The Marital Corporation

Synopsis: Peter, Gordon and Kenny have successfully delivered "Love Boat II" from San Francisco to Seattle. During the trip, Gordon confessed his bisexual interest in Peter. Meanwhile, at home, Marge reported that she had taken Doc as a lover.

Chapter Eleven

As he had promised, Doc Porter had moved into the Baylis house to protect it while Peter was away. Marge, however, had not moved out. She explained that she had been too concerned for the old man's safety.

The telephone had rung repeatedly at all hours, even as late as two in the morning, but when Marge or Doc answered, no one was there, even though the line was open. Hate mail began to arrive, addressed to Godless Fag Lovers and Antichrist Bastards.

Four days before Peter and his crew made landfall on Tatoosh Island, Doc had discovered a swastika painted on the sidewalk in front of the house. That night, the phone calls kept Doc and Marge awake until 2:30.

"My nerves were shot," she said. "I was almost hysterical, and Doc made me drink a hot toddy, and cuddled me here on the couch where he had been sleeping. I was afraid to go to bed alone, so he came upstairs to tuck me in, and I made him stay.

"He turned out the lights except the one in the bathroom. When he crawled into bed with me, he felt like a great warm woolly Teddy bear. He held me for a long time, then softly began stroking my arms and shoulders. `Roll over,' he whispered, `I know what you need to relax.'

"He did, too. He gave me the most delicious massage, backrub, or whatever you want to call it, a girl could ask for. He literally soothed me to sleep.

"We received more awful mail the next day. I had to get out of the house, so that evening, after supper, I went shopping; I was gone only an hour or so, but when I got back, it was dark. A police car was parked in front of the house. I was almost afraid to go into because I was scared something bad had happened to Doc.

"I almost cried when I saw that dear old man standing in the living room talking to two police officers. He shook his head when he saw me come through the door. `Someone tossed a beer bottle through the kitchen window while I was watching the news,' he said. `A note was inside. I don't think you want to see it.'

"You know me. Telling me I don't want to do something is the surest way of getting me to do it. I made the policeman who put the note into a glassine envelope show it to me."

"What did it say?" Peter asked, when she paused.

Marge avoided eye contact. "I'm not sure I ought to tell you," she said.

"What?"

"It won't do any good, and it'll only worry you."

"What did it say?" Peter's tone hardened.

She sighed. "It said, `the next bottle will be full of gas'!" she said, adding, "that's a fire bomb! That's why Doc called the police."

"My God!" Peter exclaimed. "Well, one thing's clear enough, now! I've got to get out while I can."

"Like hell, you do!"

Apart from erotic pillow talk, Marge didn't often swear, but when she did, Peter knew it was important to pay attention. "Look," he said, "be reasonable. There's no telling what they might do, but I don't think we should assume this was an idle threat! Whoever's behind this is serious!"

Marge nodded. "The policeman thought so, too," she admitted. "He told me to be very careful and not to open the door to strangers, but that doesn't mean that you should turn tail and run!"

"There's got to be more that we can do, Peter said. Maybe I should give Doc a call."

"Maybe you should," Marge said softly, "but not before you decide whether you're going to stand up to those people! Frankly, I don't see how you can walk away from this now; not after all they've put me through."

Peter was instantly contrite and secretly ashamed of what he considered his cowardice. "OK," he said grimly, "if you're willing to take your chances, I guess I am, too! But I still think I ought to call Doc."

"Before you do that, lover, maybe you'd better hear about the rest of my experiences with the old man."

Peter smiled for the first time since walking in the door. "Will it make me horny?"

He was relieved to see her laugh. "I don't know about that," she said, "but it makes me horny, just thinking about it."

"You mean after all we did for you this afternoon, you're still horny? You're really depraved, woman!"

Peter was glad to hear her laugh again. She gave Peter her sideways 'I've been a naughty girl' look, and said, "It was the most natural thing in the world for him to tuck me in again after that awful scare. I really wanted to cuddle with him, that night."

She paused, and looked at Peter strangely. "But you know, I'm still not sure whether we had sex."

"How can you not be sure about a thing like that?"

"Well, it started off like the night before. He was cuddling me against his furry body, stroking my arms and shoulders, and I began to tingle a little; you know what I mean. Suddenly, he said, `Are you sure you want to do this?'"

