It Happened One Night
Reel One: The Escape

By Scribe

The sixty-foot yacht floated about a half mile off the Florida coast, just outside of Miami. It rode easy on the azure waves, a picture of elegant serenity.

Ah, how looks can deceive.

The woman on deck wore jaunty boating clothes--a white flannel skirt, blue blazer over a silk shirt, and an ascot tied in a puffy bow. A skipper's cap was perched on an abundance of dark red hair, riding down rakishly over one bright blue eye. The woman hadn't quite begun to edge into middle age yet, and was trim and attractive. She was the perfect image of an upper-class, decorative wife--someone who spent her days doing nothing more vital than 'good works', or planning entertainment for her tycoon husband's friends and associates.

See line above about looks being deceiving.

Naomi Sandburg might have had a husband somewhere along the line, but no one knew who he might have been, or what might have happened to him. Some business rivals ventured the opinion that he had been eaten immediately after providing Naomi with her son.

In any case, Naomi had managed quite nicely without a husband, thank you very much. She'd traveled extensively when she was much younger, and perhaps this had led to her anticipation of the 'oriental' craze that struck America in the twenties.

With a small loan from an admirer she had started an import business. When said admirer had suggested that she show her thanks by marrying him she had politely refrained from giggling and paid him back his investment, with interest. She ended up supplying a major portion of the mah-jongg tiles, kimonos, painted screens, black enameled furniture, and paper fans that had flooded the nation. Then she invested her money in the stock market.

That might have proved a disaster, if she hadn't gotten out two months before the crash and stashed her money away in bonds and securities that could not be touched. She came out of it richer than ever. There were mutters that perhaps Hetty Green was not the only Witch of Wall Street.

In any case, anyone who had any dealings at all with Naomi Sandburg knew that the fluffier she looked, the more likely someone was to find themselves sporting a new excretory orifice, and Naomi had looked cotton-candy-and-fuzzy-bunny-slippers fluffy for the last couple of days.

She was leaning on the rail, staring out at the nearby coastline, listening to the report one of her stewards was giving her. Finally she said, "Hunger strike, eh? How long has this been going on?"

"He hasn't touched a bite all day yesterday or today. I don't know how he does it--I've seen him eat before." At the sharp lift of her chin the man added hastily, "He has such a healthy appetite."

She nodded. "He won't be able to resist much longer. Have the cook fix up a couple of trays. I want a mini-banquet--all my baby's favorites. He'll eat," the men shivered as her smile widened, "or I'll jam it down his stubborn throat."

An hour, later Naomi made her way down to her son's cabin. She paused outside it and handed the key to Steward One. He slipped the key into the lock, then paused, looking at her. She gestured to the Second Steward to be ready, then made a twisting motion with her hand. First Steward turned the key, then slowly turned the knob.

The door burst open as the room's occupant threw himself through it. He knocked the First Steward flying, but the Second Steward got his arms around his waist and held the struggling young man till the First Steward could help him drag him back into the room.

Naomi followed them into the cabin, taking the key and re-locking the door. "Let him go." The stewards turned loose and jumped back, but not before both earned juicy bruises on their shins. Naomi advanced on her son, arms outstretched and concern on her face. "Blairy baby, did they hurt you?"

He turned away in a whirl of auburn hair and threw himself face down on the bed. "I don't want to talk to you unless you're here to release me, and I guess you just proved that you're not, and don't call me Blairy."

"Touchy, touchy." She reached to pet his back, and he twitched away. "Oh, come on, Blair, you're being a pig-headed idiot."

He turned his head with a jerk, and smoky blue eyes glared at her through the red-brown strands. "I come from a long line of pig-headed idiots." He sat up, shoving his hair out of his face. "When are you going to realize that I'm married? I'm over twenty-one, I'm married to King Wesley, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Naomi's voice was placid. "Barely twenty-one, and married in name only, baby."

"Only because you had those gorillas drag me away from the justice of the peace." He scowled. "Another couple of hours..."

"Yes, well, you didn't have those extra hours, he didn't get his paws on you, and if I have anything to say about it, he never will, the lousy gold digger."

"You have no right to talk about him like that. I love him."

She smiled smugly. "Infatuation. Anyway, you were two days shy of twenty-one when you went to the justice, young man."

"I couldn't wait. You were going to ship me off on that tour of Europe--we had to get married right away."

"Well, your impatience has given me a loop hole. I'm looking into having the marriage annulled."

Blair leaped up and stamped his foot. "You can't do that! Naomi, all my life you've been telling me exactly what to do. You never would have stood for anyone doing that to you, so how can you justify doing it to me?"

Her tone was the sort one uses when speaking to a very young, very unreasonable child. "I'm your mother, Blairy."

"Don't call me that! It might have been cute when I was in short pants, but it's embarrassing now! Christ, have you got any idea how I felt when I was eighteen, shaving for two years, and I read on the society page 'Blairy Sandburg: Beaux of the 1931 Season'?"

Naomi smiled fondly. "You were so cute in your tux, with that red satin cummerbund and the matching ribbon in your hair."

He grumbled, "And the boutonniere you bought me. Why couldn't I wear the one that Cassie Cavanaugh sent me?"

Naomi's voice grew cool. "It would have clashed, and she was a fortune hunter."

"Her father is richer than you are!"

There was a knock on the door, and Steward One went to open the door. Blair tensed again, but Steward Two was keeping an eye on him, and he knew that he didn't have much of a chance at the moment. Another two crewmen brought in two trays laden with crystal, china, and covered dishes. Delicious aromas wafted to him, and he sniffed hungrily before he could catch himself. Noting the smug look on his mother's face, he scowled fiercely at the men. "What did I tell you about bringing that stuff in here?"

Remembering broken plates and bruised shins, they prudently started to back out, but Naomi said, "It isn't for you--it's for me. Put it over there, boys."

The men edged past a glowering Blair to place the trays on a small table near the port hole, then retreated to the door. Naomi sat down at the table and started lifting covers. "Oh, my, look at this! Shrimp cocktail, steak Diane, lyonaissed potatoes, creamed peas, green beans amandine..." She unfolded a napkin, and a sweet, warm, yeasty smell tantalized Blair. "Ah! Cook made some of those crusty rolls you like so much, and they're still hot! Mm, I wonder if he sent honey- butter?"

You devil! You purposely brought all the things I love. "I'm not eating a bite of that."

"Of course you're not, dear." She broke open a roll and smeared golden honey-butter on it. "Just look at how that melts!" She took a dainty bite, and closed her eyes, sighing.

"It isn't going to work! I'm not going to eat a thing till you let me go to New York and be with King. Mom, I'm a grown man, and you have to start letting me live my own life."

Naomi had cut a bite of steak. Now she stood up, saying, "You don't have to eat it, Blair. Just smell it."

Blair's rage and frustration soared. "You're not even listening to me!"

She waved the chunk of steak under Blair's nose. "It's a poem, Blairy. Simply a poem."

The rich, meaty aroma set off a flood of saliva, and Blair's empty stomach gave an none-too subtle growl. For a split second he considered snatching the single bite of meat--then he saw the triumphant smile on his mother's face, and something snapped.

He knocked aside her hand, sending fork and meat flying, then overturned the table. There was a horrendous crash as tableware worth enough to pay more than a week's salary for most people was smashed. Once again the wall and floor were decorated with food (food that many people, people who had unwillingly gone without food longer than Blair, would have been willing to eat off the floor).

Blair glared defiantly at his mother. Naomi reacted without thinking. She slapped him.

For a moment it was very still and quiet in the cabin. Blair stared at his mother, round eyed, in shock. She had never even spanked him, now this. Instantly contrite, Naomi reached for him. "Blairy..."

White-faced, Blair jerked away from her. He spun and charged for the door. The stewards were unprepared, and he managed to slip between them. In the few seconds it took them to obey a now shrieking Naomi and pursue him, he had made the deck and climbed up on the rail.

>From earliest childhood, Blair's spare hours had been filled with lessons in everything from archery to tennis. His swimming instructor would have been very proud of the dive, particularly seeing as how he was hampered by being fully clothed. When the stewards made it to the rail he was already stroking strongly for the shore.

When Naomi exited, Steward One said helplessly, "He got away."

Naomi stamped her foot and, in that moment, only a fool could miss the resemblance between mother and son. "Well, don't just stand there, you galoots! Lower the boats and go after him before my poor baby drowns or catches pneumonia!"

Muttering darkly about 'poor baby', the crew obeyed. A little while later they reluctantly returned to the ship, and the bravest one faced Naomi. "Sorry, ma'am, but he gave us the slip."

"Of course he did! My boy is not a fool, except when it comes to his heart." She paced for a moment, heels clacking on the hardwood deck, then sighed. "I guess there's no way around this becoming a circus. I have to get him back before he reaches King Wesley and consummates the marriage."

She stopped, hands clasped behind her back, legs braced, and head lowered. "All right. Get me the Wilmington Detective Agency in Miami."

Reel Two
The Landing

The cool water soothed Blair's stinging cheek and made it possible for him to ignore the wetness in his eyes. She hit me! She never hit me before, not even when I put my tutor's toupee in the punch bowl at my tenth birthday party and all the girls had screaming fits because they thought it was a rat. I'll show her she can't run my life!

He easily outdistanced the boats that came after him, stumbling up the beach past a few very startled sun bathers and disappearing into the brush.

Blair burrowed deep into the undergrowth till he found a sheltered space. There he stripped off his soaking clothes and spread them on the bushes, then fastidiously picked a patch of grass clean of leaves and twigs and sat down to wait for them to dry. He needed to find a way to get to New York, and he couldn't do it wringing wet.

As his clothes dried, he thought--thought hard. I can do this--I'm an intelligent man. Heck, I learned everything my tutors could teach me by the time I was sixteen. I could have had a couple of degrees by now if Mom had let me go on to college. I thought for awhile there she was going to let me attend that all male university. I never should have told her I was bi. He heaved a sigh. Not like I've had a chance to act on it with either sex so far. Crap, if I'm ever around any active volcanos, I'll have to be careful, or they might pitch me in.

Blair carefully cleared a larger patch of grass and stretched out, spreading his hair so that it would dry more quickly. He closed his eyes and relished the feel of the sun beating down on his naked body. When he was small, his physicians had told Naomi of the healthful benefits of sunlight. But allow her baby to expose himself to natural, unpredictable sunlight? Unthinkable. Blair had spent a carefully monitored number of minutes each week under an ultra-violet ray lamp, and his skin was tanned to a pale honey color, his body hair burnished to red-gold in the thin line that ran from his navel to his pubic hair. He couldn't resist this unexpected chance to bask.

Blair turned his thoughts back to his current troubles. All part and parcel of what's been my problem my entire life: Naomi wants to keep me wrapped in cotton wool, tucked away in a bank vault, under armed guard. I know she loves me, but I'm about to smother. If it's up to her, I'll stay a virgin till I'm about forty, then be handed over to someone who passes her rigorous requirements. He sighed. But if she can't locate a Jewish genius/millionaire/athlete/aesthetic, I'll probably die a virgin.

Eyes still closed, his jaw clenched in anger, and now no one could doubt that Blair was Naomi's son. Well, that isn't going to happen. When I get to King, he'll see to that. Now Blair smiled, thinking of the man he had married only a few days before.

King Wesley. He was one of the best known lawyers in the country. King handled high profile divorce and breech of promise cases, things like that, and he was often photographed with his rich and/or notorious clients. 'The Society Shyster' some Neanderthal newsman had dubbed him--the jealous bastard.

Blair had never met him before that first, breathless encounter, but he'd seen pictures of him often enough. In fact, he'd torn one out of Vanity Fair. Most people usually kept their crush-pictures under their pillow, but Blair knew that the maids were all Naomi's spies, so he'd kept his tucked in a favorite anthropology book. Every night, for weeks, he'd slipped the picture out and taken it to bed with him, staring at it in the moonlight while his hands ran over his own body. He wasn't very careful in his passion, and it had gotten hopelessly stained. Eventually he'd had to get rid of it.

But not long after, I met the real thing, he thought smugly. And not long after that, I married him, and damn it to hell, I'm gonna get screwed by him if it's the last thing I do!

Despite the stereotype of the idle rich, Blair Sandburg had never been capable of remaining still for long. He scrambled up and tested his clothes. Almost dry, though they were going to be kind of scratchy after their salt water rinse. He pulled them on, ignoring the dampness.

Now, how am I going to get to New York? I don't have any cash, and she's bound to have the airports and railway stations watched. How am I going to get all the way... He snapped his fingers, face brightening. It's diabolical! No one will think of looking for me there, but I'll still need money.

He thrust a hand impatiently through his hair, and yelped at a twinge of pain. Drawing his hand down he saw that several curly hair had been caught in his watchband, and jerked out. Ha, that's it! I'll show her.

He started to make his way out of the brush, angling so that he'd emerge away from the beach. He didn't want to be out in the open any more than he had to.

First I'll have to change clothes. She'll have a description of what I was wearing coast-to-coast as fast as the phone lines will carry the news. Next I have to figure out how I'm going to get my ticket, because I'm going to have to assume that she'll have someone watching every possible means of transportation, no matter how unlikely it seems.

Muttering to himself, Blair trudged through the scattering of vacationers, and headed deeper into Miami.

Reel Three
Plotting

Blair frowned as he counted the money. Not much left, but he'd saved a little by keeping his shoes. He probably shouldn't have taken so long deciding on what to wear, but it had been a real treat to be able to shop, really shop. No sitting around while models strolled past wearing various outfits and the tailor hovered anxiously (more often than not discussing the choices with Naomi, and ignoring Blair completely).

He'd gone to a store where all the clothes were hung out on racks, where you could sort through them yourself. Imagine that! And he'd had to try on quite a number of garments before he learned what his sizes were. You had to find something that was as close a fit as possible, because there were 'no alterations!' He'd settled on a pair of blue pants made out of some sort of heavy material. He'd seen the gardeners wearing similar pants, and they'd impressed him as supremely practical. The gardener had called them 'jeans'. He'd also bought a striped shirt that Naomi would never have approved. She would have considered it 'flashy'.

He only hoped that he'd have enough. Blair hadn't a clue about what a ticket would cost. People might have found the concept laughable, but Blair had never really handled money. Since early childhood everything had been provided for him. Even when he went shopping, the clerks had strict orders not to discuss prices with him, and everything went on the family charge accounts.

He figured that he'd better have some sort of luggage, if he didn't want to attract attention, so he purchased a tiny cardboard suitcase. After a moment's hesitation he purchased an extra pair of underwear. It looked funny, lying in solitary splendor.

He found the bus station and watched the bustle, wide-eyed. So many people, going every-which-way, doing God-knows-what. I'd better try to look like I know what I'm doing. There was a newsstand near the entrance, and he strolled over to it and began to examine the reading material with elaborate casualness.

The casualness didn't last long. There was a big headline on the front page. SANDBURG HEIR ESCAPES. Escapes? What am I--a convict? Oh damn, and there's a big picture of me. Hm, there's one of King, too.

Blair wistfully examined the photo of the sleek, sophisticated blonde man. And doesn't he look yummy?

Blair started to tear the photo out of the paper. The clerk said, "Hey!" indignantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Here." He pushed a nickel at the man. "Wait." He handed the man a dollar instead. "I'll have all of these."

"All of them? Uh, okay. Let's see, that's thirty papers at three cents each, so I owe you..."

"Don't worry about it." Blair hefted the stack of papers, walked to a trash barrel, and dumped the stack in.

The clerk watched this performance, shaking his head. Nuts, strictly nuts. Well, when he moves off I can just dig them out and resell them. I'll make a profit of... He watched incredulous as the young man purchased a cup of coffee from the vendor and poured it over the papers. The boy dropped the cup in, then turned and gave the clerk a bright smile. Why, you... Okay, so you aren't as dumb as you look.

Now, to get that ticket. Blair started for the ticket window, but something made him hesitate and step behind a pillar. He surveyed the depot again, and realized what it was. There were two men watching the ticket counter. Their suits were so cheap and their hats were pulled so low that they could only be either gangsters, or detectives.

He listened to them for a moment. The first one said, "We're wasting our time. Can you imagine Blairy Sandburg riding on a bus?"

His companion answered. "I told his old lady it was the bunk, but we're gettin' paid to watch this depot, so watch this depot we will."

Blair leaned against the pillar dispiritedly. Oh, no! Think, Blair, think! You're supposed to have a genius IQ, so put it to practical use. Okay, they're only watching the ticket window. If I can get a ticket without being spotted, I should be able to make it onto the bus. The logical solution is that I'm not going to be the one to buy the ticket. But who else could do it for me?

Blair began to examine the people who walked by. He discarded the bum who smelled of cheap wine, and the over-painted woman who smelled of cheap perfume. He might be naive, but he wasn't stupid. Finally he noticed an elderly woman who was sitting in a folding chair with a battered kettle before her. She was wearing a severe gray dress, and two bar-shaped gold brooches on her shoulders. She waved a small hand bell, making a cheerful clang.

Oh, of course--the Salvation Army. They're supposed to help people in need, and I could be pretty sure that she wouldn't just run with the money.

He approached and tucked a dollar into the pot. The woman smiled at him broadly. "God bless you, son. Someone will be very glad of that."

"You're welcome, Miss...?"

She laughed. "Captain Elsie McFarlain, dear."

"Captain, I was wondering if you could help me?"

"That's my mission in life, young one," she said agreeably. Her eyes swept over him. "Though you're not usually the sort that needs our help. Those clothes are new, and you look well fed. What can I do for you? Do you need a place to stay? We have a shelter nearby."

"No, ma'am, thank you. What I need is a ticket to New York."

She looked regretful. "Ah, that would be difficult. Still, I suppose if you want to go by the mission and tell your story to the general, in a few days he might be able to..."

"Oh, no, you don't understand. I have money for the ticket. It... uh, just wouldn't be... convenient for me to buy it myself." He couldn't stop a nervous glance back at the two detectives.

Her expression grew stern. "Boy, what sort of trouble are you in? I won't turn you in, but I must tell you that if the law is after you, you should go to them. The Army might be able to help you get a lawyer. We have a few who work with us."

