by Laurie Loft
“Not awful. I feel the same. But, Vivian . . . this isn’t a good time. Truly. I am just recovering, and Sebby and I . . . we’re together. That is, I have moved in with him, and I need time, time with him, time to settle, and time to recover before introducing an ex-boyfriend into the mix.”
“Oh. Oh, of course. I don’t want to intrude. Of course, I’ll give you all the time you need, even forever, if you need it.” He sniffled, and Todd winced.
“Love doesn’t just . . . stop. But I am in love with Sebby. And he and I are well suited, whereas you and I . . . were always a turbulent mess.”
“I loved that turbulent mess,” Vivian said fervently. There was a pause, and then he went on wistfully. “But I ended it. It was my decision. And I think you’re happy, there with Sebby and mountains and coffee. Even though tea is clearly superior and always will be.”
Todd chuckled.
“Stay in touch,” Vivian admonished.
“Take care of yourself,” Todd said. “I mean it.”
“I will. As much as I can. You know.”
“I know. Good-bye, Vivian.”
“Bye, Todd.”
He stared at Vivid in his contacts. Stay in touch, Viv had said. Stay in touch. Todd bit his lip. His finger hovered over the delete selection. Finally, he drew a deep breath and set his phone aside.
Sebby was pleased when Todd was released after only one week in rehab. Sebby cared for Todd’s eye, over his protests, but Sebby suspected that if he didn’t take over the tasks of rinsing and applying ointment, Todd would neglect it. He followed each treatment with kisses, as Todd seemed self-conscious about the injury, and Sebby wanted him to know that he didn’t mind it. He planned to talk Todd into getting a prosthetic eye, but each time he brought it up, Todd shuddered and went pale. When Sebby pointed out that a patch with glasses was like crazy overkill, and that if he didn’t want a prosthesis he should get a contact lens for his good eye, Todd threatened to get a monocle.
Collin’s cohort, when questioned, admitted that they had planned to jump Sebby’s boyfriend, which established intent, which made the assault a more severe crime, and also established that Todd had acted in self-defense. Probation violation and commission of a new crime doomed Collin to hard time. There was plea bargaining for lesser offenses, and so nothing came to trial. The man who’d been actually responsible for damaging Todd’s eye had an arrest record, and the judge was not inclined to be lenient.
Whether motivated by sympathy or a genuine interest in Todd’s talents, the employer whose interview Todd had missed was willing to reschedule. Sebby nagged and cajoled and begged Todd to get either a prosthesis or a contact lens before the interview, but Todd was immovable on this point. He insisted that he’d be seen as colorful and eccentric, prized characteristics of an ad man. Off to the interview he went, wearing his eye patch under his glasses. Maybe he did know what he was talking about, because he was hired.
Sebby began to feel settled. There was no more pretending, no worries about being found out. Collin would never bother him again. Sebby had a job he enjoyed and a nice home. He had a boyfriend who was kind and who loved him. Todd’s family liked Sebby, and Sebby’s friends were Todd’s friends now too. Even Ryan had started coming around. And Todd now had a “real” job, and that meant he’d stay.
Monogamy became a comfortable thing. Sebby had never appreciated before what it would be like, having just one person that you allowed so close to you. Instead of feeling anxious that Todd would be bored, Sebby found relief in Todd’s promise of exclusivity, and it was a relief to have given the same. He worried about what Barry and Lawrence would think, but they were happy for Sebby. He discovered that he didn’t miss anything; instead, he’d gained something—a confidence in himself and his lover.
Todd was not much of a nightclub person, not since his college days anyway, but one evening he allowed Sebby to drag him to the bar where Barry and Lawrence tended. One of the bars, Sebby clarified, as there were apparently two or three. The boys moonlighted, always together. A proprietor could not get one without the other. Todd had to admit that he was curious to see how the two worked together.
