Chapter Seven
Michael divided what he now referred to as his treasure into two different groups. In the first
group he put some of the letters that Grandma Elizabeth had received from Richard and Helen,
several pictures of Richard and Mary Elizabeth with their baby, a few legal documents, and the
notebooks and journals that Richard wrote immediately after leaving home. The journals containing
entries from the moment he had met Manny to the day he disappeared Michael put in his duffel bag
along with a few letters, pictures, the two Oscars, and the Tony Award. He secured everything and
added a couple of T-shirts to make sure nothing would get damaged.
Next he grabbed his folder with all the research he had done on Bancroft prior to coming to his
grandma's house, the DVD from the school's revival of
Café Au Lait,
and his laptop, then headed
out to the dining room. It was showtime.
Chapter Eight
"Michael, can you please stop playing with your computer and come to the table?" His mother
put the casserole down and took a seat next to Dad.
"One second, Mom." Michael inserted the DVD and waited for it to load. "I just need to set this
up really quick."
"What is it?" Grandma Elizabeth asked, frowning at the laptop screen when the first image came
up.
"What are you doing?" Dad asked. "You know we don't watch television while we're having
dinner."
That comment almost made Michael smile. He wasn't allowed to watch T.V. while eating, but it
was perfectly fine if he wanted to bury his nose in a book.
"I know T.V. isn't allowed, but I thought we could make an exception tonight," he said, turning
his laptop a little so that his grandma had a perfect view of the screen. "This is the musical I was in,
Grandma. I wanted you to see it before we go back home. It came out pretty good, considering
we're all amateurs."
"A musical?" Grandma whispered, her eyes fixed on the screen. "Yeah…" Michael took a seat next to his dad and smiled at his grandma, even though she wasn't
looking at him. "I mentioned it to you last time you were in Cali, remember? I got the lead. I nailed
it, too, if I say so myself."
"I have to agree," Mom said. "Michael was excellent in it, and his drama club director was right.
He looked exactly like that actor who disappeared years ago."
"But—" Grandma snapped her mouth shut and glared at Michael. "I thought we all agreed on
not letting you be in that thing." She put her fork down and turned to look at her son. "Didn't we
agree, Richard? I told you it wasn't a good idea."
"I remember you being against Michael participating in the musical, yes, but I never agreed to
anything," Dad said, and it was clear he was taken aback by Grandma Elizabeth's reaction.
Obviously he'd forgotten her attitude from the previous time they had discussed Michael's love for
all things theater.
"But theater is evil," Grandma stated, "and all actors are perverted."
"Come on, Elizabeth," Mom said. "Don't you think that's a little extreme? Besides, Michael isn't
an actor. It was something he did for fun. Granted musicals can be a little trivial, but he was keeping
excellent grades. We didn't see anything wrong with letting him be part of the drama club if that's
what he wanted." She put some of the casserole in her plate, then tilted her head and leaned closer
to Grandma Elizabeth. "Are you okay?" Mom asked, genuine concern in her voice. "You look a little
pale."
"I'm perfectly fine," Grandma barked.
Michael wanted to say ugly things to her for snapping at his mom.
"Come on, Grandma," Michael cajoled instead, proud of himself for being able to keep his cool.
"The musical was great, and I was very good as Bernard Collins." He pushed his laptop closer to his
grandmother. "Why won't you watch my performance?" "Let it go, Michael," Dad said absently. "Your grandmother isn't interested."
"But why isn't she interested?" Michael whined, well aware of how much the "pouting little kid
act" grated on his grandma's nerves. "Why aren't you interested?" he repeated, this time looking
directly at her. "It isn't like you haven't seen it before."
"I don't understand your reluctance," Mom said. "There are far worse things than musicals,
Elizabeth."
"I agree." Michael nodded. "There are far worse things… like … lying… yeah… Oh! And getting
caught making out with my boyfriend in the school's library. Can you imagine? That could've been
way
worse."
"What makes you think your grandma has seen
Café Au Lait
before?" Dad asked at the same time
Mom put her glass down on the table hard enough to spill water all over the place.
"Michael Richard Spencer, shut your mouth right now," Mom yelled at him. "I can't believe you
just said that!" She busied herself re-arranging her utensils. "I am so mortified right now."
Michael wasn't extremely concerned about embarrassing his mother.
"Grandma went to see
Café Au Lait
when it first opened in Broadway," he said in a tone so
gleeful, both his parents looked at him suspiciously. Michael cleared his throat and turned to look at
his grandma. "Is it true? Do I really look that much like Richard Bancroft?"
He tried to sound innocent, but he knew he'd failed.
He didn't care.
"What are you talking about?" Grandma demanded in what Michael was sure was an attempt to
divert everyone's attention from the subject at hand. "What do you mean you got caught making out
with your boyfriend?" Her eyes opened to the size of saucers. "What do you mean?"
"He didn't get caught," Mom clarified as she shot him a dirty look. "I would've killed you had you
gotten caught." Michael had no doubt of that.
He grinned at his mom, and she rolled her eyes.
"How do you know Mom went to see that musical?" Dad asked, and Michael was extremely
pleased he'd picked his interest.
"You meant to say with your girlfriend, right?" Grandma Elizabeth said. Her eyes darted from
Michael, to his father, to the laptop screen where the opening musical number of
Café Au Lait
was
playing, and back to Michael again.
