Shattered Glass

Chapter 1

Local Man Mowed Down by Hit and Run Driver

Dr. Frank O’Shea, 46, the English department Chair at Princeton University, was mowed down in what looks like a hit and run only three blocks from his home in Princeton today at the intersection of Hodge and Library Roads. In the ensuing investigation, police experts found that O’Shea’s 1982 Honda Accord was run off the road over an embankment. Eye witnesses stated that they saw a black Mercedes SUV leaving the scene. Detectives claim to be talking to a person of interest, but do not have enough evidence to make an arrest.

The Trenton Times-Herald, May 1985

* * * *

July 1985, Hazlet, NJ

Sam Stein kept watch from behind the privet hedge. Milo Stamis’ less than pristine Air Jordans appeared like a beacon in the dark as he wiggled through the second story window of his house.

Easy, Milo, Sam thought. The rest of his friend’s lean, twelve-year-old body appeared to hang suspended from the ledge for a few moments before making the short drop to the ground. Sam held his breath until his friend slowly rose from a half-kneeling position to the right of the rosebushes. Milo trotted over to Sam and smiled when he saw his worried face.

“I told you not to worry,” Milo said. “I only jumped about four feet, you know.” Sam handed Milo the bike he recovered from the Stamis’ open garage.

“You almost landed your ass in the rosebushes. You can damn well bet I wouldn’t be the one picking the thorns from your butt. Will your dad wake up and raise hell if he finds you gone?”

“Nah. He guzzled more than a few shots of J&B. He’s passed out on the sofa, dead drunk. The fat bastard won’t wake up until Mom comes home from bingo at two. “

“Why are you limping? And what’s with the cut lip?” Sam asked.

“I got into it with the old man, again. He got angry because I helped Mom with her flowers today. He said I have to learn to be a man and not a sissy boy.”

“s**t, Milo. Why don’t you tell my dad? He’s a lawyer. He could help.”

“I can handle it. Besides, I got it covered. I promised I’d go out for Pop Warner football in the fall. That shut him up.” Milo sighed.

“But you hate football.”

“Yeah, but he loves it.”

Sam decided to hold his tongue. He knew Milo well enough to recognize that something more upset his friend this evening. Milo would tell him in his own time.

The boys walked their bikes halfway down the slope of Gibson Drive. The night felt hot and humid. They heard crickets and saw the flying bugs circling round the glow cast from the streetlights. A small toad hopped across their path.

As soon as they traveled far enough away from Milo’s, they hopped on their bikes and rode down the steep hill, each daring the other not to touch their brakes. The breeze ran through Milo’s hair as they raced downhill. Sam watched the blond curls fly around Milo’s head. They zipped across Laurel Avenue and headed to the ball field bleachers.

Sam sat on the aluminum bench as Milo threw himself to the ground. Milo picked at the grass and looked up at Sam with a strange expression, as if trying to do multiplication tables in his head. Sam and Milo had been friends since they met while in diapers and shared a playpen at a block party.

There’s something really bugging the s**t out of him tonight. Milo was usually laughingly good-natured. After a few minutes, Sam had enough. “Okay, Milo. Spill it.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this. I just know that I have to. You may hate me after I tell you. God knows if my old man found out, he’d beat the s**t out of me.” He raised his head, looked Sam straight in the eyes, and quietly said, “I’m gay.”

Tears poured down Milo’s cheeks. He could barely control his sobs. He turned away from his friend, running his fingers through his longish blond hair in obvious anticipation of rejection.

“I know. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me.” Sam slid his arm around Milo’s back and squeezed to show Milo that he had his complete support.

“Do you think everyone knows?” Milo asked with a note of panic in his voice.

“No. Not at all. I know because I’m around you all the time.” Sam gave Milo his usual evil grin. “You didn’t get a hard-on when we stole into the girls’ locker room and watched the cheerleaders changing this past spring. Yet you try to hide it every time we have gym. You got to watch it around here though. We live in a macho asshole world.” Sam looked down the field to home plate and wished the world could be different for his friend.

“That’s why I agreed to the football. I can’t let him find out, ever. What would he do to me if I told him? What if I told him I prefer guys to girls?”

