered under him.

"You need more," he groaned. "I bet Linden does too. I bet he's taking it up the ass just like you are." 

"Yeah," I moaned. "Fuck me, Hec. Fuck me, harder." 

And he did. He buried his dick deep inside me over and over and over. He fucked me hard and long; he rocked the bed, rocked my world. I came again. As my ass clamped down on him, he shot his load.

After we melted into each other and the music box began to play.



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 19



Author's note: Sorry to all my readers that this chapter took so long to post. Real life turmoil came into play and I've been occupied mentally and physically. This chapter has some hot sex and part of the mystery begins to become revealed. A few more chapters to go. I look to finish the rest of the story in the next two months. Thanks again for waiting.

*

I woke up with Hec's right arm laced under mine and his cheek placed like a gift on my pillow. My own eyes drooped from lack of sleep over our late-night antics. I turned my head and admired the contrast of that noble nose sprinkled with kiddy freckles. I loved the way he looked in the morning, all stubble and curls with dozy lids-- made me wonder how I got so damned lucky. Who gets dropped off by some old cab driver at this of all places? Me! I did! Just when did my luck turn for the better? Guess it was the moment the cab door opened to The Grande Lodge Bed and Breakfast. Yes, my luck was with me that day-- good luck being something I never had boatloads of like some other people. After all the stellar stuff the night before with music of the spheres and messages written in the stars, I got to thinking about lucky stars. And thanked mine: for once in my life, those stars were shining bright and high in the sky-- 

for me.

Yep, I was lucky. We could have been like Johann and Henry, separated. Or worse, that cab driver might never have let me out here. I might never had known... God, was he fun to gaze at, better than the stars above my head in the bed. I wondered what he'd think if he found me just gazing at him: Hec was a romantic sort in an unconventional fashion, which I appreciated. He'd blush and get all fidgety, but he'd done plenty of romantic things for and to me-- and, he was always thinking about what he could do. The mistletoe on the headboard was fun, and I know that saltwater taffy and Oreos aren't aphrodisiacs to some people, but it's amazing what an imaginative person can do with them in their mouth-- 

well, it was a bit messy but fun. 

I gazed at him and savored memories of those two, incredible magic lips in gentle sleep, moving them as if he were testing tiny sips of wine-- aw-w, another romantic Hec-moment. Yeah, I was a lucky guy, and he was my big win, like I'd slammed the hammer down and rung the bell at the county fair. This winter wonderland was part of me now. And to think, a couple of months ago I was back in the real world, an unlucky guy who'd never won at anything, not at raffles or at cards or at Bingo. A couple of months ago I was back with Austin, listening to him bitch at me about socks and dirty laundry. I stayed stuck with what I knew: I never gambled, because why try? Austin took me once to this casino. Lost my shirt, of course. Those slot machines had "I hate Jake" as icons. Shit, I should have known-- as a kid, I never won at any of those board games like Candy Land or Sorry. I never even sank the battleship (unless I counted that other game of Battleship I used to play with that neighbor boy-- but he told me that had nothing to do with luck: it was all skill). 

I guess skill in one area upsets the balance. Writing was my skill. It saved my soul. I liked to think it saved Hec's, too. In a way I was lucky when it came to writing, or else I made my own luck-- I suppose there are many talented people who are never lucky enough to get a sitcom. Although it was my misfortune to have a greedy SOB partner the first time around, life gives us second chances. Now I had my second chance. My luck had turned: my soul was saved. But like any past, unlucky soul, I waited for the proverbial rabbit's foot to drop: thus far, Peter Rabbit was staying out of Mr. MacGregor's garden. I guess that coming here, I'd found my lucky charms-- the magic of this house had changed my luck like a talisman. I had the rings, the music box, the bed (special emphasis on the bed) and Hec. All inside this home. And it was home to me. Yes, I sure had a heap of Lucky Charms. I was contemplating my new place in the universe along with the marshmallow cereal when I felt Hec's eyes on me. 

"Morning, handsome," he said, kissing me with those wine-testing lips. 

I groaned, "Morning." His lips skimmed along my chin. "Y-yellow m-moons...," I stuttered as he flicked his tongue across my lips. 

"What?" 

Those dreamy lips slipped lower, traced down my neck, then tickled the hairs on my chest. 

"G-green clovers," I stuttered. "P-pink hearts..."

"Huh?" He seemed very distracted. I don't think it mattered much what I said at that moment; his tongue was on a mission as it slithered into my belly button in an arc-- like it was following a rainbow. I lifted my head up a bit to get a better view. 

I think he found the pot-o-gold-- and the golden nuggets. 

"Always after me lucky charms," I hissed. 

He rolled one of my balls in his month, then let it go with a pop. "They're magically delicious..." 

Then he winked. I guess he was paying attention.

I was trapped. A good trap. The kind you don't want to escape from. "Ah, fuck." 

"Now," he continued, "let's see if I can get you to see those yellow stars you like so well."

Who was I to argue?

He reached under the pillowcase and pulled out the hidden condom and tore it open with his teeth. I was up on all fours with his lubed fingers shoved inside, making room for his fat cock. I'm not too proud to beg. He pushed inside me and fucked me hard. 

Yep, I'm a lucky son of a bitch.

----------------------

"How much do you know about the Big Bang Theory?" I asked Jorge and Linden later at breakfast.

"It wasn't really a bang, more like an expansion. Well," Hec said, raising his eyebrow at me over his coffee mug, "I know something about it too."

Hec set down his coffee and crossed his arms. Oops, I guess I nicked his ego. Someone's been Googling... 

"Ok, handsome," I said, dousing my pancakes with maple syrup, "tell me what you know."

"Infinite density," he snapped back.

I'd heard that term before-- either on Star Trek or in reference to Darwin Awards, not sure which. 

"Our universe began as a singularity," he explained. He uncrossed his arms, then picked his coffee mug back up and took a sip. "At the center of a black hole, matter is compressed so tight that it becomes infinite. Somehow, it inflates: it goes from really small and hot to what we have now in our own universe-- there's really not a bang."

Big Bang always sounded like a sex act to me. Yeah, I came back from the club and he gave it to me, the old Big Bang.

I must have been in la la land or maybe la la bang-land, because Hec cleared his throat and everyone at the table was staring at me. It was one of those moments when you know someone was either talking to you or asked you a direct question, and you hadn't answered. All eyes were glued on me. 

"Forget it," Hec said, waving me off.

"What?" The only recourse a person has in a position like this is to re-navigate the conversation. Not circumnavigate, but try to start over and see if it's possible to find your way back to the stream of thought you missed. "Infinite density," I tried, then it came to me. "So if there's no bang-- isn't that an argument for Johann's work too? I mean, if it's really not a bang, but he used the term--"

"You really weren't listening," Hec said. "That's exactly what I said."

So much for re-navigation. Right up there with la la bang theory. 

"Ok, I admit it-- I was day dreaming. Guilty!" Maybe my blush gave me away, or maybe Hec could see Mr. Happy from where he sat. Thankfully, he left it alone-- I mean left the topic alone-- although Mr. Happy always likes attention, now was not the time to encourage Mr. Happy. I decided that to save face, I had to choose a new route. I turned to Jorge. "You really think this William Ding at Cornell can get this info out?" I asked. I had my doubts. With a name like Bill Ding, he had to have some issues. 

That's when the phone rang. Another kind of ding, or ring. Kate picked it up in the hall.

"It's for you, Jake," she called out.

I got up from my pancakes. I hated cold pancakes. I hoped this wouldn't take too long.

Kate handed me the phone, one of those old black wall phones that had the rotary dials with a two foot cord so you had to stand there and talk like a dog on a short leash, which sucked because I liked to pace when I talked on the phone.

