by Laura Leone
"Ah-hah! You see?"
"Why would he care?"
"It's all one and the same prejudice, Sara."
She paused and thought about that. "Maybe."
"Why don't you like lesbians?"
She shrugged. "Two women together..." She shuddered. "I'm just uncomfortable with the image. And there's this whole socio-feminist political thing about lesbianism that doesn't seem to have anything to do with sexual passion. It's as if a woman chooses to be lovers with another woman because, in some bizarre leftist way, she thinks it's the socially responsible thing to do."
"Jeez, Sara! You are so full of polluted misconceptions!"
"So you think I'm scaring Ryan?"
Miriam blinked. "What?"
"Ryan," Sara repeated, "Ryan. The object of my obsession. You're saying you think I have some innate anti-gay pheromone that he can smell?"
"Oh, don't flatter yourself that it's a pheromone. It's a prejudice."
"But I like gay men."
Miriam sighed. "Lots of women like gay men. It doesn't mean that you're truly comfortable, deep under your skin, with homosexuality."
"Well, I don't need to get that comfortable with it."
"You might, if you're close to someone gay." Miriam added with a certain relish, "If, for example, you're falling for a gay man."
"Oh, God." Sara threw down her napkin and quit all pretense of eating. "I feel sick."
"Sara..."
"I don't want to be in love with a gay man. What could be more frustrating?"
"In love?" Miriam studied her. "Are you?" When Sara didn't reply, she prodded, "Are you in love with him?"
"I don't know." She shrugged irritably. "We don't... He's never... And it's too soon to know."
"Not necessarily. Mom and Pop were engaged by the time they'd known each other as long as you've known Ryan."
"But I don't want to be in love with someone whose nature means he can never feel that way about me," Sara said unhappily.
"Oh, well... I wouldn't worry about it," Miriam said after long moment, digging into her Ma Po Tofu. "He's not gay."
"What?" Sara frowned at her sister. "But only a few minutes ago, you said—"
"No, whatever else is going on, Ryan's straight. That much is obvious."
"Then why have you been saying—"
"Oh, I was only playing devil's advocate. What I actually think is that Ryan's a miracle of nature: a straight man with the best attributes of a gay one."
"If that's what you think, then why are we wasting all this energy talking about gays and lesbians?"
"Wasting..." Miriam sighed and shook her head. "I was just curious, that's all."
"About what?"
"Never mind. Look, I've got an idea."
"I don't think I want to hear any more of your ideas today."
"Invite Ryan to bring a date to your housewarming party."
"What?"
"The party's a week from Saturday, right? Plenty of time for him to ask someone."
Ryan. Date. No. Sara felt queasy at the very thought. "I don't want—"
"It would casually open the door to discussing his sex life. And your lack of one."
"I don't want to open the door," Sara decided, retreating from territory which suddenly felt dangerous. "Okay? Let's just stop. I wouldn't be happy to learn he sleeps with men. Or sleeps with women who aren't me. Or took a vow of celibacy. Or was wounded in the war." And she couldn't stand the thought of him bringing a date to her party. Couldn't stand the thought of seeing him with someone else.
"Then you know your only other choice," Miriam said. "Tell him how you feel, and see what happens."
Sara rubbed her forehead. "He's never made a move. He's never shown—"
"Maybe he doesn't know you want him to."
"Lately I've sort of tried to... you know." She made a vague gesture. "To let him know the door is open, so to speak, if wants to walk through it—"
"If you'll recall, that's what I told you—"
"Yeah, yeah. The point is, I have to be careful how I behave, since I don't want to do something that would make me pathetic and him embarrassed."
"Oh, such as what?" Miriam said impatiently. "Would it be so bad if—"
"Yes! It would."
"So what are you going to do? Just keep tying yourself up in knots over this guy?"
Sara rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. "I think," she said at last, "I'll just return to my regularly scheduled theory, which is that he's just not sexually interested in a woman ten years older—"
"Nine."
"Nine years older who was never, even at her peak, in his class, physically speaking."
