THE NIGHT CALLER
by
Clancy Nacht
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Clancy Nacht on Smashwords
The Night Caller
Copyright © 2009 by Clancy Nacht.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2009901550
ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4415-1349-6
Softcover 978-1-4415-1348-9
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book was printed in the United States of America.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
*****
THE NIGHT CALLER
*****
CHAPTER 1
"All right, William, so you just want University of Houston?" Matt flicked his blond hair out of his face. Most of it was pulled back in a ponytail, but a few tendrils had fallen out, which made his androgynous appearance skew girlish.
As quickly as he'd moved his hair out of the way, the wind picked up again, blowing the stray hairs back into Matt's face and making the green table umbrella quiver. William reached for his tall iced latte to steady it and looked up, past the umbrella, to the blue sky. The clouds were grayish and heavy. It was humid, but that wasn't unusual for Houston.
"Just? I'll have you know that the U of H School of Art is quite rigorous." William rolled his eyes at Matt's derisive snort.
They both knew that it wasn't the most prestigious art school, but it was affordable without a scholarship.
Sliding the eraser of the pencil over his plump lips, Matt adopted a coy look and said, "Oh is that why it took you an extra year to complete it?"
William rolled up a copy of the Houston Press, which was lying on the green-grate tabletop of the outdoor coffee café to swat him. "Brat!"
Admiring the way William's wild brown hair curled and fluttered, Matt almost forgot to dodge. "Don't abuse the gallery owner, William. He might print your brochures on crappy paper. Then you'd look cheap. Don't want patrons thinking you're cheap, do you?"
He slid his foot under the table to tease William's.
Pulling his foot away, William shook his head. "Flirting! What did I tell you about that?"
Matt waved his hand dismissively and went back to checking that he had the information he needed. "Yes, yes, you're not gay, so you say."
"You're an attractive man. If I were ever attracted to one, I'm sure it would be you." William grinned. It was the repetition of the conversation that had been replayed in various ways over the past few months.
William was getting used to his stalker. The attention was flattering, especially from someone who could advance his career.
Sighing, Matt looked over William's resume making a few notes.
Matt was smitten. It wasn't returned, but William saw the advantage of keeping the gallery owner interested.
"Seriously, you've helped me so much. My portfolio was such a mess." William sat forward, moving the spent coffee cup and plate onto the next table. He tried to get Matt to meet his eyes.
"As was your apartment, your love life, and your diet." Matt reached for his leather bag, opened one of the folders inside, and slid the resume in. "I think I have enough here to quickly make you a decent brochure. I hate to cut this short, but if I get this to the designer late, she'll be cranky. And by cranky, I mean she'll bite my head off, and I'm a lousy host when I have no head. Or have had no head. I should look into getting some soon or I'll be the cranky one."
Matt stood, stretched, and then hoisted his bag over his shoulder.
"Shouldn't be a problem for you." William watched He stood up as well, formally offering his hand. "I'll see you Saturday night then?"
Matt swatted away William's hand to lean in for a hug. "Oh, I'll pester you before then, I'm sure. Is there anyone you want me to put on your guest list? A plus one or do I get you all to myself?"
Matt was leaning in for a kiss on the cheek, and the bright, crisp smell of his cologne shook William from his thoughts. "I'm inviting my brother David, but I seriously doubt he'll show."
"Oh! He has a brother." Matt's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Is he as cute as you?"
"No," said William. He responded a little too fast, which made Matt raise a brow.
"Is there some brotherly damage there?"
"No. He's just not as cute as me." William shrugged, trying to play it off, but the truth was, he'd always felt like he had to compete with David for everything. David never seemed like he was competing back, like it wasn't worth it to even get involved. "He's kind of a loser, anyway; didn't go to school, has a shitty job, drinks a lot, you know, not really your type."
"Honey, at this point breathing is my type." Matt batted his lashes playfully.
"He doesn't date. And he's not gay."
"Does he like art?"
"Yeah. I guess so." William frowned.
"Invite him. Even if he's not as cute, I'm sure he's cuter than most. Plus you'd be surprised how nice it is to have family at those sorts of things." Matt held his hand up with his fingers crossed. "Besides, I'll be on my best behavior."
* * *
William sat, tapping nervously at his keyboard, answering instant messages, and checking his mail. Thursday nights were hard nights to motivate his friends with day jobs to go out because mornings came early, according to them. He glared at his cell phone sitting on the desk. It was stubbornly quiet in spite of his frantic calls to get someone to come out somewhere with him. Even Matt turned him down, citing his need to make arrangements at the gallery, but he promised to be online later if William was going to have his cam on.
After reading the latest suggestive email from Matt, he shook his head. The man was incorrigible and unstoppable—a fact that the entire city knew all to well.
When the incumbent, local city representative changed platforms while in office and started to campaign vigorously against gay rights, Matt was there.
Not to debate but to prank him and the media. He sent in anonymous tips about the mayor's sexuality and, through well-placed contacts, had a fair idea where Representative Stickle was going to be at any given time. That was when Matt would make his move. He'd show up, scandalously clad in Lycra hot pants, and get close enough to the mayor to make it appear that they were there together.
