by D. J. Manly
He had the same effect on her now that he had when she’d first laid eyes on him. He damn near took her breath away. “Ramsay,” she said, “go inside now.”
Ramsay nodded silently, taking one long last look at Ciel, and biting his fist before slipping back inside.
Amanda could hardly believe her eyes. “Ciel,” she said. “How are you?” She tried to sound casual, but her voice was trembling. She wanted to hug him, but just from his stance, she thought better of it.
He shrugged, glancing around. “Is Scott here?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly, “but not at the moment.”
“Where is he?”
“He went, ah … downtown.” She didn’t want to tell him that he had gone to get his old job back at that club. “You can wait until he gets back.” She felt the tension radiating off him.
He shook his head. “Tell him I was here.”
He turned on his heel, and Amanda rushed forward. She grabbed his arm. “Please, Ciel. He’s suffering. He loves you so much.” She felt him stiffen. She let go of his arm when he didn’t answer.
As soon as she relinquished her hold on him, he continued walking inside. She followed on his heel. “Will you come back?”
He stopped at the front door. He turned and looked at her from behind those dark glasses. “I don’t know.”
“Please,” she said.
“I’ll try,” he said, moving out the door.
“Ciel,” she called after him, causing him to pause on the pathway, “do you hate me?”
He turned now, and looked in her direction. “Why should I hate you, Amanda?”
“Do you blame me for this because I…?”
“You didn’t make Scott hate himself. In fact, you’re the only one he ever truly believed loved him. He needs you, although he’ll never tell you that.”
Tears accumulated in her eyes. “Please promise you’ll come back.”
“I’ll try,” he repeated with a nod, and continued walking.
There was a Harley sitting at the curb. She watched as Ciel took a helmet off the back, put it on, then straddled the bike. Seconds later he was roaring off down the road.
When she walked back inside, still in shock, Ramsay got up from the sofa and came up to her in the hallway. “Was that Scott’s Ciel?”
“Yes,” she said blankly. “That was Scott’s Ciel.”
“He’s, ah … gorgeous.”
“Yes, I know,” she said absently.
“So, that’s a good sign that he came here looking for Scott, isn’t it?”
Amanda glanced at him as if she’d only just noticed he was there. “When did you begin to care about all this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I didn’t think you really were paying too much attention.”
He shrugged. “I don’t get pleasure out of seeing anyone that miserable,” he said softly.
Amanda went back outside, and sat in her chair. She closed her eyes a minute. Scott should have been here. It wasn’t fair. Ciel finally comes, and he’s gone. Maybe, maybe it was for the best that he wasn’t here. She hadn’t gotten good vibes from Ciel at all. Damn him. He wouldn’t even let her see those black eyes of his. She could tell a lot from those eyes. No. He was hiding. Why hadn’t she said something? Why hadn’t she gotten down on her knees and begged him to wait until Scott got back?
When she heard someone calling her name, she knew instantly it was Scott. Ciel had left less than five minutes ago, and here he was. She opened her eyes, trying to look cheerful, but it was a challenge. Life could be so unfair sometimes, so damn cruel.
He was talking about that stupid club. “I’ve got a raise and my own dressing room…”
“Fuck that,” Amanda snapped, standing up. The chair tipped over.
Scott’s mouth formed an O.
“Fuck that strip club. How could you? How could you when you know Ciel doesn’t want you to?”
“It’s none of Ciel’s business, at least not anymore.”
“He was here,” she shouted at him. “Damn you, Scott, are you trying to punish me for something?”
“Punish you? This has nothing to do with you, and what do you mean, he was here?”
It did have something to do with her. She had brought Ciel here from France. She had given him to Scott on his birthday. “He was.” She ran a hand through her hair.
Scott was shaking. He grabbed her arm. “Why didn’t you make him stay?”
