George nodded. “I can only imagine. How are they?”
“Taking care of Harold seems to have brought out the best of Terrence.” Philip watched the waiter pour the champagne. “He’s still quite a handful—you know Terrence. But now, rather than keeping him off the streets and out of trouble, the challenge is tempering his ambition. He wants everything yesterday.”
“It will be interesting to see where that one ends up,” George said. “Tremendous potential in a package the world won’t know how to handle.”
Philip laughed. “Yes, he’s one of a kind, that’s for sure.”
“How about Harold?”
“Well, for starters, he wants to be called Monique.” Philip kept his voice neutral and his expression blank. The announcement had knocked him for a loop. But he wanted to be supportive. If dressing up made the boy happy, so be it. “He asked me to talk with you about legally changing his name to Monique Devereux.”
“Monique Devereux?” George chuckled. “Where on earth did that come from?”
Philip shrugged. “I have no idea. Last week it was Mariana Del Sol, and before that, Nikita Smirnoff.”
George burst out laughing, and, after pulling himself together, he picked up his champagne flute and raised it toward the center of the table. “I’d like to propose a toast. To the kindest, most loving, and bighearted man I’ve ever known. Philip, I’m so glad you asked me to be your attorney. Getting to know you better has been a treat.”
Philip knew he was blushing. “Why, George, thank you so much.” He clinked his glass against George’s. “Spending time with you has certainly been a highlight of these last few months for me.” He smiled. “With my sister, Mary, in Italy, I’m frankly glad to have Terrence and Monique to keep me busy.”
“Have you heard from Beau Carter?”
“Yes, I got a letter from him last week. He moved back to Georgia. Told his family he was a homosexual and that he wasn’t leaving until they came to terms with it.”
“Good for him.” George pulled the bottle from the bucket and replenished their glasses.
“How’s Maxine?”
“I told her about Terrence and Harold… er, I mean, Monique. She wants me to help you take care of them. She always liked James, and she suggested we set up a foundation to help others like him with parents who can’t accept them for who they are.”
Philip’s mind was reeling, and it wasn’t from the glass of champagne. “Maxine sounds rather more progressive than I would have expected.”
George laughed. “You and me both. Almost makes me wish I’d taken the time to get to know her before now. And get this. She called Roland. Told him she was starting a foundation to help young men like James, and that she believed a ten-thousand-dollar donation was the least he could do. Before she hung up, she’d talked him out of twenty-five thousand.”
Philip stared at him. “Roland Walker?”
“The very same.”
The familiar twinkle in George’s eye told Philip there was more to the story. “How on earth did she get him to agree to that?”
“She did what Terrence does—went straight for his balls.” He snorted. “Turns out, she knows three different women who believe they are the love of Roland’s life. She promised to tell them and every other available woman within a one-hundred mile radius about his philandering ways unless he coughed up the money.”
Philip laughed into his napkin to keep from spewing champagne on the table. “I’d hate to get on her bad side.”
“She thinks quite a lot of you,” George said. “In fact, she wants you to chair the foundation board.” He beamed at Philip. “She said it’s her way of helping with Terrence and Harold and any other boys in similar situations you may encounter.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Philip thought about what that kind of money would mean for Terrence and Harold. They could go to college, or even study with Mary Day at the Washington School of Ballet. He couldn’t prevent parents from putting their homosexual children out on the street, but he could sure make a difference when they did.
George pleaded with him. “Say yes. Don’t do it for Maxine, or Terrence and Harold. Do it for yourself. Caring for young men who have no one else to look out for them is your passion. You’re going to do it, with or without the foundation. You may as well say yes so you’ll have the resources to make a difference.”
Philip gazed across the table and saw love reflected in George’s steely gray eyes. “It’s an awful lot of responsibility.”
“Yes,” George agreed. “It is. But you’re certainly up to the task, and in my professional opinion, the best person for the job.”
“You attorneys are such smooth talkers,” Philip teased. “I couldn’t do it full time….”
“Of course not,” George interjected. “You’ve got your work at the Smithsonian, after all.”
“Yes, I do.” Philip nodded, knowing George was right. He would take care of Terrence and Harold with or without the foundation’s resources. Though with would sure make things a lot easier. “I couldn’t do it without a lot of help.”
“That’s why you have a board.”
“I see,” Philip said. “And who is on this board?”
George shrugged. “You, me, Maxine, and anyone else you think could make a difference.”
“You sly devil, luring me out tonight under the pretense of celebrating your new office location. And all along you planned to spring this on me.”
