Pick Up the Pieces

by Tinnean

  I went to the kitchen, filled a dishcloth with ice cubes, whacked it on the counter to crush them, and handed it to him. “I promise you….”

  “As God is your witness?” Paul smiled, but he looked exhausted. He and Tangerine had worked a party and had gotten in shortly before the Kid.

  I met his eyes. “Once we make the move, we won’t be dealing with any of those sons of bitches again.”

  THE FIRST floor apartment was finished first. Whoever had done the work back in the forties had left the kitchen alone because the boarders would need to be fed. The only conversion was one very large space off to the side that had probably been some kind of informal room for the family. It had been made into four smaller bedrooms. They were renovated into two that were much roomier, and the additional bathroom John had mentioned was added. The rest of the apartment—library, living room, lounge—just needed to be refurbished.

  “We can enclose the small porch off the kitchen and make it into a laundry room,” Paul said.

  “It’s a veranda, you philistine.” I felt about verandas the same way Paul felt about turrets and bay windows, which was kind of odd, considering neither of us had ever had those amenities in our lives. “And are you out of your mind?” I snapped at him. “That space in the far corner will be perfect for a stackable washer and dryer….” I realized I’d reacted exactly as Paul wanted me to when I saw his smile. “Asshole.”

  No one would want to rent it while there was still work going on overhead, at least that was what I told myself, so we moved in, setting up folding beds in the lounge and the library. Without the drain of the additional rent, we had some breathing space.

  We went to bed to the sound of workmen overhead, and we woke to the sound of them packing up for the day. The other renovations took longer than the first floor, since in addition to the many walls that needed to be knocked down, the plumbing and wiring all needed to be updated. Tempers ran short, and bitch slaps were frequently exchanged. By the time the second floor was done, we were thankful for the buffer of that floor between us and the continued work.

  Up in the attic, the thin walls that separated the bedrooms were torn down. The wood floor was sanded, and tile was laid down where the kitchen would eventually go. The single bathroom was enlarged and new fixtures selected to replace the chipped, dingy sink, tub, and toilet. The contractor had picked up an air conditioner that would be cut into an outside wall.

  “Once everything is done, you can go shopping,” John suggested during one of our trysts.

  I groaned. “More money.”

  “You’ve got to speculate to accumulate.” He pounced on me, rolled me over, and slid into me. After he’d come and I’d cleaned him off, he continued. “Go to a local department store for linens and things and to Rockville for the furniture.”

  “Pushy John.”

  He laughed, kissed my cheek, and got dressed. “This is so much fun!”

  I told Paul about it when I got home.

  “We need to make a list.” He loved making lists. He found a pen and paper and muttered under his breath while he scribbled furiously. “Sheets, towels, pillowcases, blankets.” He looked up at me. “You’re the cook. You decide what pots we’ll need.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I started my own list. Saucepans—one, two, and three quart. Skillets—four and eight inches. That should do it. “All done.”

  Paul frowned at me, then went back to writing. “A set of Corelle dishes. That comes with soup or salad bowls, dessert plates, and coffee cups. Drinking glasses…. Should we get wine glasses?” He saw my expression. “Uh…. Okay, no wine glasses. Silverware….” He tapped the end of his pen against his teeth before nodding to himself as if satisfied. “Okay, now, for the sleeping area, we’ll have to get a queen-size bed.”

  “You know how expensive sheets and blankets are for that!”

  “Ever heard of ‘bed-in-a-bag’?”

  “Yeah, but what’s wrong with a double?”

  “A queen will draw tenants. Besides, it will make us look like landlords who care.”

  “You’re taking this ‘landlord’ thing a little too far, Paul.”

  He flipped me off and continued writing. “Um… a dresser and night tables to go with the bed, and a couple of lamps, maybe. For the dining area, a table and chairs and—”

  “Wait, don’t tell me. We have to get them a breakfront too.”

  This time he scowled at me. “Cooperate, Sweets. Now, for the living area, a sofa and recliner, and what do you think of a coffee table?”

