Sing for Their Supper - 12

Each kid ate only half their sandwich. Tuck was certain that, before they left, they'd ask for a takeout box for the rest. They also ate slowly and silently, as if savoring each bite. It hurt to watch them, knowing this was probably the first good meal they'd had in a long time.

He waited until they'd finished before broaching what he wanted to talk about.

"I have a question for the three of you," he said. "Please hear me out before you say anything."

That caught their attention. From the expressions that flitted across their faces, he had the feeling they were wondering if he was going to proposition them, start quizzing them about what it was like living or the streets, or something else they weren't certain they wanted to hear or talk about.

"Sam knows this, because I told him when we first met. I'm a partner with… Okay, I didn't tell him this part. My husband and I are partners in a new theater we're going to open soon."

That got their attention. The husband part.

"You're gay? Bummer," Jolie said.

"He's too old for you, anyway," Mace whispered to her.

She laughed and told him, "A girl can dream."

"I'm not that old," Tuck protested, playing along for the moment.

She eyed him, said, "Forty?" and grinned.

"Keep that up and you'll be in the chorus, not a lead," Tuck replied.

"Say what?"

"That's what I was getting ready to tell the three of you. Brent and I are opening a new theater. What we're hoping is that we can find guys like you to be the acting company."

"I can't act," Mace instantly replied.

"You won't know until you try," Tuck told him. "We're looking for young people with musical talent, which all three of you have. The acting? I think you can handle it. I'll be coaching you, for starters."

Sam had been silent. Now he asked, "What if we can't? I mean, wouldn't we have to memorize, umm, lines? Right? Isn't that hard?"

"You remember all the lyrics to the songs you do," Tuck told him.

"But that's different. We're singing, so it sort of…I don't know, flows."

"We'd have to be emotional when we act," Mace said. "Like show how we feel?"

Tuck nodded. "Just like when you sing."

"I…suppose."

"Are you doing musicals?" Jolie asked. "That would help."

"That's the plan. We were thinking, and this isn't written in stone," Tuck replied. "We were thinking about Oliver!, for starters."

"I never heard of it," Jolie said.

"I have." Sam tapped a finger on the table. "It's about kids like us, living on the streets. Right?" He continued when Tuck nodded. "There's this guy who turns them into thieves and a kid who's in an orphanage, and he gets adopted then kidnapped, then lives with the other kids and…umm…that's about all I remember."

"That sums up the gist of it," Tucker said. "There's a lot more going on, but we'll worry about that later—that is, if you're interested."

Sing for Their Supper - 11

Tuck had kept track of Sam and his friends. At first it had been from a distance—finding where they were and watching from across a street or plaza. Two weeks ago he'd come over to them after one of their performances.

It had taken Sam a moment to place Tuck. Then he'd smiled hesitantly. "I didn't really think I'd see you again," he'd said.

"And weren't certain you wanted to?" Tuck had replied with a smile.

Sam had waggled his hand. "Fifty-fifty, to be honest. At first I was afraid if you showed up again it would be to call in my debt for your saving me then driving me to the shelter that night. When that didn't happen, I sort of wondered how you were doing." He'd shrugged.

"I've been wondering the same thing," Tuck had told him. "Looks like you're doing better than you were the last time."

"Yeah. Me and them have a pretty good thing going, I guess. Better than sitting on the pavement hoping someone will toss a few coins our way." He'd glanced back at the others, who had been trying not to seem as if they were eavesdropping. "Do you want to meet them?"

"Sure."

So Sam had introduced him to Jolie and Mace. Jolie was a cute girl with curly dark hair and bright blue eyes. She stood shoulder high to Sam, who was skinny and about six foot, Tuck had guessed. Mace was bulkier. Not overweight, by a long shot, but definitely more muscular than Sam. He had the Nordic look going for him, with blond hair and pale blue eyes.

At that point, Tuck had complimented them on how well they worked together as a trio. Then he'd taken his leave, saying he had somewhere he had to be. He'd stopped by twice since then, to listen and chat casually with them.

Now it was time to lay his cards on the table and see how they reacted.

"You're back. You must really like our singing," Jolie said.

"I do. The three of you are very good." Tuck almost said, 'for amateurs' but stopped in time. "I'd like to treat you to a late lunch, if that's okay with everyone."

"Feed us, and we're yours," Jolie replied, grinning.

Sam shook his head, obviously amused by what Jolie said, but he didn't say no. Mace seemed a bit hesitant but apparently felt that if it was okay with the others it would be all right.

