Men of All Seasons Box Set

by R. W. Clinger

  “I’m knitting this evening in front of CSI Miami, if you want to know the truth.”

  Fuck the truth, he thought. And fuck your knitting. Go back inside your house and eat yourself to death.

  Because Stone had always considered himself a gentleman and someone who believed in the theory of loving one’s neighbor, otherwise uninterested in the holy Bible, he told Izzy, “I understand. We all have important things to tend.”

  “Just keep your tending down,” she scolded, jabbing her index finger in midair, directing it at him.

  “As I have already said, we will.”

  Izzy huffed, turned around, and lumbered through the thickening snow, back to her Tudor. Once, she quickly turned around, and Stone waved to her. Of course, she didn’t wave back. She picked up her prickly and pudgy pace and waddled inside her house, closing the door behind her.

  Stone noticed the falling snow then, which somewhat worried him. He had hoped all the book club members would show for the meeting. The snow grew thick, falling down from the heavens, and could be troublesome for a few of his guests who were driving, since they lived across town or in the connecting county. Feeling confident, he was pretty sure each of the members would attempt to come, since their book club meetings were never boring and hardly uneventful. In due time, he would learn who was going to show and who wasn’t. Until then, he had other things to prepare for the event. He turned away from Izzy’s Tudor and the icy snow and continued his chores.

  * * * *

  Prior to Sadie leaving, Stone had her prepare cinnamon-glazed tarts, gouda-stuffed mushrooms, and an artichoke and chives dip to partner with pumpernickel bread. He chilled the Verdi and rearranged the stack of Robert Riley paperbacks next to the appetizer table. By six-fifteen, he felt ready for the club’s members to arrive. Exhausted and needing a nap, he decided to enjoy two shots of vodka with Sprite and a slice of lime in the sitting room, exactly where the members would be seated and enjoying a conversation about Riley’s A Winter Affair.

  Before temporarily retiring to the sitting room with his drink, he decided to snatch up one of the paperbacks stacked on the appetizer table. Windmill Lane struck his fancy, a harrowing love story between a husband and wife that ended in blood-thirsty murder. Although Riley was best known for his slice-and-dice mysteries, he occasionally wrote twisted and obsession-filled romances that were no more than two hundred pages in length and comprised of many chapters. Stone thought those quick reads as bloody and sparkling gems among his Robert Riley collection, love gone wrong tales of butchering spouses, stomach-curdling trials, and insane wives or husbands getting away with murder and deceptive plans of revenge.

  Seated, he started thumbing through the slim paperback, recalling gruesome chapters of poisoning, torture, and one beheading of the husband and wife’s intrusive neighbor, who just happened to remind Stone of Izzy Merlot next door. Windmill Lane was a graphic novel with quite the punch, he remembered, even though critics agreed and described the piece as…sloppy writing with no literary value whatsoever, mush for swine.

  Susan Trumpet, an ex-book editor from Random House, and one of Stone’s closest New York City friends, had called the piece “drivel with knives,” which Stone disagreed with, claiming Susan a drug-addicted slut and cougar incapable of living without her lines of cocaine and under-aged cocks. No matter how the literary world had negatively taken the short tale, it was one of Stone’s delicacies; a certain story only published in paperback three years ago, and one his fellow book club members had yet to consume, which he had surely wanted to share with them in the near future, perhaps in the springtime, exactly when the tale takes place.

  After reading a few passages of Riley’s work, he flipped the book over and saw the author’s black-and-white photograph, which, according to the blurb under the picture, had been taken in Riley’s Rhode Island office, one of three beachfront properties in the United States. Riley, from what Stone understood, was terrified of leaving the States, for fear of being abducted and having his organs harvested. According to a few articles, and speaking of the topic with the writer face to face, Riley believed being Stateside was the safest place he could be.

  Stone knew Robert Riley had a problem with one of his fans a few years ago. Mrs. Kimberly Canton (aged thirty-four, single, and a coffee shop employee) of Toronto, Canada, had stalked Riley while he was on a book-signing tour in two Canadian provinces. Canton obviously had a few screws loose (similar to Izzy Merlot’s condition), became obsessed with Riley, and decided to execute one of the twelve violent crime scenes she had read, analyzed, learned, and fallen in love with in Windmill Lane.

