THE GREGSONS, a serial taleBy Erosscribe(1st kiss,  history , remembrance) This story carries a copyleft. It can be modified and reprinted anywhere and in any form the reader feels would be appropriate. I would prefer that no one do so for profit, as I am giving this freely.. Any published reprint or reinvention of this work must be copylefted as well, and I must be cited. Personally, I would be grateful if you dropped me a note at erossscribe@mac.com, as IÕm fascinated as to where the work might go and how it might be reinvented. Thanks. This work is dedicated to Shannon, Cass, Karly, Kayla, Danielle, Britt, Jess, Alanna and last but certainly not least, Nikki. Story Characters Elmer Vanderhoven, 68Gudrun Vanderhoven, 62Mary Smith (nee Vanderhoven), 41Bob Smith, 45Me (John Smith), 18Abigail Smith, 43Adam Grossberg, 46Lauren Smith-Grossberg, 20Lisa Vanderhoven / Anneliese Gregson, 35Archibald Gregson III, 63 Amelia Gregson, 15Amanda Gregson, 13Melinda and Melissa Gregson, (twins) 11Llewellyn Gregson (Lil), 9Robert aka James aka Arthur Harrington, 66 (Chauffeur) Reginald Butler, 55 (Butler)Jacques Bellamont, 33 (Chef)Brynja Bjarturdottir, 22 (Housekeeper)Soleil Bingham, 19 (Gardener) In This Chapter:Me (John Smith), 18Lauren Smith-Grossberg, 20Robert aka James aka Arthur Harrington, 66 (Chauffeur)Chapter II: Travels and Travails After many phone calls back and forth, the details of my trip were finalized. Because the Gregsons wanted me to come out on Thursday to be ready to leave on Friday, I would have to fly to Philadelphia, where I would be picked up. However, the only flight that they could get on Thursday was sold out, except for First Class, so IÕd have to make do. I detected a note of glee in AnnelieseÕs voice as she informed me of the travel plans, butÉ whatever. For $6750.00 to look after 5 girls for 9 weeks on a beautiful island IÕd fly around the world to the left. I was also instructed to bring a set of afternoon formal wear, a set of evening formal wear and an outfit that "would be memorable." After the last part of this announcement Anneliese practically cackled, but I donÕt think she knows who sheÕs dealing with. I love vintage clothes. They take you to another time and place, and you can often get something amazing really cheap. Problem is, I have nowhere to wear them, so I just fold them up and put them in the closet. I had just gone to a vintage store after finishing finals, and part of my haul was a cape in red and black velvet. It looked like a bullfighterÕs cape, except it had a red and black Velcro closure around the neck so you could actually wear it. On me it was down to my mid Š thigh, but IÕm 6Õ3", so it was probably meant to be full length. I also scored these utterly ridiculous black skintight stretch velvet pants with a thin white vertical stripe and black lace cuffs. The last two items I snagged before I stopped myself were a made in France French black wool beret and these great 70Õs-era black leather boots with black and white psychedelic sparkly swirls, sporting a two inch Cuban heel. I packed my latest madness of an outfit into my already full duffel bag and somehow managed to zip it closed. With a getup like this I am ready for whatever strangeness might come my way. I was completely packed and ready the night before, because I had to be up at 5 Thursday morning. ItÕs on these mornings that the existence of the nuked 3 second Blueberry Pop-Tart comes in handy. HereÕs the deal: The plane left at 9 from SFO and there was some type of security alert where you absolutely had to be there two hours early. Dad was out of town and there was no way I could ask Mom for a ride. If thereÕs one thing she hates more than getting up early, itÕs driving to the airport. Since my goal was a stress-free journey, I decided to make a reservation with one of those van services. TheyÕre really cool, except for the fact that they pick you up at your house. This sounds like a great deal, until you realize that they pick everybody else up at their house too, which leads to a lot of aimless driving around. So, to get to the airport at 7 the van was picking me up at 5:30 Š and this was for a 9 AM flight. Leave at 9, get to Philadelphia around 3:30, promptly lose 3 hours, and then the drive to NYC will take another 2 and a half hours, I was informed.. If IÕm very lucky, I could be at Aunt AnnelieseÕs place by 9 PM. Subtracting the time change, thatÕs 12 and a half hours of vans, limos and airports. This is why enlisting a sleepy, grumpy Mom to kick things off would not have been a smart move.  