“Guilty as charged. Not that I worry, but if anyone asks, now that you’re no longer my client, this gives us a good reason for dinners together. But more than that, running the foundation would make you happy. Let me and Maxine do this for you. You need to be needed, and there are hundreds of boys like James, Harold, and Terrence who need someone like you in their life.”
Philip studied him again. Such a handsome man, kind—generous to a fault. Yes, George was married. But it was an unusual marriage to be sure, and unless he was lying—something Philip didn’t think George could do—then his wife had not only given them her blessing, but arranged a reason for his relationship with her husband to continue as well.
“I have no idea what I’m getting myself into,” Philip said. “But it appears I have no choice. You’re right. I’m going to help these boys, with or without the help of your foundation.”
“So you’ll do it?” The anticipation on George’s face told Philip how much it meant to him.
“Yes,” Philip said. “I will.” The words reminded him of the vows Mary and Alex had exchanged when they married.
“Good. Now I can work toward getting you off.”
“But I haven’t been charged with anything, have I?” Philip asked.
“No.” George smiled, that familiar twinkle in his eye. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Good.” Philip chortled. “Then the gorgeous room I took the liberty of reserving for the night won’t go to waste.” He picked up his menu. “Let’s eat. I’m famished!”
Exclusive Excerpt
Happy Independence Day
By Michael Rupured
Terrence Bottom wants to change the world. Little does he know the world is already changing, and his part in it won’t be what he expects. A prelaw student at Columbia University, Terrence’s interests range from opposing the draft and the war in Vietnam, to civil rights for gays, to anything to do with Cameron McKenzie, the rugged blond hanging around the Stonewall Inn. Too bad Cameron bolts whenever Terrence looks his way.
College dropout Cameron McKenzie left tiny Paris, Kentucky with dreams of a career on Broadway. Although he claims to be straight, he prostitutes himself to survive. Now the Mafia is using him to entrap men for extortion schemes. He’s in over his head with no way out—at least not a way that doesn’t involve cement shoes and a swim in the Hudson.
Terrence finally confronts Cameron, and they return to the Stonewall Inn during another police raid. But this time the patrons aren’t going quietly. While Terrence sees his chance t
o stand beside his friends and stand up for his beliefs, Cameron sees the distraction of the riots an opportunity to escape—even if it means walking away from the only man he’s ever loved.
Chapter 1
Tuesday, June 24, 1969
TERRENCE BOTTOM tapped a sandaled foot on the linoleum-tiled floor and bit his lip. Speaking his mind at a Mattachine-New York meeting was a waste of time and energy. But watching the older members of the homophile organization nod their heads in agreement as the speaker droned on about homosexuality being a mental illness had been more than he could take. As the uptight men and women nearby glared at him, he rolled his eyes at Kelsey Ryan and whispered, “You ready to blow this joint?”
Before she could answer, the esteemed speaker concluded his remarks. After a polite round of applause, the well-dressed men and women filled the aisles and chatted as they made for the door of the Columbia University lecture hall where the meeting had been held.
Kelsey and Terrence merged into the slow-moving mass creeping toward the exit. Between reed-thin Terrence’s curly blond hair and Kelsey’s height—never mind that she was built like an offensive lineman for the Washington Redskins—the unlikely pair stood out in the crowd. And rather than the suits worn by other men in the lecture hall, Terrence had on faded bell-bottomed jeans embroidered with flowers, a tie-dyed T-shirt, and a wide white belt with a peace-sign buckle.
“The old guard just doesn’t get it,” Kelsey said, rolling up the sleeves of her oxford shirt to her elbows as she walked. “Working behind the scenes to change the world hasn’t gotten us anywhere.”
“I don’t know about that,” Terrence said, falling in beside her. “Legal challenges to alcohol regulations have helped to crack open the door here in New York.”
“How?” Kelsey shoved her hands into her pockets. “The police have raided every gay bar in town at least once in the last two weeks. Legal victories haven’t stopped them from harassing us every chance they get.”
“Philip and George—”
“Are just like the other men their age working for change.” She shook her head. “They think we should be patient, but my patience has run out. We need new tactics so the world stops seeing homosexuals as mentally ill, morally bankrupt freaks who can’t be trusted to work in the government or around children.”
Terrence nodded. She was on her soapbox now, gesticulating to emphasize her points. He didn’t bother reminding her he agreed with her. She was too wound up to stop until she’d said her piece.