"Hello?" I asked. Kate waved to me, then left to give me some privacy.

It was my new agent, Hirum. That was odd-- I wasn't expecting a call from him. "Hello, Mr. Grey. What's up?"

"Sit down."

"Um, there's no place to sit. What's wrong?" 

Then he told me.

Remember the rabbit's foot? Good luck? Time ticked back: Austin flinging the release papers at me, Hec telling me to read them, me skimming them far too hurriedly, then signing. Well, damn Beatrix Potter, Peter's tail was snared and mine was-- 

Did I say how much I hate cold pancakes?

I hung up the phone more pissed than I think I'd been since Thanksgiving day. Austin was at it again, only this time he was trying to get his hands our new sitcom. Hirum told me not to worry: the papers were legal and dissolved our past partnership. This snag would hold up production of the sitcom and possibly put the whole show on the back burner-- not something that a writer wanted to hear, and it can be death to a new sitcom. Without a doubt this was Austin's new way to fuck with me. Hirum said that if we got Austin to drop it, we might have a chance to keep the pilot on schedule. That meant I'd have to talk to Austin-- something I didn't want to do. I wasn't even sure if anything I'd have to say would change a thing. Hirum promised he'd be there with me. I'm sure Hec would want to be there, too, but that would probably exacerbate the problem.

I sat back down to cold pancakes. I guess the metaphorical thunderclouds looming above my head were evident: never could hide how I felt. I explained the mess to Hec-- he got that look on his face, the same look Captain James T. Kirk gets before he orders the Enterprise over the neutral zone.

Then something happened inside of me: I remembered this morning, Hec in bed all dreamy, the stars above him. Suddenly Austin, the sitcom, and everything else didn't matter. I had my own lucky charms. 

They all thought I'd lost my senses-- I smiled like a crazy man as I shoveled a forkful after forkful of cold pancakes into my mouth. I played imaginary dot-to-dot with the hottest freckles that ever graced a face. At last I knew what to thank my lucky stars for. What was really important surrounded me: Hec, this kitchen, the sun pouring in, my friends around the table. 

The sitcom would happen. 

Austin? 

He wasn't worth worrying about.

What is it about love that makes the world look like a big piece of German chocolate cake with whipped cream and cherries on top? 

I admit that I liked to fixate on problems, so dropping the whole thing about Austin was a major accomplishment for me-- after all, I loved chocolate cake, and I figured if I could let go of the anger and hate, I would have so much more room in my heart to hug Hec and partake of his double-deluxe frosting center. I wasted a hell of a lot of time in my life saying what-if and why-me; it was time to stop. 

I did it.

Let them eat cake. Or let me eat cake, or Hec. Slathered with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

We took it upstairs-- or should I say, he took me back upstairs.

He turned my key and wound me up along with the music box.

Love makes the world go round-- round and around and around. Yes, love-- that eternal, intangible magic like the tiny tintinnabulations from our box. I could spend time drawing sappy hearts on napkins with my chest clanging or hum along with the ring-a-ding-dinging of Chopin in a box.

Great sex with my heart keeping time.

I was ready, and nobody does it better-- or me better-- than Hec. I expected slow and sensuous andante, but Hec the unpredictable did me fast and hard allegro.

Slam, bam on the bed. First we wrestled, then raced to get naked. Already aroused and ready to go, I jumped the starting gate: I thought I was winning. I pulled off my shirt, and Hec reached out, then ran those long fingers across my chest and belly. We lay, gazing into each others eyes. I toed off my shoes while Hec flicked the button on my Levis, then unzipped me with a flick of the wrist. 

Yeah, I was winning alright.

He looked at me from head to my toes. "You're overdressed," he said. "I really gotta do something about that."

"Me first!"

I unbuttoned his flannel shirt while he shimmied his too-tight jeans over those sharp hip bones. I licked my lips-- no underwear. He pulled me to him, and I fisted his cock. God, I felt empowered, seeing him moan and gasp and writhe. He kissed me hard, then reached inside my loose Levis and grabbed my cock; I shuddered with each tug. On our sides, face-to-face, we both rutted into each other's hands, rubbing our cock heads together, pre-come mixing and making us slick. God, I loved the feel of his dick in my hand, loved to watch our cocks together. Only thing hotter was watching Hec's face: I loved to look at it-- the way he closed his eyes tight, how his mouth twitched and his forehead creased. We pumped harder in rhythm, then I felt that tipping point. Shit, too soon, too soon. I spilled over his hand, gasping and sputtering. Hec didn't follow: he held off. I grinned at him, giving him that after-sex, stupid-lusty-in-love look. He brought his fingers, sticky with my come, to my mouth. I poked my tongue out, tasting bittersweet-self; I felt a twinge of disappointment when he pulled his fingers away, then a rush of excitement when he flipped me on my back. 

Face-to-face. No more I've got rhythm. Instead, he held me still. Yeah, he pinned me good, his cock bobbed hard and insistent against my belly. I bit my lip and whimpered as he rolled his cock oh-so-slow against mine in lazy, tantalizing circles-- I was still tender from coming, but my ache for him was always there. I trembled under him, and he shot me a hot, lopsided smile-- kind that makes my insides turn. His chest rumbled in a laugh as he shifted delightfully around, letting his fingers work their magic, slipping down, down, passing my abs, around my cock, pulling on my sac, pushing around that hard ridge that was oh-so tender behind my balls. God, how his fingers skittered and teased until he touched my center.

I couldn't believe I was rock-hard again. I watched him tear open the condom and roll it over his cock. "I'm gonna fuck you good," he whispered. "That is unless you're too sore from earlier." I shook my head emphatically as he wedged his cock between my legs. The head of his dick brushed over my pucker, and I gasped. 

My mind screamed, yes, yes, yes! My head nodding each time. 

"What is it? No, yes? What do you want, Jake?"

"No, I'm not too sore! Yes, I want it!" I nodded my head again, and on the third nod, I whacked the back of my head against the headboard. 

Hec smirked and cocked an eyebrow at me. "Come on, Jake-- how much do you really want it? Tell me--" 

Damn, that smarted. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"Come on," he coaxed. "Tell me--"

"M-more than," I stuttered.

"More than what? Come on..." He nudged his cock against my tender hole. I gasped.

"More than big bowl of Cheerios with three spoon-loads of sugar and a cup of whole milk," I blurted out.

"Is that all?" His dick pushed against my pucker harder: knock, knock, knockin on heaven's door. 

Ah, hell. 

I reached under the pillow for the K-Y and tossed it to him. 

I had to do better.

"More than the meanest roller coaster at Cedar Point," I offered. 

He shook his head, but I knew he was crumbling. He popped the top off the lube.

"More than skinny dipping in the moonlight with a cold Heineken." I cocked my eyebrow and looked longingly at the lube clutched in his hand.

Didn't work yet, so I tried doing the sad puppy dog eyes. 

Almost. 

Then it hit me. 

"More than double-stuff Oreo cookies." 

I had him.

In one swift move, he grabbed both of my legs and lifted them over his freckled shoulders. I shuddered as his fingers pushed inside me. True, I was a bit tender from before, but I liked the edge to this; I clenched instead of opening up, which made him work those long fingers until I was begging for his cock. I went crazy the way he bumped against my prostrate. 

I was disappointed when he pulled out his fingers but watched, panting, as he slicked himself up, then took those same fingers that had been inside me and slipped over my dick, squeezing clear drops from the tip and massaging them in with the lube. I didn't give a fuck about how sore I was. I was worked up and hot for him to be inside me. And what a great free show, too. He should sell tickets.

He took his hands off me, and those talented fingers guided his dick. I felt myself give. So full. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, then pushed inside me the rest of the way. His eyes met mine, so filled with love and desire. 

