Mask

by Jan Irving

  Nick shook his head. “I dont know what is real anymore. What I can believe in.” Had he wasted all that time with Miguel, settling when he could have been truly touched, taken? No wonder hed been such an easy mark for Obsidian, his vulnerability exposed through their chat.

  “Its all a blur, like a dream, but I think I did make a choice. What matters now is… I dont want to lose you as a friend.” Nick frowned, wondering if someone had slipped his boyfriend a mickey in his drink. But it didnt matter. “I need some time. I, uh, know someone who offered to help you out.” He swallowed thickly, taking another step away from Miguel. But why not? His boyfriend had apparently found what he needed elsewhere, after years of Nick patiently trying to reawaken him sexually. It burned him, and he was ashamed to realize that if he hadnt met Obsidian, flirted with him, he would have been more devastated when Miguel moved away.

  “ Ill do what I can for you and Ill be moving in with Marilyn.” Nicks lips twisted. “Still have to finish sorting out her gothic novels anyway.”

  Miguel nodded jerkily. “Maybe we can talk sometime. I never meant to hurt you, Nick.” Nick sighed, not sure if he was precisely happy that he wasn t hurting more. Like Obsidian had predicted, it was more his pride that was damaged. “I believe you never meant to hurt me, which is why Ill help you now.” What hed had with Miguel had broken like a brittle fall branch, leaving Nick with… what?

  He tried to shove aside the name that came to mind.

  “POOR Nick,” Marilyn said as Nick pushed up his protective goggles

  and shut off his welder. “Youre wiped. And you wont find your answers driving yourself with your art.” “ Yeah.” Nicks T-shirt was soaked with sweat, sticking clammily to his body. Hed been working for hours at the free studio for students d been working for hours at the free studio for students year-old drag queens face—sans makeup.

  “ So you and Miguel? I just cant believe it. Listen, Nick, I know that maybe the romance was an illusion for a long time, and you grew apart, but the friendship?”

  “Over.” Nick slumped on one of the stools. “At least for now. I know hes going through some shit now but I just cant—” “ So dont push yourself,” the older woman, his former boss at the Pancake House, recommended. “But you dont have to help Miguel by making some kind of reckless bargain with the devil.”

  “Obsidian—Mr. Mitchell isnt the devil. Um, not quite.” “ Some think he is! I Googled him at the library just now.” She smiled at Nicks surprised look. “Hey, I can Google with the best of them, despite my hands being a mess. There was a fire a little over a year ago in Mr. Mitchells penthouse apartment. Someone died there, Nick, some friend of his….”

  Nick picked at the wire he d been soldering. “I want to help Miguel and I can let it go for now, just… leave him in a place where I dont worry about him. And as for Mr. Mitchell, its not like Im willing to do anything.”

  Marilyn sipped her herb tea in a paper cup, sober eyes on Nick. “Arent you? Ive never seen you like this, unless it was over your art. Its like youre under his spell.”

  Moonbeam: I was reading just now about your chosen nickname. Obsidian is created by lava flows and then cools into something hard and brittle which may be used as a weapon.

  Obsidian: So?

  Moonbeam: :tired: What do you want? And it better not be sexual favors. Obsidian: I want you to live in my house.

  Moonbeam: That’s...it? Why, for fuck’s sake?

  Obsidian: You’ve been to my house, seen it. It’s...very quiet. I only have one servant. I told you I find you very diverting.

  Moonbeam: You manipulated me!

  Obsidian: I’d do it again to get what I want—you. And anyway, you wanted to be manipulated. Then you could tell yourself, he did that to me, that’s not who I am, what I want.

  Moonbeam: :Deep breath: You’ll help Miguel. Obsidian: Done. And I hope you’re done with him. Done with holding onto something out of habit and misguided friendship.

  Moonbeam: So what now? When do I see you? Obsidian: You don’t. A car will arrive in the morning to pick you up at your friend Marilyn’s place. Bring the bare minimum of clothing; I will provide the rest.

  Moonbeam: :curious: The hell...? Why would you want to do that?

  Obsidian: Because I want you wearing clothing against your skin that I chose, I touched.

