L.A. Mischief

by P. A. Brown

  “I know. Trust you. It’ll be fun.”

  “Honest.”

  The funny thing was he did trust David. He took the shoes and followed David to a seat at an empty lane. They both shed their street shoes and put on the bowling shoes. Chris tried not to think of all the other feet that had already been in them.

  David had his shoes on first and he went up to select a ball for Chris.

  “This the place you come to all the time?”

  “We have a league here and play once a week.”

  “Who’s we?” Although Chris already knew.

  “Martinez. A few of the other detectives. Bryan comes, too.”

  Bryan Williams was another out gay detective who had helped David with his problem when he’d been precipitously outed. Chris hadn’t known the two saw each other outside of work. A niggling worm of something unpleasant worked through him. My God, was he jealous of Bryan? Did he think David and this guy were lovers too?

  David came over with a chartreuse ball in one hand and his own ball, which was a sedate dark blue. So David.

  He showed Chris how to hold the ball and demonstrated how to line it up and guide his throw down the lane. David’s ball arrowed straight through the array of pins, knocking them all over. Chris looked from the downed pins to David.

  “That’s good, right?”

  “That’s very good,” David said smugly. “A strike. Ten points.” In his next turn his ball knocked down seven of the ten pins in his two tries. “Seventeen,” David said.

  “What’s your highest score?”

  “I did two-fifty once. Three hundred is a perfect game.”

  It didn’t look hard. Chris inserted his fingers in the holes like David showed him, refusing to think about how many other fingers had done the same and stepped up to the throw line.

  “Not too close, or you’ll be stepping over. That’s a foul. You lose the pins for that ball.”

  Chris took a step back. Wound up again. He let the ball go, aimed right into the center of the distant pins. It bounced then started rolling toward the distant pins.

  The ball made it half way down the lane before sliding off into the gutter, gliding past the untouched pins.

  “Not good.”

  “No, it’s not very good. But look at it this way, you can only get better.” He gestured toward the ball return. “You get another shot.”

  Chris squared his shoulders and took another ball. This one did no better, going into the gutter again.

  He grabbed another ball. David stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “My turn.”

  “Oh.” Chris backpedaled, feeling foolish. He watched as David took another strike and five pins.

  “Fifteen.”

  “Rub it in.”

  “It’s about fun, not winning,” David commiserated.

  “Sure it is.”

  “Let me give you some pointers.” David came up behind Chris as he pulled a ball out of the chute and positioned himself in front of the line. “Release the ball smoothly. You don’t want it to bounce.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No, this isn’t tennis.”

  Chris looked down at the ball he was holding with three fingers. It must have weighed twelve pounds easily. “Right, not tennis. I’d hate to hit this sucker with a racket.”

  David grinned. “I’d like to see you lob it that high.”

  Chris drew his arm back and swept forward, trying to let the ball go smoothly like David said. This time it didn’t bounce and it didn’t go into the gutter. But as it rolled down the lane it lost momentum. By the time it reached the pins it was barely moving. Two pins fell, a third wobbled then held its place.

  Chris threw his arms up and rolled his eyes. “This is harder than I thought.”

  “I know. Go on, you’ve got another turn.” David stepped closer, his hips touching Chris’s, his breath warm on Chris’s neck. He reached around to position Chris’s body. “You need to address the ball. Like this.” He moved Chris’s arm and put a hand on his hip, sending a jolt of raw lust through him. “Now you want to offset it just a bit, put a bit of spin on the ball and bring it into that king pin, number five there in the middle.”

  Chris could barely concentrate. David’s words were warm puffs of air on his suddenly flushed skin.

  “Now let it go.”

  Chris obeyed and the ball sped down the lane, smashing right where David said it would, knocking all eight pins askew. The pin setter came down and removed the fallen pins, setting up the next set.

  David retrieved his ball and lined up his next set. This time only five pins fell. He smiled at Chris. “See, it is hard.”

  Over several more turns Chris learned to line his shot up like David had shown him. With his last shot the ball flew out of his hand and he gyrated on the floor, forgetting everything around him, forgetting everything except David and his ball. His ball slammed right into the sweet spot, and every pin went flying. He leaped into the air with a yell, slamming his fist up and yelling, “In your face!”

  David was laughing when he came down and realized several nearby bowlers were watching him with amusement. He flushed and grinned.

  “Well?” David said.

  “Well what?”

  “Is it as terrible as you thought it would be?”

  “God no,” Chris gushed, barely stopping himself from grabbing David’s arm. “It’s fun. I’m glad you invited me.”

  “Yeah, me too,” David said, his smile slipping as he held Chris’s gaze. “Hey, let me buy you a drink.”

  “Sure,” Chris said softly. He followed David into the bar where they took a booth and got menus from the server. Chris looked it over, checking out their drink menu.

  “Martini?” David asked.

  Chris shook his head. “Maybe just an iced tea,” he said the server when she came back. David raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He ordered his Bud.

  Along with the drinks David ordered pot stickers and egg rolls which turned out to be surprisingly good.

