Andrew sighed. “All right, perhaps it isn’t for you. But at least keep an eye out for him and know that the option is there. You don’t exactly have the easiest time of it, Simon.” He shrugged. “And this could just be a way of taking the edge off for an hour without having to worry about rearranging your schedule or introducing someone new into your dreadfully complicated life.”
Simon nodded, ignoring what he felt had been a hint of sarcasm aimed at his home life. He knew Andrew didn’t understand the pressure or the privilege that came with raising Jamie. Nobody did, except perhaps Sarah, but there was not a chance in hell he’d be making any such transactions. It was too awkward. Too depressing. He hadn’t even met the guy and already felt pity for him. What sort of life was that?
“His name’s Justin. He’s about five eight or so, mousy brown hair, has a real slim, fit body. Oh, and he’s wearing an awful blue tie.”
Simon looked down at his own blue tie. The description didn’t exactly narrow the field down, but it didn’t matter. He suddenly felt rather tired and decided that perhaps he’d cut the evening short, chalk it up to a disastrous attempt to integrate himself back into society, and make a run for it as soon as Andrew disappeared off to schmooze.
So much for a little adult conversation.
HE WAS relieved to find the veranda empty and that the weather was holding up. It’d looked like rain earlier, but instead of damp, it was a pleasantly cool and crisp evening. He found himself itching for a cigarette, something he had managed to wean himself off of six months ago, due to the rising cost of the little cancer sticks and the complaints of one of his regulars, who tipped well but hated the smell of smoke. Mattie glanced back through the double doors, considered sneaking back in there for another glass of bubbly, but decided against it and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He hunched his shoulders against a cold breeze, straddled one of the benches, and looked out over the garden.
He wasn’t sure if the gallery had been adapted from an old apartment complex, but it seemed likely when looking through the shaded trees. It was dark, but he could tell that this would have been a communal garden of some kind. Given the purpose of the building now, the garden must have been tended to by a landscaper or something. It was pretty. He could just about make out a swing seat under a small canopy across the way, and decided it was almost romantic.
He smiled to himself, imagining bringing a date—an actual non-transactional date—to a place like this. Man, did he even know how to date anymore? At twenty-six years old, he’d never really had an actual boyfriend. Sure, he’d dated a little, but that had pretty much stopped when he took to hooking to pay the bills his minimal salary didn’t cover, like his adult reading and writing classes, for example. There was no way to make prostitution acceptable to someone who, quite rightly, expected his fidelity and exclusivity. The guy would have to be Prince Charming to even try and understand why he’d fallen into this life. To look past the sordid, preconceived notion of what prostitution was, and to see it for it for what it was: desperate, dangerous, and isolating.
Mattie doubted such a guy existed, but consoled himself with the promise he’d made to himself some time ago: when he had his GED, he would look for a better job and drop the hooking altogether. Then he could let himself look at other men romantically. He’d never, ever mention how it was he’d gotten by, and he’d meet some nice guy who wanted to do regular stuff. Like going to the movies and arguing over the Sunday morning crossword. Like spending the day in bed making love. He just had to hang on a little longer, and then he could have a normal life, just like everyone else. Maybe he’d even move, so no one would know him. Or he could just stay out in New York, if he ever got that far.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the glass door swishing open, and he glanced over to see someone quickly closing it again behind them. He couldn’t tell in the dim light that it was Simon until he’d turned around, looking relieved to have left the milling, chattering crowd behind him. Mattie’s instincts were to quickly stand and hide.
It was stupid, but if he could have dived into one of the shrubberies without drawing attention to himself, he would have. He looked around quickly and made toward the tree line as casually as possible, but Simon’s voice caused him to pause. He sighed and turned around, plastering on a smile that insinuated he was as surprised as Simon to see him again, and that he had not been running away at all.
“Mattie?” Simon said hesitantly, giving him what seemed a muted version of a smile that wanted to split across his handsome face. He couldn’t help but feel a little flattered.
