Raising the Bar

by Leigh Dillon

  “Heya!”

  Destin turned his head at the sound of Tonio’s greeting, but before he could respond, the edge of the bed dipped perilously. Destin threw his hands out, convinced he was about to roll off the mattress, and rammed his fingertips into Tonio’s hip.

  “Ow,” Tonio said, but the poke didn’t stop him from finishing what he’d started, which was kissing Destin. Destin tried to shift gears and wrap his arms around Tonio, but Tonio slipped down and fastened his lips around Destin’s right nipple.

  “Mmm.” Tonio disengaged with an audible smack. “You have the most gorgeous nips I’ve ever played with. Pink and juicy.” He moved, and suddenly his face was back in Destin’s. “You should grow your hair out longer,” he announced, plowing his fingers through Destin’s sleep-scrambled locks. He delivered one last, emphatic peck to Destin’s forehead, climbed off the bed, and launched into a full-voiced rendition of “America the Beautiful.” After a couple of verses, he broke off, grinning.

  “Amber waves. You’ve got ’em. All I got was the Italian poodle pelt.” He rubbed his head of tight, black curls.

  “I like your poodle pelt.” Destin pushed himself up into a sitting position. “I like all of you.”

  Tonio laughed and stretched. “Yeah, I noticed. I don’t think you missed a single spot last night.”

  “So,” Destin said, pushing aside the eager little throb between his legs that whispered, More, more. “What are your plans for today?”

  “Eh, more of the same.” Tonio covered his T-shirt with a fleece pullover and picked up a pair of jeans. Destin watched with genuine regret as the heavy denim engulfed the fulsome bulge pushing out the fly of Tonio’s skintight boxer briefs. “And you?”

  “Likewise.” Destin sat up and followed Tonio’s progress around the room as he gathered his gear. “I thought, tonight, maybe I’d make a fire in that big fireplace, and we could have coffee and kick back a little.”

  Tonio looked up from messing with the straps of his riding helmet and smiled. “How ’bout I bring over some chicken and fixins and make us some dinner? The kitchen’s right there.”

  Destin pinched himself under the sheet to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming. “Yes. That sounds wonderful.”

  “Fine. I hope you like lemon pepper, ’cause that’s what I’ve got.” Tonio tugged his puffy vest over the fleece he already had on and wedged his safety vest under his arm.

  “Good luck,” Destin said as Tonio reached for the doorknob.

  Tonio paused. “Yeah. Thanks. I’m gonna need it.” He gave a crisp nod and stepped out the door.

  Destin’s clothes still lay where he’d shucked them. He pulled on the breeches and shirt and carried the rest with him back to the house. He ditched the underwear in the laundry room, shaved and freshened up in his own bathroom, and came down again to the leaden reality of another day in the office.

  “Hey, it’s Anderson Shavings. I know you’re on top of it, but the invoice for September is about to go overdue.”

  The voices spooled from the answering machine, an unending litany of polite accusation. Overlooked by the photographic images of generations of winning horses and their trophies, Destin gritted his teeth and listened to the sound of Bellmeade crumbling.

  “Bill Hendry. Just a reminder about that shoeing bill from last month….”

  “Look, dude, if you don’t pay for August’s shavings disposal, we aren’t picking up this month. Our trucks don’t run for free.”

  “Hi, Des, it’s Aunt Amanda. Don’t forget about your uncle’s sixtieth birthday party Saturday. You don’t have to bring a present, but we’d sure like to see you. Your cousin Jenn is bringing a very pretty friend of hers from college. I think you two have a lot in common—”

  Destin savagely pressed the Skip button, cutting off the rest of Aunt Amanda’s matchmaking plans. The remainder of the messages were charity pitches, friends annoyed at getting voicemail, and a few robocalls. Destin wiped the recording chip, made a mental note to actually pay the shavings disposal people this month instead of pushing them to the bottom of the list, and turned on his computer.

  He was frowning at the screen, trying to make sense of a question about either boarding a mare at Bellmeade or buying a breeding, when the purr of Al’s Lexus reached his ears. Not the best timing, but at least it gave Destin a chance to get something off his chest.

