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.Tok-las brownies.”239Hot off the Presses“Save a piece for me, then,” I answered, not thinking this nugget of information through.Bambi and Ibo were chatting with Ellen Inman at the other end of the room.Ellen caught my eye and winked.“But don’t you dare write up my fudge,” Cody Eager drawled as I moved away.“It has to be our little secret.”“Not a problem,” I answered, beckoning a waiter with a tray of champagne.“Mumm’s the word.”Cody groaned.“Very pun-ny, sir.”Mayor and Mrs.Ramble arrived a few minutes later, posed for pictures with the hosts, and quickly worked their way through the living room, library and glassed-in back porch.Before they left, the mayor told Bill Leach and the crowd, somewhat equivocally, that, “Yes, we was due at the Governor’s mansion for supper thirty minutes ago.But I told my staff , I said, Yes, absolutely we must stop off here, at this his-toric event and honor some of our most precious citizens.Th is is ourhighest priority.This is the right thing to do.Bless you.Bless you all.”After applause from the assembled partygoers, the Rambles and Ellen Inman swept down the front steps and disappeared into a black Lincoln town car.I found the McClellands in a large breakfast room fronting the mansion’s gardens.On a staircase landing somewhere overhead, a harpist spun sweet strands of Mozart, Chopin and Phillip Glass.Marguerite and Pope were surrounded by young matrons and their soft, spaniel-eyed husbands, school friends of Chad’s, people with old Atlanta names like Hopkins, Grant, Pegram, Montag and Elsas.“Well, we hope the education package will be ready next week,”Pope muttered once introductions had been made, small talk exchanged and young socialites recognized for giving so generously to St.John’s House.“Tracy’s drafting the main story,” I answered.“As you know, I keep a close watch on her.But she always does a great job.”Pope stood a little taller.“You don’t think this is too important to farm out?”Marguerite shook the ice cubes in her empty glass.“She’s our star reporter, Poppy.Henry can’t do everything.Th ese stories take time.”“Not a word about any of it in the daily,” I said.“Or the Biz Chron, either.We’re safe so far.”Elliott Mackle240“Damned if I know why they didn’t pick it up,” Pope said.Marguerite rattled her glass a second time.“Another Scotch, my dear?”“Oh, I think so.Yes.If you’d be good enough, my dear.”While Pope refreshed their drinks, Marguerite pointed out the evening’s notable angels.Among them: Anita and Gordon Joel (“Can you believe he owns over four hundred hamburger stands in Georgia and the Carolinas?”), Lucy Claire and Compton Hampton (“Her mother’s grandfather was Peggy Mitchell’s mother’s fi rst cousin”) and Melinda and Jess Courts (“My Chad once intimated he’d slept with both of them.On separate occasions, of course”).In turn, I identifi ed patrons such as Bruce Jerusalem, the charity-minded proprietor of a chain of adult-toy-and-video stores; Clairence Houck, a New Orleans thug who’d made a bundle opening, insuring and torching a series of bars and sleazy apartment houses, and Michael West, a WSB-TV producer whose bad habits were rumored to include crystal meth and rough, underage boys.Hey, anybody with a checkbook could buy a ticket.Some were even people I felt comfortable introducing to Mom and Poppy.Two of them slipped up behind me a minute or two later.I felt a large, muscular hand squeeze my butt—and heard a deep, “Haaa-eeey, dude-cub.” Turning, I recognized Terry (“Big Sarge”) Fletcher and his even taller sidekick Hoke (“The Hook”) Jones.“Here’s my man,” Big Sarge growled fondly.“Where you been hidin’, champ?”“We gotta get you out to the lake house,” Hoke added.“Loosen ya’up.Bet ya’ been workin’ twenty-four-seven, ya sexy little rascal.”From the edge of my eye, I saw Marguerite stiff en.Quick introductions brought smiles all around.Pope and Marguerite knew the two gay leaders by reputation.Hoke and Big Sarge, pony-tailed partners in life and in Jeepers, the hugely successful auto shop that fi nanced their charity work, had been profi led in our “AIDS Heroes” series.The boys, longtime buddies of Chad and Chip, probably knew more about the McClelland family than I did.Hoke and Big Sarge jumped to sing my praises with no prompting whatever.The McClellands took up the chorus.“Paper’s as good as ever.”241Hot off the Presses“We’re so lucky to have Henry.”“He’s the best.”“Henry knows, he just knows, what’s brewin’ in the gay-lezzie swamp out there.Heard a lot a’ comment when you folks nailed that female weasel who was robbing the Pride committee, it was just phe-nomenal.”“Yes, he certainly does the city a great service.”“His editorials are right on the money, I mean.We gotta keep fi ghtin’ the goddamn nuts, like them rad-con Coors people, excuse my language, ma’am.And gotta stay on the disease.Henry’s dead-on as far as supporting the AIDS war.Can’t say enough there.”