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The city is Boston – largest city in New England, cradle of the American Revolution, "the Hub" or "the Athens of America" to its residents. But the world, the universe, is not quite the same. For this story takes place in the Clan Short Universe, a world where Earth's culture is much like our own, but with differences. James T. Kirk is not a character on a 1960s television series and movie franchise, he is the famous captain of the flagship vessel of a quite real Starfleet. Vulcans walk the streets of Earth, and have equipped some of its children to protect themselves and their brothers when those who should protect them do not.
In particular, three boys from Clan Short made it possible for a gay couple from Boston to adopt a group of four street kids who needed them. This unlikely family is due to have an unusual impact on the city of Boston. This is their story.
What follows below is the tale of how they came together and forged themselves into a family, originally told as parts of chapters 28-32 of Jigsaw, and repeated here as a Prologue.
Pat counted the money again, for what seemed like the dozenth time. It came out the same – not enough. Benny might bring something home, but it probably wouldn't be much. In a way, he begrudged Benny's weed, and in another, he didn't. Getting enough to stay high ate up most of what Benny took in tricks, but given how Pat himself felt after selling himself yet again, he understood why Benny needed it.
There was a chill in the apartment that the ancient kerosene heater he'd liberated from someone's trash couldn't lift. He was thankful for small favors – though it was cranky, he could usually get it to fire up ... if he could buy enough kerosene to keep it going. And though it was tricky to balance a pan on top of it, he could make one hot meal a day – two if he cooked spaghetti and used the water for soup. The little guys had to eat, after all.
The expense of keeping Tory and Blakey was almost the only thing he and Benny argued about. The fourteen-year-old felt that the two preteens were old enough to go hustling with him; even at a year younger, Pat felt responsible for making sure that all they did was pose for ugly old Van Dorn's camera. The kids actually got a kick out of posing 'bare bottom', as Blakey put it, for the fat old photographer – they knew they were cute, and enjoyed showing off for him. And while he didn't pay them much, he also didn't expect them to do more than they naturally did anyway.
He added up the figures again: $25 to old Mrs. Framer in the front apartment, to keep quiet about them hiding out in the back apartment and to pay for the extension cord that gave them a room light and powered their ancient portable TV, on which the younger ones were watching cartoons now, cuddled together for warmth and comfort with a blanket around them; $15 for five gallons of kerosene, which would probably last three days. That left only $7 for food, but he could almost make it stretch if he hit the bread thrift store at the right time tomorrow morning.
He realized with dismay that he'd probably have to go out and turn a trick or two tonight in order to restock the larder, such as it was. He didn't mind the sex as such – like anybody else, he enjoyed getting his rocks off, and he could understand why the men did too. But two things grossed him out: first, most of them smelled, the mingled odors of confined crotches concentrated into one vile miasma, and second, it was all so impersonal. He hoped for Joe or Arthur (if those were their real names, which he doubted) to be looking for a boy tonight; while it was a transaction with them too, they at least treated him as a person they were buying a service from, and he thought Joe liked him some. They were nearly his only regulars; he didn't have the looks that some of the other guys did, and the other two men who picked him up regularly ... well, one was demanding, the other demeaning, and both were gross.
The two little ones were giggling at the cartoons. That lifted Pat's heart. He'd never say it out loud, but he loved them. When Tory cuddled up to him at night, it was like he was saying, "I trust you, I know you care," to him. He'd staved off their complaints of hunger with the last package of HoHos from the thrift store. Though he knew that it was not enough and they wanted more, they were good kids, and realized he couldn't magic up food out of nothing. He glanced over at them. Blakey, eleven and blond, was pointing at the screen and giggling; Tory, ten and dark-haired (Tory was short for Salvatore) was doubled up in mirth. Pat's heart warmed at the sight.
When Benny got back, the four of them would probably cuddle up for a nap, sharing body heat and likely rubbing off on each other, mix and match in whatever combination they fell into today. He was intrigued by how Benny was always up for sex, literally and figuratively, even if he'd scored down in the financial district. Benny was smart; while there was a lot of competition for tricks at night, he'd realized that the men who worked the banks and brokerages might be horny during the day, and perfected a technique of sitting outside the august institutions, pretending to be boredly reading while waiting for a parent or something, making eye contact with the men who passed him by. More often than not, one would stop and talk with him, and half the time, he could parlay that into a morning trick that usually paid well. With the right story ready and told in a voice convincingly irritated from having to wait for a parent, he could fend off any policeman who questioned why a boy of school age might be hanging out there. When Benny'd started this routine, he had always waited until after he turned a trick to smoke up, realizing he needed to stay sharp-witted to pull it off. But lately he'd been getting high before going out for his morning 'tour of duty', as he jokingly called it. That made Pat worry; what if Benny couldn't successfully pull off a scam while high?
The slam of the building's front door roused Pat from his reverie. It was followed by rapid footfalls, and Benny came running into the apartment. "I think I lost 'em," he said breathlessly.
"Who?" Pat asked with a sinking feeling.
"Cops," Benny answered. "I was doing my usual thing, leaning against the wall down in front of Morgan Stanley, when this one cop asks me what I'm doing there. I give him the story about how I'm waiting for my mother, with a doctor's appointment thrown in. But I guess he'd asked me before, and I didn't remember what I told him then. I ran, and he called a car to chase me. I'm pretty sure I threw them off the track before I came back here, though."
The sound of the building's front door again opening interrupted Benny. Hushed, they heard the knock on Mrs. Framer's door, and the voice saying, "Police; open up, please."
"Mass rescues?" Grace Martin asked.
"Yeah." Lt. Todd Hayes of the Clan Short Special Forces Unit explained, "We have over five thousand kids, plus adult professionals to take care of them, at Camp Bam Bam now. We needed the badges to make sure people could go where they were supposed to while keeping them out of where they shouldn't be."
"Five thousand?" Francis Lagrange was amazed. "I can't believe there were that many kids...."
"That's nothing," Todd retorted, a hint of his older brother Logan's vehemence in his voice. "Best estimates are that there are over three quarters of a million homeless kids in America right now, nearly a third of them gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgendered." And he began telling the stories of the runaways, the kids abandoned or thrown out, the orphans that fell through the cracks or were on the run to avoid the dangers of group homes or foster parents whose interest was in money not kids. All five sat spellbound listening to his stories.
The impact, however, was strongest on Francis. Son of a well-to-do family, partnered to his college roommate, with whom he'd started a successful business before their coming out had ostracized much of his family, he had simply had no idea of what some kids were forced to go through. And hearing about it hit him hard.
At last he interrupted Todd. "Pen, thank you once again for your hospitality. It's always a pleasure to visit you," he said to his widower magnate host. He turned to the Clan Short boys, the older Pen's namesake son and his boyfriend. "Pen, Doug, I want you to be sure to call on me if you need any help with anything. I know people always say this, but Pen, you've known me a long time. I mean it; Bernie and I want to do everything we can to support what you and your friends are doing. Don't take this as a socially proper offer; I'll be deeply hurt if I find out you failed to help someone where we could have provided the means to do it. Your father, Pen, is not that much more well off than we are, and we certainly don't have any kids to leave it to. We want to help, we need to help, for just the same reasons you boys got into this. I want your word that you'll be sure to call on us. Maybe it'll help make up, a little, for what we neglected to do for you, boy."
Pen looked at his father's friend and business associate, and saw the sincerity in his face. "We will, Francis," he said with assurance. "My word on it."
Francis smiled. "I'm headed back for Boston now," he said with a firm expression on his visage. "I've phoned Bernie during this visit, but I want to sit down with him and tell him what I've learned – and talk out what he and I need to do to help out." He paused. "Hmmm... how can I get a cab out of here?"
"You can't, not without paying an arm and a leg," Grace said. "But let me drive you down to the airport. You're helping the boys, so let me help you; one hand washes the other." She smiled; after a second Francis smiled back, and nodded.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" The cop's tone of false jolliness wrote an obituary to all Pat's surviving hopes and dreams, such as they were. "Four kids, not in school, in an apartment with almost no furniture and power from an extension cord run to another apartment. Looks to me like a runaways' hideout."
"Well, um, our mother..." Benny began glibly to sketch out a plausible explanation for why they were there.
"Save it, kid," the policeman said, not unkindly. "It's my job to take you in, make sure someone has custody of you. If there's any truth to what you were going to tell me, get out some paper and write her a note saying where I took you. I'll give you the location."
Benny didn't move. He'd been caught out, and it was pointless – nobody would follow up on them. Blakey made as if to run, for the back door. The cop smiled mirthlessly. "You don't think we didn't put somebody to watch the back here?"
"Okay, kids," he said. "I'm not an idiot. I imagine you had good reasons to run, and it would take a real fool to not to understand why no kid willingly trusts himself to our city's juvenile system. But we do have a few decent group homes, ones where you can be comfortable in, where you won't get beat up or molested. You're guilty of trespassing right now, and of being juveniles not in the custodial care of a parent or other adult, and I'll bet I can find several other charges if I need to." He paused and essayed a smile. "So give me a break, and catch yourselves one too: come along quietly and don't try to run, and I'll do what I can to make sure you get somewhere halfway decent."
"Yeah, right," Benny answered him, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Last time I trusted a cop, I bled from the butt for a week."
