by Rick R. Reed
“I’m flat broke, honey. And the creditors are like hounds out there, baying at my front door.” She paused, wondering if she sounded as stupid as she thought she did. “The rent’s overdue and my utilities will be shut off soon. Ramona left me with very little. She said I was a big girl and could take care of myself, that I wasn’t her responsibility…something like that, anyway. I guess I’m not so big after all.”
“How much do you need?”
“No! No! This is exactly what I was afraid you’d say. I’m not looking for a handout. I’m not looking for anything from you other than the chance to know you better, to see where things might lead between us. Whether it’s beyond the realm of what we’d call normal or not, I think there’s something special between us.”
“I do, too. That’s why it’s no problem to help you. I’m betting what you need won’t even be a blip on my bank account. Sorry to sound so magnanimous.” Robert’s voice lowered. “I want to help you.”
“I can’t let you do that. I’ve got an interview next week in Greek Town. It’s just a waitress job, but it’s a busy place and I’ll probably bring home good tips. I can get back on my feet. Really.”
Robert went silent. When he spoke again, he sounded tentative. “Want to hear a crazy idea?”
Jess closed her eyes. “A crazy idea sounds wonderful right about now.”
“What do you pay in rent?”
“That’s just it. I don’t.” Jess laughed. “But what Elston Property Management wants is fifteen hundred a month.”
Robert breathed in. “Would it help you to get out of there?”
“What are you thinking?”
“I have a lot of room here. It’s a two-story penthouse and I’m thinking that very shortly, I’m going to be alone. I could use a roommate.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m lonely. Because I want Keith back.” Robert’s voice caught, and Jess felt guilty for making him say what he just did. Before she could respond, though, he choked out, “Just think about it, sweetheart. I need to go.”
And Jess was left listening to dead air.
* * * *
Robert went over to the bar near the east bank of windows in the living room. It was the cocktail hour, right? A little Bloody Mary had never done him any harm. He pulled out the Stoli, the shaker, then made his way into the kitchen to gather up pickled, spicy green beans, V-8, and jars of Tabasco, Worcestershire, and horseradish. If you’re gonna do it, do it right.
He began throwing the ingredients for the Bloody Mary into the cocktail shaker, swirling the metal cup around with each addition. He didn’t want to think. And it was more the preparation of the drink than the alcohol, itself, that would help him escape. It was what he had always done. If it wasn’t a fancy drink, it was a fancy meal. Speaking of which, wouldn’t some guacamole go great with the Bloody? I think there are some avocados and cilantro in the fridge.
Robert sat on a chair by the sleek stainless steel and glass bar and rubbed anxiously at his face. What the hell are you doing? There is no escape. You need to face certain things. Right…just as soon as I have a nice, cold, and deliciously spicy Bloody Mary in my hand to sip on. Robert smiled a mirthless smile and grimly completed making his cocktail, adding a celery stalk and a handful of olives to the green bean garnish, even rimming the glass in coarse sea salt and freshly ground black pepper.
He took the drink and sat by the window to watch the sunset as it died over the western side of Lincoln Park, to see the enchantment of the lights coming on in the buildings. He remembered the night he had first come up to this glorious penthouse with Keith and how overwhelmed he had been by the stunning views. The lake was just a black void, but my God, the city—its skyline brilliantly lit—looked like something a clever set designer had staged for his amazement. The illuminated towers of downtown nearly took away his breath, nearly made him forget the lust he had for this hot leather man who had just picked him up on his first-ever visit to a leather bar.
Almost. Keith had looked mean, tough, in his leathers. The thick salt-and-pepper hair on his muscled chest—coarse and thick—his dark eyes bottomless wells, and his mouth turned into an extremely sexy scowl. Once inside the penthouse, he had dropped to his knees in front of Keith before either of them had even exchanged a word. But the thing he didn’t expect from Keith was tenderness. He expected—and wanted—to be treated roughly, to be ordered around and used by Keith. Maybe even a little light bondage, some discipline—whatever that involved. The night had seemed full of magical possibilities, of mysteries being unveiled, as the two had made their way to Keith’s place in his little Alfa Romeo Spider (just like the one in The Graduate!), passing a little brass one-hitter back and forth.
