Bottoms Away

Chapter 1

Jacksonville, FL

CHRIS BOTTOMS HAD been in the hospital at the Mayo Clinic for several days, after having the first of two surgeries that would ultimately reverse his ileostomy. When he was discharged from the hospital, his partner Mickey O’Donovan took a long lunch hour and used it to bring Chris home.

“You had a hard time climbing those stairs, babe, I could tell,” Mickey said when they were in the master bedroom of their house.

“What’s your point?”

“My point is this: you are not to come downstairs for anything.”

“What if the house is on fire?”

“Sarcasm noted. If the house is on fire, you can come downstairs. Otherwise, you wait until your brother Ted gets home from school and ask him to get whatever you need that’s downstairs. I’ve put several cans of Coke and Sprite in the little wine cooler in the den, and there’s a couple of extra water glasses in the bathroom.”

“Aren’t you getting a little carried away?”

“I haven’t said anything to you that I didn’t hear you say to our friend Joe when he was using our spare bedroom while he recuperated from similar surgery.”

“It wasn’t similar surgery. He had an ileostomy, not step one of the reversal process.”

“Don’t be disingenuous, babe. Joe had serious abdominal surgery then, and you had equally serious abdominal surgery just a few days ago.”

“All right, already. I’ll be good.”

“Damn straight you will. And don’t get clever and slip downstairs to cook dinner—I’ll bring something home with me.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I meant that, Chris.”

“Okay, point made and taken. I’m going to do my Kegel exercises before I grab some shut-eye.”

“Kegel exercises?”

“I told you about them. Exercises to strengthen the pelvic floor. They become crucial after my second surgery. I’ve been doing them for weeks and weeks.”

“Oh yeah. Now I remember—wait a minute! Should you be doing them so soon after surgery?”

“Why not?”

“Chris, as I understand it, when you do those exercises, you’re using muscles that are awfully close to the site of your latest surgery.”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll wait a couple of weeks before I start doing them again.”

“Good.”

“Now kiss me and get out of here so I can take a nap.” Mickey did so, and headed back to work.

Chris awoke from his nap disoriented until he realized he was home in his own bed, or to be more precise, his and Mickey’s bed. That’s nice, he thought, as he drifted off again. He was eventually awakened by pressure in his bladder, so he left his comfortable bed and made his way carefully into the master bathroom to take care of his needs. From there he went to the den, retrieved a can of Sprite from the little wine cooler, and settled down at his desk to catch up on his e-mail.

After that he went out onto the upstairs porch, but found it was a bit too chilly to sit in the swing in comfort. Early January can be so unpredictable in north Florida,he thought. Warm one day, cool the next. That thought reminded him of a conversation he’d had with Mickey, so he returned to the den and called the contractor they’d used to renovate the house. Satisfied that he’d done all he needed to do, he returned to his bed, carrying his Nook Tablet with him.

He dozed off with the Nook Tablet resting on his chest, only to be awakened by his little brother, Ted, whom he’d adopted after the death of their mother.

“You’re home, you’re home,” Ted said.

Chris shook off his grogginess and finally said, “You bet I am. How about a hug?”

Ted hugged him, and began to chatter about his day until Chris stopped him. “Have you taken care of the puppy?”

“Yes, Sir. He’s in his run.”

“When was the last time you inspected the fence?”

“Yesterday.”

“That’s good.”

“How do you feel, Papa?” Ted said.

“Not too bad, but I’m really tired, for some reason.”

“Maybe you need to go back to sleep.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve been napping on and off since Mickey brought me home.”

“Why don’t you come downstairs?” Ted said.

“I promised Mickey that I’d stay up here until I’m a bit stronger. Listen, Ted, there’s something you can do for me.”

“What?”

“When the doorbell rings, answer it. If it’s someone from the contractor, show him up to the den. I’ll be there, in my recliner.”

“Okay. What if the doorbell rings and it’s somebody else?”

“Tell them I can’t come to the door, and ask them to call back later.”

“What if it’s somebody I know, like Robbie’s dads?”

“In that case, you can show them upstairs.”

“Okay.”

“Good boy.”

Chris went to the bathroom to wash the sleep from his eyes, took one of the milder pain pills he’d been given when he’d been discharged from the hospital, and retired to the den with his Nook Tablet. A little before five, he heard the doorbell ring, and Ted yelled, “I’ll get it.” A few minutes later, Ted appeared in the den followed by the contractor.

“Hello, Mr. Jensen,” Chris said. “I’m glad you could come on such short notice.”

“No problem, Mr. Bottoms. Seems like every time we meet, you’ve just been in the hospital.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Are you going to be all right?”

“So they tell me. Let’s go out onto the porch, and I’ll show you what we need a quote on.”