That shocked the cop. "I don't swing that way, kid," he said. He drew a breath. "Look, I got a job to do, what I pledged to do when I put on this uniform and badge. That includes taking you boys in, yeah, but it also includes making sure you don't get screwed over by the system, if I can." He thought for a second; the only sounds were Pat's pulse beating loudly in his ear, and Tory's terrified snuffling. "I can't come up with any reason why you ought to trust me, from your perspective," he said at last. "I know I'm doing the right thing, but we're taught to try to think like a burglar when we're trying to catch one, like a fugitive when we're after somebody on the run, and so on. And trying to think like you guys, I don't see it." He gave them a thin smile. "So let me offer you this: whatever you guys do to take care of yourselves has got to include making deals, right?" Four nervous nods. "So I'll offer you a deal – cooperate with me, and come along while I do what I have to; don't run and make me chase you. And in return, I'll do what I can to make sure that you don't get dumped somewhere you'll hate, that you go somewhere you can at least tolerate instead." He reached out a hand. "You'll get caught if you run; you know that. So that's not a realistic option for you any more. Is it a deal?"
Nervously, one by one, the boys stepped forward and shook.
"It's so good to have you back home," Bernie Halstead said as he handed Francis a flute of Pinot Grigio. Francis was relaxed in a modern designer chair, looking out the window as the rapidly gentrifying North End of Boston. The spacious loft apartment they owned and lived in was decorated in sparse but exquisite taste, with underspoken metal, glass, and pastel leather pieces tastefully arrayed. The view nook they presently occupied was off a 'great room' with entertaining, dining, and cooking areas; a master suite and a guest suite opened off it in other directions, showing the architect's and designer's skill in converting the old warehouse into a tasteful upper-class living space.
"I'm happy to be home, love," Francis said affectionately. "But to say it was an eventful trip, well, it's the sort of understatement some of our more arty friends might relish."
Bernie grinned. "And you would never be that camp, of course?"
Francis stuck out his tongue at Bernie, then moved it to sensuously lick the corner of his mouth. "Keep that up," Bernie said, "and I will think of other things you can do with that tongue, and a few I can do with my own." He leered for a second. "But you acted like you wanted to talk, when you first came in. What's on your mind, love?" he asked solicitously.
"Well, you know how loyal a friend Pen has been all these years?" Francis began.
"Of course; he's been a shining light in the general homophobia we had to deal with among 'our own'." The irony in Bernie's voice as he referred to their extended families and network of former friends hung palpably in the air.
"What neither of us really came to grips with, when we visited, is that young Pen is, first, gay, and was desperately lonely," Francis went on.
"Well, for heaven's sake, why didn't you invite him down?" Bernie asked. "We know enough people who are 'family' to give him a decent social circle, and likely find him a boyfriend. I never did think much of Pen's idea of bringing him up in that backwoods place."
"He's a step ahead of us," Francis smiled. "It seems a poor boy from town was a secret admirer of his, and stepped in decisively twice, saving him from a bashing and then from being raped on two successive days. They're a couple now, and give old Pen credit, he's doing his level best to make young Doug feel at home, part of the family."
"But that's not all," Francis went on. "It seems the boys not only found each other and came out to each other, but they managed to get included in that group that's been in the news, the mostly gay kids that have been using Vulcan authority to rescue abused kids."
Bernie's eyebrows involuntarily did an imitation of a Vulcan's, themselves. "Really? Little Pen's got involved in that?"
"That, and a whole lot more," Francis averred. "You know that paramilitary group out West that got shot up in Montana last weekend? They're involved as well. I met one of them; he was doing a security analysis for Pen. That was a trip – imagine a young blond twelve-year-old giving a professional-level analysis, and critiquing what's wrong with the outfit Pen had providing security? But what else he had to say is what I really wanted to talk to you about."
Bernie made the 'go-on' motions Francis was used to. He thought again, with deep affection, how lucky they had been to find each other in college – and how some were not that lucky. "When young Todd left the Unit base – 'Camp Bam Bam' they call it, and there's a heart-wrenching story behind that – they had rescued and taken in about five thousand homeless kids, most from abusive situations." Bernie's eyes opened a bit wider. "But he showed me a government study, from a year or two back, that estimates there are three quarters of a million homeless kids out there."
Francis looked out the window. "It's beautiful here, isn't it? People with dreams and money, buying up these old buildings and converting them to places like this, with wealth and taste." He looked off into the distance, southwards. "What we don't pay attention to is that there are kids with no resources and no future, ones who didn't have it as good as us, struggling to survive. Remember talking about how afraid we'd been, back before college, that our secrets would come out? Some of them, that's what happened – and apparently, they ran, or were thrown out, or sent to 'be cured of their perversion'" – Francis looked disgusted – "and they're living hand to mouth, stealing or selling their bodies for what they need to survive."
He looked intently into his husband's eyes. "When I heard Todd's stories, about what those kids have been through, what some of them are going through right now, it was like going back in time, knowing that fear all over again. We need to help them, Bernie. We need to reach out and help them."
"I have never seen you this worked up about a social issue," Bernie answered. "What's going on?"
"We're living the life we dreamed of, Bernie," Francis said. "I saw little Pen – and he's still small of body – well, with one exception," he grinned. "I saw him motivated to fix what's wrong with the world."
"Teenagers have been having that attitude for years," Bernie said.
"But this time," Francis said, "they have a way to do it. This Clan Short thing – they have the power, the authority to make those changes. And love, we know what it was like, we need to help."
"We had a great quarter," Bernie said. "How much do you want to give?"
"You don't see it," Francis said. "I don't want to write out a check, like we've done for the museum and the Red Cross. I want us to get involved. Those are kids with no hope. We've been there, and we made it. I want to show them there's hope, that they too can be a successful gay couple, invited to Andy Tobias's parties and Palm Springs weekends. I want to go out and take some of those kids in."
"You're serious," Bernie said, eyes wide open now. Francis nodded.
"There's not much I'd ever deny you, love," Bernie said. "If this matters as much to you as it evidently does, then let's go find out what we need to do."
The case worker at Children's Services was not impressed. "Four boys to place, and two of them teenagers," she groused. "This is not going to be easy." She flipped through her records. "Hmmm, a foster home in Roxbury, one vacancy, preteens. Well, that takes care of him," she said, pointing at Blakey. "And here's a group home down in Southie catering to preteens. Salvatore can go there."
"Now you two," she said, looking at Pat and Benny, who was still a bit muzzy from his morning high. She looked up at the policeman. "Can you put them in Juvenile Hall on something while I try to find a place for them?" Pat and Benny tensed; they'd heard about Juvenile Hall.
"They haven't committed any crimes that I know of," he replied, "other than squatting in an abandoned apartment. And from what the paying tenant had to say, the guy who owns it lives in Phoenix. He's not even trying to rent it out any more, simply using her rent to pay taxes and the water bill. When I asked if he'd be likely to press charges on the kids, she said he doesn't want to be bothered."
The boys' reactions hadn't escaped his notice, either. "Besides," he added, "I gave these boys my word that if they cooperated, I'd make sure they got treated right. They did, and I'll keep my word to them."
"Well, it's going to take me a while to get somebody in here to transport these two," pointing at Tory and Blakey, "and figure out what to do with the other two. Why don't you take them somewhere while I work, if you're so concerned about them?"
"Someone has to be," the cop said under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, ma'am. C'mon, boys, there's a donut shop right next door." He grinned. Pat tried to hide a smile. "Cops and donuts, huh?" the policeman said, chuckling. "Actually, though they'll probably drive me out of the P.B.A. for saying it, I don't like donuts. But it sounded like something you four might enjoy. C'mon with me."
With an air of 'what can't be cured must be endured', the boys followed the policeman out of the Children's Services office and into the donut shop in the adjacent building, there being access through the lobby of the public building.
"I wanna stay with you, Pat, Benny!" Tory's prison whisper carried not merely to the two older boys but to the cop, as they sat at the table with jelly-filled donuts and sodas. The cop had a cup of coffee.
"You boys were thinking, 'she's a real bitch,' weren't you?" the policeman said. Startled glances and nods betokened agreement. "I'll give you, she has all the caring personality of a charging rhinoceros. But what you may be missing is that she and I are both bound by rules. I mean, I didn't like seeing you squatting in that abandoned apartment, with almost no resources, knowing what you probably had to be doing to make a buck. It was my legal duty to bring you in and try to get you some help. And it's her job to find that help, and she's pretty burned out from years of doing it. I knew her when she first started here, and she really cared about kids. I think that's been burned out of her by years of following regs., of kids scamming her if she did try to bend the rules." He took a healthy sip of his coffee. "I gave you my word and I'll do my best to keep it," he said. "There are limits to what I can legally do in this job, but within them, I'll help as I can."
Two men in expensive casual suits walked hesitantly into the lobby next door; Pat noticed them through the window glass and wondered casually who they were. Not that it would make any difference to his own messed-up future, of course.
They looked at the building directory, seeming to disagree about what they wanted, then scanned the area for a receptionist, but one was not in evidence. One of the men pointed to the cop sitting with the boys, and they walked over to the door and into the donut shop.
"Excuse me, sir," Francis said to the cop, "could you tell me...." His question dropped off unfinished as Bernie and Benny stared wide-eyed at each other.
Bernie broke the eyelock, and turned his attention to the cop. "May I assume, sir, that these boys are in your custody?"
