The Lucky Ones

Chapter 1

If Mama Ain't Happy

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Christian

"Well, lookie here. It's the douche lord on the down low. Nice of you to join us, bro."

We're gathered for one of my parents' Sunday brunches, and right out of the gate, there it is, Elliot's needling. Of course, big brother arrived before me, and has seized the opportunity to charm our mother with big smiles and hugs, things I can't give her.

All I can offer is a bouquet of red peonies along with two bottles of Veuve Clicquot. I hand the champagne off to Gretchen, the housekeeper.

Dad is on his feet, quick with a handshake, the only affection I can accept from him.

"Son, it's great to see you. It's been almost a month. What've you been working on?"

I bend to give my mother a kiss on each cheek, and after I place the flowers on the table between her and Elliot, she eagerly takes my hands in hers, giving them a squeeze.

"Peonies…so fragrant and beautiful." Mother picks up the bouquet and lowers her nose into the blooms to enjoy the scent. "Thank you. We've missed you, darling. Yes, tell us. What's been keeping you busy?"

While I'm always swamped with work, I haven't been occupied by anything especially exciting. I've had no particular reason for not seeing my family, no legitimate excuse for not socializing. A few weeks ago my psychiatrist and I spent two entire sessions discussing my avoidance of family. The truth is I don't feel I fit in. It's a symptom of my self-loathing.

"Ros and I have been working that port acquisition deal in Taiwan, and it's all been dicey. The deal still isn't done. But the good news is I made a shit ton of money recently by breaking apart a pharmaceutical company in North Carolina."

Mother and Dad nod their heads and smile.

"I know I haven't seen you in a while, but it's great to be with you today," I add. It's a weak attempt to please my family.

Elliot rolls his eyes at me, silently calling me out on my bullshit.

Mother rises, bouquet in hand. She once again takes in its sweet fragrance.

"Sit here, next to your brother. Before you arrived, Elliot was telling us about his new project. You two catch up, while I get these flowers in water and check on the food. Thank you for the champagne, darling, it's perfect for our mimosas."

As soon as Mother leaves the room, Elliot says, "I won the bid on the new state government office complexes, one here in Seattle and a larger one in Olympia."

"Congratulations. That's huge," I say, offering him my hand. "Well done."

After graduating from UCLA, Elliot put together his own construction company. With my investment and his brilliant management, Grey Construction shows impressive growth each year. Elliot continues to secure large projects throughout the Pacific Northwest. His personal net worth is tens of millions of dollars, and I'm sure he'll surpass the hundred million mark in no time.

"Thanks, bro. The business is going great guns. Your advice has come in handy more than once. I owe you."

"You've done all the work. You owe me nothing." I've helped my brother as much as I can, but he would have made it without any assistance. He's the one with the people skills. He's an affectionate extrovert, with a large circle of friends. Elliot is easy to love.

"Boys, I have news." Dad winks conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "Don't tell your mother, but Mia is coming home earlier than expected. She's finishing her apprenticeship a couple of weeks early. Christian, she's hoping you can arrange her transportation from the airport."

"Of course," I answer. If Elliot is easy to love, Mia is even easier.

"She'll arrive late Wednesday evening and hopes to spend the night at Escala, so she can surprise your mother on Thursday." Dad addresses me. "Will that work for you?"

"Mia is always welcome to spend the night," I say.

"There's more." Dad speaks with paternal authority, his somber tone conveying something major is about to be asked of us. "A week from today is Mother's Day. I'd like to plan something special, a surprise, for your mother and grandmother. Could you two organize your schedules to get away for a long weekend? I was thinking Montana, unless either of you have better ideas."

I'm uncomfortable being in anyone's company for very long, even my family's, and I bristle at my dad's weekend plan.

"Exactly how long of a weekend are you planning?" I don't like to be away from my business.

"I thought we could leave Thursday afternoon and return Monday night. I know it's short notice, but it's been a long time since we've gone away as a family. It would mean the world to your mother, your grandparents, and me. Mia was jumping for joy at the idea."

Everyone in my family knows I have a special fondness for my baby sister, so when they want me to do something, they only have to invoke her name. Mia has an innate sweetness that brings out the protective side of me.

Elliot, the loving son and social butterfly, is all in, jumping at the opportunity for family fellowship.

