Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Subject: Tristan Chapter 30 (Gay College) Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard This work fully protected under The United States Copyright Laws 17 USC 101, 102(a), 302(a). All Rights Reserved. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author’s consent. If reading this story is not legal in your jurisdiction, stop it right now. If you enjoy this story, please consider making a donation to Nifty to keep this platform alive. Chapter 30 “Wow! That sure is cool, Holly, but will it fit in the truck?” Tristan, Hollis and Colton stood in the dusty forecourt scratching their heads. The wind blew across the flat prairie land of Dawson County and made little eddies around the peeling stucco arches of the old gas station. Weeds now grew in the concrete forecourt and there were sad gaps in the green-hued roof where the Spanish tiles had slipped. “Sold the pumps to a fellah from Phoenix,” said Hollis’s cousin, laconically. “‘parently he collects ’em n’he paid me 800 bucks for the visible glass one an’ 200 a-piece for the more modern ones–lights on the top don’t work, but. He wanted to buy it too, but I said that I’d promised it to m’cuzin.” Apparently Abner’s father–Hollis’s maternal uncle–owned the place along with some other property in the tiny town. The gas station had been closed for many years and the pumps were now too close to the office to meet modern standards. Also, it was obvious that big trucks would not have fitted beneath the awning. Locals filled up further out off the interstate which had by-passed the hamlet. In any case, a new gas pipeline was being laid next to the road and the place was to be demolished. “I think the head could poke over the top of the cabin an’ the tail could stick out from the back,” suggested Colton. “I could give you a red rag t’tie on his tail,” volunteered Cousin Abner. “How do you know it’s a male?” asked Tristan. They all looked for the usual signs. “They’re all called `Dino’ so they must be boys,” said Abner. “I think the four of us can lift it.” The object in question was a dinosaur–a brontosaurus to be precise–made from green sheet metal that had been used to advertise a certain brand of gasoline in the nineteen-thirties. Hollis thought that it would make a great `lawn ornament’ for the new house and Tristan had eventually come around to thinking that this quirky suggestion may indeed be all right. “I think we should plant some shrubs around him,” mused Tristan as they lashed him down securely with rope, “so it would make it look as if he was just emerging from the primeval forest.” “Yeah, they were herbivores,” said Colton as he tested the knots. “It’ll freak the neighbours,” said Hollis as they got into the truck. It was over six hours back to College and they each took two hours at the wheel, just stopping for coffee and snacks at Abilene and Waco on the divided highway, always conscious of their unusual load and fearful that the police might have cause to stop them. Tristan had been interested to see west Texas–real prairie country–even if it was only through the windscreen. The land now grew progressively greener once again as they headed back east through Waco. “In the summer y’all should come out t’the ranch. Only another hour on from Abner’s place.” “Yeah?” said Tristan. “Yeah, if y’wants to try cuttin’ hay. We have to move the cattle t’fresh grass n’ see that there’s water in the troughs n’stuff like that.” “Hard work?” “Fuckin’ hard in the heat, but it’s sorta good.” “Would your family laugh at me for being a tenderfoot?” “Course not. Colt’s family didn’t.” “No, they love him better’n me,” said Colt, grinning. “What do you do for fun?” “Why Tris, there’s Church n’ Sunday School n’ Young Rotary n’ then there’s always Klan meetin’s, o’course.” Tristan snorted. “We go into town, drive up n’down, get drunk, pickup the town girls. There’s football n’basketball, n’horses–all good stuff.” “I guess that’s like most small towns,” mused Tristan, “but I suppose because it’s your own you feel differently about it.” “Can’t say I was ever bored. What about you, Colt?” “Was all I knew. Me an’ the Coyotes never felt bored. Football was real important, of course. Now I ain’t so sure. It might be nice to be someplace where y’don’t know ev’ybody n’you can make a fresh start.” “Come on, Colt, y’all was a big ass hero in your town even more’an I was in mine. Football does that, Tris.” “Well, that’s true. I scored a lotta chicks just because of football, but there are a lot more in, say, London…” “More than four million, if you count them all,” said Tristan. “And who said Colty might not be able to do some damage in a big city?” “Is that how you measure things, Colt?” laughed Tristan. “Not really, but big cities have their ‘vantages. Fresh ideas, more options–an’ I don’t just mean with chicks.” “Yeah,” admitted Hollis, “I kin see you making a splash in a big pond. “I’ll probably just end up back on the ranch, but with a degree in Economics.” “But is that what you want, Holly?” asked Tristan with a hint of urgency in his voice. “Day-amned if I know, Tris. Ask me in a year–two years.” “How about some C there’s not a lot besides the grass and trees….yes, I might plant some more, but I’m not much of a gardener. My mother and grandmother had big gardens, but I don’t know about what to plant out here in Texas…Yes, England…Two years. I’m a student…Oh, all right, I’m not doing anything right now. I’ll wait. See you, Mr Perez.” Tristan looked up. “He did seem nice. He’s coming over in a minute. How