“The white men in power aren’t going to give us our rights. We need to stand up and fight for equality, like the Black Panthers or Students for a Democratic Society.” She punched her open palm with a fist. “They didn’t get anywhere until they stood up to the cops. What a fight!”
Despite Kelsey’s pleas, Terrence hadn’t gone uptown with the students in his sociology class last year to show support when the SDS had staged a protest over Columbia University’s backing of the war in Vietnam. The students had been beaten with nightsticks and bombed with tear gas. The sight of his bruised, bandaged classmates afterward had flipped the switch for Terrence. If he hadn’t learned anything else on the streets, he’d learned to fight force with force.
Terrence and Kelsey descended the steps into the subway station to wait for the next train to Greenwich Village. Businessmen, sweating in suits, loosened their ties and glared at them. Terrence knew they made quite a pair. He’d toned down his flamboyance some, but next to Kelsey—sturdy, stocky, and rumbling, like a Mack truck—he was the picture of femininity. Despite her efforts to conceal them, her impressive breasts might have been attractive on another woman, but on her masculine frame, they just looked out of place.
“Want to grab a drink at the Stonewall Inn later?” Terrence asked, spotting a headlight moving toward the station.
Kelsey snorted. “And would the reason you want to go have something to do with that high-class callboy you’ve been watching?”
Terrence punched her arm. “You don’t know he’s a callboy.” He tossed his hair and smiled. “And he’s watching me. I just happened to have noticed.”
“Who wouldn’t?” She paused, waiting for the noisy train to come to a stop. “The man is gorgeous, and for me to notice is saying something.” They stepped onto the car and the doors squealed shut behind them. “But he’s a hustler, trust me, and he’s working for the mob. I’ve seen him talking to Frankie Caldarone too many times, and he ain’t shining the man’s shoes.”
Terrence led the way to the back of the subway car, and they settled onto the last seats on each side of the aisle. “Frankie Caldarone? The bald-headed goon at the Stonewall Inn?” Terrence crossed his legs and adjusted the forty-inch bellbottoms to cascade in folds above the sandals he wore. “He’s just a bouncer.”
“More like the enforcer at an unlicensed, private club owned and operated by who?” She spread her legs wide, leaned back, and wove her hands together behind her head.
“Wouldn’t that be whom?” Terrence didn’t want to admit Kelsey could be right. Trading sexual favors for money didn’t bother him so much. Hustling was a dangerous, dead-end job he’d managed to escape more than two years earlier, thanks to Philip and George. Hustling for the mob, however, was a death sentence with no chance for parole, pardon, or escape.
“Either way, the answer is the same.” She shook her head and leaned forward, dropping her hands to her knees. “You’d be smart to stay the hell away from that one.”
“Come on, Kelsey.” Terrence fluffed his hair and adjusted his headband, feeling the embroidered peace sign with his fingers and shifting the band a bit to center the emblem over his nose.
She laughed and punched his arm. “You say that like going out with him is the furthest thing from your mind.”
Terrence gazed at her, wide-eyed. “You know me better than that.”
“Oh, you are so good.” Kelsey shook her head and folded her arms. “I know you, all right. Hearing you can’t have something just makes you want it that much more.”
Terrence sat up, turned to her, and put his hand on her knee. “All we have is right now, this very minute. Two minutes from now, this train could crash, killing us both.”
“Shit, Terrence.” She shuddered. “You know I hate the subway.”
His gaze shifted to the window behind her. He stared, seeing remembered faces in the passing blackness. “When you want something, you gotta go for it—before somebody snatches it away from you and it’s gone forever.” He brushed a fist over his eye and shook his head. “Besides, I’ve never even talked to him.”
“Maybe not, but the way you two look at each other is enough to make me blush.” She chuckled. “I’m just jealous. Hell, I’d pay a year’s tuition to have a pretty girl look at me like that.”
Terrence reached over and tousled her short brown hair. “You’re a good person, Kelsey. If I was a lesbian, I’d be proud to be your girlfriend.” He leered at her and grinned. “Even without those big titties of yours!”
She laughed and reached for her top button. “Careful now, or I’ll turn ’em loose on you.”
Published by
DSP PUBLICATIONS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dsppublications.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No Good Deed
© 2016 Michael Rupured.
Cover Art
© 2016 AngstyG.
www.angstyg.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal pr
osecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact DSP Publications, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dsppublications.com.
ISBN: 978-1-63476-570-1
Digital ISBN: 978-1-63476-571-8
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015953079
Published April 2016
v. 2.0
First Edition titled After Christmas Eve published by MLR Press, October 2013.
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
No Good Deed Page 21