  Al came in looking rosy and windblown, a sure sign he’d been riding. That and the fact that he had on his second-best riding boots today, not the ones he wore for company.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” he boomed as he walked through the door. “Any progress yet?”

  “No, not really.” Destin closed the screen he was staring at and turned to face Al. “There’s something I need to tell you about, though. Something about Tonio. Tonio and me.”

  Al’s expression didn’t change. He stood there, one hand on his coat zipper, a friendly half smile on his lips, for what seemed a half hour. Then, to Destin’s shock, he grinned.

  “Are you telling me you two hit it off?” he asked.

  “I… you…” Destin dry-swallowed and tried again. “You knew?”

  “Yep, since about tenth grade.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Destin was glad he hadn’t stood up to greet his friend. Even sitting, his knees felt rubbery.

  “Well, it seemed to be a big secret, and we didn’t want to cause trouble between you and your dad, so we just played along.”

  “And now that Dad’s gone you decided to play matchmaker? Seriously?”

  Al laughed. “I didn’t plan that. I kind of wondered, though.” He sobered and sat down in the chair in front of the desk. “Speaking of wondering, did any of those financial tips I tossed your way pan out?”

  Destin sighed and brought the spreadsheet back up on the screen. As he did, hoofbeats pounded past the wall, and Destin, with the resigned calm of the parent of a delinquent child, looked up to see Sam flash past the window, riderless, tail held high. At least he wasn’t headed for the gates this time, so Destin let him go. Sam was Tonio’s problem today. The bills were Destin’s, and as the rumble of galloping hooves and the frantic voices of human pursuers faded into the distance, Destin and Al leaned their heads together over the farm’s business account.

  By the time Al left, Destin’s head had begun to buzz. He wasn’t exactly on the red line of bankruptcy, but the balance he had inherited had sunk by more than half over the past two months. This was unsustainable. There were maybe four more months’ worth of funds, and then there would have to be an infusion of cash from somewhere. Destin thought of the Maserati, its exorbitant price tag just a pebble in the mountain of farm expenses. Maybe if he had ten of them to sell it might make a dent, but one was nothing. Dad’s bank balance was good for maybe another month or two, now that Destin had done the paperwork and taken over that account. Tonio’s idea about boarding looked more and more tempting, but still, without Sam and sponsor money….

  There’s my trust fund.

  Destin’s stomach clenched. The trust fund was his money. The trust fund made it possible for him to live in Boston on an assistant professor’s salary, and now that he’d resigned from Boston College, if he needed his old job back, his trust fund might be all he had to live on for quite some time. All-or-nothing Tonio would throw something like that trust fund on the woodpile without a second thought, but Destin wasn’t Tonio. He couldn’t roll the dice like that and then walk merrily away from the smoldering rubble when everything went to hell. He envied Tonio his bravery, but he couldn’t see giving up his one and only security blanket.

  This sucks. Everything sucks.

  Tonio sucked, and boy, was he good at it. Everything Destin had suspected about Tonio’s hands went double for his tongue, and—

  Stop it! Destin plowed his hands through his hair, knocking his reading glasses askew. He plucked them off and dropped them on the desk blotter. The computer screen looked all blurry without them, but Destin didn’t want t
o see the damned screen anymore. Everything he looked at was a wall, and the walls were closing in around him, tighter and tighter.

  I’m going to lose the farm. Nothing is working, and I’m going to have to sell it.

  Tonio’s voice spoke in his head, sharp, a little snide, and eminently logical. “You could be making money off those empty stalls. You’re not doing shit to capitalize on your financial opportunities.”

  The clopping of hooves in the barn aisle and the sound of a horse blowing dragged Destin out of his sour musings. He rolled the chair back and walked to the office doorway, moving slowly, his body unexpectedly stiff with tension and misery.

  “You caught him, I see,” he said, as Tonio led Sam toward the wash rack.

  Tonio stopped. “Aw, he wasn’t really trying to run off,” he replied. “He just wanted everybody to know he could.”

