Gay Detective Beef Matson Mystery

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Previous Chapters in the Beef Matson Archive - Chapters 1 to 4
Beef Matson Archive - Chapter 5 to 7
Beef Matson Archive - Chapter 8
Beef Matson Archive - Chapter 9

Chapter 10 - Just My Funny Way Of Laughin'

"Disco…that's where the happy people go."

Where the happy people go.

"My Shugabug isn't getting cranky, is he?" said Brett who had a firm grip on one of Randy's wrists pulling him along through a cozy passage way between two brick buildings. Apparently they were outside in the cold crisp air again, as the couple exited the little bar, they were now in some little dimly lit walkway between two large buildings.
"Cranky, no…" replied Randy, "but bewildered, yes. Is it okay for me to be bewildered? I think I might like to slow down a bit just to take this all in. I mean…like first you tell me that I'm not dead and I'm not dreaming. Then like you're some sort of ghost but you're a lot more solid then I thought ghosts were supposed to be…then you're gonna crash your car into some store fronts on Castro street, but we don't crash and end up here…and you're telling me that this is like…heaven.

Now we're doing another walking marathon in some alley. You know how much I hate jogging. I think I have a right to be bewildered. Of course, I could start getting cranky if we keep rushing around like this."
"Cranky's okay, too," responded Brett continuing to hastily pull Randy along, "because you're just so cute when you're cranky."
"Oh Brett," Randy heaved a mighty sigh, "I mean…like does all this running around have any point to it? This is getting to be like one of those dreams where you walk and walk and never get anywhere."
The walkway intersected with another walkway and Brett jerked Randy to the left. This walkway came out onto a lighted street and Brett pointed to a large brick building that other people were heading to and entering into an unmarked entrance. "There…" said Brett smiling, "we're here, that's where we're going."
Randy squinted, looked at the building, then at Brett's smiling face, back at the building again and then back at Brett.
"Brett," Randy spoke with a flat tone, "Sweetie pie, Honeybunch, Lovey-dovey, Precious…that's a factory. I was brought all the way to the other side so you could show me light manufacturing?"
Brett pointed at the building, "Disco…that's where the happy people go. It just looks like a factory on the outside. Back in the Stonewall days and even some years after, gay discos were in old unmarked buildings in factory districts, so just the gay folk would know where they were." The couple then scampered across the street with Brett jerking the hesitant Randy along. Randy and Brett joined a small cluster of other people converging at the door of the building; Randy noticed that the other people were not in work clothes, but dressed up to party. As Brett carefully guided his precious partner inside, the peacefulness of the outside was broken by a noisy liveliness of chatter and music. Brett pulled Randy through the crowded foyer into an open area with a large oval bar. Every seat at the huge bar seemed to be filled and patrons clustered at tables along the walls lit with colored lights.
"This is just the front bar," explained Brett, where everybody stops to chat when they first come in. There's a dance floor further in at the end of the bar. The really nice dance floor is in a back bar through that hallway at the far end of the bar." Randy stood, slightly amazed, trying to take everything in. Brett then suddenly grabbed Randy and gently pinned him up against a wall.
"Well, Randy…" Brett buried his face into Randy's and locked a stare into Randy's eyes, "we're nice and safe now so it's alright for us to slow down if you want to…” Brett began to lick and chew on Randy's neck and then moved up to invade Randy's left ear with his tongue, while nearby observers smiled. Randy squeaked high pitched oohs and ahhs, then barked out Brett's name and meekly pushed him away.
"Oh, I'm sorry Shugabug, was I getting too intense…" said Brett softly, rubbing his nose and eyebrows in a gentle massage across Randy's forehead, "did you want to sit down for awhile?"
"Ah…ooh…that would be okay," replied Randy quietly, "but I don't think I could sit down just right now."
Brett discretely reached down and felt his partner's midsection.
"My, my, my…you really must be happy to see me! Shugabug, have you been taking supplements?"
"Brett…" Randy's face began to glow with embarrassment. Brett suddenly grabbed Randy tightly into his arms.
"Damn…I love you so much!" Brett then quickly released his lover and smiled into Randy's face. "Come on, let's go into the backroom. It's much nicer there. We'll get ourselves a drink, do some dancing, sit and talk…whatever." Brett looked into Randy's face and then up at his blond hair. "You are so awesome," he exclaimed again. The two walked to the back of the bar, casually arm and arm…it was like old times.

To read about the real bar that was the inspiration for the disco that Randy and Brett visit, click on the button/link at left.

As he and Brett strolled through the crowd, Randy looked at the crowd and spotted someone sitting at the bar. It was a man who had a very large champagne glass on the bar in front of him. The man turned and looked wistfully at Randy and Brett.
"Isn't that Paul Lynde…you know, that comedian guy?" Randy asked Brett.
"Probably is…"answered Brett.
"You know," recalled Randy, " I saw a guy who looked just like him in the bar where we met…the same night that I first met you."
Brett thought a moment. "Naw…" he answered, "it was just you and me in the bar, the only other person in the bar was that bartender…some good-looking guy with black hair."
Randy thought a moment. "Hmmm, I forgot all about that bartender. Come to think about it now, he looked just like…no, that couldn't possibly be."

*********
"…it's just my funny way of laughin'."

The little bar that Randy and Brett had left behind was a much quieter scene with only a few patrons remaining. Of these patrons, an older appearing woman was casually accompanying the organ player with low-keyed singing. Other patrons idly engaged in quiet conversation as Christmas decorations gently moved about in the building drafts and the holiday lights gently twinkled. Occasionally glances toward the front door seemed to indicate that the patrons were waiting for an arrival. One man leaned against a post; sipping a hot beverage from a cup and observing the singer and the organist try out different songs. Another man nearby gently toyed with some decorations.
"In respect to our expected guest," commented the man, "perhaps we should have strung up some Halloween decorations…to help him feel at home."
The man with the cup smiled, "He'll find the Christmas decorations terrifying enough. Any decoration would be irritating to him. Only the complete lack of decoration would help him feel at home. In fact, only thing that would please him would be the lack of anything, wouldn't it?"
"Perdition." replied the other man.
"Yes, ruin, loss and nothingness. Therefore, even this little rustic lounge and it's economy of holiday decorations and cheer I imagine will be distressingly perky for him."
"Our…friend…is the determined party pooper, isn't he?"
"Most certainly the death of any party."

A loud bang sounded from outside. One of the other patrons peered out through one of the small windows. "It stopped snowing and the wind has picked up."
"One of his all too typical entrances," commented another patron, "he needs to be more creative." The patrons continued in their idle chatter until the wind blew open the front door a foot or so to let a cold blast of air in before the door closed again. "He really does need to get a new act, the cold wind through the door is really just so overdone and a bit trite," was another comment. "Well, at least we won't have to wait much longer. Maybe we should invite him to sing some carols with us," said the man holding the cup. The woman singer looked at him with a disapproving smirk. The idle chitchat continued until the front door to the pub opened again, suddenly and completely, as the door made a slamming sound against the wall. A menacing figure paused in the doorway, silhouetted against the light from the street. One of the male patrons raised his arm in an affected pose and spoke to the figure loudly in a falsetto voice, "Be gone, you have no powers here." In response, the figure stepped forward and slammed the door behind him. The patrons looked at each other and smiled. The figure looked to be a man, perhaps middle aged, well groomed and dressed snappily in a three piece pin striped suit.
"Well, well," spoke up another bar patron, "what's so important that you had to make a personal appearance rather than sending out your flying monkeys?"
The new arrival grinned a slightly menacing grin and ignored the comment. "Where's my piglet? You thought I wouldn't be able to track him right to this place. I know he's here, so hand him over…the pig is mine."
"A pig…" one of the patrons replied, folding his arms in front of him, "did you lose a pot-bellied pig? You were perhaps taking a pet for an evening stroll and it got away from you…?"

The man in the pin striped suit shot an icy stare towards the individual who made the comment and spoke again in a growling tone.
"Mocking me is the best you can do? It's probably all you can do when you know I've won. What a pathetic attempt this was to hide the little piglet. What a wasted effort to create this mini-universe, a pathetic planet made to look like some Canadian-American version of the afterlife. Oh, so vast and detailed this place is…all the different cities, towns and villages. Mountain, forests, seas and rivers, farms and ranches…you even went to the effort of putting in little campgrounds and motels. What a charming network of highways and freeways and railroads connecting it all. Somebody had an awful lot of time on his or her hands. Need I mention the cities? Did you possibly think that putting this much detail into one of these 1960s idealized versions of an American city was going to slow me down somehow? I mean, old style department stores, hotels, single family homes, and even neighborhood bars…give me a break, is that the best you can do? And you even have charming little gay districts like this…how so very pansy. Was all that supposed to distract, confuse me or make me lose my way? Well, it didn't and I found my way here. You like to think you're all so superior. Well, you're not because all of this is very stupid, stupid…STUPID! In spite of this mirage, right down even to these irritating Christmas decorations, I followed my piglet's scent right to this very place and I want him now…I want my property!"

