Chapter 43 Lesbians at the Gates
William was inconsolable. He paced in a tight circle, like a caged tiger. “This is worse than I imagined!”
Matt sighed. “You’re being melodramatic even by your own standards. It’s a charcoal grill, for Pete’s sake.”
They were in the clubhouse’s master bedroom. Sounds of partying wafted up from downstairs: the percussive beat of music, punctuated by conversation and laughter. Meanwhile, a pillar of smoke billowed from the patio below, past the balcony doors.
“Isn’t sackcloth and ashes the prescribed Biblical attire for mourning, dahling?”
Right turn. “What is sackcloth anyway? Do you think Hugo Boss has any in my size?”
Another right. “No need to buy ashes. The air in here is so noxiously thick with smoke, it’s a wonder the smoke detector isn’t blaring.”
“You’ll live,” Matt said, “assuming I don’t throttle you first.”
“That’s how it starts,” William lamented. “A charcoal grill here. A satellite dish there. Next thing you know, there’s a meth lab next door!”
“You’re being churlish.”
Right turn. “I’m allowed to be, dahling! There are LESBIANS on our patio! Standing around a fire! Drinking beer—from cans! Poking hunks of meat to see if they’re still twitching!”
“Bratwurst. They’re cooking bratwurst and hot links.”
William swooned. “Of course they’d be cooking sausages! It’s penis envy. It always is with their kind!”
Matt had heard enough. He stepped in front of William, blocking further pacing.
“There’s no ‘our kind’ versus ‘their kind’ anymore. That’s a luxury none of us can afford.”
William scowled. “Tell that to the lesbians, not me. They demanded joint custody of our clubhouse in return for helping take down Colton. They didn’t do it out of the kindness of their hearts.”
“And we didn’t offer to share the clubhouse out of kindness either,” Matt countered.
“Besides, they’ll get a whopping four weekends per year, plus Super Bowl Sunday and the Master’s Tournament.
And twenty-four non-overnight evenings. That’s roughly a 92%-8% split in our favor.
Not exactly joint custody. If it hadn’t been for Molly’s pictures, Colton Langley would still be a thorn in our side. ”
“There’s still the issue of tonight’s shindig, dahling. That infernal grill. The coal dust we’re all breathing. I’ll probably get Black Lung disease.”
Matt sighed. “You do know that charcoal is wood, right? So, no Black Lung in your future. And don’t blame the girls for tonight’s mixer. That was my idea. Now, take my arm, and I’ll escort you downstairs. You’ll eat a weenie, drink a beer, and be gracious. Got it?”
William studied his face in the mirror, smoothed an eyebrow. “Only until 10:00. Then it’s lights out on the lesbians.”
Matt shook his head, held out his arm.
They emerged near the kitchen. Harley and Robert were there. Harley leaned against the counter, crunching through tortilla chips and guacamole, nodding absently while Robert talked.
The party noise emanating from the clubhouse’s living area made it hard to hear.
William paused, studying the platters and bowls of food lining the countertops. “Matthew, was the potluck dinner also your idea?”
Matt grinned.
Harley motioned for them to join him. “Robert’s telling me about that chess match where that Russian dude beat the computer.”
“Cool!” Matt stepped in and gave Robert a shoulder squeeze. He reached over and snagged one of Harley’s tortilla chips and popped it in his mouth.
Matt liked Harley and regretted not having shaken his hand. Physically the guy wasn’t Matt’s type. He had a blocky build—thick legs and trunk, pudgy face. His cock, though, was the largest in the GM—not quite Kraken-size, but close.
Beyond the sex itself, Matt knew that in failing to hook up with Harley he’d missed out on getting to know the guy better.
That was the real shame, because if anyone was the glue that held the GM together, it was Harley—the grown-up middle child, always equivocating and appeasing, keeping the peace.
Who among the remaining members would fill that role once Harley graduated in three weeks’ time?
“Garry Kasparov,” Robert said, resuming his chess story.
“It was a 6-game tournament between Kasparov, the reigning world chess master and Deep Blue, the IBM computer. Deep Blue won game 1, which has never happened—a computer defeating the world’s best chess player!
Luckily for us humans, Kasparov won the tournament 4-2! It was EPIC!”
Matt and Harley exchanged glances. They’d heard this story already. More than once. And they would listen to it again, because that was what family did: loved each other unconditionally.
Debbie had made that point when she had “encouraged” Matt and Idabel to reconcile.
It was a beautiful philosophy, one that Matt was only beginning to appreciate.
He’d recently learned that his fellow GM members considered him “infuriatingly self-assured,” as William had coined it. Yet they loved him anyway. Williams’ constant “dahlings this” and “dahlings that” were annoying at times, but they were part and parcel of who he was.
Speaking of which…
“Excuse the interruption, dahlings, but I’m fairly certain I overheard one of our guests talking about this same chess thing.”
Robert perked up. “What did she say?”
William paused, as if trying to remember.
“I was upstairs. I had the patio doors open. I heard two of the Les—, our guests, talking. One of them said that Kasparov guy got lucky in the sixth game by winning after… What’s the term? Oh, yes! Winning after a queen’s gambit declined!”
Robert was incensed. “Who said that?”
“The loud one with the camera. Molly?”
Robert stomped away in search of Molly.
Matt scowled at William. “That was a mean thing to do.”
William shrugged. “If Molly wants shared custody of our clubhouse, she’s going to have to bone up on her chess.”
