Cousins All
by: Will B
(© 2007 by the Author)
Advisor: E Walk

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Dedicated to Jaz and Nicky.

From Chapter 1:

Steve and Jim, two young teachers who are roommates and lovers discuss the importance of educating young people about AIDS, which is beginning to appear in the heterosexual community.

Chapter 2
 

It is 6:00 pm on June 1, 1985. A terrific thunderstorm has been raging.

Young Al Johnson, aged 24, son of Jack and Peggy, now a policeman in his third year on the job, is riding in the patrol car with his partner, Mark Taylor, also 24, who happens to be a black man.

Al and Mark had been patrol car partners for about three weeks. Their job was to drive the streets of downtown Baltimore City, keeping alert for any situations that might call for a police presence, and of course to provide backup for other police who might need it.

Mark was a good policeman but he had an air of reserve that Al couldn’t figure out.  On their first shift together, Al had asked Mark if he wanted to go for a beer at Casey’s Bar, where other cops went after their shift to have a brew or two before heading home.

“No. I don’t think so,” Mark replied tersely.

Al didn’t press it but a week later he asked again.

“No thanks, Al,” was all Mark said.

Al was a little surprised. He knew that Mark had a kind heart. He had seen him kneel down and comfort a little boy who was lost, and promise him that he and Al would find his mother. Was there something about Al that Mark didn’t like?  But that couldn’t be it or Mark would have asked for a transfer.

Tonight Al had something to talk about. Before the men went out in their cars, the lieutenant had called a meeting.

He opened the meeting with “Men, this is a serious subject, so listen up. I have had reports from other commanders around the state that some of the perps [those suspected of committing a crime] have taken to spitting in the faces of the arresting officers.  Now, that’s bad enough, but we are finding out that some of these low-lifes have AIDS, and if they do and if they spit in your eyes, you are at risk of contracting the disease.”

Exclamations of shock, disgust and outrage filled the room.

“You men have to protect yourselves against any of these people or any drunk or unstable person who might try this form of attack. I am issuing each of you two pairs of clear plastic goggles. You are to put them on whenever you approach a suspicious character. And that men IS AN ORDER!”

Replies of “Sure,” “You Bet,” and “Yes, Sir,” came instantly.

In the patrol car Al asked Mark “What did you think of the lieutenant’s order.”

“I think he’s right, Al. We have to protect ourselves. I’m not afraid to face a suspicious person, but you can be damn sure I’m gonna have those goggles on.”

Somehow this interchange seemed to have thawed the ice—just a little.

Al found himself thinking, “I think Mark’s a real hunk. I wonder what it would be like to…. No! Better not go there!”

Al was afraid that if he said the wrong thing to Mark, he might get a fist in his face, and if the word got out that he had tried to hit on Mark, he might lose his job.

Al liked man-to-man sex. As a teenager he had “fooled around” with other boys. He and some friends had jerked each other off many times. Sometimes they played “strip poker.” They made up an activity that combined “strip poker” with a “circle jerk.” The first boy to lose all his clothes lie down on the floor and all the other boys masturbated on his body—his cock, his balls, his pubes, his chest, his neck and even on his face.

A couple of times, Al had been the first to lose all his clothes, and he lay there and found that as the ropes of hot man-milk hit his body he would cum as well. He even took his finger and scooped up some of the ejaculate and tasted it, had swallowed it. Ummmm! Good!

In high school he had had a special friend, Doug Howard. They had had a close, a very close, relationship. They even talked about living together when they finished high school. Then Doug went away to college and Al entered the police academy. They just drifted apart.

Since then, Al had not found anyone to share his life with. He was happy for his brother Steve and Steve’s partner Jim. Would he ever find that special someone?

At the Academy, when Al and the other cadets hit the showers, he had surreptitiously checked the other guys out (He never realized that one or two of the cadets had been checking him out too).

FLASH! CRASH! The rain still poured down.

It was near the end of their shift and Mark was driving slowly and thinking, ‘Al is really a neat guy. I’d like to get to know him better. I’d like to . . . Oh, SHIT! I can’t even think of that! I must be a fool to think that a guy like Al would be interested in  . . . ‘

Mark was twenty-four with brown hair and brown eyes. His teeth were perfect and when he smiled, they shone like pearls. It may be hard to believe but at twenty-four he had had very little sexual experience. He had jerked off as a teenager, and once or twice had engaged in anal sex.

He had avoided the gay bars and the places where gay men loitered to meet other gay men. As a result, he was pretty much untutored in matters sexual.

He was the son of a single mother who had gone out cleaning other people’s houses, washing other people’s clothes, watching other people’s children, so that she could provide a decent home for her sons. Nellie Taylor was in her late fiftes and she carried herself with pride and self-assurance. She had two sons, Mark and Davon; Davon was younger than Mark. He had gone on the streets and Nellie seldom saw him any more.

