Companion Required

by Brian Lancaster

  Chapter Twenty

  Kieran

  While Laurie stood behind him with her scissors clipping away, a wildfire of thoughts and feelings swept through Kieran. After brushing his teeth twice, he could still taste tobacco, something he hated. Steph, who had improved remarkably—colour having returned to her cheeks—plied him with breath mints, which helped. But the anger and confusion unsettled him most of all. All of his friends or family knew that he didn’t get annoyed easily. Calm and even-tempered, his mother and teachers had called him. Cold and unemotional had been Jennifer’s spin. So why had Kennedy’s dismissal lit such an angry fire in his belly?

  Jennifer had ejected him from her home and her life and he had accepted without question, had almost welcomed the chance to escape. Kennedy’s rejection had ripped a hole in him.

  “Are you okay, Kieran?” asked Laurie, once again. Standing in front of him.

  “I’m fine, I just…” began Kieran, but he decided not to elaborate. He’d told them both what had happened in the Underdeck Club—an abridged version—and Kennedy’s later attempt at an apology.

  “Patrick’s a prick,” said Laurie, snipping decisively at a lock. “Always has been, always will be. Don’t take anything he said to heart. He’s not worth the effort.”

  She was right, of course. If he ought to be angry at anyone, that person should be Patrick, not Kennedy. Joey had even turned up at their cabin earlier and explained what had happened after he’d left, how Kennedy had defended him to Patrick. And just like that, his anger had turned to bewilderment.

  And the one thing that should have been confusing the hell out of him—the kiss—seemed to be the only thing that made sense. Nothing about the embrace had felt wrong. He’d kissed a man and he’d liked it, he thought, almost humming the words of the song. He’d kissed a number of girls, some passionately, but as far as he could remember, nothing—nothing—had compared to that mind-blowing lip lock with Kennedy Grey. Fuck. The mere visualization of Kennedy’s lips and mouth had his heart speeding up and blood pumping below deck. He’d almost been tempted to text Cole and ask what the hell the fiery embrace might have meant. Then again, did he really want to know?

  “What’s with you tonight?” said Laurie, stopping and placing her hands on her hips. “One minute you’re grimacing like a grizzly, the next you’re leering like a leopard.”

  “Very poetic.” Kieran grinned.

  “Leave him be, Laurie,” said Steph, watching from the ironing board where she was carefully pressing his suit trousers. His white shirt and jacket hung on the wardrobe door, waiting to be worn. “He’s had enough drama for one day.”

  Right then, there came a knock at the cabin door. Laurie turned to look at Steph, who merely shrugged. Being the nearest to the door, Steph went to answer. After a few moments, her tone began to sound irritated, and when she came into the room the anger showed clearly on her face.

  “It’s Richmond.”

  “What does that bastard want?” asked Laurie, before Kieran could voice the same thing.

  “He wants to talk to Kieran. Privately. I said I’m not letting him in. Do you want me to tell him to piss off, Kieran? I will, if you say so.”

  Interesting, thought Kieran. Why does he want to speak to me? And why alone?

  “No, it’s fine. Give me a second,” he said, getting up, the towel still around his shoulders. “Let me get this out of the way.”

  Richmond stood in the corridor, looking ill at ease, but brought his attention to Kieran as soon as he appeared.

  “Look, I’m not here to make trouble,” he said, holding his palms up in front. “I just have one thing to say, and then I’m gone. A lot of us think Kennedy and Patrick belong together, believe they always have done. But ultimately, if that’s going to happen, it’s between the two of them. I don’t know what kind of hold you think you have over Kennedy, but whatever it is, you should know that as soon as this holiday is done, you’ll be history. That is not meant to be unkind, nor a reflection on who you are as a person, it’s simply a fact. I’m telling you this now in case you think of him as anything more than a holiday fling.”

  “Do you even like him?” asked Kieran. “Kennedy?”

  Whatever response Richmond had been expecting, the one Kieran provided clearly caught him by surprise.

  “I used to. When he made my best friend happy.”

  “Which was rarely, as far as I can tell.”

