In the Stacks Ch. 08

Will sat stoically in first class, sipping scotch out of a plastic cup. The smoky acrid taste hit the back of his mouth. He held the sting of the alcohol in his mouth for as long as he could and then swallowed it. He took long, deep breaths in between drinks, and then turned to his right.

Chris was asleep, lying against the window, a white pillow folded against the right side of his face. The navy blue blanket once pulled tight against his neck had now fallen down. Will softly reached over, pulled it back up, and softly ran his finger across the stubble that had formed on Chris's face.

They had managed to catch the red-eye from Chicago to Portland, Oregon, the closest city that had an airport to Orchards, Washington. Penny had called, and had first gotten Chris, and then him, to inform him that not only was his father dead, but his mother had fainted, and being transported to Southwest Washington Medical Center. Penny was distraught, and he had to calm her many times in order to get specific information.

Will had asked Chris to get on his cell phone and set up the reservations, call their respective jobs, and handle those duties while he got on the hospital about his mother. By the time that the ambulance got there, they had determined that she had simply fainted from shock, and he even managed to talk to her for a few minutes.

He listened sympathetically as she cried deeply. She sounded weak, and drained, and on the verge of shock again, but it didn't matter to him. He was merely happy she was alive and able to communicate.

Chris got them a cab, paid an incredible sum of money to the ticket agent and they went through security. They made quite a fuss at Chris who had taken off his belt, shoes, removed all the money in his pants, cufflinks, rings, glasses, and innumerable other metallic objects and still made the damn thing go off. When they waved the wand in front of his groin, he declared that no matter how much they asked, there were some rings that were not very easy to take off.

Will bit his lips, smirking, watching the discomfort that the homeland security supervisor had as her began to question Chris about some of the specifics. Chris pressed the matter causing the man to squirm, proclaiming how much better sex was with the, 'Prince' and that really he had dated quite a few men that had them.

Security merely waved them through at that point, and then Will administered the coupe de grace by kissing Chris fully on the lips and groping his ass. This spectacle alone would have probably gotten them through security faster, but frankly, Will was of the mind that these yo-yo's couldn't wipe their own ass with both hands. If they couldn't deal with something as simple as a penis piercing, how in the hell could they deal with plastic explosives and guns?

The flight was only a few hours long, and Will had spent the time used on the tarmac and loading to lay out the tasks that needed to be done, down to getting a rental car and a hotel. While his mother would insist that they stay with her, on this matter, Chris had been firm. Privacy for both men was a prized item, one that they both cherished. Once in the air, he began swilling scotch.

He looked over at Chris, seeing his sleeping form, and wanted nothing more to be in a warm, dark room, covered with blankets and being held by Chris. He wanted to cry, to vent, to rage, he wanted to yell, to scream and to blame, but there was no one to blame. The drunk driver that had put his father in that nursing home was long since dead.

As far as Will was concerned, his father had died a long time ago. When you hack off three out of four limbs, and a hunk of your skull and brain, he reasoned, then you really don't have much of a chance of any kind of life.

He had last seen his father, in that sterile hospital bed, about three years ago around Christmas time. He had pushed himself to visit his mother, when in reality they merely danced around each other, playing scrabble in the afternoons and walking amongst the shopping crowds in the morning. She had even bought him presents that were, 'from dad'.

Will always wondered how she could do it. Was it merely that she came from a prior generation, whose ethics were unimpeachable? He had no idea. He found it amusing when she started to write, and found it fascinating when she started to focus on erotica. He wondered if she found it embarrassing to show him her work, and yet, he felt, by reading it, he got to know her a little better.

He drained the last sip of scotch in his cup and then held it up in the air, rather than tap the light on. He could see they were preparing some sort of breakfast like item, something that undoubtedly he would scarf down until he could get something a bit more solid into his system.

The flight attendant came forward and he looked at her with his bloodshot eyes, a man-mountain, looking even more ragged than normal.

"Scotch, make it a double."

"Sir," she said tactfully, "you've had four."

She looked at him with his deep, cool hazel eyes and said, "My father just died."

She merely nodded at him after a quiet, "oh, I'm sorry," she refilled it.

When the food came around, Will softly woke Chris, having ordered for him.

