Change Partners (The L.A. Stories)

by Alexandra Caluen

  That was unmistakably clear. “God, Dmitri.” Very soft. Patrick had some outdoor encounters in his past. But never completely naked. Never even undressed. He couldn’t decide if he was panicking, until he realized Dmitri wasn’t proceeding. “Yes.” Then Dmitri’s hand was wrapped around his cock. Patrick’s head went back, turning toward Dmitri’s. It was an awkward position for a kiss, but they managed it. I should not be this turned on, I should be saying let’s go inside, oh Jesus don’t stop.

  Dmitri had never done anything like this. Of course, he’d never had his own home at all, much less one with a private backyard. It wasn’t completely dark. There was ambient light, from the houses on either side and the city all around them. But they were in the shelter of the patio awning. No one would see. And he didn’t want to stop. Not with that breathless ‘yes.’ Not with this beautiful man in his embrace, in his hand. Listening to Patrick’s breath hitch, growing short, the faintest sound on each exhale. Dmitri was wishing he had lube. One day he would do that, he’d take Patrick out here in the open air. Hand moving faster, Patrick’s hips reacting. He was on the point of climax and Dmitri knew he couldn’t be quiet. “Now,” he said. Low, rough, almost a growl. “Now. Now.”

  Patrick’s body jerked; he was losing it. He gasped and then felt Dmitri’s hand over his mouth, muffling the sound he made as he came. A satisfied almost-laugh from the crazy bastard, he was practically holding Patrick up, and Jesus he was hard. “Mmph.” Dmitri let him go. Patrick stepped away, grabbed a cushion from one of the patio chairs, and tossed it on the pavers. He moved so fast Dmitri didn’t even realize what he was doing until his cock was in Patrick’s mouth. His hands went into Patrick’s hair and he bit his lip, looking down, watching. Beautiful, so beautiful, on your knees for me my love oh God you perfect YES.

  Patrick took that climax, swallowed, held on for a few more seconds while Dmitri relaxed. The grip on his hair loosened. A hand on his face, tipping his chin up as Dmitri disengaged. Smiling, pulling Patrick to his feet, wrapping him in a tight embrace. They stood there in the quiet dark until the air began to feel cold on their bare skin. Then Patrick tossed the cushion back on the chair, and they went inside.

  The living room was an excellent practice studio. There was a big picture window facing the street on the south, so the room was bright in the daytime. Especially after Dmitri installed a wall of mirrors. He had a barre as well, thanks to Patrick, who said, “I can’t go with you to Ohio, I have some business to take care of,” and had it installed while Dmitri was away. Like everything else in the house, it constantly reminded him of how much he was loved. The things he could do in return felt so small.

  He lured Patrick into the practice room and started teaching him to stretch properly. That often led to some kind of love play. It was so much better than living apart. Sleeping together every night, except when one of them was out of town. Eating together, at least once a day, and when Dmitri wasn’t home at a reasonable hour for dinner Patrick always left something for him. There were so many opportunities for each of them to do small things to make the other feel loved. They missed very few of those opportunities. By now, Dmitri knew how much Patrick loved to get flowers. He put a reminder in his calendar to send fresh ones to the office at intervals.

  Certain topics were still approached with caution. The money conversation was uncomfortable for both of them. It started as soon as the loan closed and didn’t end until after Dmitri was moved in. He thought he should pay rent; his lover thought otherwise. Patrick finished the discussion (not quite an argument) by saying “One day we’ll find a good studio space for you. When we do, you’ll need every penny you can scrape together. So save the fucking money. I would have bought this place even if you turned me down, okay?”

  Dmitri stared at him for a few seconds, acknowledging the logic, dimly aware that resistance was akin to rejection. After a moment he nodded. He wanted to say he would make it up to Patrick someday. The likelihood was that he never could. He would always be in Patrick’s debt. But this wasn’t a balance sheet. This was about wanting to be together, and if Patrick ever changed his mind about how that should work, Dmitri would do what he wanted.