They entered The Flaming Rum Punch and were greeted with squeals and over-the-bartop hugs. Barry and Lawrence wore identical fitted shirts, and short white aprons knotted around their hips over pants that looked too tight to move around in, yet limited their movements not at all. At one end of the bar, Hugh hunched, gargoyle-like, viewing his charges’ flirtations with apparent wary tolerance. Men sat or stood or leaned, subtle touches and quick, eager glances speaking a language that Todd knew all too well. A few couples moved languidly on the dance floor, speckled with multicolored neon. A boy in shabby denim who did not look old enough to play varsity sports grasped the manicured little finger of a businessman, and drew him away from the bar and into the glittering dark. Todd suppressed the urge to reach out and rescue the young boy—he was probably older than he looked, he told himself. Sebby, noting the direction of his gaze, tugged on Todd’s collar and whispered in his ear, “You can’t save the world.”
Todd shrugged off his unease and took the stool next to Hugh. “Hugh the Hero,” he said, by way of greeting.
“Hey.” Hugh straightened. “Sebby, you finally dragged him here.”
Sebby merely nodded and seated himself on Todd’s other side, turning away and leaning back against the bar. Todd thought that the whole Collin incident had made Sebby uncomfortable around Hugh, unless it was his continuing relationship with Barry and Lawrence that was the problem. The bartenders made their way over and said in obviously rehearsed unison, “Can we make you a hot toddy?”
Todd laughed—it was an old joke.
“We can make you a virgin hot toddy,” Lawrence offered.
“I think that’s impossible,” said Barry.
“A priest can do it,” said Lawrence.
“In point of fact, I am a virgin,” Todd asserted. “In my left ear.”
There was appreciative laughter, and drinks were lined up in front of them. “On the house!” they insisted, but Todd pulled out a five to slip into their tip jar. Sebby grasped his wrist.
“No!”
“What?”
“You don’t tip someone you’ve slept with! ’S rude!”
Consternated, Todd stared pointedly at the stuffed jar and then allowed his eye to sweep the room. “In that case, money does grow on trees, and this container”—he knocked his knuckles on the side of the jar—“is an ecosphere.”
Sebby sighed, tugged the bill from Todd’s fingers, and added it to the jar.
“I tip them,” Hugh said, his eyes following Barry, who blew a kiss in their direction from the other end of the bar. He hopped to sit on the counter, allowing a patron to slip a bill into his hip pocket before hopping down again.
“Martiniiis,” Lawrence sang, scooping up a bottle of gin in one hand, a metal shaker in the other. Barry grabbed a bottle of vermouth. Mirroring one another, each poured into his own shaker and then tossed his bottle, unerringly plucking the other’s bottle from the air and adding to his shaker. Back to back, they shook the martinis, wriggling against one another and evoking cheers and cat-calls from onlookers. Two martinis were dispensed. The tip jar sprouted new foliage. Sitting backward, elbows on the bar, Sebby sipped, his eyes roaming the room while Todd chatted with Hugh.
“Things must be going well.” Todd nodded at Barry and Lawrence, who were pitching olives into the open mouths of patrons.
“Somehow.” Hugh shook his head, looking dazzled. “God love ’em.” The big man grinned, and for the first time, Todd noticed a resemblance to Hugh Jackman, though he doubted the likeness would have occurred to him if it had not been suggested. Hugh’s expression sobered, and he leaned closer. “How’s the eye?”
“Gone, thanks to our friend. Seriously, though, it’s healing.” He flicked at his eye patch. “Care to see?”
“Naw,” Hugh said. “Wish I’d beat ’im better when I had the chance. Mi
ght still have your eye, then.”
A hand touched Todd’s elbow, and he turned his attention to Sebby. “I see someone I know. Kay?” Without waiting for answer, Sebby slid from the stool and glided away, hips swinging as he meandered between tables, skirting the dance floor.
“You did your best,” Todd continued to Hugh. “And I did mine.” He shook his head, still finding it hard to believe. “Who knew he had a friend?”