"Breakfast in bed, gee, when's the last time I got that?" Chris said to him with a grin.

"Yesterday, as I recall," Will said.

"Tube sausage doesn't count, dear." Chris said.

"Picky little bitch aren't you?" Will said.

Chris looked at him, slightly hurt. He looked at the scotch in Will's hand and decided to let it go, but then Will followed up.

"I'm sorry, Chris. I guess that this is hitting me a little harder than I thought."

"Lover, this is your father we're talking about." Chris said, putting his hand on Will's thigh.

"He was a fucking vegetable," Will growled, but softly put his hand on Chris's fingers, he knew what Chris was trying to do, and knew Chris was right. His dad was finally dead. A single, solitary tear rolled down Will's cheek and Chris leaned over to hold his husband's face.

Will let go as much as he would allow himself in the plane. His sobs were brief, prefunctionary things, and Chris watched those around him, glaring at any who would cast aspersions upon his grief. He waved the flight attendants around them when they served food, and only when he kissed the tears away from Will's face and sat upright did they then bring the meal.

Chris picked at a piece of microwaved French toast, and asked for some vodka to go into the orange juice. Will ate his meal quickly, inhaling the food at an incredible pace, and then Chris offered him the remnants of his. He knew better to get in the way of the big man when he was in one of these manic compulsive eating phases, and knew that it did not happen nearly as much as it did when they were in college and Will was still stuffing his feelings about being gay down.

Will settled into scotch number six, and pulled out his laptop, his fingers typing at a furious rate on some work project. He was trying to bury himself but the only image he could see was that of the side of his father's face, scarred beyond sanity, that section of bare skull open to the air. What kind of life was that, anyway? He stole a glance at Chris who was scrutinizing fashion designs in a copy of cosmopolitan.

In that flash of a moment, he saw Chris, in that bed, arms askew, face half-gone, staring into the sky. He shook his head and then remembered a piece of advice that his mom had given him at a certain point in his life, that he could say, 'stop'. He tried, and eventually the image faded from his view. Chris was alive, and there was no reason to do this. This was something Will fought every day, not just with his father, but also with many of the memories he had from childhood, things only Chris knew for he would be damned before he would tell his mother how he had been used as a child.

Chris watched him and this thought process, he always could feel Will when he looked at him. Chris loved Will for all his faults, and from Chris's point of view there were few. He knew that Will had his own daemons, that only in the darkest of nights under the covers did he speak about them. Chris loved how Will watched after him, took care of him, and yet he was aware of the thickheaded nature of the big man. Will would be blind to obvious solutions, not just because they were simple, but also because they were beneath him.

Chris opened up the window shade, looked at the clouds and wondered briefly about his father. His dad died in the Vietnam War and he had never had a father figure in his life. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't necessary. He knew he'd be a frightened mess when his mother died, but he didn't quite understand what it was like to have a father, or even a father figure. His mother had dated, but nothing ever clicked, and of the myriad of men who she saw, none of them ever took a great deal of time with him, especially being as foppish as he was. He stole a glance at Will looking at him, and they both smiled. Tightly their hands met, and fingers interlaced.

* * *

Penny sat in a cheap metal armless chair next to Marilyn in her hospital bed. She was on Marilyn's right, the same side as the door, in the emergency room. Marilyn was awake; she had a bit of color in her face, having just finished eating a little breakfast. Penny had taken the tray table away and Marilyn was looking into her eyes.

"I'm all right, really, Penny I am. This is such a fuss. There's a lot to do." Marilyn said.

"Yes, I know. Will and Chris are on their way." Penny replied.

Marilyn shook her head and then sighed, "You know I don't like looking like this, I was wondering if you might run by the house and get me some proper clothing, and perhaps bring the caddy about. I know you like your little Honda, but for the four of us to tool around in, we'll need something hefty."

"You amaze me, Marilyn." She said.

"It's a shock, and I still have a lot of crying to do," as if by cue, soft rivers of tears streamed from her eyes. They followed the wrinkles of his face down beside her nose and into her lips. Penny ripped Kleenex from a box and daubed at her face, blotting it. Marilyn took the younger woman's hand in hers and kissed it softly.

