Chapter 12
The television people came in force; they even parked one of those vans with a satellite dish on the roof in the driveway. Sheldon showed everybody into the living room and then disappeared back upstairs. Mike stared at the entourage; he knew Dave and Lionel, but the rest were strangers. A pale man in a charcoal suit with a pink tie was introduced as one of the writers; the woman in the floral skirt, more suitable for Florida than Massachusetts, was a producer, and the tall angular woman with the high cheekbones of a model was a host for the show and would do the interviews. She had introduced herself as Fiona somebody—Mike didn’t quite catch her last name—and had plastered a phony smile on her face as she shook everybody’s hand. Thank God they were sitting all together and most of the questions were addressed to Tilden. Mike didn’t feel comfortable answering questions about the legal and social implications of a threesome.
“Professor Blake, Sheldon Zath has assured me that it was in no way planned to incorporate a third party into your relationship. In his words, ‘it just happened.’ Would you like to elaborate on the expression it just happened?” Fiona asked with a saccharine sweet smile. “I’m sure most of our viewers have no experience with a threesome.”
Tilden snorted. “I had no experience with a threesome until two weeks ago. I can assure you it wasn’t planned, but I wouldn’t want it any other way now that it has happened.” Tilden reached over ruffled Mike’s and Luke’s hair, making both boys blush.
“Does the lack of legal recognition within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts concern you?” Fiona asked.
“Multiple partners are not legally recognized as marriage, but they are also not illegal. The college has already indicated that they will recognize both Luke and Mike as my partners and offer them identical benefits. We’re fortunate, as while there are no laws forbidding such recognition, there are also no laws requiring it. If the college had chosen to recognize only one partner, we would’ve had no recourse.”
“How is your family reacting to this development?” Fiona specifically addressed Tilden, but it was clear she was going to ask each partner in turn.
“Do you mean my blood family or my family here?” Tilden replied.
“Both.”
“My parents are delighted. They were convinced that I would die an old maid, if a man can be an old maid, and they are thrilled to have two sons-in-law. I’m the only child in the family so having two partners was a bonus as far as they’re concerned. They’re coming in a few weeks to visit. They would’ve come earlier, but I told them they had to wait until midterm exams were over.”
Mike looked over at Tilden. He’d spoken to Tilden’s parents on the phone in the forced cheerfulness required when speaking to unknown relatives. He hadn’t expected a visit. They were going to be here; they’d know about him and Tilden. How could he hide that from his parents? Mike said, “yes, sir” and let Tilden boss him around. He wasn’t an ordinary boyfriend. Mike was impossibly young for Tilden, and Mike needed so much.
“Mike.”
Mike was drawn back to the present by Fiona saying his name in a strident tone. He’d missed Tilden’s reply on the reaction of his housemates, but Mike knew that answer without hearing it. Tilden would say the appropriate platitudes about the delight of his housemates while Mike secretly knew that both tops found him a pain in the ass and that Sheldon would’ve killed him in a heartbeat if Milton wouldn’t flay him alive for such behavior.
“Mike,” Fiona said again. “What do your parents think?”
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t told them?” Fiona asked, her eyebrows climbing into her perfectly coiffured hair line.
“We’ve tried to. Tilden was adamant that I tell them.” Mike played with the buttons on his shirt cuffs for a moment before continuing. “My parents are very busy saving the world, and they can be hard to reach.” Mike didn’t hide the bitterness in his tone. “I think they’re in Laos right now or maybe it’s Burma—some country in Southeast Asia. I thought they were in India, but the yogi said they moved on.”
“Don’t you have a phone number?”
“We tried it,” Mike said with a shrug. “The person at the other end had never heard of my parents. He didn’t speak much English either.”
“How did you talk to him?”
“Tilden speaks French.”
“I think that’s a bit generous,” Tilden said with a laugh. “I can make myself understood in French. I’m sure the French cover their ears if I say more that a few words. I have a heavy Russian accent.”
