by Tara Lain
His dad said, “How’d it go today?”
“Great.”
“I want to hear all about it.”
“Don’t talk shop, boys.” His mom grinned. “Save it for after dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Micah laughed and plunged into conversation with Shawn about his work for a giant aeronautics manufacturer on secret projects he couldn’t talk about, but Micah liked to tease him anyway. Then he chatted with his uncle, a retired postman, who was a raging liberal and loved to complain about the Republican Congress.
His two sisters-in-law, Layne and Andrea, were both fashion fanatics, so they huddled together comparing Instagram posts.
Finally his aunt called dinner, and they all plowed in and dove into slices of ham so thick and juicy they melted in your mouth. Micah groaned. “Auntie, can I specify this meal to be served on my deathbed so I can go out a happy man?”
His Aunt LaShawnda pressed a hand to her chest. “I can’t take credit for all of it. Jeremy cooked the ham. Isn’t it divine?”
Shawn waved a fork. “Man, bro, you have hidden talents.”
The pause that followed defined awkward since Jeremy had trouble keeping work, but Micah’s mom broke in, saying, “Andrea, do you have any new pictures of the kids?”
That redirected the rest of the meal conversation.
When they gathered back in the living room, with Jeremy, Xaviera, and Aunt LaShawnda joining in this time, they talked about movies, the kids’ schools, and lightly touched politics, though Uncle Amos and Jeremy clashed, despite both voting Democratic.
Micah rested against the back of his chair and sipped a small glass of cognac.
“So, Micah, how are my boys?”
Micah looked at his dad. “Boys?”
“The twins.”
He glanced around at the others. “They’re fine, Dad.”
“Twins?” His mom smiled.
His dad nodded. “These two brothers, absolutely identical twins, who’re so different in style, nature, and personality you can barely believe they’re related. But they take total care of each other. Amazing.”
Micah nodded. “Yes, they’re extraordinary.” He turned to his sister-in-law Layne. “So how’s work?”
“Oh, good, but I want to hear more about the boys. So are they your patients, Dad?”
His dad shook his head. “They were. Now they’re Micah’s.”
“What are they like, Micah?”
“I can’t say too much—they’re my patients. But they’re artists. Apparently really good ones. One is as bright and sunny as a unicorn barfing rainbows, and the other is Edgar Allen Poe come to life. Nevermore, baby. And yet they look exactly alike.” He leaned forward. “You’ll love this, Dad. Today they came in with identical hair. If they dressed alike, I don’t think their mother could tell them apart.”
“How old are they?” That was Andrea.
“Twenty-four.”
“Babies,” his mom said.
His dad chuckled. “Very naughty babies.”
Xaviera’s eyes widened. “Oooh, tell.”
Micah held up a hand. “No. We’re not discussing my patients anymore.”
“Spoilsport.” She stuck out her tongue.
His father made a little waving motion with his hands. “Just two gay charmers taking the world by storm.”
Xaviera giggled, but Jeremy’s voice cut through. “Fuck, not more fags.” He stood. “They sure found the right doctor.”
Micah leaped from his chair. “What the hell’s the matter with you? You’re my brother, for God’s sake! How can you be so hateful?”
“How can you be—be—what you are?” He glanced around at them, then screamed, “And how can you all encourage him?” He strode from the room, and a moment later the front door slammed.
Micah just stared after him. Not the first time by a long shot, but it had been six months since Jeremy had blown up at him—at Christmas, when Jeremy caught Micah reading a story to Jeremy’s two sons and grabbed them and hauled them from the house, not to return until after the holidays.
“I’m so sorry, Micah.” His mom walked over and wrapped her arms around him.
Micah sighed. “I keep waiting for him to be my big brother again.” He shook his head. “And he keeps waiting for me to be not gay.”
His dad said, “It was stupid of me to say that the McMillans are gay. I didn’t think. Jeremy’s been acting better for a little while.”
“What brought this on? Did I do something?”
