“I need you to explain asexuality to me.” I should have given him the scented pillow and left him alone. He didn’t know if understanding it would help, but if he wanted to get Mr. Sieber back, it sure wouldn’t hurt.
JIM BYPASSED the subway entrance and stalked up the sidewalk like a tunnel-visioned bull. What if he had let Jessup continue? What then? Awkward sex. Jim saw himself frozen, gritting his teeth while Jessup touched him. God, trying to pretend he enjoyed it? Jessup was a good-looking guy too. But that was before, when he’d respected the rules. No fucking touching. No sex. The kiss had been nice, but it had turned into something Jim didn’t want so fast. Why did people do that? Why did no one understand that being in sexual situations made his skin crawl? Fantasies were one thing—he already knew he’d go home and jerk off to the memory of Jessup rubbing his cock on him. But that didn’t mean he’d wanted the reality.
“Don’t touch me.”
A woman gave him a wide berth and averted her eyes. Jim realized he’d spoken aloud. He took a breath and forced himself to calm down. The sidewalks weren’t too crowded, but he had to be aware of what he looked like on his good days—huge and muscular. Imagine that, pissed off.
He descended into the subway at the next opportunity, and the train arrived as he swiped his Metrocard. He jumped onto a mostly empty car and sat down without thinking. The moment his ass hit the orange plastic seat, pain shot through him. Forcing himself to stay down—and regretting that he’d left Jessup’s home without the gel—Jim soaked in the firing nerves until his mind settled. It was a welcome distraction.
Tonight he’d gotten what he’d wanted from the whipping. The fear that had engulfed him when he’d searched Shannon’s closet had returned, and with each blow it had grown, dragging his guilt with it. By the time Jessup had left him alone, Jim had almost choked on holding it back. He couldn’t remember starting to cry, only that he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t wanted to hold on to Jessup, but his weakness had left him with little choice other than to accept the support Jessup offered.
Jim made plenty of noise as he unlocked his apartment door. Shannon was on the couch watching TV. Jim heard the sounds of an epic battle. “Hey,” Shannon said. “Lord of the Rings: Two Towers. Watch with me?”
Jim closed the door and locked it. “I’m not sure what to do.”
“About the movie?”
“No.”
Shannon muted the TV. “What happened?”
“Things got… sexual.”
“Did he hurt you?” Shannon asked. “I mean, more than the usual.”
“No, it wasn’t like that. He just rubbed against me, and he stopped as soon as I told him.”
“Are you going back?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s a lot of money. Do you want to give it up?” All of Shannon’s questions came with the same rapid-fire ping ping ping as the video games he played. Jim almost lost his thoughts trying to keep up.
“That’s up to you,” Jim said. “I was going to give it to you. So you can use it however you want. I want you to be happy.”
Shannon looked perturbed. “No. You do not put this on me. That’s your money. It’s not worth it if it hurts you.”
“I don’t mind getting hurt.”
“Maybe I mind it. Come here.”
Jim sat down on the couch, and Shannon tucked his arm around Jim’s shoulders, drawing him down.
“I’ll give you what I have,” Jim said.
“I thought you might use it to go to school. Weren’t you thinking about art history?”
A burst of sorrow welled up as Jim recalled Jessup’s suggestion. He didn’t think anyone had believed in him like that since he’d started stripping. “That’s over now.”
“I love you,” Shannon said.
“Love you too.”
“Even if you are an idiot.”
“Hmm.” Jim thought of Jessup’s lips. That almost hesitant kiss, ruined when Jessup’s body reacted in a way that was normal for so many. It had asked a silent question that Jim had answered by storming off. Maybe he should have stayed and explained. He gritted the urge away. Jessup knew Jim’s rules, and he’d chosen to ignore them. Removing himself from the situation had been Jim’s only choice. Jim didn’t owe him an explanation for his reaction. In a few days, he’d be back to normal, and he’d leave their arrangement. Back to his comfortable life with Shannon. Stripping and doing odd jobs. The way it was supposed to be. No more hanging his happiness on a rich man’s kindness.
