Flip And Trey Ch 03

Flip and Trey Ch 03

Expansion of Maguire Electronics?

This story is entirely fictional. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. Referenced to past or present Broadway musicals are co-incidental. Many of the characters is this series will be familiar to those who have read one or more of the Flip series. But these stories are written to be stand-alone. © 2024, Brunosden. All rights reserved.

Warning: lots of plot development in this chapter. Sex is near the end.

Trey rose early. He awakened me, but shushed me back to sleep. "I'm going down to talk with Momma. She loves company on the porch with her first coffee. I'll be back to get you when breakfast is ready. Daddy doesn't expect us until ten."

Trey slipped on a tee and the sleep shorts he had dropped by the bed the previous night. And he left quietly, barefoot, without even brushing his unruly red curls. I couldn't believe how beautiful he looked, even in a wrinkled tee and with bed-tossed hair. He was in his element. A privileged boy of the south on his plantation. With the red hair, a born rebel and troublemaker! He must have been some kind of hell-raiser!

He grabbed a coffee—with cream and sugar, like any good Southerner, and headed out to one of the rockers where he found Dolly sipping and staring out into the lawn which once had been a planted field. This was one of her favorite times of the day as the light mist rose and the sun's rays peaked through the rows of trees. The mockingbird's were mimicking all the songbirds around them—echoing those familiar sounds of nature—that's where her name came from!

"Mornin' Momma. Sleep well?"

"Yes, I did, thank you, Trey. And I know you did." His eyes widened as he looked into her face. She smiled that knowing smile that is so typical of a mother-hen. (It hit him immediately that she knew everything, and that he was in for more than idle chitchat. He knew better than to try to hoodwink a psychic Momma!) "When were you plannin' to tell me about the handsome hunk you've brought home......to your bed. You sure know how to pick'um, son."

Trey started to equivocate, but he looked over and saw her eyes. He was dead meat, road kill, and he knew it. "We've been together now for almost a year. I'm in love, Momma. And Flip's definitely a keeper." I don't know whether Trey was expecting an argument or a scene, but he sat back quietly on the rocker, sipped and waited.

"I can tell you love him. What's not to love? He's handsome. He's got a great body. He's famous. But, does he love you? I don't want to see you hurt, son."

Trey was surprised, pleasantly so. "How long have you known, Momma?"

"I've known for a year or two. I've suspected since you were a senior in high school. You were the football captain, the homecoming king, even on the Sugar Float at Mardi Gras. Every mother in this town wanted to know if there was something wrong with their daughter when you didn't make a move after the second date. I've been makin' excuses for you for years. Trey, you didn't answer my question. Does he love you?"

"I think so. He's told me enough times. And we're incredible in bed. He's got an incredible body; he knows how to use it; and, he's very talented."

He was about to go on, but she interrupted, "That's just a tad more than I need to know, son. Your Daddy and I know how the plumbing works. If you love him and he loves you, that's enough."

"But, how about Daddy?"

"You know the answer to that. He's gonna do whatever I tell him. That doesn't mean I'm happy. I'm worried for you, Trey. You do know that this is a hard life you've chosen. I've seen so many miserable young guys who can't find a wife and make a family."

"Not quite so hard in New York as it would be in Mobile. And I didn't choose it, Momma. It's who I am."

"I presume that means you're not planning to come back here to help out your Daddy."

"That's what I'm here for. I can't come back to manage the plants. I'm guessing you understand that. Much as I love yall and this place, I can't live here and be who I am. And we both know that technology is passing him by. The business hasn't grown in years. He's staying open because of old customers and older employees. I don't want to be the last Maguire to shepherd this business to its grave—or sell it to the Chinese."

"But that's why we're here.....to see whether a new idea we've got can help. And if it does, I'm prepared to follow through with it. Maybe not here in Mobile, but somewhere. We all know that manufacturing is international now—and that customers are too. Let's see how this works out. I'll know, I think, by tomorrow. But, I'm not abandoning you and Daddy. I want to be a part of this family. And by the way, Flip has no family, really. He's already adopting yall. I hope you can do the same for him. I really do love him, Momma."

"This may sound a bit corny, Trey. But, it's true. If he chooses you—and yall are happy together, then we'll be happy to have him in our family. I'm just sorry you won't have the same joy from raising a family that I've had."