“Well, anyway,” Mike said in a disinterested tone. “Tilden finally called the attorney who manages my parents’ affairs when they’re away. She said she contacted them through the Western Union office in Vientiane. We sent a telegram, but we haven’t heard back. They might have replied to the lawyer, but we haven’t heard.” He shrugged again. “I’m used to it. My parents are busy.”
Tilden reached over, hooked an arm around Mike’s neck, pulled the young man to his chest, and kissed Mike firmly of the forehead before he let him go.
“And Luke, what about your parents?” Fiona asked.
“My father’s not too happy, but he’s never happy with me, so life goes on as usual.”
“And what about your mother?”
“I haven’t heard from her in years,” Luke said with a dismissive shrug. “When my dad announced he was bisexual, she got the hell out of Dodge. Her parents still live in Texas, so I doubt she would approve.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Fiona said. Mike watched Fiona struggle to come up with a new direction for the conversation; two highly dysfunctional families had thrown her for a loop. “Well, Luke,” she said with false brightness. “What do your friends think of your new living arrangements?”
“Mike was my closest friend, and he lives here now. I hope he’s happy. I hope I didn’t force him into something he hates.” Luke looked over at Mike, his eyes wide with concern.
“You didn’t,” Mike said softly, too softly for Fiona to hear. “I blackmailed Tilden into taking me.”
Tilden whispered into Mike’s ear, “You did not. I was greedy and wanted both of you.”
“I need you to speak loud enough that our audience can enjoy your comments,” Fiona said.
“Tak...”
“And in English,” Fiona interrupted. “I’ve been warned that you have a bad habit of lapsing into Russian.”
“It’s important to introduce the American people to foreign languages,” Tilden said, slipping into his professorial mode. “It’s one of the disgraces of the American educational system that we produce so few students who have mastered a second language. Here at Banner College we require only two years of a foreign language, which is more than many college and universities, but is far from adequate. With two years of Russian, you can probably understand directions to Red Square or find a bathroom, but that’s about it. The classic literature will still be totally inaccessible. Tolstoy, Pushkin, Lermontov, Chekhov, to name a few, all deserve to be read in the original.”
Mike bit his lip to keep from laughing. It was obvious that Tilden was planning a long, winding talk about the Russian language to prevent further prying questions. Fiona was desperately trying to halt the flow of information, but Tilden ignored her and continued to espouse on the wonders of a foreign language education. He was now describing in detail what each level of language competency meant.
“I’d like to see every student required to achieve advanced-mid as defined by the American Council of Teachers of Foreign Languages in all four areas of competency: speaking, reading, writing, and listening. With an advanced knowledge, you can read the classics; you will still need a dictionary and much effort, but it’s doable.”
As Tilden continued, Mike and Luke couldn’t hide their amusement and started to giggle behind their hands. Tilden tried to sound annoyed as he hushed them, but neither boy could contain their laughter.
Fiona took the opportunity to halt the lecture. “I’m sure our audience is fascinated by the intricacies of foreign language learning, but this show is focused on the relationship between partners.”
“Sorry, I tend to get carried away when I’m discussing my favorite topic.” Tilden gave Fiona an innocent, charming smile.
“I think that’s all the questions I have for the three of you together. May I have your permission to speak to the two young men without your presence?” Fiona asked Tilden.
“Of course.” Tilden rose smoothly from the sofa. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Please come and get me when you’re done."
Mike nodded, relieved that Tilden didn’t mention that Mike was supposed to be damn near glued to a top for the next two weeks. The look Tilden had given Mike did little to shield the threat of what would happen if Mike didn’t report to the kitchen immediately after the conclusion of the interview. Mike shifted on the sofa; he’d already been spanked twice today. He had no desire to go for three.
“Boys, I wasn’t sure he would leave.” Fiona tried to dazzle them with a smile, her perfect teeth glittering in the hot spot lights. “He seems very protective. I noticed when Luke was first paired with him that he kept you well out of the crowd and dodged every interview. Do you find him a bit suffocating? I know I would.”
“Well, I’m not you,” Luke said. “I like it.”
“And what about you?” Fiona said, turning towards Mike.
