Chip
by Greg Bowden
Chapter Five
The next day Chip
seemed restless, wandering around the house, reading a little, flipping through
the TV channels but never seeming to settle at anything. At first I thought it was
his way of wrestling with the school problem but then decided that wasn’t it.
It finally occurred to me that sixteen year old boys probably don’t do well
cooped up in the house all the time. What he--we--needed was to get out and get
some exercise. I took him to the gym.
On the way we stopped
at a place I know called The Gym Bag
and bought him some gym clothes. His choices were surprisingly
conservative--gray shorts, white tank top, sturdy shoes--until it came to
picking out a jock strap. The Gym Bag
has them in every color of the rainbow and Chip selected a bright, royal blue
number with silver threads running through the pouch. They were going to love
him at the gym!
At the gym I
introduced Chip to Bernie, who runs the front desk. I told him Chip was staying
with me and I wanted him to check the place out. Bernie had Chip sign the
register and told us that sons of members are always welcome on weekdays up to
Inside, we changed
and then went out to the gym to find Bob, the trainer.
“Well, well, we
haven’t seen you in a while, Dan,” Bob said, looking at his clip board. “You
better start slow and give yourself a good warm up after all this time. In the
meanwhile, I’ll take uh,” he looked at the clip board again, “Chip here and
show him around. We’ll start him on a couple of the machines so we can get a
feel for the kind of shape he’s in and what he might want to work on.”
They abandoned me to
the easy stuff and went over to the heavy machines. Chip was back an hour
later, his clothes soaked with sweat. “Okay, dad,” he grinned, emphasizing the
‘dad’, “time to cool down with a mile or two on the track. Come on.”
He dragged me up to
the running track on the roof where I did a mile and he did two. When we
finally hit the showers I noted that a number of guys had cut their routines
short so they could join us. Chip wasn’t self conscious in the least at all the
guarded attention he drew but he didn’t show off, either. He simply showered,
as though he was alone in the shower at home. For some unknown reason this made
me very proud of him.
While we dressed I
asked him how he liked the place.
“Great! Bob says I
need to work on my ass and my gut and stop drinking so much Coke. He said if I
come back he’ll make up a special program for me. So I can really get in
shape.” He suddenly lost his grin. “Can I? Come back?”
“Yes, you may come
back. It’ll be good for both of us.”
**************************************
The man sat at his desk, smoking and
savoring last night. It had gone well, so well he even had time to tell the boy
why it was happening. God was pleased too. He’d showered praise and given the
man the feeling, that wonderful glow and then the sudden explosion of pleasure.
Yes, God had been pleased.
Not like a couple of weeks ago when the
boy got away, rolled right out of the car. The man hoped he was dead. Or in terrible pain. He shuddered when he thought of the
wrath God had brought down on him. He’d prayed and prayed, asking God to
forgive his failure. Finally God did forgive him, after he had beaten himself
almost senseless with the chains. He still couldn’t let his back touch the back
of the chair.
“Hey,” one of the men called out,
“chief wants us in his office. Look at some pictures or something.”
They trouped into the chief’s office,
grumbling about the interruption. When all were assembled the chief passed
around photocopies of a drawing.
“This is the man,” he said. “This is
the man who’s killing those kids out there, the hustlers. Evidentially one of
them managed to escape. Lucky for us, one of them who can
draw.”
The man looked at the picture and
thought he was going to be sick.
“Chief,” the man called. “I think I’ve
seen this guy before. Hanging around. But on the
streets where the girls work, I think.”
“He doesn’t do girls,” the chief said
sarcastically. “He kills hustlers, male hustlers.” He looked away, studying his
men. “Now this picture is going to be given to every cop in town. They’ll find
him but I wanted you to see what we’re after, in case you see him somewhere.”
He had to make his move quickly. “No
Chief, no. You can’t do that. This picture gets out
and the guy just…well… just changes. Dyes his hair or
something. Gets contacts. Look, let me work
this by myself for a couple of days. I know I can find him, I just know it.
This is just the break I’ve been waiting for.”
The chief fixed him with a cold eye.