Because Davon had disappointed his mother by the life choices he had made, Mark was more determined to make his mother proud of him, which is one reason he had gone into the police force. He was a clean living man, but so lonely!

It was this fear of being found out as a gay man that made him so reserved with his fellow police officers.

Another clash of thunder and a flash of lightning rent the night air.

“Mark, look over there on the curb. See that boy?” Al asked.

Mark looked and saw a skinny lad shivering and holding up a bedraggled bunch of flowers. He pulled over to the curb, and the young man approached the car. Mark opened the window.

“Want to buy some flowers for your mother or your girl friend, sir? Only five dollars,” the young boy asked.

Mark started to say “Nah! Beat it kid!” But he looked again and saw a young teenage boy, of about 14, wearing ragged jeans, a shirt with some badly darned patches, and a very thin jacket. The words of dismissal died on his lips.

“Please officer. If you buy these flowers I can go home. I’m not allowed to go home until I have at least five dollars!”

“Look, young man, it’s pouring down rain. Why don’t you get in the back of the car? Officer Johnson will sit back there with you. I’ll put the heat on so you can dry off a little and get warm”

Mark looked at Al, and motioned with his eyes for Al to get in the back seat.

“Why can’t you go home until you have at least five dollars?” Mark asked the boy.

“Our house master sends us out each afternoon to sell these flowers and we have to bring back money to help pay the expenses of our room and board. He says it will teach us to be good businessmen?”

Al asked, “Is this some kind of school?”

“Oh, no, officer,” the boy replied. “It’s a church, The Church of the Eternal Flame of the Holy Truth,” the boy answered.

“How many of you are in this, er . . . this church?” Mark asked.

“There are ten of us kids, five boys and five girls, and four adults who live there.”

“How did you come to live at this, this church?” Mark asked.

“My parents are dead, and my aunt is a deacon in the church.”

Al shuddered and said, “Do they treat you OK? Are they mean?”

“No, sir, the only time they get mad is if we don’t bring back money. Then we don’t get any supper. I think . . . I think a couple of the older ones are making money by doing something other than by selling flowers.”

Mark looked at Al. Al looked at Mark. The two policemen had looks of sorrow and horror and disgust.

“What’s your name, son,” Al asked.

“Tony, Tony Jones.”

“Do you like this church?” Mark asked.

“Of course, they give me a home and food and they . . . (Tony hesitated) . . . well, not very much, but what can I do? I have no other place to go.”

Mark pulled out his wallet and said “OK, Tony. I’m gonna buy those flowers. Here’s a fiver.” He handed the boy a five dollar bill.

Al said indignantly, “Wadda ya mean, a fiver. Anyone can see they’re worth at least ten dollars. Tony, here’s another five, and I get half the flowers.” Al handed Tony another five.

“Gee, thanks, officers, now I can go home. Can you let me out two blocks from here? It’s not far to walk from there.”

“Hrmph,” Mark cleared his throat. “Do you honestly want to go back there, Tony?”

“Honestly, sir, no! But I have nowhere else to go.”

“I have an idea. Al, I think I see a way to help several people.”

The rain had stopped and the stars were beginning to appear as dusk settled on the drenched city.

Mark put the car in gear, and drove to another neighborhood, and stopped in front of a small Mom-and-Pop grocery store. There was a sign in the window that said, “Help wanted.”

Mark, Al, and Tony got out of the car and walked into the store.

A tall gray-haired man came to greet them. “Hello, officers, it’s good to see you, and who is this young man?”

“Tony, this is Mr. Lombardi. He and his wife own this store.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Mr. Lombardi looked at Tony, and suddenly he seemed to turn pale. “Mama! Mama! Come here,” he called out.

A plump lady with black hair and a warm smile came from the back. “What is it, Luigi?  I was about to mix the sauce . . . Luigi! Why are you so excited? Why . . . .”  She caught sight of Tony. “Oh, Santa Maria, who is this boy? Where did he come from? Officers, did you bring him?”

Mark said, “Well, Mrs. Lombardi, we met him on the street selling flowers and we, er, we struck up a conversation, and it occurred to me that Tony might like to have the part-time job you are advertising.”

“Nice going, partner,” Al thought to himself. He didn’tt know that Mark knew something of the Lombardis and how they treated their neighbors, allowing them credit with no interest charges. Mark knew of the great tragedy that had come into their lives last year.

“What do you think, Mama? Do you think we could hire this young man?” Turning to Tony, he asked, “Would you like to work here? The job would mainly consist of sweeping out the store, stocking the shelves and maybe waiting on the customers.”

