My Father's Lover Read online

  MY FATHER’S LOVER

  D. J. Manly

  ®

  www.loose-id.com

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * * *

  This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (m/m sexual practices).

  My Father’s Lover

  D. J. Manly

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © May 2007 by D. J. Manly

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 978-1-59632-471-8

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Maryam Salim

  Cover Artist: Christine M.Griffin

  Chapter One

  Anthony listened as the doctor told him Michael was dead. He closed his eyes, took a few steps, swayed, before he steadied himself. Sandy reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. Neither of them said anything. There were no words to express the horror of it. Michael had been hooked up to tubes for hours in the hope that he would begin to breathe on his own again, but Anthony knew what the outcome would be. The doctor knew it too. Michael had been beaten too badly.

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor said before he walked away. Anthony was vaguely aware of acknowledging his condolences. The weight of Michael’s death washed over him like a shroud. His throat was tight, but he couldn’t cry.

  Sandy placed a hand on his friend’s arm. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Anthony met his gaze. Sandy had dropped by Impressions last night on a stopover from his East Coast tour. He felt badly that he had to be embroiled in all this.

  “I have to go back to the club, tell them what happened to Michael.”

  Sandy nodded. “Do you want me to do it?”

  “No, I have to do it,” he said, looking around. “That police officer said that someone would be here at the hospital to take the report but…” He felt himself trembling.

  “Never mind. Someone will come. They have your phone number and address. Let’s get out of here. Let them track you down.”

  “Wait, I have to sign some papers and…”

  “Okay. Let’s get that over with and get out of here.”

  Sandy waited as Anthony signed the necessary documents at the nurse’s station. Sandy was glad he’d been with Anthony when all this happened last night. Anthony was his best friend. They had been friends since they were kids, growing up in the same neighbourhood.

  As Sandy walked down the hallway with Anthony, he felt the burden of his grief. It would have been better if Anthony had cried, but he was never one to show his emotions. His father had tried to beat all emotion out of him when he was a kid. He had grown up tough, leaving home at the age of twelve, hustling on the streets.

  Anthony paused suddenly, turning sad eyes to Sandy. “I have to make the arrangements and…” He cleared his voice. “I have to see the guys at the club and there are friends and…his…”

  Sandy blinked. “And his what?”

  Anthony shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not important. Let’s get out of here.”

  Anthony was walking slowly, totally drained of energy. His six-four, muscular frame looked almost frail. The staff looked at them as they walked by, whispering behind their hands.

  “Anthony, there’s a police officer,” Sandy told him suddenly as they were about to go out the front door of the emergency room.

  The police officer looked at them, taking note of the blood stains on Anthony’s shirt. “Is one of you Anthony Regali?”

  Anthony gave the cop a bland stare. “I am.”

  “It’s about the incident last night. I’m here to take a report and…”

  “And what?” Anthony eyed him. “File it away somewhere to collect dust?”

  “My friend is distraught, officer, someone close to him just died,” Sandy interjected.

  “My father was murdered,” Anthony said to the cop in a harsh voice.

  “If your father was murdered, it’s a homicide, so I need a description of…”

  Anthony pushed by him. “I don’t need your help. I’ll find the little bastards myself and…”

  “I don’t advise you to do that, sir,” the cop called after him.

  But Anthony was out the door and halfway to his vehicle.

  Sandy tried to explain his friend’s frame of mind, but the police officer ignored him, following Anthony outside instead. “Mr. Regali, please. I know you’re upset but you were the only witness and I need…”

  “I’m sorry,” Anthony apologised, running a hand through his hair. “Give me a few hours and I’ll come down to the station and tell you everything you need to know.”

  The officer seemed satisfied with that. Nodding, he walked away, mumbling that he was sorry about his father.

  * * * * *

  Sandy got into Anthony’s car and they drove toward the club. “Are you all right to drive, Anthony? I could drive if…”

  Anthony looked at him. “I’m fine. I need to get to Impressions so that I can call the staff together and…” His voice faltered for a minute. “I need to tell them about Michael.”

  “I feel helpless. If I can do anything for you…”

  “Well,” Anthony said, driving his car into the manager’s spot of the club parking lot, “there is something you can do.”

  “Name it.”

  Anthony looked at him. “Take my car and go back to the house. There’s a phonebook on the table near the door. Open it, and on the first page you’ll find the name Michael. Call the number and ask for him. Tell him his father, who he never gave a shit about, is dead at the age of thirty-nine. Here are the keys.”

