by Amy Lane
But Luka had just been candid about wanting comfort, and Halloween had been a week ago. Thanksgiving was rounding the corner, threatening Crispin with long lines in the grocery stores and the challenge of bringing something new and good to Link’s annual holiday party. Ray had cheerfully pretended the three days in Munich had never happened and had apparently been billing Crispin as ripe for the plucking to his San Francisco cousin, and Millie and Todd….
Millie and Todd were moving in the spring, because Todd had gotten a grant to go study the effects of ocean development on nearby freshwater species, and Millie had gotten a job doing something Crispin didn’t understand that had to do with media and public relations and beer.
It didn’t matter. He loved them both, and they were really excited, and it was going to be him and their ginormous dog/pony mourning their departure in the spring.
Crispin had never been so acutely aware of time marching on.
Luka’s texts, every day, exotic and intimate, kept him from full melancholy, though, and not just because they reminded him that he’d taken a chance, had a love affair, had done something exciting.
Because they were from Luka.
Send me a picture, Luka returned, and Crispin rolled his eyes. Ugh. Luka had asked once or twice before—he now had a picture of Crispin with Millie and Todd and one with Crispin and Captain Steve. Crispin hated selfies.
“Cam,” he muttered, “c’mere. Luka wants a selfie.”
“Of me?”
“No, but I thought I’d do us guys at the office.”
Cam stared at him. “Not to be crude, Crispin, but he hasn’t seen any of us ‘guys at the office’ naked. I think he’d rather just have you.”
“But I’m boring!”
“He didn’t think so last month!”
“C’mon—it’s so embarrassing! He’s sending me a picture from India and I’m sending him a picture from Klosky Accounting. Please?”
Cam narrowed his eyes. “Are you embarrassed about your life, Crispin?”
Crispin scowled back. “No.”
“Then sac up and send that man a selfie.”
“Fine.” He fiddled with his phone a minute and held the camera up. He smiled, pretending Luka was right across from him, and snapped, then sent.
Your smile is always so shy.
Same guy I was in Munich.
Yeah yeah. I still like that guy.
Good. How is studying going?
Very spiritual. I’m finding that my body isn’t ready to renounce all worldly pleasures yet.
Crispin remembered the worldly pleasures they’d shared in a borrowed apartment and his whole body flushed hot. I just discovered them—I totally understand.
You found anyone else to ride carnival rides with?
It’s only been six weeks, Luka. I haven’t even found someone to serve me beer.
This was as personal as they’d gotten on text, and Crispin’s stomach roiled in excitement.
Beer they can serve you.
Crispin’s breath caught.
Very possessive for someone six thousand miles away.
The next answer took so long that Crispin set the phone down and started work again. When the phone dinged, the message was enough to make him gasp for breath.
I can’t help it. I think of you as mine. Not very enlightened of me, I know.
He swallowed.
I can only be yours if you keep me.
Another long pause, but Crispin couldn’t even pretend to work through this one.
I need to see you.
To see if you want to keep me?
But Luka didn’t bite this time.
It’s like food. We are told that we need only the simplest of food and water to sustain us. Clean air is a blessing. But my heart is cramping, like a stomachache. I need to see you.
You are welcome in my home any time.
Crispin meant that. In ten years, if Luka came with a lover who could follow him in his wandering, Crispin would welcome them into his home. It would hurt like an amputated limb, but Crispin didn’t care.
I will let you know. Must go. Tell me what you plan for Link’s place for Thanksgiving—I like hearing about your adventures in cooking.
The week before, Crispin had taken a picture of his destroyed kitchen after he’d tried to make several kinds of pie.
I can do that. Take care, Luka. I need to see you too.
And I needed to know that. I am terrible at this religion thing. I’ll probably be a wash at Buddhism too. Take care.