Shawn frowned. “You know how much Jeremy loves his posse. I guess Morales started ragging on gay guys, and one of the others said Jeremy had a gay brother. He was fucking embarrassed because he knew he should defend you, but he wanted to agree with the dude. Anyway, it brought it all to a head, I guess.”
Micah collapsed back into his chair. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to start coming home at different times than Jeremy. It rips me up, and I’m sure it’s hard on him too.”
Shawn frowned at Micah. “He does okay when you don’t rub his nose in it.”
His mother gave him a sharp look, and he took a big slug of cognac.
His father scowled. “That’s stupid and ridiculous. Jeremy’s an intelligent man. I don’t understand how he can ignore reality.”
“But he does, and it makes life miserable for both of us.” Micah sighed.
Shawn stood and walked toward the kitchen. “It’s not like any of us like that you’re gay. Shit, why can’t he keep his mouth shut and just let us have a visit without his drama.”
Slapped. Like Shawn had hit him. Micah’s mom looked at him and whispered, “Oh honey. That’s not true.”
Micah stood. “You’re all pretty great about it. I’m going to go home. I have patients tomorrow. Have a great week.” As he reached the front door, he heard Xaviera hissing, “Now look what you’ve done.”
Shawn snarled back, “Well, it’s true!”
Micah made it to his car, pulled away from the curb, and was on the freeway before he let himself think the question he’d asked himself so many times. How do I apologize to my family for something I can’t change?
He took a deep breath of air-conditioning. Maybe that’s why I like the McMillan twins so much? They’re so very, very who they are. They don’t apologize for fuck. His foot pressed the accelerator as he headed to Laguna. Unfortunately, I might like one of them too much.
BOBBY GIGGLED as they walked into the office building. Robin gave him a look, and Bobby grinned. “Nerves.”
Robin held the door, and Bobby stared for a second into the reflective glass beside the door. He laughed again. “That hat covers everything, and with your eye makeup on, nobody will know that without it, Santa Claus can’t tell us apart.”
Robin nodded. “I know. Get inside.”
“Stop being obnoxious. You have to be me.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Robin.” He narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, dear.” He smiled and flashed teeth like a wolf.
Bobby crossed his arms. “If this plan fails, you’re the one who suffers. Think about all the fun you’ll have being charming to all the thousands of people at the Sawdust.”
“Okay, I got it.” He crossed the big lobby to the scaffold. “Looks good.”
“Want to go up?”
They climbed the scaffold and tried out the platform at the top. Robin ran his hands over the canvas that had been applied to the wall like so much wallpaper. “This will work.”
Bobby glanced down almost two stories. Working this high always made him a little queasy, but Robin knew no fear. Actually that applied to many life situations—just as long as he didn’t have to deal with the GP, aka the general public. “Shall we start blocking in the forms?”
“Yeah, you stay here. I’ll get the supplies.”
Bobby watched Robin climb down the scaffold and head out the front door. He totally did that so I didn’t have to. Bobby smiled softly. Kind of amazing to have a brother that great.
&nb
sp; Over to the side, the elevator door opened, and out into the lobby marched Paolo Lind. Oh sweet god of Greek statues, as JJ would say. Bobby glanced at the door. Shit, Robin would be plowing through that entrance any minute and come face-to-face with Lind. “Yoo-hoo. Hi.”
Lind looked around him.
“Up here. Hi.”
He finally looked up. “Oh, hello.” His expression went from neutral to suspicious.
“It’s me, Bobby McMillan. Remember me?”
Lind actually smiled. Dimples. Who knew the man had teeth?
Bobby glanced at the door again. “I’ll come down, but would you mind spotting me?” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I get a little light-headed all the way up here.”
“Certainly, I’m right here. Take it slow.” Paolo walked to the base of the scaffold and gazed up. That right there was enough to make Bobby’s head spin like a top.
Bobby climbed down, and when he got close to the bottom, two strong hands grasped his waist. Bobby sucked wind—very, very quietly—as Paolo twirled before his feet hit the ground. “Uh, thank you.”
