An Unexpected Gift Read online




  Contents

  Title Page-1

  Copyright-1

  Dedication-1

  June 19, 1977

  CHAPTER ONE Love and Reality

  CHAPTER TWO Our House Guest

  CHAPTER THREE Lawyers and Paperwork

  CHAPTER FOUR Moving Forward

  CHAPTER FIVE Good News

  CHAPTER SIX Milestones and Potential

  CHAPTER SEVEN Ordinary Days

  CHAPTER EIGHT A Change of Pace

  CHAPTER NINE Afterglow and Honesty

  CHAPTER TEN Our Family

  CHAPTER ELEVEN Reality Check

  CHAPTER TWELVE Lower Russian Hill

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Friendships and Hope

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN A Turning Point

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN Seeing His Talent

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN The Event

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Andy is Growing Up

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Changes in the Wind

  CHAPTER NINETEEN The Haight Street Fair

  CHAPTER TWENTY Letting Go of the Past

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Revelations

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Preparations

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Adapting to Life's Changes

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR The New Arrivals

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE The Exhibit

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Epilogue - Sebastian

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Epilogue - Isaac

  I hope you enjoyed reading my novel. Please take

  An Unexpected Gift

  Brandon Carlisle

  Copyright @ 2019 Brandon Carlisle

  Alll rights reserved.

  To my wonderful husband, Sam, who gave me the inspiration to continue when life threw obstacles in my path.

  July 1977

  CHAPTER ONE

  Love and Reality

  Sebastian

  After living here for several years, I was still trying to be a real San Franciscan. Taking up one of my lover Isaac’s suggestions shortly after moving into the first-floor flat of the house I bought, I decided to forgo taxis. Instead, taking the bus to and from work. Initially, it felt strange to be sitting in an enclosed environment with so many strangers, but after a while I found it interesting and began talking to my seat mates. It was nothing like the horror stories I heard about public transit from my friends when I lived in New York City. The buses and trolleys were relatively clean, and the trip appeared to be faster than my riding in a taxi. It was two miles, and occasionally I walked to or from work if the weather was nice and I had the time. That was when I had a late start, or one of my short days at the museum.

  My life in the city differed greatly from New York. I once lived what most people would call a privileged lifestyle. I was wealthy with runway model good looks. Just for the record, that is not my ego speaking, that is how I was described in the society pages.

  I am six feet tall, slender and toned, with ash blond hair. With a fair and flawless complexion. I have high cheek bones, an aquiline nose, gray eyes, and do my best to keep fit with as little work as possible. In New York I had a fabulous brownstone in a trendy neighborhood and, because of my wealth, work was unnecessary. I socialized in the best circles and had had servants to take care of all my needs.

  I now live in a Queen Anne Victorian house converted into three flats where I renovated the first floor to meet my basic needs. In my wildest imagination I never would have seen myself leaving my spacious brownstone in New York, and living in a first floor flat in a converted Victorian house. Even more surprising is my living in a neighborhood like the Haight-Ashbury. An area famous for once being hippie heaven. I live here with my lover of close to three years, Isaac Browne.

  My best friend, Leland Carter, was my reason for coming to the city in the first place. On a business trip here, he bought a landmark hotel called The Exeter House. During the trip to purchase the hotel he fell in love with the city, and a rather attractive redhead name Ryan McClure.

  This radical change of attitude caused me to fly out and try to reason with him. The first attempt was a disaster, and I returned home, embarrassed. When I returned a second time, sober, it was an eye opener. In a rather twisted change of fate I spent time with his newfound love interest and took a tour of the city with them. I found it was charming to some extent. It was when we stopped for a drink at their neighborhood bar that my opinion leaned more in their favor. As we sat down at the bar, the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life approached Leland and Ryan. He smiled and greeted Ryan, “Can I get something to drink for you and your friends?” Then he noticed Leland. “You’re back! I was hoping I’d see you again.”

