Grand Tour, copyright 2006, by Etienne. All rights reserved.
If the idea of two men loving each other and expressing that love in a sexual manner offends you, then you have clearly come to the wrong place. Feel free to leave.
With special thanks for the editing skills of the talented TalonRider.
-6-
The next morning, William and I got up early, and went downstairs to use the facilities in the exercise room. After breakfast, we dressed in khaki slacks and short-sleeved shirts for our appointment with the Detective. While William was retrieving the rental car, I used a computer in the business center to print out directions to the Detective’s office.
With the aid of the printout, we easily located the offices of Greene and Associates, which were on the top floor of a small high-rise building in what we later learned is known as midtown Atlanta. A few minutes after we arrived, we were ushered into the office of Richard Greene, the owner.
We had expected to meet a jaded and middle-aged stereotype not unlike the Private Detectives portrayed on Television. To our surprise, Greene was barely thirty and greeted us with energy and enthusiasm, as he got up from his desk and shook our hands. I noted that he was of medium height and fairly trim. We introduced ourselves and he gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk, inviting us to take a seat.
“You two look a bit taken aback, he said. Let me guess, you were expecting, perhaps, Humphrey Bogart?”
“To be honest,” I said, “I had pictured you as years older, and probably a bit jaded looking.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said. “I have been in business for myself for the past five years, and prior to that I worked for one of those stereotypical ‘Bogart’ types while I was going to College.”
“I’m not disappointed,” William said, “just taken by surprise.”
“Now that we have that out of the way, how may I help you?” he asked.
William began “It’s a long story, Mr. Greene.”
“Please call me Richard,” he said, “and take your time. If I take your case, my meter starts running the minute you start talking.” This was said with a pleasant smile, but I could tell that he was serious. On reflection, I decided that it made sense. All he had to sell was his time, and William and I had certainly learned enough in Law School about the importance of ‘billable hours.’
William told him the story in detail, omitting nothing except our sexual involvement with each other. When he had finished, Richard, who had been making notes on a yellow pad, settled back in his chair.
“Now that is quite a story,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“In a word,” William said, “we plan to nail those bastards, and we would like your help.” He proceeded to lay out our plan in some detail.
When he had finished, Richard thought about it for a few minutes. Finally, he said, “that might just work, but it certainly won’t be cheap.”
“William and I both have ample funds,” I said. “Whatever it costs, it will be worth it to see those two in jail for a long time.”
“You could simply go to the authorities,” he said.
“We thought about that,” William said, “but Officer Perdue pointed out that the chances of obtaining justice in that small community where everybody is related or otherwise connected would be slim. If we went to the State authorities, what proof do we have? They would dismiss us as publicity seekers.”
“You’re probably right, so let me make a couple of suggestions,” Richard said, and he laid out three options that would be very helpful with the project.
“I wish we had thought of that,” William said.
“What will you charge for your services?” I asked.
Richard handed us each a one-page printout. “This sheet lists daily and hourly rates for myself and various associates. All rates quoted are plus expenses, and I will require a retainer up front.”
“This seems very reasonable,” William said. “How much will the retainer be?”
“For a job this size that will probably last for several weeks and involve two or three separate investigations, $5,000 should suffice.”
“Sounds good to me,” William said. He reached into his pocket for his checkbook, and taking that as my cue, I did so as well.
We each wrote out a check for $2,500, payable to Greene and Associates. We gave Richard our cell phone numbers as contact numbers, explaining that we were expecting them to arrive at the Ritz-Carlton today by FedEx.
He gave each of us a Business Card, asking “When would you like us to begin?”
“We are going to attend services at the Episcopal Church in Manning on Sunday morning,” I said. “My mother’s uncle, my great-uncle, is Bishop Emeritus of Boston, and he has given me an introduction to the local Rector. We plan to be on the road for Boston by Monday morning, so why don’t you go into high gear with Phase One on Monday, if you can.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Richard said.
William added “The FedEx shipment containing our cell phones will also have my laptop in it, and I will reduce the plan, as we currently envision it, to writing. I’ll send you a copy as an e-mail attachment.”
“Both of us have to sit for the Massachusetts Bar Exam next month, but as soon as we have that behind us, we will be ready to go full bore with Phase Two,” I said.
“My best friend passed the Georgia Bar on his first attempt a few years ago,” Richard said, “and I know what he went through, preparing for it. You guys focus on passing your exams and we will handle Phase One from this end. It should be fully completed by the time you are ready.”