much do you think he’ll charge?” “No idea. You don’t think we could do it ourselves?” “Well, we should, but I don’t have a mower and what happens when we’re all away in the summer? It’s a big lawn and all the neighbours keep theirs pretty nice. Suburban pressure is on!” They waited, admiring the HMS Beagle sign, which had been fixed to the siding just to the left of the wide front door with its art glass panel and, of course, Dino, who glared balefully at pedestrians on the side walk. Presently an old truck pulled up. Mrs Perez was with her husband. The boys walked over and Tristan introduced himself and the others. Mr Perez was a quiet middle-aged Latino man with an iron-grey moustache, but his full head of hair was still mostly dark. His face spoke of a life of outdoor labour. Mrs Perez was more voluble and lively. She was short and rotund. Tristan explained that one more boy and three girls would be also living in the house the following academic year and that the house and stable loft were being converted. “I used to mow the grass when the College owned it. For some reason the College Maintenance Department weren’t interested and I was doing this place and two or three others in the street. When they sold it, they let me go.” “Well then, you know the size of the font yard and there’s the back yard too–although some of that will be paved. Do you think you could come once every fortnight? Possibly in the winter you wouldn’t need to come as often, but maybe there would be other work in the yard or something.” “Shovelling snow,” said Hollis. “We should do that, lazy ass,” chided Colton. “Fifty Dollars?” ventured Mr Perez. “No, Mr Perez, there is more than an hour’s work and the use of your machine and travelling time. One Hundred Dollars a fortnight.” “That’s too much!” he cried. “Not a penny less.” “Well, if you insist, but I will water and fertilize and repair the lawn when you’ve got everything straight. If there are any other jobs, such as removing trash…” “That will be great, Mr Perez,” said Tristan, shaking his hand. “Who’s going to clean the house?” asked Mrs Perez. Now Tristan knew the purpose of her visit. “Well, I thought we’d clean it ourselves.” “What, nine students keep a house like this clean? I have two sons and a daughter at home and I know what young people are like–my daughter is the untidiest of the lot.” “That’s true,” said Parker. “Rachel and Leesha’s room looks like an explosion in a thrift shop.” “Well, your stinkin’ shorts are still on the pizza box from two weeks ago and I’m not putting out the trash,” said Hollis. “I don’t know, Mrs Perez. Please have a look around, if the builders will let you in. It’s now a big house. I’d like to discuss it with the guys.” Mr and Mrs Perez walked around into the back yard. Tristan said, “I don’t know if I like the idea of someone cleaning up after me. My parents have always had `staff’ and I think it just gave my mother a chance to look down her nose.” “It needn’t be like that,” said Parker. “Well, when Mrs Perez goes home, she has to clean her own house after cleaning ours.” “Perhaps Mrs Someone cleans Mrs Perez’s house.” “Well then, Mrs Someone has to clean Mrs Perez’s house and then her own.” “Y’all lookin’ at it wrong,” said Hollis. “Mrs Perez may need the work. After all, she volunteered her services.” “How’s it different from having a plumber coming to fix the faucets?” asked Parker. “It is,” countered Tristan. “We can’t fix the pipes, but we can clean-up after ourselves.” “But we’re busy with study and football,” said Parker. “And goin’ out an’ enjoyin’ the best years of our lives,” said Hollis, clearly not serious about his own stance. “What do you think, Colt?” “Well, the Bible says, `The labourer is worthy of his hire’.” “It’s not like you to quote the Bible!” “Well, I never said that there ain’t some wise observations in it. So if we pay her fairly an’ try to make it easy for her…” “Well, on that, would you be prepared to chip in a bit more each week to pay for her to do some basic cleaning and tidying?” “Sure,” said Hollis. “Split nine ways it ain’t nothin’. And the income might mean somethin’ to her.” “Do you think Leesh, Rache, Alex and Carlos will agree?” “Pretty sure,” said Parker. “All right. I’ll ask her to quote.” They waited for ten more minutes. The Perezes were having a good tour guided by Mr Wilcox. At last they emerged onto the new porch. “What do you think Mrs Perez?” “I hardly recognise the place! Such pretty rooms upstairs and that room up there,” she said, fanning herself and pointing to the loft, “looks like somethin’ right out of a magazine!” “There are five bathrooms if you count the tub in the maid’s room, Mrs Perez. And the loft is a big room to sweep and hoover…” “He means vacuum clean, Mrs Perez,” interjected Colton. “…and the kitchen is pretty old, but it will have new lino.” There was a pause while she swiftly did some mental calculations. “I think if I came for one-and-half hours every week I could clean half at a time.” “Well, I think the kitchen should be cleaned every week and maybe the living room and the dining room too. The bedrooms and showers, yes, every fortnight will do. But two hours, surely.” “Well, maybe it would take two hours. I’m a real fast worker. I would charge one hundred dollars and buy all the materials which I will leave here.” “That seems very fair,” said Tristan looking at Colton who nodded. “But I am still concerned that you’d be cleaning up after slobs and I don’t think you should have to. You must tell us off when we get out of hand. What do you do to your own children?” Mrs