  I watched as Leland’s cheeks flamed and he cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Isaac. I’m here with my boyfriend, Ryan, and my friend, Sebastian.” It seemed that when Leland stopped in the first time, the bartender, who I later found out to be Isaac, had hit on him.

  He winked at Ryan, “You don’t waste any time.” Isaac then offered to buy the first round.

  When he turned to me, I couldn’t breathe. It was the strangest sensation. The man wasn’t even my type. I dated men like myself. Men who dressed in the latest fashion. They had some chest hair and were more masculine than me. They were wealthy, slender, and from the upper class. Yet I was helplessly drawn to him.

  This man wore cut-off jeans and a flannel shirt that was missing the sleeves and was unbuttoned halfway down the front revealing thick, delicious hair. He had broad shoulders, short black hair and blue eyes. I would guess he was taller than me at six two, or slightly more. He had a large chest and no waist. I marveled at his thick arms and legs. The man had pronounced stubble, probably no matter when he shaved. His smile was genuine and not for show, and, as I would later discover, he was one of the most caring people I would ever meet. Money was unimportant to him. He couldn't care less about appearances. So much of the man was beneath his attractive surface.

  When I met him that afternoon, he worked part time at the N’Touch while attending college to study law. I was fortunate enough to catch his eye, and for some odd reason he took an interest in me. I don’t know if it was timing, or the moon, or the stars being in alignment, or some other weird thing working, but I felt lucky, and I flirted with him.

  As expected, Leland stayed in the city and relocated his business empire. I followed shortly thereafter. We had known each other for years. Our families traveled in the same social circles. The only difference being that his was well liked and respected while mine was outspoken and tolerated. We both attended Harvard, with him obtaining a degree in Business, and I received mine in Art History. That degree was my ticket into where I currently work, the M. H. De Young Museum in Golden Gate Park.

  From our first date, I found that whenever I was with Isaac, he made me feel whole. Though it may seem even stranger, the first time we were alone in his bedroom and he had his arms around me as we talked quietly, I felt safe, and most important, cared for. He affected every part of my life. Over time, even my speech, which was appropriate for my staunch upper-class roots, was evolving into a more relaxed conversational style. Through his example I was able to become who I wanted to be, but was afraid to let out because of my background. Once I moved out of the family home and was on my own, I acted out and rebelled, but never really let myself be who I was inside. Though it has been several years since we first met, my life here has had more value and meaning than anything in my past.

  I closed my eyes wishing the bus ride home from the museum was longer so I could take a nap. It was only Wednesday, but I was exhausted. Isaac and I spent the last two evenings after work passing out handouts for Harvey Milk’s campaign. This was after I spent the last three days receiving and cataloging a shipment on loan from the Art Institute of Chicago. I
also laid out the floor plan for the exhibit and prepared the labels. Luckily, I was not the one needed to stay overnight tonight setting it up. It was a few days before the gay parade and I was glad we took a break from the campaigning for the rest of the week to spend time at home.

  Even though there were no more encounters like we had with that horrible little man on Monday, it still stayed with me. It shocked me how hateful that little man was. We were handing out leaflets for Harvey’s campaign on Haight Street when this old man pointed his finger at me.

  “You are the reason this town is going to hell. You and your sick ways are corrupting our city, and I am sick to death of it. That lawmaker in Southern California is doing something about you disgusting perverts!”

  I was frozen and thankful Isaac came to my side, confronting the man, so he left. I never experienced such outright hostility in my life. My parents disapproved of me but never expressed such outright contempt. Growing up, my brother, Simon, didn’t like me, and always suspected something about me was different, and made fun of me. He reinforced those suspicions with my parents belittling my behavior. Yet he still stood up for me in school, though it was only to protect the family from scandal. This man spewed unadulterated hatred. I knew San Francisco was a more tolerant city, and we would sometimes encounter disapproval, but such outright hatred? Here in our neighborhood there was more acceptance than the Sunset District in the avenues, or maybe the Richmond District. Those places seemed more like the middle-class suburbs, and were more detached from the city lifestyle. There you might get looks, or a few words, but nothing like that disgusting little man.