“Good,” William and I said, simultaneously.
As we drove back to the Hotel, I asked William what he had thought of Richard.
“In a word, intelligent, competent, and sharp,” he said.
“I agree.”
Back in the Hotel, we were having an early lunch, and I had been thinking things over. “William,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Have you thought about what we are going to tell the family?”
“Tell them about what?”
“This, us, everything.”
“As far as this, meaning the Plan, goes, they will find out for themselves, when we are successful. It will be all over the news, I suspect.”
“Agreed. What about us?”
“I see no need to bring it up for the moment. Think about it - we have lived together for years. We have been roommates through five years of Prep School, four years of College, and three years of Law School. Why would anyone question our desire to set up housekeeping together now that school is over?”
“When you put it that way, I guess not.”
“Furthermore,” he continued, “we both have younger siblings who will be producing grandchildren in a couple of years or so. Once that happens, the pressure will be off of us, for the most part.”
“Are you saying that you don’t want to tell the family ever?”
“Not at all. I’m merely saying that there’s no rush. We can break the news to them when the time seems right.”
“I think we need to find an apartment as soon as we get back to Boston,” I said.
“Definitely. We need a bachelor pad where we can spend a lot of quiet time studying for the Bar Exam.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t we slip into Boston a couple of days before we are expected..”
William interrupted me “As of now, we aren’t expected on a day certain.”
“I know, but as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, once we have announced a date for our return, why don’t we slip into town a couple of days earlier than that and pay Grandmother Lane a visit.”
“Are you thinking what I think you are?”
“I don’t know, what am I thinking?”
“That Grandmother owns a great deal of rental property, some of it right there on Beacon Hill.”
“There you go, lover.”
We finished our lunch and went up to our room. A large FedEx box was sitting on the floor, just inside the door.
“All right,” William said. “Now we can get to work.”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“Don’t you want some dessert first?”
He was naked and in the bed faster than I would have thought possible. It took me a couple of minutes longer to disrobe, and then I pounced on him. Later, after we had showered, we dressed in shorts and T-shirts and settled down with the computer.
We spent the rest of the afternoon working on draft after draft of the Plan until we had every aspect of the operation outlined to our joint satisfaction.
The Plan was broken down into three phases:
Phase One - investigation and setup.
Phase Two - the operation.
Phase Three - justice and retribution.
We e-mailed the final draft to Richard Green, and then William carried the Laptop downstairs to the Business Center, printed two copies of the complete draft, and brought them back to the room.
I read through my copy quickly. “This looks good. I think I’ll set it aside, and take a fresh look at it tomorrow.”
“Good idea,” William said.
“About tomorrow.”
“What about it?”
“Want to spend the morning at Six Flags? We haven’t played tourist yet, and they are supposed to have a great Roller Coaster.”
“You’re on, lover. I’ll get on line and find out what time they open - perhaps the lines won’t be too long at the most popular rides.”
At nine-thirty the next morning, we were waiting in line at the entrance to Six Flags Over Georgia. There were, perhaps, ten or twenty people in front of us. When the crowd was allowed to surge through the gates, everyone seemed to have the same plan - get to the most popular rides first.
That was our plan as well, and we managed to ride each of the most popular (wildest) rides a couple of times in short order. By noon, we were on our way back to the Hotel.
“I can’t remember the last time I did anything like that,” I said, as William merged the Jag into the Eastbound traffic on I-20.
“Me either, but it was fun, wasn’t it?”
“You bet.”
“I wonder if tonight will be fun?”
“Tonight?”
“Sam and our tour of Gay Atlanta, remember the bet?”
“Oh, that,” I said. “Do you think he will honor it and really show up?”
“Why would he pass up a free meal and a chance to spend the evening with us?”
“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”
“Not at all. I am remembering the look in his eyes. I’ll bet you right now that before the evening is over he makes a pass at one or both of us.”
“You know I never make bets, particularly with you.”
We had lunch in the Hotel Dining Room, and when we got to our room, the message light was flashing. William retrieved the message and turned to me with a grin.
“Sam will be here at seven, with a friend,” he said, as he began to undress.
“Did anyone ever tell you that smugness is not a positive character trait?”
“Probably,” he said, as he removed his underwear. “Ready for dessert?”
