The Journal of Secrets

The Journal of Secrets
By Ian De Shils (Ernest Shields)

Chapter 5

Threats and Promises

I took the civil service exam at the Hall of Justice in downtown L.A., passing it with a decent score. Then came a physical, the orientation meetings, plus a short stint of what I thought of as basic training, and three weeks later I was in jail doing a two year stretch at Mira Lida. Those waning months of 1969 were turbulent times with a great deal of turnover in the Department, so my status as Los Angeles County's newest Deputy Sheriff didn't last long. By the time Jake arrived three months later, I was practically an old timer.

In those days, a deputy spent his first couple of years at places like Mira Lida where being young and badge heavy didn't impose to much hardship for the general population. Actually we just guarded jail prisoners, directed work details and the like and it was almost the same thing I'd done in the army as an MP. Near the end of the two year evaluation period, an officer worked up to road patrol, which meant answering emergency calls and writing traffic tickets. If he didn't screw up too badly and learned to keep a cool head when some jerk called him a dirty rotten motherfucker, or some such expletive, he was then assigned to the more populated areas of the county.

Some guys never made it out of the jail facilities. They didn't have the temperament for working with the public, but those two years usually weeded out the sadist, power freaks, cowboys and left the department with men who wouldn't involve the county in an endless string of lawsuits. We were hired just before they phased out the old training methods. Now, a few months at the academy is all that's needed to put an officer on the road. Truthfully, I can't say which method is best for the department, all I know is I'm glad I spent those two years at Mira Lida.

Mira Lida lay on the desert near Lancaster. Originally, an airstrip built to train WW II pilots, it was later fenced for its new roll as a jail camp. The prisoners lived in the original Quonset huts, the unmarried officers in the old Army BOQ which was a series of attached two room cottages housing two officers to a room. The BOQ was inside the compound, nearly adjacent to the prisoners quarters, which made it, by any standard, about as close to the job site as one could get.

For a jail, Mira Lida was not so grim as one might imagine, at least not for the employees. Next to the BOQ was a large lawn encompassing about two acres, where as Adam Brown used to say, the officers went to play with their balls. Those of the Volley, Base, and Foot variety anyway. Touch football was by far the most popular game played there and we had regular competitions three times a week

Adjacent to our quarters, and for use in case of fire, was the state mandated emergency water supply. This was cleverly disguised as a large, sparkling in ground swimming pool complete with lounging area. Unheated, the pool itself saw little use except at the height of summer; however, the lounging area was used to maintain tans almost year around. In fact, the inmates discretely referred to it as the 'Pig Roast'. About five yards from the BOQ and separated from it by only a single cyclone fence, were the prisoners quarters.

To them, our area must have seemed like a health spa with officers lounging about the pool and lifting weights or perhaps playing ball on the lawn. Despite the fact there were five hundred prisoners housed there, Mira Lida was so low keyed it appeared almost asleep. The pool, the tiny PX type store, a barber shop and a mess hall served four meals a day gave the place a resort like feel. It was very calm and quiet with the only noise arising from some sport activity. That is, until one visited the married officers section with its mob of screaming kids.

Married officers were provided quarters outside the main fence, a good hundred yards beyond the parking lot. These were the same buildings used by the army for family housing; compact one and two bedroom cottages, and there was always a shortage of them. If it hadn't been for the fast turnover in those days, the waiting period for a cottage might have been a year or longer.

Friends told me I would hate the desert, but instead, I loved it. The air was clear and clean, so unlike the murk of the L.A. basin. The wind always came from the direction of Sierra Madre mountains, some eighty miles to the Southwest and sometimes when heavy fog rolled in off the ocean beyond them, mist could be seen billowing upward from those peaks like long silken scarves.

There is a beauty to the high desert well beyond the brief poppy bloom of spring. It's in the sky that stretches out forever, in the Joshua tree standing sentinel against the moon, and in the quiet barrenness waiting only for a single drop of water to prove life that lies hidden everywhere. Certainly, days can be hot and the constant wind annoying, but then there are the mornings, calm, cool, dry, and fragrant, and the evenings with their mournful coyote lullabies lulling one to sleep. Yes, I loved the desert. I found it soothing, but I can't say the same for some of the people I met there.

I'll never forget my first two months at Mira Lida. In that short time I managed to make my first friend and my first enemy, all within the confines of bungalow C. The entrance to bungalow C was shaded by a large, brutally pruned Chinese elm; its sawn off, stubby limbs giving it the appearance of a war casualty. The door was decorated with four brass name tag holders, one showing the name Adam Brown and above that, a little slip of paper that read: 'To all ye who enter here: He who hesitates is lost!' I read it twice wondering if it some sort of fractured quote. Rechecking the assignment sheet, I slipped my own typed card into the holder marked C1 and looked around trying to get a feel for the place.

From the outside, the staggered, attached cottages that made up the BOQ looked like a '50's style California motel. The eaves were wide and shady, the walls a stucco tan, and the roof sheathed in thick redwood shakes. The doors were all identical, each made of heavy wood at least forty inches wide. They appeared to be relics left over from the days when student pilots scrambled here. I tugged open the door to my new home and was greeted by the reptilian hiss of a heavy duty pneumatic closer that sedately pulled the door shut again.

I just starting through when the thing suddenly released its counter pressure. That massive door slammed against my back with all the power of a major leaguer drilling a line drive. Bag and baggage I was violently transported inside unable to stop until my nose came in contact with the hall wall. The little sign was now abundantly clear; however, I would have preferred something at least as incisive as that Goddamned door.

After ungluing myself from the wall, I glanced around. Unlike the laid back appearance of the outside, the interior was standard military issue; gray paint as far as the eye could see. Two doorless rooms, one at each end of a broad Spartan entry hall, seemed to share an equally doorless bathroom and that was the entire layout. There were no signs in evidence, but the left to right military orientation was so familiar there was no confusion as to which room was C1. I turned left.

A step or two in that direction brought me in line with the bathroom and as I glanced in I came to an amazed halt. It was like stumbling onto an avant-garde art display: The room was sheathed in gleaming snowy tile and a cloud of steam roiled about the ceiling. In the center of this ethereal whiteness, stood a man so black he seemed to absorb light. He was pure ebony, and with such a perfect symmetry he appeared sculpted by a master artist. After a moment of frozen silence, I dropped my bags and said,

"Hi"

Startled, he spun to face me, quickly bringing down the towel to cover his loins.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I'm Ted Gibson. You must be Adam Brown. "

He looked me over with a chilly eye as though he didn't care much for what he saw.

"You've got the name right. Who are you looking for?"

"Nobody. I'm just moving in."

"So, they assigned you to no man's land did they?"

"Huh?" I grunted stupidly.

"For your information, Gibson, bungalow C is a strictly temporary assignment. You were sent here only because the other rooms were full. They didn't tell you that?"

"No one said anything." I replied. "What are you talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough." he answered, rudely turning his back to me.

I stood there stunned by the reception while a slow burn set in. What the hell was his problem? I'm just trying to be friendly and he was acting like an arrogant asshole. It brought back the same feelings I'd experienced in the Army when one of Randy Robinson's black friends called me a 'cracker'. It was a bit of name calling that came not from anything I did, but from pure blind prejudice. I hated it then and I wasn't about to put up with it now.

"Look, Brown, I didn't come here to get wound up in your bullshit mind games. If you don't want me here just spit it out. Maybe you can get one of your black buddies to swap rooms with me. Personally, I don't give a flying fuck where I sleep!"

Brown whirled and glared as I gathered up my stuff and tossed it into the nearby room. I went about unpacking and heard him pad down the hall, but a few minutes later he stood at my door offering an apology.

"Hey, I'm sorry Gibson. It's been a rough day, and I guess I was just taking it out on the first person to come along."

He seemed contrite and suddenly I felt guilty about my own outburst. Obviously, Brown was no bigot and catching him naked like that might very well have put him on the defensive. In my mind I could almost hear my grandmother chiding, 'Never make snap judgments!', but before I could think of what to say he extended a hand.

"Let's start over, shall we? Call me Adam and welcome to Mira Lida."

After that rocky beginning, Adam seemed intent on making me feel welcome. We toured the facility and he took the time to introduce everyone we met. Later, as we sat talking over dinner, I found we had several things in common. We both originally came from west Michigan and grew up on farms. If nothing else, these regional similarities gave us a common language. His references were the same as mine, my idioms were his, and our views on most things were very similar. This alone was to make for a different relationship than the one I had with Randy Robinson.

Randy came from Harlem and although we spent a great deal of time together, he was forever losing me with obscure phrases or jive talk I couldn't always follow. It wasn't that Randy couldn't speak plain English, he could and did, but he had a tendency to dive in and out of slang like a porpoise cutting waves and then laugh when I got lost.

"Man, you're hopeless!" He'd say as he translated some indecipherable riff or word. Randy became a wonderful friend whose letters and phone calls never failed to cheer me. He taught me much about life and friendship in the year we were stationed together, but he was never completely successful at teaching me the changing, flowing language he called 'black jive.'

Adam, on the other hand, never used street slang, not even when speaking with other black officers. It wasn't his style. Many of them seemed to view his white sounding, midwest diction as a sort of put down as did a number of white officers, especially those older guys still suffering seizures over the integration of Mira Lida. Up through the early '60's, Mira Lida had been lily white. It was a basic requirement for both inmates and officers until civil rights changed the rules. By '69, the word 'Nigger' no longer issues from white lips at Mira Lida, but it remained firmly entrenched in many hearts.

While bigotry itself was no longer overt, I could sense something akin to it in the way Adam was treated. When he and I shared a dinner table, we rarely had company, but if he didn't show, other officers might sit down to talk. At first, I didn't know what the problem was. I just felt it had to do with Adam's strong sense of character. He took pride in himself and was not about to cater to anyone's idea of who or what he should be. Like everyone, Adam's personality had a few rough spots. He could be moody at times and was well known to be sarcastic to people who made truly stupid statements.

He also had an annoying way of correcting speech like some never resting English teacher but that later proved to be a totally unconscious response on his part. It was simply a habit picked up from his father who once was a teacher. Despite his somewhat serious demeanor, Adam did have an off side sense of humor. His car, a beat up, disreputable looking heap, carried an illustration of a mushroom cloud and the words "The Adam Bomb" painted on the trunk, and on the front door, like a WW II fighter plane were pictured his "kills": Three jack rabbits and a Volkswagen.

Some people claimed Adam was always trying to be a smart ass, but in truth he was always just himself: A very witty, intelligent and somewhat complicated man. I suppose the reason we got along so well is that I liked him just the way he was. It was several days before Adam told me he was the adopted child of a white couple, the oldest of three. His sister was half oriental and his brother's natural parents were Mexican migrant workers. He often joked about being a charter member of the rainbow coalition.