"I don't understand," Peter said. "Do what?"

"I guess I forgot to mention that part," she said. "I was curious whether a man his age could still get it up, so I guess I was sort of playing with him."

"And?"

"He sure could! But that wasn't the best part. He had taken his teeth out, and when he began chewing on my nipples with his bare gums, I damn near came right then. Then he nibbled and licked his way down my body, and the insides of my legs and thighs from my feet up to my crotch. Honey, I'll swear you haven't lived until a toothless old man goes down on you! He damn near turned me inside out. It felt like my insides had turned to jelly and were about to run out on the floor!"

"Did you fuck him?"

"I suppose so, but I honestly can't remember. It didn't matter. I finally fell asleep, and slept until noon. The next morning, I was a new person. I don't know when I've felt more refreshed, more revitalized."

Peter sighed and shook his head. He had cautioned Marge against becoming involved with people in his campaign. "It's one thing to be kind and understanding with our senior citizens," Peter said, "but this is ridiculous. Is possible that you could put this wonderful new affair on ice for a while? It could cost me the election if Sam found out about it."

Marge gave Peter another of her cute little girl looks, but said nothing.

In the morning, he discovered a small wooden cross planted in their lawn when he went out to get the paper. He filed another complaint with the police, and the investigating officer took photographs of the offending object from every angle before removing it. "Mr. Baylis," the young officer said. "Don't you have any idea who might be behind this harassment?"

Peter shook his head, and told the policeman about the bottle incident a few days earlier and the telephone calls that Marge and Doc had endured.

The officer looked grave. "I know I must seem young to you, sir," he said, "but I've been assigned to the hate crimes division for six months, and I've seen some terrible things. Mostly in neighborhoods like Cherry Hill and Rainier Valley, but in some of the better neighborhoods, too. Some of the nut cases that go in for this sort of thing are very dangerous. If I were you, I'd be careful about keeping the window shades drawn at night, and the car locked in the garage. You just can't tell."

Peter accepted the officer's card and thanked him for his advice. He promised to call if the harassment continued, or if there were new developments. Peter wondered, as he watched the young officer walk to his patrol car, how often the police had been summoned to this neighborhood before he entered politics. He was willing to guess not often.

After the patrol car rolled out of sight, Peter called Doc. They exchanged greetings and Peter thanked him for looking after Marge while he was away.

A low, throaty chuckle ended a brief, possibly embarrassed silence. "I was amply compensated. Did she tell you?"

"She usually does," Peter replied.

"I don't know how you really feel about some things, Pete, although you're promoting a very broadminded agenda," the old man said slowly, "but she had serious needs. Those were frightening days."

"Look, Doc, it's not so much that I'm broadminded as it is that both of us recognize that the other person is also human, with personal needs and preferences that no single partner could possibly meet. What the two of you may decide to do in the future is neither my business nor my concern. Only please don't do it in public. It would only confirm to the electorate that I'm a person of dubious moral character, and it might frighten the horses."

Hearing that, Marge made a face at Peter, but Doc laughed again. "I'm not sure there will be a next time, my boy; I'm not a young man, you know; she'd be more than a match for a dozen old men like me."

Peter changed the subject, and asked Doc if he could join them for dinner the following evening. "I'm thinking about inviting my boat partner, too," he said. "I don't think you've met Gordon, have you?"

"No, I don't think so."

Peter gave him a quick version of Gordon's career and described Gordon's family. "I think he might have some useful ideas," he said.

Doc agreed. "By all means," he said, "the more the merrier."

Gordon hadn't returned home when Peter called, so he spoke briefly with Anne. She promised to have Gordon call as soon as possible. "On a different subject, Anne," Peter added, "are you still pissed at me or do you think we might have lunch tomorrow?"

"I'd like that, Pete. We're long overdue . . . Same time, same place?"

"I'm looking forward to it," he said.

Marge overheard Peter's end of the conversation, and said, "Jesus, aren't you getting enough at home?"

Peter grinned at her. "I got to keep peace in the family, babe. She asked me to call before we went to Sausalito to get the boat, and I never got around to it. Things are sort of at the delicate stage, just now, since I'm between engagements as they say. I don't want her to get any madder at me than necessary."

