Wheels and Heels

by Jaime Samms

  “God, that is fucking edible right there,” Jed muttered.

  Ira shivered, but lifted his tiny bag of purchases. “Want to see what I got?”

  “Sure.” He peered into the bag to find a single graphite pencil and the five squares of clay. He wasn’t sure what to say. “That’s all you need?”

  Ira shrugged and dropped his arm back to his side. “For now. I’ll get more later. Once the commission I finished this weekend is paid for. I try to keep the art stuff separate from life stuff. For now. As long as it pays for itself, I can keep doing it.”

  Seemed logical. He looked so determined, Jed didn’t argue. “Well. I got you something,” he said instead. “Hopefully I got the right ones.” He offered the bag he’d been slyly keeping out of sight.

  Ira took it and peered inside. “Jed.”

  “What? Wrong ones? I mean, we can go back and you can pick the right ones. I thought . . . you looked like you wanted those ones though.”

  “I did. I do.” He stared at Jed. “But I never pay this much for a sketch pad. It’s crazy.”

  “Are they worth the price?” Jed asked, worried he’d overpaid for a brand name or something.

  “More than. Just . . . out of my range.”

  “Well.” Jed gently closed the bag and held it out until Ira took it. “I wouldn’t be able to afford them every day, either. But today, I can. Please take them?”

  Ira nodded. “Thank you.” He peeked into the bag again, then smiled. “I love them. Thank you.” He surprised Jed with a quick peck on his lips, then turned to skip off down the street. “Come on. There’s a great little place for lunch just down this way. Not too expensive. They make a great veggie burger.”

  It was later than Jed had anticipated when they started back to their building, and his feet were killing him. They had to have walked a thousand miles, crisscrossing the streets and ambling through packed parks. The fall colours made the detours worth it, even if there were scads of people out with the same idea. On a day when the weather was nicer than normal for the time of year, that was to be expected. It had been a rare, gorgeous fall day, perfect for their outing. Jed was a little sad to see it end.

  “Will you do something for me?” Jed asked as they strolled down a street closer to home. The buildings seemed a little bit more drab here, the shop fronts occasionally pockmarked by papered-up windows. They had crossed to the shady side of the street, and Jed breathed in the familiar scent of the curry place around the corner from the Hen and Hog.

  “Depends.” Ira walked close to him, soaking up some of Jed’s heat, he suspected. He obliged by draping an arm around him. With the sun below the rooftops, the chill was coming down on them fast.

  “Come to the Hen and Hog and eat with me? I’m sure we can convince Herschel to make you something else veggie-like.”

  Ira smiled at him and nuzzled a little closer. “I would but, Jed, I just can’t pay for so much eating out. I splurged on lunch today, and before you make any comment, believe me, I know how pathetic it sounds that a $10.99 meal deal at a burger place is a splurge.”

  “You don’t have to pay.”

  “I can’t let you just pay to feed me all the time, either,” Ira protested. “Though trust me on this too, I am very happy to have two square meals in the same day.”

  “Fuck.” Jed whispered it, but knew Ira had heard it when he stiffened and pulled slightly away.

  “Don’t judge,” Ira muttered. “I do okay. I’d rather live in a secure building and miss a few meals. I’m done living in crappy apartments. Being hungry is better than being scared.”

  God. Jed wanted to ask about that. Wanted to know more. Wanted to crack a few skulls and keep the scary elements away from his Ira.

  “Don’t worry,” Ira said more brightly. “I make it sound worse than it is. Promise.” His smile was pretty on his lips, but left his eyes shaded and grey.

  “Look.” Jed cuddled him close again, happy when Ira didn’t resist. “This is just another reason to consider the job, okay? Every four-hour shift gets a free lunch-size meal. Kearn will be thrilled to feed you. Veggies are very low-cost. According to him, he has to pay me double in food alone.” He grinned, but it fell flat. Apparently, Ira wasn’t amused.

  “Don’t, Jed. I already said I would apply, that I’d interview. But I decide if I take the job. Not you.”

  “I never— Of course.” A band tightened across Jed’s chest. “What did you think? I was going to make you take it?” Why would anyone think they had that kind of say in another person’s life? What would make anyone think Ira would let them get away with it?