"More or less," the cop answered. "I'm entertaining them while the woman from Children's Services tries to find places to place them."
"Ah, all right," Bernie said. "Might we have the privilege of speaking to this young man, within your sight but in private?" The policeman smiled his approval; Bernie firmly motioned Benny to join them back in the C.S. building lobby.
"Francis, this young fellow has been downtown nearly daily, outside our bank or one of the brokerages. I've spoken to him several times; he either has an extremely multitalented mother, or a vivid imagination and excellent storytelling skills." Benny looked sheepish. "He also hinted strongly that he would join me in bed, or in the back seat of my car, or whatever, if the price is right."
"He never took me up on it, sir," Benny interjected.
"No, I chose showcase number three, instead," Bernie joked. "Seriously, Francis, I know what we came here for, but I think the decision has been made for us." Francis looked surprised.
"What the policeman said – they are trying to find placements for those four boys," Bernie said. Turning to Benny, "I assume you all know each other."
"Um, yeah, we were staying together in this apartment when the cop found us," Benny said. "I, um, probably won't be available...."
"That's not what I meant, son," Bernie said. He looked at Francis. "We came here for homeless kids," he said. "You don't get any more homeless than sitting in a coffee shop with a cop while somebody tries to find a place to ship you off to. They were, at least, going to try to keep you together, right?"
"Um, no. She picked two houses for Tory and Blakey already; it's just Pat and me she had to find a place to put. And they won't let us stay together. She acted like we were just problems that she didn't want to bother with." Benny was sufficiently shocked by what had happened that he was telling the unvarnished truth.
"That ties it," Bernie said. He looked deep into Francis's eyes, and said, "Love, you were right. These boys need our help; let's do it."
Francis nodded. "Let's go talk to Boston's Finest."
"There are procedures, you know," the case worker said dismissively. "We would need to do an adoption study, you would need to be licensed foster care givers, and you have none of that proof. We cannot hand these children out to just anyone who comes through that door, you know."
"I was under the impression you were having trouble placing them," said the policeman. "I would think you would expedite an emergency care license, if it means that four boys who have bonded can remain as a family."
"That is for real emergencies, not situations like this. These boys will be just fine in the authorized sites I've found for them," she answered with some heat.
"And exactly why would you two gentlemen be looking for a group of homeless boys, anyway?" she sneered. "Yes, Massachusetts did decide to consider you as married, despite what some of us may think. But how can you provide a decent home, with no woman's touch?"
Bernie began to get angry at the cavalier treatment and innuendos he had been faced with for the last ten minutes, since he had proposed opening their home to the four boys.
"Boys," the policeman said to the four, "I am afraid I'll be unable to keep my promise. I did the best I could, and I'm confident of what these men are offering. But there are set procedures that have to be followed, and none of us is in a position where we can override them. I'm afraid...."
A light dawned for Francis. "Just a moment," he said. "The issue here is that we could take these boys home today if it were not for the need to follow state procedures, am I correct?"
"Yes," the case worker allowed. "You'd need to at minimum have foster parent licenses, and between us, this agency does not look with favor on gay couples as potential foster parents."
"Why not?" Bernie asked belligerently.
Francis rested his hand on his partner's knee. "Wait," he said. He pulled out his cell phone and speeddialed a number. It rang. "Pen?" he said. "Francis here. May I speak to young Pen, please? I need his group's help." Seven startled faces looked at him.
Francis closed his cellphone, pleased with himself.
"Um, begging your pardon, sir..." Tory was afraid and shy; Francis smiled encouragingly at him. Pat placed his hand on the younger boy's back. "But what good is that going to do?"
"From what I've heard, we should find out shortly," Francis said with a smile. Bernie looked at him, wondering what was up his sleeve.
Shimmers in the air solidified into Pen, Doug, and Todd. The young blond Logan-clone drew his Beretta 9mm semi-automatic pistol and pointed it directly at the case worker. The policeman reached for his service weapon.
"Don't bother, sir," Pen told him. He was doing his best to keep the nervousness he felt on his first intervention out of his voice. "This is in accordance with law; the weapon is simply an assurance that everything will go smoothly. If it will make you feel more comfortable to draw your weapon, go ahead, but it is not necessary." The cop, caught unawares, looked skeptical.
Doug spoke up. "This is an intervention by Clan Short of Vulcan, as authorized under Article 200 of the Safe Haven Act of the United Federation of Planets," he stated formally. "Francis, would you explain why you called us?"
"This officer here," Francis began, "found these four boys squatting in a vacant apartment, without resources, and brought them in here. This case worker was attempting to find sites to place them when we arrived, encountered them in the coffee shop downstairs, and offered to take them."
"'Take them'?" Todd asked with a touch of asperity.
"Give them a home, foster them, become their guardians, adopt them – whatever they want the role to be," Bernie interjected. "If I were after a boy, I could have had that one" – he pointed to Benny – "much more cheaply than taking him into our home. And Francis is all I want ... in my bed," he corrected. "These boys need a home where they can feel cared about, given the things Francis told me about what you had to say."
Todd's attitude change was instant. "I've seen too many cases of men using kids..." he started to say.
Bernie waved it off. "I could see that – I was offended, yeah, but I also knew you were ready to protect these boys, and I respect that."
"So why were we needed?" Todd asked.
"Well," Francis said, "it seems that the State of Massachusetts is more interested in processing paperwork than in helping kids, and that despite state law, the local services agency takes a dim view of gay couples adopting or fostering. The officer here can attest to that." He gestured at the policeman.
"Is that true, sir?" Pen asked him. Francis looked askance at him. "I don't doubt your word, Francis; I'm just backing it up for the record."
"The record?" scoffed the case worker.
"That would be me," came Seth's voice from the three commbadges.
"What Mr. Lagrange said is true," the officer stated.
"What about you four?" Pen asked. "I mean, I've known Francis and Bernie since I was little, but you don't know them. What do you want to do?"
Benny looked at Bernie. "I trust him; he's one of the few people to know just what I was up to and still give me some respect." His eyes flicked to the others. "Can we have a couple minutes to talk?"
"Of course," Doug said, forestalling the objection on the tip of the case worker's tongue.
The four boys stepped out of the office. "Well, there go four runners," the case worker said. "Are you ready to go chasing them?" she asked the cop.
"Lady," said Todd, "in a mobile home outside Los Chaves, New Mexico, lives a retired sheepherder, with his dog Pal. What you fail to get, here, is that as of five minutes ago, you have exactly as much authority over those four boys as you do over that old sheepherder."
The boys trooped back in the office. Pat gathered their eyes, then turned to Pen. "We'll go with them. Thanks for giving us a chance to say what we wanted."
"You'd do the same for me," Pen said back. It was not a question.
"Officer, please step over to the case worker's computer and pull up the Safe Haven Act, so you can be assured of the legality of what we are doing," Pen said. Allowing a slight smile to show, the policeman complied.
Pen drew a breath. "Ready, Seth?" he asked. His commbadge beeped acknowledgement. "Please describe their living conditions, officer," he requested.
"These four boys were staying in an abandoned apartment. Furnishings consisted of a decrepit couch and a mattress, and one side table. The only electric power came from one extension cord, and powered one lamp and one portable TV. They had no means of cooking or refrigerating food. For heat, they had a kerosene space heater that appeared to have been discarded at one time. Their dwelling conditions were below the standards set forth in Department of Health guidelines for referrals."
Todd looked at Blakey and Tory. "What connection were these older boys to you?"
Blakey spoke up. "We're not family, if that's what you mean. But Pat found us when we ran, and brought us there, and he and Benny took care of us, as best they could. I'd rather have them as my big brothers than the one I did have. Least they don't beat me or try to make me do stuff." Tory nodded, looking terrified.
"You, ma'am, were assigning them to different foster homes and such?"
"Of course. You can't keep younger boys and teenagers together; that's against good child services practice. And just who do you think you are, asking all these questions?"
The officer nudged her, and pointed to the computer monitor.
"I find that evidence has been produced to suggest these boys were housed in violation of Article 10 of the Safe Haven Act. I find that the Children's Services bureau of Boston, Massachusetts, has demonstrated negligence under Sections 81.1, 81.2, 81.3, and 81.9 of the Safe Haven Act. I find that they failed to accept an offer of housing for these boys proferred by Francis Lagrange and Bernard Halstead of this city for reasons that fall afoul of the State of Massachusetts Non-Discrimination Act of 2004." He flashed a smile at Francis, who had told his father and him about that law when it was first passed.
"Clan Short therefore assumes jurisdiction over these boys as provided in Article 200 of the Safe Haven Act and by the Clan Short Charter. Now let me ask, for the formal record, what I believe we've already determined. Bernie, Francis, do you stand ready to take these boys into your home as your wards? Do you affirm that you have adequate resources to provide for their needs and reasonable desires?"
"We do," Bernie said firmly.
"Do you, you, you, and you" he pointed at the four boys, "all accept Francis and Bernie as your guardians, agree to live with them and obey their reasonable expectations of you as children in their household?" Each of the boys hesitantly agreed.
"Um, Francis, should this be temporary or permanent placement?" Pen asked.
Bernie spoke up. "After what I've seen today, we're in it for the long haul. The boys are welcome to live with us as long as they choose. But maybe you should make it a temporary placement, to give them an out if they don't like it?"
