The Butcher's Son (15 page)

Look, I’m not exactly new to this game. I’ve done my share of cruising, and I’ve been cruised from time to time, and I’ve always felt pretty confident as to who was doing what with whom. But with Kevin…

Was he coming on to me? Or was I just imagining it because he, if you set aside just about everything he stood for, was kind of hot, and with Chris gone, I might be looking for a little rebounding?

I reached the car, opened the trunk, and put the box inside.

What straight guy jacks off with another guy in the next bed? Was it supposed to have been some sort of invitation? I’d never given Kevin any overt hints I was gay, and no one has ever pointed a finger at me and said “
There’s
one!” Of course, it’s one of the oldest clichés in the book that we can always spot one another a mile off. And Patrick was gay, and Patrick and Kevin are identical twins. And…

I returned to the hotel for the rest of the materials and managed to fit everything in the trunk. Then, as long as I was out, I drove around looking for a liquor store. Share a bottle of wine, eh? Well, whatever his game was, he had me hooked.

Let’s see where he’s going from here.

*

I’d planned to have dinner in the hotel dining room again, but as I came up to the door, I noticed that not only were there a lot more diners but that one large table included C.C., the chief, Kevin, and several others. I decided to take the car down the street to a seafood restaurant I’d seen while looking for the liquor store.

There was good drink, good food, and a really hot waiter who cruised me pretty blatantly. I noticed he was wearing a wedding ring. I guess you just never can tell.

Making sure I got a receipt, I returned to the hotel at around nine-forty-five. Kevin sat in one of the small armchairs watching TV. He gave me a very brief but undisguised
Where have you been?
look but then quickly smiled and said, “I didn’t see you in the dining room.”

“I decided to get out for some air. I put the wine on the wet bar. Did you find it?”

“Yes, but I thought I’d wait for you before I opened it.”

“Are you ready for it now?” I hoped to hell it didn’t sound to him quite like the double entendre I heard the minute it left my mouth.

He rose from the chair and went into the bathroom.

“We’ll have to use the glasses in here.”

“No problem,” I said, going over to the wet bar for the wine.

I know it’s considered gauche, but I like my wine—any wine—chilled. However, not knowing Kevin’s preferences, I hadn’t put it into the small refrigerator under the wet bar. I did check to see if there were ice cubes and was surprised to discover there were. Fancy place.

I suddenly realized we didn’t have a corkscrew. Kevin, returning with the unwrapped glasses, saw my look of confusion and deduced the problem.

“The Boy Scouts to the rescue.” He set the glasses on the small table near the window and moved to his dopp kit, from which he extracted a large Swiss Army knife. “These things do come in handy,” he said, producing a corkscrew from the assortment of slots.

The television had a music-only option, which Kevin selected, adjusting the volume to listenable but not intrusive. We sat at the table, and he poured the wine, then held up his glass.

“Cheers.”

I raised my glass and clicked it lightly against his.

“
L’chaim
.”

We actually had a nice conversation, and he was considerate enough not to let his religious enthusiasms run wild. He talked of his childhood with Patrick, and of how close they had been until puberty, when Patrick’s behavior began its downward slide. While he didn’t come directly out and say so, it wasn’t hard to deduce that he and Patrick had provided for one another the affection they did not get from their parents.

Oddly, I got the distinct impression Kevin was almost envious of Patrick’s rebellion against them, and resentful of the attention that rebellion brought his brother.

He talked of meeting Sue-Lynn, the daughter of Mrs. Rourke’s college roommate, and how strongly, with Patrick not only gone but gay, he felt the obligation to provide his parents with the grandchild they expected of him.

“Sue-Lynn and I have a very special, loving Christian relationship,” he said, but I did not get the impression true love had that much to do with it.

And of course, he worshipped Sean.

His work with Salvation’s Door took up the vast bulk of his time, and he again said that being away from it as frequently as was now necessary was not something he enjoyed.

