THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Scott

Written by Lady Poetess
egiggles at moose-mail.com
http://www.asstr.org/~bbp

Please do not reproduce on any website without permission. This
story has no resemblance to anyone dead or alive.

ONE

What was it about intelligent, charismatic people that attracted
others to them? Scott Wolf had no idea, but he knew early that he
was particularly vulnerable to these attractive people. After all,
he was born in a family of very, very intelligent people. His
father was a forefront physicist, his mother was a prominent
player in AIDS research, and his siblings were well on their way
up the academia rung. He was trained early to embrace knowledge,
to put personality and character above beauty.

Being from a family of brains sucked big time, Scott would be the
first to admit. Especially when he showed no talent or even
capability to be one. He could barely passed high school were not
for the last moment SAT coaching by his younger brother and
sister. Scott had even tried excelling in sports instead of
academics, but alas, while he played everything from football to
gymnastics to swimming to hockey, he was an average player at
best.

So how did one hold his head high in a family of rocket
scientists, philosophers, and biologists when one was a mere
newspaper copyeditor?

Therefore, while Scott loved his family to pieces and they him, he
dreaded the message on his answering machine that night, asking
him to go back to Dallas for a family reunion. Leslie, his
youngest sister, was graduating two years ahead of schedule from
college and everyone was expected to be there on her convocation.
Another future academic (political science this time around) had
joined the ranks of the Wolves, one of the most respected name in
academics, right next to Watson and Crick, maybe Einstein and
Edison too.

One thing he could blame his family for, though, was that they
taught him brains was sexy. His parents were god in his eyes when
he was young, and now he was still in awe with his siblings and
cousins. The unfortunate result was a spillover of his respect and
craving for brains into his social life. A fifteen year-old Scott
in his school, during which his self-esteem was completely
nonexistent, he was easy meat for his swimming coach. He also
sought out the nerds.

It was humiliating. Here he was, a jock who offered to the nerds
when it should be the other way around, and they found him too
uninteresting foranything but sex. Bye-bye self esteem, hello
depression.

But hey, here he was, twenty-eight years old and totally secure in
his affections and standing in his family. They never saw him as
the stupid family black sheep - in fact, Mom always said his
talent one day would show. He just had to know it.

Well, one thing was for sure, he was a stubborn sucker for pain.
Here he was, standing in the middle of a gathering of socialites,
a stand-in volunteer (some would say sucker) just because he found
being in the company of snobs more exhilarating than cocaine.

That, and the fact that Ben Affleck was paying him two thousand
bucks to stand in for him found him here. "I will personally
murder the whole lot if I'm in their company for two minutes," Ben
had declared. "I'd rather spend the whole day inspecting Matt's
private parts."

But even two thousand dollars seemed like a bad compensation for
his now being bored to death. As was his habit, he kept his mouth
shut, afraid of making himself look like a fool among these boring
yet sophisticated people, and no one paid any attention to him.

This was his first socialite gathering, and heck, he was starting
to think maybe it wasn't worth two thousand bucks. He called for
another glass of champagne.



Jesse Bradford Watrouse was bored. The twenty-three year old son
of an American diplomat, he was well versed in the rules of the
socialite circles. He had played by the rules since he was
fifteen. Propriety, image, and discretion, the three steady
pillars of society.

Even now, his father was probably with his mistress, somebody's
wife. He could see his mother now, her eyes roaming the room for
any potential candidate for the comforts of her neglected state.
Not for the rest of her life, not even for the rest of the month,
but for tonight. And she was not alone in her exercise of
futility. Every other happily married people in their loneliness
circled each other, playing musical chairs with anyone willing to
make them forget even if for a moment the bleak meaningless life
of theirs.

Once, he had been an enthusiastic teenager willingly accepting the
invitations of her mother's much older friends. Now, at twenty-
three, he felt fifty, old and jaded beyond reason at his life.

It struck him as ironic, therefore, that here he was, his own eyes
straying across the room, looking for someone, anyone to help him
forget. He wondered without humor whether he and his mother would
be fighting over a male candidate tonight.

Again, his eyes fell on the rather stocky, unsophisticated man who
looked very uncomfortable. The man had been standing at a corner,
constantly looking at his watch, as if he was waiting for a decent
moment to flee the party. Jesse couldn't blame him. He wanted to
flee his life.