One of the bar patrons spoke again to the man, this time in a humorless demeanor, "There are no pigs here, nor have there ever been any in here. Have you thought of taking your search to a farm?"
An expression of rage came over the face of the man in the pinstriped suit and he slammed his fist hard on a tabletop and stomped to the back wall of the bar. He stood at a blank spot at the wall, the same spot where the doorway through which Randy and Brett had left the bar was, but now the doorway no longer existed.
"This is where his trail ends, so I know the piglet is still here. You can stall all you want, but in spite of all your efforts, I found this place and rest assured I will find him very shortly. This should show you how my power compares to yours." The man stood near the back wall looking around the floor and then suddenly looking up when one of the patrons spoke again.
"Pray there are no pigs in here."
"Pray…?" the man laughed under his breath, "You need me to be so literal? You want me to honor the piglet with a name? All right then. I have come for Randy Hardwicke. You know, that fag detective's assistant, his little goody-goody sidekick." The man paused for a second and yelled out. "Come on, Randy, get your worthless ass out here now, you're coming with me!"
The patron with the folded arms stared silently at the man in the pin-stripped suit. The man caught the stare and responded to the patron. "Randy is mine. I put a lot of effort during his miserable short life to bring him into my fold. I had a number of my little servants putting in a little extra effort on him recently and it paid off tonight. He snuffed himself and now his soul is mine. I know he's here because you had his homo-fairy boyfriend come and get him and bring him here. You thought you could pull something over on me. Well, you know what you are? Losers. Just pathetic losers." The man looked about the room at the sullen expressions on the faces of the bar patrons. He then laughed. "Shows what happens when you try to match your wits and power with mine. Standing around in a pathetic little gay bar with pathetic little holiday decorations. Ooo, were you planning on having Bing Crosby come out and sing White Christmas?" The man stared at the patrons and then seemed to have a realization.
"Well, well, well…" he said sarcastically. "Seems that the powers that be have called out the heavy guns. Not just regular souls or angels are we, but Archangels…possibly a Virtue or two? If I look hard enough will I find a Cherubim or Seraphim?" Suddenly the man snarled with a grotesque growl, "Randy, show your miserable self now!" The man stomped back towards the front of the bar. "He's here and I'm not leaving without him."

"Well then, Scratch," smiled one of the patrons, "Since you'll be here awhile, would you like a drink…maybe sing some carols with us?"
The demon replied almost with a hiss, "Hardly." He stopped in the front part of the establishment, leaning on a railing near the bar.
"You haven't even asked the name of our little inn."
"What is even the point of giving this little nothing a name?" asked the demon sarcastically.
"It's called the Mousetrap. Actually it's not designed to catch mice, but rather very large rats."
Another patron spoke. "Excuse me, but you don't intend to spin your head around and spit up green pea soup, are you? That is just so untidy."
The demon in the pinstriped suit pointed his finger at the patron. "It is not wise to mock the devil. The devil will not be mocked. Anyone who mocks the devil or my work…" Another patron, standing on the other side of the railing, immediately behind the demon was doing a pantomime of him, mouthing his words with exaggerated expressions. The demon immediately turned around and the patron quickly shot an expression of the most sincere sympathy towards him. The demon turned back around speaking again. "Anyone who mocks my dominion shall face my great power and rage…" The patron behind the demon was again doing an expressionistic pantomime. The demon suddenly turned around again and the patron faced him with another very sympathetic expression.

The bar called the Mousetrap was also modeled after another real bar. To read about it, click on the button on the left.

The devil turned back to face the other patrons and heard a gentle laugh at the bar. He turned to see someone sitting on one of the formerly empty bar stools. It was a plump man with reddish hair and a goatee dressed in a heavy outer coat over a suit and vest. He seemed to have a passing resemblance to folk singer Burl Ives. The man was smoking a cigar and blew a perfect ring of smoke into the air. The demon gave the man a sudden, focused stare.
"Sorry," the man gently laughed, "I'm not Randy Hardwicke…that's who you're looking for isn't it?" The man on the bar stool blew another smoke ring into the air. "You…" snapped the demon, pausing and then sarcastically quipping, "Smoking a cigar?"
"Why not," replied the man, "there's no cancer here. Like you said, this is just a mirage…though I like to think of it as real as the rest of creation."
"You know what this place really is," the demon pointed an accusing finger, "nothing more than a model train layout. Pathetic, who plays with model trains?"
"I can think of lots of good people who are fond of model railroading. There's Sally Jesse Raphael, Mandy Patikin, Tom Snyder…"

"You might say it's just my funny way
of laughin'."

"What kind of creator plays with model trains?" interrupted the demon.
"A very jolly creator, indeed," the man laughed heartily and as he did, more holiday decorations appeared on the ceiling and bowls of snacks appeared on the bar. The man looked down at one of the bowls.
"Oh, these are nice, cracker-cheese spread sandwiches…you should try these with the summer sausage on that platter over there."
The demon looked back in distain. "Are decorations and goodies going to appear every time you laugh?" he sighed.
"It's a creator thing," the chubby man tapped the side of his nose, "Joy and laughter bring about creativity. You might say it's just my funny way of laughin'." The man laughed again and bowls of Christmas cookies also appeared on the bar. The demon hunched his shoulders and developed a very grumpy expression.

"Getting back to the issue at hand," the devil continued to gripe, "all this is to you is one gigantic model train layout. Is that what all of creation is to you? Toys to play with? Maybe you'll lose interest one day and want to play with something else. Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys. One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more."
"I'll admit that there is great deal of enjoyment and satisfaction connected with creativity," responded the stocky man with the red hair, "It's very easy to destroy something, but it takes quite a bit more effort and thought to create. You certainly dressed for the occasion. You look quite dapper tonight, with the three-piece suit and all. You look like one of those American television preachers, right down to the gold cross on your lapel." The man looked at the demon with a near frown then uttered a brief chuckle and blew another perfect smoke ring of cigar smoke into air.
The demon grinned the grin of a bratty child. "Well, I know how upscale your neighborhood is, even if it is just a fancy model train layout…so I dressed up a bit. I thought you might like my little gold cross. I can change it into anything to fit the occasion or place. I can change it into a Star of David…" The cross began to morph into a star shape. "…or perhaps a hammer and sickle, or a swastika, an American flag, or I can have it turn into an Islamic Crescent." The symbol kept changing its shape as the devil spoke. "The humans are so easily fooled. They'll listen and believe anything I say as long as I wear the proper symbol. How much mayhem they're willing to cause for a symbol, but of course, they're actually doing my bidding."
"What a remarkable pin that surely is, " remarked the man on the bar stool, "Tell me, does it also change into one of those Santa Claus pins, you know, the kind where you pull a string and Santa's nose lights up?"
"No…" said the devil with great irritation.
"Oh, what a pity."

An intense, mean focus came to the demon's eyes. "As you are aware of, the reason I am here is to collect my property. So if you will just hand over my pig…"
"Uh-uh", the stocky man waved a scolding finger.
"…So if you will hand over Randy Hardwicke, I will be on my way and you can get back to playing with your toy city."
"I would have preferred you refer to him as Mr. Hardwicke, but that's beyond the point," replied the red haired man. "First off, he's not yours to take. Yes, you put a lot of your time and effort into messing up his life, but driving someone to despair and even possibly suicide does not give you a right to their soul. Despair may drive a soul into a dark, unsettled place, but not into your domain. You obviously know that as well as I." The large man sampled some candies from another bowl on the bar. "Oh, these are simply exquisite, chocolates with French cognac in the center, you should try these." The demon grimaced and turned his head away.

"You are unaware that Randy Hardwicke did not commit suicide," continued the man seated at the bar.
"He did commit suicide…" the demon protested, "I know how severely depressed he was, he purchased pills and booze to do the dirty deed, he had them right out there on his bedroom nightstand. Then his apartment was swimming in spirits and his dead homo boyfriend even came and got him and brought him here…right over to the other side. If that isn't a sure sign of a deceased spirit being retrieved…I sure as hell don't know what is."
"Yes, he was brought here," was the answer from the grinning man on the bar stool, "but he's not dead. If you look back in his apartment, his body's not there. I think you were a bit too eager, didn't pay enough attention and missed a few vital points."
"No…no…"
"I'll let you in on a secret. You were deceived." The chubby figure leaned forward slightly, blew another smoke ring into the air, smiled and spoke in a softer tone. "We pulled a ha-ha on you."
The demon arched his eyebrows, "No…no…if he's alive you can't bring him here. You ask any priest, minister, preacher, the living cannot be brought here…"
"Some motor mouthed cleric is not going to tell the Creator what to do. The Creator calls the shots here and He can bring anyone He wants to visit His…toy city. There's no discrimination here between the dead and the living. Besides, I assure you…it's only a temporary visit."
The demon stood for a few seconds quietly, an expression of alarmed realization coming to his face. "The only reason I pursued that Randy was that from the day he was born I could tell he had Your mark, Your special essence, a bit more than an ordinary person. If I were to ruin and besmirch him I would show…” the demon paused momentarily. "You knew if You put more of Yourself into him I would pay more attention to him. You planned that, didn't you?" The Creator tilted His head and smiled a mischievous crooked smile.
"But why wait till the very bitter end to save him?" queried the devil, "you could have stepped in and saved him at any time; yet you allowed my agents and me to trash his life in every nasty way I wanted to. None of that seemed to bother you until now. Sounds like you had a sudden change of heart, whereas before you didn't care what happened to him."
"Oh no," the Creator leaned back into the bar stool sighed a cheerful sigh, "It's part of my nature to care, just as it's indeed part of your nature to…to do what you do. After all, as far as creation goes, I am A PERSON IN A POSITION OF TRUST. However, I don't micro-manage…that's what I have the universe for. The universe does what I want it to but as both of us know, the universe is one very incredible and complex machine which has to deal with a lot of checks and balances and long range plans, so often things at first don't appear to make sense, or to have any purpose at all."
"You're beginning to bore me…" complained the demon.
"Though it may look like the Creator doesn't care, the bad things that happen are merely the universe's way of implementing larger plans and getting everything to work together. The universe does that rather well in spite of the fact there are forces like you trying to mess things up. However, even you are part of the universe, part of the overall equations."
"Faster, get to the point…I'm nearly bored to tears."
"Even though it appears that I waited until the last minute to help Randy out…that's not entirely the case. I furnished him with the strength and virtues to help him withstand your onslaught throughout his life. I had my agents and his guardians console, protect and guide him as well as misguide you. Even though I despised the pain it brought him, I allowed for his terrible despair even to the point of where he considered suicide so that too would cause certain events to happen."

