by Jay Bell
“I’m sorry, man.”
“It’s fine.” Ryan’s laugh was bitter. “I told them I was moving in with my boyfriend. You should have seen the looks on their faces!” Their expressions probably matched Tim’s, but he hid it before Ryan turned to face him. “Is that all right?”
“The boyfriend thing or moving in?”
“Whatever,” Ryan scoffed, his scowl deepening before he turned to the window. “Never mind. I’ll find somewhere else to crash.”
Not the best time to kid around, apparently. “It’s cool,” Tim said, not knowing if it was. “Both things, I mean.”
Ryan didn’t react at first, still watching the scenery whiz by outside. Then he exhaled, shoulders relaxing, and reached for Tim’s hand.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Ryan crept into the bathroom, draped in a pink robe and matching slippers, taking comically large steps like Elmer Fudd sneaking up behind Bugs Bunny.
“Burglar!” he hissed.
Tim peered at him in the steamed-up mirror, shaving razor poised. “Huh?”
“There’s someone downstairs!” Ryan stage-whispered. “You’re being robbed!”
In the middle of the morning? This had to be a joke. “Think he’ll take the couch? We could use a new one.”
“I’m serious!” Ryan’s eyebrows came together, stage one of the “soon to throw a fit” warning system.
“All right,” Tim said, dropping the razor in the sink and grabbing a towel to wrap around himself. “I’ll check it out. Is he a big guy?”
“Huge!” Ryan held his arms out like a hula-hoop, and Tim nearly laughed.
“And what exactly is he doing down there?”
“Poking through the refrigerator.” Even Ryan looked uncertain at this behavior.
Tim hid his smile, splashing the remaining foam from his face before heading for the hallway. “Come on. If I’m going to risk my life defending my home—and my vegetables—I want a witness.”
“Wait!” Ryan darted into the bedroom, returning with a cell phone that he held before him like a crucifix. “I’ll take photos. We can use them in court.”
“Good idea.” Tim marched downstairs like he had something to prove. When he entered the kitchen, Marcello was already perched on a bar stool, glass of champagne in hand.
“Well!” he breathed, eyeing Tim in his towel. Then he noticed Ryan. “Well, well!”
Tim charged him, which took Marcello by surprise, but as soon as he was close enough he gave him a hug that nearly knocked him off the stool. Tim grinned. “Why are you always creeping around my house?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Marcello nodded at Ryan, who had stopped taking photos and was now looking puzzled.
Tim gave basic introductions, not bothering to explain who was who. The reasons Ryan was there were fairly obvious, and Marcello—there was no explaining him.
“I came to drag you out of the house again,” Marcello said, “but I see you have a very good reason for staying in.”
“What’s up? Another Eric Conroy fundraiser?”
“Not until autumn,” Marcello replied. “No, this one is a good ol’ fashioned shindig.”
Ryan perked up and came closer. “A party?”
“The party,” Marcello corrected. “My fiftieth birthday, in fact!”
“Those are always fun,” Tim said coyly.
Marcello was shameless. “Indeed they are. This year I’ll be hosting from home, and there will be more beautiful boys and bubbling booze than ever.”
Tim nodded knowingly. “I’m sure there will be, but we sort of have our own thing going here.”
“Ah, the honeymoon phase! But there’s no excuse for you not to pop in, not when you live so close.”
“It sounds cool,” Ryan said.
Tim glanced over at him. He appeared genuinely interested. Was he getting bored of his dream life already? “All right,” Tim said. “You heard the little lady. We’ll be there.”
The party took place the following evening. Ryan suggested they buy fresh outfits to wear, which Tim agreed to. Ryan ended up with five new outfits, but Tim had no one to blame but himself. When those sky blue eyes were turned on him, his willpower simply vanished. And he had to admit that Ryan looked good wearing a form-fitting dress shirt and ultra-tight jeans. Tim kept sneaking peeks at him on the drive to Marcello’s, planning to make it an early evening so he still had plenty of energy in bed.
