On Friday Sam called Toby at work and asked him out to dinner. There was a long pause, which Sam took to mean Toby was thinking about it, and then the disappointment of being turned down.

"But wait," Toby said quietly, "we can do it tomorrow. At your place. I'll cook. Okay?"

Sam nodded, wondering if this signaled some sort of change in their tenuous relationship. "Yeah," he said into the phone., "that sounds good. What do you want me to get?"

"Nothing. I'll bring what I need. Oh, do you have a grill?"

"You mean one of those charcoal things? Yeah, there's one out on the patio. You want me to get some charcoal?"

"No, I'll bring that, too. About seven?"

"About seven. I'll have the martinis chilled. That'll be my part."

Sam spent the rest of the day cleaning the condo. Just why, he didn't know, but he felt the need to do it.

On Saturday Sam's phone rang at exactly seven o'clock.

"Toby?"

"I'm here," Toby answered, "where are you?"

Sam pressed the code to open the gate. "Left on the first street, then right to the first condo.. Park in the driveway. I'll be on the porch."

Toby arrived with several bags of groceries, a bag of charcoal and two bottles of good red wine. Sam helped him carry the things into the kitchen and then asked him if he'd like to see the place.

"Yes, very much," he said, "but wait until I put the ice cream in the freezer. Vanilla okay? I wasn't sure, so I got both chocolate and butterscotch sauce to go with it." He grinned and held up the bottles.

"Either one," Sam said. "Or maybe both?"

Toby seemed quite impressed with the condo. He thought the patio would make a great dining area as soon as the evenings became warmer. He admired the potted palm tree but made no comment on the spa. He really liked the balcony off the upstairs bedroom.

"Didn't the place come with anything on the walls?" he asked and then caught himself. "Oh, yeah, you took it all to the thrift shop, didn't you? Did they like them?"

Sam laughed. "One shop did, one didn't. The guy in the shop that didn't said they looked like bad K-Mart. So I gathered them up and took them to the other shop, which was delighted to have them."

"So what now? Empty walls?"

"Not if I can get someone to go picture shopping with me." He winked at Toby. "You, for instance."

Toby surprised him by agreeing. As he put it, "We'll hit the galleries and see what's out there."

"But for right now," he said, "I'd better get in the kitchen or we'll be sending out for pizza. And wasn't something said about cold martinis?"

They had a good time. Toby turned out to be pretty handy in the kitchen. He'd brought some excellent steaks, which he cooked on the charcoal grill and served with baked potatoes and a green salad. Everything, in Sam's opinion, was perfect.

Over the steaks Sam asked Toby if he was out to his parents. "I mean, if you lived with them before you came down here..."

Toby put his fork down and held out his wine glass, asking for more. "Except for that not too brief period when I lived..." He shook his head as though pushing memories back. "Well, anyway, to answer your question, yes, I was pretty much out to them. Since high school, really," he shrugged, "when I came out to myself."

"Were they okay with it?"

"After a fashion," he said with a sigh. "Mom didn't react much except to worry about what the neighbors might say." He smiled at Sam. "I think she figured that at least I wouldn't go around getting girls pregnant and causing trouble."

"And your dad? Fathers sometimes have a hard time with it."

"Poor Dad. I think he somehow conjured up a picture of me with a dick in my mouth and then had a lot of trouble getting past it. He still does, but at least he can look at me now, which he couldn't do for a couple of years."

Sam laughed. "Well, I suppose that is a difficult image to get past. But he's okay with it now?"

Toby shook his head. "I don't suppose he'll ever be exactly okay with it but I'm still his son, and he's okay with that. He still loves me. How about you? When did you come out?"

Sam pushed his chair back and started to clear the table. "No," he said, "I'm not avoiding the question. But I have to think about how to answer it." He turned and grinned at Toby. "After all, it was a long time ago."

They cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Toby, besides being a very good cook, was a very neat one, and there wasn't much to clean up.

