Tart and Soul

by Storm Grant

  “Bring him whatever he wants. I’ll cover it,” Cam told the waiter.

  “Um, thanks, dude.” The young man grinned, and turning to the waiter, ordered, “Gimme a burger then, and a Coke, please. Oh, and a salad, too.” Returning his attention to Cam, he burst into a barrage of words. “It’s just a few bucks, and I’ll pay you back, dude. I’m here for a job. Maybe they’ll front me an advance against my first paycheck.” The light faded from his hazel eyes. Cam felt for him, and heard a little voice in his head telling him to help this guy out, befriend him. A little voice that sounded an awful lot like his mother’s.

  The guy was perfect, perfectly gorgeous. His blond curls fell almost to his wide shoulders, bouncing when he moved. Grace would probably insist on a more conservative hairstyle, but at least he had a lot to work with, unlike Cam’s own thinning hair. He had an intelligent face and clear hazel eyes, a hint of laugh lines ghosting in the corners.

  Cam realized he was staring, and looked down, trying to remember where the conversation had left off. “You need money? I can help you out there, a little.”

  “What?” The guy smiled tightly. “In for a penny, in for a pound? Nah. A friend of my mom’s should be meeting me here. He’s a big deal editor at some publishing house who’s promised me a job. Junior editor or proofreader or something. A whole new career.” The young man’s words rang false, as if he were parroting something he’d heard, cheerleading his own life. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He dragged his hand through his curls, glanced away and mumbled. “Guess he figured a guy with a Masters is at least vaguely literate, right?” Focusing on Cam, he said, “I’m Joshua Silver, by the way.” He extended his hand.

  Cam met Joshua’s gaze as they shook. He knew his own face showed nothing but open warmth and general niceness. They’d practiced this kind of guile to perfection in the Marines. “Cam Fairchild.” He smiled amiably.

  “Nice to meet you,” Joshua said, and then intoned dryly, “And thank you, Cam, for this food we are about to receive.” He made it sound like a prayer. Like grace.

  Grace. Oh, shit. Cam had almost forgotten his original mission. A cold and clammy trickle of sweat ran down his neck.

  Not noticing Cam’s discomfiture, Joshua pulled a scrap of paper from his jacket pocket and announced, “I’m gonna call this publishing guy.”

  He took a step towards the old-style phone booth. His gaze shot from Cam to his luggage, which consisted of a backpack full to bursting, and an equally stuffed, large gym bag. Obviously conflicted over whether to trust his bags to Cam’s care, Joshua hesitated. Eventually, he grabbed the backpack, saying, “Since you’re into doing favors for strangers, watch my stuff, will you?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he hurried toward the phone.

  Cam watched him walk away, liking what he saw. Joshua looked like a teenager, but he had to be at least twenty-six to have obtained the Masters degree he’d mentioned. But twenty-six would make him almost a decade younger than Cam. He was shorter than Cam, too, and more sleekly built. Probably swam or did yoga. A runner maybe. Cam had maintained his muscular physique using the gym in Tuesday’s Child’s basement. Or at least it was a gym during the day. At night, it was the realm of Mistress Tiffany and Cam wiped the machines down well before his workouts.

  Sound spilled from the old wooden phone booth. Joshua’s voice rose. Cam formed his surprised-yet-sympathetic expression as Joshua returned to the counter, sat down heavily and rubbed a hand over his face.

  The waiter chose that moment to drop the burger on the counter. A less appetizing meal Cam hadn’t seen since stationed in the heart of the rainforest dining on crispy monkey brains and charred snake.

  “Bad news?” Cam asked.

  “Maybe.” Joshua grabbed the plastic ketchup container, painting bloody splotches on his burger; the nearly empty container made embarrassing farting sounds. “His cell phone’s disconnected. I reached his office since they run their presses 24/7. The receptionist refused to tell me anything and the night boss just shunted me into the HR Department’s voicemail. What a tangled web. I kept pressing ‘0’ and leaving messages for everyone. I wonder what happened. I sent him an e-mail earlier this week with my bus schedule.” Joshua stared at the countertop, swirling one finger through an errant drop of ketchup. “I guess I’ll just wait here and hope he remembers to pick me up.”