"It might sound strange," he once told me, " but I didn't realize we kids were adopted until I was about four or five. My folks never mentioned it and I just thought children were like kittens who issued forth in all colors and varieties." he chuckled wryly, "Growing up on a farm, you're introduced to reproduction long before you learn the facts of life."

How true, I thought. And it's those damn facts that finally get you. When I was young, I used to dream I was adopted and someday my real parents would come to claim me. I hoped for that, even though everyone said I looked exactly like my father. I told Adam about my childhood fantasy and we laughed, but I wondered if his laughter didn't also mask a bit of pain.

"We were all throw away kids who couldn't get placed with families of our own race." he said, "Kimmy was born with a club foot, and Ray with a heart problem. Nobody wanted kids who weren't perfect. If it hadn't been for Mom and Dad, we three would've likely been raised as wards of the state. You know, I don't think anyone ever had better parents, natural or otherwise. They sacrificed everything for us. Dad sold the farm to pay for Kimmy's operations and then took a job he didn't like so he'd have insurance enough to cover Raymond.

"But, what about you?" I asked, "You look healthy as a horse. Are you telling me in all of Michigan, there wasn't a single black family looking for a fine, healthy baby." He just stared at me for a moment.

"You speak a little jive, Ted, but you don't know shit about blacks. Look at me, tell me what you see."

"I see a rather good looking guy who is at this moment putting me on the spot. What exactly am I looking for?"

"My complexion!" He exclaimed.

"Very nice. Smooth, no razor bumps at all. What the hell has that got to do with it. Were you born with warts or something?"

"I knew you wouldn't understand. It just doesn't occur to whites that blacks can be color prejudice themselves. You see how dark I am? Well, as a baby, I was too black to suit any adopting black family." Adam's statement shocked me. Whether factual or not, it made me think of the reaction I'd seen in some officers when confronting an extremely black prisoner. They became edgy as though the fellow was somehow more dangerous because of his skin shade. It was a strangely odd reaction to any prisoner at Mira Lida in those days, where the average time served was six months and the crimes that got them there were all nonviolent. It also made me wonder if two hundred years of white ignorance hadn't somehow rubbed off on the black population.

"Do you feel you've missed out by not being raised by black parents?" I asked.

"In some ways, maybe. Don't get me wrong, I love my folks and I appreciate all they've done for me, but I'm no longer a kid who can pretend to be just like everyone else. I'm a black man who doesn't relate all that well to other blacks and a lot of that has to do with spending my first fifteen years in an all white farming community. I just don't see things from the same perspective as most blacks. Perhaps that's because as a child I never went through what they did.

Believe it or not, prejudice was something I wasn't exposed to as a boy. Ours was a religious community and back then, I was just Dick and Mary Brown's adopted kid. Everyone knew me and if they held any prejudice, they kept it to themselves. I didn't run into it until we moved to Lansing, but believe me, it can make you super sensitive in a hurry. They say you will always be a product of your childhood environment and I guess the truth is even today, I'm a little more comfortable around whites than blacks."

Some whites, maybe, but certainly not all. I once saw Adam with a group of older white officers when he was as tense as a virgin in a room full of rapists. Adam seemed able to zero in on the barest scent of prejudice or even a slightly condescending manner, but unlike Randy who would have vented those feelings with a direct confrontation, Adam kept it all inside. I think his prickly disposition and very precise ways were a reflection of that repressed anger. It kept people at arms length, even made him somewhat a loner, but maybe he felt less vulnerable.

I had only been at Mira Lida for a few weeks when Adam was accepted into a certain psychology class he was hoping for at Cal State. That meant he was on the road five days a week instead of three as he traveled between the desert and the city. It also meant I would see him only in passing since newbies like myself worked second shift. Officers taking collage courses had preference for third, (my all time favorite). We still got together for an occasional midnight meal and depending on our days off, the Saturday afternoon touch football game, but for most of my waking hours I had bungalow C all to myself. After two years of living in hectic L.A., I enjoyed the slow pace at Mira Lida and having almost private quarters was a plus. Unfortunately that didn't last long.

Elwin, AKA 'Bull' Davis moved in one day and tranquillity was unceremoniously drowned in a sea of nasal Texas drawl. Bull was a small man with a big voice, which might have been tolerable had he been half as intelligent as he was loud. His mouth ran constantly and within a week's time I heard the entire litany of his likes and dislikes, especially all the things he hated: Commies, Wops, Spics, Jews, Indians, Dikes and Fagots, and not necessarily in that order. I'm sure 'Nigger' was left off that list only because Bull was barely smart enough to realize that six foot three inch Adam living in the adjoining room might not take kindly to that sort of talk. Still his feelings about blacks were pretty obvious. He never spoke to Adam or any other black officer unless absolutely necessary.

Not only did Bull regale me with his stupid, incessant talk, he'd collar anyone who happened by and drag them inside. I would then have the pleasure of hearing it all again. Disgusted, I left whenever he got wound up but thoroughly resented being chased out of my own room. What really surprised me was Bull's ability to sway people to his warped way of thinking. Several officers began coming back of their own accord to listen to that nut case and I immediately lost all respect for them.

One day he spotted one of his worst hates working in the pharmacy. A new hire with the Health Department, a mild young guy who Bull thought was queer, but who had certainly done nothing to incur Bull's wrath. Somehow, Davis got into the personnel files, dug out the man's home address and began stalking him with a camera until he got pictures of the fellow holding hands and acting intimate with another man. Bull justified his actions by saying he was 'cleaning up' Mira Lida, then had several of pictures blown up to 8 x 10 size and tacked them onto the bulletin boards inside the facility. The poor guy had no idea why some officers began making crude remarks until someone showed him the pictures. He quit that very day without finishing his shift.

Oh, how Bull crowed. He strutted about the room like a bantam rooster until I told him if they ever found out who posted those pictures, he'd be out of a job and the guy might even decide to haul his ass into court. I should've kept my mouth shut. If I hadn't pointed out the obvious, that idiot would have bragged himself right out of Mira Lida. As it was, he stayed on and I gained an enemy. In an attempt to stop his constant idiotic blathering, those photos came up in conversation several times and I believe Davis got worried I was about to squeal on him.

I was merely trying to shut him up, perhaps to show him the error of his ways, but he became paranoid about it and began snooping into my life. I all ready disliked the man intensely but came to hate his guts when I discovered he'd been going through my stuff. Nothing was missing, only the bastard evidently read my mail, checked my Army discharge papers and looked through picture and address books in a search, I'm sure, for something to hold over me.

When I began noticing things out of place Bull tried to blame it on the inmate who cleaned the rooms and I almost believed him until I spoke to the duty officer. He was present at all times and the inmate did nothing but change the beds and mop the floor. Bull and I had an instant parting of the ways. I backed the little bastard into the corner with every intention of punching his lights out, but hadn't got in more than one or two good licks when the ruckus roused Adam who charged in and pulled me off.

"Are you trying to loose your job?" he hissed. I was so hot I didn't care.

"Get your shit out of this room, Davis," I yelled, shaking my fist, "and if you ever poke your nose into my business again, I'll rip your fucking face off!"

Davis scurried out the door and disappeared for the rest of the day, but when I came off shift that night his things were gone. I always regretted not letting that jerk talk himself out of a job. He lasted almost two years before getting fired over roughing up a prisoner and during all that time I felt he was constantly on the lookout for something to pin on me. I spent almost three weeks in blissful solitude before Jake moved in. I'll never forget our first meeting. It was to change both our lives forever, but of course neither of us knew until many months later.

"Damn!"

I heard someone exclaim over a muffled, but familiar thump. Looking up from my reading, I saw a guy drop an olive drab duffel in the hall, balance a cardboard box on top and then turn to extract a garment bag that got halfway inside before the door made its final decisive move. The bag was old and patched about with strips of duct tape. The man, brown haired and muscular, stood fingering what was obviously a fatal rupture in the pearl gray plastic.

"Aw, shit!" He said with feeling as he inspected his freshly smudged uniforms.

I smiled, remembering the reception the door gave me. Adam called it the 'man eater' and had posted a sign, but like so many others, I took it as a motto, not a warning. Preoccupied with luggage, the man didn't noticed me until I started unwinding from my cross legged reading position. Startled, he looked at me and stared for a moment.

"Oh, . . . I'm sorry, I thought this was bungalow C."

"It is." I replied.

Seemingly confused, he glanced toward Adam's room then back at me.

"Then,. . . you're Theodore Gibson?" he asked.

"Yep, the one and only. Most people call me Ted."

Slowly, his face broke into a grin, "Well what do ya know!" He muttered. Stepping forward with an extended hand, he said, "I guess that makes us room mates. I'm Jake Sanders."

As it turned out, Jake was just bunking in the BOQ until family housing opened up. He thought the wait would only be a week or so, but we actually roomed together for the better part of two months. Except for the remarkable coincidence of sharing a birthday and being exactly the same age, we were complete opposites, Jake was tanned and strongly built with curly brown hair. I was blond, rangy and usually sunburned. He was the kind of guy who touched when he talked, standing close, nudging to make a point or perhaps draping an arm over your shoulder. I was more aloof. If someone stood too close I moved back and for the first few days our conversations found me permanently stuck in reverse; he'd step forward, I'd step back, and we did a sort of slow dance around the room without the benefit of music.

I think some people just have a natural affinity for each other. Despite the fact my comfort zone was twice the size of his, we soon became good friends. Not only that, but as far as Jake was concerned my comfort zone shrank. With others I still needed space, yet in only a matter of days it came to the point when Jake didn't flop an arm on my shoulder, I began worrying I offended him in some way. After Jake arrived at Mira Lida, the ranks of our touch football league thinned a bit as the fainter hearts dropped out. Jake had been a top notch football player in his high school days, highly aggressive, and he would sometimes forget we were playing touch. Many a deputy, myself included, found themselves kissing grass with Jake apologizing profusely.

"Oh, shit, Man, I'm sorry!" he'd say as he helped his victim up, but somehow, he never seemed all that contrite.

Jake was heavily into sports, football especially and although I liked football, he was more conversant with the game than me. Baseball was my thing and I could spout statistics by the hour. In sports we found lots to talk about, but perhaps the biggest boost to our friendship was a mutual interest in flying. I just began taking flight lessons at a tiny dirt strip near Quartz Hill and when Jake learned how little it cost, he got all excited and signed up, too.

We would drive out together in the early morning to get our flight time in before the desert thermals made the air bumpy, then afterward spend another hour or so just shooting the breeze over breakfast. We were twenty-three, both served in the army and I soon discovered we enjoyed practically the same things. I liked hiking and Jake was a rock hound so we combined the two and spent many great mornings trekking through the foothills.

We became real pals. Jake, with his magnetic personality made friends throughout Mira Lida, yet we still seemed to spend a great deal of time together in mutual pursuits. He and Adam hit it off right away and whenever Adam was in residence, Jake would invent something for the three of us to do together. Once, what started off as a three handed card game, ended up as a regular pokerfest as Jake invited more and more officers to join in. I never saw Adam enjoy himself more. His normal reserve slipped away and he got so wound up in the game he even stopped correcting English. I doubt Jake ever realized what took place that day, but I saw it plainly.

