Pent Up

by Damon Suede

  The naked freedom terrified him. Intimacy with Andy felt like walking across a frozen lake. Nowhere to hide, everyone watching, and any second—crack—you’d plunge into the churning, choking blackness. The sense of impending doom hung over everything they did together.

  He was drunk on it and knew better. He recalled the feeling from his bad old days when he’d guzzle down well drinks, wondering who’d pay the tab, who’d land the first punch, who’d toss him into traffic, who’d call the cops.

  With every swallow of sweet poison, the bottle got emptier. Drink faster.

  Ruben got out of the shower to find Andy holding a vinyl garment bag.

  “Whatsamatter, Rube?” Andy’s goofy grin snapped him out of the funk he was circling.

  Andy wouldn’t tell him where they were going, but he was definitely keyed up for some reason. He’d sent Hope home at two in the afternoon and told Ruben to tux up.

  Ruben squinted at him. “The fuck are you up to, Bauer?”

  Andy answered with a smile and a slow blink, like that was an answer. “Hurry up.” His dimple exaggerated the filthy undertone.

  Ruben unzipped the bag. “Black tie?”

  “Fraternity.” Andy squinted at the clothes and then at him, weighing something.

  Snort. “We’re going to a frat party?”

  Andy laughed. “Sorta. The tuxes are kind of a joke now, but it’s tradition.”

  Wobbly headshake. He couldn’t wake up today.

  Andy nodded at him appreciatively. “I say frat, but that’s kinda bullshit ’cause it’s coed and nothing like a frat-frat.”

  Ruben nodded like that meant something. All he knew about fraternities came from shitty comedies and porn: kegs and jocks and spanking. “So this is your fraternity, like from college.”

  “Well, technically it’s a literary society, only that’s a crock. Secret society, ditto. Saint A’s about as secret as a boob job.” Andy scowled. “These days they’re trying to be a secret society like Skull & Bones.”

  “Sounds like moneybags bullshit to me.” Ruben pulled on the pants and sat on the bed to pull on socks.

  “Pretty much.”

  Ruben stopped. “If you can’t stand them, why are we going?”

  “Business. I still have three or four big clients through Saint A’s.” Andy dropped his gaze to the floor as if the rug was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

  “I have to say this, huh? This seems pretty unsafe, considering two homicidal idiots just broke in. You might recall.” Ruben could hear the plea in his voice and hated it.

  Andy didn’t seem to care one way or another. He tossed the garment bag on the mussed bed. “Rube, it’s done. I’m telling you. The whole thing has been a bluff. You scared ’em off, and they’re off screwing with some other sad jerk.”

  Ruben sat up and scowled at that. He disagreed, obviously. Then again maybe he was hanging on to the original paranoia. “The fuck can you say that?”

  “Look, there’s risk. My whole job is calculating risk, but you’ve changed the board. Everything’s different. All this time they saw me as this evil stick figure they could snap.”

  “If the threat is real, fucking deal with it.” He was still unsure just how much Hope knew about Andy’s sideline. He lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. “Don’t lie to yourself. What makes you think these assholes would simply give up? In my experience—”

  “In your experience people have balls. These guys don’t. They got nothing. Why are you getting so upset?”

  “Andy, they came into your house. They tried to take you.”

  “Only they didn’t. Enough, okay?” Andy smiled and bumped shoulders. “¡Basta ya!”

  “I’m not qualified.” Ruben frowned and gripped Andy’s bicep. “You need to get a team in here. I been saying this from day one.”

  Andy didn’t reply. He just looked down at Ruben’s rough fingers until they let go.

  “Sorry.”

  “No. I appreciate it. But it’s been handled.” And with that Andy dropped the subject so hard it dented the floor.

  For the first time, they dressed together, to go out together. It was like a date. Ruben hated himself for feeling excited, but hated Andy more for keeping him so off-balance.

  Ruben took the time to reshave the sides and back of his scalp, keeping the wide mohawk clean. Mainly because he loved the way Andy traced the skin when they were alone, like he was writing music with his fingertips. Gelled into place, the haircut made the tuxedo look like a dire warning. He scowled and beamed at the mirror just to gauge the effect.