  “WHAT are you going to do with this?” Finn asked, showing off his

  inquisitive mind as he lifted some scrap metal from Nicks work table. Nick shut off his old welder and pushed back his goggles, his face shiny with sweat from a combination of proximity with the flame and intense concentration. “Ive gotten into three dimensional in a big way lately. I thought… wings forever stuck to the wall. How we want to fly but cant allow ourselves.”

  “ Expressive.” Finn raised a brow, pushing some of his curly red hair out of his golden eyes as he studied Nicks face. He cocked his head. “I can see a little of what his lordship sees in you, why you are suddenly his big obsession. Youre different from his, um, usual companions.”

  “ So youre Kains…?” Nick sat on another one of the long tables in the atrium-turned-studio attached to Kain Mitchells house. The sky was nearly blocked out by reddened ivy over the glass dome, so light came into the room with a greenish tinge, as if Nick and Finn were in some special watery world.

  He d met Finn OConnell when hed arrived at Telemachus House the second time and an actual person had opened the door instead of the disembodied hand of his employer.

  “Manservant, cook, whatever needs doing, Nick. Id be here more often, but Kain has taken to liking lots of time on his own. A… recluse.” “Uh, his whatever?” Nick flushed when Finn looked amused. “Not that! He doesnt let anyone close except—” Finn chewed his lip and shrugged. “I probably shouldnt say.” “ Who?” Nick pressed.

  “Paid prostitutes,” Finn said succinctly. “Lately slim little blonds.”

  Nick colored further, playing restlessly with his goggles and welder. But he wasnt above pumping Finn for more information about his mysterious employer; it seemed that Obsidian wasnt the only obsessed one. “I guess it must be interesting working for him since he owns his own company and…. Well, this house is pretty unusual. Whats he like?”

  “ Cranky since you had a tiff,” Finn said ruefully. “Keeps to himself, but hes pretty restless at night. He used to get me to play cards with him until he found you online.”

  Nick shrugged. “Im only here because we made a bargain. He promised to help a friend who got into some trouble. But I didnt expect him to give me my own studio space or anything.”

  “ I was sure hed done something to get you here,” Finn grunted. “Hes alone too much and this is a big house in need of a major renovation, if you ask me. But he never asks.”

  “ His choice, I guess, but all the vegetation and the decay make you wonder why hed want to live like this. I, uh, heard he had a penthouse at one time.”

  “ Yes, he did. Slick, Italian, an elaborate showpiece, a fuck pad. Nothing like this house,” Finn said, reflecting.“Well, I have to go order in dinner, so Ill leave you here. Im sure his lordship will be curious what you think of the gift of studio space, even in the old atrium.” Finn pointedly looked over at the open laptop, cursor blinking softly.

  Nick shifted, frowning. “I dont feel like talking to him. He invaded my privacy, manipulated me into working here, and… I feel raw about something else right now. Something I was holding onto.” Nick didnt say more, not wanting to bring up his failed relationship with Miguel.

  Finn smirked. “Then dont talk to him, even though itll put him in a bitch of a mood.” NICK lost himself, enjoying the slanting sun through glass despite the autumn chill. Hed put on a sweatshirt over a sweatshirt though the metalwork warmed him up. He found himself thinking that here hed have light, even in the winter months. Real light, unsparing of his creations, and like most artists, he worshiped light.

  Obsidian had given him this. Manipulated him, yes, but given him this glas
s house. He sipped some of the herbal tea Marilyn had insisted sending him off with—this one was rose petals and chocolate—and looked around his work space.

  The atrium had a roof of white metal spines, some of them rusting a little and blotched where they leaked. Tendrils of ivy had managed to penetrate one side of the folly and take over a corner, almost swallowing a statue of Apollo, frowning sternly, as if slightly put out over his green mantel. A dry fountain surrounded by stone benches was in the center of the space and there was a little feeder and water put out for the wild, and so far shy, canaries that lived among the overgrown orchids and tufts of horn plants and palms.

  Majolica masks peered out from each column. Fall, a smiling empty-eyed face wearing a wreath of corn and grapes; spring, bearing a crown of soft pink porcelain petals; summer, lush with shiny green leaves and yellow-centered daisies. And yet, each smile, benign at first glance to the drifting eye, had an edge. Pagan. Secretive.

