Wheels and Heels

by Jaime Samms

  “You’re okay,” Jed assured him. His voice was right there again, intimately brushing over the shell of Ira’s ear, no mechanical fuzz of helmet mics to separate them.

  “Jed?”

  “Yeah, baby. It’s me. You’re okay. I’ve got you. Can you walk?”

  Ira shivered.

  “Never mind.” Jed scooped him up, as though he weighed nothing, and carried him across to the couch, where he deposited him, wrapped a couple of the blankets around him, and settled close. He sat very still, one arm around Ira, the other hand stroking his hair.

  “Ced,” Ira whispered.

  “Yeah.” The heat and hard edge in Jed’s voice should have been frightening. It soothed Ira, calmed the shattering thud of his heart. “I heard his pounding and his vile—” A low growl emanated from so deep inside, Ira felt Jed’s chest vibrate under his palm.

  He giggled.

  “I called the cops. He took off, so I cancelled the call. I thought you’d be in your place, scared or something, so I used my key to get in. I knew you took the fire escape right away. You left the window open.”

  “How did he find where I lived?”

  “Not sure.” Jed gave a little sigh. “I saw him a while back. He was watching us go inside. I had hoped he just thought you were visiting me, but I guess someone told him where to find you.” Jed kissed the top of his head. “He won’t be stepping foot in this building again. I promise you that.”

  “I should have waited for you.” Snuggling deeper into the blankets brought more of Ira in contact with more of Jed. It was heavenly, feeling his thick bulk so solidly grounded and surrounding him. “I panicked.”

  “I’m going to install better dead bolts on all the apartments in the building. I don’t like that he might have broken your door down. But you did the right thing, getting out of there. Just maybe stay off the fire escape from now on. Unless you have no other choice.”

  Ira nodded. “Not going to be a problem.”

  “Stay toni— Do you—” Jed huffed, kissed the side of his head, and began again. “Will you sleep with me tonight?”

  As far as Ira was concerned, Jed could have ordered him to. Or ordered him back downstairs. The result would have been the same. He was not moving from this apartment until dawn.

  “I have a nice claw-foot tub and bubble bath. I’m going to run you a bath. You can soak, give me a list of whatever you want from downstairs, and I’ll go—”

  “No!”

  “Ira, please. I want you to be with me where I can keep an eye—”

  “I meant no, don’t go back down there,” Ira whispered. “The bath sounds nice. I don’t need anything. Just a bath to warm up and you.” He lifted his head at last to look into Jed’s eyes. “Is that okay?” Or would he have to admit he didn’t want to be left alone yet?

  Cedric had surprised him. The height and cold of the fire escape had terrified him. The momentary thought that Jed wasn’t there, where he’d expected him to be, had frozen his blood in his veins, and he wasn’t ready to examine that quite yet.

  “What about PJs?” Jed rubbed his back under his coat.

  “I’m pretty gross, huh?”

  “Fear sweat is like that.”

  “I can wear yours. I’m good with that.” He nuzzled under Jed’s chin and sighed. “If you are. I’m good with nothing at all too.”

  That got a groan out of Jed, and Ira smiled to himself and felt a little bit lighter.

  “I’ll run the bath and find you a T-shirt. Wait here.”

  Ira watched Jed shuffle around the apartment getting things ready. When the water had been run, he spent a fair amount of time under the frothy bubbles, and welcomed the comfort of Jed’s bed when he was done. Jed disappeared into the bathroom to do his business for a little while, and Ira consoled himself by wrapping Jed’s scratchy, nubby brown cardigan around himself. It was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen. And it smelled like Jed.

  Still wrapped in the scent, he fell asleep before Jed made it back to the bed.

  Jed didn’t sleep. He was glad Ira did. Ira was clearly shaken from his ordeal, and rest was the best way to combat that. When he was sure Ira was asleep, he picked up his phone and texted Kearn. Even if he didn’t answer until morning, Jed was setting the ball in motion now. He wanted to be on the same shifts as Ira for a little while. Kearn could do that without bringing Jed’s name into it. It didn’t have to look to Ira like he was hovering, even if everyone else he knew would see it.

