Chapter 35 Queen Sacrifice
Evan and Luke were the first GM members to arrive at the clubhouse. Matt greeted them with hugs.
“No one’s happy about this meeting,” Evan said. His eyebrows rippled expressively. “My guess is that everyone, but Paul, had plans for tonight. Luke and I were going to see that new Tarantino movie From Dusk ‘til Dawn.”
Luke pointed towards Evan. “Someone has a crush on George Clooney.”
“Not true,” Evan said. “I just like vampire movies.”
“Ask him if he saw Interview with the Vampire,” Luke said.
Matt laughed. “Well, Evan? Did you?”
Evan’s forehead scowled. His eyebrows danced.
Matt’s mind replayed the shape of Evan’s eyebrows as he’d pumped cum into Matt’s mouth.
Remembered the creamy goo that had coated his tongue.
Recalled that he was honor bound to bottom if/when they ever hooked up again.
Felt guilty as though he were betraying Adam by even remembering Evan’s eyebrows or his exquisitely curved cock.
“As far as tonight’s meeting goes,” Evan said, “everyone suspects you’re trying to stage a coup and take down William. I hope that isn’t the plan.”
Matt shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory of wrestling naked on the bed with Evan, each trying to mount the other. “I can assure you no power grab is in the cards. Look, this isn’t how I wanted things to shake out either. I spent two weeks trying to get William to call a meeting.”
It was true. They’d gone round-and-round in an endless loop.
William had demanded to know what the meeting was about.
Matt had refused to tell him because if William knew it had anything to do with Molly, he would have lost his shit.
Lots of “Why can’t you just trust me?” followed by “What are you hiding?” It was a Catch-22.
“I’m not sure invoking Rule 21(B) was the answer,” Evan said. “That’s the nuclear option. There’s a reason it’s never been done before.”
Rule 21(B) allowed any member to invoke a general meeting. It was obviously a mechanism to bypass an ineffective Godmother. Or a stubborn one, if the shoe fit.
“There are things I would rather be doing tonight as well,” Matt said. “But there’s important business we must discuss, and the clock is ticking.”
There were less than eight weeks until March 22nd, fifty-five days, in case anyone was counting.
Fifty-five fucking days, and now, because of Molly’s conditions, Matt had to get concessions from the GM, hence the meeting.
What else exactly was he supposed to have done when William refused to call this meeting on his own?
The “things” Matt would rather be doing that evening involved Adam. They had not seen each other since New Year’s Day—all because Adam’s dad was having problems coming to terms with “the gay thing,” and Adam was trying to respect that. Kept hoping that, with time, his dad would be accepting.
Matt had begun to despair.
Then, he had received a curious package in the mail that day.
Had taken it to his room and unwrapped it—unwrapped the outer package, that is.
Found a smaller box inside with a note on top written in Adam’s distinctive, looped cursive “You were in my dreams last night. Don’t open this until you’re alone in your room and I’m on the phone with you. ”
Matt’s cock had stood up like a bloodhound having caught a scent. Would have bayed if it had vocal cords.
He would call Adam as soon as this meeting ended.
Matt heard the clubhouse’s front door opening, others arriving, exchanging greetings. Heard William’s distinctive “dahling.”
“On another note,” Evan whispered. “Luke’s concerned that you haven’t shaken hands with him yet.”
Luke blushed and swatted Evan’s arm. “I asked you not to say anything!”
Matt tensed. This was the moment he’d been dreading ever since he’d made his promise to Adam. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve just been busy. There was the Debbie thing, then Christmas.”
Evan shook his head. “Your last handshake was mid-September, with Todd. There aren’t that many of us. People talk. Handshakes are how we bond. Besides, Luke isn’t the only one you’ve missed. There’s Harley, Kevin, and Paul, as well.”
Someone was in the kitchen. Matt heard the refrigerator open, heard a soda can pop and hiss.
“Dahling,” William’s voice drifted from the entry, apparently directed at the person in the kitchen, “if you’re making drinks, would you pour me a bourbon? I don’t know how I’ll ever survive tonight’s drama without some.”
