by Jaime Samms
“Jed?” Mrs. S.’s crackling voice pierced his daydream, and he blinked at her. She patted his hand. “Just want to make sure you drop the bag down the chute, and not my dog, dear.” She winked at him.
Jed glanced between the dog nestled in the crook of his elbow, and the trash bag at his feet. He picked up the bag and shoved it against the swinging door. He scowled at it, stuck between the door and the frame of the chute’s opening.
“I see you finally noticed young Ira.” Mrs. S. smirked.
“I— What?”
Little old ladies should not have the capacity to look so . . . smug.
He glared at the stuck trash bag and gave it a poke.
“You heard me.” Mrs. S. plucked her dog from his arm. “He’s a cutie, for sure. Very distracting.” Her wink was darn near lascivious, but before he could react, she’d turned and started back for her apartment. “Scruffles will be ready for his walk in another half hour. He needs his dinner first.” She waved over her shoulder without turning. “Enjoy yourself in the meantime.” She did a crooked little jig as she walked and cackled to herself.
“. . . Sure.” He pushed absently at the stuck trash bag. The chute cover banged shut and Jed jumped. What just happened? Had she just suggested . . .? Shivering, Jed all but jogged in the opposite direction. For goodness sake, she was his grandmother’s age.
But she hadn’t been wrong. Ira was cute. And sexy. And . . . Jed shook himself. A student who wouldn’t be around past April.
But those drawings . . . And the delicate sculptures with the shimmering painted embellishment and hauntingly sad, lovely faces. The man had talent.
Jed’s shift was never going to end. The lunch crowd was, thankfully, much less contentious than the average after-supper bunch, so he rarely had to double as bouncer when he worked the afternoon shift. They came in, ate, and left, with their own jobs to get back to as quickly as possible. Sure, they didn’t tip as much, but at least it was busy enough most of the time to keep his mind off Ira.
After two, though, the afternoon dragged. He’d let Landon go home around one thirty. No use both of them standing around doing nothing for three hours, and it was easier to refill the bar fridges if there was only one person behind the bar getting in the barback’s way.
By quarter after two, Jed had washed every glass and beer stein and coffee mug in the place, cut enough limes, lemons, celery stalks, and various other cocktail dressings to last the night, and wiped down every surface at least twice.
He’d even offered to help Kimi fill the fridges, but she refused. Though she did cock her ponytailed head and grin at him the third time he asked. “Someone has got it bad,” she teased.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on.” Her dimples deepened in her round, pixie-cute face. “You’ve got some hot twink on your mind. I know that look. Who is it this time? The big redhead who flirts with you constantly? Or that emo dude with the dog collar?”
“Stop.” He scowled at her. “Johnny doesn’t flirt with me. He just hangs out. Plus, he’s so not a twink.” Pushing six three and at least as broad as Jed, Johnny was young, but more cub than twink. “I don’t have anyone on my mind.”
“You are the worst liar in the history of ever. Here.” She all but tossed him a two-four of Blue Light. “You want to help, bring that back down to the walk-in and fetch up a case of regular, will you? I brought the wrong one up.”
He grunted as the case hit his chest. Tiny she might be, but fragile? Not even a little. She’d grown up on a farm somewhere farther west than he had, and wrangled bison until she’d escaped to Wilfrid Laurier University. Like him, though, school had not been her bag, and now she barbacked at the Hen and Hog during the week, and DJed all over the city on the weekends. She was fun to work with and always chipper.
He’d known dozens of girls like her back home. Sweet and kind, sturdy, hardworking, but not for him. He’d known that early on, but the farm boys hadn’t had much more appeal for him than the girls had. Maybe that was why Ira’s slim waist, long legs, and heels had caught his attention. He had always appreciated the showier guys of the theatre over the beefy, calloused farmers like himself.
Not that he’d ever dared kiss any of them . . .
“Hel-lo!” Kimi snapped her fingers in Jed’s general direction. “Earth to Jed. You in there?”
“Huh?” Jed shook himself. “Blue Light. Yeah. I’m on it.”