“You can work on it,” he said, “but this picture is still going to every cop on
the street. And it’s a detectives’ case. Vice has nothing to do with it. Go ahead
and do what you can and I’ll pass your objections up the chain but it’s not
your case. That’s all men. Get to your assignments.”
**************************************
There was a message
from
“That’s good news, I
guess. Did he mean it?”
“Yeah. He’s convinced now that someone has to push
someone. That’s the bad news, too. There’s been another one.” Another boy had
been found by the lake, killed and his genitals cut off in the same way the
others had been. By the time I got off the phone I was sick to my stomach
thinking it could just as easily have been Chip they found.
I debated with myself
about telling Chip but in the end I had to. Honesty is honesty and we had an
agreement. He reacted by going to sleep for the afternoon. When he woke around
four and came into the study he looked the way a deer might, knowing the
hunters are in the forest. I hugged him and said it would be okay. Nobody knew
where he was--or that he even existed.
“Except
the Crazy. He knows.” I
couldn’t argue with that.
Chip quit shaving for
a couple of days until I convinced him that he’d stand out much more with a
beard. Especially a boy’s beard that was still a bit sparse and
uneven--although I didn’t say that last part. He settled for attempting a
mustache which I had to admit took away some of the boyish look about his face.
The day he was to see
Carlos for his physical I wasn’t sure I could get him to go out but he didn’t
argue when I said I thought it was important that he go. He dressed in his
cowboy clothes, including the hat, pulled low on his face. I was pretty sure no
one would recognize him and I told him so.
Carlos’ waiting room
was empty and the good looking nurse type said we were the last appointment for
the day. On the way over I’d told Chip that whatever passed between him and
Carlos was just between them. If there was anything he wanted me to know--or
anything I should know--he would have to tell me himself. I guess he
listened because he didn’t seem surprised when I wasn’t invited into the
examining room with him.
I made myself
comfortable with the new issue of Health
and Fitness and read until Tony, the nurse, came through and began closing
up. “It won’t be too long now,” he said. Thirty minutes later Carlos and Chip
emerged, smiling and looking like friends.
“Sorry we took so
long,” Carlos said. “You ready?”
“How’d it go?” I said
to Chip.
“Okay. He says I’m in
pretty good shape.”
Carlos nodded. “All
indications are that he’s a healthy, normal teenager. We’ll know more, of
course, after the tests come back but I don’t expect anything startling.
In the car Carlos
concentrated on the traffic, alternately cursing the other drivers--mainly in
Spanish--and throwing comments on their skills to Chip. Chip, for his part,
seemed fascinated with the traffic and the way Carlos wove his way through it.
Once we were in the
suburbs and the traffic thinned out Carlos said, “Did I mention that Deloris
will be joining us for dinner tonight?”
Chip looked at him
sharply. “Who’s Deloris?”
“Jack’s mother,”
Carlos said. “You’ll love her.”
“His
mother?” There was a note
of astonishment in his voice. “Why would… I mean, doesn’t she…” His voice
trailed off raggedly.
“What Chip?”
He tried again.
“Doesn’t she know? I mean that you and Jack…”
Carlos laughed. “You
mean that Jack and I are lovers? Of course she knows. It’d be pretty hard to
miss, don’t you think?”
Chip just looked at
him, seeming unable to think of anything to say.
“Not that we talk
much about it although once, years ago, she told me she thought I was the best
thing that ever happened to Jack.” He laughed again. “Jack will never live that down.”
Chip stared silently
out at the traffic for a long time, something significant going on in his head.
After a while he gave that unconscious little shrug of his and turned to look
over the seat at me. “Do you know her?”
I smiled. “Oh, yes.
She’s one of my favorite people. You’ll like her too. Everyone does, right
Carlos?”
Carlos
nodded, busy with maneuvering into the exit lane. When we were off the expressway he turned
onto a tree shaded, winding road and suddenly it was like we were in the
country. Chip seemed to forget about Jack’s mother and watched the road with
great intent. At the top of the hill Carlos turned into a long gravel drive and
when he first caught sight of the house Chip said, amazement in his voice, “You
live here? Wow!”
