by N. R. Walker
“Thanks for meeting me,” he said. He waved his hand and clicked his fingers at the wait staff like they were his personal servants without so much as a sideways glance or smile. Yep, arsehole-o-meter officially pinged.
But he was the paying client, so I sipped my green tea and smiled. “So, Gerard recommended me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. And you’re as good looking as he said. I think you’ll work just fine.” The waiter arrived at our table, and Lance barked an order at him. I thanked the waiter because Lance clearly thought it was beneath him to show some fucking manners.
I gave Lance a tight smile and cut right to the chase. “So, there’s someone you want back in your life?”
“Yes.”
“Male or female?”
“Male.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that an issue?”
I presumed his friend Gerard had told him I was gay. I’d worked with him and his ex-boyfriend after all. Was Lance testing me? I looked him right in the eye. “Certainly not. Payment terms are half up front, half at the conclusion of the job. I can’t stress enough that the final result may or may not be what you want. I can’t guarantee his response. What I can guarantee you is an answer and the truth. It’s not my job to convince him to come back to you. It’s my job to make him jealous, and hopefully, he’ll realise he made a mistake and wants you back. Terms are full payment, regardless of outcome.”
The waiter put Lance’s coffee on the table, and again Lance didn’t even acknowledge the poor guy. Seriously, a fucking smile or nod didn’t cost a cent. Instead, he smiled at me. “Sounds reasonable. But I don’t think what I have in mind is your usual MO.”
I kept my expression neutral. “And why’s that?”
“I don’t want us to pretend to be together. I want you to befriend him.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“I have no problem in finding some hot little piece of arse to grope in a bar if I wanted to make him jealous.” He took a self-righteous breath. “That’s not what I need. I need you to befriend him and gain his trust.”
Okay, this was getting bizarre. “Why?”
“He won’t see me.”
For good reason, I thought. “Then I think our meeting is redundant, Mr Nader. If the client refuses to see you or even speak to you, then I can’t help you.” I stood up, officially ending this meeting.
He put his hand on my arm. “It’s not like that. It’s his family. They’re a large Greek family and very strict. When they found out he was seeing me…” He shook his head, and for the first time since I’d met him, he showed some kind of emotion. I sat back down to hear him out. He spoke in a whisper. “When he came to tell me we were finished, he had bruises.” He put his hand to his own cheekbone. “I begged him to tell me who had hurt him, but he wouldn’t say. He just left.”
Oh, shit. “If he’s in some kind of trouble, you should have called the police. Not me.”
“He would only deny it if they questioned him,” Lance said quickly. “It’s his father who he’s afraid of. I’m sure of it. That’s why I need you to befriend him. Talk to him.”
I studied him for a long moment, gauging his sincerity. His reaction seemed genuine and honest, not that I knew him at all. “Then what?”
“I want to see him, I won’t deny it.” He swallowed hard. “I love him.”
“How long ago did he leave?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“And you’ve not spoken to him since?”
He shook his head.
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-one.”
Lance would have easily been thirty, maybe thirty-two or three. “Where did you meet?”
“At The Standard. I know he’s younger than me, but what we had was… special. We just clicked from the first day. You know what that’s like?”
Funnily enough, now I did. “How long were you together?”
“A year.”
“His name?”
“Yanni Tomaras.”
“Where does he work?”
“He was attending LA Actors Academy. It’s a college in West Hollywood, but I think he’s quit or is taking some time off, at least. He used to work at a café near the campus, but he hasn’t been in for a shift since he left me.”
“You’ve tried to track him down?”
“Only at school and work,” he admitted. “Where his family wouldn’t find out.”
“What makes you think I will be even able to find him? I’m not a private eye. I don’t typically find missing people.”
“Gerard said you were very good. And Yanni’s not missing, he’s just gone quiet because his family are homophobes. God only knows what they threatened him with. I don’t want to involve the police, and God, private detectives are worse than real cops. It could put him in an even worse position than he is now if they go sticking their noses into his family, know what I mean?”
I took a deep breath and weighed up my options. Sure, Lance was a wanker, but if this kid was in some trouble, then maybe I should help. Or, at the very least, maybe if I could track him down and assess the whole crazy situation for myself, then I could decide what to do. And that was if I could find him.
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my small notepad and handed it to him. “Write down his name, date of birth, the college he went to, classes he took, the café he worked at, places he hung out, names of friends. Anything you can think of. I’ll also need your email address and other contact details.”
He scribbled furiously, and when he gave it back to me, I said, “No promises. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to find him.”
Lance smiled. “I have every faith.”
* * * *
I relayed my meeting to Lola and Emilio. Emilio agreed that something sounded off about the whole thing, and Lola cautioned me to follow my gut. “I know, I know,” I agreed. “Lance Nader is a tosser, but what if this ex-boyfriend needs some help? It can’t hurt to look into it.”
“So, if you met this Tosser-Guy in a bar…?” Lola trailed off suggestively.