Mike shrugged. He wasn’t sure how he felt, but he knew he wasn’t going to share his feelings with this prying woman. He’d seen enough reality TV to know she was searching for a chink in his armor to create controversy. Yelling and humiliating public breakdowns sold air time. “It’s OK.”
“You don’t sound as enthused about it as Luke. Has he clipped you wings more than you like?” she said, giving Mike another one of her phony smiles.
“No, I’m just not as talkative. OK?” Mike didn’t try to hide the hostility in his voice. Straight men maybe found this woman attractive, but he was finding her repulsive, her attempts to worm her way into his confidence obvious and disgraceful.
“It sounds like it’s not so easy for you,” she said with another false smile and an attempt to sound sympathetic.
“It’s fine,” Mike said, gritting his teeth.
“It doesn’t sound fine.” Fiona smiled sweetly.
“What the fuck do you want me to do?” Mike yelled. “Walk up and down Main Street with a fucking banner and a brass band?”
Before Mike could say any more, Tilden appeared in the doorway. “I made some tea. I thought everyone might like some.” Tilden set the tray on the table and started pouring. He’d made it Russian style and had a pot of hot water and a second pot of dark tea. “Would anyone like sugar or jam?”
Mike and Luke exchanged glances, both trying to keep a straight face. Mike knew that Tilden must have heard the raised voices and decided an impromptu tea party could prevent a disaster. Fiona tried to hide the irritation that her line of questioning had been cleverly thwarted. Tilden busied himself pouring tea. He handed Mike a glass, the tea a pale caramel color with a heaping spoonful of raspberry preserves. Mike took the glass without protest. He didn’t like tea, but something in Tilden’s expression told him that a protest now was not in his best interest.
“I’ll just leave the pots here in case you want more. We have homemade bread in the kitchen. Would anyone like some?”
“No, the tea is lovely, thank you,” Fiona said, setting the tea on an end table without taking a sip. “I just have a couple more questions to ask your partners, and then we’ll be all done.” She smiled again, but the curve of her lips didn’t hide the fierce glare in her eyes.
“I’ll just be in the kitchen if you change your mind about bread or would like anything else,” Tilden said, ignoring the glare.
Fiona waited until Tilden had left before speaking again. “Mike, it does seem your partner likes to keep a close eye on you. This tea party for instance.”
Mike smiled. It had been fun watching Tilden needle Fiona with the tea. He could play this game also. “Oh, no, I think Tilden just remembered his manners. It was most inhospitable not to offer tea earlier. Our apologies.”
Luke jumped into the conversation, giving Fiona a practiced expression of angelic innocence. “Remember this week’s dialogue when Pasha brings the American student home to meet his mother. They have tea and cakes and grandmother gives the guest a commemorative coin of St. Petersburg.”
“And Bill, the visiting student, takes her flowers, which he buys at the metro stop.”
“I thought he took glasses that he bought at Gostiny Dvor.”
“No, that’s when he visits Moscow,” Mike said.
“Gostiny Dvor is in St. Petersburg, not Moscow.”
“I’m sure your Russian lessons are fascinating, but we’re not here to discuss the adventures of Bill in Moscow.”
“Not Moscow—St. Petersburg,” Luke chimed in. “The window to the West. GUM is in Moscow.
“Please, I need to ask you a few questions for the next show.” Fiona’s voice was becoming louder, and her cheeks were pinker.
“We’re sorry,” Mike said with false sincerity. “It’s just we’ve been studying Russian a lot, and we’re a little slap happy.”
“I’m sure you are, gentlemen,” Fiona said, her professional persona firmly back in place. “I have a few more question. They’re all straightforward, so it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, and then you can get back to the books. “What’s you’re favorite food?”
“I don’t know; I have lots of favorites,” Mike said.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Luke said. “Burgers or a pizza.”
“That’s not true. I like fries too.”
“So would it be fair to say you like junk food?” Fiona asked.
“Yeah.” Mike nodded.
“And what about you, Luke?”
“Anything sweet,” Mike replied before Luke had a chance to answer.
“So, you like dessert?”
“Yes,” Luke said, “especially anything Mace makes. He makes great pies.”
“What don’t you like?” Fiona asked.