I loved him. I never knew what love was until him. With him, to be vulnerable was to be strong. He was steady. A tender force. I know I was taken with this room, this place, but it didn't matter where we were as long as we were.

I felt that familiar glow, saw the same in him. His long, deliberate strokes sent me over the edge, keening, begging, saying his name with all the I love yous. 

I could see him gritting his teeth to keep from coming even as I clamped down on him-- but he was lost and let himself come. He fell on me and hugged me to him-- we were two halves of one heart, our physical bodies connected. We held each other close. 

Oreo cookies had nothing on him.

------------------------

We stayed up in that big bed for over an hour before dressing and making an appearance downstairs. The music of Chopin played below, and we followed the soft notes to the living room. There sat Jorge behind the piano, and everyone lounged around the room, listening. Hec smiled sheepishly at Kate as we came through the door, and I ducked my head as she chastised us with a wagging finger-- we'd left our guests hanging. Ah, but it was worth it. We took seats next to her on the sofa. Char sat forward in the old tub chair, fingers pressed to her lips, gazing at Jorge's charming countenance with rapture. Everyone was swept under his spell. 

Jorge played almost as well as my sister, certainly much better than I did. Linden came in behind us, and whispered, "I had a phone call." Hec nodded back, then turned to listen, as did Linden, who looked on with love and adulation. I noted a smile on Isadora's lips as her head kept time. 

Through the music, I couldn't help but think that the room seemed bare, all the sparkle and tinsel gone with the Christmas tree. The little boy in me felt the letdown of Christmas past, but I felt the gentle nocturne return some magic to this corner of the room. 

As Jorge finished, we applauded. Jorge spun around to face us, making the old cherry piano bench creak and groan. He smoothed out the creases in his suit. He was like a two-door paradox: one door remained locked, neat and pressed like his suit. Only one person was allowed to open the second door, and that was Linden. During those times when that door was ajar, I'd see a different Jorge-- free, easy. Even after this private, intimate recital, that deep, pensive smile swept us in while his dark, serious eyes held us back.

"That's beautiful," Char said. "What was it?"

"Chopin. Nocturne in C minor," Linden said.




Rewriting Singularity Ch. 19



"How about another?" Char asked.

"Thank you," Jorge said, "but we did come here for a purpose, and it is time we discussed that purpose. Hec? Jake?"

I nodded and so did Hec.

Linden turned to Jorge, then to Hec and his sisters. "There's something we just learned that we need to share with you."

"What's that?" Kate asked.

"My suspicions about Emily Liebowitz and your family were correct."

"But-- it seems like you would have figured it out long before this," Kate said.

"We spent most of our time on Henry Lester not Johann Galle," he said to her. "We got the usual historical information but came to a dead end when we looked at your family. At first we thought it was the usual suspects: no one left to remember and poor small-town record keeping, but we're positive now that it was your parents who erased their own tracks years ago." 

Kate sighed while Hec rubbed his temple with the palm of his left hand. 

"I was pretty sure it was more than a coincidence that you and Johann's wife had the same last name. Hers was a sad story too. She died not long after Johann did-- she was much older than him you know. Jorge visited Ralph Galle, Johann's brother's great grandson."

I nodded. I'd told Hec about it, and he'd passed the information to his sisters. 

"Well, we proved it," Linden explained. "All it took was a few hairs that Jorge procured from an old antique brush of Emily Liebowitz's, and a few from Hec's comb."

"And a few connections to a genetics lab specializing in non-invasive chromosome testing," Jorge added.

"Y-chromosome testing is more accurate since the Y remains pretty much unchanged when it's passed down-- but in your case," Linden said, shoving his left hand in his coat pocket, "we only had Emily. Still, it was a good match-- enough to prove relationship."

"Do you think Henry is haunting us because they are related to Emily?" I asked.

"Quite possibly," Isadora said. "I've witnessed this happening before. As a relative you are more sensitive to the spirit, and the spirit would be more inclined to reach out to someone to whom they are familiar." 

"A familiar spirit," I quipped.

Isadora laughed. "Yes, you could say that. It is also true that the spirit would be more inclined to listen to you and be released from earthly bonds if you were present."

"It's too bad that hasn't worked," I said.

"To the contrary," she said, "I believe it has."



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 20



We sat staring at Isadora, silent. Only the wind howling outside filtered through the living room. To me it sounded like Henry's cry that he was still here with us. Didn't she hear that? How could she believe Henry was at rest when he and Johann were still apart? 

"I feel my job is done here," she said finally. "I am leaving in a few hours as planned. I did want to extend my stay-- this bed and breakfast is such a restful place-- but I have other matters to attend to." She sat up straight in the over-stuffed wing-back chair and watched me like an over-protective mom. My heart fell: I'd hoped for closure-- at least for Henry and Johann. She sensed my sadness, pulled herself up out of the big chair and drew me into a big, bear hug.

"Yes, I'm so sorry," she said, crunching my ribs, "but I cannot cancel the other appointment I have. It's with a rather noisy New England ghost. The owners of the Inn claim it's Cotton Mather." She let go of me reluctantly, leaving behind the essence of Lavender and Lace. She looked up into my eyes, hoping I'd be ok with her leaving. "I have my doubts. There are always people who claim such things-- after all, famous hauntings add a certain flavor to old inns, making them more desirable. Having a famous ghost adds to the mystery. I am not sure about this one. We shall see, we shall see." 

Cotton Mather? Not that I doubted. Remarkable, even in death celebrities get priority. 

"But you aren't done here," I said. "What about Henry-- I think he's still here."

"Ah, I see you have doubts, but I no longer feel his presence. I have searched and searched. I believe your Henry has departed. I am not dismissing your feelings, but I am very sure that he has gone. Do not be sad. He is in a better place."

She was right; I did feel sad. I'd miss Henry. Sure, I wanted him at rest. But I liked him around. But the more I thought on it, the more I didn't believe he had departed, and it seemed odd to me that Henry would be at peace since we hadn't done anything with Johann's journals yet. That was awful damn trusting of the old ghost. If I were him, I'd hang around this old place and make damn sure Johann got the recognition he deserved before heading out to the great beyond or wherever it was that ghosts go. Besides, how could he be happy alone? Was Johann waiting for him? They were thrust apart in life and death-- and that was the bitter pill. They were still apart, and finding the journals and Johann's connection to the Big Bang Theory didn't change the fact that they were still parted. Sure, Johann getting the recognition he deserved was important but surely not the problem. 

And besides, I still felt something of Henry here, like a faint ripple in a pond, and from the look on Hec's face, I knew he still felt Henry, too. 

Hec's next words left no doubt. "No, he's still here."

"I don't believe so," she said, frankly. "I do believe my job is done, but I could be wrong: I have found over the years when it comes to spirits, one can never be certain."

"I don't feel it," Hec said emphatically, knees bouncing up and down. "I'd feel it if he was gone." Hec played with the ring on his finger, then our eyes locked. "He's hiding or resting or whatever spirits do to take a break-- he's done it before. It doesn't mean that he's left."

Isadora nodded thoughtfully, contemplating what he'd said. Hec frowned, and planted his hands firmly on his knees to still them.

"I think you should check the house again--" I suggested. "Top to bottom"

She did. We did.

She still felt nothing. 

I could see it in the way he stood, the tilt of his head, the flicker in his eyes: Hec wouldn't let it go. He believed in his heart that Henry was not at peace.

So we went out to the garden. A new blanket of snow covered the ground, and we trod through the drifts, then through wrought iron gates, then stopped and brushed off the lonely tombstone where Henry was buried. 

I read aloud the chiseled words: "My ashes in a soil that is not mine." I paused. "That sounds familiar."