Chapter Seven
JIM FINISHED securing the last section of drywall and set down the electric drill. Stepping back to examine his work, he was surprised to see it was straight and flush with the other sections. Jim lifted his dust mask away from his face. The flip-and-rent they were fixing up still smelled like cat piss, and a week of scrubbing the floors and walls hadn’t gotten rid of the mildew. Better to set a match to it.
“You all right there, Jim?”
Jim nodded at Xavier and snapped the mask back into place.
“Need you upstairs,” Xavier said. “Frank’s dismantling the floorboards in the second bedroom.”
“Right,” Jim said. After grabbing his toolbox, he headed up.
Getting Xavier’s call to come to work was the best thing that had happened to him since he’d walked out of Jessup’s penthouse. A construction site was no place for wandering minds if a fellow wanted to keep all his fingers and eyes, so Jim had no time to worry about lost income or reflect on his near breakdown on Jessup’s countertop. He’d been an irregular on Xavier’s crew for a few years. Xavier was owner and builder, buying and flipping the houses himself. He kept a steady crew of three men and one woman running full-time, and Jim was usually called in for big jobs on which two or three more workers were needed.
The house they were in now was a two-story detached with a basement in Jamaica, Queens. Because of its condition, the selling price was well under its neighbors’. It would be a prize for Xavier’s wallet once it was ready to go on the market. Jim entered the small bedroom to find Frank on his knees next to a hole in the floor. Ripped boards were stacked neatly at his side. At a glance, Jim saw what needed to be done. A massive piss stain surrounded the hole.
“Jesus,” Jim said as his nose wrinkled behind his dust mask.
Frank looked up. His face was partially hidden by a red bandanna, freckled cheeks and green eyes showing beneath red eyebrows. “Do you think they owned a thousand cats? I mean—” He gestured at the stain and let his hand fall to his side. Enough said.
Jim set his toolbox down and got a crowbar out of it. “Does Xavier want the whole floor up?” The stain only took up a quarter, but it was smack in the middle.
“It’s pretty weak over there.” Frank pointed to a corner. “By the time we get this and that up, there won’t be much floor left. Easier to start over.”
“Easier to put a new one on top,” Jim said, but he got to work anyway since Frank had already made a good-sized dent in the floor.
“You still living with Shannon?”
“Yeah.”
“She dating anybody?”
“He.”
“What?”
“Shannon’s a he.”
Frank’s forehead crinkled. He was probably replaying the one time he’d met Shannon, a five-second experience when Shannon had to bring Jim’s phone to a jobsite. That had been before everything happened, when he still went outside alone.
“Oh, right, right,” Frank said. “These unisex names, you know. Never know what you’re gonna get.”
“Uh-huh,” Jim said.
“So I guess you guys aren’t dating? Shannon being a he and all?”
Jim let the crowbar go, and it remained wedged in the crack he’d worked it into. “You know I’m gay, right?”
Frank turned redder than his natural red complexion. He cleared his throat. Jim grabbed the crowbar again. Maybe not the best idea to come out in a room of heavy blunt objects.
Fr
ank started coughing, which turned into laughter. “Shit, man. I always wondered why you never took Michelle up on her offer to make you dinner.”
“I don’t like her cooking,” Jim said.
“She wasn’t offering you cooking. She was offering you pussy.” His laughter had forced him forward. Already on his knees, his head nearly touched the floor. “Ho, fuck. Gay, oh my God!”
“Not that funny,” Jim said.
“It’s hilarious! We’ve all been thinking you’re clueless as fuck, missing out on your chance, and it turns out you’re clueless and you don’t even want a chance.”
“Maybe you guys are the clueless ones.” Jim went back to pulling up boards as Frank made no attempt to compose himself.
“What are you yahoos going on about?” Michelle herself appeared in the door. Her painter’s overalls were dusted down with drywall sand.
Frank rolled himself upright and pointed at Jim. “Motherfucker’s gay. That’s why he’s never had your dinner. Said he didn’t like your cooking!”
Jim grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were asking me out.”
“You don’t like my cooking?” Michelle said, in a tone Jim didn’t dare answer.
He swallowed. “I, uh, I can’t stay out late. I’ve got someone at home.”
