Bleu Balls

by Tara Lain

  Robin turned, staring at where Paolo’s hand held him. “What?”

  “Why are you doing this? I mean, you were at a party. You left your date, for crap’s sake. Why are you even here?”

  Robin’s gaze moved from Paolo’s hand up his arm to his face. Their eyes locked, and tingles traveled to every extremity. Robin frowned. “I don’t think either one of us wants to examine that too closely. Come on, we’re wasting time.” He pulled his arm away and broke into a trot.

  The Nordstrom sign reflected off the night sky, but the doorways were in shadow. Robin slowed to a walk and then into almost a crouch as he crept forward.

  As they got closer, a harsh voice scratched over a soft banging—more of a thumping. “Lemme in. Come on, need to see the pretties. Come on.”

  Paolo stepped closer. He could just make out his mom sitting on the concrete, leaning against the door while idly thumping the glass with the back of her hand. “Wanna come inside.”

  “Mom?”

  Her head snapped up. “Oh damn.”

  Robin glanced at him and smirked. Yeah, his mom wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him.

  Paolo walked forward slowly. His mom pulled a bottle out of the purse she had clutched to her side, screwed off the lid, and swigged some of the contents.

  “Shit! Give me that.” He made a dive and tried to grab the bottle. She pulled it back, and he overreached and slammed into the glass door. “Ow. Shit!” He grabbed his shoulder and leaned his back against the wall. “I don’t believe you’re drinking.”

  “What else do I have to do?” Her voice always sounded like she was a smoker instead of a drunk, but he’d never seen her with a cigarette.

  She swigged again, and he shook his head. Everything in him wanted to shrivel up and die. He’d fought so hard to get the fuck out of poverty and squalor and the misery of his childhood, but she dragged behind him like a huge boat anchor. No matter what he did, he couldn’t control her. He couldn’t make her better, and that made everything else a sham.

  Robin’s soft voice turned his head.

  “Hi, Mrs. Lindero. Looks like the store’s closed.” Well, damn. He was kneeling beside her as if he wasn’t wearing a $500 tuxedo.

  “Yeah. Took me a while to get here. Lots of cars.”

  “Kind of scary, I’ll bet.”

  “Yeah. Really scary. Got to get up nerve to go back.”

  “Think you can make it?”

  Paolo opened his mouth, but Robin’s hand came out behind him and made a patting gesture.

  “Not sure, to tell the truth.”

  “We could probably take you home. I mean, if you wanted to go.”

  She looked up and cocked her head, still holding the bottle. “Who are you again?”

  “My name’s Robin. You know, like the bird?”

  “Yeah.” She still eyed him questioningly if not suspiciously.

  “I’m a friend of Paolo’s.”

  “Paul’s.” Paolo spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Right. I’m a friend of Paul’s.”

  She stared at Robin, then up at Paolo. Suddenly her whole face lit up. “Are you Paul’s boyfriend? Shoot, I’ve been waiting for you forever. Man, this is so great. I wanted him to settle down and have a happy life, but he just keeps on being miserable, and I feel so bad. But now there’s you. Oh God, honey, I’m so happy to meet you.” She reached out a hand toward him, and he leaned in so she could pat his cheek, but his eyes peered back toward Paolo.

  “So what do you say, ma’am? Want to give me the bottle and we’ll all go to the car and then drive back home.”

  She frowned and held the bottle tight against her chest. “Why?”

  “Well, you know you’ve been drinking more lately. Right?”

  “So?”

  He shrugged. “Does that make things better?”

  “I don’t drink that much.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize that.”

  “Yes.” She held out the bottle. “See. There’s lots left.”

  He cocked his head. “Looks mostly gone.” He stood and brushed off his knees. “But you’d know best.”

  “Wait. Where’re you goin’?”

  “Home. It’s late.”

  “Aren’t you going to take me?”

  “If you want to go.”

  “You mean you’d leave me here?”

  Robin turned and speared her with his gaze. “Mrs. Lindero, you’re a grown-up. You make your own decisions. If you want to walk home, that’s up to you.”

  She frowned. “I could die walking home.”