Above all, I was aware that he never once mentioned having a real friend of his own. I sensed an intense loneliness in him, and that, in turn, made me feel strangely sad.

It was after eleven—obviously his prayer and meditation routine was not written in stone—when we finished the wine, and I could tell Kevin was feeling it. We decided to call it a night, since he had to get up early, and I wanted to be back in the city by noon.

So when he went into the bathroom, I stripped down to my shorts and climbed into bed. I was surprised to see him come back into the room wearing just his shorts.

“I spilled something on my pajamas,” he explained. I observed, as he got into bed, how nicely he filled out the front of the shorts.

“Good night, Dick.”

“Good night, Kevin.”

He turned out the light.

Just as I was about to drift off, I again heard sounds from the other bed. A moment later, I felt my sheets lifted and realized Kevin was climbing into bed with me. I turned over onto my back and started to sit up.

“Kev—”

He was lying beside me, one hand on my chest.

“Shhhhhhh,” he said, and his hand moved down my chest, across my stomach, and under the waistband of my shorts.

I just lay back in total surprise and felt his mouth and tongue follow the path his hand had set. I raised my hips so he could slide my shorts down.

“Kevin, are you sure…?” I whispered.

“Oh, God, yes,” he whispered in return, and I couldn’t suppress a long moan as I felt warm wetness engulf me.

I gave myself up completely to the sensations, and it wasn’t long before I felt the earthquake coming. My arms were flung out at the sides, and I grabbed the sheet with both hands, trying to hang on, trying not to let it happen yet. It didn’t work, and finally, I just gave into it.

As I regained my breath, he moved back up and kissed me gently on the lips. I reached down, fumbling for him, but he pushed my hand away.

“No,” he said, and slipped quickly out of my bed and back into his own.

The silence was broken only by the sound of our breathing, and after a long, long time, I drifted off to sleep.

*

I awoke once again to the sound of the shower and
took a reflex look at my watch; it was again six-forty-five. I lay in something of a stupor, thinking about the previous night. What in
hell
had
that
been all about?

Not that I was unhappy with what had happened. Far from it—Kevin had a definite talent outside of his day job. But…

The sound of the shower shutting off cut my thoughts short, and I just lay there, thinking nothing at all. Finally, Kevin emerged from the bathroom.

“Good morning, Dick,” he said, flashing me a big smile.

“Good morning, Kev.”

“Patrick used to call me that when we were kids. No one’s called me ‘Kev’ in a long, long time.” He was silent a moment, then said “How did you sleep?”

“Never better,” I lied. And then something prompted me to ask, “And you?”

“Like a baby. I guess that wine really relaxed me. I hardly remember lying down.”

Oh-oh
, I thought,
not the old “I was so drunk I don’t remember a thing” routine
.

But then I had the almost frightening feeling he
wasn’t
lying. And it didn’t have anything to do with being drunk.

Chapter 12

All the way back to the city I tried to keep my
mind off Kevin Rourke, Chief Rourke, Patrick Rourke, and the entire Rourke clan. They were, without a doubt, a truly fucked-up family.

In a strange way, particularly after the previous night, I felt strong empathy for Kevin. I suspect if a good psychiatrist ever got hold of him, he’d have material for about ten books. The pressures on him were almost incomprehensible to me.

The question of whether Kevin was or was not gay had been, as far as I was concerned, pretty well resolved by last night’s little episode. What kept niggling at me was whether
Kevin
knew he was gay.

With a father like Chief Rourke, it was no wonder Patrick and Kevin had taken two totally opposite paths. Kevin was desperate to please, to live up to what he thought was expected of him. Patrick had had that extra ounce of whatever it takes to say “Fuck this!” and to do something about it.

Well, that was their problem, and the sooner I got a life of my own back, the better I’d like it.

*

I went directly to the office, where I was told C.C.
had called to announce he would not be coming in at all that day. Of course, he didn’t give an explanation. Explanations are for the little people.

