For God and Country

By Anna Scott Graham

On a planet where homosexuality is prohibited, actor Cade Walton has been imprisoned and sleep deprived for participating in a gay pride march. Cade is rescued by Drew Clemmons, a closeted doctor who spirits both to another universe where there is no such persecution. Cade suffers physically from his ordeal, but Drew shows more subtle signs of living in denial.

Long and short-term effects of torture are explored under a domed universe where both men initially revel in their freedom. Cade gets involved with a nurse, Annie, while Drew falls for Bill, a technician where the refugees landed. But Cade still can’t sleep and Drew can’t fathom the openness of this new society. As the men begin to unravel, Annie and Bill wonder if their partners can cope with their adopted surroundings and the accompanying liberty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna Scott Graham
• Release date: Jul 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476069418

Anna Scott Graham

A California native, I lived in Britain for eleven years, moving back to The Golden State in the spring of 2007. I'm leaving these stories for my grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. In the meantime, please enjoy the tall tales. And thank you for reading an independent author.

Book preview

For God and Country

By Anna Scott Graham

Copyright 2012 by Anna Scott Graham

Cover design by Julie K. Rose

License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy. Thanks for your support.

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, incidents and places are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For my husband, who found me through a vast universe.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 1

Sheets fell over the side of the bed. Cade didn’t care. Housekeeping would see to that detail.

He would collect his own clothes, not because the maids wouldn’t. He just didn’t want to appear that indolent. His father never stopped complaining about it and Cade tired of his histrionics.

Get up baby, Cade whispered. Her name was Ginger. Ginger whatever, Ginger great in the sack, Ginger here today, gone tomorrow. He wouldn’t pick up after her, not much to gather; G-string, very short skirt, very small bra. It was a costume, not that she needed it. Nor had she worn it for very long once they entered his room. Cade had barely locked the door and she was nude, waiting for him on the king-sized bed.

Now she needed to move; he never wanted them around in the morning, as if his father might harp on that too. Baby, time to go. His tone was louder, but still kind. He didn’t need to be an ass.

What, oh yeah, sure. She didn’t question him, they never did. They did what he said in hopes he would call them again, but what they didn’t know, or chose to ignore, was they were all alike, anonymous women with whom Cade Walton slept in various cities, film sets, wrap parties, anywhere he was. Women were easy to score, easy to send off in the morning. He wondered why that was.

Was it him, or them? Maybe they didn’t want to be around him longer than necessary, but Ginger shed small tears despite her confident voice. It nearly made him rescind the order.

Instead he nodded as she walked naked to the bathroom. She closed the door, for which he was grateful. He didn’t want to hear her pee, or cry.

Two hours later Cade Walton took a shower, his apparel draped over the sofa, no trace of Ginger. She had dressed in what little she owned, catching his brown eyes as she stepped through the door, wordlessly beseeching him to ask her last name, her age, her hobbies. He had smiled, running a hand through thick dark hair not to tousle it, but to tame it. It only made him look more unruly, made him feel less of himself. As she looked at the floor, leaving the room, he felt small, probably how she felt, but she strode ahead, closing the ornate hotel door with grace. Her name was Ginger, he mused, rinsing off in the marble shower. Ginger was her name.

If he wanted her again, which he wouldn’t, but if he did, all he’d have to do was ask for Ginger. The concierge would require little else; maybe Cade would mention she was tall, blue-eyed, long blonde hair. Very long, past her waist, rough, not her natural color. But her roots were as pale as the rest of her tresses; Cade liked neat women, and the concierge knew that too. Cade made a point of staying at the same places, easier to weave in and out of familiar hotels, easier to pretend he wasn’t there at all. Just a nod of his head was necessary. Then a woman appeared, tall, long-haired, sometimes blonde, sometimes brunette, but he liked to wrap himself in their hair, run his fingers through it. Few women had large breasts, which didn’t matter, as long as they were feminine in the right place.

