Chapter 25

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Julian drove slowly to the party the next evening, following the directions given by the smooth female voice on his GPS. They were late in leaving. Tate had dawdled, taking much time to get ready. Julian wondered if he was doing this on purpose.

Now Tate was quiet and sat with a hand on Julian’s thigh. They hadn’t said much about the party the previous day. They spent that night wrapped in each other’s arms making love, so the party wasn’t mentioned then either. Tate seemed distracted Sunday morning. Julian’s enquiries as to what Tate was thinking were dismissed with a smile and the declaration that all was well. They spent the afternoon watching a football game on TV.

Julian had hoped the weather would come to the rescue and the party would be cancelled. But much to his disappointment, Sunday turned out to be one of the sunniest and hottest days of the summer—the very weather the usually inept forecasters had predicted. It was just the kind of day that a dip in the pool would be very refreshing. Why did they pick today to be accurate? Julian thought.

As they were eating supper, Tate brought up the subject. “Are you going to wear a Speedo?” He wasn’t looking at Julian.

“Huh, no way,” Julian grunted.

Tate looked up. He seemed relieved. “Good. I won’t, either.”

This was the first indication that Tate might be having second thoughts about going to the party.

“Tate, we don’t have to go.”

“No, I need to do this. I need to face who I am and…” he glanced down. Julian knew he was looking at the stump of his severed leg. “…what I am.”

Julian felt there were more practical ways for Tate to face his being gay and his handicap than this party, which could turn out to be a baptism by fire. As for his leg, well, with a body like his, and his handsome face, Julian had no doubt that most of those in attendance would be oblivious to the fact Tate was missing half a leg.

That was the last mention either had made about the party, except for Tate’s saying, “You’d look great in a Speedo, you know.”

Julian chuckled, but shook his head. “For your eyes only,” he said.

Julian was brought back to the present when the GPS announced, “Reaching destination in two-tenths of a mile, on right.”

Julian felt the grip on his leg tighten. He covered Tate’s hand with his.

They pulled into a driveway. Julian turned off the ignition. The sounds of music and laughter from the rear of the house told him his GPS had done its job. He looked over at Tate. The young man was staring straight ahead, jaw set, rubbing his leg. Tate was wearing Bermuda shorts and a tank top. He had on his prosthesis.

Julian again started to say that they didn’t have to go, when a thought crossed his mind. What if Tate enjoys himself, finds all of this fun and exciting?

Up to this point Julian’s concern had been for Tate. He had worried the young man would panic, or have some sort of emotional relapse when confronted with a blatant display of, what Julian considered, the worst of gay culture.

Now he realized he and Tate would be walking back into the world he had fled when Virgil had embraced this seedier side of the lifestyle. What would he do if Tate was drawn into it, too?

For an instant Julian felt a powerful urge to start the car and drive away. However, it was dispelled when Tate’s resolute voice said, “Okay! It’s now or never.”

Tate opened the door and got out. Julian braced himself and got out, too. He reached into the back seat to grab the backpack that contained their swim trunks and towels.

As they walked up the brick walkway, the music and the laughter became louder. Tate took Julian’s hand. As they approached the front door, it swung open. Stephen was standing there, drink in hand. He was wearing a short lavender beach robe, open at the front, displaying his ample package enclosed in a shocking pink and purple paisley Speedo. Julian felt Tate’s hand tighten in his.

“Dah-ling! You’re late,” Stephen scolded, then gushed in his campiest gay accent. “You bad, bad boy. I was absolutely beginning to despair of your coming! Craig told me you’d be coming and bringing…” he paused and gave Tate a look of faked surprise, edged in total lust. “…this,” Stephen gave a hand gesture that took in all of Tate. “All is forgiven!” he said with a leering grin. Then he pulled the startled young man into a tight hug.