  Even with that thought always semi-present in his mind, he was surprised by the next suggestion. It was two weeks before Christmas. Patrick had begun decorating the house. That was something Dmitri had never done, maybe because he always lived alone, and always thought of Christmas as a family holiday. He observed the process, made note of Patrick’s tastes (in this, at least, he could contribute; he never forgot what Patrick liked, whether in the kitchen, closet, or bedroom), and went to find something that would make his lover feel seen and understood. Appreciated. Adored.

  The house had not yet developed a full personality. It was a landscape of white walls, brown floors, and mismatched furniture. In time they would perfect it. For now, the uninspiringly brown upholstered couch in the den received a wine-red velvet slipcover and a pair of gray sheepskin throw pillows. The small area rug was spirited away and replaced by a bigger Oriental-style rug, patterned in red and gold on gray. The two bookcases, previously shoved together on one wall, were separated so that each flanked a window. Under one of those windows, a red-lacquered chest. On the chest, a tea-light candelabrum shaped like a Christmas tree, sitting on a beaded mat. Patrick’s good reading chair was moved from the corner to the second window. Finally, Dmitri hung a new mirror over a new console table in the main entry. On that table, an arrangement of pillar candles on a mercury-glass tray, with a spray of real eucalyptus. He accomplished all this while Patrick was over in Glendale at a family function, on a day that Dmitri would ordinarily have spent working. He’d taken the unusual step of rescheduling lessons, after taking the equally unusual step of going shopping.

  Patrick’s reaction was everything he could have asked. “Oh! Hey, this is nice!” Dmitri was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching as Patrick dropped his keys in the logical place, a brass dish on the console. “Hi sweetheart.” Patrick came down the hall for a kiss. “When did you get home?”

  “I am home all day. Come and see.” He helped Patrick out of his jacket, hung it on the hook by the kitchen door, kissed him again. Took his hand and led him through to the den.

  Patrick stopped short. “What the, honey?”

  “Is good?”

  “Is phenomenal. Wow.” Patrick stood there for a minute, assimilating not only the new arrangement but the thought that had gone into it, the effort made to please him. Not simply buying a load of Christmas crap and throwing it around, but making a room they could enjoy all year. A room Patrick would always see as proof of love. As if any were needed. He was willing to bet the compartment in that little red chest was the right size to hold the candle tree. “I really love you.” It was mumbled against Dmitri’s neck.

  “Je t’aime aussi.”

  “Embrasse-moi.” A few kisses. After a while Patrick sighed and eased back. “I need to go pee. Then I’d like to ask you a few questions. Have you eaten?”

  “Mmm.” The half-shrug that went with the sound meant ‘no.’

  “Get yourself something. I’m stuffed. My sister-in-law is out of control. Glass of wine for me, though.”

  “All right.” Words this time, and another kiss. Dmitri let go of him. Not much later they reconvened in the den, on the couch that felt so much more comfortable now, with its view across that big new rug to the candle tree. “What have you to ask me, my love.”

  Patrick took a fortifying sip of wine. “We’ve known each other going on three years. We have amazing sex. And we’ve established that we can live together with minimal strife. Would you agree?”

  Dmitri almost laughed. “Of course.”

  “Great.” Another sip of wine. “I waited a hell of a long time for you. To meet you, I mean. To find you. I cannot envision a time when I will be done with you, or tired of you, or no longer in love with you. I mean, you’re the one. Am I kidding myself?”

  No laughter now.
This was a genuine question. For whatever reason, Patrick needed reassurance. Dmitri didn’t take it personally. They had both lived with uncertainty for a long time. He put his arm around his lover’s shoulders, kissed his cheek, and said, “No. I feel the same. I see myself with you forever.”

  Patrick turned his head, making eye contact. “Then how do you feel about making it official? We can’t get married, but there’s the registered domestic partners thing. It would give us both some rights and some protections. We could even have a ceremony.” He stopped talking, because if Dmitri didn’t want this no amount of persuasion was going to get him there.