Armed with fresh glasses of wine they went into the living room where Sam lit the fire before settling in to his chair. Toby sat on the couch, opposite him.

"Okay," Toby said, "your turn. How'd you come out?"

Sam frowned and shook his head. "You know, I don't think I ever did, at least not to myself. I think I always knew. When I was a kid I didn't think a whole lot about it, but I knew I was different from the other boys, I just didn't know exactly how I was different."

"When did you figure that one out?"

"When I learned to masturbate." Toby raised an eyebrow. "No, really. You know how guys talk, especially when they've just learned to masturbate. The guys all talked about their fantasies, and theirs were different from mine." He stopped and thought about it for a moment. "Well, not exactly different, they just involved different people. Mine were all with guys instead of girls, but we all did pretty much the same things in them."

"How about to your family? Other people?"

Sam frowned. "My family? I didn't have much family, just my mom and she was pretty much drunk when she wasn't working, so the subject never came up. She died when I was seventeen, so she never really had time to bring up the grandchildren thing. As to everyone else, I was just... just me, the gay boy. Nobody paid much attention to me except to yell at me when I did something wrong-which was most of the time. That is, until I went to work for Harry. Things picked up after that. We gonna have ice cream?"

Toby stood and started to the kitchen but stopped and turned to Sam. "What did people say...when you told them?"

"You know, Toby, I can't remember ever telling anyone I was gay." He stared off into space for a moment. "No, I can't think of anyone." He shrugged. "I guess I just was, and everybody who needed to know, knew it."

"God, I wish it'd been that way for me." They went into the kitchen, where Toby got the ice cream out of the freezer. "Telling my folks was hell. Mom wasn't too bad but Dad, well Dad just sat in his chair and looked like I'd hit him with a two-by-four. He didn't say a word; he just sighed, nodded and looked away." He portioned out the ice cream into the bowls Sam had taken out of the cupboard. "I really wish he'd yelled or cursed or hit me or something. But that's not him I guess. He just holds things inside and broods on them. Chocolate, butterscotch or both?"

"Both, please." Sam wanted to comfort him but hesitated. By the time he'd thought it through, it was too late.

"You know?" Toby said, handing him his bowl. "He's never said anything about it. Never even acknowledged that I'm gay."

They took their ice cream into the living room and sat on the hearth, their backs to the fire.

"What'd he say when you went to live with, uh...?"

"Jack? He made up some fantasy about me working for him. A sort of live-in houseboy." Toby laughed without humor. "Little did he know."

This time Sam didn't pause to think. He stood, pulled Toby up from the hearth and wrapped him into a bear hug. They stayed that way, arms around each other, for a long moment. Then Sam pulled back and looked at Toby. "You poor kid," he said. "Parents can be so damn stupid."

The moment passed, and they went back to their ice cream. When it was finished Toby told Sam what a good evening it had been and went home.

Sunday started out sunny and warm and then got warmer, just as the TV weatherman had predicted. It hit the mid-nineties just after noon, and the heat lingered, making the early evening comfortably balmy. Right at four o'clock Sam dressed in loose shorts, tee shirt and sandals and went down to the pool.

He estimated that there were fifty or sixty men standing around, most with cocktails in hand and those without crowding at the bar trying to get one. Most of them were naked, but a few were in shorts or jeans.

Ben stood at a small table by the entrance gate writing people's names on their chests. "Hi, Sam. If you're going to get rid of the clothes you might find a place for them in the locker room. Come back here when you're ready and get your name." He reached out and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Glad you came. You'll like the guys. We're a pretty tight-knit community around here, and I think you'll find that you'll fit in very quickly."

Sam pulled him into a hug. "Thanks, Ben. I know I'm going to like it here. I knew that in the first ten minutes of that anniversary party." Then he made his way through the crowd of men and into the gym locker room. He was stopped several times along the way by guys who shook his hand and welcomed him.

