“Um, Brian,” Blake said, turning away from the spirit, “there’s a ghost here, all right, but she’s not speaking English.”
“Shit. The victim was Ukrainian, an immigrant. It never occurred to me—”
“Can we get a translator? I can try to repeat what I’m hearing.”
“I’ll put in a request tomorrow.” The frustration was showing on Brian’s face.
Without saying another word, they began the long, dark walk back through the deserted building, leaving the pitiful spirit alone.
Once they were back outside in front of the building, Blake grabbed Brian’s hand.
“Listen, it’ll be fine. I mean, there is a ghost there and, if she’s willing to talk, you’ll get your killer.”
Brian nodded and said, “I’ve missed your optimism.”
“How would you like to have dinner tonight, Brian?”
Brian’s hand went limp in Blake’s, and he averted his gaze to the sidewalk. “Listen, Blake,” his voice was low, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”
Blake stared at him, unsure of what was coming next.
Brian cleared his throat and looked him right in the eye. “I’m seeing someone,” he said, almost apologetically. “I met him a little over a week ago. I meant to tell you, but just didn’t know how.”
Blake released Brian’s hand and hoped his voice wouldn’t betray his disappointment. Even though he had done his share of sleeping around since their breakup, Blake still hoped he and Brian might somehow reconcile. Now, with three little words, it seemed as if it was gone.
“Oh, that’s great,” he lied, trying to act as if he had just heard good news.
“I’m really sorry—”
“Brian, don’t apologize. I’m happy for you.”
“If you don’t want to work on this case, I totally understand.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Blake said, a little too harshly. “We’re broken up, right? That’s all there is to it. You’ve moved on and I need to get used to it.”
When Brian didn’t reply, Blake nodded, realizing what he said was true. It was time to move on. “Call me when you find an interpreter. I’ll be here.”
He began his long trek back up the hill, leaving Brian standing beside his car.
Chapter Twelve
As soon as Blake returned to the safety of his apartment, he called Melody. He didn’t really want to bother her during her week off, but after Brian’s confession, he didn’t know where else to turn. Fortunately, she answered quickly and sounded almost giddy.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“You sure sound happy.” He hated himself for his self-pity.
“I am. And, as of last night, I’m officially dating again.”
“That’s great,” Blake said, trying to sound supportive. “So you and your cop hit it off?”
“Her name is Hope and she’s great. She’s really beautiful, has a great sense of humor, and,” Melody paused for dramatic effect, “the witchcraft thing doesn’t freak her out at all.”
“I just saw Brian.”
“How’d that go?” Melody’s tone was cautious.
“He’s started seeing someone.”
“Oh, Blake. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“It was just a surprise.” Blake sighed. “But, yeah, I’m fine.”
“Do you want me to come over? I really don’t mind.”
“No. I’m fine, even though he had the nerve to ask if I still wanted to work with him on cases.”
“Do you?”
“Of course.” Blake was miffed she would even question him. “The cases we help the department solve don’t just benefit the police. They help families get closure.”
“I still think Brian’s question was a valid one. But I do know you take your job seriously, so he shouldn’t have assumed otherwise.”
“Well,” Blake said, tired of the topic, “when do you see Hope again?”
“Tonight. I’m making dinner here.”
“Nice. Have a good evening and let me know how it goes.”
“I will. Do you mind if I bring Hope over for ghost-show night?”
“No. I’m dying to meet her.”
Ghost-show night, as they referred to Tuesday nights, was when a series of paranormal investigation shows aired on one of the cable networks, and they got together to watch, if only to compare notes. Usually, they watched just to laugh at Clive Damon’s Haunted Isle.
As he hung up, Blake couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of Melody’s new love affair. Then again, he reminded himself, Melody had been single for such a long time that she—of all people—deserved a hot love affair.
Fuck Brian and his new boyfriend. The new guy’s probably got the personality of a beer can.
