The next day was Easter Sunday, and Sam slept very late. After lunch-breakfast for him-he couldn't find anything interesting to do, so he decided to go out to the Las Palmas house and see what progress had been made in the past few days. He was surprised to find all the siding gone. He'd expected to find it neatly stacked in the driveway, but there was no sign of it anywhere. He made a mental note to ask Bill what it had cost to have it all hauled off.

He was about to let himself inside to see if anything had been done there when Tom, his future neighbor, came through the gate.

"Thought it was probably you," Tom said, extending his hand. "You or that contractor. You know, he's here at all hours-sometimes at night, too-checking up on the workmen and pitching in to help. You got a mighty good deal with that guy." He grinned. "Can't say the same for most of the men who worked over here before. All a bunch of crooks, Jack and Larry were always saying. 'Course, they tended to complain about most everything, so who knows. Come over for a bloody Mary? Seems appropriate to the season, doesn't it?"

Sam smiled. The more he was around Tom-and Dan, too, for that matter-the more he liked them. "Sure, Tom, be glad to. You guys make the best bloody Mary in town."

They sat outside in the sun and talked for a while but moved inside as soon as the sun started to sink behind the mountains and a little breeze came up, turning the air quite cool.

Inside, Dan lit the fire, and they switched to what Dan called "proper" cocktails: in this case Manhattans for Tom and Dan and a martini for Sam.

"You know, Sam," Dan said when they were settled in front of the fire, "you really need to find yourself a man, a... what do they call it now? A boyfriend? Someone to take care of you, keep you warm at night."

Tom laughed. "You're not available, Dan."

Dan pretended to pout. "I know. But if this were thirty years ago..."

Tom looked at Sam. "He's right, you know. You really need someone to... I don't know, someone to spend your life with, I suppose. Everybody does."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I know you're right. As a matter of fact I thought maybe I was working on one but... Well, we'll see." He felt the need to change the subject. "Hey, you guys want to go to dinner? It's Easter and I've been thinking Italian all day, you know? Serious pasta. You know a place?"

'I do," Tom said with enthusiasm, "Boscoso. Really great pasta."

Dan chimed in, "Yeah, let's go."

Boscoso turned out to be exactly what Sam had in mind. The food was wonderful, the place was quiet and the staff were very friendly. The three of them shared an appetizer of fried calamari, and Sam indulged in his passion for pasta while Tom and Dan both had veal dishes, each prepared differently, Marsala for Tom, picatta for Dan. Conversation ranged all over the place, and it turned out to be a fine evening for all of them.

The next night Sam went to a Prime Timers dinner at Lyons Restaurant. During the cocktail hour he kept an eye out for Toby, who never showed up. His name tag was on the table, so Sam knew he'd planned on being there. Sam almost left when it came time for dinner, but then he thought, What the hell, I'm here now, and I'm not going to let that kid control my life. He went into the dining room to find his assigned table.

He was seated at a table for six, with two couples and another single man. The couples were both retired and, based on their conversation, seemed to spend a great deal of time traveling. The single man, although past the age of retirement, still worked.

"Yeah," he said to the others over dinner, "after Charlie, my partner, died I was pretty much at loose ends so for something to do, so I went and got myself a job with the county." When one of the men asked him what he did, he laughed. "File clerk," he said. "It's what spending your whole life teaching school prepares you for. On the other hand, they're very impressed, down at the Coroner's Office, that I don't need what they euphemistically call a 'Help Card.' That's a little three by five card with the alphabet printed on it." When everyone at the table laughed, he said: "No, really. Lots of file clerks at the county have them. There's a guy in the supply room who makes them up."

One of the men at the table grinned and said, "Hey, aren't they the very people you taught in school?"

"May be, may be. But I taught mostly P.E. and coached the baseball team. Kids didn't need much in the way of the alphabet for that. The bases are numbered, and most of the kids could manage that," he said with a laugh. "At least up to three."

"P.E, huh?" Paul something, on the other side of the table, said. "I'll bet the shower room was interesting." He winced, and Sam figured his partner had kicked him under the table.

Matthew, the man with the story, laughed again. "I have to say, adolescent boys have never been my thing, but even so, yeah, it was interesting watching the hormones kick the guys around and embarrass them."