"Houston Heir Stickle's Boy Toy" read the first headline. Not only was the man lambasted as a homophobe by the left, but the conservatives also saw him as in denial in spite of the fact that there was little evidence beyond Matt's dubiously worded comments and lascivious implications. There was never any concrete proof of anything, but the Houston media loved their scandals and this scandal especially. Stickle was voted out; a new representative came in. Nothing changed, but at least, it didn't get worse.
Months later, Stickle came out on the record in a splashy press conference and announced his affair with his campaign manager.
After the umpteenth game of solitaire, William checked his inbox. He was excited to see an email from his crush, Rose.
His nose wrinkled when he realized it was just another one of those lame chain memes. He wrote back to ask her what she was doing and if she wanted to go out but received no reply. After twenty minutes, he decided he was bored enough to fill the meme out.
What is your full name? Richard William Boyd
What color pants are you wearing? Jeans
What was the last thing you ate? Mongolian BBQ
What did you do last night? Went dancing, picked up a girl
Last person you talked to on the phone? Matt. I have plans for dinner before the show, but I'll see you there.
The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? Tits
Scary movies or happy endings better? Happy endings
Hugs or kisses? Groping
Relationships or one-night stands? Both
Do you want your friends to write back? Yes, I'm so bored
Who is most likely to respond? Matt
Who is least likely to respond? David
Going through his address book, he knew at least two people who were going to be receiving this meme. Beyond that, he could try sending it to Adam, Matt's intern; and Danielle, Matt's assistant; and then back to Rose. He hoped she'd show up at the opening, but he wasn't very optimistic. He had tried to ask her out on several occasions, but she'd never directly turned him down, but never gave any indication that she'd actually date him.
This was a second prod to David, but William didn't think he'd respond. The misanthrope gene must have been recessive as no one else in his family was quite so closed off as David had always been. His antisocial behavior had always been written off to frustrated artistic ability.
William liked to think of himself as an artist and pursued it, but when David painted, something magical happened. It was enrapturing and somehow powerfully sad. As if there were some deep trauma within him that no one knew about—a secret wound that could only be healed by each stroke of the brush.
But he never expressed the desire to go to school to develop his talent.
Instead he took on a graveyard shift doing technical support, spending night after night talking to angry people.
With the emails sent, William returned to his game of solitaire. He hadn't even sorted out a date for opening night, which likely meant that Matt would consider it an open season to cajole him into a kiss or some fondling.
While part of William enjoyed the attention, particularly since his luck with women was less than stellar, he just wasn't interested in men. He'd hoped that at least his mother would make it, but she and a girlfriend had long-standing dinner party plans. They would stop by, but that was the best they could do.
Matt's response came in first. That was predictable given the last couple of months of pestering. He blushed to see that he'd replied to all—rather than just forwarding on to Matt. It meant that his brother would see these responses. He bit his lip and wondered what, if anything, David would say the next time they met up. Time to assess the damage. William opened the mail.
What is your full name? Matthew Hildebrandt Smith.
What color pants are you wearing? I don't need no stinkin' pants.
What was the last thing you ate? Sushi
What did you do last night? >Went dancing, picked up a girl.—You're a slut, William!
Last person you talked to on the phone? William, cancel your plans. I'm much more important.
The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? Their date.
Scary movies or happy endings better? Happy endings—particularly in massage parlors.
Hugs or kisses? What is this leading up to?
Relationships or one-night stands? Relationships. But one-night stands can lead to those, right?
Do you want your friends to write back? William, if you are bored, I'm more than willing to help you.
Who is most likely to respond? I'm so transparent.
Who is least likely to respond? David—As in brother, David? I heard he was hotter than you.
Did you ever find a date? *kisses*—Matt
* * *
William stared at the response, blushing brightly. The others on his list would understand that it was just Matt and what their relationship was. But his brother . . . He hadn't spoken to his brother about Matt.
* * *
David felt that working in tech support was akin to being on the front lines of a war. He was the front guard and thus expendable and replaceable—the first to be blamed when something went wrong.
It's a thankless job all around—one where he had to be at least semi-qualified for but one in which the most ignorant would protest that somehow they knew better than he did. Never mind that they were the ones that called him.
David Boyd was the lone soldier night after night. He sat in his lonely tower, waiting for the first ring of the phone. All at once, it would happen. The sound cut through the gloom like sniper fire from the bowels of ignorance: the call of the frustrated customer.
The wailing song of the cretins began every day at three o'clock in the afternoon. At that hour, there were others doing battle, but the night shift belonged solely to David.
By seven, he was alone with his headset and a cup of freeze-dried noodles. At nine, in the hopes of saving a few bucks, the building shut all the lights down but the emergency lights that striped the hallways in a dim glow. It was just enough light to get around.
There was a button on the other side of the office that he had to press hourly to return the floor to full power. David had been working there for three years. He knew his way around in semidarkness that cloaked him from the reality of his solitude. Beyond the shadows he imaged coworkers.