Tuck had already decided where—the sandwich shop a block from where the kids had set up. It was better than a fast food place, and since it had no problem with the construction workers from an office building going up down the street coming in, he figured the kids wouldn't be looked down on by the employees—or, hopefully, the office workers who also ate there.

"Have whatever you want," he told the kids.

"Anything?" Mace asked shyly while looking at the menu boards behind the counter.

"Yes," Tuck assured him.

He resisted chuckling when Mace ordered the Reuben, then whispered to Sam, "What's the difference between corned beef and pastrami?"

"Not sure," Sam told him. "Ask them."

Mace did, then ordered the Reuben with double corned beef. "Because that…I know for sure what it is."

Sam got roast beef with everything, and Jolie decided, after obviously debating with herself on the choices, to get the smoked turkey. They all asked for sodas. Tuck ordered a ham and cheese and coffee. By the time everything was ready, there was an empty table to one side of the room, which suited Tuck just fine.

Sing for Their Supper - 10

"It's almost ready," Tuck said, a month and a half after they'd signed the papers saying the former restaurant was now theirs. In the interim—after consulting with Tom Hanson, the architect—they'd hired a contracting firm to do the necessary work of removing the wall between what had been two dining rooms. Then the workers had built the stage to Brent and Tuck's specifications, cleared out the kitchen to make it work as the scene shop, and turned the bar-entryway into the theater's lobby. The basement had been partitioned into three sections. The smallest was for storage. The rest had become dressing rooms for the actors and a Green Room along one side of the hallway, and the costume shop on the other side. All this was done under the watchful eye of Hanson, himself, to be certain everything was completed as promised.

At the moment, the people from the interior design company Hanson had recommended were in the process of completing the work on the walls, carpeting, and seating in the public areas. Because the building was on the lake, the former owner had gone for a rustic look with exterior wood siding. "Almost a log cabin feel," Tuck had commented the first time he'd seen it.

The interior of the auditorium already had a ceiling of exposed wood beams. The firm's designers had suggested wood paneling for the walls, dark carpeting and beige seats. After showing Brent and Tuck drawings of what they had in mind, the men had agreed.

"All we need now is a crew—and actors," Brent replied to Tuck's comment.

"I'll deal with the crew," Brent said. "You round up your actors. By the time you get them, the cabins should be completed."

They hadn't even thought about how they were going to house the young people until Hanson had pointed out that it couldn't be somewhere within the theater, due to zoning laws. He'd put them in touch with a company that constructed pre-built cabins. After several discussions with the company's owner, they'd settled on two that would sit at the back edge of the parking lot. With some adjustments, they would have four bedrooms large enough to hold two to three beds each, a small kitchen and bathroom, and a living area in the center. Paying for them, as well as everything else, had wiped out more than half of Brent's inheritance, not that he cared. "It'll be worth it, to get kids off the street and doing something productive with their lives."

Sing for Their Supper - 9

Lady Roma looked at Sam, obviously considering his question, then shook her head. "I'm pretty much a loner and way too old."

"You're not," Jolie protested.

"Don't argue with me, kiddo," Lady Roma told her. "Up here"—she tapped her forehead—"I'm ancient. I've been on the streets since I was twenty. I thank you all for your offer, but…no."

"Can we at least sing with you again, when you're here?" Sam asked.

"You bet." She took the can from the piano top, handing it to him. "Don't forget to take this."

Sam counted out the money, giving her half of it. When she protested, he said, "You're the one the people were listening to. We were just back-up."

"If you say so." Lady Roma smiled, stood—after the guys had moved off the bench—and hugged him. "You all take care, you hear me. I'm sure we'll run into each other again." With that, she headed off the plaza.

"Damn, I wish she'd said yes," Jolie said.

"Yeah. For sure." Sam watched her walk away. "Maybe next time." He put his guitar back in the case, after splitting the money they'd made between the three of them. "Let's head back downtown and wow the throngs with our talent."

Mace grinned. "That, we can do."

*****

Ricky watched the group leave the plaza, wishing he'd had the nerve to join them. "Not that I have anything to add to what they do," he said under his breath.

He waved one of the thin newspapers he was holding, trying to catch the attention of people walking by. "Only a dollar, and half the money goes to the rescue mission."

A man stopped, asking, "And the rest?"

"I get to keep it." Ricky tried for a winning smile. "It's better than me flying a sign saying I'm homeless and hungry."