  Richmond’s gaze hardened. He took a step back and folded his arms, openly assessing Kieran.

  “You may not be like the others, but don’t be deceived. You’re still disposable.”

  “We’ll see,” said Kieran, deciding not to rise to the bait. “Thanks for the helpful advice. Hope to see you at dinner.”

  Richmond frowned and shook his head. Kieran had no idea what the man had expected—maybe a fit of tears or an argument. But after a final glare, he turned and headed back along the corridor.

  When Kieran backed into the apartment and closed the door, Steph and Laurie waited frozen where he had left them. Steph broke the silence, by telling him they had overheard snippets of the conversation. After Kieran had provided a summary, punctuated by the girls using words such as ‘prick’ and ‘arsehole’ and other suitable expletives, they got back to the business at hand.

  “You know, I ought to be paying you two for doing this,” he said, sitting back down again. Steph had clambered from her sickbed to iron his clothes, while Laurie had tamed his wild hair and got him looking fresh-faced. Both of them helped him dress in the kind of attire he’d never worn before. Not only that, but being away from Kennedy in their company had been good for him, giving him time to assess himself. “Maybe I can buy you a meal when we reach Okinawa tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Ugh,” said Steph, placing the iron back in the holder. “Not sure I’ll be ready for solids for a few more days.”

  “Although there might be something else you could help us with—” began Laurie.

  “Later, dear,” said Steph, cutting her off with a short glance.

  “In which case, do me a favour by joining me on the excursion,” said Laurie. “They’re going to be visiting Shuri Castle—something I’ve always wanted to see, a UNESCO World Heritage site. The castle has only recently reopened after a fire nearly destroyed the whole place. You can be my companion.”

  Kieran liked that idea. Kennedy hadn’t done any of the excursions, so most probably wouldn’t want to step off the boat at Okinawa.

  “Of course. But we’d be really doing each other a favour, keeping each other company. I’ll still like to buy you both a meal when Steph feels better.”

  “Then let’s save it for Hong Kong,” said Laurie, brushing something from his ear. “Maybe you can treat us to dim sum.”

  “Deal,” said Kieran, even though he had no idea what that was. “Are you going to be joining us tonight, Steph?”

  “Sorry, doll. Not tonight. Even the thought of seeing food makes me want to barf.”

  “Plan B, then?”

  “Plan B,” said Steph, with a smile.

  “Right, Mr West. I think you’re about ready,” said Laurie, after finally raking a comb through his locks before removing the towel from around his shoulders. “Go to the bathroom mirror and take a look.”

  “Should I shave?” he asked, feeling the slight roughness around his chin. Usually he shaved once every three days, especially when he wasn’t working. But he wondered if clean-shaven should be the order of the evening.

  “I don’t think so,” said Steph, and Laurie agreed. “But let’s wait until you’ve showered and tried on the suit before we decide. Go and check your hair first.”

  Unlike Kennedy’s cabin, the girls had a humble living area and their bathroom felt a little cramped, with every surface holding some kind of cosmetic product or device. At first, seeing his hair shorter made him grimace. But then Laurie had left enough stylish twists and tufts to make the cut appear more edgy and fashionable. Maybe he coul
d get used to the new style. Locking the bathroom door and undressing, he climbed into their shower and let the warm waters drench him, cleaning himself with the girls’ confusing selection of products.

  Once he had dried off, he returned to the main room with a towel wrapped around his waist. Laurie had already changed into her outfit, a stylish lilac pantsuit deftly showing off her weight loss. Earlier on, he’d observed Steph help to apply Laurie’s makeup, complete with blended purple eye shadow and deep purple lipstick. Now Steph provided the finishing touches as well as fixing Laurie’s hair.

  “Don’t just stand there ogling. Get dressed,” said Laurie, pointing at the wardrobe. “You and I are supposed to be meeting the men for drinks in fifteen minutes.”

  Kieran set to work, sitting on the edge of their bed, removing the towel and pulling on his underwear and trousers. Next came the wing-tip shirt which, fortunately, was fitted and tucked nicely beneath the waistband. By the time he got to the bow tie and cummerbund, Steph had finished and came over to help. Finally he put on the jacket before squeezing into the tight, shiny black shoes. After brushing something from his shoulder then pinning in place a pink rose buttonhole, Steph got him to back up a few steps so that she and Laurie could survey their handiwork.