“Vegetables,” Both young men said together.
“And what about Tilden?”
Luke and Mike both looked at each. Finally Luke said, “I don’t think he likes beets. When we were labeling the foods, he told me a story about cold beets for breakfast when he was studying in Russia. He described the concoction in graphic detail. It sounded ghastly.”
Mike laughed. “Beets for breakfast—my worst nightmare. That’s got to be worse than Tilden’s lumpy oatmeal.”
“Is his oatmeal lumpy?” Fiona asked, suddenly interested.
“Oh, yeah,” Luke agreed. “He can’t cook. If Trent and Mace didn’t cook, we’d all starve.”
“He can make toast,” Mike said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Luke spluttered, “New Orleans style toast, properly blackened.”
“Fire extinguisher foam is not a good condiment,” Mike said, laughing.
“How can you say that? We’ve only had it on toast.”
“Mace and Trent won’t let him fry anything after he set the curtains on fire,” Mike added.
“What?’ Fiona asked, her interest piqued.
“I don’t really know the story,” Mike apologized. “Mace just mentioned it one day when he was frying bacon.”
“What is Tilden’s favorite food?” Fiona asked.
“I don’t know,” Mike said.
“Anything Russian,” Luke said.
“As long as there are no beets,” Mike added.
“What about sirniki? Trent made them today as a special treat.”
“What are sirniki?” Fiona asked, struggling with the pronunciation of the unfamiliar word. Mike saw Fiona look up at the ceiling with a pleading look; she was expecting another discourse on the Russian language.
It was Luke who answered; he’d really started to get into the Russian stuff. They had both been bugging Tilden last week, complaining about little things. Tilden had finally had enough and handed them a stack of notecards, a roll of string, and a hole punch and sent them to identify all the furniture in the living room and study. Small white cards dangled from the coffee table and the sofa legs. Mike knew he was now sitting on the divan and Fiona was in the kreslo. Mike had found the whole exercise a drag, but Luke had enjoyed it, tossing books on and under the furniture and quizzing Mike on their location. Luke was now explaining sirniki with just as much enthusiasm.
“Sirniki are cheese pancakes. The name comes from the word for cheese which is sir. In Russia they’re are made from a special cheese called tvorog; we can’t get that here, so Trent used cottage cheese.”
How did Luke know so much about those damn pancakes? Mike would rather have had blueberry pancakes any day. Had Tilden talked about them at breakfast? He didn’t remember, but he’d spent most of breakfast in what Tilden had called a full blown self-absorbed tantrum. Mike’s butt still tingled as a result of those tantrums; a discussion of pancakes would’ve been a better choice.
“What’s Tilden’s favorite color?” Fiona asked when she finally managed to get a word in during Luke’s pancake discourse.
“Forest green or navy, I think,” Mike said. “At least that’s the color of all his shirts and sweaters.”
“And what about you, Mike? I see you’re wearing a dark green shirt.”
“I prefer more exciting colors, especially purples. This is Tilden’s shirt. He doesn’t think much of my clothes.”
“Does he like you to dress more conservatively than you like?”
“You could say that: no leather, nothing with holes, nothing tight, nothing with sequins—”
“I’ve never seen you with sequins,” Luke interrupted. “Some of your clothes are a bit provocative.”
“You’re as bad as he is wanting me to look like some small town hick.”
“Mike, you’re making him sound like the fashion Gestapo. He’s not that bad about it. He let you keep your jewelry.”
“It wouldn’t bother you. Your idea of fashion makes me shudder, private school boy all the way.”
“Mike,” Luke whined and tossed a throw pillow at him.
“Boys.” A sharp voice came from the back of the room.
Both Luke and Mike froze, and Mike’s hand went to cover his butt. Tilden would scorch him if he found them fighting. Thank God it was only Lionel. Mike didn’t stop to think why Lionel would’ve broken the two of them up, but he did notice the look of pure venom that Fiona shot at him. A good fight would’ve been excellent television.
“I’ve been hanging around long enough to have a good idea what will happen if you fight,” Lionel said with a wry grin. “It doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“Yes, sir,” Luke said, studying the swirling pattern of the rug. Mike could only manage a nod before he sat back on the sofa and tried to assume an air of unruffled calm.
