Eyebrows drawn together, “BBC, you really have no idea what you want.”
Laughing, Mia shook her head, “Not a clue.”
“You are so useless. Little girls grow up dreaming of this. Us gay boys grow up dreaming of this. I’ve been planning your wedding since dark, brooding, can’t-keep-his-dick in his pants poet.”
“You and Lois will figure it out. Just don’t start planning until the judge signs that divorce decree. I don’t want to jinx anything.”
“It’s a deal. Just promise you won’t go all Bridezilla on me.”
“I miss you so much, Princess. I promise to be a good bride as long as you don’t put me in a dress that makes me look fat. And I don’t want to be fru-fru. No fru-fru. Got that?” pointing her finger at the computer screen.
Rolling his eyes, “You’re so annoying. Give my baby a huge kiss from Uncle Seth and give Pretty Boy a blow job from me.”
“With pleasure and with lots of pleasure,” waving goodbye she hit end call.
Chapter Twenty-four
Roberto Castillo was not a southern Californian. Hailing originally from City Island in The Bronx, his accent was heavier than Mia’s, despite twenty years in California.
“Berto Castillo,” he extended a hand to Schooner.
The smile was on Mia’s face even before his hand grasped hers.
“I understand you’re from my neck of the woods,” his warm brown eyes were smiling.
“Grew up on West 85th,” Mia felt immediately at home with him.
“Which High School?” New York City geography was a favorite game amongst native New Yorkers. It included schools, restaurants, clubs and more often than not, you knew someone who they knew, making the degrees of separation surprisingly small for a city so large.
“Fieldston,” Mia said with pride.
“Whoa, nice. Great education,” Berto was nodding, clearly impressed.
“You?”
“Bronx Science,” Berto’s pride equaled Mia’s.
“Ah, a smart one here,” Mia kidded.
His laugh was hearty, “That’s what I try and convince my patients.
Sitting down across from him at his desk, Schooner began, “I understand you are going back to Zambia in a few months. I don’t know how much Malcolm shared. I joined him on a trip twenty-five years ago.”
“Coach Schooner, you are legendary.”
“In my own mind, maybe,” Schooner laughed.
“Seriously,” Berto began, “You really had an effect on those kids. You were kind of a star athlete, coach, camp counselor and NGO worker all rolled into one. One of the doctors we work with, Dr. Banda, was in your soccer league. He’s said on more than one occasion that it was the best summer of his life and that is when he decided he wanted to become a doctor. Apparently, you taught them CPR and Oral-Rehydration Therapy.”
Glancing over at a smiling Schooner, his eyes crinkled in the corners, Mia reached for his hand, his right hand, the one that had been casted the last time he was in Africa. As if sensing her thoughts, he squeezed her hand.
“We’re currently working in and around the capital, Lusaka,” Berto continued, “so it’s a much more urban environment than what you experienced last time. Malcolm mentioned that you were interested in outfitting a rehab facility.”
“I’ve had the opportunity over the last few days to reach out to counterparts in the industry. There are multiple things we can do to help. The equipment piece of it is easy, we have a lot of buying leverage for new product and we all replace machines that are in perfect condition and there’s no reason they can’t be used in clinics. The other two parts that I’m really excited about are launching capital campaigns within our clubs. Maybe a portion of each membership is donated beyond what we fund directly and that would be used to build a state-of-the-art PT rehab facility. The third piece is setting up a scholarship fund through USC’s PT program to work abroad.”
With her own head spinning, smiling at her big-hearted love, Mia was thinking aloud, “My team can certainly put together all the collateral and point-of-sale materials for the membership/capital campaign drive. Brochures, posters. We should shoot video while we’re over there.”
“Excellent idea, especially for major donor appeals for the capital campaign. Get your Nikon out, Ms. Silver, I’m envisioning very large photos hanging in the clubs.” They were in their own space, brains tag-teaming, the electricity crackling like a hot wire hitting a puddle.
