The Promised Land, Book TwoPart EightQ embraced the boys as they got off the plane. "You're so tall!" "We're gonna be tall just like you, Diddy!" "Oh, my!" "Hey, Jean-Luc, guess what?" "What now, Quark?" That asshole should know better than to bother him in Tennessee, but ever since the Oscars Quark had telephoned the Tennessee house almost daily. What the hell did he want? "Remember Big Daddy Kyle Riker? Guess what? He's dead. Gone home to Jesus. Car wreck." Will had often mentioned how Big Daddy liked those big stupid Pontiac Transams. Television cars. "One-man one-car wreck. Middle of the night. In Florence, Alabama, or someplace like that. Nobody knows how it happened. The local Johnny Laws said it looked like a bomb had gone off." "Well, that is interesting," Jean-Luc admitted. "It IS interesting, isn't it?" Little Tommy said, and then switched topics: "The record company wants to know if you'll sign the papers on the royalties split on Q's songs. I say don't do it, but do what you like. What do I know about making deals? Oh, is Melinda around? Tell her Quark says hi." De-Anne smiled at the little bowl before her. "Let's see: it's got lemon Jello, pecans, grated carrots, and it's topped with . . . ?" "Miracle Whip," Beverly shyly whispered. "And two whole pecans. Those bagged pecans ain't too good. Not like what comes off our trees. Our have more fat in them." "Oh, my," De-Anne said when she tasted it. "This is so good. I love gelatin salads. What's this called?" "Well," Beverly shrugged, "Momma always called it Waldo Salad. But I don't really know." "What's your mother like?" Beverly's face softened. "She's a real old-fashioned Momma. She cooks and cleans for her man. She's the real thing allright." De-Anne had the sweetest saddest smile. "We have opposite mommas. Mine is living on a houseboat in Florida somewhere with her fourth husband." "That's okay. My momma's had three husbands too." "Men and women," De-Anne smiled. "Men and women," Beverly smiled back and shook her head. Q was playing with Will and Patsy on the big sofa. "Tell Daddy he's a number two," Q whispered in her little ear. Patsy shrieked with laughter. "Numbra two! Numbra two!" she laughed and laughed. "Bad Q!" Will said and laughed too. "Saying bad words! You better behave or I'll spank your tail, Q!" Patsy laughed harder. "Tell that mean big Daddy to knock it off!" Q whispered again. "Mean Big Daddy! Mean Big Daddy!" Will was quiet. Q looked at him; then he realized what he'd said. "Will . . . " Will rolled those big blue eyes at Q. Patsy was lolling against him, still laughing and squealing. "I'm sorry, Will." "Say it again." "What?" "Call me ‘Big Daddy.'" "Patsy, shhhh. Is that your . . . Big Daddy?" "Hims Big Daddy!" Q patted her. "He looks like a Big Daddy, doesn't he?" Q and Will nodded at each other. "This child needs a bath," Will said and smiled; he leaned over and kissed Q lightly. "You go put your younguns to bed and I'll handle mine." The bath was a ritual. First Will had to get the big yellow and white thermometer and make sure the water coming out of the tap was 107 degrees exactly. Then he added the bubble bath and Patsy's bath toys. Then he put one of her Floyd bath towels in the towel-warmer and dropped her little Floyd sponge in the water. Then he got the special soap she liked (it was clear glycerine so she could see the little Floyd toy inside it.) He got out a clean bath mat so she wouldn't slip on the floor when she got out of the tub, and then he took his shoes off so he wouldn't get the bath mat dirty. Then he took off all her little clothes and left them on the floor. He would put them in the hamper later, when she was asleep. He lifted her into the tub and let her wash her Floyd bath toy with her special Floyd sponge while he washed every part of her precious little almond-skinned body. The only time he let her stand up was when he had to wash her butt and the backs of her sturdy little legs. Patsy knew that standing in the tub frightened her daddy Will, so she tried to do it every time. Will cleverly circumvented his willful child with songs, stories and water puppets, and finally got her bathed with a minimum of fuss. Then the warm cotton towel, gently on her skin, then a little pure cotton nightgown with lace on the collar and piping around the sleeves. (Everyone but Will saw these clothes as the joke they really were. Patsy was about as demure as a firetruck; a little well-fed, over-vitamined dynamo of a girl who ran around until she dropped from exhaustion. And yet Will determinedly dressed her out of the flower-girl-princess section of his favorite children's boutiques, airily not hearing Q and Upenda's suggestions that Oshkosh wasn't a bad line, very sturdy.) "Let Big Daddy put you to sleep, Patsy," he said softly. "No," she said, but it was hollow. She was already half locked in the channel of sleep. He put her in her little canopy bed. "We'll pray now. God bless everybody. Amen." "Naymen." "Want me to sing?" "Sing." And he sang very softly, a song he had learned in school, when he'd been in school, "Glory glory hallelujah when I lay my burden down. All my troubles will be over when I lay my burden down. All my troubles will be over when I lay my burden down." He looked at her. He eyes were big and glazed and she was clutching that eighty-dollar plush Floyd tightly. "Glory glory hallelujah since I laid my burden down. Glory glory hallelujah since I laid my burden down." He was quiet then. Patsy was very still; her eyes were still half open, but he knew she was gone for the night. "Big Daddy's going to go read now in the next room with the nice big light on, and, if you need him, Big Daddy will always come running, and tomorrow when you wake up, Big Daddy will be there. Big Daddy loves you." "Now this one's got canned black cherries in it and it's black cherry Jello too and some canned mandarin orange slices and . . ." "Miracle Whip!" De-Anne laughed. The days and nights began to be spent all the same way. Beverly stayed upstairs cooking and cleaning while De-Anne did hair and nails and sold antiques. At night they climbed into the pristine sheets and talked. Always about the Boys or things related to the Boys. Beverly turned to De-Anne in the bed. "Can I ask you what really happened with you and that Worf? The supermarket papers made it sound pretty bad." De-Anne hesitated; then the words came out in a soft rush, "It was. I messed around on my husband with a man