Wheels and Heels

by Jaime Samms

  “You okay?” Jed asked.

  Ira nodded. “Fine.” He hugged himself. His bags rattled as they bumped against his leg. His face was pale and he looked . . . sad? Angry? It was hard to tell in the ambient light from nearby buildings and streetlamps.

  “When are you going to tell me?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Do we have to play twenty questions or can you just be straight with me? Who is Cedric? An old friend? An ex?”

  “Manager,” Ira reminded him, shrugging his shoulders up to hide his face. He was curled in on himself, trying to be small. Jed didn’t like it.

  “What does he think you owe him?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know.” Jed dug his teeth into his lips, counted to ten, made a fist on the far side where Ira couldn’t see. The man was making him furious. He wanted to help, and Ira was stonewalling him. “Money? Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Why are you doing this? Why be stubborn?” He wanted to help. Couldn’t Ira see that?

  “Because.” Ira dug keys out of his pocket as they approached their building. He fumbled them only once, and then had them in the lock and the door open before Jed could get his out. For once, he ignored the garden fence and went right inside with Ira.

  They stepped inside the building. Ira waited to make sure the outer door was locked tight, then he headed for the stairs, but Jed was done being ignored. He scurried in front of Ira to stand on the lowest step. “Baby, talk to me.”

  Ira’s jaw popped. He glared, then looked away, then gripped one elbow with his other hand. “He helped me get my first licence. It’s not super expensive, but I was spending every cent on food and rent, and trying to save for tuition. Then once I was ‘legal,’”—he waved a hand—“permitted and everything, he would find me gigs. A bunch of us, really, but he had his favourites. We split the take with him, and he made sure we got the best time slots and shit. I got good. Popular. Bars started to ask for me, and they didn’t always go through him. If I booked my own gig, I didn’t share the money with him. He got pissed and started telling the other guys I was stealing their bookings. That I was doing more than dancing, more than stripping, even, and not sharing.”

  He bit his lip and gazed at the floor. “A few of the younger guys believed him. They stopped talking to me and started listening to him.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been—”

  “I didn’t care if they didn’t like me. I wasn’t doing it to make friends. But they didn’t listen to me when I told them he was taking advantage, letting him convince them I was being greedy so he could manipulate them into more risky stuff. He started finding them ‘private dances’”—he snorted and made air quotes—“and I’m not talking about the Champagne Room. I tried to set them straight, explain how easy it can be to get demerits and lose your licence if you get rep for selling sex and the cops take an interest. Some of them left. Some didn’t. Maybe they still work for him, take his advice. Or his clients. I don’t know.” He looked up finally, and met Jed’s gaze. “Most people would call a manager like that a pimp.”

  Jed set his jaw and said nothing. He wouldn’t ask. It had to be Ira’s choice to tell him.

  “I was a stripper, Jed. I took off my clothes for sleazy men in dive bars until I had enough to pay for a semester of school, then I stopped. Cedric wouldn’t let it go. He figured I owed him half of what I made, even though I hadn’t taken a booking through him in the last year before I started at OCAD. He wouldn’t leave me alone. He always found where I lived, harassed me, kept me up all hours by banging on my doors and windows. He showed up in my classes, disrupted lectures, trashed my work. I’ve lived in a half dozen crappy apartments since I quit stripping, quit school, and I’m tapped out. I’ve got nothing left except what I can make working at clubs Ced’s not allowed inside.” He made a face. “And so what? If it isn’t Ced, it’s someone like Bernie.” He shook his head. “It never ends, and I’m tired.”

  Jed took his hand, stepped off the stair, and pulled. Ira came to him without resistance, laid his head against Jed’s shoulder and stayed there, perfectly still.

  “I never slept with anyone for money, Jed. I swear. I never did that.”

  Jed stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head.

  “Ced always said he’d take trade if I didn’t have the cash, but I never did that either. He’ll tell you different, but it’s a lie.”

  Jed ran a hand down Ira’s back, then up again. He repeated the motion over and over while Ira slowly melted, his rigid stance relaxing until he was leaning on Jed.

