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 had an 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 down 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. There's no particular reason for not seeing my family, no legitimate excuse for not socializing. A few weeks ago, John Flynn, 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, I believe.
"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, Christian, next to Elliot, so you two can catch up. I want to 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, Dad winks conspiratorially. He speaks with paternal authority.
"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. Mia says she can get released a couple of weeks early from her apprenticeship to be home from Paris. She's arriving late Wednesday night and is hoping to spend the night at Escala, so she can surprise your mother on Thursday. Will that work for you, Christian?"
I'm uncomfortable being in anyone's company for very long, even my family's, and I bristle at my dad's weekend plan.
"Mia is always welcome to spend the night, but how long a weekend are we talking about?"
"I thought we could leave Thursday afternoon and return on 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 also to 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.
Elliot, the loving son and social butterfly manwhore, jumps right in.
"I'll do whatever it takes to make this work. And Mia…well, Mom will flip her shit at that surprise. Chrissy, we can take your jet, right?"
I can't think of how to get out of this trip, but I don't want to commit to it.
"Of course, you can take the jet. I must go over 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 jet."
I pull out my phone and send a quick e-mail to Andrea about the jet.
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. I haven't seen Grandmother and Grandfather Trevelyan in several weeks.
Actually, the last time I saw my grandparents was the weekend after I terminated my contract with Susannah, and 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 the comings and goings of my contracted submissives.
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. Dad and Elliot are unusually quiet today. Mother is in a maudlin mood, something altogether uncharacteristic for her, and I think this has dampened 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 would 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 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.
"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, Elliot?"
"Yes, Mom, I've heard you." Elliot can't look Mother in the eye.
It's quiet for a few beats, and my mind wanders. 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 youth. 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. Marriage and children aren't for everyone, and maybe those things aren't right for you. But, darling boy, 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 and 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, or bisexual. We only want your happiness. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"
Yep, they still believe I'm gay, and I suppose that's natural, due to the fact I've never dated or brought girls around. I do like keeping my secrets.
"Yes, Mother."
She looks as if she might cry. I have no idea what 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 to me for a bump, and I join him.
Mother seems satisfied enough, because she gets out of her chair, titters, and places 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.
"You know, 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, who is always in control of his feelings, 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? It's quite worrisome.
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 good 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. I think 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, Chrissy?"
"Yes, of course."
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?"
"I do have some work, but seeing as how it's a sunny day, I guess time on the water wouldn't hurt. I'll call Mac and he can get her ready. We can take her out for a bit. Follow me, and try to keep up in that monstrosity you drive."
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 get on 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 each of us.
Mac casts off, while Elliot mans the wheel. When we get out into 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 both of us 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 do something I know how to do. I call over Dante, the bartender, and I 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 from what you have."
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.
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 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.
"Somehow I think the bar scene has led to a pattern of behavior…a pattern I need to break. What do you think, Chrissy? 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 Mom 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, bro. Got any you think I might be interested in? Maybe I need to do a walk through of all twenty floors."
"Damn it, El, 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 want 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, Grey?"
"Fine. I need to let you know 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 their proposition, which included no personal responsibility of any kind. Ros understands me well enough to know that I have no interest in parenting.
Ros and Gwen's doctors put me through a physical exam, blood work, and a 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 results of the semen analysis and test thaw are now available. The semen analysis measures general fertility and the test thaw ascertains the percentage of sperm which die in the freezing process. Ros and Gwen want to freeze enough samples for several children.
"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. Normally, fifty to eighty percent of sperm die in the freezing process, but only thirty-nine percent of yours died. 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. My 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.
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?
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 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.
Have my siblings and I disappointed our parents? Certainly I have, especially with dropping out of Harvard. Dad blew a gasket over that. Even becoming a billionaire eleven times over has not diminished Dad's fury over Harvard. Our relationship has been fractious ever since. I don't think Dad will ever be proud of me, and that saddens me, because deep down I want to please him.
If my parents understood the reality behind my lack of public female companionship, they'd be even more disappointed in me.
For six years, beginning from the age of fifteen, I was a submissive, and Mother's friend, Elena Lincoln, was my Domme. Our sexual relationship ended when I turned 21. Elena's husband, John, came home early from a business trip and found a naked Elena flogging a very naked me in their basement. The result was John immediately filing for divorce.
I felt my relationship with Elena had already run its course, and I wanted to transition to the role of Dominant. Despite her initial reluctance, Elena assisted me with my transition, training me and matching me with experienced partners. Since the age of twenty-one I have enjoyed a parade of pale, slim, brunette submissives.
No, my parents would never be able to understand and accept my sexual activities. To say they would be disappointed is a gross understatement. If Mother is disappointed in Elliot's womanizing ways, she would completely lose her shit over my collection of whips and manacles. In comparison to my issues, Elliot's seem almost inconsequential.
Until brunch this morning, I had never considered that my parents would be the least bit disappointed in anything Elliot could do.
After graduating from UCLA, Elliot built up his own construction company. With my investment and Elliot's brilliant management, Grey Construction shows great growth each year. Elliot continues to secure large projects throughout the Pacific Northwest. His personal net worth is tens of millions of dollars, and in no time, I'm sure he will surpass the hundred million mark.
We're all very proud of Elliot. He's an affectionate extrovert, and has a large circle of friends. Elliot is easy to love.
If Elliot is easy to love, Mia is even easier. My baby sister has an innate sweetness that brings out the protective side of me.
Mia joined our family as a six-month old infant. From the very first, she has brought nothing but joy. I was mute for the first two years of my life as a Grey, but the strong connection I felt for Mia prompted me to begin speaking again. My first word as a Grey was Mia's name.
She had academic difficulties in school, and college didn't seem a viable option for her. A lack of education has limited her career possibilities, but she seems to have found her niche with cooking.
Mia is tall and lovely, with raven locks and olive skin. She possesses an impeccable sense of style, turning heads wherever she goes. My baby sister draws others to her with her warm, outgoing personality. Like Elliot, she has many friends.
I wish I could be normal like my siblings.
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.