Never Promise Forever

By Don Schecter

Back in America, Rodney Brody finds life is good except for recurring doubts about his sexual orientation. Separated from his wife Meg, Rodney must balance his career at NSA with bringing up two daughters on his own while dating several attractive women. Join Rodney as he tries to experience life at its fullest while striving to understand his conflicting desires.

Never Promise Forever is volume four in the Complement of Lovers series, and follows Rodney and Meg into the late '70s.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don Schecter
• Release date: Aug 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370656721

Don Schecter

I had an exciting career in communications with the National Security Agency in Maryland. Retired in San Antonio TX, now I travel and write fiction. My work has appeared in magazines, an anthology, and on internet sites. I've written five volumes of short stories dealing with the gay experience. HEIGHTS OF PASSION (2009), OUT OF THE BOX (2010), DISCOVERY OF FIRE (2011), LOVE WANTED, WILL TRAVEL (2012) and STILL YOUNG (2018). These are realistic stories, not intended as erotic fiction but listed under that heading because of their honesty. Sex happens because it's part of the plot, just as sex drives our lives. In 2019, I collaborated with a longtime Dutch friend, Jaap Cové, to produce REMEMBERED PLACES (2020). We had traveled the world in our full lives and certain stories recall their foreign, or local, settings. The longest tale is the true story of the man who gave the gay world The Spartacus Guide and the tortuous path he took rising to success only to tumble ignominiously from the heights.I used my life experiences in a series of novels. A COMPLEMENT OF LOVERS, published in 2013, is a full-length novel that describes the romance of a young couple, Meg and Rodney, who try to make their own rules for living, but come into conflict with the conventional thinking of the 60s. THE ROAD TO FRANKFURT (2014) continues their struggle to adapt while maintaining their individuality. UNCOUPLED, the third novel in the series, was published by Smashwords in August 2015. It follows Meg and Rod through the mid-70s. The fourth in the series, NEVER PROMISE FOREVER was published in 2016. In CUSPS, volume 5 published 2018, Rodney accepts that he is gay, while his daughters are becoming young women, and the family must adjust to a new reality. I'm currently at work on the final volume in the series. Rod begins an open, live-in relationship, hoping that his daughters can adapt to two dads.I hold degrees from Columbia University in both Arts and Engineering, and an Arts degree from Loyola University.

Book preview

I Rodney

1

On the flight home to the States from Germany, Rodney Brody read a copy of The Washington Post with rare interest. It wasn’t everyday that a President of the United States resigned under fire. Rodney took it personally. Even though there were five links in the chain of command between him and the President, he had worked for Richard Nixon.

As a rule, he ignored newspapers. When you were employed by the National Security Agency, you soon realized that what the papers printed was the story they were fed. The truth lay within the building, in very few hands, closely held behind a necessary wall of security. Employees weren’t permitted to speak out publicly on matters of politics. Politics were never discussed socially. And when others were overheard vehemently taking sides based on newspaper stories, Rodney would listen politely and slip away without comment.

He was an engineer who managed engineers that worked in communications. When people said, Oh, you must be a spy, he followed policy and neither confirmed nor denied. His sole function was to get the data from point-to-point, not to read it. In the ten years he had worked at the agency, he had become indifferent to war, politics and news. Presidents came and went; the job remained constant. But it was discouraging to know that you had been working for a man who lacked integrity.

May I get you a drink, sir? An attractive stewardess interrupted his thoughts. Something for the children?

Liza looked up from her book. I’d like a coke, please, Daddy.

Rodney glanced at Samantha, his younger daughter, curled up in her seat fast asleep. Thank you. I’ll have a scotch, straight up; and a coke for the lady.

The stewardess exchanged smiles with Rodney at his choice of title. Indifferent to her charms, Rodney watched the shapely girl move smoothly down the aisle.

Perhaps there’s an advantage to not being attracted to every pretty skirt I see. It allows me to focus attention on my daughters.

After a week in a Laurel, Maryland motel while Rodney looked for a house, the Brodys were ready to throw in the towel. Two small rooms and boredom had gotten the best of them. Despite the concerted efforts of Tilda, their new Swedish nanny, Samantha and Liza, normally well-behaved little girls of six and eight, were starting to complain about everything and anything, and arguing with each other at the drop of a hat.

Daddy, I’m bored, Samantha said.

Me, too, Daddy. Can we go somewhere?

Where do you want to go, Liza?

I don’t know, Daddy. Somewhere. This motel room is ugly. Even Baby James is sad. Look at him lying there.

Poor Tilda, a sweet girl of nineteen, inexperienced but very willing, did her best to get the girls out of the motel rooms into the fresh air, using their furry brown dog as bait. Come girls, Baby James needs a walk. But playing in the same park each day while their father was out house hunting got old fast.