  Very like Kain Mitchell and his unusual and atmospheric house. Contemplative, Nick molded the plaster he planned to use for the face of his drag queen, thinking of what it had been like to talk to her, Ms. Appleby. Shed worked as a secretary for a high-powered businessman for years and many people hadnt known she was a man at first glance. “Its the Adams apple that gives it away,” shed told Nick almost mournfully.“I took to wearing attractive chiffon scarves. I was even asked out by quite a few attractive„straight men.”

  The laptop gave a sudden squawk, disrupting the mood. Apparently Obsidians patience was at an end. NICK deliberately looked straight up at the camera staring back in his direction. Raised a brow. And spotted his cold soup and bread on the corner of the table. When had Finn left his supper? He couldnt believe hed been so lost that hed missed that, but he had been, very happily lost in this space provided by Obsidian, in his art.

  The mood broken, he munched on peasant bread and put out a few pieces for the birds. They flew out to steal his leavings when he stepped back to the chair by his computer.

  Obsidian: Is the studio to your liking? Moonbeam: You must know it is. You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? Shit, I just...lost myself for hours. Not that I forgive you but... It looks like you were gathering supplies for weeks. And cleaning out the atrium to create more room for me to spread out a work space. The light, Obsidian... Uh, I mean, Mr. Mitchell—

  Obsidian: Call me Kain or Obsidian. You like it, that’s all that fucking matters. Moonbeam: :shrugs: I do. And...thank you. By the way, I can fix the fountain if you like. I was even thinking since the sculpture was missing from the top that I could make a little something, maybe out of beaten copper so it would green naturally.

  Obsidian: Do whatever you want. Is there a fountain in there? I never noticed. When you lose yourself in your work you’re so fucking intense. It’s arousing, wondering if—

  Moonbeam: I know I’m going to regret asking, but wondering what? Obsidian: If you bring that same intensity to fucking; if I’ll see that same dreamy, lips parted, out of focus look in your eyes when I have you.

  Moonbeam: Shit!

  Obsidian: You asked.

  Moonbeam: :firmly: And you ambushed. We need to talk. Obsidian: What about?

  Moonbeam: You’re watching me in here.

  Obsidian: Yes.

  Moonbeam: We need some rules for the cameras. Obsidian: I only follow my rules under my roof.

  Moonbeam: Your roof is just about to fucking collapse from the ivy alone. So, wrong. You used to only follow your rules when you lived alone with the obliging Finn, but now you share this house with me.

  Nick waited, chewing his lip. Perspiration stung his hairline and the skin above his upper lip. His heart was beating, very fast.

  Obsidian: Why do you need rules? Moonbeam: Because I lived with someone for years and I thought... It didn’t work out.

  Obsidian: Fine, what do you want to suggest? Obviously I’m a barbarian.

  Moonbeam: There’s a camera in my bathroom. Obsidian: I like to watch you take a shower, but I can have it set up so you can activate that one if you choose, otherwise the picture will remain black.

  Moonbeam: Why would I ever turn it on...? Obsidian: You don’t imagine you’ll ever want to tease me, knowing I watch, by taking a slow shower? Think how you can punish me, seeing all that pale skin, that untouched mouth made to suck my cock and I can only watch. And I notice you didn’t mention the camera in the bedroom. You want to display yourself for me.

  Moonbeam: :Rubs forehead: This is fucked up! Obsidian: Then it must be a relationship. Of sorts. If there is anything else you require in the studio, let Finn know. And if the fountain needs plumbing work, he can bring someone in. Stick to the creative shit. By the way, I noticed you started sorting through the books in my library. Not bad work.

  Moonbeam: :sigh: I know the studio is you offering me another bite of the apple. As much as things you say, the way you make me feel.

  Obsidian: How do I make you feel? Tell me.

  Moonbeam: Why should I share myself if you won’t?

  Obsidian: Because you are better at it. Because you want to spread your legs for me, but this is easier. For the moment.

  Moonbeam: That’s not acceptable in the long run. You’ll have to compromise if I’m to live here. I need... I need contact, Obsidian. After what happened with Miguel, my confidence is at an all time low. Can you understand that?

  Obsidian: ... Moonbeam: The word “compromise” takes you aback, I can feel it, but you need to deal. Mr. Mitch— Obsidian, I want to see you.

  Obsidian: No.

  Moonbeam: Why not?

  Obsidian: Never. You are never to see me.