  “Sure. Why the fuck not?”

  “Speculate to accumulate,” he singsonged, mimicking John, and kept on writing, but I saw the grin on his face and knew he was teasing me. I would never see him as a lover, but he was the brother I’d never had. “A small entertainment center and a twenty-inch color TV—”

  “If whoever rents this wants to watch tapes, they can buy their own fucking VCR. And their own stereo.”

  “Can we get them a radio?”

  This time I flipped him off.

  Even though the attic apartment was finished in half the time of the first floor, it remained untenanted. No one seemed to want to rent it.

  The third-floor apartment took the longest. We needed even more pipes added for the kitchen and the additional bathrooms, two en suite, a Jack and Jill, and a half bath, hookups for the washer and dryer, and more electrical outlets for everywhere, as well as cable connections. I chose the kitchen, since I would be doing most of the cooking, and while it wasn’t huge, it was big enough to hold all the essentials—stove, fridge, microwave, dishwasher—as well as an island and a peninsula that served as the breakfast bar.

  “Sweets.” Paul and I were at a home-improvement store, looking over appliances. “How awesome is this?” He pointed out a fire-engine-red range and cooktop with a price tag of over five grand.

  “Awesome, yeah, but the price!” My gaze was drawn to the display of stainless steel appliances. Then I resolutely turned to examine the white fridge and stove.

  A salesman bustled up to us. “Can I help you?”

  “Get the stainless steel.”

  “It’s too expensive. White will work just as well.”

  “Sweets. I saw the way you’ve been looking at the stainless steel.” He put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. “Get them, babe.”

  The salesman suddenly looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon. He ran his eyes over us, curled his lips in a sneer, and stepped back.

  “How much would your commission be on a sale like this?” I asked him.

  He looked startled but told me, and I nodded.

  “I’ll get them, darling,” I said to Paul, “but not here.” I took his hand and led him out of the store. “Bastard. Looking down on us because we’re working boys.”

  “Um… Sweets? I think it was because we’re gay.”

  “That’s just as bad. Let’s go to Sears.”

  “It will cost more.”

  “Fuck the cost.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  Chapter 5

  ONE DAY, when the workers were removing the plasterboard, the architect came pounding on the downstairs door, so excited I thought he was going to piss himself. Okay, that was cold, but it had been a long night, and he’d woken me out of a sound sleep.

  “What’s up?” I asked, yawning and rubbing my scalp.

  His eyes widened. I stood there dressed only in a pair of sweat pants that dipped low on my hips, a tattoo of a dragon—a temporary tattoo—curling from my back to just the right of my navel. The client I’d seen the night before was from the Taiwanese embassy, and I’d serviced him a number of times before. He liked to think he was taming the dragon.

  “What?” Walter, the architect, blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat. “Oh, what I found! The original bedrooms each had a fireplace. This is fantastic. Can you imagine? They must have been bricked up when this was converted to a rooming house. What a waste. I’ll have them o
pened up for you, design new mantels….”

  “Hold on a minute, Donald Trump. How much more will that cost us? No, don’t bother telling me. We don’t need the added expense.”

  “It will be a great feature when you’re ready to sell this place.”

  “We’ve barely moved into it!”

  “You have to speculate to accumulate.”

  Either he’d picked up that expression from John, or John had picked it up from him, but either way, if I heard it again, I was going to kick someone in the ass. “Forget it.”

  “I think you’re making a mistake.”

  “Yeah, well, if I decide I want them opened, I’ll come to you, and you can say, ‘I told you so.’”

  He shrugged and turned away. “You’re the boss.”

  “Now you remember?”

  Eight of the bedrooms were converted to four. Two had attached bathrooms, two shared a bathroom, and they all had closets large enough to hold costumes necessary when our johns had a yen to fuck soldiers, sailors, cops, or cowboys, as well as suits, shirts, and trousers, and the tuxes we had for special occasions, including the annual Escort Ball. The remainder became the living room and formal dining room.

