David

Chapter 1

It all started on an unusually balmy autumn Chicago day near the Buckingham fountain replica in Grant park. Jeff was polishing off the final greasy bites of a Vie-enna chili cheese polish sausage, hurrying because he had only seven minutes remaining of his stingy half-hour lunch, when a figure sped by on a bike. Merely a flash he barely saw, but even clothed and wearing a nerdy-looking bike helmet, the cyclist reminded Jeff of Michelangelo's statue of David.

Jeff turned, reaching, instinctively grasping as usual, for what he could not reach. Cursing aloud, he spent the rest of his lunch period trying to remove chili from his pearl gray Henley.

Back in his minuscule office, where he crunched numbers all day for a major accounting firm, Jeff neglected his work for the remainder of the day, concentrating, trying to remember exactly what he had seen, searching his memory for any clue to "David's" identity. The bike rider had been small, young, under twenty-five, thin and tight. At that age, he was perhaps a student from nearby University of Chicago. Something about his demeanor, or the photo like flash that remained imprinted on Jeff's eyes, shouted "student". If that were the case, or if he worked in Chicago's Loop as did Jeff, then there was a good chance to see him again. Jeff vowed he would be ready.

All week he stalked the park during lunch hour, hoping for a glimpse of the mystery boy. When his "David" finally came, he damn near ran right over Jeff. "Wait, Stop!" Jeff yelled into the wind off the lake, jumping off the path as his "David" peddled rapidly away, oblivious to Jeff's wanton desire.

The lakefront off The Loop became Jeff's regular cruise then. Haunted by that spectral presence,he became a man possessed, as if he were the one hunted. Lunches were completely forgotten. If Jeff sat on a bench, he feared his "David" would pass behind him. He kept close to the lake,on that one side, the rider could not pass, but then Jeff worried "David" might pass on Michigan Avenue,too far away to be seen.

Three more weeks went by. The weather was turning blustery. Winter would soon be here. "Da Hawk", the bitter wind in Chicago's Loop, would come roaring in off the lake. Jeff's chances of finding his mystery boy would disappear until spring. That could be four months. Jeff could not shake the feeling he was in the grip of something larger than himself; providence, fate, kismet! He felt driven. His intense reaction to a fleeting glimpse seemed totally exaggerated. His despondence was deep.

It was a Friday lunch hour, they were pretty loose about that at his place of employment, so he sat a bit longer; sat on a bench near the crashing waves coming in off the dark and violent lake shore, subconsciously listening to the swirling slapping sound of waves on concrete. He was lulled into a state of lethargy akin to sleep, head bowed, almost dreaming.

Jeff would never know what force made him raise his eyes a fraction at that moment. A flash of bright blue, a color never seen in nature, caught his downcast eye. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. L About thirty yards away, a bicycle lay carelessly overturned in the grass. Jeff looked more closely. A bicyclist's helmet lay in the grass nearby. It was his all right. Jeff's enigma, his David. But where was the boy? A nasty thought crept into Jeff's brain. Dodging around the protective barriers, he moved as close as he dared to the gray frothy turbulence that is Lake Michigan where the great lake meets The Loop. He stretched his eyes, scanning, searching for -- anything. Yes. There was -- something. A head! A human head! Jeff knew in a flash that it was he, his enchanting mystery lad. Jeff knew his "David" had thrown himself in the lake. What foolishness. Didn't he know how much Jeff wanted him! The tiny form was disappearing quickly, being sucked out deeper and deeper, further and further by currents similar to California's wild undertows.

Without hesitation, Jeff kicked off his shoes, discarded his jacket. He could not dive in for fear of bashing his head on the many huge rocks, so he eased himself into the frigid waves. His body reacted immediately. Blood thrummed in his ears. He laid on his face and began stroking strongly. A strong and competent swimmer, though not very fast, Jeff had, in his younger days, swum alone and unassisted about four miles, across Choctawhatchee Bay; a successful but foolish endeavor that had taken the better part of a sunny Florida day. But that had been a long time ago. That had been the balmy Gulf. This was Chicago. Lake Michigan was near slush. "Da Hawk" whistled around his ears as he stroked and stroked, desperately ignoring the icy waves sometimes washing over his head.

From time to time, as he swam a rescue stroke learned in the Boy Scouts, Jeff checked that the bobbing head was still afloat. For a very long time his efforts seemed to draw him no closer. He struggled on, checked again. Yes, that golden bobbing head of curls was still there, closer, he thought. He was winning. Or was he? The piercing cold was shutting down his systems. Desperately, concentrating only on stroke, stroke, stroke. Jeff looked up again. The sodden golden locks bobbed inches from his outstretched fingers.