Perez laughed. ankara escort “Golpea!” she cried with glee and struck Colton on his backside with a resounding crack. “Ow! You’ve had a lot of practice, obvi’sly, Mrs P.” laughed Colton, rubbing his butt. She laughed and said it came with experience but it didn’t always work. “That’s $16 a week for each of us for inside and out. Is that still okay?” The three boys nodded. “Well then, Mr Perez, it would be good if you could mow around the builders’ stuff as soon as possible. They should be finished by the summer vacation–I hope–and that’s when you can start, Mrs Perez. Would that be convenient?” “He’s a lovely polite boy, isn’t he Luis? Don’t you just love his accent?” Her husband merely nodded. “It would be right convenient, Mr Tristan.” They all shook hands and the Perezes departed in their truck. When Tristan came back from his afternoon lecture he found that Colton had two suited visitors in their room. “Hello,” said Tristan, uncertainly. “Tris, these guys are G-men.” “Please, Mr Stone, we’re with the FBI, this is not a Jimmy Cagney movie,” said the fair one. “Agent Weeks” he said, thrusting out his hand. “Agent Deluca” said the darker one. “We’re here about your assault.” “Could you tell us about it?” They sat on the desk chairs while Tristan and Colton sat on the edge of the beds. Tristan recounted it as best he could. He was becoming quite practised. “And how are you now? Your father said that you had a damaged spleen,” said Weeks. “My father contacted the FBI?” “Yes, he alerted us to the case in relation to the attack on the places of worship.” “Well, my–our–involvement with the second is only a coincidence. I have a house being renovated behind the Waxman Centre and Colt saw them.” “And you are sure that this Bradley Meigs was the one who attacked you?” “He was the leader and they called him `braid’–that’s Cadet speak for a third year–and he had distinctive cowboy boots. He was barely restrained from using a bayonet on me.” “And this Bowers?” “Is he the freshman with the odd eyes? Yes, I recognised him.” “It’s not much to go on for a criminal conviction.” “You know, Mr Deluca, I’m getting sick of hearing that. I was nearly killed in a gay hate crime. Isn’t that a Federal matter too?” “Now wait, Mr Isley. Yes, it is a Federal crime and I was going to say that if the evidence is not strong enough for a criminal conviction, it might be strong enough for you to file a civil suit.” “A judge would hear it,” said Weeks, “and you only need proof as to the balance of probability that Bowers did it. I think the evidence against Meigs is weaker–anybody might have bought those boots.” “But how would I prove that it was a Cadet who attacked me and not just some random who happened to have odd eyes–a coincidence that the Waxman criminal also had odd eyes.” “Well, that would be for the judge and jury to decide.” “Couldn’t y’all get Bowers or Meigs or the others to confess to Tristan’s beatin’?” asked Colton. “After all, you’ve got them for attempted arson on the Centre, haven’t you?” “That’s true,” said Weeks, “and we might yet get it. Only one got bail–I can’t reveal his name because he is only seventeen. The others, including Meigs and Bowers are on remand.” “And if they confessed to the beating, they might get a reduced sentence for Waxman?” asked Colton. “No, the Waxman case is far more serious. I’m afraid Tristan’s beating is, well, of secondary importance. Sorry.” “But if they should confess, then a civil suit could be cut and dried?” “You’d have to talk to your lawyer about that. The judge would have to agree to hear it too.” They left their cards and departed. “What do you think, Colt?” “No, what do you think, Tris?” “I say go for it. Why should what happened to me go unpunished? Even if I only take an action for compensation, at least it will send a message to other gays.” “Right. I’ll support you. I suppose we need to see Mr Sleigh. He’ll be getting’ sick of us.” “Are you awake?” Tristan asked in the dark. There was no answer. Tristan asked again to the same effect. Then he extended his leg across the other bed and placed a cold foot on Colton’s buttocks. “Are you awake, Colt?” “Am now, Roomy,” he grunted. “What’s the matter?” “I’ve changed my mind about going to court.” “Yeah?” Colt sat up on his pillows. “Yeah. I’ve been stewing over it and I’ve decided it isn’t worth the stress and strain, especially at this time of the year.” “But what about what y’all said about ’em gettin’ away with it?” “That’s true, but justice is an abstract concept and going to court is real life. I can imagine a judge finding sufficient doubt that Meigs or Bowers were the same guys that attacked me. And I don’t know how a judge would view me as a member of the GSA–Texas is not like England.” “Y’don’t think you’d get a fair trial?” “Quite frankly, no, not with what I’ve seen of the police here and what I’ve heard about up at Dellart. I reckon they’re corrupt. Remember those cops in Louisiana? I’m sorry to say that about your home, Colt. I suppose it’s my home now.” “Maybe you’re right not to risk it.” “There’s another point. I could sue Meigs or Bowers, but even if I win, it might be pointless if they don’t have any assets. They’re only students. It would be like me suing you.” “What about an action against the College for not providing a safe place?” “I’ve thought of that. But they could argue that they have done all that the law requires. I bet they look good on paper. And what would that shit Barlow think of me suing my alma mater. Doesn’t look good.” “You mean you might need a favour from him one day?” “I