  “Yes, especially if you’re drunk. But then Paul could decide to run the car into a wall and kill us all.”

  Her head snapped up. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Um. Why do you think that?”

  “He wouldn’t kill me—us.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he—he takes care of me.”

  “Really? You act more like he keeps you captive.”

  She frowned. “He doesn’t want me to drink. He takes it away.”

  “Why?” His voice was sharp.

  “I-I—”

  Robin started to walk away.

  “He doesn’t like it.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Why?”

  She shrugged and he walked.

  “Because I do dumb things.”

  “Oh? Do you? Like what?”

  “Well….” She stared at the bottle. “Like coming here, I guess.”

  “Oh, interesting.”

  “Are you two gonna get married?” She grinned.

  Robin’s mouth opened and stayed that way.

  Paolo snorted. “We haven’t talked about anything like that, Mom.” He swallowed. Try to stay on the same track as Robin. “So are you coming?”

  “I sure would like to have a new dress.”

  “You’ve got plenty of money to buy one.”

  “I mean to wear to your wedding.” She laughed.

  “Come on.”

  Robin started back toward where they’d left the car. His mother staggered to her feet and grabbed Paolo’s arm. Still, she walked pretty firmly. “He sure is cute. About time you found somebody worth knowing.”

  Half his brain screamed He’s not my fucking boyfriend, and if you’d just quit drinking, maybe we could have a life. Yeah, that works. He put his arm around her, and they walked to the car.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ON THE short drive home, Paolo’s mom said, “So, Robin, what do you do?” Robin was driving and his mom had shotgun, so she had full access. She seemed remarkably sober all of a sudden.

  “I’m a painter, ma’am.”

  “A painter? That’s very exciting. A painter and an architect. A perfect match. And you should call me Josie, honey.”

  “Did you have a career, ma’am?”

  He asked it idly, but Paolo froze.

  From the back seat, Paolo could see her head pull down into the collar of her shirt. “I was a waitress some and I did hair for a bit. I guess I wasn’t what you’d call career oriented.”

  “There were a lot of glass ceilings for women, I imagine.”

  “Yes, I guess that’s so.” Her voice sounded soft and croaky.

  “Did you ever have something you really wanted to do?” Robin turned back into his mom’s neighborhood.

  “Yes. I wanted to be a singer.”

  What? Paolo practically hit his head against the window, he turned it so fast. He almost laughed but swallowed it just in time.

  Robin sounded perfectly even. “Oh? What do you like to sing?”

  “Oh, sweetie, I can’t sing anymore. Not with this voice. No, once I had a voice like an angel. I sang country western like a regular Dolly Parton or Carrie Underwood. Some people even thought I could make it big.”

  Paolo couldn’t catch his breath. How could he not know this?

  Robin said, “You said, ‘this voice.’ Did your voice change?”

  “Yeah.” If a world of b
itterness could be contained in one word, he just heard it.

  “What happened, Mom?”

  “Oh, nothing important, Paul.”

  “Please tell me.”

  “I wouldn’t want you thinking bad about your father. After all, you got your brains from him.” She said it as if it were scientific fact. “And that pretty face.” She looked toward Robin. “Paul’s dad was part from Indonesia. So pretty.”

  Robin glanced back at him and seemed to slow the car like he wanted to prolong the ride home. “What happened to your voice, Josie?”

  She sighed. “Paul’s dad had a bad temper. Really smart, but he could be a mean son of a bitch, if you’ll pardon my French. Paul never knew him. Probably good. I was trying to be a singer when I met him, and he told me he could get me gigs and said he wanted to manage me. One night he got drunk and mad and slammed me in the throat with a lead pipe. Ended my career—yeah, and his career in management too. He left and then he died.”

  “Mom, how the hell did I not know this?”

  “Like I said, no point talking bad about the dead.”

  “But he wrecked your voice and your singing!”

  “Yeah. He did that.”

  Robin asked, “How old were you when this happened?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Where were your parents?”

  She sighed again. “They were a couple of drunks. Like me, I guess.”

  Paolo couldn’t get a word out.