Jeff knew not what to expect; was David awake? Would he fight? Submerging as he had learned in lifesaving merit badge, Jeff felt his way around the small, slight body, turned it. When they surfaced, "David's" curly head lay against Jeff's chin, Jeff's fingers tucked firmly under the lad's left armpit, the slim muscular body lay about one third atop Jeff's. In the water he seemed to weigh nothing. He started to struggle so Jeff shoved his head under. Once more and resistance faded.

Now Jeff was cold, deathly cold, had only one arm to stroke with. Long ago summer camp had trained him; now that training served him well. Jeff laid into the sidestroke, always his strongest, kicked and kicked with his powerful legs. His mind was blank, but he knew his blood was near freezing, shutting him down. He figured he had mere minutes before he lost consciousness, existed only in his lonely lovely frozen dreamworld. He and his "David", dream lover. His thoughts drifted. He forgot to stroke. This world was so nice, so nice, so soft and peaceful. . .

"GRAB EM! GET EM OUT! HURRY! HURRY, GODDAMNIT!"

"Mmm," soft lips were kissing Jeff, warm, warm, soft lips on his. Hard hard blowing. Pushing on his chest. . . painful.

"Hey, hey, quit it!" Jeff cried, sputtering, struggling to draw his face, his body away.

Inches from Jeff's face, someone yelled, "I got this one. This one's back!" A firm hand on Jeff's chest, held him down, but no longer hurt.

"Take it easy, buddy, just relax, you almost bought it there," a deep voice resonated.

"He, he, how is he?" Jeff managed to murmur through lips that felt cryogenic.

"Touch and go," a deep, kind, quiet voice answered, "touch and go. You stupid or heroic?" the same deep gentle voice inquired of Jeff.

"Seems to me you're the hero," Jeff said. "May I sit up please?"

"Yeah well, I went in a few feet. Some folks here saw you struggling way out there. Notice

THEY didn't plunge in after you."

"Different strokes," Jeff said, at first not realizing he had told a joke, then laughing soundly.

"I guess you are okay," gentle giant continued, "you made a joke, even laughed."

"Not a very funny joke, I'm afraid," Jeff said, pulling himself to his feet with the aid of an outstretched arm.

"I'm Jeff. Jeff Hunter. Thank you for your brave help."

"Howard, Howard Breen. And you are the brave one."

"Howard. I don't mean to seem ungrateful," Jeff said, "but I need to see how he is doin'."

"Sure, sure, how stupid of course," stepping back, making a sweeping arm gesture. "Who is he?"

Jeff started to answer that he had no idea, but glancing over at the supine form, he said simply,

"David, Michelangelo's David."

About twenty yards away, a tight gaggle of bystanders was bent over "David's" prostrate form.

Jeff bullied his way toward the center. The young man could tell by the crowd's deference that the man standing over him was his rescuer. His eyes bore into Jeff's with a look near hatred. But he was alive! And Jeff was grinning. The beautiful young man's Aegean blue eyes scanned the crowd. He gestured with his head. Jeff knelt close beside him, a spot of blood matted his golden hair, where a huge red lump had formed, just above the left temple.

"Come closer," he whispered. "This is your fault. Get me out of here, no cops, no ambulance, please just help me get away from here."

Jeff stood. "Has anyone got a car down here? Anyone?" It was a far bet, for, though the streets were crowded with autos, no resident of The Loop would be so crazy as to drive. Once again, the hero, Howard, stepped up.

Howard was a near giant of a man, at least six-six, tipping in at close to two-fifty, but not fat, not even sporting that little belly football offensive linemen carry.

"Come with me," Howard said simply, throwing one arm over Jeff's shoulder, extending the other to the blond god on the pavement.

"Uh, that's his bike over there," Jeff said, pointing.

Howard spoke up. "Somebody grab that bike and follow me."

Apparently, when Howard spoke. People listened. Several people moved in that direction, but one won out, grabbing the bike and helmet and following.

Howard's Cadillac Escalade was up on the biking and hiking trail, emergency lights flashing, but miraculously, no cops were in sight. He quickly trundled everyone inside, stashed the bike, and took off north up Lake Shore Drive. Despite traffic, within a few minutes they were waved through the security protected garage by a uniformed guard.

"Where are we?" Jeff asked.