  “I want to go up,” Ira whispered.

  Gently, Jed set him on his feet, took the bag of art supplies in one hand and Ira’s cold fingers in the other, and led the way up the steps. He looked back through the windows to the street to find Cedric staring in at them from the opposite sidewalk, eyes dark in his pale face, framed by that unwashed slick of hair.

  Fucker.

  Ira didn’t need to know right now that Cedric had found him. Hopefully the asshole would think this was Jed’s place. He said nothing and was glad when they were past the point Ira could look out and see Cedric watching them.

  The last person Ira had told about Cedric—the only person, really—was Liesel. And he had only told her as a truth-or-dare bribe to get her to confess she starved herself, and had been doing so for years. As far as he was concerned, it had been worth it. Hearing herself say it out loud had been enough for her to get help. She was healthier now.

  Ira’s confession to her hadn’t changed anything for him, though. Not that time. This time, it felt like a weight had been lifted. He glanced at Jed as they climbed the stairs.

  “You okay?” he asked, regretting how timid he sounded.

  “Fine.” A ghost of a smile crossed Jed’s face, and he sighed. “I will be. I’m a little angry right now.”

  “Sorry. I—”

  “Not at you.” Jed stopped on the landing he’d just reached and turned to keep Ira from going any farther. He cupped both hands around Ira’s face and lifted his chin. “I don’t doubt anything you told me, okay? I want to rip his arms off. Maybe beat him with the bloody stumps.”

  Ira couldn’t help a small, hysterical giggle.

  It was the exact right thing, because Jed instantly pulled him close. “I won’t. I won’t go anywhere near him unless he gets too close to you.”

  Ira stepped in and snuggled against Jed’s chest. It was warm there, and after a heartbeat, Jed’s arms completed the cocoon. Yeah, he felt protected. He’d once vowed he would never leach this feeling from another man again. Cedric had made him feel safe when he’d first moved south. But this was not the same thing. This was real in a way Cedric had never been.

  “Okay?” Jed whispered into his hair after a while.

  Ira nodded, and they continued up to the fourth floor. On the landing, they stopped, as if by mutual consent, and stood, facing neither the flight up, nor the door to the hallway. Ira took in a deep breath, then gripped Jed’s hand and took the first step up to the fifth floor.

  Jed didn’t hesitate. He pushed the door at the top of the steps open and held it for Ira to slip through, then followed him. The door snicked shut behind them, and Jed led him down the hall, always with a hand securely around his, and let Ira into his apartment.

  Like the first two times Ira had been up here, he automatically began remodeling the place in his head.

  The apartment was exactly where someone who wore Birkenstocks in public would live. The walls were still painted in builder’s white. There was a dollar-store plastic mat at the front door, and the television, which was admittedly a nice one, sat on planks held up by milk crates. Magic: The Gathering posters papered the wall above a table at the far end of the room. At least he had good taste in art, even if he didn’t seem to believe in framing it.

  “Don’t judge,” Jed whispered in his ear, steering him to the kitchen counter and pulling out one
of the barstools. “I have no sense of style. I assumed you’d figured that out by now.”

  Ira made a face.

  “You are judging.”

  “Just . . . you wear Birkenstocks, and now this.” He waved at the apartment in general.

  “It’s home.” Jed had removed his boots and tossed them next to the Birks on the shoddy mat. “Wherever I toss my Birks, that’s home.”

  Ira let out a snort that had him covering his face in shocked embarrassment.

  Jed laughed at him. “See? You have your own foibles, and I don’t judge.”

  “No.” Ira couldn’t stop a smile or the warm thread of comfort that twined around his frayed nerves, knitting things back together. “You don’t.” He pointed to the posters above the table. “Do you play?”

  “Not as often as I once did. But the amount of work that goes into the art for a little playing card. You gotta respect that shit.”

  Ira nodded. He tended to agree. “I had to sell my collection.” That admission suddenly made him sadder now than it had at the time.

  “You can make a deck with my cards sometime. We can play.”

  Ira smiled. “In the meantime, I get to admire some decidedly gory art. Could you not have found some white mana posters?”