  Moonbeam: You apparently see prostitutes, so why not me?

  Obsidian: ...

  Moonbeam: Don’t you want to be in the same room and...truly make contact? I want to know you. Obsidian: Do you know the story of Cupid and Psyche? Beware what you wish for, little one. Finn will come for you when I’m ready. Do as he says.

  Moonbeam: Obsidian?

  Obsidian: Has left the room.

  “THERE! Blonds look so hot in black or charcoal. Actually blonds look

  great in anything,” Finn sighed, looking rueful. Nick looked down at the Kanji figure Finn had drawn on the pale flesh just above his left hip. “What does it mean?” he asked, still bemused at the attentions. It felt good to be touched, by a brush, by fingers, the focus of pampering. It soothed the raw wound that Miguel had made, however inadvertently. Nick felt oddly languid, like a boy being prepared for his pashas pleasure.

  “ Luck,” Finn said, looking up with a smile. “If you like it, I know someone in Japan Town who could make it permanent. Thanks for letting me play; Kain doesnt offer many outlets for that.”

  Nick reached for the heavy brocade gold and charcoal kimono and swung it over his shoulders, leaving it open so he didnt smear the line of dark paint on his body, just above his low-slung black silk pajama bottoms.

  “Very Asian.” Finn nodded approval. He stood directly behind Nick. “And you like the eyeliner; admit it.” Nick swallowed, seeing a sensual stranger in the mirror. Finn had even reddened his lips, so he looked like hed been doing something Obsidian often said he was made for, sucking cock. Shit! “I feel like Im looking at a stranger.”

  “A stranger you like or not?” Finn probed.

  Nick looked at him. “I dont know, but its almost like Im donning some kind of mask.”

  “Masks are aspects of our psyche.”

  “Psyche.” Nick grimaced. “Obsidian—I mean, Mr. Mitchell— mentioned the Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche.” “ Appropriate. A beauty is married to someone she has never seen.” Finn stroked Nicks hair, almost as if he wanted to offer a silent kind of reassurance.“But other people interfere and make her doubt her mysterious husband, so she lights a lamp to see him and… loses him.” Finn suddenly gripped Nicks slim wrist, swallowing. “Are you sure you want to go to him tonight? Being caught up in a fairy tale is not easy.”

  “You act
like hes some kind of monster! Melodramatic, Finn.” Finn held Nicks gaze in the mirror. “More things in Heaven and Earth. Oh, and youre to put this on.” He handed Nick a black silk scarf. “ What is that for?”

  “Blindfold. His rule.”

  “But youve seen him, so why…?”

  “He doesnt want you to see him. Im afraid hes adamant about it, Nick.”

  “I dont see why,” Nick grumbled as Finn tied the blindfold on. “ Dont you? Hes afraid. No one can reject you like a lover can.” For a moment Finn looked despondent, memories living in his golden eyes. Then he took Nicks hand and led him from the bathroom where hed insisted on changing because hed switched off the camera. Hed wanted some time to talk to Finn unobserved.

  “Ill take you to him.”

  NICKS head was cocked, as he felt the breath of heated air from a fire

  touch his face. He had the sense he was in the same room where he d first met the mysterious Mr. Mitchell. Except this time he was guided closer to the warmth, seated carefully in a leather club chair. Lacking vision, he stroked the leather, lips parting.

  “I know youre here,” he whispered. “Finally here within touching distance.” Kain grunted.

  Amused Nick said, “Well, this is promising.”

  “I dont know what you want. I am not going to entertain you.”

  Nick leaned his cheek against his chair, head raised to stretch his senses, experiencing Kain differently because he couldnt see him. “Ill just sit here then.”

  “ Fine,” Kain said.

  HE must have fallen asleep, lulled by the fire, the sound of Kains fingers tapping on keys, no doubt working his high-octane business. He was tired from setting up his studio, from early classes that morning.

  He woke when someone lifted him.

  He clutched a shoulder and felt hard muscle through silk. “What time?” he mumbled, groggy.

  “Its after three. Finn has gone to bed.” “ Hummm.” Nick licked his lips, his body swaying, his pulse throbbing so he was aware of it in his inner thighs, his throat, his stiffening sex as Kain carried him easily, obviously much larger-bodied than Nick, which turned him on.