Amanda pushed away from him. “You don’t make Ciel do anything. He said he was coming back. Well, he said maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Yes, maybe. He wasn’t overly talkative. In fact, he hardly said anything at all. And for Christ’s sakes”—she threw up her hands…”don’t mention that stupid club to him. You boys, damn it, you’re all about to drive me nuts! And you wonder why I don’t want a relationship. Watching you guys fall in love is enough to make me join the damn convent!”
Scott paused for a second, stunned, then he started to laugh. He laughed so hard, he doubled over and the tears ran down his face.
Amanda, suddenly realizing what she had said, started to laugh too.
Scott walked over, still laughing, and took her into his embrace. He pressed his forehead against hers. “Mandy, you’re a scream. That’s why I love you so much. You, in a convent? I know one thing, honey, if you joined the convent, the place would never be the same again.”
Chapter Ten
“So, how much does it pay really?” Ramsay asked as he sat on the edge of the pool with his feet in the water.
“Why?” Scott asked dryly. “Are you considering a career as a dancer? I thought you were looking for a rich sugar daddy.”
“Who told you that?”
“I guessed. You won’t find many rich men hanging out at that place. The kind of men you’re looking for won’t be seen in those places. They go through the Agency. They pay the boys for private dances in the bedroom.”
Ramsay leaned back on his palms. “After I leave here, I’ll ask Jacques to send me back to some of my regulars. There were some real possibilities there. One of them told me I was his ultimate fantasy and that…”
“You’re dreaming,” Scott told him, sipping on a club soda. He was making an earnest attempt to stay on the wagon for a few days.
Ramsay jumped to his feet. “What did you say that for?”
“Sugar daddies are fairy tales. They’ll tell you anything to make sure you’re willing to do what they want. You’re good to fuck, that’s about it. Do you honestly think they’re going to make you a part of their lives? Many of them are in the closet, married…”
Ramsay opened his mouth and then closed it.
“The most you can hope for is an expensive gift once in awhile, or a weekend getaway to some exotic place where you’ll spend your time in bed.”
“You need to drink,” Ramsay snapped. “You’re nicer when you’re drunk.”
“I live in a fantasy world too, when I’m high. The difference between you and me is, you live there even when you’re sober as a judge. Nice trick.”
“Fantasy world?”
“That’s right, honey. You’re going to wake up one day, but it might be too late. What was most precious might be gone.”
“Fuck you, Scott.” Ramsay threw the words at him. “I’m tired of your bullshit philosophy, like the other night when you decided to pick on me. I’m not sure what kind of a problem you got with me, but…”
“You’re a fake and a fraud.” Scott glanced at him. “You smile and look innocent, but inside you got a heart encased in granite.”
“Maybe I’ve had to protect my heart.” Ramsay challenged him with those light blue eyes. “Maybe if I don’t look out for me, I’ll end up…” He stopped. “All I have are my looks, my cock, nothing else. If it affords me some security, then so be it. I live in reality. You’re the one who lives in a fantasy world, believing that you could actually have love ever after with that hunk I saw yest
erday.”
“Don’t you speak to me about Ciel. You know nothing about Ciel.” Scott pointed at him angrily.
“Love is a luxury not everyone can afford.”
“True, but unfortunately love doesn’t know that. It won’t conform to your rules. It’s unruly, it’s messy, and it’s fucking damn inconvenient.”
Ramsay was just about to walk off when Scott said sharply, “You’re breaking his heart.”
Ramsay didn’t turn around. “I can’t think about that.”
“You’ll regret it one day more than you’ve ever regretted anything else in your life. Mark my words, Ramsay.”
“Warning is noted. But notice, I’m not the one suffering; you are. Better follow your own advice before you start dishing it out to others,” he said coldly.
“One day he’ll get tired of waiting,” Scott said, then sighed. He stood up and went over to the small table where there was a bottle of gin. To hell with the wagon.
