November 22, 1996
The following entries were written a few weeks back in rough form, but I didn't upload them because
That said, here goes:
- To keep chronology, I needed to write about Erik first.
- I needed to re-read them to make sure they made sense (that I hadn't left anything out)... and
- I've just been super busy with school, life, etc. etc..
November 8, 1996
Well, to be honest, I didn't really ever see myself returning to Boston, or at least not so soon, but, seeing that I'm several thousand feet in the air and am holding a ticket stub which says,
From Los Angeles
8 Nov 750A
I guess I was wrong. No, I didn't quit school or decide to move back. No, actually this is a primarily recreational trip... but I guess I should backtrack a little.
As I've written before, Larry's pretty well off financially. With those finances come a lot of work; there's not a lot of time left for playing and certainly not enough time to do the household chores. Even with a maid and a nanny, a lot of things (like everything from fixing dinner to having the seeds cut out of the palm trees) don't get done, and so in comes the need for an executive assistant of sorts... also known as a houseboy.
OK, OK, I can hear you asking so what exactly does a houseboy's position entail. I don't know exactly... and neither does Larry. It's more personal than a nanny or butler, but has several of the same aspects and it does not necessarily include sex... at leaset not in this kase. What type of relationship will it be is anyone's guess, but this weekend we'll find out.
You see, after spending several hours on the phone with this guy Matt, we're flying to Boston, then driving to New Hampshire to interview him in person. (Larry posted an ad on America Online. This guy responded with a short letter and quickcam photo of himself. We've since had several long phone calls and exchanged other photos (his, which indentally, looked like four different guys). We could have flown him out, but Larry and I both were ready for a little mini vacation... to the "cootie condo" as it semi-affectionately has been come to known. I doubt we'll do any skiing, but the only thing I do know is that Matt's spending the weekend there with us (and that the sheets will be washed and left folded, not on the beds )
Am I excited about the trip? Like always, not really... at least not yet. After an exhaustive time checking in, Larry and I were two of the last people to get seats, and so, they aren't together. The flight was also delayed an hour, so no, I'm not particularly excited... but not particularly in a bad mood either... mainly indifferent at this point.
It's been just over an hour and nothing much has changed. I at some Skittles, "read" Entertainment Weekly and am now eyeing the drink cart.
Well, two hours have passed and I've eaten a kosher breakfast --Larry requested it hoping it would be better than the regular food although he's not Jewish. Hard to believe we weren't charged extra for it's meticulous preparation-- and I've read all the crap I can stand. I am bored and I still haven't gotten psyched about this trip. The guy next to me spilt his coffee onto my hand, shirt cuff, and jeans... and there are kids all around, screaming, gurgling, crying. That's saying nothing of the I'm-too-good-to-be-in-coach lady sitting next to me or of the peanuts I bought at the terminal gift shop, but now feel too guilty to eat because they smelled too strongly and I feel guilty snacking while the other passengers have nothing. I will be so ready to get off the plane.
November 11, 1996
The rest of the flight was for the most part uneventful. After renting a green Chevy Blazer, Larry and I began our trek northward to New Hampshire. Two hours and a couple phone calls to Matt later, we were there and went inside to the freezing condo. By the time Larry got the hot water heater turned on and the room heaters going, Matt was pulling up in his Corvette outside. Larry and I anxiously peeked out the cracked door to see a smiling shorter guy coming through the rain.
When he got inside, he was more clearly lit and I saw that my "fears" of someone who looked as though he was in his early thirties and on the chubby side were invalid. Perhaps if I'd expected someone drop dead droolworthy, it would have been a shock in the other direction, but as I'd expected someone "uncute," his looks were a welcome relief.
I went to Larry and told him as much by saying, "It was a smooth flight," a little code we'd worked out many moons ago (when I went to meet Werner in Pennsylvania). Larry, who'd gone back to his preparations of the house before Matt had gotten inside, walked over and said "Hello" himself.
For the rest of the night, the three of us got to know each other better. --If only I had a nickel for every time I wrote that sentence... but hey, that's what happened, I don't remember the specifics of the conversation and no real "action" occured except that we went to the local gas station to buy a fire log and four wine coolers.-- By the time we went to bed, we'd gotten to know Matt and find that he was even better than the guy we'd talked to on the phone. His nellyness, a concern of Larry's primarily but also of mine, was not there a tenth as much as on the phone. (After all, this was much more than simply an employment position. Everything was relevant, way more than normal.). So, anyway, he was koool and the three of us ended up sleeping in the same bed, me on one side, Larry in the middle, and Matt on the other... and nothing happened.
The next day, well, things were a little more amourous.
We continued to talk and learn the other's nuances, but we also went shopping, bought groceries, made soup, grilled hamburgers... and well, I guess you could say we lightly fooled around . Larry seemed to be pretty taken with Matt and I thought he was both cute (with his 5'8" stature and extremely furry chest) and mentally worthwhile (a sweetheart and kind soul).
As Sunday came and went, the three of us continued getting to know each other... and Matt was great as far as how he would handle the houseboy position. He did things like clean the stovetop and wipe off the counter. He washed dishes, fixed Larry and I things to drink, put the condiments on my hamburger, and actually fed me soup while I showed him the web site --which, I must admit, was a little awkward, but totally koool. I think I laughed more than I ate, though.
And today, we hung out... until we parted ways around one o'clock. We followed Matt down Interstate 93 until the exit for his house, and then we followed him off. He stopped at a small gas station then came to the window. Larry said that we wanted to say "Goodbye" one more time and he said that he was hoping we'd stop. We hugged, said we'd call him later, then drove off.
For the rest of the drive into Boston (and even before the final goodbye) we talked a lot of Matt and what each of us thought. Larry asked me if I thought he was the third to round out our picture and I said that I didn't think so, but that he could do the job and would be pretty awesome to hang around. Truth is, Larry really does need someone to help, but the position's for me as well. A third still needs to come into the picture and while Matt (at least not yet) isn't the kindred soul that Lee is, he is a kind, generous, sweet guy who Larry says is someone who "we could really end up falling in love with."... and who has the cutest accent when he says "Gawd and Neva"
It's now four hours into the flight and I've done some homework and written the above entry. All of a sudden, a hour or so ago, Larry turned to me and said "I really want to hire Matt." As he'd also expressed some apprehension earlier in our "in car" conversation, I thought for sure Larry was reserving judgment (and I guess he is still, to some degree) until after we'd flown Matt out to Los Angeles to interact with Katie and experience how life will be (He's never lived outside of New England... or even been on a plane). We called Matt to tell him the news: It looks like he'll become part of the family... and from the way this weekend went, I don't think it'll take long for him to make that transition.
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© 1996 Justin Clouse