didn’t mean it to be quite so transactional, but supposing he were to withdraw your name for something like the Linnean Society just because you are my friend. I’ve decided that he’s the vindictive type.” “Just because he doesn’t drink booze or coffee.” “It’s an indication of character,” suggested Tristan, not quite seriously. “I don’t like the look of him either. Bet he has syphilis.” “I am going to put down my beating as `taking one for the team’. Money from a civil action is not sufficient justice anyway.” “All right. Just don’t change your mind before mornin’.” “It’s nearly morning now.” “It’s four.” “Well, I was going to ask if I could jack you off, but if you’re not up to it…” “Who says?” “It’s just that you seem tired–I don’t know what you’ll be like come football season.” “Huh, Colty’s in his prime. Get me hard n’y’can jump on if y’like. When you’ve got a load of my A-grade jock jelly up inside your gay ass, then tell me I’m not up to it.” “Does Coach find it so easy to provoke you?” Tristan did find Colt already hard and, after some preliminary skirmishes, did indeed climb on and eased the well-primed member into his rectum. Tristan enjoyed steadying himself with arms outstretched to Colton’s broad shoulders while Colton flexed athletically upwards, making them both grunt with each thrust. Tristan wondered about the girls that Colton had fucked just like this. Then Tristan gave him a rest and bobbed himself up and down, stopping only to reapply the lube. Considering the hour and where they were, they endeavoured to keep the noise down, which was a pity, thought Tristan, because the cries–both his own of pain and pleasure– and those of Colton–Tristan wasn’t quite sure what Colton’s cries signified–formed an integral part of the enjoyment of the act. “Better stay on this side, Roomy,” said Colton after the deed was done. “Get some sleep because we’re running in an hour-and-a half and you’ll have the Hindenburg up your tush for wakin’ me up.” Tristan felt relieved that he had made the decision. He rang his father and he spoke to Dr Baddeley and, finally, Iain Macpherson. They seemed to understand and none tried to make him change his mind, even though America was the land of the litigious. “I’ve got a little project for you, Tristan, over the summer, that is if you’re not too busy with the house and things. You could do it at night.” “What is it?” asked Tristan as he drank from his mug of coffee in Dr Macpherson’s room at the College. “Well, I need an historian to work on the index of my new book.” Tristan knew that this was to do with the conflicts in the years before the Great War. “I could pay you.” “I don’t want to be paid. I’d be honoured to do it, if you think I’d be all right.” “Well, the publisher’s editor will go over it after you, but as an historian, you will know what to look for. I hate books with poor indices and reviewers tend to judge them harshly. There’s a program to make it easy, which I will send to you and I have drafted out some of the bigger headings that references can be grouped under. We will discuss it before you start, of course. Your name will appear in the acknowledgments.” “Wow! Not many freshmen students can say that. When do you want it by?” “Well, you could start any time, but perhaps after your final exams? The last week of August would be a good deadline, although the publishers don’t need it until the second week in September.” Tristan drank his coffee while Dr Macpherson searched for a USB that contained the proof of the text. When he sat down again he said, “You know, one day I’d be looking for a tutor in this Department. Someone doing honours or a masters would be useful for freshmen classes. You should think about that.” “You think I’ll make a good historian?” “Yes, certainly. You’ve got a good background from your school and a feel for historiography.” “Gee, thanks! And I don’t even know what `historiography’ is!” Tristan wanted to tell Colton, but he wasn’t at Charles C. Selecman. Instead he met Rachel. “Hey Tris! My dad’s downstairs. Come see what we’ve got!” Tristan followed Rachel down in the lift. In the parking lot was a large Mercedes with a boat trailer hitched. Rachel’s father was an athletic man, perhaps in his middle forties. He was dressed in casual clothes, but they were expensive and Tristan could picture him, laughing and confident on a golf course or in a country club. He shook Tristan’s hand enthusiastically and made awful jokes at his daughter’s expense. Rachel laughed too and playfully slapped her father, engendering more laughter. Without further ado, Rachel’s father untied the polytarp on the trailer and stood back. There stood a large table. “Wow!” said Tristan, “You made this?” “We made it, Tris,” said Rachel. “Well, we made the top, Tristan. The base is a teak patio table that was dumped on someone’s lawn. The top was warped but the legs were `stout’–is that the right word?” “Yes, Mr Hunt, that’s just what we’ll need–no nonsense stout legs.” “Look at the top, Tris, that’s what we made,” said Rachel, eagerly. Tristan climbed up to see. It was made of MDF and had been lacquered to a high sheen. “It’s well sealed, Tristan, to keep is safe. We sprayed it with six coats, sanding it down between each one. So you can dance on it, just like you ordered.” “Yeah, Tris, it’s plenty tough.” “This is beautiful.” Tristan was now referring to the central feature of the work: inlaid into the top was a large star, the symbol ankara olgun escort of the State. The use of two shades of veneer gave it a three dimensional effect. With a bit