  “There’s my house, sweetie. Jesus, there’s a cop car.”

  Paolo gripped her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mom. They were called when we couldn’t find you.”

  She frowned. “What are you going to tell them?”

  Robin parked in front and leaned in to her. “Just that you went for a walk and got confused since it was dark. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah.” She handed the bottle to Robin. “Here. Get rid of this.”

  Paolo slid out, then opened the door for his mom. She emerged like the Queen of Sheba, took his arm, and they sailed into the house while Robin carried the bottle to a neighbor’s trash can.

  Inside, he felt his mom tense when she saw the uniformed officer, but she plastered on a smile. “Thank you so much, Officer, for helping find me. I’m afraid I tried to take a walk and got confused by all the roads. I was very scared. I’m so glad my son and his fiancé were able to find me.”

  He’d kill her!

  The policeman looked at Robin with interest as he walked in, and Robin glanced around like, What?

  Then the policeman turned his attention to Paolo’s mom. “So, ma’am, had you been drinking?”

  For a second Paolo tensed, but she smiled. “Yes. I had a drink, and it hit me about halfway to the mall. It was really foolish.”

  “Why did you go to the mall after dark?”

  She widened her eyes. “The fish are still there.”

  Paolo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Talk about your perfect answers. Funny how he hadn’t appreciated anything about his mother in years. Robin made Paolo look at her as an adult, not just somebody he had to take care of. It changed the view.

  The policeman stood. “Everything appears to be under control. Probably want to rethink the late-night walks, Mrs. Lindero.”

  “I will, Officer. Thank you.”

  He gave them all a stern look, then turned and left the house. His mom collapsed on the couch. “Well, I certainly stirred things up, didn’t I?”

  Robin raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Actually it was a royal pain in the ass for Paolo and me, so if that’s what you were planning, you succeeded.”

  She regarded Robin levelly. “The fact is, sometimes it’s tough to get anyone to pay attention unless you do something stupid.”

  “I get that. I’ve certainly done it myself. But maybe you and Paolo—uh, Paul—can work out a better system.” He glanced at Paolo, eyebrow still raised.

  She stared back at Robin. “You know, I like you.”

  “I like you too.”

  “Good.”

  Paolo said, “But the fact is, you dragged us both away from a party, scared the shit out of Alonzo and me, and pulled Robin from—well, from an important engagement.”

  Robin looked at her steadily. “Did you need all that to know that Paul loves you?”

  Her eyes flashed up as Paolo sucked in air.

  Robin softly smiled. “Because I’d say we’re all entitled to one heroic gesture to show we’re loved. After that, I’d suggest you just ask him.”

  Her gaze flicked to Paolo, then back to Robin. One sharp head nod punctuated her response. “Deal.”

  Son of a bitch. Paolo walked over and put an arm around her. A singer? Jesus, she’d been like a croaking frog all the days he’d known her. Once pretty, she now looked worn and tired, even though she wasn’t yet fifty. He kissed her forehead. She smelled like citrus oil overlaid with cheap vodka, a smell he found weirdly comforting. “We’ll talk soon, okay?”

  She nodded.

  He started toward the door, where Robin waited to walk out.

  “Paul?”

  “Yes, Mom?” He looked back into a face full of pure mischief.

  “I’ll start looking for a mother-of-the-groom dress.” She winked.

  Robin snorted a laugh, but Paolo couldn’t quite get there.

  ROBIN STRODE across the lawn of Mrs. Lindero’s house and pulled the keys from his pocket.

  Behind him, Paolo barked, “I’ll drive.”

  Robin clenched his teeth. Okay. So we’re back there. He turned and tossed the keys at Paolo, then waited at the passenger door for him to click the lock. It took him long enough. Finally he got in and fastened his seat belt.

  Paolo started driving, staring straight ahead without the hint of a smile. Well, asshole! Robin wrapped his arms tightly across his chest. The silence in the car felt sticky, it was so thick.

  The car jerked as Paolo took a corner too fast, just in time to make a yellow light.

  Robin grabbed for the hold bar. “Crap! Maybe what I told your mother is right. Maybe you are trying to kill us.”

