“Who the fuck is Paul?” Jeremy demanded to know, as he fought unsuccessfully to break through the defensive line formed by his best man and four groomsmen. He was determined to get back upstairs to the bedroom where he had deposited Amy after she fainted on the verge of becoming Mrs. Jeremy Travis. He had, of course, wanted to remain by her side, as had the intruder Paul, but Mrs. Leveque had insisted that they both leave her daughter to recover.
“Dr. Chevalier will take excellent care of her,” she asserted. “The last thing she needs right now is to wake up and find the two of you fighting over her like a couple of wild animals.” Ford, Brandon, Red, Kenny, and Kyle ushered the reluctant Jeremy into the study while Mr. Leveque unceremoniously escorted Paul into the living room.
“Paul Broussard,” said Ford. “He and Amy were an item all through college. They were even engaged to be married. Paul got through college on an ROTC scholarship and went into the Army right after graduation. Amy had wanted to get married right away, but Paul insisted that they wait until he got home. Six months later, we got word that Paul had been killed when his Humvee hit an IED in Iraq. Amy was devastated. That’s the main reason she moved to Wyoming, to get away from the memories and make a fresh start.”
Jeremy fidgeted and paced for two hours, though it seemed more like two years, his mind rumbling with all sorts of questions. Finally, Mrs. Leveque descended the stairs, but she walked right past the study and into the living room. A moment later, she headed back up the stairs with her husband and Paul in tow. Jeremy ran after them, but Pete Leveque stopped him cold.
“Not now, Jeremy. You’ll have your turn. Please be patient.”
Patient? I’ve been patient for two fuckin’ hours. I want to see my goddam fiancée. What right did this fuckin’ ghost have to come back from the dead and bust up my goddam wedding? And why had Amy asked to see this asshole instead of me, the man she was about to marry?
Another hour passed, and Jeremy was about ready to crawl out of his skin. Finally, Mr. Leveque came down the stairs and entered the study. “Paul has left by the back stairs. Amy will see you now.” Jeremy shot up the stairs and threw himself at Amy’s side.
Amy began by telling Jeremy how much she loved him and how she had been looking forward to becoming his wife. Then, she recounted the story of her relationship with Paul—pretty much what Ford had already told him, except that she added what she had just learned from Paul. When his Humvee was blown up, body parts were strewn everywhere and identification had been virtually impossible. It was assumed that Paul had been killed along with all the other members of his troop who were riding in the Humvee, but, in fact, he had been taken prisoner, and it was not until an American reconnaissance force came across the compound where he was being held captive that he was freed. He was sent to the U.S. Army Medical Center at Ramstein Air Base in Germany to recuperate, and when he got home and learned that the love of his life was about to be wed to another man, he raced to Whispering Pines to win her back.
After all the preamble, Amy finally got to the crux of the matter. “I’m sorry, Jeremy, but I can’t marry you. Paul asked me first, and I may not marry him either…I…I just don’t know. Right now, I just need some time to myself to clear my head. Please forgive me.”
Jeremy tried to be compassionate and understanding, but what he really was was pissed—not at Amy, but at Paul. Or was he actually pissed at himself for not really knowing who he was, what he wanted? Though Amy did not know it, at that moment, Jeremy was just about as confused as she was.
Ford jumped at the sound of the front door slamming shut. When he ran to see what was happening, he caught Jeremy speeding away in his BMW convertible. “We’ve gotta stop him, Ford,” said Kenny. “There’s no telling what he might do.”
“We’ll have to take your car. He just took off in mine.”
“Red, Kyle, and I came over in a taxi. We knew that parking might be a problem.”
“Great!” said Ford sardonically.
“We can take my car,” offered Brandon.
“We’ll take your car, but you’re staying here. If he’s headed where I thing he is, you’re too young to get in.”
“Either I go, or you don’t get my car.”
Ford felt like slapping Brandon upside the head, but he knew it would be futile, and time was running out. “OK, you little shit, but I’m driving! And when we get there, you hang close to us and don’t say a fuckin’ word.”
“Where the hell are we going?” Brandon asked.
“Never mind. He may not even be there, but he doesn’t know the city well, so there are really only a couple of places he might be.”
When the five young men arrived at the Talon, the bar that Jeremy had stumbled into his first night in New Orleans, the jilted groom was already on his third scotch, even though he had had only a short lead over the posse. Burt, the bartender, eyed Brandon skeptically but did not card him since he had entered the adults-only establishment with two cops known all too well to him.
Though most of the tourists who had come into town for Southern Decadence had now left, the bar was still filled with local men. The room was not as dark as the night that Ford, Red, and Kenny had first met Jeremy there, and it did not take long for Brandon to figure out what kind of establishment it was.