Sometimes he sat, twisting the tepid noodles in the instant-soup cup and imagining that mystery coworkers are copulating just beyond his cube walls. In the dead silence, it was important that they keep quiet. They were playing games with him, disappearing just before he could get there to catch them. Hide-and-seek sex just beyond where he could spy. Those are good nights—playful nights.
Other nights were so playful. Bad nights are filled with customers who, in one breath, shrieked they don't understand while muttering that the software was unintelligible and that tech support is incompetent. David took their abuse with a smile.
They can hear your smile over the phone. The motto meant that he had to smile when talking to customers.
A few months into the job, he started to keep a diary of addresses. While he was listening to someone at the other end of the line screaming at God and country about what a horrible person David was, he would smile, looking right at their address. While they had no idea to whom they were speaking, David knew exactly to whom he was speaking...and where they lived.
When a customer became particularly vicious, he would write their name in his spiral notebook, knowing that should he wish to, he could visit them.
They would have no idea who he was.
David spoke into his headset, giving composed instructions to a hysterical man on how to wipe his drive and reinstall his software. It was obvious that the problem was one of hardware and had nothing to do with the software David supported. But he couldn't tell a customer that and hang up. He had to make them believe it. It was clear the man thought he could weasel his way into getting new hardware by blaming the software.
As if this man was the first to think such a thing.
As if he'd be the last.
David was bored with the conversation. He responded in dismissive tones, repeating his speech blandly until the man became frustrated and resigned himself to his fate of purchasing his own hardware.
After the line went dead, David smiled.
He decided to get some coffee and check his email. Shortly after he'd sat down, two emails came up in his Gmail account in rapid succession. One from his brother and one from someone he didn't know that appeared to be in reply to his brother's. He read them sequentially, smirking that he would be the least likely to respond.
Then he read over Matt's responses with his brows up and his lips parted in shock. Was his brother gay? This man clearly was, and he seemed to have spent a fair amount of time with William.
He wondered who would consider his brother hot.
Looking at the postcard invitation he'd received in the mail, he picked out the name of the gallery—the Matt Smith Gallery of Art.
This guy was all modesty.
He tapped his finger on the card after turning it over. It had a painting of a swirl of lurid colors that was presumably his brother's work along with his David wasn't exactly an art critic, but the piece looked mediocre to him. It didn't appear to warrant a solo show. The name Smith was familiar as well; he remembered a political scandal a few years back with a gay mayor or something. He wanted to know more. It was time to surprise his brother.
What is your full name? David Patrick Boyd.
What color pants are you wearing? Black.
What was the last thing you ate? Cup-a-Soup. I'm still eating it.
What did you do last night? Went to my bar.
Last person you talked to on the phone? Jeffrey R. Baum, a customer
The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? Ass.
Scary movies or happy endings better? Scary movies.
Hugs or kisses? I'm not getting either.
Relationships or one-night stands? One-night stands are less complicated
Do you want your friends to write back? What friends?
Who is most likely to respond? Willy, who is your new friend?
Who is least likely to respond? Surprise.
I'll call in tomorrow and go to your show. I haven't seen your art, it's been too long. I'll meet you there—David
* * *
David made sure that his response would only go to William and his little friend Matt. He watched the window vanish after it had sent and felt a twinge of regret for including Matt in the reply. He didn’t know him, didn’t know how he’d take his response. For that matter, he didn’t know what he was walking into by agreeing to go to the show.
It was too late to back out now. He’d said he was going and he was, if nothing else, a man of his word—even if that word was just an email. He sighed and minimized his email client as he took the next call.
CHAPTER 2
Matt glided down the stairs in the sort of entrance that only he could make.
He exited his studio above the gallery to join his opening in progress—colorful, patchwork leather jacket open over his smooth, bare chest. With his champagne glass raised, his other arm was wrapped around an attractive young man all in black, he called, "William! Wiiiiillliam!"
Trading looks with his brother, William shuffled over to the spectacle Matt was making of himself. David stayed at his side, adjusting the hotebook he'd brought from work in his jacket. He'd made a promise earlier in the evening to keep his brother from getting fondled, and he was going to keep it.
"You are late!" Matt said, transferring his arm from the young man in black to rest over William's shoulders.
David raised his brows, but William nodded that it was all right. "We weren't late. David and I were on time, you are the one who was late. But it was a very fashionable lateness."
"Oh dear, had I realized I was being fashionable by being late, I would have let Adam blow me. One can never be too fashionable, can they?"
David was annoyed by the way his brother let this "curator" wrap around him to get what he wanted. When he'd been asked to protect William from Matt, he'd expected an older gentleman trying to seduce his brother. What he got was a drunken, messed-up twink—probably a trust-fund baby—who didn't seem like he would need to pay for it if he hit a gay bar.
It wasn't that David thought that homosexuality was wrong. What he thought was wrong was his brother using this Matt person's homosexuality against him to get his pictures on display. It was even worse to drag David into the middle of it and make him feel obligated to defend William—as if the asking somehow diminished his responsibility to set Matt straight.
So to speak. But then, by the looks of the hip, modern art gallery with its trite track lighting and hardwood floors, it looked like Matt had set it up to shop for fresh meat more than to promote new artists. They deserved each other. Maybe this was exactly what Matt wanted.