Tory and Blakey looked scared. Pat noticed. He looked Benny in the eyes and then said, "Just you offering that the way you did, plus how these guys looked at the idea it would only be temporary, tells me all I need to know. Make it permanent, sir," he said to Pen.
"No 'sir' needed, I'm Pen, and these guys are Doug and Todd," Pen said. "The only difference between us is, the three of us signed up for the fight against people who abuse and hurt kids, and leave them to have to live like you guys were. We got helped; we're passing that help along."
"Where do we sign up?" asked Benny.
"You just did," came Seth's voice from the commbadges.
Pen grinned. "Plan on a trip to Orlando, Bernie," he said.
"The Magic Kingdom?" Bernie asked.
"You could call it that," Doug grinned. "At least, Seth usually has a prince in his bed."
An embarrassed "Hey, now" came from the commbadges. Most of the boys laughed.
"All right, then," said Pen. He collected full names from the four boys, formalized the placement of them with Francis and Bernie, and then "And it is logical, and within the power granted me as a member of Clan Short, to give orders that appropriate paperwork satisfactory to the State of Massachusetts be immediately made out assigning custody as ordered, and citing the grounds herein stated."
"That's your cue," the policeman said to the case worker. She looked at him in question. "You've been ordered by a court of competent jurisdiction to produce the official state paperwork granting custody to these two men."
"I shall do no such thing," she said. "They are just teenagers! And you should arrest that one who pulled a gun on me!"
"Young man, your ID, please," the cop said to Pen. Wordlessly, he pulled it out and displayed it.
"He is what he claimed to be," the cop said. "I was following along in the document he had me open, here. He has every right to do what he just did. In fact, you probably owe him thanks for not ordering your arrest for violation of Article 81. Now, get to work, or I will do what he didn't, and arrest you myself."
Grumbling, she set to work. Todd stood impassively, pistol turned away from her but kept in hand.
At last, she finished. "Here," she said truculently, handing it to the cop. Bernie read over his shoulder. He handed it to Pen.
"Two things," Pen said. "State the grounds for assuming jurisdiction: your failure to act under Article 81; and at the end, where it says "By order of the Governor and General Court," change that to "By order of Clan Short of Vulcan."
She took it back and made the necessary changes. Pen took it and signed it, handed it to Doug to countersign, then to Francis. "Well, you two have kids now," he said with a grin.
"That's not quite what I planned on this morning," Bernie chuckled. "Want to come up for dinner? Doug's never seen our place. And having more young people around might make it easier on these guys."
"That sounds good," Pen said. "But it needs to be an early meal; Father wants us back for the Selectmen's meeting tonight, for reasons you already know, Francis."
They all turned to leave. Then Benny stopped in the hall, turned to the cop, and said, "I never thought I'd be saying something like this, but, thanks, sir. You kept your word."
"It was my duty ... and my pleasure ... to help you boys," the cop said, smiling.
Pen was amused by the four boys' reactions to Bernie and Francis's apartment. All four were wide-eyed at the décor and furnishings – as, surprisingly, was Doug. He'd expected Doug to be accustomed to high style from his father's mansion. But the modern style of the loft apparently hit him in a way that the more traditional furnishings in the Throxton home had not.
Tory sat nervously on the very edge of one chair. "Um, sir, where do we live?" he said in a small voice.
"This is it," Bernie said with a smile. "This is the great room, over there is the kitchen, through that door are our offices, and the bedroom suites are down here." He paused. "Uh, we put queen-size beds in both bedrooms of the guest suite. I hope you boys won't mind sharing a double bed, two to a bed, for a day or two until we can have individual beds delivered."
Pat scoffed. "We slept on one mattress together. We can share a bed, sure." What he didn't say was that they'd probably all prefer it that way.
"Okay, I'll be starting dinner, so Pen and Doug and Todd can get back to Arkham," Francis said. "After dinner, we can go over and pick up your belongings from the old apartment."
"Yeah, my other shirt is over there," Blakey said. "And my mom's picture, and my other shirt and pants," Tory added.
"Your other shirt and pants?" Bernie said. "You have one change of clothes?"
"Well, we kind of have to," Tory said. "During the summer, we could be naked except for who went to the laundromat, but now it's colder, we need to wear something."
"We have to take them to get some new clothes – tonight!" Bernie said to Francis, who nodded agreement firmly.
"Why? We all got a change, except there's just the one change of pants for the two little guys," Pat offered.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, you need more than one change of clothes," Be3rnie exploded. "You need at least four or five outfits each. And those things don't look like they fit you very well."
"Well, it was what we could find at the thrift shop," Benny said. "They don't always have much for boys."
"What they're saying, guys," Todd said knowledgeably, "is that they plan to buy you a whole lot of stuff, treat you like you ought to have been treated."
All four boys were thunderstruck.
"Come with me, I'll show you your rooms," Bernie said to them. "Pen, you know what our guest suite is like; does it meet Clan standards?"
Pen laughed. "It's more than sufficient. The important part is for you guys to connect, to form a family." He turned serious. "Benny, Pat, I've known these two a long time. From some of the stories I've heard, my guess is that you're a little leery of trusting them, and maybe thinking what you'll have to do in return. You probably won't believe me, so I'll just say, keep an open mind. What they're doing, they're doing because they care, and because you deserve it. And what they expect of you is only what good parents should: don't get in trouble, go to school and apply yourself, learn to trust them and let them know what's on your mind, that kind of stuff."
Doug chuckled. "You sound like Ms Kilbride when you get going like that!" he laughed.
"Aack! Really?!" Pen was chagrined.
"I get it," Pat answered. "You realize why we might not be ready to open up with these two gentlemen, and you're trying to let us know it's safe, right?" Pen and Doug nodded yes. "Okay, we get the message. But," he looked at Francis and Bernie, "you gotta give us time. We got burned too many times."
"Benny and we have shared some customers, though what we and he sold them was quite different," Bernie said. "So I at least get the message: you need to be sure we're on the level, not creeps like them, before you can let down your guard. That's okay. We expected there'd need to be time to adjust. Just give us the same time to adjust, too – we're not used to having boys around the house, either."
"It's a deal, man!" Benny said for all four of them.
Blakey was impressed with the French onion soup. "This is good!" he exclaimed, "especially with the cheese grated onto it." Bernie and Pen chuckled at his enthusiasm. Doug brought in the small salads drizzled with a white-wine vinaigrette that Francis had prepared.
But the entrée was what finally won Benny and Pat over: chicken Florentine over linguine. All seven boys dug in like it was ambrosia – which for some of them may not have been far from the truth. "We got some good cooks that came to help out at our base," Todd said to Francis, "but I never had anything like this."
"It was really simple to prepare," Francis said modestly. "That's why I picked it for tonight. Wait until I really have time to cook!"
"Don't forget to save room for dessert, guys," Bernie laughed at the ravenous boys.
Tory's eyes were wide. "Dessert, too!"
"All right, let's talk about this evening," Francis said. "Pen, I guess you three will be heading out?"
"Yeah, Father wants us present for the Selectmen meeting tonight. It should be interesting, after the fire you and he lit under them." Pen grinned. "We'll probably ask to be beamed back right after dinner – if you guys are feeling like you're going to be OK?" he added, the question directed at the four rescuees.
Benny nodded. "I think we're gonna be happy here."
"Just be sure to let us know how you're feeling," Bernie said to him. "I can guess the change is going to be overwhelming. Don't be afraid to talk it out with us – and I assume they can call you guys too?" he asked Pen.
"Of course – you know the number; make sure they have it if they want to talk, okay?" Pen said.
"Okay, then let's Francis and me take you four out to buy clothes and things," Bernie continued. "Probably use the Escalade; we'd be too crowded to be comfortable in the Beemer, and the Esprit is out of the question." Francis nodded.
"You have three cars?" Benny's eyes were wide.
"Wait till you see them!" Pen said with a chuckle.
The four boys were upbeat, but Francis and Bernie felt chastened as they left the Quincy Street apartment which the boys had been staying in. They had retrieved the handful of threadbare possessions and showed off with pride how they had made do with what they were able to get. Except for the sentimental value of the one picture, Francis privately thought the trip could have been skipped. But he would never breathe a word of that to them; their pride in being able to 'make it' on their own was too great.
Without a word having been exchanged between them, he knew Bernie agreed with him: these boys needed things, and they needed them a lot. Not merely clothing to survive a Boston winter, but what spending lavishly on them would represent, in saying to them they were worth it. 'Money can't buy happiness,' he thought, 'but it can sure show the love and caring that does.'
The boys were amazed when they arrived at the mall and the two men told them to pick out what they wanted. Benny was dithering among selections until Bernie took him in hand and told him to take them all, or at least all the things he liked the best. Underwear, shirts, shoes, pants, warm jackets, gloves – the pile grew, for four boys who had, had nearly nothing.
"Won't this cost a lot?" Tory asked Francis.
"Not really," Francis answered. "Yeah, it's a pretty big single purchase, but it's all stuff that you boys should have had all along and didn't. So we need to pick it up now, or over the next few days."
Pat, Francis, and Benny were all carrying heavy bags as they left the Boyswear Store, but Bernie was not yet done. He turned abruptly into a computer outlet store the couple had dealt with in the past, and picked up four laptops and an assortment of games. Then off to the food court, where the two men renewed their acquaintance with the wonders of boys' insatiable appetites. At last, exhausted, they were ready to head for home.