It was a rhetorical question, and I pulled off my clothes and joined him in the bed. William tried the one finger, two finger, three finger routine on me, and I found the experience to be overwhelming. After our orgasms, we lay for a long time basking in the experience. We took a long and leisurely shower, dressed for the evening, and settled down to relax for the rest of the afternoon.
At six forty-five, we went down to the Lobby and read the local newspapers until Sam and his friend, Larry, showed up. Larry appeared to be around Sam’s age, which I guessed to be very early twenties. He was also just a bit flamboyant.
“Okay, guys,” William said, “where are we going to eat?”
“You asked for a gay or gay friendly restaurant,” Sam said, “so we decided to go to Shelley’s Place. The clientele is probably 75% gay and the staff is totally gay.”
“We’ll provide the transportation,” William said, and he headed for the parking lot.
Sam and Larry were suitably impressed by the Jaguar sedan. William got behind the wheel and said “okay Sam, navigate.”
“When you exit the Hotel parking lot, hang a right on Peachtree,” Sam said.
“Exactly how many Peachtree Streets are there in this town?” I asked.
“A shitload,” Larry said. “Certainly too many to count.”
We passed through an older neighborhood business district, and I noticed the cross street was West Paces Ferry Road. Sam was playing tour guide and as we went through the intersection, he said “this is Buckhead. Most of the old money in Atlanta lives on or within a few blocks of West Paces Ferry Road. The Governor’s Mansion is also on that street.”
A few blocks later, he pointed out St. Phillip’s Cathedral on the right. We began to pass through an area where older homes and mansions were clearly giving way to high-rise apartment buildings, interspersed with an occasional small strip shopping center. Finally, Sam said “the restaurant is about two blocks ahead, on the right. Parking is in the rear.”
William followed Sam’s instructions and pulled around behind a high-rise building to the parking lot. The restaurant and adjacent bar occupied a major portion of the first floor of the high rise. It was pleasantly decorated and nicely appointed.
We were shown to our seats by a Maitre d’ whom even I could tell was gay. He gave each of us a menu, and upon inquiry, provided William with a wine list.
We had a pleasant meal, during the course of which, Sam and Larry filled us in on life in Gay Atlanta, or ‘Hotlanta’ as they called it.
We left the restaurant around nine, and headed South on Peachtree. Sam directed William to a parking lot on Juniper Street, which he said was next door to the Armory, one of the older of Atlanta’s many gay bars. “This place is a prime pickup spot for the after work crowd, and from five until seven-thirty or so, it is very busy. After that, things slow down until about now. You will see plenty of gay night life in here.”
We followed Sam and Larry into a very crowded room, containing a bar along one wall, tables and chairs along the other, and a tiny dance floor in between. The music was loud and incessantly pounding.
We made our way to the bar, where William purchased drinks for Sam, Larry, and myself, along with a Coke for himself. We had agreed earlier, that he would stop drinking after dinner, and become the designated driver of the evening.
I looked around the room, studying the individual members of the crowd and their interactions, and I knew that William was doing the same. As my glance passed over various men standing in groups of two or three, I did a double take. Grabbing William by the hand, I led him across the room to one of the tables.
I put my arm around the blonde standing behind one of the persons seated at the table, placed my mouth close to his ear, and said “would Humphrey Bogart have gone to a Gay bar?”
Richard Greene, our Investigator, looked at William and me in surprise. It took a moment for him to figure it out, and then he gave us a broad grin. “You two are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said. “I would never have figured you guys as being gay.”
“Neither would we before the events in South Carolina,” William said. “We only figured it out that night.”
The music and background noise precluded any real attempt at conversation, so we moved back to our position at the bar after a few minutes. We had just finished our respective drinks when the music switched to a slow ballad. I took William’s hand and led him to the dance floor.
“You lead, and I’ll try to follow,” I said.
All those years of lessons in ballroom dancing that our parents had insisted upon paid off, and we worked our way around the tiny dance floor, cheek to cheek. The DJ switched to a cha-cha number, and we followed suit. From that point, the theme switched to a number with a definite Tango rhythm, and we rose to the occasion. After a time, the music stopped completely, for a minute, and I realized that we had the small dance floor to ourselves. To our embarrassment, there was applause as we headed back to the bar.
Sam and Larry walked up to us just as we ordered fresh drinks. “You two put on quite a show,” Sam said.
“Thanks,” I said. “The kind of dancing that involves body contact is a lot more interesting than having your partner standing a couple of feet away from you.”
William added “someone once said that the Tango is like sex on a dance floor.”
