by Peter Styles
Chris always considered it an honor to watch professionals at work, especially those who could be considered artists. Making music was an art, and it was apparent when watching musicians. Their eyes danced across the sheet music like strokes of a paintbrush. Their fingers flicked. Their bodies swayed. Feet tapped. No matter whether he watched the violinist strike at the strings with the force of her whole body, or the pianist slamming his body weight down on the keys, or the flutist swaying with the beauty of his melody, it was apparent. And watching the band as a whole instead of individuals, he saw a waving ocean that rose and fell as one. They breathed together, moved together. They were beautiful.
After a minute of watching, one song came to a slow end. As if a spell was broken, the harmony of the band became discordant as they shuffled around and adjusted themselves. The dancers on the floor paused, leaving and entering and switching partners.
Chris glanced over at Jeremiah, trying to judge his reaction, but all he could see of the other was the back of his head. The trance might have ended but Jeremiah was clearly still caught up in the last fading echoes of the music. And then the music began again as the conductor instructed them to, and the next spell started. This time, the song was violin-heavy. She threw her body into the music until she was almost a dancer herself, accompanied by the pianist.
As that song ended, Jeremiah finally stirred. He lifted up his head and turned back around to look at Chris. “Is the music always like this at these sorts of things?”
Chris laughed and shook his head, glad that Jeremiah was enjoying himself. “Hell, no. Most of the time, it’s cheap acts from bands that are okay enough to get hired but aren’t good for much else.”
“Huh. These guys are pretty good though.”
“Of course they are. Nothing less for the Rooftop.”
A caterer drifted past, a woman in a pretty, flowing dress. She was also clearly a bodyguard in disguise. Only after a second glance were her thick forearms obvious, and there was some difference in her gaze. Her eyes were sharp, watchful, and her smile was forced. Gesturing to her, Chris took two flutes of champagne from her tray and handed one to Jeremiah.
His lover looked skeptically at the thin glass in his hand. It looked like a rose, and the liquid within was crystal amber. “Am I going to like this?”
Chris sipped at his experimentally. A bit of a bite to it, but he nodded anyway. “You should,” he answered.
From the look on his face, Jeremiah did. Almost immediately, some color rose to his cheeks. And just like that, the answer to everything revealed itself. Alcohol. Not much, as Jeremiah wasn’t a drinker, but just enough. It was so obvious, and yet not obvious at all because of who the man was as a person.
“You’re right,” Jeremiah said, looking surprised. “I do.”
Chris gave his empty glasses to another passing caterer while taking two more, passing one over again immediately. Jeremiah drank that one as well, and Chris decided to leave it at that and see how things went from there.
“So, you like the music, and you like the drinks… Maybe we can get you to like the people?” Chris suggested.
But the other shook his head adamantly. “No way. I’ve never liked other people.”
Chris leaned forward over his hands, looking right into Jeremiah’s eyes to hold his focus in place. His gaze was much calmer than when he walked in here, warming up to the situation around him. “So, stop looking at it that way.”
Jeremiah shook his head, a funny little smile flickering around his lips. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
Spreading his hands, Chris pressed on. “The party doesn’t revolve around you. No one’s noticing you. No one’s waiting for you to make a mistake. That’s not why they’re here.”
“So, why are they here?”
“Just look around you.”
Jeremiah did, skeptically. Chris stood and came around the table, crouching down at his side and slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Look,” he whispered, and pointed toward a woman in a red dress surrounded by a circle of young men. “She’s a married lesbian. Her wife is in the crowd somewhere. But she loves the attention she gets from men. Lives on it.”
He pointed toward another person, a couple dancing under the skylight with stars in their eyes to replace the lack of stars in the sky. “And those two? They just got engaged and wanted to come here where the atmosphere matches their mood.”
He kept pointing, at a man laughing his head off, and a girl with square glasses and a stereotypical librarian’s bun pulled tight up on the top of her head. He said the stories behind all of them, watching as Jeremiah started to smile.
“You made all of that up, didn’t you?”
Chris widened his eyes innocently. “No. Of course not.” Jeremiah pushed roughly at his shoulder, scowling. “Ow! Fine, I made it all up. Geez. You’re stronger than you look.”
“I don’t get your point, Chris.”
Rubbing his shoulder, he explained. “Everyone here came out to have a good time, to follow their own purposes. They’re enjoying themselves. So, why shouldn’t you? You’re actually more likely to be noticed if you don’t.”
Jeremiah sighed and leaned his head over to lie against Chris. “So, what do you suggest?”
“Dance with me.”
Jeremiah huffed. “I’ve read a book or two on the art of dance.”
“Is there any book you haven’t read?”
“Every math textbook.”
Chris grinned and stood, reaching out to grab Jeremiah’s hand and pull him to his feet. “Well, I have a surprise for you. I am a dance student.”
He practically heard Jeremiah’s jaw hit the floor as it dropped. “You’re a dancer? I… never would have guessed.” His lover flicked his gaze up and down his body, and Chris smiled to himself. Now that Jeremiah knew, it probably seemed obvious. Dance was the perfect exercise to make a man toned but not overly, intimidatingly muscular.