“You could tell him and come live with us.” Sam slipped his arm around Milo’s shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze.

“I can’t. He’ll blame Mom and start torturing her instead of me. I’m going to have to lie.”

“You know I’m heterosexual all the way, but you’re still my best friend. I’ve got your back. You should know you can count on me. We’re best buds. You can count on Rick, too. He may be my pain in the ass little brother, but he’s loyal as they come.”

“I know that. Your house is a refuge for me.” Milo picked at the grass. “Sometimes I feel like taking a knife to him while he sleeps. I didn’t ask to be born this way. f**k, I don’t want to be different. I’ve tried to act like the rest of them. I can pretend, but I can’t change the way I am inside.” Milo slammed his fist into the ground.

“Whenever it gets that bad, come over to our house. Mom and Dad won’t say anything, and you can talk to my father. He won’t rat you out.”

“You think?”

“I know,” Sam answered. “It’s the rest of this f*****g town you have to worry about. In September, you better start making eyes at big t**s or something, if you don’t want to stick out. My mom and dad told me and Rick that being gay is something you are born with, like your blond hair and green eyes. You are what you are, but we need to keep this under wraps until we get out of this suburban hell hole.”

Milo smiled at Sam and stuck out his hand. “Shake on it?” Sam grabbed his hand and held it tight.

“Christ, you didn’t have to grab that hard.”

Sam laughed and Milo threw a handful of grass at him.

“Yeah.” Sam continued. “We need to find something to keep you busy and out from under your dad’s notice. Maybe we could take music lessons together or something. Tell him you want to be a rocker. They ride Harleys and s**t. Motorcycles are macho as hell!”

“A band sounds awesome. I’ve been taking guitar lessons since my eighth birthday.” Milo turned his bike back toward the entrance to the ball field. “I’m glad I told you.”

“Yeah, me too. We’ll figure this out.”

* * * *

The next morning Milo stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Sam always called before ten and the clock read eleven thirty. Done waiting, he flung himself off of his bed and out the door. He needed to see where he stood with his best friend.

Milo wheeled his bike out of the garage and closed the garage door. He headed down the street toward Sam’s house. He didn’t think Sam’s parents would forbid him to hang out with a gay kid, but he wasn’t sure. Not knowing made him nervous. He pedaled quickly, his mind on his troubles.

Milo sped up, so lost in thought he almost missed seeing the rental truck parked at the corner of Miriam Place and Annette Court. He braked hard and fast to avoid hitting the slightly built woman and child who struggled with moving boxes. After nearly running them over, Milo felt he should stop to help. With some relief he spotted Sam pedaling up the street on his bike. Sam stopped and Milo took the lead.

“Ma’am, do you need some help? I’m Milo Stamis. I live up the street. This is Sam Stein, he lives around the corner.”

“I’m Lily O’Shea and this is my son, Liam. I think we can use your help. I underestimated how much muscle it would take to unload this thing.” Both boys preened at the insinuation that they possessed muscles.

“Just show us where you want them,” Sam said as he and Milo grabbed an awkwardly shaped box and carried it into the foyer. Sam shot Milo a look and grinned.

At that moment, Milo knew he and Sam would be okay. Sam would never play for Milo’s team, but he knew Sam would always be there for him in the bleachers.

They worked most of the day letting Liam, who looked to be about five or six, help them carry the boxes. Late that afternoon when Lily got the kitchen in order, she came out of the house, carrying huge ice-filled glasses of homemade lemonade on a fancy painted metal tray. The three boys drank greedily. Sam perched on the small front step, with Liam sitting next to Milo on the grass.

Lily joined them, settling down next to Sam on the step. The small group stayed quiet for a few minutes, basking in the late afternoon heat with appreciation for a job well done, when Lily asked, “Why don’t you boys stay for supper?”

Sam demurred. “I’ve got to get home. We’re having company tonight.”

“What about you, Milo?”

“If your phone is connected, I’ll call my mom, but I’m sure it will be okay.” Lily went inside, returned, and handed Milo a portable phone.

“Wow, this is cool.”

