Life Struggles (Life Stories Book 1)

by Mark Treble

  Cheryl said that she had been independent so long she wasn't sure she could compromise enough to get into a serious relationship. Then she told me she thought I was cute. I recommended a visit to an ophthalmologist. “Cute and funny” was all she said.

  Cheryl admitted she wasn't looking for love or companionship, all she wanted to do was find a friend. Preferably a friend with benefits, and I was in the running. We could take it from there. We arranged a second date, which went marvelously well. She was smart, funny and most important available. And, she invited me back to her place.

  She was true to her profession. The first time we had sex she took three vials of blood from me. She told me if they came back clean we could do away with the condoms. Until then, buy stock in Trojan.

  We got along amazingly well. Where Dana was perfectly proper every second of every day, Cheryl could be cruder than an aircraft carrier full of sex-starved sailors. Her coworkers and patients adored her. Well, most of them, anyway. Patients arriving in handcuffs and escorted by police discovered that not every nurse gets the vein on the first try. Or the second. Or the thirteenth.

  Cheryl had never married because she didn't want to. She liked being single and in charge of her own life. She told me up front she hoped she liked me, but that wasn't going to be a deal breaker. My minimum performance requirement was two orgasms for her each night. If I got off also, that was a bonus.

  We got on better than I could have hoped. And, we learned to like one another. We weren't going steady with each other, we were very friendly fuck buddies. And, we both thought that was fine.

  “Ethan, please be careful. Can you come over tonight?” I could hear real concern in her voice. It warmed the cockles of my heart. And the testicle-les and the vaginackles and whatever else was in there.

  “I'd like nothing better, but I'm not going to do it. Can you call Luke and ask him to meet me at four a.m. in the Tucson, lower floor? And bring a thousand dollars in cash.”

  “Got it. Luke, four a.m. in the Tucson, lower floor, a thousand dollars. You aren't turning gay on me, are you?” Cheryl was kidding. At least I hope she was.

  “Not gay, just busy. Luke can help me with something on Alex. Somebody in the D.A.'s office want to find my confidential informants, and I know the search for me she started is probably still going. I don't expect to be found in a gay dive bar.”

  We said good-bye and I hung up. It was already dark. I had a bunch of work yet to do, needed to get a couple hours sleep before meeting Luke, and was already exhausted.

  Drugs were a lot more likely than gay porn, so my next call was to Herb Lockhart, defense attorney for the infamous Jerry Gamblin. Gamblin was in the Louisiana State Prison, also known as Angola, serving four consecutive life sentences. I had interviewed Gamblin for a couple of columns, and he trusted me. God, I hoped that trust still stood.

  “Lockhart residence.” Must be his wife.

  “This is Ethan McQuade. I'd like to speak to Herb Lockhart, please.” Her ‘just a minute’ was music to my ears.

  “Herb Lockhart. What can I do for you?” He sounded all business, which is what I wanted.

  “Sir, this is Ethan McQuade. I write the Life Continues column for the New Orleans Daily Post. I've met you through Jerry Gamblin, and gave you some information to support the change of venue part of the appeal.” I sure hoped he remembered. If not, I was screwed.

  “Ethan, I remember you. What can I do for you?” He sounded neither friendly nor unfriendly, but completely neutral. Every great lawyer I had ever met sounded the same.

  “Sir, my son is missing and I'm hoping Jerry can help. I want to pay for two hours of your time tomorrow to meet with me and Jerry at Angola. I have some additional information for you to support the change of venue, and that makes privilege apply, right?”

  “Yes, it does. If your presence is needed to serve the legitimate purpose of the meeting, privilege applies. Why is that important?” ‘Neutral’ had shifted into low-gear engaged. This was promising.

  “My son is missing and both I and the police suspect foul play. I want to see if Jerry can give me a starting place to explore his former industry. I need to know whether they had anything to do with the disappearance. Same rules apply. Nothing he tells me is published or given to law enforcement. If I can get the same information from two other sources that do not compromise him, I'll run it by you first before I publish it. Sir, I'm scared.”

