Venetian Masks

by Kim Fielding

  “Jesus Christ!” Cleve wheezed as he threw himself onto a seat. “That was too fucking close.”

  Jeff sat beside him and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of a hand. He was too winded to do more than nod.

  Cleve twisted around to look at him. “Did he see you?”

  Jeff nodded again. “Didn’t… know… who… I was.”

  “He will now. And he’s good with faces, the bastard. How many people with him?”

  “One. Bald. Built.”

  Cleve made a distressed sound and collapsed back against the cushions. “Bob. Fuck.”

  “Bob?”

  “One of Eddie’s scarier henchmen.”

  Bob didn’t sound like a scary name, but then neither did Eddie. Bad guys should all be named Damien, Jeff thought, or Count von Something, or Thor.

  Cleve spent several minutes sitting completely still, his eyes closed. Only his breathing betrayed his tumultuous thoughts—it remained harsh and ragged long after Jeff’s had evened out. Finally, Cleve sighed and looked at Jeff. “Hungry? I’m gonna head to the dining car.”

  Although he wasn’t hungry at all—his stomach tied in tight knots—Jeff followed Cleve out of the compartment and through two adjacent cars. The dining car had large windows and several empty tables. Cleve chose one in the middle, and Jeff sat down opposite him. A man in a white shirt appeared from somewhere to hand them menus, but Jeff didn’t bother to look at his. Cleve ordered something in German.

  “Are you okay?” Cleve asked Jeff after the waiter walked away.

  “I’ve never been on the lam before.”

  “Jesus, Jeff, I’m sorry. I never should have—” Cleve broke off to lean his forehead in the palms of his hands. “Christ,” he rasped.

  Reaching across the table to gently squeeze Cleve’s shoulder, Jeff said, “I knew what I was signing up for.”

  Cleve lifted his head and shot back, “Did you? Has it occurred to you yet that you’ve just lost all your stuff?”

  It hadn’t. Jeff took a moment to mourn the loss of his suitcase and five changes of clothes, his Rick Steves guidebooks and the money belt he’d given up using, the scarf and earrings for his mother and the mask Cleve had given him. He felt briefly bereft, but then he realized that all of those things were just that: things. And almost all of them could be easily replaced. He still had his electronic gizmos, his passport and wallet, and his dragon tile. And he still had Cleve. “It’s okay,” he said calmly.

  “And when he starts shooting? This isn’t a game, Jeff.”

  “And I’m not a child!” Jeff replied heatedly. “So stop treating me like one. I made a choice and I’m glad I did. You’re worth it.”

  A new emotion showed on Cleve’s handsome face, one that took Jeff a moment to recognize: wonder.

  The waiter returned with plates of food and cans of Coke, which he plopped down in front of them. He also gave them each a small glass, into which he poured a healthy splash of clear liquid. He grinned at them both before wandering away. “What’s this?” Jeff asked, poking at the glass.

  “Šlivovica. Plum brandy. I figured maybe we could both use a little pick-me-up.” Cleve lifted his glass and waited for Jeff to do the same and clinked them together. “Na zdravje,” he said and swallowed it all in one go.

  Jeff was a little more cautious—the stuff burned. But it was a good burn, a welcome burn, and very soon his glass was empty as well. The waiter must have been hovering nearby, because he materialized to refill.

  “I’m not hungry,” Jeff said, looking down at his sandwich.

  “One thing I’ve learned is to always eat when you get the chance,” Cleve said with his mouth full. “’Cause you never know when you’ll get another.”

  The advice seemed reasonable, Jeff concluded, so he took a bite. It was better than he expected, with prosciutto and cheese. He washed it down with some Coke, noticing that Cleve was already polishing off his second šlivovica. “Where are we going?” asked Jeff.

  Cleve shrugged and pulled the tickets out of his pocket to examine them. “Ah. Back to Italy. Trieste.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Not far. Few hours.”

  They finished their lunches and drinks and Jeff paid, and then they spent some time just admiring the scenery. Eventually, they made their way back to their seats. They had the compartment to themselves, and Cleve stretched out on the bench with his head in Jeff’s lap, smiling up at him. “I usually do this alone,” Cleve said. “It’s nice not to.”

