Bad Company

by K.A. Mitchell

  Eli had poured Nate through the front door at about twelve thirty with an “It’s not my fault” and a “He’s all yours.”

  Kellan had spent enough nights on his knees in front of the porcelain god to know what the sudden grimace on Nate’s face meant. Two hard shoves got him into the bathroom in time.

  Kellan wet a towel and threw it at him, and Nate dragged himself onto the bed a few minutes later.

  But there was still a baby crying. Not like in another apartment, but closer to Kellan’s ear. He sat up and looked out of the window next to Nate. A streak of something lighter than the black caught his eye, and Kellan rolled out of bed and walked around to the window.

  He’d left it open about three inches because the apartment was stuffy and Nate reeked. Somehow Quan Yin had managed to wriggle through the space and out onto the fire escape. The window had slid shut, she was crying, and it was raining again.

  Kellan rolled onto the floor and held the sill up while he waved her in. “C’mon, sweetie.” She mewled again from her spot under the broad leaf of some plant sitting on one corner. “C’mon, girl. You’re only going to get wetter.”

  She huddled down and glared at him like he was responsible for the weather, the condition of her owner, and the fact that she was out there getting wet in the first place. The last two might be his fault, but Kellan wasn’t taking the blame for the weather. That was just Baltimore in April.

  He shoved the lump on the bed. The only thing that made a sound was the springs that had been poking Kellan’s back through the mattress.

  “Nate. Your cat’s stuck outside.” Kellan pushed harder. “C’mon. She won’t come in for me.”

  Nate’s head shifted in time with another pitiful sound from his cat. “Sh’sfine.”

  “It’s raining and she won’t come in.”

  Nate made a completely indecipherable sound and started snoring.

  Kellan sighed. The window had drifted shut again as he tried to wake up Nate.

  He slapped it open and reached out for the cat, who glanced at his hand disdainfully. The wind picked up in a way that told Kellan a downpour was on its way in T-minus ten seconds. The fire escape wasn’t that long. He could reach her without having to climb out. He lay across the sill and stretched. She was just past the tips of his fingers, ears flat, crouched under the shelter of that leaf. Kellan wiggled farther.

  Three things happened at once. His feet left the floor, the window frame crashed down on the backs of his knees, and a sudden slam of thunder split the air. Quan Yin jumped, the big pottery base of the plant tilted wildly and went over the edge of the fire escape, banging and crashing as it went, and Kellan’s head and arms followed as he grabbed the cat before she went over too.

  He kicked his legs, but the window was surprisingly heavy, and he didn’t have much leverage with his arms full of angry, wet cat. The rain was coming in waves from the bay, soaking them both in seconds. As he managed to tuck her close to his body, Yin stopped clawing at him. He kicked harder with his feet, but the sill didn’t move. His abs strained to hold him above the fire escape.

  None of the neighbors seemed perturbed about the crash of the planter into the backyard. Maybe they thought it was more thunder. He tried to angle his foot toward the bed and finally hit something hard and covered with skin.

  He swung at it again.

  Over the rush of water, he heard a muttered “Stop it,” then at last “Jesus Christ, Kellan, why’re you kicking me?” Nate’s voice got louder. “What the fuck are you doing?” Nate sounded a lot more alert as his hand landed on Kellan’s calf.

  The window came up off his legs, and Kellan slid back inside with Quan Yin. “I was saving your cat.”

  “She sits out there sometimes. She’s fine.”

  “In a thunderstorm.”

  Nate blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Shit. You guys are really wet.”

  “This bulletin brought to you from the Department of Duh.”

  Nate shut the window behind them. The sound released the cat from her temporary paralysis. She tore a strip of cotton from the T-shirt and a strip of skin from Kellan’s stomach before springing away and disappearing somewhere in the apartment.

  “Ow. You’re welcome,” Kellan called after her.

  “That’s my shirt,” Nate blurted.

  “Another brilliant observation. I borrowed it. Or did you want me sleeping naked?”

  “Jesus, just stop it. Stop it.” Nate collapsed on the bed, rubbing his forehead and eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Almost five.”