Another jolted look of realization came over the demon's face. "You knew…if I thought he had committed suicide…I would follow him…"
"Yes, yes," encouraged the Creator, chuckling.
"That means you…"
Smiling, the Creator was waving his hands at the devil, encouraging him, as if playing a game of Charades.
"That means you wanted me to come to this place."
"Bravo, bravo!" shouted the Creator who then broke into hearty laughter. Strings of twinkling Christmas lights appeared on the ceiling, evergreen boughs suddenly festooned the bar and the windows and a very buff shirtless bartender wearing a Santa hat appeared and served the Creator a frosty mug of draught beer. "Well, this is supposed to be a gay bar, " excused the Creator, "so I thought I'd keep up the motif." The devil cringed and frowned at the new holiday decorations. Much to the demon's chagrin the woman singer began leading a group gathered around the organ in a lively Christmas carol. "Alright then," said the devil, "tell me the punch line and I'll be on my way."
"Punch line? There's not really a punch line, it's just that it might be nice for you to stay and share some Christmas cheer with us."
The demon opened his mouth as if he were gasping for air and squinted his eyes closed, looking like he wanted to scream. "Never. This place is creeping me out. I think it's time for me to leave."
"Not just quite yet," responded the Creator puffing the end of his cigar.
"Not just quite…" repeated the devil, "I beg to differ. It's obvious that you didn't go to all of this trouble just to get me to attend some lame holiday get together. I'm leaving right now unless you tell me exactly what is going on."
"Well, you know…" started the Creator, "I was talking about how marvelous a machine the universe is and how it micro manages all of creation in such a complex and remarkable way…yes, I know. You're bored already, so I'll cut to the chase. As remarkable as the universe is, occasionally things work out in a way that I'm not pleased with. So I reserve the right to make a course correction where I see fit…major or minor." The Creator held up the shiny gold pocket watch fastened to his vest and began to rub it with a finger. "I just make my changes, the universe adjusts itself so those changes fit into the space time continuum and no one is the wiser. That's because they're all part of the universe, of course."
"Well, you don't need me around to watch you play with your marvelous pocket watch, so you do your industrial light and magic shtick and I'll be on my way…"
"Oh, stay. We might have a Christmas stocking for you. Course it'll be filled with coal…or would you prefer brimstone? Actually, my suggestion is that you try to make the best of it, because to be blunt, you won't be allowed to leave."
"Not allowed to leave…" retorted the devil, "My minions will be breaking down that door if I can't leave…"
"Your minions would have the consistency of ash here," replied the Creator, "that's why you didn't bring them with you in the first place."
"Why is it I can't leave then? You've played your practical joke, played me for the fool. Why not let me leave?"
"The practical joke hasn't been completed yet. You see, whenever I realign the universe I like to put you on ice for a while the universe adjusts itself. It's like rebooting a computer after running a disk repair program…I certainly don't want you trying to insert a virus or a worm while it's doing that."
"Whenever…I don't remember you ever doing this before."
"Oh, I do this whenever I feel like it. You of course, would not remember because your memory of previous events also gets altered."
"Just what previous events have you altered?"
"For instance, the planet Lirip was very earthlike until very recently when an asteroid slammed into it killing billions of intelligent inhabitants. I decided that was intolerable so in a revised scenario the planet's gravity pulled the asteroid apart instead. Back in the early 1980's there was the limited nuclear exchange between the United States and the Soviet Union. No one really intended on going to war, it was merely a tragic misjudgment with only a few atomic weapons used, still millions of people suffered horrible deaths, Disneyland lay in ruins, and I'm quite fond of Disneyland I'll have you know, plus the Soviet Union spiraled into a horrible famine and a civil war that lasted nearly a decade."
"Even a small nuclear war sounds like great fun," chuckled the devil with delight, "I would have liked that. I would have really, really liked that."
"Yes, you did…" revealed the Creator, "way too much. So I changed the scenario slightly. Had the military types advocating use of nuclear weapons come down with nasty stomach flu, so during the crisis they were too busy flushing toilets and didn't have time to encourage using a nuclear device. So Disneyland, Colorado Springs, Moscow and Minsk remained untouched and the new scenario had a much more peaceful relationship between the two superpowers."
"Just what do you plan on revising this time?" queried the demon.
"Well, Lucy," responded the Creator, "this is what I intend to do."
"It's Lucifer!"
"Whatever. Actually, this has been in planning for a while. It's about AIDS and how it affected the gay guys…I did not like the overall result. So I decided that needed some tweaking. Plus Randy, Mr. Hardwicke himself, sent up a rather poignant prayer offering me himself and all his talents if I just would protect his friends. An honest, heartfelt prayer such as his was must be answered. I tend to be rather inclusive so I decided not only to protect Randy's friends, but his community as well, to the point of being retroactive. So tonight, it being so close to Christmas and all…I guess as my little Christmas present, I decided to let any of the gay guys who wanted to, go back. Instead of having their lives interrupted by AIDS, they could go back and live their lives as they originally intended. "
"Oh, no, no, no…" screeched the demon, "I enjoyed AIDS. The fear, the pain…setting up one group of people as scapegoats. The sheer misery and destruction of it all. That was just so wonderful to me. Oh, how those fire and brimstone preachers were embracing AIDS as their friend, they were embracing an insidious evil as a friend. What a joke that was!" The devil pointed at the Creator and laughed a maniacal laugh. "Supposed emissaries of God were embracing evil. They weren't worshiping you…they were worshiping me! AIDS was destroying the people they hated so they embraced AIDS, embraced evil and loved me! How they love my brimstone! How they want to suck on my brimstone! You can't erase that! You can't send anyone back. I absolutely forbid you to send anyone back!"

In reaction to Lucifer's command, the Creator immediately bellowed forth a thunderous laughter joined by everyone in the room, including the devil after a slight pause. As the result of the Creator's laughter, a very large evergreen Christmas tree appeared in a corner of the bar, seeming to explode out of the floor. Christmas decorations and lights blossomed from the tree and more lights and garlands strung themselves across the ceiling. Christmas presents appeared out of nowhere under the tree much like popcorn kernels popping. Finally, showers of salted peanuts in the shells rained down upon the bar patrons, followed by salt water taffy and then by foil wrapped chocolate kisses. The Creator, wiping joyful tears from his eyes, spoke.
"Sorry, but I just can't help creating abundance when I feel good. It's a creator thing, creating abundance, just part of my nature. That was so funny…you forbidding…me."
The devil excused himself, "I didn't realize how funny that was until I said it. You're not serious about this are you? I haven't noticed dimensional vortexes forming outside of a couple little ones in San Francisco, so you're just kidding, just trying to get me worked up, right?
"Oh no," replied the Creator, "I'm sending them back just through San Francisco, it'll be like a big holiday party."
"Just through San Francisco? No wonder I didn't notice. Why just San Francisco?"
"You know, San Francisco seemed to be the obvious choice for a vortex for the gay guys. Besides, sending them all back through a place like Norton, Kansas would be somewhat disturbing to the local inhabitants."
"So how do you intend to keep me here in this miserable museum of holiday kitsch?"
"Well, Lucy…" answered the Creator, "let me 'splain it this way."
"It's Lucifer!"
"Whatever. I would just suggest you just hang out the best you can and above all, don't try sneaking out the door." One of the bar patrons walked up to the Creator and whispered something in his ear. The Creator then spoke again to the demon. "If it would make you more comfortable, we could play The Devil Went Down To Georgia, we have two versions on the jukebox, one by The Charlie Daniels Band and one by Josh Zuckerman." Lucifer stood tightly gripping the railing behind him and gritting his teeth, his head shaking in rage.

The devil still felt the need to argue his case. "Look, look…" he squawked, "I can't see why you would put any worth in a bunch of homosexuals; what good are they, they don't reproduce."
"Not every individual in a species reproduces," was the Creator's answer, "usually only a few individuals pass on their genes. In species where every individual has offspring, that's only because so many are lost to predators. That's hardly the case with intelligent creatures like humans. I'd rather people take interest in raising their children than producing a lot of them."
"Well, that's it then, isn't it? How can homosexuals fit into the evolutionary scheme of things? Since few of them will have children, how can they benefit the gene pool?"
"Evolution has its place and all…" the Creator blew another smoke ring from his cigar, "but evolution is merely a species' response to its environment, the species can never rise above the demands of its environment. There are other forms of evolution and growth going on, the spiritual and intellectual, and that involves much more than simply producing offspring or adapting to the environment. Humans have survived because of their minds and spirits, not because they develop body armor or claws. With the consanguinity of humans, a few individuals will not having children is not going to have much of an effect."
"Well, that's another thing…" Lucifer continued to tempt, "if homosexuals don't have a lot of children, the population rates will fall and the nations and empires of earth will have a shortage of people."
The Creator arched his eyebrows and shook his head in amusement. "That has never happened in the past and will not happen in the future. The great nations of earth fell because they had not enough resources for too many people. When a country can't provide enough resources and it simply becomes too expensive for its citizens, the authority of the state falls apart. Happens over and over again on the earth. The people of Easter Island used up all their resources, even cutting down the last of the trees which they could have used to build boats to get them off their used up island. As a result, their nation and culture fell apart and they ended up living a subsistence existence. Homosexuals have value in that they create and add resources to a culture, while helping to moderate population growth. It's really pointless to bring any of this up, since you are aware of the answers anyway."
"Of course I know this, but then you must agree with me that we should help the humans eliminate the homosexuals completely, use up their resources and over populate like crazy. Then they can be punished for being so stupid and we can observe their misery and enjoy it."
The Creator put a finger to the side of His face and let out a weary sigh, "You really have one sad little mind set, don't you? Homosexuals exist, period. I put them there for a reason…so get over it. I know what you need…a good hot toddy!" The Creator turned to the bartender, "Innkeeper, our colicky guest needs a hot toddy, heavy on the brandy!" With that, the demon bolted from the railing he had been leaning against and ran to the front door. No one in the bar bothered to prevent his escape and the devil slipped out the door. The Creator turned back around and grinned.

