Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2

by Romance, Smartypants

  “Oh, boy,” I muttered.

  “And, get this! On the weekends, he’s a clown!”

  Aaaannnnd, there it was.

  “A clown. Seriously? You think I should date a clown?” My friends were now actively trying to set me up with circus people. This might have been an all-time low.

  I saw a nearby guard, Damon, flash a grin at my words. I decided to take the elevator. As I waited for the door to open, Ern continued.

  “Yes! He’s got a trunk full of costumes and magic trick stuff. He does balloon animals…” he sing-songed, cajoling—as if the ability to shape dogs out of balloons was peak bangability.

  “Oh, my!” I said, sarcasm dripping from my lips. “Balloon animals? Why, it’s more than I ever dreamed.”

  “Oh. Excuuuse me,” Ernesto drawled, offended. “Sorry I didn’t read the rule that said mimes were fine, but clowns weren’t.”

  “It was one mime, one time!” I defended. And because I knew Damon was listening, I added for shock value, “Turned out, he was a screamer. Who woulda thought?”

  Damon coughed.

  The doors to the elevator opened, but before Wally and I stepped in, I covered my mouthpiece and playfully admonished the guard, “You get more than you bargain for when you eavesdrop on me.”

  The doors closed and I turned my focus back to Ern, who was still making his case.

  “Also, did you, or did you not tell me that in college you let a fire-eater blow you?” he demanded.

  I combed my hair with my hand and let out a sigh. Ernesto only meant well. He didn’t know I was on a penis hiatus, and I wasn’t about to go into it with him, either. He’d only accuse me of being melodramatic and redouble his efforts to find me a man. It was best if I simply thanked him and gave a reasonable excuse for not meeting Bozo.

  “Yes, Ern, that’s all true,” I agreed. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I just got back from Germany and I’m wrecked. I’m dog-sitting for Dan so I’m really not down to clown this weekend, alright?”

  “That’s fine. But I want you to come out with us soon. Whether Scooter is there or not.”

  “His clown name is Scooter, huh?” I asked, imagining a guy in full clown regalia, cruising up, honking the horn of a brightly colored Vespa.

  “No, Scooter is his real name,” Ernesto replied. “His clown name is Charlie.”

  I shook my head, exasperated. “Okay, we’re done. Talk to you later.”

  Before I clicked off, I heard Ern yell, “Tell Wally I love him!”

  When I entered the apartment, I dropped the mail and keys onto the side table and asked the dog, “How do you do it? All the boys are falling over themselves to get a little tail wiggle from you.”

  Wally kept silent.

  “Oh, secrets. I get it.”

  I unfastened his leash and he trotted over to make himself comfortable on my brand-spanking-new, spacious, gray area rug. I cringed. There was a reason I usually watched Wally in Dan’s apartment. Wally was certainly a good boy, housetrained as well as a dog could be, but I didn’t love fur and dog smell on my furniture and accessories.

  But Ken was coming over for dinner and I couldn’t host him in Dan’s place, so I decided to allow Wally to make himself at home all over my beautiful rug.

  “You just keep your paws off the couch, mister. Got it?” I warned.

  Checking the time, I decided to place our dinner order and jump in the shower.

  I was strangely nervous about Ken coming over, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with him, necessarily. I’d felt off all week. Getting that ominous message from King, then having to focus on meetings and proposals had resulted in little sleep. When Dan asked if I’d watch Wally, I nearly refused, remembering Ken and I were supposed to listen to jazz. But the thought of going out felt exhausting, so I agreed to dog-sit, thinking I’d beg off and see Ken another day.

  But simply talking with him on the phone reminded me of why I wanted to hang out. I regretted that I was going to cancel, so I impulsively invited him here.

  The food arrived before Ken and I eyeballed the array. I’d gone a little overboard, worrying about what he’d like to eat. I made the assumption beef was okay, since he’d eaten a burger at the sports bar last week, but I wanted to make sure he had a selection, so I ordered six dishes. Broccoli beef, sweet and sour pork, shrimp chow mein, General Tso chicken, orange chicken, and something called Vegetarian Paradise. All the bases were covered. I surmised that if he couldn’t find something he liked, then he just didn’t like Chinese food.

