A Merry Marry Christmas Read online

  Todd stretches things out. "Had any psychology or philosophy yet?” Todd pauses for effect, “Big Rod?"

  Reyes looks at his watch. "Yeah, they both sucked."

  "Read any Kinsey?" Todd is having fun now.

  Reyes knows where this is going. "Yeah, he's full of BS. Book was so simple-minded I bought the notes online and still got a B in the class."

  Todd stares at Rodrigo Reyes until the cop starts to get freaked. Finally Todd challenges: "I’m guessing that good Marines like you don’t take shortcuts in training. Would you really trust your life to a pilot who only read the online notes for the Boeing manual?"

  Rod looks straight ahead without emotion–just as he was trained to do in the Academy and in the Marines before that.

  Todd shoots. "I can tell from your hard body that you get a lot of exercise. I'll bet a six-pack that I can keep you from dunking one basket or scoring one goal. You chose the sport and field. Or the pool–I perform best when I’m wet." Todd can't help but grin at the fear in Rod’s dark eyes.

  Reyes is able to speak–barely. "Thanks, but I have to study."

  Todd delivers his final shoulder bump and extends his hand for a shake, then holds the grip too long. "You have a great day, big Buddy. It was good of you to cover my ass."

  Rod shakes his hand and manages an awkward smile. He starts to walk away when Todd has a final word. "Practice your goal shots. You don't want to wait too long to join the right team, stud."

  Todd laughs as Reyes walks away quickly and waits for the cop to turn around. When Rod does glance back nervously, Todd greats him with a wink and smile.

  CHAPTER 5

  Divisadero Avenue, Pacific Heights

  Tony and the boys are stuck in traffic in a 20-year-old Jeep Cherokee. Luke is in the back seat. The car has seen better days; dings and scratches show long years on the road. A faded ‘Yale Law’ sticker somehow matches the pale blue paint on the Jeep.

  "This car is such a piece of shit, Dad," Luke’s 6’3” inch sprawl is uncomfortable on the rear bench seat.

  Tony laughs. "There isn’t a car made today as solid as this baby. Besides, it has sentimental value. Your mother has nice wheels.

  Luke scoffs. " Yeah, a gold Lexus–a woman’s car."

  Jon agrees. "A fool's-gold Toyota. A big hunk of plastic wrapped in fake metal. Besides, it belongs to the firm. How long until the men in the family get a new car?"

  Tony always smiles first when he talks to his sons. He loves the boys with every beat of his heart, no matter how difficult they’re being. "Maybe 10 years if we’re lucky; when we pay off the mortgage and you finish college."

  Luke always says what he thinks. "You are what you drive. What’re you Dad?"

  "A prisoner of compounded interest–a victim of a jumbo mortgage." Tony laughs when he replies.

  Jon always has ideas. "You could practice law like Mom does, make big bucks."

  "I like what I do. It’s an important job." Tony has heard the kids nag him on the subject so many times it doesn’t bother him anymore.

  Luke plays dirty. "Nice job for a doctor’s wife. Make 90 grand–wear your basic black. Show some balls, Dad."

  "Glad you respect the law," Tony’s dark eyes shine with affection, no matter what criticism Luke dishes up.

  As always, Jon is Googling trivia on his cell phone as he talks. "I like this classic heap. Says here they make a knock off in China. Want a new one, Lucifer, move there, get it cheap."

  Luke gets mad. "We already live in China. And stop calling me Lucifer, faggot."

  They stop at the curb near St. Paul’s High School. Tony heaves a sigh of relief.

  "I’ll pick you guys up after practice."

  "Thanks, Dad, we’ll be at the gay bar over there if we have to wait." Jon tousles his father's perfectly combed hair affectionately.

  Tony does a double take. "A gay bar–so near the school?"

  Luke points. "On the left. The Workingman Bar. The school’s almost 2 blocks away. St. Paul’s tried to stop them. They’re some big nationwide chain–fought back."

  Jon adds some history. "Delaware corporation. Wanted the same name they use in Hollywood, Houston, New York and wherever: 'Working Stiff'. But the PTA parents complained. They compromised with 'Workingman'. Reflective glass so they see out, we can’t see in. Gave a donation to the school–closed the deal."