“Hey.” He smiled politely. “It’s Simon, right?” A voice inside his head laughed. In what life could he forget this man’s name?
“Yeah, fancy running into each other outside the diner, huh?”
Mattie watched as Simon awkwardly walked toward him, shy smile in place, hand nervously tapping the side of his glass as if unsure if he were welcome.
Fuck my life. He is so adorable I could die.
“Small world.” He shrugged. There was no sneaking away unseen now, might as well enjoy himself. “I got a spare ticket from a friend, so….” He trailed off, his hand twitching up nervously to check his tie was straight.
“Oh. So you’re um… you here with someone?” Simon dug a hand into one of his pockets and tapped the side of his glass with a finger again as he casually looked away.
“No.” He was quick to clarify. “Here alone, just an art buff, you know?”
“Great.” Simon smiled, winced, and instantly backpedaled. “I mean the art thing, not that you’re… I mean, I’m sure if you wanted company you could e-easily… uh….”
Mattie had to press his lips together to smother a delighted smile as Simon trailed off uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. It was actually nice to realize that perhaps this man wasn’t as straight as he’d originally thought, that maybe this crush was not so one-sided after all. He was about to say something to help Simon muddle out of the awkward moment, but the sound of the glass door swishing open gave them both pause. Someone unknown to him hunched their shoulders, there was a brief glow of an ember, and then they were leaning against the wall, clearly settling in for a smoke.
“Man, is the old monkey on my back screeching away right now,” Mattie joked.
“You can light up if you want. It won’t bother me.”
“That’s okay. I quit a while back.”
Simon nodded. “Good for you.”
Mattie smiled, and an awkward moment passed as they both stalled out but clearly wanted to keep company for a while longer.
“The uh… the garden’s nice, huh? I think it may have been an apartment complex or something.”
“Yeah, yeah. Nicer out here than in there, anyway.” Simon smiled, feeling equally as awkward, and taking a sip of his drink.
“You’re not into the show?”
“It’s not that. I mean, I do appreciate art. I just don’t know much about it, you know?”
Mattie grinned, finding himself pleased with Simon’s comment but unsure why. “You don’t have to understand what it is you’re looking at to know it’s beautiful.”
Simon let out a breath of laughter. “Are you a romantic, Mattie?” he teased.
“I know art. I love art.” He bit his lip. “It saves my life every day.” At Simon’s raised eyebrow, Mattie cleared his throat and shook his head, offering a self-deprecating roll of the eyes. “Sorry, that was a bit heavy for polite conversation.”
“No. No, it’s….” Simon shrugged, offering a gentle smile. “It’s clearly important to you. That’s nice.” He looked back toward the glass doors on the veranda. “No one in there seems to actually be here for the artwork.”
Mattie snorted. “Yeah, tell me about it, bunch of snobs.”
Simon laughed. “Not your sort of crowd, huh?”
“Not really. Even the waiters here look at me like I’m something they stepped in. I’m here to see the work, but I tho
ught perhaps… I don’t know, maybe there’d be likeminded folk about, but….” He shrugged. “I don’t really fit in here.”
Simon’s smile faded, sensing the genuine discomfort in his posture. He touched Mattie’s arm briefly with the back of his hand that was holding his glass. “That makes two of us, then.”
“Not your crowd either?” Mattie asked almost hopefully.
“Well, technically they are. The majority in there are publishers, editors, and other writers, but—”
Mattie’s eyes widened. “Oh, man. I’m sorry, I never meant to insinuate or insult—”
Simon laughed, touched his arm again. “Relax. They aren’t my kind of crowd.” He shrugged, looked away a moment. “They used to be. Hey, a couple of years ago, I would have been in there schmoozing with best of them. But, uh, I was really just looking forward to a little conversation, you know? Just… appreciating some beautiful paintings, talking about regular stuff, that kind of thing.”