  Dmitri moved infinitesimally closer, enough to kiss Patrick’s mouth. Softly, lingeringly, lovingly. “I would marry you if we could. If you cannot be mon mari, then I would make you my partner.” As usual, he choked on saying ‘I love you’ in English, but he did say it in Ukrainian. Patrick set his wineglass aside and kissed him again, for a while. When they stopped for breath Dmitri laid his hand on Patrick’s face. “When could we do it? Register?”

  “Anytime we can both get to City Hall, I think.” Patrick was smiling now. “And the ceremony?” They both thought about it for a minute. “What about next April?”

  “The anniversary?” Dmitri had been surprised in 2004 when Patrick gave him an anniversary card, one year from the day they met. This year it wasn’t a surprise. Knowing that Patrick considered it a significant date (as he did himself), he’d sent roses to the accounting office. To have a commitment ceremony on that date would be meaningful. “Yes. And yes.”

  March 2006

  Patrick asked Akiko Matsumoto, a lay pastor at their neighborhood church, if she knew someone who would do the commitment ceremony for them. She gave him an insulted look and said, “I will.” Because this was after a service and there were a lot of people milling around, they made an appointment to discuss it later. He walked home with Dmitri, wishing very strongly that they were holding hands. No-one would have minded. There were simply too many years of Not Doing That (or anything like that) in the way.

  Once the date was set, they organized themselves to register their partnership. It might have felt like a letdown – a dry business transaction, unromantic, legalistic – if not for what it represented. The best possible analogue to marriage. Dmitri cleared the whole day without Patrick even asking. Once they got home, they went directly to bed.

  And now it was only a few weeks till the big day. It felt big, the biggest thing they could possibly do while the world was the way it was. All their particular friends would be there, including Akiko’s son Kenji. He was building a business as a costume and couture designer after ten years as a fashion model. Dmitri went to see his storefront in Koreatown, told Patrick that Kenji had a gift for dancewear, and took his current partner Irina there shortly after.

  Kenji asked what they would wear for the ceremony. Dmitri, of course, had every kind of formalwear up to and including a tail suit. Patrick had a single off-the-rack and out-of-style tuxedo. “Let me make something for you,” Kenji said. Patrick looked at Dmitri, eyebrows up.

  Dmitri had a sudden vision of the two of them dancing in Vienna. He had no idea where that came from. He’d been to Vienna only once, as the paid escort of a very rich student who wanted to experience the holiday balls. Would he dance with me, he wondered. He had never asked. There was never time. Except there was, they had space at home, Patrick was always there for him. “White tie. A tail suit,” he said. “Like mine.”

  Patrick asked why, of course. Dmitri told him. The reaction was (much like the day he’d redecorated the den) everything he could have wished. He began, a bit at a time, teaching the love of his life how to dance.

  They didn’t dance at the modest party following the ceremony. They did kiss, because even though people were watching, those people wanted to see this. Dmitri held Patrick in front of God and everybody, then stroked his hair back with both hands, rested his forehead against that of the man who was now his, and said, “Toujours.”

  March 2007

  Patrick never stopped being excited about the ceremony. Never stopped being thrilled that they were living together, in their own house, as officially a couple as a pair of gay men could be in this world. They did all kinds of things as a couple now, whenever Dmitri’s still-crazy schedule permitted. Office parties, family things, dinners out with friends. There was a framed picture from their ceremony in his office.

  The first anniversary of that ceremony was a few weeks away as he walked home from work, down a street he usually only took when he wanted to stop at the Italian restaurant at one end. He didn’t plan to stop there on this particular evening because they had leftovers from the night before. Later, he couldn’t account for why he took that route. He wasn’t paying much attention to the various storefronts. Then he got to the end of the block and stopped. Instead of crossing the street, he turned around and retraced his steps. Midway up the block was a For Lease sign. He vaguely remembered this being a boutique of some kind. The usual glass door behind a wrought-iron security door. Three big windows in the brick wall, and evidence that more security ironworks had been recently removed. The sign was on the center window. He leaned close to look through. It was a big space. Maybe six times as big as their living room. There were two small enclosures inside. One might have been a bathroom, the other an office. The ceiling showed signs of multiple internal reconfigurations over the years. He was getting excited again, about something other than their ceremony. He could see another door on the far side. He’d never been down the alley of this block. He walked down the block again, around the end, then back up. There was a parking lot off the alley. It seemed to serve the vacant space and the two adjacent businesses. Another For Lease sign was on the back wall. Patrick got his phone out and sent a text to his top contact in commercial real estate.