  Luke looks confused. "How do you know so much?"

  Jon dazzles with his smile and the dimples that appear in moments of triumph. "School paper. Can't little Lucifer read?"

  Tony's face shows his surprise.

  Luke picks up on it. "Been a while since you were at school Dad; things have changed."

  Jon slams the door to go. "Meet you in front of the Stiff about 5."

  Always the smartass, Luke goes on. "Guess you’ll be too busy being a judge-lady to catch practice."

  Jon jokes. "I hear they sell Viagra in the bar. Want us to get you some? Might be what you need…"

  Tony gets madder as he waits curbside for the other carpools to move and let him leave.

  CHAPTER 6

  Castro District, San Francisco

  Workingman Bar occupies a beautifully restored Victorian building at the center of San Francisco’s most famous gay neighborhood, The Castro. Although a high school is just blocks away and historic Mission Delores nearby, The Castro neighborhood flourishes in its diversity. Young mothers push strollers, geeks argue Apps and budding bankers line up for the busses and trolleys to the financial district. Even at 7:30 AM, night-shift workers, tourists and faithful locals are relaxing inside the Workingman. Bloody Marys here are miraculous hangover cures and the breakfast coffee is strong enough to jump-start any day.

  From his position by the door, Sean Connors surveys the scene with his long-time business partner and lover, Dick McCarry. "Look there–the hunk in the Jeep–I could fall in love." Sean smiles.

  Calmly, and with the dry wit that has made their relationship last more than 20 years, Dick replies. "I thought you were in love with me."

  At that moment, Tony turns to check out the bar and they can see him clearly from their perch at the open door. Sean snaps his fingers in recollection.

  Sean turns to Dick and laughs. "Of course I meant I could fall in love if I hadn’t already met you. And I think I already know him."

  "That Dreamboat Dad? In your wet dreams."

  "Not in the Biblical sense of knowing,” Sean and Dick work each other like a vaudeville team, “we've met. Twice"

  "Bullshit, you're just seeing a ghost."

  Sean gives Dick a hug. "Well, I've always been paranormal."

  CHAPTER 7

  Workingman Bar - Afternoon

  Later that day, the sun bathes The City in cloudless golden light. Todd jogs downhill from USF to San Francisco's most famous gay neighborhood. When he comes to The Castro, Todd feels what a billion children have felt when they enter Disney's magic gates. He smiles inside when he crosses Castro Street at Market and sees the rainbow flags flying on businesses everywhere. He’s home now and it has been a very long road from Salt Lake City.

  Sean and Dick are drinking coffee at a table near the door and Todd enters their bar with a wide smile.

  "Lucy, I'm home," he calls out to all.

  Sean and Dick laugh and the three men exchange brief hugs.

  "Sorry I’m late! Gym was packed. Couldn’t get to the glute machine."

  Sean grins and wags his finger. "Never neglect your ass workout. Only reason men come in the bar is that butt of yours."

  "Thanks for being so…understanding. Anyone interesting come in yet?"

  "Well, none of the carpool Dads–if that’s what you mean."

  Outside, the street is jammed as parents pick up their students after school.

  Todd smiles. "View improves after the sports practices. Great Dads, great Lads."

  Sean tousles Todd's hair. "That what they teach at USF?"

  "Yeah, survival of the foxes. Oh Daddy!" Todd
moves his face up against the one-way glass.

  A BMW pulls up, a handsome young father on his cell phone is behind the wheel. His young son drops his books while opening the door. Dad gets out of the car, still on his cell and helps the boy get in. Todd quips, "Put that one on my naughty list for Christmas."

  Sean checks out the scene. "No way. He’s straight."

  Todd objects. "Two grand for the suit, hundred buck haircut. Check out that ass: way pumped up–looks qay to me. Too much attention to detail for a straight man on his way home to the missus." Todd laughs at his own joke.

  Sean smiles then turns serious. "See the way he treated his son?"

  "Yeah, helped him with his books. Nice. So?"