The locker room was a sea of clothes, most of them in bags or neatly folded on the floor. He figured all the unassigned lockers were full, so he folded his shorts and shirt, put them on top of his sandals and left them on the floor. There were several other men doing the same, including Pete Addison, whom he'd gone home with after the anniversary party. Pete came up and hugged him, making sure their crotches were pressed together and then ran his hand down Sam's back to pat his ass.

"Glad to see you again, Sam. Maybe one day we can do a repeat..."

Sam lightly squeezed one of Pete's nipples. "I'd like that, Pete. Soon. But right now, shouldn't I go get my name written on me?"

They went to the table at the entrance, and Ben lettered Sam's name on his shoulder. It was in red, with yellow underlining. "So everyone will know you're the guest of honor," Ben said. "Now go mix."

They made their way to the bar, and Sam poured himself a light gin and tonic; Pete had a vodka on the rocks. "You know," Sam said, "it just occurred to me to wonder. Who pays for all this stuff?"

Pete sampled his drink. "Well, in the end, you do. That is, all of us do. It comes out of the Home Owner's Association fees. It's one of the perks of living here."

They circulated, Sam trying to put names and faces together and Pete giving a running commentary on the men they met. After he'd been introduced to a couple called Nick and Walt, Pete said, "Stay clear of them. Or rather, of Nick. Walt is so jealous of Nick that he can't think straight."

Sam smiled and put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "Too late."

Pete gave him an inquiring look.

"We fooled around in the steam room one morning. Nobody got off or anything, but he sure liked playing. He mentioned that he had a lover." They stopped, and Sam turned to face Pete. "I figured his lover would be some old guy nervous about his territory. Didn't realize he'd be the same age and very good looking to boot. Nick is probably the one who needs to be jealous."

They circulated back to the bar and freshened their drinks. As they were leaving the bar Pete nodded to their left. "There's your next-door neighbor, Martin Shields. I'm surprised to see him here, seeing as how he hasn't paid his dues for several months." He waved at Martin, making sure Martin noticed him. Martin didn't react.

Sam turned to face Pete and asked, "How is it that you know so much about everybody, Pete?"

Pete smiled. "People talk to me. I guess I'm a good listener. It doesn't hurt that I'm on the board of the Home Owner's Association either. Actually, I do most of the money stuff, you know, pay the bills, collect the dues, that sort of thing. So," he shrugged, "I know stuff."

Sam laughed. "Oh, great, now I suppose every one will know all about me."

"Not unless you do weird stuff. If you do, then it's sort of everybody's business. Otherwise," he looked demurely down at the deck, "I'm the soul of discretion."

They stopped at the hors d'oeuvres table and helped themselves to several of the delicacies there. "Where," Sam asked, "do you find this stuff? It's delicious."

Pete looked around for a moment until he found the man he was looking for. "See over there? The short guy with the spiked hair and the nice buns? His name is Scotty Helms and he does this for us. He's a caterer by trade, a damn good one, and he gives us a very good price. He doesn't live here, but he loves to come around on Sunday afternoon to show off that slab of meat he has between his legs. Come on, I'll introduce you and you can see for yourself."

It was undoubtedly the biggest flaccid dick Sam had ever seen. And the man it was attached to was, in Sam's mind, a sweetheart. He was probably thirty-five, had an infectious smile, beautiful dark green eyes, and somehow the spiked hair looked good on him. Sam was immediately taken with the man, especially when he hugged Sam, pressing his dick firmly against Sam's.

Every once in a while, as they talked, Scotty seemed to unconsciously scratch his pubic hair, making his dick flop. It didn't take Sam long to realize, though, that he was actually doing it on purpose, reveling in the other men's reactions to it.

As they were returning to the bar Pete said, "See? I told you he likes to show it off." He shrugged. "I suppose if I had one like that I'd want to show it off, too. And you know what's funny? To my knowledge he's never gotten it on with any of these guys. He just comes, puts out the food, struts around showing off and then leaves." He thumped Sam on the back. "Weird, huh?"

It was Sam's impression that this was said with a hint of disappointment.