"Happy?" Bernie asked half-rhetorically. The two younger boys, both wearing their new jackets as if they bore awards personally presented by the President, flashed him big grins. "It's awesome!" Blakey exclaimed.
"I'm glad," Bernie said, smiling paternally.
Francis was in his office updating their vendor database with what he'd arranged to buy from Throxton Industries while Bernie relaxed and listened to his taste in music – classic folk rock, in the great room. Benny walked in and approached him shyly.
"Can I talk to you?"
"Of course. Unless you need to interrupt another conversation for something important, you never need to ask. What's on your mind?"
"Well, you guys been treating us like we was something special, and I got to thinkin', what can I give you in return? And there's only one thing I got that you might be interested in, and, um, well, I'd kind of like to do it." Benny was blushing, which surprised Bernie as much as the offer.
"Come here, Benny," he said, pulling him down on the couch next to him and hugging him loosely. "That's a noble offer, and I think I understand where you're coming from. And I'll be frank; you're an attractive boy, and I honestly am tempted."
"But that's what it would be: temptation. I'm married to Francis. I've promised to be true to him for life. And you are a boy, and a quite young one. Honestly, even though I know you've slept with a lot of men, I'd feel guilty about it. Beyond that, Francis and I promised to be fathers to you four, and sex partner and parent don't mix. But don't think that I'm not touched by your offer – it was sweet and generous, and I appreciate very much what you were saying in offering it. But you don't have to do anything to pay us – it's our job to provide for you, because you deserve it and because it matters to us that you four get what you deserve in life."
"Now give me a big hug, and either hang out here with me until Francis is done or go hang out with the other three, whichever you choose."
"I think I'd like to stay here with you, if that's OK," Benny said shyly.
"It's more than OK," Bernie answered. "I'd love to have you here."
"Done, finally!" Francis said as he stretched and poured himself a glass of wine.
"The stuff you bought from Pen should do really well at the three suburban stores," Bernie commented. Francis turned to look at him, and smiled. Benny was cuddled up in the crook of Bernie's arm, half asleep., head against Bernie's shoulder. "Excuse me for not getting up, love," Bernie said, "but I seem to be ... occupied." He smiled.
"Probably time to get our boys to bed," Francis commented.
"Our boys," Bernie echoed warmly. "That feels good to say." He paused. "Our life's been completely turned around in one day – and I couldn't be happier." He smiled.
Benny roused. "You mean it?" he asked. "You really want us?"
"Of course, silly!" Bernie said.
"I ... um ... I'd pretty well given up on anybody ever wanting us, except maybe if they're horny, 'n' then only for as long as it takes them to get off," Benny said honestly.
There were tears in both Francis and Bernie's eyes. "Don't ever say that, Benny! You deserve to be loved for who you are, not what you can be used for!"
"I'm sorry!" Benny said quickly, sitting up. "I didn't mean to get you mad!"
"No, we're not mad at you," Bernie reassured him as he pulled him back close. "Just at the people who let you boys slip through the cracks, never showed any caring for you, left you to fend for yourself, let you get that feeling that nobody could want you."
"It's okay?" Benny sounded much younger and more vulnerable than he had earlier.
"It's much more than okay," Francis said peaceably. "Just look at it as, you're now getting what you should have had all along, a family that loves you and cares about you – you and the other three, too."
"Speaking of which," Bernie said, "much as I hate to break this cuddle, because it feels as good for me as it evidently does for you, you've been making valiant efforts to keep your eyes open for the last half hour, and I think it's time to get the four of you bedded down, and then turn in ourselves."
Benny just cuddled in closer, obviously not wanting to let go just yet. Francis smiled, reached out his arm and grasped Benny's, to help him up. Benny tensed at the touch, looked up and saw the warmth in Francis' expression, and drowsily cooperated with being helped up.
Once Benny was on his feet, though groggy, Bernie stood up and wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder. The three of them walked off toward the former guest suite, now the boys' rooms.
The door of the room to the left was closer to the entry to the suite, and they went to that first. What was inside was not what they expected. The bed was unoccupied, in fact remained neatly made up, and Blakey and Tory's haul from the shopping trip, plus the coats they had been so proud of, were in a heap on the floor.
Men and boy exchanged surprised looks, turned, and as one walked to the other room.
The three boys were in there, naked and sound asleep. Pat was sprawled on his back, legs spread apart. Tory was wrapped tight to his left side, with Pat's arm wrapped around his torso and his own legs scissoring around Pat's waist. His stiffy poked out from under his thigh just below Pat's nipple. Blakey was lying between Pat's legs on his side, head on Pat's right thigh. A small dribble of pearlescent white drizzled from the side of his mouth. All three had peaceful, calm, relaxed expressions on their faces as they slept.
Francis and Benny looked on the sleeping boys fondly. Bernie, however, though he had a warm spot in his heart for the cuddling boys, had focused in on Blakey. "Pat didn't make him...?" he asked, a bit more harshly than he intended.
"What?" Benny asked innocently.
"Look at where his head is; look at his mouth," Bernie said.
"Oh, that," Benny said dismissively. "He likes to suck on us before he goes to sleep. It's like a pacifier for him – and of course it feels good for us too." He grinned mischievously. "So Pat or me, one of us lets him cuddle up like that and suck, so he feels calm and relaxed. After he falls asleep, our dick falls out of his mouth, and we can get comfortable. – Oh, you thought Pat made him do it," he said as he realized where Bernie's thoughts had gone. "No, he feels safe that way – and it's fun for us too, of course."
"We may need to talk about this," Francis said. "But I get the picture now."
"I think we've got a lot to learn," Bernie commented.
Tory roused. "C'mon to bed, Benny," he said drowsily. Bernie gently pressed Benny forward, encouraging him to follow Tory's instruction. Benny turned, shyly planted a kiss on Bernie's cheek, and stripped for bed, showing no embarrassment at getting naked in front of Francis and Bernie. He clambered into bed; Tory rolled over and cuddled up to him, pressing his hips up against Benny's abdomen. Benny held him close and said, "G'nite, dads!"
Bernie's eyes watered up at hearing that. Francis bent over and planted a kiss on Benny's and then Tory's cheek, and then Pat's forehead. He reached down and caressed Blakey's sleeping shoulders, clearly unwilling to bring his lips that near Pat's crotch. "Kiss 'im, Dad F.," Benny said, yawning. "We know now what you're like, and none of us would think anything of it."
"Go ahead, love," Bernie said affectionately. Francis did, and Bernie then duplicated Francis's kiss to all four boys. "Thanks, Benny," he said.
"For telling ya to kiss Blakey?" Benny asked.
"No, for everything about today," he answered.
"We ought to be thanking you!" Benny said.
"Hey, just you being our sons is something we'll always be grateful for. You see, we never thought we could have kids," Bernie answered him. Smiling through wet eyes, Francis nodded his agreement.
"Love ya, dads," Benny said, and rolled over. Tory had already drifted back off.
"Come on, Bernie," Francis said softly. He wrapped his arm around his husband's waist, and walked him out of the room, dimming the lights to near-darkness as they left.
"Home," Benny said with contentment as he too drifted off to sleep.
"Let's talk about school," Francis said to the four boys, as he and Bernie sat down opposite them in one 'conversation group' of furniture.
Blakey and Tory looked upset but said nothing yet. Pat opened his mouth; Benny cut him off. "We're not going back to school!" he said firmly. "None of us wants to have to constantly get into fights and then be punished for defending ourselves. None of us care a whit for the sort of stuff teachers think we ought to be learning. Why should we care that Des Moines is the capital of Iowa when we'll probably never go there? Or what the Bill of Rights is supposed to guarantee, when obviously it doesn't apply to kids?"
Bernie seemed taken aback by Benny's vehemence. "Without an education, you won't know how to run our business when you get old enough to, or even to get a good job, if you decide to go do something else instead. And you know what the alternative is, from your own experience, already."
Pat interjected, "We like learning stuff, mostly. It's school we don't like, and Benny said why. We get hassled and don't learn anything useful, just facts we have no use for."
Francis nodded. "I thought that might be the case. You don't object to learning interesting stuff; it's attending public school, and what happens there, that you have an issue with."
"Not a private school, either," Benny said. "You gotta wear those monkey suit uniforms, and if somebody's going to be sticking it up my butt, I want it to be because he's paying me, not because it's his privilege as an upperclassman."
"You heard about them, then?" Bernie asked. "Mine wasn't quite that bad, but I'd hate to be the one trying to talk you into going there."
"Oh, I don't know," Francis said with a quirky smile. "I think these four could teach those insufferable prigs quite a bit."
Benny started to raise an objection; Francis hushed him. "Whoa! We aren't seriously suggesting prep school for any of you, not unless it was what you wanted."
"So what do you have in mind?" Pat asked, his curiosity aroused by what had been said already.
"Bernie, do you know if Trevor has found a position yet?" Francis asked.
"No, he hasn't. No matter how the law reads, nobody is prepared to hire an openly gay upper elementary/middle school teacher," Bernie answered. "You're thinking...."
"Yes. Want to give him a call, have him come for lunch, and then the boys and we can interview him?"
"Huh?" Blakey said. "Interview him? Us?"
"Yes," Francis said. "I wouldn't want to hire a tutor that you four couldn't get along with. But I think you and Trevor will get along just fine."
Francis answered the door. "Good, come on in, Trevor," he said affably.