A big, burly stevedore exited the small room known to the regulars as the Clown Car, zipping up his jeans as he strolled over to the bar. He was followed a few minutes later by a young twink who looked like he must have used a fake ID to get into the place—or perhaps he, too, had been accompanied by one of New Orleans’ finest, or by the district attorney, or even the mayor. The young twink licked his lips and grinned from one ear to the other as he strutted back by the pool table. A few minutes later, he strolled back into the Clown Car with an older black man whose huge cock was already half exposed.
“What’ll ya’ll have?” Burt asked the five men as they gathered around Jeremy.
“Beer,” said Ford, thinking that Jeremy might be more apt to listen to him if they were sharing drinks. “Beer,” echoed Red, then Kenny, then Kyle, and then Brandon.
“I think he meant to say ‘root beer’,” corrected Ford, leering at his younger cousin. Brandon started to object; after all, he had drunk beer before; hell, Ford had even given him beer when they were both under age. But Ford glared at him with that look that said, “This is a cop speaking now, kid. Don’t press your luck.”
Ford listened attentively as Jeremy recounted Amy’s confession, if that’s what it was. When Jeremy ordered his fourth drink, Ford knew better than to object, but he flashed a look that signaled to Burt to start watering down the liquor. Several drinks later, after Jeremy was too tipsy to object but not so bombed as to be unmanageable, Ford said, “Look, you need a diversion, but not here. Come with me.”
As they headed for the exit, Ford noticed that Brandon was not with them. “That fuckin’ kid! I told him to stick close by. Either of you see where he went?” Red, Kenny, and Kyle all shrugged their shoulders, and Jeremy looked as if he hadn’t even noticed the teenager come in with them.
“Kenny, you and Kyle look outside. Red, you take care of Jeremy. I’ll look around in here.”
Ford navigated his way among the patrons, circled the pool table, and checked out the restroom. Nothing. Then, he gazed at the door to the notorious Clown Car. He wouldn’t be in there! Still, he had to check. He pried open the door ever so slightly and peeked in. He could not believe his eyes. It was not the sight of eight or ten men wanking their cocks and each others’ that unnerved him, but the fact that they were also cheering on his young cousin as he face-fucked the young twink and simultaneously took another man's stiff rod up his ass.
Ford's initial instinct was to grab Brandon by the ears and drag him out of there, but right now he had to deal with Jeremy. He would have a serious talk with Brandon later. He knew that it wouldn't take long for a horny 18-year-old to shoot his wad, so he waited for Brandon to exit the room and return to the bar, where he nonchalantly met him and explained that they were leaving.
Ford had not intended to take Brandon with them to their next stop, but after what he had just witnessed, he concluded that there could be no harm in it. “Red, since you know the way better than anybody, why don't you drive Brandon's car. I'll bring Jeremy in mine.”
“Where are we going?” slurred Jeremy.
“Red's club.”
“Club? You mean, his gym?”
“Well, the gym is part of it, but the club is actually much bigger. And Red is not just the physical trainer at the gym. He's the manager of the whole club.”
The sign on the door read, “Men only. Must be 21 to enter. ID required.” The receptionist, like Burt at the bar, shot Brandon a skeptical look, but since he was with Red, he said nothing. “Keys?” asked the receptionist.
“That won't be necessary,” answered Red. “I have my master.” He unlocked the door that led from the foyer into the spacious locker room. As Red, Jeremy, Kenny, and Kyle began to undress, Ford pulled Brandon aside.
“Is there anything you wanna tell me?” asked Ford.
“Like what?”
Ford held his tongue but shot darts straight into Brandon's eyes.
“Oh, I'm guessing you already know.”
“Why don't you tell me yourself?”
“What, you want me to tell you that I'm gay? Is that it?”
“Well, are you?”
“Does it really make any difference?”
“Not to me. Question is, does it make any difference to you?”
“Whaddya mean?”
“Look, Brandon. You know I love you like a brother, and I always will, no matter what. And I know I'm a shitty role model, living a double life like I do, but it's because of that that I know how hard it can be. If you're gay, just come out and say so. Let the whole world know. It'll be a helluva lot easier than trying to hide it. Believe me, I know.”
“You're right, Ford. I am gay, and there's no reason I should hide it.” The teenager held back his tears as he hugged his older cousin.
“OK, enough of that. Now, I really shouldn't have brought you in here, but I think you can handle it. Just watch yourself, and stay close this time, OK? I'm not gonna tell you what you can do and what you can't do, except that you've gotta protect yourself, ya hear?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean it,” asserted Ford, reinforcing the point with a couple of taps of his fist against Brandon's chest.
