Black John

by Amy Lane

  And that wasn’t the Galen he wanted, or the John he wanted to be.

  Galen rolled his eyes. “Kitten. On the. Freeway,” he enunciated, oblivious to John’s revelation. “And you got off easy, Captain Oblivious. So easy. ’Cause your dealer? Your dealer got reamed on that deal. Literally. With three fingers and no hand-job helper, if you know what I mean.”

  John’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “There was no sex?” he asked dubiously. He’d met Kane. He’d filmed his porn. The guy was an animal on the porn set.

  “And that is my conundrum. See, here’s the thing. Your gorilla with a soul patch—”

  “We’ll call him Kane. I promised Dex I’d love him like a brother.”

  “Well, then we shall be civil,” Galen conceded with a nod. “So Kane, he asks at the very beginning if everything that happens on the tape is consensual—and Scott says yes. Then, instead of fucking him blind, he… just dominates him. Tells him to spread his legs, grab his pecker, and finger-bangs him into complete submission.”

  John nodded. “Yeah—that’s sexual.”

  Galen pursed his lips. “Is that the law definition we are talking about, or do you think it’s sexual because slimy dealer guy came? Because from what I saw here, this could just be a prostate exam gone really wrong.”

  John’s eyes widened. “Remind me never to go to your doctor!”

  “That’s cute—you’re very cute, fucking adorable even. Now speak up, kitten, or you’re going to get squashed by a semi.” Galen’s lip curl of a smile was working now, and John was going to try not to annoy the hell out of him.

  “Okay, okay—now, did I forward the original contract language for the guys when they get assigned a scene?”

  “You did not,” Galen said, eyes narrowed.

  “And did I forward you the disclaimer language we have on the site and that runs on every video before the action starts?”

  “That, too, is negatory,” Galen growled.

  John held up his hands in surrender. “Jesus, Galen, cut a guy a break—it’s not like you have to define something as basic as sexuality every day now, okay? But in the models’ contracts and the disclaimer language, we actually define ‘adult sexual content’ as content in which any adult derives sensual viewing pleasure. We do that so if a guy gets off in his jeans or one model chickens out on the blow job but takes a hand job instead, we can show the video and everybody gets paid. It doesn’t happen often, and usually there’s a chance for a reshoot, but sometimes it’s the guy’s only video, and he still needs the money. So we define it before the customer buys it, and we define it in the contract for the guys. That way nobody complains that just because there’s not cock-to-ass action they’re not getting their money’s worth. Full disclosure, my man—keeps your customers happy.”

  One of Galen’s eyes was half-closed and the other fully opened. “That is… I can’t even….”

  John grinned at him evilly. “Kitten. On the. Freeway.”

  “How do you even fuck, John? That’s all I want to know. How do you even get it up when you have to….”

  “Break it into discrete parts and then sand it all smooth?” John asked, taking pity on him.

  “Yeah. That. I mean….” For the first time, Galen dropped his faintly cynical lawyer façade, and John was in the same room with the occasionally vulnerable, sexy man he’d been naked with. “You weren’t… weren’t… mechanical, I guess is the word, when we were together.”

  John smiled at him, feeling wise for maybe the first time in forever. “No. It was lovely. And I don’t know. It’s… it’s the difference between painting rain and standing in it, I guess. When you paint it, you’re breaking it down to color, composition, emotional impact. But when you’re standing in it, it’s all about….”

  “Dancing in the rain,” Galen said, dropping his voice intimately.

  “Yeah. Dancing in the rain.”

  Galen nodded like he was hearing his favorite guitar riff. “Well, I think someday you and I will dance again. But in the meantime, pull up those contracts for me, lover. I need to see that language for real.”

  John winked at him, and together they got to work.

  Empty Houses

  IN THE end Galen had Scott so securely tied in a legal knot that if Scott ever actually said anything about his former employer outside of his own bathroom, he’d be cleaning John’s toilets for the rest of his life.