“Couldn’t agree with you more, Mr., ah, Fletcher.Especially about Coors.”“Call me Big Sarge, ma’am.Picked it up in Nam.Just stuck to me like stink on skunk.”“Well, yes, thank you kindly, Big Sarge.But you do know that the Coors family is trying to improve their image.They hired one of DickCheney’s daughters as an emissary to the community.”“Should’a hired Ben Affleck or Kev Spacey.Lezzies don’t drink thatmuch beer.We met the Cheney girl at a fundraiser in Palm Springs one time, Mary.She’s about as useless as a hockey puck at the Super Bowl.”While we talked, Father Ronnie McCloud, another Outlines hero, joined the circle.The celibate priest and AIDS activist approachedwith a glass of golden wine held high, elevated like a chalice.Th e bottle was clasped in his other pudgy hand.Without even saying hello, he leaned over, sniff ed the wine in my glass, wrinkled his pink nose and orange moustache, then nodded to the men and kissed Marguerite’s cheek.“Just as Jesus turned water into wine,” he fi nally said, “our dear host has attempted to turn cheap Gallo into a tax deduction.Luckily, having been a guest in this house more than once, I am capable of fi nding better.Gentlemen? May I suggest that you pour that swill on a potted palm and join me in a glass of Chateau Lynch-Bages Blanc 1990? It’s an old-growth white Bordeaux that more nearly matches this joyous occasion—and the price of the ticket.”Sarge and Hoke downed their glasses and held out the empties.Elliott Mackle242“If it’s that good,” Marguerite piped, “you can tempt me, too, Ronnie, dear.”Father Ronnie turned, summoned a waiter and asked for a supply of clean tulip glasses.“I think you’ll all be much happier with this divine nectar,” he explained, swirling the wine in his glass and sniffing the rim.“It’s fromPauillac, you know, where the grand cru reds come from.Th ey blendSauvignon Blanc, Semillon and Muscadelle for this minor miracle, but only in the best years.”“Oh, my,” Marguerite murmured.“It may be too grand cru for me.”“Nonsense,” Father Ronnie purred.“And plenty more where this bottle came from.Bill’s wine-chill box is bigger than the Ritz-Carlton’s cellar.And he never bothers to lock it.”The waiter arrived with glasses.As Father Ronnie measured out the wine, he threw the young man a smile that would’ve melted wax [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Tok-las brownies.”239Hot off the Presses“Save a piece for me, then,” I answered, not thinking this nugget of information through.Bambi and Ibo were chatting with Ellen Inman at the other end of the room.Ellen caught my eye and winked.“But don’t you dare write up my fudge,” Cody Eager drawled as I moved away.“It has to be our little secret.”“Not a problem,” I answered, beckoning a waiter with a tray of champagne.“Mumm’s the word.”Cody groaned.“Very pun-ny, sir.”Mayor and Mrs.Ramble arrived a few minutes later, posed for pictures with the hosts, and quickly worked their way through the living room, library and glassed-in back porch.Before they left, the mayor told Bill Leach and the crowd, somewhat equivocally, that, “Yes, we was due at the Governor’s mansion for supper thirty minutes ago.But I told my staff , I said, Yes, absolutely we must stop off here, at this his-toric event and honor some of our most precious citizens.Th is is ourhighest priority.This is the right thing to do.Bless you.Bless you all.”After applause from the assembled partygoers, the Rambles and Ellen Inman swept down the front steps and disappeared into a black Lincoln town car.I found the McClellands in a large breakfast room fronting the mansion’s gardens.On a staircase landing somewhere overhead, a harpist spun sweet strands of Mozart, Chopin and Phillip Glass.Marguerite and Pope were surrounded by young matrons and their soft, spaniel-eyed husbands, school friends of Chad’s, people with old Atlanta names like Hopkins, Grant, Pegram, Montag and Elsas.“Well, we hope the education package will be ready next week,”Pope muttered once introductions had been made, small talk exchanged and young socialites recognized for giving so generously to St.John’s House.“Tracy’s drafting the main story,” I answered.“As you know, I keep a close watch on her.But she always does a great job.”Pope stood a little taller.“You don’t think this is too important to farm out?”Marguerite shook the ice cubes in her empty glass.“She’s our star reporter, Poppy.Henry can’t do everything.Th ese stories take time.”“Not a word about any of it in the daily,” I said.“Or the Biz Chron, either.We’re safe so far.”Elliott Mackle240“Damned if I know why they didn’t pick it up,” Pope said.Marguerite rattled her glass a second time.“Another Scotch, my dear?”