It is an impressive
house, all steel and glass set in what seems to be a small forest. The house
wraps itself around a big pool which itself is surrounded by lawns and bright
flower beds. The view across the valley is incredible and, even though it’s
less than a mile from the expressway, it’s very quiet. All those trees absorb
the sound.
Jack met us at the
door with a hug--which brought an odd look to Chip’s face but which he
accepted--and sent us into the family room. When I kissed Deloris on the cheek
she took my arm and said, “Oh, Dan, I’m so glad you’re here. You’re the only
one of the boy’s friends who can make a decent martini.” She started to lead me
towards the bar but stopped when she saw Chip. “And who is this?” she asked,
more of Chip than me.
“Oh, this is Chip.
He’s come to stay with me for a while. Chip, this is Mrs. Peters, Jack’s
mother.”
Chip removed his hat
and took her offered hand. “Howdy, ma'am. I’m pleased
to meet you.” Howdy? Ma'am?
Where the hell did that come from? Deloris, however, was charmed from the
first.
“What a polite young
man,” she said to me as though Chip weren’t there. “You should thank your lucky
stars to have a son like that. They don’t all turn out so well you know.”
Chip tossed me a
conspiratorial wink before turning his attention back to Deloris. “That’s a
mighty pretty dress you’re wearing, ma'am.”
At that point Jack
stuck his head in. “Carlos will be out in a minute. He felt the need of a quick
shower. Has mother pressed you into bartending yet, Dan?”
“Yes, I have.”
Deloris diverted her attention from Chip for a moment. “And I want you to watch
closely how he does it, Jack. It’s terrible,” she said, turning to Chip, “to
raise a son who cannot make a decent martini.”
“My major failing,”
Jack laughed. “That and being unable to execute a proper waltz step.”
“It has to do with
culture, Jack. A cultured man--well, never mind. Chip, you be sure your father
teaches you to make a proper cocktail and to dance a proper waltz. That, along
with your lovely manners will take you far.”
I served the
cocktails hoping it would take some of the spotlight off Chip but it didn’t and
when I saw that he was holding his own I gave up and let nature take its
course.
“Now tell me,”
Deloris was saying to Chip, “where have you come from? I think perhaps I detect
something of the South in your voice?”
“You have a fine ear,
ma'am. Yes, I came out from, uh…” It looked to me like he was desperately
trying to think of the name of a southern state. He got it right. “
“Well, you do very
well, I’m sure. But as you say, I have a good ear for that sort of thing.”
Carlos came into the
room, his thick hair still damp from the shower. He kissed Deloris on the cheek
and accepted a martini. “The young man was just telling us about
Chip was thinking
fast. “Oh, no ma'am. It was a little town way out in
the country. No place you’ve ever heard of.”
“Perhaps I have. My
late husband had oil interests in Okalahoma. Perhaps in your
town. It was…?”
“Uh, it was… Hustledick.
Carlos choked on his
drink and Jack had to leave the room. Deloris looked thoughtful for a moment
and then said, “No, I don’t think I’ve heard of that town. Is it a farming
community?”
“Yes,
ma'am. Farming.
You say your husband was in oil?” It was a very neat turn of the conversation
and Deloris spent the next thirty minutes telling him about Jack’s father--a
man she obviously adored and still missed.
The rest of the
evening went smoothly and was very enjoyable. Over desert Deloris asked me
about my new book and made some gentle comments about Maryanne Goes Shopping, basically the same ones Richard had made
although not quite so bluntly. When dinner was over Jack and I took Deloris
home while Chip helped Carlos with the dishes.
“He’s a lovely boy,”
Deloris said in the car. “And it’s good you have him now. A boy needs his
mother when he’s young but at Chip’s age it’s his father he really wants. Someone to help him understand about being a man.”
After we’d dropped
Deloris at her home Jack asked me how it was going with Chip. I didn’t actually
know how to answer the question so I made some non-committal noises.
“Not
good enough, Dan. Come
on, what’s happening with you two?”
I had to say I didn’t
know. I enjoyed having the boy around but I had no idea how long it would last.
I was basically taking it day by day. As to his unasked question, I assured him
that while we slept together there was nothing physical between us. Not a hint.