Sam had to look at the new electronic toy before he left. Sam examined it while the two boys walked to the bikes, Milo to move his into the driveway and Sam to pedal home around the corner.

“You know you don’t have to worry about us, don’t you?” Sam whispered.

“I guessed we were okay earlier when you gave me that evil grin. You better get going. I don’t want your mom mad at me.”

“Don’t worry. Mom and Dad both know, and no one is anything but sympathetic.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

Milo watched Sam pedal away, then called home and got his mom’s permission to stay. “She said it’s okay, Mrs. O’Shea.”

“Please, call me Lily. I’m only thirty. Too young to be out to pasture yet.”

Milo held out his hand to Liam. “Come on. Let’s see what’s for dinner.”

They sat down to roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas. Liam whined, “Mama, you know I don’t like peas.” He followed that with a quivering bottom lip and a pout.

“Your mom didn’t have time to go to the store,” Milo chided. “Come on, eat up or you will never be any bigger than a peanut. How old are you anyway?”

“I’m six. I’m not a baby, and I am not a peanut.” Liam followed that statement with another sulk.

“Well, six-year-old boys don’t pout or whine over peas. They eat them and thank their mothers for cooking their dinner.” Milo looked over at Lily to see if she objected to his remarks. Lily smiled in encouragement.

Liam’s lower lip stuck out a little further, but his fork began to move. Over the course of dinner Milo kept glancing at the clock, waiting for the dad of the house to arrive. After a few discreet glances, he caught Liam staring at him. Huge violet eyes looked up at his green ones.

“You don’t have to keep looking, you know,” Liam said. “No one else is coming.”

Milo nearly choked on a piece of chicken. How had the kid figured out why he looked at the clock? Milo expected a father to walk in at any moment to take charge of the elfin-like waif and the mother he resembled.

“He’s dead,” Liam remarked in a rather sad but firm little voice. “It’s just the two of us now. He died in a car crash. Mama and I still cry sometimes, but she says it will be better since we are in a different place. It already is. We met you and Sam first thing.”

Then it hit Milo, right between the eyeballs. Something about Liam struck him as off. The longer he watched him, the more apparent it became. Liam was gay. He didn’t walk with the hitching gait of all the other boys he knew. He glided gracefully. Liam was much too young to realize his s****l orientation, but in Milo’s opinion, the kid definitely leaned toward bent. Milo knew the neighborhood. If Liam acted too effeminate, he’d be crucified.

Milo’s brow furrowed in thought. All of a sudden he began to feel very protective of the younger boy. Milo knew Liam would need all the guidance he could muster, especially without a father figure on whom to pattern his masculinity.

When they finished supper, Milo thanked Lily by helping with the dishes. He read Liam a story and bid them both good night. It was only seven thirty, so he headed back down the block and around the corner to call for Sam.

Milo parked his bike in the driveway, well away from the car. Sam answered the door and Milo asked him to take a walk. Sam agreed and Rick, Sam’s younger brother, tagged along.

“What’s the dad like?”

“There is no dad. He died in a car wreck a few months ago. They moved here to get away from the memories.”

“That’s gotta be tough on a little kid.”

“Not as tough as it’s going to be.”

Rick piped in, “Can’t see it getting any rougher than that, I mean losing your dad.”

Both Sam and Milo looked up with a start. As usual, they forgot Rick tagged along. Rick never said much. He lent himself to being forgotten.

“Do you remember what we discussed last night, Sam?” Milo asked him in a quiet voice. “The kid has the same problem.”

“How do you know this? You just realized it yourself, and suddenly you’re an expert?”

“No, not an expert, just picking up the signals a little easier. Hey, you knew about me before I knew. Believe me, this kid’s in for a shitload of hurt, and his mother doesn’t have a clue.”

Sam shook his head. “What can we do?”

“Let him hang out with us and teach him boy stuff so he won’t stick out. As it is, he looks like a girl. We got to make sure he looks like a boy by the time school comes around. We’re going to be in middle school and not able to watch out for him.” Milo bit his lip.

“I can watch out for him,” Rick piped up. “I’ve got another year before I go on with you guys.”

