by B. G. Thomas
Don’t think about that.
He hadn’t liked it when Gerald insisted they open up their relationship, showing him in a book called The Male Couple that most gay men weren’t monogamous, at least after a set number of years. The first time Gerald had gone off to be with another man had near killed Charlie.
But then afterward Gerald had been his old self. The sweet, fun, affectionate one.
It didn’t last. Two or three months, maybe?
And then he’d go off on another “playdate”—God, that phrase had made Charlie’s gut turn—and as much as Charlie hated that, Gerald seemed to bring that old version of Gerald—the one Charlie had fallen for—back home with him when he returned.
He supposed that’s why he had put up with it, although he’d never even once slept with anyone but Gerald while they were together, despite his lover’s insistence that he could, even should. But Charlie was too old-fashioned. The truth was, the sex had never been that great. At first he thought it was, but as time passed, Charlie realized it was really the fact that he was having sex and having it with a partner that he liked.
Not loved? asked Aunt Charlotte.
When he heard Harry and Cody and especially their neighbor Frank, talk about sex, he began to suspect that he was missing out on something.
And while he wasn’t a virgin before he met Gerald, pretty much all his experiences until then had been one-night stands, which were awkward and always left him feeling a little cheap afterward. He began to wonder if the loving would ever be as good for him as it seemed to be for everybody else. Or was there something wrong with him? If maybe he should just give up?
The thought of craigslist surfaced again, but no. No way. Charlie couldn’t imagine shopping for sex like shopping for dishes on an online website! Sex was way too personal.
Besides, hadn’t Gerald said you couldn’t advertise for sex anymore on craigslist?
Stop! Stop thinking about him!
The list!
The cranberry sauce Charlie could take or leave. But Frank was making it from scratch. Charlie had never had anything except the gross jelly stuff from a can. So what the heck? Maybe it would be good.
And he’d written “Pie?” there at the end because—pumpkin pie? How did that say Christmas? And would one pie be enough?
With Harry’s neighbors, he had five. Surely that would be enough. But a choice would have been nice.
Six people. Now that would have been nice. But he’d been afraid to ask any of his single friends for dinner, despite the fact that he knew a few of them had no place to go, because he didn’t want them to think he was asking for a date. So he would be the fifth wheel at his own Christmas meal. But that was okay.
And funny, but being the fifth wheel was better than having Gerald at his side. A man so pretty on the outside but who turned out to be so ugly on the inside.
Why did I stay with him?
You’re not with him now. It was Aunt Charlotte again. He never knew when she’d show up.
But he left me, he told her.
And if that’s not something to be thankful for, I don’t know what is.
But will I ever have someone at my side at special holiday events like Thanksgiving or Christmas? Kissing on New Year’s Eve? Sitting on a picnic blanket and watching fireworks on the Fourth of July, for God’s sake? Someone who truly loves me?
No answer.
Charlie glanced down at that lower corner of his computer screen for perhaps the twenty-fifth time in the last hour. Maybe the fiftieth.
(Seventy-fifth?)
He couldn’t help it.
It was five thirty.
Six o’clock was the time when Tory said he was teaching his class. And gosh, it would be so nice to see the young man again. Just the thought of those hazel eyes and his not-quite-a-beard (would the hair be soft? sharp?) made his heart rush and started a stirring in his slacks. God. Had a man ever really made him feel this way?
No.
Not since he was about fourteen anyway.
But a ceramics class? Like he could do such a thing! He’d make a fool of himself. Five layers of red glaze for the berries? He’d make a mess. Then everyone would laugh. Or at least they would behind his back. And he didn’t want Tory to think anything bad about him.
That’s silly, and you know it.
“Well, we need to get out of here,” Gay said, startling him.
