by Jamie Lake
BOYFRIEND FOR RENT
By: Jamie Lake
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CHAPTER 1
“What are you doing here?” Father Madison McDermott asked, shrouded in the dark shadows of the confessional booth.
“I just need a second,” Casey pleaded, biting what was left of his nails. The thin barrier between the two wasn’t enough to calm him. At twenty-five, he had a strong, chiseled jaw line, a face that was almost pretty, and eyes the color of grass. Those eyes said something was troubling him to the core. He ran his hand through his dark hair, the color the same rich brown as the rich wood of the booth.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” the young father whispered in a deep, low tone. He, too, was equally as young, always poised and in control and very mindful of what he said and how he said it. With his golden hair and bright blue eyes, Father had the women of the cathedral wishing he’d break his vow of celibacy. If they’d known about the tall, lean body beneath his robes, more than a few might’ve been tempted to test the father’s faithfulness.
“But you promised,” Casey said, pressing his shaking hands against the screen. The mesh wires felt cool to the touch. “How could you do this to me?”
“I told you. You’ll be taken care of,” McDermott stressed. His words grew heavier with each passing second, leaving the stale stench of his breath to crawl along the mesh wires.
“I don’t want your fucking money,” Casey said. “We’ve been together since high school, Madison.”
"You knew the arrangement." He shifted in his metal chair, forcing squeaks through the confessional. “And you broke it.”
"Nobody saw anything,” Casey pleaded, leaning in. It had been a stupid thing to do, he knew, but at the time, he hadn’t been thinking about it. They’d been standing there in front of the church, like Casey had just happened to come by, and he’d reached out to touch his lover. It had been just an innocent brush of his fingers against McDermott’s arm, but the priest had freaked out, slapping Casey’s hand away so hard that he’d left red marks across the back of Casey’s hand.
“You’re too much of a risk,” McDermott sighed, trailing off into a whisper.
“You’ve changed,” Casey said, his eyes burning with salted tears. “You used to be so loving, so passionate. What happened?”
“Quit lisping,” McDermott scorned. “Maybe if you’d act like a man in public, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“I’m trying,” Casey cried.
“Try. Harder.”
“McDermott, please.”
“I loved you, Casey. I did,” McDermott said, as he slid the screen closed. “But it’s over.”
Casey sat there in disbelief. The small room around him suffocated his thoughts. Everything grew tighter, smaller, and more painful than the secrets in his heart. He was left with nothing but the echoing sound of McDermott’s chair squeaking as he left.
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CHAPTER 2
This is not where Casey expected to be at twenty-five-years old. He’d hoped by now that he and McDermott would have found a way to be together without living in shame and secrecy.
The risks in getting involved with a priest were high, sure, but McDermott was more than just his priest—he was Casey’s best friend: at least he was at one time. They’d known each other since the painful days of high school at St. Patrick’s Catholic School, and it was there they'd discovered each other's secrets. Casey even lost his virginity to him one special night. Their bond was a force so strong, and Casey never would have thought it could come to this.
Now Casey stood shivering in the long hallway, and fished along the corners of his pockets for the key—the key to the truth—making sure no one was watching. The apartment building was quiet, as was the street. They’d picked this area specifically for that reason. It was in a nice part of Portland: not so rich that people would pay attention, but not so poor that the cops were there every other day. It was the kind of place where young families would buy the cute little suburban houses that dotted the street once they outgrew the apartments. Not that Casey and McDermott would ever get to do that. McDermott had made it clear that Casey was never to let anyone know they lived together and Casey knew the risks involved.
It wasn’t just for McDermott, but for Casey’s religious mother who’d fallen very ill. She’d already lost another son to war, and while she knew the truth and accepted Casey, he knew many of her friends wouldn’t be so kind. If she were to lose the support of her church because of him… he couldn’t bear it. She favored Casey, bragged about him, and wanted to believe the best in him, even though he’d been secretly relying on McDermott, financially, for the last six months, ever since the office where Casey had worked since high school had laid him off. He’d hated the job when he’d had it. He’d got the job at Janson’s Financial Services because the owner’s son had been a friend of Casey’s brother. He’d started in the mailroom, thinking that he could work his way up. It turned out that the only way for someone with just a high school diploma to get any higher than a run-of-the-mill go-fer was to sleep with the boss, and Casey wasn’t exactly Mr. Janson’s type. Still, it had been steady employment, no one had treated him badly, and the work hadn’t been hard. Mind-numbingly boring, yes, but not difficult. He’d been punctual, hardly ever took a sick day, and never had any problems with his co-workers, but that hadn’t stopped him from getting called into Mr. Janson’s office for ‘the talk.’ Casey hadn’t done anything wrong –it was just the fucking economy – but every time McDermott looked at him, Casey felt it. He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of his mother looking at him the same way, so he’d kept his secret. Casey thought the added stress was what was sitting between them, like a stone wall.
Now Casey knew differently.