“It was a mean thing to do to Robert,” Matt said. He held out his arm again. “Come along, ‘dahling.’ You’re going to fix this.”
They passed through the dining area. The table was a makeshift drink station, with soda bottles, wine, vodka, and a mixing bowl with beer cans bobbing in melting ice. Soggy cocktail napkins hinted at recent spills.
There was a small stack of Solo cups—and a Sharpie for marking them. Bella would have been proud!
Evan and Luke sat there, unfazed by the mess, disconnected from the party. Evan’s arm was around Luke’s shoulder, comforting him.
Evan would also be graduating soon, then returning to Okmulgee to apprentice at his dad’s insurance agency before starting his own. Luke still had two more years of college ahead of him. They planned to try the whole long-distance relationship thing. Luke was having a hard time.
Evan’s expressive eyebrows rippled and furrowed at sight of Matt and William. He was having a hard time, too—just trying to keep it together for Luke’s sake.
Matt smiled encouragingly, and hustled William along.
The living area spanned the width of the townhome, approximately twenty feet, and was ground zero for the party, which seemed to have devolved into a spirited game of Taboo.
Jake, Todd, and Ava were on one team. Kevin, Josh, and another girl—Carla—were on the other.
Molly, Robert, and—was her name Lucy?—must be on the patio.
Ten gay guys. Four lesbians. The math was not encouraging. That was about half what the statistics predicted for a University the size of MCU.
The GM was barely treading water. Three members were graduating (Harley, Evan, and Josh). Matt and Robert were the only freshmen. Adam would have been the third, had Colton Langley not interfered.
At this rate, the GM would go extinct in less than a decade.
The lesbians were losing Molly. She’d been offered an internship with The Village Voice, all because of her famous photo of Colton’s arrest!
Matt couldn’t help thinking that there had to be other gay kids at MCU. They deserved to be at this party—among their own tribe.
But that was a problem for another time. Tonight, was for celebrating—and mixing.
He shepherded William out to the patio, where, sure enough, Molly, Robert, and the Lucy girl hovered over the grill.
Molly’s face brightened. “SCREECH! And William. Hi!”
William nodded a noncommittal greeting.
Molly reached into a cooler, fished out two cans, and tossed them, successively, to Matt and William. “Heads up!”
Matt caught his, popped the tab, and slurped the foaming beer.
William deftly sidestepped his incoming can. It landed on the concrete and rolled to a stop.
“She’s throwing things at me,” he whined to Matt.
Matt handed William his beer.
“Toss me another,” he said to Molly.
William held his can awkwardly, as though it were kryptonite.
Matt elbowed him. “Drink it,” he whispered.
“In a bit, dahling. I want to give the flying ash and pork molecules time to enhance the brew’s natural flavors.”
“Molly’s going to play chess with me!” Robert announced.
Molly knocked back a long slug of beer. “Yep. Someone gave Robert the impression I had dissed that Russian guy. He conditioned his forgiveness on my playing a game with him. So, after everyone goes home tonight, Robert and I are gonna break out the chess board. You won’t mind, will you, William?”
There was a long pause, during which Matt and Lucy shared worried glances. William and Molly seemed poised to resume their usual catfight.
William smiled weakly. “I don’t mind at all. I’ll even play the winner.”
“Well played,” Molly laughed.
Matt sighed with relief. This mixer might just be a success, after all.
Molly pronged one of the sausages, slapped it on a paper plate, and offered it to William. “Brat?”
“Sorry. Allergic,” William said.
“To pork?”
William shook his head. “German food, dahling. My great-grandfather Fitzgerald lost a leg fighting the Huns in WWI. Ever since then, the whole family has strictly refrained from Kraut culture. Cousin Bixby, my second cousin actually, famously refused to deplane during a layover in Frankfurt.”
Matt burst into laughter, sputtering beer. “Bullshit! I call bullshit! William conveniently creates ancestors to populate his stories. You should hear the one about his ‘Nana Vance!’”
Everyone laughed.
“Wait!” Molly stared at William. “You faked a one-legged guy just to keep from eating my brat? That’s kinda twisted.”
William frowned. “Would you have preferred that I killed him off, dahling? In my version, great-grandpa Fitzpatrick got to hobble home to his family.”
“Fitzpatrick?” Robert said. “A minute ago, you said Fitzgerald.”
“Indeed, dahling. My pedigree is brimming with Irish. I had two great-grandfathers injured in WWI—a Fitzpatrick and a Fitzgerald.”
Molly shook her head. Offered William the plated brat again. “You sure you won’t have one? You’re gonna feel like a shit if you don’t. Just warning you.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll feel worse if I do,” William said.
“I’ll eat it,” Matt said, reaching for the plate.
Molly handed it over, then bent and retrieved a wrapped package from behind the cooler at her feet.
“Here William,” she said. “Just a little present from me and the girls.”
William handed Matt his untouched beer. He tore into the package, stared down in shock.
It was a framed movie poster for Alfred Hitchcock’s 1944 Lifeboat starring Tallulah Bankhead!
“It’s even autographed,” Molly said, “by old ‘ambisextrous’ herself.”
William gazed reverently at the poster.
“I’ve never known him to be speechless,” Matt said.
William wiped his eyes, smiled at Molly. “Thank you, dahling. I’ll treasure this. I’d hug you, but, frankly, I don’t want to smell like German sausage the rest of the night.”
Molly laughed. “That’s okay, William. I’d hug you, too, but I don’t want to smell like Estee Lauder! Now, c’mon everyone. Let’s go inside and take some party pics!”