Maybe they could both use a moment of forgetful bliss. After all,
wasn't that what life was all about? A moment of pleasure,
ephemeral and transient, but enough to last a lifetime? Pray God,
he would find that moment.

He made his way towards the man, his resolution fueled by alcohol
and a sick feeling when he saw his mother walked out of the hall
with his father's best friend by her. He had to get out of here.

"Hi," he said, standing next to the man. "I'm Jesse."

"Scott. Hi."

Scott apparently didn't know the rules. In fact, he looked as if
he wanted to disappear, so discomfited did he look when Jesse
talked to him, that Jesse wondered if he was that hideous to look
at. He never had complains before. "Wanna get out of here?" he
asked Scott simply, putting on his most dazzling smile. Someone
had once said that his smile was pure tantalizing promise and
mischief roguishness combined, an irresistible mix.

"I, uh, sure," Scott said, still looked dazzled by Jesse's
attention.

Jesse hesitated, wondering if Scott was one of those silent, dull
types. But what the fuck, the night was young, and Scott didn't
need to use that mouth to speak when he was with Jesse.

"Good, then let's get away from here," he said.



TWO

The night was still young, in fact, it was only eight in the
evening. It was hard to believe that he was at the party - if he
could call it that - for only an hour. Not even a full hour. It
was even harder to believe that this dazzling, utterly charming,
eloquent, and attractive man - Jesse - was beside him in the car.
Scott gave the silent man a sidelong, discreet glance and
swallowed heavily.

He rarely gave in to impulsive actions, but tonight, he'd done
just that. Jesse offered a reckless adventure, and Scott accepted
with alarming alacrity. He knew what Jesse wanted, of course, and
Scott was flattered that the man wanted it from him. Experience
had taught him that his boyish face and shy smile attracted the
brains who found him intriguing if only for the moment. Whether he
wanted to let Jesse have him, now, that was an irresistible notion
but one he knew wasn't wise.

"Your place or mine?" Jesse asked, speaking for the first time
since he climbed into Scott's car. He lazily yet gracefully turned
his head to look at Scott. "Where are you driving me?"

"I don't know. I don't usually do this, you know."

"Mingling with the rich and boring, or taking in strangers for one-
night stands?" Jesse asked. "Oh, don't look at me like that.
You're wearing a cheap suit, and I know every boring socialite and
their family and kin. I'm a socialite after all, an ambassador's
son, and we all know, fuck, and hate each other in our incestuous
circle. Why were you at Elda's boring party anyway?"

"A friend whom I worked for paid me two thousand bucks to attend
in his place."

"Hmm. Only a few people had the courage to defy Elda's RSVP.
Brendan Fraser was away in Italy, so he wouldn't need you as an
excuse. Which left, ah, Ben Affleck. Impressive connections you
have." Jesse was now looking at Scott with more interest that he
had displayed earlier. "Who are you really?"

"Scott Wolf. Maybe you've heard of the Wolves? We are some sort of
socialite ourselves when it comes to the academia circle."

"My father signed a large check to a Baio Wolf's conservatorium
project in Alaska."

"That's my brother." Scott felt the brief, slight wistfulness when
he heard Baio's achievement. Sometimes he wished he was as smart
as Baio, sometimes. "He's saving the wolves."

Jesse laughed, a bitter laugh that made Scott look at him in
amazement. The man wore ennui and jadedness like some proud medals
of war. Scott thought he knew self-pity, but maybe this Jesse
could teach him lessons.

"So, what are you doing to save the world?" Jesse asked.

Scott got asked that a lot, so often that now he could make a joke
out of his answer. "I make sure the New York Times crossword
puzzle answers are printed correctly."

"Lucky you," Jesse answered. "So, wanna stop the car and fuck?
It's been awhile since I fucked in a car."

Scott looked at Jesse, beautiful, tormented Jesse who could make a
great Heathcliffean hero in his sister's plays. Stubbled and
disheveled, he looked devastatingly attractive. But Scott couldn't
find it in him to lust after the man, not when he found the man's
thick self-scorn so repellent. His cock was saying otherwise, for
he would have been blind not to smell the man's cologne, a potent
scent of heated skin and expensive fragrance, or be affected by
the man's charming, cocky, yet arrogant demeanor. But his heart,
his head, both were unmoved by the man's darkness.