Afterwards, when guys stopped by to shoot the breeze, it wasn't always Jake or me they looked for, and more importantly, it wasn't only white officers who asked for Adam. On our days off Jake went to Van Nuys to be with his wife, while I, depending on the day of the week, explored several options. My old army buddy, Bob, lived in Simi and now that he and Martha had a new baby, they were nearly always home on Sundays. My weekdays were reserved for other things, like movies or perhaps the occasional party in Eagle Rock. It's funny how my life changed so drastically in such a short time.

The year before I was the ultimate party guy who wouldn't miss one if my life depended on it. Now I went to those affairs only as a last ditch against boredom. Actually, I jumped at the Sheriff's department job to get away from Eagle Rock with all its shallowness and it wasn't until the quietness of Mira Lida became stultifying I found myself going back. The parties changed a great deal in those few months. There seemed to be a lot more grass smoked and much more hard liquor than beer, both of which I bypassed because of personal and employment reasons.

No one could classify those parties as dull;--- still, many times I'd duck out early and head back to the desert. Perhaps I'd become jaded, but I think there was more to it than that. In those days, I was extremely envious of Bob. He'd found love and happiness with Martha, while all I had to show for my efforts were series of vapid one night stands. I wanted more than parties, much more, but nothing ever seemed to work out.

Bungalow C always brightened up when Jake came back from his days in Van Nuys. He'd bang through the door with a smile on his face and cheerful,

"Hi there, Partner, did you miss me?" then fling himself on the bed and start telling some story that would soon have us both laughing. The truth is I did miss him. After only a few weeks rooming together, Jake became an important person in my life. I remember when Bob and I were still in the service and our enlistment's were coming to an end. I distinctly recall waking up to see Bob asleep in the next bunk, his face jammed in the pillow and I wondered then, if our camaraderie and friendship could last outside the service. Now I wondered the same about Jake. Would his wife's arrival sever our friendship, or would we make adjustments.

One can have many acquaintances without ever having genuine friends. Friendship is truly the one thing money can't buy and I felt Jake and I were fast approaching that priceless realm. It was as though we'd known each other for years, but the truth is, we each knew very little about other. Oh, he told me he'd been raised by an aunt and uncle, he was only recently married, but those were surface details, nothing more. Yet our friendship had grown to the point Jake was now almost as important to me as Bob. I only hoped Jake's wife, like Martha would also accept me as a friend.

Finally, when a family unit did become available, I helped Jake move and that's when I first met Carla. She was knock out, she was gorgeous with raven hair and big dark eyes that sent shivers down my spine. I had never met anyone like Carla. She had the kind of beauty women envied, men drooled over and it took my breath away just to look at her. Jake, himself, was a knock out in his own way, a handsome, fine looking man who complimented Carla's beauty so perfectly they seemed made for each other; yet, from the very first I sensed something wrong.

They just didn't act like newlyweds. Throughout the whole day of moving, Carla behaved very cool toward Jake, yet extremely friendly toward me; Jake began acting quiet and reserved. I thought she was the most ravishing creature I ever saw and for the first few weeks after the move I found all sorts of excuses just to stop and talk. Jake never said a word, not even when Carla began inviting me over on a regular basis, but he changed so drastically in every way, I realized no matter how innocent my visits, they would soon end our friendship.

It's odd how an unfamiliar emotion can mess up one's thinking. Jake was the best friend I had at Mira Lida, but for awhile I weighed his friendship against something I knew couldn't possibly work out. Sometimes, as I sat on the perimeter guard post, I'd stare across the parking lot to their quarters and wonder what happened to my world. Why me? Carla could have any man she wanted, Lord knows, she all ready had the best, and all I could bring was heartache. Those lonely watches lead to a deepening anguish, sometimes, to tears, but who the tears were for I couldn't say.

I began begging off from her invitations, using excuses even the blind could see through. No one ever knew how difficult that was. I felt torn by an insatiable desire to feast my eyes on her, to again bring forth her throaty laugh. No woman ever captured my imagination the way she did, such beauty, such grace. With just a glance I could sense her every mood, the very fragrance she wore sent me into fantasies as improbable as those of my childhood. Looking into her dark eyes, it was far too easy to forget my world and live only for the moment, and I knew I was fast approaching the point of no return. Either, I must back away, or be swept away and the first option held almost as much pain as the last. For a time, afterwards, I even avoided Jake. I threw myself into the Eagle Rock scene, trying to get my life back on familiar ground. Finally, Jake pulled me aside one day and asked what the problem was.

"How come you changed your flight days?" he asked, "Hell, I never see you any more! Is it something I did?"

What could I tell him? I had come within a cat's whisker of making love to his wife, but that was a detail he didn't want to know and one I was trying hard to forget.

"No, of course not. It's just when we go to the airport, we end up wasting half the day. I thought you'd rather spend that time with Carla."

"I spend enough time with Carla. You,--- I don't see at all anymore. Now listen up. I'll be here in the morning at seven-thirty sharp. You be ready, and I won't take 'no' for an answer."

There was no argument to offer and no way I could refuse.

The next day was almost like old times and I realized just how much I missed Jake's banter. I loved watching him talk; his face and hands were as animated as his words. I decided if I stayed completely away from Carla, I could spend time with Jake. Maybe not the hiking or the junk shop browsing, (another of our mutual interests), but at least our one day a week at the airport. Jake never again asked me to visit his home, which was fine with me, but for a long time I wondered exactly what he thought went on between Carla and myself.

Mira Lida was like a small village with bits of gossip going around and becoming more distorted with each telling. About a month later when the rumors began circulating, I didn't pay any attention. Carla was after all, the most devastatingly, beautiful woman anyone ever saw so I figured it was just the kind of bullshit some guys spread when they get horny and frustrated. Only, the rumors turned out to be true. It all came to light when Bill Bass demanded a transfer, rather his wife did and Carla was named as the source of all their problems; that was just the tip of the iceberg.

I'm probably the least prudish person on the planet, but the scope of what I learned shocked even me. Carla was messing around, practically running a free brothel right there in the married officers quarters and Bill was literally caught with his pants down. She was nearly thrown out of Mira Lida, which would've been the normal procedure, only Carla agreed to counseling so they let her stay. One morning as Jake and I drove to the airport, he told me all about it and said this wasn't the first time she'd done something like this. I couldn't believe it, at the time, they were married only a few months.
What can you say to a friend in a situation like this, especially if you found yourself nearly part of the problem. In my case I said nothing, I simply listened.

They met at Cal State where Jake was taking law enforcement courses, and Carla studied Comparative Religion. They had gotten married in a rush, Jake said, but it wasn't long before he realized there was something odd about Carla. She would get lost in her current favorite religious discipline and let their apartment turn into a pigsty as she spent all her time making fetishes and potions and praying with great fervor in some unknown tongue. This would go on for awhile and then he would come home to find the place decked out with an entirely different set of icons.

From what Jake told me, Carla drove him crazy from the very beginning, They were hardly back from a loving and passionate honeymoon when, for no apparent reason, she began screaming he wasn't good for anything. He said the mood swings continued on a monthly basis and he was never really sure what was going on inside her head. Finally, about the time he came to Mira Lida, he found she was having an affair, or as he now suspected, more than one. It must have been hell for him, but I thought I knew why he put up with her. My God, but she was beautiful. She had way about her that could make you forget everything but her.

Carla stopped fooling around at Mira Lida, but it wasn't long before she was driving into Lancaster every afternoon and Jake told me it was the same old thing. I didn't give him any advice, I couldn't, but I did tell him what my Grandmother once told me:

"Don't get buried in the past, it can't be changed. You must live for the future, it's the only thing that matters."

Jake and I spent a lot of time together that spring and summer. Besides working the same shift, we moonlighted a job stringing fence along the National Forest. I could hardly blame him for the moodiness he sometimes displayed. Carla was making his life a living hell and he talked about her incessantly. I never thought of her as stupid, but in this she was a total idiot. Whatever it was she searched for could never be half as good as what she threw away.

When he wasn't wrapped up in his problems, I saw glimpses of Jake's old self come through. He was by nature witty and full of humor, intelligent, bursting with energy, a natural athlete who excelled at anything he put his mind to. Jake was the kind of man every man would like to be and definitely far too good for Carla, but it wasn't my place to tell him. That was something he'd have to figure out for himself.

They stuck it out awhile longer, but finally Carla began seducing just about everyone in sight. She especially liked married men with children and I'm sure there were wives who would've gladly killed her if they could've figured a way of doing it without getting caught. Jake told me he no longer cared what she did, but it obviously gnawed at him. He started drinking heavily. Suddenly he was getting plowed every night after work, then phoning me to come drive him home.

I wanted to tell him to divorce Carla, to get on with his life, but I just couldn't. I swore never to interfere with anyone again. So, I'd pick him up, fill him full of coffee and let him sleep it off in my bunk at the BOQ. At that time I was in the process of moving out anyway, but still hadn't officially relinquished my room. My new digs was a little rental house near Quartz Hill I was busy fixing up and furnishing and I split my time between the two places for awhile.

Jake wasn't a mean drunk,--- quite the opposite. He'd get maudlin, throw his arms around me and say all sorts of crazy things, but somehow seeing him like that brought back memories of my father's drinking I couldn't bear to think of. Dealing with a drunk was my entire childhood and I hated it to the point I hadn't seen my father since leaving home at seventeen. Not that I mind having a beer now and then, but I can't abide drunks and in fits of emotion that surprised even me, I caught Jake sober one day, backed him into a wall and told him about all the hell I'd gone through as a kid.

Maybe the lecture helped or maybe he just got over his depression. Whatever the reason, he stopped boozing as suddenly as he started and that pleased me more than I can say. I guess the real reason behind that confrontation was the worry Jake might harm Carla or himself. I once lost a friend under almost those same circumstances. Jeff broke up with his girl when he found she was seeing someone else. He got drunk one night, blew his brains out and I never saw it coming. He just snapped, but I know if it hadn't been for the booze he'd be alive today. Or,--- maybe, if I hadn't urged him to dump her. . .

We finished the fencing job late that summer and talked about taking a few more courses at the local junior collage, but before classes started, he and Carla had a huge fight complete with flying crockery and bellowed curses. He told her to get out and file for divorce and if she didn't he would, naming everyone she ever slept with. I heard about it secondhand. Several of the officers wives gave me all the juicy details as we stood in line at the bank in Lancaster.

I was sorry for Jake, but I felt relieved Jake's problems were finally coming to an end and the women who told me were absolutely ecstatic. I believe everyone at Mira Lida was glad to see Carla leave, even the guys who once followed her around with their tongues hanging out. In the short time Carla lived there, she became that facilities single largest source of stress.