  “My head is going to explode. And I have to be at work in two hours.”

  “Yeah, that’ll happen if you pound back all those bitch drinks.” Kellan leaned over and sniffed. “Blue Skyy or Smirnoff Ice?”

  “Do you know how pathetic it is that you can figure that from smell?”

  “I’m pathetic? Who’s the one who drank so much of that crap that he’s trying to hold his brains in his skull?”

  “Shit.” Nate clutched his head some more.

  Kellan got up and found a towel, leaving the T-shirt behind in the basket in the bathroom. When he came back, Nate was still moaning and yanking at his hair like pulling it out would help his headache.

  “So what made you want to get so wasted? Me or that pretty thing you went out with?”

  “He’s not a thing. He’s a man. A hell of a better one than you.”

  Kellan rolled his eyes at that, but Nate kept going.

  “When he was seventeen, his parents asked him if he was gay. When he said he was, he came home from school to find a box of his stuff tossed in the driveway. They threw him out, and he had to beg for places to live for a year until he finished high school.”

  “Yeah, I think I can get that.”

  “No, you fucking don’t.” Nate came off the bed, winced, and dropped back down. “They’ve never spoken to him again. That’s his life, and you’re playing a fucking game with it to get back at your dad because he hurt your feelings.”

  “God, Nathan, you are so fucking full of yourself I’m surprised you don’t cause an earthquake when you shit.”

  “What?”

  “Eli’s parents are assholes, and that’s my fault now? My dad fucked over yours, and that’s my fault? Is there something else you want to blame on me?”

  “Oh no. One thing’s enough.” Nate shoved himself off the bed again, wavered, and then breathed that too-sweet vodka haze in Kellan’s face. “You outed me to the whole school. You made my life a fucking hell until we moved away.”

  “You told me, you told your folks, I thought everyone knew.”

  “No. I only told you.”

  That day near the end of eighth grade, Kellan had come to school late because he had a dentist appointment and found Nate outside at lunch, cornered by three assholes yelling “Suck my dick, faggot” at him. Kellan had hit his growth spurt at eleven. At thirteen he still towered over the rest of the kids. One shove and they scattered. But Nate wouldn’t look at him after. Wouldn’t laugh at Kellan’s jokes. Didn’t say anything until they were up in Nate’s room after school. “What if I am, Kell? I think maybe—”

  “Check out this magazine I swiped from the dentist’s office.” Kellan had shoved some picture of a bike flying off a dirt ramp in front of Nate’s face to keep him from finishing that sentence. “Do you think we could make something like that? Back in the park on one of the trails?”

  Nate had sighed and grabbed the magazine. “Yeah, maybe, but we’ll need a lot of dirt and a way to pack it and something to make sure it doesn’t erode the first time we use it.”

  Fifteen years later it was Kellan’s turn to sigh. “Fine. You told me you were gay and I freaked out. But I didn’t do any of that shit.”

  “Like write cocksucker on my locker or trip me or rip up my homework or keep me locked in a toilet stall full of piss and shit for all of third period?”

  “You know I didn’t.” But he hadn’t stopped it either. Didn’t
talk to Nate at all after coming home from camp that summer. Never met him back at the ramp they’d built.

  Nate’s breath came out in a grunt full of disbelief. “Great. I’m sure that makes everything fine in your world.” He staggered toward the bathroom.

  “Are we still doing this?” Kellan called after him.

  “What?”

  “The boyfriend thing.”

  “You mean am I going to let you use coming out, the single most important facet of gay consciousness, as a way to get back into your dad’s pockets? Just on the off chance that you’ve got information that will keep the people in this city from being fucked over by some soulless corporation?”

  What the fuck was gay consciousness? Being awake while you were fucking? “Well, yeah. But it’s not a chance. I can get you the information you need.”

  “I’ll think about it in the shower.”

