Something Like Winter

by Jay Bell

  On second thought, Tim was glad Travis wasn’t here, since this is exactly what he feared most. Somehow Tim would have to give him the traditional family he wanted. “Gay people can adopt.”

  “Yes, we can,” Eric said, “and we have our own special way of doing that.”

  Eric put an arm around Tim’s shoulder. The gesture was proud, affectionate, not creepy or lecherous. Forget kids! As Eric guided them both into the party, Tim wondered if anyone had adopted someone as their father before.

  * * * * *

  Five thousand dollars. Five thousand dollars. Five freaking thousand dollars!

  This mantra ran on a loop through Tim’s mind. When modeling for Marcello, he had expected to fend off unwanted advances and have his integrity repeatedly tested. None of that had happened. What he hadn’t expected, however, was hard work.

  Currently he was posing in front of a lake, wearing nothing but a swim suit while two photographers stalked around him, grumbling.

  “Your stance isn’t natural at all,” one of them complained.

  “Maybe because it’s the middle of fucking winter!” Two weeks into December, in fact. Shouldn’t he be decked out in burly sweaters, posing in front of a Christmas tree? Tim glanced over at Marcello, who was bundled up and toasty in a knee-length fur coat. Where were those PETA activists when you needed them? “Can I at least sit in the car and warm up for a minute?”

  Marcello grunted. “The cold is good; makes your skin tighter.”

  Tim glanced down self-consciously. What was wrong with his skin normally?

  “However,” Marcello continued, “I think I’ll sit in the car until we’re finished here.”

  When Tim glared at him as he wobbled away, one of the photographers gasped happily and began turbo-snapping pictures.

  “What are these even for?” Tim said. “Who wants to buy a swimsuit in the middle of winter?”

  “Winter is over, darling,” said one of the lighting technicians. “At least as far as the industry is concerned. You have to stay ahead of the game!”

  “Less talking, more sulking,” one of the photographers ordered.

  That part Tim could handle. This had been the weekend from hell. He had felt so proud at Eric’s Thanksgiving party when haggling with Marcello. Tim had started at ten thousand. Marcello had barely blinked, but still he talked Tim down to five, with the promise of only having to work two days. And Tim had jumped at the offer, thinking he had the upper hand. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  Yesterday morning was spent being passed around from beautician to beautician. First they cut Tim’s hair. Gone were the lanky locks that he had preferred since high school. He loved having his hair long, especially since his father always complained about it. His mother would come to his defense, saying, “In Mexico, men can have beautiful hair too.” Sorry, Mom, because now his hair was buzzed short on the sides and gelled into messy spikes on top. They had wanted to give him highlights, but Tim had drawn the line there.

  Then came makeup, not just for his face but for nearly his entire body as well. The first photo shoot yesterday involved swimsuits, but at least they had been in a warm studio. Then Tim was put into outfit after outfit, Marcello consulting the list as they went along, naming fashion brands too exotic to be cheap.

  In the afternoon, another model was brought in, a guy with long blond bangs and arms so toned that Tim felt like hitting the ground for some push ups. Both he and Tim were outfitted in the same kind of pseudo-letter jackets that high school kids wore in the fifties. Then they had to get tangled up in just about every position imaginable, the clothing coming off piece by piece. Sometimes they were posed like buddies with their arms around each other. For other photos they might as well have been dry humping.

  “Stick your tongue in his ear,” the photographer said at one point.

  “Which one of us?” Tim had asked.

  “Don’t worry, dude,” his modeling partner replied, bringing his tongue close to Tim’s ear. “I’m straight.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Tim muttered as his ear canal was filled with saliva and a barrage of flashes blinded him.

  The endless outfits, poses, makeup, and homoerotic modeling partners went on and on, well into the evening. Then Tim went home to sleep. Unfortunately for him, the next day brought crisp clear winter weather, which the photographers loved. This meant he was paraded from location to outdoor location, all of them freezing.