  Head-to-toe, the impression was crooked kingpin.

  Somewhere along the way, Andy had changed more than his clothes. “Jeez.”

  Behind him Andy entered damp and handsome in a pair of slacks, scraping his hard nipples with a towel. He bit Ruben’s shoulder.

  Ruben smiled absently, staring past him at their coffee-cream contrast in the mirror.

  “Chop-chop, big top.” Andy swatted him on the butt, and they grinned at each other like conspirators. Which they were. The grin died on Ruben’s face but stayed banked and bright in his belly.

  Whatever happened, whoever they met, however they made it home, they were gonna fuck tonight if it killed him. Or it actually might kill him. Only self-preservation. What was he waiting for, or Andy? Permission? A sign? As much as he liked the chase, he didn’t want this to turn into another game. His grunting instincts demanded flesh. Nerves were one thing, but Andy lived to avoid trouble, which left them filling up on flirtation like a bag of chips.

  Eying his sore boner apologetically, Ruben folded it into a pair of boxer briefs stretchy enough to keep it trapped against his belly.

  He squirmed into the tux and walked stiffly back to the living room. The patio door was open.

  Andy was standing on the terrace in black tie with a glass in his hand, staring over the gray city. Curdled clouds hung low, refusing to release the summer storm they held captive. All around him, the sky wanted to rain.

  Ruben took advantage of the chance to spy on Andy, pausing in the open door and opening his mouth to keep his breath silent.

  Silhouetted against the muzzy horizon, Andy’s tuxedo and slicked hair turned him into a glossy black lever, as if with a pull Ruben could crack the sky open and release glitter onto the city.

  Andy was right. Chunk and Walrus had vanished. Ruben could almost believe that the shadowy perps had tucked tail and run. He’d beaten the shit out of them, and they’d balked. Inept as he was, he’d done some good at least.

  Andy took a sip and looked down at the pool below or at the street, maybe.

  How does he even want me?

  Ruben exhaled in pleasure and gratitude, a near-sigh he couldn’t control.

  Andy heard him and turned. “Goddamn.” His obvious pleasure untied some knot in Ruben’s chest. “You sure clean up good, Señor Oso.”

  Ruben bobbed his head, embarrassed by the compliment, which reminded him: not only did he feel like a fraud, he was a fraud. Still, Andy’s intense pleasure washed most of the anxiety away. “Good.”

  “Mmh.” Andy shifted close to Ruben and patted his chest. “I need to make a quick call and we’ll go-go-go.”

  “I’m gonna—I’ll go down and get the car moving.” Ruben grinned. He needed to sweep the town car, and he should’ve done it earlier instead of lying trapped under his boss in that bed. Sleeping dogs, sleeping dogs. “Gentlemen.” He nodded at the doormen as he passed, wondering how much they suspected about his comings and goings with Andy.

  The vehicle idled out in front, so he wasted no time. Hi to the driver. Tailpipe. Mirror sweep. Hood and block. All clear.

  Just for form he flipped the interior to kill time, wishing he had come down with Andy. Together. Unsafe, but then, he wasn’t just a bodyguard now, right? They were… something.

  He climbed out of the Daimler and leaned against it casually, the metal hot through the tux. He’d kill for a cigarette, but then And
y would kill him. Bad deal. He scanned the lobby through the glass, conscious of the cameras and eyes on him, wanting to greet Andy like something other than his employer.

  There. The elevators opened and spat Andy out.

  He trotted anxiously out the entrance, looking like a billion dollars in crisp, new bills. Soon as he caught sight of Ruben, his face relaxed. “Sorry,” he called out and nodded. “Sorry. Got stuck.”

  Ruben nodded and smiled back. I gotcha, boss. He shifted his weight off the car.

  As he straightened, the world wobbled. Only Andy seemed steady and that was right too. Waiting for the driver to open the door, they stood close. Their hands brushed and their arms bumped, muscular under the black sleeves, like they needed to send a coded message in plain sight. Morse code for lovers. Ruben glanced up at the cameras. Part of him loved getting away with something forbidden that felt so good, knowing that no one knew. All these uptight goobers who tried and failed to sort life into boxes.

