B & G

Chapter 1-2

Thus I resolved to concentrate on professional matters. There were always lots of things to do on campus besides s*x. And I told myself I really didn’t need s*x. Gabe was to make me question that statement time and again as that first semester went on.

* * * *

Gabe

As I was about to finish attaching the name plate to the door, I became aware someone was coming down the hall. I glanced to my right and there he was! It had to be Collins, the new prof. He was carrying a big box, and there weren’t any other new con faculty on this particular hallway. At our university, everyone refers to the conservatory as the con.

Slipping the screw driver into my tool belt, I turned to look at the newbie. Just my height, six feet, he was stunning! He had that almost gaunt look you see on male models walking down a runway in an Armani outfit. His light brown hair was long, down to the top of his collar on the sides and back, his eyes were a pale gray. He was beautiful. Not effeminate, despite the hair, but just beautiful. Probably twenty pounds lighter than me, he had what looked like a willowy build, but then I couldn’t tell too much because of the large box he was carrying.

Our greeting each other was awkward. I was certainly not smooth, but then it had been a long time since I’d seen a man as sexy, a man who seemed completely unaware of how hot he was. Finally, we managed to make some small talk. I told him to call me if he ever had a problem with the heating and cooling system and left, hoping he hadn’t noticed the bulge in my pants.

But I had noticed the bulge in his. Unless he had a monster d**k, he was in the early stages of a stiffie by the time I beat my retreat from his office. I would have liked to stay and talk some more, but, as I said, my c**k was ready to betray me, and I didn’t want that.

He was going to be around, so there was no reason to push things. I had plenty of time to decide whether or not he was gay before I tried anything. The preliminary evidence of his woodie was encouraging, but not conclusive. I decided to enjoy the view whenever I could find a reason to stop by his office. If that boy was gay, I was going to have him.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not the kind of guy who carves notches on his bedpost. I just knew from the outset that I wanted to get to know Brent Collins better, and perhaps very well.

* * * *

As the semester got under way, I carried out my plan to drop by his office from time to time. He occasionally had a student with him, but when he was alone, he always invited me in and asked me to sit and visit for a moment. Most professors are a little standoffish when it comes to B & G people, as if they were the professional staff and we were the work crew. I suppose that’s true, but some faculty people were unnecessarily condescending when it came to us.

Never Brent. He always seemed glad to see me, always had time to chit chat for a while.

After a few weeks, I saw him at a concert, the first of the season for the symphonic wind ensemble. He was with a beautiful woman whom I recognized as Rae Menzies, a second-year cello instructor. She looked as Scottish as her name. My heart sank a little when I saw them together, especially since they seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. She was holding his arm and they were both laughing when I saw them in the lobby outside the concert hall.

I saw them twice more in October at concerts. They were beginning to look like a couple, and I was beginning to resign myself to Brent’s being straight. They surely did look great together.

Speaking of concerts, at the second one, I noticed Brent had written the program notes.

The next week I managed to snag him for a drink after a student recital, and I mentioned that I liked his program notes.

He smiled. “Yeah, they asked me to do that for all the ensemble concerts. The guy who used to do it retired last year, I understand.”

“That would have been Emory Quarles.”

“Oh, yes, I remember hearing people talk of him. I suppose his retirement opened up a place for me here.”

“So it appears. But your notes are more helpful than his. Instead of trying to show off your erudition they seem aimed at helping the concert-goer understand the music. And, since this is a university, and not a New York audience, that’s just what they should be doing, I think.”

“Uh, Gabe…?”

“Yes, professor?”

He grinned. “First of all, I can’t go on calling you Gabe if you won’t call me Brent. Okay?”

My turn to grin. “Okay, Brent. Now what’s your question?”

“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way.”

“Out with it!”

“Well, I can’t think of any way to say it that doesn’t sound patronizing.”

“Oh, then I know what you’re about to ask.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I get that question from time to time.”

“Just to make sure we’re on the same page…”

“You think I know a lot about music for a guy who works for B & G, right?”

“Yeah, is that pretty offensive, or what?”

“Well, it does mean that you’re guilty of stereotyping, doesn’t it?”

“You’re right. It does.”

“So, let’s just say that things aren’t always what they seem. You know HMS Pinafore?”

He thought a minute. “Things are seldom what they seem, skim milk masquerades as cream”?

