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Okay this is oooold---but I guess pretty necessary to the understanding of the Main Tale I perioidically weave (portions of which are already here, natch)

THE PHONE CALL --- Approaching

It was probably the Jack Daniels that made the call, not me.  No way I'd do that.  Try to come back into his life, after all that hateful shit.  And Christmas did it too.

After all, I knew his birthday was the 17th of November.  That he'd be 21, this year.  So if I was planning anything, I should've called on the 17th.  Right?  That's when he'd be able to make his own decisions. After five years of not being even allowed to write him a letter, perhaps I had just lost hope.  Maybe doubted he'd even remember me.

Maybe I was more scared he would.

But I got drunk as hell, just before Christmas break.  Should have started grading papers.  Instead, got fucked up and maudlin, alone as usual, started looking through my old stuff.  Anything to avoid grading those papers, I guess.

A phone number.  Casually inked in the border of one of my old history texts.  'Ravenstreet, East Coast house.  Call Carse there if no ans at Berk.'  You know----the quick shorthand when you know someone very well indeed and are just making a note of new info.

I tossed back another shot of Jack to give me courage.  It all seemed to make sense, then.  If I'd got plastered in November, found the number, maybe I would've called then.  If drunk.  Maybe not.  But hell, wishing him a Merry Christmas didn't seem as pushy as remembering his birthday, somehow.

And so I dialed the winning combination.  Or the losing one, if he told me to fuck off.  Took me three tries, I was pretty waxed.

Ring, ring, ring.  And then five more times.  I was losing my nerve, lounging on the couch.  Thinking of the shit I would have to put up with tomorrow at work, the day before Christmas holidays began.  I was halfway expecting some crap from the Dean about the length of my hair, the clothes I wore to class.  You'd think in the 90's I wouldn't have to worry about such folderol.  Wrong-o.  He'd been making ominous noises for months.  It was more like they expected you to be more conservative than ever, to prove you'd never been a horrible hippie type.

Fuck that.

I was tired of the whole bullshit thing, ready to bail.  Except I needed to pay rent, bills, little stuff like that.  Landlord was very cool, he'd even carried me a couple of months in my first year here until the new job kicked in.  But I hated shit like that, hated not to pay my own-----

"Yes."

I jumped.  I don't know how many rings I'd dazedly sat through; in fact I'd forgotten I was holding the phone.  I guess I really wasn't expecting an answer.  Certainly not this deep, musical voice I didn't recognize at all.  If anything, I'd expected Karl Hampton, their driver, butler, all-around servant-guy to answer.  Stupid after all those years, to think he'd still be there.  Especially after the trial, although he'd all but promised to look after Carson for me, not let his greedy relatives take too much advantage.

In fact, they might've moved out entirely.  The scandal, y'know.

"Hello?"  The voice had an edge of irritation now, and I hastened to reply.  Hoped my voice wasn't slurring.  Christ, why did I make phone calls when I was wasted?  I was a fucking idiot, alright.

"Er.  Ah.  I was, uh, actually looking for someone who used to live, uh, there.  I don't suppose you know where he----"

"Keith?!"

My brain seemed to jerk to a halt.  That dark and sexy voice.  Even in words of one syllable it came through the phone like heavy velvet.  Shit.  He was a grown man now, why'd I think he'd answer in the high breathless voice of the scrawny teenage kid I'd known before?

"Hey, Carson," I almost whispered back.  And suddenly I was shaking and I wasn't nearly drunk enough, not at all.  "Happy belated birthday, man.  I'm sorry I didn't call then.  And, oh, Merry----"

"Where are you?" he interrupted roughly.

I blinked.  What?  "Sitting on my couch.  Drinking JD.  As you c'n probably tell."

"No."  Impatient, almost savage.  "Your address.  Where?"

"Uh----Carse."  Christ, what WAS my address?  "Uh----you gonna write me a letter?"

"Give me your goddammed address!"

I bridled a bit at his tone.  Almost hung up, but for some reason didn't.  "Okay.  450 Shattuck.  Got a flat not far from where, uh, you used to live in the Berkeley Hills.  Just a different neighborhood."  And then, suddenly concerned,  "Carson?  Are you all right?"