“He’ll do what he’s got to do I guess,” Ramsay said without emotion, then glanced at Scott with the glass in his hand. “I was kidding about the … you really don’t need to drink.”
Scott paused in midswallow. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”
Ramsay shrugged, and disappeared into the house.
* * * *
Amanda sat quietly at the head of the dinner table with Hunter and Ramsay sitting on either side of her, facing each other. She was not feeling very happy at the moment. She had had an argument with Scott a few minutes before sitting down to dinner. He told her he had to go to work … to that club, and he mentioned that some guy down there offered him a room in his apartment, and that he’d be leaving to go live there in a few days.
Hunter and Ramsay had heard the argument from where they sat in the living room, and neither of them had said anything.
“Well,” she said finally, forcing a smile, “how’s the roast beef?”
“Delicious,” Hunter said.
Ramsay nodded, his mouth full.
“I want to apologize to both of you,” she said, smiling at one, then the other. “You’ve only just arrived and all this … mess,” she said, forcing air between her teeth.
Ramsay touched her hand. “It’s all right, Amanda. We understand, don’t we, Hunter?”
Hunter swigged back some wine. “It’s not your fault.”
“Scott should be here. What if Ciel comes back tonight?” She chewed her thumbnail.
“Amanda,” Hunter said. “You can’t make yourself responsible. If Scott wanted to be here, he would. Maybe he’s decided to try and make it on his own and forget Ciel.”
Ramsay glanced at him, then at Amanda. “You can make yourself stop loving someone if you really try.”
“Is that so?” Hunter asked him, tilting his head to the side.
“Yeah,” he replied, holding his gaze in a challenge, “it’s so.”
Amanda looked at them for a second. “What in hell is it with you two? I never know what you’re going on about.”
“It’s nothing,” Ramsay said softly, looking down at his plate. “Hunter doesn’t understand anything.”
“I don’t?” Hunter demanded.
“No,” he said, meeting his eyes, “you fucking well don’t.”
“Screw you,” Hunter said, standing up and scraping back his chair.
Amanda stood up with him. “Okay, that’s enough. Tonight, we get back to business. I intend to get what I paid for. Stop this soap opera, or tell me what’s wrong.”
Hunter shrugged as if nothing had happened. “No soap opera, and you know what? For once, Ramsay, I agree with you.”
Ramsay glanced at him. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. One can talk oneself out of being in love if they really want to. I’m beginning to understand how to do that.”
“Good. Go right ahead,” he said, then smiled at Amanda. “It’s okay, Amanda. We understand each other now. Hunter and I are cool.”
Amanda nodded. “Good. Tonight, let’s forget all this shit and have some fun.” She pushed away her half-eaten food. “In the playroom in, let’s say an hour?”
“Sure,” Hunter said.
Ramsay jumped up and kissed her cheek. “We’ll give you a real good show tonight, Amanda.”
She squeezed his hand and then left the dining room.
Hunter glanced over at Ramsay, who had sat back down and begun to eat again. He sighed, letting his back fall back against the chair. He’d always thought that Ramsay was pathetic, but it was he who was the pathetic one, agreeing to come here with him in the first place, with the hopes that Ramsay would suddenly, what … declare his undying love for him? If Ramsay truly loved him, he would have given up those so-called ambitions of his already.
Yes, clearly it was he who was pathetic. It seemed that Ramsay knew exactly what he wanted, and he hadn’t strayed from that. All his life all Hunter wanted was to be accepted for who he was … not Black, not White … just him, biracial, gay, the son of a poor woman from Jamaica and a powerful, rich white man. All his life he’d waited for someone else to tell him he was okay, to give him a seal of approval, and he was still fucking waiting for the one he loved to love him back. Well, it looked as if he wasn’t ever going to. If Ramsay had ever really loved him, it had been for the wrong reasons. It had been back when Ramsay had thought he was well-connected, the rich nephew of some old fart. The joke was, he was the son of a rich man, but that man would never acknowledge him as his son.
