by Kyle Baxter
There was a lot of admonishing taking place. It was practically a sport in his family. He did not know what was going on, but he was in no rush to get there. The bad news would come soon enough. As immature and petulant as it might be, Frederick wanted this last bit of freedom before family and duty took him over.
He spent one whole day searching for gifts for Astrid’s children, especially Inga. Everyone liked to say they didn’t have favorites, but this precocious, bright girl remained his. Her irrepressible spirit stood undimmed by her disability. She was born with muscular dystrophy, and curvature of the spine forced her into a wheelchair at an early age. Fortunately, it did not affect her intellectually, though she sometimes suffered seizures. Freddie would do anything for her.
Along with the gifts—sent ahead—Freddie broke down and bought two new pairs of jeans and a light jacket. He cycled through them with his shorts and T-shirts. No need to get a whole new wardrobe for, what, a few days?
After a late breakfast at the Hotel Montserrat, Freddie looked over his newspaper as a tall drink of water stumbled in. With disheveled hair and an unshaven face, he clearly just woke up. Almost noon. Freddie wondered if it was jet lag, but he’d seen the guy here for several days and he always looked like that. Hmm.
Still keeping a Middle East schedule, Freddie was here almost a week and not completely acclimated to London time himself. Instead, he napped throughout the day. Love a nap. Life in that dusty camp was hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait. No waiting for the next shoe to drop here. Here, he could relax. And much to his surprise, he found himself enjoying the leisure.
The gawky bloke currently occupying his attention was all long limbs, with a narrow waist and broad shoulders. He wore a Superman shirt that stretched nicely over a slightly concave chest. Unruly dark, wavy hair sat on top of his head, clipper-cut short on the sides and long on the top and front. Possibly of mixed descent. Maybe there’s some Latino or Amerind in there. It’s hard to tell with Americans sometimes. And he’s definitely American. The guy stumbled on his way to the buffet, and Freddie almost burst out laughing but muffled it with a snort and a napkin.
His eyes were drawn to him; the guy was like a twitchy bird. Suddenly he looked around. Did I say that out loud? Freddie held his newspaper up higher to hide behind it.
When he chanced to look again, he found that the American had made it back to his seat. He talked animatedly with a young child at the next table. The boy was wide-eyed and fascinated with him. I understand the impulse. The guy was more or less attractive, but more than that, he was striking. You couldn’t help but notice this tall man when he walked into a room, with all the long, sharp angles of him.
He looks delicious and right up my alley. The man was the physical type he usually favored, yet he hesitated in going over and making an introduction. Freddie was not leaving until the day after next, plenty of time for an assignation. But this guy looked like trouble. Something about him . . . Of all the things he wanted to do to and with the tall man, a one-night stand was not one of them. And Fredrick, due back home, had no time for romance. Assuming that’s even an option. No, better to stay away.
Freddie paid his bill and escaped the restaurant before the geek caught his watching eye. He walked the few blocks over to the British Museum. Whenever possible, Fredrick took the chance to come here. He loved the Elgin marbles, despite their provenance and controversy. While they were here, he would come to look.
Right now, the museum housed a particular exhibit he wanted to see: Hadrian and Antinous. He stood in front of the statue of Hadrian’s lover, dressed as Osiris wearing the nemes. It was stunning.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” a voice asked.
“Yes, it really is.” Out of the corner of his eye, Freddie saw it was the geek from the hotel and froze. He almost jumped and the corner of his mouth turned up. This guy. “It’s too bad their relationship was so problematic.” Was that the right word?
The geek looked heavenward. “Ugh.”
Freddie gave him a side-eye. “You disagree?”
The guy bobbed his head back and forth like a scale, weighing options. His eyes were quick and sharp. “Most ancient relationships involving people in power, like Hadrian, are problematic to modern eyes.”
Freddie shook his head. “Hadrian groomed him from a young age.”
“Groomed?” The tall drink of water snorted. “That sounds like a homophobic talking point. You may as well say indoctrinated or recruited.”
