by Sean Michael
“I’ll have some.”
“You know I’m just going to nag you until you finish it.” He played it off lightly. It was true, though; he would.
“You’ll be downstairs.” Jeff took a deep drink, though, humming over it.
“I’ll bring up another one.” Actually, he was going to bring up a sandwich. He’d learned that if he cut the bread really thin and kept the ingredients vegetarian, he could get Jeff to eat solid food.
“Thank you for sleeping with me. It helped.”
“You’re welcome.” He touched Jeff’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few, okay?”
“I’ll be here.” Jeff took another sip of his shake and grabbed his laptop.
“Cool.” Rye headed downstairs, finding that the cleaning service had let in the carpenter, and the window was almost done. So, apparently, were the cleaners.
Good.
By the time he had their sandwiches made, a plate of cut-up vegetables beside them on the tray, the cleaners and carpenter were ready to go.
After seeing them out, he locked the door behind them.
He balanced the plates and headed up into the quiet, private quarters. The Avengers was playing on the TV, and Jeff was watching it, head hanging off the edge of the bed.
Rye sat their plates on the bed and climbed on. Jeff would eventually come sit or lie on him, letting him cushion Jeff’s limbs.
“Does the house look okay?” Jeff slowly rolled over, stretched.
“Yep. You’d never know anything happened. We can go swim.”
“Yeah?” Jeff was becoming quite the swimmer, enjoying the water, the exercise. His stamina was really getting up there too. It was good to see.
“Yeah. After you eat the sandwich.”
Jeff looked over, grabbed a carrot. “Hummus?”
Was that hunger? He pushed the hummus over, not saying a word.
“Thank you.” Jeff dipped a piece of red pepper, noshed on it. And Rye ate his own sandwich, feeling chipper.
“Do you play games?” Jeff asked.
“You mean like checkers?”
“Checkers. Chess. Backgammon. Halo. World of Warcraft. Spades. Scrabble.”
“Hey, I’ve heard of all of those,” Rye teased.
“Do you play any of them?”
“Sure. All except Scrabble. I’m a shit speller.”
“I have a backgammon board. It was my dad’s.”
Oh. So Lord January had a family. “Yeah? You used to play with him? Are you a backgammon shark?”
“I’m not bad, but yeah. I used to play a lot.” Jeff got out of the bed, headed for the closet, and pulled out what looked like a tiny little suitcase.
“Cool.” Rye shifted so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed.
Jeff grinned, settled across from him, and set up the board. In seconds, they were playing.
All through the game, Jeff kept picking up a new vegetable and dipping it into the hummus. It made Rye happy to see Jeff eating, relaxing. Interacting with him.
He’d thought the man was totally empty, but he’d been wrong. Jeff had been tired. Tired and hungry.
Jeff won the first game, and Rye won the second one. By then they’d both eaten their sandwiches, and Jeff had demolished a good part of his vegetables.
“Tiebreaker?” Jeff asked.
Rye loved the life in Jeff’s green eyes. “Of course.” He rubbed his hands together. “Prepare to go down.”
“Not a chance, man.”
“We’ll see. Time will bear me out.”
“Oh….” Jeff grabbed his laptop and typed furiously for a second.
“Hey now, you’re not trying to cheat, are you?”
“Huh? Cheat at what?” Jeff looked up at him. “I was writing that down. Time will bear me out. It’s a killer lyric.”
“Oh yeah?” Rye grinned. “Does that mean I get cowriting credit?”
“I’ll thank you in the liner notes. Inspired by someone I beat at backgammon.”
“Hey, we’re tied at a game apiece. Come on, it’s time for the rubber match.” He liked this: the teasing, the happiness, the hints of brilliance.
This whole month had been a study in watching someone come alive. Even last night’s events didn’t seem to have fazed Jeff too badly.
They started another game, and it quickly became apparent that Jeff was likely to win again. At the end it was close, though, and Jeff barely squeaked by.
