by Jaime Samms
He was still lost in trying to remember the weekend and not think about how much of what he could remember he wished had never happened, or that he could never tell Lenny, when he was distracted from his miserable thoughts.
For a few moments, Damian couldn’t figure out where the odd music was coming from. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he realized it was coming from there, though the ringtone was unfamiliar. He didn’t remember changing it, and he wasn’t fond of the song that was playing. A vague recollection surfaced of someone playing with his ringtones at some point during that addled weekend. He didn’t remember who it had been or why he’d let them. He dug the cell out and tapped the screen without bothering to look and see who was calling.
“Where the hell are you?” Shrill panic filled the voice on the other end, and Damian just about dropped the device.
“Calm the hell down!”
“You took a cab!” Lenny was nearly screaming at him. “You took a cab and I walked. You said you were coming home. You’re not here. Where are you?” At least his voice calmed as he spoke. Maybe just having Damian on the other end of his tirade was enough to calm whatever he was feeling.
“I didn’t take the cab. I walked too. Had a lot to think about.” He paused and glanced around, surprised to see it had gotten dark. The day was gone, and night traffic lit up the streets. He decided on a pit stop and wove through the light foot traffic to a coffee shop. Inside, the warmth and familiar smell of hot brew and spiced snacks filled his nostrils. He hadn’t even realized he’d been chilly or hungry until the smells hit him. “In fact, I’m almost home,” he said into the phone. “I’m at the Starbucks around the corner. You want?” He stepped into line behind a pair of chattering teenagers to wait.
“Come home.” Lenny’s voice was as quiet now as it had been high and panicky a moment ago.
“Be right there, Len. Promise. Hang on. It’s my turn.” He moved the phone away from his face to order. “A coffee, please, tall, and a grande caramel latte with extra caramel drizzled on top.”
“You shouldn’t be drinking coffee,” Lenny said in his ear. “It gives you headaches.”
Damian closed his eyes and sighed. “Yeah. You’re right.” To the barista, he said, “Scratch the coffee. Do you have chamomile tea?”
The girl nodded.
“I’ll have that, then. Oh, and don’t put the lid on that latte. He hates it when the whipped cream gets all smushed.”
“How do you remember shit like that?” Lenny’s voice echoed for a second in stereo, then the line died, and Lenny was there beside him in his shirt sleeves and untied sneakers. “But you forget not to go shooting up?”
Damian wanted to lean into Lenny, feel his whip-thin body backing his own. The guitar player was already standing close enough that Damian could feel his body heat. It sent a shiver through him, and he shifted until his knuckles came into contact with Lenny’s thigh. That made it real, made Lenny real and present, and tension ran out of Damian. He shut his phone off and stuck it back in his pocket.
“You got money to pay for this?” Lenny asked softly.
“’Course I do.” Barely. But he pulled out his last ten-dollar bill and handed it to the barista.
Lenny dropped coins into the tip jar while Damian collected his change. “Move on down.” He nudged Damian toward the pick-up end of the counter, where he crouched to tie his shoes while they waited. Damian watched him, struggling with the sudden urge to reach over and run his fingers through all that ginger hair. Just to prove Lenny was really there, being kind and forgiving, like Damian knew he didn’t really deserve.
“Guess I should have called, huh?” he said as Lenny straightened.
“Yeah, I….” Lenny ducked his head. “Sorry. Had a moment.”
“It’s okay. Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up.” He took the drinks the barista handed him and passed Lenny his latte. “Sorry about a lot of things. You wanna sit?”
“Come home,” Lenny said again. He darted his tongue out to lick at a drip of whipped cream. “I’m tired.”
Damian nodded. “Okay.”
They walked side by side, silent, just about touching. The space between them was so negligible, Damian’s skin tingled and the fine hairs all over his body lifted, as though doing what he didn’t dare and reaching for his friend.
“I’m sorry,” he said as they neared their building.
