by Damon Suede
Andy had caught him looking. He winked and coughed.
They both looked up at the big numbers climbing and nobody said a damn thing, which worked out fine. His arm brushed Ruben’s, tickling for a millisecond.
Ruben would never wear a jockstrap. Just an open ass? Straight guys didn’t wear jocks. Gay guys wore jocks for, like, porn fashion, but what the hell did it do for you at the gym?
Inside the apartment, Ruben hooked left toward the guest room. “Gonna rinse.” His hands shook, so he flexed them to cover.
Behind him he could hear Andy grunt and pour a tall glass of something in the kitchen.
In the bathroom he stared at himself in the mirror. Thlip. A salty drip from his chin reminded him of the shower he needed to take.
An ugly, small part of him wanted to go back to the pool to swim in that hot water. Or to let his boss paw and praise him so he could have more of that numbing, in-control feeling he’d started to crave.
Drunk on just being there.
Ruben needed to hit a meeting, ASAP. He wasn’t drinking, but he was acting exactly like an alcoholic. The choices he was making seemed destructive and selfish. This is what AA was for. Like every ex-boozer on earth, he’d transferred his addiction to something convenient, in this case the job, the money, and his boss.
He texted Peach but got no reply. No. Before the party tonight, he’d duck out and hit a meeting. Any fucking meeting. He needed to get away. Take a break. Just an hour outside of this place talking with other alcoholics would help him get his head back on straight.
Straight.
Ruben peeled the sweaty shorts off, and they hit the tiled wall with a grim slap. He needed to look up cachondo. He hated feeling ignorant, especially when he was.
A flicker made his head jerk. Was someone watching him? His skin prickled as he poked back out into the bedroom’s uncanny silence. Nothing and no one.
He stood there a moment, goosefleshed and straining to hear. Finally he locked the door. Stupid, maybe, but at least nobody was gonna sneak up on him.
When he stepped into the shower, Ruben thought the steaming water was cold until he realized that it was pinking his brown skin. He rolled his shoulders and let his head hang forward. The water pelted his shoulders and neck but did nothing for the tension. After all his bitching at Andy about stretching he hadn’t done jack to limber up. He’d stretch after the shower. No way could he stretch with Andy in those wet shorts watching him. Freaky.
What the hell did cachondo mean?
Ruben soaped his skin roughly, kneading his quads hard enough to force a gasp.
Andy’s strength had surprised the hell out of him. The guy sat at a desk all day but kept ripped up, wide lats and the small, high butt of a soccer player. Go know. Maybe some kinda personal trainer came and made him do squats in that blinding white jockstrap.
Help.
As if summoned, his cock plumped and pushed away from his scrubby pubes. Again that heavy pleasure weighed his genitals and made his stomach tighten. Ruben watched the water sluice down his legs and kept his hands above his waist. This was why people jerked off: to keep a lid on these kinds of weird feelings so they didn’t leak out into your life.
Boner bad. He needed a night off and a night out. Standing in this room made all Andy’s nonsense seem real.
Again that sense of being watched slithered over him from behind. Instinct? Paranoia?
He dried off, his stubborn erection not cooperating. For a moment he considered combing the room for a cam or a microphone before he got hold of himself.
“I’m crazy. This is crazy,” Ruben muttered.
As soon as he unlocked the door and left the guest room, he checked the office.
“Are you on the clock?” Hope looked up from her laptop. “Good. I’m about to split.”
“How bad’ll this party be tonight?”
She flashed her eyes in mock horror, but kept mum. “S’fundraiser at the American Museum of Natural History. His mother is on the board. At least it’s not a dancing for a disease.” She closed the laptop and tucked it into her briefcase.
“I’ll prep the car.” Working tonight meant he technically wasn’t on duty until 1:00 p.m.
She nodded. “Museum gala.” She looked sympathetic. Cold comfort. “Tux on your door.” She flapped her hand. “Guest room… door. You know what I mean.”
He did know, but he ignored the implication. They’d bought him a tux. He hadn’t worn a tux at his damn wedding. Had Joysann used his measurements? Thinking of the personal shopper made him think about her perving on him with Andy. Not good.
