A Nick & Carter Holiday #2
Monday, January 20, 1986
It's the first holiday celebrating the life and work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and San Francisco is having a parade!
Nick and Carter are marching with Mrs. Geneva Watkins, the last living member of the powerful group of women Nick once affectionately dubbed The Four Terrors.
She's 78 and has worked hard, in her particular way, to make this day happen.
But the day starts off like many days in San Francisco during the mid 80s start off...
Nick receives a call about yet another death.
He and Carter drive over to Mission Street to deliver the news.
And the morning only goes from bad to worse.
But, in the end, the march for freedom continues even in the middle of tragedy.
After all, as Geneva reminds everyone, "Life has to go on. We, the living, owe it to the ones who left us behind."
I really don't have too much to say about Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, 1986. Not because it's not excellent reading but because it's so beautifully poignant but short and I don't want to spoil anything. MLK, 1986 is heartbreaking yet heartwarming as well. I still have not read all the entries in this series of holiday shorts in the life of Nick Williams and Carter Jones but of the ones I have read I have to say MLK, 1986 is the saddest. Having said that you might wonder why I call it heartwarming as well as heartbreaking. For me those two sentiments often go hand in hand for many reasons and in this story they co-exist because the passing of a friend in the early days of the AIDS crisis has a way of reaffirming the men's devotion and love to each other and their friends. It's that reason that I also say the holiday is perhaps not as front and center as they are in other entries but it shows us, through the eyes, actions, and emotions of Nick & Carter, to stand firm, to not back down when faced with difficulty, to fight for what one deserves: equality and a place in this world to be who you are.
Martin Luther King, Jr Day, 1986 is a brilliant blend of reality and fiction. Frank W Butterfield shows us the heartache, makes us think, and yet still entertains without coming across as a teaching lesson. Nick & Carter Holiday for the win again.
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, CA 94108
January 20, 1986
4:47 a.m. PST
I was sitting in the great room of our house on Sacramento when I heard a pair of size 14 feet pounding their way down the circular stairs and then cross the marble floor and heading in my direction. Looking up from my book, I asked, "What are you doing down here?"
With a yawn, Carter, my husband of going on 38 years, rubbed his head and said, "I woke up and you weren't in bed or in the bathroom, so I thought I'd check on you." By that time he had plopped down on the sofa next to me and put his arm around my shoulder. "Whatcha readin'?"
"One of your books."
"Oh? Which one?"
"The Beginning of All My Tomorrows."
He snorted. "Jesus, Nick. That trash?"
I chuckled. "Is that any way to talk about one of your biggest bestsellers?"
He sighed, put his feet up on the coffee table, and sank down in the sofa little. "It's cold in here."
"Of course it's cold, fireman." Using the book, I pointed to the empty fireplace.
He sighed and then got up. "Now I get it." He walked over, knelt down next to the fireplace, and began to lay out logs in the hearth.
"Get what?"
"You were sitting there and sending me vibes to wake up so I could get a fire going down here because you were cold."
I chuckled. "No, I didn't."
He turned to look at me. "I distinctly heard you call my name. It's what woke me up."
I shrugged as he began to roll up sheets of newspaper. "I don't know what to tell you, fireman." Then I suddenly remembered something. "Well…"
"Uh, huh," said Carter in a very self-satisfied tone of voice.
"I was just reading the rape scene in the book."
"And?"
"And I was wondering why you would print something like that."
He pulled out one of the fireplace matches and lit it. After carefully setting fire to the newspaper rolls, he sat back on his haunches and said, "You know, no one knows how to set fires quite like a fireman."
"I know. In fact, I believe I was the one who first said that."
He nodded but didn't reply.
As I marveled, for about the ten thousandth time, at how handsome his broad back was, I said, "But what about that scene?"
"What about it?"
"You're being evasive."
He nodded without turning as the tinder all began to catch and start to spark a little. "You're right. I hate that scene."
"Lemme guess. Bulworth told you it's what sells." David Worth Bullington was Carter's right-hand man at WJ Publishing. Bulworth was a nickname he'd been given at Yale and it stuck. He was a pompous ass who, in the twelve years he'd been working for Carter, had turned WJ from a smaller imprint to the powerhouse it had become. The reason? He knew what would sell and what wouldn't.
