Hadrian's Lover (2 page)

As the clock counts down, Hadrian’s citizens await the very moment we can all shout gaily, “Happy New Year and Happy Fiftieth Birthday, Hadrian!” It is hard to believe that we have made it this far! Fifty years of gay freedom! Fifty years of a stable human population—maintaining ten million! Fifty years of showing the rest of the world how man and nature can commune as one. Considering all the trials and tribulations Hadrian has been through since we first established our borders, it is truly amazing we have come this far. The wall surrounding our borders is now one third complete, stretching for hundreds of miles on each side of the southeast and southwest gates.

This is it, folks; in less than seven minutes, when the chimes ring in the New Year, we will all shout out with joy, for Hadrian is the only country left standing between humanity and certain death—for without Hadrian, the human race would invariably become extinct! As we look outside our walls and daily witness man’s decay, although we are saddened by their sufferings and daily losses, their decline is a reminder of the value and importance of Hadrian’s society. Overpopulation is the planet killer. Overpopulation is man’s deadliest enemy. Homosexuality, population stability, communing with the earth (that small portion of which we have saved within the confines of our walls): these are Hadrian’s gifts to the future. Our scientists estimate that the dregs of the human race will wipe themselves out in the next fifty to one hundred years. But Hadrian will remain! Hadrian will fight for humanity’s survival.

Before the clock strikes that magic hour, let us take a moment to remember Hadrian’s soldiers, those brave men and women who patrol our borders and guard our wall from the outside world, and the endless attacks against our civilization by the heterosexual barbarians and religious fanatics
Every year, we mourn the loss of another soldier dying to preserve our rights and freedoms. Every year, a grieving mother or father buries her or his only child. No one goes to the wall with illusions. To serve at the wall is to face certain death on a daily basis. To serve at the wall is to be in a constant state of readiness to repel desperate attacks by illegal immigrants threatening to swarm over our borders, threatening to infect us with any one of their endless plagues. To serve at the wall means to battle with organized armed forces determined to steal our land and destroy what little remains of the earth’s habitable land. To serve at the wall means to face the threat of religious terrorists who deem our chosen lifestyle as the devil’s menace. Our young men and women conscripted into our forces, who serve four years of their lives between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two, are our protectors and saviors from the outside world. Before the countdown begins, let us hold our traditional vigilance—one minute of silence for those of us who cannot enjoy this night’s revels—one minute of silence for those of us who may, at any moment, die while defending our very way of life and the right to celebrate the way we do tonight. One minute of silence and then one minute of bated anticipation to the final countdown. And then together, we will shout for joy our Happiest of New Years, for this year as we celebrate the fiftieth year of our country’s birth, we are also celebrating the rebirth of mankind!

Vale!

Facing south, with a convex dome encompassing east and west as well as the entire roof, the Hunter home is one of the most impressive dwellings in Antinous. The northern wall contains a glass bay window opening up to the view of a multi-tiered garden sloping down to the Nelson River. Very few buildings have open windows facing north in this manner. All windows are on the convex of every Hadrian building, designed to double as solar panels, obscuring the interior from the outside, but allowing those inside a beautiful tinted view of all that lies beyond. This design has also eliminated the need for window dressings. To have clear glass windows exposed to the outside denotes either wealth in a family home or a government complex.

The Hunters' backyard is a sprawling garden that slopes down by tiers to the river. Right now, it is lightly dusted white from last evening's snowfall. Come spring, Dean will begin the process of manual tilling, mixing in the mulch from last year's compost, and seeding, weeding, and nurturing the garden. Gardening has been Dean's job for the past two decades. More than just time-consuming, it acts as a relaxant, something Edgar, Dean's psychiatrist, had recommended years ago. It also provides the Hunter family with income tax refunds on an annual basis. Every Hadrian citizen who makes the effort to work with, and not against, the earth is granted hefty tax rebates.

As well as showing pride in his garden, Dean is equally proud of the interior of his and Geoffrey's house. There is little one can do with respect to the exterior. All homes in Hadrian look the same with a convex facing west, south, and east for solar panels and one flat wall facing north. There are no front doors, only a back door facing north. Only size and interior luxuries denote wealth. When you enter the Hunter home, the first thing you see is the wide expanse of the living room to your left and the glistening creams and beiges of the kitchen directly in front. To the right is
the long hallway that leads to the central washroom, and four bedrooms, one being the master bedroom. Standing in the lobby closest to the hall entrance, Dean Hunter takes in the full view of the living room. Tall and lean, Dean is standing rigid as he stares at the room before him. Dean is anxious. Geoffrey is never any help when it comes to organizing a party. When asked, he will help, but with limited effectiveness. Sweeping a floor in Geoffrey's mind means sweeping around things. It never occurs to him to move a couch or a chair, to get at the dirt underneath. “Nobody is going to look under the chairs, Dean. I swear.” He adds, “Sometimes I think you are more gay than I am!”