My house at Quartz Hill was small, just one bedroom, a bath, a kitchen and a tiny living room with a goofy oversized fireplace. I'm sure it was built from the scavenged leftovers from the housing projects going up near Lancaster, but it was comfortable for one and the occasional guest. The move to Quartz Hill had been for the privacy it afforded. I finally found someone of my own and wanted a place where we could spend more time together, only it wasn't working out the way I'd planned. For some reason, the chance meeting that started out so bright and beautiful, fast evaporated into just another dry lake.

Not that my sweet one bothered to inform me anything was amiss,--- oh, no,--- that would be too easy; still, when my phone calls all remained unanswered, I got the message. After his breakup, Jake asked if he could stay with me for a few days. Carla took the furniture, the bachelor quarters were now full, and he was stuck sleeping in his car.

"Just until next payday. Then I'll get a place of my own."

I told him he could stay as long as he wanted. He was, after all, my best friend and one who would've done the same for me had circumstances been reversed. Besides, it became abundantly clear the privacy I once sought was a thing no longer needed; actually, I hadn't needed any in weeks. I showed Jake about the place, what there was of it and made room for his clothes in the closet. The couch opened up into a bed that looked pretty comfortable and the end table had several drawers where he could keep his small stuff.

It was a relief having Jake around to talk to. I learned to appreciate a modicum of peace and quiet, but truthfully, the stillness of the place was beginning to get on my nerves. The time we shared a room at Mira Lida stuck in my mind as being the most fun I'd had since moving up from LA, and now that Jake was out from under Carla's cloud, he was again acting much the same as in those first months. We made a pot of coffee, lit the gas log, and sat gabbing for a while. He told me he was glad Carla was gone, and then said,

"I'm depending on you, buddy. If I ever again chase after anyone as crazy as that broad, I want you to shoot me! Promise me you will."

He laughed, but I wasn't sure he was kidding. The poor guy came out of that mess up to his ass in debt. Evidently Carla never charged anyone for her favors, but that didn't stop her from billing Jake for the pleasure of it all. Every credit card he owned was over its limit and he was in hock elsewhere for everything from clothing to furniture.

"Maybe I'd better plan on taking a long term lease on your couch," he joked, "That is if you don't charge too much." I told him not to worry about it, I was glad to have him and he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted. We talked about my crazy little house, I showed him how everything was mismatched, how the trim changed pattern at each corner but he thought it was cool.

"It beats the hell out of fourteen rooms all painted beige." he said. I knew he was talking about his uncle's house where he grew up. An unhappy place he once confided.

I warned him about the neighbors dog, a Boxer, that wasn't good for much except keeping the coyotes out of the trash and untying shoes. He thought I was joking about the shoes until we went for a walk. Out she came, looking ready to tear us apart, but the only thing she went for was Jake's shoe laces.

"Jesus Christ" he laughed, as he danced around trying to get away from her, "A dog with a foot fetish! I always knew the desert could drive you crazy. This is ridiculous! Quick, call her off before I start to like it!"

With Carla out of his life, the true Jake I knew in the past, at last re-emerged. Not so different from the old, just warmer and more relaxed, a man of high spirits and lively humor. We were perfectly suited as room mates, I knew that from the time before, but now he was even more enjoyable to be with. Jake was the perfect foil to my somewhat dour disposition. He constantly broke me up with his jokes and stories and he loved to horse around, starting wrestling matches at the slightest provocation. We began hiking again, tramping through the desert in the cool mornings accompanied by the neighbor's crazy dog. We couldn't seem to get rid of her. I believe the mutt fell in love with Jake, or at least his shoe laces but Jake made a joke of it.

"I'm just stringing her along." he'd say.

Those were idyllic days, a time that I will always remember with great fondness and strangely enough, I understood exactly how fine it was at the precise moment it was happening. Jake took Bob's place as my best friend. Bob was married with a new baby and new commitments; although, we remained the best of friends, we could no longer be Best Friends. That spot naturally was reserved for Martha. To me, those few months were almost an extension of my adolescence; a time where your friends can do no wrong, you are still perfect in their sight but I was fully aware this would never come again for me.

Life might be more fulfilling later on, but it could never be as innocent or sweet. Did Jake feel the same? I can't say, I only know we both displayed a great zest for life and all things new. Jake seemed to thrive on impulsive entertainment. We saw the latest movies, of course, but he also taught me how to enjoy an outing without all the advanced planning I normally did. Never looking at a map, he might drag me away for a day of sports car racing at some little desert track no one ever heard of, or perhaps a trip to the Mount Wilson observatory. If we got lost along the way, so what? There was always something new ahead,--- just over the next rise.

Most of the time Jake and I went on those excursions by ourselves, but sometimes Bob would bring Martha and the baby up from Simi, and the five of us would make a day of it. Truthfully, I couldn't recall a more relaxed and pleasant time. I enjoyed my job and was surrounded by people I cared about and by my reckoning at least, everything was perfect. Then, a few weeks after Jake took up residence on my couch, the department changed our hours and for awhile it disrupted my life completely.

I'm a night person by nature, my mind doesn't even function properly until somewhere around noon, but, all of a sudden I was expected to be bright eyed and bushy tailed at five-thirty in the morning. It was the same problem I suffered from in the Army, the one that kept me on extra duty for a good portion of my hitch. I survived the change only because Jake became the one alarm clock I couldn't ignored. He'd holler only once and if I didn't get up, I'd find myself being flung into the shower. I told him he was a sadist who got his rocks off watching me suffer, but he just laughed.

At least we never missed a roll call, which was more than I can say about my Army days, and believe me, a few mornings of being stuffed into an ice cold shower was all it took to reset my internal clock. I might not have been at my best those mornings, but I was awake long before Jake yelled out the time. When payday rolled around again, Jake stayed on just as I hoped he would. The BOQ was still full and I didn't relish the thought of living alone, so we decided to share expenses on the house. Jake did the smart thing. He took out a bank loan to pay off bills, thus saving his credit, but the payment left him barely enough to survive on.

We continued to get along famously, not only was Jake fun to be with, he willingly did his share in keeping up the place. Actually, that consisted of little more than cleaning the bathroom and sweeping up the sand deposited by the incessant desert winds, but I seldom had to do those chores after he moved in. The kitchen was the one room that always remained nearly spotless. My total lack of talent in that direction and Jake's exaggerated fear of ptomaine kept us from experimenting much in there. Luckily, Mira Lida provided a couple of meals a day and the rest of the time we either hit the restaurants or lived off the few things we could make without fear of poisoning ourselves, the 3 C's: Coffee, canned soup and cold cut sandwiches.

I think Martha felt sorry for us. Whenever she and Bob came to visit, we were sent out for groceries and then Martha got busy and whipped up a homemade pot roast big enough to graze on for a few days. After the first one, Jake insisted we send her flowers each payday. He said it was a cheap price to keep her coming back.

As far as my love life was concerned, I was getting used to being celibate again. My phone calls remained unanswered, as did my letters and I'd given up all hope. Then, one day, we ran into each other on the street in Lancaster and I was fed a long tale about being down in L.A. for the past few months, going from agency to agency, and how things were at last looking up in the modeling business. And, oh, yes, we'd be together again, 'real soon now.'

The story smelled high enough to make me look around for vultures, but I'm a sucker for a cute face, especially when it's attached to such a gorgeous body. In the sudden surge of yearnings that accompanied the brief encounter, I completely forgot to mention my roommate and that a phone call might be advisable rather than just popping in; but, as it turned out that information was irrelevant and immaterial. My love disappeared again, I assumed, back to the brave new hinterlands of L.A. and I said to hell with it! This wasn't the first time I'd been dumped, and probably wouldn't be the last, but it did set me to brooding. Why did it always end this way for me?

I'd been moping around for awhile, feeling sorry for myself when one morning I awoke to the smell of frying bacon and thought Bob and Martha had made a surprise visit. Instead, I found Jake standing over the stove trying to look like he knew what he was doing.

"Wow, right into the domestic stuff, huh?" I asked, sidling over to lay a palm on his forehead. "You feeling okay? Do you want me to call an ambulance now or should we wait until after we eat?"

Jake laughed.

"Sit down and shut up. This is a hell of a lot more complicated than it looks."

The pan sizzled merrily. Little flames erupted near the burner as hot grease spattered out against Jake and the surrounding walls. The walls voiced no complaint, but Jake had a few choice words as he held a pot cover in front of him like a shield.

"I think the eggs are cold. I guess I should have cooked the bacon first, but since I'm suffering third degree burns from this Goddamned meal, I'd advise you to chow down and start heaping praises on the cook!"

"Is that a threat?" I asked

"You bet your ass it is!" He replied, slapping a plate of bacon on the table.

I groaned loudly, but actually it was pretty good. Nonetheless, I suddenly felt compelled to point out degreasing the kitchen would probably cost more than breakfast at the 'Hilltop,' and that got me thrown to the floor, sat on and fed strips of bacon, one at a time until I apologized for being ungrateful. With Jake around, it was impossible to get lost in a blue funk for very long.

I tried to forget about my love's disappearing act, but I couldn't put it entirely behind me. It still preyed on my mind and one day as I stripped for a shower I just stood looking at myself in the mirror. This was the second time I'd been shot down in a like number of years, and I couldn't figure out why. It wasn't the lack of sex that bothered me, of course I missed it, but what I really wanted was a commitment from someone willing to share my life, not a series of easily available one night stands. I'd all ready been through that and the thought of spending my entire life that way depressed me. I wanted the real thing. I saw how Bob and Martha interwove their lives to produce a happiness greater than either one ever experienced alone and I wanted my own version of that love song. Instead, I kept getting variations on a theme by Carla and Jake.

I stared in the mirror trying to figure out what it was about me that drove my lovers away. I realized I wasn't all that handsome, my nose was bent, an ever present reminder of dad and his drunken rages. I thought it gave me a slightly sinister look. I didn't like my ears at all, they seemed too big. And then there was that crazy hair; a wild blond mop with a mind of it's own, and no easier to comb today than it was when I was a kid. My best features seemed to be a nice smile and a pair of blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes and darker eyebrows.

I tried flashing a grin at myself, lifting an eyebrow to add a devilish, debonair look and studied the effect. Not too bad. I was six feet tall, a hundred eighty pounds, wide shouldered and smoothly muscled. The mirror reflected a healthy, clean limbed body that came extremely well equipped. Perhaps I wasn't as handsome or as muscular as Jake, but I sure wasn't the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Maybe I was boring. Sure, my friends indicated differently, back in Eagle Rock, party invitations abounded, but at those parties, everything abounded. Still, the more I thought on it, the less likely it seemed. I was accused of being a boring person, perhaps a little snide at times, but never boring. So, what the hell was it about me that made my lovers vanish without explanation? I threw my hands in the air, grabbed a washcloth and started for the shower,--- and then saw Jake. He stood watching me through the open door and I guess he must have seen me go through the whole routine because he had an odd look on his face.