"It's Lord Byron." Hec recited the rest:

Yet was I born where men are proud to be--

Not without cause; and should I leave behind

The inviolate island of the sage and free, 

And seek me out a home remoter sea,

Perhaps I loved it well; and should lay

My ashes in a soil which is not mine,

My Spirit shall resume it--if we may

Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine

My hopes of being remembered in my line

With my land's language: if too fond and far

These aspirations in their scope incline,--

If my Fame should be, as my fortunes are,

Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar.

And so we left Henry's gravesite feeling a bit let down. I hoped Isadora was right and that Henry was at rest, but Hec didn't believe it. I squeezed his hand, and he offered me a sad smile in return. 

We said our goodbyes to Isadora, then waved as she left in the cab an hour later.

"Surprised you didn't go too," I said, turning to Linden.

"We're staying on until tomorrow," Linden said. "It's time we sat down to talk about your parents."

The moment had come. It had been a hard topic to broach for Hec and his sisters. Until now, Linden and Jorge had little new to tell us. It seems for once they had some answers-- but not answers that Hec particularly wanted to hear.

-------------------------

Dinner was over. A great meal. Everyone ate more than they should have. Kate really out-did herself-- took two days of preparation to make what Hec called quote-- the world's best lasagna-- end-quote. 

We did everything but talk about their parents and spent over a half-hour discussing how, from the moment they stepped into it, this place called to Hec and his sisters. 

"Discovering the passages between the walls was like rediscovering something from my childhood," Kate admitted. "I always thought that I'd been here before. The house felt like home from the moment I stepped in the door."

"I felt that way about my room," Char had said. "I'd sit in the window looking out at the river and think that I'd found my childhood again."

Hec nodded at every word they said while I recalled the first moment in this house, thinking pretty much the same myself the first time I saw Hec.

To give Kate a break, Hec and I cleared the table, while everyone else went into the living room. I knew that Linden had something important to say: he had that itchy-scratchy thing going on at the dinner table earlier-- I've known him long enough to know that he only acts that way when he couldn't contain some key information. He couldn't play euchre worth a shit because he can't contain his twitchiness when he's holding trump. Jorge kept him from spilling his guts all through the whole meal the same way he did when Linden had a good hand-- a swift kick. As dinner unfolded, Linden would say a few words, scratch his chin, take a bit of garlic bread and clear his throat. Then Jorge would kick him under the table. A few minutes later, they'd do it all again. Hec knew something was up, too-- so we both hurried, slamming plates around, slapping Handi-Wrap on the leftover lasagna and sliding it in the fridge-- with no playful swatting each other with dish towels or hot kisses against the dishwasher. 

Damn.

It still didn't keep my fantasies away. Over the last few days, I'd had a really good one involving Hec, peanut butter, a jar of Kate's homemade raspberry jam and binder twine. 

It's number five of Jake's greatest hits (or I hit on that) straight (or bent) from our bed! My eyes fluttered shut, and I got that far-away look on my face. In my imagination Hec, cried out:

"Oh, Jake! Please! Not there!"

I answered with a diabolical laugh and a finger-full of Jif:

"Oh, yes there. And don't move. Or I'll jam it up more." 

Hec. The ultimate PB and J. After all, choosey mother fuckers choose Jif-- or was that stiff? 

Hec nudged me.

"Saints preserve me!" I shouted. Hec jumped. Shit. Still inside my little fantasy. Not good.

"What the heck was that about?" he asked. I licked my lips and leaned back into the counter with my hips thrust forward. 

"I'll tell you later-- or maybe show you."

Yep, he was two mighty fine slices of Wonderbread. Forget making a sandwich-- I'd settle for toast if it was quicker or a quickie if I was a toaster. 

Yum, buttered toast--

"Come on," he said, then smirked when he noticed Mr. Happy. "I'll take you up on the latter part. You are one wild and crazy guy, you know that?" He sighed, then shut the door to the dishwasher. "I guess we'd better find out what's up." He grabbed the front of my shirt and gave me a long, knee-wobbling kiss, then dragged me out of the kitchen, through the dining room, down the hall and into the living room. All I could think of was creamy-smooth peanut butter and raspberry-sweet jam and Hec as my captive sandwich.

We hadn't made it one foot inside the living room door when we heard Chas' excited voice.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed. "I knew it!"

"So she was right all these years--" Kate covered a sob with her hand. "They are alive."

Hec froze next to me. His jaw tightened, his shoulders squared off.

"We're not certain," Jorge said. "We cannot be positive, but we do know where they were and that they were alive in 1996."

Linden cleared his throat. "And in Aurora, Ontario." 

My eyes lit up, remembering the story Hec had told me about his parents and waiting for them at the motel. I looked over at Hec again. He'd relaxed some, but his face was filled with a mixture of fear and elation. I almost felt guilty for making him a sandwich. Or toast. 

"Yes," Kate nodded, "but--but-- that was the town where mom old us to meet them, but not in Ontario. In Illinois, Mom told me to meet them Illinois in some old motel-- the Old Town Motel."

"I don't know what went wrong with the directions," Linden said, "but we're sure now that they were in Aurora, Ontario in 1996. I'd like to say it was through great detective work that we found that information, but it was really dumb luck. When Jake told me the story of how you waited at this 'old motel' outside of Aurora, we started looking for other motels with similar names in other towns with the same name. We didn't find a thing, but then I was talking to our secretary Connie yesterday, and she asked me if I'd tried Aurora, Ontario. I said, sure, and then she told me this long, drawn out, typical Connie-story about how she stayed at This Old Motel-- and that was the name of it, This Old Motel, but some chain motel company bought it up and tore it down about eight years ago." 

I couldn't believe it. Dumb luck? No way. I didn't believe in coincidence anymore. 

I blinked and looked at Hec. He was too quiet. He scratched his elbow and shuffled his feet. He didn't look me square in the eyes. It felt to me like he didn't want this. For the first time, there was a possibility that we might find his parents. His sisters looked like they'd won the Super Lotto while Hec looked like he'd picked the short straw for a firing squad.

I wondered how many times a younger Hec had replayed reunions in his head. How many dreams of his parents' arms holding him tight only to find that those arms weren't there? I could understand how an older Hec would be cautious.

"It's all my fault!" Kate sobbed. "All I had was this bit of paper mom wrote the directions on. I just assumed--" 

Hec shook his head. "Kate, no-- it's not your fault. Come here--" She got up and fell into his arms. I smiled thinking how a younger Hec probably gave Kate the same tight comfort years ago at a lonely motel. Char joined them. I gave them plenty of room on the couch. It was sweet watching them. 

After that, it was all tears and plenty of Kleenex for the next ten minutes or so. I loved Hec more than ever, watching him tear up and hugging his sisters close. Linden regrouped them all before finishing his story, but they were still a gangly mass of arms and legs bouncing and weaving. 

Hec chewed this inside of his cheek as he studied his sisters. They'd gone from sad to excited. He knew that all this could be just one more disappoint. Hec worried for his sisters as much as for himself. Hell, I felt excited. I'd expect Char to be excited: she was always a live-wire: She had jumped up out of her chair and pranced around the room like a kid giddy to ride the ponies at the county fair. But the reserved, protective Kate surprised me: Hope stung her eyes, and she literally danced.

"I had Connie do some checking-- that woman has more connections than Paris Hilton has partners," Linden said. "I think it's genetic-- her Aunt Rita is the same way-- Rita was the one who knew the owners-- names are Ernest and Michelle Gregory. It seems there was this couple who showed up and lived at their motel for some time-- that in itself was unusual, but what made the Gregorys remember them most was that this couple would ask the desk daily if they had any 'young' visitors-- thing is, all those months they stayed there, no one ever showed up to see them."