A few seconds later, the door of the bar opened again and the demon walked in and came back over to the railing. His suit was sprinkled liberally with snowflakes and the collar of the suit was pulled up around his neck. Lucifer had a wide eyed expression as if he just passed a bowling ball during a bowel movement.
"Hot toddy?" offered the Creator.

*********
"What you and I have been doing is God's work and the work of patriots."

Gloria, along with her assistants Heidi and Amber plus little Chantay had returned to their office suite in the little church office building. After Gloria had gotten a phone call at the hotel, plans seemed to have changed and there now seemed to be an urgency to have Chantay put on a plane that evening and sent back to her mother. The flight was leaving in a few hours and the group had been on their way to the airport when it was realized that Chantay was missing some personal articles of hers. Since it was on the way, the group stopped at the office to search for Chantay's missing items.

In the twilight of dusk, the office had a barren look to it, lit by a fluorescent ceiling light near the entrance. It was almost irritating, like waking up from a deep sleep and walking into a kitchen lit by a glaring fluorescent light to get the first cup of coffee of the morning. Amber, Heidi and Chantay dressed in their winter coats stood under the lights while a very grumpy Gloria trudged around the room muttering phrases like "…of all the moronic incompetence." Gloria obviously had another issue on her mind and she suddenly decided to go into her office and make a phone call. She left the door open while Heidi and Amber searched the outer office in vain for Chantay's missing possessions.

"Yes, General," barked Gloria, "I'm glad that I caught you before you and your wife headed out for the evening. Yes, of course. This won't take long. I just wanted to touch base with you regarding some issues that I believe were raised when you called me earlier this evening. Yes, we're on our way to the airport with Chantay right now. We just stopped at our office because the little darling forgot some clothes and toys she left here at the office." Gloria pushed herself back into her chair and threw back her shoulders. "I just felt the need to remind you…well, not remind you…just alert you to the fact…of the importance of standing with each other regarding this whole project. It's just that with any conspiracy, sooner or later one of the participants will talk about it and information will come out. Conspiracy…? Oh no, general. Neither you nor I would consider this a conspiracy. What you and I have been doing is God's work and the work of patriots. However, quite frankly, just as there are people who would side with the homosexuals there are people who would see what we have been doing as a conspiracy. They might even accuse us of racketeering, as unfair as that might sound."

"So, with that in mind, don't you see the importance of sticking together and covering for each other? Oh yes…I understand you…I might be overreacting a bit, but still if worse were to come to worse, it would be counterproductive to point fingers of blame. Oh no, I'm not suggesting anything…except…that if people were to complain about the money spent on this project…and ask why and how it was used, we perhaps would need to stand together to justify it. Now while it's true that I have been coordinating parts of this project, I have not been allowed to coordinate all of it and I do remember the issues I raised about the project were dismissed." Gloria cleared her throat slightly and continued speaking. "After all, my staff and I are merely contract workers so if someone might be tempted to blame individuals for failures in the project, they might be tempted to blame some lesser individuals. That would be counterproductive because the same people would then look for non-contract, real employees to blame and they might start climbing the ladder of command looking for them."

There was a slight pause and then Gloria spoke again. "While you would never hear anything like this coming from me, there are people out there who just wouldn't understand your commitment and resolve to address the…homosexual problem in this country. They might even question your use of resources when our country faces some serious issues and grave threats. There could be some delicate issues raised as to where the funding for our projects comes from. The less motivated might object to a government source for our funding. Don't get me wrong, these are not my feelings at all, but some misled individuals might take your commitment as an obsession with homosexuals. There are even some who might think you might have been infringing on the human rights of homosexuals, as if they really have any. And while I even hate to suggest this, there are some who might feel that your energies might be better spent in some…shall we say less secure…part of the world. You have to admit, that as insidious and repulsive as the homosexuals are and what a serious threat they are to the country, they are not shooting back or setting off bombs."

There was another pause and Gloria spoke again. "Well, good then…we see eye to eye. All I am suggesting that is if you support me, I won't have to waste my time defending myself. We can all use our energies more productively in support of each other. I don't want to keep you from your dinner, how is your young wife? Oh, that is so very wonderful. Thank you for clarifying everything. Have a good dinner then and good night." Gloria cheerfully hung up the phone and walked into the outer office.

"Have you found Chantay's personal things yet?" Gloria asked in an almost pleasant tone.
"No," replied Amber, "they don't seem…"
"You really need to get to the airport," huffed Gloria.
"We thought they could be in the basement, you know, in the little bomb shelter type room," quickly added Heidi.
"Why didn't you ask me for the key?" commented Gloria, "You could've looked down there while I was on the phone. Oh wait…were her items in a little sort of brown overnight bag?"
"Yes, yes," replied Heidi, "that's it exactly."
"I put it down in the little bomb shelter place with my suitcases for safekeeping. With everything on my mind lately, I completely forgot about it."
Gloria put her purse on a desk and fumbled inside for her keys. Finding them she walked over and opened up the cellar door. It opened with a creak and a bang when the big metal door hit the wall. Gloria ran down the wooden stairs and quickly returned, carrying a brown vinyl bag.
"My stuff," announced Chantay.
"Good, as I told you at the hotel, the General wants to insure a safe return for Chantay, so the two of you are to accompany Chantay back to Colorado Springs. Take the SUV to the airport and park it in short-term parking, your return flights are booked for the next day so the SUV will be they’re for you when you return. I want to do a little work here and I will call a cab later to take me back to the hotel."
Heidi and Amber nodded in agreement.

"May I ask," inquired Amber, "why the sudden rush?"
"Hmmm," Gloria muttered and then walked over to a desk and sat on the corner, "It boils down to budget issues, it seems our little general friend has decided that this project involving Randy Hardwicke is pointless to pursue any longer and no longer justifies any further expenditure. Our little district attorney friend back in Illinois decided he couldn't find any evidence to bring charges against Mr. Hardwicke. Initially, when it was discovered that Hardwicke worked for the big, mucky-muck gay detective Beef Matson, it was thought that the child molestation charges would be an excellent way to shine a bad light on Matson. You see, this really had nothing to do with Randy Hardwicke, whether he was or was not a child molester really was not important. He is a total nothing, totally unimportant in the overall scheme of things. He was merely a pawn to get at Beef Matson. Our friend the general…and his associates have some long standing grievances with the fag detective, Matson. In particular it has to do with the famous "don't ask, don't tell" policy. Matson found out the general and his friends were going to extremes to get information about certain people. What's wrong with that, if you want get the homos out of the military, you obviously need to find out who they are. Matson embarrassed a few people who didn't want to be embarrassed. There are other issues as well with that detective. He does have this nasty, nasty habit of digging up some information and coming to the rescue of some gay types that the powers that be want to make an examples of. Plus, we just don't like him because he comes across as a positive gay role model, if there is such a thing. Leave it to a fag to have a stupid nickname like that…Beef. You know what his real first name is? Lynn. A girl's name. What else would you expect from a homo?"

"Anyway," Gloria continued, "when our district attorney friend back in Illinois called us and let us know that Beef Matson's assistant was a possible child molester, we were all elated at a great opportunity to smear Matson up, down and sideways. What wonderful serendipity. However, now…things are turning out to be a bit sticky. Not only could the district attorney's office not find any evidence pointing to Randy, outside of one accuser, but it's turning out the accuser has a rather murky background along with that whole damned Ledbauer family. I remember when I interviewed that Sharon Ledbauer; I told people afterward that she impressed me as being pure trailer park trash. Did anyone listen to me? Of course not. While we can't seem to find anything to pin on Randy Hardwicke, all these nasty revelations about his accusers are starting to pop up like gas bubbles in some stagnant, muck-covered pond. From what our friend the general has told me, one skeleton after another is jumping out of their family closet."
"Like what?" asked Amber.
Gloria let out an irritated sigh and shook her head. "Oh dear, what isn't there… we could start with Sharon Ledbauer. Seems she has a police record. She and her husband were once arrested for being involved with a ring fencing stolen goods at some bar they used to go to. Those charges were dropped but she has other prior arrests. She can become quite the unpleasant person when she drinks. Once she was arrested for chasing her husband around their yard with a butcher knife. Then we have her stepson, Rocky, the individual who's made the accusations against Randy. He has several arrests for drug possession and selling. Now some stories are beginning to surface in the media that Rocky is a bit on the aggressive side regarding the ladies. If that weren't enough, our district attorney friend has just now been getting the word that Rocky has been under federal investigation for some time because of his involvement with an interstate drug ring. It would have been nice if we were informed of this earlier."

Gloria heaved another sigh. "And there's still more, it just keeps coming. The local D.A.'s office had counselors interview the children in the family, and outside our drug dealing Rocky, no one else had any memories of being molested by Randy. Some of them even had very fond memories of Randy; the others never had any contact with him whatsoever. However, a number of kids did report abuse…" Gloria waved her arm in the air expressively, "by their own parents! Sharon Ledbauer's sisters apparently have a family tradition of beating their children. Some of that is already public record, some of abuse was even reported years earlier by teachers who spotted bruises on the children…" Gloria rubbed her brow indicating frustration. "There is more. Two of the daughters of one of Sharon's sisters reported that their mother was trying to push them into prostitution."
Heidi and Amber looked at each other with expressions of shock.
"Oh, there's even still more," exclaimed Gloria, "there seems to be no end to it. One peccadillo of the Ledbauer family seems to be an inclination to inbreed. Some of their kids reported to the counselors that their mothers were encouraging them to pair off with their cousins. One particular issue that our district attorney friend had problems with was that while the Ledbauer family was publicly expressing outrage that their children were molested by Randy, privately it was a whole different matter. In spite of the charges of molestation, the Ledbauer family apparently wants Hardwicke to move back to Illinois and become a close member of their family. One of the daughters of Sharon Ledbauer's sisters told a counselor that her mother wants her get pregnant by Randy. This is because her mother remembers Randy as being such a good worker and an even better baby-sitter, so she thinks his offspring would make valuable little household workers. It appears that the only reason that family has children is because the mothers and grandmothers are such devoted TV watching couch potatoes that they need an army of little children to do their work for them. Our Sharon Ledbauer herself has told her attorney to tell Randy's attorney that she would drop her lawsuit if Randy would move in with her and become her companion. She even told members of our church that she would like Randy to undergo gay to straight conversion therapy with the expectation that he would be turned into a perfect husband for…her. How on earth does this family expect anyone to believe their molestation charges against this Randy Hardwicke when they are chopping at the bit to have him for a common law husband or to have sex with their daughters? Amazing…simply amazing."

