Uprising - The Suspense Thriller Part 25

"And you want to know why I do what I do?" asked Oth.e.l.lo, rendering Raider speechless.

As the morning wore on, the sidewalk and wide, gra.s.sy median strip that separated east- and westbound traffic began to swell with gays and lesbiansa"from dozens to hundreds to thousands to hundreds of thousands. Eventually, Oth.e.l.lo and Raider had to stand lest they be swallowed by the tide of the ma.s.ses surrounding them.

"I think I see the first groups," Oth.e.l.lo said shortly after 11:00 a.m. The color guard was heading their way, followed by a man and woman carrying a banner that read: CHRISTOPHER STREET WEST PRESENTS THE LOS ANGELES GAY AND LESBIAN PRIDE CELEBRATION. Next came a simmering roar that mutated into a deafening rumble as dozens upon dozens of motorcycles rolled into view.

"This is it." Oth.e.l.lo turned to Raider, his big strong man in a white tank top and khaki shorts. "Hold my hand."

Raider cooperated. A small price to pay.

"This must be the d.y.k.es on bikes Sweeney talked about," Oth.e.l.lo said, wishing his manager would have consented to being here instead of purposely hightailing it out of town with his lover.

The procession seemed endless. Row after row of Harleys and Yamahas came thundering past, topped by women in leather, lace, flannel and denim, some in couples, some alone, all of them revving their machines and the crowd in the process.

My kind of girls, Raider thought, nostalgic for his own Harleys back in DC.

Next came twenty of the parade's organizers. They were dressed in white shorts and official pink T-shirts and received an appreciative round of applause as they walked. They were followed by several convertibles full of city officials and the Republican mayor of Los Angeles.

Then came the Big-a.s.s Bus, a psychedelically colored bus promoting one of the local radio stations. Madonna's "Holiday" was blasting from its speakers and a heavyset Latino deejay was throwing T-shirts to the crowd from an opening in the roof. "Is gay LA ready to part-tay?" he shouted over his microphone. The crowd gave him the wild response he wanted. This was followed by the Gay Men's Chorus. They marched past wearing white shirts and carrying colorful bouquets of balloons while singing "Everything's Coming Up Roses."

"I had no idea," Oth.e.l.lo said. He was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with a feeling of pride he didn't know he possessed. Everything he saw he regarded with amazement and wonder, using the time between groups to study the thousands of people around him in all colors, shapes, sizes and ages. There were men with perfect bodies wearing practically nothing, showing off the muscles they worked so hard to obtain, couples in every configuration holding hands, walking arm in arm, kissing, fondling, so much in love. There were cliques of friends laughing and circulating, saying h.e.l.lo to other friends, then moving on down the sidewalk in search of more adventure. There were butch boys, queeny boys, boys in drag, lesbians that looked like pinup girls and still others that looked like they could kick some serious b.u.t.t. "I've been living a couple of miles away from this for how many years now?" he said to Raider, shaking his head with regret.

Raider looked at the two elderly men coming down the route atop a red convertible. The sign on the door said they'd been together for forty-five years. He was astonished. No straight person in the world would ever believe this scene unless they saw it with their own two eyes, he decided, and all afternoon the running commentary in his mind was incessant: Wouldn't mind taking her home tonight. The mayor? They let the f.u.c.king mayor partic.i.p.ate in this? Topless women with stickers over their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Why can't we have a parade like this?

What are all these bodybuilders doing here in support of gay rights? he wondered at one point, suspiciously eyeing a cl.u.s.ter of ten men directly across from him on the median strip. All of them were over two hundred pounds of solid beef and wearing nothing but spandex shorts hiked up their crotches and a.s.ses. He noticed two of thema"one black, one whitea"locked in a long, extended kiss, their tongues sucking each other up heartily. Another one, a short Latino with pecs as big as t.i.ts, was cupping the a.s.s of a guy who could have pa.s.sed for Raider's younger brother Patrick. They're all f.a.gs, Raider's brain shouted. All those musclebound studs are f.u.c.king f.a.gs. Didn't even seem right, calling them f.a.gs anymore. No wonder Oth.e.l.lo was dying to come here.

