Fire Balls

by Tara Lain

“So?”

  “Come on inside.” They walked into the studio. When they got into the entry, Rod paused against the desk. “He was there.”

  “He? You mean the firefighter? Your model, right. I heard. They say he’s gorgeous.”

  “He was embarrassed.”

  “By the fight?”

  “Partly. Having this little weirdo stick up for him couldn’t have been comfortable. But mostly because I showed the painting. His parents were with him and, of course, they knew it was him right away.”

  David laughed. “Yeah, I guess they washed that cock before it was so beautiful.”

  “Anyway, I want you to take the painting and sell it, but no showing. Find somebody out of state, preferably. Nobody from Laguna, okay? You can figure out something to do with the money. I don’t care.”

  “You sure, dear? That’s gonna be a hell of a lot of money.”

  “Actually, I’m selling like hotcakes. Apparently everyone has to have a Roman since he felled the Philistine. Besides, I do all right. You know that.”

  “Yes, dear. You’re my best seller. I’m more worried about your heart than your pocketbook.” David wrapped an arm around Rod’s neck and urged him to the couch, where they sat.

  “I’ll survive.”

  David looked around. “Wow, this place is cleared out.”

  “Told you. I’m selling down to the walls.”

  The nude of Hunter stood dramatically on the easel in the room’s center. David nodded at it. “So you love this guy?”

  “I’ll get over it.”

  “You don’t think he cares for you?”

  He likes my cock in his ass. “I’m not his type.”

  “He’s the loser. How about I find a new guy for you this time?”

  He tried to grin. “Yeah, setting up dates for each other has been so successful.”

  David grinned. He never let Rod forget that boring blind date, but he’d met his lover Gareth in the bathroom that night. Long story. “Me and the boys will go shopping for a new mate for Rod.”

  Rod sighed and got up to wrap a huge sheet of paper around the painting. “Actually, darling, I’m kind of off love right now.”

  “But not off sex. You’re never off that.”

  Was he? He’d had the best sex of his life in a couple of clandestine hookups with a man who was ashamed of him. Maybe his judgment was failing. “At least for the short term, I’m going to try for celibacy.”

  David helped with the paper’s other end. “Saint Rodney? I don’t think so.”

  HAPPY FAMILY gathering. Brunch at the Newport Hotel. Champagne and way too much food at way too high a price. Shit, Hunter didn’t want to be here. He watched his father dote on Jerry. It’s what Hunter had intended when he’d introduced them, but…. Jesus, what was wrong with him?

  He knew the answer to that.

  “Hunter?” His mom put her hand on his arm.

  Had she been calling him for a while? “Sorry. I was daydreaming.”

  “Looked more like worry to me.” His sister grinned. May knew him pretty well.

  Beside him, his mom leaned back in her chair. May and Jerry sat across from him, and his dad was at the head, where the wheelchair fit best. One big happy et cetera.

  His mom twisted to snag a champagne bottle from a side table where the waiter had left it. She poured into his glass until it almost ran over. “Okay, give.”

  “What?”

  “Drink and then tell us what’s happening with you.”

  “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

  “You’re as far from fine as I’ve ever seen you.”

  His sister sipped her champagne. “I agree.”

  “Come on, you guys, give me a break. You’ll embarrass Jerry airing family laundry.”

  His mother smiled benignly at Jerry. “I suspect Jerry doesn’t embarrass easily.”

  He grinned back, showing his shiny white California-boy teeth. “No, ma’am.”

  “See? Besides, he’s involved in this.”

  “How?” Hunter looked at his dad for help and got a shrug in return. “And what ‘this’ are you talking about?”

  “You’ve always been circumspect about your lovers, Hunter. I can hardly remember ever meeting one of them. And yet you bring Jerry to meet us like he’s your intended when it’s perfectly obvious the two of you are not in love.”

  Jerry frowned. “We’re not?” He raised his eyebrows like he’d just realized some new idea.