Gloria let out another short sigh and shook her head. "Even all of that wouldn't be so bad and we could still move ahead and have Randy sued and be forced pay damages for child molestation with the resulting bad press for his gay detective boss, our little friend Beef Matson. That's if we could keep a lid on all the unfortunate information about the Ledbauer family. However, the district attorney in Illinois is reporting that everything is beginning to leak to the press and he suspects it's going to turn into a flood any day now. The good Lord only knows what field day the liberal press is going to have with this. So those who know better had a chat and decided that it would be pointless to pursue our project regarding Beef Matson and Randy Hardwicke any further and disassociate ourselves with it lest we get sucked into the Ledbauer family cesspool. On the positive side, all the dirty little secrets about the Ledbauer family have come out and none of them are as bad as Randy Hardwicke's immoral homosexual lifestyle. Since no one knows about our group's involvement, we haven't been tarnished one bit. So we're o.k. we've just wasted our time and resources. Still, I guess we learn from our noble efforts, don't we?"

Gloria looked down at her watch and tapped it with her finger, "You better get going so you don't miss your flight. We can't stand around chatting." Gloria wished the two women goodbye and a safe trip returned to the basement to retrieve some items from her suitcases she had stored there. Amber and Heidi headed for the front door preparing to leave. Heidi paused a second looking down at Chantay carrying her brown overnight bag.
"Are you sure you've got everything now?" Heidi asked Chantay.
"I think so…" Chantay cautiously replied in her bell-like voice.
"You don't sound sure, " said Heidi in a sing-song manner, "Amber and I are going out to the car. You take one quick look around the office to make sure you have everything of yours; otherwise it'll be gone forever. Then you come out to the car, o.k? Oh, don't disturb Gloria, she's not in a good mood."
"She never is," replied Chantay.
Heidi smiled and winked at Chantay and walked out the door with Amber. Chantay quickly looked around the offices and then into her bag, she had everything of hers. She looked around the offices again. She would be very happy to leave this place and she never wanted to see Gloria again. Looking out the window of the front door she could see Amber and Heidi sitting in the SUV talking. She heard Gloria rummaging in the basement room below. On impulse, Chantay went to the basement door and gently pushed it shut. It closed without making very much noise. Chantay then looked into her bag and saw the portable CD player that Gloria had given her. It still had the CD of merry-go-round music in it. Chantay quickly walked into Gloria's office and took the small CD player out of her bag and put it on the vent, which was an opening into the basement below. The little girl fumbled with the buttons on the face of the CD player until it selected a track and then she hit the buttons again until the CD indicated it was in play and repeat mode. Chantay quickly closed up her bag and briskly walked back into the front office, Heidi was calling her from the front door, urging her to hurry.
"I got everything," Chantay called back, running to the front door, her little shoes clapping on the tile floor. She joined Heidi outside and a few seconds later the two women and the little girl drove off in the SUV.

After a few minutes, Gloria decided that she really didn't need anything from her suitcases, she would return upstairs; make a few phone calls, call for a cab and head back to the hotel. She turned around and headed back up the stairs, noticing the door to the basement was closed. She then pushed on the door and found it wouldn't open. Gloria quickly gasped, realizing that the door automatically locked when it was closed and she didn't have the keys. Her keys were in her purse, which she had left on the front office desk. She quickly examined the door. The door and the doorjamb around it were made out of steel. Beyond that, the wall was constructed out of concrete block. She banged on the door, making a muffled sound. She yelled, asking if anyone was in the office on the other side. The door effectively blocked sound, raising the possibility that no one could hear her if there was someone on the other side. Suddenly, she began to hear music coming from the basement shelter. Gloria ran back down to the stairs and over to a place in the ceiling where the sound was coming from. It was the little vent that led up to her office. Gloria screamed up at the vent asking if anyone was there. There was no reply. She realized then that it was Chantay's portable CD player that the music was coming from. She screamed out Chantay's name. There was no reply.

Desperate, Gloria looked around at her surroundings. There were only concrete walls and a concrete ceiling. There were no basement windows; the only openings to the outside world were two small vents in the ceiling, one that opened to her office and another that let in air from the outer office. Gloria yelled and screamed and yelled again. No one could hear her. Her keys, her cell phone and anything else that would allow her to escape were in her purse, which was upstairs, on the other side of the heavy, locked steel door. Gloria panicked more when she realized that the only people who knew where she was were her two coworkers…and they would be gone for two days! What was even worse was the music from the CD player. It was playing the same merry-go-round song over and over again; it was like being stuck inside a carousel ride. The sound echoed off the concrete walls. The song was "The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down" and it continuously played, pausing only a half second when the song ended and then began to play again. Gloria began to get very angry and wanted to scream at someone, but no one was around. In frustration she walked over to her suitcases and slapped one of them. Finally, she sat on one of the suitcases, grabbed her head with her hands and tried to think of what she could do while the CD player repeated "The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down" over and over again.

*********
"Tell me of your adventures…"

At the little bar on the other side, the place called the Mouse Trap, the demon, looking much distressed tightly gripped the railing behind him for a moment and then noticing the array of snowflakes on his pinstriped suit, released his grip on the railing and began to brush the snow off. The Creator repeated his offer, "Hot toddy?" The devil accepted the cup and eagerly took a couple of gulps of the hot liquid, wiped some overspill from his mouth and spoke. "An illusion of brandy and spices. Alcohol, my friend and enemy," Lucifer snorted a breathy laugh, "I love it when it destroys people, and hate it when it makes them feel good."
"Did you enjoy your little diversion?" asked the Creator.
"Diversion…?" the demon peered up from the cup with glaring eyes, "is that what you call that foray into happy holiday land?"
"I did tell you not to try to leave."
"That was the most miserable…" Lucifer waved a finger in the air.
"Let's not embellish, you were gone but a few seconds."
"A few seconds? More of your slight of hand and practical jokes. For you perhaps and this place, but I spent days out there in the most…in the most…"
"Festive?"
"The most horrible places and in the most oppressive of conditions…"
"Oh please…" the Creator turned his head to puff on his cigar and blew more smoke rings into the air.
"What was the purpose of that exercise?" asked the devil, "If you wanted me out of the way, you could have sent me anywhere in the universe. To the bottom of a frosty ocean on some moon circling a planet in a distant solar system far away from earth. Perhaps to a cave in a lifeless dark asteroid far outside any solar system."
"Simply because you would have enjoyed those bleak little places and you would have returned from any of those sort of places at the speed of thought."
"Touché," admitted the devil.
"You're sort of like a Jack Russell terrier, you need to be kept occupied or else you start ripping up the furniture. You were sent to places where there was enough stimulation to keep you occupied."
"Stimulation? Stimulation?" snorted the demon, "More like silly…irritating…asinine…" Lucifer struggled finding words and then continued, "Let me tell you…let me tell you…"
"Tell me of your adventures," encouraged the Creator as he took another puff on his cigar.
"When I left this pathetic parody of a sissy bar and walked out that door," related the demon, "I instantly found myself inside the NBC Radio City studios right on the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Vine Street in Hollywood circa 1950. It was 1950 with a vengeance, right down to the oversized microphones and vacuum tubes in the broadcasting equipment. I quickly found that not only could I not affect my surroundings but also no one was aware of me nor could I communicate with them and on top of that, I could not leave the broadcasting studio I was in. Every exit had an invisible barrier for me. I was sealed inside some radio broadcast studio with the only thing to do was to watch some show being broadcast over the radio. What could be more boring than that? To make matters even worse, shades of Roy Rogers and Gene Autry, some southern California hicks and hayseeds were doing a Christmas show dressed in their finest early 1950s cowboy kitsch…like give me a break, it's freakin' radio…who's gonna see that you're dressed up like a bunch of idiots? Their program was as moronic as their outfits, as well as the name of their singing group, Captain Billy and his San Fernando Rangers. Oh yeah…can you get much more brain dead than that? Then they started their pageantry of songs that came close to making my head explode. Santa Claus Is Coming To Town, Santa Is A Cowboy, Christmas On The Ranch, Singing Carols Around The Campfire…and so on as they mercilessly continued. Mid-show they had the female member of their group, Cowgirl Nancy, sing a solo ballad while she played her guitar…an angelic voice, truly a Karen Carpenter ahead of her time…I just wanted to grab her neck and squeeze, but I was powerless to do anything. Of course their show plodded on through some inevitable and most dreadful gospel tunes all the way to the everyone sing along finale."

Captain Billy and his San Fernando Rangers

I would think that if one were confined in a theatre, " observed the Creator, "one should then make the best of things, sit back and enjoy the free show."
A look of incredulousness came to the devil's face. "Enjoy? A deep fat country fried, sugary yodeling by a bunch of dust bowl Okies transplanted to Bakersfield…enjoy that? When they ended their sappy little show by handing out presents to each other, I was finally able to escape that musical prison of corn by changing into that shadowy slippery version of myself and slip out through a crack in one of the doorways. Though, as I'm sure you're well aware, that did not improve the situation because I found myself in a Catholic grade school in eastern Pennsylvania sometime in the mid to late 1950s. I ended up spending an entire school day there. Oh, how the little brats were so happy because it was the day of their Christmas party. The nuns had decked out the school auditorium in Christmas decorations and somebody had even brought in a tree. How the little children were thrilled by the smell of roasting hot-dogs for their little lunch of hot-dogs, potato salad and chocolate milk. The children's devoted mothers had baked their fingers off and brought in all kinds of cupcakes, cookies and pies for their little precious ones. Let us not forget the little Christmas pageant that Sister Mary what’s-her-name conducted her little pupils through. I had to sit through that whole mess powerless to do anything about it. No botulism in the hot-dogs, no sudden fire in one of the school stairwells. I was stuck there till the very end of the school day when I heard the delightful squeals of the little kiddies because big fluffy flakes of snow were beginning to fall outside. How pain in the butt delightful."