“Oh,” Michelle said. “Okay. Well, glad we got that cleared up.” She walked away, moving as stiffly as Jim did when Jessup finished with him.
“You’re an asshole,” Jim said to Frank.
Frank got up and wiped his hands on his dusty jeans. “I’ll talk to her.”
“If any of you bastards comes trying to talk to me, you’ll get a nail gun in your nuts,” Michelle shouted.
Frank sat back down. “Later.” He picked up his hammer again. “So, you and Shannon, huh?”
“No,” Jim said. “Just friends.”
“But I bet you want to. He’s cute, you know, if you go for chubs.”
Jim didn’t answer. Sometimes if he ignored Frank, the conversation would go on without him and Frank wouldn’t notice. They were near the end of the day, and then Jim had work at the club from nine o’clock until four. He could get to clock-out time without clocking out Frank.
“I thought he was a girl. Got those feminine features. Soft cheeks.” Frank caressed his face through the handkerchief as his eyes took on a dreamy set. “You like a more manly man? Like, uh, uh, that Brad Pitt? I’d let him blow me. Hell, I’d blow him myself.”
Jim squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten in his head. “You know what my ideal man is?” Jim interrupted, unable to stand it anymore. “It’s a five-foot-ten dirt-covered redhead with shit fashion sense and pit stains. Gets my motor running every time.” Jim popped another board as he waited to see what Frank would do with that.
Frank clasped his hands together over his heart. “I’m flattered,” he said, in a Southern-belle voice, “but my intentions are spoken for.”
“By whom?” Jim asked.
Frank, grinning, nodded at the open door.
“Michelle?” Jim whispered.
“Now that you’re out of the way, I’m going in.” He leaned in close. “Finding out you’re gay is the best thing that’s happened today.”
Jim grinned. “Glad I could help. But if you think you’ve got a chance with Michelle, you better drop the innuendo.”
“Naw,” Frank said. “She takes me as I am, or—”
“I’m not taking you at all!” Michelle yelled.
Frank cursed under his breath. “Damn woman has hearing like a bat.”
Jim marveled again at his luck. With drama like this, Jessup was a distant dream.
GRANT DIDN’T touch the handrail as he picked his way up the chipped faux-marble stairs in Mr. Sieber’s building. He hadn’t expected Mr. Sieber to live in a grand establishment, but he also hadn’t prepared for the plain brick dilapidation that took up half the block. The front buzzer didn’t work, but that didn’t matter because the door’s latch was broken. He entered into a neglected hall that would require sandblasting to clean, stepped over a patch of dried vomit, and made for the stairs. According to Rory, Mr. Sieber lived with his roommate, Shannon, on the fourth floor.
Four flights of navigating broken stairs, dog shit, urine stains, and puke. He maneuvered the gift bag he held to avoid touching anything. When Grant had learned Mr. Sieber lived in Washington Heights, he’d envisioned manicured parks, the Cloisters Museum, Orthodox Jews, and wide sidewalks. This was not that Washington Heights. This was the Washington Heights that made the news and almost always involved crying relatives, shocked friends, and police statements. He wrinkled his nose against an unidentifiable stench and tried not to blame his father for raising him into a decent man. Fillmore Jessup was a proponent of apologizing in person when the fuckup called for face-to-face self-humbling. For that reason alone, Grant stood outside apartment 4F and knocked. It was Sunday night, and he intended for Mr. Sieber to know of his contrition before Monday dawned. He heard someone on the other side of the door, but it didn’t open. He knocked again. The door was so thin he swore he heard the person hold their breath.
“Hello? I’m looking for Mr. Sieber. He works for me.” He felt like an idiot talking to a door, but clearly the door wouldn’t open if he didn’t.
A second later, it did open, and a Rubenesque person in a bulky sweater stood in its place. Grant filtered through the intel Rory had given him. This must be the roommate, Shannon. Rory had added the description: “So cute, like totally my type” and instructed Grant to ask if he was single.
“Hi,” Grant said. “I’m Gr—”
“Holy shit,” Shannon said. “No introduction needed.”
“You’re Shannon?” Grant asked.