Sitting back in his worn leather chair, Berto watched the creative volley and found himself getting caught up in their palpable excitement. Medical missions dreamed of partnering with wealthy scions of industry and Schooner Moore had a personal stake in this venture. He was coming full circle back to where it all began. This was his opportunity to pay back the land and the people that gave him the inspiration that became his life’s blood.
“We’ll be spending time at several medical facilities and also working with a few of the local orphanages,” Berto explained. “We’re trying to put in place a network of facilities and a group of medical personnel to rotate through them.”
By the time they walked out of his office, Mia was tossing ideas at Schooner as fast as he could serve a tennis ball and he was volleying them right back at her. This intellectual collaboration charged every cell in their bodies. For Mia and Schooner, this was foreplay at its best. As they arrived back at his parent’s house, they snuck through the yard like teens, and made their way onto the boat without being spotted. Staying moored at the backyard dock, they raced below deck, and into the aft cabin.
Tackling Mia on the bed, Schooner grabbed Mia’s hands over her head and buried his face in her neck.
“Schooner.”
Pulling away to look at her, he tilted his head to the side.
Mia’s devil grin had reached her eyes and they smoldered like emeralds in the cabin’s dim light. “Schooner, we’re going to Zambia.”
Her words were a portal to every emotion he felt that day he sat in Malcolm’s office, his devastation rapidly receding, as the unknown adventure loomed before him and the realization hit, “I’m going to Zambia.”
Nodding, he could feel his heart bursting as his unanswered dreams finally were becoming his reality. This time it wasn’t ‘I’m’ going. This time it was ‘we’re’ going. Feeling the old ache find a crevice to steal its way into his heart, it was the ache that accompanied him to sleep every night and greeted him at the dawn’s light. The longing to be sharing the wonder of the adventure with her. And now he was staring down at her smile. Her wanting body beneath him.
“Yes, Baby Girl, we are. We’re going to Zambia.” And in that moment, he didn’t want to make love. He wanted to fuck her hard. He wanted to fuck away all the heart-splitting memories of longing for her with every breath he took that summer. He wanted to fuck them away and leave an open path for them to walk together as he showed her everything he ever dreamed of showing her and discovering things he never dreamed he’d be experiencing.
Silently, he made a vow to himself. This time there would be a picture of them together in front of Victoria Falls.
Chapter Twenty-five
The Moore men sat in the Family Room, patriarch Gavin, Schooner, Zac and Nathaniel.
“I hate leaving you,” the worry was evident in Schooner’s eyes.
“We’ll be fine, Dad,” it was Zac that was doing the reassuring. “I’ll still be around for a little bit before I have to go back. Or I could stay.”
“No,” was the stereo response from both his father and grandfather.
“You need to finish school,” Schooner was adamant, “or you won’t be starting college next year.”
Zac had applied to several small private colleges in the northeast and Schooner knew that paying full tuition without any financial aid would help Zac’s chances considerably. Having him on the east coast would ensure that he could keep a closer eye on his unstable son.
“I will miss you,” Gavin smiled at his olde
r grandson, “it’s been great having you here and I owe you my life.” Zac’s quick reaction on the golf course to his grandfather’s collapse significantly impacted the outcome.
Giving him a squeeze on the shoulder, Schooner was proud of his son. How to channel more of the “good Zac” was the big question at hand. Nathaniel seemed to have a very positive impact and Schooner wondered how he might be able to leverage that.
“There’s something I want you to have,” Gavin reached into his pants’ pocket. Seeing the glint, both Schooner and Zac realized the importance of the moment.
In Gavin’s hand was an eighteen karat gold money clip. Centered on the front was a one carat investment grade diamond, catching the light in the room and sending out rainbow prisms of color. On the back of the money clip was a deep engraved letter ‘M’ in a Victorian script. The money clip had been given to Gavin by his grandfather, James Moore.
