Mother's Day, 1978 #10
Summary:Sunday, May 12, 1978
It's 3 in the morning and Carter is dancing the night away at the Trocadero Transfer.
Nick, being his dutiful husband, is along for the ride.
Truth be told, Nick never wanted to rock around the clock back in the 50s and he certainly doesn't wanna get down and boogie, either. Whatever happened to dancing cheek-to-cheek?
So, while Carter wows the crowd with his shirtless gyrations, Nick chats with friends who stop by as he maintains his perch upstairs and keeps an eye on the show happening down on the dance floor.
As time drags on, however, Nick decides to have a seat and maybe rest his eyes for just a moment...
Before long, he's in Paris with his Uncle Paul and watching Josephine Baker do the Charleston.
This Mother's Day will be one Nick will remember for a long, long time.
Cinco de Mayo, 1963 #9
Summary:Sunday, May 5, 1963
It's a chilly Sunday morning and Nick and Carter have been invited by their cook, Doris, to join her family down in Mountain View for a big party celebrating a holiday they've never heard of: Cinco de Mayo.
When they arrive, they find a delicious meal awaits them. The main dish is cabrito, which is roasted goat, something Carter developed a real taste for when they lived in the Congo. Fortunately for Nick, there's also a roasted pig which he has with big scoops of that green goop he loves so much that has the name he can't pronounce.
In the end, the day turns out to be one that reminds them both of an unspoken truth: family isn't necessarily the one you're born into as much as it is the one you choose.
Bastille Day, 1957 #15
Summary:Sunday, July 14, 1957
It's Bastille Day in France and Nick and Carter are hosting a party at their house overlooking the Mediterranean just outside of Nice.
They've flown in friends and family from San Francisco and Boston for the festivities and it's turning out to be a lovely evening.
Then, Carter gets pulled aside with the shocking news that a couple has crashed the party.
Who would pull such a high-handed and socially unacceptable stunt?
It turns out to be none other than the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.
What happens when the only man to have abdicated the throne meets the richest homosexual in the world?
Be sure to read Bastille Day, 1957 to find out!
Mother's Day, 1978 #10
Original Review May 2023:
Another holiday in the lives of Nick Williams and Carter Jones. I have not read all of the entries yet, though I am trying to read the ones I missed last year for their appropriate dates. Not sure how I missed Mother's Day, 1978 last year but somehow it went unnoticed when I was looking for mom stories.
Anywho. Thinking of the entries I have read, I would say Mother's Day, 1978 is one of the most heart-filled so far. I say "heart-filled" because I found it equally heartwarming and heartbreaking. While Carter enjoys himself on the dancefloor during their monthly date night at the Trocadero Transfer, Nick sits in the balcony above and finds himself dozing peacefully where he spends time with his Uncle Paul and others who pop up in his dream. There he finds perhaps a sense of closure but also wakes with an equal sense of clarity that he needs to address.
Perhaps I'm not making much sense but in trying not to give anything away I'm finding it a bit difficult to express the emotions Nick finds himself facing in both his dream and waking state. So maybe I'll simply say this: Frank W Butterfield brought tears of sadness and joy to my eyes with Mother's Day, 1978 and in doing so, I can't find a better way to express how amazing this short story is, it may just be my favorite Nick and Carter Holiday entry yet.
Cinco de Mayo, 1963 #9
Original Review May 2023:
Another delightfully fun look into the loves of Nick Williams and Carter Jones. With this holiday short, we see the couple spend a wonderful moment in time honoring a holiday they are unfamiliar with. Seems odd that these two could be unfamiliar with anything as worldly as they are but it's a perfect example of the realism the author puts into these shorts. Let's face it, we all have things that we don't fully understand, appreciate, or know at all(though too many refuse to admit that😉) and that's how life should be, always finding something new to discover.
In Cinco de Mayo, 1963 we see Nick and Carter being their loving selves but we also see friendships and the mens' interactions with said friends. Sometimes how characters are with friends can be even more entertaining and telling, especially established couples in holiday/seasonal shorts. It's these telling glimpses into Nick and Carter's journey that make this such an enjoyable and entertaining series.
Bastille Day, 1957 #15
Original Review July 2023:
As I've said with the other entries in Frank W Butterfield's Nick and Carter Holiday series, I have not read any of the other full length novel Nick & Carter stories but they creep closer and closer to the top of my TBR list. I mention it again because the only knowledge I have of the multitude of characters in the author's N&C universe is when they pop up in these short novellas so my familiarity is limited.