“What?” She sounded impatient.
“Are there…?” How to ask. “Does he have cameras and all in the apartment?”
“Hfft. Y’kidding. In this place? Course he does.” Off his surprise. “Not in the bathrooms, of course, but most the rooms have surveillance. For security—”
His word overlapped hers. “—security.” Not paranoia. Being proven right didn’t kill the cold prickly feeling that Andy was watching him.
Hope snapped her fingers. “Look. Andy’s got the Citigroup guys this afternoon. Highline project. I’m out most of the day.”
“Yeah.” Ruben blinked. “Oh. Sure.”
“Andy, I’m headed to class. I’m on my phone. Forget the cameras.” She rolled her eyes.
“Yes ma’am.” Andy came into the kitchen looking fresh pressed. Asshole. “Good shower?”
“Great,” Ruben lied.
“Tuxedo okay?” He gave Hope a thumbs up as she left. “Museum does a dance every spring, but I don’t dance.”
“Everybody can dance, Bauer.”
Andy even made the clumsiness seem charming. “Really. Ever. I dance like a white guy. Actually, more like a couple white guys in a dryer.”
Ruben remembered his parents dancing in the kitchen. His father had a collection of cumbia records that they broke out on Friday nights. As much as they pretended to be American-born, his mother still baked the best pandebono he’d ever eaten.
“What?” Andy was staring at him gently.
Ruben shook the memory loose. “Nothing. No. I was thinking about my folks.” And you dancing.
Andy smiled. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
“Why go if you don’t dance? I mean, what’s the point?”
“There’s more involved. Schmoozing. Rubber chicken. Adulterous supermodels who fantasize about brooding bodyguards who can’t speak Spanish.” Andy bumped their shoulders together.
The friendly teasing plinked into his heart like pennies in a piggybank.
No need to ask Andy about the surveillance equipment. Better to do a proper sweep later on his own.
That afternoon, while Andy was hustling Citigroup, Ruben stopped in the garage to prep the town car with his kit. He felt stupid for checking; he knew this was all for show. If nothing else, it was practice for a real job.
If something’s worth doing….
First he squatted and did a grid sweep inside and out, using an inspection mirror on an arm to check from concrete up to carriage to make sure that nothing hung down, that no suspicious packages, bulbs, or cans lurked underneath. No tracker or bomb on board. No surprises there.
Feeling stupid, he shimmied under on his back and drilled the tailpipe. He inserted a bolt across its diameter to make sure nobody would insert anything or pack the pipe with fabric. From his bullshit training weekend, he knew that more VIPs got killed with bombs than bullets because they were easier to control and the perp didn’t have to stick around.
Finally, using a small portable vac, he cleaned gravel and dirt underneath the car. Ditto wiping down the interior. He’d do the same at the museum. If he spotted any shifted grit or scuffs, someone had interfered.
As soon as he was done, he headed upstairs to check on his boss, who was on the phone. Andy nodded at him and rolled his eyes at whoever was on the line.
Ruben whispered, “Bauer, I’m gonna grab lunch and hit, uh, church. Bac
k in an hour.” He’d be back before noon, but he didn’t want to be anywhere else really. Truth was, he liked hanging around this place. Even if he didn’t understand Andy all the time, he wanted to. “Want anything?”
Andy shook his head and gave a wink that made them both smile.
Time to go.
Ruben couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted anyone to like him, let alone watched it unfold. Here in this penthouse, Andy had changed that. The easy warmth between them freaked him out some but pleased him more. He felt loyal to Andy because Andy seemed loyal in kind. Kinda wonderful and surprising.
For a minute, Ruben considered blowing off AA and just eating something from the fridge, but knew that was a trap. Giving in to the urge to trust Andy could only be a mistake.
Andy was safe. Ruben’s real job was to keep his distance. The real danger in this place was to him.
In the elevator, he pulled up the Twelve-Step app and found a Big Book meeting on Eighty-Fifth Street that started in twenty minutes. Just as he hit the lobby, he finally used his phone to find out what cachondo meant.
There it was: “Funny. Rowdy. Sexy. In heat.” Jesus. He swallowed. “Horny.”