  Their Israeli driver popped the doors, and they slid inside the sleek cocoon of the car as the door choonked shut.

  Ruben stroked the leather. He loved feeling so in control and out of control in a way that scared and exhilarated him. For two seconds, he imagined a life together without price tags or plans. The two of them in black tie, going anywhere, everywhere, fucking in the Daimler, and giving the finger to the rules and the rest of the world.

  I double-dog dare you.

  Ten minutes later, they’d passed through the park and coasted by rows of older buildings in not-so-great shape.

  “The upper Upper West Side.” Andy tapped the window. “Which used to be part of Spanish Harlem.”

  Where Charles lives? Ruben still couldn’t figure the geography out. “The hell are you taking us?”

  “Columbia. Well, near-ish.” Andy rolled his eyes and looked out the window as they turned uptown onto Riverside Drive. “Dancing for a disease. Well, without the dancing. This is a fundraiser at Saint Anthony’s.”

  “The frat’s in a church?” Did Andy sneak off to mass on Sunday mornings?

  Andy shook his head with a smile. “Saint A’s. In the Greek system, it’s technically Delta Psi, only no one calls it that. Columbia’s the oldest chapter.”

  Whatever that meant. “Uh, great.”

  Andy grimaced. “Pretty awful, actually. Most people call it Saint Assholes.”

  Ruben chuckled.

  “When you pledged Saint A’s, they made you buy a first-class ticket to Hong Kong and burn it.” Andy didn’t look like he was joking.

  “Why?”

  “To prove you can afford to be a member.”

  Ruben shook his head. “You know some depressing folks, Bauer.”

  “When we were in school, everybody thought we were cokeheads. Or queer. Or racists. Or all of the above. At least it was coed.”

  “So you were a… frat boy.” Ruben made it suggestive.

  “Yeah. No! Not like that. Look, we aren’t all spanking and fucking each other.”

  Smug smile. “So you say.”

  Andy shrugged and crossed his ankles. “I know a couple of the right-wingers messed around, but mostly we were all just trying to get through school and get laid without pissing off our families.”

  “I bet you looked nice in your blazer. Poster boy.”

  “Sorta. We were kids. The fuck did we know about anything?” He looked past the window at nothing. “Of course none of them knew I was an impostor. I was the only guy who had a chin.”

  To lighten the mood, Ruben nudged him and smiled.

  The town car glided to a stop among other expensive vehicles, triple-parked on a wide street running east-west—116th according to a sign.

  The driver started to get out, but Andy pressed the intercom button. “No need, Eli. Too many of these assholes to bother. Just hole up with your phone on. We’ll be out in an hour.”

  Eli nodded and Ruben emerged onto the car-crowded street in front of what looked like a miniature bank with a balcony. The five-story building was narrow, faced with white stone below and red brick above. Scrolled carvings supported the window ledges, and up near the roof was a little triangle like a Greek temple over a medallion with letters that looked like a triangle and a trident.

  “Delta Psi. And we know why.” Andy climbed out of the backseat right behind him, straightening so close that his crotch brushed Ruben’s backside.

  Ruben moved to the side quickly while Andy eyed the façade with amusement.

  Behind them, their car pulled away. On the sidewalk, a cluster of white people in formalwear drifted toward a short run of stone stairs leading to an iron and stone gate on the left. Inside, more stairs leading up to a front door. Security? Pretension? No one had spotted Andy or Ruben yet.

  Andy whispered, “There’s supposed to be a secret pool. A chef. A cleaning slave. Orgies. Hazing with a greased broomstick. “

  “And…?”

  Chuckle. “None of the above. Well, not exactly. There’s some weirdness. Mostly it’s suburban rich kids who want to party together off campus somewhere they can control the invitations.” Andy led the way up through the gate and up the stairs to the entry. A chorus of “Heys” and “Bauer” rose up as he stepped into the lights, but Andy stuck to Ruben like a burr.

  As they picked their way through the foyer, Andy touched his arm and leaned in noticeably, careless of Ruben’s personal space. Maybe it looked like he was scolding a business partner or maybe they looked like obvious homo fuck buddies. Hard call. And not his to make, but it gave him a funny feeling in his gut.