“Regular!” she shouted after him as he all but sprinted for the stairs to the basement. “Blue Regular, ya space cadet!”
“Yeah, yeah!” Her laughter followed him down the stairs, and he had to grin at himself. He was losing his mind. Over a guy. And one he had only met once, for crying out loud.
“And who I’m going to see again if this shift ever fucking ends,” he muttered to himself as he rummaged through the beer cases in the walk-in.
Only, he’d never before kissed a guy the first time he met him. Okay. That was a total lie. He’d . . . well. Not kissed, exactly, because it wasn’t like he hadn’t had his share of mostly anonymous hookups. He’d just never kissed like that on the first meeting. Like kissing away the worry on Ira’s face had become the only imperative in Jed’s existence for that instant. As though seeing Ira gaze up at him, kissed lips parted, breath hitched to a thin pop of surprise, was life’s elixir.
“Yo! Dude. You coming out of there?”
Jed glanced up from staring blankly at a case of Blue to see Herschel peeking around the door to the walk-in. The narrow hallway from the stairs to the staff wash and change rooms was blocked by the thick refrigerator door.
“Oh. Yeah.” Jed snatched up a case of beer, stopped, set it back, and picked up the right case, then hurried out. “You done for the day?” he asked as he made sure the fridge door latched.
“Nah, dude. Working a split. Merik bailed again, the asshole. I swear if Kearn doesn’t can his ass soon, I’m outta here. Sick and tired of coverin’ his shifts, ya know? I had plans tonight, man.”
“Hot date?” Jed grinned at him.
That earned a snort. “Sure, man. Let’s go with that.” He leered and bumped Jed’s arm with his elbow. “Remember the chick with the sequin top and—” He made a classic “big-boob” gesture in front of himself and winked and nodded. “She was in last Saturday.”
“Liesel,” Jed supplied. “Kimi’s friend?”
“Yeah her. Tapped that good.”
Jed shook his head. “You’re a dog. You know that.”
Herschel shrugged. “Whatever, man. She’s into it too, so what the hell.”
“Maybe you’ll get a rain check.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
If Herschel wasn’t as openly generous and willing to do whatever needed doing around the bar as he was, Jed wasn’t sure he’d be able to like the guy. He went through girls like a scythe, and every one of the bar’s staff had had to run interference for him at one time or another to keep the many ex-lovers at bay.
“Don’t forget she’s Kimi’s friend, dude. You tap that and toss it, you’ll have Kimi on your ass. You don’t want that shit.”
Herschel gave a noncommittal shrug. “We’ll see.”
It would be an interesting show, that was for sure.
Back upstairs, Kimi relieved him of the case of beer, and he was left to once more fritter about the bar looking for things to do while the clock meandered its merry way exactly nowhere. Four o’clock was never going to come.
Ira sagged, staring at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The side seam of his dance tights bit at his hip, and he plucked at them, squirming slightly like he could escape from the tiny discomfort, then tidied the strap of the loose tank top he was wearing. Behind him, Cobalt waited patiently.
“Problem?” His instructor lifted one neatly sculpted eyebrow, canted a hip, and waited.
“I—” Biting his lip, Ira turned to face him. “Do you know anything about kids?”
“They don’t dance very well.” Cobalt lif
ted himself up straighter and gave Ira a pointed look. “And have very. Short. Attention spans.”
Ira blushed, but a smile crept across his face. Cobalt had that effect on him, relaxing him enough that he didn’t feel like he had to hide the shy grin. “I deserved that,” he admitted.
“Care to share?”
“Sorry. I’ll do better.”
“Oh, get it off your chest, sweetheart. You aren’t going to make any progress on this piece with your head in the clouds. Now. What about the rug rats?”
“Just that I promised my neighbour I’d get her kids off the bus. Tess and Danny. Six-year-old twins.”
“Practically teenagers these days, dear. So what’s the problem? Feed them. Give them some arts and crafts. It’ll be fine.” He tipped his head to one side. “You must have a spare paint brush or two lying around someplace.”
“Arts and crafts?”
“Don’t be a snob. Kids love that shit.”
Ira grinned. “Do they? Because I can do that.”