  “I'd be scared, too, if one of my kids was missing under suspicious circumstances. I have some time tomorrow morning. When are you talking about?” Again, all business. If I could afford him he'd be my attorney. Of course, I'd have to be accused of a crime first. Never mind.

  “I have a four a.m. meeting in the Marigny district in New Orleans, should be done before five a.m. Figure five thirty, I can be at Angola just after eight. Does that work for you?” Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope.

  “Ethan, I'll notify the warden tonight that I need to see Gamblin tomorrow at eight forty-five a.m. for two hours, and I'm bringing somebody with me. I'll give him your name if it's OK.” I grunted my assent.

  “See you tomorrow at eight fifteen to check in.” He hung up. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

  Chapter Six

  New Orleans was all about the illusion of porn. There were “live acts” on Bourbon Street (fraud in advertising, I've seen them), there were private clubs that allowed consensual sex among adults, there were the gay dark rooms, there were even three studios for straight porn and one for gay. Where to start?

  Well, “live acts” was a non-starter. He couldn't be there against his will. Same goes for the private clubs. He'd have to show ID to get in, and his wallet was still in his cut-offs. I can't see him going off to a gay darkroom. The fact that he was in just his underwear wouldn't keep him out, but he'd talked to me about homosexuality.

  Alex said that he was fine with it for other people, just not for him. Guys did nothing for him. Nothing felt better than fucking a girl, although getting a blow job from one was close. I did not judge, but did mention condoms. He looked at me with a “don't bother me with shit I already know” attitude. He had grown up next door to Luke Dupree, who was famously out. Dana and Luke were good friends. In fact, the first time I saw them together Dana was topless and Luke was nude. After the explanation I wasn't upset. Well, not upset much.

  “Ethan, cool off. I'm a three-dollar bill.” It took me a second to understand. Luke Dupree was as queer as a three-dollar bill. That still didn't make me like my wife hanging out topless at his pool, but I could live with it.

  Luke looked on Dana as his sister and Alex as his nephew. In fact, Alex called him “Uncle Luke” until he was almost seventeen. I had taken Luke aside one day and asked him bluntly about Alex.

  “Chill, Ethan. The boy's so straight it hurts. Sure, he's young and reasonably attractive, but if he were gay in New Orleans there's almost no way he could hide it. My Gaydar gives off nothing. Marcus has known him for a while (at that time Marcus was a frequent visitor to Luke's) and says it's a shame he's straight. Marcus doesn't do youngsters anyway. Don't worry. It's more likely he'll father ninety-three children before he's eighteen than that he's gay. I presume you know he's not a virgin?” Luke appeared as though he had spoken out of school.

  “Yeah, he told Dana and me when he was sixteen. We tried giving him the Birds and Bees talk, and he laughed. His only question was for Dana: Was I good enough at cunnilingus that he should ask me for advice?” I chuckled remembering Dana's reaction. She was a worldly woman, but this was out-of-this-world on her scale. She bought him a book on oral sex and told him it couldn't leave the house. He read it and told her he already knew all that shit. I hadn't lost my virginity until I was seventeen. I swear I felt like a retard.

  So, gay darkrooms were unlikely. Gay porn remained a possibility. Straight porn was unlikely since I figured they had waiting lists of guys who wanted to get paid for fucking. They paid the guys a pittance, but I suspect most of them would have done
it for free.

  But, how would Alex get into gay porn? He would probably have to be blackmailed or forced in some other way. Would his lack of interest in homosexuality be strong enough to keep him from participating? I didn't honestly think so. If he were forced, then friction is friction. With a hard-on and a brain flooded in testosterone, I don't know what he would do. Shit, I didn't know what I would do. Surely not voluntarily, but forced was an option.

  Where do I start?I called Luke, who was at a gay bar. Surprise, surprise.

  “Luke, thanks so much for the art work offer. I know you rarely let any of your paintings go, and have only sold one or two. If we have to use it I'll work the rest of my life to make it up to you.”