“Oh, I think so.Yes.If you’d be good enough, my dear.”While Pope refreshed their drinks, Marguerite pointed out the evening’s notable angels.Among them: Anita and Gordon Joel (“Can you believe he owns over four hundred hamburger stands in Georgia and the Carolinas?”), Lucy Claire and Compton Hampton (“Her mother’s grandfather was Peggy Mitchell’s mother’s fi rst cousin”) and Melinda and Jess Courts (“My Chad once intimated he’d slept with both of them.On separate occasions, of course”).In turn, I identifi ed patrons such as Bruce Jerusalem, the charity-minded proprietor of a chain of adult-toy-and-video stores; Clairence Houck, a New Orleans thug who’d made a bundle opening, insuring and torching a series of bars and sleazy apartment houses, and Michael West, a WSB-TV producer whose bad habits were rumored to include crystal meth and rough, underage boys.Hey, anybody with a checkbook could buy a ticket.Some were even people I felt comfortable introducing to Mom and Poppy.Two of them slipped up behind me a minute or two later.I felt a large, muscular hand squeeze my butt—and heard a deep, “Haaa-eeey, dude-cub.” Turning, I recognized Terry (“Big Sarge”) Fletcher and his even taller sidekick Hoke (“The Hook”) Jones.“Here’s my man,” Big Sarge growled fondly.“Where you been hidin’, champ?”“We gotta get you out to the lake house,” Hoke added.“Loosen ya’up.Bet ya’ been workin’ twenty-four-seven, ya sexy little rascal.”From the edge of my eye, I saw Marguerite stiff en.Quick introductions brought smiles all around.Pope and Marguerite knew the two gay leaders by reputation.Hoke and Big Sarge, pony-tailed partners in life and in Jeepers, the hugely successful auto shop that fi nanced their charity work, had been profi led in our “AIDS Heroes” series.The boys, longtime buddies of Chad and Chip, probably knew more about the McClelland family than I did.Hoke and Big Sarge jumped to sing my praises with no prompting whatever.The McClellands took up the chorus.“Paper’s as good as ever.”241Hot off the Presses“We’re so lucky to have Henry.”“He’s the best.”“Henry knows, he just knows, what’s brewin’ in the gay-lezzie swamp out there.Heard a lot a’ comment when you folks nailed that female weasel who was robbing the Pride committee, it was just phe-nomenal.”“Yes, he certainly does the city a great service.”“His editorials are right on the money, I mean.We gotta keep fi ghtin’ the goddamn nuts, like them rad-con Coors people, excuse my language, ma’am.And gotta stay on the disease.Henry’s dead-on as far as supporting the AIDS war.Can’t say enough there.”“Couldn’t agree with you more, Mr., ah, Fletcher.Especially about Coors.”“Call me Big Sarge, ma’am.Picked it up in Nam.Just stuck to me like stink on skunk.”“Well, yes, thank you kindly, Big Sarge.But you do know that the Coors family is trying to improve their image.They hired one of DickCheney’s daughters as an emissary to the community.”“Should’a hired Ben Affleck or Kev Spacey.Lezzies don’t drink thatmuch beer.We met the Cheney girl at a fundraiser in Palm Springs one time, Mary.She’s about as useless as a hockey puck at the Super Bowl.”While we talked, Father Ronnie McCloud, another Outlines hero, joined the circle.The celibate priest and AIDS activist approachedwith a glass of golden wine held high, elevated like a chalice.Th e bottle was clasped in his other pudgy hand.Without even saying hello, he leaned over, sniff ed the wine in my glass, wrinkled his pink nose and orange moustache, then nodded to the men and kissed Marguerite’s cheek.“Just as Jesus turned water into wine,” he fi nally said, “our dear host has attempted to turn cheap Gallo into a tax deduction.Luckily, having been a guest in this house more than once, I am capable of fi nding better.Gentlemen? May I suggest that you pour that swill on a potted palm and join me in a glass of Chateau Lynch-Bages Blanc 1990? It’s an old-growth white Bordeaux that more nearly matches this joyous occasion—and the price of the ticket.”Sarge and Hoke downed their glasses and held out the empties.Elliott Mackle242“If it’s that good,” Marguerite piped, “you can tempt me, too, Ronnie, dear.”Father Ronnie turned, summoned a waiter and asked for a supply of clean tulip glasses.“I think you’ll all be much happier with this divine nectar,” he explained, swirling the wine in his glass and sniffing the rim.“It’s fromPauillac, you know, where the grand cru reds come from.Th ey blendSauvignon Blanc, Semillon and Muscadelle for this minor miracle, but only in the best years.”“Oh, my,” Marguerite murmured.“It may be too grand cru for me.”“Nonsense,” Father Ronnie purred.“And plenty more where this bottle came from.Bill’s wine-chill box is bigger than the Ritz-Carlton’s cellar.And he never bothers to lock it.”The waiter arrived with glasses.As Father Ronnie measured out the wine, he threw the young man a smile that would’ve melted wax [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]