It took the man a second to figure out what he meant. Then he took a dollar from his pocket, handed it to Ricky, and told him, "Keep the paper. Sell it to someone else and make an extra fifty cents."

Ricky thanked him, tucking the dollar into his pocket next to the five others he'd already collected. Not bad, for this early in the day. Probably because of the crowd watching those guys perform. Again, he wished he could join up with them but his real skills, what he had of them, were in dancing. He'd actually taken a couple of classes in high school, until his father had made him stop because he didn't want his son looking like a fag.

That had been the final straw. Ricky had run away a week later—not as much because he'd had to quit the class, but because he was gay, although his father didn't know. Ricky had figured it would come out sooner or later if he stuck around, so he'd gotten out of the house and the town where he'd grown up.

Now he was selling papers on the street, sleeping wherever he could find a safe place and dreaming that one day he'd be able to do what he really wanted—dance.

Sing for Their Supper - 8

"You know," Jolie said when she, Sam, and Mace met early one morning about a month after they'd teamed up. "If we had someone else to make this a quartet, I bet we'd make even more money."

Sam grinned. "And I bet you know just who that should be."

"Yeah. Come on. I hope she's there. She's sort of older, but, wow."

Jolie took them to a small plaza along at the edge of the downtown area. Sam had been there before, sometimes to spange, sometimes to listen to people who took advantage of the two upright pianos set along one side. They were painted in bright colors, more for decoration than anything else. But while somewhat out of tune, they still drew people to them, to try their hand at playing a song—or songs.

"That's her," Jolie said, gesturing to a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. "She told me to call her Lady Roma. And, man, can she sing. Just listen."

Lady Roma was seated at one of the pianos with a small crowd around her. It was very obvious from her clothing—a long, colorful skirt and peasant blouse that had seen better days—that she was a street person, but no one seemed to mind when she began to sing.

"Whoa," Sam said softly.

"Yeah. No kidding," Mace agreed. "But would she want to hook up with us?"

"One way to find out. Let's join her." He crossed to the piano, taking his guitar from the battered case. As he started playing counterpoint to the song, Jolie began singing with Lady Roma, while Mace drummed his hands on the top of the piano in time to the music.

Lady Roma looked startled for a moment, then smiled at Jolie. When the song ended, she said, "I remember you, girl. You didn't say you could sing. You're pretty damned good."

"Thanks," Jolie replied. "Not as good as you, though."

"Nope." Lady Roma smiled. "No ego here. I know I'm good. I just…" She shrugged. "So, who are your friends?"

"This is Sam," Jolie told her. "And the drummer's Mace. He sings, too—better than he thinks. So does Sam."

"So let's hear you." Lady Roma patted the piano bench, beckoning for the guys to join her. Sam did. Mace hung back. "You, too, handsome," Lady Roma told him.

Mace turned red but sat on the very edge of the bench.

"Okay. Do you all know…?" Lady Roma shook her head. "No. Probably not."

"What?" Sam asked.

"You're too young to be into the blues."

"Like you aren't, too?" Jolie said.

"I'm thirty—and feel fifty," Lady Roma retorted.

"We do blues," Mace told her. "It… Well, it suits our mood a lot of times."

"Exactly. So… 'Stormy Monday'?"

Sam grinned. "That's the first song the three of us sang together. Let's do it."

They did, their voices blending in harmony. Even Mace sang, his bass adding depth to the song.

When they finished, there was loud applause from the crowd that had gathered around the piano and cries for more. Sam, being nobody's fool, got a can from his backpack, setting it on top of the piano. Then the four of them went through several songs until the crowd began to disperse—but not before people had put bills and change into the can as they left.

"Guess they had to get to work," Mace said.

"Yeah. It's that time," Sam replied. He turned to Lady Roma. "I don't suppose you'd like to join up with us, would you?"

Sing for Their Supper - 7

Two weeks later, Tuck and Brent had the title to the property. Now came the hard part—turning the former restaurant into a theater, and then recruiting kids to become part of the theater's company.

Brent was friends with an architect, Tom Hanson, who was a patron of the theater where he and Tuck worked, so he set up an appointment to talk with the man. They arrived at his office with the floor plans for the restaurant and a few ideas of their own about what they wanted to do.

"What we're thinking," Brent said, after spreading the plans out on the work table in Hanson's office, "is to remove this wall to make the two dining rooms into the stage and auditorium area. We'll turn the kitchen into dressing rooms for the actors and use what used to be the entryway and bar as the theater's lobby."