  He’d set the phone down in his lap, the better to pull Ira closer, so when it vibrated, he felt it.

  Dude. Kearn’s reply was predictably acerbic. It’s fucking three in the morning. Are you trying to kill me? I had a fucking heart attack.

  Jed’s lips twitched in amusement. Not my fault you have such an aggro text alert.

  Fuck off. Then a second later: What do you want?

  Schedule me on same shifts as Ira.

  He asked politely . . .

  Please.

  Why? I should do the exact opposite.

  His ex showed up at his apartment. Don’t want him on his own for a bit. He’s pretty freaked.

  Good grief. How I love your strays. NOT.

  Please.

  He had to wait a little bit longer for the reply, but breathed a sigh of relief when it came.

  Done.

  Thank you.

  Kearn’s next text came before he had finished typing. You’re training the next one.

  Jed hated training the new hires. Only one in ten of them lasted more than a week, and the ones who didn’t last were usually total pains in his ass.

  Well played.

  That’s why I’m the boss. Get some sleep. Let me get some sleep.

  Night.

  Night.

  Jed tossed the phone to the coffee table and sank deeper into the bed. He closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come. He found himself listening intently to every sound that drifted up from the street or crept through the old building.

  “Better me than you, babe.” He kissed the top of Ira’s head, and Ira shuffled a little closer, curling against his chest with a small sigh.

  Three weeks later, Ira had not complained very much about the fact Jed was still insisting on giving him rides everywhere. Cedric hadn’t shown his face since the night at their building, but Ira was still having trouble relaxing.

  “This is what he does,” he muttered, as he pulled on his leathers. They were getting ready for the ride to Ira’s dance lesson. The studio was only a few blocks away, easy walking, but Jed had to go to work after that, so when he mentioned giving Ira a lift, Ira had just shrugged and headed for his riding gear.

  It was getting cold enough Jed thought it might be time to put the motorcycle away for the winter and tune up his rust bucket Chevy Blazer, but there were a few nice days forecasted, so he had a bit of time with Ira glued to his back still. “What he does?” he asked, shouldering the thought of Ira’s body plastered against his out of his greedy brain.

  “He does something really fucked up and risky. Like pound on my door where someone else might get alarmed enough to call the cops, then he disappears for a while. Just long enough I start to relax. Then poof. He’s back.” Ira shoved a leg into his leather pants. “And you watch. He won’t do anything. Maybe stand across the street watching, or always be outside a building when I come out. Never say anything. Just be there. He might send a stooge to harass me. Once he destroyed all my makeup and my street clothes while I was on stage, then blamed another dancer who also wouldn’t work for him. The dancer got banned from that club and a few others. Club managers just expect the dancers to be the junkies and delinquents. Cedric takes advantage of that attitude. People don’t cross him, because he finds a way to screw them.” He’d stopped dressing, but now he resumed, pulling the pants on and zipping, then standing in front of the shelf of footwear by the door, considering.

  “How do you know it was him?”

  “At the very end of my show, he came out
front, stood right in front of the stage and waved. He had my T-shirt on. When I saw what had happened backstage, I knew he’d come out there to let me know exactly what he’d done.”

  “Did you tell anyone?”

  Ira chose the wedged sneakers and sat on a kitchen chair to put them on. “I tried to tell the club owner, but of course, he was going to believe the ‘business guy’ over the dumb dancer whose only job was to look pretty and make people spend money.”

  “So you’ve never reported him?”