“Good. Now can we dance?”
Ira nodded and found his place while Cobalt started the music. In about six bars, though, Ira had lost the plot of the dance and stumbled to a halt.
Cobalt waved the remote at the stereo and the music stopped. “Now you want to tell me what really has your tights in a twist, darling? Because you are paying a fortune to fall all over yourself here, and I know you can’t afford that.”
Ira didn’t miss the darling, and he bit his lip. “Okay. So one of our other neighbours usually watches Ruby’s kids for her. Only he can’t today because he’s working, so I am, only he’s coming to my place to pick them up when he gets off.”
“He.” Cobalt crossed his arms.
Ira’s face flamed.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“He kissed me last night,” Ira said, his voice dropping down into the wispy place where his insecurities lived.
“Awww. And you liked it.”
“Of course I liked it. He’s . . . tall.” Oh my god. Seriously? Tall?
Cobalt snorted. “Nothing wrong with tall. Now.” He waved the remote again, obviously hitting Play, because the music blared again. “Dance, because, sweetie, we are on the clock, and I have my own tall, grizzled, and handsome picking me up for lunch.”
Ira nodded and forced himself to focus. He had no idea how Cobalt made it all look so easy. Not just the dancing, but the unapologetic flare of his wardrobe, the assertive tone of his voice, even the dashing, devoted boyfriend. Ira wanted to be him when he grew up.
He’d start by doing his best to learn to dance like him, and stop wasting his time on silly distractions, like the manic, tireless butterflies in his belly over a teensy kiss.
As the music grew more frenetic around him, Ira drew on the queasy turmoil, echoed it in his movements. It was so all-encompassing it wasn’t difficult to use it to enhance the already frantic steps of this part of the dance. He could be the butterflies, perhaps, and that might exile them from his stomach. At least for the time being.
“Better!” Cobalt clapped and stopped the music as Ira reached the end of the choreography. “Now that gives us something to work with going into the next movement,” he said, hurrying to the front of the room. “You ended here, correct?” He lifted both arms and a foot, mimicking the last pose, making Ira’s panicked butterfly look more like a plunging hawk.
“Yeah.”
“Show me.” Cobalt motioned to him and waited.
It was easier to concentrate as they immersed themselves in creating the next movement of the dance, and Ira silently thanked his old roommate for pointing him to the studio where he’d found this particular teacher. Landry had moved away from the city—and dance—just as Ira was truly discovering it, and while he wasn’t nearly good enough to dance at the studio Landry had left, he was happy to have found a place with Cobalt at the community centre.
Besides, he was a sculptor and an artist. Not really a dancer. The lessons certainly helped when he was on stage at the clubs, but that wasn’t going to be his life. It was just the rent.
And while this improved his technique and musicality, it wasn’t a dance that would fly at the clubs. For one thing, he was altogether too clothed, even in the wispy tank, short-shorts and tights. Cobalt was teaching him this in a very transparent attempt to convince him that being a glorified go-go boy wasn’t a future.
Even if dance wasn’t his life, this was fun, and Cobalt was a good teacher. All too soon, though, their time was up. Cobalt’s boyfriend arrived to pick him up, still wearing his chauffeur’s uniform, which fit him like that proverbial glove people were always talking about, and Ira’s distraction evaporated in the heat of the gaze the two older men exchanged.
Back came the butterflies, endlessly churning, like clockwork mechanisms with perpetual-motion gears.
“Relax,” Cobalt told him as they shuffled out of the studio together. “He already kissed you once. That means he likes you. Just be yourself.”
Ira smiled, but it felt flimsy. What was there about his pale, washed-out, mimsy self that could hold the interest of a tough, charming biker guy like Jed?
By the time Ira had ridden the subway home, he was certain his clockwork winged friends had morphed into rabid pterodactyls. He was half a panic attack away from losing the water sloshing around in his belly, and he couldn’t stop sweating. A cool shower might help the latter problem, but there wasn’t much to be done about his churning belly.