They were quiet for a moment, and Mattie looked back to the doors, hearing laughter and more people congregating on the patio-like porch. “Hey, you want to, uh….” He scratched the side of his cheek. “You want to walk a little? There’s this swing thing over there….” He trailed off with a shrug.
Simon smiled. “Lead the way.”
They walked toward the canopied swing seat, and Simon chuckled softly as Mattie held it still enough for Simon to sit, before joining him. It was a cool evening. The buzz of chatter and laughter was quieter now, quiet and distant enough for them to hear the cicadas, the rustle of the leaves above them, the faint squeak of the swing seat. It was a pleasant silence, and Mattie imagined moving his hand across the short space between them, taking Simon’s.
“So you’re a writer,” he asked instead.
“Yes,” Simon sighed. “Though the words aren’t coming as easily to me as they used to, I have to confess.”
“No?”
“I have two novels published. I’m just struggling with the third.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m a father now.”
Mattie looked at him, nodded, but was unsure of how to respond.
Simon glanced at Mattie, hazarding whether to share such personal details with the young man. Hell, Mattie seemed to be the sharing type. “It’s… my son takes up a lot of my time. And even when he’s in preschool, I’m thinking about him—worrying about him.”
Mattie glanced at his lap, bit his lip, and then met Simon’s gaze. It was such a sensitive question. “Jamie. He’s uh… forgive me for not knowing the PC term, but um… there’s something different about him, something special, isn’t there?”
Simon took a deep breath and let it out as he looked around the garden. How Mattie would take his response would decide whether they would continue to share this private swing, or if it was time to say goodnight. “Jamie’s autistic.”
Mattie didn’t bat an eyelid, just nodded. “I feel like the appropriate thing to say would be that I’m sorry to hear that, but….” He frowned. “Your kid….” He shrugged. “He’s a happy little guy. He seems bright too.”
Simon smiled. “He is. He’s always got a smile for me. And he’s a high-functioning autistic.” He shook his head. “We’re so lucky in that respect. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would have loved him no matter what, but other autistic kids… worst case scenario? They never learn to speak and would be completely dependent on a caregiver for their entire lives. Jamie, he’s ah….” He shook his head, and missed the gentle smile that spread across Mattie’s face in response to the look of pride that showed on his own. “Jamie’s incredible. He only began to speak a year ago, and he’s very quiet by nature, but he can read and write. He’s very gentle—most of the time.” Simon frowned slightly, thinking back to the incident with Tommy. “Regardless of everything else in my life, he is the very best thing that ever happened to me.”
“That’s so great,” Mattie said softly, the respect he felt gleaming in his eyes. “Is he with his mom right now?” He still had no clue as to the situation with this guy, but just had that feeling that they had one particular thing in common.
Simon had to smile. It was big question, with a very revealing answer. But, hell, he already knew he had nothing to worry about. The nosy waiter at the diner had seen to that. “There is no mother. I’m….” He took a deep breath. “I’m actually Jamie’s uncle. My sister passed away during childbirth.” He shook his head minutely. “You just don’t expect that kind of thing to happen anymore, not in this day and age, anyway.”
“I guess not, no.”
Simon took a deep breath and let it out quickly. “Anyway, I adopted him as my son. And….” He wet his bottom lip briefly. “And I’m gay. There isn’t a woman in the picture, unless you count Jamie’s teacher, who happens to be a close friend and who’s sitting for him right now.”
While Mattie was pleased by this clarification, he knew to show this would have been inappropriate. “Were you close to your sister?”
“Oh, man,” Simon sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Yes. Yes, I was.”
Mattie dipped his head to catch Simon’s gaze and touched his knee briefly to get his attention. “I’m very sorry.”
Simon held his gaze and was touched by the sincerity he saw there. He nodded. The hand left his knee, and he took a breath, offering Mattie a smile. “So. You and art, huh?”
Mattie smiled, rubbing his hands on his knees. “I dabble.” He shrugged in mock modesty, making Simon laugh. “Yeah, I paint. In fact I pretty much divide my time between the diner and painting.”
“Are you any good?”