  I got off the bus a few blocks before our street to pick up Chinese takeout for dinner. Isaac let me know he would be a little late, and I was too tired to cook. When I got home, the Examiner newspaper was on our stoop, and I grabbed it, leaving it on the coffee table while I placed our dinner on the kitchen counter. Isaac loved to read the paper after dinner while I enjoyed one of my many art magazines. Pouring myself a glass of wine from the bottle of last night’s Cabernet, I went to the living room and settled down on the sofa. I was about to grab my magazine to finish an article I was reading when I noticed the headline in the newspaper, “Four Men Arrested in Murder of Gay Man in Mission District”.

  My hands shook as I set the glass down on the coffee table, but I missed, and the glass tipped over and spilled the wine onto my Persian carpet. I ignored the mess and grabbed the paper. It recounted the murder of Robert Hillsborough the night before.

  He and his boyfriend were returning home from a night of dancing when they were attacked by four men. Witnesses heard the man stabbing Hillsborough screaming “Faggot! Faggot! Faggot!”, and “This one’s for Anita!” A witness called out to them that she was calling the police, and the attackers fled. Neighbors rushed to the aid of the stricken man, but he died at the hospital 45 minutes later. They arrested the four men the following morning. They beat Hillsborough’s companion, but he escaped and was recovering. My hands were still shaking as I stood, steadying myself against the table. I grabbed the empty glass of wine and returned to the kitchen. I planned to retrieve a towel to sop up the mess in the living room, but when I reached the counter, I poured myself another glass, choking back the tears. Turning around I leaned against the counter and raised my glass to my lips and gulped it down. My legs felt weak, and I slid down to the kitchen floor, bursting into tears.

  *****

  “Sebastian? Sebastian!”

  Opening my eyes, I found Isaac kneeling next to me, panic on his face. "Isaac, they killed him! They… they… just because he was gay." Once again, the tears flowed as Isaac grabbed me. Rocking me back and forth he stroked my hair as I fell into his embrace. "How was this possible? How could people be so hateful? Here! Here in San Francisco!"

  Isaac's voice calmed. "Baby? Crap! I was hoping I would be home before you found out what happened. I’m so sorry." His shoulders shook, and I felt the wetness on my cheek and knew he was crying. "Oh, baby. I wish I could explain it, but I don’t know." He slowly let go before sitting beside me, holding my hand. "This is all because of that bitch from Florida." I turned to look at him. Even from his profile I could see his brow was furrowed. He was clenching his teeth so hard I worried they might crack. My Isaac was such an easygoing and loving man, this bordered on frightening. "She won’t win. I won’t let her destroy the life we've built here."

  It was now my turn. I needed to lower the temperature in the room. "Isaac. Isaac? Please, honey. Look at me." I reached out taking his chin in my hand, turning his face towards me. Where my strength and confidence came from, I don’t know, but my lover needed me right now. He focused on me, and I saw the tension leave his face. "We do what we have been doing. We get Harvey elected. Mayor Moscone is on our side, so is Diane what’s her name. We won’t let Briggs and that bitch take root here."

  Leaning his forehead against mine he let out a breath. “What happened last night may happen again. I don’t want you going out alone. When you volunteer at Angel House, or meeting friends after dark, I want you to take a taxi. If you drive, then park close to where you are going. You need to be very careful. I can’t risk losing you, baby.”

  “Nothing will happen to me, Isaac. I promise.” If only I could believe that myself.

  *****

  The murder drew quite a lot of attention, and the turnout for the gay parade on Sunday was huge. Three weeks earlier the success of Anita Bryant’s "Save Our Children" campaign in Florida overturned a gay rights ordinance in Dade County, Florida. Many of the posters in our parade were emblazoned with the simple, yet powerful phrase, "We Are Your Children". Isaac and I marched behind Harvey’s car passing out his fliers as people cheered. Paul and Diego, our friends from the N’Touch darted from the crowd to join us behind Harvey’s convertible. They were dressed in skin tight black leather shorts, black vests and matching boots.