“There’s not going to be any drama!” Matt called out. “Not from me, at least!” There might have been the slightest edge of exasperation in his voice.
“Well, in that case better make it a double,” William drawled.
Matt returned his attention to Evan and Luke and the neglected handshake. Surely they, of all the GM, would understand his dilemma. “I made a promise to Adam,” he whispered.
Evan shook his head. “That’s not how it works here. You know that.”
Luke put a calming hand on Evan’s arm, looked around to make sure no one was within earshot, then whispered to Matt. “I wouldn’t have survived here at MCU without the GM. They saved me. But, still, I sometimes wish they were a little more understanding when it comes to love.”
“I can’t change the rules,” Luke continued. “But I’ll buy you some time at least. I’ll tell everyone we hooked up while Evan was at his vampire movie. Get with me later so we can get our stories straight.”
Matt thanked him with a hug.
Matt saw Todd approaching, holding a Diet Coke. Paul was a few steps behind him, having finally recovered from the two weeks he’d spent with his family over Christmas break, two weeks of being called R2-D2. It had worn him down.
“What’s with the hugging?” Paul asked.
Luke grinned wolfishly. “Mustang and I are finally going to shake hands!”
Evan joined in. “Yeah, these two scheduled it for when I go see my vampire movie. As if they need that long! Unless Mustang’s stamina has significantly improved, they could shake hands during the movie’s previews, and Luke would still be able to join me in time for the opening credits.”
Matt laughed. Evan had delivered his zinger perfectly. More importantly, he was doing his bit to help Matt keep his promise to Adam.
William made a grand entrance. He carried a tumbler of bourbon in one hand, waved, with the other, to an imaginary adoring crowd. He nodded solemnly to Matt, then sank into the oversized chair. Tallulah Bankhead would be so proud.
Evan took a seat on the couch. Luke sat on the floor in front of him, cocooned between his knees.
Harley and Josh, the group’s other seniors, joined Evan on the couch, frowning, arms crossed.
The rest of the guys filed in, some dragging chairs from the dining area, some sitting on the floor.
So here they were, everyone crammed into the clubhouse’s living area, everything awkward, no one even on security detail because, hey, who wanted to miss the big Mustang-versus-William showdown?
William sipped his bourbon absently. Waited until all eyes were turned to him expectantly. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “This is Matthew’s circus.”
Matt took that as his cue to begin. “Hi guys,” he said, half-apologetically. “Thanks for coming tonight.”
Silence.
Matt forged ahead. “I know some of you think I’m making a power grab. I’m not.”
“That’s exactly what someone making a power grab would say,” said Kevin.
Matt smiled. “Fair enough. Can I ask that you give me the benefit of the doubt for now?”
“That’s also what someone making a power grab would say,” said Harley.
Matt realized his approach wasn’t working.
It was time to ‘Go big or go home.’ “Tell you what,” he said.
“There are nine of you here. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.
I’m going to ask you one question, and you can respond with a show of hands.
If even one of you raises his hand, we’ll adjourn this meeting, and you can enjoy your evening.
But if no one raises his hand, you have to at least listen to my plan. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough!” said Luke. He eased his head back, cat-like, apparently signaling for Evan to massage his scalp.
“Raise your hand if you believe that when our ceasefire with Colton Langley expires in May, he will leave us alone.” Matt said.
Nervous shuffling. Side glances from one guy to the other. Not a single hand went up.
William shrugged. “We’ll deal with that situation if and when it arises, dahling.”
“I know you will,” Matt said to William. “What I’m asking, though, is if you believe that situation will arise? You know Colton better than the rest of us. If you think he’ll leave us alone, please raise your hand. It will only take one hand, and we can all go home.”
William shrugged, then toasted Matt with his tumbler. “You’ve made your point, Matthew. Go ahead and tell us how you would handle things better.”
Matt looked around at the other members. None would meet his eye. This was the moment they expected him to make his move against William. That would never happen. William was his friend and mentor.