“Ricky, you’re always in trouble,” Sam blustered. “How are you going to watch out for a little kid?”

“I may get in trouble, but I know something about him you don’t know.”

“What, snot nose?”

“He’s already in third grade, even though he’s only six. I heard Mom talking about it to Mrs. Rowe.”

“Who is Mrs. Rowe?” Milo asked.

“The gifted teacher. They set up all sorts of special classes for him because of some dumb law. His mother refused to put him in private school when the principal suggested he might be more comfortable in one.”

“Ah s**t, Sammmm,” Milo said.

“I guess Ricky can help, but you can’t get him into trouble. He’s got to fly under the radar as much as he can. He lives between us so it shouldn’t be too hard. We’ll just let him tag along.”

Over the summer, Liam started trailing after Milo and Sam, right alongside Ricky. Initially, Milo patted himself on the back for helping the kid navigate the deep end of the pool. Later he admitted, if only to himself, he enjoyed Liam’s company. Milo felt as if he walked a tightrope.

He couldn’t bring himself to shoo the kid away, or make him hide under the cloak of conformity. He did the only thing he knew how to do—he protected. The other jocks stayed away because Milo claimed Liam as a relative and treated him like a kid brother. If the kid seemed a bit delicate for their tastes, they figured Milo would set him straight soon enough. Milo got Liam a de facto pass from the rest of the guys in town.

* * * *

May 1991, Hazlet

Sam’s Garage

The boys finally formed their band, but the afternoon’s rehearsal went steadily downhill.

“I can’t do this weepy s**t, Milo,” said Mike, the band’s lead singer.

“The weepy s**t is for the slow dances. You have to have slow dances so the couples can dance together.”

“Then you do the slow dance tunes.”

“My voice isn’t suited for the arrangement. I’m singing backup.”

“Yeah, I get to be the wuss and you get to remain Macho Man.”

“You asshole. That has nothing to do with it. It’s the music.”

“f**k the music, Milo, and f**k your friggin’ band. I’ve got me an invite to join a band from over in Union Beach, and I’m taking it. They do metal, man. None of these freaking ballads.”

Milo threw up his hands as Mike walked out of the garage. “s**t. Why can’t we find a decent singer who’ll just keep his mouth shut and do as he’s told? That’s the third singer we’ve had in as many months.”

“What are we going to do now?” Sam asked. “You pissed him off, and we have our first gig for the prom on Saturday.”

Milo paced, furrowing his eyebrows and biting his lip. “The stupid son of a b***h, the prom is why we needed the ballads. Girls like ballads.”

“How would you know?” Rick teased.

“Shut the f**k up! I’ve dated and f****d more than my share.” Even if I did it to get the old man off my back. Red hot heat crawled up Milo’s neck, his anger almost steaming from his ears.

Liam spoke up from the corner. “Milo, can I talk to you a minute?”

“When did you show up? Never mind. Sit down and be quiet till we figure this out.”

“I can do it,” Liam insisted. “I know all the songs.”

Sam and Rick laughed so hard tears ran down their cheeks. Initially, Milo also enjoyed the joke. But once the others began to mock Liam, and Milo saw his elfin features scrunch up in an attempt to hide his disappointment, he shouted, “Shut up. We can’t begin to audition anyone else until tomorrow. Even if we find someone, can they learn the book before Saturday night? Give the kid a shot. If he’s awful, he won’t ask again. If he’s passable, we get to do the gig and can look elsewhere afterward.”

“f**k, Milo, he’s a baby,” Sam complained. “He’ll look ridiculous on stage.”

“No, he’s not a baby, more like the Devil’s Imp,” Milo snapped back. “If he can sing, we can sell it, at least until we find a replacement.”

Rick, always the peacemaker, stepped between them. “Sam, how can it hurt to listen to the kid mangle one set? If he stinks, we send him home and he doesn’t come back. If he doesn’t stink, we do the gig and no one loses. This way I don’t have to put up with a shitty mood from either you or Milo for days on end. Come on, let’s do it.”

“Ah, f**k, all right, all right,” Sam assented, while holding on to his piss-poor attitude. Milo paced impatiently, and Liam trembled as he took the mic.