  “I used to. All the time, but it was different back then. Cops around here weren’t always as understanding as they are now. To them, I was a sex worker. I broke the law for a living, and then came to them to ask them to protect me. It was a joke to them. Or worse, an excuse to haul me in every time Cedric told them he was the one being harassed and solicited by me. Some of them didn’t give a shit that I wasn’t doing anything illegal. The reputation we had was enough.” He let out a huge sigh and stared at his shoes. “Things have changed a lot over the last few years, and cops aren’t all douche-canoes, but it can be dicey even when you know what you’re doing. When I first came here, I was so green, so naïve.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Well yeah, but it was what it was. It’s better now. At least they listen. They still can’t do anything until he breaks a law and gets caught doing it, but they listen. And the laws have changed. Selling sex isn’t illegal anymore, so Ced can’t play the poor, misled john card.”

  “So you think he hasn’t gone away.”

  “He won’t go away.” Ira stood and pulled his soft leather jacket off its hook to put on.

  “Why? What does he think you owe him?”

  “At this point, I don’t even know anymore. But he doesn’t get a lot of guys leaving once he’s got his hooks into them. I was an anomaly, and I took some of his best dancers with me when I left. Some of them still come to me for advice and help getting into the better clubs. Others stopped dancing and got ‘real’ jobs, or went to school like I did, only they actually succeeded. He hates that he can’t control me, or them. But he blames me.”

  “So it’s just a grudge?” Jed held the door open for Ira as they left the apartment.

  “A grudge. He has a point to make. Like a warning to the ones who are left what happens if they try to leave. I don’t even know. Maybe it’s just that personal to him now, because I haven’t given in.”

  “You have to start reporting him again.”

  “I’ll switch up my schedule. Not give him an easy pattern to follow. It’ll be harder to find me that way.”

  “Rearrange your life so your stalker has a harder time tracking you down?” Jed snorted. “That’s fucked up.”

  “It’s what works reliably.”

  “You shouldn’t have to live around a stalker’s behaviour,” Jed said as they made their way down and out to the side of the building where his bike was parked behind a padlocked, chain-link gate.

  “Shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t. Baby, it is what it is. If he does something like he did at the apartment, I’ll report it. But what am I going to tell the cops about him standing outside a building, or smoking on the corner or shopping at the same grocer I do? This guy is always on the street, and it bugs me? I can’t do that, and they aren’t going to take me seriously if I do.”

  “You never know when that record of reporting might make a difference, even if they can’t do anything about him. Just knowing he’s been at this a long time might help someday.”

  “I don’t see how it will do any good.”

  “It’ll be on record.”

  Ira pursed his lips, but said nothing. In front of the building, Ira paused, dug a few zip ties from his bag, and wrapped them around the uprights of the loose piece of fencing, attaching them to their solid neighbours.

  “There.” He stepped back to cast a critical eye over his handiwork. “That ought to solve that problem, at least.”

  Jed stared at him.

  “What?”

  “I thought you were mad at me.”

  “Not mad. Just . . .” He let out a breath and tucked his hand into the crook of Jed’s elbow. “Cedric is a touchy subject.”

  “I know.” Jed kissed the side of his head. “Believe me, it’s touchy for us both. I like that you still want to protect my plants, though.”

  Ira leaned into him. “You love your plants.”

  He was silent on the subject of Cedric and the police throughout the short drive to the studio, though, and even after they arrived and were removing their helmets. Jed parked off to the side of the building to keep the bike out of the way of traffic that didn’t always respect the parking lane, and to make it less conspicuous, and less of a target.

  Jed hadn’t been in an actual dance space in his life. He didn’t think the clubs and bars where Ira danced counted. This was an honest-to-God studio, with a bar at hip height around two walls, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and polished hardwood floors. He couldn’t quite place the smell, and wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was a few minutes before he recognized the space as the same place where they held the bi-yearly book sale to benefit the shelters, and where some local pride events were organized.

  The mirrors had thrown him off. They were new, he thought, since he didn’t remember seeing himself from quite so many angles while he’d been shopping for used romance novels. But then he hadn’t been in here in a few years, either, so maybe his memory was faulty.

  An older man in a pair of bright-blue flowing pants, a tank top, and a fuzzy yellow shawl came scurrying up as they entered. “Ira. Hi there. I got your message about changing class times next week. Is there a problem?”