  When he arrived, I opened the door to find him looking very handsome and dapper. His blond hair, which was longer on the top, usually had some unruly waves that looked haphazard and adorable. Tonight, those curls were subdued with product. I suspected they wouldn’t stay put for long, but it was clear Ken was going for a tidy look. It was equally adorable.

  He was also wearing a tie and blazer. His blue shirt matched his eyes, making them glow. The effect was startling. His attire seemed an odd choice for hanging out in my apartment and eating out of cardboard boxes, but I couldn’t deny that he looked great. No one hated eye-candy and I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “Well, good evening, McPretty MD,” I said happily, moving aside to let him in.

  “MST3K,” he greeted, smiling widely.

  “Did you just come from a modelling convention? Because you look dashing as hell.” I wanted to acknowledge his efforts. It was hard not to remark on his epic levels of handsome, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by lacing words with sexual innuendo. I was trying very hard to keep it neutral. I had no idea at this point if he could take any teasing flirtation from another man without being uncomfortable.

  Ken’s wide smile turned sheepish—more adorableness—and he said, “Thanks, you look good, too.” He lifted a bottle of wine. “I brought this. I didn’t know if you liked wine, but it seemed like a good choice to go with dinner.”

  It was a good choice, as it was a Chenin blanc, and would pair nicely with most of the dishes I ordered.

  “I do like wine, thank you. I bought beer just in case you were a beer drinker.”

  “I enjoy both,” he said, glancing around the apartment. His eyes took in the art I had displayed, my furniture, and the large windows that showcased a spectacular view of Lake Michigan in the waning sunlight. After a moment, he brought his eyes back to mine. “But I rarely drink. Between years of working long hours, and special occasions being few and far between, I haven’t been a regular drinker since my first couple years of undergrad.” He grinned. “I’m probably a light-weight at this point.”

  “Meanwhile, I could drink you under the table,” I quipped, walking to the kitchen.

  Ken trailed behind me, and I gestured to the many take-out boxes littering the granite countertop. “There’s lots to choose from. I hope you’re hungry.” I reached into the cabinet and grabbed a few plates, determined not to let Dr. Dapper McPretty eat from the box.

  “Steven, you didn’t have to buy dinner—or order so much. I would have gladly bought the food.”

  I waved away his protest and started to open the wine. “I’m the host.”

  “But I asked you out first,” he argued, brows drawn in annoyance.

  “Ken,” I began, my tone serious. “Let’s get real here for a moment. I make a good living. So do you. Neither one of us are trying to get a free meal out of the other, right?” He nodded. “The more we hang out, the money will even out.” At that, he seemed to completely relax. He was back to smiling. I liked his smile. I also kind of perversely liked his hair-trigger annoyance. He was fun.

  “My friend Janie is the same way,” I continued. “And it occasionally sucks the fun out of lunch for me. We’ll be having a great time; good food, pleasant atmosphere, fascinating conversation…then, BAM!” I clapped my hands. “The check arrives, and we have to argue about things. It’s a mood killer. Don’t kill the mood, DKM.”

  He patted my bac
k and said, “I won’t. Thank you for dinner.” He reached for a plate and started to dig through the boxes.

  It was then that Wally let out a loud bark from the spare bedroom, reminding me I needed to set him free. I always locked Wally up when people came in and out of the apartment, as he was excitable.

  Ken’s bent head shot up at the noise. “You are dog-sitting.”

  “Yeah, I told you,” I reminded on my way out of the kitchen. Halfway down the hall, I called out a warning, “He’s going to be excited, watch out!”

  Wally took off out of the bedroom, no doubt as interested in the new person as the smells of the take-out.

  “Oh!” I heard Ken exclaim. He sounded as excited as Wally looked. “Hello there! Aren’t you a good boy?”

  When I entered the kitchen, Ken was bent over Wally, giving him vigorous pats on his flank.

