*****010:

I went from Sandpack Music to HW (our label) to work with Draft Jam for two hours and then over to Webber Bros. Films to work with my vocalists for the show. By now I'd talked to Aubrey two times, and was eagerly anticipating getting home.

In transit, Lance called, and asked if I had a good relationship with my Bishop, and what I'd think about him talking to him.

"I have a good relationship with my Bishop, man, but you can't talk to him. At least not in the capacity of Bishop. You have your own Bishop, somewhere." I was skeptical. I actually didn't know if his membership records were still at Mom and Dad's home ward, or what. Dad had been a ward clerk over there. "Call dad. He will know. Why, you want to make an appointment?"

"I don't know." I could hear the frustration in his voice. "I've been thinking about it all day."

"Dude, you're asking me questions about Joseph Smith--- pretty basic shit—I mean stuff." I felt in my pocket for my wallet, automatically knowing I would owe her money if Aubrey heard me cussing. I totally reverted when I wasn't around her. A very deceptive and bad habit.

"Well, I've basically put it out of my mind for the last ten or so years. I didn't know all that much before, and now I know even less. If you don't use it you lose it, bro."

"Well, don't be a crybaby about it. Do what Aubrey suggested and take some time to read it for yourself. You can read it on your phone these days at the grocery store. And you can come camping with us this weekend, you and the munchkins. We can talk casual, and you can begin to progress to think about making an informed decision about this life changing event you're contemplating." I really wasn't too sure about this journey he was on, or trying to be on. He was gay. I felt it deeply in my bones. It made me question everything I felt and believed about gays and the church and everything, so I couldn't think about it long, but it made me uneasy.

He sensed my uneasiness. "You don't think I should pursue this?"

"I don't know. I mean, yes, I want you to pursue it; I want what I have for you. But maybe what I have isn't what God has in store for you. You're on a different path than me. I feel like you're trying to grasp at something--- a perception you think is me--- and you want to be like that. But dude, you have to be yourself."

It wasn't quite how I wanted to say it. I never said I was an excellent orator. Or a spiritual counselor. In fact, probably the opposite. The line beeped and it was my love, I told Lance he was important but didn't hold a candle to my beautiful vixen.

"Hey, baby." I purred, hoping she was in the mood. I needed her tonight.

"Hey baby, back. Where are you?"

"Between HW and Webber. Got two hours of coaching and then meeting you guys where? At the pool?"

"Yep. Rafe----."

"What?"

"I miss you."

"I know, right? We used to be together all the time, sick of each other, needing a break, wanting girl's night out and guys poker night, and now--look at us. We never see each other."

"I get the never see each other part." She said slowly.

"We should probably get a love fern."

She agreed with a laugh. "And go to couple's therapy."

"In addition to grief counseling, yeah."

"And maybe name our dog Krull, the Warrior King." All this was in fact movie quotes from one of our favorite chick flicks--- How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.

"Krull- Krull the Warrior King." I chanted, feeling Princess Sophia Krull, the Warrior King reacting to lover girl's easy banter. For two months on tour last year I'd gone around with permanent arousal because of this kind of talk.

"I got tickets." She interjected. I felt my heart beat really accelerate.

"Excuse me? What did you say?"

"I got play-off tickets."

"For?"

"Tonight, at Staples. You're not too busy right?"

"Seriously?"

"Lakers versus the Spurs. Yeah, Tonight. And I got us a hotel room. Thought we might want some quiet time to ourselves, or after you get your fix of the game, I'll get my fix of you."

I closed my eyes and mentally started kissing her. First around her lips, then down her throat and over her cheeks, and eyes and ears, and neck and....

"I know you're in shock. What's wrong, don't the other girlfriends meet your basketball needs?"

I cleared my throat. "I need you."

"Yes, you do."

"Now."

"Oh, later will have to do."

"No, I need you right now."

She laughed. "I'll have to meet you there, I'll bring your jersey, unless you'd rather wear what you have on."

I never wear my jersey, it's framed and hanging on the wall in my triumphal sports man-cave.

"You'll have a hard time getting it off the wall."

"Oh, you're implying that the sports room houses the only commemorative jerseys you own?"

"What did you do?"

"Bryant is commentating tonight, I got us seats in the box."

All kinds of cool cuss words bloomed incredulously in my brain--- not in a bad way--- Heck no--- you'd have to understand cuss words can also be used to express excitement, disbelief, joy--- at least in my world. For now, I was speechless.

She went on inexorably. "Late birthday present. Got you a pre-game locker room meet and greet with Tom Robinson too."

I was shaking in excitement. It was too much. Too crazy. No words expressed my disbelief.

I heard her laughing. "See you there, bucko."

*****