True, Casey knew the agreement. The two could see each other, be together, but no one could know- not a soul. He loved McDermott deeply, so deeply that he was willing to live in the shadows, although each day grew increasingly more difficult. McDermott would go as far as ignoring him when he was around, or acting as if they had just met, which made Casey’s heart ache, but Casey would have done anything for McDermott: anything.
Casey pushed the stinging thoughts out of his mind as he grasped the silver key, shoved the key into the lock, and turned.
Nothing.
He tried again. And again. He pulled the key out and pushed it back it, but nothing happened. The lock wouldn’t move. He pressed his back against the door and breathed a long, heavy sigh as he raked his fingers through his hair. Then it dawned on him.
McDermott had changed the locks.
Casey felt tears welling up in his eyes and fought to keep them from spilling over. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, as if the cold night air was the reason he was shaking. How could McDermott do this to him? Hadn’t he realized that Casey would want to come home to at least gather his things? He’d even thought – foolishly, he now realized – that McDermott would let him stay until he found his own place. They wouldn’t have to share their bed. He’d sleep on the couch, but he hadn’t considered the thought that McDermott would expect him to just walk away with only the clothes on his back. But it seemed that this was exactly what his long-time lover expected him to do.
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CHAPTER 3
“What am I supposed to do?” Casey asked, plugging one ear so he could hear the pay phone through the sidewalk’s boisterous noise. The handle was covered in a layer of film that Casey couldn’t ignore. It had taken him half a dozen blocks to get up the courage to call McDermott, which meant he was no longer in his nice little neighborhood, but on a noisy street downtown. Th
e early spring night was still too cold for many, but those dedicated to making sure they saw the game or match (or whatever on one of the big screens in any number of sports bars) were out in droves. There were the big, beefy men in their various sports gear, laughing their raucous laughs and telling the jokes that Casey had never thought were funny. Then there were the cerebral sports nuts, the ones who liked to analyze and spout statistics as if these things were important. Not that Casey would put down another man’s hobby. He just didn’t get it. Among the men were almost as many women. Some were also fans, as evidenced by their contributions to the conversations, but others were more interested in the free drinks and flirting.
“I told you never to call me here,” McDermott barked, drawing Casey’s attention away from the crowd.
Casey could picture McDermott in his office. Even though it had been dangerous, Casey had gone to the office a few times, but not enough to arouse suspicions. It was a small, neat little place where McDermott’s obsessive need to organize shone. Casey knew that McDermott was sitting behind his desk, lips pursed, phone tucked between shoulder and ear so that both hands were free to arrange and rearrange the sparse items on the desk. Probably pencils, highlighters, and that sort of thing. Over McDermott’s head, glaring down at the audible evidence of the priest’s broken vows, was one of the minor saints. Casey had never asked which one. “I need my things.”
“They’re my things. I bought them. I told you I’d provide for you, but...” McDermott’s tone changed.
Casey jogged in place to warm his bones. The chill was piercing through his skin like tiny knives. “I don’t want your money.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Accept the money.”
Casey tightened his lips, unsure of the offer McDermott was making. “I can make it on my own.”
McDermott chuckled. “You have no skills. Who’s going to hire you?”
“Excuse me?” Casey’s throat tightened. “I can make it. I worked at Janson’s for years. I can cook or something.”
“Case, let’s be realistic. You got that job because of your dead brother, and you can barely toast bread. The only skill you have is giving blow jobs, and you’re not even that great at it.”
Casey’s jaw fell agape as he backed into the crevice between the payphone’s plastic barrier and the building’s exterior. He always thought McDermott liked his cooking, and maybe the compliments began fading after the first couple of years, but he never seemed to complain. Casey cupped his hand over the receiver to be sure McDermott heard him loud and clear. “Fuck you.”
“Take the money,” McDermott pleaded.
“I’m going to make it. Without your help,” Casey said, brushing the hair from his cheek. The tears that had been threatening to fall ever since he’d left the church were gone now, driven away by anger.
“Right,” McDermott sighed. “And try to lower your pitch: sound like a man for once, for God’s sake.”
Casey banged the phone on the plastic wall before pressing the lever to end the conversation. Passing glares and whispers didn’t faze him. All he could see, hear, smell, and taste was the pain of what was happening. He clasped his wool jacket shut to keep the bitter cold from his skin. He felt stupid not having a backup plan. He’d put his trust in the man he loved, and whom he thought loved him, and now it was time to figure out what to do from there.
He was so angry and hurt that he seriously thought about seeking revenge in some way, but the more he thought about it, it just wasn’t his style. No, he’d have to get back at McDermott some other way, seeking higher ground.
He’d thought about calling his mom, but she’d ask too many questions and that would only lead to more lies and more heartbreak. Casey just couldn’t lie anymore. It was exhausting. He was tired of living in the shadows and shame of his relationship with McDermott. He owed himself a life of truth and honesty—something real—something he’d never known in all his years on earth.
