I'd gotten bored. Eric was at the office and I wandered out to the guest house to bug Greg... and Steve answered the door. He looked like he'd had a major all-nighter, red eyes, hair all messed up -- he was smoking a cigarette and sort of waved me in-- then went back to nursing a cup of coffee.
Greg came out, looking even worse. He smiled and we went outside and sat in the Adirondack chairs-- sipping coffee in the cool winter sun.
Greg grimaced and said, "I've got two words for you -- Robert Chambers."
"The Preppy Murderer?" I asked in a whisper.
He nodded. "Every time Steve and I go at it, it feels like it could be the last. I mean, I'm all for a rough old tumble in the sheets but God -- I'm sore all over. I feel like I've been beat up and hung out to dry. No talking, no kissing, just lie down, shut up, and take it."
"Shut Up And Take It," I repeated. "I think I saw that movie."
He laughed and drank some more java.
"Details." I pushed.
"Well, let's just say there's no point in working out on the days I'm meeting him. I get plenty of exercise with Steve-o-Reno. He's the strong, silent type. But still waters run mighty deep with this guy, Drew. He's hiding something and I'm obsessed with trying to figure it out."
I'd been wondering what to do for Greg's upcoming birthday, whether to throw him a surprise party or just have the gang over.
"What do you want for your birthday, Greg?" He stretched out in the chair, and groaned in pain from last night's "workout."
"A day of beauty at a very expensive spa, Drew. A pair of hands to take away all my pain!"
"Are you fishin' for a backrub?"
"Would you, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?"
I gave in and got behind him, started workin' in real deep to his shoulder blades and neck. Greg was like a lion cub, purring and moaning, when I remembered another thing I'd come out to ask him about...
"Greg, what about those pictures? You said you were gonna give them to me so I could destroy them and rest assured they wouldn't wind up in some dirty old man's safe deposit box."
Uhghghgh, ummmmmmmm, ughghghghghg -- was all I got out of him.
"I want those pictures, Greg. I'm serious."
"All right, all right -- I gotta get them for you, they're in a box somewhere, don't worry about it -- and don't stop massaging....ughghghgh, yes, my neck, harder.... ummmmmm."
I kept at it. This guy was putty in my hands.