"I'll do whatever it takes to make this work. Mom's gonna flip her shit at Mia's surprise. Chrissy, we can take your jet, right?"

I'm stuck. I can't think how to get out of this trip, but I don't want to commit to it.

"Of course, you're welcome to use the jet. I'll need to review my schedule with Andrea and run through some things with Ros, before I can make a commitment to the trip. In the meantime, Andrea can contact Stephan about readying the aircraft."

I pull out my phone and send a quick e-mail to Andrea about my family's use of the Gulfstream.

Elliot glances my way, then looks down at the floor dejectedly, as if he'd actually miss me not being there. As much as I shut my brother out, I truly admire him. I wish I were open and loving like Elliot. He continues to hold himself open to me, even when I repeatedly rebuff him.

"Son, do what you've gotta do. We understand you have a business to run." Dad's jaw tightens as he tries to mask his disappointment.

"Bro, it would mean a lot if you could make it. I'll plan a special hike just for you, me, and Mia."

Shit, Elliot sounds so sincere. The trip seems important to him.

It would be nice to see Grandmother and Grandfather Trevelyan, as it has been several weeks since we last got together.

Come to think of it, the last time I saw my grandparents was the weekend after my acquisition of a chain of title companies. That was three months ago. Normal people track time by events like births, weddings, deaths, or natural disasters. I, being the antithesis of normal, measure time in relation to business deals.

Brunch at my parents' home is, as always, a delicious meal. Today we feast on smoked salmon served on a bed of arugula and avocado.

Elliot and I sit directly across from Mother and Dad. Mother is in a maudlin mood, something altogether uncharacteristic for her, and I think it's dampening the exuberance I typically witness from Dad and Elliot.

Mother is missing Mia. She speaks sadly about the passage of time, reminiscing about our early schooldays. Mother quiets for a moment, turns to my brother, and stuns me with her soft, stern voice.

"Elliot, this skirt-chasing of yours has gone on long enough."

Holy shit, where is this conversation headed?

"Do you need rehab for sex addiction? You're thirty-one years old, and you've been recklessly sleeping around since you were sixteen. It needs to stop. Do you hear me? I only want to see you happy. You'd be a fantastic father, and with the right woman, you'd be a devoted husband. I thought perhaps Gia, that architect, would be a good match for you, but I hear she enjoys playing the field as much as you do."

Mother is being polite about Gia Matteo, using "playing the field" as a euphemism for fucking anything with money and a dick.

"Elliot, please. Look at me. I'm terribly worried about you and concerned for your long term health and happiness."

Mother is wound up, and there's no stopping her. Elliot has no choice but to listen. I've never seen this side of my mother. Since we children attained adulthood, Grace Trevelyan-Grey has not once been meddlesome, nor offered unsolicited advice.

Elliot is rendered speechless, and he appears bewildered and a tad frightened of this version of our mother. And she's still talking.

"The carousing must stop. Please, darling, step back and become more selective about your romantic encounters. I'd like you to find a woman of quality who is your match. And, yes, I'd eventually like some grandchildren, but I don't want you to have them for me. I want you to have them for your own sake, because I think they would add to your happiness. I fear your current habits will lead you to become a lonely old man. Have you heard me?"

"Yes, Mom, I've heard you." Elliot can't look Mother in the eye.

It's quiet for a few beats, and my eyes wander in discomfort. I stare off at a family portrait done when I was in middle school. Jesus, I see one reason why I was such an unhappy kid. I was a complete loser, skinny and gawky with braces.

I look back to the table and find my mother trying to catch my gaze, concern etched deep in her sweet face.

Oh, shit, now the attention is on me.

"Christian, I'm equally worried about you. Since you and Elena have always been so close, I even spoke to her about you."

"Why did you do that? I don't know why you'd be worried about me. I'm certainly no sex addict." Elliot snickers at my assertion. "In any case, it's none of Elena's business."

Though both women are important to me, I've never been comfortable with the friendship between my mother and Elena.

"Oh, darling boy, Elena has been such a friend to you, and to all of us, over the years. I saw nothing wrong with talking to her about my concerns."

"There's no reason for concern." I know whatever she has to say is definitely nothing I want to hear.