Looking to his father for approval to accept the gift, Zac waited for Schooner’s nod indicating that he was ok with it skipping a generation.
“Thank you, Grandpa. Wow.”
“Now don’t go and pawn it or anything,” Gavin clearly knew his grandson, “that stays in the family and gets passed down.”
“I’m not going to pawn it,” Zac looked from his grandfather to his father, only to be met by a look from Schooner telling him pawning the money clip would ensure certain death.
“Zac, I know this has been a tough year for you, everything in your life has changed,” Schooner began, “and we’ve had some really extreme moments, you and I.”
Zac nodded and Schooner went on.
“Your grandfather and I are still very concerned.”
“I’m ok, Dad. Getting back to Exeter was good for me. I was a fish out of water here and I did a lot of stupid things. I’m really sorry I’ve worried everybody.”
Gavin took over, “When you are in California, your grandmother and I really want you to stay with us. We’d like you to split your time between us and with your dad and Mia.”
As if a shill in the audience, Nathaniel started to fuss in Schooner’s arms, making it known he wanted to be held by his brother. Handing him off to Zac, Nathaniel planted a gooey kiss on his cheek.
“I’m going to miss you, Mini-Me,” Zac’s eyes were telling the truth.
A look passed between Gavin and Schooner. This one little boy had the power to heal so much, if they could only figure out how to harness this elixir and keep Zac on the right path.
Chapter Twenty-six
Schooner Moore could rock a suit like he was walking the runway at an Armani preview. As he strode confidently into his lawyer’s office, tall and sleek in a custom gray suit and a tie that set off his eyes, he was feeling as good as he looked. Today he and CJ would finally sign the divorce papers.
Aaron Bender’s P.A., Leslie, led Schooner down the hall into a conference room where everyone was already waiting for him. He didn’t apologize for making them wait.
“Let’s do this,” he reached inside his breast pocket for his favorite pen, a Montblanc rollerball, that today he was thinking of as his lucky pen.
CJ sat across the table looking cool and coiffed. Noting her hair was significantly thicker and longer than it had been just days before, Schooner wondered if this was part of her transformation to single womanhood - trying to look twenty-something and not forty-something. How unnecessary, he thought.
“May I have a few minutes alone with my husband,” CJ was staring Schooner down.
My husband? Schooner’s immediate thought was, “What the heck is she up to?”
When all the other parties left the room, she began, “I really hated seeing you with Mia.”
Schooner remained silent, not sure where she was going.
“I just don’t get it, Schooner. What are you doing with her? The two of you look ridiculous.”
Feeling the muscles in his brows tightening and knowing they were knitting together, he fought to keep his face a placid mask. “Pretend you’re in front of a camera and the photographer just gave you the direction to look pensive with a faraway look in your eyes,” he told himself, immediately feeling his muscles ease. Years of training in front of a camera often paid off.
With his silence, CJ continued, “Are you sure you really want to do this? Seriously, Schooner, she is so plain and I know people must look at the two of you and wonder what you are doing with her. You two are just so mismatched. It’s going to be very difficult for you to be judged by everyone.”
Years of bad patterns and knowing how to push buttons should have equated to Schooner’s anger surfacing and flaring. It should have. That was their pattern. But today, Mia was with him, inside his head. And she brought Seth along for the show. Hearing them, loud and clear, he wanted to laugh along with them at the absurdity of CJ’s words.
Sitting back and crossing his long legs, Schooner observed CJ for a moment before speaking, “You know, you are still very beautiful and I’m leaving you quite well off. We’re still young, CJ, and we both have the opportunity to enjoy relationships with people who love us and make us happy. I’m happy. I know nothing would please the kids more than seeing you happy, too.”
It was CJ’s turn for her brows to knit. Schooner had singlehandedly destroyed her poker face with his atypical response.
“What does she have that I don’t?” CJ could be like a terrier until she got what she wanted.
Sighing, “She has my heart and soul, CJ.”