  When Jeff smiled at him and ran his fingers through Cleve’s silky hair, Cleve practically purred.

  THE train station in Trieste was old and a little run-down, but it was only a short walk from the center of town. Cleve and Jeff walked along a broad sidewalk with gray buildings to their left and open water to the right. Jeff had never heard of this city before, but it looked to be a pretty big port. Houses clung to the steep hills that rose immediately behind the city, and cars and motorcycles whizzed past on the street at top speed. Maybe it was fortunate that Venice had no motor traffic, Jeff thought, because many Italians seemed to be laboring under the impression that they were race-car drivers. Maybe not a surprise from the country that gave the world Lamborghinis, Maseratis, and Ferraris, as well as Ducatis.

  Trieste had an enormous square with a couple of statues in the middle and large, impressive stone buildings around three edges. The water made up the fourth side. And there were cafés, more cafés. Jeff sighed as they sank into brown metal chairs. “I’ve never had so much coffee before in my life.”

  “This town is the home of Illy espresso. A lot of coffee comes into Europe from this port.”

  “I wasn’t complaining, just observing.”

  The waiters here were especially cute and more prone to smiling than those in Venice or Zagreb. Theirs was a kid in his early twenties with a shock of curly dark-brown hair. A small bowl of tiny almond cookies came with their coffee. At the table next to Jeff and Cleve, some well-dressed men were pouring impressive amounts of olive oil onto bowls of pasta.

  “Where next?” Jeff asked. “Can we stay here a little while?”

  “I dunno, man.” Cleve was sagging in his chair, looking his age for the first time since Jeff had met him. “I’m so fucking tired.”

  “Come back to California with me. We’ll talk to the cops. Maybe we can do witness protection or something.”

  “You can’t. You’d have to give up your family.”

  That sent a painful pang through Jeff’s chest. “Then we’ll figure something else out.”

  “No, we won’t. Let’s just… let’s just enjoy the rest of your vacation, okay? As much as we can with Eddie after us. At least you’ll have some good stuff to remember when you’re back in the States.”

  Jeff wanted to argue with him but knew there was no point in it. There was no solution to their dilemma, at least none that sidestepped heartache and bloodshed. For now, much as he wished he could formulate some kind of plan, Jeff was just going to have to ride things out and hope for a miracle.

  Several official-looking cars pulled up at the opposite edge of the square. Jeff was slightly alarmed when a bunch of people in uniforms piled out, but he calmed again when they began doing practice marches up and down the square. Not very well, he observed. Maybe they were new recruits. He and Cleve both laughed when one guy stumbled into another, nearly causing them both to fall.

  But then dark clouds began to collect ominously overhead. “Let’s get out of here,” said Cleve. They exited the square between some buildings, and Jeff immediately found himself in a much older-looking part of town.

  “Medieval,” he said, flush with his new knowledge.

  “Except for the parts that are Roman,” added Cleve, pointing at an ancient arch.

  They continued up a steep cobblestone street, and just as the first fat raindrops began to fall, Cleve led them into what looked like an apartment building. A conversation in Italian followed between him and a youn
g guy who was sitting on a couch, watching TV, and then Jeff followed Cleve up more creaky stairs and down a slightly tilting hallway.

  “Home sweet home,” Cleve said when he unlocked the door.

  Jeff glanced around and said with some enthusiasm, “Hey, one big bed!” The room was sparely furnished with slightly shabby mismatched furniture, but it looked clean.

  “Still no private bath, but we’ll live.”

  It was only late afternoon, but Cleve looked weary. Rain blew in noisy gusts against the window, and peals of thunder rumbled, echoing among the old buildings. Jeff set his messenger bag on the floor and moved to Cleve, then began to peel the clothing off his lover’s unresisting body. Even when he was completely naked, Cleve simply stood in place, looking slightly lost. So Jeff quickly skimmed out of his own clothes, gently manhandled Cleve into bed, and climbed in beside him. They clung together, breathing in tandem.

  Jeff traced the lines of Cleve’s tattoos with his fingertips. He was extra tender over the scars, as if there might still be lingering pain. Cleve sighed deeply and pressed closer, his soft hair tickling Jeff’s neck and face. “It wasn’t the money,” he mumbled.