Evening wore on into night, and the mood changed as the place filled. Patrons had to shout into one another’s ears to be heard as the music picked up and the buzz of conversation mounted. Subtlety was shed in favor of brazen advances. Todd lost sight of Sebby in the press of people.
Eventually, the bartenders opted for a break and tried to sweet-talk Hugh into dancing with them. “I don’t dance,” Hugh insisted gruffly. Barry and Lawrence pouted and wheedled, but Hugh remained as immovable as Colossus. “Get someone else.”
They turned to Todd with such alacrity that he was certain this scenario had become habit—beg Hugh for the sake of politeness to dance, gain permission to find other partners, and move on. Todd attempted to glower like Hugh, but without success, and he found himself being dragged toward the sparkling space, the arms of a pretty boy wound around each of his own arms like duct tape. Over his shoulder, he shot Hugh a desperate glance. The man raised his margarita in salute, and Todd cursed him silently. The music thudded in his ears; the heavy bass pulsed in his chest. He felt out of place among the hipsters; though, if he were being honest with himself, plenty of older men like Hugh and conservative types such as himself were vying for attention alongside the more flamboyant. In vain, his eyes hunted the crowd for Sebby in hopes of being rescued.
There were bare-chested men sporting nipple rings, businessmen in ties, men dressed comfortably in jeans and tees, heavily made-up men in fishnet hose and heels, and a sprinkling of boys like the one Todd had spotted earlier who looked too young to be allowed. The crush of flesh and the pounding music heated his blood till he was caught up in the bohemian mood of the place, and gave in to the sheer pleasure of moving his body to music.
Smiling to himself, Sebby remained on the fringes, watching Todd’s discomfort evaporate into enjoyment. As Barry and Lawrence returned to their work, other young men pressed forward to take their place. Sebby was proud of his man, whose infectious grin said, I’m the most fun guy in this joint. Todd was not the most handsome, certainly not the tallest, not even the best dancer, and he was even kind of odd looking with his eye patch under his glasses. But his smile and his charm, Sebby was sure, were unequaled. Sebby took pleasure in seeing other boys look into Todd’s face, their own faces bright and eager, each one of them calculating how best to get Todd home . . . or at least into a dark corner. Clubby dance tunes gave way at last to a slow song, and Sebby made his way through the dancers to claim his own. With practiced dexterity, he shouldered aside the taller boy who clung to Todd’s arm. Todd blinked, and his expression opened; the smile that bloomed was for Sebby alone. Sebby raised his arms slowly and gracefully and lowered them around Todd’s neck. He pressed his whole length against him—not the first boy to have done so that night, but the first to do so knowing that Todd loved him.
Smug triumph buoyed him like helium; he smiled sweetly into the disappointed faces and, to send the point home, pressed his mouth to Todd’s and thrust his tongue in deep. He felt Todd’s startlement, felt that he pulled back a millimeter or two before returning the kiss with enthusiasm. There were jealous huffs as Todd’s hands landed on Sebby’s posterior, cupping it possessively.
“Mine,” Sebby murmured against Todd’s mouth.
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It would be ungrateful and hubris-y of me not to thank my NaNoWriMo friends for helping me with character development, among so many other things. Thank you, Callirhoe, Leeza, Baxter, Eli, Mittens, and especially Simon. We’ll always have the Coffeehouse.
Laurie Loft lives in Iowa, endeavoring to write stories to give you that rush. Her husband, cat, and dogs kindly tolerate this odd activity. Her first M/M novel came about because of a minor character in a straight romance who just took over and demanded his own book. Laurie enjoys NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and other forms of writerly torture. She finds inspiration in her NaNo friends and her fellow Riptide authors. When not writing, or working at her mysterious day job, she can often be found screaming at tangled cross-stitch threads.
Website and blog: www.laurieloft.com
Twitter: @Laurie_Loft
Facebook: @laurieloftwriter
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