  “I think that’s it for the light,” one of the photographers said, checking a meter. “We’ll have to make do with what we got.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Tim grumped, grabbing a bathrobe from a nearby folding chair and stomping toward the limousine. After climbing into the back seat opposite Marcello, he slammed the door extra hard to make his unhappiness clear. “You’re really getting your money’s worth, aren’t you?”

  “I always do.” Marcello chuckled. “You know, there are less time-consuming ways to make money. They pay better, too.”

  Tim was too smart to ask. Porn was out of the question, and Eric had warned him about Marcello’s escort service that catered to an elite clientele. Instead, he pulled the robe tighter around himself and watched the crew outside gathering their equipment. The sun was going down, which hopefully meant that they were done for the day.

  “Just one more shoot,” Marcello said. “This one on the rooftop with Austin’s lights glittering in the background.”

  Tim sighed. “And me in a swimsuit?”

  “In a gentleman’s suit, actually. A tuxedo.”

  That was a welcome change. “Do I have time to grab dinner first?”

  Marcello checked his watch. “Plenty, but don’t overeat or your stomach will show.”

  He was one to talk! “Don’t worry. After a day like today, I’ll probably just drink my dinner.”

  “Or you can dine with me.”

  Tim shook his head, attention still on the crew outside. “If we’re heading back to your house, I thought I’d visit Eric.”

  Eric’s home wasn’t far from Marcello’s place, and right now his grounded presence would be a welcome relief. Tim could rely on Eric not to treat him like a piece of meat. Those photographers were brutal!

  “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Marcello said. “How is Eric holding up?”

  Tim tore his eyes away from the window. “Holding up?”

  “Well, you know.” Marcello watched him, playing subconsciously with the rings on his fingers. “Or don’t you?”

  “What?” Tim snapped.

  “Never mind,” Marcello said, as if the topic suddenly bored him. “Get out there and tell those damn photographers they’re riding with the crew if they don’t hurry up. I’m starving!”

  Tim watched him a moment longer, but Marcello acted as if the conversation had never occurred. If this was some new game, Tim wasn’t playing it. Instead he went and told the photographers that Marcello wanted them to ride back with the crew. They were furious, but weren’t about to complain to their employer. Tim grinned all the way back to the limo.

  Once back at Marcello’s home—just as grand and ostentatious as its owner—Tim hopped into his car, enjoying the solitude as he drove to Eric’s. Try as he might, he couldn’t purge Marcello’s words from his mind. How is Eric holding up? Since Eric and Gabriel split up, maybe? Wasn’t that ancient history? There had to be something else, unless Marcello was screwing with him. Even for Marcello, that seemed too childish, like a kid declaring with glee that he had a secret.

  When Tim got to Eric’s house, an old Honda Civic was pulling out of the driveway. Tim slowed in the street, blinker showing he intended to pull in after it. The car backed out and crept forward in his direction, a chubby-cheeked woman checking him out with interest.

  She slowed when their windows were lined up, rolling hers down. Tim did the same, recognizing her from last month. This was the woman Eric described as being too chatty. Maybe she intended to have a long conversation with Tim right here in the middle of the road.
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  “Are you family?” she asked.

  Wasn’t that slang for being gay? Or did she want to know if he was related to Eric? Tim barely remembered Eric describing this woman as neither friend nor family, so he winged it. “Yeah, I’m family.”

  “Well, bless you! I know this isn’t easy.”

  What the hell was going on? Like a secret phrase passed from spy to spy, he tried Marcello’s mysterious words. “How’s he holding up?”

  The woman was exasperated. “I don’t have to tell you that Eric is a stubborn old goat! That’ll keep him strong for a while, but he certainly won’t listen to me. Have you tried talking to him about chemo?”

  “Chemo?” Tim repeated with dry lips.

  “He can at least give it a try instead of throwing in the towel. I’ve seen it help people in his situation before.”

  Tim nodded dumbly. “Cancer,” he managed to say.