"Just having one of my yearly fits." I said with a laugh, trying to cover my embarrassment. Then I wondered why the hell should I feel embarrassed? It wasn't as though he could read my mind and we'd both seen men pose in front of mirrors before. It's just something the average guy does from time to time. Over the next few days, I had the notion Jake wanted to talk about something, but he couldn't seem to spit it out. He'd sit down, start groping for words and suddenly we'd be yakking about the weather or football scores. I thought it might be more about Carla. Maybe now that she was gone, he missed her. I hoped I was wrong, but if he needed to talk, naturally I'd listen. It's one of the things I do best.

Jake's stammering convinced me that whatever was bothering him, was at that moment, just too personal to talk about. Friends can share many things, but there is, after all, a limit. We protect ourselves by first trying to find out how the other person thinks before revealing too much. It's sad really, we spend our whole lives searching for the kind of people we can share everything with and then end up being too self conscious to unveil ourselves. I have my own secrets of course and I'm extremely careful not to let them ruin my friendship with Jake or with Bob and Martha, but are my secrets any darker than theirs? None of us will ever know. Friendship is based on mutual respect and like them, I won't jeopardize that by unloading every last detail of my life on my friends.

The saddest thing about that whole scenario is, there is probably nothing those three could tell me would ever disrupt our friendship and possibly the reverse is true, but I don't know that for sure and neither do they. About a week later, Jake received a letter from Carla's lawyer concerning alimony. He got a bit hot under the collar. He spat nails for a few days and when our time off came around, he packed a bag and went down to L.A. for a face to face talk with the man. I spent those two days painting the house in exchange for a month's free rent.

It was something we intended to do earlier, but couldn't get to it because the winds kept blowing the sand around. By the second afternoon the final coat was on. I showered, took a long nap and was just about to go out for a late dinner when Jake came home. Jauntily he walked in and before saying a word, did the one thing he always did right after I'd spent an hour slicking down my hair. He mussed it up again.

"Jesus, Jake!" Bitching loudly, I ducked away from his hand, dug out a flimsy pocket comb and tried to repair the damage.

"Aw, come on, Ted, leave it alone. You don't look natural with it all pointing in the same direction. You look fine just the way you are."

"Thanks a lot! Who the hell made you my fashion counselor?" I retorted, wincing at each new tangle in that unruly mop. I could see he was in a better mood than when he left, a big grin now lay on his face.

"How did it go?' I asked, "Is Carla still demanding alimony?"

"Nope! She keeps the furniture, I keep the bills, plus I'll pay for the divorce, but that's it. All it took was a little threat of a counter suit to stop it. She was so disinterested in the proceedings that I'm not sure the alimony thing was even her idea. However, I do believe she's presently diddling her lawyer because when I started reeling off names he turned a tad green. I'll never understand why she's the way she is, but I do know one thing. She could be a millionaire if she'd just get her act together."

The comb made tearing sounds as I worked it through my hair, and suddenly, Jake grabbed it out of my hand.

"Will you quit that, it drives me crazy!" He tossed the comb in the general direction of the bathroom, and then went about the business of unpacking his bag. We talked a bit more about his two day trip. He seemed in high spirits as he told me that on the way back, he bumped into Adam and they spent an hour looking at used cars. Evidently the 'Adam Bomb' finally blew up.

"No more junkers for Adam. He picked out a sharp '68 Caddie and told me to tell you from now on not to speak to him unless he speaks first." We laughed, and then Jake absolutely dumbfounded me by casually mentioning he had also saw Andy shopping for a car.

"Where do you know Andy from?" I asked in dismay.

"I don't know him, but in that jumble of crap you have stuffed around your dresser mirror, I believe you have a picture of him. I also seem to recall a few months back, he picked you up after work and you mentioned his name."

Of course! Andy borrowed my car to run some errands while his piece of junk lay dead in the driveway. I worked on that old heap one whole weekend getting it running again and then loaned him enough to have the valves ground. What the hell was he doing looking at cars? The last I heard, he couldn't even afford to pay me back! How long had he been in town, I wondered, and why didn't he call? I was pissed off, hurt and probably looked it, but God I hated being used.

"Well," Jake said quietly, "It seems we've both had our problems in the love department, doesn't it?"

My stomach hit the floor somewhere in the vicinity of my shoes.

"What do you mean by that?" I demanded. Jake smiled, "Oh, come off it, Ted, I know he's more than a friend!"

Stunned, there was no denial adequate. Jake wasn't fishing around, he KNEW, I could hear it in his voice. But how did he find out? My mind raced in circles. Had I said something, perhaps made some stupid comment that lead him to this? NO! My skill at hiding runs so deep it's ingrained now. Even Bob has never guessed and we've been friends for years. Someone must have seen me with Andy, someone who knew about him. Visions of being thrown off the force flashed before my eyes. Why, I'd be blacklisted from half the decent jobs in the country!

"Who's been talking about me? My God, have I become a piece of gossip?"

If word was out, it would spread through Mira Lida like wildfire! There was only one person I could think of who might nose around in my private life, Bull Davis! The little asshole who was always talking about kicking the snot out of queers. My fists clenched as I muttered his name and said,

"That fucker's in for a surprise." I spat out. Jake doubled over laughing.

"No one's talking, Ted,--- honest! I didn't find out myself until just recently, but Andy's picture is on your dresser mirror. I simply turned it over and saw what was written on the back."

Oh, My God! What the hell was the matter with me? Why didn't I take that down when Jake moved in? 'To Ted, the sexiest man alive: May you always remember our nights together.' I couldn't believe I'd forgotten that! How dumb can a person be? Jake glanced at my face and again laughed, while I
sat there stunned by my own dimwitted stupidity.

"I'm sorry, but this is first time I've ever seen you flustered. Don't worry, Pal, your secret's safe."

Then he chuckled again,

"You know, it just came to me. You must have drove Carla nuts. You're were probably the only guy at Mira Lida who wouldn't screw her!" That really broke him up. He threw his head back and laughed and laughed. My tension eased, Jake didn't act like someone about to rat on me, but why the fuck was he so happy? I was miserable. Nothing would ever be the same between us.

Could we now be just two guys horsing around and having a good time, or would Jake forever find some dark sexual meaning in everything I did? Damn! Damn! Damn! Well, I was out of the closet now, at least as far as he was concerned and once out you can't go back. My only hope left was Jake really could keep quiet. I had one less secret to hide and human nature being what it is, I figured soon I'd have one less friend as well.

It wouldn't be easy even if we could remain friends. From this moment on, any stranger Jake saw me talking to would automatically be deemed a faggot, whether he was or not. Why can't people just be people? Why must they be hung on one peg or another? I'd never shed a tear over my orientation before, but I could have sat down and cried over what that damn picture cost me.

As I watched Jake laugh I realized there was one last secret I could never tell him, simply because now he'd never believe it. I, too, wanted Carla, back when she first moved here and before the rumors started. It was her eyes, those gorgeous eyes that seemed to pierce your soul. No wonder Jake fell in love with her, I really think she could see inside you. She just didn't give a damn about what she found there. No, Jake, I never slept with Carla, but not for the reason you assumed. Oh, I wanted to and could have, but you and I were friends.

Jake's laughter did seem to clear the air and I found he really wasn't up tight about his discovery. If anything he seemed somewhat pleased and kept insisting I talk about it. Old habits die hard, yet when I did begin to speak, I let it all out. For once in my life someone was listening to my problems and it actually felt good. I told him how Andy disappeared one day, not breaking it off, but obviously with little or no interest in continuing and he just smiled. I don't think he understood Andy was to me what Carla was to him but I told him so.

"When it's over, Ted, it's over! Think about the future and don't get lost in the 'what might have been.' Isn't that the same thing you told me?"

Of course it was, but it's much easier to hand out that kind of homespun philosophy than it is to follow it. I must have looked pathetic because Jake flung his arms around me in a bear hug,

"Come on, Bucko, believe me, it's not the end of the world. I've never held any confidence in preordained fate," he added cryptically, "but maybe everything that happened this summer was for the best. Maybe, now, things will turn out right,--- the way they should've been in the first place ."

What did he mean by that, 'in the first place.' It surprised me he wasn't all ready acting standoffish. Perhaps our friendship was strong enough to withstand this revelation. I sincerely hoped so, and though I never intended to say it, I blurted out what was on my mind.

"Jake, please don't let this change anything between us. I'm sorry if it bothers you, I'm not just a regular guy, but I'm no different now than before you knew, and I,. . ."

He interrupted with a snort,

"Stop it, Teddy! Stop,--- right now! Quit talking like an idiot,--- God,--- I thought by now you knew me better than that! If it bothered me, I'd have packed up and gotten out without ever mentioning that damned picture or a word to you about it." Then grabbing my arm, he dragged me toward the door saying, "Come on,--- I'm starving,--- and if I'm not mistaken, it's your turn to buy!"

Still upset and feeling the need of a few extra minutes to compose myself, I dug out another comb and told Jake to take the long way to the restaurant so I could get squared away.

"I don't see one damn thing wrong with you," He replied warmly as he reached over and brushed my hair to the side, "and what's more, Ted, I never have'; but, if you want to put dinner off for a few more minutes, that's fine with me. You know,--- practically every guy who ever lived has had some homosexual experience in their boyhood, usually with a playmate or a friend and because of that, I've never figured out why later on some guys act like such total assholes toward gays. When I was thirteen or fourteen, Joey, a neighbor kid and I used to fool around a bit, then he moved away and I didn't see him again until last year.

He was enrolled at Cal State when I was there, but he'd become a completely different person than I remembered. One night after taking Carla home, I spotted him and a couple of other fellows standing on a street corner. Those turkeys were across from a gay bar yelling "Faggot" at the people who went in. I couldn't resist. Pulling up next to them, I walked over, put my arm around him and said, 'Hey, Joey, long time no see! How is every little thing, anyway?' and reached down and grabbed his crotch, 'Hum, just as big as ever! Now don't forget to call me this weekend, we'll have the whole house to ourselves. Bye, Bye now sweetie,' I said as I gave him a big wet smack on the cheek. It was over and done before Joey knew what hit him, but you should've seen the look on those other guys faces."

I was still laughing when we pulled into the parking lot and feeling considerably better. We arrived at the Hilltop much later than usual and well after the dinner hour, but as we started through the door I glanced to my left and stopped so fast Jake ran into me. I couldn't believe my eyes! There sat Andy in the corner booth with a guy I never saw before, a well dressed older man. For just a second I saw red and wanted to kill the bastard, not only for being with the guy, but for exposing my life to Jake. It quickly came to me, I could hardly blame him for my own stupidity and as far as the guy was concerned,--- well, no matter what Andy thought that day in Lancaster, I'm no fool.