  Chris realized he was hungrier than he had even known when the food was set down in front of him. It occurred to him that he hadn’t had much of an appetite for the last few days. He had been thinking about David, convalescing at his house, wondering if he could call. Wondering if the good looking guy from the hospital was there playing nurse. He wolfed down two egg rolls and a half a dozen pot stickers.

  “What did you do all week, anyway?” Chris asked, trying to keep his voice light.

  David studied his beer. “Took a lot of pain pills the first few days, started to feel like myself by Wednesday,” he said. “Saw the doctor on Thursday, got my bandage changed. The stitches come out next week.”

  Chris looked alarmed. “You still have stitches?” he said. “Should you really be bowling?”

  “There’s a reason we played only one string,” said David, his voice soft. He shifted in his seat and his knee brushed Chris’s. The jolt that swept through Chris’s body was predictable but no less powerful for its familiarity. His cock strained at his denim covered crotch. He moved to ease the sudden swelling. It didn’t help.

  The tension between them escalated and Chris knew David was just as hard as he was. He was about to suggest they go back to David’s place when David leaned back in his seat and broke eye contact.

  He picked up his beer and took a deep drink. Lowering the bottle he met Chris’s gaze. “Come to dinner next week?”

  Chris thought about it for all of ten seconds.

  “No.”

  “No?” David’s face fell and he looked down at the table. “Oh, okay—”

  “I want to take you out to dinner.”

  “Oh? Oh, sure.” David visibly brightened. He was not a man who hid his feelings, at least not when he wasn’t in his cop mode. “I’d love to.”

  “Good. When did you say you were getting your stitches out?”

  “I didn’t say, but Wednesday. Two weeks after my surgery.”

  “Shall we go out
to dinner then? To celebrate? When do you have to go back to work?”

  “I’ll be riding a desk the next couple of weeks. I could go out on Wednesday...”

  “I’ll pick you up then, eight. Wear your finest.” Chris knew he had a few good quality suits—Chris had picked them out for him, loving the transformation he had been able to bring about by dressing David in fine clothes. David shone, something he would never have admitted to anyone, still insisting he was just a plain joe.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll see.”

  And Chris wouldn’t say anything more.

  They played another string, which David barely won. Chris suspected he was in more pain than he was admitting. He dropped Chris off at home just before five. Chris accepted his kiss and didn’t press David for more, though it was obvious they both wanted to go to the next level. Not yet, he cautioned himself, watching David drive down Cove toward Silver Lake Boulevard and home to Glendale.

  Inside he picked up his landline and speed dialed Des, who answered on the second ring.

  “You’ll never guess where I was,” he said with restrained laughter in his voice.

  “You know I hate guessing games,” Des said. “Tell me, boyfriend or I’ll put a serious hurt on you.”

  “Bowling.”

  “Bo—You’re joking, right? Chris Bellamere bowling ?”

  “Yeah.” Chris giggled. “With David. He asked me out.”

  “Oh God, I want the dish. Tell me all the gory details. What did you do? Bowling? I don’t believe it.

  You’re really gone, aren’t you?”

  Chris thought about it. It was true. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He sighed. “What am I going to do, Des?”

  “See how it plays out, I guess. I think David feels the same way you do. I have a really good feeling about you two, but you have to figure out how you’re going to do this. I mean you guys are so black and white. Polar opposites.”

  “So how do we find some middle ground where we can make it work?”

  “Sex is always good,” Des said, and laughed, ruining his pose.

  “Don’t remind me.” Chris grinned slyly. “I asked him out to dinner on Wednesday.”

  “Someplace special, I hope.”

  “Of course. I was thinking Xiomara.”

  “God yes, they have the greatest mojitos.”

  “I know. But David doesn’t drink mojitos.”

  “Hon, for you David would drink swill.”

  “Now there’s a charming picture.”

  “You know what I mean.” Des giggled. “What are you going to do then?”

  “Jesus, I don’t know, Des. What do you want me to say? That I’m going to jump his bones?”

  “Well aren’t you? Don’t tell me the Christopher Bellamere I know wouldn’t trip him in a heartbeat and beat him to the floor.”

  “You know, there’s such a thing as knowing a guy too well.”

  “Well you better call me as soon as you get home and dish me the dirt.”

  “And what if I don’t come home?”

  “Then you’ll have even more to tell.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I’ve got good vibes about this, Chris. Whatever you do, don’t fuck up.”

  “Such confidence is inspiring.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He did, he just didn’t like hearing Des put it so plainly. He’d fucked up with David once, could he stop from doing it again?

  “Be smart, Bellamere. You only get one more shot at this.”

  Return to TOC

  Chapter 10

  Saturday, 5:10 pm, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles DAVID BACKED OUT of Chris’s driveway and headed downhill towards tree-lined Rockford Street, overlooking the Silver Lake reservoir, to get back down to Glendale Boulevard. Already several of the homes were decked out with Christmas lights and lawn ornaments, looking incongruous in the relentless California green. He couldn’t believe it, checking the date on his wristwatch. It wasn’t even Thanksgiving and people were decorating their homes? He understood why stores put up their Christmas displays early but now homeowners? David shook his head. He felt disoriented from missing a week of work and early Christmas decorating did nothing to help his confusion.

