“I’m sorry. I have to work.”
“What about Saturday?”
“You don’t give up, do you?” she asked. When Cart Man smiled again and shook his head, she said, “I’m not a prize, or any object for that matter. There’s no competition. But I do have dragons of my own that need slaying. If you’re still around when I’ve finished them off, I’ll get back to you about that dinner. Okay?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Cart Man said.
“Me either, baby,” Vienna said. “Ain’t that the sad truth?”
“One more thing,” Cart Man said as she started to leave again. “Living Colour.”
“Excuse me?”
“The band. They were black, and they rocked.”
Vienna shook her finger at Cart Man, about to berate him for lying to her. Obviously he’d eavesdropped much longer than he’d admitted. But she decided to be amused by his impishness. “You’re right. I forgot about them. I wouldn’t exactly call them a hair band.”
“Why? Were they bald?” he asked.
“Bald like me,” Vienna quipped. “See you later, Cart Man.”
“Go slay your dragons,” he called after her. “I’ll be in my ivory tower, awaiting your return.”
Vienna found herself smiling during the rest of her shift, and Meg finally said, “Why do you look so happy? Does it have anything to do with that man?”
“What man?” Vienna asked.
“The one who looked like death eating a cracker.”
“That’s so mean,” Bianca said. “I’d be happy, too, if I were offered a promotion. Which will never—”
“I’m just in a good mood,” Vienna said.
“You’re not yourself.” Meg frowned. “You haven’t taken a break since you got back.”
“You’re right. If it’s okay with you two, I’m clocking out early. I have a date.”
“You could do much better,” Meg said. “I surrender. Go.”
Vienna waved an airy good-bye and rushed home to change. When she got to the bowling alley, Christian looked at his watch and said, “Who are you? Why are you early?”
“Don’t complain. Let’s bowl,” Derek begged. “I’m gonna kick ass.”
She and Christian exchanged a glance behind Derek’s back. Christian had talked her into this bowling date so she could see Derek’s erratic mood shifts, but he seemed okay to her. He was even cheerier later, when he rehashed the finer points of his game over beers.
Vienna stretched her legs out in front of herself and said, “I think the reason I never liked bowling is because of the bad shoes.”
“While I share your passion for shoes,” Christian said, “I think the reason you don’t like to bowl is because you’re really bad at it.”
“I am,” she agreed without a hint of dismay. “This is the last place in the mall you can expect to find me filling out a job application.”
“I thought you wanted to work at every store in the mall,” Derek said.
“Technically, the bowling alley is not a store.”
Christian’s cell phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket with an apologetic look. She and Derek kept quiet while Christian talked and made notes on his PalmPilot.
“Let me call Riley Blake at the Congreve and see what we can work out.” Christian disconnected the call and said, “Sorry. I need to take care of this.”
“I’ll order us another pitcher,” Vienna said.
She thought about DeWitt while Christian handled his latest crisis. She considered telling Derek about Natasha and her doll fetish, then decided not to. Derek had enough to worry about with Hunter and their rocky relationship. Knowing that his manager was three sandwiches short of a picnic might be too much for him to bear.
When Christian snapped his phone shut and dropped it on the table, Derek said, “Riley’s really great, isn’t he? My boyfriend tells me that he’s always on top of things.”
“He is,” Christian agreed. He winced as his phone rang again, but Vienna grabbed it. “What are you doing?”
“Although workaholism isn’t recognized as a psychological disorder, it is a psychological issue,” she said, “defined as when your relationship with your work is the most significant one in your life.”
“I’m expecting a call from Emily-Anne. I have to make a living,” Christian said defensively.
“You also have to make time for yourself.”
“She’s right,” Derek said. His eyes went past them to the television, and he said, “What’s wrong with the universe? They’re showing Hamlet on a TV in a bowling alley bar. Although maybe Mel Gibson makes it the working man’s Hamlet.”
Vienna laughed, and Christian asked, “What’s your favorite Shakespearean play?”
“I don’t know. Probably Othello,” Derek said.
“I never read it,” Christian said. “I think I saw it on a late movie once.”
“The one with Laurence Olivier?” Derek asked.
“White actor in blackface,” Vienna said. “They’d never get away with that today.”
“Maybe they’ll remake it with Danny Glover,” Christian said. “They can sell it as a set with Hamlet.”
“They could splice them together and call it Lethal Weapon the Fifth,” Vienna said.
“I like Othello best because of the evil Igao. What a great villain he is,” Derek mused.
“Let’s go rent melodramatic old movies,” Christian said, “and recast them.”
“Something with dragons,” Vienna said, ignoring their confused stares.
“You’re really going to play hooky?” Derek finally asked Christian, his tone signifying approval.
“You’re like Iago,” Christian said, “exerting your sinister influence over my life.”
“We’re not in a tragedy,” Derek said.
“Honey, have you looked at these shoes we’re wearing?” Vienna asked.
20
Rear Windows
Riley checked with the events coordinator and confirmed that three separate groups of children of hotel guests had left on their excursions to the bowling alley, planetarium, and roller rink. After marking that off his list, he wrote a stern letter to the hotel’s seafood distributor, complaining about an inferior shrimp shipment the week before.