Weird, for here was an obviously eloquent, sophisticated, and
intelligent man who radiated charisma - Scott's sort of guy. But
Scott found himself reluctant to play the game.

Instead, he pitied Jesse, although he would never let the other
man know that. Here was a man whom Scott wanted to be above all,
and the man was being more miserable than Scott. How. pathetic.

If he wanted to play hero, he would say the last thing Jesse
needed was more meaningless one-night-stands. If he wanted to be a
hero, he would try to help Jesse this one night, at least. If he
wanted to be a disgusting, condescending saint, which he didn't
want to.

Yet, yet when he looked at his own reflection in the mirror, and
realized that fuck, in this moment, he realized exactly how lucky
he was to have a supportive, loving family who wanted and
respected him unconditionally. He would call home tomorrow and
tell them yes, he would be with them the end of next month. Maybe
he would even tell them he loved them.

It was a Hallmark greeting card moment. And Scott looked at Jesse,
and felt pity as well as gratitude to Jesse. The latter showed
him, didn't he, how Scott was better off, only Scott was too
stupid to know it?

Good-natured lightness bubbled in Scott as he looked ahead in his
driving. If he was grinning like an idiot, he didn't care. He was
happy, and in that moment, he had found back his long-lost self-
esteem. At occasions like this, he deserved to laugh. And so he
did, startling Jesse.



Jesse stared at the man beside him. The cynical part of him
wondered if Scott was crazy, but the long dormant side of him, the
mushy romantic idiot who believed in dreams, stirred at the sight
of the man laughing. He looked at his hands clenched into fists,
and he wondered why, at that moment, he wanted to murder Scott.

He was jealous, he realized with shock. He was jealous of Scott's
laughter.

"Stop it," he snapped instinctively. "Shut up. Shut the fuck up!"

"Oh, damn it," Scott said when he could stop laughing. "I'm not
laughing at you, Jesse. It's just - damn, life is good!"

"It isn't. Shit, I don't think I'm in the mood for fucking
anymore. Drive me back." He might still find another fresh meat
for the night. His heart beat too fast for Scott, and his blood
sang too rapidly at the sight of Scott. It terrified him.

Scott only smiled, and this time his eyes gleamed with mischief.
Jesse's cock and heart jumped at the sight, and Jesse's hands
clenched even harder, this time to stop them from touching Scott.
Oh, but he so wanted to, damn his stupid self.

"Where are you taking me?" Jesse asked warily.

"Shopping," Scott answered cheerfully.



The man was mad, Jesse told himself later. Scott's strange mood
was infectious, and they caused Jesse to max out his credit card.
Their first stop was the records store, where Jesse's instinctive
heading to the classical and new wave section was halted when
Scott placed his hand on Jesse's shoulder and directed him to the
pop section. Jesse was too stunned at the touch and the fever that
surged through him at that touch to protest.

So there he found himself listening to everyone from the Spice
Girls to Nelly to Britney Spears. Scott just wanted to purchase
the new Matchbox 20 CD, and he ended up waiting, bemused, as Jesse
listened and agonized over the Spice Girls, Christina Aguilera, or
Nelly. It was embarrassing, he, Jesse Bradford, classical music
enthusiast, was going all crazy over lightweight pop music. He
ended up with twenty new CDs - he didn't care, he took every CD on
the Billboard Top 20 Albums Chart that week.

And he startled himself when he forced Scott to play the Ruff Endz
CD in the car.

It was Scott's crazy mood - it was infecting him too.

Such as when he found himself in a club called Abracadabra,
staring in disgust at the largest submarine sandwich he had ever
seen, liberally coated with unhealthy mayonnaise and ketchup. This
club was a far cry from the crystallized atmosphere of the five-
star restaurants he frequented, it was loud, it was jam-packed
with obviously middle-class New Yorkers after a hard week's work,
and it was disturbingly informal in the dress code and mood. Even
Scott had left his suit in the car, and Jesse felt a fool in his
full suit.