When things began to wind down, Sam and Pete went to the locker room to retrieve their clothes. While getting dressed Pete introduced Sam to Mike Armstrong and then suggested that they all go back to his place. "I made some beef stew yesterday, and I'd appreciate you guys helping me get rid of it," he said with a laugh. "And maybe we can find something to do after dinner, huh?"

The stew turned out to be excellent and, sure enough, they did find something to do after dinner. Sam went home and to bed a happy man.

Sam spoke to Alistair briefly on Monday morning and then called Jeremy at Desert AIDS Help, to see if they could get together for lunch or dinner. Jeremy opted for dinner so Sam made seven o'clock reservations at a place called Davy's Hideaway, which the owners of Some Guys had recommended. It turned out to be a good choice.

Jeremy called at six and said he'd have to meet Sam at the restaurant. He was involved in a meeting with several of the board members and he knew it would run late. Sam told him the name of the restaurant, and even over the phone, he could tell that Jeremy was pleased.

Sam was sitting at the table when Jeremy arrived at seven-ten. "I hope you don't mind, I went ahead and ordered a drink," Sam said. At that moment their waiter appeared and asked Jeremy what he'd like to drink.

"What're you drinking, Sam? It looks good."

"Dry Rob Roy. And they make one of the best I've ever tasted."

"I'll have the same, I think," he said to the waiter. Then he turned to Sam. "Well, boss, what's going on?"

Sam laughed. "First of all, I'm not your boss, guy. I may pay your salary but I'll leave the boss thing up to your board of directors. By the way, how'd the meeting go this afternoon?"

Jeremy laughed. "You-and your Mr. Middleton-have made them very nervous. They don't know why you're doing things the way your are. A couple of them think I'm being groomed for a job with some unknown company which you own, and at least one thinks it's all an elaborate scheme to get me into your bed." He was quiet while his drink was served. He toasted Sam and tasted it. "You're right, Sam. It's very good." He took another appreciative sip and looked Sam in the eye. "So which is it, Sam?"

"Well, first of all, I don't own any companies. Second of all, it's an awfully expensive way to get you into my bed when all I'd really have to do is just turn on my fatal charm." He grinned. "Well, it's happened before."

"I doubt you'd have to turn on any more charm than just spills forth from you naturally." He took another sip of his drink and turned serious. "So why are you doing this, Sam?"

Just then the waiter appeared with menus. They each ordered another drink, and when those were served they ordered dinner: rack of lamb for Sam and sea bass for Jeremy. When the waiter left, Jeremy toasted Sam and said, "You haven't answered my question, Sam. Why are you doing this?"

Sam smiled. "For the same reason a dog licks himself. Because I can." He sipped his drink. "Look, Jeremy, I thought about doing some volunteer work with your agency, sort of doing my part. But then I realized that I've never been much good at keeping a job, at least not one that required regular hours and a schedule of things that have to be done, that sort of thing. But I do have a little money, and I need to do some things with it that aren't just for me, you know? Things to help someone else." He shrugged. "So that's why I'm doing it."

Their meal was served, and they were both quiet for a bit, sampling and savoring the very good food. About halfway through the meal Jeremy looked up and said, "One thing disappoints me a little."

"What's that?"

Jeremy grinned. "That you aren't doing this just to get me into your bed."

Sam grinned back. "Jeremy, you'd be welcome in my bed anytime I could get you there; you must have figured that out by now. But that's not why I'm doing this. The money that formerly paid your salary can be used for a lot of other good things, and besides, it makes me feel good."

"Sam, you are a wonder. I think I could very easily fall in love with you if..."

"If you weren't already taken?" At Jeremy's look of surprise, Sam laughed. "Did you think I wouldn't check? I also know he's up in Seattle this week, so I'm not taking you away from your happy home life by inviting you to dinner."

"You have friends in the CIA, Sam?"

"I have Alistair Middletown. He's better than the CIA. Now finish your dinner and let's have some brandy and dessert."