  Chapter Eight

  NATE PUT a dry towel on the floor for Yin and added laundry to the to-do list stretching toward infinity in his aching brain: detox, rehydrate, get more hairball gel for Yin, wash towels, help Kellan Brooks lie about his sexual orientation to get even with his father, change the litter box, call back one of the clubs that was dithering about keeping ad space in the paper, don’t choke on your tea when Kellan walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel—

  He reordered things. Buy Kellan some clothes moved to the top of the list.

  Kellan wasn’t wearing a towel; he had on the sweats, but it still left a lot of skin on display. Nate buried his expression in his mug of tea as Kellan opened and slammed cabinet doors in a nauseating rhythm.

  “Where’s the coffee? You get up at five the fuck o’clock in the morning and you don’t have coffee? What do you have against coffee?”

  Nate pictured a rich, creamy latte flowing over his lips as he sipped his bitter green tea. “Nothing, provided it’s fair-trade and shade-grown. I don’t happen to have any right now.”

  Kellan leaned over Nate’s shoulder in a cloud of Nate’s soap, clean man, and mint toothpaste. Had Kellan—

  “Did you use my toothbrush?” Nate asked.

  “No. Rubbed with a finger. What’s that?” Kellan leaned over farther and sniffed. “Looks like piss and smells worse.”

  “It’s green tea.”

  Despite a clear path on the other side of the counter, Kellan squeezed by Nate, chest rubbing against Nate’s arm.

  “Tea’s the last thing you need with a hangover, man. It’s a diuretic. How do you not know that, Mr. Health Food?”

  “I’m detox— Fuck it.”

  Kellan was right. Nate’s pounding head and dry mouth led him to yank open the fridge, pop the filter top off the Brita, and chug a quart right out of the pitcher.

  “That’s better. You got aspirin or Tylenol around here?”

  Nate caught his breath and wiped his mouth on his hand. “End table next to the bed.”

  Kellan crossed over and opened the drawer. “What the—uh—okay.”

  Nate smiled at the flush on Kellan’s cheeks. “I suppose you’ve never seen—”

  “A dick in a drawer before? Not that I can remember. Do you—? Never mind.” Kellan put the tiny bottle on the counter next to Nate’s hand.

  “Thanks. About coffee….”

  “Yeah?” Kellan sounded hopeful and so much like his younger self Nate hated to disappoint him.

  “I still don’t have any, but I might have found you a job where you can have all you can drink.”

  “Starbucks?”

  “No. Manna Café. I talked to the manager last night and—”

  “Would that be before or after you got obliterated on sugar and vodka?”

  “Before. She said you could stop by after the morning rush and she’d talk to you.” Nate took a couple of Tylenol with another pint of water.

  “Wow. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve got a lot in common with old Geoffrey.”

  “Gee, why would I take that the wrong way?” Nate almost slammed the pitcher on the counter but spared his head.

  “You’re both quick to manage my life.”

  “Kellan. According to you, you’ve got the clothes on your back. I said I’d give you a place to stay, but even if we go through with the whole fake-lovers thing, you’re going to need some money. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly rolling in it.”

  “If we go through with it?” Kellan hoisted himself up onto the counter, like he needed the extra height.

  “I’m still not sure.”

  “Because of Eli?”

  “Who said I wanted to date Eli?” Nate didn’t want to date anyone. He only wished he could get laid more than once a month. Based on the letters people sent his advice column, relationships were almost a guarantee of not having sex. He used to have sex. Lots of sex. And then he got promoted right out of doing almost anything but work.

  “Wow. Like that’s not a sign of denial. But that’s not what I meant. Before you acted like you thought he would get hurt by it, because of his folks.”

  Nate couldn’t remember exactly what he’d been ranting about before he hit the shower, but that sounded about right.

  “So we should ask him,” Kellan said.

  “He can’t keep a secret. And there goes your plan.”

  “No, I mean hypothetically.”

  “Huh?”

  “You went to college and you don’t know what ‘hypothetically’ means?”

  “What, like you say, ‘I have a friend who—’”

  “Can you lie, I mean, at all? Or are you always this painfully obvious?”

