The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (43 page)

“Just promise me the FBI will do what they can, and I’ll trust your word.”

“Yes, they’ll do what they can.” Fletcher took one look at Xavier’s eager face, and his instinct to honesty won. He knew it could be a problem in an FBI agent but if Fletch couldn’t see a good reason for keeping a secret, or if there were better reasons to tell it, he found it hard to keep his mouth shut. “As soon as I told the people who handle that sort of thing, their eyes lit up. You should have seen them, you’d love their enthusiasm. But you’ll have to patient, Xavier. To do this properly, to net as many of the right people as possible, it could take a couple of years to infiltrate and investigate the organization.”

“That’s fine, as long as it gets done.”

“You know, I should be angry with you for wasting my time and lying to me.”

“But it was worth it, right?” Xavier smiled, disarming. “The result justifies the tactics.”

Fletcher almost wished he could resist returning the smile.

“Your people wouldn’t have taken me seriously without the pretext of the fire because I had no evidence. There were a lot of rumors, though, if you knew where and how to listen.” Xavier put his coffee mug down and began stalking around the kitchen bench towards Fletcher. “I  appreciate your honesty, lover man,” he murmured. “Tell me truthfully this hasn’t been worth it. Apart from business, we were obviously both in need of  -” each word now punctuated by a step nearer “-  some raw, uninhibited, hot  -” until he was close enough to kiss “-  fucking.”

“Yeah,” Fletcher breathed, letting the spell fall over him again. “Slowly this time, Xavier,” he whispered. “Let’s savor this.”

“Sweet lover man  …” as Lachance led him to the bedroom.

Soon Fletcher was exploring skin with hands and eyes and mouth. “You’re rich dark chocolate, just as sweet and addictive.”

Xavier laughed. “That’s an obvious image. Almost crude in its lack of imagination.”

“Maybe,” Fletch retorted, “but some of my most erotic fancies involve chocolate.”

“So what else are you being obvious about? You think I’m a tireless black stud with an enormous hungry cock?”

Fletch smiled up at Xavier from the man’s nether regions. “Well,” he demurred, “you’re a tireless black stud.”

Lachance’s laughter grew broader. “Hell, I’m looking forward to being excused from further duties this weekend - I  don’t claim to be tireless. And, as for my hungry cock, admit the fact that your lily white ass loves it. I  know exactly what to do with it.”

“Yeah, you know what to do with it.” Though Fletch couldn’t help remembering Albert, whose knowledge about exactly what to do with Fletcher exceeded Xavier’s in both quantity and quality. Except for the fucking, of course, and Albert was probably aware of that, too, even if he never acted on the knowledge.

“Hey, sweet man, concentrate. What are you day dreaming about? Or who. That man of yours, right?”

Fletcher smiled self-consciously, offered, “Sorry,” and bent to his task. In between kisses, he asked, “You’re rich sweet chocolate, but what am I? Pale and uninteresting.
Vanilla
means boring, doesn’t it? What does a beautiful black man like you want to sleep with a boring white man for?”

Laughter a rumble now, that Fletch could feel through his hands and lips. “You’re rich cream from the dairy; sweet ice cream on a summer day, cool on the flat of my tongue. And then your eyes are fire, white boy. How did Baraka put it?
Those silk blue faggot eyes.
I  like those hot silk blue faggot eyes of yours, sweet lover man.”

“Xavier, you’re a poet.”

“
That’s
poetry,” the man murmured, “what you’re doing now - yes, that.”

Fletch chuckled, and continued, but then his thoughts distracted him again. “I  shouldn’t call you black. I should say African-American.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Lachance said absently.

“
You’re
a mouthful.”

“Flattery, now, sugar man? You can call me black, you can call me anything you want. You don’t need all that white liberal shit with me, that’s strictly for the public.”

“Then I’ll call you  … lover.”

“Oh Christ,” Xavier exclaimed. “A white liberal
romantic
. How do I get into these situations?”

“You were so pushy,” Fletcher reminded him. “You didn’t let me refuse.”

“That’s true.” Xavier stretched, disrupting Fletch’s ministrations, then sat up. He hauled Fletch up the bed, and began to respond in kind. “I  wanted you,” Lachance murmured. “Sure, I  like my brothers best but I like anything male. And I hate being sensible, though I’ve tried to be since I started college, and I have to be sensible now. It’s like I said before, there’re some liberals, white or black doesn’t matter; they’ll vote for the other guy if they think I actually
do
have sex with men. The church’s attitude is the same. It’s okay if you’re gay, as long as you’re chaste as well.”

“Maybe you should outrage them with the truth.”

“Maybe I’ll take you along to lunch tomorrow with the Colorado Catholic Ladies’ Association. I’m sure they’d be as bewitched by you as I am, sweet lover man, with your fresh dairy skin and your silk blue eyes. If we kissed over the champagne and strawberries, we’d probably make the front page of Saturday’s papers. Great photo op.”

It was a funny and absurdly charming idea, but Fletch soon considered the serious thoughts behind it. “How do you live like that, Xavier? Constantly presenting different facets of yourself to different people, acting so many different roles.”

“We all do that to some extent, sugar man, even you. You don’t act like this at work, do you?”

Fletcher insisted, “I’m not
acting
now. I  try to minimize the pretence, wherever I am. Mind you, the Bureau doesn’t make that easy.”

“Neither do the voters.” Xavier smiled, almost wistful. “You try so hard to be honest, don’t you, Fletcher? Honest and true.”

“Don’t you?” Fletch said.

