Jack spoke up. “So you’re out to your family then?”
“I am, just recently. It’s a long story, but Randy was a big part of it. He saved my life.” Jack didn’t seem at all surprised at the dramatic statement, and Randy narrowed his eyes.
Jack shrugged. “I did some simple research after I found you at Mata Hari and you all but kicked me out. The story of the stalker and your role was all over the internet. ‘Hero Bartender Stops Serial Killer’ was the first story I found.”
Randy was annoyed but Zachary laughed. “It was a crazy few weeks, with all that publicity. But that’s how my parents found out I was gay. I had to tell them before the details hit the news. When my parents flew to New York from Utah and met Randy for our big television interview, they thought he was the best thing since sliced bread.”
Jack gazed at Randy with surprising warmth in his eyes again. The coldness of the last few minutes in the truck and then the elevator seemed to be gone. “I can definitely see the hero.”
“Hardly,” Randy said with a snort. “The story got pretty exaggerated by the end.”
Zachary dared to throw an arm over Randy’s shoulder. “Not to me. Hero.” Randy huffed, but Zachary just chuckled at him. “So. Thomas said you want to see a painting?”
“I had Thomas hang it in the master bedroom a while back, if you haven’t moved it since.”
“Nope, we haven’t started rearranging anything like that. We figured we’d wait until I get my furniture in, not that I have much. And I don’t think Thomas is going to let me replace an oil painting with my vintage Star Wars poster, even if it is signed by Mark Hamill. C’mon,” he said, and drew Jack and Randy down the hall to the bedroom.
They stepped into a large, white room, dominated by a window that overlooked the United States Capitol building. The autumn sky was dark already, so the Capitol dome glowed in its uplights. Jack grunted appreciatively, but then he turned slightly and saw the painting under a small portrait light.
His jaw dropped, and it seemed for a moment he might collapse.
Randy had positioned Sunrise to the right of the king-size bed. The large canvas was embedded in a rich gilt frame that gleamed under the small light. The painting itself was as unremarkable as Randy recalled, but he tried to look at it with new eyes. Could this really be what Jack was seeking? He checked to see what he thought.
Reverence. That was the word for the expression on Jack’s face. His eyes were wide and shiny, lips parted. A sigh escaped from him into the room. One hand moved slightly, inches from the surface, as if he were tracing the image in the air.
So quietly that Randy almost couldn’t hear, Jack said, “I’ve stood where he painted this.” A shiver ran down Randy’s back.
Zachary looked back and forth between the two of them. “What’s going on? Is this painting something special?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, kid,” Randy said. Even though he knew the answer, he had to ask. “What do you think, Jack? Is this what you’ve been looking for?”
Jack licked his lips, then darted a look at Randy. A grin stretched the corners of his mouth into a smile. His eyes shone with joy. “I believe it is.”
“Well, son of a bitch.” Randy put his hands in his back pockets and studied the work, head slightly tilted. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could almost see it. The brush work for the sky and clouds. The arrangement of the elements. The abbey itself reminded him of the building in the background of Madonna of the Castle.
Zachary was swiveling his head back and forth between Jack and Randy. He was sharp, and he’d spent many a Sunday afternoon with Randy and Thomas strolling through art museums, and any second now…
“Holy shit, Randy. Is this an original Brousseau?”
Yep, there it was. “I don’t know yet. Jack thinks it might be.”
Zachary sank onto the bed. “I almost knocked it off the wall a few days ago when Thomas and I were, um, roughhousing.” He looked stunned. “What if we’d damaged it? Oh my god. You have to put it someplace safer.”
Jack spoke up quickly. “I absolutely agree. This work is potentially a major link in the development of one of the world’s most revered artists.”
Randy snorted. “You said it was stored away in an attic for years.”
“In ignorance,” Jack protested as he whirled on him. His tone vibrated with excitement and urgency. “Randy, this is it. This is the painting Jean-Pierre wrote to his brother about. I can feel it in my bones.”