"Home," Howard replied, "Lake Shore Apartments. You guys okay with coming up stairs to my apartment? It's not, well never mind, come on up if you wish, or there's a red line station half a block that way," he said, pointing. "Though I strongly recommend that you both change and warm up. So, cumon," he said, swinging himself out of the Escalade, flinging the back door open for the two young men. "The bike will be safe here until later. Cumon, hurry, it's freezing. I'll make us all some hot soup. Well? Cumon."

Resisting this force of nature would be akin to swimming up Niagra Falls. The two young men followed him like a pair of trained puppies. Jeff could not take his eyes off the gorgeous youth who strode beside him. He was short, maybe as short as 5'1", with longish, very curly blond hair that shone with radiance even matted and sodden. His eyes were a color Jeff had seen only once before, in the clear blue Aegean off Mykonos. He longed to pull him close, to hug him. The bridge of his nose was crossed by hundreds of tiny freckles the color of cherry blossoms, his cheeks strewn with thousands more. He resembled nothing so much as a tiny man fairy that might at any second sprout gossamer wings and flutter away.

Jeff's very dark skin flushed brick red when he noticed Howard watching him watch the little fairy man, as they entered the elevator. Jeff was taken aback when the elevator opened directly into Howard's apartment. All the visible walls of the place offered magnificent views of Chicago's skyline and lakefront.

"Okay, let's stop right here," Howard said."First of all my name is Howard Breen, this is my humble abode. You are welcome to come in, stay in aslong as you want. I will not be here much of the time during weekdays, but feel free. I will let security know of your presence so you will not be disturbed."

"Hang on, just hang on," Jeff put in. "First of all, this 'abode' ain't so humble. And here's what I really want to know. What's up? What are we really doin' here. What's in it for you?"

"Can we at least have introductions before fear and paranoia set in? Please?" Howard said.

"Okay fine. I am Jeff Hunter. I have my own apartment about two miles west of here that costs about one tenth of this. And, well, this morning anyway, I had a job at Parker Lynch in the loop. Now I am about two hours late coming back from lunch with no excuse."

"You can tell 'em you were busy fucking up my life," the little man finally spoke up, his voice rife with bitter resentment.

"You mean fucking up your death, you ungrateful little prick!" Jeff cut in.

"Yeah well it's my life isn't it.And if I wanna."

"Take it easy son, no one here is your enemy," Howard said. "We are sixty-nine floors above the ground here. There is a terrace right out through those French doors. You can solve all your problems in about six and one half seconds. But it's my house. Nobody's ending all his problems while I am here watching. And yes, I can stop you if I choose. Now stop being such a shit head. Let's start by having your name, okay son. We need to have something to call you."

Looking down shyly, one foot flat, one knee bent, toe touching the floor, he finally answered: "Neal, Neal Downs. Now you can laugh!"

"Why would we laugh? Howard and Jeff asked in unison. "This is not junior high," Jeff continued alone.

"Now I will answer Jeff's questions," Howard said. "I am a man alone with a lot of money and a lot of time. I have amassed a fortune in my life, but lost most everything else: several wives, my friends, even my only child. I was returning from a personal trip having to do with changing my life; driving along, minding my own business, watching Chicago's beautiful waterfront when I saw this fucking idiot throw off his shoes and jacket and jump in the freezing lake. Now unless he was hypnotized, unless someone said, 'go jump in the lake', like that great scene with Lawrence Harvey in 'The Manchurian Candidate', something serious was going on. So I stopped my car and ran over. Several very stupid or very cowardly people were shouting and pointing at Jeff struggling in over the rocks bearing you, Neal, to safety.

"So what could I do? I had to help. No one else seemed willing. So I took charge. Went in myself, shamed some others into helping. I heard Neal asking for no official involvement, I had my car nearby. And here we all are, playing out our parts like two-bit actors in a Shakespeare play. Shall we play it to the end and discover whether it be comedy or tragedy? 'To be or not to be?' or 'What fools these mortals be?'"

At the end of his oration, Howard put an arm about both of the young men's shoulders, drawing them close. Jeff noticed Neal tightening, about to draw away.

"So let's get you two cleaned up, dried up, warmed up. And then we'll go from there. Personally I am famished, could go for an early supper," Howard said.