  “A gay man would’ve fought hard to have that child. He would have hung up the God-damned phone, gotten out of the car, opened the door and hugged his son."

  Todd thinks about that. "Maybe he's another gay man trapped in a loveless marriage...and resents his kid."

  Sean stares. "That’s a thought."

  "Just because you’re struck dumb by my tight ass doesn’t mean I am. And I have state-of-the-art Gaydar." Todd reaches over to pinch Sean's cheek and heads behind the bar to start his afternoon shift.

  CHAPTER 8

  San Francisco Superior Courthouse

  It has been a long day for Superior Court Judge Tony Morrelli. He's stuck in chambers with a stack of papers that won't go away. Shuffling files at his side is long-time clerk Maureen Malone, an earthy brunette with a heart of gold and a forever crush on Tony.

  Maureen leans over to grab a large folder from Tony's stack. "You should have been a priest."

  "Me? Why’s that?"

  "First of all, the money's better and you’d have an army of nuns to take care of your paperwork. You’re all wrong for this place.”

  “How’s that?” Tony is used to the jokes from his wisecracking assistant.

  “Your rule book or integrity or whatever it is, gets in the way." Maureen stands up straight, puts her hand on her hip and lectures like she knows she's right. "That last case: why give that drunk a third chance? Throw the book at him–finito."

  Tony is embarrassed. He knows Maureen is right. "Just being fair, hoping I can help him find himself."

  Maureen keeps pushing. "Fair? Crank up the attitude when guilt is obvious. Like Judge Judy: No BS–decision–bang. You could learn something from her."

  "Look Maureen, the man has a problem. Problems. Last thing he needs is a rush to judgment."

  "You don’t want a reputation for being easy on DUIs. Not after Marie…"

  "Since when’re you the judge?" Tony’s smile says he knows that Maureen’s right.

  "Since you became a wimp. Show some huevos. With Marx retiring …"

  Tony is stunned. This is the first he's heard. "Retiring? At 55? Who said?"

  "Happy hour Fridays. You ought to get out and mingle…" Maureen laughs.

  "What about drunk driving?"

  "Cut the choir boy logic–go home, it’s late."

  Tony looks at his watch and throws on his jacket. “Sorry to leave early, and you with a mess–have to pick up the boys."

  "Luke called three times. You’re not early, you’re leaving on time. Sucks working for Father Teresa."

  "Father Teresa?" Tony is perplexed.

  "I don’t need a sainted boss who makes me feel guilty when I get upset with all the BS in this city. How’s your diva? I thought this was her one day a week to pick up the boys.

  "She’s OK. Late partners’ meeting."

  "What kind of partner’s meeting?"

  "Working kind–I guess."

  Maureen wags her finger. "Never trust a beautiful woman. Maureen fingers Tony’s shirt collar."

  "Speaking of BS, what’s this?"

  Tony looks down to inspect the collar himself. "Must have burned it with the iron."

  "You do your own ironing?"

  "Doesn’t take long."

  Maureen is interested in details. "And the boys, Marie and Claire?"

  "Not much to do. Wash and fold. Nice things go to the cleaners…"

  Maureen won't stop. "I know you cook–gardener too?"

  Now Tony sees where this is going. "Yeah."

  "Don’t you have teenage boys for that?"

  Tony answers with an excuse, "They take off a sprinkler head every time they mow."

  "Teach them how to fix them. Lefty Lucy. Righty tighty–Bingo."

  "Not worth the trouble. You been seeing my father on the side?"

  "No, why?"

  "I get the same lecture from him."

  Maureen wins for the day. "Isn’t women’s lib funny?

  "What do you mean?" Tony doesn't get it.

  "Liberated working women have become the same selfish pigs men have always been."

  Like everyone else on the planet, Maureen checks the news on her cell phone as she convinces Tony to leave. “Uh-oh,” she grimaces as Tony reaches the door.

  “What’s up?”

  “Ginzburg took another fall.”

  “Christ, not now.” Tony’s face contorts in panic. “How bad?”

  “She’s in the hospital–it must be bad. Nothing keeps her away from her desk…”

  “Send her a prayer from me, will you, please? I’m out of practice.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll get on my knees as soon as you get out the door. I’ll pray for all of us.

