Sunrise Box Set

Chapter 1-3

What I couldn’t have predicted was that I’d wind up with him in my bed. But that’s what happened. We connected instantly. I don’t mean we fell in love with each other. But from the moment we shook hands in my office, each of us recognized that the other was gay and that there was a strong attraction there. That hadn’t happened to me often in my life, and I was excited by the prospect of s*x for the first time since Kyle had flown the coop.

After the reception I took him to the same little neighborhood place Susan had introduced me to the night we celebrated my owning my house. We talked and drank a lot of red wine and consumed vast amounts of pasta. Afterward, he never got to his hotel. We went back to my place, where we drank Jack Daniels.

We weren’t too drunk, however. About midnight we undressed each other, fell into my bed, and managed to amuse each other splendidly for a couple of hours before we went to sleep. The next morning we renewed our activities. We’d slept later than usual for me. So, after we’d showered and breakfasted, I called Jean and told her I might be a little late getting to the office because I was breakfasting with Mr. Klusza before he set out for Ahoskie.

“Tell him we sold five of his pieces at the reception last night, boss. That should brighten his day.”

I gave Stanley the news and told him I thought we’d sell several more before the show came down. That was good for both of us because the Alliance got a nice cut of everything we sold. His kind of art usually sells well because lots of people buy it for wall décor.

So I took him back to his hotel where we hugged when I dropped him curbside. I didn’t see him again. A month later we packed up his things that hadn’t sold and shipped them back to him. His show had been financially rewarding for both him and for us. His name was now better known in Stafford and the surrounding area.

Stanley helped me forget how, amidst all these people, I was lonely.

* * * *

One day when I got back to my office after lunch, Jean told me that Louis had called and said he wanted to come by and talk with me after school. She’d checked my calendar and told him it was okay.

There was the usual parade of people in and out of my office that afternoon. The chairman of our fundraising gala, which wasn’t until after the first of the year, stopped in to run some ideas by me. Gwen, our bookkeeper, came in to go over some things. Jean had lots of things for me to sign. And Jerome, the hunky custodian, came to ask for the next afternoon off so he could go with his church choir to sing somewhere.

A few minutes after three I looked up. There, leaning against the doorframe, was Louis. He had on a red tee, tan cargos, and Birks. He was looking at me with a strange expression on his face. He wasn’t smiling. He just looked as if he liked what he saw. Ever since that first meeting when Louis had told me he thought I was hot, there’d been an electric tension between us, something I’d tried to ignore, discount, excuse. But it had been present.

“How long have you been standing there?” I asked, standing.

“Not long. But I was enjoying it. How are you, sir?”

“I’m great, thanks. And I’m glad you came past. We have some things to talk about.”

He licked his lips.

“Yeah, we do.”

Knowing this conversation needed to take place where no one else could hear, I suggested, “What say we take a walk, or go sit on the bench under that big oak tree over next to the drive?”

It was a beautiful day, sunny, around eighty degrees, with a little breeze ruffling the leaves. I was tempted to untie the leather strap that held my hair in place so it could blow in the light wind, but I thought better of it.

We sat on the bench and swiveled to face each other.

“Louis, your pictures are stunning. I’m so impressed with your talent. If you really want to stay with that as a career, we need to start applying to the best art programs right away.”

He smiled, modestly. “Yeah, Mr. Blount says that, too.”

“Then we’d better get on the stick, hadn’t we?”

“Yes, sir, I suppose we should.”

He had his head bent down a little, so he seemed to be looking up at me. Again I was charmed by the sound of his surprisingly deep voice. I wondered if he sang.

“Could you show me some examples of your work in other media?”

“Sure, but I’m not as good with the paint stuff.”

“I imagine you’re being modest. Please put together a folder for me.”

His smile nearly blew me away. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want.”

The tension between us increased. “Louis, you are an incredibly beautiful boy.”

“Boy? I’m not a boy. I’ll bet my d**k’s as big as yours. And I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks. What’s my age got to do with anything?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Let’s say you’re a beautiful young man. You’re a hunk, and I think you know it.

“I want you to make love to me.”