of stringing, it deftly masked where the two sheets of timber met. This was matched by dark timber that disguised the raw edges of the tabletop. “We copied the design from a mural at Fair Park,” said Rachel. “Have you ever been there?” Tristan hadn’t. “Well, it’s all Art Deco and just the coolest place in Dallas.” “My little girl did the inlay, Tristan. She’s real good, eh?” “She sure is, Mr Hunt. I’ll think of you both every time I sit down to Rachel’s cooking.” “Hey, I’m not doing all the cooking!” “You wouldn’t want that, Tristan. I’ve had her tuna casserole” “Daddy! I can cook, it’s just that I don’t get the chance too often. We have a cook at home, Tris.” Tristan enjoyed seeing this side of Rachel and realised what an easy relationship she had with her parent. The table was to be put in the storage locker and then Mr Hunt was invited to inspect the house before he had to drive back to Dallas. There was still no sign of Colton when Tristan returned to his room. He got down to some study when there was a knock at the door. He got up and opened it. There stood a girl. She was leggy and had long blonde hair, which she pushed aside when she spoke. Tristan knew instantly that she was not there for him. “Is Colton in?” “No, I haven’t seen him this afternoon.” “Oh,” she said. There was a slight flash of annoyance in her eyes. “Well, are you expecting him back any time soon?” “I really couldn’t say. He may be at the Clinic or at the gym.” “I’ve already been to the clinic.” She pulled her skimpy white top down to better cover her tanned midriff. “When he does get here, will you tell him I came by?” “I will, but who are you?” “I’m Sharon Pellman.” Tristan looked blank. “I’m the Vice-President of the Student Government.” “Oh, I’m sorry. I recognise your name, but I never voted in the election, you see.” “Well, just tell Colton to call me.” She turned crossly and departed in the direction of the lift. Colton did return. “Where’ve you been, Colt?” asked Tristan in a friendly fashion. “The gym.” He dropped his bag and Tristan looked up from his computer. “And I went for a beer with this girl from the gym. Just for a warm down.” “Well,” said Tristan smiling to himself. “Things might be heating up. Sharon Pellman came here looking for you.” “What did you tell her?” Colton sounded alarmed. “Just said I thought you were at the Clinic or the gym.” “Oh. Well, I was. Except for having a drink with Kristine.” “Does she have big tits?” “You know her?” “No, just a guess.” Colton laughed. “Well she does, but we’re just friends from gym. She’s an instructor.” “What about this other one?” “Well, she’s been bugging me to take her out.” “Tell me all.” Colton was busy pulling off his gym clothes and was quickly down to his plaid boxers. “I met Sharon Pellman at the Clinic. She’s a Senior. She’s in the Student government or some shit and her daddy is some big wheel in the College.” “Is he the Provost?” “Could be. How do you know?” “Looked him up.” “Well, she comes on pretty strong and says it’s a College tradition for the quarterback to take the female head of the Student Government to the Bonfire.” Tristan knew that the big bonfire and the agricultural-themed ball that followed was an important tradition at the College going back to the nineteen-twenties. “So take her.” “I don’t want to. She’s on the rebound after the President of the Student Council dumped her–although that’s not how she tells it. The quarterback of the football team would be a feather in her cap, if you don’t mind me blowin’ m’own trumptet, Tris.” “I see. Then don’t take her.” “Well, I kinda promised in the heat of the moment. And she was kinda persuasive at the time.” ” Shit, Colt, you didn’t screw her?” “No, but she kinda gave me head.” “`Kind of’?” “Well she actually did it, but she wasn’t very good. All painted fingernails an’ not enough spit. Sharp teeth too. I hate the ones who do it but are reluctant.” “So this is a breech of promise thing.” “Huh?” “Well, you had promised to take her and sexual favours were exchanged. She will suffer hurt and humiliation if you don’t honour your contract. It’s a simple tort. I’ll give her Mr Sleigh’s name.” “Hold on there. I don’t want to take her–I don’t like her. I told you, she was after me on the rebound.” “So she did not disclose that she had just been dumped when you entered into the contract.” “Yeah, but stop talking about `contracts’! I was just talkin’ to her about the Clinic an’ then she gets real close an’ is rubbing herself on me an’ then gives me a kiss an’ asks me to walk her back to Sigma Phi ’cause its dark.” “And then?” “And then, well, by the dumpster she drops to her knees and unzips Colty. It was the day I went commando last week. You can guess the rest.” “So was it good?” “Tris! Are you getting’ off on this?” “Maybe.” “It wasn’t that good. It was brief. Bitch didn’t swaller. Y’have to swaller if y’serious.” “Yes, you have to swallow. And now?” “Well, she keeps texting and phoning. She ambushed me after m’Biology lecture yesterday. I keep side-steppin’ the issue.