  CHAPTER 9

  Castro District, Late Afternoon

  With water polo practice over, Luke and Jon wait on the corner outside the Workingman Bar. Luke points at an expensive silver SUV at the curb. "Porsche Cayenne Turbo S: 570 horses. Must belong to that Saudi guy–they let seniors bring their cars now."

  Jon shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I heard he wrapped his Porsche around a pole over break.”

  “Dude, he probably just bought another one. He wrecked two last year. Who else can afford an awesome ride like this? It’s 300 grand loaded,” Luke argues. “I heard he’s so rich he has a Formula 1 track on his yacht.”

  Jon gets closer to check it out. "Fine machine. I wonder how it handles in heels?"

  "What the fuck does that mean?" Luke idles on agitated.

  "The owner is gay. Gay equality sticker on the back, parked by a gay bar–so therefore…gay. It’s safe to say that it doesn’t belong to that Saudi guy. I had a math class with him last year. He didn’t know what an equal sign is–and equality is definitely not something Saudi men give a shit about. It’s pretty obvious he wouldn’t put that sticker on his bumper.” Jon has all the answers.

  “So what’s with the equal thing then?”

  Jon rolls his eyes. “Did you forget that our high school is in the Castro, the Mecca for all that’s gay in the western world.

  Luke sneers. "What does an equal sign have to do with fags? What use would a queer have for a man’s car like that?"

  "You are what you drive, Lucifer. Isn't that what you told Dad this morning?"

  Sean, Dick and Todd watch the boys through the one-way glass.

  Dick's face glows like it's Christmas. "Christ, look at those two. 6’3” if they’re an inch. And they’re probably still growing. Nice idea–names on their backs."

  Todd explains patiently. "Classic lettermen’s jackets. They're varsity water polo players."

  "How do you know?" Sean is curious.

  "I keep track of the local talent. They’re the Morrelli twins, Jon and Luke. Hot."

  "We're not blind. They’re red hot."

  Todd grins, "I actually meant hot in the water."

  Dick has advice. "You’ll get into hot water if you don’t leave those big boys alone. We used to call under-aged hunks like that San Quentin Quail."

  "They’re juniors now. Almost 18."

  "They’re big for juniors."

  "I checked them out in the shower and they’re very big boys all over. I'll Google them so I can put their 18th birthday into the calendar on my phone."

  Sean's eyes light
up. "Morrelli, I know the name."

  "Duh. Dad’s a big-shot judge."

  "Dick's right. They’re too young for you–mess with them it’s statutory rape."

  "Big as they are, they’re still boys. I’m into men."

  "What are those Jesuits teaching you? Geriatrics?" Sean loved to joke with his young employees.

  "My major was on my employment application," Todd tests Sean a little.

  "We skipped past the paper application when we saw your glutes." Dick puts his arm around Sean.

  "Computer science major. Psych minor."

  Sean looks hard at Todd for a moment and then concludes with a grin. "You still look like a dumb blonde to me."

  "Thanks, I work at it." Todd smiles back.

  Sean starts to walk outside the bar. “Come on out, Dick. Let's have some fun with Jon and Luke Morrelli. Their names even sound like sex. We'll have to be careful not to damage the goods," Sean points at Todd, "you stay inside. There's dangerous young testosterone lurking there."

  Sean calls out to the boys as they lean against a lamppost checking out his car.

  "Hey, this is a nice neighborhood."

  Jon is confused. "Pardon me?"

  Sean is gruff but there's a twinkle in his eye. "You should work some other corner."

  "Very funny," Jon laughs.

  Luke is confused. "What’s very funny?"

  "This guy’s very funny. Subtle humor is the best kind. He’s pretending we’re street-corner hookers so he can talk to us. He’s flirting." Jon looks to Sean for confirmation. "Right?"

  Sean laughs. "Or something. Guess you're about as smart as you are handsome."

  Jon laughs again.

  Luke is still upset. "I don’t think that's very funny." Luke puts down his backpack. He’s always ready to fight.

  Jon gives Luke a bump on the arm. "Chill out, Lucifer."