He hadn’t imagined that Keith would light candles all around the bedroom, and put on some low, slow music (Sarah Vaughn) before he threw back the down comforter on his king-size bed. He hadn’t imagined that Keith would tenderly kiss him everywhere, even places as unexpected—and thrilling—as his eyelids and the backs of his knees. He hadn’t imagined how lost he could feel in the strong embrace of this older man, or how the slightly musky scent of him could transport him.
He hadn’t imagined that the excitement of just being held could outweigh the thrill of orgasm.
He didn’t imagine that lust could turn effortlessly into love in the space of one night, that by the time dawn made gray shapes of the rumpled bedclothes, he would have found more than just a trick, but the love of his life.
His soul mate.
Robert took a sip of his Bloody and nearly choked on it. He bit his lip and tried to take another drink. It was no use. The tears came then, forcefully, and Robert opened his mouth in a silent wail. He imagined how he must look: mouth open in a ludicrous cry, snot and tears on his face. He set down his drink and wiped angrily at his face with his hands.
He thought the years would have lessened the intensity of this first love. He had assumed the string of boy toys, each year growing younger and younger than he, would wipe out the grief and anguish he felt at losing Keith after such a short period of absolute bliss. And maybe, just maybe, he had deluded himself into thinking that he could put that part of himself away for good.
And then he’d met Jess. She was nothing like Keith, save for the fact that even looking down at her on the rocks bordering the black churning waters of Lake Michigan, he had recognized her. Not as someone he knew, but as someone he had known and loved. The feelings were too inexplicable to even come forth as any sort of rational thought. But in retrospect, Robert felt he knew immediately that this person in trouble was someone he had to save, because this person was vital to him, important in some way he couldn’t understand. Not then.
But then Jess told him about the dreams and about experiencing their first meeting and it all came together. It all made sense.
He got up and threw the Bloody Mary into the sink, running the disposal to grind his carefully prepared garnishes. He snagged the wall phone in the kitchen, dialed the number he already knew by heart.
She answered immediately.
“You’re coming for dinner. While you’re on your way, I’m running out to Whole Foods to get two dry-aged steaks, some Yukon Gold potatoes, and some horribly overpriced, out-of-season asparagus. Would you prefer a cabernet or a rioja?”
“I’m a vegetarian.”
“Fish? You eat fish? I could grill some yellow fin tuna?”
Jess laughed and Robert smiled. “How’s that sound?”
“Where’s your boyfriend?”
“Who cares? I’ll make enough for him should he come home and should he want to eat, both highly unlikely. Will you come? Is the tuna okay?”
Jess snickered. “I eat fish.”
“Then get yourself a cab. I’ll leave money with the doorman to pay for it.”
“You don’t have to do that. I have a CTA pass.”
Robert made a dismissive tsking sound. “I want you here, fast. I’m not a patient man. Never have been.�
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“Okay. I’ll be there within the hour, I guess.”
“And Jess?”
“Yeah?”
“Bring a bag. I want you to stay the night.”
“When did you get so forward?”
“Just now. Just now when I’ve decided to take control of my life.”
“What does this mean?”
“It means that I’d like us to have a fabulous dinner, drink a lot of wine, and get to know each other better. It means that it would make sense for you to sleep here because I have three extra bedrooms, it’s cold outside, and you are going to be too buzzed to get yourself home safely.”
“I need to grab a shower, and then I’ll be there. Can I bring anything?”
Robert looked outside, the sky had gone black and the city was lit up like a carnival. “You’ve already brought enough, sweetheart. Just get here.” And he hung up the phone.
He wondered what kind of dreams Jess would have sleeping in Keith’s old bed.