named Tom Decker. And he caught us and tore Tom Decker limb from limb. Right before my eyes." Her voice was flat. She sighed. "I didn't have any real reason to mess around with Tom except he was such a smooth talker, and Worf never talked. I wanted him to, but he never did." "That's too bad," Beverly commiserated. "Q talked plenty, but we never really hit it off. I mean it was okay and all, but it was never . . ." "Great?" De-Anne finished for her. "Yeah," Beverly sighed. Sometimes it had been great with Buddy, but she couldn't think of that without guilt and confusion. "What?" De-Anne asked. There was something in Beverly's voice. . . "Nothing." Beverly sounded terse. De-Anne decided to change the subject. "Well, I guess they're both happy now. The papers say they all have orgies together." "I don't believe that at all," Beverly said demurely. "Oh, I do. I wish I was there." De-Anne lowered her voice. "I think it's kinda of sexy." "No!" Beverly was scandalized, but then she thought for a minute. It was kind of sexy. "Now this here's a health food Jello salad." De-Anne gave a sweet ironic smile. It was lime Jello with grated carrots. "You're the Jello queen, girl." Beverly laughed. De-Anne did not laugh, but her smile grew broader. "Someday I ought to tell you about Tom Decker and Jello." Beverly began to learn a lot about what Tom Decker and Worf liked. Tom liked for De-Anne to lay on her stomach on a bed pillow and hike up her slip so her bare bottom was stuck in the air. This vision made Beverly's heart pound. Geordi looked up; he could tell Data was padding into the kitchen. But what was that strange new smell? Then Patsy screamed. With pleasure. "Geordi, we have a kitten now!" Patsy, Q's sons, all the children gathered around the little orange kitten cooing, stroking, petting it, Data down there with them; all the grownups rolled their eyes. "She's hungry!" said Roger as the kitten licked the butter off his toast. "I'm sure we can find a good home for her," said Chris. A number of horrified eyes turned to her. "I think we already have," said Q in a resigned way. Every time Jean-Luc came home something else was different. It was almost a game, looking out for whatever goofy decoration Q had put up in his absence. Last time it had been vases. Then it was plants. Now it was all animals and children. Jean-Luc hated Q's ruffian sons. Among other things, they took Q's attention away from Jean-Luc. Fortunately, Will and Data had taken all the kids to the mall to buy more cat toys, and Jean-Luc could just be with Q. Now Q was dragging him to the kitchen and cutting him a piece of coconut cake. "You're pretty comfortable with Will hanging out with those little boys." "He's gotten over it," Q sounded relieved. "And not just because he knew we were all watching. It was like he really didn't want to. We ought to be happy for him. I've always been afraid Worf would kill him one day." "Me, too," Jean-Luc admitted. "This is good cake." He stopped eating for a minute. "Listen, Q, don't get any more plastic surgery." Q was blushing, appalled. "I only wanted to look good for you." "You get one of those face lifts and it'll pull your mouth back. Don't do it." Jean-Luc loved Q's wide dreaming pussy of a mouth. "But I'm old-looking!" "Q, stop this. I like you the way you are." Q's heart bloomed. The kitchen door opened and all the children ran in, Will and Data behind them. They were all carrying huge bags from the dollar store. Q's sons ignored Jean-Luc and Jean-Luc ignored them, but Patsy stopped right in front of him. And stared at him. "Remember me? I'm . . . Uncle Johnny. Who are you?" She looked down. "I bet I know. I bet you're Daddy's little darling." He lifted his brows at Will. And was shocked to see Will's eyes narrow at him and feel the temperature in the room fall. "Come on, Patsy, let's show Ginger his new stuff!" Roger shouted, and the children ran out of the room. There was a silence. Everything had really changed. The rest of that day Jean-Luc kept a careful eye on Will. He noticed that he was the only one to do so. Will was especially good with Patsy, but, after he'd called her in from outside and bathed her and tucked her in and came back downstairs to report to Worf that she was down for the night, he simply shed his role as mommy and became someone else entirely. He joined the other Boys around the pool with Chris and Upenda, and they had casual, late evening conversation like normal adults while Q's boys splashed around. Jean-Luc watched silently as Will got up and took Worf's empty glass. "Anybody else?" Will asked. Q stood up. "Boys, bedtime now." They obeyed him instantly. Will brought Worf's glass back and Worf put the glass to his lips. It was as if he were kissing Will through the glass. Will was an entirely new person. For a moment Jean-Luc felt enraged. No one had bothered to tell him Will was different. He was smooth, he was self-assured. He was calmly competent. Will had turned into a lady. Suddenly Jean-Luc was achingly erect. He hadn't made love to many ladies in his day. One time with a judge's wife, twice with the wife of his commanding officer. A weekend with another colonel's lady. And now here was Will; almost as classy, not quite as untouchable, alluring and mysterious in his progression towards something approaching dignity. How had she done it? Made that transition from just a piece of pussy to momma to lady. "Worf, is there any chance you'll take Q tonight?" He let his eyes roam over Will's body. "I'm curious about this class act of yours. Don't worry, Q. You'll get yours, I promise." Worf looked at Will. Will blushed and nodded agreeably. That night Jean-Luc almost didn't know where to begin. He had her lie on the bed beside him and stroked her strong breasts, kissing the side of her sober and serene face. "You are a beautiful lady," he said in his velvet voice. "You were made for love." "Thank you, Jean-Luc," Will smiled his lovely smile. Then she leaned over and kissed him softly. Then again, and again, a woman's full-blooded wet kisses. "Let me get you ready," Jean-Luc said. He used his hand to make sure he wouldn't hurt the great sanctity of Will's new found dignity. Then he leaned down to lap at her pussy. She was so sweet down there. Will groaned softly; Jean-Luc was good with caresses. She opened her eyes – Jean-Luc was watching her with that keen studying look he had; his hand was still stroking her down there. "That feels so good." "You