Morning turned to afternoon and the groups kept coming. There were leather masters in dark sungla.s.ses, swatting the bare b.u.t.ts of their slaves wearing chaps, an equestrian group proudly galloping by on horseback, a diving club hoisting a giant purple octopus high above their heads. There was the Great American Yankee Freedom Band, marching tall and proud while playing "Strike Up the Band."

ACTNOW was also there. They walked in silence and carried miniature coffins and black placards that read: ACT NOW: DEMAND A CURE NOW. Travis was there, along with Trudy, Darnell, Gary the Asian and countless others Oth.e.l.lo recognized from the meetings. He clapped especially hard when they pa.s.sed, catching Travis's attention and receiving a knowing nod and wink. I'm gonna miss him, Oth.e.l.lo thought, momentarily saddened by the fact they hadn't had a chance to say good-bye.

The temperature climbed into the 80s. The cloudy condition known as June Gloom usually a.s.sociated with LA this time of year took the day off. Trying to savor every moment he could, Oth.e.l.lo stood and applauded every group as if it were his duty. If they could be here, out and marching, he could honor and support them. Not to mention envy them.

Eventually, both Oth.e.l.lo and Raider had to succ.u.mb to the laws of nature. On the wide, gra.s.sy median strip, they made use of the portable toilets.

"You sure I'm not coming apart in the sun?" Oth.e.l.lo asked after Raider emerged from the booth, the fibergla.s.s door slamming loudly behind him.

"As beautiful as ever," said Raider. Near the end of the line, Oth.e.l.lo noticed two overweight Asian men kissing up a storm and pulling at each other's bare nipples.

"Must be newlyweds like us," said Oth.e.l.lo, his eyes radiant through his horn-rimmed gla.s.ses. He grabbed Raider's hand and playfully swung it between them. Knowing what was next, Raider pulled Oth.e.l.lo closer and planted one on his nose. Then, to avoid more lip locking, he pulled Oth.e.l.lo into his chest and they hugged, something Oth.e.l.lo seemed to enjoy just as much.

His chin resting on the Dodgers cap on Oth.e.l.lo's head, Raider glanced around to gauge the other parade-goers' reaction to the big blond stud and the old black geezer. There were plenty of stares, but no looks of condemnation, a pattern that repeated itself all afternoon. The lack of judgment was something Raider appreciated and it forced him to loosen up a little more, even try to regard those around him with a little less judgment.

"Should we walk around a bit?" Oth.e.l.lo asked. "Get a different view?"

Raider agreed, but just then, something in the nearby intersection caught his eye.

"Take a look up there," he told Oth.e.l.lo.

The first thing Oth.e.l.lo noticed was the flaming red hair of Freedom. He was naked except for some tall, black army boots, black leather shorts and a sky blue feather boa wrapped around his neck. He was two feet away from the cl.u.s.ter of religious protesters Oth.e.l.lo and Raider had seen earlier. The protesters were now confined to a small roped-off corral set up by police next to the parade route. But that didn't stop Freedom from yelling obscenities at them at the top of his lungs.

"We'd better talk to him," said Oth.e.l.lo. "The last thing we need is for him to get himself arrested."

"You're the one who'll burn in h.e.l.l," Freedom was shouting when they reached him.

"Freedom, enough of that," Raider said. Oth.e.l.lo had asked him to do the talking so as to not bring too much attention to Joe.

Freedom swung around and was momentarily stunned by the sight of Raider, then further shocked to see Joe in his arms. "What the...."

"We're dating," explained Oth.e.l.lo.

"Well, bend me over and f.u.c.k me now." Freedom looked sicker than ever, his eyes sunken in, his skin colorless except for the blue veins on his face. "And score one for the Social Security set." He nudged Oth.e.l.lo and winked.

"We both think you should calm down, Freedom," Oth.e.l.lo said. "You're not looking too well."

"You wouldn't be either if you just found out you had a f.u.c.king lesion on your f.u.c.king brain." He turned back to the religious contingent. "f.u.c.k you and Leviticus!"