Over dessert, the conversation turned to cruises, and Sam lost interest. He'd been on a lot of trips with Harry and had enjoyed the cruises, but they weren't something he wanted to think about just now. He did prick up his ears when the discussion turned to gay cruises. He thought he might like to try one someday.

After dinner he stopped in the bar and had a drink with Matthew, from the Coroner's Office. They spent a companionable half hour, and Sam learned a lot about local politics, something that seemed to interest Matthew a great deal. When they parted they promised to keep in touch.

Sam woke to clouds and light drizzle. After his coffee he thought some exercise might make the day a little brighter, so he grabbed a towel and set off for the gym. He'd been right; the day did look better from the seat of the rowing machine. It looked even better when Martin, his next door neighbor, came in and started on one of the treadmills. Sam wondered if Martin knew that he was presenting a perfectly framed view of his dick, swaying as he moved on the treadmill. He decided Martin probably did when Martin pulled his foreskin back like a turtleneck sweater, baring the head. The foreskin wouldn't stay back but kept slipping back over the head so Martin was constantly adjusting it. His dick seemed to like all the attention.

After a half hour or so they each moved to a different machine, from which they had a good view of each other. Another half hour and Martin sighed, saying, "That's it. I've had it." Looking at Sam, he added: "You up for some steam?" Sam nodded, glad for the excuse to quit.

They sat across from each other in the steam room, and Martin came up hard almost immediately. "The steam always does this to me," he said, flexing his dick.

Sam chuckled. "It just wants to look its best. Mine does that too sometimes, although it's not as cooperative as yours." He reached towards it. "May I?"

Martin stood and took a step towards Sam. "Any time you like."

Sam took it in his hand and moved the skin slowly back and forth, wishing that his mother had left him intact. He pushed the thought away, thinking what's gone is gone. Just enjoy what you have.

Martin sat down next to Sam and gently fondled his balls. "God I wish I had your balls. I've always loved big balls."

They played with each other for a short while before Sam stood and said, "Too hot. Got to cool off."

Martin kissed Sam's dick and nodded. They went out to the showers.

"Wash your back?" Sam asked after they'd adjusted the shower temperature.

Martin handed him the soap and said, "Wash whatever you like, Sam."

Sam took the soap and washed Martin's back and buttocks. Then he pressed himself against Martin's slippery back and soaped his chest. He found that Martin liked his nipples played with, and every time he touched them Martin pressed back against Sam.

By the time Sam got to Martin's dick, it felt like it might explode any moment. Sam pulled back, soaped his own dick and then pressed himself against Martin again, letting his dick ride in the valley between Martin's buns. It was very pleasurable for both of them and didn't take long before they were in the throes of orgasm.

"That was something," Martin said, kissing Sam. "We need to do that again."

Sam kissed back and said, "That we do. Your dick is great fun to play with."

A little later, in the locker room getting dressed, Martin said, "You know, when you pressed against me I thought maybe you were wanting to fuck me."

Sam shrugged. "No. Not my thing."

"How about the other way?"

Sam shook his head. "Not my thing either. Sorry."

Martin smiled. "Not a problem. You're fun to play with just the way you are."

Later, at home, sitting in his chair with a book and a cup of coffee, Sam found that he couldn't concentrate. That little exchange in the locker room kept floating to the surface in his mind. What he'd told Martin wasn't exactly true. He loved fucking, both ways, when he felt an emotional connection with the man. He just couldn't do it with a casual trick. He sighed. And they've all been casual tricks, haven't they? Since Joel.

He took a deep breath, put down his book and allowed himself to think about Joel. He hadn't been able to do this for a lot of years but now the pain was mostly gone, replaced with a kind of vague longing. His mind drifted clear back to the beginning.

He'd been with Harry for a bit over seven years when Harry got it in his head that they needed a chauffeur. A couple of his producer friends had them and to ride around in a Cadillac limousine driven by a good looking guy in a snappy uniform was rapidly becoming a status symbol. Finally, Harry had to have one, too. So Sam set off making the rounds of the domestics agencies while Harry made the rounds of the car dealers. They each struck gold.

After a number of tries, which resulted in exactly zero candidates, Sam, as a last resort, checked with an agency that specialized mainly in kitchen help, but sometimes had leads on other types of domestic help. This particular day they just happened to have taken an application from a young man who was recently out of the Army where he'd worked in the motor pool. He'd come to the agency in response to an advertisement for a waiter but really wanted something, anything, to do with cars. The guy at the agency frankly admitted that they had taken his application mainly because the interviewer had liked him and had found him both handsome and personable. The man's name was Joel, and Sam hired him that very day.