Chapter 14
Ethan was alone in his room. Downstairs, Robert busied himself cooking, again. The old fool never stopped, even when no one ate anything. Ah well, I suppose we all do what we have to in order to escape. Robert had put on some music, some old jazz diva with a smoky voice. Someone boring and old-fashioned. What was the point of music if you couldn’t dance to it? Robert had called up to him, yelling something up the stairs about coming down for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. Ethan ignored him.
He had emptied several bags of crystal meth, crushing each bag’s contents before spilling it out onto the cherry surface of his dresser, which he had made sure to clear completely and dust off before allowing himself to spread the precious Tina on its surface. With a credit card, he had made several long, long lines of the fine white powder. He stepped back to admire his work and thought the thin and perfectly symmetrical lines elegant. His gaze was akin to a lover’s, as he looked at the orderly white rows.
He grinned. “Almost too pretty to eat,” he whispered.
Ethan would have himself some kind of party! His pulse quickened just at the thought of having a nearly bottomless well of the drug…and that made him feel so good. But not as good as he would feel in just a moment or two. Right now, problems like addiction and the temptation to murder someone he thought he once loved were far away, pushed out by the rising anticipation brought on by thoughts of ingesting the drug.
When tiny voices in the back of his head shouted at him, trying to catch his attention with shrill little cries of, “Stop! You’re going to kill yourself!” Ethan ignored them, silencing them with one glance at the drug laid out before him, like a buffet. I’ve built up a tolerance. He would kill no one tonight (well, maybe if he got up the nerve, one person).
He had grabbed several straws from a McDonald’s near Wrigley Field as he made his way home and once in his room, had cut them each in half. Normally, he liked to smoke the Tina, or even better, slam it, but tonight he just didn’t have the patience. He could smoke tomorrow. He still didn’t have the will, skill, or nerve to shoot himself up, but maybe he could find a temporary boyfriend (or six, or seven…) who would be able to do that over the course of the next few days.
Now, he picked up the straw and snorted his way through one half of a long line. Afterward, he twirled around, hand to his nose, gasping.
It burned like hell! Tears poured down his face, and he wondered if this Tina had been cut with something stronger. No, you idiot! You just did too much! He sat down on his bed to give the stinging a chance to subside. With an already shaking hand, he picked up the remote that would bring his TV/DVD combo to life. He had already loaded it with one of his favorite bareback films and skipped to the big orgy scene at the end.
The stinging lessened as he watched. A line of drool dripped from his mouth, which he didn’t notice until it landed on his naked thigh. He brushed it away without taking his eyes from the screen.
“That’s what I need,” he whispered, watching a guy bent over with a line of tops behind, each waiting their turn. Ethan wasn’t even aware he was speaking aloud. He reached for his Parliaments and lit one up. Let the old man come up here and tell him to put it out if he didn’t want him smoking in the house. Besides, getting up in arms about a little nicotine seemed ridiculous when there was far more hardcore imbibing going on. Ethan giggled.
Downstairs, there were the sounds of someone entering the apartment. Ethan lowered the volume of the moaning and groaning going on in his movie to listen to the girlish laughter and Robert fussing, making welcoming noises.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” he shouted. Ethan rolled his eyes and turned the volume back up, drowning out the feminine voice that responded. What the fuck was going on now? Maybe the old man had found himself a girlfriend. Ethan snorted at the thought. Robert liked taking it up the ass too much for that to happen. Ethan had been unable to deliver on that score in many moons, so who knew? Maybe the girl was good with a strap-on.
In any event, he wished they’d shut up.
He snorted the remainder of his first line. It didn’t burn as much, but he noticed when he held his nostril closed, his finger came away with a smear of bright red blood. For a moment, the crimson made him catch his breath, the color a shocking contrast against his ashen skin.
In his private bathroom, he stuffed a piece of toilet paper up his nose. “Good enough,” he mumbled. “A little blood’s not gonna slow me down. Not tonight.” He groped through a cabinet next to his nightstand and pulled out another bareback DVD. It seemed like he was never going to find one with the perfect scene. Then again, the perfect scene was not in a movie. It was out there somewhere, with himself as the star bottom boy. Soon enough. He just needed to sneak out, unnoticed by Robert’s little party downstairs. He didn’t want to talk to the old man and certainly didn’t require any introduction to his giggling date.