"No, it's nothing like that, I promise." He studied her. He really hated lying to her--she seemed like such a decent sort. Maybe a partial truth. "Please, ma'am. I'm trying to get away from Miami, back home to New York. There are people looking for me, but it isn't the police. I'm of age. There's nothing the cops can do about it, so Naomi has to use hired goons. You see, I got myself into a... situation. I've spent the last few days being held prisoner on a yacht. It was awful." He lowered his eyes sadly. "I wasn't to get a bite of food till I did what my captor wanted, and I couldn't, I just couldn't!" The old lady looked horrified. Okay, Blair, big finish. "I managed to fight my way on deck and dive overboard. I escaped, but I'm not safe here." Just a little brightness in the eyes, and let your lip tremble. Don't over do it. "They have men looking for me," He discreetly indicated the detectives, and the old lady gave them a glare that should have made their hats burst into flames. "But if I can just get to
She stood up, her expression determined, and held out her hand. "Give me the money for your ticket, dear."

Reel Four
Introducing...

The man hurried toward the bank of phone booths, and stopped, frowning. A line wouldn't have been all that unusual, but there was a mob outside the booths, blocking them all. He tried to push his way toward the front, but was held back by one of the men. "Say! What's going on here? I need to use that phone."

The man held a finger in front of his lips and shushed him, and the fumes nearly knocked the would-be caller over. "Sh! Go away. This is history in the making."

"What?"

A second man grinned and pointed up toward the front of the crowd. "There's a man biting a dog in there." The new arrival stood on his tip-toes, peering toward what he now saw was the only occupied booth. All he could see was a whole lot of back. The booth's occupant was tall enough to be almost a head over the watching crowd, and his trench coat was stretched across broad shoulders. A hat was pushed back far on his head, and he seemed to be talking animatedly.

"Atta boy!" murmured the first man approvingly, as a muted voice reached them.

A third man slurred, "Oh, I can't stand this anymore," and pulled open the door.

A loud, and obviously drunk voice boomed out. "In a pig's eye, you will! Hey, listen Monkey Face, when you fired me, you fired the best detective your sneaky little agency ever had." James Joseph Ellison, drunk enough to actually enjoy the idea of an audience, listened to his boss on the other end of the line.

"Listen, you wouldn't be able to find a fugitive if he came up and kicked you in the nuts. What? Yeah, I got your report. Why didn't you tell me you were going to be writing fairy stories? I'da sent it to the Saturday Evening Post. Oh, sure, I believe you almost had him, then all of a sudden a car blew its horn an' you passed out."

"I told you I can find him again. I just need another day or two."

"And I said you had your chance. The bail is forfeit, and you've cost us a load of cash again. Look, Ellison, when you're good, you're the best, but when you're bad, you're shit. I'm not puttin' up with it anymore."

"Is that so? I got a good mind to never run down another lead for you again."

"Eppie, I'm busy now, can't you... What? 'He reversed the charges?' Say, listen you. When and if you get back to New York, you stay far away from this office. You don't work here anymore, and you never will." He hung up--hard.

James stared at the phone. Well, crap. One of the guys behind him prodded him in the back. "What's he say?"

Still holding the now buzzing receiver, Jim smiled and spoke into the empty line. "Oh, so you're changing your tune, eh? Well, it's a little too late for apologies." He raised his voice for the benefit of his audience. "I wouldn't come back if you begged me on your hands and knees, and I hope this will be a lesson to you!" He slammed down the receiver and turned to the waiting mob with a dignified air.

They erupted into cheers as he stepped out of the booth. There were calls of 'Oh, boy!', and 'We told him!"

One of the men offered Jim a flask, and he gratefully took a swig. He'd just done himself out of a job--a commodity that was hard to come by these days, and he could use a drink. "I don't need any of his lip."

"Yeah, Jim," one of the men agreed. "Tell him in person when you get back to town."

"I guess he knows now how I feel about his job."

There was a chorus of 'I bet he does', and James pulled his trench coat tighter and tossed his long checked scarf back over his shoulder with a drunken flare. "Is my chariot ready?"

An equally drunk man swept off his hat and gestured with it. "Oh, your chariot awaiteth withouteth, oh mighty king!"

Jim was escorted to the bus, preceded by men declaiming, "Make way for the king! All hail the king!" and tossing bits of torn news print like rose petals.

Blair, already on the bus, was unaware of the commotion outside. He was too busy staring in dismay at the huge (well, big, anyway) bundles of newspaper that occupied the last seat on the right. Oh, no. I can't possibly buy all those, and I don't see any way I can sneak them off. And that looks like the only unoccupied seat. What now? Maybe I should talk to the driver. Not feeling very hopeful, he made his way to the front of the bus.

The driver was busy talking to someone just outside. Before Blair could step down, a very large and (from the smell) very drunk man in a rumpled trench coat and battered fedora started up the steps. Blair stopped, waiting for him to back up, so he could pass. He looked up, and Blair felt a sudden desire to shiver. Those were the most extraordinary eyes he'd ever seen. They were of such a pale blue that they looked silver.

Jim regarded, with drunken good humor, the young man who was blocking the bus door. He was dressed in cheap, painfully new clothes, and his red-brown hair lay over his shoulders in curls. Ellison studied the smoky blue eyes, long lashes, and sulky mouth, and thought Mama's darling, finally out on his own. The world is going to eat him alive. Aloud he said, "Well, Little Prince, if you'll move, we can both get where we need to go."

Blair frowned. He wants me to back up? "I beg your pardon."

"No need for that." Jim went up the steps, managing to squeeze into the narrow space that the young man left beside the driver's seat. "After all, you haven't stepped on my toes--yet."

Blair's eyes traveled up, and up. Damn, he's tall! He stiffened in annoyance when he recognized the amusement in those pale eyes. Blair realized with not a little surprise that the man wasn't going to give way. Reluctantly, he edged back by the driver's seat, making room for the man to pass.

Jim sketched an ironic bow to the obviously spoiled rotten boy, and headed toward the back of the bus--the only place that seemed to hold promise of a seat. He drew up short when he saw the newspapers.

Blair smirked, feeling gratified that the big man wasn't going to get his way so easily. Then he watched in astonishment as the man opened the window and started to chuck the bundles out.

The driver hurried up into the bus, rushing back. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" At a questioning hum, he elaborated. "The papers! What are you doing with the papers?"

Jim tossed out the last bundle and leaned on the overhead luggage rack. "Oh, I never did like sitting on newspapers. I did it once and the print came off on my white pants. It's the truth. No one bought a paper that day--they just followed me around and read my butt."

Blair took advantage of the distraction. Clutching his suitcase, he managed to slither past the two men and reach the now free back seat. With a sigh of relief he settled into the corner and put his case on the seat beside him. Finally. Now, if no one noticed him till they got underway...

The driver said pugnaciously, "Listen, what you need is a good sock in the nose!" Blair agreed silently.

"I happen to like my nose. I always wear it right out in the open where, if anyone wants to take a sock at it, they can."

"Oh, yeah?"

"That's a brilliant answer. If I'd thought of it myself, this conversation could have been over long ago."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I..." He sighed. "Ya got me. Yeah." There was a chorus of chuckles from the other passengers, but the driver nodded, as if to say, 'And don't you forget it!', then headed back up the aisle.

Jim shook his head. I'm not sure I want someone that swift driving me around. He turned back to the seat he had freed...

And found it occupied. The kid who'd almost run into him was sitting primly in the corner, gazing loftily out the window. That didn't bother Jim at all. What did bother him was the suitcase occupying the other half of the seat.

He cleared his throat. The kid turned his face a little farther away. "Excuse me?"

Dark blue eyes, much cooler than he would have liked, turned toward him. "Are you addressing me?"

"You're a squatter. You're occupying land that I fought and bled for."

Blair leaned over so he could see past Jim. "Driver, are these seats reserved?"

The bus driver, making a mental note of the first ones he'd kick off the bus if they became more trouble than they were worth, growled, "Nah, they're first come, first serve."

Blair made a 'you see?' gesture. "Huh." Jim made his voice lilting. "Oh, driver. These seats accommodate two people, don't they?"

The driver looked suspicious. "Well, sometimes they do, other they don't."

Jim nodded, picked up the suitcase, and handed it to Blair. Sitting down, he said, "This is one of the sometimes."

"Why, you..."

"Seats, everyone!" bellowed the driver.

Blair glared at the man sitting beside him. If I protest, I'll just draw attention to myself.

Jim smiled. "If you ask me nicely, I'll put that," he pointed at the case, "in the rack for you."

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much!" Blair snapped. He stood up, his legs bumping the stranger's knees, and lifted the case. Even as light as it was, it was awkward. He was just settling it in place when the bus lurched into motion.

He'd been leaning forward and out, and he lost his balance, and fell. He landed right on the obnoxious traveler's lap. Chagrined, he looked up into the man's face.

Jim said cheerfully, "Next time you drop in, bring your folks."

Blair jerked himself off the man's lap and dropped huffily into his corner seat. Then he tried to push himself farther into the corner, so that not a particle of himself or his clothing touched the bore.

Jim fished a stick of gum out of his pocket, thought about presenting half of it to the kid as a peace offering, then changed his mind. That one had a severe case of 'stuckupitis', he decided. Unwrapping the gum, he popped it into his mouth, and began to chew.

Blair caught a whiff of spearmint, and his belly twinged. He glanced at the other man, folding his hands over his empty tummy, and wished that he'd drunk that cup of coffee instead of using it to christen the papers. After all, judging by that load this man tossed off the bus, his little effort had been like spitting at a forest fire.

He sat back and, to comfort himself, began to imagine what he and King would have for their wedding breakfast. Or would that be a wedding supper? That steak had smelled awful good...

Reel Five
Misadventure


It had been dark for over an hour when the bus rumbled to a stop outside the little diner. The driver set the brake, then looked back over his shoulder at the already stirring passengers and called, "Rest stop! Fifteen minutes, folks. Fifteen minutes is all you get. Dawdle, and I leave ya flat, and it won't break my heart."

The passengers piled off the bus, to find a plump, smiling man cheerfully clanging a dinner bell and extolling the virtues of, "Hot coffee! Hot dogs! Folks, you can't enjoy the trip without some red- hot coffee!"

A few made their way to the service windows to order food and drink, but most people quickly scooted around either side of the building to the 'facilities'.

Blair considered for a moment, then took his case down from the rack and brought it with him. He didn't trust any of these people, and he'd tucked most of what was left of his cash in the case for safekeeping.

He found himself waiting impatiently in line in the tiny men's room. As the minutes ticked, he had to cross his legs and bounce up and down. The tall man watched him for a moment, then poked his arm and said, "Hey, Junior. If your gyrations mean what I think they mean, you can take care of it over there--no waiting."

Blair's gaze followed his pointing finger to a row of open urinals. He could feel himself paling. "I couldn't do that! They're right out in the open, everyone would see."

"Oh, come on! People here have more important things on their mind than watching you drain the lizard." Blair shook his head. "Suit yourself. Get a rupture. I, myself, am not so squeamish." Blair watched, round-eyed, as the man strolled to the urinal, unbuttoned his fly, pulled out his cock, and began to urinate with every sign of relief.

"Hey!" Blair jumped when the man behind him prodded him. "It's your turn! Hurry up, we don't have all night." Blair scooted into an empty stall, shutting and bolting the door quickly. Then he leaned his forehead on the door and tried to control his breathing.

Everyone noticed by the shoes under the stall sides that the young man was just standing there. Jim, buttoning himself up, cocked his head and listened carefully. He'd learned a long time ago that his senses were more acute than most peoples, and he used them to his advantage in his work. When they're not knocking me off the face of reality.

He located the boy's heartbeat, and listened for a moment. It was elevated, and his breathing was a little deeper and quicker than he would have expected. He walked over and tapped on the door. "You okay in there?"

He heard a small gasp, but the boy's voice was testy. "I'm fine! Please, I'd like a little privacy."

Someone snorted. "Den get a sleeper on da Atchison, Topeekee an' Santy Claus, an' get outta our hair, Junior!" The laughter died into coughs when they saw Ellison's expression.

Well, I guess it's nothing physical. He acts like he's never been in a public restroom. Jim felt a smile begin. When I unbuttoned, he acted like he'd never seen a cock other than his own, either. Jim walked out of the restroom, but paused just outside, gazing back at the door thoughtfully. He isn't as young as I thought he was at first, but he's young. I wonder... He thought of that pouty mouth, deep blue eyes, and thick lashes, and shook his head. Right, Ellison. And maybe he is a runaway prince.

Blair finally managed to get his business done, after carefully lining the seat with tissue. He ignored the muttering on the other side, but hurried when they graduated to banging. He washed his hands thoroughly, and quickly got out of the restroom when he noticed another man bellying up to the urinal. Funny, that didn't affect me like it did when that rumpled bum did it. Am I getting used to such a common lack of privacy already?

Outside, the other passengers milled around, nibbling sandwiches and sipping coffee. Blair considered getting something, but his funds weren't extensive, and they didn't have much more time. He went and stood near the back of the bus, his suitcase near his feet. He hunched his shoulders and began to gnaw pensively at his thumbnail, thinking with satisfaction how it would have annoyed Naomi.

Jim, near the front of the bus, sipped coffee and watched the kid. A street lamp behind him made a red-gold halo around his hair as he bent his head. Now he looked younger than Jim had first thought, and rather lost. Who are you? he thought. You're dressed like an Oakie ready to go to church, you have the face and hair of a Botticelli angel, and the attitude of a spoiled debutante.

Blair noticed Jim watching him, and loftily gazed off, pretending to study the menu board tacked over the service window. If he hadn't been so pre-occupied with pretending indifference, he might have noticed the furtive man who crept up behind him, reached out, and picked up his suitcase.

Jim noticed. Holy smoke, that's a gutsy sneak thief! The kid was oblivious. It would probably serve him right, but it went against Jim's grain to allow any kind of nefarious activity to go unchallenged- -especially when the victim seemed to fucking vulnerable. He tossed aside his coffee and started over at a rapid walk.

Blair saw him coming. Oh, crap! Now what? Is he going to accost me, or something?

The thief noticed, too, and prudently took to his heels. Blair was startled, and (he'd never admit it) a little disappointed when the man ran past him and went pelting off into the night like he had a train to catch. He gazed after the retreating form in total bewilderment. Obviously as nutty as a fruit cake.

A few minutes later the man returned, puffing slightly, though not as much as Blair would have expected. He pulled off his hat long enough to wipe his forehead. "Sorry. I thought I had him, but he lost me in the bush. I would have tracked him down for you, if we had any more time."

Blair tilted up his nose and said condescendingly, "Young man, I don't know what you're raving about, and further more, I don't care."

"Young...? Say, Prince, I'm a good dozen years older than you, so don't go giving me that 'young man' guff! And what I'm talking about is the yahoo who stole your suitcase. Maybe you care about that." He pointed down.

Blair looked, and all his assumed superiority vanished. He gasped, "My suitcase! Oh, no! It's gone!" There was a tiny part of him that was saying, puzzled, What are you so upset about? It was a dime store thing, and all you had in it was a pair of underwear. But a stronger part of his mind shouted back, But it was mine! It was something I picked out and bought with my own money! Something I didn't have to have argue and pout to get.

The other man was talking, "I knew you'd catch on eventually. Don't take it too hard, Kid. It happens."

"It doesn't happen to me."

Jim's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "No, not to you. You're special." A thought occurred to him. "Don't tell me you had your ticket in it?"

"No, I have that in my pocket--but my money! All I have now is four dollars."

"You can wire home for more money when we get to Jacksonville."

"No, I can't! I..." He hesitated, his eyes darting. "Um, yes. Of course."

Jim noted the sudden evasiveness. "Come on, let's go notify the driver."

"No!" Jim was startled by the almost shrill insistence in the kid's voice. The boy seemed to realize he was over-reacting, and his voice was calmer when he said, "No, I don't want to."

"Don't be a fool. The bus company is insured for stuff like this, and they'll make good on it. All you have to do is give them your name and address, and..."

"Can't you understand English? Will you please stay out of my affairs! I want to be left alone." He flounced back up to the front of the bus.

Jim watched him go, mouth slightly agape. "Why, you ungrateful brat! You want to be left alone? All right, Marlena." Then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. You've got something to hide, Sweetpea, and I just love a mystery.

The driver called for them to board. Blair waited until the last moment, then mounted the steps with a weary sigh. When he saw the bore sitting in the last seat, looking at him expectantly, he glanced around. Someone had reached their destination, because there was an empty space a few seats up, on the same side. He slipped into it quickly.

Okay, be that way, Jim thought, and promptly turned to arrange his legs comfortably on the empty space.

The bus moved on. Everyone on board settled down as best they could to sleep. Blair wasn't having much luck. The man who was sharing his seat... Well, he was rather corpulent, and he seemed intent on taking more than his share. He was having no trouble whatsoever sleeping. Which isn't surprising, seeing as he's using my shoulder for a pillow and my arm for a mattress. Good God! How much does he weigh?

He tried to discretely shove the man back into his own space. In response the man flopped even further onto him. It was getting difficult to breathe, particularly since at the rest stop the man had indulged in a hamburger--with onions.

>From the back, Jim watched the Little Prince's discomfiture with amusement. When the seat mate started to snore, he knew that the kid wouldn't be able to stand it for long, so he arranged himself so that the aisle half of his seat was vacant--except for an artfully draped hand.

Blair took it as long as he could. He glanced back, and saw that the annoying stranger was asleep. That meant that he wouldn't be bothering him, and he didn't seem to be snoring. Blair pried himself out from under the snoring behemoth, who promptly toppled over to occupy the rest of the seat, never waking. Then he edged his way to the back.

He stood for a moment studying the man, making sure that he was indeed asleep. Then he gently picked up his hand and laid it back across the man's lap, then slipped into the empty space and tried to make himself comfortable. He finally drifted off to sleep, and didn't see the light blue eyes open and regard him with amusement, and curiosity.

Reel Six
Discovery

"Jacksonville! Thirty minutes for breakfast. That's all you get folks, just thirty minutes."

Blair yawned, still not quite awake. Did I fall asleep in a chair in the library? I'm stiff as a board. His head was leaning against something that felt padded, but firm. Mm, and warm, too. His hand drifted up to stroke the surface. A button? He smiled sleepily. King. I knew he'd feel like this. He nestled his cheek against the broad chest and sighed dreamily.

Jim looked down at the curly head resting against his chest, and smiled. He looked... well, right. I could get used to this very easily.

Blair blinked, yawning again. What an awful dream I had. Those goons snatching me away from the justice of the peace, having to dive off the boat to escape, riding that awful bus, that gorgeous smart alec brute... He rubbed his cheek against the warm chest again. Wait a minute. King only wears silk shirts. He peeked up.

The gorgeous brute was smiling down at him. Blair sat up abruptly. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

"Don't mention it."

Blair noticed that there was a scarf wrapped around his neck, and a trench coat spread across his knees. "Um, thank you." He unwound the scarf, then handed it and the coat back to the man. "I feel ridiculous. Why didn't you just push me away?"