I heard the clicking of a keyboard.  The harsh, quick sound of his breath.  "Carson?  Dammit, talk to me!"

"I'll be there tomorrow."  He said it conversationally, as if remarking on the weather.

"Carson!" I squawked.  "What about your----"

"Father?  Dead."

"Good."  The word came out of me more forcefully than I intended, but no less truthful for that.  "How?"

A soft laugh came through the phone.  "In prison.  Still----insane, of course.  But powerless, thanks to you."  His voice was careful, as if he meant something else besides 'insane'.  And I knew what he meant, though my therapist had worked hard at convincing me that what his son and I both knew really happened to Charles Ravenstreet had been impossible.  A shared delusion based on the real, admittedly horrific events.  "Another inmate ended him.  Two years ago."

Two wasted years, I thought.  I could've called him then.  "Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," was what I said.   And then, softer, "Will you really be here tomorrow?"

His voice was dark velvet again, but not chilly as it had been at first.  "Tomorrow afternoon.  I've already booked the flight."  And then, so softly it barely came through the phone wires, "I'm glad you called.  I've missed you----"

I drew a deep breath.  Let it out again.  "Right back atcha.  Oh, shit! There's no way I can get off before three or I'll get canned.  And I don't have a car now, can't even pick you up at the freaking airport-----"  I was about to get maudlin here again.  I was such a loser!

"Don't worry."  Voice almost a caress.  "I'll find you.  I'll wait for you.  Sensei----"

The word brought tears to my eyes.  What the hell, I was full of JD.

"Nothing has changed.  I'll wait for you forever," he said softly.   The same words he'd sobbed out to me as the police had pulled us apart so long ago.

The phone clicked softly in my ear, and I was left to drunkenly wonder what the hell I'd just now resurrected.

                                        ****************************

Next day was just as bad as I'd figured.

"And he said what?" Lori asked.  She passed me a cup of really strong, sweet coffee----she knew how I liked it by now.  We'd had a brief, intense affair when I became the new history teacher at Berkeley High School.  She was a Calculus teacher, and  I'd at first avoided her for that reason.  I'd always sucked at math, even the simple stuff.  And also because, although dark and pretty, she was a little plumper than the chauvinist pig me liked.  But her intensity, her persistence, and above all her sense of humor and intelligence, had won me over.

We'd dated, and we'd screwed.  Both liked it.  Might do it again.

But amazingly enough, we'd discovered we did friends even better.  Could tell each other anything, and had.  I knew all about her current fiancée, the reformed coke dealer.  She knew about my broken engagement with the daughter of the corporate bank president.  She knew why I'd never really trusted anyone since then.  I knew why she was so afraid to believe in love even though she wanted to.

Hell, I'd even told her a little about Carson.   Definitely not everything, natch. And unquestionably I stuck to the therapist's version of what went down.  She thought I was loony enough on my own, sometimes.  Not need to fuel the fire, right?

I took a grateful gulp of 100 proof caffeine and sugar.  "He said that unfortunately I was one of the most popular teachers here----"

"Ha!  The bastard actually has a brain!"

"No, good informers.  I'd have been gone three months ago, if the kids didn't like me.  Kind of a compliment, if you look at it right."

She tilted her head.  "Because of your clothes and hair?" she asked softly.

I couldn't help studying her stylish razor cut.  And she didn't exactly wear a three piece suit, but she knew how to put her clothes together for that professional look.  And here I was, jeans and a long sleeved Kawasaki tee shirt.  Hair to my shoulders, Lennon glasses, moustache.  Rode a Yamaha to work.  Shit.  Guess I WAS a little outdated.

Before I could say a thing, she said softly, "You look fine.  You look like you.  And you're a helluva teacher.  That should be what counts."

I snorted and finished off the coffee with a rude sucking sound.  "You're saying life should be fair?  Dream on, sister."