  “What am I going to do with him?” Destin rubbed his forehead.

  “Hey, I’m working on it.”

  Did he really think it would be this easy? Apparently he did. And what would happen if and when he failed?

  “Why so grim?” Tonio asked.

  “Probably because I’m feeling pretty grim right now.”

  “Uh-oh. Bad news?”

  “Just the usual.” Destin shook his head. “If Sam doesn’t jump, this farm is going down the toilet. Not today, not tomorrow, but next year, if something doesn’t change, it’s going on the auction block.”

  “Hey, I’m trying, okay?” Tonio wrinkled his forehead. “Whatever’s going on with Sam, it’s different than stuff I’ve dealt with before. I know I’ll crack him, but right now I just haven’t figured out what direction I need to come from.”

  “I understand, and I’m not blaming you.” Destin paused, practicality battling with panic. “I know you’re trying. I appreciate what you’re doing more than I can put into words. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about things, and I’m starting to wonder—” He broke off, not sure he could trust his voice to stay calm.

  Tonio’s face tightened, and he pressed his full lips into a razor-thin line. “Hey, I’m still fighting,” he said. “You gonna quit on me?”

  “I don’t want to, but what am I going to do? It’s a mess. It’s all just a huge….” Destin raised his arms and dropped them again.

  “So yeah, you’re giving up.” Tonio released the girth and jerked the saddle off, his disgusted expression deepening.

  “I am not giving up! I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

  Tonio stopped stripping Sam and glared at Destin over the horse’s sweaty back. “Well, you sure as hell aren’t going to listen to me, are you?” he snapped. “I thought I had some pretty good ideas, but I guess Miami answers don’t cut it for Virginia problems, do they?”

  Destin rubbed his eyes. The barn floor felt like it was spinning under his feet. Everything was spinning—out of control.

  “I need to think,” he said, his voice oddly faint in his own ears. “Just give me time to think.”

  “You know what?” Tonio’s eyes burned in the shaded light of the aisle. “You think too fucking much. You wanna keep this farm? Stop thinking. Stop blaming your dad. Get real and do something.”

  “I am doing something. That’s what I brought you here for.”

  “Yeah, and you’re sinking because you put all your eggs in one stupid basket and did. Not. Listen. To. Me!” Tonio punctuated each word with a finger-jab in Destin’s direction. “You’re not going to fight to keep this farm. You’re not gonna fight to keep me, either. You’re so used to people handing you things, you’re gonna run out the clock on our contract and let all of it swirl down the shithole, and that’s a fucking shame because I love Bellmeade, I could really get used to being with you, and unlike some people, I don’t feel like dumping everything in the garbage and walking away.”

  “Don’t tell me I didn’t listen. I did,” Destin shot back. “I don’t really want to turn Bellmeade into a boarding stable or a training farm, granted. We’ve always been a stud. But if it would keep me here—us here—I’d do it. Problem is, I’m in too deep a financial hole, and without Sam there’s no climbing out. So don’t tell me I’m not fighting. I am. I’m just running out of weapons.”

  “Okay. Damn.” Tonio pulled Sam’s nose away from the floor, where he’d been scavenging for wisps of hay. All the fire had gone out of his face, and he suddenly looked years older. “Damn,” he repeated, and with one last, troubled glance at Destin he led Sam away down the aisle.

  He knows what he’s doing, Destin reminded himself firmly. He rode Mad King George when nobody else could. Give him a chance and don’t panic. Not yet, anyway.

  There was still time, he told himself as he returned to the office. All they needed was a breakthrough, and that was coming any day now.

  Chapter 18

  THE BREAKTHROUGH didn’t come the next day. Nor the next week. Destin developed a mantra as Tonio’s allotted month slipped away.

  He knows what he’s doing. He knows what he’s doing.

  Destin didn’t light a fire in the fireplace on the last night of Tonio’s contract. There didn’t seem to be much point, and the cheerful flames only mocked the evenings he and Tonio had enjoyed by its hearth.