feel good." He moved between Will's full legs. "May I?" "Please!" Oh, she was sweet, big as a barn, wet as rain, with those huge thighs enwrapping him. Jean-Luc was safe as he could be fucking this big sweet lunging cunt. And it was relaxing as well as exciting. You could trust ladies. They had as much to lose as you did, and they liked to come just as hard. Will was making little gasping noises in her throat, saying "oh" over and over again. And Jean-Luc had Will's legs draped over his arms and he was driving into her and he saw her sweet little lady-like dick began to come and come and he held out a little longer and then he came too. And fell to her moist breast, breathing hard, hearing her sound heart beat against him. "Thank you," Will said. "Oh, thank you," Jean-Luc said. He smelled Will's sweet perfume, stroked the softness of Will's hair. Then he kissed Will's cheek. "Get cleaned up and I'll take you back to your man." "Celery stalks and pimento cheese!" De-Anne squealed. "I love pimento cheese!" She bit heartily into one of the stalks of celery. "Did you put Miracle Whip in this too?" "No," said the scandalized Beverly. "I just did what I always do, used a little brown sugar and some mayonnaise." She pronounced the last word in the real hillbilly way: May Nayse. De-Anne sighed. Her perfectly manicured nails tapped the celery stalk. "There's something I'm dying to know, Beverly." "Oh, what is it?" De-Anne sighed. "Well . . . is it true what everybody says about Q's thing? I mean, I know Worf's thing was the biggest one I ever saw. But I heard Q's was bigger." Beverly swallowed. "We ought not to talk of such." "And why not?" "Roger's skeered of slugs! Roger's skeered of slugs!" His older brothers loved brutalizing him. Worf was taken aback at their baby ferocity. He decided to intercede. "Roger, I myself am . . . uncomfortable . . . with slugs." Roger loved Worf. Actually, all of Q's sons loved Worf. Q wasn't jealous; he was glad they knew someone as manly and yet as saintly as Worf. When Melinda had time to spend in Tennessee, Jean-Luc always met her there. They ate well, swam naked in their pool, made love constantly. "This is too comfortable. I'm too comfortable." "What do you need an edge for?" Melinda said, and then she laughed at his flabbergasted expression. Q would have been slapped around for his impertinence, but there was no question of ever slapping Melinda. He thought about what she had said and a light slowly dawned. He had truly hit the jackpot. He had more money than he would ever need, a beautiful wife, a successful career and a lovely home. Why was he holding on to his edge? Beverly loved to run her hands over De-Anne's pretty things, gently wiping them with a soft rag, pretending they were hers. De-Anne's apartment, which had been neat if not spotless, began to sparkle and shine. Beverly walked Cocoa, feeling glamorous with the pampered little dog on a leash in front of her. Like she was in Hollywood or something. One day De-Anne called up the stairs and asked Beverly to come down a minute. "I'm in the middle of a perm and this lady wants to see that quilt that's in the window. Would you get it out and show it to her?" Beverly had no idea what to do. If she'd known what De-Anne wanted, she wouldn't have come down at all. She didn't want De-Anne to be mad at her, and she wanted to apologize and explain how she'd never done any such thing before in her life and should therefore be expected to mess it up, but the lady was tapping an imperious foot and there wasn't time for any of that. So Beverly simply ran to the window and took the quilt out, diffidently handing it over for inspection. "Can you tell me a little about its history?" Beverly shook her head. She stood frozen as the lady looked around De-Anne's little shop. Every once in a while the woman would wander towards the quilt again, and finally she got her wallet out of her purse. "Oh, I want it so much I don't care! Here, I'll take it." Beverly was so excited she almost couldn't wrap it up. The lady bought it! Beverly had actually sold something! She carried the money to De-Anne with trembling hands. "What is it?" De-Anne stared at her curiously. "Why are you so excited?" Beverly couldn't explain. This whole thing was just . . . too much. All she could do was stand there. That night when they climbed into the pristine sheets and talked, Beverly tried to explain about selling the quilt. She'd never anything remotely like that before. "Doing stuff like that beats being a working-man's wife," De-Anne told her. "But you aren't a coal-miner's wife no more. Everything you got's so nice." "Yeah. Now. But I had to go through a lot." "Tell me again how it started," Beverly settled herself more comfortably under the blankets. This was like a bedtime story. Except for adults. De-Anne had been teaching Vacation Bible School one summer when Tom Decker had begun studying the Bible with her. He was part-owner of the coal mine where Worf worked. He had a big brick house with shutters. He was stout and handsome, and he wore a little pencil-thin moustache. And one night when Worf was mining the graveyard shift, Tom Decker came over with his little white illustrated Bible. He was not near the lover that Worf was, but he was rich and attentive and he worshiped her almost as much as Worf did. "He knew A LOT about love," De-Anne assured Beverly. He bought her lingerie, very seriously sexy lingerie. Some without all its parts so her body peekabooed him. Oh, he loved that. He was particularly fond of her bottom and her boobs and her feet and her mouth and her hair. He liked her wrists too and the creamy inside of her elbow. He liked to do it in different positions. Nobody had ever spoken to Beverly about these matters. "You ought not to be telling me this," she kept telling De-Anne. "Beverly, knock it off." They both giggled. "You know you want all the dirty details," De-Anne said. In the dark, in the warmth and security of blankets, she sounded a little breathless. "We even did it in his hot tub. A lot of times." Beverly wiggled. "How did it happen?" "It?" "You know." "How much truth can you stand?" Beverly thought of herself and her brothers. "I can take a lot." "Tom and I were making love – and it was good. Worf was supposed to be working the graveyard shift, but he walked in. There'd been an accident in the mine. A couple of men had been killed. He saw us there, me on my hands and knees and Tom behind me and