Whatever secrets he had, that wasn’t one of them.
CHAPTER FIVE
A HUNDRED million dollars rubbing together never makes any sparks you can see.
That night, the car took them through the park to the west side and deposited them on Seventy-Seventh in front of a massive building that looked like a haunted college decorated for a prom.
Ruben got the town car squared away in the parking lanes and then joined Andy on the steps where they both pretended he knew people he’d never seen before. His tux blended with every other, so who could say?
Inside, he found a weird jumble of expensive clothes and kid-friendly dioramas.
Instead of trailing Andy over to his waving friends, Ruben went to the bar for a seltzer and lime. It was easy to find reasons not to drink; he just pretended to be on antibiotics. Before he could check on his boss, Andy stood at his shoulder.
“All good?”
“All good.” Ruben put his hands in his pockets, conscious of the holster against his ribs.
“I figure if we’re efficient, we can swing through and be out in… My mother can’t make it because of some fake crisis, so an hour tops.”
“I’m at your service, man.” Literally. Because you are my boss and not my friend. Ruben felt like the world’s luckiest stalker.
“Thing is, events like these are some of the best hunting grounds for new investors. Chatty. Relaxed.” Andy nodded at a stout man with a stout wife eating some type of dim sum with red sauce. “These people can afford to gamble their money. Plus, we all grew up together. Dalton, Loyola, Exeter, Brearley, Beekman.”
Headshake. “Are those friends of yours?”
“Those are prep schools.” Andy didn’t grin. “Dairy farms for cash cows.”
“Jesus.” Ruben kept forgetting Andy was a rich dick, but Andy kept reminding him.
“First lesson of investment: money is personal.”
Yeah, yeah. “You hustle them,” Ruben teased him.
“You gotta show up at their weddings. Cards at the holidays. Stroke their pet charities.” Why did Andy need to rationalize his lifestyle to him? “Hey: I’m a single, straight male with the right pedigree and a waist smaller than my shoulders.”
Again the word “straight” gave Ruben a hollow feeling because there was no reason for Andy to make such a big deal about it. Either he was saying it to prove something or to make something clear. Invitation or warning? Was he interested? Did he think Ruben was interested?
Worse, Ruben couldn’t say for sure what he was. Andy confused the hell out of him.
Andy misunderstood his silence. “You’ll be fine.” Nudge.
“Yeah. Ha ha. It’s fucking funny.” Ruben didn’t smile. “How do you rub elbows?”
“They’re gonna eat you up.” Andy laughed, flirting out of habit.
“I don’t belong with those people. Just let me wear an earpiece and a shoulder holster and stand against the drapes.”
“You’re a funny one. You probably think about status more than anyone here does. People don’t notice much, if you don’t make them.”
“Still sucks.”
“That’s not—” Andy looked down. “Sorry.”
Ruben pointed at himself. “Mean face I got. Stopped at the airport because I look like a ‘filthy’ Arab. Pulled over if I glance at a traffic cop because they figure I’m a Dominican gangbanger. Shitty bar service because Sicilians never tip. I spent more days in jail during Spring Break than a drug dealer because Miami security knows how a Cuban pimp looks or mobster, junkie, wife-beater. You fucking name it.” His voice heated there at the end, so he pinned Andy with his eyes to make him listen.
Andy didn’t say anything, but he seemed to be fishing nonetheless. Again he stood too close.
“Has its uses. I make a great thug.”
Andy eyed his shoulders and hands. “And you musta been a helluva jock.”
“I’m not an idiot, Bauer.” Ruben scowled. Was Andy yanking his rope on purpose?
“It was a compliment. I was on the swim team, but mainly because my stepfather forced me.”
Ruben nodded, irrationally pleased he’d guessed right. “I wrestled some. Too big for soccer. And football was mostly the black kids.”
“Huh.”
Ruben nodded.
“If I coulda, I woulda stayed locked in my room yanking off till I graduated. At least swimming I met a few people and got a little exercise.” Andy slapped his abdomen.
Ruben remembered Andy in the shower. He could imagine. He did. He covered with a gulp of seltzer.
“And my butterfly is killer.” Andy winked.