Harry was quite happy with Joel and put him in the little apartment over the garage. Two days later Harry came home with a bright-yellow-and-brown, classic Rolls Royce limousine. He had done his producer friends and their Cadillacs one better. Sam did them several times better with Joel and the uniforms specially designed for him by one of Harry's friends, a costume designer at Paramount.

For his part, Joel fell instantly in love with the Rolls Royce; he always called it by it's full name, never just the Rolls. He cared for it as any lover would care for his beloved, and Sam thought he probably slept in it sometimes.

Joel was also the perfect chauffeur. He kept all the cars in perfect repair and was always ready to drive them anywhere at a moment's notice. He was respectful, both to Harry and to Sam, but there was a slight edge of playfulness in his interactions with Sam that wasn't there when Harry was around. However, Joel always kept the proper distance between himself and his employers. At least he did until one night eight months after he'd come to live in the house.

Sam was sitting in the library having a scotch and soda and watching the late news one night when he glanced up to find Joel standing in the doorway. He smiled and asked if Joel wanted something. Joel nodded, but didn't enter the room until Sam beckoned him in.

My God he was a handsome thing standing in the door to the library that night, Sam thought to himself. Tall, confidant and yet a little hesitant, too. He laughed and said it out loud: "The swain come to claim his beloved."

Sam got up, went into the kitchen and poured himself a scotch and soda, just as he'd done that night. What the hell, he thought, it's after five o'clock somewhere. He looked out the window and saw that the drizzle had turned to rain, and it seemed a bit colder in the room. He lit the gas log in the fireplace and then settled back into his chair, knowing he was going to go back through all of it. Once he started thinking about Joel, he always did.

Joel's looked around the library, looking everywhere except at Sam. Finally Sam stood, went over to the bar and asked Joel if he'd like a drink. Joel nodded and smiled, as though thinking a drink might give him courage. He didn't need it though, because when Sam came up in front of him to offer the drink, Joel leaned in and kissed him on the lips. When they broke, Sam, without a word, turned back to the bar, set the drink on it, walked back and gathered Joel into his arms. They stood there in the middle of the library for a long time, hugging each other and kissing.

After a while they each took a step back and looked at each other, with insane grins on their faces. Then Joel took Sam's hand and led him to his room over the garage.

That night Joel introduced Sam to the joys of making love. Sam had had his share of sex in the past but he'd never been made love to. They were, he found, completely different things. Sex was fun and made him feel good but making love took him somewhere he'd never been, somewhere where another person was actually part of him, inside of him and part of his being. He loved it and found, after a while, that he loved Joel as well.

Sam drank some of his scotch and, finding that he was hard, opened his jeans to relieve the pressure. I can't believe you can still do this to me Joel, he thought, taking hold of his erection. This wasn't about masturbation, it was about feeling good, about having his dick in his hand and just holding it. We used to do this, he thought, just hold on to each other sometimes. It connected us like nothing else could.

Joel taught Sam to make love to him as well, and then Sam taught Joel about sex games-sex just for the fun of it-and about quickies, too-up and off fast, just for the jolt of it. Joel learned that one well and liked to catch Sam just before something was about to happen and bring him to an explosive orgasm just before they would surely get caught at it.

Harry, of course, knew what was going on, but never said a word. As long as Sam was happy and it didn't interfere with his life with Harry, the relationship was okay. It went on for almost three years, until one summer when Harry and Sam went to stay with friends in France for a couple of weeks. When they came home, Joel wasn't there and neither was the yellow-and-brown Rolls Royce. The police report said that Joel had been carjacked and died trying to protect his beloved car. The thief died several hours later on Pacific Coast Highway when he ran the car head on into a bridge abutment at 105 miles an hour. The car, like Joel and the thief, was a total loss.

Sam, staring off at nothing, was dry-eyed. He'd long since stopped crying when he thought about Joel and their time together. Now he mostly remembered the good things they had together and how grateful he was to have been taught about love by a man like Joel. You are such a cliché, Sam Davis, he thought. A love affair with the chauffeur?

He laughed out loud. But I still can't do it, fuck or be fucked, unless I'm connected to the guy, he thought, and that sure doesn't happen much. I wish it did.