With those two tasks completed, he felt justified in stopping for a cigarette-and-coffee break, during which it occurred to him that he hadn’t monitored Derek’s or Hunter’s e-mail for a couple of days. It hadn’t seemed pressing, since the two of them apparently weren’t communicating. Which wasn’t surprising—he’d witnessed Derek picking up a trick in the Aurora over a month ago. He was sure it was one of many, and he appreciated having another incident to hoard in his trove of information about Derek.
He turned to his laptop, sneaking first into Hunter’s account, where he found four unread e-mails from Derek. He could read those in Derek’s SENT mail. He was more interested in Hunter’s e-mail exchange with Garry Prophet.
Con,
I ran away and fell in love. If I wrote down on paper everything I’ve been taught to want, this person wouldn’t match. Isn’t that great? It’s made it blindingly clear that Buffy is not for me.
Pro
Pro,
Whatever you’re up to, it sounds intriguing. I know you haven’t asked for it, but I feel compelled to give you advice. Just tell your family once and for all that Buffy is not an option. The day is gone when we could be forced into unhappy relationships simply because our families feel a merger is suitable. This entire romance, start to finish, was put in Buffy’s head by the Barlows. I never even saw evidence that she particularly liked you. Take my word for it—running away is a temporary and miserable solution.
As for my own romance, I’m starting to get the feeling that it’s doomed. Sad to say, I’ve been avoiding contact with Derek. We seem to do nothing but fight in e-mail, and our phone calls have become formalities during which neither of us says much that isn’t trivial. At least I can see that he’s mi
serable in his job. If he were satisfied, I’d be disappointed in him. He could be doing so much more with himself. On the day he finally quits a job he hates, I’ll know he’s come to his senses. I would fly him here immediately if he’d let me.
I get the idea that quitting our relationship is his first priority, and to that end, he drops the names of other men into our infrequent communication. It’s all very casual. “I went on break with Erik” or “Christian said…” or “When Davii and I…” Who the hell is Christian? And who spells his name Davii? I envision infidelities with the son of religious fundamentalists and maybe a male stripper. At least Derek’s going for variety. Australia was a bad idea, but I’m stuck as long as the old man wants me here. I can’t believe six weeks has turned into three months. I brought it on myself.
Write when you get this, if you haven’t permanently gone underground as a soldier of fortune or a French chef. Bon appetit. Con
Riley closed Hunter’s mail and grimaced. He had to know who all these men were and if they were really threats to Hunter’s relationship. Natasha had been useless. Any time he spoke with her, she rattled on about some black woman named Vienna who talked to Derek on the phone all the time and took too many breaks. Unless Derek had found a miraculous means to change his nature and be heterosexual, Riley didn’t see how that information was of any help.
He logged into Derek’s account, where he found a surprising amount of e-mail.
Sweetie,
If you hate your job and you’re this confused about Hunter, just come home. Maybe Hunter went away to get a fresh perspective on things. You could do that, too. Your father and I won’t interfere, but we hate hearing how unhappy you are. Some time away might do you good.
Thank you for helping me set up the e-mail account. I use the computers in the library on Tuesday and Thursday. But if you need me, you can call any time. Collect. Love, Mom
Yes, move home, Riley silently begged Derek. It would be perfect if Hunter came back to find Derek gone. Although it appeared that if Derek left Drayden’s, Hunter would invite him to Australia. Riley couldn’t think of anything more catastrophic.
He went through several more dull e-mails from Derek’s online friends, then perked up at a new address, [email protected].
Derek—Thanks for all the help with the event planning. Your suggestions have been good ones. I’ve been thinking over what you told me about moving. It seems like a good solution for everyone. Have you mentioned it to Vienna yet? Let me know if I can help. Christian
C. I haven’t told anyone but you. I’m still thinking things over. I don’t know. Davii’s absence seems to have left us all with a big void in our lives. I don’t want Vienna to get the wrong idea and think I’m trying to replace him. As if anyone could. The usual time tonight? Call me. D.
Derek—Last night was great. I told you it’s all in the breathing! I was dizzy afterward. Almost euphoric. How did you feel? Christian
C. I feel muscles in places I didn’t know I had them. I didn’t know I could hold a position for that long, LOL. Seriously, I feel good. I owe it all to you. D.
Derek—Same time tonight? I’m really enjoying this, especially talking afterward. I feel like I’m sharing things I’ve been keeping bottled up for so long. It’s great. Christian
C. It’s a date! D.
Riley smiled; he knew the man Derek was interested in. He’d often booked conference rooms for Christian Mercer. Riley had known he was gay, even though Christian had never flirted back with him. Obviously Christian was a closet case, like Hunter’s friend Garry. Regardless, Christian was a wonderful development. Derek had a hot affair going with another man. “Hold a position for that long,” indeed.
Derek could not be allowed to quit his job and join Hunter in Australia. Riley was going to have to play another hand with Natasha and make sure she kept Derek right where he was. Everything Derek was doing portended the end of his relationship with Hunter: other men, a job Hunter didn’t approve of, a possible move. Hunter would never stay in Indiana without Derek as a diversion. Soon the hotel would be all Riley’s, and he could start making some long overdue changes.