Ruben stopped imagining, but kept his eyes on the crowd. He kept waiting for Andy to go about his business, to talk to the other guests, or the museum director, but Andy stuck to him as if they really were buddies prowling the town together. He didn’t seem willing to abandon Ruben. “So how does this work?”
“See and be seen. Press the flesh and smile a lot. I try to turn up in about ten photos for the magazines. Spend Fifty-K or so.”
“On what?”
“Auction. Donated crap. People wander around to the bid sheets and agree to buy it.” Andy shrugged. “Usually I pick up a couple of the stinkers just to help out.”
Ruben laughed. “Wine from Detroit.”
“Yeah. Tour of Bulgaria. That kinda thing.”
Easy enough to spot the desirable items. Clusters of upscale partiers chattered in clumps around the electronics and tropical travel posters.
“Why not just write a check?”
“Trick I learned from my dad. These receptions make great press, and it’s always easier to explain a donation to the IRS when you can point to an exact time and date. I just let the museum keep the prize to reauction. Spin classes and baseball tickets? No thanks.” He made a sour face. “Wanna play?”
Ruben turned in surprise. “Me?” Was he serious?
“Why not? It’s all charity. Many hands make light work. Plus we can escape faster.” Andy winked. “You take that wall and I’ll take this. Try to blow twenty-five grand, and I’ll do the same.” Without waiting for an answer, he waved at a painfully skinny brunette wearing some kind of shredded dinner napkin and hared off.
And so Ruben spent the next half hour buying twenty-five thousand dollars of crap no one needed: a football signed by the Giants, a spa weekend in Kentucky, a snowboard airbrushed in colors so ugly that no one would stand next to it. A few people made eye contact and so he smiled back, but he kept quiet.
The disguise Andy had given him sat a little too comfortably on his shoulders. He ignored the champagne circling on trays.
Instead, he took a break to grab another club soda and scanned the sea of white faces, looking for Andy. A couple Asians scattered in, but these folks were adamantly young, An
glo upper crusties. Without question, he was the darkest person in the room, even counting cater-waiters. Didn’t look any different to Ruben. Bunch of middle-aged people standing around a museum talking. The men looked bored, the women looked anxious. The only person having any kind of good time was an old guy with a horseshoe of silver hair who kept stopping in the knots of guests to chatter excitedly and point at the air.
Finally he spotted Andy laughing with a polished group about twenty yards away. Their eyes met for a split second and held till Ruben looked away from Andy’s satisfied grin. Man knew how to work a room.
He’s your boss, not your friend. He’s the principal.
Later, shrill shouting made him turn. A whip-thin socialite in vintage Balenciaga flailed and wailed at Andy, purple faced. A short, chubby man tugged one of her elbows forcibly, but she wouldn’t budge. The hell? Andy seemed amused.
Frowning, Ruben started to walk toward the fracas. He couldn’t make sense of her ranting. Thick veins were standing out in the angry woman’s throat. A mistress? A rival? A lawyer?
He began pushing through people faster, until Andy caught his eye.
Headshake at Ruben: stay put. Whatever was happening he didn’t want his bodyguard in the middle of it. He wanted Ruben undercover.
Ruben froze, watching the Balenciaga hysterics with the boozy crowd. Protective rage rose in him, but he needed to stay put.
Suddenly she swung her hand and slashed Andy with champagne across his face and chest. People yelped and jumped back. More shrillness from her. Splintered crash of the flute breaking, but between the bodies Ruben couldn’t see where and he wasn’t supposed to move closer. Stupid.
Andy grinned big and made a show of scraping the wet off his goofy face. He shook his hands, scattering drops. Big joke. The room laughing with him.
She clawed at her own throat, grabbed the neckline of her dress and ripped it, exposing one high breast. Her chubby date tried to cover it. Scandalized gasps. The crowd edged away and gabbled excitedly.
The hell?
Over the fascinated partygoers and echoing space, Ruben couldn’t really hear her. Two words only crossed the room and only because she kept shrieking them: “Trust” and “Apex.” The whites of her eyes blazed. Again he looked to Andy, but all he got was a headshake that held him in place across the room.
