by Clare London
“Whatever.” Simon could always handle a dig from Robbie when he chose to, and Ken was only glad the topic had shifted from his own unconsummated love life. “But I think Robbie’s right. About the need to move on.” Simon looked disturbed. “I don’t particularly want to recall the time Wanker Watts pushed my head into the toilet.”
“Or when I threw up in my pencil case in the middle of dissecting that frog,” Robbie added.
“Or when I fell over Pete Stone’s massive feet and ripped the seat of my trousers, right at the beginning of school assembly.” Ken grimaced. “I was wearing Legend of Zelda cartoon boxers that day.”
They looked at each other, paused, and then laughed uproariously. Robbie raised his pint and clinked cheers with Simon and Ken.
“Seriously, I’m not looking for a blind date,” Ken said to Simon. “I’m going to work all I can through the summer, save my money, and then travel the world after I graduate. This job pays pretty decently, and I need to hang on to it. But there’s no time to date as well.”
“You get some free evenings, don’t you? Ollie has a holiday job as well, of course. You just have to check diaries.” Simon started scrabbling in his pocket for his mobile. “What’s your duty schedule next week looking like?”
Ken caught Robbie’s eye. Robbie took a large gulp of beer and rolled his eyes back at Ken. “Not going to happen, Si,” Ken said as firmly as he could. “I’ll sort things out for myself, thanks very much.”
“Okay, but if you need my superb matchmaking skills….” Simon shrugged and frowned again as Robbie gave an enthusiastic belch. “That reminds me. I have to get another job myself, now my shift at the cinema’s finished. Ollie said he’d look out for a vacancy for me at his place, but the trouble is, I hate waiting jobs. I may hang out for something at the library.”
“Ollie’s got a job at a restaurant?”
Simon nodded and sipped at his pint as neatly as possible, probably to counteract Robbie’s slurping. “I can’t remember the name of it, but it’s in the Spectrum Centre.”
“The Twice as Spice? The Thai Pin?” Robbie grunted. “Bloody stupid names. Or the poncey new French bistro beside the games store?”
“The… bistro?” Ken felt the mental cogs of his brain click over and settle in a new pattern. My brain! It’s my second favourite organ! Curiosity, of course, nothing more.
Simon shrugged again. “Can’t remember. It’s a long shift, though. Too much like hard work for me.”
“Right.” Ken nodded. Then nodded again, like the toy dog on the back shelf of Dad’s car.
Robbie was peering at him, suddenly perceptive. That’s how he often was—loud and sharp. “But you could find out, couldn’t you, Kenny?”
“What?”
Robbie gave another hearty laugh. “I bet you see another side of life on those screens. Better than any peepshow from in here, when all we get is a dog shitting in the gutter outside and empty fried-chicken boxes being trampled underfoot.”
“I hope you’re not implying I’m spying on people,” Ken said a bit pompously. “That’d be an abuse of my position, wouldn’t it?”
“Works for me.” Robbie turned on his best double-entendre leer again.
“Shut up and drink your bloody beer.” Ken glared at him. “I don’t watch anything in particular, okay?”
Robbie just smirked. “I was having you on. I mean, half those CCTV cameras are just empty boxes on the wall, aren’t they? It’s just a deterrent.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope. “I only see shop fronts and backyards.”
“When there are all those cute arses to check out? You really are one unlucky bloke,” Robbie announced with a blustering laugh. Two people at the table behind them winced at the blare of sound.
“So,” Ken said with enforced cheer, and determined to change the subject. “Who do you fancy to win Saturday’s game?”
ASTONISHING, KEN thought, but he was actually looking forward to work the next night. He’d brought the crime novels with him—stylish, fast-paced thrillers!—but he never even got them out of the box. He made himself a large coffee, passed the time of day with Suzie, the mother of three who often took the shift before him, and then settled in with a new enthusiasm.
Was he refreshed from his night out with friends? Energised by the conjunction of the planets? Or secretly eager to catch a glimpse of the new waiter at the French bistro? Be yourself; everyone else is already taken, as Oscar Wilde apparently said, and Ken was unfailingly honest with himself. He knew his curiosity was piqued. Waiter—as he would now be called—had something that had fascinated Ken, and maybe not just in the cute-arse way, as Robbie said. Though, God, when he remembered that purse of lips around the straw and the easy way the man moved….