That wasn’t quite true, of course, since Chip did sleep with a hand touching my
shoulder or arm. It also wasn’t true because I liked Chip’s hand on my
arm or shoulder but I didn’t want to confuse the issue with what I thought were
irrelevancies. By the time we got back to the house Jack seemed convinced that
I knew what I was doing. He was wrong of course, but that was beside the point.
Back at the house
Carlos and Chip had finished with the dishes and we all decided to call it a
night. Chip and I were put in the guest room and I wondered how we were going
to find it, sleeping in a regular double bed when we were used to sleeping in a
king sized one. As it turned out, it was fine.
First thing in the
morning Chip asked if I thought it would be okay for him to go out to the pool
and swim. I thought it would be so long as he was quiet until the others came
out. “Take your new shorts and a shirt to wear around the pool, Chip,” I said,
“but don’t bother wearing them in the water. I don’t think there’s been a suit
in that pool since Carlos and Jack built it.
I thought about
getting up and going for a swim myself but sloth overtook me and I stretched
out across the bed instead, enjoying a kind of drowsy half sleep. I ran my hand
down my belly and found that my cock had known what I was going to do even
before I did. It had grown thick and hard in anticipation. I gave myself up to
it, building the tension slowly but steadily until the pleasure was too much to
bear and the bubble inside me burst and let the pleasure wash over me.
After a long, hot
shower I went outside to find Jack sitting at the patio table, drinking coffee
and watching Chip in the pool. I helped myself to coffee from the thermos.
“He’s quite a lad, isn’t
he?” Jack said, not looking at me.
“Pretty
and smart. A hard
combination to beat,” I replied. “Talented, too.
Mickey thinks I should send him to art school.”
Jack tore his eyes
away from Chip in the pool and looked at me. “You going
to?”
“Depends
on Chip. But yeah, if he
wants to go I’ll take care of it.”
“The kid’s really
becoming a part of your life, isn’t he?”
I was saved from
thinking about that by Carlos coming out of the house carrying a large tray of
food. Chip saw him too and immediately climbed out of the pool. He slicked the
water off himself with his hands the way I’d seen guys do in the locker room
and came around the pool to retrieve his shirt and shorts. Jack tried to look
disinterested but failed miserably.
“You
hungry?” Carlos asked, setting
out melon and sweet rolls. He looked up at Chip and grinned. “Don’t worry.
There’s also bacon and eggs coming up in just a minute.”
We spent the morning
in and out of the pool--with Chip mostly in--and in the afternoon the man who
lived up at the end of the road threw an informal barbeque for us. David, our
host, was divorced and had a boy and a girl around Chip’s age. While we sat in
the shade and admired David’s rose garden his kids taught Chip to play croquet.
It was a very pleasant afternoon and I thought it nice that Chip had some kids
his own age to be with for a change.
The next day Carlos
and Jack took us back to the city early so they could make the Sunday afternoon
matinee at the ballet. Once home I asked Chip what he thought about the weekend.
“It was fun,” he
said. “They have a neat pool.”
“What’d you think of
David’s kids?”
“Dave
and Marilyn? They were
okay I guess. Kind of boring, though.”
“Boring?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, they’ve never done anything. They just
go to school and watch TV and play that dumb game and…” He shrugged again,
dismissing the subject. I could see that they would not be life long friends.
“Who called?” He walked over to the answering machine and pushed the message
button.
Dan, Brian Thomas here. I thought you’d like to know that those
pictures created some stir with the police. For some reason
most especially with the vice squad although they don’t have anything to do
with it. Anyway, Chief Dichter called my
editor and told him to hold off publication. They may be on to something and
need a bit more time. I’ll keep you posted. Call me and let’s get together,
okay?
There was a click and
the disembodied voice that lives inside the machine announced the time--Saturday-six-nineteen-p-m--and beeped,
indicating there was another message.
Hi guys. It’s, let’s see, it’s about
The disembodied voice
said Mickey had the right day, was pretty close with the time, and was the last
person to call. Before I could say anything Chip wandered off to the kitchen.