She slapped my arm lightly.  "Don't be so cynical.  But really, Keith, a few inches wouldn't kill you.  I don't see how he could complain about a neat collar length.  Maybe trim the mustache back a bit----"

"Said Delilah to Samson, but he was a bone-head and I'm not, thanks.  I need my freak flag flying just to stay sane in this life, woman."

"Now that's a little dramatic."  She cocked her head, studied me a trifle worriedly.  "You're not really going to be stubborn enough to lose your job over this?"

I thought about it, just long enough for her to get really worried.  I was kinda pleased that she thought I was capable of it.  And kinda sad, that actually I really didn't have the balls to tell that old hockey puck to stick his job where the sun never ventured.  One must pay bills after all.

"It's a long weekend coming up," I said evasively.  "I'll decide what to do about it then.  And----shit!"  I'd glanced at my Casio and groaned dramatically at the time.  "Gotta get home; company coming in less than an hour!"

She eyeballed me, and her look said that she thought I was just making an excuse to flee the cutting-your-hair-won't-hurt-you conversation.  "You?  Company?  A pretty elegant word for a few stoners coming over for beer and horror videos!"

I winced.  I'd made the mistake of inviting Lori over for one of those get-togethers.  Knew that her tastes were a lot more elegant than mine, but figured her sense of humor could carry her through it.  Uh-uh no way.  My belching buddies had pretty much revolted her.

Okay, they weren't classy, but they could be funny in their way. Two members of my old band I still kept in touch with, whom I hadn't even considered that crude till I saw 'em through her appalled eyes.  I wonder if she ever understood that Bob's lighting a fart was really meant to enlighten and amuse her.

That event was what finally, uh, propelled her out the door.  But she hadn't exactly grooved to the rest of the night's program either.  She didn't enjoy my diminutive loud gay landlord George as much as I'd thought she would, and some really drunk guy that had tagged along with him was even worse.

Lori wasn't impressed with the company, our beverage/food of choice (pizza and beer), nor the scheduled entertainment (Bob's offering had been totally impromptu, I swear).  I believe the movie that night was "Bud the Chud", a zombie film so gawd-awful it was actually a comedy classic in my opinion.  Well, she didn't agree, and she sat there with all the suffering silence of a martyred nun as Bud and his chums devoured the workforce of an entire MacDonald's restaurant while us drunken fools howled with laughter.  And neither she nor George was especially overjoyed when his companion of the evening started flirting with Lori instead of him.

The remembered embarrassment of that little soiree had me explaining before I really stopped to consider whether it was any of her business.  "Not the guys; an old student of mine.  Flying in from New England, I guess for the weekend."

Oh, shit!  I shoulda kept my mouth shut.  Her cocoa-brown eyes narrowed with interest; didn't have any trouble imagining her ears perking up either.  Ever since we'd stopped boinking she'd been looking to set my ass up with someone.  And I'd never even told her that I'd privately decided to swear off serious relationships permanently.  That woulda really put her in matchmaker mode.

"Oh, really?  From when you were tutoring?  Maybe we could double date; my treat, I know you're always broke." Too true.  We made the same pitiful salary, but Lori had started out with money and I hadn't.  And I admit also that our budget
managing skills were at opposite ends of the spectrum.

"It's, uh, not a babe.  Sorry," I cut her off.  Not even bothering to laugh at her assumption there would be parents fool enough to trust me with a teen-age daughter, back in those days when I was struggling to help pay my Cal State tuition by using an unexpected knack for teaching kids.  The knack that had led me to change my major and finally alienate my family for good.  I don't know why a damned accountant is deemed more valuable than a teacher.  But I do suspect it's a cash flow thingie.

"Oh, too bad."  Her regret was real.  "But at least it's someone, um, new.  I mean, not in your current circle."  She flushed, suddenly copping to how rude that sounded.  "I mean----"

"I KNOW what you mean," I grinned at her, feeling a little better now that she had one of those nice dress pumps firmly inserted in her mouth.  "Not another loser, is what you mean."  And then my gaze slipped past her to the cafeteria windows and I began to swear a blue streak.