The man who walked in seemed to Pat to look, somehow ... fragile. Slender almost to gauntness, dirty blond hair, a large narrow nose just one size too small to appear oversized, "eagle beak", but close. Sea-blue eyes, prominent cheekbones, a chin that was not quite receding but seemed slightly too small, long arms and fingers. And a hint, just a hint, of effeminateness. A warm, bulky sweater in a color complementing his eyes, and tan corduroy slacks. He hugged Francis warmly, then turned and did the same to Bernie as Francis deftly took his jacket, then looked at the four boys with a warm smile and an assessing look.
"Our sons, Trev," Bernie said with, wow!, he sounded proud of them. "This is Tory, then Benny, Pat, and the little cutie there is Blakey. Formal names are Salvatore, Benjamin, Patrick, and Blake, but now you've heard 'em, forget 'em; they prefer the nicknames. I'll give them to you again later for the formal records. Boys, this is our good friend Trevor, who is a professional tutor. Wine, Trev?"
"Yeah, if you have something light and white."
"We have a nice zinfandel without too much of a kick; will that be all right?" Francis asked.
"Sounds good." He turned to the boys. "Hi, guys!" Somewhat lackluster responses from them caused him only momentary surprise. "You know, don't you, this is a job interview?"
"Huh?" Tory was baffled.
"Okay, what's going to go on is that I'm going to brief you guys on what I plan to do with you if Francis and Bernie hire me, but more importantly, answer any questions you guys have, and I mean any questions. If I leave here today with a job, it will be because seven people agree I should be teaching you: that's Bernie, Francis, myself, and the four of you. That means if any of you really don't like me, you can say 'No' and make it stick. Though if the other three do like me, I might just end up teaching them, while you get your own tutor that you like better."
Blakey's eyes were large at the idea he had a veto. Benny looked up at the two men who had undertaken to be his fathers with something like affection. "You really meant it," he said simply, with an undertone of gratitude.
"Yep. I won't say you'll never get an order from one of us and be expected to do it, or get told 'No' for really good reason," Francis said, "but your days of having no say in your life are over."
"I laid out my plans for how today will go first," Trevor said, "to give you a clue of how I take charge and how I explain things, but the other half of the equation is important too: Are you boys happy with doing it that way? And do you have any questions yet?" He was met with silence. "Go ahead; let me know what you think," he expanded. "This is pretty much what I told Francis I'd do earlier. Nobody is going to be upset if you have an opinion, even if you disagree."
"Doesn't sound like we have much of a choice," Pat said with a resigned tone to his voice.
All three adults turned to argue with him. Trevor, noting his expression, held up his hand. "That's about half true, Pat," he said. "Since that's where I planned to go next, let's level with each other." Guardedly, Pat nodded. The two younger boys were watching this exchange nervously.
Trevor went on. "You need to be given an education. That's something you don't get a choice about, because the law requires it."
"You four are special cases, thanks to Pen and his friends," Francis interjected. "But I'd like to see any of you try to convince Ambassador Sarek that leaving you uneducated is logical." He smiled.
"Where your choice comes in," Trevor continued, "is in how you learn, as well as, to some degree, what you learn. As you've probably noticed, your ... guardians?"
"Fathers," Bernie supplied.
"Your fathers have the resources to give you a lot of choices there. What I've found works with kids like you, who don't like a public school environment, is to turn it into a college-style tutoring experience. You know why the three of us liked college so much?" Trevor's expression invited an answer.
"Sex, drugs, and rock and roll?" Benny supplied with a grin.
"Well, one third right, is one part of it," Trevor grinned back. "Freedom from adult orders, including about sex, yeah. But the key part was we could study what we were interested in, what we could use in our careers, not what some state bureaucrat figured we needed to learn. To get our degrees, we had to learn certain things, and sometimes we had to take boring prerequisites to get the classes we really wanted. But the main point is, we got to choose."
Trevor had the boys' attention now. He continued, "That's what I hope you'll agree to my doing. You guys figure out, on an ongoing basis, what you want to learn. I work with you, one on one or four on one, to help you get there. Most of it will be do-it-yourself study – I show you where and how to get what you need; you study it, with me available to help you past any rough spots. When I've got Benny set up with what he wants for the day, I do the same thing for Tory. Then for Blake and Pat. Or the other way around," he added hastily at the looks from the last-named two.
"I don't get the pre-wreck-sit thing," Blakey said leadingly.
"It's pretty simple," Trevor replied. "Sometimes, before you can learn a particular thing, you need some background from another course. So you have to take that other course first before the one that really interests you."
"I get it," Tory said. "Like if we wanted to learn how to blow things up, we'd need to know chemistry before we could learn about explosives?"
"Probably not the example I'd have picked," Trevor said with a laugh, "but you've got the idea down pat there."
"I don't get it," said Blakey.
"Okay," Trevor said. "Benny, what do you think of Bernie's Esprit?"
"His sports car? It's beautiful! I can't wait for a chance to go for a ride in it."
"Why bother getting a ride?" Trevor said. "Get the keys from Bernie, and take Blakey here out for a drive!"
Francis was ready to angrily object; Bernie, catching a hunch of what Trevor was up to, motioned him to wait.
"Huh? I don't know how to drive; I'd wreck it!"
"That doesn't matter. They have loads of money; they can afford to replace it."
"But we might get killed!" Blakey was wide eyed and shocked.
"You don't want to go for a ride with Benny?" Trevor asked him.
"Well, yeah, but after he learns how to drive." Blakey said. Then, "Oh, now I get it!"
Bernie was smiling. Trevor asked, "Any more questions?"
"You're gay, aren't you?" Tory asked abruptly.
"Yes, I am," Trevor said. "Does that pose a problem for you?"
"Nah, we're gay too. But does that mean you're gonna wanna do sex stuff with us?"
"Nope. I like men – big strong men. You guys are cute, but you're not my type." Trevor was nervous about this question, but trying to carry off an 'unflappable' image to them.
"That's all I needed to know," Tory said. "That's cool; I hope you get a good guy."
"As the old sage said, a hard man is good to find," Pat said impishly. Trevor did a doubletake and gave a delighted laugh.
"Any other questions?" he asked. "We can get into exactly what the state expects and what all you guys can get into beyond that after we know if I'm hired."
Pat looked at the other three, then said, "I think we don't have any more questions."
"Okay, then," Francis said. "I'm going to go fix lunch, and Bernie should probably check in with the stores. Trev, join me, if you please. You four, talk it out and let me or Bernie know if you want us to hire Trevor." He turned and walked to the kitchen.
As Francis efficiently put a lunch together, he asked Trevor, "I think you passed with flying colors, but let's see what they have to say. But I have to ask, what was that bit with the car about?"
"It's simple. You can explain a concept over and over, with examples, and they'll either get it or they won't. But if you lead them to figure it out for themselves, it'll stick with them. Over and above which, I noticed Blakey is just a touch insecure. Which way is better at saying to him, 'You're a smart kid, you're worthwhile and important': explaining it to him or having him figure it out?"
"Ah. As Stanislavsky said to the actor playing Lear, there's method to your madness!"
Trevor grinned. "That was one of your worst puns, you know."
"So what about your schedule?" Francis asked.
"Well, I went over it. I'm going to have to not be available Tuesday afternoons for a month. Barton and Esther want me to keep working with Trey, and I really can't drop that. Being outed at his prep school and the attempted suicide – he really needs all the help he can get. But I'll be glad to be rid of Emily Carmichael. That's one self-styled princess that makes me glad I'm gay. And my other two clients are 'on call' situations, where I can say I've taken on a commitment without offending any one."
"Sounds good. We'll find out what the boys think, at lunch."
"I get the impression that they really don't believe it's their choice," Trevor mused. "Maybe we need to address that?"
"I did everything but write them out a notarized contract to make it clear to them," Francis said.
"Let me," said Trevor.
"Luncheon is served," Francis called out.
The boys came running. "Whoa! Slow down!" Trever called out, laughing.
"Never stand between a teenager and food!" Bernie said as he made his way in from the couple's home office.
Francis motioned Pat to help him, and between them they carried a hearty soup-and-sandwiches meal to the table. Francis stepped back into the kitchen and carried back in a tray with six compotes on it. "Dessert," he said. "For after the main meal."
"Those look pretty," Blakey commented.
"Thank you," Francis replied.
"Before you boys announce your decision," Trevor said seriously, "I'd like to ask one thing. If it's negative, would you make it conditional, and give me opportunity to convince you to hire me, before you make it definite and final?"
Francis smiled inwardly, knowing what Trevor was doing.
Pat had taken on himself the job of keeping the little flat they'd been hiding out in going, so far as he could. Now he continued that leadership role. "Don't need to," he said. "We talked about it, and we think you're trying your best to make the idea of school something we can stomach."
"Well, I hope to do better than that!" Trevor said.
"Don't know if we'll like the idea of classes again," Benny said. "We kinda got out of the habit. But we'll give you a try."
"No funny stuff, though," Tory said and giggled. Trevor looked at him, realized it was his way of trying to joke with the new teacher, and broke into a laugh.
Bernie's cellphone chimed. "Hello," he said, pulling it out and answering it. Then, after a pause, "Um, just a minute." He ostentatiously muted the phone.
"It's Bertha," he said to Francis. "Remember we invited Chatsworth and her to dinner tonight two weeks ago."