Not that any of this was David's business. He reminded himself that he did not care.
"I need a drink," said David.
"Bar over there, honey. And refill me." Matt tapped his glass with his ring finger.
David snatched it, giving him a look that said he would not be ordered around.
Then he did what he was told.
He was pleased to find that it was an open bar and ordered a scotch on the rocks for himself and one for his brother. He thought about asking William if he wanted something fruitier for the night but held his tongue. Instead he observed the mini freak show, moving from portrait to portrait while the blond ringmaster slid his hands all over his brother.
William did little other then blush and giggle at the attention, now and then tentatively groping back. He'd have figured his brother for a closeted homosexual except that each time a scantily clad woman walked by, William's attention eyes drifted to her tits.
Sick of the display, David scanned the room for something less depressing.
Watching the black-skirted ass of a particularly fetching redhead walking by,
David was surprised to find Adam standing in front of him.
"Matt wonders where his drink is," said Adam.
Given that Matt didn't appear to remember he'd even asked for a drink, David didn't see what the problem was. But then, he found he didn't much care.
The drink was on the bar lightly dripping with condensation that said perhaps it had been sitting there for a while. David held it up; Adam grabbed the flute by the steam, nearly spilling.
"When you say you're going to get a drink for him, you should get it and bring it back, not gawk at him for half an hour." Proclamation made, Adam huffed and headed returned to Matt's side.
David was about to follow and complain that he hadn't gawked at anyone and if he were to gawk, it wouldn't be at some twink, when a lovely brunette sidled up and spoke rapidly in a language he didn't understand. She slid her card on the bar next to his empty scotch glass.
He smiled and nodded politely, though he had no idea what he was agreeing to.
She seemed happy and wandered off to the fringe.
Getting the eye of the bartender, he pointed to his drink. The man looked amused. "You don't speak Spanish, do you?"
"No." David thrummed his fingers on the bar and peered through the crowd, searching for his brother.
"You said you'd go home with her. I think she believes you're the artist, and he's the brother. She thinks your brother is gay," said the bartender. He grabbed the scotch bottle and poured David another.
David took the drink from the bar and had a long swig. "I'm not sure I disagree with her at the moment."
The bartender snorted. "Smith's got himself a never-ending obsession with straight men. Man loves to be miserable. Your brother's one of the nicer ones. Usually they get their dicks sucked a few times before they tell him that they're done with him."
David drained the glass and set it down for another. "What about that other kid, the one in black?"
"Adam? Hanger-on mostly. Art student intern. He's almost done with school. He has some real talent. He'll get a show, but what he wants is Matt."
The bartender dug more ice from the cooler and finished his bottle of scotch into the glass and cracked open a fresh one to top it off. "That he will not get."
"Why is that?" David turned around, surprised to see him still pouring the drink.
"Can't punish yourself by being with someone who's in love with you, can you?" He pushed the finished drink to David.
"Why does Smith need punishing?" He pulled the bitter drink to his lips.
"His parents died."
"Did he kill them?"
The bartender laughed. "No. You don't know how the Smiths died?"
David shook his head and lowered the drink. Smith was a common-enough name that it seemed silly that it would stand out to him. He hoped it would be a gory story and not just important because these people had money.
"Plane crash. Hold on." The bartender turned to serve another customer, greeting them by name and preparing their drink before they'd even ordered it.
Ah money. The Smiths were socialites as it turned out and often featured on page 2 for those who read the society pages. David never did. He remembered something about a scandal, but he hadn't cared at the time. He wasn't sure he cared now. He supposed he didn't.
Perhaps his casual questioning was just one of those things one did that helped pass the time while he waited for his brother to stop playing at being gay and get back to being himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the woman he'd spoken to earlier waving to him. He nodded before turning his back to her. He wasn't ready to go home with her. Finally the bartender returned.
"So there was a plane crash? Why is it Matt's fault? Was he flying the plane?" David leaned forward.
The bartender looked past David to the woman who wanted to go home with him and tilted his head. "This is really old news. It looks like you have much more pressing matters to attend to."
David looked to where the bartender looked and shrugged.
The bartender continued. "If Matt had been flying the plane, he wouldn't be here. No, he blames himself because—"
William slapping David on his back, cut the bartender off. David turned to William who was eyeing the card from the woman sitting on the bar. "Lucky dog. Which one is she?"
David sighed; the perception of what was going on with Matt wasn't a secret. William would find out eventually. Turning to point at the woman, who seemed delighted to have the attention of two men, he confessed, "She thought I was the artist."
"Oh, so really . . . This is technically my card." William held it up between his ring finger and pinky and then pocketed it.
"I suppose. If you want it. Should you leave your own party so early?"
The brothers search the room together. It was still pretty crowded. Matt steadied himself against Adam as he spoke with patrons. It would appear that when the subject of money came up, Matt sobered up quickly.
When David turned around to speak to his brother, he found he wasn't there. Instead, he was talking animatedly to the attractive Hispanic woman, gesturing in a wild pantomime that someone, from across the room, could deduce was him explaining that he was the artist. She seemed pleased; William looked horny.
Shortly after, they were out the door.