“What happens if you fight?” Fiona asked, trying to sound curious rather than greedy for juicy bits.
Mike stared at the floor; he could feel his ear tips reddening, and Luke turned a bright pink. There were some advantages in not having straw colored hair and brilliant blue eyes, Mike thought.
“Come on, I think our audience would like to know what would happen?” Fiona prodded.
“They can use their imagination,” Mike spat.
“So you get spanked.” Fiona said with what Mike thought was an evil twist of her lips. “Does it hurt a lot?”
Both young men looked at the carpet. Mike traced the pattern with his toe, and Luke swung his feet against the front of the sofa.
“Boys, what’s with the sudden shyness? Everybody knows in this relationship the brat gets spanked. I saw you both blanch when Lionel raised his voice. You had to both think you were going to get it.”
Neither Luke nor Mike answered.
“Oh come now, my blushing maidens. I know Luke was spanked after his fraternity party binge.”
Mike didn’t think Luke could blush any redder, but it was Lionel who set his camera down with a clatter on an end table and marched in front of Fiona’s chair. He’d always been in the background, and Mike had never really noticed him before. They’d said hello and discussed the weather, the same types of conversations he might have with a stranger while waiting in a line. Lionel was a big man with dark, curly hair and the shoulders of a linebacker, and he looked angry. Not the controlled anger Mike had seen with the tops, but an anger that could end in a shattered window or a broken head. Fiona tried to smile and make appeasing noises but shrank back in her chair as Lionel loomed closer.
“Leave those boys alone,” he roared. “This is supposed to be a fluff interview about favorite foods, colors, and movies, not an inquisition. Tilden and everybody else who lives here have treated Dave and me with nothing but respect and courtesy even when they’d prefer that we were anywhere else but here. I will not stand by and let you humiliate and destroy these boys. Punishment is private. Stick to the script, or I’ll have every top in here in less than five seconds and will gladly assist in your removal from this household.” Lionel turned on his heel and returned to the back of the room, where Dave moved closer and squeezed his arm. Mike couldn’t tell if Dave was trying to settle him back down or congratulate him.
Fiona licked her lips and smoothed her hair back before continuing. “So, what type of music does Tilden like?”
“Russian rock music,” Luke said.
“I’ve heard him play classical also,” Mike said.
“And what about you boys?” Fiona asked, nearly simpering with sweetness.
“I don’t much care,” Luke said. “I sort of like the folk stuff Trent plays.”
They talked about innocent things: favorite TV shows, favorite films, favorite books, favorite vacation spots and other soft questions. After covering mundane topics for twenty minutes, Fiona returned to more sensitive subjects. “What behaviors are most likely to result in discipline?”
“Running away, drinking,” Luke said.
“Don’t forget temper fits,” Mike added, rolling his eyes. He’d had a bit too much experience with those this morning, even though he wasn’t about to share the details with the lovely Fiona.
“Luke, I know at the initial selection you mentioned that you were in academic difficulty. Has this improved?” Fiona prodded.
Luke sighed. “Not really, I have a midterm Tuesday in history that’s going to be a slaughter.”
“So will you be in trouble?” Fiona asked.
Luke glanced at Mike as if he were looking for reassurance before answering. Mike just shrugged. He didn’t know how Tilden would respond. Tilden seemed serious about academics; he sat them down every evening to complete their assignments and kept a close enough eye that shirking wasn’t possible, but he didn’t rant or shout. Instead he quietly insisted everything be completed. And just like the old proverb, “If it’s worth doing it’s worth doing well,” Tilden insisted it be completed to the best of their ability and wasn’t shy about making them redo unsatisfactory work. Neither of them had taken any exams yet. Would Tilden remain that calm in the face of a clear failure? Luke had turned in a major English paper; Tilden had made Luke rewrite the paper three times before Tilden had called it adequate. Luke had been frustrated to the point of shouts and curses, but Tilden had made the choice clear: write the paper or write the paper with a sore ass. Of course Tilden had used language more appropriate for mixed company, but the gist had been the same.