  “What wasn’t?”

  “Me staying with Eddie. The money was fun for a while, no doubt about that, but it got old eventually. I guess owning stuff isn’t really my thing.”

  “Yeah, I kind of got that.”

  “I stayed because Eddie loved me. In his totally fucked and twisted way. I guess… I guess I figured that was the only kind of love I was ever gonna get. Probably the only kind I deserve.”

  “It’s not,” Jeff replied, referring to both of Cleve’s last sentences. “I told you already—I love you.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  “I could list a bunch of reasons if you’re fishing for compliments.” Jeff felt the puff of air against his skin when Cleve snorted in response, and Jeff responded with a tickle against the side of his lover’s waist before continuing to speak. “People make bad decisions. I stuck with Kyle even when I knew deep down that we weren’t… weren’t meant to be. Sorry. Too many romance novels, I guess. And you made an even worse decision, to stick with Eddie because he made you feel wanted. But me falling for you? That doesn’t feel like the wrong decision at all—jilted mobsters notwithstanding.”

  Cleve was silent for a long time after Jeff’s little speech, until he finally said, “You don’t trust me. You can’t. How do you know that everything I’ve said to you isn’t a lie?”

  “Doesn’t change how I feel.”

  “Fuck. So if I tell you I love you back, how do you know I’m not lying about that too?”

  “I don’t. I guess… I’m going to hope for the best.”

  Cleve snorted again, softer this time, and shook his head against Jeff’s body. “I love you, Just Jeff,” he whispered.

  Jeff smiled.

  Cleve began to move against him, slowly but purposefully. First he rolled to his side and shoved his nose deeply into Jeff’s armpit, inhaling several times. Jeff could feel Cleve’s cock hardening against his hip and wanted to stroke it, but instead used his fingers to explore the contours of Cleve’s back, his strong muscles and broad scapulae, the tender nape of his neck. Cleve hummed his approval, undulated a little bit, and moved his head so he could lick and nibble at the pink peaks of Jeff’s nipples.

  And then suddenly he stopped and looked up at Jeff. “Porn’s not like this.”

  “Huh?” Jeff was completely lost.

  “When I modeled, it was all about being aware of camera angles and making sure you stayed hard and listening to the director or photographer and catching the money shot. I’m not saying I hated it or anything. But it wasn’t like this, when all I gotta worry about is whether I’m making you feel good.”

  “And you, Cleve. Worry about you feeling good too.”

  Cleve grinned. “No problem,” he said and returned his attention to Jeff’s chest.

  The wind rattled the window in its frame, and rain continued to pound against the glass. The air in the room became thick, slowing the men’s movements, and every flash of lightning outside was answered with a tingle in Jeff’s spine as he and Cleve passed hands and mouths over each other’s damp skin.

  They were again devoid of condoms and lube, but that didn’t matter. Jeff was too busy memorizing Cleve’s scent and flavor, cataloging his inchoate little sounds of pleasure, mapping every inch of his body more intimately than GPS ever could. Cleve’s facial stubble was wonderfully rough against Jeff’s inner thighs, his fingers as clever as any musician’s. Jeff couldn’t remember what city he was in or even what country, didn’t care about lost luggage or changes in plans. All that was important to him at that moment was Cleve, and touching him right here or licking him just there, feeling Cleve’s heart beating against his chest, inhaling the molecules Cleve breathed out.

  They climaxed within moments of each other and lay in sweaty, languorous bliss, Cleve’s head pillowed by Jeff’s shoulder.

  Chapter 17

  THEY woke up slowly. The storm had passed and night had fallen. The room was dark except for the bit of light that crept in under the door. Cleve gave Jeff a few teasing pets and a kiss, then climbed out of bed to wrestle the window open. Cool air rushed in. Cleve leaned his elbows on the wide sill and looked outside. Jeff, however, was treated to the dimly lit but still arousing view of his lover’s fine, firm ass.

  “Now neither of us has a toothbrush,” Cleve said.

  “Oh shit!” Jeff had been lying down, but he sat up very quickly.