we were naked and something snapped in him. Maybe it was the fact that friends of his had died in Tom's mine or maybe it was just the sex. But the next thing I knew was that he'd grabbed Tom . . . he . . . " She closed her eyes. She'd been in a state of catatonic shock when the police found her the day of the murder, standing with her back up against the wall, naked, splashed with her lover's blood, unable to speak. Everyone had been so nice to her until the trial was over. After she'd given her testimony, the lawyers dropped her like she smelled bad or something. And the people in town, all working people, blamed her for Worf's trouble. She'd had to leave town. But De-Anne hadn't been able to help herself. She loved making love; that was her nature. If she had had three lovers, that might not have been enough. She made love to Worf from 3 to eleven and then to Tom Decker on the graveyard shift. But she didn't want anyone to die over a little sex. She did without love then. Only in her dreams, did Worf or Tom or some dream lover come to her, with lips soft, his hips pounding against her, and she woke up wet with her heart pounding. Only in her dreams. "But now it's okay, huh, De-Anne. You got everything." De-Anne was flattered. She'd sold off some of her father's things to go to a cheap beauty school. And then she found she had a gift. She was able to intuit what people wanted in a perm or haircut or makeover. The women would look at the mirror and say, "I never dreamed I could look that good." De-Anne made enough to expand. She opened her antiques shop right next door to her beauty parlor. And she still knew what people wanted. Her little shop always managed to sell somebody something, and they always really liked it. Beverly was wearing her newest nightie, the blue satin one , the one so flattering to her warm pink tones and her brand new dark blonde hair. De-Anne had given her both the nightie and the hair color. "Now look at this," De-Anne was saying as they lay in bed together, between the warm clean white sheets with the lacy comforters. The peach-colored lamps on each side of the bed gave a soft enticing glow, and on the floor Cocoa breathed softly in her little basket. "What is it?" Beverly snuggled closer. "The latest pictures of the Boys." Then they both giggled. *Life* magazine was running a little pictorial essay just to remind everyone on earth why they loved the Boys so much (Quark had arranged this; it was going to tie in with their newest record releases, solo albums by Q and Geordi. Although everybody was making guest tracks, these were clearly solo albums and hence a marketing gamble.) One picture showed Q and Jean-Luc sitting together; Jean-Luc looked cross and furious as usual, but Q's eyes were soft, intense. He was such a beautiful man. "He never looked at me thataway," Beverly said in a mock grumble. Worf was shown in a scanty little outfit lifting weights. *Life* knew its audience. Both women stared at this photograph for some time. "Can you believe that?" De-Anne finally said. Beverly wiggled. "He needs to put some real britches on." "Ummmm." "De-Anne, what do you suppose the deal is with that Jean-Luc?" What did Q see in him? "Do you think it's wrong?" "What's wrong with a little loving?" Beverly looked at De-Anne. Cocoa sighed and rustled. She swallowed. "I don't think I ever told you how comfortable I am here." "Good," De-Anne said. They looked at each other; then De-Anne leaned over and kissed Beverly's cheek. And Beverly put her arm around De-Anne's shoulders, soft and full as breasts. And De-Anne's warm wet breath was in her ear and at first Beverly couldn't quite hear what she was whispering, but then she could: Beverly felt a stirring in her, and it made her a bit embarrassed. "You keep talking like that, De-Anne, I'm going to be too hot and bothered to stay in this bed." "No, you won't." "Won't what?" De-Anne's voice was still close. If Beverly edged a little closer . . . "Have to leave this bed." De-Anne shifted towards her, just a little. "What will happen if I stay?" Beverly breathed. But she edged closer too. "I don't know." Now their faces were inches apart. "Neither do I." Beverly didn't pull away. De-Anne wiggled so their bodies were almost touching. She made a sound, something between a gasp and a giggle. Beverly giggled too, because she was nervous. Because she could say 'Oh, we were only fooling around,' if anybody ever accused her. Because she wanted this, and the strangeness of it frightened her. It was like a funhouse mirror. You didn't recognize the person you were anymore, even though you knew it was you. "De-Anne?" "Yeah?" "Have you ever. . . ?" "Yes," De-Anne answered firmly and leaned over and kissed her. "Just now." "Oh." Beverly was relieved. She leaned over too, found De-Anne's mouth in the darkness and kissed her back. "Me too." They kissed and kissed in the darkness. Beverly closed her eyes and opened them again, to see if it made a difference. Nothing changed. De-Anne still smelled of perfumed soap and clean linen, and Beverly still wanted to be right where she was. "'I could clean your linen for you,' Beverly thought. 'Keep it smelling nice.' She put her hand on De-Anne's waist and pulled her on top of her. Then De-Anne tilted her hips in, getting the angle right. Beverly's body was throbbing all over. She was getting more excited, letting herself go, matching De-Anne's arousal. She could do this without feeling guilty, like with Q, or ashamed, like with her brothers. It was just friendly and nice. She really liked De-Anne. Their soft cries reached a crescendo and then faded into the night. For a long time both women were silent. Finally De-Anne asked, "Are you okay?" "Yeah." She was, too. She liked what they had just done and wanted to do more. "Are you?" "Yeah." More silence ensued; then Beverly had to ask, "Are you still thinking about Worf?" She couldn't believe she had the nerve to tease this way. After all De-Anne might say yes, you just saw his picture and you know what I'm missing. But De-Anne just said "Worf who?" and kissed her. Geordi frankly hated Ginger, who therefore couldn't keep her paws off him. She jumped on their piano. She jumped on the prototypical transport moderator they were constructing with Spock. She jumped on Spock, loving his warmth and stillness; she would kiss Spock when he said, "Kiss." Data always quit breathing when that happened. Ginger also jumped on Geordi and it spooked