“I’d run a mile,” I said without hesitating. “He pinged my arsehole-o-meter before he even sat down.”
Lola made that face that told me I was being an idiot. “You’re saying all the things I’d expect you to say if you turned the job down,” she said.
“I know.” I sighed loudly. “I might not even be able to find the guy.”
She rubbed my arm. “I trust your judgement, Spence. If something doesn’t feel right, just tell Tosser-guy it’s no bueno.”
I finally gave her a smile. “I will.”
“You look good today,” she said, dropping the subject of my new client, who had not-so-subtly been given the nickname of Tosser-Guy. Because that’s what he was.
I looked down at my shirt and pants. I’d worn this before. “Um, thanks?”
She laughed. “It’s not your clothes. It’s you. Look at you being all happy and shit.”
“Oh.” I knew what she was referring to. She was about to tell me I had some inner glow from love or sex or something equally embarrassing. “I like your dress. Is that new?”
She wasn’t fooled. “Nice try.”
“I’m serious. Is that sunshine yellow?”
She narrowed her eyes at me but went back to unpacking a box of new jewellery for Daniela. “Are those new Prince Albert designs?”
“Yep. Want one?”
My dick shrank back inside my body at the thought. “Ah, no thanks.”
She laughed. “Andrew might like it.”
I ignored her. “The yellow of your dress really suits your pink hair,” I added. “Same tone. And the thin black belt and matching black high heels is a great combination.”
Lola laughed and shook her head at me. “You’re not deflecting anything with me, Spencer Cohen. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”
“I’m not trying to do anything,” I lied.
She tugged on my beard. “I�
��m happy for you and Andrew. Even if you don’t want to talk about it.”
I laughed incredulously. “I have talked about it. I’ve told you as much as I can about me and Andrew without divulging our favourite lube.”
Someone laughed outside the cubicle.
“On that note,” I said, walking to the cubicle curtain. I spoke to whoever the hell was listening. “I will see you good people tomorrow.” I stuck my head out to see Emilio. “Need anything, man?”
He looked up from where he was inking a customer. “Nah.”
“Dinner later?”
“No hot date tonight?”
I groaned. “No.”
“That’s tomorrow night,” Lola yelled out from her cubicle.
I took a deep breath, but it did little to stem the traitorous blush that heated my stupid cheeks.
Emilio laughed. “Nah, I’m finishing up early tonight. Shop’ll be shut by seven.”
“Okay. Call me if you need anything. And tell Daniela I said thank you for yesterday. And the night before for helping me with my Academy Award winning Maker’s Mark performance.” I cringed as the memory of bourbon burned in my throat. “Any night this week you guys want dinner, it’s on me.”
Emilio grinned at me. “Any night, but not tomorrow night.”
“Well no, tomorrow night is… yeah whatever, just not tomorrow night.”
He laughed. “I’ll tell my beautiful woman,” he said. “She’ll take you up on that offer, my friend.”
“Good. We’ll aim for Friday night dinner, if something doesn’t change in the meantime,” I said happily. I stopped at the cubicle on my way to the back door. “And Lola, you and Gabe included. It’s my treat.”
“Will Andrew be joining us?” she asked. Her tone was a mix of both teasing and hopeful.
“I don’t know,” I said quietly. “I’ll ask.”
Her smile was beautiful. “Okay!”
I withheld a groan, but I was back to smiling. I had to wonder if I’d ever stopped.
* * * *
I spent the afternoon doing online searches for Yanni Tomaras. He had no social media accounts, well, not under his real name. Not that I could find, anyway. By cross-referencing locations and photos, even likes and anything that had been favourited, there was no other Yanni that was remotely close to the pictures Lance had sent me.
I tried a varied combination of his name, date of birth, and address. Then I added in his college and class information, coupled with his place of employment, and surprisingly, I made some headway.
I must have lost track of time because the next thing I knew, my phone rang. Andrew’s name flashed up on screen.
“Hey,” I answered.
“Hi.”
I was one hundred percent certain I was doing that ridiculous smiling thing, just from the sound of his voice. “How was your day?”
“Good,” he replied. “I survived the colleague inquisition, though only barely.”
“Was it rough?”
He groaned. “Painful.”
I chuckled. “Yes, Lola accosted me again today. Though my diversion tactics of complimenting her outfit were countered, and it’s true what they say, resistance is futile.”
He made a happy sound. “Well, I’m having lunch with my mom tomorrow.”
“Remember,” I said seriously. “When in doubt, compliment her outfit.”
“You just said that didn’t work.”
“Well, it didn’t work on Lola, but she knows all my cunning plans.”
“Did you just quote Blackadder?”
“Do you know Blackadder?”
“Well, obviously.”
I laughed. “My Aunt Marvie loved all the British shows.”
“My dad was born in England,” Andrew said. “Came here when he was very young, but his family loves them too. We grew up watching the BBC.”
“I didn’t know that,” I mused. “That you’re half English.”