  Finally—finally—it was finished. We moved our belongings out of the first-floor apartment and into our home.

  Our home. Paul’s feeling was spot-on this time. I hadn’t been able to see its potential, but I loved it now.

  And knowing this house belonged to us… knowing I wasn’t a waste on the face of the earth… I sat down and wrote a letter:

  2/29/92

  Dear Acacia,

  I’m sorry I haven’t written before. I didn’t because I knew Poppa wouldn’t have been happy about it. I’m well and healthy, and I’ve just bought a house. Not by myself; I’m not doing that well. (You’re supposed to laugh here, Casey.)

  Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I’m still alive. Please let Ma know. I think of you both, very often. I think of Poppa too. I guess it’s not his fault he doesn’t love me anymore.

  My deepest love to you, my sister,

  Teodore

  P.S. If you would like to write to me, I would love to hear how things are in Tarpon Springs.

  “JOHN, WOULD you mind handling the rentals for us?” I asked that Wednesday as I was undressing him.

  He flushed. “I’d love to. I’ve already had a company making inquiries about it. They need a place for their out-of-town executives to stay when they have to come to DC, and they want both floors. It will be cheaper for them to rent rather than pay hotel bills. Isn’t that awesome?”

  “If you say so. Do me a favor, though. Before we sign a lease, make sure they don’t intend to have rent boys living there.”

  His mouth opened and closed like a beached fish. “You don’t think that’s what they have in mind, do you?”

  “I don’t know. I could be wrong. I’ve been in this town a while now, and I’ve only ever heard of companies putting up their execs at one of the hotels or sometimes in their own homes. Why rent a place that could go unoccupied for stretches of time? It just seems not very cost-effective to me.”

  “I promise you, if that’s what they do have in mind….”

  “Just make sure they won’t have boys living there. If they want boys, they can rent us. And John, that’s nonnegotiable. If they don’t like the deal, they don’t get the apartments.”

  “Trust me, Sweetcheeks. I’ll make an appointment with their lawyer first thing when I get back to the office.”

  “Cool.”

  “You might want to have a lawyer represent you.”

  “We’ll get one.”

  “Um… Sweetcheeks?” He gestured down toward his groin.

  “Lunch!” I grinned and pushed him down onto the bed.

  THAT EVENING John called, but I was already out for the night.

  He left a message on the answering machine. “Oh, I like your greeting, Sweetcheeks—”

  You’ve got me. Now tell me what you want to do with me! I shrugged. It was the best I could come up with, and I’d never bothered to change it.

  “—and on Wednesday….” He cleared his throat. “We’ll talk about what I want to do with you on Wednesday. I just wanted you to know you were right to question this company. They’ll want to use the apartments as an incentive/reward kind of thing for their executives—they do well and they get a trip to DC, complete with hot and cold running girls. This is a very broad-minded company. They’re even willing to offer boys to the men who want them. Let me know who your lawyer is, and we’ll get together to hash this out.”

  We all met in the downstairs apartment. Sherwood, Inc. was actually a blue chip corporation, and they preferred to keep the transaction quiet, which was okay by us.

  Alan Johnson, our lawyer, happened to be one of Paul’s regulars. He was in his early forties and had wings of distinguished white at his temples. “Let me do all the talking, Pretty Boy. Just sit there and look cute, got that?”

  “Yes, Alan.”

  “Sweetcheeks?”

  “Oh.” It was nice to know someone who wasn’t my client thought I was cute. “Yes, Alan.”

  The two lawyers walked through the first-floor apartment and then the second, making offers and counteroffers. Finally we sat down at the table.

  “All right, we’re agreed,” Burdett, the corporation’s lawyer, stated. “There will be a few young ladies in residence here—a housekeeper, a masseuse, a gourmet cook—who’ll reside on the second floor. Their salaries will be paid by my clients, who will also furnish this apartment and pay for phone service. A private staircase between the two apartments will be necessary, unless, of course, your clients wish to install an elevator,” Burdett continued, unaware of our reactions. “Your clients will pay for the utilities. And, of course, they’ll give us a discount.” Apparently he considered that last a done deal.