Crispin stared at his phone, pretty sure that if he sent something now Luka wouldn’t get it until the next day. He seemed to have designated times when he could text—usually when he was away from the swami and the small compound he said was where he stayed. The ultimate goal, of course, was to not need to contact the outside world at all—but Luka confessed that he followed friends on Instagram and by text, and he worried that they might need him.
And then he’d confessed that he just really didn’t want to let Crispin forget about him either.
Crispin picked up the phone and texted anyway.
I don’t need a saint or a swami or a monk or a priest. You’re a good human being—that’s all I need.
His finger hovered over the Send key and then descended. He set the phone in the charger and pulled up the spreadsheet he’d been working on, only to be startled by Link’s cleared throat behind him.
“So,” Link said, sending Crispin’s hands flying up in the air, “Maritza and I are having a pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. Show up. Look classy. Bring wine.”
Crispin put his hand over his heart just to feel the hammering and turned around in his chair. “You couldn’t have chat-windowed that?”
Link rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s not for the group. It’s just for you.”
Uh-oh. “Me. And Maritza and you. And….”
Link had no shame. None. “And Maritza’s yoga instructor’s brother who just got over a bad breakup and is ready to go back into the dating pool again.”
“No.”
“C’mon, Crispin—she spent a week building you up.”
“I’m not dating.”
“You are too! You spent three days with a hot waiter in Germany—what in the hell was that if you weren’t dating!”
“Okay, so I’m dating him!”
Link narrowed his eyes. “So it’s true.”
Uh-oh. “What’s true?”
“You’re sexting the guy from Germany!”
Crispin swallowed, a graphic image from one of those three nights passing behind his eyes like a banner behind an airplane, and he had the absurd urge to send Luka an entirely different kind of text than he had in the past.
“Not sexting,” he said weakly. “Just… you know. Staying in contact.”
Link blinked slowly, unimpressed. “Is he here?”
“No.”
“Is he coming here?”
“Maybe.”
“When?”
“Soon?”
“Dates?”
Crispin glared at him. “When he’s done studying with a swami to find personal enlightenment?”
“Are you shitting me?” That, of all things, seemed to have pressed a button.
“No! That’s why he didn’t visit after Oktoberfest—he had plans!”
“Personal enlightenment?”
“Some people think it’s a worthy—”
“Fuck personal enlightenment! He’s got a perfectly good Crispin right here. What’s he need? Permission to travel? He could be fucking Persephone for all I care—here for six months of winter, gone for six months in the summer—as long as he’s committing to a thing!”
“It was three days!” Crispin protested. “How’s he going to commit to a thing—”
“Ah-ha!” Link crowed. “So you admit three days and some sexting isn’t enough to commit! I’ll see you tomorrow night! Wear something pretty and smile!”
Link stalked off, and Crispin sagge
d against his office chair, feeling as though he’d been hit by a truck.
“How did that happen?” he asked the world at large.
“I got no idea,” Cam said from across the aisle. “But he’s got his heart set on it.”
“But it’s not fair to… to Maritza’s yoga instructor’s cousin—”
“Brother,” Cam corrected grimly, eyes crossing, as well they should because… damn.
“Brother. Whatever. I’m not… I’m not on the market right now!”
Cam let out a breath. “Look, Crispin? Can I give you some advice?”
“Has anything I’ve ever said stopped any of you before?”
“No,” Nick said from the cubicle behind Crispin’s. “Go ahead, Cam. Ray and I are listening.”
“I am not listening,” Ray said from his spot across from Nick. “I am dutifully crunching numbers and trying to plot my wife’s next ovulation cycle. By all means give Crispin dating advice, and while you’re at it, tell us when you’re getting married because my wife wants to know.”
“Next fall,” Cam retorted, like he’d said this too many times already. “And I was just going to tell Crispin to go on the setup, let the yoga instructor’s brother down gently, and then move on with his life. He can’t stop living, and maybe—just maybe—if he meets a local guy he likes, he’ll have someone to mend his broken heart if this whole swami’s apprentice thing falls to shit.”