He turned off the water, dripping on the marble floor. That evening he was presenting at an awards ceremony, which was why he was even in that hotel, one he had slept at last year while making a film. That movie had just been released, was doing quite well. The previous film had been smaller, the sort of quieter roles Cade now pursued, with more of a conscience. He was tired of being a B-actor, another cheap, superfluous celebrity. He was giving out an award that evening, not accepting one. Then he smiled; he might receive a statue.

Cade Walton had never been nominated for more than sexiest actor, several times over. That was something he had yelled at his father, better than mopping floors with people. Harlan hadn’t dignified that with a response, but Cade’s mother Jennifer implored her only child to back off. That had been two years ago, and he hadn’t spoken to his dad since.

After that night, if Cade did more than pass off a shiny figurine, he might hear from his father. Harlan might even call him.

Marshall Willoughby hadn’t been seen for six months. Few in the industry noted his disappearance, but pink triangles had sprung up as the awards ceremony neared. None said RIP, only containing Marshall’s initials, and sometimes Cade wondered if his friend was dead. Probably not, or those triangles would note it. Newspapers made no mention of his absence, but his nomination for Best Actor had been shocking. Cade welcomed it. Times were changing in subtle ways. He wished Marshall could be present that evening, of course he was going to win. When he did, Cade would step to the podium before anyone could stop him.

Cade had thought long and hard over what to insinuate, what to leave out entirely. He would have a minute, maybe more, depending on how stunned the producers were at his boldness. Ultimately they wouldn’t stop him; they had permitted Marshall’s nomination in the first place.

How many pink triangles would appear after tonight? Cade felt a good number, especially in the cities. Small towns and rural areas didn’t give a shit about skims, but urban centers allowed enough dissent that the taboo could be expressed. If someone painted a pink triangle on the side of a barn or grain silo, Cade doubted most would know what in the hell it meant. A few obscure individuals were out there. They were everywhere, except in plain sight. And some, like Marshall Willoughby, had vanished.

Marshall had gone underground and Cade would never see him again, unless they happened to meet in some faraway place, but Cade didn’t travel where Marshall now lived. He wouldn’t even know how to locate it, but Marshall had said enough to Cade while making that small, quiet movie; Marshall and his partner would flee a landscape where they weren’t even supposed to exist. Cade believed Marshall had reached that paradise, didn’t want to think any other way. Marshall was one of the most talented actors of Cade’s generation, but that wasn’t a surprise. Anyone like Marshall lived a lie.

A travesty Cade considered, inhumane and obscene, but no one said anything about it, no one did anything about it. Homosexuals survived by stripping their identities, just as Cade did. He turned into someone else with every new location; did women do that too? The ones he slept with, ones like Ginger; Cade would never see her again, not because he didn’t like her or didn’t want her. After tonight, he would be a marked man. Whatever he said about Marshall would have little bearing. That he would speak on that man’s behalf meant everything.

Ginger would probably move from this city, never wishing to be linked to Cade Walton. Cade would face some rough days, but his father would save him, even if Harlan never called, didn’t write. As a legislator, Harlan’s influence was wide. Cade could do and say as he pleased. No one would touch him.

How blessed a life was that, he wondered, getting dressed. Marshall hadn’t assumed such a position. He just walked away, leaving his entire career, family, friends, associates, Cade. Even Cade Walton had to be discarded, no trace or whiff of where Marshall and his partner had gone. Cade hadn’t thought much about Marshall until packing for this awards ceremony. Only then did Cade consider a friend he would never see again.

They had formed a bond on that subtle set; Cade had pulled some of his best work during that shoot while Marshall was paid to do all he had ever done; lie, deceive, trick. Marshall made that film as if sleepwalking, then confessed his secret in the blandest terms over a few beers. He told Cade he was a skim, and that after the movie wrapped, he was leaving.