Charlie looked up from his computer. “What?” And did a double take. What in the world was she wearing? This morning it had been faux tiger skin (but to the nines). Now she was in an oversized T-shirt with jeans? And tennis shoes? Of course the T-shirt did say Queen of the Universe, and there were crowns on the tops of each of her shoes. But whoa! He couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen her so dressed down outside her home.
“We’ve got Tory’s ceramics class.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“I shit thee not. I told you it’s been a long time since I’ve done ceramics, and hearing Tory talk about his classes… well, I got excited.”
“So why me?” he asked, his voice cracking like a teenager’s.
“How else am I going to get you to go? You’re never going to have the nerve on your own.”
Charlie gulped. Actually felt the sweat break out over his forehead. Geez. His stomach. It was twisting in knots. Why in the world was he feeling like this?
Gay raised one of her perfect eyebrows and gave him a little smirk. “You know you’re dying to go. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t give you a little push?”
He wasn’t sure about that. Charlie still didn’t think he had the talent required for such work. His pieces would look like a preschooler had done them. But in the end, the idea of seeing Tory again was too much to resist.
He’d never kiss such a beautiful young man, but the class would still be nice.
Gay grinned.
And he knew he’d lost the fight.
Chapter Nine
“THE THING to remember when choosing between glaze and stains,” Tory told his students that evening, “is the final effect you want.”
They sat at a long worktable in his basement. He had three people with him today, not the six he was hoping for. Or the two more he was hoping for. No. The one.
Three of his students were looking at him with rapt attention. Tory glanced at the clock on the stone wall for what felt like the fiftieth time.
Seventy-fifth?
6:10 p.m.
It looked like Gay and Charlie weren’t coming. That Charlie wasn’t coming. He was sure the handsome man had been attracted to him. Maybe he had misread the situation?
He sighed inwardly and turned his attention to his students.
“What do you mean, Mr. Phillips?” asked Shirley, a plump-faced and entirely sweet older lady who had, like most of his students this time of year, decided she was going to make personal gifts for friends and family for Christmas. She was a paler white than the fired bisqueware and wore a lot of mascara and eye shadow, giving her a very snowman-looking appearance. Or snowwoman. Which was exactly what she was getting ready to paint today. Both a snowman and a snowwoman.
Tory was ready for her question. He swiveled his chair around and, carefully ignoring a few pieces—personal pieces—took two Christmas elves off a shelf behind him and then placed them on the table.
“This one,” he said, pointing to an elf sitting with its leg crossed, hands on knees, “is glazed. It has a shiny glass-like look to it. See?”
“Oh yes!” Shirley said. “That’s what I want.”
“It’s a nice, classic look,” Tory said. “But it’s difficult to get the shading and details you can get with stains. Especially when you’re a novice.”
He picked up the second elf, who was standing, arm around a Christmas tree as if it were a buddy. “Now this one is stained,” he said. “And the advantage of this is that you can give your piece all kinds of details.” And it did too. He’d painted each ornament on the tree an
d dusted it with snow, as well as the elf’s shoulders. He’d painted the lacings on the elf’s jacket, stripes on its stockings, and used three kinds of yellow for the blond hair. “You can also use a technique called antiquing, which gives it all kinds of depth.”
All three of them oohed and awed over that.
Clock.
6:15.
“I’d love that,” said Karey, a young lady of about twenty or so.
Love what? He floundered for a second, for his wandering mind had made him forget what he’d just said!
Oh. Stains. Karey wanted to use stains.
“The problem there, though,” Tory replied, “is that you’ve chosen dinnerware.” He touched one of her four bisque teapots. “They hold liquid, and so you’ll have to use glaze. That whole food-safety thing.”
She looked disappointed.
The clock said 6:20.
“Okay,” she said. “Besides, it’ll go faster, and I have a bunch of these I want to do.”
He nodded, his flop of curly hair bouncing. He used to hate it. But he finally took it on as his signature look. Along with the fact that he was never going to have any meat on him like the men he was attracted to. No one was ever going to mistake him for Richard Karn from Home Improvement. In fact with a little tanning spray—he was a pretty pale man—he’d made a passable Prince for Halloween. But then, who was happy with what nature gave them?