Crispin buried his face in his hands. “God. Fine. I’ll bring cheap wine.”
“Bring the expensive stuff,” Link called across the office. “That way he’ll think you’re the one who got away.”
“I hate you!” Crispin called back.
“We all hate him!” Lucy hollered into the office in general. “I in particular hate all of you because I’ve added this column of numbers six times. For God’s sake can we keep work to work for the next half hour? Please?”
“Sorry, Lucy,” they all called dutifully.
Crispin returned to his computer, eyes downcast, and checked on Cam to see if he was doing the same.
Cam was checking on him, and they both choked on smirks for a good five minutes before they could get hold of themselves.
Crispin immersed himself back in his work, comforted by numbers and rules and laws and order, and didn’t notice the message on his phone until after he stood to leave for the day.
If all you need is a good human being then I’d better study with you.
Crispin stared at the text and smiled. God—so sweet.
I’m very selective about who I study with. You’re my only applicant so far.
I’d better hurry, then. Signing off.
Yeah—yoga instructor’s brother was going to have to find somebody else. Crispin was definitely not on the market.
HIS NAME turned out to be Jamie Mancuso, and he had coal-black hair, pale brown skin, and snapping black eyes.
Three months ago, Crispin would have found him dreamy but a little intense.
Now he found him handsome but not intense enough. Weird how that worked, when you’d been in bed with a guy who’d given up all his possessions for personal enlightenment.
“So,” Crispin said, taking a sip of the moderately priced chardonnay he’d brought. That’s all he had. “So.” Link and Maritza were in the kitchen, preparing dinner, and Crispin and Jamie were seated in the living room.
Looking at each other.
“So,” Jamie returned, pursing his lips with an uncomfortable smile. “You, uh, known Link and Maritza long?”
“Six years,” Crispin replied promptly. “Wait—eight, but we didn’t start hanging out until about six years ago. When Link pointed his finger at me and said, ‘You! You shall be the sixth person at the Kings game! Come!’”
Jamie laughed—and it wasn’t a bad sound. Rich, rolling, genuine. Some of Crispin’s discomfort eased up. This didn’t have to be a setup—it could just be a friend.
“Are you an accountant too?”
Crispin nodded. “Yeah—Link and I work for the same firm. Our department actually works with small businesses, particularly ones that do business overseas.”
“Oh wow! I could really use you guys!” Jamie brightened—and then lost some of his excitement. “But I can’t really afford you. It took me two years to get my liquor licenses and my bar approved for appetizers—I mean, I’m busy as hell, but I need someone to straighten out my books, and I’m nowhere near the black to pay for it.” He sighed. “Man, the Cave Bar has been my dream, and now I’m afraid I blew it by failing math in the ninth grade.”
Crispin felt bad for the guy. “Hey—how about you give us an address, and Link and I can come by this weekend and take a look at your books. I know that’s your busy time, but—”
“No! No—that would be great!” Jamie said, sounding desperate. “Do you think Link would do it?”
Crispin cast an evil look over at the kitchen, where Link and Maritza were talking just quietly enough to listen to everything they were saying.
“I think Link owes me,” he said coldly. “He’ll definitely be there.”
Jamie chortled. “Oh, man! I take it this setup wasn’t your idea either?”
“No,” Crispin said sourly. “I… well, I sort of have a long-distance thing, but I don’t think Link approves.”
Jamie had really expressive eyebrows, and now they made little tents over his so-brown-they-were-black eyes. “How does Link approve of anything you—”
Crispin shook his head. “He’s just… he’s like the grand patriarch of the small business department of Klosky’s. He and Maritza make it their business to make all of their people happy. On the one hand, it’s really sweet, but on the other, it’s really….”
“Frickin’ Machiavellian!” Jamie laughed. “I had no idea Maritza was the Folsom equivalent of a Borgia sister. I’ll have to tell Francie—she’ll be so relieved she’s not a pushover!”