  Somehow, someway, Canton had entered Riley’s rented suite in downtown Toronto, tied him to the uppity hotel’s bed, and used duct tape across his mouth. Like the female character in Windmill Lane, a middle-aged wife who had learned her husband (Tanner Bishop) enjoyed diddling whorish strippers outside of their marriage, Canton carried a silver flask filled with gasoline in her faux-Coach purse. And like Olivia Bishop, Tanner’s mentally unstable wife in Riley’s novel, Kimberly Canton had every intention of setting Robert Riley ablaze.

  According to numerous articles Stone had read of the Toronto incident, Riley barely remembered the atrocity. Yes, he was set on fire by the wacko Canadian bitch/arsonist. And yes, the fire alarm just outside the suite had gone off. Of course, he had suffered from second-degree burns on his left leg. Nasty folded scar tissue the color of a light pink decorated his left shin. No, he didn’t recall someone busting down the suite’s door and snuffing the fire with an extinguisher. And no, he didn’t know Kimberly Canton had caught herself ablaze, accidentally spilling gasoline on her left leg, and screaming at the top of her lungs; another reason why one of the hotel’s staff busted down the suite’s door.

  In the end, Robert Riley sued the woman, the hotel chain, and walked away from the incident with seven-point-three million dollars in his wallet, not that he needed the money since he made millions from his books. As for Kimberly Canton, before being led off to prison for the next thirty-plus years, she had finished her job by setting herself on fire at her Toronto residence, committing suicide, and burning to death. Stone knew that was not how Windmill Lane ended after reading it twice. Rather, Olivia Bishop got away with the murder of her husband and visited his grave two times a year: the day of their wedding anniversary and the anniversary of his death. Amen to that.

  Enough, Stone thought, placing the paperback aside on a nearby end table. I have other things to do.

  He took a quick and long drink of his cocktail, felt it numb his cheeks, and decided to see how the weather stood outside. Falling snow over Templeton wasn’t a problem, but icy roads could ruin this evening’s gathering in just a few minutes. He knew Lance had to travel the farthest distance. His nephew lived ten miles south of Plimpton in a small town called Duxton, which just happened to be nothing but farmland and one convenience store. The road between the two towns was windy with a number of hills. Most likely, he couldn’t make the book club meeting if such a road became icy and snow-covered. It wasn’t that Lance was a bad driver; it simply was just too dangerous for the young man to make the drive over.

  After walking to one of the sitting room’s floor-to-ceiling windows, structures that were over fifty years old, Stone took the bottom of his right fist, drew it in a circle over one of the window’s glass panes, removed thick condensation, and created a view for himself. He peered outside and saw that the snow started to densely fall. The wind had picked up, but he couldn’t tell if it was wet and icy snow or not. No matter what, like the Eagle Scout he’d once been, he was prepared to entertain those book-reading fanatics of Robert Riley who were willing to risk driving in the bad weather. For those who didn’t arrive, he would completely understand, realizing that the weather turned quite unhelpful and bitchy. No matter what, he felt thrilled to discuss Robert Riley again with his close friends and nephew.

  * * * *

  Yellow-white headlights reflected in the
falling snow and inside Stone’s living room from outside. He heard the engine of a four-wheel drive vehicle grind and groan, making its way through the snow, coming closer to the house. The headlights blinded him as he entered the living room’s foyer. He felt excited inside, happy that one of ten guests had arrived for the evening’s book club gathering.

  Eventually, the engine turned off as well as the headlights on the vehicle. Within a matter of seconds, a shadowy figure climbed out, covered in winter gear from head to toes, battling the snowy cold. Then the figure closed the vehicle’s door and walked toward the house’s front stoop’s three icy steps. The person quickly trotted up the stairs and ended up at the main entrance, on the opposite side of the door where Stone stood, waiting patiently.