"I can't thank you enough, Penny. Every time I have to trust you, I am never sorry. You know, it's funny, I'm not sure how I would have dealt with this if you weren't here," Marilyn said. Her lower lip was trembling, and quaking.

"Well you don't need to worry about that, Marilyn. I'm here," Penny said. She softly kissed Marilyn's hand.

Penny felt as Marilyn's hand softly stroked her face, and felt a couple of tears out of Penny's eyes as well. The two women felt this moment as a time of union, of loss shared. They did not snap at each other, they did not growl. Penny moved slowly, alongside Marilyn on the bed, and they giggled at each other, avoiding the tubes and lines until they were able to hold each other.

This touch, this supreme intimacy caused them both to forget their surroundings, and even the circumstances of their meeting. They were two human beings, just trying to comfort one another in the time of need. They kissed briefly, and Penny's eyes drowsed a bit. Neither woman rested well, due to the circumstances and Marilyn saw Penny was getting comfortable.

Softly she asked, "When does Will's flight get in?"

Penny raised an eye and then mumbled, "He left at five, his time, it's a four hour flight, and then add two time zones. They told me they were going to get a car."

Marilyn grunted, "You'll have to move your stuff out of the guest room."

Penny cocked an eyebrow.

"Just stick it in my room. We'll let the sleeping arrangements happen. I mean, if push comes to shove you still have your apartment," Marilyn said.

"I... guess," Penny said. "I just thought, well, I'd be with you."

Marilyn nodded and then said, "I can't imagine you not being there, but also, I don't know what Will would say. He stuffs his feelings down so much. I mean, I hope he doesn't think I betrayed Thomas, I blame myself about that enough"

"Why?" Penny asked quietly.

"We were married," Marilyn replied.

"But from what you've told me, well, there..." Penny said cautiously.

"Wasn't a lot left? No. Thomas was dead, that is how Will viewed him. I am not so sure that I shouldn't have pulled the plug a very long time ago. A part of me Penny, always held out hope. When you came along," her voice started to crack, "I knew that that hope was gone. There's a part of me, Penny that believes that he went because I was being taken care of."

Penny's eyes were wide as saucers, and tears dropped slowly down her face. She sniffled as her nose filled with mucus. Marilyn's soft cry turned into a wail. She and Penny cried together for another hour or so, until a Nurse slipped into the room.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the Nurse said.

"It's okay. Did you find out when I can leave?" Marilyn asked as Penny slipped off the bed and started to straighten herself out.

"You can check out about eleven, Mrs. Marshall. I'm sorry for your loss. I need to check on your vital signs."

"I'll get back to the house, and get it ready," Penny said. "Then I'll bring the caddy around for you."

"Thank you, dear," Marilyn said in her pleasant little-old-lady tone. "I'll be here. I've no where else to go."

Penny peeled out, of the parking lot, driving at breakneck speed, bending and even breaking every traffic light she could. She found that Will had not yet reached the house, and quickly she zoomed into the guest room. Her laptop had finished charging from last night, and she opened up the closet to find that she had filled well over half of it with her own clothing.

She bit at her lip critically and then went into Marilyn's tidy room. There was virtually no space in her closets and Penny found herself a quandary. From room to room she went, trying to figure out where things should go. A loud, booming knock came from the front door, harried, clothing still draped over one hand, a slight sweat on her brow, out of breath, she answered it.

Will stood there. He was at his full six foot four height, and looked as if every inch of his three hundred and seventy pounds were pure muscle. He looked her in the eye, a look that made her shiver.

"Penny, I presume," he said.

"Um, yeah. You must be Will." She replied, shaking his massive paw.

He gave her a semi-friendly smile and then Chris's perfectly manicured hand reached out, "and I'm Chris. It's a pleasure to meet you, Penny. You look like you could use a hand."

"Um, well, I'm just clearing out a space for you two to stay, really."

"Don't bother," Will said. "We've got a hotel room down the street. Where's mom?"

"She's still in the hospital. She wanted me to tidy up before you guys got here," she said, and let them in.

"How's she doing?" Will asked.

"Okay, crying a lot, but that's to be expected," She said. Will grunted.

"Well yes, I would think so," Chris said, "I just don't know what I'm going to do when I loose the big guy here."

"What makes you so sure I'm going to go first?" Will said, looking down at him.