Lenny nodded, but his frown didn’t ease.
“I didn’t think. The weekend was… at first I was just so pissed,” Damian told him. “Then I was drunk, and….” He shrugged. “This morning… I don’t really have an excuse or a reason. It was stupid.”
Lenny pulled in a deep breath, let it out, and turned to him. His blue eyes were glassy, his freckles showing too sharply. “What do you want me to say?”
Damian could only shake his head. “That you forgive me. But you shouldn’t.”
“No. I know I shouldn’t.” Lenny pulled out his key, unlocked their door, and pulled it open so they could enter.
More silence entered with them. The place was immaculate. Damian could see through his bedroom door that even his clothes, usually strewn about the room in haphazard piles, were folded neatly on his made bed. Lenny had probably dusted too.
He had a sudden flash of memory, of Lenny standing in the middle of another apartment, one they hadn’t shared, with bruises on his face and arms hugged tight around his body. When Damian had arrived to pick Lenny up for rehearsal, Ace was standing in the kitchen and Lenny was at the door, his eyes too bright, his face too pale, his home spotless, and his lover asking him not to go out. Not to leave.
Damian had noticed the bruises and the haunted look in Lenny’s eyes, had heard the hollow apologies Ace was offering, and he’d been furious. It had been the first night Lenny hadn’t gone home, the first night he’d stayed in this apartment with Damian and not gone back to the man who didn’t deserve him.
Lenny took Damian’s tea and set both drinks on the table beside the door. As Damian opened his mouth Lenny touched two fingers to his lips. “Don’t apologize again. I don’t want to hear it. I want you not to do it anymore.”
Damian nodded.
“Okay.” Lenny answered the affirmation with a bob of his head.
It felt like the most natural progression in the world from that small touch, that unspoken promise, to the touch of lips. It felt good and right, the way Lenny melted against him. Until he felt how much his friend was shaking and the pain of Lenny’s fingers digging into his arms.
“Lenny.”
“Mmf.” Lenny pressed closer, eager, demanding with his mouth, but decidedly limp everywhere else.
“Lenny, stop it.”
“No.” Lenny clung, wrapping an arm around Damian and leaning, throwing him off-balance. They banged against the apartment door with twin grunts. “I want—”
Damian forcefully pushed the smaller man away. “Wait, then.”
“Why?”
Damian reached between them and cupped Lenny’s limp dick gently in his palm. “That’s why.”
Lenny took one uncertain step back. “Last time I shut you down and you took off….”
“Because I was an idiot, not because you wouldn’t have sex with me. Just”—he carefully extracted himself from his friend’s grip without actually letting go of him—“that is not going to be why we do it. If we do it. Tonight, can we just make something to eat and relax and try to be in the same room without groping each other or pissing each other off? I want to start there, okay?”
Lenny nodded, a solemn expression on his face. “’Kay.” He backed off, sudden, frenetic energy shooting sparks around the room. “You want to eat? What are you hungry for?” He bounced to the kitchen, an exaggerated version of his usual energetic self. But it was too bright. Too forced.
Damian followed more slowly, carrying their drinks. “You sure you need the caffeine, dude?”
Lenny grinned and took his drink. “Yup. Gimme.”
Handing it over, Damian watched the glow around Lenny flare, like sunspots, too bright to look at, zinging radiant enthusiasm through the spotless kitchen. Still. It was better than the morose, resentful vibe of the past few days. And it would calm, in time, if Damian didn’t do anything else to rock the boat.
They prepared dinner together, and though Damian had made it clear they were not moving beyond the one sweet kiss by the door, Lenny stayed close, touching often, always near enough to share Damian’s personal space. It probably should have been more annoying than it was, but the proximity seemed to dull the sharp glare of all that kinetic energy. By the time the food was ready, Lenny was mellow enough to sit still and eat it.
“Want to watch something?” Lenny asked, plopping onto the couch, leaving plenty of room for Damian to sit beside him. “I couldn’t sleep now.”