  “I know, dear. It’s horrible, isn’t it? Well, you stay strong and see if you can’t convince him, okay? Do you have my number? You can always call if you have questions or if you need someone to talk to.”

  She reached across the space between their vehicles to hand him a business card. Tim took it and thanked her. Then he pulled into the driveway and stared at it. Lisa Ownby: Austin Heights Hospice Care. This couldn’t be right. Eric wasn’t sick. He was in great shape and full of life. Besides, he would have told Tim about something like this. Maybe they had only known each other for a month or two, but they were close. Weren’t they?

  But Eric did have that cough he was always quick to dismiss. Tim knew all about keeping secrets, and the more he thought about it, the more the pieces fell into place. Marcello hadn’t been baiting Tim. He really had slipped up! And that hurt worse, because Marcello knew and Tim didn’t. Why would Eric trust a sleazebag like that instead of him? The thought angered him enough that he started the car so he could pull out and leave.

  But he couldn’t. He was pissed and would tell Eric so.

  Tim killed the engine and stormed to the front door, ringing the bell mercilessly. Then it opened and he saw Eric—appearing smaller and more fragile than usual against the light. Tim grabbed him into a hug.

  “What in the world?” Eric said, voice strained. “Are you okay? Did things go badly with Marcello?”

  “No,” Tim said, letting go. “I’m just hungry, is all.”

  Eric’s gaze flickered over him with concern before he smiled. “You know I’m always good for a sandwich. Come in!”

  Once in the kitchen, Tim watched Eric carefully, as if signs of his illness would be apparent now that he knew. But Eric seemed fine. Maybe that’s why he chose to hide it—because he could. Tim knew that game all too well. But it still hurt him that Marcello had Eric’s confidence and he didn’t.

  “Do you trust me?” Tim asked.

  Eric paused in the midst of buttering a slice of bread. “Of course!”

  “I mean, I feel close to you. Like I can be open with you. I want you to feel the same way with me.”

  Eric nodded, continuing his work in silence. Butter, lettuce, ham, cheese, mayo. Tim’s stomach growled in anticipation. He practically snatched the plate away from Eric when it was ready.

  “He works his models hard, doesn’t he?” Eric looked him over. “I hope you weren’t put in any situations that made you uncomfortable.”

  Tim shook his head while chewing.

  “That’s good,” Eric said. “Marcello, for the bad impression he can make, is an absolute professional. He was one of Gabriel’s friends when we first met, and to be honest, I couldn’t stand him. I used to call him the Fat Man. You know, from the old Maltese Falcon movie?”

  Tim shrugged.

  “Anyway, first impressions aren’t everything. Marcello might not embrace traditional ideas of romance and relationships, but he cares about people in his own way.” Eric leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve known him for longer than you’ve been alive. Sometimes that much history alone can make you comfortable around a person.”

  Comfortable enough to confide in him that you have a deadly disease. Tim broke eye contact and kept chewing. Truth be told, there were still plenty of things Eric didn’t know about him, little things that he preferred to keep to himself, like his painting. To anyone else, an interest like that wouldn’t be worth keeping secret, but Tim needed to because his art made him feel vulnerable. He could only imagine how cancer could make someone feel the same, but for very different reasons.

  So Tim would pretend, if that’s what Eric wanted. But there were other things he needed to know, subjects he avoided to be polite. Marcello knowing Eric so well made Tim feel like he needed to catch up somehow.

  “All that business with the fraternity—” Tim began, but he didn’t need to finish because Eric nodded.

  “You want to know what really happened. Tell me, is that old gazebo still behind the fraternity house?”

  Tim shook his head.

  “I’m not surprised. It was practically falling down when I was your age. Anyway, there was someone in my life, another brother. We weren’t roommates like you and Travis are. That would have saved us a lot of trouble. Michael and I discovered each other anyway, and occasionally we managed to find private moments alone. Back then I was still willing to compromise. Those closest to me knew I was gay, as did my family, but it seemed prudent to keep a low profile.

