by Todd Young
He lay on his stomach and led the sun brown his back. After ten or fifteen minutes, he became aware of a car pulling up in the lot beyond the fence, a white Volvo—the same model as Rafe’s. Then he realized it was Rafe. And not alone. He was with Mike.
Jack nestled his head between his arms. He didn’t want to see either of them, but after a few minutes had passed, became aware of them laying out their towels on the grass not far from him.
He turned his head the other way.
“I don’t know what that meant,” Mike muttered.
“It meant she’d be over later today, but if she couldn’t come, then tomorrow.”
“What do you think’s wrong with your car?”
“The alternator.”
Rafe remained silent.
“I really need to see her today. Could you drive me over there?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh, come on, Rafe.”
“No, you need to get clean. You’ve been hysterical. Do you even know what you said to the police?”
“I said you killed her. I really thought you had.”
“Have I proven it to you now, how I couldn’t have?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you need to change your statement, then. We need to do that today.”
Silence. Silence for a minute or so.
And then: “Is that Jack?”
“Where?”
“There.”
Jack tensed.
“Jack!”
He lifted his head. The day seemed incredibly bright. He winced, and then focused on Rafe, who was walking toward him dressed in a pair of white speedos. Mike was behind him, standing by their gear with his arms folded. He was dressed in a pair of yellow board shorts, a silver chain around his neck.
“Oh, it is you,” Rafe said. “Funny meeting you here.”
Jack had sat up. He nodded his head.
“Sorry if I was rude yesterday. It’s just that …” His eyes travelled up and down the length of Jack’s body coming to rest on his cock. Then he jolted. “You probably want to be alone.”
He turned and walked back to Mike.
“Come on. Let’s get in,” Mike said.
What was with that? Jack wondered. It was like the two of them were lovers now when Mike had been so adamant. He lay on his stomach again and watched them from beneath his arm.
Mike reached the edge and then dove in, trotting a few feet before he jumped. After some cajoling, Rafe got in, though he did it gracefully, simply stepping off the edge.
Jack watched them for a few minutes. After Mike had splashed water at Rafe and ducked him a few times, they swam slowly to the shallow end, and then stood facing the edge of the pool, with their arms on the concrete and their heads turned.
Jack decided he was too hot now. He got up, dove into the deep end, and began swimming laps. Rafe and Mike didn’t move. They simply stood there talking, and though he wanted to, it felt like such a private party that Jack didn’t interrupt them.
Then they were getting out and gathering their things.
“… the police station …” Jack heard from Rafe as they passed.
He waited a minute or so, but then couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing Rafe again. He collected his towel and pack and walked off to the change room.
Rafe and Mike were in the showers, Mike naked and wringing out his board shorts.
Mike lifted his head as Jack walked through the doors. He scowled at him, but then, as Jack turned from the bench, got out of the shower.
Jack stepped in beside Rafe, who’d had his back turned all this time, but who now turned to see Jack.
“Oh, Jack.” He grinned, and then pulled his speedos down, which was what he’d been about to do, Jack figured, though it seemed odd after the grin.
Jack glanced at his cock and balls, at his smooth, shaven skin, and felt his cock distending. It occurred to him that he didn’t have Rafe’s phone number, and that Rafe didn’t have his, and that this might be the last time they met. He was about to say something when Mike called out, “Hurry up!”
Rafe turned his shower off and walked away, his perfect squodge of a bottom on display, his hairless, pale skin.
Jack slipped his speedos down and watched, pretending disinterest, as Rafe and Mike dressed. They lifted their heads and he turned away, letting the water rain over his head. When he turned back again, they were leaving. Rafe threw a last, yearning glance at Jack’s cock, and then they were gone.
22
When Jack got home the kitchen door was standing open. He figured Carol and Em were not far away. Then he noticed the lock was broken. He stalked into his living room. The cushions had been tossed off the couch. A broken glass lay on the carpet. Then he realized that his iPod and iPod dock were missing. He turned, saw that the television was gone, the DVD player too.
“Shit!” he said.
In his bedroom the mattress was sitting askew. His clothes had been tossed out of the wardrobe. Upended drawers littered the carpet. The alarm clock was missing. Then he thought of his wallet, his watch and his phone. But he’d had all three at the pool, hadn’t he? He checked his pack. His wallet and phone were nestled in the small pouch at the front and he was wearing his watch.
He wandered back to the kitchen and glanced into Carol’s living room. It was a similar mess.
“Fuck!” he said. She wasn’t going to be happy, and somehow he felt that it was his fault. He hadn’t done anything to … he began, but then he thought of Aaron. Could Aaron have done this, perhaps with some help? It seemed likely, and was perhaps the most likely explanation.
He turned toward the kitchen door and inspected the lock. Then it occurred to him that he’d have to call the police. He dialed directory assistance and asked to be connected.
The police arrived about half an hour later. Two junior officers in their twenties, Wendell and Keating. On the phone, he’d been told to wait outside, and he imagined them fingerprinting the place once they arrived. But they didn’t seem interested in this so much as in the idea that there might still be someone in the apartment.