His growling stomach told him he was hungry, and even as he felt
queasy at the liberal greasiness of the sandwich, he took a bite.

"I never know you have such disgusting table manners," Scott
commented when Jesse finished the second serving of fries.

Jesse made to answer, but he was cut off when a guy greeted Scott
and rudely took a seat around Scott. He wanted to protest at the
intrusion of this moment - damn, it was supposed to be just he and
Scott, right? - but Scott's warm greeting to the man told Jesse
that Scott might not appreciate that.

And why was he feeling this strange hurt inside him at the
possibility that Scott might prefer this stranger's company to
his?

He had to be going mad, he had to be. Especially when he felt this
crazy urge to burst into tears when Scott laughed at something the
other man said.

"Jesse, this is Brian, who'll be singing soon after. Say hi, Bri,"
Scott was saying.

"Hi." After the obligatory nicety, Brian turned his attention back
to Scott. "So, Rich is down with a bad throat and Rupert will kill
me if I don't sing tonight."

Jesse wasn't used to being ignored, and he realized the feeling
sucked.

"No, I don't, I can't sing," Scott was saying.

"I can't reach the notes, not with my own bad throat," Brian was
saying. "And you know the words to the song."

Jesse shocked them all by saying, "I can do it."



So here he was, standing at the stage, looking at many, many faces
that looked as if they had no idea what to make out of this crazy-
looking joker on stage. He panicked, of course, for his
volunteering was a purely instinctive reaction to being ignored.
So here he was, trapped into a corner.

Brian grinned at him as he sat beside, slightly behind Jesse.

"Why can't I sit?" Jesse asked.

"That's because you're not the one playing the guitar," Brian said
cheerfully.

Jesse found himself warming up to the man. He now knew why Brian
looked familiar - the man was Brendan Fraser's infamous assistant
and (some whispered) key industrial saboteur. "I can't do this,"
he told Brian.

"Scared?" Brian taunted.

"Yeah."

Brian smiled, and mercilessly played the first few chords on the
guitar. The crowd clapped, and Jesse wanted to sink down into the
floor.

"It seems Jesse James has forgotten the words," Brian told the
crowd, who laughed.

And the Wrathousse pride, long submerged under his nervousness at
this strange environment, resurfaced full force. The crowd
clapped, and Brian later admitted that it was, well, a decent
show. But Jesse wasn't listening. He was trying to sort out his
feelings, such as why he felt as if had just saved the world when
Scott smiled and clapped for him, or why, during his singing, he
found his eyes looking straight at Scott, unable to look away,
unable to be certain whether when he was singing about
heartbreaks, he wasn't singing to Scott.



"I got corrupted by pop music, I ate enough greasy food to last me
a lifetime, and I sang a stupid love song. If they could see me
now," Jesse said.

The man's voice had changed sometime during that night, Scott
realized. Jesse no longer sounded as if he viewed everything
through cynical eyes, for now at least. This Jesse was happily
munching on a muffin bought from a 7-11, looking as if he was a
happy-going, down-to-earth charmer of a man. A man whom Scott
found frighteningly attractive.

And he was also afraid. Jesse had told Scott anything and
everything, and it only showed Scott how wrong Jesse was for him.
Jesse had been all over the world, seen everything and done
everything. Jesse read books Scott had never heard of and listened
to tasteful classical stuff. The man knew things, knew about all
those strange and mysterious things about the world, politics,
geography, people, and ways of the world only the rich and
cosmopolitan knew. He terrified Scott, his intelligence and
charisma were an aphrodisiac to Scott.

"Why aren't you eating? This muffin's good. I will never pay those
exorbitant caf‚ prices again." Jesse was taking to his
introduction to 7-11 goods very well indeed.

"I'm on a diet," Scott confessed sheepishly, charmed at the sight
of this new Jesse despite himself. "It's my family curse. If I
don't watch what I eat, I will balloon up."

"Ah. You'll look cute fat," Jesse said.

Scott couldn't laugh, because Jesse said it as if he meant it.

"Okay, get in," he said, grateful that they had reached his car.
"I'll drive you home."

"I don't want to go home," Jesse said.

"Then where do you want to go?" Why did Scott feel strangely
pleased at Jesse's declaration?