"After an eternity in that pit, I was able to slip out one of the school doors when the little rug rats started leaving for home. Of course you know what happened next, I ended up in somebody's house for another jolly holiday celebration. In some older Chicago neighborhood back in the early 1960s. Apparently you were determined to have me revisit the post World War II era. A charming scene of a prosperous American middle class family of that era…made me nauseous. All these women chatting up a storm in the kitchen while cooking up their old world recipes, Uncle Denny and Aunt Mabel playing poker in the basement rec room with a host of other relatives. The top of the vanity in the dining room decorated with a nativity scene and a Christmas village. Holiday lights in all the windows and a big over decorated tree in the living room. Seemed like this family trucked in every relative they could find and even invited some of the neighbors. The smell of baked ham throughout the house, boys playing in the snow in the back yard, girls in an upstairs bedroom giggling over some teenage fan magazines.

Click on image to turn on sound.

You know what I found most disgusting? It was not when grumpy Aunt Trudy got drunk and decided she needed to tell the rest of the family how much she loved them. No, no. Seems like this family had a color TV which was kind of a rarity back then and just about everyone in the house felt the need to gather around the set to watch some network holiday programming. What did they watch?"

The demon roared, "'The Andy Williams Christmas special'! The following special program is brought to you in living color on NBC, bah! I mean…that guy…the sweaters…the perpetual smile. He sang Happy Holidays and then when he began to sing It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year, I began to scream, but no one could hear me. I made every effort to leave; they had Christmas lights strung even in the basement and in the attic windows, enough to give a guy a good case of the hives. That family partied until well past midnight. It wasn't until the last of the guests had left and only a couple of the kids were still up. One of the teenaged girls was listening to WLS on the radio in the kitchen and then another kid took out the garbage. I was then able to slide out the back door."

"Where did I end up? In another radio studio in New York City in the 1930s. This time it was a big band swing Christmas show. How the studio audience loved it, the band in their tuxedos, the girl singer, the black harmonizing group. I just sat there…trying to hold onto my sanity. Finally, that show too came to an end and I made my way out onto a New York City street. New York in the throes of the Great Depression…ah yes, now that was more to my liking. People begging in the streets just to get something to eat. Perfection. I made my way to a flophouse just to get a look at the delights inside and as I entered through the door…I found myself back in here. Those were my adventures. Now you tell me why you sent me off to happy fun holiday land."
"We could possibly call that poetic justice," answered the Creator, "you are so obsessed with ruining people's holidays it was appropriate to have you sit through some examples of people having a thoroughly enjoyable holiday experience."

The demon lowered his head and lifted his eyes toward the Creator, "How dare you," he said softly. Then lifting his head he spoke in a louder voice. "How dare you…you should know by now not to attempt to teach me any of your pathetic lessons. You should know by now I stopped buying into any of your crap eons ago. You dare to teach me one of your phony lessons!" The demon suddenly hurled the cup he was holding across the room towards a post near the organ. A confident, beaming expression came to the Creator's face and he quickly raised up one of his hands and snapped his fingers. The flying cup abruptly jerked to a stop in mid air just before it hit the post, suddenly reversed course and rocketed back into the demon's hand, completely filled again with steaming spiced brandy and water. Lucifer's expression was that of sudden caution and he carefully put the cup on the bar. He turned again to confront the Creator.

Pointing a finger at the jolly looking husky man on the bar stool, the demon yelled. "You dare to teach me a lesson? How about yourself?" The demon stiffened his arm towards the Creator. "I indict you! You dare to teach me a morality lesson…you and I seem to be in the same business if you want to talk about human misery and suffering. You criticize me for my recreational activities but what about all the wars and carnage that have taken place over the centuries? What about all the slaughter done in your name? What about the Holocaust? I indict you! Did you forget about that? The Nazis made every effort to exterminate your homosexuals then. Oh yes, perhaps I should mention the Jews. You seem to have allowed entire families to be murdered, even children and babies. Perhaps I should remind you about the concentration camps, the gas chambers and the ovens. Strange that a merciful God would allow that to happen. Dare I bring up the Twin Towers, that beautiful September day when you allowed innocent people to die truly nightmarish deaths? I indict you! You dare to teach me some quaint little lessons about holiday cheer when you yourself don't seem to regard humans as any more important than ants. You dare to prevent me from having my little fun when you allow the most heinous atrocities to take place? You label yourself as the source of morality and all good…but really, what you are is a phony. You don't care, you never have. The humans slaughter each other on a regular basis, they love it, their governments and religions condone it, and they institutionalize slaughter. So why don't you just admit that you are of the same mind as I and join me and give the human beings just what they want?"

The Creator showed no reaction to Lucifer's rant except for a gentle smile. "Been there, done that," he replied. "We have had this conversation many times before, you have provided the same arguments, and I have provided the same answers. Therefore, you cannot expect the answers to be any different. The issue has never been about a merciful God, but rather whether people can find the quality of mercy within themselves. Sadly, much of the carnage and misery humans experience is of their own doing. Humans have free will and often they decide to create misery through arrogance, stupidity and depraved indifference and totally ignore the quality of mercy. If free will is taken away, then of course their spiritual and intellectual growth and evolution will cease and they will become just like ants. Yes, humans are allowed to do horrible things to each other, but that's something they have to learn not to do as part of their spiritual evolution. They simply have to learn that aggression, mayhem and flirtation with evil is not in their best interests. They have to realize that destroying others in the name of the Almighty is an abomination. Indeed, the programming of the universe sadly allows people to war and persecute each other, and there is disease and disaster, yet people can mitigate that to some extent by how much they care for each other. The less they care, the worse things will be, and as a result, the more influence you have…yet another lesson for the humans. The universe also uses karma as a tool, which it doles out in deliciously clever ways, partially as an instrument to encourage spiritual growth. Of course, humans have their dual identity as physical and spiritual beings, which explains much more, but since both of us know about that's about, why even go into that. Some people think that the physical world means nothing to me and I don't care about the pain and suffering people go through, but if I didn't care, why would I go through the effort of creating the physical part of the universe in the first place? In spite of whatever the universe might have generated and your virulent efforts, occasionally a hand is reached out to help people. If there was no caring, not even that occasional outreach would be there. Regarding this little matter at hand, if I didn't care about the universe and its inhabitants, you wouldn't be stuck here, now would you? I would simply let the universe spin off on its own and you could pretend to be the creator, but that would be encouraging identity theft, wouldn't it?"
"It's just not fair…" the demon replied, pouting and staring at the floor.
"You'll get over it. You always do…with remarkable speed, just as you always get over your attempts at feigned moral outrage. One suggestion is that you might temper that obsession you have with ruining people's lives and maybe attempt to look at the larger picture."
"Perhaps…"
A disbelieving grin came to the Creator's face. The demon hunched his shoulders and frowned. "While you have me on ice, do I really have to be here? This is obviously not my cup of tea. I mean, this place screams Thomas Kinkade. I'm afraid that if you open up that overcoat of yours, there'll be a scene of a snowy Christmas village on the inside."
"Oh, you mean like this?" the Creator opened one side of his coat, showing the interior liner. It was like a movie screen with a scene of a snowy village with glowing golden lights coming from the windows of houses and gentle smoke rising from chimneys. The devil rolled his eyes in exasperation and turned his attention to the woman singer who, accompanied by the organist, was now belting out another holiday song.
"Who is she trying to be?" complained Lucifer, "Kate Smith?"
"Yes," answered the Creator, "Which is quite expected because she is Kate Smith."

The demon hunched his shoulders looking quite uncomfortable and impatient. Finally, he uttered "Enough," and bolted once again for the door. "Where's he off to now?" asked the bartender. "This time he's got a lengthy itinerary," answered the Creator with jolly chuckle, "I've got him on a Macy's parade float in the early 1960's, then it's off to Christmas celebration at a school in a small Russian town in 2012, then he'll go back to the 1950's to spend a day at Santa's village inside a Gimbel's department store, then off to a wonderful and very snowy celebration in Bavaria, a unique holiday celebration at a gay bath in 1972 New York, a festive holiday hoedown at a Colorado ranch in 1897, and other stops in Austria, London, Costa Rica, Alberta, Salt Lake City, and a veritable host of other places. He'll be entertained." The Creator then offered up his mug of beer to the bartender in a salute. They clinked glasses together with the Creator uttering a robust "Cheers" and settled back into his chair, a pleased gentle smile on his face.

*********
"…I wish I could say this politely, but you two kids look like shit."

In San Francisco, a couple of blocks off Castro Street, a male couple perhaps in their late twenties strolled in the twilight of dusk towards a Victorian row house. They scampered up the flight of stairs to the front door, pausing at the first landing. "Are you sure they still live here?" asked the one of the men to the other. "Yeah, pretty sure," answered his partner, "I checked in on them recently, and I'm sure they're still in the same house. Though looking in on someone is not the same as being here for real…this is so…vivid."
The two men continued up the stairs and stopped at the front door. One of the men spoke again. "Yeah, look…their names are on the mailbox, they're still here. The place still looks the same. Do you remember what it looked like when they first moved in? The portico had to be replaced; it was just about all rotted out. Oh gosh, there's that geranium they planted. Now it's a huge bush!"
"Well, let's not just stand here, ring the doorbell."
"This should be interesting."
One of the men rang the doorbell and in a few seconds a middle aged man answered the door.
"Hi Gary," one of the male callers said, "It's Shawn and Mark, you remember us don't you. We just stopped by to see how you were doing and wanted to know if you and Hank wanted to maybe go out for a cocktail or two."
Gary snapped his head in surprise and then calmly addressed his callers. "Yes, I haven't seen either of you in a very long time…Hank!"