Outside the apartment building, he almost tripped over the loose fencing. Oddly, seeing it there, remembering Jed’s moment of irritation over it, made him smile and eased the butterflies a tiny bit. He picked it up and pushed it back into place, adjusting it to be even with its neighbours. Perfect.
A little less agitated, he headed inside.
It was almost two when he emerged from his bathroom, clean, coiffed, and dressed in comfy jeans and an old, off-the-shoulder sweater he knew brought out the best of his milky skin and grey-blue eyes. He couldn’t kid himself into believing he was dressing up for Tess and Danny. They wouldn’t notice what he was wearing. But Jed was coming to pick them up eventually.
“Damn it.” For about six seconds, he hadn’t been queasy.
He glanced around the place, trying to imagine it how a stranger might. His couch, much like the ones in the lobby, was an old Victorian number with intricately carved wood and a surprisingly well-preserved brocade covering. It was also plump, so he guessed somewhere along the way, someone had reupholstered it. It had been a sort of puke green and felted with dust when he rescued it from a ReStore, but he had fixed that using elbow grease and fabric spray paint to turn it a sort of shimmery silver grey. The wood he had painted pink, then electric blue, then purple, and finally, found and settled on a deep teal that matched the flowers in the carpet he’d snagged at a seventy-percent-off sale at a flooring ends store.
Those were the best two pieces in the place. The table in front of the couch was a narrow closet door propped on four wooden crates, all grey-washed to go with the couch. He’d taken all the louvered doors off the closets, painted them the same, and hinged them together to hide his bed, and then put up curtains to hide the closets. The heavy kitchen table and chairs were family castoffs Landry had left behind, and in the place where Landry’s bed used to sit, was Ira’s work space.
He’d put up a half-dozen long shelves to hold his supplies and the sculptures he created, and the table below them was covered in his current projects. Every part of that wall not taken up with shelving was papered in sketches.
Nude sketches. “Shit!” Scrambling, Ira hauled a heavy chair over to the wall and climbed up, carefully peeling the thin papers off the plaster so as not to rip them. He laid them upside down, tape up, on the worktable, and had just removed the last naked male from his wall when his phone beeped the alarm to pick up the kids.
That would have to do. If they did art, as Cobalt had suggested, they would have to work at the kitchen table. He could
find something to cover it if he had to. There was no more time. On the plus side, the scramble to get the sketches down had preoccupied him enough to temporarily settle the buzzing turbulence of his nerves.
Jed wasn’t fooling anyone in the bar. Not his colleagues, nor any of the regulars, so he didn’t feel bad that he had his hand on the door ready to push it open when the clock hit 4 p.m. Kimi laughed at him, unrepentant in her glee.
“I totally have to meet this one, Jed,” she told him. “Bring him in here soon.”
“Shut up.” Jed glanced around the bar and grimaced. If Ira’s apartment was anything to go by, this dingy, English-style pub was not his scene even a little bit. Personally, he liked that the place had a bookshelf with board games down in the front, and a small stage near the rear, and not a single television screen in sight. But he didn’t think Ira would see the charm in the dark leather seats or all the varnished wood, patinaed with testosterone.
Kimi laughed at him again, but the sound was lost as the door swung shut behind him. He hadn’t bothered to bike to work. He rarely did, since navigating the traffic around construction and street cars, then finding parking, usually took longer than walking. Yesterday had been a fortuitous exception that had allowed him to rescue Ira.
Now, he practically jogged home. Out of habit, he stopped to fix the garden fence, but it wasn’t leaning out of place on the planter. It was right where it should be. Maybe his dog-owning nemesis had finally given up the silent war. Good. He smiled to himself. First Ira, now this. Things were looking up.
Kimi was right to laugh at him. This eager anticipation was nothing like his usual MO. But Ira. Jed found himself grinning like a loon as he unlocked the street door to their building, taking the stairs two at a time to get to his apartment, and generally rushing to get the mundane over with so he could see Ira again. Still, eager as he was, no way was he going to Ira’s until he’d showered off the stink of the pub and the slick of sweat from racing home. It was always warmer this time of year than he anticipated and he’d had too many layers on. September in the fields was nothing like September in these busy streets.