“O'Connell's Pub is not far from here,” Declan said. “Ailbe and I meet at O'Connell's after work on weekdays. They have an Irish folk band on Tuesday nights. It’s not opera, but the music I enjoy. We can walk over for the Hooley.”
Wyl raised an eyebrow. “Hooley?”
“Aye. It’s what you Yanks call a celebration. We’re toasting to Rod’s enthralling presentation.” Declan said.
“Ah yes, the Hooley!” Wyl laughed. “Are you down with the Hooley, Rod?”
“Down with?” Declan asked.
“Yeah…American slang for okay.”
Declan laughed. “As you say, I’m down with the Hooley.”
The four laughed together as they left the hall for the pub.
In O’Connell’s, they found a booth and ordered drinks. Wyl and Rod ordered martinis, Declan ordered a Guinness, and Ailbe ordered a Bulmers. The four toasted when the drinks arrived.
“So, Rod, where did you learn so much about opera?” Ailbe took a sip of the orange-colored cider.
“As Dr. McCourt said, my doctorate is in musicology, with an emphasis on opera,” he pushed the ice around in his glass with his finger. “Wyl took me to a performance of Don Giovanni in Fort Worth the weekend he proposed marriage. Aside from being one of my favorite operas, it means something to us.” Rod reached and squeezed Wyl’s hand.
“You two are too much.” Declan sipped his Guinness. “The article in The Advocate nailed it,”
“When we first met, I sort of left out my gay side,” Wyl said. “When Rod told me, I still kept my preference to myself. But he captured my heart and wouldn’t let go.”
“I’m so glad we met you two,” Ailbe said. He pondered the best way to use Wyl to his advantage, but he must first win them over as friends. “We talked about coming to San Francisco for the therapy group session, but the weeks before the beginning of the fall semester are busy on our campuses.”
“So, do you two have a place in Galway?” Wyl asked. He and Rod learned about their home from the information General Steinburg shared but couldn’t reveal knowledge of their life.
“We have a home over in Salthill, a suburb,” Declan said. “We bought it about three years ago, right, Ailbe?”
"Yes,” Ailbe said. “It's in an upscale neighborhood and includes an amazing view of Galway Bay.”
“Any problems with homophobia?” Rod experienced his share of bashing over the years.
Ailbe shook his head. “None either of us experienced. Both workplaces are aware we are a gay couple, and neither raised an issue.”
“You’re lucky,” Rod eyed his empty martini glass.
Rod’s tired face caught Wyl’s eye. “You about ready to go, babe?”
“Yes…being a featured speaker can wear a body out.”
“I hope we can visit again soon,” Ailbe said. “I’m looking forward to your presentation tomorrow, Wyl. I want to pick your brain sometime.”
“At the racecourse, you mentioned Wilde’s,” Wyl said. “Let’s plan to meet later this week. Rod and I both like Pearson. He’s an amazing musician.”
“Sounds like a plan, lads,” Ailbe said.
“You chaps take care,” Declan said.
Rod and Wyl needed to report to General Steinburg and James Pearson.
Ailbe and Declan needed to discuss the best way to entice Wyl into their fold and what to do with Rod.
CHAPTER TWENTY
First thing Wednesday morning Ailbe called his students together in the lecture hall. As he entered, the din of their anxious conversations masked the clip-clop of Ailbe’s leather-soled shoes on the hard floor.
“Quiet, everyone,” Ailbe took his position at the lectern. “Listen up, lads.” He clapped his hands, drawing their attention.
The room quieted and the focus turned to Ailbe.
“We are nearing mid-term, and I want to review the expectations for your projects.” Ailbe paced as he spoke. “The original timeline called for projects to be completed by the end of November, but I changed the deadline to October 29th. I’m escalating the due date once again.”
Heads turned, and a murmur rose as students whispered to one another.
“Quiet!” Ailbe surveyed the gaping mouths of shocked students. “Projects are due by October 22nd, two weeks from Friday. Most of you are almost finished.”
Fergus Rafferty’s hand flew into the air. “Dr. MacGowan?”
“Yes, Mr. Rafferty?”
Fergus sat forward in his seat as if asking a critical question. “Is this still our semester project, or will another follow this one?”
“Excellent question, Mr. Rafferty.” MacGowan stopped pacing, crossed his arms, and glared at Rafferty. “This complex project is the only project for the semester. It requires significant time to grade, and I want to be sure I have ample time to review each individual project.”
“Dr. MacGowan,” Fergus continued, “do we continue to work together, or focus on our own projects?”