"Shush," Mother orders, and I do as told. "Marriage and children aren't for everyone, and maybe those things aren't right for you. But your father and I would like to see you with a special friend, someone with whom you can share joys and sorrows, and possibly build a life. You're so driven, so single-mindedly focused on your business, that you've become increasingly more isolated over the years. Just as with Elliot, I fear loneliness for you. Please try to make a special friend. Darling, we don't care one whit whether you're straight, gay, asexual, or bisexual. We only want your happiness. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

Yep, they still can't consider I might be heterosexual, and I suppose that's natural, due to the fact I've never dated or brought girls around. I do like keeping my secrets.

None of my family has any idea that I spent six years from the age of fifteen to twenty-one in a sadomasochistic relationship with Mother's friend, Elena Lincoln. I may have played the submissive for her, but in more recent years, I've enjoyed being a Dom to a parade of brunettes.

"Yes, Mother, I understand, but I don't have time for friends." She looks as if she might cry. "I'm busy."

I have no idea what else to say right now, but Elliot speaks up, saving us both.

"Mom, I know what you say has merit. Chrissy and I hereby pinkie promise to find a special friend for him, and from here on out, only nice girls for me." Elliot comically bats his eyelashes at Mother, and holds up his right pinkie to me. "C'mon, bro, let's do it. Let's pinkie swear, just like Mia makes us do."

I shake my head in mock irritation, attempt a big smile, and lock pinkies with Elliot. Surely we look ridiculous. Elliot then puts his fist out for a bump, and I join him.

Mother seems satisfied enough, because she rises from her chair to place soft kisses on our foreheads, first mine, then Elliot's. She wipes tears from her cheeks and retreats to the kitchen to fetch strawberry shortcake.

Dad reaches for the mimosa carafe and refills his glass.

"Boys, I couldn't agree more with everything your mother just said. My life has not been defined by my law career, any more than your mother has been defined by medicine. Our lives are centered on our love for each other and you children. To have been privileged to adopt the three of you has been our greatest blessing."

Christ, now Dad's eyes are watering. Carrick Grey, litigator extraordinaire, is about to shed tears. What the hell is happening? Is one of them sick or dying? What's up with all this ridiculous concern and emotion?

Elliot seems to feel just as uncomfortable as I do. As if he's read my mind, he asks, "How's everyone's health? Is something going on? Mom isn't acting like herself."

"Son, your mother and I are both in excellent health, and your grandparents are holding their own. Your sister's been gone for several months, and while I miss her very much, I think your mother feels Mia's absence more acutely. When we moved into this house, we dreamed of not only raising you children here, but also eventually entertaining in-laws and grandchildren. This house is beginning to feel too big."

Shit. I don't like seeing my folks unhappy, especially my mother. I truly do want to please Mother. She is my savior, my angel.

Abraham Lincoln once said, "All that I am, I owe to my mother." Abe wasn't speaking of his birth mother. He was referring to his stepmother, the woman who adopted him to her heart and loved him unconditionally, just as Grace has done for me. Grace Trevelyan-Grey, my adoptive mother, isn't obliged to love me, but she does. All that I am, at least the few worthy parts, I owe to her.

Elliot attempts to put an end to this painful encounter with our parents.

"Dad, we appreciate you and Mom more than you can know. We'll do our best to make it to Montana next weekend, won't we?" Elliot looks to me for agreement.

"Yes, of course." I'll say anything to put a halt to this uncomfortable conversation.

After dessert and a bit of small talk about local politics, I'm ready to leave. Elliot and I say quick goodbyes to our parents, and we walk out together. He follows me to the R8.

"Bro, are you going straight home? How 'bout we go to the marina, maybe relax on the Grace?"

No matter how many times I've turned him down in the past, Elliot never gives up on trying to spend time with me. I can only turn my family down so many times before I start to feel like a shitheel. Maybe today's the day to acquiesce.

"I do have some work, but seeing as how it's a sunny day, I guess some time on the water wouldn't hurt. I'll call Mac and he can get her ready. Follow me, and try to keep up in that monstrosity of yours."

I enjoy taking jabs at Elliot's truck. No way will he be able to keep up with my R8.

When we reach the Grace, Liam "Mac" McConnell, is in place and the boat is ready to launch. The Grace is a catamaran, designed and constructed by shipbuilders affiliated with my company. I hired Mac to maintain and crew the Grace.

As soon as we board, we go to work setting sail. There's no unnecessary communication. We aren't here to chatter. Elliot and I are here for the same reason, to clear our heads. Being out on the water always seems to help both of us.