They shared the dessert-cappuccino ice cream-and had a very good brandy to go with it. On the way out they also shared a kiss, but went home separately.

On Tuesday the Prime Timers had a mixer at The Desert Palms Resort. Sam went, hoping Toby would be there. He still wasn't able to put a name to whatever was going on between himself and Toby, but he did realize that it made him happy to be around the boy. That was part of the problem, however; he considered Toby a boy and had no idea what a forty-five year old man would do with a twenty-six year old boy. He just knew that Toby wouldn't play the same role to him as he'd played to Harry. He'd made that abundantly clear.

It was a good mixer, and Toby came in around six. Sam let him get to the bar and buy a drink before he made his way over to him. "Hi, Toby," he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "How's it going?"

Toby surprised him by giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "Good, Sam, good." He took a sip of his drink and sighed. "It's been hell in the office, one crisis after another, but this," he held up his drink, "makes it all better. You?"

"Not bad. They had Sunday cocktails in my honor at the complex. Slept late yesterday and took a guy out to dinner. Today I did a bit of shopping, and that's it." He touched his glass to Toby's. "Good to see you."

Toby smiled. "Sunday cocktails at the complex, huh? Did it turn into an orgy?"

Sam laughed. "No, Toby, it didn't turn into an orgy." He waited two beats and then added, "Too cold."

Toby nodded. "Too bad, Sam. Maybe this summer. I mean, can all those rumors be wrong?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I couldn't say. But hey, there's a guy who could. Come meet my real-estate man."

They made their way through the crowd and stopped in front of William and Red. Sam made the introductions and then said, "Guys, Toby here wants to know if all those rumors of orgies around the pool at my complex are true."

Red put his arm around Toby's shoulder. "An orgy, my man, will happen anywhere there are a few guys and sufficient energy to sustain it. I've been to that pool, and there's enough energy there to sustain quite a nice one, should one get started."

William laughed. "That's certainly the long way around to 'yes.'"

Sam shook his head. "Really? I've never seen one. Of course, I've only been there a couple of weeks."

"Wait," William said. "Wait for the warm evenings. That going to bother you guys? I mean-"

"Hardly," Sam said. "I don't think anyone here is bothered by a little sex just for its own sake." He turned to Toby. "Are you?"

Toby grinned. "Not hardly."

They all laughed, and the conversation turned to the weather.

After another drink Sam asked Toby to dinner, but Toby had other plans. "But how about Friday?" Toby asked before disappointment could set in. "Someplace simple and cheap, okay?"

Sam hugged him. "Yeah, I'll think of something. Pick you up around seven?"

Toby nodded, gave Sam a quick kiss and was gone.

The next afternoon Sam went out to the house to see what was going on. As it turned out, plenty was going on. Several people, mostly neighbors, were standing around in the driveway, and Bill, the contractor, was pacing back and forth at the curb.

"Hey, Bill, what's up?"

Bill looked at him and growled, "The fucking pool, that's what's up. God damn thing blew up on us."

Sam put his hand on Bill's shoulder in an effort to calm him. "Bill, it's okay. But would you please tell me how, exactly, a swimming pool can blow up."

"Gas," Bill snarled. "Heater. Blew sky high."

At that moment, David, one of the workmen, drove up in his truck. He hopped out and hefted a large pump out of the back. "Right where I thought it'd be," he said to Bill. "Hose, too."

Bill seemed to pull himself together now that there was something to do. Sam followed along as he and David unrolled the hose towards the pool. When they got there, they attached the hose to the pump and carefully lowered it into the deep end of the pool. Then David plugged the pump into a heavy-duty extension cord. The hose suddenly filled out as the water surged through it.

"Got to thank your neighbors for the power," David said. "Everything's shut off here."

"Okay, okay, David. You go make sure the water's going where it should, and I'll try to explain this to our boss." David left, and Bill turned to Sam, visibly calmer.