  I began pouring our wine and said, “God, Wally, quit hogging all the men. Leave some for the rest of us, wouldya?”

  Ken laughed and crossed to the sink to wash his hands. “He’s a friendly pup, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is,” I agreed. “But please don’t fall for any begging. He doesn’t get table scraps on my watch.”

  I proceeded to the living room, set my wine and plate on the glass top coffee table, and settled on the couch, ready to give Ken my rule of the house. But when I looked up, his brows were furrowed with concern.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Your couch is really nice. And white. Should we eat here?”

  I was touched—on a soul level. I laid my hand on my heart as if I were overcome by emotion. “Ken, I think we should get married,” I said with faux solemnity. “You get it. I’ve finally found someone who gets it.” I rubbed my hand reverently along the soft material of the sofa. “I trust you to be careful. After all, doctors have steady hands, right? I’ll just keep my eye on your wine intake.” I patted the seat forcefully and ordered, “Come and eat.”

  He stood for a beat, hovering with his plate and glass before joining me.

  “Any ideas what movie you’d like to watch? We could rent anything, or you could choose from what I have already.” With the remote, I accessed my movie library and began scrolling.

  “Wow, that’s a lot. Have you watched them all?”

  “Of course. Most of them several times. I liked them, that’s why I bought them.”

  “You watch movies more than once?”

  “Uh, yeah. Doesn’t everybody?” I asked. But I knew the answer. Ken didn’t. Ken wasn’t like everybody.

  “I don’t,” he replied. “I mean, I’ve seen some movies more than once. When I was a kid, I watched The Wizard of Oz every year. But as an adult, I guess I don’t see the point of revisiting a story I already know the end of. The thrill of a book or movie,” he continued, “is to work up to the climax. It’s nearly impossible to feel the same things the second or third time around. My time would be better spent watching something new and different.”

  I took a sip of my wine and mulled over his words, thinking about why I watched my favorite movies time and time again. I decided that Ken was both right and wrong. “I agree that watching a film or reading a book for the second time won’t produce the same emotion and anticipation it did initially,” I said, nodding. “But, for me, I’ve found new things to love and enjoy about them the second or third time. Jokes I’ve missed, clues I hadn’t realized were important before—or just enjoying the nuances of a great performance that I only cursorily noticed, rather than savored or appreciated the first time around. Second and third views, especially with films that completely blow your mind, can reveal some surprising layers.”

  Ken took a drink then nodded thoughtfully. “I guess I can see that. Maybe I’ve just never had my mind blown or finished a movie thinking I missed an aspect or didn’t get to appreciate all that it had to offer.” He twisted his torso toward me, setting his wine on the tabletop. “What movies have you loved that made you come back for more?”

  “That’s a hard question, because so many have.”

  “Off the top of your head,” he prompted.

  “Well, I do really like movies that are thought-provoking or confusing. Those are mostly dramas or thrillers, but I do have a soft spot for comedy. I guess the first few that come to mind are Memento, Pi, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and um,” I struggled to think of one that wasn’t so weird. “And maybe The Red Violin. Those were all great.”

  Ken’s face broke out into a smile and he said, “I’ve seen Memento! Yeah, that was confusing. I’d agree that a second watch would not only be useful, but maybe even necessary.”

  I laughed, inordinately happy that he’d agreed with me. “Exactly right! I’ve seen it a few times and I’m not totally convinced I know what the hell happened.”

  Ken held out his hand for the remote and asked, “Do you mind if I look through the movies?”

  “Not at all,” I assured him, handing it over. “Pick anything that you want. I’m easy.”

  While he searched, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Dan to let him know Wally and I were at my place. He responded almost immediately.

  DAN: Thanks, I’ll be back soon. I’m in the data center with Alex and Quinn. Q’s bitching in my ear about archival capacity.

  I shook my head at my phone. If Quinn was raising a fuss about the surveillance parameters, I knew my next task was going to be figuring out how much it was going to cost to make an upgrade. He’d archive the data for an eternity if he could.

  “How about this?” Ken asked, pulling my attention from the phone.

  “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Excellent.”