  “Don’t you know his home number or address?”

  Joshua shook his head. He tore a huge bite from his burger, scarcely chewing before downing it and taking another. Cam admired Joshua’s ability to swallow without gagging; Grace would be so proud.

  “Nah. Just his office address and number,” Joshua continued. “’Scuse me. Can I get that salad I ordered?” This last said to the waiter as he placed the Coke in front of Joshua.

  “Try the phone book. It’ll give his street address, unless he’s unlisted,” Cam offered, although it screwed with his recruitment strategy. He justified it as another winning-of-trust tactic.

  “Good idea, dude. I’ll check it out as soon I finish this burger my Good Samaritan bought me.” He gestured at Cam with his burger, a little ketchup more dripping on to the countertop, making a matched set with the smidgen on the corner of his mouth. Cam wanted to lick it off. “So where you in from, Cam? Or are you waiting for someone?”

  Cam smiled. He’d prepared for the question, and, following the rules of great lying, stuck as close to the truth as possible. “I’m supposed to pick some guy up for my mother, but I’m not sure he’s gonna show. Maybe I’ll take you home to her instead.” He punched Joshua in the shoulder.

  Joshua laughed nervously, rubbing his arm. “Your mom run a home for wayward boys or something?”

  “And wayward girls, too,” Cam replied. “Very equal opportunity.” No matter which way this recruiting mission ended, he wanted Joshua to know he’d been truthful. Mostly.

  “Oh. Well, I appreciate the company, Cam, but don’t let me keep you from your reading.” Joshua gestured with his ketchup-spattered chin towards Cam’s novel. “What’re you reading, anyway?” Joshua wiped greasy fingers on a napkin, then reached for the book. He fumbled for a pair of glasses in his shirt pocket. “Oh, Jitterbug Perfume. That’s definitely his best work. Have you read his other books?”

  “I never heard of him before tonight. I just bought it at the gift shop over there.” Joshua peered toward the darkened door Cam indicated with a vague wave. “Wow, Cam. According to the sign, the gift shop closed at six o’clock, and it’s…” he squinted up at the station’s large clock “…now almost nine o’clock. What time did you expect your mother’s friend?”

  Cam hadn’t anticipated a cross-examination, and mumbled something about arriving early. To distract his prey, he pointed at the novel, “You’ve read other stuff by this guy?”

  It worked. Joshua launched into a long diatribe about the collected works of Tom Robbins. The lecture veered off into the anthropological implications of popular fiction and pop culture on decaying western society. Cam’s advanced degree in the History and Philosophy of Military Strategy (with a minor in Business Management), enabled him to follow Joshua’s arguments, but led him to different conclusions. The conversation segued into a friendly (and, for a moment, heated) debate. The next time he glanced up at the clock, thirty-five minutes had passed.

  “Weren’t you supposed to look up your friend in the phone book?” Cam leaned his head on his hand, elbow resting on the tacky lunch counter.

  “Right.” Joshua hopped down off his stool and walked to the phone booth.

  This time Joshua left the backpack and gym bag at his feet without a backward glance. The plot thickens, Cam mused, or maybe the plot sickens.

  A few moments later a disgruntled Joshua resumed his seat at the lunch bar. “Arrrggghhh! Unlisted. I guess I’ll just keep waiting, then.”

  “Can’t you call someone? Your mom? Somebody back in Los Angeles?”

  “Unfortunately, no. My mom’s traveling. Somewhere unreac
hable.” He rubbed his chin, erasing the ketchup smear.

  “Is there someone back home? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

  Joshua froze. His gaze traveled to Cam’s and then shot away again.

  “I did have a girlfriend.” Joshua drew nervous patterns in the condensation. “I’m kind of on the run thanks to her.”

