I could a tale unfold - 26

Otis reached for the pad of paper again, wiping a tear from his eye. “I will love him forever,” he wrote. “Hope he loved me until he died. Hope he found someone else to love too. Being alone“—he paused, his face a picture of sadness—“is so lonely.”

“We’ll find out soon enough, I suspect,” Ross replied once he’d read Otis’ words.

The three men went back to Charles’ journal, working through the young man’s rapturous ravings about his affair with Otis. In one section he told about how Otis convinced him it would be safe for him to come to work at the theater.

He is a wonderful, foolish boy, and I love him for that. We came up with a plan. I was to tell my father, and the man who was the director of the plays, that I had seen an amazing young actor who was available if they wanted him. Our plot worked, although I had to talk long and hard to convince them that he was worth their hiring. I chuckle now when I remember how he showed up two days ago. If I had not known it was him, well, I might not have known he was my Otis.

~~~~~

The director is ecstatic, as am I. I believed Otis when he said he was a fine actor. I did not realize quite how wonderful he was. He has been cast a Laertes in ‘Hamlet’, which while not a major role, is one of importance. My only qualm is that I know something about the actor who will be Hamlet. He was also a man of our persuasion, although he did not know that I was. Otis however, while diligent, was young and could not seem to hide his occasional loving glances at me as much as I warned him to be careful. He would agree, and then would come down to the costume room on the slightest pretext to be with me. I truly feared for him, especially when that actor seemed to become quite too insistent in helping Otis with his lines, wanting to ‘tutor’ him as he put it.

However, we managed to keep our affair, and our love, from anyone else. If we had not my father would have dismissed Otis without hesitation.

“Obviously, he had no idea what was happening with you and that actor,” Kirk said, tapping the last line.

“No,” Otis wrote. “I told you that I told no one.” He sighed mournfully. “If I had,” he scribbled.

Ross gave him a fast hug, somehow at this point in time not the least bit surprised that he could. “If you had you might still be alive, but the two of you would still have been separated.”

Kirk chuckled wryly. “Given the options, I think I would have opted for separation rather than death. But then there was no reason for you to think someone might want to kill you. Right, Otis?”

Otis nodded. “No reason,” he wrote in confirmation.

“Which leaves us with the question of who would have,” Ross pointed out. “So far, it might have been the actor if for some reason he thought you might finally tell someone what he was doing.”

“Or that assistant director who was giving you grief,” Kirk added. “If he was homophobic he might have wanted to get rid of you, or“—Kirk’s eyes lit up—“just the opposite. He was jealous because the actor was paying you too much attention, Otis.”

“Now that’s something we hadn’t though about. Would that be possible, Otis?”

After a brief moment, Otis shrugged. “Possible,” he mouthed.

“Then we had Charles’s father in the mix, if somehow he found out about you and Charles. He’d sure want you gone for good. Even more so if he also knew who you really were.”

I could a tale unfold - 25

Then came the wonderful day when I met the boy I would fall in love with.

Kirk turned to look at Otis, seeing the wide smile on his face, and the sadness in his eyes. “He was older than you?” Otis held up two fingers, about an inch apart, to indicate ‘a little’. 

They continued reading Charles's memoirs.

             It was just happenstance. I needed to remove myself from my father’s overbearing presence for a while and decided to take a long walk. The day was cool and rainy but I did not care. The air was fresh, not stuffy, and the people were actually smiling as they hurried along, umbrellas unfurled. I turned a corner, dipping my umbrella down in front of me as the breeze strengthened, blowing rain into my face. Thus I was not watching where I was going at that moment. A cry of alarm froze me in my tracks. I lifted the umbrella to see the most amazingly angelic face staring at me.

“Me,” Otis mimed, pointing to himself.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Ross replied with a chuckle as he went back to reading.

There was, as the young people of today are wont to say, an instant connection. I apologized and introduced myself. He seemed upset when I did, his face folding into a deep frown. I understood why when he told me his name, a name that was hated by my father, by my family. How, I wondered, could anyone hate such a beautiful boy?

We both looked around then as if afraid someone was watching us together and would immediately dash to tell our families. Therefore, with no hesitation whatsoever, I invited him to join me at a tiny restaurant only a few yards from where we stood. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking about anything and everything that came into our heads as we drank tea and ate lemon cake with fresh fruit. I did not even suspect at that time that he was of the same persuasion as me. I was just enjoying the company of a very charming young man.

We agreed to sneak away and meet two days later in a park well away from the possibility of prying eyes. This soon became a regular habit of ours. In time, amazingly, we both realized that our friendship was blossoming into something more. He had revealed to me that he too preferred the intimate company of a male, although he had never put his feelings into action.

~~~~~

I smile as I remember last evening. It was two nights after his birthday and the first time in a week that we had been able to see each other. It started, as had now become the norm, with a few passionate kisses as soon as the door closed behind us. I had, by now, moved away from my family home, telling my parents that it was time for me to act as an adult and make my own way even though I still worked at my father’s theater.

