Borrowing Just

Chapter 4: Teeson

Chapter 4: Teeson

Robert Teeson e-mailed me to have a meeting in his office the next morning. 8:00 A.M. sharp. On the way I bought him a coffee: caramel latte with fat-free whipped cream. As usual, I arrived on time, passed him his coffee, sat across from him in a comfortable chair, and looked at the three connecting rivers over his right shoulder.

He was rather a good looking boss at forty-five. He had dark curly hair, bright-blue eyes, a model-complexion, sharp nose, dimples, seemed to be always clean-shaven, sported a six-two frame, was comprised of 180 pounds of all muscle, and showcased the tightest looking ass at the City Speaker. I knew very little about the man, and really didn't want to know much more about him. He had a beautiful trophy wife, three boys (Alex, Abe, Adam), a four thousand square foot home, and two Mercedes in his driveway. That was enough to keep me satisfied about his private life.

I placed my article about Jake Harding on his desk and slid it in front of him. “Done,” I said. “What an interesting man he is, particularly his obsession for basements and bathrooms, which he enjoys writing about.”

He thumbed through the article, scanned a few paragraphs, smiled, sniffled, and drew his up to me. “Nicely done. Your next piece entails bears.”

“I love grizzlies,” I said, overexcited.

He provided me with a scowl, cleared his throat, and said, “I’m thinking bedroom issues, Benry. Big men with a lot of fur. s*x secrets of Bears. Bondage. Role-playing. Naughty stuff with an edge. Our artsy readers like that. Five hundred words. I’m giving you one week. Don’t make it late.”

Usually Felicia Bannerman was assigned to the paper’s naughty stories. Perhaps Mr. Teeson was a little bored with her work and needed a new voice to share with its readers. Surprised by his decision, I nodded and replied, “Done. This sounds like a great challenge that I’m looking forward to.”

I stood and was just getting ready to leave his office when he cleared his throat again. I believed he had a sinus or nervous condition of sorts, but maybe he didn't. Who knew? Whatever. We all had s**t to deal with. Respectively, I drew my attention to him and asked, “Yes, Mr. Teeson?”

“Sit, Benry. I need to talk about something else with you.”

I sat like a good little puppy. In doing so, a few things crossed between my temples that he was maybe going to cover. Teeson was going to talk about cutbacks at the paper, fire me, give me a raise, add a week’s vacation to my contract, or take a week’s vacation away from me, compliment me on my work again, or transfer me to our Cleveland branch (the Cleveland Speaker) to run its leisure or arts department. Honestly, I hadn’t the slightest idea what the father of three was going to tell me, and said, “What can I help you with?”

Again, he cleared his throat, sat back in his leather swivel chair, sniffled, and said, “May I be frank?”

“You always are, sir.”

“Yes, I am. And you’re quite ballsy to say so.”

“Just being honest, sir.”

“Noted,” he responded, and provided a vintage sneer that said: Careful now, young man. Following his sneer, he said, “You’re out and proud, correct?”

I was. All the way. My closet door to my gayhood was forever flung open at sixteen. I was born gay, lived gay, and planned to die gay.

“Yes, sir.”

Next, he pulled an eight-by-ten glossy picture out of his desk, placed it between us, and asked, “Can you tell me if you think this young man is attractive?”

The headshot of the young man in the glossy photograph was attractive. He had emerald-colored eyes, a gingerhead buzz cut, thin build, trimmed goatee, and a tiny comma-shaped scar next to his right temple. “He’s cute and can pass as a model.”

“He’s my nephew. His name is Gage. Single and closeted and, how do I put this without coming across as being sexist?” he said, debating his next few words with a questioning look on his face which consisted of one raised eyebrow and a smirk of confusion.

“He needs a new friend,” I interjected.

He smacked his hand against his desk and said, “Yes! Exactly! You’re verbiage is perfect.”

“And you want me to hook Gage up with someone I know, right? A perfect companion. A manly type of friend, right?"

My boss supplied me with a broad grin of enthusiasm that said: You’re making this very easy on me, Benry. Get back to me in a week.

“I’ll arrange it,” I said. “Give me a few days.”

He passed me the twenty-year-old’s photograph, Gage’s cell phone number, e-mail, f*******: page details, and other personal information. I was then patted on my back and told, “Don’t let me down, Benry. This is an important matter to me, and for my nephew. Gage is very special to me and I want the best for him.”

“On it, sir,” I said, escaped his office, and went in search of a male hook-up for Gage Teeson, my boss’s nephew, knowing that if I failed, I was out of a career, articles to write for cash, and my integrity.