"That could work, presuming that wall,"—Hanson tapped the one between the two dining rooms—"isn't load-bearing." He paused, then asked if they had interior photos of the building.

Brent rifled through the file he'd brought with them, found the photos, and gave them to Hanson.

"This wall, between the two doors, looks like it may have been added to separate the two rooms. It will take a good contractor to tell for certain." He smiled. "And I know just the man for the job."

"Of course you do," Brent said, grinning.

"You've forgotten one thing. You'll need a backstage area and scene and costume shops."

"We thought the costume shop could be in the basement," Tuck told him.

"The same goes for the dressing rooms," Hanson replied. "Turn the kitchen into the scene shop. That way it's on the same level as the stage. Flip the stage with the auditorium…" He got a large pad and did a quick sketch of what he meant.

Tuck studied it, then looked at Brent. "It would mean putting an aisle going past the stage, from the lobby to the auditorium. We'd lose a good…what? Five feet of stage area?" He glanced at Hanson.

"You would, but it would be worth it not to have to haul scenery up from the basement in pieces, given that the stairway is the normal three foot, six inches wide, according to the floor plans."

"I think we can afford to lose those five feet," Brent said.

They continued their discussion, with Hanson making suggestions on the interior design of the auditorium. By the time they finished, Tuck knew they were on the way to making their dream come true.

Sing for Their Supper - 6

"We should buy it," Brent said.

Tuck smiled. "I knew you'd say that. So let's tell the owner and get the ball rolling."

The building had been a restaurant before the present owner had decided he wasn't making enough money to keep it going. It sat on the edge of Vale Lake, just outside of the city proper. The property included not only the building but also a large parking lot—a plus as far as they were concerned. And the price was right, since the man wanted to get rid of it as fast as possible and was willing to do a quick sale. Not cheap, but not nearly as much as the other places they'd looked at had cost—and with the quick sale, it would be theirs much sooner.

"You do realize we're going to use up most of our savings," Brent told his husband.

"And? We've been planning to do this… It seems like forever. Now we're going to make it a reality." Tuck took Brent's hand. "You're the one who should be worrying. Most of the money came from your father."

Brent grinned. "And if he knew what we're going to use it for, he'd roll over in his grave." Probably the truth, Tuck figured.

Brent's father had made his fortune on the backs of the underpaid people who worked for him. He'd had no compunction about doing that, claiming that if they were stupid enough to work for slave wages, it was their problem. When he decided to outsource the work to laborers in Mexico, he'd made even more money—and felt no remorse about putting the people who had been working for him out of jobs they'd needed in the process.

That had been Brent's first taste of what it meant to be homeless, he'd told Tuck. Not personally, but he'd seen some of those people lose their homes and everything else they'd owned. They'd ended up on the streets—out of work, out of hope. And his father hadn't cared. All he'd wanted was money and more money. When he'd died of a heart attack at the age of fifty-six, Brent and his mother had each inherited half of his fortune. She had also inherited the business, which she had immediately sold. Then, with more money than sense, as Brent put it, she'd moved to Florida and bought an expensive condo. Brent, on the other hand, had invested his inheritance. He had been twenty-seven at the time.

Tuck had met Brent a year later, when Brent had joined the theater where Tuck worked as an actor. At the ripe old age of twenty-eight, Brent had taken over as the business manager when the former one had accepted a job at another theater halfway across the country. He and Tuck had instantly hit it off and, two months later, they'd moved in together. Last year, they'd gotten married. Now, they were planning on opening a new theater—once they had the building.

"Mr. James," Brent said, approaching the seller, who had been waiting a polite distance away while Brent and Tuck had talked. "We want this. So let's get with the lawyers and make it happen."

Sing for Their Supper - 5

DJ heard laughter from the other end of the clothing room at the drop-in spot. Putting down the shirt because he knew it would be way too big for him, he turned to see what was going on. Three girls were standing by the table holding piles of T-shirts. One—he thought her name was Evie—had a folded shirt in her hands. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he didn't have to. Just her movements told him she was pretending to be a woman she'd seen on the streets. A woman who, quite obviously, had looked down her nose at Evie. The shirt was a stand-in for the woman's dog. Evie was petting it as she held it to her chest while she looked disdainfully at the other girls, inching around them as if they were going to contaminate her. Then she turned her head—apparently making believe she was talking to a companion—with a look of disgust on her face before she haughtily walked away.

He knew exactly how Evie must have felt at that moment. He'd seen the same look on too many people's faces when he was out on the street, trying to make enough to buy a cheap meal.