The guy fought back. Freddie liked that. He let out a deep sigh. “It’s not homophobic. Antinous was underage, thirteen, when he first met Hadrian.” Let’s see what he says to that.
“Yeah, okay, that is gross.” The guy turned full onto him, talking animatedly and loudly—definitely American. “But he was a young man by the time they actually got together. You know, to Romans, anyone over twelve was ripe for conquest. They were really gross. That doesn’t mean Antinous wasn’t an active participant. I mean, I was dating older men when I was sixteen, and trust me, those guys were not pedophiles.”
That took him aback. This guy dated grown men at sixteen? “How so?”
“I wasn’t some sylph-like waif.” The American gestured to himself. “At thirteen, I was six-foot-two and shaving. At sixteen, I was getting into clubs and into a lot of trouble.” He chuckled, and Freddie smiled at him.
Six-foot-two and shaving at thirteen. Good lord, he’s a mutant. Freddie was gobsmacked that he ran into him here. Why wasn’t he at the comic book shop? He laughed to himself. Forbidden Planet isn’t far. He’s probably going there later.
The guy caught himself. “Okay, what was I saying? I lost the point. Oh yeah, we can’t judge them by our standards.”
“So we let them off the hook?” Freddie crossed his arms in front of him. Irritation grew in him and made him scowl. “You’re justifying pederasty?”
The guy held his hands up in front of him. “No. No way. Not at all.” His eyes darted from Freddie’s eyes to his chest, and his face flushed. “Uhm . . . but you know, we can recognize that things were different. We don’t have to excuse their behavior to look at it in context.”
Freddie nodded. “Fair point, but even the Romans were outraged by Hadrian’s preoccupation with Antinous.”
The tall guy walked around the statue that towered over them. “True, but let’s be real: they didn’t like any queer expression. Sex for them was about power. This relationship”—he gestured to the statue—“was about love, not power.”
The dork cannot be serious. Freddie threw his head back. “That’s naïve. Hadrian had immense power. Antinous had none. It was not an equitable arrangement.”
“Except for his power over Hadrian, you mean. Hadrian made him a god.” Geek boy’s voice rose theatrically on the last word, making Freddie smile despite himself.
“Oh, please!” Throwing his hands up, he turned around in place. This guy was cute but so frustrating. He took a long breath. “Hadrian made him a god after killing him.” He was amazed to find himself baiting the guy. He agreed with the accident theory of Antinous’s death himself, but he was enjoying this back and forth.
The tall guy gave him a crooked smile and raised a finger. “Allegedly, it could have been anyone,” he protested. “As you said, they were outraged by this relationship.”
“Oh yes, so outraged that dozens, mayhap thousands, of effigies of the young man survived?” Freddie suddenly noticed that people were watching them argue.
The nerdy guy stopped and looked around too. “Oh, sorry,” he said to the room and nodded at Freddie. After spinning on a heel, he walked off and into the museum.
Freddie watched him go with a shake of his head. He liked tall guys, but this . . . He was a bit much. Was he arguing just to argue? Or did he believe all that? He was exasperating.
He didn’t intentionally follow him, but Frederick ran into the taller man later when he was looking at a statue in Room 23, Greek and Roman Sculpture. The guy stood spellbound
in front of a copy of Phidias’s Hermes the Orator. What do I do?
If Freddie was staying in town, he would jump on it. He never hesitated to chat up an attractive man or woman who struck his fancy. Just go talk to him, you dolt. You can have a conversation with a cute guy that doesn’t lead to a snog. He’s too interesting to avoid, and ignoring him now would be rude.
As he approached, Freddie cleared his throat to let the man know he was there. “He’s beautiful. Do you like him?”
Looking up, the man stiffened upon seeing him again. “Hermes? What’s not to like? Loved by the people, a friend to humanity, athletic, and like you said…” His voice dropped to a whisper. He was rapt. “Beautiful.”
“And a trickster and a little shit, when the mood struck him, which was often.” Freddie gave the guy a smirk. What am I doing? Am I trying to bait him again? With a start, he realized that he was. Freddie enjoyed their previous debate.