"With what you eat? Pull-ease. Don't mind Mister McDonald here, dear. Heck, if I were you I'd start buying stock in Starbucks as it's our second home in the Hamptons."

Will frowned and opened his mouth to speak and then Penny interrupted him, "well if you give me a couple of minutes to put this stuff away, we'll go get Marilyn."

"Let me give you a hand," Chris said, and before she could object scooped up the bundle of clothing she was carrying. "Lead on McDuff."

Penny blinked at him, and then led him into the guest room.

"So this is where you stay? Cozy girl. I imagine Marilyn looks on you like her right hand, huh?" Chris said.

"Uh, well, uh, I like to think so," She said, just short of a blush.

Chris grinned at her, and said, "Does Marilyn have any clothing at the hospital? Those gowns are just so un-chic."

Penny smiled at him, and realized that Chris really did want to help, that even if he was a bit of a prissy queen, he was still a good person, and that maybe he could be the person that she could crutch onto.

"Um, Marilyn's room is right over here," she said. "I'm thinking something comfortable, I just think we're going to come back here."

"Oh well knowing Marilyn that's just a seven piece suit," Chris said with a laugh.

Penny grinned and giggled, and was happy to laugh, despite the tragedy that brought them together. She opened up Marilyn's closet and started to thumb through the outfits, all of which were chromatically arranged. Finally, she selected a tan suit. She knew Marilyn's routine well enough and fished out fresh stockings, garters and undergarments while Chris poked around and found a thin clean camisole. They hustled the lot of them into a garment bag, and as an after thought, Penny put in a chocolate brown scarf.

"Very good, dear, sometimes the little details do make the outfit." Chris said, mimicking Marilyn almost perfectly.

Penny's eyes went wide, "whoa, that's pretty cool."

"Well it has its uses, darling. Some days a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do," Chris replied in the breathy voice of Lauren Bacall.

"Damn, you should be on stage," Penny said.

"Well I am an actor. Actress. Something like that," Chris said, pleased that his bit of self-depreciating humor was providing someone some relief. He hadn't been able to get Will to smile the entire time from the airport, car rental, or hotel.

"I'm glad you're here, Chris. I think Marilyn would kill me if she knew you were rooting around her lingerie drawer though."

"She's just jealous. I'm thinner and have a better walk," Chris said without missing a beat. "Besides, my cleavage is much more flexible."

Penny doubled over laughing, having to sit on the bed.

"Easy girl, breathe, breathe. Marilyn would never forgive me if you croaked because of my bad humor," Chris said. He zipped up the clothing carrier as Penny caught her breath and then led them out of the room and down the hall.

They found Will sitting at the breakfast bar. He had located one of Marilyn's stashes of scotch and had poured himself a double, consumed it, and when they arrived was working on his second.

"Think fast," Will said, and threw the keys at them.

Penny squeaked slightly, and Chris snagged them out of the air, obviously used to Will's sense of humor.

"I'm not fit to drive," he said.

"When has you driving ever been fit anyway? Hm?" Chris said. He turned to Penny, "you should see what he does on the expressway, it's shameful."

Will took it in stride, his mood started to lighten and then lashed out, "well I'm funny, I like to get to where I'm going without having a scenic tour of every parking lot I meet."

"Picky picky picky mister, 'oh there's a closer one'. A little walking never killed anyone."

"We have feet so that we can work gas pedals, don't you know anything?" Will said, and then shot the remainder of the scotch down.

"Um, Will, how much have you had to drink?" Penny asked.

"About twelve, fifteen shots." he said, soberly. "With my body mass, I could drink a whole lot more. Just can't drive."

Chris smiled, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, "always my gallant knight."

Penny looked at the two of them, and her heart reached out. She saw how they loved each other, and wondered what her own family would think when they finally met Marilyn.

Will looked to Penny, "lets get it on."

Penny grabbed the keys to the caddy, knowing that Marilyn wouldn't want to be crammed into the Honda, and felt that she would be happy that Will and Chris weren't staying with them.

Chris followed dutifully in the rented town car as Will became quiet. They waited in the adjoining guest room while Penny brought Marilyn her clothing, and Marilyn took some time to look presentable, much to Will's annoyance.