  Police were stationed everywhere, along the parade route, and ringing the plaza. When everyone had reached the Civic Center, you could feel the electricity in the crowd. This was our moment. It overwhelmed me with emotion as I looked around. We were one. Determination, defiance, and outright pride were the words of the day. San Francisco was our home, and no one from Florida would take away the life we built in this beautiful city. Isaac’s arm was around me and I held back the tears that were forming. When I glanced at my love, I watched as he scanned the crowd. He was happy, but cautious.

  Behind the pride and defiance there was also a shadow looming over us. The horror of what happened earlier in the week in our beloved city was not forgotten. It was the loss of the life of a man who only wanted to be free, to be himself. Hundreds of bouquets were laid on the steps of City Hall in memory of our fallen brother, Robert Hillsborough. The murder not only hit our community hard, it devastated the city. Mayor Moscone ordered the flags lowered to half-staff. Many speakers spoke out against the hatred and violence brought on by the faded beauty queen’s words. People were screaming, “Never again!” Our flamboyant state assemblyman, Willie Brown, was subdued as he called for a moment of silence before challenging Anita Bryant to come to San Francisco.

  When Harvey Milk stepped to the podium, his words galvanized the crowd. He was angry, defiant, and most of all, proud. I was positive the support shown him as he mesmerized the crowd would make him our next Supervisor. The speeches reminded me that this was a pivotal moment we as a community were facing. Surveying the crowd, I was feeling my anger surface. I chanted with the crowd, raising my fist in defiance of the injustice and hatred. Isaac turned when he heard my shouts and forced a smile as he pulled me close to his side. Never one for confrontation, rocking the boat, or standing up for myself, I was ready for the challenge. For the first time in my life, other than being with Isaac, I felt I belonged. Letting his arm drop from my side I felt his fingers entwine in mine and he whispered in my ear.

  “Everything will turn out all right. It has to.”

  I barely heard Isaac’s words o
ver the noise of the crowd and squeezed his hand. His voice wasn’t as confident as I was used to, but from what I could see around me, I was encouraged. “Look around us. It will be okay. It may take a while, but I think we will win.”

  As the afternoon waned, Isaac and I decided we had had enough of the crowds and the noise and took a taxi home. There was much work to be done, and we knew we needed to be a part of it. Trying to take our minds off of the day’s events I decided Isaac needed a distraction. I perched myself on the edge of the sofa and ran my fingers through his short hair. “I was thinking about grocery shopping after work tomorrow. How about you help me make a list?” He gave me a knowing look.

  “Thank you.”

  Feigning ignorance, I smiled. “For what?”

  “Trying to distract me. As great as the turnout was today, and all the positive energy, I couldn’t forget about that poor guy being killed.”

  “I know. But we need to look forward. If we didn’t have jobs, we would both be out there doing everything we could to stop it from happening again.” Giving him a peck on the lips I grabbed a pad and pen from the coffee table. “Now, help me with the list. What should I pick up?”

  Scratching his chin, he looked up at me. “It’s been a while, but I would love orange juice.”

  He was about to say something else when I raised my hand and chuckled. “I know. No Florida orange juice, or that horrible stuff from concentrate.”

  Though Anita’s campaign was building momentum, she was encountering a strong resistance locally. The boycott of Florida orange juice started in San Francisco several months ago in response to her campaign. It began at our beloved local bar, the N’Touch. A bartender there dumped his orange juice in the street, and soon other bars along Polk Street followed suit, including straight bars to show their support. It soon spread city wide. People now opted for greyhounds instead of screwdrivers when they ordered. We might not change the world, or even the country, but here our voice was loud and defiant.