The smile was suddenly a grin. “You know what? Not only do I fuck white boys like you, Agent Ash, I’ve even slept with a couple of women.”

Fletcher laughed at this confession. “Is that so dreadful?”

“Oh yes. If you’re gay, you’re not supposed to be sexually interested in women.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Fletcher observed, encouraging Xavier to continue rambling.

“Brothers loving brothers,” Xavier intoned, “sisters loving sisters, sure that’s sweet. But some would call me a snow queen, sleeping with you. And it’s not intended as a compliment.”

“And me?”

“A dirge queen. Or they might accuse you, being a decadent dominant white, of tainting me, seducing me, using me. They’d tell me, Brother, cast off your chains, you’re being abused.”

Fletcher reached for a pillow and stuffed it under his shoulders. It was tempting to joke about Xavier being the dominant one in their love-play and perhaps to thereby provoke a more physical interaction, but this conversation was too interesting. Fletcher liked talking with this man and he was forever curious. He said, “Subcultures within subcultures  … We can’t all keep to our separate little factions like that.”

Xavier lay between Fletch’s legs, leaning up on his elbows to answer him seriously. “A  minority people wants to maintain solidarity, to create a home or an identity without internal divisions, so that it can face the rest of the world. They want to present a positive image. So dissidents, like gays within that minority, are silenced twice over because they’re disruptive and they’re seen as negative. You find that with blacks, with Jews, with Chinese-Americans, whatever.”

Jews
, Fletcher thought. That was Albert’s distant background. Fletch knew so little about the man. Did Albert have any family other than those long-dead parents? What about the mysterious Elliott Meyer? Had Albert’s isolation been partly because his community wouldn’t accept his  … Fletcher found he didn’t even know that much. Did Albert consider himself gay or bisexual? He couldn’t think of anyone, male or female, whom Albert had seemed to relate to sexually, other than Fletch himself.

Belatedly returning his attention to this lover, Fletcher said, “They lose in conformity whatever they gain in solidarity.”

“You’re right,” Xavier said, smiling his approval. “We need to mingle to successfully co-habit this small world of ours, but mingle without imposing templates on everyone. We need to appreciate the individual, celebrate differences rather than persecute them. On the other hand, in our society today, a minority within a minority, like gay black men, needs to first find pride and dignity in its own identity, on its own terms. If you leave us gay blacks as scattered parts within the whole, we have nothing, we are nothing. Because we don’t yet celebrate differences. A small group needs to develop authentic self-determination and
then
they can choose to become part of mainstream society - a  part of the wonderful diverse whole that deserves and demands as much respect as any other part. Your hero, Robert Kennedy, realized all that when he was working on poverty, and with blacks.”

Fletch laughed. “Are you telling me you’re a modern day Bobby Kennedy? Do you want me to fall in love with you?”

The smile that greeted this was broad. “I’ll tell you anything you like, sweet man, and I want everyone in Colorado to fall in love with me.”

“All of Colorado? Tell me your ambitions.”

“I’m going all the way to the White House, Fletcher. I’ll be the first black President.”

“Yeah, I bet you will.” Fletch reached to caress the man’s hair. “I’ll vote for you, lover.” After a moment he added, “I’d wondered why you weren’t running as an independent. Surely you don’t always see eye to eye with the Democrats?”

“No, but the party system works, and it will work for me. I  toe the party line on most things and I try to persuade them on others. The party can be, and should be, shaped by its members, especially influential ones. I  could be mayor of Denver as an independent, I  might even be sent to the Senate from Colorado, but I couldn’t be President as an independent.”

“So you take a ride on their established power  -”

“Of course. You have to take the power before you can change things. What’s the point of me running here and losing, and never being in a position to
do
anything about what I believe in?”

“You’re telling me there has to be compromise.”

“It’s not a dirty word, you know. Compromise can be a good thing. It’s the meeting in the middle of disparate views.”

Fletch nodded, but said, “As long as you don’t compromise on the basic issues, like human rights.”

A reassuring smile. “Sure, lover man.” He began to ease up Fletcher’s body, pressing kisses along the way.

“You’re not quite as callously ambitious as you pretend,” Fletch said.

“You think not?” Mildly surprised.

“Running for office from Colorado - it’s not the easiest place to promote gay rights, is it? You’d have a better time of it somewhere a little more open-minded, like California.”

“This is my home state, sweet man, these are my people.”

“Loyalty,” Fletcher observed, “even if it doesn’t suit your best interests. I  like that.”

“Good,” Xavier murmured absently. And then he effectively silenced any further conversation.

“You look like you need this,” Caroline said, handing Fletcher a mug of coffee.

He accepted it gratefully, then dragged over a visitor’s chair for her to sit on and even made room on his desk for her own mug. “Do I look that bad?” he asked.

“Put it this way,” she replied, “I bet you’re glad the case is closed and it’s Friday.”

“Yeah, I’m glad.” Though he was left with the thought that his relationship with Xavier would inevitably be scaled down, if not closed as well. “I’m just writing the conclusion of my report for you.”

She grimaced. “Monday is fine. Unless there’s anything unexpected to add?”

“No. The last couple of days I’ve mainly been clearing Lachance himself, now Tanya’s working on that Klan thing. I don’t think any of his people had the ability to start the fire, if it were arson, which I don’t think it was, and I couldn’t find any evidence of money changing hands illegitimately.”

“Bit of a waste of your time,” Caroline observed.

“From the point of view of the fire. I’m glad Lachance gave us that lead, though, even if he went about it the wrong way.”