The contractor followed Chris out onto the porch, where Chris settled down in the swing.

“Excuse me for not standing, but I’m not up to full strength yet.”

“No problem,” the man said.

“We’d like to be able to make use of this porch all year long,” Chris said, “which means that it needs to be enclosed. However, we’d also like to be able to take advantage of the breeze off the river at certain times, especially in the spring and fall, so we were thinking that two or three patio-type doors would solve the problem. Unless, of course, you can come up with a better idea—we really don’t want to have to spend a lot of time opening and closing a huge number of windows. And we want to do the same kind of enclosure with the back porch downstairs.”

“Do you want the heat and air extended to both porches?”

“Yes, Sir, although we’ll need to be able to easily shut them off when the porches are open.”

“That’s understood. Let me take some measurements upstairs and downstairs, and I’ll get back to you with a quote in a couple of days.”

“Fair enough.”

“One question.”

“Yes, Sir?” Chris said.

“It occurs to me that a deck would add a great deal of utility to this porch.”

“A second-floor deck?”

“Yes, Sir. We could enclose the porch with windows and perhaps a patio door leading to an upper-level deck. You could put one of those retractable awnings over the deck.”

“What about screening it in?” Chris said.

“Do you have a serious problem with bugs here?”

“No, Sir. The city’s spraying program seems to keep things under control around here most of the time.”

“Then why screen it?”

“You’ve sold me. Why don’t you work up two estimates—one with a deck included, and the other without?”

“I can do that.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to my recliner. This young man will show you downstairs when you’re ready. Ted, that’s your cue.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Chris returned to the den and settled back in his recliner. Sometime later, he heard the distinctive slam of the backdoor, and a few minutes later Ted came into the den.

“The man decided to leave by the backdoor,” Ted said.

“Thank you, Ted. I heard the door slam and wondered who it was.”

“Are you gonna go downstairs to cook dinner?”

“Mickey is bringing us our dinner today,” Chris said.

“Can I cook tomorrow?”

“I don’t see why not, as long as you keep it simple. Let’s discuss that with Mickey when he gets home.”

“Okay.”

Mickey arrived a bit later than usual and explained that he’d had to wait to pick up Chris’s prescriptions at the drugstore; then wait again for his order at the restaurant he’d selected. Ted was eating his meal in the kitchen, and Mickey had brought a tray upstairs for himself and Chris.

“This is so good, I’ll forgive you this time,” Chris said. “And before I forget it, Ted wants to cook our dinner tomorrow.”

“All by himself?”

“Mostly.”

“f**k mostly, babe. You shouldn’t be coming down those stairs.”

“Says who?”

“Says me—and probably your doctor for that matter.”

“I’ll call him and get special dispensation,” Chris said. “After all, he did call me his ‘miracle’ patient.”

“If you get his permission, I’ll shut up about it.”

“Fair enough. Consider it done.”

“You’re mighty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. But I’ve been reading up on Dr. Banzhof, and one of the things I’ve learned is that he encourages his patients to be active.”

“What, if anything, did he say when he released you from the hospital?”

Chris thought a moment. “He didn’t say much of anything. In fact, now that I think about it, he said something along the lines of ‘given your profession, I’ll trust you to take care of yourself and not overdo it’.”

“Did you just make that up on the spot?” Mickey said.

“Michael O’Donovan! Shame on you for suggesting such a thing.”

“I apologize. It’s just that I know how you tend to go overboard with anything you undertake, and I don’t want you to strain yourself. We were living in a one-story house the last time you came home from the hospital; but this isn’t a one-story house, so you can’t expect to do everything quite as quickly after this visit. Remember, you’ve got to be fully recovered and rested up by the time of your next surgery.”

“I’m somewhat painfully aware of that, Mick.”

“I’m sure you are. So, how was your day?”

“I called our contractor, and he came by to see me.”

“Because—?”

“Remember our conversation about making both porches useable all year long?”

“Sort of.”

“He’s going to give us a quote on doing just that.”

“We don’t want to close them in totally. What about the river breeze?”

“I suggested a pair of patio doors or something similar, so the porches could be open to fresh air when we want it. The fact that both of them are on the corner of the house and have screened openings on two sides will make that very workable.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Seriously, Mickey, I need something to occupy my time. This porch enclosure thing will involve making a decision and writing a check. Then what?”

“You need a project to keep you busy.”

“You think!” Chris said.

“Sarcasm noted, and yes, I think. More to the point, I’ve had an idea.”

“And?”