Cade had asked no questions. He wouldn’t compromise Marshall’s flight for freedom but he wondered if Marshall’s family was aware, his partner’s relatives; did any of them know the men were in love, breaking laws that had stood for decades, maybe a century, laws that Harlan Walton upheld, not always with a smile. Cade hated how Harlan got on his case, but respected his father for the stands he tried to take. A few overtures had been offered, not even large enough to be called gains. If someone as talented and revered as Marshall Willoughby had to disappear, much work remained.

But Cade wasn’t a crusader or some bleeding heart. He was a B-list celebrity. He slept with beautiful women, made movies, showered in expensive hotels. He closed his eyes, considering Ginger’s long blonde hair trailing behind her. He made people turn away; his parents, women, but that evening would be different. Cade looked into the room, the last time he would stay at this hotel in this city. He wouldn’t have to disappear like Marshall, but after tonight, Cade would lay low. No use making things worse than the fallout waiting.

And the winner is Marshall Willoughby!

A large gasp washed over all in the auditorium. Cade sat near the stage as Marshall’s name was read. Without hesitation he walked to the podium, where Chantal Anderson still shook, the crisp paper in her hands.

He kissed her, then was handed a statue from a beautiful but trembling, nameless woman; another Ginger he imagined. After tonight, he probably wouldn’t see her again either.

He might see Chantal; it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault that the producers were using Marshall to make a point. They hadn’t held a gun to anyone’s head, and nothing would happen to Chantal Anderson, the same way Cade Walton would be spared. Maybe she would take a long vacation after this evening, her tearful but relieved face in agreement. Both knew about their friend, who couldn’t be there that evening, Cade said, wrapping Chantal’s now-quivering frame against his.

Marshall couldn’t make it, but I know he’d be so pleased, God, he’d be thrilled. Wherever you are tonight Marsh, you earned this, you deserve it. Maybe one day, you can collect it in person.

Chantal wept, as did several in the audience. Cade wouldn’t glance at any particular face, sweeping his eyes over the entirety. All were stunned, grateful, also stilled, as he continued. When we made this film, I’d never worked with Marshall before. He laughed, provoking nervous giggles. My movies, his movies, never the twain shall meet. But when I got this script and heard he was involved, I told my agent that yeah, I could slum for one picture. Just one, mind you. Cade laughed. But this film, my God. Marsh, this’s yours. You earned this through blood, sweat, and tears. And love Marsh. You earned this through love.

He hadn’t planned to be so blatant, but then Cade hadn’t expected Chantal still at his side. He wasn’t gripping her anymore, she clutched him. The audience had stopped chuckling; they were standing, an ovation for Marshall Willoughby, also for Cade. He felt embarrassed, not for having the guts to speak, but that it cost him so little. It had cost Marshall his life, his hidden but free life. Cade might have to curtail some personal appearances, but with such rapturous applause, Chantal’s sobs drenching his suit, Cade nodded. A tide was turning. It had to.

Due to the overwhelming reaction, Cade didn’t stay quiet. A snowball effect took him to small appearances in out of the way places. Not film sets or fancy hotels, but cramped rooms in dingy buildings, where he met actual homosexuals, not actors by trade, but just as talented as he. More talented, Cade allowed, thespians beyond one scene or a few months’ work. These people, men and women, young and old, acted every day whether they were married or single, mothers or fathers, employed or students. He wondered if they worried for their safety; he was being followed, but those whom he met were undaunted. Pink triangles had erupted after Cade’s speech; a win for us all, Cade was told over and over as he shook hands, shared embraces, wiped a few tears. From all walks of life he heard similar tales of lives denied. In these encounters, Cade watched an encompassing movement form, and all he had done was listen to Marshall’s words, then paid tribute to them the best he could. It was an awards show, nothing deep or lasting on the surface. Underneath a volcano bubbled.

