Chapter 1
It all started on an unusually balmy autumn Chicago day near the Buckingham fountain replica in Grant park. Jeff was polishing off the final greasy bites of a Vie-enna chili cheese polish sausage, hurrying because he had only seven minutes remaining of his stingy half-hour lunch, when a figure sped by on a bike. Merely a flash he barely saw, but even clothed and wearing a nerdy-looking bike helmet, the cyclist reminded Jeff of Michelangelo's statue of David.
Jeff turned, reaching, instinctively grasping as usual, for what he could not reach. Cursing aloud, he spent the rest of his lunch period trying to remove chili from his pearl gray Henley.
Back in his minuscule office, where he crunched numbers all day for a major accounting firm, Jeff neglected his work for the remainder of the day, concentrating, trying to remember exactly what he had seen, searching his memory for any clue to "David's" identity. The bike rider had been small, young, under twenty-five, thin and tight. At that age, he was perhaps a student from nearby University of Chicago. Something about his demeanor, or the photo like flash that remained imprinted on Jeff's eyes, shouted "student". If that were the case, or if he worked in Chicago's Loop as did Jeff, then there was a good chance to see him again. Jeff vowed he would be ready.
All week he stalked the park during lunch hour, hoping for a glimpse of the mystery boy. When his "David" finally came, he damn near ran right over Jeff. "Wait, Stop!" Jeff yelled into the wind off the lake, jumping off the path as his "David" peddled rapidly away, oblivious to Jeff's wanton desire.
The lakefront off The Loop became Jeff's regular cruise then. Haunted by that spectral presence,he became a man possessed, as if he were the one hunted. Lunches were completely forgotten. If Jeff sat on a bench, he feared his "David" would pass behind him. He kept close to the lake,on that one side, the rider could not pass, but then Jeff worried "David" might pass on Michigan Avenue,too far away to be seen.
Three more weeks went by. The weather was turning blustery. Winter would soon be here. "Da Hawk", the bitter wind in Chicago's Loop, would come roaring in off the lake. Jeff's chances of finding his mystery boy would disappear until spring. That could be four months. Jeff could not shake the feeling he was in the grip of something larger than himself; providence, fate, kismet! He felt driven. His intense reaction to a fleeting glimpse seemed totally exaggerated. His despondence was deep.
It was a Friday lunch hour, they were pretty loose about that at his place of employment, so he sat a bit longer; sat on a bench near the crashing waves coming in off the dark and violent lake shore, subconsciously listening to the swirling slapping sound of waves on concrete. He was lulled into a state of lethargy akin to sleep, head bowed, almost dreaming.
Jeff would never know what force made him raise his eyes a fraction at that moment. A flash of bright blue, a color never seen in nature, caught his downcast eye. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. L About thirty yards away, a bicycle lay carelessly overturned in the grass. Jeff looked more closely. A bicyclist's helmet lay in the grass nearby. It was his all right. Jeff's enigma, his David. But where was the boy? A nasty thought crept into Jeff's brain. Dodging around the protective barriers, he moved as close as he dared to the gray frothy turbulence that is Lake Michigan where the great lake meets The Loop. He stretched his eyes, scanning, searching for -- anything. Yes. There was -- something. A head! A human head! Jeff knew in a flash that it was he, his enchanting mystery lad. Jeff knew his "David" had thrown himself in the lake. What foolishness. Didn't he know how much Jeff wanted him! The tiny form was disappearing quickly, being sucked out deeper and deeper, further and further by currents similar to California's wild undertows.
Without hesitation, Jeff kicked off his shoes, discarded his jacket. He could not dive in for fear of bashing his head on the many huge rocks, so he eased himself into the frigid waves. His body reacted immediately. Blood thrummed in his ears. He laid on his face and began stroking strongly. A strong and competent swimmer, though not very fast, Jeff had, in his younger days, swum alone and unassisted about four miles, across Choctawhatchee Bay; a successful but foolish endeavor that had taken the better part of a sunny Florida day. But that had been a long time ago. That had been the balmy Gulf. This was Chicago. Lake Michigan was near slush. "Da Hawk" whistled around his ears as he stroked and stroked, desperately ignoring the icy waves sometimes washing over his head.
From time to time, as he swam a rescue stroke learned in the Boy Scouts, Jeff checked that the bobbing head was still afloat. For a very long time his efforts seemed to draw him no closer. He struggled on, checked again. Yes, that golden bobbing head of curls was still there, closer, he thought. He was winning. Or was he? The piercing cold was shutting down his systems. Desperately, concentrating only on stroke, stroke, stroke. Jeff looked up again. The sodden golden locks bobbed inches from his outstretched fingers.
Jeff knew not what to expect; was David awake? Would he fight? Submerging as he had learned in lifesaving merit badge, Jeff felt his way around the small, slight body, turned it. When they surfaced, "David's" curly head lay against Jeff's chin, Jeff's fingers tucked firmly under the lad's left armpit, the slim muscular body lay about one third atop Jeff's. In the water he seemed to weigh nothing. He started to struggle so Jeff shoved his head under. Once more and resistance faded.
Now Jeff was cold, deathly cold, had only one arm to stroke with. Long ago summer camp had trained him; now that training served him well. Jeff laid into the sidestroke, always his strongest, kicked and kicked with his powerful legs. His mind was blank, but he knew his blood was near freezing, shutting him down. He figured he had mere minutes before he lost consciousness, existed only in his lonely lovely frozen dreamworld. He and his "David", dream lover. His thoughts drifted. He forgot to stroke. This world was so nice, so nice, so soft and peaceful. . .
"GRAB EM! GET EM OUT! HURRY! HURRY, GODDAMNIT!"
"Mmm," soft lips were kissing Jeff, warm, warm, soft lips on his. Hard hard blowing. Pushing on his chest. . . painful.
"Hey, hey, quit it!" Jeff cried, sputtering, struggling to draw his face, his body away.
Inches from Jeff's face, someone yelled, "I got this one. This one's back!" A firm hand on Jeff's chest, held him down, but no longer hurt.
"Take it easy, buddy, just relax, you almost bought it there," a deep voice resonated.
"He, he, how is he?" Jeff managed to murmur through lips that felt cryogenic.
"Touch and go," a deep, kind, quiet voice answered, "touch and go. You stupid or heroic?" the same deep gentle voice inquired of Jeff.
"Seems to me you're the hero," Jeff said. "May I sit up please?"
"Yeah well, I went in a few feet. Some folks here saw you struggling way out there. Notice
THEY didn't plunge in after you."
"Different strokes," Jeff said, at first not realizing he had told a joke, then laughing soundly.
"I guess you are okay," gentle giant continued, "you made a joke, even laughed."
"Not a very funny joke, I'm afraid," Jeff said, pulling himself to his feet with the aid of an outstretched arm.