"How much longer do you have to repent?" came through a bullhorn. It was the man with the beer belly and the black FEAR G.o.d T-shirt.

"Long enough to show you a thing or two about life and death!" yelled Freedom.

"Freedom come on," Raider said. Oth.e.l.lo stood there, temporarily stunned by news of the lesion.

"Come on, nothing. These people come to our part of town on our day. Like anybody here is gonna suddenly say, 'Oh, you're right. I don't enjoy sucking d.i.c.k. Convert me, save me, baptize me.'" He threw up his hands and yelled the last part, receiving curious looks from some of the gays around the intersection. "You should be over here, too, a.s.sholes!" he yelled to them.

"Raider's right, Freedom," said Oth.e.l.lo. "You don't need this, especially with this news. Is this how you wanna spend gay pride?" He refrained from saying "your last" gay pride, but judging by the look on Freedom's face, the point was understood.

"Oh, f.u.c.k everybody today," Freedom said and walked away, leaving Oth.e.l.lo and Raider next to the crusader, who was still crusading through the bullhorn: "Accept Jesus Christ and he shall cleanse your soul of perversion."

To escape the wrath of the religious, Raider and Oth.e.l.lo went farther down the street and found themselves on the median strip as a succession of bar floats went by, each one filled with scores of male and female bodies covered with sweat and very little else. The first one featured women and men in hula skirts. They were grinding against gold lam palm trees and dancing to a remixed version of "We Are Family."

"I'm having such a good time, I don't want it to end," Raider shouted over the music. "How much longer does this go on?"

"We've still got the festival in the park," Oth.e.l.lo yelled back, shuffling his feet to the beat booming off the large speakers on the flatbed truck.

"The what?" asked a dismayed Raider.

"The festival. With all the booths and food and exhibits. And there's a humongous dance floor, Sweeney said. Baby, we're dancing till we drop!"

"You can't dance too much, Joe."

"Oh, yes I can. Whata"senior citizens can't jam? I'm not missing out on anything. I'll stay here forever if I have to." Just then, another bar float came by. This one resembled a white clipper ship and featured several boys who were naked except for the US flags around their waists and white sailor hats on their heads. They were dancing to "Go For Love," the fast syncopated dance hit from Oth.e.l.lo's One Nation alb.u.m. Immediately, Oth.e.l.lo and Raider eyed each other. Then Oth.e.l.lo yelled "woo!" and started dancing like someone with arthritis and a funky sense of rhythm. Raider had to laugh, thinking: if only they knew.

The boys on the float noticed the old man grooving and waved and danced in his direction. Some of them grabbed their crotches; others turned to show their a.s.ses. As if he didn't need any of that, Oth.e.l.lo grabbed Raider by the waist and danced sideways with him, as if to say, I got my man. The sailor boys gave him a thumbs up in appreciation, their eyes sizing up Raider quite approvingly. Flattered, Raider, broke into a wide grin, then waved at the dancers and shouted "woo!" just as Oth.e.l.lo had. Then, his hips began moving, then his legs, and before he knew it, he was dancing right along with Oth.e.l.lo. What the h.e.l.l, he figured. When in Boystown....

All too quickly the float pa.s.sed, but one just as festive took its place. This one was a pick-up truck covered with silver sequins and glitter and packed with dancers in drag, advertising a weekly show at a bar in the Valley. "It's Raining Men" by the Weather Girls was pumping out of their speakers while the drag queens worked the crowd.

"Get it, girls!" shouted a balding, middle aged man who was next to Raider. Oth.e.l.lo glanced at the man, then back to the float.

"You go, girl!" Oth.e.l.lo yelled, still dancing in place.

"Work it, baby!" Raider suddenly shouted. Oth.e.l.lo turned to him, pleasantly stunned. Raider had surprised himself, but he wasn't finished. "Come on, girl," he added. "You better work!"

Oth.e.l.lo raised a fist in the air and let out another "woo!" then put his arm around Raider's waist and the two of them began dancing again, keeping it up for the remainder of the bar floats.