  An impressed John told Galen that if he’d known the law could be so effectively on his side, he wouldn’t have bothered with the selfie of his ass. Galen showed him a blown-up colored printout of the picture that he’d pinned next to his bed.

  “It helps me go to sleep at night,” he said dryly.

  John dropped trou and showed him the real thing.

  “Excellent—now turn around and give me the full monty. A boy’s got to have something to aspire to.”

  Which actually only served to make John blush—and then pull up and button his cargo shorts. “Way to ruin a grand romantic gesture,” he said, disgruntled. Porn, John. You’re in porn, and this man just made you embarrassed to flash your junk. Oh yeah—and you’re terrified because he loves you.

  “And showing me your dick wouldn’t be a romantic gesture?” Galen laughed.

  John shook his head and pretended to be disgusted, but the moment stuck with him.

  Funny, how a guy who thought he had no shame would suddenly develop a sense of embarrassment, a sense of caring what someone else thought of him.

  Yeah, it was funny all right. A real laugh riot.

  Funny enough to keep John in Florida, where he spent eight hours a day doing paperwork and editing from his laptop in order to free Dex up for the on-site running of the business. Funny enough that he authorized Dex another two cameramen to help pick up the slack, all so he could be there, day after day, for Galen.

  Funny enough that now that he knew what friendship was, he hoped for the best and stayed in Florida for Dex’s wedding when he really wanted to be there, give his blessing, talk to the guys who were gathering at Dex and Kane’s in a regular Johnnies reunion.

  It was just… he couldn’t leave Galen. Not like he’d left Tory. Not like he’d left Dex. He just… couldn’t.

  Three days before Galen was supposed to leave rehab, John showed up with sushi and a gallon of homemade iced tea in a thermos. It was April now, and the weather was getting warm enough for the humidity not to be fun anymore. He walked into the center and said hi to the admitting nurse—a fiftyish woman with brightly dyed black hair pulled back into a severe bun—who knew his name by now. She didn’t like him—in fact, she gave him the gimlet eye from puffy little peepers in a reddened face—but she knew him.

  “Hello, Mr. Carey,” she said, glaring at him. “The patients have already eaten today. Are you sure you don’t want to leave the food here?”

  “He knew it was coming,” John said pleasantly. “Don’t worry, we’ll clean up. We always do.”

  “Just make sure you continue to behave in a way that reflects well on this establishment.”

  John smiled in her face. “Oh honey, even if you busted us out in the linen closet, I guarantee it would reflect well on this establishment. The light off my ass alone would bathe this place in a holy glow.”

  Nurse Jeanette dropped her jaw and stared at him in outrage, and he winked and continued on. He knew the way by now.

  But Galen wasn’t waiting in the common room. John grunted, leaving the iced tea with the guy who ran the 24/7 snack buffet and taking the bag of sushi to Galen’s room.

  Galen was there, wearing a pair of yellow pajamas, sitting on the bed. He’d pulled the bed closer to the window, and he had his knees pulled under his chin and was staring moodily at the waves hitting the shore.

  John paused for a minute, watching as the sunshine picked out strands of brown and red in his hair. The scarred side of Galen’s face was to John, and he let his eyes linger on the network of twisted skin and pale stitchery that had once held Gale
n’s face together. It was so incidental now that mostly John just enjoyed it for the texture. He liked running his fingers over it when they kissed, liked thinking that Galen’s face and Galen’s face alone would ever feel like this.

  “Heya,” John said, thinking that the sort of ribbing and dry humor that had colored their days in the past weeks was not going to get him very far today. “I take it you ate?”

  “No,” Galen said quietly. “I got an e-mail from Dex two days ago telling me that he and his husband were on their honeymoon, and that he’d shut up shop for a week.”

  “Yeah, I knew that was coming. I think I told you that was coming. Dex is marrying his boyfriend, they’re raising the little girl—full custody. I think they’re taking the little girl to Disneyland for three days and then getting back after spring break.”