"I suppose you're right, Pete," Marge replied. She gave him her naughty girl look again, and added, "I'll try to find some way of keeping myself busy."

Peter smiled inwardly at that, thinking it was a good thing Kenny was young and in robust health.

Rossalino's restaurant was not convenient to Peter's new office, and he had trouble hailing a cab the next day. Nevertheless, he was only a few minutes late. Anne was already at a back table, waiting for him.

She wore a head band, very light makeup and a bright summery frock that made her look even more like a school girl. Her eyes, however, were solemn and far older than her appearance.

Peter ordered a martini for himself and a Shirley Temple for her. She reached across the table for his hands while they waited for their drinks. "Pete, I wish you would drop this foolish idea about helping queers get married. Look at the trouble it's already caused. Believe me, dear, people don't like it when you drag their faith through the mud."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" he asked, "mocking someone's religious convictions?"

She nodded. "I do think so. I know it ridicules everything I stand for and believe in," she said earnestly. "And it's bound to hurt you on election day." She paused, then added, "Look, Pete, I don't want to see you get hurt more than you already have been, and I'm really afraid that's what will happen."

Peter thanked her, saying ruefully, "I don't think you have that much to worry about; nobody seriously believes my family corporation idea will get anywhere, whether I'm elected or not."

She clutched his hands even more tightly, and shook them slightly for emphasis in the cadence of her speech. "That's exactly my point." she said. "You're stirring up a hornet's nest for no purpose other than the doubtful advantage of getting half a dozen queers to vote for you."

This was not going well. Peter realized almost too late that she was becoming angry. "Look," he said, "let's not spoil our lunch. I love you and I want to be with you as much as I can. Can't you accept that?"

She smiled for the first time since they had begun their discussion. "OK," she said, "I have other things to talk about, but they can wait until later."

After two passionate hours of delicious sex on the tired sheets of Seattle's shabby old Ambassador Hotel, Peter stood and looked at Anne, who was sitting up, smoking her after sex cigarette, her thick, auburn hair framing soft little brown-tipped breasts still moist with the heat of her passion. She modestly pulled the wrinkled sheet over her lap and said quietly, "Gordon and I are separating." As she spoke, her eyes were fixed on the stained window shade across the room.

Peter had started toward the shower, but he stopped. Perhaps selfishly, he thought immediately of his complicated partnership arrangement concerning Love Boat II. "Jesus! What happened?"

"Nothing. That's the strange part. We were watching TV after dinner. The kids were off doing their thing. During a commercial, Gordon turned to me and said, `Anne, I want out of our marriage. I couldn't ask for a better wife and mother for my children; but I think it's time for me to get on with the rest of my life. I don't know whether to get an apartment or move aboard Love Boat.'"

A vision of his two shipmates embracing and exchanging a loving kiss in celebration of their landfall sprang into Peter's mind. "Just like that?" Peter asked suspiciously.

Anne nodded, her perfect oval face was devoid of emotion, but as she turned to look at Peter, her glittering pale blue eyes held his like a magnet. "Yes," she said, "I never expected it, although I suppose I should have, after those crazy ideas you've put into his head! He also said he recognized his responsibilities and would be generous in our settlement. He went to great lengths to assure me that things would go much as we had planned; the kids in college, and I could continue doing all the things I wanted to do."

"What else did he say? Does it have to do with us?" Peter demanded. He took a deep breath. "Remember, Marge and I went through something like this a couple of years ago, and we almost called it quits, too. Luckily, we found a counselor who helped us get back on track. I could give you her name . . ."

Anne shook her head. "Well, ever since you got him involved with that gay crowd in Portage Bay, he has been acting funny."

"He hasn't been involved in anything. Has he left?"

"Not yet."

"Well, maybe it was just a spur of the moment fancy that will pass. Do you seriously think something about the Capitol Hill crowd has influenced him?"

"Yes." She spat the word out. Her lips suddenly were very thin.

"Maybe that's the answer." Peter said, more to himself than to her. He stared unseeingly at the thin beige carpet beneath his bare feet, and unconsciously began moving slowly toward the bathroom.

Anne frowned. "I don't understand."