  Nate didn’t need to lie. That was the whole point of his life so far. Why he’d wanted to write for a paper in the first place, why he’d done all those special-interest stories and fluff pieces about bands and local talent so he could get to write about stuff that mattered.

  Eli must have some kind of psychic ability that let him have really accurate timing, because as Nate was sputtering in defense of honesty, Eli buzzed the apartment.

  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d dropped by with breakfast. But it would be the first time Nate was a hundred percent happy to see him.

  At the mention of coffee over the intercom, Kellan sprang down the stairs to help Eli carry stuff up.

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right. And you were the one who called a staff meeting for eight this morning.” Eli opened a bakery bag and started handing out muffins.

  “You wanted to know if we had a big fight,” Kellan said around a mouthful of blueberry muffin.

  “Here you go. Vegan bran.” Eli handed the dark dense ball to Nate. “Did you? Are you suddenly available?” He leaned across the counter and leered at Kellan.

  “Bring me bacon next time and we’ll talk.”

  “Ha. Nate will fire me if I despoil his home with animal flesh.”

  A greasy egg-bacon-cheese sandwich sounded exactly right to Nate’s hangover.

  “But this is allowed.” Eli produced a bottle of KZ X-treme Cream Soda, and Nate had the top off and was knocking back the fizzy syrup before Eli could put the bottle on the counter.

  “I thought KZ Cola fired your dad?” Kellan said. “How do they rate a pass on your enemies list?”

  Eli’s hair was too long to see whether his brows arched, but his light eyes grew wide as he stared at Nate. “They did? When?”

  “Shut up, Kellan.”

  Kellan grinned. “My dad doesn’t allow the old company’s stuff in the house. No aiding and abetting the competition.” He picked up the bottle and took a healthy swig. “I missed this stuff. Do they still make that tangerine-coconut?”

  “Yeah,” Eli said. He was so busy watching the morning show, his corn muffin was untouched in front of him.

  “Hey, Eli, what would you say if some big pop-rock star came out?” Kellan dropped his non sequitur into the mix.

  “Oh my God, who do you know? Who is it? I wouldn’t tell anyone, I swear, not even if my mouth was full of h
is dick.” Eli held up his palm like he was taking an oath.

  “I don’t know of anyone, but I was just saying, what if. And what if it turned out that guy was only faking it, like he only did it to sell tickets for his tour or more CDs or whatever.”

  “I’d say he was an asshole.”

  A triumphant “Ha” burst from Nate’s lips and made his head ring.

  “An asshole, but a smart asshole,” Eli went on. “He knows being gay is cool.”

  “Ha,” Kellan said back.

  “Wouldn’t that bother you personally?” Nate forced a lump of muffin down his esophagus.

  “Why?” Eli asked.

  “Because we’re a minority, and those actions get magnified and affect us all.”

  Eli shrugged. “But the asshole would still be straight, so why would it matter?”

  “Eli, man, I could totally kiss you right now,” Kellan said.

  “I’m in.” Eli darted around the counter and jumped onto Kellan’s lips.

  Nate expected Kellan to push Eli away, but Kellan put his hand on Eli’s cheek, and from where Nate was standing, the kiss was soft, and there was movement going on in there.

  Nate really wished he’d gotten the hang of that repression thing, because then he would have been able to tell himself that the jolt to his stomach was from a vegan bran muffin on top of a gallon of water in a queasy hungover system and not jealousy. Kellan wasn’t really his boyfriend any more than Eli was, so watching them kiss, even if it only lasted six and a half seconds, shouldn’t have any effect on Nate. To give his budding belief in repression a little growth spurt, he applauded.

  “Let’s go, Eli. We’re going to be late.”

  Eli licked his lips and winked at Kellan. “No, we’re not.” His grin vanished. “Oh shit, Nate. I was playing around. Are you really jealous?”

  “He is,” Kellan said. “He’s always been really possessive. Never learned how to share.”

  “This is because I didn’t let you ride the bike I got for my tenth birthday before I did.”

  “Oh my God, did you guys grow up together? That is the—”

  “Say sweet and you are so fired,” Nate warned.