Rick handed him the play list, which contained most of the number one chart singles from the early eighties, everything from Van Halen’s “Jump” to Joe Cocker’s “Up Where We Belong.” Milo stopped pacing to watch which track the kid would pick. They had no idea of the range of his voice, or even if he could sing on key.

Liam put the list down and asked to use the keyboard left behind by Mike the deserter.

Milo nodded. “What do you have in mind?”

Liam pulled a wrinkled and smeared piece of sheet music out of the pocket of his jeans. Milo peered over his shoulder. He could see the original music was rewritten for two voices and backup.

Liam blushed and said, “I’m a tenor. I can hit a good range. I’ve been taking piano, guitar, and voice lessons since I turned five, every Wednesday.”

Milo screwed up his face. “I knew you took lessons, buddy, but I didn’t know you took so many. You never sang along with the band or made a suggestion about the music. Why?”

“I wanted to keep coming to practice and didn’t want to get in the way.”

“You’ve been at my heels for six years,” growled Milo. “If you got in the way, don’t you think I would have said something?”

“You got copies of the chords?” Rick interrupted.

Liam nodded and gave one to each of the guys.

Sam kept acting pissy and didn’t want to give the kid a shot. “Who are you kidding? That’s a girl’s song,” Sam said with disgust. He threw the piece of sheet music on the garage floor and began to walk.

“Hold it, a-hole,” Milo shouted. “Back to me. Did you look at this? He’s changed the lyrics so it can be done as a duet between a tenor and a baritone. He even provided backup harmony.”

“Milo, I have to get something from my bike,” Liam said.

“How the f**k long is it going to take?” Sam asked. “I thought we were supposed to be rehearsing. This isn’t a good idea, Milo. It’s gonna put him in the spotlight, you know, call attention to his mannerisms.”

“That’s enough.” Milo pounced on his friend, about to pummel him for his ill treatment of the kid.

“Enough,” said Rick, again stepping between them. “Sam, read the music and let’s run it through once, before Milo walks and takes the kid with him. You’re the one who needs the bucks for law school. If the kid thinks he can pull it off, why not give him a shot? You can always walk afterward.”

Sam took a step back into the garage and eyed Milo warily.

“I’m not going to slug you, Sam. Let’s just run it through once,” Milo pleaded.

“Once,” Sam stated.

Sam’s stance said it all. Liam had one chance and only one chance. Milo thought, I’ll put it on the line for Liam this one time. Sam’s my best friend. Little bro or no, one shot is all Liam gets.

The guys picked up the music. The kid had arranged Johnny Borchoi’s “Lover’s Suite.” It was daring, and it looked too sophisticated for the high school crowd, but one gig could lead to another. They studied the cords and tuned their guitars. Liam slipped outside. Milo followed.

He watched Liam go over to his bicycle. Milo didn’t see Liam’s bike often. While other kids his age owned sleek racers or rugged mountain bikes, Liam rode a bike which looked like it belonged to one of the homeless. Two monstrous folding metal baskets sat on both sides of the rear wheel.

Lily bought Liam what she believed to be a useful bike and refused to buy a more stylish model. Milo approached as Liam tugged on the bungee cord attached to the saxophone case in one of the side bins.

“It’s not Wednesday. Why do you have your music and your sax with you?”

“Today’s your birthday. I did the arrangement for you and the band. I didn’t have money for a great present. I wanted to give you something. It’s what I had to give,” Liam answered simply.

Milo watched as Liam pulled out his sax. Sam’s gaze moved to the sheet music on his stand. “There is no sax in this arrangement, kid,” he called from the garage. “Did someone else do this for you? Are you messing with our heads?”

“I have a second arrangement to show you, if you like the first one,” Liam said. “The second one has a sax solo between two of the refrains.”

“Put the sax down,” Milo ordered as he returned to the garage. “Let’s get started.” The guys heard his drill-sergeant tone and scrambled to their instruments, Sam to the drums, Rick to the bass, and Liam to the keyboard.

“Run it through once for an instrument check,” Rick said. “Then we play the music on the sheet, but you are on your own.” He chucked Liam’s shoulder with his fist and stood next to Milo, who played lead guitar.