It seemed pointless to stay other than the drinks were free and he had nowhere else to be. When he thought of it in terms of free drinks, it seemed he'd found a point. He chatted with a few people, letting them know that he was the artist's brother and not actually the artist, but didn't reveal his job to anyone. It was more mysterious this way.
Besides, when he revealed he worked with computers, people tended to tell him their computer woes.
After a couple of hours, the gallery started to clear out. Matt had started to look mournful long before that. It was clear that he hadn't seen William leave but that he knew what had happened. His drinking picked up as the patrons left.
Only the partiers who would stay until the last of the free alcohol was swilled were left, cluttering the space with their fashion wrongs and insipid patter.
Adam kept clutching and groping Matt. As staggeringly drunk as he was, Matt was deft at avoiding Adam's hands just enough so that he wouldn't be clung to. At last, he put the flat of his palm on the center of Adam's chest and shoved him back. Using that as a steadying influence, he headed toward David and, more likely, the bar.
David had lost count of how much scotch he'd had by the time he had Matt leaning against him, demanding more champagne from the bartender. Finding that they were out of that, he ordered wine in the tone of voice that was so ironically whiny that David wished to offer cheese with it. But he didn't.
"So you do a lot of openings?" asked David.
Matt looked sharply up at David for a moment and then shrugged. "One every month or so. I have to keep the art moving. So many talented young artists out there."
"Do you try and fuck all of them?"
Stung, Matt turned his back on David and stared down into his drink.
David felt guilty for the dig. He thought Matt would have a sense of humor about it but clearly not. He put his hand on Matt's dainty shoulder only to have it knocked away by the ubiquitous intern.
"You've upset him, leave him alone."
"Don't touch me." David glared down at Adam. He had a good few inches on both men, but Adam was pretty solidly built.
Matt whirled around and waved Adam off. "I'm not upset, it's fine. Don't ... just don't—"
Adam swept in and wrapped his arms around Matt's thin waist, at last seeing an opening he could take. He grabbed the wine from Matt's hand and set it on the bar and whispered, "Come on . . . Let's go upstairs. You're very drunk."
"I don't want to go upstairs with you." Matt was suddenly all elbows and wiggling body but to no avail. Adam had him around the waist, and he wasn't letting go. Matt slapped at the arms around him, trying to pry them off. "I'm ... not . . . going . . . with . . . you . . ."
Though he didn't really know Matt, he felt oddly protective of him. There was something pathetic about the way his delicate hands fluttered against Adam's chest. David knew he should leave. It would be silly to get involved. He didn't know these people. But then he thought of how his brother had used Matt. His parents were dead. There really didn't seem to be anyone to look out for him. Not that David wanted the job full time, but the least he could do was get him out of this skirmish.
"Let him go."
"Stay out of this, Leach Brother. Just finish lapping up the free booze and get out."
Matt continued to struggle. He'd balled up his fists and was attempting to hit his captor, but Adam was faster and had his hands trapped between them.
"Let. Go. Of . Me." Matt's voice was shrill and petulant but verged on fear.
"That's enough." David stepped behind Matt and grabbed Adam's wrists. Pressing his thumbs into the sensitive nerves, he forced the young man to let go.
Matt pushed away from Adam, forcing his back against David's chest.
He turned around and pressed his face against David's dark shirt, wrapping his arms around him. Matt clinging to him like that made him feel paternal. He wrapped one arm around Matt's waist as he gestured with the other for Adam to go away.
"Don't brush me off. You can't brush me off. Neither of you can brush me off!" Adam's dark face pinched as if he were going to cry.
Matt balled his fists in the back of David's shirt, such a childlike gesture that it further incited David's protective feelings.
"Look, maybe this isn't the best time for you two . . . to talk. Everyone's a little drunk and—"
Adam lunged, and David whirled around, taking the brunt of the blows on his back. Weak blows, he noted. But still, the fact that the kid was capable of violence against someone he presumably cared about was worrisome.
David couldn't leave Matt alone with this man.
Detangling himself from Matt, David turned around and grabbed one of Adam's flailing fists. He twisted Adam's arm back, forcing him to spin around, and shoved him out the door. He stood behind the glass door, glaring until Adam strutted away, walking backward to maintain eye contact.
Matt stumbled to the bottom of the stairs that led up to his studio as the remaining guests quickly made excuses and left. Matt's assistant, Danielle, let them out and apologized for the drama. The guests appeared thrilled to have a story to tell as they whispered on their way out.
Stepping out of the way for the guests to leave, David went back to Matt who had passed out with his face pressed against the cold metal pillar of the stair railing. The lithe man looked so innocent when he was quiet and with his eyes closed.
"If you could get him up to bed, I can lock up," said Danielle. The barman was packing up, and a small cleaning crew was making short work of the discarded napkins and empty glasses.
David nodded and, with surprising tenderness, scooped up Matt and carried him up the stairs like a bride. He looked down at the almost androgynous features. Without his haughty scowl, he was attractive—for a man. There was something nice about feeling like someone's hero.
He kicked open the door at the top of the stairs. Inside was a tidy room nearly all white with an easel and paints set out, ordered by color. A small red couch sat in front of a moderately sized flat-screen television.