him, it just spooked him. "You never hear of a seeing-eye cat and there's a reason for that, Data," Geordi said. He had never spoken so sharply to Data before. "Maybe I should get Will to bring his supersoaker over here." Data gasped. (Will had thoughtlessly bought a super-powered water gun to spray at Ginger when she fooled around with Patsy's things; he thought that would be an amusing solution. But everyone else was horrified, Q, Worf, Q's sons, even Jean-Luc. "For Christ's sake, give the beast its freedom," he growled.) "Geordi, I could not squirt my cat." They compromised by having Ginger wear a bell; because Geordi had such keen hearing, Data buffered the bell so it gave the merest tinkle (he did not want to traumatize Ginger – finding the sad little stray in the garden had been horrifying enough.) Data ended up teaching Patsy not to pull Ginger's tail. Even Will said it would have been better to just let her pull it and get scratched, but Data really didn't want Patsy to get scratched or Ginger to get pulled. And then he taught Geordi to sit down slowly in the chairs Ginger liked to sit in so he wouldn't have the shock of sitting on the squawking, hissing Ginger. De-Anne had a pink telephone! Did you ever! "I'm going to owe you for this phone call, De-Anne!" "I'll take it out of your first month's rent," they smiled at each other. Beverly dialed her mother's number with trembling hands. What if Buddy or Junior or Sonny answered? But then she heard Momma's familiar twang, "Hello?" "Momma!" she breathed. "Beverly LaNelle Crusher, where are you? I been worried sick." Her mother sounded so happy to hear her. Beverly smiled into the pink receiver."Momma, I got news!" "Oh Lord," her momma said. Country people were always afraid of news, especially news on the telephone. "Momma, it's good news! Momma, listen, guess what." Now suddenly Beverly was shy about her news. "Momma, I got a job." "A job!" Her mother was shocked. "A job! And I've rented a little house and I'm going to save up my money and get Q to help us out and we're going to open up a restaurant. And my boss -- well, she was my roommate til I got settled in -- she's real sweet and my car and . . . " Beverly didn't quite know how to say it but . . . she had it all now. That was what she wanted to tell her mother. She had it all. "I'm going to work for this real nice woman here in West Virginia and live downtown and I can walk to Sears from my house and to the movies; we live that close in. And I'm going to have Q drop the boys off here ‘cause they got really good city schools here but we'll come see you Labor Day weekend." "Oh, my," her mother said. Beverly could tell her mother was trying to envision this wonderland. "How's that house heated?" "Electric heat, Momma!" "Oh, my." Q, Will, Worf, and the boys were taking old route 66 back to West Virginia. Roadside attractions held dominion over all. "Momma's babies," Beverly crooned as her wide-eyed boys got out of the car. The boys loved their big dizzy momma but what now? Still, Diddy said they had to be the man when he wasn't there. "I already don't like West Virginia, Momma, I want to go back to Kentucky," little Roger said. He spoke for all of them. "Or California." Beverly looked at him (Q was very tactfully staying out of it). Then she said: "Believe it or not, I understand. But I want us to give West Virginia a try. I've rented us a little house and it's downtown and it's got a sidewalk." A sidewalk. Even Diddy's house in Beverly Hills didn't have a sidewalk in front of it. "And I got cable." "Is Diddy giving you more money?" Vernon, the middle boy, asked. "No! I've got a job! I'm helping manage a beauty parlor. I make good money. Hey," she leaned down, "me and De-Anne are going to open up a restaurant soon. I'll even hire you all and pay you a dollar a hour!" The boys nudged each other. Life had lost none of its savor. For their famous guests, Beverly made her special German potato salad with brown sugar, vinegar, bacon and onions and a little pepper. Will and Q were genuinely appreciative. But Worf was too sick to eat. Maddeningly, De-Anne was more beautiful than ever; with all this good cooking, she had gained weight in all the right places, with a full little face and nice, big tits, a big round bottom. And, like a cold slap in the face, another woman as a lover. Everybody was being so pleasant, so cordial, Q nodding agreeably to that Beverly, De-Anne now hugging Q's sons, and he, Worf, was back at the place where his whole world had cracked in two, like the site of a vast and horrible massacre. And Will? Once a whore, always a whore. Damn! Will's eyes never left the two lovely ladies. They were the two hottest babes he'd ever seen. And they sure could cook. A tiny little tendril of a thought crept into his brain. He almost wanted to stay there forever and have these two women take care of him too. After all, here with them was a lot more like where he came from than his big Beverly Hills mansion, and he wouldn't have to be as careful and learn as many etiquette tips, and he would have these two fine-looking women to cuddle with and snuggle with (oh, just like "Three's Company"! And everybody thought Jack was a big queer and meanwhile you just knew he was getting it on with Chrissy and Janet.) Beverly and De-Anne maybe wearing little aprons with nothing on underneath and taking turns sitting on it at least until all the kids got home from their school. He and Beverly could take turns cooking, see? And Patsy could go to school with Beverly's boys and wear a lovely little uniform, and he would press it for her every night so she looked beautiful, and it would be a wonderful life. And now De-Anne was leaning over and touching his hair, and it was so gentle and soft that Will was enchanted. He knew that all De-Anne really meant was 'Isn't it nice that my former husband has a nice guy like you to love him,' but Will couldn't help himself. Two pretty women and wonderful food to eat every day and Patsy safe and sound. Then he looked at Worf. Stoic, distant, in pain. Will immediately got up from the table. "We have to get an early start tomorrow. And Worf and I really need to telephone our daughter. We should probably head on back to our hotel." "I wish I had room for you to stay here," De-Anne murmured politely. Will smiled a friendly Will smile and thanked her as Q hugged his sons good-bye. After he got off the phone with Patsy, he turned to Worf: "De-Anne's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Worf." Worf didn't say anything. Will curved his warm, constantly sweaty bulk around Worf's body. He wanted to be comforting, and that was the only thing he could think of doing. Worf put his hand on Will's hair. It had started to gray. "You're not going anywhere," he said and put both powerful arms around him. De-Anne was a Goddess but he was not a God and she had flown away; after that, Worf – willingly - had turned to a woman more earthbound, less desired by the world. Surely, in her messy lassitude, this woman would stay by him. "I will never leave you. I will always obey you," Will said breathlessly. He was where he should be, with someone who owned him and loved him. Someone who cared enough to fight for him. And, if he didn't have Worf, he would have nothing. "Always." "Who's cooking tonight?" Chris asked. "You might as well let Patsy have a turn. She couldn't do worse than any of us," Geordi said. "Isn't there a Ethiopian restaurant that delivers?" Spock asked. "I want Big Daddy Will!" Patsy wailed. "I know just how you feel," Geordi told her. Q said good-bye to Beverly and the boys, and Worf nodded at De-Anne, and they hit the road. They decided to a take a rough route through the Smokies before they joined the zooming interstate around . . . Nashville (Q gulped at that). But on the first night, on their way to a little tourist court, they got caught in a rainstorm. It was as if the three men in some sort of space ship alone in the middle of nothing; the rain fell in solid sheets. They couldn't move in the dark. "Looks like we have some time to kill," said Will. The jeep he had been driving was warm and dry – no one was around. "Let's have some fun, yall. Let's do something different." He really did have a one-track mind. Worf had been sitting in the back seat with Q; they had intended to nap. "How different?" Worf breathed. "Real piss different. Everybody think." There was silence; the rain washed around the car. "Who's getting a little stinger?" Will said seductively. "Me," said Worf. "Me," said Q. "I'm going to bring mine out," said Will. "I can't hardly stand it." He stroked himself in a practiced way. "Maybe somebody can fuck somebody in the car in the rain." "In the ass," Worf said. "What are you thinking?" "If I kneel here on the back seat, Q can fuck me in the ass here. I never had that happen. He fucked you," Worf explained. "Yeah, and it was so fucking hot." "I want it up the ass, here, now." "You have to suck me first," Q dimpled – he was fully erect. And Worf leaned over and took Q into his mouth, Q was warm and sweet, and then he turned over on his hands and knees and Q eased himself all the way in, Will watching the whole while as Worf groaned and bellowed and Q moved in and out and in and out. And soon Q was gripping Worf's hard hips and panting, moving his hand under Worf to play with him; then he was coming against Worf and Worf was sweating in the humid car and breathing heavily. Then Q sat back; his pants were down around his knees. "Jesus," he said. And Worf and Will looked at each other, and Worf said simply, "Yes." Q said, "Yes what?" Will's face lit up. "Oh, thank you." And when Will said that, Q knew what was happening and he obligingly climbed underneath Worf and kissed him and played with his tits while Will climbed back with them and starting fucking Worf. Their breathing and the rain made the inside of the car steamy, like an aquarium, and Worf seemed to have trouble breathing and then he groaned and came and came against Q's belly and Q kissed him and pinched his nipples and Will kept beating against Worf's full buttocks and then he too panted and came. Then all three lay against each other, crowded in the back of the jeep, with Worf in the middle and Q and Will to either side, perfectly peaceful. "Boss, you'll need a housekeeper." Joe Sisco was serious. "Why?" "I don't dust. For no amount of money." "You know anybody? She's got to be reliable. Or he." "Actually I do." "How surprising." "In the army I knew a man named Tyler. He fell in love with a little brown girl in Haiti. Moved there and married her and they had a little daughter. Now the daughter's grown up and she's coming up here to go to a junior college. Nice girl. Ambitious. An American citizen thanks to her pop. Tyler's died a few years ago, and I got to look out for her. She needs a job while she's in school. Let her do this for a while." "Was Tyler a white man?" "No, why?" Sisco gave Jean-Luc a look. "No reason." Jean-Luc was just curious. "Send her in." Jean-Luc liked Sebastiana the minute he saw her. She was very young and shy and skinny and had skin like pitch. He noticed her big dark eyes, and then her cheekbones, and then her narrow hips. He forced himself to ignore her mouth which was as generous and beautiful as Melinda's own. She was like a little sister, he told himself. When she first got out of the cab, heaving her big suitcase, she was wearing a charming little coat with a matching hat, and she clutched her hands together in joy when Melinda smiled and hugged her and told her they wanted to hire her. "Make yourself at home, Sebastiana," Melinda said. "You need to. We spend a lot of time on the road. As a matter of fact, both of us are headed out at the end of the month. Jean-Luc's going to California, and I've got to go to Monaco." "I'll make your house so clean you won't know it." Her accent was charming. "And get that schoolwork done," Joe added. "Oh, yes!" When Q, Will and Worf got back, there was a message for Will. Snake Ducatti wanted to see him. Will took his jeep to his office. So it wasn't over. He had been being the same old stupid Will when he thought Ducatti was finished with him. He hated himself. "Will," Ducatti said in his hissing way. "How are you?" he reached out his long scaly fingers to shake Will's hand. Will had no way to resist. He shook Ducatti's hand. "Everything worked out perfectly, didn't it? But now it's time for my share. Everybody and his dog knows about the kind of action you Boys are getting. I just wanna taste a little spillover." "I'm not sure I . . . " "Your bald-headed boyfriend told me all about it. You and your little baby. If you can buy babies, well . . . I know you can help me out." "What. . . ?" "I just want some chicken is all. You can get all the little boys on earth. Time to share or face the consequences." "You've got it all wrong, Mr. Ducatti." "What's with the