The Spencer Cohen Book Two

by N. R. Walker

  For any other job, I’d have called my client straight away and told them I’d made contact or even just a general update, but calling Lance was the last thing I intended to do. Not until I spoke to Yanni first.

  And right on five o’clock, students filed out of the classrooms, Yanni being at the tail end. Most of the other students had gone by the time he came out alone.

  “Yanni?” I called his name.

  He stopped, jerkily, suddenly halting. He almost took a step backward. “Who wants to know?”

  “Someone asked me to find you,” I said. “Just to see if you were okay. They were worried.”

  He shook his head, but I could see him eye the exit doors to the street. “Who?”

  “Lance Nader.”

  Yanni turned white; the colour literally drained from his face. And I knew, without one iota of doubt, it was Lance all along. “It’s not your father,” I mumbled. “It’s him.”

  His voice cracked in a barely audible whisper. “How did you find me?”

  “He asked me to track you down,” I said. Yanni looked like he was about to vomit. I put my hands up. “No, no. I didn’t know. He lied to me. Everything he said was a lie.”

  “He knows where I am?”

  “No.”

  He shook his head. He was tearing up, suddenly sweating and now a shade of green. He spoke more to himself than to me. “I can’t afford to transfer out again. I quit my job. I had to. I moved, I’ve got no money. If he’s found me…”

  I shook my head and put my hand out to touch his arm but stopped myself. He flinched anyway. “I don’t think so. Jesus, I’m sorry. I had no idea. He told me he was concerned for your welfare. He told me he thought your father was abusive. But it was him, wasn’t it? That arsehole.”

  Yanni laughed, it sounded one beat away from crazy. “My father?” He shook his head, but then it seemed that words failed him. He started to breathe erratically, and a fine sweat now covered his still-pale face. If I had wondered why he didn’t run, it was because I doubted his ability to even breathe properly at this point.

  I couldn’t just leave him. He was having a panic attack because that arsehole ex-boyfriend was the abuser. I knew something was off with that guy. I should have trusted my instincts and told him to fuck off two minutes into our first meeting. Instead, I’d found the poor guy and ruined his feeble attempt at a new life. “Yanni, you have to understand. I didn’t know. He lied to me.”

  “Did he… has he hurt you?” he asked in a wheezy whisper.

  “No, it’s not like that with me. Yanni, is there someone I can call for you?”

  He put his hand to his heart and shook his head again. “No… be okay,” he said, struggling to breathe.

  “I’m not leaving you until I know you’re safe,” I said to him. “How about we sit down and you catch your breath. I’ll wait with you.”

  He didn’t exactly agree with me, but he certainly didn’t object. I pointed toward a bench seat in the waiting room, and he nodded before walking over and all but falling onto it. He put his head in his hands, and I sat beside him, waiting while he got himself together the best he could.

  “He doesn’t know where I am?” he asked again. “Why did you find me?”

  “No. He doesn’t know where you are. I haven’t told him anything because he’s shady as hell. He asked me to look for you. He said he was in love with you and he was worried, but I never told him anything because I had a feeling something was off with him.”

  All Yanni could do was blink, and I doubted he’d heard a word after ‘No.’ I’d had freak-outs before and I knew they were different for everyone, but for me I just needed someone close by. Not touching me, not telling me to calm down or take deeper breaths or smothering me or getting in my personal space. I just needed to not be alone. So that’s what I did with him.

  I waited until he was ready to talk. If talking was even what he wanted to do. I just sat next to him and watched the college kids coming and going, just hoping that no one stopped to ask if he was all right. Thankfully, no one did.

  I was good at waiting for people to speak first. I just wasn’t really expecting him to say what he did. “Did he follow you here?”

  “What?” I said, before I could stop myself. “No. Well, I don’t think so.” Jesus. What kind of guy were we really dealing with?

  Yanni swallowed hard and looked at me then. I could see the fear in his eyes. “I can’t stay here.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Where can I take you? Tell me, and I’ll get you there.”