  His mom plowed on. “Jerry, you admire Hunter and you think he’s beautiful. He’s the kind of man you want to want, but if you look closely, you’ll find that you’re uncomfortable with him. You probably tread on eggshells around him, and that’s no way to live.” She turned the full force of her gaze on Hunter. “And you know Jerry and your dad are two of a kind. You desperately want your father to admire you, so you brought him a man you hope will make him more comfortable with you being gay. You think if he can accept Jerry being gay, he’ll accept you.”

  “Hang on!” His dad leaned forward in the chair, brows compressed over his deep blue eyes. “Who the hell ever said I don’t accept my son being gay?”

  Heads turned. His dad noticed and lowered his voice. “It’s not what I would have chosen, but I’m proud of everything about you, Hunter. Hell, you’re an athlete and a firefighter and—”

  “And that’s another thing.” His mother eyed her husband, then directed a narrowed gaze back at Hunter. “You say you’re happy being a firefighter despite the fact that you studied literature when given your own choice. Then we see that you’re being harassed in the fire department by an asshole of the first order. A perfectly charming young man defends you, and you’re angry with him, not the asshole.”

  Jerry cocked his head. “Hey! Yeah, man, what’s up with that? I hear that dude is a bad guy. It’s good Rod took him out. Why were you pissed?”

  “I wasn’t exactly pissed.”

  His sister leaned over and pinched his cheek. “I think you like the guy.”

  He pulled back. Damn the woman. She was relentless.

  “Yep, I think you like him, and you were upset that he had to defend you. You want to take care of him.”

  “No!”

  She sipped some more champagne. “Just sayin’.”

  Silence. Everyone stared at him. Well, shit.

  Jerry’s eyes were huge. “Is she right? Do you like Rod? Y’know, that way?”

  He shook his head. Why couldn’t he say no?

  Jerry flashed his sunny smile. “Because, man, that would be rad. I mean, he’s just the kind of guy you should have. Hell, he loves all that poetry and shit. And he’s the smartest guy I know, like you’re so smart. Does he like you too?”

  He shook his head again.

  “I’ll talk to him. You know Rod is loyal like a real friend, and he might think different if he knew you and me weren’t together, you know?”

  “No! Don’t talk to him. I saw him for a few minutes last night, and I’m way too much trouble for him. Hell, he doesn’t even want to see the damned painting again. Don’t talk to him. Forget it, okay?”

  “He doesn’t give up on people, man. He’s stuck with me through so much, and he’s even gonna help me with studying for the firefighter exams.”

  “Don’t talk to him. I’m not you, Jerry. I’m a lot more annoying.”

  His sister laughed. “Well, that’s certainly the truth.”

  Though the quip lightened the mood, his mom still looked concerned. Someone changed the subject, but for him the subject would never be over.

  He managed to keep the attention off himself through the rest of the brunch. His folks were scheduled to fly out the next day, and because his sister was taking them to the airport, he drove over to his sister’s house to spend a few minutes chatting as his good-bye. He really wanted to go home and think, but he didn’t see his folks every day.

  After about an hour of conversation, he felt like he’d been polite enough. He loved his parents and d
idn’t want to shortchange them, but he was so damned distracted. “Hey, guys. Gotta go. Have a long shift tomorrow.”

  His mom gave him a big hug. “Please think about some of the things we said, will you?”

  “Yeah. I promise.”

  May called from the kitchen. “Be good, bro, and if not, be careful.” She laughed at the old joke, which somehow rang a little too close to home. “See you soon.”

  “Bye, May.”

  “I’ll go out with you,” his father said.

  Interesting. He and his dad usually talked sports and fire. He wasn’t a big heart-to-heart guy.

  His dad wheeled over to the front door, where May had installed a ramp so he could get in and out of the house easily. They went out to the car in silence. When they got to the driver’s side, Hunter stopped. Had his dad just come along to be companionable?

  His father looked down at his hands. “What your mother said, about you bringing Jerry to try and make up for being gay or some such crap.”

  “I know you’re not ashamed of me, Dad.”

  The piercing eyes, bluer than his own, looked up at Hunter. “But I’m kind of ashamed. Of me. She’s right that I have tried to make you live a life that I would have enjoyed without really asking if it’s what you would choose. And I want you to understand that’s a mistake I would have made whether or not you were gay. You’re good at so many things, Hunter. I’m just as proud of your master’s in lit as I am of your football scores.” He grinned. “Well, almost as proud, but I want to be just as proud. And most of all, I want you to be happy. Doing whatever it is that you really like best. And doing it with whomever you like best. I want you to get that.”