  “It's just canvas and paint, bro, and Alex is my nephew. No brainer.” He wanted to know if there was any news about Alex, and volunteered to come home immediately if he could help. I posed the question to him. If Alex were being forced into gay porn, what would be the process, where could I look?

  Luke told me about a place I had only heard of. A gay sex club in New Orleans that advertised itself as a health club. He gave me directions and offered to meet me there. I declined, because I first wanted to explore the possibility of involvement in illegal drugs.

  Luke said that if I went there I would have to provide identification and become a member to get in. And, if I wasn't comfortable around a bunch of naked men having sex I would probably stand out. I would also stand out if I kept my clothes on. I could, however, wear a towel.

  I thanked Luke and then hung up. If I'm not comfortable I'll just have to wing it. Maybe I could pretend to be a gay porn film maker? That was far more believable than being a gay porn actor. Nobody would pay good money to look at me naked. So, I'm a gay porn film maker. Back to the internet café.

  In thirty minutes I knew everything I wanted to not know about producing gay porn. I decided to be from California, which seemed to be the nexus of the industry. I'm in town looking for new talent? Fuck, I don't know.

  One thing surprised me. In the U.S. maybe ten or fifteen percent of actors in gay porn were straight. In Europe, the figure was close to half. This did not do much for my anxiety. Maybe some humongous amount of money might do it, but why Alex? And why leave his clothes if he was going voluntarily?

  I had too many questions and not nearly enough answers. So, I made up my story.

  I'm Ethan McQuade from Torrence, California. I make gay porn movies featuring new talent. I was in New Orleans on a visit and decided to stop in and see if there was anything appropriate around. Then I'd wing it from there.

  I was no less than a little scared that I couldn't pull it off. Then I thought about Alex. Yeah, I would give it my all.

  Chapter Seven

  I pulled into a twenty-four hour bar, went in and ordered a coke. After the first hour I called Flint.

  “This is the last call of the night. Going to crash. Next industry is drugs, then porn. I already know I'm taking my life in my hands by going after drugs and that I'm quite likely to get hurt, or worse. Save it. Good night.” I hung up.

  I sat for another hour getting one dollar refills every twenty minutes. Three dollars an hour for a place to hide out was cheap. I thought about Alex a lot.

  He was a good kid, completely devoted to his mother. I had no doubt he would take a bullet for her. He was a teenager and rebelled, but he did it out of her sight. Never been arrested, assured us both he practiced safe sex, and rarely came home with alcohol on his breath. Then again, he had at least one sleepover or camping trip every two weeks with buddies, and I remembered that ruse.

  We had gotten along well from the start. He told me once he was glad I was dating his mother. She needed company other than him and work. That reflected a level of maturity I certainly didn't have at his age. He had even been careful about his speech around her and never swore very much. That was astounding given the phone conversation I'd overheard where he couldn't complete a sentence without using the term ‘motherfucker.’

  Yes, he's my step-son, but I thought of him as my son. He was all I had left of Dana and I couldn't lose him. We'd fought almost continuously since her death and the first word that came to mind when I thought about him was “punk.” But, there was a real, and loving, young man under that façade. To get that young man back, first I had to find Alex.

  From the bar I went to a convenience store and bought a large bottle of bug spray.I pulled in behind the dilapidated cheap motel and parked. I didn't want an APB on my car to track me down. I'd used the place before to meet with informants, but had never stayed there. If you had cash, you had a room. No questions asked.

  I paid sixty bucks, ten dollars extra for a ground floor. On entering I sprayed everything in sight until the bottle was about half empty. Then I sprayed the rest of it on the bed. I opened the door to let the fumes out and stood outside for half an hour. I only had to turn down four prostitutes in that time. I was pretty sure three of them were real women.

  Nearing midnight I went into the room and locked the door. I set the alarm on my watch for three-thirty, then lay down on top of the bed without undressing. I thought about asking the front desk if they had toothbrushes, then laughed.

