Heatstroke (extended version) (5 page)

 

"I'll never be over it," Grandma Elizabeth grunted, then buried her nose in her cup of tea.

 

"Dad should know everything there is to know about Grandpa," Michael persisted, secretly

 

enjoying his grandma's obvious discomfort. "Was he a scholar too?"

 

"I don't know." Dad wiped his mouth with a napkin and turned to look at Grandma Elizabeth.

 

"Was he a scholar, Mom? What did he do for a living? At least you can tell us that much."

 

"No, he wasn't," she grumbled, not looking at anyone in particular. "He was a… a doctor. A

 

family doctor." She nodded and blinked rapidly. "He had a very small practice. Nothing important."

 

"He was a doctor?" Mom repeated. "I think that's a commendable profession, Elizabeth."

 

"I agree," Dad said. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

 

"He wasn't around," Grandma Elizabeth snapped. "What difference would it have made to

 

anyone?"

 

"It makes a difference to me," Michael said. "I've been working on my genealogical tree, and it'd be awesome if—"

 

"You're working on
what
?" Grandma shrieked. "Why would you do that? What do you care about

 

dead people?"

 

"I think it's very important to know where we come from, Grandma," Michael swallowed his

 

waffle and smiled at her. "Don't you?"

 

"That's fantastic that you're working on your genealogical tree, Michael. I'm proud of you for

 

taking that initiative," Mom said, apparently forgetting she was still mad at him for making out with

 

a fellow student at the school library.

 

Of course Michael thought there was no reason at all for her to be upset about that. Come on. It

 

was the
library
. Sadly for him, his mom had missed the twisted irony of it.

 

To say his parents weren't best known for their sense of humor would be the understatement of

 

the year. Richard and Susan Spencer were both professors at Stanford University, and completely

 

dedicated to their work. As their only child, Michael grew up surrounded by books, and the library

 

had been as familiar to him as the playground. Albeit not touchy-feely, they were loving and

 

supportive, and never failed to encourage him to follow his dreams and praise his academic

 

achievements. Michael knew he'd gained about a thousand points with them just by mentioning the

 

genealogy thing.

 

"I think it is all nonsense," Grandma Elizabeth muttered.

 

"I don't," Dad refuted. "You'll have to show me what you have so far, son. I'm interested in

 

learning about our ancestors."

 

"I'm still working on one of the branches, but I'll show you as soon as it is complete." He smiled

 

at his dad, genuinely pleased that his old man approved, and then turned to his grandma again. "Do

 

you happen to have any pictures of Grandpa George?"

 

"Not a single one," she said, getting up from her chair. "They were lost in a fire." "A fire?" Richard asked with a frown. "When did we have a fire?"

 

"Many years ago," she snapped again. "Can we go now? Let's just take care of my appointments

 

so that you all can be on your way to California."

 

"I'm sorry, Grandma. I didn't mean to upset you." Michael got up and kissed her wrinkled cheek,

 

and what do you know, she almost pushed him away. "You're right. Better get to the doctor so that

 

we can make sure your heart is strong enough to deal with whatever comes your way for a few more

 

years, okay?" He stepped away from her and opened the fridge to get the mayo and a selection of

 

cold cuts out. "I'm just gonna make a few sandwiches to take with me, if that's okay with you?"

 

When she didn't answer, Michael shrugged and grabbed a lot of bread and placed it on the

 

counter.

 

His mom took a plate and a knife from the drainer, and bumped his shoulder with her own when

 

she stood next to him. "Do you really want to go to the lake?"

 

He nodded emphatically.

 

"Oh, what the heck?" She winked. "Why not?"

 

Michael grinned at her. "Thanks, Mom."

 

"Go get ready," she said. "I'll put a few snacks together for you."