Otis was always quite circumspect as he made his way from his home to my rooms in the heart of the city. If anyone had caught us I dread to think of the consequences. But no one did.

I had a romantic supper laid out for him to celebrate his day. Also, I had managed to procure a copy of one of his favorite comedies by the playwright Oscar Wilde. He was ecstatic about both, showering me with kisses and hugs. Suddenly we looked at each other and knew that we wanted more than this. So that evening I introduced him to the art of love-making between two men. He was a most receptive pupil and soon enough we were in the throes of an affair that we both hoped would last forever.

'Majors' Folly' coming July 16th

Majors' Folly

http://www.wildecity.com/books/gay-romance/majors-folly/#.U7gTMLHCd9k

Thane Major’s lover, Ian Philips, sees Majors’ Folly—the mansion Thane has inherited—as a ‘monstrosity’. Thane believes otherwise. To him it is fascinating, not monstrous. At least that’s what he hopes.

After the two learn of several disappearances from the Folly, they spot someone trying to break in and wonder if the person is responsible for the Folly’s troubles. Deciding they must find out exactly what is happening, the pair begin to delve into the house’s history to uncover the truth before they too disappear.

Will the arrival of two strange males offering their help to Thane and Ian lead to revelations about the disappearances… or to Thane and Ian’s untimely deaths?

Excerpt:

Every nerve suddenly tense, Thane tried to figure out what had awakened him. The bedroom was dark; there wasn’t even any light coming in between the open drapes on the windows. Dark and silent. He wondered if that was the problem. It was so totally the opposite of the city, where there was always light from the street and the noise of traffic, sirens, people.

“What’s wrong?” Ian’s whisper was so low Thane barely heard him.

“It’s… too quiet.”

Ian chuckled. “If this were a bad movie, there would now be a loud scream of terror.”

“Probably.” Thane nodded, wrapping his arm around Ian. “Still…”

“Shush.” Now Ian tensed.

Thane heard it at the same time, a moan coming from somewhere outside the house. He sprang out of bed, quickly going to the window to peer out, trying to see the ground through the thickly falling snow.

Ian joined him, also searching for the source of the sound. “I can’t see a damned thing.”

“There!” Thane pointed to a dark form that appeared for a brief second at the bottom of the steps leading up to the veranda—before the snow hid it again. “Someone is out there. Maybe someone whose car broke down… or something.”

He spun around to turn on the lamp sitting on the table in the alcove, then looked for where he’d left his clothes. He found them, pulling on his jeans and shirt. Ian was dressed almost as quickly. Then they raced down to the ground floor and into the formal living room, which faced the veranda.

Thane stopped short in the center of the room, scanning what he could see of the veranda through each window, before going to the double-doors that opened on to it. He took a cautious step outside, instantly realizing he was barefooted when he stepped ankle-deep into a drift of snow. He shivered but didn’t move as he searched for any sign of the figure they’d seen only minutes before.

“Someone was here, but they’re gone.”

Thane nodded at Ian’s words. The snow was disturbed from the top of the steps to one window and then back again. From where he stood, he could see a very faint trail indicating whoever had been there had retreated toward the back of the mansion. As he watched, the falling snow virtually eliminated even that indication of the stranger's visit.

“Very weird,” Thane muttered as he went back into the living room, closing the door behind him. “Why, in this weather, didn’t they do something more than just try to see inside?”

“I don’t know, but it’s giving me the shivers.” Ian actually did shiver then.

“I wish…”

“What?”

Thane shrugged. “I wish it wasn’t snowing right now so we could follow their trail.”

“The intrepid ghost hunter speaks.” Ian laughed, but there was an undertone of fear beneath it.

“I don’t think ghosts make footprints. They sort of hover over things. Besides, whoever heard of a ghost hanging around outside of a house and not coming in? If you believe in them, then you know they can pass through walls and stuff.”

“And stuff.” Ian grinned, patting Thane’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get back to bed. Twenty-to-one it was some kid playing games. I bet the guy who delivered the pizzas told his friends we’re here, and one of them decided to check it out.”

“At one in the morning, in a raging snowstorm? And why moan?”

“They were trying to scare us? Hell, I don’t know. Come on.” Ian tugged Thane’s arm to get him moving.

With one last look at the veranda, Thane followed him. When they were finally back in bed again, he lay for long minutes staring up into the darkness, smiling slightly when Ian snuggled against him with his head on his shoulder.

“Whoever it was, I hope they freeze their ass off,” he eventually grumbled. When Ian didn’t reply, Thane realized he was already sleeping again. It took a few more minutes before Thane fell asleep too, and as he drifted off, he wondered if maybe they did have a ghost.