Zachary stood up again. “I have to tell Thomas. He’ll know what to do.”
“Hold on a minute,” Randy begged. “This is what I was afraid of, a big mess. The condo building is safe and secure. I think the painting is good here for now. What am I going to do, hang it in Mata Hari?”
Jack gasped. “What? Of course you can’t do that.”
“I was making a point,” Randy said sarcastically. “Besides, Mata Hari may not be safe anyway.” To Zachary, he explained, “Someone broke in recently. They didn’t take anything, but the cops came out.”
“And you sent them after me,” Jack said levelly.
Randy shrugged it away. He refused to be embarrassed over a reasonable precaution. “Call Thomas if you want, and we can talk more about it but I’d prefer leaving the painting where it is for now.” Zachary excused himself to go call his boyfriend, and a heaviness settled in the room between Jack and Randy.
Jack stepped close to the painting and studied it in minute detail. “May I take it off the wall?” Randy helped Jack lift the large frame carefully from its hooks. Jack looked at the back of the painting and huffed disappointedly. “The frame covers the key area of the canvas. I can’t see whether it bears the number François would have placed on it.” They rehung the work gingerly and then stepped back to look at it side by side.
Finally Randy asked, “I’m glad you’re sure, but that won’t count for much in an auction house. So when will you tell me what you would need to do to authenticate it?”
Jack sucked in a breath nervously. “I would like your permission to have the painting moved to my museum in London.”
“What?”
“There are tests we can run there, in an absolutely sterile and protected environment.” Jack’s earlier reticence vanished in the excitement of the moment. “We would remove the canvas from the frame to look for François’s numbering on the back. We would check the materials used by the artist to look for correspondence with known works by Brousseau from the same time period. We can chemically examine the actual paint used without any damage to the work. Brousseau favored very specific compounds, you see, particularly cobalt, and we can tell if the compounds appear in this work. In a matter of weeks, I can complete the analysis and present my findings to the experts.”
Randy’s dismay flared into anger as Jack went on. These tests, these ideas… Jack had known all along what he was going to ask Randy for when they came here, and he had refused to disclose it. Jack was playing Randy. Maybe even the night at Cuir was part of a plan, just like fucking Trevor had pulled on him.
Oblivious to Randy’s rising fury, Jack continued to talk through his vision. “Once I persuade the experts of the painting’s origins, well, there will be plenty of time for you to decide the next steps. It’s the validation I need, I mean, we need. If we can establish a consensus—”
“No.”
Jack stopped speaking at the harsh interruption, and stared aghast at Randy. “No? No what?”
“No,” Randy repeated in a slow, deadly serious tone. “You may not take the painting.”
Jack turned white. A noise came out of his throat that sounded like desperation. He licked his lips, then said in a softer, pleading voice, “You must understand, Randy. These tests are crucial to proving my thesis but there is simply no way I can perform them here.”
Randy shook his head sharply, trying to keep hold of his reaction even as he tightened hands into fists and clenched his jaw. “You expect me to han
d over a painting that is potentially worth millions of dollars to a stranger, and let him whisk it away to England on a promise? Not going to happen.”
“Randy, I’m begging you. You must know you can trust me.”
“Trust you? I don’t know you at all,” he exploded. “You’ve done nothing to establish your credentials. You try to bully me into compliance and when that doesn’t work you say what you need to say to get at the painting. Your manner of speech is affected and an act. You conveniently leave out the fact that you’re engaged—”
“Is that what this is about?” Jack shouted right back at him, his burr prominent. “That you fucked me without knowing I was engaged? I told you, that’s nowt to do with you.”
“Well, how noble of you,” Randy sneered. “That surely sets my mind at ease, that a man who wants to carry off a potential masterpiece has no qualms about fucking around on his fiancée and making me a party to it.”
“What?” Jack was stunned, and frankly, so was Randy. He didn’t know where the vitriol was coming from but he couldn’t stop it.