Since there was no traffic on the roads, of course we get to the airport at 6:40 Š and no one, I mean no one, is there. I hadnÕt flown in a couple of years and I had heard about all of these high security measures, but I whizzed right through, barely questioned, and ended up at my gate at 7:25, an hour and 15 minutes before they started boarding. I donÕt know if youÕve ever had one of those moods where nothing appeals to you, but I was in one at that moment. I had my sketch pad - but drawing didnÕt feel right. I also didnÕt want to get detained for possible terrorist activity. Sketching inside an airport Š just enough to get me busted. I had my new, cool 8O G video ipod, (thanks for the graduation gift, Mom) but nether music nor the complete Season 2 of The Hills ( yeah, yeah, I know, but you have to begin with the first season of Laguna Beach, [as The Hills is a most worthy spinoff of that seminal show] and move ever forward to understand the depth and complexity of the work) nor my music collection fit the moment. (On that front, MikaÕs Life in Cartoon Motion is THE album of summer 2007. DoesnÕt matter when it came out, itÕs a summer album, feel-wise. In addition, LICM also serves as a great score for a reading of the Dancing Wu Li Masters.) I went to a just Šopening gift shop and bought a copy of Wired but I didnÕt feel like reading, so I thought. One of those deep life-considering thinks. (IÕm aware thatÕs not a proper use of the word but it should be, so IÕm trying to start it. Thanks for your support.) One thing I realized while reviewing my life is that you ( the reading public) know very little about me. I donÕt quiteÉ participate. In life that is. IÕm the recorder, the observer, the notator. ThatÕs why I draw, take photographs, and write -- it allows me to be part of an event without being in it. ThatÕs one of the reasons this summer feels like the beginning of something Š IÕm being thrown right in the middle of things. ThatÕs not exactly true. IÕve been at the center of things before. IÕm the captain of my schoolÕs volleyball team. But we donÕt believe in competition, so if you show up for practice youÕre on the team and the person who shows up the most is the de facto captain. That would be yours truly, captain of The Bay School Buccaneers MenÕs Varsity Volleyball Team. The only reason I started playing was because IÕm tall and it looked like fun. The more I played the better I liked it, so I kept playing. On a normal team IÕd be a setter, but here IÕm just "He Who Gets The Ball Over The Net." Not an official position, I realize, but itÕs a fairly ad hoc team. LetÕs see-more about me. Ooh. Vitals: IÕm 6 foot 3 and 180 pounds with black hair to my shoulders and bangs, black eyes and (IÕve been told) a nice smile. Not buff, but I have a few muscles. IÕve been called cute a few times, too. Whatever. IÕm not really interested in the whole dating thing - it seems like I wouldnÕt have enough time to make art, and thatÕs really my passion. Also, itÕs not like girls are falling at my feet. DonÕt get me wrong, IÕm not an outcast or anything. I have friends. ItÕs just that all of my girl friends are just friends, or else they only talk to me to figure out how to snag another guy on the team. I had a gf once, when I was 13, and that worked out incredibly badly, so I just do my thing. I did have one good experience, actually. It was with my cousin Lauren two years ago over Easter Break. IÕm not sure if any of you have any swoon-worthy cousins, but Lauren definitely is one. ***** Tangent Ahead***The whole Lauren Easter weekend thing is pretty interesting. Lauren is the daughter of DadÕs older sister Abigail. We donÕt talk much about DadÕs family, mainly because there isnÕt much to say. Neither he nor Aunt Abigail is in contact with them at all, and the last time I saw them (or so IÕm told) was when I was born. Aunt Abigail is 42, and she went to the University of Wisconsin to get a degree in sociology. At least she thought she wanted to get a degree in sociology. After finishing her first year, she knew that not only didnÕt she want a degree in sociology, she didnÕt want to go to college at all. There was something she wanted, though. He was 21 and wanted her right back.. His name, for the record, is Adam Grossberg. So he graduated, they got married -- and it wasnÕt the best idea ever. Aunt Abigail had been working at various cafˇs and record stores to help them survive while Adam went back to Wisconsin for a Ph.D in Sociology. ( I hear itÕs tough to get into Grad School at the same school you went to undergrad, but I wouldnÕt know.) Their  marriage is going along. ItÕs pretty rough, but they are making it work, until Abigail discovers sheÕs pregnant. That was the last straw. Adam couldnÕt deal, but with the help of thrice-weekly therapy he managed to hold on for almost another 2 years. When my cousin Lauren was 1, he got his Ph.D and moved out, and they ended up getting divorced after 7 years. My Aunt was left with a problem. There was no way she could support herself and Lauren while working at a cafˇ.  