Gilded Lies

by Lin Lustig

  The booth tucked into the back corner had cloth seats and winged backs creating a sound-dampening effect. Open tables scattered the space, but the other booths were full of laptop addicts. A talk show host John recognized huddled in one chatting animatedly with another professional, judging by his suit. The floor had water-proof rugs covering the cement, and the ceiling had a sound-deadening foam sprayed across the industrial vents. Between those, their range of not-quite-top-shelf drinks to fancy imports, and a no-camera policy, it was their favorite place to meet up.

  Prisha maneuvered back through the crowd, dancing around other patrons and chairs, and delivered his sixteen-ounce chicory-coffee blend with extra cream. She slid into the booth without upsetting her own drink and cuddled the steaming mug in her hands.

  She grinned, wide and somewhat devious over the top of the mug. “Now tell me everything.”

  He laughed. Ten minutes with her and already he felt grounded. It had been that way since their first rehearsal. If only he really could tell her everything. But, no.

  She took a sip of her coffee and cocoa bean brew.

  “I think Em and I might break up.”

  “What?”

  “God Prish, say it don't spray it.” John grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the offending splatters. She found her own and did the same, motioning for him to continue. “He proposed. I said no.”

  “Well that was dumb.”

  John flopped his head back against the booth. “Really feeling the support here.”

  “Had you two ever talked about marriage before?”

  “Not exactly. We haven't even been dating a year.”

  “You do realize if you were a straight couple people would be hounding you about rings after three months, right? Hell, people pester me about marrying you and we only work together.” She paused, a grin spreading over her. “Well, mostly.”

  “Who's on your case about that?”

  “My mother, my brother, my friend from college... you get the picture.” She took another drink, then set the mug down. He tasted his own and then added a drizzle of honey from the plastic bear nestled with the napkins.

  “So, what did Emerson do when you said no?”

  “Almost took a job in California with his ex.”

  “Ouch.”

  John couldn't look at her. “Yeah, but he didn’t. He's going to stay, but only because I don't think he trusts me with an old friend who's visiting.”

  “Old friend? Or old friend.”

  He smirked. “She’s just a regular old friend on this one.”

  She sipped again, smacking her delicate lips. “Okay. For a few minutes I’ll set my usual teasing aside. What happened? When you two first got here you were so obsessed with each other I caught you fucking in the dressing room.”

  “Yes, and you were watching.” John raised his eyebrow at her.

  “You were in my dressing room.”

  He grinned guiltily. He hadn’t meant to let Prisha in on the dating-a-man thing, but she’d walked in on them. Instead of being weird about it, she’d offered to join in—which in hindsight might have been weirder.

  That had been less than a month after moving to the city. He and Emerson hadn’t started officially dating until they’d moved. Before, back in L.A., they’d stayed friends with all the benefits for too long. It had been easier than John admitting that he’d been falling in love with a man. For years he’d denied any kind of attraction after the trouble he’d caused at his all-boy’s school as a teenager. Giving and receiving blowjobs hadn’t seemed unusual at the time, but the unanimous scorn once the rumors and proof had spread had been enough to imprint on his psyche. He’d sworn off guys ever since. Until Emerson.

  “Things had been exciting when we first moved. Everything was new and fun and sneaking around was still a thrill. But when it was clear neither of us wanted the fun to end, Emerson started pushing for making us publicly official. But I can’t do that.”

  “That’s crappy on you both. Emerson doesn’t get the acknowledgement he deserves, and your fans would eviscerate you.”

  “Plus, I have some specific terms in my agency contract that would get me kicked out.”

  Prisha blew out a breath and leaned back. “Emerson knows?”

  John took another scalding drink and nodded. “We’ve talked about it a lot, but there’s other things I did when I was younger that make it... well, it wouldn’t work out. I don’t want to lose him or force him to stay, but I don’t want to hurt him, either. I think I finally crossed into the shitty-at-relationships zone.”

  Prisha licked her lips. “You have to figure out a way to let him know you're still interested. You two are the best thing in my life. You can't fuck it up.”

  “Gee, thanks Prish. No pressure.” John nudged her with his toe under the table. She grinned, which caused a rush of arousal in the room. Not his, not that it wasn't an option, but he was being good. John was pretty sure it originated from the counter and a table not far to his right. The spike of desire tickled John's ability, asking it to come out and play. He was used to letting it out around Prisha but preferred not to in uncrowded areas. It was too unpredictable in high doses. Dispersed, it was fairly harmless—a little jump in temperature or heart rate—but otherwise it was like a hit of Viagra without warning.

  “You're lucky you've found someone who puts up with your rep. There's bound to be compromises. That, or you get your Dom on and put him in his place.” She wiggled her eyebrows, then her face became serious. “Don't lose him. You two need each other.”

  She didn't know he needed Emerson more than Emerson needed him. But he didn't want to be selfish, at least not more than he'd already been. “I'm guessing you had a reason for asking me out to coffee instead of meeting at your place. What's going on with you?”

  “Damn. If I'm that transparent then I need to find a new line of work.”