  Cleve turned his head to look at him. “No big deal. I’m sure they have toothbrushes in Trieste.”

  “My pills.”

  After a moment of blankness, Cleve winced. “Shit. I’m sorry, Jeff. We can go to a pharmacy in the morning. Maybe if I sweet talk ’em, they’ll give you the meds without a prescription.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Can you get through tonight without them?” Cleve walked over to the mattress to run his fingers through Jeff’s tousled hair.

  “Yeah,” Jeff said, feeling like an idiot—the kind of special idiot who had to be handled with kid gloves. “I should’ve kept them on me. I bet you would have.”

  “I’ve been on the run for a long time and you haven’t. Not like anyone gave you an instruction manual. Fuck, I should have thought of this.”

  Jeff climbed out of bed. “It’s okay. It’s not going to kill me. But starvation might. Think we can find someplace to eat?”

  “Probably.”

  They dressed and tried to tame their hair with tap water and fingers. After they clomped down the stairs, Cleve had a brief conversation with their host, who was still sitting on the couch in front of the TV. The only parts of the guy that seemed to move were his hands.

  It was a short walk down the hill toward the main square. The cobbles were still slippery from the rain, but the sky was now clear and the stars twinkled merrily overhead. Cleve took them to a shop-lined pedestrian area behind the square, to a small restaurant with outdoor tables protected by an awning. They were thankful for their jackets, because although it was chilly, it was pleasant to sit outside and watch people stroll by.

  Their waiter seemed to take a shine to Cleve. They talked together at great length in Italian, and Jeff would have felt a little left out if Cleve hadn’t winked at him.

  They ended up with enormous plates piled high with sliced boiled pork and ham. Sauerkraut, mustard, horseradish, and crusty bread came on the side, and they each had a big glass of beer. Everything tasted wonderful. Almost before Jeff knew it, his plate was clean. Afterward, they had to walk only a few yards away to buy delicious gelato.

  “Still starving?” Cleve asked.

  Jeff rubbed his belly. “Nope.”

  “Then let’s go for a walk.”

  They walked along the waterfront for a while, watching the lights reflected in the water. Then they headed back through the main square and up the hill, which became steeper after
they passed their motel. At one point, they came across a small niche built into a stone wall: blue paint and yellow stars over a bright Madonna and Child, all lit by a streetlamp. But at the very top of the hill was an ancient church, an even older castle, and Roman ruins, as well as panoramic views of the city and the sea.

  “Archduke Ferdinand could have built a castle anywhere, but he chose this city,” Cleve said, looking out at the Adriatic. “Then the poor bastard got himself executed in Mexico. Never declare yourself emperor of Mexico, baby.”

  Jeff had no idea what Cleve was talking about, but he nodded agreeably. “’Kay. Where would you build your castle?”

  “Don’t want a castle. Just… a nice little home and someone to share it with.”

  “Now you’re sounding like one of my novels.”

  “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.” Cleve leaned back slightly, resting some of his weight against Jeff.

  Rubbing off on Cleve sounded like a good idea, Jeff thought. What he said instead was, “I guess you’d want to live somewhere exotic.”

  “Just Jeff, for me Sacramento is exotic.

  They strolled around the hill for a long time. Sometimes they came across a little restaurant, bright with lights and activity, or sometimes a car went screeching past, but mostly they were alone in the darkness. They held hands.

  Even though they had spent hours sitting in the train and had later taken a nap, they were both yawning well before midnight, when they returned to their room. The man wasn’t on the couch anymore. He’d been replaced with another young guy who was probably his brother.

  Jeff and Cleve climbed tiredly up the stairs. Cleve groped Jeff’s ass as they went, which made Jeff think that maybe they had another round in them before bedtime. But they had just closed the door to their room when someone knocked. They exchanged nervous glances, and then Cleve threw the door open.

  They were both relieved to see the first of the couch-sitting men. But that relief was short-lived. The man said something to Cleve—complete with florid gesticulations—and Cleve paled. As soon as the man was gone again, Cleve began shoving his few possessions into the plastic shopping bag he’d acquired in Ljubljana. “He was here, asking about us. An hour ago.”