  It had taken all of his willpower not to follow Chris inside his house and tumble him onto the bed they had shared so many times and do to him what they both wanted. Sometimes he wondered who was showing the most restraint. David, who wouldn’t ask for it, or Chris, who couldn’t? Who was the stronger because of it?

  Or were they both being stubborn fools instead of enjoying themselves the way they both wanted?

  What was Chris planning for Wednesday? More than just a simple dinner, if David knew anything.

  David knew it would be an expensive one. When Chris wanted to impress he always went all out, which had always been a bone of contention between them. David wasn’t a material person. He was happy with his simple, uncluttered life. His cat, his antiques, the car he was still working to restore. He didn’t need or want anything else. But Chris lived in a world David had only caught glimpses of in his work as a homicide detective, where death visited the rich just as it did the poor and the disenfranchised. He saw the way they lived, the elaborate charade they often erected around their bubble of wealth and privilege to pretend a normalcy that didn’t exist. The rich were different. And Chris had spent most of his adult life in that rarefied gilded tower. The only common ground they seemed to share was in the bedroom, where they had fired a passion that David had never experienced before or since. Even at its best, sex with Blair never reached the levels it had with Chris. And something told David it was the same for Chris.

  But could they forge a relationship on just sex? Even the best sex ended and what was there to fill that void?

  Today had been promising. Maybe Chris could step out of his walled world and live in David’s. He’d had fun today. It had seemed to be genuine and David thought he could read Chris well enough to know when he was faking it. And he hadn’t been faking today.

  So did that mean there was hope?

  He desperately wanted to think so.

  Once home he fed Sweeney, put the Bud in his fridge and pulled a steak out to barbecue. All he’d had all day were the bar snacks from the bowling alley. He was starving. A rare steak and a salad filled his stomach and an old John Wayne movie following the news would round out his evening. It would have been perfect except for the fact that he would be going to bed alone.

  Sweeney jumped onto the chair beside him and butted his head against David’s chin, demanding a belly rub. Once David complied he curled up on his lap and started purring.

  David watched the news with only half an ear, then had another beer while he watched John Wayne save the west again. Finally he went to bed where his dreams were filled with achingly erotic dreams where he pursued and caught Chris only to see him fade away into a sticky dawn. Groaning he dragged himself into the bathroom where he tried to clean himself up while keeping the bandages around his stomach from getting wet, no easy task. He’d be glad when the reminder of his carelessness was gone.

  In the meantime he needed to find something to fill his time.

  He had a room full of old clocks and Victrolas he was painstakingly restoring. He could spend a few hours doing that. And there was always the car. It was a bottomless pit of repairs and special order parts that weren’t always easy to get. But he was determined to restore it as close as he could get to cherry, and was willing to wait for the right part to come along.

  He took it easy on Sunday and Monday. By Tuesday he was bored and decided to clean the house. He realized his pain had ended and was looking forward to getting back to normal—and work. He was eating a simple lunch of a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of mushroom soup, when the house phone rang. He scooped it up, surprised to find Des on the other end.

  “Just wanted to see how you were doing,” Des said.

  “Good,”
David said. Quietly he added, “How about you?”

  “I’m doing okay. It’s still rough, you know. Sometimes I think it will never get better, then it does. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I do.” David encountered a lot of grief and rage in his job. He saw often how it destroyed some people and made others stronger. He had the feeling Des was the type to get stronger. “You’ll be okay, Des. You’re one of the survivors.”

  “Sometimes I think that’s the problem.”

  David knew enough psychology to understand survivor’s guilt. Des’s sorrow came from the simple fact that his lover, Kyle had died, and he hadn’t. And that was something Des would have to work through on his own.

  “It’s rough,” he said. “All you can do is take it one day at a time. You know Kyle loved you and he wouldn’t want you to be in pain because of what happened to him. He’d want you to be happy.”

  “I know,” Des’s voice broke. “But I miss him so much.”

  “Do you want me to come over, Des? I’m just finishing lunch, but we could go for a walk. Get out of the house. Talk.”

  “Would you? I’d like that.”

  “I’ll pick you up in about an hour. Maybe we can down to the beach, watch the lifeguards,” David said, fingers crossed that Des wouldn’t be upset at the suggestion. According to Chris, Des didn’t even look at guys right now. The very idea of being with someone seemed to trigger too much pain.

  But Des only laughed. “You’re on.”

  The Santa Monica pier was the end of the legendary Route 66 so it was only appropriate that David and Des parked David’s ‘56 Chevy in the Pier Deck parking. They strolled through the boisterous crowds of parents and children. Even on a Tuesday, the place was packed. The famous carousel with its painted ponies, dancing chariots, and gleaming brass glowed in the deepening dusk. In the distance the solar powered Pacific Wheel carried its human cargo aloft against the clouds massed out over the Pacific.

  Raucous hawkers peddled everything from cotton candy to giant stuffed pandas. Des walked at David’s side, dwarfed beside his six-four frame. He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets and seemed relaxed.