Kate had slipped between Hec and the end of the couch. Char was between me and Hec. I looked over and saw Kate's eyes flick over at Hec. 

"What clinched it for me was the names they used," Linden said, "Ellen and Hal Parents."

"Parents?" Char repeated.

"You're sure it was them?" Hec interrupted.

"Yes, the motel owner identified them," Jorge said. "Connie e-mailed old Aunt Rita the picture that ran in your local paper. She said it was them."

"Thing is they left a note," Linden added, "just in case three 'young' people came looking for them. She came back a year later and left it in their care. You fit the description of the children she described to the Gregorys. Two girls: the oldest, tall, dark-haired and serious. The youngest: slight and light complexed. And freckled, honey-haired boy. Sounds like you three to me. They were to pass on the letter to you, and they still will-- but only to you. Not even Connie's silver tongue could pry it out of their hands." 

"I tried my best also," Jorge said. 

Charm must not have any affect on the Geogorys-- because Jorge could charm the pants off Gloria Steinem. 

"So we have to go to them! When do we leave?" Char said.

"We can't leave!" Kate said. "Or at least, I can't. I have a new reservation for tomorrow, and Mr. and Mrs. Applegate are in the great room!"

"Get them another place to stay," Char snapped back, "and you could call these new reservations and tell them--" 

"Ah, wait a moment! Hold on!" Linden said, waving his hands around. "They're on their way here. I invited them to the best bed and breakfast in Wisconsin. I sent them the plane tickets." 

"And just who's paying for all this?" I asked.

Linden smirked. "I put it on your bill."

"Great." I looked over at Hec as he chewed on a hangnail. "When will they get here?" 

"Tomorrow."

----------------------------

I kissed him to make it all better. I don't know if it worked. Even if his body wasn't responding, those warm-brown eyes made love to me. We faced each other side-by-side on the bed, legs laced together with our clothes still on. 

"I love you," he said. His fingers played with a tattered edge of the old quilt, but his head was elsewhere. As he leaned into me more, the bed dipped, and we rolled together into one of my favorite full-bodied Hec-hugs. He rested his chin on my shoulder, and I kissed his hair. 

"Love you, too." I rubbed his back. Damn, he was as tense as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. "Look, I know you're feeling tired. I'm cool with whatever you want to do-- talk, hang out, hug, fuck-- whatever you want to do--"

Personally, I was rooting for fuck.

"I was thinking about that motel," he said. 

Well, no fuck. 

Yet.

"When Kate said she blamed herself, I was thinking that it was my fault somehow. Shit. It wasn't either of our faults. We were kids. What parents leave their kids all alone? They should have found us! I tell you Jake, I don't know what I'd say to them if I saw them."

"Sometimes there aren't any words." Not that I wanted him to stop talking: it was my attempt at sage advice.

"Heck, most likely nothing will come from this. Kate and Char will just get broken hearts all over again."

And Hec, I thought. I studied those sensitive eyes. The past few days left Hec worn thin. I suddenly felt like a jerk for wanting to get in his pants when all he wanted to do was share a few words with someone he loved. Drifting into those sad, brown eyes made me want to take him back to his childhood and right all the wrongs-- made me want to be his hero-- someone who could erase his painful past. But I couldn't. I just had today to make it all right, and I was damn well going to make sure I took care of him and let him know how much he meant to me.

"I love you, man," I said, and brushed his cheek with the back of my hand. "And I'm staying right here beside you, to have and to hold from this day forward."

"For better, for worse--" He kissed the tip of my nose.

"For richer, for poorer--" I chased a tear in the corner of his eyes with my finger. 

"In sickness and in health--" He brushed his thumb over my lips.

"To love and to cherish--" 

"From this day forward--" 

"For as long as we both shall live." I smiled. "You'll never be able to kick me out of this bed."

"I'd never want to kick you out." Hec laughed and rubbed up and down against me. "I think it's time to consummate the relationship. I like you this way fine, but I already told you about overdressing-- I like you better with less clothes." 

"I like you better with no clothes," I shot back.

"I like you better with no clothes and a big smile on your face."

"I like you better with no clothes, a big smile on your face and peanut butter lathered all over your ass." I'd brought my supplies up with me-- minus the bread. 

"But jam, too?" I added. "Everyone needs jam."

"What?" He raised his eyebrows at me and frowned.

I reached under the bed and pulled out a crumpled brown grocery bag, then shook it in front of his face.

"What the heck you talkin' about, Grey? What's in that bag?"

I made a production out of it. Pulled out the Jif, raspberry jam and--

"What the hell?!" He sat up. "What the fuck do you plan to do with that binder twine?"

I laughed maniacally just like in that fantasy I had, then I went in for a long hot kiss just to butter him up so he'd be easier to spread. 

His hand cupped my dick, and it felt damn good. 

I unscrewed the top off the peanut butter and swiped a creamy glob of in on to my finger.

"Taste?" I said, smearing it across his lips. 

He licked it off, and I helped him. 

I took another swipe and slathered it across his nipples and licked and sucked them until his moaned and trust up into me.

"Every used Jiffy lube?" I asked.

Hec jerked to attention. "You feel that?" he asked. 

"Um, you're eager. I haven't even shoved my finger up your ass yet!"

"No, that!"

"Yeah, I did." I snuggled in closer, my finger teasing his pucker. I tongued his earlobe, when I felt this sudden chill slip over me like a damp veil. "Tickles, don't it?"

"Not your finger," he said. "That!"

The music box began to play. 

"Henry?" Hec asked. "Is that you?"

We both sat up, then grudgingly moved apart. Hec threw his legs off the bed.

He sat up on the edge, hands clasped. I scrambled around him, got up and walked over to the music box. I picked it up, turned it over, then the unspeakable happened--

The thing is, I pride myself on being a coordinated person, and I'm certainly not careless. I mean, I don't go around dropping my keys or tripping over my own feet. Shit, I can even multitask-- that's why I stood there, staring down in shock at my feet. 




Rewriting Singularity Ch. 20



The music box slipped out of my hands and crashed to the floor. In a split second, Hec jumped off the bed and was next to me. 

"I killed it!" I felt ill. The music box lay on the floor, lid open and silent. Hec knelt down next to it and tended it like it was a sick child. The bottom of the box was cracked, and he traced the break with his long fingers. As he gently turned it over, part of the broken base fell loose in his hand. The box was divided into two compartments: one held delicate wheels with prongs of gold, the other a tarnished brass container. 

Hec carefully reached inside and pulled out the canister. 

"The soil that is not mine--" Hec whispered. "Henry was buried. It was Johann who was cremated."

It was my turn to feel confused. 

"That poem," Hec explained. "It wasn't referring to Henry-- don't you see? It was about Johann. Henry wanted them to rest together, but they couldn't. These must be Johann's ashes!"

I recalled my conversation with Linden when he'd asked me if we'd found any canister or-- "The music box! All along Henry had tried to tell us. Johann was right here all the time. But if Henry had the ashes, why didn't he bury them with him?" I asked.

"He must not have known they were inside the box. Remember Linden told you Johann's wife, Emily, gave Henry the ashes? Well, she did, but for some reason he never knew." 

"How could he not know?"

"Only one reason," Hec said. "She must have died before she could tell him."

Hec set Johann's ashes on the nightstand, then gave me a long, hungry kiss. Later, I finished him off right in our bed-- showed him 101 uses for PB and J. 

But I only found one use for the binder twine.

-----------------------

Hec rolled over and yawned. "I need a bath," he said. "I'm sticky as hell."

"You didn't complain last night." I scooted in closer to him.. 

"Ah, think your tongue missed a few spots."