The room was sparse and well kept. It took him a moment to realize that the blank wall was a sliding door. Shifting Matt in his arms to lean him against his torso, he freed up a hand. Then David hooked his finger in the latch, and the tiny bedroom was revealed.
The room was dense with unfinished paintings in darkly muted tones. Swirls of colors on the canvas evoked a sense of longing. The room felt as intensely personal as it was claustrophobic. He yanked back the sheets and set Matt into the bed.
Moving to his knees, he pulled off Matt's shoes and, as an afterthought, helped him out of his jacket. David jumped when Matt encircled his waist with his arms and rested his head against his abdomen.
"Stay. Just stay for a little while."
Hesitantly David reached down to stroke Matt's blond hair. He frowned and looked around the strange room. He didn't know this man from, well, Adam. He didn't care that he was gay, but he didn't want to give the wrong impression. It wasn't like he was an artist needing exposure. Even if he was, he wouldn't feel right about it.
"I don't feel good." Matt looked up at him with such juvenile need in his blue eyes that David sighed and nodded. Kicking off his shoes, he tried to make himself at home on the bed.
"All right. I'll stay for a little while."
Matt gave him a lazy, drunken smile and pushed David down on the bed. For a moment, David panicked. But then, Matt simply placed his head on David's chest and closed his eyes.
When Matt awoke, he was distraught to find himself alone.
CHAPTER 3
"Sanco tech support, how may I help you?" David adjusted the mic back in front of his face as he'd moved it aside to slurp his noodles. It was a slow night, and he was doing little other than looking over the "Something Awful" archives and giving the screen wry smiles.
"You're like a princess all alone in that lonely tower, aren't you? Would I have to slay a dragon to get up there?"
The voice was familiar, yet David couldn't place it. The phone often distorted things, but the tenor and rhythm was recognizable from somewhere.
"Pardon?"
"If I managed to wriggle my cute little ass up there, would you lie over your desk and pretend to sleep? If I kissed you, would you be mine forever?"
David's brows furrowed. He caught the reflection of his incredulous expression from one of the dead screens next to him. In the glow of the monitor light, he looked ghastly and irritated.
"Who is this?"
"Your boyfriend."
There was a break as if the caller expected a chuckle or a gasp. David wasn't sure how to respond, so the line remained silent until the tinny, nasal voice picked up again.
"I was sad you'd left when I woke up. I'd made it a point to wake up every couple of hours to make sure you were still there, which means you left some time between five and seven. Isn't the brave knight supposed to stay and claim his reward?"
David grinned in spite of himself. His cheeks burned. "Matt . . . How did you . . . ?"
"How did I know where you worked? Find your number? Oh, I'm crafty. The rumors that I'm a bitch are off by one letter. I'm really a witch. I found you through the power of my craft. I can see into your mind. Are you scared?"
"You asked William?"
"Oh David, my way is much more magical and fun. Don't you like magic?"
"You have a fairy tale theme going tonight."
David stabbed at the noodles in the cup but found them dreary. Everything seemed a bit dull in comparison to the lively voice on the phone. David set the cup on the desk and pushed them aside.
"It's not every night that I'm rescued. I suppose I was projecting my wish for princess-ness on you a bit. But when I think of you all alone in that tower, I wonder if you'd let down your long hair for me to climb up to rescue you, my Rapunzel."
David smirked. "My hair isn't nearly long enough to get you up to the thirty-fourth floor. Besides, you'd be tired after all of that climbing. You probably wouldn't be very good company."
"So you would let me up if I had enough endurance?"
"Well, if you're a princess and I'm a princess, what would we have to say to one another? Besides, I make a terrible princess. I'm much better at being the knight, don't you agree?"
David slid his finger along the bottom of his keyboard. He knew he should get off the phone; he wasn't being paid to flirt. But there were no other calls in queue and—was Matt flirting? The thought of it made him blush again.
"I suppose you're right, David. You were a brilliant knight in shining armor. I think you deserve a reward. Since you didn't stick around to get one, I thought I'd visit you."
"A reward, hmm? And just what might this reward be?"
"What would you like? I could buy you dinner. Give you money. Sex? That would be a reward for both of us."
David coughed at the last option, his face ablaze. "I'm not—no. No sex."
"Oh very well, no sex. But you're missing out. What about a blow job? I'm told that I give stellar head."
David could almost hear Matt's dismissive wave. The awareness of what Matt was probably doing after knowing him for such a short time surprised him. The notion that he was on the same wavelength or connecting with someone else made David feel panicked. Firmly, in order to push Matt back to where he belonged, David snapped, "I'm sure you do, but I'm not interested."
"So what about dinner?" Matt's voice sounded small, desperate.
"I just ate." David glared at the half-eaten cup of noodles and then grabbed it and tossed it in the trash.
"Oh. I see. Then I won't take up any more of your time."
The icy tone gave David an uncomfortable twinge in the pit of his stomach that prompted him to blurt out, "I could meet you for drinks after work. I get off at eleven. If that's not too late for you, then we could meet at Lucky's."