  “Tell me,” Cam said, sliding smoothly over to the stool next to Joshua’s, closing the gap between them. From the beginning, Cam planned to move into his victim’s personal space at the right moment, but now he responded naturally to the hurt in this likable young man, moving closer without guile.

  “It all starts with a girl, right? The Chilean beauty, Deolinda. I’m a… I mean, I was, a Teaching Fellow at UCLA.” At Cam’s puzzled expression, Joshua elaborated. “I know. Pretty pretentious for UCLA, using a British term like that. They probably called it Teaching Assistant at your college.”

  Or drill sergeant, thought Cam.

  “Anyway, I’d completed my B.A. and M.A. To support myself while I worked on my doctorate, I taught undergrad classes. Yeah. Yeah. I’m one of those weird academic types, but it suits me, well, mostly, although after seven years, it was getting a little old.”

  Sour grapes, Cam wondered. Joshua sounded pretty intense. He could relate to pouring your youth into a chosen career, only to be discharged without ceremony.

  “Anyway,” Joshua continued. “I requested some help with my doctoral thesis, and Deolinda needed some practical research experience and a chance to work on her English skills, and so they assigned her to me.”

  “And you fell for her?” Cam asked quietly, a little disappointed Joshua’s love interest had turned out to be female. “Or she fell for you?”

  “Both. We fell for each other like Martini and Underhill on a bad day. And, at first, everything’s rosy. But with me being a TA and her a freshman, we had to keep it on the down low. It could have--did--cost me my job, my reputation.” His voice dropped to a pained whisper. “My Ph.D.”

  “You were found out, I take it.”

  “Sold out’s more like it.” Joshua removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Well, she was…” and he lowered his voice, leaning forward. “A virgin and younger and stuff, and I didn’t realize how naive she was. So eight months later, I realize having someone worship the ground you walk on only holds your attention for so long. And I never wanted to be someone’s first. The responsibility, dude!” He shook his head. “I much prefer someone experienced and, um, skilled?” Joshua picked at a loose thread in his jeans.

  “So it dawns on me, and I know it sounds cruel, but this chick is dullsville. I apologize--a lot--but tell her we’re just not working out. And I expect her to shed a few tears, and mourn me for about twenty minutes, and then fall for someone else just like every other freshman on the planet. But I underestimated her Latin temper. Hell hath no fury and all that. So Deolinda, she just loses it. She starts screaming, ‘I hate you, Joshua. I love you, Joshua.’ After a few hours of this, I wish she’d just make up her frickin’ mind. Turns out she’s been picking out china patterns and planning my conversion to Catholicism--Oy vay iz mir!”

  Joshua paused for breath and met Cam’s eyes for the first time since he’d begun his tale. He grimaced down at his jeans where the seam he’d been toying with had unraveled nicely along with the tale.

  “So she runs straight to the Dean and tells all,” Joshua continued, “and let me assure you, the cloistered halls of academe frown on teachers fucking nineteen-year-old virgin exchange students. They toss me out so fast my hair hurt. No job. No grants. No degree. They even threatened me with statutory rape, but nineteen is legal in California."

  “The age of consent in California is eighteen, actually.”

  “And you know this because…”

  Cam wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Grace demanded serious proof of age from all her girls. It didn’t need to be legit, just convincing enough to keep her out of the courtroom. “Ah, go on,” he encouraged.

  Joshua didn’t press, returning instead to his tale of academic demise. “And she lives with her rich and powerful uncle, this shady mobster type. One phone call and he can order me killed. Because murder’s okay, but a deflowered daughter isn’t. I believe they call that ‘saving the family honor’.

  “Luckily, the FBI had uncle dearest under surveillance or I would have been ‘disappeared’ in the best South American tradition, instead of just ridden out of town on a rail in the best tradition of the American Old West. Well, bus anyway. So here I am.” He gestured around him.

  “So that’s my life story. Pretty boring, right? I sound like a chick-lit book or a soap opera: Sweet Valley High meets One Life to Live.”