A solution was required and Rodney had an inspired idea. He phoned Liza’s first nanny—Mrs. Carrie Gill, whom he and Meg called Gilly at her request, but Liza preferred Nana—and asked if she would be willing to keep his daughters until he found a place to live. Gilly was overjoyed. For the past six years she had lived with, and looked after, her daughter’s mother-in-law, a frail woman not very much older than she, but nowhere near as energetic. Seeing her darling Liza again and meeting Samantha for the first time was Gilly’s idea of having died and gone to heaven.

And please tell Tilda she’s welcome to stay here with Grandmother and me. We have plenty of room and there are so many things I want to show her.

During the four years the Brodys lived in Frankfurt, Liza and Gilly had remained good friends. At least monthly, they corresponded with letters and photographs of Liza and her sister. In the beginning, Rodney wrote the letters for her in a kind of third person—Liza says and Liza wants to know—but by her eighth year, Liza’s letters were quite adult and written in her own careful, left-handed script.

Listen up, everybody. I have a surprise, their father announced when they returned from walking James.

What Daddy? the girls voiced together.

How would you like to visit Nana?

Yes, yes, Daddy. That would be so much fun. Liza was so excited she jumped up and down on the bed. Samantha, who only knew of Gilly anecdotally, joined her.

Tilda stepped in. "Girls, we don’t jump on beds. Sit down and we will read more Eloise together."

On Sunday, Rodney piled the three females and Baby James into his rental car and drove to Randallstown, just outside the Baltimore belt, where Gilly welcomed them with open arms.

Nana, Nana, Liza squealed, hugging Gilly around her neck.

Oh, gracious me, look at you. You’re so grown up. And who is this little girl, I wonder? Could you be Samantha? You are such a pretty one. Gilly affectionately chucked Samantha’s chin.

Although Samantha had been an infant when Gilly retired, she heard Liza talk about her so much she felt she knew her. She followed Liza’s lead and snuggled her face against the woman’s bosom.

With two children hanging onto her, Gilly still had a hand for Tilda. Come sit with us, dear. Let’s all get to know each other. Would you mind putting the valises in the large bedroom, Mr. Brody?

Come on, Gilly, after all this time, call me Rod. I haven’t been your employer for six years. He picked everything up in two arms and started down the hall.

Gilly placed a hand to her cheek. Land sakes, Mr. Brody, I could never do that. It wouldn't sound right. I’m going to get you girls a drink and we’ll fill a bowl for Baby James. Then I’ll need to check on the food.

She wriggled off the sofa leaving the children sitting with Tilda. Girls, say hello to Grandmother. She’s not too quick on her feet, but she knows some good stories.

Grandmother, pale as a ghost in a white dressing gown, smiled and offered a weak hand. Rodney wasn’t at all certain she could see through blue eyes so faded they appeared transparent. The girls hugged her warmly and, in response, her cheeks pinked with color.

In the kitchen with Rodney, Gilly addressed the elephant in the room. I didn’t want to say nothing in front of the girls, but how’s Mrs. Brody doing? Did she really stay in London?

I’m afraid so. Rodney drank deeply from a glass of water she handed him.

I hoped at the last minute she’d change her mind. You two was such a handsome couple.

Thank heavens for Tilda. She has no experience but she does very well with the children. I don’t know how I would have managed without her.

She seems like a real sweet girl, so polite, and pretty, too. I like her curly brown hair. How long can she stay?

She’s on a six-month tourist visa, but like Vanessa, the English nanny we had after you retired, she can extend for another six months. So that’s how long I have to get settled and figure out our future.

I’m sure everythin’ will work out. It allus does. I had best get dinner on the table. Come in the kitchen, Tilda, Gilly called, and I’ll show you the easy way to cut up a chicken. We’re going to have such a good time. Girls, get them two chairs over there and set ’em at the table.

Rodney and the girls enjoyed the home-cooked meal after a week at fast food restaurants, and Gilly was a great cook. She was thrilled to have new people to talk to, and overjoyed to have more people to care for than the sweet old woman she lived with.

Liza very purposefully began eating with her fork in her left hand. Gilly looked up and said, Hon, use your right hand. You’re right-handed.

In that impish way children have when they want to draw someone’s attention, Liza replied, My teacher in Frankfurt told me I was left-handed.

Gilly appealed to Rodney. Can you explain this to me, Mr. Brody? Liza was always right-handed. Do I misremember?

Stop that, Liza, her father admonished her. She’s teasing you, Gilly. Actually, she’s ambidextrous. She catches and throws with both hands, but once her teacher proclaimed she was left-handed, Liza stubbornly decided to be different. Nothing I said changed her mind. Liza, tell Gilly the agreement we came up with.