Mac casts off, while Elliot mans the wheel. When we reach the sound, Elliot cuts the engine, and Mac and I take on the sails.

It's a short sail. We're only out for a couple of hours, and when we return to the marina, we agree to stop off for a quick beer at SP's Place. It's next to the marina, and the only place in Seattle where we can get Adnams Explorer, a beer we both enjoy.

As usual, Elliot is first to speak.

"Mom's words really hit me hard. You know I've probably fucked every available blonde in Seattle, right? Now it's gotten to the point where I'm trying to hook up with chicks I've already been with, but don't remember."

I'll be damned. I guess Elliot does have some self-awareness. He takes a long gulp of his beer and looks down at the wooden floor, unable to make eye contact.

"It's fucking embarrassing. Soon I'll be gray with a gut and sagging balls, still trolling bars for skanks. I'm already getting to be a joke. I heard a chick advise her friend against taking me home, referring to me as 'His Highness, King of the Fuck and Duck.' I'm goddamn thirty-one years old and I haven't had a relationship last more than a couple of weeks. Then Mom suggests I might be a sex addict. What the hell?"

I'm not used to having anyone, even my own brother, confess personal problems. I'm completely out of my element, so I offer the only support I know how to give. Food. I call over Dante, the bartender, to order a bowl of seafood chowder for each of us.

"Do you want to change, El? That's what it sounds like. It seems as if you're unhappy and want something different."

I wish I knew how to play the part of supportive brother, but the best I can manage is a parody of the legion of psychiatrists I've seen over the years.

"Sure I do, but I'm not sure how. I think it's possible to meet a nice girl in a bar. Hell, a lot of the women I've fucked were probably really nice people, warm and compassionate. I wouldn't know, because I poked 'em and fled the scene."

I think of all the women I've fucked, and consider what Elliot has said. I have no idea if any of them have been people of good character. What of their hopes, dreams, and aspirations? None of that has ever been important. Beyond a scene, I speak to them as little as possible, both in and out of the playroom.

While Elliot seems to feel remorse over the lack of intimacy in his sexual encounters, I have no room for regret or hand-wringing. The contract absolves me of any guilt. Before I ever lay a finger on a woman, she knows there will be no relationship of any kind beyond the playroom. All sexual acts are consensual and the arrangements are mutually beneficial. I always make certain the women receive compensation for their time and trouble.

"And how do you feel about that?" I parrot the shrink patter I've endured for most of my life.

"Somehow I think the bar scene has led to a pattern of behavior…a pattern I need to break. What do you think? They say love is friendship caught fire, so maybe it's just a simple matter of changing my goal from fucking first to friendship first. If I can meet a really great girl, make friends first, then the fucking will come. Do you think that will work?"

"I don't understand a thing about any of that relationship crap. I'm clueless."

"Doesn't Flynn help you at all? What the hell are you paying him for?"

Ah, yes, Dr. John Flynn, my current psychiatrist. I don't want to get into any of my personal shit, and Elliot knows this. Seeing my agitation, my brother softens his tone.

"Your job at making Mom happy is a lot easier than mine. She wants to see me married with a family, but she just wants you to make a friend. That seems simple enough. Just make a friend. Bring the friend around Mom once in a while, and she'll be happy. None of us care about you being gay."

I stuff my mouth with some oyster crackers, trying to ignore my brother, but he can't stop yapping.

"Maybe I should see Flynn about sex addiction? Do you think he could help me?"

"Yes. Go see Flynn. Tell him to put your visits on my tab. Talk to him about all this shit, because I sure as hell have no idea what to tell you."

"You've hired all those blondes." Elliot spins a cardboard coaster and then slaps it down on the bartop. "Got any you think I might be interested in? Maybe I need to do a walk through of all twenty floors."

"Damn it. Don't even think about fucking my help. I don't need the headaches."

"Oh, so you're straight and you're trying to keep all the blondes for yourself. Try sharing, bro. I thought you were all about being charitable."

"You know I don't want to talk about this shit." I need to shut this down. Why can't El just let it be?

"Let's say for the sake of argument that you're straight. Hypothetically speaking, would your dream woman be a blonde? It would appear so, what with all those blondes scattered all over Grey House."

Elliot is a dog with a bone.