"I know…" exclaimed Mark, "You haven't seen us…gosh, since we died."
"The last time you probably saw us was at our funerals," added Shawn, "Oh good gosh, AIDS… that was the most absolute horrible thing. Not something I would ever want to go through again."
"Yes," replied Gary with a stone face, "The last time I saw both of you was at your funerals. Terrible…Haank!"
"I hate to bring this up, dear," said Mark, "But you've got a little receding business going on with your hair. How's everything going with you and Hank otherwise?"
Gary stiffly ran his right hand through his hair, "Well, I'm developing a little minor arthritis in my joints and Hank has high cholesterol and just the typical middle aged symptoms for both of us…Haaank!"
"Oh great," observed Shawn, "Hank must be home, it'll be good to see him. We're gonna drag both of you out for a drink."
"Yes," replied Gary gravely, "Hank's home. Haaank! Get your damned tush out here, pronto!"
Another middle-aged man approached the doorway. "Holy cripe Gary, I'm coming, don't get your Calvin Kleins in a…"
"Hank," gasped Gary almost in tears, "I'm having a hallucination. I'm seeing Mark and Shawn. Remember Mark and Shawn?"
"Good ever-loving' grief, Gary, " exclaimed Hank, "You must be having one hell of a hallucination, because I can see them too."
"Oh, you two," admonished Shawn, "It's us, Shawn and Mark. For real! We just want to say hi and take you guys out for a few holiday cocktails."
"Oh good God, Hank, " shrieked Gary, "We must be dead. Maybe we were in a car crash or an earthquake. What's the last thing you remember?"
"Having a cup of coffee and reading the paper, the doorbell ringing, you going to answer it and then screaming for me to come to the door," answered Hank.
"You guys aren't dead," answered Mark, "we've just come back for a Christmas visit. Like we're here, we're queer, so just get over it, girls."
"But…this can't be," protested Gary, "You two look just like you did years ago. Like nothing at all had happened. You can't be here."
"Who says we can't be here," insisted Shawn, "We got a pass for the evening. So we came to visit. So where's the problem? Besides, you should expect that old friends might drop by during the Christmas season."
"We look the same," explained Mark, "because we never grew old. However, you two…I wish I could say this politely, but you two kids look like shit." Mark then turned to Shawn. "We are going to have to do an extreme makeover on these kids."
"Uh-huh!" agreed Shawn.
"You wouldn't believe the effort it took to get here, " added Mark, "so it would be nice if you invited us in. Besides, if you two keep having dramas out here on the front porch, the neighbors are going to talk." Mark took a close look at Gary. "Oh, Gary, hon. What happened?" he admonished, "You were just so cute. You have not been using your oil of old lady, have you? It looks like Shawn and I are just going to have to work our magic and turn back the hands of time on you and Hank. It’ll be our good deed and our Christmas present to you."
Mark and Shawn entered the house, with Shawn asking Hank about bars in the area. "Well… " answered Hank, "Gary and I don't go out that much but there's the Lone Star, The Edge, Fickle Fox…" Hank paused to do a close visual examination of Shawn. Shawn tilted his head. "Hank…you're being rude to a dead person."
Hank muttered a little squeak as the foursome shuffled into the house.

*********
"Dance a little then we'll get you a blan-kee and some warm milk."

Still not knowing what to make of the holiday visit by their long deceased friends, Mark and Shawn, Gary and Hank gave their ghostly visitors a quick tour of their house showing them improvements that were made to their domicile over the years. While Mark and Shawn were alert and perky, Gary and Hank were hesitant and on edge. The foursome then returned to the kitchen to chat while seated at the kitchen table. Gary and Hank's cat glared wide-eyed at the visitors, sitting tightly up against a kitchen wall as if the feline were trying to hold it up.
"Just how is this again that you're able to come back?" asked Hank in amazement.
"You know Beef Matson?" asked Shawn.
"Not personally," replied Hank, "he's that famous gay detective. Gary and I have only read about him, that's all."
"Well," added Shawn, "we heard that he has an assistant who put in a good word for all of us. So if any of us wanted to, we could come back."
"Good gawd, " commented Gary, "Talk about being on a party A-list!"

In short order, Mark and Shawn persuaded their old friends to accompany them to a bar for a couple of cocktails and soon the foursome found themselves seated at a table in a dance bar. After Hank returned with drinks from the bar, the four men chatted awhile, with the other patrons in the bar watching in curiosity as two middle aged men talked to two empty chairs, with glasses sitting on the table in front of those chairs occasionally rising in the air by themselves. Suddenly Mark decided he wanted to dance with Gary. Gary objected, but Mark pulled him out of his chair and pulled him towards the dance floor. The other bar patrons saw a middle aged man slowly walking towards the dance floor by himself with one arm raised out in front of him.

"Mark…Mark," complained Gary, "Please, I don't dance anymore."
"Don't dance?" responded Mark, "You were always the first one on the dance floor."
"That was years ago. I'm a middle-aged guy now. Middle-aged guys don't dance. Nobody wants to see a middle aged guy dance…and that includes me."
"It won't hurt to move around a bit and shake off the cobwebs, come on," Mark jerked Gary harder towards the dance floor.
"Oh geez, Mark. I can't dance to this electronic music crap. Besides, look at everybody staring…I must be standing out like a sore thumb."
"I think they're staring just because they can't see me, only you. It just probably looks weird with me pulling on your arm and you leaning back."
"Omigawd," moaned Gary, "They can't see you? Oh no, this is just like that old movie Topper, you know the old guy is haunted by a couple that got killed in a car crash."
"Imagine that…" replied Mark, "Shawn and I are Marion and George Kerby and you could be Cosmo Topper, and Hank could be Topper's wife. No, you'd both have to be Cosmo Topper…I just can't see Hank as Billie Burke."
"Oh Mark, I'm really getting embarrassed now…that is, if you really are here and I'm just not…"
"I'm really here and there's no need to be embarrassed. What's done is done. The other customers may not be able to see Shawn and I but they could see the glasses we were drinking from rising up and down in the air…so they probably think they're trippin'. Let's just go dance."
"Except for that one kid dancing by himself, then it'll just be me out there by myself then."
"No it won't…you can see me. Just when did you start being embarrassed? I remember that time, where was it…Oil Can Harry's or Alfie's…that you dropped your cutoffs and were dancing around just naked in your Nikes. Until the staff came running over with towels to cover you up."
"I didn't have a middle aged body then."
"Just dance."
"Like I said before, I can't dance to this techno trance crap. It's just not my music."
"You've got a point there," agreed Mark, "What happened to the music? They put all the musicians in internment camps or something? Never mind, I'll fix that."

As they walked past the DJ booth, Mark whacked the booth with his fist and suddenly the music changed. Gary quickly looked at Mark, the young man dancing by himself suddenly stopped with a puzzled look on his face, and the DJ scrambled around in the booth trying in vain to figure out what was happening. "We can dance to this," smiled Mark, "It's called 'Loving Is Really My Game' by Brainstorm from the late seventies."
"How'd ya do that?" asked Gary.
"Impressing my will upon this reality…technical stuff. Let's just dance." Mark began to energetically fall into the beat of the music with Gary stiffly following him. Even the lone kid on the dance floor began to dance again, getting into the music. Mark looked over at Gary a bit disapprovingly. "You haven't been dancing in awhile, have you? Here…let me lead." Mark grabbed onto Gary and aggressively whirled him about on the dance floor.
"See," said Mark, "this ain't so bad."
"No," admitted Gary, "but I bet my bod's going to be hurting tomorrow."
"No it won't," smiled Mark, "I'll see to that."

As Mark and Gary quickly swirled around on the dance floor, bar patrons watched as a middle aged man seemed to be doing nearly impossible dance steps while holding on to nothing while Shawn and Hank were able to observe their other halves dancing an energetic dance. The lone kid on the dance floor ignored Gary and continued his more contemporary dance steps. Shawn poked Hank. "C'mon…let's dance."
"Oh gosh, no," protested Hank, "I'll be so stiff tomorrow…"
"Hanky panky, don't be such a party pooper. Dance a little then we'll get you a blan-kee and some warm milk."
Shawn pulled a protesting Hank out of his chair and onto the dance floor. Mark continued to whirl Gary around on the dance floor. Gary began to smile. "I forgot how much fun this was."

As Mark moved Gary around faster and faster on the dance floor he began to focus on what he remembered what his dance partner looked like when he was younger. Mark began to project that memory upon the man he was dancing with and soon Gary began to change. Gary's head of hair began to get fuller, and his hairline began to move down his forehead and the flecks of gray at the temples disappeared. Gary's face began to lose its weary look and lines began to fade and the puffiness beneath his eyes began to smooth out. Gary also began to rapidly regain his muscle tone throughout his body with his posture improving; his jolly physique became slimmer. Stiffly at first, Hank began to dance with Shawn. Shawn also whirled his dance partner about and as he did Hank's frosty hair began to regain its former ash blond color and soon Hank was undergoing a rejuvenating transformation as well until he looked just as he did when he was in his early thirties, a man with a swimmer's body and juicy pecs. As the transformation of both middle-aged men became complete, the lights in the building flickered slightly and Mark and Shawn suddenly became visible to the other patrons of the bar, which prompted even more curious stares.