As the temperature soared toward the 90s, Oth.e.l.lo began to wilt underneath the old man getup, but swore nothing could keep him from enjoying the rest of the day. To combat the heat, they bought ice cream from one of the many street vendors and took a momentary break on a bus bench under a shady tree on the eastbound side of the streeta"the relatively quieter side of the street a median strip away from the main action. "I want to go on record here and now," Oth.e.l.lo said between bites of his Hagen-Dazs bar. "Nothing in my life has ever been this much fun, not performing, not touring, not shopping sprees on the Champs-Elyses, nothing Raider Kincaide, you hear me? Nothing."

"I'm glad," Raider said. The truth. "Me, too." A lie, but it also wasn't the worst experience of his life.

They were devouring ice cream and recounting the things they'd seen so far when Oth.e.l.lo noticed his preppie Irish manager with his equally preppie lover Chandler. They were heading toward Oth.e.l.lo and Raider from twenty yards away, a bombsh.e.l.l of a surprise considering the fact Sweeneya"a weary veteran of the parade in the '80sa"had vowed years ago to never again grace Santa Monica Boulevard on this day. It was also a sentiment shared by Chandler, whom Oth.e.l.lo had only met on a handful of occasions.

"What happened to Santa Barbara?" Oth.e.l.lo stood and asked when they reached him. "Just couldn't miss all this, eh?"

"Something like that," Sweeney mumbled, sheepishly eyeing his lover. Chandler was six-foot-two with a doll-like face even though he was well into his forties.

"We were up there, antiquing," Chandler began, his voice was full of disdain, "when all of a sudden he had this urge to be gay and proud today."

"And check up on his only client, I'm sure." Oth.e.l.lo flashed a smile of approval toward his manager, who rolled his eyes as an admission of guilt.

"Well, it is your first gay pride," Sweeney said. "I didn't want you to be overwhelmed." He glanced at Raider.

"Raider," Oth.e.l.lo began hastily, "this is Sweeney's better half, Chandler."

Raider stood and shook hands with Chandler, and for the first time, Oth.e.l.lo acknowledged to himself the fact that his manager had probably told his lover about Oth.e.l.lo being gay years ago, even though Oth.e.l.lo had sworn Sweeney to secrecy when they teamed up in the early '80s. But Oth.e.l.lo was okay with it, even glad as they stood there, two couples facing each other.

"Overwhelmed?" he said, picking up on Sweeney's comment. "We're having the time of our lives." He put his arm around Raider.

"You see," Chandler chided Sweeney. "No need to baby-sit. Now, can we go?"

"Oh, can't you stay?" asked Oth.e.l.lo.

"We've been here two hours already, looking for you," said Sweeney. "That's probably enough for this year."

"And the next," said Chandler.

Oth.e.l.lo didn't protest. He preferred to have the man from Nantucket to himself anyway. Chandler and Raider said their "nice meeting you's" and Oth.e.l.lo stepped away for a moment alone with Sweeney.

"Thanks for caring," said Oth.e.l.lo.

"I happen to love you, you know," said Sweeney.

"Yes, I do know." They shared an easy smile, something they hadn't shared since the night Oth.e.l.lo tested positive.

"And because you're having such a good time," Sweeney said, "I won't even begin to bring up the four thousand and one things you need to do for 'our' music career."

"One of these millennia," promised Oth.e.l.lo.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," said Sweeney, leaning toward Chandler, who had walked ahead. "Careful today, okay?"

"Sweeney," Oth.e.l.lo said, nodding to Chandler. "He knows, doesn't he?"

"Only that you are and that Joe is a one time deal for today," Sweeney said, much to Oth.e.l.lo's relief.

"I love you, too, you know," Oth.e.l.lo said. Sweeney smiled, blew a kiss and joined his lover. At that moment, Oth.e.l.lo wished his manager knew about his getting tested and the bullet meant for Herman, but Oth.e.l.lo knew better than to get too carried away. He watched contentedly as Sweeney and Chandler walked away arm in arm.

"Hey, Joe," Sweeney turned back and yelled. "Don't miss this." He pointed toward the parade, then waved good-bye one last time.