We don't get snow here in Northern California during winter except by Godly miracle, and even then it's more like a flurry of dandruff.  But it can often unexpectedly start raining like a very bastard.  And me going home in this downpour on a friggin' motorcycle with brakes that even in good weather were not so spiffy.  Cash flow, again, right?

Which was how Lori came to meet Carson.  I couldn't argue with a woman who despite her professional appearance actually drove a 4 wheel drive truck.  And who was utterly willing----even eager----to cart me and my ailing motorcycle to home in it.

Of course by the time we got there she'd wormed out the identity of my visitor.  Was even more curious after that.  I'd told her only the bare bones of the story, but even without the add-ons it was pretty exciting.  To the point that without the evidence of the newspaper articles about the case, she still never would've believed me.

What neither she nor I was ready for, was what the student I'd risked my life for so long ago had turned into.

A lot of buildings in Berkeley defied their small rents.  Mine did so even more, because my landlord liked me.  He coulda charged me up the butt for this place.  Four rooms, a bath.  And the porch----wow.  You would have to see to believe.  It was guarded by stone lions, I kid you not.  The inside was a little tacky, but that was because I couldn't afford anything but flea-market furniture.  And I wasn't the greatest housekeeper in the known world, either.  But it suited my humble needs down to the ground.

And I'd even tidied up last night, given that Carson was coming.  I really had no clue as to how much of a neat freak he was personally, because at his place the servants did everything.  So, moaning and groaning and bitching up a storm, I'd cleaned.

The rain was pelting down when we arrived, almost turning into hail.  My first thought was to wrestle my bike out of Lori's truck and into the small garage.  When I felt someone helping me I assumed it was George.

That is, until the bike was absolutely lifted away from me.  I goggled like a moron at the faint figure I could see through the rain, "carrying" the damn bike----a small one, but still a good 300 pounds  into the garage.

And then he set the bike down, and turned, and I----

I stared like a born fool.

He was soaking wet of course, the long black hair sticking to his face and throat.  And he wasn't small anymore, or the least bit scrawny.  Only my size I think, six foot nothing, but compared to the five foot six, fragile kid I remembered he suddenly seemed immense.  And he'd carried that bike without so much as a grunt of effort!

"Carson?" I said nervously. Still not sure of it.  The angles of his face had even changed, no childishness left at all.  Hard edges, a kind of ruthless cold beauty.  He was dressed in somewhat faded black levis which were now more a dark grey, and an obviously expensive black leather jacket with a multitude of zippers and studs.  Black boots, too, if I wasn't mistaken.  Dark and almost cruelly handsome.  He looked a couple years older than twenty-one, and the dead opposite of geeky.  Or helpless.  All the black made him look like a gunslinger, or maybe a vampire.  Yeah, vampire.  That was the look.

"Man, you grew your hair out," I heard myself say moronically.  "Longer than mine now; I hardly recognized you?"

I still didn't really, until his eyes met mine.

The only thing that hadn't changed.  Hot and intensely blue eyes, now studying me with a total lack of expression.

Oh, shit!  I'd changed too, gotten older.  Nearly forty, goddammit to hell.  I'd fondly believed I looked a bit younger than my age, but to this tall goth guy I probably appeared not only dated, but dull.  Silly-looking.  Probably seemed like an, an uncle or something.  An "eccentric" uncle, goddammit!  The kind you apologize to friends and neighbors about.

"Carson----" I began again.  Then paused in some confusion, as he took a couple of slow steps towards me.  Still without saying a word.  But his eyes were riveted on me.  Totally hypnotizing me, freezing me in place.  There was a sudden tension flowing between us that I couldn't identify.

I didn't know what he intended, his face gave away nothing.  But a shiver went through my whole body, as if something deep inside me knew.  And rather approved, despite the fear.

"McIntyre, for God's sake, will you open up the damn house?  I'm soaked, you stupid, discourteous bas----oh.  Hel-lo.  You must be Carson?  Heard SO much about you."

He turned at Lori's voice like a startled animal.  She was standing, dripping, in the garage entrance.  Staring at the new arrival as if totally mesmerized.

Actually, the pudgy little bitch was drooling.  Despite her airs of sophistication, Lori had a definite taste for the bad boy look.  She smiled charmingly and, oh wow.

