Date: 12/23/99

Grace had called me for the first time in years. I wasn't inclined to
talk to her, but she said it was about Jimmy.

So I worry about the kid sometimes. He's my son. So what?

She told me that if I didn't do something about it, Jimmy would sleep
with that hyperactive Sandburg guy. I heard her out and then hung up. I needed to think.

Point the first. Sandburg had written that paper about Jimmy's senses,
and then he'd taken it back. But I knew the senses were real. So did
Jim, and so did Sandburg. Which meant that Sandburg couldn't have meant
for that paper to get out, and that he was probably protecting Jimmy.

Point the second. If Jimmy *wants* to sleep with Sandburg, and I act
like the homophobic jerk I'm well aware I am, my son will stop speaking
to me again. Probably for good.

Point the third. I hate it when Jim doesn't speak to me.

Point the fourth. He's my son, but he's an adult. Which means it's
his decision.

Still, I was worried enough, and enough of a jerk, to drive over to his
loft. Not a great part of town, but not too bad. The sort of place
that suited Jim. Had always suited Jim--he'd never liked the world he'd
grown up in. I didn't know why.

I went in, checked the mailboxes. J. Ellison/B. Sandburg, read one.
Shouldn't have been a surprise, I suppose. But it was. I didn't want
Jimmy to be a queer. So, two questions: One, if he was, did I still
love him, and two, if he was, was I going to be able to keep from beating
the hell out of Sandburg?

The answers were "I don't know" and "probably". Good enough for now.
Had to keep point three in mind to convince myself to move up the stairs,
though: I hate it when Jim doesn't speak to me. I hate it when Jim doesn't
speak to me.

I knocked on the door of 307, frowning at the old paint job. What was
the appeal of something this worn down?

Sandburg was the one who opened the door. I looked him up and down,
trying to see what Jimmy might find attractive. Strong-looking kid,
I suppose; wearing glasses and a tank top and ripped jeans. Christ,
he was young. Maybe that's what Jim--no way in hell was I going to go
there.

"Hey, Mr. Ellison. Come on in. Jim went grocery shopping. He should
be back in a few. You want something to drink?"

I looked around and found myself in the kitchen of the loft apartment.
I'd never been inside before, and I was a bit curious. A lot of this
stuff looked like it was Sandburg's. "How long have you lived here?"
I asked.

"A while. Four, five years, give or take."

I fidgeted, and he handed me a glass of water. I stirred the ice cubes
around, and then looked back at him. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-one."

I was pretty relieved to hear that, actually. I'd had this thought that
he was--well, younger than that. About ten years younger than that.
Though, come to think of it, that would be pretty much impossible, given
that he'd been a doctoral student. "You look younger."

"It's the glasses." He took them off and grinned at me, and suddenly
he was thirty-one, he looked thirty-one, without the glasses to soften
his face and make his eyes larger.

I took a swallow of my water. "Mr. Sandburg, I'll be blunt. Are you
sleeping with my son?"

He raised his eyebrows and took a sip from the beer he'd opened for himself.
"I'd like to think it's a little more profound than just that, but yes."

All right, time to find out the answer to question number two--and the
answer was, yes, I could keep from killing Sandburg. So much for that.
Now for question one.

"Has Jimmy always been gay, or is it something you did?"

He grinned at me. "Jim's not gay. As for me, I'm bi."

"I heard that was the trendy thing. Being bisexual, I mean."

"Is it? I've been sleeping with men more than half my life. Hell of
a trend."

This was just a little too much information. Then again, I'd *asked*.
And he didn't seem to have a problem *telling*.

I took a deep breath. "So is Jim bi, too?"

"Maybe you should ask him." Sandburg gestured over my shoulder.

I turned around and saw Jim standing behind me, and suddenly, the words
wouldn't come.

And it didn't matter, because I had my answer to question number one,
right there, in the pale eyes of my eldest son.


### The End ###