by Lou Harper
“Of course. Is there graffiti on the building? I can send someone to paint them over,” Mr. Bean said.
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
Mr. Bean nodded again, picked up a manila envelope from his desk, and handed it to him. Sam slid out the slim plastic card and the small bundle of keys. He put the former into his wallet, the latter into his pocket, and said goodbye.
Driving toward his next appointment across town, he weighed the wisdom of settling in Los Angeles. It might seem risky, but there was something to be said for hiding in plain sight. He couldn’t run forever. As the saying went, “you just die tired.” Jay had said something on the beach about the “end of the road” that hit home for Sam. He had a gut feeling that this was it. One way or another this was the place where everything would get sorted out for good. He just wished he knew how long he had. It might take Joey another five years to find him, or it might be much less. If it wasn’t for Jay, it wouldn’t have mattered much to him. However, Jay had changed all that. He made Sam care, not only about himself, but especially about Jay. It was a new and dangerous sensation, and it scared the hell out of him.
Sam also needed to decide what he was going to do with himself now that he was here in LA. Money wasn’t a huge issue, especially now with the debit card in hand giving him access to Uncle Frank’s secret savings. It didn’t make him rich, but it allowed him some flexibility and even a few luxuries. However, if he was going to start over again, he needed to establish himself, both of them, and that was not going to happen holed up in a downtown loft. Sitting on his duff wasn’t his style anyway. So he had to figure out something to do about that, and it had to be something on the up-and-up. Getting mixed up in shady business would just lead him back to where he once was, and he’d quit that lifestyle cold turkey.
Sam let himself into the warehouse—scratch that—their new home. The ground floor was gleaming, but it was too quiet and Jay wasn’t in sight. An icy fist grabbed his heart and squeezed it, but then Jay’s voice sounded from above, singing out of tune to music apparently only audible to him. The fist released.
He found Jay upstairs, on his knees in the bathroom, scrubbing the shower floor. He wore nothing but the tiniest of shorts, stretched taut on his round rump. The iPod was tucked into one hip pocket, and Jay hummed, occasionally singing short bits of the lyrics. Curious patterns of dirt, all smudged by sweat, covered his exposed skin. Sam’s chest filled with hope and dread all at once, till he didn’t even know what he felt any more. He braced himself at the doorjamb and took deep breaths to calm himself.
Jay turned and jumped a foot with a yelp as he spotted Sam. Then he plonked back on the tiled floor. Sam hoped the iPod didn’t get damaged.
“Fuck! You scared the shit out of me,” Jay yelled, yanking the earbuds out.
“Sorry,” Sam said grinning, doing his best to cover up for his moment of weakness.
He turned and walked back through the loft, Jay in tow.
“You did a good job cleaning,” he commented, crossing the kitchen.
“You sound like you’re surprised. Jeff used to act like I just sat around on my ass all day, but I was the one who kept his place—”
Jay blinked as Sam spun around and put his hand on Jay’s shoulder.
“Jay, your Jeff was an asshat, and I don’t want to hear any more about him, okay?”
For a second Sam was baffled by his own reaction, but he shook it off.
“Fine,” Jay said with a stubborn expression.
Sam sighed and rubbed Jay’s chin. “What’s really bothering you?”
“Nothing. Okay, you were just gone all day and I worried.”
“I’m here now, okay?”
“Hmmph.”
Sam turned and kept walking. “Where did that come from?” he asked, gesturing at an overstuffed and scruffy red armchair sitting in the middle of an otherwise-empty room.
“I got that from Myra. She said she’d wanted to get rid of it, but was too lazy to haul it to the dump.”
“Who’s Myra?”
“The artist chick who has a studio at the other end of the building. Her space is almost the same as ours. I probably shouldn’t call her a chick, since she’s close to fifty, but she has purple hair and is kinda crazy, but in a good way. I think. She’s working on a sculpture made out of garbage. Not the smelly kind. Plastic, metal, that sort of stuff.”
“You’re making friends.”