  “I know I get no props for interior decorating, okay? Can we move past it?” If he was trying to hide his grin, he failed.

  “You have other qualities,” Ira conceded.

  “One of which is that I can shop, and another, cook. Sit. I’ll make grilled cheeses and salad. You want a beer?”

  Ira tilted his head.

  “Okay, sort of cook. Beer?” He’d pulled two from the fridge and now held one out to Ira.

  That actually sounded good, so Ira nodded. “Thanks.”

  Jed placed the beer on the counter, top already twisted off, and next to it, a jar of mixed sweet pickles.

  Ira grinned. “Really?”

  “Of course.” Jed leaned down and kissed his cheek. “You said you like pickles. I picked a jar with a few kinds. You like sweet ones?”

  “I have not found a pickled vegetable—or fruit—I didn’t like.” He grabbed the jar and screwed off the lid as Jed handed him a fork and a small plate. Ira scooped a few pickles out onto the plate, popped one into his mouth, and sighed. “Yummy.” He washed the pickle down with a swig of beer. “Can I help?”

  “You can keep me company.” Jed patted the bag of art supplies next to Ira. “Still my day to treat you, remember?”

  Ira settled into the seat and pulled out one of the sketchbooks and the pencil.

  He had a few quick sketches of Jed cooking, washing up, and drinking his beer done by the time Jed set plates of food on the table. There was something simple and perfect about fried cheese sandwiches and spinach salad on a plate by candlelight. It was romantic, but not in the flashy, big-gesture sort of way. It was romantic in the domestic, this-would-be-our-every-day sort of way. It made Ira feel safe and wanted.

  “You okay?” Jed asked when both their sandwiches were gone and they were down to the last few sips of beer.

  Ira nodded.

  “Truly?”

  “I don’t know.” Ira picked at the label on his beer bottle, then shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah. I guess. Not like this is anything new.” Not for me, anyway.

  “Will you tell me about that?”

  “About what?”

  “How ‘not new’ is it?”

  Ira sighed. They would have to talk about this eventually. People shared stories when they became a thing. And Ira wanted he and Jed to be a thing. “You see what I am.” He glanced up to see if Jed was looking at him.

  “I don’t know what you mean by that. To me, you’re fucking fantastic.” He got up, took Ira’s hand, and encouraged him toward the couch. “Beautiful and brave and talented. Pretty much ideal.” He pulled Ira down onto his lap as he sat. “So I take it that isn’t what we’re talking about here.”

  “People mistake me for a girl,” Ira said. “You did. That first night on the street when you gave me a ride home. I saw your face when you saw mine. You weren’t expecting me.”

  “Okay.” Jed nodded. “I concede that point. So what?”

  “How do you really think that went over in high school, genius?”

  Jed grunted. “Fair enough.”

  “Sorry. That was harsh.”

  “No, you’re right. It wasn’t a thing I ever had to deal with. No one assumed I was gay, and when I came out, I was already bigger than most of the teachers, never mind the other kids. People didn’t give me shit. So I don’t know.” He wrapped Ira up in both arms, and it was a nice cocoon there, ensconced in his warmth and the scent of his soap and skin.

  Ira laid his head on Jed’s shoulder. “You must have seen it happen to people, though.”

  Jed kissed his hair. “Sure. Kids are assholes.”

  Ira snickered sadly. “No kidding. So it was shitty. I hated high school. When I finished grade twelve, I applied to a bunch of places, as far away as I could get. OCAD seemed the best bet. Good program, flexible, and what better place to lose myself in the crowd than at an art school in the heart of the gayest city in the country, right?”

  “Makes sense.”

  Jed’s hand sweeping slowly up and down Ira’s arm was soothing. He closed his eyes and sank a little deeper into him. “Only of course I had no money. I came intending to get a job. Seemed like it should be simple.” He turned his face into Jed’s chest to breathe him in.

  A small sound escaped Jed. A gasp maybe? Ira pressed his lips to the warm skin just above the T-shirt collar. The sound came again, with a little heat behind it, and Ira smiled to himself. Sensitive spot. Nice.