  He looked around the communal waiting room, like he was surprised to find himself there. “Um, I’m staying at a hostel. I didn’t really have anywhere else to go.” He looked as though he was going to be sick again.

  “Yanni. My name is Spencer Cohen. Will you let me take you somewhere safe?”

  He stared at me, his eyes wide, and he turned from white back to green. “Will you take me to him?”

  “No, no,” I put my hands up. “Jesus, no. Yanni, I had no idea. He lied to me. He asked me to find you. He told me he was concerned for your welfare. He told me your family harmed you when they found out you were seeing another man.”

  Yanni gave a laugh that sounded a little manic. “Well, that much was true. But it was nothing compared to what…” His words ran out of steam as the first of his tears fell. “I don’t have anyone.”

  This guy was me. He had lived through what I lived through. Only I found my own family in Lola and Emilio. Yanni found a closed fist and god knows what else in the arms of that monster, Lance.

  “Yanni, I know what it’s like to be alone. I really do. My parents disowned me, kicked me out, and cut me out of their lives completely when I was sixteen. I can’t help you with your family. But I can help you with Lance. I can make sure you’re not alone. I didn’t realise what my finding you would mean, so please let me make this right. For tonight at least. We can work something out tomorrow, but tonight you won’t have to sleep in fear, okay?”

  Fresh tears fell, as though my words struck a chord. He scrubbed his face with his hands, he clenched his jaw, and his nostrils flared as though he was trying to summon every ounce of strength he could muster from that place down deep that people seldom knew of. And he nodded. It was the tiniest of head movements, and with that simple gesture, without a word, without another move, he was putting his hand up for help.

  And that was a strength I’d never known.

  “Okay, thank you, Yanni. I’ll just call my friend Lola. She’ll come get us and take us back to my place. We can work out where to go from there, but at least you won’t be here, okay?”

  He barely nodded.

  I pulled out my phone and hit Lola’s number. “You’ll love Lola. She’s tiny, has pink hair, pretty as a 50s pin-up girl, but she’s a fierce and protective friend. She also drives like a crazy person, dances like a ballerina, but sings like a scalded cat. Don’t tell her I said that.”

  I got a small smile from Yanni just as Lola answered the phone. “Spencer?”

  “Hey, how far away are you?”

  “Five minutes. Everything okay?”

  “Kind of. I’ll explain when we get in the car.”

  “We?”

  “I found Yanni, and I’m taking him to my place.” Yanni’s gaze shot to mine, so I took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. I looked at Yanni. “Is there a back access door or something here?”

  He nodded, and a little colour had returned to his face. “I think it’s Union Parade,” he said.

  “Lola, can you come round the back? Yanni thinks it’s called Union Parade, but I’m not sure.”

  “I’ll find it. See you soon,” was all she said.

  There was about five seconds silence after I pocketed my phone. “Yanni, please know I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  That’s when his tears started.

  And they didn’t seem to stop.

  I took his hand and led him through what I hoped was the
rear of the building out the fire escape doors to the street that ran along the back of the building. And just a minute later, Cindy Crawford came careening down the street. Lola stopped the car, took one look at the crying kid with me, and never said a word.

  I sat in the back with him, not sure what else I should do. I didn’t want to crowd him, but I didn’t want him to be alone either. Lola kept her eyes on me in the rear vision mirror instead of the road, and how on earth she could drive I’ll never know. But when we pulled out onto the Boulevard, she started to talk.

  She told us about her afternoon, the job, the models, the photographers, the passers-by, every minute little detail that she normally wouldn’t speak of. She just kept talking, for whose comfort I wasn’t sure.

  I’m fairly certain Yanni never heard a word of it. He just stared into space, yet his tears never stopped. And I think that’s what scared Lola the most.

  Silent tears are the worst. It’s the sign of a broken spirit. No sound, no residual emotions… just tears. Silent, unstoppable tears.