Thank goodness there were men who liked his skinny body, even though he hated it. He looked in the mirror, and all he could see were rib bones for days. It’s why he wore such baggy clothes. To hide his body, even though Gay and a few of his skinny bar friends told him he should show it off.
But Tory couldn’t bring himself to do that.
“Well, I want the gloss!” Shirley announced, startling Tory back to the real world. So Tory directed her to the bottles of glaze. Then tried not to cringe as she slopped them on, making her Barbie-doll-sized snowman’s eyes as big as real coal with a big blunt brush, despite all the times he’d tried to show her how to use the smaller brushes. She crossed the lines on the snowman’s scarf and hat like a kindergartener coloring. But hell. She was having fun. That was the point.
Karey looked like she was going to take her time, though, and was carefully painting, with one eye closed, the other squinting.
He checked on Donna, his third student, the lady from next door, and saw she was busy with the stains. She knew what she was doing, had used his studios for years, and he barely had to give her a glance.
He took advantage of that and quickly checked the clock again. It was 6:25. A little later than he thought. The hope that Charlie might come was making the hands on its face drag.
6:26.
Which meant there was no way they were coming.
But then….
“Woo-hoo” came a call that could only be Gay, and Tory’s heart was suddenly racing. Could that mean…?
Gay burst into the room, hands waving. “I am so sorry, dear heart! We left in plenty of time, but then I remembered that Charlie wasn’t exactly dressed for painting, and we stopped to let him change.”
Charlie? Tory perked up.
And then Charlie stepped into the room, and for one crazy moment, Tory thought his heart had stopped.
Chapter Ten
MY GOD, Tory thought. I’ve got a crush! One meeting at Bells, Bows, and Beyond—Prices so low, you’ll think we’re Holicrazy!—and I have a crush!
Except was it at Bells, Bows, and Beyond that he’d first met Charlie?
“Charlie!” he cried. “I am so glad you came.” He couldn’t help but grin. Sweet, handsome Charlie was here!
“Hel-lo!” Gay cried. “I am here too!”
Tory jumped and turned and—God! He’d completely ignored Gay.
“Hello, Gay!” he said with all the enthusiasm he could muster. Which wasn’t hard because he did love her so. He hugged her tight and looked at Charlie over her shoulder. Wished he could hug the handsome man. But somehow, he thought Charlie might just bolt for it if he did.
He did shake his hand, though (when he finished Gay’s hug of course) and relished how his slim hand almost disappeared in Charlie’s much bigger one. Charlie. What big hands you have!
The better to ravish me with?
If only!
And damn if Charlie didn’t blush. So cute! Gosh, so cute. Oh, you sweet man.
“We’re gonna have so much fun tonight,” Tory said, and Charlie turned even redder. Which for some reason made Tory blush. Because he suddenly realized how Charlie had taken what he’d said. Which wasn’t what he’d meant, but he certainly wouldn’t mind.
There was a stirring in his boxers. Such a wonderful feeling. Stretching. Wakening. Another reason he was glad he wore baggy pants. When had been the last time he’d gotten aroused so easily simply looking at a man?
Well. He was thirty-four. He could still get hard if the wind blew right. But from actually being interested in a man? It had been quite a while.
“I—I was thinking that maybe I’d try my hand at those napkin rings,” Charlie said.
The napkin rings.
“Well, crap,” he said. “The ones that are ready to be painted are already called for. I’ve got an order. I’ve got a set poured and they’ll be greenware, ready to clean, in a day or so. I could clean them for you and then they’d be ready next week.” Then he saw the disappointment on Charlie’s face.
He could give him the rings that were already fired. Mrs. Pelcher wouldn’t mind if hers were a few days late. And he had told Charlie that if he came to his class, he could make his own.