Sam lowered himself into the chair. It was comfortable enough. Jay looked at him for a second then he sank to the floor between Sam’s legs.
“Are you angry about it?” Jay asked.
“Not angry, but it’s dangerous. Not for you, for her.”
“That’s why you didn’t make friends in Coldwater?”
“Yeah.”
“You and Bill were sort of friendly, no?”
“Bill used to be a Marine, he could take care of himself.”
“What did you do together?”
“Went fishing. You know that.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Fish.”
“What’s there to talk about fish?”
“Not much.”
“You must’ve gotten along swimmingly—two tight-lipped peas in a pod.”
Sam didn’t bother to answer. He threaded his fingers into Jay’s hair and rubbed Jay’s skull till Jay closed his eyes and leaned his head on Sam’s knee with a contented sigh. Sam was about to give in to the moment but then remembered the business at hand.
“I almost forgot. I got our driver’s licenses,” he said tugging at Jay’s hair.
Jay lifted his head and looked expectantly at Sam who lifted his hip and pulled out the cards from the back pocket of his jeans. He handed one to Jay who studied it curiously.
“Jason Hall?”
“Yeah, that’s your name now. Try to remember it.”
“And if you call me Jay, it’s still okay. I like it. What’s yours?”
Jay took the other card from Sam. He snorted. “Albert? Couldn’t you get something less dorky? I don’t think I can call you Albert, or even Al.”
“Read the whole name.”
“Albert Samford. As in ‘Sam’. Brilliant! With a name like Albert anyone would call you by your last name or its short version.”
“Bingo.”
“Was that your idea or Phil’s?”
“Albert Samford is actually an alias my uncle fabricated years ago and left for me when he died. Now I’ve got a bank account and a debit card under that name, and that’ll come in handy. Back when I went into witness protection, they were kind enough to agree to give me a new identity with the first name Sam. They don’t normally do special requests, but I made a fuss about it. Do you like your new name?”
“It’ll do.”
Jay apparently lost interest in the cards. He dropped them on the floor and scooted forward between Sam’s knees. He slid his hands up onto Sam’s thighs, his hips, and under his shirt. Jay leaned forward and rubbed his face against Sam’s jeans, over Sam’s rapidly hardening cock.
“Not a good time,” Sam said with regret.
Jay looked at him, pleading. “I woke up this morning and you were gone. I thought of all sorts of horrible things that might happen so you couldn’t come back. So I had to distract myself by imagining you fucking me in every room I cleaned. It would’ve been more fun if we had some furniture. I pictured you sitting in this chair, bending me over your knees and spanking me like you did in Denver.”
He took Jay’s face into his hands. “Hold that thought. You did a good job and you deserve a reward, but first we need to pick up the car.”
“Why, what happened to it?”
“You’ll find out. Now take a shower, get dressed. Ah yes, and put on your leather jacket.”
He gave Jay a friendly nudge to get him moving. Jay stood and walked out of the room, mumbling something about “secretive bastards” under his breath.
“No wanking in the shower! As a
matter of fact, no touching yourself at all,” he shouted after Jay.
“How the hell am I supposed to wash myself then?” Jay shouted back.
Sam ignored him.
Sam waited till Jay speed-showered, and ten minutes later he was downstairs, smelling of soap, hair wet—it was still brownish, but it was just a question of time before the cheap dye would wash out. To his own surprise, he was looking forward to it. Jay wore form-fitting jeans, tight black shirt and the black leather jacket they bought in Butte—at that trip that now seemed like a lifetime ago. Sam handed him one of the motorcycle helmets and headed out the door, with a suddenly excited Jay close on his heels.
“Oh wow, no fucking way! You got a hog!” Jay exclaimed, to Sam’s secret delight.
“I had one back in Chicago. I’ve missed it. You like?”
“Oh hell yeah!” Jay’s eyes feasted on the shiny chrome, black paint and studded black leather saddle bags of the Harley.
“I had to leave the car behind. I’ll need you to drive it back,” Sam said, putting his helmet on.