And anyway, why was he still jealous? Brian had made it perfectly clear it was over, and it had been long enough for Blake to get used to the idea. Besides, Blake had certainly used the time since the split to his advantage, so why couldn’t he let Brian see other men? But Blake wasn’t out searching for a relationship, just a little physical interaction. What Brian had done was different, and it felt strangely like a betrayal.
Blake grabbed a light jacket and went downstairs in search of a taxi.
*
After mulling over the millions of possibilities, Blake ended up at the Bayside Bar, his usual haunt. The bartender that Monday night was a new one—at least one Blake had never seen before—and as the bar was fairly slow, he chatted amiably with Blake. He introduced himself as Joe, was in his late twenties or early thirties—Blake couldn’t tell—and had medium brown hair and blue eyes. He was good-looking and, although he stood only about five feet nine inches tall, the way his T-shirt and jeans hugged his body suggested that he worked out religiously.
Blake glanced around the nearly empty bar, assessing the situation. The only other patrons were either together, not Blake’s type, or too drunk to be of any use for what Blake had in mind. That left Joe.
“So,” he said, flashing his most charming smile at the bartender, “you married?”
“Just got out of a relationship,” he replied, good-naturedly, as he washed dirty pint glasses. “That’s why I took this job.”
“To meet men?” Blake sipped his beer.
“To pay bills.” Joe laughed. “I have another job waiting tables, but the rent on my apartment is just too much for one person.”
Blake admired his honesty.
“How about you?” Joe asked. “Are you married?”
“Just got out of a relationship.” Blake parroted Joe’s reply to the same question.
“Can I ask you something?” Joe leaned in close.
Blake nodded, curious as to what the question might be.
“Who broke up? Was it you or your boyfriend?”
“He did.” Blake didn’t know why this admission made him feel so guilty. Why was it so much more shameful to be the one who was dumped, as opposed to being the one who did the dumping? Was it because it implied that, if you get dumped, you are somehow flawed, incapable of being loved?
“Me, too,” Joe confessed. “He said he didn’t feel like we wanted the same things.”
Blake had to laugh. After all, when you got right down to it, wasn’t that the reason any relationship didn’t work out, no matter what you called it?
“Yeah,” Joe said. “I mean I wanted a partner who loved me and who I could love back. I wanted to grow old together and send out stupid Christmas cards together, and to go on vacations together. Hell, I even wanted all of the shit that comes with it, like in-laws and silly arguments.”
“Is he seeing someone else?” Blake asked.
Joe seemed stunned by the question and straightened his back. “I…I don’t know,” he said, sadness clouding his handsome face.
“Mine is,” Blake said, almost sorry he had caused distress. “I just found out today.”
“That really sucks.” Joe placed a fresh beer in front of Blake. “This is on me.”
> Suddenly, the jukebox in the corner came to life, blaring Depeche Mode. Joe reached for a button behind the counter and turned the volume down.
“I swear,” he said, shaking his head, “that damned ghost is driving me crazy.”
It took Blake a moment to comprehend what Joe had said. He stared at the handsome bartender and slowly grinned. “Did you say ‘ghost’?”
Joe laughed and busied himself by wiping down a section of bar that looked otherwise spotless. “I know,” he said, “people think I’m crazy, but strange things happen in here, especially around closing time.”
“Like what?”
Joe ran down the laundry list of paranormal manifestations: glasses moving on their own volition, lights that stayed neither on nor off, doors that opened and closed when no one was there, and the jukebox with a mind of its own.
“Have you ever seen an apparition?” Blake asked.
“No.” Joe seemed happy someone was taking him seriously. “I don’t know if I want to.”
“It’s not as bad as you might think.”
Joe stared at Blake for a moment, as if unsure if he was being serious. “You see ghosts?” he finally managed.
“I own a business that does paranormal investigations,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I deal with ghosts all the time.”
“Wait a minute,” a flicker of recognition showed on his face, “what did you say your name was?”