"I don't know," Jesse answered, looking away, seemingly deflated.
"Very well, take me home."



"Do you believe in love?" Jesse asked Scott later.

"My parents are happily married," Scott answered. "I'd be crazy
not to, not with living proof under my eyes."

They were standing outside Jesse's door. And both were reluctant
to leave, taking this conversation as an excuse to linger. If they
were attracted to each other, they dared not acknowledge it, Jesse
out of wariness and Scott out of self-preservation.

"Have you ever been in love?" Jesse asked, lifting his brow
cynically. Shades of the old Jesse were coming back.

"No. I thought I had been a few times, and maybe I did love them,
but they didn't love me back. Big deal. Sometimes I try to tell
myself that love doesn't exist, but I'm stubborn. I keep waiting,
hoping, maybe one day love will come knocking at my door, and I
would be there to answer it." Scott realized he was standing too
close to Jesse, and tried to take a step back. He couldn't, drawn
to Jesse's body heat and presence.

And Jesse, damn him, took a step closer.

"I don't know whether to call you optimistic or stupid. Not that
there's any difference between both, is there?" Jesse asked
softly.

"Goodnight Jesse," Scott said gently.

Jesse hesitated and then said, "Thanks." Another hesitation. "I'll
be leaving for Moscow tomorrow night." Now why did he mention
that?

Scott didn't know why, maybe because of the promise that he would
never see Jesse again, but he did it nonetheless. He kissed Jesse
then. A gentle brush of lips, a too-brief moment of yearning
acknowledged, but it felt as if Scott had just kissed fire.

"Goodnight," he said again even as his lust surged forth, almost
making him lose control. He had to get out of here.

"Goodnight," Jesse parroted softly, sounding confused and unhappy.

Scott, the coward he was, fled.




THREE

Jesse wasn't listening to what his mother was saying. He didn't
care anymore, he realized. He looked instead at his luggage, all
neatly packed for tonight's flight to Moscow, where he would then
spend the next few weeks in ennui. He didn't want to go. He
couldn't bear living his life that way anymore.

He was actually contemplating getting a job, he realized. Maybe it
was time to accept New York Times' offer as a staff reviewer in
the entertainment pages. And he would see Scott at a daily basis.
They could meet over lunch. They could - they could - what could
they do?

Ignoring his mother, he picked up his cell phone. Ignoring her
indignant gasp, he walked away from her and made to dial Scott's
number. Only to curse when he realized he never knew the man's
number.



It was ten and Jesse would have left by now. Probably that was for
the best, Scott told himself. When had a brain ever found him
worth his time? None, probably never.

"You're thinking of him again, aren't you?" Rupert Everett said
quietly.

Scott was sitting on a swing at the playground near his apartment
and Rupert was pushing him. A stupid, kid-like gesture on both
their part, but Rupert had just broken up with his boyfriend and
Scott was miserable and lonely. This was cheaper than therapy.

"He is so much different from me," Scott said simply.

"You know, I can spend the night with you," Rupert said. "Who
knows, maybe good for the both of us, a night of meaningless sex."

Scott laughed without humor. "You just want a rebound affair."

"And you are always so afraid of being used." Rupert sighed. "So
how on earth do we cheer up?"

"Well, for one, you can fuck off and leave Scott alone," came a
voice that made Scott jumped inside. Jesse walked into sight,
looking feral yet incongruously holding a bouquet of roses. "He's
mine."

Rupert made an amused snort. "Think I should go, Scott?"

Scott didn't know what to say. Maybe he should just stop fighting.
"Sure, fuck off buddy. You'll get your meaningless sex somewhere
else, I've no doubt."

"Oh, don't bet on it." Rupert took his time, dusting his trousers
and giving Jesse a mock salute before walking away to his car.



"I'm jealous," Jesse said. He stood there, hadn't moved since
Rupert left, and Scott was getting nervous. It was as if Jesse was
gathering his temper for a big explosion. "I want to kill him when
he asked to fuck you. I don't believe it. I'm actually being
possessive about you, a man I just met last night."

Scott didn't know how to answer that, so he kicked himself into
swinging.