  Andy slid past the other guests quickly, avoiding handshakes and nodding hello until he fought his way to a parlor wall hung with awards and photos of past classes.

  To Ruben, the whole crowd looked like the assholes who only flew into Florida at Christmas on their way to Nevis or St. Barths: white people with gray faces and black AmExes. Maybe they envied each other, but nobody seemed to like each other very much.

  “You like these people?” Ruben eyed the black-tie crowd skeptically.

  “I know them.” He winked. “Not the same thing. Everything sparkles, but once you get close you notice the sparkles are rough scales.”

  Intellectually Ruben understood that these folks were powerful. The suits were expensive and the conversations muted. At the end of the day, all he saw was a roomful of sullen idiots busy frisking each other with their eyes. “You’re supposed to come with an escort.”

  “I’ve got an escort.” Andy eyed him playfully.

  Ruben thought of the silent security gorillas hovering at the curtains and stealing dessert from the caterers. “You know what I mean.”

  Cater-waiters passed through the tuxes and cocktail dresses with booze and finger food. At the room’s margins, Ruben spotted five or six bulky ex-cops in three-hundred-dollar suits… and spotted them spotting him. Logically they were here to do the same job, but Ruben was still undercover and kept pretending to himself that this was a date. Not just a job, for him.

  Andy misread his confused silence. “Yeah. Exactly. Pretty dire.”

  Ruben muttered, “Tell me why we came to this thing again?”

  “S’good for business.” Andy stopped to scan the room, standing too close again. And not noticing. Again. “My mom wanted me to join. And my stepfucker too. Worked out fine, though.”

  A couple of the other well-oiled party guests had started to move in their direction.

  Ruben looked up at the room. No one had noticed yet, but for both their sakes, he made some space between them. Before anything intimate had happened between them, the accidental flirtation had been odd; now it seemed like kicking a bear.

  Andy didn’t notice. “They have money. Most of them anyway.”

  “How much money?”

  “What’d Onassis say? If you can count it you haven’t got any.” Andy surveyed the beige crowd. “When my father’s parents were alive, there were only nine buildings where these people could live. Three on Park
Avenue. Four on Fifth, one on Sutton Place and another at Gracie Square. That’s a small genetic pool. Suitable for wading only.” He kept scanning the crowd’s faces.

  Who is he looking for? Ruben leaned in. “All these people are members or brothers or whatever.”

  “Well, it’s coed. And with spouses and whatnot. But they’re part of our whole inbred tribe. I still pull a lot of deals out of St. Assholes.”

  Something in his expression made Ruben pause. “What kinda deals?”

  “Ven-Cap. We’re all members, so they trust me to take care of them and vice versa. My stepfucker hates it. Plus, they can all afford losses. When I have real work to do, they make great window dressing.”

  Ruben scowled. That sounded like more shady shit, and they both knew it.

  Andy lowered his voice. “Oso, I’m not gonna start again. Apex, I mean. Not till everything blows over and we’re safe. I give you my word.”

  Ruben sighed, wishing the hour was up. Not a date—nothing like a date, aside from Andy dressing him up and taking him out. Keeping track of Andy’s schemes in public was like trying to force fifty cats to march in a parade.

  Andy signaled one of the cater-waiters and ordered a Scotch. He gave Ruben a brief guilty look, which Ruben answered with an invisible nod. It wouldn’t bother him, and it might keep Andy more biddable as the night wore on.

  Ruben grinned and coughed; the idea of Andy with his inhibitions lowered sounded just fine. A crappy impulse, but an honest one.

  Before Andy could turn back to him, a trio of middle-aged women swooped in between them to grill Andy about a museum gala he’d skipped.

  Ruben tuned them out and checked his watch. Fifty-two minutes to go. This place sucked and a party it was not.

  A reedy man with a snide laugh joined the group around Andy. “Marlon. Stanz,” he said, making his name into two separate words. “And I know secrets about this so-and-so. Apex, my ass.” He squeezed the back of Andy’s neck and shook his head till Ruben wanted to break his fingers.