Mark shot a wink at Shawn and yelled, "Time to change partners!" Mark and Shawn shoved Hank and Gary into each other and moved away slightly to dance on their own. As Gary turned to look at Hank he gasped. "Omigawd, Hank you're like…like gorgeous!" Hank snapped his head in awe, "Oh Gary, you…you look like when we first met. I…"
Hank's speech was interrupted when Gary embraced him closely. A sudden flash of light flooded the room. Hank turned to Shawn and Mark. "Must be storming outside."
"No," replied Mark, "It's just God's practical joke." There was another flash of light followed by a stream of plasma which streaked into bar and congealed into a human figure, with a few other new bar patrons appearing in the same manner and joining the two couples already on the dance floor. One bit of plasma congealed into a shirtless man in jeans and he began to dance by himself, twirling about handkerchiefs in rhythm to the music. The lone youth dancer noticed the man with the handkerchiefs and danced closer to him. The two men began to imitate each other's dance styles and soon the man in the levis was swirling his handkerchiefs around the youth. In short order the dance floor was jumping with amazed bar patrons swarming onto the dance floor. Gary, Hank, Mark and Shawn had removed their shirts, tucking them into their jeans. The foursome took a time out from dancing and stood at the edge of the dance floor in a group embrace. It had indeed turned into a wonderful Christmas.

*********
"We are certainly not in Kansas anymore."

Brett continued to escort Randy towards the interior of the large bar, reaching the other end of the large oval bar where there was a medium sized dance floor, with an old fashioned Plexiglas surface under lit by flashing colored squares. At the edge of the dance floor Brett directed Randy into a hallway, indicating it was the way to the larger dance floor. The hallway was crowded with people going back and forth between the two sections of the bar. Brett had a firm grasp on Randy's wrist and led Randy through the commotion in the hallway and he began hearing music coming from the other dance floor. In the crowd of people headed in the other direction, there was one man who caught Randy's eye. It was a very handsome blond, mustached man who was staring at Randy. As the man got closer to Randy and Brett, he spoke to Randy.
"Hey, I know you."
Brett looked at Randy and the man with a puzzled look. Randy shrugged his shoulders.
"You're Randy," exclaimed the man, "you work for Beef Matson."
Randy shook his head, "Do I know you…?" Brett stood behind Randy and assumed a protective, possessive embrace, wrapping his arms around his partner.
"Oh sorry," the man laughed, "No, you wouldn't know me." The man flashed a charming smile of pearly white teeth beneath a bushy blond mustache. The top buttons of his shirt undone revealing a puffy, hairy chest and a thin gold colored necklace glistened in the light. He exchanged firm, masculine hand shakes with Brett and Randy. "My name's Ken Freitag."
"This is Brett," announced Randy, as he presented his lover, "He's my partner, ain't he just the most awesome man in the universe?"
Ken laughed politely, "You two do make a very handsome couple, I'd say just made for each other.
I used to have a shop in the building where Matson has his office now. I like to come back for a visit every now and then just look in and see what's happening at the old place. That building has really developed over the years. Of course it's not like really being there, all I can do is just look in, so none of you guys would be aware of me…but I know all of you pretty well."

"Let me tell you, Randy, your boss is something else. I kind of, well…left the scene long before Beef Matson arrived, but if he had been around when I was around…I sure would have made every attempt to jump his bones. He sure is one foxy looking dude and has the brains to go with it."
Standing with their arms around each other, Randy and Brett chatted with the man for a short bit, though any conversation was difficult in the crowded corridor. The crowd tugging at them, the conversation was broken off with the man headed off for the front bar, and Randy and Brett continuing towards the back bar.

When he and Brett finally made their way out of the corridor and into the back bar, Randy was pleasantly amazed. The bar area looked like an old fashioned, yet sparkling new, hotel lobby with plush carpeting, lots of ornate woodwork, with the area lit by floor lamps and spotlights in the ceiling. A bar ran the entire length of one wall, it seemed to be constructed out of wood with ornate molding, with a brass foot rail and trimmings. The place was drenched with sparkling holiday lighting and decorations. A large Christmas tree stood in a corner, tastefully decorated with lights, gold ornaments and red felt ribbons and a fresh evergreen smell wafted through the room. A gentle glow came from a large fieldstone fireplace with several overstuffed chairs and a couch parked in front of it. Paintings in ornate gold frames hung on the walls.
"Wow…" Randy smiled at Brett, "talk about your classy joints."
"Come over here and take a look at the dance floor," Brett led Randy further into the room over to where their view was not obstructed by pillars and they could get a full view of the dance floor. Upon getting to the edge of the dance floor, Randy grabbed a firm hold of the belt loops of Brett's jeans. "Good ever-loving'…", announced Randy, "I think my flabber just been gasted. This is awesome. This is truly awesome." Randy stared out at a dance floor, which seemed to be the size of an auditorium or large cathedral. There weren't that many people on the dance floor yet and Randy could see that the floor was dark and buffed to a high gloss and very reflective. The walls were a hodgepodge of different motifs, one wall was decorated with the false fronts of old west buildings, another wall looked like the entrance to an art deco hotel, yet another wall looked like a cliff in a tropical rainforest with a splashing waterfall lit by colored lights. At the edge of the dance floor large pillars soared towards a deep blue, cloudlike ceiling. Randy could see large mirrored disco balls above and along the center of the dance floor, these seemed to be just floating in the air and not hanging from anything. There were also many twinkling holiday lights strung everywhere like a main thoroughfare in some large city.

Randy noticed what looked like a large square dance floor with flashing colored squares mounted flat against one wall and what looked like an oval shaped dance floor, yet it was also mounted on a wall at a steep forty-five degree angle.
"What are those?" he asked Brett.
"More dance floors…more room to dance when the main dance floor gets crowded."
"On the walls?"
"Gravity is an option here," Brett explained, "If you want to, you can just ignore it."
"We are certainly not in Kansas anymore," commented Randy.

The pair decided to get themselves drinks and then returned to watch the dance floor gradually fill up with dancers. Randy observed that most of the dance music being played was disco from the 1970s.
"Oh, just about anything is played here," said Brett, "but most of the people here have pretty fond memories of that era, so a lot of that kind of music is played…but it's fun to dance to." The two men continued to sip on their drinks and watch the dance floor as old school music flooded filled the dancing arena much to the delight of the dancers. As a connoisseur of music, Randy knew most of the artists and the song titles. Songs like The Hustle, Turn The Beat Around, Ten Percent, Young Hearts Run Free and Love Hangover; artists like Harold Melvin and The Blue Notes, Tavares, Dan Hartman, and Thelma Houston. Their drinks finished, Brett took the glasses and place them on the bar and returned to Randy.
"Excuse me, man…" Brett said to Randy, "but I think you're the hottest guy in this bar and I'd really like to dance with you. Would you like to dance?"
"Sure, I never turn down a chance to dance with a hot stud," smiled Randy. A new song started playing, it was I Was Born This Way by Carl Bean. Randy's eyes lit up. "I love this song!" He energetically pulled Brett towards the dance floor. A number of other people also shared Randy's fondness for the song and scrambled onto the dance floor.

Dancing with Brett again was a labor of pure joy for Randy, and though he never seem to get winded, dancing was sweaty work and Brett and Randy removed their shirts, tucking them into the waists of their jeans. In addition, he loved every song that was being played, plus dancing in the fantastic surroundings was like dancing in a huge movie set or in a ride at Disneyland. The men dancing around the couple seemed all to be so good looking and buff. When "Baby, I'm Burning", by Dolly Parton was played, there were several men, stripped to the waist, dancing country western flavor disco steps in jeans and cowboy boots. When a song like "You're The First, The Last, My Everything" by Barry White was played, other male dancers whirled around in embraces, like a very fast fox trot. Some disco flavored Christmas songs were also played, like "Dear Santa", by the Weather Girls. Randy felt so good, working his body in rhythm to the music, feeling the air on his naked torso as he whirled around, having the other shirtless men dance around him, and best of all, watching the beautiful torso of his beloved Brett sensuously displayed directly in front of him. Better still, the tune Brett and Randy considered their song, “This Time, Baby" by Jackie Moore was played and the couple danced to part of the song in an embrace. The dance floor kept getting more crowded and Randy watched in amazement as some of the crowd took advantage of the dance floors mounted on the walls. A few men ran up the oval dance platform on the wall, flipped over and gently floated back down to the main dance floor. Other couples simply danced on the square dance floor that was perpendicular to the main dance floor, oblivious to the effects of gravity.

As the crush of the dance crowd began to make for close quarters for Randy and Brett, Brett solved the problem by grabbing Randy by the waist and throwing him up into the air above his head. Holding onto Randy's hand, Brett whirled his partner around in the air above his head much like a lasso as Randy carefully flew above the other dancers. Brett joined Randy for a while in the weightless acrobatics and until they resumed conventional dancing on the floor. Slowing their rhythm, Randy choose to embrace Brett for while, feeling his lover's naked chest against his and holding Brett close to him. Randy felt the warmth and security of being with Brett and the huge mass of other gay people, and looking about the beautiful, colorful surroundings, as he looked up at the deep blue ceiling, he saw what appeared to be angels perched atop the huge pillars, they were dancing and singing.

*********
"Randy, you're stepping out of character."

When the song, You Stepped Into My Life by Melba Moore began to play, Brett suddenly seemed to lose his enthusiasm for dancing, becoming distracted, as if someone had just talked to him. He gently pulled Randy off the dance floor and led him to an unoccupied area of the lobby area, away from the brighter lights, near a wall. While the song was still playing, Brett pulled Randy's shirt that was tucked into Randy's jeans and began to dress his bare chested partner. While the lyrics of the song echoed off the wall, Brett had Randy put his arms into the shirt and he lovingly pulled the collar around Randy's neck. The song lyrics kept bouncing off the walls, "you stepped into my life and I'm oh so happy". Brett began to rub his face against Randy's neck, gradually moving down to the still bare chest, which he began to gently kiss. The lyrics relentlessly repeated, "you stepped into my life and I'm oh so happy". Tears began to stream uncontrollably from Brett's eyes. Shielding his face from Randy, he moved his head back up to the side of Randy's head and pulled his lover into him. He gripped the hair at the back of Randy's head with his hand.
"Randy…" Brett spoke, "You won't be able to remember anything about this night, but I want you do one thing for me. Please try to remember. If you try really hard, you might be able to rem