  Son of a bitch. “Thanks, Dad. I love you, and I want to make you happy.”

  “The best way to do that is for you to be happy. Will you do that for me?”

  Tears prickled behind his eyelids. “Yes, sir. I will.” He leaned down and hugged his father tight.

  “Come see us soon, okay?”

  He nodded. Not even enough breath for words. His dad wheeled back in the house as Hunter got in the car. He waved and grabbed his phone. He pushed the button. “Call Bill Abraham.”

  A few seconds later a voice answered. “This is Bill.”

  “Hi, Bill, this is Hunter Fallon. I don’t know if you remember me, but I got your number from Jerry….”

  NOTHING HAD been the same since he’d met Rodney Mansfield. Hunter stared at the statues of strange round people on the fountain outside the station house. He didn’t quite understand this artwork. But he did get Rod’s. Rod was a genius. His art was masterful.

  Hunter set his book on the side of the fountain. No use pretending he was reading. He’d just stare at the weird sculpture. Funny. Weird was the way Rod described himself. Homo fag. Both were actually true. With his purple-tipped hair. Or blue. Or pink. The multiple earrings. His tiny-sized, bright clothes and flamboyant manner. They all added up to the kind of gay guy Hunter ran from. But Rod wasn’t a “kind” of anything. He was himself—authentic, special.

  Hunter knew if he could paint, he’d want to paint Rod. That great face. Jerry called him adorable. Almost pretty. Big eyes and soft, girlish lips. That shock of bleached hair falling in front of his forehead, a great contrast to the slim, hard body and big cock. Yeah, Hunter knew up close and personal just how big that cock was.

  He ran a hand through his hair. Couldn’t get the guy out of his mind. The idea of never seeing him again, never having that cock in his ass…. Shit, it made him crazy. He should be glad to be rid of him, but he wasn’t. Still, he’d screwed any chance of even having Rod as a friend.

  He blew out a long stream of air. He had to get his head on straight. Tomorrow was a big day. The call to Bill had been magic. Bill really wanted to help. If the meeting he set up panned out at all, maybe Hunter could grab the brass ring and become a teacher. God, the idea gave him goose bumps. He loved firefighting. But teaching? Wow. Teaching felt real to him.

  Wonder what Rod would say about him switching jobs?

  He shook his head. Get over it.

  The alarm bell shocked him out of his stupor. His body jerked. No thinking, just response. He leaped up and cleared the few yards into the station in seconds, grabbed his gear, and had it on before the rest of the guys made it out of the ready room. “What is it?”

  Cam was also dressed. “Building fire on Laguna Canyon Road. One of the art studios, they said. Tough one. Paint is really flammable.”

  His mind locked on a picture of an old, struggling space heater on an ancient cord. Shit! Rod. But no, he’d be at the festival manning his stand. Safe. Oh God, please. Strictly against protocol, but he fished his cell out of his pants and dialed.

  The voice on the other end sounded worried. “Hunter?”

  “Quick, Jerry. Do you know where Rod is?”

  “At the festival. I just heard about the fire. Shit. Is it his studio?”

  “Don’t know yet. All those beautiful paintings. I hope not.”

  “No, man, all the paintings are at the festival. He said he cleaned out most all of his inventory because of the fight. People are crazy for his stuff.”

  “Good. Gotta go.” He clicked off and jumped into the truck, taking his seat beside Cam. The engine raced down Laguna Canyon Road.

  Straight toward Rod’s studio.

  They turned into the drive, looky-loos scattering. Flames leaped out of the roof of the low structure where he’d first learned what real orgasm meant. Maybe what real love meant. The sight hurt Hunter’s heart. If Jerry was right, maybe the real loss—the priceless art—would be avoided, thanks to the fight. Yeah, the fight he ought to feel grateful for instead of pissed off about.

