Gasp!

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “While nice, your obvious concern for my well-being will seem unnatural, so stop it.”

  “Sorry.” Jeff dropped his hand. “Habit.”

  “If you act like a hired thug, people will wonder who I am and why I need you.”

  “I said I was sorry. From now on I’ll just act like you’re my mother or my maiden aunt or something. Solicitous but not overtly vigilant.”

  Nigel frowned “Your maiden—”

  “So you said we’re going to a pub? You’ll need to tell me where it is.”

  “Oh Mr. Paxton?” Tully called from where he’d been talking to a patron at the concierge’s desk.

  Both men turned slowly.

  “Yes?” Jeff answered.

  “Were you able to persuade Mr. Gasp he might find better accommodations elsewhere?”

  “Uh, no. I’m sorry. I’ll tell him in the morning.” Jeff glanced at Nigel and then back at Tully. “Mr. Gasp was sleeping when I left.”

  Tully regarded them without expression. If Tully recognized him, he gave no sign of it. “I’d appreciate it if you would.”

  Jeff reassured him. “I will. But while I’m off the clock, I thought I’d take my aunt and show her around town. She’s never been to Bluebird Mountain before.”

  “Hasn’t she? Well. Excellent.” Tully smiled and extended his hand, over which Nigel draped his own as he murmured the niceties with as close an approximation to an American accent as he could get. The long sleeve of his sweater covered his tattoo, mostly. Tully didn’t look away from his face. “There are many things to enjoy here all year round, Mrs…?”

  “It’s Miss. Call me Ivy.” Nigel smiled sweetly.

  “Ivy it is then. There are many things to enjoy here at Bluebird Mountain Resort, Ivy. I hope you’ll stay with us for a few days.”

  “Sadly no. I’m only here for this one night. I’m so glad Jeff has the time to escort me to dinner.”

  “Well, if you find yourself staying longer, I hope you’ll ask the concierge for advice on where to dine and…” Tully removed his wallet from the inside pocket of his suit coat. “Here. Let me give you my card. I’d be happy to show you around personally if Jeff is otherwise occupied, for example, packing for Mr. Gasp’s change of residence.”

  “Thank you so much.” Nigel deposited the card into his empty little prop purse. “I will keep that in mind.”

  “I’d certainly like for you to call on me, anytime.” Tully’s wide white smile nearly blinded Nigel, who allowed Jeff to pull him away.

  After they made their way out the massive, revolving door, Jeff spoke. “Lucky girl. You could be getting laid tonight, Aunt Ivy.”

  “Ooh, d’you think so?” Nigel said lightly. “Fingers crossed.”

  “I have to say”—Jeff stopped walking and turned to him—“I never gave you much credit for acting. You’re really good.”

  Nigel shrugged. “Nigel Gasp is only one of the characters I play. You should understand that. I reckon a military man has to act tougher than he feels sometimes. He’s got to be brave when any sane person would run like the devil. All the world’s a stage, boy.”

  “How close is the Nigel character to the real you?”

  “Who knows? I’m a performer, so I perform.”

  “Color me impressed, Nigel Gasp.” Jeff took Nigel’s hand and laid it in the crook of his arm. He led him gently to the right—as if he were actually squiring his aunt to dinner. “My car is over there, ma’am.”

  Nigel gave a husky laugh. “My word, such a gentleman.”

  Jeff pointed out an older red Mustang fastback under the security lights. “The car’s not what you’re used to, I’m afraid.”

  “You don’t know enough about me to know what I’m used to.”

  “Point taken.”

  “I admit you might have seen me at my worst.” Nigel let Jeff open the passenger door. He got in, twitching his skirt into place over his knees as if he wore one every day, and glanced up. “Or my best, depending.”

  Jeff leaned in. “Come on. The destruction? The orgies? The drunks? The drugs? That’s nobody’s best.”

  “Nigel Gasp is guaranteed to be the life of the party. I can’t be responsible for every person who shows up.”

  “You are responsible. That’s exactly my point. And if anything happens—”

  “If anything happens, your sister fixes it. And you’re here in her stead, so it’s down to you now. That’s how it works.”