Now that he was slightly turned away from me, I could see she had every reason to drool.

Maybe he was glad to see me, after all.  My nerves all spiked up on the edge of my skin.  I was staring right at the solid evidence and still could barely believe it.

In other words, I goggled like an idiot at the incredible erection that actually seemed to be testing the strength of his levis.  The scrawny computer geek had grown the hell up, all right.  And then some.  I had no doubt it was all real, he just wasn't the type to be stuffing socks in his pants to impress the world.

And Jesus Christ, was that all for me?  Or for Lori, as she seemed to think, the way she was blushing and grinning, now walking toward him with her mitt stuck out.  I hoped she just wanted to shake his hand and not touch anything else!

Then she was greeting him chummily, flapping her eyelashes; he was murmuring something back politely, in the same sexy dark voice I'd heard on the phone.  Not sounding all that pleased, a bit guarded.  It gave me time to shut my mouth, which I knew had been hanging open.  Time to focus, center, convince myself I hadn't seen what I thought I did.

My heart was slamming against my chest so hard it shoulda shot out my throat and crashed through my teeth.

Lori was saying something waspish again.  It took me a second to figure out the English language she was saying it in.

I was remembering a sixteen year old kid, telling me he loved me.  Staring up at me with hot and pleading eyes.  I was remembering turning into a coward, running away from it after the first guilty taste that I just couldn't help but take.

Not because I didn't want him, mind you.  I'd had a kinda thing with my drummer years ago, brief but hot as hell; the same-sex thing didn't bother me.  But Carson's age did.  Christ, he was still just a kid back then!

What I didn't want was to do the same things his so-called father had done to him since the age of eight.  Even though he was practically begging for it from me, the very notion made me sick.

"McIntyre?  Are you stoned again?  What's up, I don't wanna stand in your freezing garage forever!  Aren't you gonna offer me some coffee?  Not to mention your guest. He's like this all the time, Carson, spaced and rude.  But he means well."

What was she babbling about?  Oh, yes, explaining me to Carson.  I heard him mutter something almost irritably; then there was a light touch on my shoulder and I jumped a country mile and returned to the present.

The weird and wonderful present.  Where he was twenty-one years old, lean-bodied and beautiful, strong enough to freaking hoist a motorcycle, hung like a horse and still wanted me.  Badly, if what I'd seen in his pants was any indication.

"Sensei?" His voice was soft, and a little anxious.  I looked straight at him, at the faint expression caught between worry and amusement on those chiseled, slightly cruel features.

"Shit----Carson!"  I did what I shoulda done the moment I saw him; it was like all my emotions had been frozen somehow and suddenly somebody had hit them with a blowtorch.  I jumped him with a wild laugh and hugged him hard, swearing and pounding him on the back.  "You little mutha, look at you!  Can't believe it; been working out, haven't you?"

"Not really. Perhaps a little," he admitted in my ear a bit breathlessly.  His arms were around me now too, but he wasn't doing any jovial back-pounding.  He was pulling me hard against him, into him.  Enough so I could feel the lean power of his body, a sword-dancer's body I thought for no discernible reason.

Enough to prove beyond doubt that hard-on was all him.  And if one inch of it was for Lori, I'm a Jehovah's Witness.

I pulled away, laughing maniacally and somewhat nervously, before it could get to a point beyond two old friends glad as hell to see each other.  We had an audience, after all.

"I'm sorry, babe; it's just----kid's changed so much it----kinda shook me.  C'mon, I got Moka Java, even."

"And clean cups, I trust?" she said dryly.  Gave Carson an impish look that said, see, I know this guy's ways!  He smiled back at her, calmly polite.  Totally cool and confident.  He didn't LOOK like a guy who'd just pushed his throbbing erection right against mine.

Oh shit yeah youbetcha I had one too by now.

And I really didn't know if I wanted to boot Lori out into the driving rain instantly and outta my way.  Or keep her there throughout the whole visit, to protect me from something that bade fair to change my boring, vaguely lonely but rather stable life forever.

TBC >^^<