The party was in full swing when they arrived. Marcello’s palatial home had its own ballroom, which is where the festivities were centered, but guests were free to roam all but a series of rooms that Marcello referred to as his inner sanctum. As soon as the birthday boy spotted them, he disengaged himself from a conversation to join them.
Marcello always made time for Tim, as if he were an important old friend. In a way, they had transferred the love they felt for Eric to each other, even though they were both poor replacements.
“Happy fiftieth, old man,” Tim said, giving him a hug. “This year I actually got you a present.”
“Oh, thank you!” Marcello accepted the small package before turning to Ryan. “And I owe you a debt of gratitude for dragging Tim here. You know, sometimes I think he’s older than I am.”
“Keep celebrating your fiftieth every year and I will be,” Tim retorted.
“Pay him no mind,” Marcello said.
But Ryan wasn’t paying attention to either of them. Instead he was looking across the room to a group of younger guys, most of them nearly his age or pretty enough to pass as such. “Is everyone here gay?” he asked, eyes not leaving them.
Marcello’s head bobbed along with his chins. “Nearly.”
Eyes alight, Ryan’s head whipped around to Tim. “Mind if I mingle?”
Tim shrugged. “Have fun.”
Marcello chuckled as soon as Ryan was out of earshot. “Feels like releasing him back into the wild, I imagine.”
“Exactly. I found him with a broken wing, took him in, and made him all better. Now he’s ready to fly again.”
“So the honeymoon is over?”
Tim blinked. “I hope not. I’ve gotten used to him being around.”
“Never fear. I don’t think he’s ready to build his own nest just yet. Let him have his fun now, and he’ll be back in your bed tonight.” Marcello tore the paper from his present. “One of your paintings? No, too small for that. Ah!”
Tim waited while Marcello examined the small frame. He had found a box of Eric’s old photos in a closet, among them one of Eric and Marcello clinking wine glasses with exaggerated grins. Both were much younger in the photo, Marcello a few pounds lighter.
Marcello opened his mouth, no doubt to say something witty, but then shook his head, eyes misty.
“You all right?” Tim asked, patting him on the back.
“Fine, yes,” Marcello said. “It’s just… Sometimes you think you have it all, but then you remember how youth and friendships slip away.”
“I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“No! It’s a happy reminder, in a melancholy sort of way.” Marcello considered him. “Love suits you, you know.”
Tim glanced to where Ryan had already made new friends. “Do you think it’s love?”
“You tell me.”
Tim thought about it a moment. “I need a drink.”
The party was pleasant. Tim had attended enough of these occasions that he had plenty of conversation partners when Marcello wasn’t available. He tried hanging out with Ryan and his new crew, but they were all so young and wired that Tim really did feel fifty. Ryan had forged a fast friendship with a guy named Stephen, who—aside from having short hair and a slightly broader build—could have been Ryan’s twin.
Tim wandered around the party, constantly deflecting questions about his post-college life. Eventually he grew tired of making excuses for himself and dragged Ryan out of the party and back to the car.
“So how long have you known him?” Ryan asked on the ride home.
“Marcello? Years now. Ever since my sophomore year in college.”
“Oh, so you have a sugar daddy too?”
Tim nearly hit the brakes. “No, and what do you mean too? Marcello isn’t my sugar daddy, and I’m definitely not yours! Got it?”
“Don’t freak out. It was just a joke.”
“It didn’t sound like one.”
Ryan made a face, like Tim was being over-sensitive. “So where do you get your money, then? You never work.”
“I told you about Eric already.”
“Oh, that’s right. He was your—”
Now Tim really did hit the brakes, shocking Ryan into silence. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Ryan shot back. “Jesus Christ, lighten up already.”
Tim reined in his anger. “Eric was special to me. I don’t like jokes about him.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” Ryan said. “You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“Fine. Finish the sentence.”
“He was your sugar daddy.”