  “You're not as brutal as usual. I figured something was up.” John shrugged and was rewarded with a not-quite-gentle kick in his shin. There was the Prisha he adored.

  “It's nothing. My family is giving me a hard time. You'd think now that I'm over forty they'd stop harassing me to get married and have a family.”

  “You could hire a husband and child to work your family events.”

  “My life is a dramady-thriller, not a sitcom, thank you very much. All that aside, I thought I'd beg you to attend the UHP annual gala this year.”

  “I hate those.” Or rather, he wasn't about to support UHP. He'd cut ties but had received an invite every year since UHP bought out WHRP.

  “It's The Thing to do. Looks great on social media. You could even promote that homeless charity you work with, and you'd get to spend the night hanging with your favorite person.”

  “I do love a good night with myself.”

  “On second thought, I'll ask Joe over there. He seems in dire need of a good lay.” Prisha shot the last swallow of her coffee and made like she'd leave.

  John chuckled and held her wrist. “I'm kidding. Is there a theme this year?”

  “I'll let you know when it's announced next week.”

  “I make no promises, but I'll consider it.” John leaned across the table and kissed her cheek. “What would I do without you?”

  “Fail.” Prisha's grin was all danger and delight, but then she softened. “Do yourself a favor and don't think too hard. You love him. He loves you. Fight for this and don't be afraid to sacrifice everything to get what you want. That means if I'm in the way you kick my ass out.”

  “I have plenty of plans for your ass and very few include kicking, but that will have to wait for another night. I need to fix things with Em first. Thanks for having my back.”

  “Everyone should know who to call when they need to bury a body—so to speak. I'm yours.”

  “I probably don't want to know who you'd call.” John shook his head, a soft laugh breaking free.

  “It's cute you think I'd need help.” She winked with flawless one-lid isol
ation and excused herself for a refill.

  John watched her go, as did most of the shop.

  CHAPTER 11

  John

  After they finished their refills, they strolled lazily back to the private garage where John sent Prisha on her way with a quick goodnight kiss. Her words stuck in his head. He wanted to stay with Emerson, of course he did, but if Emerson wanted marriage then John wasn't the right partner—and not just because he was technically still married. He could file the papers and get that sorted, but he didn't want that life. They were a team, they worked together, played together, loved together, and struggled with their abilities together. That was all John wanted.

  He rode the elevator up to his floor and as soon as he stepped into the foyer his phone buzzed. Missed call.

  Sliding off his suede shoes, he selected Glen's number and redialed.

  “You called?”

  “Couple of things.” Glen’s staccato voice was bad for John’s health. “First, my contact did some digging and the patient is a nineteen-year-old female. I'm still waiting on a name. Second, the new Jammers are, indeed, more effective than the last ones. They block anyone with an ability of three and up.”

  “Goodie,” John said. Licia was going to tear down the whole system when she heard they were experimenting on another teenager. As for the Jammers, they didn't know how any of their abilities rated so it was hard to know if they should be concerned or not. Chances were they were all in the range that could be negated. Most of the members on the Anons were estimated low to mid-range. He really needed to get his hands on UHP's parameters. If they knew what they were testing for and how UHP was categorizing abilities, it would help them figure out what kind of Abnormals UHP were after and who was higher risk.

  “Third,” Glen continued like John hadn't said anything. “Licia.”

  No explanation or hints. Just Licia. Yes, she was a constant conundrum. John almost rolled his eyes. “What about her?”

  “She's in New York.”

  “I'm aware. She showed up on my doorstep last night.”

  Emerson wandered into the foyer doorway and listened to one side of the conversation.

  “Just confirming. She's been showing up in my system in Central Park.”

  Somehow, he doubted Licia was out there sightseeing. He pulled the phone away from his mouth and whispered, “Where's Licia?”

  Emerson shook his head and shrugged.

  “Right, I'll keep her on a leash. Is that all?” There was a breath of hesitation. “Glen?”

  “This next thing comes from my side. Paperwork, money trails, all that, so I'm not sure if it's a direct correlation, or a coincidence.” His voice sounded uncertain and wary. John held the phone closer to his ear, worried he'd miss something as Glen's voice softened. “There's a series of payments to the medical research program UHP runs. They're all from GANF.”

  John couldn't decide if he was joking or not. “You're serious? The so-natural-we-tried-to-ban-meat GANF? The pain-in-my-ass, ruining-my-career-with-their-kelp-obsessed-naturalism GANF? Why would they fund anything medical and anything to do with Abnormals?” John made a face and passed by Emerson towards the kitchen.

  “I don't know. UHP isn't even public with your kind existing. GANF lobbies on cleansing the young savants of demons—or whatever it is they feel like blaming—but there’s been nothing from them supporting Abnormals as a legitimate condition.”

  John raked back his hair and massaged the tight tendons in his neck. Condition. As if that was all this was. Eczema was a condition. This was who he was. “Great. Thanks for the update. That was all, right?”

  “For now.”

  “Good.” Abnormals were nowhere near GANF's specific and limited kind of natural. What were they doing? He needed to talk to Licia. Where had she wandered off to? “Do you have Licia's phone number?”