“What are you looking at me like that for?” Ramsay asked, pushing his empty plate away.
“Like what exactly?”
“Like I don’t know … weird.”
Hunter smiled at him. “Let’s not fight anymore, okay?”
“Suits me.”
“Let’s get through these three months here with Amanda, and then move on.”
Ramsay cast him a guarded look. “You mean go back to the Agency.”
Hunter shook his dark head. “Not me.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Scott can help me to…”
“Scott,” he scoffed. “That guy can’t even help himself. Look at the mess he’s made of his life!”
Hunter didn’t comment.
“I did you a favor setting you up with the Agency. Are you going to throw it all away?”
Hunter stood up. “Maybe.” Then he paused, looking at him again. “And are you sure you did it for me, or did you do it more for yourself?”
Ramsay started to say something but didn’t get the chance. Hunter left the table.
He made his way to his room, deciding to take a rest before getting back to the real reason he was here. Amanda had given him some money, but he wasn’t going to spend any of it. When his time was up, he was leaving here, and leaving Los Angeles. He was finished with hoping that his father was going to suddenly welcome him into his life. He was finished thinking that at any minute Ramsay would decide that he loved him again. No, he was just going to hold on until that day, and then maybe, eventually, he’d get Ramsay out of his heart.
* * * *
Bud was a short, balding man with a belly which hung over his pants. The dark suit jacket did nothing to disguise his girth or the serious sweat stains which seemed to be permanently set under his arms. He was a bit of a good ol’ boy from down South who had propelled himself out of the gutter and into the ownership of one of the most lucrative gay strip joints in L.A. He was a gay-curious oddball with absolutely no social graces, parading his trashy wife around as if she were royalty.
He was not making Scott’s first night back easy. “We got a full house, Scott,” he said, poking his head into the dressing room where Scott was staring at himself in the mirror. “You better be good tonight.” He pointed his finger at him. “The others are jealous, want to know why you got a dressing room all to yourself, especially after that brute of a boyfriend came a-flying in here and punching out my good paying customers.”
“I told you,” Scott
said coldly, “you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Give me some peace, will ya? You’ll get your money’s worth tonight. I bring in the crowd, don’t I?”
“Well, since we put your picture back up, response has been good. Some white boys out there want to do your black ass. You might consider being more accommodating with that tight little butt later. Just remember you’re operating out of my place … and I don’t want no vice cop shaking down my boys … so be discreet-like. But if you get your ass done for a fee, I expect my cut, boy.”
“I’m not your boy,” Scott said. “And what are you, a pimp now, Bud?”
His head shot up. “I ain’t nothing but a businessman, and you’d do good to remember that,” he said, withdrawing his head and shutting the door behind him.
Scott stood up. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was naked except for a white G-string which showed off his ass to perfection. That weird little guy would be coming in any minute now to oil him down. He lit the joint that Hunter had given him before he left Amanda’s and took a few puffs. It made him mellow, gave him the courage he needed to propel himself out on that stage and strut his stuff.
“Scott,” a voice said. “It’s Walter. Can I come in?” He was knocking. Scott stubbed out the joint and told him to come in.
Walter had the bottle of oil in his hand. “Ready?”
Scott noticed Walter’s eyes eating up every inch of him. “Poor Walter,” Scott said. The joint made him horny as hell.
Walter glanced at him. He was no more than twenty-five, and hadn’t been blessed with good looks. Maybe that’s why he surrounded himself with beauty. His skin was pockmarked and kind of grey; he was also really skinny and probably not well-endowed. He figured Walter was lonely, and probably felt like shit all the time. Ironically, at this moment, they were kindred spirits.
Scott faced the wall, his palms against it, spreading his legs a little. If he didn’t look at him, he could imagine just about anyone was touching him. “Come on, Walter,” he urged, “do me. Rub that oil into my body, and then you can do the front. Make me shine all over, baby.”