“I don’t know, but I expect so,” Luke muttered. “I guess I’ll find out Tuesday night.”
“That sounds like fun,” Fiona said with a false, smile that was more predatory than friendly.
“It won’t be anything new. I have loads of experience with disappointment over grades. It can’t be any worse.”
Fiona nodded. “That’s good for now, guys. Will you send Tilden in?”
Mike rose from the sofa, relieved that the interrogation was over but suspicious that Fiona was planning to spring a nasty surprise on the three of them. Mike trailed Luke into the kitchen where Tilden was sitting at the table with his ever present glass of tea. Milton was with Tilden, but drinking his preferred black coffee. The aroma of tea and coffee vied for supremacy in the kitchen with the dark brew that Milton favored winning, overpowering the bitter smell of black tea.
“Fiona would like to talk to you,” Luke said more to the refrigerator door than to Tilden. Mike was still mystified by Luke’s persistent shyness around Tilden. It was obvious that Tilden adored him, and it wasn’t Luke that was in endless trouble, but yet he stumbled over the words when he needed to ask Tilden a direct question.
Tilden stood and ruffled Luke’s hair. “Why don’t you guys stay with Milton.”
Mike nodded. Even when all the household knew that Mike was in trouble, Tilden hadn’t singled him out to stay with Milton. Mike was relieved not to have his humiliating prohibition about being alone announced throughout the house, but he shook his head over the sudden privacy. Tilden had spanked Mike in front of the other tops, but now he handled the restrictions placed on Mike with the tact of the diplomat. Mike was sure that Tilden was following some complicated ethical precedent for punishing a horribly wayward boy, but the rules escaped him. Tilden or Milton could probably deliver a lecture on the rules governing restriction of a brat complete with overhead projections and bulleted slides. Mike’s mind reeled at the thought of absorbing more rules.
****
Tilden sat on the sofa and looked at Fiona. He wanted to glare at her, but he tried not to openly display his hostility to the show’s host as he greeted her. He considered her only one step above the screamers who inhabited talk radio and knew that she would enjoy provoking him into an outburst.
“Thank you, Tilden, for agreeing to this friendly chat,” Fiona said with a false smile. “I want to start by telling you how charming I found both your young men.”
“I’m very proud of my partner, but that is not what you want to talk about today.”
“Are you always this suspicious?” Fiona said with a small, tinkling laugh and batted her long, cosmetically enhanced eyelashes at Tilden.
“With television people, yes. I live with Sheldon.”
“Fair enough,” Fiona said. “Are all tops this protective?”
“I can’t speak for all tops, but I can tell you that Milton and Trent certainly are. We’re tops after all; we don’t want to get thrown out of the local union. Protectiveness is a required skill.” Tilden laughed before he changed to a more serious tone. “Do you let someone you love get hurt if you can prevent it?” Tilden waited for Fiona to answer.
“No,” Fiona finally said. “But a top is more controlling than simply preventing harm.”
“Sometimes. Focusing on the controlling is better television. But no matter what you would like to say on TV, we also prevent harm, or at least that’s what a good top does. These boys want a certain type of relationship, and I can provide it.”
“How is spanking preventing harm?”
“Spanking is only a very small part of the relationship, and my partners consent.”
“You’d defend this relationship no matter the scientific evidence against spanking.”
Tilden swallowed hard, willing himself to remain calm and objective. He was aware of the scientific evidence, but that was punishment in the lab or the punishment of a child. A power exchange wasn’t punishment in the scientific sense at all, but a punishment suffused with the complexity of their sexual relationship. Milton could explain the difference. He’d explained it more than a few times to Tilden with long, persuasive, and sometimes confusing arguments. Tilden would only spank his boys under those conditions. Otherwise, well, he wouldn’t contemplate it; the idea was appalling. “Is your boss aware that he has a host with an agenda? This is supposed to be entertainment for the public, not a diatribe against corporal punishment. I personally do not advocate the use of corporal punishment outside of a negotiated power exchange. If you are not aware of the difference, I would strongly suggest you resign your position, and if you are aware of the differences I certainly have ample reason to write a memo to your boss complaining about your lack of objectivity.”