"That's insecurity talking."
"And it speaks loudly and carries a big stick."
"He cares about you," Miriam insisted. "Anyone who's seen him with you for two minutes can tell that he cares about you."
Sara shrugged irritably. "He cares about his dog, too."
"Yeah, yeah, I've met the dog. But when Ryan looks at you..." Miriam shook her head. "Well, it's no wonder you're obsessed. It's incredibly seductive when one person looks at another that way. It's not fair for him to do that to you if he's not interested."
"Yeah?" Feeling vindicated in her obsession, Sara prodded, "How does he look at me?"
"Like there's no one else in the world, and that's just fine with him."
Chapter Five
He sat in the holding cell and prayed the goddamn lawyer would get here. He was going to lose it if he couldn't get out of this place. Get out soon. Right now, thanks. This very minute would be good, folks.
Fucking hell.
The urine-rich, chemical smell of places like this made him want to cry with despair. The other inmates brought a wealth of horrifying memories rushing back to him. The sense of helplessness was overwhelming. Bars imprisoning him. Walls closing in on him. He'd been arrested twice before, and it made him sick with fear every time.
Now some burly tattooed guy was staring at him with speculative interest.
Kevin had only survived on the streets because he'd learned to be tough. You had to show them it would take nothing to make you throw down, while no power in this world could make you back down. You had to show them every single time.
"What are you looking at, asshole?" Kevin snarled.
The burly guy grinned. "You're pretty fucking pretty."
"Go fuck yourself."
"Ooh! You got a pair, huh?"
Kevin kept his stare hard and mean.
The guy shrugged dismissively. "Relax, pretty boy."
Kevin was overreacting. He knew it. And, hell, there was good reason for others to stare at him here: The lock-up wasn't exactly swimming with clean-cut guys in Armani casuals.
No, indeed. I seem to be the only one, go figure.
He felt ready to gnaw off his own paw by the time they called his name. He rose to his feet, weak-kneed with relief, and shot out of the cell like a bullet the moment the guard opened the door for him. The vaguely familiar lawyer who greeted him was dignified and impressive-looking.
Well, sure, I get a first-class lawyer. After all, I'm a first-class whore.
"Kevin," the lawyer said, "I'm Edmund Dryden."
Kevin blinked at him. Everything seemed unreal. "Yeah, I remember you," he said after a moment. It had been two years since they'd last seen each other.
"Are you all right?" Dryden asked. "Have they treated you appropriately?"
"Yeah, very appropriately," he muttered, "except for the part where they arrested me and locked me up."
"Well, it's over now. You're free." Dryden said.
"Free?" he repeated, afraid he misunderstood.
"Yes. I've come to take you home."
His heart thudded. "You're not taking me to be arraigned?"
"No. They've dropped the charges. You're free to go."
"Dropped the charges?" He felt dizzy as the news sank in. Free to go.
"Yes. Come on. We can talk in the
car."
He wanted to cry with relief. "She sent you?" He didn't use Catherine's name. Not here. She was the one who had taught him, long ago, the value of discretion. She had also taught him to invoke his right to remain silent whenever he was arrested. Catherine guaranteed her clients that her employees would never embarrass them, and Kevin had nothing to gain by breaking that rule. Today, as always, he'd kept his mouth shut.
He was confused, still not sure why he'd been busted this morning. He'd been wondering for hours if Catherine had set him up, as punishment for his behavior in her office yesterday. She of all people knew how much this would scare him. So he hadn't been sure she'd get him out of this mess. Nonetheless, he had used his phone call to ask her for help. Who else could he call, after all?
"Yes, she called me as soon as she heard from you," Dryden assured him jovially. "She's very concerned, eager to make sure you're all right." Dryden was cautious about using names here, too. "My instructions were to get you out as quickly as possible. No, this way, Kevin."
Disoriented, he let the lawyer guide him through the correct door. "My stuff," Kevin said.
"Yes, we're going to get your belongings on our way out. Right here, in fact. Officer? Thank you." He pushed some paperwork towards Kevin. "You just have to sign here."