They approached the door with guns drawn and waved Jack down when he tried to protest. They entered. He sat on in the courtyard, and eventually they emerged again.
“What a mess!” Keating said.
Jack nodded.
“You have any idea what happened?”
Jack shook his head. It occurred to him to mention Aaron, but he didn’t want to do that. They led him back inside and through every room, even Carol’s bedroom, which he’d never entered before. They wanted him to tell them what was missing, and note down every item, along with serial numbers and a precise description in case any of it emerged in local pawn shops, which was likely, they said. He told them about his own stuff, but had no idea about Carol’s. He’d only stepped into her living room on three or four occasions and had no idea what she had had.
An hour or so passed. Then they were standing in the kitchen again.
“We need your name, and the name of your friend.”
“Jack Thomas,” he said.
Wendell smirked. “Not the guy who set himself up as a P.I.?”
Jack hesitated, but then nodded.
“You’re not going to investigate this yourself?” Keating asked.
Jack shook his head. He gave them Carol’s name, and then they left.
He tidied up a little in the kitchen, in his living room and bedroom, and then took a seat on the couch. An odd, hound’s tooth pattern attracted his attention in the carpet. A parallelogram of sunlight had fallen over it, and it seemed not so much gray now as green. Was this a green carpet? he wondered. That had never occurred to him before. And how old was it? Twenty or thirty years.
The kitchen door opened.
“… and no popcorn! You think they’d still sell popcorn!” Carol said.
“They do.”
“We didn’t have any.”
“No. We had ice cream.”
Em paused. Then Jack heard, “What the fuck? Jack!”
He got up.
“We’ve been robbed?” she said.
He nodded. And then told them all he could. Em walked into her living room, bedroom and bathroom followed by Carol. Fifteen minutes later they emerged again.
“This is your fault, Jack.”
“My fault?”
“That young man you had here. He’s a drug addict.”
“Low-down scum!” Carol said.
23
Jack retired to his bedroom and tried to sleep. After half an hour or so he drifted off. He woke to the smell of roasted lamb and made his way out to the kitchen.
“Carol’s specialty,” Em said.
He nodded, didn’t know if he was being offered any, but after he’d found himself a beer, Carol pulled three plates from the cupboard. He took a shower and figured on getting an early night, but once he was in bed, found he couldn’t sleep. He’d slept too much this afternoon.
He put his hands behind his head and lay thinking for a long time. Then he got up quietly and dressed. He collected his wallet, phone and keys and walked out to his car, which was bathed in the light of a three-quarter moon.
The drive out to Wendchester was familiar to him now. Three turns onto the highway, and then a long, straight stretch before he turned off again. He expected to find Rafe at home, alone, but Mike’s car was parked in the driveway. Rafe had said something today about it having mechanical problems, a problem with the alternator, so perhaps Mike wasn’t here. If he was, then would Jack see anything of interest? Would Rafe be likely to do anything sexy, the sort of thing he did on his own? Perhaps not, but tonight Jack had remembered to bring a pair of binoculars.
A light was on at the side of the house, and another at the back. Jack could see this much from the road. He walked through the gate, and kept his eyes on the house as he trotted down the left-hand side, heading for the backyard.
Rafe wasn’t in the kitchen or the family room. Jack waited for minutes before stepping onto the veranda. Then he quietly trod his way along the side of the house to the light, which was spilling from the living room onto the wooden boards of the veranda, not merely electric light, but the flickering colored light of a television.
The French window was open. A movie was playing. Jack kept close to the house, but then, as he neared the window, realized he would be too close. He could hardly duck around it without the glare of the glass to shield his face. He needed to be in the garden, beside the mango tree.
He walked quietly around the back of the house, rolling on the sides of his feet, made his way down the stairs, and then skirted the veranda railing until he reached the tree.
The first thing he saw was Mike’s head, which was as round and clean as a football, his spiked hair accentuating its shape. Jack took a few paces forward and Rafe came into view. They were sitting side-by-side one another on the couch, but had a wide side-table pulled up in front of them. All that Jack could see from this angle was their chests and faces. He needed to get into the tree.
He stepped back, put his foot against the trunk, and then pulled himself into the crook of the tree. He was startlingly aware of his breath and the scrapings and rustlings he made, but neither Rafe nor Mike turned in his direction.
He made himself comfortable. He reached for the binoculars. They were cool to the touch. He lifted them to his eyes and focused on the room. The first thing he saw was the television screen. River Phoenix. My Own Private Idaho. It seemed an odd thing for Mike to be watching, but perhaps Rafe had it on DVD, which seemed the most likely explanation.
Next, he found Mike’s face. Mike was smoking a cigarette. Jack moved a little to the right and focused on Rafe. His eyes were fixed on the television, but after a moment or so, he glanced askance at Mike, seemingly longingly, with a series of looks directed at his head and chest and groin.
A few moments passed, and then Mike put his cigarette out.
Rafe leaned forward. “Have another one,” he said to Mike, but his words were barely distinguishable.
Mike smiled.