  Stone saw the figure holding what looked to be a canvas bag against his or her North Face jacket. He couldn’t make out the person’s features, though, because they were hidden inside a bulky and fur-trimmed parka. Nor could Stone guess who the book clubber was, but presumed it a male attendee since the person stood over six feet tall.

  Stone opened the front door and allowed the visitor inside his abode. Within just a few seconds, he realized the arriving guest wasn’t a book club member. Shocked, he watched Cameron Phillips pull the parka’s hood off his head.

  “I wanted to get here before the roads became any worse.”

  Confused, unsure of Cameron’s unexpected visit, he mumbled, “But…but you’re very early. None of my guests are even here yet. I told you not to show up until after eleven.”

  Cameron set the canvas bag on a nearby table in the foyer and started to undress. First, he removed the parka, then his boots. He took a Kenneth Cole scarf off his shoulders. He hung things in the foyer where they belonged on wooden hooks and left his winter boots on a knit rug, exactly where he thought they should go.

  While undressing and making himself at home, he told Stone, “Trust me, it’s a blizzard out there. They won’t be coming. Mother Nature is giving us a hard slap of cold and snow. Things are nasty out there.”

  Stone shook his head, slightly irritated but surprised to see the man. “You can’t be here right now. I’ve got book people coming. You have to go.”

  Looking confused, Cameron said, “But I thought you wanted me here.”

  “I did,” Stone said. “But not this early. I told you to come by later. Then we could…mess around.”

  Cameron grinned, obviously pleased. “You’re using me for my dick, aren’t you? I’m just a piece of meat to you. That’s all.”

  Stone shook his head, disbelieving the moment and Cameron’s unexpected visit. He felt half excited that the man had shown up. “That’s not true. You’re wrong. I know you didn’t read our book this month, and that means you shouldn’t be here. Only readers come to events like these”

  Cameron huffed. “What book was picked? Maybe I already read it.”

  Stone told him. “A Winter Affair by Robert Riley.”

  Wide-eyed, smiling, and sexy, Cameron said, “You’re right. I didn’t read the book. That doesn’t mean you should kick me out. I’d like to stay and listen to what the group has to say. I promise to keep quiet, though.”

  “I thought you said the members weren’t going to show because of all the snow.”

  Cameron nodded. “They aren’t. It’s a blizzard out there. I drive a four-wheel truck. I’m sure most of your readers drive cars without any all-wheel drive in them. There’s no way they can make it through the snow.”

  “I have no idea,” Stone said, shutting the front door behind the man. “Obviously, you’re not leaving.”

  “Didn’t plan on it, if you want to know the truth. It was easy getting here, but I’m sure it won’t be fine getting home. Besides, you and I can have some fun together. Why not live on that this evening, with or without your book readers?”

  “Suit yourself, Cameron. But if you become bored with the group, it’s not my fault. Just remember it’s your choice to stay, not mine.”

  “I’m sure there’s nothing that will bore me here,” Cameron said, following Stone through the living room and into the kitchen, probably checking out his ass on the way.

  * * * *

  Cameron chose ice over bourbon with a slice of lemon as opposed to coffee, and Stone agreed to the concoction, needing to relax before his guests arrived.

  The two leaned onto the kitchen counter, drinking.

  Between sips, Cameron said, “I think I know your nephew.”

  “Lance Bangle?”

  “Yes. Him.” Cameron took another sip of his cocktail. “He’s a nice kid. Sort of still wet behind the ears, handsome, and polite. I’d probably date him if I didn’t find you so damn attractive.”

  “He does get around. And, yes, he is handsome. Where did you meet him?”

  “At Falling Chocolates. He told me his weakness was chocolate. Some men are like that, of course, which I can respect.”

  Stone enjoyed talking with Cameron, getting to feel comfortable around him without taking his clothes off and having a quickie like they had earlier that day. “He wasn’t lying. The kid is obsessed with the stuff. He can’t get enough chocolate. Truth said, I like to spoil him with chocolate as if he were still ten or eleven.”

  Cameron took a sip of his drink and winced because it might have been too strong. “We talked for a little while about his time in Japan and how he wanted to go back. Do you ever see that happening?”