I had received that morning a phone message from Charles McNearny, who was Joseph Goebbels to the chief’s Adolph Hitler, and was one of the major puppeteers of the chief’s bid for governor. McNearny, I’d learned through the office grapevine, was a close golfing buddy of C.C.’s and was probably far more instrumental in C.C.’s getting the PR assignment than C.C. would ever admit. I decided to give him a call immediately so C.C. would know I hadn’t wasted another whole day of his time.

McNearny was executive director of the state’s Grading Contractors and Engineers Association, an incredibly powerful lobby in the state capitol. Funds for road construction had, under the current governor, been significantly cut back, the governor preferring to fritter away the state’s money on frivolous things like schools.

I reached McNearny’s secretary, who, after I identified myself, rather surprisingly put me directly through to the man himself.

“Mr. Hardesty!” The voice was warm, sincere, and confident—the kind of voice that makes me want to check to see if my wallet’s still there. “I’m really glad you called.”

I explained that I’d just returned from the SAPC meeting, which, of course, he knew without my telling him.

“Wonderful. We all appreciate the work you and Carlton are doing on the chief’s campaign.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” I said, but my mind was telling me this was a man to watch out for.

“Young Kevin tells me you have an idea for a fundraiser for Salvation’s Door that might help boost the chief’s image in the public’s eye.”

“Yes, sir.” This was a man I did
not
want to alienate. “It seems like a good way to show Chief Rourke’s involvement in community projects.”

“Well, it is an interesting idea. Tell you what, why don’t you and I and Kevin get together—for dinner, let’s say—and talk about it?”

“That would be fine, Mr. McNearny, if you can find the time.”

“When it comes to putting Chief Rourke into the governor’s seat, Dick—you don’t mind if I call you Dick, do you?” He did not wait for a reply. “I can always find the time. How about tomorrow evening, say around seven, at the Imperator?”

“That will be fine, sir. I look forward to meeting you in person.”

“And I you, Dick…and I you. See you there, then,” and he hung up.
Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

The Imperator was definitely
not
my kind of place. It’s one of those restaurants where the guests are given menus without prices. I had never been inside the doors, nor had anyone else I knew. Still, being invited to dine there was intriguing, and an obvious effort to either impress or intimidate, depending upon the host’s intentions.

I pretty much knew what this host’s intentions were.

I still couldn’t figure out why. Why I was dragged along to a big meeting of police chiefs where I did practically nothing. Why Kevin should be so strongly on my side—well, the reason for that one wasn’t all that hard to figure out, I guess. Why C.C. should have appointed me to be, in effect, Kevin’s little friend?

I told our secretary I would be working at home for the rest of the day and left.

*

It was a strange feeling, walking into the apartment for the first time, knowing Chris was gone. An odd, empty feeling. But I told myself this was the way it was going to be, and I’d better get used to it. I set my suitcase inside the door and went directly to the answering machine. Quite a few calls, two of them from Chris.

He’d arrived on time Saturday and had called from the airport to let me know, even though he knew I wouldn’t be home. The second call was Sunday night, when he thought I might be home. He’d spent the day going through the “Apartments for Rent” ads and was totally depressed. He’d known that going from paying half the rent here to paying all the rent in New York would take a huge bite out of his raise but hadn’t realized just how huge a chunk that was likely to be. He was afraid he’d end up with less money than he’d been making here.

I started to pick up the phone to call him but realized he’d undoubtedly be out, meeting people from the store or apartment hunting. So, I decided I’d give him a call later on to offer moral support. Besides, I wanted to hear his voice.

There was a call from Bob asking me to join him for dinner that night, and I called him right back to accept. I didn’t feel like spending much time in the apartment just yet. We agreed to eat out, since neither of us had begun to adjust to the bachelor’s life.

*

I called Chris just before leaving to meet Bob and
caught him just as he was heading out to see
The Fantas
tics. It was his first time in a New York theater—off-Broadway, but the excitement was still there. He had spent the day apartment hunting to no avail but was determined to keep at it.