"Oh, damn," Francis said. "Well, what's done is done. What time?"
"Seven o'clock," Bernie said.
"We'll go through with it, then. But let's fill the boys in now, after you hang up." All four boys' ears perked up at this.
"Seven is fine, Bertha," Bernie said. "You can meet our new sons; they'll be dining with us. – Yes, it was a surprise. I'll tell you all about it, this evening – Very well, see you then."
Bernie shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder," he said. "Bertha was surprised to find that 'our kind' were allowed to adopt. But she's happy for us, or so she said."
Trevor's lip quirked, but he didn't comment.
"Boys, we forgot about a dinner invitation we made a couple of weeks ago. Chatsworth is one of our bankers. He's a stuffy old fuddy-duddy, and can be fairly irritating. But he's good at what he does, so we tolerate him. He and his wife Bertha will be here at seven."
"What about us?" Blakey asked nervously.
"You'll be joining us and them for dinner," Francis said. "In case you hadn't figured it out yet, we're proud of you guys." He thought. "Oh, and don't worry about the which-fork-to-use stuff and all that sort of thing. See the spoons you're using for soup, how they're almost a circle? Those are soup spoons; that's the only odd silverware you'll be using, and, kind of obviously, you use them for soup. So if you remember that and are reasonably polite to our guests, that's all we would expect."
"We can do that," Pat said.
"Good. Then that's settled," Bernie said. "Trevor, the only doubt in my mind was if the boys would be happy with you. Given they've agreed to hire you, can you start Monday?"
"No problem," Trevor said with a warm smile.
"Do I look okay?" Pat asked nervously. "Do you think they'll like me?" He adjusted his tie for perhaps the tenth time, smoothed out his sweater and straightened the crease in his slacks, each for more times than Francis had been counting. Blakey looked positively petrified. Tory and Benny, though both visibly nervous, were at least trying to occupy themselves with a game on the xBox Bernie had picked up earlier in the day.
"Come here, guys," Francis said. He seated himself on the couch, pulled Blakey onto his lap, and motioned Pat and Benny to sit on either side of him. Tory jittered; Benny pulled him down so his head and shoulders rested partly on Benny's and partly on Francis's knees.
"Look," Francis said. "These people are our business and social acquaintances. Yes, we do want you to make a good impression on them. But you're our kids. You mean more to us than they ever could." He frowned. "I'm really sorry that we are dumping them on you on what's pretty much your first day here, not counting last night. But we did invite them before we ever knew we'd be getting you, and we both thought it was important to keep that promise."
"Chatsworth is a good banker, a man who knows how to manage money," he went on. "And Bertha is well to do in her own right, and does a lot of charitable work. They're both old style Boston brahmins, social elite and proud of it, and ready to rub your face in it. But don't let anything they say or do throw you; you four matter more to Bernie and me than a hundred of them. Okay?" He emphasized this with a squeeze to both the older boys' waists.
Blakey grinned. "They've got your arms pinned down, Poppa," he said. "So you have no defense against" he pounced "the Incredible Tickle Monster!"
"Hey!" Francis said, squirming and loving it at the same time. "Just wait until I get you, you little...."
He squirmed one arm free from behind Pat and grabbed Blakey, exacting tickle-revenge.
"Okay, guys," Bernie said, coming into the room. "That was building security; they just passed them into the garage. They'll be here shortly."
"Take Blakey with you to welcome them," Francis urged. "He could use the comfort, and unless I miss my guess, he'll charm Bertha just by being his cute little self." He smiled at the ten-year-old, who gave a nervous grin back. Francis gave a reassuring pat on the shoulder to Pat, and stood up himself.
The elevator chimed and the doorbell rang. Bernie let them in. "Welcome! It's good to see you! This is our youngest, Blakey," he said, strong hand on Blakey's shoulder. Blakey mustered up a nervous smile and extended his hand to shake, first Chatsworth's, then Bertha's. She smiled warmly back at him.
Francis brought the other three into the entry. "Bertha! Chatsworth! Come in! Let me present Benny, Tory, and Pat." Pat gingerly shook hands with the couple, followed by Tory.
"May I take your coat, ma'am?" Benny asked politely.
"Certainly, young man! Thank you!"
"And Chatsworth, give me yours," Francis said.
"Give it to me, Dad F.," Benny told him, reaching out his arm for it. He carried them into the guest suite to lay them out on the spare bed, with a peculiar, closed-in expression on his face.
"Won't you come in?" Francis asked urbanely, leading them into the great room, where he'd arrayed couches and chairs for maximum comfort. He poured Bertha, Chatsworth, himself, and Bernie cocktails, while Tory retrieved sodas for the four boys.
"You must tell me how you came by these delightful boys," Bertha said. "I had no idea they were letting you people adopt." Bernie cringed at 'you people', but Francis gave no evidence of having noticed it.
"I was up in Maine on a buying trip when I found out how severe the homeless-child problem really is," Francis said. "When I arrived back in Boston, I prevailed on Bernie to go with me to see what we could do to help. We found these four looking for a home. They'd been making a precarious go of it in an abandoned flat down on Quincy Street, and were slated to be dumped separately into the system. We adopted them, of course."
"They got us a lot of stuff," Tory volunteered, "but even more important, they love us."
Bertha smiled. "That's wonderful," she said. "Quincy Street – that's down in Dorchester, correct?" Benny nodded. "We do the Sunday dinner giveaway down there, at the Catholic Charities on Columbia Street. Did you boys ever make use of that?"
Pat started, as though he had something to say, but stayed silent. Bernie, beginning to become attuned to his boys, caught it. "Speak up, Pat," he said. "I can see there's something on your mind."
"Um, it's not really my place to say," Pat said. "I don't want to sound like I'm criticizing or anything."
"Go ahead, young man," Bertha said, slightly sternly now.
"Well, I went down there in August, 'cause I'd heard about it," Pat said. "They gave us one meal for the four of us. I heard one of the volunteers talking about she had ten of them stashed away because she was having company come for Labor Day." Pat gulped. "I, um, well, I didn't go back there."
"That's outrageous," Bertha said vociferously. Pat quailed; Bernie moved to comfort him.
Bertha saw, and altered her tone. "Pat, I am sorry. My anger wasn't directed at you. That's not the first report I've heard of people skimming things from those who truly need it. And to my shame, I thought it was petty jealousy on the part of some volunteers, making up stories to discredit people they disliked. Thank you for telling me. I'll make sure that gets looked into, pronto."
Bernie gave Pat a fast affectionate squeeze of his shoulder, as if to say 'You did well' to him.
Chatsworth saw and harrumphed. "I'm very surprised that you have put your boys on exhibit like this," he said. "I suppose it's only part and parcel of this modern anything-goes philosophy." He scowled.
"We don't agree with the ideas of my parents' generation," Francis said obliviously, "the 'feed the children first' gimmick and all that. The way children develop adult social skills is by learning them interacting with adults." But it was obvious from Chatsworth's expression that was not at all what he had meant. The two younger boys noticed it and cringed; Benny was quietly angry.
"When I was growing up, there were some things that just were not done in polite society," Chatsworth said. "A man might, for example, have a mistress on the side, but he was expected to be discreet about it, not embarrass himself and his family." He glanced around the apartment. "It's one thing that you two live together like you were a couple; after all, you are business partners. But to trot out these boys in front of us...!"
Bernie at last caught on to Chatsworth's implication, and rose angrily. "That bit of innuendo, Chatsworth, is completely out of place." His face reddened and he drew a breath.
He was, however, forestalled in whatever angry remark he may have been preparing to make when Benny stood up. "Let me, Dad B.," he said. He turned to Bertha. "May I ask you a very personal question, ma'am?" he requested.
Wondering what the boy was up to, she nodded yes. "Then let me ask you: when that man has sex with you, does he expect you to reach up and play with his hairy nipples, while complimenting him on the size of his erection – something that takes some creative license to come up with on the fly, so to speak?" he asked her.
"What in the world...?" Francis was aghast.
Chatsworth was darkly angry. Bertha said, "How in the world would you ever know...." She trailed off as she figured out exactly how it was that Benny knew that.
"Is that the sort of thing that you're expected to keep discreet?" Benny asked rhetorically. "Because you neglected to explain that to me. In fact, you had very little to say to me, other than 'legs up' and 'suck harder'. So I wouldn't know the social niceties of discreetness. But I do know that treating my brothers like they were less than human, and my Dads like they were somehow engaged in something filthy, in their own home, is against the kind of politeness I was brought up to show."
"Well, Chatsworth?" Bertha prompted him.
"I don't have to sit still for this," he blustered.
"No, you don't," Bernie agreed. "You can start by leaving our home immediately, and follow up on that by closing out all our accounts with your bank tomorrow, and having drafts for the full balances ready for me to pick up by, let's say, noon."
"Bank policies require three days notice," Chatsworth rejoined, taken aback by that.
"Let me put it this way," Bernie said. "You have a choice: explain to Renard why you decided to override bank policy for long-time depositors who decided to move their business elsewhere, in hopes of someday winning them back, or explaining how Benny knows your personal sexual kinks to a friendly detective on Boston's Vice Squad – after, of course, getting Benny full immunity in exchange for his testimony. It's your choice."
"And," Bertha said, "you can do all this from your club. I'll have your things sent over to you. I refused to credit the allegations Melissa made about you and street hustlers. That seems to have been a mistake."