“I have a private instructor that I see three times a week. It gives me an escape. All movement and no thought, like sex.”
Jeremiah moaned in pretend despair as Chris dragged him onto the dance floor. “I’m a chronic over-thinker.”
“So don’t think,” Chris teased. They held their hands between them, looking into each other’s eyes. “Just act. Move with me. A slow dance, just like prom.”
Jeremiah stepped in close so that their bodies pressed together, arms around one another. “I didn’t go to prom,” he said.
“Really?” Chris started to slowly sway with him. He felt as limber and ready as always, but the man in his arms was like a plank. “What did you do prom night?”
“Same thing I did for homecoming. I stayed home and read.”
Chris pressed a kiss to his cheek, the sway turning into a slow turn. “Why am I not surprised?”
Turn completed, they swayed together again. Jeremiah didn’t relax so much as he seemed to channel the band, putting his body in motion with the sound. Every bit of it was ungraceful and Chris loved it. Jeremiah’s delicate, musky scent surrounded him. The soft feel of him was everywhere. They were as close as two men could ever be outside of the bedroom, and they had already been there.
Another couple passed them by, laughing and smiling. The lights made Chris feel like he was drunk. Everything swam before his eyes, and he was startled to realize he was constantly blinking back tears.
I think I could love this man.
Just as he finished the thought, they collided with someone else. “Sorry,” Chris grunted.
The other man just laughed and waved them off. “You’re fine, you’re fine. Keep dancing. You’re beautiful.”
Jeremiah is beautiful.
He couldn’t stop himself. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Jeremiah’s. They were still moving as they kissed, still dancing as their lips moved between them. Their tongues danced. Everything danced. The world was movement and light and pleasure.
For but only a moment, everything was perfect. Onl
y perfection wasn’t meant to last.
A voice broke through the crowd, separated from the din because of how quiet it was. “Jeremiah Bird?”
Chris blinked and looked up. Someone was here who knew Jeremiah? Curiosity tingled in his chest, deepening immediately into a dark dread as every last bit of Jeremiah’s relaxation went away. The thin man’s body went tight and anxious, and he pulled away from Chris as he reached out for him.
Something’s wrong.
Chris turned to look, to see who had interrupted them, but he didn’t see anyone distinctly. It was the same dancing crowd; the same blur of faces.
Then, someone stepped forward. A tall, handsome man with coffee-colored skin and shock imprinted on his face. “Jeremiah Bird?” he repeated.
Jeremiah cringed slightly away from the strange man, one hand rising as if to hide behind it. “Tyler Simmons. Go away. You need to go away.”
Chris saw red, an abrupt film that descended down over his eyes and took hold of his senses. He shoved his way between the two. A small hand grabbed at his shoulder from behind.
“Chris, no.”
“Chris?” The man named Tyler raised an eyebrow, the shocked look on his face turning to one of malice. “I can’t believe it. Chris Finley and Jeremiah in his arms. Did you fly to him when Markus wasn’t looking, you stupid bird?”
“I broke up with Markus,” Jeremiah said, his lips pressed together tightly.
Pain lanced up through Chris’s stomach at the words. Jeremiah belonged to Markus Worth at one point? To his rival? Why hadn’t he heard of that before now? Maybe Jeremiah didn’t even know that Chris had a rival.
“Oh, really? You did?” Tyler leaned around past Chris’s shoulder to stare. “Because, last I knew, Markus never lets anyone do anything to him. He couldn’t let me just quit. He had to fire me and force me out.”
Another piece of the puzzle. This was a former employee, seeking revenge. Yet, Chris couldn’t be quite sure of that. Tyler wasn’t acting like a man out to destroy his former boss. In fact, he spoke almost reverently of the other. Something more was happening here.
“Move out of the way, Chris.”
Chris turned, stunned at the way he was being spoken to by the delicate man he cherished so much. Jeremiah looked furious, practically boiling alive with rage. He moved past Chris, their sides brushing, and now it was Jeremiah who stood in the middle of the confrontation.
“Markus fired you because you were a terrible worker and you creeped him out. He told me once he thought he would need to get a restraining order. You were so inappropriate to him.”
“Really?” Tyler jabbed with a finger to make his point. “Is that what he told you? Or was he just trying to hide the fact that we had something you didn’t know about?”
This was getting far too heated, and they were attracting attention. They weren’t fighting or yelling—yet—but they were definitely attracting the attention of other partygoers. A cleared circle appeared around them, with a few bodyguards watching from the edge of the crowd. They couldn’t do anything until things got physical.
Jeremiah looked taken aback for all of three seconds before regaining his ground and shaking his head. “Yeah, no. You were a creep and sexually harassing my boyfriend, and your boss.”
“He wouldn’t have thought it was creepy if you weren’t in the way! For some fucking reason, he likes your skinny ass.”
“Well, maybe you should have a second try,” Jeremiah snapped. “I said I broke up with him.”
“You really did?” Tyler looked stunned. Everyone in the area who knew of Markus Worth also looked stunned.
