by A Zukowski
Paula’s happy relationship. They must have been
together for forty-plus years and remain strong.
Dinner is lovely, and the Johnsons are as loud
35
and friendly as always. Alex sits among them, being
treated like one of the children, except it reminds
him of Sam and what could have been, and the
imaginary knife sears through his heart once more.
He closes his eyes and lets the weariness consume
him.
~~~
Alex barely sees any of his flatmates. He ran into
Dmitri doing a transaction in the lounge one day.
Great. A drug deal in the middle of his fucking
sitting room. Of course, he turned a blind eye as he
would have done in similar situations in the nick.
The probation officer must have been desperate,
putting him in shared accommodation like this. He
wouldn’t have allowed it if he’d known the easy
access to drugs. No wonder lots of ex-cons
recidivate. It’s lucky Alex no longer takes drugs
because even the prison was full of them. Alex was
shocked to discover the availability of illicit goods
there when he first arrived.
Another night, he heard Alberto shouting in
Italian on his mobile for an hour, arguing with
someone at the other end.
Chris.
Since Chris’s room is next to his, Alex feels his
presence all right. On his one night off a week from
the late shift so far, Alex heard Chris and his
companion. Alex shifted uncomfortably in his single
bed. The narrow space and flimsy mattress are
inadequate to accommodate a tall man like him,
making sleep all the more difficult.
A woman with her middle-pitched oohs and ahhs
36
and Chris’s more muffled reassurance sounded like
soft porn.
I’m going to make you feel so good, sweetheart.
Jeez. It’s the worst kind of torture to listen to sex
through a thin wall when you’re alone. The more
Alex tried not to hear the noises, the more they
became like surround sounds.
Alex’s gaydar was pretty much dormant, but he
did assume Chris’s orientation after their first
encounter on the stairs because of how Chris looked
and behaved. Serves him right to be presumptuous.
A few days later, Alex returns home about six in
the morning after the overnight shift. He should
hate every day of his newfound freedom if it means
sitting in an office and surveying empty spaces
through the CCTV. At one point in the night, he
began to imagine he was an insect trapped under a
magnifying glass with nowhere to go. He laughed
because it was better than crying; the lonely sounds
he was making vibrated through the walls of the
vacant building.
Chris and a guy are French kissing in the lounge.
Is this the same lover? Alex tells himself off for
analysing Chris’s hookup habit.
Chris is clad in a small red thong and wriggling
against his fully dressed boyfriend. Thank fuck
someone is wearing clothes. He is the mirror image
of Chris but less pretty: blonde hair tied up in a top
knot, big blue eyes. Alex hovers, undecided whether
to walk around them to his room and pretend he
hasn’t seen them. Either way, he’d look ridiculous.
He waits, trying to minimise his presence as Chris
and the kisser break off after some prolonged and
37
elaborate tongue-twisting. Chris glances at Alex and
pushes the other towards the door.
“Shush, shush. Can’t ever get rid of you. I’ve got
to grab some beauty sleep. Work to do, people to
see, et cetera.”
“Yeah, yeah. Text me later, babycakes. Okay?”
Babycakes? Who ever says that? Have I just seen
him squeeze Chris’s arse? Alex can’t help but stare
at the two white, shapely globes.
After his lover has left, Chris turns and gazes at
Alex with a perfect arch of his right eyebrow. “Have
you seen enough?”
Alex can’t believe Chris’s cheek, but it’s refreshing
at the same time. No one speaks to Alex like that
because of his size.
“I didn’t ask to see you tongue-fuck your
boyfriend in the middle of our flat. Sorry, if I
intruded.” Alex adds a large dose of sarcasm to
those words, but he can’t tear his eyes away from
Chris’s elegant and completely hairless body. A
montage of what he and the top-knot were doing
minutes before he interrupted plays in Alex’s mind.
He swallows and shifts to regain his composure.
Chris crosses his arms as if hiding his modesty
from Alex’s sharp gaze and meandering thoughts.
“Well, I don’t expect people wandering in at the
crack of dawn.” He sits down and picks up a pack of
cigarettes from the coffee table and lights one then
holds the pack out to Alex. “You smoke? Want one?”
Now it’s impossible to ignore Chris and go
straight to his room. Alex sits down at the other end
of the sofa, keeping a safe distance.
“No, I don’t smoke.” He is overdressed in his
38
security guard uniform since Chris is as good as
naked and is considering him with wide-open eyes.
Alex forces himself to look away from Chris’s very
small underwear, which hardly conceals his size.