"Just a little politeness, a kind word that said you were happy for me and my brothers that we got something better in our lives, and this wouldn't have happened. I'd have kept my mouth shut, just like you expected," Benny said. "But when you started assuming my Dads were using us the same as you did me – well, that was going too far. They love us, you know."
Chatsworth was apoplectic. "Leave. Now," Bernie said to him. Chatsworth looked like he was going to argue some more, but then stood up and stomped out.
"I hope you don't insist on including me in that dis-invitation," Bertha said. 'I've been looking forward to one of Francis's creations, and I'd like to get to know your boys a bit better."
"You're always welcome here, Bertha," Francis said. Tory gave her a small, nervous smile; she gave him a broad one back, with a wink.
"I'm sorry," Benny said. "You're probably mad at me now."
"Don't be," Bernie answered him. "Now, if you treated all our friends and business relationships like that, I might be upset." He smiled. "But Chatsworth was inexcusably rude – to you four and to us as well."
"You did me a big favor, young man," Bertha said. "Just like your brother did. I always try to think the best of everyone – my soon-to-be-ex-husband included. But you opened my eyes to something, made me face a fact I didn't want to. And I am grateful."
"I cannot grasp why he would have behaved the way he did, knowing that Benny could expose him," Francis said.
"That's because you haven't lived with him thirty years like I have, you don't know how he thinks," Bertha said. "In a way he's very short-sighted ... he thinks everyone is just like him. He did not see Benny as a person, with his own hopes and fears. Benny was someone who sold him a commodity he wanted, so in his mind, you two must be making the same transaction. He was always motivated by money, so he related well to others who were similarly motivated, or who hired him to manage their money as you did. And of course he was always high on proper social behavior. We would have gone home tonight and he would have taken pleasure in pointing out that one of your boys, say Tory here, said or did something out of line by the 20th century upper class standards for child behavior that he was brought up to follow, never realizing that his own behavior was far worse. In his mind, he and Benny had a contract that included discretion, one Bennyviolated by having the effrontery to be adopted by Chatsworth's social peers. Benny was supposed to be the convenience available when his little wienie required relief, then discreetly fade away." She looked Benny square in the eye. "You taught him a lesson he's needed for years, young man, and I'm glad you did."
Benny looked up shyly. "I offered Dad B. my bottom when we first got here," he said. "He told me he was married to Dad F., and that he wanted to be my father, not my lover. I'd'a done it gladly; he treated me like people. 'N' it was something I could do, to pay him back for how good he's been to me and my brothers."
Bertha looked at him judiciously, then at the other three. "You boys feel guilty for taking what Bernie and Francis give you without being able to give them anything back, don't you?" she asked. Nods answered her.
"I'm going to call Montague – my lawyer – tomorrow, to have him start the separation and divorce process," she went on. "Do you know why I'm willing to pay him to do that?"
"'Cause he's a lawyer?" Blakey essayed a little hesitantly.
"Well, yes, but because being a lawyer, he has expertise I need to make something I want to have happen, happen," she replied. "My father left me two things: a very lucrative set of investments that have supported me all my life, and a sense of responsibility to help others. That's why I've done charity work all these years."
"I'd always wondered," Francis said.
"But here's what I have in mind, boys, if you're interested: Pat showed me with one sentence where something I've supported as long as Tory has been alive was misusing what I was giving. I don't know, I can't know, where the real needs are, where I'm pouring money into someone's pockets who doesn't need it, instead of taking care of the people who do." She smiled. "That's where you come in."
Four puzzled looks met her. "What I want to do," she went on, "is to hire you four as my consultants, to have you tell me from your own pasts, or check out programs for me as supposed recipients, and let me know where I'm really helping and where I'm just throwing away money."
"And," she concluded, "I plan to pay you as consultants, money you'll earn by being my experts, so you'll have your own money to spend on yourselves, or on little gifts for your fathers."
A thought struck her that made her laugh aloud. "In fact, Benny," she added, "what I want ties right into your area of expertise." He looked at her quizzically. "I want you to let me know where I'm getting screwed by the people I'm giving money to."
The tension left Benny in one deep, soul-cleansing belly laugh, one that the other boys and the two men joined in.
Pat was the first of the four boys to awaken, and he decided it was time to ask the question. These men had been so good to him and Benny and the two little ones, maybe they would have the answer he needed. He screwed up his courage and walked out of the guest suite toward their home office.
What he heard, though, was raised voices, and he decided to listen for a minute before going in – if in fact he decided to go in at all.
"It's a matter of priorities, Francis," Bernie was saying with some heat. "You saw the need, and had us get involved. And you were right; I saw that first thing in the donut shop. Now that we're involved, it's whole hog or none. Like the Bible says, do the right thing and don't count the cost."
"Yes, but I think there needs to be a balance. It was, after all, our whole life before the boys, and you have to admit we found it pretty comfortable to live that way." Francis was quieter but no less firm.
"Something has to give," Bernie replied, "and as far as I'm concerned, it's the part that doesn't need hands-on effort. We have good managers."
"Yes, but...." Francis trailed off as he saw Pat outside the door. "Come on in, Pat!"
"Um..." Pat was really nervous. "I kind of had a problem to ask you guys about, but, um, you're upset about something...."
"Come on in here and tell us about it!" Bernie said with a smile. "Maybe we can help."
"Well, um, it's like this," Pat said as he sat down with them. Feeling his courage dissipate, he changed his mind. "No, it's stupid." He went to stand up.
"Tell us," Francis said with a mixture of firmness and caring in his voice.
"Well, um, when we were in the apartment, it was my job to try to take care of everybody else, make sure we had enough money, hit the food thrift stores at the right times to get bargains, all that kind of stuff. It made me feel good to be taking care of Benny and the two little ones like that."
"Now we're here," Pat went on, "and you're taking care of us like I never imagined could happen, and, well, I kind of feel useless now." He gulped. "I said it was stupid."
"No, it's not stupid," Francis said, "but your job now is to study with Trevor, get a good education, so you don't have to be juggling money and expenses like that."
Bernie held up his hand; Francis stopped and looked at him. "You're right, of course," he said to Francis, "but you're missing the underlying message. Pat needs to feel needed, like he's being a valuable contributing part of what keeps things going. In a very real though peculiar way, he was the father figure, the breadwinner, for the four of them, and now we are, and he feels useless. Right, Pat?"
"Uh-huh." It was very quiet.
"Now think what we were talking about, Francis," Bernie went on.
"Hmmm? Balancing what the boys need of our time against how much of our time we spent on the business? I don't see it."
"Sometimes," Bernie said enigmatically, "if you get two or more problems, they start solving each other." He turned to his computer console. "Look here, Pat." He called up a page that was clearly a magazine ad, of glossy wooden decorator pieces, then, after a few seconds, another ad, this one from a catalog. "Tell me what the difference between them is, Pat."
"Um... the first one was prettier. They were, uh, buffed, the wood showed. The other one was painted stuff. And the first one was, I don't know, smoother lines or something. I'm not sure how to say it, but they curved prettier." Bernie was nodding with a pleased smile.
Then he pulled a folder of sales receipt copies from a corner of his desk, punched in several commands on his computer, and handed Pat the printout he had ordered. "Quickly, check these against that," he instructed him.
Mystified, Pat did what Bernie had asked, and after a few minutes said, "Um, the list you printed, they're all there."
"Okay," Bernie said. "And everything on the printout had a receipt that matched it?"
"Yeah."
"Now, enter the total from the printout here," he instructed Pat, pulling up another screen. As Pat typed in the number, the amber bar alongside the box he was typing the numbers into shifted to chartreuse.
Francis was smiling now. "You tell him," he said. "It was your idea."
"Okay, Pat," Bernie said. "The first page I showed you was our ad in Bostonian Monthly last summer. The second was a page from a mail order house catalog. They're both mostly things produced by Throxton Industries, the company owned by the father of the boy Francis called to help when we first met you. And you nailed the differences precisely; that's just what Francis looks for in deciding what to buy from them."
"The other stuff is part of what I do – that was the sales from our Wellesley store last Tuesday, checked against the list of things removed from inventory, and how it affected the bottom line. I've got that color coded: red means we're losing money that week at that store, orange that we're breaking even, amber that we're making a little but it needs watching, chartreuse is okay but below expectations, and green is at or above what we expect."
"What we were arguing about is how much we'd lose not keeping the tight tabs on the business that we have in the past so that we can spend the time with you guys," Bernie went on. Pat started to speak up; both men shushed him.
"The question was not whether or not to – all four of you need caring fathers in your lives, and I think you'd agree that Blakey and Tory in particular do," Francis explained. "It was how we were going to juggle running our business with giving you the time you guys need."
"And you just solved that," Bernie said with a smile. "I don't have the taste to identify what will sell to our customers; that's Francis's job, and he worries over every decision he makes on a buying trip. You do, and you can give him the cross-check he feels like he needs. And I'm always checking those inventory sheets. My part is to make sure we're putting the right merchandise in the right stores, based on ongoing sales figures. That's why I worked up that system." He smiled. "If you will agree to spend an hour or two a day with us, doing pretty much what you just did and some other tasks I'll show you, our management issue just got solved – the three of us can keep up the same level of management we were doing before you boys came into our lives."
Francis grinned. "Welcome to Lagrange and Halstead, junior partner!" he said.