I had guessed something like that was coming, but I still wasn’t prepared for the rush I got when he said it. “Making love comes when two people are ready to commit themselves to each other, to want to be together for the long haul. I don’t think you’re ready to do that. You have to go to college, get started on what I hope will be a brilliant career.”

“But, sir—”

I held my hand up. “Let me finish, please. There’s no way that can happen. If I so much as touched you with any sort of s****l intent, I could go to jail. And even if there weren’t the law to consider, I’m just about twice your age, old enough to be your father. I’m tremendously flattered that you find me attractive and would want to have s*x with me. But it just can’t happen. I’m sorry. Believe me, I am.” I grinned at him. “Thanks for making me feel so good!”

He grinned back at me. “I’m not giving up. I’ll be eighteen soon, and the legal thing won’t be a problem.”

“What about your parents? What would they think? They’d probably come after me with a shotgun. Besides, I’d be abusing my position if I had anything s****l to do with someone your age.”

He sighed, stood up, hugged me quickly, and jogged off toward the parking lot. I watched the globes of his butt twist underneath the khaki of his cargos and sighed.

* * * *

I didn’t take any work home with me that evening. The art exhibitions and concerts were set for the current year, but we wanted to get everything lined up for the following year as soon as possible. Thus I was spending a lot of evenings looking at slides submitted by people who wanted us to exhibit their work and listening to CDs of people we were considering bringing in for our concert series.

The phone rang. When I answered, the caller said, “Whitney, quit jerking off and talk to me!”

I laughed. It was my ex, Kyle. “Why are you calling after a summer of near silence?”

“I’m sorry, babe. I’ve been busy getting a flat and a car, meeting people, putting down roots. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“I do for sure. How are you, Kyle?”

“I’m fine. I’ve wondered a lot about you, but I thought you might not be eager to hear from me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, I had the impression that you were pretty hurt by my moving on,” Kile admitted.

“At first, maybe, but I realize now that you were right.”

“You know I still care about you, don’t you?”

“Yes, and I still care about you, too. I wish you all the best. Tell me, Kyle, have you met anyone interesting yet?”

There was a pause. “Yeah. Simon and I are living together, in fact.”

“That was quick! When did you meet him?” I wondered whether Kyle had in fact known Simon before he and I broke up. Could Simon be a reason for the move to Manchester?

“I met him as I was searching for a place to live, actually. He’s an estate agent. We hit it off so well, that we, uh—I guess I don’t need to go into that.”

I chuckled. “No, you don’t. I really hope, though, that you and Simon will be happy together.”

“How about you? Have you found anyone special yet?”

“‘Fraid not.” Silence fell between us.

“Whitney, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Sorry, there was some static on the line.” There hadn’t been any static. I’d just let my mind wander back to happier times with Kyle.

“I was asking about the weather there in Stafford.”

“Oh, we’re having sunny days and cool nights. An occasional thunder shower. It’s really beautiful here, Kyle.”

“You make me envious. It seems it’s done nothing in the north of England but drizzle for the last week or so.”

“Are you enjoying Manchester otherwise?”

“Yes, it’s splendid. And Simon’s the best possible person to introduce me to its delights. We went to hear Dawn Upshaw sing at the Bridgewater Hall the other night. Splendid in its way, but I’m not much into sopranos. You’d have enjoyed it more than I did. But Whit, the city has a wonderful gay community. Simon says it has a gay population second only to London. There are some fabulous places along Canal Street!”

We chatted a few minutes longer, and he rang off. Talking with Kyle had been cathartic. If there was any residual regret over our parting, it was gone. I still cared for him, as I’d told him. I hoped he could find something with Simon he never found with me. And I decided I was definitely over him.

* * * *

We often had kids at Sunrise after school, working on projects assigned by their teachers. Some were required to come and see what was in the various galleries and write a report on something there that grabbed their interest. Others used our library. We had the best collection of books, slides, and DVDs on the various genres of art and on art history in the city, and everyone knew it.

I’d often see two or three wandering around the galleries with notebooks or clip boards. Sometimes I’d see one poring over a book in the library. I always tried to stop, introduce myself, welcome them to the center, and chat for a few minutes.

One afternoon there was a kid working alone in the library. He was sitting facing the door, and when I looked in, he smiled. I went in and sat across from him. I stuck my hand across the table and said, “I’m Whitney.”