Kevin nodded, resisting his body's urge to start shaking with reaction now that he was free. He signed his legal name and then, a few moments later, received a plastic bag with his personal possessions in it. He started pulling himself together, willing his hands to remain steady as he checked his wallet, put it in his pocket, then sorted through his other belongings.
Dryden kept a casual hand on his elbow as they navigated through the hallways. Once they were outside in the sunshine, the lawyer signaled to a waiting limousine. When it pulled up, Dryden held open the door. "We'll take you home now."
"No, I..." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to pull his thoughts together. God, he'd been scared. Shit scared. Witless and desperate. He wanted to throw up now. He cleared his throat and said with all the dignity he could muster under the circumstances, "I want to get my car."
"Of course." Dryden followed him into the spacious backseat of the limo and said, "It's still at the scene?"
The scene. How tactful.
"I guess. Parked outside."
Dryden nodded, picked up an intercom phone, and told the driver where to go. Very well prepared, the lawyer was, knowing off the top off his head where Kevin had been arrested a few hours ago.
As the vehicle got under way, gliding down the street like a ship on calm seas, Dryden offered Kevin a drink. He accepted. Just one. He always stopped at one, even when he wasn't on the job. But he really, really wanted this one right now.
"There will be no further trouble over this incident," Dryden assured him. "It was a bad bust—"
"A bad bust?" He let his agitation take over now that they were in private. "But when vice grabbed me in the hotel, they said they had a video of me fucking this woman and then accepting fifty bucks from her—which they found when they searched me."
"Oh, rendering the tape inadmissible would have been no problem at all, as I told the police," Dryden said dismissively. "As for the money, you didn't ask for it, did you?"
"No, of course not." If Catherine ever heard of one of her boys asking a client for money, she'd fry his balls for breakfast. "But I—"
"And the client didn't say, 'This is payment for the sex acts,' did she?"
He rubbed his throbbing temples. "No, she didn't."
"Legally," said Dryden, "you merely showed up for a romantic interlude and then borrowed some money before leaving. And the police illegally intruded on your private life."
"Okay, now I really do want to throw up."
"Vice was almost certainly hoping for a lot more," Dryden mused, "one way or another."
"Oh, really? What the hell did they think I was going to do in that room?" he demanded.
"I mean," Dryden said patiently, "they expected something much more incriminating today, given the trouble they went to."
He frowned. "But why would they think..."
Holy shit.
He already knew. Which meant that Catherine already knew. And knowing Catherine, she was already doing something about it.
He picked up the phone and buzzed the driver. "Change of plans. Turn right at the next light."
"What are you doing?" Dryden asked.
Kevin gave the driver a new destination.
Dryden looked at him. "Why are we going there?"
"Because I'm really pissed off."
He ignored further attempts at conversation as the car cruised towards Cow Hollow, an expensive and crowded district of businesses and residences which sat between Pacific Heights and the Marina. He opened the car door before the limo had even come to a full stop, and he was at the door of Catherine's elegant townhouse before the lawyer had left the car. After Kevin was buzzed in, he let the security door shut and lock behind him.
"Where are they?" he demanded of Jolie, the impeccably groomed employee who was now buzzing in Dryden behind him.
"Who?"
"Catherine! Derrick! Where?" he shouted.
Jolie flinched. "Upstairs! They're upstairs. Kevin."
He hadn't been upstairs in years. That was where Catherine lived. That was where she got personal with people.
And that was just fine, because he was feeling pretty fucking personal about having been arrested.
He raced up the stairs, taking them three at a time, and kicked in the brass-handled double doors he found on the second floor. The security alarm immediately went off. Its shrill, deafening clamor would have made his teeth rattle if he weren't grinding them with barely-controlled rage.
Dressed in a dark, superbly-cut pants suit, Catherine whirled to face him as he burst into her living room. Her flushed face and agitated posture, both of which he noticed instantly because they were so unusual, were an answer to the question which had plagued him in his holding cell.