Mattie laughed, shrugged. “Maybe. Could be better. I, uh, I actually want to enroll in art school.”
“Yeah?” Simon smiled. “Which one?”
Mattie bit his lip, his hands curled over the edge of the seat as he took in the open, friendly, and interested man sitting beside him. Why not? He didn’t answer, and decided on a rather brave question of his own. “Simon? Would you… uh….” He broke off, laughing nervously, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Would you like to—maybe when, you know, when you’re free—can—can I take you out? Sometime, maybe?”
The beginning of a smile curled at the edge of Simon’s mouth, but before he could answer, like some kind of inevitable soap opera, he was interrupted.
“Simon?” They both looked up to see someone out on the veranda, searching the garden, spotting them, and then making their way over. Mattie’s stomach turned over, realizing who it was.
“I’ve been looking for you. I want you to come meet—oh.” Andrew stopped short, a slow smile, almost a smirk, appearing. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
Mattie hastily stood, his voice breathless and wavering when he spoke. “Actually, I have to be going.”
“Oh, please, no, don’t let me interfere.” He held his hands out to stop him from leaving, and Mattie backed up. “Simon, I wanted you to meet with someone, but it can wait for another time.” He glanced between the two of them. “I’m glad you took my advice.”
Simon frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“Here.” He dug in his back pocket and threw his keys at Simon. “Call your sitter and tell her you’ll be late getting back. You can use my place.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Simon frowned. He’d been having a nice conversation and was pissed to have it interrupted.
“Don’t worry.” Andrew nodded over to Mattie. “Justin knows the way.”
“Oh God.” Mattie closed his eyes, digging his hands deep into his pockets, unable to look at Simon.
“Just—” Simon’s eyes widened. “Justin?” He looked at Mattie, stood, and saw how Mattie—or Justin—cringed away. “I don’t understand.”
“Glad to see you’ve climbed off your high horse, Mr. Self-righteous.” Andrew smirked.
“Wait, you’re Justin?” Simon asked firmly, feeling like a fool.
Mattie felt his face grow warm, and was alarmed when his eyes
began to sting. “I um… No. No, my name’s Mattie.”
Andrew frowned, but said nothing, looking between the two. “Does it matter?”
“Yes!” Simon raised his voice before quickly looking away and clearing his throat. “Of course you’re a prostitute. Of course.” He laughed with little humor. “As if you’d ever… ugh.” He broke off, shaking his head.
Mattie flinched at hearing the word “prostitute” come out of Simon’s mouth, but the look of disgust on his face was more than he could deal with. “I have to go,” he whispered, pushing past the both of them, back toward the veranda, through the crowd, and started out at a jog when meeting the sidewalk outside the gallery. He didn’t slow until he was two blocks away. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling tight.
“Fuck. Fuck.” His voice hitched. He dug his hands deep into his pockets once more as he made his way back to his apartment. It was a long walk, but flagging down a cab, having to use his voice to give his address, to talk to anyone at that moment would be impossible. He was a prostitute. He was a fucking prostitute and the coil was choking him.
SIMON had shrugged off Andrew’s concerns, thrusting his keys back into his hand, and gone on after Mattie. He couldn’t decide if he was more shocked at the revelation, angry with Mattie, or angry with himself. All he had wanted was to have a nice evening out. That nice evening had quickly developed into a lovely evening in the company of the handsome young guy from the diner. He’d been enjoying their conversation, had felt his heart leap in a way it hadn’t since Tim when Mattie had tried asking him out. But then reality—horrible, disappointing reality—had come rushing in.
Simon couldn’t see Mattie anywhere, and with slumped shoulders and a resigned sigh, he flagged down a cab and headed home. He leaned his head against the window, staring out at the sidewalk rushing by as he tried to figure out what it was that had passed between Mattie and himself. Having never engaged in such activities, he couldn’t gauge whether Mattie had genuinely tried to make a date with him, or was setting up some sort of transaction.
The Coil Page 7