“Yeah, sure.” Damian settled next to him, and watched as a series of inane programs scrolled across the screen. He found himself far more interested in watching Lenny slowly relax, finally coming down completely from the edgy, emotional high. Eventually, long pale lashes fluttered, and the remote dropped to the couch cushions from Lenny’s lax fingers with a soft plop. At the moment Damian thought he should shake the other man awake and suggest he find his bed, Lenny moved, sliding over until his head was on Damian’s lap and he was snoring gently.
“Really, dude?” Damian watched him sleep, though, and took the opportunity to drag his fingers lightly through the tangled red waves. It was a bad idea to feel the way he was feeling. He knew it was. Lenny was too fragile, and he was not the reliable guy his friend needed.
He fell asleep on the couch, curled around the guitarist, and it was the best sleep he’d had in a very long time.
11
THE CONTRACT signing went smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, Stanley was a little bit worried. He had yet to work with a group of artists who didn’t bicker, at least on some level, at least some of the time. This gang was all smiles and polite chitchat. It didn’t feel real.
“Are they always this agreeable?” he asked Alice.
The woman glanced at him, her serious, thin face pursed into a tight grimace. “I should tell you yes, just until I’m sure this is a done deal.”
“The band’s contracts are signed,” Stanley assured her. “There’s no going back, now.”
“No, I suppose there isn’t, is there?” She surveyed the group of musicians, but didn’t give him an answer to his question. That, he thought, was answer enough. Oddly, it was heartening to know they were mostly putting up a united front for him. Given time, he’d get to know the true band. For today, he could respect them for at least being professional.
“Damian and the guitar player seem close,” he said, hoping for a little bit of inside information on the singer. They had yet to discuss whether the band wanted to work with Damian, and he couldn’t be sure of the outcome. Just because they all seemed to be getting along didn’t mean anything. It was in their best interests to show their most agreeable faces today, after all.
Alice frowned at him, and Stanley leaned a little closer. “It always amazes me,” she said, “how things can look from the outside. They’re friends. Have been for a very long time. Anything more than that would not be good for either one of them, but try telling them that.” She shook her head. “It’s… complicated.”
“Artists often are.” Hearing that the two were, indeed, something more than friends, even if they were less than lovers, left Stanley’s heart thudding unnaturally fast. “Don’t worry. In my experience, the more you try to control them, the worse they get. Sometimes it’s best to let them have their heads. Let them explore.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll tell you what I know, though. Lenny is at his best when he’s working. Writing. He’s had way too much empty time on his hands lately, and that makes him cling and brood, and he has a lot of shit he does not need to be brooding over. And people and things he should not be clinging to.” She shook her head again. “Like I said, they’re complicated.” With a sigh, she rose and smoothed her tight pencil skirt into place over her thighs. “Anyway, they’re your problem now. I’m just their lawyer. You get to be their babysitter. Good luck with that.”
“Aren’t you married to one of them?” he asked, amused at her pseudowarning.
She grinned. “Indeed. The sane one, Clive, he’d be mine, so hands off.”
Stanley raised an eyebrow.
“I know your kind. I’m not about to tell any one of these guys how to live their lives, but they saw what happens when the manager gets in deep with the talent. Everyone gets fucked.”
“Well, let’s first see if the talent still has a band, shall we?” He stood and took a place in the center of the room. “Gentlemen. And ladies, it’s time to take a vote. You have all signed your contracts.” He glanced at Damian. The younger man was sprawled on the couch, but his foot tapped restlessly on the floor, and he stared straight ahead, not looking at anyone. “All but Trevor, of course.”
Damian made a face, but said nothing.
Lenny shot the singer a nervous look. “Trev?”
“Just wait for it,” Damian muttered.
Lenny continued to watch him, but he didn’t look at the guitarist.