I knew damn well he found someone else. This was merely conformation. Actually, I felt relieved. Now that it was plainly over I could stop thinking about him. It still made me mad he didn't have the guts to tell me, but then he probably intended to leave me dangling in reserve just in case things didn't work out down in L.A. He obviously didn't know about my change in duty schedule. The little sneak wouldn't have brought the man here at all if he thought there was any chance of me showing up.

"Well, speak of the devil," I said, "there's Andy, big as life."

Jake craned to see past me, then asked, "Don't tell me you still want him?"

I just shook my head.

"Okay,--- then maybe it's time to have a little fun at his expense. Just follow my lead." Jake gave me a shove that propelled me on through the doorway, then steered our steps to an end booth slightly to the rear of Andy's seat yet still within plain sight, but Andy was so intent on the guy in the pin stripes he never looked up. The man noticed us however and Jake began putting on a little show for him. Thank God it was late and the dinner crowd all ready gone. Luckily, there wasn't anyone on this side of the dining room but the four of us.

Jake began discovering nonexistent bits of lint clinging to me and started plucking them off with exaggerated movements, then, reaching over for a napkin he let his hand lay on top of mine for far too long to be just an accident. Everything he said was in a quiet yet highly emphasized voice accompanied by more than enough body language to hold the man's attention. After I got over the shock of hearing Jake speak that way, I, too, began to get into the swing of it and made sure there was no doubt left in the man's mind of what was going on.

After the waitress brought our coffee and salad, Andy noticed his friend watching something and looked back at us. He kind of blanched when he saw me, then glanced at my companion and did a double take. Jake was wearing a tight polo shirt, one that showed his biceps and broad chest to maximum effect. His arm lay casually draped over the back of the booth, his hand dangling down as he massaging my shoulder with his fingertips. He must have been keeping an eye on Andy because the second he looked our way, Jake pressed his leg firmly against mine and began rocking his foot from heel to toe, sending not only an obvious message to our watchers, but a tingling feeling throughout my entire body. Jake was damn good looking anyway, but when he smiled it was like turning on a searchlight, he was dazzling. I found it impossible not to respond to all that erotic attention. I'm sure the napkin in my lap didn't hide a thing. After awhile Jake ran his hand along the inside of my leg and on encountering my stiffness, didn't pull back or act upset in the least, instead, he whispered in my ear,

"Do the same." I reached down to rub his leg and found to my surprise he, too, was aroused. My hand lay there for a moment while I looked at him questioningly, but he just winked and flashed his dazzling grin. Before I could figure out what that meant, we had a visit from my former lover. Andy, who had sat there getting redder by the minute, jumped to his feet, stormed over and stuck his face about two inches from mine.

"So, this is how it is?" he hissed," Well, I'm not going to sit here and watch your sideshow. What the fuck do you think you're doing anyway?"

What followed would have made Dr. Jekyll's, Mr. Hyde, look like a wimp. Jake changed, going from a limp wristed effete to Attila the Hun in the blink of an eye. Reaching up, he grabbed Andy by the shirt front, nearly lifting him off the floor.

"Why don't you mind your own business, little boy." he growled in that truly menacing tone I'd heard him practice on the inmates so many times, "You stick your nose in where its not wanted and it'll get
broke. That's a promise. Now shove off!"

I never uttered a word, just sat there watching Andy backpedal while his red face drained to a rather satisfying shade of gray. Poor Andy, I almost felt sorry for him. When Jake let go, he scuttled backwards to his own table and began tugging at his new friend's arm.

"Come on, Leonard," he said shakily, "let's get out of here."

As they passed us, Jake leaned out and said, "Don't loan him any money, Leonard. You'll never get it back." and then began to laugh.

After they left, Jake slid around the booth to face me and we finished the main course with a bit more decorum, but I can truthfully say I didn't enjoy it half as much as the salad. Throughout the remainder of the meal I kept thinking about the petting incident, concluding at last, that Jake's arousal had just been part of the role he was playing. With Andy gone things cooled down enough for me to again shut off my natural responses to a man like Jake. It's a trick I've used for years, one developed during Army basic training and over the years that ability has saved me lots of grief.

Our talk skirted both Andy and my proclivity, yet those subjects seemed to hang over us like a cloud. I felt Jake was having second thoughts about our friendship. Sure, he could say it didn't matter, but the petting incident caused arousal and most guys are scared to death at the thought of being attracted to another man. As we left the restaurant he told the waitress a little joke and they both laughed heartily, but in the car, his voice took on a sharp, derisive edge as he said,

"Boy, you sure can pick 'em. What the hell did you ever see in that little weasel? Ted, you're a fool and a myopic one at that!"

My heart sank, but truthfully I was expecting this. The Argument. The thing needed for an excuse to pack up and move out. Well, if that's the way he wanted it, so be it. I took his remarks as an insult and flared back,

"Look whose talking! At least I didn't continue living with someone who was fucking half the men in L.A. county! Goddamn it, for six solid months all I heard was, Carla this and Carla that, until I was ready to strangle her just to shut you up. Not once did I ever call you a fool for getting mixed up with her. Besides, no one ask you to get involved tonight. I would have handled Andy in my own fashion and certainly gotten rid of him a lot faster than you did Carla. I don't understand you at all! One minute you put on an act that would send half of San Francisco to their knees and the next, you're in my face over someone you don't even know!"

"Well, well, well,--- testy, aren't we? So, you don't understand me, huh? I said you were near sighted fool, and you are! What the hell did you think was going on back there in the restaurant? Wake up, damn you! You slip off into your own little world and never notice what's happening right in front of you. Damn it, if I have to explain it then you're a lot dumber than I thought."

I guess I was a lot dumber than he thought. That news struck like a bolt of lightning. Even sitting there in the restaurant with my hand on his leg, I kept telling myself it was only part the game we were playing. Oh, it crossed my mind,--- briefly, but Jake was always such a straight arrow I never thought it possible.

"You mean,--- you,--- ?

We rode in silence for a few moments before he answered, "Yeah, me,--- and its got me tied up in knots. I've never felt this way about another guy,--- ever. Oh sure, Joey and I fooled around a bit, but we were just getting off, kids stuff. This is different."

"Jake,. . ."

I never expected this turn of events, but before I could think of anything to say, he stopped me.

"Please. Just listen. I've tried to tell you before,--- only,--- I couldn't until tonight. It was that picture of Andy. All this time I thought I was going crazy,--- all these feelings I couldn't tell you about,--- then, I read that inscription. Hell, I must have went over it a hundred times trying to figure out if it really meant what I thought it did, but I still wasn't sure until I saw Andy playing footsy with that guy at the car lot."

He lapsed into silence again and it was a moment before he glancing my way and smiled.

"You know, the first time I shook your hand it was like grabbing hold of an electric fence. I had the strangest feeling I knew you from someplace else, a sort of deja vu that made no sense at all. I knew I never met you before, yet that feeling stuck with me for days."

Jake slowed as he turned the car through the last corner before home, then sped up again,

"When I arrived at Mira Lida, a couple of guys warned me about you. They said you tried to punch out a former roommate and you were an uptight, ugly, bastard with a mean disposition. It was a day or two before Adam told me the real story, but from the moment I laid eyes on you I knew those guys were liars. They were either liars or didn't know the real truth. When I walked in that day, I thought I must be in the wrong place. My new roommate was supposed to be a dour, homely man and there you sat, smiling at me, one of the handsomest men I'd ever seen. Call it whatever you will, but a powerful attraction grabbed me then and its grown stronger ever since. I guess all these months I've been trying to get your undivided attention, but you were always so wrapped up in other things you never noticed."

Jake pulled into the drive and cut the engine. Not only what he said, but the implications of it, roared through my mind leaving me stunned and speechless. Jake talked as though this had been going on all the time he was living with Carla. My God, did Carla know? Was her interest in me just a way of getting back at him? I had the feeling I'd been played for a fool. I knew the one final step in my attraction for Carla would forever ruin my friendship with Jake, but I never considered this possibility, not in a million years.

How could this have happened without me knowing? Normally I have a sixth sense about such things, but somehow my internal, never failing radar missed this completely and like always, I simply buried any sexual attraction I felt for him. Jake called me myopic, only I must have been blind as a bat. Lost in those thoughts, Jake misconstrued my long silence as rejection and as I started through the doorway he grabbed my arm.

"Say something, damn it! I've bared my Goddamn soul to you. Don't try to tell me you don't feel the same. What about tonight, you couldn't hide from it, could you?"

"I'm still in shock. Of course I'm attracted to you. Jesus Christ man, I'm gay and you're a great looking man, but I wouldn't last long at any job if I didn't have the ability to turn it off. Besides, I've never considered getting involved with anyone I worked with."

The moment it passed my lips, I knew Jake would take it wrong and he reacted to those words as though they were a slap in the face. He stood looking at me with same disbelief as if I had just stabbed him.

"Sure, sure, you can just turn it off! Or maybe you're still mooning over Andy. Is that it? You really do want that little weasel, don't you? God damn it, what about me? WHAT ABOUT ME? LOOK ME IN THE FACE,--- IN MY EYES AND TELL ME YOU DON'T LOVE ME!"

He pushed us inside, kicking the door shut behind him, then kept shoving me backwards until I tripped over the couch. As I fell he grabbed my shirt front only to have it rip apart. Jake stood there holding the ragged remains as tears welled in his eyes.

"What about me?" he began to cry, . . ."Teddy,--- I, --- I can't turn it off."

Climbing to my feet I put arms around my dearest friend.

"Oh, God, Jake,--- forgive me,--- I didn't mean it the way it sounded. You're my best friend and I guess I just couldn't visualize anything beyond that. I'm sorry I didn't see this coming, but I'm not sorry it has, not sorry in the least."

That's what I told him, but it was a lie. I was sorry, I was sick at heart. I didn't want to lose Jake, but it seemed to me that fate was conspiring to end our friendship one way or another. My success in sexual relationships had been lousy so far and I could just picture this turning into another wasteland. At that moment I would've given anything to reverse the clock and put things back the way they were, but you can't go backward in life, only forward.

I think Jake was having some of the same doubts. Nothing really happened for several days, except now there was this tension between us that hadn't been there before. He avoided touching me. No more was he the hale fellow with an arm around my shoulder, yet if he accidentally brushed against me, a sort of tingling started that spread until the hair on my arms stood on end. With Jake's declaration everything changed. Now I couldn't look at him without wondering what it would be like; yet, I couldn't bring myself to make an overture. All I could think of was what I had to lose. It was almost unbearable. Unresolved by words or actions, the tension grew as thick as L.A. smog. We couldn't go back, I couldn't seem to go forward and Jake was waiting for me to make the first move.

The impasse finally came to an end the night Jake awoke me by slipping into my bed. He lay there on the outermost edge rigidly tense, shivering slightly. I could detect the sweet muskiness of nervous perspiration and as I turned toward him he whispered,

"I can't stand it anymore, Teddy. Please,--- just touch me,--- please."

In a moment he was in my arms, but as I began testing these new waters, he said shakily,

"I don't know if I can do it, what you expect of me."