Ryan cackled in amusement while Tim stared at him in grim silence. Then he took his foot off the brake and drove the rest of the way home, refusing to look at Ryan until they were inside. When he did, he thought Ryan’s pupils looked funny. Was that a trace of white powder on his nostril?
“Everyone fucks to get something,” Ryan said, following Tim into the kitchen. “Sometimes it’s love and sometimes it’s money.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tim shouted. “If all you’re here for is money, you can leave right now!”
Ryan strutted close to him. “Some people fuck just to get fucked.”
When Ryan kissed him, Tim tried to remain cold, but he couldn’t. He kissed back, enjoying himself when suddenly he felt pain. His bottom lip had been bitten hard enough to draw blood. Ryan pulled back, eyes brimming with satisfaction. Was this part of the game now? Tim was so disgusted that he felt like smacking him, but Ryan had taught him a better way to deal with pent-up aggression. In case he’d forgotten, Ryan was already undoing Tim’s pants before working on his own. Needing to be purged of his anger and wanting those angel eyes to come back, Tim spun Ryan around, bent him over the kitchen counter, and took out his frustration. Ryan grinned the entire time.
* * * * *
The honeymoon was over. Marcello’s words were prophetic. Tim didn’t know what he had done, if anything, to cause the change, but Ryan’s dark side had slipped out of the bedroom and into the light of day. Usually this materialized as sadistic humor, Ryan taking unprompted cheap shots.
Ryan spent much of his time with his new friends. Even when he was home, his ear was glued to the phone while he chatted with Stephen or one of his circle. Ryan also possessed an eerie sense of knowing when he had pushed Tim to the very edge. More than once Tim had been ready to kick him out. Then, out of the blue, his sugar-sweet boy would return.
With the fall semester drawing near, Tim kept encouraging Ryan to re-enroll. Of course money was an issue, so he pulled a few strings with Marcello, as Eric had probably once done for him. He got Ryan model work that would earn him enough in just a few weekends to pay for his sophomore year. Ryan seemed thrilled at first, especially since he would be working with some of his new friends, but he came home after only a few hours on the first day.
“That wasn’t fun at all,” Ryan complained.
“It’s work. It’s not supposed to be fun.” Tim remembered the experience all too well. “When do you have to go back?”
“I don’t. I quit.”
This led to another argument, but by the end of it, Tim agreed to pay Ryan’s tuition as long as he promised to attend classes. Even when the school year started, Ryan still went out and partied most nights. Every time he came home, he lashed out like Tim had done something wrong.
“Some like their freedom,” Marcello advised when Tim stopped by. “Others hold it against you. It sounds to me like you either need to live his lifestyle or cut him loose. I speak from experience when I say you should cut your losses now.”
But Tim didn’t agree. He had just turned twenty-five, not fifty, so the next time Ryan planned to go out, Tim invited himself along. And Marcello was right. Suddenly those angel eyes were shining again. They hit the clubs together and danced, Stephen’s crew unsure at first, but when they offered Tim a pill to “enhance his fun,” he took one look at Ryan and his encouraging nod and swallowed the pill down with a swig of beer.
When they got home that night, Tim’s head spinning in a million different directions, there were no cruel barbs, no taunts. There was only Ryan, pulling him into the bedroom with a smile so they could play his favorite game.
* * * * *
Hell came every morning. No, not morning. Time had gone topsy-turvy nearly a year ago. Dawn was for going to sleep, the afternoon for waking up. Regardless of the hour, every time Tim woke, he felt like hell. Usually hangovers were to blame. Those could be chased away by a nice greasy meal. Other times Tim was strung out, which was particularly bad, because the only cure was to tough it out or try to figure out what they had been taking so he could get more.
In those hours when he was sober, he was always tired. Ryan seemed immune to all of this, always ready for the next adventure. The nights when Tim couldn’t find the energy, Ryan left him at home, heading out with Stephen to find the next big party. When they couldn’t find it, they would make one, returning to Tim’s house with a convoy of vapid youth in tow.