And the wink. He had no idea what that had been about. Just a trick of the light? Ken knew how familiar the CCTV cameras were at the back of the stores. Most people didn’t even notice them there, at least not if they had nothing to hide. So it was highly unlikely Waiter knew anyone was watching. Wasn’t it? Ken felt as if he was debating with his own brain. The wink had probably just been a reflection from one of the security lights. No chance at all it was deliberate. Even if that’s how it looked? No. Even if it were…? Well, it wouldn’t be directed at Ken, would it? Because no one knew he was here. Who else, apart from his largely unsympathetic and mischievous mates, knew Ken spent half his evenings as that sad bloke, watching the time go slowly by without any other entertainment except an occasional graffiti artist darting in and out of shot, one hand shaking an aerosol can, the other thrusting a finger up at the City Council?
Ken leaned back in his chair, his coffee forgotten, his legs suddenly tense. The wink had been astonishing and confusing, and it had made Ken’s heart skip a beat. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Know what I mean? It was mystery and excitement! An unexpected thrill. Ken smiled, even though there was no one there to see. What an idiot he was, creating these dreams and bizarre scenarios in his mind. Living your life in a movie, Joe said. Way too much time on your own, Dad said. Sexual frustration, Si would say. Bloody weird would be Robbie’s all-too-familiar response.
Then Waiter wandered out of the restaurant again. Ken leaned towards the screen, all the other views of the centre forgotten. The young man was standing on the far side of an older, taller man, and as far as Ken could see, they were relaxed, maybe grinning, and shaking their heads at each other. The older man offered Waiter a cigarette, but he refused it. Then they both turned abruptly, looking back towards the restaurant door. Had someone called out for them? Waiter was still largely hidden from Ken’s view. The older man heaved his wide shoulders in a shrug and walked back indoors, but Waiter stayed outside.
Ken took a deep breath. If only the guy would turn around properly, show Ken his face under the security light! Instead, Waiter leaned back against the bin and angled his head up to the sky, maybe enjoying the fresh air after a busy session in the restaurant. He reached down and pulled his shirt out of his waistband. Flapped the hem a little as if cooling himself down.
How had Ken described himself the previous night—a voyeur without the sexiness? He felt a flush start at his neck, as it always did, but this time it started to roll down his whole body. Well, here came the sexiness after all. He could see a strip of bare skin where Waiter’s trousers dipped at the side. When Waiter stretched up, the strip became a patch. He savoured the stretch, reaching up one arm, then another, crossing them behind his head, leaning to one side and then the other, like a fitness routine.
Ken watched every damned move, every stretch of the slim, athletic body. Waiter walked slowly over to the hidden part of the yard and tucked himself behind the bin. Ken strained to see more; Waiter’s face was still maddeningly in shadow. For the first time since the Screen Static Disaster—I sense a disturbance in the Force—Ken grabbed and twisted the knobs for brightness, contrast, anything, to get a better view.
Look this way…. Th
is way, damn you….
Waiter turned slightly. He was eating something. Ken could see most of his chin, though only a glimmer of moisture from his lips. Waiter was feeding something in, then pulling out his fingers, licking something off them. Ken felt his breath catch sharply in his chest. Waiter had his fingers in his mouth. His mouth. He was sucking on them, licking between the digits. Between his lips, in and out. Sugar, maybe? Chocolate? Definitely a sticky coating.
Oh my fucking God.
Ken’s dick felt swollen in his boxers. How mad was this? He was getting excited by shadows and silhouette, by the twist of a lean body, by the tease of a guy snatching a late-night snack. He shifted on his seat again, gaze fixed on the screen. There was something familiar about Waiter. Maybe. But Ken didn’t know if that was just because he’d been watching so closely. Oh, so close….
Waiter paused for a moment, as if he’d finished, but then seemed to find one last trace that needed licking clean. He looked like he was smiling, but that could just have been a shadow from the fence, brushing across his cheek.