Smiling at her mischief, Liza shifted the fork to her right hand. Daddy agreed that I could be left-handed on two conditions: I have to eat right-handed, and I have to write without curving my hand over the top of the paper.

And why is that? her father prompted.

So the ink doesn’t smear on my hand, and my sleeve stays clean.

Well, I swan, Gilly said, shaking her head. It sounds like a legal contract.

When Rodney left, he pressed two hundred dollars into Gilly’s hand. You have a lovely place here. Let me give you something to offset food costs. I can’t ever repay your hospitality.

Gilly blushed. Fiddlesticks, Mr. Brody. I don’t need money to care for Liza and Samantha. It’s my pleasure. They’s like my own.

Rodney didn’t cringe at Gilly’s English. He had learned there were more important things in life than grammar. He and Meg had almost failed to hire her because they feared her speech patterns would rub off on Liza.

Take it, hon, Rodney said, slipping into the Baltimore vernacular. Consider that the government’s paying for it. It’s what I’ll save on Tilda’s motel room. It costs a lot to feed so many mouths for two weeks. And I’ll find a house much faster on my own.

Well, I’ll take it, but you can be sure I’ll spend ever’ cent on the girls.

2

Rodney went into the office the next day at nine o’clock and had to park out in the back 40 because all three shifts had already arrived. It took a full five minutes to walk to the gate in the August heat and humidity, to which he had not yet acclimated. He sat awhile in the NSA cafeteria and ate breakfast while he cooled down.

Feeling a good deal less pressured now that his daughters were happy, Rodney raised his green NSAEUR badge to the guard at the escalator, making a mental note that he needed to get a new one right away.

On the third floor, down a long hall lined with blue metal modular walls, he located the framed door sign with Barney Knight’s name on it. Beryl Cummings, Barney’s secretary, greeted him with a clipboard and a pen. Whenever Barney Knight moved offices, Beryl moved with him.

Morning, traveler. These papers are for you. Note that your car has arrived at the dock in Baltimore. Barry Trent says he’ll be happy to drive you up to get it. And there’s a real important memo Mr. Knight needs to get out today; I wonder if I can lean on you to proof it for me?

She smiled broadly. It was Beryl’s way of welcoming him back—business as usual.

Sure. Great. I’ll be glad to see my own car again. This larger office looks good.

Have you found a house yet? Beryl inquired.

It’s really frustrating. I’ve seen several places that all miss the mark for some reason. My realtor knows what I need. She has some more properties to see this afternoon.

What are you looking for, if I may ask?

Oh, you know, a detached house with a separate space for a nanny, not in a cluster of bedrooms. I want us both to feel like we have some privacy.

How is Tilda working out? You sure were lucky to find her at the last minute.

I surely was.

Beryl’s daughter, Della, had been the girls’ temporary nanny in Frankfurt four years ago. She stayed almost three months in nanny’s quarters above the Brodys’ flat until Rodney’s wife arrived. Meg was delayed, finishing classwork for a Master’s in Fine Arts at Catholic University in D.C.

Doesn’t every townhouse have that layout, like you had in Blagden before you went overseas.

I know, but the girls are older and need some space, and I wouldn’t have much to do in a townhouse. At least in a detached home, I’ll have a lawn to mow.

It seems to me you won’t be lacking for things to do as a single father. Any chance Meg will change her mind?

Rest assured, Beryl, I’m working on it.

When he was finished editing Barney Knight’s fractured English, he handed the clipboard back to Beryl and asked her to make an appointment for him to get a new badge. Then he spoke to Barry Trent at his desk.

How are you doing, Barry? I appreciate your offer. Can we get my car this morning?

Sure thing. I’ve got nothing pressing today. Barry stood to shake hands. He was six-one and slender, with an almost ash-blond buzz cut.

How far away did you park? I just walked a mile in this humidity, and I’m not used to it yet.

No problem. I work the early shift; I’m in a spot two rows from the door.

On the way out, Barry asked, Remember that dinner you promised to buy me after the Frankfurt fire? I’ve got a counteroffer. Do you like mussels? How about we go to lunch at Bertha’s Mussels; it’s a new place at the harbor. You can buy, and I’ll show you around.

Love mussels. Lead the way.

Barry drove to Laurel where Rodney dropped his rental; then they headed to Baltimore Harbor for lunch.

The Rouse Company had successfully finished building Columbia in the eight years since Rodney and Meg had looked for a house there. Their current project was a renovation of the Baltimore Harbor into an adult tourist attraction. Scheduled to open in 1980, it was planned to encompass restaurants, docks, boutiques of various kinds and a world-class aquarium. But now, in summer 1974, Barry had to detour around extensive road and sewer construction to get to the restaurant.