baby?" "For heaven's sake," Will whispered. "She's my daughter. I'm her father." "And that's a fun game. But the Snake wants some fun too." "No." Will was trembling. "Don't tell the Snake ‘no'." Ducatti uncoiled himself; he was long and lean like a knife. "Bad things happen to people who say no to the Snake. The Snake wants some kiddy action. You've got it; now give it to me." "I can't." Ducatti leaned in, fixing his mesmerizing reptilian eyes on Will. "If I don't get what I want, guess what might happen?" Will felt paralyzed. He could only think of one thing to say: "You know Jean-Luc bought me for three hundred dollars. I don't like to do things without him. Let me talk to him to work out . . . details and stuff." Ducatti blinked slowly. "Three hundred? Your price sure came down fast." Geordi and Data were hunkered together in the music room trying to unravel the myriad mysteries of Hank Snow when Will walked in. His skin was the color of swiss cheese, white, greasy – he seemed about to faint. "I need Spock," he whispered. Rhemuel spent the morning thinking about the Jewish Zen Buddhists he'd lived with in Seattle. It had been a long time ago, but he still recalled them with aching fondness. It had been the one time in his life when nothing about him was misunderstood -- not his yarmulke, not his meditation not his practice, not anything. These Boys were like that too, questioning very little about him even though he was quite obviously different from themselves. Data, of course, queried him constantly on his knowledge of physics, but very carefully avoided soliciting anything personal unless it was entirely necessary. They seemed to have an unwritten agreement to give each other space whenever they could manage it. Rhemuel thought they lived like ants in a colony, each one with his or her specialized role. Even Upenda and Christine had fallen into that pattern. The only mystery was his own role. Why was he still here? He had put the finishing touches on the transport enhancer, and he was doing Data and Geordi no favors by staying. Logic should dictate that he leave. But over many years Rhemuel had learned that there was more to life than logic. He had discovered, through trial and much error, that feelings also had to be accounted for. Rhemuel thought about that -- thought about synergism and synchronicity. Nothing else was required of him at the moment; it was really time to go, yet he had a strong sense of unfinished business, and he didn't think it wise to ignore it. Abruptly an image of Will and Patsy popped into his mind. Rhemuel steepled his fingers. He would wait. It was clear that something was afoot. (He smiled to himself. Data had taught him to say that.) So Rhemuel kept his features calm when Will came to him later that afternoon and asked if they could speak privately. They went into the formal living room. And Will sat before him passive, frozen, defeated. Rhemuel carefully kept his features neutral. He'd made the acquaintance of a three-legged dog once, a creature with every disadvantage who nonetheless stumped along gamely, making the best life for herself that she could. Will reminded him of that little bitch, but Rhemuel chastised himself for his pity. Will's worth did not depend on his education or his emotional stability, and he, Rhemuel, should know that by now. "I see Patsy has a new tutu," he said gently. Will's face lit up and he sat a little straighter. "And she has new ballet slippers too. I told her not to wear them outside but she did anyway. She wore them out in less than two weeks. Jean-Luc said I shouldn't let her get away with so much, but she likes them, and I don't want to tell her no." Rhemuel made a noncommittal sound. He did not care for Jean-Luc. He'd learned to be less judgemental over the years, and so did not condemn the Boys' charismatic leader, but Jean-Luc lived in a state of unrelenting rage and pain, and Rhemuel found it disruptive. The entire house walked on eggshells when he was around, and his will prevailed even when he was gone. "Pink becomes her." Will shone more brightly. "Doesn't it? She looks like a little angel. I can't wait for her recital." He paused, apologizing for himself. "It's not like a real ballet or anything. I mean, I have to take her to a ballet so she'll understand why she goes to dance class twice a week. I mean, me and Q will take her." Of course. Will didn't do much of anything on his own, but still he managed to get things done. "Is something else on your mind, Will?" The cheerful façade crumpled. After a long pause, Will asked, "Remember that time with Patsy? In the kitchen?" "Of course." "And after that party?" "Yes." "I asked one of my . . . older clients . . . well, he . . . it's complicated. He wants me to bring him little boys, I guess. He's buggy." Will was overwhelmed. Rhemuel took a moment or two to pull himself together. He breathed slowly. He thought of the unending ice fields of his Russian childhood. Ice was still and cold and impervious to rage. Ice felt nothing. He, Rhemuel, felt nothing. Suddenly his mind was clear of emotion again. He felt a tickle of pride that this clearing exercise took less and less time as years went by. "I have a good friend," he finally spoke. "You may have heard me speak of him." "Your old army friend? Captain Kirk?" Spock was not surprised that Will picked up on that. Rhemuel had noticed he was very good at reading cues. "Yes, Kirk. He… helps people sometimes. He will help us if I ask him to." "I'd like that. I wouldn't ask except Ducatti threatened to hurt Patsy." Then Will added in a rush. "It doesn't matter about me anymore, but he wants to get other children." "If Kirk has anything to do with it, Patsy will never be hurt." Rhemuel promised. The next morning, Will left a message for Ducatti. The message was "no". During the week, everyone grew increasingly nervous though no one really knew why. Will was obviously afraid of something, and Spock walked with him by the pool, but neither would say what they talked about. Worf watched but said nothing. He found himself flexing his fingers for no reason he could think of. He abruptly announced that the switch grass needed trimming and went out and bought a machete. Upenda and Chris were a little less subtle about their beady-eyed vigilance in regard to all things Patsy. Data, Geordi and Q stayed very quiet, listening for instructions from Worf or Spock. Nobody admitted that they were all preparing