  This poor kid—really only a few years younger than me, but he seemed like a kid to me. Helpless, defenceless, in need of protection—so completely vulnerable, that getting into a car with two complete strangers was a better alternative to where he thought Lance might find him. He couldn’t have known coming with us would be any better, but the need to keep moving was an ingrained self-defence manoeuver. Maybe he didn’t care anymore. Maybe he was resigned to being handed back to the monster who abused him. I couldn’t think of anything else to do, but I reached over and held his hand.

  I don’t think he noticed.

  * * * *

  Lola parked out the back of Emilio’s shop, and I led a dazed and confused Yanni up to my flat. It was just on five thirty so there was plenty of light. Too much light actually, so I pulled down the blind over the window that fronted Abbot Kinney Boulevard and offered Yanni the papasan chair. I got him a bottled water and pulled the blanket off the lounge and put it over Yanni’s lap, and within seconds, he was curled up, still staring into space.

  I stood there not knowing what to say or do, feeling every bit helpless as I did years ago, and not even a minute later there was a knock at the door. Yanni startled, so I called out, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Emilio, man,” the familiar voice called out.

  I opened the door and Emilio came in, followed by Lola. “He insisted,” she whispered.

  Emilio looked at me, then back to the crumpled man on the round chair in front of the window. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly.

  “I was right about Lance,” I told him, loud enough for Yanni to hear. “It was him all along.”

  Emilio’s jaw bulged and his nostrils flared. His dislike of a man he’d never even met was evident. Then Emilio walked over and knelt down in front of Yanni. He spoke softly, like he was talking to a frightened child. “You’re safe here. Spencer’s a good guy. We’ll look after you, okay?”

  Yanni barely nodded. He just pulled the blanket up and closed his eyes. I doubted it was to sleep, more to block the world around him out.

  Emilio walked back over to me and whispered so Yanni couldn’t hear. “He can’t stay here.”

  Then, with the worst possible timing, there was another knock at the door. “Who is it?” I called out.

  “Um, it’s Andrew.” There was a muffled sound, like he was mumbling something. “I can come back…”

  I opened the door. He was a sight for sore eyes. God, I just wanted to throw my arms around him. I pulled him inside and did exactly that, but he was tense, and he didn’t hug me back. When I pulled away, I saw he was staring at Emilio and Lola, and of course, the strange guy curled up on the papasan chair.

  “That’s Yanni,” I said gently. “I was right about Lance.”

  A dozen emotions flickered across his face. “You found him,” he murmured.

  “As soon as I said that bastard’s name, he freaked out. I had to bring him here.” It was then I noticed Andrew was holding a vinyl album. “What’s that?”

  He stared at Yanni for a moment, then at the album jacket cover he was holding. “Oh, it’s silly really. I wanted to get you something to say sorry for last night. It’s some B-grade piano concerto of Jeff Buckley’s ‘Hallelujah.’” He shrugged. “I had to make some calls to find it… I just think flowers aren’t very personal, and I wanted to say sorry.”

  Despite the crazy, emotional afternoon, all I could do was laugh quietly, because that right there, was proof this beautiful man understood me. I put my hands to his face and drew him in for a kiss.

  Andrew blushed at my display of affection in front of Emilio and Lola, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Yanni. He whispered, “Is he okay?”

  “He will be.”

  “It was the boyfriend?”

  I nodded. “I’ve never seen someone so scared,” I whispered. “And I only mentioned his name.”

  Andrew nodded sadly.

  I sighed heavily. “I didn’t know where else to take him. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

  “I don’t think he should stay here,” Emilio said. “If Lance found out, he could come looking for him, especially if he knows where you live.”

  “I never told him where I live,” I replied.

  Lola frowned and asked, “What about Gerard, your old client? Didn’t he recommend Lance to you? Did he come here when you worked with him?”

  I shook my head. “Never. I met him at cafés or bars. I never brought any of my clients here. Well, except for Andrew.”