“You’ve got a lucky touch with the dice.” Rye believed some people had it and some didn’t when it came to games of chance. It looked like the dice liked Jeff well enough.
“Sometimes. Sometimes no matter what you do, it sucks.”
“That’s a pretty good metaphor for life, isn’t it?” Rye closed the board up. “We should go swim. And I found your mini gym. We could start with some weights—get some muscles built up.”
“I can’t have muscles. I have to be spare.” Jeff stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. “I’ve gained weight already.”
“You’re still too skinny. And I’m not talking muscles-muscles.” He put up his arms and flexed. “I’m talking wiry muscles. You can be both skinny and strong.”
“You’re not skinny. You’re a giant. It’s amazing.”
“A giant….” Rye chuckled. He supposed he might seem like one next to Jeff. Jeff wasn’t short by any means, but Rye was over half a foot taller and maybe had at least a hundred pounds of muscle on Jeff.
“Yeah. My own personal giant.” Jeff put the board away, carefully tucking it in the huge closet. “Do I need to buy you clothes for the tour?”
“I guess that depends. I have plenty of jeans and T-shirts and a couple of suits. But if you want me… in costume, then, yes, you do.” He wasn’t going to like it, but he’d wear whatever Jeff wanted him to, as long as it didn’t obstruct his sight lines or movement.
“Suits are fine. No colors, but black and white and you’ll be fine.”
“I’ve got two that fit that bill.” They’d be at hotels, and he could have the one suit cleaned while he wore the other; it would work.
“You know if you need things, Donna will do it. She’s like a superorganized machine.” Jeff headed for the door. “Swimming?”
“Yes, swimming.” He followed Jeff. The swimsuits and towels were kept in the small cupboard in the pool room.
Jeff made it to the door of the main house and took a deep breath. “No one’s in there, right?”
“Nope. The cleaning crew left. But I can go ahead of you. It’ll be good practice for when you’re on tour.” He put Jeff behind him. “Put your hand on my back, so I know you’re right there.”
Jeff’s hand rested on the small of his back, right above his belt.
“Perfect. Then you just keep up with me. Tap on my back if I’m moving too fast or people are touching you, and I’ll drop back to you. But most of the time, I’ll be able to forge a path through people if I’m ahead of you.” He opened the door into the living room.
“What happens if I disappear?”
“From behind me?” Rye shook his head. He wasn’t letting that happen. “The second your hand disappears from my back, I’ll turn and grab you.”
“The crowds can be scary. I try to out intimidate them.”
“You want to go ahead of me, then? I can loom over you and help with the intimidation.” Like an extension of Jeff.
“I don’t know. We’ll have to experiment.”
“Yeah, see what works best, huh?”
“Will you use the same team as before?”
They headed into the swimming area, the water clean and clear, the room warm and comfortable. This was quickly becoming Rye’s favorite room.
“Team?”
“There were… three? Four men? I don’t know. Enough to protect the stage with the band.”
“Ah. Ms. Heard said she’d take care of that. It’ll be new people, though.” He’d insisted on that. Guys who knew Lord January was clean now and could be trusted to honor t
hat, to make sure any groupies who hung out weren’t carrying. Anyone with drugs would be turned away.
Jeff started stripping down. “New security? Are you sure? You know people?”
“Ms. Heard is taking care of it. I gave her a list.” Ex-cops, every one of them.
“Oh.” Jeff slipped into the water without another word.
Rye stopped Jeff with a hand on one shoulder. “You’ll be safe. On my life.”
“No. No, you’re not allowed to get hurt. The road is ugly. It always will be.”
“Then we’ll get through it together.”
Jeff looked away, then patted his belly. “It’s time to swim.”
“It is.” Rye stripped down, getting into the water as Jeff started to swim. He was going to miss swimming naked when they started using the hotel pools.
Every so often, he would adjust Jeff’s stroke so that he wasn’t causing wear and tear on his shoulders. It felt good, working his muscles, the water on his skin. Knowing he was helping Jeff out.