Two months after the ceremony, Cade spoke to his mother. Jennifer Walton was worried for him, also proud. Harlan was too, she noted, and Cade smiled, speaking from the basement of another building in a city noted for rain. He adored rain, wanted to be outside, but told his mother he loved her, asked her to tell his dad the same. I will honey, Jennifer croaked, making Cade blink tears. Just be careful, all right?

Will do. He hung up the phone, wishing to be somewhere else. For the first time since accepting Marshall’s award, Cade desired seclusion. It was his mother’s fearful tone; the last thing he had wanted was to scare her. She was proud, which pleased him, and Harlan was too. That shocked Cade, who stared at a sopping man, coming in from the downpour splashing against blacked-out windows. Just rain, no tears. Very few tears fell at these meetings. Anger whirled instead. Hey, you gonna be okay?

The man smiled. Sure. You ready?

Another speech at another invisible rally, but not that hidden if his mother knew. Cade nodded. They ready for me?

You bet. Listen, you mind if we get started?

You got time to change?

The man was Cade’s age, looking a little like Marshall, same build and hair color, also a tangible force of satisfaction. Marshall had looked liberated just speaking to Cade. This man, dripping on the floor, did too.

I’m not gonna melt. Rains all the time here, we’re used to it. Half the crowd’s soaked to their skins. Not gonna make a helluva lotta difference to them. They just wanna hear you.

Why, Cade wanted to ask. Yes he was a celebrity. For the first time he felt proud of that, could do something with it. His fame frightened his mother, but no one would dare touch Harlan Walton’s son.

Let’s get this show on the road. You need to get into dry clothes, gonna catch your death. Cade laughed, expecting the man to do the same.

I just wanna hear them cheer for you. You’ve given us hope, you know?

Cade wanted to nod, but kept still. He wasn’t a politician. That was his father.

Come on, the man said, motioning for Cade to follow him. They’re waiting for you.

Feet stomped, hands clapped, a raucous welcome. Cade stared at the phone on the wall, his mother’s plaintive voice in his ears. Then he headed upstairs.

Are you sure about this? he asked Stella, one of the few to offer a name.

If not now, we’ll lose the momentum. Besides, what do we have to lose?

Your lives, Cade said.

She smiled. I’m tired of living a lie.

He heard that often, what steadied his feet in a position he hadn’t dreamed. He was supposed to be on the set, and his agent was furious. Initially Cade’s small protest had brought in meaningful scripts. They could capitalize on the sudden swing of his career. No more lousy films; Cade Walton was moving to the A-list.

Now his agent wouldn’t speak to him, partly from anger, also fear. Cade talked to his mother daily, but his dad had refrained. Now Harlan had to watch his own back, but after the public rally, Cade wasn’t sure what might happen.

Safe houses had been offered where Cade could stay out of sight. But he was hesitant to accept that generosity; after this assembly, either the tide would turn, or things would go awry. Maybe it was better for him to stay visible. He might be safer that way.

His well-being hadn’t been a consideration when standing next to Chantal Anderson. That seemed like ages ago, Cade’s life and career were moving at light speed. He was a part of this movement, a mouthpiece, but at least he finally had something worthwhile to say. He laughed about that with Stella, her long blonde hair reminding him of Ginger. He hadn’t had sex in ages, no longer around anyone with whom he was compatible.

Stella was his type, but she wasn’t, and he smiled. If you’re really sure you wanna do this, you know I’m in.

Lock stock and barrel? she asked.

He nodded. Gonna need to commit me afterwards. But yeah, all for one and one for all.

She cupped his jaw. I used to think you were a terrible actor.

He laughed, warmed by her touch. What changed your mind?

Well, I still think you’re a crappy performer, but you’re a better person than I allowed.

He set his hand on hers, as if she was Ginger and he was ready to send her away. Stella, I’m a shitty actor.

Especially compared to all of us. She fought a smile, then lost. Then she kissed him on the mouth. If he didn’t know her better, he would wrap her close. She pulled away, then stroked his face. I do that all the time to my husband. But you’re a better kisser than he is.