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Tristan, confident in their friendship sufficiently to do so. “Well, after I have got into trouble a few times, with that Jessica an’ Madison Rusk–even with Oceané, although that was great sex…” “And that girl in London.” “I wouln’t ‘xactly describe that as trouble. But, yeah, I guess I was a bit ashamed an’ I had promised you I’d swear off chicks after the Madison business.” “Colt, I don’t want you to swear off girls. It’s who you are. You do need to be more careful, however. Remember what Doc Baddeley said. But I don’t want you to change who you are.” “You mean that?” “Of course. Now how are we going to solve this quandary?” “If that means `shit’, then I don’t know.” The question of Sharon Pellman was, like the `Eastern Question’ in Iain Macpherson’s new book, still unresolved three days later. Tristan was preoccupied with study and the house. Colton went home for the weekend to avoid trouble, however Sharon again came to their room and was sent away without seeing Colton. Tristan was beginning to think she had a very thick skin. With the upstairs completed except for paint and carpet, much of the builders’ material had vanished from the yard. Now another team was busy stripping back the panelling that had been discovered in the dining room. They worked so quickly and skilfully that Tristan was glad he did not try to remove the layers of paint himself. Deshawn was busy with an engineering plan for his own bedroom. All Tristan knew at this stage was that it would be made of iron, but he was intrigued and gave him a freehand. He saw Hollis and Parker and told them to scour the thrift shops for three couches that would be suitable for a jock household. “Plain ones, comfortable but with a tough covering and suitable for tall guys to stretch out on.” “But second hand?” said Parker. “Yeah, so we don’t have to be overly careful with them. People get rid of quite good ones and we don’t care what they look like, do we?” “Long as they don’t make me puke,” said Hollis. “I’ll volunteer to test ’em for comfort,” said Parker. Tristan then went to a whitegoods store on Earl Lubbock Parkway and purchased a `big ass’ washing machine and a similar sized dryer–that was how he thought of the large ones he saw in American houses, so different from the smaller machines that were often located in the kitchen of more humble British homes. He searched the Internet for the `Right to Dry’ website and saw that clothes lines were allowed in fenced lots in Texas, if they couldn’t be seen. He rang Mr Wilcox and asked him to install a rotary one in a corner of the back yard and thought it was a simple way to save energy and felt the warmth of virtuousness. Then he rang his father, selecting a time when he thought he would not be working. He wanted to talk about the cost of the house renovation. “I have to take out the cost of the basement bedroom and shower, Dad, because they were not in the original brief. The roof of the back porch was more expensive than we thought, but it looks so good I don’t mind. We saved a little bit on the loft ceiling and we’re just having some sort of paving in the backyard instead of building a timber deck, so that is a slight saving.” “Well, what is the overrun so far?” asked his father briskly. “Between ten and fifteen percent.” “I think that is pretty standard. Ben and Ivy hadn’t designed a house before. Are you comfortable with that?” “Yeah, Dad, actually I am. Building this house might be the most important thing I ever do, so I don’t want to penny-pinch.” “I hope you do lots of important things, Tristan, but I understand your reasoning. It is your money and I said you were adult enough to administer it. The balance of your inheritance, as you know, has been invested by Radetzkys and there is still your family trust.” “I know, Dad. I think that all this has been good for me. I feel completely different to this time last year.” “That’s certainly true. I was so distressed by your behaviour that I wasn’t even sure if you could go to university. When you disappeared for that week without a trace, well, I was very nearly going to withdraw you. Israel Barlow talked me out of it.” “You spoke to the President? I didn’t know that. That’s why he must think I’m trouble when those arseholes attacked me. Well, anyway, I came back before the cops could find me.” “We won’t talk about that. How’s Colton?” “At home for the weekend. His love life is complex as usual.” “He’s been good for you, Tristan. You know what they say about opposites.” “Yeah, Dad, I know.” Tristan rang off. The talk with his father had been good. That was another difference. Colton returned from the farm in time for the usual Sunday get-together at Nonno’s Pizzeria. Hollis and Parker had been neglecting their studies and had been as far as Austin, touring the thrift shops. They had found one couch for which they would need Tristan’s truck to collect. “Dark green leather and a bit worn on the arms,” said Parker passing around his phone with a picture. It’s supposed to seat three-and-a-half, but I reckon it’s just a three.” “’bout seven feet, includin’ the arms,” said Hollis. “A hundred bucks,” said Parker, “but I reckon that’s good for real leather.” “Get it, Parks, and I’ll pay you.” “What are the springs like?” asked Alexinia. “Seem okay–maybe a little saggy in the centre–but real comfortable.” “Well, with some cushions…” began Leesha. “No cushions!” declared Tristan. “But they look nice and they can really dress-up a…” “No. Every time you go to sit down you have to move them. Then when you get up you have to straighten them. My mother made our housekeeper balance them on their points. What are they, pets for furniture?” “Calm down, Jerry,” laughed Colton, putting his arm around him. “Well, I’m going to look in the thrift shops for ankara ucuz escort plates and stuff,” said Rachel. “You have to come with me Leesh so I don’t look like a complete povo. You can get great big sets that have been someone’s gramma’s wedding present or something for just a few bucks. It won’t matter if we break a few.” “That’s exactly