  “Before you say anything,” said Kieran. “Can I just tell how much I love you both for doing this. I wouldn’t have known where to start.”

  Like proud mothers, they smiled and nodded before looking at each other. Steph leaned in and pecked Laurie on the lips, before returning her gaze to him.

  “Well? Come on,” Kieran said, holding his hands out to the sides. “How do I look?”

  “Heavens above,” said Steph. She had her arm around Laurie’s waist, carefully studying Kieran from head to toe. “What kind of beautiful monster have we created, Mrs Shelley?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kennedy

  Kennedy fiddled with the gold cufflink on his left sleeve and peered nervously towards the large doors to the room. Tonight’s event showcased another side of the gay community. Two nights ago, at the White Party, some of these men had been sexy Snow Queens or Marilyn Monroes, complete with platinum wigs and high heels. Others had worn next to nothing—loincloths or Roman togas. Tonight, with most people dressing in either black tie or evening gowns, his mother and father wouldn’t have looked out of place. Although on a closer inspection, dotted around the room, some guests had chosen alternatives—white, powder pink, or blue tuxes, and some men had chosen drag, dressing gloriously in stunning gowns. Kennedy would normally have enjoyed the splashes of non-conformity, but his mind remained elsewhere.

  Once again, he checked his watch, then brushed at an imaginary dust mark on his sleeve.

  “For goodness’ sake, Kennedy, will you stop fidgeting—oh, fuckity-fuck,” said Pete, gazing over Kennedy’s left shoulder, his eyes going wide. Along with the lull in the weather, Pete had emerged from his cabin that evening.

  “What?” asked Kennedy, spinning around, but seeing nothing through the crowd.

  “Fuck my old boot,” said Pete, his mouth hanging open. “Queer One scrubs up good.”

  And Kennedy spied him—Kieran—with Laurie on his arm, and a sudden pride swelled in his chest like an inflating airbag. Kieran absolutely rocked the dress suit, a perfect fit with a black bow tie and dark red—burgundy—cummerbund. Not only that, but his hair had been trimmed and tamed with gel, and he moved with an easy confidence Kennedy had never noticed before. All heads turned as he passed, some clustering together to dish about this deliciously handsome male specimen.

  Prince Charming had arrived at the ball.

  Laurie stopped and looked around before whispering something in Kieran’s ear. After finishing, she nodded towards Kennedy and Pete before moving off. Kieran strolled over to join them. On his way, he plucked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, who smiled then turned to give Kieran’s departing back a once-over.

  “Look at you, Mr Hottie,” said Pete, as Kieran arrived. “Licensed to kill.”

  “You look really good, Kieran,” said Kennedy, amazed at how shy he sounded.

  “These bloody shoes are killing me,” said Kieran, grimacing down at his stylish black patent leather dress shoes.

  “Style comes at a price, kid,” said Pete, whose own dress suit had seen better days. “Where’s Laurie gone?”

  “To let the MC know Kennedy and Steph aren’t going to be dancing tonight.”

  “Yes, it’s a shame she’s not better,” said Kennedy. “Still, maybe you and I could take a turn on the floor later? Once the contest is over?”

  “We’ll see,” said Kieran, his expression unreadable.

  Even though they’d managed to secure a table bordering the dance floor, their party’s depleted size had meant other passengers—complete strangers—joining them at their table. Kieran chose to sit away from Kennedy, between Laurie and a nice-looking older man. Kennedy glanced Kieran’s way a couple of times, admiring his newfound confidence. Kieran continued to engage the man beside him in conversation, not once turning in Kennedy’s direction.

  After a served meal of lobster bisque, with a choice of filet mignon, black cod or vegetarian pasta, followed by a selection of desserts, cheeses and coffee, the first of the dancers took to the floor.