 

I could a tale unfold - 24

Ross and Kirk arrived in the theater's small library to find Otis sitting cross-legged on one of the tables, waiting for them. When they walked in he smiled, then gestured questioningly towards the bookshelves.  

“We need the ones on the theater’s history,” Ross told him as he scanned the titles.

“Over here,” Kirk called out from across the room. “There’s lots of published books. Unsurprising considering how old the building is.”

“Any that look like journals or memoirs?”

Kirk nodded, homing in on one section. “Now we just have to find the one we need. At least there seems to be some sort of chronological order to them,” he commented after pulling out a couple to take a quick scan a few pages.

Otis joined them, running his fingertips over the spines of the journals as if by doing that he’d be able to locate the correct one. Ross watched in amusement as he began opening each one in order, finding some interesting enough that he wished he had a few weeks to study them.

“Is this it?” Kirk said a few minutes later, holding out a time-worn volume, open to a page close to the front.

Otis was beside him before Ross could even start to move. He traced a finger across the words, nodding slowly. “His writing,” he mouthed and mimed.

“Then let’s take a look-see.” Kirk took the journal to one of the tables, waiting for the others to join him.

With a slight tug, Otis pulled it away, opening it to the front. There, in neat handwriting, were the words, ‘The Memoirs of Charles Mayes’.  It was dated at the bottom, in a different color, fresher ink, ‘Twelve, October, nineteen-hundred and fifty-two’ with the word ‘Completed’.

“He would have been what, early sixties when he started this?”

Otis gave a brief nod as he began reading, all his attention focused on the words in front of him. Ross moved to his other side so that he could see what Charles had written.

The first few pages gave a very brief history of Charles’ childhood as the son of a man who spent more time away from home than with his family. Charles was fourteen when Mr. Mayes purchased the building housing the theater. The purchase, according to Charles, was the direct result of the feud with Otis’s family, although he didn’t say so in that many words. It seemed that Mr. Mayes saw a chance to prove that he would be better at running this company than the man who owned a rival theater a few blocks away.

Kirk looked at Otis in surprise. “You never said you came from a theatrical family. Was that the basis of the dislike between Charles’s family and yours?”

Glancing at Kirk, Otis mimed that he needed something to write on. Ross quickly found paper and a pencil in a desk drawer and handed them to Otis.

“Both fathers actors first. When young they fought for roles. Then my father started theater. Made it good. Made money,” he wrote quickly. “His father hated him more then. I think.”

“That’s how you got into acting,” Kirk said. Otis nodded. “And Charles must have learned costuming to help out his father.”

Picking up the pencil again, Otis wrote, “His mother first. Then Charles. He loved to be creative and imaginative.”

“And costuming is a good outlet for that,” Ross commented with a smile.

“As you well know.” Kirk reached behind Otis to squeeze Ross’ shoulder before they both went back to reading as Otis slowly turned the pages.

I could a tale unfold - 23

"You know," Ross said late the next morning as he started dressing, "we're going to have to find those memoirs or whatever they are and see if they're from Charles."

Kirk gave a short nod, more interested at the moment in watching Ross than anything else. "Reverse striptease?"

Ross snorted in amusement. "Better than the real one last night?"

"No," Kirk grumbled, "worse because it means I have to stop fantasizing about dragging you back into bed and get up myself."

"Aww, poor baby." After making a slow show of zipping his jeans, Ross crossed to the bed, cupping Kirk's face in his hands and then devouring his mouth. When he'd finished he straightened again, grinning. "Behave and get up and dressed and tonight I'll take that a step or ten further."

"You're a real bastard," Kirk growled, but his lips were quirked up in amusement.

"Sometimes, yeah, like when we've got things to do. So move it, mister, time's a wasting."

It was early afternoon when Ross and Kirk finally arrived at the theater, after stopping for a leisurely breakfast. Very few people were around at that point, some of the box-office crew, a couple of stagehands who waved to them as they walked by, and two secretaries in the office who were busy at their computers.

"I love the day after opening," Ross commented once they were in the costume shop. "One day of peace and quiet. At least a few hours."

Kirk tossed his jacket on a cutting table then sat, straddling the chair with his arms across the back. "Where's our friendly ghost? I figured he'd be here the moment we walked in."

The notepad on Ross' desk floated up at that instant, along with the pencil, which scrawled, "I'm here," on the paper. Then Otis materialized, grinning. 

"Brat," Kirk muttered.

Otis pretended shock, clutching his chest dramatically.

"Yes, you."

"Children," Ross said sternly, trying not to laugh. "We have things to do, preferably before we actually have to get to work." Otis looked at him in question so Ross told him what Chandler had said the previous evening and what they were hoping to find.

His face lighting up, Otis mouthed, "My Charles."

"We don't know that, Otis," Kirk pointed out as he stood up. "That's what we have to find out. Are you going to come with us?" When Otis nodded and vanished, Kirk chuckled. "Why do I have the feeling he's already there."