Ken wriggled on his seat and considered the wisdom of wearing sweatpants to work in the future. A small bead of sweat tickled at his hairline. He searched his memory for images of Ollie Robinson, but all he could remember was a school uniform stretched over a tubby belly, as per Robbie’s cruel verbal portrait. Ollie had left before the end of school for a special science college that served gifted children. None of them had seen him for around two years at least, though Si hadn’t said he had any trouble recognising him when they met up again. Ollie was blond, wasn’t he? This guy was dark, though people changed their hair colour, of course. And could Ollie really have lost all that weight and toned up quite so spectacularly? Ken’s eyes ached from staring too hard. How much did people change between those last couple of years of school and the start of adulthood? He thought of his own struggles with spots and growth spurts and the weird mix of excitement and embarrassment whenever he got an erection for inappropriate reasons—
Like right now. He pressed on his lap, trying to ease the tension. Just at that moment, Waiter stopped teasing his hand, wiped it casually on his trouser leg, and stepped out from behind the bins.
Teasing. Yes, that was the word. He turned away again before Ken could catch full sight of his features, and this time Ken was sure it was deliberate. It really did look as if the guy knew someone was watching, and he was playing to it. He was messing with Ken’s head, and—if I may draw attention to the main facts of the case, my lord—with Ken’s cock. With a deep breath of fortitude, Ken turned deliberately to watch another screen. Over by the jewellers, a stray dog had peed on the door frame, and the puddle slowly trickled outwards, a jagged black line on the grey pavement.
When Ken finally felt in control of his nether regions and turned back, the yard behind the bistro was deserted and still. On other screens, some kids were knocking a football against the wall of the designer menswear store. A group of girls in fluffy bunny ears and obviously on a hen night stumbled against the locked entrance of the centre, then dashed away in paroxysms of laughter.
Ken tried to ignore the wave of disappointment that swamped him. His erection had responded to the distraction and gone down, but that wasn’t to say it didn’t retain a quick twitch of hope. Dear God. What had he said to Robbie? It wasn’t spying? It’d be an abuse of my position. Pompous, but bloody true, surely. His mind retained that lean silhouette, the swift movement, the stripes of shadow across the white shirt and dark work trousers. It was a vivid memory. He reran the scene in his mind, frame by frame, like sketching a storyboard. There were no recognisable features on his character, just casual movement, easy confidence, and the hint of a smile. Ken knew this wasn’t a real story, just a slice of life, a momentary sensual pleasure. Yet it fascinated him. He had the distinct feeling that if the intercontinental ballistic missile decided to attack the Spectrum Shopping Centre tonight, Waiter’s reappearance would draw Ken’s attention away at just that critical moment.
I’d be blown to pieces, but very happy ones. Ken sighed and took an absentminded slurp from his cup of cold coffee. It was going to be a long night.
THE NEXT time they were all down the pub, on Monday night, sitting around one of the small tables and enjoying their first pint, Ken braced himself for the inquisition.
“So, did you think any more about getting together with Ollie?” Simon asked, apparently casually. He looked rather bright tonight, his latest shirt a shade of purple that flattered his pale features but also clashed wincingly with his green coat and scarf.
“No time. I’ve been doing extra shifts.” Ken gave a dismissive shrug he hoped would dissuade them from returning to the subject of his love life—or lack of.
No such bloody luck.
“We had coffee after his lunchtime shift yesterday,” Simon said. “He asked after you.”
“Very decent of him,” Ken replied.
“You need to get out more, Kenny. All work and no play, remember?” Robbie cast a sly glance at Simon across the table. Simon winked back at him.
“Drop it, okay? Both of you,” Ken said snappily. “I need money more than romance.”
“Who says so?” Robbie said. “Money isn’t everything.”