“Blake. Blake Danzig.”
“Holy shit, I thought I recognized you! I’ve seen your show a few times, but never thought I’d actually be serving you beers.”
Blake was flattered. While he normally tried to avoid drawing attention to himself in public, tonight his ego needed stroking and he gladly accepted it.
“So, Joe, you believe in ghosts?”
Joe nodded, his expression serious.
“When I was a kid,” he explained, again leaning in close, “we lived in this old farmhouse that was totally haunted. I’ve been a believer for as long as I can remember.”
“Lots of people don’t believe. In fact, that’s why my last boyfriend left me. He did believe and said the whole ghost thing freaked him out.”
“His loss.” Joe looked at Blake in a way that suggested he was willing to serve Blake more than beers.
“What time do you get off work?”
A few hours later, during the cab ride up to Blake’s Nob Hill condominium, he and Joe found it difficult to keep their hands off one another. But the cab driver, a salty, older man in his sixties, kept glaring at them in the rearview mirror, so they did their best to behave. Once inside Blake’s apartment, however, they acted like two starving men and hungrily tugged at belt buckles, buttons, and shoelaces, groping and kissing one another until both were naked and writhing on the sofa. Blake was pleased to discover Joe was endowed with a very large cock, and he had been right about the firm body, barely concealed under the tight-fitting clothes. He greedily took Joe’s fat cock into his mouth and down his throat. Joe reciprocated by sucking Blake’s large boner and they lay on the sofa sixty-nining each other until Joe suddenly stopped and whispered to Blake, “You want to fuck?”
Blake stopped and looked up at Joe. Suddenly, the angst he had felt over Brian earlier in the day was gone. Here he was with this hot, young guy who was totally into him and not afraid of ghosts. What had he been thinking?
“Sure,” he said, inhaling the manly, musky scent of Joe’s balls, “there are condoms in the bedroom.”
He got up from the sofa and led Joe into the other room. Joe crawled onto the bed and watched as Blake bent over his nightstand.
“You like to top or bottom?” he asked, his hands clasped behind his head.
“I’m usually top,” Blake said, holding a condom, “but I’m versatile, so whatever you want is fine with me.”
He glanced at Joe’s meaty boner. Bottom would be just fine.
“Fuck me,” Joe said.
Blake didn’t argue and unrolled the latex sheath over his hard-on. He squeezed a bit of lubricant onto his rubbered dick and spread some more onto Joe’s asshole. Then he climbed onto the bed and lifted Joe’s legs over his muscular forearms and gently pressed his cock against Joe’s hole.
“Yeah,” Joe said, his nipples erect, “stick it in…fuck me.”
Blake thrust his hips forward and felt Joe’s tight hole enveloping his stiff shaft. “Shit, that feels good,” he said.
“Yeah? You like that tight ass?”
“Yeah.” Blake leaned closer and kissed Joe on the mouth. He was keeping his strokes long and slow, relishing the tightness enveloping his cock. “You like that cock in your ass, baby?” he teased.
“It’s filling me up.” Joe lifted his legs higher on Blake’s arms, opening up wider for the stiff dick inside him.
“Shit,” Blake said, “that feels nice.”
Suddenly, unable to hold back any longer, Joe shot a hot load, which streamed across his chest and splattered his face.
“Fuck, yeah,” Blake said. “Here I come, baby.”
Later, as Joe lay sleeping in the crook of his arm snoring softly, Blake felt content. His day had certainly improved, there was no doubt. He craned his neck and kissed the top of Joe’s head. Could he be the one, the guy that was willing to stay with him, ghosts or no ghosts? He wasn’t sure and was unwilling to rush into anything. That much he had learned from his failed relationship with Brian. Still, the possibility was there, and it filled him with a renewed faith in love, in fate, maybe. He drifted off to sleep, happy and content just to be in the moment.
