Heatstroke (extended version) (9 page)

"Michael, sweetie…" His mother caressed his arm in an effort to calm him down. "What are you

 

talking about?"

 

"We know what happened to my father," Dad said. "He suffered a heart attack. He—"

 

"That's a lie!" Michael cut him off, not once looking away from his grandmother. "George

 

Spencer didn't die when you were a toddler. He didn't even exist! Spencer is Grandma's maiden

 

name. Mary Elizabeth Spencer. Did you know that's her full name?" He knew he was getting louder

 

by the second, but he didn't care. "She changed it when she left her husband. She changed her name,

 

and made up a fake husband and a story to tell you and the rest of the world, and never let your real

 

father or your aunt see you again."

 

"Aunt…?" Dad repeated, dumbfounded. "Real father… We have more family?"

 

"Helen is your aunt," Michael explained. "She's married to Robert Wallace, and they have five

 

children whom, in turn, have thirteen kids between them, so yeah, we have more family. I didn't get

 

to look into Grandma's side yet, but I won't be surprised if we have plenty of relatives living in New

 

Jersey. That's where's she's from. Not Seattle."

 

"Oh, boy," Mom whispered right before getting up from her chair, and running to Dad's side.

 

She took his hand in hers, then grabbed Michael's arm with her other hand. That gesture of

 

support coming from his mother almost made him weep. It was good to know both he and his

 

father could count on her.

 

"Shut your mouth right now," Grandma ordered.

 

"No," Dad said. "I want to hear this…" He looked at Michael with pleading eyes. "I need to hear

 

this."

 

Michael nodded, and added in a softer tone, "You were born Richard Lewis Bancroft the Third."

 

"Bancroft," Mom echoed. "Like the actor?" "Just like the actor, which explains why I look exactly like him, and Grandma here almost

 

swallowed her dentures when I mentioned other people had noticed the resemblance as well."

 

Michael didn't care that he was being disrespectful, and the fact that his mother didn't call him

 

out on it proved she thought Grandma Elizabeth deserved his fury and scorn. Regardless of the

 

reasons she might have had, it was despicable what she'd done.

 

Michael watched his father rub his face with trembling hands and take a deep, shaky breath. He

 

was pale, and although he was obviously trying to remain calm, his blue eyes were full of barely

 

contained tears. And for the first time Michael realized those blue eyes were identical to his.

 

Richard Spencer looked a little like his father, too.

 

"Why?" Dad finally asked to no one in specific. "
Why
?"

 

Michael could only imagine how he must be feeling at the moment. He'd had time to prepare for

 

this, but it was all new to his dad. He waited for a few seconds, but wasn't surprised when his

 

grandma didn't answer. She just kept looking in the kitchen's direction; her face hard and her eyes

 

dry. Not a single sign of regret for what she had done to her own son.

 

"As far as I can tell, because he was gay," Michael said. "He was in love with a guy before he

 

married Grandma. I don't have all the facts yet, but it looks like he changed his mind about living a

 

lie. He talked to Grandma about it. And I know he tried to talk to Manny. That's the name of the

 

guy he was in love with… but then he disappeared. Nobody's seen Richard since 1968."

 

"Sweetie," Mom said tenderly, "are you absolutely sure about this?"

 

"He kept journals, Mom. I'm positive Richard Bancroft was my grandfather," he said directly to

 

his dad. "I spoke with Aunt Helen earlier today. She lives with her husband in Florida. They retired

 

there a few years ago." He took his research folder, and handed it over to his father. "This is

 

everything I was able to find on Richard on the Internet, but I have lots more I found in Grandma's

 

attic." He ignored his grandmother's gasp. "It wasn't easy to get in touch with Aunt Helen. Lots of people have called her throughout the years asking for Richard, so she's a little skittish. But I was

 

able to prove I'm the real thing, and she believed me. She wants to see me… see
us.
"

 

"Is this what you were talking about earlier today?" Dad sniffled. "Are you going to see her?"