  He proceeded to nuzzle and nip, sucking up a bit of the skin between his teeth. Jed lifted his chin, giving him better access. He could feel the steady thump of Jed’s heart against his hand where it lay over Jed’s chest. He noticed the uptick in Jed’s breathing as he nipped, then licked at a spot just above his collarbone.

  “You’re warm,” he whispered, burying his nose against Jed’s neck.

  Jed squirmed and huffed a laugh. He gripped Ira’s wrist when Ira pulled the collar of his tee down, and guided Ira’s hand to rest against his thigh. “Are you trying to distract me?”

  “Are you ticklish there?” Ira moved in again, searching out the tender spot with his tongue.

  “Hey!” Jed scrunched up, the friction of his beard against Ira’s face a strange and fascinating sensation. “Stop that. You were telling a story.”

  “Oh. Right.” Ira ceased his exploration, but didn’t try to get his hand free. He hoped Jed would hang on to that. It was a nice feeling, like a tether to a better place as he told his ugly tale. “Where was I?”

  “Graduating high school. OCAD. No money, no job.”

  “Right. I thought it would be easier to find a place off campus and get a job. Save some money before classes started. It was tough. Eventually, I found a server job at a club. Ced noticed me, propositioned me, offered me a better income. The usual welcome to the big city shtick, and the hick boy”—he pointed a thumb at his own chest—“fell for it. And well. Shit happened. By the time September rolled around again, I had an apartment and enough to pay for a semester of school. So I started classes. It was good. At first. But I didn’t have time for dancing and a job on top of all the school projects. I was okay with that. My teachers liked me and my work. I found a few scholarships I could apply for. I could have found the money that way. It would have worked.”

  “But?”

  Ira once more rested his head on Jed’s chest and breathed. He didn’t like to think back on that time, but Jed wanted to know. It was easier to tell him the rest if he couldn’t see his expression, so he rushed through the bulk of the story about how well he might have done if he hadn’t let Cedric make decisions for him. He didn’t stand up for himself at first, and then it was almost too late and there were other people involved who needed him to look out for them. And he had
. At least, he’d tried, until Cedric had begun appearing in his life where he didn’t belong, turning everyone against him with his lies, and basically ruining everything Ira touched.

  “Like at the school. Standing outside my classes, or worse, bursting in on some of them, disrupting things, making a nuisance of himself. He made it hell, and I lost the chance at a few of the scholarships. My dean told me to get my shit together or not come back for second semester.”

  Jed was rubbing Ira’s back now, one hand gliding over him in wide swaths, the other still wrapped around his wrist. He let Ira be quiet for now, and it was nice to float in the security. He liked it there.

  “Anyway,” he said eventually, “I didn’t have enough money for another semester. Cedric had pissed off too many people there. I didn’t go back. I moved around for a couple of years, trying to avoid him. I had enough clubs who liked my style that I didn’t need him. I hated to leave the others to fend for themselves, but fuck.” He shivered and was grateful when Jed wrapped a strong arm around him. “I couldn’t keep him off me and help them. Some of them didn’t appreciate it anyway. They just ratted me out to him if I said something they didn’t want to hear. I didn’t want him dictating my life, but some of them liked that, I guess? They felt like they owed him? Or that he protected them? I have no idea. But I needed to get rid of him. So I’ve tried to keep out of his sights. Lay low. Mostly I’ve only been able to afford crap apartments, but then a guy I knew from the place I’d been waiting tables said he knew of a place. I can barely afford it. I have to keep dancing. But it’s better. Cedric doesn’t know about it, and even if he did, it’s a secure building.” He snuggled deep. “You’re here.”

  Jed kissed his hair and Ira sighed. He could feel Jed’s heartbeat again, and pressed his lips to Jed’s chest just where it thumped the loudest. He pushed up a bit with his free hand, and met no resistance when he rucked up Jed’s T-shirt and began to kiss over his chest and pecs. He found a nipple, worried it with his teeth, and thrilled at the way Jed’s breath caught.