  “What if someone loses consciousness and aspirates? What if they do too much X or blow? What if they drink so much they die or kill someone in a car accident?”

  “You’re here to keep that from happening.”

  “I’m not Superman.”

  “Funny you should mention that because—”

  “I think you really need to slow down, Nigel.”

  Nigel rolled his eyes. “No offense, sunshine, but you’re meat. You’re not paid to think.”

  Jeff slammed the door in his face. Nigel thought maybe he’d deserved that.

  Jeff may not care for egomaniacs, but it was odd how many other people loved them. People expected bad behavior from celebrities—so much so that it had become almost a cottage industry. There was no accounting for taste. He knew people who would sell their souls to hang out with some hard-partying celebutantes, even when they got treated like shit.

  Nigel Gasp is the life of the party. That’s what it says on the Nigel Gasp tin. When Nigel couldn’t stand it anymore—when he needed to be someone else because he knew one more second on the roller coaster would kill him—he became Ivy the Librarian or any of a number of male and female personas that Jeff knew nothing about.

  Jeff got in beside him and paused before starting up the engine. “Where is this place we’re going?”

  “Left out of the car park.” He’d used his own voice but softened it.

  “Back to Britain, are we?”

  “Might I be Cousin Ivy from England? It’s hard for me to do a credible American accent unless it’s southern.”

  “Seems like you did all right in there.”

  “I’m from England; my mum was Irish; I’ve lived all over the world—here in the States for the last five years. I’m a born mimic, so I don’t have a clue how I talk anymore. But I think Ivy’s from England.”

  “All right. Cousin Ivy from England it is.”

  “I know you think I’m a pain in the arse.”

  “You don’t know what I think.” Jeff flicked a glance both ways before edging onto the road. “That’s where we need to start, Nigel. You’ve got to have enough respect for me to accept that I’m not your personal plaything. Dee hired me look out for you and keep you safe—to keep things running smoothly. Not to judge you. Not to be played by you. I admit I didn’t act like a professional today. I’m sorry about that. We got off to a rocky start, but I think we can find a way to get along, and mutual respect is the key.”

  Nigel glanced down at his hands. When Jeff put it that way, he felt a little ashamed. “I’m sorry as well.”

  “My sister thinks the world of you. But the wild partying and destruction of property make me uncomfortable. It seems…profligate.”

  “Delighted to hear you’re not judging or anything.”

  Jeff’s shoulders tightened, but he remained silent as they drove along the mountain road. Bluebird Mountain Resort was some small distance from the main part of town. The road was narrow and winding, lined on one side by conifers and steep granite walls and on the other by a minimal guardrail and…nothing. Vast, terrifying drops and empty space. At the base of the velvety-tree-lined chasm Nigel could see a slow-moving river wind its way through a gash on the valley floor, shimmering like the skin of a snake in the moonlight.

  The Mustang handled better than his Range Rover, or maybe Jeff simply drove slower than Amil. He wasn’t being thrown around, and it didn’t feel like the car pulled one way and his body pulled the other. Taking the mountain roads with Amil was like riding in a centrifuge. Nigel
usually spent his time white-knuckling the handhold.

  “Everything all right?” Jeff asked after a while.

  “Yes, thank you.” Nigel folded his hands over the purse in his lap. “When you get to town, take Bluebird Mountain Drive to Village Center Drive and then find parking anywhere you can.”

  Jeff shot him a quick look, then turned back to the road. “You can really pull this off, can’t you?”

  “I’ve done it before, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You melt into the role. I’d never believe you and Ivy were the same person unless I’d been there to see the transformation.”

  “Thank you.” Nigel flushed with pride.

  “It’s clear you could probably fool me anytime you want. Are you going to use that skill to undermine my job?”

  “It may surprise you that we’re on the same side. I want the same things you want. You may not like me, but I need you.”

  Jeff pulled off the main road and began searching the crowded street for a place to park. “It’s not that I don’t like you. I just don’t know you like I thought I did.”

  Jeff had steeled himself to endure the evening out with Nigel. Despite knowing he should relax and act natural, Jeff remained hyperalert, tense, prepared for trouble.