There spoke the man who never had any he didn’t spend on beer, even if he was generous with that. Ken shook his head wearily. His eyes ached tonight, and he didn’t think it was because he’d stayed up late last night researching “Kubrick: His Life and Films,” one of his holiday essay topics. Which, of course, he hadn’t. He’d been ogling some poor young sod who worked long, hard hours at a restaurant and then suffered his leisure time being mercilessly stalked by a pervert on CCTV. Heeeere’s Kenny! Every second Ken peered at the screen, hoping for Waiter to appear, his internal shame factor increased. He could persuade himself he was just doing his job, a sentry on duty. Then a flicker of movement outside the bistro would have him spinning around on his chair, everything else forgotten as he fixated on the one screen that might bear fruit. Personal fruit, that was. Yes, sadly, perv was the word. The previous night, when Charlie came to relieve him, Ken had all but leaped up from his chair in fright. He’d never heard the old man coming in, he was so engrossed in Waiter Watch.
“Ken?” Si was looking at him oddly.
Robbie tutted over the rim of his beer glass. “Kenny, man, you look pale.”
“Not enough natural light.” Si nodded as if he had a medical degree rather than a fifty-yards swimming certificate at home. “You need to find a guy who likes the outdoor life. Walking. Jogging. Cycling….”
Ken glared at them both.
“Okay,” Simon quickly amended. “Maybe not cycling. Lycra chafe isn’t a good look on anyone. Ollie plays football, you know. In a proper league. I’m sure he could introduce you to the team.”
“Works for me,” Robbie muttered.
Simon frowned. “For Ken, that is.”
“You mean for me, the guy who needs to get out more?” Ken shook his head at Si’s doggedness and Robbie’s lechery. “Sometimes you lot are worse than my mother. I’m fine, you know. And I know it’s a weird job, but it’s just for the summer.” And then it’d all be over, he’d go back on campus, and his Waiter fascination would become an embarrassing but distant memory. The pub jukebox in the background chose that moment to shift to a popular love ballad. Extraordinary how potent cheap music is….
“Ken?” Simon gave a yelp. Ken’s glass had tilted awkwardly in his hand, and beer splashed over Simon’s new jeans. Ken apologised quickly and righted his beer. With an effort he pulled his mind back to the pub and his friends.
He knew his dating career wasn’t the most glorious. There’d been his serious crush on Jimmy Evans in school, and maybe yes, he’d never quite got over that early, unrequited love. Jimmy had been the benchmark for every potential boyfriend since—a gifted sportsman, good sense of humour, excellent taste in music, generous, helpful, a good mate to his peers, cute arse in football sh
orts…. Ken spluttered over his beer and dragged his mind back to his mental catalogue. He’d had a summer fling in Cornwall with a surfer called Wave—no, seriously, that was what everyone called him—and a couple of brief relationships with guys at uni. No one he’d take home to the family yet.
“What does he look like nowadays?” he asked rather recklessly. Go ahead, punk. Make my day.
Simon looked startled. “Who?”
“Ollie Robinson.” Ken knew he was blushing because the ever-obvious Robbie grinned and flapped a hand in front of his face as if fanning the heat.
Simon raised an eyebrow. “Slimmer. Well dressed. Smart specs—”
“He wears glasses?”
“Sometimes. But he has contacts too, apparently.”
“Is he….” How ridiculous did this sound? “…still blond?”
Simon laughed. “What the hell? Yes! Or… well, no. I suppose it’s darker than I remember. Why, have you got something against blonds?”
“Of course not. I just wondered. You know.” Ken couldn’t think of anything else to quiz Si about without either looking a complete tosser or admitting his secret stalking.
Robbie was still grinning. “You got eyes on someone, Kenny? Your bug eyes?”
“His what?” Si said.
“Those multi screens he sits in front of for hours, right? Like an insect’s eyes. Blimey, Si, if I have to spell out science to flaky art students one more time—”
“Yeah? Like the science of setting fire to your jeans that time? They featured it front page of the uni magazine.”
“That was a bloody controlled experiment—!”
“Controlled by a bloody monkey, more like, and you have the nerve to slag off art students—”
“Maybe we could meet,” Ken said quietly into the background of Si and Robbie bickering. However, they heard him clearly enough. They both immediately shut up and swivelled in their chairs to face him. Ken felt very awkward, but he’d committed now. “Just to catch up on old times. No guarantee we’ll get on, you know?”