for... something... but Wednesday morning, when the doorbell rang, everyone jumped. Worf eased over to the living room window and looked out. Q took his cue from Worf and ran over to the window on the other side. There was a delivery truck at the end of the drive. Probably just more boxes of equipment for Spock's project. The burly delivery man eased his truck up the driveway, got out and carried an armload of boxes to the front door. He seemed to have them balanced perfectly until he stepped inside and lost his footing. The boxes began to sway precariously. Spock was closest to the door and he made a creaky dive for the boxes. He missed. Then a small miracle happened: the boxes righted themselves. The delivery man tore his driver's cap off and smiled. "Almost had you there, didn't I?" Spock froze for a second; then delight and amazement crossed his features. "JIM!" The delivery man looked inordinately pleased with himself. The stack of boxes might as well have not existed. Spock reached out, wrapped his hands around Jim's arms and simply held on. Jim! The Boys all stared. So this was Jim! The enigmatic Captain Jim Kirk, the man Spock could not speak of without a mysterious fire lighting behind his calm eyes. Jim! Spock remained speechless, staring, smiling. Jim smiled back, his ruddy face turning bright red. "Spock?" He finally said. "Yes, Jim." "Ouch?" Spock abruptly realized that he had Kirk's arms in a grip of iron. He let go and straightened up, and suddenly he was as calm and formal as if he were talking to a stranger. "Jim," he took a step back. "Please come in. I would like you to meet some new friends..." Q looked at Will and rolled his eyes. It was obvious that all Spock wanted was to pull Jim down and ram his tongue down Jim's throat. Each of them lifted a brow. That Spock. Kirk's eyes were merry and amused as he tried to follow Spock's formality. He cleared his throat. "It's good to see you again." Kirk lowered his eyes briefly and then raised them again; he was enchanting. "I thought it might be you ordering this exotic equipment. So I decided to come check it out." By now his voice was a low murmur. "And here you are." Spock had to clear his throat also. "Indeed." "Well," Kirk's gaze turned amused. "I'd better get this truck back." A smile twitched at the corner of Spock's face. "Please do not feel you must hurry. I believe you would be most interested in the project I am working on at the moment, Jim." "No! I mean, maybe later." Jim's eyes slid down Spock's body to rest on the box at his feet. "I take it you have some use for these little toys I brought." His warm bouncy voice had a teasing suggestion in it. All the Boys shivered, watching them. Spock responded with a slight reddening across his cheeks. He, too, did not bother to control his roughening voice. "I am sure I will be, as always, quite pleased with the toys you've brought me, Jim." "You know where I'm staying," Kirk murmured. "Of course. Perhaps I will be able to visit you this evening." "I... look forward to our meeting." "As do I." All the control was back in Spock's voice, but it didn't make a bit of difference. His entire being was centered on Kirk's gaze. "Spock?" Data said in a low voice, "you won't introduce me to your friends?" "Remiss of me," Spock answered faintly. His eyes had yet to leave Jim's. "David Soong." (Was there the slightest stress on Data's last name?) "My friend James Kirk." Everyone caught it. James Kirk's eyes hardened perceptively as they flicked over Data's face. His smile, nonetheless, was professionally charming. "Pleased to meet you, David." "I am called Data," Data corrected. "And I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well." "Data Soong? Have we met before?" "Not to my knowledge, Sir." "Jim," Spock explained, "Data and I have become quite close over the past several months." Spock did not move closer to Data, so much as shift his stance so that he and Data faced one another. His eyes stayed glued to Kirk, but his body hovered protectively over his young friend. "He is a brilliant mathematician." "Only because I stand on the shoulders of giants." Data looked up at Spock adoringly. Kirk's face softened in understanding. "I'm glad." "As am I, Mr. Kirk." "You mean Captain," said Spock. "Call me Jim." Kirk smiled again. This time, when his gaze moved back to Spock, it was full of warmth and amusement. "Jim Kirk, meet Geordi laForge, Q McConn, Worf Rodshenko." Everyone nodded at one another. "I suppose I should be going," Kirk said. "Perhaps not quite yet," Spock said. "The Boys and I... find ourselves in a somewhat... difficult situation. Your appearance may prove quite serendipitous." "Spock, Spock!" Jim sounded teasingly reproachful. "Serendipitous? Don't you know by now? I can always tell when you want me." Spock looked as if he were about to faint. Jim's eyes swept over Spock's discomfiture and then took in the rest of the group. "Something's happened, hasn't it? Something bad." Spock had to clear his throat a second time. "Perhaps we'd all better sit down." Now it was Will's turn on stage. He was terrified. Speaking in front of the this new guy, Kirk, was one thing, but the really awful part was that what had happened with Worf. Will had betrayed Worf. Worf would find out all the things Will had hidden from him these last few days. Will kept hearing himself pause for long breaks while his mind insisted on playing back every kind thing Worf had done for him over the years and a voice in his head screamed 'Traitor! Traitor!' He didn't meet Worf's eye. Answered Kirk's questions as clearly as he could and pretended not to see Worf's crossed arms, or his expression carved out of rock. When Kirk had gathered all the information he needed and excused himself with promises to return the next day, Will didn't even have to ask what he should do next. He simply went up to their bedroom and waited. When Worf came in, he was sitting on the bed, hunched around himself. "I'm sorry," Will said. "I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid." Worf said nothing. His arms were crossed in front of him and his face was still closed. "I'm sorry!" Will repeated. "Worf, please don't..." He paused, unsure of what to say next. Please don't be angry. Please don't stay silent. Please don't stop loving me. For a crazy moment he was sure this fiasco was all Big Daddy's evildoing, his malevolent hand reaching from the grave to make good on his threat to destroy Will's life. |