"I didn't mind. Besides, you're cute when you're asleep."

I am? Not knowing how to respond to that, Blair looked around quickly, and noticed the empty bus. "Why, everybody's gone! We're in Jacksonville, aren't we?"

Jim nodded. "How about some breakfast?" He had a feeling that there was a lot more to this young pup than was visible on the surface, and he wouldn't mind exploring those depths. The boy stood and stretched, and Jim's face was about on the level with a very nice package, covered in hard, new denim. Yes, indeed. Explore those depths every way possible.

"No, thank you. I have to go to the Windsor Hotel." He and King had discussed honeymooning there. There was a slim chance that King might have used the reservations, and was even now hunting for Blair. He had to check, and he had to do it in person. An establishment like the Windsor would never reveal a guest's situation over the phone.

Jim frowned. "The Windsor? You'll never make it. We have less than a half hour left, the bus will leave you."

Blair gave him a serenely confidant smile. "Oh no, they'll wait for me." He strode briskly up the aisle and tapped the bus driver on the shoulder. When the uniformed man turned to him he said, "Driver, I'll be a few minutes late. Be sure to wait for me." Then he trotted down the steps and disappeared into the crowd while the driver stared after him, and Jim shook his head.

As he stepped off the bus, he thought, I think he really believes that they'll wait. What sort of normal person believes that?

He bought some toast and eggs at the lunch counter. While he was eating, he noticed a newspaper that someone had left on the next stool, and snagged it. He hadn't bothered to look at the ones he'd thrown off the bus, and he was interested. After all, he would have been a journalist, if he hadn't been a private detective. He'd taken some courses before he entered the army, and he would have been in the journalist corps if he hadn't joined the Rangers. He still could write, if he wanted to. An old college buddy, Simon Banks, was editor of a middle sized newspaper in New Jersey, and had offered Jim a berth as a reporter more than once.

Let's see what's going on in the wide world. Damn, look at that, banner headline. Roosevelt must be coming up with some new program, or... 'Sandburg Heir Escapes'? Oh, for crying out loud, they've got something about one of those spoiled society brats on the cover.

He recognized the picture of the sleek looking blonde man on the right side of the page. And King Wesley's mixed up in it. Wouldn't you just know? Mama Sandburg's smart to want to keep her baby away from that snake, but if the kid is old enough to...

Jim hadn't often had a thought process peter out, but it did this time as he stared at the other picture. It showed a typical society scion, dressed in an elegant tux, with a satin cummerbund and a boutonniere so big it was more of a corsage. What caught his eye, though, was the hair. It so long that it was pulled back in a tail, and dropped almost a third of the way down the boy's back. He couldn't tell what color it was in the black and white photo, but looking at the piquant face with the bored expression, he knew it would be a rich red-brown, and it would curl when released from the ribbon.

He read the caption. 'Blairy Sandburg. Former Most Eligible Bachelor?' Jim looked up, gears whirling in his mind. They all meshed. So that's why he doesn't have a clue about how the real world works. Well, I'll be damned.

He kept reading. Mama Sandburg was offering a ten thousand dollar reward for the safe return of her wayward son. Ellison whistled softly. A man could do a lot with ten thousand dollars.

He rubbed his jaw, feeling the slight rasp of stubble and considered. Then he shook his head. No, as much as it would be a delicious hoot to bring the kid in and rub my old boss's nose in it, I just can't. Tracking down crooks, dead beats and scum bags is one thing, but this kid just wants to live his own life, and he isn't hurting anyone. It would be too much like a slave runner dragging a runaway back to the plantation. Which sounded ridiculous, when you considered that he'd be dragging the kid back to wealth, privilege, and luxury.

He broke the yolk on one of his eggs, dipped toast in the thick yellow fluid, and munched thoughtfully. There has to be some way I can get something out of this screwball situation.

*****

Blair was drooping when he returned to the bus station. King hadn't been at the Windsor. It seemed that he had canceled the reservations almost immediately--hadn't even come down.

I don't understand it. He didn't know exactly where I was, but he knew Naomi was having me taken to the yacht, off Florida--the goons let it slip while they were dragging me off. He rubbed his face dispiritedly as he made his way toward the doors that led out to the drive where the bus would be waiting. He certainly didn't try too hard to stop them, either. Oh, I guess that's unfair. King is too civilized for such things, and he knew they weren't going to hurt me.

Blair stopped abruptly, staring at the empty space at the curb. No bus. Nothing but a few oil stains. He checked the stand by the door. Sure enough, it announced that this was the waiting area for the 'Night Bus to New York'.

He hurried back into the station and found a bus company employee. "Where's the bus for New York?" Maybe they had to move it to make room for something else. Hope, hope, hope.

"Why, that left about twenty minutes ago."

Blair was alarmed to feel tears start to well up in his eyes. He fought them back fiercely. "But that's ridiculous! I was on that bus, I told them to wait."

"I'm sorry, sir, but it's gone." The man, no more than mildly conciliatory, turned away. Blair drooped.

"Hey, there." It was his former seat mate, sitting on a bench. The man was looking insufferably smug. "Remember me? I'm the fella you slept on last night."

Blair stiffened. "I believe I already thanked you for that." Blair touched the employee's arm. "When's the next bus to New York?"

"Eight o'clock tonight."

"Eight... but that's twelve hours!"

"I can't help that." He bustled off to find something to do that would take him away from complaining customers.

The voice of the man on the bench was the same crooning tone you used on a cranky toddler. "Aw, what's the matter? Wouldn't the old meanies wait for you?"

Blair huffed, "I don't know what you're so smug about. You missed it, too."

"Ye-ah, I missed it, too."

A horrid idea struck Blair. "Say, wait a minute! Don't tell me you did it on my account!" He just looked at him. "I hope that you don't think that last night..." The dark eyebrows quirked. Better not to pursue that line of thought. Blair cleared his throat. "Now, see here, young man. You needn't concern yourself about me. I'm perfectly able to take care of myself." He started to turn away.

"You're doing a pretty sloppy job of it so far." He reached in his pocket. "Here's your ticket."

Blair stared at the rumpled piece of paper. "My ticket? But..." He dug frantically through his pockets. His face was starting to flush as he took the proffered ticket and mumbled, "Thank you. It must have fallen out."

As he was tucking it back in his pocket (making sure it was securely seated this time), the man said casually, "You'll never get away with it, Mr. Sandburg."

Blair froze. He tried to keep his voice level. "What did you say?"

"I said you'll never get away with it. Your mother will stop you before you get halfway to New York." He shrugged. "Or her bully boys will."

"You... you must have me mistaken for someone else."

"You're only kidding yourself. It's all over the front page." He handed over the newspaper.

Blair took it and stared in dismay at the headlines. He murmured, "That's an old photo, and I've always hated it. It makes me look dimwitted."

"No, just young." He stood up. "I've always been curious about what type of person would marry a front page scum sucker like King Wesley. Take my advice and hop the first bus back to Miami. That guy's a phony."

Blair angrily folded the paper and slapped it against his chest. "I didn't ask for your advice."

He lifted his suitcase. "No, you didn't."

As he started to walk off, Blair realized just how precarious his situation was. "Wait!" He grabbed the big man's arm. It was warm, and felt as solid as wood. "You... you're not going to tell my mother, are you?"

The man stopped and gazed down at him, blue eyes unreadable. "Why would I do that?"

Why? There was one possible reason that was plain to Blair. It was the reason that seemed to rule everyone he came in contact with. "I suppose you could get some money out of it--quite a lot."

The man's expression became considering. "I hadn't thought about that."

"Oh, please, don't! I have to get to New York, it's very important to me. Look, whatever my mother would pay you, I can pay you more! I'd give it to you now, but..." He tapped the outside of his jeans pocket, expression distressed. "All I had when I jumped overboard was a wristwatch, and I had to sell it to get these clothes. But I have the money. My grandfather left it to me in trust, and I can get it, now that I'm twenty-one, but I'll have to go to the bank myself. If you'll give me your name and address..."

"Never mind." Blair looked up in surprise at the bitterness in the man's voice. "I had you tagged from the start. You're just the spoiled brat of a rich, indulgent mother. The only way you think you can get anything is to buy it. You're in a jam, and all you think of is your money. It never lets you down, does it? Look, the next time you get near a dictionary, look up the word 'humility'. It's quite a concept."

Blair felt stunned. No one had ever spoken to him like this. It hurt. It made him feel petty and childish, but it was just so unfair. This man didn't know his situation--all he knew was what was spread over the society sheets and tabloids.

He was still speaking. "I guess it never occurred to you to say 'Please, Mister, I'm in trouble. Will you help me?' No, you'd have to get your nose out of the air to do that. Well, let me tell you something, Blairy..."

"Don't call me that!" The boy's tone was low and intense, and it brought Jim up short. "Dear God, will I never escape that? I'm not 'Blairy'. I'm Blair, and I'm not just Naomi Sandburg's baby boy, I'm a man, and why should I trust you enough to ask you for help? Why shouldn't I think you're looking for a way to make a buck off me?" His tone was much too old for one so young. "Why should I believe you are any different?"

Jim was silent for a moment. There was a nagging whisper at the back of his mind talking about not judging someone by all the guff you heard in the scandal and social rags, or gossip, but making up your mind on what you saw and knew. Then he thought about Sandburg expecting to buy him off, and gritted his teeth. "Let me tell you something that may ease your mind. I'm not interested in your money or your problem. You, your mother, King Wesley, you're all a lot of hooey to me."

Blair watched him stalk away, and murmured to himself. "I don't believe it. I've been dismissed."

Reel Seven
The Plan

Note: A candy butcher does not chop up Snickers bars, he vends candy.

Jim leaned against the counter and looked at the girl who was sitting before a stack of official looking forms. "Do you send telegrams here?"

She swept her eyes up his long form, then said archly, "I'm fine. How are you?" He smirked noncommittally and handed her a note. She began to read it. "To Mister Joe Wilmington in Miami. 'Am I laughing? The hottest case in America just landed in my lap. I know where Blairy Sandburg is.'" She gasped and looked at him excitedly. "No! Do you?"

He waved at her. "Go on! Send the telegram."

"How would you like to know, you big tub of..." Her cheeks flamed. "Say, Mister, I can't send that word over the wire."

"Oh, all right. Just say 'big tub of mush'."

"'Well, kiss my...' I can't say that either."

Jim sighed. "Substitute 'foot'."

"'What I said about never running down another lead for you again still goes. Are you burning? Signed Jim Ellison.' That'll be two dollars and sixty cents."

"Send it collect. And one more. This one is to Simon Banks, care of the Big Apple Banner. Dear Simon. Hope that offer is still good. Have the scoop of the year. Let you know more later. Signed Jim."

She wrote busily. "Collect?"

Jim smiled, reaching into his pocket. "No, I'll pay for this one."

****

Blair hurried from the men's room I'm getting better at this. I didn't have to force myself this time. and hurried onto the bus just as it was getting ready to pull out. He stopped in the middle of the bus, frowning. More passengers had gotten on than had finished their trip, and the bus was crowded. Ellison, by the window in the middle of the bus, looked up at him expectantly. Blair quickly slipped into the only other open seat, directly across the aisle, as the bus started moving. Jim shrugged.

Blair slipped a sideways glance at his new seat mate. Not nearly so rumpled as his last one, not fat like the seat hog. As the man noticed Blair and folded his paper, smiling, Blair thought, He's actually very good looking, and sharply dressed. This should be an improvement.

He changed his mind the second the man opened his mouth. "Hiya, Kiddo! My names Shapely, Rafe Shapely. We might as well get acquainted. It gets tiresome later on these jaunts, especially for someone like you. You look like you've got class. Yes, indeed. Class with a capital K. Ask any of the boys and they'll tell you--Shapely sure knows how to pick 'em."

Blair stared at him in dawning dismay. The man hadn't yet drawn a breath, and there hadn't been an inoffensive word out of his mouth.

Rafe Shapely didn't notice Blair's expression--he just kept rolling. "Yes, sir. Shapely's the name, and that's just the way I like 'em." He ran his eyes suggestively down Blair's chest and let them linger on his fly before moving down his thighs.

I've sat next to a wolf, Blair thought resignedly.

"You made the right choice, sitting next to me. Most of the mugs on a hop like this ain't nothing to write home to the wife about..."

"Oh, you have a wife?"

He didn't take the hint. "You have to be careful about who you hook up with, but you can't be too particular, neither." The man was leaning closer. Blair rolled his eyes, and his gaze met Ellison's. He looked away quickly.

Jim was listening with amusement mixed with annoyance. It was obvious that the guy was looking for a pick-up. Why didn't the kid smack him down? He didn't seem to be interested.

"What's the matter, Kiddo? You ain't saying much."

Blair's voice was as cool and crisp as a cucumber sandwich at high tea with the Queen. "You're doing an excellent job of that yourself."

Shapely laughed. He imitated Blair's tone. "You're doing an excellent job of that yourself." He laughed again and said in his own voice, "Well, shut my big, nasty mouth!"

"Would you?" Blair snapped.

That got another laugh. "You're one up on me. There's nothing I like better than to meet a high-class kid who can" he snapped his fingers, "snap 'em back atcha. Cause the colder they are, the hotter they get. Yes, sir! When a cold kid gets hot, boy, how he sizzles." Another laugh. Blair looked down in horror as the man's hand settled on his knee. "You're just my type. I could go for you in a big way, believe you me."

The hand started to slide higher. Blair shoved at it, saying, "Believe you me, you bore me to distraction."

The hand kept crawling. "Hah! Looks like you're two up on me!" A large hand smacked down, cracking the back of Shapely's hand, and he withdrew it with a yelp. "Say!"

He looked up into the hard blue eyes of a very big man standing in the aisle. "What's the idea?"

The man jerked his head. "There's a seat over there for you. I'd like to sit next to my husband, if you don't mind."

"Your husband?" Rafe looked at Blair, who raised an eyebrow. "Oh. Uh, sure, sure." He stood up and started to slip out of the seat. Blair promptly moved over beside the window. As the man slid past Jim he muttered jumbled apologies, swearing that he didn't mean anything, and he was just trying to make things pleasant. When he made it into the seat across the aisle he quickly put his newspaper back up and hid behind it.

Jim sat next to Blair. After a moment Blair said hesitantly, "If you won't snap my head off, I'd like to thank you."

Jim started reading his own paper. "Forget it, I didn't do it for you. His voice gets on my nerves, too." Feeling a little let down for some reason, Blair settled back and crossed his arms. After a moment, not looking over, Jim said, "What did you do all day?"

Blair shivered slightly. "Ran in and out of doorways, trying to avoid rain."

Jim looked over sharply. He touched Blair's leg, and the young man stiffened, but it wasn't a grope, like it had been with Shapely. He fingered the damp denim, then said, "Say, your clothes are all wet." He undraped the scarf from around his neck and handed it over.

Blair gratefully wrapped it around his neck, just as a candy butcher came down the aisle, calling "Chocolates, gum, magazines, cigarettes, candy bars..."

Blair looked up alertly. "Here, you!" The vendor approached, and Blair started to reach in his pocket. "I'll have a box of chocolates."

As the man started to hand over the box, Jim pushed it back. "Never mind, he doesn't want it."

Blair bristled. "You've got your nerve!"

Jim shooed the vendor. "G'wan."

"Hey, wait!" While Blair turned to sadly watch the tray of tempting goodies disappear down the aisle, Jim plucked his funds from his hand and counted them.

He snorted. "A dollar and sixty cents, and you had four dollars last night. How do you expect to get to New York at the rate you're going?" He tucked the money in his inner jacket pocket. "From now on, you're on a budget."

Blair tried to grab it back. "Just a minute! You can't..." Jim put his hand over Blair's, trapping it. Blair suddenly realized that he had his hand inside Jim's jacket, pressed intimately between the other man's hand and what felt like a very solid, muscular chest. His face flamed.

Jim observed the flush rising in his cheeks. He took hold of Blair's hand and moved to lay it in the young man's lap, saying softly. "Shut up."

Blair shut up.

Reel Eight
Close Quarters


It kept raining. In fact, it got a lot worse. By about ten, the water was sheeting on the bus's windshield, and the driver had slowed to a crawl. Finally they came to a spot where the road was spanned by lit flares, and were waved over to the side of the road by a cop in a slicker, holding a lantern.

The driver opened the door, and a gust of rain blew in. "What's wrong, officer?"

The policeman's booming voice carried through the bus. "Road's washed out. You all ain't going to be able to get through till morning. Ifen any of the passengers want, there's a motor lodge up the road a piece."

Jim leaned out into the storm, looking down the road. "Where?"

The cop pointed. "Right yonder--Sykes Auto Camp."

"Thanks." Jim leaned back in. "Hey, Brat."

Blair lifted his nose. "Are you addressing me?"

"Yeah. Get it in gear. We're sleeping here tonight."

So Blair found himself outside the lodge, huddled under Ellison's trench coat while the man stood in the doorway of one of the cabins, haggled with the skinny, bespectacled manager. Finally Jim waved to him, calling, "C'mon, we're all set."

Blair squelched grumpily through the puddles. As he passed the manager, the man cheerfully tipped his sodden had and said, "Good evening! Hope you and your husband rest comfortable." Blair stared after him till there was a sharp whistle from Ellison, then he hurried on.

Inside the tiny cabin the whole place is smaller that the stateroom on Naomi's yacht, Ellison was turning down the covers on one of the twin beds. Blair froze. Jim had found the clothes line this place is just chock full of amenities and was stretching it down the center of the room, anchoring it to the opposite wall. "Darn clever-- these Armenians."

"Yeah, it's a gift," he said absently.

"I just had the unpleasant sensation of hearing you referred to as my husband."

"Oh, that." He knotted the cord, and tested it. "I took the liberty of registering as a married couple."

"Oh, you did. What am I supposed to do, faint with joy?"

Ellison took off his wet jacket and hung it on a chair in the miniscule dining area. "I half expected you to be grateful."

"Your ego is terrific."

"Yeah, not bad." He pulled Blair to one side and shut the door. "How's yours?"

As Jim placed his suitcase on one of the beds and began to open it, Blair said, "Compared to you my friend, Shapely, is an amateur." Jim looked up. "What gave you the idea I'd stand for this."

Jim straightened abruptly, and took a step toward Blair. "Let's get this straight, right now. If you're cherishing any silly notions that I'm interested in you, forget it. You're just a headline to me."

Blair's eyes grew round. "Headline? You... you're not a newsman, are you?"