"There are two baths, down that way, one is in my bedroom, but I'll leave you to your privacy. Nearly dragging the two boys down the hall, Howard flung open a cabinet and tossed each young man a fluffy black towel about the size of Jeff's entire bathroom, then left. Neal shuffled off lethargically to one bath, Jeff headed for the other. He was tempted to opt for a long hot soak in what was apparently a whirlpool tub, but remembered his benefactor speaking of hunger. Nonetheless, once the hot spray from the three different shower heads began its dance over Jeff's body, he wanted it never to end. He didn't bother with soap or shampoo; merely laid against the shower wall, closed his eyes and allowed the hot, blessed relief to cascade over him.

Unbidden, a memory stole over him: Neal's body half atop his, his arm clutching tightly. Involuntarily, The Monster reared his curious head, slipping partly from his foreskin as if to sniff the prospects. "Easy, tiger," Jeff said to his life-long friend, taking him in hand. "Behave yourself for once. He hasn't shown the slightest interest in us."

There was a knock Jeff barely heard. "Yes?" he called out.

"I m going to open the door only long enough to hang a robe for you on the back of the door. We'll let you wear that until we get your clothes cleaned and dried.

"Thank you Howard."

Upon emerging, Jeff dried himself, (Howard's towel seemed to suck the water from his body by some magic.) He slipped on the very fluffy robe Howard had provided, discovering that it must have been heated in the dryer. He was starting to like this man.

Jeff entered the sunken living room, overwhelmed by the luxury and comfort of the place. And the view! He stood for a moment looking out at the lakefront. Way, way off in the distance, a tiny speck of a sailboat danced and shimmered in the late afternoon sun. He had to stand back from the windows a few feet. Each time he drew nearer, a huge wave of vertigo would overcome him. He simply was not used to standing sixty-nine stories above the ground. "I'm in here," Howard's melodious voice floated in from what Jeff assumed was the kitchen. He followed the sound.

"How ya feelin'? Howard queried, "getting warmer?"

"Yeah, that was great with the warm robe thing, just what my body needed, Thanks. And Howard, thanks for everything. It's been a long time since anyone treated me so well."

"In my eyes you are a hero. I have never witnessed anything so brave. There I was drivin' along, and you just, I mean you just threw yourself in that icy water, with no regard for your own safety. I am very impressed."

"Nice place you got here, Howard. This place could feed my family for a couple generations."

"You need money, Jeff?"

"No man, I didn't mean it that way. I am sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I have worked incredibly hard, but I have also been incredibly lucky. As I told you before, I have spent too much of my life, too many hours, striving for money,success, whatever. Now I am going to change my ways. Only last week, well it's been building for a long time, but a week ago I read something or somebody said something about, carpe diem. And right then I said to myself, 'That's what I am going to do from now on. I am going to seize the day, go with the flow'. And bam, this afternoon, you come along to give me the best opportunity of my life," chuckling. "Hmm. I wonder what's taking Neal so long. I don't think any of these windows open. God I'm sorry. That was so bad, but hell I have only recently decided to live! Do you want to go check on Neal or do you want me to?"

"Let me, I'll go see." Jeff had always disliked being in other people's bedrooms when they were not there. It always felt so intrusive, so invasive, but in this case he was awed. The room was damp like a greenhouse; filled with plants of all kinds. A gossamer curtain surrounded a four poster bed on two sides. The length of one entire wall was an enormous aquarium filled with flashing colorful fishes of all description. The headboard of the large bed was a huge window, looking out over Lake Michigan and the Chicago skyline, just beginning to twinkle as evening lights came on.

Jeff started toward the bathroom. Then stopped abruptly. Behind the closed door, Neal was weeping uncontrollably, huge racking sobs that penetrated the door and pierced Jeff's soul. Neal's expression of his grief, whatever the cause, was so private and intimate a moment, that Jeff felt like an alien invader. He moved silently over the thick scarlet carpet, pausing outside the door in indecision. Had his intervention already heightened this man's grief? Was he responsible for this agony. He had acted out there on the shoreline. Should he enter, try to help Neal, or let him go, leave him alone?

Legend has it that saving a person's life binds one to that person forever. Legend or not, Jeff felt a connection, a compulsion to act again, and again if necessary.

Without knocking, he opened the bathroom door. Neal was sitting on the closed toilet seat. He looked up, startled, when Jeff burst in. He looked miserable. His face was blotchy red, his cheeks wet with tears; snot ran from his nostrils. He was the most beautiful thing Jeff had ever seen. Immediately Jeff went to his knees and threw his arms around Neal. Neal tried to resist but Jeff held tight, rocking him softly and "It's okay, you're okay. Trust me everything is gonna be okay." Slowly, bit by bit, Neal's sobs receded. Jeff held on.