“Where do you think I get my awesome tan from?”
God, he made me laugh. “Well, for what it’s worth, I hear pale is the new tan. All the rage in LA at the moment. I saw an article in Pasty Living.”
“You’re not funny,” he said, though I could hear the smile in his voice. “And I’m not pasty.”
“No, you’ve got great skin, I must say. When you get here tomorrow night for dinner, you might have to get naked just so I can be sure though.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. Absolutely.”
He sighed. “I’m sure I can arrange something. I’d hate to disappoint you.”
It was quiet where he was. There was no background noise. “Are you home already?”
“Yep. Been home for a while.”
I checked my watch. Shit, it was six-thirty. “I didn’t realise the time.”
“What did you get up to today?”
“I met a new client today.”
Silence.
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” I added quickly, defensively. “He’s a bit of a wanker, and it’s all a bit weird, to be honest.”
More silence.
“Andrew?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I just… why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did. Just now. I just told you.”
“No, I mean, before. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I forgot about it, to be honest. I had a life changing weekend, as you might recall. And I was going to tell you last night, but then you sent me a text about coming four times and my stupid brain went on a one-way trip to pornville. There was no coming back from that… Well, there was coming… I had to see whether I could manage four times in one day—well, since I was seventeen anyway—and I couldn’t let you beat me. I’m competitive like that.”
He was silent again, but then he laughed. “What?”
“Do you want me to repeat all of that?”
“You didn’t message me back to say that you did a fourth.”
“I was in an orgasm coma, thanks to you. I wasn’t capable of texting.”
He laughed, but he was serious when he asked, “And your weekend was life-changing?”
“Yes. I seemed to have scored myself a smokin’ hot boyfriend. And that’s a first for me. A boyfriend of any kind, that is.” I sighed and spoke quietly, “So forgive me if I forget to tell you things… It’s just that I’ve never let anyone in. Ever.”
I could hear him suck back a breath. After a beat of silence, his voice was soft when he asked, “Smoking hot, huh?”
“Yeah, totally. He was on the cover of Pasty Living and everything.”
Now he laughed again. “I’m sorry. I just tend to get on the defensive.”
“That’s okay. I tend to get on the clueless. So we’re even.”
He let out a long breath. “So, a new fake boyfriend, huh?”
“If you mean new client, then yes. But I’m not pretending anything with this guy.”
“What do you mean?”
I just realised how that must have sounded. “No, no, no. I mean, I don’t have to pretend to be with him or anything like that. I don’t have to get to know him, or touch him, or even hang out with him.”
“Oh.”
“Would it bother you if I did?” I asked. I knew the answer to that already. It clearly did bother him. “It’s normally what I do. It’s how I met you! So you knew what I did for a job, Andrew.”
“I know,” he replied quietly. “And I’m trying not to have an issue with it, but the idea of you spending time with another guy, the way we did…”
“Yeah, but I don’t spend time with them like we did. I don’t normally do half of what we did with any other client. I told you, you were different. From day one, things were different with you.”
“I know,” he said again. “I’m allowed to feel a little jealous. I mean, would you prefer me to not tell you how something makes me feel?”
“No, I don’t want you to censor anything.”
“I know it’s your job, Spencer, and I
don’t have an issue with what you do. I just… will you have to kiss him?”
“No, I won’t. It’s a weird case. He doesn’t want me to pretend to be his boyfriend. But I can’t promise that another case down the track won’t require me to hold some guy’s hand, or dance with him in a bar or something like that.”
Again with the silence, but this needed saying. I shouldn’t change what I did for a living just because I had a boyfriend. Should I?
“Can I ask you something?” His voice was kinda quiet.
“Sure.”
“If I had to, as part of my job, go out this weekend to a bar and kiss some guy to secure a deal with a production company, would that bother you?”
I pictured him, all smiles at another guy and kissing him, pretend or not, and my stomach twisted. Would it bother me?
Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Hell yes, it would.
“No.”
He laughed. “You can’t lie.”
“Okay, it totally would. The thought of another guy kissing you bothers me.” I groaned and dug the heel of my left hand into my eye. “I have a vivid imagination, and you’d be wearing your blue and red Argyle sweater and have those little lines at your eyes when you laugh, and then you’d look at him, then he’d put his hands on you and lean in… And yes, it bothers me.”
“That was pretty detailed.”
“Like I said, I have a very healthy imagination.”
He laughed. “So I don’t have a problem with it because it’s your job. I know that. I knew it before I agreed to give this relationship a shot. But yes, it bothers me that some other guy gets to touch you. Even if it means nothing. I would never ask you to stop doing what you do, Spencer. Please tell me you understand that.”
“Sure.” The thought never crossed my mind to actually quit doing what I do. Financially, I didn’t even have to do it, but I enjoyed the people aspect of it. I loved the personal nature of the whole set up, and I loved helping people get their lives back on track.
“But it just means that if you ever do have to take some guy out on a fake date, you better make it up to me.”