 

"Thanks!" He kissed her on the cheek and dashed out of the kitchen. "I'll be good to go in five

 

minutes." Who would have thought genealogy would be the road to forgiveness?
Chapter Five
April 2, 1964
I asked Benjamin to help me find a new apartment. He wanted to know why. I couldn't tell him, so I said Francis
has been taking some liberties and has become an annoyance. It is unbearable to be around him, and that was the
honest truth. Benjamin asked the strangest question. He wanted to know if Francis is a kindred spirit. I didn't
answer. I didn't think I had to, as Benjamin had this look in his eyes… it was a knowing look. He didn't demand
an answer. He just smiled and hugged me. He also touched my face in a rather tender way, and it felt good. I needed a
friend, and it felt good to lean on him, even though he's a smaller man than me. I didn't let it last long, though. I have
come to realize I can't trust my body these days.
I still don't understand about the kindred spirits he keeps talking about, and I told Benjamin as much. He smiled
again. Said one thing is not knowing, and another ignoring it. Then he said he'll help me find new suitable
accommodations, and invited me to his vacation home in Florida. He says it is time I take some time off and face
certain things.
I accepted. I need to know.
April 15, 1964 I think I know, what kindred spirits means… I think I know…
April 28, 1964
Fourteen months after moving to Los Angeles, I'm back in New York. As predicted by many, I was nominated
for a Tony Award. I feel honored by the recognition, but also extremely nervous. Not only because the ceremony is
taking place tonight, but because for the first time in almost four years I will be seeing my parents. I have mixed
feelings about this reunion.
A long time ago Helen promised me she would work on changing their position. She said it was only a matter of
time until they realized I have a right to follow my own dreams. Considering they will be my guests for tonight's
ceremony, I have to assume my nomination for a Tony was more effective than anything Helen could have said.
Is it terrible of me to admit that I wish I didn't have to see them tonight? That having a normal conversation with
them is something I prayed for many a night, but I now dread? Four years ago I was a boy. I had no experience in life
nor had I been exposed to the different ways of the world. I am not the same man I was when I left home, and I am
not entirely sure I want to risk them noticing the changes. For this reason alone I wish they would have stayed away.
Even more than my parents, I am afraid of seeing Helen. As close as I am with her, there are things about me
that not even she knows. They are new things… complicated things… aspects of my personality I do not fully
understand yet but at the same time are undeniable… I doubt I will ever be able to tell her about it, but fear she will
see it regardless of how well I can hide it. As much as I have missed her, I must confess I would rather not see her
again; not hug her again, if my sacrifice would guarantee me a lifetime of letters from her.
But they are coming tonight and I must prepare myself for all possibilities. I just have to remember that, no matter
what, the show must go on.
April 29, 1964
I won! I won a Tony for Best Actor in a musical! Tonight Benjamin is taking us out to celebrate. Helen is coming back to New York and she's bringing her best friend Mary Elizabeth with her, and we are all going to a nightclub to
dance the night away. My parents are not coming, even though we have left our differences in the past since last night.
I have never met this friend of Helen's. I'm not particularly interested in meeting her either, but I am happy she is
making the trip with my sister. That way she won't have to be by herself on the train.
June 20, 1964
I can hardly contain my excitement today. For the first time since moving to Los Angeles, Helen is coming for a
visit. Things are fine between us, as I have been able to conceal my inner thoughts and desires from her and everybody
else, but Benjamin suggested I included Mary Elizabeth in the invitation. He says it is good for men like us to be seen
with women as often as possible.
As Benjamin is a great friend that never misleads me, I took his advice. I do hope he's available to provide some
entertainment for Helen's friend. I just want to spend time with my sister.
August 12, 1964
I'm officially on vacation for the next two weeks. Benjamin has a place in the Florida Keys. The house is beautiful
and the surroundings a tropical paradise. It can only be accessed by boat, which makes it completely private. I have
only been here for two hours and already love it.
I must ask Benjamin how much does a personal island cost. I would spend every cent I ever made just to have the
luxury of total privacy.
August 14, 1964
In total Benjamin invited twenty people to the island. The majority has arrived, but I am told there are some
others that will be here by the end of the week.
All the guests are men. I was not expecting this, and I'm livid at Benjamin for not letting me know what the purpose of this vacation was.
I understand he only wants to show me there are many like us, but he didn't have to ambush me this way.
I really was looking forward to some rest and relaxation… I really was.
August 17, 1964
I cannot deal with this. There are too many men around wanting to show me how kindred our spirits can be, and
I'm not interested.
The communal loving is not for me. My affairs will be conducted in private and that only if I ever decide to conduct
them. It's going to take more than physical need to get me to indulge in things I have only experienced in my dreams so
far. It won't happen in a room full of men, no matter how similar we are.
August 19, 1964
I found a perfect spot where I can bathe in the sun and enjoy the serenity of the ocean. It's located on the east side
of the island; fifteen minute walk away from the main house. Not too bad, but far enough to discourage the others
from venturing this way. I finally get to be by myself.