"Why do you say that? We've talked. We do plan to have a family. Surrogates, adoption—there are lots of options if society cooperates."

"I'm glad you're gon' to be up-north then, Trey. Lord Almighty, I didn't think I'd ever allow those words to escape my lips. But up there, people are more tolerant. You couldn't do it in Alabama. And that's our loss."

"Now go get that Yankee out of bed. I'll make yall some of my famous biscuits."

"With bacon, Momma. He loves bacon. And, Momma, he's not a Yankee. He comes from Hanover, Texas. That's further south even than we are."

"Trey, I can tell a Yankee when I see one. Birth has little to do with it. Watch yourself, or you'll get to be one too. Bein' Southern is a state of mind, not a place of birth. I'm hopin' yall always be southern. I think we tend to be happier. Even if we've got to live in exile up North because of the damn prejudice of so many of our neighbors."

I was in the kitchen when they entered. I had heard most of the conversation, and I was beaming. The family was not going to be an issue. "What can I do to help, Ma'am."

"None of that 'Ma'am' out of you boy. 'Momma' will do just fine." And she smiled so warmly at me that I lit up inside. Then Trey walked over and hugged me and planted a kiss on my cheek. And just then Jack walked in.

"What am I missing? Why am I the last to know everythin' in my own house?"

"Jack Maguire, you know full well that this is MY house. And we'll tell you what we want when we want."

"I'm suitably rebuked. Sorry, Momma. Can I help with anything? Or should I go to my room?"

Breakfast was delicious—and contrary to what we might have expected in New York, it was long. Often there were long periods of silence as folks savored the flavors of the biscuits, the gravy and the bacon. Fuck, I still get a hard on when I smell bacon, remembering when Trey used bacon grease to take me!! Just seeing his fingers dripping with bacon grease was enough to give me an orgasm. I'm sure I was smiling like a lunatic all through breakfast. And I'm sure hopin' that his Momma, and maybe his Daddy, don't know exactly what was running through my brain. But, I bet they did. Momma kept eying Trey, then me, and smiling.

******

We headed up to change. But, there really wasn't time to take care of my need. Wel almost. Trey pushed me to the edge of the bed and knelt between my legs. He went at my cock with a vengeance, sucking, swirling, sticking his tongue in the slit. And this time, he didn't edge me. I felt the index finger, then another pressing hard on my prostate. "Fuck, boy. I'm a gonner. You're taken me over the falls in just a little over a minute. Don't you ever tire?" Needless to say, he wasn't able to answer. I was deep and already plshing. So he milked the balls while pushing hard inside with his fingers and I blasted. In two minutes flat, he had emptied me. "Fuck Trey, I needed that. You'll get yours later, I promise."

And then we were off to the plant. It was close-by, and as we approached, I wondered how anything clean and high-tech could be produced at such an old and decrepit facility. The plant was huge, stretching along a little-used railroad siding, of concrete block, with few windows, less paint and a bright (new?) metal roof, dotted with exhaust fans. Maguire Lighting was still a name to be revered in the electrical contracting industry, but I'm pretty sure none of the customers or the techs had ever seen this place. Photos of the facilities were not used in the order books or the product packaging. QA was a given, and in their case, legendary, but how did they pull it off in this place?

We walked inside, as Jack and Trey were greeted by older workers whom they had known for years. An ancient, silver-haired scarecrow, the secretary-assistant stood guard at the small suite of executive offices. We entered Jack's large office, and she followed within minutes with coffee and trays of sweet rolls. (How do these guys manage not to weigh 300 lbs?)

It didn't take long to explain the proposal. Trey had created a low-tech presentation which described the needs (demand?), the products that might meet that demand including some simple drawings, and a rudimentary business plan. He was clearly excited—and it infected all of us. "Daddy, there's a market waiting to be tapped—intelligent lighting in response to need. That can be us."

Jack was impressed and agreed, but the practical entrepreneur took over. "We can't manufacture this stuff here. We do the LED light and the housing assembly and packaging here, but we don't have the equipment or the staff to do anything else. Hell, we even buy the wi-fi receivers from Taiwan. We're like a warehouse with some assembly capability. Not a manufacturer anymore. And I don't have the distribution network or sales staff to promote an entirely new product line."