Cade wanted to nod or say something. He knew the woman Stella cared for, but not her name. She was brunette, a few years older than Stella, had a warm smile. Cade had no idea about their lives outside these walls, rooms dark and cloistered. Does he know?

Has no idea. Thinks I’m at work. I don’t know what I’m gonna tell him.

Cade cleared his throat. He wanted her, wanted someone. She slept with her husband, of course she was married. Most his age and older were. They had children, lived like everyone else, but it was the biggest film set in history. Stella, I uh…

She laughed. Don’t get me started. Listen, I know someone who…

No, that’s okay. He laughed. God, if you can do it, so can I.

"Yeah, but I do it."

What did that mean? Then Cade wanted to slap himself. He never slept with someone because he loved them. Sex was sex, skim or not. Lovemaking was completely different.

The last person he had slept with was Ginger. That was sex, nothing more. Making love… Cade squinted, couldn’t even conjure a face.

What? he asked, finding her staring at him.

Where are you Walton?

Nowhere.

Just like the rest of us. Let’s change that.

Yeah, let’s change the world.

Stella smiled, giving him a soft kiss. Let’s do that Walton.

Approaching the rally, he was Walton, Stella’s pet name picked up by all involved. They had chosen one of the largest cities in the country for an impromptu parade, so many participants that law enforcement wouldn’t be able to arrest them all. And if they were peaceable, maybe no one would be hauled away.

No signs were waved, no discernible reason for their presence, other than Cade Walton, and no one’s face was shown. Each marcher wore camouflage, all identities disguised. It was the only way many would participate, it also illustrated how concealed they had to be. Hands were also obscured, no way to note men from women. Bodies marched, uniform in their willingness to stand.

Rain fell, but no one cared. As a child, Cade had splashed through puddles, reciting soliloquies, seeking notice from his youth. He had never craved this level of attention, but he considered the last scene he and Marshall had filmed together. By then Cade knew that while Marshall had lived much of his life in the public eye, the most important detail had been sequestered. They had stood on a beach, rain falling then too, speaking lines, not even the end of the film. Shot out of sequence, this was set in the middle, where Cade felt he was at that moment. This rally was the turning point from where change would emerge. Cade had been awed as Marshall made subtle sentences come alive, as if able to breathe in that fictional setting. Today’s marchers wouldn’t reveal themselves, but they would be liberated as never before. In silence, they would make their lives count.

He thought to the conversation he’d had with his mother just that morning. She knew something was up, but Cade only said that he loved her, then had asked if his father was there.

No honey, he’s working. Cade, please, whatever you’re planning, don’t go, don’t be there. Please honey, for me?

Mom, I love you. Don’t worry.

She began to cry, but composed herself. Cade, come home, we’ll get away for a while. Please honey?

He saw Stella approach, her partner at her side, brightly colored scarves over their faces, open strips where their eyes shone. Cade smiled their way, considering his last words to Jennifer Walton. Mom, I love you. It’ll be all right, trust me.

He wore a blue slicker, but no hat. Water trickled into his eyes as he led a soggy but cheerful group that wound their way down large city streets, halting traffic, gathering attention. Cade had no idea to their numbers, and no one attempted to stop them, reinforcing his spirits. But his mother’s anxious tone stewed in his gut, wouldn’t move.

He took long strides as if to shake off her worries. Stella and her partner stood beside him, but they were flanked by hundreds, at least what he sensed. Several thousands followed, not a single one showing their faces, indistinguishable from each other. As they reached the city park, only then did Cade understand his mother’s tension. He looked into a sea of… Not faces. Masked countenances noted persons denied, hiding under hoods, hats, scarves, and mufflers, but they stood in the pounding rain, taking care their disguises didn’t slip. Because of the inclement weather, Cade wouldn’t make a speech, but he didn’t have to. The issue hadn’t been snuffed out since the awards show. Skims were on all minds, unspoken but pervasive. The marchers said nothing, yet they screamed