 

"Yes. She invited me— Well, all of us. Me, you and Mom. They're having some sort of

 

celebration this coming Saturday. I think she said it's an anniversary or something like that, and she'd

 

love for the entire family to be together for the first time," Michael glanced at his mother, but spoke

 

directly to his father. "I need to go, Dad. I knew you'd want to go, too, once I told you about it, but

 

you need time to sort things out here, and I can't wait. I know I'm grounded, but I can't wait."

 

"Is he going to be there?" Dad's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "You know… my

 

father? Is he going to be there?"

 

Michael swallowed the lump in his throat. He was eighteen years old and not once had seen his

 

father look as fragile as he did now.

 

"I don't know what's happened to him. Aunt Helen said certain things are best discussed in

 

person, and wouldn't tell me whether Grandpa's alive or not." Michael closed his eyes and refused to

 

cry.

 

That was the part he was dreading the most: to be told his grandfather was dead when he had just

 

found him.

 

"Never mind being grounded," Mom said. "How are you planning on getting to Miami?"

 

"Charlie booked a flight for me. Seven A.M. tomorrow. I'm gonna need a ride to the airport,

 

though, and I owe him six hundred bucks."

 

"You should have come to us as soon as you found out about this," his mother admonished in a

 

very low voice. "But I can understand why you didn't. I'll make sure Charlie gets his money back."

 

"Thanks, Mom."

 

"Show it to me," Dad ordered as he stood up. "Show me what you found in the attic." "Come with me." Michael got up from his chair and gestured his parents to follow him. "I have it

 

in my room."

 

"Don't even think about going to your room," Dad warned his own mother, who was yet to show any emotions after what had just transpired. "You and I are going to have a long talk."
Chapter Nine
July 6, 1965
For years I have listened to what Benjamin has to say. For years I have solicited and often taken his advice. He is
a close friend; older and wiser than me. He's managed to build a successful career and survive in this town. He has
different tastes and needs that he's kept satisfied for years without ever having any eyebrows raised at him, and his
reputation has never been fodder for gossip in a place that seems to live for it.
I always thought he had all the answers, and not once did I stop to consider that maybe we want different things
out of life. I should have.
For the first time since meeting Benjamin I find myself wishing that I hadn't paid attention to the ideas he put in
my mind. By taking a wife and pretending that I'm not a homosexual man I have surrendered to the kind of false life
that disgusted me so much in the past.
I have also relinquished my dreams of a future with the person I love, and the biggest joy I've ever known.
In return, I get to watch Manny play his game and live his life in a safe way.
I know I should be outside in the garden; standing next to my bride and greeting everyone that came to celebrate
this day with us. But here I am instead: hiding in my studio and trying to come to terms with the enormity of what
I've done. July 25, 1965
I saw Manny outside the studio today. I came out, and there he was; his midnight eyes watching me from across the
street. He looked so tired. He wasn't too close, but I could tell he's lost weight. He was unshaven, too. Manny never
goes unshaven. He says a face as handsome as his needs to be shown. I totally agree. But he was unshaven and his
clothes were disheveled… Lord, he looked wretched.
He took a few steps forward but stopped right before crossing the street. There he waited and waited… I didn't go
to him. I didn't dare. I've missed him too much… wanted him too much… I knew I wouldn't be able to refrain from
touching him. People would've seen, and my sacrifice would have been in vain.
He was still waiting when I got in my car and drove away from him.
August 30, 1965
Mary Elizabeth hasn't had any problems adapting to Hollywood's lifestyle. She loves the parties and the
glamour; being catered to and receiving special treatment. She especially likes our luxurious house and cars, and the
clothes and jewelry I've given her as presents. She enjoys dressing up, and sometimes upstages the most popular actresses
in the business.
She has made friends with which she spends all her time. They go out every day. I don't know where to, nor do I
care. I'm just grateful her presence has put to rest all those rumors that a few months ago could have cost Manny his
life.
September 9, 1965
I went to see Manny play today. He's had an excellent year and I wanted to be there for him, even if I'm not. I'm
not sure if that makes sense.
I miss him so damn much. Every single hour of every day I think about him. I read his letters and look at his pictures. I pray that he's at least content, and that some day he understands why I had to do things this way. Then
perhaps he'll be able to forgive me… Perhaps he won't hate me so much anymore…
I took the exact same seat I did when I went to his games in the past. It was a risk I knew I shouldn't have
taken, as it could get people talking once again, but I couldn't sit anywhere else. I needed for Manny to see me. I
needed for him to look my way and do his special secret signal he did to let me know he'd seen me. I hadn't realized,
not until I got to the stadium, how desperate I was for something… anything… that would connect us again. And
when I got it… God, he looked up, brushed his cheek against his shoulder and smiled at me! It was the biggest,
brightest smile I've seen on that gorgeous face of his. I smiled back at him, and it got bigger yet. Everything faded
away. The crowd, the other players, the noise… Manny was smiling at me, and I felt alive again.
During the fifth inning my elation came to an end. I was approached by a young guy who usually sat near me
during the games. He had a message to give me.
"Stay away from him."
That's what the wrinkled note said. I don't know if he wrote it or somebody else asked him to give it to me. I
didn't try to find out either. All that mattered was that I had exposed Manny again.
I couldn't leave the stadium fast enough.