Trey interrupted. "Daddy, you've been holding off those Taiwanese guys for years. They can manufacture—there, or maybe even here, if we ask them to. I'm prepared to put together the tech needed—and the marketing staff. I've got friends from Alabama and Auburn that would jump at the chance to be in on something new and exciting. And I've even talked with a Wall Street banker to finance it all. He's already convinced he can do it."

"But it means we're gonna hafta share management and ownership. Are you ready to even consider that?"

"Trey, we haven't had the father-son talk yet. I've been afraid to. I want you by my side. I want you to work with me. And I want to leave you with a legacy—not even considering what's due your four sisters. This place is dying. I know it. And a few others know it. We've got heart. We've got will. And thank God, we've got a good deal of valuable land. But, we're fresh out of ideas. If this is something you want to do, I'm gonna back you with everything I've got." He got up from his deck chair and pulled Trey into a deep hug. He was clearly emotional. He had been trying to find a way to keep his son—and Trey had just thrown him a lifeline to do so.

"But what about you, Flip? Where are you in all this? Aren't you an actor? Is there something more that I'm not seeing? I understand that you're a specialist electrician, but I've got a feeling that you're not giving that up for the stage."

"Jack, I love your son. I want us to be together. I've got lots of years of practical experience in the theatre—and I think I can offer some help. I can describe to the brains what we need to do to make a significantly new product and system for the theatre. And I think I know what the guys in the field are capable of installing—and operating. And I think I know people. I'm all in."

"Well, it's settled as far as I'm concerned. I'm guessing the next step is for us to meet with this Wall Street guy. Song Ye and a few of his guys are supposed to be coming here next week. I've been putting it off. I know they're going to want to buy me out. They've been trying for years. Maybe we should ask him to go to New York? I'd like to understand your vision, Flip. Yall are way ahead of me on this."

Trey explained the concept, and Jack picked up the nuances immediately. Existing lighting systems were fixed with the ability to change color, dim, fade, go black and swivel a bit. All was controlled by micro-motors and wi-fi from a remote computer terminal. Because of the limited flexibility of the lights, the remote control is limited. "What we need to do is produce a light that can move along a track or a grid ON ITS OWN. It needs to be able to swivel, adjust intensity etc. But, here's the genius: it needs to be able to zero in on an actor and stay with him—like a human eye. We need a micro-GPS system which we can pair with micro-dots on the actors—so automatic, learned tracking is possible. And the track and the grid have to be install-able and repair-able by semi-skilled techs. The two wire fixed clamp system and the fixed girder in some theatres won't work."

"The lights need internal motorization and flex, perhaps with long-life batteries to free them from the grid as power source. They need to be self-contained smart lights. Or maybe we can design an advanced grid. Everything is designed to provide maximum flexibility. So that a computer tech can design a custom AI program for every performance—to reduce mistakes and to reduce the number of techs required to be on the job at any performance. And he has to be able to make it rethink as the action continues."

Jack caught it right away and became visibly excited at the prospect of a new idea. He added a few words, but it was clear that he saw application well beyond the stage. Maybe to high tech manufacturing, sports photography...."

Trey's technical description together with the assurance that he projected on finance and cooperation gelled perfectly. By the end of the morning, we were ready for a plant tour—but not until after we joined the workforce at the canteen. (Jack had made it a practice to eat with his guys every day when he could.) He insisted on introducing both of us when we entered. And he even referred to me as Trey's boyfriend—not "best friend", but "boyfriend". Nobody missed the nuance.

Later, I learned that Brent had a heavy hand in all of this. He was skilled in international joint projects like this one. And he was thrilled that the first application of the new product was the Broadway stage. We had an advocate—and a promoter. And both of us trusted him with our lives.

We had a few more warm days (and hotter nights) in Mobile. I played a mediocre game of golf, and a slightly better one of tennis on slow grass courts. Trey, of course, was terrific at both. I couldn't believe how attractive he was in his sweaty intensity. Fuck, we needed a bed after every set! And I couldn't believe how hot Trey was as he started to consider himself an entrepreneur, instead of a tech, and as he bloomed on his own turf. I think his confidence level expanded his dick by an inch! Fuck, I'm sure. I know my chute is expanding to accommodate him. No one ever complains about a partner with a bigger, harder cock. And he was using it with very nice effect several times a day on me.