What am I doing? David's emotions were giving him whiplash. He didn't know how in the world Matt was keeping up. Rationalizing that he'd be going to Lucky's either way, he decided it wouldn't hurt to meet Matt there. Surely the guy would show up, see what a dump the place was and how well David fit in and would move on.
"It's not too late for me." Matt sounded cautiously excited.
"Okay, meet me there about eleven-thirty? Just so you're not sitting around waiting for me there. It's kind of a —you may not want to be there alone."
Another call was coming in. David needed to close this conversation down.
"I can handle myself at a bar."
"This is a —It's not really your sort of bar." David grimaced at how that came out, but he was pressed for time.
"Oh, you mean that I shouldn't wear my sequins and hot pants? You know, I am capable of functioning in straight society. I've done it at least twice."
Matt's huffiness made David roll his eyes. He doubted seriously if Matt could hid his pretty face even in a hunter's cap and heavy flannel.
"I'm sure you can. I'm sorry. It's the knight in shining armor in me trying to be protective. I have to go. I have a call in queue."
David's finger hovered over the switch.
"Invite me for drinks and insult me? Now you're hanging up on me? I'm hurt. I thought I was your only pushy boyfriend."
"Boyfriend?"
"But I realize you do have your job to do, so I'll let you go."
"I'm not your—"
"I'll see you at eleven-thirty, big man."
"Matt —you're not my . . . I'm not—"
Matt made kissing noises into the phone, and then the line went dead.
David snorted and shook his head. Matt was nuts. But he'd let him buy him a few drinks, and that would be that. He turned his back on the blank monitor's reflection so he wouldn't see his stupid grin and switched over to his new call.
"Sanco tech support, sorry for the wait. How may I help you?"
* * *
On the bright side, Matt most definitely didn't show up in hot pants and sequins. However, given the tone of the dark and dilapidated bar, his crisp white shirt paired with a smart leather jacket stood out just as much as if he had. He dressed as if he cared what he put on, which was uncommon in this decrepit establishment.
Matt appeared oblivious to the glares he was getting from the bleary-eyed workmen in their sweat and dust-laden uniforms. The moment that David stepped into the room, Matt lit up and beamed at him.
A few of the men snorted as Matt patted the spot on the table across him for David to sit. Then they looked to David with questions in their eyes. Had their longtime crony brought in a queer?
David was at odds with being amused at the reaction to Matt in the bar and being mortified that everyone believed he was gay. He held a finger up to Matt and leaned in to order a beer.
"What? No fruity drink for you?" The jovial black bartender with salt-and pepper hair looked amused.
David gave him a wry grin. "Maybe I should make it a scotch."
"Maybe your friend would like to see you drunk." Pulling down the handle of the tap, he eased the light beer into a mostly clean mug.
"Maybe I should let him get me drunk. I heard he gives great head," David shot back. The patrons in earshot stared at him in disbelief. David rolled his eyes.
The barman set the drink down and slid it toward him. "Maybe so. Nothing wrong with a little experimentation." Though he didn't smile exactly, the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.
Reaching to his pocket for his wallet, David took out a twenty, still warm from the ATM, but was stopped by the barman's hand.
"He opened a tab. Your drinks are covered."
The other men at the bar turned back to their drinks so as not to be caught looking.
"Right." David took the mug by the handle and turned back to look at Matt who was still sitting there grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. He couldn't remember the last time someone was so pleased to see him. He took the spot across from Matt and held the mug up in a mock toast.
"Thanks for this," he said before taking a sip.
"You saved me from certain death." Matt smirked at his own drama. "Or at the very least, from getting groped from an overexcited intern."
"So intern is what we're calling it now?" David took another sip of the beer and set it onto the table with a heavy clunk. He didn't need to look around to know that the other patrons were paying strict attention to his actions with Matt.
"You know, I don't really know what to call him. He's not a friend. He's not an employee. He's an art student. He shows up a lot and has so much enthusiasm. But his art . . . is mediocre."
"But if you wanted to sleep with him, he'd have a show?"
"That's a rather disparaging remark to make considering your brother is currently showing at my gallery." Matt swished his pale pink drink and took a sip. "The sea breezes are shitty here."
David opened his mouth to comment on his brother's work, but that wasn't the smartest thing to say to someone who spoke to him regularly. "You ordered a sea breeze? What is that? Cranberry juice and something?"
Matt laughed. "That's what Gavin asked."
"Gavin?"
"The bartender, although I'm not sure he's a bartender so much as a jerk monkey for domestic beer." Matt flailed a hand in the direction of the bar and looked in that direction. Every head turned toward them instantly and found something else interesting to stare at. Matt pretended not to notice. "But he seems nice enough. Perhaps he can still be saved."
"The bartender . . ." David's voice was ponderous. He'd never even thought to ask the bartender his name, not in all of the years that he'd been coming here. "Gavin. Hmm."
"You didn't know his name?"
"No. How long were you here before I got here?" Leaning forward, David slipped his notebook, which was full of customer addresses, onto the table.
Matt eyed the notebook but didn't comment."Maybe ten to twenty minutes. Not long. Just got my drink and sat down for a few by the time you arrived."