Sam preferred taking alternate routes when going to the same place, to learn the geography, but this time he took the most direct one for Jay’s benefit. They were going to the Valley, on the other side of the mountains. It was late, long past rush hour, but still there were cars, people hurrying in all directions, at all hours. It was a different world to Coldwater—that place practically fell asleep at ten, and you could hear the crickets even on Main Street. It was also different than the tightly-packed urban Chicago he knew. LA just spread out in every direction the eye could see. As if someone had knocked over the proverbial melting pot and it spilled all over the hills and valleys.
Jay was flushed and excited when they finally reached their destination, and not at all enthusiastic about driving the car on the way back.
“You know the way back, right?”
“I think so. Just down to the freeway and straight to downtown, right?”
“Correct. Just remember to stay on the 101, and take the Los Angeles Street exit. I’ll be riding in front of you. You got your phone?”
“Yeah.”
Sam kicked his boots off and shed his shirt on his way to the bedroom. He pushed the sleeping bags up against the wall at one end of the bed and sat back against them. Jay trailed behind him holding a bag of frozen peas to his right nipple.
“Come ’ere,” Sam said, patting his thigh.
Jay strolled to the bed and settled himself between Sam’s splayed legs, back to chest. Sam peeled Jay’s hand holding the peas off his chest and peeked at the nipple over Jay’s shoulder. It was still slightly pink but otherwise had healed nicely.
“How is it?” he asked.
“It’s fine, the jacket just chafed it a little.”
Sam let his hand fall to Jay’s stomach. A strange and unfamiliar sensation spread through him—he felt content, maybe even happy. He’d felt comfortable with Jay in Coldwater, but that had always been dampened by the knowledge that it was all temporary. Now it was all different. Then the ugly little monster living in the back of his mind woke up telling him he didn’t deserve this, that he’d end up paying for it. He didn’t care, Sam thought defiantly, as long as he was the only one doing the paying. He pulled Jay tighter against him.
“What are you thinking?” Jay asked.
“That we’ll need some furniture,” Sam lied.
“You think? I finally understand why your house was so sparse. All those years you were ready to take off, weren’t you?”
“Stuff just weighs you down. Travel light. You know the principle. All you had was a backpack when you showed up on my doorstep.”
“Yeah, but I never really planned to run, it just happened that way. Except when I left home—I meant that. How long are we staying here?”
“No idea, but don’t get too comfy.”
Jay shifted and Sam could feel the disappointment in Jay’s body without seeing his face. Who’d have figured that Jay was the settling-down kind? Under normal circumstances Sam would have liked that. Too bad there hadn’t been anything “normal” about his circumstances since he was a kid.
“I got us jobs,” Sam said, to steer the conversation back to smoother grounds.
“Oh?”
“Some new nightclub opening in West Hollywood. It’s called Ombre. They had openings for a bartender and a bouncer.”
“Oooh, cool! I always wanted to be a bouncer!” Jay cheered.
“Smart-ass. We’ll go in tomorrow to meet the manager, but the place doesn’t open till next week, so we have some time to settle in.”
“Myra told me about a furniture warehouse where we could get a good deal, and of course there’s always IKEA. We’ll need to rent a truck.”
“You already did your reconnaissance then?”
“All the furnishing we have is this so-called bed, the table and two folding chairs in the kitchen. I figured that’s a bit too minimalist even for you. We could use a couch, and a TV, and a real bed with pillows. Something solid, like the one back up north. I miss the old headboard. It was nice and sturdy.”
“Oh you do? I got something much better in mind.” Sam certainly did. He had the hardware and the tools to set them up in the trunk of the car.
“You do?” Jay half turned in Sam’s arms and tilted his head to look Sam in the eye.
A light flush colored Jay’s cheeks. Sam slid his hand down on Jay’s smooth stomach and rested it over the bulge in the denim.