my way of thinking.” The pizzas arrived and there was the usual reaching and trading. Another bottle of wine was ordered, Colton showing his fake ID. “Are you dating Sharon Pellman, Colt?” asked Leesha as she picked off the anchovies, which she did not like. It was a good question, thought Tristan, and they all looked to Colton for an answer. This was slow coming because he was in the middle of a Special with extra pepperoni. “I’m takin’ her as a friend to the Bonfire. It’s a tradition, you know, that the quarterback has to ask the President of the Student Government.” “Well, why aren’t you asking Keaton Davies–he’s the President,” said Hollis. “Well, senior girl, dumbass.” “I’ve never heard of that tradition,” said Rachel, “an’ my dad was on the Bonfire committee in the ‘nineties.” “I thought she was engaged to Keaton Davies,” said Leesha. “He’s goin’ out with a chick in my dorm,” volunteered Carlos. “She’s head of the Girls’ Bonfire Crew.” “Wyetta Jackson!” cried Rachel, looking to Leesha for confirmation, “We didn’t know that!” `Of course,’ thought Tristan to himself, `Rachel and Leesha were right into `Bonfire’ and were busy organizing the agricultural-themed ball that raised money for charity as part of their Community Service subject.’ “Well, maybe its on the down low,” admitted Carlos, “but I seen him sneakin’ out of the dorm as I’m sneekin’ in.” “Isn’t he in the Corps?” asked Alexinia. “Yeah,” said Leesha, “An’ he could get into trouble for what he’s doing. Might even have to step down as Student President.” “That’s a bit rough,” commented Colton, who would have been quite happy if he had still been faithful to Sharon Pellman. “Who y’takin’ to the Bonfire Ball, Tris?” asked Rachel. “Not going. I don’t like all this rah-rah stuff. I’m afraid I find it all rather hokey.” “Well!” she replied, indignant. “Don’t you have no school spirit? Don’t you have no traditions in British colleges?” Tristan realised that he’d spoken too frankly. “I’m sorry. Raising money for good causes is terrific, but this isn’t a `school’, it’s supposed to be a university–for grown ups who are earning degrees and doing research. I’m just not interested in hayrides and a hoedowns.” “But that’s our tradition–we were an agricultural college.” “We have traditions in British universities. There’s Rag Week–which is fun stuff to raise money for charity, and Eights Week–which is a rowing regatta. There’s usually a pub crawl in Freshers’ Week.” “Well, what’s the difference?” “I don’t know…you feel kind of conscripted here. You must show school spirit. I’m just a bit cynical, I suppose. Don’t fly the flag over my front porch either.” “You immigrants are sure strange!” laughed Hollis. “Y’miss out on the fun–although I reckon a pub crawl sounds pretty good. Pity we can’t drink until we’re twenty-one.” His toasted this comment with a bottle of beer, courtesy of Colton’s false ID. “So what made you decide to ask Sharon Pellman to the Bonfire, Colt?” Tristan was slowly applying lube to Colton’s cock and balls as the quarterback scrolled through his phone for lesbian porn. “Talked to m’dad.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, he said if y’a man, then y’word is y’bond. If I said I’d take her, then I’ve gotta take her.” “But did you actually ask her?” “I can’t rightly recall, now. Per’aps she tricked me inta it. Maybe when m’piece was between those thin lips, I sez somethin’.” “Well, I guess your dad’s right. He may have even been in the same position when he was your age.” “Might could. Also said t’make it clear to her that it’s a one time thang an’ I’m not to have sex with her.” “He said that!” “Actually he said `fuck’–but I reckon that includes oral.” “I see.” “I don’t want to think ’bout her. I’ve had thirty text messages from her since Friday.” “What did she say when you confirmed you’d take her?” “There was a cry of triumph. She just wants to get at that Keaton dude. She’s goin’ as a dance hall girl. “I’m jus’ wearin’ m’Wranglers and Stetson.” “You’ll look hot, Colt.” “Thanks, Roomy. I wish I was goin’ with you.” “That’s about the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me and I haven’t even blown you with my thin lips!” “You ain’t got thin lips. M’daddy always said thin-lipped women were trouble.” The exams were upon them–although more upon Colton than Tristan. Tristan sat for his Ancient Greek exam, which mainly consisted of translations and one section of composition. Tristan found himself fumbling with the locative tense as he described sailors crossing the stormy sea heading to their home. His English Literature exam was fairly routine, with discussion and analysis tasks. His other subjects were assessed entirely by coursework and Tristan knew that his Grade Point Average was high enough to see him admitted to the History Honours stream in the following year where he could also take some units as a Senior. He felt immensely proud and shot an email to his father. He wondered if he should do the same to his mother. He hesitated then pressed `send’. Colton seemed relaxed with his Mathematics and Biology–he had done well in both during the year. English was another matter entirely and many of the doubts and insecurities of the beginning of the year came back to him. Tristan sat up late over four nights to go over the texts that would be examined. Then there was a creative writing task, for which Tristan felt more helpless. Nevertheless, Colton marched off to the exam in the company of many other jocks who were compelled to take this subject. Three hours later he texted that the exam was pretty