Chris holds the cigarette away with his long
fingers, while he’s not sucking it like a lifeline. He
looks at Alex intently again as if he can bore into
Alex’s mind, as if he can access his soul with the
intense indigo gaze. Under the bare light from the
ceiling lamp, Alex can see Chris’s irises—a mix of
dark blue, violet and emerald. Is that anatomical
detail possible? The combined hues make them
turquoise. Chris wears red nail varnish and a hint of
rose colours his cheeks.
Sensing Alex’s paradox of fascination and
restraint, Chris challenges him. “Like what you
see?”
Alex swallows. “No…I mean, yes. You…” Damn
the stutter. “You’re nice-looking.”
Chris laughs, sardonicism clear on his face.
“Nice?”
Nice. Why couldn’t he think of something else to
say? Alex opens and shuts his mouth a couple of
times but fails to defend himself for using such an
innocuous word. He should have known that Chris
would find that inoffensive word offensive.
After several seconds, Chris schools his face to
neutrality. “So, what the fuck do you do? Why are
you always creeping around in the middle of the
night?”
Alex wants to point out that six o’clock is early
morning for most respectable folks but thinks better
of it. It’s not the right thing to say to someone who
39
has been staying up all night banging the next pop
idol. “I’ve been working.”
“As?” Chris raises an eyebrow like a questi
on
mark.
“Security.”
Chris’s eyes roam Alex’s face once more, making
him uncomfortable. Once Chris is satisfied with his
effect on Alex, he yawns with raised arms and
slowly stands. “Well, it’s been a long night. I’ll let
you go to bed.”
He sashays back to his room with the cigarette
dangling from his mouth, reminding Alex of the
dangerous dame from 1950s Hollywood movies. A
femme fatale. Or Glenn Close who boils bunnies.
Dead bunnies.
Alex is out of his mind these days to be so
intrigued by his flatmate. He has never met anyone
like Chris in his life. He wants to find out more, and
he is, without doubt, attracted to his neighbour.
Blood rushes to his head, leaving Alex shaken with
the realisation.
~~~
“Wow, we meet in broad daylight at last.”
Chris’s sultry voice startles Alex, whose head jerks
up from his lunch of ham sandwiches and water,
knocking a spoon off the table. He manages to catch
the falling cutlery with his quick reflex.
Chris strolls into the kitchen area: an open-plan
diner-lounge-kitchenette
arrangement.
The
worktop and cooker are in an alcove to the side of
the sitting room.
A sunbeam streams through the open window
40
this late morning, gracing Chris’s dirty-blonde hair.
Alex almost does a double take because this Chris
has no make-up and is dressed in a plain tee and
cutoff ripped jeans as though he’s shed his
androgyny. The fragrance from his shampoo or
body wash wafts through the room like jasmine in
the summer. Whenever his flatmate is near, Alex’s
keen heart races and his palms sweat. Alex blinks,
trying to control his reaction.
Seemingly ignorant of the effect he’s having,
Chris makes a pot of coffee and a piece of toast and
plonks himself down across from Alex. The tiny
dining table sits only two, creating an intimacy that
no one in the flat cares about until now. Chris’s
proximity causes Alex’s heart to beat fast once
again.
“Coffee?”
Chris has brought two cups to the table. Alex
nods.
Chris pours two coffees and takes a bite from his
toast. Speaking with his mouth half-full, he tells
Alex, “Staring is rude.”
“I wasn’t.” Heat rises in Alex’s face.
They eat in companionable silence for a few
minutes.
“How’s your job going? Caught anyone breaching
your security yet?” Chris asks but he doesn’t seem
interested in the answer at all.
“Funny.”
Chris shrugs. “Yeah, comedian me.”
Alex is not going to talk about his numbingly
boring job at the office block down in Islington.
“You’re not really a comedian, are you? Whatever
41
you do seems to be less time-consuming and more
interesting than my job, though. Let me guess. A
student?” Chris doesn’t keep to regular hours and
he’s always sleeping in late. Alex imagines the
college kids’ lifestyle to be like that.
Chris huffs. “Nope. Been told all my life I don’t
have two brain cells to rub together. How am I a
student? Unless you’re talking about the School of
Hard Knocks.”
Alex has seen the way Chris speaks and how he
subtly riles him up and observes him to work him
out, all evidence of Chris’s intelligence and
curiosity. The hard-knocks part might be true. Alex
wouldn’t expect anyone well off to be living in this
dump.
Chris finishes his brunch and lights a cigarette. A
swirl of pungent smoke envelops them both.
“You seem clever enough to me. Bar job?” All the
young kids in London work in the restaurants and
bars until they get better offers, don’t they? Alex
sounds old to his own ears. Chris looks about ten
years younger than Alex. He adds, “You’re waiting
to be a star or something?”