Matt shook his head in frustration. “This isn’t about you, William. And it isn’t about me. Everyone here needs to understand that. When we leave this clubhouse tonight, you will still be Godmother. The only question is whether the GM will have approved my plan.”
“Look guys,” he continued, now addressing the larger group, “up to now we’ve been playing small ball against Colton, which was probably the best strategy—all things considered.”
“What’s small ball?” asked Paul.
“I think it’s a sportsball term,” William said. “As opposed to a genital one, like ‘He’s been playing pocket pool with his small ball.’”
Several guys snickered.
“William’s right,” Matt said. “It’s a sports strategy. Think of baseball. Instead of going for homeruns, the team focuses on tiny victories, like advancing a player to second base, hoping the little things will add up to a win.”
“Small ball is a perfectly acceptable strategy,” Matt continued, “especially if the teams are evenly matched or while you’re waiting for the other team to get sloppy. When that happens—when the other team gets sloppy, you go for the kill.”
“And guess what happened?” Matt said. “Colton got sloppy!”
“How?” echoed from several voices around the room.
Matt counted off the reasons on his fingers.
“One: It was Colton’s idea to fire Debbie.
Two: He had SGA pass a resolution about family values.
Three: He wrote a letter to the editor of the Beakly News encouraging the administration to take action.
Four: He used his family’s influence to pressure the administration. ”
Matt continued, “Debbie’s firing was an unmitigated public relations disaster for MCU.
The administration will think twice before they hitch their wagon to the Langley golden boy again.
They’ll cut him loose at the first sign of trouble.
That’s what tonight is about: a plan to take down Colton—not William. ”
Evan shot Matt a discreet thumbs up.
Matt went on to explain his plan. All of it, except the part where Molly Hatchet McGee would be the photographer. He was saving that news—and her conditions—for after the GM approved the plan, a sort of small ball, baby-step-by-baby-step strategy of his own.
“Holy SHIT!” said Josh, when Matt had finished. “That is crazy brilliant!”
Luke started clapping. Others joined in. Everyone but William and Paul.
As soon as the applause died down, Paul spoke. “It won’t work.”
“Why not?” Matt demanded.
“The whole plan hinges on Colton Langley deciding to get in a car with you. You’re his arch enemy.
You’re the guy who punched him once and tried to punch him again the last day of finals.
You’re the guy who outsmarted him on the Debbie firing.
And you think he’ll go for a joy ride with you?
Not happening. No joy ride, no take down. ”
“I can be very persuasive,” Matt said. He tried to sound confident but was actually embarrassed he had missed this obvious point. How would he talk Colton into taking that ride?
Paul crossed his arms. “Colton Langley is not stupid. Arrogant? Yes. Stupid? No. What you need here is not a sportsball move, but a chess one. This situation calls for a classic queen sacrifice.”
“Again with the chess?” William sighed. “Honestly Paul, dahling, your obsession with chess is becoming almost as tiresome as Matthew’s preoccupation with Colton Langley.”
“Ignore William,” Matt said to Paul. “Tell me about this queen sacrifice.”
“It would be easier if I had a board and could show you,” Paul said.
“We’re gays, dahling,” William purred. “If we get bored, we play pocket pool—not chess.”
Matt motioned for Paul to continue.
“The queen is the most powerful piece on the board,” Paul explained.
“Capturing your opponent’s queen practically guarantees victory.
So, when an over-confident player sees a vulnerable queen, he can’t resist taking her.
That’s what happened in 1956, in the game of the century between Bobby Fischer and Donald Byrne…
Byrne was in his twenties. He was the reigning U.S.
chess master, paired against a snot-nosed 13-year-old Fischer.
On move 17, Fischer seemingly made a mistake and left his queen unprotected.
Byrne pounced. It was a trap. Fischer had deliberately sacrificed his queen to gain tactical advantage on the board.
It was all over but the crying for Byrne… ”
“If you want Colton to get in that car with you,” Paul said, “leave your queen unprotected. Colton would jump in any car if it gave him a chance to capture our queen.”
“Oh goodie!” said William sarcastically. “I believe this is about me after all.”