“Um, Riley, excuse me for bothering you, but I need to ask for a favor.”
The blood drained from Riley’s face, and he quickly shut his laptop before spinning around to see Derek standing on the other side of his desk. He scrutinized Derek’s expression for any evidence that he had seen that it was his e-mail Riley had been reading, but Derek seemed like his usual ineffectual, mousy self.
“What can I do for you, Derek?” Riley asked politely.
“I really need to talk to Hunter, but I think he may be on another dive trip or something. He’s not answering my e-mails. I was wondering if you’d heard from him? Or, if you hear from him again, if you could forward his call to me after you talk?”
Riley’s thoughts moved like lightning, and he said, “As a matter of fact, I’m due to hear from Hunter tonight. I always come back to the office so he can call me here. If it’s urgent—”
“It is,” Derek said.
Riley pretended to think it over, keeping his face pleasant, then he said, “It sounds like it should be private, too. I know Hunter doesn’t always trust our switchboard operators not to listen in on his personal calls. Deplorable, but it’s impossible to find people who aren’t curious about him. Why don’t you come back here tonight at eight? After I talk with him, I can transfer the call to you in his office. Then you can be sure your conversation is private.”
Derek brightened and said, “Thanks, Riley. I appreciate that.”
“It’s absolutely no trouble. I’m always happy to assist you in any way I can, Derek. I know that’s what Hunter wants.”
Derek didn’t look too convinced, but he merely said, “I’ll see you at eight, then.”
“Excellent,” Riley said.
After Derek walked out, Riley slumped in his chair, relieved that the little sneak hadn’t seen what was on his screen. Then he rolled his eyes. Derek was so dumb. The Congreve operators would never listen in on Hunter’s phone calls. Riley, on the other hand, intended to get an earful on his extension later, with nothing but twenty feet and a closed door between him and Derek. Then he’d have another little chat with Natasha.
Some days are just too good to be true, Riley thought, picking up his coffee with a smile.
21
Wake-Up Call
Derek craved coffee, but instead of going to the Brew Moon Café, as he usually did, he walked to Starbucks on the Stars level. He could always count on it to be quiet there, because it was where the professional offices were located. There were a couple of general practitioners, an ophthalmologist, an allergist, two law practices, several architects, Derek’s dentist, and, tucked into one corner, an acupuncturist. There were also a few mystery corporations whose names told Derek nothing, but sounded impressive.
He considered this area of the Stars level to be one of the hidden attractions of Mall of the Universe. It was on the top floor, and hanging ferns flourished because of the skylights. The foot traffic was purposeful. People came to this part of the mall for appointments, not to shop, and there were never children screaming around the beautiful replica of Versailles’ Fountain of Saturn. Even Starbucks was serene, as most of its patrons were on a break from their offices and read or sat quietly, happy for a few moments away from their busy workdays.
It was a place where Derek could think without distractions. He desperately needed to organize his thoughts before the phone call Riley had promised him with Hunter. He had only the vaguest idea of what he planned to say, and no clue whatsoever about how Hunter was going to react.
He took his coffee to an empty table. Although it was close to an elderly gentleman in a conservative business suit sitting with a boy who might have been his teenaged grandson, the two weren’t talking. Derek sat down, staring out at the fountain, and tried to compose his thoughts.
“You young men,” the older man suddenly spoke, �
��have no context that allows you to appreciate the lives you’re living.”
Startled, Derek glanced around; the man wasn’t looking at him, but at the boy. Derek scrutinized them for a minute and realized that he wasn’t a boy, after all. Like Derek, he was probably in his early twenties. He simply looked young in his jeans and flannel shirt when contrasted to his companion.
“You don’t read. You know nothing of our history. The hidden nature of it. The terrible sacrifice of one’s truest desires to the pressure of society. You watch your sitcoms, each with its mandatory token gay character, drug yourselves, dance in your clubs, thoughtlessly share your beautiful bodies, and think it has always been thus.”
The younger man glanced at Derek, rolled his eyes, and looked back at his companion, saying, “Just give me the credit card without a lecture, please. I have a lot of shopping to do today.”
The older man took a slender wallet from his inside breast pocket, removed a credit card, and silently handed it over. Then he watched as the young man rose, leaving his half-finished coffee on the table, and sauntered off without a good-bye or a word of gratitude.
Derek looked down at his cup and felt sick to his stomach. Was that how people saw Hunter and him? Hunter wasn’t old, and Derek hoped he himself had never acted as rude and spoiled. But the undeniable similarity between his situation and theirs caused Derek to feel self-loathing more bitter than the taste of his coffee.
I can’t do this anymore, he thought. I love him so much, but I can’t beg for his love. Why would he give it? He must feel such contempt for me.
He picked up his coffee and walked to the fountain, sitting on the edge and staring at the pool of water. He tried to practice the breathing techniques he’d been learning in yoga class. He needed to do something to make himself feel better.
Someone Like You Page 22