  “Michael and I were together for more than a year this way, and I have to admit our relationship being a secret made it all the more thrilling. Perhaps that’s why we became more and more daring. One evening, during a party at the fraternity house, we snuck out to the gazebo. The weather had been terrible, so everyone was staying in. Unfortunately, we got carried away and let down our guard. A young lady came outside and caught us in a compromising situation. Do you need me to—”

  “No,” Tim said, his throat tight. “I can imagine.”

  “Okay. Well, we heard the young lady gasp and scrambled to pull up our pants as she headed back to the house. We didn’t know how much she had seen, or if she recognized us. I wanted to leave, but Michael thought our absence would be twice as damning. Instead we returned through the front entrance and tried to mingle. When the young lady saw Michael, she looked right past him, not recognizing him. But when she saw me…”

  “What happened?”

  Eric exhaled. “It got ugly. There was no discretion. The brothers didn’t wait until later to discuss this with me. The party came to a grinding halt and suddenly I was on trial. I didn’t dare look at Michael. Doing so would have incriminated him. But I kept waiting for him to come to my defense. All the hateful things that were said that night, being pushed around, called names, even being thrown out on the street—none of that hurt as much as Michael turning his back on me. Afterwards he wouldn’t speak to me, privately or publically. Not a single word.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tim hopped to his feet and went to Eric, his chest aching. The story was all too familiar. Hadn’t he hurt Ben in the very same way? “I’m sorry,” he repeated, speaking now to the past. Eric was in his arms, patting his back and reassuring him that it was okay, but it wasn’t. Giving into fear and turning away from love was never okay.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Snow brings silence. Tim had never become used to the mild Texas winters. Except for the occasional frost or freak scattering of snow, they were just a shadow of the Kansas winters he had grown up with. Every year he missed the calm that snow brought. Most people would stay inside to keep warm and cozy rather than venture out, but the frozen season held a tranquility that Tim never felt when living in Texas.

  Holidays on campus came close. Even before the official first day of winter break, many of the students had already made the pilgrimage home. Some lagged behind, trying to keep the parties pumping, but most thought of family, reliving memories of a more innocent time when Christmas was still magical.

  For Tim, that magic was back in full force. By
the morning of Christmas Eve, the frat house was virtually empty. Even Quentin had left his collegiate kingdom for the comforts of home. Tim woke early and grabbed a quick shower, making sure to be noisy enough while dressing to rouse Travis. Then Tim pushed him toward the bathroom and went downstairs to check the car and their supplies. Of course he had already checked the night before, and triple-checked after packing the first time, but he wanted everything to be perfect.

  When he went back upstairs, Travis was clean and dressed, sitting groggily on the edge of his bed. Tim dragged him downstairs and into the car. Then they were on the road, Travis falling back asleep as soon as they hit the highway. That was fine. They had a fifteen-hour drive ahead of them if they were to make Colorado Springs today, and he would need Travis to take the wheel later.

  And drive they did. With Travis out of commission, Tim made it nearly to noon without taking a break, chugging energy drinks to keep him going. Of course his bladder nearly exploded, but he held it in until stopping at a Burger King. Finally ready to face the rest of the day, Travis ordered three Whoppers for himself, devouring them each in just a few bites.

  “Hungry?” Tim chided.

  “Always.” Travis downed the last of his cola. Then he said with a more exaggerated accent than usual, “On the farm, we’re used to big breakfasts!”

  Tim laughed. “Did you really grow up on a farm?”

  “No, but you’d be surprised how many people assume I did, just because of the way I talk.”

  Guilty as charged. Tim loved the country boy fantasy.

  “My mom really does make the best breakfasts,” Travis continued. “She knows how to keep a boy fed.”

  “I’ll try and make sure you don’t starve this trip,” Tim said. They would have to eat out a lot because Tim couldn’t cook. Eric had helped out, though. A cooler full of food was in the trunk, including a foil-covered lasagna that Tim was supposed to pop in the oven. He was fairly certain he could manage that much.