"Want me to lick you clean?" I purred.

Hec chuckled as he sat up in bed and swatted my ass. "I don't mind going to bed with PB and Jake," he said, "but I rather wake up with just you on me."

I rolled on top of him and smiled down into his surprised face. "Life is like that-- spanks you, ties you up with binder twine, then smears peanut butter all over your ass," I said. " Next thing you know, some bastard sneaks up behind you and calls himself *Armando the Cumquat King."

"Hey!' Hec said. "I'm the Cumquat King!"

I kissed him, then licked the tip of his nose. "We better get washed up and ready for breakfast-- after all, we've got guests coming today."

"They're not the only ones who are coming..."

----------------

Breakfast: Omelettes. With buttered toast. 

I beat Hec downstairs. Linden and Jorge came in a moment later, followed directly by Hec who pulled his chair closer to mine to join us. Kate and Char were busy, getting breakfast for our other guests. Char took off with a tray filled to the brim.

"Mmm," Jorge said, "I smell peanut butter." 

Must be Hec didn't wash well enough behind the ears.

"You want peanut butter?" Kate asked. "I'll get some for your toast if you'd like." She began rummaging through the cupboards before Jorge could answer. "Now... where'd I put it?"

"Thank you, but it's no problem." 

"No, no, no," Kate said. "I'll get a jar out of the pantry."

"You should not go to such trouble," Jorge said.

Kate waved him off and disappeared to find some.

"No peanut butter for me," I whispered to Hec. "A half a jar of Jif is my limit."

Hec kicked me under the table.

Kate came out of the pantry waving the jar over her head. 

"We've got something to tell everyone," Hec said. I almost spat out the mouthful of orange juice. "We found Johann's ashes."

That was a relief-- I thought he was going to tell them why we were making so much noise last night.

"No kidding? Where?" asked Kate.

"Right there in my room all along-- in the bottom of the music box." Hec went on to explain how it happened. 

"I wouldn't have believed it if you had not recited that poem by Byron," Jorge said, rubbing his chin. He always had this great stubble even after shaving. 

"What?" Hec asked.

"Henry's hopes were realized. You've remembered him," Jorge said. "You've fulfilled Emily Liebowitz's promise to Henry."

"I guess so. 'My hopes being remembered in my line.' Now all that we need to do is reunite them," Hec said, stuffing a bit of omelet in his mouth. "We'll have to wait for the ground to thaw."

I nodded. Kate smiled. Jorge winked at Linden, and I gave Hec one of my hammy grins. 

I picked the jar of peanut butter off the table, read the label. Two tablespoons 190 calories-- that's... 

"Shit! Almost 2,000 calories!"

Just then, Char burst through the kitchen door, an empty tray in her hands.

"Did I miss anything?" 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

*In case you've never heard of CumquatNation, google it. It's been the source of humor at high schools and universities. There's a King of Cumquats, Prime Minister and even a god. Members are gay and straight.



Rewriting Singularity Ch. 21



Author note: Sorry that this took so long to finish. I've had a difficult time with my health (heart attack) and only recently after open-heart surgery feel better. I didn't realize how sick I'd been until now. It's a new lease on life for me. So, I give to you all, the final chapter of Rewriting Singularity.

----------------------

Chapter 21 final chapter

The Gregorys were to arrive around two. Char and Kate spent the morning getting the rooms ready for our new guests. Hec and I shoveled and plowed out last night's new round of snow while Linden and Jorge kept themselves busy doing, well, the usual moaning and groaning. 

I don't think they were exercising-- at least not in the traditional sense.

Me? I was getting my fair share of exercise. I read recently that shoveling snow burns 408 calories an hour. Sex burns 274 calories if you do it lying down in a phone booth and 60 more calories if you moan in Latin. And if you have a really small dick, you burn a lot more than if your dick is really big. I guess Hec and I are out of luck in that department. Or maybe good luck. I guess it depends what is most important, burning calories or a super-tight fit.

I'll have to remember that Latin thing. Kate's cooking was starting to put on the pounds-- I don't think eating half a jar of peanut butter with Hec should become a regular part of my diet. 

One thing about the snow here was that it was wetter and heavier than I remembered. I've never shoveled so much damn snow in my life-- it sure does snow one hell of a lot in Wisconsin. I hope their summers make up for it, because, like I told Hec, I wasn't going anywhere. At least I liked cross country skiing and the sound of snow crunching beneath my feet.

I was still shoveling the front steps when Hec finished clearing the end of the driveway and grabbed another shovel to give me a hand. With both our backs at work, we had it cleared off in no time. It was one of those bright, sunny days, and the fresh snow was perfect for packing. I couldn't help myself. I picked up a handful and flung it right at him.

Snowball fight!

Splat! Right in the side of the head. 

Hec dropped his shovel and retaliated. One, two, three. Damn, he was good. Nailed me each time. We were both laughing and ducking and throwing when the cab pulled up. Hec bent down and picked up his shovel and slung it over his shoulder. The cab slowed, then stopped in front of the steps, and the cab door swung open. Out came a freckle faced little old lady with white, fuzzy earmuffs and an over-sized wool coat. She stood staring at us all covered in snow. The cab driver didn't give us a second look as he got out and opened the trunk to get her suitcase. I shook my head, and the slushy-wet stuff flew around my head in a halo. 

"Heccliffe?" she said.

The shovel Hec held dropped to the porch with a clang.

"Mom?"

I remembered what Hec had said-- that he didn't know what he'd say to his parents if he ever saw them again. Well, he didn't say a thing-- just threw his arms around her, hugged her tight and sobbed.

Got me crying too. 

The door opened behind me and Kate came out with Char standing behind her. Next thing I knew, they were all in one giant hug, crying and laughing. After a few moments, heads cleared and each stepped back, one by one, Hec last.

"Want to come inside?"

"Yes, son, I'd love to come inside."

---------------------------

Needless to say, the Gregorys never came: it was Ellen who planned to come all along. Linden and Jorge stayed conspicuously hidden away, making me wonder if they knew that she was the one coming not the Gregorys. As the family mingled in the anteroom, I noted how their mother tipped her head to one side as she listened just like Kate, and how her freckles, eyes and slow smile were so much like Hec's. When she laughed, it was like hearing Char.

After the initial ruckus, Hec stepped back and watched his sisters interact with his mother. Char swung her mom's suitcase in one arm and held her mother's big wool coat in the other. She was the one who finally asked, "Where's Dad?"

"He passed away last August. A heart attack at age 62," she answered, quietly.

The anteroom grew still. I cried silent tears for Hec-- for the father he'd never get to see or know. 

Char solemnly took her mother's bags to the one and only first floor room bedroom. Her reservation was only for one night. Kate asked her would she stay, would she go? Her mother smiled and told Kate this was but a short stay that she hoped would precede many longer ones. 

"I have something for you-- for you all," she said, and reached into her patch-work purse and pulled out a letter.

She handed it to Hec. He stared at it in his hand, the envelope yellow and tattered. 

"Read it after I leave tomorrow," she said. "Then think about what it says. If you want to see me again, you will know how to find me."

I, for one, wondered when someone would ask the question we all wanted to know, "Why? Why did you leave your children?"

Hec's fidgety silence told me that he was thinking the same as I. His demeanor wasn't lost on his mom either. 

"I hope you can find it inside you to forgive," she said.

"Forgiving was never the hard part," Hec said. "It was the wondering."

"I hope the letter answers some of your questions," she said. 

"Why can't we read it now? Why can you just tell us?" Char asked.

"I know it's selfish of me, but give me this time with you. After reading it, if you never want to see me again, then at least I'll havethistime with you to remember. For now, all I can say is that I'm sorry, so sorry, and that we tried to find you and that we did what we thought we had to do to keep you safe. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do, but we did it for the right reasons." 