After putting our stuff away in the bedroom I found him there, sitting at the
kitchen table looking at his drawings and drinking a Coke.
“You want one?” he
asked, holding up his drink.
“No,
thanks. What do you think
about the school? You want to go see it?”
He shuffled his
drawings around and pretended to study the one of the living room with the
Christmas tree. “I don’t know. I guess.”
“It can’t hurt to
look and if you don’t like it… Well, then at least you’ll know. And if you do
like it, we’ll see that you get there somehow. Don’t worry about that.”
In the end Chip
returned Mickey’s call and said he’d like to go and see the place. They agreed
on Wednesday night. After he did that I returned Brian’s call and suggested we
get together for a drink somewhere on Wednesday night. Brian seemed pleased and
said we’d do it at his place.
When I hung up Chip
gave me that raised eyebrow look. “You’re going out with that reporter guy? How
come you’re not coming to see the school?”
“Well, it seems to me
that your opinion is the only one that matters as far as the school is
concerned. I’d just confuse the issue.”
Chip seemed to think
about that for a moment. “You going to fuck with him?”
Uh
oh. Now how do we handle
this? “I don’t know. Would it bother you if I did?”
He shrugged and
looked at the floor. “No.” There was a long pause. Then: “I mean it’s your dick
and I guess you can do pretty much what you want to with it, right? His too.”
Of the several
possible responses that occurred to me I picked, for once, what seemed to be
the right one. I put my arms around him and hugged him. Some small part of my
brain pointed out that I’d never before hugged him--unless you count holding
him up while he peed. “Yeah, it is and I guess I can only say that it has to be
right for me to do it.” I pulled back and looked him in the eye. “The same goes
for you. As long as it’s right. And
doesn’t hurt anyone, including you and me.”
He looked at me very
strangely for a moment and then broke into a smile. “Whatever. Just don’t be
too late coming home.”
I was so glad to have
gotten through what I saw as a crisis that I completely missed the implications
in his last statement.
Monday we went to the
gym. Chip told Bernie he still hadn’t made up his mind about the place and
wanted another session. Bernie looked over at me and I said, “Hey, I’m not
changing the membership until the man makes his mind up.” Bernie nodded and
signed us in.
Bob saw us on our way
into the locker room and called to Chip, telling him he had a preliminary
fitness plan all worked out. When we’d changed they abandoned me to my
out-of-shape-older-guy routines and headed for the big boy’s machines. The next
time I saw either one of them was a couple of hours later and
they were both drenched with sweat.
“Man, this guy’s a
slave driver,” Chip said, wiping down his chest.
Bob smiled. “That was
just the beginning, Chip. Wait until we get into the really hard stuff. Now go
on and hit the showers. We’ll be along as soon as I write up your dad’s
workout.” When Chip was out of earshot Bob said, “That kid of yours is
something else again. He wouldn’t do anything unless I did it right beside
him.” He toweled his face again. “I haven’t had a workout like that in a long
time. Now, how’d yours go?”
When he’d checked off
all the little boxes on his form we went into the locker room and he surprised
me by peeling out of his clothes. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, grabbing a
towel, “but the staff shower is full of plumbers right now and there’s no way I
can go back out on the floor the way I am.”
I shook my head. “I
didn’t even know there were staff showers. We always thought you guys
were just shy about showering with the members.”
He laughed. “Not on
your life. Hell, I like to look as much as the next man, maybe more, but they
have this stupid rule that we have to use the staff locker room and shower.
It’s supposed to give us an air of mystery or some dumb thing.”
In the shower he made
no pretense about looking at everyone and displayed himself with the same
careless air. We all made our comparisons, decided we were all about the
same--well, with the possible exception of Chip--and let it go at that. In the
locker room Bob asked Chip about the long scar on his abdomen.
Chip hesitated for a
moment and I could see he was a little shaken by the question. I thought maybe
I should try to head off the question when Chip said, “It looks worse than it
is.” Bob understood immediately that Chip didn’t want to talk about it.
“You know what’ll
make it look better?” Bob asked.
Chip looked down at
himself and then nodded at Bob. “What?”