"Hypothetically speaking, things are not always what they seem." No, my dream woman is brunette, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

"What are you saying? Are you straight? Or maybe you like both the cock and the pussy? Which is it? And I've just got to ask. Has your cherry been popped?"

Damn it all to hell! This is why I don't share a single nugget of my private life with anyone. If I were to share even one piece of information, it would just lead to more questions.

"Eat your chowder. I need to get home and do some work."

XXXXX

Rosalyn Bailey, my trusted number two, picks up on the third ring.

"And how was your weekend?"

"Fine, thanks. I'm considering taking a couple of days off. Do we have anything coming up that would preclude me from going to Montana this Thursday afternoon and returning the following Monday evening? Apparently Mother's Day is a week from today."

"No, nothing too important. Speaking of Mother's Day, the results of your semen analysis came back. You are quite the physical specimen." Ros belts out her deep throaty laugh, the result of too many cigarettes. "Gwen and I are anxious to get started. Last we talked about this, you expressed some reservations. You still having second thoughts?"

Ros and her wife, Gwen, approached me a couple of months ago about being a sperm donor. Gwen wants to carry the child and they'd like the child to resemble the two of them. Ros has red hair, a similar shade to my copper, and we're both tall and athletically built. I agreed to consider their proposition, which included no personal responsibility of any kind. Ros understands me well enough to know that I have no interest in parenting.

There's a current shortage of redhead sperm donors, and the few available are being overused. Ros and Gwen don't want their children to have dozens of siblings, all spread from one end of North America to the other. They've made a compelling case for my consideration.

Ros and Gwen's doctors put me through a physical exam, blood work, genetic testing, and screening for sexually transmitted diseases. The Seattle Sperm Bank assured and reassured me that the sample I submitted would be destroyed as soon as testing was completed. Apparently the test results of the semen analysis are now available. Ros and Gwen want to freeze enough samples for several children, and they are hopeful I can fill the bill.

"Yes, I need to think about this a bit more. Out of curiosity, what were the test results?"

Ros laughs again, even louder and more heartily than before.

"Per usual, you're an overachiever. Your little guys scored way over the top in every category, and the test thaw came back with great results. I'll give you a copy of the results tomorrow. It's a good thing you're gay, because if you fucked women, you'd have one knocked up by now."

Ros roars with more laughter.

"I'm so happy to amuse you. I'll give you my answer after I return from Montana. I need a few days. Does that work?"

"Sure. See you tomorrow."

After hanging up, I think back to some of my recent sessions with Flynn. We discussed me being a sperm donor for Ros and Gwen. Flynn and I went round and round about my fucked up nature. My birth mother was a crack whore, and I'll never know the identity of my birth father.

I'm sure Ros and Gwen will be exemplary parents, but there's that age old argument of nature versus nurture.

I'm reluctant to pass off my questionable DNA to Ros and Gwen, and beyond that, it disturbs me to think I would have contact with their child. Contact would be unavoidable. Ros and Gwen live in the building across the street from me, and I work closely with Ros.

Would I tell my family about the child, and if so, what would I say? My instincts tell me they would want a relationship. If I had offspring, even as a sperm donor, I believe my mother and Mia would go nuts trying to have some kind of contact.

It all seemed so simple when Ros and Gwen first proposed the artificial insemination, but nagging doubts keep popping up. I've got to work through all of it soon and make a decision, so Ros and Gwen can move forward.

I think about my relationship with my adoptive parents. They took on a huge responsibility when they adopted me. I didn't speak, couldn't be touched, had night terrors and food issues. How have they endured?

I've surely been an enormous disappointment to my parents.

I recall Mother's outburst today, and her worry that Elliot and I will age out as lonely, pathetic old men. I guess all parents worry about their children. I have enough shit to worry about. I certainly don't need to add a child to the list.

Elena, who knows me better than anyone, has always told me I'm not suited for fatherhood, and I'm sure she's correct. I'm too fucked up, too wrapped up in my business, to ever have a family.

I wish I could be the son Mother and Dad could be proud of. I'd like to move through life with the ease others seem to possess.

I wish I could be touched. I wish I had friends. I wish I didn't have nightmares every night. I wish I could make easy conversation. I wish I could make my family proud.

I wish I could sleep.

I wish…

With all the crap floating around in my head, I don't even bother with bed, moving straight to my piano instead.

I don't know how my sleepless night will end, but tonight it begins with Piano Concerto No. 21 in C Major.