  “No. She ditched the phone she last called me on.”

  Paranoid as usual. “Then you better tell me where in Central Park to find her.” John retraced his steps and slipped back into his blue suede Louboutins.

  CHAPTER 12

  Emerson

  John punched the elevator button and jammed his phone into his pocket.

  “Updates?” Emerson prompted.

  “New Jammers are more sensitive and GANF is funneling money into UHP's Abnormal program.” He scooped his wallet up and shoved it in his other front pocket. The elevator was on its way, but John shifted from foot to foot impatiently.

  Although not unusually late, the shortening days drained the evening light away too fast. Wherever John was heading, it would be dark by the time he got there. Emerson sat and laced himself into his steel-toed boots.

  “What are you doing?” John crossed his arms, his faux leather jacket bunching around his shoulders, so he looked bigger than he was.

  “Coming with you.” Emerson felt a shiver along his skin akin to dopamine but recognized it as the pleasurable scratch of energy as John's ability spilled out. It made his hollow ache.

  John cleared his throat and righted his jacket. “You don't have to. I'm going to collect Licia so we can talk, that's all.”

  If he thought that would encourage Emerson to stay behind, he was mistaken. “I'm your guard. It would be irresponsible to send you out alone at night.”

  “Then it's not about Licia?”

  Emerson jabbed the elevator call button again, as if that would speed it up. “It's about doing my job.”

  John pulled at Emerson’s wrist, turning them face to face. “It's not just about that.”

  “Alright, fine. It's not. I don't trust her. I don't trust you with her.”

  “But you said we were over, so what does it matter to you?”

  “I never said we were over,” Emerson mumbled.

  “He's all yours. That's what you told Prish.”

  The elevator slid open, but neither of them moved to get on. “Do you really want me to say it?”

  “Of course I don't, but I'm not going to string either of us along if you're out.” John opened up, draining wave after wave of jittery energy into Emerson, letting him drink his fill. The hollow warmed in pleasure of the meal. He could tell the energy was tainted with anxiety, but it wasn't his job to fix John.

  “I'm staying, but not for us.” Emerson didn't remove his hands. He was so empty. “I need this. You need this. Others like us need help and we both have jobs to do.” Emerson backed into the elevator before it closed and dragged John with him. His expression was unreadable, but the energy coming off him lost the jittery edge.

  “Is it so wrong to want this?” John asked. Emerson looked up into his bright hazel gaze, feeling warm. Feeling weak. John stepped into his space and leaned down, his lips brushing Emerson's with gentle pressure. Damn the universe, it felt good. It felt like coming home.

  “Don't.” Emerson took half a step back as the elevator slowed. He tried to pull his hands out of John's, but he gripped harder.

  “Okay. We... we aren't a we anymore.” John's expression grew distant as the doors slid open again, revealing the main lobby. “But this part.” John squeezed, another wave of delicious energy offered and taken. “I think we both still need.” He released and stepped out.

  Emerson didn't argue. Without taking John's excess he worried his thyroid malfunction would get out of hand. As it was, he kept having to up his Synthroid dose. He followed John out past the mailboxes and the guarded entryway, knowing that it would take strength he wasn't sure he had to stay away from him. To touch him but not love him. There were lines he'd drawn, lines that John would only respect because he'd asked, and lines that Emerson would have to uphold when all he wanted was more, not less.

  They walked half a step apart with John ahead of him. There was always the risk that John would be recognized, but in evening rush hour everyone was too focused on grabbing seats or procuring handholds to steady themselves as the subway raced off.

  Uncertainty warred in him as they swayed with the car's movement,
half of him wary of the other passengers who clustered in around them, the other half completely lost in holding onto his beliefs. He deserved to be openly loved, didn't he? Or was this punishment for the way he'd stolen life from his family, his squadron, and even John? All he'd done his whole life was consume what was not his to take...except with John.

  The swaying of the car made his vision blur—blur and then fade. He tried to reach out to John in concern, but his arms were stuck, as were his legs. His body ignored his commands to move until even his breath caught. The subway car disappeared entirely as pressure built behind his eyes and a new image took over his vision.

  A sound stage, the crew silent and primed like they were ready to jump into the scene at a moment's notice. This memory was vivid for several reasons, mostly because he remembered his first day on any job, but in reality, it was because of the tall blond acting out a scene opposite to the woman Emerson had been hired to protect.

  Alice Layned's popularity had gained her fame, fortune, and stalkers. Emerson had been hired by the production company as part of a team to keep her and the other actors safe from a variety of threats, but since this was Emerson's first time working as a bodyguard, he'd been given the easy on-set day shift.

  He remembered these things but fell into the memory as if it were happening for the first time, his mind slipping back three years to the first time he ever saw John.

  The man was a fucking statue. Perfect musculature, trim, suave, confident, and with a little something extra that made Emerson lean in without thinking. The man was a dozen yards away and all Emerson could see was the way he half-smirked, half-grinned at his costar.

  They were shooting a date scene at a cafe, one of those trite situations where the waitress was unrealistic and would definitely be fired after dumping water on John's lap for never calling her back.