Dean finds this old joke annoying, but he knows Geoffrey means kindly by it, so he always shakes it off. Staying focused, Dean pipes up, “Tonight's special, Geoffrey.” Although not needing to, he reminds him, “This is not just any New Year we're celebrating! It's also Hadrian's fiftieth birthday!”

Geoffrey smiles fondly at his old lover.
No, not old,
he reminds himself.
Dean is only forty years old.
Not that there is a huge gap in their ages; Geoffrey is only forty-eight. No, he refers to Dean as his old lover because they have been together for over twenty-two years now (not including couple's registration). So many changes have occurred in Dean over the years—from the frightened teenager Geoffrey met to the strong confident man standing before him. Smiling, Geoffrey still appreciates that Dean took his last name. Although he knows it wasn't so much a choice on Dean's part as it had been a necessity, at times like today, Geoffrey is able to convince himself that this is how Dean wanted it regardless. And Dean, he muses, is still so handsome. Geoffrey enjoys checking out his lover when Dean is unaware. Knowing Dean is self-conscious, Geoffrey doesn't try to make Dean uncomfortable. Still, when opportunities like this arise, with Dean fixated on a problem and focused, Geoffrey will often stand back and admire his physique. Dean is tall and slim, no middle-age bulge. Unconsciously, Geoffrey gives his own protruding belly a slight shake. Geoffrey is short and stout next to Dean. And, unlike Dean's thick dark brown hair, Geoffrey's mousy brown curls have all but receded to a horseshoe patch around his head.
Hadrian's Lover,
Geoffrey muses.
Dean is still so good looking
. Even the gray streaks that lace his temples are attractive. With his square jaw and thick eyebrows, he is the classic Marlboro man. No one smokes in Hadrian, but the old image hangs in the city's central museum. When they first saw the original advertisement poster, Geoffrey teased Dean, saying,
“All you need now is a cowboy hat.” Geoffrey was so taken by the resemblance that he surprised Dean with a week's stay at The Cattle Ranch horseback riding that year. This, of course, was before their sons, Frank and Roger, Geoffrey's genetic sons, were born.

Geoffrey's musings are cut short by a sudden caustic remark, “I hate that wallpaper.” That wallpaper is the one point that takes Dean's pride down a notch when it comes to his home's interior! He despises it wholeheartedly. It doesn't happen often, but every so often, Dean will utter a complaint about their living room décor. Although Dean was responsible for most of their home design, Geoffrey was given free rein with the living room. “Everyone is entitled to one room,” Geoffrey had insisted. Dean still regrets giving in to that logic. Besides, Geoffrey already had his study!

“Well, you should have said so fifteen years ago when I picked it out,” Geoffrey replies. “It's too late now.”

“I wanted to say something, but we had agreed you got to decorate the living room.” They have been having this old argument for five years now. The use of wallpaper was still allowed fifteen years ago with the mandatory restriction that it not be replaced for a minimum of ten years. Its use became banned two years ago, three years after they could have replaced it! Geoffrey refused then, and he still refuses now, to change the décor. Wood walls maintained by oil or natural stone are the limited means of décor today. The less one adds to the world's pollution, the greater the tax break. Wallpaper and most paint are now illegal.

Seeing defiance begin to glare in Dean's eye, Geoffrey turns authoritative. “We are not adding to global waste by tearing off perfectly good wallpaper. We've kept it in good condition and it stays up as long as it lasts.”

Scowling, Dean says, “But we've kept it long past the ten-year minimum. Can't we just get rid of it—it's so dark!” The wallpaper is black with silver, laced patterns.

Shaking his head, Geoffrey has bragged to too many coworkers about having the same wallpaper up for fifteen years, adding how it will last at least another five. With wallpaper now being illegal, owning one of the few homes with the material still on its walls is a status symbol Geoffrey is not willing to give up. “The silver pattern brightens it up.”

“Only because the paper is so faded!”

“It's not faded.” Geoffrey is determined to defend his choice to the death.

“It's faded.”

“It's staying up!”

Sulking, Dean repeats, “I have really grown to hate it.”

Unrelenting, Geoffrey replies, “Well, grow to liking it again because we are not changing it again for at least five years!” Wagging a pointed finger toward Dean, he adds, “And only then if it needs replacing,” and he cites a government slogan to end the argument, “Earth First!”

“Fine!” Dean huffs. Glancing down, he glares Geoffrey's way. “Hand me the broom, please. I have to sweep up in here.”

Grimacing, Geoffrey bites back,
I just finished sweeping up in there,
but he knows better. Nothing is ever clean enough for Dean when company is expected. Rolling his eyes, he retrieves the broom and hands it to Dean.

Before Geoffrey can execute an escape down the hall to their room, Dean turns to scold him. “Geoffrey, I need your help here.” Reluctantly, Geoffrey crosses over and helps pull the couch out so Dean can sweep up the dust and excess dirt.

Appreciating the profile of Dean's form as he leans forward to capture more dirt with the broom, Geoffrey wishes the man would let up with all this cleaning. After Dean finishes his task, Geoffrey leans in close, whispering hotly in his ear, “Anything else you need me to do?” Today's observations have reminded Geoffrey how Dean has matured into a very sexy man,
like fine wine
, he muses. “Our guests won't arrive for another two hours.”
And
, he whines inwardly,
if you would just let up on all this cleaning, we could relax and enjoy ourselves in the shower.