Crispin shook his head. “No, no—it takes a strong person to stand up to Lincoln Galvan.” Crispin took a big gulp of his wine. “Have you known Maritza long?” he asked, hoping… hoping… hoping….
“About a week.” Oh, there it was. A whole week. “It was weird—one minute I was stocking the bar, and the next minute my cousin was on the phone going, ‘Hey, uh… I got someone who wants you to meet someone….’ Francie sounded so confused.”
Crispin clapped his hand over his eyes. “Oh my God. They’re diabolical!”
“Apparently so—but I’ve got a cute guy who wants to look at my books out of it, so I’m not going to argue.”
Crispin half laughed. At that moment his pocket buzzed, and he frowned. “May I check a text for a moment?”
Jamie waved him on, and Crispin nodded thanks.
I’ve managed to fly out of Aurangabad to Delhi—I am on standby to anywhere in America. I’ll let you know when I arrive.
Crispin’s mouth dropped open, and he stroked the face of the phone and smiled.
Safe journey, Luka. I can’t wait to see you.
It might be a while—I could be routed through several places first.
Yeah—but you’re coming.
I cannot promise I will stay.
Crispin swallowed, the fine chardonnay tasting a little less crisp. He’d known this.
Maybe not. But maybe you’ll want to come back.
Let me get there first. Be patient, love. This is a thing we must wait for.
Crispin nodded and was going to wish him “Safe travels” again when Luka texted Phone dying. You’ll hear from me, which was as good a sign-off as any.
Crispin put his phone in his pocket regretfully and nodded at Jamie. “Thanks,” he said, his voice thick. “That was important.”
Jamie was looking at him oddly, almost sorrowful. “Was that your long-distance thing?”
“Yeah.” Crispin smiled a little and shrugged. “He’s trying to visit for the holidays.”
“From where?”
“Aurangabad.”
Jami
e’s eyes widened. “That is long-distance!”
Crispin shrugged again. “You are telling me.” He felt his heart close protectively around Luka, his precious search for meaning in the world, how fragile he sounded when he said his heart was cramping, like a stomachache, and he needed to feed himself with Crispin. These things were Crispin’s, and as much as he liked Link—and now Jamie—he really didn’t want to share these things with anyone else.
“So, Jamie—before we go in on Saturday, tell me more about the Cave Bar!”
“WHAT ARE we doing here again?” Cam asked, unwrapping his scarf and stuffing his hat in his coat pocket. “I mean, I get wanting to visit a new place, but usually we want to visit it while it’s open!”
“This is a friend of Link’s, right, Link?” Crispin asked sweetly.
Link rolled his eyes and apparently shook off growing a conscience with the same gesture. “No. He’s sort of a friend of Maritza’s—she was looking for someone for Crispin and the owner was a good bet, but Crispin is being stubborn.”
“Crispin has someone in his life,” Crispin said, staying firm. “And since you invited Jamie to your house to eat cold pizza, this is the least you could do for him.” Apparently Link and Maritza had not been eavesdropping on Crispin and Jamie that night. They’d been trying to rescue duck ala orange and had finally given it up to order pizza. By the time the pizza arrived, everyone was too hungry to be picky, but as they’d left, Crispin had given Link the card for the guy he had come to his parties, because that guy could make pizza that didn’t taste like cardboard with tomatoes and sugar.
“Wait,” Nick said, shedding his coat and scarf on the coat tree at the entrance to the bar. “We’re doing this because Link and Maritza set you up?”
“No,” Crispin said reluctantly. It would be good to make Link swing some more, but Link was nobody’s martyr. “We’re doing this because Jamie is a nice guy, and this bar is his dream, and he can’t afford us when we might be the only thing keeping him from going under. Consider it pro bono, like when defense attorneys actually defend innocent clients for free. It’s a public service.”