Jim wondered at the almost plaintive tone of his voice. "I will be." He leaned on the bed, looking Blair directly in the face. "Look, you want to get to King Wesley, right? I'm here to help you. All I want in exchange is your story--exclusive. The day-to-day account of your mad flight to happily-ever-after. I need your story. To be honest, I've got to have it. I just lost my last job, and this is what will get me my next one."

"Well, isn't that just too cute." Blair's voice was bitter, more bitter than any young man who had been raised without want should ever be. "There's a brain behind that handsome face of yours, isn't there? You have it all figured out, including..." he waved a hand at the cabin's interior, "this."

Jim unpacked pajamas. "This? Simple mathematics. These cabins cost two dollars, and I'm sorry to tell you, hubby dear, but the family purse will not support separate establishments."

Blair paused, then took off the scarf and coat and dropped them over the foot of the bed. "Well, thank you. You've been very kind." He opened the door.

Before he could step out into the rain, Jim said, "Go ahead. But I'm warning you--I'll follow you. And if you get tough..." he had moved up behind Blair, and the younger man felt his breath tickle his ear. It felt very warm in the chill air. "If you get tough, I'll just turn you over to your old lady."

Blair whirled, to find himself almost against the bigger man. He looked up into the cool blue eyes, knowing that his own gaze was almost beseeching, but not able to control it. Jim nodded. "And do you know what my last job was, Blairy? I was a private dick for an outfit that your Mom is sure to have employed. They'd be happy to have me back in the fold, if I brought you along. Or I could just turn you in myself for that reward."

"But that's not what I want." He pulled Blair farther into the cabin, and shut the door. "I want you to make it, and I want to write about it. That's it--my whole plot. A simple story for simple people. Behave yourself, and I'll see that you get to King Wesley, though why you'd want to..." He shook his head. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he blotted water from Blair's forehead. "Otherwise, I turn you over to Mama Naomi. Now, which one of these do you want?"

Blair just stared at him. He was feeling numb. Jim walked over to the bed against the far wall. "This one?" He turned down the sheets, fluffed the pillow, and bounced the mattress. "You should be comfortable here." Blair would never have admitted it, but seeing Jim Ellison fiddling around with the bed he was going to lie in gave him a very funny feeling.

Then Jim took an afghan off his own bed and hung it over the clothesline, spreading it out neatly. It formed a curtain between the two beds. Blair said acidly, "I suppose that makes it quite all right."

Jim looked back over his shoulder as he continued to arrange the cloth. "This? Well, I like my privacy. Yes, I'm very delicate about that. Prying eyes annoy me. Must be all that time I spent in the army, having to parade around bare-assed in the communal shower."

Blair was glad that Jim had turned back. That meant that he wouldn't see the astonished look the young man dropped to his fly, where a slight bulge had suddenly appeared. It also meant that Blair didn't see the big man's nostrils flare as he caught a sexually appetizing scent, and smiled.

Jim stepped back, and saw Blair grab his scarf and dangle it casually before his crotch. He waved. "Behold the Walls of Jericho. Not as sturdy as the ones Joshua blew down with his trumpet, but much safer, because I have no trumpet." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Now, would you mind joining the Israelites?"

Blair glared at him. Infuriating man. My God, those eyes are blue.

"Oh, you don't want to join the Israelites? Well, perhaps you're interested in how the 'lower classes' undress." He started to unbutton his cuffs. "It's quite a study in psychology--no two men do it alike. I once knew a man who kept his hat on till he was buck naked. Now that was a sight. Years later his secret came out." Blair stiffened... and stiffened, when he leaned close and whispered, "He wore a toupee."

Jim started unbuttoning his shirt. Blair found that his mouth was getting dry. "Now you'll notice that with me the coat came first, then the shirt."

He pulled off the shirt, and Blair's mouth suddenly got wet again. He wasn't wearing an undershirt. Blair had a sudden memory. He was about fourteen, and his tutor had dragged him to another museum. The teacher was going into ecstasies about some piece of pottery when Blair had spotted the statue. He couldn't remember now whether it had been Greek or Roman. All he knew was that it had been nude, and magnificent. After taking a peek to be sure no one was watching, Blair had reached out and run his hand lightly over the hard, polished chest. It had made him shiver. Now here was someone who looked much the same, but he was warm, living flesh.

He was speaking again. "According to Hoyle, the pants should come next." He tugged at the waist band, then held up one finger, to make a point. "Here's where I'm different. I go for the shoes next." He propped a foot on the bed and began unlacing. "First the right." Thump. Next foot up. "Then the left." Thump. He stood up, and touched his waist band again. "After that, it's every man for himself."

As he undid the top button, Blair made a mad dash for the safety of the curtained off area. He thought he heard a chuckle behind him, but he wasn't about to check or inquire. There was a window, and he quickly threw up the shade and reached for the catch. But he hesitated, staring out. It was raining like Noah's flood. Feeling defeated, he dropped back on the bed.

Ellison's voice floated over. "Still with me, Brat? Sure you are. You're not a sucker. A night's sleep will do you good, and you've got nothing to worry about. The Walls of Jericho will protect you from the Big Bad Wolf." There was a creaking sound that had to be him getting into bed. That must mean that the pants were gone. Irritated, Blair kicked the curtain. He heard a laugh, then Ellison sang (damn him) "Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? Big Bad Wolf, Big Bad Wolf? He's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. Tra la la la la."

Blair hoped that his voice sounded chilly instead of choked. "Would you mind putting out the light?"

"Not at all." Jim stretched to the foot of his bed and flipped off the lights. When he lay back, he lifted the shade of the window at the head of his bed. There was a pole lamp right outside the room, and it cast a dim, watery glow inside.

He could hear rustling coming from the other side of the afghan. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated. The sounds became clearer, the obvious sounds of cloth sliding against cloth... and against skin. There was the whisk of cotton that was his shirt, then the heavier rub of denim as he removed his jeans. Then... Jim frowned. That soft sound reminded him of wool, or flannel, but he should have gotten his outer garments off by now. The question was answered when a pair of flannel boxers were draped over the curtain.

The scent of sex hit him like a blow to the pit of his stomach, and he said quietly, "I wish you'd get those off the walls of Jericho."

"Oh. Sorry." They were whisked away.

Jim settled back. Terrific. Now I have to lay here, knowing that he sleeps in the nude. This may be a long night.

Blair's voice drifted over, as the creak and rustle announced that he had gotten into bed. "By the way, what's your name? Who are you?"

"Who, me? I'm the whippoorwill that cries in the night. I'm the lonesome train whistle. I'm the soft morning breeze that caresses your lovely face."

Snort. "You've got a name, haven't you?"

"Sure. It's Jim. James Joseph Ellison."

"Jim Ellison. I don't like it."

"Well, don't worry about it. You only have it temporarily, I'm taking it back tomorrow."

"To...? Oh, you mean about the married business. I'm not taking my husband's name when I marry. I've already discussed that with King. We'll belong to each other, but I'm not going to just submerge myself into him."

"Independent little cuss, aren't you?"

"I'm trying to be."

"Go to sleep, Brat."

Silence, then, sleepily, "Quit calling me that."

Reel Nine
Getting to Know You

Naomi Sandburg sighed, pushing away the tray, the contents of her plate barely touched, and turned to stare out the window at the fluffy clouds that were streaming past. She'd had to wait till this morning to fly to New York, the weather had been too hellish last night. Her brows knitted as she thought of her sweet baby, Blair, out in last night's torrent. *He's so sensitive to the cold. I hope he found somewhere warm and dry.*

Her assistant, Henri Brown, came back from the cockpit. "I have the report from the Charleston division of the Wilmington Detective Agency. They're checking all northbound trains, and they have twenty men watching the roads, but there's no sign of your son so far."

She scowled. "They're just as bad as all the others." She stabbed at a button on her intercom. "I thought I said I wanted to get to New York as soon as possible, so why are we crawling?"

The pilot's voice came back. "I have it wide open, ma'am."

"Well, step on it!"

Henri sighed. "I hope he's all right, ma'am."

Naomi sat up, glaring at him. "All right? Of course he's all right. What could possibly happen to him?"

Henri looked down. "Nothing, ma'am."

"Well, then, shut up about it. He's a resourceful boy."

She turned to look out the window, but Henri could still see the worry on her face. But he's a boy who's never been out on his own in that big, cold world you've tried so hard to protect him from. Why, Naomi Sandburg, you Bitch of Wall Street. You're nothing but a worried mother after all, aren't you?

*****

Blair stretched, listening to the sound of an airplane droning by overhead. It was mingled with the shouts of playing children, the mumble of adult voices, and the sound of cars moving along the nearby road. Morning, and the rain had stopped.

He sat up, raking his hair out of his face, and rubbed his eyes. Yawning, he called tentatively. "Hello?" No response, no sound of movement. "Hey, mister?" The door opened. He leaned toward the foot of the bed, and could just see the tiny dining area. Jim Ellison was setting a couple of paper bags down on the counter near the hot plate. "Oh, hello."

Jim glanced at him. "Aren't you up yet?"

"What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock. Here." He tossed a little package in Blair's lap.

Blair unwrapped it, and grinned. "Oh, a toothbrush! Thanks. The inside of my mouth feels like the outside of an old sneaker." He glanced around and saw his clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed. He touched them, and the shirt had an unmistakably crisp feel. "My clothes! You had them pressed."

Jim was doing something by the hot plate. "Breakfast will be ready in a minute. Get up and get dressed."

"That was awfully swee... nice of you. Where'd you get them pressed?" He blushed when he saw that his boxers were lying on top of the pile. They, too, were pressed, but not, thank God, starched.

"Look, if you're not up by the time I count ten, I'm going to come back there and drag you out of that bed."

"Oh, I don't think you will!"

"One, two, three..."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Four, five, six, seven..."

Blair grabbed frantically for his boxers, dragged them under the covers, and started to try to worm into them.

"Eight, nine..." Jim started around the curtain.

"I'm up! I'm up!" Blair floundered out of the bed.

Jim caught a glimpse of the top of the shadowed crease of his buttocks as he jerked the boxers up around his waist. He turned away quickly, saying gruffly, "You'll find the showers and... things out behind the second cottage."

Blair edged around the corner of the curtain. "Outside?"

"Yes. It's like that in all the best places." He heard Blair pick up something, it sounded like his shirt, and he said sharply, "Don't put those back on till you've had a shower."

Blair lowered the shirt, puzzled. How did he know I was doing that? He stepped out, saying, "But I can't go out there like this."

Jim glanced at him, then went and got a robe out of his suitcase. He held it open, and Blair started to slip into it. I could get lost in this thing. "Wait, you've got the sleeve... Okay." He got into it, and Jim slid him a pair of slippers. These fit a little better. He wrapped the robe tighter. "Where are the showers again?"

Jim was standing close, looking down at him. "Say, you're kinda little, aren't you?"

Blair felt the blush starting again. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't from anger. "The showers?"

Jim reached out and pushed a curl back behind his ears. "Your hair looks good like this. Maybe you shouldn't comb it."

Blair edged around him. "I'll find them myself."

"Wait." Jim handed him a towel, then watched as the young man hurried off. He shook his head, adjusted a half-grown erection so that it would be less obvious, and started breakfast.

Outside, the motor lodge was bustling. People worked on cars, and carried groceries and supplies back and forth. Children dodged around, playing unrecognizable games, and dogs wandered amongst them, wagging their tail, and looking for a pat, a kind work, or a handout.

There was a little building behind the second cabin, with a line of men and boys, all in robes and carrying bath supplies, stretching back from it. Blair paused, and asked, "Are the showers in there?"

A grizzled old man looked him up and down, then said, "Well, they ain't out here."

There were two doors. Blair said, "Thank you," and went up to open the one that didn't have a line before it.

He was confronted by a very naked Rafe Shapely, scrubbing under a shower spray. "Say! Can't a body get a little privacy around..." He saw who it was, just as a furiously blushing Blair slammed the door shut again. "Here!"

Amid guffaws and jibes, Blair hurried back to the end of the line. His mistake was evident. Two doors--one line. You just went to whatever stall was empty when your turn came. The old man said loftily, "While you're around here, youngun, you'll stand in line, like the rest of us."

A little boy, a few places up, leaned back to stare at him. The child stuck out his tongue. Blair returned the favor, crossing his eyes for good measure. The little boy giggled, then smiled at him. Blair returned the smile, looked around at the sunshine, and decided that maybe this wouldn't be such a bad morning after all.

****

Blair came out of the shower, feeling a little chilled (hot water was an unknown concept around here, apparently), but much refreshed. He was cheerful as he started back to the cabin--until Rafe Shapely came up beside him and began to walk with him. The man was wearing a robe with stripes that were almost as annoying as his personality.

"Hi, Kid. Remember me--Shapely? Say, I wanted to apologize for last night. I had no idea that big guy was your husband--ya should have warned me, right off." He gave a hyena laugh. Blair sighed, and quickened his pace.

Jim was breaking eggs into a bowl when Blair entered the cabin. "It's about time you got back."

"Oh, I met some very interesting men at the showers. We got to talking about this and that--swapping recipes and child rearing tips. Stuff like that."

He went behind the curtain. A moment later the robe sailed over it to land on the bed. Jim closed his eyes for a moment, imagining Blair standing back there in just his boxers. He smelled the fresh scent of soap that overlaid a spicy scent that he was beginning to think of as Blairsmell. He shook his head, and got back to cooking. Just a story, Ellison. He's just a story. Keep telling yourself that.

Jim cooked the eggs, and carried the pan to the table. He could see Blair, bent over, tying his shoes. Jim licked his lips. The jeans, after having been damp last night, had shrunk. They were skin tight-- so tight that he could see the perfect divide of his buttocks. Blair stood and turned, and Jim quickly began to scrape the eggs into the two plates.

Blair sat down at one place, saying brightly, "Mm! Scrambled eggs!"

"That's 'egg', singular. One egg, one donut, black coffee. Those are your rations till lunch. Any complaints?"

"Oh, no, no."

Jim brought the coffee pot over to the table and sat down. "I'd have got cream, but it would have meant buying a whole pint."

"Oh, you don't have to apologize to me, Mister Ellison! I appreciate all you're doing for me."

Jim looked at him suspiciously. This was so different from the sullen behavior he'd witnessed before. "Why are you so disgustingly cheerful this morning?"

Blair shrugged, refusing to be brought down. "I don't know. Must be spring."

"I thought maybe 'Believe You Me' told you a couple of his snappy stories." Jim didn't like the idea of Shapely being around Blair, especially if Jim wasn't there to chaperone. He salted and peppered his egg almost viciously.

"Oh, no." Blair dug into his egg hungrily. "In fact, he apologized for last night. Said he didn't know we were married."

"Just shows you how wrong a guy can be." He offered Blair a plate holding two donuts. "Donut?"

"Thank you." Blair took one. As Jim set the plate down, he said hesitantly. "You think this is all silly, don't you? My running away."

Jim ate, studying his plate. "No, it makes too good a story." Jim poured coffee for himself and Blair.

Blair shook his fork at Jim. "Yes, you do. You think I'm a fool, and a spoiled brat." Blair shrugged. "Well, maybe I am." That surprised Jim. He wouldn't have thought the young man capable of self- examination. "Though I don't see how I can be. People who are spoiled are used to getting their own way, and I've never had that. I've always been told what to do, when to do it, how to do it, who to do it with. Would you believe it? This is the first time I've ever really been alone with a man who wasn't a hired servant." He smiled. "It's a wonder I'm not panic stricken."

Jim leaned back, holding his coffee, and looked at the young man. There was a smear of butter on Blair's lower lip, and Jim's pulse sped up a little as the pink tongue crept out to swipe at it. "You're doing all right," he drawled.

"Nannies, tutors, chaperones, bodyguards. Oh, it's been a lot of fun."

"One consolation--you can never get lonely."

He was a little surprised by the suddenly wistful look in Blair's eyes. But then he smiled again. "I made my own fun. It got to be a game-- trying to dodge Naomi's detectives. I did it once!" His eyes glowed with triumph. "I actually managed to go shopping alone. I felt positively immoral.

"It wasn't a complete success. I was just going into a department store, when they spotted me. I was so mad that I ran out the back and jumped into the first car I saw." His expression glowed. "Guess who was in it?"

"Santa Claus?" Jim enjoyed the way Blair's nose wrinkled. "Gandhi?"

"King Wesley!"

"Oh. Is that how you met him?"

"Mhm. We rode around all day, talking."

His look got misty, and Jim thought sourly, Oh, yeah, just talking. I've heard about Wesley. He wouldn't have had someone who looks like you in a car and not at least managed some necking.

Blair sighed, then grinned. "We rode around till six o'clock." Blair picked up his donut, noticed that it was a little, er, firmer than he would have liked, and dipped it into his coffee. He pushed down, working on the 'sponge' principle, believing that it would absorb more liquid that way. "Naomi was frantic. She'd already called the police, and was ready to have them start dragging the river."

Jim watched Blair's actions, then said, "Where did you learn how to dunk--finishing school."

"Don't you tell me I shouldn't dunk."

"Of course you shouldn't. You don't know how to do it." Jim took his own donut. "You dip, then pop it into your mouth." He demonstrated, moving quickly. "Dunking's an art. Don't hold it in there so long, or it'll get soft, and drop off. Do you want a cup of sludge?" He dunked and bit again. "It's all in the timing. I could write a book about it."

"Thank you, Professor." Blair gobbled up the now soggy portion of the donut, getting a few crumbs on his lips and driving Jim a little crazy as he gathered them up with his tongue. He used Jim's method on the remaining half, eating it neatly.

"Just goes to show you. You have umpty million, and don't even know how to dunk."

Blair shrugged. "I'd change places with a plumber's son any day."

Through the open windows, they heard the voice of Sykes, the manager, raised in consternation. "Yeah, cabin four, but I'm telling you that I don't have any boy here by that name. You can't go around just bothering my customers, and how do I know that you're really detectives?"

Blair gave Jim a stricken look, and whispered, "Detectives? That's Naomi's work. Jim, what'll I do?"

"Get up." Jim dragged Blair over to the bed and threw the robe at him. "Get in it." Blair hurried. "Roll your pants legs up, Brat! Hurry, they're showing their ID." Blair obeyed. He jerked as Jim knelt before him and started jerking off his shoes and socks. He began speaking in a loud voice. "Yeah, I got a letter from Aunt Bella just last week. She said if we don't stop over in Wilburough she'll never forgive us." He shoved Blair's legs up till he had them curled under the robe, his naked feet just peeking out. Jim couldn't resist, caressing the bare instep, and Blair shivered.