"I've been coming here for almost three years, and I didn't know his name . . ." He took another long draw from the mug.
"Well, there's a trick to getting to know a bartender's name." Matt raised a brow and finished his drink. He set it down with a clank.
"What's that?" David nodded to Gavin and pointed at the drink. The bartender nodded and started to prepare another.
Leaning forward, as if he were going to share a deep, dark secret, Matt whispered, "I asked him." He looked at David meaningfully and then sat back.
In response, David finished his beer and nodded to Gavin. When both drinks were ready, he retrieved them. He set Matt's before him and then sat with his beer and took another long sip.
"So this is the hero's reward? Light beer with a side of sarcasm?" David smirked.
Matt eyed David. "Well, I offered dinner, but you'd already eaten. All that's left now in my box of tricks is a debauched sexual act of your choice." He sipped at his fresh sea breeze and watched the straight man squirm.
"I haven't had nearly enough drinks for that."
So began Matt's attempt to get David drunk enough for that.
The phrase "start with beer, never fear" wasn't going to apply as he knew that he was going to be in trouble when the scotch came out. He vaguely remembered Matt tutting about the quality of the scotch and saying something about it being no way to get a quality drunk on, and that David would be sorry for abusing his body this way, but it didn't stop either of them.
He didn't mind Matt sucking his cock in the grimy bar bathroom so much as he didn't want to deal with being gay. No. In truth, being gay wasn't so much an issue for him as having anyone—male or female—in his life.
People complicated things. His life, as it stood now, was simple. He had work, he had drinking, and he had home.
What he didn't have was a warm sucking mouth wrapped around his length and bright blue eyes gazing up at him with a trickle of wry, self-effacing humor. He was hard-pressed to say that this would make a horrific addition to his schedule—if this was all there was to it.
Scotch logic. This was never all there was to it.
Somewhere between the heady feeling of release and passing out completely, he was being pulled into a cab and spilled out in front of Matt's gallery.
His clothes were coming off at an alarming rate, but he found himself left with his boxers and a T-shirt. Matt wrapped him up in a comfy dark robe and set a bucket next to the couch he'd tucked David into. In the night, Matt held his hair back as he started to spew into the bucket.
"You'll be all right, David. I can be your knight tonight."
CHAPTER 4
"I don't understand why he's here, Matthew!" The whiny tone was grating enough to rouse David. He sniffed at the air, discerning the delectable scent of sizzling bacon. As his stomach growled, he felt his head start to throb as he pieced together where he was.
"I met him for drinks last night. He had too much. I brought him here. Not that I owe you an explanation." There was a pause which David figured would be Matt giving the whiner a sharp look. "What are you doing up here anyway? Go downstairs and file those invoices."
David hadn't heard such a stern tone from Matt before. Maybe it was just because he was in a fair bit of pain that the sound of it made him wince, or maybe, Matt really could be intimidating when he wanted to be. He'd have to be in order to run his own business.
"Why were you meeting him for drinks?" It took a moment for David to resolve that voice. The intern. David tried to push himself up from the couch, but his vision started to tunnel as the sharp stabbing pains started, so he stayed where he was and groaned.
The other room dissolved to the quiet clink of dishes and whispers. After a moment, Matt crept into the room with a glass of water. He wore a brightly patterned silk kimono of swirling dragons. The bright light from the row of windows high in the loft created a silhouette of his body.
David averted his eyes and reached for the glass.
"There you go. Sorry about the rude awakening," Matt whispered.
David sipped the tepid water and made a face. "It's . . . err . . ."
"It's better for you if it's not too hot or too cold. Gets into your system faster. Or that's what I've read. Drink up, need to get you hydrated again so you can go to work, and we can settle up how you're going to repay me for my benevolent act of bringing you home rather than leaving you to fend for yourself in the drunk tank." Matt flashed him a devilish grin and then sat on the edge of the couch.
Pieces of the night before started coming to David, and he closed his eyes and groaned.
"Look ... I was ..." He took another long sip and sat up. The covers shifted, and he suddenly realized how free his body felt. He pulled them up and was shocked by his own nudity. "I was really drunk . . .I . . .know we . . .but . . .I'm not . . . really . . . I don't think we should go out again."
The cushions shifted as Matt's weight moved from the couch. David could feel the cold stare. He deserved it. He looked up at Matt, his face shadowed by a curtain of hair that blocked the sunlight from his face rendering his expression unreadable.
"I see. Well, it was just an invitation for drinks. I wasn't fitting myself for a wedding gown," he said with his hand on his hip. "You're not the first supposedly straight man who's accepted a blow job, you know. A drink is just a drink. I'm not going to rape your mouth. If you ask me, you worked hard to get that drunk, but if this is how you want to be about it, fine. Your clothes are on the chair. There's breakfast on the table. Drink more water. I'm taking a shower."
With that, Matt stepped past the red couch and into his small room and slammed the door. David looked at the door and then jumped at the sharp click of the lock. Sheepishly, he sat up, realizing that he'd shrunk from Matt's temper. Groaning at the discomfort of his brain trying to expand past his skull, he finished his water, pulled on his clothes, and left.
* * *