 

Michael put the journal down and reached for his cell phone. Service by the lake was way better

 

than it was at his grandma's house, and he needed to talk to his best friend immediately. It was

 

imperative he found out whether Charlie had been able to locate Richard's sister or not. Michael

 

knew she'd have the answers he needed, and if in order to locate her, he had to hire a detective, he

 

would. He was sure his friend would be able to lend him the money to pay for one.

 

"Where the hell have you been?" Charlie asked the second he answered his phone. "I tried to call

 

you last night like a thousand times, dude."

 

"I told you the service is crappy up there. I never got any calls." "I tried the house phone too. Nobody ever answered."

 

"Grandma doesn't accept phone calls after six," Michael explained. "She turns the handset's

 

volume down so that it doesn't disrupt her in case someone calls."

 

"That's some weird senior citizen peeve, man."

 

"It's what it is," he said with a shrug. "Were you able to find anything on those addresses I gave

 

you? Do you know who lives in the houses?"

 

"Of course I did! Don't I always have your back?"

 

"Hit me with it," Michael said, managing to sound a lot calmer than he really was.

 

"Right… Okay... The house in Malibu belongs to some famous plastic surgeon," Charlie

 

informed. "He gives rich women fake noses and titties. I wouldn't be surprised to find out my own

 

mother's one of his patients cause, she probably is. I mean, did you notice her chest on graduation

 

day? Way bigger than it was when—"

 

"Why would I notice your mom's chest?" Michael interrupted. He was too tense to be able to

 

deal with Charlie's rambling humor.

 

"Because it is ginormous?" The guy went on. "How could you not notice? I mean, unless you're

 

blind-"

 

"Or gay?" Michael rubbed his forehead. "Dude, you're talking about the size of your mom's

 

chest. There's something definitely wrong with you."

 

"There are many things wrong with me, but you already knew that." Charlie admitted with a

 

laugh. "Hope Mom doesn't decide to get a new ass, too. Looks like I'm going to need some of her

 

doctor's money for therapy in the near future."

 

Michael took a deep breath, annoyed with his friend but incapable of getting mad at him.

 

"Whatever."

 

"Richard Bancroft owned the house for a few years, then sold it to a guy named Benjamin Newman in 1971. Newman then sold it to someone else in the late eighties, and that someone sold it

 

to the surgeon. I wasn't able to find any other properties under Bancroft's name in California."

 

"What about the other address in New Jersey?" Michael whispered.

 

"Mr. and Mrs. Wallace still own the house." His friend sounded as excited as Michael felt by the

 

news. "I Googled the place, dude. It's located about three hundred miles north of Worthington

 

Academy. How's that for a coincidence? We could've visited her two years ago."

 

"That's fantastic news, Charlie!" Michael got up from his beach chair and started pacing around.

 

If the Wallaces owned the house, that had to mean Helen was still alive.

 

"It gets better."

 

"How so?"

 

"I have a phone number for you. Got pen and paper?"

 

Michael called Helen Bancroft-Wallace two seconds after he finished talking to his best friend.