He threw the still damp towel at Blair. "The baby's due, and they want us to see it." He started to unbutton his vest. "She saw your sister. Says she's looking swell." He ran a hand over his short, neat hair, ruffling it. He loosened his tie, and whispered, "You're drying your hair. Make sure you cover most of it."

Blair wrapped the towel around his head and started tousling vigorously as there was a rap at the door. Jim waved at him. Blair lifted his voice in a high-pitched, slightly nasal whine that was undeniably 'common'. "Come ee-yun."

As the men entered, Jim continued. "I hope Bella has a boy, but Grandma says it's goin' to be a girl, and she hasn't called one wrong in years."

Blair, still rubbing, peeked out at the detectives. One of them frowned at him, looking at a photograph he was holding. Blair smiled sweetly and whined, "Man here ta see ya, sweetheart."

"Who, me?" When the detective stepped closer to Blair, Jim came over.

The man tried to peer up under the towel. "What's your name?"

Blair paused, and said doubtfully, "Are you addressing me?"

"Yeah. What's your name?"

Jim stepped forward, grabbed the man's arm, and pushed him away firmly. "Hey, that's my husband you're talking to. What do you mean, coming in here? What do you want?"

The man didn't seem put off. "We're looking for someone."

"Look your head off, but not in here. This isn't a public park." He took a step toward the man who'd been looking (in his opinion) far too closely at Blair. "I have a mind to take a sock at you."

The second man said, "Simmer down, now. We're detectives."

"I don't care if you're the whole police force. You can't come in here, shooting questions at my husband."

Blair piped up. "Now don't get so excited, Jim. The man just asked you a civil question."

Jim rounded on him. Time for a domestic dispute. "What have I told you about butting in when I'm havin' an argument?"

A gasp. "Well! You don't have to lose your temper."

"'You don't have to lose your temper!'" He mimicked Blair's tone. "That's what you said the last time. It's what you say every time I try to protect ya. Like the last time at the Elk's dance when that big Swede made a pass at you."

A hitch developed in Blair's voice, and he raised his volume. "He didn't make a pass at me! I told ya a million times."

"Oh, yeah, he did. I saw it myself. He pawed ya all over the dance floor."

"He didn't! You were drunk. Again!"

Jim was getting louder and more vehement also. "Nuts! You're just like your old man. Once a plumber's son, always a plumber's son." Blair wailed. "There isn't an ounce of brains in your entire family."

Blair's voice was approaching banshee levels. "Jim Ellison, I won't stand for you talking about mah family that way. I won't stay here, I swear I won't!" Jim drew back his hand, and Blair ducked, shrieking, "Don't you hit me!" He started sobbing.

One of the detectives, looking very uncomfortable, said, "Look, Bub, we hate to bother you, but we're looking for Blairy Sandburg. You know, the kid of that big Wall Street Mama."

"Too bad you're not looking for a plumber's kid." Jim jerked a thumb at Blair, who intensified his squalls. "I have one you could have." He rounded on Blair. "Quit bawling!" Fresh screams as Blair toppled over on his face.

Sykes started to herd the now stunned looking men out. "You see? I told you they were a perfectly normal married couple."

Jim continued to swear and stomp, and Blair continued to wail as the door was shut. They kept it up for a few moments while Jim went to the front window to check. He turned back to Blair with a grin, and they both burst into laughter.

Jim walked over and tweaked the belt of the robe. "You weren't bad, jumping in like that. You've got a brain."

"When I'm allowed to use it. You weren't bad, either."

"If things get bad, we can tour. We'll call this one 'The Great Deception.'"

"How about Cinderella, or a real hot love story."

"Nah, too mushy."

Blair looked down and saw Jim's hand on his thigh. Funny, when Rafe did that, I wanted to remove it a finger at a time--with gardening shears. This time I'm kinda interested in if it's going anywhere else. He said softly, "I kinda like mushy stuff."

"Yeah?" The hand slid up an inch. The door started to open. Blair screamed. Jim leaped up, yelling, "Quit bawling, quit bawling!"

Sykes stuck his head in and yelled over the noise, "Your bus leaves in five minutes."

The noise cut off. "Holy smokes!" Jim gasped. As Sykes shut the door, both of them were scrambling.

Sykes walked away, shaking his head. Handsome couple. Too bad they didn't get along.

Reel Ten
Discovery

In Miami, Jim's old boss received a telegram saying 'Boy, do I have a lead. It's getting hotter and hotter. Hope you are too.' When he found out it was collect, he threatened to fire his secretary if she took another one. When the detectives he had gathered for a scolding over their lack of success on the Sandburg case laughed, he mentioned that the same might not be a bad idea for them.

In New York, Naomi Sandburg had Henri Brown by the collar, demanding to know why her son hadn't been found. "We're doing all we can, ma'am," he protested. "We can't do the impossible."

"It isn't impossible! My son is somewhere between here and Miami, and I want him found. I want action."

"I've put extra men all along the way."

"That isn't enough." She stabbed her intercom button. "Send in Clark and Owens." She turned back to Henri, and the man's irritation faded when he saw the concern in her eyes. "Are you sure he isn't with King Wesley?"

Henri shook his head. "We've had him tailed, twenty-four hours a day, ever since this started. He can't even get a phone call we don't know about."

Naomi slumped. "I'm worried," she finally admitted. "Something might have happened to him."

When the other two men entered, Naomi said, "Clark, I want you to arrange a radio broadcast. Make that ten thousand dollar offer for any information leading to his discovery. Get the story to all the newspapers. Some of the smaller ones may not have picked it up. They'll need a picture."

She took a framed photograph off her desk and opened the back, extracting the picture. She looked at it for a moment, her eyes suspiciously bright, then shoved it into the man's hands. "Wire this to them. I want the story to break right away." As the men hurried out, she slumped in her chair, sighing, "Now we'll get somewhere." But there was more hope than assurance in her voice.

****

On the bus, an impromptu barber shop quartet was harmonizing on 'The Old Oaken Bucket'. Two of the passengers had dug out a guitar and a fiddle, and it didn't sound half bad. Rafe Shapely wasn't paying any attention, though. No, he was studying a photo under the headline SON OF MAGNATE STILL MISSING. High cheekbones, wide mouth, big eyes and dark lashes, and lots and lots of dark, curly hair. Sure did look familiar.

He cast a casual glance at the back of the bus. The big party pooper was sitting with the cute little party favor. Rafe stroked his eyes over the cutie again, and sat back, smiling. Wasn't that just special?

The number ended, and someone called for 'The Man on the Flying Trapeze'. Blair tried to smother snickers when Jim joined in on the chorus, in a surprisingly mellow bass. "Oh, he flys through the air with the greatest of ease, the daring young man on the flying trapeze. His actions are graceful, the crowd he does please..."

"And my love he has stolen away!" Blair warbled. Jim laughed. They sang along, whenever they were sure of the words. Actually, Blair sang even when he wasn't sure of the words, but everyone was having too good of a time to care.

Another man stood up to sing a verse, and Blair got the impression that it was non-standard. "Oh, he'll play with your heart, like a cat with a mouse. His eyes would undress everyone in the house. I guess he'd be better described as a louse, and still people came just to see. He'd smile from the bar on the crowd down below, and one night he smiled on my love. He blew him a kiss and hollered 'Bravo!' while he hung from his schnoz from above!" The laughter almost drowned out the next chorus. Blair supposed that the fact that the man was a sailor might have had something to do with the unusual lyrics.

It got raucous. Several men began dancing in the aisles. Blair laughed, but didn't protest when Jim pulled him up, slipped an arm around his waist, and tried to dip.

All would have been well if the driver hadn't been turning to watch the show. As it was, he ran into a shallow ditch. It wasn't too terrible, but passengers ended up tumbled on the floor.

Jim found himself with Blair's warm, solid body under him. He gazed down into the dark blue eyes and said, "Uh, sorry," but he didn't hurry to move.

Blair smiled, and said, "That's all right. It's the most comfortable position I've been in all right."

They were both jolted by a child's cry. "Ma! Ma! What's the matter with you?" Jim scrambled up, pulling Blair to his feet with a gesture so strong and unconscious that the younger boy almost hopped as he came upright. They turned to see passengers beginning to gather around a seat where a woman was slumped across the lap of a young boy.

He was crying, shaking her. "Help! Somebody, help! Somethin' happened to her."

Jim went to them quickly, and eased the woman back into a sitting position. "Hold on, son, hold on. I had some medical training in the Army. You just calm down and let me look at her."

The crying boy moved into the aisle to give Jim room. Ellison concentrated all his observational skills on the woman, forcing the noise and confusion around him into the background. Her pulse was strong and steady, her heartbeat regular. Her temperature was normal, and her skin was dry and warm. He heard a tiny gurgle--air moving in an empty space, and his lips tightened.

He stood to go to the boy, just as Blair pushed up, carrying a cup of water he'd gotten from the cooler at the back of the bus. The young man, gently lifted the woman's head, whispering to her. The bruised looking eyelids fluttered open, and the woman weakly sipped from the cup Blair held to her lips.

Jim pulled the boy down to sit beside him on an empty seat, saying, "Don't worry, she'll be all right. Let's give her a minute to recover, hm? Tell me," he asked the still sobbing boy. "do you think maybe she might be hungry?"

The boy cried harder. "She ain't had anything to eat since yestidy."

"What happened to your money?"

"Ma spent it all on the tickets. She didn't know it was gonna cost so much. I guess we shouldn'ta come, but Ma said she has a job waitin' in New York, and if we didn't go, she might lose it." The tears rolled. "An then she might lose me." The boy clutched Jim's arm. "Ain't that silly, Mister? I tried to tell her she wouldn't ever lose me, 'cause I could always find her, no matter what."

Jim was quiet. He knew very well that wasn't the sort of 'losing' the mother had feared. Orphanages were bursting with children whose parents couldn't care for them anymore. Jim pulled the last of their money, a ten he'd been saving, and looked at it thoughtfully.

Blair came back over, touching the child's arm comfortingly. "Don't worry. She'll be all right, once she eats." He took the bill out of Jim's hand and gave it to the child. "Here, honey. The next town we come to, you buy some food."

"I shouldn't oughta take it. Ma will get mad. She don't like charity."

"Don't tell her," Blair suggested.

"But you might need it." He tried to hand the money back to Jim.

Jim and Blair's eyes met over the boy's head. Jim waved him away. "Go on. I got millions." The boy mumbled sincere thanks, and Blair led him back to his mother.

Jim, seeing that the little family was being reunited, went up to the front to check on the damage. The bus driver was outside, examining the front wheels, which rested firmly in a ditch. Jim suggested, "Better go phone for some help."

The driver snorted. "You can try it, if you want. The nearest town is ten miles away." He walked around to the other side of the bus.

Jim felt a tap on his shoulders, and turned around to find a grinning Rafe Shapely. "Say, Buddy, wanna have a look at my paper? Traveling like this, you can kinda lose track of what's going on in the world." Jim took the paper, and Shapely tapped a photograph on the front page. It was Blair, looking so cute that Jim just wanted to lick the news print. The caption said something about the ten thousand dollar reward.

"Take that story, there." Shapely tapped the picture, and Jim resisted the urge to break his finger. "You know what I'd do if I saw a kid like that?"

"No. What would you do?"

"I'd go fifty-fifty with you."

"Why?"

"I don't want to be a hog. Person who does that ends up behind the eight ball, that's what I always say."

Jim refolded the paper carefully. "Exactly what's on that tiny mind of yours?"

"Five gees, or I crab the works."

Jim looked at him a long moment, then looked back at the bus. "Let's get away from this gang and talk this over."

As Jim led him away, Shapely smirked, "I knew he wasn't your husband all the time."

When they'd made it into a small grove of trees, Jim said, "You know, I was lucky, running into you. You're just the type of guy I need."

"Believe you me, I can..."

"Do you have a gat?"

"Huh?"

"A gat, a gun. Do you have one?"

"Uh... no. Why?"

"It's all right. I have a couple of machine guns in my suitcase. I'll let you have one. We may have a little trouble up north, have to shoot it out with the cops. But if you come through it, those five gees are as good as yours--maybe more. I'll have a talk with The Killer and see that he does right by you."

"The Killer?" Rafe's voice had risen an octave.

"Yeah, The Killer. You know, the big boss, the guy in charge of this caper."

"Caper?"

"What is this, with all the repeating?"

"You're not... kidnapping him, are you?"

Jim frowned scornfully. "Well, what do you think, stupid? You think we're after that measly reward? Ten thousand dollars... pah! Chicken feed. Naomi Sandburg is worth a ton, and we're holding her little sweet patootie for a million dollars."

"Um, say, I didn't know it was anything like this. I better..." He started to turn away.

Jim grabbed him by the lapels and jerked him back, growling, "Are you gettin' yellah?"

Rafe's voice rose. "Look, I'm a married man--got a couple of kids. I can't afford to get involved..."

Jim shook him, hissing, "Pipe down! You want everyone to know about this?" He squinted suspiciously. There were times in Jim's life that look had caused men to wet their pants. This was one of them. "You're not backing out, see? You're in this up to your eyebrows, and you know too much."

"I won't say anything, I swear!"

"How do I know that?" He poked Rafe in the side. "I oughta plug you, right now." Rafe's under pants were now beyond salvage. "Why should I trust you?"

"Honest, Mister, I'll keep my mouth shut!"

"Yeah?" He paused, as if considering. "What's your name?"

"Rafe Shapely."

"Where do you live?"

"Orange, New Jersey."

Jim paused again. He really didn't like the next part, but he had to be sure he bought some time, and Shapely hadn't acted over-concerned about his family so far. "Got a couple of kids, huh? You love them, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. You wouldn't..."

"I wouldn't want to. You'll keep your mouth shut?"

"Yes, I swear!"

"Mm. You ever hear of Bugs Dooley?"

"Bugs Dooley? No."

"Well, he was a guy like you, and one day he shot his mouth off, and his kid... Well, I can't tell you what happened to his kid. Makes me sick. But when Bugs heard about it, he blew his brains out."

Rafe was pale. "Gee, that's terrible. But... but he deserved it. He talked too much. I wouldn't do that, I never talk. Never say a word. You can trust me. I wouldn't want anything to happen to my kid. 'Clam' Shapely, that's what they call me, because you couldn't pry a word out of me..."

"Shut up."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay." Jim jerked his head toward the woods. "Now beat it, and stay away from that bus."

Shapely grabbed his hand and pumped it frantically till Jim jerked it back. "Thank you! Thank you!" He started to turn, then said fearfully, "You aren't going to shoot me in the back, are you?"

Jim pointed a finger in his pocket, so that it poked against the material. "If you don't get going..."

Shapely got. Jim nodded in satisfaction and walked back to the bus.

Reel Eleven
Moonlight and Haystacks

Blair wasn't exactly complaining as Jim dragged him down the moonlit path, but he was questioning. "But where are we going? Why did we have to leave the bus?"

Jim explained as he led Blair down to a small stream. Blair laughed as he sat beside Jim on a log. "Poor old Shapely! You shouldn't have frightened him like that."

"At the rate he was going, he's crossed two states by now." Jim began to remove his shoes and socks. "And the reason we had to leave the bus it that when he slows down, he's going to start thinking. I've been doing some thinking myself." He started to roll up his pants legs, unable to look at Blair. "The first town we come to, you'd better wire your mother."

Jim didn't see the hurt look in the young man's eyes, and Blair's voice was cold when he spoke. "What? Are you weakening?"

"No, I'm just thinking of you. A starvation diet may not agree with you."

"Don't tell me you gave that child all our money?"

"What do you mean--our? That ten spot was all I had left, and you were the big-hearted Joe. You snatched it out of my hand, remember? So, I've been thinking that you'd better wire your mother."

Blair's jaw clenched. "No, sir. I started out for New York, and I'm going to get there if I have to starve all the way."

Jim sighed. "What is this strange power this man, Wesley, has over the young and beautiful?" He stood up and handed his shoes, knotted together by their laces, and with the socks tucked inside, to Blair. "Take these." When Blair took them, he bent and put a shoulder into the younger man's stomach, then grabbed him around the legs and lifted. Blair dropped neatly over his shoulder.

"Hey!" Blair was trying for indignant, but it came out amused.

"No point in both of us getting wet." He waded into the stream. He could feel his own shoes tapping against his butt, and it was too rhythmical to be anything but deliberate. "I wish you'd stop being playful."

"Do you? So sorry. You know, it's been years since I've had a piggyback ride."

"This isn't a piggyback ride."

"It is, so. Our chauffeur gave me a piggyback ride, and I remember it distinctly."

"He carried you like this? Well, he didn't know beans about piggyback rides."

"My uncle's mother's brother has four children, and I've seen them ride piggyback just like this."

"I bet there isn't a decent piggybacker in your entire family."

"You're just prejudiced."

"You show me a good piggybacker, and I'll show you a real human. I'm a terrific piggybacker. You and your stuffed shirt family."

"Hey, our chauffeur was a great piggybacker!"

Jim sighed. He'd been carrying his suitcase, and now he lifted it back to Blair. "Hold this for a minute." Blair took the case. Jim swatted his butt smartly, grabbed the suitcase back as Blair yelped, and finished wading across the stream.

While he dried his feet and re-donned his shoes, Blair stood by grumbling softly and rubbing his rump. Jim looked at him sharply. "Do you need any help with that?" Blair froze. "Want me to check and be sure I didn't leave a bruise?"

Blair's voice was tiny. "No, that's all right."

"Then hush."

They started walking again. Later on they finally came to a hayfield, surrounded by a split rail fence. Jim climbed over almost without thinking. When he didn't hear following footsteps, he turned to see Blair wearily clambering up on the lowest rung.

Poor kid. He's worn out, but he's been rolling along like a little trooper. Jim went back and helped Blair over the fence, supporting him with a firm grip on his shoulders so that he wouldn't lose his balance. Instead of pulling away as he usually did, Blair leaned his shoulder against Jim's arm, sighing wearily. Jim said gently, "Okay, Kid, this looks like the best spot. We'll bed down here."

Blair looked around as Jim went to a nearby rick and started to pull down arm loads of hay. "We're going to sleep out here?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to give an awfully good imitation of it."

"Jim?" Blair's voice was almost apologetic. "I'm awfully hungry." He kicked at the hay. "And I'm kinda scared, too."

"It's your imagination."

"No, it isn't."

"You can't be hungry and scared. If you're scared, it scares the hunger right out of you." Jim hoped that an argument would take Blair's mind off his empty belly. No such luck.