“Chris, you’re intelligent, articulate, and well educated; and starting with the run-up to your first surgery, you’ve been on an emotional roller coaster for some time.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Again with the sarcasm. What I’m leading up to is this: you need to write a book about your experiences. I’d start with the original cancer surgery and the limitations it placed on your life, segue into the adoption of your brother, and after that, the sky’s the limit.”

“Mick! Are you serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack, babe. You can do it. Belay that—you need to do it.”

“Do you see it as an autobiography?” Chris said.

“Not at all. I see it as a novel based on your life. I think it’ll sell more copies that way.”

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and you should be, too. You’ve got a rough six months ahead of you, and writing a book will give you something to focus on.”

“Yeah, and you know what?”

“What?”

“I like it.”

“Good,” Mickey said. “I’ll expect to see an outline in a couple of days.”

“Wait a minute! You didn’t just happen to hit on this idea today, did you?”

“You know me too well. I’ve given it a great deal of thought ever since you decided to go ahead with the surgery.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you, Chris. I knew there was no way you’d get through the next six months without a major project to keep you occupied.”

“Oh, Mickey, I don’t know what to say to that, except I love you so much. I wish I felt well enough to take you to bed right now and show you.”

“I know, babe, but right now I want you to take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“I know how you tend to go overboard with anything you undertake, and I don’t want you to strain yourself,” Mickey said.

“At the risk of repeating myself, I wish I felt well enough to take you to bed right now and show you how much I love you.”

“Later, when you’ve recovered from having your guts sliced open yet again. We have all the time in the world.”

“That we do. And for the record, my ‘guts’, as you put it, weren’t exactly sliced open.”

“Okay, so he used endoscopic surgery. Your insides were still invaded, and they need time to recover.”

“No argument there.”

Later that evening as they snuggled in bed, Chris said, “Mickey, do you really think I can write a book about my experiences?”

“I wouldn’t have said so if I didn’t believe it. Look at your life, all of the elements are there: abused by your stepfather from age twelve to fifteen which left you a total bottom, unable to achieve an orgasm without prostate massage; then you have cancer surgery, which not only left you wearing an ostomy bag, but with your anus sewn shut; not to mention that drunk surgeon, whose carelessness left you having to catheterize yourself to pee. From there, we segue to your mother’s deathbed and your agreeing to raise a little brother you hadn’t known existed, followed by the discovery that good old mom was pimping out your brother, and the later discovery that your grandfather was doing the same thing. There’s enough angst and drama there to satisfy even the most jaded reader of romance novels.”

“Yeah, that makes sense, but do I really want to expose my life so totally?”

“There’s no need to do that. Approach it as a work of fiction and don’t use anybody’s real name.”

“Yeah… that might work.”

“Good, now give me a good night kiss and go to sleep.”

THE FIRST THING Chris did the next morning was to call his surgeon, Dr. Banzhof, to ask about the desirability of going up and down stairs. The call went to voice mail, so he left a message, settled down at his laptop, and opened a new WordPerfect document.

What the heck should I call this epic?he thought. He sat, mulling things over for a bit, and finally typed “About a Bottoms, a novel by Christopher Bottoms” at the top of the page. Yeah, that’ll catch their attention. He began to type, and by the time he took a break an hour or so later, he had an outline of the highs and lows of his life. Good, he thought. Now, all I have to do is dredge up some fairly painful memories and put them on the pages of the manuscript. Piece of cake

His cell phone rang, but when he looked at the display, he didn’t recognize the number. He decided to answer the call and was glad he’d done so when he heard Dr. Banzhof’s voice. A couple of minutes later, he ended the call and decided to call Mickey.

“Hello,” Mickey said.

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“Dr. Banzhof just cleared me to use the stairs—‘slowly and carefully at first’, were his exact words.”

“Good. That’ll give you a bit more freedom, but promise me you’ll take his advice seriously.”

“No problem there, Mick. I always listen to my body, and when it tells me to slow down, I do so.”

“Okay.”

“By the way, don’t bring food home this evening. As soon as Ted comes home from his classes, I’ll settle down on a kitchen stool and supervise his cooking.”

“As long as that’s all you do.”

“I read you loud and clear, Mick. Now get back to work.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Bye.”

Chris returned to his computer and began to write, stopping only when hunger drove him downstairs to the kitchen. He took the stairs slowly and carefully as he’d promised Mickey he would, and when he finally arrived in the kitchen he was tired and more than a bit uncomfortable. It didn’t take him long to make a couple of sandwiches, and because the temperature was a bit warmer than it had been the previous day, he carried them out to the back porch and settled down in the swing. He finished his sandwiches and was so comfortable he didn’t want to get up from the swing. Eventually, he realized he needed a nap, so he headed for the master bedroom. He slept for an hour before he returned to his computer and began to write. He was still at it when Ted came home from his classes.