“I… I did! Yes, I did! I think you need to leave us alone now.”
Chris could take the suspense no longer. He threw out one arm and caught Jeremiah, dragging him away from the dance floor and the accusing and curious stares of the other partygoers. Once they were far enough away to be forgotten, the only looks given to them were from the people they bumped into on the way out.
Jeremiah dragged his feet the whole way, head down. His heartbeat was audible even through the empty space between them. The presence of that space pained Chris immensely. It shouldn’t have been there at all, but he had to know the truth.
Once they were all the way out in the parking lot, Chris pulled Jeremiah over to a random truck and leaned against it, staring at the man he thought he might love. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me about Markus? That you dated someone else in this business?”
Jeremiah stared at him, raking his fingers through his hair very slowly. “Do you really think it’s that important? I’m minoring in business, that doesn’t mean I know every intimate detail of actual business and the people involved! You weren’t anything to me all that long ago.”
Another jab of pain struck Chris directly in the stomach, nearly bowling him over. Nothing… how could he be nothing?
Wait.
“Jeremiah,” Chris said. His voice was slow, cautious. He didn’t want to know the answer to this coming question. “Why were you at that business party when we met?”
“I told you that I got roped into it, Chris.”
“By who?”
No response.
Chris tilted his head back to look up at the sky full of airplanes and clouds of smog, and then he closed his eyes. “How long have you been broken up with Markus?”
“That’s not important. What’s important is I… I did.”
And there it was again. The uncertain stammering. That had happened twice now, for the same question. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Finally, all the pieces of the puzzle were right where they should have been and Chris hated the picture they made. There were too many feelings inside him to figure out, to know how he actually felt.
“Did you?” he whispered.
“I don’t understand.”
Opening his eyes again, Chris saw Jeremiah standing there, looking defeated. He looked half his usual size, slumped over and diminished. Chris straightened up from the vehicle he leaned against. His heart pounded in his chest, but he forced his voice around that obstruction.
“Did you ever break up with Markus?”
There was no answer, and that was an answer in and of itself.
“Let me tell you what I think,” Chris said. His eyes ached from tiredness and it was all he could do to keep standing. Fatigue washed over him, all energy and light swept away by this realization. “I think you never broke up with Markus Worth. I think he sent you to that business party to get an eye on the competition, and I fell for it. I fell for the bait. You manipulated me for him. And you would have kept doing it too, wouldn’t you? If not for that lovesick jerk back in there, you would have just kept doing it.”
There were tears on Jeremiah’s face, streaking down his cheeks. The moisture looked alive in the dark of night. “You have it all wrong, Chris.”
“Tell me what I got wrong, dammit!”
“I wasn’t going to keep doing it!” Jeremiah shouted. He spread his arms, eyes beseeching and full of shame. “For the past several days, I’ve been trying to break up with him but he won’t listen to me long enough for me to actually say it.”
“Why would you bother doing that?” His face felt like ice; his words were frozen. Chris was an igloo, but burning so hotly on the inside.
“So I could be with you.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore, Jeremiah.”
The relieved look that crossed the other’s face was almost enough to kill him. “I don’t?”
“No.” Chris turned his back on his lover. “You don’t. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore, so Markus can have you all to himself.”
“Chris, no! Please stay and listen to me, I can explain!”
Chris started walking away, toward his car. Every step taken felt like a sprinted mile. “You hurt me. You betrayed me and lied to me, and to think that I thought you were special. I thought you were different from al
l the other cheaters and liars of the world, but you’re nothing at all.”
“Chris, please.” Jeremiah sounded broken, and low. Physically low, as if he was crouching on the concrete. “You’re the only one who ever listened to me.”
And I never should have in the first place.
Each step tore his heart out but Chris kept walking. He left Jeremiah behind and walked the rest of the way to his car. Numb, he drove all the way to his office building and sat in the car in his spot. The parking lot was completely empty. There was no one else around, and not even a car driving past on the street. He had never felt so alone, in the aftermath of losing the one who he treasured most.
Chris turned the car off, leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, and wept. He wept like a grown man who has endured terrible things and doesn’t know how to process it, with shuddering gulps of breath and a clenched face. The muscles in his throat were tensed, utterly constricted to strangle any sound he might have made in his mourning. His eyes burned and streamed hot salt, which dripped steadily from his chin and formed a river on the steering wheel. His chest ached, yet through it all his heartbeat was steady. His heart had broken. That was the only speed possible now. No more nervous pattering or racing for joy. Only monotony.
When he was done, he dried his face as best as he could with his hands and a used McDonald’s napkin. A long sigh left his dry lips as he climbed out of the car and headed into the building.
The night guards greeted him casually, pretending not to notice his swollen red eyes.
Susan wasn’t about to pretend anything, however. Chris wasn’t exactly surprised to find her in the office at this hour, though this time she actually seemed to be working when he stumbled across her.
“Tough break?” she asked, blandly.
“Yeah,” he croaked. “You?”
“Same. There’s fresh coffee in the break room, and I was having a pizza delivered. You’re welcome to some of my hot pepperoni, since you couldn’t get any of your own.”