  Galen grunted. “So you missed his wedding.”

  “Yes,” John said. “But you helped me give him a helluva present.” Another 15 percent of the company. It had only seemed right—he’d helped build it. That left John with 60 percent and Dex with enough to have some equity, have something to take away, even if Johnnies ever went under.

  “Yes, I know you said it was a wedding present—but you didn’t actually tell me there was a wedding. Why’d you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Blow off your friend’s wedding?”

  John shifted. “I’m starving. Can I at least eat the sushi if you’re not going to?”

  Galen pulled his attention away from the window and focused solely on John. That quickly, John was not hungry anymore.

  “I am not going to disappear if you take your eyes off of me.”

  John sighed and sat heavily on the bed, propping his back against the wall. “I hope not, since I go back to Cypress Point every night and you stay here.”

  Galen ran his hand through his hair. His eyebrows, which had become a little unruly in his stay in rehab, drooped, and John realized that whatever was troubling him was serious.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked gruffly.

  Galen shifted in the bed so he could rest his head on John’s shoulder. “Twenty-eight days isn’t going to do it,” Galen said after a heavy silence. “John… I feel it. I’ll go out into the world and I’ll use. I’ll… I am not strong enough. Not now. I… I know you’re springing for the nice place, but—”

  “I’ll keep springing,” John said, feeling little bits of shell breaking off his heart, leaving the battered sore part in the heart place. “It’s… I mean, you want to stay here. It’s a good place.”

  Galen let out a breath. “Thank you. I’ll pay—”

  “You mean free legal service isn’t enough?”

  “Again. Thank you.”

  Galen snuggled hard, and John wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Still thin. Still tired. But… a terrible beating threatened to escape John’s chest. He needed to be home.

  “You need to go home.” Galen’s soft voice, dropping words like stones into a still pool, was so much a part of John’s thoughts that at first he assumed that was what he was hearing: his own thoughts, echoing in the quiet of his head.

  “I don’t have—”

  “Your business, John. Your friends. I know they’re important. I know you want to reconnect with them—you’ve said that yourself. And I want….”

  “To get better without me,” John said, trying not to sound bitter. He stiffened, wanting to move away from the bed, but Galen wouldn’t let him.

  “Don’t get stupid,” he said acidly, pushing John back down with a hand on his chest.

  “I thought you just needed me to get gone.” John was struggling now, both with Galen’s insistence and with his own voice.

  “Shut up!” Galen socked him on the shoulder. “Do you think I want you to go?”

  “You just told me you—”

  “I told you to go; that’s two different things.” Galen tried to scramble up, but his knee and arm gave way and he sprawled inelegantly on the bed, his face mashed into John’s thigh. He rolled and wound up on his back, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were puffy and red and his nose was swollen, and he looked angry and embarrassed to boot.

  “Galen, I don’t have to—”

  “You need to go get your life ready for me,” Galen snapped, still on his back. “And I need to walk into your arms like a man and not roll into them like a stoned teenager.”

  “But… I mean… don’t you need—”

  That forced Galen to sit up and glare at him, tears still sneaking down the side of his nose. “I need you to respect me, goddammit!”

  John recoiled. “I do—”

  “Well, you won’t—not if all you see of me is this.”

  John stood, reeling from the hurt, feeling naked and alone, like a child who’d failed at a task and had been sent to his room. “Do you think I haven’t been there?” John asked semihysterically. “Remember when I was begging for a fix? And you wouldn’t let me? How much respect do you have for me now? Is that why you want me to—”

  Galen stood up and clapped his ear.

  John held his hand up there in defense against another blow, and doubled over in pain. “Goddammit, how are you so good at that?”

  “My mother used to do it when I was being an obnoxious little asshole. I had no idea how much it would come in handy.”

  “I was being an asshole?” John glared at him.

  Galen shook his head, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “You were,” he said, voice wobbling. “I love you, John. That hasn’t changed. But I want to be with you as an equal—can you handle that?”