"Not if you're more hungry than scared."

"Oh, for Pete's sake! Why did I ever get mixed up with you? I could be in New York, right now?" He continued to pull down and spread hay.

"What about your story?"

"Taking a married man back to his husband. Huh. I must be a prize sucker." He stood up straight. "Come on, your bed's ready."

Blair said, "My clothes will get all wrinkled."

"Well, take them off."

"What?"

Jim closed his eyes. Get rid of the mental image, Ellison! Get rid of the mental image! "Then don't take them off. Do whatever you please, but shut up about it." He stomped over to another haystack a couple of dozen yards away and began to rip hay out viciously.

Blair knelt down and shifted the hay till it was mounded more to his satisfaction, then lay down on it, turned away from Jim. Jim glanced back.

Blair was half buried in the hay--the upper curve of his body visible-- half his head, half his back, one hip, one leg. He had his head pillowed on a crossed arm, and even in the moonlight, his hair glinted. He turned his head slightly, and Jim saw the silhouette of his face before he turned it away again.

Jim shook his head resignedly, and made his way toward a tilled field that wasn't too far off. He'd almost reached it when he heard Blair say, "You've been pretty disagreeable, lately." He glanced back. The boy was still turned away. He was speaking in a normal tone of voice, one that a normal sort of person wouldn't be able to hear at this distance.

But then, I'm not a normal sort of person, am I? He thinks I'm still there. Oh, well, no point in yelling to let him know. Jim continued to the field. Hm. Pretty picked over, but I think I can glean a little out of it.

Blair continued talking. "You just snap my head off over the least little thing. I don't know why you stay with me, if my company is so distasteful to you." He paused, waiting for a refutation. Disappointed when none came, he kept trying. "You don't have to, you know. You can leave at any time. I can take care of myself. It wouldn't bother me at all if you left." No response. That should have been good for at least a sarcastic comment. "Jim?" He rolled over.

Jim wasn't there. Blair sat up, squinting. He's just buried in his hay, and I can't see him. "Jim?" Not a movement, not a rustle. He got up and approached the mound, poking it. He could hear the tension in his own voice. "Jim?" Panic welled up inside him. "Jim!"

In the field, Jim had heard the increasing tension in Blair's voice. But the sudden surge of his heartbeat, racing into a thundering gallop in only a few beats, was what moved him. He ran back.

When Blair saw him, he cried, "Jim!" and threw himself against the bigger man, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face against his neck.

Jim wrapped his arms around the shivering man and said gently, "What's the matter? I was only gone a minute. I went to find you something to eat."

Blair pulled back, looking a little sheepish. "I'm sorry, but you were gone, and I was alone, and..." He looked down. "I know it's stupid, but I've never really been alone. There was always a nanny or tutor or housekeeper just on the other side of the door, or down the hall."

"What about your father?"

Blair looked at him levelly. "What father?"

Jim winced at his faux pas. "What about your mother?"

"Naomi... travels. I suppose she intends to take me along, now that I'm old enough not to be a drag."

Jim didn't know how to respond to that. He shoved the small bunch of shaggy-topped carrots he'd found into Blair's hands. "Here. Eat your head off."

"I don't want it now."

"What? I thought you said you were hungry."

"I was, but I guess I got so scared that it scared the hunger right out..."

"Holy jumping catfish! You'd drive a guy crazy!" He tossed the carrots down on his suitcase and stalked back toward his hay stack and began ripping down more hay.

When he looked back again, Blair was sitting cross-legged in his hay, watching Jim. His eyes were wide, and so dark that they looked almost black. Jim walked back to his case and picked up his coat. Kneeling beside Blair he said, "Lay down." Blair obeyed, and Jim spread the coat over him. "You'll need this. It'll get chilly before morning."

"Won't you get cold?"

He neatened the garment over Blair's shoulders. "I'm used to it. You need it more than I do."

"I'm always cold. Even with a pile of blankets and comforters. Naomi says I'm cold natured."

Jim found himself pressing the edges of the coat down, so that the stretched garment pushed Blair more deeply into the fragrant hay. "I don't think that."

"You don't? Then why am I always cold?"

"Maybe you just need a different kind of warmth."

Blair's voice was a whisper. "What other kinds are there?"

Jim stared down at him. He picked a wisp of hay out of the tumbled curls and said slowly. "There's solar heat, but we don't have that. All we have right now is moonlight. Then there's body heat."

Blair swallowed. "Is that very effective?"

"Eskimos swear by it. Of course, it doesn't work unless you get real..." he leaned closer. "Real." Their chests touched. "Close."

Blair licked his lips. "Like... Oh, I don't know... Under the same coat... I mean cover?"

"That might work. Want to try it?"

"Yes."

"Can't have you freezing." Jim lay down beside Blair and pulled the coat so that it (barely) covered both of them. "How's that?"

"Better." There was quiet. "But I'm still kind of chilly."

"Huh. Well, in that case, we have to get closer."

"I don't think we can."

"Trust me on this, it's possible."

"But how?"

"Thusly." Jim turned, wrapped his arms around Blair, then hauled the startled young man on top of his body. Blair made a squeaking sound, grabbing at Jim to keep from falling off. There was no danger of that. "And you can get even closer thusly."

Jim spread his legs, and Blair dropped into the space. Their crotches met, and Blair threw his head back with a gasp.

Jim saw the long hair whip across the silver face of the moon. He felt the hard bulge of Blair's erection bump against his own. Oh, you're not just warm, Blair Sandburg--you're hot! "Better?"

Blair's voice was strained. "Yes. I don't think I've ever felt this warm before in my life."

"Not even with King Wesley?"

"I've never shared body heat with King--or anyone."

That made Jim pause, at least for a second. A virgin? A twenty-one year old virgin? Is that possible? But he remembered Naomi, and Blair's life locked behind walls with only servants and teachers. If they had all been ethical and unwilling to take advantage of a lonely boy, it was very possible. And King Wesley had seen that need, and gone for it like a lion taking down the weakest member of a herd of gazelles. The bastard.

Jim had thought that it was impossible for him to be any more aroused, but he was wrong. The very thought of this beautiful young man being untouched was an aphrodisiac, all by itself. But he didn't want to take advantage--that would make him no better than Wesley. "Look, Kiddo, maybe you should..."

"I'm still cold." His hands moved between their bodies. Jim went still as he felt nimble fingers working the buttons on his fly. "And I know another kind of way to produce heat." His voice was soft, seductive.

"Yeah? What is it?"

Jim gasped as the hand slid into his pants and closed gently, but firmly, around his cock. Blair squeezed softly, then worked the stiffened organ out into the open. "It's a very scientific method."

"I'm all for science. Tell me about it."

"I think a practical demonstration would be better." He was undoing his own fly. Jim craned his neck for a look. He wouldn't have been able to see much if his vision wasn't so acute, but he saw enough to make his mouth water. Blair reached up to wrap his arms around Jim's neck, settling his hard cock against Jim's. "It's called 'friction'." He started to move.

"Son of a bitch!" Jim whispered reverently. He reached up, grabbed Blair's ass, and began to pull at him while he thrust upward.

"So people say, but I'd rather you didn't speak of my mother that way."

That was the last full thought either of them were able to hold on to for awhile. Jim couldn't believe it. As much as he hated to admit it, Shapely had been right about one thing--when Blair got going, he sizzled.

The younger man undulated over Jim, body moving smoothly and slowly. Their pricks slid together, warm pre-come from both slicking their bellies and making the glide even easier. Blair kept his eyes open, gazing down at Jim intently.

Jim gave a hard thrust upward, and Blair bit his lip. With a growl, Jim hooked an arm around his neck and dragged him down into a kiss. He was a little surprised when Blair's lips stayed closed, though he pressed against Jim's mouth fervently. I'll be damned. He can hump like a mink, but he doesn't know how to kiss. Jim pulled back a fraction and demanded, "Open!"

"Huh?"

It was all he needed. Jim pulled Blair down again and snaked his tongue between the parted lips. Blair made a muffled sound of surprise, tensing. Jim began to explore Blair's mouth, while he kept up the steady motion of his body against Blair's. When he sucked Blair's tongue into his own mouth, Blair got the picture. In a moment they were tongue-fucking each other, and Blair was making little pleased sounds in the back of his throat that made Jim want to eat him.

Instead, he rolled Blair under him quickly and began to lunge against him, hard and fast. Blair met every motion, grunting and whining. He shook his head, hair flying wildly, and Jim almost came when one of the silky strands struck him across the face. He reached down quickly and circled his straining cock at the base, squeezing and holding still for a moment in concentration.

Blair bit at his shoulder. "Put it in." Jim's head jerked up in astonishment. He stared down into Blair's flushed, sweaty face. "I'm ignorant, but I'm not stupid, Jim. There's only so many things men can do together. Put it in and fuck me."

Hearing that lascivious entreaty from a man he knew had been raised with the utmost refinement almost did it, but Jim resisted. "I can't, baby."

Blair's expression twisted. "Please! I'm not afraid--I know you won't hurt me."

"Blair, I can't. You're..." He almost said You're married, to King Wesley, and he should be the one to do it. He should be your first. But he didn't say it, because he believed that only the first part of the objection was true. Blair was indeed married to King Wesley, but Jim seriously doubted that the snake deserved to have such a precious gift. Instead Jim said, "You're not ready."

"Jim!" It was a wail as Blair moved against him.

"Hush, baby." Jim let go of his death grip on his own cock and gathered both of their erections together. Holding them firmly in one big hand, he started to stroke--hard and fast. Blair's breathing got ragged. Jim felt enveloped in a hot, sweet cloud of warmth and sex. The boy gave a soft cry and arched, and Jim felt the hot gush of his climax. It sent him over the edge himself, and he spilled his seed onto his new lover's heaving belly, then collapsed on top of him.

They lay like that for a long moment. When Jim started to pull away, Blair clung to him. Jim said quietly, "I'm not going anywhere. I just want to clean us up." Blair reluctantly turned him loose. He crawled to the suitcase and got his scarf, then crawled back and used it to wipe them both down.

When he was done he tenderly tucked Blair back into his pants, buttoning up the fly, then closed his own garments. Blair basked silently in his ministrations, and rolled up tight against Jim when he lay back down. Jim pulled the young man into his arms, tucking the curly head tightly under his chin. They were silent, then Jim chuckled.

Blair looked up shyly. "What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking that if the science classes in high school had been anything like that, I wouldn't have studied journalism. Go to sleep, Brat."

Reel Twelve
Roadside Attraction

The next morning they were walking down the side of the road. Not one of the main highways, because they both knew that those would be watched, but a side road.

They hadn't talked much that morning. Blair was entirely new to 'morning afters', and was feeling a little awkward. Jim had had his share of 'morning afters', but never with a virgin--a married virgin.

Blair cut a glance at Jim as they trudged along, and decided the best thing was to simply avoid the subject. He didn't dare make any intimate reference, for fear that he'd violate some unknown rule of 'new lover' etiquette. Besides, he thought sadly. Jim must've been with a lot of men--and women, he's so sexy. He likes me--I think... but he'd probably get mad if I mentioned anything more. Like... like love. Blair shook his head. No, Blair. You love King. He glanced at Jim, taking in the strong, beautiful planes of his face, the easy stride, the hint of humor in his mouth. He considered King, drawing up an image of him in his mind as he had all during the time Naomi had held him on the yacht. Somehow it wasn't as comforting as it had been.

Blair said, "What is it we're doing again?"

Jim looked over at him. The kid's been silent as a tomb all morning, and that just isn't like him. He must be regretting it. Sure. A haystack, moonlight, he's lonely. He grabbed. It was only natural. I'd better not say anything about it. I don't want him to get embarrassed, or feel pressured. Damn, it's going to be hard to turn him over to that louse in New York. "We're hitchhiking."

"Oh? Well, you've given me an excellent demonstration of the hiking. When does the hitching part come in?"

"It's a little early yet. There aren't any cars around."

"If it's just the same to you, I'm going to sit and wait for them." Blair ambled over to the side of the road, climbed up, and sat on the top rail.

Jim followed and dropped the suitcase, then sat on it. Might as well take a breather. He noticed Blair sucking his teeth. "What's wrong with you?"

"I have a hay seed in my teeth."

"I'm not surprised. Just be glad it didn't get stuck somewhere else." Jim winced when he realized what he had said, but Blair smiled.

"Do you have a toothpick?"

"No, but I have a pocketknife." Jim pulled it out and opened it. "I'll get it--you're liable to cut your own throat. Where is it?"

"In the middle." Jim flicked it out expertly, then handed it to Blair. "Thank you." Blair tossed the seed.

"You should have eaten that. You're not getting any breakfast, you know." Jim pulled a carrot out of his jacket pocket, rubbed off the dirt, and took a big, crunchy bite.

Blair looked intrigued. "What are you eating?"

"A carrot."

He pulled back, wrinkling his nose. "Raw?"

"Sure." Jim offered it. "Want one?"

"No! Why didn't you get something I could eat?"

Jim took another crunch. "What was I thinking of, offering a raw carrot to a Sandburg? I hope you don't think I'm going to panhandle for you." He offered it again. "Better have one. They're the best thing in the world for you."

Blair shook his head stubbornly. "I hate the nasty things."

Jim started to argue, but right then an auto whipped by. "Now look what you've done! Why do you have to talk so much? You let a car get away."

"Suppose nobody stops for us?" Blair said, worriedly.

"They'll stop all right. You just have to know how to handle them."

"And you do?"

"I should write a book about it. I could call it 'The Hitchhiker's Hale'."

"Well, let's see. That's dunking, piggybacking, and now hitchhiking that you're a master of. Is there no end to your talents?"

Jim looked at him sharply. Blair's face was grave, but there was an amused glint in his eyes. "Oh, you think it's easy?"

"Well, it is, if you know what you're doing. It's all in the thumb." He tossed down the nub of the carrot. "Some people do this." He made a fist, thumb outstretched, and circled it over his head, like he was twirling a lasso. "Or this." A wide back-and-forth motion in front of his body. "Pft. All wrong."

"Oh, the poor things," Blair said sardonically.

"But the thumb need never fail you, if you use it right. Now, first there's the short, snappy jerk, like this." He motioned as if pointing over his shoulder, with his thumb, at something that annoyed him. "That says that you don't care if they stop or not.. You have money in your pocket, and you're out taking the air."

"Really?"

"Then you got the one that goes with a smile, like this." He hoisted his hand up beside his face and waggled the thumb, giving a grin that was not quite a leer. "That means that you have a brand-new story about the farmer's daughter."

"What if the driver is a woman?"

He gave Blair a condescending look. "Well, you could change it to the traveling saleslady and the farmer's son, but it usually isn't necessary.

Blair gave him a patently false look of admiration. "You figured that out all by yourself."

"That's nothing. It's the third one that's a pip. It's the pitiful one. You know--you're broke, and hungry, and everything looks black. It's a long, sweeping motion, but you have to follow through." The motion started out in front of Jim, then the thumb was swept smoothly back till his arm was extended."

"That's amazing."

"Yeah, but it's no good unless you have a long face to go with it." Jim tried to look like his puppy had just died.

Blair poked him. "Here's your chance to try it--there's a car coming."

"Okay, I'm going to use number one. Keep your eye on that thumb, Kiddo, and watch what happens." Jim went to the edge of the shoulder. As the car approached, he gave the quick, jaunty, confident jerk.

The wind the car made in passing whipped at the cuffs of his trousers. He looked after the car, looked at his hand, looked back after the car. Blair drawled, "I still have my eye on the thumb."

"Something must've gone wrong. I'll try number two."

Blair settled himself more comfortably. "When you get to a hundred, wake me up."

Two didn't work. Neither did three. Neither did the dozen or so variations he tried on the cars that whizzed past in rapid succession. He tried waving his hat. Though I suppose he may be doing that to cut the dust they stir up as they rush past, Blair thought.

He finally put his thumb to his nose, fingers spread in a gesture of insult, then walked back to sit down dispiritedly. "I guess I won't write that book after all."

"Ah, well. Think of all the fun you've had." Blair straightened up, stretching. "Mind if I try?"

Jim snorted. "You? Don't make me laugh."

Blair slid off the fence. "Smart alec. No one knows anything but you, huh? Well, I'll stop a car." He tapped Jim's leg, drawing an interested look. "And I won't use my thumb."

He strolled to the edge of the road and looked back down it. "I have a system, all my own." He saw a car coming. Blair turned his back on the road.

Curious, Jim came up to stand near him. "Say, how do you expect to..."

"Watch, and learn." As the car came closer, Blair stretched both arms languidly over his head. Then he slowly bent at the waist, keeping his knees locked, till he placed his palms flat on his sneaker tops.

Jim was craning his head to look. Blair's jeans, already tight, stretched, caressed, and molded his bottom into two perfect, pert globes, pointed temptingly out and up.

There was the screech of brakes and the grind of hastily down-shifted gears. The car slid to a stop about five yards beyond Blair, laying rubber.

Two minutes later they were jouncing along in the back seat of the open car, a homemade convertible Model T. Blair looked at a disgruntled Jim and said brightly, "Aren't you going to give me some credit?"

"What for?"

Blair thought. "Well," He stroked the side of the car. "I proved once and for all that the bum is mightier than the Ford."

Jim tried not to laugh. "Why didn't you just strip? You could have stopped forty cars."

"I'll remember that for when we need forty cars."

Later they pulled in at a small diner/gas station. The portly man who'd stopped for them (and who had been very disappointed when Blair sat in the back with Jim), turned back to them. "How about some breakfast?"

Blair sighed in relief. "That would be terrific."

Jim put a hand on his chest and said stolidly, "He's not hungry."

Blair looked at him, "I'm not?"

"No, you're not."

Blair looked at the man sadly. "I'm not hungry."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." He got out and went inside.

Blair looked back at Jim. "I am so hungry."

"What were you going to do--gold-dig that guy for a meal?"

Blair picked at the upholstery. "I'm hungry."

"Have a carrot."

"No." He reached for the handle. "I'm going in and ask him."

Jim grabbed his arm and said firmly, "You do and I'll break your neck." Blair subsided, staring at him, wide-eyed. Jim could only stand it for a minute. He got out of the car, coat over his shoulder, taking Blair's arm. "C'mon, let's stretch our legs."

They walked over to a bench. Jim sat, but instead of sitting beside him, Blair walked behind the bench and leaned back against it, looking away. After a moment, Jim touched his arm and said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay."

"You don't understand. We aren't doing so bad, we can make it. Asking for help when you really need it isn't bad, but just taking the easy way out... Blair, you gotta have more pride than that."

