LOVER FOR PAY: The Escort & The Teacher (M/M)

by A. J. Blake

  Reading over the letter in his possession, Henry glared angrily down at the hand writing. When he was done, the boy did just as London had, crumpled it and threw it. “You’re not seriously considering going to see him, are you?”

  “I’m going today,” London said.

  “Why!?” Henry shouted.

  The moment the boy raised his voice, a nurse came in to check on him. London switched seats to the chair near the bed. “I have to,” he said, then.

  Henry’s face was turning red in anger as the nurse changed his needle and cleaned his scar. “Hey,” he spoke to the blonde woman, “If your father constantly abused you for no reason when you were a kid, and then finally gets locked up in prison for a vicious crime he committed without ever thinking of his family, would you go visit the sonofabitch?”

  The nurse glanced from the sixteen-year-old to London who sat with his arms crossed. “Um, honestly, it all probably depends,” she said.

  Henry lied back into the pillow when the nurse began to dab gently at his scar. “You and my brother are crazy, then. London, he doesn’t deserve to ever see us again. What he deserves is to rot in that cell for the rest of his life, and then rot some more when he finally dies.”

  “Wait a minute,” the nurse said, “Was your father Travis James Dawncraft?”

  “That’s our dear Old Man,” Henry confirmed.

  “Oh, I watched a 60 Minutes presentation about him when he was first arrested. Scary guy, I’ll tell you.”

  “Yup,” Henry dogged his brother, “And you want to go and give him a moment of your time. You really shouldn’t. You’re literally the last person who should.”

  London knew Henry was right, but he’d already made up his mind. When he left the hospital, he dropped Joyce off with Mrs. Campbell and was on his way to Laymen’s Correctional Institution. It was a long drive out to the middle of nowhere, into the hot south plains of Texas.

  Several times during the drive, he’d tried to talk himself into turning around and calling this quits, but if Marbell could face his father with a secret he’s feared getting out, London liked to think he could at least look his own father in the eye one more time. He hadn’t any baggage keeping him down like Marbell, nor did he feel like there would be any rewarding development for the person he was, but getting something like this out of the way seemed right, no matter how senseless Henry thought it was.

  Laymen’s was a large vicinity with cameras watching everything that moved, nothing but empty yellow field for miles in every which way outside of the fifteen-foot-tall barbed wire fence. There was a parking lot for visitors and London went inside. Just being within the same location as his Old Man was unsettling, but by the time he was identified, and sitting in the visiting area of the prison, a beige room with barred windows to allow sunlight, there was no turning back.

  Other families were seated at tables around him, wives speaking with their husbands, children meeting their fathers, mothers with their sons, and for some reason London felt like he was here to see someone totally alien from him. Though this man had a hand in giving him life, and they shared the same blood, there was no way London could ever truly refer to him as a real father. Just because they had half the same DNA, same eyes color, same hair color, and facial structure, those factors did not make them family.

  Drumming his fingers against the table’s surface, London looked towards the entryway for prisoners coming from lock up. A man standing at a height of 6’4” stepped through the threshold. Chains were bound around his ankles and wrists, and they rattled the closer he got.

  TJ Dawncraft, he was just as London remembered him, built from the ground up with muscle and strength, skin, however, having gotten a couple shades paler and slightly lined with time. His square face was coarse with maintained facial hair around his hard mouth, connected to his sideburns, and faded into the auburn close-cut atop his head. The man’s eyebrows were unkempt above hooded lids, brown eyes seeming vacant as he was led in by a guard. Multiple tattoos covered his arms, Jewish symbols inked onto his flesh, and Joyce’s name ran up his opposite forearm.

  All in all, TJ was still the handsome devil he’d been before, just with tattoos and shorter hair from before he was thrown into this place to spend the last of his days.

  Once he sat down in the chair across the table, London sat back, dropping his hands into his lap when TJ attempted reach out for him.

  TJ smirked at the recoil and sat back as well. Just forty years old, he noted the similarities of him and his son. Truly he looked like nothing more than a future version of London, good-looking in the face and modestly toned all over. “You’ve grown so much since last I saw you,” TJ said firstly, voice low and husky. “I see you’ve filled out quite a bit, too.”

  London couldn’t find the words to say.

  “How have you been?” When London said nothing for a second time, TJ sighed, “If you’re not going to say one word to me, why did you come?”

  Finally looking away from the intimidating size of his father, London said, “Fine, despite everything, I’ve been fine.”

  TJ smiled at that, “Seems your balls dropped, eh? Your voice is a lot deeper.”

  “Fortunately, that’s what happens when you hit puberty.”

  “And still a wiseass, I see.”

  London quirked his brow smugly, “Trust me, it’s only gotten worse over the years.”

  Laughing at his son’s remark, TJ leaned forward onto the table. “Tell me how you’ve been. Since you have custody over your brother and sister, I’m sure that means you’ve got a stable job and what not. Where do you work? Are you married yet? Any kids of your own?”

  London answered each question straight forward. “I work at an antique shop during weekdays. I’m dating a dude, and I don’t have any kids...yet, I like to think.”