He was used to watching the black ink move, muscles making the dark shapes shift. It was kind of mesmerizing, like Jeff himself. Different from what he was used to, but compelling. Fascinating.
Rye swam until he was tired, and then he patted Jeff’s shoulder. “Time to stop.” He’d make them some roasted red pepper soup. Jeff was even eating the toast points now too.
“Already?” Jeff was relentless.
“Yeah. Your body needs a break now and then.”
Jeff sighed, eyes rolling dramatically.
Chuckling, Rye climbed out of the pool and offered Jeff his hand. Jeff’s hands were shaking, and Rye made sure everything was steady before he let go. Grabbing a towel, he ran it over Jeff’s limbs, then handed him a robe before drying himself off.
The gate bell was ringing when they headed to the kitchen, a couple of news vans waiting.
Jeff winced. “I should call Martin. He deals with the press.”
“Okay. Meanwhile, I’m going to tell them to go away.”
“Please.” Jeff sighed and headed back up to his rooms.
Growling, Rye grabbed the phone. “Who is this?”
“Lisa Jonston from KFAA, News 12. We were wondering if Mr. January had a statement on the arrest of one of his fans last night.”
“No comment. Talk to his publicist.” He hung up.
The bell rang again immediately. No wonder Jeff stayed upstairs. He took a breath. If he answered he was going to be rude. If he went down there, he was quite possibly going to be violent.
He turned the ringer down low and put the peppers on the burners to roast the skins.
At some point he was going to have to break down and eat a steak the size of his head.
Maybe they could go to a restaurant. Him and Jeff, not Lord January.
He would like that, to see Jeff actually go outside.
Like a real person.
He’d have to broach the subject. He doubted Jeff would go out today, but Rye would wear him down, and maybe in a couple days they could do it. Somewhere quiet where they served vegetarian and meatatarian meals.
Somewhere no one would recognize Jeff.
Somewhere trustworthy.
Continuing to ignore the phone, which was still fucking ringing, Rye made the soup and grabbed a package of crackers instead of making toast. He made another milkshake with protein powder for Jeff too. It all fit on a tray, and he headed back upstairs, making sure to close and lock the door on his way.
He totally got the temptation to lock the rest of the world away and stay safe in hiding, but Rye wasn’t going to let Jeff be a prisoner of Lord January’s fame.
CHAPTER FOUR
“THE BAND is coming in tonight, LJ, and you have an appearance Thursday night at midnight at Clockworks. Do you need me to order in food and supplies?” Donna asked, her voice warm even over the telephone.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. Call Rye and tell him when to open the doors.” Jeff stared out the window of his bedroom. It had been good, vacation, but it was over.
All of it.
“Okay, LJ. You feeling ready? The tour starts in two weeks.”
“One week of music rehearsals, one week of dress rehearsal, and then we’re off. Got it.” He was going to die.
Rye came in with a tray of food, moving easily.
“Is there anything you need?” Donna asked again.
“Bri will want M&M’S, Roach likes beer. Scooter and Brandy bring their own shit.”
One of Rye’s eyebrows went up and he mouthed, “Who?”
Jeff held up one finger. “E-mail me all the details for Thursday and make sure Rye gets all the information.”
“You’ve got it. I’ll keep you updated if there’s any change. Take care of yourself, honey.”
“I will.”
He hung up, tried to smile. “Vacation is over. Time to earn my pennies. The band is here starting tonight. The appearances start Thursday.”
“Okay. You don’t need to do the whole January schtick with the band, do you?”
“No. No, there will be some strangers, so I’ll be LJ.”
Rye made a face. “All right. But remember he’s just a shell.”
“He is.” Jeff sighed and stretched. “There will be deliveries today—food and booze, all that. They all have rooms here.”
“Do they know I’m going to search them and their stuff for drugs?”
“Oh, that’s going to go over well.” Roach was going to scream.
Rye shrugged, not looking terribly concerned. “They should be happy I’m letting them bring in booze.”
“I only drink booze when I want to blow fire.”
That eyebrow of Rye’s went up. “And do you do that often?”