  A couple minutes later my watch alarm went off. Actually, just over three hours had passed. I got up, took a leak, ran my hands through my hair and vowed to buy toiletries and find a place to shave on the way up state.

  At three forty-five in the morning New Orleans is the world capital of available taxis. I caught one almost immediately and was at the Tucson/Hawk by three fifty-three. I walked in and saw Luke nursing a beer in a corner.

  “I know you haven't had any sex in a while, Ethan, but isn't this a little desperate?” Luke grinned at me. We shook hands and I sat down.

  “Being sucked into porn is one possibility for Alex's disappearance.”

  Luke's laughter interrupted me. “Sucked into porn? Sounds like a wet dream to me.”

  I continued as though I hadn't heard him. “Anyway, he might do straight porn. In fact, I might do straight porn if they'd take me. Alex isn't bad looking but he's no runway model. He's an eighteen year old kid. Every eighteen-year-old male hopes to be a straight porn star someday. Too much competition.

  “That leaves gay porn. Could Alex have been kidnapped, given a date rape drug, and used in gay porn?” I looked at Luke hoping he would say no.

  “Well, we both know Alex isn't gay. But quite a few guys who do gay porn are straight. The money's better than straight porn, even better for a straight guy who'll do gay porn. Would he do gay porn voluntarily? No fucking way. But, we're not talking about voluntary participation here.

  “The only thing I know about the gay porn industry is as a consumer. And, frankly, I find most of it boring. Then again, lots of people are addicted, so there is a market for it. Are there enough actors available to meet the demand? Sure. If you could cast one or more of the parts with guys you didn't have to actually pay, would somebody do it? Hell yeah.”

  I looked at Luke with some concern. The suspicion is that Alex was kidnapped. Why someone would cruise a residential neighborhood to kidnap him I didn't know. But we still didn't know where he was, what had become of him, and what explained his clothes at the curb.

  After sitting silent for a few minutes I said all of that to Luke. He nodded.

  “The best thing you've got going for you is the residential neighborhood. Using Alex for two or three gay porn shoots without paying him just is not worth a whole lot of money. And kidnapping in a residential neighborhood is risky. I don't think that any low-payoff motive can explain his disappearance.” Luke made sense, but we were little closer to knowing what happened.

  “Luke, what's the highest-margin illegal activity?” I thought I knew the answer, but was looking for validation. I got it.

  “Drugs, obviously. I sincerely doubt Alex has done anything but a little weed, but I'm not an expert. He's no addict, but that does not mean he's not using. A lot of the drugs will stun
t your ability to enjoy sex, and Alex's ability to enjoy sex is legend. I…”

  “You didn't actually have to tell me that. And, no, I don't want to know if Alex is using weed. At this point I'd buy him a bong and a bale of weed if that would bring him home.” I had interrupted Luke and apologized.

  “No need to apologize. Now, what do you want to know? And, by the way, here's the thousand. Get it back to me when you can, no rush.” Luke was one of the good guys.

  “Oops, I forgot. Cheryl called looking for you.”

  “I've talked to Cheryl since then. On the porn stuff, I'm thinking about posing as a gay porn producer from California hunting for talent. What do you think?” I looked at him hopefully. I didn't expect him to burst out laughing. He got the bartender's attention and actually woke up three customers who had been sleeping off the past night at the bar.

  “You? A gay porn producer? From California? Try again. First, you aren't gay and that's more than obvious. Could you be a curious guy looking to walk on the wild side? Well, I've seen some of that, and maybe you could pull that off.” Luke seemed to go inside himself for a moment, then spoke again.

  “You look like New Orleans, not like California. And gay porn producers don't go hunting for talent in gay communities. They advertise on the internet, just like everybody else. So, let's start with what we've got. You're curious and looking to take a walk on the wild side. So why produce porn instead of just getting laid?”

  I thought about that for a minute. “Maybe I've come into a lot of money and want to control all the action. And have a record of my achievements, or whatever. Maybe I just want to watch, and then watch again and again with a video. How's that?”