Those who are more familiar with this world will have a better understanding of Parnell and Leticia as to their positive and negative sides but I'll admit as far as Parnell goes I was surprised by the level of closeness between him and his son, Nick, or maybe I'm remembering things incorrectly from earlier shorts. Either way, it's lovely to see and certainly makes me want to find out more(so I'll know if my recall is playing tricks on me or not😉).
Truth is Bastille Day, 1957 is probably more of a Parnell & Leticia story as the bulk of it centers around unexpected drinks and convos with the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. Ever since watching Prince Charles and Lady Di's wedding when I was a mere 7 years old I have loved learning about the monarchy and will freely admit that I was taken in by the romance of Edward and Wallis but as I grew up and learned of his fascination with Hitler the rose colored glasses fell away. It was very interesting to see Parnell and Leticia navigate hospitality and courtesy with their true thoughts on the pair for the sake of Nick & Carter's special night. I don't know that I would have been able to do so😉.
Once again, Frank W Butterfield weaves fiction and history into a fun, thoughtful, and entertaining read with interesting characters, both fictious and real. The blending of reality and fiction to reveal a one-night event in the lives of Nick and Carter make Bastille Day, 1957 an enjoyable little gem.
RATING:
Mother's Day, 1978 #10
Trocadero Transfer
520 4th Street
San Francisco, CA 94107
Sunday, May 14, 1978
2:46 a.m.
"Nice to see you out, tonight, Nick."
I looked at the smiling man next to me and smiled back. The man's name was Dick Collier and he owned the place. He was a little shorter than me, with curly black hair, a Castro clone mustache, and bright blue eyes. He was wearing what looked like a red satin track suit. The top was unzipped, with no shirt underneath, and revealing a chest of black hair but not a lot.
"Looks like a nice crowd," I observed. We were standing at the railing overlooking the dance floor.
He nodded. "I think we've finally got that family feeling I always dreamed of."
"Definitely," I replied as I stifled a yawn.
"How's your father doing?"
I took a deep breath. "He's could be better, but he's hanging in there."
"I saw in Herb Caen that he left the hospital."
I chuckled. "More like they kicked him out last Monday. But he's at home. Our home. We set him up in our bedroom in the bed my grandfather built and there's a battle-axe of a nurse who's in charge of a small army catering to his every whim. He tries to be difficult, but she doesn't take any of his guff."
"Where are you and Carter sleeping?"
"On the third floor."
"Wish him well for me."
I smiled. "I will."
We looked at the dance floor for a moment before Dick asked, "Who are the studs Carter is dancing with?"
"Jerry is the blond. Bill is the brunet. They moved here back in January."
"Are they a couple?"
"Yeah. They met during Mardi Gras back in '75. Jerry just got out of the Navy."
"There he goes," said Dick, leaning over the railing to watch the next part of the floor show.
I laughed as the crowd dancing around Carter began to whoop it up. He'd just taken off his shirt and was twirling it in the air.
"Man," said Dick, "if I didn't know he was in his 50s, I'd think he was twenty years older.
"The white hair on his chest kinda gives him away, doncha think?"
Dick laughed. He turned to look at me. "Do you mind if we talk a little business?"
"Sure."
"The way things are going, Nick, I think I'll be able to pay you back by the end of next year."
"No rush on my end."
He frowned a little and then turned to look at the crowd dancing below. "I hate being in anyone's debt."
I looked at him for a long moment. He was in love with the Troc. It was his baby. Since it had opened, it had become the kind of place he'd dreamed of. It felt like a home, of sorts. I knew it was the only place anywhere in the world where I was willing to show up after 2 in the morning and hang out with Carter while he danced shirtless to the latest disco tunes.
Dick had built something special that was filled with a kind of magic I'd rarely ever seen. Although they were nothing alike, I always thought of the old Black Cat on Montgomery whenever we walked in the doors. That was another place that, once upon a time, had that same kind of magic.
So, looking at Dick and seeing how much he was in love with the music and the crowd and the sound system that had cost a hundred grand and was worth every penny, I made up my mind. It was something I'd wanted to do when he'd first asked me to be a silent partner in the club and, instead, I'd offered to loan him as much money as he needed at no interest. I liked the guy and knew whatever he did with the place would be successful. And I'd been right. He was more successful than anyone in the City thought he would be. And that was a good thing.
I squeezed his shoulder. "Dick?"
He looked at me. "Yeah, Nick?"
"You don't owe me a thing."