“Couple times a week on tour.” Whenever he had to.
Rye made a face but didn’t actually say anything. He set the tray down. “Come and eat.”
“What is it? It smells good.”
“Figs and cheese on crackers, vegetables, and baba ghanoush.”
“Do I like figs?” Jeff came closer, eyes curious.
“You tell me.” Rye picked one up, offering it to him.
Jeff took the bite and nibbled, then nodded. “I like figs.”
“I’m glad.”
“Yeah? The cook will be back tomorrow, and you won’t have to do it anymore.” He was sad. He liked Rye’s food.
“Yeah? Does the cook know what you like?”
“No.” How could she? Jeff hadn’t known.
“Then we’ll have to tell her.”
“Yeah.” Really, he’d just have toast in the morning. It would be enough.
“Hey. I’m still here, and I know you’re not LJ. You need to remember who you are, you look to me, okay?”
“Just remember, if you hate January, that I’m still your friend.”
“I know. Me and Jeff, we’re like this.” Rye crossed his fingers together.
“Yeah. Yeah, good friends.”
Rye smiled that smile where it made his face the handsomest thing around.
He ate another fig cracker, sighing as his phone rang. Roach. He grabbed it, answered. “Roach.”
“Boss. Tonight, huh? You really clean?”
“Yeah.”
“You get religion?”
“No.”
“Great.”
He rolled his eyes, and Rye dipped a carrot in hummus and handed it over to him.
“Thank you,” Jeff mouthed. “You have a song list in mind?” he said out loud.
“Of course I do.” Roach cackled. “I know exactly what all those little bloodsuckers want.”
“That’s my Roach.” He chuckled. “I can’t wait to see you play.” That was the truth. Roach was solid as a rock, unflappable, and cynical as fuck.
“Ditto, LJ. Been too fucking long.”
Ten months. He hadn’t gone that long between tours ever. “I’ll be ready. We’ll rock the house.”
“You know it, LJ. The place full of groupies
yet?”
“No. No, not yet.”
“It will be. Live like rock stars, huh?”
He supposed so.
“Okay, LJ, I’ll see you tonight.” Roach cackled some more and hung up.
Jeff put his phone away and headed into the closet. He needed his costume, to become LJ.
He sighed, and he thought he could hear January in the back of his head, laughing.
RYE FOLLOWED Lord January downstairs to meet up with the band, with some misgivings. That the band themselves already hated him—he’d done his drug check when they’d arrived and flushed several joints down the toilet—didn’t bother him.
But Jeff’s alter ego made him itch. He couldn’t help but think that January was toxic for Jeff. It was his job to make sure Jeff didn’t get totally lost.
LJ was in a silk shirt open to the waist, skintight leather pants, and dark, thick eye makeup and heavy silver jewelry.
It was ugly, stark, and weirdly distasteful. Rye wasn’t sure what that said about him as a person.
Was it fucked up to think that Jeff was the attractive one? That the loose, gauzy pants or jeans and sweat shirts, hair clean and loose, was Jeff at his most beautiful?
This LJ character was supposed to be more powerful than his Jeff, but….
God, man, Rye growled to himself, fucking focus.
The four guys who made up January’s band let up a cheer as Jeff came down, and Rye scanned the room, making sure it was just them, that there were no threats.
They swarmed January, hugging and shaking, looking him over.
They all had the same basic look: lean, skinny, underfed. The bassist was bald and fierce, her sharp teeth flashing. The percussionist was the only one with any meat on his bones, and he picked LJ up and spun him about.
Rye tried not to growl, made himself stay where he was. These were Jeff’s band members, not vultures.
“Oh, man. You look great.”
An older guy with a terribly scarred face—Roach—looked LJ over. “You know, Scooter, he does. You look healthy. Weird.”
Rye ground his teeth and stayed right where he was, not saying a word.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” LJ flipped Roach off. “And you look like a starvation victim.”
“Sort of been. It’s a thing. You want to work or talk, asshole?”
“Work!” The entire band spoke together.