“Check and mate,” Lionel said from behind the camera.
Fiona swiveled in her chair and shot Lionel a look of pure menace. She ran her hand over her hair, smoothing imaginary straying locks as she recovered her cloying friendliness. “I talked with Luke and Mike about their hobbies. I’d like you to share some of your everyday pleasures. What is your favorite food?”
“I like lots of things—maybe shashlik.” Tilden saw Fiona’s look of confusion and clarified, “Shish kabob from Uzbekistan. It should be cooked outside in a fire pit.”
Fiona nodded. “Least favorite food?”
“That’s easy—beets. I still shudder at the thought of cold beets for breakfast.”
“Staying on the topic of food, what do you think are Luke’s and Mike’s favorite and least favorite foods?”
“I can tell you they’re both eating us out of house and home; Trent complains that it’s like cooking for a party every night. Luke seems to like anything sweet, and I think Mike is pining for junk food, especially pizza and chicken fingers. They dislike vegetables; both Trent and Mace are complaining that there are only so many different recipes for green beans. Salad and green beans are the only vegetables they’ll eat without a host of complaints. Mace branched out with a maple glazed acorn squash last week, practicing for Thanksgiving, and they looked at it like it was food for a space alien.”
“Speaking of cooking,” Fiona interrupted. “I understand that you’re a hazard in the kitchen. Is that true?”
“Absolutely,” Tilden said with a smile. “And I don’t think they know about the time I set the kitchen on fire.”
“You set the kitchen on fire?” Fiona asked with mock surprise.
“Only the curtains, not the entire kitchen. It was only a small grease fire,” Tilden said with a disarming wave of his hand.
“How did you set the curtains on fire?” Fiona asked with increasing interest.
“I guess you won’t rest until you hear the full story, It’s harmless enough, so sit back and enjoy. It happened about two years ago. I was cooking bacon and had the fire on too high. While I was cooking, I was reading a new Russian novel and was distracted by the rich prose of the author. I didn’t notice the smoke from the overheated grease until the shrill squeal of the smoke alarm reverberated throughout the house. Like a fool, I threw water on the fire causing the grease to spatter onto the curtains—and poof, a kitchen fire.” Tilden waved his arms dramatically as he described the fire. “Mace and Trent came pounding down the stairs, too late to prevent the water but quick enough to halt further damage. Trent grabbed the fire extinguisher, and Mace poured flour into the pan. After that, I was banned from frying.”
Fiona laughed. “So you didn’t get a scorched bottom out of it?”
“No, just threatened, and I’m sure Trent would go through with it if I caught anything else on fire.” Tilden could feel his cheeks reddening; he gave Fiona a sheepish smile. “I did get a world class lecture on kitchen safety.”
Fiona asked a few more questions about sports and movies before returning to more serious topics. “What types of behaviors will get Luke and Mike in trouble with you?”
Tilden groaned silently. It wasn't that simple, but this was television. He'd stick with simple even if it did stretch the truth. “Dangerous and dishonest behavior.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I know you talked to my partners, and I’m sure they mentioned excess drinking.”
“What about academics?” Fiona pried. “My understanding is that neither Luke nor Mike are good students.”
“They have typical freshmen problems. They do the work when I organize them, and that’s all I expect,” Tilden said with a smile and a shrug.
Fiona gave Tilden another false smile, stood, and shook hands. “Thank you for your time. We’re going to do some quick editing, and then I’d like to show you and your partners a few clips.”
Tilden nodded and returned to the kitchen.
It was only a few minutes before someone Tilden didn’t recognize came into the kitchen. “We’re ready,” the man said, a clipboard and papers fluttering in one hand.
Tilden draped his arms over his partners’ shoulders and walked with them into the living room. Luke, at nearly a head shorter, was a comfortable height to lean against or draw to Tilden’s chest. Mike was the same height as Tilden, and Tilden didn’t lean on Mike, but Tilden knew the weight of his arm helped keep Mike connected both physically and mentally to his top.