“After everything that has happened over the past few weeks,” Stanley went on, “it’s understandable there might be issues between you about your working relationship. So before Trevor signs anything, let me put this question to the rest of you: do you want to continue working with him?”
“What?” Lenny was on his feet in an instant. “Of course we do!”
There were other mutterings around the room, and every eye fixed on Damian.
“Don’t speak for the others, Lenny,” Damian said softly, still staring at his Docs. His right leg bounced a mile a minute, his sole thumping soft staccato on the carpet. “You saw what happened when I did that. Let them make up their own minds.”
“But….” Lenny sank back onto the arm of the couch where he had been sitting. What if they say no was written all over his face.
“No one will be in any way reprimanded or sanctioned for saying no,” Stanley assured them. “You all signed contracts, and those were individual contracts. There is nothing in them stating you have to play together as a band. Only that I will be representing each of you. You don’t work for me, I work for you. I realize that hasn’t been your experience up to now, but I hope we can have a mutually satisfactory relationship.”
“That why you’re giving us a choice?” Clive asked.
“Yes, it is. You have a history I don’t know anything about at this point. You know better than I do if a continued existence as a band will be mutually beneficial or if it’s time to go your separate ways.”
“I’m sticking with Trev,” Lenny said.
“Lenny, let the others vote first. If none of them want to, you’re better off sticking with the band, not with me.”
“Don’t.” Lenny shot to his feet and paced across the room. “I’m not an idiot or a kid. I know what’s best for me.”
Clive shook his head. “Calm down. No one is telling you what to do, Len.” He sighed and turned his attention to Stanley. “If I say no to Trevor, you can guarantee me gigs?”
“Mr. Learner assures me you have considerable skill leading the band onstage. A strong, steady drummer is an irreplaceable asset in the recording studio. You would have every opportunity to work with many very talented artists. Very big names, if everything he’s told me about your abilities is true. Or, you can go on tour. There are always opportunities for opening bands in most cities. Acts starting out rarely have a full complement, and good drummers are more rare than you might think. And Mr. Learner assures me you are the best.”
“Did he?” Clive turned to fix a hard glare on Damian. “You said all that?”
Damian shrugged. “I just told him you were good. That we follow your lead. You get us into the groove every time.” Finally, he lifted his gaze an
d met Clive’s glare. “You got your shit together. I didn’t tell him anything that wasn’t true. I just told him what he needed to hear to make sure he signed you guys. Wouldn’t have been fair if my screwing up left everybody else unemployed.”
“You’re a bastard,” Clive muttered, and sank back into his chair. “I’m in.”
Jethro sighed. “He paid my mortgage off, didn’t he?” he said. “I’m in.”
“I want to write more music,” Beks said from where she was leaning on the bar counter. “If I can, then I’m in.”
Everyone agreed she should be writing more, including Damian.
Lenny let out a sigh of relief. “So can he just sign his contract now?”
“Of course.” Stanley had been leaning on his desk. Now he stood and held out a pen to Damian. “Mr. Learner.” He pushed a sheaf of papers across the desk.
Damian was ready to sign when Alice placed her hand over the page. “You read this through?” she asked him.
Damian nodded.
“You know you’re the one on probation this time, right?”
He nodded again. “I know. One year and then they get to vote again. I read it.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Alice.”
“You know if they don’t want you after a year, you can’t sign again with Krane. It’s in the contract. You’re out. You have to find a new manager.”
“I know! Would you get the hell out of the way?”
“As your lawyer, I would council you to negotiate that clause. You got them these contracts.”
“And they’re giving me a chance, right? You think I can’t pull my shit together?”
“I know you, Trev. I think it’s a dangerous clause.”
“Thanks, Alice.” He pushed her hand out of the way. “I guess I know what you think of me too.” He signed the contract.
“I’m just looking out for you, Trev,” she said.
“Well, with friends like you,” he muttered. “Maybe you could try having a little faith in me instead.”