Ethan slipped in Dozens of Loads in One Weekend, hit “play” on the machine, and lit another Parliament. He watched for a while, skipping through scenes of three-ways, gang bangs, glory holes, and a water sports party in an outdoor shower, before he decided this one wasn’t doing it for him. He squatted down, riffling through the plastic cases, tossing one after another behind him, searching for one that would make his libido rise once more, make him feel as good as he used to feel. He put on Bob’s Big Bone, only to take it out moments later and replace it with Blindfolded, Gagged, and Gangbanged. Frustrated, he sat on the floor, pulling at his limp dick, wondering how it could shrink to such small proportions. Maybe a visit to the sling at the bathhouse would help it grow…
But there was no hurry to go out. The movie was pretty hot, he decided, and he snapped on a cock ring. He just needed to concentrate a little. But that was hard to do while his mind raced with a million different thoughts at once. He grabbed a corner of the sheet and wiped sweat from his face, deciding to take a 100mg Viagra. Then, he’d be good to go.
He wished they’d turn down the damn music downstairs. And he wished he couldn’t smell the nasty fish Robert was cooking.
* * * *
“What can I get you to drink, Jess?” Robert eyed the girl, who looked very pretty tonight. Jess had put on some makeup: a little cinnamon lipstick, coral blusher, and a light brown eye shadow that intensified the green of her eyes. She wore a simple black sweater and black jeans that hugged her lithe form. He just wasn’t sure about the combat boots.
He wondered how her body would feel pressed against his. Would there be a sense of Keith if he embraced her?
“How about just a beer?”
“I have Stella Artois and Beck’s.
“I’ll have Stella,” Jess said and giggled. “Stella!” she cried out, doing her best Stanley Kowalski.
“Good choice. Maybe I’ll join you. I have a nice Riesling chilling in the fridge to go with dinner. Is the music to your taste? Why don’t you look through the CDs and see if there’s something else you’d like to hear, or at least a selection for when this one end
s.” They were listening to Sheila Jordan at the moment.
“This is great.” Jess sat down in front of the cabinet housing the CDs and started pulling some out. Robert noticed she was removing some more current singers, people like Madeleine Peyroux and Diana Krall. He left her to get their beers.
Alone in the kitchen, Robert paused, gripping the edge of a marble counter, finally allowing himself to wonder just what the hell he was doing. He turned to take out two bottles of beer from the refrigerator. Why, sweetheart, what you’re doing is having over a clinically depressed, suicide-attempting young lesbian who thinks she might be the reincarnation of your dead lover. Some perfectly normal post-Christmas revelry. That’s all. And maybe you’re thinking the two of you could kind of re-kindle the romance, so to speak, because after all, Keith is in there, somewhere. Maybe you could learn to overlook the titties and what she has between her legs.
Robert let out a snort of self-derisive laughter, and at the same time, a bottle of beer slipped from his fingers to the marble floor, where it shattered in an explosion of foam and green glass.
Jess called from the living room, “Everything okay out there?”
“Just fine. A little slippery fingers is all. It’s under control. Stay right where you are.” Robert opened the cupboard under the sink, pulled out a dishtowel, and began to clean up the mess.
What are you doing, Robert? Do you know how weird all of this is? For one, you’ve got a boy upstairs who’s doing God-knows-what—a boy who you thought was going to be your partner, someone who would bring vitality into your life. And maybe God doesn’t know what he’s doing, but sweetheart, you do. He’s getting high. What else could explain his behavior over the last several months? Just hope the kid doesn’t kill himself, either in the short-term or long and drawn out over years of agony and suffering. What you should be doing is facing Ethan and having a long overdue conversation. He needs to go. You could offer to help him, even pay for rehab, but he can’t be a part of your life, anymore. Who could, though? Jess?