“Oh, yes, especially for that!” The guy straightened to his full height. “You know something about him.” It wasn’t a question. Freddie appreciated that.
“Yes, I wanted to be an archeologist once upon a time, and Hermes was always one of my favorite figures in Greek myth,” Freddie said as he eyed the other man. At least six-foot-four, he towered over Freddie. The Superman shirt stretched pleasingly across his chest. There’s some nice lean muscle under that fabric. He has a swimmer’s body, and I bet he looks good in a Speedo. Freddie knew he’d enjoy every minute of getting to know that body.
The tall man kept talking in his deep, sonorous voice. “So then you know he got his name—or lent it, depending on who you ask—to phallic herms all over Greece. Gotta love a phallic herm.”
Freddie laughed before he could stop himself. “I bet you do,” he said. The kid scowled and backed away, leaving him alone in front of the god. Oops.
Chapter Five
Weight of the World
The phone rang somewhere. A sound he was familiar with . . . What was that? Recognizing it, he smacked the nightstand, fumbling for his phone. Fucking Seth. He really needed to change that ringtone. Why does he do this? Because you let him, he scolded himself. I’m such an idiot.
“You overslept.” Seth’s voice was sharp in his ear. “Again.”
Joel’s head shot up off the pillow. “Oh my God, I overslept.” He twisted in bed and planted his feet firmly on the ground. Standing, he ran a hand through his hair. “I need to get ready. Shit shit shit.”
“You need to get to the airport.” Seth sighed heavily. “Your family is waiting for you there. Now.”
“How do you know—”
“Your mother called me.” Disappointment colored Seth’s voice. “She told me you’ve been oversleeping. And that you told her you were going to do better. Is this doing better?”
Why did his mom call Seth? She always liked him, and he pointedly ingratiated himself when they first started going out, but this was too much. Anger welled up inside him. She knew they broke up! How could she?
He hopped around the room, pulling a leg of his jeans on. “I don’t have time for this. Why did she call you?”
“Don’t blame her. This is your fault. She figured you didn’t change my ringtone and thought it might get you up. She was right. If I hadn’t called, you might have missed your flight.”
“Don’t reprimand me. I get that enough from my dad.” He threw the phone on the bed. Seth was right, and it stung. He yanked a shirt over his head, and tucking his jacket under his arm, he dashed out the door. In the hall, he turned back with a groan. He forgot his luggage. Luckily, he packed the night before.
He was hardly counting on the call from Seth. Mostly okay with Seth at the moment, Joel took his calls and let him try to be, if not friends, at least not bitter ex-lovers. He wanted to be the good guy. After all, WWSD (what would Superman do)? But Mom siccing Seth on him was annoying. He needed to talk to her.
Tearing down the hall, he dragged his suitcase behind him. At the elevator, he hit the button and shoved his arms in his jacket. He’d have to take a taxi to Heathrow Airport. The tube would take too long. With luck, he’d still make it in time. Okay, maybe not be so hard on Mom.
He got here a week ago, catching the sights before meeting with his family to go to Etreustein. His father had business there before they went to Paris and then on to Italy.
“We haven’t had a real family vacation in years,” Mom pleaded, and he quickly gave in. It was over a year since he last saw them; they all lived in Texas now.
Relief washed over him as the elevator opened, but it was full. With apologies, he squeezed in. Everyone was trying to get out of the hotel at the same time, it seemed.
With a start, he noticed the fit, bearded ginger in camouflage fatigues in the back of the lift. It’s the butthead from the museum. He’s a soldier? And judging by the color of the beret, Joel guessed he was a member of the UK Special Forces. I wonder why he’s in London, besides being sexy and harassing people at museums? He reminded him of the actor Toby Stephens; he had that same easy-going masculinity.
The man nodded at him, and as Joel turned quickly away, his face flushed. The elevator arrived in the lobby and they all filed out. He darted to the large double doors and out to the front of the building. Looking up and down the street, he waved for a cab just as his phone rang.
He saw the ID and took a deep breath. “Good morning, Mom. Yeah, I’m on the way . . . Mom, I’ll be there as soon as I can. You know, the more you argue with me, the longer it will take.”