  He received the essential information about the property the next day, then went to talk to a colleague who specialized in business start-ups. When Dmitri got home, he said, “We need to talk.”

  By now Dmitri was confident Patrick was his forever, so that phrase didn’t worry him. “What is it, my love.”

  “There’s a vacant space in the neighborhood that I think might work as a studio. It’s on the block with that Italian restaurant we like. It’s too big for a boutique and the last restaurant that went in failed. The owner is looking for a tenant who’ll take the whole space, they don’t want to split it. We could go see it Sunday morning. Do you want to?”

  Dmitri took a minute to respond, because he was so surprised. They’d talked about such a thing a few times, but always in a casual way. Never in a ‘let’s look for a space and make this happen’ way. Though he was well-versed in pricing various dance-instruction services (not to mention how to manage instructor expenses) and basic promotion, Dmitri had never been on the management side of running a studio. It was an alarming prospect. He didn’t even know where to start. But he wouldn’t be doing it alone. “We can look,” he said cautiously. He didn’t quite dare say ‘I want to.’ Patrick gave him one of those half-amused, half-exasperated looks that said Dmitri’s meaning had been taken despite his failure to verbalize.

  On Sunday morning, they walked over to the space. The realtor was there to let them in. She talked about the two most-recent tenants, provided them with a spec sheet, and noted down Patrick’s concerns about renovating the space. “Because our proposed business is a dance studio,” he said. “This vinyl tile has to go out, and a sprung wood floor has to go in. The office and bathroom need to be reconfigured. We need a wet bar kind of deal. The ceiling needs to be re-done, because this looks like shit. If the glass in those windows isn’t impact-resistant, it needs to be.”

  Dmitri was listening with a sort of fascinated horror. All he could see was the space. Glorious unobstructed space. Was Patrick really that unhappy with it? The realtor said, “I need to step outside for a minute.”

  Patrick guessed that she was going to make a call she didn’t
want them to overhear. That meant all his objections were going into the negotiation, exactly as he’d intended. As soon as the back door closed behind her, he said, “Honey, take a lap. Is it really big enough?”

  Dmitri understood. They would make the necessary changes, but the cost of those had to be considered in what they were willing to pay for the space. He set himself up on the line of dance and did a circuit of foxtrot. The floor was awful, but it was big enough; the slow turns were easily shaded to turn the corners. A circuit of quickstep. A little tight for that; the long-wall combinations would have to be truncated. Better that than force a student to shorten their stride. Then a circuit of Viennese waltz, because the realtor was still outside.

  She came in as he was finishing a fleckerl with a self-indulgent double pirouette in the middle of the floor. “Oh wow! What was that?”

  “Viennese waltz,” Patrick said. “Mr. Vasko is qualified to teach and adjudicate twenty-six competitive dance styles. He’s one of the top-ranked ballroom professionals in the country.” All true. Now was not the time to be modest.

  “I thought you meant ballet or something! Is there a lot of ballroom dancing in Los Angeles?”

  “Thousands of students,” Dmitri answered. “All ages. Is terrible floor.” A sly glance at his partner, under cover of a regretful shake of the head. Patrick stifled a laugh. They wrapped up the appointment without making any promises. Shook hands with the realtor in the parking lot, watched her drive away, and turned to look at each other. “My dear love.”

  Patrick gazed at Dmitri, knowing that meant ‘I want it,’ and said, “There’s a lot of legal shit to do. I can handle most of it, if you trust me.”

  If he trusted Patrick? It was so not a question that Dmitri made a slight, scandalized noise. He wanted to kiss the man so much it hurt. “Home,” he said after a moment. If they wasted no time, they could make love before he had to go to work.