And his confidence turned him into a tiger. He was an avid top, pushing hard, taking control, filling me with his cream after ravaging me senseless. I could actually see the alpha in his eyes. One stare and I'd strip and drop belly-first on his bed, just waiting for his attack. Some mornings, I could barely walk.

Momma enlisted three of his sisters still at home and together they cooked up a restaurant menu of soul food. If we had given her a few more days, she would have thrown us a "shower" to end all showers. Nobody in Mobile was going to cross her. She was happy for Trey—and me. And nobody, nobody, was going to rain on her parade. I think we were headed for a big old-fashioned wedding—with two grooms' cakes, a big tent, dancin' and drinkin' til dawn. Mobile was about to host the biggest, baddest gay wedding that it had ever considered!

(Needless to say, we had nothing to say about any of this. She was already in gear. She was already thinking about how she could convince her pastor to officiate!)

We left Mobile with tears and great expectations.

*******

Thursday night, we were back in New York. I would be back in rehearsals tomorrow and on stage tomorrow night—ending my next to last week in Oklahoma!.

Trey was anxious to meet with Brent and set things in motion. He knew that ideas like his had "legs"—anyone could create the product and out-market them. Patent protection didn't seem wise—even if we could have afforded the costs. Technology moves so fast that it's relatively easy to "work around" a patent. So we needed to move fast, get into manufacturing and marketing and convince the world that we were the market leaders before anyone else got a similar idea. Maguire's reputation was going to help a lot.

In the end, it all worked out, no thanks to me. Rehearsals were occupying every moment—as were the voice lessons. Just one more week on Broadway—and I wanted to leave the role on a high. My Facebook fans had multiplied many times over, and I knew the box office sales were largely my fans coming to see my last few performances.

So Brent and Trey worked on details. The Taiwanese did come to New York—as did Jack, who stayed with Evie, much to her chagrin. By the end of the week, we had a business plan, had started assembling engineering and computing teams, had inked an MOU with the Taiwanese, and engineers were working on the reconfiguration of the Mobile plant. The Taiwanese would produce critical components, but final assembly would occur in Mobile. And corporate headquarters and the marketing effort would be in New York—to capitalize on the theatre industry. Brent was already looking for a partner in London.

I was exhausted all the time. Rehearsals went from early in the morning—so that ALW could "watch" on zoom from London until (our) mid afternoon. Then I had the voice coach. And finally the performance. I was essentially performing 16 to 18 hours per day.

I loved the Phantom part. In the hit, the phantom is not on stage very much—although his deep voice permeates the theatre for so much of the time and his actions are critical to the unfolding of the plot. In the prequel, it was all about me—my opera career, the violent interruption, hospital and "pity" scenes, the love angle with Christine and the ultimate climax of rage as she too abandons me. By the end, society and misfortune had created a true villain, with a deep soft spot for Christine. I could morph from an internationally renowned and loved opera divo to a crushed man to a resurrected entrepreneur to a villain—the Phantom. I had seven different pieces—two of them duets. And the director wanted acrobatics—so I was all over the stage—even flying on prop ropes toward the end. For him the Phantom becomes himself with superhuman feats of aerial dynamics, propelled by a violent internal anger.

Christine was sweet and charming, with a fabulous voice made for Broadway. And there were tons of extras—Japanese and military co-stars (for the first act, Butterfly—which ALW wisely didn't try to modify), terrorists, doctors, friends, opera house "business types"—but the cast dwindled to just two of us as the story unraveled.

In typical style, the music contained repeated themes, and each part was characterized by that theme. My own was a very romantic adaptation of Puccini's love theme from Butterfly, sung by the tenor, Sharpless, on his "wedding day" to Butterfly. As we all knew, that marriage was a fraud and ended in tragedy, when Sharpless and his "real" wife appear to take his son from the weeping Butterfly who goes on to commit suicide over the loss of her love. The music needed adaptation—from a tenor to a baritone, but it was one of Puccini's best. I loved it—and found myself singing it in the shower all the time. (I think I must have been driving Trey wild. He's not an opera fan! He's more of a football and soccer type.)