  Tonio made dinner that night, as he usually did. Chicken cacciatore this time, a dish that took work and finesse—and cried out for a good Chianti, though Destin took care not to bring that up. Tonio prepared it perfectly, and Destin tried his hardest to enjoy his meal. They talked football and horse racing and next year’s prospects for Tonio’s favorite baseball team. They didn’t look at each other except by accident, and with every tick of the ancient wall clock, emptiness further dimmed the glow Tonio’s tenure had brought to the gracious old house.

  Finally Tonio put down his fork, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, then gave Destin a sad, crooked grin. “Déjà vu. The first time I ever came into this kitchen, I came to apologize. Now I’m leaving the same way.”

  Leaving. Destin’s forkful of chicken ran aground on a sudden lump in his throat, and he stopped eating. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “It’s just the way Black Sambuca is. It isn’t failure if the riddle has no answer.”

  Tonio gave an exasperated grunt. “But there is an answer. I know there is. I just can’t—” He held his hands up in front of him and made grabbing motions at the empty air.

  “It’s all right. Just let it go.” Destin pushed a blob of cheese around in a puddle of sauce.

  “Fuck letting it go. It’s not fair. This is your place. Those are your people hanging on the wall in there.” Tonio stabbed his thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the fireplace room. “It’s not fair that you have to give it all up because I fucked up.” Tonio scraped his chair back and stood.

  “I fucked up before you did,” Destin said. “This is my mess, not yours, so don’t blame yourself.”

  “What, we’re not blaming Dad anymore?” Tonio leaned his hands on the back of the chair.

  Destin sighed. “I’ve been thinking about something you said on our trail ride at Sky Meadows. About your dad not passing his training business on to you because you were gay. Maybe my dad felt the same way.”

  Tonio folded his arms and leaned on his elbows, his expression deeply interested. “How so?”

  “That’s when the spending started—right about when I went off to college. Well, maybe not the spending, but the not caring. It’s like he gave up.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Tonio leaned closer. “You didn’t stick around and make him understand. You didn’t even talk to him. It’s like the goddamn Silence of the Bellinghams.”

  Destin looked down at his plate. The expression on his father’s face—the hurt and disappointment—suddenly made sense. Of course Dad had assumed that was the end of the Bellinghams. Why save the farm for grandchildren he would never have?

  “The Silence of the Bellinghams,” Destin said bitterly, looking up at
Tonio. “I’ll put that on Bellmeade’s tombstone.”

  “Oh, great. I make a point and you turn it into maudlin bullshit.” Tonio pushed himself off the chair back.

  Destin jumped up. “Don’t go,” he said as Tonio made a move toward the back door.

  Tonio stopped. “I need to start packing,” he said, not looking at Destin. “It’s a long drive to Florida.”

  “You don’t have to leave till tomorrow. I know I screwed up. I can’t fix it, but let me make it up to you.” Destin stepped up behind Tonio and put his hands on Tonio’s hard-muscled shoulders. He let his palm slide over Tonio’s sweatshirt until the found the bare flesh of the nape of his neck, and he ran the balls of his thumbs over the soft, curly down that covered it. “If we have to say goodbye, let’s at least do it right.”

  Tonio sighed and shuddered a little, leaning his head back against the pressure. Destin moved closer and let his arms drop till they circled Tonio’s lean waist. He pressed his face against the back of Tonio’s neck and inhaled his fragrance, musky and male, spiced with the tang of human sweat and seasoned with the mellow undertones of leather and horse. Love and desire washed over Destin in a dizzying wave. Tonio was everything, the life and spark Destin’s mannered existence had never contained. He’d never expected to find perfection in such a crude package, so counter to everything he’d been raised to value. But what had he been raised to value? Good manners, surface polish, and a deep respect for tradition, if tradition meant never deviating from the course charted by his seven-times-great-grandfather in a world far different from the one Destin inhabited today. Tonio, at least, was real. He was now. And perhaps for that very reason, he could never fit in Destin’s world.

  Better to let him go now than to wait for things to fall apart and turn ugly.