Evie glanced over at him and broke into a wide smile. It seemed she remembered him, because she put the shirt down and hurried over to where he was standing.

"You're the guy who hangs out near Champion Park," she said.

"Sometimes," DJ admitted.

"I knew it was you. I tried that place a couple of times, but…" She shuddered.

He chuckled. "Is that where you ran into the woman you were telling your friends about?"

"You heard me?"

"Nope. I was watching, though. You made it real clear what she was like from your actions. Stuck-up lady with a small dog. Right?"

"Oh, yeah. And old. Well, not old old, maybe my mother's age. And she was acting just like Mom used to when she saw guys like us on the street." Evie stuck her nose in the air, saying in a prissy voice, "Someone should do something about the worthless people who are too lazy to get a job."

"Yep. I hear you." He smiled sourly. "I've heard them. Way too often."

"What's your name? I'm Evie."

"I know." When she seemed surprised, he said, "I saw you with a couple of other girls—downtown—and heard one of them call you that. I'm DJ."

"Like disk jockey?"

"That works." He picked up another shirt, holding it up to himself.

"Uh-uh. Try this one." Evie took a blue one from the pile. "Here. Put it on. You'll see."

He did. It fit, which was what counted, so he put it on top of his backpack.

Evie grinned, gave him a thumbs-up, then went back to her friends, saying over her shoulder, "I'll see you around."

Maybe. Maybe not. You never know. He picked up another shirt, tried it on, and decided it would work, too. He thought about getting a pair of jeans but figured the two pairs he owned were still in good enough shape and he shouldn't be greedy. He left the room, stopped to got some hygiene packs from the nurse's office, and considered staying to play a game of pool with a couple of guys he knew. Then he thought better of that. Not that it wouldn't have been fun, but he needed to get back to the street. He'd spent his last bit of change on a hotdog before coming to the drop-in spot and he needed to earn some more before finding a place to crash for the night.

Sing for Their Supper - 4

"So he gave me a ride to the shelter and that was the end of it," Sam said.

"He didn't try anything?" Jolie looked at him in disbelief when Sam shook his head.

"How'd you get so lucky?" Mace asked, leaning against the concrete wall at the back of a downtown plaza where the three of them had set up.

"I'm skinny and look needy?" Sam replied with a grin.

"Don't we all," Mace muttered. "I don't see anyone coming to my rescue then offering me a ride without wanting something in return."

"Them's the breaks," Sam told him, while tuning his guitar as best he could.

"What song?" Jolie wanted to know. She and Mace had hooked up with Sam a couple of days before to form a trio, since Sam had told them he made a bit more by entertaining the passersby then he did just sitting there with a sign and a cup. She told him she had sung in the school choir before she'd run away a year ago. Mace wasn't a singer, he claimed, but it turned out he could carry a tune, which was what counted in Sam's book.

"Something bluesy. It'll make people feel sorry for us. Do you know 'Stormy Monday'?"

"Had a few, but that was rain, not a song," Mace quipped. "Start, and I'll try to pick up the words as you go."

Sam did a riff then began singing. Jolie added her sweet soprano to balance his baritone. Mace hummed along at first, then began drumming out the beat on the pavement with a piece of pipe he kept in his backpack for protection.

Some people stopped for a moment to listen, then continued walking. Others stayed longer. Most of them tossed a few coins or a bill into Sam's open guitar case. The trio moved on to other songs—Sam playing a few notes first to let Jolie and Mace know what was next.

Mace sang when he knew the words, his bass blending well with Josie's and Sam's voices. They took a break when Jolie started hitting a few sour notes.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she looked it. "It's just…" She rubbed her throat.

"You're out of practice," Sam replied with a smile. "That's okay." He checked the guitar case after the crowd dispersed, then counted their earnings and whistled. "Not bad for our first day as a team. We can afford a decent meal—or whatever you two want to spend your share on," he added, divvying out the money.

"Food works for me," Mace said. "And we have our choice today." He gestured toward the corners where a side street crossed the one they were on. There were food carts on three of the four corners—hotdog, burrito, and Philly cheese steak ones. Normally there were the ubiquitous hotdog and taco vendors and nothing more.

*****

Tuck watched the trio head to the food carts. He'd come looking for Sam—not to talk, just to see if he was in his semi-normal spot by the plaza. He'd been surprised to see, and hear, the trio.

They need training. Even Sam. But they are pretty dammed good for street singers. I wonder if this is going to become something regular for them, or was it a one-time thing because they were all in the same place at the same time?