I beamed at him. “Yup. You got it. Maybe there are electricians who don’t spend all their time in bars or at home watching TV and scratching their bellies.”

He actually blushed. “Gabe, I’m sorry, man. I managed to give the wrong impression. I like you, and I respect your abilities. And I am happy that you like music and come to the concerts. Maybe someday you’ll tell me more about that interest.”

I chuckled. “Maybe someday I will.”

* * * *

Rae

I met Brent Collins at a reception for the new conservatory faculty. I hadn’t looked forward to going. The one the previous year, when I was new, seemed pretty stiff, as if all the people who’d been there for a while had turned out to look over and maybe look down upon the new meat. And we new ones were all pretty nervous, trying to make a good impression. So I thought I’d go and try to make this year’s newcomers feel a little more comfortable.

Of the five new people, three women and two men, the only memorable one was the new guy in music history. Oh, I made a point of talking with them all, and they were nice and friendly enough. But they weren’t gorgeous. I mean drop dead gorgeous! This man had what Shakespeare described as a lean and hungry look. Shakespeare also said such men were dangerous. I wondered whether my new colleague was dangerous, and I decided to find out.

I introduced myself and was favored with a smile that, frankly, made my panties moist. He offered me his hand and said his name was Brent Collins. Actually, I knew that, because we all were wearing those damned stick-on name tags that our dean likes so much. I think it’s because she can’t remember anyone’s name and doesn’t want to admit it. Anyway, Dr. Collins seemed very friendly. I’m used to being hit on, and he didn’t do that. But he did ask the usual questions about how long I’d been at the university and whom I had studied with. He wanted to know if I played in any of the con’s chamber groups, and I told him there was a faculty string quartet of which I was a member. He asked when our first recital would be, and I told him. He said he’d be sure to be there. Then he asked what I thought of my cello students. I said they weren’t Juilliard quality, but they were eager, and some of them had some real potential.

About then, we were interrupted by someone else who wanted to greet the new guy. I gave him a wave and drifted away. He smiled over the shoulder of the person who was shaking his hand, and I looked forward to seeing more of Dr. Collins.

* * * *

Brent

The fall term began with the usual flurry of getting class rosters, trying to match names with faces, dealing with those who registered late, and all that. I had a smallish section of music history and two larger sections of music appreciation for non-music majors, so I had just over a hundred students. There was lots of eye candy. It was still warm in late September, so there were cute guys in shorts and T-shirts everywhere I looked. I’d learned as a teaching fellow at Columbia to make eye contact with students as I talked with them, in class or out. That way I was less likely to get caught looking at the guys’ goods.

About two weeks after the term began, Don Reedy, head of the music history department—there were only three of us—stuck his head in my office door one day. He asked me how I was getting along, and I told him everything was going just fine. Then he said Dr. Bledsoe, the Dean of the Conservatory, wanted to see me.

“And I hope you’ll say yes to what she asks you to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, I think she should be the one to make the request. But it would certainly be better for your prospects here if you didn’t turn her down.”

I told Reedy I’d make an appointment to see the dean. He said to let him know if I had any problems or needed anything, and left. The dean’s secretary told me when I called that the dean could see me at three that afternoon.

“Will this take long? How much time should I set aside?” Time wasn’t really a problem for me. I just wanted to get some idea what was up.

“She’s giving you fifteen minutes,” the secretary said.

Of course in my classes I didn’t have time to worry about the upcoming meeting. But as I munched on a sandwich in my office at noon, I wondered what was in store for me. As it turned out, it was nothing ominous.

The secretary, Lavonne, ushered me into the sanctum of the dean, who stood, came around the desk to shake hands, and gestured toward one of the chairs in front of the desk. Then she sat in the other. I’d heard Carol Bledsoe had been a fine pianist but had had to give up concretizing because of carpal tunnel syndrome or something like that. At any rate, she was a beautiful, elegant woman.

She asked how things were going and whether I needed anything. Must be a standard administrator’s question.

When I told her things were going okay and that I was enjoying my students, she leaned forward in her chair.

“Brent—it is all right to call you Brent, isn’t it?”

“Yes, dean, please do.”

“Okay. I have a favor to ask of you.” I waited for her to go on. “Late in November will be the first concert of the year for the Conservatory Symphony Orchestra. They’re doing an all Schumann program.”

“What a great idea! I don’t think I’ve ever heard an all Schumann concert before. What’s on the program?”

“The main work will be the C major symphony.”