“You know my name?” Shannon’s eyes and mouth turned into three Os.
“Yes. May I come in?”
“Jim isn’t here. But you can wait if you want.”
“Thank you.” Grant stepped in. Shannon closed the door and gestured him over to an ancient couch. The blue fabric was faded gray, and something crunched when Grant sat down. He winced, grateful that he’d opted to make the trip “incognito” in jeans he didn’t care about. He held the gift bag on his lap. “Do you expect him soon?”
“Yeah.” Shannon sat on the other end of the couch and stared at him.
“Do you have anything to drink?”
“Is water okay? Or we have soda.”
“Soda’s fine.”
“Right.” Shannon leaped up. Grant had found that giving someone a task could alleviate awkwardness. The kitchen was half the size of Grant’s smallest closet. If he stretched, he could reach the refrigerator from his seat. Watching Shannon move in the tiny space, he remembered Bea had told him he should ask for pronouns upon meeting a new person. This was back when she was hanging out with a crowd of which neither he nor Melanie knew what to think. They were all weird in different ways. Shannon brought back a bottled Coke. Rory had used a masculine pronoun, but Grant figured he’d rather ask than put his foot in his mouth.
“Thank you,” Grant said. “So, my daughter has told me that young people ask for pronouns these days. Which do you use?”
“He and him,” Shannon said. He looked at Grant with expectation that left Grant at a loss. “Now you tell me yours,” Shannon prompted.
“Oh. Er, he and him, as well, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” Shannon grinned.
Grant recovered from his fluster. Thank God he’d asked. He hated offending someone unintentionally. “So, is Mr. Sieber home?” He realized after he spoke that he’d already been told the answer.
“He’ll be back any minute. If he wants to talk to you.”
“He told you?”
Shannon stuck his chin out. “I know everything.” He softened upon seeing Grant cringe. “But I guess if you walked those fancy shoes up our vomit-stained stairs, you’re here to make things better? Or are you here to threaten him? Because if you are, you’ll have to go through me.�
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“No threats. I promise.” Grant unscrewed his soda cap. “You and Mr. Sieber must be close.” He wondered if he’d been stupid to bring the gift. He hoped Mr. Sieber would see it as an addendum to his apology, not a replacement for it.
For a moment, Shannon’s face lit with pride. “Jim won’t let anything come between us. Not since—” He looked away.
Grant replayed Mr. Sieber’s sobs. Now he guessed his distress was related to Shannon. “I’m sorry,” Grant said again. Funny, he’d come to apologize to Mr. Sieber, but it seemed his regrets could also be aimed at Shannon’s ears.
Shannon’s mouth twisted. “So, what’s it like being filthy rich?”
Grant blinked. He was about to offer a pat answer, but then he decided he’d appreciate a change in subject too. “Amazing. I recommend it to everyone.”
Shannon laughed. The sound was similar to a donkey’s bray. At banging coming from the landing, he sat up. “Jim makes a lot of noise when he comes home, so I’ll know it’s him.”
Grant didn’t think it was his business to ask why Jim needed to do this, but he didn’t have the chance anyway. The door opened, and Mr. Sieber came in. When he saw Grant, the smile that was obviously meant for Shannon fell off his face with the speed and severity of a melted icicle breaking free of a ledge. Grant’s instinctive delight at seeing him shivered to a halt as well.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to apologize for my behavior,” Grant said. He set the gift bag aside and stepped forward to extend his hand. “Please forgive me.”
JIM STARED at Jessup’s hand. He never expected to see Jessup in his home. What had Jessup made of the stairs?
Jessup continued, “I violated your boundaries. It wasn’t intentional, but I take full responsibility, and I assure you it won’t happen again.”
“Shannon, could you excuse us?” Jim asked, snapping out of his shock.
Shannon settled on the couch. “Are you kidding? I’m about to make popcorn.”
“We can talk in my room.” Jim walked the few steps without looking to see if Jessup would follow. He did and closed the door behind him. Jim pulled the cover over his bed and kicked yesterday’s T-shirt and underwear beneath it. Jessup looked like he was trying not to notice the mess. He held out a pastel green gift bag.
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