Jack thought Rafe meant another cigarette, but as Mike moved forward, Jack focused on some white powder, strewn across the side-table they had set in front of them. A straw. A razor blade.
Mike looked out of it.
Rafe shuffled forward, gripped the razor blade, and drew Mike a line of Cocaine? Jack guessed it was cocaine. Aaron had been looking for coke.
Rafe put his hand on Mike’s back and pushed him gently forward. Mike leaned down, picked up the straw, and blocked one nostril. He drew heavily on it, and as he did, Rafe caressed his hairline and neck.
Oh, well, Jack thought. Rafe was getting Mike out of it so he could touch him, or it seemed that way. He didn’t look high himself.
Mike lifted his head. He dropped the straw and leaned back.
“Who’s going to do it?” Rafe said.
“Jennifer.”
“She wants to?”
“She said she will, but she needs some funds.”
“What happened to Sissy’s money?”
“Perhaps she has it with her.” Mike glanced at the table again.
“Go on,” Rafe said. “Have another one.”
Mike nodded.
Rafe drew another line of coke and Mike leaned forward. Again, as he inhaled, Rafe caressed his hairline and neck. Mike flopped backwards. He put his hands behind his head, and then shook his head from side-to-side rather rapidly. He closed his eyes, but a moment later, opened them again.
“You high?”
He nodded.
“You up for it?”
“Sure I am.” He glanced at his groin, then glanced at the television again.
It was a signal of sorts, Jack figured.
Rafe moved rather quickly. He reached for Mike’s genitals and gripped them through the fabric of his shorts with his right hand.
Jack zeroed in on what was happening. Rafe kneaded Mike for a minute or so, and beneath the shorts, a pair of red, basketball shorts, Mike responded. His cock distended until it was erect.
Rafe plucked at his waistband. He did it once, twice, three times, said, “Come on!” and Mike lifted his hips. He drew his shorts down to his thighs in one fluid movement. And then he was sitting there in a pair of tighty-whities.
Rafe searched for his cock, pulled it out of the fly, and then began jacking him off, pulling slowly and surely and with his head on Mike’s shoulder. A minute or so passed, and then Mike came. A rope of cum jerked out of his cock and threaded itself across the back of Rafe’s hand. Rafe wiped it onto Mike’s thigh and then sat up straight.
He reached for his own cock with both hands and jiggled a little. He gripped everything hard, pressed down, and then, judging by the expression on his face, came in his shorts.
24
The two boys slept together. Jack ended up climbing the tree, watched the two of them get into bed side-by-side, but finally went home. He had ascertained that Rafe wasn’t doing any coke, which had been his main fear.
In the morning, though, he figured he’d simply go out to Rafe’s and talk to him. It was early, around six thirty a.m. when he fixed himself some cornflakes. He made some coffee, careful to keep quiet, and then dressed in red underpants, a pair of short, white nylon shorts, and a red T-shirt.
The drive out to Rafe’s was a pleasure. He passed three cars on the highway, but that was it. He turned into Sebring Lane, and without thinking about it, passed Rafe’s house headed for the tree he was so used to parking under. He had to turn around on the grassy patch by the bridge and come back again. He parked behind Mike’s car and rang the bell. It was just after seven, but he didn’t much care if he woke Rafe. He needed to drum some sense into that young man’s head. If he got into coke, then Jack didn’t know how to help him.
The bell was answered ten minutes later by Rafe, shirtless, in a pair of white cotton briefs. He was barefoot, naked but for the briefs, beneath which his cock was a little diste
nded.
“Jack!”
“Hi, Rafe.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to … speak to you.”
Rafe nodded, glanced at Jack’s shorts, at his groin and thighs, and sucked back a breath. He stared for a moment, presumably at Jack’s briefs, which were visible through the fabric of his shorts.
“You want a coffee?”
“That’d be great.”
Rafe turned, walked down the hall and into the kitchen. He motioned at the table, expecting Jack to take a seat, but Jack followed Rafe into the kitchen.
“You want something else, a pop tart or something?”
“No.”
He reached for Rafe’s hand.
“Rafe.”
“What?”
“I just want to …” He gathered him into his arms and held him protectively. “I just want to tell you … shit, it doesn’t matter.”
He let the boy go. Rafe stumbled backward a few steps and stared up at him. He reached for his cock and plucked at it. He was hard now, but embarrassed, and Jack was hard as well.
Rafe cleared his throat. He turned and began making the coffee.
A few minutes passed in silence.
“I’ve been thinking about Sissy,” Rafe finally said, “about what I told you.” He hesitated. “None of that is true.”
“None of what?”
“I didn’t,” He glanced at the door, “kill her.”
“Come on, Rafe. I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“You’re not going to … Mike’s upstairs.”
“I’m not going to say anything.”
“No?”
“No.”
“So you don’t care?”
“You made a mistake, Rafe.”
“A mistake? You think that was a mistake?”
“Of course it was a mistake. You didn’t mean to kill her.”
“I didn’t …”
Jack nodded.
The boy sighed.
Jack moved forward again and gathered him into his arms. He held him tight. “Come on, now,” he said, “there’s no need to get upset about it. It was an accident.”