  “Why were you at the reception with Howard Lonegin?” It came out as a yell.

  “Fuck you. Because he asked me.”

  “You certainly moved on fast enough!”

  “Moved—” Robin turned in his seat and stared at Paolo with his mouth open. “Moved on from what? From who? Certainly you don’t mean from you, you fucking asshole. You haven’t treated me with anything but contempt since the day we met—except when you fucking thought I was Bobby!” He smashed out a fist and connected with Paolo’s shoulder.

  “Ow!” He swerved, a driver in the next lane laid on his horn, and Paolo jerked the wheel back and managed to miss him by inches. “Shit!”

  The left-hand turn light ahead blinked on. Paolo spun the wheel and made a U turn practically on two tires, cut into the right-hand lane going the opposite way, almost colliding with a defenseless guy trying to turn into that lane, screeched into the dark parking lot of a closed supermarket, and slammed on the brakes. Breathing hard, he turned off the car and grabbed Robin by the arm. Paolo wasn’t a huge guy, but he was plenty strong, and his fingers cut into Robin’s bicep. “Why the fuck did you hit me?”

  Robin yanked his arm away and rubbed it as he yelled, “Because you deserved it, you asshole. How dare you question me about—well, anything? I left my date to goddamn help you, and you goddamn have the nerve to treat me like this? If you want to get out of this car, I’ll show you how much I’ll hit you!”

  “Fuck!” Paolo grabbed both Robin’s arms, and Robin twisted like a maniac to get free—until Paolo yanked him forward and clamped a hand on his jaw, then smothered Robin’s mouth with his own.

  The heat. The shock. The pleasure of getting exactly what he wanted.

  Robin didn’t even fight. He wrapped his arms around Paolo’s neck in a stranglehold and kissed him—deep, hot, and demanding. His cock, throbbing all night to a drum beating Paolo, Paolo,
leaped into screaming, boiling action, and he had to suck wind to keep from coming. “Shit!” He clamped a hand down on his crotch, and the shot of electricity woke him up. What am I doing?

  Like a crab, he scuttled backward toward the passenger door and shrieked, “Why? Why do you keep doing this to me? If you hate me so much, leave me alone.”

  Paolo gazed at him, his chest heaving. “Same to you. I didn’t come to your office and suck your cock.”

  Robin scowled. “More’s the pity.”

  Paolo leaned forward. “Is that what it takes?” He reached for Robin’s fly, and Robin smacked his hand. Paolo pulled back but looked murderous. “Is that how Howard got you?”

  Robin balled his hands into fists and shook them. “Fuck!” He took a deep breath. Count to ten. Another breath. Make that a hundred.

  “Look, Howard didn’t ‘have’ me, as you so eloquently said.” Robin stared at the console—the demarcation zone between him and Paolo. “Bobby and I met Howard at a club a while back. He remembered us… um, affectionately. When he and his partner split up, Howard wanted someone he found attractive to accompany him to the reception so he’d look like a, you know, gay man about town. Like he wasn’t mooning over his man. Bobby was already attached to Micah, and since nobody had any claims on me, I was appointed.” Robin extended a finger. “If you speak one word of this to anyone and spoil Howard’s image, I’ll kill you. I’m not kidding. I’ll put tarantulas in your bed. He’s a kind man, and I don’t want you to spread your venom all over him.” He folded his arms. “Why the hell do you dislike him? We should both be so lucky as to be that nice.”

  Silence.

  Robin looked up at the steady green gaze.

  “I don’t dislike Howard. I idolize him.”

  Robin spread his arms. “How is it even possible to be as inconsistent and fucking crazy-making as you?”

  More silence.

  Robin sighed.

  “You make me crazy.” Paolo’s voice was so soft Robin almost missed it.

  “What? Are you kidding me? You walked into that damned conference room and hated me on sight. I hadn’t even spoken a word, and you were already glowering like somebody died and made you Henry VIII and I was fucking Anne Boleyn.” He half turned away, his arms tightly folded. “And then you said Bobby had to do the painting, even though I was the one who drew the concept. You liked Bobby right off.”