"You got it."
I closed the book, leaned forward, and dropped it on the coffee table.
"Why are you reading it?" asked Carter.
"Ben asked me to." Ben White ran Monumental Pictures, a movie studio based in Culver City that I happened to own.
"Well, y'all better hurry. Columbia and Paramount are both in talks with Martina's agent." Martina M. Mitchell was the author of the book I'd just tossed on the coffee table. It was her fifth book since '78 when she'd been signed by Bulworth to publish under the WJ banner in the Talisman line of steamy romance novels.
"I told Ben I'd let him know today how I felt. When I read the rape scene, I suddenly understood why he asked me to look at it."
Carter stood and looked down at the fire which was building and beginning to put off some heat. He put his big hand on the mantel and said, "No movie is gonna be made with that scene in it."
"I hope the hell not."
He turned to look at me. Crossing his arms over his big bare chest, he crooked his head a little. "So why did I hear you call my name?"
"Probably because I was trying to figure out how I wanted to express my disapproval without sounding like a total ass."
He shook his head.
"What?"
"Where is the Nick who would just come right out and say it?"
I shifted a little on the sofa, suddenly feeling like he was putting me on the spot. "Maybe, at 63, I know better than to do that."
"Don't give me that bullcrap, Nick. I'm 65 and I think I'm getting even more opinionated than you ever were." He frowned a little. "What the hell would you say to old George Hearst? Hopefully you wouldn't just sit there and try to figure out what to say."
I shrugged again as the tears came. That had been happening a lot lately.
Carter was immediately at my side. He pulled me close. "Nick, I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry."
"Why are you up, anyway?"
"I was thinking about my meeting in DC."
He sighed. In a quiet voice, he said, "Of course."
I was suddenly angry. "Those assholes! People are dying and have been dying for years and we have all the money in the world, and they won't let us help!"
Carter pulled me in tighter. "Just think about our meeting in Paris next week."
I nodded. "I know."
In a soothing voice, he added, "Maybe this time—"
I pulled away from him. "We've been saying that to each other for too long." I crossed my arms as he frowned at me. "Maybe this time, they'll let us set up a clinic. Maybe this time, they'll take our money. Maybe this time—" I jumped up off the sofa. Looking down at him, I said, "We're out of time. Everyone is dying."
He pressed his lips together and then, in almost a whisper, said, "I know, son, I know." Suddenly, his green eyes were turning red. He looked, like he did more and more as he got older, like a lost little boy. Well, not so little at 6'4" and covered with muscles, but…
I got down on my knees and looked up at him. Putting me chin on his leg, I said, "I'm sorry, Carter. I shoulda kept my big mouth shut."
He rubbed his hand through my hair. "Well, at least you didn't hold back."
I gave him a wan smile. "I guess I didn't."
"How about we fly back to DC today and you take all that fire back to the Secretary's office and let him have it?"
"How about tomorrow? Today is the parade and we have a promise to keep."
He leaned over and kissed my forehead. "You're right. We do."
Nick Williams Mystery Series
In 1953, the richest homosexual in San Francisco is a private investigator.
Nick Williams lives in a modest bungalow with his fireman husband, a sweet fellow from Georgia by the name of Carter Jones.
Nick's gem of a secretary, Marnie Wilson, is worried that Nick isn't working enough. She knits a lot.
Jeffrey Klein, Esquire, is Nick's friend and lawyer. He represents the guys and gals who get caught in police raids in the Tenderloin.
Lt. Mike Robertson is Nick's first love and best friend. He's a good guy who's one hell of a cop.
The Unexpected Heiress is where their stories begin. Read along and fall in love with the City where cable cars climb halfway to the stars.
Long before the Summer of Love, pride parades down Market Street, and the fight for marriage equality, San Francisco was all about the Red Scare, F.B.I. investigations, yellow journalism run amok, and the ladies who play mahjong over tea.
Nick & Carter Holiday Series
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is a series of short stories with each centered around a specific holiday.
From New Year's Day to Boxing Day, each story stands on its own and might occur in any year from the early 1920s to the first decade of the 21st Century.
Saturday Series Spotlights
Author Bio:
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.
Martin Luther King Jr Day, 1986 #2
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