much as Tristan had predicted and now he was going out with some buddies to get drunk. Tristan smiled to himself. With the exam festival drawing to an end, the Bonfire Festival was something to look forward to. The actual construction of the giant pyre was a test for the Corps of Cadets whose traditional task it was. Logs had been sourced from the Robert E. Lee Forest Preserve and brought to the campus in borrowed Army vehicles. The Engineering Corps designed the central tensioned spire about which the logs were disported vertically and horizontally and the Cadets, in special bonfire garb, did the grunt work and also scavenged for other materials that would burn. This went on for two weeks. Meanwhile, Rachel, Leesha and about one hundred others were busy preparing for the dance. It was to be held on the Corps’ Parade Ground–a vast space–and the agricultural theme of the event was to be conveyed on the night with cleverly painted backdrops, bales of hay, old farm machinery and a pen that would contain live animals. The Corps Brass Band and three Christian C his mother was still totally focussed on her new family. Still, with lawyers for parents, Tristan thought that Roger Trefusis’ son would be better off than most. A loud noise made him look up. There was a strange glow outside. Then he remembered the bonfire. Fireworks. It must be visible in towns from miles around, thought Tristan. It was only a short time later that Tristan heard the sirens of police cars or possibly ambulances. He was just going to the window to see if he could see anything when his phone went. “Tris, there’s been an accident.” “Are you all right Colt?” asked Tristan in alarm. “Yeah, I’m all right. Get down here, please. Meet me by the Clock Tower.” By the time Tristan went down there was a sense of panic in the air, although this part of the campus was deserted. The red glow from the bonfire eerily illuminated every wall that faced in the direction of the Parade Ground and when Tristan got past some tall buildings, he could see the flames leaping up into the sky, almost licking the low clouds. The wail of emergency vehicles could still be heard. Tristan thought they must be on William H. Taft Drive. Panic was rising in his throat. He began to run. In the deserted Clock Tower Square he called Colton’s name. There was an immediate response and Colton emerged from an archway. “Fuck, are you all right?” “Yeah, fine.” “Well, what’s going on?” cried Tristan wildly. “There was an accident, I think Sharon Pellman is dead. Another girl too.” “You’re not sure?” “No, I wasn’t near them when it happened, but it looked real bad.” “My God! What happened?” “Well, as far as I can remember, it started when Sharon left me and went to `have it out’ with that Keaton dude and his new squeeze–the black girl from Carlos’ dorm. “Wyetta Something.” “Yeah, she’s the other one dead. Well, it didn’t actually begin there. It began with Rache and Leesh and this fat girl. Then there was the monkey. It may have begun with the monkey…” “Never mind where it began, just tell me what happened. How did they die? Were they shot?” “No, no. The bonfire, Tris; it was lit too soon and then there was an explosion and the outhouse landed on them.” “What are you taking about?” Colton took a breath and sat down on a bench. Tristan sat next to him. Colton rested his elbows on his knees and cupped his face. “Rachel and Leesha came out to play The Star Spangled Banner on their trombones and this girl sang it. They were pretty awful and when they got to that high note…” “The F?” “Yeah, well the Corps’ mascot–you know, Teddy the baboon–well he goes nuts and runs all over the place. He gets in the pen they’d set up with the cows–you know, to make it look like a farm–well, they’re trying to lure him our with Oreos, but the bastard undoes the latch an’ the cows what’s been spooked by Teddy an’ the trombones an’ all the singin’ an’ the screamin’, well, they go wild and charge towards the bonfire an’ set it alight by trippin’ the switch or somethin’.” “But the outhouse?” “Well, it seems that the Corps likes an explosive practical joke and the outhouse they’d placed on the top had been loaded up with explosives–perhaps too many– an’ it goes flying in the air an’…an’…an’ it comes down right on the two girls…Shit, Trish, it looked like somethin’ out of The Wizard of Oz, ‘cepting they really were dead.” “What were they doing there?” “They were arguing with each other and had moved over to the bonfire–it wasn’t due to be lit for fifteen minutes, an’ well, that’s what happened.” `Jesus! That’s unbelievable!” “Yeah, I still don’t believe it happened. Those poor girls, they would have thought they were going out for a good time an’…an’ then this happens.” Colton was quiet for a few minutes. “I think I better go back in case the police or someone wants to talk to me. I just wanted to let you know, Tris.” “Yeah, well thanks. Go back. I’ll see you when you get home.” “I didn’t have anythang to do with it, Tris.” “Of course you didn’t.” “I feel fuckin’ bad that, you know, I didn’t really like her–Sharon, I mean–an’ if’n I hadn’t brought her here tonight, well…” “She asked you, remember. And you pleased her by going on the date.” “Yeah, I know, but I still feel bad.” He suddenly rose to his feet and, with a joyless tread, went back towards the Corps of Cadets’ Parade Ground, which even now continued to glow, red and orange, unfeelingly. *** Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email ail and put Tristan in the subject line.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