  He’d taken Nigel from the car into the Iron Horse Pub as if he were a billionaire sheikh. He’d checked out every entrance and exit, each bathroom, the kitchen, the pantry—even the trash out back—before he let Nigel sit at the bar and order a drink. He stood at the ready, scanning every face in the place, checking the position of bodies and watching hands until he made a complete fool of himself.

  Not one single person took Nigel for anything but some nice woman out for an evening with awkward cousin Jeff.

  Jeff couldn’t join in, and he couldn’t relax. He stood to the side while Nigel made friends, first with the bartender and then with a pair of flannel-shirt types at the dartboard.

  He drank soda pop and followed Nigel around like a shadow while a couple of fiddlers and a freckly-faced redhead sang folk songs. When Nigel danced with some drunken, middle-aged man and it looked like he’d get his foot broken for his trouble, Jeff cut in.

  Nigel let Jeff take his hand and follow it up with a clumsy box step. “Is this part of the service then?”

  “Can’t have you losing your toes.”

  “He was a nice man, but he was getting a bit of a swerve on. Tried to cop a feel.”

  “Hope you left room for the imagination.” When Nigel looked blankly back at him, Jeff shrugged. “Did you tuck?”

  “No. Ah. I see.” Nigel’s cheeks flushed, and when he glanced up, Jeff’s heart contracted. “You think he’d notice something extra if he pulled me close.”

  Jeff’s throat went dry, but he pulled Nigel to him so they were pressed closer together—not indecently close but chest to chest, hip to hip on the crowded dance floor. They rocked in place, swaying to some slow, sweet Irish ballad about love and loss.

  Christ. Jeff nearly missed his own footing when Nigel’s cock lengthened and filled, swelling against his.

  “Yep. He’d notice.”

  Nigel’s voice was barely a whisper. “It wasn’t a problem when I danced with him.”

  “Ah, Nigel.” Jeff sighed when his cock responded. “I’ve had all the surprises I can take for one day.”

  Nigel smiled, and Jeff liked the way it transformed his face from anxious to happy. He really liked it.

  This new Nigel—current attire aside—was funny and slightly odd. This Nigel was intelligent and well behaved. He was someone a guy could have a beer with—maybe cook a meal for. He was someone Jeff could see watching television with at the end of a long day, or—

  “All you can take?” Nigel nudged him lightly with his hips. “Are you sure about that?”

  Ah, wow. No.

  Jeff shook his head and tried not to look like he regretted stepping back as much as he did. “I’m working here. Just…dance with me, will you? My heart can’t take the strain of anything else tonight, and Dee would cut off my balls.”

  Nigel laughed softly and laid his head on Jeff’s chest. Somehow Jeff had got his hand all tangled up in Nigel’s hair, so he had to stay closer than he should have if he’d meant what he said.

  When the song was over, Jeff returned to his spot by the wall and Nigel approached the raised stage and the redheaded girl with the microphone, who had to lean down to hear him.

  What are you up to?

  One of the fiddlers held a hand out, and as Jeff made his way apprehensively through the crowd, the fiddler pulled Nigel up onto to the stage. The redhead pushed the microphone into Nigel’s hand and stepped back.

  Utterly composed, Nigel took it from him and leaned over to whisper something in the fiddler’s ear. The man nodded.

  While everyone waited, Nigel’s gaze searched the room. Jeff froze where he stood—right in the middle of the dance floor—and when their eyes met, Nigel smiled.

  “I brought a handsome Irish boy with me tonight.” A cheer went up in the crowd. Jeff gave an embarrassed shake of his head. Nigel sounded drunk and a little Irish himself, easily blending that into Cousin Ivy’s shy librarian persona.

  “He’s my cousin, though, so all he gets is this song and fair warning.”

  The crowd laughed at that, already predisposed to like the demure lady with the unruly hair. A single violinist accompanied Nigel, and when he started to sing, the audience’s silence was absolute. The sound coming from Nigel was as different from the music Jeff associated with him as the venue was from the places where he usually performed.