The television crew had redecorated the living room, removing the small television and replacing it with a large flat screen that was balanced on a coffee table blocking the fireplace. The sofa had been shifted to the side of the room and stacked around it were the table lamps and end tables that dotted the usual seating arrangement in front of the hearth. Tilden wanted to wince at the sight of the TV. He still felt TVs should be small enough to hide in a closet and that the fireplace should be the central feature in the living room.
“We would usually do this at the station,” Fiona said with a little laugh. “But I think we have no chance of getting you back to Boston this week.”
Tilden nodded and smiled. “You’re right.” Tilden sat down on the rug and pulled his two partners down with him. Mike flopped down on his stomach with his head resting on Tilden’s lap. Luke was folded into a ball next to Tilden, looking uncomfortable and alone. Tilden looped his arm around Luke and pulled his brat toward his chest. “You don’t have to ask,” Tilden whispered into Luke’s ear.
Fiona cued up the video. “In this segment, we’re going to film your reactions to each other’s responses. I must say you three seem to know more about each other than I know about my husband, and I’ve been married for three years,” Fiona said with a tinkling laugh. “Our first questions were about food.”
The film started on the screen with Luke and Mike commenting that Tilden hated beets, followed by the clip with Tilden confirming his dislike of beets.
“It looks like beets are off the menu,” Fiona said. “Now I asked about your favorite foods.”
Tilden watched the tape, smiling as his brats tried to come up with his favorite food. “It’s winter; they couldn’t possibly know that I like shashlik. I don’t usually cook outside in November.”
The next segment was on fashion, or what Tilden would describe as fashion. It started with each partner describing his favorite color and the other partners guessing the color. None of the partners scored one hundred percent on this little quiz. The next scene showed Mike complaining about Tilden’s choice of clothes, especially the need for loose jeans with no holes.
Tilden ruffled Mike’s hair. “I like you dressed just for me. I don’t share.”
Mike rolled onto his hip, so he could look up at Tilden, his eyes searching Tilden’s face.
“Veri mne. Believe me,” Tilden said, stroking Mike’s face. Tilden wanted to kiss Mike hard, physically reassure his boy of his place in his top’s heart, but with the cameras present, he satisfied himself with a gentle stroking.
“I have one final scene that I need to show you then you can enjoy the rest of the day.” Fiona made the last comment with a leering smile. She was implying to a future audience that she expected the three men to spend the remainder of the day in bed and not sleeping.
Tilden bristled at the implication that affection was only related to sex. What could he expect from network television? The advertising told the sad tale of television, women in bikinis and men in Speedos selling everything from instant coffee to new cars. Tilden watched the final segment, keeping his hands on both his partners. As Luke came on the screen discussing his academic concerns, Tilden ran his hand up and down his young man’s back.
“Luka, I know you have a history with school, but you’re not in trouble with me unless you don’t do your work. Ponyatno?”
“Luke, don’t you believe your partner when he says you won’t be in trouble?” Fiona asked.
Luke curled into Tilden’s shirt and kept his eyes buried.
Tilden tightened his arm around Luke’s shoulders. “You can answer her. You won’t offend me.”
“I don’t know,” Luke murmured. “I don’t like being in trouble.”
“You won’t be.” Tilden bent down and kissed Luke’s forehead.
“This is so interesting,” Fiona gushed. “I can’t wait to interview the three of you after midterms.”
“We’ll be waiting with bated breath,” Tilden said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.
Fiona carried on as if she hadn’t heard Tilden and signaled to Dave and Lionel to quit filming and disassemble the lights.
Tilden untangled his long legs and leaned against his partners’ shoulders as he rose to his feet. “Do you need our help moving the furniture?”
“No, but thank you,” Fiona replied.
Tilden nodded, relieved that the crew was making quick work of returning their living room back to normal including removing the oversized television to the truck outside. He’d been worried that they might leave the giant beast of a TV; both his young men complained incessantly about the poor quality of the entertainment offerings, and a larger television would just add to his woes. Mike and Luke didn’t appreciate that he had satellite Russian TV but no American stations besides the economy tier.
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