He had no place to go and no friends outside of church. The only option, it seemed, was to get out of town.
Fast.
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CHAPTER 4
The sun danced behind the clouds on this painfully real day. The rays peered through library windows and shone down into Casey’s eyes as he searched the classifieds for a room and a job, but the opportunities were few and far between. The recession had hit Portland as hard as it had hit the rest of the country. That’s why he’d been laid off in the first place. The smell of ink wafted into Casey’s nose as he scanned every last word. Most looked like scams.
He closed his eyes for a moment, his eyelids burning. He was so tired. He’d spent hours walking last night, trying to stay warm, wondering where he was going to go or what he was going to do. A light drizzle, just shy of snow, had started around midnight, increasing until he was soaked to the bone less than an hour later. His teeth had chattered so hard he’d been afraid he’d chip them, so he’d clenched his jaw. It still ached. Finally, at about three, he’d gone into a twenty-four-hour laundromat. It had been empty, so he’d taken the chance and hidden in the back while he used the last of his change to dry his coat and clothes. His entire body had been covered by goose bumps, and the chill hadn’t gone away for hours, even after he’d pulled on the clothes hot from the dryer.
He’d stayed there, dozing in the corner, until a group of tired-looking older women had come in and started throwing him dirty looks. He’d realized then that they’d thought he was homeless. It wasn’t until he’d left that he’d realized they were right. He’d wandered a bit more, his feet shuffling along the sidewalk, his attention on little more than making sure he didn’t trip. It wasn’t until he passed the library that he thought he should go in and see if they had a newspaper he could read.
Now, there was only one ad left:
WANTED - ROOMMATE - FARM HOUSE - FOREST HILLS - DISCOUNT ON RENT WITH HELP. $450/MONTH.
The bank account Casey had kept open under his mother’s insistence was rapidly depleting (he hadn’t made a deposit for nearly two years), but taking McDermott’s hush money was out of the question. Was that all McDermott thought he was worth? Some money-grubbing whore with no feelings or aspirations? When they’d been living together, they’d been a couple: two parts to a whole. McDermott was the breadwinner, and Casey had stayed at home while he’d been looking for another job. That’s how relationships worked. He had never thought of it as McDermott paying for him. Until now. He wished he’d listened to his mother and kept all of his money separate from McDermott’s. He’d fallen for the ‘we’re a couple’ bullshit when McDermott had talked him into a joint account.
Casey took another look at the ad. A farmhouse? True, it’d always been his dream for he and McDermott to one day live together in the country and to raise kids, fantastical as it may have sounded; but being stranded in the middle of nowhere with a perfect stranger?
Casey sighed. He had to show McDermott he could do this all on his own, and the farmhouse was something he could at least afford for a while. Then, maybe he could convince the roommate to let him stay until he got back on his feet. Maybe he could even get together enough money to finally go to culinary school. That had always been his dream, but McDermott had discouraged Casey from taking out a loan. All of their money and time was supposed to go to their relationship. Or at least that had been the lie that had kept Casey working rather than pursuing his dream. He’d really believed that all of the sacrifices he’d made would keep he and McDermott together forever; that eventually they’d come out together and have a real life. Part of him had even been hoping that McDermott would soften enough to want to go to their high school reunion together. For real together, not just showing up like friends. It had been a childish dream, he knew, to think that he’d be able to erase all of those years of torment by walking in with a handsome man at his side; one who was proud to be with him. He already didn’t have the job he’d always imagined he’d have. Why should he get the romance?
He r
ubbed his hands over his eyes, wondering how big the bags were from his lack of sleep. He couldn’t keep thinking about how everything had gone wrong. He needed to make it right and the first step was to make a trip out of the city. Well, actually, the first step was to go get the hunk of junk he called a car from his mom’s garage while she was at morning mass and to pray that it was still working. He’d thought about getting it last night, but he knew how lightly his mother slept. If she heard someone in the garage, she would’ve called the cops, and that would’ve resulted in a very awkward mother-son conversation. Besides, he wasn’t even sure the damn thing would work. The last time he’d driven it, he’d been sure it was going to give up the ghost. It had been old when he’d bought it senior year, falling apart even then, but it had kept going. He just hoped now that it would get him to the farmhouse. He needed it to.
Casey’s plan was coming together and it had to work. It just had to.
He hoped.
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CHAPTER 5
It was quite a drive, down long, winding roads in the pouring rain in a car that hadn’t been driven in almost a year, but Casey eventually found what he was looking for. At first, he wasn’t too sure if he had the right place, since the cloud cover had turned late afternoon light into almost night dark. As drenched as a wet rat, he skipped up the steps of the country home in the near pitch darkness. He couldn’t get over not having street lights. Only the occasional lightning bolt in the distance illuminated the house’s grandiose exterior and the shadows that encapsulated it. With each stretch of light, Casey could see the potential the house had, although at the moment, it needed some serious work. Casey clenched his fist and pounded on the wooden door.