“Why?” her pitch becoming shrill, “Please explain to me why?”
“Are you sure you want me to? I really don’t think you want me to do this.”
“Oh, that is where you are wrong.”
Remaining silent, it took him a moment to formulate the right words to finally make her understand what for a quarter-century she could not understand. Not wanting to be cruel, but at the same time wanting to be blunt enough for her to understand once and for all who he was, what he felt and what she had done to him - to them. To all of them.
“You and I, CJ, we were two sides of the same gold coin. By the time we were eighteen, we had our acts so tightly nailed down that there was nothing, or no one, that we couldn’t have. We were the quintessential, beautiful California kids and we both knew just how far our looks could take us and exactly how to manipulate our plastic, shallow environment to get even more. Think about it, we were both totally jaded by the time we stepped foot on that college campus for the first time and we were only eighteen. I knew you wanted me that first day. And the feeling was mutual. We both knew that we’d be that couple that everyone treated like a king and queen. That shit was important to us because that’s southern California. That’s what we grew up with, that’s what we knew,” pausing, he didn’t wait too long. “It was through my friendship with Mia, and Henry and Rosie, that I was shown something else, and it was basically a really different set of priorities. Different parameters of happiness. And CJ, for the first time in my life, I felt I could stop acting. And it was ok not to be big man on campus, ok not to be a cool asshole. Caring about the things that really touched me was ok, it wasn’t something I needed to hide because people might not like me. And not giving a shit what other people thought about it was not only ok, it was liberating.”
“You’re so full of shit, Schooner,” CJ was shaking her head. “All the years we were together you were the epitome of California cool asshole dick.”
He laughed, and the confusion on her face was evident. Where was his famed anger?
“Yeah, I totally was. CJ, I’ll be the first to admit, I operated very well in this environment. I’ve been manipulating it since I was a little boy. It’s a dark place for me and I unfortunately do excessively well in the darkness. It doesn’t mean I’m happy there, it just means I know how to make it work for me.”
Flinging her newly found tresses back, Schooner laughed at the absurdity of her new mane. Wasn’t there a doll when they were kids where you pressed a button in its stomach and its hair
would grow? He remembered that commercial.
“We were never a team, CJ. We co-existed. We each did our own thing and showed up for one another on a scheduled appearance basis.”
“And you and Mia are a team?” she actually snickered.
Smiling, he nodded, “Yes, we are. And learning how to be, more so, every day.”
Again, another snicker, “Well, here’s a piece of advice for you, don’t bother to move your boat, you’ll be back here in a year. This is who you really are. This is where you belong. Your little Mia New York adventure is a role you’re playing that will soon tire and bore you. This is the real you, Schooner. I know the real you.”
With cool sapphire eyes boring into her, he shook his head, “You never knew me. You saw what you wanted me to be. What you wanted from me.”
“What I wanted from you? I remember a time when you wanted it,” her eyes hardened into slits.
“And you were all too happy to give it,” they were now descending rapidly into Schooner and CJ mode.
“And you were all too happy to take it.”
“Until I didn’t want it anymore,” he was done.
“You’re cruel.”
“You always knew what it was. You got what you wanted from me.”
“No, I never did. But I’m getting all I want and need from Beau.”
Smiling, Schooner shook his head at her pathetic attempt to evoke jealousy, “Tell him even leftovers aren’t free.”
“You bastard,” she screamed, scrambling to her feet as if she were going to round the table to slap him.
Slowly getting to his feet, she stopped in her tracks.
“He’s always loved me,” she hissed, a little girl trying to inflict hurt.
“Well then, you’re batting .500,” his demeanor remained calm, as he turned to the door and opened it. “We’re ready to sign now,” he advised the parties waiting in the hall.
Twenty minutes later, with papers signed, the process was officially underway. Once signed by a judge, he was free to finally marry Mia. Aaron had already secured a spot on the judge’s docket.
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