"I thought you believed I had too much pride?"

"It's not the same thing."

Blair's voice was quiet. "I knew that. I just wasn't sure that you did."

There was the grinding of gears and the cough of a motor. Jim looked around to see the convertible, fat man at the wheel, take off down the road--with Jim's suitcase still in the back seat. "Hey!" Jim leaped up, and the man hit the gas, as well as he was able. Jim took off after him, down the middle of the road, swearing for all he was worth.

Feeling a little stunned by it all, Blair watched him go. Now what do I do? He waited. After awhile he got Jim's coat and went to stand by the road, wondering if he was going to have to do toe-touches again to get a ride. Just when he was contemplating it, the convertible pulled up--with Jim behind the wheel.

Blair didn't squeal. He most definitely did not squeal. He made some sort of noise, but it was merely an alternative form of greeting. As he climbed in, he babbled. "Where were you? I was so worried. Oh, you have a little cut on your head!"

Jim started the car again. "It was just a road thief. He picks up people, then dumps them and steals their stuff. What a dirty racket."

"How'd you get the car?"

"I gave him a black eye for it and tied him to a tree," Jim said matter-of-factly.

A little farther down the road, Blair took out a handkerchief (even incognito, Naomi's boy would not be without a handkerchief). He scooted over close to Jim and began to carefully dab away the blood from the tiny cut. When it was done, he smoothed the short, silky hair away from the cut. Then he paused, and stroked Jim's hair again. "It's awful soft--like cat fur. And the way you ran, and beat up that guy..." He leaned against Jim's side. "You're just like a big ol' black panther."

"Oh, hell. I'm not that exotic." Jim felt a little embarrassed, but warmed. Blair's face was very close to his, and all he could think about was turning his head and kissing him. He said quickly, "There can't be much gas left in this thing. We'll have to start promoting some. Take all the things out of the pockets of that coat. I should be able to get about ten gallons for it in the next town."

Blair unloaded a notebook, pencil, matches, pocketknife... and the bunch of carrots. He stared at them. He sniffed them. Jim cut his eyes sideways, watching. Blair brushed one carrot consideringly. He brought it to his mouth and took a tiny crunch.

He chewed, face wrinkled up as if expecting poison. After a minute most of the wrinkles smoothed out. He took another nibble, chewing thoughtfully. Finally, he took a big bite. At the crisp crunch, Jim looked over at him, and smiled. Blair, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk's, tried to look indignant as he chewed.

Reel Thirteen
Striking Deals, Facing Facts, and Chasing Dreams

In her penthouse office, Naomi looked coldly at the handsome, dapper man before her. "Don't get the wrong idea, Wesley. I don't like you, never have liked you, and never will."

King sat, carefully adjusting the drape of his trousers. He couldn't understand it--women usually adored him. "You've made that very clear by your threats of annulment. As far as I'm concerned there will be no annulment."

"You've gotten hold of a good thing, and you intend to hang onto it." She sighed. "All right, you win. I guess I'll have to force myself to get used to you. I'll admit it--I'm licked."

She sat down behind her desk, slumping. "But it's only because I'm so worried. I have to find him soon, or I'll go crazy."

"I might have been able to help if you hadn't had me watched so closely."

"I know, I know. Well, you can help now. I have a roomful of reporters in there, and I want you to make a statement. Tell them that we've talked it over and come to an understanding. If he'll come back, I won't interfere with your marriage."

At the press conference, more than one reporter remarked that, for the first time, Naomi Sandburg looked her age. More of them remarked on King Wesley's resemblance to a dog who had found a particularly large and tasty pile of shit.

****

The headline read SANDBURG WITHDRAWS OBJECTION. The smaller print beneath it read 'Magnate And Lawyer Reconcile. Everything All Right, Come Home, Darling," Says Wesley.'

Blair, sitting in the car while Jim dickered with the manager of another motor lodge, stared at the paper. I should be overjoyed. Why am I not? Jim came out of the office, and Blair hastily stuffed the paper under the front seat. Jim hadn't seen it, and Blair didn't intend for him to. When he came over, Blair said, "Have any luck?"

"Finally."

"He's letting us have a cabin? But what about the money?"

"I talked him out of that, but only because he thinks that we're staying for a week."

"Swell."

"Yeah? I wonder why you think so? I told you there was no use in us staying here. We could make New York in three hours. I thought you were in such a hurry to get there."

Blair hemmed, then said, "Who ever heard of getting in at three am? Everyone will be asleep."

Jim gave him a fishy look, but said, "Okay. Cabin number six." Blair got out and started down the row of cabins. He almost tripped, looking back to see that Jim wasn't checking under the seat, but his friend just started the car and drove it to the parking area.

In the cabin, Jim set his suitcase down and said, "Well, we're on the last lap. Tomorrow you'll be in the arms of your real husband."

"Yeah." Blair sounded remarkably unenthused. "And you'll have quite a story, won't you?"

"Yeah. Swell." Jim took the clothesline he'd commandeered from the first lodge and began to string up the Walls of Jericho. Blair sat on one of the beds, watching him as he draped the blanket. On his side of the curtain, Jim started to undress. "You certainly outsmarted your mother. I guess you ought to be happy."

He heard Blair's voice, small and plaintive. "Am I going to see you in New York?"

Jim squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden wash of pain, but he kept his voice level. "Nope."

"Why not?"

"I don't make it a policy to run around with married people."

"There's no harm in your coming to see us."

"Not interested." Christ, Blair, do you think I could stand to see you with him? Knowing that he was lying beside you every night, touching you?

Blair's voice cracked. "Won't I ever see you again?"

Jim's hands clenched into fists. He desperately wanted to rip down the curtain and tell Blair that of course he'd see Jim again. He'd see him every morning, when he opened his eyes after a night of good love. He'd see him every evening after a day of shared life. Instead he said, "What would you want to see me for? I've served my purpose. I got you back to King Wesley. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

He continued stripping angrily, not really sure exactly what he was angry at, except maybe life in general. Jim climbed into bed, snapping off the lights, and prayed that would be all.

But the voice, that soft honey-and-silk voice, sounding so sad, floated over to him again. "Have you ever been in love, Jim?"

"Me?"

Blair thought he heard disbelief in the single word. "Yes. Haven't you ever thought of it at all? It seems to me that you could make... someone wonderfully happy."

"Yeah, I've thought about it. If I could find the right person. But where are you going to find someone like that? Someone real, alive. They don't come that way anymore. Thought about it? I've even been sucker enough to make plans."

Blair sat forward, listening to the warm, dreamy tone in Jim's voice. "I saw an island in the Pacific once, and I've never been able to forget it. That's where we'd go. He'd have to be the sort who'd jump in the surf with me and love it just as much as I did. Think about a night where you, and the surf, and the moon all become one. The kind of night where the stars seem so close you can reach up and stir them around." Blair put his face in his hands, feeling himself begin to tremble as the soft voice went on. "It makes you feel like you're part of something big and marvelous. Sure, I've thought about it. If I could ever find someone who was hungry for those things..."

His voice trailed off. Blair, clad only in his boxers, was standing at the end of the curtain. He stared silently at Jim, his eyes huge, and the softest, sweetest, saddest expression Jim had ever seen on his face. He moved toward Jim and knelt beside the bed. Reaching up to touch his shoulder, he whispered, "Take me with you, Jim. Take me to your island. I want to do all the things you talked about with you."

Jim touched his hair, and Blair closed his eyes. But then Jim forced himself to say, "You'd better go back to your bed."

"Jim, I love you." Jim fell back on his pillow, stunned. The words that he wanted to believe above all else, but didn't dare. "Nothing else matters. Everything will work itself out." He lay his face on Jim's chest, and Jim felt warm tears. "We can run away together. I can't let you out of my life, now that I've found you."

Jim put his arms around him, stroking the strong back. After a moment he said, very gently, "You'd better go back to your bed."

Blair lifted a tear-streaked face to him. "But Jim, I love you. Last night..."

"Last night wasn't real for you, Blair. It was moonbeams, and being lonely, and being afraid. You reached out--it was only normal. I'm only normal, too. But that was last night, and it doesn't have to ruin your whole life. Forget it, Blair."

"I can't."

"Then remember it as a dream. And remember this--you can't keep running away from things. Eventually, you have to turn and face them."

Blair stared up at him, searching his eyes, and seeing his resolve. There would be no escaping together. Jim was going to do what he thought was right, what he thought was best for Blair.

Blair fisted away his tears and stood up, but he didn't go back to his bed. Instead he said, "Then if I can't have you in my life, I need another dream."

Jim tried to think of something to say, but before he could, Blair had stripped off his boxers and slipped into the bed with him. Then it was too late. He said hoarsely, "Blair, you don't know what you're doing."

"I told you before--I'm ignorant, not stupid. I can learn, and if you won't help me, I can figure it out on my own." He kissed Jim, proving his point by seductively licking Jim's lips till he parted them helplessly.

Again Blair squirmed on top of Jim, and this time there was nothing between them. Last night had been sweet, but full body skin-on-skin contact took Jim's breath away. His tactile senses were as strong as his others, and he started to drown in the wonder that was a naked Blair Sandburg.

The hair alone was almost enough to send him into a trance. There were so many different textures. There was the silk of his red-brown mane, the fine sandpaper rasp of his beard, the crisp tickle of the lush curls that decorated his chest punctuated by the firm points of his nipples, oh yes, the wiry brush around his proud, rigid cock, and the tickle as his lightly furred legs slid over Jim's smoother ones.

Then there was the satin rasp of his tongue, trailing down Jim's neck and circling his own hard nipples. He cried out when Blair sucked one into his mouth and nipped it gently. Blair's head whipped up in alarm. "Jim! I'msorryimsorryim--"

Jim pushed his head back down. "That was lust, not pain. You'll learn the difference, darlin'. Don't stop." There was a sound suspiciously like a snicker, but Jim didn't care, because that lovely wet touch was back.

Blair licked his way down Jim's chest, circled his belly button, and nibbled at the firm plane of his abdomen, making it ripple. Finally he took hold of Jim's cock, holding it carefully, and stared at it. He glanced back up Jim, cocked an eyebrow, and said, "He's looking back at me."

Jim burst out laughing. "Oh, God, Kid! Please! You..." He gasped as Blair flicked his tongue out, curling it around his glans. His voice died to a moan. "You're killing me."

"Then die happy." Blair stroked his shaft, pursed his lush lips, and dropped a soft kiss on the tip. When he drew back, a crystal bead of pre-come oozed out. He eyed it curiously, then licked it away. He smiled at Jim again. "You taste a lot better than a carrot." Then he took the head into his mouth and sucked strongly.

Jim fisted his hands in the sheets, legs trembling with the strain of resisting the urge to fuck up into that heavenly heat. He found that he was whispering his lover's name, over and over.

Blair eased Jim's cockhead out of his mouth. Stroking the shaft, he said quietly, "Jim, please."

Jim knew what he wanted. It would be so good to turn Blair over, spread those perfect buttocks, and bury himself deep in the tight, never-before-breached ass. So good, but so wrong. "No, baby. I can't."

Blair sighed. Turning his head, he licked the crease where Jim's thigh met his body. "Will you do what you did last night?"

"I can do better than that." He pulled Blair up. "Put your head here, Blair. Lay on your side. Yes, like that."

Jim moved, turning toward the end of the bed, and lying on his side. He shifted till his face was level with Blair's hips, then curved himself slightly till his own hips were in the same position for Blair. Jim put one hand on Blair's hip. With the other he stroked Blair's cock, then drew it to his lips.

Blair gasped as he felt his first oral caress. How do people survive this? It was maddening, fantastic. Before, in the bath, Blair had teased himself with a soap slicked hand, but it had been nothing like this. He was engulfed in tight, hot wetness. Jim swallowed him in one swoop. He could feel the older man's breath against the base of his cock. "Oh, Jim." He did something, perhaps swallowed. All Blair knew was that there was a squeezing, rippling sensation, and suddenly he was thrusting frantically.

Jim clutched his hips, holding him still, and pulled back till he had only the cockhead caught between his lips. Then he stayed there. Blair whined, and tried to push forward, only to be held back again. "What are you waiting for?" Jim slid down an inch, then back up, and cut his eyes toward Blair. "Oh. Sorry."

He once again took hold of Jim's prick, and gave it a long, lavish lick, then slipped the head between his lips. There was a grunt of approval, and Jim began to fellate him, moving in slow, smooth bobs.

Blair wasn't as skillful, but he made up for it in enthusiasm and the sheer joy he took in the act. Jim had to concentrate hard not to pass out. He couldn't allow that--he had to memorize every second, every nuance of what was happening. He had to imprint Blair. By the time he realized that this might not be a good idea, since he intended to never see the young man again, it was too late. Fifty years from now he would be able to identify Blair by scent, by taste, by the texture of his skin, and by the sound of his heartbeat.

But I'm going to remember him the rest of my life, and never be able to touch him again. Why didn't I do something less painful--like cut my own throat.

Blair came first, which wasn't surprising. Youth can work against stamina sometimes, when the participant is very, very new to the ways of love. He gripped Jim's buttocks so hard that Jim knew there would be bruises. He knew it, and reveled in the fact. As his seed poured out, Blair made little mewling sounds, his hips jerking. Jim held him tight, and drank every drop.

When he had stopped shuddering, Blair resumed his ministrations. Jim growled in frustration as Blair released his cock, till he looked down and saw that the boy was sucking one of his fingers. When he took Jim into his mouth again, he reached around Jim's body.

Jim quickly reached to help him, parting his own buttocks. He purred as the spit-slick finger teased the pucker of his anus. Blair circled it, pressing gently, gradually sliding his finger into the clenching heat. When it was seated deeply, he increased his suction and began to move it, pumping in and out.

It scraped over his prostate. There was a firecracker hot burst of pleasure that rocketed through Jim. He had intended to warn the boy when he approached orgasm, so he could pull back. It took him so suddenly that he was emptying his balls before he realized it. Blair made a surprised noise, then gulped hurriedly. He almost did it. When he fell back, a thick smear of Jim's come oozed from the corner of his mouth.

Jim turned and crawled back up in the bed. He pulled a limp Blair into his arms, then licked the sperm away, and kissed him. He held him as he had the night before, resting his chin on the top of his soft hair. After a while he said, "Blair? Blair, you'd better..."

Blair squeezed him, hard. "Don't. Don't make me go back. Let me hold on to the dream just a little bit longer."

Both of them stared up into the darkness, both sure that he wouldn't be able to sleep a wink. Jim waited till he heard Blair's breathing even out into sleep, then he whispered, "Brat? Did you really mean that? Would you go?" Blair slept on.

Jim dropped a feather light kiss on the top of Blair's head, then stealthily disentangled himself. Blair was exhausted, both from sex and from the exertions of the last few days, and he slept on. Jim dressed quickly, then slipped out.

Reel Fourteen
The Course of True Love Never Runs Smoothly

At the gas station, Jim was haggling with the attendant. "Look, I just need enough to get me to New York." He slapped his suitcase. "This bag is worth twenty-five dollars."

"I got a bag. Wife gave me one for Christmas."

"I'll come back in the morning and buy it back from you, and I'll give you a ten dollar profit."

The man stared at him, eyeing Jim's fedora. "I ain't got a hat."

Jim snatched it off his own head and slapped it down on the attendant's. It slid down to cover his eyes. "You do now." Jim started pumping the gas, while the attendant admired his reflection in the side of the gas pump.

It was almost four when Jim carried the Royal typewriter into the little office just off the main newsroom of the Big Apple Banner. Simon Banks, chewing an unlit cigar, followed him in. "I'm pleased as hell, Jim, but I gotta say I'm surprised. What made you decide to quit that peeper racket and take a steady job."

Jim rolled a sheet of paper into the typewriter. "We all have to settle down sometimes, Simon."

"Mhm. Is this settling down agent blonde, brunette, or redhead?"

Jim looked up with a smile. "I think he qualifies as a redhead."

"Aha."

"Simon, get me one drink, don't let anyone disturb me for the next half hour, and I'll have you an exclusive story that will jump your circulation so much that they'll hear Hearst screaming over on the west coast."

Simon chuckled. "Yeah, right."

"Simon," Jim's voice was serious. "There's just one thing. I need to be paid for this story. I need a thousand dollars." Simon slowly removed his cigar, frowning. "Now, look, have I ever steered you wrong? Haven't I given you good stories before? I wouldn't ask, but I'm in a jam. I need that thousand dollars."

"What for?"

"To tear down the Walls of Jericho." When he saw the disgusted look, Jim said, "I know it doesn't make sense to you, but I'm on the level. You know Blair Sandburg?"

"Naomi Sandburg's kid? That's old news. His Mom gave in, and he's going to marry King Wesley in a big society wedding."

"Suppose I was to tell you that he's not going to marry King Wesley? Suppose I told you that he was going to get that pitiful excuse for a marriage annulled? Suppose I told you he was in love with someone else, and was going to marry him?"

Simon was silent for a moment, then he nodded. "That would be news, all right. If it's on the level, it'd be worth a thousand bucks. Who's the guy he's going to marry?"

Jim gave him a level, earnest stare. "I am, Simon."

Simon covered his eyes. "Jim, I knew you drank, but..."

"Simon, you've known me for a long time. You can tell when I'm serious. This is on the level. I met him on a bus, and I've been with him every minute since then. I love him, Simon."

Jim didn't notice, but when he said those words, Simon stood a little straighter, and his eyes softened. Jim continued, "But I have to have this money right away. Minutes count. He's in an auto camp just outside Philadelphia. I've got to get back--he doesn't even know that I'm gone." His tone wasn't pleading, he had too much dignity for that, but it was fervent. "I can't propose to him without a cent in the world, Simon. I need to show him that his money won't make a difference to me, that I can take care of him without smothering him."

Simon looked thoughtful. He held out his hand, as if tracing a headline. "ON HIS WAY TO JOIN HIS HUSBAND, BLAIR SANDBURG..."

"That's it!"

Simon grinned, pointing the cigar at him, "What are you waiting for? Get them long fingers flying, Ellison."

*****

Blair was awakened by the hard rapping on the cabin door. He sat up sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "Jim? Somebody at the door." He looked around. "Jim?" He was nowhere. He must've gone to visit the facilities and forgot his key.

He was considering whether he should put on his boxers when he heard the door open, and the lights came on. A querulous female voice said, "You see? I told you, they're gone."

A man answered her, "Looks like it. Say, what's this?" The blanket was pulled off the line, and Blair hastily jerked his sheet up to a decent level. The manager looked at him owlishly and said, "Hey, Ma. Here's one of 'em."