Bertha’s is on one of the first gentrified streets—double-wide brick paving with a treed median strip. The whole area will look like this when it’s finished. It’s the vanguard of many specialty shops to come.

I have to admit I like what they’re doing. I love aquariums. I’d like to take my girls to see one.

Over a tall cone of steaming black mussels piled into a relatively small bowl, Barry asked Rodney where he was looking for a house.

I want to live in Columbia. It’s new, and I hear they have a bus that connects the residential areas to the mall so my kids and the nanny won’t be trapped at home when I’m not there. With a mall, movie theater, and an outdoor amphitheater at hand, situated ten minutes from NSA, I can’t think of anything more ideal for a single father with two children.

You should do PR for the city. You make it sound great.

How’s your family, Barry? I remember meeting your wife at Beryl’s summer place, must be ten years ago.

Claire is good. Dylan’s fifteen now. Good-looking kid. Lots of sports: football, baseball and such. Keeps me busy. We’ll have you to dinner when you get settled. Now, let’s go get your car.

Barry dropped Rodney off at the dock, where he followed an attendant into a large parking lot of uniformly black or dark blue automobiles waiting for their owners to claim them. His Volvo stood out like a sore thumb because it was the only mustard-colored car in view. He checked the body and found no scratches. The attendant handed him the key and he turned it slowly. The car started without a cough. This is almost too easy, he thought.

Rodney bought his last tank of government-subsidized gasoline on the dock in Baltimore’s harbor at twenty-five cents a gallon. The street price was double that because of the yearlong Arab oil embargo imposed on countries that supported Israel. Oil was flowing again, and the lines at gas stations were gone, but prices had continued to climb.

As Rodney headed to meet his realtor in his own automobile, he realized he was happy to be home in Maryland again, and especially in America.

3

Rodney liked Cora Galen, the no-nonsense, older woman he hooked up with at the realty office he had randomly selected from the yellow pages. Well into her sixties and dressed in a blouse and dark slacks, she wore her white hair pulled back in a knot, putting Rodney in mind of George Washington.

You can afford a house in the upper forties, Cora deduced from their interview. Let’s go look at some properties we have on the market in that price range. We’ll stay on the east side of Columbia so you’ll be close to NSA, and concentrate on what’s available in the village of Long Reach. There are three communities there. One should be just right, I think.

Rodney and Meg’s first home purchase in Blagden, eight years ago, had been a compromise for him. It was near enough to apartment living that Rodney didn’t feel burdened by upkeep. This time he purposely avoided townhouses for fear he would like one; he was determined to attempt his first detached house.

Rodney’s father, Sam, after whom Samantha was named, had been a confirmed apartment dweller, always rejecting the idea of owning property because he was influenced by his parents’ history. They were Polish Jews who fled in 1900 to escape a pogrom. Sam was born in the States but, because of the stories they told him, he never wanted to own an asset he couldn't sell at a moment’s notice. He wanted to be ready if and when the time came that he was forced to gather his family and flee—from anything: war, oppression, prejudice.

Rodney had been spared those stories; his parents deliberately shielded him from what they knew of the hardships of the old country, immigration, and later, the Great Depression. So it appeared to Rodney there was nowhere he would want to go under such circumstances. He already lived in the land that everyone else coveted. With all its faults, there was no place safer than America, so it was time to put down roots. His fears were not his parents’ fears; his beliefs were his own.

When he arrived in Washington, D.C. in 1957, fresh from New York City, he bumped head-on into anti-Semitism searching for his first apartment. He fumed and snorted about it but there was nothing he could do. The building he wanted to move into on Connecticut Avenue was restricted. No one would tell him that Jews were not welcome; they just politely refused his very satisfactory application with euphemistic explanations.

That was one of the reasons Columbia appealed to him. This six-year-old city was founded on liberal tenets and open to all who could afford a mortgage. Colors and creeds lived side by side. His children would grow up in an environment without religious bigotry and all the folderol that accompanied it.

After Cora showed Rodney some fifteen homes, he settled on a relatively new, split-level house situated on a corner lot in such a way that it was not hemmed in by neighboring houses or backed up against anyone else’s windows.

There was a separate bedroom and bath downstairs for Tilda, and an enormous L-shaped family room, poorly lit because the lower level was partially below ground. Upstairs held a living room-dining area next to a Pullman kitchen, a hall bath, and three bedrooms at one end, the largest of which had a miniscule private bathroom with a stall shower. Located in the community of Jeffers Hill on Aspen Drive, a long street that wound downhill from the main road, the property had sufficient individuality that it satisfied his desire for a special situation.

The owners were an attractive couple, Ben and Marjory Amato. He was a strapping Vietnam veteran who looked like a poster boy for army recruitment. Rodney met their asking price of $51,000, twice what his townhouse in Blagden had cost, and he and