  It was easy to see the mention of a boyfriend had captured TJ’s attention more than anything else. He chewed his lip thoughtfully, “And he’s good to you?”

  At the question, London drove two hands back through his hair, feeling a little more uncomfortable than he’d hoped he would. “Yeah,” he answered, anyway. “Yeah, he’s really good to me. Helps me a lot with the kids since I’ve been struggling.”

  “So he’s good to Henry and Joyce, as well?”

  “They love him,” London made clear. “TJ, what did you want me here for? I’m almost positive it was not to talk about my relationship, especially now that you know it’s with another man. What do you want? What are you getting out of this?”

  The chains around TJ’s wrists rattled when he adjusted his hands on the table. “I know you never wanted to see my face again, and I know it’s nonsense for me to ask for your forgiveness after all the things I did to you, but it doesn’t hurt to try. I was given the death sentence for what I did to those people, so I wanted the opportunity to try and resolve everything with the person I hurt the most. Back then, I was an angry man. Someone like me didn’t deserve a loving family, and I ruined everything I had, watched everything go down the drain. But, since being here, I’ve tried to change, and now understand all that I put you through was unnecessary. I shouldn’t have treated my first born son the way I did.”

  “No,” London agreed, “You shouldn’t have. Since you say you’ve been thinking about everything you did, do you have any idea at all how much of a fucking asshole are? TJ, you nearly beat me to death just because you didn’t like whose lips I was locking as a kid, and then tormented me until I couldn’t take it anymore, until I felt like the only way I’d be able to survive was to leave. I left because I was scared one day you were going to wind up killing me in front of my own mother, my little brother. By the way, you’re lucky I decided to come here, because Henry sure as fucking hell would never want to see you again. Ever. You scarred him for life. You know he broke down in front of me before, because he was so caught up in the idea that no one gave a shit about him. You screwed us over by being the monster we associated you as, and Elaine is a senseles
s druggie who couldn’t care for her family even if she tried. We, as kids, had nothing.”

  TJ parted his lips to speak, but held his voice back when London wasn’t finished.

  “But, you want to know something, we don’t need you and Elaine anymore. I have been capable enough to take care of my brother and sister, and my new boyfriend wants nothing more than take care of us, too. Seriously, the best thing to ever happen to us was for you to land yourself in here.”

  When London stopped, TJ stared down at his hands, the cuffs and chains cold against his wrists. “I know you won’t accept this, but I’m sorry, London. I’m sorry for everything I put you and Henry through, and I’m glad Joyce was never big enough to experience the hardships I put you and your brother through. This is all I wanted, London, to tell you I’m sorry.”

  London couldn’t keep himself still. His hands were shaking, knee bouncing as his foot tapped the floor. With his hands cupping his face, elbows on the tabletop, frustration overwhelmed him at how sincere his Old Man sounded. London hadn’t wanted to walk away from this feeling any different about the guy, but the earnest plea in his voice couldn’t be ignored.

  Digging in his wallet, London pulled out a recent picture of himself, Joyce, Henry, and Marbell that’d been taken at Central Part during his stay in New York. He slid the small image across the table, allowing TJ a look at the kids he failed to be a father for.

  A smile perked at TJ’s lips as he looked upon it. “That’s my little girl?” he asked, “She’s gotten so big, looks just like Elaine’s mom when she was a kid, and Henry, handsome boy.” When he laid eyes on the foreign man in the picture, he looked up at London, and asked, “Is that your boyfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  TJ just nodded, “I hope he’s good to you. I mean it.”

  London couldn’t take it anymore. He stood from the table and took the picture back, instead handing him another one that was just of himself, Henry, and Joyce. “I won’t be coming back after today,” he said, rising from the chair as to leave. “And…I accept your apology. Bye, TJ.”

  It’d been months since the last time Marbell was in Manchester. He was being driven to his father’s office in the back of a taxi. With it being nine in the evening, he went ahead and dialed London before reaching his destination. He needed a bit of an uplifting if he was going to face his father like this. After a couple rings, the call was answered, and a tired London Dawncraft was on the other line. “Hey,” Marbell said, “Is everything alright?”

  “Yeah,” London said, “Just got back from a long drive, and Joyce is insisting I play dress up with her.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  The tattooed boy sighed through the receiver, “I went to see my Old Man today. Thought if you could see yours, I could grow a set and see mine.”

  “Oh, wow,” given London’s history with the guy, Marbell could see why he didn’t sound like himself. “How did things go?”

  “Good, actually. He, um, he apologized for everything. I feel like he meant it.”

  “That’s really great, London. I’m glad he gave you that.”

  “Me, too, but listen, Henry is calling me on the other line. Probably wants me to bring him something to eat since he hates the food they give him there. Good luck with your dad, okay? And, remember, no matter what...”

  “I’ll always come back to you.”