  Ira glanced to Jed, gave a minute shake of his head, then turned to the man. “Hi, Cobalt. No, no problem, really. I just have a new job, and I want to make sure I’m available whatever hours they need me. I’d just like to make it earlier in the day, if that’s okay. Then I can be home and showered in time to start an eleven o’clock shift if I have to.”

  “New job?” He took Ira by the wrist and pulled him farther into the room. “Doing?” There was a slightly disapproving expression on his face, and Jed bristled.

  “He’s working—”

  “Jed.” Ira shot him a glare. “Down boy.”

  Jed sputtered and took a step back.

  “He’s has a bit of a protective, possessive streak,” Ira muttered to his friend. “Jed, this is my dance teacher, Cobalt Winslow. Cobalt, this is my . . . Jed.”

  “Your Jed?” Jed grumbled as he held out his hand. “Who’s being possessive now?”

  “He’s my boyfriend,” Ira said, still shooting Jed irritated looks. “And things have been a little . . . complicated. But the job is legit.” He smiled, and it was a wide, excited one, which made Jed’s heart hitch a bit. “Just serving tables at the Hen and Hog. But it pays enough. This”—he pointed to the studio floor—“is the only dancing I’m doing these days.”

  “You know it’s not about the dancing, sweetheart. Dancing is dancing. It’s the rest of it I worry about. I don’t like you going to those places on your own.”

  Ira’s smile faded. “You’re sweet to worry. But I’m fine.”

  Jed could practically see Ira’s back go up, his hackles lift, even under this seemingly benign worry. How much Ira had changed toward him, accepting his help without so much complaint these days. He’d almost forgotten what Ira had been like at the beginning. What Ira was still like with other people.

  “If you say so,” Cobalt demurred. “Shall we get started?” He turned to Jed. “Are you staying to watch?”

  How he wanted to, but one look from Ira had him shaking his head. “I’ll be back to pick him up—”

  “No.” Seemed Cobalt’s innocent worry had reminded Ira of his independent streak. “I’ll see you at work. I can walk.”

  “You shouldn’t—”

  “I can walk.”

  Jed held up a hand. “Okay, okay. I do have to get going.” He sm
iled at Cobalt. “Thanks for the offer, though.” He headed for the studio door, but Ira placed a hand on his arm.

  “Baby, I’m sorry. I got snippy.”

  “It’s okay. I understand the stress. Just have fun here, okay? Don’t worry about anything but dancing for a little while.” He pulled Ira into his arms. “I’ll see you at work.”

  “Yeah.” Ira kissed the side of Jed’s neck, a soft, tender peck that made him tickle, then nuzzled his face into Jed’s beard and drew in a deep breath.

  “Are you sniffing me?”

  “Yes. Shhh.”

  Back outside, Jed hummed to himself as he rounded the corner to where he’d left his bike. They were figuring this thing out, one small increment at a time, but they were figuring it out.

  He was on his bike and headed for the Hen and Hog before he realized anything was wrong. There was a slight jolt he had almost put down to a bump in the road when it happened again. Then the engine sputtered, its low growl coughing and chugging, and the next thing he knew, smoke was rising around him. He hurriedly pulled into a parking lot and shut off the bike.

  “What the ever loving . . .” He glared at the machine, but there was nothing to see. It looked normal but for the smoke pouring through the frame.

  A car horn sounded, and Jed looked up. He saw Cedric’s malicious grin in the driver’s window, then something flew out of the car and bounced down the sidewalk, coming to a rolling stop against a mailbox. It was a plastic bleach bottle.

  Jed cursed and tore off his helmet, but Cedric had sped up and run through the orange light at the intersection. He was gone. “Fucker!” Heads turned as people passed him, and he ground his teeth. Nobody wanted the big, bearded biker dude on the corner to lose his shit as he stared at his damaged bike. Sighing, he found his phone and dialed the shop he’d once worked at to see if he could get someone out to pick up the bike. He didn’t dare drive it again until he’d looked at it.