He wasn't about to accost them and ask. First off, if he did, Sam would undoubtedly take his being there the wrong way, so soon after they'd met. Secondly, he didn't have the time. He was supposed to meet Brent in ten minutes so they could take one more look at the building they wanted for the theater, before finalizing the deal. He'd sort of fudged the truth the previous night when he told Sam he as a part owner of the Vale Lake Theater. He would be, once he and Brent bought the place on the lake.

And turn it into a theater. And hire a designer and costumer and tech people and… He sighed to himself. It wasn't going to be easy, but if it worked, it could give a lot of the kids and young adults like Sam a job and a reason to get off the streets.

Sing for Their Supper - 3

"Have you tried getting a job?" Tuck asked.

"Tried? Sure. First I was too young. Then… Well, look at me. I'm not exactly dressed for success. I can't even get a job as a dishwasher."

Tuck had to admit Sam had a point. The well-worn jeans with holes in the knees and ragged cuffs, the tired-looking sweatshirt, the dark hair—which was in definite need of cutting—would not impress any perspective employer. He would have said as much if Sam hadn't already beaten him to it. "You don't have anything else you can… Never mind. If you did, you'd have worn it."

"No shit. That's it." Sam pointed to a building in the middle of the block ahead of them.

Tuck pulled up in front to let him out, asking, "Do you want me to wait? In case they don't have a spot for you?"

"Why? You gonna drive me all over town to try other places?" Sam immediately apologized. "I'm good. If they don't, I know a couple of spots around here where I'll be okay. Thanks for the ride. I mean it."

"You're welcome."

Sam got out, grabbed his backpack and guitar case, then hurried inside. Tuck was tempted to wait, anyway, before deciding against it. He had the feeling that if Sam couldn't get a bed, the kid would check to be certain he wasn't there before leaving.

*****

  

"I may have met our first cast member," Tuck said as he sat on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes.

"Is that why you're late?" Brent asked.

"Yeah. Remember the singer I told you about? The one who hangs out downtown?"

Brent frowned for a second before nodding. "How did you happen to run into him at this hour of the night?"

"I was on my way home and saw a kid I thought was him going down a cut-through between two vacant buildings. I'd have kept going, but there were a couple of punks who saw him, too. They went after him—"

"So you had to do your civic duty and go to his defense." Brent patted Tuck's leg. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you know me?" Tuck bent to give him a kiss before continuing. "I got there seconds before the cops came down the alley, probably looking for kids to roust. Anyway, they stepped in so I didn't have to do anything other than watch the punks hightail it. Before the cops left, one of them told the kid—his name is Sam—to go to a shelter, so I offered to drive him."

"Did you talk to him about our idea?"

"No. He was sort of leery about the whole 'give him a ride thing', and what I might want in return, so I figured I'd better wait until I see him again."

"Makes sense." Brent squeezed Tuck's thigh. "How did the fundraiser go?"

"God save me from middle-aged matrons," Tuck grumbled. "I'd have gotten out of there a lot sooner if I hadn't had to schmooze them for Mac's sake. But I think we made enough money for the animal shelter to build the new cat room." He got up to finish undressing then headed to the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth before coming back to slip into bed next to Brent. "I should have asked first thing. How are you feeling?"

"Better, now that I've quit puking up everything I've eaten for the last week."

"Poor baby." Tuck hugged him gently. "Go back to sleep. By morning you'll feel like a new man."

Brent smiled. "An empty one, but yeah. Love you."

"Love you, too."

Sing for Their Supper -2

When they got to Tuck's car, parked half a block from the building, Sam hesitated.

"I promise. I'm not going to do anything more than give you a ride," Tuck told him.

"How come you were down here, anyway?"

"I was on my way home. I saw those guys and it seemed like they were looking for trouble, so I decided to check it out."

"Like you could have taken them on."

"It would have been dicey, but I would have tried."

Sam eyed him. "You hiding a gun under your coat?"

"Nope. I was an army brat in my last life and my dad taught me self-defense."

"Bet he's not too happy you're an actor, now."

"I don't think he'd have minded."

"He's dead?"

Tuck nodded. "He didn't make it home from his last deployment."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Anyway, are you going to get in"—Tuck tapped the car—"or go back and take your chances in that building?"

Sam answered by opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat after putting his guitar case in the back seat. Tuck got in, turned the key in the ignition, then asked, "Where to?" When Sam told him, he pulled the car onto the dark street and headed north to the shelter.