Oth.e.l.lo grabbed Raider's hand and led him to the edge of the route. Coming down Santa Monica were hundreds of people carrying hand-written signs. I LOVE MY GAY SON AND HIS LOVER. ALL MY DAUGHTERS ARE SPECIAL. MY MOM'S STRAIGHT AND THAT'S OKAY BY ME. I LOVE MY GAY TWINS. MY LESBIAN SISTER IS MY BEST FRIEND.

"Sweeney told me about this," Oth.e.l.lo said, edging closer to the curb for a front row view.

No music was needed for this portion of the parade, when the members of PFLAGa"Parents, Friends and Family of Lesbians and Gaysa"proclaimed their love for their gay relatives and friends. They marched side by side, parents and children, straight siblings with gay siblings, some with babies in strollers, some with their pets, all with the proudest smiles on their faces and all receiving the most heartfelt applause of the day.

They have ten times the courage I have, Oth.e.l.lo thought with tears in his eyes, imagining his own family back in Riverside and wondering if they'd accept him for being gay, not because he was worth millions to them but because they loved him.

"This is something else," Raider said. He was truly moved, but not so much so that he didn't notice Freedom thirty yards down the road. He was near the religious corral again, this time merely standing near the protesters with his arms folded. He appeared to be focused on the crusader with the long brown hair and the black FEAR G.o.d T-shirt, watching the man stuffing his bullhorn into an orange backpack.

"Joe," Raider said, nudging Oth.e.l.lo, "take a look at Freedom."

"One sec." Oth.e.l.lo was unable to look away from the scores of families marching.

Raider kept his eye on the crusader, who left the corral, darted across the parade route, then went down a side street, presumably for a lunch breaka"or perhaps he was done for the day. Freedom waited until the man was out of sight, then he himself darted across the route in front of a flatbed truck full of men and women line-dancing to "Boot Scootin' Boogie."

"Joe," Raider said again, his voice more insistent this time.

"Raider, can't it wait?" Oth.e.l.lo pleaded. Raider watched Freedom disappear down the same side street as the crusader.

"Then don't move an inch," Raider said. "I'll be right back."

Oth.e.l.lo glanced at Raider long enough to see him walking away, then went back to applauding the families. Raider walked along the median strip toward the protesters' corral, then he too crossed the parade route, running through a performance by the West Hollywood Cheerleaders, the all-male squad with white T-shirts, red skirts, huge oversized red-and-white pompoms and bouffant hair for days. The crowd booed him as he interrupted their formation, but he didn't care. He reached the other side and headed down the side street in question.

The street was small and residential except for the parking lots behind the businesses fronting Santa Monica. Not spotting either man down the block, he decided to investigate the lots. The one on the right was full of cars but lifeless. The lot to the left was shielded by a cl.u.s.ter of short palm trees running along the sidewalk. He hurried past them and landed in a small enclosed area surrounded by a white brick wall on three sides.

In the far corner was a long trailer cab on stilts. Next to that was a black pickup truck with its driver's side door open. On the ground beside it was the crusader's sign and backpack. As Raider moved closer, he saw Freedom standing on the other side of the truck's hood, partially hidden behind the large trailer. Freedom was consumed in some act with his back to Raider, who quietly approached. When Raider was fifteen feet away, he saw what Freedom was doing. He had the crusader by his long brown hair and was bashing his head repeatedly into a waist-high stack of cinder blocks. The man's arms were flailing helplessly, his legs about to give out on him. Blood was splattering everywhere, on the white brick wall, on the trailer cab, on Freedom who didn't seem to care.

"Hold it right there, Freedom," Raider said. "Knock it off."

Freedom glanced at Raider, then continued beating the man's head to a pulp. "Can't you see? That's what I'm trying to do."

"Freedom," Raider commanded.

"Go back to your Geritol lover and forget you were ever here."

"G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Freedom, you wanna go to jail?" Raider wasn't sure what the f.u.c.k he should do with this. This didn't fit into anyone's plansa"his or Oth.e.l.lo's.

"You try to report me and your head is next," Freedom warned. "I may not have the strength to take you on, but I'll give it my best shot."

"Cease right now, Freedom. I said enough!"

"f.u.c.k off."