  The firefighters piled out onto the hard-packed dirt drive and hauled the hose toward the hydrant out by the highway. Shit, they were just going to make it… if they were lucky.

  “Save him. Help, please, help,” one woman screamed, pointing toward the building.

  What? He gave his spot on the hose to another man and ran to the woman’s side. “Ma’am. What do you mean?”

  The woman on the driveway was white as a cloud and pointing, her mouth working. “Rod. Rodney. He ran in. Do something.”

  He gripped her arm. “Ran in? Rodney ran in there?” Ice froze his heart.

  “Yes, yes. I came over to see, and suddenly he just ran past me and straight in the door. I don’t know where his car is….”

  Hell no! He pulled on his respirator and ran toward the door of the studio. His heart beat way too fast. Had to get control. Why, why would Rod do it? What was worth his life? His life. He couldn’t die. Hell, no.

  “Fallon, wait. Don’t go in alone,” Cam screamed behind him.

  Hell, no. No time to wait. Rod was in there.

  The screen door, the damned squeaky screen door, hung half off its hinges. He tore it away and, hunched against the heat, moved into the studio. Smoke. Embers raining down. The heat pushed like a wall through his gear. The flames crawled along the half-missing roof like a snake slinking along a branch, hissing.

  Stop. Think. The part of the structure closest to the door remained most intact. He dropped to the floor and scooted along a few feet. Not much in here. Beside him, the old desk had burned nearly to ash. His heart hammered. Breathe slowly. Don’t panic.

  Where is he? Can’t be too late. No, hell, no. Never too late. He crawled another couple of feet and pressed his head down by the floor, squinting through the smoke…. Yes!

  A body. Rod. Collapsed on the floor clutching a small canvas to his chest. The insane idiot. No painting was worth this. Crouching, Hunter covered the few steps.

  Jesus, Rod looked so small. And… so still. Hell, no. Hunter pulled Rod into his arms. Felt right. Felt good. Hunter took off his respirator and fitted it over Rod’s nose and mouth. Breathe for me, baby. Rod’s body hung, limp as a doll. Shit. No!

  He knee-walked to the door in record time and started through it just as two other firefighters jump
ed over him into the ruined studio. The fresh air hit like a fist, the bright light blinding. He coughed and saw the guys with EMT equipment running toward him. He looked down at Rod draped in his arms. “You’re okay. Breathe, dear. Breathe.”

  Movement. Slight but there. The eyelids fluttered, and Hunter stared into bloodshot brown. He pulled off the respirator, and Rod coughed convulsively. Hunter leaned over but could barely hear the whisper. “I couldn’t let you go.”

  “Hey, Fallon, we got him.” The EMT reached out and tried to take the canvas from those graceful, lethal hands. Rod’s eyes had closed, but he clutched the painting to his chest like a child clutches a doll.

  Hunter murmured, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got it.”

  Two EMTs took Rod from Hunter’s arms. He gently extricated the canvas from Rod’s hands and watched them load him onto a stretcher. God, he looked so small and vulnerable. But that little frame contained a mighty heart. Why in hell had he done it?

  As the EMTs loaded the stretcher into the ambulance, Hunter glanced at the canvas. Sweet Jesus. His own face looked back. Perfect, illuminated, glowing as if it emitted light. Heat filled his chest, prickling behind his eyes. Shit, he wanted to smack Rod. Right after he kissed him.

  Rod had run into a burning building to save a painting of… Hunter. Why was it in there? Jerry said Rod had taken all the paintings to the festival.

  Hunter eyeballed the studio. A total loss, but they’d been able to keep the fire contained. None spread to the surrounding trees or nearby structures. The building that Hunter had heard Rod describe as his soul smoldered like an overcooked marshmallow.

  “He gonna be okay?”

  Hunter looked over at Cam. “Yeah. He must have inhaled a lot of smoke, but he’s tough.”

  “That’s the guy who beat the shit out of Mick, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then I’ll second the tough part. Hell, he’s half Mick’s size.”

  “A black belt in karate.”

  “What ya got?” Cam pointed his chin toward the painting.

  He didn’t really want to show it. Too personal. But this was Cam. He handed over the painting.

  “Holy shit, that’s beautiful.”