  Lola gave me a small smile, though she still looked concerned. “I agree with Emilio. If Yanni thought Lance might have followed you—” She shook her head. “Spencer, the guy’s a bastard. There’s no saying what he will or won’t do.”

  Andrew looked at each of us, then back at Yanni. “I know where he can stay.”

  I shook my head. “He’s not staying with you. I don’t want you implicated in this in any way.”

  Andrew shook his head and gave me a small smile. “No. Somewhere else.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  We bundled Yanni into Andrew’s car, and after saying goodbye to Emilio and Lola, Andrew drove us out into the neon lit LA night. Wherever he was taking us was familiar to him, and the further he drove, the lights dulled from city neon to residential. But not just any residential. Oh no, these were the houses of the rich and famous. I recognised some of the street names from movies, and before long, Andrew pulled up to a large gate and entered in a security code. The gate slid open, and he drove forward, pulling up at the front door.

  Okay then. This was a part of Andrew I had no clue about.

  He climbed out of the driver’s seat and opened Yanni’s door. “It’s a secure house. No one gets in or out without a security code.”

  Yanni, who had barely spoken a word since this afternoon, got out of the car. He was wooden, which I imagined was exhaustion. He could barely keep his eyes open, and I wondered how long it had been since he’d had a restful sleep.

  The front door to the house opened. “Andrew?”

  I turned to see his mother standing in the doorway, looking as glamorous as before. This was his parents’ house? Jesus Christ!

  She looked at her son and at me, then at Yanni before going back to Andrew. “Everything okay, Andrew?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied simply. “Can we come in?”

  She stood aside. “Of course, please do.”

  Andrew led the way, and we found ourselves in a large, expensively furnished lounge room, or was it a sitting room? I had no idea what to call these rooms in American houses. My parents and Aunt Marvie had a front formal sitting room, if that’s what this was. It was then I saw Yanni was staring at Andrew’s mother. He took an unsteady breath and looked to the floor. “Mrs Helen Landon, it’s an incredible honour.”

  Okay, so I was lost. “You know his mother?” The words were out before my stupid brain could stop them.

  Yanni nervously shot
me a quick glance. “I’m sorry. I assumed everyone did. I apologise if I was out of place,” he whispered so damn brokenly it was like a slap to the face. What the hell had this guy been through?

  “It’s okay, my dear,” Mrs Landon replied. “I still get recognised.”

  Recognised. I looked around the room, then paying better attention, found a slew of statues and awards on the mantel. Then I recalled Andrew saying something about his parents being ‘theatre people.’ And Yanni was an acting student… “Oh.”

  Andrew fought a smile beside me, but he was quickly serious again. “Mom, Yanni here is in some danger. He left an abusive relationship, but the guy is trying to find him. He needed somewhere safe to stay. I hope you don’t mind?”

  His mother blinked at Andrew, then turned to Yanni. He had gone pale again, like the admission out loud brought with it a fresh wave of memories. She slowly put her hand on his arm and urged him to sit on the sofa, cautiously sitting down beside him. “I don’t mind at all. Andrew, be a dear and make a fresh pot of coffee. Decaf, please.”

  Andrew turned and walked out through a different door, and I saw it was my cue to give Andrew’s mum and Yanni some time alone. It also gave me some time to get my head around everything. The kitchen was huge and grand, much like the rest of the house, I’d imagine. Andrew used the kitchen like it was his own, familiar with where everything was. “I grew up in this house,” he said, reading my curious face.

  “Your mum is someone famous?” I asked. “I didn’t recognise her, sorry. She must think I’m an arse.”

  He chuckled quietly. “She’s in theatre. She’s done some Broadway.” He fixed the coffee, and with a heavy sigh, he said, “Her first husband was a horrible man. He was violent and—” He shook his head. “Anyway, she managed to leave him. But she’s never hid what she went through. Not to us, anyway. She would tell us so that if we ever found ourselves in a similar situation, that we’d never be too scared to ask for help.”

  “Fuck.”

  He nodded again, and this time managed a small smile. “She will help him.”