"We're 'doing it' now, Jake." I whispered, pulling him closer, "There aren't any requirements, if it feels right, it's right, and if not, it's not. Relax, I promise nothing bad will happen."

I nuzzled his face and suddenly he pressed his mouth to mine sharing with me the intensity of his feelings with deep, heart stopping kiss and passion began to grow of its own accord. From the moment we met I knew he was beautiful, but his was an unattainable beauty, one only to be admired. Now he was in my arms and I was fairly stunned by it. The hard, muscled weight of him as he lay against me, the thick curly hair of his chest seemed so warm and silky as I combed it through my fingers. That masculine scent of his now stronger in arousal. My worries evaporated. I went completely into melt down with only one thought left in my mind; to make this a night we'd both remember.

He lay atop me as we kissed my hands exploring his broad back, learning as a blind man would of the war wounds he'd suffered several years before and in my mind's eye I saw him as the very image of a scrap of verse I once read;

An old scar along his side,
a broken rib healed juttingly.
Hard muscle cloaked in tender skin,
the whole of him the symmetry of love
and hate, of war and peace, mapped for all
to see. God's handiwork and man's, wrought in
discordant harmony

The verse circled in my mind as I lay bemused by the instant now at hand. I had been here before, many times, but never with the sheer intensity this moment held for me. Not in my wildest fantasies nor sweetest dreams had I expected this. My best friend was now my lover and I wanted to absorb him, his very essence, his soul, directly through the pores of my skin.

I slid my fingers between us at the hips reaching for his mighty hardness as it lay against mine and he raised himself allowing them to enter. Slowly, we changed positions and I lay across his body lightly stroking while my free hand roamed through that wealth of silky body hair, feeling his skin quiver in response to my merest touch. Gradually I let those strokes become firmer and faster, bringing him to the verge of bursting before stopping. Jake clutch at me like a drowning man. Pulling me to him in a tight embrace, him sobbing,

"Oh, Teddy, Teddy."

The intensity of his emotions overwhelmed me. I kissed his chest, tonguing nipples until he moaned, then worked my way downward to his stomach. There I lingering to nibble at those sensitive spots on either side before I finally teased my way to that beading hardness. He was beautiful in every way, absolutely gorgeous and as I took him in he cried,

"Oh, God,--- Teddy,--- yes,. . .yes,. . . no one has ever,. . ."

And it was wonderful to hear his moans of ecstasy, to feel him arch his back with each sweet explosion. To learn the taste of him and know I gave him something he never had before. (How stupid of you Carla, how shortsighted to have missed this. Did you never love him?)

Afterward he cried, his arms about me, tears dampening my chest until he fell asleep. Jake might not understand the ways of love, the things I needed, but for now, this was enough. More than that I realized, that if Jake truly cared then this would always be enough. I drifted into sleep only to have a troubling dream of my own first experience with a man. I was in the Army barely seventeen and his
name was Sergeant Charlie Bailey.

A few weeks into Basic Training, we were given a three day pass over a holiday weekend and while many in the company scattered for their homes, I spent those days roaming about the nearby town of Manhattan, Kansas. One evening I was playing pinball at a recreation center when, decked out in civvies, Sarge came up and challenged me to a game of pool. I was flattered, as any young recruit would be. At camp, Bailey was the kind of drill sergeant you see in movies, the 'in your face' type, unwilling to overlook the slightest error; yet, away from the base, here he was, suddenly, my friend, teaching me the game, leaning over to help me line up shots. I was too naive to realize the incongruity of his actions until he leaned full against me, letting me feel his arousal through the thinness of his slacks. Nearly paralyzed, my mind roared with that sudden knowledge and my eyes seemed blinded by it. When I flubbed the next shot he smiled charmingly, then, rubbing a callused hand on the nape of my neck, he said,

"Let's go, Gibby, I've had enough of this game." I followed willingly, eagerly, his touch electrified my very being. I guess I've always known I was gay or at least different from other people. My grandmother saw it in me when I was just a boy and did all in her power to make me comfortable with the fact. That dear, wise old woman told me never to despair over being different because I would someday meet someone like myself, a soul mate to share my life with and I believed her. Yes, I've always known, but it was Sarge who brought it undeniably to the forefront of my mind.

He was raunchy in the way he talked. Body parts and acts called by their lowest vulgar names, yet those rough words were couched in humor and there was a surprising gentleness about him. We showered together, his arousal and mine, pressed between us as those large, hard hands roamed my body. The heat of it, the flush of all consuming passion soon had me doing everything he asked. He brought me to the verge of climax, then stood, and when he press downward on my shoulders I willing complied. Sarge was a huge man with appetites to match and that night he taught me how to satisfy them all.

I knew he'd been drinking, the Sen-Sen couldn't hide it and at his apartment he continued until passing out. I should have left then, but I was too green to understand the kind of man Sarge really was. To me, this was the start of a loving relationship, the one my grandmother so often spoke of. He awoke the next morning to find me still in his bed and demanded to know what I was doing there. At first I thought he was joking. I told him how wonderful he was, then reached down to touch that great interest of the night before. Slapping my hand away, he snatched up a gun and pinned me to the bed with the icy barrel jammed against my forehead,

"IT'S A LIE," he shouted, "It never happened, SAY IT NEVER HAPPENED!"

I awoke with a start to find no gun against my head, no raving, red faced maniac threatening death under a harsh Kansas sun. This was my familiar room, bathed in moonlight and with Jake's handsome sleeping face outlined by it as he lay quietly beside me. Was this an omen of things to come? With the heat of the moment past, would Jake also hate me as Charlie had? I shuddered at the thought. The rest of basic training was a living hell. For two long miserable months, whenever Sarge was drunk he became my red hot, raunchy lover, and whenever sober, my implacable enemy. Fretful as I was, sleep finally came once more, but this time more comfortable dreams. This time came sweet remembrances of warm summer days, of swimming and fishing along the Grand, the old, mud brown river of my childhood.

I shouldn't have worried about Jake. In the morning he was even more responsive than the night before. I awoke with his arm about me, his hand slowly sliding over the contours of my chest, fingers gently probing from my navel downward, until they at last arrived at their destination.

"Let me show you what Joey and I used to do." he said, as he shifted me around so I lay atop his body. I could feel his hardness pressing against my back, his breath warmly brushing my ear. Once more Jake's hands began exploring, brushing nipples, massaging the muscles of chest and stomach, investigating with gentle thoroughness. Then, suddenly his left arm clamped me tight against him and his right hand grasped my hardness. He began with slow firm strokes, gradually letting it build until I was about to come, then he quit and slowly start again. By the time he finally let me climax, I was almost sobbing, begging him not to stop, my hips thrusting out against his hand and he came the same time I did. The warmth of it spread between us, across his stomach and up my back and I was drenched on both sides. Then, suddenly he was on top of me blending our semen into a single silky coating as we kissed. And, I thought he didn't know the ways of love!

We went to work that morning as though nothing was different, but I had the devils own time keeping my eyes off him. It's funny, but all those months we stretched fence out on the mountainside together, tossing a football on our lunch break or shared a Coke, Jake never made my blood race. To say I never fantasized about him would be a lie, naturally I had. He wore tight jeans and those sexy sawed off sweatshirts. I admired his body, but he was unattainable so I just shut it off. Oh, a few times when he ask me to put suntan lotion to his back, I got a bit warm around the edges, but that was all. Now just to look at him was good for a hard on. It was a problem I was going to have to face, (no pun intended) and I had better learn to cope, and quickly.

What truly amazed me was Jake never looked back. There was no waffling in his decision. He never tried to blame me for making him gay nor got angry, depressed or went through any of the mental contortions the newly emerged sometimes experience. He just accepted it. Later, I ask him why he was so calm about it all.

"Calm?" he exclaimed, "Christ, I nearly blew a gasket!"

"No, I mean now. Not everyone takes it so easy when they find out about themselves."

"Oh, that! Well,--- when I found you were gay, it made it okay for me to be. Don't ask me to explain it, I can't, but it figures that I must have always been gay, or bisexual and never realized it. Otherwise, I couldn't feel this way about you." he laughed self-consciously, "Maybe that's the reason I liked playing football so much, but I can honestly say, none of those guys ever turned me on. With you it's different. It's what I was talking about when I mentioned fate. I think some things are meant to be. Not you and Andy or me and Carla, but you and me. Don't you feel it? It's just the way it should be!"

I couldn't quibble with that. These last few days were the happiest of my life; still, I had to know about Carla and whether or not I had contributed to that break up.

"No, it was all ready over even before I came up here. We fought all the time. It got so bad I dreaded going home nights. When I came to Mira Lida I finally met someone I enjoyed being with and you soon became far more important to me than Carla. I told myself I didn't know what was happening, but I was lying, I was frightened by those feelings and yet they kept growing until I couldn't deny them any longer. The worst part about it was I never really knew how you felt about me. It was awful, all that frustration and uncertainty yet I didn't dare say a word."

He took my hand and with a finger tip started tracing out the lines of my palm and when he looked up I saw tears in his eyes,

"When you moved out of Mira Lida I was sure you had a girlfriend and that nearly killed me. I couldn't stand the thought of anyone being more important to you than me. I was going crazy trying to get some response from you, but you were so laid back you never seemed to notice. Then, one day you got into my face about the booze and I realized you really did care. All of a sudden it came to me I'd been doing everything wrong by talking about Carla all the time as though she still mattered when I was really just using her as an excuse to spend more time with you. I know that sounds crazy, but I was so screwed up I couldn't think straight. I even lied about there being no empty bunks at the facility and at first, sleeping on the couch was enough. Then I started dreaming I was a kid again, doing what Joey and I used to do, it would get all mixed up with stringing fence, flying planes and you were always Joey! What I'm trying to say is I'm pretty sure I love you, Teddy. I've gone through hell getting here, so please don't ever try to walk out on me. I'd have to break your fucking legs."

His last words were not the most endearing I'd ever heard, just the most honest and heartfelt and they made me feel like crying. Before, I'd always been the patsy in my relationships, bleeding every time someone put me through the mill. No More! This time we were equals and I told him so, right from the heart. Embracing him, I said,

"You couldn't chase me off with a stick. All I've ever wanted was someone who cared enough to stay. I think we both know it couldn't last without friendship, so, Hell, man, we've got it made! No, you don't have to worry, I'll never leave and I'll never look at anyone else. You have my word on it. I'm betting everything I've got on you, so just remember that, my sweet friend, because you'll never get away from me!"

I believe it was then Jake realized I wasn't toying with him; I wasn't about to drop him for the next hot body that came along. All the things he'd been hesitant about doing came at me in a rush and he became the lover most people only dream about. Our kisses sparked a burning passion that consumed us and the afterglow left us wrapped in each others arms for hours. Sleep, when it finally did arrive, became so abidingly peaceful it could only be compared to the perfect dreamless comfort infants know. It was Joy. I might watch him read, or polish his shoes, or some inconsequential thing, and feel joy at simply being with him.