And although all of this was taking its toll on Tim, he could deal with it. Partying and college went hand in hand, so Ryan’s desire to indulge in the experience was understandable. Except Ryan was no longer going to class. Tim kept pushing him to return and get caught up, but sleeping the day away made this impossible. Once Tim had stayed home, abstaining from partying for an entire week and remaining clean to set a good example, but this had accomplished nothing. Ryan still went out and Tim had barely seen him.
The partying was nothing compared to the petty theft. All Ryan had to do was ask, and yet Tim’s credit cards went missing once, Ryan turning up with shopping bags, saying Stephen had bought him an early birthday present. A call to the credit card company revealed the truth. Tim felt more confused than angry. So often it seemed Ryan was punishing him without explaining why. Those moments when Ryan rewarded him with sweetness were becoming rarer and rarer. Tim was already thinking of calling it quits when Marcello came to visit.
“You look tired,” Marcello said, settling on to the couch. For once he declined his traditional glass of champagne.
“Thank you.” Tim stood over him, arms crossed over his chest. “Is that what you came to tell me?”
“Sit down.” Marcello looked away until Tim was seated across from him. “I recently had a disturbing conversation with one of my escorts, Stephen. I believe you know him?”
“Ryan said he was a model.”
Marcello harrumphed. “Stephen did model for me once, but they weren’t the sort of photographs advertisers are interested in. No, Stephen has worked for my escort service for a few years now. In fact, he recently recommended Ryan do the same.”
Tim gritted his teeth. “Not a chance!”
“Of course not. I don’t mean to pry, but do you and Ryan have an open relationship?”
Tim didn’t like where this was going. “No. We’re monogamous.”
“I see.” Marcello was pensive. “I think it’s best we verify something. Stephen recommended Ryan as an escort because of how he behaves in bed. We have clients who ask for—”
“What did he say?” Tim interrupted.
“That Ryan likes it rough. Very rough. He claimed to be speaking from personal experience.”
Tim leapt to his feet with a growl. “You need to leave!”
“Please don’t be angry with me,” Marcello said, placing a hand
on his chest.
“I’m not! I’m going upstairs to deal with the little shit. Thank you for telling me. You can leave now.”
“Let him go,” Marcello said as he got to his feet. “No amount of yelling is going to change who he is. Cheaters cheat, liars lie. But there’s something else.”
Tim, already on his way out the room, spun around. “What?”
“The reason I was talking to Stephen in the first place is because of a complaint from a client. He said Stephen offered unprotected sex for extra money.”
“So?”
“So, have you been safe with Ryan?”
“Yes.” Mostly. Of course a few of those nights were blurry, but after being with someone for a year, he shouldn’t have to worry about being safe. Or so he thought.
“There’s no harm in getting tested, Tim.”
“Fine.”
“I’m sorry.”
Tim sighed. “I know you are. Thanks, Marcello. Now get out while I’m still angry enough to do what I have to do.”
Tim kept his cool as he walked Marcello to the door, but by the time he headed up the stairs, he was shaking with fury. After all he had done for Ryan, everything he had put up with, the bastard had the nerve to screw around on him.
Tim barged into the bedroom, Ryan muttering a complaint and pulling a pillow over his head. That was fine. Tim went to the walk-in closet, grabbed luggage from the back, and began filling it with Ryan’s clothes. When he returned to the bedroom, he tossed the luggage on the bed and went to the drawers.
Now Ryan woke up. “What are you doing?”
“Throwing your ass out!”
“What? Why?”
“Because of Stephen!”
The daintiest of pauses preceded Ryan’s response. Tim never would have caught it had Marcello not tipped him off. “What about Stephen?”
Tim spun around. Ryan’s hair was sticking up, and even after all the partying they had done over the last year, he still looked good. Tim glared at him, his accusations silent until Ryan rolled his eyes.