  “Not boring for an instant. I understand how that happens, being attracted to someone younger.” He squeezed Joshua’s shoulder, holding it just a moment too long. He caught Joshua’s gaze and held it longer than necessary, too.

  Joshua fidgeted on the uncomfortable counter stool. “What’s your story, Cam? I’m having trouble picturing you as a guy who sits around bus stations on orders from his mom.” Joshua focused on Cam. He reached up and brushed his fingers over Cam’s spiky buzz cut. “You seem more like a guy who travels the world’s hotbeds on dangerous undercover missions.”

  Cam barked a rough laugh. “Good call. I spent over a decade in the Marine Corps. But, like you, my career met an untimely end and now I work for my mother. She has her own business.”

  A wry smile played across Joshua’s lips. He deliberately echoed Cam’s earlier words. “Tell me,” and leaned a little more into Cam’s space.

  Cam paused a moment, gazing down at his own right knee, noticing a smudge he’d gleaned from the underside of the counter. He brushed at the mark, but it clung to the soft blue denim.

  “I was a captain in the Marines. My unit was deployed in the South America. I can’t tell you exactly where.” Cam winked “We were dropped in by chopper at night. It was pretty remote and uncivilized.”

  Joshua snorted. “Uncivilized? You didn’t by any chance meet Deolinda’s family while you were there, did you?”

  Cam frowned. He’d remained quiet throughout Joshua’s recitation.

  “Sorry, Cam. Go on.”

  “So there we are in the middle of the rain forest, miles from civilization. We’re supposed to defend this mountain pass against hostile guerrillas. No, not go-rillas. Guer-rillas.”

  Cam cracked up at Joshua’s antics, laughing out loud for the first time in months. All the military training in the world couldn’t help him withstand Joshua Silver’s ape impressions.

  They calmed down, and following a rather insincere apology from Joshua for interrupting, Cam resumed his tale. “So we get there, no guerrillas, no gun runners, there’s not even a frickin’ pass to defend, for Christ’s sake. Just a bunch of friendly tribesmen asking if we’ll trade Tevas for food.”

  “Now, Cam,” Joshua began. “I may not have completed my Ph.D., but I’m still a highly trained and well-traveled anthropologist. I’ve never heard of Tee-Vahz, dude. Are they drugs, food, or a religious icon?”

  “Sure you have, Josh. They’re those sandals with the Velcro straps. The local Indians all have these huge, wide feet and think Tevas are the best thing since, well…” Cam searched for the right simile. “Flatbread.”

  Joshua chuckled. “Reminds me of this expedition to the Endives. I approached one painted warrior and tried to take his picture with my brand new Nikon F100. It practically defined state of the art back then, and boy, let me tell you, it set me back a whole fuck of a lot. Anyway, this guy gestures at me to stop. I’ve learned just enough of the local language to ask him if he believes I’m stealing his soul. '“No,' the guy answers in plain, old English. 'You’ve still got the lens cap on, dickhead'.”

  In retrospect, Cam felt he really should have seen that coming, and not chosen just that moment to take a sip of coffee. Well, his jeans needed washing anyway, and now so did Joshua’s. Hopefully, Cam lusted, t
his was just the first of many an exchange of body fluids between them. Out loud he said, “I’ve seen the movie, Darwin. That did not happen to you.”

  “I know, Cam, and endives are lettuce, not islands, but I still had you going for a minute there. Admit it.”

  Cam did have to admit. He felt a lot more relaxed now and able to continue talking about his traumatic past. “Hey, Einstein. Did you study psychology, at all?”

  “Busted.” Joshua grinned. “Majored in Anthropology, minored in Psych.”

  Never underestimate your opponent, Cam reminded himself, before continuing with his chronicles of South America.

  “So there we were, a bunch of highly trained and expensive soldiers, baking in the jungle heat, playing cards, and walking the perimeter of a nonexistent pass. We had rations to last us for a few weeks, so after a while, we ate like the natives--monkey brains and snake and stuff.”