"Well, it's like this," he said, pausing to organize his thoughts. "Your pool was built when they could put the equipment, the filter, heater, pump, stuff like that, down in a pit. That's the pit," he said, pointing to a dark hole in the deck. "Normally it has a grate covering it and a stack for the heater." They walked over to it but couldn't see much because it was nearly black and full of water.

"We should have checked, I know we should have, but it never occurred to any of us that the gas was still on. I mean, a place empty as long as this one, surely the gas would have been shut off." He gave a deep sigh. "So we didn't check. The pool was starting to grow algae, so I thought we should run the filter for a while and then dump some chlorine in the water. When we turned the pump on, the sudden pressure evidently triggered the heater to turn on, but it also ruptured a water pipe. The heater safety valve didn't kick in, probably rusted all to hell; the gas came on, and a spark from the motor set it off." He suddenly grinned. "You should have seen it, Sam. That grate came off like it was shot from a cannon." He shrugged. "I guess, really, it was. Landed on the roof."

"Made a hell of a noise, too." It was Tom from next door. "Thought a truck had hit the house. Tige was running around barking his head off, and Dan dropped the cupcakes he was putting in the oven. Quite a mess."

"Well, we'll get you all the cupcakes you want," Bill said. "And pay for the electricity you're being kind enough to let us use."

Sam looked at him. "Electricity?"

"Yeah, that big extension cord there," he said, pointing. "The explosion blew out every fuse from here to Thursday, and we gotta get that pool empty now. God only knows what else ruptured when the thing blew. My worry is that it's draining into the sewer, which screws everything up for the water people."

"Not to mention the folks who live around here," Tom added.

"Yeah, them. too. So David went back to the shop for the pump, and Mr. Wacker here was good enough to let us tap into his power."

Sam shook his head. "So now what do we do?"

Bill smiled. "Well, it's not as bad as it might seem. We were going to have to re-plumb the pool anyhow. They won't let you have the equipment underground any more, and from the looks of things," he gestured, taking in the whole pool, "we're going to have to re-plaster the pool. At the very least."

Sam squinted at him. "And at the very most?"

"Jackhammer the whole thing out of there and start over." Bill laughed. "I told you this wasn't going to be cheap."

They took a last look at the pit and walked out to the driveway. Bill wanted to make sure the water was running in the gutter properly. While they were talking and explaining things to the few neighbors who were still there, a police car pulled into the driveway. The driver got out, pulling his cap on as he did so.

"Okay, who's in charge here," he barked.

Sam stepped forward. "I'm the homeowner, officer." He extended his hand and said, "Sam Davis, sir."

"Well, Mr. Davis, just what the hell do you think you're doing?" He gestured at the water running down the gutter.

"Uh, draining my pool?"

Bill stepped between the officer and Sam. "I'm Bill Flint, Mr. Davis's contractor. Can I help you?"

"This your idea?" Bill nodded and the officer sighed. "Don't you know, Mr. Contractor, that in this town you need a permit to drain a pool? That you have to post that permit? Where I can see it? And," his voice became heavy with sarcasm, "under no circumstances are you to do this during the day?"

Bill gritted his teeth. "As it happens, sir, I do know that." He smiled, lowering the tension level. "I also know that if I go down to City Hall, stand in line, get a permit, file it with the police, post a copy of it here on the wall and wait until after six p.m,, the entire pool will most likely have drained itself into the sanitary sewer, and there would be no need for the permit in the first place."

"Oh, no, you can't..."

"Exactly." He went on to explain the situation and what had happened. By the time he finished, both he and the officer were smiling; the officer shook Bill's hand as they apologized to each other.

Turning to Sam, the officer introduced himself as Officer Andrew Koyle. He looked around and said, "So what're you doing to the place?"

Sam found himself warming to the guy and explained about restoring the house. Then he took him on a tour and explained as best he could what they were doing. The policeman-whom Sam had begun to think of as Officer Andy-was very interested and asked Sam if he might stop by from time to time and watch the progress. Sam said he'd be welcome any time.