A sour faced woman in a robe and a hairnet stalked over, raking Blair with a gimlet eye. "Where's your husband?"

"Husband?" King?

"Yes, if he is your husband."

"Isn't he here?"

"No, he ain't, and the car's gone, too."

Blair felt as if the world had dropped out from under him. "Oh." Oh, Jim. I knew we couldn't stay together, but to just run off...

The manager was speaking. "Got any money?"

"No."

The woman crossed her arms and pronounced judgment. "Then you'll have to get."

After some discussion, the manager hung up the blanket long enough for Blair to get dressed, then they 'escorted' him out of the cabin. Blair turned back and asked meekly, "Please, can I use your phone? I've got to call New York."

"You ain't sticking me for a call." The woman waved at the darkened road. "You can go down to the sheriff's office, 'bout a quarter of a mile. They'll fix you up. And don't you come back here again. I run a respectable place." She banged the door closed, and Blair began to trudge down the road.

****

In New York Simon glanced at the copy Jim had just handed him, then handed over a stack of bills. Jim snatched it, whooped, and kissed him right on top of his bald head. Simon was still spluttering when Jim ran out, but it was mostly laughter.

He got on one of the numerous phones on his desk. "Hello, Hank? Hold up the morning edition. Break down the front page, we're going to have a whole new layout." He punched a button on an intercom. "Dig up all the pictures on that Sandburg kid." He went back to the telephone. "Hank, listen. Get Healy out of bed. I want a cartoon, and I want it quick. King Wesley's in it. He's at the altar, tears streaming down his cheeks, his groom didn't show up. Old lady Sandburg is there, too, laughing her ass off. Exaggerated."

He hung up and grabbed a ringing phone. "Yeah? What? Blair Sandburg? You're crazy. What do you mean, he called his mother to come get him in an auto camp? So, she's got a police escort, and Wesley's going, too. Yeah," Simon's shoulders slumped. "I guess she must have phoned as soon as she heard they made up."

Simon hung up and started issuing orders. The new front page was to tell of Blair Sandburg giving himself up once he found out that Wesley and Naomi had made up. "Love Triumphant," Simon said sourly. What the hell got into Jim? He seemed so sincere. Simon thought of the money, and considered calling the police, then decided against it. Whatever had happened, his friend didn't need any more stress right now. He'd give Jim a couple of days.

He looked at the story Jim had given him, crumpled in the wastepaper basket. He drew it out, smoothed it, and began to read it again.

****

Jim was coaxing a steaming, clattering car along. "Come on, dammit. We have to get back before he wakes up."

When the screaming phalanx of motorcycle cops and cars passed him, he even tooted his horn in salute. If he had exercised his vision a bit more, he might have seen Naomi Sandburg and King Wesley occupying the back seat of one of the cars, silently looking out separate windows.

At the sheriff's office Naomi and King escorted a pale, silent Blair through the throng of reporters and into the car. The young man slumped on the seat, staring dully into the middle distance. King was a little peeved. Blair should have been wiggling with excitement, like he always was when King gave him a little attention.

There was a train approaching when Jim came to the crossing, and he pulled to a halt while the railroad man in front of him waved a red flag. "Hey, get that thing out of my way! I have someone waiting for me on the other side."

The man laughed. "It'll get there!"

Jim felt so good that he waved at everyone peering out the windows as the train rolled past. Most of the passengers couldn't resist the joy in his expression, and waved back. As the caboose approached, Jim prepared to go on.

There was that same motorcade sitting on the other side. As it rolled slowly past, Jim had a chance to look inside the car this time.

Blair was drooping in the back seat, his head resting on Naomi's shoulder. King Wesley, on his other side, was watching the young man with a proprietary gleam in his eyes.

Jim almost ran the flagman down as he turned the car and sped after the motorcade. He tried. The car tried. But he gradually fell behind, and finally the car limped to the side of the road and wheezed to a stop. Jim got out and started walking.

****

The papers the next day were full of it. BLAIRY SANDBURG RETURNS HOME. GLAD TO BE HOME, SAYS BLAIRY. Pictures of Blair abounded. The Big Apple Banner ran pictures of him, King, and Naomi on the front page, with the LOVE TRIUMPHANT headline. Circulation soared, for everyone.

Then there was the headline SANDBURG INSISTS ON RE-MARRIAGE CEREMONY. BLAIRY SANDBURG TO HAVE CHURCH WEDDING. And finally LOVE TRIUMPHS AGAIN.

Jim walked dejectedly into the Big Apple Banner newsroom. Ignoring the subdued greetings of the staff, he went directly back to Simon's office. His secretary said, "Simon's out back somewhere, Jim."

Jim slapped the stack of bills down on her desk. "When he gets back, give him this. Tell him I was joking." He started for the exit.

Simon came out of a back room. His secretary said, "Jim Ellison was just here. He left this money, and told me to say he was just joking."

"What? Where is he?" Jim hadn't made the exit yet, and she pointed. Simon hurried after him and grabbed his arm. "Jim, wait."

Jim said, "Sorry about that, Simon. Just a gag." He hesitated, then said wistfully, "It would have made a great story though, wouldn't it?"

"You had me going, Jimbo. Yeah, it would have been great, if it panned out. But life's like that. You can be going along, great guns, then something happens, and there you are."

"Yeah, there you are." He looked at his friend. "Where am I, Simon?"

"You'll figure it out, Jim. When you do..." he patted his shoulder. "come back here."

****

BLAIRY SANDBURG TO MARRY TODAY. MOTHER IGNORES ELOPEMENT, INSISTS ON CHURCH CEREMONY. GROOM TO LAND AT CHURCH IN AUTOGYRO.

****

Naomi entered Blair's room with much more hesitation than she'd ever shown. Before she'd felt fine just barging in, but things were different now. Blair was different. As much as she hated to admit it, he wasn't the same dear, spoiled brat he'd been when he'd dived off the yacht.

Blair was curled up on a settee. He was dressed in a pure white silk tuxedo, and he was nibbling a carrot. That's new, too. Since when does he eat raw vegetables. "Blair? I knocked several times."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I guess I was daydreaming."

He does a lot of that, too. She went over to stand near her son. "Everything's ready, dear. It's creating quite a stir, too. That's... uh, a great stunt King is going to pull, too."

Blair frowned. "The autogyro."

Naomi was relieved to hear his scornful tone. "Yes, I think it's silly, too." Blair got up and paced. "He's just doing it to steal attention from me, you know."

Naomi was surprised. Yes, she'd known, but she hadn't thought Blair did. Was her baby finally seeing Wesley for what he was, now that it was too late? Naomi watched Blair. He refused to bind his hair back, and it swung and floated free, giving him an ethereal look. "You look so good, baby. Handsome isn't enough, I have to call you beautiful." Blair gave her a fond, distracted smile, but kept pacing. "Do you like the suit?"

"Mm? The suit? Oh, yes. It's nice, isn't it?" He went over and sat on his bed, half reclining, and picked at the spread.

Feeling her heart swell, Naomi went over and sat beside him. "What is it, Blair?" Blair looked away. Naomi took his arms. "What's wrong, child? Tell me. You haven't changed your mind about King, have you?"

Blair bit his lip. "No."

"Because if you have," his mother said hopefully, "it's not too late. You know how I feel about him." She sighed. "Oh, you gave me such a scare when I couldn't find you. You know, the old pump isn't what it used to be."

Blair smiled. "You're heart is better than most decathlon athletes, and you know it, Naomi." He hugged her. "But I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world, you know that."

"Then what's wrong, child? Aren't you happy?" Naomi felt a drop of moisture on her neck, and held him away. She could see the tears streaming down his face. "Blair!" Blair ducked his head against her shoulder again, and she rocked him comfortingly. "I knew it. I knew you had something on your mind. You haven't fallen in love with someone else, have you?" Blair's shoulders shook. "So, that's it. I haven't seen you cry since you were a baby. This must be serious."

Naomi stroked Blair's hair. "Where did you meet him? It is a him?"

Blair nodded. "I met him on the road, and no, he isn't a bus driver. I... I don't know very much about him, but I love him."

"Well, if it's that important, we'll move heaven and earth to..."

"You don't understand. He despises me. He thinks that I'm spoiled, and snobbish, and pampered, and selfish, and totally insincere."

"He told you this?"

"Some of it. But I could tell he thought the rest."

"And you still love him?" Blair nodded. "Well, I'd say that's serious."

"And he doesn't think much of you, either." Naomi sat back, mouth open. "He blames you for most of what's wrong with me. He says that you raised me stupidly."

"That's a fine man to fall in love with."

Blair nodded. "He's marvelous."

Naomi stood up. "Where is he? I'd like to have a talk with him."

"It wouldn't do any good."

"Under the circumstances, don't you think we should call all this off?"

"No. You see, he was right about me. All my life I've been running away from things. It's time I finally turned around and faced the mess I've made of my life. I have to try to settle down and do something other than just indulge myself." Blair worked his hands together. "I guess it doesn't matter who I do that with. I can't walk out on King now. It would make us all look so ridiculous. Anyway, what difference does it make? I'll never see Jim again."

"Is that his name?"

"Yes. Jim. James Joseph Ellison." Naomi repeated the name. A spark of interest finally showed in Blair's eyes. "Why? Do you know him?"

Naomi touched her jacket pocket unconsciously. "No, no."

Blair plunged his hand into the pocket and came up with a telegram. It read 'Dear Madam, I would like to have a talk with you about a financial matter in connection with your son. Signed, Jim Ellison'.

Blair froze. Naomi could almost hear his heart shatter. He handed the telegram back to her and said blankly, "I guess that was his only interest in me, wasn't it? The reward."

"I'm sorry you read that, dear."

"Are you going to see him?"

"I suppose so."

"Give it to him, Mom. He earned it, he was worth every penny. He kept me..." Blair choked. "He kept me thoroughly entertained."

The door opened, and King Wesley, resplendent in a black tuxedo that was the negative image of Blair's, entered. "Well, if it isn't the bridegroom himself!" Blair chirped.

Naomi frowned at the falsely cheerful tone. "I'll go now, dear." She eyed King coldly as she went out. We may just put paid to you very soon, my fine young dog.

King came over and took Blair in his arms, kissing him. He was so self involved that he never noticed the stiffness. "Happy, darling?"

"Why shouldn't I be? It's up to you now, King. I want our life together to be full of excitement. We'll never let up, never a dull moment!" Blair's voice held almost feverish gaiety. "We'll get on the merry-go-round and never get off." Blair grabbed his collar, his voice almost pleading. "Promise me you'll never let me get off."

"Whatever you say, darling. It's a promise." This time when King kissed Blair, he noticed the tension, but he went on, anyway. The kid's just going to have to learn who's in charge in this marriage.

****

Jim was morosely reading over a stack of papers, all featuring the upcoming Sandburg/Wesley nuptials when the phone rang. He answered it. "Yeah?"

"Is this Jim Ellison?"

"Yeah, who's this."

"This is Naomi Sandburg."

"Sure it is."

"I don't have time to play games, Mister Ellison. You wanted to see me. Come to my home, right away."

"Why can't I go to your office?"

"I'm going to Washington tonight and may be gone for several weeks. Don't you want to get this settled?"

"Yeah, but I don't like the thought of barging in on your jamboree." And I might accidentally see Blair, and who needs his heart ripped out twice?

"You can come directly to my study."

Jim thought. "Yeah, maybe I will come. I'd like a peek at that three- ring circus you're having. I'd like to see what love looks like when it's triumphant. I haven't had a good laugh in a week."

****

Naomi stared across the desk at Jim Ellison. Well, Blair can certainly pick them when it comes to looks, but his judgment in character hasn't been too sound up until now. I hope it's improved. "I was surprised to hear from you, Mister Ellison. My son hadn't told me about you helping him."

Jim snorted. "Well, that's typical of him. He thinks he's entitled to it. Did you think I lugged him up here from Miami for the love of it?"

"He thinks you deserve anything you can get."

"He does, does he? Isn't that sweet of him. You don't, I suppose?"

"I don't know. I'll have to see on what you base your claim. I suppose you feel justified."

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be here." Jim pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it over. "Here."

Naomi looked. It looks like a list. "Cash outlay, $8.60, topcoat $15.00, suitcase $7.50, hat $4.00, three shirts $4.50. Total, $39.60. All the above items had to be sold for gasoline.

"There were some shorts and socks, too, but I'm throwing them in."

"Let me get this straight. You want $39.60 in addition to the ten thousand dollars?"

"What ten thousand?"

"The reward."

"Who said anything about a reward?"

Naomi stared at the hard blue eyes, and felt a stab of hope. She said slowly. "I'm a little confused."

"Look, all I want is my $39.60. Give me a check and I'll get out of your hair." He got up and began to pace. "This place gives me the jitters."

"You're a peculiar chap."

"I don't like being played for a sucker. This is a matter of principle, though you probably wouldn't understand that. When anyone takes me for a buggy ride, I don't expect to pay for the privilege."

Naomi smiled. "Were you taken for a buggy ride?"

"Yes, with all the trimmings."

Naomi pulled out her checkbook and wrote the check. Getting up, she went to Jim and handed it to him. "Do you mind if I ask you a question, frankly?" Jim shrugged. "Do you love my son?"

Jim scowled. "Anyone who'd fall in love with your son should have his head examined."

"As Blair loves to say, that's an obfuscation."

"He picked himself a perfect running mate--King Wesley. The pill of the century. What he needs is someone who'd spank his butt now and then, whether he had it coming or not. If you had half a brain you'd have done it yourself, long ago."

Naomi's voice was implacable. "Do you love him?"

"A normal person couldn't live under the same room with him without going nuts."

"I asked you a simple question. Do you love him?"

"Yes! But don't hold that against me--I'm a little screwy myself."

Jim slammed out into the hall. There was music and laughter coming from an open arch-way just opposite him. He glanced in. Blair, impossibly beautiful in a white tux, was lifting a glass of champagne to a crowd of admirers. "Well, here's to the merry-go-round!"

"Perfect." Blair froze, his eyes flying to the doorway. Jim scowled at him. "Now you look natural."

Blair set the glass down, sloshing bubbling gold liquid over the room, and started toward Jim. "I hope you got your money."

"I did."

"Congratulations."

"Same to you."

Blair waved at the crowd, which was examining Jim with distant, disapproving eyes. "Stay and watch the fun. You'll enjoy it."

"I would, but I've got a weak stomach." He turned and stalked off.

Naomi came out of the study, and noticed the helpless look Blair was directing after the retreating Ellison. "I just talked to him. I think there's something you should know."

Blair turned away. "I never want to hear another word about him."

****

The crowd was gathered, almost two hundred, excluding servants and the newsmen operating the cameras on the raised platform. The string orchestra struck up the bridal march, and the choir sang the words sweetly. Some guests reflected that they hadn't even known that there were lyrics. There were a dozen smartly dressed attendants for both grooms.

Pounds of rose petals were scattered by little girls as Blair came out of the house, holding Naomi's arm. They began the stately walk down the aisle made by the throngs of guests on either side, to where the rabbi waited beneath the canopy.

The music kept the guests from hearing what Naomi muttered to Blair as they walked. "You're a sucker to go through with this. That guy, Ellison, is okay. He didn't want the reward. All he asked for was $39.60, what he spent on you." She smiled to herself as she felt Blair's hand tighten on her arm. "He said it was a matter of principle. He thought you took him for a ride."

Blair stared straight ahead, but Naomi could see him biting his lip, something he always did when he was trying to make a hard decision. "He loves you, Blairy... Blair. He told me so. You don't want to marry a mug like Wesley. I can buy him off for a pot of gold."

King stepped into place before the rabbi, beaming at Blair. Blair flinched. Naomi whispered. "You can make your mother very happy, and you won't do too bad for yourself. If you change your mind, a car is waiting by the back gate."

Blair stood before the rabbi, beside King. The rabbi lifted his voice. "Is there any one now who has reason why these two should not be joined? Speak now, or forever hold your peace." Naomi leaned forward, but Blair glared at her. She subsided. "King, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, in the sight of man and God, so long as you both shall live?"

King shot a 'gotcha' glance at Blair. "I do."

"Blair, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, in the sight of man and God, so long as you both shall live?"

A pause.

Blair silently shook his head, turned, and ran back up the aisle, the tails of his coat and his hair streaming behind him.

Pandemonium.

Naomi laughed.

Blair dashed down the back lawn, a growing crowd of guests, wedding party, servants, and newsmen following. King Wesley, not all that athletic, was far in the back. The news cameras caught the mad rush that ended with Blair leaping into a waiting car and speeding off. It was widely agreed that it was the best newsreel footage since the crash of the Hindenberg, and a hell of a lot more cheerful.

King Wesley stopped by Naomi, puffing. "What happened?"

Naomi smiled serenely. "I haven't the slightest idea."

****

A few days later, Naomi was enjoying a drink in her office when the phone rang, and the secretary told her it was King Wesley. She answered it cheerfully. "Hello, my would-be former son-in-law. I've sent you a check for a hundred thousand. Yeah, that's the smartest thing you ever did, Wesley, not contesting that annulment. Satisfactory? Good, it should be. Oh, I'm not complaining. It was dirt cheap--best investment I ever made. It'll make my baby happy, and get me a damn fine son-in-law--one with some guts and balls. Don't fall out of any windows!" She slammed down the receiver, laughing.

Henri came in and handed her a telegram. "It's from Jim. They're in Glen Falls, Michigan."

Naomi read it. "What's holding up the annulment, you slow poke? The Walls of Jericho are toppling. Huh. Send him a telegram right away. Say 'Let 'em topple'." She poured a second drink, and handed it to Henri. "Cheers, Henri. My baby is a man."

****

Another motor lodge, another manager and wife. These were plump, and much better natured than the others Blair and Jim had met on their travels. The man and wife stared out toward the cabin, and the woman said, "Funny couple. I don't think they're married, like they said."

"Oh, they're married all right. I saw the certificate. The big fella insisted on showing it to me, and the little fella just blushed and hung on him."

"They asked for a blanket. What would they want with a blanket on a night like this?"

"Blamed if I know. I just brought 'em a trumpet, the toy kind. They sent me to the store to get it."

"What in the world would they want a trumpet for?" They turned puzzled eyes back toward the cabin.

They could see the shadow of the blanket, strung on a cord, across the window. There was the sound of the trumpet, rising and spiraling in a triumphant flourish. The blanket dropped. The lights went out.

The Walls of Jericho had fallen, and Blair Sandburg was made an honest man.

The End.