His blue eyes widened. "But..." He began to frown. "But that promissory note—"
"Forget about it. It's canceled. Paid in full."
He stared at me for a long minute before finally asking, "How do you make any money if you just give it away?"
I shrugged. I'd never once understood how I'd become so rich and, at 55, wasn't interested in figuring it out. Carter and I had more money than we could ever spend in a thousand years. Giving it away was one of my favorite things to do. My lawyers and accountants would have to figure out a way to do it so that Dick wouldn't owe any taxes, but they knew every (legal) trick in the book.
He leaned in. "Are you sure?"
I grinned and kissed him on the cheek. "Positive." Thinking of one my favorite people, I waved my hand like Roz Russell in Auntie Mame and said, "Now, circulate, darling, circulate."
He kissed me back and, before heading down the spiral staircase that led to the dance floor, said, "I'll never forget this, Nick. I promise."
Cinco de Mayo, 1963 #9
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Sunday, May 5, 1963
Just past dawn I opened my eyes. Carter's wide back was facing me. It was moving up and down as he breathed in and breathed out, making that slight snoring sound he always did when he was asleep.
I rolled over and jumped out of bed. We really needed to invest in pajamas, but we never had, so we both slept in our birthday suits. And we usually kept the windows open with a roaring fire in the hearth across the sitting area from my grandfather's big bed. Carter usually got up once in the night to add logs and kindling and to stoke the embers to keep things nice and hot.
Sleeping with the windows open was definitely my preference, provided the fire in the fireplace was keeping the room warm. Carter, however, had slept soundly through the night. The hearth looked as cold as I felt.
I hoofed my way into the bathroom and did my business. As I stood on the cold marble floor, I grinned to myself as I thought about the night before.
We'd started off by going out to dinner at Ernie's over on Montgomery Street. Actually, that wasn't true. We'd started off over at my father's apartment across Huntington Park for drinks and appetizers.
Carter's mother, Louise, and his stepfather, Ed, had just arrived back in town after spending several months in New York City while Louise was being treated for cancer. She was doing better and looked really good but tired easily. After way too much time in hospital gowns and eating hospital food, she wanted to put on the dog and make a show of getting dressed and having a nice dinner out. Carter had driven over to their house in Sea Cliff and had brought the two of them over once they were ready.
When they arrived, Louise had looked resplendent in a coral dress that was just the right length for the season. The color really lit up her face and accented the blonde and red in the wig she was wearing that matched her natural hair more than I would have thought possible.
My stepmother, Lettie, had organized a cocktail party where the guests were asked to drop in on a staggered basis and not stay too long. And all sorts of folks did. They were mostly friends Louise had made since moving to San Francisco from Albany, Georgia, back in '54.
Even a few politicos dropped by, including our Republican Mayor, George Christopher, and his lovely wife, Tula, who was one of those people I always wished I could get to know better. I'd never liked the mayor (the feeling was mutual), but I'd always thought his wife was funny and charming.
George Moscone, a lawyer who was the Vice-Chairman of the citywide Democratic Party, showed up with his wife, Gina. He and my father had a nice long chat about St. Ignatius, the high school Moscone and I had both attended (but not at the same time—he was a few years younger than me) and then Lettie made him promise to run for the Board of Supervisors in November. He assured her he would. As usual, he was a little flirtatious with Carter and me, but nothing beyond an overly long handshake and a friendly wink.
Louise, who would forever be a liberal Republican since she despised the conservative Democrats she grew up with in Georgia, was a big fan of the mayor and cool towards Moscone who, being a natural politician, had turned up the charm. By the time he and his wife left, Louise was talking about maybe voting for him in November.
After everyone cleared out, Lettie, my father, Ed, and Louise had sat down to a dinner catered in by the chef at the Mark Hopkins. Carter and I said our goodbyes since we knew the four of them wanted to spend time alone. Louise and Ed were coming over to our house on Tuesday night to eat by the pool we'd built and that they hadn't seen since it had been completed a few months earlier.
On our way to dinner at Ernie's, Carter and I had talked about how Moscone was definitely going to go far. It was easy to imagine him becoming mayor someday. We'd first met him that famous night in '61 at the Fairmont when Tony Bennett had first sung I Left My Heart in San Francisco. That had been a magical performance and a night I knew I would never forget. Moscone had table-hopped before Bennett started singing and had made sure to come over to our table and introduce himself. Even then, we'd all noticed how much of a flirt he was. Carter had later said, "It was all politics," and I had to agree.