“So convenient you were in Cuir the same night I was. Was that a setup too, Jack? You said you researched me. Did you figure out I was in the leather community, and then buy yourself a little harness and show up to see if I’d bite? Is that any more real than the clothes you wear like a costume?”
Jack swung his head side to side, whether in denial or shock Randy couldn’t tell. “I swear to you, that wasn’t a setup. I had no idea you’d be at Cuir.” He spread his hands helplessly, but Randy was in no mood to listen.
“It’s time to go,” he snarled. “I have to get back to my bar.” He gestured for Jack to precede him, and after giving one long look at the painting, Jack complied. Randy followed him down the hallway to find Zachary standing in the living room. His phone was still in his hand, and he was pale.
He’d obviously heard the fight, but he tried in true Zachary fashion to keep the mood friendly. “So, Randy. Thomas agrees to whatever you’re comfortable with regarding the painting. But he asked you to talk to a lawyer he knows before you make any decisions about releasing it to anyone.”
Jack was clearly struggling to control his disappointment, but he expressed his agreement at Zachary’s words. “That’s a good idea. I should have suggested that. Please, Randy. Talk to someone who works with consignments and auctions. There are industry standards and agreements. We can make you comfortable with this.”
A touch of shame crept into Randy’s head. He was taking out his own frustrations, possibly on the wrong person. He looked at Jack steadily for a moment, then away. But he said, “I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you,” Jack sighed. He turned to Zachary and held out his hand. “And thank you for letting us in this evening. I apologize for any drama we created.”
Zachary was gracious. “It was fascinating. I know I can’t tell anybody about this, but come on. How many people can say they sleep with a Brousseau in their bedroom?” He laughed, and it lightened the mood.
Randy and Jack rode the elevator to the ground floor in silence but less animosity. “Do you want a ride somewhere?” Randy asked somewhat stiffly, but Jack shook his head.
“My hotel is actually not far. I’ll walk to save you time getting back to the bar.”
Randy started to head for the parking garage, but Jack put a hand on his arm. “Please believe me. I have never intentionally lied to you, or tricked you in any way. Last night at Cuir meant a great deal to me.”
Randy faced Jack for a long moment. What should he say? It had meant a lot to him too. More than he cared to admit. The silence stretched and Jack dropped his hand to move away. Randy cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, talk to a lawyer soon, and I’ll let you know what I decide.”
Jack nodded sadly. “Of course. There’s no point in my going to Philadelphia now, so I’ll be in Washington through the end of the week.” He paused and searched Randy’s face. The longing in Jack’s eyes was surely just about the painting, Randy told himself. What else could it be?
Jack said softly, “I hope to hear from you soon, whatever you decide.” And then he walked out of the lobby and into the October night.
Chapter Fifteen
When Randy got back to Mata Hari, he was surprised to find Danny there helping out. Malcolm tended bar for the few customers as Danny dumped a bucket of ice into the service bin. “Hi, Randy,” he called.
“What are you doing here?” Randy asked. “I thought you were going to a movie.”
“I did, but when it ended I was bored, so I took the Metro in. I just got here a little while ago.”
“Well, thanks. Glad for the help.” Randy dropped his jacket in his office, then reclaimed his space behind the bar. “Mal, go grab food or something if you want a break.”
Malcolm pulled off his apron and grabbed his own down jacket. “Want me to bring back anything?”
Danny commented to Randy, too loudly, “I left a roast in the slow cooker.”
“I guess not, Mal.” He could see the question on Malcolm’s face. Even though he’d brought Danny into Mata Hari before, he hadn’t really explained about their living situation. Danny was letting it be known they were sharing meals, which implied something a little closer than Randy just giving him a place to stay. It was clearly intentional, and Randy sighed. He and Danny were going to have to talk more about this.
A few more customers came in, but it remained slow like most Tuesdays and there were only so many times Randy could wipe down the bar or bus glasses. He started to run out of busy work to keep Danny occupied too. After serving two men and chatting with them a few moments, Randy glanced at his phone and noticed Joe had called. He sent Danny to get beer to restock the bar fridge, then listened to the message.