Jesse finally walked up to him, and placed his hand on Scott's
shoulder, halting him. The touch burned. And then he kissed the
curve of Scott's neck, just a brush of heated lips along burning
skin, and Scott stopped breathing. "Why?" he asked Jesse brokenly
-- he needed to know. Why he?

"Does it matter?" Jesse breathed into Scott's ear.

"Yes." Scott closed his eyes as Jesse's breath, warm on his skin,
warmed him like nothing would. It would be so easy, so foolish, to
give in to the illusion that now, nothing mattered but Jesse.

"Then okay, I can't go back to living my old life. It's your
fault. I blame you, and I should hate you for it. But I don't."
Jesse chuckled, this time with genuine humor. "All I wanted is
meaningless sex. Why do I have to meet you instead?"

"I don't know what to say, Jesse. We are so different, and I -"

"Just say yes. Look, I don't care if you're not the smartest
bastard on earth. All I'm asking is for you to give me a chance to
work something out with you. That's all. Please?"

He was never a smart man, but this time Scott didn't care. Not
when Jesse was whispering to him, looking at him this way, as if
he was someone Jesse respected and cared for. What could he say?
He never had a choice, had he?

"Yes," he said. It was like a benediction, or a fatal seal of his
fate.

Either way, he never had a chance.



He kissed Scott as if he was drowning. Scott was drowning himself,
lost since the first touch of Jesse's hand on his naked chest.
Years of trying battle his weight made him awkward and hesitant in
having his shirt unbuttoned, until Jesse just grinned and kissed
him. He couldn't fight the man then, not when the man was kissing
him, touching him, those dexterous fingers unfastening buttons and
belt until Scott didn't know until too late that he was entirely
laid bare to Jesse's scrutiny.

He wasn't a well-muscled man, for he always had the layer of puppy
fat he never outgrew. Still, Jesse touched him as if he was
beautiful, the hand trembling slightly as if Jesse was the one
nervous here.

"I'm actually very nervous," Jesse said, confirming Scott's
puzzled thoughts. "I don't want to screw this up."

"That's okay," Scott said. "There's no shame in having no prior
experience before this."

"Bastard." Jesse laughed, his voice low and breathy in his state
of mind, and pounced playfully on Scott.

Scott laughed too, but he lost all common sense when Jesse's mouth
found his. It was all instinct when he touched, kissed, and felt.
He let his tongue taste Jesse's lips, tasting slight cigarette
leftovers and chewing gum. And when Jesse stood up to remove a
pack of condoms from his pocket, Scott pulled him back down, his
mouth closing over Jesse's cock.

"Hey watch it with your teeth, I only got one of that thing,"
Jesse said, trying to tear open the silver foil, not easy
considering he was getting the blow job of his life. Finally, in
frustration, he used his teeth - "Got it!" - and tore the fucking
thing open. "Now, put it on and fuck me!" he said, throwing the
rubber at Scott.

Scott grinned and put on the rubber. He wasn't a big man, but
hell, he was a thick one. Jesse bit back a yelp when he penetrated
that man, shuddering visibly when Scott started forging deep,
tearing him open like he never had been before. Jesse convulsed
around that cock, lost in pain and pleasure, and Scott started
thrusting then.

He wanted to go slow so that Jesse could enjoy it as much as he.
But one dip into that tight, heated, wet sheath enclosing his
cock, he was lost. He pumped hard, lost in his need for
completion, and Jesse urged him on, clasping his legs around his
torso hard, until he came in a blinding rush of pleasure.

Dazed, he could only chuckle weakly as Jesse straddled him, his
still hard cock inches from Scott's lips. Scott opened his mouth
gladly, and Jesse plunged home.



"So we finally did it. We fucked, and I say we did it well. Better
than well." Jesse grinned and jumped onto the bed. "You got any
good shows I can watch?"

Scott trailed the man into the bedroom, wiping his still wet hair
from the recent shower. "You're not going home?" he asked
tentatively.

"Are you always this good with after-sex talks?" Jesse asked with
raised eyebrows. "Or do you just want me out of your house? No,
I'm not going home. I don't think I want to, not for the time
being." He grinned at Scott. "Unless you want to move in with me?
I have lots of space."

"What about Moscow?"

"There's always next month. Year. Whatever. While you, my dear
Scott, comes by only one every while. I'd be a fool to let you get
away."