"How old are you?" Tuck asked as they drove.

"Old enough," Sam replied.

"Meaning what? Over sixteen but not twenty-one yet?" Tuck figured Sam had to be at least eighteen.

"Yeah." Sam stayed quiet for a couple of blocks, then obviously relented. "I turned nineteen a month ago. Before you ask, I've been on my own for the last three years, since my folks died."

"Damn. Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm used to it."

"No other family you could have stayed with?" Tuck asked.

"Yes to family. No to staying with them. They didn't want me. I didn't want them. They don't approve of my life choices."

"Your interest in music, or, and I'm guessing here, the fact you're gay."

"Good guess. What gave it away?"

"Nothing, from looking at you," Tuck said. "It's just one of the main reasons a family doesn't want a son around. Did your parents feel the same way?"

"Yeah, but they tolerated me. Made it real clear that's what they were doing—tolerating me until I graduated high school. Then they…" Sam stared out the car window. "Remember that tornado that hit Oklahoma City? My folks were there, visiting my aunt. My aunt survived. My folks didn't."

"Hell of a way to go," Tuck said.

"And they didn't end up in Oz," Sam replied with a weak smile. "Sorry. If I don't joke about it…"

"I understand. It still hurts."

"Yeah, it does sometimes. Anyway, now you know why I'm out here, not living at home."

Sing for Their Supper – 1

(This first came out in 2016, and reverted back to me when the publisher closed.)

"Back off and leave him alone," Tuck said to the two punks, both of whom were wearing jeans tucked into heavy boots and too-tight T-shirts. 

"You gonna make us?" one of the punks replied. 

"No. But they will." Tuck pointed to the pair police officers who were walking toward them.

The punks took one look and ran. Tuck went over to the kid, who was cowering against the building wall, asking with concern, "Are you okay?"

"I'll live." 

One of the officers asked him the same question and got the same reply. Then he told the kid to get off the streets and find a shelter.

"Yes, sir," the kid said sardonically. "I will, as soon I can find a cab."

Given that it was almost two-thirty in the morning, Tuck knew that he had a point. Busses didn't run at that hour, not in a city of this size. If it were New York or Los Angeles, things would be different. 

"I'll give you a lift," Tuck said.

The kid snorted as he gathered up his backpack and the battered guitar case sitting beside it. "After I suck your dick to pay for the ride?"

The officer started to say something, shook his head instead, then went back to the squad car parked at the edge of the lot behind the building. 

Tuck waited until the police had driven away before saying, "I was serious. I'll give you a lift, no strings attached."

"Why? And who are you, anyway? Some do-gooder outreach guy?" the kid asked, his brown eyes flashing with distrust verging on anger. 

"My name's Tucker Williams. I'm an actor and part owner of the Vale Lake Theater."

The kid's expression lit up momentarily then went back to being wary. "Like in plays and musical theater? Or movies?"

"Real theater," Tuck replied. "Get up on stage and perform."

"Like I do when I'm busking. Performing, I mean." The kid nodded his head.

Tuck smiled. "I knew what you meant. You play that?" He pointed to the guitar case. He already knew the kid played the older guitar it held. He'd seen him around the downtown area several times in the last two weeks.

"Yeah. And sing, too. People sorta like it, I guess."

Tuck nodded. "Do you mind if I ask your name?"

For a moment it seemed as if the kid wasn't going to reply. Then he said, "Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam."

Sam ducked his head, muttering, "Thanks for chasing off those punks."

"Actually, it was the cops who chased them away. I just got here first. But you're welcome." Tuck gave it a minute, then said, "I was serious. I'll give you a ride to one of the shelters, if you want."

"Yeah. Sure. Not that they'll have room by now but…" Sam shrugged.

"Just tell me where to go." For a second, a smile flashed across Sam's face. Tuck rolled his eyes. "Not that way."

"I know." Sam followed Tuck around the side of the abandoned building to the street. "I really should just crash here and save you the time."

"Was that what you were going to do, before those guys showed up?"

"Yeah. It's usually safe enough if I'm careful." Sam grimaced. "Tonight, I wasn't."

'A Secret Uncovered' is out today!

A Secret Uncovered

https://www.jms-books.com/edward-kendrick-c-224_229/a-secret-uncovered-p-3293.html

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-secret-uncovered-edward-kendrick/1137063989?ean=9781646563791

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08923M59Y/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p1_i0

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/a-secret-uncovered

GENRE: Gay Mystery Erotic Romance
LENGTH: 41,808 words
RATING:

Theo was twenty-five when he discovered something that would change his life -- his adoption certificate, with any information about his birthmother other than her given names, Lilliana Nichole, blacked out. His father is dead and his mother away on business, so he can't ask them why they hadn't told him he was adopted ... and why the certificate had been defaced. He decides his only recourse is to hire a private detective agency to search for Lilliana.