They agreed not to read the letter until after she left and to spend this time with her without knowing the contents of the envelope. I didn't know what to think about it all. If it was me, I would have opened up that envelope and read it. But Hec wasn't me. He carefully folded the enveloped in half along the well-worn crease and put it in his pocket and waited for another day.

--------------------------

They had the time together. They laughed and reminisced. That day I learned about the younger years: about Kate getting five stitches in her knee sliding into home plate during a neighborhood softball game and about Hec breaking his arm hanging like a monkey in the tree. I learned that Hec's first word was cookie, and when he was three he used to ask everyone he met in the supermarket to "read me a story."

They talked about everything that happened before that day before Christmas when their parents left them, but said not a word about anything after. The present? They gave the usual filler information you might read on one of those copied Christmas letter: accomplishments, illnesses, deaths. When Hec got to me, Hec told her who I was, what I was to him. She never blinked, yet a deep sadness came over her. She hugged Hec tight after he told her, and she whispered something in his ear.

Later that day, we said goodbye to Linden and Jorge. The girls gave them each enough kisses to last them "until next time," Kate said. Linden blushed and Jorge blew kisses back as they left.

The next morning, we said goodbye to Hec's mom in the falling snow. The Wisconsin wind whipped through my coat and tossed around our hats and scarves. I stood on top of the steps of the bed and breakfast and shivered as I watched the girls wave long after the cab disappeared in the swirling snow. Hec hung his head, kicked a chunk of ice with his boot, then slowly lifted his eyes until they met mine. Amazing how one gentle smile melted me. The top step had drifted over with snow during the short time we stood there, and Hec stepped through it. I brushed the white flakes from his hair, then pulled his hands into my pockets to warm them.

"You ok, friend?" I asked.

His eyes wavered back to his feet, then up again to mine. "Yeah," he sighed, "I think I'm gonna be ok."

Kate stepped up behind him. "How 'bout some hot chocolate?" she offered.

We all agreed and went inside. 

"Guess we can read Mom's letter now," Char said.

"Guess we can," Hec repeated.

"I'll make that hot chocolate," she said. "I guess the kitchen is as good a place as any to read it."

---------------------

Hec reverently opened the envelope. Unfolded the letter and laid it out flat on the table in front of him. I blew into my hot cocoa as Kate and Char pulled up chairs and sat down.

"April 12, 1997. Dear Katie, Hec, and Charlene," he read, 

We so hope that somehow we will find our way to each other and these words will never have to be read by you, our dear, dear children, but if we should not find each other and you do read this, we are living in Saskatchewan in Estevan. Please come to us. Your father and I work at a small store there. You will find us as Ellen and Hal Parents.

Your father risked much to look for you, and we feared that they would find you through him. These people would do anything to get to the money since they have hurt others close to you to find us. They blackmailed your father for many years, but your father said "enough" when their greedy fingers reached for the charity funds. 

We want you to know that your father did take the money, not for himself, but to keep the money from those men. They have many connections, and we left you to keep you safe. They threatened your lives as well. They followed. We lost them only through your father's skill and a friend,s kindness. We waited and when you did not come to meet us, your father took a chance and contacted your Great Aunt Abigail. She told us she had heard nothing from you, but the Mafioso goons found her and asked where we were. She understood from what they told her that they did not know where you were. Your father and I wept tears of joy to know wherever you were, you were safe. 

Where is the money? It is gone. Your father laughed when he read in the paper that we'd hidden it away in a Swiss bank, when all he had done was to give a large, anonymous donation to the Salvation Army. Your father said, "Who would expect that from a Rabbi?" 

Your father was right. There are many things that one does not expect from a rabbi. You father's secret was safe with me all these years but like all secrets, it came to light. He feels shame for his past. It was his own shandeh. I never judged your father. He is a good man. They hounded him for his past. He chose me, and for me, that was enough. He never failed to follow one of God's mitzvot in the years after he married me. 

We can wait here no longer. To stay longer, would allow them to find us. 

A brocheh for you, my dear children, 

Mother

He folded the letter.

"What was his shandeh, his shame?" Kate asked.

"She told me-- she whispered it in my ear last night," Hec said. 

"What?"

"Our father loved a man-- before our mother." 

"Somehow I think I'd known all along," Kate said. "It all makes sense now."

"They were happy," Char said. "I know they were."

"Of course they were," Hec said. "One thing I've learned about love is that you fall for a person-- who they are, not what they are." 

That night when we went up to our room we made more than love. 

---------------------

"What was truly stolen was your innocence. For that, I am sorry." 

My eye twitched as his mom spoke: the discussion was heated but welcome for Hec and his sisters. I saw this as part of the process, a way for them to gracefully let go of the past and begin anew. I'd hoped for this to happen. The day Hec picked up the phone and called his mother to invite her back turned all our lives in a new direction. It was like turning into the sun instead of away-- you shade your eyes from the sun but its warmth soothes. 

I worried a lot before she came. Mostly for Hec. The rain hadn't stopped once in over two days prior to her April Fools Day arrival, and I began to think that it was some kind of omen-- you know, like in that Damien movie, not that I'm comparing his mom to a antichrist-- but I hated the idea of rain. I couldn't help but wonder: the back mudroom was flooding; the Fox River was spilling over the banks, and Pete was flapping around his cage in a frenzy of unmatched spring fever. Hec said Pete's berserk behavior was just horny energy and that we needed to get him either a Mrs. Pete or a Mr. Pete. He explained that the river and the mudroom always flood and said, "Stop worrying, Jake." His words didn't make me stop worrying, but I did my best to show my sunny-side up. I said to myself-- this has nothing to do with his mother; April showers bring May flowers.ThenI thought about the Flood. Rain, rain, rain. What happened to warm and sunny?

I found out that in the spring the sun was a tease in Wisconsin.

I used to seerealsunshine before I moved here. And by the way-- I'm not aguestanymore-- I'm part of the family, a fixture. I'd moved in-- all my belongings, everything-- even my eight grade science project. Hec and I did all the packing together a month ago. We went back to my old apartment and got it all. I brought back my flat screen and put the "modern apparition," as Kate called it, into the living room. Maybe she doesn't appreciate it, but the guests did. I'd say that "this" guest appreciated that big screen the most. A sitcom writer needs to watch the competition. 

Yard work was out so we watched reruns and first runs. MTV and the Food Network. 

With all the rain I had my doubts about summer, but at least the wet, chilly nights allowed for a roaring fire. We enjoyed that warmth the night before Hec's mom arrived: our sex was hotter than the embers in the fireplace. Hec and I covered every inch of that big bed, rolling and biting and licking. I needed to get it out of my system before mom came to visit. Nothing to dampen the mood like a mother in the house. I always feel guilty doing it with parents around. And she was Hec's mom. Could be mine someday too, you know-- a mother? Then I could write mother-in-law jokes in sitcoms from experience. Move over Rodney Dangerfield.

Better check to see if Hec's mom has a good sense of humor first. 

By that evening, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. 

Mother Nature. Mother of Hec. Mother. Soon to be in the room down the hall.

Kick out the raspberry jams Hec's mother! No more sex for me! At least not with "mom" here, but I shouldn't have been so hasty because the next morning when she came, so did the sun.

Here comes the sun. And Hec's smile. Seriously, it was great to see him smile. Better than sunshine. 

The family was together, and I was a part of it. 

We sat in the living room with the sun pouring in the long windows. I crossed my hands behind my head and listened, staring down at the copy of a recent Newsweekmagazine. On the cover, "Time and Space Revisited: Johann Galle and The Big Bang Theory."

Johann the dreamer, Johann the astronomer. InNewsweek.