He asked it anyhow: "Did you set me up?"
"No."
He stood there panting with agitation, anger, and rampant emotion. The shrill alarm made his head spin and his ears ring.
He and Catherine both turned their gazes on Derrick, whom Kevin had suspected would have been summoned here by now. He was an exceptionally handsome, well-built, bi-racial man, two years older than Kevin and about three inches taller. Derrick's green eyes flashed with open resentment, and his café-au-lait complexion was vivid with hot emotion.
"Did you set me up?" Kevin snarled at him. "Did you?"
"That was my trick!" Derrick raged at Catherine. "I worked that trick for almost a year. She never asked for anyone else! Never! You had no right to give it to him!"
Catherine shouted, "You screwed up! You lose! Those are the rules, Derrick!"
"Oh, yeah?" Derrick pointed to Kevin and demanded, "What did he pay for screwing up? He fucked with you until you were foaming at the mouth, and he's still your number one boy!"
"It was you!" Kevin was livid. "You set me up!"
"You deserved it, man! That was my regular!"
"You sonofabitch!"
"You want a piece of me now? Is that why you're here?" Derrick shouted at him. "Is that what you want?"
"You bet your candy ass I do!" Kevin shouted back. "I've been in the goddamn lock-up because of you! I've got another arrest on my record because of you!"
"Well, come on, then!" the other man taunted him. "You wanna do this? Do you? Huh?"
"Yes!"
"Then DO IT, you prick!"
"No!" Catherine screamed at them both.
Consumed with fury, Kevin ignored her. He dodged when Derrick leaped, then he knocked him down, followed him to the floor, and hit him in the gut, the face, and the gut again. Derrick fought back wildly. A blow to Kevin's eye made the lights waver and the room spin, but he didn't back down. He never backed down. Ever. He knew that once you backed down, you died; he'
d seen it too often to doubt it. He slugged Derrick in the face, then grabbed his head and banged it against the floor. Derrick was bigger, but he'd never lived on the streets, and Kevin had. Derrick had never had to become tough; Kevin had never had any other choice.
Catherine was screaming. So were a few other people who'd evidently been attracted by the commotion. Kevin ignored them. He sat on Derrick's chest, pinning the man's arms to the floor with his knees, then grabbed his lower lip and twisted. Hard.
Derrick howled.
"Stop!" Catherine screeched. "Stop it this instant! And, God, will someone shut that alarm off?"
Now that he had Derrick's undivided attention, Kevin said, "If you have a beef with her, you take it up with her." He twisted harder and the lip started bleeding. Tears of pain gathered in Derrick's eyes. "If you ever involve me in your problems again, I will cut off your dick and feed it to your former regular with hot sauce. Do you understand me?"
Derrick whimpered.
Kevin yanked on his lip, making Derrick scream again.
"Sorry, I didn't quite catch your reply?" Kevin said. "That alarm is so damn loud, you know."
Derrick started babbling while tears streamed out of the corners of his eyes. He was a little hard to understand, since he didn't have use of his lip, but the gist of it seemed to be that he was terribly, dreadfully, sincerely sorry he'd squealed to vice, set Kevin up, and got him busted.
"I'm glad to hear that, Derrick. So this was all just a bad choice and an unfortunate misunderstanding, wasn't it?"
Derrick grunted affirmatively.
The alarm abruptly stopped. Kevin's ears buzzed in the sudden quiet. He heard a number of people breathing hard and muttering.
"Well, misunderstandings and bad choices happen sometimes, Derrick." He didn't slacken his vicious hold on Derrick's lip. Not one bit. "But if you and I ever have another misunderstanding, life as you know it will be over. I hope that's very clear now."
Derrick grunted again, glaring in mingled fury and pain.
Kevin let go of the Derrick's lip—then slugged him once more across the face for good measure, because he could never emphasize enough just how much he hated going to jail. He rose from Derrick's prone body. Trying not to tremble in the aftermath of the sort of violence he hadn't exercised in years, he walked over to the window and stared down at the normal, ordinary, weekday street scene below.