“You know,” he said. “I just realized I can give you the fired ones and still finish another set by Sunday!”
Charlie shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t be right. If you’ve got an order, then—”
“No!” Tory shook his head. “A deal’s a deal. I said you could work on your own napkin rings if you came tonight.”
Came tonight? He almost giggled.
Tory! Get your mind out of the gutter!
He got in control, switched Horny Boy off, and turned Teacher Mode on, and repeated what he’d said. “I mean it. A deal’s a deal.”
“Well… if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure!” He walked over to the shelf where he’d put the fired pieces from yesterday, remembering at the last moment to ask Gay what she wanted to do. Charlie was getting to him for sure. It wasn’t easy to forget Gay.
Tory got another little tickle at the corner of his mind. Something that told him he’d seen Charlie before. Not at The Male Box. Somehow, he just couldn’t see Charlie at a loud dance and drag-queen bar.
“I’m thinking a pair of these darling Mr. and Mrs. Snowman,” Gay said, going to the shelves where students could pick out prefired pieces ready to glaze. These were available for students at a slightly higher price because they didn’t want to clean greenware and wait for them to be fired, or because they’d been abandoned by students who came to one class and never returned. It happened. Gay had been here enough times to know what she was doing.
“Why don’t you two sit down at the end here?” Tory suggested, motioning them to a pair of empty chairs. He gathered up nine rings—one for breakage!—and placed them in front of Charlie along with appropriate-sized brushes, and then he collected some of the bright red glaze he used for the decorative berries. He knew Gay could find what she wanted on her own.
“Just remember to start with the red—”
“—and give them five coats,” Charlie finished.
Tory grinned. “That’s right.” Charlie remembered.
“Five coats,” Gay confirmed.
As it turned out, Charlie was doing fine. He wasn’t half as bad as he’d said he’d be.
Chapter Eleven
WELL. I’LL be. I’m not half as bad at this as I thought I’d be.
To Charlie’s amazement, it really wasn’t that hard. The berries stood out perfectly, even though the ceramic napkin rings
were what Tory called “bisqueware,” which was very white.
Charlie was detail-oriented after all.
And it was kind of fun. He didn’t think he’d want to do more than nine of them—couldn’t imagine doing hundreds of them the way Tory must do—but nine? Sure. Even with five coats.
Gay was laughing and holding court as she painted Gay and Alejandro Snowman. But Charlie tried to stay focused. He really wanted to do a good job. Not only because he wanted the rings to be as close to perfect as possible for his dining room table, but he wanted to impress Tory as well. He didn’t know why.
He was done surprisingly fast, though. A little over an hour, and apparently Gay wasn’t even close to ready to go, although Shirley—she who painted with a heavy brush—was long gone.
So wanting to be around Tory as long as he could—damn he wanted to touch that almost-beard so badly…. Would it be soft? Scratchy?—Charlie looked over Tory’s shelves and shelves of clay pieces and greenware and….
…found something completely different. There were several pieces drying that didn’t look at all like typical dime-store pottery. Pieces that certainly didn’t look poured.
“Tory, if you don’t mind me asking, what are these?” He pointed but did not touch. They looked delicate. Gorgeous as well. Pottery that looked more like sculpture than something that could store sugar or flour or display flowers.
And gosh, was Tory blushing?
“Oh, that’s nothing,” Tory said with a wave.
“To hell it is! These are beautiful!” The pieces seemed to fold in on themselves, like a special effect from a science fiction movie.
Gay was at his elbow, with an, “Aren’t they amazing? This is what Tory really does!”
“Oh my God,” Charlie cried, remembering. “That piece I love so much in your office.” A weaving of sheets and strips of clay, glazed in coopers and golds.
“Yup!” she exclaimed. “That’s his!”
“Tory! If you can do work like this, why are you wasting your time on nativity scenes?”
“Because nativities pay the bills. And unless I make a name for myself—”