So she had to figure something out.It seems everyone in my family (on both sides) makes up their minds to do something and just does it. Aunt Abigail decided she wanted to fight wildfires. She joined the Forest Service, passed the tests, and is now a Squad Leader on the Lolo Hotshot crew out of Missoula, Montana. The Hotshots donÕt jump out of the planes, but they do just about everything else related to fighting a wildfire. Aunt Abigail mainly stays in Montana and Idaho, but has been sent all over the country to help put out fires. The Hotshots (yes, that is their official name) are the elite, the SWAT team of wildfire firefighting,, and my Aunt is one of them. Pretty cool, huh? Meanwhile, Adam became interested in participant/observer sociology, where he would live in a community for a year or two and then write about the ways the community  functioned or not and his experiences of being a member of that community. From that he developed what he called "Sociological Puppetry" where he and the community would use puppets to create a piece addressing what they saw as the major issues in the community. The idea was that making art about a community problem gave people enough distance to be able to brainstorm ways of solving that issue. Eventually Adam  got burned out on sociology altogether,  as he went deeper and deeper into puppetry, especially experimental puppetry Now he is making a living as a experimental puppeteer, touring around Eastern Europe and Asia. Lauren is going to Williams College and concentrating in Maritime Studies. She thinks eventually she wants to work with dolphins somehow -- she just isnÕt sure how yet. Somehow, Adam and Aunt Abigail have remained friends, even through all the craziness.This brings us back to Easter 2005 at Aunt AbigailÕs. She and Lauren live about forty-five minutes outside of Missoula inŃwell, it isnÕt a log cabin, but it might as well be. They have a stream in the front yard, a one-horse barn in the back, and two Kuvasz (Hungarian Sheepdogs.) They own a TV, but theyÕve covered it in multicolored candle wax and hung it from the ceiling as an objet dÕart. They have a cell phone for emergencies but no home phone, and there are no computers to be found anywhere. There are books. Lots and lots and lots of books. Lauren goes swimming and hiking and in the summer and snowboarding in the winter. Abigail ice skates when there are no fires to be fought. They talk about living "close to the Earth." So there we all are for a few days over Easter. Adam joins us on Easter Sunday, explaining that a booking fell through and that as a Jew he happened to be free.**************** End Tangent**************************Returning to our regularly scheduled story, IÕd just turned 16, Lauren had just been accepted into Williams, and she was flirting like crazy with me. She must have gotten every recessive gene in the entire pool, because Lauren looked like none of us. At all. An All-American girl. Gorgeous, but not exotic. Blonde hair, blue eyes, 36-24-36. Fresh-faced, scrubbed and cheery with little apple cheeks. A I said earlier, swoonworthy. When I was 5 and she was 7 we played a bit of "IÕll show you mine if youÕll show me yours", but since then we had been solid friends, nothing more. The occasional AIM, but mainly the type of friend who only exists when you are with them. It was very odd, then, to have Lauren flirting with me. Pretty openly, too. Not like anything in a porno mag- I mean she still kept her clothes on, but she would smile at me, wink, drop things and bend over-- that whole deal. So I just figured it was all in fun and going nowhere, until she knocked on my door late Easter Sunday night. " John- itÕs Lauren. Can I come in?" It must have been 2 AM, but I tried to pretend I was cool and awake. "Sure. I was just lying here thinking about the long drive home tomorrow." I quickly covered up so she wouldnÕt notice my Star Trek : Deep Space Nine pajamas. Lauren walks in, smiling, and sit down on the bed next to me. " John, I know IÕve been teasing you the last few days, and that isnÕt right. IÕve um, uh, never kissed a boy before, and I was kind of hoping youÕd make a move, but, um - can I kiss you?" IÕm a bit shocked, but I lean in the way you see in movies, cupping her chin in my hand, and she kisses me. Not that I have much to compare it to- but this was a really nice kiss. Long, soft, exploratory, followed by a much more passionate and deep kiss. We must have kissed, varying tempi and insistencies, for at least 20 minutes, until a soft chime goes off in my head and I realize that this is the point where a male is supposed to try to touch a girlÕs breast. So I make a clumsy attempt, and am simultaneously pushed away and hugged. Lauren has thrown her arms around my neck and is whispering "thank you thank you thank youÉ" while occasionally stopping to kiss my cheek. "Um, Lauren? WhatÕs going on?" " Remember when I said IÕd never kissed a boy before? Well, thatÕs exactly what I meant. IÕve kissed lots of girls, though." "OK, so what are you thanking me