  Nigel’s voice filled the air, and each note fell on Jeff like a crystal drop of musical perfection. He’d softened his normal timbre somehow, lifted it—transformed it completely. He pitched his voice a little higher, sang a little more soulfully, and what came out was nothing short of amazing.

  Jeff recognized the song—the Beatles’ “Blackbird.” It was haunting, and by the time Nigel finished, the audience held its breath, hanging on to each sound, each pure note, like rain on dry earth.

  The song ended, first to stunned silence and then enthusiastic applause.

  Jeff walked toward the little stage before he knew he was even in motion. He was there to take Nigel’s hand when he gave the microphone back to the redheaded singer. He helped Nigel down off the stage, keeping hold of him when it might have been prudent to let go. People watched and probably wondered just what was going on between the pretty singer and her taciturn cousin.

  Nigel blew kisses, full of mischief as usual, but Jeff remained silent. He had the oddest feeling—like Alice in Wonderland, like he’d fallen through some cosmic crack and the world he’d landed in wasn’t governed by the same rules as the one he’d left behind.

  Another brief visual check was enough to tell him reality was not all it was cracked up to be, that or it had been switched off for the evening. Either no one could tell Nigel was a man or no one cared.

  Jeff’s attraction to him was as absurd as it was confusing.

  But oh my fucking God, Jeff was attracted. He was attracted like he’d never been.

  Ever.

  As in-your-face as an extra-loud whoopee cushion, but mercurial and thoroughly gifted, Nigel was just a little bit…magical. And for the briefest span of time, while he held Nigel’s hand, Jeff felt a little magical himself.

  Jeff led Nigel to the door. “Come on, Cinderella. Ball’s over.”

  “So soon?” Nigel dragged his feet.

  “We have to decamp tomorrow.”

  Nigel slumped. “Damn. I forgot.”

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” Jeff held out his hand. “May I escort my lady?”

  Nigel delivered a hiss, but Jeff knew he’d pleased him in some way. “All right.”

  They waved their good-byes to the friendly crowd and strode out into the night. The air was crisp and dry. It bit Jeff’s hands and stung his cheeks. Without even thinking, he pulled Nigel to him, wra
pping an arm protectively around him as they walked the short distance to where they’d parked the car.

  “Wait.” Nigel pulled Jeff into the darkness of an alley between a coffee place and a sandwich shop. Both were empty, having closed for the night. Jeff went willingly enough. He felt a little breathless, a little wary. Turned on and tired at the same time, ready for anything.

  Was Nigel going to come on to him? Such a thing seemed possible. Even likely, given the nature of their chemistry during the dance. What should he do, though? What would Deidre want him to do?

  On the one hand, Nigel was hot. There was no denying the charisma of a man who’d made his living seducing the entire world for more than two decades. On the other, they only had a few weeks before Nigel would go back to his own world as surely as if he’d never left it. That would make Jeff some kind of Nigel groupie, wouldn’t it? A guy who’d fucked a rock star.

  He’d be just another celebrity screw… Christ.

  Jeff pulled away and walked faster. Even his footsteps sounded flustered. Nigel called out to him. “Wait, Jeff…”

  “Come on, it’s cold.” Jeff turned.

  Nigel held his hands out in supplication. “Jeff.” Nigel appeared heartbroken—like he was about to cry.

  What the hell? “What?”

  “Can’t you believe I’m just a boy…dressed up like a girl…in love with a boy?”

  Jeff stopped, and for a few awful heartbeats he worried he’d really done something wrong. Then he realized he’d heard those words before.

  “That’s from a movie, right?” Nigel Gasp is laughing at me. “Fuck you.”

  “Sorry. Right there, you.” Smiling, Nigel moved forward and put both hands on Jeff’s hips to maneuver him into the deepest shadows. God, Nigel could be charming. Disarming in a way Jeff could never prepare himself for.

  “What are you doing?” Jeff asked breathlessly, waiting for Nigel to make his move.

  Nigel lifted his skirt and—right there before God and anyone who entered the alley—took out his man tackle.

  What the hell…? Nigel held onto him with one hand and spread his legs.

  “Block the view.” The sound of a urine stream hitting the wall was followed by a deeply satisfied grunt of relief. “I needed a piss like you would not believe.”