  “No.” Ira sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m doing that thing again. You’re not hi— Ugh.” He slumped and shuffled off ahead. “Forget it. I’ll go eat with you. But until I actually work there, I won’t eat for free.”

  “You might not get to make that call,” Jed said. “Kearn and Mel would far rather feed the staff and a few friends for free than throw out food that’s not going to be servable by tomorrow.”

  Ira didn’t say anything else. It wasn’t exactly agreement, but he didn’t argue any more, either. Jed would have to be happy with that.

  A few leaves blew across their path, and Ira shivered. Jed wanted to help warm him again, but got the feeling the gesture wouldn’t be appreciated. Instead, he walked as close as he could without touching, and carried Ira’s bags and put himself between Ira and a pair of men who thought they had something to say about Ira’s heels and skinny jeans.

  Assholes.

  Ira was being petulant. He knew it, and yet, he couldn’t help it. He didn’t like being a charity case. Worse, he hated feeling like he owed someone something. He’d been in that position before, and it had sucked. He knew better than to put himself there again.

  Still, when they rounded a corner and the jeers started, the familiar taunts about his clothes and his sexuality, he couldn’t hide a cringe. Then Jed silently moved to his other side, putting himself between the assholes and Ira, and it was better. The words hurt, but the shielding safety of Jed’s bulk helped, and he found a small smile of thanks.

  Jed smiled back, and then they were at the bar and Jed was holding the door open. Haters forgotten, Ira stepped inside and let the warmth of the indoors wrap around him.

  “Hey, Jed.” Behind the bar, Mel greeted them, placing two square napkins on the bar as they walked up and pulled out stools.

  “Hey, Mel. Quiet tonight.”

  “It’s a Sunday. To be expected.”

  “True.”

  Ira glanced around. The bar was, indeed, sparsely populated. A group of college students sat at a table in the front half, well into a few pitchers of beer and a game of Risk. Near the fireplace on that lower level, an older couple sat, each reading a section of newspaper. Ira recognized one of them as the man Jed has said was Perry. The other man must be his husband. They glanced up when Jed spoke, and Perry grinned.

  “Jed,” he rumbled. “How’s things, m’boy?”

  Jed laughed. “Still not your boy, Perry.”

  “Keep dreaming, love.” Perry’s companion nudged him with a light kick on the side of his ankle.

  “Eternally,” Perry admitted and grinned. The two men glanced at one another over their sections of paper, smiled, like this was an old, easy joke between them, and went back to reading.

  “Who’s this?” The ginger-haired man Jed had called Johnny stopped next to Ira’s stool and made no bones about looking him up and down. His gaze caught on Ira’s wedged runners, his eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Easy, tiger,” Mel said. “This is Ira. Ira, meet Johnny. He’s a regular. Bit of a hard-ass, but you’ll get used to him.”

  “Hey.” Johnny jerked his chin. “You know Jed?”

  Ira’s lip curled. The guy’s swagger was irritating. His obvious belligerence to Ira should have been more frightening than it was, but he got the feeling the guy was more bluster than anything else. And maybe, this time, the blust
er was about Jed, and not Ira or his attire.

  “Johnny, go sit down.” Jed turned Johnny, gentle but firm, back toward the barstool he’d risen from.

  “Just checking out the competition,” Johnny muttered as he sauntered back to his seat. He was definitely swaggering, like he thought he could draw Jed’s attention with the way his ass swayed back and forth.

  Jed sighed.

  “Another dreamer?” Ira asked, voice low and, to his chagrin, a bit growly.

  Jed’s eyebrow went up. “The Hen and Hog seems to attract dreamers.”

  “Or you do,” Ira suggested. The idea that more than one man in the bar right now wanted Jed made his heart thrum a bit. He should be worried about that. But Jed was gazing at him like there was no one else in the place, and he couldn’t look away.

  “Oy. You two.” Mel slapped Jed on the arm, breaking the spell. “Get a table, will ya? Herschel has a thing he wants you to try.” This last was said to Ira. “Something with no meat.” She shuddered. “Not sure the point of that.”

  Ira grinned. “Sure.” He looked at Jed. “Will he get mad if I don’t like it?”

  “He’ll get mad if you don’t like it but tell him you do. Be honest. He’s sort of serious about his cooking.”