“Have you guys ever been to a drag show?” Larry asked.
“No,” I said.
“As soon as you finish those drinks, we can walk around the corner to Peaches and catch the early show, if you like.”
“Sure,” William said. “Why not?”
I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and when I came back to William and the others, I had a huge grin on my face.
“What’s so funny?” William asked.
“Graffiti in the restroom,” I said. “Go use the first urinal on the left and look up.”
I did as he instructed, and looked at the wall about the urinal. At just above eye level were three inscriptions, clearly written by three different hands:
Joe and Paul are in Love
but in six months you can have either one of them
even less
He was right, it was kind of funny, not to mention, sad. I went back and described what I had seen to Sam and Larry.
“That’s Gay Atlanta for you,” Sam said, and we all laughed.
Richard walked up to us at that moment to place a drink order. He turned to us and said “you’re just full of more and more surprises, aren’t you? That was quite a show.”
“You can thank our parents for that,” I said. “We were forced to spend a few years attending Madam Suchoski’s Academy of Dance, and we sort of liked it.”
“Did you get my email?” William asked.
“Yes I did,” Richard said. “Phase One will be underway no later than Tuesday morning.”
“Great. I’ll let you know if we learn anything Sunday.”
Richard nodded in understanding and said “now if you will excuse me, I need to let that cute guy I was standing behind know that he is going to have the pleasure of my company for the rest of the night.”
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” I said.
“Like the RCMP, I always get my man,” Richard said with a grin, before he disappeared into the crowd.
We finished our drinks, and followed Sam and Larry out the door, down the side street, and up the block to Peaches. The bar was huge, crowded, and very noisy. We were lucky to find a table near the center of the room. We had been seated for a few minutes before a waiter came by to take our drink orders. He was shirtless, muscular, very buff, and clad only in a pair of square-cut, extremely tight fitting boxer briefs that left little to the imagination. There were dollar bills protruding above the waistband of his shorts.
An emcee in full drag came out onto the stage, got our attention, and the show began. An hour, and two rounds of drinks later, we were back in the car and on the way back to the hotel.
“What did you think of the show?” Larry asked.
“Been there, done that, don’t particularly want to do it again,” I said.
“The one who did his own singing was very good,” William added. “The rest ranged from sadly pathetic to fairly interesting and funny.”
“That about sums it up,” Sam said.
“The crowd seemed to like all of them,” I said.
“Go figure,” was Larry’s comment.
“As far as The Armory was concerned, I thought there was an aura of desperation around many of the men there,” William said.
“Sad, but true,” Sam said. “A few of the guys were there merely to have a good time, but the rest of them were either looking to get laid or looking for ‘Mr. Wonderful,’ or both.”
“Where else are they going to go?” Larry added. “When a straight man sees a pretty girl, all he has to do is chat her up and ask her out. The worst that can happen is a blow to his ego when she says ‘no.’ When I meet a cute guy, I can’t do that, unless I want to risk a violent response. I have to first try to figure out if the cute guy in question is gay.”
“Yeah,” Sam added. “Some of us have a sixth sense about these things to some degree or other, we call it ‘gaydar.’ Sadly, we don’t all have it, and it isn’t always 100% reliable.”
“So,” Larry continued, “we go to gay bars. At least in that venue, we can be reasonably certain that 99% of the patrons are gay.”
We arrived back at the Hotel, parked the car, and thanked Sam and Larry profusely for an interesting evening. As soon as we entered our room, we stripped and headed for the shower.
“We may have to burn these clothes,” William said. “They smell like second-hand smoke.”
“So, for that matter, do we,” I said.
We stood under the water for a long time, letting the odors of the evening wash away. After we felt sufficiently clean, we put on hotel supplied terrycloth robes, and settled on the small sofa in our room. William called room service and ordered sandwiches and a nightcap. He put his arm around me and snuggled up next to me on the sofa. “What did you like best about the evening?”
“Dancing with you,” I answered. “That was fun. The rest of it I can take or leave.”
“I’m with you on that, lover.”
“What shall we do tomorrow, before we leave for South Carolina?”
“I was thinking that we could drive out to Stone Mountain,” William said. “That ought to take care of the morning. We can arrange for a late checkout, and be on the road by mid-afternoon.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
-To be continued-
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Your feedback, as always, is appreciated, be it good, bad, or indifferent.
All of my stories can be read on the Rainbow Community Writing Project Website:
http://www.rcwp.homestead.com/
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