Nothing changed, yet everything was different. I was love struck. I don't know if it hit Jake as hard as me, but I think so. Surprisingly though, he handled it better. I'd been through something like this a few times before; although, at many magnitudes below the feelings I held for Jake, but that didn't seem to help at all. This time I lost my wits. I had to stop daydreaming. Lt. Anderson signed another reprimand and again it was deadly serious. I goofed up the knife count in the kitchen and an inmate suffered for it. He wasn't cut up bad, but it was my fault.

"What the hell's the matter with you, Gibson? You walk around like you got your head up your ass! You were doing great, had the best evaluation reports I've ever seen on a young officer, now there's been an attempted escape, and a knifing, all in the last thirty days and both of them attributable to your lack of attention! You better get your shit together, Mister, because one more fuck up and you're out of here!"

Jake picked up a reprimand himself, but as a tower guard it was for some minor thing so it didn't count that much. I was about to lose it all. Worse than the reprimand was the realization I all ready lost every shred of self control as far as Jake was concerned. At work it vanished each time we spoke and only by the greatest act of will power did I keep my hands to myself. Just a glimpse of Jake and I could taste his kisses or feel his hands, and my body reacted to those visions by losing all sense of propriety. It was as hellish as it was heavenly and it would soon end my career with the Sheriff's Department if I didn't get a handle on it. The fact that Jake was also having trouble with self control didn't help matters. His sly touch or stolen nuzzle always left me in a fog for the rest of the shift. I knew what had to be done and I knew Jake wouldn't like the idea.

"Leave Mira Lida? Why?" he asked, as we got ready for bed.

"Because, if I don't, I'll end up getting fired. Either I'll keep screwing up or someone will figure out what's going on. You have no idea what it's like for me. Every time I see you walking across the compound or sitting up in the guard post, my mind goes blank and I get a hard on. It damn near drives me crazy! I just can't work with you Jake,--- not like this. Maybe someday, but right now I've got to get away or I've had it as far as the Department is concerned! I'm going to ask for a transfer to the juvenile camp. It's only thirty miles, just an extra half hour drive and I can probably keep the same shift. Anderson is so pissed off at me I'm sure he'll go for it."

Jake knew how serious it was. I suppose he also worried about being discovered, but he never spoke of it. That night he simply said,

"Okay, but you're wrong about one thing. I know exactly what it's like. What do you suppose I think about all day up in the guard post?"

A few days later, I was on the Angeles Crest Highway guarding kids. At Mira Lida my attention span was shorter than a gerbil's, now it was back close to normal and I didn't have to cover a bulge all the time. Things settled down at work and at home they got better every day as Jake and I learned more about each other. I didn't like the drive all that much, but the change in locale made making a living compatible with being in love with Jake.

By the time we worked together again we'd gotten over the craziness of those first few months and discovered our life together was more than just passion. It included all the things we had before as friends with an added new depth. We were now making plans for a future that included each other. It was everything I dreamed it would be, what I always searched for and I hoarded that happiness like a miser. I never introduced Jake to any of my gay acquaintances but we continued seeing our straight friends as if nothing changed. I think some may have figured out we were now more than just pals. Bob once hinted at it when he saw us playing grab ass on the beach, but he and I used to do the same and it never meant a thing.

Bob and I spent more than two years together in the army and during the time he was learning about girls, I was learning about being gay. For some reason that didn't interfere with our friendship. I just kept my little excursions secret and even tried girls myself whenever he and I went on pass. We mustered out together and I stayed at his parents home until finding my first job. Two years later I was best man at his wedding.

I think Bob was a bit jealous of Jake; perhaps, because he thought he'd been displaced as my best friend and of course he was right. We lost that enviably spot in each others lives. I still loved Bob more than anyone I've ever known except for Jake. Bob was the brother I never had and in knowing him I learned what true friendship was. He was the one I could always depend on and without a thought, someone I would gladly risk my life for.

The fact that I felt exactly the same about Jake convinced me we had a far better chance of remaining lovers than any other gay couple I knew. The saddest thing I could think of would be to end up bringing strangers home to add a little excitement to our lives; yet, that goes on with gay couples all the time. I resolved it wouldn't happen to us. I never took Jake to the clubs or to parties. I dropped that from my life and never looked back. Was I afraid of losing him? Maybe, but I remembered how long it took me to understand the facts of gay life as found in those places.

The erotica, the flash of excitement one can get from instant sex and the complete shallowness of it all. Jake would never be exposed to that if I could help it and I wished now I never knew it myself. How nice it would be to have found each other first without all the in between stuff that happened to us. Yet, even as I wished it, I knew how unrealistic it was. Could I truly understand how precious love was, if I hadn't suffered for the lack of it?

When we finally did work together again, we were assigned patrol car duty cruising the desert roads at night. We tried to be model cops, checking out the donut shops, guzzling coffee and handing out speeding tickets, but on a quiet night, we might find ourselves parked on some back road making plans about where to spend our vacation or deciding if we should invest in a house. Or sometimes, just fooling around a bit if the urge struck us. I'm sure we had one of the lowest citation rates of any unit out of Mira Lida, but I'll bet we had the most fun.

We might still be on the force if that crazy kid hadn't came down the road at ninety with his lights off. When he hit us, his car rolled and flipped for nearly a sixty yards across the desert, but the boy was barely hurt. Somewhere along that wild ride the kid was thrown clear and so high on LSD I think he just floated to the ground. But it cost us our jobs just the same. All because his family was wealthy and prominent and their little boy could do no wrong.

That was more than twenty years ago and Jake and I are still together. Oh, we've had our arguments but none so serious we couldn't resolve them. We've been through some strange times, he and I. We worked as bouncers in a biker bar while I finished my degree in business and because of that, my nose is now bent even more than when we met. Jake went back to school and I worked road construction for a time, coming home some nights to find a Devil on my doorstep.

Once we had a wife who we're still fond of but no longer lives with us. Annie gave us two children and those kids have made our life complete. They visit each summer and call both of us father, but don't ask which one belongs to me or Jake because to us it doesn't matter. In all these years Jake is the only one I've ever wanted. He would sometimes eye a pretty girl appreciating her beauty, but he never chased around. Men have propositioned both of us, but we just pass it off. Now, these last three years, Jake no longer remembers what it was we once had, he just knows I'm his friend. When we started out together I told him lovers can't stay lovers without friendship, but then, isn't friendship just another form of love?

* * * * * * *

Notes to myself:

Jake reads as I write, waiting impatiently until I can print out each page, and then pores over it. Every morning he rereads it all from the beginning and as the pages accumulate it takes him longer each day. Finally I finished the last of my narrative on how we met while he was still rereading and as I handed it to him, I realized how quiet he was these last few days. He is intensely engrossed in these pages, not flitting about from one thing to the next and his attention span seems to have magically increased from minutes to hours. I left him sitting there reading while I prepared some lunch, enjoying the quiet comfort of the house now half buried in snow.

Rancho Soledad is elegant in it's simplicity, comfortable beyond all expectation and the solitude is exactly what Jake and I needed. It's so relaxing here. No phones to answer, no meetings to attend, and without a single clock to run our days. We hibernate like bears, sometimes sleeping until nearly noon. This evening we might play a game of checkers or cards and I find myself looking forward to it as a most enjoyable way to waste an hour or two. At first, I thought we'd soon be bored, cut off from the world as we are, but I haven't found it so. Jake loves this place. It's wonderful to see him so happy and I realize he wasn't at all happy back in LA.

I took a break from writing and lounged around feeling lazy and content, then after a few games of checkers in which Jake beat me rather soundly, we went to bed. All day I noticed something different about him. He had an attentiveness towards me I hadn't seen since the shooting and it developed into something more. Jake always liked to snuggle, but this was different. This was fondling, caresses, the little tender things I've missed about Jake these last three years, and when I got all emotional and teary eyed about it he seemed to understand.

At breakfast, more surprises awaited. He reached across the table, took my hand and began speaking about a vacation we once took years ago when we were still with the Department. I listened in wonderment as Jake reminisced about slice of our past life together I couldn't recall ever speaking of. It was a moment before it hit me, and then I could hardly believe it. This was truly Jake who sat before me, not the childish Jake, but the man he once was.

* * * * * * *

Memories of Things Past

Several months before losing our jobs with the Department, we took a three day weekend trip to Santa Barbara. I was never there before but Jake knew the city well and selected a modest but comfortable motel facing the beach. That night, we attended a free outdoor concert in the park. It was a showcase for new talent and we were awestruck by the ability of one young singer, a blond beauty whose voice could soar to the heights with bell like clarity, then drop to the low notes with just a touch of sweet huskiness. I never saw a standing ovation at a free concert before, but the audience wouldn't let her go. We all knew we were watching a rising star. I don't even remember what she sang, possibly a medley of old standards, I just remember her voice and the fact the girl gave each tune a new and fresh interpretation.

The next day we were at a place called Hendry's beach soaking up some sun, when a little boy wearing a man's Tee shirt came tearing along, tangled his feet in the hem and fell headlong on top of us. He was carrying a plastic pail half full of sand and it sprayed all over us adding a nice coating of grit to our freshly applied suntan lotion. Jake laughed and grabbed the little fellow's ankle to keeping him from running off. As we stood up, he hoisted the boy to his shoulder and we began looking around for his parents. From down the beach, we heard a woman scream,

"DAN, WHERE'S THE BABY?" We headed for the uproar.

"Lose something?" Jake asked as he swung the child down into the panicked woman's arms. It was the same girl we saw at the concert and I couldn't help but notice she was even more lovely close up. Jake stood watching her as she held her son. She was scolding the boy in the way a worried parent does when two men came running up from the surf where they'd been searching. The younger man, her husband, thanked us profusely, but as Jake continued watching the girl he soon began to bristle. I could almost read his mind. 'Don't even think about it!' he seemed to say as he picked up his son and slipped an arm around his wife. Jake noticed the look and smiled,

"You have a beautiful family my friend,--- but then,--- I don't need to tell you that, do I?" I watched the man's face soften as we retreated to our own spot on the sand.

* * * * * * *

Notes:

As he told the story, I recalled the details instant by instant, as though watching a film once seen long ago. With the memory of that encounter, I thought Jake made a total breakthrough, only he faded away again. Subconsciously, he's making the exact same connections I have and it brought him back, if only for a short while.

I have no proof, but I am absolutely sure it was Sara, Dan, Lonnie and Philip Harris we met on the beach that day. I might not have even remembered the encounter except for the look in Jake's eyes. That was no bold ogle of a pretty woman, what I saw was pure envy as though he was seeing a family that very well could have been his. That look worried me for years afterwards and it wasn't until he had a child of his own I put it aside. That flash of remembrance gives me motivation. It is Jake's interest in the journal that loosened that memory. I threw myself back into writing, working feverishly toward what I hope will be Jake's complete reawakening.

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