Chris scowls. “Why does everyone see my face
and assume things about me? I am not only a pretty
face. I think it’s fucking stupid trying to be famous.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Alex’s
mouth turns down. “Put me out of my misery. What
do you do?”
Chris says, “I work as an escort.”
Alex coughs, choking on his coffee, and covers his
mouth with his hand as a hot flush reaches his
cheeks.
42
Chris grabs some kitchen towel and helps Alex
clean up. He watches with detachment; he must be
used to that reaction.
“Say what you’ve got to say. Spit it out. Oh, right,
you’ve already done that.” Chris makes to stand up.
“Hey.” Alex puts his hand over Chris’s, around the
handle of the mug. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to act
shocked. You don’t need to leave.”
Chris sits down again.
“That guy and the woman before. Are they…
what’s the word?”
“My clients?” Chris shakes his head. “No, I do
out-calls to people’s houses and hotels. I never
bring them back here. Don’t you worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
“I see other people, y’know?” Chris sucks in a
chestful of cigarette smoke.
Alex is finding all the new information difficult to
digest. If his brain is a computer, there’s already a
folder for Chris-related info. Alex has never given
prostitution much thought, but he wants to
understand how someone who seems so perfect to
him would sell himself.
“You
mean
they
were
your
lovers?”
Inquisitiveness isn’t in Alex’s nature, but the info-
bank is calling.
“Yes.” Chris cocks his head.
Chris is bisexual. That must be who I am too.
For the first time in Alex’s life, there’s no need to
hide from that simple fact. His admiration for
Chris’s openness nudges up another notch.
“Okay. And your clients? Do you sleep with men
and women as well?”
43
“I don’t like servicing women, so I don’t. I earn
enough. Guys are easier to find and more
straightforward. Path of least resistance works for
me.”
Alex nods. “Wow. An escort. That’s not a…usual
job,” he whispers.
Chris throws his teaspoon at Alex. “Seriously!
What’s your problem, man? What’s a usual job?
Security?”
After picking up the spoon, Alex is thoughtful for
a second. “Is this an in-between thing?”
Chris blinks three times. “No.”
Alex inclines his head to show he understands.
Chris sulks, seemingly annoyed with Alex’s
questions. He takes his cup and plate back to the
kitchen to wash.
Alex can’t stand the grumpy face on Chris. He
picks up the rest of the dishes and follows Chris into
the kitchen area. He leans against the worktop next
to the sink and waits for Chris to finish washing up.
Alex’s eyes travel Chris’s body.
“Stop undressing me, Alex. I’m used to people
looking at me funny when they find out what I do
for a living. Unless you have a problem with sharing
a flat with me? Or want my services? I can do you a
neighbour discount.”
“I have no problems, Chris. It’s a job.” Alex
continues watching him. “I can see why you do it.”
Chris’s nostrils flare, though Alex thinks it’s a
good look on him too.
“What? Like I’m born a slut or something?”
Now Alex is a little unsure. Whatever he says
always sounds wrong and irritates Chris. Alex
44
doesn’t want that. He wants to be on Chris’s good
side.
Alex picks his words carefully this time. “Sorry. I
mean…you are sexy.”
Chris’s mouth opens, but the speech bubble is
empty of comments for long moments.
“You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
Alex wants to tell him how fascinated he is, but he
doesn’t mean to come across as a twat or a potential
stalker. Chris has no shortage of friends or sex
partners, so he’ll think Alex is a weirdo if he tells
Chris of his interest. Alex is a disgraced boxer and
an ex-con. He can’t get it up most days. What can he
offer someone like Chris?
“I can hardly talk about my job. It’s like watching
paint dry. It doesn’t make for a riveting
conversation. At least yours is interesting.”
Chris glances at Alex sidelong and tries to
suppress a grin. “I suppose escorting has the same
appeal as an exotic wildlife programme. The
animals grunt and rut, and you can’t take your eyes
off them.”
Alex chuckles. “A drug dealer. An escort. What
does Alberto do?”
“He’s a trainee chef. He works in a small family
pizzeria in central London. Why?” Chris focuses his
gaze on Alex again.
“Do you think he’s a serial killer? He has access to
knives,” Alex says with deadpan irony.
Chris’s answering laughter sounds like bells to
Alex’s ears. “No, I believe he only throws pizza bases
and chops leaves for the salads.”
“That’s reassuring.” Alex joins Chris, forgetting all
45
his personal issues for a minute.
The way Chris giggles has distracted Alex, and