  We started the movie and dug into our dinner. Early on, Ken shed his jacket and tie, and when he finished eating, he leaned back and draped his arm over the backrest. His position prevented me from leaning back without some awkwardness, so even after I’d finished my food, I continued to watch the movie with my upper body pitched forward, forearms on my knees. I didn’t mind too much, though. A glance at Ken’s relaxed posture gave me a sense of accomplishment. I loved that he was at ease with me.

  About midway through the movie, there was a knock at the door. Wally bounded up from his spot on the rug and started wagging his tail. I paused the movie and said, “That’s likely Dan.” I stood up, grabbed Wally’s leash and answered the door.

  Dan stood at the threshold, a tired smile on his face. “Thanks again. Sorry it took so long. I finally had to say, ‘Look, this is Chachi’s problem, not mine. I’m going to bed.’” Chachi was the nickname Dan used for Alex when he was particularly irritated. I had no idea why he called him that, but he used it with regularity.

  Dan, thankfully, didn’t appear eager to stay for any longer than it took to fetch Wally. I was prepared to put him off if he had, though, because I didn’t relish Ken and Dan recognizing each other. Dan had been Elizabeth’s shadow in the hospital when the attack occurred. No doubt both of them had some opinions about the other. Not only did I want to avoid Ken disparaging Dan, I really didn’t want to give Dan any further ammo for “busting my balls.”

  When I returned to the living room, Ken was standing next to a shelf, examining the trio of framed pictures I had of my sister and her family.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me and asked, “Sister?” He had obviously deduced our relationship easily, as Sophie and I looked eerily alike.

  “Yes, that’s my sister Sophie, her husband Tom Thumb, and their girls Amalia and Ophelia.”

  “Tom Thumb?” he asked.

  “His name is Thomas,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “But he’s short, like really short, and a total asshole to boot, so I call him Tom Thumb.” I didn’t like Thomas, and I was pretty sure he hated me.

  Ken fully faced me and asked, worry lacing his tone, “Is he mean to your sister? Your nieces?”

  “No, no,” I assured him. “He’s kind to them, from what I can tell. He just doesn’t like me.”

  �
�That sounds like it could make the holidays rough. Why doesn’t he like you?” He flashed me a meaningful grin. “How could he not love a delight such as yourself?”

  I laughed, remembering when I told Ken I was a delight. “I know, right?!” I sobered a bit and replied, “If you ask my sister, the reason is because I’m too outspoken and I get on his nerves.”

  Ken tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “But what do you think?”

  I paused, a little reluctant to continue. Thomas wasn’t a sore spot, necessarily. But his dislike of me was rooted in his intolerance for my obvious homosexuality. Sophie wasn’t much help in that respect, preferring to mimic our dad’s advice that if I were just a little less conspicuous about it, people like Thomas wouldn’t dislike me so much. Whenever I was bullied in school Dad made a point to not give me any sympathy about it, saying I brought it on myself—that if I was smarter, I’d know how to keep these things from happening to me. I’m sure my dad and sister thought they were supportive and had my best interest at heart, but Thomas was a reminder that they thought I needed to be different to keep others from actively hating me.

  The result? I didn’t lay my problems out for other people. I kept them to myself. I didn’t want well-meaning, shitty advice, didn’t want anyone knowing I had problems, or to hope for help when no one really cared. Which is why Ken and I had a stare-down before I finally capitulated.

  “I think if I were straight, he wouldn’t mind my outspokenness.”

  He frowned. “That’s…really fucked up. I’m sorry you have to deal with him.”

  I shrugged. “He’s not important, it’s fine. I don’t see him much and when I do, the worst of it is that he either ignores me or gets a few passive-aggressive digs in.”

  Ken looked angry on my behalf, and it felt…nice. Unnecessary, and slightly uncomfortable, but nice. I didn’t want to talk about me, or Thomas, so I suggested we take an intermission.

  “Do you want to grab seconds? There’s so much food.”

  “No thanks,” he answered, stretching his arms to the ceiling. “I will have another glass of wine, though, if you don’t mind.”