  “Lance is an adult and can do whatever he wants. If he ever needs help in life, I’m the uncle he can turn to. I’ll always be here for him.”

  “A toast to you, Uncle Stone,” Cameron said, raising his cocktail for a salute.

  Stone did the same thing but really didn’t know why. Then his view moved from Cameron to one of the windows in the kitchen, which started to shake because of the blowing wind and snow.

  “The snow isn’t calming down. You might be right about the club members not showing up this evening.”

  “Sad to say, but it’s the truth. It’s hell’s fury out there. Cold. Snowy. Frosting. No one in their right mind will make the drive here, especially if they don’t have a good truck to get through the snowdrifts.”

  “But you made it,” Stone said, studying Cameron again, happy with what he saw. “Why is that?”

  “Because I wanted to get to know you better. All we have in common thus far is sex, and I didn’t think it was fair for you or me. It’s not what relationships are about. Both you and I know that.”

  Somewhat surprised by Cameron’s statement, Stone thought it only appropriate to ask, “So you want to have a relationship with me?”

  Cameron winked at him. “We’ll see what happens. Maybe we have chemistry. Maybe we don’t. Tonight will tell the truth.”

  * * * *

  Over more drinks, Stone finally learned a little bit about the man. A history unfolded of Cameron Phillips.

  He grew up in Camden, Maine, with his father, and moved to Pittsburgh with his mother after his parents divorced. He attended Martimore High School in Pittsburgh. Thereafter, he went to West End College near Laker Erie for a business degree and eventually held a position at Plimpton College, working as a full-time file clerk. Now he had a job in upper management in the administration division of the college. Stone thought he had done well for himself. So many men failed by the time they hit their thirties, lacking motivation, skills, or whatnots to survive in the real world.

  “What kind of love life have you had throughout the years?” Stone asked, intrigued to learn whatever he could about the man.

  Cameron sneered defensively. “You’re talking about my walks in the park, aren’t you? You think I pick up guys there all the time and take them back to my house to screw them?”

  Stone thought that. How couldn’t he since Cameron had picked him up in the park like some hustler, wanting to have sex with him.

  Cameron cleared his throat and said rather curtly, “I’ve had a few long-term boyfriends. None of them really worked
out. As for the park thing that happened with you and our quickie this afternoon…let’s just say I’ve always liked you. Everything about you, Stone. All your ins and outs. I had the opportunity to get close to you today and took advantage of it. And maybe you did, too.”

  “I’m not judging you,” Stone clarified. “I was just curious about your love life.”

  “It’s hard to find the right guy to spend your life with. You might know about that. You might not. Sometimes, I’ve thought you were the right guy for me. Prince Charming in the waiting.”

  “And that’s why you arrived early tonight?”

  Cameron shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just know I like spending time with you. You’ve always made me feel good. I’ve never gotten bad vibes from you.”

  Stone felt flattered and confused at the same time. Cameron didn’t seem like an easy character to figure out. He couldn’t get a read on the man, but felt as if he were slowly learning. Stone looked at the bottle of bourbon and slices of lemon, thinking he wanted another drink.

  While preparing his beverage, he said to Cameron, “I have a question for you.”

  “Hit me. I’m all ears. I’ll answer it honestly and to the best of my ability.”

  Stone blinked another time, pouring a drink for Cameron. Once prepared, he passed it to Cameron and asked, “Why didn’t you reach out to me before today? I’ve been living in this house for years now. I haven’t moved. We’ve seen each other off and on throughout the years. Why have you stayed away from me?”

  Cameron downed the fresh drink, shook his head, and growled. He wiped his right arm across his mouth. “Because I’ve never really had the balls to ask you out on a real date. I was afraid you’d tell me no and wanted nothing to do with me.”

  “But it was okay to take me back to your place for sex this afternoon?”

  Cameron lowered his gaze to the kitchen’s luxury tile, then back up to Stone, and blushed. “I’ve had my eye on you, just as I’ve said. Today was an opportunity for me. Maybe the start of something.” He poured himself a straight finger of bourbon, tilted it back down his throat, and continued. “Obviously, it worked, or I wouldn’t be standing here this evening and talking to you.”