“Randall, my dear, it’s Joe Mulholland.” That made Randy smile. As if anyone else spoke in that raspy Bostonian accent. “I’ve finally heard back from one of my colleagues and she has a bed available in her shelter for your young friend. Her facility is located in Baltimore, but that’s the nearest location I’ve been able to find. It really isn’t that far away, if he should decide to come visit you. This shelter has career counselors on staff as well. Please let me know this evening if your friend will be taking the bed, because you know how intense the demand is for these placements. Thank you, dear heart. I’ll speak to you soon.”
Randy stared at his phone, then disconnected and pushed it back into his pocket. Baltimore? Well, fuck. He hadn’t thought about this enough. With all the crap going on with Jack and the painting, somehow he’d managed to forget that Danny wasn’t really his housemate. Or his project. Or his son.
But dammit, he liked Danny. He liked having him around when he got home at the end of a long day. Danny seemed to enjoy the time they spent together watching TV or talking about art. It was companionable and easy. The house was cleaner than it had been in a long time, and there was always a meal on the table. But was he being fair to Danny? He couldn’t be what Danny seemed to want.
It had to be the kid’s decision. When Danny finished loading the beers, the bar was still fairly empty and no one waited for a drink. “Danny, we need to talk for a minute,” Randy said softly. Danny jerked his head up, surprise and worry flashing across his face.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“What? No, not at all. Listen, I just got a message from my friend Joe. There’s a bed available in a youth shelter in Baltimore. I know that’s kind of far, but it’s a safe place and you’d probably be able to get training and job placement help. The thing is, they need to know tonight if you want to go there.”
Danny looked at Randy in shock as his big, expressive eyes took on a shimmer. Randy’s heart seized up.
“Oh shit. Look, kid, I’m not kicking you out. Okay?”
Danny stood up straight and squared his narrow, thin shoulders. He sounded hoarse when he spoke. “I get it, Randy. You’ve been great. But you live alone and you probably want your house back to yourself.”
He put a hand on Danny’s arm. “This isn’t about me. I want to know what you want to do. It was weird at first, sharing my house, but I’m used to it now. I like it. If you want to stay, then stay.” He dropped his voice lower. “You just need to think about whether that’s best for you. I’m not going to become your boyfriend.”
Danny flushed and his eyes glistened. “If it’s the age thing, I don’t care,” he said fiercely.
“But I do. It isn’t going to happen. I can give you a safe place to stay while you start working on your life. You’re good company, I like you, but that’s all. So if you want to keep living with me, you need to make sure that works for you.”
Danny blinked a few times at that, and a tear spilled over to run down his cheek. Finally he asked tremulously, “You aren’t kicking me out?”
“No. This is your choice,” Randy told him emphatically.
“I want to stay.” Danny ran the back of his hand over his face to wipe away the moisture there. “You make me feel useful. Wanted. Not, like, sexually. I get it. But like you want me there.”
“C’mere,” Randy said and pulled him into a hug. “I’m your friend, Danny. I do want you there, for as long as you’re comfortable.”
Danny clutched him hard, then pulled back with his face turned away. He couldn’t meet Randy’s gaze, though Randy could see tears coursing again. “I’ll be right back.” Danny ran down the hall toward the restrooms, and Randy let him go with a sigh. He hoped he was doing the right thing all the way around.
When he turned back, Jack stood at the bar. The compassion Randy saw in his eyes surprised him. For some reason, Randy found he was explaining, “Danny’s just a kid I’m giving a safe place to stay for a while. Until he finds his feet.”
“I heard.” Jack sounded husky when he added, “Hero.”
Randy shook his head. “It’s nothing like that. He was in trouble, and I have room to spare.” Jack continued to look at him steadily, and Randy dropped his gaze first. “Do you want a drink?”
Lying Eyes Page 15