They played “Lover’s Suite” first for a sound check, and a second time to set the beats and cues. Milo noticed Liam used the long version of the song. Liam stood up to bat, and Milo knew he must hit it out of the park. Milo played the cord combo. It repeated four times, then he slid his mellow voice over the intro. “Turn around…”

Liam picked up his cue exactly three beats after Milo.

Turn around, look at the view

Know that I’m in love with you,

Waiting for the time you see

That you can be in love with me

It’s way too early to feel this way

But I need you to let me stay

Until the day you see me

The lover who will set you free

And then we can begin

The process where you let me in

To your heart. The day you start

To see the light within my heart

For only you my passion true

Milo’s jaw hit the floor. He almost lost his place on the sheet music. Liam sang with a bright, full tenor smoothed with a hint of bourbon. He sounded nothing like a twelve-year-old boy. Liam hit the second stanza not in weak acceptance of his fate, as Johnny Borchoi composed the original arrangement, but as a man, steel-voiced and determined to fight for his love.

My lover and friend

I’m yours till the end

Of time, or eternity

What a night bright with heat

When our bodies finally meet

The guys played with heart and heat they never managed before. As they played the song, they knew it sounded hot. As Milo and Liam hit the chorus and last verse, what started as a garage band miraculously turned into four serious musicians.

I will sing this song to you

And finally you will know

That I love you so

And I’ll never let you go

Too far away from me.

Liam finished with a triumphant riff. He turned around, his expression blazing triumphantly. Sam and Rick broke out in spontaneous applause. Milo just stood there with his mouth agape. This rare talent sat under their noses for six years and never said a word.

Milo kept looking at Liam and only half-heard Sam. “Liam, you’re it. You are the lead singer of Shattered Glass, and I don’t give a flying f**k who complains about it. You have real talent. I’ve never heard a voice that good outside of the radio.” Sam’s enthusiastic praise constituted the best apology he could offer.

“f*****g awesome, man,” Rick said as he put down his bass. “Milo, his voice melds with yours. It’s red hot and crystal clear. I’ve never heard anything like it.” Rick shook his head. “Thank the good Lord I didn’t walk out. When Mike hears him sing next week, he’ll know he made the mistake of a lifetime. Cleveland, here we come!”

“Cleveland?” Liam asked.

“The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, stupid. Anybody who has ever been somebody in rock and roll is represented there. I’ve never been, but I’m sure it would be the best museum tour I ever took. Much better than the dinosaurs Dad is always dragging our asses to see in New York and Philly. This kid is going to Cleveland and taking us with him. Right, kid?”

“Leave him be, Rick,” Milo said quietly. “I’ll admit he is even better than advertised, but we need to talk to his mom.”

“I’ll do it,” said Sam.

“I’m coming with you,” Liam said, sticking out his chin in defiance.

“No, you’re not, because if your mom says no, it’s going to be no.” Milo acted disinterested in the outcome.

“Milo!” Rick, Sam, and Liam all shouted in a whining chorus.

“Look, buddy, I’ve been telling you to pay attention to what Lily tells you since you moved into this neighborhood. I’m not going to change my tune now.” Milo turned on the two brothers. “He’s twelve. Do you want the responsibility of keeping him safe, whole, and healthy, Sam? It’s true we are only playing at a prom, but we want so much more. What then? What happens when we start doing the rounds of the local clubs? What about you, Rick? You’re sixteen, and you’re already guzzling beer. And when you’re not guzzling, you act like a wacko. I’m going to have to take responsibility and to do that, I have to talk to his mother. Any objections?”

Sam spoke up in a low, but firm voice. “I’ll come with you, Milo. We’ll both take on the responsibility. Our burdens shouldn’t always fall on you.”

“Me too,” piped Rick.

Sam looked at Rick in disgust. “Bro, you are a very promising musician and you play a banging bass, but you can’t take responsibility for a houseplant without it withering in the pot. Stay here with the kid and work him through the play list and the planned sets for Saturday. Then, at least, you would be useful.” Sam and Milo took off, both shaking their heads.