for?" " "Promise you wonÕt get upset?" I look at this beautiful girl in my arms and whisper "Nothing you say right now could upset me." " Ok thenÉ. I always thought I was a lesbian, because I really like girls, but I had never done so much as kiss a guy, so I wasnÕt sure." " And now?" Now IÕm sure IÕm a lesbian, and I owe it all to you. UhhhÉUm, not in a bad way. I didnÕt meanÉ." Lauren is turning beet-red as she tries to turn this into a positive. I begin to chuckle at the absurdity of it all and end up shaking-laughing, tears streaming down my face. Pretty soon Lauren is laughing too. As our hysteria dies down, she leans in and whispers " IÕll make you a deal. If you can promise not to try anything, IÕll sleep with you tonight Š- just sleep-- and IÕll tell all my friends what a good fuck you are." " Um, Lauren, arenÕt most of your friends lesbians?" " Well, now that you mention itÉyes they are. So much for that idea." We collapse into giggles again and fall asleep wrapped in each otherÕs arms. Right as IÕm drifting off, Lauren whispers in my ear, "IÕm a Next Generation girl, myself." and kisses my earlobe. ThatÕs it, folks. Welcome to the sum total of my sexual experiences.It was at this point in my think when I realized that they were announcing a last call for US Air flight 940 nonstop to Philadelphia. The flight was pretty nondescript, except for the food. I donÕt eat a lot of meat but since it was breakfast time and I was in First Class, I tried the Eggs Benedict with a Mimosa to wash it down. Severe rockage occurred. For those of you who havenÕt had "Dude, WhereÕs My Car?" drilled into the back of your brain- this means it was delicious. I was on the aisle next to an older couple. She complained about absolutely everything, and he ignored her and read The Wall Street Journal and Business Week. I think I caught him reading the same Business Week twice. I decided to watch the movie, since it was "complimentary to our first class passengers." IÕm assuming this means it was unfriendly or possibly downright nasty to those in coach. The movie was actually the most surreal part of the flight. HereÕs what I heard: "Our in-flight movie today isÉ. Snakes On A Plane, starring Samuel L. Jackson and Julianna Margulies. We hope you enjoy it." Snakes On a Plane ON A PLANE? Are they kidding me? No one else seemed to notice, but I thought it was a bit of an odd choice, especially since the film heading West was Nacho Libre. They now have an Eastbound movie and a Westbound movie, which I donÕt remember from my last flight. The plane landed, and I made my way to baggage claim, where I was met by a British Chauffeur who insisted on calling me Master John. It wasnÕt so much that he was British, it was that he was the stereotype of the British servant come to life. The best analogy I could give would be Alfred from the Batman films. Here was his introduction: " My name, Master John, is Robert Harrington. However, due to my position Lord Gregson insists on calling me James. As in: Home, James. The children, on the other hand say I remind them of some awful character from a movie and insist on calling me Alfred. Lady Gregson chooses not to use my name at all. You, Master John, have your choice." "I think IÕll stick with Robert, thank you." " No, thank you Master John. It will be so lovely to hear my Christian name again." He fell silent. I later learned that Robert did not speak unless directly addressed, as a good servant should. IÕm not sure if anyone has ever been to the airport in Philadelphia, but getting the bags at baggage claim takes a long time. A very long time. Eventually we struck up an odd sort of conversation, which consisted of me asking questions and Robert answering them. Apparently, the story goes something like this:  Robert  was three years older than Uncle Archibald. Archibald went to Europe immediately after his 18th birthday, to celebrate the release of his inheritance. He met Robert in England. They struck up a friendship and toured around Europe together. When it was time to leave my uncle wanted Robert to New York with him, as he intended to buy an apartment in the Village.  Robert refused, saying that it was not proper to take Uncle ArchibaldÕs money and do nothing in return. They struck up a deal whereby Robert would act as a live-in servant, chauffeur and friend, and Uncle Archibald would pay him very well to do so. That was in 1962, and Robert has never left my UncleÕs side since, except to go on vacation. I had a feeling that there was a lot more to this story that I wasnÕt privy to yet, but then my bags arrived, Robert took them, and we walked out to the stretch limousine.END CHAPTER II

To Be Continued  Copyleft 2007. No rights reserved. IÕd love to know what you think, especially as I intend this to be part of  a much longer work.  Feel free to send feedback (especially positive feedback) to erosscribe@mac.com. Thanks!