The whole world knew the truth. 

We did it. Jorge and Linden helped. First the story appeared in some obscure science journals, then AAAS's magazine. I was surprised whenUSA Today picked up the story. After that, it was all over the media. News at five, internet.NewsweekandTimepicked it up. Even interviewed us.

But that wasn't why I was so happy aboutthisparticular copy ofNewsweek. No, thisNewsweekhas a special place on the table. On page 37 was a small blurb with a mug shot of Austin Nichols. Underneath, a pull quote with him admitting the real creative genius behind "his" sitcom was me. Headmittedhe took credit for my work. He admitted it!

Mywork. InNewsweek.

Both Johann and I redeemed in the same magazine. 

The best part was that part of my life was behind me. I never understood what a real partner was until Hec. 

Hec and I. That was real.

Upstairs, watching the seasons in Wisconsin, season one of our sitcom, we writeasone. Weareone.

Forever.

I looked up from the coffee table and silently thanked the cab driver for bringing me here the day after Thanksgiving. I thanked my lawyer, too. 

I still couldn't believe that Austin admitted it all to the press. 

Just proved that miraclesdohappen-- with a really good lawyer.

---------------------

He looked at me over his reading glasses, and I got all hot. I sat on the bed with my laptop between my legs and Hec next to me. I'd like to fuck him silly right now, but our sitcom needed attention. 

"I could take dictation," I suggested as I cracked my knuckles.

"Dick-ta-tion," he giggled. "You can dick-take from me anytime."

"Um, you're being junior high," I said, shoving him. "Besides it's take-dick, not dick-take. No archaic syntax in bed. How many times do I have to tell you that. Besides, we need to get this episode hammered out."

"It can wait." He nuzzled my neck.

"Your mom is down the hall--" 

"So?"

"So? She's yourmother. Wouldn't you feel-- self-conscious? guilty even?"

Pete banged around in his cage. I swear he got turned on watching us. I needed to throw a sheet over his cage.

"Guilt? Not me! That's a Catholic thing," he said. "Youcan say three Hail Mary's after, then you'll be kosher."

"Catholics aren't kosher," I laughed.

I felt my guilt slip-sliding away with his hand slip-sliding up my leg.

I decided I could live with the guiltandbe a kosher Catholic as long as he kept that hand on Mr. Happy.

I set the laptop on the night table, then wrestled him down on the bed. Our legs and arms wrestled for dominance until I distracted Hec with a long, hot kiss. I flipped him under me and pinned his arms above his head. 

"Cheater!" he cried out.

"All's fair in love and war." I decided that red flannel shirt needed to come off fast. I'd been inspecting those Blue Boy magazines under the bed, and there was a story on how to undress your man with your teeth. I looked at those white, pearly buttons and thought,"Why not?"

Off with the top button!

"What the fuck are you doin?!"

The next two I bit off fast and furious; they were about to come off anyway. On the forth button, I realized that chewing thread with your front teeth was hard work. Damn! But I was committed. By the time I was on the last two, I had threads stuck between my teeth like big chunks of old dental floss. The upside was that I had Hec begging. 

Know what's harder than buttons? Zippers. But I managed. Hec kept laughing at me the whole time: first I nipped his dick through his Levis , then I bit down on the tab of the zipper, and tooth-by-tooth I yanked it down. Tell you what,thatwas tricky.Between Hec's groans and giggles I managed to free Mr. Happy's best buddy. 

"Yeah, that will teach you to laugh at the Master of Your Domain," I said, winking up at him. Fortunately for me, no underwear between my mouth and that mighty-fine dick of his. I got to use my teeth on the real thing. Nice little nibbles, too. He was moaning and groaning and begging nonstop. I completely forgot all that thread in my teeth. 

I worked Hec over good, sucking him hot and hard, my head bobbing up and down faster and faster. He cussed between moans and grabbed my hair with enthusiasm-- didn't take long, and I had him coming in my mouth. Kissed him with the spunk on my lips too. He loved it. His mouth had just started in on me when a knock came at the door.

I groaned. 

"Hec? Are you hurt?"

I froze. His mother!Shit! 

"No," he answered. "I just stubbed my toe."

"Stubbed my toe?" I whispered. "Is that all you can think of? Jeez, that's gay."




Rewriting Singularity Ch. 21



"Thingsaren't gay," Hec whispered back, nipping Mr. Happy. "Peopleare."

Hec flicked out his hot tongue. Mr. Happy jumped for joy.

"You be careful in there," she called out.

"I will," he answered, then kissed Mr. Happy.

"You better be," I hissed at Hec. "Don't want to damagethe goods."

"The goodies," Hec corrected, licking Mr. Happy with Mr. Magic Tongue. "Damagethe goodies." 

We listened for his mom's departure. The cab driver helped in and closed the door.

Then the cab driver turned around. It was him, that same cab driver, the one who dropped me off here, the one who changed my luck. He gave me a wink and a nod. I smiled at him back and waved.

"Now, where was I?" Hec asked. "Oh, yes." 

Then he took me up to our bed and sucked me off better than a Eureka Boss SmartVac with on-board attachments.

--------------------------

The next morning our shoes were wet with dew as we walked to the old garden. I smiled up at the clear sky. Only a few fluffy clouds with a light breeze: a perfect day. Our final mission? To reunite the lovers. The sun warmed my face as I watched Hec digging. I'd offered to help, but Hec felt it was important that he do this for Henry. A few feet away, a robin watched us as she perched on a limb of an old oak tree. 

Hec removed the sod carefully, then dug in the middle of the plot. With each shovel-full, Hec was closer to Henry's heart. In my left hand I held a hefty posthole digger upright, and in my right hand I held Johann's urn against my chest. I'd tied it up in a silk scarf long enough to lower it down onto the casket. 

We'd decided the initial hole only need to be a few feet deep before using the post hole digger. I stood next to Hec's dirt pile and was surprised when the brave little robin flew down and snatched a plump night crawler from the freshly-turned soil at my feet. She cocked her head and looked at me, then flew off. I watched her disappear into the sun.

Hec wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve and nodded. The hole was deep enough. He set the shovel aside, and I handed him the posthole digger. Hec stood with legs apart, chopping the ground with the digger's jaws, then he'd take step, rotating around the hole. With each step he pulled out a jaw-full of earth, and he did this until we heard a hollow thump. He'd found Henry.

I knelt and carefully inched Johann down to Henry. When the urn touched the casket, I let the end of the scarf go, and it fluttered down. At last they were together. As I stood and brushed off my jeans, Hec took a shovel-full of earth and dropped it down the hole. Then he handed the shovel to me, and I did the same. We took turns until the ground was mounded up where they both rested. 

Hec replaced the sod over the grave, fitting the pieces of the grassy puzzle together, and we took turns patting the sod down with the shovel. 

When done, we stood side-by-side. 

"May you love each other well," he whispered. We bowed our heads. I prayed that wherever they were, they were together and happy.

The weeks passed. Hec's mother stayed, and Hec and I settled into our lives together: We wrote, we loved, we dreamed. One day in early June, we took one of our regular visits to see Henry and Johann. The grass was greener, the sky bluer, and the robin watched us from her nest high up on a bough of the old oak tree. I thought of Walt Whitman's words, "The smallest sprout shows that there is really no death." We stopped in front of the grave, and there bloomed two violets, one pale white and one rich purple, their throats both a blaze of yellow. I reached for Hec's hand and gave it a squeeze. I knew then that they were happy. 

We turned and walked hand-in-hand back to our home. When we stepped inside the door together, I turned to Hec and kissed him. All the ghosts were at rest. Hec's parents and Austin. Johann and Henry. And all the magic? That was still there. 

But it was all our own.