We had dinner alone at Ernie's in the back. I liked the food and, for the most part, the crowd (Mayor Christopher, without Tula, was there, as well, dining with cronies). But I really didn't like the bright red flocked wallpaper. It was too bright in the movie Vertigo and it was too bright in real life. But Carter claimed they knew how to cook a steak for him (beyond well done) better than any other restaurant in town, including the ones we owned at the Mark Hopkins. And my filet of Dover sole had, more or less, melted in my mouth. So, all in all, it had been a good evening.
I flushed the toilet and then walked over to wash my hands. Looking in the mirror, I thought about the fun Carter and I had once we got home. He had pulled out the wooden box that we kept under the bed. That was something I'd indirectly inherited from my Great Uncle Paul Williams.
The box had all sorts of fun things to play with but there were a couple of things that Carter particularly enjoyed using. One was a set of iron police manacles that had to date back to well before the turn of the century. The other was... well... as I looked in the mirror, I could see myself actually blush at the thought of the thing and what Carter liked to do with it.
"Whatcha doin'?" asked Carter all of a sudden.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Shit, fireman, where'd you come from?"
He stood behind me and nibbled on my ear as he looked at me in the mirror. "You're blushing, Nick. Are you thinking about last night?" He wrapped his arm around me and found confirmation that he was right. "What do we have here?"
"Look, Chief..." I tried to use a tone of voice that meant business, but he just laughed in my ear.
"How about a second round of fun?" He was pressing into my back in a way that let me know he was raring to go.
Who was I to say no to such a thoughtful offer? I just smiled at him in the mirror and then let him lead me back into the bedroom.
Bastille Day, 1957 #15
27, chemin du Phare
Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat
France
Sunday, July 14, 1957
Early evening
Nick Williams was grinning as he and Antoine Descombes stood by the wall at the bottom of the lawn of his and Carter's house. Their backs were to the Mediterranean as they faced the pool and patio in the distance and the house beyond that.
Nick and Carter were hosting a small party for Bastille Day. They'd flown in friends and family from San Francisco and Boston. Everyone was gathered for a buffet dinner before the fireworks started above Monaco, a few miles to the east.
Somehow, Nick had misunderstood and had scheduled the get-together for the night of Bastille Day. So, it had been a big surprise the night before when the fireworks over Nice (to their west) had suddenly exploded while he and Carter were having dinner by the pool with the small group of friends who were staying at their house. Apparently, the city of Nice did their big show on the 13th.
Even though they'd been living in Nice the summer before, neither Nick nor Carter had remembered that the fireworks show, which was set off right in front of their hotel, the Beau Rivage, had been on the 13th in '56. And, in all the bustle and confusion connected to the preparations for the hotel's grand opening following more than a year of renovations, none of their staff had thought to mention anything about it.
Nick had been promised, however, that the fireworks display over the palace in Monaco would be just as dramatic. The view wouldn't be as good, but Nick figured no one would care too much.
Antoine continued with his story. "So, I say to him, 'Jacob, you must close your eyes in the catacombs. I will guide you'."
Antoine, who was French and just about as big as Carter, was talking about his lover, Jacob "Jake" Robinson, Nick's American attorney in France.
"And this was in a part that tourists never see?"
"Oui."
"How did you two get in there?"
Antoine gave a classic Gallic shrug. "I know many secrets of Paris."
Nick laughed. "I have no doubt about that." He shifted his weight on the grass. He really needed to get back over to the house and mingle some more, but he always loved hearing Antoine's stories. Nick felt like he was seeing the real Paris through the other man's eyes. "So, what happened next?"
Antoine put his hand over his head and ducked down a little. "The ceiling, you know, is small."
"Sure."
"And la lampe..." He frowned. "How you say?"
"Lamp?"
He shook his head. Using his hand, he pretended to be holding something that he was swinging back and forth. "For seeing in the dark?"
"Oh! Flashlight?"
He nodded. "Yes, this."
Right then, Nick saw Carter standing by the pool and waving.
Nick waved back.
Carter made a summoning motion with his hand and didn't look happy.
"No good, I think," said Antoine. "We go, no?"
"Yes," Nick replied as the two men strode over in that direction. As they walked, Nick could feel a knot forming in his stomach.
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
Frank W Butterfield
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.
Mother's Day, 1978 #10
Cinco de Mayo, 1963 #9
Bastille Day, 1957 #15
Nick Williams Mystery Series
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Nick & Carter Holiday Series
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