Peter paused, lost in thought. Then he slowly said, "Let me think about this for a while."

Anne glared at Peter, her pale blue eyes sparkling with hurt and anger. "You know how I feel about men kissing and all the other perverted things they do. I'm not surprised God gave queers AIDs!"

Peter sighed and closed his eyes. It was always distressing to discover blemishes in a loved one. He had known she was homophobic, but he wished he hadn't heard her repeat the conservative mantra about AIDs. Fleetingly, he wondered what she would say if she knew about Gordon's tentative sexual overture to him a month earlier, or his apparent relationship with Kenny.

"Do you think Gordon is gay or is only curious about the possibility that he's a bisexual?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Jesus Christ, woman!" Peter exclaimed, "this is the 20th century. Of course, there's a difference!" He paused and took another deep breath. It was obvious they weren't going to settle this while he was standing naked in the middle of the room. "I have to pee," he said.

Minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom after a stinging hot shower, scrubbing his torso and thinning gray hair with a worn hotel towel.

Anne was dressed and had combed the long hair that set her face off so dramatically. She leaned over the dresser, peering short-sightedly into the mirror as she carefully applied fresh lipstick.

"Do you think I'm gay?" Peter asked, as he balanced on one leg while thrusting the other into his trousers.

"Don't be silly."

He wasn't sure what she could see at that range, but he knew she was watching him in the mirror over the scarred bureau. "Well, I enjoy getting it off with a guy once in a while," Peter said slowly. Hoping she would think he was only half serious, he added, "I think Gordon is good looking. Maybe the three of us could have some fun one day."

She shot a venomous look toward him in the mirror. "You make me want to vomit," she said in open disgust. "Besides, what about Marge? Does she know about your perverted ideas?"

Peter smiled grimly as he returned her stare. "Didn't you make it with her?"

Anne flushed at the thought of the times she had spend with Marge. Her jaw firmed. She stared at him for a long moment. "That was different."

"Why?"

"Because women are different," she said stubbornly. "It's natural for women to hold each other, and to kiss and cuddle. That's why."

"And it's unnatural for men to care for each other and to do the same?"

"A man sucking another man's penis is a sin and an abomination against nature," she said firmly. "That's all there is to it!"

Peter finished knotting his tie. He shrugged and held out his arms. He knew there was no point debating the issue further. Anne went to him and tightly wrapped her arms around his neck. "Let's not quarrel, lover," she murmured into his mouth.

He felt her warm breath against his lips. Forgetting her painstaking efforts with lipstick moments earlier, she impulsively mashed her wet open mouth against his, capturing his lower lip between her teeth. A familiar tiny spark of electricity tingled in his scrotum when the moist tip of her tongue touched his lip. "Do that again, and we'll have an encore," he warned with mock solemnity.

Anne had other things in mind. She took a deep breath. "Frankly darling, I know you won't want to hear this, but you should know that I hold you at least partly responsible for Gordon's behavior last night." Her voice hardened. "Please tell me you'll give up this political nonsense."

She rubbed her thinly covered breasts against his shirt front. "What do I have to do to get you to forget those crazy ideas of yours?" she whispered. "I thought at first they were sort of cute; juvenile, maybe, but cute. Now, I'm beginning to think they're dangerous because people like Gordon are taking them seriously." She took a step backward and looked directly into Peter's face. Her expression was solemn.

Peter shrugged and held out his hands. "I don't see how I can. I don't think I have a choice any more."

Anne's eyes paled, reflecting light from the window. "Of course you have," she snapped. "We all have choices. Stupid people can't always see them, but you're not stupid. I hate to say this, but when a man as smart as you claims not to see alternatives on something like this, it can mean only one of two things."

Like an idiot, Peter had to ask. "And those are?"

The muscles in her face worked. She was becoming very angry. "It's either cowardice . . . or you really are a soft-headed liberal! In either case, I think it might be best if we didn't see each other for a while, at least not until you get your head straight!" She pressed her body against him again as if to remind him what he might miss, and renewed her grip around his neck. "I'm sorry about this, Pete; I'm going to miss you," she whispered, still rubbing her body against his. "Believe it or not, I really do care for you. Please, for our sake, find a way out of this mess. When you do, give me a call."