He was brought out of his reverie by the phone ringing.

"Hi, it's Bill, your trusty contractor. I just wanted you to know what I did on Friday."

"Hi, Bill. I was going to call you with a question, although for the life of me now I can't remember what it was. What'd you do on Friday?"

"I managed to get rid of all that stupid siding that was stacked up in your driveway, that's what."

Sam took a sip of his drink and found he didn't want it. Cocktails in the afternoon are only good when you're socializing. Or remembering, he thought. To Bill he said, "Good man. That's what I wanted to ask you about. What'd it cost to get that stuff hauled off?"

Bill laughed. "That, my man, is the beauty of it. I didn't get it hauled off, I sold it. For six hundred dollars. A Mexican guy came around and looked at it. Said it was in pretty good shape, and he thought it would look good on his house, a present to his wife. He offered five hundred for it, and I talked him up to six. He got a crew of guys out and they took it away that same day. So here I am holding six hundred dollars cash of your money. What'd you think of that?"

Sam nodded to himself. "Good show, Bill. But I tell you what, why don't you divide the money up between the guys who did all the work-make it a sort of bonus for being so careful?"

"Boss, that is a great idea. Reward the guys for good work and they'll keep doing good work, my dad always used to say."

"That right?" Sam chuckled. "Then I think I'll have to match that money in a little bonus for you. You've been doing a hell of a job, and I want you to keep doing it. Go buy your wife something pretty. Maybe she'll make you happy."

Bill laughed. "Your wish is my command. Got to go. Anything else?"

"Nothing, except to say thanks. I figured that siding was going to cost a bundle to have hauled off. Now get to work and make me some more money." He hung up, went to the kitchen and poured out his scotch.

That evening Clark and Ben stopped by for a moment and asked Sam if he was going to be around the next Sunday. Sam said he was and asked why.

"Well," Clark said, "we generally have a bit of a cocktail party around the pool on Sunday afternoons. You know, around four or so. Since you'll be here, we want to make sure you come and meet the other guys."

"After all," Ben added, "it is in your honor."

Clark laughed. "Don't be too impressed, Sam. It just means that everyone will wear a name tag or have his name written on his chest. We don't usually bother with that, but it seems a good idea whenever there's a new guy. So you'll be there?"

Sam assured them he would and invited them to stay and have a drink, but they had other plans. A quick kiss and they were out the door.

A couple of days later Sam had a call from Jay, asking him to dinner. He thought about it, but turned him down saying he had something else on, but leaving it open for the next week. Jay promised he'd call back.

Sam wasn't exactly sure why he'd turned Jay down, and the more he thought about it-and what Jay probably had in mind for the rest of the night-the more horny he got. By Late afternoon he could hardly think about anything else. At five-thirty he went next door and rang Martin's doorbell.

"Hi, guy," Sam said when Martin answered. "I was just wondering if you'd like to go out and share a pizza with me."

Martin slowly looked him up and down, wet his lips and said, "How about we order in? I've got some Bud Light in the fridge, and we can put on a movie or something."

They ordered a large-with-everything, and when it arrived, Martin asked if the delivery man would like to stay for a while. The guy said he couldn't, but it was obvious that he wanted to. He gave them each a card and told them to call any time and that he usually got off work around midnight. Sam paid for the pizza.

While they ate the pizza, Martin thanked Sam for paying for it. "It's been a little hard, the last few months."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Financially, I mean. The company I worked for went belly up-with a bang!-and left us all with nothing. Since then I haven't been able to find anything that interested me." At Sam's look of concern he added, "Oh, I will. I will." He shook his head. "I may have to go up to L.A. for a while to find something, but I'll be okay. I'm a survivor-always have been."

After the pizza, Martin put on some porn, and they spent the rest of the evening commenting on it and playing with each other.

"Look at that," Martin said, "isn't he sexy?" He turned to Sam and tugged Sam's pubic hair. "This is nice," he said, "but look at that! Look at that pubic hair."

Sam looked. "You into red pubic hair, Martin?"

"More than 'into.' More like obsessed with. You know my secret lust? It's a man with a big dick and that coppery-red pubic hair. I tell you, Sam, I'd bury my nose in that bright copper hair and never come up for air." He demonstrated just what he'd do. A little later Sam returned the favor. By the time they kissed goodnight they were both happy men.