“So you’re getting started on the mural?”
“Uh, yes. Robin’s out getting the supplies from the car so, uh, I can get started.”
“Good. I’ll be interested to see the progress.”
“I’m really looking forward to it. It’s such a great space.” He waved his arm.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Yes, I guess you did create it, didn’t you?” His lashes fluttered on their own. Their gazes locked—and held.
“I really like your new hair.”
“You do?” His voice rose so high it squeaked.
The front door opened, and Robin staggered in with a huge box of primer and paints and a big bag of other supplies dangling from his arm. He looked up and stopped.
Bobby glanced over. Oh my God, the man’s a mind reader. By some mystery of twin telepathy, he’d pulled the black knit hat even farther over his hair and put on sunglasses. “Let me help, Robin. I’m so sorry.” He rushed over to Robin, grabbed the bag from his arm, and stared at him with intense significance. “I was just telling Mr. Lind how I’m about to start painting the mural with all these wonderful supplies you brought me. Of course, we’ll block out the design together.”
“Yes.” He walked to the scaffold, set the box on the floor, and started climbing.
Bobby looked back at Lind. “Would you mind helping get these up to us?”
He glanced up toward Robin, then back at Bobby. “Sure.”
Bobby walked to the scaffold, and if he put a little extra sway in his walk, it was definitely unconscious. Well, maybe it was.
Bobby reached for the bar, and Lind put a hand under his butt and boosted him up. Really? Did he seriously do that? Whoa. When he got to the top, Lind climbed up a few feet and lifted the bag. Bobby grabbed it while Robin took the box. Lind frowned a little at that, but he still pushed the supplies into Robin’s hands.
Bobby smiled down. “Thank you so much, Paolo.”
“You’re welcome.” He walked away a few steps, then looked back. “See you soon.” He strode out the front door of the building.
Bobby fell backward onto the metal scaffold. “Be still my heart. I may never wash my ass again.”
“Excuse me, Casanova, but don’t I recall a certain doctor you’re drooling over?”
Bobby sat up. “Of course. I’m just not used to such handsome men laying hands on my butt.” He fanned himself.
“Uh, I’ve never noticed a lack of ass-touching in your life.”
“Do you think that means he’s gay?”
“I think it means he wanted to help you up the scaffold. I really don’t know, Bobby.”
“You’re right, of course. Let’s get to work.” He patted his hair. Funny, for those few minutes, he’d forgotten Micah. First time since he’d met him.
Robin sorted through the supplies. “Do you think I’ll get my ass groped when I’m pretending to be you?”
Shit, he hadn’t exactly thought of that. “Maybe.” He swallowed. “Do you think you can keep from knocking his teeth out?”
“I’ll give it my best shot.”
“Seriously, dear.” He lowered his voice and glanced around the lobby. “When we get home tonight, you should do some Bobby practice.”
Robin stood straighter. He raised a hand and waved it. “What? You think I can’t be my lovely brother without even trying?”
Bobby slapped a hand to his mouth. “I can’t believe it. How come I’ve never seen you do me before?”
With a soft smile, Robin touched Bobby’s cheek. “Because you’re so much better at it, dear—so much kinder, sweeter, and more beautiful. I can pretend, but you live it.” Robin pulled out charcoal, walked to the far end of the canvas, and started blocking in the main areas of the design. He always said, a work might be abstract, but it still had order.
Bobby blinked back tears. “Thank you.” Sniffing, he took his place at the other end of the scaffold and began drawing—but his gaze drifted toward the building’s front doors, half waiting for them to open.
Chapter Nine
ROBIN FLIPPED the hair out of his eyes and wiped some sweat from his eyebrows. It was hot so high up in the atrium. Hot—but hot! Man, he loved this piece. He’d worked on other murals, but this was the biggest expanse, the most dramatic statement. It could have been intimidating and, in fact, a lot of artists would have cringed at the scope. He reveled in it.
With a swipe he added dark, dark blue in a universe of creation. The blocking had been precise, but now—free and wild. Just the way he liked it.