  Two large bears, dressed in pink and blue tuxedos, danced the cha-cha. Although light on their feet, they came frighteningly close a couple of times, and at one point he thought they might crash into their table. Kennedy’s favourite came in the form of a mountain of a man, completely bald, dressed in a sleeveless, flowing dress in sparkling electric blue, with one arm showcasing an inked sleeve tattoo. The man’s lesbian friend, dressed in a bright-red dress suit, looked like a character out of the Dick Tracy movie. They made an unlikely but mesmerizing couple. Energetically performing the Lindy-Hop, the pair had the whole room clapping along to their routine. Once the applause died down, the announcer moved back to the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, a slight change to the programme. Due to one half of the original male-female couple being unwell—a touch of the Saigon squirts, by all accounts—tonight’s dance will instead be performed by two gentlemen. Please give a big hand for Kennedy Grey and Kieran West.”

  Amid the sound of applause, Kennedy looked around, shocked, to find Kieran standing behind his chair, his hand held out, palm upwards.

  “Come on, old man,” said Kieran, his voice and face stern. “Exactly the same as you practiced with Steph. Every step the same. Let me lead, and you follow. Are we cool?”

  Stunned and unable to reply coherently, Kennedy allowed Kieran to take his hand and lead him to the centre of the dance floor. Kieran adopted the same starting position he and Steph had agreed upon. As the music began—the staccato rhythm of El Tango de Roxanne—Kieran moved in perfect sync with Kennedy, their eyes glued to each other.

  Often, when dancing with Steph, she had been unable to maintain the fierce glare between them, usually dissolving into a fit of giggles. Kieran’s eyes never once left his and positively smouldered with sexual innuendo. Each time Kieran crushed their bodies together, at one point bending Kennedy’s body backwards while closely hovering over him, he inhaled Kieran’s unique body smell mixed with something that smelt bizarrely like Steph, the kind of distinctive perfumed shower gel she used. At the end of the dance, with a final flourish, they ended frozen in place, their hands joined above their heads and their foreheads pressed together. Around the room, the watching crowd erupted into loud cheers and applause. When Kennedy finally relaxed and peered over at their table, he noticed Laurie grinning broadly while fanning her face with her napkin.

  The band changed gear into a gentle two-step, allowing everyone to join them on the dancefloor. Kennedy had been about to head back to their table, but Kieran pulled him into the dance. Within seconds the floor filled around them, with a few people—other gay couples—leaning in to congratulate the two of them on their performance. Kennedy shook hi
s head, still stunned.

  “That was amazing. How the hell did you memorise those steps?”

  “Child’s play. Although, of course, the video helped. My cousin and I were West London Under Fifteen Ballroom Champions in our youth. Three years running. Unlike you, though, I loved dancing lessons. Still step out every now and then whenever she’s in town.”

  “Aren’t you full of surprises?”

  “You have no idea. There’s a lot about me you don’t know, Mr Grey.”

  “Clearly. So does this mean I’m forgiven?”

  “For what?” asked Kieran, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “For everything,” said Kennedy. “Forcing the kiss on you. Not standing up for you in front of Patrick when he was being a royal prick. For making you smoke a cigarette.”

  “According to Joey, you did stand up for me. Only you did so after I’d left.”

  Kennedy snorted. He’d forgotten Joey had rushed into the bar after Kieran had walked off and would have heard his heated exchange with Patrick.

  “And for the record, you didn’t force me to kiss you. Bribed, maybe. But nothing was forced on me. Besides, that must be the quickest monkey anyone’s ever made.”

  “Monkey, huh?” said Kennedy, grinning at the cockney money slang. “I meant it, though, you know? I will honour that deal.”

  “Yeah, but I only really gave you about a hundred and fifty quid’s worth. How about the other three-fifty?”

  “You get that anyway. For having to put up with my shit.”

  Kennedy allowed Kieran to twirl him around until he faced the table where Richmond and Mike sat watching, probably murmuring sweet nothings about them both. Patrick and Joey had not joined them.

  “Nah,” whispered Kieran in his ear, before spinning him back round. “Got a much better idea.”

  In front of the whole room, Kieran brought their lips together, but before they could connect, Kennedy placed his hands on Kieran’s chest, and held him back.