He carried on matter-of-factly. “There’s another thing I want to talk to you about. You can expect all kinds of characters to show up at the club. Let me finish,” he warned as Jay opened his mouth to protest. “I know you’re not a kid, and have been around the block. It’s not about that. I have rules, and you agreed to obey them, right?”
“Right,” Jay said, and squirmed a little. He stilled as Sam gave him a warning squeeze.
“I don’t drink, don’t take drugs, nothing that dulls the senses, or clouds my judgment. The same goes for you. No alcohol, no drugs,” Sam said.
Jay looked up at Sam, indignant. “I don’t do drugs.”
“Really?” Sam was somewhat surprised. In Coldwater it was not an issue, but with Jay’s past it was an easy assumption.
“It’s because of Chrissy,” Jay explained.
“Your mother.”
“Yeah. She did whatever she could get her hands on. Fortunately for her, it was mostly just pot or speed. You know…I don’t think she had a regular job in her life for more than two weeks total. We lived in a house that my grandparents owned, and Chrissy always shacked up with guys who paid the bills. Basically, she had a free ride. She had this so-called house-cleaning business—she did that a couple of times a week. Except when she didn’t feel like it and canceled. She still dropped me off at Nana’s house practically every morning anyway.”
“So what did she do all day?”
“She had these loser friends she liked to hang out with. They’d sit around smoking pot and talking stupid shit. I know that because there were a few times Nana had something else going on. If it was summer and no school and she couldn’t pawn me off to anyone, Chrissy had to take me with her. They just sent me out to play in the backyard and then ignored me.”
Sam felt the subtle signs of tension in Jay’s body, so he stroked Jay with small, calming motions till he felt Jay relaxing.
Jay went on, but this time his voice had that light, story-telling lilt. “Even when I was six or seven, they looked pathetic. They could spend a whole day sitting around the kitchen table. It really stuck with me how stupid they got. You should’ve seen them when they got the munchies! I remember this one time Chrissy’s friend, Darryl, made himself a sandwich, and then scarfed it down like a pig—he had mayonnaise all over his face. It was gross! That put me off mayo and drugs for life.”
“There’s your silver lining,” Sam said. He didn’t mention his sudden urge to put a boot up Chrissy’s ass. It wouldn’t do anyone any goo
d.
“I guess. I could hardly wait to get the fuck out of there. I first ran away at seventeen. Of course, there’s a story to that.”
“Of course there is. Tell me.”
Sam settled back. There was always something both relaxing and titillating about Jay’s stories. Sam wondered if Jay would ever run out, and if Sam could just have him make some up when he did.
“Chrissy and I had a very nasty row, and I took off. I didn’t get far though. Only as far as Kansas City.”
“What was the fight about?”
“Chrissy caught her boyfriend, Seth, fucking me.”
“Okay, I didn’t see that coming.”
“He wasn’t even gay.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“He really liked his dick sucked, and I’m very good at that.”
“I know, but c’mon.”
“A blowjob is a blowjob. He just closed his eyes and let me do my thing.”
“All right, if you say so.”
Sam rubbed his thumb almost absentmindedly up and down Jay’s shaft, through the denim. The light stimulation spurred Jay on with the story.
“I got a real kick out of blowing Seth while Chrissy was in the house. She’d be out in the kitchen fixing dinner, and I’d have her boyfriend’s dick down my throat. And then she’d come in, and we’d be watching the game.”
“And then she caught you.”
“Not like that. See, Seth wanted to do Chrissy through the back door, but she’d have none of it. All I had to do was let him get a few glimpses of my naked ass. It wasn’t that hard, we lived in the same house. At that age, from the back, I looked a lot like her. Actually, I had a much nicer ass. She had cellulite. I knew he was hooked, it was just a question of opportunity. One hot summer day, Chrissy went out to look at yard sales, leaving the two of us in the house alone. The moment Chrissy stepped out the door I went to my room and got naked. Left the door open, of course. It took Seth ten whole minutes to make up his mind before coming in. Fortunately I was all prepared for him, because he didn’t waste time on it.”