"I meant boyfriend," Michael confirmed, a crooked smile forming on his lips. "I'd never make
out with a girl. They have cooties."
"Michael, what is wrong with you?" Mom glared at him. "You've been acting so out of character
for the past two days. You've been hiding in your room, and you were awfully quiet on our way
home this afternoon," she said. Then to his utter surprise put her hand on his forearm and squeezed
it lightly. "Does this have anything to do with… you know… that school situation?"
"Not at all," Michael said.
She reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Are you in love with that boy?"
"What?" He snorted. "No, I'm not."
"Do you miss him?"
Michael rolled his eyes. "I barely knew him." He missed someone all right, but it certainly wasn't
Paul.
"You're still grounded, but if you need to talk to him or something…"
Michael groaned. "I'm not in love, Mom."
Not with Paul, anyway, but he
was
in love. Unfortunately for him, the object of his affections
didn't swing his way.
"But I heard you crying in your room after he called the house," she said softly. "I thought—" Could the floor open and swallow him already?
"Mom, no! Seriously!" As annoyed as he was, Michael made an effort and smiled at her. Yes, she
was being a mother hen and totally sticking her nose in his private business, but she sounded
genuinely concerned. He didn't want to worry her. "That thing with Paul was just screwing around."
And trying to stop himself from making the biggest mistake of his life by making a move on a
friend, but he didn't share that with his mom.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah…" He glanced at his grandma. "I just have some shit on my mind."
"Language, Michael!" Mom said, and he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
"Does the shit on your mind have anything to do with whatever you're up to?" Dad asked in a
serious tone, then, without waiting for an answer, shifted his gaze and focused on his mother. "I
thought you were born and raised in Seattle, Mom," he said. "When did you go to New York?"
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Grandma Elizabeth asked Michael, squirming on
her chair but ignoring her own son.
"If you think I'm saying I like boys, then yes," Michael rushed to say, more than happy to bug the
shit out of his grandma. "I like boys."
"That's it!" His mom slapped him on the shoulder. Hard. "What has gotten into you?"
"What?" he asked all innocent. "What did I do? It isn't as if my gayness is a secret."
"There were better ways to let your grandmother know," Mom pointed out.
"You can't like boys," Grandma said.
"But I do. A lot," he said with a smile that he was sure didn't reach his eyes. "Must be genetic,
right?"
"Genetic?" Dad asked. "What in the world are you talking about?"
"And you never answered my question, Grandma," Michael continued. "Do I really look like Richard or not?"
"You didn't answer me either," Dad added. "When did you go to New York City?" He turned to
look at Michael. "Why do you think she went to New York City?"
"I know she went to see the musical with her best friend at the time. Her name was Helen,"
Michael informed, a slow smile spreading across his face when his grandmother covered her mouth
with one trembling hand. "She's Richard's sister."
"Who is Richard?" Mom asked. "Are you still talking about that actor? And why did you mention
homosexuality being genetic? Does this have anything to do with that genealogy project you've been
working on? Was someone else in the family gay?"
"I don't want to talk about this," Grandma Elizabeth said. "And I don't want to watch your
stupid video either."
"Way to be supportive, Grandma."
"Don't be disrespectful, Michael." His mother slapped him on the shoulder again.
"Turn that thing off right now," Grandma ordered.
"There are other gays in our family?" Dad asked. "I didn't even know we had more family!"
"We don't," Grandma snapped, then got up from her chair, and slammed the laptop closed.
"Please, Elizabeth," Mom said. "There's no reason to get so upset."
"We don't have any other family," Grandma repeated through clenched teeth. "And George was
not a homosexual."
If looks could kill, Michael would be five feet under.
"Was it on my side of the family then?" Mom asked.
"Who is Richard? And who is Helen?" Dad asked the second Grandma got quiet. "How does
Michael know about her?" He looked around the table, probably trying to figure out what the hell
was going on. "He has no idea what's he talking about," Grandma said. "I'm going to my room."
"Come on, Elizabeth," Mom said in a conciliatory tone. "We don't have to watch the video. Just
sit down and eat, please."
"Mom's right. You don't have to watch the video of your grandson's performance." Michael
reached under his chair, and grabbed the folder he'd hidden there when he first walked in to the
dining room. "But we can talk about my genealogy project instead, right?"
"I'm not hungry anymore," Grandma said. "I'm going to my room, and you better stop talking
about things that don't concern you," she growled at him.
"Fat chance," he growled right back at her.
"Michael!" Mom admonished yet again.
"Sit down, Mom."
His dad's voice was stern, and one look at him told Michael he realized something extremely
important was about to go down.
"I want to go to my room."
"And I want answers," Michael exploded. "I want to know what happened to Grandpa. I want to
know what you said to him every time he contacted you, and if you ever replied to any of the letters
he sent asking you to let him see his son."
His mom grabbed his hand, but he shrugged her off and leaned over the table.
"What happened, Grandma? I want to know why he disappeared, and how come nobody has
ever seen him again. Did he die? Where is he buried? What did you do with his body? I mean, I
kinda understand you being hurt because he was in love with somebody else, but he never betrayed
you, Grandma. And Dad didn't have anything to do with that, did he? You're the last person who
ever saw Richard. You gotta know what happened to him! You're his wife!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Grandma Elizabeth said, her wrinkled face hard as rock, and her eyes impenetrable.