  “Okay.”

  They moved off to a table in a corner where Jed pulled out his chair, then went back to fetch their drinks as Mel placed them on the bar. It was cozy in the bar, with so few people around, and Ira settled back. He liked it here. There was a lit candle on the table. Something quiet and vaguely Celtic played in the background. It was practically romantic. He had to admit that it also felt homey. Comfortable. Maybe like he might be able to work here. The people he’d met so far seemed nice.

  “What?” Jed asked as he sat down across from him. “You look so thoughtful.”

  Ira smiled at him. “I like it here.”

  “Good sign. Wait until you meet Herschel. He’s . . . interesting. Loves to cook. Hates to admit it. Thinks it might scare off the girls if he comes off too domesticated.”

  “My friend Liesel is dating a cook.”

  Jed’s brow went up again. “There can’t be that many people named Liesel around here. Herschel’s been seeing someone by that name.”

  “Huh.” Ira grinned. “Small world.”

  “Where do you know her from?”

  “Oh. We went to the same high school. Then she was in a few of my art classes.”

  “Was?” Jed leaned closer.

  “Yeah. Well.” He caught himself as he looked down at his hands twisting in his lap, and he straightened, lifted his chin. “I—” He huffed, hating this part. “I stopped taking those classes.”

  “Why?”

  Ira studied Jed. He was prying. It wasn’t any of his business. But then, why not tell him? He was curious, and there was nothing wrong with that. “I quit.” Ira picked up the pop he’d ordered and sipped. “It was expensive. And time-consuming.” And hard to keep up with assignments when I was busy dodging an asshole who couldn’t take fuck off for an answer.

  “School is expensive and time-consuming,” Jed agreed. He sipped his own drink. “And not really the best place for everyone. I barely made it to my first Christmas break. Then I didn’t go home for another year and a half because I didn’t want to tell my parents I’d flunked out.”

  “I didn’t flunk out.”

  Jed stared at him. “I did. I didn’t say you did.”

  “Oh.” He was an idiot. “Sorry.”

  Jed shrugged. “I’m not. I got a job at a bike repair shop. Learned a lot. Got a good deal on a great ride, met our landlord and got an even better job as a maintenance man. I know a lot of people would say being a bartender and a maintenance man is nothing much to aspire to, but those jobs fit me. I like them. I like my people.”

  “Am I one of your people?” Ira asked, suddenly self-conscious and uncharacteristically worried maybe this wasn’t what he thought it was.

  Jed grinned, ear to ear. “Baby. You are the person. Number-one person.” He laid his big hand over Ira’s on the table. “Which is crazy, because we hardly know each other. But . . . there it is.”

  Fuck, he’s brave. Say it back, idiot. Say something.

  “I—”

  “Well, here you are, sweetheart.”

  Every one of Ira’s nerve endings twitched. That voice grated along his nerves like saw-toothed razors. His heart jumped into overdrive, and he gasped for a breath, nearly shooting out of his chair as he spun.

  “Hey. Look at you, all cozy-cozy. Am I interrupting?” The speaker hadn’t changed since the last time Ira had seen him, with his slicked-back hair and crooked teeth. He wasn’t much taller than Ira, and what muscle he might have had earlier in life had run to soft and undefined flab under his ill-fitting slacks.

  “Go away, Cedric.”

  Jed’s hand still covered his on the table, only now it was gripping, tight and strong.

  “Ira?” he rumbled. “Who’s this?”

  “No one.”

  “Only his manager.”

  The asshole. “No. He’s no one.” Ira pulled his hand free and glared at the interloper. “He’s gone.” He glared hard, but it had no effect.

  “You still owe me, pet.” He glanced at Jed, then back to Ira. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Fuck you, Cedric. Get out of here!” His voice was going shrill. He heard it and felt the break that happened in his throat when he got too loud, that snap of sinews he couldn’t control.

  Jed’s chair scraped across the floor as he stood and took a step around the table. Behind the bar, a door slammed, and a tall, lanky man in chef’s whites came hurrying around the long counter to stand nearby, his arms crossed. Even Johnny got off his stool and took a threatening step closer to the action. Mel had her phone in her hand, ready to dial.