“Rub it with vitamin
E. At least twice a day. It’ll take the redness out
after a while and you’ll hardly be able to see it. You should also stay out of
the sun for a while. The sun tends to make it redder.”
“Hey, thanks Bob.” He
looked over at me and I could see he was relieved that Bob wasn’t going to
press him for details. I also knew we were going to stop at the drug store on
the way home.
That evening Mickey
called and told Chip the school would want to see some of his work so Tuesday
and much of Wednesday was spent with our various muses on our shoulders, Chip
bent over the coffee table in the living room and me over my keyboard in the
den. Both of us were productive, at least as measured by the amount of paper we
used.
We all left the house
at the same time. As Chip got into Mickey’s car he called out to me, “Don’t be
late.” And then, as if an after thought, as they were driving away, “Have a
good time.”
I did have a good
time. That erotic spark I’d felt at the cafe was magnified a hundred fold--for
both of us--and we went directly from Brian’s front door to his bed. It was one
of those magnificent experiences that happen once in a great while, two men at
exactly the same sexual pitch and looking for exactly the same sexual thing.
“Oh, God,” Brian said at one point, opening himself to me, “I just love doin’ this with a guy like you, Dan, a guy who’s having as
much fun at it as I am.” It wasn’t love and it wasn’t quite lust either but
whatever it was gave us great pleasure for nearly four hours. And the promise of more to come.
When I got home the
house was dark and it occurred to me that Chip and Mickey might well be out
somewhere doing pretty much what Brian and I had just done. It seemed unlikely,
though, since I had the distinct impression that they’d known each other
before. That, added to the fact that Mickey rarely had sex with a man more than
once or twice before he lost interest, decided me that they were more likely in
some late night place indulging themselves in a mutual passion for hamburgers.
I took a long, hot
shower and when I came out I found Chip standing in the bedroom looking through
a thick packet of paper.
“How’d it go?” I
asked, feeling odd being the one who was naked while he was clothed.
“Okay I guess. How ‘bout you?”
“I had fun. Brian’s a
great guy. What’s all that?”
He held out a thick
manila envelope. “Stuff from the school. This part’s
for you. You want a Coke?”
I took the envelope.
“No thanks. But I’ll have a small glass of grapefruit juice if you’re going
that way.” He went to the kitchen while I looked at the stuff in the envelope.
It was mostly school indemnity and parental consent forms along with an
informational brochure and list of the faculty and their qualifications for
teaching what they taught.
Chip came back in
with two glasses of juice. “Where’s your Coke?” I asked.
“I had one with
Mickey and Bob said I shouldn’t drink it so much.”
Bob? Oh, yeah, the
trainer at the gym. “So what’d you think of the school? You want to go there?”
He shrugged and began
undressing. “I don’t know. I mean, what’s a guy like me going to do in some art
school? I can draw good enough and who needs the rest
of that stuff?” He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, effectively
ending the conversation.
I got into bed and
settled back against the pillows wondering when the rest of it would come out.
There had to be something more or he wouldn’t be acting so casual about it. I
wondered if the problem was money and if it was how I was going to handle it.
“You going to watch
TV?” he asked, looking at me propped up against the pillows.
“No. I thought you
might want to talk.”
“Nothing to talk
about,” he said, turning out the light and getting into bed. I resigned myself
to a wait for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t take long. “You know they make
you take stuff like English and math there?” he said, stretching into his
accustomed position and putting his hand on my arm. “Why would they do that? I
mean, all I want is to learn to draw better.” With that he dropped off to sleep
leaving me to wonder how I was going to convince him that things like English
and Math were valuable in their own right.
For the next few days
Chip was in a very distant mood. He sat at the coffee table making drawings and
then crumpling them up until there was a small mountain of them by his side. I
asked a couple of times if he wanted to go to the gym or maybe the art museum
but he just shook his head. Then I asked him if there was something I could do
and he shrugged his shoulders and said no, he was fine. I finally left him to
his brooding, figuring he’d come out of it sooner or later.
It took until
Saturday.
To be continued…
****************************************
Comments, criticism and notes gratefully received and always answered.
Greg Bowden