Tony replied “Please, sir and ma’am, I would like to work here, if you would want me.”

“What is your name, young man,” Mr. Lombardi asked.

“Tony. Sir, Tony Jones.”

“Tony! Like Anthony. It is a miracle,” Mama Lombardi said in a voice that sounded like it was trembling on the verge of tears, and then pulling herself together, she said, “Officer Taylor, are you and Officer Johnson still on duty?

“No, ma’am. Our shift ended ten minutes ago.”

“Papa, such big decisions cannot be made suddenly. We must sit and eat and discuss this thoroughly. Tony, do you like spaghetti?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then it is settled. We will sit down in fifteen minutes. Papa, why don’t you show the men—all three of them—where they can wash up? And while you are upstairs, you might like to show our guests the nice empty room we have.”

Mama looked at Papa and Papa looked at Mama. They both raised their eyebrows at each other and then they smiled at each other.

“Yes, Mama. As usual you have had excellent ideas. This way gentlemen!”

As Mark started to leave, Mama Lombardi held him back. “Officer Mark, you have been an angel. Ever since . . . ever since. . ., well, Papa has been walking around only half alive. He hasn’t been eating. He hasn’t been sleeping. Dear God, he hasn’t even gone to Mass. But the look on his face when he saw that boy was as if a light had come on in a dark room. Thank you, Officer Mark. I thank you.”

“I know, Mama Lombardi. I know,” Mark said. “I thought this might be a good idea.”

Mark quickly filled her in on the boy’s background and where and how he had been living.

Mama Lombardi had tears in her eyes. “The poor bambino. I am beginning to have an idea, but we will discuss it at dinner.”

Mark went out to the police car and called in to the station that he and Al had been investigating a “run-away child,” that the situation looked like it was going to have a happy ending, and that he and Al would get a bite of supper and return to the station later to file reports. He set the car alarm so that if anyone so much as tried to take a hub cap, or break into the car, an ear-splitting siren would alert the whole neighborhood.

Mama Lombardi served her company a salad and cups of minestrone, and then set a huge bowl of spaghetti and meatballs on the table, with a loaf of Italian bread.

Tony’s eyes opened wide. “Wow,” was all he said.

Papa asked a blessing “Dear Lord, we thank you for this food. We thank you for friends, and we thank you for the miracle . . . (He paused for a minute and then went on) . . . “for the miracles you send into our lives. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

For a few minutes there was silence while everyone did justice to the meal. Then Tony was the first to speak. “Officer Mark, you should see the empty room Mr. Lombardi showed me. It has a comfortable bed, a desk and chair, bookshelves, and a great collection of baseball cards. There were some model airplanes, and pictures of Baltimore Orioles (the name of the home baseball team). It’s almost like it was the room for someone like me.”

Mark kept a perfectly straight face as he replied, “Imagine that! I had no idea.” (But he did have an idea, a perfectly good idea). He looked at Al and winked.

Picking up the cue, Al said, “Tony, why don’t you tell the Lombardis about where you are living now?”

Tony did so, and Papa and Mama listened with great interest. Once Papa had a fit of coughing, and had to get out his handkerchief to wipe his mouth (and his eyes!). Once Mama excused herself “to see to something in the kitchen.”

When Tony had finished, Papa said, “I do not understand this church. I know our own dear Church, and I know Methodists and Presbyterians and Lutherans. I also know some people who go to the synagogue on Saturday. Most of the people I know who go to these churches are good people.  I just do not understand this church of yours.”

Papa looked at Mama and Mama looked at Papa. They raised their eyebrows again, as if asking each other a question, and they both nodded.

Mama spoke. “Tony, the room you saw was the room of a 14 year old boy, just like you. It was the room of our son Antonio, He .  . he  . .  died of meningitis just about a year ago.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lombardi,” was Tony’s reply.

Mama Lombardi cleared her throat.

She went on, “Papa and I were wondering if you might possibly . . .  if you could . . . if you would want to live here—unless you want to continue living at this church. You would still have the job in the afternoons, but there is that room upstairs just waiting for a young man to live there.”

There was complete silence for all of five seconds, and then Tony said, “Oh, yes, please. Thank you. Thank you so much. I do want to live here. Oh, thank you, thank you.”

Both Al and Mark had to wipe their eyes—and they made no secret of why they had to do it.

“Tony, you have made Mama and me very happy. There are just a few rules we would have,” Papa said.

“Yes, sir.”

“One: you will have to go to school. Two: you will have to earn good grades. Three: you will have to keep your room neat. Four: you must never lie to us. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Five,” Papa Lombardi went on, “if you make friends at school, we want you to bring them here so we can meet them. I think that’s all. Later, we will discuss when you will work in the store, but we will allow you time for your homework, and have some free time also.”