  Sandy got out of the car and stared at his friend in shock. “Michael had a son? You never told me that.”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, he’s a son in name only. Michael tried so hard to see him when the kid was young. Apparently, the mother wouldn’t allow it. When the boy got older, he didn’t want anything to do with his father.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he was a female impersonator, I guess. Thought he was some kind of a freak, told him as much in a letter. It really hurt him. Anyway, funny thing was, his son turned out to be queer, just like his dad, but he had some sort of problem with drag. I’ll let you read his letter some day. Some political bullshit about how it degrades the gay community. If I had my way, I wouldn’t even tell him about his father but Michael wouldn’t have wanted that. Anyway, I don’t want to talk to the little shit, so if you do that for me, I’ll owe you.”

  “No problem. You won’t owe me anything. I’ll see you back here at the club.”

  Anthony handed Sandy the car keys, reached out and squeezed his arm. “You’re not
leaving yet, are you?”

  Sandy shook his head. “No. I’ll stay as long as I can. I’ll be back in an hour, and then I’ll go with you to the police station.”

  Anthony breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Sandy.”

  * * * * *

  Anthony walked to the front door of Impressions. Outside the neon lights had just come on. They were just about to open. This place had been Michael’s dream. He had bought it several years ago from the former owner, and transformed it. Anthony had been the manager ever since Daniel was killed. Before that, he had worked here as a bartender and a waiter. Impressions was a big money-maker, the most prosperous club of its kind on the West Coast. People came from all over to see the shows. It had made them rich. It had made Michael a star. Now he was dead. Both he and Daniel, and he had never felt more alone.

  As Anthony walked into the club, he saw the familiar faces of the staff who worked there. They were like a family. There was Eddie, the bartender, and Hollio, Juan, Karl and Ron, the entertainers. There was Annie and Marie, the waitresses, and waiters Sam, Toby and recently Jason. Jason had been living on the streets just like he had; a sweet boy, disowned by his parents because he was gay. Daniel and Michael had taken him in just before Daniel had been killed.

  He wasn’t sure how he was going tell them about what had happened last night outside the club. How could he accept it himself? It was surreal.

  They all hurried over to him now, Ron and Jason, Hollio, Juan, and Sam. It wasn’t like him to come into the club this late. “Where’s Michael?” Sam asked, a glass in his slender hand. “I’ve been calling you guys all day. He was supposed to lend me his leather jacket for my date with Yves tonight.”

  Some of the others whistled and made comments.

  Anthony put his hand on the table to steady himself. It was Jason who came closer. “What’s wrong, Anthony? Something is wrong.” He reached over and touched his hand.

  Juan suddenly yanked Jason out of the way and stared into Anthony’s face. “Anthony,” he said sternly, “where in hell is Michael?”

  Anthony looked up from the table. “Michael’s dead,” he managed, his eyes filling with tears.

  There was complete silence. Jason shook his head. “This isn’t funny, Anthony.”

  “No, it isn’t funny. Michael was killed outside here last night, beaten to death by some thugs. The club is closed for the next week or two. You will all be paid.”

  “Oh my God, what happened? How?” Ron demanded, tears in his eyes.

  Jason started crying.

  Anthony bit his lip. “I can’t go into it right now. I have some work in the office to do. Sam, make sure there’s a closed sign on the door and the neon sign is off, will you please? I’ll come and talk to you all later.”

  Sam nodded.

  No one went home. They sat in the darkened club together, crying, stunned, and hugging each other. No one was leaving.

  * * * * *

  Back at Michael’s house, Sandy tried countless times to call the phone number Anthony had instructed him to. He hadn’t gotten any answer for at least two hours. Finally, on what Sandy vowed was his last attempt, the phone was picked up.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hello, is this Michael?”

  “Yes. Who is this?” Michael demanded, sounding irritated.

  “You don’t know me. I’m calling about your father.”

  “My father? My father is asleep in bed.”

  “Ah…well, I’m calling about Michael, your ah…biological father.”

  “Look, I don’t have any contact with him. We’re on different planets, man, so…”

  “I’m calling to tell you that…your father is dead.”

  “Dead? How?”

  “He was murdered.”

  There was silence again. Michael said softly, “Jesus.”

  “Anyway, I’m calling on behalf of Anthony.”

  “Well, give the old guy my condolences.”

  Sandy wasn’t sure who the old guy was supposed to be. “No, not Daniel, Anthony,” Sandy insisted.

  “Look, whoever you are, I didn’t know my dad at all and that’s the way I liked it. He’s dead; that’s too bad. I really mean that sincerely. Thanks for letting me know. It’s a crazy world we live in.”

  “Someone will call you back and let you know when the funeral is.”

  “What for? I’m not going to California. I have no place at a funeral for a man I never knew.”

  “I’ll let Anthony know what you said,” Sandy told him stiffly, his stomach in knots. How could this guy not even care about his own father?

  The phone went dead.