  “So I’m supposed to what? Just desert you in rehab? Because that worked so well with—”

  “I am not Tory!” Galen shouted.

  John’s jaw dropped in shock. “Galen!” he whispered. “You can’t—”

  “Bullshit. Every other asshole here gets a core reactor meltdown, and this is mine. I’m not Tory, and you need to leave so I can fucking prove it to you.”

  “That’s the stupidest—”

  “Don’t you want a man who will go out of his way to be with you?” Galen snarled. “Don’t you want a man who will track you down? Because you deserve that guy. You deserve someone who will be whole and well just for you. You deserve a man who will fix his life so he can help you fix yours!”

  “But why can’t I help you?” It wasn’t until he heard the note of begging, though, that he knew his own voice was teetering, falling.

  Breaking.

  “Why can’t I help you? Why can’t I be here for you—”

  “While your life falls apart?” Galen asked, his own voice firming. He took a couple of wobbly steps toward John, and John put out his hand automatically to steady him.

  “I can keep—”

  “Your company will fall apart without you,” Galen said softly. “And don’t tell me it doesn’t matter. Don’t tell me it’s only porn, or that you don’t need it. You deserve to have it. You are a good member of your community, John, and your employees need someone who’s not exploitative or dirty or who will make what they’re doing obscene. They need someone who gives them health insurance and psychiatric insurance and whatever else you’ve put into their contracts—I’m surprised you’re making enough to stay afloat, but dammit, between you and that Dex kid, you’re doing just fine. And we need you—”

  “Gay porn needs me?” Even through his pain, John managed to sputter some sarcasm in there. Because really, who gave a—

  “Don’t you make it stupid,” Galen hissed. “Don’t you make it trivial and dumb. People need you. They are making a living, and a damned honest one. You are a good man, and a good boss, and a good friend. And you need to go back and do those things so I can be a good lover and not drag you down.”

  “But….” Oh, John was not going to do this gracefully. And he knew how he looked crying, how his freckled face wrinkled and got redder, how his nose practically bloomed purple. This was not dignified or grown-up or any of th
ose other things people wanted to be when they were breaking up. “We just found each other?” he whispered, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

  “Yeah,” Galen said, advancing carefully into his personal space. “Yeah. Don’t worry, Johnny, I’m not breaking up with you. We’re not going to lose each other. We’re stronger than that.”

  John tried to pull in a breath, but it shook too much to do him much good. It came out as a sob. “That’s not how it feels,” he whispered. Oh Christ. Oh Christ. All this growing, and this was all that was left of him? He was a kid again? A sobbing kid? Defenseless, alone, hiding under the bed while his father raged in the house and his mother took off to go shopping? “It feels all alone,” he said, shoulders shaking.

  Galen stepped in, wrapping thin arms around John’s shoulders and pulling his face down to the hollow of his neck. “Oh John. Maybe that’s why you have to go. Dammit… can’t you trust that I’ll come to you? Please? Baby, can’t you trust me, just for a little while longer?”

  But John was clinging to him, trying to pull himself together, and he couldn’t answer right then.

  “I love you,” Galen murmured again and again and again. John couldn’t seem to hear that part.

  Finally John couldn’t stand it anymore. He took two steps back and said, “You know, I’m not much feeling like sushi,” but his words shattered in his own ears.

  “John—”

  “I’ll come by before I go.”

  He turned then and fled, so broken he didn’t even see the admitting nurse and the faintly pitying look she sent him as he ran toward the car.

  Just as well. His heart lay bleeding at his feet, and the last thing he needed was lemon juice for the shreds of dignity that surrounded it.

  THREE DAYS later he was doing laundry. His plane left the next afternoon from Daytona; he was planning to visit Galen on his way out. John had already paid movers to prep a room with Galen’s stuff and had set up his fish tank—and hired a maid to come in and feed the critters every other day until Galen got out of rehab for good.