“Papa,” said Mama Lombardi, “You have forgotten Rule Number Six.”

“What rule is that, Mama?”

“Tony, this is not really a rule, but would you please not call us ‘sir’ and “ma’am,’ but simply Mama and Papa?”

“Oh yes, ma’am . .  I mean Mama.”

After some more using of handkerchiefs, Mark said, “Tony, will they miss you at the church if you don’t come back tonight?”

“No, sir. They’ll just think I’m still out trying to sell those flowers.”

Mama spoke as a true Mother, “Then it is settled. Tony will start living here as of now. He is about the same size our Antonio was, so we will have some clothes that will fit him.”

Al said, “Mark and I are not on duty tomorrow. Suppose we come by at 9:00 and take the three of you to the Division of Social Services so we can have you appointed temporary foster parents. I have some friends who work there. My Uncle Matt and Uncle Gary work there, so we should be able to do that quickly. After that we can go to this church and get any of Tony’s belongings, and inform this ‘house master’ that Tony is not going to be living there any more, and that his establishment is going to be investigated for possible exploitation of minors.”

Mama Lombardi said, “Papa, I think tomorrow we should put a sign in the store “Closed due to emergency, and after we take care of business, we should go to a nice restaurant for lunch. Our two guardians of the law, or maybe they are guardian angels, will be our guests. I get just a little tired of cooking Italian all the time, so I thought a Chinese restaurant would make a good change!”

There were sounds of laughter, boisterous laughter, in that room.

It was time for Al and Mark to leave. There were hugs all around. Papa Lombardi walked the two young men out to their car. As they passed through the store, Mark said, “Papa, who’s in your book?”

“Mrs. Brown hasn’t been able to work because of her arthritis. But, I know she’ll pay me.”

“How much, Papa?”

“Just twenty dollars – but I know she’ll pay.”

Mark pulled out a twenty and said, “Tell her a friend said to get well soon.”

“Is there someone else in your book, Papa?” Al asked.

“Mrs. Himmelfarb has lost her job at the factory. She has a job interview coming up so I know she’ll be able to pay soon. I’m not worried.”

“How much,” Al insisted.

“Just about twenty-seven dollars, but ---“

“Here’s thirty. Tell Mrs. Himmelfarb a friend was passing by and he wishes her luck in her job interview.”

When the three men were out on the street, Papa Lombardi, said, “Al and Mark, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have done this night. Mama used to sing to herself during the day, but after Antonio died, I did not hear her singing any anymore. I only heard her crying in the night. Now I think maybe I will hear singing once more.”

Papa gave each of the men a hug. Then he turned to go back in the store. “Mama,’ he said, “I think I will go to seven o’clock mass tomorrow while you fix breakfast. I want to light a candle to St. Joseph.”

Mama hugged Papa and said, “That is good. You go.”

As they got into the car, Al asked, “Mark, how come you knew about the Lombardis? They aren’t in our regular district.

“Al, I grew up in this neighborhood. My mother still lives a couple of blocks away. Sometimes, when she didn’t make enough to buy groceries the Lombardis wrote down what she owed, and said she could pay them when she could. Now, I can help my Mom out so she has enough . . . well, you know.”

“Yes, Al, I know. You are a good man. I’m glad I have you as a partner.”

As the two drove back to the station, Mark said, “Hey, buddy, I know it’s a little late, but do you want to stop for a beer?”

Al closed his eyes, smiled, and said, “Sure, partner.”

To be continued.

Feedback always welcome:     

Author’s ramblings: (1) Readers, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I originally planned to have chapters 1 and 2 presented all in one chapter, but sometimes, like “Topsy” in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, a plot “just [grows].”

(2) The Baltimore Sun of 16 September 2007 reports that one of the things that makes AIDS so difficult to combat is that nobody knows exactly how any people have it—not in Africa—not in Baltimore—not anywhere. We know now that it is not just a GAY disease, but a HUMAN disease (as my fellow author Str8mayb put it so eloquently in Chapter 6 of “The Last Phoenix,” on the Padded Room website.

The Assistant’s comments: I started to count the commas in this story and lost count after the second paragraph when I even added one. Talk about making the reader feel emotion, Will B. has outdone himself. I felt anger because of the way Tony was being treated; I felt sorrow for the Lombardis’ loss. I felt happiness when Al and Mark got the three people together but I am still mystified about whether Al and Mark are going to play games. If I were a betting person I would bet that they will and it is going to be a torrid romance. I just hope they can sustain it. I can hardly wait to see who is featured in the next chapter. I have decided that Will has a devious mind. E

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Posted: 01/04/08