Though no prude anymore, Dean has his mind on more practical matters. His eyes continue to scan the room, landing on the coffee table—it is cluttered. The coffee table—cheese tray! Turning, he orders Geoffrey, “Get the soya cheese out and start cutting slices.” Remembering the way Geoffrey put the last cheese tray together, he adds sternly, “Arrange it nicely this time. Use a little parsley as garnish, and put a small bowl of sweet pickles in the middle.” Suddenly, remembering an important detail, he concludes, “and set out the crackers I baked—arrange them nicely, too!”

“I don't see why you get me to do these things. I can never meet the standards you set.”

“If I had time,” Dean answers crisply, “I would do it myself. But I don't.” Hands sawing the air frantically, he admits, “I need you to help.”

Laughing, Geoffrey bows, “Your servant ever.”

Exasperated enough to roll his eyes, Dean sighs, “We only have two hours before the first guests arrive.” He points dramatically now toward the kitchen.

“I'm going.” Geoffrey's hands go up in defense and he flashes his
please don't shoot me
grin. “Soya cheese tray. Crackers. Pickles. At your will!”

After Geoffrey turns the hall corner, Dean shouts out a reminder, “Don't forget the real cheese. I bought some cheddar and some Brie. Mike loves Brie.”

Calling from the kitchen, Geoffrey says, “I don't know why you expect him every year. Mike Fulton never comes.”

“He promised me he'd come with Todd this year.”

“He never comes!” Geoffrey reminds him gently, but sternly.

“I messaged him through his wave link at work. He replied he was coming!” Dean refuses to see Mike Fulton for what he has become, choosing instead to remember the man he was before his husband passed on.

“Fine.” Geoffrey is no longer trying to mask his exasperation. “He'll come. I'll put out the Brie!”

“He promised me!” Dean insists. “He promised both Todd and me!”

Although Geoffrey had not meant to be heard, his low growl still makes its way from the kitchen into the living area. “He's a good one for making promises.”

As much as Dean would like to defend Mike right now, deep down he knows Geoffrey is right. Mike Fulton is not the same man who married Dean's best friend twenty-one years ago. That man died the same day his lover, Will Middleton, passed on. Dean and Will had been best friends since high school. Everyone, in those days, had expected Dean and Will to partner for life. But events happened, things changed, and then Dean met and married Geoffrey Hunter. Shortly after, Will Middleton met Mike Fulton in his first year at Antinous Uni; by the end of that year, the two men had married. Dean had always thought his friend had rushed things, but he understood why Will had chosen to marry so fast. Mike had proven to be the best of all partners for Will, and an amazing Papa to Todd.

Only in the last few years has the man changed, leaving Dean to worry about Todd. Mike Fulton is a grown man who can work things out for himself, but at fifteen, Todd is still too young and impressionable. He needs a father's guidance to help him through the confusing years. Dean has done his best to offer Todd help, but his access to the young man is limited. “I
wish Mike would let Todd live here with us,” Dean often laments to Geoffrey, who always answers, “He is not our son.” As if to impress his point, he always asks, “Would you let Frank go off to live with the Middletons if I had been the one to pass on instead of him?” Although partners keep their own surnames, it is traditional to refer to the family unit by the genetic parent's last name. Since Todd was Will Middleton's genetic offspring, his last name is that of his father. Since both of the Hunter boys are Geoffrey's genetic offspring, they, too, go by the last name Hunter. Had Dean been able to keep his last name and provide the genetic material for a child of his own, that child would have borne Dean's original last name. Hadrian's reproduction laws, however, have denied Dean the responsibility and privilege of producing an offspring.

Today, Dean responds to Geoffrey's question by placing his hands over his bowed head. “No! I could not—but I'm not like him!”

Geoffrey reenters the living room as Dean puts the final touches on the coffee table. He has rearranged the candle plates and is now holding a few stray magazines in one hand and a dust rag in the other. Dean remonstrates, “Mike Fulton is still the boy's papa and he loves Todd!”

“But he's never around when Todd needs him!” Dean is so exasperated he begins to weep. “And I promised Will that I'd look out for his boy.”

“And you do,” Geoffrey says. He wants to embrace Dean, but he knows when Dean is like this, any physical contact only causes him to revert back to old habits.

Oddly enough, it is Dean who reaches to Geoffrey for an embrace. “And he is so much like his father it scares me.” As Dean's hands are full, he does not wrap his arms around Geoffrey so much as step in to allow his husband's arms to wrap around his back and clasp the sides of his shoulder blades. Dean bends down to rest his head against Geoffrey's shoulder.

“You don't have to worry about Todd,” Geoffrey says reassuringly. “He and Frank are tight. And one day, I swear to you, those two will be a unit.”

“I hope so.” Dean nods his head against his partner's shoulder. “You're right. I worry too much.”