  Paul and I both stiffened and turned to our lawyer.

  Alan frowned. “Why?”

  Burdett’s eyes shot up from the page he was scrawling something on. “What?”

  “Why would you assume you’ll get a discount?”

  “My client is paying very good money to rent these apartments from your clients, and they’re only a flight of stairs away, so they don’t need to travel.”

  “Neither do the girls. Are they giving you a discount? No, I didn’t think so. So my clients get their regular fee, plus any tips those gentlemen who require their services are inclined to give.”

  Burdett frowned. “We can bring our own boys in.”

  “Not in this apartment, you can’t.” Alan gave him a shark’s grin, and I was glad to have him on our side. Paul looked proud. “Didn’t you read the lease? If you won’t use my clients, it’s going to cost your clients even more. They’ll have to rent a hotel room for the executives who prefer boys. Actually, you’re getting quite a good deal. The chances of them getting busted in a hotel room are greater. Behind these doors… well, if anyone was so nosy as to inquire, these gentlemen, as the landlords, have a legitimate reason for being here.” He pushed his cuff back, studied his watch, and prepared to stand. “Pity this lease is for two years. I’ll have to insist my clients rethink it when it’s time to renew.”

  “All right, all right. No discounts.”

  Paul exchanged glances with me. I wasn’t the only one who’d heard the sound of grinding teeth.

  “I’m so glad you could see it our way.”

  Paul leaned toward me and whispered in my ear, “Wow. I think I’m turned on.”

  “You’re a sick puppy, Paul,” I whispered back.

  “I am, aren’t I?” He grinned, and we turned our attention back to the two lawyers.

  “Bastard.”

  “Why, Lewis. I’m cut to the quick.”

  “Sure you are, you old ambulance chaser. You know I had to make the attempt on my client’s behalf.”

  “I know. I expected nothing less.”

  “Are we still on for dinner at the
club?”

  “Of course. I’ll even buy.”

  “Yes, you will. You gentlemen are lucky to have such a cutthroat working for you.” He gathered up all his papers and then paused. “Although how you were able to get Alan Johnson….” He shook his head and walked out.

  “Alan?”

  “Lewis is an old friend of mine. Oddly enough, we’ve never butted heads before. Thank you for the opportunity, Pretty Boy. I’ve enjoyed this immensely.” His smile this time was warmer. He gathered his own papers. “I’ll see you get copies of all of this.”

  “Thanks, Alan.”

  He held out his hand, we shook it, and he left.

  I locked the apartment door, and we climbed the stairs to the third floor. “Let’s go to bed.” It was late for us.

  “Good idea.” Paul yawned. “I could use some more sleep.”

  And we headed for our separate bedrooms.

  A COUPLE of weeks later, Paul came in from the gym and brought the mail up with him.

  “Anything interesting?” I asked as I made a light snack for us. We’d be going out to meet our johns for drinks soon. Some of our clients just preferred arm candy.

  “Bill. Bill. Catalogue. TV Guide. Junk. Junk. Junk. This is weird.”

  “What is?” I asked absently as I opened the electric bill. It was higher than last month’s. I’d have to talk to the boys about turning off the television and stereo before they left for the night.

  “It’s a letter to a Teodore Bascopolis. Well, I’ll just mark it ‘not at this address’ and put it out for tomorrow’s mail.”

  I couldn’t catch my breath. Jesus. I was so stupid. I never thought what would happen if Acacia wrote me back. I stuffed the electric bill into my back pocket and took the envelope from him, but I didn’t have to examine the return address. “It’s from my… my sister.”

  “Your name is Teodore Bascopolis? You never said.”

  “I know. I had my reasons. Please… please, Paul. Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Ass. My lips are sealed. So… uh… what do I call you?”