When he awoke the next morning the sun was shining through the bedroom window and Blake felt more rested than he had in a very long time. Joe was just emerging from the bathroom, still naked, and Blake gazed at the beautiful body approaching his bed.
“Sorry to wake you up,” Joe said. He slipped gingerly back into bed next to Blake and kissed him on the lips. “I’ve got to get to work.”
“You weren’t going to leave without saying good-bye, were you?” Blake asked.
“No. You looked so cute sleeping, I hated to disturb you.”
They kissed again, this time longer. When they finished, their eyes met.
“Look,” Blake said, searching for the right words. “I know that we’ve both just recently gotten out of relationships, but…” He faltered. Was he ready to try again? And, for that matter, was Joe?
“Can we do this again?” Joe asked. “I really like you, Blake.”
Blake laughed, grateful that Joe had said what he wanted to hear, grateful that he had been spared the burden of asking for another try.
“I was hoping you’d say that. I really like you, too.”
“I’ve written my cell phone number down. It’s on your dresser. Please call me.”
They kissed one more time, then Joe rose from the bed and dressed quickly, already late for his job waiting tables. Blake closed the door behind him after he left and went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He had just taken his first sip when the phone rang. It was Brian, and he answered.
“Blake. I got a translator and wondered if you’d meet me back at the apartment building.”
“Of course.” The previous night’s fuck had eradicated Blake’s resentment. “Just say when.”
They agreed to meet in one hour, and Blake showered and dressed. He picked up the piece of paper with Joe’s number from the top of his dresser and tucked it into his wallet. As silly as it might have seemed, just having the number so close made him feel somehow invincible, almost as if as long as he had the number, he had Joe. And that made him feel like anything was possible, that nothing—no matter how dire it might seem—could ruin his day. After a quick ride in the elevator, he was greeted by Mike, the doorman.
“Good morning, Mr. Danzig,” he said, cheerfully. “So I guess we were wrong about the blond guy who came to see you when you were gone.”
“I’m sorry?” Blake replied.
“The guy we thought was a stalker,” Mi
ke explained. “I saw him getting out of the taxi with you and that other guy last night. I guess he was a friend, after all. Sorry about that.”
Blake’s mind was racing. Could the mysterious blond have been the ghost from the Bayside Bar? And if it was, why could Mike see and even talk to him? The fact Blake hadn’t seen or even sensed him in the taxi the previous night was equally puzzling. A mysterious blond had attacked Melody. Blake thanked Mike and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He pulled Joe’s number from his wallet and entered the number into his cell phone. Unfortunately, he was sent straight to voice mail.
“Listen, Joe,” he said, trying to measure his words carefully. “It’s Blake. I know this is going to sound weird, and I’ll explain later, but be very careful around the ghost at the Bayside.” He hesitated a moment, unsure of what else to say. “Let me know when you get this message.”
He ended the call and looked around for any signs of the mysterious blond, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Was it possible he had a spirit stalker? Anything was possible in the paranormal world, and it certainly wasn’t unusual for a ghost to manifest to whomever it chose. Still, a ghost stalker certainly seemed a stretch. Blake did his best to push it out of his mind and began his walk down the hill to meet Brian. When he arrived at the abandoned apartment building, Brian was waiting for him by his car.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” he said.
“No problem. Where’s the interpreter?”
“She should be here any minute. Listen, Blake, I wanted to apologize about yesterday. I guess I didn’t realize how you’d take the news of me dating someone else.”
Blake touched Brian’s arm, stopping him. He was feeling too good, despite the recent news of a phantom stalker, to let Brian feel guilty.
“You don’t have to apologize. It’s not like I didn’t know that we were broken up. I guess the hard thing for me—especially given the reason why we didn’t work out—is that I assume the guy after me will be better than me.”
Blake considered telling Brian he, too, had met someone, but decided against it, not wanting to turn the whole thing into some stupid contest. Brian didn’t answer and seemed relieved when the interpreter joined them.
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