It doesn't take long for Ric Baron of Moore Investigations to determine that locating Lilliana might be impossible. But he's more than willing to give it his all for the interesting young man who asked for the agency's help.

Soon after Ric begins his search, he receives a threatening email from someone who wants him to stop looking for Lilliana. From there, things escalate as Ric and Theo deal with the aftermath of the threat and their growing interest in each other. Can they learn the man's identity before he discovers Theo is Lilliana's son and goes after him? Only time will tell.

EXCERPT:

"Have you found out anything?" Theo asked the moment he came into Ethan's office.

"In an hour?"

"Okay, I guess I'm being precipitous, but ..." Theo replied, handing Ethan a manila folder.

"Just a bit," Ethan agreed with a smile. "Come meet the man who's going to be doing all the work."

Theo frowned. "You're not? I thought ..."

"Ric is, well as he put it a few minutes ago, almost as good as I am. I'd say he'd just as good, or he wouldn't be working for me," Ethan replied as he escorted Theo to Ric's office.

When they got there, Theo saw a dark-haired man seated at a computer. When he turned to look at them, Theo resisted sucking in a breath. He reminded Theo of an Italian actor he'd seen in a movie he'd streamed a few weeks ago. A damned good-looking guy I had a couple of wet dreams about. He could feel his face heat up, which brought an amused smile to the man's lips.

"Theo, this is Ric Baron," Ethan said by way of introduction. "Ric, Theo Speer."

"It's nice to meet the man who's going to keep me in champagne and caviar," Ric said. "Just kidding, but I should warn you, if Ethan hasn't, this isn't going to be an easy job."

"I figured as much," Theo replied.

"Let's take a look at what you brought me," Ric said, opening the folder when Ethan gave it to him. He read the information on the birth certificate, copying it into a file on his computer. "You realize none of this other than your and your parents' names might be real."

"Figured that, too," Theo admitted. "My whole damned life has been based on a lie."

* * * *

"We're going to find the truth," Ric told him. He felt sorry for Theo -- and was more than a bit interested in him even though they'd just met. It wasn't that he was handsome, because he wasn't. He was attractive in a way that said to Ric he wasn't aware of the fact, with hair that could have been blond or brown, depending on the lighting. At the moment, it came off as brown -- like his eyes. He looks like he needs someone to protect him. Wishful thinking? Probably, Ric decided. But he couldn't help how he felt. It came with the territory. It was why he'd become an investigator.

"How?" Theo asked in response to what Ric had said.

"By employing my super sleuthing skills." He grinned. "And Foster's."

"Who?"

"The document expert we use. If anyone can pull up what was blacked out it'll be him. By the way, Ethan and I were discussing it and came to the conclusion it might not have been your father who did that. It's possible that one of the terms of them adopting you was that the identity of your birth mother be kept a secret. The Certificate of Adoption is all the proof they'd have needed that it was legal. Covering some of the pertinent information wouldn't negate that since the adoption was filed with the courts. Make sense?"

Theo nodded. "It would great if you find out my dad wasn't responsible. It's bad enough that they didn't tell me I was adopted to begin with. Thinking he did that, on the off chance I found the certificate, makes it seem even worse." He obviously picked up on the rest of what Ric had said, because he asked, "If it's on file, it should be easy to find the record of it, right?"

Ric waggled his hand. "Easy if we knew where it happened and the date. At this point we don't, which is why we hope Foster can work his magic. There must be hundreds of adoptions in the country every day. The majority of them are open and above board, but some aren't, which, if yours wasn't, will make it hard to find."

"Where do you start?"

"That's what I was doing when you got here. Using the information you gave us on your parents to run searches on both of them. So far they seem to have been upstanding, law-abiding citizens with nothing on their records other than a few of parking tickets for your mother and two speeding tickets for your dad, back when he was our age."

"I'm not surprised when it comes to Mom. If she doesn't have the right change for the meter she figures she'll be back to the car before a cop comes by. Usually, she's right. Sometimes --" Theo smiled, "-- she's not. Dad used to take her to task for that. She'd promise it wouldn't happen again, until the next time it did. Did they live where it says on my birth certificate?" he asked.