  Cedric sneered at Ira. “Not going anywhere, pet.” Though he did turn and leave the bar, Ira wasn’t fooled for an instant that he’d seen the last of the man.

  The bar was still around them. He could hear Jed’s heavy breathing, like he was trying hard to hold on to his temper.

  “All right?” the man in the chef’s jacket, who must be Herschel, asked.

  “Ira?” Jed gazed at him.

  “It’s fine,” Ira said, a hoarse whisper after the earlier broken shriek. “Please. Everything is fine.”

  If they would all just turn their attention elsewhere. He glanced at Johnny, because he seemed the least likely to want him to leave for causing a scene, and nodded his thanks.

  Johnny waved a hand. “Friend of Jed’s, eh?” He smiled an uneven but charming smile. “People are shitty enough out there. So we don’t let them be shitty in here.”

  “Still. Thank you,” Ira whispered.

  “No problem.” Johnny waved it away and retook his seat.

  Herschel took another heartbeat, then turned and went back to the kitchen, patting Johnny on the shoulder as he passed. Mel stuck her phone back in her pocket, then dug a Coke can out of the fridge and set it in front of Johnny.

  “On the house,” she told him.

  The couple who had been reading picked up their papers again, but they snuck looks out the front door where Cedric had disappeared, and up at Jed and Ira’s table. He could feel Mel’s gaze on him from behind the bar. Only the group of half-soused college kids seemed oblivious.

  “There’s a story,” Jed said finally, as he pulled his chair back to the table and sat down.

  But Ira wasn’t feeling the mood anymore. He wanted to go home. He was afraid if he did, Cedric would be waiting for him there, even though Ira had taken pains to make sure Cedric didn’t know where he had moved this time. He wanted to pretend the confrontation hadn’t happened, but he didn’t think Jed would let it go.

  After a few minutes, he ventured a look up. Jed was watching him.

  “‘Manager’?” Jed asked, that brow elevated.

  “I’m a dancer,” Ira said. Because that explains everything. Not.
<
br />   “You need a manager for the kind of dancing you do?”

  “Do we have to?” Ira glanced around and spread his hands out, palms up to indicate the room full of people. “Here?”

  Jed leaned both elbows on the table. “He was the guy in the car the other night, wasn’t he?”

  Ira stared at the ring of moisture left by his pop glass.

  “And up on stage. He wasn’t some random asshole. He knew you. He was possessive. He acted like . . . like he owned you or something. Like he could take your money.”

  Ira rubbed at the ring, spreading the wetness around the varnished wood.

  “Talk to me.”

  He was being too nice. Too patient.

  “Ira.”

  “Can we go?”

  “Go?”

  “Will Herschel mind if we just . . . I’ll eat his food some other time, maybe? I don’t want to be here.” He glanced around. So many people. And now Cedric knew about this place. “Can we go? Please?”

  For once, Jed couldn’t appreciate the weather as they practically jogged down the street. The air was a bit damp, cooler now that the sun was down, but there were still more people out than normal, eager to soak up any last drop of prolonged summer. He found himself scrutinizing every passing car and pedestrian.

  They stopped on the corner to wait for the street car to rumble down its tracks through the intersection. A whoop followed by laughter from the streetcar prompted him to move closer to Ira. He pretended not to notice when Ira took a step away from him, like ends of a magnet, keeping a measured buffer of space between them.

  The light changed. People dodged around them heading in the opposite direction. A dog sniffed Ira’s pant leg as it passed, and he smiled, but it was tense. An aggressive driver snuck his car into the intersection, impatient for the pedestrians to clear. Jed peered into the driver’s seat, but the man inside had a Sikh head wrap, and not the greasy-slick brown swath of hair Cedric sported.

  “You’re paranoid,” Ira mumbled.

  “I’m checking.”

  Ira scowled but didn’t respond. They walked an entire block in silence. Then Ira jumped, bumping into Jed and huddling against him for a few steps, when a man, admittedly with a head of dark, gelled hair, but much taller and skinnier than Cedric, emerged from the deep recess of a door leading to an apartment above one of the shops. The guy paid them no mind, hurrying off down the street ahead of them, attention on his phone as his thumbs flew. Still, Ira muttered under his breath and picked up his pace.