 

"Would you like something to drink? We have juice, soda, and coffee."

 

"I could definitely use some coffee." Michael looked up at the flight attendant, and flashed a

 

grateful smile. "I'll take a cup, thanks."

 

"We have sandwiches, salads, and cheese and fruit trays. Would like to purchase anything?" the

 

lady asked, all smiles and shit. Michael couldn't reciprocate. He was too nervous to be pleasant. His

 

stomach tied up in one too many knots for him to even smell food right now.

 

"Just coffee, thanks." He took the foam cup from her, added sugar and cream, and set it on his

 

tray to let it cool off a bit. A quick glance at his watch told him it hadn't been even an hour since take off, and he almost groaned out loud. The minutes seemed to be dragging since the big

 

confrontation with his grandma the previous night.

 

One look at his original birth certificate was all it took for his dad to break down and start crying

 

like a baby. Michael and his mom were not far behind. Then his dad read a few of the letters Richard

 

had sent to Grandma Elizabeth, begging her to let him see his son, and shit had hit the fan.

 

The night had been an emotional roller coaster, with his dad alternately yelling at or refusing to

 

talk to his own mother. Grandma Elizabeth finally told them why she'd kept quiet. She was

 

convinced that "Richard was a spawn of the devil," and that "divorced men are never good parents."

 

She'd said that "if Richard didn't want me, then he couldn't have you either," and explained that she

 

"made up a story about a dead husband because being a widow was much better than having people

 

know I'm divorced."

 

Not surprisingly, Dad had screamed at the top of his lungs that those weren't acceptable reasons

 

for her to decide to deprive him from having his father.

 

Then there was what felt like hours of relentless interrogation from all of them.

 

At first she'd refused to answer, but just when Michael started getting worried about his father

 

suffering a heart attack from so much yelling, Grandma Elizabeth decided to grumble a few more

 

answers. Apparently the Spencers were a force to be reckoned with when they decided to gang up

 

on someone.

 

Or should he say the Bancrofts?

 

In all reality they were the Bancrofts, because there was never a George Spencer. No, there wasn't

 

any life insurance money from him either. No, Grandma never told anyone where she was going

 

once she moved out of the Bancroft mansion in Malibu. She really didn't know what Richard had

 

done once he left. Yes, she'd thrown him out and threatened to hurt herself and the baby if Richard

 

dared to come back. No, she was never crazy nor did she think she needed psychological help. According to Grandma, Benjamin Newman bought the Malibu house, and all the money from