Scott didn't dare hope. He just stood there, naked and uncertain
of what to say as he stared at Jesse. "You do know what you are
saying, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know. Ah, A-ha. Loved that group when I was a teen in the
80's." Jesse placed the CD onto the player. "I love this song," he
said, acting calm as if he hadn't just told Scott that he wanted
Scott as a part of his life.

Fuck A-ha, fuck 'Take On Me', fuck the 80's. Scott jumped onto the
bed and gripped Jesse's face between his hands. At the background,
someone was singing 'Take on me, take me home'. How apt. "Don't
fuck with me. I am not a sex toy," he yelled at Jesse, memories of
being dumped by a series of nerds and brains haunting him.

"Relax. I'm a smart man," Jesse said. "Take on me, Scott. I'll
prove to you I'm the real thing."

"It's just two days," Scott said.

"So? Make it two months and then we'll renegotiate, how's that?"

Jesse grinned, his eyes, free from cynicism and self-effacing
bitterness, telling Scott the truth where his deliberately
nonchalant voice tried not to. He cared for me, Scott thought -
Jesse cared for him, and saw him as someone to be envied, loved,
and to laugh with.

It was humbling, and it was exhilarating.

And for the second time in two days, Scott started to laugh.

"Now, about you coming once a while, let's put that to test,"
Jesse began to say, his hand reaching for Scott. Scott was only
too happy to comply.




FOUR

"You look happy," Jessica Wolf told her son. "Scott, I'm happy for
you."

"Cut it out, Ma, I was happy before," Scott said, embarrassed when
his mother hugged him hard. "I have to see that the soup gets
heated in time."

"Come join us in the hall. Nan can see to the soup."

Scott tried to stay out of family conversations where he would
inadvertently get lost in. He never could keep up and he never had
anything to share or contribute. "I'll see you in a few minutes,"
he said this time.

Why not? His family adored Jesse, who was every bit at home with
the too-intelligent Wolves. He made them all laugh with his wit
and easy anecdotes about everything and anything, and Scott
couldn't help but to be entranced at this Jesse, the ambassador's
son who had seen everything, tried everything, and grew bored with
everything.

"To your lovely Scott, who showed me the pleasures of a greasy
hamburger, the plebian joys of a rap CD, and who taught me that
being cynical and jaded is a most boring and uncool way of life,"
he had announced earlier that day in a silly toast. "Scott, three
weeks and counting."

It was embarrassing, but Jesse was displaying an alarming tendency
to melodramatic displays of affections. The other day he actually
bought a $20,000 electric guitar belonging to some dead rocker and
announced that he was going to learn how to play that thing or die
trying. What did you know, Jesse harbored dreams of becoming Van
Halen.

Scott, much to his bemusement, was finding himself the practical
and smart one in their relationship.

"He does have his flamboyant ways," Jessica was saying. "But he
makes a great addition to the family."

"Mom, we're only together for three weeks!"

Jessica shrugged. "Then you better go out and correct that young
man, because from what I gather, he intends to keep this thing
going as long as he could. I hate to see him hurt. Besides, he's
the first guy of yours who actually asks your opinions on things.
Can't hurt to keep him, I'd say."

Scott grinned. "Yeah," he said. "I really like him, Mom."

"And I like you too." Jesse stood at the doorway. "Now come on,
don't hide in the kitchen. Introduce me to your cousins. And
Jessica, you don't mind me calling you Mum, don't you? Scott, stop
staring and come on!"

When Jesse wanted, he got. Scott gladly went. Dear mad, crazy
Jesse, and dear God, let him stay that way. With a silent prayer
of thanks and hope, Scott gladly placed his hand in Jesse's.

"You know, I had a good feeling that your family likes me. I
always wanted a big family," Jesse said, his enthusiasm
infectious. "I love you Scott."

The quiet pronouncement threw Scott off-balance, but only for a
moment. At that moment, Scott knew: he knew that all along.
Somehow, he trusted Jesse, reckless, mad, crazy Jesse, God help
him. It was now or never, he told himself - step back or jump off
the cliff.

He looked at Jesse's eyes, hesitated one more time (old habits
died hard), and jumped.