Looking up, he saw the soldier—trooper?—tossing his duffle bag into the cab he’d hailed. Joel’s mouth dropped open. “Hey, wait!”
The soldier froze. “I am terribly sorry. You were busy with your call, and I thought . . . My apologies.” He pulled his bag out and held the door open for Joel, and with a flourish, he gave him a slight bow.
“Thank you.” Joel climbed in, keeping a smile to himself. He’s okay after all. Almost gallant.
After the trooper closed the door and hailed another car, Joel looked out the back window. I should’ve asked if he wanted to share. As Joel’s taxi pulled away, the man in question turned to look after the retreating cab. Putting one hand on his hip, the handsome trooper struck a heroic pose and gave him a little wave before climbing in his own cab.
Wow.
❖
He made it to Heathrow and Terminal 2, the Queen’s Terminal, in record time. His father’s disapproving face greeted him. “You’re late,” Dad growled and got into line at the airline check-in desk.
His sisters, Caterina and Mariah, rushed up to him, almost bowling him over. “Joel,” they shrieked together.
“Hey there.” Joel returned their hugs and told his father over their shoulders, “I’m sorry.” Never could do anything right for him. Why start now?
“You have to sit by me.” Caty pulled on his arm. “We have everything to talk about.” She was eighteen, about to start college, and in love with a different boy almost every week. Flighty.
Mariah was her opposite, and she frowned at her sister. “Sounds riveting.”
He laughed out loud; she was like a piece of his own snarky heart. They both loved museums.
His mother walked up to him and stood on her toes to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her blonde, frosted hair was longer than the last time he saw her. “You look thin. Are you eating okay?” she asked in her squeaky voice and patted his chest. “You’re all skin and bones. Please don’t tell me you’re on that keto diet.”
“MoOom.” Joel shook his head. “I assure you, I’m eating plenty. I weigh more now than I ever have.”
“Yes, well . . . you still look thin.” She adjusted his jacket for him and reached up to run her hand through his dark hair.
The line to check-in took forever. “Why didn’t you check in online or at a kiosk?”
“Who checks in online?” His father eyed him and tapped a shoe anxiously.
“Everyone, Dad. C’mon, let’s go check
in,” Joel prompted, gesturing to a kiosk with his thumb.
“I don’t trust them.” His father looked down at the newspaper folded in his hands. “I am not sliding my credit card in one of those things. This will be fine.”
They made it through the check-in, through the long line at security, and into the terminal in the nick of time. Arriving at the gate, he noticed the trooper from the museum and the hotel nearby; he was talking with a group of other soldiers. Jostling each other, they laughed loudly and generally acted like meatheads. This didn’t jibe with the impression Joel got at the museum. There, he was sharp and incisive, if a butthead. Here, he acted like one of the guys. This dude has layers.
The man caught Joel eyeing him, and his brow furrowed. Joel ducked his head with a sheepish grin. Busted! He definitely should’ve asked him if he wanted to share that cab.
“You need to dress warmer.” Mom adjusted his jacket again. “Tell me this is not your only jacket.”
“Mom—”
“We’ll get you a new one when we get there, right away.” She noticed his shirt, another Superman shirt. “You couldn’t have worn something without a logo?”
“Mom, staaaahp.” He pulled away. “We’re going on a plane ride, not to the opera.” His eyes found the trooper again. The man grinned at him, watching the exchange. Joel smiled and, raising his arms, gave him the universal what’re you gonna do gesture. The soldier replied with a thumbs-up and a wink. Joel’s cheeks reddened and he spun around. Please do not let him be on this flight. That would be TOO distracting.
“He’s cute.” Mariah elbowed him.
“No, he’s a meathead.” Definitely not the kind of guy he liked. Keep telling yourself that, idiot. He was the kind of guy you liked at the museum until he laughed at you. He was probably just “taking the piss,” as they say. Quit being a drama queen. And Joel kept running into him; it was becoming a thing.
“Hate the beard,” Caty chimed in. “He looks like a short, brawny man. All he needs is the flannel.”