Voices came from the lobby. Robin was kind of enjoying his perch. A perfect way to deal with the public—out of sight above their heads. If he wanted to turn this into a blackmail opportunity, he could do it. Even though a sign said clearly that an artist was working on the scaffolding, after a moment of curiosity, people forgot. They couldn’t see him most of the time, unless they were at the edges of the lobby space, so they talked. Boy, did they talk. In the two days alone he’d been there, he’d listened in on plans for an assignation between a defense attorney and the prosecutor on the same case, countless complaints from people who hated their bosses, and three different employees looking for new positions while still on somebody else’s payroll. His fave was the big-name, hard-nosed litigator who called his mother “Mommy” and whined to her about how people were mean to him.
The voices came closer, and Robin caught a breath. Once since the day he’d manhandled Bobby’s ass, Paolo Lind had walked across the lobby, but with no pause, though he had glanced back as he walked out the door. Robin had dipped his brush in more paint and didn’t meet his gaze at all.
“Thanks for lunch, Hyer.”
“My pleasure. We’ll do it again soon. You coming up?”
“Uh, no. I want to check on something before I go back to the office.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
Footsteps. Ding. The sound of the elevator door.
Quiet.
“Uh, Mr. McMillan?”
Robin froze. If I stay real quiet, maybe he’ll go away? Shit, no, he probably saw me. I said I could do it. Showtime.
He peered over the edge of the scaffold. “Are you calling moi?” He flashed a big smile. “Surely I’m not Mr. McMillan anymore.”
Lind smiled—after a quick crease between his brows. “I wasn’t sure who was up there.”
The bastard. “We were both here for a couple of days. Now just me.” There, that wasn’t exactly a lie.
“Can I come up?”
Nooooo. “You can if you can.”
“Watch me.”
Robin literally did, peering down into that perfect face as Lind climbed athletically up the ladder and perched on the edge of the platform, his ass showcased in slim denim.
Robin lowered himself to cross-legged a couple of feet away. “Good thing you’re not in your black suit.” He pointed toward the dust and paint
daubs on the canvas covering the scaffold.
“Good planning.” He gave that half smile that made his eyes crinkle but somehow still had a sardonic air.
Robin waved at the wall. “Progress.”
Lind looked up and studied. No expression. Totally silent.
Robin wanted to push him off the edge of the scaffold for being such an arrogant critic, but Bobby never would have reacted that way. He pressed his hand against his heart. “I’m getting very nervous over here.”
“What?” He glanced at Robin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to keep you in suspense. I’m just trying to process how amazing it is.”
Robin opened his mouth slowly. “You—you are?”
“Surely you know that?” He smiled. A tooth gift. “The design was excellent. Obviously good enough to win, but this is—so much more dynamic, expressive, and vital. When you’re freed from the restraints of a mockup, you clearly move to another place.”
Desperately, the words “So why do you make me jump through your stupid hoops?” pushed against his lips. He bit them back. “Yes, that’s exactly right. I guess you could say that’s perspiration and this is inspiration.”
“It certainly shows.”
Robin tried to control the creases that kept tiptoeing across his forehead. “May I ask why you were so set against us when, uh, Robin and our agent came in that first time?”
He smiled tightly. “He told you that?”
“Of course. He had to explain why we weren’t going to get the contract.”
“He thought that?” His dark eyes widened.
“What was he supposed to think?” Calm down. Take a breath.
“Truthfully, I’d had a crappy day, and your brother’s arrogance over not doing a spec design pushed me beyond the edge.” He wiped a hand over his dark hair. “Hyer and Georgia really blasted me afterward.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid your brother and I are so much alike, we’re bound to clash.”
Like hell you say.
He looked directly at Robin. “I’m glad you’re doing the mural alone. It’s purer that way.”
Robin clenched his back teeth but said, “Oh no. We’re like the same person. Our process is intertwined—dark and light, yin and yang. We couldn’t work alone.” That was largely true.