  When they hung up with each other, Marbell arrived to the Monroe Flair Corporation building. It was a tall structure built twenty-five floors off the ground and glistened with glass all around. He was dropped off in front of the entrance and went inside. The main floor was white all around, the walls, tile flooring, and furnishing over in the waiting area off to the side. Approaching the check in desk at the head below a large silver ‘Matthews’ sign, Marbell smiled to the elderly man sitting behind it. “Good evening, Charlie.”

  The man looked up, surprised in seeing Marbell. “Vice, Matthews, hello! Welcome back to Manchester. You’re here to see your father, I presume?”

  “Sure am, can you tell him that I’m on my way up, please?”

  “Yes, sir, of course.”

  In the elevator, with each floor he climbed, Marbell felt the regret of coming out worsen. He’d never been demeaned by his father before, but, still, he was nervous as well going into this. He’d only ever come out to one person, and they ended up driving his life straight into hell. If his father treated him with anything other than respect and recognition, Marbell would be crushed.

  Greeted by other late workers when he reached the top floor, Marbell stood in front of a door with Rolland Matthews plated to it. He breathed in and out to calm the uncertain worry, and when he finally gathered what felt like enough courage, he grabbed the knob, turned it, and opened the door. His father was inside, seated behind his glass desk, the skyline of Manchester shining behind him in the night. In his fifties, he looked worn from age, but still held onto to the touches of youthfulness he had left. With greying, jade black hair, his etched face was clean-shaven as it always was, and his light brown eyes were wide-set. Lips pursed as he read over papers in his hand, his neat build appeared more intimidating than it ever had.

  At the sound of his office door opening, he set down the papers and smiled warmly up at his son. “Marbell,” he said, “It’s so good to see you. Please, come in, come in.”

  Marbell closed the office door behind him, taking a seat in one of the chairs before the desk. “Hi, father,” he said, trying to make sure there was no strain in his voice.

  “Now that you’re here, what was it you needed to talk to me about? Over the phone you sounded a bit...scared.”

  “Father,” Marbell started, fidgeting his fingers together, “I, um, I’ve needed to tell you this for a while now. I just hope you understand.”

  “You’re not sick are you?”

  “No, no, I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Marbell thought of London to ease his mind, of how much he loved that man, and of how much he wanted to be with him. This was something that needed to be done, and it needed to be done now. In his mind he could hear the first time London confessed his love, and that was plenty to push him forward.

  “Father,” he breathed, “I’m – I’m gay.”

  Nothing was said and Marbell couldn’t look up, couldn’t meet his father’s eyes to see the disappointment he’d become with just one word.

  “Is that it?” Rolland asked. “Is that what you flew eleven hours to tell me? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to tell me this?”

  Marbell knitted his brow in confusion, “What? But – but I thought–.”

  “I know what you’re thinking. Why am I not more upset by this? Son, when I was younger, I will admit that I looked at homosexuality as something unnatural, and the way I expressed my opinion on it was wrong. Trust me, you work in the modeling business long enough, you’ve got to get used to gay men and woman. When you were up at university, I knew you weren’t straight, and when you started dating Vivian, I assumed, then, that you were maybe bisexual or something.”

  “I’m not, father,” Marbell said, “I’m gay and Vivian...”

  Marbell tried his best to explain everything, everything from his fear of anyone finding out his sexuality, to the relationship he now had with London, and how Vivian was threatening to ruin him. To his pleasant surprise, Rolland had listened and taken him very seriously, even showing how upset it made him that a woman he’d thought to be sweet, could turn out so cruel and petty.

  “Blackmail, eh?” Rolland hummed, “Don’t you worry about a thing, son. She thinks she can ruin your life, but I’m about to make hers a whole lot more eventful.”

  XXI – Taken

  It was late in the afternoon two days later and London still hadn’t heard from Marbell since he’d landed in Manchester. He had already started to get nervous the morning after, but once noon rolled around, he was beginning to think things hadn’t go
ne well, and Marbell was too shaken to give him a ring. He’d tried multiple times to get a hold of Marbell through voicemail, phone call, and even video chat, but none of his attempts were ever answered. After night came around the day the teacher was supposed to have been back, London couldn’t help but think the worst. He remembered back to his younger years when his own Old Man had discovered his attraction to the same-sex. Things definitely hadn’t ended well, and he was scared that’s how it’d turned out for Marbell.

  Pacing back and forth through the living room, London tried one more time, deciding that if nothing went through, he’d do everything he could to get in contact with Marbell’s father. When the rings went on and on and on with no answer, London was about to end the call when it was finally picked up. “Hello?” Marbell said.

  “Hello?” London barked back, “What do you mean ‘hello’? I’ve been calling you nonstop for the past two days. You had me worried sick. Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “Oh, I’m perfect.”

  London’s itchy nervous didn’t take lightly to the soft and proud tone in Marbell’s voice. “Where are you?”

  “Answer the front door.”

  At the demand, London hustled for the door and threw it open. On the patio stood Marbell in black slacks and a spruce blue shirt. His glasses sat perked on his cheeks as a goofy smile spread across his lips, and the sheer happiness glowing in his eyes was enough to tell London he really was in a perfect mood. He had a bouquet of a dozen red and white roses in his hand, and the first thing he did was hold them out to London.