  Michael put the phone down and switched off the lamp. He lay back down in bed and closed his eyes. Why bother telling him this shit? It didn’t matter anyway. His father had abandoned him and his mother when he was just a baby. He had run off to put on a dress and entertain horny old queers. He was an embarrassment to the entire gay community, to which he was proudly a part of, not to mention a total embarrassment to him. He had no intention of running out to Los Angeles to attend a funeral where some old fag in a dress sobbed over his father’s grave.

  Michael tossed and turned in his bed a few times, and finally got up and turned on the light. He stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself. Nineteen, at his prime, shoulder-length, curly dark hair, nice smile, and a great ass. He had lovers by the dozens and he didn’t need to degrade himself by wearing a dress, either. He was no less masculine than any straight man. He defied anyone to pick him out of the crowd as gay.

  He opened his top drawer and pulled out a picture. It was a picture of a man with curly dark hair and a great smile. He was holding a baby. He was holding him. Thirty-nine-years-old, and dead. Someone had killed him. Wow, that was heavy. He put the picture back into the drawer. There were tears accumulating at the back of his throat. He pushed them away, crawled back into bed and tried to sleep.

  * * * * *

  When Sandy returned to the club, the staff were sitting around, some crying, others drinking. Jason walked up to him as soon as he walked in, demanding to know what had happened.

  “Didn’t Anthony tell you?” Sandy asked.

  The others came closer. “He’s too upset to give us details,” Hollio replied. “All he said was that Michael was…well…murdered…last night, out here and…”

  Sandy nodded. “This morning Michael, Anthony, and I left the club around four o’clock. After Anthony locked up he went to get the car and bring it around. I was pretty drunk so Anthony helped me to the car right away. Michael waited by the door. He had some stuff he wanted to bring home from his dressing room, I think. We heard this noise, loud, and Anthony drove the car around to the front and there were these guys…” Sandy’s eyes misted over. “They had baseball bats and as soon as they saw us, they took off. Michael was on the ground and…there was blood…everywhere. It was too late. Michael had to be revived in the ambulance; he died several hours later.” Sandy sobbed into his hands.

  The others began to cry and hug each other again. Suddenly Anthony came out of the office. He looked at them all standing there, crying. “Stop this. Michael wouldn’t want you to…”

  Jason walked over to Anthony and threw his arms around him. “I’m sorry. God, Anthony, I’m so sorry.”

  Anthony put his head down now on Jason’s shoulder for a second. Sandy hoped he would cry. He was shaking all over. The others gathered around him and touched him. Anthony’s eyes filled with tears.

  Suddenly Anthony pushed away from them and walked quickly out of the room. There was total silence, then, they heard heart-wrenching sobs. It lasted only seconds, but to the people in that room, it seemed like an eternity.

  * * * * *

  Later Sandy accompanied Anthony to the police station. They made the report and left. Luckily, the police realised how upset Anthony was, and they didn’t detain him long. They told him they’d be in touch again soon.

  Back at the house, they sat together silent
ly drinking. Anthony didn’t want to talk. Finally he passed out from the liquor. When he woke up late the next day, Sandy tried to get him to eat. “I can’t,” he said. “When I’m upset, it goes right to my gut.” He was trying to smile.

  Sandy nodded. “I won’t press you right now, but you have to promise me you’ll eat something later.”

  “I will.” He threw himself onto one of the living room chairs. “Did you reach the ingrate?”

  Sandy sighed. “If you mean Michael’s son, yes, but he doesn’t seem to know anything about you. He didn’t even know that Daniel had died. I don’t think he’s coming to the funeral.”

  “Suits me. I don’t want him to come,” Anthony snapped. “I only want the people who truly loved Michael there at his service.”

  “There were plenty of those.” Sandy smiled sadly.

  Anthony nodded, placing his face in his hands. “I’ve got to go to the funeral home.”

  “I’ll come with you. I’ll help you.”

  “Thanks. Michael made all the funeral arrangements for himself after Daniel died, so it won’t be too bad.” Daniel had died in a head-on collision two Christmases ago. After Daniel had died, Michael didn’t want to be alone. Anthony had given up his career playing guitar in Sandy’s band to come back home and be with him.

  “Are you all right?” Sandy said suddenly.

  Anthony shook himself back to reality. “Yes, sorry. I was just thinking about something. By the way, did Jason come home last night?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “I hope he’s okay.”

  “I’m sure he is. Maybe he needed space.”

  “He tends to go wild when he’s upset. He probably went to the baths.”

  Sandy nodded.

  “I’ll go grab a shower. I can’t go to the funeral home looking like this.”

  “Okay. Take your time.”

  * * * * *

  A few minutes later, Jason walked into the room. He obviously hadn’t slept. “Where’s Anthony?”